{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Jason Isbell, Stacy Brown Thellend and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\nMerged with an earlier text produced by Juliet Sutherland,\nThomas Hutchinson and the Online Distributed Proofreading\nTeam\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nTALES OF DARING AND DANGER.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: SIGHTING THE WRECK OF THE STEAMER.]\n\n\n\n\nTALES OF\n\nDARING AND DANGER.\n\nBY\n\nG.A. HENTY,\n\nAuthor of \"Yarns on the Beach;\" \"Sturdy and Strong;\" \"Facing Death;\" \"By\nSheer Pluck;\" \"With Clive in India;\" &c.\n\n_ILLUSTRATED._\n\n[Illustration]\n\nLONDON: BLACKIE & SON, 49 & 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C. GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND\nDUBLIN.\n\n1890.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n                             Page\nBEARS AND DACOITS,              7\n\nTHE PATERNOSTERS,              37\n\nA PIPE OF MYSTERY,             71\n\nWHITE-FACED DICK,              99\n\nA BRUSH WITH THE CHINESE,     119\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBEARS AND DACOITS.\n\nA TALE OF THE GHAUTS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nA merry party were sitting in the verandah of one of the largest and\nhandsomest bungalows of Poonah. It belonged to Colonel Hastings, colonel\nof a native regiment stationed there, and at present, in virtue of\nseniority, commanding a brigade. Tiffin was on, and three or four\nofficers and four ladies had taken their seats in the comfortable cane\nlounging chairs which form the invariable furniture of the verandah of a\nwell-ordered bungalow. Permission had been duly asked, and granted by\nMrs. Hastings, and the cheroots had just begun to draw, when Miss\nHastings, a niece of the colonel, who had only arrived the previous week\nfrom England, said,--\n\n\"Uncle, I am quite disappointed. Mrs. Lyons showed me the bear she has\ngot tied up in their compound, and it is the most wretched little thing,\nnot bigger than Rover, papa's retriever, and it's full-grown. I thought\nbears were great fierce creatures, and this poor little thing seemed so\nrestless and unhappy that I thought it quite a shame not to let it go.\"\n\nColonel Hastings smiled rather grimly.\n\n\"And yet, small and insignificant as that bear is, my dear, it is a\nquestion whether he is not as dangerous an animal to meddle with as a\nman-eating tiger.\"\n\n\"What, that wretched little bear, Uncle?\"\n\n\"Yes, that wretched little bear. Any experienced sportsman will tell you\nthat hunting those little bears is as dangerous a sport as tiger-hunting\non foot, to say nothing of tiger-hunting from an elephant's back, in\nwhich there is scarcely any danger whatever. I can speak feelingly about\nit, for my career was pretty nearly brought to an end by a bear, just\nafter I entered the army, some thirty years ago, at a spot within a few\nmiles from here. I have got the scars on my shoulder and arm still.\"\n\n\"Oh, do tell me all about it,\" Miss Hastings said; and the request being\nseconded by the rest of the party, none of whom, with the exception of\nMrs. Hastings, had ever heard the story before--for the colonel was\nsomewhat chary of relating this special experience--he waited till they\nhad all drawn up their chairs as close as possible, and then giving two\nor three vigorous puffs at his cheroot, began as follows:--\n\n\"Thirty years ago, in 1855, things were not so settled in the Deccan as\nthey are now. There was no idea of insurrection on a large scale, but we\nwere going through one of those outbreaks of Dacoity, which have several\ntimes proved so troublesome. Bands of marauders kept the country in\nconfusion, pouring down on a village, now carrying off three or four of\nthe Bombay money-lenders, who were then, as now, the curse of the\ncountry; sometimes making an onslaught upon a body of traders; and\noccasionally venturing to attack small detachments of troops or isolated\nparties of police. They were not very formidable, but they were very\ntroublesome, and most difficult to catch, for the peasantry regarded\nthem as patriots, and aided and shielded them in every way. The\nhead-quarters of these gangs of Dacoits were the Ghauts. In the thick\nbush and deep valleys and gorges there they could always take refuge,\nwhile sometimes the more daring chiefs converted these detached peaks\nand masses of rock, numbers of which you can see as you come up the\nGhaut by railway, into almost impregnable fortresses. Many of these\nmasses of rock rise as sheer up from the hillside as walls of masonry,\nand look at a short distance like ruined castles. Some are absolutely\ninaccessible; others can only be scaled by experienced climbers; and,\nalthough possible for the natives with their bare feet, are\nimpracticable to European troops. Many of these rock fortresses were at\nvarious times the head-quarters of famous Dacoit leaders, and unless the\nsummits happened to be commanded from some higher ground within gunshot\nrange they were all but impregnable except by starvation. When driven to\nbay, these fellows would fight well.\n\n\"Well, about the time I joined, the Dacoits were unusually troublesome;\nthe police had a hard time of it, and almost lived in the saddle, and\nthe cavalry were constantly called up to help them, while detachments of\ninfantry from the station were under canvas at several places along the\ntop of the Ghauts to cut the bands off from their strongholds, and to\naid, if necessary, in turning them out of their rock fortresses. The\nnatives in the valleys at the foot of the Ghauts, who have always been a\nsemi-independent race, ready to rob whenever they saw a chance, were\ngreat friends with the Dacoits, and supplied them with provisions\nwhenever the hunt on the Deccan was too hot for them to make raids in\nthat direction.\n\n\"This is a long introduction, you will say, and does not seem to have\nmuch to do with bears; but it is really necessary, as you will see. I\nhad joined about six months when three companies of the regiment were\nordered to relieve a wing of the 15th, who had been under canvas at a\nvillage some four miles to the north of the point where the line crosses\nthe top of the Ghauts. There were three white officers, and little\nenough to do, except when a party was sent off to assist the police. We\nhad one or two brushes with the Dacoits, but I was not out on either\noccasion. However, there was plenty of shooting, and a good many pigs\nabout, so we had very good fun. Of course, as a raw hand, I was very hot\nfor it, and as the others had both passed the enthusiastic age, except\nfor pig-sticking and big game, I could always get away. I was supposed\nnot to go far from camp, because, in the first place, I might be wanted;\nand, in the second, because of the Dacoits; and Norworthy, who was in\ncommand, used to impress upon me that I ought not to go beyond the sound\nof a bugle. Of course we both knew that if I intended to get any sport\nI must go further afoot than this; but I merely used to say 'All right,\nsir, I will keep an ear to the camp,' and he on his part never\nconsidered it necessary to ask where the game which appeared on the\ntable came from. But in point of fact, I never went very far, and my\nservant always had instructions which way to send for me if I was\nwanted; while as to the Dacoits I did not believe in their having the\nimpudence to come in broad daylight within a mile or two of our camp. I\ndid not often go down the face of the Ghauts. The shooting was good, and\nthere were plenty of bears in those days, but it needed a long day for\nsuch an expedition, and in view of the Dacoits who might be scattered\nabout, was not the sort of thing to be undertaken except with a strong\nparty. Norworthy had not given any precise orders about it, but I must\nadmit that he said one day:--\n\n\"'Of course you won't be fool enough to think of going down the Ghauts,\nHastings?' But I did not look at that as equivalent to a direct\norder--whatever I should do now,\" the colonel put in, on seeing a\nfurtive smile on the faces of his male listeners.\n\n\"However, I never meant to go down, though I used to stand on the edge\nand look longingly down into the bush and fancy I saw bears moving\nabout in scores. But I don't think I should have gone into their country\nif they had not come into mine. One day the fellow who always carried my\nspare gun or flask, and who was a sort of shekarry in a small way, told\nme he had heard that a farmer, whose house stood near the edge of the\nGhauts, some two miles away, had been seriously annoyed by his fruit and\ncorn being stolen by bears.\n\n\"'I'll go and have a look at the place to-morrow,' I said, 'there is no\nparade, and I can start early. You may as well tell the mess cook to put\nup a basket with some tiffin and a bottle of claret, and get a boy to\ncarry it over.'\n\n\"'The bears not come in day,' Rahman said.\n\n\"'Of course not,' I replied; 'still I may like to find out which way\nthey come. Just do as you are told.'\n\n\"The next morning, at seven o'clock, I was at the farmer's spoken of,\nand there was no mistake as to the bears. A patch of Indian corn had\nbeen ruined by them, and two dogs had been killed. The native was in a\nterrible state of rage and alarm. He said that on moonlight nights he\nhad seen eight of them, and they came and sniffed around the door of the\ncottage.\n\n\"'Why don't you fire through the window at them?' I asked scornfully,\nfor I had seen a score of tame bears in captivity, and, like you, Mary,\nwas inclined to despise them, though there was far less excuse for me;\nfor I had heard stories which should have convinced me that, small as he\nis, the Indian bear is not a beast to be attacked with impunity. Upon\nwalking to the edge of the Ghauts there was no difficulty in discovering\nthe route by which the bears came up to the farm. For a mile to the\nright and left the ground fell away as if cut with a knife, leaving a\nprecipice of over a hundred feet sheer down; but close by where I was\nstanding was the head of a watercourse, which in time had gradually worn\na sort of cleft in the wall, up or down which it was not difficult to\nmake one's way. Further down this little gorge widened out and became a\ndeep ravine, and further still a wide valley, where it opened upon the\nflats far below us. About half a mile down where the ravine was deepest\nand darkest was a thick clump of trees and jungle.\n\n\"'That's where the bears are?' I asked Rahman. He nodded. It seemed no\ndistance. I could get down and back in time for tiffin, and perhaps bag\na couple of bears. For a young sportsman the temptation was great. 'How\nlong would it take us to go down and have a shot or two at them?'\n\n\"'No good go down. Master come here at night, shoot bears when they come\nup.'\n\n\"I had thought of that; but, in the first place, it did not seem much\nsport to shoot the beasts from cover when they were quietly eating, and,\nin the next place, I knew that Norworthy could not, even if he were\nwilling, give me leave to go out of camp at night. I waited, hesitating\nfor a few minutes, and then I said to myself, 'It is of no use waiting.\nI could go down and get a bear and be back again while I am thinking of\nit;' then to Rahman, 'No, come along; we will have a look through that\nwood anyhow.'\n\n\"Rahman evidently did not like it.\n\n\"'Not easy find bear, sahib. He very cunning.'\n\n\"'Well, very likely we sha'n't find them,' I said, 'but we can try\nanyhow. Bring that bottle with you; the tiffin basket can wait here till\nwe come back.' In another five minutes I had begun to climb down the\nwatercourse--the shekarry following me. I took the double-barrelled\nrifle and handed him the shot-gun, having first dropped a bullet down\neach barrel over the charge. The ravine was steep, but there were bushes\nto hold on by, and although it was hot work and took a good deal longer\nthan I expected, we at last got down to the place which I had fixed upon\nas likely to be the bears' home.\n\n\"'Sahib, climb up top,' Rahman said; 'come down through wood; no good\nfire at bear when he above.'\n\n\"I had heard that before; but I was hot, the sun was pouring down, there\nwas not a breath of wind, and it looked a long way up to the top of the\nwood.\n\n\"'Give me the claret. It would take too long to search the wood\nregularly. We will sit down here for a bit, and if we can see anything\nmoving up in the wood, well and good; if not, we will come back again\nanother day with some beaters and dogs.' So saying, I sat down with my\nback against a rock, at a spot where I could look up among the trees for\na long way through a natural vista. I had a drink of claret, and then I\nsat and watched till gradually I dropped off to sleep. I don't know how\nlong I slept, but it was some time, and I woke up with a sudden start.\nRahman, who had, I fancy, been asleep too, also started up.\n\n[Illustration: \"MY GUN, RAHMAN,\" I SHOUTED.]\n\n\"The noise which had aroused us was made by a rolling stone striking a\nrock; and looking up I saw some fifty yards away, not in the wood, but\non the rocky hillside on our side of the ravine, a bear standing, as\nthough unconscious of our presence, snuffing the air. As was natural, I\nseized my rifle, cocked it, and took aim, unheeding a cry of 'No, no,\nsahib,' from Rahman. However, I was not going to miss such a chance as\nthis, and I let fly. The beast had been standing sideways to me, and as\nI saw him fall I felt sure I had hit him in the heart. I gave a shout of\ntriumph, and was about to climb up, when, from behind the rock on which\nthe bear had stood, appeared another growling fiercely; on seeing me, it\nat once prepared to come down. Stupidly, being taken by surprise, and\nbeing new at it, I fired at once at its head. The bear gave a spring,\nand then--it seemed instantaneous--down it came at me. Whether it rolled\ndown, or slipped down, or ran down, I don't know, but it came almost as\nif it had jumped straight at me.\n\n\"'My gun, Rahman,' I shouted, holding out my hand. There was no answer.\nI glanced round, and found that the scoundrel had bolted. I had time,\nand only just time, to take a step backwards, and to club my rifle, when\nthe brute was upon me. I got one fair blow at the side of its head, a\nblow that would have smashed the skull of any civilized beast into\npieces, and which did fortunately break the brute's jaw; then in an\ninstant he was upon me, and I was fighting for life. My hunting-knife\nwas out, and with my left hand I had the beast by the throat; while with\nmy right I tried to drive my knife into its ribs. My bullet had gone\nthrough his chest. The impetus of his charge had knocked me over, and we\nrolled on the ground, he tearing with his claws at my shoulder and arm,\nI stabbing and struggling, my great effort being to keep my knees up so\nas to protect my body with them from his hind claws. After the first\nblow with his paw, which laid my shoulder open, I do not think I felt\nany special pain whatever. There was a strange faint sensation, and my\nwhole energy seemed centered in the two ideas--to strike and to keep my\nknees up. I knew that I was getting faint, but I was dimly conscious\nthat his efforts, too, were relaxing. His weight on me seemed to\nincrease enormously, and the last idea that flashed across me was that\nit was a drawn fight.\n\n\"The next idea of which I was conscious was that I was being carried. I\nseemed to be swinging about, and I thought I was at sea. Then there was\na little jolt and a sense of pain. 'A collision,' I muttered, and opened\nmy eyes. Beyond the fact that I seemed in a yellow world--a bright\norange-yellow--my eyes did not help me, and I lay vaguely wondering\nabout it all, till the rocking ceased. There was another bump, and then\nthe yellow world seemed to come to an end; and as the daylight streamed\nin upon me I fainted again. This time when I awoke to consciousness\nthings were clearer. I was stretched by a little stream. A native woman\nwas sprinkling my face and washing the blood from my wounds; while\nanother, who had with my own knife cut off my coat and shirt, was\ntearing the latter into strips to bandage my wounds. The yellow world\nwas explained. I was lying on the yellow robe of one of the women. They\nhad tied the ends together, placed a long stick through them, and\ncarried me in the bag-like hammock. They nodded to me when they saw I\nwas conscious, and brought water in a large leaf, and poured it into my\nmouth. Then one went away for some time, and came back with some leaves\nand bark. These they chewed and put on my wounds, bound them up with\nstrips of my shirt, and then again knotted the ends of the cloth, and\nlifting me up, went on as before.\n\n\"I was sure that we were much lower down the Ghaut than we had been when\nI was watching for the bears, and we were now going still lower.\nHowever, I knew very little Hindustani, nothing of the language the\nwomen spoke. I was too weak to stand, too weak even to think much; and I\ndozed and woke, and dozed again, until, after what seemed to me many\nhours of travel, we stopped again, this time before a tent. Two or three\nold women and four or five men came out, and there was great talking\nbetween them and the young women--for they were young--who had carried\nme down. Some of the party appeared angry; but at last things quieted\ndown, and I was carried into the tent. I had fever, and was, I suppose,\ndelirious for days. I afterwards found that for fully a fortnight I had\nlost all consciousness; but a good constitution and the nursing of the\nwomen pulled me round. When once the fever had gone, I began to mend\nrapidly. I tried to explain to the women that if they would go up to the\ncamp and tell them where I was they would be well rewarded; but although\nI was sure they understood, they shook their heads, and by the fact that\nas I became stronger two or three armed men always hung about the tent,\nI came to the conclusion that I was a sort of prisoner. This was\nannoying, but did not seem serious. If these people were Dacoits, or, as\nwas more likely, allies of the Dacoits, I could be kept only for ransom\nor exchange. Moreover, I felt sure of my ability to escape when I got\nstrong, especially as I believed that in the young women who had saved\nmy life, both by bringing me down and by their careful nursing, I should\nfind friends.\"\n\n\"Were they pretty, uncle?\" Mary Hastings broke in.\n\n\"Never mind whether they were pretty, Mary; they were better than\npretty.\"\n\n\"No; but we like to know, uncle.\"\n\n\"Well, except for the soft, dark eyes, common to the race, and the good\ntemper and lightheartedness, also so general among Hindu girls, and the\ntenderness which women feel towards a creature whose life they have\nsaved, whether it is a wounded bird or a drowning puppy, I suppose they\nwere nothing remarkable in the way of beauty, but at the time I know\nthat I thought them charming.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\n\"Just as I was getting strong enough to walk, and was beginning to think\nof making my escape, a band of five or six fellows, armed to the teeth,\ncame in, and made signs that I was to go with them. It was evidently an\narranged thing, the girls only were surprised, but they were at once\nturned out, and as we started I could see two crouching figures in the\nshade with their cloths over their heads. I had a native garment thrown\nover my shoulders, and in five minutes after the arrival of the fellows\nfound myself on my way. It took us some six hours before we reached our\ndestination, which was one of those natural rock citadels. Had I been in\nmy usual health I could have done the distance in an hour and a half,\nbut I had to rest constantly, and was finally carried rather than helped\nup. I had gone not unwillingly, for the men were clearly, by their\ndress, Dacoits of the Deccan, and I had no doubt that it was intended\neither to ransom or exchange me.\n\n\"At the foot of this natural castle were some twenty or thirty more\nrobbers, and I was led to a rough sort of arbour in which was lying, on\na pile of maize straw, a man who was evidently their chief. He rose and\nwe exchanged salaams.\n\n\"'What is your name, sahib?' he asked in Mahratta.\n\n\"'Hastings--Lieutenant Hastings,' I said. 'And yours?'\n\n\"'Sivajee Punt!' he said.\n\n\"This was bad. I had fallen into the hands of the most troublesome,\nmost ruthless, and most famous of the Dacoit leaders. Over and over\nagain he had been hotly chased, but had always managed to get away; and\nwhen I last heard anything of what was going on four or five troops of\nnative police were scouring the country after him. He gave an order\nwhich I did not understand, and a wretched Bombay writer, I suppose a\nclerk of some money-lender, was dragged forward. Sivajee Punt spoke to\nhim for some time, and the fellow then told me in English that I was to\nwrite at once to the officer commanding the troops, telling him that I\nwas in his hands, and should be put to death directly he was attacked.\n\n\"'Ask him,' I said, 'if he will take any sum of money to let me go?'\n\n\"Sivajee shook his head very decidedly.\n\n\"A piece of paper was put before me, and a pen and ink, and I wrote as I\nhad been ordered, adding, however, in French, that I had brought myself\ninto my present position by my own folly, and would take my chance, for\nI well knew the importance which Government attached to Sivajee's\ncapture. I read out loud all that I had written in English, and the\ninterpreter translated it. Then the paper was folded and I addressed it,\n'The Officer Commanding,' and I was given some chupattis and a drink of\nwater, and allowed to sleep. The Dacoits had apparently no fear of any\nimmediate attack.\n\n\"It was still dark, although morning was just breaking, when I was\nawakened, and was got up to the citadel. I was hoisted rather than\nclimbed, two men standing above with a rope, tied round my body, so that\nI was half-hauled, half-pushed up the difficult places, which would have\ntaxed all my climbing powers had I been in health.\n\n\"The height of this mass of rock was about a hundred feet; the top was\nfairly flat, with some depressions and risings, and about eighty feet\nlong by fifty wide. It had evidently been used as a fortress in ages\npast. Along the side facing the hill were the remains of a rough wall.\nIn the centre of a depression was a cistern, some four feet square,\nlined with stone-work, and in another depression a gallery had been cut,\nleading to a subterranean store-room or chamber. This natural fortress\nrose from the face of the hill at a distance of a thousand yards or so\nfrom the edge of the plateau, which was fully two hundred feet higher\nthan the top of the rock. In the old days it would have been\nimpregnable, and even at that time it was an awkward place to take, for\nthe troops were armed only with Brown Bess, and rifled cannon were not\nthought of. Looking round, I could see that I was some four miles from\nthe point where I had descended. The camp was gone; but running my eye\nalong the edge of the plateau I could see the tops of tents a mile to my\nright, and again two miles to my left; turning round, and looking down\ninto the wide valley, I saw a regimental camp.\n\n\"It was evident that a vigorous effort was being made to surround and\ncapture the Dacoits, since troops had been brought up from Bombay. In\naddition to the troops above and below, there would probably be a strong\npolice force, acting on the face of the hill. I did not see all these\nthings at the time, for I was, as soon as I got to the top, ordered to\nsit down behind the parapet, a fellow armed to the teeth squatting down\nby me, and signifying that if I showed my head above the stones he would\ncut my throat without hesitation. There were, however, sufficient gaps\nbetween the stones to allow me to have a view of the crest of the Ghaut,\nwhile below my view extended down to the hills behind Bombay. It was\nevident to me now why the Dacoits did not climb up into the fortress.\nThere were dozens of similar crags on the face of the Ghauts, and the\ntroops did not as yet know their whereabouts. It was a sort of blockade\nof the whole face of the hills which was being kept up, and there were,\nprobably enough, several other bands of Dacoits lurking in the jungle.\n\n\"There were only two guards and myself on the rock plateau. I discussed\nwith myself the chances of my overpowering them and holding the top of\nthe rock till help came; but I was greatly weakened, and was not a match\nfor a boy, much less for the two stalwart Mahrattas; besides, I was by\nno means sure that the way I had been brought up was the only possible\npath to the top. The day passed off quietly. The heat on the bare rock\nwas frightful, but one of the men, seeing how weak and ill I really was,\nfetched a thick rug from the storehouse, and with the aid of a stick\nmade a sort of lean-to against the wall, under which I lay sheltered\nfrom the sun.\n\n\"Once or twice during the day I heard a few distant musket-shots, and\nonce a sharp heavy outburst of firing. It must have been three or four\nmiles away, but it was on the side of the Ghaut, and showed that the\ntroops or police were at work. My guards looked anxiously in that\ndirection, and uttered sundry curses. When it was dusk, Sivajee and\neight of the Dacoits came up. From what they said, I gathered that the\nrest of the band had dispersed, trusting either to get through the line\nof their pursuers, or, if caught, to escape with slight punishment, the\nmen who remained being too deeply concerned in murderous outrages to\nhope for mercy. Sivajee himself handed me a letter, which the man who\nhad taken my note had brought back in reply. Major Knapp, the writer,\nwho was the second in command, said that he could not engage the\nGovernment, but that if Lieutenant Hastings was given up the act would\ncertainly dispose the Government to take the most merciful view\npossible; but that if, on the contrary, any harm was suffered by\nLieutenant Hastings, every man taken would be at once hung. Sivajee did\nnot appear put out about it. I do not think he expected any other\nanswer, and imagine that his real object in writing was simply to let\nthem know that I was a prisoner, and so enable him the better to\nparalyse the attack upon a position which he no doubt considered all but\nimpregnable.\n\n\"I was given food, and was then allowed to walk as I chose upon the\nlittle plateau, two of the Dacoits taking post as sentries at the\nsteepest part of the path, while the rest gathered, chatting and\nsmoking, in the depression in front of the storehouse. It was still\nlight enough for me to see for some distance down the face of the rock,\nand I strained my eyes to see if I could discern any other spot at which\nan ascent or descent was possible. The prospect was not encouraging. At\nsome places the face fell sheer away from the edge, and so evident was\nthe impracticability of escape that the only place which I glanced at\ntwice was the western side, that is the one away from the hill. Here it\nsloped gradually for a few feet. I took off my shoes and went down to\nthe edge. Below, some ten feet, was a ledge, on to which with care I\ncould get down, but below that was a sheer fall of some fifty feet. As a\nmeans of escape it was hopeless, but it struck me that if an attack was\nmade I might slip away and get on to the ledge. Once there I could not\nbe seen except by a person standing where I now was, just on the edge of\nthe <DW72>, a spot to which it was very unlikely that anyone would come.\n\n\"The thought gave me a shadow of hope, and, returning to the upper end\nof the platform, I lay down, and in spite of the hardness of the rock,\nwas soon asleep. The pain of my aching bones woke me up several times,\nand once, just as the first tinge of dawn was coming, I thought I could\nhear movements in the jungle. I raised myself somewhat, and I saw that\nthe sounds had been heard by the Dacoits, for they were standing\nlistening, and some of them were bringing spare fire-arms from the\nstorehouse, in evident preparation for attack.\n\n\"As I afterwards learned, the police had caught one of the Dacoits\ntrying to effect his escape, and by means of a little of the ingenious\ntorture to which the Indian police then frequently resorted, when their\nwhite officers were absent, they obtained from him the exact position of\nSivajee's band, and learned the side from which the ascent must be made.\nThat the Dacoit and his band were still upon the <DW72>s of the Ghauts\nthey knew, and were gradually narrowing their circle, but there were so\nmany rocks and hiding-places that the process of searching was a slow\none, and the intelligence was so important that the news was off at once\nto the colonel, who gave orders for the police to surround the rock at\ndaylight and to storm it if possible. The garrison was so small that the\npolice were alone ample for the work, supposing that the natural\ndifficulties were not altogether insuperable.\n\n\"Just at daybreak there was a distant noise of men moving in the\njungle, and the Dacoit half-way down the path fired his gun. He was\nanswered by a shout and a volley. The Dacoits hurried out from the\nchamber, and lay down on the edge, where, sheltered by a parapet, they\ncommanded the path. They paid no attention to me, and I kept as far away\nas possible. The fire began--a quiet, steady fire, a shot at a time, and\nin strong contrast to the rattle kept up from the surrounding jungle;\nbut every shot must have told, as man after man who strove to climb that\nsteep path, fell. It lasted only ten minutes, and then all was quiet\nagain.\n\n\"The attack had failed, as I knew it must do, for two men could have\nheld the place against an army; a quarter of an hour later a gun from\nthe crest above spoke out, and a round shot whistled above our heads.\nBeyond annoyance, an artillery fire could do no harm, for the party\ncould be absolutely safe in the store cave. The instant the shot flew\noverhead, however, Sivajee Punt beckoned to me, and motioned me to take\nmy seat on the wall facing the guns. Hesitation was useless, and I took\nmy seat with my back to the Dacoits and my face to the hill. One of the\nDacoits, as I did so, pulled off the native cloth which covered my\nshoulders, in order that I might be clearly seen.\n\n\"Just as I took my place another round shot hummed by; but then there\nwas a long interval of silence. With a field-glass every feature must\nhave been distinguishable to the gunners, and I had no doubt that they\nwere waiting for orders as to what to do next.\n\n\"I glanced round and saw that with the exception of one fellow squatted\nbehind the parapet some half-dozen yards away, clearly as a sentry to\nkeep me in place, all the others had disappeared. Some, no doubt, were\non sentry down the path, the others were in the store beneath me. After\nhalf an hour's silence the guns spoke out again. Evidently the gunners\nwere told to be as careful as they could, for some of the shots went\nwide on the left, others on the right. A few struck the rock below me.\nThe situation was not pleasant, but I thought that at a thousand yards\nthey ought not to hit me, and I tried to distract my attention by\nthinking out what I should do under every possible contingency.\n\n\"Presently I felt a crash and a shock, and fell backwards to the ground.\nI was not hurt, and on picking myself up saw that the ball had struck\nthe parapet to the left, just where my guard was sitting, and he lay\ncovered with its fragments. His turban lay some yards behind him.\nWhether he was dead or not I neither knew nor cared.\n\n\"I pushed down some of the parapet where I had been sitting, dropped my\ncap on the edge outside, so as to make it appear that I had fallen over,\nand then picking up the man's turban, ran to the other end of the\nplatform and scrambled down to the ledge. Then I began to wave my arms\nabout--I had nothing on above the waist--and in a moment I saw a face\nwith a uniform cap peer out through the jungle, and a hand was waved. I\nmade signs to him to make his way to the foot of the perpendicular wall\nof rock beneath me. I then unwound the turban, whose length was, I knew,\namply sufficient to reach to the bottom, and then looked round for\nsomething to write on. I had my pencil still in my trousers pocket, but\nnot a scrap of paper.\n\n\"I picked up a flattish piece of rock and wrote on it, 'Get a\nrope-ladder quickly, I can haul it up. Ten men in garrison. They are all\nunder cover. Keep on firing to distract their attention.\"\n\n\"I tied the stone to the end of the turban, and looked over. A\nnon-commissioned officer of the police was already standing below. I\nlowered the stone; he took it, waved his hand to me, and was gone.\n\n\"An hour passed: it seemed an age. The round shots still rang overhead,\nand the fire was now much more heavy and sustained than before.\nPresently I again saw a movement in the jungle, and Norworthy's face\nappeared, and he waved his arm in greeting.\n\n\"Five minutes more and a party were gathered at the foot of the rock,\nand a strong rope was tied to the cloth. I pulled it up. A rope-ladder\nwas attached to it, and the top rung was in a minute or two in my hands.\nTo it was tied a piece of paper with the words: 'Can you fasten the\nladder?\" I wrote on the paper: 'No; but I can hold it for a light\nweight.'\n\n\"I put the paper with a stone in the end of the cloth, and lowered it\nagain. Then I sat down, tied the rope round my waist, got my feet\nagainst two projections, and waited. There was a jerk, and then I felt\nsome one was coming up the rope-ladder. The strain was far less than I\nexpected, but the native policeman who came up first did not weigh half\nso much as an average Englishman. There were now two of us to hold. The\nofficer in command of the police came up next, then Norworthy, then a\ndozen more police. I explained the situation, and we mounted to the\nupper level. Not a soul was to be seen. Quickly we advanced and took up\na position to command the door of the underground chamber; while one of\nthe police waved a white cloth from his bayonet as a signal to the\ngunners to cease firing. Then the police officer hailed the party within\nthe cave.\n\n\"'Sivajee Punt! you may as well come out and give yourself up! We are in\npossession, and resistance is useless!'\n\n\"A yell of rage and surprise was heard, and the Dacoits, all desperate\nmen, came bounding out, firing as they did so. Half of their number were\nshot down at once, and the rest, after a short, sharp struggle, were\nbound hand and foot.\n\n\"That is pretty well all of the story, I think. Sivajee Punt was one of\nthe killed. The prisoners were all either hung or imprisoned for life. I\nescaped my blowing-up for having gone down the Ghauts after the bear,\nbecause, after all, Sivajee Punt might have defied their force for\nmonths had I not done so.\n\n\"It seemed that that scoundrel Rahman had taken back word that I was\nkilled. Norworthy had sent down a strong party, who found the two dead\nbears, and who, having searched everywhere without finding any signs of\nmy body, came to the conclusion that I had been found and carried away,\nespecially as they ascertained that natives used that path. They had\noffered rewards, but nothing was heard of me till my note saying I was\nin Sivajee's hands arrived.\"\n\n\"And did you ever see the women who carried you off?\"\n\n\"No, Mary, I never saw them again. I did, however, after immense\ntrouble, succeed in finding out where it was that I had been taken to. I\nwent down at once, but found the village deserted. Then after much\ninquiry I found where the people had moved to, and sent messages to the\nwomen to come up to the camp, but they never came; and I was reduced at\nlast to sending them down two sets of silver bracelets, necklaces, and\nbangles, which must have rendered them the envy of all the women on the\nGhauts. They sent back a message of grateful thanks, and I never heard\nof them afterwards. No doubt their relatives, who knew that their\nconnection with the Dacoits was now known, would not let them come.\nHowever, I had done all I could, and I have no doubt the women were\nperfectly satisfied. So you see, my dear, that the Indian bear, small\nas he is, is an animal which it is as well to leave alone, at any rate\nwhen he happens to be up on the side of a hill while you are at the\nfoot.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nTHE PATERNOSTERS.\n\nA YACHTING STORY.\n\n\n\"And do you really mean that we are to cross by the steamer, Mr. Virtue,\nwhile you go over in the _Seabird_? I do not approve of that at all.\nFanny, why do you not rebel, and say we won't be put ashore? I call it\nhorrid, after a fortnight on board this dear little yacht, to have to\nget on to a crowded steamer, with no accommodation and lots of sea-sick\nwomen, perhaps, and crying children. You surely cannot be in earnest?\"\n\n\"I do not like it any more than you do, Minnie; but, as Tom says we had\nbetter do it, and my husband agrees with him, I am afraid we must\nsubmit. Do you really think it is quite necessary, Mr. Virtue? Minnie\nand I are both good sailors, you know; and we would much rather have a\nlittle extra tossing about on board the _Seabird_ than the discomforts\nof a steamer.\"\n\n\"I certainly think that it will be best, Mrs. Grantham. You know very\nwell we would rather have you on board, and that we shall suffer from\nyour loss more than you will by going the other way; but there's no\ndoubt the wind is getting up, and though we don't feel it much here, it\nmust be blowing pretty hard outside. The _Seabird_ is as good a sea-boat\nas anything of her size that floats; but you don't know what it is to be\nout in anything like a heavy sea in a thirty-tonner. It would be\nimpossible for you to stay on deck, and we should have our hands full,\nand should not be able to give you the benefit of our society.\nPersonally, I should not mind being out in the _Seabird_ in any weather,\nbut I would certainly rather not have ladies on board.\"\n\n\"You don't think we should scream, or do anything foolish, Mr. Virtue?\"\nMinnie Graham said indignantly.\n\n\"Not at all, Miss Graham. Still, I repeat, the knowledge that there are\nwomen on board, delightful at other times, does not tend to comfort in\nbad weather. Of course, if you prefer it, we can put off our start till\nthis puff of wind has blown itself out. It may have dropped before\nmorning. It may last some little time. I don't think myself that it\nwill drop, for the glass has fallen, and I am afraid we may have a spell\nof broken weather.\"\n\n\"Oh no; don't put it off,\" Mrs. Grantham said; \"we have only another\nfortnight before James must be back again in London, and it would be a\ngreat pity to lose three or four days perhaps; and we have been looking\nforward to cruising about among the Channel Islands, and to St. Malo,\nand all those places. Oh no; I think the other is much the better\nplan--that is, if you won't take us with you.\"\n\n\"It would be bad manners to say that I won't, Mrs. Grantham; but I must\nsay I would rather not. It will be a very short separation. Grantham\nwill take you on shore at once, and as soon as the boat comes back I\nshall be off. You will start in the steamer this evening, and get into\nJersey at nine or ten o'clock to-morrow morning; and if I am not there\nbefore you, I shall not be many hours after you.\"\n\n\"Well, if it must be it must,\" Mrs. Grantham said, with an air of\nresignation. \"Come, Minnie, let us put a few things into a hand-bag for\nto-night. You see the skipper is not to be moved by our pleadings.\"\n\n\"That is the worst of you married women, Fanny,\" Miss Graham said, with\na little pout. \"You get into the way of doing as you are ordered. I call\nit too bad. Here have we been cruising about for the last fortnight,\nwith scarcely a breath of wind, and longing for a good brisk breeze and\na little change and excitement, and now it comes at last, we are to be\npacked off in a steamer. I call it horrid of you, Mr. Virtue. You may\nlaugh, but I do.\"\n\nTom Virtue laughed, but he showed no signs of giving way, and ten\nminutes later Mr. and Mrs. Grantham and Miss Graham took their places in\nthe gig, and were rowed into Southampton Harbour, off which the\n_Seabird_ was lying.\n\nThe last fortnight had been a very pleasant one, and it had cost the\nowner of the _Seabird_ as much as his guests to come to the conclusion\nthat it was better to break up the party for a few hours.\n\nTom Virtue had, up to the age of five-and-twenty, been possessed of a\nsufficient income for his wants. He had entered at the bar, not that he\nfelt any particular vocation in that direction, but because he thought\nit incumbent upon him to do something. Then, at the death of an uncle,\nhe had come into a considerable fortune, and was able to indulge his\ntaste for yachting, which was the sole amusement for which he really\ncared, to the fullest.\n\nHe sold the little five-tonner he had formerly possessed, and purchased\nthe _Seabird_. He could well have afforded a much larger craft, but he\nknew that there was far more real enjoyment in sailing to be obtained\nfrom a small craft than a large one, for in the latter he would be\nobliged to have a regular skipper, and would be little more than a\npassenger, whereas on board the _Seabird_, although his first hand was\ndignified by the name of skipper, he was himself the absolute master.\nThe boat carried the aforesaid skipper, three hands, and a steward, and\nwith them he had twice been up the Mediterranean, across to Norway, and\nhad several times made the circuit of the British Isles.\n\nHe had unlimited confidence in his boat, and cared not what weather he\nwas out in her. This was the first time since his ownership of her that\nthe _Seabird_ had carried lady passengers. His friend Grantham, an old\nschool and college chum, was a hard-working barrister, and Virtue had\nproposed to him to take a month's holiday on board the _Seabird_.\n\n\"Put aside your books, old man,\" he said. \"You look fagged and\noverworked; a month's blow will do you all the good in the world.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Tom; I have made up my mind for a month's holiday, but I\ncan't accept your invitation, though I should enjoy it of all things.\nBut it would not be fair to my wife; she doesn't get very much of my\nsociety, and she has been looking forward to our having a run together.\nSo I must decline.\"\n\nVirtue hesitated a moment. He was not very fond of ladies' society, and\nthought them especially in the way on board a yacht; but he had a great\nliking for his friend's wife, and was almost as much at home in his\nhouse as in his own chambers.\n\n\"Why not bring the wife with you?\" he said, as soon as his mind was made\nup. \"It will be a nice change for her too; and I have heard her say that\nshe is a good sailor. The accommodation is not extensive, but the\nafter-cabin is a pretty good size, and I would do all I could to make\nher comfortable. Perhaps she would like another lady with her; if so by\nall means bring one. They could have the after-cabin, you could have the\nlittle state-room, and I could sleep in the saloon.\"\n\n\"It is very good of you, Tom, especially as I know that it will put you\nout frightfully; but the offer is a very tempting one. I will speak to\nFanny, and let you have an answer in the morning.\"\n\n\"That will be delightful, James,\" Mrs. Grantham said, when the\ninvitation was repeated to her. \"I should like it of all things; and I\nam sure the rest and quiet and the sea air will be just the thing for\nyou. It is wonderful, Tom Virtue making the offer; and I take it as a\ngreat personal compliment, for he certainly is not what is generally\ncalled a lady's man. It is very nice, too, of him to think of my having\nanother lady on board. Whom shall we ask? Oh, I know,\" she said\nsuddenly; \"that will be the thing of all others. We will ask my cousin\nMinnie; she is full of fun and life, and will make a charming wife for\nTom!\"\n\nJames Grantham laughed.\n\n\"What schemers you all are, Fanny! Now I should call it downright\ntreachery to take anyone on board the _Seabird_ with the idea of\ncapturing its master.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, treachery!\" Mrs. Grantham said indignantly; \"Minnie is the\nnicest girl I know, and it would do Tom a world of good to have a wife\nto look after him. Why, he is thirty now, and will be settling down\ninto a confirmed old bachelor before long. It's the greatest kindness we\ncould do him, to take Minnie on board; and I am sure he is the sort of\nman any girl might fall in love with when she gets to know him. The fact\nis, he's shy! He never had any sisters, and spends all his time in\nwinter at that horrid club; so that really he has never had any women's\nsociety, and even with us he will never come unless he knows we are\nalone. I call it a great pity, for I don't know a pleasanter fellow than\nhe is. I think it will be doing him a real service in asking Minnie; so\nthat's settled. I will sit down and write him a note.\"\n\n\"In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose,\" was Tom Virtue's comment\nwhen he received Mrs. Grantham's letter, thanking him warmly for the\ninvitation, and saying that she would bring her cousin, Miss Graham,\nwith her, if that young lady was disengaged.\n\nAs a matter of self-defence he at once invited Jack Harvey, who was a\nmutual friend of himself and Grantham, to be of the party.\n\n\"Jack can help Grantham to amuse the women,\" he said to himself; \"that\nwill be more in his line than mine. I will run down to Cowes to-morrow\nand have a chat with Johnson; we shall want a different sort of stores\naltogether to those we generally carry, and I suppose we must do her up\na bit below.\"\n\nHaving made up his mind to the infliction of female passengers, Tom\nVirtue did it handsomely, and when the party came on board at Ryde they\nwere delighted with the aspect of the yacht below. She had been\nrepainted, the saloon and ladies' cabin were decorated in delicate\nshades of gray, picked out with gold; and the upholsterer, into whose\nhands the owner of the _Seabird_ had placed her, had done his work with\ntaste and judgment, and the ladies' cabin resembled a little boudoir.\n\n\"Why, Tom, I should have hardly known her!\" Grantham, who had often\nspent a day on board the _Seabird_, said.\n\n\"I hardly know her myself,\" Tom said, rather ruefully; \"but I hope she's\nall right, Mrs. Grantham, and that you and Miss Graham will find\neverything you want.\"\n\n\"It is charming!\" Mrs. Grantham said enthusiastically. \"It's awfully\ngood of you, Tom, and we appreciate it; don't we, Minnie? It is such a\nsurprise, too; for James said that while I should find everything very\ncomfortable, I must not expect that a small yacht would be got up like a\npalace.\"\n\nSo a fortnight had passed; they had cruised along the coast as far as\nPlymouth, anchoring at night at the various ports on the way. Then they\nhad returned to Southampton, and it had been settled that as none of the\nparty, with the exception of Virtue himself, had been to the Channel\nIslands, the last fortnight of the trip should be spent there. The\nweather had been delightful, save that there had been some deficiency in\nwind, and throughout the cruise the _Seabird_ had been under all the\nsail she could spread. But when the gentlemen came on deck early in the\nmorning a considerable change had taken place; the sky was gray and the\nclouds flying fast overhead.\n\n\"We are going to have dirty weather,\" Tom Virtue said at once. \"I don't\nthink it's going to be a gale, but there will be more sea on than will\nbe pleasant for ladies. I tell you what, Grantham; the best thing will\nbe for you to go on shore with the two ladies, and cross by the boat\nto-night. If you don't mind going directly after breakfast I will start\nat once, and shall be at St. Helier's as soon as you are.\"\n\nAnd so it had been agreed, but not, as has been seen, without opposition\nand protest on the part of the ladies.\n\nMrs. Grantham's chief reason for objecting had not been given. The\nlittle scheme on which she had set her mind seemed to be working\nsatisfactorily. From the first day Tom Virtue had exerted himself to\nplay the part of host satisfactorily, and had ere long shaken off any\nshyness he may have felt towards the one stranger of the party, and he\nand Miss Graham had speedily got on friendly terms. So things were going\non as well as Mrs. Grantham could have expected.\n\nNo sooner had his guests left the side of the yacht than her owner began\nto make his preparations for a start.\n\n\"What do you think of the weather, Watkins?\" he asked his skipper.\n\n\"It's going to blow hard, sir; that's my view of it, and if I was you I\nshouldn't up anchor to-day. Still, it's just as you likes; the _Seabird_\nwon't mind it if we don't. She has had a rough time of it before now;\nstill, it will be a case of wet jackets, and no mistake.\"\n\n\"Yes, I expect we shall have a rough time of it, Watkins, but I want to\nget across. We don't often let ourselves be weather-bound, and I am not\ngoing to begin it to-day. We had better house the topmast at once, and\nget two reefs in the main-sail. We can get the other down when we get\nclear of the island. Get number three jib up, and the leg-of-mutton\nmizzen; put two reefs in the foresail.\"\n\nTom and his friend Harvey, who was a good sailor, assisted the crew in\nreefing down the sails, and a few minutes after the gig had returned and\nbeen hoisted in, the yawl was running rapidly down Southampton waters.\n\n\"We need hardly have reefed quite so closely,\" Jack Harvey said, as he\npuffed away at his pipe.\n\n\"Not yet, Jack; but you will see she has as much as she can carry before\nlong. It's all the better to make all snug before starting; it saves a\nlot of trouble afterwards, and the extra canvas would not have made ten\nminutes' difference to us at the outside. We shall have pretty nearly a\ndead beat down the Solent. Fortunately tide will be running strong with\nus, but there will be a nasty kick-up there. You will see we shall feel\nthe short choppy seas there more than we shall when we get outside. She\nis a grand boat in a really heavy sea, but in short waves she puts her\nnose into it with a will. Now, if you will take my advice, you will do\nas I am going to do; put on a pair of fisherman's boots and oilskin and\nsou'-wester. There are several sets for you to choose from below.\"\n\nAs her owner had predicted, the _Seabird_ put her bowsprit under pretty\nfrequently in the Solent; the wind was blowing half a gale, and as it\nmet the tide it knocked up a short, angry sea, crested with white heads,\nand Jack Harvey agreed that she had quite as much sail on her as she\nwanted. The cabin doors were bolted, and all made snug to prevent the\nwater getting below before they got to the race off Hurst Castle; and it\nwas well that they did so, for she was as much under water as she was\nabove.\n\n\"I think if I had given way to the ladies and brought them with us they\nwould have changed their minds by this time, Jack,\" Tom Virtue said,\nwith a laugh.\n\n\"I should think so,\" his friend agreed; \"this is not a day for a\nfair-weather sailor. Look what a sea is breaking on the shingles!\"\n\n\"Yes, five minutes there would knock her into matchwood. Another ten\nminutes and we shall be fairly out; and I sha'n't be sorry; one feels as\nif one was playing football, only just at present the _Seabird_ is the\nball and the waves the kickers.\"\n\nAnother quarter of an hour and they had passed the Needles.\n\n\"That is more pleasant, Jack,\" as the short, chopping motion was\nexchanged for a regular rise and fall; \"this is what I enjoy--a steady\nwind and a regular sea. The _Seabird_ goes over it like one of her\nnamesakes; she is not taking a teacupful now over her bows.\n\n\"Watkins, you may as well take the helm for a spell, while we go down to\nlunch. I am not sorry to give it up for a bit, for it has been jerking\nlike the kick of a horse.\n\n\"That's right, Jack, hang up your oilskin there. Johnson, give us a\ncouple of towels; we have been pretty well smothered up there on deck.\nNow what have you got for us?\"\n\n\"There is some soup ready, sir, and that cold pie you had for dinner\nyesterday.\"\n\n\"That will do; open a couple of bottles of stout.\"\n\nLunch, over, they went on deck again.\n\n\"She likes a good blow as well as we do,\" Virtue said, enthusiastically,\nas the yawl rose lightly over each wave. \"What do you think of it,\nWatkins? Is the wind going to lull a bit as the sun goes down?\"\n\n\"I think not, sir. It seems to me it's blowing harder than it was.\"\n\n\"Then we will prepare for the worst, Watkins; get the try-sail up on\ndeck. When you are ready we will bring her up into the wind and set it.\nThat's the comfort of a yawl, Jack; one can always lie to without any\nbother, and one hasn't got such a tremendous boom to handle.\"\n\nThe try-sail was soon on deck, and then the _Seabird_ was brought up\ninto the wind, the weather fore-sheet hauled aft, the mizzen sheeted\nalmost fore and aft, and the _Seabird_ lay, head to wind, rising and\nfalling with a gentle motion, in strong contrast to her impetuous rushes\nwhen under sail.\n\n\"She would ride out anything like that,\" her owner said. \"Last time we\ncame through the Bay on our way from Gib., we were caught in a gale\nstrong enough to blow the hair off one's head, and we lay to for nearly\nthree days, and didn't ship a bucket of water all the time. Now let us\nlend a hand to get the main-sail stowed.\"\n\nTen minutes' work and it was securely fastened and its cover on; two\nreefs were put in the try-sail. Two hands went to each of the halliards,\nwhile, as the sail rose, Tom Virtue fastened the toggles round the mast.\n\n\"All ready, Watkins?\"\n\n\"All ready, sir.\"\n\n\"Slack off the weather fore-sheet, then, and haul aft the leeward. Slack\nout the mizzen-sheet a little, Jack. That's it; now she's off again,\nlike a duck.\"\n\nThe _Seabird_ felt the relief from the pressure of the heavy boom to\nleeward and rose easily and lightly over the waves.\n\n\"She certainly is a splendid sea-boat, Tom; I don't wonder you are ready\nto go anywhere in her. I thought we were rather fools for starting this\nmorning, although I enjoy a good blow; but now I don't care how hard it\ncomes on.\"\n\nBy night it was blowing a downright gale.\n\n\"We will lie to till morning, Watkins. So that we get in by daylight\nto-morrow evening, that is all we want. See our side-lights are burning\nwell, and you had better get up a couple of blue lights, in case\nanything comes running up Channel and don't see our lights. We had\nbetter divide into two watches; I will keep one with Matthews and\nDawson, Mr. Harvey will go in your watch with Nicholls. We had better\nget the try-sail down altogether, and lie to under the foresail and\nmizzen, but don't put many lashings on the try-sail, one will be enough,\nand have it ready to cast off in a moment, in case we want to hoist the\nsail in a hurry. I will go down and have a glass of hot grog first, and\nthen I will take my watch to begin with. Let the two hands with me go\ndown; the steward will serve them out a tot each. Jack, you had better\nturn in at once.\"\n\nVirtue was soon on deck again, muffled up in his oilskins.\n\n\"Now, Watkins, you can go below and turn in.\"\n\n\"I sha'n't go below to-night, sir--not to lie down. There's nothing much\nto do here, but I couldn't sleep, if I did lie down.\"\n\n\"Very well; you had better go below and get a glass of grog; tell the\nsteward to give you a big pipe with a cover like this, out of the\nlocker; and there's plenty of chewing tobacco, if the men are short.\"\n\n\"I will take that instead of a pipe,\" Watkins said; \"there's nothing\nlike a quid in weather like this, it ain't never in your way, and it\nlasts. Even with a cover a pipe would soon be out.\"\n\n\"Please yourself, Watkins; tell the two hands forward to keep a bright\nlook-out for lights.\"\n\nThe night passed slowly. Occasionally a sea heavier than usual came on\nboard, curling over the bow and falling with a heavy thud on the deck,\nbut for the most part the _Seabird_ breasted the waves easily; the\nbowsprit had been reefed in to its fullest, thereby adding to the\nlightness and buoyancy of the boat. Tom Virtue did not go below when his\nfriend came up to relieve him at the change of watch, but sat smoking\nand doing much talking in the short intervals between the gusts.\n\nThe morning broke gray and misty, driving sleet came along on the wind,\nand the horizon was closed in as by a dull curtain.\n\n\"How far can we see, do you think, Watkins?\"\n\n\"Perhaps a couple of miles, sir.\"\n\n\"That will be enough. I think we both know the position of every reef to\nwithin a hundred yards, so we will shape our course for Guernsey. If we\nhappen to hit it off, we can hold on to St. Helier; but if when we think\nwe ought to be within sight of Guernsey we see nothing of it, we must\nlie to again, till the storm has blown itself out or the clouds lift. It\nwould never do to go groping our way along with such currents as run\namong the islands. Put the last reef in the try-sail before you hoist\nit. I think you had better get the foresail down altogether, and run up\nthe spit-fire jib.\"\n\nThe _Seabird_ was soon under way again.\n\n\"Now, Watkins, you take the helm; we will go down and have a cup of hot\ncoffee, and I will see that the steward has a good supply for you and\nthe hands; but first, do you take the helm, Jack, whilst Watkins and I\nhave a look at the chart, and try and work out where we are, and the\ncourse we had better lie for Guernsey.\"\n\nFive minutes were spent over the chart, then Watkins went up and Jack\nHarvey came down.\n\n\"You have got the coffee ready, I hope, Johnson?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, coffee and chocolate. I didn't know which you would like.\"\n\n\"Chocolate, by all means. Jack, I recommend the chocolate. Bring two\nfull-sized bowls, Johnson, and put that cold pie on the table, and a\ncouple of knives and forks; never mind about a cloth; but first of all\nbring a couple of basins of hot water, we shall enjoy our food more\nafter a wash.\"\n\nThe early breakfast was eaten, dry coats and mufflers put on, pipes\nlighted, and they then went up upon deck. Tom took the helm.\n\n\"What time do you calculate we ought to make Guernsey, Tom?\"\n\n\"About twelve. The wind is freer than it was, and we are walking along\nat a good pace. Matthews, cast the log, and let's see what we are doing.\nAbout seven knots, I should say.\"\n\n\"Seven and a quarter, sir,\" the man said, when he checked the line.\n\n\"Not a bad guess, Tom; it's always difficult to judge pace in a heavy\nsea.\"\n\nAt eleven o'clock the mist ceased.\n\n\"That's fortunate,\" Tom Virtue said; \"I shouldn't be surprised if we get\na glimpse of the sun between the clouds, presently. Will you get my\nsextant and the chronometer up, Jack, and put them handy?\"\n\nJack Harvey did as he was asked, but there was no occasion to use the\ninstruments, for ten minutes later, Watkins, who was standing near the\nbow gazing fixedly ahead, shouted:\n\n\"There's Guernsey, sir, on her lee bow, about six miles away, I should\nsay.\"\n\n\"That's it, sure enough,\" Tom agreed, as he gazed in the direction in\nwhich Watkins was pointing. \"There's a gleam of sunshine on it, or we\nshouldn't have seen it yet. Yes, I think you are about right as to the\ndistance. Now let us take its bearings, we may lose it again directly.\"\n\nHaving taken the bearings of the island they went below, and marked off\ntheir position on the chart, and they shaped their course for Cape\nGrosnez, the north-western point of Jersey. The gleam of sunshine was\ntransient--the clouds closed in again overhead, darker and grayer than\nbefore. Soon the drops of rain came flying before the wind, the horizon\nclosed in, and they could not see half a mile away, but, though the sea\nwas heavy, the _Seabird_ was making capital weather of it, and the two\nfriends agreed that, after all, the excitement of a sail like this was\nworth a month of pottering about in calms.\n\n\"We must keep a bright look-out presently,\" the skipper said; \"there are\nsome nasty rocks off the coast of Jersey. We must give them a wide\nberth. We had best make round to the south of the island, and lay to\nthere till we can pick up a pilot to take us into St. Helier. I don't\nthink it will be worth while trying to get into St. Aubyn's Bay by\nourselves.\"\n\n\"I think so, too, Watkins, but we will see what it is like before it\ngets dark; if we can pick up a pilot all the better; if not, we will lie\nto till morning, if the weather keeps thick; but if it clears so that we\ncan make out all the lights we ought to be able to get into the bay\nanyhow.\"\n\nAn hour later the rain ceased and the sky appeared somewhat clearer.\nSuddenly Watkins exclaimed, \"There is a wreck, sir! There, three miles\naway to leeward. She is on the Paternosters.\"\n\n\"Good heavens! she is a steamer,\" Tom exclaimed, as he caught sight of\nher the next time the _Seabird_ lifted on a wave. \"Can she be the\nSouthampton boat, do you think?\"\n\n\"Like enough, sir, she may have had it thicker than we had, and may not\nhave calculated enough for the current.\"\n\n\"Up helm, Jack, and bear away towards her. Shall we shake out a reef,\nWatkins?\"\n\n\"I wouldn't, sir; she has got as much as she can carry on her now. We\nmust mind what we are doing, sir; the currents run like a millstream,\nand if we get that reef under our lee, and the wind and current both\nsetting us on to it, it will be all up with us in no time.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know that, Watkins. Jack, take the helm a minute while we run\ndown and look at the chart.\n\n\"Our only chance, Watkins, is to work up behind the reef, and try and\nget so that they can either fasten a line to a buoy and let it float\ndown to us, or get into a boat, if they have one left, and drift to us.\"\n\n\"They are an awful group of rocks,\" Watkins said, as they examined the\nchart; \"you see some of them show merely at high tide, and a lot of them\nare above at low water. It will be an awful business to get among them\nrocks, sir, just about as near certain death as a thing can be.\"\n\n\"Well, it's got to be done, Watkins,\" Tom said, firmly. \"I see the\ndanger as well as you do, but whatever the risk, it must be tried. Mr.\nGrantham and the two ladies went on board by my persuasion, and I should\nnever forgive myself if anything happened to them. But I will speak to\nthe men.\"\n\nHe went on deck again and called the men to him. \"Look here, lads; you\nsee that steamer ashore on the Paternosters. In such a sea as this she\nmay go to pieces in half an hour. I am determined to make an effort to\nsave the lives of those on board. As you can see for yourselves there is\nno lying to weather of her, with the current and wind driving us on to\nthe reef; we must beat up from behind. Now, lads, the sea there is full\nof rocks, and the chances are ten to one we strike on to them and go to\npieces; but, anyhow I am going to try; but I won't take you unless you\nare willing. The boat is a good one, and the zinc chambers will keep her\nafloat if she fills; well managed, you ought to be able to make the\ncoast of Jersey in her. Mr. Harvey, Watkins, and I can handle the yacht,\nso you can take the boat if you like.\"\n\nThe men replied that they would stick to the yacht wherever Mr. Virtue\nchose to take her, and muttered something about the ladies, for the\npleasant faces of Mrs. Grantham and Miss Graham had, during the\nfortnight they had been on board, won the men's hearts.\n\n\"Very well, lads, I am glad to find you will stick by me; if we pull\nsafely through it I will give each of you three months' wages. Now set\nto work with a will and get the gig out. We will tow her after us, and\ntake to her if we make a smash of it.\"\n\nThey were now near enough to see the white breakers, in the middle of\nwhich the ship was lying. She was fast breaking up. The jagged outline\nshowed that the stern had been beaten in. The masts and funnel were\ngone, and the waves seemed to make a clean breach over her, almost\nhiding her from sight in a white cloud of spray.\n\n\"Wood and iron can't stand that much longer,\" Jack Harvey said; \"another\nhour and I should say there won't be two planks left together.\"\n\n\"It is awful, Jack; I would give all I have in the world if I had not\npersuaded them to go on board. Keep her off a little more, Watkins.\"\n\nThe _Seabird_ passed within a cable's-length of the breakers at the\nnorthern end of the reef.\n\n\"Now, lads, take your places at the sheets, ready to haul or let go as I\ngive the word.\" So saying, Tom Virtue took his place in the bow, holding\non by the forestay.\n\nThe wind was full on the _Seabird's_ beam as she entered the broken\nwater. Here and there the dark heads of the rocks showed above the\nwater. These were easy enough to avoid, the danger lay in those hidden\nbeneath its surface, and whose position was indicated only by the\noccasional break of a sea as it passed over them. Every time the\n_Seabird_ sank on a wave those on board involuntarily held their breath,\nbut the water here was comparatively smooth, the sea having spent its\nfirst force upon the outer reef. With a wave of his hand Tom directed\nthe helmsman as to his course, and the little yacht was admirably\nhandled through the dangers.\n\n\"I begin to think we shall do it,\" Tom said to Jack Harvey, who was\nstanding close to him. \"Another five minutes and we shall be within\nreach of her.\"\n\nIt could be seen now that there was a group of people clustered in the\nbow of the wreck. Two or three light lines were coiled in readiness for\nthrowing.\n\n\"Now, Watkins,\" Tom said, going aft, \"make straight for the wreck. I see\nno broken water between us and them, and possibly there may be deep\nwater under their bow.\"\n\nIt was an anxious moment, as, with the sails flattened in, the yawl\nforged up nearly in the eye of the wind towards the wreck. Her progress\nwas slow, for she was now stemming the current.\n\nTom stood with a coil of line in his hand in the bow.\n\n\"You get ready to throw, Jack, if I miss.\"\n\nNearer and nearer the yacht approached the wreck, until the bowsprit of\nthe latter seemed to stand almost over her. Then Tom threw the line. It\nfell over the bowsprit, and a cheer broke from those on board the wreck\nand from the sailors of the _Seabird_. A stronger line was at once\nfastened to that thrown, and to this a strong hawser was attached.\n\n\"Down with the helm, Watkins. Now, lads, lower away the try-sail as fast\nas you can. Now, one of you, clear that hawser as they haul on it. Now\nout with the anchors.\"\n\nThese had been got into readiness; it was not thought that they would\nget any hold on the rocky bottom, still they might catch on a projecting\nledge, and at any rate their weight and that of the chain cable would\nrelieve the strain upon the hawser.\n\nTwo sailors had run out on the bowsprit of the wreck as soon as the line\nwas thrown, and the end of the hawser was now on board the steamer.\n\n\"Thank God, there's Grantham!\" Jack Harvey exclaimed; \"do you see him\nwaving his hand?\"\n\n\"I see him,\" Tom said, \"but I don't see the ladies.\"\n\n\"They are there, no doubt,\" Jack said, confidently; \"crouching down, I\nexpect. He would not be there if they weren't, you may be sure. Yes,\nthere they are; those two muffled-up figures. There, one of them has\nthrown back her cloak and is waving her arm.\"\n\nThe two young men waved their caps.\n\n\"Are the anchors holding, Watkins? There's a tremendous strain on that\nhawser.\"\n\n\"I think so, sir; they are both tight.\"\n\n\"Put them round the windlass, and give a turn or two, we must relieve\nthe strain on that hawser.\"\n\nSince they had first seen the wreck the waves had made great progress in\nthe work of destruction, and the steamer had broken in two just aft of\nthe engines.\n\n\"Get over the spare spars, Watkins, and fasten them to float in front of\nher bows like a triangle. Matthews, catch hold of that boat-hook and try\nto fend off any piece of timber that comes along. You get hold of the\nsweeps, lads, and do the same. They would stave her in like a nut-shell\nif they struck her.\n\n\"Thank God, here comes the first of them!\"\n\nThose on board the steamer had not been idle. As soon as the yawl was\nseen approaching slings were prepared, and no sooner was the hawser\nsecurely fixed, than the slings were attached to it and a woman placed\nin them. The hawser was tight and the descent sharp, and without a check\nthe figure ran down to the deck of the _Seabird_. She was lifted out of\nthe slings by Tom and Jack Harvey, who found she was an old woman and\nhad entirely lost consciousness.\n\n\"Two of you carry her down below; tell Johnson to pour a little brandy\ndown her throat. Give her some hot soup as soon as she comes to.\"\n\nAnother woman was lowered and helped below. The next to descend was Mrs.\nGrantham.\n\n\"Thank God, you are rescued!\" Tom said, as he helped her out of the\nsling.\n\n\"Thank God, indeed,\" Mrs. Grantham said, \"and thank you all! Oh, Tom, we\nhave had a terrible time of it, and had lost all hope till we saw your\nsail, and even then the captain said that he was afraid nothing could be\ndone. Minnie was the first to make out it was you, and then we began to\nhope. She has been so brave, dear girl. Ah! here she comes.\"\n\nBut Minnie's firmness came to an end now that she felt the need for it\nwas over. She was unable to stand when she was lifted from the slings;\nand Tom carried her below.\n\n\"Are there any more women, Mrs. Grantham?\"\n\n\"No; there was only one other lady passenger and the stewardess.\"\n\n\"Then you had better take possession of your own cabin. I ordered\nJohnson to spread a couple more mattresses and some bedding on the\nfloor, so you will all four be able to turn in. There's plenty of hot\ncoffee and soup. I should advise soup with two or three spoonfuls of\nbrandy in it. Now, excuse me; I must go upon deck.\"\n\nTwelve men descended by the hawser, one of them with both legs broken by\nthe fall of the mizzen. The last to come was the captain.\n\n\"Is that all?\" Tom asked.\n\n\"That is all,\" the captain said. \"Six men were swept overboard when she\nfirst struck, and two were killed by the fall of the funnel. Fortunately\nwe had only three gentlemen passengers and three ladies on board. The\nweather looked so wild when we started that no one else cared about\nmaking the passage. God bless you, sir, for what you have done! Another\nhalf-hour and it would have been all over with us. But it seems like a\nmiracle your getting safe through the rocks to us.\"\n\n\"It was fortunate indeed that we came along,\" Tom said; \"three of the\npassengers are dear friends of mine; and as it was by my persuasion that\nthey came across in the steamer instead of in the yacht, I should never\nhave forgiven myself if they had been lost. Take all your men below,\ncaptain; you will find plenty of hot soup there. Now, Watkins, let us be\noff; that steamer won't hold together many minutes longer, so there's no\ntime to lose. We will go back as we came. Give me a hatchet. Now, lads,\ntwo of you stand at the chain-cables; knock out the shackles the moment\nI cut the hawser. Watkins, you take the helm and let her head pay off\ntill the jib fills. Jack, you lend a hand to the other two, and get up\nthe try-sail again as soon as we are free.\"\n\nIn a moment all were at their stations. The helm was put on the yacht,\nand she payed off on the opposite tack to that on which she had before\nbeen sailing. As soon as the jib filled, Tom gave two vigorous blows\nwith his hatchet on the hawser, and, as he lifted his hand for a third,\nit parted. Then came the sharp rattle of the chains as they ran round\nthe hawser-holes. The try-sail was hoisted and sheeted home, and the\n_Seabird_ was under way again. Tom, as before, conned the ship from the\nbow. Several times she was in close proximity to the rocks, but each\ntime she avoided them. A shout of gladness rose from all on deck as she\npassed the last patch of white water. Then she tacked and bore away for\nJersey.\n\nTom had now time to go down below and look after his passengers. They\nconsisted of the captain and two sailors--the sole survivors of those\nwho had been on deck when the vessel struck--three male passengers, and\nsix engineers and stokers.\n\n\"I have not had time to shake you by the hand before, Tom,\" Grantham\nsaid, as Tom Virtue entered; \"and I thought you would not want me on\ndeck at present. God bless you, old fellow! we all owe you our lives.\"\n\n\"How did it happen, captain?\" Tom asked, as the captain also came up to\nhim.\n\n\"It was the currents, I suppose,\" the captain said; \"it was so thick we\ncould not see a quarter of a mile any way. The weather was so wild I\nwould not put into Guernsey, and passed the island without seeing it. I\nsteered my usual course, but the gale must have altered the currents,\nfor I thought I was three miles away from the reef, when we saw it on\nour beam, not a hundred yards away. It was too late to avoid it then,\nand in another minute we ran upon it, and the waves were sweeping over\nus. Every one behaved well. I got all, except those who had been swept\noverboard or crushed by the funnel, up into the bow of the ship, and\nthere we waited. There was nothing to be done. No boat would live for a\nmoment in the sea on that reef, and all I could advise was, that when\nshe went to pieces every one should try to get hold of a floating\nfragment; but I doubt whether a man would have been alive a quarter of\nan hour after she went to pieces.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, captain, you will come on deck with me and give me the benefit\nof your advice. My skipper and I know the islands pretty well, but no\ndoubt you know them a good deal better, and I don't want another\nmishap.\"\n\nBut the _Seabird_ avoided all further dangers, and as it became dark,\nthe lights of St. Helier's were in sight, and an hour later the yacht\nbrought up in the port and landed her involuntary passengers.\n\nA fortnight afterwards the _Seabird_ returned to England, and two months\nlater Mrs. Grantham had the satisfaction of being present at the\nceremony which was the successful consummation of her little scheme in\ninviting Minnie Graham to be her companion on board the _Seabird_.\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" her husband said, when she indulged in a little natural\ntriumph, \"I do not say that it has not turned out well, and I am\nheartily glad for both Tom and Minnie's sake it has so; but you must\nallow that it very nearly had a disastrous ending, and I think if I were\nyou I should leave matters to take their natural course in future. I\nhave accepted Tom's invitation for the same party to take a cruise in\nthe _Seabird_ next summer, but I have bargained that next time a storm\nis brewing up we shall stop quietly in port.\"\n\n\"That's all very well, James,\" Mrs. Grantham said saucily; \"but you must\nremember that Tom Virtue will only be first-mate of the _Seabird_ in\nfuture.\"\n\n\"That I shall be able to tell you better, my dear, after our next\ncruise. All husbands are not as docile and easily led as I am.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nA PIPE OF MYSTERY.\n\n\nA jovial party were gathered round a blazing fire in an old grange near\nWarwick. The hour was getting late; the very little ones had, after\ndancing round the Christmas-tree, enjoying the snapdragon, and playing a\nvariety of games, gone off to bed; and the elder boys and girls now\ngathered round their uncle, Colonel Harley, and asked him for a\nstory--above all, a ghost story.\n\n\"But I have never seen any ghosts,\" the colonel said, laughing; \"and,\nmoreover, I don't believe in them one bit. I have travelled pretty well\nall over the world, I have slept in houses said to be haunted, but\nnothing have I seen--no noises that could not be accounted for by rats\nor the wind have I ever heard. I have never\"--and here he paused--\"never\nbut once met with any circumstances or occurrence that could not be\naccounted for by the light of reason, and I know you prefer hearing\nstories of my own adventures to mere invention.\"\n\n\"Yes, uncle. But what was the 'once' when circumstances happened that\nyou could not explain?\"\n\n\"It's rather a long story,\" the colonel said, \"and it's getting late.\"\n\n\"Oh! no, no, uncle; it does not matter a bit how late we sit up on\nChristmas Eve, and the longer the story is, the better; and if you don't\nbelieve in ghosts, how can it be a story of something you could not\naccount for by the light of nature?\"\n\n\"You will see when I have done,\" the colonel said. \"It is rather a story\nof what the Scotch call second sight, than one of ghosts. As to\naccounting for it, you shall form your own opinion when you have heard\nme to the end.\n\n\"I landed in India in '50, and after going through the regular drill\nwork, marched with a detachment up country to join my regiment, which\nwas stationed at Jubbalpore, in the very heart of India. It has become\nan important place since; the railroad across India passes through it,\nand no end of changes have taken place; but at that time it was one of\nthe most out-of-the-way stations in India, and, I may say, one of the\nmost pleasant. It lay high, there was capital boating on the Nerbudda,\nand, above all, it was a grand place for sport, for it lay at the foot\nof the hill country, an immense district, then but little known, covered\nwith forests and jungle, and abounding with big game of all kinds.\n\n\"My great friend there was a man named Simmonds. He was just of my own\nstanding; we had come out in the same ship, had marched up the country\ntogether, and were almost like brothers. He was an old Etonian, I an old\nWestminster, and we were both fond of boating, and, indeed, of sport of\nall kinds. But I am not going to tell you of that now. The people in\nthese hills are called Gonds, a true hill tribe--that is to say,\naborigines, somewhat of the <DW64> type. The chiefs are of mixed blood,\nbut the people are almost black. They are supposed to accept the\nreligion of the Hindus, but are in reality deplorably ignorant and\nsuperstitious. Their priests are a sort of compound of a Brahmin priest\nand a <DW64> fetish man, and among their principal duties is that of\ncharming away tigers from the villages by means of incantations. There,\nas in other parts of India, were a few wandering fakirs, who enjoyed an\nimmense reputation for holiness and wisdom. The people would go to them\nfrom great distances for charms or predictions, and believed in their\npower with implicit faith.\n\n\"At the time when we were at Jubbalpore, there was one of these fellows,\nwhose reputation altogether eclipsed that of his rivals, and nothing\ncould be done until his permission had been asked and his blessing\nobtained. All sorts of marvellous stories were constantly coming to our\nears of the unerring foresight with which he predicted the termination\nof diseases, both in men and animals; and so generally was he believed\nin that the colonel ordered that no one connected with the regiment\nshould consult him, for these predictions very frequently brought about\ntheir own fulfilment; for those who were told that an illness would\nterminate fatally, lost all hope, and literally lay down to die.\n\n\"However, many of the stories that we heard could not be explained on\nthese grounds, and the fakir and his doings were often talked over at\nmess, some of the officers scoffing at the whole business, others\nmaintaining that some of these fakirs had, in some way or another, the\npower of foretelling the future, citing many well authenticated\nanecdotes upon the subject.\n\n\"The older officers were the believers, we young fellows were the\nscoffers. But for the well-known fact that it is very seldom indeed\nthat these fakirs will utter any of their predictions to Europeans, some\nof us would have gone to him, to test his powers. As it was, none of us\nhad ever seen him.\n\n\"He lived in an old ruined temple, in the middle of a large patch of\njungle at the foot of the hills, some ten or twelve miles away.\n\n\"I had been at Jubbalpore about a year, when I was woke up one night by\na native, who came in to say that at about eight o'clock a tiger had\nkilled a man in his village, and had dragged off the body.\n\n\"Simmonds and I were constantly out after tigers, and the people in all\nthe villages within twenty miles knew that we were always ready to pay\nfor early information. This tiger had been doing great damage, and had\ncarried off about thirty men, women, and children. So great was the fear\nof him, indeed, that the people in the neighbourhood he frequented\nscarcely dared stir out of doors, except in parties of five or six. We\nhad had several hunts after him, but, like all man-eaters, he was old\nand awfully crafty; and although we got several snap shots at him, he\nhad always managed to save his skin.\n\n\"In a quarter of an hour after the receipt of the message, Charley\nSimmonds and I were on the back of an elephant, which was our joint\nproperty; our shekarry, a capital fellow, was on foot beside us, and\nwith the native trotting on ahead as guide we went off at the best pace\nof old Begaum, for that was the elephant's name. The village was fifteen\nmiles away, but we got there soon after daybreak, and were received with\ndelight by the population. In half an hour the hunt was organized; all\nthe male population turned out as beaters, with sticks, guns, tom-toms,\nand other instruments for making a noise.\n\n\"The trail was not difficult to find. A broad path, with occasional\nsmears of blood, showed where he had dragged his victim through the long\ngrass to a cluster of trees a couple of hundred yards from the village.\n\n\"We scarcely expected to find him there, but the villagers held back,\nwhile we went forward with cocked rifles. We found, however, nothing but\na few bones and a quantity of blood. The tiger had made off at the\napproach of daylight into the jungle, which was about two miles distant.\nWe traced him easily enough, and found that he had entered a large\nravine, from which several smaller ones branched off.\n\n\"It was an awkward place, as it was next to impossible to surround it\nwith the number of people at our command. We posted them at last all\nalong the upper ground, and told them to make up in noise what they\nwanted in numbers. At last all was ready, and we gave the signal.\nHowever, I am not telling you a hunting story, and need only say that we\ncould neither find nor disturb him. In vain we pushed Begaum through the\nthickest of the jungle which clothed the sides and bottom of the ravine,\nwhile the men shouted, beat their tom-toms, and showered imprecations\nagainst the tiger himself and his ancestors up to the remotest\ngenerations.\n\n\"The day was tremendously hot, and, after three hours' march, we gave it\nup for a time, and lay down in the shade, while the shekarries made a\nlong examination of the ground all round the hillside, to be sure that\nhe had not left the ravine. They came back with the news that no traces\ncould be discovered, and that, beyond a doubt, he was still there. A\ntiger will crouch up in an exceedingly small clump of grass or bush, and\nwill sometimes almost allow himself to be trodden on before moving.\nHowever, we determined to have one more search, and if that should prove\nunsuccessful, to send off to Jubbalpore for some more of the men to come\nout with elephants, while we kept up a circle of fires, and of noises\nof all descriptions, so as to keep him a prisoner until the arrival of\nthe reinforcements. Our next search was no more successful than our\nfirst had been; and having, as we imagined, examined every clump and\ncrevice in which he could have been concealed, we had just reached the\nupper end of the ravine, when we heard a tremendous roar, followed by a\nperfect babel of yells and screams from the natives.\n\n\"The outburst came from the mouth of the ravine, and we felt at once\nthat he had escaped. We hurried back to find, as we had expected, that\nthe tiger was gone. He had burst out suddenly from his hiding-place, had\nseized a native, torn him horribly, and had made across the open plain.\n\n\"This was terribly provoking, but we had nothing to do but follow him.\nThis was easy enough, and we traced him to a detached patch of wood and\njungle, two miles distant. This wood was four or five hundred yards\nacross, and the exclamations of the people at once told us that it was\nthe one in which stood the ruined temple of the fakir of whom I have\nbeen telling you. I forgot to say, that as the tiger broke out one of\nthe village shekarries had fired at, and, he declared, wounded him.\n\n\"It was already getting late in the afternoon, and it was hopeless to\nattempt to beat the jungle that night. We therefore sent off a runner\nwith a note to the colonel, asking him to send the work-elephants, and\nto allow a party of volunteers to march over at night, to help surround\nthe jungle when we commenced beating it in the morning.\n\n\"We based our request upon the fact that the tiger was a notorious\nman-eater, and had been doing immense damage. We then had a talk with\nour shekarry, sent a man off to bring provisions for the people out with\nus, and then set them to work cutting sticks and grass to make a circle\nof fires.\n\n\"We both felt much uneasiness respecting the fakir, who might be seized\nat any moment by the enraged tiger. The natives would not allow that\nthere was any cause for fear, as the tiger would not dare to touch so\nholy a man. Our belief in the respect of the tiger for sanctity was by\nno means strong, and we determined to go in and warn him of the presence\nof the brute in the wood. It was a mission which we could not intrust to\nanyone else, for no native would have entered the jungle for untold\ngold; so we mounted the Begaum again, and started. The path leading\ntowards the temple was pretty wide, and as we went along almost\nnoiselessly, for the elephant was too well trained to tread upon fallen\nsticks, it was just possible we might come upon the tiger suddenly, so\nwe kept our rifles in readiness in our hands.\n\n\"Presently we came in sight of the ruins. No one was at first visible;\nbut at that very moment the fakir came out from the temple. He did not\nsee or hear us, for we were rather behind him and still among the trees,\nbut at once proceeded in a high voice to break into a sing-song prayer.\nHe had not said two words before his voice was drowned in a terrific\nroar, and in an instant the tiger had sprung upon him, struck him to the\nground, seized him as a cat would a mouse, and started off with him at a\ntrot. The brute evidently had not detected our presence, for he came\nright towards us. We halted the Begaum, and with our fingers on the\ntriggers, awaited the favourable moment. He was a hundred yards from us\nwhen he struck down his victim; he was not more than fifty when he\ncaught sight of us. He stopped for an instant in surprise. Charley\nmuttered, 'Both barrels, Harley,' and as the beast turned to plunge into\nthe jungle, and so showed us his side, we sent four bullets crashing\ninto him, and he rolled over lifeless.\n\n\"We went up to the spot, made the Begaum give him a kick, to be sure\nthat he was dead, and then got down to examine the unfortunate fakir.\nThe tiger had seized him by the shoulder, which was terribly torn, and\nthe bone broken. He was still perfectly conscious.\n\n\"We at once fired three shots, our usual signal that the tiger was dead,\nand in a few minutes were surrounded by the villagers, who hardly knew\nwhether to be delighted at the death of their enemy, or to grieve over\nthe injury to the fakir. We proposed taking the latter to our hospital\nat Jubbalpore, but this he positively refused to listen to. However we\nfinally persuaded him to allow his arm to be set and the wounds dressed\nin the first place by our regimental surgeon, after which he could go to\none of the native villages and have his arm dressed in accordance with\nhis own notions. A litter was soon improvised, and away we went to\nJubbalpore, which we reached about eight in the evening.\n\n\"The fakir refused to enter the hospital, so we brought out a couple of\ntrestles, laid the litter upon them, and the surgeon set his arm and\ndressed his wounds by torch-light, when he was lifted into a dhoolie,\nand his bearers again prepared to start for the village.\n\n\"Hitherto he had only spoken a few words; but he now briefly expressed\nhis deep gratitude to Simmonds and myself. We told him that we would\nride over to see him shortly, and hoped to find him getting on rapidly.\nAnother minute and he was gone.\n\n\"It happened that we had three or four fellows away on leave or on staff\nduty, and several others knocked up with fever just about this time, so\nthat the duty fell very heavily upon the rest of us, and it was over a\nmonth before we had time to ride over to see the fakir.\n\n\"We had heard he was going on well; but we were surprised, on reaching\nthe village, to find that he had already returned to his old abode in\nthe jungle. However, we had made up our minds to see him, especially as\nwe had agreed that we would endeavour to persuade him to do a prediction\nfor us; so we turned our horses' heads towards the jungle. We found the\nfakir sitting on a rock in front of the temple, just where he had been\nseized by the tiger. He rose as we rode up.\n\n\"'I knew that you would come to-day, sahibs, and was joyful in the\nthought of seeing those who have preserved my life.'\n\n\"'We are glad to see you looking pretty strong again, though your arm\nis still in a sling,' I said, for Simmonds was not strong in Hindustani.\n\n\"'How did you know that we were coming?' I asked, when we had tied up\nour horses.\n\n\"'Siva has given to his servant to know many things,' he said quietly.\n\n\"'Did you know beforehand that the tiger was going to seize you?' I\nasked.\n\n\"'I knew that a great danger threatened, and that Siva would not let me\ndie before my time had come.'\n\n\"'Could you see into our future?' I asked.\n\n\"The fakir hesitated, looked at me for a moment earnestly to see if I\nwas speaking in mockery, and then said:\n\n\"'The sahibs do not believe in the power of Siva or of his servants.\nThey call his messengers impostors, and scoff at them when they speak of\nthe events of the future.'\n\n\"'No, indeed,' I said. 'My friend and I have no idea of scoffing. We\nhave heard of so many of your predictions coming true, that we are\nreally anxious that you should tell us something of the future.'\n\n\"The fakir nodded his head, went into the temple, and returned in a\nminute or two with two small pipes used by the natives for\nopium-smoking, and a brazier of burning charcoal. The pipes were\nalready charged. He made signs to us to sit down, and took his place in\nfront of us. Then he began singing in a low voice, rocking himself to\nand fro, and waving a staff which he held in his hand. Gradually his\nvoice rose, and his gesticulations and actions became more violent. So\nfar as I could make out, it was a prayer to Siva that he would give some\nglimpse of the future which might benefit the sahibs who had saved the\nlife of his servant. Presently he darted forward, gave us each a pipe,\ntook two pieces of red-hot charcoal from the brazier in his fingers,\nwithout seeming to know that they were warm, and placed them in the\npipes; then he recommenced his singing and gesticulations.\n\n\"A glance at Charley, to see if, like myself, he was ready to carry the\nthing through, and then I put the pipe to my lips. I felt at once that\nit was opium, of which I had before made experiment, but mixed with some\nother substance, which was, I imagine, haschish, a preparation of hemp.\nA few puffs, and I felt a drowsiness creeping over me. I saw, as through\na mist, the fakir swaying himself backwards and forwards, his arms\nwaving, and his face distorted. Another minute, and the pipe slipped\nfrom my fingers, and I fell back insensible.\n\n\"How long I lay there I do not know. I woke with a strange and not\nunpleasant sensation, and presently became conscious that the fakir was\ngently pressing, with a sort of shampooing action, my temples and head.\nWhen he saw that I opened my eyes he left me, and performed the same\nprocess upon Charley. In a few minutes he rose from his stooping\nposition, waved his hand in token of adieu, and walked slowly back into\nthe temple.\n\n\"As he disappeared I sat up; Charley did the same.\n\n\"We stared at each other for a minute without speaking, and then Charley\nsaid:\n\n\"'This is a rum go, and no mistake, old man.'\n\n\"'You're right, Charley. My opinion is, we've made fools of ourselves.\nLet's be off out of this.'\n\n\"We staggered to our feet, for we both felt like drunken men, made our\nway to our horses, poured a mussuk of water over our heads, took a drink\nof brandy from our flasks, and then feeling more like ourselves, mounted\nand rode out of the jungle.\n\n\"'Well, Harley, if the glimpse of futurity which I had is true, all I\ncan say is that it was extremely unpleasant.'\n\n\"'That was just my case, Charley.'\n\n\"'My dream, or whatever you like to call it, was about a mutiny of the\nmen.'\n\n\"'You don't say so, Charley; so was mine. This is monstrously strange,\nto say the least of it. However, you tell your story first, and then I\nwill tell mine.'\n\n\"'It was very short,' Charley said. 'We were at mess--not in our present\nmess-room--we were dining with the fellows of some other regiment.\nSuddenly, without any warning, the windows were filled with a crowd of\nSepoys, who opened fire right and left into us. Half the fellows were\nshot down at once; the rest of us made a rush to our swords just as the\n<DW65>s came swarming into the room. There was a desperate fight for a\nmoment. I remember that Subadar Piran--one of the best native officers\nin the regiment, by the way--made a rush at me, and I shot him through\nthe head with a revolver. At the same moment a ball hit me, and down I\nwent. At the moment a Sepoy fell dead across me, hiding me partly from\nsight. The fight lasted a minute or two longer. I fancy a few fellows\nescaped, for I heard shots outside. Then the place became quiet. In\nanother minute I heard a crackling, and saw that the devils had set the\nmess-room on fire. One of our men, who was lying close by me, got up\nand crawled to the window, but he was shot down the moment he showed\nhimself. I was hesitating whether to do the same or to lie still and be\nsmothered, when suddenly I rolled the dead sepoy off, crawled into the\nante-room half-suffocated by smoke, raised the lid of a very heavy\ntrap-door, and stumbled down some steps into a place, half storehouse\nhalf cellar, under the mess-room. How I knew about it being there I\ndon't know. The trap closed over my head with a bang. That is all I\nremember.'\n\n\"'Well, Charley, curiously enough my dream was also about an\nextraordinary escape from danger, lasting, like yours, only a minute or\ntwo. The first thing I remember--there seems to have been something\nbefore, but what, I don't know--I was on horseback, holding a very\npretty but awfully pale girl in front of me. We were pursued by a whole\ntroop of Sepoy cavalry, who were firing pistol-shots at us. We were not\nmore than seventy or eighty yards in front, and they were gaining fast,\njust as I rode into a large deserted temple. In the centre was a huge\nstone figure. I jumped off my horse with the lady, and as I did so she\nsaid, 'Blow out my brains, Edward; don't let me fall alive into their\nhands.'\n\n\"'Instead of answering, I hurried her round behind the idol, pushed\nagainst one of the leaves of a flower in the carving, and the stone\nswung back, and showed a hole just large enough to get through, with a\nstone staircase inside the body of the idol, made no doubt for the\npriest to go up and give responses through the mouth. I hurried the girl\nthrough, crept in after her, and closed the stone, just as our pursuers\ncame clattering into the courtyard. That is all I remember.'\n\n\"'Well, it is monstrously rum,' Charley said, after a pause. 'Did you\nunderstand what the old fellow was singing about before he gave us the\npipes?'\n\n\"'Yes; I caught the general drift. It was an entreaty to Siva to give us\nsome glimpse of futurity which might benefit us.'\n\n\"We lit our cheroots and rode for some miles at a brisk canter without\nremark. When we were within a short distance of home we reined up.\n\n\"'I feel ever so much better,' Charley said. 'We have got that opium out\nof our heads now. How do you account for it all, Harley?'\n\n\"'I account for it in this way, Charley. The opium naturally had the\neffect of making us both dream, and as we took similar doses of the same\nmixture, under similar circumstances, it is scarcely extraordinary that\nit should have effected the same portion of the brain, and caused a\ncertain similarity in our dreams. In all nightmares something terrible\nhappens, or is on the point of happening; and so it was here. Not\nunnaturally in both our cases, our thoughts turned to soldiers. If you\nremember there was a talk at mess some little time since, as to what\nwould happen in the extremely unlikely event of the sepoys mutinying in\na body. I have no doubt that was the foundation of both our dreams. It\nis all natural enough when we come to think it over calmly. I think, by\nthe way, we had better agree to say nothing at all about it in the\nregiment.'\n\n\"'I should think not,' Charley said. 'We should never hear the end of\nit; they would chaff us out of our lives.'\n\n\"We kept our secret, and came at last to laugh over it heartily when we\nwere together. Then the subject dropped, and by the end of a year had as\nmuch escaped our minds as any other dream would have done. Three months\nafter the affair the regiment was ordered down to Allahabad, and the\nchange of place no doubt helped to erase all memory of the dream. Four\nyears after we had left Jubbalpore we went to Beerapore. The time is\nvery marked in my memory, because the very week we arrived there, your\naunt, then Miss Gardiner, came out from England, to her father, our\ncolonel. The instant I saw her I was impressed with the idea that I knew\nher intimately. I recollected her face, her figure, and the very tone of\nher voice, but wherever I had met her I could not conceive. Upon the\noccasion of my first introduction to her, I could not help telling her\nthat I was convinced that we had met, and asking her if she did not\nremember it. No, she did not remember, but very likely she might have\ndone so, and she suggested the names of several people at whose houses\nwe might have met. I did not know any of them. Presently she asked how\nlong I had been out in India?\n\n\"'Six years,' I said.\n\n\"'And how old, Mr. Harley,' she said, 'do you take me to be?'\n\n\"I saw in one instant my stupidity, and was stammering out an apology,\nwhen she went on,--\n\n\"'I am very little over eighteen, Mr. Harley, although I evidently look\never so many years older; but papa can certify to my age; so I was only\ntwelve when you left England.'\n\n\"I tried in vain to clear matters up. Your aunt would insist that I took\nher to be forty, and the fun that my blunder made rather drew us\ntogether, and gave me a start over the other fellows at the station,\nhalf of whom fell straightway in love with her. Some months went on, and\nwhen the mutiny broke out we were engaged to be married. It is a proof\nof how completely the opium-dreams had passed out of the minds of both\nSimmonds and myself, that even when rumours of general disaffection\namong the Sepoys began to be current, they never once recurred to us;\nand even when the news of the actual mutiny reached us, we were just as\nconfident as were the others of the fidelity of our own regiment. It was\nthe old story, foolish confidence and black treachery. As at very many\nother stations, the mutiny broke out when we were at mess. Our regiment\nwas dining with the 34th Bengalees. Suddenly, just as dinner was over,\nthe window was opened, and a tremendous fire poured in. Four or five men\nfell dead at once, and the poor colonel, who was next to me, was shot\nright through the head. Every one rushed to his sword and drew his\npistol--for we had been ordered to carry pistols as part of our uniform.\nI was next to Charley Simmonds as the Sepoys of both regiments, headed\nby Subadar Piran, poured in at the windows.\n\n\"'I have it now,' Charley said; 'it is the scene I dreamed.'\n\n\"As he spoke he fired his revolver at the subadar, who fell dead in his\ntracks.\n\n\"A Sepoy close by levelled his musket and fired. Charley fell, and the\nfellow rushed forward to bayonet him. As he did so I sent a bullet\nthrough his head, and he fell across Charley. It was a wild fight for a\nminute or two, and then a few of us made a sudden rush together, cut our\nway through the mutineers, and darted through an open window on to the\nparade. There were shouts, shots, and screams from the officers'\nbungalows, and in several places flames were already rising. What became\nof the other men I knew not; I made as hard as I could tear for the\ncolonel's bungalow. Suddenly I came upon a sowar sitting on his horse\nwatching the rising flames. Before he saw me I was on him, and ran him\nthrough. I leapt on his horse and galloped down to Gardiner's compound.\nI saw lots of Sepoys in and around the bungalow, all engaged in looting.\nI dashed into the compound.\n\n\"'May! May!' I shouted. 'Where are you?'\n\n\"I had scarcely spoken before a dark figure rushed out of a clump of\nbushes close by with a scream of delight.\n\n\"In an instant she was on the horse before me, and shooting down a\ncouple of fellows who made a rush at my reins, I dashed out again.\nStray shots were fired after us. But fortunately the Sepoys were all\nbusy looting, most of them had laid down their muskets, and no one\nreally took up the pursuit. I turned off from the parade-ground, dashed\ndown between the hedges of two compounds, and in another minute we were\nin the open country.\n\n\"Fortunately, the cavalry were all down looting their own lines, or we\nmust have been overtaken at once. May happily had fainted as I lifted\nher on to my horse--happily, because the fearful screams that we heard\nfrom the various bungalows almost drove me mad, and would probably have\nkilled her, for the poor ladies were all her intimate friends.\n\n\"I rode on for some hours, till I felt quite safe from any immediate\npursuit, and then we halted in the shelter of a clump of trees.\n\n\"By this time I had heard May's story. She had felt uneasy at being\nalone, but had laughed at herself for being so, until upon her speaking\nto one of the servants he had answered in a tone of gross insolence,\nwhich had astonished her. She at once guessed that there was danger, and\nthe moment that she was alone caught up a large, dark carriage rug,\nwrapped it round her so as to conceal her white dress, and stole out\ninto the verandah. The night was dark, and scarcely had she left the\nhouse than she heard a burst of firing across at the mess-house. She at\nonce ran in among the bushes and crouched there, as she heard the rush\nof men into the room she had just left. She heard them searching for\nher, but they were looking for a white dress, and her dark rug saved\nher. What she must have suffered in the five minutes between the firing\nof the first shots and my arrival, she only knows. May had spoken but\nvery little since we started. I believe that she was certain that her\nfather was dead, although I had given an evasive answer when she asked\nme; and her terrible sense of loss, added to the horror of that time of\nsuspense in the garden, had completely stunned her. We waited in the\ntope until the afternoon, and then set out again.\n\n\"We had gone but a short distance when we saw a body of the rebel\ncavalry in pursuit. They had no doubt been scouring the country\ngenerally, and the discovery was accidental. For a short time we kept\naway from them, but this could not be for long, as our horse was\ncarrying double. I made for a sort of ruin I saw at the foot of a hill\nhalf a mile away. I did so with no idea of the possibility of\nconcealment. My intention was simply to get my back to a rock and to\nsell my life as dearly as I could, keeping the last two barrels of the\nrevolver for ourselves. Certainly no remembrance of my dream influenced\nme in any way, and in the wild whirl of excitement I had not given a\nsecond thought to Charley Simmonds' exclamation. As we rode up to the\nruins only a hundred yards ahead of us, May said,--\n\n\"'Blow out my brains, Edward; don't let me fall alive into their hands.'\n\n\"A shock of remembrance shot across me. The chase, her pale face, the\nwords, the temple--all my dream rushed into my mind.\n\n\"'We are saved,' I cried, to her amazement, as we rode into the\ncourtyard, in whose centre a great figure was sitting.\n\n\"I leapt from the horse, snatched the mussuk of water from the saddle,\nand then hurried May round the idol, between which and the rock behind,\nthere was but just room to get along.\n\n\"Not a doubt entered my mind but that I should find the spring as I had\ndreamed. Sure enough there was the carving, fresh upon my memory as if I\nhad seen it but the day before. I placed my hand on the leaflet without\nhesitation, a solid stone moved back, I hurried my amazed companion in,\nand shut to the stone. I found, and shot to, a massive bolt, evidently\nplaced to prevent the door being opened by accident or design when\nanyone was in the idol.\n\n\"At first it seemed quite dark, but a faint light streamed in from\nabove; we made our way up the stairs, and found that the light came\nthrough a number of small holes pierced in the upper part of the head,\nand through still smaller holes lower down, not much larger than a\ngood-sized knitting-needle could pass through. These holes, we\nafterwards found, were in the ornaments round the idol's neck. The holes\nenlarged inside, and enabled us to have a view all round.\n\n\"The mutineers were furious at our disappearance, and for hours searched\nabout. Then, saying that we must be hidden somewhere, and that they\nwould wait till we came out, they proceeded to bivouac in the courtyard\nof the temple.\n\n\"We passed four terrible days, but on the morning of the fifth a scout\ncame in to tell the rebels that a column of British troops marching on\nDelhi would pass close by the temple. They therefore hastily mounted and\ngalloped off.\n\n\"Three quarters of an hour later we were safe among our own people. A\nfortnight afterwards your aunt and I were married. It was no time for\nceremony then; there were no means of sending her away; no place where\nshe could have waited until the time for her mourning for her father was\nover. So we were married quietly by one of the chaplains of the troops,\nand, as your story-books say, have lived very happily ever after.\"\n\n\"And how about Mr. Simmonds, uncle? Did he get safe off too?\"\n\n\"Yes, his dream came as vividly to his mind as mine had done. He crawled\nto the place where he knew the trap-door would be, and got into the\ncellar. Fortunately for him there were plenty of eatables there, and he\nlived there in concealment for a fortnight. After that he crawled out,\nand found the mutineers had marched for Delhi. He went through a lot,\nbut at last joined us before that city. We often talked over our dreams\ntogether, and there was no question that we owed our lives to them. Even\nthen we did not talk much to other people about them, for there would\nhave been a lot of talk, and inquiry, and questions, and you know\nfellows hate that sort of thing. So we held our tongues. Poor Charley's\nsilence was sealed a year later at Lucknow, for on the advance with Lord\nClyde he was killed.\n\n\"And now, boys and girls, you must run off to bed. Five minutes more\nand it will be Christmas-day. So you see, Frank, that although I don't\nbelieve in ghosts, I have yet met with a circumstance which I cannot\naccount for.\"\n\n\"It is very curious anyhow, uncle, and beats ghost stories into fits.\"\n\n\"I like it better, certainly,\" one of the girls said, \"for we can go to\nbed without being afraid of dreaming about it.\"\n\n\"Well, you must not talk any more now. Off to bed, off to bed,\" Colonel\nHarley said, \"or I shall get into terrible disgrace with your fathers\nand mothers, who have been looking very gravely at me for the last three\nquarters of an hour.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWHITE-FACED DICK,\n\nA STORY OF PINE-TREE GULCH.\n\n\nHow Pine-tree Gulch got its name no one knew, for in the early days\nevery ravine and hillside was thickly covered with pines. It may be that\na tree of exceptional size caught the eye of the first explorer, that he\ncamped under it, and named the place in its honour; or, may be, some\nfallen giant lay in the bottom and hindered the work of the first\nprospectors. At any rate, Pine-tree Gulch it was, and the name was as\ngood as any other. The pine-trees were gone now. Cut up for firing, or\nfor the erection of huts, or the construction of sluices, but the\nhillside was ragged with their stumps.\n\nThe principal camp was at the mouth of the Gulch, where the little\nstream, which scarce afforded water sufficient for the cradles in the\ndry season, but which was a rushing torrent in winter, joined the Yuba.\nThe best ground was at the junction of the streams, and lay, indeed, in\nthe Yuba valley rather than in the Gulch. At first most gold had been\nfound higher up, but there was here comparatively little depth down to\nthe bed-rock, and as the ground became exhausted the miners moved down\ntowards the mouth of the Gulch. They were doing well as a whole, how\nwell no one knew, for miners are chary of giving information as to what\nthey are making; still, it was certain they were doing well, for the\nbars were doing a roaring trade, and the store-keepers never refused\ncredit--a proof in itself that the prospects were good.\n\nThe flat at the mouth of the Gulch was a busy scene, every foot was good\npaying stuff, for in the eddy, where the torrents in winter rushed down\ninto the Yuba, the gold had settled down and lay thick among the gravel.\nBut most of the parties were sinking, and it was a long way down to the\nbed-rock; for the hills on both sides sloped steeply, and the Yuba must\nhere at one time have rushed through a narrow gorge, until, in some\nwild freak, it brought down millions of tons of gravel, and resumed its\ncourse seventy feet above its former level.\n\nA quarter of a mile higher up a ledge of rock ran across the valley, and\nover it in the old time the Yuba had poured in a cascade seventy feet\ndeep into the ravine. But the rock now was level with the gravel, only\nshowing its jagged points here and there above it. This ledge had been\ninvaluable to the diggers: without it they could only have sunk their\nshafts with the greatest difficulty, for the gravel would have been full\nof water, and even with the greatest pains in puddling and timber-work\nthe pumps would scarcely have sufficed to keep it down as it rose in the\nbottom of the shafts. But the miners had made common cause together, and\ngiving each so many ounces of gold or so many day's work had erected a\ndam thirty feet high along the ledge of rock, and had cut a channel for\nthe Yuba along the lower <DW72>s of the valley. Of course, when the rain\nset in, as everybody knew, the dam would go, and the river diggings must\nbe abandoned till the water subsided and a fresh dam was made; but there\nwere two months before them yet, and every one hoped to be down to the\nbed-rock before the water interrupted their work.\n\nThe hillside, both in the Yuba Valley and for some distance along\nPine-tree Gulch, was dotted by shanties and tents; the former\nconstructed for the most part of logs roughly squared, the walls being\nsome three feet in height, on which the sharp sloping roof was placed,\nthatched in the first place with boughs, and made all snug, perhaps,\nwith an old sail stretched over all. The camp was quiet enough during\nthe day. The few women were away with their washing at the pools, a\nquarter of a mile up the Gulch, and the only persons to be seen about\nwere the men told off for cooking for their respective parties.\n\nBut in the evening the camp was lively. Groups of men in red shirts and\ncorded trousers tied at the knee, in high boots, sat round blazing\nfires, and talked of their prospects or discussed the news of the luck\nat other camps. The sound of music came from two or three plank\nerections which rose conspicuously above the huts of the diggers, and\nwere bright externally with the glories of white and  paints. To\nand from these men were always sauntering, and it needed not the clink\nof glasses and the sound of music to tell that they were the bars of the\ncamp.\n\nHere, standing at the counter, or seated at numerous small tables, men\nwere drinking villainous liquor, smoking and talking, and paying but\nscant attention to the strains of the fiddle or the accordion, save when\nsome well-known air was played, when all would join in a boisterous\nchorus. Some were always passing in or out of a door which led into a\nroom behind. Here there was comparative quiet, for men were gambling,\nand gambling high.\n\nGoing backwards and forwards with liquors into the gambling-room of the\nImperial Saloon, which stood just where Pine-tree Gulch opened into Yuba\nvalley, was a lad, whose appearance had earned for him the name of\nWhite-faced Dick.\n\nWhite-faced Dick was not one of those who had done well at Pine-tree\nGulch; he had come across the plains with his father, who had died when\nhalf-way over, and Dick had been thrown on the world to shift for\nhimself. Nature had not intended him for the work, for he was a\ndelicate, timid lad; what spirits he originally had having been years\nbefore beaten out of him by a brutal father. So far, indeed, Dick was\nthe better rather than the worse for the event which had left him an\norphan.\n\nThey had been travelling with a large party for mutual security against\nIndians and Mormons, and so long as the journey lasted Dick had got on\nfairly well. He was always ready to do odd jobs, and as the draught\ncattle were growing weaker and weaker, and every pound of weight was of\nimportance, no one grudged him his rations in return for his services;\nbut when the company began to descend the <DW72>s of the Sierra Nevada\nthey began to break up, going off by twos and threes to the diggings, of\nwhich they heard such glowing accounts. Some, however, kept straight on\nto Sacramento, determining there to obtain news as to the doings at all\nthe different places, and then to choose that which seemed to offer the\nbest prospects of success.\n\nDick proceeded with them to the town, and there found himself alone. His\ncompanions were absorbed in the busy rush of population, and each had so\nmuch to provide and arrange for, that none gave a thought to the\nsolitary boy. However, at that time no one who had a pair of hands,\nhowever feeble, to work need starve in Sacramento; and for some weeks\nDick hung around the town doing odd jobs, and then, having saved a few\ndollars, determined to try his luck at the diggings, and started on foot\nwith a shovel on his shoulder and a few day's provisions slung across\nit.\n\nArrived at his destination, the lad soon discovered that gold-digging\nwas hard work for brawny and seasoned men, and after a few feeble\nattempts in spots abandoned as worthless he gave up the effort, and\nagain began to drift; and even in Pine-tree Gulch it was not difficult\nto get a living. At first he tried rocking cradles, but the work was far\nharder than it appeared. He was standing ankle deep in water from\nmorning till night, and his cheeks grew paler, and his strength, instead\nof increasing, seemed to fade away. Still, there were jobs within his\nstrength. He could keep a fire alight and watch a cooking-pot, he could\ncarry up buckets of water or wash a flannel shirt, and so he struggled\non, until at last some kind-hearted man suggested to him that he should\ntry to get a place at the new saloon which was about to be opened.\n\n\"You are not fit for this work, young 'un, and you ought to be at home\nwith your mother; if you like I will go up with you this evening to\nJeffries. I knew him down on the flats, and I daresay he will take you\non. I don't say as a saloon is a good place for a boy, still you will\nalways get your bellyful of victuals and a dry place to sleep in, if\nit's only under a table. What do you say?\"\n\nDick thankfully accepted the offer, and on Red George's recommendation\nwas that evening engaged. His work was not hard now, for till the miners\nknocked off there was little doing in the saloon; a few men would come\nin for a drink at dinner-time, but it was not until the lamps were lit\nthat business began in earnest, and then for four or five hours Dick was\nbusy.\n\nA rougher or healthier lad would not have minded the work, but to Dick\nit was torture; every nerve in his body thrilled whenever rough miners\ncursed him for not carrying out their orders more quickly, or for\nbringing them the wrong liquors, which, as his brain was in a whirl with\nthe noise, the shouting, and the multiplicity of orders, happened\nfrequently. He might have fared worse had not Red George always stood\nhis friend, and Red George was an authority in Pine-tree Gulch--powerful\nin frame, reckless in bearing and temper, he had been in a score of\nfights and had come off them, if not unscathed, at least victorious. He\nwas notoriously a lucky digger, but his earnings went as fast as they\nwere made, and he was always ready to open his belt and give a bountiful\npinch of dust to any mate down on his luck.\n\nOne evening Dick was more helpless and confused than usual. The saloon\nwas full, and he had been shouted at and badgered and cursed until he\nscarcely knew what he was doing. High play was going on in the saloon,\nand a good many men were clustered round the table. Red George was\nhaving a run of luck, and there was a big pile of gold dust on the table\nbefore him. One of the gamblers who was losing had ordered old rye, and\ninstead of bringing it to him, Dick brought a tumbler of hot liquor\nwhich someone else had called for. With an oath the man took it up and\nthrew it in his face.\n\n\"You cowardly hound!\" Red George exclaimed. \"Are you man enough to do\nthat to a man?\"\n\n\"You bet,\" the gambler, who was a new arrival at Pine-tree Gulch,\nreplied; and picking up an empty glass, he hurled it at Red George. The\nby-standers sprang aside, and in a moment the two men were facing each\nother with outstretched pistols. The two reports rung out\nsimultaneously: Red George sat down unconcernedly with a streak of blood\nflowing down his face, where the bullet had cut a furrow in his cheek;\nthe stranger fell back with the bullet hole in the centre of his\nforehead.\n\nThe body was carried outside, and the play continued as if no\ninterruption had taken place. They were accustomed to such occurrences\nin Pine-tree Gulch, and the piece of ground at the top of the hill, that\nhad been set aside as a burial place, was already dotted thickly with\ngraves, filled in almost every instance by men who had died, in the\nlocal phraseology, \"with their boots on.\"\n\nNeither then nor afterwards did Red George allude to the subject to\nDick, whose life after this signal instance of his championship was\neasier than it had hitherto been, for there were few in Pine-tree Gulch\nwho cared to excite Red George's anger; and strangers going to the\nplace were sure to receive a friendly warning that it was best for their\nhealth to keep their tempers over any shortcomings on the part of\nWhite-faced Dick.\n\nGrateful as he was for Red George's interference on his behalf, Dick\nfelt the circumstance which had ensued more than anyone else in the\ncamp. With others it was the subject of five minutes' talk, but Dick\ncould not get out of his head the thought of the dead man's face as he\nfell back. He had seen many such frays before, but he was too full of\nhis own troubles for them to make much impression upon him. But in the\npresent case he felt as if he himself was responsible for the death of\nthe gambler; if he had not blundered this would not have happened. He\nwondered whether the dead man had a wife and children, and, if so, were\nthey expecting his return? Would they ever hear where he had died, and\nhow?\n\nBut this feeling, which, tired out as he was when the time came for\nclosing the bar, often prevented him from sleeping for hours, in no way\nlessened his gratitude and devotion towards Red George, and he felt\nthat he could die willingly if his life would benefit his champion.\nSometimes he thought, too, that his life would not be much to give, for\nin spite of shelter and food, the cough which he had caught while\nworking in the water still clung to him, and, as his employer said to\nhim angrily one day--\n\n\"Your victuals don't do you no good, Dick; you get thinner and thinner,\nand folks will think as I starve you. Darned if you ain't a disgrace to\nthe establishment.\"\n\nThe wind was whistling down the gorges, and the clouds hung among the\npine-woods which still clothed the upper <DW72>s of the hills, and the\ndiggers, as they turned out one morning, looked up apprehensively.\n\n\"But it could not be,\" they assured each other. Every one knew that the\nrains were not due for another month yet; it could only be a passing\nshower if it rained at all.\n\nBut as the morning went on, men came in from camps higher up the river,\nand reports were current that it had been raining for the last two days\namong the upper hills; while those who took the trouble to walk across\nto the new channel could see for themselves at noon that it was filled\nvery nigh to the brim, the water rushing along with thick and turbid\ncurrent. But those who repeated the rumours, or who reported that the\nchannel was full, were summarily put down. Men would not believe that\nsuch a calamity as a flood and the destruction of all their season's\nwork could be impending. There had been some showers, no doubt, as there\nhad often been before, but it was ridiculous to talk of anything like\nrain a month before its time. Still, in spite of these assertions, there\nwas uneasiness at Pine-tree Gulch, and men looked at the driving clouds\nabove and shook their heads before they went down to the shafts to work\nafter dinner.\n\nWhen the last customer had left and the bar was closed, Dick had nothing\nto do till evening, and he wandered outside and sat down on a stump, at\nfirst looking at the work going on in the valley, then so absorbed in\nhis own thoughts that he noticed nothing, not even the driving mist\nwhich presently set in. He was calculating that he had, with his savings\nfrom his wages and what had been given him by the miners, laid by eighty\ndollars. When he got another hundred and twenty he would go; he would\nmake his way down to San Francisco, and then by ship to Panama and up to\nNew York, and then west again to the village where he was born. There\nwould be people there who would know him, and who would give him work,\nfor his mother's sake. He did not care what it was; anything would be\nbetter than this.\n\nThen his thoughts came back to Pine-tree Gulch, and he started to his\nfeet. Could he be mistaken? Were his eyes deceiving him? No; among the\nstones and boulders of the old bed of the Yuba there was the gleam of\nwater, and even as he watched it he could see it widening out. He\nstarted to run down the hill to give the alarm, but before he was\nhalf-way he paused, for there were loud shouts, and a scene of bustle\nand confusion instantly arose.\n\nThe cradles were deserted, and the men working on the surface loaded\nthemselves with their tools and made for the high ground, while those at\nthe windlasses worked their hardest to draw up their comrades below. A\nman coming down from above stopped close to Dick, with a low cry, and\nstood gazing with a white scared face. Dick had worked with him; he was\none of the company to which Red George belonged.\n\n\"What is it, Saunders?\"\n\n\"My God! they are lost,\" the man replied. \"I was at the windlass when\nthey shouted up to me to go up and fetch them a bottle of rum. They had\njust struck it rich, and wanted a drink on the strength of it.\"\n\nDick understood at once. Red George and his mates were still in the\nbottom of the shaft, ignorant of the danger which was threatening them.\n\n\"Come on,\" he cried; \"we shall be in time yet,\" and at the top of his\nspeed dashed down the hill, followed by Saunders.\n\n\"What is it, what is it?\" asked parties of men mounting the hill. \"Red\nGeorge's gang are still below.\"\n\nDick's eyes were fixed on the water. There was a broad band now of\nyellow with a white edge down the centre of the stony flat, and it was\nwidening with terrible rapidity. It was scarce ten yards from the\nwindlass at the top of Red George's shaft when Dick, followed closely by\nSaunders, reached it.\n\n\"Come up, mates; quick, for your lives! The river is rising; you will\nbe flooded out directly. Every one else has gone!\"\n\nAs he spoke he pulled at the rope by which the bucket was hanging, and\nthe handles of the windlass flew round rapidly as it descended. When it\nhad run out, Dick and he grasped the handles.\n\n\"All right below?\"\n\nAn answering call came up, and the two began their work, throwing their\nwhole strength into it. Quickly as the windlass revolved, it seemed an\nendless time to Dick before the bucket came up, and the first man\nstepped out. It was not Red George. Dick had hardly expected it would\nbe. Red George would be sure to see his two mates up before him, and the\nman uttered a cry of alarm as he saw the water, now within a few feet of\nthe mouth of the shaft.\n\nIt was a torrent now, for not only was it coming through the dam, but it\nwas rushing down in cascades from the new channel. Without a word the\nminer placed himself facing Dick and the moment the bucket was again\ndown, the three grasped the handles. But quickly as they worked, the\nedge of the water was within a few inches of the shaft when the next man\nreached the surface; but again the bucket descended before the rope\ntightened. However, the water had began to run over the lip--at first in\na mere trickle, and then, almost instantaneously, in a cascade, which\ngrew larger and larger.\n\nThe bucket was half-way up when a sound like thunder was heard, the\nground seemed to tremble under their feet, and then at the turn of the\nvalley above, a great wave of yellow water, crested with foam, was seen\ntearing along at the speed of a race-horse.\n\n\"The dam has burst!\" Saunders shouted. \"Run for your lives, or we are\nall lost!\"\n\nThe three men dropped the handles and ran at full speed towards the\nshore, while loud shouts to Dick to follow came from the crowd of men\nstanding on the <DW72>. But the boy still grasped the handles, and with\nlips tightly closed, still toiled on. Slowly the bucket ascended, for\nRed George was a heavy man; then suddenly the weight slackened, and the\nhandle went round faster. The shaft was filling, the water had reached\nthe bucket, and had risen to Red George's neck, so that his weight was\nno longer on the rope. So fast did the water pour in, that it was not\nhalf a minute before the bucket reached the surface, and Red George\nsprang out. There was but time for one exclamation, and then the great\nwave struck them. Red George was whirled like a straw in the current;\nbut he was a strong swimmer, and at a point where the valley widened\nout, half a mile lower, he struggled to shore.\n\nTwo days later the news reached Pine-tree Gulch that a boy's body had\nbeen washed ashore twenty miles down, and ten men, headed by Red George,\nwent and brought it solemnly back to Pine-tree Gulch. There, among the\nstumps of pine-trees, a grave was dug, and there, in the presence of the\nwhole camp, White-faced Dick was laid to rest.\n\nPine-tree Gulch is a solitude now, the trees are growing again, and none\nwould dream that it was once a busy scene of industry; but if the\ntraveller searches among the pine-trees, he will find a stone with the\nwords:\n\n\"Here lies White-faced Dick, who died to save Red George. 'What can a\nman do more than give his life for a friend?'\"\n\nThe text was the suggestion of an ex-clergyman working as a miner in\nPine-tree Gulch.\n\nRed George worked no more at the diggings, but after seeing the stone\nlaid in its place, went east, and with what little money came to him\nwhen the common fund of the company was divided after the flood on the\nYuba, bought a small farm, and settled down there; but to the end of his\nlife he was never weary of telling those who would listen to it the\nstory of Pine-tree Gulch.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nA BRUSH WITH THE CHINESE,\n\nAND WHAT CAME OF IT.\n\n\nIt was early in December that H.M.S. _Perseus_ was cruising off the\nmouth of the Canton River. War had been declared with China in\nconsequence of her continued evasions of the treaty she had made with\nus, and it was expected that a strong naval force would soon gather to\nbring her to reason. In the meantime the ships on the station had a busy\ntime of it, chasing the enemy's junks when they ventured to show\nthemselves beyond the reach of the guns of their forts, and occasionally\nhaving a brush with the piratical boats which took advantage of the\ngeneral confusion to plunder friend as well as foe.\n\nThe _Perseus_ had that afternoon chased two Government junks up a creek.\nThe sun had already set when they took refuge there, and the captain\ndid not care to send his boats after them in the dark, as many of the\ncreeks ran up for miles into the flat country; and as they not\nunfrequently had many arms or branches, the boats might, in the dark,\nmiss the junks altogether. Orders were issued that four boats should be\nready for starting at daybreak the next morning. The _Perseus_ anchored\noff the mouth of the creek, and two boats were ordered to row backwards\nand forwards off its mouth all night to insure that the enemy did not\nslip out in the darkness.\n\nJack Fothergill, the senior midshipman, was commanding the gig, and two\nof the other midshipmen were going in the pinnace and launch, commanded\nrespectively by the first lieutenant and the master. The three other\nmidshipmen of the _Perseus_ were loud in their lamentations that they\nwere not to take share in the fun.\n\n\"You can't all go, you know,\" Fothergill said, \"and it's no use making a\nrow about it; the captain has been very good to let three of us go.\"\n\n\"It's all very well for you, Jack,\" Percy Adcock, the youngest of the\nlads, replied, \"because you are one of those chosen; and it is not so\nhard for Simmons and Linthorpe, because they went the other day in the\nboat that chased those junks under shelter of the guns of their battery,\nbut I haven't had a chance for ever so long.\"\n\n\"What fun was there in chasing the junks?\" Simmons said. \"We never got\nnear the brutes till they were close to their battery, and then just as\nthe first shot came singing from their guns, and we thought that we were\ngoing to have some excitement, the first lieutenant sung out 'Easy all,'\nand there was nothing for it but to turn round and to row for the ship,\nand a nice hot row it was--two hours and a half in a broiling sun. Of\ncourse I am not blaming Oliphant, for the captain's orders were strict\nthat we were not to try to cut the junks out if they got under the guns\nof any of their batteries. Still it was horribly annoying, and I do\nthink the captain might have remembered what beastly luck we had last\ntime, and given us a chance to-morrow.\"\n\n\"It is clear we could not all go,\" Fothergill said, \"and naturally\nenough the captain chose the three seniors. Besides, if you did have\nbad luck last time, you had your chance, and I don't suppose we shall\nhave anything more exciting now; these fellows always set fire to their\njunks and row for the shore directly they see us, after firing a shot or\ntwo wildly in our direction.\"\n\n\"Well, Jack, if you don't expect any fun,\" Simmons replied, \"perhaps you\nwouldn't mind telling the first lieutenant you do not care for going,\nand that I am very anxious to take your place. Perhaps he will be good\nenough to allow me to relieve you.\"\n\n\"A likely thing that!\" Fothergill laughed. \"No, Tom, I am sorry you are\nnot going, but you must make the best of it till another chance comes.\"\n\n\"Don't you think, Jack,\" Percy Adcock said to his senior in a coaxing\ntone later on, \"you could manage to smuggle me into the boat with you?\"\n\n\"Not I, Percy. Suppose you got hurt, what would the captain say then?\nAnd firing as wildly as the Chinese do, a shot is just as likely to hit\nyour little carcase as to lodge in one of the sailors. No, you must just\nmake the best of it, Percy, and I promise you that next time there is a\nboat expedition, if you are not put in, I will say a good word to the\nfirst luff for you.\"\n\n\"That promise is better than nothing,\" the boy said; \"but I would a deal\nrather go this time and take my chance next.\"\n\n\"But you see you can't, Percy, and there's no use talking any more about\nit. I really do not expect there will be any fighting. Two junks would\nhardly make any opposition to the boats of the ship, and I expect we\nshall be back by nine o'clock with the news that they were well on fire\nbefore we came up.\"\n\nPercy Adcock, however, was determined, if possible, to go. He was a\nfavourite among the men, and when he spoke to the bow oar of the gig,\nthe latter promised to do anything he could to aid him to carry out his\nwishes.\n\n\"We are to start at daybreak, Tom, so that it will be quite dark when\nthe boats are lowered. I will creep into the gig before that and hide\nmyself as well as I can under your thwart, and all you have got to do is\nto take no notice of me. When the boat is lowered I think they will\nhardly make me out from the deck, especially as you will be standing up\nin the bow holding on with the boat-hook till the rest get on board.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, I will do my best; but if you are caught you must not let\nout that I knew anything about it.\"\n\n\"I won't do that,\" Percy said. \"I don't think there is much chance of my\nbeing noticed until we get on board the junks, and then they won't know\nwhich boat I came off in, and the first lieutenant will be too busy to\nblow me up. Of course I shall get it when I am on board again, but I\ndon't mind that so that I see the fun. Besides, I want to send home some\nthings to my sister, and she will like them all the better if I can tell\nher I captured them on board some junks we seized and burnt.\"\n\nThe next morning the crews mustered before daybreak. Percy had already\ntaken his place under the bow thwart of the gig. The davits were swung\noverboard, and two men took their places in her as she was lowered down\nby the falls. As soon as she touched the water the rest of the crew\nclambered down by the ladder and took their places; then Fothergill took\nhis seat in the stern, and the boat pushed off and lay a few lengths\naway from the ship until the heavier boats put off. As soon as they were\nunder way Percy crawled out from his hiding-place and placed himself in\nthe bow, where he was sheltered by the body of the oarsmen from\nFothergill's sight.\n\nDay was just breaking now, but it was still dark on the water, and the\nboat rowed very slowly until it became lighter. Percy could just make\nout the shores of the creek on both sides; they were but two or three\nfeet above the level of the water, and were evidently submerged at high\ntide. The creek was about a hundred yards wide, and the lad could not\nsee far ahead, for it was full of sharp windings and turnings. Here and\nthere branches joined it, but the boats were evidently following the\nmain channel. After another half-hour's rowing the first lieutenant\nsuddenly gave the order, \"Easy all,\" and the men, looking over their\nshoulders, saw a village a quarter of a mile ahead, with the two junks\nthey had chased the night before lying in front of it. Almost at the\nsame moment a sudden uproar was heard--drums were beaten and gongs\nsounded.\n\n\"They are on the look-out for us,\" the first lieutenant said. \"Mr.\nMason, do you keep with me and attack the junk highest up the river; Mr.\nBellew and Mr. Fothergill, do you take the one lower down. Row on, men.\"\n\nThe oars all touched the water together, and the four boats leapt\nforward. In a minute a scattering fire of gingals and matchlocks was\nopened from the junks, and the bullets pattered on the water round the\nboats. Percy was kneeling up in the bow now. As they passed a branch\nchannel three or four hundred yards from the village, he started and\nleapt to his feet.\n\n\"There are four or five junks in that passage, Fothergill; they are\npoling out.\"\n\nThe first lieutenant heard the words.\n\n\"Row on, men; let us finish with these craft ahead before the others get\nout. This must be that piratical village we have heard about, Mr. Mason,\nas lying up one of these creeks; that accounts for those two junks not\ngoing higher up. I was surprised at seeing them here, for they might\nguess that we should try to get them this morning. Evidently they\ncalculated on catching us in a trap.\"\n\nPercy was delighted at finding that, in the excitement caused by his\nnews, the first lieutenant had forgotten to take any notice of his being\nthere without orders, and he returned a defiant nod to the threat\nconveyed by Fothergill shaking his fist at him. As they neared the junks\nthe fire of those on board redoubled, and was aided by that of many\nvillagers gathered on the bank of the creek. Suddenly from a bank of\nrushes four cannons were fired. A ball struck the pinnace, smashing in\nher side. The other boats gathered hastily round and took her crew on\nboard, and then dashed at the junks, which were but a hundred yards\ndistant. The valour of the Chinese evaporated as they saw the boats\napproaching, and scores of them leapt overboard and swam for shore.\n\nIn another minute the boats were alongside and the crews scrambling up\nthe sides of the junks. A few Chinamen only attempted to oppose them.\nThese were speedily overcome, and the British had now time to look\nround, and saw that six junks crowded with men had issued from the side\ncreek and were making towards them.\n\n\"Let the boats tow astern,\" the lieutenant ordered. \"We should have to\nrun the gauntlet of that battery on shore if we were to attack them, and\nmight lose another boat before we reached their side. We will fight them\nhere.\"\n\nThe junks approached, those on board firing their guns, yelling and\nshouting, while the drums and gongs were furiously beaten.\n\n\"They will find themselves mistaken, Percy, if they think they are going\nto frighten us with all that row,\" Fothergill said. \"You young rascal,\nhow did you get on board the boat without being seen? The captain will\nbe sure to suspect I had a hand in concealing you.\"\n\nThe tars were now at work firing the gingals attached to the bulwarks\nand the matchlocks, with which the deck was strewn, at the approaching\njunks. As they took steady aim, leaning their pieces on the bulwarks,\nthey did considerable execution among the Chinamen crowded on board the\njunks, while the shot of the Chinese, for the most part, whistled far\noverhead; but the guns of the shore battery, which had now been slewed\nround to bear upon them, opened with a better aim, and several shots\ncame crashing into the sides of the two captured junks.\n\n\"Get ready to board, lads!\" Lieutenant Oliphant shouted. \"Don't wait\nfor them to board you, but the moment they come alongside lash their\nrigging to ours and spring on board them.\"\n\nThe leading junk was now about twenty yards away, and presently grated\nalongside. Half-a-dozen sailors at once sprang into her rigging with\nropes, and after lashing the junks together leaped down upon her deck,\nwhere Fothergill was leading the gig's crew and some of those rescued\nfrom the pinnace, while Mr. Bellew, with another party, had boarded her\nat the stern. Several of the Chinese fought stoutly, but the greater\npart lost heart at seeing themselves attacked by the \"white devils,\"\ninstead of, as they expected, overwhelming them by their superior\nnumbers. Many began at once to jump overboard, and after two or three\nminutes' sharp fighting, the rest either followed their example or were\nbeaten below.\n\nFothergill looked round. The other junk had been attacked by two of the\nenemy, one on each side, and the little body of sailors were gathered in\nher waist, and were defending themselves against an overwhelming number\nof the enemy.\n\nThe other three piratical junks had been carried somewhat up the creek\nby the tide that was sweeping inward, and could not for the moment take\npart in the fight.\n\n\"Mr. Oliphant is hard pressed, sir.\" He asked the master: \"Shall we take\nto the boats?\"\n\n\"That will be the best plan,\" Mr. Bellew replied. \"Quick, lads, get the\nboats alongside and tumble in; there is not a moment to be lost.\"\n\nThe crew at once sprang to the boats and rowed to the other junk, which\nwas but some thirty yards away.\n\nThe Chinese, absorbed in their contest with the crew of the pinnace, did\nnot perceive the new-comers until they gained the deck, and with a shout\nfell furiously upon them. In their surprise and consternation the\npirates did not pause to note that they were still five to one superior\nin number, but made a precipitate rush for their own vessels. The\nEnglish at once took the offensive. The first lieutenant with his party\nboarded one, while the new-comers leapt on to the deck of the other. The\npanic which had seized the Chinese was so complete that they attempted\nno resistance whatever, but sprang overboard in great numbers and swam\nto the shore, which was but twenty yards away, and in three minutes the\nEnglish were in undisputed possession of both vessels.\n\n\"Back again, Mr. Fothergill, or you will lose the craft you captured,\"\nLieutenant Oliphant said; \"they have already cut her free.\"\n\nThe Chinese, indeed, who had been beaten below by the boarding party,\nhad soon perceived the sudden departure of their captors, and gaining\nthe deck again had cut the lashings which fastened them to the other\njunk, and were proceeding to hoist their sails. They were too late,\nhowever. Almost before the craft had way on her Fothergill and his crew\nwere alongside. The Chinese did not wait for the attack, but at once\nsprang overboard and made for the shore. The other three junks, seeing\nthe capture of their comrades, had already hoisted their sails and were\nmaking up the creek. Fothergill dropped an anchor, left four of his men\nin charge, and rowed back to Mr. Oliphant.\n\n\"What shall we do next, sir?\"\n\n\"We will give those fellows on shore a lesson, and silence their\nbattery. Two men have been killed since you left. We must let the other\njunks go for the present. Four of my men were killed and eleven wounded\nbefore Mr. Bellew and you came to our assistance. The Chinese were\nfighting pluckily up to that time, and it would have gone very hard with\nus if you had not been at hand; the beggars will fight when they think\nthey have got it all their own way. But before we land we will set fire\nto the five junks we have taken. Do you return and see that the two\nastern are well lighted, Mr. Fothergill; Mr. Mason will see to these\nthree. When you have done your work take to your boat and lay off till I\njoin you; keep the junks between you and the shore, to protect you from\nthe fire of the rascals there.\"\n\n\"I cannot come with you, I suppose, Fothergill?\" Percy Adcock said, as\nthe midshipman was about to descend into his boat again.\n\n\"Yes, come along, Percy. It doesn't matter what you do now. The captain\nwill be so pleased when he hears that we have captured and burnt five\njunks, that you will get off with a very light wigging, I imagine.\"\n\n\"That's just what I was thinking, Jack. Has it not been fun?\"\n\n\"You wouldn't have thought it fun if you had got one of those matchlock\nballs in your body. There are a good many of our poor fellows just at\nthe present moment who do not see anything funny in the affair at all.\nHere we are; clamber up.\"\n\nThe crew soon set to work under Fothergill's orders. The sails were cut\noff the masts and thrown down into the hold; bamboos, of which there\nwere an abundance down there, were heaped over them, a barrel of oil was\npoured over the mass, and the fire then applied.\n\n\"That will do, lads. Now take to your boats and let's make a bonfire of\nthe other junk.\"\n\nIn ten minutes both vessels were a sheet of flame, and the boat was\nlying a short distance from them waiting for further operations. The\ninhabitants of the village, furious at the failure of the plan which had\nbeen laid for the destruction of the \"white devils,\" kept up a constant\nfusilade, which, however, did no harm, for the gig was completely\nsheltered by the burning junks close to her from their missiles.\n\n\"There go the others!\" Percy exclaimed after a minute or two, as three\ncolumns of smoke arose simultaneously from the other junks, and the\nsailors were seen dropping into their boats alongside.\n\nThe killed and wounded were placed in the other gig with four sailors in\ncharge. They were directed to keep under shelter of the junks until\nrejoined by the pinnace and Fothergill's gig, after these had done their\nwork on shore.\n\nWhen all was ready the first lieutenant raised his hand as a signal, and\nthe two boats dashed between the burning junks and rowed for the shore.\nSuch of the natives as had their weapons charged fired a hasty volley,\nand then, as the sailors leapt from their boats, took to their heels.\n\n\"Mr. Fothergill, take your party into the village and set fire to the\nhouses; shoot down every man you see. This place is a nest of pirates. I\nwill capture that battery and then join you.\"\n\nFothergill and his sailors at once entered the village. The men had\nalready fled; the women were turned out of the houses, and these were\nimmediately set on fire. The tars regarded the whole affair as a\nglorious joke, and raced from house to house, making a hasty search in\neach for concealed valuables before setting it on fire. In a short time\nthe whole village was in a blaze.\n\n\"There is a house there, standing in that little grove a hundred yards\naway,\" Percy said.\n\n\"It looks like a temple,\" Fothergill replied. \"However, we will have a\nlook at it.\" And calling two sailors to accompany him, he started at a\nrun towards it, Percy keeping by his side.\n\n\"It is a temple,\" Fothergill said when they approached it. \"Still, we\nwill have a look at it, but we won't burn it; it will be as well to\nrespect the religion, even of a set of piratical scoundrels like these.\"\n\nAt the head of his men he rushed in at the entrance. There was a blaze\nof fire as half a dozen muskets were discharged in their faces. One of\nthe sailors dropped dead, and before the others had time to realize what\nhad happened they were beaten to the ground by a storm of blows from\nswords and other weapons.\n\nA heavy blow crashed down on Percy's head, and he fell insensible even\nbefore he realized what had occurred.\n\nWhen he recovered, his first sensation was that of a vague wonder as to\nwhat had happened to him. He seemed to be in darkness and unable to move\nhand or foot. He was compressed in some way that he could not at first\nunderstand, and was being bumped and jolted in an extraordinary manner.\nIt was some little time before he could understand the situation. He\nfirst remembered the fight with the junks, then he recalled the landing\nand burning the village; then, as his brain cleared, came the\nrecollection of his start with Fothergill for the temple among the\ntrees, his arrival there, and a loud report and flash of fire.\n\n\"I must have been knocked down and stunned,\" he said to himself, \"and I\nsuppose I am a prisoner now to these brutes, and one of them must be\ncarrying me on his back.\"\n\nYes, he could understand it all now. His hands and his feet were tied,\nropes were passed round his body in every direction, and he was fastened\nback to back upon the shoulders of a Chinaman. Percy remembered the\ntales he had heard of the imprisonment and torture of those who fell\ninto the hands of the Chinese, and he bitterly regretted that he had\nnot been killed instead of stunned in the surprise of the temple.\n\n\"It would have been just the same feeling,\" he said to himself, \"and\nthere would have been an end of it. Now, there is no saying what is\ngoing to happen. I wonder whether Jack was killed, and the sailors.\"\n\nPresently there was a jabber of voices; the motion ceased. Percy could\nfeel that the cords were being unwound, and he was dropped on to his\nfeet; then the cloth was removed from his head, and he could look round.\n\nA dozen Chinese, armed with matchlocks and bristling with swords and\ndaggers, stood around, and among them, bound like himself and gagged by\na piece of bamboo forced lengthways across his mouth and kept there with\na string going round the back of the head, stood Fothergill. He was\nbleeding from several cuts in the head. Percy's heart gave a bound of\njoy at finding that he was not alone; then he tried to feel sorry that\nJack had not escaped, but failed to do so, although he told himself that\nhis comrade's presence would not in any way alleviate the fate which was\ncertain to befall him. Still the thought of companionship, even in\nwretchedness, and perhaps a vague hope that Jack, with his energy and\nspirit, might contrive some way for their escape, cheered him up.\n\nAs Percy, too, was gagged, no word could be exchanged by the midshipmen,\nbut they nodded to each other. They were now put side by side and made\nto walk in the centre of their captors. On the way they passed through\nseveral villages, whose inhabitants poured out to gaze at the captives,\nbut the men in charge of them were evidently not disposed to delay, as\nthey passed through without a stop. At last they halted before two\ncottages standing by themselves, thrust the prisoners into a small room,\nremoved their gags, and left them to themselves.\n\n\"Well, Percy, my boy, so they caught you too? I am awfully sorry. It was\nmy fault for going with only two men into that temple, but as the\nvillage had been deserted and scarcely a man was found there, it never\nentered my mind that there might be a party in the temple.\"\n\n\"Of course not, Jack; it was a surprise altogether. I don't know\nanything about it, for I was knocked down, I suppose, just as we went\nin, and the first thing I knew about it was that I was being carried on\nthe back of one of those fellows. I thought it was awful at first, but I\ndon't seem to mind so much now you are with me.\"\n\n\"It is a comfort to have someone to speak to,\" Jack said, \"yet I wish\nyou were not here, Percy; I can't do you any good, and I shall never\ncease blaming myself for having brought you into this scrape. I don't\nknow much more about the affair than you do. The guns were fired so\nclose to us that my face was scorched with one of them, and almost at\nthe same instant I got a lick across my cheek with a sword. I had just\ntime to hit at one of them, and then almost at the same moment I got two\nor three other blows, and down I went; they threw themselves on the top\nof me and tied and gagged me in no time. Then I was tied to a long\nbamboo, and two fellows put the ends on their shoulders and went off\nwith me through the fields. Of course I was face downwards, and did not\nknow you were with us till they stopped and loosed me from the bamboo\nand set me on my feet.\"\n\n\"But what are they going to do with us do you think, Jack?\"\n\n\"I should say they are going to take us to Canton and claim a reward\nfor our capture, and there I suppose they will cut off our heads or saw\nus in two, or put us to some other unpleasant kind of death. I expect\nthey are discussing it now; do you hear what a jabber they are kicking\nup?\"\n\nVoices were indeed heard raised in angry altercation in the next room.\nAfter a time the din subsided and the conversation appeared to take a\nmore amiable turn.\n\n\"I suppose they have settled it as far as they are concerned,\" Jack\nsaid; \"anyhow, you may be quite sure they mean to make something out of\nus. If they hadn't they would have finished us at once, for they must\nhave been furious at the destruction of their junks and village. As to\nthe idea that mercy has anything to do with it, we may as well put it\nout of our minds. The Chinaman, at the best of times, has no feeling of\npity in his nature, and after their defeat it is certain they would have\nkilled us at once had they not hoped to do better by us. If they had\nbeen Indians I should have said they had carried us off to enjoy the\nsatisfaction of torturing us, but I don't suppose it is that with them.\"\n\n\"Do you think there is any chance of our getting away?\" Percy asked,\nafter a pause.\n\n\"I should say not the least in the world, Percy. My hands are fastened\nso tight now that the ropes seem cutting into my wrists, and after they\nhad set me on my feet and cut the cords of my legs I could scarcely\nstand at first, my feet were so numbed by the pressure. However, we must\nkeep up our pluck. Possibly they may keep us at Canton for a bit, and if\nthey do the squadron may arrive and fight its way past the forts and\ntake the city before they have quite made up their minds as to what kind\nof death will be most appropriate to the occasion. I wonder what they\nare doing now? They seem to be chopping sticks.\"\n\n\"I wish they would give us some water,\" Percy said. \"I am frightfully\nthirsty.\"\n\n\"And so am I, Percy; there is one comfort, they won't let us die of\nthirst, they could get no satisfaction out of our deaths now.\"\n\nTwo hours later some of the Chinese re-entered the room and led the\ncaptives outside, and the lads then saw what was the meaning of the\nnoise they had heard. A cage had been manufactured of strong bamboos.\nIt was about four and a half feet long, four feet wide, and less than\nthree feet high; above it was fastened two long bamboos. Two or three of\nthe bars of the cage had been left open.\n\n\"My goodness! they never intend to put us in there,\" Percy exclaimed.\n\n\"That they do,\" Jack said. \"They are going to carry us the rest of the\nway.\"\n\nThe cords which bound the prisoners' hands were now cut, and they were\nmotioned to crawl into the cage. This they did; the bars were then put\nin their places and securely lashed. Four men went to the ends of the\npoles and lifted the cage upon their shoulders; two others took their\nplaces beside it, and one man, apparently the leader of the party,\nwalked on ahead; the rest remained behind.\n\n\"I never quite realized what a fowl felt in a coop before,\" Jack said,\n\"but if its sensations are at all like mine they must be decidedly\nunpleasant. It isn't high enough to sit upright in, it is nothing like\nlong enough to lie down, and as to getting out one might as well think\nof flying. Do you know, Percy, I don't think they mean taking us to\nCanton at all. I did not think of it before, but from the direction of\nthe sun I feel sure that we cannot have been going that way. What they\nare up to I can't imagine.\"\n\nIn an hour they came to a large village. Here the cage was set down and\nthe villagers closed round. They were, however, kept a short distance\nfrom the cage by the men in charge of it. Then a wooden platter was\nplaced on the ground, and persons throwing a few copper coins into this\nwere allowed to come near the cage.\n\n\"They are making a show of us!\" Fothergill exclaimed. \"That's what they\nare up to, you see if it isn't; they are going to travel up country to\nshow the 'white devils' whom their valour has captured.\"\n\nThis was, indeed, the purpose of the pirates. At that time Europeans\nseldom ventured beyond the limits assigned to them in the two or three\ntowns where they were permitted to trade, and few, indeed, of the\ncountry people had ever obtained a sight of the white barbarians of\nwhose doings they had so frequently heard. Consequently a small crowd\nsoon gathered round the cage, eyeing the captives with the same interest\nthey would have felt as to unknown and dangerous beasts; they laughed\nand joked, passed remarks upon them, and even poked them with sticks.\nFothergill, furious at this treatment, caught one of the sticks, and\nwrenching it from the hands of the Chinaman, tried to strike at him\nthrough the bars, a proceeding which excited shouts of laughter from the\nby-standers.\n\n\"I think, Jack,\" Percy said, \"it will be best to try and keep our\ntempers and not to seem to mind what they do to us, then if they find\nthey can't get any fun out of us they will soon leave us alone.\"\n\n\"Of course, that's the best plan,\" Fothergill agreed, \"but it's not so\neasy to follow. That fellow very nearly poked out my eye with his stick,\nand no one's going to stand that if he can help it.\"\n\nIt was some hours before the curiosity of the village was satisfied.\nWhen all had paid who were likely to do so, the guards broke up their\ncircle, and leaving two of their number at the cage to see that no\nactual harm was caused to their prisoners, the rest went off to a\nrefreshment house. The place of the elders was now taken by the boys\nand children of the village, who crowded round the cage, prodded the\nprisoners with sticks, and, putting their hands through the bars, pulled\ntheir ears and hair. This amusement, however, was brought to an abrupt\nconclusion by Fothergill suddenly seizing the wrist of a big boy and\npulling his arm through the cage until his face was against the bars;\nthen he proceeded to punch him until the guard, coming to his rescue,\npoked Fothergill with his stick until he released his hold.\n\nThe punishment of their comrade excited neither anger nor resentment\namong the other boys, who yelled with delight at his discomfiture, but\nit made them more careful in approaching the cage, and though they\ncontinued to poke the prisoners with sticks they did not venture again\nto thrust a hand through the bars. At sunset the guards again came\nround, lifted the cage and carried it into a shed. A platter of dirty\nrice and a jug of water were put into the cage; two of the men lighted\ntheir long pipes and sat down on guard beside it, and, the doors being\nclosed, the captives were left in peace.\n\n\"If this sort of thing is to go on, as I suppose it is,\" Fothergill\nsaid, \"the sooner they cut off our heads the better.\"\n\n\"It is very bad, Jack. I am sore all over with those probes from their\nsharp sticks.\"\n\n\"I don't care for the pain, Percy, so much as the humiliation of the\nthing. To be stared at and poked at as if we were wild beasts by these\ncurs, when with half a dozen of our men we could send a hundred of them\nscampering, I feel as if I could choke with rage.\"\n\n\"You had better try and eat some of this rice, Jack. It is beastly, but\nI daresay we shall get no more until to-morrow night, and we must keep\nup our strength if we can. At any rate, the water is not bad, that's a\ncomfort.\"\n\n\"No thanks to them,\" Jack growled. \"If there had been any bad water in\nthe neighbourhood they would have given it to us.\"\n\nFor six weeks the sufferings of the prisoners continued. Their captors\navoided towns where the authorities would probably at once have taken\nthe prisoners out of their hands. No one would have recognized the two\ncaptives as the midshipmen of the _Perseus_; their clothes were in\nrags--torn to pieces by the thrusts of the sharp-pointed bamboos, to\nwhich they had daily been subjected--the bad food, the cramped position,\nand the misery which they suffered had worn both lads to skeletons;\ntheir hair was matted with filth, their faces begrimed with dirt. Percy\nwas so weak that he felt he could not stand. Fothergill, being three\nyears older, was less exhausted, but he knew that he, too, could not\nsupport his sufferings for many days longer. Their bodies were covered\nwith sores, and try as they would they were able to catch only a few\nminutes' sleep at a time, so much did the bamboo bars hurt their wasted\nlimbs.\n\nThey seldom exchanged a word during the daytime, suffering in silence\nthe persecutions to which they were exposed, but at night they talked\nover their homes and friends in England, and their comrades on board\nship, seldom saying a word as to their present position. They were now\nin a hilly country, but had not the least idea of the direction in which\nit lay from Canton or its distance from the coast.\n\nOne evening Jack said to his companion, \"I think it's nearly all over\nnow, Percy. The last two days we have made longer journeys, and have\nnot stopped at any of the smaller villages we passed through. I fancy\nour guards must see that we can't last much longer, and are taking us\ndown to some town to hand us over to the authorities and get their\nreward for us.\"\n\n\"I hope it is so, Jack; the sooner the better. Not that it makes much\ndifference now to me, for I do not think I can stand many more days of\nit.\"\n\n\"I am afraid I am tougher than you, Percy, and shall take longer to\nkill, so I hope with all my heart that I may be right, and that they may\nbe going to give us up to the authorities.\"\n\nThe next evening they stopped at a large place, and were subjected to\nthe usual persecution; this, however, was now less prolonged than during\nthe early days of their captivity, for they had now no longer strength\nor spirits to resent their treatment, and as no fun was to be obtained\nfrom passive victims, even the village boys soon ceased to find any\namusement in tormenting them.\n\nWhen most of their visitors had left them, an elderly Chinaman\napproached the side of the cage. He spoke to their guards and looked at\nthem attentively for some minutes, then he said in pigeon English, \"You\nofficer men?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" Jack exclaimed, starting at the sound of the English words, the\nfirst they had heard spoken since their captivity. \"Yes, we are officers\nof the _Perseus_.\"\n\n\"Me speeke English velly well,\" the Chinaman said; \"me pilot-man many\nyears on Canton river. How you get here?\"\n\n\"We were attacking some piratical junks, and landed to destroy the\nvillage where the people were firing on us. We entered a place full of\npirates, and were knocked down and taken prisoners, and carried away up\nthe country; that is six weeks ago, and you see what we are now.\"\n\n\"Pirate men velly bad,\" the Chinaman said; \"plunder many junk on river\nand kill crew. Me muchee hate them.\"\n\n\"Can you do anything for us?\" Jack asked. \"You will be well rewarded if\nyou could manage to get us free.\"\n\nThe man shook his head.\n\n\"Me no see what can do, me stranger here; come to stay with wifey;\npeople no do what me ask them. English ships attack Canton, much fight\nand take town, people all hate English. Bad country dis. People in one\nvillage fight against another. Velly bad men here.\"\n\n\"How far is Canton away?\" Jack asked. \"Could you not send down to tell\nthe English we are here?\"\n\n\"Fourteen days' journey off,\" the man said; \"no see how can do\nanything.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Jack said, \"when you get back again to Canton let our people\nknow what has been the end of us; we shall not last much longer.\"\n\n\"All light,\" the man said, \"will see what me can do. Muchee think\nto-night!\" And after saying a few words to the guards, who had been\nregarding this conversation with an air of surprise, the Chinaman\nretired.\n\nThe guards had for some time abandoned the precaution of sitting up at\nnight by the cage, convinced that their captives had no longer strength\nto attempt to break through its fastenings or to drag themselves many\nyards away if they could do so. They therefore left it standing in the\nopen, and, wrapping themselves in their thickly-wadded coats, for the\nnights were cold, lay down by the side of the cage.\n\nThe coolness of the nights had, indeed, assisted to keep the two\nprisoners alive. During the day the sun was excessively hot, and the\ncrowd of visitors round the cage impeded the circulation of the air and\nadded to their sufferings. It was true that the cold at night frequently\nprevented them from sleeping, but it acted as a tonic and braced them\nup.\n\n\"What did he mean about the villages attacking each other?\" Percy asked.\n\n\"I have heard,\" Jack replied, \"that in some parts of China things are\nvery much the same as they used to be in the highlands of Scotland.\nThere is no law or order. The different villages are like clans, and\nwage war on each other. Sometimes the Government sends a number of\ntroops, who put the thing down for a time, chop off a good many heads,\nand then march away, and the whole work begins again as soon as their\nbacks are turned.\"\n\nThat night the uneasy slumber of the lads was disturbed by a sudden\nfiring; shouts and yells were heard, and the firing redoubled.\n\n\"The village is attacked,\" Jack said. \"I noticed that, like some other\nplaces we have come into lately, there is a strong earthen wall round\nit, with gates. Well, there is one comfort--it does not make much\ndifference to us which side wins.\"\n\nThe guards at the first alarm leapt to their feet, caught up their\nmatchlocks, and ran to aid in the defence of the wall. Two minutes later\na man ran up to the cage.\n\n\"All lightee,\" he said; \"just what me hopee.\"\n\nWith his knife he cut the tough withes that held the bamboos in their\nplaces, and pulled out three of the bars.\n\n\"Come along,\" he said; \"no time to lose.\"\n\nJack scrambled out, but in trying to stand upright gave a sharp\nexclamation of pain. Percy crawled out more slowly; he tried to stand\nup, but could not. The Chinaman caught him up and threw him on his\nshoulder.\n\n\"Come along quickee,\" he said to Jack; \"if takee village, kill evely\none.\" He set off at a run. Jack followed as fast as he could, groaning\nat every step from the pain the movement caused to his bruised body.\n\nThey went to the side of the village opposite to that at which the\nattack was going on. They met no one on the way, the inhabitants having\nall rushed to the other side to repel the attack. They stopped at a\nsmall gate in the wall, the Chinaman drew back the bolts and opened it,\nand they passed out into the country. For an hour they kept on. By the\nend of that time Jack could scarcely drag his limbs along. The Chinaman\nhalted at length in a clump of trees surrounded by a thick undergrowth.\n\n\"Allee safee here,\" he said, \"no searchee so far; here food;\" and he\nproduced from a wallet a cold chicken and some boiled rice, and unslung\nfrom his shoulder a gourd filled with cold tea.\n\n\"Me go back now, see what happen. To-mollow nightee come again--bringee\nmore food.\" And without another word went off at a rapid pace.\n\nJack moistened his lips with the tea, and then turned to his companion.\nPercy had not spoken a word since he had been released from the cage,\nand had been insensible during the greater part of his journey. Jack\npoured some cold tea between his lips.\n\n\"Cheer up, Percy, old boy, we are free now, and with luck and that good\nfellow's help we will work our way down to Canton yet.\"\n\n\"I shall never get down there; you may,\" Percy said feebly.\n\n\"Oh, nonsense, you will pick up strength like a steam-engine now. Here,\nlet me prop you against this tree. That's better. Now drink a drop of\nthis tea; it's like nectar after that filthy water we have been\ndrinking. Now you will feel better. Now you must try and eat a little of\nthis chicken and rice. Oh, nonsense, you have got to do it. I am not\ngoing to let you give way when our trouble is just over. Think of your\npeople at home, Percy, and make an effort, for their sakes. Good\nheavens! now I think of it, it must be Christmas morning. We were caught\non the 2nd and we have been just twenty-two days on show. I am sure that\nit must be past twelve o'clock, and it is Christmas-day. It is a good\nomen, Percy. This food isn't like roast beef and plum-pudding, but it's\nnot to be despised, I can tell you. Come, fire away, that's a good\nfellow.\"\n\nPercy made an effort and ate a few mouthfuls of rice and chicken, then\nhe took another draught of tea, and lay down, and was almost immediately\nasleep.\n\nJack ate his food slowly and contentedly till he finished half the\nsupply, then he, too, lay down, and, after a short but hearty\nthanksgiving for his escape from a slow and lingering death, he, too,\nfell off to sleep. The sun was rising when he woke, being aroused by a\nslight movement on the part of Percy; he opened his eyes and sat up.\n\n\"Well, Percy, how do you feel this morning?\" he asked cheerily.\n\n\"I feel too weak to move,\" Percy replied languidly.\n\n\"Oh, you will be all right when you have sat up and eaten breakfast,\"\nJack said. \"Here you are; here is a wing for you, and this rice is as\nwhite as snow, and the tea is first rate. I thought last night after I\nlay down that I heard a murmur of water, so after we have had breakfast\nI will look about and see if I can find it. We should feel like new men\nafter a wash. You look awful, and I am sure I am just as bad.\"\n\nThe thought of a wash inspirited Percy far more than that of eating, and\nhe sat up and made a great effort to do justice to breakfast. He\nsucceeded much better than he had done the night before, and Jack,\nalthough he pretended to grumble, was satisfied with his companion's\nprogress, and finished off the rest of the food. Then he set out to\nsearch for water. He had not very far to go; a tiny stream, a few\ninches wide and two or three inches deep, ran through the wood from the\nhigher ground. After throwing himself down and taking a drink, he\nhurried back to Percy.\n\n\"It is all right, Percy, I have found it. We can wash to our hearts'\ncontent; think of that, lad.\"\n\nPercy could hardly stand, but he made an effort, and Jack half carried\nhim to the streamlet. There the lads spent hours. First they bathed\ntheir heads and hands, and then, stripping, lay down in the stream and\nallowed it to flow over them, then they rubbed themselves with handfuls\nof leaves dipped in the water, and when they at last put on their rags\nagain felt like new men. Percy was able to walk back to the spot they\nhad quitted with the assistance only of Jack's arm. The latter, feeling\nthat his breakfast had by no means appeased his hunger, now started for\na search through the wood, and presently returned to Percy laden with\nnuts and berries.\n\n\"The nuts are sure to be all right; I expect the berries are too. I have\ncertainly seen some like them in native markets, and I think it will be\nquite safe to risk it.\"\n\nThe rest of the day was spent in picking nuts and eating them. Then\nthey sat down and waited for the arrival of their friend. He came two\nhours after nightfall with a wallet stored with provisions, and told\nthem that he had regained the village unobserved. The attack had been\nrepulsed, but with severe loss to the defenders as well as the\nassailants; two of their guards had been among the killed. The others\nhad made a great clamour over the escape of the prisoners, and had made\na close search throughout the village and immediately round it, for they\nwere convinced that their captives had not had the strength to go any\ndistance. He thought, however, that although they had professed the\ngreatest indignation, and had offered many threats as to the vengeance\nthat Government would take upon the village, one of whose inhabitants,\nat least, must have aided in the evasion of the prisoners, they would\nnot trouble themselves any further in the matter. They had already\nreaped a rich harvest from the exhibition, and would divide among\nthemselves the share of their late comrades; nor was it at all\nimprobable that if they were to report the matter to the authorities\nthey would themselves get into serious trouble for not having handed\nover the prisoners immediately after their capture.\n\nFor a fortnight the pilot nursed and fed the two midshipmen. He had\nalready provided them with native clothes, so that if by chance any\nvillagers should catch sight of them they would not recognize them as\nthe escaped white men. At the end of that time both the lads had almost\nrecovered from the effects of their sufferings. Jack, indeed, had picked\nup from the first, but Percy for some days continued so weak and ill\nthat Jack had feared that he was going to have an attack of fever of\nsome kind. His companion's cheery and hopeful chat did as much good for\nPercy as the nourishing food with which their friend supplied them, and\nat the end of the fortnight he declared that he felt sufficiently strong\nto attempt to make his way down to the coast.\n\nThe pilot acted as their guide. When they inquired about his wife, he\ntold them carelessly that she would remain with her kinsfolk, and would\ntravel on to Canton and join him there when she found an opportunity.\nThe journey was accomplished at night, by very short stages at first,\nbut by increasing distances as Percy gained strength. During the daytime\nthe lads lay hid in woods or jungles, while their companion went into\nthe village and purchased food. They struck the river many miles above\nCanton, and the pilot, going down first to a village on its banks,\nbargained for a boat to take him and two women down to the city.\n\nThe lads went on board at night and took their places in the little\ncabin formed of bamboos and covered with mats in the stern of the boat,\nand remained thus sheltered not only from the view of people in boats\npassing up or down the stream, but from the eyes of their own boatmen.\n\nAfter two days' journey down the river without incident, they arrived\noff Canton, where the British fleet was still lying while negotiations\nfor peace were being carried on with the authorities at Pekin. Peeping\nout between the mats, the lads caught sight of the English warships,\nand, knowing that there was now no danger, they dashed out of the cabin,\nto the surprise of the native boatmen, and shouted and waved their arms\nto the distant ships.\n\nIn ten minutes they were alongside the _Perseus_, when they were hailed\nas if restored from the dead. The pilot was very handsomely rewarded by\nthe English authorities for his kindness to the prisoners, and was\nhighly satisfied with the result of his proceedings, which more than\ndoubled the little capital with which he had retired from business. Jack\nFothergill and Percy Adcock declare that they have never since eaten\nchicken without thinking of their Christmas fare on the morning of their\nescape from the hands of the Chinese pirates.\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Blackie & Son's Books for Young People]\n\n_By the Author of \"John Herring,\" \"Mehalah,\" &c._\n\n=Grettir the Outlaw:= A Story of Iceland. By S. Baring-Gould.\nWith 10 full-page Illustrations by M. Zeno Diemer and a\n Map. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s_.\n\n     A work of special interest, not only because of the high rank which\n     Mr. Baring-Gould has of late years acquired by his brilliant series\n     of novels, _Mehalah_, _John Herring_, _Court Royal_, &c., but\n     because of his earlier won reputation as a historian and explorer\n     of folk-legends and popular beliefs. In the story of Grettir, both\n     the art of the novelist and the lore of the archaeologist have had\n     full scope, with the result that we have a narrative of adventure\n     of the most romantic kind, and at the same time an interesting and\n     minutely accurate account of the old Icelandic families, their\n     homes, their mode of life, their superstitions, their songs and\n     stories, their bear-serk fury, and their heroism by land and sea.\n     The story is told throughout with a simplicity which will make it\n     attractive even to the very young, and no boy will be able to\n     withstand the magic of such scenes as the fight of Grettir with the\n     twelve bear-serks, the wrestle with Karr the Old in the chamber of\n     the dead, the combat with the spirit of Glam the thrall, and the\n     defence of the dying Grettir by his younger brother.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY G.A. HENTY.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=With Lee in Virginia:= A Story of the American Civil War. By G.A.\nHenty. With 10 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s_.\n\n     The great war between the Northern and Southern States of America\n     has the special interest for English boys of having been a struggle\n     between two sections of a people akin to us in race and language--a\n     struggle fought out by each side with unusual intensity of\n     conviction in the rightness of its cause, and abounding in heroic\n     incidents. Of these points Mr. Henty has made admirable use in this\n     story of a young Virginian planter, who, after bravely proving his\n     sympathy with the slaves, serves with no less courage and\n     enthusiasm under Lee and Jackson through the most exciting events\n     of the struggle. He has many hairbreadth escapes, is several times\n     wounded and twice taken prisoner; but his courage and readiness\n     bring him safely through all difficulties.\n\nBY G.A. HENTY.\n\n\"Mr. Henty is one of the best of story tellers for young\npeople.\"--_Spectator._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=By Pike and <DW18>:= A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. By\nG.A. Henty. With 10 full-page Illustrations by Maynard\nBrown and 4 Maps. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s_.\n\n     A story covering the period which forms the thrilling subject of\n     Motley's _Rise of the Dutch Republic_, when the Netherlands, under\n     the guidance of William of Orange, revolted against the attempts of\n     Alva and the Spaniards to force upon them the Catholic religion. To\n     a story already of the keenest interest, Mr. Henty has added a\n     special attractiveness for boys in tracing through the historic\n     conflict the adventures and brave deeds of an English boy in the\n     household of the ablest man of his age--William the Silent. Edward\n     Martin; the son of an English sea-captain, after sharing in the\n     excitement of an escape from the Spaniards and a sea-fight, enters\n     the service of the Prince as a volunteer, and is employed by him in\n     many dangerous and responsible missions, in the discharge of which\n     he passes through the great sieges and more than one naval\n     engagement of the time. He is subsequently employed in Holland by\n     Queen Elizabeth, to whom he is recommended by Orange; and\n     ultimately settles down as Sir Edward Martin and the husband of the\n     lady to whom he owes his life, and whom he in turn has saved from\n     the Council of Blood.\n\n=The Lion Of St. Mark:= A Tale of Venice in the Fourteenth Century. By\nG.A. Henty. With 10 full-page Illustrations by Gordon\nBrowne. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s_.\n\n     \"Every boy should read _The Lion of St. Mark_. Mr. Henty has never\n     produced any story more delightful, more wholesome, or more\n     vivacious. From first to last it will be read with keen\n     enjoyment.\"--_The Saturday Review._\n\n     \"Mr. Henty has probably not published a more interesting story than\n     _The Lion of St. Mark_. He has certainly not published one in which\n     he has been at such pains to rise to the dignity of his subject.\n     Mr. Henty's battle-pieces are admirable.\"--_The Academy._\n\n     \"The young hero has shrewdness, courage, enterprise, principle, all\n     the qualities that help the young in the race and battle of\n     life.\"--_Literary Churchman._\n\n=Captain Bailey's Heir:= A Tale of the Gold Fields of California. By\nG.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by H.M.\nPaget. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s_.\n\n     \"A Westminster boy who, like all this author's heroes, makes his\n     way in the world by hard work, good temper, and unfailing courage.\n     The descriptions given of life are just what a healthy intelligent\n     lad should delight in.\"--_St. James's Gazette._\n\n     \"The portraits of Captain Bayley, and the head-master of\n     Westminster school, are admirably drawn; and the adventures in\n     California are told with that vigour which is peculiar to Mr.\n     Henty.\"--_The Academy._\n\n     \"Mr. Henty is careful to mingle solid instruction with\n     entertainment; and the humorous touches, especially in the sketch\n     of John Holl, the Westminster dustman, Dickens himself could hardly\n     have excelled.\"--_Christian Leader._\n\nBY G.A. HENTY.\n\n\"Surely Mr. Henty should understand boys' tastes better than any man\nliving.\"--_The Times._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Bonnie Prince Charlie:= A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. By G.A.\nHenty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s_.\n\n     \"Ronald, the hero, is very like the hero of _Quentin Durward_. The\n     lad's journey across France with his faithful attendant Malcolm,\n     and his hairbreadth escapes from the machinations of his father's\n     enemies, make up as good a narrative of the kind as we have ever\n     read. For freshness of treatment and variety of incident, Mr. Henty\n     has here surpassed himself.\"--_Spectator._\n\n     \"A historical romance of the best quality. Mr. Henty has written\n     many more sensational stories, but never a more artistic\n     one.\"--_Academy._\n\n=For the Temple:= A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. By G.A.\nHenty. With 10 full-page Illustrations by Solomon J.\nSolomon: and a  Map. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine\nedges, _6s_.\n\n     \"Mr. Henty is ever one of the foremost writers of historical tales,\n     and his graphic prose pictures of the hopeless Jewish resistance to\n     Roman sway adds another leaf to his record of the famous wars of\n     the world. The book is one of Mr. Henty's cleverest\n     efforts.\"--_Graphic._\n\n     \"The story is told with all the force of descriptive power which\n     has made the author's war stories so famous, and many an 'old boy'\n     as well as the younger ones will delight in this narrative of that\n     awful page of history.\"--_Church Times._\n\n=The Lion Of the North:= A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus and the Wars of\nReligion. By G.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by\nJohn Schoenberg. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s_.\n\n     \"As we might expect from Mr. Henty the tale is a clever and\n     instructive piece of history, and as boys may be trusted to read it\n     conscientiously, they can hardly fail to be profited as well as\n     pleased.\"--_The Times._\n\n     \"A praiseworthy attempt to interest British youth in the great\n     deeds of the Scotch Brigade in the wars of Gustavus Adolphus.\n     Mackay, Hepburn, and Munro live again in Mr. Henty's pages, as\n     those deserve to live whose disciplined bands formed really the\n     germ of the modern British army.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\n     \"A stirring story of stirring times. This book should hold a place\n     among the classics of youthful fiction.\"--_United Service Gazette._\n\n=The Young Carthaginian:= A story of the Times of Hannibal. By G.A.\nHenty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by C.J. Staniland,\nR.I. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s_.\n\n     \"The effect of an interesting story, well constructed and vividly\n     told, is enhanced by the picturesque quality of the scenic\n     background. From first to last nothing stays the interest of the\n     narrative. It bears us along as on a stream, whose current varies\n     in direction, but never loses its force.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n     \"Ought to be popular with boys who are not too ill instructed or\n     too dandified to be affected by a graphic picture of the days and\n     deeds of Hannibal.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\nBY G.A. HENTY.\n\n\"Among writers of stories of adventure for boys Mr. Henty stands in the\nvery first rank.\"--_Academy._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=With Wolfe in Canada:= Or, The Winning of a Continent. By G.A.\nHenty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s_.\n\n     \"A model of what a boys' story-book should be. Mr. Henty has a\n     great power of infusing into the dead facts of history new life,\n     and as no pains are spared by him to ensure accuracy in historic\n     details, his books supply useful aids to study as well as\n     amusement.\"--_School Guardian._\n\n     \"It is not only a lesson in history as instructively as it is\n     graphically told, but also a deeply interesting and often thrilling\n     tale of adventure and peril by flood and field.\"--_Illustrated\n     London News._\n\n     \"This is a narrative which will bear retelling, and to which Mr.\n     Henty, whose careful study of details is worthy of all praise, does\n     full justice.... His adventures are told with much spirit; the\n     escape when the birch canoes have been damaged by an enemy is\n     especially well described.\"--_Spectator._\n\n=With Clive in India:= Or, The Beginnings of an Empire. By G.A.\nHenty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s_.\n\n     \"In this book Mr. Henty has contrived to exceed himself in stirring\n     adventures and thrilling situations. The pictures add greatly to\n     the interest of the book.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n     \"Among writers of stories of adventure for boys Mr. Henty stands in\n     the very first rank. Those who know something about India will be\n     the most ready to thank Mr. Henty for giving them this instructive\n     volume to place in the hands of their children.\"--_Academy._\n\n=True to the Old Flag:= A Tale of the American War of Independence. By\nG.A. Henty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon\nBrowne. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"Does justice to the pluck and determination of the British\n     soldiers. The son of an American loyalist, who remains true to our\n     flag, falls among the hostile redskins in that very Huron country\n     which has been endeared to us by the exploits of Hawkeye and\n     Chingachgook.\"--_The Times._\n\n     \"Mr. Henty's extensive personal experience of adventures and moving\n     incidents by flood and field, combined with a gift of picturesque\n     narrative, make his books always welcome visitors in the home\n     circle.\"--_Daily News._\n\n=In Freedom's Cause:= A Story of Wallace and Bruce. By G.A.\nHenty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s_.\n\n     \"Mr. Henty has broken new ground as an historical novelist. His\n     tale of the days of Wallace and Bruce is full of stirring action,\n     and will commend itself to boys.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\n     \"Written in the author's best style. Full of the most remarkable\n     achievements, it is a tale of great interest, which a boy, once he\n     has begun it, will not willingly put on one side.\"--_Schoolmaster._\n\n     \"Scarcely anywhere have we seen in prose a more lucid and\n     spirit-stirring description of Bannockburn than the one with which\n     the author fittingly closes his volume.\"--_Dumfries Standard._\n\nBY G.A. HENTY.\n\n\"Mr. Henty is one of our most successful writers of historical\ntales.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Through the Fray:= A Story of the Luddite Riots. By G.A.\nHenty. With 12 full-page Illustrations by H.M. Paget.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"Mr. Henty inspires a love and admiration for straightforwardness,\n     truth, and courage. This is one of the best of the many good books\n     Mr. Henty has produced, and deserves to be classed with his _Facing\n     Death_.\"--_Standard._\n\n     \"The interest of the story never flags. Were we to propose a\n     competition for the best list of novel writers for boys we have\n     little doubt that Mr. Henty's name would stand first.\"--_Journal of\n     Education._\n\n     \"This story is told in Mr. Henty's own easy and often graphic\n     style. There is no 'padding' in the book, and its teaching is, that\n     we have enemies within as well as without, and therefore the power\n     of self-control is a quality that should be striven after by every\n     'true' boy.\"--_Educational Times._\n\n=Under Drake's Flag:= A Tale of the Spanish Main. By G.A.\nHenty. Illustrated by 12 full-page Pictures by Gordon\nBrowne. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"There is not a dull chapter, nor, indeed, a dull page in the hook;\n     but the author has so carefully worked up his subject that the\n     exciting deeds of his heroes are never incongruous or\n     absurd.\"--_Observer._\n\n     \"Just such a book, indeed, as the youth of this maritime country\n     are likely to prize highly.\"--_Daily Telegraph._\n\n     \"A book of adventure, where the hero meets with experience enough\n     one would think to turn his hair gray.\"--_Harper's Monthly\n     Magazine._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY PROFESSOR A.J. CHURCH.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Two Thousand Years Ago:= Or, The Adventures of a Roman Boy. By\nProfessor A.J. Church. With 12 full-page Illustrations by\nAdrien Marie. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"Adventures well worth the telling. The book is extremely\n     entertaining as well as useful, and there is a wonderful freshness\n     in the Roman scenes and characters.\"--_The Times._\n\n     \"Entertaining in the highest degree from beginning to end, and full\n     of adventure which is all the livelier for its close connection\n     with history.\"--_Spectator._\n\n     \"We know of no book which will do more to make the Romans of that\n     day live again for the English reader.\"--_Guardian._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Robinson Crusoe.= By Daniel Defoe. Illustrated by above 100\nPictures by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine\nedges, _6s._\n\n     \"One of the best issues, if not absolutely the best, of Defoe's\n     work which has ever appeared.\"--_The Standard._\n\n     \"The best edition I have come across for years. If you know a boy\n     who has not a 'Robinson Crusoe,' just glance at any one of these\n     hundred illustrations, and you will go no further afield in search\n     of a present for him.\"--_Truth._\n\nBY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.\n\n\"Mr. Fenn is in the front rank of writers of stories for\nboys.\"--_Liverpool Mercury._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Quicksilver:= Or a Boy with no Skid to his Wheel. By George\nManville Fenn. With 10 full-page Illustrations by Frank\nDadd. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"_Quicksilver_ is little short of an inspiration. In it that prince\n     of story-writers for boys--George Manville Fenn--has surpassed\n     himself. It is an ideal book for a boy's library.\"--_Practical\n     Teacher._\n\n     \"The story is capitally told, it abounds in graphic and\n     well-described scenes, and it has an excellent and manly tone\n     throughout.\"--_The Guardian._\n\n     \"This is one of Mr. Fenn's happiest efforts, and deserves to be\n     read and re-read by every school-boy in the land. We are not\n     exaggerating when we say that _Quicksilver_ has nothing to equal it\n     this season.\"--_Teacher's Aid._\n\n=Dick o' the Fens:= A Romance of the Great East Swamp. By G.\nManville Fenn. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Frank\nDadd. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"We conscientiously believe that boys will find it capital reading.\n     It is full of incident and mystery, and the mystery is kept up to\n     the last moment. It is rich in effective local colouring; and it\n     has a historical interest.\"--_Times._\n\n     \"We have not of late come across a historical fiction, whether\n     intended for boys or for men, which deserves to be so heartily and\n     unreservedly praised as regards plot, incidents, and spirit as\n     _Dick o' the Fens_. It is its author's masterpiece as\n     yet.\"--_Spectator._\n\n=Devon Boys:= A Tale of the North Shore. By G. Manville Fenn.\nWith 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo,\ncloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"An admirable story, as remarkable for the individuality of its\n     young heroes as for the excellent descriptions of coast scenery and\n     life in North Devon. It is one of the best books we have seen this\n     season.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\n     \"We do not know that Mr. Fenn has ever reached a higher level than\n     he has in _Devon Boys_. It must be put in the very front rank of\n     Christmas books.\"--_Spectator._\n\n=Brownsmith's Boy:= A Romance in a Garden. By G. Manville Fenn.\nWith 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo,\ncloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"Mr. Fenn's books are among the best, if not altogether the best,\n     of the stories for boys. Mr. Fenn is at his best in _Brownsmith's\n     Boy_.\"--_Pictorial World._\n\n     \"_Brownsmith's Boy_ must rank among the few undeniably good boys'\n     books. He will be a very dull boy indeed who lays it down without\n     wishing that it had gone on for at least 100 pages more.\"--_North\n     British Mail._\n\n=In the King's Name:= Or the Cruise of the _Kestrel_. By G. Manville\nFenn. Illustrated by 12 full-page Pictures by Gordon\nBrowne. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"A capital boys' story, full of incident and adventure, and told in\n     the lively style in which Mr. Fenn is such an adept.\"--_Globe._\n\n     \"The best of all Mr. Fenn's productions in this field. It has the\n     great quality of always 'moving on,' adventure following adventure\n     in constant succession.\"--_Daily News._\n\nBY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.\n\n\"Our boys know Mr. Fenn well, his stories having won for him a foremost\nplace in their estimation.\"--_Pall Mall Gazette._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Bunyip Land:= The Story of a Wild Journey in New Guinea. By G.\nManville Fenn. With 12 full-page Illustrations by Gordon\nBrowne. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"Mr. Fenn deserves the thanks of everybody for _Bunyip Land_, and\n     we may venture to promise that a quiet week may be reckoned on\n     whilst the youngsters have such fascinating literature provided for\n     their evenings' amusement.\"--_Spectator._\n\n     \"One of the best tales of adventure produced by any living writer,\n     combining the inventiveness of Jules Verne, and the solidity of\n     character and earnestness of spirit which have made the English\n     victorious in so many fields.\"--_Daily Chronicle._\n\n=The Golden Magnet:= A Tale of the Land of the Incas. By  G.\nManville Fenn. Illustrated by 12 full-page Pictures by Gordon\nBrowne. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"This is, we think, the best boys' book Mr. Fenn has produced....\n     The Illustrations are perfect in their way.\"--_Globe._\n\n     \"There could be no more welcome present for a boy. There is not a\n     dull page in the book, and many will be read with breathless\n     interest. 'The Golden Magnet' is, of course, the same one that\n     attracted Raleigh and the heroes of _Westward Ho!_\"--_Journal of\n     Education._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY HARRY COLLINGWOOD.\n\n=The Log Of the \"Flying Fish:\"= A Story of Aerial and Submarine Peril\nand Adventure. By Harry Collingwood. With 12 full-page\nIllustrations by Gordon Browne, Crown 8vo, cloth elegant,\nolivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"The _Flying Fish_ actually surpasses all Jules Verne's creations;\n     with incredible speed she flies through the air, skims over the\n     surface of the water, and darts along the ocean bed. We strongly\n     recommend our school-boy friends to possess themselves of her\n     log.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY SARAH DOUDNEY.\n\n=Under False Colours.= By Sarah Doudney. With 12 full-page\nIllustrations by G.G. Kilburne. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant,\nolivine edges, _6s._\n\n     \"This is a charming story, abounding in delicate touches of\n     sentiment and pathos. Its plot is skilfully contrived. It will be\n     read with a warm interest by every girl who takes it\n     up.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n     \"Sarah Doudney has no superior as a writer of high-toned\n     stories--pure in style, original in conception, and with skilfully\n     wrought-out plots; but we have seen nothing from this lady's pen\n     equal in dramatic energy to her latest work--_Under False\n     Colours_.\"--_Christian Leader._\n\nBY G.A. HENTY.\n\n\"The brightest of all the living writers whose office it is to enchant\nthe boys.\"--_Christian Leader._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=One Of the 28th:= A Tale of Waterloo. By G.A. Henty. With 8\nfull-page Illustrations by W.H. Overend, and 2 Maps. Crown 8vo,\ncloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     Herbert Penfold, being desirous of benefiting the daughter of an\n     intimate friend, and Ralph Conway, the son of a lady to whom he had\n     once been engaged, draws up a will dividing his property between\n     them, and places it in a hiding-place only known to members of his\n     own family. At his death his two sisters determine to keep silence,\n     and the authorized search for the will, though apparently thorough,\n     fails to bring it to light. The mother of Ralph, however, succeeds\n     in entering the house as a servant, and after an arduous and\n     exciting search secures the will. In the meantime, her son has\n     himself passed through a series of adventures. The boat in which he\n     is fishing is run down by a French privateer, and Ralph, scrambling\n     on board, is forced to serve until the harbour of refuge is entered\n     by a British frigate. On his return he enters the army, and after\n     some rough service in Ireland, takes part in the Waterloo campaign,\n     from which he returns with the loss of an arm, but with a\n     substantial fortune, which is still further increased by his\n     marriage with his co-heir.\n\n=The Cat Of Bubastes:= A Story of Ancient Egypt. By G.A. Henty.\nWith 8 full-page Illustrations by J.R. Weguelin. Crown 8vo,\ncloth elegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     \"The story is highly enjoyable. We have pictures of Egyptian\n     domestic life, of sport, of religious ceremonial, and of other\n     things which may still be seen vividly portrayed by the brush of\n     Egyptian artists.\"--_The Spectator._\n\n     \"The story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred\n     cat to the perilous exodus into Asia with which it closes, is very\n     skilfully constructed and full of exciting adventures. It is\n     admirably illustrated.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n     \"Mr. Henty has fairly excelled himself in this admirable story of\n     romance and adventure. We have never examined a story-book that we\n     can recommend with more confidence as a boy's reward.\"--_Teachers'\n     Aid._\n\n=The Dragon and the Raven:= Or, The Days of King Alfred. By G.A.\nHenty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by C.J. Staniland,\nR.I. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"Perhaps the best story of the early days of England which has yet\n     been told.\"--_Court Journal._\n\n     \"We know of no popular book in which the stirring incidents of\n     Alfred's reign are made accessible to young readers as they are\n     here.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n=St. George for England:= A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. By G.A.\nHenty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne, in\nblack and tint. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"Mr. Henty has done his work well, producing a strong story at once\n     instructive and entertaining.\"--_Glasgow Herald._\n\n     \"Mr. Henty's historical novels for boys bid fair to supplement, on\n     their behalf, the historical labours of Sir Walter Scott in the\n     land of fiction.\"--_Standard._\n\nBY G.A. HENTY.\n\n\"Mr. Henty is the king of story-tellers for boys.\"--_Sword and Trowel._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=The Bravest Of the Brave:= With Peterborough in Spain. By G.A.\nHenty. With 8 full-page Pictures by H.M. Paget. Crown 8vo,\ncloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"Mr. Henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work--to\n     enforce the doctrine of courage and truth, mercy and loving\n     kindness, as indispensable to the making of an English gentleman.\n     British lads will read _The Bravest of the Brave_ with pleasure and\n     profit; of that we are quite sure.\"--_Daily Telegraph._\n\n=For Name and Fame:= Or, Through Afghan Passes. By G.A. Henty.\nWith 8 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne, in black and\ntint. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"The best feature of the book, apart from its scenes of adventure,\n     is its honest effort to do justice to the patriotism of the Afghan\n     people.\"--_Daily News._\n\n     \"Not only a rousing story, replete with all the varied forms of\n     excitement of a campaign, but, what is still more useful, an\n     account of a territory and its inhabitants which must for a long\n     time possess a supreme interest for Englishmen, as being the key to\n     our Indian Empire.\"--_Glasgow Herald._\n\n=In the Reign Of Terror:= The Adventures of a Westminster Boy. By\nG.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by J.\nSchoenberg. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _5s_.\n\n     \"Harry Sandwith, the Westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat\n     Mr. Henty's record. His adventures will delight boys by the\n     audacity and peril they depict. The story is one of Mr. Henty's\n     best.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n=Orange and Green:= A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick. By G.A.\nHenty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     \"An extremely spirited story, based on the struggle in Ireland,\n     rendered memorable by the defence of 'Derry and the siege of\n     Limerick.\"--_Sat. Review._\n\n     \"The narrative is free from the vice of prejudice, and ripples with\n     life as vivacious as if what is being described were really passing\n     before the eye.... _Orange and Green_ should be in the hands of\n     every young student of Irish history without delay.\"--_Belfast\n     Morning News._\n\n\n=By Sheer Pluck:= A Tale of the Ashanti War. By G.A. Henty.\nWith 8 full-page Pictures by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, cloth\nelegant, _5s._\n\n     \"_By Sheer Pluck_ will be eagerly read. The author's personal\n     knowledge of the west coast has been turned to full\n     advantage.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\n     \"Morally, the book is everything that could be desired, setting\n     before the boys a bright and bracing ideal of the English\n     gentleman.\"--_Christian Leader._\n\nBY G.A. HENTY.\n\n\"Mr. G.A. Henty's fame as a writer of boys' stories is deserved and\nsecure.\"--_Cork Herald._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=A Final Reckoning:= A Tale of Bush Life in Australia. By G.A.\nHenty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by W.B. Wollen.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"Exhibits Mr. Henty's talent as a story-teller at his best.... The\n     drawings possess the uncommon merit of really illustrating the\n     text.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n     \"All boys will read this story with eager and unflagging interest.\n     The episodes are in Mr. Henty's very best vein--graphic, exciting,\n     realistic; and, as in all Mr. Henty's books, the tendency is to the\n     formation of an honourable, manly, and even heroic\n     character.\"--_Birmingham Post._\n\n=Facing Death:= Or the Hero of the Vaughan Pit. A Tale of the Coal\nMines. By G.A. Henty. With 8 full-page Illustrations by\nGordon Browne. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"If any father, godfather, clergyman, or schoolmaster is on the\n     look-out for a good book to give as a present to a boy who is worth\n     his salt, this is the book we would recommend.\"--_Standard._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY F. FRANKFORT MOORE.\n\n=Highways and High Seas:= Cyril Harley's Adventures on both. By F.\nFrankfort Moore. With 8 full-page Illustrations by Alfred\nPearse. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     The story belongs to a period when highways meant post-chaises,\n     coaches, and highwaymen, and when high seas meant post-captains,\n     frigates, privateers, and smugglers; and the hero--a boy who has\n     some remarkable experiences upon both--tells his story with no less\n     humour than vividness. He shows incidentally how little real\n     courage and romance there frequently was about the favourite\n     law-breakers of fiction, but how they might give rise to the need\n     of the highest courage in others and lead to romantic adventures of\n     an exceedingly exciting kind. A certain piquancy is given to the\n     story by a slight trace of nineteenth century malice in the\n     picturing of eighteenth century life and manners.\n\n=Under Hatches:= Or Ned Woodthorpe's Adventures. By F. Frankfort\nMoore. With 8 full-page Illustrations by A. Forestier.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     \"Mr. Moore has never shown himself so thoroughly qualified to write\n     books for boys as he has done in _Under Hatches_.\"--_The Academy._\n\n     \"A first-rate sea story, full of stirring incidents, and, from a\n     literary point of view, far better written than the majority of\n     books for boys.\"--_Pall Mall Gazette._\n\n     \"The story as a story is one that will just suit boys all the world\n     over. The characters are well drawn and consistent; Patsy, the\n     Irish steward, will be found especially amusing.\"--_Schoolmaster._\n\nBY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.\n\n\"No one can find his way to the hearts of lads more readily than Mr.\nFenn.\"--_Nottingham Guardian._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Yussuf the Guide:= Being the Strange Story of the Travels in Asia Minor\nof Burne the Lawyer, Preston the Professor, and Lawrence the Sick. By\nG. Manville Fenn. With 8 full-page Illustrations by John\nSchoenberg. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"The narrative will take its readers into scenes that will have\n     great novelty and attraction for them, and the experiences with the\n     brigands will be especially delightful to boys.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n=Menhardoc:= A Story of Cornish Nets and Mines. By G. Manville\nFenn. With 8 full-page Illustrations by C.J. Staniland.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"They are real living boys, with their virtues and faults. The\n     Cornish fishermen are drawn from life, they are racy of the soil,\n     salt with the sea-water, and they stand out from the pages in their\n     jerseys and sea-boots all sprinkled with silvery pilchard\n     scales.\"--_Spectator._\n\n     \"A description of Will Marion's descent into a flooded mine is\n     excellent. Josh is a delightfully amusing character. We may\n     cordially praise the illustrations.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n\n=Mother Carey's Chicken:= Her Voyage to the Unknown Isle. By G.\nManville Fenn. With 8 full-page Illustrations by A.\nForestier. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     \"Jules Verne himself never constructed a more marvellous tale. It\n     contains the strongly marked English features that are always\n     conspicuous in Mr. Fenn's stories--a humour racy of the British\n     soil, the manly vigour of his sentiment, and wholesome moral\n     lessons. For anything to match his realistic touch we must go to\n     Daniel Defoe.\"--_Christian Leader._\n\n     \"When we get to the 'Unknown Isle,' the story becomes exciting. Mr.\n     Fenn keeps his readers in a suspense that is not intermitted for a\n     moment, and the _denouement_ is a surprise which is as probable as\n     it is startling.\"--_Spectator._\n\n=Patience Wins:= Or, War in the Works. By G. Manville Fenn.\nWith 8 full-page Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo,\ncloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"An excellent story, the interest being sustained from first to\n     last. One of the best books of its kind which has come before us\n     this year.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n     \"Mr. Fenn is at his best in _Patience Wins_. It is sure to prove\n     acceptable to youthful readers, and will give a good idea of that\n     which was the real state of one of our largest manufacturing towns\n     not many years ago.\"--_Guardian._\n\n=Nat the Naturalist:= A Boy's Adventures in the Eastern Seas. By G.\nManville Fenn. With 8 full-page Pictures. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant,\n_5s._\n\n     \"Among the best of the many good books for boys that have come out\n     this season.\"--_Times._\n\n     \"This sort of book encourages independence of character, develops\n     resource, and teaches a boy to keep his eyes open.\"--_Saturday\n     Review._\n\nBY HARRY COLLINGWOOD.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=The Missing Merchantman.= By Harry Collingwood. With 8\nfull-page Illustrations by W.H. Overend. Crown 8vo, cloth\nelegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     \"Mr. Collingwood is _facile princeps_ as a teller of sea stories\n     for boys, and the present is one of the best productions of his\n     pen.\"--_Standard._\n\n     \"This is one of the author's best sea stories. The hero is as\n     heroic as any boy could desire, and the ending is extremely\n     happy.\"--_British Weekly._\n\n=The Rover's Secret:= A Tale of the Pirate Cays and Lagoons of Cuba. By\nHarry Collingwood. With 8 full-page Illustrations by W.C.\nSymons. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     \"_The Rover's Secret_ is by far the best sea story we have read for\n     years, and is certain to give unalloyed pleasure to boys. The\n     illustrations are fresh and vigorous.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n=The Pirate Island:= A Story of the South Pacific. By Harry\nCollingwood. Illustrated by 8 full-page Pictures by C.J.\nStaniland and J.R. Wells. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"A capital story of the sea; indeed in our opinion the author is\n     superior in some respects as a marine novelist to the better known\n     Mr. Clarke Russell.\"--_The Times._\n\n     \"Told in the most vivid and graphic language. It would be difficult\n     to find a more thoroughly delightful gift-book.\"--_Guardian._\n\n=The Congo Rovers:= A Story of the Slave Squadron. By Harry\nCollingwood. With 8 full-page Illustrations by J.\nSchoenberg. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"No better sea story has lately been written than the _Congo\n     Rovers_. It is as original as any boy could desire.\"--_Morning\n     Post._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY ASCOTT R. HOPE.\n\n=The Seven Wise Scholars.= By Ascott R. Hope. With nearly One\nHundred Illustrations by Gordon Browne. Square 8vo, cloth\nelegant, gilt edges, _5s._\n\n     \"As full of fun as a volume of _Punch_; with illustrations, more\n     laughter-provoking than most we have seen since Leech\n     died.\"--_Sheffield Independent._\n\n     \"A capital story, full of fun and happy comic fancies. The tale\n     would put the sourest-tempered _boy_ into a good humour, and to an\n     imaginative child would be a source of keen delight.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n=The Wigwam and the War-path:= stories of the Red Indians. By Ascott\nR. Hope. With 8 full-page Pictures by Gordon Browne. Crown\n8vo, cloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"All the stories are told well, in simple spirited language and\n     with a fulness of detail that make them instructive as well as\n     interesting.\"--_Journal of Education._\n\nBY G. NORWAY.\n\nThe Loss of John Humble: What Led to It, and what Came of It. By G.\nNorway. With 8 full-page Illustrations by John Schoenberg.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     John Humble, an orphan, is sent to sea with his Uncle Rolf, the\n     captain of the _Erl King_, but in the course of certain adventures\n     off the English coast, in which Rolf shows both skill and courage,\n     the boy is left behind at Portsmouth. He escapes from an English\n     gun-brig to a Norwegian vessel, the _Thor_, which is driven from\n     her course in a voyage to Hammerfest, and wrecked on a desolate\n     shore. The survivors experience the miseries of a long sojourn in\n     the Arctic circle, with inadequate means of supporting life, but\n     ultimately, with the aid of some friendly but thievish Lapps, they\n     succeed in making their way to a reindeer station and so southward\n     to Tornea and home again. The story throughout is singularly vivid\n     and truthful in its details, the individual characters are fresh\n     and well marked, and a pleasant vein of humour relieves the stress\n     of the more tragic incidents in the story.\n\nBY ROSA MULHOLLAND.\n\nGiannetta: A Girl's Story of Herself. By Rosa Mulholland. With\n8 full-page Illustrations by Lockhart Bogle. Crown 8vo, cloth\nelegant, _5s._\n\n     \"Giannetta is a true heroine--warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and,\n     as all good women nowadays are, largely touched with the enthusiasm\n     of humanity. The illustrations are unusually good, and combine with\n     the binding and printing to make this one of the most attractive\n     gift-books of the season.\"--_The Academy._\n\n     \"No better book could be selected for a young girl's reading, as\n     its object is evidently to hold up a mirror, in which are seen some\n     of the brightest and noblest traits in the female\n     character.\"--_Schoolmistress._\n\nPerseverance Island: Or the Robinson Crusoe of the 19th Century. By\nDouglas Frazar. With 12 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo,\ncloth elegant, _5s._\n\n     \"This second Robinson Crusoe is certainly a marvellous man. His\n     determination to overcome all difficulties, and his subsequent\n     success, should alone make this a capital book for boys. It is\n     altogether a worthy successor to the ancient Robinson\n     Crusoe.\"--_Glasgow Herald._\n\nGulliver's Travels. Illustrated by more than 100 Pictures by Gordon\nBrowne. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     \"By help of the admirable illustrations, and a little judicious\n     skipping, it has enchanted a family party of ages varying from six\n     to sixty. Which of the other Christmas books could stand this\n     test?\"--Journal of Education.\n\n     \"Mr. Gordon Browne is, to my thinking, incomparably the most\n     artistic, spirited, and brilliant of our illustrators of books for\n     boys, and one of the most humorous also, as his illustrations of\n     'Gulliver' amply testify.\"--Truth.\n\nNEW EDITION OF THE UNIVERSE.\n\n=The Universe:= Or the Infinitely Great and the Infinitely Little. A\nSketch of Contrasts in Creation, and Marvels revealed and explained by\nNatural Science. By F.A. Pouchet, M.D. With 272 Engravings on\nwood, of which 55 are full-page size, and a  Frontispiece. Tenth\nEdition, medium 8vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, _7s. 6d._; also morocco\nantique, _16s._\n\n     \"We can honestly commend Professor Pouchet's book, which _is_\n     admirably, as it is copiously illustrated.\"--_The Times._\n\n     \"This book is as interesting as the most exciting romance, and a\n     great deal more likely to be remembered to good\n     purpose.\"--_Standard._\n\n     \"Scarcely any book in French or in English is so likely to\n     stimulate in the young an interest in the physical\n     phenomena.\"--_Fortnightly Review._\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY GEORGE MAC DONALD.\n\n=At the Back of the North Wind.= By George Mac Donald, LL.D.\nWith 75 Illustrations by Arthur Hughes. Crown 8vo, cloth\nelegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     \"In _At the Back of the North Wind_ we stand with one foot in\n     fairyland and one on common earth. The story is thoroughly\n     original, full of fancy and pathos, and underlaid with earnest but\n     not too obtrusive teaching.\"--_The Times._\n\n=Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood.= By George Mac Donald, LL.D. With\n36 Illustrations by Arthur Hughes. New Edition. Crown 8vo,\ncloth elegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     \"The sympathy with boy-nature in _Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood_ is\n     perfect. It is a beautiful picture of childhood, teaching by its\n     impressions and suggestions all noble things.\"--_British Quarterly\n     Review._\n\n=The Princess and the Goblin.= By George Mac Donald, LL.D. With\n30 Illustrations by Arthur Hughes, and 2 full-page Pictures by\nH. Petherick. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"Little of what is written for children has the lightness of touch\n     and play of fancy which are characteristic of George Mac Donald's\n     fairy tales. Mr. Arthur Hughes's illustrations are all that\n     illustrations should be.\"--_Manchester Guardian._\n\n     \"A model of what a child's book ought to be--interesting,\n     instructive, and poetical. We cordially recommend it as one of the\n     very best gift-books we have yet come across.\"--_Elgin Courant._\n\n=The Princess and Curdie.= By George Mac Donald, LL.D. With 8\nfull-page Illustrations by James Allen. Crown 8vo, cloth extra,\n_3s. 6d._\n\n     \"There is the finest and rarest genius in this brilliant story.\n     Upgrown people would do wisely occasionally to lay aside their\n     newspapers and magazines to spend an hour with Curdie and the\n     Princess.\"--_Sheffield Independent._\n\n=Girl Neighbours:= Or, The Old Fashion and the New. By Sarah\nTytler. With 8 full-page Illustrations by C.T. Garland.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _5s._\n\n     \"One of the most effective and quietly humorous of Miss Sarah\n     Tytler's stories.... Very healthy, very agreeable, and very well\n     written.\"--_Spectator._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY MARY C. ROWSELL.\n\n=Thorndyke Manor:= A Tale of Jacobite Times. By Mary C.\nRowsell. With 6 full-page Illustrations by L. Leslie\nBrooke. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _3s. 6d._\n\n     Thorndyke Manor is an old house, near the mouth of the Thames,\n     which is convenient, on account of its secret vaults and situation,\n     as the base of operations in a Jacobite conspiracy. In consequence\n     its owner, a kindly, quiet, book-loving squire, who lives happily\n     with his sister, bright Mistress Amoril, finds himself suddenly\n     involved by a treacherous steward in the closest meshes of the\n     plot. He is conveyed to the Tower, but all difficulties are\n     ultimately overcome, and his innocence is triumphantly proved by\n     his sister.\n\n=Traitor or Patriot?= A Tale of the Rye-House Plot. By Mary C.\nRowsell. With 6 full-page Pictures. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _3s.\n6d._\n\n     \"A romantic love episode, whose true characters are lifelike\n     beings, not dry sticks as in many historical tales.\"--_Graphic._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY ALICE CORKRAN.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Meg's Friend.= By Alice Corkran. With 6 full-page\nIllustrations by Robert Fowler. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, _3s.\n6d._\n\n     \"Another of Miss Corkran's charming books for girls, narrated in\n     that simple and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one\n     of the first amongst writers for young people.\"--_The Spectator._\n\n=Margery Merton's Girlhood.= By Alice Corkran. With 6 full-page\nIllustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, _3s.\n6d._\n\n     \"Another book for girls we can warmly commend. There is a\n     delightful piquancy in the experiences and trials of a young\n     English girl who studies painting in Paris.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n=Down the Snow Stairs:= Or, From Good-night to Good-morning. By\nAlice Corkran. With 60 character Illustrations by Gordon\nBrowne. New Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, _3s.\n6d._\n\n     \"A fascinating wonder-book for children.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\n     \"A gem of the first water, bearing upon every page the signet mark\n     of genius. All is told with such simplicity and perfect naturalness\n     that the dream appears to be a solid reality. It is indeed a Little\n     Pilgrim's Progress.\"--_Christian Leader._\n\nBY JOHN C. HUTCHESON.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Afloat at Last:= A Sailor Boy's Log of his Life at Sea. By John C.\nHutcheson. With 6 full-page Illustrations by W.H. Overend.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, _3s. 6d._\n\n     Mr. Hutcheson's reputation for the realistic treatment of life at\n     sea will be fully sustained by the present volume--the narrative of\n     a boy's experiences on board ship during his first voyage. From the\n     stowing of the vessel in the Thames to her recovery from the Pratas\n     Reef on which she is stranded, everything is described with the\n     accuracy of perfect practical knowledge of ships and sailors; and\n     the incidents of the story range from the broad humours of the\n     fo'c's'le to the perils of flight from and fight with the pirates\n     of the China Seas. The captain, the mate, the Irish boatswain, the\n     Portuguese steward, and the Chinese cook, are fresh and\n     cleverly-drawn characters, and the reader throughout has the sense\n     that he is on a real voyage with living men.\n\n=The White Squall:= A Story of the Sargasso Sea. By John C.\nHutcheson. With 6 full-page Illustrations by John\nSchoenberg. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"Few writers have made such rapid improvement in the course of a\n     few years as has the author of this capital story.... Boys will\n     find it difficult to lay down the book till they have got to the\n     end.\"--_Standard._\n\n     \"The sketches of tropical life are so good as sometimes to remind\n     us of _Tom Cringle_ and the _Cruise of the Midge_.\"--_Times._\n\n=The Wreck of the Nancy Bell:= Or Cast Away on Kerguelen Land. By\nJohn C. Hutcheson. Illustrated by 6 full-page Pictures. Crown\n8vo, cloth extra, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"A full circumstantial narrative such as boys delight in. The ship\n     so sadly destined to wreck on Kerguelen Land is manned by a very\n     lifelike party, passengers and crew. The life in the Antarctic\n     Iceland is well treated.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\n=Picked Up at Sea:= Or the Gold Miners of Minturne Creek. By John C.\nHutcheson. With 6 full-page Pictures. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, _3s.\n6d._\n\n     \"The author's success with this book is so marked that it may well\n     encourage him to further efforts. The description of mining life in\n     the Far-west is true and accurate.\"--_Standard._\n\n=Sir Walter's Ward:= A Tale of the Crusades. By William\nEverard. With 6 full-page Illustrations by Walter Paget.\nCrown 8vo, cloth extra, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"This book will prove a very acceptable present either to boys or\n     girls. Both alike will take an interest in the career of Dodo, in\n     spite of his unheroic name, and follow him through his numerous and\n     exciting adventures.\"--_Academy._\n\n=Stories Of Old Renown:= Tales of Knights and Heroes. By Ascott R.\nHope. With 100 Illustrations by Gordon Browne. New\nEdition. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"A really fascinating book worthy of its telling title. There is,\n     we venture to say, not a dull page in the book, not a story which\n     will not bear a second reading.\"--_Guardian._\n\nBY CAROLINE AUSTIN.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Cousin Geoffrey and I.= By Caroline Austin. With 6 full-page\nIllustrations by W. Parkinson. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _3s.\n6d._\n\n     The only daughter of a country gentleman finds herself unprovided\n     for at her father's death, and for some time lives as a dependant\n     upon the kinsman who has inherited the property. Life is kept from\n     being entirely unbearable to her by her young cousin Geoffrey, who\n     at length meets with a serious accident for which she is held\n     responsible. She is then passed on to other relatives, who prove\n     even more objectionable, and at length, in despair, she runs away\n     and makes a brave attempt to earn her own livelihood. Being a\n     splendid rider, she succeeds in doing this, until the startling\n     event which brings her cousin Geoffrey and herself together again,\n     and solves the problem of the missing will.\n\n=Hugh Herbert's Inheritance.= By Caroline Austin. With 6\nfull-page Illustrations by C.T. Garland. Crown 8vo, cloth\nelegant, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"Will please by its simplicity, its tenderness, and its healthy\n     interesting motive. It is admirably written.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n     \"Well and gracefully written, full of interest, and excellent in\n     tone.\"--_School Guardian._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY E.S. BROOKS.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Storied Holidays:= A Cycle of Red-letter Days. By E.S. Brooks.\nWith 12 full-page Illustrations by Howard Pyle. Crown 8vo,\ncloth elegant, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"It is a downright good book for a senior boy, and is eminently\n     readable from first to last.\"--_Schoolmaster._\n\n     \"Replete with interest from Chapter I. to _finis_, and can be\n     confidently recommended as one of the gems of Messrs. Blackie's\n     collection.\"--_Teachers' Aid._\n\n=Chivalric Days:= Stories of Courtesy and Courage in the Olden Times. By\nE.S. Brooks. With 20 Illustrations by Gordon Browne\nand other Artists. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"We have seldom come across a prettier collection of tales. These\n     charming stories of boys and girls of olden days are no mere\n     fictitious or imaginary sketches, but are real and actual records\n     of their sayings and doings. The illustrations are in Gordon\n     Browne's happiest style.\"--_Literary World._\n\n=Historic Boys:= Their Endeavours, their Achievements, and their Times.\nBy E.S. Brooks. With 12 full-page Illustrations by R.B.\nBirch and John Schoenberg. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, _3s.\n6d._\n\n     \"A wholesome book, manly in tone, its character sketches enlivened\n     by brisk dialogue. We advise schoolmasters to put it on their list\n     of prizes.\"--_Knowledge._\n\nBY MRS. E.R. PITMAN.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Garnered Sheaves.= A Tale for Boys. By Mrs. E.R. Pitman. With\n4 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"This is a story of the best sort ... a noble-looking book,\n     illustrating faith in God, and commending to young minds all that\n     is pure and true.\"--Rev. C.H. Spurgeon's _Sword and Trowel_.\n\n=Life's Daily Ministry:= A Story of Everyday Service for others. By Mrs.\nE.R. Pitman. With 4 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth\nextra, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"Shows exquisite touches of a master hand. She has not only made a\n     close study of human nature in all its phases, but she has acquired\n     the artist's skill in depicting in graphic outline the\n     characteristics of the beautiful and the good in life.\"--_Christian\n     Union._\n\n=My Governess Life:= Or Earning my Living. By Mrs. E.R. Pitman.\nWith 4 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"Full of sound teaching and bright examples of\n     character.\"--_Sunday-school Chronicle._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY MRS. R.H. READ.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Silver Mill:= A Tale of the Don Valley. By Mrs. R.H. Read.\nWith 6 full-page Illustrations by John Schoenberg. Crown 8vo,\ncloth elegant, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"A good girl's story-book. The plot is interesting, and the\n     heroine, Ruth, a lady by birth, though brought up in a humble\n     station, well deserves the more elevated position in which the end\n     of the book leaves her. The pictures are very spirited.\"--_Saturday\n     Review._\n\n=Dora:= Or a Girl without a Home. By Mrs. R.H. Read. With 6\nfull-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"It is no slight thing, in an age of rubbish, to get a story so\n     pure and healthy as this.\"--_The Academy._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBY ELIZABETH J. LYSAGHT.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Brother and Sister:= Or the Trials of the Moore Family. By\nElizabeth J. Lysaght. With 6 full-page Illustrations. Crown\n8vo, cloth extra, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"A pretty story, and well told. The plot is cleverly constructed,\n     and the moral is excellent.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\n=Laugh and Learn:= A Home-book of Instruction and Amusement for the\nLittle Ones. By Jennett Humphreys. Charmingly Illustrated.\nSquare crown 8vo, cloth extra, _3s. 6d._\n\n     _Laugh and Learn_, a most comprehensive book for the nursery,\n     supplies, what has long been wanted, a means whereby the mother or\n     the governess may, in a series of pleasing lessons, commence and\n     carry on systematic home instruction of the little ones. The\n     various chapters of the _Learn_ section carry the child through the\n     \"three R's\" to easy stories for reading, and stories which the\n     mother may read aloud, or which more advanced children may read to\n     themselves. The Laugh section comprises simple drawing lessons,\n     home amusements of every kind, innumerable pleasant games and\n     occupations, rhymes to be learnt, songs for the very little ones,\n     action songs, and music drill.\n\n=The Search for the Talisman:= A Story of Labrador. By Henry\nFrith. With 6 full-page Illustrations by J. Schoenberg.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"Mr. Frith's volume will be among those most read and highest\n     valued. The adventures among seals, whales, and icebergs in\n     Labrador will delight many a young reader, and at the same time\n     give him an opportunity to widen his knowledge of the Esquimaux,\n     the heroes of many tales.\"--_Pall Mall Gazette._\n\n=Self-Exiled:= A Story of the High Seas and East Africa. By J.A.\nSteuart. With 6 full-page Illustrations by J. Schoenberg.\nCrown 8vo, cloth elegant, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"It is cram full of thrilling situations. The number of miraculous\n     escapes from death in all its shapes which the hero experiences in\n     the course of a few months must be sufficient to satisfy the most\n     voracious appetite.\"--_Schoolmaster._\n\n=Reefer and Rifleman:= A Tale of the Two Services. By J.\nPercy-Groves, late 27th Inniskillings. With 6 full-page\nIllustrations by John Schoenberg. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, _3s.\n6d._\n\n     \"A good, old-fashioned, amphibious story of our fighting with the\n     Frenchmen in the beginning of our century, with a fair sprinkling\n     of fun and frolic.\"--_Times._\n\n=The Bubbling Teapot.= A Wonder Story. By Mrs. L.W. Champney.\nWith 12 full-page Pictures by Walter Satterlee. Crown 8vo,\ncloth extra, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"Very literally a 'wonder story,' and a wild and fanciful one.\n     Nevertheless it is made realistic enough, and there is a good deal\n     of information to be gained from it. The steam from the magic\n     teapot bubbles up into a girl, and the little girl, when the fancy\n     takes her, can cry herself back into a teapot. Transformed and\n     enchanted she makes the tour of the globe.\"--_The Times._\n\n=Dr. Jolliffe's Boys:= A Tale of Weston School. By Lewis Hough.\nWith 6 full-page Pictures. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, _3s. 6d._\n\n     \"Young people who appreciate _Tom Brown's School-days_ will find\n     this story a worthy companion to that fascinating book. There is\n     the same manliness of tone, truthfulness of outline, avoidance of\n     exaggeration and caricature, and healthy morality as characterized\n     the masterpiece of Mr. Hughes.\"--_Newcastle Journal._\n\nBLACKIE'S HALF-CROWN SERIES.\n\nIllustrated by eminent Artists. In crown 8vo, cloth elegant.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNew Volumes.\n\n=The Hermit Hunter of the Wilds.= By Gordon Stables, C.M.,\nM.D., R.N.\n\n     A dreamy boy, who likes to picture himself as the Hermit Hunter of\n     the Wilds, receives an original but excellent kind of training from\n     a sailor-naturalist uncle, and at length goes to sea with the hope\n     of one day finding the lost son of his uncle's close friend,\n     Captain Herbert. He succeeds in tracing him through the forests of\n     Ecuador, where the abducted boy has become an Indian chief.\n     Afterwards he is discovered on an island which had been used as a\n     treasure store by the buccaneers. The hero is accompanied through\n     his many adventures by the very king of cats, who deserves a place\n     amongst the most famous animals in fiction.\n\n=Miriam's Ambition:= A Story for Children. By Evelyn\nEverett-Green.\n\n     Miriam's ambition is to make some one happy, and her endeavour to\n     carry it out in the case of an invalid boy, carries with it a\n     pleasant train of romantic incident, solving a mystery which had\n     thrown a shadow over several lives. A charming foil to her grave\n     and earnest elder sister is to be found in Miss Babs, a small\n     coquette of five, whose humorous child-talk is one of the most\n     attractive features of an excellent story.\n\n=White Lilac:= Or The Queen of the May. By Amy Walton.\n\n     When the vicar's wife proposed to call Mrs. White's daughter by the\n     heathen name of Lilac, all the villagers shook their heads; and\n     they continued to shake them sagely when Lilac's father was shot\n     dead by poachers just before the christening, and when, years\n     after, her mother died on the very day Lilac was crowned Queen of\n     the May. And yet White Lilac proved a fortune to the relatives to\n     whose charge she fell--a veritable good brownie, who brought luck\n     wherever she went. The story of her life forms a most readable and\n     admirable rustic idyl, and is told with a fine sense of rustic\n     character.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Little Lady Clare.= By Evelyn Everett-Green.\n\n     \"Certainly one of the prettiest, reminding us in its quaintness and\n     tender pathos of Mrs. Ewing's delightful tales. This is quite one\n     of the best stories Miss Green's clever pen has yet given\n     us.\"--_Literary World._\n\n     \"We would particularly bring it under the notice of those in charge\n     of girls' schools. The story is admirably told.\"--_Schoolmaster._\n\n=The Eversley Secrets.= By Evelyn Everett-Green.\n\n     \"Is one of the best children's stories of the year.\"--_Academy._\n\n     \"A clever and well-told story. Roy Eversley is a very touching\n     picture of high principle and unshrinking self-devotion in a good\n     purpose.\"--_Guardian._\n\n=The Brig \"Audacious.\"= By Alan Cole.\n\n     \"This is a real boys' book. We have great pleasure in recommending\n     it.\"--_English Teacher._\n\n     \"Bright and vivacious in style, and fresh and wholesome as a breath\n     of sea air in tone.\"--_Court Journal._\n\n=The Saucy May.= By H. Frith.\n\n     \"The book is certainly both interesting and\n     exciting.\"--_Spectator._\n\n     \"Mr. Frith gives a new picture of life on the ocean wave which will\n     be acceptable to all young people.\"--_Sheffield Independent._\n\n=Jasper's Conquest.= By Elizabeth J. Lysaght.\n\n     \"One of the best boys' books of the season. It is full of stirring\n     adventure and startling episodes, and yet conveys a splendid moral\n     throughout.\"--_Schoolmaster._\n\n=Sturdy and Strong:= Or, How George Andrews made his Way. By G.A.\nHenty.\n\n     \"The history of a hero of everyday life, whose love of truth,\n     clothing of modesty, and innate pluck carry him, naturally, from\n     poverty to affluence. He stands as a good instance of chivalry in\n     domestic life.\"--_The Empire._\n\n=Gutta-Percha Willie=, The Working Genius. By George Mac\nDonald, LL.D.\n\n     \"Had we space we would fain quote page after page. All we have room\n     to say is, get it for your boys and girls to read for themselves,\n     and if they can't do that read it to them.\"--_Practical Teacher._\n\n=The War of the Axe:= Or Adventures in South Africa. By J.\nPercy-Groves.\n\n     \"The story of their final escape from the Caffres is a marvellous\n     bit of writing.... The story is well and brilliantly told, and the\n     illustrations are especially good and effective.\"--_Literary\n     World._\n\n=The Lads of Little Clayton:= Stories of Village Boy Life. By R.\nStead.\n\n     \"A capital book for boys. They will learn from its pages what true\n     boy courage is. They will learn further to avoid all that is petty\n     and mean if they read the tales aright. They may be read to a class\n     with great profit.\"--_Schoolmaster._\n\n=Ten Boys= who lived on the Road from Long Ago to Now. By Jane\nAndrews. With 20 Illustrations.\n\n     \"The idea of this book is a very happy one, and is admirably\n     carried out. We have followed the whole course of the work with\n     exquisite pleasure. Teachers should find it particularly\n     interesting and suggestive.\"--_Practical Teacher._\n\n=Insect Ways on Summer Days= in Garden, Forest, Field, and Stream. By\nJennett Humphreys. With 70 Illustrations.\n\n     \"The book will prove not only instructive but delightful to every\n     child whose mind is beginning to inquire and reflect upon the\n     wonders of nature. It is capitally illustrated and very tastefully\n     bound.\"--_Academy._\n\n=A Waif of the Sea:= Or the Lost Found. By Kate Wood.\n\n     \"A very touching and pretty tale of town and country, full of\n     pathos and interest, told in a style which deserves the highest\n     praise.\"--_Edinburgh Courant._\n\n=Winnie's Secret:= A Story of Faith and Patience. By Kate\nWood.\n\n     \"One of the best story-books we have read. Girls will be charmed\n     with the tale, and delighted that everything turns out so\n     well.\"--_Schoolmaster._\n\n=Miss Willowburn's Offer.= By Sarah Doudney.\n\n     \"Patience Willowburn is one of Miss Doudney's best creations, and\n     is the one personality in the story which can be said to give it\n     the character of a book not for young ladies but for\n     girls.\"--_Spectator._\n\n=A Garland for Girls.= By Louisa M. Alcott.\n\n     \"The _Garland_ will delight our girls, and show them how to make\n     their lives fragrant with good deeds.\"--_British Weekly._\n\n     \"These little tales are the beau ideal of girls'\n     stories.\"--_Christian World._\n\n=Hetty Gray:= Or Nobody's Bairn. By Rosa Mulholland.\n\n     \"A charming story for young folks. Hetty is a delightful\n     creature--piquant, tender, and true--and her varying fortunes are\n     perfectly realistic.\"--_World._'\n\n=Brothers in Arms:= A Story of the Crusades. By F. Bayford\nHarrison.\n\n     \"Full of striking incident, is very fairly illustrated, and may\n     safely be chosen as sure to prove interesting to young people of\n     both sexes.\"--_Guardian._\n\n=The Ball Of Fortune:= Or Ned Somerset's Inheritance. By Charles\nPearce.\n\n     \"A capital story for boys. It is simply and brightly written. There\n     is plenty of incident, and the interest is sustained\n     throughout.\"--_Journal of Education._\n\n=Miss Fenwick's Failures:= Or \"Peggy Pepper-Pot.\" By Esme\nStuart.\n\n     \"Esme Stuart may be commended for producing a girl true to real\n     life, who will put no nonsense into young heads.\"--_Graphic._\n\n=Gytha's Message:= A Tale of Saxon England. By Emma Leslie.\n\n     \"This is a charmingly told story. It is the sort of book that all\n     girls and some boys like, and can only get good from.\"--_Journal of\n     Education._\n\n=My Mistress the Queen:= A Tale of the 17th Century. By M.A.\nPaull.\n\n     \"The style is pure and graceful, the presentation of manners and\n     character has been well studied, and the story is full of\n     interest.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n     \"This is a charming book. The old-time sentiment which pervades the\n     volume renders it all the more alluring.\"--_Western Mercury._\n\n=The Stories of Wasa and Menzikoff:= The Deliverer of Sweden, and the\nFavourite of Czar Peter.\n\n     \"Both are stories worth telling more than once, and it is a happy\n     thought to have put them side by side. Plutarch himself has no more\n     suggestive comparison.\"--_Spectator._\n\n=Stories of the Sea in Former Days:= Narratives of Wreck and Rescue.\n\n     \"Next to an original sea-tale of sustained interest come\n     well-sketched collections of maritime peril and suffering which\n     awaken the sympathies by the realism of fact. 'Stories of the Sea'\n     are a very good specimen of the kind.\"--_The Times._\n\n=Tales of Captivity and Exile.=\n\n     \"It would be difficult to place in the hands of young people a book\n     which combines interest and instruction in a higher\n     degree.\"--_Manchester Courier._\n\n=Famous Discoveries by Sea and Land.=\n\n     \"Such a volume may providentially stir up some youths by the divine\n     fire kindled by these 'great of old' to lay open other lands, and\n     show their vast resources.\"--_Perthshire Advertiser._\n\n=Stirring Events of History.=\n\n     \"The volume will fairly hold its place among those which make the\n     smaller ways of history pleasant and attractive. It is a gift-book\n     in which the interest will not be exhausted with one\n     reading.\"--_Guardian._\n\n=Adventures in Field, Flood, and Forest.= Stories of Danger and Daring.\n\n     \"One of the series of books for young people which Messrs. Blackie'\n     excel in producing. The editor has beyond all question succeeded\n     admirably. The present book cannot fail to be read with interest\n     and advantage.\"--_Academy._\n\n=Jack o' Lanthorn:= A Tale of Adventure. By Henry Frith.\n\n     \"The narrative is crushed full of stirring incident, and _is_ sure\n     to be a prime favourite with our boys, who will be assisted by it\n     in mastering a sufficiently exciting chapter in the history of\n     England.\"--_Christian Leader._\n\n=The Family Failing.= By Darley Dale.\n\n     \"At once an amusing and an interesting story, and a capital lesson\n     on the value of contentedness to young and old alike.\"--_Aberdeen\n     Journal._\n\n=The Joyous Story of Toto.= By Laura E. Richards. With 30\nhumorous and fanciful Illustrations by E.H. Garrett.\n\n     \"An excellent book for children who are old enough to appreciate a\n     little delicate humour. It should take its place beside Lewis\n     Carroll's unique works, and find a special place in the affections\n     of boys and girls.\"--_Birmingham Gazette._\n\n=BLACKIE'S TWO-SHILLING SERIES.=\n\nWith Illustrations in Colour and black and tint. In crown 8vo, cloth\nelegant.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNew Volumes.\n\n=Sam Silvan'S Sacrifice:= The Story of Two Fatherless Boys. By Jesse\nColman.\n\n     The story of two brothers--the elder a lad of good and steady\n     disposition; the younger nervous and finely-strung, but weaker and\n     more selfish. The death of their grandparents, by whom they are\n     being brought up, leads to their passing through a number of\n     adventures in uncomfortable homes and among strange people. In the\n     end the elder brother's generous care results in his sacrificing\n     his own life to save that of his brother, who realizes when it is\n     too late the full measure of his indebtedness.\n\n=A Warrior King:= The Story of a Boy's Adventures in Africa. By J.\nEvelyn.\n\n     A story full of adventure and romantic interest. Adrian Englefield,\n     an English boy of sixteen, accompanies his father on a journey of\n     exploration inland from the West Coast. He falls into the hands of\n     the Berinaquas, and becomes the friend of their prince, Moryosi,\n     but is on the point of being sacrificed when he is saved by the\n     capture of the kraelah by a neighbouring hostile tribe. He is soon\n     after retaken by the Berinaquas, and saves the life of Moryosi. The\n     two tribes are ultimately united, and Adrian and his friends are\n     set at liberty.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Susan.= By Amy Walton.\n\n     \"A clever little story, written with some humour. The authoress\n     shows a great deal of insight into children's feelings and\n     motives.\"--_Pall Mall Gazette._\n\n=\"A Pair of Clogs:\"= And other Stories. By Amy Walton.\n\n     \"These stories are decidedly interesting, and unusually true to\n     nature. For children between nine and fourteen this book can be\n     thoroughly commended.\"--_Academy._\n\n=The Hawthorns.= By Amy Walton.\n\n     \"A remarkably vivid and clever study of child-life. At this species\n     of work Amy Walton has no superior.\"--_Christian Leader._\n\n=Dorothy's Dilemma:= A Tale of the Time of Charles I. By Caroline\nAustin.\n\n     \"An exceptionally well-told story, and will be warmly welcomed by\n     children. The little heroine, Dorothy, is a charming\n     creation.\"--_Court Journal._\n\n=Marie's Home:= Or, A Glimpse of the Past. By Caroline Austin.\n\n     \"An exquisitely told story. The heroine is as fine a type of\n     girlhood as one could wish to set before our little British damsels\n     of to-day.\"--_Christian Leader._\n\n=Warner's Chase:= Or the Gentle Heart. By Annie S. Swan.\n\n     \"In Milly Warren, the heroine, who softens the hard heart of her\n     rich uncle and thus unwittingly restores the family fortunes, we\n     have a fine ideal of real womanly goodness.\"--_Schoolmaster._\n\n     \"A good book for boys and girls. There is no sickly goodyism in it,\n     but a tone of quiet and true religion that keeps its own\n     place.\"--_Perthshire Advertiser._\n\n=Aboard the \"Atalanta:\"= The Story of a Truant. By Henry Frith.\n\n     \"The story is very interesting and the descriptions most graphic.\n     We doubt if any boy after reading it would be tempted to the great\n     mistake of running away from school under almost any pretext\n     whatever.\"--_Practical Teacher._\n\n=The Penang Pirate= and The Lost Pinnace. By John C.\nHutcheson.\n\n     \"A book which boys will thoroughly enjoy: rattling, adventurous,\n     and romantic, and the stories are thoroughly healthy in\n     tone.\"--_Aberdeen Journal._\n\n=Teddy:= The Story of a \"Little Pickle.\" By John C. Hutcheson.\n\n     \"He is an amusing little fellow with a rich fund of animal spirits,\n     and when at length he goes to sea with Uncle Jack he speedily\n     sobers down under the discipline of life.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n=Linda and the Boys.= By Cecilia Selby Lowndes.\n\n     \"The book is essentially a child's book, and will be heartily\n     appreciated by the young folk.\"--_The Academy._\n\n     \"Is not only told in an artless, simple way, but is full of the\n     kind of humour that children love.\"--_Liverpool Mercury._\n\n=Swiss Stories for Children and those who Love Children.= From the\nGerman of Madam Johanna Spyri. By Lucy Wheelock.\n\n     \"Charming stories. They are rich in local colouring, and, what is\n     better, in genuine pathos.\"--_The Times._\n\n     \"These most delightful children's tales are essentially for\n     children, but would fascinate older and less enthusiastic minds\n     with their delicate romance and the admirable portraiture of the\n     hard life of the Swiss peasantry.\"--_Spectator._\n\n=The Squire's Grandson:= A Devonshire Story. By J.M. Callwell.\n\n     \"A healthy tone pervades this story, and the lessons of courage,\n     filial affection, and devotion to duty on the part of the young\n     hero cannot fail to favourably impress all young\n     readers.\"--_Schoolmaster._\n\n=Magna Charta Stories:= Or Struggles for Freedom in the Olden Time.\nEdited by Arthur Gilman, A.M. With 12 full-page Illustrations.\n\n     \"A book of special excellence, which ought to be in the hands of\n     all boys.\"--_Educational News._\n\n=The Wings Of Courage:= And The Cloud-Spinner. Translated from\nthe French of George Sand, by Mrs. Corkran.\n\n     \"Mrs. Corkran has earned our gratitude by translating into readable\n     English these two charming little stories.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\n=Chirp and Chatter:= Or, Lessons from Field and Tree. By\nAlice Banks. With 54 Illustrations by Gordon Browne.\n\n     \"We see the humbling influence of love on the haughty\n     harvest-mouse, we are touched by the sensibility of the\n     tender-hearted ant, and may profit by the moral of 'the disobedient\n     maggot.' The drawings are spirited and funny.\"--_The Times._\n\n=Four Little Mischiefs.= By Rosa Mulholland.\n\n     \"Graphically written, and abounds in touches of genuine humour and\n     innocent fun.\"--_Freeman._ \"A charming bright story about real\n     children.\"--_Watchman._\n\n=New Light through Old Windows.= A Series of Stories illustrating Fables\nof AEsop. By Gregson Gow.\n\n     \"The most delightfully-written little stories one can easily find\n     in the literature of the season. Well constructed and brightly\n     told.\"--_Glasgow Herald._\n\n=Little Tottie=, and Two Other Stories. By Thomas Archer.\n\n     \"We can warmly commend all three stories; the book is a most\n     alluring prize for the younger ones.\"--_Schoolmaster._\n\n=Naughty Miss Bunny:= Her Tricks and Troubles. By Clara\nMulholland.\n\n     \"This naughty child is positively delightful. Papas should not omit\n     _Naughty Miss Bunny_ from their list of juvenile presents.\"--_Land\n     and Water._\n\n=Adventures of Mrs. Wishing-to-be=, and other Stories. By Alice\nCorkran.\n\n     \"Simply a charming book for little girls.\"--_Saturday Review._\n\n     \"Just in the style and spirit to win the hearts of\n     children.\"--_Daily News._\n\n=Our Dolly:= Her Words and Ways. By Mrs. R.H. Read. With many\nWoodcuts, and a Frontispiece in colours.\n\n     \"Prettily told and prettily illustrated.\"--_Guardian._\n\n     \"Sure to be a great favourite with young children.\"--_School\n     Guardian._\n\n=Fairy Fancy:= What she Heard and Saw. By Mrs. R.H. Read. With\nmany Woodcuts and a  Frontispiece.\n\n     \"All is pleasant, nice reading, with a little knowledge of natural\n     history and other matters gently introduced and divested of\n     dryness.\"--_Practical Teacher._\n\n=BLACKIE'S EIGHTEENPENNY SERIES.=\n\nWith Illustrations in Colour, and black and tint. In crown 8vo, cloth\nelegant.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNew Volumes.\n\n=Tales of Daring and Danger.= By G.A. Henty.\n\n     A selection of five of Mr. Henty's short stories of adventure by\n     land and sea. The volume contains the narrative of an officer's\n     bear-shooting expedition, and his subsequent captivity among the\n     Dacoits; a strange tale of an Indian fakir and two British\n     officers; a tale of the gold-diggings at Pine-tree Gulch, in which\n     a boy saves, at the cost of his own life, a miner who had\n     befriended him, and two others.\n\n=The Seven Golden Keys.= By James E. Arnold.\n\n     Hilda gains entrance into fairy-land, and is there shown a golden\n     casket with seven locks. To obtain the treasure it contains, it is\n     necessary that she should make seven journeys to find the keys, and\n     in her travels she passes through a number of adventures and learns\n     seven important lessons--to speak the truth, to be kind, not to\n     trust to appearances, to hold fast to all that is good, &c. It is\n     one of the most interesting of recent fairy-books, as well as one\n     of the most instructive.\n\n=The Story of a Queen.= By Mary C. Rowsell.\n\n     A pleasant version for young people of the romantic story of Marie\n     of Brabant, the young queen of Philip the Bold of France. Though\n     the interest centres in a heroine rather than in a hero, the book\n     has no lack of adventure, and will be read with no less eagerness\n     by boys than by girls. To the latter it will give a fine example of\n     patient, strong and noble woman-hood, to the former it will teach\n     many lessons in truthfulness and chivalry.\n\n=Joan's Adventures=, At the North Pole and Elsewhere. By Alice\nCorkran.\n\n     \"This is a most delightful fairy story. The charming style and easy\n     prose narrative makes its resemblance striking to Hans\n     Andersen's.\"--_Spectator._\n\n=Edwy:= Or, Was he a Coward? By Annette Lyster.\n\n     \"This is a charming story, and sufficiently varied to suit children\n     of all ages.\"--_The Academy._\n\n=Filled with Gold.= By Jennie Perrett.\n\n     \"The tale is interesting, and gracefully told. Miss Perrett's\n     description of life on the quiet Jersey farm will have a great\n     charm.\"--_Spectator._\n\n=The Battlefield Treasure.= By F. Bayford Harrison.\n\n     \"Jack Warren is a lad of the Tom Brown type, and his search for\n     treasure and the sequel are sure to prove interesting to\n     boys.\"--_English Teacher._\n\n=By Order of Queen Maude:= A Story of Home Life. By Louisa\nCrow.\n\n     \"The tale is brightly and cleverly told, and forms one of the best\n     children's books which the season has produced.\"--_Academy._\n\n=Our General:= A Story for Girls. By Elizabeth J. Lysaght.\n\n     \"A young girl of indomitable spirit, to whom all instinctively turn\n     for guidance--a noble pattern for girls.\"--_Guardian._\n\n=Aunt Hesba's Charge.= By Elizabeth J. Lysaght.\n\n     \"This well-written book tells how a maiden aunt is softened by the\n     influence of two Indian children who are unexpectedly left upon her\n     hands. Mrs. Lysaght's style is bright and pleasant.\"--_Academy._\n\n=Into the Haven.= By Annie S. Swan.\n\n     \"No story more attractive, by reason of its breezy freshness, as\n     well as for the practical lessons it conveys.\"--_Christian Leader._\n\n=Our Frank:= And other Stories. By Amy Walton.\n\n     \"These stories are of the sort that children of the clever kind are\n     sure to like.\"--_Academy._\n\n=The Late Miss Hollingford.= By Rosa Mulholland.\n\n     \"No book for girls published this season approaches this in the\n     charm of its telling, which will be equally appreciated by persons\n     of all ages.\"--_Standard._\n\n=The Pedlar and His Dog.= By Mary C. Rowsell.\n\n     \"The opening chapter, with its description of Necton Fair, will\n     forcibly remind many readers of George Eliot. Taken altogether it\n     is a delightful story.\"--_Western Morning News._\n\n=Yarns on the Beach.= By G.A. Henty.\n\n     \"This little book should find special favour among boys. The yarns\n     are full of romance and adventure, and are admirably calculated to\n     foster a manly spirit.\"--_The Echo._\n\n=A Terrible Coward.= By G. Manville Fenn.\n\n     \"Just such a tale as boys will delight to read, and as they are\n     certain to profit by.\"--_Aberdeen Journal._\n\n=Tom Finch's Monkey:= And other Yarns. By J.C. Hutcheson.\n\n     \"Stories of an altogether unexceptionable character, with\n     adventures sufficient for a dozen books of its size.\"--_U. Service\n     Gazette._\n\n=Miss Grantley's Girls=, And the Stories She Told Them. By Thomas\nArcher.\n\n     \"For fireside reading more wholesome and highly entertaining\n     reading for young people could not be found.\"--_Northern\n     Chronicle._\n\n=Down and Up Again:= Being some Account of the Felton Family, and the\nOdd People they Met. By Gregson Gow.\n\n     \"The story is very neatly told, with some fairly dramatic\n     incidents, and calculated altogether to please young\n     people.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n=The Troubles and Triumphs of Little Tim.= A City Story. By Gregson\nGow.\n\n     \"An undercurrent of sympathy with the struggles of the poor, and an\n     ability to describe their feelings, eminently characteristic of\n     Dickens, are marked features in Mr. Gow's story.\"--_N.B. Mail._\n\n=The Happy Lad:= A Story of Peasant Life in Norway. From the Norwegian\nof Bjoernson.\n\n     \"This pretty story has natural eloquence which seems to carry us\n     back to some of the love stories of the Bible.\"--_Aberdeen Free\n     Press._\n\n=The Patriot Martyr:= And other Narratives of Female Heroism in Peace\nand War.\n\n     \"It should be read with interest by every girl who loves to learn\n     what her sex can accomplish in times of danger.\"--_Bristol Times._\n\n=Madge's Mistake:= A Recollection of Girlhood. By Annie E.\nArmstrong.\n\n     \"We cannot speak too highly of this delightful little tale. It\n     abounds in interesting and laughable incidents.\"--_Bristol Times._\n\n=Box of Stories.= Packed for Young Folk by Horace Happyman.\n\n=When I was a Boy in China.= By Yan Phou Lee, a native of\nChina, now resident in the United States. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, cloth\nextra, _1s. 6d._\n\n     \"This little book has the advantage of having been written not only\n     by a Chinaman, but by a man of culture. His book is as interesting\n     to adults as it is to children.\"--_The Guardian._\n\n     \"Not only exceedingly interesting, but of great informative value,\n     for it gives to English readers a peep into the interior and\n     private life of China such as has perhaps never before been\n     afforded.\"--_The Scottish Leader._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE SHILLING SERIES OF BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.\n\nSquare 16mo, neatly bound in cloth extra. Each book contains 128 pages\nand a  Illustration.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNew Volumes.\n\n=Mr. Lipscombe's Apples.= By Julia Goddard.\n=Gladys: or the Sister's Charge.= By E. O'Byrne.\n=A Gypsy against Her Will.= By Emma Leslie.\n=The Castle on the Shore.= By Isabel Hornibrook.\n=An Emigrant Boy's Story.= By Ascott R. Hope.\n=Jock and his Friend.= By Cora Langton.\n=John a' Dale.= By Mary C. Rowsell.\n=In the Summer Holidays.= By Jennett Humphreys.\n=How the Strike Began.= By Emma Leslie.\n=Tales from the Russian of Madame Kubalensky.= By G. Jenner.\n=Cinderella's Cousin, and Other Stories.= By Penelope.\n=Their New Home.= By Annie S. Fenn.\n=Janie's Holiday.= By C. Redford.\n=A Boy Musician:= Or, the Young Days of Mozart.\n=Hatto's Tower.= By Mary C. Rowsell.\n=Fairy Lovebairn's Favourites.= By J. Dickinson.\n=Alf Jetsam:= or Found Afloat. By Mrs. George Cupples.\n=The Redfords:= An Emigrant Story. By Mrs. George Cupples.\n=Missy.= By F. Bayford Harrison.\n=Hidden Seed:= or, A Year in a Girl's Life. By Emma Leslie.\n=Ursula's Aunt.= By Annie S. Fenn.\n=Jack's Two Sovereigns.= By Annie S. Fenn.\n=A Little Adventurer:= or How Tommy Trefit went to look for his Father.\n  By Gregson Gow.\n=Olive Mount.= By Annie S. Fenn.\n=Three Little Ones.= Their Haps and Mishaps. By C. Langton.\n=Tom Watkins' Mistake.= By Emma Leslie.\n=Two Little Brothers.= By M. Harriet M. Capes.\n=The New Boy at Merriton.= By Julia Goddard.\n=The Children of Haycombe.= By Annie S. Fenn.\n=The Cruise of the \"Petrel.\"= By F.M. Holmes.\n=The Wise Princess.= By M. Harriet M. Capes.\n=The Blind Boy of Dresden and his Sister.=\n=Jon of Iceland:= A Story of the Far North.\n=Stories from Shakespeare.=\n=Every Man In his Place:= Or a City Boy and a Forest Boy.\n=Fireside Fairies and Flower Fancies.= Stories for Girls.\n=To the Sea in Ships:= Stories of Suffering and Saving at Sea.\n=Jack's Victory:= and other Stories about Dogs.\n=Story of a King=, told by one of his Soldiers.\n=Prince Alexis=, or \"Beauty and the Beast.\"\n=Little Daniel:= a Story of a Flood on the Rhine.\n=Sasha the Serf:= and other Stories of Russian Life.\n=True Stories of Foreign History.=\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_THE ILLUSTRATIONS THROUGHOUT PRINTED IN COLOURS._\n\n4TO, ONE SHILLING EACH.\n\n=GORDON BROWNE'S SERIES OF OLD FAIRY TALES.=\n\n1. HOP O' MY THUMB.\n2. BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.\n\nEach book contains 32 pages 4to, and is illustrated on every page by\nPictures printed in colours.\n\n=THE NINEPENNY SERIES OF BOOKS FOR CHILDREN.=\n\nNeatly bound in cloth extra. Each contains 96 pages and a \nIllustration.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNew Volumes.\n\n=Things will Take a Turn.= By Beatrice Harraden.\n=The Lost Thimble:= and other Stories. By Mrs. Musgrave.\n=Max or Baby:= the Story of a very Little Boy. By Ismay Thorn.\n=Jack-a-Dandy:= or the Heir of Castle Fergus. By E.J. Lysaght.\n=A Day of Adventures:= A Story for little Girls. By Charlotte Wyatt.\n=The Golden Plums=, and other Stories. By Frances Clare.\n\n=The Queen of Squats.= By Isabel Hornibrook.\n=Shucks:= A Story for Boys. By Emma Leslie.\n=Sylvia Brooke.= By M. Harriet M. Capes.\n=The Little Cousin.= By A.S. Fenn.\n=In Cloudland.= By Mrs. Musgrave.\n=Jack and the Gypsies.= By Kate Wood.\n=Hans the Painter.= By Mary C. Rowsell.\n=Little Troublesome.= By Isabel Hornibrook.\n=My Lady May:= And one other Story. By Harriet Boultwood.\n=A Little Hero.= By Mrs. Musgrave.\n=Prince Jon's Pilgrimage.= By Jessie Fleming.\n=Harold's Ambition:= Or a Dream of Fame. By Jennie Perrett.\n=Sepperl the Drummer Boy.= By Mary C. Rowsell.\n=Aboard the Mersey.= By Mrs. George Cupples.\n=A Blind Pupil.= By Annie S. Fenn.\n=Lost and Found.= By Mrs. Carl Rother.\n=Fisherman Grim.= By Mary C. Rowsell.\n\n     \"The same good character pervades all these books. They are\n     admirably adapted for the young. The lessons deduced are such as to\n     mould children's minds in a good groove. We cannot too highly\n     commend them for their excellence.\"--_Schoolmistress._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=SOMETHING FOR THE VERY LITTLE ONES.=\n\nFully Illustrated with Woodcuts and  Plates. 64 pp., 32mo,\ncloth. Sixpence each.\n\n=Tales Easy and Small= for the Youngest of All. In no word will you see\nmore letters than three. By Jennett Humphreys.\n\n=Old Dick Grey= and Aunt Kate's Way. Stories in little words of not more\nthan four letters. By Jennett Humphreys.\n\n=Maud's Doll and Her Walk.= In Picture and Talk. In little words of not\nmore than four letters. By Jennett Humphreys.\n\n=In Holiday Time.= And other Stories. In little words of not more than\nfive letters. By Jennett Humphreys.\n\n=Whisk and Buzz.= By Mrs. A.H. Garlick.\n\n=THE SIXPENNY SERIES FOR CHILDREN.=\n\nNeatly bound in cloth extra. Each contains 64 pages and a  Cut.\n\n=A Little Man of War.= By L.E. Tiddeman.\n=Lady Daisy.= By Caroline Stewart.\n=Dew.= By H. Mary Wilson.\n=Chris's Old Violin.= By J. Lockhart.\n=Mischievous Jack.= By A. Corkran.\n=The Twins.= By L.E. Tiddeman.\n=Pet's Project.= By Cora Langton.\n=The Chosen Treat.= By Charlotte Wyatt.\n=Little Neighbours.= By Annie S. Fenn.\n=Jim:= A Story of Child Life. By Christian Burke.\n=Little Curiosity:= Or, A German Christmas. By J.M. Callwell.\n=Sara the Wool-gatherer.= By W.L. Rooper.\n=Fairy Stories:= told by Penelope.\n=A New Year's Tale:= and other Stories. From the German. By M.A. Currie.\n=Little Mop:= and other Stories. By Mrs. Charles Bray.\n=The Tree Cake:= and other Stories. By W.L. Rooper.\n=Nurse Peggy, and Little Dog Trip.=\n=Fanny's King.= By Darley Dale.\n=Wild Marsh Marigolds.= By D. Dale.\n=Kitty's Cousin.= By Hannah B. Mackenzie.\n=Cleared at Last.= By Julia Goddard.\n=Little Dolly Forbes.= By Annie S. Fenn.\n=A Year with Nellie.= By A.S. Fenn.\n=The Little Brown Bird.=\n=The Maid of Domremy:= and other Tales.\n=Little Eric:= a Story of Honesty.\n=Uncle Ben the Whaler.=\n=The Palace of Luxury.=\n=The Charcoal Burner.=\n=Willy Black:= a Story of Doing Right.\n=The Horse and His Ways.=\n=The Shoemaker's Present.=\n=Lights to Walk by.=\n=The Little Merchant.=\n=Nicholina:= a Story about an Iceberg.\n\n     \"A very praiseworthy series of Prize Books. Most of the stories are\n     designed to enforce some important moral lesson, such as honesty,\n     industry, kindness, helpfulness.\"--_School Guardian._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=A SERIES OF FOURPENNY REWARD BOOKS.=\n\nEach 64 pages, 18mo, Illustrated, in Picture Boards.\n\n=A Start in Life.= By J. Lockhart.\n=Happy Childhood.= By Aimee de Venoix Dawson.\n=Dorothy's Clock.= By Do.\n=Toddy.= By L.E. Tiddeman.\n=Stories about my Dolls.= By Felicia Melancthon.\n=Stories about my Cat Timothy.=\n=Delia's Boots.= By W.L. Rooper.\n=Lost on the Rocks.= By R. Scotter.\n=A Kitten's Adventures.= By Caroline Stewart.\n=Holidays at Sunnycroft.= By Annie S. Swan.\n=Climbing the Hill.= By Do.\n=A Year at Coverley.= By Do.\n=Phil Foster.= By J. Lockhart.\n=Papa's Birthday.= By W.L. Rooper.\n=The Charm Fairy.= By Penelope.\n=Little Tales for Little Children.= By M.A. Currie.\n=Worthy of Trust.= By H.B. Mackenzie.\n=Brave and True.= By Gregson Gow.\n=Johnnie Tupper's Temptation.= Do.\n=Maudie and Bertie.=   Do.\n=The Children and the Water-Lily.= By Julia Goddard.\n=Poor Tom Olliver.= By Do.\n=Fritz's Experiment.= By Letitia M'Lintock.\n=Lucy's Christmas-Box.=\n\nLONDON: BLACKIE & SON, 49 OLD BAILEY, E.C.\nGLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND DUBLIN.\n\n\n[Transcriber's Note: The following section was at the beginning of the book\nin the original copy.]\n\nMR. HENTY'S HISTORICAL TALES.\n\n_Crown 8vo, Cloth elegant, Olivine edges. Each Book is beautifully\nIllustrated._\n\nThe Cat of Bubastes: A Story of Ancient Egypt. _5s._\n\nThe Young Carthaginian: A Story of the Times of Hannibal. _6s._\n\nFor the Temple: A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. _6s._\n\nThe Lion of St. Mark: A Story of Venice in the 14th Century.\n6s.\n\nThe Lion of the North: A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus and the Wars\nof Religion. _6s._\n\nIn the Reign of Terror: The Adventures of a Westminster Boy\nduring the French Revolution. _5s._\n\nThe Dragon and the Raven: Or, The Days of King Alfred. _5s._\n\nIn Freedom's Cause: A Story of Wallace and Bruce. _6s._\n\nSt. George for England: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. _5s._\n\nUnder Drake's Flag: A Tale of the Spanish Main. _6s._\n\nOrange and Green: A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick. _5s._\n\nBonnie Prince Charlie: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. _6s._\n\nThe Bravest of the Brave: Or, With Peterborough in Spain. _5s._\n\nWith Wolfe in Canada: Or, The Winning of a Continent. _6s._\n\nWith Clive in India: Or, The Beginnings of an Empire. _6s._\n\nTrue to the Old Flag: A Tale of the American War of\nIndependence. _6s._\n\nThrough the Fray: A Story of the Luddite Riots. _6s._\n\nBy Sheer Pluck: A Tale of the Ashanti War. _5s._\n\nFor Name and Fame: Or, Through Afghan Passes. _5s._\n\nLONDON: BLACKIE & SON: GLASGOW AND EDINBURGH.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Tales of Daring and Danger, by George Alfred Henty\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LANDLORD AT LION'S HEAD\n\nBy William Dean Howells\n\n\n\n\nPart II.\n\n\nXXVII.\n\nJackson kept his promise to write to Westover, but he was better than his\nword to his mother, and wrote to her every week that winter.\n\n\"I seem just to live from letter to letter. It's ridic'lous,\" she said to\nCynthia once when the girl brought the mail in from the barn, where the\nmen folks kept it till they had put away their horses after driving over\nfrom Lovewell with it. The trains on the branch road were taken off in\nthe winter, and the post-office at the hotel was discontinued. The men\nhad to go to the town by cutter, over a highway that the winds sifted\nhalf full of snow after it had been broken out by the ox-teams in the\nmorning. But Mrs. Durgin had studied the steamer days and calculated the\ntime it would take letters to come from New York to Lovewell; and, unless\na blizzard was raging, some one had to go for the mail when the day came.\nIt was usually Jombateeste, who reverted in winter to the type of\nhabitant from which he had sprung. He wore a blue woollen cap, like a\nlarge sock, pulled over his ears and close to his eyes, and below it his\nclean-shaven brown face showed. He had blue woollen mittens, and boots of\nrusset leather, without heels, came to his knees; he got a pair every\ntime he went home on St. John's day. His lean little body was swathed in\nseveral short jackets, and he brought the letters buttoned into one of\nthe innermost pockets. He produced the letter from Jackson promptly\nenough when Cynthia came out to the barn for it, and then he made a show\nof getting his horse out of the cutter shafts, and shouting international\nreproaches at it, till she was forced to ask, \"Haven't you got something\nfor me, Jombateeste?\"\n\n\"You expec' some letter?\" he said, unbuckling a strap and shouting\nlouder.\n\n\"You know whether I do. Give it to me.\"\n\n\"I don' know. I think I drop something on the road. I saw something\nwhite; maybe snow; good deal of snow.\"\n\n\"Don't plague! Give it here!\"\n\n\"Wait I finish unhitch. I can't find any letter till I get some time to\nlook.\"\n\n\"Oh, now, Jombateeste! Give me my letter!\"\n\n\"W'at you want letter for? Always same thing. Well! 'Old the 'oss; I\ngoin' to feel.\"\n\nJombateeste felt in one pocket after another, while Cynthia clung to the\ncolt's bridle, and he was uncertain till the last whether he had any\nletter for her. When it appeared she made a flying snatch at it and ran;\nand the comedy was over, to be repeated in some form the next week.\n\nThe girl somehow always possessed herself of what was in her letters\nbefore she reached the room where Mrs. Durgin was waiting for hers. She\nhad to read that aloud to Jackson's mother, and in the evening she had to\nread it again to Mrs. Durgin and Whitwell and Jombateeste and Frank,\nafter they had done their chores, and they had gathered in the old\nfarm-house parlor, around the air-tight sheet-iron stove, in a heat of\neighty degrees. Whitwell listened, with planchette ready on the table\nbefore him, and he consulted it for telepathic impressions of Jackson's\nactual mental state when the reading was over.\n\nHe got very little out of the perverse instrument. \"I can't seem to work\nher. If Jackson was here--\"\n\n\"We shouldn't need to ask planchette about him,\" Cynthia once suggested,\nwith the spare sense of humor that sometimes revealed itself in her.\n\n\"Well, I guess that's something so,\" her father candidly admitted. But\nthe next time he consulted the helpless planchette as hopefully as\nbefore. \"You can't tell, you can't tell,\" he urged.\n\n\"The trouble seems to be that planchette can't tell,\" said Mrs. Durgin,\nand they all laughed. They were not people who laughed a great deal, and\nthey were each intent upon some point in the future that kept them from\npleasure in the present. The little Canuck was the only one who suffered\nhimself a contemporaneous consolation. His early faith had so far lapsed\nfrom him that he could hospitably entertain the wild psychical\nconjectures of Whitwell without an accusing sense of heresy, and he found\nthe winter of northern New England so mild after that of Lower Canada\nthat he experienced a high degree of animal comfort in it, and looked\nforward to nothing better. To be well fed, well housed, and well heated;\nto smoke successive pipes while the others talked, and to catch through\nhis smoke-wreaths vague glimpses of their meanings, was enough. He felt\nthat in being promoted to the care of the stables in Jackson's absence he\noccupied a dignified and responsible position, with a confidential\nrelation to the exile which justified him in sending special messages to\nhim, and attaching peculiar value to Jackson's remembrances.\n\nThe exile's letters said very little about his health, which in the sense\nof no news his mother held to be good news, but they were full concerning\nthe monuments and the ethnological interest of life in Egypt.\n\nThey were largely rescripts of each day's observations and experiences,\nclose and full, as his mother liked them in regard to fact, and\ngenerously philosophized on the side of politics and religion for\nWhitwell. The Eastern question became in the snow-choked hills of New\nEngland the engrossing concern of this speculative mind, and he was apt\nto spring it upon Mrs. Durgin and Cynthia at mealtimes and other\ndefenceless moments. He tried to debate it with Jombateeste, who\nconceived of it as a form of spiritualistic inquiry, and answered from\nthe hay-loft, where he was throwing down fodder for the cattle to\nWhitwell, volubly receiving it on the barn floor below, that he believed,\nhim, everybody got a hastral body, English same as Mormons.\n\n\"Guess you mean Moslems,\" said Whitwell, and Jombateeste asked the\ndifference, defiantly.\n\nThe letters which came to Cynthia could not be made as much a general\ninterest, and, in fact, no one else cared so much for them as for\nJackson's letters, not even Jeff's mother. After Cynthia got one of them,\nshe would ask, perfunctorily, what Jeff said, but when she was told there\nwas no news she did not press her question.\n\n\"If Jackson don't get back in time next summer,\" Mrs. Durgin said, in one\nof the talks she had with the girl, \"I guess I shall have to let Jeff and\nyou run the house alone.\"\n\n\"I guess we shall want a little help from you,\" said Cynthia, demurely.\nShe did not refuse the implication of Mrs. Durgin's words, but she would\nnot assume that there was more in them than they expressed.\n\nWhen Jeff came home for the three days' vacation at Thanksgiving, he\nwished again to relinquish his last year at Harvard, and Cynthia had to\nsummon all her forces to keep him to his promise of staying. He brought\nhome the books with which he was working off his conditions, with a\nhalf-hearted intention of study, and she took hold with him, and together\nthey fought forward over the ground he had to gain. His mother was almost\nwilling at last that he should give up his last year in college.\n\n\"What is the use?\" she asked. \"He's give up the law, and he might as well\ncommence here first as last, if he's goin' to.\"\n\nThe girl had no reason to urge against this; she could only urge her\nfeeling that he ought to go back and take his degree with the rest of his\nclass.\n\n\"If you're going to keep Lion's Head the way you pretend you are,\" she\nsaid to him, as she could not say to his mother, \"you want to keep all\nyour Harvard friends, don't you, and have them remember you? Go back,\nJeff, and don't you come here again till after you've got your degree.\nNever mind the Christmas vacation, nor the Easter. Stay in Cambridge and\nwork off your conditions. You can do it, if you try. Oh, don't you\nsuppose I should like to have you here?\" she reproached him.\n\nHe went back, with a kind of grudge in his heart, which he confessed in\nhis first letter home to her, when he told her that she was right and he\nwas wrong. He was sure now, with the impulse which their work on them in\ncommon had given him, that he should get his conditions off, and he\nwanted her and his mother to begin preparing their minds to come to his\nClass Day. He planned how they could both be away from the hotel for that\nday. The house was to be opened on the 20th of June, but it was not\nlikely that there would be so many people at once that they could not\ngive the 21st to Class Day; Frank and his father could run Lion's Head\nsomehow, or, if they could not, then the opening could be postponed till\nthe 24th. At all events, they must not fail to come. Cynthia showed the\nwhole letter to his mother, who refused to think of such a thing, and\nthen asked, as if the fact had not been fully set before her: \"When is it\nto be?\"\n\n\"The 21st of June.\"\n\n\"Well, he's early enough with his invitation,\" she grumbled.\n\n\"Yes, he is,\" said Cynthia; and she laughed for shame and pleasure as she\nconfessed, \"I was thinking he was rather late.\"\n\nShe hung her head and turned her face away. But Mrs. Durgin understood.\n\"You be'n expectin' it all along, then.\"\n\n\"I guess so.\"\n\n\"I presume,\" said the elder woman, \"that he's talked to you about it. He\nnever tells me much. I don't see why you should want to go. What's it\nlike?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know. But it's the day the graduating class have to\nthemselves, and all their friends come.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know why anybody should want to go,\" said Mrs. Durgin. \"I\nsha'n't. Tell him he won't want to own me when he sees me. What am I\ngoin' to wear, I should like to know? What you goin' to wear, Cynthy?\"\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII.\n\nJeff's place at Harvard had been too long fixed among the jays to allow\nthe hope of wholly retrieving his condition now. It was too late for him\nto be chosen in any of the nicer clubs or societies, but he was not\nbeyond the mounting sentiment of comradery, which begins to tell in the\nlast year among college men, and which had its due effect with his class.\nOne of the men, who had always had a foible for humanity, took advantage\nof the prevailing mood in another man, and wrought upon him to ask, among\nthe fellows he was asking to a tea at his rooms, several fellows who were\ndistinctly and almost typically jay. The tea was for the aunt of the man\nwho gave it, a very pretty woman from New York, and it was so richly\nqualified by young people of fashion from Boston that the infusion of the\njay flavor could not spoil it, if it would not rather add an agreeable\npiquancy. This college mood coincided that year with a benevolent emotion\nin the larger world, from which fashion was not exempt. Society had just\nbeen stirred by the reading of a certain book, which had then a very\ngreat vogue, and several people had been down among the wretched at the\nNorth End doing good in a conscience-stricken effort to avert the\nmillennium which the book in question seemed to threaten. The lady who\nmatronized the tea was said to have done more good than you could imagine\nat the North End, and she caught at the chance to meet the college jays\nin a spirit of Christian charity. When the man who was going to give the\ntea rather sheepishly confessed what the altruistic man had got him in\nfor, she praised him so much that he went away feeling like the hero of a\nholy cause. She promised the assistance and sympathy of several brave\ngirls, who would not be afraid of all the jays in college.\n\nAfter all, only one of the jays came. Not many, in fact, had been asked,\nand when Jeff Durgin actually appeared, it was not known that he was both\nthe first and the last of his kind. The lady who was matronizing the tea\nrecognized him, with a throe of her quickened conscience, as the young\nfellow whom she had met two winters before at the studio tea which Mr.\nWestover had given to those queer Florentine friends of his, and whom she\nhad never thought of since, though she had then promised herself to do\nsomething for him. She had then even given him some vague hints of a\nprospective hospitality, and she confessed her sin of omission in a swift\nbut graphic retrospect to one of her brave girls, while Jeff stood\nblocking out a space for his stalwart bulk amid the alien elegance just\nwithin the doorway, and the host was making his way toward him, with an\noutstretched hand of hardy welcome.\n\nAt an earlier period of his neglect and exclusion, Jeff would not have\nresponded to the belated overture which had now been made him, for no\nreason that he could divine. But he had nothing to lose by accepting the\ninvitation, and he had promised the altruistic man, whom he rather liked;\nhe did not dislike the giver of the tea so much as some other men, and so\nhe came.\n\nThe brave girl whom the matron was preparing to devote to him stood\nshrinking with a trepidation which she could not conceal at sight of his\nstrange massiveness, with his rust-gold hair coming down toward his thick\nyellow brows and mocking blue eyes in a dense bang, and his jaw squaring\nitself under the rather insolent smile of his full mouth. The matron felt\nthat her victim teas perhaps going to fail her, when a voice at her ear\nsaid, as if the question were extorted, \"Who in the world is that?\"\n\nShe instantly turned, and flashed out in a few inspired syllables the\nfact she had just imparted to her treacherous heroine. \"Do let me\nintroduce him, Miss Lynde. I must do something for him, when he gets up\nto me, if he ever does.\"\n\n\"By all means,\" said the girl, who had an impulse to laugh at the rude\nforce of Jeff's face and figure, so disproportioned to the occasion, and\nshe vented it at the matron's tribulation. The matron was shaking hands\nwith people right and left, and exchanging inaudible banalities with\nthem. She did not know what the girl said in answer, but she was aware\nthat she remained near her. She had professed her joy at seeing Jeff\nagain, when he reached her, and she turned with him and said, \"Let me\npresent you to Miss Lynde, Mr. Durgin,\" and so abandoned them to each\nother.\n\nAs Jeff had none of the anxiety for social success which he would have\nfelt at an earlier period, he now left it to Miss Lynde to begin the\ntalk, or not, as she chose. He bore himself with so much indifference\nthat she was piqued to an effort to hold his eyes, that wandered from her\nto this face and that in the crowd.\n\n\"Do you find many people you know, Mr. Durgin?\"\n\n\"I don't find any.\"\n\n\"I supposed you didn't from the way you looked at them.\"\n\n\"How did I look at them?\"\n\n\"As if you wanted to eat them, and one never wants to eat one's friends.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know. They wouldn't agree with one.\"\n\nJeff laughed, and he now took fuller note of the slender girl who stood\nbefore him, and swayed a little backward, in a graceful curve. He saw\nthat she had a dull, thick complexion, with liquid eyes, set wide apart\nand slanted upward slightly, and a nose that was deflected inward from\nthe straight line; but her mouth was beautiful and vividly red like a\ncrimson blossom.\n\n\"Couldn't you find me some place to sit down, Mr. Durgin?\" she asked.\n\nHe had it on his tongue to say, \"Well, not unless you want to sit down on\nsome enemy,\" but he did not venture this: when it comes to daring of that\nsort, the boldest man is commonly a little behind a timid woman.\n\nSeveral of the fellows had clubbed their rooms, and lent them to the man\nwho was giving the tea; he used one of the apartments for a cloak-room,\nand he meant the other for the social overflow from his own. But people\nalways prefer to remain dammed-up together in the room where they are\nreceived, and Miss Lynde looked between the neighboring heads, and over\nthe neighboring shoulders, and saw the borrowed apartment quite empty. At\nthe moment of this discovery the host came fighting his way up to make\nsure that Jeff had been provided for in the way of introductions. He\npromptly introduced him to Miss Lynde. She said: \"Oh, that's been done!\nCan't you think of something new?\" Jeff liked the style of this. \"I don't\nmind it, but I'm afraid Mr. Durgin must find it monotonous.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, do something original yourself, then, Miss Lynde!\" said the\nhost. \"Start a movement for that room across the passage; that's mine,\ntoo, for the occasion; and save some of these people's lives. It's\nsuffocating in here.\"\n\n\"I don't mind saving Mr. Durgin's,\" said the girl, \"if he wants it\nsaved.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know he's just dying to have you save it,\" said the host, and he\nleft them, to inspire other people to follow their example. But such as\nglanced across the passage into the overflow room seemed to think it now\nthe possession solely of the pioneers of the movement. At any rate, they\nmade no show of joining them; and after Miss Lynde and Jeff had looked at\nthe pictures on the walls and the photographs on the mantel of the room\nwhere they found themselves, they sat down on chairs fronting the open\ndoor and the door of the room they had left. The window-seat would have\nbeen more to Jeff's mind, and he had proposed it, but the girl seemed not\nto have heard him; she took the deep easy-chair in full view of the\ncompany opposite, and left him to pull up a chair beside her.\n\n\"I always like to see the pictures in a man's room,\" she said, with a\nlittle sigh of relief from their inspection and a partial yielding of her\nfigure to the luxury of the chair. \"Then I know what the man is. This\nman--I don't know whose room it is--seems to have spent a good deal of\nhis time at the theatre.\"\n\n\"Isn't that where most of them spend their time?\" asked Jeff.\n\n\"I'm sure I don't know. Is that where you spend yours?\"\n\n\"It used to be. I'm not spending my time anywhere just now.\" She looked\nquestioningly, and he added, \"I haven't got any to spend.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed! Is that a reason? Why don't you spend somebody else's?\"\n\n\"Nobody has any, that I know.\"\n\n\"You're all working off conditions, you mean?\"\n\n\"That's what I'm doing, or trying to.\"\n\n\"Then it's never certain whether you can do it, after all?\"\n\n\"Not so certain as to be free from excitement,\" said Jeff, smiling.\n\n\"And are you consumed with the melancholy that seems to be balling up all\nthe men at the prospect of having to leave Harvard and go out into the\nhard, cold world?\"\n\n\"I don't look it, do I? Jeff asked:\n\n\"No, you don't. And you don't feel it? You're not trying concealment, and\nso forth?\"\n\n\"No; if I'd had my own way, I'd have left Harvard before this.\" He could\nsee that his bold assumption of difference, or indifference, told upon\nher. \"I couldn't get out into the hard, cold world too soon.\"\n\n\"How fearless! Most of them don't know what they're going to do in it.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"And what are you going to do? Or perhaps you think that's asking!\"\n\n\"Oh no. I'm going to keep a hotel.\"\n\nHe had hoped to startle her, but she asked, rather quietly, \"What do you\nmean?\" and she added, as if to punish him for trying to mystify her:\n\"I've heard that it requires gifts for that. Isn't there some proverb?\"\n\n\"Yes. But I'm going to try to do it on experience.\" He laughed, and he\ndid not mind her trying to hit him, for he saw that he had made her\ncurious.\n\n\"Do you mean that you have kept a hotel?\"\n\n\"For three generations,\" he returned, with a gravity that mocked her from\nhis bold eyes.\n\n\"I'm sure I don't know what you mean,\" she said, indifferently. \"Where is\nyour hotel? In Boston--New York--Chicago?\"\n\n\"It's in the country--it's a summer hotel,\" he said, as before.\n\nShe looked away from him toward the other room. \"There's my brother. I\ndidn't know he was coming.\"\n\n\"Shall I go and tell him where you are?\" Jeff asked, following the\ndirection of her eyes.\n\n\"No, no; he can find me,\" said the girl, sinking back in her chair again.\nHe left her to resume the talk where she chose, and she said: \"If it's\nsomething ancestral, of course--\"\n\n\"I don't know as it's that, exactly. My grandfather used to keep a\ncountry tavern, and so it's in the blood, but the hotel I mean is\nsomething that we've worked up into from a farm boarding-house.\"\n\n\"You don't talk like a country person,\" the girl broke in, abruptly.\n\n\"Not in Cambridge. I do in the country.\"\n\n\"And so,\" she prompted, \"you're going to turn it into a hotel when you've\ngot out of Harvard.\"\n\n\"It's a hotel already, and a pretty big one; but I'm going to make the\nright kind of hotel of it when I take hold of it.\"\n\n\"And what is the right kind of a hotel?\"\n\n\"That's a long story. It would make you tired.\"\n\n\"It might, but we've got to spend the time somehow. You could begin, and\nthen if I couldn't stand it you could stop.\"\n\n\"It's easier to stop first and begin some other time. I guess I'll let\nyou imagine my hotel, Miss Lynde.\"\n\n\"Oh, I understand now,\" said the girl. \"The table will be the great\nthing. You will stuff people.\"\n\n\"Do you mean that I'm trying to stuff you?\"\n\n\"How do I know? You never can tell what men really mean.\"\n\nJeff laughed with mounting pleasure in her audacity, that imparted a\nsense of tolerance for him such as he had experienced very seldom from\nthe Boston girls he had met; after all, he had met but few. It flattered\nhim to have her doubt what he had told her in his reckless indifference;\nit implied that he was fit for better things than hotel-keeping.\n\n\"You never can tell how much a woman believes,\" he retorted.\n\n\"And you keep trying to find out?\"\n\n\"No, but I think that they might believe the truth.\"\n\n\"You'd better try them with it!\"\n\n\"Well, I will. Do you really want to know what I'm going to do when I get\nthrough?\"\n\n\"Let me see!\" Miss Lynde leaned forward, with her elbow on her knee and\nher chin in her hand, and softly kicked the edge of her skirt with the\ntoe of her shoe, as if in deep thought. Jeff waited for her to play her\ncomedy through. \"Yes,\" she said, \"I think I did wish to know--at one\ntime.\"\n\n\"But you don't now?\"\n\n\"Now? How can I tell? It was a great while ago!\"\n\n\"I see you don't.\"\n\nMiss Lynde did not make any reply. She asked, \"Do you know my aunt,\nDurgin?\"\n\n\"I didn't know you had one.\"\n\n\"Yes, everybody has an aunt--even when they haven't a mother, if you can\nbelieve the Gilbert operas. I ask because I happen to live with my aunt,\nand if you knew her she might--ask you to call.\" Miss Lynde scanned\nJeff's face for the effect of this.\n\nHe said, gravely: \"If you'll introduce me to her, I'll ask her to let\nme.\"\n\n\"Would you, really?\" said the girl. \"I've half a mind to try. I wonder if\nyou'd really have the courage.\"\n\n\"I don't think I'm easily rattled.\"\n\n\"You mean that I'm trying to rattle you.\"\n\n\"No--\"\n\n\"I'm not. My aunt is just what I've said.\"\n\n\"You haven't said what she was. Is she here?\"\n\n\"No; that's the worst of it. If she were, I should introduce you, just to\nsee if you'd dare. Well, some other time I will.\"\n\n\"You think there'll be some other time?\" Jeff asked.\n\n\"I don't know. There are all kinds of times. By-the-way, what time is\nit?\"\n\nJeff looked at his watch. \"Quarter after six.\"\n\n\"Then I must go.\" She jumped to her feet, and faced about for a glimpse\nof herself in the little glass on the mantel, and put her hand on the\nlarge pink roses massed at her waist. One heavy bud dropped from its stem\nto the floor, where, while she stood, the edge of her skirt pulled and\npushed it. She moved a little aside to peer over at a photograph. Jeff\nstooped and picked up the flower, which he offered her.\n\n\"You dropped it,\" he said, bowing over it.\n\n\"Did I?\" She looked at it with an effect of surprise and doubt.\n\n\"I thought so, but if you don't, I shall keep it.\"\n\nThe girl removed her careless eyes from it. \"When they break off so\nshort, they won't go back.\"\n\n\"If I were a rose, I should want to go back,\" said Jeff.\n\nShe stopped in one of her many aversions and reversions, and looked at\nhim steadily across her shoulder. \"You won't have to keep a poet, Mr.\nDurgin.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I always expected to write the circulars myself. I'll send\nyou one.\"\n\n\"Do.\"\n\n\"With this rose pressed between the leaves, so you'll know.\"\n\n\"That would, be very pretty. But you must take me to Mrs. Bevidge, now,\nif you can.\"\n\n\"I guess I can,\" said Jeff; and in a minute or two they stood before the\nmatronizing hostess, after a passage through the babbling and laughing\ngroups that looked as impossible after they had made it as it looked\nbefore.\n\nMrs. Bevidge gave the girl's hand a pressure distinct from the official\ntouch of parting, and contrived to say, for her hearing alone: \"Thank you\nso much, Bessie. You've done missionary work.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't call it that.\"\n\n\"It will do for you to say so! He wasn't really so bad, then? Thank you\nagain, dear!\"\n\nJeff had waited his turn. But now, after the girl had turned away, as if\nshe had forgotten him, his eyes followed her, and he did not know that\nMrs. Bevidge was speaking to him. Miss Lynde had slimly lost herself in\nthe mass, till she was only a graceful tilt of hat, before she turned\nwith a distraught air. When her eyes met Jeff's they lighted up with a\nlook that comes into the face when one remembers what one has been trying\nto think of. She gave him a brilliant smile that seemed to illumine him\nfrom head to foot, and before it was quenched he felt as if she had\nkissed her hand to him from her rich mouth.\n\nThen he heard Mrs. Bevidge asking something about a hall, and he was\naware of her bending upon him a look of the daring humanity that had\ncarried her triumphantly through her good works at the North End.\n\n\"Oh, I'm not in the Yard,\" said Jeff, with belated intelligence.\n\n\"Then will just Cambridge reach you?\"\n\nHe gave his number and street, and she thanked him with the benevolence\nthat availed so much with the lower classes. He went away thrilling and\ntingling, with that girl's tones in his ear, her motions in his nerves,\nand the colors of her face filling his sight, which he printed on the air\nwhenever he turned, as one does with a vivid light after looking at it.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX\n\nWhen Jeff reached his room he felt the need of writing to Cynthia, with\nwhatever obscure intention of atonement. He told her of the college tea\nhe had just come from, and made fun of it, and the kind of people he had\nmet, especially the affected girl who had tried to rattle him; he said he\nguessed she did not think she had rattled him a great deal.\n\nWhile he wrote he kept thinking how this Miss Lynde was nearer his early\nideal of fashion, of high life, which Westover had pretty well snubbed\nout of him, than any woman he had seen yet; she seemed a girl who would\ndo what she pleased, and would not be afraid if it did not please other\npeople. He liked her having tried to rattle him, and he smiled to himself\nin recalling her failure. It was as if she had laid hold of him with her\nlittle hands to shake him, and had shaken herself. He laughed out in the\ndark when this image came into his mind; its intimacy flattered him; and\nhe believed that it was upon some hint from her that Mrs. Bevidge had\nasked his address. She must be going to ask him to her house, and very\nsoon, for it was part of Jeff's meagre social experience that this was\nthe way swells did; they might never ask you twice, but they would ask\nyou promptly.\n\nThe thing that Mrs. Bevidge asked Jeff to, when her note reached him the\nsecond day after the tea, was a meeting to interest young people in the\nwork at the North End, and Jeff swore under his breath at the\ndisappointment and indignity put upon him. He had reckoned upon an\nafternoon tea, at least, or even, in the flights of fancy which he now\ndisowned to himself, a dance after the Mid-Years, or possibly an earlier\nreception of some sort. He burned with shame to think of a theatre-party,\nwhich he had fondly specialized, with a seat next Miss Lynde.\n\nHe tore Mrs. Bevidge's note to pieces, and decided not to answer it at\nall, as the best way of showing how he had taken her invitation. But Mrs.\nBevidge's benevolence was not wanting in courage; she believed that Jeff\nshould pay his footing in society, such as it was, and should allow\nhimself to be made use of, the first thing; when she had no reply from\nhim, she wrote him again, asking him to an adjourned meeting of the first\nconvocation, which had been so successful in everything but numbers. This\ntime she baited her hook, in hoping that the young men would feel\nsomething of the interest the young ladies had already shown in the\nmatter. She expressed the fear that Mr. Durgin had not got her earlier\nletter, and she sent this second to the care of the man who had given the\ntea.\n\nJeff's resentment was now so far past that he would have civilly declined\nto go to the woman's house; but all his hopes of seeing that girl, as he\nalways called Miss Lynde in his thought, were revived by the mention of\nthe young ladies interested in the cause. He accepted, though all the way\ninto Boston he laid wagers with himself that she would not be there; and\nup to the moment of taking her hand he refused himself any hope of\nwinning.\n\nThere was not much business before the meeting; that had really been all\ntransacted before; it was mainly to make sure of the young men, who were\npresent in the proportion of one to five young ladies at least. Mrs.\nBevidge explained that she had seen the wastefulness of amateur effort\namong the poor, and announced that hereafter she was going to work with\nthe established charities. These were very much in want of visitors,\nespecially young men, to go about among the applicants for relief, and\ninquire into their real necessities, and get work for them. She was hers\nself going to act as secretary for the meetings during the coming month,\nand apparently she wished to signalize her accession to the regular\nforces of charity by bringing into camp as large a body of recruits as\nshe could.\n\nBut Jeff had not come to be made use of, or as a jay who was willing to\nwork for his footing in society. He had come in the hope of meeting Miss\nLynde, and now that he had met her he had no gratitude to Mrs. Bevidge as\na means, and no regret for the defeat of her good purposes so far as she\nintended their fulfilment in him. He was so cool and self-possessed in\nexcusing himself, for reasons that he took no pains to make seem\nunselfish, that the altruistic man who had got him asked to the college\ntea as a friendless jay felt it laid upon him to apologize for Mrs.\nBevidge's want of tact.\n\n\"She means well, and she's very much in earnest, in this work; but I must\nsay she can make herself very offensive--when she doesn't try! She has a\nright to ask our help, but not to parade us as the captives of her bow\nand spear.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's all right,\" said Jeff. He perceived that the amiable fellow\nwas claiming for all an effect that Jeff knew really implicated himself\nalone. \"I couldn't load up with anything of that sort, if I'm to work off\nmy conditions, you know.\"\n\n\"Are you in that boat?\" said the altruist, as if he were, too; and he put\nhis hand compassionately on Jeff's iron shoulder, and left him to Miss\nLynde, whose side he had not stirred from since he had found her.\n\n\"It seems to me,\" she said, \"that where there are so many of you in the\nsame boat, you might manage to get ashore somehow.\"\n\n\"Yes, or all go down together.\" Jeff laughed, and ate Mrs. Bevidge's\nbread-and-butter, and drank her tea, with a relish unaffected by his\nrefusal to do what she asked him. He was right, perhaps, and perhaps she\ndeserved nothing better at his hands, but the altruist, when he glanced\nat him from the other side of the room, thought that he had possibly\nwasted his excuses upon Jeff's self-complacence.\n\nHe went away in a halo of young ladies; several of the other girls\ngrouped themselves in their departure; and it happened that Miss Lynde\nand Jeff took leave together. Mrs. Bevidge said to her, with the\ncaressing tenderness of one in the same set, \"Good-bye, dear!\" To Jeff\nshe said, with the cold conscience of those whom their nobility obliges,\n\"I am always at home on Thursdays, Mr. Durgin.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you,\" said Jeff. He understood what the words and the manner\nmeant together, but both were instantly indifferent to him when he got\noutside and found that Miss Lynde was not driving. Something, which was\nneither look, nor smile, nor word, of course, but nothing more at most\nthan a certain pull and tilt of the shoulder, as she turned to walk away\nfrom Mrs. Bevidge's door, told him from her that he might walk home with\nher if he would not seem to do so.\n\nIt was one of the pink evenings, dry and clear, that come in the Boston\nDecember, and they walked down the sidehill street, under the delicate\ntracery of the elm boughs in the face of the metallic sunset. In the\nsection of the Charles that the perspective of the street blocked out,\nthe wrinkled current showed as if glazed with the hard color. Jeff's\nstrong frame rejoiced in the cold with a hale pleasure when he looked\nround into the face of the girl beside him, with the gray film of her\nveil pressed softly against her red mouth by her swift advance. Their\nfaces were nearly on a level, as they looked into each other's eyes, and\nhe kept seeing the play of the veil's edge against her lips as they\ntalked.\n\n\"Why sha'n't you go to Mrs. Bevidge's Thursdays?\" she asked. \"They're\nvery nice.\"\n\n\"How do you know I'm not going?\" he retorted.\n\n\"By the way you thanked her.\"\n\n\"Do you advise me to go?\"\n\n\"I haven't got anything to do with it. What do mean by that?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Curiosity, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Well, I do advise you to go,\" said the girl. Shall you be there next\nThursday?\"\n\n\"I? I never go to Mrs. Bevidge's Thursdays!\"\n\n\"Touche,\" said Jeff, and they both laughed. \"Can you always get in at an\nenemy that way?\"\n\n\"Enemy?\"\n\n\"Well, friend. It's the same thing.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said the girl. \"You belong to the pessimistic school of\nSeniors.\"\n\n\"Why don't you try to make an optimist of me?\"\n\n\"Would it be worth while?\"\n\n\"That isn't for me to say.\"\n\n\"Don't be diffident! That's staler yet.\"\n\n\"I'll be anything you like.\"\n\n\"I'm not sure you could.\" For an instant Jeff did not feel the point, and\nhe had not the magnanimity, when he did, to own himself touched again.\nApparently, if this girl could not rattle him, she could beat him at\nfence, and the will to dominate her began to stir in him. If he could\nhave thought of any sarcasm, no matter how crushing, he would have come\nback at her with it. He could not think of anything, and he walked at her\nside, inwardly chafing for the chance which would not come.\n\nWhen they reached her door there was a young man at the lock with a\nlatch-key, which he was not making work, for, after a bated blasphemy of\nhis failure, he turned and twitched the bell impatiently.\n\nMiss Lynde laughed provokingly, and he looked over his shoulder at her\nand at Jeff, who felt his injury increased by the disadvantage this young\nman put him at. Jeff was as correctly dressed; he wore a silk hat of the\nlast shape, and a long frock-coat; he was properly gloved and shod; his\nclothes fitted him, and were from the best tailor; but at sight of this\nyoung man in clothes of the same design he felt ill-dressed. He was in\nlike sort aware of being rudely blocked out physically, and coarsely\n as to his blond tints of hair and eye and cheek. Even the\nsinister something in the young man's look had distinction, and there was\nstyle in the signs of dissipation in his handsome face which Jeff saw\nwith a hunger to outdo him.\n\nMiss Lynde said to Jeff, \"My brother, Mr. Durgin,\" and then she added to\nthe other, \"You ought to ring first, Arthur, and try your key afterward.\"\n\n\"The key's all right,\" said the young man, without paying any attention\nto Jeff beyond a glance of recognition; he turned his back, and waited\nfor the door to be opened.\n\nHis sister suggested, with an amiability which Jeff felt was meant in\nreparation to him, \"Perhaps a night latch never works before dark--or\nvery well before midnight.\" The door was opened, and she said to Jeff,\nwith winning entreaty, \"Won't you come in, Mr. Durgin?\"\n\nJeff excused himself, for he perceived that her politeness was not so\nmuch an invitation to him as a defiance to her brother; he gave her\ncredit for no more than it was worth, and he did not wish any the less to\nget even with her because of it.\n\n\n\n\nXXX.\n\nAt dinner, in the absence of the butler, Alan Lynde attacked his sister\nacross the table for letting herself be seen with a jay, who was not only\na jay, but a cad, and personally so offensive to most of the college men\nthat he had never got into a decent club or society; he had been\nsuspended the first year, and if he had not had the densest kind of cheek\nhe would never have come back. Lynde said he would like to know where she\nhad picked the fellow up.\n\nShe answered that she had picked him up, if that was the phrase he liked,\nat Mrs. Bevidge's; and then Alan swore a little, so as not to be heard by\ntheir aunt, who sat at the head of the table, and looked down its length\nbetween them, serenely ignorant, in her slight deafness, of what was\ngoing on between them. To her perception Alan was no more vehement than\nusual, and Bessie no more smilingly self-contained. He said he supposed\nthat it was some more of Lancaster's damned missionary work, then, and he\nwondered that a gentleman like Morland had ever let Lancaster work such a\njay in on him; he had seen her 'afficher' herself with the fellow at\nMorland's tea; he commanded her to stop it; and he professed to speak for\nher good.\n\nBessie returned that she knew how strongly he felt from the way he had\nmisbehaved when she introduced him to Mr. Durgin, but that she supposed\nhe had been at the club and his nerves were unstrung. Was that the\nreason, perhaps, why he could not make his latchkey work? Mr. Durgin\nmight be a cad, and she would not say he was not a jay, but so far he had\nnot sworn at her; and, if he had been suspended and come back, there were\nsome people who had not been suspended or come back, either, though that\nmight have been for want of cheek.\n\nShe ended by declaring she was used to going into society without her\nbrother's protection, or even his company, and she would do her best to\nget on without his advice. Or was it his conduct he wished her to profit\nby?\n\nIt had come to the fish going out by this time, and Alan, who had eaten\nwith no appetite, and drunken feverishly of apollinaris, flung down his\nnapkin and went out, too.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked his aunt, looking after him.\n\nBessie shrugged, but she said, presently, with her lips more than her\nvoice: \"I don't think he feels very well.\"\n\n\"Do you think he--\"\n\nThe girl frowned assent, and the meal went on to its end. Then she and\nher aunt went into the large, dull library, where they passed the\nevenings which Bessie did not spend in some social function. These\nevenings were growing rather more frequent, with her advancing years, for\nshe was now nearly twenty-five, and there were few Seniors so old. She\nwas not the kind of girl to renew her youth with the Sophomores and\nFreshmen in the classes succeeding the class with which she had danced\nthrough college; so far as she had kept up the old relation with\nstudents, she continued it with the men who had gone into the law-school.\nBut she saw less and less of these without seeing more of other men, and\nperhaps in the last analysis she was not a favorite. She was allowed to\nbe fascinating, but she was not felt to be flattering, and people would\nrather be flattered than fascinated. In fact, the men were mostly afraid\nof her; and it has been observed of girls of this kind that the men who\nare not afraid of them are such as they would do well to be afraid of.\nWhether that was quite the case with Bessie Lynde or not, it was certain\nthat she who was always the cleverest girl in the room, and if not the\nprettiest, then the most effective, had not the best men about her. Her\nmen were apt to be those whom the other girls called stupid or horrid,\nand whom it would not be easy, though it might be more just, to classify\notherwise. The other girls wondered what she could see in them; but\nperhaps it was not necessary that she should see anything in them, if\nthey could see all she wished them to see, and no more, in her.\n\nThe room where tea was now brought and put before her was volumed round\nby the collections of her grandfather, except for the spaces filled by\nhis portrait and that of earlier ancestors, going back to the time when\nCopley made masterpieces of his fellow-Bostonians. Her aunt herself\nlooked a family portrait of the middle period, a little anterior to her\nfather's, but subsequent to her great-grandfather's. She had a comely\nface, with large, smooth cheeks and prominent eyes; the edges of her\ndecorous brown wig were combed rather near their corners, and a fitting\ncap palliated but did not deny the wig. She had the quiet but rather dull\nlook of people slightly deaf, and she had perhaps been stupefied by a\nlife of unalloyed prosperity and propriety. She had grown an old maid\nnaturally, but not involuntarily, and she was without the sadness or the\nharshness of disappointment. She had never known much of the world,\nthough she had always lived in it. She knew that it was made up of two\nkinds of people--people who were like her and people who were not like\nher; and she had lived solely in the society of people who were like her,\nand in the shelter of their opinions and ideals. She did not contemn or\nexclude the people who were unlike her, but she had never had any more\ncontact with them than she now had with the weather of the streets, as\nshe sat, filling her large arm-chair full of her ladylike correctness, in\nthe library of the handsome house her father had left her. The irruption\nof her brother's son and daughter into its cloistered quiet had scarcely\nbroken its invulnerable order. It was right and fit they should be there\nafter his death, and it was not strange that in the course of time they\nshould both show certain unregulated tendencies which, since they were\nnot known to be Lynde tendencies, must have been derived from the\nSouthwestern woman her brother had married during his social and\nfinancial periclitations in a region wholly inconceivable to her. Their\nmother was dead, too, and their aunt's life closed about them with full\nacceptance, if not complacence, as part of her world. They had grown to\nmanhood and womanhood without materially discomposing her faith in the\nold-fashioned Unitarian deity, whose service she had always attended.\n\nWhen Alan left college in his Freshman year, and did not go back, but\nwent rather to Europe and Egypt and Japan, it appeared to her myopic\noptimism that his escapades had been pretty well hushed up by time and\ndistance. After he came home and devoted himself to his club, she could\nhave wished that he had taken up some profession or business; but since\nthere was money enough, she waited in no great disquiet until he showed\nas decided a taste for something else as he seemed for the present to\nhave only for horses. In the mean while, from time to time, it came to\nher doctor's advising his going to a certain retreat. But he came out the\nfirst time so much better and remained well so long that his aunt felt a\nkind of security in his going again and again, whenever he became at all\nworse. He always came back better. As she took the cup of tea that Bessie\npoured out for her, she recurred to the question that she had partly\nasked already:\n\n\"Do you think Alan is getting worse again?\"\n\n\"Not so very much,\" said the girl, candidly. \"He's been at the club, I\nsuppose, but he left the table partly because I vexed him.\"\n\n\"Because you what?\"\n\n\"Because I vexed him. He was scolding me, and I wouldn't stand it.\"\n\nHer aunt tasted her tea, and found it so quite what she liked that she\nsaid, from a natural satisfaction with Bessie, \"I don't see what he had\nto scold you about.\"\n\n\"Well,\" returned Bessie, and she got her pretty voice to the level of her\naunt's hearing, with some straining, and kept it there, \"when he is in\nthat state, he has to scold some one; and I had been rather annoying, I\nsuppose.\"\n\n\"What had you been doing?\" asked her aunt, making out her words more from\nthe sight than from the sound, after all.\n\n\"I had been walking home with a jay, and we found Alan trying to get in\nat the front door with his key, and I introduced him to the jay.\"\n\nMiss Louisa Lynde had heard the word so often from her niece and nephew,\nthat she imagined herself in full possession of its meaning. She asked:\n\"Where had you met him?\"\n\n\"I met him first,\" said the girl, \"at Willie Morland's tea, last week,\nand to-day I found him at Mrs. Bevidge's altruistic toot.\"\n\n\"I didn't know,\" said her aunt, after a momentary attention to her tea,\n\"that jays were interested in that sort of thing.\"\n\nThe girl laughed. \"I believe they're not. It hasn't quite reached them,\nyet; and I don't think it will ever reach my jay. Mrs. Bevidge tried to\nwork him into the cause, but he refused so promptly, and\nso-intelligently, don't you know--and so almost brutally, that poor\nFreddy Lancaster had to come and apologize to him for her want of tact.\"\nBessie enjoyed the fact, which she had  a little, in another\nlaugh, but she had apparently not possessed her aunt of the humor of it.\nShe remained seriously-attentive, and the girl went on: \"He was not the\nleast abashed at having refused; he stayed till the last, and as we came\nout together and he was going my way, I let him walk home with me. He's a\njay, but he isn't a common jay.\" Bessie leaned forward and tried to\nimplant some notion of Jeff's character and personality in her aunt's\nmind.\n\nMiss Lynde listened attentively enough, but she merely asked, when all\nwas said: \"And why was Alan vexed with you about him?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the girl, falling back into her chair, \"generally because\nthis man's a jay, and particularly because he's been rather a baddish\njay, I believe. He was suspended in his first year for something or\nother, and you know poor Alan's very particular! But Molly Enderby says\nFreddy Lancaster gives him the best of characters now.\" Bessie pulled\ndown her mouth, with an effect befitting the notion of repentance and\natonement. Then she flashed out: \"Perhaps he had been drinking when he\ngot into trouble. Alan could never forgive him for that.\"\n\n\"I think,\" said her aunt, \"it is to your brother's credit that he is\nanxious about your associations.\"\n\n\"Oh, very much!\" shouted Bessie, with a burst of laughter. \"And as he\nisn't practically so, I ought to have been more patient with his theory.\nBut when he began to scold me I lost my temper, and I gave him a few\nwholesome truths in the guise of taunts. That was what made him go away,\nI suppose.\"\n\n\"But I don't really see,\" her aunt pursued,--\"what occasion he had to be\nangry with you in this instance.\"\n\n\"Oh, I do!\" said Bessie. \"Mr. Durgin isn't one to inspire the casual\nbeholder with the notion of his spiritual distinction. His face is so\nrude and strong, and he has such a primitive effect in his clothes, that\nyou feel as if you were coming down the street with a prehistoric man\nthat the barbers and tailors had put a 'fin de siecle' surface on.\" At\nthe mystification which appeared in her aunt's face the girl laughed\nagain. \"I should have been quite as anxious, if I had been in Alan's\nplace, and I shall tell him so, sometime. If I had not been so interested\nin the situation I don't believe I could have kept my courage. Whenever I\nlooked round, and found that prehistoric man at my elbow, it gave me the\ncreeps, a little, as if he were really carrying me off to his cave. I\nshall try to express that to Alan.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXXI.\n\nThe ladies finished their tea, and the butler came and took the cups\naway. Miss Lynde remained silent in her chair at her end of the\nlibrary-table, and by-and-by Bessie got a book and began to read. When\nher aunt woke up it was half past nine. \"Was that Alan coming in?\" she\nasked.\n\n\"I don't think he's been out,\" said the girl. \"It isn't late enough for\nhim to come in--or early enough.\"\n\n\"I believe I'll go to bed,\" Miss Lynde returned. \"I feel rather drowsy.\"\n\nBessie did not smile at a comedy which was apt to be repeated every\nevening that she and her aunt spent at home together; they parted for the\nnight with the decencies of family affection, and Bessie delivered the\nelder lady over to her maid. Then the girl sank down again, and lay\nmusing in her deep chair before the fire with her book shut on her thumb.\nShe looked rather old and worn in her reverie; her face lost the air of\ngay banter which, after the beauty of her queer eyes and her vivid mouth,\nwas its charm. The eyes were rather dull now, and the mouth was a little\nwithered.\n\nShe was waiting for her brother to come down, as he was apt to do if he\nwas in the house, after their aunt went to bed, to smoke a cigar in the\nlibrary. He was in his house shoes when he shuffled into the room, but\nher ear had detected his presence before a hiccough announced it. She did\nnot look up, but let him make several failures to light his cigar, and\ndamn the matches under his breath, before she pushed the drop-light to\nhim in silent suggestion. As he leaned over her chair-back to reach its\nchimney with his cigar in his mouth, she said, \"You're all right, Alan.\"\n\nHe waited till he got round to his aunt's easy-chair and dropped into it\nbefore he answered, \"So are you, Bess.\"\n\n\"I'm not so sure of that,\" said the girl, \"as I should be if you were\nstill scolding me. I knew that he was a jay, well enough, and I'd just\nseen him behaving very like a cad to Mrs. Bevidge.\"\n\n\"Then I don't understand how you came to be with him.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, you do, Alan. You mustn't be logical! You might as well say you\ncan't understand how you came to be more serious than sober.\" The brother\nlaughed helplessly. \"It was the excitement.\"\n\n\"But you can't give way to that sort of thing, Bess,\" said her brother,\nwith the gravity of a man feeling the consequences of his own errors.\n\n\"I know I can't, but I do,\" she returned. \"I know it's bad for me, if it\nisn't for other people. Come! I'll swear off if you will!\"\n\n\"I'm always ready, to swear off,\" said the young man, gloomily. He added,\n\"But you've got brains, Bess, and I hate to see you playing the fool.\"\n\n\"Do you really, Alan?\" asked the girl, pleased perhaps as much by his\nreproach as by his praise. \"Do you think I've got brains?\"\n\n\"You're the only girl that has.\"\n\n\"Oh, I didn't mean to ask so much as that! But what's the reason I can't\ndo anything with them? Other girls draw, and play, and write. I don't do\nanything but go in for the excitement that's bad for me. I wish you'd\nexplain it.\"\n\nAlan Lynde did not try. The question seemed to turn his thoughts back\nupon himself to dispiriting effect. \"I've got brains, too, I believe,\" he\nbegan.\n\n\"Lots of them!\" cried his sister, generously. \"There isn't any of the men\nto compare with you. If I had you to talk with all the time, I shouldn't\nwant jays. I don't mean to flatter. You're a constant feast of reason; I\ndon't care for flows of soul. You always take right views of things when\nyou're yourself, and even when you're somebody else you're not stupid.\nYou could be anything you chose.\"\n\n\"The devil of it is I can't choose,\" he replied.\n\n\"Yes, I suppose that's the devil of it,\" said the girl.\n\n\"You oughtn't to use such language as that, Bess,\" said her brother,\nseverely.\n\n\"Oh, I don't with everybody,\" she returned. \"Never with ladies!\"\n\nHe looked at her out of the corner of his eye with a smile at once rueful\nand comic.\n\n\"You got me, I guess, that time,\" he owned.\n\n\"'Touche',' Mr. Durgin says. He fences, it seems, and he speaks French.\nIt was like an animal speaking French; you always expect them to speak\nEnglish. But I don't mind your swearing before me; I know that it helps\nto carry off the electricity.\" She laughed, and made him laugh with her.\n\n\"Is there anything to him?\" he growled, when they stopped laughing.\n\n\"Yes, a good deal,\" said Bessie, with an air of thoughtfulness; and then\nshe went on to tell all that Jeff had told her of himself, and she\ndescribed his aplomb in dealing with the benevolent Bevidge, as she\ncalled her, and sketched his character, as it seemed to her. The sketch\nwas full of shrewd guesses, and she made it amusing to her brother, who\nfrom the vantage of his own baddishness no doubt judged the original more\nintelligently.\n\n\"Well, you'd better let him alone, after this,\" he said, at the end.\n\n\"Yes,\" she pensively assented. \"I suppose it's as if you took to some\nvery common kind of whiskey, isn't it? I see what you mean. If one must,\nit ought to be champagne.\"\n\nShe turned upon him a look of that keen but limited knowledge which\nrenders women's conjectures of evil always so amusing, or so pathetic, to\nmen.\n\n\"Better let the champagne alone, too,\" said her brother, darkly.\n\n\"Yes, I know that,\" she admitted, and she lay back in her chair, looking\ndreamily into the fire. After a while she asked, abruptly: \"Will you give\nit up if I will?\"\n\n\"I am afraid I couldn't.\"\n\n\"You could try.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm used to that.\"\n\n\"Then it's a bargain,\" she said. She jumped from her chair and went over\nto him, and smoothed his hair over his forehead and kissed the place she\nhad smoothed, though it was unpleasantly damp to her lips. \"Poor boy,\npoor boy! Now, remember! No more jays for me, and no more jags for you.\nGoodnight.\"\n\nHer brother broke into a wild laugh at her slanging, which had such a\nbizarre effect in relation to her physical delicacy.\n\n\n\n\nXXXII.\n\nJeff did not know whether Miss Bessie Lynde meant to go to Mrs. Bevidge's\nThursdays or not. He thought she might have been bantering him by what\nshe said, and he decided that he would risk going to the first of them on\nthe chance of meeting her. She was not there, and there was no one there\nwhom he knew. Mrs. Bevidge made no effort to enlarge his acquaintance,\nand after he had drunk a cup of her tea he went away with rage against\nsociety in his heart, which he promised himself to vent at the first\nchance of refusing its favors. But the chance seemed not to come. The\nworld which had opened its gates to him was fast shut again, and he had\nto make what he could of renouncing it. He worked pretty hard, and he\nrenewed himself in his fealty to Cynthia, while his mind strayed\ncuriously to that other girl. But he had almost abandoned the hope of\nmeeting her again, when a large party was given on the eve of the Harvard\nMid-Year Examinations, which end the younger gayeties of Boston, for a\nfortnight at least, in January. The party was so large that the\ninvitations overflowed the strict bounds of society at some points. In\nthe case of Jeff Durgin the excess was intentional beyond the vague\nbenevolence which prompted the giver of the party to ask certain other\noutsiders. She was a lady of a soul several sizes larger than the souls\nof some other society leaders; she was not afraid to do as she liked; for\ninstance, she had not only met the Vostrands at Westover's tea, several\nyears before, but she had afterward offered some hospitalities to those\nladies which had discharged her whole duty toward them without involving\nher in any disadvantages. Jeff had been presented to her at Westover's,\nbut she disliked him so promptly and decidedly that she had left him out\nof even the things that she asked some other jays to, like lectures and\nparlor readings for good objects. It was not until one of her daughters\nmet him, first at Willie Morland's tea and then at Mrs. Bevidge's\nmeeting, that her social conscience concerned itself with him. At the\nfirst her daughter had not spoken to him, as might very well have\nhappened, since Bessie Lynde had kept him away with her nearly all the\ntime; but at the last she had bowed pleasantly to him across the room,\nand Jeff had responded with a stiff obeisance, whose coldness she felt\nthe more for having been somewhat softened herself in Mrs. Bevidge's\naltruistic atmosphere.\n\n\"I think he was hurt, mamma,\" the girl explained to her mother, \"that\nyou've never had him to anything. I suppose they must feel it.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, send him a card, then,\" said her mother; and when Jeff got the\ncard, rather near the eleventh hour, he made haste to accept, not because\nhe cared to go to Mrs. Enderby's house, but because he hoped he should\nmeet Miss Lynde there.\n\nBessie was the first person he met after he turned from paying his duty\nto the hostess. She was with her aunt, and she presented him, and\npromised him a dance, which she let him write on her card. She sat out\nanother dance with him, and he took her to supper.\n\nTo Westover, who had gone with the increasing forlornness a man feels in\nsuch pleasures after thirty-five, it seemed as if the two were in each\nother's company the whole evening. The impression was so strong with him\nthat when Jeff restored Bessie to her aunt for the dance that was to be\nfor some one else, and came back to the supper-room, the painter tried to\nsatisfy a certain uneasiness by making talk with him. But Jeff would not\ntalk; he got away with a bottle of champagne, which he had captured, and\na plate heaped with croquettes and pease, and galantine and salad. There\nwere no ladies left in the room by that time, and few young men; but the\noldsters crowded the place, with their bald heads devoutly bowed over\ntheir victual, or their frosty mustaches bathed in their drink, singly or\nin groups; the noise of their talk and laughter mixed with the sound of\ntheir eating and drinking, and the clash of the knives and dishes. Over\ntheir stooped shoulders and past their rounded stomachs Westover saw Alan\nLynde vaguely making his way with a glass in his hand, and looking\nvaguely about for wine; he saw Jeff catch his wandering eye, and make\noffer of his bottle, and then saw Lynde, after a moment of haughty pause,\nunbend and accept it. His thin face was flushed, and his hair tossed over\nhis forehead, but Jeff seemed not to take note of that. He laughed\nboisterously at something Lynde said, and kept filling his glass for him.\nHis own color remained clear and cool. It was as if his powerful physique\nabsorbed the wine before it could reach his brain.\n\nWestover wanted to interfere, and so far as Jeff was concerned he would\nnot have hesitated; but Lynde was concerned, too, and you cannot save\nsuch a man from himself without offence. He made his way to the young\nman, hoping he might somehow have the courage he wanted.\n\nJeff held up the bottle, and called to him, \"Get yourself a glass, Mr.\nWestover.\" He put on the air of a host, and would hardly be denied. \"Know\nMr. Westover, Mr. Lynde? Just talking about you,\" he explained to\nWestover.\n\nAlan had to look twice at the painter. \"Oh yes. Mr. Durgin, here--telling\nme about his place in the mountains. Says you've been there. Going--going\nmyself in the summer. See his--horses.\" He made pauses between his words\nas some people do when they, try to keep from stammering.\n\nWestover believed Lynde understood Jeff to be a country gentleman of\nsporting tastes, and he would not let that pass. \"Yes, it's the\npleasantest little hotel in the mountains.\"\n\n\"Strictly-temperance, I suppose?\" said Alan, trying to smile with lips\nthat obeyed him stiffly. He appeared not to care who or what Jeff was;\nthe champagne had washed away all difference between them. He went on to\nsay that he had heard of Jeff's intention of running the hotel himself\nwhen he got out of Harvard. He held it to be damned good stuff.\n\nJeff laughed. \"Your sister wouldn't believe me when I told her.\"\n\n\"I think I didn't mention Miss Lynde,\" said Alan, haughtily.\n\nJeff filled his glass; Alan looked at it, faltered, and then drank it\noff. The talk began again between the young men, but it left Westover\nout, and he had to go away. Whether Jeff was getting Lynde beyond himself\nfrom the love of mischief, such as had prompted him to tease little\nchildren in his boyhood, or was trying to ingratiate himself with the\nyoung fellow through his weakness, or doing him harm out of mere\nthoughtlessness, Westover came away very unhappy at what he had seen. His\nunhappiness connected itself so distinctly with Lynde's family that he\nwent and sat down beside Miss Lynde from an obscure impulse of\ncompassion, and tried to talk with her. It would not have been so hard if\nshe were merely deaf, for she had the skill of deaf people in arranging\nthe conversation so that a nodded yes or no would be all that was needed\nto carry it forward. But to Westover she was terribly dull, and he was\ngasping, as in an exhausted receiver, when Bessie came up with a smile of\nradiant recognition for his extremity. She got rid of her partner, and\ndevoted herself at once to Westover. \"How good of you!\" she said, without\ngiving him the pain of an awkward disclaimer.\n\nHe could counter in equal sincerity and ambiguity, \"How beautiful of\nyou.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I am looking rather well, tonight; but don't you think\neffective would have been a better word?\" She smiled across her aunt at\nhim out of a cloud of pink, from which her thin shoulders and slender\nneck emerged, and her arms, gloved to the top, fell into her lap; one of\nthem seemed to terminate naturally in the fan which sensitively shared\nthe inquiescence of her person.\n\n\"I will say effective, too, if you insist,\" said Westover. \"But at the\nsame time you're the most beautiful person here.\"\n\n\"How lovely of you, even if you don't mean it,\" she sighed. \"If girls\ncould have more of those things said to them, they would be better, don't\nyou think? Or at least feel better.\"\n\nWestover laughed. \"We might organize a society--they have them for nearly\neverything now--for saying pleasant things to young ladies with a view to\nthe moral effect.\"\n\n\"Oh, do I.\"\n\n\"But it ought to be done conscientiously, and you couldn't go round\ntelling every one that she was the most beautiful girl in the room.\"\n\n\"Why not? She'd believe it!\"\n\n\"Yes; but the effect on the members of the society?\"\n\n\"Oh yes; that! But you could vary it so as to save your conscience. You\ncould say, 'How divinely you're looking!' or 'How angelic!' or 'You're\nthe very poetry of motion,' or 'You are grace itself,' or 'Your gown is a\nperfect dream, or any little commonplace, and every one would take it for\npraise of her personal appearance, and feel herself a great beauty, just\nas I do now, though I know very well that I'm all out of drawing, and\njust chicqued together.\"\n\n\"I couldn't allow any one but you to say that, Miss Bessie; and I only\nlet it pass because you say it so well.\"\n\n\"Yes; you're always so good! You wouldn't contradict me even when you\nturned me out of your class.\"\n\n\"Did I turn you out of my class?\"\n\n\"Not just in so many words, but when I said I couldn't do anything in\nart, you didn't insist that it was because I wouldn't, and of course then\nI had to go. I've never forgiven you, Mr. Westover, never! Do keep on\ntalking very excitedly; there's a man coming up to us that I don't want\nto think I see him, or he'll stop. There! He's veered off! Where were\nyou, Mr. Westover?\"\n\n\"Ah, Miss Bessie,\" said the painter; delighted at her drama, \"there isn't\nanything you couldn't do if you would.\"\n\n\"You mean parlor entertainments; impersonations; impressions; that sort\nof thing? I have thought of it. But it would be too easy. I want to try\nsomething difficult.\"\n\n\"For instance.\"\n\n\"Well, being very, very good. I want something that would really tax my\npowers. I should like to be an example. I tried it the other night just\nbefore I went to sleep, and it was fine. I became an example to others.\nBut when I woke up--I went on in the old way. I want something hard,\ndon't you know; but I want it to be easy!\"\n\nShe laughed, and Westover said: \"I am glad you're not serious. No one\nought to be an example to others. To be exemplary is as dangerous as to\nbe complimentary.\n\n\"It certainly isn't so agreeable to the object,\" said the girl. \"But it's\nfine for the subject as long as it lasts. How metaphysical we're getting!\nThe objective and the subjective. It's quite what I should expect of talk\nat a Boston dance if I were a New-Yorker. Have you seen anything of my\nbrother, within the last hour or so, Mr. Westover?\"\n\n\"Yes; I just left him in the supper-room. Shall I go get him for you?\"\nWhen he had said this, with the notion of rescuing him from Jeff,\nWestover was sorry, for he doubted if Alan Lynde were any longer in the\nstate to be brought away from the supper-room, and he was glad to have\nBessie say:\n\n\"No, no. He'll look us up in the course of the evening--or the morning.\"\nA young fellow came to claim her for a dance, and Westover had not the\nface to leave Miss Lynde, all the less because she told him he must not\nthink of staying. He stayed till the dance was over, and Bessie came back\nto him.\n\n\"What time is it, Mr. Westover? I see my aunt beginning to nod on her\nperch.\"\n\nWestover looked at his watch. \"It's ten minutes past two.\"\n\n\"How early!\" sighed the girl. \"I'm tired of it, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Very,\" said Westover. \"I was tired an hour ago.\"\n\nBessie sank back in her chair with an air of nervous collapse, and did\nnot say anything. Westover saw her watching the young couples who passed\nin and out of the room where the dancing was, or found corners on sofas,\nor window-seats, or sheltered spaces beside the doors and the\nchimney-piece, the girls panting and the men leaning forward to fan them.\nShe looked very tired of it; and when a young fellow came up and asked\nher to dance, she told him that she was provisionally engaged. \"Come back\nand get me, if you can't do better,\" she said, and he answered there was\nno use trying to do better, and said he would wait till the other man\nturned up, or didn't, if she would let him. He sat down beside her, and\nsome young talk began between them.\n\nIn the midst of it Jeff appeared. He looked at Westover first, and then\napproached with an embarrassed face.\n\nBessie got vividly to her feet. \"No apologies, Mr. Durgin, please! But in\njust another moment you'd have last your dance.\"\n\nWestover saw what he believed a change pass in Jeff's look from\nembarrassment to surprise and then to flattered intelligence. He beamed\nall over; and he went away with Bessie toward the ballroom, and left\nWestover to a wholly unsupported belief that she had not been engaged to\ndance with Jeff. He wondered what her reckless meaning could be, but he\nhad always thought her a young lady singularly fitted by nature and art\nto take care of herself, and when he reasoned upon what was in his mind\nhe had to own that there was no harm in Jeff's dancing with her.\n\nHe took leave of Miss Lynde, and was going to get his coat and hat for\nhis walk home when he was mysteriously stopped in a corner of the stairs\nby one of the caterer's men whom he knew. It is so unnatural to be\naddressed by a servant at all unless he asks you if you will have\nsomething to eat or drink, that Westover was in a manner prepared to have\nhim say something startling. \"It's about young Mr. Lynde, sor. We've got\num in one of the rooms up-stairs, but he ain't fit to go home alone, and\nI've been lookin' for somebody that knows the family to help get um into\na car'ge. He won't go for anny of us, sor.\"\n\n\"Where is he?\" asked Westover, in anguish at being unable to refuse the\nappeal, but loathing the office put upon him.\n\n\"I'll show you, sor,\" said the caterer's man, and he sprang up the stairs\nbefore Westover, with glad alacrity.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII.\n\nIn a little room at the side of that where the men's hats and coats were\nchecked, Alan Lynde sat drooping forward in an arm-chair, with his head\nfallen on his breast. He roused himself at the flash of the burner which\nthe man turned up. \"What's all this?\" he demanded, haughtily. \"Where's\nthe carriage? What's the matter?\"\n\n\"Your carriage is waiting, Lynde,\" said Westover. \"I'll see you down to\nit,\" and he murmured, hopelessly, to the caterer's man: \"Is there any\nback way?\"\n\n\"There's the wan we got um up by.\"\n\n\"It will do,\" said Westover, as simply.\n\nBut Lynde called out, defiantly: \"Back way; I sha'n't go down back way.\nInshult to guest. I wish--say--good-night to--Mrs. Enderby. Who you,\nanyway? Damn caterer's man?\"\n\n\"I'm Westover, Lynde,\" the painter began, but the young fellow broke in\nupon him, shaking his hand and then taking his arm.\n\n\"Oh, Westover! All right! I'll go down back way with you.\nThought--thought it was damn caterer's man. No--offence.\"\n\n\"No. It's all right.\" Westover got his arm under Lynde's elbow, and, with\nthe man going before for them to fall upon jointly in case they should\nstumble, he got him down the dark and twisting stairs and through the\nbasement hall, which was vaguely haunted by the dispossessed women\nservants of the family, and so out upon the pavement of the moonlighted\nstreets.\n\n\"Call Miss Lynde's car'ge,\" shouted the caterer's man to the barker, and\nescaped back into the basement, leaving Westover to stay his helpless\ncharge on the sidewalk.\n\nIt seemed a publication of the wretch's shame when the barker began to\nfill the night with hoarse cries of, \"Miss Lynde's carriage; carriage for\nMiss Lynde!\" The cries were taken up by a coachman here and there in the\nrank of vehicles whose varnished roofs shone in the moon up and down the\nstreet. After a time that Westover of course felt to be longer than it\nwas, Miss Lynde's old coachman was roused from his sleep on the box and\nstarted out of the rank. He took in the situation with the eye of custom,\nwhen he saw Alan supported on the sidewalk by a stranger at the end of\nthe canopy covering the pavement.\n\nHe said, \"Oh, ahl right, sor!\" and when the two white-gloved policemen\nfrom either side of it helped Westover into the carriage with Lynde, he\nset off at a quick trot. The policemen clapped their hands together, and\nsmiled across the strip of carpet that separated them, and winks and nods\nof intelligence passed among the barkers to the footmen about the curb\nand steps. There were none of them sorry to see a gentleman in that\nstate; some of them had perhaps seen Alan in that state before.\n\nHalf-way home he roused himself and put his hand on the carriage-door\nlatch. \"Tell the coachman drive us to--the--club. Make night of it.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Westover, trying to restrain him. \"We'd better go right on\nto your house.\"\n\n\"Who--who--who are you?\" demanded Alan.\n\n\"Westover.\"\n\n\"Oh yes--Westover. Thought we left Westover at Mrs. Enderby's. Thought it\nwas that jay--What's his name? Durgin. He's awful jay, but civil to me,\nand I want be civil to him. You're not--jay? No? That's right. Fellow\nmade me sick; but I took his champagne; and I must show him\nsome--attention.\" He released the door-handle, and fell back against the\ncushioned carriage wall. \"He's a blackguard!\" he said, sourly.\n\"Not--simple jay-blackguard, too. No--no--business bring in my sister's\nname, hey? You--you say it's--Westover? Oh yes, Westover. Old friend of\nfamily. Tell you good joke, Westover--my sister's. No more jays for me,\nno more jags for you. That's what she say--just between her and me, you\nknow; she's a lady, Bess is; knows when to use--slang. Mark--mark of a\nlady know when to use slang. Pretty good--jays and jags. Guess we didn't\ncount this time--either of us.\"\n\nWhen the carriage pulled up before Miss Lynde's house, Westover opened\nthe door. \"You're at home, now, Lynde. Come, let's get out.\"\n\nLynde did not stir. He asked Westover again who he was, and when he had\nmade sure of him, he said, with dignity, Very well; now they must get the\nother fellow. Westover entreated; he even reasoned; Lynde lay back in the\ncorner of the carriage, and seemed asleep.\n\nWestover thought of pulling him up and getting him indoors by main force.\nHe appealed to the coachman to know if they could not do it together.\n\n\"Why, you see, I couldn't leave me harsses, sor,\" said the coachman.\n\"What's he wants, sor?\" He bent urbanely down from his box and listened\nto the explanation that Westover made him, standing in the cold on the\ncurbstone, with one hand on the carriage door. \"Then it's no use, sor,\"\nthe man decided. \"Whin he's that way, ahl hell couldn't stir um. Best go\nback, sor, and try to find the gentleman.\"\n\nThis was in the end what Westover had to do, feeling all the time that a\nthing so frantically absurd could not be a waking act, but helpless to\nescape from its performance. He thought of abandoning his charge and\nleaving him, to his fate when he opened the carriage door before Mrs.\nEnderby's house; but with the next thought he perceived that this was on\nall accounts impossible. He went in, and began his quest for Jeff,\nsending various serving men about with vague descriptions of him, and\nasking for him of departing guests, mostly young men he did not know, but\nwho, he thought, might know Jeff.\n\nHe had to take off his overcoat at last, and reappear at the ball. The\ncrowd was still great, but visibly less dense than it had been. By a\nsudden inspiration he made his way to the supper-room, and he found Jeff\nthere, filling a plate, as if he were about to carry it off somewhere. He\ncommanded Jeff's instant presence in the carriage outside; he told him of\nAlan's desire for him.\n\nJeff leaned back against the wall with the plate in his hand and laughed\ntill it half slipped from his hold. When he could get his breath, he\nsaid: \"I'll be back in a few minutes; I've got to take this to Miss\nBessie Lynde. But I'll be right back.\"\n\nWestover hardly believed him. But when he got on his own things again,\nJeff joined him in his hat and overcoat, and they went out together.\n\nIt was another carriage that stopped the way now, and once more the\nbarker made the night ring with what Westover felt his heartless and\nshameless cries for Miss Lynde's carriage. After a maddening delay, it\nlagged up to the curb and Jeff pulled the door open.\n\n\"Hello!\" he said. \"There's nobody here!\"\n\n\"Nobody there?\" cried Westover, and they fell upon the coachman with wild\nquestion and reproach; the policeman had to tell him at last that the\ncarriage must move on, to make way for others.\n\nThe coachman had no explanation to offer: he did not know how or when Mr.\nAlan had got away.\n\n\"But you can give a guess where he's gone?\" Jeff suggested, with a\npresence of mind which Westover mutely admired.\n\n\"Well, sor, I know where he do be gahn, sometimes,\" the man admitted.\n\n\"Well, that will do; take me there,\" said Jeff. \"You go in and account\nfor me to Miss Lynde,\" he instructed Westover, across his shoulder. \"I'll\nget him home before morning, somehow; and I'll send the carriage right\nback for the ladies, now.\"\n\nWestover had the forethought to decide that Miss Bessie should ask for\nJeff if she wanted him, and this simplified matters very much. She asked\nnothing about him. At sight of Westover coming up to her where she sat\nwith her aunt, she merely said: \"Why, Mr. Westover! I thought you took\nleave of this scene of gayety long ago.\"\n\n\"Did you?\" Westover returned, provisionally, and she saved him from the\nsin of framing some deceit in final answer by her next question.\n\n\"Have you seen anything of Alan lately?\" she asked, in a voice\ninvoluntarily lowered.\n\nWestover replied in the same octave: \"Yes; I saw him going a good while\nago.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said the girl. \"Then I think my aunt and I had better go, too.\"\n\nStill she did not go, and there was an interval in which she had the air\nof vaguely waiting. To Westover's vision, the young people still passing\nto and from the ballroom were like the painted figures of a picture\nquickened with sudden animation. There were scarcely any elders to be\nseen now, except the chaperons, who sat in their places with iron\nfortitude; Westover realized that he was the only man of his age left. He\nfelt that the lights ought to have grown dim, but the place was as\nbrilliant as ever. A window had been opened somewhere, and the cold\nbreath of the night was drawing through the heated rooms.\n\nHe was content to have Bessie stay on, though he was almost dropping with\nsleep, for he was afraid that if she went at once, the carriage might not\nhave got back, and the whole affair must somehow be given away; at last,\nif she were waiting, she decided to wait no longer, and then Westover did\nnot know how to keep her. He saw her rise and stoop over her aunt,\nputting her mouth to the elder lady's ear, and he heard her saying, \"I am\ngoing home, Aunt Louisa.\" She turned sweetly to him. \"Won't you let us\nset you down, Mr. Westover?\"\n\n\"Why, thank you, I believe I prefer walking. But do let me have your\ncarriage called,\" and again he hurried himself into his overcoat and hat,\nand ran down-stairs, and the barker a third time sent forth his\nlamentable cries in summons of Miss Lynde's carriage.\n\nWhile he stood on the curb-stone eagerly peering up and down the street,\nhe heard, without being able either to enjoy or resent it, one of the\npolicemen say across him to the other, \"Miss lynde seems to be doin' a\nlivery-stable business to-night.\"\n\nAlmost at the moment a carriage drove up, and he recognized Miss Lynde's\ncoachman, who recognized him.\n\n\"Just got back, sor,\" he whispered, and a minute later Bessie came\ndaintily out over the carpeted way with her aunt.\n\n\"How good of you!\" she said, and \"Good-night, Mr. Westover,\" said Miss\nLynde, with an implication in her voice that virtue was peculiarly its\nown reward for those who performed any good office for her or hers.\n\nWestover shut them in, the carriage rolled off, and he started on his\nhomeward walk with a long sigh of relief.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIV.\n\nBessie asked the sleepy man who opened her aunt's door whether her\nbrother had come in yet, and found that he had not. She helped her aunt\noff up-stairs with her maid, and when she came down again she sent the\nman to bed; she told him she was going to sit up and she would let her\nbrother in. The caprices of Alan's latch-key were known to all the\nservants, and the man understood what she, meant. He said he had left a\nlight in the reception-room and there was a fire there; and Bessie\ntripped on down from the library floor, where she had met him. She had\nput off her ball dress and had slipped into the simplest and easiest of\nbreakfast frocks, which was by no means plain. Bessie had no plain frocks\nfor any hour of the day; her frocks all expressed in stuff and style and\ncolor, and the bravery of their flying laces and ribbons, the audacity of\nspirit with which she was herself chicqued together, as she said. This\none she had on now was something that brightened her dull complexion, and\nbrought out the best effect of her eyes and mouth, and seemed the\neffluence of her personal dash and grace. It made the most of her, and\nshe liked it beyond all her other negligees for its complaisance.\n\nShe got a book, and sat down in a long, low chair before the fire and\ncrossed her pretty slippers on the warm hearth. It was a quarter after\nthree by the clock on the mantel; but she had never felt more eagerly\nawake. The party had not been altogether to her mind, up to midnight, but\nafter that it had been a series of rapid and vivid emotions, which\ncontinued themselves still in the tumult of her nerves, and seemed to\ndemand an indefinite sequence of experience. She did not know what state\nher brother might be in when he came home; she had not seen anything of\nhim after she first went out to supper; till then, though, he had kept\nhimself straight, as he needs must; but she could not tell what happened\nto him afterward. She hoped that he would come home able to talk, for she\nwished to talk. She wished to talk about herself; and as she had already\nhad flattery enough, she wanted some truth about herself; she wanted Alan\nto say what he thought of her behavior the whole evening with that jay.\nHe must have seen something of it in the beginning, and she should tell\nhim all the rest. She should tell him just how often she had danced with\nthe man, and how many dances she had sat out with him; how she had\npretended once that she was engaged when another man asked her, and then\ndanced with the jay, to whom she pretended that he had engaged her for\nthe dance. She had wished to see how he would take it; for the same\nreason she had given to some one else a dance that was really his. She\nwould tell Alan how the jay had asked her for that last dance, and then\nnever come near her again. That would give him the whole situation, and\nshe would know just what he thought of it.\n\nWhat she thought of herself she hardly knew, or made believe she hardly\nknew. She prided herself upon not being a flirt; she might not be very\ngood, as goodness went, but she was not despicable, and a flirt was\ndespicable. She did not call the audacity of her behavior with the jay\nflirting; he seemed to understand it as well as she, and to meet her in\nher own spirit; she wondered now whether this jay was really more\ninteresting than the other men one met, or only different; whether he was\noriginal, like Alan himself, or merely novel, and would soon wear down to\nthe tiresomeness that seemed to underlie them all, and made one wish to\ndo something dreadful. In the jay's presence she had no wish to do\nanything dreadful. Was it because he was dreadful enough for both, all\nthe time, without doing anything? She would like to ask Alan that, and\nsee how he would take it. Nothing seemed to put the jay out, so far as\nshe had tried, and she had tried some bold impertinences with him. He was\nvery jolly through them all, and at the worst of them he laughed and\nasked her for that dance, which he never came to claim, though in the\nmean time he brought her some belated supper, and was devoted to her and\nher aunt, inventing services to do for them. Then suddenly he went off\nand did not return, and Mr. Westover mysteriously reappeared, and got\ntheir carriage.\n\nShe heard a scratching at the key-hole of the outside door; she knew it\nwas Alan's latch. She had left the inner door ajar that there might be no\nuncertainty of hearing him, and she ran out into the space between that\nand the outer door where the fumbling and scraping kept on.\n\n\"Is that you, Alan?\" she called, softly, and if she had any doubt before,\nshe had none when she heard her brother outside, cursing his luck with\nhis key as usual.\n\nShe flung the door open, and confronted him with another man, who had his\narms around him as if he had caught him from falling with the inward pull\nof the door. Alan got to his feet and grappled with the man, and insisted\nthat he should come in and make a night of it.\n\nBessie saw that it was Jeff, and they stood a moment, looking at each\nother. Jeff tried to free himself with an appeal to Bessie: \"I beg your\npardon, Miss Lynde. I walked home with your brother, and I was just\nhelping him to get in--I didn't think that you--\"\n\nAlan said, with his measured distinctness: \"Nobody cares what you think.\nCome in, and get something to carry you over the bridge. Cambridge cars\nstopped running long ago. I say you shall!\" He began to raise his voice.\nA light flashed in a window across the way, and a sash was lifted; some\none must be looking out.\n\n\"Oh, come in with him!\" Bessie implored, and at a little yielding in Jeff\nher brother added:\n\n\"Come in, you damn jay!\" He pulled at Jeff.\n\nJeff made haste to shut the door behind them. He was laughing; and if it\nwas from mere brute insensibility to what would have shocked another in\nthe situation, his frank recognition of its grotesqueness was of better\neffect than any hopeless effort to ignore it would have been. People\nadjust themselves to their trials; it is the pretence of the witness that\nthere is no trial which hurts, and Bessie was not wounded by Jeff's\nlaugh.\n\n\"There's a fire here in the reception-room,\" she said. \"Can you get him\nin?\"\n\n\"I guess so.\"\n\nJeff lifted Alan into the room and stayed him on foot there, while he\ntook off his hat and overcoat, and then he let him sink into the low\neasy-chair Bessie had just risen from. All the time, Alan was bidding her\nring and have some champagne and cold meat set out on the side-board, and\nshe was lightly promising and coaxing. But he drowsed quickly in the\nwarmth, and the last demand for supper died half uttered on his lips.\n\nJeff asked across him: \"Can't I get him up-stairs for you? I can carry\nhim.\"\n\nShe shook her head and whispered back, \"I can leave him here,\" and she\nlooked at Jeff with a moment's hesitation. \"Did you--do you think\nthat--any one noticed him at Mrs. Enderby's?\"\n\n\"No; they had got him in a room by himself--the caterer's men had.\"\n\n\"And you found him there?\"\n\n\"Mr. Westover found him there,\" Jeff answered.\n\n\"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"Didn't he come to you after I left?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I told him to excuse me--\"\n\n\"He didn't.\"\n\n\"Well, I guess he was pretty badly rattled.\" Jeff stopped himself in the\nvague laugh of one who remembers something ludicrous, and turned his face\naway.\n\n\"Tell me what it was!\" she demanded, nervously.\n\n\"Mr. Westover had been home with him once, and he wouldn't stay. He made\nMr. Westover come back for me.\"\n\n\"What did he want with you?\"\n\nJeff shrugged.\n\n\"And then what?\"\n\n\"We went out to the carriage, as soon as I could get away from you; but\nhe wasn't in it. I sent Mr. Westover back to you and set out to look for\nhim.\"\n\n\"That was very good of you. And I--thank you for your kindness to my\nbrother. I shall not forget it. And I wish to beg your pardon.\"\n\n\"What for?\" asked Jeff, bluntly.\n\n\"For blaming you when you didn't come back for the dance.\"\n\nIf Bessie had meant nothing but what was fitting to the moment some\ninherent lightness of nature played her false. But even the histrionic\ntouch which she could not keep out of her voice, her manner, another sort\nof man might have found merely pathetic.\n\nJeff laughed with subtle intelligence. \"Were you very hard on me?\"\n\n\"Very,\" she answered in kind, forgetting her brother and the whole\nterrible situation.\n\n\"Tell me what you thought of me,\" he said, and he came a little nearer to\nher, looking very handsome and very strong. \"I should like to know.\"\n\n\"I said I should never speak to you again.\"\n\n\"And you kept your word,\" said Jeff. \"Well, that's all right.\nGood-night-or good-morning, whichever it is.\" He took her hand, which she\ncould not withdraw, or feigned to herself that she could not withdraw,\nand looked at her with a silent laugh, and a hardy, sceptical glance that\nshe felt take in every detail of her prettiness, her plainness. Then he\nturned and went out, and she ran quickly and locked the door upon him.\n\n\n\n\nXXXV.\n\nBessie crept up to her room, where she spent the rest of the night in her\nchair, amid a tumult of emotion which she would have called thinking. She\nasked herself the most searching questions, but she got no very candid\nanswers to them, and she decided that she must see the whole fact with\nsome other's eyes before she could know what she had meant or what she\nhad done.\n\nWhen she let the daylight into her room, it showed her a face in her\nmirror that bore no trace of conflicting anxieties. Her complexion\nfavored this effect of inward calm; it was always thick; and her eyes\nseemed to her all the brighter for their vigils.\n\nA smile, even, hovered on her mouth as she sat down at the\nbreakfast-table, in the pretty negligee she had worn all night, and\npoured out Miss Lynde's coffee for her.\n\n\"That's always very becoming to you, Bessie,\" said her aunt. \"It's the\nnicest breakfast gown you have.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\" Bessie looked down at it, first on one side and then\non the other, as a woman always does when her dress is spoken of.\n\n\"Mr. Alan said he would have his breakfast in his room, miss,\" murmured\nthe butler, in husky respectfulness, as he returned to Bessie from\ncarrying Miss Lynde's cup to her. \"He don't want anything but a little\ntoast and coffee.\"\n\nShe perceived that the words were meant to make it easy for her to ask:\n\"Isn't he very well, Andrew?\"\n\n\"About as usual, miss,\" said Andrew, a thought more sepulchral than\nbefore. \"He's going on--about as usual.\"\n\nShe knew this to mean that he was going on from bad to worse, and that\nhis last night's excess was the beginning of a debauch which could end\nonly in one way. She must send for the doctor; he would decide what was\nbest, when he saw how Alan came through the day.\n\nLate in the afternoon she heard Mary Enderby's voice in the\nreception-room, bidding the man say that if Miss Bessie were lying down\nshe would come up to her, or would go away, just as she wished. She flew\ndownstairs with a glad cry of \"Molly! What an inspiration! I was just\nthinking of you, and wishing for you. But I didn't suppose you were up\nyet!\"\n\n\"It's pretty early,\" said Miss Enderby. \"But I should have been here\nbefore if I could, for I knew I shouldn't wake you, Bessie, with your\nhabit of turning night into day, and getting up any time in the\nforenoon.\"\n\n\"How dissipated you sound!\"\n\n\"Yes, don't I? But I've been thinking about you ever since I woke, and I\nhad to come and find out if you were alive, anyhow.\"\n\n\"Come up-stairs and see!\" said Bessie, holding her friend's hand on the\nsofa where they had dropped down together, and going all over the scene\nof last night in that place for the thousandth time.\n\n\"No, no; I really mustn't. I hope you had a good time?\"\n\n\"At your house!\"\n\n\"How dear of you! But, Bessie, I got to thinking you'd been rather\nsacrificed. It came into my mind the instant I woke, and gave me this\nsevere case of conscience. I suppose it's a kind of conscience.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. Go on! I like having been a martyr, if I don't know what\nabout.\"\n\n\"Why, you know, Bessie, or if you don't you will presently, that it was I\nwho got mamma to send him a card; I felt rather sorry for him, that day\nat Mrs. Bevidge's, because she'd so obviously got him there to use him,\nand I got mamma to ask him. Everything takes care of itself, at a large\naffair, and I thought I might trust in Providence to deal with him after\nhe came; and then I saw you made a means the whole evening! I didn't\nreflect that there always has to be a means!\"\n\n\"It's a question of Mr. Durgin?\" said Bessie, coldly thrilling at the\nsound of a name that she pronounced so gayly in a tone of sympathetic\namusement.\n\nMiss Enderby bobbed her head. \"It shows that we ought never to do a good\naction, doesn't it? But, poor thing! How you must have been swearing\noff!\"\n\n\"I don't know. Was it so very bad? I'm trying to think,\" said Bessie,\nthinking that after this beginning it would be impossible to confide in\nMary Enderby.\n\n\"Oh, now, Bessie! Don't you be patient, or I shall begin to lose my faith\nin human nature. Just say at once that it was an outrage and I'll forgive\nyou! You see,\" Miss Enderby went on, \"it isn't merely that he's a jay;\nbut he isn't a very nice jay. None of the men like him--except Freddy\nLancaster, of course; he likes everybody, on principle; he doesn't count.\nI thought that perhaps, although he's so crude and blunt, he might be\nsensitive and high-minded; you're always reading about such things; but\nthey say he isn't, in the least; oh, not the least! They say he goes with\na set of fast jays, and that he's dreadful; though he has a very good\nmind, and could do very well if he chose. That's what cousin Jim said\nto-day; he's just been at our house; and it was so extremely telepathic\nthat I thought I must run round and prevent your having the man on your\nconscience if you felt you had had too much of him. You won't lay him up\nagainst us, will you?\" She jumped to her feet.\n\n\"You dear!\" said Bessie, keeping Mary Enderby's hand, and pressing it\nbetween both of hers against her breast as they now stood face to face,\n\"do come up and have some tea!\"\n\n\"No, no! Really, I can't.\"\n\nThey were both involuntarily silent. The door had been opened to some\none, and there was a brief parley, which ended in a voice they knew to be\nthe doctor's, saying, \"Then I'll go right up to his room.\" Both the girls\nbroke into laughing adieux, to hide their consciousness that the doctor\nwas going up to see Alan Lynde, who was never sick except in the one way.\n\nMiss Enderby even said: \"I was so glad to see Alan looking so well, last\nnight.\"\n\n\"Yes, he had such a good time,\" said Bessie, and she followed her friend\nto the door, where she kissed her reassuringly, and thanked her for\ntaking all the trouble she had, bidding her not be the least anxious on\nher account.\n\nIt seemed to her that she should sink upon the stairs in mounting them to\nthe library. Mary Enderby had told her only what she had known before; it\nwas what her brother had told her; but then it had not been possible for\nthe man to say that he had brought Alan home tipsy, and been alone in the\nhouse with her at three o'clock in the morning. He would not only boast\nof it to all that vulgar comradehood of his, but it might get into those\nterrible papers which published the society scandals. There would be no\nway but to appeal to his pity, his generosity. She fancied herself\nwriting to him, but he could show her note, and she must send for him to\ncome and see her, and try to put him on his honor. Or, that would not do,\neither. She must make it happen that they should be thrown together, and\nthen speak to him. Even that might make him think she was afraid of him;\nor he might take it wrong, and believe that she cared for him. He had\nreally been very good to Alan, and she tried to feel safe in the thought\nof that. She did feel safe for a moment; but if she had meant nothing but\nto make him believe her grateful, what must he infer from her talking to\nhim in the light way she did about forgiving him for not coming back to\ndance with her. Her manner, her looks, her tone, had given him the right\nto say that she had been willing to flirt with him there, at that hour,\nand in those dreadful circumstances.\n\nShe found herself lying in a deep arm-chair in the library, when she was\naware of Dr. Lacy pausing at the door and looking tentatively in upon\nher.\n\n\"Come in, doctor,\" she said, and she knew that her face was wet with\ntears, and that she spoke with the voice of weeping.\n\nHe came forward and looked narrowly at her, without sitting down.\n\"There's nothing to be alarmed about, Miss Bessie,\" he said. \"But I think\nyour brother had better leave home again, for a while.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, blankly. Her mind was not on his words.\n\n\"I will make the arrangements.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Bessie, listlessly.\n\nThe doctor had made a step backward, as if he were going away, and now he\nstopped. \"Aren't you feeling quite well, Miss Bessie?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" she said, and she began to cry.\n\nThe doctor came forward and said, cheerily: \"Let me see.\" He pulled a\nchair up to hers, and took her wrist between his fingers. \"If you were at\nMrs. Enderby's last night, you'll need another night to put you just\nright. But you're pretty well as it is.\" He let her wrist softly go, and\nsaid: \"You mustn't distress yourself about your brother's case. Of\ncourse, it's hard to have it happen now after he's held up so long;\nlonger than it has been before, I think, isn't it? But it's something\nthat it has been so long. The next time, let us hope, it will be longer\nstill.\"\n\nThe doctor made as if to rise. Bessie put her hand out to stay him. \"What\nis it makes him do it?\"\n\n\"Ah, that's a great mystery,\" said the doctor. \"I suppose you might say\nthe excitement.\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"But it seems to me very often, in such cases, as if it were to escape\nthe excitement. I think you're both keyed up pretty sharply by nature,\nMiss Bessie,\" said the doctor, with the personal kindness he felt for the\ngirl, and the pity softening his scientific spirit.\n\n\"I know!\" she answered. \"We're alike. Why don't I take to drinking, too?\"\n\nThe doctor laughed at such a question from a young lady, but with an\ninner seriousness in his laugh, as if, coming from a patient, it was to\nbe weighed. \"Well, I suppose it isn't the habit of your sex, Miss\nBessie.\"\n\n\"Sometimes it is. Sometimes women get drunk, and then I think they do\nless harm than if they did other things to get away from the excitement.\"\nShe longed to confide in him; the words were on her tongue; she believed\nhe could help her, tell her what to do; out of his stores of knowledge\nand experience he must have some suggestion, some remedy; he could advise\nher; he could stand her friend, so far. People told their doctors all\nkinds of things, silly things. Why should she not tell her doctor this?\n\nIt would have been easier if it had been an older man, who might have had\na daughter of her age. But he was in that period of the early forties\nwhen a doctor sometimes has a matter-of-fact, disagreeable wife whose\nidea stands between him and the spiritual intimacy of his patients, so\nthat it seems as if they were delivering their confidences rather to her\nthan to him. He was able, he was good, he was extremely acute, he was\neven with the latest facts and theories; but as he sat straight up in his\nchair his stomach defined itself as a half-moon before him, and he said\nto the quivering heap of emotions beside him, \"You mean like breaking\nhearts, and such little matters?\"\n\nIt was fatally stupid, and it beat her back into herself.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, with a contempt that she easily hid from him, \"that's\nworse than getting drunk, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Well, it isn't so regarded,\" said the doctor, who supposed himself to\nhave made a sprightly answer, and laughed at it. \"I wish, Miss Bessie,\nyou'd take a little remedy I'm going to send you. You've merely been up\ntoo late, but it's a very good thing for people who've been up too late.\"\n\n\"Thank you. And about my brother?\"\n\n\"Oh! I'll send a man to look after him to-night, and tomorrow I really\nthink he'd better go.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXXVI.\n\nMiss Lynde had gone earlier than usual to bed, when Bessie heard Alan's\ndoor open, and then heard him feeling his way fumbingly down-stairs. She\nsurmised that he had drunk up all that he had in his room, and was making\nfor the side-board in the dining-room.\n\nShe ran and got the two decanters-one of whiskey and one of brandy, which\nhe was in the habit of carrying back to his room from such an incursion.\n\n\"Alan!\" she called to him, in a low voice.\n\n\"Where are you?\" he answered back.\n\n\"In the library,\" she said. \"Come in here, please.\"\n\nHe came, and stood looking gloomily in from the doorway. He caught sight\nof the decanters and the glasses on the library table. \"Oh!\" he said, and\ngave a laugh cut in two by a hiccough.\n\n\"Come in, and shut the door, Alan,\" she said. \"Let's make a night of it.\nI've got the materials here.\" She waved her hand toward the decanters.\n\nAlan shrugged. \"I don't know what you mean.\" But he came forward, and\nslouched into one of the deep chairs.\n\n\"Well, I'll tell you what,\" said Bessie, with a laugh. \"We're both\nexcited, and we want to get away from ourselves. Isn't that what's the\nmatter with you when it begins? Doctor Lacy thinks it is.\"\n\n\"Does he?\" Alan asked. \"I didn't suppose he had so much sense. What of\nit?\"\n\n\"Nothing. Merely that I'm going to drink a glass of whiskey and a glass\nof brandy for every glass that you drink to-night.\"\n\n\"You mustn't play the fool, Bess,\" said her brother, with dignified\nseverity.\n\n\"But I'm really serious, Alan. Shall I give you something? Which shall we\nbegin on? And we'd better begin soon, for there's a man coming from the\ndoctor to look after you, and then you won't get anything.\"\n\n\"Don't be ridiculous! Give me those decanters!\" Alan struggled out of his\nchair, and trembled over to where she had them on the table beside her.\n\nShe caught them up, one in either hand, and held them as high as she\ncould lift them. \"If you don't sit down and promise to keep still, I'll\nsmash them both on the hearth. You know I will.\"\n\nHer strange eyes gleamed, and he hesitated; then he went back to his\nchair.\n\n\"I don't see what's got into you to-night. I don't want anything,\" he\nsaid. He tried to brave it out, but presently he cast a piteous glance at\nthe decanters where she had put them down beside her again. \"Does the\ndoctor think I'd better go again?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"To-morrow.\"\n\nHe looked at the decanters. \"And when is that fellow coming?\"\n\n\"He may be here any moment.\"\n\n\"It's pretty rough,\" he sighed. \"Two glasses of that stuff would drive\nyou so wild you wouldn't know where you were, Bess,\" he expostulated.\n\n\"Well, I wish I didn't know where I was. I wish I wasn't anywhere.\" He\nlooked at her, and then dropped his eyes, with the effect of giving up a\nhopeless conundrum.\n\nBut he asked: \"What's the matter?\"\n\nShe scanned him keenly before she answered: \"Something that I should like\nto tell you--that you ought to know. Alan, do you think you are fit to\njudge of a very serious matter?\"\n\nHe laughed pathetically. \"I don't believe I'm in a very judicial frame of\nmind to-night, Bess. To-morrow--\"\n\n\"Oh, to-morrow! Where will you be to-morrow?\"\n\n\"That's true! Well, what is it? I'll try to listen. But if you knew how\nmy nerves were going.\" His eyes wandered from hers back to the decanters.\n\"If I had just one glass--\"\n\n\"I'll have one, too,\" she said, with a motion toward the decanter next\nher.\n\nHe threw up his arms. \"Oh well, go on. I'll listen as well as I can.\" He\nsank down in his chair and stretched his little feet out toward the fire.\n\"Go on!\"\n\nShe hesitated before she began. \"Do you know who brought you home last\nnight, Alan?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he answered, quickly, \"Westover.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Westover brought you, and you wouldn't stay. You don't remember\nanything else?\"\n\n\"No. What else?\"\n\n\"Nothing for you, if you don't remember.\" She sat in silent hopelessness\nfor a while, and her brother's eyes dwelt on the decanters, which she\nseemed to have forgotten. \"Alan!\" she broke out, abruptly, \"I'm worried,\nand if I can't tell you about it there's no one I can.\"\n\nThe appeal in her voice must have reached him, though he seemed scarcely\nto have heeded her words. \"What is it?\" he asked, kindly.\n\n\"You went back to the Enderbys' after Mr. Westover brought you home, and\nthen some one else had to bring you again.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"I was up, and let you in--\"\n\n\"Did you, Bessie? That was like you,\" he said, tenderly.\n\n\"And I had to let him in, too. You pulled him into the house, and you\nmade such a disturbance at the door that he had to come in for fear you\nwould bring the police.\"\n\n\"What a beast!\" said Alan, of himself, as if it were some one else.\n\n\"He came in with you. And you wanted him to have some supper. And you\nfell asleep before the fire in the reception-room.\"\n\n\"That--that was the dream!\" said Alan, severely. \"What are you talking\nthat stuff for, Bessie?\"\n\n\"Oh no!\" she retorted, with a laugh, as if the pleasure of its coming in\nso fitly were compensation for the shame of the fact. \"The dream was what\nhappened afterward. The dream was that you fell asleep there, and left me\nthere with him--\"\n\n\"Well, poor old Westover; he's a gentleman! You needn't be worried about\nhim--\"\n\n\"You're not fit!\" cried the girl. \"I give it up.\" She got upon her feet\nand stood a moment listless.\n\n\"No, I'm not, Bessie. I can't pull my mind together tonight. But look\nhere!\" He seemed to lose what he wanted to say. He asked: \"Is it\nsomething I've got you in for? Do I understand that?\"\n\n\"Partly,\" she said.\n\n\"Well, then, I'll help you out. You can trust me, Bessie; you can,\nindeed. You don't believe it?\"\n\n\"Oh, I believe you think I can trust you.\"\n\n\"But this time you can. If you need my help I will stand by you, right or\nwrong. If you want to tell me now I'll listen, and I'll advise you the\nbest I can--\"\n\n\"It's just something I've got nervous about,\" she said, while her eyes\nshone with sudden tears. \"But I won't trouble you with it to-night.\nThere's no such great hurry. We can talk about it in the morning if\nyou're better then. Oh, I forgot! You're going away!\"\n\n\"No,\" said the young man, with pathetic dignity, \"I'm not going if you\nneed my help. But you're right about me tonight, Bessie. I'm not fit. I'm\nafraid I can't grasp anything to-night. Tell me in the morning. Oh, don't\nbe afraid!\" he cried out at the glance she gave the decanters. \"That's\nover, now; you could put them in my hands and be safe enough. I'm going\nback to bed, and in the morning--\"\n\nHe rose and went toward the door. \"If that doctor's man comes to-night\nyou can send him away again. He needn't bother.\"\n\n\"All right, Alan,\" she said, fondly. \"Good-night. Don't worry about me.\nTry to get some sleep.\"\n\n\"And you must sleep, too. You can trust me, Bessie.\"\n\nHe came back after he got out of the room and looked in. \"Bess, if you're\nanxious about it, if you don't feel perfectly sure of me, you can take\nthose things to your room with you.\" He indicated the decanters with a\nglance.\n\n\"Oh no! I shall leave them here. It wouldn't be any use your just keeping\nwell overnight. You'll have to keep well a long time, Alan, if you're\ngoing to help me. And that's the reason I'd rather talk to you when you\ncan give your whole mind to what I say.\"\n\n\"Is it something so serious?\"\n\n\"I don't know. That's for you to judge. Not very--not at all, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Then I won't fail you, Bessie. I shall 'keep well,' as you call it, as\nlong as you want me. Good-night.\"\n\n\"Good-night. I shall leave these bottles here, remember.\"\n\n\"You needn't be afraid. You might put them beside my bed.\"\n\nBessie slept soundly, from exhaustion, and in that provisional fashion in\nwhich people who have postponed a care to a given moment are able to\nsleep. But she woke early, and crept down-stairs before any one else was\nastir, and went to the library. The decanters stood there on the table,\nempty. Her brother lay a shapeless heap in one of the deep arm-chairs.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVII.\n\nWestover got home from the Enderby dance at last with the forecast of a\nviolent cold in his system, which verified itself the next morning. He\nhad been housed a week, when Jeff Durgin came to see him. \"Why didn't you\nlet me know you were sick?\" he demanded, \"I'd have come and looked after\nyou.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Westover, with as much stiffness as he could command in\nhis physical limpness. \"I shouldn't have allowed you to look after me;\nand I want you to understand, now, that there can't be any sort of\nfriendliness between us till you've accounted for your behavior with\nLynde the other night.\"\n\n\"You mean at the party?\" Jeff asked, tranquilly.\n\n\"Yes!\" cried Westover. \"If I had not been shut up ever since, I should\nhave gone to see you and had it out with you. I've only let you in, now,\nto give you the chance to explain; and I refuse to hear a word from you\ntill you do.\" Westover did not think that this was very forcible, and he\nwas not much surprised that it made Jeff smile.\n\n\"Why, I don't know what there is to explain. I suppose you think I got\nhim drunk; I know what you thought that night. But he was pretty well\nloaded when he struck my champagne. It wasn't a question of what he was\ngoing to do any longer, but how he was going to do it. I kept an eye on\nhim, and at the right time I helped the caterer's man to get him up into\nthat room where he wouldn't make any trouble. I expected to go back and\nlook after him, but I forgot him.\"\n\n\"I don't suppose, really, that you're aware what a devil's argument that\nis,\" said Westover. \"You got Lynde drunk, and then you went back to his\nsister, and allowed her to treat you as if you were a gentleman, and\ndidn't deserve to be thrown out of the house.\" This at last was something\nlike what Westover had imagined he would say to Jeff, and he looked to\nsee it have the imagined effect upon him.\n\n\"Do you suppose,\" asked Jeff, with cheerful cynicism, \"that it was the\nfirst time she was civil to a man her brother got drunk with?\"\n\n\"No! But all the more you ought to have considered her helplessness. It\nought to have made her the more sacred\"--Jeff gave an exasperating\nshrug--\"to you, and you ought to have kept away from her for decency's\nsake.\"\n\n\"I was engaged to dance with her.\"\n\n\"I can't allow you to be trivial with me, Durgin,\" said Westover. \"You've\nacted like a blackguard, and worse, if there is anything worse.\"\n\nJeff stood at a corner of the fire, leaning one elbow on the mantel, and\nhe now looked thoughtfully down on Westover, who had sunk weakly into a\nchair before the hearth. \"I don't deny it from your point of view, Mr.\nWestover,\" he said, without the least resentment in his tone. \"You\nbelieve that everything is done from a purpose, or that a thing is\nintended because it's done. But I see that most things in this world are\nnot thought about, and not intended. They happen, just as much as the\nother things that we call accidents.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Westover, \"but the wrong things don't happen from people who\nare in the habit of meaning the right ones.\"\n\n\"I believe they do, fully half the time,\" Jeff returned; \"and, as far as\nthe grand result is concerned, you might as well think them and intend\nthem as not. I don't mean that you ought to do it; that's another thing,\nand if I had tried to get Lynde drunk, and then gone to dance with his\nsister, I should have been what you say I am. But I saw him getting worse\nwithout meaning to make him so; and I went back to her because--I wanted\nto.\"\n\n\"And you think, I suppose,\" said Westover, \"that she wouldn't have cared\nany more than you cared if she had known what you did.\"\n\n\"I can't say anything about that.\"\n\nThe painter continued, bitterly: \"You used to come in here, the first\nyear, with notions of society women that would have disgraced a Goth, or\na gorilla. Did you form your estimate of Miss Lynde from those premises?\"\n\n\"I'm not a boy now,\" Jeff answered, \"and I haven't stayed all the kinds\nof a fool I was.\"\n\n\"Then you don't think Miss Lynde would speak to you, or look at you,\nafter she knew what you had done?\"\n\n\"I should like to tell her and see,\" said Jeff, with a hardy laugh. \"But\nI guess I sha'n't have the chance. I've never been a favorite in society,\nand I don't expect to meet her again.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you'd like to have me tell her?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, I believe I should, if you could tell me what she thought--not\nwhat she said about it.\"\n\n\"You are a brute,\" answered Westover, with a puzzled air. What puzzled\nhim most and pleased him least was the fellow's patience under his\nseverity, which he seemed either not to feel or not to mind. It was of a\npiece with the behavior of the rascally boy whom he had cuffed for\nfrightening Cynthia and her little brother long ago, and he wondered what\nfinal malevolence it portended.\n\nJeff said, as if their controversy were at an end and they might now turn\nto more personal things: \"You look pretty slim, Mr. Westover. A'n't there\nsomething I can do for you-get you? I've come in with a message from\nmother. She says if you ever want to get that winter view of Lion's Head,\nnow's your time. She wants you to come up there; she and Cynthia both do.\nThey can make you as comfortable as you please, and they'd like to have a\nvisit from you. Can't you go?\"\n\nWestover shook his head ruefully. \"It's good of them, and I want you to\nthank them for me. But I don't know when I'm going to get out again.\"\n\n\"Oh, you'll soon get out,\" said Jeff. \"I'm going to look after you a\nlittle,\" and this time Westover was too weak to protest. He did not\nforbid Jeff's taking off his overcoat; he suffered him to light his\nspirit-lamp and make a punch of the whiskey which he owned the doctor was\ngiving him; and when Jeff handed him the steaming glass, and asked him,\n\"How's that?\" he answered, with a pleasure in it which he knew to be\ndeplorable, \"It's fine.\"\n\nJeff stayed the whole evening with him, and made him more comfortable\nthan he had been since his cold began. Westover now talked seriously and\nfrankly with him, but no longer so harshly, and in his relenting he felt\na return of his old illogical liking for him. He fancied in Durgin's\nkindness to himself an indirect regret, and a desire to atone for what he\nhad done, and he said: \"The effect is in you--the worst effect. I don't\nthink either of the young Lyndes very exemplary people. But you'd be\ndoing yourself a greater wrong than you've done then if you didn't\nrecognize that you had been guilty toward them.\"\n\nJeff seemed struck by this notion. \"What do you want me to do? What can I\ndo? Chase myself out of society? Something like that? I'm willing. It's\ntoo easy, though. As I said, I've never been wanted much, there, and I\nshouldn't be missed.\"\n\n\"Well, then, how would you like to leave it to the people at Lion's Head\nto say what you should do?\" Westover suggested.\n\n\"I shouldn't like it,\" said Jeff, promptly. \"They'd judge it as you do--as\nif they'd done it themselves. That's the reason women are not fit to\njudge.\" His gay face darkened. \"But tell 'em if you want to.\"\n\n\"Bah!\" cried the painter. \"Why should I want to I'm not a woman in\neverything.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon, Mr. Westover. I didn't mean that. I only meant that\nyou're an idealist. I look at this thing as if some one else had done it;\nI believe that's the practical way; and I shouldn't go in for punishing\nany one else for such a thing very severely.\" He made another punch--for\nhimself this time, he said; but Westover joined him in a glass of it.\n\n\"It won't do to take that view of your faults, Jeff,\" he said, gravely.\n\n\"What's the reason?\" Jeff demanded; and now either the punch had begun to\nwork in Westover's brain, or some other influence of like force and\nquality. He perceived that in this earth-bound temperament was the\npotentiality of all the success it aimed at. The acceptance of the moral\nfact as it was, without the unconscious effort to better it, or to hold\nhimself strictly to account for it, was the secret of the power in the\nman which would bring about the material results he desired; and this\nsimplicity of the motive involved had its charm.\n\nWestover was aware of liking Durgin at that moment much more than he\nought, and of liking him helplessly. In the light of his good-natured\nselfishness, the injury to the Lyndes showed much less a sacrilege than\nit had seemed; Westover began to see it with Jeff's eyes, and to see it\nwith reference to what might be low and mean in them, instead of what\nmight be fine and high.\n\nHe was sensible of the growth Jeff had made intellectually. He had not\nbeen at Harvard nearly four years for nothing. He had phrases and could\nhandle them. In whatever obscure or perverse fashion, he had profited by\nhis opportunities. The fellow who could accuse him of being an idealist,\nand could in some sort prove it, was no longer a naughty boy to be\ntutored and punished. The revolt latent in him would be violent in\nproportion to the pressure put upon him, and Westover began to be without\nthe wish to press his fault home to him so strongly. In the optimism\ngenerated by the punch, he felt that he might leave the case to Jeff\nhimself; or else in the comfort we all experience in sinking to a lower\nlevel, he was unwilling to make the effort to keep his own moral\nelevation. But he did make an effort to save himself by saying: \"You\ncan't get what you've done before yourself as you can the action of some\none else. It's part of you, and you have to judge the motive as well as\nthe effect.\"\n\n\"Well, that's what I'm doing,\" said Jeff; \"but it seems to me that you're\ntrying to have me judge of the effect from a motive I didn't have. As far\nas I can make out, I hadn't any motive at all.\"\n\nHe laughed, and all that Westover could say was, \"Then you're still\nresponsible for the result.\" But this no longer appeared so true to him.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVIII.\n\nIt was not a condition of Westover's welcome at Lion's Head that he\nshould seem peculiarly the friend of Jeff Durgin, but he could not help\nmaking it so, and he began to overact the part as soon as he met Jeff's\nmother. He had to speak of him in thanking her for remembering his wish\nto paint Lion's Head in the winter, and he had to tell her of Jeff's\nthoughtfulness during the past fortnight; he had to say that he did not\nbelieve he should ever have got away if it had not been for him. This was\ntrue; Durgin had even come in from Cambridge to see him off on the train;\nhe behaved as if the incident with Lynde and all their talk about it had\ncemented the friendship between Westover and himself, and he could not be\ntoo devoted. It now came out that he had written home all about Westover,\nand made his mother put up a stove in the painter's old room, so that he\nshould have the instant use of it when he arrived.\n\nIt was an air-tight wood-stove, and it filled the chamber with a heat in\nwhich Westover drowsed as soon as he entered it. He threw himself on the\nbed, and slept away the fatigue of his railroad journey and the cold of\nhis drive with Jombateeste from the station. His nap was long, and he\nwoke from it in a pleasant languor, with the dream-clouds still hanging\nin his brain. He opened the damper of his stove, and set it roaring\nagain; then he pulled down the upper sash of his window and looked out on\na world whose elements of wood and snow and stone he tried to\nco-ordinate. There was nothing else in that world but these things, so\nrepellent of one another. He suffered from the incongruity of the wooden\nbulk of the hotel, with the white drifts deep about it, and with the\ngranite cliffs of Lion's Head before it, where the gray crags darkened\nunder the pink afternoon light which was beginning to play upon its crest\nfrom the early sunset. The wind that had seemed to bore through his thick\ncap and his skull itself, and that had tossed the dry snow like dust\nagainst his eyes on his way from the railroad, had now fallen, and an\nincomparable quiet wrapped the solitude of the hills. A teasing sense of\nthe impossibility of the scene, as far as his art was concerned, filled\nhim full of a fond despair of rendering its feeling. He could give its\nlight and color and form in a sufficiently vivid suggestion of the fact,\nbut he could not make that pink flush seem to exhale, like a long breath,\nupon those rugged shapes; he could not impart that sentiment of\ndelicately, almost of elegance, which he found in the wilderness, while\nevery detail of civilization physically distressed him. In one place the\nsnow had been dug down to the pine planking of the pathway round the\nhouse; and the contact of this woodenness with the frozen ground pierced\nhis nerves and set his teeth on edge like a harsh noise. When once he saw\nit he had to make an effort to take his eyes from it, and in a sort\nunknown to him in summer he perceived the offence of the hotel itself\namid the pure and lonely beauty of the winter landscape. It was a note of\nintolerable banality, of philistine pretence and vulgar convention, such\nas Whitwell's low, unpainted cottage at the foot of the hill did not\ngive, nor the little red school-house, on the other hand, showing through\nthe naked trees. There should have been really no human habitation\nvisible except a wigwam in the shelter of the pines, here and there; and\nwhen he saw Whitwell making his way up the hill-side road, Westover felt\nthat if there must be any human presence it should be some savage clad in\nskins, instead of the philosopher in his rubber boots and his\nclothing-store ulster. He preferred the small, wiry shape of Jombateeste,\nin his blue woollen cap and his Canadian footgear, as he ran round the\ncorner of the house toward the barn, and left the breath of his pipe in\nthe fine air behind him.\n\nThe light began to deepen from the pale pink to a crimson which stained\nthe tops and steeps of snow, and deepened the dark of the woods massed on\nthe mountain <DW72>s between the irregular fields of white. The burnished\nbrown of the hard-wood trees, the dull carbon shadows of the evergreens,\nseemed to wither to one black as the red strengthened in the sky.\nWestover realized that he had lost the best of any possible picture in\nletting that first delicate color escape him. This crimson was harsh and\nvulgar in comparison; it would have almost a chromo quality; he censured\nhis pleasure in it as something gross and material, like that of eating;\nand on a sudden he felt hungry. He wondered what time they would give him\nsupper, and he took slight account of the fact that a caprice of the wind\nhad torn its hood of snow from the mountain summit, and that the profile\nof the Lion's Head showed almost as distinctly as in summer. He stood\nbefore the picture which for that day at least was lost to him, and\nquestioned whether there would be a hearty meal, something like a dinner,\nor whether there would be something like a farmhouse supper, mainly of\ndoughnuts and tea.\n\nHe pulled up his window and was going to lie down again, when some one\nknocked, and Frank Whitwell stood at the door. \"Do you want we should\nbring your supper to you here, Mr. Westover, or will you--\"\n\n\"Oh, let me join you all!\" cried the painter, eagerly. \"Is it\nready--shall I come now?\"\n\n\"Well, in about five minutes or so.\" Frank went away, after setting down\nin the room the lamp he had brought. It was a lamp which Westover thought\nhe remembered from the farm-house period, and on his way down he realized\nas he had somehow not done in his summer sojourns, the entirety of the\nold house in the hotel which had encompassed it. The primitive cold of\nits stairways and passages struck upon him as soon as he left his own\nroom, and he found the parlor door closed against the chill. There was a\nhot stove-fire within, and a kerosene-lamp turned low, but there was no\none there, and he had the photograph of his first picture of Lion's Head\nto himself in the dim light. The voices of Mrs. Durgin and Cynthia came\nto him from the dining-room, and from the kitchen beyond, with the\noccasional clash of crockery, and the clang of iron upon iron about the\nstove, and the quick tread of women's feet upon the bare floor. With\nthese pleasant noises came the smell of cooking, and later there was an\nopening and shutting of doors, with a thrill of the freezing air from\nwithout, and the dull thumping of Whitwell's rubber boots, and the\nquicker flapping of Jombateeste's soft leathern soles. Then there was the\nsweep of skirted feet at the parlor door, and Cynthia Whitwell came in\nwithout perceiving him. She went to the table by the darkening window,\nand quickly turned up the light of the lamp. In her ignorance of his\npresence, he saw her as if she had been alone, almost as if she were out\nof the body; he received from her unconsciousness the impression of\nsomething rarely pure and fine, and he had a sudden compassion for her,\nas for something precious that is fated to be wasted or misprized. At a\nlittle movement which he made to relieve himself from a sense of\neavesdropping, she gave a start, and shut her lips upon the little cry\nthat would have escaped from another sort of woman.\n\n\"I didn't know you were here,\" she said; and she flushed with the shyness\nof him which she always showed at first. She had met him already with the\nrest, but they had scarcely spoken together; and he knew of the struggle\nshe must now be making with herself when she went on: \"I didn't know you\nhad been called. I thought you were still sleeping.\"\n\n\"Yes. I seemed to sleep for centuries,\" said West over, \"and I woke up\nfeeling coeval with Lion's Head. But I hope to grow younger again.\"\n\nShe faltered, and then she asked: \"Did you see the light on it when the\nsun went down?\"\n\n\"I wish I hadn't. I could never get that light--even if it ever came\nagain.\"\n\n\"It's there every afternoon, when it's clear.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry for that; I shall have to try for it, then.\"\n\n\"Wasn't that what you came for?\" she asked, by one of the efforts she was\nmaking with everything she said. He could have believed he saw the pulse\nthrobbing in her neck. But she held herself stone-still, and he divined\nher resolution to conquer herself, if she should die for it.\n\n\"Yes, I came for that,\" said Westover. \"That's what makes it so\ndismaying. If I had only happened on it, I shouldn't have been\nresponsible for the failure I shall make of it.\"\n\nShe smiled, as if she liked his lightness, but doubted if she ought. \"We\ndon't often get Lion's Head clear of snow.\"\n\n\"Yes; that's another hardship,\" said the painter. \"Everything is against\nme! If we don't have a snow overnight, and a cloudy day to-morrow, I\nshall be in despair.\"\n\nShe played with the little wheel of the wick; she looked down, and then,\nwith a glance flashed at him, she gasped: \"I shall have to take your lamp\nfor the table tea is ready.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, if you will only take me with it. I'm frightfully hungry.\"\n\nApparently she could not say anything to that. He tried to get the lamp\nto carry it out for her, but she would not let him. \"It isn't heavy,\" she\nsaid, and hurried out before him.\n\nIt was all nothing, but it was all very charming, and Westover was richly\ncontent with it; and yet not content, for he felt that the pleasure of it\nwas not truly his, but was a moment of merely borrowed happiness.\n\nThe table was laid in the old farm-house sitting-room where he had been\nserved alone when he first came to Lion's Head. But now he sat down with\nthe whole family, even to Jombateeste, who brought in a faint odor of the\nbarn with him.\n\nThey had each been in contact with the finer world which revisits nature\nin the summer-time, and they must all have known something of its usages,\nbut they had reverted in form and substance to the rustic living of their\nneighbors. They had steak for Westover, and baked potatoes; but for\nthemselves they had such farm fare as Mrs. Durgin had given him the first\ntime he supped there. They made their meal chiefly of doughnuts and tea,\nand hot biscuit, with some sweet dishes of a festive sort added in\nrecognition of his presence; and there was mince-pie for all. Mrs. Durgin\nand Whitwell ate with their knives, and Jombateeste filled himself so\nsoon with every implement at hand that he was able to ask excuse of the\nothers if he left them for the horses before they had half finished.\nFrank Whitwell fed with a kind of official or functional conformity to\nthe ways of summer folks; but Cynthia, at whom Westover glanced with\nanxiety, only drank some tea and ate a little bread and butter. He was\nashamed of his anxiety, for he had owned that it ought not to have\nmattered if she had used her knife like her father; and it seemed to him\nas if he had prompted Mrs. Durgin by his curious glance to say: \"We don't\nknow half the time how the child lives. Cynthy! Take something to eat!\"\n\nCynthia pleaded that she was not hungry; Mrs. Durgin declared that she\nwould die if she kept on as she was going; and then the girl escaped to\nthe kitchen on one of the errands which she made from time to time\nbetween the stove and the table.\n\n\"I presume it's your coming, Mr. Westover,\" Mrs. Durgin went on, with the\ncomfortable superiority of elderly people to all the trials of the young.\n\"I don't know why she should make a stranger of you, every time. You've\nknown her pretty much all her life.\"\n\n\"Ever since you give Jeff what he deserved for scaring her and Frank with\nhis dog,\" said Whitwell.\n\n\"Poor Fox!\" Mrs. Durgin sighed. \"He did have the least sense for a dog I\never saw. And Jeff used to be so fond of him! Well, I guess he got tired\nof him, too, toward the last.\"\n\n\"He's gone to the happy hunting-grounds now. Colorady didn't agree with\nhim-or old age,\" said Whitwell. \"I don't see why the Injuns wa'n't\nright,\" he pursued, thoughtfully. \"If they've got souls, why ha'n't their\ndogs? I suppose Mr. Westover here would say there wa'n't any certainty\nabout the Injuns themselves!\"\n\n\"You know my weak point, Mr. Whitwell,\" the painter confessed. \"But I\ncan't prove they haven't.\"\n\n\"Nor dogs, neither, I guess,\" said Whitwell, tolerantly. \"It's curious,\nthough, if animals have got souls, that we ha'n't ever had any\ncommunications from 'em. You might say that ag'in' the idea.\"\n\n\"No, I'll let you say it,\" returned Westover. \"But a good many of the\ncommunications seem to come from the lower intelligences, if not the\nlower animals.\"\n\nWhitwell laughed out his delight in the thrust. \"Well, I guess that's\nsomething so. And them old Egyptian devils, over there, that you say\ndiscovered the doctrine of immortality, seemed to think a cat was about\nas good as a man. What's that,\" he appealed to Mrs. Durgin, \"Jackson said\nin his last letter about their cat mummies?\"\n\n\"Well, I guess I'll finish my supper first,\" said Mrs. Durgin, whose\nnerves Westover would not otherwise have suspected of faintness. \"But\nJackson's letters,\" she continued, loyally, \"are about the best letters!\"\n\n\"Know they'd got some of 'em in the papers?\" Whitwell asked; and at the\nsurprise that Westover showed he told him how a fellow who was trying to\nmake a paper go over at the Huddle, had heard of Jackson's letters and\nteased for some of them, and had printed them as neighborhood news in\nthat side of his paper which he did not buy ready printed in Boston.\n\nMrs. Durgin studied with modest deprecation the effect of the fact upon\nWestover, and seemed satisfied with it. \"Well, of course, it's\ninterestin' to Jackson's old friends in the country, here. They know he'd\nlook at things, over there, pretty much as they would. Well, I had to\nlend the letters round so much, anyway, it was a kind of a relief to have\n'em in the paper, where everybody could see 'em, and be done with it. Mr.\nWhit'ell here, he fixes 'em up so's to leave out the family part, and I\nguess they're pretty well thought of.\"\n\nWestover said he had no doubt they were, and he should want to see all\nthe letters they could show him, in print and out of print.\n\n\"If Jackson only had Jeff's health and opportunities--\" the mother began,\nwith a suppressed passion in her regret.\n\nFrank Whitwell pushed back his chair. \"I guess I'll ask to be excused,\"\nhe said to the head of table.\n\n\"There! I a'n't goin' to say any more about that, if that's what you're\nafraid of, Frank,\" said Mrs. Durgin. \"Well, I presume I do talk a good\ndeal about Jackson when I get goin', and I presume it's natural Cynthy\nshouldn't want I should talk about Jeff before folks. Frank, a'n't you\ngoin' to wait for that plate of hot biscuit?--if she ever gits it here!\"\n\n\"I guess I don't care for anything more,\" said Frank, and he got himself\nout of the room more inarticulately than he need, Westover thought.\n\nHis, father followed his retreat with an eye of humorous intelligence. \"I\nguess Frank don't want to keep the young ladies waitin' a great while.\nThere's a church sociable over 't the Huddle,\" he explained to Westover.\n\n\"Oh, that's it, is it?\" Mrs. Durgin put in. \"Why didn't he say so.\"\n\n\"Well, the young folks don't any of 'em seem to want to talk about such\nthings nowadays, and I don't know as they ever did.\" Whitwell took\nWestover into his confidence with a wink.\n\nThe biscuit that Cynthia brought in were burned a little on top, and Mrs.\nDurgin recognized the fact with the question, \"Did you get to studyin',\nout there? Take one, do, Mr. Westover! You ha'n't made half a meal! If I\ndidn't keep round after her, I don't know what would become of us all.\nThe young ladies down at Boston, any of 'em, try to keep up with the\nfellows in college?\"\n\n\"I suppose they do in the Harvard Annex,\" said Westover, simply, in spite\nof the glance with which Mrs. Durgin tried to convey a covert meaning. He\nunderstood it afterward, but for the present his single-mindedness spared\nthe girl.\n\nShe remained to clear away the table, when the rest left it, and Westover\nfollowed Mrs. Durgin into the parlor, where she indemnified herself for\nrefraining from any explicit allusion to Jeff before Cynthia. \"The boy,\"\nshe explained, when she had made him ransack his memory for every scrap\nof fact concerning her son, \"don't hardly ever write to me, and I guess\nhe don't give Cynthy very much news. I presume he's workin' harder than\never this year. And I'm glad he's goin' about a little, from what you\nsay. I guess he's got to feelin' a little better. It did worry me for him\nto feel so what you may call meechin' about folks. You see anything that\nmade you think he wa'n't appreciated?\"\n\nAfter Westover got back into his own room, some one knocked at his door,\nand he found Whitwell outside. He scarcely asked him to come in, but\nWhitwell scarcely needed the invitation. \"Got everything you want? I told\nCynthy I'd come up and see after you; Frank won't be back in time.\" He\nsat down and put his feet on top of the stove, and struck the heels of\nhis boots on its edge, from the habit of knocking the caked snow off them\nin that way on stove-tops. He did not wait to find out that there was no\nresponsive sizzling before he asked, with a long nasal sigh, \"Well, how\nis Jeff gettin' along?\"\n\nHe looked across at Westover, who had provisionally seated himself on his\nbed.\n\n\"Why, in the old way.\" Whitwell kept his eye on him, and he added: \"I\nsuppose we don't any of us change; we develop.\"\n\nWhitwell smiled with pleasure in the loosely philosophic suggestion. \"You\nmean that he's the same kind of a man that he was a boy? Well, I guess\nthat's so. The question is, what kind of a boy was he? I've been mullin'\nover that consid'able since Cynthy and him fixed it up together. Of\ncourse, I know it's their business, and all that; but I presume I've got\na right to spee'late about it?\"\n\nHe referred the point to Westover, who knew an inner earnestness in it,\nin spite of Whitwell's habit of outside jocosity. \"Every right in the\nworld, I should say, Mr. Whitwell,\" he answered, seriously.\n\n\"Well, I'm glad you feel that way,\" said Whitwell, with a little apparent\nsurprise. \"I don't want to meddle, any; but I know what Cynthy is--I no\nneed to brag her up--and I don't feel so over and above certain 't I know\nwhat he is. He's a good deal of a mixture, if you want to know how he\nstrikes me. I don't mean I don't like him; I do; the fellow's got a way\nwith him that makes me kind of like him when I see him. He's good-natured\nand clever; and he's willin' to take any amount of trouble for you; but\nyou can't tell where to have him.\" Westover denied the appeal for\nexplicit assent in Whitwell's eye, and he went on: \"If I'd done that\nfellow a good turn, in spite of him, or if I'd held him up to something\nthat he allowed was right, and consented to, I should want to keep a\nsharp lookout that he didn't play me some ugly trick for it. He's a\ncomical devil,\" Whitwell ended, rather inadequately. \"How d's it look to\nyou? Seen anything lately that seemed to tally with my idee?\"\n\n\"No, no; I can't say that I have,\" said Westover, reluctantly. He wished\nto be franker than he now meant to be, but he consulted a scruple that he\ndid not wholly respect; a mere convention it seemed to him, presently. He\nsaid: \"I've always felt that charm in him, too, and I've seen the other\ntraits, though not so clearly as you seem to have done. He has a powerful\nwill, yes--\"\n\nHe stopped, and Whitwell asked: \"Been up to any deviltry lately?\"\n\n\"I can't say he has. Nothing that I can call intentional.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Whitwell. \"What's he done, though?\"\n\n\"Really, Mr. Whitwell, I don't know that you have any right to expect me\nto talk him over, when I'm here as his mother's guest--his own guest--?\"\n\n\"No. I ha'n't,\" said Whitwell. \"What about the father of the girl he's\ngoin' to marry?\"\n\nWestover could not deny the force of this. \"You'd be anxious if I didn't\ntell you what I had in mind, I dare say, more than if I did.\" He told him\nof Jeff's behavior with Alan Lynde, and of his talk with him about it.\n\"And I think he was honest. It was something that happened, that wasn't\nmeant.\"\n\nWhitwell did not assent directly, somewhat to Westover's surprise. He\nasked: \"Fellow ever done anything to Jeff?\"\n\n\"Not that I know of. I don't know that they ever met before.\"\n\nWhitwell kicked his heels on the edge of the stove again. \"Then it might\nbeen an accident,\" he said, dryly.\n\nWestover had to break the silence that followed, and he found himself\ndefending Jeff, though somehow not for Jeff's sake. He urged that if he\nhad the strong will they both recognized in him, he would never commit\nthe errors of a weak man, which were usually the basest.\n\n\"How do you know that a strong-willed man a'n't a weak one?\" Whitwell\nastonished him by asking. \"A'n't what we call a strong will just a kind\nof a bull-dog clinch that the dog himself can't unloose? I take it a man\nthat has a good will is a strong man. If Jeff done a right thing against\nhis will, he wouldn't rest easy till he'd showed that he wa'n't obliged\nto, by some mischief worse 'n what he was kept out of. I tell you, Mr.\nWestover, if I'd made that fellow toe the mark any way, I'd be afraid of\nhim.\" Whitwell looked at Westover with eyes of significance, if not of\nconfidence. Then he rose with a prolonged \"M--wel-l-l! We're all born,\nbut we a'n't all buried. This world is a queer place. But I guess Jeff\n'll come out right in the end.\"\n\nWestover said, \"I'm sure he will!\" and he shook hands warmly with the\nfather of the girl Jeff was going to marry.\n\nWhitwell came back, after he had got some paces away, and said: \"Of\ncourse, this is between you and me, Mr. Westover.\"\n\n\"Of course!\"\n\n\"I don't mean Mis' Durgin. I shouldn't care what she thought of my\ntalkin' him over with you. I don't know,\" he continued, putting up his\nhand against the door-frame, to give himself the comfort of its support\nwhile he talked, \"as you understood what she mean by the young ladies at\nBoston keepin' up with the fellows in college. Well, that's what Cynthy's\ndoin' with Jeff, right along; and if he ever works off them conditions of\nhis, and gits his degree, it' ll be because she helped him to. I tell\nyou, there's more than one kind of telepathy in this world, Mr. Westover.\nThat's all.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXXIX\n\nWestover understood from Whitwell's afterthought that it was Cynthia he\nwas anxious to keep ignorant of his misgivings, if they were so much as\nmisgivings. But the importance of this fact could not stay him against\nthe tide of sleep which was bearing him down. When his head touched the\npillow it swept over him, and he rose from it in the morning with a\ngayety of heart which he knew to be returning health. He jumped out of\nbed, and stuffed some shavings into his stove from the wood-box beside\nit, and laid some logs on them; he slid the damper open, and then lay\ndown again, listening to the fire that showed its red teeth through the\nslats and roared and laughed to the day which sparkled on the white world\nwithout. When he got out of bed a second time, he found the room so hot\nthat he had to pull down his window-sash, and he dressed in a temperature\nof twenty degrees below zero without knowing that the dry air was more\nthan fresh. Mrs. Durgin called to him through the open door of her\nparlor, as he entered the dining-room: \"Cynthy will give you your\nbreakfast, Mr. Westover. We're all done long ago, and I'm busy in here,\"\nand the girl appeared with the coffee-pot and the dishes she had been\nkeeping hot for him at the kitchen stove. She seemed to be going to leave\nhim when she had put them down before him, but she faltered, and then she\nasked: \"Do you want I should pour your coffee for you?\"\n\n\"Oh yes! Do!\" he begged, and she sat down across the table from him. \"I'm\nashamed to make this trouble for you,\" he added. \"I didn't know it was so\nlate.\"\n\n\"Oh, we have the whole day for our work,\" she answered, tolerantly.\n\nHe laughed, and said: \"How strange that seems! I suppose I shall get used\nto it. But in town we seem never to have a whole day for a day's work; we\nalways have to do part of it at night, or the next morning. Do you ever\nhave a day here that's too large a size for its work?\"\n\n\"You can nearly always find something to do about a house,\" she returned,\nevasively. \"But the time doesn't go the way it does in the summer.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know how the country is in the winter,\" he said. \"I was brought up\nin the country.\"\n\n\"I didn't know that,\" she said, and she gave him a stare of surprise\nbefore her eyes fell.\n\n\"Yes. Out in Wisconsin. My people were emigrants, and I lived in the\nwoods, there, till I began to paint my way out. I began pretty early, but\nI was in the woods till I was sixteen.\"\n\n\"I didn't know that,\" she repeated. \"I always thought that you were--\"\n\n\"Summer folks, like the rest? No, I'm all-the-year-round folks\noriginally. But I haven't been in the country in the winter since I was a\nboy; and it's all been coming back to me, here, like some one else's\nexperience.\"\n\nShe did not say anything, but the interest in her eyes, which she could\nnot keep from his face now, prompted him to go on.\n\n\"You can make a beginning in the West easier than you can in the East,\nand some people who came to our lumber camp discovered me, and gave me a\nchance to begin. I went to Milwaukee first, and they made me think I was\nsomebody. Then I came on to New York, and they made me think I was\nnobody. I had to go to Europe to find out which I was; but after I had\nbeen there long enough I didn't care to know. What I was trying to do was\nthe important thing to me; not the fellow who was trying to do it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, with intelligence.\n\n\"I met some Boston people in Italy, and I thought I should like to live\nwhere that kind of people lived. That's the way I came to be in Boston.\nIt all seems very simple now, but I used to think it might look romantic\nfrom the outside. I've had a happy life; and I'm glad it began in the\ncountry. I shouldn't care if it ended there. I don't know why I've\nbothered you with my autobiography, though. Perhaps because I thought you\nknew it already.\"\n\nShe looked as if she would have said something fitting if she could have\nruled herself to it; but she said nothing at all. Her failure seemed to\nabash her, and she could only ask him if he would not have some more\ncoffee, and then excuse herself, and leave him to finish his breakfast\nalone.\n\nThat day he tried for his picture from several points out-of-doors before\nhe found that his own window gave him the best. With the window open, and\nthe stove warm at his back, he worked there in great comfort nearly every\nafternoon. The snows kept off, and the clear sunsets burned behind the\nsummit day after day. He painted frankly and faithfully, and made a\npicture which, he said to himself, no one would believe in, with that\nwarm color tender upon the frozen hills. The soft suffusion of the winter\nscene was improbable to him when he had it in, nature before his eyes;\nwhen he looked at it as he got it on his canvas it was simply impossible.\n\nIn the forenoons he had nothing to do, for he worked at his picture only\nwhen the conditions renewed themselves with the sinking sun. He tried to\nbe in the open air, and get the good of it; but his strength for walking\nhad failed him, and he kept mostly to the paths broken around the house.\nHe went a good deal to the barn with Whitwell and Jombateeste to look\nafter the cattle and the horses, whose subdued stamping and champing gave\nhim a sort of animal pleasure. The blended odors of the hay-mows and of\nthe creatures' breaths came to him with the faint warmth which their\nbodies diffused through the cold obscurity.\n\nWhen the wide doors were rolled back, and the full day was let in, he\nliked the appeal of their startled eyes, and the calls they made to one\nanother from their stalls, while the men spoke back to them in terms\nwhich they seemed to have in common with them, and with the poultry that\nflew down from the barn lofts to the barn floor and out into the\nbrilliant day, with loud clamor and affected alarm.\n\nIn these simple experiences he could not imagine the summer life of the\nplace. It was nowhere more extinct than in the hollow verandas, where the\nrocking-chairs swung in July and August, and where Westover's steps in\nhis long tramps up and down woke no echo of the absent feet. In-doors he\nkept to the few stove-heated rooms where he dwelt with the family, and\nsent only now and then a vague conjecture into the hotel built round the\nold farm-house. He meant, before he left, to ask Mrs. Durgin to let him\ngo through the hotel, but he put it off from day to day, with a physical\nshrinking from its cold and solitude.\n\nThe days went by in the swiftness of monotony. His excursions to the\nbarn, his walks on the verandas, his work on his picture, filled up the\nfew hours of the light, and when the dark came he contentedly joined the\nlittle group in Mrs. Durgin's parlor. He had brought two or three books\nwith him, and sometimes he read from one of them; or he talked with\nWhitwell on some of the questions of life and death that engaged his\nspeculative mind. Jombateeste preferred the kitchen for the naps he took\nafter supper before his early bedtime. Frank Whitwell sat with his books\nthere, where Westover sometimes saw his sister helping him at his\nstudies. He was loyally faithful and obedient to her in all things. He\nhelped her with the dishes, and was not ashamed to be seen at this work;\nshe had charge of his goings and comings in society; he submitted to her\ntaste in his dress, and accepted her counsel on many points which he\nreferred to her, and discussed with her in low-spoken conferences. He\nseemed a formal, serious boy, shy like his sister; his father let fall\nsome hints of a religious cast of mind in him. He had an ambition beyond\nthe hotel; he wished to study for the ministry; and it was not alone the\nchance of going home with the girls that made him constant at the evening\nmeetings. \"I don't know where he gits it,\" said his father, with a shake\nof the head that suggested doubt of the wisdom of the son's preference of\ntheology to planchette.\n\nCynthia had the same care of her father as of her brother; she kept him\nneat, and held him up from lapsing into the slovenliness to which he\nwould have tended if she had not, as Westover suspected, made constant\nappeals to him for the respect due their guest. Mrs. Durgin, for her\npart, left everything to Cynthia, with a contented acceptance of her\nfuture rule and an abiding trust in her sense and strength, which\nincluded the details of the light work that employed her rather luxurious\nleisure. Jombateeste himself came to Cynthia with his mending, and her\nneedle kept him tight and firm against the winter which it amused\nWestover to realize was the Canuck's native element, insomuch that there\nwas now something incongruous in the notion of Jombateeste and any other\nseason.\n\nThe girl's motherly care of all the household did not leave Westover out.\nButtons appeared on garments long used to shifty contrivances for getting\non without them; buttonholes were restored to their proper limits; his\novercoat pockets were searched for gloves, and the gloves put back with\ntheir finger-tips drawn close as the petals of a flower which had decided\nto shut and be a bud again.\n\nHe wondered how he could thank her for his share of the blessing that her\npassion for motherly care was to all the house. It was pathetic, and he\nused sometimes to forecast her self-devotion with a tender indignation,\nwhich included a due sense of his own present demerit. He was not\nreconciled to the sacrifice because it seemed the happiness, or at least\nthe will, of the nature which made it. All the same it seemed a waste, in\nits relation to the man she was to marry.\n\nMrs. Durgin and Cynthia sat by the lamp and sewed at night, or listened\nto the talk of the men. If Westover read aloud, they whispered together\nfrom time to time about some matters remote from it, as women always do\nwhere there is reading. It was quiet, but it was not dull for Westover,\nwho found himself in no hurry to get back to town.\n\nSometimes he thought of the town with repulsion; its unrest, its vacuous,\ntroubled life haunted him like a memory of sickness; but he supposed that\nwhen he should be quite well again all that would change, and be as it\nwas before. He interested himself, with the sort of shrewd ignorance of\nit that Cynthia showed in the questions she asked about it now and then\nwhen they chanced to be left alone together. He fancied that she was\ntrying to form some intelligible image of Jeff's environment there, and\nwas piecing together from his talk of it the impressions she had got from\nsummer folks. He did his best to help her, and to construct for her a\nveritable likeness of the world as far as he knew it.\n\nA time came when he spoke frankly of Jeff in something they were saying,\nand she showed no such shrinking as he had expected she would; he\nreflected that she might have made stricter conditions with Mrs. Durgin\nthan she expected to keep herself in mentioning him. This might well have\nbeen necessary with the mother's pride in her son, which knew no stop\nwhen it once began to indulge itself. What struck Westover more than the\ngirl's self-possession when they talked of Jeff was a certain austerity\nin her with regard to him. She seemed to hold herself tense against any\npraise of him, as if she should fail him somehow if she relaxed at all in\nhis favor.\n\nThis, at least, was the rather mystifying impression which Westover got\nfrom her evident wish to criticise and understand exactly all that he\nreported, rather than to flatter herself from it. Whatever her motive\nwas, he was aware that through it all she permitted herself a closer and\nfuller trust of himself. At times it was almost too implicit; he would\nhave liked to deserve it better by laying open all that had been in his\nheart against Jeff. But he forbore, of course, and he took refuge, as\nwell as he could, in the respect by which she held herself at a reverent\ndistance from him when he could not wholly respect himself.\n\n\n\n\nXL.\n\nOne morning Westover got leave from Mrs. Durgin to help Cynthia open the\ndim rooms and cold corridors at the hotel to the sun and air. She\npromised him he should take his death, but he said he would wrap up warm,\nand when he came to join the girl in his overcoat and fur cap, he found\nCynthia equipped with a woollen cloud tied around her head, and a little\nshawl pinned across her breast.\n\n\"Is that all?\" he reproached her. \"I ought to have put on a single wreath\nof artificial flowers and some sort of a blazer for this expedition.\nDon't you think so, Mrs. Durgin?\"\n\n\"I believe women can stand about twice as much cold as you can, the best\nof you,\" she answered, grimly.\n\n\"Then I must try to keep myself as warm as I can with work,\" he said.\n\"You must let me do all the rough work of airing out, won't you,\nCynthia?\"\n\n\"There isn't any rough work about it,\" she answered, in a sort of\nmotherly toleration of his mood, without losing anything of her filial\nreverence.\n\nShe took care of him, he perceived, as she took care of her brother and\nher father, but with a delicate respect for his superiority, which was no\nlonger shyness.\n\nThey began with the office and the parlor, where they flung up the\nwindows, and opened the doors, and then they opened the dining-room,\nwhere the tables stood in long rows, with the chairs piled on them legs\nupward. Cynthia went about with many sighs for the dust on everything,\nthough to Westover's eyes it all seemed frigidly clean. \"If it goes on as\nit has for the past two years,\" she said, \"we shall have to add on a new\ndining-room. I don't know as I like to have it get so large!\"\n\n\"I never wanted it to go beyond the original farmhouse,\" said Westover.\n\"I've been jealous of every boarder but the first. I should have liked to\nkeep it for myself, and let the world know Lion's Head from my pictures.\"\n\n\"I guess Mrs. Durgin thinks it was your picture that began to send people\nhere.\"\n\n\"And do you blame me, too? What if the thing I'm doing now should make it\na winter resort? Nothing could save you, then, but a fire. I believe\nthat's Jeff's ambition. Only he would want to put another hotel in place\nof this; something that would be more popular. Then the ruin I began\nwould be complete, and I shouldn't come any more; I couldn't bear the\nsight.\"\n\n\"I guess Mrs. Durgin wouldn't think it was lion's Head if you stopped\ncoming,\" said Cynthia.\n\n\"But you would know better than that,\" said Westover; and then he was\nsorry he had said it, for it seemed to ask something of different quality\nfrom her honest wish to make him know their regard for him.\n\nShe did not answer, but went down a long corridor to which they had\nmounted, to raise the window at the end, while he raised another at the\nopposite extremity. When they met at the stairway again to climb to the\nstory above, he said: \"I am always ashamed when I try to make a person of\nsense say anything silly,\" and she flushed, still without answering, as\nif she understood him, and his meaning pleased her. \"But fortunately a\nperson of sense is usually equal to the temptation. One ought to be\nserious when he tries it with a person of the other sort; but I don't\nknow that one is!\"\n\n\"Do you feel any draught between these windows?\" asked Cynthia, abruptly.\n\"I don't want you should take cold.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm all right,\" said Westover.\n\nShe went into the rooms on one side of the corridor, and put up their\nwindows, and flung the blinds back. He did the same on the other side. He\ngot a peculiar effect of desolation from the mattresses pulled down over\nthe foot of the bedsteads, and the dismantled interiors reflected in the\nmirrors of the dressing-cases; and he was going to speak of it when he\nrejoined Cynthia at the stairway leading to the third story, when she\nsaid, \"Those were Mrs. Vostrand's rooms I came out of the last.\" She\nnodded her head over her shoulder toward the floor they were leaving.\n\n\"Were they indeed! And do you remember people's rooms so long?\"\n\n\"Yes; I always think of rooms by the name of people that have them, if\nthey're any way peculiar.\"\n\nHe thought this bit of uncandor charming, and accepted it as if it were\nthe whole truth. \"And Mrs. Vostrand was certainly peculiar. Tell me,\nCynthia, what did you think of her?\"\n\n\"She was only here a little while.\"\n\n\"But you wouldn't have come to think of her rooms by her name if she\nhadn't made a strong impression on you!\" She did not answer, and he said,\n\"I see you didn't like her!\"\n\nThe girl would not speak, and Mr. Westover went on: \"She used to be very\ngood to me, and I think she used to be better to herself than she is\nnow.\" He knew that Jeff must have told Cynthia of his affair with\nGenevieve Vostrand, and he kept himself from speaking of her by a\nresolution he thought creditable, as he mounted the stairs to the upper\nstory in the silence to which Cynthia left his last remark. At the top\nshe made a little pause in the obscurer light of the close-shuttered\ncorridor, while she said: \"I liked her daughter the best.\"\n\n\"Yes?\" he returned. \"I--never felt very well acquainted with her, I\nbelieve. One couldn't get far with her. Though, for the matter of that,\none didn't get far with Mrs. Vostrand herself. Did you think Genevieve\nwas much influenced by her mother?\"\n\n\"She didn't seem a strong character.\"\n\n\"No, that was it. She was what her mother wished her to be. I've often\nwondered how much she was interested in the marriage she made.\"\n\nCynthia let a rustic silence ensue, and Westover shrank again from the\ninquisition he longed to make.\n\nIt was not Genevieve Vostrand's marriage which really concerned him, but\nCynthia's engagement, and it was her mind that he would have liked to\nlook into. It might well be supposed that she regarded it in a perfect\nmatter-of-fact way, and with no ambition beyond it. She was a country\ngirl, acquainted from childhood with facts of life which town-bred girls\nwould not have known without a blunting of the sensibilities, and why\nshould she be different from other country girls? She might be as good\nand as fine as he saw her, and yet be insensible to the spiritual\ntoughness of Jeff, because of her love for him. Her very goodness might\nmake his badness unimaginable to her, and if her refinement were from the\nconscience merely, and not from the tastes and experiences, too, there\nwas not so much to dread for her in her marriage with such a man. Still,\nhe would have liked, if he could, to tell her what he had told her father\nof Durgin's behavior with Lynde, and let her bring the test of her\nself-devotion to the case with a clear understanding. He had sometimes\nbeen afraid that Whitwell might not be able to keep it to himself; but\nnow he wished that the philosopher had not been so discreet. He had all\nthis so absorbingly in mind that he started presently with the fear that\nshe had said something and he had not answered, but when he asked her he\nfound that she had not spoken. They were standing at an open window\nlooking out upon Lion's Head, when he said: \"I don't know how I shall\nshow my gratitude to Mrs. Durgin and you for thinking of having me up\nhere. I've done a picture of Lion's Head that might be ever so much\nworse; but I shouldn't have dreamed of getting at it if it hadn't been\nfor you, though I've so often dreamed of doing it. Now I shall go home\nricher in every sort of way-thanks to you.\"\n\nShe answered, simply: \"You needn't thank anybody; but it was Jeff who\nthought of it; we were ready enough to ask you.\"\n\n\"That was very good of him,\" said Westover, whom her words confirmed in a\nsuspicion he had had all along. But what did it matter that Jeff had\nsuggested their asking him, and then attributed the notion to them? It\nwas not so malign for him to use that means of ingratiating himself with\nWestover, and of making him forget his behavior with Lynde, and it was\nnot unnatural. It was very characteristic; at the worst it merely proved\nthat Jeff was more ashamed of what he had done than he would allow, and\nthat was to his credit.\n\nHe heard Cynthia asking: \"Mr. Westover, have you ever been at Class Day?\nHe wants us to come.\"\n\n\"Class Day? Oh, Class Day!\" He took a little time to gather himself\ntogether. \"Yes, I've been at a good many. If you care to see something\npretty, it's the prettiest thing in the world. The students' sisters and\nmothers come from everywhere; and there's fashion and feasting and\nflirting, from ten in the morning till ten at night. I'm not sure there's\nso much happiness; but I can't tell. The young people know about that. I\nfancy there's a good deal of defeat and disappointment in it all. But if\nyou like beautiful dresses, and music and dancing, and a great flutter of\ngayety, you can get more of it at Class Day than you can in any other\nway. The good time depends a great deal upon the acquaintance a student\nhas, and whether he is popular in college.\" Westover found this road a\nlittle impassable, and he faltered.\n\nCynthia did not apparently notice his hesitation. \"Do you think Mrs.\nDurgin would like it?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Durgin?\" Westover found that he had been leaving her out of the\naccount, and had been thinking only of Cynthia's pleasure or pain. \"Well,\nI don't suppose--it would be rather fatiguing--Did Jeff want her to come\ntoo?\"\n\n\"He said so.\"\n\n\"That's very nice of him. If he could devote himself to her; but--And\nwould she like to go?\"\n\n\"To please him, she would.\" Westover was silent, and the girl surprised\nhim by the appeal she suddenly made to him. \"Mr. Westover, do you believe\nit would be very well for either of us to go? I think it would be better\nfor us to leave all that part of his life alone. It's no use in\npretending that we're like the kind of people he knows, or that we know\ntheir ways, and I don't believe--\"\n\nWestover felt his heart rise in indignant sympathy. \"There isn't any one\nhe knows to compare with you!\" he said, and in this he was thinking\nmainly of Bessie Lynde. \"You're worth a thousand--If I were--if he's half\na man he would be proud--I beg your pardon! I don't mean--but you\nunderstand--\"\n\nCynthia put her head far out of the window and looked along the steep\nroof before them. \"There is a blind off one of the windows. I heard it\nclapping in the wind the other night. I must go and see the number of the\nroom.\" She drew her head in quickly and ran away without letting him see\nher face.\n\nHe followed her. \"Let me help you put it on again!\"\n\n\"No, no!\" she called back. \"Frank will do that, or Jombateeste, when they\ncome to shut up the house.\"\n\n\n\n\nXLI.\n\nWestover, did not meet Durgin for several days after his return from\nLion's Head. He brought messages for him from his mother and from\nWhitwell, and he waited for him to come and get them so long that he had\nto blame himself for not sending them to him. When Jeff appeared, at the\nend of a week, Westover had a certain embarrassment in meeting him, and\nthe effort to overcome this carried him beyond his sincerity. He was\naware of feigning the cordiality he showed, and of having less real\nliking for him than ever before. He suggested that he must be busier\nevery day, now, with his college work, and he resented the air of social\nprosperity which Jeff put on in saying, Yes, there was that, and then he\nhad some engagements which kept him from coming in sooner.\n\nHe did not say what the engagements were, and they did not recur to the\nthings they had last spoken of. Westover could not do so without Jeff's\nleading, and he was rather glad that he gave none. He stayed only a\nlittle time, which was spent mostly in a show of interest on both sides,\nand the hollow hilarities which people use to mask their indifference to\none another's being and doing. Jeff declared that he had never seen\nWestover looking so well, and said he must go up to Lion's Head again; it\nhad done him good. As for his picture, it was a corker; it made him feel\nas if he were there! He asked about all the folks, and received\nWestover's replies with vague laughter, and an absence in his bold eye,\nwhich made the painter wonder what his mind was on, without the wish to\nfind out. He was glad to have him go, though he pressed him to drop in\nsoon again, and said they would take in a play together.\n\nJeff said he would like to do that, and he asked at the door whether\nWestover was going to the tea at Mrs. Bellingham's. He said he had to\nlook in there, before he went out to Cambridge; and left Westover in mute\namaze at the length he had apparently gone in a road that had once seemed\nno thoroughfare for him. Jeff's social acceptance, even after the Enderby\nball, which was now some six or seven weeks past, had been slow; but of\nlate, for no reason that he or any one else could have given, it had\ngained a sudden precipitance; and people who wondered why they met him at\nother houses began to ask him to their own.\n\nHe did not care to go to their houses, and he went at first in the hope\nof seeing Bessie Lynde again. But this did not happen for some time, and\nit was a mid-Lenten tea that brought them together. As soon as he caught\nsight of her he went up to her and began to talk as if they had been in\nthe habit of meeting constantly. She could not control a little start at\nhis approach, and he frankly recognized it.\n\n\"What's the matter?\"\n\n\"Oh--the window!\"\n\n\"It isn't open,\" he said, trying it. \"Do you want to try it yourself?\"\n\n\"I think I can trust you,\" she answered, but she sank a little into the\nshelter of the curtains, not to be seen talking with him, perhaps, or not\nto be interrupted--she did not analyze her motive closely.\n\nHe remained talking to her until she went away, and then he contrived to\ngo with her. She did not try to escape him after that; each time they met\nshe had the pleasure of realizing that there had never been any danger of\nwhat never happened. But beyond this she could perhaps have given no\nbetter reason for her willingness to meet him again and again than the\nbewildered witnesses of the fact. In her set people not only never\nmarried outside of it, but they never flirted outside of it. For one of\nthemselves, even for a girl like Bessie, whom they had not quite known\nfrom childhood, to be apparently amusing herself with a man like that, so\nwholly alien in origin, in tradition, was something unheard of; and it\nbegan to look as if Bessie Lynde was more than amused. It seemed to Mary\nEnderby that wherever she went she saw that man talking to Bessie. She\ncould have believed that it was by some evil art that he always contrived\nto reach Bessie's side, if anything could have been less like any kind of\nart than the bold push he made for her as soon as he saw her in a room.\nBut sometimes Miss Enderby feared that it was Bessie who used such\nfinesse as there was, and always put herself where he could see her. She\nwaited with trembling for her to give the affair sanction by making her\naunt ask him to something at her house. On the other hand, she could not\nhelp feeling that Bessie's flirtation was all the more deplorable for the\nwant of some such legitimation.\n\nShe did not even know certainly whether Jeff ever called upon Bessie at\nher aunt's house, till one day the man let him out at the same time he\nlet her in.\n\n\"Oh, come up, Molly!\" Bessie sang out from the floor above, and met her\nhalf-way down the stairs, where she kissed her and led her embraced into\nthe library.\n\n\"You don't like my jay, do you, dear?\" she asked, promptly.\n\nMary Enderby turned her face, the mirror of conscience, upon her, and\nasked: \"Is he your jay?\"\n\n\"Well, no; not just in that sense, Molly. But suppose he was?\"\n\n\"Then I should have nothing to say.\"\n\n\"And suppose he wasn't?\"\n\nStill Mary Enderby found herself with nothing of all she had a thousand\ntimes thought she should say to Bessie if she had ever the slightest\nchance. It always seemed so easy, till now, to take Bessie in her arms,\nand appeal to her good sense, her self-respect, her regard for her family\nand friends; and now it seemed so impossible.\n\nShe heard herself answering, very stiffly: \"Perhaps I'd better apologize\nfor what I've said already. You must think I was very unjust the last\ntime we mentioned him.\"\n\n\"Not at all!\" cried Bessie, with a laugh that sounded very mocking and\nvery unworthy to her friend. \"He's all that you said, and worse. But he's\nmore than you said, and better.\"\n\n\"I don't understand,\" said Mary, coldly.\n\n\"He's very interesting; he's original; he's different!\"\n\n\"Oh, every one says that.\"\n\n\"And he doesn't flatter me, or pretend to think much of me. If he did, I\ncouldn't bear him. You know how I am, Molly. He keeps me interested,\ndon't you understand, and prowling about in the great unknown where he\nhas his weird being.\"\n\nBessie put her hand to her mouth, and laughed at Mary Enderby with her\nslanted eyes; a sort of Parisian version of a Chinese motive in eyes.\n\n\"I suppose,\" her friend said, sadly, \"you won't tell me more than you\nwish.\"\n\n\"I won't tell you more than I know--though I'd like to,\" said Bessie. She\ngave Mary a sudden hug. \"You dear! There isn't anything of it, if that's\nwhat you mean.\"\n\n\"But isn't there danger that there will be, Bessie?\" her friend\nentreated.\n\n\"Danger? I shouldn't call it danger, exactly!\"\n\n\"But if you don't respect him, Bessie--\"\n\n\"Why, how can I? He doesn't respect me!\"\n\n\"I know you're teasing, now,\" said Mary Enderby, getting up, \"and you're\nquite right. I have no business to--\"\n\nBessie pulled her down upon the seat again. \"Yes, you have! Don't I tell\nyou, over and over? He doesn't respect me, because I don't know how to\nmake him, and he wouldn't like it if I did. But now I'll try to make you\nunderstand. I don't believe I care for him the least; but mind, I'm not\ncertain, for I've never cared for any one, and I don't know what it's\nlike. You know I'm not sentimental; I think sentiment's funny; and I'm\nnot dignified--\"\n\n\"You're divine,\" murmured Mary Enderby, with reproachful adoration.\n\n\"Yes, but you see how my divinity could be improved,\" said Bessie, with a\nwild laugh. \"I'm not sentimental, but I'm emotional, and he gives me\nemotions. He's a riddle, and I'm all the time guessing at him. You get\nthe answer to the kind of men we know easily; and it's very nice, but it\ndoesn't amuse you so much as trying. Now, Mr. Durgin--what a name! I can\nsee it makes you creep--is no more like one of us than a--bear is--and\nhis attitude toward us is that of a bear who's gone so much with human\nbeings that he thinks he's a human being. He's delightful, that way. And,\ndo you know, he's intellectual! He actually brings me books, and wants to\nread passages to me out of them! He has brought me the plans of the new\nhotel he's going to build. It's to be very aesthetic, and it's going to\nbe called The Lion's Head Inn. There's to be a little theatre, for\namateur dramatics, which I could conduct, and for all sorts of\nprofessional amusements. If you should ever come, Molly, I'm sure we\nshall do our best to make you comfortable.\"\n\nMary Enderby would not let Bessie laugh upon her shoulder after she said\nthis. \"Bessie Lynde,\" she said, severely, \"if you have no regard for\nyourself, you ought to have some regard for him. You may say you are not\nencouraging him, and you may believe it--\"\n\n\"Oh, I shouldn't say it if I didn't believe it,\" Bessie broke in, with a\nmock air of seriousness.\n\n\"I must be going,\" said Mary, stiffly, and this time she succeeded in\ngetting to her feet.\n\nBessie laid hold of her again. \"You think you've been trifled with, don't\nyou, dear?\"\n\n\"No--\"\n\n\"Yes, you do! Don't you try to be slippery, Molly. The plain pikestaff is\nyour style, morally speaking--if any one knows what a pikestaff is. Well,\nnow, listen! You're anxious about me.\"\n\n\"You know how I feel, Bessie,\" said Mary Enderby, looking her in the\neyes.\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" said Bessie. \"The trouble is, I don't know how I feel. But\nif I ever do, Molly, I'll tell you! Is that fair?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I'll give you ample warning. At the least little consciousness in the\nregion of the pericardium, off will go a note by a district messenger,\nand when you come I'll do whatever you say. There!\"\n\n\"Oh, Bessie!\" cried her friend, and she threw her arms round her, \"you\nalways were the most fascinating creature in the world!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Bessie, \"that's what I try to have him think.\"\n\n\n\n\nXLII.\n\nToward the end of April most people who had places at the Shore were\nmostly in them, but they came up to town on frequent errands, and had one\neffect of evanescence with people who still remained in their Boston\nhouses provisionally, and seemed more than half absent. The Enderbys had\nbeen at the Shore for a fortnight, and the Lyndes were going to be a\nfortnight longer in Boston, yet, as Bessie made her friend observe, when\nMary, ran in for lunch, or stopped for a moment on her way to the train,\nevery few days, they were both of the same transitory quality.\n\n\"It might as well be I as you,\" Bessie said one day, \"if we only think\nso. It's all very weird, dear, and I'm not sure but it is you who sit day\nafter day at my lonely casement and watch the sparrows examining the\nfuzzy buds of the <DW61> ivy to see just how soon they can hope to build in\nthe vines. Do you object to the ivy buds looking so very much like\nsnipped woollen rags? If you do, I'm sure it's you, here in my place, for\nwhen I come up to town in your personality it sets my teeth on edge. In\nfact, that's the worst thing about Boston now--the fuzzy ivy buds;\nthere's so much ivy! When you can forget the buds, there are a great many\nthings to make you happy. I feel quite as if we were spending the summer\nin town and I feel very adventurous and very virtuous, like some sort of\nself-righteous bohemian. You don't know how I look down on people who\nhave gone out of town. I consider them very selfish and heartless; I\ndon't know why, exactly. But when we have a good marrow-freezing\nnortheasterly storm, and the newspapers come out with their ironical\ncongratulations to the tax-dodgers at the Shore, I feel that Providence\nis on my side, and I'm getting my reward, even in this world.\" Bessie\nsuddenly laughed. \"I see by your expression of fixed inattention, Molly,\nthat you're thinking of Mr. Durgin!\"\n\nMary gave a start of protest, but she was too honest to deny the fact\noutright, and Bessie ran on:\n\n\"No, we don't sit on a bench in the Common, or even in the Garden, or on\nthe walk in Commonwealth Avenue. If we come to it later, as the season\nadvances, I shall make him stay quite at the other end of the bench, and\nnot put his hand along the top. You needn't be afraid, Molly; all the\nproprieties shall be religiously observed. Perhaps I shall ask Aunt\nLouisa to let us sit out on her front steps, when the evenings get\nwarmer; but I assure you it's much more comfortable in-doors yet, even in\ntown, though you'll hardly, believe it at the Shore. Shall you come up to\nClass Day?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know,\" Mary began, with a sigh of the baffled hope and the\ninextinguishable expectation which the mention of Class Day stirs in the\nheart of every Boston girl past twenty.\n\n\"Yes!\" said Bessie, with a sigh burlesqued from Mary's. \"That is what we\nall say, and it is certainly the most maddening of human festivals. I\nsuppose, if we were quite left to ourselves, we shouldn't go; but we seem\nnever to be, quite. After every Class Day I say to myself that nothing on\nearth could induce me to go to another; but when it comes round again, I\nfind myself grasping at any straw of a pretext. I'm pretending now that\nI've a tender obligation to go because it's his Class Day.\"\n\n\"Bessie!\" cried Mary Enderby. \"You don't mean it!\"\n\n\"Not if I say it, Mary dear. What did I promise you about the pericardiac\nsymptoms? But I feel--I feel that if he asks me I must go. Shouldn't you\nlike to go and see a jay Class Day--be part of it? Think of going once to\nthe Pi Ute spread--or whatever it is! And dancing in their tent! And\nbeing left out of the Gym, and Beck! Yes, I ought to go, so that it can\nbe brought home to me, and I can have a realizing sense of what I am\ndoing, and be stayed in my mad career.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" Mary Enderby suggested, colorlessly, \"he will be devoted to\nhis own people.\" She had a cold fascination in the picture Bessie's words\nhad conjured up, and she was saying this less to Bessie than to herself.\n\n\"And I should meet them--his mothers and sisters!\"  Bessie dramatized an\nexcess of anguish. \"Oh, Mary, that is the very thorn I have been trying\nnot to press my heart against; and does your hand commend it to my\nembrace? His folks! Yes, they would be folks; and what folks! I think I\nam getting a realizing sense. Wait! Don't speak don't move, Molly!\"\nBessie dropped her chin into her hand, and stared straight forward,\ngripping Mary Enderby's hand.\n\nMary withdrew it. \"I shall have to go, Bessie,\" she said. \"How is your\naunt?\"\n\n\"Must you? Then I shall always say that it was your fault that I couldn't\nget a realizing sense--that you prevented me, just when I was about to\nsee myself as others see me--as you see me. She's very well!\" Bessie\nsighed in earnest, and her friend gave her hand a little pressure of true\nsympathy. \"But of course it's rather dull here, now.\"\n\n\"I hate to have you staying on. Couldn't you come down to us for a week?\"\n\n\"No. We both think it's best to be here when Alan gets back. We want him\nto go down with us.\" Bessie had seldom spoken openly with Mary Enderby\nabout her brother; but that was rather from Mary's shrinking than her\nown; she knew that everybody understood his case. She went so far now as\nto say: \"He's ever so much better than he has been. We have such hopes of\nhim, if he can keep well, when he gets back this time.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know he will,\" said Mary, fervently. \"I'm sure of it. Couldn't we\ndo something for you, Bessie?\"\n\n\"No, there isn't anything. But--thank you. I know you always think of me,\nand that's worlds. When are you coming up again?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Next week, some time.\"\n\n\"Come in and see me--and Alan, if he should be at home. He likes you, and\nhe will be so glad.\"\n\nMary kissed Bessie for consent. \"You know how much I admire Alan. He\ncould be anything.\"\n\n\"Yes, he could. If he could!\"\n\nBessie seldom put so much earnest in anything, and Mary loved (as she\nwould have said) the sad sincerity, the honest hopelessness of her tone.\n\"We must help him. I know we can.\"\n\n\"We must try. But people who could--if they could--\" Bessie stopped.\n\nHer friend divined that she was no longer speaking wholly of her brother,\nbut she said: \"There isn't any if about it; and there are no ifs about\nanything if we only think so. It's a sin not to think so.\"\n\nThe mixture of severity and of optimism in the nature of her friend had\noften amused Bessie, and it did not escape her tacit notice in even so\nserious a moment as this. Her theory was that she was shocked to\nrecognize it now, because of its relation to her brother, but her\ntheories did not always agree with the facts.\n\nThat evening, however, she was truly surprised when, after a rather\nbelated ring at the door, the card of Mr. Thomas Jefferson Durgin came up\nto her from the reception-room. Her aunt had gone to bed, and she had a\nluxurious moment in which she reaped all the reward of self-denial by\nsupposing herself to have foregone the pleasure of seeing him, and\nsending down word that she was not at home. She did not wish, indeed, to\nsee him, but she wished to know how he felt warranted in calling in the\nevening, and it was this unworthy, curiosity which she stifled for that\nluxurious moment. The next, with undiminished dignity, she said, \"Ask him\nto come up, Andrew,\" and she waited in the library for him to offer a\njustification of the liberty he had taken.\n\nHe offered none whatever, but behaved at once as if he had always had the\nhabit of calling in the evening, or as if it was a general custom which\nhe need not account for in his own case. He brought her a book which they\nhad talked of at their last meeting, but he made no excuse or pretext of\nit.\n\nHe said it was a beautiful night, and that he had found it rather warm\nwalking in from Cambridge. The exercise had moistened his whole rich, red\ncolor, and fine drops of perspiration stood on his clean-shaven upper lip\nand in the hollow between his under lip and his bold chin; he pushed back\nthe coarse, dark-yellow hair from his forehead with his handkerchief, and\nlet his eyes mock her from under his thick, straw- eyebrows. She\nknew that he was enjoying his own impudence, and he was so handsome that\nshe could not refuse to enjoy it with him. She asked him if he would not\nhave a fan, and he allowed her to get it for him from the mantel. \"Will\nyou have some tea?\"\n\n\"No; but a glass of water, if you please,\" he said, and Bessie rang and\nsent for some apollinaris, which Jeff drank a great goblet of when it\ncame. Then he lay back in the deep chair he had taken, with the air of\nbeing ready for any little amusing thing she had to say.\n\n\"Are you still a pessimist, Mr. Durgin?\" she asked, tentatively, with the\neffect of innocence that he knew meant mischief.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"I'm a reformed optimist.\"\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\n\"It's a man who can't believe all the good he would like, but likes to\nbelieve all the good he can.\"\n\nBessie said it over, with burlesque thoughtfulness. \"There was a girl\nhere to-day,\" she said, solemnly, \"who must have been a reformed\npessimist, then, for she said the same thing.\"\n\n\"Oh! Miss Enderby,\" said Jeff.\n\nBessie started. \"You're preternatural! But what a pity you should be\nmistaken. How came you to think of her?\"\n\n\"She doesn't like me, and you always put me on trial after she's been\nhere.\"\n\n\"Am I putting you on trial now? It's your guilty conscience! Why\nshouldn't Mary Enderby like you?\"\n\n\"Because I'm not good enough.\"\n\n\"Oh! And what has that to do with people's liking you? If that was a\nreason, how many friends do you think you would have?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure that I should have any.\"\n\n\"And doesn't that make you feel badly?\"\n\n\"Very.\" Jeff's confession was a smiling one.\n\n\"You don't show it!\"\n\n\"I don't want to grieve you.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm not sure that would grieve me.\"\n\n\"Well, I thought I wouldn't risk it.\"\n\n\"How considerate of you!\"\n\nThey had come to a little barrier, up that way, and could go no further.\nJeff said: \"I've just been interviewing another reformed pessimist.\"\n\n\"Mr. Westover?\"\n\n\"You're preternatural, too. And you're not mistaken, either. Do you ever\ngo to his studio?\"\n\n\"No; I haven't been there since he told me it would be of no use to come\nas a student. He can be terribly frank.\"\n\n\"Nobody knows that better than I do,\" said Jeff, with a smile for the\nnotion of Westover's frankness as he had repeatedly experienced it. \"But\nhe means well.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's what they always say. But all the frankness can't be well\nmeant. Why should uncandor be the only form of malevolence?\"\n\n\"That's a good idea. I believe I'll put that up on Westover the next time\nhe's frank.\"\n\n\"And will you tell me what he says?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know about that.\" Jeff lay back in his chair at large ease\nand chuckled. \"I should like to tell you what he's just been saying to\nme, but I don't believe I can.\"\n\n\"Do!\"\n\n\"You know he was up at Lion's Head in February, and got a winter\nimpression of the mountain. Did you see it?\"\n\n\"No. Was that what you were talking about?\"\n\n\"We talked about something a great deal more interesting--the impression\nhe got of me.\"\n\n\"Winter impression.\"\n\n\"Cold enough. He had come to the conclusion that I was very selfish and\nunworthy; that I used other people for my own advantage, or let them use\nthemselves; that I was treacherous and vindictive, and if I didn't betray\na man I couldn't be happy till I had beaten him. He said that if I ever\nbehaved well, it came after I had been successful one way or the other.\"\n\n\"How perfectly fascinating!\" Bessie rested her elbow on the corner of the\ntable, and her chin in the palm of the hand whose thin fingers tapped her\nred lips; the light sleeve fell down and showed her pretty, lean little\nforearm. \"Did it strike you as true, at all?\"\n\n\"I could see how it might strike him as true.\"\n\n\"Now you are candid. But go on! What did he expect you to do about it?\"\n\n\"Nothing. He said he didn't suppose I could help it.\"\n\n\"This is immense,\" said Bessie. \"I hope I'm taking it all in. How came he\nto give you this flattering little impression? So hopeful, too! Or,\nperhaps your frankness doesn't go any farther?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't mind saying. He seemed to think it was a sort of abstract\nduty he owed to my people.\"\n\n\"Your-folks?\" asked Bessie.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jeff, with a certain dryness. But as her face looked blankly\ninnocent, he must have decided that she meant nothing offensive. He\nrelaxed into a broad smile. \"It's a queer household up there, in the\nwinter. I wonder what you would think of it.\"\n\n\"You might describe it to me, and perhaps we shall see.\"\n\n\"You couldn't realize it,\" said Jeff, with a finality that piqued her. He\nreached out for the bottle of apollinaris, with somehow the effect of\nbeing in another student's room, and poured himself a glass. This would\nhave amused her, nine times out of ten, but the tenth time had come when\nshe chose to resent it.\n\n\"I suppose,\" she said, \"you are all very much excited about Class Day at\nCambridge.\"\n\n\"That sounds like a remark made to open the way to conversation.\" Jeff\nwent on to burlesque a reply in the same spirit. \"Oh, very much so\nindeed, Miss Lynde! We are all looking forward to it so eagerly. Are you\ncoming?\"\n\nShe rejected his lead with a slight sigh so skilfully drawn that it\ndeceived him when she said, gravely:\n\n\"I don't know. It's apt to be a very baffling time at the best. All the\nmen that you like are taken up with their own people, and even the men\nthat you don't like overvalue themselves, and think they're doing you a\nfavor if they give you a turn at the Gym or bring you a plate of\nsomething.\"\n\n\"Well, they are, aren't they?\"\n\n\"I suppose, yes, that's what makes me hate it. One doesn't like to have\nsuch men do one a favor. And then, Juniors get younger every year! Even a\nnice Junior is only a Junior,\" she concluded, with a sad fall of her\nmocking voice.\n\n\"I don't believe there's a Senior in Harvard that wouldn't forsake his\nfamily and come to the rescue if your feelings could be known,\" said\nJeff. He lifted the bottle at his elbow and found it empty, and this\nseemed to remind him to rise.\n\n\"Don't make them known, please,\" said Bessie. \"I shouldn't want an\novation.\" She sat, after he had risen, as if she wished to detain him,\nbut when he came up to take leave she had to put her hand in his. She\nlooked at it there, and so did he; it seemed very little and slim, about\none-third the size of his palm, and it seemed to go to nothing in his\ngrasp. \"I should think,\" she added, \"that the jays would have the best\ntime on Class Day. I should like to dance at one of their spreads, and do\neverything they did. It would be twice the fun, and there would be some\nnature in it. I should like to see a jay Class Day.\"\n\n\"If you'll come out, I'll show you one,\" said Jeff, without wincing.\n\n\"Oh, will you?\" she said, taking away her hand. \"That would be\ndelightful. But what would become of your folks?\" She caught a corner of\nher mouth with her teeth, as if the word had slipped out.\n\n\"Do you call them folks?\" asked Jeff, quietly:\n\n\"I--supposed--Don't you?\"\n\n\"Not in Boston. I do at Lion's Head.\"\n\n\"Oh! Well-people.\"\n\n\"I don't know as they're coming.\"\n\n\"How delightful! I don't mean that; but if they're not, and if you really\nknew some jays, and could get me a little glimpse of their Class Day--\"\n\n\"I think I could manage it for you.\" He spoke as before, but he looked at\nher with a mockery in his lips and eyes as intelligent as her own, and\nthe latent change in his mood gave her the sense of being in the presence\nof a vivid emotion. She rose in her excitement; she could see that he\nadmired her, and was enjoying her insolence too, in a way, though in a\nway that she did not think she quite understood; and she had the wish to\nmake him admire her a little more.\n\nShe let a light of laughter come into her eyes, of harmless mischief\nplayed to an end. \"I don't deserve your kindness, and I won't come. I've\nbeen very wicked, don't you think?\"\n\n\"Not very--for you,\" said Jeff.\n\n\"Oh, how good!\" she broke out. \"But be frank now! I've offended you.\"\n\n\"How? I know I'm a jay, and in the country I've got folks.\"\n\n\"Ah, I see you're hurt at my joking, and I'm awfully sorry. I wish there\nwas some way of making you forgive me. But it couldn't be that alone,\"\nshe went on rather aimlessly as to her words, trusting to his answer for\nsome leading, and willing meanwhile to prolong the situation for the\neffect in her nerves. It had been a very dull and tedious day, and she\nwas finding much more than she could have expected in the mingled fear\nand slight which he inspired her with in such singular measure. These\nfeminine subtleties of motive are beyond any but the finest natures in\nthe other sex, and perhaps all that Jeff perceived was the note of\ninsincerity in her words.\n\n\"Couldn't be what alone?\" he asked.\n\n\"What I've said,\" she ventured, letting her eyes fall; but they were not\neyes that fell effectively, and she instantly lifted them again to his.\n\n\"You haven't said anything, and if you've thought anything, what have I\ngot to do with that? I think all sorts of things about people--or folks,\nas you call them--\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you! Now you are forgiving me!\"\n\n\"I think them about you!\"\n\n\"Oh, do sit down and tell me the kind of things you think about me!\"\nBessie implored, sinking back into her chair.\n\n\"You mightn't like them.\"\n\n\"But if they would do me good?\"\n\n\"What should I want to do you good for?\"\n\n\"That's true,\" sighed Bessie, thoughtfully.\n\n\"People--folks--\"\n\n\"Thank you so much!\"\n\n\"Don't try to do each other good, unless they're cranks like Lancaster,\nor bores like Mrs. Bevidge--\"\n\n\"You belong to the analytical school of Seniors! Go on!\"\n\n\"That's all,\" said Jeff.\n\n\"And you don't think I've tried to do you good?\"\n\nHe laughed. Her comedy was delicious to him. He had never found, anybody\nso amusing; he almost respected her for it.\n\n\"If that is your opinion of me, Mr. Durgin,\" she said, very gravely, \"I\nam sorry. May I remark that I don't see why you come, then?\"\n\n\"I can tell you,\" said Jeff, and he advanced upon her where she sat so\nabruptly that she started and shrank back in her chair. \"I come because\nyou've got brains, and you're the only girl that has--here.\" They were\nAlan's words, almost his words, and for an instant she thought of her\nbrother, end wondered what he would think of this jay's praising her in\nhis terms. \"Because,\" Jeff went on, \"you've got more sense and\nnonsense--than all the women here put together. Because it's better than\na play to hear you talk--and act; and because you're graceful--and\nfascinating, and chic, and--Good-night, Miss Lynde.\"\n\nHe put out his hand, but she did not take it as she rose haughtily.\n\"We've said good-night once. I prefer to say good-bye this time. I'm sure\nyou will understand why after this I cannot see you again.\" She seemed to\nexamine him for the effect of these words upon him before she went on.\n\n\"No, I don't understand,\" he answered, coolly; \"but it isn't necessary I\nshould; and I'm quite willing to say good-bye, if you prefer. You haven't\nbeen so frank with me as I have with you; but that doesn't make any\ndifference; perhaps you never meant to be, or couldn't be, if you meant.\nGood-bye.\" He bowed and turned toward the door.\n\nShe fluttered between him and it. \"I wish to know what you accuse me of!\"\n\n\"I? Nothing.\"\n\n\"You imply that I have been unjust toward you.\"\n\n\"Oh no!\"\n\n\"And I can't let you go till you prove it.\"\n\n\"Prove to a woman that--Will you let me pass?\"\n\n\"No!\" She spread her slender arms across the doorway.\n\n\"Oh, very well!\" Jeff took her hands and put them both in the hold of one\nof his large, strong bands. Then, with the contact, it came to him, from\na varied experience of girls in his rustic past, that this young lady,\nwho was nothing but a girl after all, was playing her comedy with a\ncertain purpose, however little she might know it or own it. He put his\nother large, strong hand upon her waist, and pulled her to him and kissed\nher. Another sort of man, no matter what he had believed of her, would\nhave felt his act a sacrilege then and there. Jeff only knew that she had\nnot made the faintest straggle against him; she had even trembled toward\nhim, and he brutally exulted in the belief that he had done what she\nwished, whether it was what she meant or not.\n\nShe, for her part, realized that she had been kissed as once she had\nhappened to see one of the maids kissed by the grocer's boy at the\nbasement door. In an instant this man had abolished all her defences of\nfamily, of society, of personality, and put himself on a level with her\nin the most sacred things of life. Her mind grasped the fact and she\nrealized it intellectually, while as yet all her emotions seemed\nparalyzed. She did not know whether she resented it as an abominable\noutrage or not; whether she hated the man for it or not. But perhaps he\nwas in love with her, and his love overpowered him; in that case she\ncould forgive him, if she were in love with him. She asked herself\nwhether she was, and whether she had betrayed herself to him so that he\nwas somehow warranted in what he did. She wondered if another sort of man\nwould have done it, a gentleman, who believed she was in love with him.\nShe wondered if she were as much shocked as she was astonished. She knew\nthat there was everything in the situation to make the fact shocking, but\nshe got no distinct reply from her jarred consciousness.\n\nIt ought to be known, and known at once; she ought to tell her brother,\nas soon as she saw him; she thought of telling her aunt, and she fancied\nhaving to shout the affair into her ear, and having to repeat, \"He kissed\nme! Don't you understand? Kissed me!\" Then she reflected with a start\nthat she could never tell any one, that in the midst of her world she was\nalone in relation to this; she was as helpless and friendless as the\npoorest and lowliest girl could be. She was more so, for if she were like\nthe maid whom the grocer's boy kissed she would be of an order of things\nin which she could advise with some one else who had been kissed; and she\nwould know what to feel.\n\nShe asked herself whether she was at all moved at heart; till now it\nseemed to her that it had not been different with her toward him from\nwhat it had been toward all the other men whose meaning she would have\nliked to find out. She had not in the least respected them, and she did\nnot respect him; but if it happened because he was overcome by his love\nfor her, and could not help it, then perhaps she must forgive him whether\nshe cared for him or not.\n\nThese ideas presented themselves with the simultaneity of things in a\ndream in that instant when she lingered helplessly in his hold, and she\neven wondered if by any chance Andrew had seen them; but she heard his\nstep on the floor below; and at the same time it appeared to her that she\nmust be in love with this man if she did not resent what he had done.\n\n\n\n\nXLIII\n\nWestover was sitting at an open window of his studio smoking out into the\nevening air, and looking down into the thinly foliaged tops of the public\ngarden, where the electrics fainted and flushed and hissed. Cars trooped\nby in the troubled street, scraping the wires overhead that screamed as\nif with pain at the touch of their trolleys, and kindling now and again a\nsoft planet, as the trolleys struck the batlike plates that connected the\ncrossing lines. The painter was getting almost as much pleasure out of\nthe planets as pain out of the screams, and he was in an after-dinner\nlanguor in which he was very reluctant to recognize a step, which he\nthought he knew, on his stairs and his stairs-landing. A knock at his\ndoor followed the sound of the approaching steps. He lifted himself, and\ncalled out, inhospitably, \"Come in!\" and, as he expected, Jeff Durgin\ncame in. Westover's meetings with him had been an increasing discomfort\nsince his return from Lion's Head. The uneasiness which he commonly felt\nat the first moment of encounter with him yielded less and less to the\ninfluence of Jeff's cynical bonhomie, and it returned in force as soon as\nthey parted.\n\nIt was rather dim in the place, except for the light thrown up into it\nfrom the turmoil of lights outside, but he could see that there was\nnothing of the smiling mockery on Jeff's face which habitually expressed\nhis inner hardihood. It was a frowning mockery.\n\n\"Hello!\" said Westover.\n\n\"Hello!\" answered Jeff. \"Any commands for Lion's Head?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I'm going up there to-morrow. I've got to see Cynthia, and tell her what\nI've been doing.\"\n\nWestover waited a moment before he asked: \"Do you want me to ask what\nyou've been doing?\"\n\n\"I shouldn't mind it.\"\n\nThe painter paused again. \"I don't know that I care to ask. Is it any\ngood?\"\n\n\"No!\" shouted Jeff. \"It's the worst thing yet, I guess you'll think. I\ncouldn't have believed it myself, if I hadn't been through it. I\nshouldn't have supposed I was such a fool. I don't care for the girl; I\nnever did.\"\n\n\"Cynthia?\"\n\n\"Cynthia? No! Miss Lynde. Oh, try to take it in!\" Jeff cried, with a\nlaugh at the daze in Westover's face. \"You must have known about the\nflirtation; if you haven't, you're the only one.\" His vanity in the fact\nbetrayed itself in his voice. \"It came to a crisis last week, and we\ntried to make each other believe that we were in earnest. But there won't\nbe any real love lost.\"\n\nWestover did not speak. He could not make out whether he was surprised or\nwhether he was shocked, and it seemed to him that he was neither\nsurprised nor shocked. He wondered whether he had really expected\nsomething of the kind, sooner or later, or whether he was not always so\napprehensive of some deviltry in Durgin that nothing he did could quite\ntake him unawares. At last he said: \"I suppose it's true--even though you\nsay it. It's probably the only truth in you.\"\n\n\"That's something like,\" said Jeff, as if the contempt gave him a sort of\npleasure; and his heavy face lighted up and then darkened again.\n\n\"Well,\" said Westover, \"what are we going to do? You've come to tell me.\"\n\n\"I'm going to break with her. I don't care for her--that!\" He snapped his\nfingers. \"I told her I cared because she provoked me to. It happened\nbecause she wanted it to and led up to it.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Westover. \"You put it on her!\" But he waited for Durgin's\njustification with a dread that he should find something in it.\n\n\"Pshaw! What's the use? It's been a game from the beginning, and a\nquestion which should ruin. I won. She meant to throw me over, if the\ntime came for her, but it came for me first, and it's only a question now\nwhich shall break first; we've both been near it once or twice already. I\ndon't mean she shall get the start of me.\"\n\nWestover had a glimpse of the innate enmity of the sexes in this game; of\nits presence in passion that was lived and of its prevalence in passion\nthat was played. But the fate of neither gambler concerned him; he was\nimpatient of his interest in what Jeff now went on to tell him, without\nscruple concerning her, or palliation of himself. He scarcely realized\nthat he was listening, but afterward he remembered it all, with a little\npity for Bessie and none for Jeff, but with more shame for her, too. Love\nseems more sacredly confided to women than to men; it is and must be a\nhigher and finer as well as a holier thing with them; their blame for its\nbetrayal must always be the heavier. He had sometimes suspected Bessie's\nwillingness to amuse herself with Jeff, as with any other man who would\nlet her play with him; and he would not have relied upon anything in him\nto defeat her purpose, if it had been anything so serious as a purpose.\n\nAt the end of Durgin's story he merely asked: \"And what are you going to\ndo about Cynthia?\"\n\n\"I am going to tell her,\" said Jeff. \"That's what I am going up there\nfor.\"\n\nWestover rose, but Jeff remained sitting where he had put himself astride\nof a chair, with his face over the back. The painter walked slowly up and\ndown before him in the capricious play of the street light. He turned a\nlittle sick, and he stopped a moment at the window for a breath of air.\n\n\"Well?\" asked Jeff.\n\n\"Oh! You want my advice?\" Westover still felt physically incapable of the\nindignation which he strongly imagined. \"I don't know what to say to you,\nDurgin. You transcend my powers. Are you able to see this whole thing\nyourself?\"\n\n\"I guess so,\" Jeff answered. \"I don't idealize it, though. I look at\nfacts; they're bad enough. You don't suppose that Miss Lynde is going to\nbreak her heart over--\"\n\n\"I don't believe I care for Miss Lynde any more than I care for you. But\nI believe I wish you were not going to break with her.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because you and she are fit for each other. If you want my advice, I\nadvise you to be true to her--if you can.\"\n\n\"And Cynthia?\"\n\n\"Break with her.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" Jeff gave a snort of derision.\n\n\"You're not fit for her. You couldn't do a crueler thing for her than to\nkeep faith with her.\"\n\n\"Do you mean it?\"\n\n\"Yes, I mean it. Stick to Miss Lynde--if she'll let you.\"\n\nJeff seemed puzzled by Westover's attitude, which was either too sincere\nor too ironical for him. He pushed his hat, which he had kept on, back\nfrom his forehead. \"Damned if I don't believe she would,\" he mused aloud.\nThe notion seemed to flatter him and repay him for what he must have been\nsuffering. He smiled, but he said: \"She wouldn't do, even if she were any\ngood. Cynthia is worth a million of her. If she wants to give me up after\nshe knows all about me, well and good. I shu'n't blame her. But I shall\ngive her a fair chance, and I shu'n't whitewash myself; you needn't be\nafraid of that, Mr. Westover.\"\n\n\"Why should I care what you do?\" asked the painter, scornfully.\n\n\"Well, you can't, on my account,\" Durgin allowed. \"But you do care on her\naccount.\"\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" said Westover, sitting down again, and he did not say\nanything more.\n\nDurgin waited a long while for him to speak before he asked: \"Then that's\nreally your advice, is it?\"\n\n\"Yes, break with her.\"\n\n\"And stick to Miss Lynde.\"\n\n\"If she'll let you.\"\n\nJeff was silent in his turn. He started from his silence with a laugh.\n\"She'd make a daisy landlady for Lion's Head. I believe she would like to\ntry it awhile just for the fun. But after the ball was over--well, it\nwould be a good joke, if it was a joke. Cynthia is a woman--she a'n't any\ncorpse-light. She understands me, and she don't overrate me, either. She\nknew just how much I was worth, and she took me at her own valuation.\nI've got my way in life marked out, and she believes in it as much as I\ndo. If anybody can keep me level and make the best of me, she can, and\nshe's going to have the chance, if she wants to. I'm going to act square\nwith her about the whole thing. I guess she's the best judge in a case\nlike this, and I shall lay the whole case before her, don't you be afraid\nof that. And she's got to have a free field. Why, even if there wa'n't\nany question of her,\" he went on, falling more and more into his\nvernacular, \"I don't believe I should care in the long run for this other\none. We couldn't make it go for any time at all. She wants excitement,\nand after the summer folks began to leave, and we'd been to Florida for a\nwinter, and then came back to Lion's Head-well! This planet hasn't got\nexcitement enough in it for that girl, and I doubt if the solar system\nhas. At any rate, I'm not going to act as advance-agent for her.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Westover, \"that you've been reasoning it all out, and I'm\nnot surprised that you've kept your own advantage steadily in mind. I\ndon't suppose you know what a savage you are, and I don't suppose I could\nteach you. I sha'n't try, at any rate. I'll take you on your own ground,\nand I tell you again you had better break with Cynthia. I won't say that\nit's what you owe her, for that won't have any effect with you, but it's\nwhat you owe yourself. You can't do a wrong thing and prosper on it--\"\n\n\"Oh yes, you can,\" Jeff interrupted, with a sneering laugh. \"How do you\nsuppose all the big fortunes were made? By keeping the Commandments?\"\n\n\"No. But you're an unlucky man if life hasn't taught you that you must\npay in suffering of some kind, sooner or later, for every wrong thing you\ndo--\"\n\n\"Now that's one of your old-fashioned superstitions, Mr. Westover,\" said\nJeff, with a growing kindliness in his tone, as if the pathetic delusion\nof such a man really touched him. \"You pay, or you don't pay, just as it\nhappens. If you get hit soon after you've done wrong, you think it's\nretribution, and if it holds off till you've forgotten all about it, you\nthink it's a strange Providence, and you puzzle over it, but you don't\nreform. You keep right along in the old way. Prosperity and adversity,\nthey've got nothing to do with conduct. If you're a strong man, you get\nthere, and if you're a weak man, all the righteousness in the universe\nwon't help you. But I propose to do what's right about Cynthia, and not\nwhat's wrong; and according to your own theory, of life--which won't hold\nwater a minute--I ought to be blessed to the third and fourth generation.\nI don't look for that, though. I shall be blessed if I look out for\nmyself; and if I don't, I shall suffer for my want of foresight. But I\nsha'n't suffer for anything else. Well, I'm going to cut some of my\nrecitations, and I'm going up to Lion's Head, to-morrow, to settle my\nbusiness with Cynthia. I've got a little business to look after here with\nsome one else first, and I guess I shall have to be about it. I don't\nknow which I shall like the best.\" He rose, and went over to where\nWestover was sitting, and held out his hand to him.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Westover.\n\n\"Any commands for Lion's Head?\" Jeff said, as at first.\n\n\"No,\" said Westover, turning his face away.\n\n\"Oh, all right.\" Durgin put his hand into his pocket unshaken.\n\n\n\n\nXLIV\n\n\"What is it, Jeff?\" asked Cynthia, the next night, as they started out\ntogether after supper, and began to stroll down the hill toward her\nfather's house. It lay looking very little and low in the nook at the\nfoot of the lane, on the verge of the woods that darkened away to the\nnorthward from it, under the glassy night sky, lit with the spare young\nmoon. The peeping of the frogs in the marshy places filled the air; the\nhoarse voice of the brook made itself heard at intervals through them.\n\n\"It's not so warm here, quite, as it is in Boston,\" he returned. \"Are you\nwrapped up enough? This air has an edge to it.\"\n\n\"I'm all right,\" said the girl. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"You think there's something? You don't believe I've come up for rest\nover Sunday? I guess mother herself didn't, and I could see your father\nfollowing up my little lies as if he wa'n't going to let one escape him.\nWell, you're right. There is something. Think of the worst thing you can,\nCynthy!\"\n\nShe pulled her hand out of his arm, which she had taken, and halted him\nby her abrupt pause. \"You're not going to get through!\"\n\n\"I'm all right on my conditions,\" said Jeff, with forlorn derision.\n\"You'll have to guess again.\" He stood looking back over his shoulder at\nher face, which showed white in the moonlight, swathed airily round in\nthe old-fashioned soft woollen cloud she wore.\n\n\"Is it some trouble you've got into? I shall stand by you!\"\n\n\"Oh, you splendid girl! The trouble's over, but it's something you can't\nstand by me in, I guess. You know that girl I wrote to you about--the one\nI met at the college tea, and--\"\n\n\"Yes! Miss Lynde!\"\n\n\"Come on! We can't stay here talking. Let's go down and sit on your\nporch.\" She mechanically obeyed him, and they started on together down\nthe hill again; but she did not offer to take his arm, and he kept the\nwidth of the roadway from her.\n\n\"What about her?\" she quietly asked.\n\n\"Last night I ended up the flirtation I've been carrying on with her ever\nsince.\"\n\n\"I want to know just what you mean, Jeff.\"\n\n\"I mean that last week I got engaged to her, and last night I broke with\nher.\" Cynthia seemed to stumble on something; he sprang over and caught.\nher, and now she put her hand in his arm, and stayed herself by him as\nthey walked.\n\n\"Go on,\" she said.\n\n\"That's all there is of it.\"\n\n\"No!\" She stopped, and then she asked, with a kind of gentle\nbewilderment: \"What did you want to tell me for?\"\n\n\"To let you break with me--if you wanted to.\"\n\n\"Don't you care for me any more?\"\n\n\"Yes, more than ever I did. But I'm not fit for you, Cynthia. Mr.\nWestover said I wasn't. I told him about it--\"\n\n\"What did he say?\"\n\n\"That I ought to break with you.\"\n\n\"But if you broke with her?\"\n\n\"He told me to stick to her. He was right about you, Cynthy. I'm not fit\nfor you, and that's a fact.\"\n\n\"What was it about that girl? Tell me everything.\" She spoke in a tone of\nplaintive entreaty, very unlike the command she once used with Jeff when\nshe was urging him to be frank with her and true to himself. They had\ncome to her father's house and she freed her hand from his arm again, and\nsat down on the step before the side door with a little sigh as of\nfatigue.\n\n\"You'll take cold,\" said Jeff, who remained on foot in front of her.\n\n\"No,\" she said, briefly. \"Go on.\"\n\n\"Why,\" Jeff began, harshly, and with a note of scorn for himself and his\ntheme in his voice, \"there isn't any more of it, but there's no end to\nher. I promised Mr. Westover I shouldn't whitewash myself, and I sha'n't.\nI've been behaving badly, and it's no excuse for me because she wanted me\nto. I began to go for her as soon as I saw that she wanted me to, and\nthat she liked the excitement. The excitement is all that she cared for;\nshe didn't care for me except for the excitement of it. She thought she\ncould have fun with me, and then throw me over; but I guess she found her\nmatch. You couldn't understand such a girl, and I don't brag of it. All\nshe cared for was to flirt with me, and she liked it all the more because\nI was a jay and she could get something new out of it. I can't explain\nit; but I could see it right along. She fooled herself more than she\nfooled me.\"\n\n\"Was she--very good-looking?\" Cynthia asked, listlessly.\n\n\"No!\" shouted Jeff. \"She wasn't good-looking at all. She was dark and\nthin, and she had little slanting eyes; but she was graceful, and she\nknew how to make herself go further than any girl I ever saw. If she came\ninto a room, she made you look at her, or you had to somehow. She was\nbright, too; and she had more sense than all the other girls there put\ntogether. But she was a fool, all the same.\" Jeff paused. \"Is that\nenough?\"\n\n\"It isn't all.\"\n\n\"No, it isn't all. We didn't meet much at first, but I got to walking\nhome with her from some teas; and then we met at a big ball. I danced\nwith her the whole while nearly, and--and I took her brother home--Pshaw!\nHe was drunk; and I--well, he had got drunk drinking with me at the ball.\nThe wine didn't touch me, but it turned his head; and I took him home;\nhe's a drunkard, anyway. She let us in when we got to their house, and\nthat kind of made a tie between us. She pretended to think she was under\nobligations to me, and so I got to going to her house.\"\n\n\"Did she know how her brother got drunk?\"\n\n\"She does now. I told her last night.\"\n\n\"How came you to tell her?\"\n\n\"I wanted to break with her. I wanted to stop it, once for all, and I\nthought that would do it, if anything would.\"\n\n\"Did that make her willing to give you up?\"\n\nJeff checked himself in a sort of retrospective laugh. \"I'm not so sure.\nI guess she liked the excitement of that, too. You couldn't understand\nthe kind of girl she--She wanted to flirt with me that night I brought\nhim home tipsy.\"\n\n\"I don't care to hear any more about her. Why did you give her up?\"\n\n\"Because I didn't care for her, and I did care for you, Cynthy.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it.\" Cynthia rose from the step, where she had been\nsitting, as if with renewed strength. \"Go up and tell father to come down\nhere. I want to see him.\" She turned and put her hand on the latch of the\ndoor.\n\n\"You're not going in there, Cynthia,\" said Jeff. \"It must be like death\nin there.\"\n\n\"It's more like death out here. But if it's the cold you mean, you\nneedn't be troubled. We've had a fire to-day, airing out the house. Will\nyou go?\"\n\n\"But what do you--what are you going to say to me?\"\n\n\"I don't know, yet. If I said anything now, I should tell you what Mr.\nWestover did: go back to that girl, if she'll let you. You're fit for\neach other, as he said. Did you tell her that you were engaged to some\none else?\"\n\n\"I did, last night.\"\n\n\"But before that she didn't know how false you were. Well, you're not fit\nfor her, then; you're not good enough.\"\n\nShe opened the door and went in, closing it after her. Jeff turned and\nwalked slowly away; then he came quickly back, as if he were going to\nfollow her within. But through the window he saw her as she stood by the\ntable with a lamp in her hand. She had turned up the light, which shone\nfull in her face and revealed its severe beauty broken and writhen with\nthe effort to repress her weeping. He might not have minded the severity\nor the beauty, but the pathos was more than he could stand. \"Oh, Lord!\"\nhe said, with a shrug, and he turned again and walked slowly up the hill.\n\nWhen Whitwell faced his daughter in the little sitting-room, whose low\nceiling his hat almost touched as he stood before her, the storm had\npassed with her, and her tear-drenched visage wore its wonted look of\nstill patience.\n\n\"Did Jeff tell you why I sent for you, father?\"\n\n\"No. But I knew it was trouble,\" said Whitwell, with a dignity which-his\nsympathy for her gave a countenance better adapted to the expression of\nthe lighter emotions.\n\n\"I guess you were right about him,\" she resumed: She went on to tell in\nbrief the story that Jeff had told her. Her father did not interrupt her,\nbut at the end he said, inadequately: \"He's a comical devil. I knew about\nhis gittin' that feller drunk. Mr. Westover told me when he was up here.\"\n\n\"Mr. Westover did!\" said Cynthia, in a note of indignation.\n\n\"He didn't offer to,\" Whitwell explained. \"I got it out of him in spite\nof him, I guess.\" He had sat down with his hat on, as his absent-minded\nhabit was, and he now braced his knees against the edge of the table.\nCynthia sat across it from him with her head drooped over it, drawing\nvague figures on the board with her finger. \"What are you goin' to do?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she answered.\n\n\"I guess you don't quite realize it yet,\" her father suggested, tenderly.\n\"Well, I don't want to hurry you any. Take your time.\"\n\n\"I guess I realize it,\" said the girl.\n\n\"Well, it's a pootty plain case, that's a fact,\" Whitwell conceded. She\nwas silent, and he asked: \"How did he come to tell you?\"\n\n\"It's what he came up for. He began to tell me at once. I was certain\nthere was some trouble.\"\n\n\"Was it his notion to come, I wonder, or Mr. Westover's?\"\n\n\"It was his. But Mr. Westover told him to break off with me, and keep on\nwith her, if she would let him.\"\n\n\"I guess that was pootty good advice,\" said Whitwell, letting his face\nbetray his humorous relish of it. \"I guess there's a pair of 'em.\"\n\n\"She was not playing any one else false,\" said Cynthia, bitterly.\n\n\"Well, I guess that's so, too,\" her father assented. \"'Ta'n't so much of\na muchness as you might think, in that light.\" He took refuge from the\nsubject in an undirected whistle.\n\nAfter a moment the girl asked, forlornly: \"What should you do, father, if\nyou were in my place?\"\n\n\"Well, there I guess you got me, Cynthy,\" said her father. \"I don't\nbelieve 't any man, I don't care how old he is, or how much experience\nhe's had, knows exactly how a girl feels about a thing like this, or has\ngot any call to advise her. Of course, the way I feel is like takin' the\ntop of his head off. But I d' know,\" he added, \"as that would do a great\ndeal of good, either. I presume a woman's got rather of a chore to get\nalong with a man, anyway. We a'n't any of us much to brag on. It's out o'\nsight, out o' mind, with the best of us, I guess.\"\n\n\"It wouldn't be with Jackson--it wouldn't be with Mr. Westover.\"\n\n\"There a'n't many men like Mr. Westover--well, not a great many; or\nJackson, either. Time! I wish Jackson was home! He'd know how to\nstraighten this thing out, and he wouldn't weaken over Jeff much--well,\nnot much. But he a'n't here, and you've got to act for yourself. The way\nI look at it is this: you took Jeff when you knowed what a comical devil\nhe was, and I presume you ha'n't got quite the same right to be\ndisappointed in what he done as if you hadn't knowed. Now mind, I a'n't\nexcusin' him. But if you knowed he was the feller to play the devil if he\ngot a chance, the question is whether--whether--\"\n\n\"I know what you mean, father,\" said the girl, \"and I don't want to shirk\nmy responsibility. It was everything to have him come right up and tell\nme.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Whitwell, impartially, \"as far forth as that goes, I don't\nthink he's strained himself. He'd know you would hear of it sooner or\nlater anyway, and he ha'n't just found out that he was goin' wrong. Been\nkeepin' it up for the last three months, and writin' you all the while\nthem letters you was so crazy to get.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" sighed the girl. \"But we've got to be just to his disposition as\nwell as his actions. I can see it in one light that can excuse it some.\nHe can't bear to be put down, and I know he's been left out a good deal\namong the students, and it's made him bitter. He told me about it; that's\none reason why he wanted to leave Harvard this last year. He saw other\nyoung men made much of, when he didn't get any notice; and when he had\nthe chance to pay them back with a girl of their own set that was trying\nto make a fool of him--\"\n\n\"That was the time for him to remember you,\" said Whitwell.\n\nCynthia broke under the defence she was trying to make. \"Yes,\" she said,\nwith an indrawn sigh, and she began to sob piteously.\n\nThe sight of her grief seemed to kindle her father's wrath to a flame.\n\"Any way you look at him, he's been a dumn blackguard; that's what he's\nbeen. You're a million times too good for him; and I--\"\n\nShe sobbed herself quiet, and then she said: \"Father, I don't like to go\nup there to-night. I want to stay here.\"\n\n\"All right, Cynthia. I'll come down and stay with you. You got everything\nwe want here?\"\n\n\"Yes. And I'll go up and get the breakfast for them in the morning. There\nwon't be much to do.\"\n\n\"Dumn 'em! Let 'em get their own breakfast!\" said Whitwell, recklessly.\n\n\"And, father,\" the girl went on as if he had not spoken, \"don't you talk\nto Mrs. Durgin about it, will you?\"\n\n\"No, no. I sha'n't speak to her. I'll just tell Frank you and me are\ngoin' to stay down here to-night. She'll suspicion something, but she can\nfigure it out for herself. Or she can make Jeff tell her. It can't be\nkept from her.\"\n\n\"Well, let him be the one to tell her. Whatever happens, I shall never\nspeak of it to a soul besides you.\"\n\n\"All right, Cynthy. You'll have the night to think it over--I guess you\nwon't sleep much--and I'll trust you to do what's the best thing about\nit.\"\n\n\n\n\nXLV.\n\nCynthia found Mrs. Durgin in the old farm-house kitchen at work getting\nbreakfast when she came up to the hotel in the morning. She was early,\nbut the elder woman had been earlier still, and her heavy face showed\nmore of their common night-long trouble than the girl's.\n\nShe demanded, at sight of her, \"What's the matter with you and Jeff,\nCynthy?\"\n\nCynthia was unrolling the cloud from her hair. She said, as she tied on\nher apron: \"You must get him to tell you, Mrs. Durgin.\"\n\n\"Then there is something?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Has Jeff been using you wrong?\"\n\nCynthia stooped to open the oven door, and to turn the pan of biscuit she\nfound inside. She shut the door sharply to, and said, as she rose: \"I\ndon't want to tell anything about it, and I sha'n't, Mrs. Durgin. He can\ndo it, if he wants to. Shall I make the coffee?\"\n\n\"Yes; you seem to make it better than I do. Do you think I shouldn't\nbelieve you was fair to him?\"\n\n\"I wasn't thinking of that. But it's his secret. If he wants to keep it,\nhe can keep it, for all me.\"\n\n\"You ha'n't give each other up?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" Cynthia turned away with a trembling chin, and began to\nbeat the coffee up with an egg she had dropped into the pot. She put the\nbreakfast on the table when it was ready, but she would not sit down with\nthe rest. She said she did not want any breakfast, and she drank a cup of\ncoffee in the kitchen.\n\nIt fell to Jeff mainly to keep the talk going. He had been out at the\nbarn with Jombateeste since daybreak, looking after the cattle, and the\njoy of the weather had got into his nerves and spirits. At first he had\nlain awake after he went to bed, but he had fallen asleep about midnight,\nand got a good night's rest. He looked fresh and strong and very\nhandsome. He talked resolutely to every one at the table, but Jombateeste\nwas always preoccupied with eating at his meals, and Frank Whitwell had\non a Sunday silence, which was perhaps deepened by a feeling that there\nwas something wrong between his sister and Jeff, and it would be rash to\ncommit himself to an open friendliness until he understood the case. His\nfather met Jeff's advances with philosophical blandness and evasion, and\nMrs. Durgin was provisionally dry and severe both with the Whitwells and\nher son. After breakfast she went to the parlor, and Jeff set about a\ntour of the hotel, inside and out. He looked carefully to the details of\nits winter keeping. Then he came back and boldly joined his mother where\nshe sat before her stove, whose subdued heat she found pleasant in the\nlingering cold of the early spring.\n\nHe tossed his hat on the table beside her, and sat down on the other side\nof the stove. \"Well, I must say the place has been well looked after. I\ndon't believe Jackson himself could have kept it in better shape. When\nwas the last you heard from him?\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said his mother, gravely, \"you've been lookin' after your end\nat Boston, too.\"\n\n\"Well, not as well as you have here, mother,\" said Jeff, candidly. \"Has\nCynthy told you?\"\n\n\"I guess she expected you to tell me, if there was anything.\"\n\n\"There's a lot; but I guess I needn't go over it all. I've been playing\nthe devil.\"\n\n\"Jeff!\"\n\n\"Yes, I have. I've been going with another girl down there, one the kind\nyou wanted me to make up to, and I went so far I--well, I made love to\nher; and then I thought it over, and found out I didn't really care for\nher, and I had to tell her so, and then I came up to tell Cynthy. That's\nabout the size of it. What do you think of it?\"\n\n\"D' you tell Cynthy?\"\n\n\"Yes, I told her.\"\n\n\"What 'd she say?\"\n\n\"She said I'd better go back to the other girl.\" Jeff laughed hardily,\nbut his mother remained impassive.\n\n\"I guess she's right; I guess you had.\"\n\n\"That seems to be the general opinion. That's what Mr. Westover advised.\nI seem to be the only one against it. I suppose you mean that I'm not fit\nfor Cynthy. I don't deny it. All I say is I want her, and I don't want\nthe other one. What are you going to do in a case like that?\"\n\n\"The way I should look at it,\" said his mother, \"is this: whatever you\nare, Cynthy made you. You was a lazy, disobedient, worthless boy, and it\nwas her carin' for you from the first that put any spirit and any\nprinciple into you. It was her that helped you at school when you was\nlittle things together; and she helped you at the academy, and she's\nhelped you at college. I'll bet she could take a degree, or whatever it\nis, at Harvard better than you could now; and if you ever do take a\ndegree, you've got her to thank for it.\"\n\n\"That's so,\" said Jeff. \"And what's the reason you didn't want me to\nmarry her when I came in here last summer and told you I'd asked her to?\"\n\n\"You know well enough what the reason was. It was part of the same thing\nas my wantin' you to be a lawyer; but I might knowed that if you didn't\nhave Cynthy to go into court with you, and put the words into your mouth,\nyou wouldn't make a speech that would\"--Mrs. Durgin paused for a fitting\nfigure--\"save a flea from the gallows.\"\n\nJeff burst into a laugh. \"Well, I guess that's so, mother. And now you\nwant me to throw away the only chance I've got of learning how to run\nLion's Head in the right way by breaking with Cynthy.\"\n\n\"Nobody wants you to run Lion's Head for a while yet,\" his mother\nreturned, scornfully. \"Jackson is going to run Lion's Head. He'll be home\nthe end of June, and I'll run Lion's Head till he gets here. You talk,\"\nshe went on, \"as if it was in your hands to break with Cynthy, or throw\naway the chance with her. The way I look at it, she's broke with you, and\nyou ha'n't got any chance with her. Oh, Jeff,\" she suddenly appealed to\nhim, \"tell me all about it! What have you been up to? If I understood it\nonce, I know I can make her see it in the right light.\"\n\n\"The better you understand it, mother, the less you'll like it; and I\nguess Cynthy sees it in the right light already. What did she say?\"\n\n\"Nothing. She said she'd leave it to you.\"\n\n\"Well, that's like Cynthy. I'll tell you, then,\" said Jeff; and he told\nhis mother his whole affair with Bessie Lynde. He had to be very\nelemental, and he was aware, as he had never been before, of the\ndifference between Bessie's world and his mother's world, in trying to\nmake Bessie's world conceivable to her.\n\nHe was patient in going over every obscure point, and illustrating from\nthe characters and condition of different summer folks the facts of\nBessie's entourage. It is doubtful, however, if he succeeded in conveying\nto his mother a clear and just notion of the purely chic nature of the\ngirl. In the end she seemed to conceive of her simply as a hussy, and so\npronounced her, without limit or qualification, in spite of Jeff's\nlaughing attempt to palliate her behavior, and to inculpate himself. She\nsaid she did not see what he had done that was so much out of the way.\nThat thing had led him on from the beginning; she had merely got her\ncome-uppings, when all was said. Mrs. Durgin believed Cynthia would look\nat it as she did, if she could have it put before her rightly. Jeff shook\nhis head with persistent misgiving. His notion was that Cynthia saw the\naffair only too clearly, and that there was no new light to be thrown on\nit from her point of view. Mrs. Durgin would not allow this; she was sure\nthat she could bring Cynthia round; and she asked Jeff whether it was his\ngetting that fellow drunk that she seemed to blame him for the most. He\nanswered that he thought that was pretty bad, but he did not believe that\nwas the worst thing in Cynthia's eyes. He did not forbid his mother's\ntrying to do what she could with her, and he went away for a walk, and\nleft the house to the two women. Jombateeste was in the barn, which he\npreferred to the house, and Frank Whitwell had gone to church over at the\nHuddle. As Jeff passed Whitwell's cottage in setting out on his stroll he\nsaw the philosopher through the window, seated with his legs on the\ntable, his hat pushed back, and his spectacles fallen to the point of his\nnose, reading, and moving his lips as he read.\n\nThe forenoon sun was soft, but the air was cool.\n\nThere was still plenty of snow on the upper <DW72>s of the hills, and\nthere was a drift here and there in a corner of pasture wall in the\nvalley; but the springtime green was beginning to hover over the wet\nplaces in the fields; the catkins silvered the golden tracery of the\nwillow branches by the brook; there was a buzz of bees about them, and\nabout the maples, blackened by the earlier flow of sap through the holes\nin the bark made by the woodpeckers' bills. Now and then the tremolo of a\nbluebird shook in the tender light and the keen air. At one point in the\nroad where the sun fell upon some young pines in a sheltered spot a\nbalsamic odor exhaled from them.\n\nThese gentle sights and sounds and odors blended in the influence which\nJeff's spirit felt more and more. He realized that he was a blot on the\nloveliness of the morning. He had a longing to make atonement and to win\nforgiveness. His heart was humbled toward Cynthia, and he went wondering\nhow his mother would make it out with her, and how, if she won him any\nadvantage, he should avail himself of it and regain the girl's trust; he\nhad no doubt of her love. He perceived that there was nothing for him\nhereafter but the most perfect constancy of thought and deed, and he\ndesired nothing better.\n\nAt a turn of his road where it branched toward the Huddle a group of\nyoung girls stood joking and laughing; before Jeff came up with them they\nseparated, and all but one continued on the way beyond the turning. She\ncame toward Jeff, who gayly recognized her as she drew near.\n\nShe blushed and bridled at his bow and at his beauty and splendor, and in\nher embarrassment pertly said that she did not suppose he would have\nremembered her. She was very young, but at fifteen a country girl is not\nso young as her town sister at eighteen in the ways of the other sex.\n\nJeff answered that he should have known her anywhere, in spite of her\nlooking so much older than she did in the summer when she had come with\nberries to the hotel. He said she must be feeling herself quite a young\nlady now, in her long dresses, and he praised the dress which she had on.\nHe said it became her style; and he found such relief from his heavy\nthoughts in these harmless pleasantries that he kept on with them. He had\ninvoluntarily turned with her to walk back to her house on the way he had\ncome, and he asked her if he might not carry her catkins for her. She had\na sheaf of them in the hollow of her slender arm, which seemed to him\nvery pretty, and after a little struggle she yielded them to him. The\nstruggle gave him still greater relief from his self-reproach, and at her\ngate he begged her to let him keep one switch of the pussywillows, and he\nstood a moment wondering whether he might not ask her for something else.\nShe chose one from the bundle, and drew it lightly across his face before\nshe put it in his hand. \"You may have this for Cynthy,\" she said, and she\nran laughingly up the pathway to her door.\n\n\n\n\nXLVI\n\nCynthia did not appear at dinner, and Jeff asked his mother when he saw\nher alone if she had spoken to the girl. \"Yes, but she said she did not\nwant to talk yet.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he returned. \"I'm going to take a nap; I believe I feel as\nif I hadn't slept for a month.\"\n\nHe slept the greater part of the afternoon, and came down rather dull to\nthe early tea. Cynthia was absent again, and his mother was silent and\nwore a troubled look. Whitwell was full of a novel conception of the\nagency of hypnotism in interpreting the life of the soul as it is\nintimated in dreams. He had been reading a book that affirmed the\nconsubstantiality of the sleep-dream and the hypnotic illusion. He wanted\nto know if Jeff, down at Boston, had seen anything of the hypnotic doings\nthat would throw light on this theory.\n\nIt was still full light when they rose from the table, and it was\nscarcely twilight when Jeff heard Cynthia letting herself out at the back\ndoor. He fancied her going down to her father's house, and he went out to\nthe corner of the hotel to meet her. She faltered a moment at sight of\nhim, and then kept on with averted face.\n\nHe joined her, and walked beside her. \"Well, Cynthy, what are you going\nto say to me? I'm off for Cambridge again to-morrow morning, and I\nsuppose we've got to understand each other. I came up here to put myself\nin your hands, to keep or to throw away, just as you please. Well? Have\nyou thought about it?\"\n\n\"Every minute,\" said the girl, quietly.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"If you had cared for me, it couldn't have happened.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, it could. Now that's just where you're mistaken. That's where a\nwoman never can understand a man. I might carry on with half a dozen\ngirls, and yet never forget you, or think less of you, although I could\nsee all the time how pretty and bright every one of 'em was. That's the\nway a man's mind is built. It's curious, but it's true.\"\n\n\"I don't believe I care for any share in your mind, then,\" said the girl.\n\n\"Oh, come, now! You don't mean that. You know I was just joking; you know\nI don't justify what I've done, and I don't excuse it. But I think I've\nacted pretty square with you about it--about telling you, I mean. I don't\nwant to lay any claim, but you remember when you made me promise that if\nthere was anything shady I wanted to hide from you--Well, I acted on\nthat. You do remember?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Cynthia, and she pulled the cloud over the side of her face\nnext to him, and walked a little faster.\n\nHe hastened his steps to keep up with her. \"Cynthy, if you put your arms\nround me, as you did then--\"\n\n\"I can't Jeff!\"\n\n\"You don't want to.\"\n\n\"Yes, I do! But you don't want me to, as you did then. Do you?\" She\nstopped abruptly and faced him full. \"Tell me, honestly!\"\n\nJeff dropped his bold eyes, and the smile left his handsome mouth.\n\n\"You don't,\" said the girl, \"for you know that if you did, I would do\nit.\" She began to walk on again. \"It wouldn't be hard for me to forgive\nyou anything you've done against me--or against yourself; I should care\nfor you the same--if you were the same person; but you're not the same,\nand you know it. I told you then--that time that I didn't want to make\nyou do what you knew was right, and I never shall try to do it again. I'm\nsorry I did it then. I was wrong. And I should be afraid of you if I did\nnow. Some time you would make me suffer for it, just as you've made me\nsuffer for making you do then what was right.\"\n\nIt struck Jeff as a very curious fact that Cynthia must always have known\nhim better than he knew himself in some ways, for he now perceived the\ntruth and accuracy of her words. He gave her mind credit for the\npenetration due her heart; he did not understand that it is through their\nlove women divine the souls of men. What other witnesses of his character\nhad slowly and carefully reasoned out from their experience of him she\nhad known from the beginning, because he was dear to her.\n\nHe was silent, and then, with rare gravity, he said, \"Cynthia, I believe\nyou're right,\" and he never knew how her heart leaped toward him at his\nwords. \"I'm a pretty bad chap, I guess. But I want you to give me another\nchance and I'll try not to make you pay for it, either,\" he added, with a\nflicker of his saucy humor.\n\n\"I'll give you a chance, then,\" she said, and she shrank from the hand he\nput out toward her. \"Go back and tell that girl you're free now, and if\nshe wants you she can have you.\"\n\n\"Is that what you call a chance?\" demanded Jeff, between anger and\ninjury. For an instant he imagined her deriding him and revenging\nherself.\n\n\"It's the only one I can give you. She's never tried to make you do what\nwas right, and you'll never be tempted to hurt her.\"\n\n\"You're pretty rough on me, Cynthy,\" Jeff protested, almost plaintively.\nHe asked, more in character: \"Ain't you afraid of making me do right,\nnow?\"\n\n\"I'm not making you. I don't promise you anything, even if she won't have\nyou.\"\n\n\"Oh!\"\n\n\"Did you suppose I didn't mean that you were free? That I would put a lie\nin your mouth for you to be true with?\"\n\n\"I guess you're too deep for me,\" said Jeff, after a sulky silence.\n\n\"Then it's all off between us? What do you say?\"\n\n\"What do you say?\"\n\n\"I say it's just as it was before, if you care for me.\"\n\n\"I care for you, but it can never be the same as it was before. What\nyou've done, you've done. I wish I could help it, but I can't. I can't\nmake myself over into what I was twenty-four hours ago. I seem another\nperson, in another world; it's as if I died, and came to life somewhere\nelse. I'm sorry enough, if that could help, but it can't. Go and tell\nthat girl the truth: that you came up here to me, and I sent you back to\nher.\"\n\nA gleam of amusement visited Jeff in the gloom where he seemed to be\ndarkling. He fancied doing that very thing with Bessie Lynde, and the\nwild joy she would snatch from an experience so unique, so impossible.\nThen the gleam faded. \"And what if I didn't want her?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Tell her that too,\" said Cynthia.\n\n\"I suppose,\" said Jeff, sulkily, \"you'll let me go away and do as I\nplease, if I'm free.\"\n\n\"Oh yes. I don't want you to do anything because I told you. I won't make\nthat mistake again. Go and do what you are able to do of your own free\nwill. You know what you ought to do as well as I do; and you know a great\ndeal better what you can do.\"\n\nThey had reached Cynthia's house, and they were talking at the side door,\nas they had the night before, when there had been hope for her in the\nnewness of her calamity, before she had yet fully imagined it.\n\nJeff made no answer to her last words. He asked, \"Am I going to see you\nagain?\"\n\n\"I guess not. I don't believe I shall be up before you start.\"\n\n\"All right. Good-bye, then.\" He held out his hand, and she put hers in it\nfor the moment he chose to hold it. Then he turned and slowly climbed the\nhill.\n\nCynthia was still lying with her face in her pillow when her father came\ninto the dark little house, and peered into her room with the newly\nlighted lamp in his hand. She turned her face quickly over and looked at\nhim with dry and shining eyes.\n\n\"Well, it's all over with Jeff and me, father.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm satisfied,\" said Whitwell. \"If you could ha' made it up, so\nyou could ha' felt right about it, I shouldn't ha' had anything to say\nagainst it, but I'm glad it's turned out the way it has. He's a comical\ndevil, and he always was, and I'm glad you a'n't takin' on about him any\nmore. You used to have so much spirit when you was little.\"\n\n\"Oh,--spirit! You don't know how much spirit I've had, now.\"\n\n\"Well, I presume not,\" Whitwell assented.\n\n\"I've been thinking,\" said the girl, after a little pause, \"that we shall\nhave to go away from here.\"\n\n\"Well, I guess not,\" her father began. \"Not for no Jeff Dur--\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. We must! Don't make one talk about it. We'll stay here till\nJackson gets back in June, and then--we must go somewhere else. We'll go\ndown to Boston, and I'll try to get a place to teach, or something, and\nFrank can get a place.\"\n\n\"I presume,\" Whitwell mused, \"that Mr. Westover could--\"\n\n\"Father!\" cried the girl, with an energy that startled him, as she lifted\nherself on her elbow. \"Don't ever think of troubling Mr. Westover! Oh,\"\nshe lamented, \"I was thinking of troubling him myself! But we mustn't, we\nmustn't! I should be so ashamed!\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Whitwell, \"time enough to think about all that. We got two\ngood months yet to plan it out before Jackson gets back, and I guess we\ncan think of something before that. I presume,\" he added, thoughtfully,\n\"that when Mrs. Durgin hears that you've give Jeff the sack, she'll make\nconsid'able of a kick. She done it when you got engaged.\"\n\n\n\n\nXLVII.\n\nAfter he went back to Cambridge, Jeff continued mechanically in the\ndirection given him by motives which had ceased for him. In the midst of\nhis divergence with Bessie Lynde he had still kept an inner fealty to\nCynthia, and tried to fulfil the purposes and ambition she had for him.\nThe operation of this habitual allegiance now kept him up to his work,\nbut the time must come when it could no longer operate, when his whole\nconsciousness should accept the fact known to his intelligence, and he\nshould recognize the close of that incident of his life as the bereaved\nfinally accept and recognize the fact of death.\n\nThe event brought him relief, and it brought him freedom. He was sensible\nin his relaxation of having strained up to another's ideal, of having\nbeen hampered by another's will. His pleasure in the relief was tempered\nby a regret, not wholly unpleasant, for the girl whose aims, since they\nwere no longer his, must be disappointed. He was sorry for Cynthia, and\nin his remorse he was fonder of her than he had ever been. He felt her\nmagnanimity and clemency; he began to question, in that wordless deep of\nbeing where volition begins, whether it would not be paying a kind of\nduty to her if he took her at her word and tried to go back to Bessie\nLynde. But for the present he did nothing but renounce all notion of\nworking at his conditions, or attempting to take a degree. That was part\nof a thing that was past, and was no part of anything to come, so far as\nJeff now forecast his future.\n\nHe did not choose to report himself to Westover, and risk a scolding, or\na snubbing. He easily forgave Westover for the tone he had taken at their\nlast meeting, but he did not care to see him. He would have met him\nhalf-way, however, in a friendly advance, and he was aware of much\ngood-will toward him, which he could not have been reluctant to show if\nchance had brought them together.\n\nJeff missed Cynthia's letters which used to come so regularly every\nTuesday, and he had a half-hour every Sunday which was at first rather\npainfully vacant since he no longer wrote to her. But in this vacancy he\nhad at least no longer the pang of self-reproach which her letters always\nbrought him, and he was not obliged to put himself to the shame of\nconcealment in writing to her. He had never minded that tacit lying on\nhis own account, but he hated it in relation to her; it always hurt him\nas something incongruous and unfit. He wrote to his mother now on Sunday,\nand in his first letter, while the impression of Cynthia's dignity and\ngenerosity was still vivid, he urged her to make it clear to the girl\nthat he wished her and her family to remain at Lion's Head as if nothing\nhad happened. He put a great deal of real feeling into this request, and\nhe offered to go and spend a year in Europe, if his mother thought that\nCynthia would be more reconciled to his coming back at the end of that\ntime.\n\nHis mother answered with a dryness to which his ear supplied the tones of\nher voice, that she would try to get along in the management of Lion's\nHead till his brother got back, but that she had no objection to his\ngoing to Europe for a year if he had the money to spare. Jeff could not\nrefuse her joke, as he felt it, a certain applause, but he thought it\npretty rough that his mother should take part so decidedly against him as\nshe seemed to be doing. He had expected her to be angry with him, but\nbefore they parted she had seemed to find some excuse for him, and yet\nhere she was siding against her own son in what he might very well\nconsider an unnatural way. If Jackson had been at home he would have laid\nit to his charge; but he knew that Cynthia would have scorned even to\nspeak of him with his mother, and he knew too well his mother's slight\nfor Whitwell to suppose that he could have influenced her. His mind\nturned in momentary suspicion to Westover. Had Westover, he wondered,\nwith a purpose to pay him up for it forming itself simultaneously with\nhis question, been setting his mother against him? She might have written\nto Westover to get at the true inwardness of his behavior, and Westover\nmight have written her something that had made her harden her heart\nagainst him. But upon reflection this seemed out of character for both of\nthem; and Jeff was thrown back upon his mother's sober second thought of\nhis misconduct for an explanation of her coldness. He could not deny that\nhe had grievously disappointed her in several ways. But he did not see\nwhy he should not take a certain hint from her letter, or construct a\nhint from it, at one with a vague intent prompted by his own restless and\ncurious vanity. Since he had parted with Bessie Lynde, on terms of\nhumiliation for her which must have been anguish for him if he had ever\nloved her, or loved anything but his power over her, he had remained in\nabsolute ignorance of her. He had not heard where she was or how she was;\nbut now, as the few weeks before Class Day and Commencement crumbled\naway, he began to wonder why she made no sign. He believed that since she\nhad been willing to go so far to get him, she would not be willing to\ngive him up so easily. The thought of Cynthia had always intruded more or\nless effectively between them, but now that this thought began to fade\ninto the past, the thought of Bessie began to grow out of it with no\ninterposing shadow.\n\nHowever, Jeff was in no hurry. It was not passion that moved him, and the\nmood in which he could play with the notion of getting back to his\nflirtation with Bessie Lynde was pleasanter after the violence of recent\nevents than any renewal of strong sensations could be. He preferred to\nloiter in this mood, and he was meantime much more comfortable than he\nhad been for a great while. He was rid of the disagreeable sense of\ndisloyalty to Cynthia, and he was rid of the stress of living up to her\nconscience in various ways. He was rid of Bessie Lynde, too, and of the\ntrouble of forecasting and discounting her caprices. His thought turned\nat times with a soft regret to hopes, disappointments, experiences\nconnected with neither, and now tinged with a tender melancholy,\nunalloyed by shame or remorse. As he drew nearer to Class Day he had a\nsomewhat keener compunction for Cynthia and the hopes he had encouraged\nher to build and had then dashed. But he was coming more and more to\nregard it all as fatality; and if the chance that he counted upon to\nbring him and Bessie together again had occurred he could have more\neasily forgiven himself.\n\nOne of the jays, who was spreading on rather a large scale, wanted Jeff\nto spread with him, but he refused, because, as he said, he meant to keep\nout of it altogether; and for the same reason he declined to take part in\nthe spread of a rather jay society he belonged to. In his secret heart he\ntrusted that some friendly fortuity might throw an invitation to Beck\nHall in his way, or at least a card for the Gym, which, if no longer the\nplace it had been, was still by no means jay. He got neither; but as he\nfelt all the joy of the June day in his young blood he consoled himself\nvery well with the dancing at one of the halls, where the company\nhappened that year to be openly, almost recklessly jay. Jeff had some\ndistinction among the fellows who enviously knew of his social success\nduring the winter, and especially of his affair with Bessie Lynde; and\nthere were some girls very pretty and very well dressed among the crowd\nof girls who were neither. They were from remote parts of the country,\nand in the charge of chaperons ignorant of the differences so poignant to\nlocal society. Jeff went about among them, and danced with the sisters\nand cousins of several men who seemed superior to the lost condition of\ntheir kinswomen; these were nice fellows enough, but doomed by their\ngrinding, or digging, or their want of worldly wisdom, to a place among\nthe jays, when they really had some qualifications for a nobler standing.\nHe had a very good time, and he was enjoying himself in his devotion to a\nlively young brunette whom he was making laugh with his jokes about some\nof the others, when his eye was caught by a group of ladies who advanced\namong the jays with something of that collective intrepidity and\nindividual apprehension characteristic of people in slumming. They had\nthe air of not knowing what might happen to them, but the adventurous\nyoung Boston matron in charge of the girls kept on a bold front behind\nher lorgnette, and swept the strange company she found herself in with an\nunshrinking eye as she led her band among the promenaders, and past the\ncouples seated along the walls. She hesitated a moment as her glance fell\nupon Jeff, and then she yielded, at whatever risk, to the comfort of\nfinding a known face among so many aliens. \"Why, Mr. Durgin!\" she called\nout. \"Bessie, here's Mr. Durgin,\" and she turned to the girl, who was in\nher train, as Jeff had perceived by something finer than the senses from\nthe first.\n\nHe rose from the side of his brunette, whose brother was standing near,\nand shook hands with the adventurous young matron, who seemed suddenly\nmuch better acquainted with him than he had ever thought her, and with\nBessie Lynde; the others were New York girls, and the matron presented\nhim. \"Are you going on?\" she asked, and the vague challenge with the\nsmile that accompanied it was sufficient invitation for him.\n\n\"Why, I believe so,\" he said, and he turned to take leave of his pretty\nbrunette; but she had promptly vanished with her brother, and he was\nspared the trouble of getting rid of her. He would have been equal to\nmuch more for the sake of finding himself with Bessie Lynde again, whose\nexcitement he could see burning in her eyes, though her thick complexion\ngrew neither brighter nor paler. He did not know what quality of\nexcitement it might be, but he said, audaciously: \"It's a good while\nsince we met!\" and he was sensible that his audacity availed.\n\n\"Is it?\" she asked. He put himself at her side, and he did not leave her\nagain till he went to dress for the struggle around the Tree. He found\nhimself easily included in the adventurous young matron's party. He had\nnot the elegance of some of the taller and slenderer men in the scholar's\ngown, but the cap became his handsome face. His affair with Bessie Lynde\nhad given him a certain note, and an adventurous young matron, who was\nnaturally a little indiscriminate, might very well have been willing to\nlet him go about with her party. She could not know how impudent his mere\npresence was with reference to Bessie, and the girl herself made no sign\nthat could have enlightened her. She accepted something more that her\nshare of his general usefulness to the party; she danced with him\nwhenever he asked her, and she seemed not to scruple to publish her\naffair with him in the openest manner. If he could have stilled a certain\nshame for her which he felt, he would have thought he was having the best\nkind of time. They made no account of by-gones in their talk, but she had\nnever been so brilliant, or prompted him to so many of the effronteries\nwhich were the spirit of his humor. He thought her awfully nice, with\nlots of sense; he liked her letting him come back without any fooling or\nfuss, and he began to admire instead of despising her for it. Decidedly\nit was, as she would have said, the chicquest sort of thing. What was the\nuse, anyway? He made up his mind.\n\nWhen he said he must go and dress for the Tree, he took leave of her\nfirst, and he was aware of a vivid emotion, which was like regret in her\nat parting with him. She said, Must he? She seemed to want to say\nsomething more to him; while he was dismissing himself from the others,\nhe noticed that once or twice she opened her lips as if she were going to\nspeak. In the end she did nothing more important than to ask if he had\nseen her brother; but after he had left the party he turned and saw her\nfollowing him with eyes that he fancied anxious and even frightened in\ntheir gaze.\n\nThe riot round the Tree roared itself through its wonted events. Class\nafter class of the undergraduates filed in and sank upon the grass below\nthe terraces and parterres of brilliantly dressed ladies within the\nquadrangle of seats; the alumni pushed themselves together against the\nwall of Holder Chapel; the men of the Senior class came last in their\ngrotesque variety of sweaters and second and third best clothes for the\nscramble at the Tree. The regulation cheers tore from throats that grew\nhoarser and hoarser, till every class and every favorite in the faculty\nhad been cheered. Then the signal-hat was flung into the air, and the\nrush at the Tree was made, and the combat' for the flowers that garlanded\nits burly waist began.\n\nJeff's size and shape forbade him to try for the flowers from the\nshoulders of others. He was one of a group of jays who set their backs to\nthe Tree, and fought away all comers except their own; they pulled down\nevery man not of their sort, and put up a jay, who stripped the Tree of\nits flowers and flung them to his fellows below. As he was let drop to\nthe ground, Jeff snatched a handful of his spoil from him, and made off\nwith it toward the place where he had seen Bessie Lynde and her party.\nBut when he reached the place, shouldering and elbowing his way through\nthe press, she was no longer there. He saw her hat at a distance through\nthe crowd, where he did not choose to follow, and he stuffed the flowers\ninto his breast to give to her later. He expected to meet her somewhere\nin the evening; if not, he would try to find her at her aunt's house in\ntown; failing that, he could send her the flowers, and trust her for some\nsort of leading acknowledgment.\n\nHe went and had a bath and dressed himself freshly, and then he went for\na walk in the still evening air. He was very hot from the battle which\nhad been fought over him, and which he had shared with all his strength,\nand it seemed to him as if he could not get cool. He strolled far out\nalong Concord Avenue, beyond the expanses and ice-horses of Fresh Pond,\ninto the country toward Belmont, with his hat off and his head down. He\nwas very well satisfied, and he was smiling to himself at the ease of his\nreturn to Bessie, and securely speculating upon the outcome of their\nrenewed understanding.\n\nHe heard a vehicle behind him, rapidly driven, and he turned out for it\nwithout looking around. Then suddenly he felt a fiery sting on his\nforehead, and then a shower of stings swiftly following each other over\nhis head and face. He remembered stumbling, when he was a boy, into a\nnest of yellow-jackets, that swarmed up around him and pierced him like\nsparks of fire at every uncovered point. But he knew at the same time\nthat it was some one in the vehicle beside him who was lashing him over\nthe head with a whip. He bowed his head with his eyes shut and lunged\nblindly out toward his assailant, hoping to seize him.\n\nBut the horse sprang aside, and tore past him down the road. Jeff opened\nhis eyes, and through the blood that dripped from the cuts above them he\nsaw the wicked face of Alan Lynde looking back at him from the dogcart\nwhere he sat with his man beside him. He brandished his broken whip in\nthe air, and flung it into the bushes. Jeff walked on, and picked it up,\nbefore he turned aside to the pools of the marsh stretching on either\nhand, and tried to stanch his hurts, and get himself into shape for\nreturning to town and stealing back to his lodging. He had to wait till\nafter dark, and watch his chance to get into the house unnoticed.\n\n\n\n\nXLVIII\n\nThe chum to whom Jeff confided the story of his encounter with a man he\nleft nameless inwardly thanked fortune that he was not that man; for he\nknew him destined sooner or later to make such reparation for the\ninjuries he had inflicted as Jeff chose to exact. He tended him\ncarefully, and respected the reticence Jeff guarded concerning the whole\nmatter, even with the young doctor whom his friend called, and who kept\nto himself his impressions of the nature of Jeff's injuries.\n\nJeff lay in his darkened room, and burned with them, and with the\nthoughts, guesses, purposes which flamed through his mind. Had she, that\ngirl, known what her brother meant to do? Had she wished him to think of\nher in the moment of his punishment, and had she spoken of her brother so\nthat he might recall her, or had she had some ineffective impulse to warn\nhim against her brother when she spoke of him?\n\nHe lay and raged in vain with his conjectures, and he did a thousand\nimagined murders upon Lynde in revenge of his shame.\n\nToward the end of the week, while his hurts were still too evident to\nallow him to go out-of-doors before dark, he had a note from Westover\nasking him to come in at once to see him.\n\n\"Your brother Jackson,\" Westover wrote, \"reached Boston by the New York\ntrain this morning, and is with me here. I must tell you I think he is\nnot at all well, but he does not know how sick he is, and so I forewarn\nyou. He wants to get on home, but I do not feel easy about letting him\nmake the rest of the journey alone. Some one ought to go with him. I\nwrite not knowing whether you are still in Cambridge or not; or whether,\nif you are, you can get away at this time. But I think you ought, and I\nwish, at any rate, that you would come in at once and see Jackson. Then\nwe can settle what had best be done.\"\n\nJeff wrote back that he had been suffering with a severe attack of\nerysipelas--he decided upon erysipelas for the time being, but he meant\nto let Westover know later that he had been in a row--and the doctor\nwould not let him go out yet. He promised to come in as soon as he\npossibly could. If Westover thought Jackson ought to be got home at once,\nand was not fit to travel alone, he asked him to send a hospital nurse\nwith him.\n\nWestover replied by Jeff's messenger that it would worry and alarm\nJackson to be put in charge of a nurse; but that he would go home with\nhim, and they would start the next day. He urged Jeff to come and see his\nbrother if it was at all safe for him to do so. But if he could not,\nWestover would give his mother a reassuring reason for his failure.\n\nMrs. Durgin did not waste any anxiety for the sickness which prevented\nJeff from coming home with his brother. She said ironically that it must\nbe very bad, and she gave all her thought and care to Jackson. The sick\nman rallied, as he prophesied he should, in his native air, and\ncelebrated the sense and science of the last doctor he had seen in\nEurope, who told him that he had made a great gain, but he had better\nhurry home as fast as he could, for he had got all the advantage he could\nexpect to have from his stay abroad, and now home air was the best thing\nfor him.\n\nIt could not be known how much of this he believed; he had, at any rate,\nthe pathetic hopefulness of his malady; but his mother believed it all,\nand she nursed him with a faith in his recovery which Whitwell confided\nto Westover was about as much as he wanted to see, for one while. She\nseemed to grow younger in the care of him, and to get back to herself,\nmore and more, from the facts of Jeff's behavior, which had aged and\nbroken her. She had to tell Jackson about it all, but he took it with\nthat indifference to the things of this world which the approach of death\nsometimes brings, and in the light of his passivity it no longer seemed\nto her so very bad. It was a relief to have Jackson say, Well, perhaps it\nwas for the best; and it was a comfort to see how he and Cynthia took to\neach other; it was almost as if that dreadful trouble had not been. She\ntold Jackson what hard work she had had to make Cynthia stay with her,\nand how the girl had consented to stay only until Jeff came home; but she\nguessed, now that Jackson had got back, he could make Cynthia see it all\nin another light, and perhaps it would all come right again. She\nconsulted him about Jeff's plan of going abroad, and Jackson said it\nmight be about as well; he should soon be around, and he thought if Jeff\nwent it would give Cynthia more of a chance to get reconciled. After all,\nhis mother suggested, a good many fellows behaved worse than Jeff had\ndone and still had made it up with the girls they were engaged to; and\nJackson gently assented.\n\nHe did not talk with Cynthia about Jeff, out of that delicacy, or that\ncoldness, common to them both. Perhaps it was not necessary for them to\nspeak of him; perhaps they understood him aright in their understanding\nof each other.\n\nWestover stayed on, day after day, thinking somehow that he ought to wait\ntill Jeff came. There were only a few other people in the hotel, and\nthese were of a quiet sort; they were not saddened by the presence of a\ndoomed man under the same roof, as gayer summer folks might have been,\nand they were themselves no disturbance to him.\n\nHe sat about with them on the veranda, and he made friends among them,\nand they did what they could to encourage and console him in his\nimpatience to take up his old cares in the management of the hotel. The\nWhitwells easily looked after the welfare of the guests, and Jackson was\nso much better to every one's perception that Westover could honestly\nwrite Jeff a good report of him.\n\nThe report may have been so good that Jeff took the affair too easily. It\nwas a fortnight after Jackson's return to Lion's Head when he began to\nfail so suddenly and alarmingly that Westover decided upon his own\nresponsibility to telegraph Jeff of his condition. But he had the\nsatisfaction of Whitwell's approval when he told him what he had done.\n\n\"Of course, Jackson a'n't long for this world. Anybody but him and his\nmother could see that; and now he's just melting away, as you might say.\nI ha'n't liked his not carin' to work plantchette since he got back;\nlooked to me from the start that he kind of knowed that it wa'n't worth\nwhile for him to trouble about a world that he'll know all about so soon,\nanyways; and d' you notice he don't seem to care about Mars, either? I've\ntried to wake him up on it two-three times, but you can't git him to take\nan interest. I guess Jeff can't git here any too soon on Jackson's\naccount; but as far forth as I go, he couldn't git here too late. I\nshould like to take the top of his head off.\"\n\nWestover had been in Whitwell's confidence since their first chance of\nspeech together. He now said:\n\n\"I know it will be rather painful to you to have him here for some\nreasons, but--\"\n\n\"You mean Cynthy? Well! I guess when Cynthy can't get along with the\nsight of Jeff Durgin, she'll be a different girl from what she's ever\nbeen before. If she's got to see that skunk ag'in, I guess this is about\nthe best time to do it.\"\n\nIt was Westover who drove to meet Jeff at the station, when he got his\ndespatch, naming the train he would take, and he found him looking very\nwell, and perhaps stouter than he had been.\n\nThey left the station in silence, after their greeting and Jeff's\ninquiries about Jackson. Jeff had taken the reins, and now he put them\nwith the whip in one hand, and pushed up his hat with the other, and\nturned his face full upon Westover. \"Notice anything in particular?\" he\ndemanded.\n\n\"No; yes--some slight marks.\"\n\n\"I guess that fellow fixed me up pretty well: paints black eyes, and that\nkind of thing. I got to scrapping with a man, Class Day; we wanted to\nsettle a little business we began at the Tree, and he left his marks on\nme. I meant to tell you the truth as soon as I could get at you; but I\nhad to say erysipelas in my letter. I guess, if you don't mind, we'll let\nerysipelas stand, with the rest.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't have cared,\" Westover said, \"if you'd let it stand with me.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you,\" Jeff returned.\n\nThere could have been no show of affection at his meeting with Jackson\neven if there had been any fact of it; that was not the law of their\nlife. But Jeff had always been a turbulent, rebellious, younger brother,\nresentful of Jackson's control, too much his junior to have the\nassociations of an equal companionship in the past, and yet too near him\nin age to have anything like a filial regard for him. They shook hands,\nand each asked the other how he was, and then they seemed to have done\nwith each other. Jeff's mother kissed him in addition to the handshaking,\nbut made him feel her preoccupation with Jackson; she asked him if he had\nhurried home on Jackson's account, and he promptly lied her out of this\nanxiety.\n\nHe shook hands with Cynthia, too, but it was across the barrier which had\nnot been lowered between them since they parted. He spoke to Jackson\nabout her, the day after he came home, when Jackson said he was feeling\nunusually strong and well, and the two brothers had strolled out through\nthe orchard together. Now and then he gave the sick man his arm, and when\nhe wanted to sit down in a sunny place he spread the shawl he carried for\nhim.\n\n\"I suppose mother's told you about Cynthy and me, Jackson?\" he began.\n\nJackson answered, with lack-lustre eyes, \"Yes.\" Presently he asked:\n\"What's become of the other girl?\"\n\n\"Damn her! I don't know what's become of her, and I don't care!\" Jeff\nexploded, furiously.\n\n\"Then you don't care for her any more?\" Jackson pursued, with the same\nlanguid calm.\n\n\"I never cared for her.\"\n\nJackson was silent, and the matter seemed to have faded out of his mind.\nBut it was keenly alive in Jeff's mind, and he was in the strange\nnecessity which men in the flush of life and health often feel of seeking\ncounsel of those who stand in the presence of death, as if their words\nshould have something of the mystical authority of the unknown wisdom\nthey are about to penetrate.\n\n\"What I want to know is, what I am going to do about Cynthy?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Jackson answered, vaguely, and he expressed by his\nindirection the sense he must sometimes have had of his impending\nfate--\"I don't know what she's going to do, her or mother, either.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Jeff assented, \"that's what I think of. And I'd do anything that I\ncould--that you thought was right.\"\n\nJackson apparently concentrated his mind upon the question by an effort.\n\"Do you care as much for Cynthy as you used to?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jeff, after a moment, \"as much as I ever did; and more. But\nI've been thinking, since the thing happened, that, if I'd cared for her\nthe way she did for me, it wouldn't have happened. Look here, Jackson!\nYou know I've never pretended to be like some men--like Mr. Westover, for\nexample--always looking out for the right and the wrong, and all that. I\ndidn't make myself, and I guess if the Almighty don't make me go right\nit's because He don't want me to. But I have got a conscience about\nCynthy, and I'd be willing to help out a little if I knew how, about her.\nThe devil of it is, I've got to being afraid. I don't mean that I'm not\nfit for her; any man's fit for any woman if he wants her bad enough; but\nI'm afraid I sha'n't ever care for her in the right way. That's the\npoint. I've cared for just one woman in this world, and it a'n't Cynthy,\nas far as I can make out. But she's gone, and I guess I could coax Cynthy\nround again, and I could be what she wants me to be, after this.\"\n\nJackson lay upon his shawl, looking up at the sky full of islands of warm\nclouds in its sea of blue; he was silent so long that Jeff began to think\nhe had not been listening; he could not hear him breathe, and he came\nforward to him quickly from the shadow of the tree where he sat.\n\n\"Well?\" Jackson whispered, turning his eyes upon him.\n\n\"Well?\" Jeff returned.\n\n\"I guess you'd better let it alone,\" said Jackson.\n\n\"All right. That's what I think, too.\"\n\n\n\n\nXLIX.\n\nJackson died a week later, and they buried him in the old family lot in\nthe farthest corner of the orchard. His mother and Cynthia put on\nmourning for him, and they stood together by his open grave, Mrs. Durgin\nleaning upon her son's arm and the girl upon her father's. The women wept\nquietly, but Jeff's eyes were dry, though his face was discharged of all\nits prepotent impudence. Westover, standing across the grave from him,\nnoticed the marks on his forehead that he said were from his scrapping,\nand wondered what really made them. He recognized the spot where they\nwere standing as that where the boy had obeyed the law of his nature and\nrevenged the stress put upon him for righteousness. Over the stone of the\nnearest grave Jeff had shown a face of triumphant derision when he pelted\nWestover with apples. The painter's mind fell into a chaos of conjecture\nand misgiving, so that he scarcely took in the words of the composite\nservice which the minister from the Union Chapel at the Huddle read over\nthe dead.\n\nSome of the guests from the hotel came to the funeral, but others who\nwere not in good health remained away, and there was a general sense\namong them, which imparted itself to Westover, that Jackson's dying so,\nat the beginning of the season, was not a fortunate incident. As he sat\ntalking with Jeff at a corner of the piazza late in the afternoon, Frank\nWhitwell came up to them and said there were some people in the office\nwho had driven over from another hotel to see about board, but they had\nheard there was sickness in the house, and wished to talk with him.\n\n\"I won't come,\" said Jeff.\n\n\"They're not satisfied with what I've said,\" the boy urged. \"What shall I\ntell them?\"\n\n\"Tell them to-go to the devil,\" said Jeff, and when Frank Whitwell made\noff with this message for delivery in such decent terms as he could\nimagine for it, Jeff said, rather to himself than to Westover, \"I don't\nsee how we're going to run this hotel with that old family lot down there\nin the orchard much longer.\"\n\nHe assumed the air of full authority at Lion's Head; and Westover felt\nthe stress of a painful conjecture in regard to the Whitwells intensified\nupon him from the moment he turned away from Jackson's grave.\n\nCynthia and her father had gone back to their own house as soon as Jeff\nreturned, and though the girl came home with Mrs. Durgin after the\nfuneral, and helped her in their common duties through the afternoon and\nevening, Westover saw her taking her way down the hill with her brother\nwhen the long day's work was over. Jeff saw her too; he was sitting with\nWestover at the office door smoking, and he was talking of the Whitwells.\n\n\"I suppose they won't stay,\" he said, \"and I can't expect it; but I don't\nknow what mother will do, exactly.\"\n\nAt the same moment Whitwell came round the corner of the hotel from the\nbarn, and approached them: \"Jeff, I guess I better tell you straight off\nthat we're goin', the children and me.\"\n\n\"All right, Mr. Whitwell,\" said Jeff, with respectful gravity; \"I was\nafraid of it.\"\n\nWestover made a motion to rise, but Whitwell laid a detaining hand upon\nhis knee. \"There ain't anything so private about it, so far as I know.\"\n\n\"Don't go, Mr. Westover,\" said Jeff, and Westover remained.\n\n\"We a'n't a-goin' to leave you in the lurch, and we want you should take\nyour time, especially Mis' Durgin. But the sooner the better. Heigh?\"\n\n\"Yes, I understand that, Mr. Whitwell; I guess mother will miss you, but\nif you must go, you must.\" The two men remained silent a moment, and then\nJeff broke out passionately, rising and flinging his cigar away: \"I wish\nI could go, instead! That would be the right way, and I guess mother\nwould like it full as well. Do you see any way to manage it?\" He put his\nfoot up in his chair, and dropped his elbow on his knee, with his chin\npropped in his hand. Westover could see that he meant what he was saying.\n\"If there was any way, I'd do it. I know what you think of me, and I\nshould be just like you, in your place. I don't feel right to turn you\nout here, I don't, Mr. Whitwell, and yet if I stay, I've got to do it.\nWhat's the reason I can't go?\"\n\n\"You can't,\" said Whitwell, \"and that's all about it. We shouldn't let\nyou, if you could. But I a'n't surprised you feel the way you do,\" he\nadded, unsparingly. \"As you say, I should feel just so myself if I was in\nyour place. Well, goodnight, Mr. Westover.\"\n\nWhitwell turned and slouched down the hill, leaving the painter to the\nmost painful moment he had known with Jeff Durgin, and nearer sympathy.\n\"That's all right, Mr. Westover,\" Jeff said, \"I don't blame him.\"\n\nHe remained in a constraint from which he presently broke with mocking\nhilarity when Jombateeste came round the corner of the house, as if he\nhad been waiting for Whitwell to be gone, and told Jeff he must get\nsomebody else to look after the horses.\n\n\"Why don't you wait and take the horses with you, Jombateeste?\" he\ninquired. \"They'll be handing in their resignation, the next thing. Why\nnot go altogether?\"\n\nThe little Canuck paused, as if uncertain whether he was made the object\nof unfriendly derision or not, and looked at Westover for help.\nApparently he decided to chance it in as bitter an answer as he could\ninvent. \"The 'oss can't 'elp 'imself, Mr. Durgin. 'E stay. But you don'\nhown EVERYBODY.\"\n\n\"That's so, Jombateeste,\" said Jeff. \"That's a good hit. It makes me feel\nawfully. Have a cigar?\" The Canuck declined with a dignified bow, and\nJeff said: \"You don't smoke any more? Oh, I see! It's my tobacco you're\ndown on. What's the matter, Jombateeste? What are you going away for?\"\nJeff lighted for himself the cigar the Canuck had refused, and smoked\ndown upon the little man.\n\n\"Mr. W'itwell goin',\" Jombateeste said, a little confused and daunted.\n\n\"What's Mr. Whitwell going for?\"\n\n\"You hask Mr. W'itwell.\"\n\n\"All right. And if I can get him to stay will you stay too, Jombateeste?\nI don't like to see a rat leaving a ship; the ship's sure to sink, if he\ndoes. How do you suppose I'm going to run Lion's Head without you to\nthrow down hay to the horses? It will be ruin to me, sure, Jombateeste.\nAll the guests know how you play on the pitchfork out there, and they'll\nleave in a body if they hear you've quit. Do say you'll stay, and I'll\nreduce your wages one-half on the spot.\"\n\nJombateeste waited to hear no more injuries. He said: \"You'll don' got\nmoney enough, Mr. Durgin, by gosh! to reduce my wages,\" and he started\ndown the hill toward Whitwell's house with as great loftiness as could\ncomport with a down-hill gait and his stature.\n\n\"Well, I seem to be getting it all round, Mr. Westover,\" said Jeff. \"This\nmust make you feel good. I don't know but I begin to believe there's a\nGod in Israel, myself.\"\n\nHe walked away without saying good-night, and Westover went to bed\nwithout the chance of setting himself right. In the morning, when he came\ndown to breakfast, and stopped at the desk to engage a conveyance for the\nstation from Frank Whitwell the boy forestalled him with a grave face.\n\"You don't know about Mrs. Durgin?\"\n\n\"No; what about her?\"\n\n\"Well, we can't tell exactly. Father thinks it's a shock; Jombateeste\ngone over to Lovewell for the doctor. Cynthia's with her. It seemed to\ncome on in the night.\"\n\nHe spoke softly, that no one else might hear; but by noon the fact that\nMrs. Durgin had been stricken with paralysis was all over the place. The\ngloom cast upon the opening season by Jackson's death was deepened among\nthe guests. Some who had talked of staying through July went away that\nday. But under Cynthia's management the housekeeping was really\nunaffected by Mrs. Durgin's calamity, and the people who stayed found\nthemselves as comfortable as ever. Jeff came fully into the hotel\nmanagement, and in their business relation Cynthia and he were\ncontinually together; there was no longer a question of the Whitwells\nleaving him; even Jombateeste persuaded himself to stay, and Westover\nfelt obliged to remain at least till the present danger in Mrs. Durgin's\ncase was past.\n\nWith the first return of physical strength, Mrs. Durgin was impatient to\nbe seen about the house, and to retrieve the season that her affliction\nhad made so largely a loss. The people who had become accustomed to it\nstayed on, and the house filled up as she grew better, but even the sight\nof her in a wheeled chair did not bring back the prosperity of other\nyears. She lamented over it with a keen and full perception of the fact,\nbut in a cloudy association of it with the joint future of Jeff and\nCynthia.\n\nOne day, after Mrs. Durgin had declared that she did not know what they\nwere to do, if things kept on as they were going, Whitwell asked his\ndaughter:\n\n\"Do you suppose she thinks you and Jeff have made it up again?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said the girl, with a troubled voice, \"and I don't know\nwhat to do about it. It don't seem as if I could tell her, and yet it's\nwrong to let her go on.\"\n\n\"Why didn't he tell her?\" demanded her father. \"'Ta'n't fair his leavin'\nit to you. But it's like him.\"\n\nThe sick woman's hold upon the fact weakened most when she was tired.\nWhen she was better, she knew how it was with them. Commonly it was when\nCynthia had got her to bed for the night that she sent for Jeff, and\nwished to ask him what he was going to do. \"You can't expect Cynthy to\nstay here another winter helpin' you, with Jackson away. You've got to\neither take her with you, or else come here yourself. Give up your last\nyear in college, why don't you? I don't want you should stay, and I don't\nknow who does. If I was in Cynthia's place, I'd let you work off your own\nconditions, now you've give up the law. She'll kill herself, tryin' to\nkeep you along.\"\n\nSometimes her speech became so indistinct that no one but Cynthia could\nmake it out; and Jeff, listening with a face as nearly discharged as\nmight be of its laughing irony, had to turn to Cynthia for the word which\nno one else could catch, and which the stricken woman remained\ndistressfully waiting for her to repeat to him, with her anxious eyes\nupon the girl's face. He was dutifully patient with all his mother's\nwhims. He came whenever she sent for him, and sat quiet under the\nseverities with which she visited all his past unworthiness. \"Who you\nbeen hectorin' now, I should like to know,\" she began on him one evening\nwhen he came at her summons. \"Between you and Fox, I got no peace of my\nlife. Where is the dog?\"\n\n\"Fox is all right, mother,\" Jeff responded. \"You're feeling a little\nbetter to-night, a'n't you?\"\n\n\"I don't know; I can't tell,\" she returned, with a gleam of intelligence\nin her eye. Then she said: \"I don't see why I'm left to strangers all the\ntime.\"\n\n\"You don't call Cynthia a stranger, do you, mother?\" he asked, coaxingly.\n\n\"Oh--Cynthy!\" said Mrs. Durgin, with a glance as of surprise at seeing\nher. \"No, Cynthy's all right. But where's Jackson and your father? If\nI've told them not to be out in the dew once, I've told 'em a hundred\ntimes. Cynthy'd better look after her housekeepin' if she don't want the\nwhole place to run behind, and not a soul left in the house. What time o'\nyear is it now?\" she suddenly asked, after a little weary pause.\n\n\"It's the last of August, mother.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she sighed, \"I thought it was the beginnin' of May. Didn't you come\nup here in May?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, then--Or, mebbe that's one o' them tormentin' dreams; they do\npester so! What did you come for?\"\n\nJeff was sitting on one side of her bed and Cynthia on the other: She was\nlooking at the sufferer's face, and she did not meet the glance of\namusement which Jeff turned upon her at being so fairly cornered. \"Well,\nI don't know,\" he said. \"I thought you might like to see me.\"\n\n\"What 'd he come for?\"--the sick woman turned to Cynthia.\n\n\"You'd better tell her,\" said the girl, coldly, to Jeff. \"She won't be\nsatisfied till you do. She'll keep coming back to it.\"\n\n\"Well, mother,\" said Jeff, still with something of his hardy amusement,\n\"I hadn't been acting just right, and I thought I'd better tell Cynthy.\"\n\n\"You better let the child alone. If I ever catch you teasin' them\nchildren again, I'll make Jackson shoot Fox.\"\n\n\"All right, mother,\" said Jeff.\n\nShe moved herself restively in bed. \"What's this,\" she demanded of her\nson, \"that Whitwell's tellin' about you and Cynthy breakin' it off?\"\n\n\"Well, there was talk of that,\" said Jeff, passing his hand over his lips\nto keep back the smile that was stealing to them.\n\n\"Who done it?\"\n\nCynthia kept her eyes on Jeff, who dropped his to his mother's face.\n\"Cynthy did it; but I guess I gave her good enough reason.\"\n\n\"About that hussy in Boston? She was full more to blame than what you\nwas. I don't see what Cynthy wanted to do it for on her account.\"\n\n\"I guess Cynthy was right.\"\n\nMrs. Durgin's speech had been thickening more and more. She now said\nsomething that Jeff could not understand. He looked involuntarily at\nCynthia.\n\n\"She says she thinks I was hasty with you,\" the girl interpreted.\n\nJeff kept his eyes on hers, but he answered to his mother: \"Not any more\nthan I deserved. I hadn't any right to expect that she would stand it.\"\n\nAgain the sick woman tried to say something. Jeff made out a few\nsyllables, and, after his mother had repeated her words, he had to look\nto Cynthia for help.\n\n\"She wants to know if it's all right now.\"\n\n\"What shall I say?\" asked Jeff, huskily.\n\n\"Tell her the truth.\"\n\n\"What is the truth?\"\n\n\"That we haven't made it up.\"\n\nJeff hesitated, and then said: \"Well, not yet, mother,\" and he bent an\nentreating look upon Cynthia which she could not feel was wholly for\nhimself. \"I--I guess we can fix it, somehow. I behaved very badly to\nCynthia.\"\n\n\"No, not to me!\" the girl protested in an indignant burst.\n\n\"Not to that little scalawag, then!\" cried Jeff. \"If the wrong wasn't to\nyou, there wasn't any wrong.\"\n\n\"It was to you!\" Cynthia retorted.\n\n\"Oh, I guess I can stand it,\" said Jeff, and his smile now came to his\nlips and eyes.\n\nHis mother had followed their quick parley with eager looks, as if she\nwere trying to keep her intelligence to its work concerning them. The\neffort seemed to exhaust her, and when she spoke again her words were so\nindistinct that even Cynthia could not understand them till she had\nrepeated them several times.\n\nThen the girl was silent, while the invalid kept an eager look upon her.\nShe seemed to understand that Cynthia did not mean to speak; and the\ntears came into her eyes.\n\n\"Do you want me to know what she said?\" asked Jeff, respectfully,\nreverently almost.\n\nCynthia said, gently: \"She says that then you must show you didn't mean\nany harm to me, and that you cared for me, all through, and you didn't\ncare for anybody else.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Jeff, and he turned to his mother. \"I'll do everything\nI can to make Cynthy believe that, mother.\"\n\nThe girl broke into tears and went out of the room. She sent in the\nnight-watcher, and then Jeff took leave of his mother with an unwonted\nkiss.\n\nInto the shadow of a starlit night he saw the figure he had been waiting\nfor glide out of the glitter of the hotel lights. He followed it down the\nroad.\n\n\"Cynthia!\" he called; and when he came up with her he asked: \"What's the\nreason we can't make it true? Why can't you believe what mother wants me\nto make you?\"\n\nCynthia stopped, as her wont was when she wished to speak seriously. \"Do\nyou ask that for my sake or hers?\"\n\n\"For both your sakes.\"\n\n\"I thought so. You ought to have asked it for your own sake, Jeff, and\nthen I might have been fool enough to believe you. But now--\"\n\nShe started swiftly down the hill again, and this time he did not try to\nfollow her.\n\n\n\n\nL.\n\nMrs. Durgin's speech never regained the measure of clearness it had\nbefore; no one but Cynthia could understand her, and often she could not.\nThe doctor from Lovewell surmised that she had sustained another stroke,\nlighter, more obscure than the first, and it was that which had rendered\nher almost inarticulate. The paralysis might have also affected her\nbrain, and silenced her thoughts as well as her words. Either she\nbelieved that the reconciliation between Jeff and Cynthia had taken\nplace, or else she could no longer care. She did not question them again,\nbut peacefully weakened more and more. Near the end of September she had\na third stroke, and from this she died.\n\nThe day after the funeral Jeff had a talk with Whitwell, and opened his\nmind to him.\n\n\"I'm going over to the other side, and I shan't be back before spring, or\nabout time to start the season here. What I want to know is whether, if\nI'm out of the house, and not likely to come back, you'll stay here and\nlook after the place through the winter. It hasn't been a good season,\nbut I guess I can afford to make it worth your while if you look at it as\na matter of business.\"\n\nWhitwell leaned forward and took a straw into his mouth from the golden\nwall of oat sheaves in the barn where they were talking. A soft rustling\nin the mow overhead marked the remote presence of Jombateeste, who was\ngetting forward the hay for the horses, pushing it toward the holes where\nit should fall into their racks.\n\n\"I should want to think about it,\" said Whitwell. \"I do' know as Cynthy'd\ncare much about stayin'--or Frank.\"\n\n\"How long do you want to think about it?\" Jeff demanded, ignoring the\npossible wishes of Cynthia and Frank.\n\n\"I guess I could let you know by night.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Jeff.\n\nHe was turning away, when Whitwell remarked:\n\n\"I don't know as I should want to stay without I could have somebody I\ncould depend on, with me, to look after the hosses. Frank wouldn't want\nto.\"\n\n\"Who'd you like?\"\n\n\"Well--Jombateeste.\"\n\n\"Ask him.\"\n\nWhitwell called to the Canuck, and he came forward to the edge of the\nmow, and stood, fork in hand, looking down.\n\n\"Want to stay here this winter and look after the horses, Jombateeste?\"\nWhitwell asked.\n\n\"Nosseh!\" said the Canuck, with a misliking eye on Jeff.\n\n\"I mean, along with me,\" Whitwell explained. \"If I conclude to stay, will\nyou? Jeff's goin' abroad.\"\n\n\"I guess I stay,\" said Jombateeste.\n\n\"Don't strain yourself, Jombateeste,\" said Jeff, with malevolent\nderision.\n\n\"Not for you, Jeff Dorrgin,\" returned the Canuck. \"I strain myself till I\nbust, if I want.\"\n\nJeff sneered to Whitwell: \"Well, then, the most important point is\nsettled. Let me know about the minor details as soon as you can.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\nWhitwell talked the matter over with his children at supper that evening.\nJeff had made him a good offer, and he had the winter before him to\nprovide for.\n\n\"I don't know what deviltry he's up to,\" he said in conclusion.\n\nFrank looked to his sister for their common decision. \"I am going to try\nfor a school,\" she said, quietly. \"It's pretty late, but I guess I can\nget something. You and Frank had better stay.\"\n\n\"And you don't feel as if it was kind of meechin', our takin' up with his\noffer, after what's--\" Whitwell delicately forbore to fill out his\nsentence.\n\n\"You are doing the favor, father,\" said the girl. \"He knows that, and I\nguess he wouldn't know where to look if you refused. And, after all,\nwhat's happened now is as much my doing as his.\"\n\n\"I guess that's something so,\" said Whitwell, with a long sigh of relief.\n\"Well, I'm glad you can look at it in that light, Cynthy. It's the way\nthe feller's built, I presume, as much as anything.\"\n\nHis daughter waived the point. \"I shouldn't feel just right if none of us\nstayed in the old place. I should feel as if we had turned our backs on\nMrs. Durgin.\"\n\nHer eyes shone, and her father said: \"Well, I guess that's so, come to\nthink of it. She's been like a mother to you, this past year, ha'n't she?\nAnd it must have come pootty hard for her, sidin' ag'in' Jeff. But she\ndone it.\"\n\nThe girl turned her head away. They were sitting in the little, low\nkeeping-room of Whitwell's house, and her father had his hat on\nprovisionally. Through the window they could see the light of the lantern\nat the office door of the hotel, whose mass was lost in the dark above\nand behind the lamp. It was all very still outside.\n\n\"I declare,\" Whitwell went on, musingly, \"I wisht Mr. Westover was here.\"\n\nCynthia started, but it was to ask: \"Do you want I should help you with\nyour Latin, Frank?\"\n\nWhitwell came back an hour later and found them still at their books. He\ntold them it was all arranged; Durgin was to give up the place to him in\na week, and he was to surrender it again when Jeff came back in the\nspring. In the mean time things were to remain as they were; after he was\ngone, they could all go and live at Lion's Head if they chose.\n\n\"We'll see,\" said Cynthia. \"I've been thinking that might be the best\nway, after all. I might not get a school, it's so late.\"\n\n\"That's so,\" her father assented. \"I declare,\" he added, after a moment's\nmuse, \"I felt sorry for the feller settin' up there alone, with nobody to\ndo for him but that old thing he's got in. She can't cook any more\nthan--\" He desisted for want of a comparison, and said: \"Such a lookin'\ntable, too.\"\n\n\"Do you think I better go and look after things a little?\" Cynthia asked.\n\n\"Well, you no need to,\" said her father. He got down the planchette, and\nlabored with it, while his children returned to Frank's lessons.\n\n\"Dumn 'f I can make the thing work,\" he said to himself at last. \"I can't\ngit any of 'em up. If Jackson was here, now!\"\n\nThrice a day Cynthia went up to the hotel and oversaw the preparation of\nJeff's meals and kept taut the slack housekeeping of the old Irish woman\nwho had remained as a favor, after the hotel closed, and professed to\nhave lost the chance of a place for the winter by her complaisance. She\nsubmitted to Cynthia's authority, and tried to make interest for an\nindefinite stay by sudden zeal and industry, and the last days of Jeff in\nthe hotel were more comfortable than he openly recognized. He left the\ncare of the building wholly to Whitwell, and shut himself up in the old\nfarm parlor with the plans for a new hotel which he said he meant to put\nup some day, if he could ever get rid of the old one. He went once to\nLovewell, where he renewed the insurance, and somewhat increased it; and\nhe put a small mortgage on the property. He forestalled the slow progress\nof the knowledge of others' affairs, which, in the country, is as sure as\nit is slow, and told Whitwell what he had done. He said he wanted the\nmortgage money for his journey, and the insurance money, if he could have\nthe luck to cash up by a good fire, to rebuild with.\n\nCynthia seldom met him in her comings and goings, but if they met they\nspoke on the terms of their boy and girl associations, and with no\napproach through resentment or tenderness to the relation that was ended\nbetween them. She saw him oftener than at any other time setting off on\nthe long tramps he took through the woods in the afternoons. He was\nalways alone, and, so far as any one knew, his wanderings had no object\nbut to kill the time which hung heavy on his hands during the fortnight\nafter his mother's death, before he sailed. It might have seemed strange\nthat he should prefer to pass the days at Lion's Head after he had\narranged for the care of the place with Whitwell, and Whitwell always\nbelieved that he stayed in the hope of somehow making up with Cynthia.\n\nOne day, toward the very last, Durgin found himself pretty well fagged in\nthe old pulp-mill clearing on the side of Lion's Head, which still\nbelonged to Whitwell, and he sat down on a mouldering log there to rest.\nIt had always been a favorite picnic ground, but the season just past had\nknown few picnics, and it was those of former years that had left their\ntraces in rusty sardine-cans and broken glass and crockery on the border\nof the clearing, which was now almost covered with white moss. Jeff\nthought of the day when he lurked in the hollow below with Fox, while\nWestover remained talking with Whitwell. He thought of the picnic that\nMrs. Marven had embittered for him, and he thought of the last time that\nhe had been there with Westover, when they talked of the Vostrands.\n\nLife had, so far, not been what he meant it, and just now it occurred to\nhim that he might not have wholly made it what it had been. It seemed to\nhim that a good many other people had come in and taken a hand in making\nhis own life what it had been; and if he had meddled with theirs more\nthan he was wanted, it was about an even thing. As far as he could make\nout, he was a sort of ingredient in the general mixture. He had probably\ndone his share of the flavoring, but he had had very little to do with\nthe mixing. There were different ways of looking at the thing. Westover\nhad his way, but it struck Jeff that it put too much responsibility on\nthe ingredient, and too little on the power that chose it. He believed\nthat he could prove a clear case in his own favor, as far as the question\nof final justice was concerned, but he had no complaints to make. Things\nhad fallen out very much to his mind. He was the Landlord at Lion's Head,\nat last, with the full right to do what he pleased with the place, and\nwith half a year's leisure before him to think it over. He did not mean\nto waste the time while he was abroad; if there was anything to be\nlearned anywhere about keeping a summer hotel, he was going to learn it;\nand he thought the summer hotel could be advantageously studied in its\nwinter phases in the mild climates of Southern Europe. He meant to strike\nfor the class of Americans who resorted to those climates; to divine\ntheir characters and to please their tastes.\n\nHe unconsciously included Cynthia in his scheme of inquiry; he had been\nused so long to trust to her instincts and opinions, and to rely upon her\nhelp, and he realized that she was no longer in his life with something\nlike the shock a man experiences when the loss of a limb, which continues\na part of his inveterate consciousness, is brought to his sense by some\nmechanical attempt to use it. But even in this pang he did not regret\nthat all was over between them. He knew now that he had never cared for\nher as he had once thought, and on her account, if not his own, he was\nglad their engagement was broken. A soft melancholy for his own\ndisappointment imparted itself to his thoughts of Cynthia. He felt truly\nsorry for her, and he truly admired and respected her. He was in a very\nlenient mood toward every one, and he went so far in thought toward\nforgiving his enemies that he was willing at least to pardon all those\nwhom he had injured. A little rustling in the underbrush across the\nclearing caught his quick ear, and he looked up to see Jombateeste\nparting the boughs of the young pines on its edge and advancing into the\nopen with a gun on his shoulder. He called to him, cheerily: \"Hello,\nJohn! Any luck?\"\n\nJombateeste shook his head. \"Nawthing.\" He hesitated.\n\n\"What are you after?\"\n\n\"Partridge,\" Jombateeste ventured back.\n\nJeff could not resist the desire to scoff which always came upon him at\nsight of the Canuck. \"Oh, pshaw! Why don't you go for woodchucks? They\nfly low, and you can hit them on the wing, if you can't sneak on 'em\nsitting.\"\n\nJombateeste received his raillery in dignified silence, and turned back\ninto the woods again. He left Durgin in heightened good-humor with\nhimself and with the world, which had finally so well adapted itself to\nhis desires and designs.\n\nJeff watched his resentful going with a grin, and then threw himself back\non the thick bed of dry moss where he had been sitting, and watched the\nclouds drifting across the space of blue which the clearing opened\noverhead. His own action reminded him of Jackson, lying in the orchard\nand looking up at the sky. He felt strangely at one with him, and he\nexperienced a tenderness for his memory which he had not known before.\nJackson had been a good man; he realized that with a curious sense of\nnovelty in the reflection; he wondered what the incentives and the\nobjects of such men as Jackson and Westover were, anyway. Something like\ngrief for his brother came upon him; not such grief as he had felt,\npassionately enough, though tacitly, for his mother, but a regret for not\nhaving shown Jackson during his life that he could appreciate his\nunselfishness, though he could not see the reason or the meaning of it.\nHe said to himself, in their safe remoteness from each other, that he\nwished he could do something for Jackson. He wondered if in the course of\ntime he should get to be something like him. He imagined trying.\n\nHe heard sounds again in the edge of the clearing, but he decided that it\nwas that fool Jombateeste coming back; and when steps approached softly\nand hesitantly across the moss, he did not trouble himself to take his\neyes from the clouds. He was only vexed to have his revery broken in\nupon.\n\nA voice that was not Jombateeste's spoke: \"I say! Can you tell me the way\nto the Brooker Institute, or to the road down the mountain?\"\n\nJeff sat suddenly bolt-upright; in another moment he jumped to his feet.\nThe Brooker Institute was a branch of the Keeley Cure recently\nestablished near the Huddle, and this must be a patient who had wandered\nfrom it, on one of the excursions the inmates made with their guardians,\nand lost his way. This was the fact that Jeff realized at the first\nglance he gave the man. The next he recognized that the man was Alan\nLynde.\n\n\"Oh, it's you,\" he said, quite simply. He felt so cruelly the hardship of\nhis one unforgiven enemy's coming upon him just when he had resolved to\nbe good that the tears came into his eyes. Then his rage seemed to swell\nup in him like the rise of a volcanic flood. \"I'm going to kill you!\" he,\nroared, and he launched himself upon Lynde, who stood dazed.\n\nBut the murder which Jeff meant was not to be so easily done. Lynde had\nnot grown up in dissolute idleness without acquiring some of the arts of\nself-defence which are called manly. He met Jeff's onset with remembered\nskill and with the strength which he had gained in three months of the\nwholesome regimen of the Brooker Institute. He had been sent there, not\nby Dr. Lacy's judgment, but by his despair, and so far the Cure had\ncured. He felt strong and fresh, and the hate which filled Jeff at sight\nof him steeled his shaken nerves and reinforced his feebler muscles, too.\n\nHe made a desperate fight where he could not hope for mercy, and kept\nhimself free of his powerful foe, whom he fought round and foiled, if he\ncould not hurt him. Jeff never knew of the blows Lynde got in upon him;\nhe had his own science, too, but he would not employ it. He wanted to\ncrash through Lynde's defence and lay hold of him and crush the life out\nof him.\n\nThe contest could not have lasted long at the best; but before Lynde was\nworn out he caught his heel in an old laurel root, and while he whirled\nto recover his footing Jeff closed in upon him, caught him by the middle,\nflung him down upon the moss, and was kneeling on his breast with both\nhands at his throat.\n\nHe glared down into his enemy's face, and suddenly it looked pitifully\nlittle and weak, like a girl's face, a child's.\n\nSometimes, afterward, it seemed to him that he forbore because at that\ninstant he saw Jombateeste appear at the edge of the clearing and come\nrunning upon them. At other times he had the fancy that his action was\npurely voluntary, and that, against the logic of his hate and habit of\nhis life, he had mercy upon his enemy. He did not pride himself upon it;\nhe rather humbled himself before the fact, which was accomplished through\nhis will, and not by it, and remained a mystery he did not try to solve.\n\nHe took his hands from Lynde's throat and his knees off his breast. \"Get\nup,\" he said; and when Lynde stood trembling on his feet he said to\nJombateeste: \"Show this man the way to the Brooker Institute. I'll take\nyour gun home for you,\" and it was easy for him to detach the piece from\nthe bewildered Canuck's grasp. \"Go! And if you stop, or even let him look\nback, I'll shoot him. Quick!\"\n\n\n\n\nLI.\n\nThe day after Thanksgiving, when Westover was trying to feel well after\nthe turkey and cranberry and cider which a lady had given him at a\nconsciously old-fashioned Thanksgiving dinner, but not making it out\nsufficiently to be able to work, he was astonished to receive a visit\nfrom Whitwell.\n\n\"Well, sir,\" said the philosopher, without giving himself pause for the\nexchange of reflections upon his presence in Boston, which might have\nbeen agreeable to him on a less momentous occasion. \"It's all up with\nLion's Head.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" demanded Westover, with his mind upon the mountain,\nwhich he electrically figured in an incredible destruction.\n\n\"She's burnt. Burnt down the day before yist'd'y aft'noon. A'n't hardly a\nstick of her left. Ketehed Lord knows how, from the kitchen chimney, and\na high northwest wind blowin', that ca'd the sparks to the barn, and set\nfire to that, too. Hasses gone; couldn't get round to 'em; only three of\nus there, and mixed up so about the house till it was so late the\ncritters wouldn't come out. Folks from over Huddle way see the blaze, and\nhelped all they could; but it wa'n't no use. I guess all we saved, about,\nwas the flag-pole.\"\n\n\"But you're all right yourselves? Cynthia.\"\n\n\"Well, there was our misfortune,\" said Whitwell, while Westover's heart\nstopped in a mere wantonness of apprehension. \"If she'd be'n there, it\nmight ha' be'n diff'ent. We might ha' had more sense; or she would,\nanyway. But she was over to Lovewell stockin' up for Thanksgivin', and I\nhad to make out the best I could, with Frank and Jombateeste. Why, that\nCanuck didn't seem to have no more head on him than a hen. I was\ndisgusted; but Cynthy wouldn't let me say anything to him, and I d' know\nas 't 'ould done any good, myself. We've talked it all over in every\nlight, ever since; guess we've set up most the time talkin', and nothin'\nwould do her but I should come down and see you before I took a single\nstep about it.\"\n\n\"How--step about what?\" asked Westover, with a remote sense of hardship\nat being brought in, tempered by the fact that it was Cynthia who had\nbrought him in.\n\n\"Why, that devil,\" said Whitwell, and Westover knew that he meant Jeff,\n\"went and piled on all the insurance he could pile on, before he left;\nand I don't know what to do about it.\"\n\n\"I should think the best thing was to collect the insurance,\" Westover\nsuggested, distractedly.\n\n\"It a'n't so easy as what that comes to,\" said Whitwell. \"I couldn't\ncollect the insurance; and here's the point, anyway. When a hotel's made\na bad season, and she's fully insured, she's pootty certain to burn up\nsome time in the winter. Everybody knows that comical devil wanted lion's\nHead to burn up so 't he could build new, and I presume there a'n't a\nman, woman, or child anywhere round but what believes I set her on fire.\nHired to do it. Now, see? Jeff off in Europe; daytime; no lives lost;\nprop'ty total loss 's a clear case. Heigh? I tell you, I'm afraid I've\ngot trouble ahead.\"\n\nWestover tried to protest, to say something in derision or defiance; but\nhe was shaken himself, and he ended by getting his hat and coat; Whitwell\nhad kept his own on, in the excitement. \"We'll go out and see a lawyer. A\nfriend of mine; it won't cost you anything.\" He added this assurance at a\ncertain look of reluctance that came into Whitwell's face, and that left\nit as soon as he had spoken. Whitwell glanced round the studio even\ncheerily. \"Who'd ha' thought,\" he said, fastening upon the study which\nWestover had made of Lion's head the winter before, \"that the old place\nwould 'a' gone so soon?\" He did not mean the mountain which he was\nlooking at, but the hotel that was present to his mind's eye; and\nWestover perceived as he had not before that to Whitwell the hotel and\nnot the mountain was Lion's Head.\n\nHe remembered to ask now where Whitwell had left his family, and Whitwell\nsaid that Frank and Cynthia were at home in his own house with\nJombateeste; but he presumed he could not get back to them now before the\nnext day. He refused to be interested in any of the aspects of Boston\nwhich Westover casually pointed out, but when they had seen the lawyer he\ncame forth a new man, vividly interested in everything. The lawyer had\nbeen able to tell them that though the insurance companies would look\nsharply into the cause of the fire, there was no probability, hardly a\npossibility, that they would inculpate him, and he need give himself no\nanxiety about the affair.\n\n\"There's one thing, though,\" Whitwell said to Westover when they got out\nupon the street. \"Hadn't I ought to let Jeff know?\"\n\n\"Yes, at once. You'd better cable him. Have you got his address?\"\n\nWhitwell had it, and he tasted all the dramatic quality of sending word\nto Jeff, which he would receive in Florence an hour after it left Boston.\n\"I did hope I could ha' cabled once to Jackson while he was gone,\" he\nsaid, regretfully, \"but, unless we can fix up a wire with the other\nworld, I guess I shan't ever do it now. I suppose Jackson's still hangin'\nround Mars, some'res.\"\n\nHe had a sectarian pride in the beauty of the Spiritual Temple which\nWestover walked him by on his way to see Trinity Church and the Fine Arts\nMuseum, and he sorrowed that he could not attend a service' there. But he\nwas consoled by the lunch which he had with Westover at a restaurant\nwhere it was served in courses. \"I presume this is what Jeff's goin' to\ngive 'em at Lion's Head when he gits it goin' again.\"\n\n\"How is it he's in Florence?\" it occurred to Westover to ask. \"I thought\nhe was going to Nice for the winter.\"\n\n\"I don't know. That's the address he give in his last letter,\" said\nWhitwell. \"I'll be glad when I've done with him for good and all. He's\nall kinds of a devil.\"\n\nIt was in Westover's mind to say that he wished the Whitwells had never\nhad anything to do with Durgin after his mother's death. He had felt it a\nwant of delicacy in them that they had been willing to stay on in his\nemploy, and his ideal of Cynthia had suffered a kind of wound from what\nmust have been her decision in the matter. He would have expected\nsomething altogether different from her pride, her self-respect. But he\nnow merely said: \"Yes, I shall be glad, too. I'm afraid he's a bad\nfellow.\"\n\nHis words seemed to appeal to Whitwell's impartiality. \"Well, I d' know\nas I should say bad, exactly. He's a mixture.\"\n\n\"He's a bad mixture,\" said Westover.\n\n\"Well, I guess you're partly right there,\" Whitwell admitted, with a\nlaugh. After a dreamy moment he asked: \"Ever hear anything more about\nthat girl here in Boston?\"\n\nWestover knew that he meant Bessie Lynde. \"She's abroad somewhere, with\nher aunt.\"\n\nWhitwell had not taken any wine; apparently he was afraid of forming\ninstantly the habit of drink if he touched it; but he tolerated\nWestover's pint of Zinfandel, and he seemed to warm sympathetically to a\ngreater confidence as the painter made away with it. \"There's one thing I\nnever told Cynthy yet; well, Jombateeste didn't tell me himself till\nafter Jeff was gone; and then, thinks I, what's the use? But I guess you\nhad better know.\"\n\nHe leaned forward across the table, and gave Jombateeste's story of the\nencounter between Jeff and Alan Lynde in the clearing. \"Now what do you\nsuppose was the reason Jeff let up on the feller? Of course, he meant to\nchoke the life out of him, and his just ketchin' sight of Jombateeste--do\nyou believe that was enough to stop him, when he'd started in for a thing\nlike that? Or what was it done it?\"\n\nWestover listened with less thought of the fact itself than of another\nfact that it threw light upon. It was clear to him now that the Class-Day\nscrapping which had left its marks upon Jeff's face was with Lynde, and\nthat when Jeff got him in his power he was in such a fury for revenge\nthat no mere motive of prudence could have arrested him. In both events,\nit must have been Bessie Lynde that was the moving cause; but what was it\nthat stayed Jeff in his vengeance?\n\n\"Let him up, and let him walk away, you say?\" he demanded of Whitwell.\n\nWhitwell nodded. \"That's what Jombateeste said. Said Jeff said if he let\nthe feller look back he'd shoot him. But he didn't haf to.\"\n\n\"I can't make it out,\" Westover sighed.\n\n\"It's been too much for me,\" Whitwell said. \"I told Jombateeste he'd\nbetter keep it to himself, and I guess he done so. S'pose Jeff still had\na sneakin' fondness for the girl?\"\n\n\"I don't know; perhaps,\" Westover asserted.\n\nWhitwell threw his head back in a sudden laugh that showed all the work\nof his dentist. \"Well, wouldn't it be a joke if he was there in Florence\nafter her? Be just like Jeff.\"\n\n\"It would be like Jeff; I don't know whether it would be a joke or not. I\nhope he won't find it a joke, if it's so,\" said Westover, gloomily. A\nfantastic apprehension seized him, which made him wish for the moment\nthat it might be so, and which then passed, leaving him simply sorry for\nany chance that might bring Bessie Lynde into the fellow's way again.\n\nFor the evening Whitwell's preference would have been a lecture of some\nsort, but there was none advertised, and he consented to go with Westover\nto the theatre. He came back to the painter at dinner-time, after a wary\nexploration of the city, which had resulted not only in a personal\nacquaintance with its monuments, but an immunity from its dangers and\ntemptations which he prided himself hardly less upon. He had seen Faneuil\nHall, the old State House, Bunker Hill, the Public Library, and the Old\nSouth Church, and he had not been sandbagged or buncoed or led astray\nfrom the paths of propriety. In the comfortable sense of escape, he was\ndisposed, to moralize upon the civilization of great cities, which he now\nwitnessed at first hand for the first time; and throughout the evening,\nbetween the acts of the \"Old Homestead,\" which he found a play of some\nmerit, but of not so much novelty in its characters as he had somehow led\nhimself to expect, he recurred to the difficulties and dangers that must\nbeset a young man in coming to a place like Boston. Westover found him\nless amusing than he had on his own ground at Lion's Head, and tasted a\nquality of commonplace in his deliverances which made him question\nwhether he had not, perhaps, always owed more to this environment than he\nhad suspected. But they parted upon terms of mutual respect and in the\ncommon hope of meeting again. Whitwell promised to let Westover know what\nhe heard of Jeff, but, when the painter had walked the philosopher home\nto his hotel, he found a message awaiting him at his studio from Jeff\ndirect:\n\n   Whitwell's despatch received. Wait letter.\n                       \"DURGIN.\"\n\nWestover raged at the intelligent thrift of this telegram, and at the\nimplication that he not only knew all about the business of Whitwell's\ndespatch, but that he was in communication with him, and would be\nsufficiently interested to convey Jeff's message to him. Of course,\nDurgin had at once divined that Whitwell must have come to him for\nadvice, and that he would hear from him, whether he was still in Boston\nor not. By cabling to Westover, Jeff saved the cost of an elaborate\naddress to Whitwell at Lion's Head, and had brought the painter in for\nfurther consultation and assistance in his affairs. What vexed him still\nmore was his own consciousness that he could not defeat this impudent\nexpectation. He had, indeed, some difficulty with himself to keep from\ngoing to Whitwell's hotel with the despatch at once, and he slept badly,\nin his fear that he might not get it to him in the morning before he left\ntown.\n\nThe sum of Jeff's letter when it came, and it came to Westover and not to\nWhitwell, was to request the painter to see a lawyer in his behalf, and\nput his insurance policies in his hands, with full authority to guard his\ninterests in the matter. He told Westover where his policies would be\nfound, and enclosed the key of his box in the Safety Vaults, with a due\ndemand for Westover's admission to it. He registered his letter, and he\njocosely promised Westover to do as much for him some day, in pleading\nthat there was really no one else he could turn to. He put the whole\nbusiness upon him, and Westover discharged himself of it as briefly as he\ncould by delivering the papers to the lawyer he had already consulted for\nWhitwell.\n\n\"Is this another charity patient?\" asked his friend, with a grin.\n\n\"No,\" replied Westover. \"You can charge this fellow along the whole\nline.\"\n\nBefore he parted with the lawyer he had his misgivings, and he said: \"I\nshouldn't want the blackguard to think I had got a friend a fat job out\nof him.\"\n\nThe lawyer laughed intelligently. \"I shall only make the usual charge.\nThen he is a blackguard.\"\n\n\"There ought to be a more blistering word.\"\n\n\"One that would imply that he was capable of setting fire to his\nproperty?\"\n\n\"I don't say that. But I'm glad he was away when it took fire,\" said\nWestover.\n\n\"You give him the benefit of the doubt.\"\n\n\"Yes, of every kind of doubt.\"\n\n\n\n\nLII.\n\nWestover once more promised himself to have nothing to do with Jeff\nDurgin or his affairs. But he did not promise this so confidently as upon\nformer occasions, and he instinctively waited for a new complication. He\ncould not understand why Jeff should not have come home to look after his\ninsurance, unless it was because he had become interested in some woman\neven beyond his concern for his own advantage. He believed him capable of\nthrowing away advantages for disadvantages in a thing of that kind, but\nhe thought it more probable that he had fallen in love with one whom he\nwould lose nothing by winning. It did not seem at all impossible that he\nshould have again met Bessie Lynde, and that they should have made up\ntheir quarrel, or whatever it was. Jeff would consider that he had done\nhis whole duty by Cynthia, and that he was free to renew his suit with\nBessie; and there was nothing in Bessie's character, as Westover\nunderstood it, to prevent her taking him back upon a very small show of\nrepentance if the needed emotions were in prospect. He had decided pretty\nfinally that it would be Bessie rather than another when he received a\nletter from Mrs. Vostrand. It was dated at Florence, and after some\npretty palaver about their old friendship, which she only hoped he\nremembered half as fondly as she did, the letter ran:\n\n   \"I am turning to you now in a very strange difficulty, but I do not\n   know that I should turn to you even now, and knowing all I do of\n   your goodness, if I were not asked to do so by another.\n\n   \"I believe we have not heard from each other since the first days of\n   my poor Genevieve's marriage, when everything looked so bright and\n   fair, and we little realized the clouds that were to overcast her\n   happiness. It is a long story, and I will not go into it fully.\n   The truth is that poor Gigi did not treat her very kindly, and that\n   she has not lived with him since the birth of their little girl, now\n   nearly two years old, and the sweetest little creature in the world;\n   I wish you could see her; I am sure it would inspire your pencil\n   with the idea of an angel-child. At first I hoped that the\n   separation would be only temporary, and that when Genevieve had\n   regained her strength she would be willing to go back to her\n   husband; but nothing would induce her to do so. In fact, poor Gigi\n   had spent all her money, and they would have had nothing to live\n   upon but his pay, and you know that the pay of the Italian officers\n   is very small.\n\n   \"Gigi made several attempts to see her, and he threatened to take\n   the child from her, but he was always willing to compromise for\n   money. I am afraid that he never really loved her and that we were\n   both deceived by his fervent protestations. We managed to get away\n   from Florence without his knowing it, and we have spent the last two\n   years in Lausanne, very happily, though very quietly. Our dear\n   Checco is in the university there, his father having given up the\n   plan of sending him to Harvard, and we had him with us, while we\n   were taking measures to secure the divorce. Even in the simple way\n   we lived Genevieve attracted a great deal of attention, as she\n   always has done, and she would have had several eligible offers if\n   she had been divorced, or if her affections had not already been\n   engaged, as I did not know at the time.\n\n   \"We were in this state of uncertainty up to the middle of last\n   summer, when the news of poor Gigi's sudden death came. I am sorry\n   to say that his habits in some respects were not good, and that\n   probably hastened it some; it had obliged him to leave the army.\n   Genevieve did not feel that she could consistently put on black for\n   him, and I did not urge her, under the peculiar circumstances;\n   there is so much mere formality in those kind of things at the best;\n   but we immediately returned to Florence to try and see if we could\n   not get back some of her effects which his family had seized. I am\n   opposed to lawsuits if they can possibly be avoided, and we arranged\n   with poor Gigi's family by agreeing to let them have Genevieve's\n   furniture if they would promise never to molest her with the child,\n   and I must say they have behaved very well. We are on the best of\n   terms with them, and they have let us have some of the things back\n   which were endeared to her by old associations, at a very reasonable\n   rate.\n\n   \"This brings me to the romantic part of my letter, and I will say at\n   once that we found your friend Mr. Durgin in Florence, in the very\n   hotel we went to. We all met in the dining-room, at the table\n   d'hote one evening, and Genevieve and he took to each other at once.\n   He spent the evening with us in our private drawing-room, and she\n   said to me, after he went, that for the first time in years she felt\n   rested. It seems that she had always secretly fancied him, and that\n   she gave up to me in the matter of marrying poor Gigi, because she\n   knew I had my heart set upon it, and she was not very certain of her\n   own feelings when Mr. D. offered himself in Boston; but the\n   conviction that she had made a mistake grew upon, her more and more\n   after she had married Gigi.\n\n   \"Well, now, Mr. Westover, I suppose you have guessed by this time\n   that Mr. Durgin has renewed his offer, and Genevieve has\n   conditionally accepted him; we do not feel that she is like an\n   ordinary widow, and that she has to fill up a certain season of\n   mourning; she and Gigi have been dead to each other for years; and\n   Mr. Durgin is as fond of our dear little Bice as her own father\n   could be, and they are together all the time. Her name is Beatrice\n   de' Popolani Grassi. Isn't it lovely? She has poor Gigi's black\n   eyes, with the most beautiful golden hair, which she gets from our\n   aide. You remember Genevieve's hair back in the dear old days,\n   before any trouble had come, and we were all so happy together? And\n   this brings me to what I wanted to say. You are the oldest friend\n   we have, and by a singular coincidence you are the oldest friend of\n   Mr. Durgin, too. I cannot bear to risk my child's happiness a\n   second time, and though Mr. Vostrand fully approves of the match,\n   and has cabled his consent from Seattle, Washington, still, you\n   know, a mother's heart cannot be at rest without some positive\n   assurance. I told Mr. Durgin quite frankly how I felt, and he\n   agreed with me that after our experience with poor Gigi we could not\n   be too careful, and he authorized me to write to you and find out\n   all you knew about him. He said you had known him ever since he was\n   a boy, and that if there was anything bad in his record you could\n   tell it, and he did not want you to spire the truth. He knows you\n   will be just, and he wants you to write out the facts as they struck\n   you at the time.\n\n   \"I shall be on pins and needles, as the saying is, till we hear from\n   you, and you know hew Genevieve and Mr. D. must be feeling. She is\n   fully resolved not to have him without your endorsement, and he is\n   quite willing to abide by what you say.\n\n   \"I could almost wish you to cable me just Good or Bad, but I know\n   that this will not be wise, and I am going to wait for your letter,\n   and get your opinion in full.\n\n   \"We all join in the kindest regards. Mr. D. is talking with\n   Genevieve while I write, and has our darling Bice on his knees.\n   You cannot imagine what a picture it makes, her childish delicacy\n   contrasted with his stalwart strength. She says to send you a\n   baciettino, and I wish you were here to receive it from her angel\n   lips. Yours faithfully,\n\n               \"MEDORA VOSTRAND.\n\n   \"P. S.--Mr. D. says that he fell in love with Genevieve across the\n   barrier between the first and second cabin when he came over with us\n   on the Aquitaine four years ago, and that he has never ceased to\n   love her, though at one time he persuaded himself that he cared for\n   another because he felt that she was lost to him forever, and it was\n   no use: He really did care for the lady he was engaged to, and had a\n   true affection for her, which he mistook for a warmer feeling. He\n   says that she was worthy of any man's love and of the highest\n   respect. I tell Genevieve that, she ought to honor him for it, and\n   that she must never be jealous of a memory. We are very happy in\n   Mr. Vostrand's cordial approval of the match. He is so glad to\n   think that Mr. D. is a business man. His cable from Seattle was\n   most enthusiastic.\n\n                  \"M. D.\"\n\nWestover did not know whether to laugh or cry when he read this letter,\nwhich covered several sheets of paper in lines that traversed each other\nin different directions. His old, youthful ideal of Mrs. Vostrand finally\nperished in its presence, though still he could not blame her for wishing\nto see her daughter well married after having seen her married so ill. He\nasked himself, without getting any very definite response, whether Mrs.\nVostrand had always been this kind of a woman, or had grown into it by\nthe use of arts which her peculiar plan of life had rendered necessary to\nher. He remembered the intelligent toleration of Cynthia in speaking of\nher, and his indignation in behalf of the girl was also thrill of joy for\nher escape from the fate which Mrs. Vostrand was so eagerly invoking for\nher daughter. But he thought of Genevieve with something of the same\ntenderness, and with a compassion that was for her alone. She seemed to\nhim a victim who was to be sacrificed a second time, and he had clearly a\nduty to her which he must not evade. The only question could be how best\nto discharge it, and Westover took some hours from his work to turn the\nquestion over in his mind. In the end, when he was about to give the\nwhole affair up for the present, and lose a night's sleep over it later,\nhe had an inspiration, and he acted upon it at once. He perceived that he\nowed no formal response to the sentimental insincerities of Mrs.\nVostrand's letter, and he decided to write to Durgin himself, and to put\nthe case altogether in his hands. If Durgin chose to show the Vostrands\nwhat he should write, very well; if he chose not to show it, then\nWestover's apparent silence would be a sufficient reply to Mrs.\nVostrand's appeal.\n\n   \"I prefer to address you,\" he began, \"because I do not choose to let\n   you think that I have any feeling to indulge against you, and\n   because I do not think I have the right to take you out of your own\n   keeping in any way. You would be in my keeping if I did, and I do\n   not wish that, not only because it would be a bother to me, but\n   because it would be a wrong to you.\n\n   \"Mrs. Vostrand, whose letter to me I will leave you to answer by\n   showing her this, or in any other manner you choose, tells me you do\n   not want me to spare the truth concerning you. I have never been\n   quite certain what the truth was concerning you; you know that\n   better than I do; and I do not propose to write your biography here.\n   But I will remind you of a few things.\n\n   \"The first day I saw you, I caught you amusing yourself with the\n   terror of two little children, and I had the pleasure of cuffing you\n   for it. But you were only a boy then, and afterward you behaved so\n   well that I decided you were not so much cruel as thoughtlessly\n   mischievous. When you had done all you could to lead me to this\n   favorable conclusion, you suddenly turned and avenged yourself on\n   me, so far as you could, for the help I had given the little ones\n   against you. I never greatly blamed you for that, for I decided\n   that you had a vindictive temperament, and that you were not\n   responsible for your temperament, but only for your character.\n\n   \"In your first year at Harvard your associations were bad, and your\n   conduct generally was so bad that you were suspended. You were\n   arrested with other rowdy students, and passed the night in a police\n   station. I believe you were justly acquitted of any specific\n   offence, and I always believed that if you had experienced greater\n   kindness socially during your first year in college you would have\n   been a better man.\n\n   \"You seem to have told Mrs. Vostrand of your engagement, and I will\n   not speak of that. It was creditable to you that so wise and good a\n   girl as your betrothed should have trusted you, and I do not know\n   that it was against you that another girl who was neither wise nor\n   good should have trusted you at the same time. You broke with the\n   last, because you had to choose between the two; and, so far as I\n   know, you accepted with a due sense of your faithlessness your\n   dismissal by the first. In this connection I must remind you that\n   while you were doing your best to make the party to your second\n   engagement believe that you were in love with her, you got her\n   brother, an habitual inebriate, drunk, and were, so far,\n   instrumental in breaking down the weak will with which he was\n   struggling against his propensity. It is only fair to you that I\n   should add that you persuaded me you got him only a little drunker\n   than he already got himself, and that you meant to have looked after\n   him, but forgot him in your preoccupation with his sister.\n\n   \"I do not know what took place between you and these people after\n   you broke your engagement with the sister, until your encounter with\n   the brother in Whitwell's Clearing, and I know of this only at\n   second hand. I can well believe that you had some real or fancied\n   injury to pay off; and I give you all the credit you may wish to\n   claim for sparing him at last. For one of your vindictive\n   temperament it must have been difficult.\n\n   \"I have told you the worst things I know of you, and I do not\n   pretend to know them more than superficially. I am not asked to\n   judge you, and I will not. You must be your own judge. You are to\n   decide whether these and other acts of yours are the acts of a man\n   good enough to be intrusted with the happiness of a woman who has\n   already been very unhappy.\n\n   \"You have sometimes, however--oftener than I wished--come to me for\n   advice, and I now offer you some advice voluntarily. Do not suppose\n   that because you love this woman, as you believe, you are fit to be\n   the keeper of her future. Ask yourself how you have dealt hitherto\n   with those who have loved you, and whom in a sort you loved, and do\n   not go further unless the answer is such as you can fully and\n   faithfully report to the woman you wish to marry. What you have\n   made yourself you will be to the end. You once called me an\n   idealist, and perhaps you will call this idealism. I will only add,\n   and I will give the last word in your defence, you alone know what\n   you are.\"\n\n\n\n\nLIII.\n\nAs soon as Westover had posted his letter he began to blame himself for\nit. He saw that the right and manly thing would have been to write to\nMrs. Vostrand, and tell her frankly what he thought of Durgin. Her folly,\nher insincerity, her vulgarity, had nothing to do with the affair, so far\nas he was concerned. If she had once been so kind to him as to bind him\nto her in grateful friendship, she certainly had a claim upon his best\noffices. His duty was to her, and not at all to Durgin. He need not have\nsaid anything against him because it was against him, but because it was\ntrue; and if he had written he must not have said anything less than the\ntruth.\n\nHe could have chosen not to write at all. He could have said that her\nmawkish hypocrisy was a little too much; that she was really wanting him\nto whitewash Durgin for her, and she had no right to put upon him the\nresponsibility for the step she clearly wished to take. He could have\nmade either of these decisions, and defended them to himself; but in what\nhe had done he had altogether shirked. While he was writing to Durgin,\nand pretending that he could justly leave this affair to him, he was\nsimply indulging a bit of sentimental pose, far worse than anything in\nMrs. Vostrand's sham appeal for his help.\n\nHe felt, as the time went by, that she had not written of her own\nimpulse, but at her daughter's urgence, and that it was this poor\ncreature whose trust he had paltered with. He believed that Durgin would\nnot fail to make her unhappy, yet he had not done what he might to\ndeliver her out of his hand. He had satisfied a wretched\npseudo-magnanimity toward a faithless scoundrel, as he thought Durgin, at\nthe cost of a woman whose anxious hope of his aid had probably forced her\nmother's hand.\n\nAt first he thought his action irrevocable, and he bitterly upbraided\nhimself for not taking council with Cynthia upon Mrs. Vostrand's letter.\nHe had thought of doing that, and then he had dismissed the thought as\ninvolving pain that he had no right to inflict; but now he perceived that\nthe pain was such as she must suffer in the event, and that he had\nstupidly refused himself the only means of finding out the right thing to\ndo. Her true heart and her clear mind would have been infallible in the\naffair, and he had trusted to his own muddled impulse.\n\nHe began to write other letters: to Durgin, to Mrs. Vostrand, to\nGenevieve; but none of them satisfied him, and he let the days go by\nwithout doing anything to retrieve his error or fulfil his duty. At last\nhe did what he ought to have done at first: he enclosed Mrs. Vostrand's\nletter to Cynthia, and asked her what she thought he ought to have done.\nWhile he was waiting Cynthia's answer to his letter, a cable message\nreached him from Florence:\n\n   \"Kind letter received. Married to-day. Written.\n\n                         \"Vostrand.\"\n\nThe next mail brought Cynthia's reply, which was very brief:\n\n   \"I am sorry you had to write at all; nothing could have prevented\n   it. Perhaps if he cares for her he will be good to her.\"\n\nSince the matter was now irremediable, Westover crept less miserably\nthrough the days than he could have believed he should, until the letter\nwhich Mrs. Vostrand's cable promised came to hand.\n\n   \"Dear friend,\" she wrote, \"your generous and satisfactory answer\n   came yesterday. It was so delicate and high,-minded, and so like\n   you, to write to Mr. Durgin, and leave the whole affair to him; and\n   he did not lose a moment in showing us your beautiful letter. He\n   said you were a man after his own heart, and I wish you could have\n   heard how he praised you. It made Genevieve quite jealous, or would\n   have, if it had been any one else. But she is so happy in your\n   approval of her marriage, which is to take place before the\n   'sindaco' to-morrow, We shall only have the civil rite; she feels\n   that it is more American, and we are all coming home to Lion's Head\n   in the spring to live and die true Americans. I wish you could\n   spend the summer with us there, but, until Lion's Head is rebuilt,\n   we can't ask you. I don't know exactly how we shall do ourselves,\n   but Mr. Durgin is full of plans, and we leave everything to him.\n   He is here, making Genevieve laugh so that I can hardly write.\n   He joins us in love and thanks, and our darling Bice sends you a\n   little kiss.\n\n        \"MEDORA VOSTRAND.\n\n   \"P. S.  Mr. D. has told us all about the affairs you alluded to.\n   With Miss L. we cannot feel that he was to blame; but he blames\n   himself in regard to Miss W. He says his only excuse is that he was\n   always in love with Genevieve; and I think that is quite excuse\n   enough. M. V.\"\n\nFrom time to time during the winter Westover wrote to Cynthia, and had\nletters from her in which he pleased himself fancying almost a personal\neffect of that shyness which he thought a charming thing in her. But no\ndoubt this was something he read into them; on their face they were\nplain, straightforward accounts of the life she led in the little old\nhouse at Lion's Head, under the shadow of the black ruin on the hill.\nWestover had taken to sending her books and magazines, and in thanking\nhim for these she would sometimes speak of things she had read in them.\nHer criticism related to the spirit rather than the manner of the things\nshe spoke of, and it pleased him that she seemed, with all her insight,\nto have very little artistic sense of any kind; in the world where he\nlived there were so many women with an artistic sense in every kind that\nhe was rather weary of it.\n\nThere never was anything about Durgin in the letters, and Westover was\nboth troubled and consoled by this silence. It might be from\nconsciousness, and it probably was; it might be from indifference. In the\nworst event, it hid any pain she might have felt with a dignity from\nwhich no intimation of his moved her. The nearest she came to speaking of\nJeff was when she said that Jombateeste was going to work at the\nbrick-yards in Cambridge as soon as the spring opened, and was not going\nto stay any longer at Lion's Head.\n\nHer brother Frank, she reported, had got a place with part work in the\ndrug-and-book store at Lovewell, where he could keep on more easily with\nhis studies; he had now fully decided to study for the ministry; he had\nalways wanted to be an Episcopalian.\n\nOne day toward the end of April, when several weeks had passed without\nbringing Westover any word from Cynthia, her father presented himself,\nand enjoyed in the painter's surprise the sensation of having dropped\nupon him from the clouds. He gave due accounts of the health of each of\nhis household; ending with Jombateeste. \"You know he's out at the brick,\nas he calls it, in Cambridge.\"\n\n\"Cynthia said he was coming. I didn't know he had come yet,\" said\nWestover. \"I must go out and look him up, if you think I could find him\namong all those Canucks.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know but you'd better look us up at the same time,\" said\nWhitwell, with additional pleasure in the painter's additional surprise.\n\"I guess we're out in Cambridge, too,\" he added, at Westover's start of\nquestion. \"We're out there, visitin' one of our summer folks, as you\nmight say. Remember Mis' Fredericks?\"\n\n\"Why, what the deuce kept you from telling me so at once?\" Westover\ndemanded, indignantly.\n\n\"Guess I hadn't got round to it,\" said Whitwell, with dry relish.\n\n\"Do you mean that Cynthia's there?\"\n\n\"Well, I guess they wouldn't cared much for a visit from me.\"\n\nWhitwell took advantage of Westover's moment of mystification to explain\nthat Jeff had written over to him from Italy, offering him a pretty good\nrent for his house, which he wanted to occupy while he was rebuilding\nLion's Head. He was going to push the work right through in the summer,\nand be ready for the season the year after. That was what Whitwell\nunderstood, and he understood that Jeff's family was going to stay in\nLovewell, but Jeff himself wanted to be on the ground day and night.\n\n\"So that's kind of turned us out of doors, as you may say, and Cynthia's\nalways had this idee of comin' down Boston way: and she didn't know\nanybody that could advise with her as well as Mis' Fredericks, and she\nwrote to her, and Mis' Fredericks answered her to come right down and\ntalk it over.\" Westover felt a pang of resentment that Cynthia, had not\nturned to him for counsel, but he said nothing, and Whitwell went on:\n\"She said she was, ashamed to bother you, you'd had the whole\nneighborhood on your hands so much, and so she wrote to Mis' Fredericks.\"\n\nWestover had a vague discomfort in it all, which ultimately defined\nitself as a discontent with the willingness of the Whitwells to let\nDurgin occupy their house upon any terms, for any purpose, and a\nlingering grudge that Cynthia should have asked help of any one but\nhimself, even from a motive of delicacy.\n\nIn the evening he went out to see the girl at the house of Mrs.\nFredericks, whom he found living in the Port. They had a first moment of\nintolerable shyness on her part. He had been afraid to see her, with the\njealousy for her dignity he always felt, lest she should look as if she\nhad been unhappy about Durgin. But he found her looking, not only very\nwell, but very happy and full of peace, as soon as that moment of shyness\npassed. It seemed to Westover as if she had begun to live on new terms,\nand that a harassing element, which had always been in it, had gone out\nof her life, and in its absence she was beginning to rejoice in a lasting\nrepose. He found himself rejoicing with her, and he found himself on\nsimpler and franker terms with her than ever before. Neither of them\nspoke of Jeff, or made any approach to mention him, and Westover believed\nthat this was not from a morbid feeling in her, but from a final and\nenduring indifference.\n\nHe saw her alone, for Mrs. Fredericks and her daughter had gone into town\nto a concert, which he made her confess she would have gone to herself if\nit had not been that her father said he was coming out to see her. She\nwould not let him joke about the sacrifice he pretended she had made; he\nhad a certain pain in fancying that his visit was the highest and finest\nfavor that life could do her. She told him of the ambition she had that\nshe might get a school somewhere in the neighborhood of Boston, and then\nfind something for her brother to do, while he began his studies in the\nTheological School at Harvard. Frank was still at Lovewell, it seemed.\n\nAt the end of the long call he made, he said, abruptly, when he had risen\nto go, \"I should like to paint you.\"\n\n\"Who? Me?\" she cried, as if it were the most incredible thing, while a\nglad color rushed over her face.\n\n\"Yes. While you're waiting to get your school, couldn't you come in with\nyour father, now and then, and sit for me?\"\n\n\"What's he want me to come fer?\" Whitwell demanded, when the plan was\nlaid before him. He was giving his unlimited leisure to the exploration\nof Boston, and his tone expressed something of the injury, which he also\nput into words, as a sole objection to the proposed interruption. \"Can't\nyou go alone, Cynthy?\" Cynthia said she did not know, but when the point\nwas referred to Mrs. Fredericks, she was sure Cynthia could not go alone,\nand she acquainted them both, as far as she could, with that mystery of\nchaperonage which had never touched their lives before. Whitwell seemed\nto think that his daughter would give the matter up; and perhaps she\nmight have done so, though she seemed reluctant, if Mrs. Fredericks had\nnot further instructed them that it was the highest possible honor Mr.\nWestover was offering them, and that if he had proposed to paint her\ndaughter she would simply have gone and lived with him while he was doing\nit.\n\nWhitwell found some compensation for the time lost to his study of Boston\nin the conversation of the painter, which he said was worth a hundred\ncents on the dollar every time, though it dealt less with the\nmetaphysical aspect of the latest facts of science than the philosopher\ncould have wished. He did not, to be sure, take very much stock in the\npicture as it advanced, somewhat fitfully, with a good many reversions to\nits original state of sketch. It appeared to him always a slight and\nfeeble representation of Cynthia, though, of course, a native politeness\nforbade him to express his disappointment. He avowed a faith in\nWestover's ability to get it right in the end, and always bade him go on,\nand take as much time to it as he wanted.\n\nHe felt less uneasy than at first, because he had now found a little\nfurnished house in the woodenest outskirts of North Cambridge, which he\nhired cheap from the recently widowed owner, and they were keeping house\nthere. Jombateeste lived with them, and worked in the brick-yards. Out of\nhours he helped Cynthia, and kept the ugly little place looking trim and\nneat, and left Whitwell free for the tramps home to nature, which he\nbegan to take over the Belmont uplands as soon as the spring opened. He\nwas not homesick, as Cynthia was afraid he might be; his mind was fully\noccupied by the vast and varied interests opened to it by the\nintellectual and material activities of the neighboring city; and he\nfound ample scope for his physical energies in doing Cynthia's errands,\nas well as studying the strange flora of the region. He apparently\nthought that he had made a distinct rise and advance in the world.\nSometimes, in the first days of his satisfaction with his establishment,\nhe expressed the wish that Jackson could only have seen how he was fixed,\nonce. In his preoccupation with other things, he no longer attempted to\nexplore the eternal mysteries with the help of planchette; the ungrateful\ninstrument gathered as much dust as Cynthia would suffer on the what-not\nin the corner of the solemn parlor; and after two or three visits to the\nFirst Spiritual Temple in Boston, he lapsed altogether from an interest\nin the other world, which had, perhaps, mainly flourished in the absence\nof pressing subjects of inquiry, in this.\n\nWhen at last Westover confessed that he had carried his picture of\nCynthia as far as he could, Whitwell did his best to hide his\ndisappointment. \"Well, sir,\" he said, tolerantly and even cheeringly, \"I\npresume we're every one of us a different person to whoever looks at us.\nThey say that no two men see the same star.\"\n\n\"You mean that she doesn't look so to you,\" suggested the painter, who\nseemed not at all abashed.\n\n\"Well, you might say--Why, here! It's like her; photograph couldn't get\nit any better; but it makes me think-well, of a bird that you've come on\nsudden, and it stoops as if it was goin' to fly--\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Westover, \"does it make you think of that?\"\n\n\n\n\nLIV.\n\nThe painter could not make out at first whether the girl herself was\npleased with the picture or not, and in his uncertainty he could not give\nit her at once, as he had hoped and meant to do. It was by a kind of\naccident he found afterward that she had always been passionately proud\nof his having painted her. This was when he returned from the last\nsojourn he had made in Paris, whither he went soon after the Whitwells\nsettled in North Cambridge. He left the picture behind him to be framed\nand then sent to her with a letter he had written, begging her to give it\nhouseroom while he was gone. He got a short, stiff note in reply after he\nreached Paris, and he had not tried to continue the correspondence. But\nas soon as he returned he went out to see the Whitwells in North\nCambridge. They were still in their little house there; the young widower\nhad married again; but neither he nor his new wife had cared to take up\ntheir joint life in his first home, and he had found Whitwell such a good\ntenant that he had not tried to put up the rent on him. Frank was at\nhome, now, with an employment that gave him part of his time for his\ntheological studies; Cynthia had been teaching school ever since the fall\nafter Westover went away, and they were all, as Whitwell said, in clover.\nHe was the only member of the family at home when Westover called on the\nafternoon of a warm summer day, and he entertained him with a full\naccount of a visit he had paid Lion's Head earlier in the season.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" he said, as if he had already stated the fact, \"I've sold my\nold place there to that devil.\" He said devil without the least rancor;\nwith even a smile of good-will, and he enjoyed the astonishment Westover\nexpressed in his demand:\n\n\"Sold Durgin your house?\"\n\n\"Yes; I see we never wanted to go back there to live, any of us, and I\nwent up to pass the papers and close the thing out. Well, I did have an\noffer for it from a feller that wanted to open a boa'din'-house there and\nget the advantage of Jeff's improvements, and I couldn't seem to make up\nmy mind till I'd looked the ground over. Fust off, you know, I thought\nI'd sell to the other feller, because I could see in a minute what a\nthorn it 'd be in Jeff's flesh. But, dumn it all! When I met the comical\ndevil I couldn't seem to want to pester him. Why, here, thinks I, if\nwe've made an escape from him--and I guess we have, about the biggest\nescape--what have I got ag'in' him, anyway? I'd ought to feel good to\nhim; and I guess that's the way I did feel, come to boil it down. He's\ngot a way with him, you know, when you're with him, that makes you like\nhim. He may have a knife in your ribs the whole while, but so long's he\ndon't turn it, you don't seem to know it, and you can't help likin' him.\nWhy, I hadn't been with Jeff five minutes before I made up my mind to\nsell to him. I told him about the other offer--felt bound to do it--and\nhe was all on fire. 'I want that place, Mr. Whitwell,' s'd he. 'Name your\nprice.' Well, I wa'n't goin' to take an advantage of the feller, and I\nguess he see it. 'You've offered me three thousand,' s'd I, 'n' I don't\nwant to be no ways mean about it. Five thousand buys the place.' 'It's\nmine,' s'd he; just like that. I guess he see he had a gentleman to deal\nwith, and we didn't say a word more. Don't you think I done right to sell\nto him? I couldn't 'a' got more'n thirty-five hundred out the other\nfeller, to save me, and before Jeff begun his improvements I couldn't 'a'\nrealized a thousand dollars on the prop'ty.\"\n\n\"I think you did right to sell to him,\" said Westover, saddened somewhat\nby the proof Whitwell alleged of his magnanimity.\n\n\"Well, Sir, I'm glad you do. I don't believe in crowdin' a man because\nyou got him in a corner, an' I don't believe in bearin' malice. Never\ndid. All I wanted was what the place was wo'th--to him. 'Twa'n't wo'th\nnothin' to me! He's got the house and the ten acres around it, and he's\ngot the house on Lion's Head, includin' the Clearin', that the poottiest\npicnic-ground in the mountains. Think of goin' up there this summer?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Westover, briefly.\n\n\"Well, I some wish you did. I sh'd like to know how Jeff's improvements\nstruck you. Of course, I can't judge of 'em so well, but I guess he's\nmade a pootty sightly thing of it. He told me he'd had one of the leadin'\nBoston architects to plan the thing out for him, and I tell you he's got\nsomething nice. 'Tain't so big as old Lion's Head, and Jeff wants to\ncater to a different style of custom, anyway. The buildin's longer'n what\nshe is deep, and she spreads in front so's to give as many rooms a view\nof the mountain as she can. Know what 'runnaysonce' is? Well, that's the\nstyle Jeff said it was; it's all pillars and pilasters; and you ride up\nto the office through a double row of colyums, under a kind of a portico.\nIt's all painted like them old Colonial houses down on Brattle Street,\nbuff and white. Well, it made me think of one of them old pagan temples.\nHe's got her shoved along to the south'ard, and he's widened out a piece\nof level for her to stand on, so 't that piece o' wood up the hill there\nis just behind her, and I tell you she looks nice, backin' up ag'inst the\ntrees. I tell you, Jeff's got a head on him! I wish you could see that\ndinin'-room o' his: all white colyums, and frontin' on the view. Why,\nthat devil's got a regular little theatyre back o' the dinin'-room for\nthe young folks to act ammyture plays in, and the shows that come along,\nand he's got a dance-hall besides; the parlors ain't much--folks like to\nset in the office; and a good many of the rooms are done off into soots,\nand got their own parlors. I tell you, it's swell, as they say. You can\norder what you please for breakfast, but for lunch and dinner you got to\ntake what Jeff gives you; but he treats you well. He's a Durgin, when it\ncomes to that. Served in cou'ses, and dinner at seven o'clock. I don't\nknow where he got his money for 't all, but I guess he put in his\ninsurance fust, and then he put a mortgage on the buildin'; be as much as\nowned it; said he'd had a splendid season last year, and if he done as\nwell for a copule of seasons more he'd have the whole prop'ty free o'\ndebt.\"\n\nWestover could see that the prosperity of the unjust man had corrupted\nthe imagination and confounded the conscience of this simple witness, and\nhe asked, in the hope of giving his praises pause: \"What has he done\nabout the old family burying-ground in the orchard?\"\n\n\"Well, there!\" said Whitwell. \"That got me more than any other one thing:\nI naturally expected that Jeff 'd had 'em moved, for you know and I know,\nMr. Westover, that a place like that couldn't be very pop'la' with summer\nfolks; they don't want to have anything to kind of make 'em serious, as\nyou may say. But that devil got his architect to treat the place, as he\ncalls it, and he put a high stone wall around it, and planted it to\nbushes and evergreens so 't looks like a piece of old garden, down there\nin the corner of the orchard, and if you didn't hunt for it you wouldn't\nknow it was there. Jeff said 't when folks did happen to find it out, he\nbelieved they liked it; they think it's picturesque and ancient. Why,\nsome on 'em wanted him to put up a little chapel alongside and have\nservices there; and Jeff said he didn't know but he'd do it yet. He's got\ndark- stones up for Mis' Durgin and Jackson, so 't they look as\nold as any of 'em. I tell you, he knows how to do things.\"\n\n\"It seems so,\" said Westover, with a bitterness apparently lost upon the\noptimistic philosopher.\n\n\"Yes, sir. I guess it's all worked out for the best. So long's he didn't\nmarry Cynthy, I don't care who he married, and--I guess he's made out\nfust-rate, and he treats his wife well, and his mother-in-law, too. You\nwouldn't hardly know they was in the house, they're so kind of quiet; and\nif a guest wants to see Jeff, he's got to send and ask for him; clerk\ndoes everything, but I guess Jeff keeps an eye out and knows what's goin'\non. He's got an elegant soot of appartments, and he lives as private as\nif he was in his own house, him and his wife. But when there's anything\ngoin' on that needs a head, they're both right on deck.\n\n\"He don't let his wife worry about things a great deal; he's got a\nfust-rate of a housekeeper, but I guess old Mis' Vostrand keeps the\nhousekeeper, as you may say. I hear some of the boa'ders talkin' up\nthere, and one of 'em said 't the great thing about Lion's Head was 't\nyou could feel everywheres in it that it was a lady's house. I guess Jeff\nhas a pootty good time, and a time 't suits him. He shows up on the\ncoachin' parties, and he's got himself a reg'lar English coachman's rig,\nwith boots outside his trouse's, and a long coat and a fuzzy plug-hat: I\ntell you, he looks gay! He don't spend his winters at Lion's Head: he is\noff to Europe about as soon as the house closes in the fall, and he keeps\nbringin' home new dodges. Guess you couldn't get no boa'd there for no\nseven dollars a week now! I tell you, Jeff's the gentleman now, and his\nwife's about the nicest lady I ever saw. Do' know as I care so much about\nher mother; do' know as I got anything ag'inst her, either, very much.\nBut that little girl, Beechy, as they call her, she's a beauty! And round\nwith Jeff all the while! He seems full as fond of her as her own mother\ndoes, and that devil, that couldn't seem to get enough of tormentin'\nlittle children when he was a boy, is as good and gentle with that little\nthing as-pie!\"\n\nWhitwell seemed to have come to an end of his celebration of Jeff's\nsuccess, and Westover asked:\n\n\"And what do you make now, of planchette's brokenshaft business? Or don't\nyou believe in planchette any more?\"\n\nWhitwell's beaming face clouded. \"Well, sir, that's a thing that's always\npuzzled me. If it wa'n't that it was Jackson workin' plantchette that\nnight, I shouldn't placed much dependence on what she said; but Jackson\ncould get the truth out of her, if anybody could. Sence I b'en up there I\nb'en figurin' it out like this: the broken shaft is the old Jeff that\nhe's left off bein'--\"\n\nWhitwell stopped midway in his suggestion, with an inquiring eye on the\npainter, who asked: \"You think he's left off being the old Jeff?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, you got me there,\" the philosopher confessed. \"I didn't see\nanything to the contrary, but come to think of it--\"\n\n\"Why couldn't the broken shaft be his unfulfilled destiny on the old\nlines? What reason is there to believe he isn't what he's always been?\"\n\n\"Well, come to think of it--\"\n\n\"People don't change in a day, or a year,\" Westover went on, \"or two or\nthree years, even. Sometimes I doubt if they ever change.\"\n\n\"Well, all that I thought,\" Whitwell urged, faintly, against the hard\nscepticism of a man ordinarily so yielding, \"is 't there must be a moral\ngovernment of the universe somewheres, and if a bad feller is to get\nalong and prosper hand over hand, that way, don't it look kind of as\nif--\"\n\n\"There wasn't any moral government of the universe? Not the way I see\nit,\" said Westover. \"A tree brings forth of its kind. As a man sows he\nreaps. It's dead sure, pitilessly sure. Jeff Durgin sowed success, in a\ncertain way, and he's reaping it. He once said to me, when I tried to\nwaken his conscience, that he should get where he was trying to go if he\nwas strong enough, and being good had nothing to do with it. I believe\nnow he was right. But he was wrong too, as such a man always is. That\nkind of tree bears Dead Sea apples, after all. He sowed evil, and he must\nreap evil. He may never know it, but he will reap what he has sown. The\ndreadful thing is that others must share in his harvest. What do you\nthink?\"\n\nWhitwell scratched his head. \"Well, sir, there's something in what you\nsay, I guess. But here! What's the use of thinkin' a man can't change?\nWa'n't there ever anything in that old idee of a change of heart? What do\nyou s'pose made Jeff let up on that feller that Jombateeste see him have\ndown, that day, in my Clearin'? What Jeff would natch'ly done would b'en\nto shake the life out of him; but he didn't; he let him up, and he let\nhim go. What's the reason that wa'n't the beginnin' of a new life for\nhim?\"\n\n\"We don't know all the ins and outs of that business,\" said Westover,\nafter a moment. \"I've puzzled over it a good deal. The man was the\nbrother of that girl that Jeff had jilted in Boston. I've found out that\nmuch. I don't know just the size and shape of the trouble between them,\nbut Jeff may have felt that he had got even with his enemy before that\nday. Or he may have felt that if he was going in for full satisfaction,\nthere was Jombateeste looking on.\"\n\n\"That's true,\" said Whitwell, greatly daunted. After a while he took\nrefuge in the reflection, \"Well, he's a comical devil.\"\n\nWestover said, in a sort of absence: \"Perhaps we're all broken shafts,\nhere. Perhaps that old hypothesis of another life, a world where there is\nroom enough and time enough for all the beginnings of this to complete\nthemselves--\"\n\n\"Well, now you're shoutin',\" said Whitwell. \"And if plantchette--\"\nWestover rose. \"Why, a'n't you goin' to wait and see Cynthy? I'm\nexpectin' her along every minute now; she's just gone down to Harvard\nSquare. She'll be awfully put out when she knows you've be'n here.\"\n\n\"I'll come out again soon,\" said Westover. \"Tell her--\"\n\n\"Well, you must see your picture, anyway. We've got it in the parlor. I\ndon't know what she'll say to me, keepin' you here in the settin'-room\nall the time.\"\n\nWhitwell led him into the little dark front hall, and into the parlor,\nless dim than it should have been because the afternoon sun was burning\nfull upon its shutters. The portrait hung over the mantel, in a bad\nlight, but the painter could feel everything in it that he could not see.\n\n\"Yes, it had that look in it.\"\n\n\"Well, she ha'n't took wing yet, I'm thankful to think,\" said Whitwell,\nand he spoke from his own large mind to the sympathy of an old friend who\nhe felt could almost share his feelings as a father.\n\n\n\n\nLV\n\nWhen Westover turned out of the baking little street where the Whitwells\nlived into an elm-shaded stretch of North Avenue, he took off his hat and\nstrolled bareheaded along in the cooler air. He was disappointed not to\nhave seen Cynthia, and yet he found himself hurrying away after his\nfailure, with a sense of escape, or at least of respite.\n\nWhat he had come to say, to do, was the effect of long experience and\nmuch meditation. The time had arrived when he could no longer feign to\nhimself that his feelings toward the girl were not those of a lover, but\nhe had his modest fears that she could never imagine him in that\ncharacter, and that if he should ask her to do so he should shock and\ngrieve her, and inflict upon himself an incurable wound.\n\nDuring this last absence of his he had let his fancy dwell constantly\nupon her, until life seemed worth having only if she would share it with\nhim. He was an artist, and he had always been a bohemian, but at heart he\nwas philistine and bourgeois. His ideal was a settlement, a fixed\nhabitation, a stated existence, a home where he could work constantly in\nan air of affection, and unselfishly do his part to make his home happy.\nIt was a very simple-hearted ambition, and I do not quite know how to\nkeep it from appearing commonplace and almost sordid; but such as it was,\nI must confess that it was his. He had not married his model, because he\nwas mainly a landscapist, perhaps; and he had not married any of his\npupils, because he had not been in love with them, charming and good and\nlovely as he had thought some of them; and of late he had realized more\nand more why his fancy had not turned in their direction. He perceived\nthat it was already fixed, and possibly had long been fixed.\n\nHe did not blink the fact that there were many disparities, and that\nthere would be certain disadvantages which could never be quite overcome.\nThe fact had been brought rather strenuously home to him by his interview\nwith Cynthia's father. He perceived, as indeed he had always known, that\nwith a certain imaginative lift in his thinking and feeling, Whitwell was\nirreparably rustic, that he was and always must be practically Yankee.\nWestover was not a Yankee, and he did not love or honor the type, though\nits struggles against itself touched and amused him. It made him a little\nsick to hear how Whitwell had profited by Durgin's necessity, and had\ntaken advantage of him with conscientious and self-applausive rapacity,\nwhile he admired his prosperity, and tried to account for it by doubt of\nits injustice. For a moment this seemed to him worse than Durgin's\nconscientious toughness, which was the antithesis of Whitwell's\nremorseless self-interest. For the moment this claimed Cynthia of its\nkind, and Westover beheld her rustic and Yankee of her father's type. If\nshe was not that now, she would grow into that through the lapse from the\npersonal to the ancestral which we all undergo in the process of the\nyears.\n\nThe sight of her face as he had pictured it, and of the soul which he had\nimagined for it, restored him to a better sense of her, but he felt the\nneed of escaping from the suggestion of her father's presence, and taking\nfurther thought. Perhaps he should never again reach the point that he\nwas aware of deflecting from now; he filled his lungs with long breaths,\nwhich he exhaled in sighs of relief. It might have been a mistake on the\nspiritual as well as the worldly side; it would certainly not have\npromoted his career; it might have impeded it. These misgivings flitted\nover the surface of thought that more profoundly was occupied with a\nquestion of other things. In the time since he had seen her last it might\nvery well be that a young and pretty girl had met some one who had taken\nher fancy; and he could not be sure that her fancy had ever been his,\neven if this had not happened. He had no proof at all that she had ever\ncared or could care for him except gratefully, respectfully, almost\nreverentially, with that mingling of filial and maternal anxiety which\nhad hitherto been the warmest expression of her regard. He tried to\nreason it out, and could not. He suddenly found himself bitterly\ndisappointed that he had missed seeing her, for if they had met, he would\nhave known by this time what to think, what to hope. He felt old--he felt\nfully thirty-six years old--as he passed his hand over his crown, whose\ngossamer growth opposed so little resistance to his touch. He had begun\nto lose his hair early, but till then he had not much regretted his\nbaldness. He entered into a little question of their comparative ages,\nwhich led him to the conclusion that Cynthia must now be about\ntwenty-five.\n\nAlmost at the same moment he saw her coming up the walk toward him from\nfar down the avenue. For a reason, or rather a motive, of his own he\npretended to himself that it was not she, but he knew instantly that it\nwas, and he put on his hat. He could see that she did not know him, and\nit was a pretty thing to witness the recognition dawn on her. When it had\nits full effect, he was aware of a flutter, a pause in her whole figure\nbefore she came on toward him, and he hurried his steps for the charm of\nher beautiful blushing face.\n\nIt was the spiritual effect of figure and face that he had carried in his\nthought ever since he had arrived at that one-sided intimacy through his\nstudy of her for the picture he had just seen. He had often had to ask\nhimself whether he had really perceived or only imagined the character he\nhad translated into it; but here, for the moment at least, was what he\nhad seen. He hurried forward and joyfully took the hand she gave him. He\nthought he should speak of that at once, but it was not possible, of\ncourse. There had to come first the unheeded questions and answers about\neach other's health, and many other commonplaces. He turned and walked\nhome with her, and at the gate of the little ugly house she asked him if\nhe would not come in and take tea with them.\n\nHer father talked with him while she got the tea, and when it was ready\nher brother came in from his walk home out of Old Cambridge and helped\nher put it on the table. He had grown much taller than Westover, and he\nwas very ecclesiastical in his manner; more so than he would be,\nprobably, if he ever became a bishop, Westover decided. Jombateeste, in\nan interval of suspended work at the brick yard, was paying a visit to\nhis people in Canada, and Westover did not see him.\n\nAll the time while they sat at table and talked together Westover\nrealized more and more that for him, at least, the separation of the last\ntwo years had put that space between them which alone made it possible\nfor them to approach each other on new ground. A kind of horror, of\nrepulsion, for her engagement to Jeff Durgin had ceased from his sense of\nher; it was as if she had been unhappily married, and the man, who had\nbeen unworthy and unkind, was like a ghost who could never come to\ntrouble his joy. He was more her contemporary, he found, than formerly;\nshe had grown a great deal in the past two years, and a certain\naffliction which her father's fixity had given him concerning her passed\nin the assurance of change which she herself gave him.\n\nShe had changed her world, and grown to it, but her nature had not\nchanged. Even her look had not changed, and he told her how he had seen\nhis picture in her at the moment of their meeting in the street. They all\nwent in to verify his impression from the painting. \"Yes, that is the way\nyou looked.\"\n\n\"It seems to me that is the way I felt,\" she asserted.\n\nFrank went about the house-work, and left her to their guest. When\nWhitwell came back from the post-office, where he said he would only be\ngone a minute, he did not rejoin Westover and Cynthia in the parlor.\n\nThe parlor door was shut; he had risked his fate, and they were talking\nit over. Cynthia was not sure; she was sure of nothing but that there was\nno one in the world she cared for so much; but she was not sure that was\nenough. She did not pretend that she was surprised; she owned that she\nhad sometimes expected it; she blamed herself for not expecting it then.\n\nWestover said that he did not blame her for not knowing her mind; he had\nbeen fifteen years learning his own fully. He asked her to take all the\ntime she wished. If she could not make sure after all, he should always\nbe sure that she was wise and good. She told him everything there was to\ntell of her breaking with Jeff, and he thought the last episode a supreme\nproof of her wisdom and goodness.\n\nAfter a certain time they went for a walk in the warm summer moonlight\nunder the elms, where they had met on the avenue.\n\n\"I suppose,\" she said, as they drew near her door again, \"that people\ndon't often talk it over as we've done.\"\n\n\"We only know from the novels,\" he answered. \"Perhaps people do, oftener\nthan is ever known. I don't see why they shouldn't.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I've never wished to be sure of you so much as since you've wished to be\nsure of yourself.\"\n\n\"And I've never been so sure as since you were willing to let me,\" said\nCynthia.\n\n\"I am glad of that. Try to think of me, if that will help my cause, as\nsome one you might have always known in this way. We don't really know\neach other yet. I'm a great deal older than you, but still I'm not so\nvery old.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't care for that. All I want to be certain of is that the\nfeeling I have is really--the feeling.\"\n\n\"I know, dear,\" said Westover, and his heart surged toward her in his\ntenderness for her simple conscience, her wise question. \"Take time.\nDon't hurry. Forget what I've said--or no; that's absurd! Think of it;\nbut don't let anything but the truth persuade you. Now, good-night,\nCynthia.\"\n\n\"Good-night--Mr. Westover.\"\n\n\"Mr. Westover\" he reproached her.\n\nShe stood thinking, as if the question were crucial. Then she said,\nfirmly, \"I should always have to call you Mr. Westover.\"\n\n\"Oh, well,\" he returned, \"if that's all!\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Landlord at Lion's Head, Volume 2\nby William Dean Howells\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\nE-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project\nGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 28183-h.htm or 28183-h.zip:\n      (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/8/1/8/28183/28183-h/28183-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/8/1/8/28183/28183-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\n\nSHADOW AND LIGHT\n\n[Illustration: Very truly yours, M. W. Gibbs]\n\nSHADOW AND LIGHT\n\nAn Autobiography\n\nWith Reminiscences of the Last and Present Century.\n\nby\n\nMIFFLIN WISTAR GIBBS\n\nWith an Introduction by Booker T. Washington\n\nA Fatherless Boy, Carpenter and Contractor, Anti-Slavery Lecturer,\nMerchant, Railroad Builder, Superintendent of Mine, Attorney-at-Law,\nCounty Attorney, Municipal Judge Register of United States Lands,\nReceiver of Public Monies for U. S., United States Consul to\nMadagascar--Prominent Race Leaders, etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nWashington, D. C.\n1902.\n\nCopyright, 1902.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nDuring the late years abroad, while reading the biographies of\ndistinguished men who had been benefactors, the thought occurred that I\nhad had a varied career, though not as fruitful or as deserving of\nrenown as these characters, and differing as to status and aim. Yet the\nportrayal might be of benefit to those who, eager for advancement, are\nwilling to be laborious students to attain worthy ends.\n\nI have aimed to give an added interest to the narrative by embellishing\nits pages with portraits of men who have gained distinction in various\nfields, who need only to be seen to present the career of those now\nliving as worthy models, and the record of the dead, who left the world\nthe better for having lived. To enjoy a life prominent and prolonged is\na desire as natural as worthy, and there have been those who sought to\nextend its duration by nostrums and drinking-waters said to bestow the\nvirtue of \"perpetual life.\" But if \"to live in hearts we leave behind is\nnot to die,\" to be worthy of such memorial we must have done or said\nsomething that blessed the living or benefited coming generations. Hence\nautobiography is the record, for \"books are as tombstones made by the\nliving, but destined soon to remind us of the dead.\"\n\nTrusting that any absence of literary merit will not impair the author's\ncherished design to \"impart a moral,\" should he fail to \"adorn a tale.\"\n\n    Little Rock, Ark., January, 1902.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nBy BOOKER T. WASHINGTON.\n\n\nIt is seldom that one man, even if he has lived as long as Judge M. W.\nGibbs is able to record his impressions of so many widely separated\nparts of the earth's surface as Judge Gibbs can, or to recall personal\nexperiences in so many important occurrences.\n\nBorn in Philadelphia, and living there when that city--almost on the\nborder line between slavery and freedom--was the scene of some of the\nmost stirring incidents in the abolition agitation, he was able as a\nfree  youth, going to Maryland to work, to see and judge of the\ncondition of the slaves in that State. Some of the most dramatic\noperations of the famous \"Underground Railroad\" came under his personal\nobservation. He enjoyed the rare privilege of being associated in labor\nfor the race with that man of sainted memory, the Hon. Frederick\nDouglass. He met and heard many of the most notable men and women who\nlabored to secure the freedom of the <DW64>. As a resident of California\nin the exciting years which immediately followed the discovery of gold,\nhe watched the development of lawlessness there and its results. A few\nyears later he went to British Columbia to live, when that colony was\npractically an unknown country. Returning to the United States, he was a\nwitness to the exciting events connected with the years of\nReconstruction in Florida, and an active participant in the events of\nthat period in the State of Arkansas. At one time and another he has met\nmany of the men who have been prominent in the direction of the affairs\nof both the great political parties of the country. In more recent years\nhe has been able to see something of life in Europe, and in his official\ncapacity as United States Consul to Tamatave, Madagascar, adjoining\nAfrica, has resided for some time in that far-off and strange land.\n\nIt would be difficult for any man who has had all these experiences not\nto be entertaining when he tells of them. Judge Gibbs has written an\ninteresting book.\n\nInterspersed with the author's recollections and descriptions are\nvarious conclusions, as when he says: \"Labor to make yourself as\nindispensable as possible in all your relations with the dominant race,\nand color will cut less figure in your upward grade.\"\n\n\"Vice is ever destructive; ignorance ever a victim, and poverty ever\ndefenseless.\"\n\n\"Only as we increase in property will our political barometer rise.\"\n\nIt is significant to find one who has seen so much of the world as Judge\nGibbs has, saying, as he does: \"With travel somewhat extensive and\ndiversified, and with residence in tropical latitudes of <DW64> origin,\nI have a decided conviction, despite the crucial test to which he has\nbeen subjected in the past, and the present disadvantages under which he\nlabors, that nowhere is the promise along all the lines of opportunity\nbrighter for the American <DW64> than here in the land of his nativity.\"\n\nI bespeak for the book a careful reading by those who are interested in\nthe history of the <DW64> in America, and in his present and future.\n\n    BOOKER T. WASHINGTON.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                   PAGE\n\nCHAPTER I                                             3\n\nParents, School and Teacher--Foundation of\nthe <DW64>s' Mechanical Knowledge--First\nBrick A. M. E. Church--Bishop Allen--Olive\nCemetery--Harriet Smith Home--\"Underground\nRailroad\"--Incidents on the Road--William\nand Ellen Craft--William Box Brown.\n\nCHAPTER II                                           15\n\nNat Turner's Insurrection--Experience on a\nMaryland Plantation--First Street Cars in\nPhiladelphia--Anti-Slavery Meetings--Amusing\nIncidents--Opposition of <DW64> Churches--Kossuth\nCelebration, and the Unwelcome\nGuest.\n\nCHAPTER III                                          29\n\nCinguez, the Hero of Armistead Captives--The\nThreshold of Man's Estate--My First Lecturing\nTour with Frederic Douglass--His \"Life\nand Times\"--Pen Picture of George William\nCurtis of Ante-Bellum Conditions--Harriet\nBeecher Stowe, Lucretia Mott, and Frances E.\nHarper, a Noble Band of Women--\"Go Do\nSome Great Thing\"--Journey to California--Incidents\nat Panama.\n\nCHAPTER IV                                           40\n\nArrival at San Francisco--Getting Domiciled\nand Seeking Work--Strike of White Employees--Lester\n& Gibbs, Importers--Assaulted\nin Our Store--First Protest from the\n<DW52> Men of California--Poll Tax.\n\nCHAPTER V                                            51\n\n\"Vigilance Committee\" and Lynch Law at\n\"Fort Gunny\"--Murder of James King, of William--A\nParadox to Present Conditions.\n\nCHAPTER VI                                           59\n\nGold Discovery in British Columbia--Incidents\non Shipboard and Arrival at Victoria--National\nUnrest in 1859--\"Irrepressible Conflict\"--Garrison\nand Douglass--Harriet Beecher\nStowe and Frances Ellen Harper--John Brown\nof Harper's Ferry--\"Fugitive Slave Law\"--Flight\nto Canada.\n\nCHAPTER VII                                          74\n\nAbraham Lincoln President--Rebellion Inaugurated--Success\nof the Union Army--Re-Election\nof Lincoln--Bravery and Endurance of\n<DW64> Soldiers--Assassination of Lincoln--Lynching\nDenounced by Southern Governors\nand Statesmen--Words of Wisdom from\nSt. Pierre de Couberton.\n\nCHAPTER VIII                                         85\n\nMy First Entry Into Political Life--Intricacies\nof the Ballot--Number of <DW64> Schools,\nPupils and Amount of School Property in 1898--Amendment\nto Constitution and Interview\nwith Vice-President Schuyler Colfax at Victoria,\nB. C.--William Lloyd Garrison, Jr., and\nJames Russell Lowell on the Right to Vote.\n\nCHAPTER IX                                           93\n\nPhilip A. Bell, a Veteran Editor of the \"<DW64>\nPress\"--British Columbia, Its Early History,\nEfforts for Annexation to the United States--Meeting\nwith Lady Franklin, Widow of Sir\nJohn Franklin, the Arctic Explorer, in 1859--Union\nof British Columbia with the Dominion\nof Canada in 1868, the Political Issue--Queen\nCharlotte Island--Anthracite Coal Company--Director,\nContractor and Shipper of First\nCargo of Anthracite Coal on the Pacific\nCoast--Indians and Their Peculiarities.\n\nCHAPTER X                                           107\n\nAn Incident of Peril--My Return to the United\nStates in 1869--Thoughts and Feelings En\nRoute--Entered Oberlin Law College and\nGraduated--Visit to my Brother, J. C. Gibbs,\nSecretary of State of Florida--A Delegate to\nthe National Convention of <DW52> Men at\nCharleston, S. C.--\"Gratitude Expensive\"--The\nTrend of Republican Leaders--Contribution of\nSouthern White People for <DW64> Education--Views\nof a Leading Democrat.\n\nCHAPTER XI                                          122\n\nPresident of National Convention at Nashville,\nTenn., in 1876--Pen and Ink Sketch by H. V.\nRedfield of \"Cincinnati Commercial\"--\nLeaders Desire to Fraternize for Race Protection--William\nH. Grey, H. B. Robinson, and\nJ. H. Johnson, of Arkansas, Leaders and\nPlanters--My Arrival at Little Rock, May,\n1871--Reading of Local Statutes in the Law\nOffice of Benjamin & Barnes--\"Wheeler &\nGibbs,\" Attorneys-at-Law.\n\nCHAPTER XII                                         134\n\nPolitics and Politicians--Disruption of the Republicans\nin Arkansas--\"Minstrels and Brindle\nTails\"--Early Canvassing in the South,\nwith Its Peculiarities--Ku Klux Visits--My\nAppointment as County Attorney and Election\nas Municipal Judge--Hon. John Allen, of Mississippi,\nHis Descriptive Anecdote.\n\nCHAPTER XIII                                        145\n\nLowering Cloud on Righteous Rule--Comparison\nof <DW64> Progress--Sir Walter Scott in His\nNotes on English History--George C. Lorimer,\na Noted Divine--Educational Solution of the\nRace Problem--Baron Russell, Lord Chief Justice\nof England--Civil War in Arkansas--Expulsion\nof Governor Baxter and Instalment\nof Governor Brooks at the State Houses--Stirring\nEpisodes--\"Who Shall Bell the\nCat?\"--Extraordinary Session of the Legislature--My\nIssue of a Search Warrant for the\nSeal of the State--Recognition of Baxter by\nthe President.\n\nCHAPTER XIV                                         158\n\nArkansas Constitutional Convention and New\nConstitution Adopted--Augustus H. Garland\nElected Governor--My Letter from Madagascar\non Learning of His Demise--General\nGrant's Nomination in 1872 at the Academy of\nMusic, Philadelphia--Oliver P. Morton, of Indiana--William\nH. Gray, of Arkansas--R. B.\nElliot, of South Carolina--\"Henry at Ajincourt\"--Study\nof Obsolete Languages Versus\nIndustrial Education--Views of Lord Rosebery,\nex-Premier of England--Also of Washington\nPost--United States Have Supreme\nAdvantages for the <DW64>.\n\nCHAPTER XV                                          173\n\nPresidential Elector in 1876, Receiving the\nHighest Vote--President Hayes, His Yearnings\nand Accomplishments--Protest Against\nLawlessness by the <DW64>s in State Conventions--<DW64>\nExodus from the Southern to the\nWestern States in 1878--Secretary William\nWindom's Letter--Hon J. C. Rapier, of Alabama,\nand Myself Appointed by Secretary\nWindom to Visit Western States and Report.\n\nCHAPTER XVI                                         185\n\nAppointed by the President in 1877 Register\nof U. S. Lands--Robert J. Ingersoll on the\nBenignity of Homestead Law--General\nGrant's Tour Around the World and His\nArrival at Little Rock, 1879--A Guest at the\nBanquet Given Him--Response to the Toast,\n\"The Possibilities of American Citizenship\"--Roscoe\nConkling's Speech Nominating General\nGrant for Third Term--Bronze Medal as one of\nthe Historic \"306\" at the National Convention\nof 1880--The Manner of General Grant's Defeat\nfor Nomination and Garfield's Success--Character\nSketches of Hon. James G. Blaine,\nIngersoll's Mailed Warrior and Plumed Knight--Hon\nGrover Cleveland.\n\nCHAPTER XVII                                        195\n\nHonorary Commissioner for the  Exhibits\nof the World's Exposition at New Orleans,\nLa.--Neglected Opportunities--Important\nFactors Necessary to Recognition.\n\nCHAPTER XVIII                                       201\n\nEffort of Henry Brown, of Oberlin, Ohio, to\nEstablish \"Schools of Trade\"--Call for a Conference\nof Leading <DW52> Men in 1885--Industrial\nFair at Pine Bluff, Ark.--Captain\nThompson, of the \"Capital Guards,\" a \nMilitary Company--Meeting of Prominent\nLeaders at New Orleans--The Late N. W.\nCuney, of Texas--Contented Benefactions\nfrom Christian Churches.\n\nCHAPTER XIX                                         215\n\nThe Reunion of General Grant's \"306\"--Ferdinand\nHavis, of Pine Bluff--Compromise and\nDisfranchisement--Progress of the <DW64>--\"Decoration\nDay\"--My Letter to the \"Gazette\"--Commission\nto Sell Lots of the Hot\nSprings Reservation--Twelve Years in the\nLand Service of the United States.\n\nCHAPTER XX                                          223\n\nMy Appointment as U. S. Consul to Tamatave,\nMadagascar--My Arrival in France En Route\nto Paris--Called on Ambassador Porter and\nConsul Gowdy Relative to My \"Exequator\"--Visited\nthe Louvre, the Famous Gallery of\nPaintings--\"Follies Bergere,\" or Variety\nTheater--The \"Dome des Invalids\" or the\nTomb of the Great Napoleon--Mrs. Mason, of\nArkansas and Washington, in Paris--Marseilles\nand \"Hotel du Louvre\"--Embarkation\non French Ship \"Pie Ho\" for Madagascar--Scenes\nand Incidents En Route--\"Port Said\"--Visit\nto the \"Mosque,\" Mohammedan Place of\nWorship.\n\nCHAPTER XXI                                         236\n\nSuez Canal--The Red Sea--Pharaoh and His\nHosts--Their Waterloo--Children of Israel--Travel\nby Sea--Arrival and Landing at Madagascar--Bubonic\nPlague--My Letter From\nMadagascar.\n\nCHAPTER XXII                                        250\n\nIsland of Madagascar--Origin and Character\nof the Inhabitants--Their Religion and Superstitions--Physical\nAppearance of Madagascar--A\nWord Painting of Antananarivo, the\nCapital, by Cameron--Forms of Government--Queens\nof Madagascar--Slavery and Forced\nLabor.\n\nCHAPTER XXIII                                       265\n\nIntroduction of the Christian Religion--Printing\nthe Bible, Edict by Queen Ranavalona\nAgainst It--The New Religion \"a Cloth of a\nPattern She Did Not Like\"--Asked the Missionaries,\n\"Can You Make Soap?\"--\"Dark\nDays\"--Persecutions and Executions for a\nQuarter of a Century--Examples of Christian\nMartyrs--Death of Queen Ranavalona--Permanent\nEstablishment of the Christian Religion--Self-denial\nand Heroic Service of the Roman\nCatholics--Native Race Protection Committee--Forced\nLabor Abolished.\n\nCHAPTER XXIV                                        282\n\nCuba and the Philippines--Their Acquisition\nUnder the Plea of Relief From Spanish Misrule--Aguinaldo,\nLeader of the Filipinos--The\nFidelity and Bravery of the American <DW64>\nin the Spanish War--Attestation by Many Witnesses--Industrial\nEducation--Othello's Occupation\nGone When Polls are Closed.\n\nCHAPTER XXV                                         298\n\nOpposition Possibly Beneficent--President McKinley's\nOrder for Enlistment of  Soldiers--General\nGrosvenor's Tribute--Fifteen\nThousand in the Spanish War--U. S. Supreme\nCourt vs. The <DW64>--The Basis of Congressional\nRepresentation.\n\nCHAPTER XXVI                                        306\n\nDeparture from Madagascar--Memories--Governor\nGeneral's Farewell Letter--Madagascar\nBranch of the Smithsonian Institute--Wild\nAnimals, a Consul's Burden--Descriptive Letter\nto State Department.\n\nCHAPTER XXVII                                       312\n\nLeave-taking, its Jollity and Sadness--Arrival\nat Camp Aden, Arabia--An Elysium for the\nToper--Whisky Was Plenty, But the Water\nWas Out--Pleasant Visit to U. S. Consul Cunningham,\nof Knoxville, Tenn.--Arrival at\nSuez--My Visit to the U. S. Cruiser \"New\nYork\"--The Urbanity of Captain Rogers--Suez\nCanal--Port Said--\"Mal de Mer\"--Marseilles\nto Paris--Across the English Channel to\nLondon.\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII                                      320\n\nMy First Visit to the Land of Wilberforce\nand Clarkson--Excursion on the Thames--Bank\nof England--Visited Towers of London--Beauchamp\nTower With Its Sad Inscriptions--Arrival\nat New York--National <DW64> Business\nMen's League Convention at Chicago--Booker\nT. Washington President--Many Talented\nBusiness Men in Attendance.\n\nCHAPTER XXIX                                        327\n\nVisit to President McKinley at Canton, Ohio--His\nAssassination at Buffalo--The Assassin\nStruck Down by James Parker--President's\nDeath--The Nation in Tears--A Christian\nStatesman--A Lover of Justice--Crucial\nEpochs of Our Country's History, the <DW64>\nat the Fore.\n\nCHAPTER XXX                                         336\n\nPresident Roosevelt--His Imperial Honesty--Ex-Governor\nJones, of Alabama--Advance of\nJustice in Our Country--Status a Half-Century\nAgo--Theodore Parker's Arraignment--Eulogy\nby Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\nCHAPTER XXXI                                         343\n\nBooker T. Washington a Guest at the White\nHouse--Northern and Southern Press Comments--The\nLatter Not Typical of the Best\nElement of Southern Opinion.\n\nCHAPTER XXXII                                       361\n\nWashington City, the American Mecca--Ante-room\nat the White House--The Diary of\nan Office Seeker--William, the Innocent--William,\nthe Croker--<DW52> People of the\nDistrict of Columbia-- Press of the District.\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII                                      269\n\nHoward University--Public Schools--R. H.\nTerrell Appointed to a Judgship of the District--Unlettered\nPioneers--Conclusions.\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n                                         PAGE\n\n1. M. W. Gibbs                  Frontispiece.\n\n2. Richard Allen                            8\n\n3. Wm. Lloyd Garrison                      18\n\n4. Frederick Douglass                      32\n\n5. Booker T. Washington                    44\n\n6. H. M. Turner                            50\n\n7. Geo. H. White                           58\n\n8. J. M. Langston                          70\n\n9. Abraham Lincoln                         74\n\n10. W. B. Derrick                          80\n\n11. Alexander Walters                      92\n\n12. H. P. Cheatham                        104\n\n13. Edward E. Cooper                      118\n\n14. Judson Lyons                          128\n\n15. Powell Clayton                        140\n\n16. P. B. S. Pinchback                    149\n\n17. A. H. Garland                         158\n\n18. J. A. Booker                          172\n\n19. I. G Ish                              175\n\n20. J. P. Green                           183\n\n21. P. L. Dunbar                          199\n\n22. B. K. Bruce                           204\n\n23. T. T. Fortune                         210\n\n24. W. A. Pledger                         220\n\n25. John C. Dancy                         228\n\n26. Abram Grant                           253\n\n27. J. E. Bush                            263\n\n28. J. P. Robinson                        272\n\n29. Martyrs                               274\n\n30. Chester W. Keatts                     284\n\n31. J. T. Settle                          294\n\n32. Justice Harlan                        302\n\n33. Charles W. Chestnut                   312\n\n34. William McKinley                      327\n\n35. James B. Parker                       331\n\n36. President Roosevelt                   336\n\n37. Secretary Cortelyou                   341\n\n38. W. Calvin Chase                       367\n\n39. R. H. Terrill                         370\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nIn the old family Bible I see it recorded that I was born April 17,\n1823, in Philadelphia, Pa., the son of Jonathan C. Gibbs and Maria, his\nwife. My father was a minister in the Wesleyan Methodist Church, my\nmother a \"hard-shell\" Baptist. But no difference of religious views\ninterrupted the even tenor of their domestic life. At seven years of age\nI was sent to what was known as the Free School, those schools at that\ntime invaluable for  youth, had not graded studies, systematized,\nand with such accessories for a fruitful development of the youthful\nmind as now exist. The teacher of the school, Mr. Kennedy, was an\nIrishman by birth, and herculean in proportions; erudite and severely\npositive in enunciation. The motto \"Spare the rod and spoil the child\"\nhad no place in his curriculum. Alike with the tutors of the deaf and\nthe blind, he was earnest in the belief that learning could be\nimpressively imparted through the sense of feeling. That his manner and\nmeans were impressive you may well believe, when I say that I yet have a\nvivid recollection of a bucket with an inch or two of water in it near\nhis desk. In it stood an assortment of rattan rods, their size when\nselected for use ranging in the ratio of the enormity, of the offence\nor the age of the offender.\n\nAmong the many sterling traits of character possessed by Mr. Kennedy was\neconomy; the frequent use of the rods as he raised himself on tiptoe to\nmake his protest the more emphatic--split and frizzled them--the\nimmersion of the tips in water would prevent this, and add to the\nseverity of the castigation, while diminishing the expense. A policy\nwiser and less drastic has taken the place of corporal punishment in\nschools. But Mr. Kennedy was competent, faithful and impartial. I was\nnot destined to remain long at school. At eight years of age two events\noccurred which gave direction to my after life. On a Sunday in April,\n1831, my father desired that the family attend his church; we did so and\nheard him preach, taking as his text the 16th verse of Chapter 37 in\nGenesis: \"I seek my brethren; tell me, I pray thee, where they feed\ntheir flocks.\"\n\nOn the following Sunday he lay before the pulpit from whence he had\npreached, cold in death, leaving my mother, who had poor health, with\nfour small children, and little laid by \"for a rainy day.\" Unable to\nremain long at school, I was \"put out\" to hold and drive a doctor's\nhorse at three dollars a month, and was engaged in similar employment\nuntil I reached sixteen years of age. Of the loving devotion and\nself-sacrifice of an invalid mother I have not words to express, but\ncertain it is, that should it ever appear that I have done anything to\nrevere, or aught to emulate, it should be laid on the altar of her\nChristian character, her ardent love of liberty and intense aspiration\nfor the upbuilding of the race. For her voice and example was an\neducator along all the lines of racial progress.\n\nNeeding our assistance in her enfeebled condition, she nevertheless\ninsisted that my brother and myself should learn the carpenter trade. At\nthis period in the career of youth, the financial condition of whose\nparents or sponsors is unequal to their further pursuit of scholastic\nstudies, it is not without an anxious solicitude they depart from the\nparental roof. For the correct example and prudent advice may not be\ninvulnerable to the temptation for illicit pleasures or ruinous conduct.\nHappy will he be who listens to the admonitions of age. Unfortunately by\nthe action of response, sad in its humor, too often is: I like the\nadvice but prefer the experience.\n\nThe foundation of the mechanical knowledge possessed by the <DW64> was\nlaid in the Southern States. During slavery the master selecting those\nwith natural ability, the most apt, with white foremen, had them taught\ncarpentering, blacksmithing, painting, boot and shoe making, coopering,\nand other trades to utilize on the plantations, or add to their value as\nproperty. Many of these would hire themselves by the year from their\nowners, contract on their own account, and by thrift purchase their\nfreedom, emigrate and teach  youths of Northern States, where\nprejudice continues to exclude them from the workshops, while at the\nSouth the substantial warehouse and palatial dwelling from base to dome,\nis often the creation of his brain and the product of his handiwork.\n\nJames Gibbons, of the class above referred to, and to whom we were\napprenticed, was fat, and that is to say, he was jolly. He had ever a\nword of kind encouragement, wise counsel or assistance to give his\nemployees. Harshness, want of sympathy or interest is often the\nprecursor and stimulator to the many troubles with organized labor that\ncontinue to paralyze so many of our great industrial concerns at the\npresent time, resulting in distress to the one and great material loss\nto the other. Mr. Gibbons had but a limited education, but he possessed\nthat aptitude, energy, and efficiency which accomplishes great objects,\nthat men call genius, and which is oftimes nothing more than untiring\nmental activity harnessed to intensity of purpose. These constituted his\ngrasp of much of the intricacies of mechanical knowledge. His example\nwas ever in evidence, by word and action, that only by assidious effort\ncould young men hope to succeed in the battle of life.\n\nMr. Gibbons was competent and had large patronage. We remained with him\nuntil we reached our majority. During a religious revival we both became\nconverted and joined the Presbyterian Church. My brother entered\nDartmouth College, under the auspices of the Presbyterian Assembly,\ngraduated and ministered in the church at Philadelphia. After a brief\nperiod as a journeyman, I became a contractor and builder on my own\naccount. It is ever a source of strength for a young person to have\nfaith in his or her possibilities, and as soon as may be, assume\nmastership.\n\nWhile remaining subject to orders, the stimulus is lacking for that\naggressive energy, indispensable to bring to the front. Temporary\nfailure you may have, for failure lies in wait for all human effort, but\nsneaks from a wise and unconquerable determination. We read of the\nmilitary prisoner, alone, dejected, and despairing, looking to the walls\nof his cell; he watches a score of attempts and failure of a spider to\nscale the wall, only to renew an attempt crowned with success. The\nlesson was fruitful for the prisoner.\n\nMr. Gibbons built several of the  churches in Philadelphia, and\nin the early forties, during my apprenticeship, he was a bidder for the\ncontract to build the first African Methodist Episcopal brick church of\nthe connection on the present site at Sixth and Lombard streets in\nPhiladelphia. A wooden structure which had been transformed from a\nblacksmith shop to a meeting house was torn down to give place to the\nnew structure. When a boy I had often been in the old shop, and have\nheard the founder, Bishop Allen, preach in the wooden building. He was\nmuch reverenced. I remember his appearance, and his feeble, shambling\ngait as he approached the close of an illustrious life.\n\nThe A. M. E. Church was distinctively the pioneer in the career of\n churches; its founders the first to typify and unflinchingly\nassert the brotherhood of man and the Fatherhood of God. Dragged from\ntheir knees in the white churches of their faith, they met exclusion by\ncohesion; ignorance by effort for culture, and poverty by unflinching\nself-denial; justice and right harnessed to such a movement, who shall\ndeclare its ultimatum.\n\nOut from that blacksmith shop went an inspiration lifting its votaries\nto a self-reliance founded on God, a harbinger of hope to the enslaved.\n\nFrom Allen to Payne, and on and on along lines of Christian fame, its\nmissionaries going from triumph to triumph in America, and finally\nplanting its standard on the isles of the sea.\n\nA distinct line is ever observable between civilization and barbarism,\nin the regard and reverence for the dead, the increase of solicitude is\nevidence of a people's advancement. Until the year 1848 the <DW52>\npeople of Philadelphia used the grounds, always limited, in the rear of\ntheir churches for burial. They necessarily became crowded, with\nsanitary conditions threatening, without opportunity to fittingly mark\nand adorn the last resting place of their dead.\n\n[Illustration: RIGHT REV. RICHARD ALLEN.\n\nFirst Bishop of the A. M. E. Church.\n\nFounder of that Faith That Once Nestled in a Blacksmith Shop, But Now\nEncircles the World.]\n\nIn the above year G. W. Gaines, J. P. Humphries, and the writer\npurchased a tract of land on the north side of Lancaster turnpike, in\nWest Philadelphia, and were incorporated under the following act by the\nLegislature of the State of Pennsylvania: \"An Act to incorporate the\nOlive Cemetery Company,\" followed by the usual reservations and\nconditions in such cases provided. Among reasons inducing me to refer to\nthis are, first, to give an idea of the propriety and progress of the\nrace fifty years ago, and secondly, for the further and greater reasons,\nas the following will show, that the result of the project was not only\na palladium for blessed memory of the dead, but was the nucleus of a\nbenefaction that still blesses the living.\n\nThe land was surveyed and laid out in lots and avenues, plans of gothic\ndesign were made for chapel and superintendent's residence, and contract\nfor construction was awarded the writer. The project was not entirely an\nunselfish one, but profit was not the dominating incentive. After\npromptly completing the contract with the shareholders as to buildings\nand improvements of the ground, the directors found themselves in debt,\nand welcomed the advent of Stephen Smith, a wealthy <DW52> man and\nlumber merchant, to assist in liquidating liabilities. To him an\nunoccupied portion of the ground was sold, and in his wife's heart the\nconception of a bounteous charity was formed. The \"Old Folks' Home,\" so\nbeneficent to the aged poor of Philadelphia, demands more than a passing\nnotice.\n\n\"The Harriet Smith Home for Aged and Infirm <DW52> Persons\" is a\ncontinuation of a charity organized September, 1864, and the first board\nof managers (a noble band of humanitarians) elected. The preamble was as\nfollows: \"For the relief of that worthy class of <DW52> persons who\nhave endeavored through life to maintain themselves, but who, from\nvarious causes, are finally dependent on the charity of others, an\nassociation is hereby organized.\" The work of this home was conducted in\na large dwelling house on South Front street until the year 1871, when,\nthrough the munificence of Stephen Smith and his wife, the land on the\ncorner of Belmont and Girard avenues, previously purchased from the\nOlive Cemetery Company, together with a large four-story building,\nvalued at $40,000, was given to the Board. In 1871 it was opened as the\n\"Harriet Smith Home,\" where it still stands as an enduring monument to\nthe original donors, and other blessed friends of the race, who have\ncontinued to assist with generous endowments. Edward T. Parker, who died\nin 1887, gave $85,000 for an annex to the building. <DW52> people since\nits incipiency have given $200,000. The board is composed of white and\n<DW52> persons. On a recent visit I found the home complete,\nconvenient, and cleanly in all its appurtenances, with an air of\ncomfort and contentment pervading the place. From many with bent and\ndecrepit bodies, from wrinkled and withered faces, the sparkling eye of\ngratitude could be seen, and prayer of thankfulness read; for this\nproduct of a benign clemency that had blessed both the giver and\nreceiver. There can be no one with filial affection happy in the thought\nthat it is in their power to assuage the pain or assist the tottering\nsteps of their own father or mother, but will recognize the humanity,\nChristian character, and unselfishness of the men and women organized\nfor giving the helping hand to the \"unfortunate aged, made dependent by\nblameless conditions.\"\n\nDuring my apprenticeship, aware of my educational deficiencies, having\nbeen unable to pursue a consecutive course of study in earlier life, I\nspent much of the night and odd times in an endeavor to make up the\nloss. In joining the Philadelphia Library Company, a literary society of\n<DW52> men, containing men of such mental caliber as Isaiah C. Wear,\nFrederick Hinton, Robert Purvis, J. C. Bowers, and others, where\nquestions of moment touching the condition of the race were often\ndiscussed with acumen and eloquence, I was both benefited and\nstimulated. It was a needed help, for man is much the creature of his\nenvironments, and what widens his horizon as to the inseparable\nrelations of man to man and the mutuality of obligation, strengthens\nhis manhood in the ratio he embraces opportunity.\n\nPennsylvania being a border State, and Philadelphia situated so near the\nline separating the free and slave States, that city was utilized as the\nmost important adjunct or way-station of the \"underground railroad,\" an\norganization to assist runaway slaves to the English colony of Canada.\nSay what you will against old England, for, like all human polity, there\nis much for censure and criticism, but this we know, that when there\nwere but few friends responsive, and but few arms that offered to succor\nwhen hunted at home, old England threw open her doors, reached out her\nhand, and bid the wandering fugitive slave to come in and \"be of good\ncheer.\"\n\nAs one of the railroad company mentioned, many cases came under my\nobservation, and some under my guidance to safety in Canada. One of the\nmost peculiar and interesting ones that came under by notice and\nattention, was that of William and Ellen Craft, fugitives from the State\nof Georgia. Summoned one day to a  boarding house, I was\npresented to a person dressed in immaculate black broadcloth and silk\nbeaver hat, whom I supposed to be a young white man. By his side stood a\nyoung <DW52> man with good features and rather commanding presence. The\nfirst was introduced to me as Mrs. Craft and the other as her husband,\ntwo escaped slaves. They had traveled through on car and boat, paying\nand receiving first-class accommodations. Mrs. Craft, being fair,\nassumed the habit of young master coming north as an invalid, and as she\nhad never learned to write, her arm was in a sling, thereby avoiding the\nusual signing of register on boat or at hotel, while her servant-husband\nwas as obsequious in his attentions as the most humble of slaves. They\nsettled in Boston, living very happily, until the passage of the\nfugitive slave law in 1850, when they were compelled to flee to England.\n\nThe civil war of 1861 and proclamation of freedom followed. In 1870,\narriving in Savannah, Georgia, seeking accommodation, I was directed to\na hotel, and surprised to find the host and hostess my whilom friends of\nunderground railroad fame. They had returned to their old home after\nemancipation. The surprise was pleasant and recognition mutual.\n\nOne other, and I shall pass this feature of reminiscence. It was that of\nWilliam Brown, distinguished afterward as William Box Brown, the\nintervening \"Box\" being a synonym of the manner of his escape. An agent\nof the underground railroad at Richmond, Virginia, had placed him in a\nbox two feet wide and four feet long, ends hooped, with holes for air,\nand bread and water, and sent him through the express company to\nPhiladelphia. On the arrival of the steamboat the box was roughly\ntumbled off as so much dead freight on the wharf, but, unfortunately\nfor Brown, on the end, with his feet up and head down. After remaining\nin such position for a time which seemed to him hours, he heard a man\nsay to another, \"Let's turn that box down and sit on it.\" It was done,\nand Brown found himself \"right side up,\" if not \"with care.\" I was\ncalled to the anti-slavery office, where the box was taken. It had been\narranged that when he arrived at his destination, three slow and\ndistinct knocks should be given, to which he was to respond. Fear that\nhe was crippled or dead was depicted in the faces of Miller McKim,\nWilliam Still and a few others that stood around the box in the office.\nHence it was not without trepidation the agreed signal was given, and\nthe response waited for. An \"all right\" was cheerily given; the lifting\nof suspense and the top of the box was almost simultaneous. Out sprang a\nman weighing near 200 pounds. Brown, though uneducated, it is needless\nto say, was imbued with the spirit of liberty, and with much natural\nability, with his box he traveled and spoke of his experience in\nslavery, the novelty of his escape adding interest to his description.\nMany similar cases of heroism in manner of escape of men and women are\nrecorded in William Still's \"Underground Railroad.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nThe immortal bard has sung that \"there's a destiny that shapes our\nends.\" At eight years of age, as already stated, two events occurred\nwhich had much to do in giving direction to my after life. The one the\ndeath of my father, as formerly mentioned; the other the insurrection of\nNat Turner, of South Hampton, Virginia, in August, 1831, which fell upon\nthe startled sense of the slaveholding South like a meteor from a dear\nsky, causing widespread commotion. Nat Turner was a Baptist preacher,\nwho with four others, in a lonely place in the woods, concocted plans\nfor an uprising of the slaves to secure their liberty. Employed in the\nwoods during the week, a prey to his broodings over the wrongs and\ncruelties, the branding and whipping to death of neighboring slaves, he\nwould come out to meetings of his people on Sunday and preach,\nimpressing much of his spirit of unrest. Finally he selected a large\nnumber of confederates, who were to secretly acquire arms of their\nmasters. The attack concocted in February was not made until August 20,\nwhen the assault, dealing death and destruction, was made.\n\nAll that night they marched, carrying consternation and dread on account\nof the suddenness, determination and boldness of the attack. The whole\nState was aroused, and soldiers sent from every part. The blacks fought\nhand to hand with the whites, but were soon overpowered by numbers and\nsuperior implements of warfare. Turner and a few of his followers took\nrefuge in the \"Dismal Swamp,\" almost impenetrable, where they remained\ntwo or three months, till hunger or despair compelled them to surrender.\nChained together, they were taken to the South Hampton Court House and\narraigned. Turner, it is recorded, without a tremor, pleaded not guilty,\nbelieving that he was justified in the attempt to liberate his people,\nhowever drastic the means. His act, which would have been heralded as\nthe noblest heroism if perpetrated by a white man, was called religious\nfanaticism and fiendish brutality.\n\nTurner called but few into his confidence, and foolhardy and unpromising\nas the attempt may have been, it had the ring of an heroic purpose that\ngave a Bossarius to Greece, and a Washington to America. A purpose \"not\nborn to die,\" but to live on in every age and clime, stimulating\nendeavors to attain the blessings of civil liberty.\n\nIt was an incident as unexpected in its advent as startling in its\nterrors. Slavery, ever the preponderance of force, had hitherto reveled\nin a luxury heightened by a sense of security. Now, in the moaning of\nthe wind, the rustling of the leaves or the shadows of the moon, was\nheard or seen a liberator. Nor was this uneasiness confined to the\nSouth, for in the border free States there were many that in whole or in\npart owned plantations stocked with slaves.\n\nIn Philadelphia, so near the line, excitement ran high. The intense\ninterest depicted in the face of my mother and her <DW52> neighbors;\nthe guarded whisperings, the denunciations of slavery, the hope defeated\nof a successful revolution keenly affected my juvenile mind, and stamped\nmy soul with hatred to slavery.\n\nAt 12 years of age I was employed at the residence of Sydney Fisher, a\nprominent Philadelphia lawyer, who was one of the class above mentioned,\nliving north and owning a plantation in the State of Maryland. Over a\ngood road of 30 miles one summer's day, he took me to his plantation. I\nhad never before been that distance from home and had anticipated my\nlong ride with childish interest and pleasure. After crossing the line\nand entering \"the land of cotton and the corn,\" a new and strange\npanorama began to open, and continued to enfold the vast fields bedecked\nin the snowy whiteness of their fruitage. While over gangs of slaves in\nrow and furrough were drivers with their scourging whip in hand. I\nlooked upon the scene with curious wonder. Three score of years and more\nhave passed, but I still see that sad and humbled throng, working close\nto the roadway, no head daring to uplift, no eye to enquiringly gaze.\nDuring all those miles of drive that bordered on plantations, as\nmachines they acted, as machines they looked. My curiosity and youthful\nimpulse ignoring that reticence becoming a servant, I said: \"Mr. Fisher,\nwho are these people?\" He said, \"They are slaves.\" I was startled but\nmade no reply. I had not associated the exhilaration of the drive with a\ndepressing view of slavery, but his reply caused a tumult of feeling in\nmy youthful breast. The Turner episode of which I had heard so much, the\nnarratives of whippings received by fugitives, slaves that had come to\nmy mother's house, the sundering of family ties on the auction block,\nwere vividly presented to my mind. I remained silent as to speech, as to\nfeelings belligerent. A few moments elapsed and Mr. Fisher broke the\nsilence by saying, \"Mifflin, how would you like to be a slave?\" My\nanswer was quick and conformed to feeling. \"I would not be a slave! I\nwould kill anybody that would make me a slave!\" Fitly spoken. No grander\ndeclaration I have ever made. But from whom did it come--from almost\nchildish lips with no power to execute. I little thought of or knew the\nmagnitude of that utterance, nor did I notice then the effect of its\nforce. Quickly and quite sternly came the reply: \"You must not talk that\nway down here.\" I was kept during our stay in what was known during\nslavery as the \"great house,\" the master's residence, and my meals were\neaten at the table he had quit, slept in the same house, and had, if\ndesired, little or no opportunity to talk or mingle with the slaves\nduring the week's visit. I did not understand at that time the\nphilosophy of espionage, but in after years it became quite apparent\nthat from my youthful lips had came the \"open sesame to the door of\nliberty,\" \"resistance to oppression,\" the slogan that has ever heralded\nthe advent of freedom.\n\n[Illustration: WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON.\n\n\"The Great Liberator.\"\n\n\"I Will not Excuse, I Will Not Retreat a Single Inch; I Will Be Heard\"\n\"Emancipation the Right of the Slave and Duty of the Master\"--\"He Made\nEvery Single Home, Press, Pulpit, and Senate Chamber a Debating Society\nwith His Right and Wrong for the Subject.\"]\n\nAs I passed to manhood the object lesson encountered on the Maryland\nplantation did much to intensify my hatred of slavery and to strengthen\nmy resolution to ally myself with any effort for its abolition. The\nburning of Pennsylvania Hall by a mob in Philadelphia, in 1838, built\nand used by anti-slavery people, the ravages of what was known as the\n\"Moyamensing Killers,\" who burned down the churches and residences of\nthe <DW52> people and murdered their occupants, did much to increase\nthe anti-slavery feeling.\n\nOld Bethel Church, then the nursery of the present great A. M. E.\nChurch, was guarded day and night by its devoted men and women\nworshipers. The cobble street pavement in front was dug up and the\nstones carried up and placed at the windows in the galley to hurl at the\nmob. This defense was sustained for several weeks at a time. Every\nAmerican should be happy in the thought that a higher civilization is\nmaking such acts less and less frequent. It is not strange that our\npresent generation enjoying a large measure of civil and political\nliberty can but faintly comprehend the condition fifty years ago, when\nthey were persistently denied. The justice of participation seems so\napparent, it is not easy to fully conceive, when all were refused, in\nquite all that were denominated free States.\n\nWhen street cars were first established in Philadelphia \"the brother in\nblack\" was refused accommodations. He nevertheless persisted in entering\nthe cars. Sometimes he would be thrown out, at others, after being\n\"sized up\" the driver with his horses would leave his car standing on\nswitch, while its objectionable occupant was \"monarch of all he\nsurveyed.\"\n\nThe \"man and brother\" finding his enemy impervious to direct attack,\ncommenced a flank movement. As he was not allowed to ride inside, he\nresolved to ride alongside; bought omnibuses and stock and established a\nline on the car route at reduced rates. The cars were not always on\ntime, and many whites would avail themselves of its service. I remember\none of this class accosting a driver: \"What 'Bus is this?\" The simple\ndriver answered, \"It is the  peoples!\" \"I don't care whose in the\n---- it is, does it go to the bridge? I am in a hurry to get there,\" and\nin he got. I thought then and still think what a useful moral the\nincident conveyed to my race. Labor to make yourself as indispensable as\npossible in all your relations with the dominant race and color will cut\nless and less figure in your upward grade. The line was kept up for some\ntime, often holding what was called \"omnibus meetings\" in our halls,\nalways largely attended, make reports, hear spirited speeches, and have\na deal of fun narrating incidents of the line, receiving generous\ncontributions when the horses or busses needed replenishing. But the\nmost exciting times were those when there had been interference with the\nrunning of the \"underground railroad,\" and the attempt to capture\npassengers in transit, or at the different way-stations, of which as\npreviously stated, Philadelphia was the most prominent in forwarding its\npatrons to Canada.\n\nBefore the passage of the fugitive slave law, in 1850, if the fugitive\nwas taken back it was done by stealth--kidnapped and spirited away by\nclandestine means. Sometimes by the treachery of his own color, but this\nwas seldom and unhealthy. The agent of the owner was often caught in the\nact, and by argument more emphatic than gentle, was soon conspicuous by\nhis absence. At others local anti-slavery friends would appeal to the\ncourts, and the agent would be arrested. Slavery in law being local\nbefore the passage of the \"Act of 1850,\" making it national, we were\ngenerally successful in having the fugitives released. We were\nextremely fortunate in having for our chief counsel David Paul Brown, a\nleader of the Philadelphia bar, who, with other white friends, never\nfailed to respond to our call; learned in Constitutional law, eloquent\nin expression, he did a yeoman's service in behalf of liberty.\n\nThe <DW52> men of Pennsylvania, like their brethren in other Northern\nStates, were not content in being disfranchised. As early as 1845 a\ncommittee of seven, consisting of Isaiah C. Wear, J. C. Bowers, and\nothers, including the writer, were sent to the capitol at Harrisburg to\nlay a petition before the Legislature asking for enfranchisement and all\nrights granted to others of the commonwealth. The grant was tardy, but\nit came with the cannon's boom and musketry's iron hail, when the\nimperiled status of the nation made it imperative. Thus, as ever, with\nthe immutable decrees of God, while battling for the freedom of the\nslave, we broadened our consciousness, not only as to the inalienable\nrights of human nature, but received larger conceptions of civil\nliberty, coupled with a spirit of determination to defend our homes and\nchurches from infuriated mobs, and to contend for civil and political\njustice.\n\nThey were truly a spartan band, the <DW52> men and women. The naming of\na few would be invidious to the many who were ever keenly alive to the\nproscription to which they were subject, and ever on the alert for\nmeasures to awaken the moral sense of the border States.\n\nMeetings were nightly held for counsel, protests and assistance to the\nfugitive, who would sometimes be present to narrate the woes of slavery.\nSometimes our meetings would be attended by pro-slavery lookers-on,\nusually unknown, until excoriation of the Northern abettors of slavery\nwas too severe to allow them to remain incognito, when they would reply:\nIt is a sad commentary on a phase of human nature that the oppressed\noften, when vaulted into authority or greater equality of condition,\nbecome the most vicious of oppressors. It has been said that <DW64>\ndrivers were most cruel and unsparing to their race. The Irish, having\nfled from oppression in the land of their birth, for notoriety, gain, or\nelevation by comparison, were nearly all pro-slavery. At one of our\nmeetings during the narration of incidents of his life by a fugitive,\none of the latter class interrupted by saying, \"Aren't you lying, my\nman? I have been on plantations. I guess your master did not lose much\nwhen you left.\" Now, it is a peculiarity of the uneducated, when,\npuzzled for the moment, by the tardiness of an idea, to scratch the\nhead. Jacobs, the fugitive, did so, and out it came. \"I dunno how much\nhe lost, only what master said. I was the house boy, one day, and at\ndinner time he sent me to the well to get a cool pitcher of water. I let\nthe silver pitcher drop in the well. Well, I knowed that pitcher had to\nbe got out, so I straddled down and fished it up. Master was mad, 'cause\nI staid so long, so I up and tells him. He fairly jumped and said \"Did\nyou go down that well? Why didn't you come and tell me and I would made\nIrish Mike, the ditcher, go down. If you had drowned I'd lost $800.\nDon't you do that agin.\"\"\n\nIt is needless to say that this \"brought down the house,\" and shortly\nthe exit of the son of the Emerald Isle. At another time the interrupter\nsaid: \"Will you answer me a question or two? Did you not get enough to\neat?\" \"Yes.\" \"A place to sleep?\" \"Yes.\" \"Was your master good or bad to\nyou?\" \"Marster was pretty good, I must say.\" \"Well, what else did you\nwant? That is a good deal more than a good many white men get up here.\"\nThe man stood for a moment busy with his fingers in a fruitless attempt\nto find the fugitive ends of a curl of his hair, temporarily nonplussed\nat his palliating concessions, half apologetically said: \"Well, I think\nit a heap best to be free.\" Then suddenly and gallantly strengthening\nhis defense; \"but, look here, Mister, if you think it so nice down\nthere, my place is still open.\" The questioner good naturedly joined in\nthe general merriment.\n\nVery frequently we were enthused and inspired by Frederick Douglass,\nHenry Highland Garnett, Marten R. Delaney, and Charles L. Remond, an\nillustrious quartet of the hallowed band in the anti-slavery crusade,\nwhose eloquence, devotion, and effectiveness stood unsurpassed.\n\nThere were few, if any, available halls for these meetings. The only\nresort was the  churches. Those under the auspices of white\ndenominations had members who objected to their use for such a purpose.\nCraven and fawning, content with the crumbs that fell from these\npeace-loving Christians, who deprecated the discussion of slavery while\nthey ignored the claim of outraged humanity, these churches were more\ninterested in the physical excitement of a \"revival\" than in listening\nto appeals in behalf of God's poor and lonely. Their prototypes that\n\"passed by on the other side\" have been perpetuated in many climes, in\nthose who believe that it is the formalities of contact with the\nbuilding that blesses a people and not the Godliness and humanity of the\nworshippers that give glory and efficacy to the church. An antagonism\nthus created resulted in a crusade against such churches styled\n\"Come-Outerism,\" and many left them on account of such apathy to carry\non the warfare amid congenial association.\n\nIt has been said that citizenship was precipitated upon the <DW64> before\nhe was fit for its exercise. Without discussing the incongruity of this,\nwhen applied to the ignorant native <DW64> and not to the ignorant alien\nemigrant, it may be conceded that keeping them in abject bondage with\nno opportunity to protest, made slavery anything but a preparatory\nschool for the exercises of civic virtues, or the assumption of their\nresponsibilities. It was not true, however, with the mass in the free,\nor many in the slave States. Always akin and adjunct are the yearnings\nindestructible in human nature for equal rights. And in every age and\npeople the ratio of persistency and sacrifice have been the measure of\ntheir fitness for its enjoyment. During 25 years preceding the abolition\nof slavery the <DW52> people of the free States, though much\nproscribed, were active in their protests against enslavement, seizing\nevery chance through press and forum \"to pour the living coals of truth\nupon the nation's naked heart,\" setting forth in earnest contrast the\ntheory upon which the government was founded with its administration as\npracticed.\n\nIn 1848 Philadelphia Square, whereon the old State House of historic\nfame still stands, was made resonant by the bell upon whose surface the\nfathers had inscribed \"Proclaim liberty throughout the world and to all\nthe inhabitants thereof,\" and was bedecked with garlands and every\ninsignia of a joyful people in honor of the Hungarian patriot, Louis\nKossuth. Distinctive platforms had been erected for speakers whose\nfatherland was in many foreign lands. Upon each was an orator receiving\nthe appreciation and plaudits of an audience whose hearts beat as one\nfor success to the \"Great Liberator.\" The \"unwelcome guests,\" the\n<DW52> men present, quickly embraced the opportunity, utilizing for a\nplatform a dry goods box, upon which I was placed to give the <DW64>\nversion of this climax of inconsistency and quintessence of hypocrisy.\nThis was the unexpected. All the people, both native and foreign, had\nbeen invited and special places provided for all except the <DW64>, and\non the native platform he was not allowed space. The novelty of the\nincident and curiosity to hear what the <DW52> man had to say quickly\ndrew a crowd equal to others of the occasion. Then, as now, and perhaps\nforever, there was that incalculable number of non-committals whose\nmoral sense is disturbed by popular wrong, but who are without courage\nof conviction, inert, waiting for a leader that they may be one of the\ntwo that take place behind him, or one of three or four, or ten, who\nfollow in serried ranks, that constitute the wedge-like motor that\nsplits asunder hoary wrong, proximity to the leader being in ratio to\ntheir moral fibre. Most of the audience listened to the utterance of\nsentiments that the allurements of trade, or the exactions of society,\nforbade them to disseminate.\n\nThe occasion was an excellent one to demonstrate the heartlessness of\nthe projectors, who, while pretending to glorify liberty in the\ndistance, were treating it with contumely at home, where 3,000,000\nslaves were held in bondage, and feeling keenly the ostracism of the\nslave as beyond the pole of popular sympathy or national compassion,\nwith words struggling for utterance, I spoke as best I could, receiving\ntoleration, and a quiet measure of approbation, possibly on the\nsupposition, realized in the fruition of time, that such discussion\nmight eventuate in the liberation of white men from the octopus of\nsubserviency to the dictum of slavery which permeated every ramification\nof American society. I heard Hon. Cassius M. Clay, of Kentucky, sometime\nin the forties, while making a speech in Philadelphia, say: \"Gentlemen,\nthe question is not alone whether the <DW64>s are to remain slaves, but\nwhether we white men are to continue free.\" So bitter was the onslaught\non all, and especially on white men, politically and socially, who dared\ndenounce slavery.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nAn event that came under my notice of startling character, attracting\nnational attention, was the arrival of the schooner \"Amistad\" at\nPhiladelphia in 1840. This vessel had been engaged in the slave trade.\nWith a cargo of slaves from Africa was destined for one of the West\nIndia Islands. Cinguez, one of, and at the head of the captives,\nrebelled while at sea, killing a number of the crew and taking\npossession of the ship.\n\nIn the concluding scene of the foregoing drama, Mr. Douglass was an\nactor, I an observer. After the decision giving them their liberty, the\nanti-slavery society, who had been vigilant in its endeavors to have\nthem liberated ever since their advent on American shores, held a\nmonster meeting to receive them.\n\nFrederick Douglass introduced \"Cinguez\" to the meeting. I cannot forget\nor fail to feel the inspiration of that scene. The two giants locked in\neach others embrace, looked the incarnation of heroism and dauntless\npurpose, equal to the achievement of great results. The one by\nindomitable will had shaken off his own shackles and was making slavery\nodius by his matchless and eloquent arraignment; the other, \"a leader\nof men,\" had now written his protest with the blood of his captors.\nCinguez, with unintelligible utterance in African dialect with emphatic\ngesture, his liberty loving soul on fire, while burning words strove for\nexpression, described his action on the memorable night of his\nemancipation, with such vividness, power, and pathos that the audience\nseemed to see every act of the drama and feel the pulsation of his great\nheart. Through an interpreter he afterwards narrated his manner of\ntaking the vessel, and how it happened to reach American shores. How,\nafter taking the ship, he stood by the tiller with drawn weapon and\ncommanded the mate to steer back to Africa. During the day he complied,\nbut at night took the opposite course. After sometime of circuitous\nwandering the vessel ran into Long Island Sound and was taken possession\nof by the United States authorities. Cinguez, as hero and patriot,\nennobled African character.\n\nWhen majority and the threshold of man's estate is attained, the\ntransition from advanced youth to the entry of manhood is liable to\ncasualties; not unlike a bark serenely leaving its home harbor to enter\nunfrequented waters, the crew exhilarated by fresh and invigorating\nbreezes, charmed by a genial sky, it moves on \"like a thing of beauty\"\nwith the hope of \"joy forever.\" The chart and log of many predecessors\nmay unheeded lie at hand, but the glorious present, cloudless and\nfascinating, rich in expectation, it sails on, fortunate if it escapes\nthe rocks and shoals that ever lie in wait. It is unreasonable to expect\na proper conception, and the happiest performance of life's duties at\nsuch a period, especially from those with easy and favorable\nenvironments, or who have been heedless of parental restraint, for even\nat an advanced stage in life, there have been many to exclaim with a\npoet:\n\n    \"Ne'er tell me of evening serenely adorning\n    The close of a life richly mellowed by time,\n    Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning\n    Her smiles and her tears are worth evening's best light.\"\n\nTwenty-one years of age found me the possessor of a trade, an\nattainment, and a capital invaluable for a poor young man beginning the\nrace of life. For whether seen smutted by the soot of the blacksmith\nshop, or whitened by the lime of the plasterer or bricklayer; whether\nbending beneath tool box of the carpenter or ensconced on the bench of\nthe shoemaker, he has a moral strength, a consciousness of acquirement,\ngiving him a dignity of manhood unpossessed by the menial and those\nengaged in unskilled labor. Let it never be forgotten that as high over\nin importance as the best interest of the race is to that of the\nindividual, will be the uplifting influence of assiduously cultivating a\ndesire to obtain trades. The crying want with us is a middle class. The\nchief component of our race today is laborers unskilled. We will not and\ncannot compete with other races who have a large and influential class\nof artisans and mechanics, and having received higher remuneration for\nlabor, have paved the way for themselves or offsprings from the mechanic\nto the merchant or to the professional. These three factors, linked and\ninterlinked, an ascending chain will be strong in its relation, as\nconsistent in construction.\n\nIn 1849 Frederick Douglass, Charles Lenox Remond and Julia Griffith, an\nEnglish lady prominent in reform circles in England, attended the\nNational Anti-slavery Convention held in Philadelphia, and presided over\nby that apostle of liberty, Wm. Lloyd Garrison. At its close Mr.\nDouglass invited me to accompany him to his home at Rochester, and then\nto join him in lecturing in the \"Western Reserve.\"\n\nWithout salary, poor in purse, doubtful of useful ability, dependent for\nsustenance on a sentiment then prevailing, that for anti-slavery\nexpression was as reserved as the \"Reserve\" was Western. I have often\nthought of my feelings of doubt and fear to go with Mr. Douglass, as an\nepoch in my life's history. The parting of the ways, the embarkation to\na wider field of action, the close connection between obedience to an\nimpulse of duty (however uninviting or uncertain the outcome), and the\never moral and often material benefit.\n\n[Illustration: HON. FREDERICK DOUGLASS.\n\n\"Sage of Anacostia.\"\n\nThe Most Distinguished <DW64> of the Race--As Statesman, Editor, Orator,\nPhilanthropist He Left an Indelible Mark on the Page of His Country's\nHistory--Born in 1817 at Tuckahoe, Maryland--Died February, 1895--He was\nAuthor of \"My Bondage and My Freedom,\" \"Life and Times of Frederick\nDouglass,\" and Others.]\n\nRochester proved to be my pathway to California. Western New York, 50\nyears ago, then known as the \"Western Reserve,\" was very unlike the\npresent as to population, means of travel, material developments,\nschools of learning, and humanizing influences. Mr. Douglass, in the\nBaptist Church in Little Rock, Ark., a short time before his death, told\nhow, in 1849, we there traveled together; that where now are stately\ncities and villages a sparsely settled wilderness existed; that while we\nthere proclaimed abolition as the right of the slave, the chilling\neffect of those December days were not more cold and heartless than the\nreception we met when our mission as advocates for the slave became\nknown; churches and halls were closed against us. Stables and blacksmith\nshops would sometimes hold audiences more generous with epithets and\nelderly eggs than with manly decorum. God be thanked, Douglass, the\ngrandest of \"our grand old men,\" lived to see \"the seeds of mighty truth\nhave their silent undergrowth, and in the earth be wrought.\" A family,\nhowever poor, striving as best they may to give the rudiments of\nknowledge to their children, should have, if but few, books descriptive\nof the hopes and struggles of those no better situated, who have made\nimpress on the age in which they lived. We seldom remember from whence\nwe first received the idea which gave impulse to an honorable action; we\nreceived it, however, most probably from tongue or pen. For impressible\nyouth such biography should be as easy of access as possible.\n\nIt has been said that \"a man's noblest mistake is to be born before his\ntime.\" This will not apply to Frederick Douglass. His \"Life and Times\"\nshould be in the front rank of selection for blessing and inspiration. A\nblessing for the high moral of its teaching; an inspiration for the\npoorest boy; that he need not \"beg the world's pardon for having been\nborn,\" but by fostering courage and consecration of purpose \"he may rank\nthe peer of any man.\"\n\nFrederick Douglass, born a slave, hampered by all the depressing\ninfluences of that institution; by indomitable energy and devotion;\nseizing with an avidity that knew no obstacle every opportunity,\ncultivated a mind and developed a character that will be a bright page\nin the history of noble and beneficent achievements.\n\nFor the conditions that confronted him and the anti-slavery crusade,\nhave been well and eloquently portrayed by the late George William\nCurtis. That how terribly earnest was the anti-slavery agitation this\ngeneration little knows. To understand is to recall the situation of the\ncountry. Slavery sat supreme in the White House and made laws at the\ncapitol. Courts of Justice were its ministers, and legislators its\nlackeys. It silenced the preacher in the pulpit; it muzzled the editor\nat his desk, and the professor in his lecture-room. It sat a price on\nthe heads of peaceful citizens; robbed the mails, and denounced the\nvital principles of the declaration of independence as treason. In the\nStates where the law did not tolerate slavery, slavery ruled the club\nand drawing room, the factory and the office, swaggered at the dinner\ntable, and scourged with scorn a cowardly society. It tore the golden\nrule from the school books, and from the prayer books the pictured\nbenignity of Christ. It prohibited schools in the free States for the\nhated race; hunted women who taught children to read, and forbade a free\npeople to communicate with their representatives.\n\nIt was under such conditions so pungently and truthfully stated that\nDouglass appeared as a small star on the horizon of a clouded firmament;\nrose in intellectual brilliancy, mental power and a noble generosity.\nFor his devotion was not only to the freedom of the slave with which he\nwas identified, but for liberty and the betterment of humanity\neverywhere, regardless of sex or color. His page already luminous in\nhistory will continue to brighten, and when statuary, now and hereafter,\nerected to his memory, shall have crumbled \"neath the beatings of\ntime;\" the good fame of his name, high purpose and unflinching integrity\nto the highest needs of humanity, will remain hallowed \"foot prints in\nthe sands of time.\" Eminently fit was the naming of an institution in\nPhiladelphia \"The Frederick Douglass Hospital and Freedman's School;\"\nthe assuaging of suffering and the giving of larger opportunity for\ntechnical instruction were cherished ideals with the sage of Anacostia;\nalso the lives of Harriet Beacher Stowe, Lucretia Mott and Francis E.\nHarper, and the noble band of women of which they were the type, who\nbravely met social ostracism and insult for devotion to the slave, will\never have a proud place in our country's history. Of this illustrious\nband was Julia Griffith, hitherto referred to, a grand representative of\nthose renowned women, who at home or abroad, did so much to hasten the\ndownfall of slavery and encourage the weak and lowly to hope and effort.\nThackery has said that, \"Could you see every man's career, you would\nfind a woman clogging him, or cheering him, or beckoning him on.\"\n\nHaving finished my intended tour with Mr. Douglass, and returned to\nRochester, the outlook for my future, to me, was not promising. The\nopportunities for advancement were much, very much less than now. With\nme ambition and dejection contended for the mastery, the latter often in\nthe ascendant. To her friendly inquiry I gave reasons for my\ndepression. I shall never forget the response; almost imperious in\nmanner, you could already anticipate the magnitude of an idea that\nseemed to struggle for utterance. \"What! discouraged? Go do some great\nthing.\" It was an inspiration, the result of which she may never have\nknown. We are assured, however, that a kind act or helpful word is\ninseparably connected with a blessing for the giver. To earnest youth I\nwould bequeath the excelsior of the \"youth mid snow and ice,\" and the\nabove injunction, \"upward and onward;\" \"go do some great thing.\"\n\nThe war with Mexico, discovery of gold in California in 1848, the\nacquisition of new territory, and the developments of our hitherto\nundeveloped Western possessions, stimulated the financial pulse, and\npermeated every avenue of industry and speculative life. While in New\nYork State I met several going and returning gold seekers, many giving\ndazzling accounts of immense deposits of gold in the new Eldorado; and\nothers, as ever the case with adventurers, gave gloomy statements of\nperil and disaster. A judicious temperament, untiring energy, a lexicon\nof endeavor, in which there is no such word as \"fail,\" is the only open\nsesame to hidden opportunities in a new country. Fortune, in precarious\nmood, may sometime smile on the inert, but she seldom fails to surrender\nto pluck, tenacity and perseverance. As the Oxford men say it is the one\npull more of the oar that proves the \"beefiness of the fellow;\" it is\nthe one march more that wins the campaign; the five minutes more\npersistent courage that wins the fight.\n\nI returned to Philadelphia, and with some friendly assistance, sailed,\nin 1850, from New York, as a steerage passenger for San Francisco.\nArriving at Aspinwall, the point of debarkation, on the Atlantic side,\nboats and boatsmen were engaged to transport passengers and baggage up\nthe \"Chagress,\" a small and shallow river. Crossing the Isthmus to\nPanama, on the Pacific side, I found Panama very cosmopolitan in\nappearance, for mingled with the sombrero-attired South American, could\nbe seen denizens from every foreign clime. Its make up was a combination\nof peculiar attributes. It was dirty, but happy in having crows for its\nscavengers; sickly, but cheery; old, but with an youthful infusion. The\nvirtues and vices were both shy and unblushing. A rich, dark foliage,\never blooming, and ever decaying; a humid atmosphere; a rotting\nvegetation under a tropical sun, while fever stalked on from conquest to\nconquest.\n\nThe sudden influx, the great travel from ocean to ocean, had given much\nimpetus to business as well as to local amusements. For the latter,\nSunday was the ideal day, when bull and cock fights secured the\nattendance of the elite, and the humble, the priest and the laity.\n\nThe church, preaching gentleness and peace in the morning, in the\nafternoon her minister, with sword spurred \"bolosed\" bantams under their\narms, would appear on the scene eager for the fray.\n\nAfter recovering from the Panama fever I took passage on the steamship\n\"Golden Gate\" for San Francisco. Science, experience, and a greatly\nincreased demand have done much during the intervening fifty years to\nlessen risk and increase the comfort of ocean travel. Yet it is not\nwithout a degree of restless anticipation that one finds himself and\nbaggage finally domiciled on an ocean-going steamer. Curiosity and\ncriticism, selfishness and graciousness each in turn assert themselves.\nCuriosity in espionage, criticism in observation, while selfishness and\ngraciousness alternate. You find yourself in the midst of a miniature\nworld, environed, but isolated from activities of the greater, an\nepitome of human proclivities. A possible peril, real, imaginary or\nremote; a common brotherhood tightens the chain of fellowship and\ngradually widens the exchange of amenities.\n\nWe had a stormy passage, making San Diego with the top of smoke stack\nencrusted with the salt of the waves, paddle wheel broken and otherwise\ndisabled, finally arriving at San Francisco in September.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nHaving made myself somewhat presentable upon leaving the steerage of the\nsteamer, my trunk on a dray, I proceeded to an unprepossessing hotel\nkept by a <DW52> man on Kearny street. The cursory view from the\noutside, and the further inspection on the inside, reminded me of the\nold lady's description of her watch, for she said, \"it might look pretty\nhard on the outside, but the inside works were all right.\" And so\nthought its jolly patrons. Seated at tables, well supplied with piles of\ngold and silver, where numerous disciples of that ancient trickster\nPharaoh, being dubious perhaps of the propriety of adopting the literal\northography of his name, and abbreviated it to Faro.\n\nGetting something for nothing, or risking the smaller in hope of\nobtaining the greater, seems a passion inherent in human nature,\nrequiring a calm survey of the probabilities, and oftimes the baneful\neffects to attain a moral resistance. It is the \"ignis fatuus\" that has\nlured many promising ones and wrecked the future of many lives.\n\nThe effervescent happiness of some of the worshipers at this shrine was\nconspicuous. The future to them seemed cloudless. It was not so with me.\nI had a secret not at all complacent, for it seemed anxious to get out,\nand while unhappy from its presence, I thought it wise to retain it.\n\nWhen I approached the bar I asked for accommodation, and my trunk was\nbrought in. While awaiting this preparatory step to domicile, and gazing\nat the prints and pictures more or less \"blaser\" that adorned the bar,\nmy eye caught a notice, prominently placed, in gilt letters. I see it\nnow, \"Board twelve dollars a week in advance.\" It was not the price, but\nthe stipulation demanded that appalled me. Had I looked through a\nmagnifying glass the letters could not have appeared larger. With the\nbrilliancy of a search light they seemed to ask \"Who are you and how are\nyou fixed?\" I responded by \"staring fate in the face,\" and going up to\nthe bar asked for a cigar. How much? Ten cents. I had sixty cents when I\nlanded; had paid fifty for trunk drayage, and I was now a moneyless\nman--hence my secret.\n\nWould there be strict enforcement of conditions mentioned in that\nominous card. I was unacquainted with the Bohemian \"song and dance\"\nparlance in such extremities, and wondered would letting my secret come\nout let a dinner come in. Possibly, I may have often been deceived when\nappealed to, but that experience has often been fruitful to friendless\nhunger.\n\nFinally the bell rang, and a polite invitation from the landlord placed\nme at the table. There is nothing so helpful to a disconsolate man as a\ngood dinner. It dissipates melancholy and stimulates persistency. Never\npreach high moral rectitude or the possibilities of industry to a hungry\nman. First give him something to eat, then should there be a vulnerable\nspot to such admonition you will succeed. If not, he is an incorrigible.\n\nAfter dinner I immediately went out, and after many attempts to seek\nemployment of any kind, I approached a house in course of construction\nand applied to the contractor for work. He replied he did not need help.\nI asked the price of wages. Ten dollars a day. I said you would much\noblige me by giving me, if only a few days' work, as I have just\narrived. After a few moments thought, during which mayhap charity and\ngain held conference, which succumbed, it is needless to premise, for we\nsometimes ascribe selfish motives to kindly acts, he said that if I\nchoose to come for nine dollars a day I might. It is unnecessary for me\nto add that I chose to come.\n\nWhen I got outside the building an appalling thought presented itself;\nwhoever heard of a carpenter announcing himself ready for work without\nhis tools. A minister may be without piety, a lawyer without clients, a\npolitician impolitic, but a carpenter without tools, never! It would be\nprima facia evidence of an imposter. I went back and asked what tools I\nmust bring upon the morrow; he told me and I left. But the tools, the\ntools, how was I to get them. My only acquaintance in the city was my\nlandlord. But prospects were too bright to reveal to him my secret. I\nwended my way to a large tent having an assortment of hardware and was\nshown the tools needed. I then told the merchant that I had no money,\nand of the place I had to work the next morning. He said nothing for a\nmoment, looked me over, and then said: \"All right take them.\" I felt\ngreat relief when I paid the merchant and my landlord on the following\nSaturday.\n\nWhy do I detail to such length these items of endeavor; experiences\nwhich have had similarity in many lives? For the reason that they seem\nto contain data for a moral, which if observed may be useful. Never\ndisclose your poverty until the last gleam of hope has sunk beneath the\nhorizon of your best effort, remembering that invincible determination\nholds the key to success, while advice and assistance hitherto laggard,\nnow with hasty steps greets you within the door.\n\nI was not allowed to long pursue carpentering. White employees finding\nme at work on the same building would \"strike.\" On one occasion the\ncontractor came to me and said, \"I expect you will have to stop, for\nthis house must be finished in the time specified; but, if you can get\nsix or eight equally good workmen, I will let these fellows go. Not that\nI have any special liking for your people. I am giving these men all the\nwages they demand, and I am not willing to submit to the tyranny of\ntheir dictation if I can help it.\" This episode, the moral of which is\nas pertinent today as then, and more apparent, intensifies the necessity\nof greater desire upon the part of our young men and women to acquire\nknowledge in skilled handicraft, reference to which I have hitherto\nmade. But my convictions are so pronounced that I cannot forbear the\nreiteration. For while it is ennobling to the individual, giving\nindependence of character and more financial ability, the reflex\ninfluence is so helpful in giving the race a higher status in the\nindustrial activities of a commonwealth. Ignorance of such activities\ncompel our people mostly to engage in the lower and less remunerative\npursuits. I could not find the men he wanted or subsequent employment of\nthat kind.\n\nAll classes of labor were highly remunerative, blacking boots not\nexcepted.\n\nI after engaged in this, and other like humble employments, part of\nwhich was for Hon. John C. Fremont, \"the pathfinder overland to\nCalifornia.\"\n\n[Illustration: BOOKER T. WASHINGTON.\n\n\"The Sage of Tuskegee.\"\n\nThe Leader of Leaders For <DW64> Advancement.]\n\nSaving my earnings, I joined a firm already established in the clothing\nbusiness. After a year or more so engaged, I became a partner in the\nfirm of Lester & Gibbs, importers of fine boots and shoes. Just here a\nthought occurs which may be of advantage to ambitious but impecunious\nyoung men. Do not hesitate when you are without choice to accept the\nmost humble and menial employment. It will be a source of pleasure, if\nby self-denial, saving your earnings, you keep a fixed intent to make it\nthe stepping stone to something higher.\n\nThe genius of our institutions, and the noblest of mankind will estimate\nyou by the ratio of distance from the humblest beginning to your present\nattainment; the greater the distance the greater the luster; the more\nfitting the meed of praise.\n\nOur establishment on Clay street, known as the \"Emporium for fine boots\nand shoes, imported from Philadelphia, London and Paris,\" having a\nreputation for keeping the best and finest in the State, was well\npatronized, our patrons extending to Oregon and lower California. The\nbusiness, wholesale and retail, was profitable and maintained for a\nnumber of years. Mr. Lester, my partner, being a practical bootmaker,\nhis step to a merchant in that line was easy and lucrative.\n\nThanks to the evolution of events and march of liberal ideas the <DW52>\nmen in California have now a recognized citizenship, and equality before\nthe law. It was not so at the period of which I write. With thrift and\na wise circumspection financially, their opportunities were good; from\nevery other point of view they were ostracised, assaulted without\nredress, disfranchised and denied their oath in a court of justice.\n\nOne occasion will be typical of the condition. One of two mutual friends\n(both our customers) came in looking over and admiring a display of\nnewly arrived stock, tried on a pair of boots, was pleased with them,\nbut said he did not think he needed them then; lay them aside and he\nwould think about it. A short time after his friend came in, was shown\nthe pair the former had admired; would he like such a pair? He tried on\nseveral and then asked to try on his friend's selection; they only\nsuited, and he insisted on taking them; we objected, but he had them on,\nand said we need not have fear, he would clear us of blame, and walked\nout. Knowing they were close friends we were content. Possibly, in a\nhumorous mood, he went straight to his friend, for shortly they both\ncame back, the first asking for his boots; he would receive no\nexplanation (while the cause of the trouble stood mute), and with vile\nepithets, using a heavy cane, again and again assaulted my partner, who\nwas compelled tamely to submit, for had he raised his hand he would have\nbeen shot, and no redress. I would not have been allowed to attest to\n\"the deep damnation of his taking off.\"\n\nThe Magna Charter, granted by King John, at Runney Mead, to the Barons\nof England, in the twelfth century, followed by the Petition of Right by\nCharles I, has been rigidly preserved and consecrated as foundation for\ncivil liberty. The Continental Congress led the van for the United\nStates, who oftimes tardy in its conservatism, is disposed to give\naudience to merit and finally justice to pertinacity of purpose.\n\nIn 1851, Jonas P. Townsend, W. H. Newby, and other <DW52> men with\nmyself, drew up and published in the \"Alto California,\" the leading\npaper of the State, a preamble and resolutions protesting against being\ndisfranchised and denied the right of oath, and our determination to use\nall moral means to secure legal claim to all the rights and privileges\nof American citizens.\n\nIt being the first pronouncement from the <DW52> people of the State,\nwho were supposed to be content with their status, the announcement\ncaused much comment and discussion among the dominant class. For down\ndeep in the heart of every man is a conception of right. He cannot\nextinguish it, or separate it from its comparative. What would I have\nothers do to me? Pride, interest, adverse contact, all with specious\nargument may strive to dissipate the comparison, but the pulsations of a\ncommon humanity, keeping time with the verities of God never ceased to\ntrouble, and thus the moral pebble thrown on the bosom of the hitherto\nplacid sea of public opinion, like its physical prototype, creating\nundulations which go on and on to beat against the rock and make sandy\nshores, so this our earnest but feeble protest contributed its humble\nshare in the rebuilding of a commonwealth where \"a man's a man for all\nthat.\"\n\nThe committee above named, with G. W. Dennis and James Brown, the same\nyear formed a company, established and published the \"Mirror of the\nTimes,\" the first periodical issued in the State for the advocacy of\nequal rights for all Americans. It has been followed by a score of\nkindred that have assiduously maintained and ably contended for the\nrights and privileges claimed by their zealous leader.\n\nState conventions were held in 1854, '55 and '57, resolutions and\npetitions passed and presented to the Legislature of Sacramento. We had\nfriends to offer them and foes to move they be thrown out the window. It\nis ever thus, \"that men go to fierce extremes rather than rest upon the\nquiet flow of truths that soften hatred and temper strife.\" There was\nthat unknown quantity, present in all legislative bodies, composed of\ngood \"little men\" without courage of conviction, others of the Dickens'\n\"devilish sly\" type, who put out their plant-like tendrils for support;\nothers \"who bent the pliant servile knee that thrift may follow\nfawning\"--all these the make-weight of a necessary constituent in\nrepresentative government conservatism. The conservative majority laid\nour petition on the table, most likely with the tacit understanding that\nit was to be \"taken up\" by the janitor, and as such action on his part\nis not matter for record, we will in this happier day with \"charity to\nall,\" over this episode on memory's leaf, simply wrote \"lost or stolen.\"\n\nAmong the occasions continually occurring demanding protests against\ninjustice was the imposition of the \"poll tax.\" It was demanded of our\nfirm, and we refused to pay. A sufficient quantity of our goods to pay\ntax and costs were levied upon, and published for sale, and on what\naccount.\n\nI wrote with a fervor as cool as the circumstances would permit, and\npublished a card from a disfranchised oath-denied standpoint, closing\nwith the avowal that the great State of California might annually\nconfiscate our goods, but we would never pay the voters tax. The card\nattracted attention, the injustice seemed glaring, the goods were\noffered. We learned that we had several friends at the sale, one in\nparticular a Southern man. Now there was this peculiarity about the\nSouthern white man, he would work a <DW64> for fifty years for his\nvictuals and clothes, and shoot a white man for cheating the same <DW64>,\nas he considered the latter the height of meanness. This friend quietly\nand persistently moved through the crowd, telling them why our goods\nwere there, and advising to give them a \"terrible letting alone.\" The\nauctioneer stated on what account they were there, to be sold, asked for\nbidders, winked his eye and said \"no bidders.\" Our goods were sent back\nto our store. This law, in the words of a distinguished Statesman, was\nthen allowed to relapse \"into innocuous desuetude.\" No further attempts\nto enforce it upon <DW52> men were made.\n\n[Illustration: BISHOP HENRY M. TURNER\n\nBorn in Newberry, S. C.--Ordained Bishop in 1880--President of Bishop\nCouncil. Home and Foreign Missionary Society and Sunday School Union of\nthe A. M. E. Church.--From Slave to Statesman--As Soldier, Editor,\nAuthor, Legislator, Orator, and African Explorer--For Vitality and\nAbility, Courage and Fidelity, Along so Many Lines, He Stands Without a\nPeer.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nA rush to newly discovered gold fields bring in view every trait of\nhuman character. The more vicious standing out in bold relief, and\nstamping their impress upon the locality. This phase and most primitive\nsituation can be accounted for partly by the cupidity of mankind, but\nmainly that the first arrivals are chiefly adventurers. Single men,\nuntrammeled by family cares, traders, saloonists, gamblers, and that\nunknown quantity of indefinite quality, ever present, content to allow\nothers to fix a status of society, provided they do not touch on their\nown special interests, and that other, the unscrupulous but active\nprofessional politician, having been dishonored at home, still astute\nand determined, seeks new fields for booty, obtain positions of trust\nand then consummate peculation and outrage under the forms of law. But\nthe necessity for the honest administration of the law eventually\nasserts itself for the enforcement of order.\n\nIt was quaintly said by a governor of Arkansas, that he believed that a\npublic official should be \"reasonably honest.\" Even should that limited\nstandard of official integrity be invaded the people with an honest\nballot need not be long in rectifying the evil by legal means. But\ncannot something be said in palliation of summary punishment by illegal\nmeans, when it is notorious and indisputable that all machinery for the\nexecution of the law and the maintenance of order, the judges,\nprosecuting attorneys, sheriff and drawers of jurors, and every other of\ncourt of law are in the hands of a despotic cabal who excessively tax,\nand whose courts convict all those who oppose them, and exonerate by\ntrial the most farcical, the vilest criminal, rob and murder in broad\nday light, often at the bidding of their protectors. Such a status for a\npeople claiming to be civilized seems difficult to conceive, yet the\nabove was not an hypothesis of condition, but the actual one that\nexisted in California and San Francisco, especially from 1849 to 1855.\nGamblers and dishonest politicians from other States held the\ngovernment, and there was no legal redress. Every attempt of the friends\nof law and order to elect honest men to office was met at the polls by\nvituperation and assault.\n\nOne of the means for thinning out the ranks of their opponents at the\npolls they found very efficient. It was to scatter their \"thugs\" along\nthe line of waiting voters and known opposers, and quickly and covertly\ninject the metal part of a shoemaker's awl in the rear but most fleshy\npart of his adversary's anatomy, making sitting unpleasant for a time.\nThere was usually uncertainty as to the point of compass from which the\nhint came to leave, but none as to the fact of its arrival. Hence the\nreformer did not stand on the order of his going, but generally left the\nline. These votes, of course, were not thrown out, for the reason they\nnever got in. It diminished, but did not abolish the necessity of\nstuffing ballot boxes. In the West I once knew an old magistrate named\nScott, noted for his impartiality, but only called Judge Scott by\nnon-patrons of his court, who had never came within the purview of his\nadministration, to others he was known as \"old Necessity,\" for it was\nsaid he knew no law. Revolutions, the beneficial results of which will\never live in the history of mankind, founded as they were on the rights\nof human nature and desire for the establishment and conservation of\njust government, have ever been the outgrowth of necessity.\n\nPatient in protest of misgovernment, men are prone to \"bear the ill they\nhave\" until, like the accumulation of rills on mountain side,\nindignation leaps the bounds of legal form and prostrate law to find\ntheir essence and purpose in reconstruction. At the time of which I\nwrite, there seemed nothing left for the friends of law, bereft as they\nwere of all statutary means for its enforcement, but making a virtue of\nthis necessity by organizing a \"vigilance committee\" to wrench by\nphysical strength that unobtainable by moral right. There had been no\nflourish of trumpets, no herald of the impending storm, but the pent up\nforces of revolution in inertion, now fierce for action, discarded\nrestraint. Stern, but quiet had been the preparation for a revolution\nwhich had come, as come it ever will, with such inviting environments.\nIt was not that normal status, the usual frailties of human nature\ndescribed by Hooker as \"stains and blemishes that will remain till the\nend of the world, what form of government, soever, may take place, they\ngrow out of man's nature.\" But in this event the stains and blemishes\nwere effaced by a common atrocity.\n\nSitting at the back of my store on Clay street a beautiful Sunday\nmorning, one of those mornings peculiar to San Francisco, with its balmy\nbreezes and Italian skies, there seemed an unusual stillness, such a\nquiet as precedes the cyclone in tropical climes, only broken\noccasionally by silvery peals of the church bells. When suddenly I heard\nthe plank street resound with the tramp of a multitude. No voice or\nother sound was heard but the tramp of soldiery, whose rhythm of sound\nand motion is ever a proclamation that thrills by its intensity, whether\nconquest or conservation be its mission. I hastened to the door and was\nappalled at the sight. In marching column, six or eight abreast, five\nthousand men carrying arms with head erect, a resolute determination\nborn of conviction depicted in linament of feature and expression.\n\nHastily improvised barracks in large storehouses east of Montgomery\nstreet, fortified by hundreds of gunny sacks filled with sand,\ndesignated \"Fort Gunney,\" was the quarters for committee and soldiers.\nThe committee immediately dispatched deputies to arrest and bring to the\nFort the leaders of this cabal of misgovernment. The effort to do so\ngave striking evidence of the cowardice of assassins. Men whose very\nname had inspired terror, and whose appearance in the corridors of\nhotels or barrooms hushed into silence the free or merry expression of\ntheir patrons, now fled and hid away \"like damned ghosts at the smell of\nday\" from the popular uprising of the people. The event which\nprecipitated the movement--the last and crowning act of this\noligarchy--was the shooting of James King, of William, a banker and\npublisher of a paper dedicated to the exposure and denunciation of this\nring of dishonest officials and assassins. It was done in broad daylight\non Montgomery Street, the main thoroughfare of the city. Mr. King, of\nWilliam County, Maryland, was a terse writer, a gentleman highly\nesteemed for integrity and devotion to the best interests of his adopted\nState. Many of the gang who had time and opportunity hid on steamers\nand sailing vessels to facilitate escape, but quite a number were\narrested and taken to Fort Gunny for trial. One or two of the most\nprominent took refuge in the jail--a strong and well-appointed brick\nbuilding--where, under the protection of their own hirelings in fancied\nsecurity considered themselves safe. A deputation of the committee from\nthe fort placed a cannon at proper distance from the entrance to the\njail. With a watch in his hand, the captain of the squad gave the\nkeepers ten minutes to open the doors and deliver the culprits. I well\nremember the excitement that increased in intensity as the allotted\nperiod diminished; the fuse lighted, and two minutes to spare; the door\nopened; the delivery was made, and the march to Fort Gunny began. A\ntrial court had been organized at which the testimony was taken, verdict\nrendered, and judgment passed. From a beam projecting over an upper\nstory window, used for hoisting merchandise, the convicted criminals\nwere executed.\n\nThe means resorted to for the purification of the municipality were\ndrastic, but the ensuing feeling of personal safety and confidence in a\nnew administration appeared to be ample justification. Much has been\nsaid and written in defense and in condemnation of revolutionary methods\nfor the reformation of government. It cannot but be apparent that when\nit is impossible to execute the virtuous purposes of government, the\nmachinery having passed to notorious violators, who use it solely for\nvicious purpose, there seems nothing left for the votaries of order than\nto seize the reins with strong right arm and restore a status of justice\nthat should be the pride and glory of all civilized people.\n\nBut what a paradox is presented in the disregard for law and life today\nin our common country, including much in our Southland! It is a sad\ncommentary on the weakness and inconsistencies of human nature and often\nstarts the inquiry in many honest minds, as a remedial agency, is a\nrepublican form of government the most conducive in securing the\nblessings of liberty of which protection to human life is the chief?\n\nFor the actual reverse of conditions that existed in California in those\nearly days are present in others of our States today. All the machinery\nand ability for the just administration of the law are in the hands of\nthose appointed mainly by the ballot of the intelligence and virtue of\nthese States, who, if not participants, are quite as censurable for\ntheir \"masterly inactivity\" in having allowed thousands of the most\ndefenceless to be lynched by hanging or burning at the stake. That there\nhave been cases of assault on women by <DW64>s for which they have been\nlynched, it is needless to deny. That they have been lynched for\nthreatening to do bodily harm to white men for actual assaults on the\n<DW64> wife and daughter is equally true. The first should be denounced\nand arrested (escape being impossible) and by forms of law suffer its\nextreme penalty. The other for the cause they were murdered should have\nthe highest admiration and the most sincere plaudits from every honest\nman. Is it true that \"he is a slave most base whose love of right is for\nhimself and not for all the race,\" and that the measure you mete out to\nothers--the same shall be your portion. All human history verifies these\naphorisms; and that the perpetrators and silent abettors of this\nbarbarism have sowed to the winds a dire penalty, already being reaped,\nis evidenced by disregard of race or color of the victim when mob law is\nin the ascendant. And further, as a salvo for their own acts, white men\nare allowing bad <DW64>s to lynch others of their kind without enforcing\nthe law.\n\nThe <DW64>, apish in his affinity to his prototype in a \"lynching bee,\"\nis beneath contempt.\n\n[Illustration: HON. GEORGE H. WHITE.\n\nBorn at Rosedale, North Carolina--Graduate from Howard University in\n1877--Practiced Law in all the Courts of his State--Member of House of\nRepresentatives in 1880 and of Senate in 1884--Eight Years Prosecuting\nAttorney--Elected Member of the Fifty-fifth Congress as a Republican.\nWith a Record Unimpeachable.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nEarly in the year 1858 gold was discovered on Fraser River, in the\nHudson Bay Company's territory in the Northwest. This territory a few\nmonths later was organized as the Colony of British Columbia and\nabsorbed; is now the western outlook of the Dominion of Canada. The\ndiscovery caused an immense rush of gold seekers, traders, and\nspeculators from all parts of the world. In June of that year, with a\nlarge invoice of miners' outfits, consisting of flour, bacon, blankets,\npick, shovels, etc., I took passage on steamship Republic for Victoria.\nThe social atmosphere on steamers whose patrons are chiefly gold seekers\nis unlike that on its fellow, where many have jollity moderated by\nbusiness cares, others reserved in lofty consciousness that they are on\nforeign pleasure bent. With the gold seeker, especially the\n\"tenderfoot,\" there is an incessant social hilarity, a communion of\nfeeling, an ardent anticipation that cannot be dormant, continually\nbubbling over. We had on board upward of seven hundred, comprising a\nvariety of tongues and nations. The bustle and turmoil incident to\ngetting off and being properly domiciled; the confusion of tongues and\npeculiarity of temperament resembled the Babel of old. Here the\nmercurial Son of France in search of a case of red wine, hot and\nimpulsive, belching forth \"sacres\" with a velocity well sustained. The\nphlegmatic German stirred to excitability in quest of a \"small cask of\nlager and large box of cheese;\" John Chinaman \"Hi yah'd\" for one \"bag\nlice all samee hab one Melican man,\" while a chivalric but seedy-looking\nSoutherner, who seemed to have \"seen better days,\" wished he \"might\nbe--if he didn't lay a pe-yor of boots thar whar that blanket whar.\" Not\nto be lost in the shuffle was a tall canting specimen of Yankee-dom\nperched on a water cask that \"reckoned ther is right smart chance of\nfolks on this 'ere ship,\" and \"kalkerlate that that boat swinging thar\nwar a good place to stow my fixin's in.\" The next day thorough system\nand efficiency was brought out of chaos and good humor prevailed.\n\nVictoria, then the capital of British Columbia, is situated on the\nsouthern point of Vancouver's Island. On account of the salubrity of its\nclimate and proximity to the spacious land-locked harbor of Esquimault\nit is delightful as a place of residence and well adapted to great\nmercantile and industrial possibilities. It was the headquarters of the\nHudson Bay Company, a very old, wealthy, and influential English trading\ncompany. Outside the company's fort, enclosing immense storehouses,\nthere were but few houses. The nucleus of a town in the shape of a few\nblocks laid out, and chiefly on paper maps, was most that gave promise\nof the populous city of Victoria of the present. On my arrival my goods\nwere sold at great advance on cost, an order for more sent by returning\nsteamer. I had learned prior to starting that city lots could be bought\nfor one hundred dollars each, and had come prepared to buy two or three\nat that price. A few days before my arrival what the authorities had\ndesignated as the \"land office\" had been subjected to a \"Yankee rush,\"\nwhich had not only taken, and paid for all the lots mapped out, but came\nnear appropriating books, benches, and window sashes; hence the office\nhad to close down and haul off for repairs, and surveyed lots, and would\nnot be open for business for ten days. Meanwhile those that were in at\nthe first sale were still in, having real estate matters their own way.\nSteamers and sailing craft were constantly arriving, discharging their\nhuman freight, that needed food, houses, and outfits for the mines,\ngiving an impetus to property of all kinds that was amazing for its\nrapidity. The next afternoon after the day of my arrival I had signed an\nagreement and paid one hundred dollars on account for a lot and\none-story house for $3,000--$1,400 more in fifteen days, and the balance\nin six months. Upon the arrival of my goods ten days later I paid the\nsecond installment and took possession. Well, how came I to take a\nresponsibility so far beyond my first intended investment? Just here I\nrise to remark: For effective purposes one must not be unduly sensitive\nor overmodest in writing autobiography--for, being the events and\nmemoirs of his life, written by himself, the ever-present pronoun \"I\"\ndances in such lively attendance and in such profusion on the pages that\nwhatever pride he may have in the events they chronicle is somewhat\nabashed at its repetition.\n\nAddison truly says: \"There is no passion which steals into the heart\nmore imperceptible and covers itself under more disguises than pride.\"\nStill, if in such memoirs there be found landmarks of precept or example\nthat will smooth the ruggedness of Youth's pathway, the success of its\nmission should disarm invidious criticism. For the great merit of\nhistory or biography is not alone the events they chronicle, but the\nvalue of the thought they inspire. Previous to purchasing the property I\nhad calculated the costs of alteration and estimated the income. In\ntwenty days, after an expenditure of $200 for improvements, I found\nmyself receiving a rental of $500 per month from the property, besides a\nstore for the firm. Anyone without mechanical knowledge with time and\nopportunity to seek information from others may have done the same, but\nin this case there was neither time nor opportunity; it required quick\nperception and prompt action. The trade my mother insisted I should\nlearn enabled me to do this. Get a trade, boys, if you have to live on\nbread and apples while attaining it. It is a good foundation to build\nhigher. Don't crowd the waiters. If they are content, give them a\nchance. We received a warm welcome from the Governor and other officials\nof the colony, which was cheering. We had no complaint as to business\npatronage in the State of California, but there was ever present that\nspectre of oath denial and disfranchisement; the disheartening\nconsciousness that while our existence was tolerated, we were powerless\nto appeal to law for the protection of life or property when assailed.\nBritish Columbia offered and gave protection to both, and equality of\npolitical privileges. I cannot describe with what joy we hailed the\nopportunity to enjoy that liberty under the \"British lion\" denied us\nbeneath the pinions of the American Eagle. Three or four hundred <DW52>\nmen from California and other States, with their families, settled in\nVictoria, drawn thither by the two-fold inducement--gold discovery and\nthe assurance of enjoying impartially the benefits of constitutional\nliberty. They built or bought homes and other property, and by industry\nand character vastly improved their condition and were the recipients of\nrespect and esteem from the community.\n\nAn important step in a man's life is his marriage. It being the merging\nof dual lives, it is only by mutual self-abnegation that it can be made\na source of contentment and happiness. In 1859, in consummation of\npromise and purpose, I returned to the United States and was married to\nMiss Maria A. Alexander, of Kentucky, educated at Oberlin College, Ohio.\nAfter visits to friends in Buffalo and my friend Frederick Douglass at\nRochester, N. Y., thence to Philadelphia and New York City, where we\ntook steamship for our long journey of 4,000 miles to our intended home\nat Victoria, Vancouver Island. I have had a model wife in all that the\nterm implies, and she has had a husband migratory and uncertain. We have\nbeen blessed with five children, four of whom are living--Donald F.,\nHorace E., Ida A., and Hattie A. Gibbs; Donald a machinist, Horace a\nprinter by trade. Ida graduated as an A. B. from Oberlin College and is\nnow teacher of English in the High School at Washington, D. C.; Hattie a\ngraduate from the Conservatory of Music at Oberlin, Ohio, and was\nprofessor of music at the Eckstein-Norton University at Cave Springs,\nKy., and now musical director of public schools of Washington, D. C.\n\nIn passing through the States in 1859 an unrest was everywhere\nobservable. The pulse-beat of the great national heart quickened at\nimpending danger. The Supreme Court had made public the Dred Scott\ndecision; John Brown had organized an insurrection; Stephen A. Douglass\nand Abraham Lincoln at the time were in exciting debate; William H.\nSeward was proclaiming the \"irrepressible conflict.\" With other signs\nportentous, culminating in secession and events re-enacting history--for\nthat the causes and events of which history is the record are being\ncontinuously re-enacted from a moral standpoint is of easy observation.\nHistory, as the narration of the actions of men, with attendant results,\nis but a repetition. Different minds and other hands may be the\ninstruments, but the effects from any given course involving fundamental\nprinciples are the same. This was taught by philosophers 2,000 years\nago, some insisting that not only was this repetition observable in the\nmoral world, but that the physical world was repeated in detail--that\nevery person, every blade of grass, all nature, animate and inanimate,\nreappeared upon the earth, engaged in the same pursuits, and fulfilling\nthe same ends formerly accomplished.\n\nHowever skeptical we may be as to this theory of the ancients, the\nstudent of modern history has accomplished little if he fails to be\nimpressed with the important truth standing out on every page in letters\nof living light--that this great world of ours is governed by a system\nof moral and physical laws that are as unerring in the bestowal of\nrewards as certain in the infliction of penalties. The history of our\nown country is one that will ever be an exemplification of this\npre-eminent truth. The protests of the victims of oppression in the old\nworld resulted in a moral upheaval and the establishment by force of\narms of a Republic in America. The Revolutionary Congress, of which, in\nadopting the Federal Constitution, closed with this solemn injunction:\n\"Let it be remembered that it has been the pride and boast of America\nthat the rights for which she contended were the rights of human\nnature.\" And it was reserved for the founders of this nation to\nestablish in the words of an illustrious benefactor, \"a Government of\nthe people, for the people, and by the people\"--a Government deriving\nall its powers from the consent of the governed, where freedom of\nopinion, whether relating to Church or State, was to have the widest\nscope and fullest expression consistent with private rights and public\ngood---where the largest individuality could be developed and the\npatrician and plebeian meet on a common level and aspire to the highest\nhonor within the gift of the people.\n\nThis was its character, this its mission. How it has sustained the\ncharacter, how fulfilled the mission upon which it entered, the\nimpartial historian has indited, every page of which is redolent with\nprecept and example that point a moral.\n\nWith the inauguration of republican government in America the angel of\nfreedom and the demon of slavery wrestled for the mastery. Tallyrand has\nbeautifully and forcibly said: \"The Lily and Thistle may grow together\nin harmonious proximity, but liberty and slavery delight in the\nseparation.\" The pronounced policy of the best minds at the adoption of\nthe Federal Constitution was to repress it as an institution inhuman in\nits character and fraught with mischief. Foretelling with accuracy of\ndivine inspiration, Jefferson \"trembled for his country\" when he\nremembered that God was just and that \"His justice would not sleep\nforever.\" Patrick Henry said \"that a serious view of this subject gives\na gloomy prospect to future times.\" So Mason and other patriots wrote\nand felt, fully impressed that the high, solid ground of right and\njustice had been left for the bogs and mire of expediency.\n\nThey died, leaving this heritage growing stronger and bolder in its\nassumption of power and permeating every artery of society. The cotton\ngin was invented and the demand for cotton vaulted into the van of the\ncommerce of the country. Men, lured by the gains of slavery and\ncorrupted by its contact, sought by infamous reasoning and vicious\nlegislation to avert the criticism of men and the judgment of God. In\nthe words of our immortal Douglass, \"To bolster up and make tolerable\nwhat was intolerable; to make human what was inhuman; to make divine\nwhat was infernal.\" To make this giant wrong acceptable to the moral\nsense it was averred and enacted that slavery was right; that God\nhimself had so predetermined in His wisdom; that the slave could be\nbranded and sold on the auction block; that the babe could be ruthlessly\ntaken from its mother and given away; that a family could be scattered\nby sale, to meet no more; that to teach a slave to read was punishable\nwith death to the teacher. But why rehearse this dead past--this\nterrible night of suffering and gloom? Why not let its remembrance be\neffaced and forgotten in the glorious light of a happier day? I answer,\nWhy?\n\nAll measure of value, all estimates of greatness, of joy or sorrow, of\nhealth or suffering, are relative; we judge by comparison, and if in\nrecalling these former depths we temper unreasonable criticism of waning\nfriendships, accelerate effort as we pass the mile-stones of\nachievement, and stimulate appreciation of liberty in the younger\ngeneration, the mention will not be fruitless.\n\nBut to the resume of this rapid statement of momentous events:\nMeanwhile, the slave, patient in his longings, prayed for deliverance.\nTruly has it been said by Elihu Burrit that \"you may take a man and yoke\nhim to your labor as you yoke the ox that worketh to live, and liveth to\nwork; you may surround him with ignorance and cloud him over with\nartificial night. You may do this and all else that will degrade him as\na man, without injuring his value as a slave; yet the idea that he was\nborn to be free will survive it all. 'Tis allied to his hope of\nimmortality--the ethereal part of his nature which oppression cannot\nreach. 'Tis the torch lit up in his soul by the omnipotent hand of Deity\nHimself.\" The true and tried hosts of freedom, represented and led by\nGarrison, Douglass, Lovejoy, Phillips, Garnet, Harriet Beecher Stowe,\nand Frances Ellen Harper, and others--few compared to the indifferent\nand avowed defenders of slavery, welcoming outrage and ostracism, by pen\nand on forum, from hilltop and valley, proclaimed emancipation as the\nright of the slave and the duty of the master. The many heroic efforts\nof the anti-slavery phalanx were not without effect, and determined\nresistance was made to the admission of more slave territory which was\nin accordance with the \"Proviso\" prohibiting slavery in the Northwest.\nSlavery controlled the Government from its commencement, hence its\nsupporters looked with alarm upon an increasing determination to stay\nits progress.\n\nCalifornia had been admitted as a free State, after a struggle the most\nsevere. Its admission John C. Calhoun, the very able leader of the slave\npower, regarded as the death-knell of slavery, if the institution\nremained within the union and counseled secession. Washington,\nJefferson, and Madison, in despair at the growth of slavery; Calhoun at\nthat of freedom. But how could this march of moral progress and national\ngreatness be arrested? Congress had, in 1787, enacted that all the\nterritory not then States should forever be reserved to freedom. The\nslave power saw the \"handwriting on the wall\" surround it with a cordon\nof free States; increase their representatives in Congress advocating\nfreedom, and slavery is doomed. The line cherished by the founders, the\nGibraltar against which slavery had dashed its angry billows, must be\nblotted out, and over every rod of virgin soil it was to be admitted\nwithout let or hindrance.\n\nThen came the dark days of compromise, the era of Northern fear of\nsecession, and, finally, opinion crystallizing into legislation\nnon-committal, viz: That States applying for admission should be\nadmitted as free or slave States, as a majority of their inhabitants\nmight determine. Then came the struggle for Kansas. Emigration societies\nwere fitted out in the New England and Northern States to send free\nState men to locate who would vote to bring in Kansas as a free State.\nSimilar organizations existed in the slave States for the opposite\npurpose.\n\n[Illustration: HON. JOHN M. LANGSTON.\n\nBorn in Louisa Country, Va.--Educated at Oberlin, Ohio--Member Board of\nHealth, District of Columbia in 1871--Minister Resident and\nConsul-General to Port-au-Prince, Hayti, 1877--Elected to Congress from\nFourth Congressional District of Virginia in 1890--Author of \"Freedom\nand Citizenship\" and \"From the Virginia Plantation to the National\nCapitol.\"]\n\nIt is not pleasant to dwell nor fitly portray the terrible ordeal\nthrough which the friends of freedom passed. In 1859 they succeeded;\nright and justice were triumphant, the beneficial results of which will\nreach remotest time. It was in this conflict that the heroism of John\nBrown developed. It was there he saw his kindred and his friends\nmurdered, and there registered his vow to avenge their blood in the\ndisenthralment of the slave. The compeers of this \"grand old man\" or\npeople of the nation could have scarcely supposed that this man,\nhitherto obscure, was to be the instrument of retributive justice, to\ninaugurate a rebellion which was to culminate in the freedom of\n4,000,000 slaves. John Brown, at the head of a few devoted men, at\nHarper's Ferry, struck the blow that echoed and re-echoed in booming gun\nand flashing sabre until, dying away in whispered cadence, was hushed in\nthe joyousness of a free nation. John Brown was great because he was\ngood, and good because he was great, with the bravery of a warrior and\nthe tenderness of a child, loving liberty as a mother her first born, he\nscorned to compromise with slavery. Virginia demanded his blood and he\ngave it, making the spot on which he fell sacred for all time, upon\nwhich posterity will see a monument in commemoration of an effort, grand\nin its magnanimity, to which the devotees of liberty from every clime\ncan repair to breathe anew an inspiration from its shrine--\n\n    \"For whether on the gallows high\n      Or in the battle's van,\n    The noblest place for man to die\n      Is where he dies for man.\"\n\nThe slave power, defeated in Kansas, fearful of the result of the vote\nin other territories to determine their future status, found aid and\ncomfort from Judge Taney, a Supreme Judge of the United States.\nBancroft, the historian, has said: \"In a great Republic an attempt to\noverthrow a State owes its strength to and from some branch of the\nGovernment.\" 'Tis said that this Chief Justice, without necessity or\noccasion, volunteered to come to the rescue of slavery, and, being the\nhighest court known to the law, the edict was final, and no appeal could\nlie, save to the bar of humanity and history. Against the memory of the\nnation, against decisions and enactments, he announced that, slaves\nbeing property, owners could claim constitutional protection in the\nterritories; that the Constitution upheld slavery against any act of a\nState Legislature, and even against Congress. Slavery, previous to 1850,\nwas regulated by municipal law; the slave was held by virtue of the laws\nof the State of his location or of kindred slave States. When he escaped\nthat jurisdiction he was free. By the decision of Judge Taney, instead\nof slavery being local, it was national and freedom outlawed; the slave\ncould not only be reclaimed in any State, but slavery could be\nestablished wherever it sought habitation.\n\nBlack laws had been passed in Northern States and United States\nCommissioners appointed in these States searched for fugitives, where\nthey had, in fancied security, resided for years, built homes, and\nreared families, seizing and remanding them back into slavery, causing\nan era of terror, family dismemberment, and flight, only to be\nremembered with sadness and horror. For had not the heartless dictum\ncome from a Chief Justice of the United States--the \"Jeffry of American\njurisprudence,\" that it had been ruled that black men had no rights a\nwhite man was bound to respect?\n\nThe slave power, fortified with this declaration, resolved that if at\nthe approaching election they did not _succeed_ they would _secede_.\nLincoln was elected, and the South, true to its resolve, prepared for\nthe secession of its States. Pennsylvania is credited with having then\nmade the last and meanest gift to the Presidency in the person of James\nBuchanan. History tells of a Nero who fiddled while Rome burned. The\nvaledictory of this public functionary breathing aid and comfort to\nsecession, was immediately followed by South Carolina firing on Fort\nSumter, and Southern Senators advised their constituents to seize the\narsenals and ports of the nation. Rebellion was a fact.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nAbraham Lincoln, the President-elect, was the legitimate outgrowth of\nAmerican institutions; in him was presented choice fruit, the product of\nrepublican government. Born in a log cabin, of poor, uneducated parents,\nhis only aids untiring industry, determination, and lofty purpose.\nHewing out his steps on the rugged rocks of poverty, climbing the\nmountains of difficulty, and attaining the highest honor within the gift\nof the nation--\"truly a self-made man, the Declaration of Independence,\"\nsays a writer, \"being his daily compendium of wisdom, the life of\nWashington his daily study, with something of Jefferson, Madison, and\nClay.\" For the rest, from day to day, he lived the life of the American\npeople; \"walked in its light; reasoned with its reason; thought with its\npowers of thought, and felt the beatings of its mighty heart.\" In 1858\nhe came prominently forward as the rival of Stephen A. Douglass, and,\nwith wealth of argument, terseness of logic, and enunciation of just\nprinciples, took front rank among sturdy Republicans, battling against\nthe extension of human slavery, declaring that \"the nation could not\nendure half free and half slave.\"\n\n[Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN,\n\nThe Emancipator.\n\nThe Embodiment of Patriotism and Justice. \"I hope peace will come to\nstay, and then there will be some <DW52> men who can remember that they\nhelped mankind to this great consummation.\"]\n\nOn the 4th of March, 1861, he took the oath of office and commenced his\nAdministration. With confidence and doubt alternating, our interest as a\nrace became intensified. We knew the South had rebelled; we were\nfamiliar with the pagan proverb \"Those whom the gods would destroy they\nfirst made mad.\" We had watched the steady growth of Republicanism, when\na tinge on the political horizon \"no bigger than a man's hand,\" increase\nin magnitude and power and place its standard-bearer in the White House.\nBut former Presidents had professed to hate slavery. President Fillmore\nhad, yet signed the fugitive slave law; Pierce and Buchanan had both\nwielded the administrative arm in favor of slavery. We had seen Daniel\nWebster, Massachusetts' ablest jurist, and the most learned\nconstitutional expounder--the man of whom it was said that \"when he\nspeaks God's own thunder can be seen pent up in his brow and God's own\nlightning flash from his eye\"--a man sent by the best cultured of New\nEngland to represent the most advanced civilization of the century--we\nhad seen this brilliant star of anti-slavery Massachusetts \"pale his\nineffectual fires\" before the steady glare, the intolerance,\nblandishment, and corrupting influences of the slave power--and tell the\nnation they must compromise with slavery.\n\nWhen Daniel O'Connell, Ireland's statesman and philanthropist, was\napproached in Parliament by West India planters with promises of support\nfor measures for the relief of Ireland if he would vote in the interest\nof slavery in British colonies, he said: \"'Tis true, gentlemen, that I\nrepresent a poor constituency--God only knows how poor; but may calamity\nand affliction overtake me if ever I, to help Ireland, vote to enslave\nthe <DW64>.\" A noble utterance! Unlike the Northern representatives sent\nto Congress, who \"bent the pliant, servile knee that thrift might follow\nfawning.\" What wonder our race was keenly alive to the situation? The\nhour had arrived--was the man there?\n\nFor Abraham Lincoln impartial history will answer \"Nor memory lose, nor\ntime impair\" his nobility of character for humanity and patriotism that\nwill ever ennoble and inspire. Mr. Lincoln was slow to believe that the\nrebellion would assume the proportions that it did, but he placed\nhimself squarely on the issue in his inaugural address: \"That he should,\nto the extent of his ability, take care that the laws of the nation be\nfaithfully executed in all the States; that in doing it there would be\nno bloodshed unless it was forced upon the national authority.\" His\npatriotism and goodness welling up as he said: \"We are not enemies, but\nfriends, though we may have strained, it must not break our bonds of\naffection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every\nbattlefield and hearthstone, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when\nagain touched by the better angels of our nature.\"\n\n    \"But the die was cast;\n    Ruthless rapine righteous hope defied.\"\n\nThe necessity for calling the nation to arms was imminent on the 15th of\nApril, 1861; the call for 75,000 men rang like a trumpet blast,\nstartling the most apathetic. The response from the Northern and\nportions of the Southern States was hearty and prompt. The battle at\nBull Run dispelled the President's idea that the war was to be of short\nduration. Defeat followed defeat of the national forces; weeping and\nwailing went up from many firesides for husbands and sons who had laid\ndown on Southern battlefields to rest. The great North, looking up for\nsuccor, saw the \"national banner drooping from the flagstaff, heavy with\nblood,\" and typical of the stripes of the slave. For 200 years the\nincense of his prayers and tears had ascended. Now from every booming\ngun there seemed the voice of God, \"Let my people go\"--\n\n    \"They see Him in watch fires\n      Of a hundred circling camps;\n    They read His righteous sentence\n      By the dim and flaring lamps.\"\n\nThe nation had come slowly but firmly up to the duty and necessity of\nemancipation. Mr. Lincoln, who was now in accord with Garrison,\nPhillips, Douglass, and their adherents, had counseled them to continue\nurging the people to this demand, now pressing as a military necessity.\nThe 1st of January, 1863, being the maturity of the proclamation, lifted\n4,000,000 of human beings from chattels to freemen, a grateful, praying\npeople. Throughout the North and wherever possible in the South the\n<DW52> people, on the night of December 31, assembled in their churches\nfor thanksgiving. On their knees in silence--a silence intense with\nsuppressed emotion--they awaited the stroke of the clock. It came, the\nthrice-welcomed harbinger of freedom, and as it tolled on, and on, the\nknell of slavery, pent-up joy could no longer be restrained. \"Praise\nGod, from whom all blessings flow,\" from a million voices, floated\nupward on midnight air. While some shouted \"Hallelujah,\" others, with\nfolded arms, stood mute and fixed as statuary, while \"Tears of joy like\nsummer raindrops pierced by sunbeams\" fell.\n\nWhen Robespierre and Danton disenthralled France, we learn that the\nguillotine bathed in blood was the emblem of their transition state,\nfrom serfs to freemen. With the <DW64> were the antithesis of anger,\nrevenge, or despair, that of joy, gratitude, and hope, has been memory's\nmost choice trio.\n\nThis master stroke of policy and justice came with telling effect upon\nthe consciousness of the people. It was now in deed and in truth a war\nfor the Union coeval with freedom; every patriot heart beat a responsive\necho, and was stirred by a new inspiration to deeds of heroism. Now\nsuccess followed success; Port Hudson, Vicksburg, Chattanooga,\nGettysburg, and the Mississippi bowed in submission to the national\npower. The record of history affirms subsequent events that during the\nensuing twelve months war measures more gigantic than had been witnessed\nin modern times were inaugurated; how the will of the people to subdue\nthe rebellion crystallized as iron; that General Grant, planting himself\nbefore Richmond, said he would \"fight it out on that line if it took all\nsummer,\" and General Sherman's memorable march fifty thousand strong\nfrom Atlanta to the sea. General Grant's campaign ended in the surrender\nof General Lee, and Peace, with its golden pinions, alighted on our\nnational staff.\n\nAbraham Lincoln was again elected President, the people seeming\nimpressed with the wisdom of his quaint phrase that \"it was best not to\nswap horses while crossing a stream.\" Through all the vicissitudes of\nhis first term he justified the unbounded confidence of the nation,\nsupporting with no laggard hand, cheering and inspiring the citizen\nsoldier with noble example and kindly word. The reconstruction acts,\nlegislation for the enrollment of the  soldier, and every other\nmeasure of enfranchisement received his hearty approval, remarking at\none time, with much feeling, that \"I hope peace will come to stay, and\nthere will be some black men that can remember that they helped mankind\nto this great consummation.\"\n\nDid the <DW52> troops redeem the promise made by their friends when\ntheir enlistment was determined? History records exhibitions of bravery\nand endurance which gave their survivors and descendants a claim as\nimperishable as eternal justice. Go back to the swamps of the Carolinas,\nthe Savannahs of Florida, the jungles of Arkansas; or on the dark bosom\nof the Mississippi. Look where you may, the record of their rugged\npathway still blossoms with deeds of noble daring, self-abnegation and a\nholy devotion to the central ideas of the war--the freedom of the slave,\na necessity for the salvation of free government.\n\n[Illustration: BISHOP W. B. DERRICK.\n\nBorn July, 1843, Antique, Bristol, West Indies--Educated at Graceville,\nW. I.--Ordained Deacon in 1868, and now one of the Foremost Bishops of\nthe A. M. E. Church--Noted for Wisdom of Counsel and Great Ability.]\n\nThe reading of commanders' reports bring no blush of shame. At the\nterrific assault on Fort Hudson, General Banks reported they answered\n\"every expectation; no troops could have been more daring.\" General\nButler tells of his transformation from a war Democrat to a radical.\nRiding out at early morn to view the battlefield, where a few hours\nbefore shot and shell flew thick and fast, skillfully guiding his horse,\nthat hoofs should not profane the sacred dead, he there saw in sad\nconfusion where lay the white and black soldier, who had gone down\ntogether. The appeal, though mute, was irresistible. Stopping his horse\nand raising his hand in the cold, grey light to heaven, said: \"May my\ntongue cleave to the roof of my mouth and my right hand forget its\ncunning if I ever cease to insist upon equal justice to the <DW52>\nman.\" It was at the unequal fight at Milliken's Bend; it was at Forts\nWagner and Pillow, at Petersburg and Richmond, the <DW52> troops asked\nto be assigned the posts of danger, and there before the iron hail of\nthe enemy's musketry \"they fell forward as fits a man.\" In our memory\nand affections they deserve a fitting place \"as those long loved, and\nbut for a season gone.\"\n\nSlavery, shorn of its power, nurtured revenge. On the 14th day of April,\n1865, while sitting with his family at a public exhibition, Abraham\nLincoln was assassinated, and the nation was in tears. Never was\nlamentation so widespread, nor grief so deep; the cabin of the lowly,\nthe lordly mansion of wealth, the byways and highways, gave evidence of\na people's sorrow. \"Men moved about with clinched teeth and bowed-down\nheads; women bathed in tears and found relief, while little children\nasked their mothers why all the people looked so mournful,\" and we, as\nwe came up out of Egypt, lifted up our voices and wept. Our friend was\nno more, but intrenched in the hearts of his countrymen as one who did\nmuch \"to keep the jewel of liberty in the family of nations.\"\n\nSince that eventful period the <DW64> has had a checkered career, passing\nthrough the reconstruction period, with its many lights and shadows,\ndespite the assaults of prejudice and prescription by exclusion from\nmost of the remunerative callings and avocations, partiality in\nsentencing him to the horrors of the chain-gang, lynching, and burning\nat the stake. Despite all these he has made progress--a progress often\nunfairly judged by the dominant race. Douglass has pithily said: \"Judge\nus not from the heights on which you stand, but from the depths from\nwhence we sprung.\" So, with a faith and hope undaunted, we scan our\ncountry horizon for the silver lining propitious of a happier day.\n\nRegarding that crime of crimes, lynching by hanging and burning human\nbeings, a barbarity unknown in the civilized world save in our country,\nit is cheering to observe an awakening of the moral sense evidenced by\nnoble and manly utterance of leading journals, notably those of\nArkansas; the Governor of Georgia, and other Southern Governors and\nstatesmen, have spoken in derogation of this giant crime.\n\nWhen others of like standing and State influence shall so pronounce,\nthis hideous blot upon the national escutcheon will disappear. It is\nmanly and necessary to protest when wronged. But a subject class or race\ndoes but little for their amelioration when content with its\ndenouncement. Injustice can be more effectually arraigned by others than\nthe victim; his mere proclamation, however distinct and unanswerable,\nwill be slow of fruition. A measure of relief comes from the humane\nsympathies of the philanthropist, but the inherent attraction of forces\n(less sympathetic, perhaps, though indispensable) for his real uplifting\nand protection will be in the ratio of his morality, learning, and\nwealth. For vice is ever destructive; ignorance ever a victim, and\npoverty ever defenceless. Morality should be ever in the foreground of\nall effort, for mere learning or even wealth will not make a class of\nbrave, honest men and useful citizens; there must be ever an intensity\nof purpose based upon convictions of truth, and \"the inevitable oneness\nof physical and moral strength.\" St. Pierre de Couberton, an eminent\nFrench writer on education and training, has pertinently said: \"Remember\nthat from the cradle to the grave struggle is the essence of life, as it\nis the unavoidable aim, the real life bringer of all the sons of men.\nExistence is a fight, and has to be fought out; self-defence is a noble\nart, and must be practiced. Never seek a quarrel, but never shun one,\nand if it seeks you, be sure and fight to the last, as long as strength\nis given you to stand, guard your honesty of purpose, your good faith;\nbeware of all false seeming, of all pretence, cultivate arduous tasks,\naspire to what is difficult, and do persistently what is uncomfortable\nand unpleasant; love effort passionately, for without effort there can\nbe no manliness; therefore acquire the habit of self-restraint, the\nhabit of painful effort, physical pain, is a useful one.\" With such\npurpose the <DW64> should have neither servility, bitterness, nor regret,\nbut \"instinct with the life of the present rise with the impulse of the\nage.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nMy election to the Common Council of the City of Victoria, Vancouver\nIsland, in 1866, was my first entry to political life, followed by\nre-election for succeeding term.\n\nThe exercise of the franchise at the polls was by \"viva voce,\" the voter\nproclaiming his vote by stating the name of the candidate for whom he\nvoted in a distinct voice, which was audited on the rolls by clerks of\nboth parties.\n\nAlike all human contrivances, this mode of obtaining the popular will\nhas its merits and demerits. For the former it has the impossibility of\nballot-stuffing, for the by-stander can keep accurate tally; also the\nopportunity for the voter to display the courage of his conviction,\nwhich is ever manly and the purpose of a representative Commonwealth. On\nthe other hand, it may fail to register the desire of the voter whose\nfinancial or other obligation may make it impolitic to thus openly\nantagonize the candidate he otherwise would with a secret ballot, \"that\nfalls as silently as snow-flakes fall upon the sod\" and (should)\n\"execute a freeman's will as lightning doth the will of God.\" This is\nits mission, the faithful execution of its fiat, the palladium of\nliberty for all the people. Opposition to the exercise of this right in\na representative government is disintegrating by contention and suicidal\nin success. It has been, and still is, the cause of bitter struggle in\nour own country. Disregard of the ultimatum of constitutional\nmajorities, the foundation of our system of government, as the cause of\nthe civil war, the past and ever-occurring political corruption in the\nNorthern and the chief factor in the race troubles in the Southern\nStates, where the leaders in this disregard and unlawful action allow\nthe honors and emoluments of office to shut out from their view the\nconstitutional rights of others; and by the criminality of their conduct\nand subterfuge strive to make selfish might honest right.\n\nThat slavery was a poor school to fit men to assume the obligations and\nduties of an enlightened citizenship should be readily admitted; that\nits subjects in the Elysium of their joy and thankfulness to their\ndeliverers from servitude to freedom, and in ignorance of the polity of\ngovernment, should have been easy prey to the unscrupulous is within\nreason. Still the impartial historian will indite that, for all that\ndark and bloody night of reconstruction through which they passed, the\nrecord of their crime and peculation will \"pale its ineffectual rays\"\nbefore the blistering blasts of official corruption, murder, and\nlynching that has appalled Christendom since the government of these\nSouthern States has been assumed by their wealth and intelligence. The\nabnormal conditions that prevailed during reconstruction naturally\nproduced hostility to all who supported Federal authority, among whom\nthe <DW64>, through force of circumstances, was prominent and most\nvulnerable for attack, suffered the most physically, and subsequently\nbecame easy prey for those who would profit by his disfranchisement.\n\nThe attempt to justify this and condone this refusal to allow the\n American exercise of civil and constitutional rights is based on\ncaste, hatred, and alleged ignorance--conditions that are\nworld-wide--and the measure of a people's Christianity and the\nefficiency of republican institutions can be accurately determined by\nthe humanity and zeal displayed in their amelioration, not in the denial\nof the right, but zealous tuition for its proper exercise.\n\nDuring the civil war the national conscience, hitherto sluggish, was\nawakened and great desire prevailed to award the race the full meed of\ncivil and political rights, both as a measure of justice and recognition\nof their fealty and bravery in support of the national arm.\n\nThe Freedman's Bureau, Christian and other benevolent agencies were\ninaugurated to fit the freedman for the new obligations. Handicapped as\nhe has been in many endeavors, his record has been inspiring.\nFour-fifths of the race for generations legally and persistently\nforbidden to learn to read or write; with labor unrequited, a\nconservative estimate, in 1898, little more than three decades from\nslavery, finds 340,000 of their children attending 26,300 schools and\ntheir property valuation $750,000,000, while in learned professions,\njournalism, and mercantile pursuits their ability and efficiency command\nthe respect and praise of the potential race.\n\nWhen the amendments were being considered, opinion differed as to the\nbestowal of the franchise; many favored only those who could read and\nwrite. The popularity of this phase of opinion was voiced in the\nfollowing interview with Hon. Schuyler Colfax, afterward Vice President,\nwho was at that time Speaker of the lower house of Congress, and was\nsaid to have the \"Presidential bee in his bonnet.\" While \"swinging\naround the circle\" he touched at Victoria, and the British Colonist of\nJuly 29, 1865, made the following mention: \"A committee consisting of\nAbner Francis and M. W. Gibbs called on Hon. Schuyler Colfax, Speaker of\nthe House of Representatives of the United States, yesterday morning. On\nbeing introduced by the American Consul, Mr. Gibbs proceeded to say that\nthey were happy to meet him and tender him on behalf of the \nresidents of Victoria their esteem and regard. They were not\nunacquainted with the noble course he had pursued during the great\nstruggle in behalf of human liberty in the land of their nativity. They\nhad watched with intense interest the progress of the rebellion and\nrejoiced in the Federal success and sorrowed in its adversity. Now that\nvictory had perched on the national standard--a standard we believe\nhenceforth and forever consecrated to impartial liberty--they were\nfilled with joy unspeakable. And he would allow them to say that it had\nafforded them the greatest pleasure to observe the alacrity with which\nthe <DW52> men of the nation offered and embraced the opportunity to\nmanifest their devotion and bravery in support of the national cause.\n\n\"They had full confidence in the magnanimity of the American people that\nin the reconstruction of the seceded States they would grant the race\nwho had proved their claim by the most indisputable heroism and\nfidelity, equality before the law, upon the ground of immutable justice\nand importance of national safety. Without trespassing further on his\nvaluable time they would only tender him, as the distinguished Speaker\nof the popular house of Congress, as well as the sterling friend of\nfreedom, their sincere respect and esteem.\n\n\"Mr. Colfax, in reply, said he was truly glad to see and meet the\ncommittee and felt honored by the interview.\n\n\"For himself he had ever been an enemy of slavery. From his earliest\nrecollections he had ever used his influence against it to the extent of\nhis power; but its abolition was environed by so many difficulties that\nit seemed to require the overruling hand of God to consummate its\ndestruction. And he did not see how it could have been brought about so\nspeedily but for those who desired to perpetuate it by raising\nrebellious hands against the nation. Now, with regard to the last\nsentiment expressed, concerning reconstruction, he would say that it was\noccupying the earnest attention of the best and purest minds of the\nnation. Most men were in favor of giving the ballot to <DW52> men; the\nquestion was to what extent it should be granted. Very many good men\nwere disposed to grant it indiscriminately to the ignorant as well as\nthe more intelligent. For himself he was not, but among the other class.\nIf <DW52> men generally were as intelligent as the gentleman who had\nhonored him with this interview--for he considered the speech he had\njust listened to among the best he had heard on the coast--there would\nbe no trouble; but slavery had made that impossible. He knew that the\nPresident--decidedly an anti-slavery man--was not in favor of bestowing\nthe franchise on all alike, while Charles Sumner and others favored it.\n\n\"The honorable gentleman closed his remarks by desiring the <DW52>\npeople not to consider the Administration inimical to their welfare, if\nin the adjustment the right of suffrage was not bestowed on all, for it\nwas probable that reading and writing would be the qualification\ndemanded. He paid a high tribute to the <DW52> people of Washington, D.\nC., for their intelligence, moral worth, and industry, and said that it\nwas probable that the problem of suffrage would be solved in the\nDistrict of Columbia. After a desultory conversation on phases of\nnational status succeeding the rebellion, both parties seeming well\npleased with the meeting, the committee retired.\"\n\nI did not then, nor do I now, agree with the views of that distinguished\nstatesman. The benignity of the ballot lies in this: It was never\ndevised for the protection of the strong, but as a guardian for the\nweak. It is not true that a sane man, although unlettered, has not a\nproper conception of his own interests and what will conserve them--what\nwill protect them and give the best results for his labor. You may fool\nhim some of the time, as you do the most astute, but he will be oftener\nfound among those of whom Lincoln said \"You could not fool all the\ntime.\" William Lloyd Garrison, jr., \"a worthy son of a noble sire,\"\npointedly says: \"Whoever laments the scope of suffrage and talks of\ndisfranchising men on account of ignorance or poverty has as little\ncomprehension of the meaning of self-government as a blind man has of\nthe colors of the rainbow. I declare my belief that we are suffering not\nfrom a too extended ballot, but from one too limited and\nunrepresentative. We enunciate a principle of government, and then deny\nits practice. If experience has established anything, it is that the\ninterest of one class is never safe in the hands of another. There is no\nclass so poor or ignorant in a Republic that it does not know its own\nsuffering and needs better than the wealthy and educated classes. By the\nrule of justice it has the same right precisely to give them legal\nexpression. That expression is bound to come, and it is wisest for it to\ncome through the ballot box than through mobs and violence born of a\nfeeling of misery and despair.\"\n\nJames Russell Lowell has said: \"The right to vote makes a safety valve\nof every voter, and the best way to teach a man to vote is to give him a\nchance to practice. It is cheaper, too, in the long run to lift men up\nthan to hold them down. The ballot in their hands is less dangerous than\na sense of wrong in their heads.\"\n\n[Illustration: BISHOP ALEXANDER WALTERS.\n\nBorn in Kentucky, August, 1858--Educated In the Common Schools of that\nState--At Thirty-five Elected Bishop of the A. M. E. Zion Church, Taking\nHigh Rank as a Theologian, Originator and First President of the\nNational Afro American Council--Thinker, Orator and Leader.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nAmong the estimable friendships I made on the Pacific Coast forty years\nago was Philip A. Bell, formerly of New York City, one of nature's\nnoblemen, broad in his humanity and intellectually great as a\njournalist. As editor of The Elevator, a weekly newspaper still\npublished in San Francisco, he made its pages brilliant with\nscintillations of elegance, wealth of learning, and vigor of advocacy.\nTo his request for a correspondent I responded in a series of letters. I\nforbear to insert them here, as they describe the material and political\nstatus of British Columbia thirty-five years ago--being well aware that\nancient history is not the most entertaining. But, as I read them I\ncannot but note, in the jollity of their introduction, the immature\ncriticism, consciousness of human fallability, broadening of\nconclusions, mellowed by hope for the future that seemed typical of a\nlife career. Like the horse in \"Sheridan's Ride,\" their beginning \"was\ngay, with Sheridan fifty miles away;\" but if they were helpful with a\ntruth-axiom or a moiety of inspiration--as a view of colonial conduct of\na nation, with which we were then and are now growing in affinity--the\npurpose was attained.\n\nAt first the affairs of British Columbia and Vancouver were administered\nby one Governor, the connection was but nominal; Vancouver Island had\ncontrol by a representative Parliament of its own; the future seemed\nauspicious. Later they, feeling it \"in fra dig\" to divide the prestige\nof government, severed the connection. But Vancouver finding it a rather\nexpensive luxury, and that the separation engendered strife and rivalry,\nterminating in hostile legislation, determined to permanently unite with\nBritish Columbia.\n\nBut alas, for political happiness. Many afterward sighed for former\ntimes, when Vancouver Island, proud beauty of the North, sat laving her\nfeet in the genial waters of the Pacific, her lap verdant with beautiful\nfoliage and delicious fruits; her head raised with peerless majesty to\nbrilliant skies, while sunbeams playing upon a brow encircled by eternal\nsnows reflected a sheen of glorious splendor; when, conscious of her\nimmense wealth in coal, minerals, and fisheries, her delightful climate\nand geographical position, she bid for commercial supremacy. It is said\nof States, as of women, they are \"fickle, coy and hard to please.\" For,\nchanged and governed from England's Downing Street, \"with all its\nred tape circumlocution,\" \"Tile Barncal,\" incapacity, and\n\"how-not-to-do-it\" ability that attached to that venerable institution,\nits people were sorely perplexed.\n\nDuring the discussion which the nature and inefficiency of the\nGovernment evoked several modes of relief from these embarrassments were\nwarmly espoused, among them none more prominent than annexation to the\nUnited States. It was urged with much force that the great want of the\ncountry, immigration and responsible government, would find their\nfulfillment in such an alliance. All that seemed wanted was the \"hour\nand the man.\" The man was considered present in Leonard McClure, editor\nof a local, and afterward on the editorial staff of the San Francisco\nTimes. He was a man of rare ability, a terse writer, and with force of\nlogic labored assiduously to promote annexation. But the \"hour\" was \"non\nest.\" For while it was quite popular and freely discussed upon the forum\nand street, influential classes declined to commit themselves to the\nscheme, the primary step necessary before presentation to the respective\nGovernments. Among the opposition to annexation, naturally, were the\nofficial class. These gentry being in no way responsible to the people,\nan element ever of influence, and believing that by such an alliance\nthey would find their \"occupation gone,\" gave it no quarter. Added to\nthese was another possessed of the prestige and power that wealth\nconfers--very conservative, timid, cautious, self-satisfied, and\ndreading innovations of popular rule, but especially republicanism. Amid\nthese two classes, and sprinkled among the rank and file, was found a\nsentiment extremely patriotic, with those who saw nothing worth living\nfor outside of the purview of the \"tight little island.\"\n\nThere seems a destiny in the propriety of territory changing dominion.\nGod seems to have given this beautiful earth, with its lands, to be\nutilized and a source of blessing, not to be locked by the promptings of\navarice nor the clog of incapacity; that it should be occupied by those\nwho, either by the accident of locality or superior ability, can make it\nthe most efficient in development. There should be, and usually is,\nregard for acquired rights, save in the case of Africans, Indians, or\nother weak peoples, when cupidity and power hold sweet converse. Nor\nshould we slightly estimate the feeling of loyalty to the land of birth\nand the hearths of our fathers, the impulse that nerves the arm to\nstrike, and the soul to dare; that brings to our country's altar all\nthat we have of life to repel the invader of our homes or the usurper of\nour liberties. That has given to the world a Washington, a Toussant, a\nBozzaris--a loyalty that will ever stand with cloven helmet and crimson\nbattle-ax in the van of civilization and progress. But, like other\nennobling sentiments, it can be perverted, allowing it to permeate every\nview of government, finding its ultimatum in the conclusion that, if\ngovernment is despotic or inefficient, it is to be endured and not\nremoved. Such patriots are impressed with the conviction that the people\nwere made for governments, and not governments for the people. A\ncelebrated poet has said--\n\n    \"Our country's claim is fealty,\n       I grant you so; but then\n     Before man made us citizens\n       Great Nature made us men.\"\n\nMen with essential wonts and laudable aspirations, the attainment of\nwhich can be accelerated by the fostering love and enlightened zeal of a\nprogressive government.\n\nIn 1859 at Esquimault, the naval station for British Columbia, I had a\npleasant meeting with Lady Franklin, widow of Sir John Franklin, the\nArctic explorer, who sailed in 1845 and was supposed to have perished in\n1847. With a woman's devotion, after many years of absence, she was\nstill in quest, hoping, from ship officer or seaman of her Majesty's\nservice, some ray of light would yet penetrate the gloom which\nsurrounded his \"taking off\" in that terra incognito of the North pole,\nwhose attraction for the adventurer in search of scientific and\ngeographical data in the mental world is akin to its magnetic attraction\nin the physical. To her no tidings came, but still lingered \"hope, the\nbalm and life-blood of the soul.\"\n\nIn 1868 the union of British Columbia with the Dominion of Canada was\nthe political issue, absorbing all others. But the allurements of its\ngrandeur and the magnitude of promised results were insufficient to\nallay opposition, ever encountered on proposal to change a\nconstitutional polity by those at the time enjoying official honors or\nthose who benefit through contracts or trade, and are emphatic in their\nprotest; these, however, constitute an element that is unwittingly the\nsafety valve of constitutional government. Wherever the people rule the\npublic welfare is ever endangered whenever radical changes are to be\nintroduced, unaccompanied with a vigorous opposition. A healthy\nopposition is the winnowing fan that separates the politician's chaff\nfrom the patriot's wheat, presenting the most desirable of the\nsubstantial element needed. At the convention in 1868 at Fort Yale,\ncalled by A. Decosmos, editor of The British Colonist, and others, for\nthe purpose of getting an expression of the people of British Columbia\nregarding union with the Dominion of Canada (and of which the writer was\na delegate), the reduction of liabilities, the lessening of taxation,\nincrease of revenue, restriction of expenditure, and the enlargement of\nthe people's liberties were the goal, all of which have been attained\nsince entrance to the Dominion, which has become a bright jewel in his\nMajesty's Crown, reflecting a civilization, liberal and progressive, of\na loyal, happy people.\n\nThe \"British American Act,\" which created the Dominion of Canada,\ndiffers from the Constitution of the United States in important\nparticulars. It grants to the Dominional, as well as the provincial\nLegislatures the \"want of confidence principle,\" by which an\nobjectionable ministry can be immediately removed; at the same time\ncentralizing the national authority as a guard against the heresy of\n\"State rights\" superiority. Among the terms stipulated, the Dominion was\nto assume the colonial debt of British Columbia, amounting to over two\nmillion dollars; the building of a road from the Atlantic to the Pacific\nwithin a stipulated time. The alliance, however, contained more\nadvantage than the ephemeral assistance of making a road or the\nassumption of a debt, for with confederation came the abolition of the\n\"one-man system of government\" and in its place a responsible one, with\nfreedom of action for enterprise, legislation to encourage development,\nand assist budding industries; the permanent establishment of schools,\nand the disbursement of revenue in accordance with popular will.\n\nIt is ever and ever true that \"right is of no sex, and truth of no\ncolor.\" The liberal ideas, ever struggling for utterance and ascendancy\nunder every form of government, are not the exclusive property of any\ncommunity or nation, but the heritage of mankind, and their victories\nare ever inspiring. For, as the traveler sometimes ascends the hill to\ndetermine his bearings, refresh his vision, and invigorate himself for\ngreater endeavors, so we, by sometimes looking beyond the sphere of our\nown local activities, obtain higher views of the breadth and magnitude\nof the principles we cherish, and perceive that freedom's battle is\nidentical wherever waged, whether her sons fight to abolish the relics\nof feudalism or to possess the ballot, the reflex influence of their\nexample is mutually beneficial.\n\nBut of the Dominion of Canada, who shall write its \"rise, decline, and\nfall?\" Springing into existence in a day, with a population of 4,000,000\npeople--a number larger than that possessed by the United States when\nthey commenced their great career--its promise is pregnant with benign\nprobabilities. May it be the fruition of hope that the banner of the\nDominion and the flag of our Republic, locked and interlocked, may go\nforward in generous rivalry to bless mankind.\n\nThe most rapid instrumentalities in the development of a new country are\nthe finding and prospecting for mineral deposits. The discovery of large\ndeposits of gold in the quartz and alluvial area of British Columbia in\n1858 was the incipiency of the growth and prosperity it now enjoys. But\nalthough the search for the precious is alluring, the mining of the\ngrosser metals and minerals, such as iron, lead, coal, and others, are\nmuch more reliable for substantial results.\n\nThe only mine of importance in British Columbia previous to 1867 was at\nNaniamo, where there was a large output of bituminous coal. In that year\nanthracite was discovered by Indians building fire on a broken vein that\nran from Mt. Seymour, on Queen Charlotte Island, in the North Pacific.\nIt was a high grade of coal, and on account of its density and burning\nwithout flame, was the most valuable for smelting and domestic purposes.\nA company had been formed at Victoria which had spent $60,000\nprospecting for an enduring and paying vein, and thereafter prepared for\ndevelopment by advertising for tenders to build railroad and wharfs for\nshipping. Being a large shareholder in the company, I resigned as a\ndirector and bid. It was not the lowest, but I was awarded the contract.\nThe Hudson Bay Co. steamship Otter, having been chartered January, 1869,\nwith fifty men, comprising surveyor, carpenters, blacksmiths, and\nlaborers, with timber, rails, provisions, and other necessaries for the\nwork I embarked at Victoria. Queen Charlotte Island was at that time\nalmost a \"terra incognito,\" sparsely inhabited solely by scattered\ntribes of Indians on the coast lines, which were only occasionally\nvisited by her Majesty's ships for discovery and capture of small craft\nengaged in the whisky trade.\n\nPassing through the Straits of Georgia, stopping at Fort Simpson, and\nthen to Queen Charlotte Island, entering the mouth of Skidegate River, a\nfew miles up, we reached the company's quarters, consisting of several\nwooden buildings for residence, stores, shops, etc. At the mouth and\nalong the river were several Indian settlements, comprising huts, the\nsides of which were of rough riven planks, with roof of leaves of a\ntough, fibrous nature. At the crest was an opening for the escape of\nsmoke from fires built on the ground in the center of the enclosure. As\nthe ship passed slowly up the river we were hailed by the shouting of\nthe Indians, who ran to the river side, got into their canoes and\nfollowed in great numbers until we anchored. They then swarmed around\nand over the ship, saluting the ship's company as \"King George's men,\"\nfor such the English are known and called by them. They were peaceful\nand docile, lending ready hands to our landing and afterward to the\ncargo. I was surprised, while standing on the ship, to hear my name\ncalled by an Indian in a canoe at the side, coupled with encomiums of\nthe native variety, quite flattering. It proved to be one who had been a\ndomestic in my family at Victoria. He gave me kind welcome, not to be\nignored, remembering that I was in \"the enemy's country,\" so to speak.\nBesides, such a reception was so much the more desirable, as I was\ndependent upon native labor for excavating and transportation of heavy\nmaterial along the line of the road. While their work was not despatched\nwith celerity of trained labor, still, as is general with labor, they\nearned all they got. \"One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.\" I\nfound many apt, some stupid; honesty and dishonesty in usual quantities,\nwith craft peculiar to savage life.\n\nTheir mode of stealing by stages was peculiar. The thing coveted was\nfirst hid nearby; if no inquiry was made for a period deemed\nsufficiently long the change of ownership became complete and its\nremoval to their own hut followed, to be disposed of when opportunity\noffered. If you had a particle of evidence and made a positive\naccusation, with the threat of \"King George's man-of-war,\" it was likely\nto be forthcoming by being placed secretly nearby its proper place. But\nthrough it we see the oneness of human frailty, whether in the watered\nstock of the corporation or that of its humble servitor the milkman,\nthere is kinship. To get something for nothing is the \"ignis fatuus\"\never in the lead. My experience during a year's stay on the island, and\nconstant intercourse with the natives, impressed me more and more with\nthe conviction that we are all mainly the creatures of environments;\nyet through all the strata and fiber of human nature there is a chord\nthat beats responsive to kindness--a \"language that the dumb can speak,\nand that the deaf can understand.\"\n\nThe English mode of dealing with semi-civilized dependents is vastly\ndifferent from ours. While vigorously administering the law for proper\ngovernment, protection of life, and suppression of debauchery by\nunscrupulous traders, they inspired respect for the laws and the love of\ntheir patrons. Uprisings and massacres among Indians in her Majesty's\ndominions are seldom, if ever, to be chronicled. Many of our Indian wars\nwill remain a blot on the page of impartial history, superinduced, as\nthey were, by wanton murder or the covet of lands held by them by sacred\ntreaties, which should have been as sacredly inviolate. Followed by\ndecimation of tribes by toleration of the whisky trade and the\nconveyance of loathsome disease. The climate of the island was much more\npleasant than expected. The warm ocean currents on the Pacific temper\nthe atmosphere, rendering it more genial than the same degree of\nlatitude on the Atlantic. A few inches of snow, a thin coat of ice on\nthe river, were the usual attendants of winter. But more frequently our\ncamp was overhung by heavy clouds, broken by Mt. Seymour, precipitating\nmuch rain.\n\n[Illustration: HON. HENRY P. CHEATHAM,\n\nLate Recorder of Deeds for the District of Columbia. Born in North\nCarolina Forty Odd Years Ago--Educated in Public Schools and \"Shaw\nUniversity\"--Register of Deeds for his County--Elected to the\nFifty-first and Fifty-second Congress--Able and Progressive.]\n\nAfter being domiciled we proceeded with the resident superintendent to\nview the company's property, comprising several thousand acres. Rising\nin altitude, and on different levels, as we approached Mt. Seymour,\ncroppings of coal were quite frequent, the broken and scattered veins\nevidencing volcanic disturbance. The vein most promising was several\nhundred feet above the level of the sea, and our intended wharf survey\nwas made, which showed heavy cuttings and blasting to obtain grade for\nthe road. The work was pushed with all the vigor the isolated locality\nand climatic conditions allowed. Rain almost incessant was a great\nimpediment, as well as were the occasional strikes of the Indian labor,\nwhich was never for more wages, but for more time. The coal from the\ncroppings which had been at first obtained for testing, had been carried\nby them in bags, giving them in the \"coin of the realm\" so many pieces\nof tobacco for each bag delivered on the ship. There was plenty of time\nlying around on those trips, and they took it. On the advent of the new\nera they complained that \"King George men\" took all the time and gave\nthem none, so they frequently quit to go in quest. The nativity of my\nskilled labor was a piece of national patchwork--a composite of the\ncanny Scotch, the persistent and witty Irish, the conservative but\nindomitable English, the effervescent French, the phlegmatic German, and\nthe irascible Italian. I found this variety beneficial, for the usual\nnational and race bias was sufficiently in evidence to preclude a\ncombination to <DW44> the work. I had three Americans, that were neither\nwhite nor ; they were born black; one of them--Tambry, the\ncook--will ever have my grateful remembrance for his fatherly kindness\nand attention during an illness.\n\nThe conditions there were such that threw many of my men off their feet.\nWomen and liquor had much the \"right of way.\" I was more than ever\nimpressed with the belief that there was nothing so conclusive to a\nworthy manhood as self-restraint, both morally and physically, and the\nmore vicious and unrestraining the environment the greater the\nachievement. Miners had been at work placing many tons of coal at the\nmouth of the mine during the making of the road, the grade of which was\nof two elevations, one from the mine a third of the distance,\nterminating at a chute, from which the coal fell to cars on the lower\nlevel, and from thence to the wharf. After the completion of the road\nand its acceptance by the superintendent and the storage of a cargo of\ncoal on the wharf, the steamer Otter arrived, was loaded, and despatched\nto San Francisco, being the first cargo of anthracite coal ever\nunearthed on the Pacific seaboard. The superintendent, having notified\nthe directors at Victoria of his intention to return, they had appointed\nme to assume the office. I was so engaged, preparing for the next\nshipment on the steamer.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nMy sojourn on the island was not without its vicissitudes and dangers,\nand one of the latter I shall ever remember--one mingled, as it was,\nwith antics of Neptune, that capricious god of the ocean, and\nresignation to what seemed to promise my end with all sublime things.\nThe stock of oil brought for lubricating cars and machinery having been\nexhausted, I started a beautiful morning in a canoe with three Indians\nfor their settlement at the mouth of Skidegate River for a temporary\nsupply. After a few hours' paddling, gliding down the river serenely,\nthe wind suddenly arose, increasing in force as we approached the mouth\nin the gulf. The high walls of the river sides afforded no opportunity\nto land. The storm continued to increase in violence, bringing billows\nof rough sea from the ocean, our canoe dancing like a feather, one\nmoment on a high crest by its skyward leap, and in the next to an abyss\ndeep, with walls of sea on either side, shutting out a view of the\nhorizon, while I, breathless with anxious hope, waited for the\nsucceeding wave to again lift the frail bark. The better to preserve\nthe equilibrium of the canoe--a conveyance treacherous at the\nbest--wrapped in a blanket in the bottom of the canoe I laid, looking\ninto the faces of the Indians, contorted by fright, and listened to\ntheir peculiar and mournful death wail, \"while the gale whistled aloft\nhis tempest tune.\"\n\nI afterward learned that they had a superstition based upon the loss of\nmany of their tribe under like conditions, that escape was impossible.\nThe alarm and distrust in men, aquatic from birth, in their own waters\nwas to me appalling. I seemed to have \"looked death in the face\"--and\nwhat a rush of recollections that had been long forgotten, of actions\ngood and bad, the latter seeming the most, hurried, serried, but\ndistinct through my excited brain; then a thought, bringing a calm\ncontent, that \"To every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late;\"\nand with a fervent resignation of myself to God and to what I believed\nto be inevitable; then a lull in the wind, and, after many attempts, we\nwere able to cross the mouth of the river to the other side--the place\nof destination.\n\nIn 1869 I left Queen Charlotte Island and returned to Victoria; settled\nmy business preparatory to joining my family, then at Oberlin, Ohio. It\nwas not without a measure of regret that I anticipated my departure.\nThere I had lived more than a decade; where the geniality of the climate\nwas excelled only by the graciousness of the people; there unreservedly\nthe fraternal grasp of brotherhood; there I had received social and\npolitical recognition; there my domestic ties had been intensified by\nthe birth of my children, a warp and woof of consciousness that time\ncannot obliterate. Then regret modified, as love of home and country\nasserted itself.\n\n    \"Breathes there a man with soul so dead\n     Who never to himself hath said:\n       'This is my native land'--\n     Whose heart has not within him burned\n     As homeward footsteps he has turned\n       From wandering on a foreign strand?\"\n\nEn route my feelings were peculiar. A decade had passed, fraught with\nmomentous results in the history of the nation. I had left California\ndisfranchised and my oath denied in a \"court of justice\" (?); left my\ncountry to all appearances enveloped in a moral gloom so dense as to\nshut out the light of promise for a better civil and political status.\nThe star of hope glimmered but feebly above the horizon of contumely and\noppression, prophetic of the destruction of slavery and the\nenfranchisement of the freedman. I was returning, and on touch of my\ncountry's soil to have a new baptism through the all-pervading genius of\nuniversal liberty. I had left politically ignoble; I was returning\npanoplied with the nobility of an American citizen. Hitherto regarded as\na pariah, I had neither rejoiced at its achievement nor sorrowed for\nits adversity; now every patriotic pulse beat quicker and heart throb\nwarmer, on realization that my country gave constitutional guarantee for\nthe common enjoyment of political and civil liberty, equality before the\nlaw--inspiring a dignity of manhood, of self-reliance and opportunity\nfor elevation hitherto unknown.\n\nThen doubt, alternating, would present the immense problems awaiting\npopular solution. Born in the seething cauldron of civil war, they had\nbeen met in the arena of fervid Congressional debate and political\nconflict. The amendments to the Constitution had been passed, but was\ntheir inscription a record of the crystallization of public sentiment?\nSubsequent events have fully shown that only to the magnanimity and\njustice of the American people and the fruition of time can they be\ncommended. Not to believe that these problems will be rightfully solved\nis to doubt not only the efficacy of the basic principles of our\nGovernment, but the divinity of truth and justice. To these rounds of\nhope's ladder, while eager in obtaining wisdom, the <DW64> should cling\nwith tenacity, with faith \"a higher faculty than reason\" unconquerable.\n\nHaving resolved to locate in some part of the South for the purpose of\npracticing law, I had while in Victoria read the English Common Law, the\nbasis of our country's jurisprudence, under Mr. Ring, an English\nbarrister. Soon after my arrival in Oberlin, Ohio, where my family,\nfour years before, had preceded me, I entered the law department of an\nOberlin business college, and after graduation proceeded South, the\nfirst time since emancipation. In an early chapter I described my first\ncontact with and impressions of slavery, when a lad; then the\nhopelessness of abject servitude and consciousness of unrequited toil\nhad its impress on the brow of the laborer. Now cheerfulness, a spirit\nof industry, enterprise, and fraternal feeling replaced the stagnant\nhumdrum of slavery. Nor was progress observable only among the freedmen.\nMany evidences of kindness and sympathy were shown and expressed by\nformer owners for the moral and mental advancement of their former\nbondsmen, which, to a great degree, unfortunately, was counterbalanced\nby violence and persecution.\n\nMy brother, Jonathan C. Gibbs, was then Secretary of State of Florida,\nwith Governor Hart as executive. He had had the benefit of a collegiate\neducation, having graduated at Dartmouth, New Haven, and had for some\nyears filled the pulpit as a Presbyterian minister. The stress of\nreconstruction and obvious necessity for ability in secular matters\ninduced him to enter official life. Naturally indomitable, he more than\nfulfilled the expectations of his friends and supporters by rare ability\nas a thinker and speaker, with unflinching fidelity to his party\nprinciples. I found him at Tallahassee, the capital, in a\nwell-appointed residence, but his sleeping place in the attic\ncontracted, and, as I perceived, considerable of an arsenal. He said\nthat for better vantage it had been his resting place for several\nmonths, as his life had been threatened by the \"Ku Klux,\" that band of\nmidnight assassins whose deeds of blood and carnage darken so many pages\nof our national history, and was the constant terror of white and black\nadherents to the national Government's policy of enfranchisement. He was\nhopeful of better conditions in Florida, and introduced me to Governor\nHart. Both urged me to locate in the State, promising me their support.\nI highly appreciated the affection of the one and the proffered\nfriendship of the other. But the feeling paramount was that my brother\nhad \"won his spurs\" by assiduity and fidelity through the scathing and\nfiery ordeal of those troublesome times; that it would ill become me to\nprofit or serenely rest beneath the laurels he had won. It was the last\ninterview or sight of my brother. Subsequently after a three hours'\nspeech, he went to his office and suddenly died of apoplexy.\n\nI continued my tour of observation, and, having been appointed a\ndelegate from Ohio to a national convention to be held in Charleston,\nSouth Carolina, I attended. It was the first assembly of the kind at\nwhich I had been present since emancipation. I had hitherto met many\nconventions of <DW52> men having for their object the amelioration of\noppressive conditions. This gathering was unlike any similar meeting.\nThe deliberations of the convention presented a combination of a strong\nintellectual grasp of present needs and their solution, with much\nuninformed groping and strife for prominence, features of procedure I\nhave observed not confined to <DW64> assemblies.\n\nThe majority were unlettered, but earnest in their mental toiling for\nprotection to life and equality before the law. Hitherto the purpose had\nbeen to make earnest appeals to the law-making power for such\nlegislation as would abolish slavery and award equal justice--the first\nsupported by the national conscience, but mainly as a military\nnecessity, was a \"fait accompli;\" the other had been legislatively\nawarded, but for its realization much more was necessary than its simple\nidentification on the statute books of a nation, when public sentiment\nis law. More than a third of a century has now passed, enabling a view\nmore dispassionate and accurate of the conditions surrounding the\nfreedmen directly after emancipation and the instrumentalities designed\nfor fitting him for citizenship.\n\nIt is not surprising, neither is he blameworthy, if in the incipiency of\njoy for freedom bestowed he could not properly estimate the factors\nnecessary to form an homogenous citizenship. The ways for two centuries\nhad been divergent paths. The dominant claiming and exercising, as an\nheirloom, every civil and political right; the subordinate, with\nknowledge the most meager of their application or limits, by compulsion\nwas made to concede the claim. Neither is it singular that participation\nin the exercise of these rights by the freedman should have created a\ndetermined opposition in a majority of the former, who claimed their\nfitness to rule as the embodiment of the wealth and intelligence (which\nare generally the ruling factors world-wide), and would have at an early\ndate derived a just \"power from the consent of the governed,\" did not\nhistory record the unnecessary and inhuman means resorted to to extort\nit, the obliquity of which can be erased only by according him the\nrights of an American citizen. Mutual hostility, opposition on the one\nhand to the assumption and exercise of these rights, and consequent\ndistrust by the freedman, often fostered by unscrupulous leaders, have\nbeen alike detrimental to both classes, but especially so to the <DW64>,\nfor his constant need in the Southland is the cordial friendship and\nhelping hand of \"his brother in white.\" He deserves it for his century\nof unrequited labor in peace and in war for fidelity to the tender ties\ncommitted to his care. Anti-revolutionist in his nature, he will\ncontinue to merit it and possibly save the industrial life in the South\nin the coming conflict of capital and labor.\n\nThat, as a class, they are in antagonism to the prevailing political\nsentiment is the legitimate result of the manner of their emancipation\nand a commendable gratitude and kinship for the party through which they\nobtained their freedom. But Gibbon, in his \"Decline and Fall of Rome,\"\nhas said that \"gratitude is expensive,\" and so the <DW64> has found it,\nand is beginning to echo the sentiment and would gladly hail conditions\nand opportunity where he could, after thirty-five years of blood and\nfidelity, be less partisan and more fraternal politically, conscious his\nunited affiliation with his early alliance, and consequent ostracism of\nthe opposition has given him a \"hard road to travel.\" Commendable as has\nbeen his devotion, he finds commendation a limited currency and not\nnegotiable for the protection and benefits that should accompany the\npaladium of citizenship. While his treatment by the Democratic party has\nmade a continuous political relation compulsory, it is unfortunate; for\nthe political affinity of no other class of American citizens is judged\nby the accident of birth. It is detrimental to the voter whose\nproclivity is thereby determined. Wherever the <DW64> vote, in the\nestimation of any party, is an uncertain quantity, its value as a factor\nwill have increased, consolidated, and in numbers controlling, it has\nbeen considered a menace and vigorously eliminated.\n\nThis view has to an extent an auxiliary in certain Republican circles,\nwhere it is avowed that the party could get in the South a large\naccession of hitherto Democratic voters, giving it a commanding\ninfluence, but for its  contingent, which is averred to be\nrepellant. There may be difference of opinion as to the merit of such\nconclusions and the fitness of their rehearsal \"to the marines;\" but\nnone as to the measure of welcome of those that hold them. However,\ngiven that they are correct. Self-respect and a desire to help the old\nparty can go hand in hand, and when possible in a manly way, room should\nbe made for such anticipated accession.\n\nThere is another phase of present conditions that deserves, and I have\nno doubt has claimed, attention. It is the emphatic trend of the\nnational leaders of the party to conciliate the hitherto discordant\nelements in the South in the interest of national harmony, an object\nlesson of which was presented by the late President on his Southern\ntour. But few years have elapsed since no man seeking a renomination on\nthe Republican ticket would have put on and worn a Confederate badge.\nThis President McKinley did, receiving the indiscriminate applause and\nthe concurrence of his own party. Such an act, which is not only\nallowable, but commendable, would formerly have been political suicide.\nThis being a movement in the house of his political alliance, it is up\nto the <DW64> to consider which is his best interest, should the olive\nbranch of political friendship be extended by those from whom he\nreceives his chief support. Under like conditions, his white brother\nwould have no hesitancy.\n\nThere is yet another phase which indicates the <DW64> in jeopardy on\nindustrial lines. A few years hence the South will have ceased to be\nchiefly agricultural. Mills for cotton, iron, and other factories will\nhave dotted hilltop and valley, and with them will come the Northern\noperative with his exclusive \"unions\" and trade prejudice, shutting the\ndoors of mills and foundries against him. To meet this scramble for\nfavor from the wealth and intelligence of the Southland--the ruling\nfactors--he should avail himself of every appliance for fostering\nharmony and co-operation along all the lines of contact. In slavery and\nin his subsequent journey in freedom he has suffered much. But what\nnation or people have escaped that ordeal who have made mark in the\nworld's history? There is now prospective unfriendly legislation in\nseveral Southern States; also the lowest of the whites, as they deem\noccasion may require, go, often undisturbed, on shooting and lynching\nexpeditions.\n\nThe problem that continues to force itself for solution is, How the\ninnocent are to receive immunity from these outrages or a fair trial,\nwhen accused of crime. These being under the purview of State\nsovereignty, the Federal arm is not only powerless, but there exists no\nNorthern sentiment favoring drastic means for their correction. Hence it\nis evident that relief can only come from those who fashion the\nsentiment that crystallizes into law. But with the bitter is mingled the\nsweet; much of his advancement along educational and material lines is\ndue to the liberality of the white people of the South, who, it has been\ncomputed, have contributed one hundred millions of dollars since\nemancipation by taxes and donations for his education, and there are\nmany evidences that the best thought of the South is in line with <DW64>\nemployment and his educational advancement in the belief that the more\ngeneral the intelligence the greater the State's progress, morally and\nmaterially. This conviction was emphatically expressed by an\noverwhelming negative vote in the Arkansas Legislature recently, where a\nmeasure was introduced to abandon him to his own taxable resources for\neducation. The ratio of his moral and material product will be the\nmeasure of his gratitude for this great boon. For, after all, many of\n\"our great dangers are not from without.\"\n\n[Illustration: EDWARD E. COOPER.\n\nEditor and Publisher of \" American,\" Washington, D. C.\n\nFounder of \" World\" and \"Indianapolis Freeman\" Conspicuous as a\nLeader and Enterprising as a Journalist.]\n\nGeneral ----, a leading Democrat of this State, and an unmistakable\nfriend of the <DW64>, referring to the above evidence of good feeling,\nsaid he did not see why I, and other reputed leaders, in view of such\nevidences of friendship, did not induce our people to be fraternal\npolitically. I replied that the effort had once been made, but that the\nDemocratic party, intrenched as it was in large majorities in the South,\n\"by ways that are dark and tricks that are vain,\" its leaders say they\n\"do not need, neither do they solicit, the  vote; but if they\nchoose, they may so vote.\" He said that certainly had a ringing sound of\nindependence and was uninviting as an announcement--an independence,\nhowever, that will not forever outlive the vagaries of sound, for it is\nnot unlikely that he will not only vote the ticket, but be earnestly\nsolicited to do so. \"For it will happen, during the whirligig of time\nand action, in my party as well as others, that there will be a change\nof policies, new issues, local dissatisfaction, friction, contemplated\nantagonism and the political arithmetic sounded. But I cannot but\nbelieve that the clannishness of the <DW64> has been the boomerang that\nhas knocked him out of much sympathy, being impractical as a political\nfactor and out of harmony with the material policies of the Southern\npeople.\"\n\nI replied I had thought the highest ideal of patriotism was adherence to\nmeasures materially as well as politically that were for the benefit of\nthe whole people.\n\nHe said: \"I know your party preach that they have a monopoly of wisdom;\nbut the fact is the wisest statesmen of the world are divided in opinion\nas to the benefits claimed for the leading policies of your party. But\nhow do they benefit you, as a dependent class? Your immediate need is\nemployment and good educational facilities. You should be less\nsentimental and more practical. You may honestly believe in a protective\ntariff, having for its object the protection of the American\nworking-man, but does it help you when you know that the doors of mills,\nfoundries, and manufactories are shut against you? As to the currency,\nyou are at a disadvantage when you attempt to antagonize the financial\nviews of your employers.\n\n\"It reminds me of an incident,\" he continued, \"in my native town in\nVirginia, not long after reconstruction. There had been a drought and\nshort crop, succeeded by a pretty hard winter. My father, whose\npolitics, you may well judge, I being 'a chip of the old block,' without\nsoliciting money or favor, threw open his cellar, wherein was stowed\nmany bushels of sweet potatoes; invited all the destitute to come. It is\nneedless to say they came. In the spring Tobey, the <DW64> minister of\nthe Baptist Church--a man illiterate, but with much native sense--after\nmorning service, said: 'Brethren, there's gwine to be a 'lection here\nnext week, and I wants you all to vote in de light dat God has gin you\nto see de light, but I spects to vote wid de taters.' Now, this may seem\nludicrous, but Tobey, in that act, was a fit representative of the white\nman in politics--for every class of American citizens except the <DW64>\ndivide their vote and put it where to them personally it will do the\nmost good.\"\n\n\"Much,\" I replied, \"that you have said is undoubtedly true. But can you\nwonder at the <DW64>'s cohesion? Is it not a fact that his is the only\nclass of citizens that your party deny equal participation in the\nfranchise, and unjustly discriminate against in the application of the\nlaws? Where better could a change of conduct which you would admire and\nhe so happily embrace, be inaugurated than within your own political\nhousehold; where could nobility of character be more grandly displayed\nthan by the abolition of these vicious hindrances to the uplifting of\nthe weak and lowly?\"\n\n\"Be that as it may,\" he replied, \"your race is not in a condition to\nmake friends by opposing the prevailing local policies of their\nenvironments.\"\n\nI have narrated this interview for the reason that it is a fitting type\nof the views of friends of the <DW64> of the South who somehow fail to\nsee the difficulty in his fraternizing with them in the midst of so much\npolitical persecution and bodily outrage. I referred in the above\ninterview to an effort of  leaders to assimilate with Southern\npolitics.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nIn 1876 (twenty-five years ago) I was President of a National Convention\nheld at Nashville, Tenn, and of which H. V. Redfield, an able\ncorrespondent of the \"Cincinnati Commercial,\" made the following unduly\nflattering mention: \"Mifflin W. Gibbs, of Arkansas, was selected as\nPresident. It may be interesting to know that Gibbs is strongly in favor\nof Bristoe, now an aspirant for the Presidency. He will likely be a\ndelegate from Arkansas to the National Republican Convention at\nCincinnati. He is a lawyer, one of the foremost of his race in Arkansas.\nHe is rather slender and a genteel-looking man, with something in his\nfeatures that denotes superiority\" (\"Though poor in thanks,\" Redfield,\nyet I thank thee.) \"His speech upon taking the chair, was another event.\nIt was the third good speech of the day and calculated to leave the\nbelievers of internal inferiority in something of a muddle.\n\n\"He made a manly plea for equal rights for his race. All they wanted was\nan equal chance in the battle of life. They did not desire to hinder any\nman for exercising his political rights as he saw fit, and all they\nclaimed was liberty of thought and action for themselves. He was sorry\nthere was occasion for a convention of black men to consider black men's\nstatus. The fact alone was evidence that the race had not been accorded\nright and justice. Of the treatment of his race in Arkansas he had\nlittle to complain of, but spoke bitterly of the murders at Vicksburg,\nMiss. He gave the Republican party, as administered at Washington,\nseveral blows under the chin. He complained of bad treatment of <DW52>\nmen by that party, notwithstanding all its professions. He made the bold\ndeclaration that all the whites of the South need do to get their votes\nwas to promise equal and exact justice and stand to it. All they wanted\nwas their rights as American citizens and would go into the party that\nwould secure them. He said the question primarily demanding the\nattention of the convention were educational and political, and he hoped\nthe proceedings would be so orderly as to convince the whites present\nthat we were capable of self-control. His speech had a highly\nindependent flavor and the particular independent passages were\napplauded by whites and blacks alike.\"\n\nWhile the call for the convention was not distinctly political, that\nfeature of the proceedings was the most pronounced. For at that early\nday, through an experience the most bitter, the lesson had been learned\nthat politics was not the panacea, but that our affiliation with the\nRepublican party was the main offence. Hence a disposition to\nfraternize with Southern politicians for race protection and opportunity\nhad many adherents, and voiced by Governor Pinchback and other prominent\nleaders in the South, who, while preferring to maintain their fealty to\nthe Republican party, were willing to sacrifice that allegiance if they\ncould secure protection and improve conditions for the race. Had the\nleaders of Southern opinion met these overtures, even part of the way,\nmuch of the friction and turbulence of subsequent years would have been\navoided. But that there will be a breaking up of the political\nsolidarity of the South, not on sentimental but on material lines, at no\ndistant day all signs promise, and be its status what it may, the <DW64>\nwill benefit by commingling with the respective parties in political\nfellowship. Laying down the \"old grudge\" at the door of opportunity and\nentering, should the premises be habitable, he could \"report progress\nand ask leave to sit again.\"\n\nIt has been alleged to the discredit of the <DW64> that he too soon\nforgets an injury. Nevertheless as a virtue it should redound to his\ncredit. He is swift to forgive and, if necessary, apologize for the\nshortcomings of his adversary. But human nature seldom appreciates\nforgiveness, preceded as it is by censure, the subject of which usually\nrepels, and another melancholy phase is often apparent, for the pricks\nof conscience for those we have wronged, we seek solace by hating. There\nare in both parties a fraction of saints, who, notwithstanding his\nimmense contribution by unrequited labor to the wealth of the nation\nwhilst a slave; his fidelity and bravery in every war of the Republic,\nhave for him neither care nor regard; denounce him as an incapable and a\nbad legacy. He should, nevertheless, be patient, diligent, and hopeful,\nwith appreciation for his friends and for his enemies a consciousness\nexpressed in the Irishman's toast to the Englishman--\n\n    \"Here's to you, as good as you are;\n       And here's to me, as bad as I am;\n     But as good as you are,\n       And as bad as I am,\n     I'm as good as you are,\n       As bad as I am.\"\n\nVery ill considered is the opinion held and advocated by some, that he\nshould defer or eschew politics--who say: \"Let the <DW64> be deprived of\nthis right of citizenship until he learns how to exercise it with wisdom\nand discretion.\" As well say to the boy, Do not go into the water until\nyou learn to swim! The highest type of civilization is the evolution of\nmistakes. While education, business, and skilled labor should have the\nright of way and be primarily cherished, his right to vote and\npersistent desire to exercise it should never be abandoned, for he will\nyet enjoy its fullest fruition all over this, our God-blessed land.\n\nAmong the delegates I met at the South Carolina convention in 1871 were\nthe Hon. William H. Grey, H. B. Robinson, and J. H. Johnson, of\nArkansas, prominent planters and leaders in that State. I was much\nimpressed with the eloquence of Grey, and the practical ideas advanced\nby Robinson, the one charmed, the other convinced. Learning that I\nsought a desirable place to locate in the South, they were enthusiastic\nin describing the advantages held out by the State of Arkansas. The\ncomparative infancy of its development, its golden prospects, and\nfraternal amenities. Crossing the Arkansas River in a ferry-boat, in\nMay, 1871, I arrived in Little Rock a stranger to every inhabitant. It\nwas on a Sunday morning. The air refreshing, the sun not yet fervent, a\ncloudless sky canopied the city; the carol of the canary and mocking\nbird from treetop and cage was all that entered a peaceful, restful\nquiet that bespoke a well-governed city. The chiming church bells that\nsoon after summoned worshipers seemed to bid me welcome. The high and\nhumble, in their best attire, wended their way to the respective places\nof worship.\n\nLittle Rock at that date, not unlike most Western cities in their\ninfancy, and bid for immigration, was extensively laid out, but thinly\npopulated, having less than 12,000 inhabitants. From river front to\nTwelfth Street, on the south, and to Chester on the west, it was but\nsparsely settled. The streets were unimproved, but the gradual rise from\nriver front gave a natural drainage. Residences and gardens of the more\nprominent, on the outskirts, gave token of culture and refinement. The\nnom de plume \"City of Roses\" seemed fittingly bestowed, for with trellis\nor encircling with shady bower, the stately doorway of the wealthy, or\nthe cabin of the lowly could be seen the rose, the honeysuckle, or other\nverdure of perfume and beauty, imparting a grateful fragrance, while\n\"every prospect pleases.\" My first impressions have not been lessened by\nlapse of time; generous nature has enabled human appliance to make\nLittle Rock an ideal city.\n\nAs knowledge of the local status of a State, as well as common law, must\nprecede admission to the bar, I applied and was kindly permitted to\nenter the law office of Benjamin & Barnes, at that time the only\nbuilding on the square now occupied by the post office and the Allis\nBlock. In this for preparatory reading I was very fortunate. I not only\nfound an extensive law library, but the kindness and special interest\nshown by Sidney M. Barnes was of incalculable benefit. Mr. Barnes was an\nable jurist, one of nature's noblemen, genial, generous, and patriotic.\nA wealthy slaveholder in Kentucky, when the note of civil war was\nsounded, called together his slaves, gave them their freedom, and at an\nearly date had them enrolled in the Federal army, and went forth himself\nto fight for the Union. James K. Barnes, his son, now a prominent\ncitizen of Fort Smith, and the able United States Attorney for the\nWestern district of Arkansas, and whose fellowship and kindness has\nextended through all my political career in Arkansas, is \"a worthy son\nof a noble sire,\" having courage of conviction and eloquence in their\nenunciation. Among the young men then practicing law was Lloyd G.\nWheeler, a graduate from a law school in Chicago, popular and an able\nlawyer, with considerable practice. In 1872 we joined, under the firm\nname of Wheeler & Gibbs, opening an office in the Old Bank Building,\ncorner Center and Markam Streets.\n\n[Illustration: HON. JUDSON W. LYONS.\n\nPresent Register of the Treasury. Born in Georgia--A Graduate of Howard\nUniversity--Appointed by President McKinley to the Above Position.]\n\nIt is not without considerable trepidation that an infant limb of the\nlaw shies his castor into the ring, puts up his shingle announcing that\nA, B, or C is an \"Attorney and Counsellor at Law.\" His cerebral column\nstiffens as, from day to day, he meets members of the bar, who\ncongratulate him upon his advent, and feels his importance as he waits\nfrom day to day for the visit of his first client, but collapses when he\narrives and with ghostly dread salutes him and prepares to listen with a\ndisturbed sense of an awful responsibility he is about to undertake.\nFor, side by side with his client's statements there seem to appear in\nstately majesty all the adjuncts of the law: First, the inquisitive\nglance of the judge, like a judicial searchlight, scans him as he rises\nto defend Mr. Only Borrow, charged with larceny. Will he be able to\nthink on his feet at the bar as he did in his chair in his office? Will\nhe succeed or fail in stating his case, with eye and ear of every\nveteran of the bar intent on his first utterance? How about the jury,\nthat unknown quantity of capricious predilections? Will they give him\nattention, or will their eyes find a more congenial resting place?\nUnbidden, the panorama insists on prominence. He attempts the most\nnonchalant air, tells Mr. B. to proceed and state his case. This was not\nthe first time that he had been requested to perform this incipient step\nof the law's demand, and he does it with such astuteness and flippancy,\nand how he had been wronged and persecuted by the plaintiff, that tears,\nunbidden, are ready to glisten in your eyes. Injured innocence and your\nsworn duty to your profession inspire courage and induce you to take his\ncase. Later on the tyro will have learned that it was highly probable\nthat Mr. B. would not have called on him but for the fact that he was\nnot only out of cash, but out of credit with able and experienced\npractitioners.\n\nAt the time of my examination for entry to the bar by the committee, of\nwhich William G. Whipple was one, I was instructed that the most\nimportant acquisition for a member of the bar was ability to secure his\nfee. Having noted all the points of defence for his honesty, the last,\nbut not the least matter to be considered was the fee, resulting in an\nexchange of promises and his departure. When the case was called, for\nreasons not divulged, the plaintiff failed to appear. Mr. Borrow was\nacquitted; I won my case and am still wooing my fee. The study of the\nlaw is not solely of advantage to those who intend adopting it as a\nprofession, for its fundamental principles are interwoven with the best\nneeds of mankind in all his undertakings, making it of value to the\npreacher or laymen, the merchant or politician. For the young man\nintending the pursuit of the latter it is quite indispensable. The\ncondition in the South for a quarter of a century giving opportunity for\n<DW52> men to engage in the professions has not been neglected. In each\nof the States there are physicians and lawyers practicing with more or\nless success. With equality of standing as to culture, ability and\ndevotion, the doctor has had the advantage for a growing and lucrative\npractice. This can be accounted for partly on account of the private\nadministrations of the one and the public career of the other. The\nphysicians has seldom contact with his professional brother in white and\nescapes much of the difficulty that lies in wait for the \ndisciple of Blackstone.\n\nDuring my practice I found the judges eminently fair in summing up the\nevidence produced, noting the points and impartially charging the\njurors, who were also fair when plaintiff and defendant were of the same\nrace, but who, alas, too often, when the case had been argued by, or the\nissue was between the representatives of the two races, bowed to the\nprevailing bias in their verdict. Bishop, in his introduction to his\n\"Criminal Law,\" has fittingly said: \"The responsibilities which devolve\non judicial tribunals are admitted. But a judge sitting in court is\nunder no higher obligation to cast aside personal motives and his likes\nand dislikes of the parties litigant, and to spurn the bribe if\nproffered than any other official person acting under a jurisdiction to\nenforce laws not judicial. Happy will be the day when public virtue\nexists otherwise than in name.\" It often happens with cases commanding\nliberal fees and where the litigant has high regard for the legal\nlearning and ability of the  lawyer, yet conscious of this\nhindrance to a successful issue of his case, very naturally goes\nelsewhere for legal assistance. Hence, as an advocate not having\ninducement for continued research and opportunity for application of the\nmore intricate elements of the law, confined to petty cases with\ncorresponding fee, he is handicapped in his effort to attain eminence as\na jurist. It has been said that great men create circumstances. But\ncircumstances unavoidably produce great men. Henry Drummond is quoted\nas saying: \"No matter what its possibilities may be, no matter what\nseeds of thought or virtue lie latent in its breast, until the\nappropriate environment presents itself, the correspondence is denied,\nthe development discouraged, the most splendid possibilities of life\nremain unrealized, and thought and virtue, genius and art, are dead.\"\n\nIt should be the solemn and persistent duty of the race to contend for\nevery right the Magna Charta of the Republic has granted them, but it\nmight assuage the pang of deprivation and stimulate opportunity did he\nfully know the stages of savagery, slavery, and oceans of blood through\nwhich the Anglo-Saxon passed to attain the exalted position he now\noccupies. Much of the jurisprudence we now have responding to and\ncrystallizing the best needs of humanity were garnered in this sanguine\nand checkered career. It is said that the law is a jealous mistress,\ndemanding intense and entire devotion and unceasing wooing to succeed in\nwinning her favor, or profiting by her decrees. Yet, for student or\nlayman, the study is instructive and ennobling. It is an epitome of ages\nof human conduct, the products, the yearnings, and strivings of the\nhuman heart, as higher conceptions of man's relation to his fellow found\necho or inscription in either the common or written law. Locality,\nnationality, race, sex, religion, or social manner may differ, but the\naccord of desire for civil liberty--the \"torch lit up in the soul by the\nomnipotent hand of Deity itself\"--is ever the same. Constitutional law\n\"was not attained by sudden flight,\" but it is the product of reform,\nwith success and restraint alternating through generations. It is the\nripeness of a thousand years of ever-recurring tillage, blushing its\nscarlet rays of blood and conquest ante-dating historic \"Runny Meade.\"\n\nIt is well to occasionally have such reminiscent thought; it makes us\nless pessimistic and gives life to strive and spirit and hope. We cannot\nunmake human nature, but can certainly improve conditions by\nself-denial, earnest thought, and wise action.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nPrevious to my resolve to settle in the South I had read and learned\nmuch of politics and politicians; the first as being environed by\nabnormal conditions unstable and disquieting--the class that had\nestablished and controlled the economy of the Southern States; had been\ndeposed in the wage of sanguinary battle on many well contested\nfields--deposed by an opponent equally brave, and of unlimited\nresources; defeated, but unsubdued in the strength of conviction in the\nrightfulness of their cause. A submission of the hand but not of the\nheart. New constitutions granting all born beneath the flag equality of\ncitizenship and laws in unison adopted, and new officers alien to local\nfeeling were the executors.\n\nIt is unnecessary here to remark that if a succession of love feasts had\nbeen anticipated, they had been indefinitely postponed.\n\nFor the officers of the new system were by their whilom predecessors\nordered to go \"nor stand upon the order of their going,\" the bullet at\ntimes conveying the order. Assassinations, lynchings, and reprisals by\nboth parties to the feud were of daily occurrence. The future for life,\nliberty, and pursuit of happiness in busy city or sylvan grove, was not\nalluring. My subsequent career makes it necessary for me to arise to\nexplain. Taking at the time a calm survey of the situation, an addition\nto the column of martyrs seemed to me unnecessary. I believed in the\nprinciples of the Republican party and as a private I was willing to\nvote, work, and be slightly crippled; but had not reached the bleeding\nand dying point. With such conclusions I resolved to come, and confine\nmyself to the pursuit of my profession and give politics a \"terrible\nletting alone.\" Oh, if abandoned resolutions were a marketable\ncommodity, what emporium sufficiently capacious and who competent to\nclassify!\n\nThe organization of the Republican party of Arkansas was on the eve of\ndisruption. Its headquarters were in the building and over the law\noffice of Benjamin & Barnes, with whom I was reading. Violent disputes\nas to party policy, leadership, and the distribution of the plums of\noffice were of frequent occurrence. I very distinctly remember the day\nwhen the climax was reached and \"the parting of the ways\" determined.\nThe adherents of Senator Clayton and the State administration on the one\npart, and Joseph Brooks and his followers on the other, coming down the\nstairs--some with compressed lip and flashing eye, others as petulant as\nthe children who say: \"I don't want to play in your yard; I don't like\nyou any more.\" It was the beginning of the overt act that extinguished\nRepublican rule in Arkansas. The factions led by Powell Clayton and\nJoseph Brooks, respectively, were known as the \"Minstrels\" and \"Brindle\nTails.\"\n\nIncongruity, being the prevailing force, possibly accounted for the\ncontrary character of the names, for there was little euphony in the\nminstrelsy of the one or a monopoly of brindle appearance in the other,\nfor each faction's contingent, were about equally spotted with the sons\nof Ham. My friends, Benjamin & Barnes, were prominent as Brindles, and\nI, being to an extent a novice in the politics of the State, in a\nposition to hear much of the wickedness of the Minstrels and but little\nof the \"piper's lay\" in his own behalf, fidelity to my friends, appalled\nat the alleged infamy of the other fellows, susceptible to encomiums\nwhich flattered ambition, I became a Brindle, and an active politician\nminus a lawyer.\n\nIn 1873 I was appointed County Attorney for Pulaski, and after a few\nmonths' service resigned to assume the office of Municipal Judge of the\nCity of Little Rock, to which I had been elected. I highly appreciated\nthis, as exceedingly complimentary from a population of 16,000, a large\nmajority of which were not of my race. I entered upon and performed the\nduties of the office until some time after the culmination of the\nBrooks and Baxter war in the State. It having been announced that I was\nthe first of my race elected to such an office in the United States, it\nwas not without trepidation that I assumed the duties that the\nconfidence of my fellow citizens had imposed upon me for the novelty of\nsuch an administration attracted attention.\n\nA judge who has to deal with and inflict penalties for violation of law\nconsequent upon the frailties and vices of mankind encounters much to\nsoften or harden his humanity, which may have remained normal but for\nsuch contact. His sworn duty to administer the law as he finds it often\nconflicts with a sense of justice implanted in the human soul, of which\nthe law, imperfect man has devised is often the imperfect vehicle for\nhis guidance; but nevertheless to which his allegiance must be\nparamount, even when attempting to temper justice with mercy.\n\nNowhere is so plainly presented as many of the various lights and\nshadows of human character. Love and faithlessness, sincerity and\ndeceit, nobility and dishonor, kindness and ingratitude, morality and\nvice--all the virtues and their antitheses take their place at the bar\nof the court of justice and await the verdict, while truth and deception\nstrive for conquest; an honest son of toil arrested in a den of infamy\nwhither he has been decoyed and his week's earnings filched; his wife\nin tears before you; the clash of prejudice when the parties litigant\nwere of opposite races; the favorable expectation of the rich,\nprominent, and influential when confronted by the poor and lowly; humble\nand conscientious innocence appalled when rigid law would mulct them in\nfine and imprisonment; the high and the haughty incensed at discharge of\nthe obscure and indigent. In cases slight, where the justice of leniency\nwas apparent and yet the mandates of the law had to be enforced, I would\npronounce the penalty and suspend the fine during good behavior. But if\nthe culprit returned, mercy was absent.\n\nAn incident in relation to the suspension of the fine will show that I\ndid to others as I would have others do to me: A member of the court was\nat times irritable and vexatious. During a session there was a\nmisunderstanding, which, upon adjournment, growing in intensity,\nresulted in my committing an assault. The chasm, however, was soon\nbridged with mutual pledges. Nevertheless I requested the chief of\npolice to have charge entered upon docket, to come up at next session of\ncourt, whereupon the judge, after expressing regret that the law had\nbeen violated, fined Citizen Gibbs and suspended the fine during good\nbehavior, and, as the citizen was not again arraigned, it may be\npresumed that his conduct was reasonably good, however doubtful may be\nthe presumption.\n\nI was fortunate in having the confidence of the community, always an\nimportant adjunct to the bench, for it is not always that the executor\nof the law has to deal with the humble of no repute. An old resident,\nwealthy and prominent, was arrested and was to appear before me for\ntrial. During the interim it was several times suggested to me in a\nfriendly way that I had better give the case a letting alone by\ndismissal, as it would probably be personally dangerous to enforce the\nlaw, as he was known to be impulsive and at times violent. I heard the\ncase, which had aggravated features, together with resisting and\nassaulting an officer, and imposed the highest penalty provided by law.\nThose who had thought that such action would give offence little knew\nthe man. It being the last case on the docket for the day, descending\nfrom the bench and passing, I saluted him, which he pleasantly returned,\nwithout a murmur as to the justice of the fine. Subsequently, on several\noccasions, he placed me under obligations to him for favors. Personally,\ninsignificant as I may have been to him, he recognized in me for the\ntime being a custodian of the majesty of the law, which he knew he had\nviolated. When it shall happen as a rule and not as the exception that\nmen will esteem, applaud and sustain the honest administration of the\nlaw, irrespective of the administrator, a great step will have been\ntaken toward a better conservation of constitutional liberty. In\nArkansas the political cauldron continued to boil. In Powell Clayton\nwere strongly marked the elements of leadership, fidelity to friends,\noratorical power, honesty of purpose, courage of conviction, with\nunflinching determination to enforce them. The late Joseph Brooks, an\nex-minister of the Methodist Church, and who secularized as a\npolitician, was an orator to be reckoned with. Sincere, scathing, and\nimpressive, his following was large and devoted. Senator Clayton, the\npresent Ambassador to Mexico, has outlived the political bitterness that\nso long assailed him, and was lately guest of reception and banquet\ngiven him and largely attended by Democrats, chiefly his political\nopponents.\n\nThe divided Republicans held their State convention in 1872. The Clayton\nfaction (the Minstrels) had for their nominee Elisha Baxter, a North\nCarolinian by birth, and hence to the Southern manor born. This, is was\npremised, would bring strength to the ticket. Joseph Brooks was the\nnominee of the Brindle wing of the party, and a battle royal was on.\nAlthough a minority of Democrats respectable in number joined the Brooks\nfaction, the majority stood off with wish for \"plague on both your\nhouses,\" and awaited the issue. It was in my first of twenty-eight years\nof recurrent canvassing. Many districts of the State at that time being\ndestitute of contact by railroads, made wagon and buggy travel a\nnecessity.\n\n[Illustration: HON. POWELL CLAYTON.\n\nEmbassador to Mexico.\n\nGovernor of Arkansas--United States Senator--Honest and Fearless, with a\nPublic and Private Life Beyond Reproach.]\n\nAfter nominations were made for the various State officers in\nconvention, appointments were made and printed notices posted and read\nat church and schoolhouse neighborhoods, that there would be \"speaking\"\nat stated points.\n\nThe speakers, with teams and literature and other ammunition of\npolitical warfare known and \"spiritually\" relished by the faithful,\nwould start at early morn from their respective headquarters on a tour\nof one or two hundred miles, filling ten or twenty appointments. Good\njudgment was necessary in the personal and peculiar fitness of the\nadvocate. For he that could by historic illustration and gems of logic\ncarry conviction in a cultured city would be \"wasting his sweetness on\nthe desert air\" in the rural surroundings of the cabins of the lowly. I\nhave heard a point most crudely stated, followed by an apposite\nillustrative anecdote, by a plantation orator silence the more profuse\ncultured and eloquent opponent.\n\nAs he was still at his lesson on the duties and responsibilities of\ncitizenship, it was a study worthy the pencil of a Hogarth to watch the\nplay of lineament of feature, while gleaning high ideals of citizenship\nand civil liberty amid the clash of debate of political opponents;\ncheerful acquiescence, cloudy doubt, hilarious belief, intricate\nperplexity, and want of comprehension by turns impressed the\ncountenance. But trustful in the sheet anchor of liberty, they were\nworthy students, who strove to merit the great benignity. Canvassing was\nnot without its humorous phases during the perilous times of\nreconstruction. The meetings, often in the woods adjoining church or\nschoolhouse, were generally at a late hour, the men having to care for\ntheir stock, get supper, and come often several miles; hence it was not\nunusual for proceedings to be at their height at midnight. I was at such\na gathering in the lower part of the State, where Jack Agery, a noted\nplantation orator, was holding forth, denouncing the Democracy and\nrallying the faithful. He was a man of great natural ability and\nbristling with pithy anecdote. From a rude platform half a dozen candles\nflickered a weird and unsteady glare. Agery as a spellbinder was at his\nbest, when a hushed whisper, growing into a general alarm, announced\nthat members of the Ku Klux, an organization noted for the assassination\nof Republicans, were coming. Agery, a born leader, in commanding tones,\ntold the meeting to be seated and do as he bid them. The Ku Klux,\ndisguised and pistol belted, very soon appeared, but not before Agery\nhad given out, and they were singing with fervor that good old hymn\n\"Amazing Grace, How Sweet It Sounds to Save a Wretch Like Me.\" The\nvisitors stood till the verse was ended, when Agery, self-controlled,\ncalled on Brother Primus to next lead in prayer.\n\nBrother P. was soon hammering the bench and calling on the Lord to come\non His \"white horse, and to come this very minute.\" \"Oh,\" said the chief\nof the night riders, \"this is only a <DW65> prayer meeting. Come, let us\ngo.\" Scouts were sent out and kept out to see that \"distance lent\nenchantment to the view,\" and the political feature of the meeting was\nresumed.\n\nThe <DW64> is not without many of the prominent characteristics of the\nsuccessful politician. He is aggressive, conservative, and astute, as\noccasion demands. Of the latter trait Hon. John Allen, ex-member of\nCongress from Mississippi, and said to have been the prince of story\ntellers, at his own expense gives this amusing incident. It was on the\noccasion of the Carmack-Patterson contested election case. In beginning\nhis speech he called attention to Mr. Patterson's remarks. \"Did any of\nyou,\" he said, \"ever hear anyone pronounce a more beautiful eulogy on\nhimself than that just pronounced by Josiah Patterson? In listening to\nit I was reminded of what my friend Jake Cummings once said about me. It\nwas in the great campaign of 1884. The Cleveland-Hendricks-Allen Club at\nTupelo had a meeting, and Mr. Taylor and Mr. Anderson spoke to the club\nthat night. As I chanced to be at home from my campaigning, I attended\nthe club meeting. After the regular speakers I was called for and\nsubmitted some remarks about myself and my campaign. After I had spoken\nthe crowd called for Jake Cummings, a long, black, slick old <DW64>\ncarpenter, who lives in Tupelo. Jake's speech ran about this way: \"Well,\ngentlemen, it's gettin' kinder late now. I don't know as it's necessary\nfor me to say anything. You's heerd Mister Taylor and Mister Allen on\nthe general politics of the day. They's dun told you what sort of man\nBlaine is, and what sort of a man Cleveland is. It don't look to me like\nno honest man ought to have trouble in picking out the fittinest man of\nthem two. And then you's heerd Mister Allen on hisself, and he has\nricommended hisself so much higher than any the rest of us kin ricommend\nhim it ain't worth while for me to say nuthin' about him.\"\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nThere is at present a lowering cloud on prospect of righteous rule in\nmany of the Southern States, but the relative rights and\nresponsibilities of equitable government, enunciated from desk in\nchurch, schoolhouse, or from stump in grove by the Republicans during\nand since reconstruction, have been an education to the poor whites,\nhitherto ignorant and in complete political thraldom to the landed\nclass, and to the freedman a new gospel, whose conception was\nnecessarily limited to his rights as a newly-fledged citizen.\nNevertheless, they were the live kernels of equality before the law,\nthat still \"have their silent undergrowth,\" inducing a manhood and\npatriotism that is now and will more and more blossom with national\nblessing. Friends regretfully and foes despairingly sometimes speak of\nthe tardiness of his progress. He will compare favorably, however, for\nall history records that it is slowly, through the crucible of physical\nand mental toiling, that races pass to an elevated status. For of serfs\nhe was not the least in his appreciation of liberty.\n\nSir Walter Scott, in his note on English history during the reign of\nGeorge III, of the \"colliers and salters, who were not <DW64>s,\" says:\n\"The persons engaged in these occupations were at the time bondsmen, and\nin case they left the ground of the farms to which they belonged, and as\npertaining to which their services were bought and sold, they were\nliable to be brought back by a summary process. The existence of this\nspecies of slavery being thought irreconcilable with the spirit of\nliberty, the colliers and salters were declared free, and put on the\nsame footing with other servants by the act of George III. But they were\nso far from desiring or prizing the blessing conferred on them that they\nesteemed the interest taken in their freedom to be a mere decree on the\npart of the proprietors to get rid of what they called \"head or harigold\nmoney\" payable to them when a female of their number, by bearing a\nchild, made an addition to the live stock of their master's property.\"\n\nIf the fitness for liberty is the measure of persecution sustained in an\neffort for its enjoyment, of that disciplinary process the freedmen have\nnot been deprived, for ever since his maiden attempt to exercise the\nright of an American citizen he has encountered intense opposition and\nphysical outrage, all of which has been met by non-resistance and manly\nappeal to the American conscience for protection; first from the \"Ku\nKlux band\" of murderers, and subsequently against the vicious practices\nto deprive him of his political rights, should establish his claim.\nNevertheless, after a third of a century of successful endeavor,\neducationally and materially, efforts are being made in Southern States\nfor his disfranchisement and the curtailment of his education. On this\nattempt George C. Lorimer, a noted divine and writer, in a late article\nin \"The Watchman,\" under the head of \"The Educational Solution of Race\nProblems,\" has this to say:\n\n     \"But may it not be that this reactionary movement rather\n     expresses a fear of education than a serious doubt of its\n     power? We must remember that conditions are peculiar in the\n     South, and, in some quarters, there exists a not unnatural\n     apprehension that <DW64> supremacy may prevail. To avert this\n     political catastrophe, extraordinary measures have been\n     adopted. To the difficulties that beset the Southern people we\n     cannot be indifferent, and neither should we assume that we\n     would act very differently, were we similarly situated. But we\n     think, in view of all the circumstances, that their position on\n     this subject exposes them to the suspicion that it is the\n     success of education they fear, and not its failure. This\n     apparent misgiving reasonably awakens distrust in the soundness\n     of their contention.\"\n\nIt is assumed by many who oppose the educational solution that inferior\nraces are unassimilable in their nature to the higher civilization.\nProof is sought for in the alleged decadence or disappearance of the\nTuranian people of Europe, the natives of South America, and the West\nIndia Islands. But what is this civilization that is so fatal in its\noperation? What do we mean by the term? What is that exalted something\nbefore which African and Asiatic must perish? Does it consist in armies,\nmachinery, saloons, breweries, railways, steamboats, and certain\ncommercial methods that are fatal to truth and honesty. Baron Russell,\nLord Chief Justice of England, included none of these in his conception\nof its character. He is recorded as saying: \"It's true, signs are\nthoughts for the poor and suffering, chivalrous regard and respect for\nwomen, the frank recognition of human brotherhood, irrespective of race\nor color, or nation or religion; the narrowing of the domain of mere\nforce as a governing factor in the world, the love of ordered freedom,\nabhorrence of what is mean and cruel and vile, ceaseless devotion to the\nclaims of justice. Civilization in its true, its highest sense, must\nmake for peace.\"\n\n[Illustration: HON. PINCKNEY B. S. PINCHBACK,\n\nUnited States Senator.\n\nBorn May, 1837--Educated at Gilmon High School, Cincinnati,\nOhio--Captain Co. A, 2d Regiment, Louisiana Volunteers--Member\nof Constitutional Convention of Louisiana--State\nSenator--Lieutenant-Governor--Editor and Lawyer--Able as a Statesman,\nEloquent as an Advocate, and Unflinching in Defense of Equal Justice.]\n\nPrevious to the National Convention which nominated General Grant for a\nsecond term, there had been held a conference of  leaders, who\nassembled at New Orleans to elicit opinion and divine the probable\ncourse of the  delegates at that convention. It was there I first\nmet that faithful, able, and invincible champion of the race, Governor\nP. B. S. Pinchback and Captain James Lewis, my fellow-member of the \"Old\nGuard,\" who, true in peace as war, never surrendered. The conference,\nthough not great numerically, was strong in its mental calibre and\nrepresentative character, with Douglas, Langston, Cuney, and others who\nhave since passed to the great beyond. The  office holders at\nWashington under Grant were much in evidence and naturally eager for his\nendorsement.\n\nThere was much discussion, and while an ardent advocate for Brooks, I\ncould not follow his supporters--the Brindle wing of the party in my\nState--in their choice of Horace Greely for President. My slogan in the\nState canvass had been Grant for President and Brooks for Governor. The\nwisdom of the conference determined upon a non-committal policy. It was\nthought unwise, in our peculiar condition, to hasten to proclaim in\nadvance of the gathered wisdom of such an august body as a National\nConvention. Hence, the conference concluded by setting forth by\nresolutions, grievances, and a reaffirmation of fealty to the Republican\nparty.\n\nThe result of the State election in Arkansas in 1872 was that Brooks got\nthe votes and Baxter the office, whereupon a contest was inaugurated,\nterminating in civil war. The Baxter, or Minstrel, wing of the party,\nwith the view of spiking the guns of the Brindles, had, in their\novertures to the Democrats during the campaign and in their platform at\nthe nominating convention declared in favor of enfranchising the\nConfederates that took part in the war against the Union. Baxter's\nmovement in that direction and his appointment of Democrats to office\ncreated discontent in both wings of the Republican party, leading to\ntheir union and determined steps for his removal and the seating of\nBrooks, who, both factions now declared, was elected. The doctrine of\nestoppel \"cutting no figure\" with the Baxter contingent. A writ of\nouster was obtained from Judge Vicoff, of the Circuit Court, which\nSheriff Oliver, accompanied by Joseph Brooks, J. L. Hodges, General\nCatterson, and one or two others, including the writer, proceeding to\nthe State House and made service.\n\nNo notice of such action having preceded, Governor Baxter was\nill-prepared for the announcement. After a short parley with his private\nsecretary, General McCanany, escorted by the Sheriff and General\nCatterson down the stairway, they were met by Hon. J. N. Smithea, the\nable editor of the \"Arkansas Gazette.\" Leaving the building, they went\ndirect to the Antony House, on East Markam Street. Word was sent to A.\nH. Garland, U. B. Rose, R. C. Newton, and other prominent Democrats, who\nsoon joined him in consultation. Governor Baxter immediately notified\nPresident Grant of the situation and sent instructions to the custodian\nof State arms at the U. S. Arsenal to honor none but his order for\ndelivery. Joseph Brooks was sworn in, and the two Governors made\nimmediate preparations for siege and defence. Main Street south from the\nriver to the boundary line of the city was the dividing line of the two\nfactions. Governor Baxter to the east on Markam Street, and Governor\nBrooks, at the Antony House, to west; at the State House established\ntheir respective quarters.\n\nA condition of unrest had pervaded the State for several months\npreceding this event, and when the slogan of war was sounded the\nrespective adherents by hundreds from all over the State hastened to the\ncapital. On the morning following the \"coup d'etat\" a report reached the\nState House that a company of <DW52> men, commanded by Gen. King White,\nfrom Pine Bluff, had arrived and was quartered on Rock Street. On the\nassumption that the men were misinformed as to the merits of the\nquarrel, it was proposed that they be interviewed. To do that was to\ncross the line and enter the enemy's territory. It was not unlike the\nquery of the rats in the fable, Who shall bell the cat? I was solicited,\nand, learning I had friends in the company, consented to go. Going south\non Center Street to cross the line by a circuitous route, I reached Rock\nStreet, and nearly the rendezvous. But the \"best laid plans of men and\nmice oft gang a glee.\" The emissary had been discovered and reported.\nApproaching me at a rapid rate, mounted on a charger which seemed to me\nthe largest, with an artillery of pistols peeping from holsters, rode\nGeneral George L. Bashman, of the Baxter forces. Reining up his steed he\nsaid, not unkindly: \"Judge Gibbs, I am instructed to order you to leave\nthe lines immediately, or subject yourself to arrest.\" As formerly\nintimated, and not unlike Artemus Ward, I was willing that all my wife's\nrelatives might participate in the glories and mishaps of war. Hence I\nbowed a submissive acquiescence and returned. I appreciated the amity\nexpressed in the manner and delivery of the order--an amity of which I\nhave been the recipient from my political opponents during the thirty\nyears of my domicile in Arkansas.\n\nGeneral Rose, who held command at the Arsenal, and had received\ninstructions from Washington to keep peace pending a settlement of the\ncontroversy, with a detail of soldiers, had erected a barricade opposite\nthe City Hall on Markam Street and placed a piece of artillery on\nLouisiana Street, pointing to the river. In the afternoon of their\narrival, General White's troops, headed by a brass band, marched on\nMarkam Street to the Antony House. While so doing a report became\ncurrent that they were preparing to attack the State House. General Rose\nattempted to investigate and, with his orderly, rode rapidly on Markam\nStreet, across Main, toward the Antony House. At the moment a shot,\nincreasing into volleys, from combatants on either side, who primarily\nwere the aggressors was never known. It resulted in several casualties.\nColonel Shall was killed in the Antony House, and others within the\nprecincts of the City Hall and Metropolitan Hotel. Markam Street\nsuddenly assumed a Sunday-like appearance, the Brooksites seeking safety\nin the State House and the Baxterites in the Antony. The feet of General\nWhite's troops fought bravely. Three hours later it was announced that\nthey had made the fifty miles to Pine Bluff without a break, windless,\nbut happy. Each faction was deficient in arms to equip their adherents.\nA company of cadets from St. John's College had been placed at the\nservice of Baxter.\n\nAt the State University at Fayettville were stored rifles and\nammunition, the property of the State. Thither Col. A. S. Fowler, of the\nBrooks forces, proceeded, and, with courage and diplomacy, succeeded in\nobtaining and placing a supply on a flat boat, and commenced his trip\ndown the river. Information of this movement having reached the Antony\nHouse, the river steamer Hallie, with a detachment of Baxter forces, was\ndispatched up the river to intercept, and succeeded in passing the State\nHouse without interference. The circuitous character of the river\nenabled a company from the State House, by quick march, to overhaul it\nat a bend of the river, a fusillade of whose rifle shots killed the\ncaptain, wounded several others, and disabled the steamer, which was\ncaptured and brought back to the State House. A restless quiet then\nensued, occasionally broken by random shots.\n\nIn the meantime Governor Baxter had called an extraordinary session of\nhis legislative adherents, vacancies of recalcitrant Republicans filled,\nthe Brooks government denounced, and an appeal to the President for\nsupport. All the records and appurtenances of the Secretary of State's\noffice, including the great seal of the State, were in possession of\nBrooks at the State House. Information that a duplicate had been made in\nSt. Louis and was en route to the Antony House was received, whereupon\nGeneral D. P. Upham made application for a search warrant to intercept\nit, a copy of which is as follows:\n\n     \"I, D. P. Upham, do solemnly swear that one Elisha Baxter and\n     his co-conspirators have ordered and caused to be made, as I am\n     informed, a counterfeit of the great seal of the State of\n     Arkansas, and that the same is now or soon will be in the\n     express office of the city of Little Rock, as I am informed,\n     and that the same is intended for the purpose of defrauding,\n     counterfeiting, and forging the great seal of the State of\n     Arkansas by the paid Elisha Baxter and his co-conspirators, and\n     to use the same for illegal and fraudulent purposes, against\n     the peace and dignity of the State of Arkansas, and I ask that\n     a search warrant may issue forthwith, according to law, to\n     search for and seize said counterfeit seal, wherever or in\n     whomsoever possession it may be found.\n\n    \"(Signed.) D. P. UPHAM.\n\n    \"Subscribed and sworn to before me this 1st day of May, 1874.\n     M. W. GIBBS,\n\n    \"City Judge.\"\n\nThe warrant was duly served and return made, with the seal. Baxter,\nhaving now ignored the men who placed him in power, called around him as\nsupporters and advisers the brain and strength of the Democratic party.\nMeanwhile each party had representatives in Washington, urging their\nclaims for recognition. As a party, the Republicans were at a\ndisadvantage. When Brooks, being elected, was contesting Baxter's right\nto the Governorship, Baxter was supported by the leading and most\nprominent republicans of the State, who swore \"by all the gods at once\"\nthat he and not Brooks was elected; but now they swore at once at all\nopposing gods, who said that Baxter was.\n\nA committee of Brooks men, of whom the writer was one, was sent to\nWashington to present the claims and conditions to the President. When\nthe train, en route, stopped at Alexandria a gentleman came hurriedly in\nand, accosting another, said: \"What do you think? Grant has recognized\nBaxter.\" I did not learn the thought or hear the response, being\npossessed immediately by a feeling not unlike the boy whose \"piece of\nbread and butter falls with the butter side down.\" We pursued our way to\nWashington to find the report true. We called at the White House several\ntimes, but the engagements of the President prevented an interview. Late\nof an afternoon, sitting in my room on I Street, I saw the President\napproaching slowly and alone. I put on my hat, and was soon with him,\nand, with becoming salute, addressed him. General Grant, who was ever\naccessible to the most humble, attentively listened, as we walked, to my\nbrief statement of our case. He replied that his sympathies were with\nus, for he believed that Brooks was elected; but that his Attorney\nGeneral had given an opinion that the people, through the expression of\ntheir last Legislature, had endorsed Baxter, and that he must acquiesce.\n\nThat this avowal was sincere was shown by a subsequent message to\nCongress on the subject, condemning the process by which the Democracy\nhad vaulted into power. When the dispatch from Washington recognizing\nBaxter was received at the Antony House the faithful, while making the\nwelkin ring, made immediate preparations to take undisturbed possession\nof the State House. The march of Governor Baxter and his adherents to\nthe capital was made, as imposing as had his former exclusion been\nhumiliating. A band playing inspiring music not unlike \"See, the\nConquering Hero Comes,\" and stepping to the air came an array, led by\nGeneral King White, on horseback, with flags flying, animated and\nexhilarated with all the pomp and circumstance of a victorious legion,\nentered and occupied the building which Brooks and his following,\ndefeated and depressed, had vacated, in obedience to the President's\nmandate. The prospect for their rehabilitation seemed shadowy, but, with\nthat hope said \"to spring eternal in the human breast,\" they had\nresolved to carry their contest to Congress.\n\nIt may be properly said of Joseph Brooks, as of Charles II, \"His\nfault--and no statesman can have a worse one--was that he never saw\nthings as they really were. He had imagination and logic, but he was an\nidealist, and a theorizer, in which there might have been good if only\nhis theories and ideals had not been out of relation with the hard\nduties of a day of storm.\"\n\nThere was opportunity for him to have secured the approval of the Poland\nCommittee. But the tenacity of his ideal of no concession allowed it to\npass.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nIn 1874 a constitutional convention was called and a new constitution\nadopted. At the State convention of the Democratic party for the\nnomination of State officers Baxter was the favorite for re-election as\nGovernor, and probably would have been the choice, had not the more\nastute politicians put the United States senatorial \"bee in his bonnet,\"\nwhich induced a letter, fervid and patriotic, declining the nomination.\nBaxter was confiding and honest, but not an adept in the wily ways of\nthe politician. Augustus H. Garland was elected Governor, and in the\nUnited States senatorial race Baxter was \"left at the stand.\" It was\nthen, as it oft happens, that--\n\n    \"God and the soldier all men adore,\n    In time of war, and not before.\n    When the war is over and all things righted,\n    God is forgot, and the soldier slighted.\"\n\n[Illustration: HON. AUGUSTUS H. GARLAND\n\nA learned jurist, broad and humane. A member of the Confederate\nCongress--Governor of and United States Senator for Arkansas--A member\nof President Cleveland's Cabinet--Evidencing in every position, that it\nwas a selection \"fit to be made.\"]\n\nAugustus H. Garland was a Senator in the Confederate Congress in 1861,\nsucceeding Baxter as Governor, then United States Senator from Arkansas,\nand subsequently a member of President Cleveland's Cabinet, evidencing\nin every position that it was a selection \"fit to be made\" not only for\nhis ability and attainments as a statesman, but for rugged honesty of\npurpose and broad humanity as a man. Taking the reins of government at\nthe zenith of a successful revolution, when violence sought\ngratification, desire rampant for prosecution and persecution, Governor\nGarland, by a conservative policy, soothed the one and discouraged the\nother--a policy early announced in his first proclamation, an extract of\nwhich is as follows: \"Should there be any indictments in the courts for\npast political offences, I would suggest and advise their dismissal. Let\npeople of all parties, races and colors come and be welcomed to our\nState and encouraged to bring her up to a position of true greatness.\"\nHis friendship I highly esteemed, and, learning of his demise, could not\nbut submit the following token:\n\n                          \"Tamatave, Madagascar,\n                          \"April 17, 1899.\n\n     \"Editor Little Rock Gazette:\n\n     \"Sitting in the Consulate, way down on the banks of the Indian\n     Ocean, the Gazette comes to me laden with expressions of sorrow\n     on the passing of my friend, ex-United States Attorney General\n     A. H. Garland. Truly, 'a great man has fallen.' In him the\n     nation has lost an eminent statesman and Arkansas a most\n     distinguished citizen, celebrated for his intellectuality and\n     valued services to the Commonwealth. I said 'my friend,' and I\n     reiterate, in no platform sense of that term. Twenty-five year\n     ago I was municipal judge of the city, at the time when the\n     conflict for party ascendancy was most intense. When passion\n     struggled for the mastery, as Governor, he was in reality to me\n     a friend. During his residence at the capital I have never\n     visited Washington without seeking and as promptly receiving\n     his kindly greeting. On several occasions his services, eagerly\n     given, were most helpful. He was not only mentally eminent, but\n     morally great.\n\n     \"Ever approachable, he was a manly man, with courage of\n     conviction, and, while urging them with a zeal born of honest\n     belief, had the inestimable faculty of winning adherents by\n     strength of presentation, blended with suavity of manner. He\n     was conspicuous in this, that his broad soul expanded with\n     tender and affectionate regard for the poor and humble.\n     Reserved in manner, magnanimous and catholic in a spirit that\n     embraced the 'world as his country, and all mankind as his\n     countrymen.' So in the archives of memory I make haste to lay\n     this small tribute to a departed friend, who still seems as\n     'one long loved and but for a season gone.'\"\n\nI was present, but not a delegate, at the convention that nominated\nGeneral Grant for a second term, at the Academy of Music, in\nPhiladelphia, in 1872.\n\nThe proceedings, reported and published, of a National Convention are\nalways interesting, but lose much of the impression and force of\nactuality with which an auditor and spectator is affected. The gayety\nand magnetism of numbers, the scintillations of brain in special\nadvocacy, followed by tumultuous accord. The intensity, the anxiety\ndepicted, while results far-reaching and momentous are pending, furnish\na scene vivid and striking that cannot be pictured. Here is being formed\nthe policy of a party which is to be subjected to the winnowing fan of\nacute and honest criticism, and by denunciation by opposite parties,\nstriving to obtain the administration of the Government, the fiat of\nwhich and the selection of the standard-bearer constitute the claim for\nthe suffrage of the people. They are the preparatory cornerstones of\nself-government, fashioned and waiting for the verdict of the nation.\n\nCommittees on platform and resolutions are generally composed of the\nradical and conservative elements of a party, so that, while the canvass\nis up and on, it shall have steered between \"the rocks of too much\ndanger and pale fear\" and reached the port of victory. Experience during\nthe period since last it met may have had much to do with silence or\nbrief mention of the heretofore darling shibboleth with which they were\nwont to inspire the faithful, rally the laggards, or capture converts.\n\"Consistency, thou art a jewel\" that dazzles, confuses, but doth not\nbewilder the ordinary politician, who can allow a former policy\nnoiseless and forsaken to sink into the maelstrom of neglected and\nunrequited love. Prolific in schemes is the procedure of a minority\nparty, not the least is the selection of a standard-bearer, who has been\nthe most sparse and reticent in utterance, hence a record the least\nassailable, that extracts from his opponents the exclamation of one in\nHoly Writ, \"Oh, that mine enemy had written a book.\"\n\nAmong the men who made mark at the convention above referred to was\nOliver P. Morton, of Indiana, styled the \"War Governor,\" for the\npatriotism and alacrity which he summoned his State in response to the\nnational call, caught up and followed by every loyal State during the\nCivil War. A confirmed invalid, with lower limbs paralyzed, with massive\nhead and inspired brain, assisted by two servants to a chair to the\nfront of the platform, he made the speech of the convention. Another\nnovel incident was the occupation of the platform of a National\nConvention by Afro-Americans. The Late Hon. William H. Gray, the\nfaithful and eloquent leader of the  Republicans of Arkansas, and\nthe late Hon. R. B. Elliott, Congressman from South Carolina, were\ninvited to speak.\n\nA few of their well-chosen words in exordium were as follows:\n\nMr. Gray said: \"Gentlemen of the Convention: For the first time,\nperhaps, in the history of the American people, there stands before you\nin a National Convention assembled, a representative of that oppressed\nrace that has lived among you for two hundred and fifty years; who, by\nthe magnanimity of this great nation, lifted by the power of God and the\nhands of man from the degradation of slavery to the proud position of an\nAmerican citizen.\"\n\nMr. Elliott said: \"Gentlemen of the Convention: It is with great\nappreciation of the compliment paid my State that I rise to respond to\nyour invitation to address you. I stand here, gentlemen of the\nconvention, together with my colleagues from the several States, as an\nillustration of an accomplished fact of American emancipation, not only\nas an illustration of the management of the American people, but as a\nliving example of the justice of the American people.\"\n\nThe speeches of which the foregoing are but a part of their\nintroduction, expressive of gratitude and fidelity, a conception of the\nneeds of the hour, delivered with an eloquence that charmed, elicited\nhearty response, the Academy echoing and re-echoing with the plaudits of\nthe vast assembly. At each National Convention of the Republican party\nrepresentatives of the race have shown not alone oratorical power, but\nan intelligent grasp of the political situation. At this period of\nGeneral Grant's nomination, the nation's heart still jubilant with the\nsuccess of the Federal arms; its conscience awakened by the dread\npenalty paid by contributions from every loyal hearthstone for the\nsubjugation of slavery, was now eager and active in providing that the\n<DW64> who had been faithful in peace and heroic in war, should enjoy the\nrights of an American citizen. It was history repeating itself, for in\nEngland's history we read that it was Henry at Ajincourt who said: \"Who\nthis day sheds his blood with me today shall be my brother; were he\nne'er so vile, today shall gentle his condition.\" For the Civil War, as\nit matured, became no ordinary case of political contention; the soul of\nits suppression sprang from the most sacred impulses in the mind of man.\nIt was response to the self-retort of Cain that came echoing down the\nages, \"Am I my brother's keeper?\" Answer came in shot and shell.\n\nBut as time receded from these historic epochs, engrossed more and more\nin national development, mercantile aspirations, internal improvements,\nrivalry of parties, self-aggrandizement--in short, all the agencies and\nfactors inseparable from human nature that influence on material lines,\nhave effaced much of the general solicitude that formerly existed. This\ndecadence of purpose is not unnatural; a wardship is a duty, and should\nnot be a continuous necessity, its greatest blessing a consciousness\nthat its ideals and purposes have been assimilated by its wards, and\nlifted higher in humanity's scale. Too much dependence is as hurtful as\nentire neglect. The more persistent the call for the forces within the\ngreater the response from the assistants without. The lethargy or\nneglect to give the <DW64> protection in the exercise of his\nconstitutional rights is developing a spirit of self-help and intensity\nof purpose, to find and adopt a course and measures remedial that may be\npractical and efficient; to ignore the sentimentality of politics and\nsubordinate them to conditions irrespective of party. He has found that\n\"the mills of the gods grind slowly;\" that the political lever needs for\nits fulcrum a foundation as solidly material as equitably sentimental.\n\nProclaim brotherhood, justice, and equal rights ever so much, men will\nnod acquiescence with a mental reservation of \"but,\" significant of \"Who\nare you? What can you do, or what have you done?\" It is your current\nlife's answer to these interrogatives that most interest people in this\nmaterial world in your behalf. Only as we increase in commercial\npursuits, ownership of property, and the higher elements of production\nthrough skilled labor will our political barometer rise. Upon these we\nshould anchor our hopes, assured that higher education, with its\n\"classic graces, will follow in their proper places.\"\n\nOf the latter a humorous writer, in answer to the question from the\npresident of an Eastern college, \"Is there any good reason why our sons\nshould not study the dead languages?\" said: \"While our sons are not on\nspeaking terms with many live languages, it ill becomes them to go\nfooling around the dead and dying. I do not think it necessary that our\nsons should study these defunct tongues. A language that did not have\nstrength enough to pull through and crawled off somewhere and died,\ndoesn't seem worth studying. I will go further, and say I do not see why\nour sons should spend valuable time over invalid languages that aren't\nfeeling very well. Let us not, professor, either one of us, send our\nsons into the hospital to lug out languages on a stretcher just to study\nthem. No; let us bring up our sons to shun all diseased and disabled\nlanguages, even if it can't be proved that a language comes under either\nof those heads; if it has been missing since the last engagement, it is\njust as well not to have our sons chasing around after it with a\ndetective, trying to catch and pore over it. You may look at it\ndifferently, professor. Our paths in the great realm of education of\nyouth may lie far apart; but it is my heartfelt wish that I may never\nlive to see a son of mine ride right past healthy athletic languages and\nthen stand up in the stirrups and begin to whoop and try to lariat some\npoor old language going around on a crutch, carrying half of its\nalphabet in a sling. If two-thirds of the words of a language are flat\non their back, taking quinine, trying to get up an appetite, let us\nteach our sons that they cannot hope to derive benefit from its study.\"\n\nBut Lord Rosebery, ex-Premier of England, in a late address before the\nUniversity of Glasgow on \"Questions of Empire,\" in the following, on\naction and learning, takes a serious view:\n\n     \"There was a time, long years ago, when the spheres of action\n     and learning were separate and distinct; when laymen dealt hard\n     blows and left letters to the priesthood. That was to some\n     extent the case when our oldest universities were founded. But\n     the separation daily narrows. It has been said that the true\n     university of our days is a collection of books. What if a\n     future philosopher shall say that the best university is a\n     workshop? And yet the latter definition bids fair to be the\n     sounder of the two. The training of our schools and colleges\n     must daily become more and more the training for action, for\n     practical purpose. The question will be asked of the product of\n     our educational system: Here is a young fellow of twenty; he\n     has passed the best years of acquisition and impression; he has\n     cost so much; what is his value? For what, in all the manifold\n     activities of the world, is he fit? And if the answer be not\n     satisfactory, if the product be only a sort of learned mummy,\n     the system will be condemned. Are there not thousands of lads\n     today plodding away at the ancient classics, and who, at the\n     first possible moment, will cast them into space, never to\n     reopen them? Think of the wasted time that that implies; not\n     all wasted, perhaps, for something may be gained in power of\n     application; but entirely wasted so far as available knowledge\n     is concerned.\"\n\nAnd in keeping with this line of thought, the \"Washington Post,\" of\nWashington, D. C., in a recent issue, makes the following pertinent and\ntruthful mention:\n\n     \"Almost without exception, the colleges and universities are\n     beginning another year with unusually large classes. Many of\n     these institutions report the largest number of matriculates in\n     their history. The aggregate attendance is unquestionably\n     greater by thousands than that of any previous year. This is\n     due in part to the prevalence of business prosperity and in\n     part to the steadily increasing approbation of higher education\n     for women, while the natural increase of population is also\n     something of a factor. The 'Cleveland Leader,' speaking of the\n     reports of large classes of freshmen all over the country,\n     says:\n\n     \"'That appears to be the best and most conclusive reply which\n     the American people can make to those gentlemen of wealth and\n     prominence who, like Mr. Schwab, of the Steel Trust, discourage\n     higher education as preparation for the life of the business\n     world. It is the solidest kind of evidence that the old love of\n     knowledge for its own sake and the old faith in the beneficial\n     effects of college training upon the youth of a country having\n     such a government and social organization as this Republic has\n     developed remain as strong as ever.'\"\n\nTo which the Post replies:\n\n     \"That is somewhat hasty and a probably erroneous conclusion.\n     The \"higher education\" which Mr. Schwab discourages, the\n     old-time classical course, has not grown in popular favor. The\n     reverse is true. The demand for a more practical education in\n     this utilitarian age has compelled the colleges and\n     universities to make radical changes in their curriculum. The\n     number of students who elect to take the old-time course is\n     smaller in proportion to the population and wealth of this\n     country than it ever was. Science, both pure and applied, takes\n     a far more prominent place in collegiate studies than it\n     formerly occupied. Many of the leading institutions of learning\n     have introduced a commercial department. Everywhere the\n     practical, the business idea is becoming dominant.\n\n     \"While no intelligent man questions the value of classical\n     studies or disputes the proposition that a knowledge of the\n     classics is indispensable to a thorough understanding of our\n     own language, the area of practical study has become so vast,\n     by reason of new discoveries in science and the arts, that a\n     choice between the two is compulsory to young persons who have\n     their own fortunes to make. The old-time course of mathematics\n     and classics furnishes splendid mental discipline, with much\n     knowledge that may or may not put its possessor on the road to\n     success in business. But the time required for that course, if\n     followed by a three or four years' term of practical study,\n     sets a young man so far along in life that he has a hopeless\n     race with younger men who dispensed with the classical and went\n     in zealously for the practical.\n\n     \"The change from the old to the new lines of education is even\n     more marked in the common schools than in the colleges and\n     universities. The practical begins in the free kindergarten and\n     runs with more or less directness through all the grades.\n     Millions are expended upon industrial training. The business\n     high schools are a great feature of the free school system. All\n     this is comparatively new. It has come because of the\n     necessities of an industrial age.\n\n     \"'Knowledge for its own sake' is becoming more and more a\n     luxury, in which the sons and daughters of the rich indulge,\n     while the representatives of families that are merely well to\n     do feel that they must acquire knowledge for practical uses.\n     And this tendency is likely to continue, for, as we have said,\n     the field of the practical is expanding. Take, for example,\n     electricity and its uses. All that was known of this subject in\n     the time of our grandfathers could be learned in a few days or\n     weeks. To be an up-to-date electrical scientist and practical\n     electrician in 1901 means that years have been devoted to hard\n     work.\"\n\nThe crude notion held by some, that in far-off climes, to the American\n<DW64> unknown, who, with small capital and limited education; with an\ninherited mental inertia that is being dispelled and can only be\neradicated by contact with superior environment, that there awaits him\npeace, plenty, and equality, is an ignis fatuus the most delusive. Peace\nis the exhaustion of strife, and is only secure in her triumphs in being\nin instant readiness for war; equality a myth, and plenty the\naccumulation of weary toil.\n\nWith travel somewhat extensive and diversified; residence in tropical\nlatitudes of <DW64> origin, I have a decided conviction, despite the\ncrucial test to which he has been subjected in the past and the present\ndisadvantages under which he labors, nowhere is the promise along all\nthe lines of opportunity brighter for the American <DW64> than here in\nthe land of his nativity. For he needs the inspiriting dash, push, and\ninvincible determination of the Anglo-Saxon (having sufficient of his\ndeviltry) to make him a factor acknowledged and respected. But the fruit\nof advantage will not drop as ripe fruit from the tree; it can be\ngotten only by watchful, patient tillage, and frugal garnering.\nIgnorance and wastefulness among the industrious but uneducated poor\nrender them incapable to cope with the shrewd and unprincipled. The\nrivalry to excel in outward appearance and social amenities beyond the\nusual moderate means on the part of the educated is a drawback to any\npeople, but one disastrous to the <DW64> in his march through arduous\ntoil and restricted conditions to financial independence.\n\n[Illustration: REV. JOSEPH A. BOOKER,\n\nPresident of Arkansas Baptist College, and Editor of the \"Vanguard.\"\nBorn 1859, at Portland, Arkansas--Studied at Branch Normal\nCollege--Graduated At Roger Williams' University, Tennessee, Mainly by\nHis Efforts this College Only on Paper in 1887, has now Grounds and\nBuildings Worth over $50,000 and Several Hundred Students.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\nAt the Arkansas State election in 1876 I was selected as Presidential\nelector, receiving the highest vote on the Republican ticket. The\nnational election of that year was followed by the memorable canvass of\nthe contested vote for Rutherford B. Hayes, which was ultimately settled\nby a commission appointed under the Compromise Bill, which was passed by\nCongress in January, 1877, Florida, Louisiana, and South Carolina\ndeclaring for Hayes. That the compromise was the result of an agreement\nthat the United States troops should by withdrawn from Southern soil\ncannot be doubted, and for so doing he was bitterly criticised and\ndenounced by many of his party, resulting, as it did, in the transfer of\nthose States in the South from Republican, by continuous and unblushing\ndisfranchisement, to Democratic rule.\n\nPresident Hayes, not unlike many of historic fame, may have been \"born\nbefore his time;\" that his action in removing U. S. troops was immature,\na continuation and increase of intimidation and violence abundantly\nproved. At what period of their remaining on Southern soil would have\nbeen a fitting time for removal, is an enigma hard to elucidate. Their\nretention ultimately rested with the sentiment and judgment of the\nnation. In the South the menace of their presence was galling and\nincreasing in intensity. The North was daily growing averse to the\nbivouac of troops over a people who swore that they were on terms of\n\"peace with all the world and the rest of mankind.\" Would compulsion\nsoften animosity? Hayes was undoubtedly honest and sincere, but not of\nthat class of epoch-making men who anchor on the right, await and buffet\nthe advancing storm. Conciliation coyed as gently as loving dove his\nmate, while within easy reach glistened the jewel \"President\" of a\nfraternized Republic.\n\nThere are possibly men who would have spurned the enchantress. But an\narray of figures and ability to enumerate would not be sorely taxed in\nfinding the number. I was among those at that period who saw the\ninutility of depending on physical force to extract justice and lawful\nmethods from an unwilling constituency; that the reaction from a forced\ncompulsion in the moral world was as evident and unfailing under the\nconditions as from compression in the physical. I was hopeful of good\nresults, and so expressed myself in an interview with the President. He\nreplied that he was \"sincere in his policy, and should adhere to it\nunless it seemed impracticable that the policy of force and musket had\nbeen tried in the South and had failed and public sentiment now demanded\na change.\" We had and have the change, and it would have been a bright\njewel in the autonomy of many of the Southern States had it been more\nliberal and righteous.\n\n[Illustration: PROF. I. G. ISH.\n\nPrincipal of High School, Little Rock, Arkansas. An Erudite Scholar and\nZealous Tutor.]\n\nHistory, as a record of the lower to a higher status of civilization\nincreases in intensity and value as it records superior conditions, and\nthe degree of unrest and earnestness of appeal for the abrogation of\noppression is indicative of the appreciation and fitness for the rights\nof citizenship.\n\nIt should be remembered that as it became men dowered with the proud\ntitle of American Citizen, the <DW64> has not been remiss in stating his\ngrievances and appealing for justice. To have done less would have\nbanished sympathy and invited contempt. In Arkansas and some other\nSouthern States there is a growing demand for the forms of law and the\nmaintenance of order, and, while not attaining the zenith of\naccomplishment, it will be observable when contrasted with the\nlawlessness depicted in the following resolutions of a convention of\n<DW52> men held in Little Rock August 29, 1883. They contain views and\nconvictions I there presented, the equity of which 'tis fondly hoped\nhave not been lost by lapse of time:\n\n\"Be it resolved, That this convention of <DW52> men of the State of\nArkansas have still to complain that violence and injustice to their\nrace still exists to an alarming extent. In most cases the perpetrators\ngo unwhipped of justice. That when they are arraigned the law is\nadministered with such laxity and partiality that the escape of the\ncriminal is both easy and possible. In no instance is the penalty of the\nlaw enforced against a white man for the murder of a <DW64>, however\npalpable the case may be; whilst in most instances the bare accusation\nof a <DW64> committing a homicide upon a white man is sufficient for law,\nwith all its forms, to be ruthlessly set aside and the doctrine of\nlynch, swift and certain to be enforced.\n\n\"Case after case is chronicled by the press of <DW64>s hung by\ninfuriated mobs without trial to determine their guilt or innocence. The\nfarcical proceedings at law in their inefficiency of prosecution, the\nselection and manipulation of jurors, and the character of public\nsentiment have had painful illustration in several cases, and but\nrecently of Johnson, the <DW52> man murdered in this, the capital\ncounty of the State. The homicide of this man, a servant at a picnic, of\na Christian society of white people, and in their presence, without\nprovocation, was universally admitted. Notwithstanding, a jury of twelve\nmen, with almost indecent haste, finds the murderer not guilty. A\nverdict fit to shock the sense of every friend of right and justice.\nRobinson, a white man, for killing a <DW52> man because his victim\nasked for the return of money loaned, received but two years in the\npenitentiary. Burril Lindsey, a  farmer, who had homesteaded land\nin Van Buren County and had commenced cultivation, was waited upon and\ntold he must leave; that they would have no \"<DW65>s\" in the settlement.\nThey came back at midnight and broke down his door. One of the mob,\nlying dead on the threshold was Burril Lindsey's response. The press of\nour city--to their honor be it noted--said he did the proper thing.\nRespectable men in the neighborhood who knew Lindsey said the same. But\nyet, after being harrassed by threats and legal persecution for months,\na jury found him guilty of an assault with intent to kill, and six years\nin the penitentiary at hard labor is the penalty for defending his home.\n\n\"Homicide has no local habitation; it is the accident of every\ncommunity, in every nation, and the justice and impartiality with which\nthe law is administered is the measure of their humanity and\ncivilization. But here we have the spectacle of the press, pulpit, and\nrostrum of the State, with exceptions scarcely to be noted, either\nentirely dumb or a mere passing allusion, more often in commendation\nthan censure. We are positive in our confidence that those, and only\nthose who expose and denounce and lay bare this conduct, and thereby\ncreate a sentiment that will lessen this evil, are the only true friends\nto the State's moral as well as its material progress. That the attempt\nto deny and evade responsibility does not meet the issue in the minds of\nthoughtful men, who believe that no life is safe where the humblest is\nunprotected.\n\n\"We insist that value of the  brother as a tiller of the soil,\nthe increasing thrift and economy conceded in securing homes and taxable\nproperty, their favorable comparison (by fair judgment) with any other\nclasses as to their moral and law-abiding character, should at least\nmerit justice in the courts, and we ask for him consideration and fair\nsettlement for labor. For where could superiority and nobility of\ncharacter be better displayed than by generous treatment to the former\nbondsmen. That the better element of the Democratic party do not favor\nthis lawlessness we are continually assured. But the ugly fact stands\nout in bold relief that they are unable or unwilling, with forces of\nwealth and intelligence, to create a healthier sentiment. To them, and\njust men everywhere, we appeal to assist in bringing the moral power of\ndenunciation against this great wrong, that impartial justice shall be\nthe law for every citizen of the Commonwealth; and that the president\nand secretary be empowered to sign a petition in behalf and as the\nearnest request of this convention for presentation to his Excellency\nthe Governor, asking executive clemency in the pardon of Burril Lindsey,\nnow incarcerated in the penitentiary, under a sentence of six years.\"\n\nThe Governor was graciously pleased to pardon him, but for personal\nsafety he was compelled to abandon his homestead and leave the State.\n\nFor some time a general unrest among the <DW52> people on account of\nviolence had permeated the South, and thousands of the most substantial\nplanters had already settled in Kansas, Indiana, and other Western\nStates to enjoy legal protection hitherto denied them. Upon the question\nof <DW64> emigration the white South were divided. The planters and\nleading politicians were adverse. The planter for the reason that he\ncould not supplant him by more efficient and tractable labor; the\npolitician for fear of reducing Congressional representation, each\nregardless of the conditions creating his discontent. A minority\nrespectable in numbers and prominent for standing, approved of his\nremoval, alleging that the movement would be mutually beneficial, that\nit would induce white immigration, relieve the congested overproduction\nof the staples of the Southern States, introduce a higher class of\nindustries, and simplify the so-called problem by removing the bugbear\nof <DW64> domination by means unobjectionable.\n\nOf this class of opinion the \"Nashville American,\" of the State of\nTennessee, was a fair exponent. In its issue of May 9, 1879, it had this\nto say: \"We rather rejoiced at a movement which will bring about a\nbetter understanding and teach both races a lesson they ought to learn.\nTo the <DW64> it is simply a question as to whether he will be better off\nthere or here. If there, he ought to go; if here, he ought to stay; and\nthis simple economic proposition will settle it.\"\n\nThis, the sentiment of the best Southern thought, encountered an adverse\nwhich, while unwilling to grant the <DW64> the right of an American\ncitizen, maltreated and imprisoned immigrant agents; desiring his\nretention in a specious of serfdom. Such being the conditions existing\nat the time of the meeting of the Nashville Conference in 1879, induced\nit by resolution to request Senator Windom, Chairman of the National\nExecutive Committee, to appoint a committee to visit the Western States\nto ascertain what inducement they offered for immigration.\n\nIn pursuance whereof I received the following, containing words of\nwisdom warranting their insertion here:\n\n          \"United States Senate,\n          \"Washington, D. C., Jan. 10, 1879.\n\n     \"My Dear Sir: In compliance with the resolution of the\n     Nashville Convention requesting me, as Chairman of the National\n     Executive Committee, to appoint a committee of three to visit\n     Western States and Territories and report, not later than the\n     1st of November, upon the health, climate, and productions of\n     said States and Territories, I have the honor to designate you\n     as one of the number of said committee. In doing so I may add\n     that the duty involves great labor and responsibility on your\n     part and requires the exercise of that sound discretion for\n     which you are noted among your friends. The exodus of the\n     <DW52> people involves the greatest consequences to themselves\n     and should only be undertaken after the most careful inquiry\n     and preparation. If judiciously guided and regulated, I am\n     thoroughly convinced that it will result in great good. If not\n     so regulated, it may cause incalculable suffering to the\n     <DW52> race, and work great injury to the industrial interest\n     of the South. If the <DW64> can have fair treatment as a citizen\n     and a man in his present home, he will probably not care to\n     remove. If he cannot obtain such treatment there, it is his\n     right and duty to secure it by every means in his power, and no\n     one has the right to say he may not change his residence at his\n     own will and pleasure.\n\n     \"Your proposed inquiry will contribute much to inform and\n     control the action of those who may desire to emigrate and your\n     discretion gives the best assurance that no rash action will be\n     advisable. I regret the committee has no funds at command to\n     pay your necessary traveling expenses.\n\n     \"Hon. James P. Rapier, Member of Congress, of Montgomery,\n     Alabama, I have also designated as a member of said committee,\n     but I am not sufficiently advised to name the third member.\n\n    \"Very respectfully yours,\n\n    (Signed.) \"WM. WINDOM,\n\n              \"Chairman.\n\n    \"Mifflin W. Gibbs, Little Rock, Ark.\"\n\nIt often happens that distance lends enchantment to the view; that while\ncontending with hardship, disappointment, and earnest toil, we are apt\nto imagine that at some far locality, amid new surroundings, there\nabides a reign of contentment and happiness, where labor has its highest\nrewards and where there is a minimum of those trials inseparable from\nhuman existence. The gratification of this migratory impulse has in many\ninstances proved disastrous, the yielding to which should be only\nindulged after every possible effort has been made to remove local\nobstacles by uprightness, softening animosities, and by industry\naccumulate wealth. But emigrants have been illustrious as nation\nbuilders, their indomitable spirit blessing mankind and leaving impress\non the scroll of time. The bump on the head of the <DW64> that the\nphrenologists call \"inhabitiveness\" is very prominent; he is not\nnaturally migratory--\"content to bear the ills he has, than fly to those\nhe knows not of.\" Hence there appeared reason, if not entire \"method in\nhis madness.\"\n\n[Illustration: HON. JOHN P. GREEN.\n\nUnited States Stamp Agent.\n\nEducated at Cleveland, Ohio--A Leading Member of the Bar--Twice Elected\nto the Senate of the Ohio Legislature.]\n\nIn all movements of like character there are always conflicting rumors\nand reports as to success or failure of the benefit or loss of the\nventure, and this was no exception.  immigrants to the number of\n10,000 had left the South during a brief period, and the wildest rumors\ncirculated as to reception and success of these forerunners, and, as bad\nnews is ever alert, much was heard that was discouraging and demanded\ninvestigation; hence the action of the Nashville Conference referred to.\nIn pursuance of our appointment, J. T. Rapier and myself, in August,\n1879, went to Topeka, Kan., and from there, chiefly by wagon travel,\nvisited different colonies of the immigrants. Kansas had received seven\nor eight thousand. At Topeka we found nearly 100 at immigrant camp\nreceiving rations, some sick, others looking for work; the balance had\nsettled on lands or had found work as laborers. At Dunlop we found a\ncolony of 300 families settled upon 20,000 acres of land. In Wabunsee\nCounty 230 families had settled on their land, while in Lawrence and\nother counties hundreds had found work. Mechanics receiving $2 to $2.25\nper day and farm hands $13 to $15 per month and board. We found women in\ngreat demand for house servants from $6 to $8 per month.\n\nIn our interviews with the colonists we found the list and nature of\ntheir grievances were the same as have impelled men in all ages to\nendeavor to better their condition, and should five or ten thousand,\nfor a period, annually leave the South and settle in Western States and\nTerritories, the effect would be mutually beneficial to whites and\nblacks alike. In Emporia we found the colony in a very prosperous state.\nOut of 120 families one-half owned their houses and land on which they\nlived. We remained twenty days in Kansas and had not opportunity to\nvisit Indiana and other States that had received immigrants. But the\ninformation we received, with few exceptions, was similar to that of\nthose visited. There had been suffering and destitution in some\nlocalities during the past winter; that was to be expected, as many had\ncome wholly unprepared and without that push and ready adaptation to the\nstatus of a new country.\n\nWe made an extended report to Senator Windom, which contained data as to\nthe success and prosperity of the many and advice to the moneyless to\navoid the suffering which might lie in wait.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\nIn 1877 I was appointed by the President Register of the United States\nLand Office for the Little Rock District of Arkansas. The State was\nblessed with a valuable patrimony, by having at the time of its\nadmission into the Union an extensive area of agricultural, besides\nthousands of acres of swamp, school and other lands, under State control\nand disposition. The United States Government had reserved many millions\nof acres, which under its homestead law became available for applicants\nfor 40, 80, or 160 acres. No economy of the Government has been more\nfruitful in substantial blessing upon the industrious poor than throwing\nopen these lands for entrance and ownership of homes by the payment of a\nnominal fee for recording and proof of actual settlement thereon.\n\nThe renowned and lamented Robert J. Ingersoll, once, while extolling the\nbenignity and patriotic effect of the homestead law, said: \"Who do you\nsuppose would take up arms to defend a boarding house?\" The opportunity\nto enjoy the ownership of a home strongly appeals, not alone to our\navarice, but to the instincts of our nature. For here is located the\ncitadel of our hopes and fears, our joys and griefs; here congregated\nare ties the most sacred, and a love devoted. It is the ever-burning\nlight, the steady heat-giving impulse, and inspiration to deeds of\ndomestic utility or of noble daring. For its protection the heart leaps\nand the arm strikes. Hence, for domestic felicity, or national autonomy,\nthe home is an experience, and for liberty a conservator. Having these\nconvictions during my 12 years' service in the Land Office as Register\nand afterwards as Receiver of Public Moneys, I was earnest in my\nendeavor to have the poor of all classes enter these lands. On the\npolitical stump at every election, while having as my mission the\npolitical ascendancy of my party, I always felt it a duty to dwell\nimpressively upon that theme. Upon asking all those living on their own\nlands to hold up their hands, the gleam of pride on the countenances of\nmany of my  auditors as, standing tiptoe, with hands at arms'\nlength, was shared by me, and a stimulus to the luke-warm, for on\nsubsequent visits I would find an increase of holdings.\n\nFor the <DW64> ownership of land and home is not only an important\nfactor, in his domestic life, for as taxpayer, there is a mutuality of\ninterest between himself and other members of the body politic, business\nand trade seek him, it impels reverence for the law, and protection of\nthe public peace. His own liability to outrage becomes small. His\ncharacter for credit increases in the ratio of his holdings, and while\nmanhood suffrage is the professed but often disavowed legacy for all\nborn beneath the flag, his rights of citizenship are more often\naccorded.\n\nWhile in the Land Service of the United States there were many examples\nof heroic conduct by  settlers worthy of the highest praise. Many\nof them, emigrants from other Southern States, seeking better\nconditions, and arriving with barely sufficient to pay entrance fee, and\nnothing to sustain them in their fight with nature to clear their\nheavily-wooded land and fit it for cultivation. Hiring to others for\nbrief spells, as necessity compelled them, to obtain small stocks of\nfood and tools, five years after entrance, when they proved up their\nholdings and got their deeds, found them in comfortable log or frame\nhouses of two or more rooms; sheds, with a cow, calves, swine, and\npoultry, and ten or more acres under cultivation, according to the\nnumber and availability of labor in their families. And, best of all,\nbetter than the mere knowledge of success, themselves crowned with that\npride of great achievement ever and only the result of rigid self-denial\nand incessant toil.\n\nIn the National Republican Convention held at Chicago, June, 1880, was a\ncontest that will be ever memorable as pertaining to a third term for\nthe Presidency.\n\nLanding at San Francisco, September, 1879, from his tour of two years\naround the world, and the honored guest of the crowned heads of Europe,\nGeneral Grant's travel through the States was a continued ovation. On\nhis arrival at Little Rock, Ark., citizens from all over the State\nhastened to do him honor, culminating with a banquet at the Capitol\nHotel. The gathering was democratic in the best sense of that word,\npolitical lines were erased, Republicans and Democrats vieing with each\nother in giving the distinguished man a fitting reception. Nor were\nsocial lines adhered to, the writer being a guest and responding to the\ntoast \"The Possibilities of American Citizenship.\"\n\nAt the Arkansas Republican State Convention in 1880 I was elected a\ndelegate to the National Convention of June 2 of that year. As a memento\nI highly prize my bronze medal proclaiming me as one of the historic\n\"306\" that never surrendered--compact and erect, \"with every gun shotted\nand every banner flying,\" went down with General Grant in an\nunsuccessful effort to nominate him for a third term. It was there that\nRoscoe Conkling made the nominating speech in behalf of the General that\nwill live in history, stirring the hearts of the immense audience to a\nclimax of patriotic fervor. When he said, \"Should you ask from whence he\ncomes, the answer it shall be, He comes from Appomattox and the famous\napple tree.\"\n\nThe fiat of the Convention was an illustration of the ephemeral\ncharacter of cotemporary popular acclaim. Ambitious rivalry, the\nanticipations of envy, the bitterness of disappointed office seekers\nduring two former Administrations, the honest belief of the timid that a\nthird term for one soever trustworthy presaged and paved the way to an\nimperial monarchy; the mistakes unavoidable from misplaced confidence,\nhappening in the career of all men and inseparable in the administration\nof government--all these elements, although incongruous in their nature\nand make-up, when they conspire are a formidable factor, and as such\naccomplished his defeat. Though dead, Ulysses Grant still lives on; the\nattributes of his personal nobility as a man, his patriotism as a\ncitizen of the Republic, his ability and clear perspective as a\nstatesman, his genius as a warrior, his magnanimity and kindness to a\nchivalrous, heroic but fallen foe, will ever typify his greatness in\ncivic virtues and valiant deeds.\n\nThe manner of General Grant's defeat was peculiar. The name of James A.\nGarfield, the successful nominee, and in political parlance the \"dark\nhorse\" (undoubtedly foreplanned but kept in the shade), was suddenly\nsprung upon the Convention and amid a whirlwind of excitement quickly\nreceived adherents from the opposition which increased in volume at each\nsuccessive balloting, until the climax was reached that gave General\nGarfield the coveted prize. For some time there was much bitterness,\nand interchange of compliments more emphatic than polite. Within the\nparty charges of infidelity to promises were rife. But the second sober\nthought of a wise conservatism, which is ever evidence and measure of a\npeople's civilization, tempered strife and assuaged the pangs of\ndisappointment. He was handsomely supported and elected, and on the 4th\nof March, 1881, was inaugurated as President, amid acclaim, with promise\nof a successful Administration. But upon what a slender thread do human\nplans rely! Scarcely had five months elapsed when President Garfield was\nassassinated by Charles Guiteau, a man of no repute, and emblems of\nsorrow drooped throughout the nation. This national calamity\nnecessitated the second inauguration of a President during the year\n1881. The then Vice-President, Chester A. Arthur, was duly installed\nSeptember 30 of that year. His execution of the duties of that high\noffice, assumed under conditions intricate and most trying, disarmed\ncriticism by its wisdom and ability.\n\nWhen a prospective candidate for re-election in 1884 the press of New\nYork, having solicited expressions of fitness from delegates to the last\nNational Convention, I was pleased with the opportunity to make this\nsmall contribution.\n\n                        Little Rock, Ark., Aug. 1, 1884.\n\n    Dear Sir:\n\n\"I but voice the sentiment of the country when I say that I consider the\nAdministration of President Arthur has been signalized by its justice,\neminent statesmanship and wise discretion.\"\n\nSuch was the tenor of mention, but much more pronounced, by men of the\nparty, and Mr. Arthur's nomination previous to the assembling of the\nnext Presidential Convention seemed a foregone conclusion.\n\nNothing I can write will fittingly describe the personnel of James G.\nBlaine, who was to be the prime feature of the Convention on nomination\nday. As a man in the field of statesmanship and in intensity of\ndevotion, he was more idolized than any since his prototype, Henry Clay.\nWith political erudition was blended an eloquence inspiring and\nfascinating; a nobility of character often displayed as the champion of\nthe weak; a disputant adept in all the mazes of analysis, denunciation,\nor sarcasm, he had created antipathy as bitter as his affections were\nunyielding. While Speaker of the House, with his counterpart in\neloquence, Roscoe Conkling, he had many tilts. One of the most noted and\nprobably far-reaching in impeding his Presidential aspirations, was his\ndefense of General Fry, whom Conkling sought to have impeached, but who\nwas successfully vindicated and afterwards promoted by the War\nDepartment. During the struggle Conkling hurled a javelin of taunt and\ninvective, incisive, but thought to be unjust, inducing a response said\nto have been terrific in its onslaught, confounding the speaker and\nraising excitement in the House to the highest pitch. I transcribe an\nepitome of the speech, which will be seen to have bristled with galling\nridicule: \"As to the gentleman's cruel sarcasm, I hope he will not be\ntoo severe. The contempt of that large-minded gentleman is so wilting,\nhis haughty disdain, his grandiloquent swell, his majestic supereminent,\noverpowering turkey-gobbler strut, has been so crushing to myself and\nall the members of this House that I know it was an act of the greatest\ntemerity for me to enter upon a controversy with him.\" Then, quoting\nironically a newspaper comparison of Mr. Conkling and Henry Winter\nDavis, ascribing qualities held by them in common, he proceeded: \"The\nresemblance is great, and it has given his strut additional pomposity.\nThe resemblance is great, it is striking--Hyperion to a satyr; Thersites\nto Hercules; mud to marble; dunghill to diamond; a singed cat to a\nBengal tiger; a whining puppy to a roaring lion. Shade of the mighty\nDavis, forgive the almost profanation of that jocose satire!\"\n\nBut James G. Blaine, that master of diplomacy and magnetic fame, with an\nastute following inspired and wild with gilded promises; the nominating\nspeech of Robert J. Ingersoll, prince of orators, lauding the nominee as\n\"like a mailed warrior, like a plumed knight\"--all these forces\ncontributed to turn the tide from Arthur and give him the nomination. I\nwas one of a lonely three of the Arkansas delegation that stood by the\nState's instructions and voted for Arthur, nine of the delegation voting\nfor Blaine. For obeying the State and not the after conclusion of the\ndelegation, in my next race for a delegate I was \"left at the stand.\"\n\nMy failure reminded me of the boy--a humble imitator of the great George\nWashington--who hacked to death a choice tree. When asked who did it,\njolly, gushing and truthful, said, \"I did it, pap.\" The old man seized\nand gathered him, stopping the whipping occasionally to get breath and\nwipe off the perspiration, would remark: \"And had der imperdence to\nconfess it.\" The boy, when finally released, between sobs sought solace\nby saying, \"I will never tell the truth again as long as I live.\" I did\nnot conclude that one should be false to an implied promise with\ninstructions received, but I was impressed with the conviction that it\nis unwise to trammel a delegation with decisive instructions. A general\nexpression of the feeling or bias of the State Convention is proper, but\nso much can happen during the interim to change conditions that ultimate\naction should be largely left to the judgment and integrity of the\ndelegation.\n\nThe manner of choosing a President is entirely different from that\ndesigned by the founders of the republic. The selection of candidates by\nan organized party was not anticipated. It was intended that men of\nhigh character should be chosen by the citizens of each State as\nelectors, and they should select the men they deemed most fit to be\nPresident, and the selection thereafter ratified by the vote of the\npeople. An elector now is but the mouthpiece of his party; no matter\nwhat may be his individual judgment, he dare not disregard its fiat. The\nresult of the national election was the defeat of Mr. Blaine and the\nelection of the Democratic candidate, Grover Cleveland. Mr. Cleveland\nhad an independent personality and the courage of his convictions.\nAffable and cordial in his intercourse with Afro-Americans, and to those\nof his political household was prodigal in the bestowal of appointments.\nThe effect of this was that many <DW52> men, leaders of thought and\nrace action, not seeing an increase of oppression, so freely predicted\nin the event of a Democratic President, advocated a division of the\n vote, with a view of harmonizing feeling and mutual benefit. A\nwelcoming of that approach in the South may be deferred, but will yet be\nsolicited, despite its present disloyalty to the fourteenth and\nfifteenth amendments to the Constitution.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\nThe closing decade of the past century was conspicuous for exhibitions\nof products of nature and skill intended to stimulate a country's\nconsumption, but mainly to increase exportation; for a nation, not\nunlike an individual, that buys more than its resources warrant,\nbankruptcy is inevitable. Hence the industrial struggle of all\nprogressive nations to produce more than they consume, export the\nresidue and thereby add to the national wealth.\n\nThe United States not only excels in the magnitude of natural\nproductions, but in skill in manufacturing articles. The vast stretch of\nagricultural lands for natural products, superiority of mechanical\nappliance, and the expertness of American workmen herald the supremacy\nof the United States for quantity, quality and celerity. For Yankee\ningenuity has not only invented a needed article, but has invented a\n\"thing to make the thing.\"\n\nNational and State expositions for the extension of American commerce\nand development of State undertakings have been marked features of\nAmerican enterprise, creating a national fraternity, and stimulating\ndomestic industries. While the financial motive is ever in the forefront\nand the impetus that gives it \"a habitation and a name,\" the moral\neffect is the reflex influence of contact, the interchange of fraternal\namenities that ripen and become helpful for the world's peace, progress\nand civilization. At the present time Consuls of our Government inform\nthe State Department that agents of American manufacturers of steel,\nelectric apparatus, city railroads and improvements in machinery are in\nevidence in Europe to an extent hitherto unknown. The directors of the\nWorld's Exposition held at New Orleans, La., in 1884, gave a pressing\ninvitation to Afro-Americans to furnish exhibits of their production\nfrom farm, shop and home. The late B. K. Bruce, having been created\nChief Director, appointed commissioners for the various States to\nsolicit and obtain the best specimens of handicraft in their respective\nlocalities for \"The Department of  Exhibits,\" and to which the\nfollowing refers:\n\n        Washington, D. C., Aug. 13, 1884.\n\n    Hon. M. W. Gibbs,\n\n                Little Rock, Ark.\n\n    Dear Sir:\n\nBy virtue of authority vested in me as Chief Director of the Department\nof  Exhibits of the World's Exposition, I have nominated you for\nHonorary Commissioner for the State of Arkansas. It is unnecessary for\nme at this time to make any suggestions relative to the importance of\nmanaging this business in a manner that will reflect credit on all\nimmediately concerned and our people in general further than to say that\nmy heart is thoroughly in the work. I will communicate with you from\ntime to time, after being advised of your acceptance, giving necessary\ninformation and instructions.\n\nHoping that you will undertake the fulfillment of the trust, I am,\n\n    Very respectfully and truly yours,\n\n                          B. K. BRUCE,\n                       Chief Director.\n\nI therefore accepted, and proceeded to canvass my State urging the great\nopportunity offered to show our progress in industry and culture, on the\nfields of nature or within the realms of art. The movement was a novel\none, and the leading <DW52> men and women in the different sections of\nthe State had much to do to awaken the interest that resulted in a very\ncommendable showing.\n\nOne of the specialties of these expositions was what was designated as\n\"Emancipation Day,\" or <DW52> people's day, for the two-fold purpose of\ndirecting the attention of the general public to race advancement, and\ninducing a larger attendance of the class directly concerned, and\nthereby stimulate race pride for greater achievements. With some of our\nbrethren this appointment of a particular day seemed derogatory to\ntheir claim of recognition and equality of citizenship, and evoked\nconsiderable discussion. In this I thought some of us were unduly\nsensitive. Where intention can be ascertained it should largely govern\nour estimate of human action. This exposition was not only open each and\nevery day to our people, but we were constantly invited, and the few who\nattended were most cordially treated and our exhibits were properly\nplaced without distinction.\n\nThe directors of the exposition were gentlemen known to be most liberal\nin their dealings with us, and regretted the small attendance, remarking\nthat aside from our patronage, the exhibits would be beneficial as\nobject lessons, educating and inspiring, and proposed a\nday--\"<DW52>-People's Day.\" It was not unlike in design and effect\n\"Emancipation Day\" at the Minneapolis Exposition, where noted \nleaders from various States attended and spoke, and were not impressed\nthat it was derogatory to the race.\n\nWe have a deal of \"gush\" about recognition. A demand for\nrecognition presupposes a rightful claim based upon an inherent\ninterest--deportment, special fitness, or legal right. In politics we\nrightfully claim recognition in the ratio of our numerical contribution\nto the body politic, and from public carriers, for the reason of\nperformance of our part of the contract.\n\n[Illustration: PAUL LAWRENCE DUNBAR.\n\nBorn in 1872 at Dayton, Ohio--Author and Poet--The Foremost of his Race\nfor Versatility in the Field of Literature--His Poetry and Prose are\nRead in Every Clime Where Men Love Truth and Nature the More For Being\nClothed in Beauty of Diction, or Quaintness of Dialect--He has Published\na Number of Books.]\n\nIn our demand for a more extended recognition on these material lines,\nwe should first remember that our contributions are generally meager,\nand that these exhibitions are quite the product of the business\nventures and expenditure of our \"brother in white,\" and then brace up\nand thank Providence that excessive modesty will never \"strike in\" and\nkill the <DW64>. We have the men, the money and the ability to do much,\nvery much more, on many business lines that are now almost exclusively\nfollowed by our more prosperous fellow-citizens. No man in our country\nneed beg for recognition; he can compel it if he labors assiduously and\ntakes advantage of opportunity. It can be truly said of Little Rock that\nthe press and leading citizens have been more just and liberal to her\n citizens than any other Southern city. I well remember when her\ninstitutions relating to commerce, literature, professions, Board of\nTrade, Real Estate Exchange, bar and lyceum were open to us, whilst\ntwo-thirds of their members were our political opponents. These required\nbut a moderate yearly outlay, repaying, largely, in the amount of\ninformation received. Scarcely any availed themselves of these\nopportunities. If for any reason we do not wish to profit by these\novertures, when these trees bear let us not insist upon receiving the\nchoicest of the fruit.\n\nAt an indignation mass meeting some time ago a good brother reached the\nclimax of the grievance and then exclaimed:\n\n\"How long, O Lord, are we to bear these discriminations?\"\n\n\"For some time longer,\" I answered, and then said: \"All things\nconsidered, we are making progress, and will continue in the ratio we\nobtain education and wealth, and come forward in the incipiency of\npublic enterprises with our money and practical knowledge from the best\npossible sources; and, although race identity still exists, the\nantagonisms and much of the prejudice of which we now complain will be\nburied under higher activities and greater enterprises--when we have\nmore bank and railroad stock, fewer high-sounding societies, such as\n\"The Seventeen Stars of the Consolidation,\" \"The Rising, Persevering\nFree Sons of Joshua\"; more landlords and fewer tenants, more owners of\nplantations and fewer share-workers, more merchants and fewer dudes,\nmore piety and less religion, more economy and less wastefulness, more\nconfidence and less envy. I simply rise to submit these as irresistible\nclaims to a higher recognition.\" I succeeded in making my escape, for\nwhich I was thankful.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nPrevious to the exposition at New Orleans in 1885, Mr. Henry Brown, of\nOberlin, Ohio, visited the Southern States to obtain information as to\nthe views and desire of leading <DW52> men regarding the establishment\nof \"Schools of Trade\" in the South where the race could become\nproficient in all the mechanical arts. He came at the suggestion of\nphilanthropic men of capital in Northern States, who thought by such\nspecial means <DW52> men and women could have an opportunity to equip\nthemselves with handicraft, denied them by the trades unions and other\ninfluences in the country.\n\nOn his presentation of the project in Little Rock, it being so\ncompletely in line with my view of a factor so important for the\nuplifting of the race to a higher manhood and financial standing, I\neagerly co-operated. It was determined to take advantage of the\nattraction of the exposition at New Orleans, issue a call for a\nconference at that point, and thereby have a representative gathering to\nobtain their views. I therefore proposed, had printed and issued the\nfollowing:\n\n\nCALL FOR A CONFERENCE ON \"SCHOOLS OF TRADE.\"\n\n\"Emancipated, turned loose, poor, ignorant and houseless, continually\nsurrounded by difficulties and embarrassments sufficient to appall and\n<DW44>, by commendable effort on their part, sustained by the generous\naid of philanthropists friendly to education, our race in the South has\nmade gratifying advance, mentally and morally. But with this progress of\nmind and morals, we are confronted with the need of opportunity to\nqualify ourselves for those activities and industries necessary to make\na people prosperous and happy. Our great want now is 'cunning hands' to\naccompany cultured brains. After obtaining the benefit of our public\nschools our boys should be fitted for some useful and profitable means\nof livelihood. The restrictions engendered by trades unions, and the\nobstacles of race prejudice concur to make it impossible for them to\nobtain trades in the workshops of the country. Therefore, we need\nindustrial schools where our youth can qualify in the various mechanical\npursuits and thereby ennoble themselves, and add value to the State. For\nthe establishment of these \"schools of trade\" we require a united effort\nand should make earnest appeal to the philanthropy of the nation.\n\n\"In view of this vital necessity the undersigned do hereby call a\nconference, without distinction, of delegates appointed by mass\nmeetings in cities and counties; presiding officers of colleges,\nprincipals of schools, bishops, and leading ministers; editors and\npublishers friendly to the movement are also invited to meet at New\nOrleans, La., January 15, 1885, for expression on this subject. Signed,\n\n     \"M. W. Gibbs, Little Rock, Ark.; Hon. J. C. Napier, Nashville,\n     Tenn.; A. De Pose, New Orleans, La.; Hon. J. C. Clousen,\n     Charleston, S. C.; Rev. B. F. Tanner, Philadelphia, Pa.; Joseph\n     Carey, Galveston, Tex.; H. C. Smith, Cleveland, Ohio; W. G.\n     Simmons, Louisville, Ky.; Peter H. Clark, Cincinnati, Ohio;\n     Hon. B. K. Bruce, Washington, D. C.; P. A. Bell, San Francisco,\n     Cal.; J. W. Cromwell, Washington, D. C.; J. Henri Herbert,\n     Trenton, N. J.; Hon. Henry Demas, New Orleans, La.; Rev. E.\n     Lee, Jacksonville, Fla.; W. H. Russell, Indianapolis, Ind.; F.\n     L. Barnett, Chicago, Ill.; A. H. Grimke, Boston, Mass.; E. N.\n     Overall, Omaha, Neb.; H. M. Turner, Atlanta, Ga.; Hon. James\n     Lewis, New Orleans, La.; John S. Leary, Fayettville, N. C.;\n     Hon. Fred Douglass, Washington, D. C.; T. Thomas Fortune, New\n     York; Rev. M. Van Horn, Newport, R. I.; Lloyd G. Wheeler,\n     Chicago, Ill.; J. W. Birney, La Crosse, Wis.; M. M. McLeod,\n     Jackson, Miss.; George T. Downing, Newport, R. I.; D. Augustus\n     Straker, Columbia, S. C.; Hon. P. B. S. Pinchback, New Orleans,\n     La.; Peter Joseph, Mobile, Ala.; H. O. Wagner, Denver, Colo.;\n     Hon. W. A. Pledger, Atlanta, Ga.; H. Fitzbutler, Louisville,\n     Ky.; J. L. Walker, Atchison, Kan.; E. P. Wade, St. Paul, Minn.;\n     F. G. Barbadoes, Washington, D. C.\"\n\nAs a duty, mingled with pleasure, by this humble means I reproduce a\nrecord of the names of men who in the last century were intent upon\nevery occasion to promote the welfare of the race, many of whom were\nconspicuous in their battle for justice and the betterment of their\nfellow man, thus fitting themselves for harmonies of a higher clime,\nhave now \"quiet sleep within the grave,\" while with the residue \"life's\nshadows are meeting\" and will ere long \"be lost to sight,\" with, let us\nhope, their memory only dimmed by greater activity and deeper\nconsecration by their successors for the ideals they cherished. Ever\nloyal, we should not--\n\n    \"Rob the dead of their sweet heritage,\n    Their myrrh, their wine, their sheet of lead and trophies buried\"--\n\nbut--\n\n    \"Go get them where they got them, when alive,\n    And as resolutely dig or dive.\"\n\n[Illustration: BLANCHE K. BRUCE,\n\nLate United States Senator, Register of the United States Treasury.\n\nBorn a Slave in 1841 in Virginia--Studied at Oberlin--Sergeant-at-Arms\nof the Senate of Mississippi--Elected United States Senator in\n1874--President Garfield Appointed Him Register of the Treasury May,\n1881--A Record Honorable and Inspiring.]\n\nWith the departed was Hon. B. K. Bruce, who, living to manhood under the\nblighting influences of slavery, by honesty, native ability and\npersevering study, placed his name in the forefront, leaving his career\nas a model. With an astuteness of perception for the retention of\nfriends, he had suavity of manner for the palliation of foes; with\ndiligence and faithfulness winning a constituency that honored him with\na seat in the United States Senate.\n\nThe conference called at New Orleans, La., to promote industrial\neducation, above referred to, failed to be fruitful. Members of\ndifferent religious organizations, without suggestion that their\nparticular sect would furnish a modicum of the large expenditure\nnecessary to the establishment of such \"schools of trade,\" strove to\nhave the movement inaugurated, and launched under some particular\ndenominational control.\n\nMr. Brown, whose only object in desiring to have a conference, was to\nelicit an expression from leading <DW52> men, an earnest desire for\nsuch \"schools of trade,\" and helpful suggestions, looked on the needless\nstrife with amazement and regret, and finally determined, as unity of\npurpose and a proper conception of what was needed were so sadly\nlacking, to abandon such an instrumentality to favor his purpose.\n\nIt can be properly noted here that among the many helpful signs of race\nadvancement not the least is a broader fraternalization of our religious\nbodies, an increasing tolerance, indicative of greater intelligence, the\nproduct of a more widely discriminated educated ministry. Our churches,\nbeing our largest organizations numerically (and greatest of moral\neducators), having the ear of the masses, their opportunity and growing\ndisposition to unite for the material as well as the spiritual progress\nof our people, cannot be too highly commended.\n\nIndustrial fairs, promulgated and held by the <DW52> people in\ndifferent Southern States, have been exceedingly beneficial and cannot\nbe too often repeated. Several have occurred at Pine Bluff, Ark., on the\nextensive race and fair grounds owned by Mr. Wiley Jones, who, with Dr.\nJ. H. Smith, Ferdinand Havis and other prominent <DW52> men of the\nState, by executive ability, tact and judgment made them a success.\n\nThe following notice is from a correspondent of the Arkansas Gazette:\n\n                  \"Pine Bluff, Ark., Oct. 21, 1886.\n\n     \"This, the third day, of the fair was sunny and bright, and the\n     hearts of the management were correspondingly light. Even\n     before the gates were open a long array of teams were seeking\n     admission. The executive officers were early at their posts and\n     no time was lost in beginning the exercises of the day.\n     President J. H. Smith won golden opinions by the pleasant yet\n     firm manner he performed his duties. This morning the Capital\n     Guards were formally received by the  Industrial\n     Association.\n\n     \"Judge Gibbs, of Little Rock, delivered the welcome address,\n     which was a very eloquent and scholarly effort.\n\n     \"He first praised the directors of the fair for their wonderful\n     success, and said it argues well for the future of the <DW52>\n     people in that they have had extended such cordial support;\n     that nations were influential in the ratio of their\n     agricultural and mechanical development, and that the array of\n     production here made proclaimed in hopeful tones that 'we are\n     coming.'\n\n     \"He recognized in the formation of the Capital Guards a hopeful\n     omen. Drill develops precision and accuracy, aside from\n     physical development; discipline is invaluable in inculcating\n     the idea of subordination, without which no constitutional\n     government can long exist. Even if they never come within the\n     reach of fiery shot and shell, they would be benefited, and if\n     war's stern summons swept over the land, he felt confident that\n     no more ready response would be made by any class than by the\n     <DW64>.\"\n\nCaptain Thompson responded in behalf of his company, and alluded to the\nwhole-souled hospitality that had been bestowed upon them by the\nauthorities of the fair and the citizens generally. The Press\nAssociation had by their speeches proclaimed that the \"pen was mightier\nthan the sword,\" which he denied; \"that the independence of this country\nfrom the thraldom of England was won by Washington's sword, and that\nLincoln's pen only became effective after the sword had paved the way.\nIt was a recognized arbiter in the disputes of nations, although the pen\ncould render secure what the sword had won.\" The Captain put his company\nthrough several evolutions that were very creditably performed.\n\nIn affairs of this character the comingling of the substantial and best\nelement of the white race, their liberal subscriptions and fraternal\nendeavor, give impetus and valuable assistance, emphasizing the fact\nalong the lines of a higher industrial advancement that they are in\nhearty sympathy. We cannot too often have these object evidences of our\nprogress. They speak loud and convincing far beyond oral announcement\nthe most eloquent. It stimulates the farmer to extra exertion and more\ncareful measures for increase of quality and quantity of his crop; it\ninspires the artisan and mechanic for his best handiwork, and welcomes\narticles the product of our cultured and refined women from the realms\nof the home. We need this continued stimulus, shut out as we are from\nmost of the higher industries, the incentive born of contact, and which\npromotes rivalry, to us is denied; hence our inspiration must be inborn\nand unceasing.\n\nIn the economy of God and nature, His handiwork, prominent is \"the\nsurvival of the fittest.\" The fittest survive because they excel.\nWhether within the student's study or the mechanic's bench, it is\nexcellence that counts and heralds its own superiority. If we desire not\nonly the best personal success, but to be helpful to the race, it is not\nenough for one to be known as doctor, lawyer, mechanic, or planter; but\nit is upon what round of the ladder of science mechanics or agriculture\nhe stands. Is he above mediocrity; does he excel? The affirmative answer\nto this is the heroic offspring of self-denial and unceasing mental\ntoil.\n\nA feature of attraction at these fairs has been the drill and martial\nbearing of our military companies, for while jubilant in the \"pride and\npomp and circumstance of glorious war,\" the measure of praise for\nprecision of manouver of the soldier is only excelled by commendation\nfor his bravery in action. The  citizen took quiet pride and much\ninterest in these companies and were saddened when many were commanded\nby the State authorities to disband. The motives which conspired and\ndemanded their dissolution were not commendable, but ungrateful, for the\n<DW64> soldier in every war of the Republic has been valorous, loyal, and\nself-denying, and has abundantly earned a reputation for discipline and\nobedience to every military requirement.\n\nThe organization of these companies, furnished with State arms,\nauthorized and under the patronage of the government of many of the\nSouthern States, created an \"esprit d'corps,\" a fellowship and worthy\nambition conducive to harmony and the general welfare.\n\nPolitical friction, no doubt, had much to do with their displacement.\nBut now the Democracy, so long in power, with majorities in many of\nthese States almost cumbersome, could well afford to allow and patronize\nthese conservators for peace and efficient protectors in war, who are\never ready to say, as Jehu to Jonahab, \"Is thy heart right, as my heart\nis with thine heart? If it be, give me thine hand.\"\n\nPrevious to a Presidential campaign I attended a meeting of leading\n Republicans at New Orleans, La. It was not called as a strictly\npolitical conference in the interest of any particular candidate, but to\nexchange views and hear suggestions relating to pending legislation in\nMississippi and South Carolina for curtailing, if not abolishing <DW64>\nsuffrage in those States. Although the political condition of the <DW64>\nwas then and continues to be of such moment that at no intelligent\ngathering will it fail to \"bob up\" and demand a hearing, and this was no\nexception. While the claims of Reed, Morton, Allison, Harrison, and\nMcKinley were freely discussed, the suffrage was the leading topic.\n\nProminent among the attendants were T. T. Fortune, of New York; N. W.\nCuney and E. J. Scott, of Texas; W. A. Pledger and H. E. Johnson, of\nGeorgia; P. B. S. Pinchback, James Lewis, and J. Madison Vance, of\nLouisiana; Stevens, of Alabama; Stevens, of Louisville, Ky.; E. Fortune,\nof Florida; C. W. Anderson, of New York, and others.\n\n[Illustration: TIMOTHY T FORTUNE.\n\nEditor and Publisher of \"New York Age.\"\n\nBorn in Jackson County, Florida, October 6, 1856--Polished and Able--On\nthe Staff of the White Press at Metropolitan Centers--The Most\nAggressive and Trenchant Writer of the <DW64> Press.]\n\nThe late N. W. Cuney, of Texas, was a man of commanding presence,\nforceful and emphatic as a speaker; honest, tireless and\nself-sacrificing. His sterling qualities as a leader of men grows\nbrighter as time recedes from his demise.\n\nFearless in enunciation, the timid thought him impractical. But there is\never this concerning unpopular truth: When it induces honest thought\nthat burns to be spoken, you can depend it is not confined to a single\npossessor; it has habitation in many hearts. But he alone is the \"leader\nof leaders,\" who, with Eolian harp or trumpet call summons its\nworshipers. Among matters discussed was the charge that <DW64>\ndelegations were a marketable commodity, with no convictions as to\nnational policy, no regard for manly probity, and were ever at the beck\nof the highest purchaser in the political market. Such a sweeping charge\nis most unjust; but, if granted, the admission cuts deeply in the\nopposite direction, requiring no analysis to discover the preponderance\nof venality. It may happen between the receiver of stolen goods and the\nthief that impulse to steal is sometimes weakened by uncertainty of\nmarket. The <DW64> delegate has no market to seek; the market is jammed\nunder his nose at every turn by immaculate white men, often entrusted\nwith large sums to be placed \"where it will do the most good,\" report to\nthose interested the purchase of <DW64> votes, when such was not the\nfact. Satisfied they had placed it where it would do them the most good,\nby allowing it to rest in their pockets, this was not only hard on the\n<DW64>, but mean to charge him up with it, then not let him have it. To\nsay there were no <DW52> men susceptible to such advances would be as\nidle as to say there were no white men thereby influenced; but in either\ncase let us hope it was the exception and not the rule.\n\nConferences for statement and appeal for removing harsh conditions are\nhistoric, ante-dating and creating constitutional government; for,\nimplanted in the hearts is a consciousness of right, however much\nselfish hate may shut out recognition, or avarice stifle its egress, and\nthe measure of accord granted just claims of the petitioner is the moral\nand Christian status of a commonwealth.\n\nIt may be noted here that the character of accord given the <DW64> in his\nnow severe battle for justice and equality before the law by the\nChristian churches and other organizations is of a peculiar kind. While\nthe benefactions for moral and Christian education is to him\nindispensable, it is not the kind most prominent and effectually\npracticed by the Divine Master to dissipate wrong. He forbids the cry of\npeace when there is no peace. He was aggressive and distinct. The\npeculiarity of accord can be accounted for in this, that it is so much\neasier for the well-to-do Christian to donate to the <DW64> than by word\nor pen to denounce the wrongs to which he is subject. Wrong smiles\ncomplacently at any mode save direct attack. It is not in silent\nacquiescence, but on the forum of agitation and denouncement, that\nreform finds lodgment, so sadly needed in many of the States where he is\nthe victim of lawlessness and murder, his ballot suppressed, and denied\nrepresentation. The partiality and indecent haste with which he is tried\nand almost invariably sent to the penitentiary, where as convict he\nreceives the most barbarous treatment. As a people no one denies that\nthey are law-abiding; as laborers in all the avenues of industry in\nwhich they are capable they are faithful and honest: as patriots at the\nincipiency and duration of the Government they have been faithful and\nbrave. If, then, in the roll of patriots, citizens and producers, they\nhave maintained character for fidelity, deportment and industry, surely\nthey can rightly claim and demand as citizens of the Republic protection\nfrom outrage, justice in the courts and in every way equality before the\nlaw. They ask for nothing more, and would be unworthy to be content with\nany less.\n\nThe cry of \"<DW64> domination,\" like the \"baseless fabric of a vision,\"\nhas as little foundation. The problem to be solved is not what is or\nshall be the status of the <DW52> man born beneath the flag, but\nwhether the forces of Christian civilization, the genius and spirit of\nour Government, impartiality in the execution of law, without let or\nhindrance, are equal to the performance of their missions, or are only\n\"sounding brass and tinkling cymbals.\" That is the problem for our white\nfellow-citizens to solve. That which most troubles the <DW64> is has the\nnation sufficient Christianity and regard for justice to allow these\nforces to prevail? The assumption that citizens of a common country\ncannot live together in amity is false, denying as it does that lawful\ncitizenship is the panoply and bulwark of him who attains it, that\nshould vindicate and shield him, whether he be high or low, at home or\nabroad, whenever or wherever his civil rights are invaded.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\nNever in the history of conventions was there recorded such evidence of\nunswerving fidelity by an equal number to the nominee of their choice as\nthat shown at the National Convention in 1880, when General Grant's name\nwas before the assembly. Ordinarily when a leader is nominated for\nballot his supporter's are faithful as long as his prospects are\ninviting, but at the first evidence of decadence no flock of partridges\nscamper more readily to find cover. For years his birthday has been\ncelebrated by a reunion of the 306 who, from the first to the last of\nsounding of the 36th ballot, stood with ranks solidly closed and courage\nundaunted. At such a reunion at Philadelphia, in 1893, eighty were\npresent, and with speech, reminiscence and good cheer \"a feast of reason\nand a flow of soul,\" time sped \"till the wee sma' hours.\" Of the \ndelegates, Mr. Ferdinand Havis and the writer were present.\n\nMr. Havis, of Arkansas, \"to the manor born,\" deserves more than mere\nmention as the representative of a class in the South.\n\nHe is a gentleman of fine qualities of head and heart. As a member of\nthe Arkansas Legislature in 1873 and Clerk of Jefferson County for many\nyears, he has by honesty as an official and courtesy of manner made an\nunimpeachable record, and was only dethroned \"by fraud and force and\niron will.\" During his leadership of Jefferson County, where\nthree-quarters of all voters are , he was ever conservative and\nregardful of the views and business interests of the numerically weak\nbut financially strong minority of Democrats, and by supporting a\ncompromise ticket that gave most prominence to the minority sought to\npreserve harmony. But the efforts of such men have proved unavailing to\nstem the tide of political usurpation, now rampant at many places in the\nSouth.\n\nThe greatest menace to representative government is not solely the\ndisfranchisement of the <DW64>, for according with the eternal verities\nthere cannot be a continued disregard for the ballot in his hand and\nprotection for his life, and respect for them in the person of the white\nman. Under the genius of our Government the rights of claim and exercise\nare linked and interlinked.\n\nThis truth stands out in bold relief on historic page, and should the\nfuture historian record the dismemberment of the Republic, he will\nindite its decay from the commencement of the violation of this basic\nprinciple of civil government, his being but another link in the\nevidence that rapidity of material, without equality of moral,\nadvancement is ever attended with national decline.\n\nMeanwhile, it is the duty (which is ever the highest policy) of the\n<DW64> to be patriotic in his devotion to his country, manly in his\nappeals for justice, and wise by discarding, by word or action, the\nfomenting of strife; ever on the alert to close the breach by increase\nof intelligence, moral worth and financial progress, and thus in great\nmeasure dissipate ignorance, vice and poverty, the abolition of which\ncan be assisted, but not dispelled, save by a spirit of self-sacrifice\non his part, subjecting his lower nature to the control of the higher.\nWith such effort, united to a faith in God and the American conscience,\nhe will yet soften ascerbities, dispel hindrance, and stem the tide.\n\nPhilanthropy may assist a man to his feet, but cannot keep him there\nunaided by self-effort and an unconquerable will power to stand; while\nrelinquishing no part of his claim upon his white brother as recompense\nfor more than a century of unrequited labor, if with an equal chance for\nwork, education and legal protection, he cannot not only stand, but\nadvance, exertion in his behalf is \"love's labor lost,\" he having no\nrights worthy of respect.\n\nBut in no fair mind can there exist doubt as to his advancement. A\npeople nine-tenths of whom 40 years ago did not legally own themselves\nor property, now having 140,000 farms, homes and industries worth\n$800,000,000; a people who, for a century previous to emancipation, were\nby law forbidden to learn to read or write, now have 3,000,000 children\nin 27,000 schools, and have reduced their illiteracy 45 per cent., have\nschool and church property to the amount of $50,000,000, contributing\nthemselves thereto $20,000,000; have written 300 books; have over 250\nnewspapers issued each week. His comparative success as merchant,\nmechanic or other line of industry which he is permitted to enter,\nspeaks for itself, and finally, with per capita valuation of $75. Yet,\nin face of such statistical evidence, there are not wanting the\nTillmans, Morgans, Burke Cockrans and other seers of a Montgomery\nconvention, who, because the <DW64>, trammeled, as he is, does not keep\nstep with the immense strides of the dominant class in their wondrous\nachievement, the product of a thousand years of struggle and culture,\nunblushingly allege that he is relapsing into barbarism, and with an\ningratitude akin to crime, are oblivious to the fact that a large\nmeasure of the intellectual and material status of the nation and the\ncultured ability they so balefully use to <DW44> him, are the product of\na century of his unrequited labor.\n\nThe feeling that the results of the civil war have been beneficent,\nharmonizing theory and practice in the autonomy of the nation is\nmanifest and conceded. The growing unity of the people of our country\nwho 40 years ago were engaged in fraternal strife, should be a source of\npleasure and welcomed by every patriotic heart; for, while bitterness\ncan be assuaged, and laudable effort made to conform to new conditions,\nstill convictions formed and baptized in the fiery ordeal of war, blood\nand material loss require fortitude, generosity and patriotism to soften\ntheir asperity, and much kindly intercourse to promote the general\nwelfare. The increased desire in this direction is evidenced at each\nrecurring \"Decoration Day,\" when the Blue and the Gray harmoniously\nintermingle, recalling memories and incidents of the internal strife.\nThe soldiers of each vieing in reciprocity, as with \"a union of hearts\nand a union of hands\" with fragrant flowers they bedeck historic sod.\n\nBut will the nation remember that after all that can be said or written,\nof heroic circumstance of war, or in praise of its participants, all\nthese bereft of humanity and justice to the weak, fail to constitute an\nenduring State, for eternal and immutable is the decree that\n\"righteousness exalteth a nation.\" Relative to this intermingling of\nformer foes, whatever our estimate of the results of human action may\nbe, we cannot unerringly divine impurity of motive; hence respect for\nhonest conviction must be the prelude to that unity of patriotism which\nis ever the safeguard to the integrity of a nation.\n\nThe spirit that impelled contributions for the erection of the\nConfederate monuments in different sections of our country from donors,\nirrespective of former affiliation, has been benign in its influence. In\n1897 the Hon J. N. Smithea instituted a movement for such a memorial in\nLittle Rock, Ark., stipulating that responses should be limited to one\ndollar. Impressed that our race should not be indifferent to such an\nappeal, I transmitted the following:\n\n    J. N. Smithea, Editor \"Gazette,\"\n                 Little Rock, Ark.:\n\nI notice your effort to erect a monument to the Confederate dead. A\nthird of a century has elapsed since the civil war. Conviction in the\nminds of the participants on either side as to who was right and who was\nwrong is as firmly fixed as the eternal hills. Given, that a view of\nevents leading up to that fraternal strife, the bravery of the one or\nheroic conduct of the other from standpoints necessarily different will\nnever find mutual ground for justification, it seems the mission of\npatriotism and national unity to give the hand of welcome to every\neffort that will unite us in all that will promote the common glory of\nthe Republic. As one of the representatives of a race, especially in\nthis southland, I cheerfully subscribe my dollar to the fund, feeling\nthat the <DW64> should joyfully hail every effort to soften animosities\nwhich are the outgrowth of a struggle in which, unwittingly, he was so\nimportant a factor.\n\n[Illustration: WILLIAM A. PLEDGER,\n\nChairman Republican State Central Committee of Georgia.\n\nBorn near Athens forty-five years ago--Has been a delegate to every\nNational Republican Convention for the last twenty-five years--A leader\ntrusted and tried.]\n\nNo one should be more anxious to cement the friendly and good offices of\nour more-favored fellow-citizens, from whom we are receiving the largest\nshare of our educational and material assistance, so greatly needed to\nbring us up to the full measure of a noble citizenship. By the\nprovidence of God we are here, and are here to stay. We are producers of\nwealth and the conservators of peace. Therefore, encourage us by the\nexercise of justice and magnanimity, that we can say to you, as Ruth to\nNaomi in Holy Writ: \"Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from\nfollowing after thee, for whither thou goest I will go; and where thou\nlodgest I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God;\nwhere thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so\nto me and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.\"\n\n    Very truly yours, etc.,\n\nMonuments are the mute mile stones, the connecting links between a\nfinished effort, and an inspiration for continued struggle. But\nmonuments are not created after the death of those they commemorate,\nalthough they may seem to be; they are but memorials of the structure\nalready built, the solidity of whose base and symmetry of whose lines\nwere projected and fashioned by intensity of conviction and the\nunswerving courage of their prototypes in ameliorating conditions while\nthey lived. Bereft of this, \"monuments themselves memorials need.\"\n\nHaving administered the office of Register of United States land by\nappointments from Presidents Hayes and Arthur, my last service in the\nInterior Department was under an appointment from President Harrison,\nwho, in 1889, placed me as Receiver of Public Moneys at Little Rock,\nArk., Land District. It was during this term that the Department ordered\nand appointed Special Commissioners to conduct the sale of unsold lots\non the Hot Springs Reservation at auction. As one of the Commissioners\nand Receiver of Public Moneys, I was required and gave a qualified bond\nfor $100,000 for the faithful performance of the trust, and with\nRegister Raleigh proceeded and discharged the duties thereto. Harrison's\nterm ended a career of twelve years in the land office. If in\nretrospective moments amid the many beneficent things you might have\ndone, but left undone, you catch here and there glimpses of unselfish\nambition or benefit you have conferred, it does much to abate regret,\nfor the recollection to me is a source of pleasure that during those\nterms by personal convass and unofficial publication I contributed in\ninducing thousands of immigrants and others to homestead the virgin soil\nof Arkansas, who have now good homes, comprising 40, 80 or 160 acres of\nland, besides assisting them in establishing schools for their\nchildren.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n\nIn October, 1897, by telegrams from my friends, Nathaniel McKay and Dr.\nPurvis, of Washington, D. C., I was informed that I had been appointed\nUnited States Consul for the island of Madagascar.\n\nIt was a surprise; for, while truth compels the admission that I was not\naverse to \"being taken in and done for,\" Madagascar had not come within\nmy purview; its distance had not \"lent enchantment to the view.\" I gave\nit some thought, but could not perceive that I had been so annoyingly\npersistent to merit a response from the President, not unlike that given\nby Mr. Blaine to one Mr. Tite Barnacle, who was willing to compromise on\na foreign appointment. \"Certainly,\" was the reply; the \"foreigner the\nbetter.\" I concluded, however, that the bard may have been right when he\nwrote \"There is a destiny that shapes our ends,\" for it often happens\nthat what a man desires is just what he ought not to have; and whether\nwhat he gets is to be beneficial depends largely upon its use.\n\nI was summoned to Washington, and after a conference received my\ncommission, returned to Little Rock to prepare for departure to my post,\n\"10,000 miles away.\"\n\nI received a warm greeting and a \"jolly send-off\" at a banquet given me\non Christmas eve by many friends. To name a few of the devoted would be\ninvidious to the many. It will suffice to say I felt grateful and\ntouched by the many expressions, which added testimony to their valued\nappreciation. Arriving at New York I was met by Mr. W. H. Hunt, who had\napplied and been highly commended for the position of clerk to the\nconsulate, and who, after a year's faithful service, in pursuance of my\nrecommendation, was appointed Vice-Consul, and is now Consul.\n\nThis, my appointment as Consul to Tamatave, severs a decade's connection\nas \"Secretary of the Republican State Central Committee,\" and especially\nwith its Chairman, Mr. Henry Cooper, who, indefatigable as a worker,\ngenial, but positive in his convictions, has managed the machinery of\nthe party with but little friction. The remembrance of the partiality,\nhonors and kindness of which I have been a recipient from members of the\nparty, irrespective of \"race or previous condition,\" will be ever bright\nand cheery.\n\nOn January, 1, 1898, we embarked on the French steamship Champagne, and\narrived at Havre on the 9th, and took train for Paris. The cars either\nfor comfort or retirement in no way equal ours, eight in a compartment,\nsitting omnibus fashion, face to face. We rolled on to the Capital,\npassing many fine villas, the product of French architecture.\nEverywhere one is impressed with the national peculiarities--the houses,\nthe streets, modes of conveyance and transportation. Compactness,\nneatness, order and precision pervades their every undertaking; but for\ncelerity and despatch of business they were painful to encounter or\nbehold, for it ill accords with the American mode. A ride of four hours\nand we reach Paris. At the depot the baggage is placed on long tables\nawaiting examination by custom-house officers. Mine was passed without.\nTook cab for \"Hotel de Binda,\" exquisitely furnished and centrally\nlocated, having easy access to places of note.\n\nThis being the most disagreeable time of year, a fire in the rooms was\nnecessary, for outside everywhere was a damp, penetrating air, remaining\nhere 15 days with the sight of the sun but once.\n\nThe next day after my arrival I called on the American Ambassador, Mr.\nPorter, in relation to my exequator, to be issued by the French\nGovernment. It is a recognition of status, and a formal permit from one\nnation to another to allow their respective Consuls to exercise the\nduties appertaining thereto and a guarantee of protection in their\nperformance. Had a very cordial reception from Mr. J. R. Gowdy, our\nConsul at Paris. Visited the Paris office of the New York Herald, where\nmany files of American and European papers can be perused. A visit to\nthe \"Louvre\" is a joy for the layman, as for the connoisseur, galleries\na mile or more in length hung with paintings grand in imagery and beauty\nof old masters, French and Italian, centuries old. Many showed the\nsilent, slow and impressive steps of age. But \"you may break, you may\nscatter the vase if you will, the scent of the roses will linger there\nstill,\" for on shrunken canvas or from luster dimmed was imperial tone\nof materialized conception \"not born to die.\"\n\nAmong the guests of the hotel were two gentlemen, one an American\ncapitalist, the other a German merchant from Berlin, the latter speaking\nFrench like a native. We became pleasant companions, and concluded on\nSunday evening to go to the \"Follies Bergere\"--in American parlance a\nvariety theater.\n\nTen minutes' drive brought us to a very large building, lighted as if by\nsunlight, where a hundred finely-dressed men and women crowded for\nentrance. Outside of what we term pit and dress circle is a partition,\nthree or four feet high, dividing them from a promenade ten or fifteen\nfeet wide. You can stand or sit in this promenade, and see the\nperformance. Our friends suggested this plan, as we could see and hear\nmore of Parisian peculiarities. Here many very beautiful women\npromenaded. They had evidently been touched by artists, for their\nmake-up was superb. But I could not but think of the refrain of a song\nwe have all heard, \"Oh, but what a difference in the morning.\" They had\nsweet, pretty sayings, clothed in all the softness of modulation and\nearnestness of gesture of the French people. My American friend, like\nmyself, was Frenchless, and as a consequence invulnerable. The\nappearance of the occupants of the front row of seats very forcibly\nreminded me of a similar locality at the Capital Theater in the City of\nRoses, on similar occasions, where many of my old friends with gaze\nintent loved to congregate. The performance was spectacular and\nacrobatic, with usual evolutions, with more \"abandon\" and very artistic.\nPassing through the cafe, where hundreds of finely-dressed men and women\nwere sitting at tables quietly talking, smoking and drinking wine or\ncoffee, we passed to the street.\n\nThere is much to delight in a walk through the Tulleries and \"Palace de\nla Concord.\" These public squares have an acreage of several hundred,\nand are adorned with flowing fountains and marvelous statuary. Passing\nthrough the Tulleries brings you to the \"Dome de Invalids,\" in which is\nNapoleon's tomb. The building and dome is of the most exquisite\narchitecture. Upon entry everywhere your gaze is confronted by stately\ncolumns of Italian marble arches, statuary, flags of many varieties,\ncaptured by Napoleon from his enemies on many battlefields, besides\nother trophies of war.\n\nAs you look down a circular pit twenty feet deep and forty feet wide,\nenclosed by a balustrade of Italian marble, you see the sarcophagus, in\nwhich is inclosed all that was mortal of the great Napoleon. The mosaic\npavement at the bottom of the pit represents a wreath of laurels; on it\nrests the sarcophagus, consisting of a single block, highly polished, of\nreddish brown granite, fourteen feet high, thirteen long and seven wide,\nbrought from Finland at a cost of $25,000. Above rises a lofty dome 160\nfeet high, divided into two sections, one of twelve compartments, each\ncontaining a figure of one of the twelve apostles; the other\nrepresenting St. Louis offering to Christ the sword with which to\nvanquish his enemies.\n\nWhile in Paris I visited Mrs. Mason, widow of James Mason, deceased. Mr.\nMason was formerly a member of the Arkansas Senate and Sheriff of Chicot\nCounty. It will be remembered by old residents that the death of Mason's\nfather, an old bachelor and rich planter, who died intestate, caused a\nsuit at law of great interest and importance. It was an exciting trial,\nas many thousands of dollars were at stake in the issue. The fatherly\ncare he had ever evinced for the education of his children (James having\nbeen educated in France and Martha at a Northern college); the\nsolicitude and unfailing recognition, the many instances of which he had\ndesignated them as direct heirs, and other evidence, collateral and\nconvincing, were availing. They received a jury award.\n\n[Illustration: HON. JOHN C. DANCY,\n\nRecorder of Deeds for District of Columbia.\n\nBorn at Torboro, S. C., May, 1857--Entered Howard University--Elected\nRecorder of Deeds of Edgecombe County, S. C., in 1880 and 1882--Late\nCollector of the Port at Willmington, S. C.--Christian and Progressive\nin the Church--Eminent and Eloquent in the State.]\n\nAn appeal to the Supreme Court of the United States was taken, which\ndragged its weary way for a number of years, but resulted in confirming\nthe decision of the lower court. Mrs. Mason was for many years, through\nthe patronage and kindness of Senator Garland and other members of\nCongress from Arkansas, a clerk in the Land Office at Washington. I\nfound Mrs. Mason living in well-appointed apartments with her daughter,\nan artistic painter of some note, with studio adjoining, where I was\nshown many beautiful productions of her brush. I was conversant with\nmany instances in the North where Southern planters had brought their\n families to be educated, purchasing and giving them property for\nsettlement and sustenance, especially that their girls might escape the\nenvironments which undoubtedly awaited them at the South. These were in\nfine and valuable contradistinction to many cases similarly related,\nwhere they were sold on the auction block to the highest bidder. But in\nall candor it cannot but be supposed that in many instances the sale of\nthe planter's own flesh and blood was involuntary. High living, neglect\nof the comparative relation of resource and expenditure, gambling for\nbig stakes on steamboat and at Northern watering places, brought the\nevil day with attending results to the \"chattel\" subject to the baneful\ncaprice of unrestrained liberty.\n\nOn the 23d of January, 1898, I was taking my leave of Paris to meet my\nsteamer at Marseilles for a 20-day voyage for Madagascar. My stay at\nthe hotel had been pleasant, and I supposed had received all necessary\nattention from the servants that occasion demanded; but in character it\nhad been individual. Now it was united, for in doorway and on staircase\nthey were (like Tennyson's cannon) servants \"to the right of me and\nservants to the left of me,\" smiling and gracious. One, of whom I had no\nrecollection of having previously seen, approached me with an obeisance\ndecidedly French to remind me that he was the \"baggage man\" and attended\nto it when I arrived. I replied, \"You are not the man who took up my\nbaggage.\" \"No,\" he said; \"I am the man who looked after the man who\nwatched the man who did take it up.\" \"Oh!\" I said; and then remembering\nthat he and I had much in common, his English and my French being twins,\nI conceded his claim, \"tipped\" others that impeded my exit, and made\nhasty retreat.\n\nLeaving Paris at 2:30 P. M., at 2 in the morning we reached Lyons,\nstopping 25 minutes for coffee and refreshments, which reached a\nlong-felt want, arriving at Hotel de Louvre et de la Paix, at\nMarseilles, three hours later. Paris is prolific in names of its hotels,\nbut this was commensurate in luxury and first class in every particular,\nvery large, the finest in Marseilles and said to be unsurpassed in\nFrance. It is approached by a hall-way fifty feet long from Rue\nCanebrian (the street), which leads you into an oval-shaped court 100\nby 200 feet. Around this court in niches are finely-sculptured statuary,\npaintings and choice flowers in porcelain vases. Out of this court you\nare conducted into the hotel proper. Spacious stairways of Italian\nmarble, the tread of which covered with Turkish carpets, leads you to\nthe interior. The court in the inner center of the hotel rises to a\nheight of five or six stories, and is covered by parti- glass,\nwhich emits a soft and pleasing tint on all below. The dining room was\n\"a thing of beauty,\" and the menu \"a joy forever.\" The adornments of the\nroom would well befit a palace. Oh, that I had the tongue of an orator\nor the pen of a ready writer, to fitly describe! Took breakfast and then\na stroll along the principal streets of the city and the wharves of the\nMediterranean. The city resembled a bee hive; the houses and streets are\nliterally crowded with men and women of all nationalities and costumes.\n\nWending our way to \"Notre Dame,\" a magnificent church on a hill, one\nthousand feet above the level of the city, entirely overlooking it,\nwhile the Mediterranean lies sparkling in the distance directly below.\nOn the top of the dome of this edifice is a figure encased in gold,\nrepresenting \"Holy Mary\" with the Christ in her arms. A gallery\nsurrounds the church, from which the view is grand and imposing. Ascent\nand descent can be made by an elevator.\n\nOn the 25th of January we embarked on board our ship, the \"Pie Ho,\" and\nfound state room comfortable for the longest voyage of our travel. The\nview as we pass out of the harbor of Marseilles is quite picturesque,\nwith its quaint old buildings, mountainous surroundings, its medley of\nships, soldiers and sailors of every nation, differing in uniform and\ncostume. Here, as I suppose it is everywhere where love and friendship\ndwell, hundreds had assembled at docks and quays and other points of\nvantage to waive hands and handkerchiefs of a loving farewell. I thought\nof my dear daughter on the wharf at New York and her anxious gaze until\nwe were lost in the distance. This ship, the \"Pie Ho,\" of a French line,\nis said to be old, but staunch, comfortable and giving good service; but\na failure in that particular the want of which <DW44>s the success of\nmany people of whom it could be truthfully said by Christian and\nmoralist that they were good and reliable. The \"Pie Ho\" is not swift,\nbut if she retains the commendation that oft accompanies slowness, that\nof being sure, we should be content. But age has its limits, and happy\nshould all be who safely and honorably round up the voyage of life.\n\nWe are now in full view of Mount Strombol in the Mediterranean, a\nvolcano in full blast, emitting fire and clouds of smoke. Yesterday we\nentered the Ionian Sea; today we have land on either side, Sicily on our\nright and Italy on our left, with a good view of its coast lines;\ncities, towns, cultivated fields and trains in motion. At 2 P. M.\nJanuary 30 we see Dermot Lighthouse, and at 3 reach Port Said. The\nKhedive's dominion, a Government and business point, with many consular\nresidences. It was the first sight of the \"old flag\" since leaving\nMarseilles. It is a new baptism of patriotism for one to see the\nnational banner so far from home, and impromptu he sings, \"long may it\nwave,\" for \"with all thy faults I love thee still.\"\n\nWe anchored out in the bay, and with small boats went ashore. Port Said\nis quite cosmopolitan both in its business and residence features.\nNearly every nationality has its representative in trade, but\nnumerically the unspeakable Turk is very much in evidence. On landing\none of the guards, numerous and whose charges are fixed by law, took us\nin charge to show us the city. The streets generally were unimproved and\nirregular, both in architecture and location. Through several dingy and\nuntidy streets he led us to the public park, which made considerable\npretension to order and neatness. The turban, the wrap, the sandals and\nother Oriental costumes, which made up the dress, were not more varied\nthan the complexion of the people, but their features were generally\nfine-cut. A marble bust of De Lesseps, the contractor of the Suez Canal,\nwhich we shall soon enter, has a prominent place.\n\nThrough several streets, monotonous for disorder and uncleanliness, we\nreached the \"Mosque,\" the Mahomedan place of worship. In the minaret\nhigh up on the tower stood an officer awaiting the hour to lower the\nflag as a signal to all Musselmen that they could eat, the day being one\nof their fast days. In all the streets through which we passed could be\nseen groups of the faithful with anxious look toward the minaret to\ncatch the first downward movement of the flag. It came at last, and with\nit the shouting and running of the crowds to booths and stands for\neating purposes that lined the sidewalks. We approached the \"Mosque\"\nwith all the solemnity possible for hypocritical heretics to assume, and\nwere met at the door by a grave and reverent sire, who interviewed the\nguide.\n\nWe had been told that we would have to take off our shoes (just here we\nnoted the same pliancy observable in many of our own denomination when\nthere is prospect of getting the almighty dollar). In some way the\nmatter was compromised by putting on over our shoes large sandals made\nof straw. After paying 50 centimes each (equal to 10 cents in our\ncurrency), we entered a large room without furniture or other adornment,\nwith stone floor, some matting, upon which a number of worshipers were\nkneeling and supplicating \"Allah,\" their supreme being. There was an\nearnestness that bespoke sincerity, and an all-abiding faith. I could\nbut think how few of us who would criticise are true to the creed we\nprofess.\n\nIn a kind of lavatory adjoining could be seen men washing their feet and\ndoing oddities unmentionable preparatory to worship.\n\nAfter wandering about the building for some time I was accosted by one\nof the attendants, and was made to understand that one of my feet was\nuncovered. I had lost one of my sandals. I was rather uneasy for a\nwhile, not knowing what they might do with that unholy foot that had\ndesecrated the temple. The guide found it, however, and \"Richard was\nhimself again.\" After leaving the \"Mosque\" the guide escorted us\nshipward through the business portion of the city, neat and cleanly,\nwith hotels and stores creditable to a metropolis. But for beggars of\nunrivaled persistency I commend you to Port Said, for with a\npitiableness, sincere or assumed, they dog your every footstep.\n\nAt the southern part of the city is a large cemetery, having stones with\nmany hieroglyphics and inscriptions denoting the former locality,\ncharacter and virtues of the dead. With the scholar are interred copies\nof his literary productions; with the soldier, his sword; with the\nstatesman, a roll of his achievements for the good of the state, for\npresentation to \"Allah.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\n\nThe passage through the Suez Canal was somewhat monotonous, but a\ncontinued reminder of bible history. On either side as far as the eye\ncould reach the desert spread out its sandy atoms glistening in the sun.\n\nOut of the canal we are in the Gulf of Suez, and in a few hours in the\nRed Sea, an interesting locality in ancient history. It is there we\nlearn that Pharaoh and his hosts met their Waterloo (with the accent on\nthe water) in the pursuit of the children of Israel. But here we find\nconflicting opinions. Some say that Pharaoh, arriving at the bank and\nseeing the impossibility of overtaking them, turned and retired; others,\nthat there were shoal places in those far-away days where any one could\ncross; others, that they crossed on flats very like the ordinary modern\nmortal. But I do not accept this attempt to question the orthodox\nversion, but will verify it as far as my observation will admit. The sea\nwas likely red in those days, and has very properly retained its name on\naccount of the locality being red-hot at times, or, perhaps, chameleon\nlike, changes its color. This morning, however, it is a deep blue. As to\nPharaoh and his hosts getting drowned, there cannot be doubt, if it was\nin its present condition and they attempted to cross on foot.\n\nBut this we do know, that the success of the \"Children of Israel\" in not\nbeing \"overtaken\" has been the prototype of father to son in every\neffort to do so from that day to the present. There is a serious view,\nhowever. Here the sea, sky and neighborhood of Jerusalem, pyramids,\nmonuments and sacred traditions all conspire to have a solemn and\nawe-inspiring effect. Thousands of generations of men have lived and\nmoved in the activities that engage modern humanity, but have passed\nlike fleeting shadows, leaving only these sentinels as perpetual\nreminders. While the \"Red Sea\" sings in murmuring cadence that \"men may\ncome, and men may go, but I go on forever,\" doubly impressing us that\n\n    \"So the multitude goes, like the flower or weed,\n    That wither away to let others succeed;\n    So the multitude comes, even those we behold,\n    To repeat every tale that has often been told.\"\n\nBut a truce to moralizing on the past. The children of Israel seem to\nhave made and kept their record as \"passengers.\" I was interested in the\npassage of a child of Ham. I am somewhat deficient in Bible history, and\nam without knowledge of the whereabouts of Ham's children at that time,\nor whether they had \"crossing\" to do; but if they possessed the\nproverbial character imputed to some of their offspring, antipathy to\nwater, especially for lavatory purposes, I am of the opinion they took\nno desperate chances, \"content to bear the ills they had than fly to\nthose they knew not of.\"\n\nPassing Hurich Island, a British possession, and having had a very\npleasant passage on the Red Sea, we arrive at Djiboute, Abyssinia, the\nterminus of King Menelik's domain, the scenes of recent conflict between\nItaly and the King's forces, the \"unpleasantness\" resulting unprofitably\nto the Italians. There were landed from the ship many boxes of rifles\nand ammunition for the King's governor, who resides here. During the few\nhours we remained there, we were interested in and enjoyed the gathering\nof ten or fifteen native boys around the ship diving for centimes or\nfrancs thrown by the passengers, their dexterity as divers, securing\nevery penny, was as clever as grotesque. They remained in the water six\nor eight hours during the ship's stay. A few hours brought us to Aden, a\nvery strongly fortified appendage to the British Empire at the south end\nof the Red Sea. For armament and strategical locality it is the\nGibraltar of the southern seas.\n\nThe rivalry of native boatmen for passengers and luggage to take ashore\nwas appalling. When I say it surpassed a third ward political meeting in\n\"ye olden times\" in Little Rock I faintly describe it. Sunday morning;\nonce more on the way; one more stop, and then to Tamatave, our\ndestination.\n\nLooking this beautiful morning on the foam-crest waves as they roll in\nsportive emulation, with a cloudless sky coming down on every side to\nkiss the horizon, shutting out human vision of all else beyond, one\ncould not fail to be impressed with the greatness, the omnipotence of\nthe Creator. This being but a speck of that vast whole, comprising the\ncelestial and terrestrial aggregation, he, indeed, who regards this\nsublime workmanship as the product of chance and not that of a\nsuper-human architect and law-giver, by Whom every atom of nature is\ncontrolled, is more to be pitied than condemned.\n\nTo conclude our voyage, we have six or seven days of \"innocuous\ndesuetude.\" That is what I believe President Cleveland designated a\nmonotonous and unprofitable period. I am not certain, however, and one\nshould be careful in quoting great authors.\n\nWe pass the Gulf of Aden and enter the Indian Ocean, Rem Huffien Island\nto the right, and now appears the eastern coast lines of the continent\nof Africa. On that continent, I learn, lies the ashes of my forefathers.\nPeace abide with them, and may peace crowned with justice come to such\nof their descendants as are still the victims of dishonesty and\ninhumanity by enlightened and professedly Christian nations.\n\nTravel by sea loses in interest as you recede or are midway between\ndistant points. You somehow feel yourself located in the neighborhood of\n\"Mahomet's coffin,\" and have a sort of a \"don't-care-a-continental\"\natmosphere surrounding you, with nothing to arrest attention save the\nusual incidents of ocean voyage, with no land in sight. The\nconstitutional promenade on deck before and after meals, with the French\netiquette of raising your hat or cap as you pass; reading or lounging on\nsofas or reclining chairs; relating individual experiences of life or\ntravel; criticising the conduct of others than yourselves; the welcome\nsound of the bell that calls you to meals; the last view of the sun as\nit bids you \"good-bye,\" with its ineffectual rays, and gently sinks\nbeneath the horizon; the rising of the moon, shedding its sheen of\nsparkling light on the dancing waves; retirement to your couch to listen\nawhile to the heavy breathing, and feel the pulse-beat of the iron\nmonitor as it speeds you onward; finally to sleep, to dream of loved\nones at home.\n\nThe suavity of the French is in notable contrast with the more taciturn\ndeportment of the English; amiable contact has much to do with softening\nthe asperities of life.\n\nWe are now crossing the heretofore much-dreaded equator--weather\nsplendid, light, cloth suit not uncomfortable, but we are at sea and not\non land. The forward deck is today given up to the sports of the\nsailors (the custom when crossing the line), and is now the center of\nattraction--running \"obstacle races,\" the two competitors getting under,\nand from under a canvas-sheet held to the deck by a number of their\nfellows, and then running for the goal, picking up potatoes as they ran.\nAfterwards, with bucket of paste and paintbrush, lathering head and\nface, shaving with a large wooden razor the unlucky competitor--were a\npart of the amusements they imposed on \"Old Father Time.\"\n\nArrived at Diego Suarez, on the northern port of Madagascar, a French\nnaval station, having a land-locked harbor, providing good shelter and\nanchorage. The town is located on a plateau overlooking the bay. Many\nofficers disembarked and a large amount of freight discharged. The\nresident population consisted of a medley from all eastern nations.\nAnchored a mile off and in small boats, and after 20 minutes' rowing we\nwere landed. A dozen stores, barracks and the hospital on the opposite\nside of the bay were the only objects of interest. The large amount of\nfreight discharged indicated it to be a prominent distributing point for\nthe interior. Leaving Diego and running down the eastern coast with land\nin view, mountainous and apparently sterile, we reach Tamatave and\nanchor in the bay.\n\nThe ship was soon boarded by a messenger from Mr. Wetter, the outgoing\nAmerican Consul at Madagascar, and I was piloted ashore. The view of\nTamatave from the ship was not prepossessing, and my walk through the\ncity to the hotel was not inspiring. The attempt to dignify the six or\neight feet wide alleys (which were the main arteries for travel) as\navenues or streets, seemed ludicrous, and the filthy condition, the\nabsence of all sanitary regulations in a province pretending a civilized\nadministration, was to me a revelation. The natural sequence of such\nneglect was the visitation of the \"Bubonic plague\" a few months after my\narrival and an immense death-rate. The alarm proved a conservator for\nthe living, for the burning of the effected districts, widening the\nstreets and enforcement of sanitary rules have tended to lessen its\nvirulence, although it has been yearly in its visitations; for while\nfoul surroundings are recognized as hot-beds for the propagation of the\ngerms of this pest, recent experience has demonstrated that while\ncleanliness and rigid sanitary measures are less inviting, they are not\npositive barriers to its approach and dire effect. The \"terror\"\noriginally supposed to be indigenous only to India, Egypt, and China,\nand so domestic in its habits as to confine its ravages to few\nprecincts, now stalks forth as on a world mission--to Mauritius in\nIndian Ocean, to Japan, Brazil, Australia, Honolulu, and last and not\nleast, interesting from an American point of view, are the stealthy\nfootsteps of the unwelcome guest in the city of San Francisco, Cal.\n\"While medical information relating to the plague is still less definite\nand extensive than it should be,\" says an eminent physician, \"it is now\nwell demonstrated that the disease depends upon a specific microbe.\"\n\nIt may be communicated from one person to another through expectoration,\noozings from the mouth of dying persons, or through the excretions of\nthe body. \"The fears it inspires are well grounded, for the recoveries\nin a case of severe epidemics are only ten per cent. Of 126 cases\nreported from Manila from January 20 to March 30, 1900, 112 cases\nresulted fatally.\" In India, where the plague has been the most severe,\nthe deaths from this cause have averaged 5,000 a week of recent years, a\nconsiderable amount of study has been devoted to the various phases of\nthe plague, by physicians in Europe and the East especially, and a\nnumber have given their lives to the cause of medical science in\nattempts to find some method of successfully combating it. It is\nneedless to say that no specific has as yet been discovered in its\ntreatment, and ordinary curative measures have but little effect on its\ncourse.\n\nIn Chinatown, San Francisco, where it made its appearance, a rigid\n\"cordon sanitaire\" was established, and all outer intercourse\nprohibited. It is not believed that conditions are inviting in North\nAmerica, although \"the wish may be father to the thought.\"\n\nThe following brief expression relative to Madagascar and comment on\n<DW64> status in the following letter to the \" American,\"\npublished in Washington City, may be in place:\n\n                    Tamatave, Madagascar, Aug. 5, 1900.\n\n     Dear Friend Cooper: I have your favor June 14th last, in which\n     you say you would like to have a line from me, that you \"may\n     let the friends over here know what you are doing.\" Well, here\n     it is, line upon line, if not precept, etc. I am \"still doing\n     business at the same old stand,\" and doubt if I have anything\n     to say regarding this \"far-away post\" that would particularly\n     interest your readers, engrossed as I perceive they are in\n     domestic phases and in the alignment of our recent\n     acquisitions.\n\n     Regarding the physical development or moral progress of\n     Madagascar, as you know it is now a French province, with a\n     Governor General and staff, all appointees from France. The\n     Government is doing considerable to open up the country by\n     means of telegraphs, railroads, turnpikes and canals. At Paris\n     they recently voted sixty millions francs (12 million dollars)\n     for a railroad from here to Tananarivo, the capital, 200 miles\n     from here, over a mountainous and broken country. The capital\n     is situated on a plateau 5,000 feet above sea level, with a\n     climate cool and bracing. Here at Tamatave a fireplace or\n     heating stove in a house are unknown appendages. The Hovas for\n     a long period were the rulers previous to the conquest and\n     occupation by the French, who by diplomacy--\"force and iron\n     will\"--the means usually adopted by the strong when a coveted\n     prize looms in the distance, added an immense territory to\n     their colonial possessions. But perhaps in the interest of\n     civilization the change is not to be deplored. The Hovas were a\n     superior class of Madagascan people the rulers being men of\n     education and ability, but not equal in quality or quantity to\n     cope with the energy, wealth and military prowess of a power\n     like France.\n\n     The mental and physical conditions of the great bulk of the\n     natives were not, and are not, inviting; they were held by a\n     mild system of slavery, a system that in substance still exists\n     under French rule as to forced labor on public works. The\n     severity of tasks and bad rum are said by a friendly society at\n     Paris in its protest \"to be fast decimating their number.\" The\n     French Government, however, are establishing an extension of\n     schools for the natives, where industrial training will be the\n     marked feature, and which on yesterday, the occasion being an\n     official visit the Governor was pleased to pay me, I took pains\n     to extol; as you know industrial training is my pet. The\n     General wisely remarking, \"we wish first to place the present\n     generation in a position to earn more money, so they will be\n     able to give their offspring a higher education if they wish.\"\n     The English, Norwegians from America, the Friends and other\n     missions, are doing something for their educational and moral\n     progress, but the appliances are meager compared with the\n     herculean task that awaits them.\n\n     There is, however, this difference in the problem here. There\n     are <DW52> men occupying places of prominence as officials, as\n     tellers in banks, clerks in counting-houses and merchant\n     stores. Here it is condition, and not color, wealth and\n     position, the \"open sesame.\" On social occasions the brother in\n     black is in evidence, without special notice of the fact, and,\n     strangest of it all, on the following day the sun and other\n     heavenly bodies seem to stand or revolve in their accustomed\n     orbits. My health has been good, although the bubonic pest,\n     periodical in its visitations, has been alarming in the\n     suddenness of its destruction of life. In the spring it is\n     again expected to alight without \"healing in its wings.\" But I\n     will not longer dwell on Madagascan peculiarities, many of\n     which, as elsewhere, are not chastening. What I am interested\n     in, and want to know about is, how you are getting on with the\n     \"old grudge?\" If I judge correctly from the journals that reach\n     me, that during my near three years' absence, its status,\n     unlike renowned grape-juice, has neither dissipated or improved\n     by lapse of time, and that lynching and disfranchisement still\n     have the right of way.\n\n     The expansion of our sovereignty is fraught with complications,\n     and onerous duties from the statesman, the zeal of the\n     humanitarian, and of reformers and friends of equitable\n     government, unflinching determination are required, that\n     kindness and justice shall be ceded to the people thereof. But\n     is the prospect for the dissemination or ascendancy of these\n     virtues either bright or promising? If the exercise and\n     enjoyments of these attributes are not granted to millions of\n     the American household, is it reasonable to expect they will\n     dominate abroad? There is reason for apprehension that our\n     cousins in the East will find little change of despotic\n     tendencies amid the rank and file of American adventurers. The\n     philosophy of our system of government seems out of balance.\n     Cicero wrote \"that excessive liberty leads both nations and\n     individuals into excessive slavery.\"\n\n     But amid the lights and shadows that environ the <DW64>, he is\n     neither undeserving of the assistance rendered, and\n     indispensable for educational development, which has been\n     generous, and for which he is grateful, although handicapped by\n     a prejudice confronting on so many avenues of industry, and\n     forbidding his entry. Not undeserving for patient and\n     non-anarchist in the realms of labor, his right to possess and\n     enjoying equality of citizenship is written with blood and\n     bravery on the battlefield of every war of the Republic where\n     he \"fell forward as fits a man.\" Munificent contributions of\n     Christians and philanthropists, for missionary work abroad, are\n     greatly in evidence, given with a self-complacency of duty\n     done; but, however, fail to vivify the declining pulse-beat for\n     equality before the law and justice at home. Manifestly there\n     is an absence of that arraignment and condemnation of wrong\n     done the weak, that contributed so largely to abolish the \"corn\n     laws of England\" and slavery in the United States. History is\n     the record that it is the men of moral courage and heroism who\n     by pen and voice, that sociality and gain cannot intimidate and\n     combat evil in their very midst that \"leave footprints in the\n     sands of time.\"\n\n     I must close this letter, already too long. Don't regard me as\n     a pessimist. I know that Bacon wrote that \"men of age object\n     too much,\" but the fact is, Cooper, it has been so long since I\n     heard a Fourth of July hallelujah chorus that I am getting out\n     of tune.\n\n     McKinley has been again nominated, I see, and doubtless will be\n     elected, with a Congress in harmony, thus giving the party\n     another lease of power, which, God grant, let us hope, may\n     redound to the welfare of all the people. Say to my many\n     friends that they are, \"though lost to sight to memory dear.\"\n     Truly your friend,\n\n                    M. W. GIBBS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n\nThe Island of Madagascar was discovered in 1506 by Lawrence Almeyda, a\nPortuguese; but the Persians and Arabs are said to have known it from\ntime immemorial. The island is divided into 28 provinces and is said to\ncontain two hundred millions acres of excellent land, watered on all\nsides by streams and large rivers. Its two highest mountains are\nVigagora in the north and Batistmene in the south, said to contain in\ntheir bowels abundance of fossils and valuable minerals. This island,\nsituated near the eastern coast of Africa, with 300 miles of the\nMozambique Channel intervening, is 1,000 miles in length and varying\nfrom 200 to 400 miles in width, and is supposed to have been in remote\nages a portion of the continent of Africa and that the progenitors of\nits people were to that \"manor born;\" others that the channel was\ncrossed in canoes and Madagascar populated.\n\nRev. W. E. Cousins, an English missionary, in a late edition of\n\"Madagascar of Today,\" says that \"its people are not on the whole an\nAfrican people, and much of its flora and fauna indicate a very long\nseparation from the neighboring continent. Particularly notable is the\nfact that Madagascar has no lions, deer, elephants or antelopes, which\nare abundant in Africa; the people generally are not Africans, but\nbelong to the same family as Malays and Malayo Polynesians.\" How the\nMalayon came to be the predominant language has exercised the thoughts\nof many, Africa being not more than 300 miles from the west coast of\nMadagascar, whereas the nearest point, Malayon Peninsula, is 3,000 miles\naway. That the distinct type of African presents itself in large numbers\nof native population is beyond question.\n\nFor much of the following as to the religion, morals and customs of the\nMadagascar people, I am indebted to Rev. Cousins, the missionary above\nreferred to, and a work entitled \"Madagascar, or Drury's Journal,\"\nedited by Pasfield Oliver and published in 1729. Robert Drury was an\nEnglish lad that ran away from home, was shipwrecked, and held in\ncaptivity by the natives for 15 years, and redeemed by Captain Mackett,\ncommanding the \"Prince of Wales\" in the East India Company's service.\nAlso to the \"Island of Madagascar,\" by Abbe Alexis Rochon, a learned\nFrenchman, who visited the island in 1767 and made an extensive report.\n\nMr. Oliver mentions that there are authors who say that the religion of\nthese people is Mahometanism, but he is at a loss to know from what\nthey drew their conclusions, since their sacrifices and their antipathy\nto revelation; and, besides, at the only place where a Moorish ship\n(Mahometan) came, swines' flesh is eaten. These obviously show that\nthere can be nothing in more direct opposition to it. There is no one\ncircumstance like it, except circumcision, and that is well known to\nthose learned in ancient history to have been common to some Eastern\nnations, even before the Jews had it, and where there is no reason to\nthink the name of the Jews was ever heard, and we have more reason to\nthink that the Jews derived a great deal from them instead of they from\nthe Jews; that their religion is more ancient is evident for several\nobvious reasons.\n\nFirst, by their regarding dreams and divining by them, which so early as\nthe Mosaic law the Children of Israel were warned against.\n\nSecondly, these people shave their hair all off in mourning for the\ndead. This Moses expressly commands the Israelites not to do, and the\nJews do superstitiously observe this last and suffer their hair to grow\nin their mourning.\n\nThirdly, Moses commanded none but males to be sacrificed. On the\ncontrary, these sacrifice cows for the most part. They have no burnt\nofferings but near their sepulchers, which with gum, burnt likewise, may\nonly arise from a defense of cadaverous scents.\n\n[Illustration: BISHOP ABRAHAM GRANT.\n\nJoined Church at an Early Age--Advanced Until he Was Elected Bishop of\nthe A. M. E. Church--An Able Pulpit Orator, and Among the Bishops He is\nKnown as the Politician of his Church--Having a Competency, He is\nDevoting His Closing Years to Benevolence and the Promotion of His\nRace.]\n\nFourthly, but the most remarkable instance of all is, that the \"owley,\"\nwhich these Madagascar people divine by and procure most extraordinary\ndreams, is evidently the Ephod and Teraphin which the Levites used who\nlived in Micah's house (see Judges 17) and which the Israelites could\nnever be wholly brought off from, though contrary to their law. Some\nhave taken these Teraphin for images like a man, and there seems a show\nof reason in it from Micah, Saul's daughter putting one in David's bed\nto deceive her father's messenger, while he escaped. This, it is\npossible, alludes to some divination by the Teraphin which she used in\nhis behalf, for Teraphin is the plural number; therefore, could not\nsignify only one image; neither could the gods which Rachel stole from\nher father, Labon, be one god as big as a man, for she sat on them and\nhid them. The word is here in the original \"Teraphin,\" although\ntranslated gods. Then, in Hosea, chapter 3, verse 4, \"an image, an Ephod\nand Teraphin,\" are all mentioned in one verse, plainly showing that they\nare distinct things. It is further to be remarked that by this Teraphin\nthey invoked the dead, which is exactly the same as these people do by\nthe \"Owley\" always invoking the spirits of their forefathers, which is\nexpressly forbidden to Israelites, and often sharply inveighed against\nby the prophets.\n\nThat these people had not their religion from any polite or learned\nnation is by their retaining no notion or meaning of letters, nor their\nhaving a horse among them, either for carriage or other use, which could\nnever have been forgotten had they ever had it.\n\nMr. Oliver positively asserts that these Madagascar people came from\nAfrica, and is certain on account of their color, while other writers\nthink most of them to be descendants of Malays.\n\nCaptain Mackett, previously mentioned as the redeemer of Robert Drury\nfrom his 15 years' captivity, states that Devon (King) Toak, often told\nhim they had a tradition of their coming to the island many years ago in\nlarge canoes; \"but,\" says Captain Oliver, \"let them come from where they\nwill, it is evident that their religion is the most ancient in the known\nworld and not much removed from natural religion, and whether the\nEgyptians and Canaanites had their religion from them, or that they are\nEgyptians originally, it had its rise long before the Children of Israel\nwere in bondage, for Egypt was then a very polite country, and although\nidolators, they were not any more so than their neighbors before\nAbraham's time.\n\n\"The respect due from children to parents is taught them early by those\nparents and grows with them, besides the gratitude naturally arising to\nthose who have fed and protected them when they were helpless infants.\nSo it is no wonder to find a law there against cursing parents. The\nnotion of the Being of one Supreme Author of nature arises from natural\nreflection on the visible harmony and uniformity of the universe and\nseeing that men and things did not produce themselves. The reverence due\nto this stupendous Being is only of a pious and rightly amazement, dread\nand respect. The testimony was everywhere uniform that where Europeans\nor Mahometans had not corrupted them they were innocent, moral and\nhumane.\n\n\"Physically the island has lost none of its picturesque character, so\nvividly portrayed by Abbe Rochon more than a century ago, who wrote 'The\nTraveler,' who in pursuit of knowledge traverses for the first time wild\nand mountainous countries, intersected by ridges and valleys, where\nnature, abandoned to its own fertility, presents the most singular and\nvaried productions, cannot help being struck with terror and surprise on\nviewing those awful precipices, the summits of which are covered with\ntrees as ancient perhaps as the world. His astonishment is increased\nwhen he hears the noise of immense cascades which are so inaccessible\nthat it is impossible for him to approach them. But these scenes, truly\npicturesque, are always succeeded by rural views, delightful hills and\nplains, where vegetation is never interrupted by the severity and\nvicissitudes of the seasons. The eye with pleasure beholds those\nextensive savannas which afford nourishment to numerous herds of cattle\nand flocks of sheep. Fields of rice and potatoes present also a new and\nhighly interesting spectacle. One sees agriculture flourishing, while\nnature alone defrays almost all the expense. The fortunate inhabitants\nof Madagascar need not moisten the earth with their sweat; they turn it\nup slightly with a pick-axe, and this labor alone is sufficient. They\nmake holes in the ground at a little distance from each other and throw\ninto them a few grains of rice, over which they spread the mold with\ntheir feet. And what proves the great fertility of the soil is that a\nfield thus sown produces an hundred-fold. The forests contain a\nprodigious variety of the most beautiful trees, such as palms of every\nkind, ebony, wood for dyeing, bamboos of an enormous size, and orange\nand lemon trees.\" The Abbe's picture is quite enchanting, for it seems\nthat \"every prospect pleases.\"\n\nA view of Antananarivo, the capital of Madagascar, in the word-painting\nof Cameron, a war correspondent of the London Standard, is interesting.\n\"Antananarivo was in sight and we could plainly see the glass windows of\nthe palace glistening in the morning sun, on the top of the long hill\nupon which the city is built. It was Sunday, and the people were\nclustering along the foot-paths on their way to church or sitting in the\ngrass outside waiting for the services to begin, as they do in villages\nat home. The women, who appeared to be in the majority, wore white\ncotton gowns, often neatly embroidered, and white or black and white\nstriped lambas, thrown gracefully over their shoulders. The men were\nclad also in cotton, white cotton pantaloons, cotton lambas, and straw\nhats, with large black silk band. In the morning sun the play of colors\nover the landscape was lovely. The dark green hills, studded with the\nbrilliant red brick houses of the inhabitants, whose white garments\ndotted the lanes and foot-paths, contrasted with the brighter emerald of\nthe rice fields in the hollows. The soil everywhere is deep red, almost\nmagenta, in color, and where the roads or pathways cross the hills they\nshine out as if so many paint-brushes had streaked the country in broad\nred stripes. Above all, the spires of the strange city, set on top of\nits mountain with a deep blue sky for a background, added to the beauty\nof the scene.\n\n\"It was difficult to imagine that this peaceful country, with its pretty\ncottages, its innumerable chapels, whose bells were then calling its\npeople to worship, and its troops of white-robed men and women answering\nthe summons, was the barbarous Madagascar of twenty years ago.\"\n\nMention of the form of government had by the Madagascar people and which\nis now being superseded by occupancy of the French and the introduction\nof laws of a civilized nation, may not be out of place. As far back as\ntradition will carry, there existed in Madagascar a kind of feudalism.\nVillages were usually built on the hilltops, and each hilltop had its\nown chieftain, and these petty feudal chiefs were constantly waging war\nwith each other. The people living on these feudal estates paid taxes\nand rendered certain services to their feudal lords. Each chief enjoyed\na semi-independence, for no strong over-lord existed. Attempts were made\nfrom time to time to unite these petty chieftains into one Kingdom, but\nno one tribe succeeded in making itself supreme till the days of Radam\nI, who succeeded in bringing the whole of Imerina under his government,\nand to his son, Radama, he left the task of subduing the rest of the\nisland. By allying himself closely with England, Radama obtained\nmilitary instruction and carried war into distant provinces. He\nultimately succeeded in conquering many of the tribes and his reign\nmarked the beginning of a new era in Madagascar. Indeed, only from his\ndays could Madagascar in any sense be regarded as a political unit.\n\nIn one direction, however, the results of Radama's policy must be\nregarded as retrogressive. Before his reign no chief or king was\npowerful enough to impose his rule upon the people without their\nconsent.\n\nOpposition to rule, without the consent of the governed, has been the\nshibboleth with which liberty has rallied the votaries of constitutional\ngovernment in all its reforms. It was the magna charter extorted from\nKing John at Runnymead--the trumpet call echoing and re-echoing by hill\nand through valley in our Declaration of Independence. Before Radama,\nalthough rude and primitive in form, it was the basic principle\ncherished by the people of Madagascar. The principal men of each\ndistrict had to be constantly consulted and Kabary, or public assemblies\nlike the Greek or the Swiss Communal assemblies, were called for the\ndiscussion of all important affairs, and public opinion had a fair\nopportunity of making itself effective.\n\n\"A single tree does not make a forest, but the thoughts of many\nconstitute a government,\" is handed down by tradition as one of the\nfarewell sayings of their early kings, and is often quoted by the\npeople. This was the spirit that existed in \"ye olden time,\" but after\nRadama I. formed a large army and a military caste was created there was\na strong tendency to repress and minimize the influence of civilians in\npublic affairs, and men holding military rank have wielded the chief\nauthority.\n\nIt was ever thus; for while the chiefs of victorious legions are\nreceived with strains of \"conquering hero,\" have roses for a pathway\ncanopied with waving flag and triumphant banner, there is not wanting a\nlatent, reserved concern for the legitimate use of the franchise granted\nand whether vaulting ambition may not destroy the sacred inheritance\nthey were commissioned to preserve. Military rank in Madagascar was\nstrangely reckoned by numbers. The highest officers being called men of\n\"sixteen honors,\" the men of twelve honors would be equal in rank to a\nfield marshal, the men of nine honors to a colonel, and the man of three\nhonors to a sergeant, and so on, through the whole series.\n\nWhen any important government business had to be made known the men from\n12 honors upward were summoned to the palace. Above all these officers\nstood the Prime Minister. His Excellency Ramiloiarivony. The supreme\nhead of the state was the Mpanjaka, or sovereign, and every proclamation\nwas issued in her name and was generally countersigned and confirmed as\na genuine royal message by the Prime Minister. For three reigns, namely,\nfrom the accession of Rasaherina in 1863, Mpanjaka had been a woman and\nthe wife of the Prime Minister. A general impression exists in England\nthat this is an old Madagascar custom, but such is not the case. The\narrangement is of quite recent date. The last Prime Minister (not being\nof royal blood) was content to be Mpanjaka, or ruler, and while all\npublic honor was shown to the Queen, and her authority fully\nacknowledged, those behind the scenes would have us believe that the\nQueen was supreme only in name.\n\nAs a matter of fact, the Prime Minister, and even his supposed wishes\nand preferences, were the most potent forces in Madagascar. No one\nseemed able to exercise any independent influence, and time after time\nthe men who showed any special ability or gained popularity have been\nremoved, swept away as it were, out of the path of the man who had\nassumed and by his ability and astuteness maintained for thirty years\nthe highest position in the country. There was, no doubt, a large amount\nof latent rebellion against this \"one-man government,\" but those who\nwere the most ready to grumble in private were in public, perhaps, the\nmost servile of any. It is conceded that in many ways the Prime Minister\nwas an able ruler, and compared with those who went before him was\ndeserving of great praise.\n\nHe made many attempts to prevent the corruption of justice, and\nstrenuously endeavored to improve the administration, and for many years\nhad managed to hold in check the ambitious projects of French statesmen,\nand had shown at many times his interest in the cause of education.\n\nBut his monopoly as a ruler, the idea of omnipotent control, refusal to\nallow his subordinates to take their share of responsibility, like many\nsimilar instances which history records, loosened the bond of patriotic\ninterest, love and integrity for country, and made easy the ingress of\nthe French in subduing and appropriating the Island of Madagascar.\n\nIt has been stated that no account of Madagascar government would be\ncomplete that did not include a description of their system of\n\"fanompoana,\" or forced service, which answers very nearly to the old\nfeudal service, and to the system known in Egypt as \"corvee.\" The\ntax-gatherer is not the ubiquitous person in Madagascar he is generally\nsupposed to have been.\n\nThere were a few taxes paid by the people, such, for example, as a small\ntax in kind on the rice crop, and occasionally a small poll-tax, and\nmoney paid the sovereigns as a token of allegiance on many occasions.\n\nTaxes of this kind were not burdensome. The one burden that galled and\nirritated the people was the liability to be called upon at any moment\nto render unrequited service to the government.\n\n[Illustration: HON. JOHN E. BUSH,\n\nReceiver of United States Lands at Little Rock, Arkansas.\n\nFormer Principal of Public Schools of Little Rock--Clerk in Railway Mail\nService--Grand Scribe of \"Mosaic Templars of America\"--An Able and\nLeading Republican of Arkansas.]\n\nEvery man had something that was regarded as \"fanompoana.\" The people of\none district might be required to make mats for the government, in\nanother pots, the article required. From one district certain men were\nrequired to bring crayfish to the capital, charcoal from another, iron\nfrom another, and so on through all the series of wants. The jeweler\nmust make such articles as the Queen would desire, the tailor use his\nneedle and the writer his pen, as the government might need. The system\nhad in it some show of rough-and-ready justice, and was based on the\nidea that each must contribute to the needs of the state according to\nhis several abilities; but in the actual working it had a most injurious\ninfluence on the wellbeing of the country. Each man tried to avoid the\ndemands made upon him, and the art \"how not to do it\" was cultivated to\na very high degree of perfection. Many of the head men made this\n\"fanompoana\" system a means of enriching themselves, compelling the\nsubordinates to serve them as well as the government. History does but\nrepeat itself, as there are not wanting instances in our own country\nwhere certain heads of department \"fanomponed\" subordinates for private\nservice.\n\nIn many ways are recorded the product of the fertile brain of these head\nmen. For instance, the centurion, or head man of a certain district,\ngave out a notice in the church yard, on Sunday morning, or at a\nweek-day market, that a hundred men would be required next morning to\ncarry charcoal for the government. As a matter of fact, he required only\ntwenty, but he knew that many would come to him to beg off, and as none\nwould come empty-handed, his profit on the transaction was considerable.\nAnother illustration was given Mr. Cousins by the British Consul. It was\ncustomary to send up mails from the coast by government runners, but\nEnglish ideas being adverse to demanding unrequited service, the Consul\nhad always sent the usual wages for the runners to the Governor, who\npocketed the dollars and \"fanomponed\" the mail. But enough of this, as\nit has a flavor of our \"Star Route Mail\" disclosures, which startled the\ncountry some years ago, and conclude with a tribute to Tammany, as:\n\n    We arise to remark, and our language is plain,\n    That the Tweeds and the Crokers are of Malagash fame.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n\nThe introduction and perpetuation of the Christian religion in\nMadagascar has been attended with vicissitudes, hopeful, discouraging,\nand finally permanent. The Catholics were the first to attempt to gain a\nfooting on the southeast corner of the island. A French mission settled\nand commenced to instruct the natives in the Roman Catholic faith, and\nmaintained a mission in spite of many discouragements for twenty years,\nand then came to an end. Protestants who a century and a half later\ncarried the Gospel to Madagascar found it virgin soil. They found a\npeople without a written language or knowledge of the Christian faith.\nBoth in their literary and evangelical labors they had to revive a work\nthat was not dying out, but to start de novo, and the London Missionary\nSociety had to seek its own way to carry out its objects.\n\nThe men to whom it appears that the Madagascar people are indebted for\ntheir written languages and the first translation of the Scriptures were\ntwo Welshmen.\n\nDavid Jones and David Griffiths--these two men were the pioneers of\nProtestant missions in Madagascar--the first in 1820, the second a year\nlater. The main strength of these early missionaries was devoted to\neducational work, in which they were vigorously supported by King Radama\nI, and Mr. Hastie, the British agent. Besides this they began very early\nto make a translation of the Scriptures, and in ten years after the\narrival of Mr. Jones in Antananarivo the first edition of 3,000 copies\nof the New Testament was completed, in March, 1830. At this time much\nprogress had been made in the translation of the Old Testament. The\naccount of the completion of it is interesting. Soon after the death of\nKing Radama I, in 1828, the missionaries saw clear indications of the\nuncertainty of their positions; ominous clouds began to gather until the\nstorm burst.\n\nThe edict of Queen Ranavalona I against the Christian Church was\npublished March 1, 1835. A portion of the Old Testament translation was\nuncompleted. The missions were deserted by their converts, and they\ncould procure no workman to assist; so with trembling haste they\nproceeded with their task, and at the end of June they had joy in seeing\nthe first bound copies of the completed Bible. Most of these were\nsecretly distributed, and seventy remaining copies were buried for\nsafety in the earth--precious seed over which God watched and which in\ndue season produced a glorious harvest. The translators were driven\naway, but the book remained. Studied in secret, and at the risk of life,\nit served during more than a quarter of a century of persecution to keep\nalive faith in the newly received religion; for, during all this time,\nto use the familiar native phrase, \"the land was dark.\" At its\ncommencement Queen Ranavalona (the Queen Mary of Madagascar), with all\nthe force of her strong will, set herself to destroy the new religion.\n\"It was cloth,\" she said, \"of a pattern she did not like, and she was\ndetermined none of her people should use it.\"\n\nThe victims of her fury form a noble army of martyrs, of whom Madagascar\nis justly proud. The causes that led to the persecution are not far to\nseek. On the one hand, they were intensely conservative, clinging to\nancestral customs; and on the other hand, a suspicious and jealous fear\nof foreign influence. The zealous work of the missionaries was believed\nby many of the Queen's advisers to be only a cloak to conceal political\ndesigns. The teachings of the foreigners were proving so attractive that\ntheir chapels were crowded, and the influence of this new religion was\nmaking itself felt in many families. Whither would all this lead? Was it\nto pave the way to annex the island to the English Government? The word\n\"society\" to a native ignorant of English would suggest a phrase of\ntheir own which sounds alike, viz: \"sosoy-oty\"--\"push the canoe over\nthis way.\" This to the ingenuous or suspicious mind of the hearers\nsuggested the idea of pushing over the Government of Madagascar to those\nacross the ocean who were supposed to be greedily seeking to seize it.\nThis is seemingly absurd, but not too ridiculous to obtain credence with\na people excited and suspicious.\n\nThe former King Radama showed his shrewdness in giving permission to the\nmissionaries to reside in his country, for he expressly stipulated that\nsome of them should be skilled artisans, so that his people might be\ninstructed in weaving, smith-work, carpentry, etc. To this the society\nwisely assented, and a number of Christian artisans were sent out. The\ninfluence of these were of immense value, and to them is to be\nattributed much of the skill of the Madagascar workman of today.\n\nThere is no doubt that the manifest utility of their work did much to\nwin for the mission a measure of tolerance from the heathen rulers of\nthe country. One of the missionaries with great mechanical skill, in his\n\"Recollections,\" states that Queen Ranavalona in 1830 was beginning to\nfeel uneasy about the growing influence of foreign ideas and wished to\nget rid of the missionaries. She sent officers to carry her message, and\nthe missionaries were gathered together to meet the messengers, and were\ntold that they had been a long time in the country and had taught much,\nand that it was time for them to think of returning to their native\nland. The missionaries, alarmed at this message, answered that they had\nonly begun to teach some of the elements of knowledge, and that very\nmany more remained to be imported, mentioning sundry branches of\neducation, among which were Greek and Hebrew languages, which had\nalready been taught to some. The messengers returned to the Queen, and\nsoon came back with the answer: \"The Queen does not care much for Greek\nand Hebrew. Can you teach how to make soap?\" (And if cleanliness is akin\nto godliness she was evidently groping in the right direction.) This was\nan awkward question to address theologians; almost as much so as \"Do you\nknow enough to come in out of the rain?\" to some college graduates; but\nafter a moment's pause Mr. Griffith turned to Mr. Cameron and asked him\nif he could answer it. \"Give me a week,\" and it was given, and when the\nmessengers again met at the close of the week a bar of tolerable good\nwhite soap, made from materials found in the country, was presented.\nThis was entirely satisfactory, and the manufacture of soap was\nforthwith introduced, and is still continued to the present day. This\nbar of soap gained the missionaries a respite of five years, the Queen\ntolerating their presence on account of material advantage derived from\nthe work of the artisans. In believing that industrial training, the\nknowledge to make things in demand, was the first necessary step for\nthe elevation of her people, the Queen was eminently correct.\n\nDuring the fifteen years (from 1820 to 1835) the mission was allowed to\nexist it was estimated that 10,000 to 15,000 children passed through\nschool, so that when the missionaries were compelled to leave the island\nthere were thousands who had learned to read, and thereby raised far\nabove the mass of their heathen fellow-countrymen.\n\nDark Days--January, 1835, a formal complaint was presented to the\nmissionaries by one of the Queen's officers against the Christian\nreligion under six different heads. Excitement increased and opposition\nto the new teaching grew bolder. The Queen, in passing a native chapel\nand hearing singing, was heard to say: \"They will not stop till some of\nthem lose their heads.\"\n\nOn the first of March, 1835, the edict publicly prohibiting the\nChristian religion was delivered in the presence of thousands of people\nwho had been summoned to hear it. The place of meeting was a large open\nspace lying to the west of the long hill on which the city of\nAntananarivo is built, and large enough to contain two or more thousand\npeople. In the middle of the plain crops up a large mass of granite\nrock, on which only royal persons were allowed to stand; hence probably\nthe name \"Imohamosine,\" which means \"having power to make sacred.\" There\nfrom time to time large public assemblies have been held, but never one\nof greater significance or of more far-reaching issues than that. Of\nthis great \"kabary,\" or meeting, notices had been sent far and wide. All\npossible measures had been taken to inspire the people with awe and to\nmake them feel that a proclamation of unusual importance was about to be\npublished. Queen Ranavalona seemed anxious to make her people feel that\nher anger was burning with an unwonted fury. It is stated that morning\nhad scarcely dawned when the report of the cannon intended to strike\nterror and awe into the hearts of the people ushered in the day on which\nthe will and power of the sovereign of Madagascar to punish the\ndefenseless followers of Christ was to be declared. Fifteen thousand\ntroops were drawn up, part of them on the plain and the rest in two\nlines a mile in length along the road leading to the place. The booming\nof artillery from the high ground overlooking the plain and the reports\nof musketry of the troops, which was continued during the preparatory\narrangements, produced among the multitude the most intense and anxious\nfeelings. At length the Chief Justice, attended by his companions in\noffice, advanced and delivered the message of the Sovereign, which was\nenforced by Ramiharo, the chief officer of the Government. After\nexpressing the Queen's confidence in the idols, and her determination to\ntreat as criminals all who refused to do them homage, the message\nproceeded:\n\n\"As to baptism, societies, places of worship, and the observance of the\nSabbath--how many rulers are there in the land? Is it not I, alone, that\nrule? These things are not to be done. They are unlawful in my country,\"\nsaid the Queen, \"for they are not the customs of our ancestors.\"\n\nAs a result of this \"kabary\" 400 officers were reduced in rank and fines\nwere paid for 2,000 others, and thus was ushered in a persecution which\nlasted a quarter of a century.\n\nThe Rev. William Ellis, on English missionaries, in his book entitled\n\"Madagascar Revisited,\" states that the first martyr for Christ who\nsuffered there in 1836 was \"Rosolama.\" She was a Christian woman,\nbetween twenty and thirty years of age, bearing no common name, for\nRosolama signifies peace and happiness. She was imprisoned at\nAmbotonakonga, the site of the first house built exclusively for\nChristian worship in the country. A memorial church has been erected on\nthe spot. When brought to the place she knelt down and asked a few\nminutes to pray. This was granted, and then her body fell, pierced with\nthe spears of her executioners.\n\n[Illustration: REV. J. P. ROBINSON,\n\nPastor of First Baptist Church, Little Rock, Arkansas.\n\nEminent as a Successful Preacher, with Much Originality of Thought and\nStrength of Convictions.]\n\nThe second martyr, Rayfarolahy, a young man, suffered on the same place\nsome time after. At the request of Rosolama when she was taken forth to\ndeath he had walked by her side to the place of execution and offered\nwords of encouragement to her to the last. When brought to the place\nhimself the executioners seized him and were about, as was their custom,\nto forcibly throw him down, he said to them calmly, \"There is no need to\ndo that; I will not cause any trouble.\" He also asked to be allowed to\npray, and then gently laid himself down and received the executioners'\nspears. The measures taken to destroy Christianity were not at all times\nequally severe. The years that stand out with special prominence are\n1835, 1837, 1840, 1849 and 1857. Of what took place in 1840 was depicted\nat the time in a letter written by Rev. D. Griffiths, who was then\nresiding at Antananarivo. The nine condemned Christians were taken past\nMr. Griffiths' house. \"Ramonisa,\" he says, \"looked at me and smiled;\nothers also looked at me, and their faces shone like those of angels in\nthe posture of prayer and wrestling with God. They were too weak to\nwalk, having been without rice or water for a long time. The people on\nthe wall and in the yard before our house were cleared off by the swords\nand spears of those leading them to execution. That we might have a\nclear, full and last sight of them, they were presented opposite the\nbalcony on the road and at the entrance of the yard for about ten\nminutes, carried on poles by the executioners, with merely a hand\nbreadth of cloth to cover them, they were then led away to execution.\nThe cannon fired to announce their death was shattered to pieces, and\nthe gunners' clothes burnt, which was considered ominous, many\nwhispering 'Thus will the kingdom of Ranavalona Manjaka be shattered to\npieces.'\"\n\nIn 1849 what may be called the great persecution took place; not less\nthan 1,900 persons suffered persecution of various kinds--fines,\nimprisonment, chains, or forced labor in the quarries. Of this number 18\nsuffered death, four, of noble birth, by being burned, and 14 by being\nthrown over the great precipice of Ampomarinona. It is not easy to\nestimate exactly the number of those who suffered the punishment of\ndeath in these successive outbursts of persecution. It is most probable\nthe victims were between seventy or eighty. But these form only a small\nportion of the total number of sufferers. Probably hundreds of others\ndied from their heavy irons, chains, or from fevers, severe forced\nlabor, or privations during the time they were compelled to hide in\ncaves or in the depths of the forests.\n\nNotwithstanding the severe persecution much quiet Christian work was\ncarried on in the lulls between storms--sometimes on hilltops, sometimes\nin caves, or even in unfinished tombs. Thus the story of the Covenanters\nwas repeated, and the impossibility of destroying the Christian faith by\npersecution again shown. Through these long years of persecution the\nChristians were constantly receiving accessions to their ranks, and the\nmore they were opposed \"the more they multiplied and grew.\"\n\n[Illustration: CHRISTIAN MARTYR,\n\nIn Madagascar in chains--Receiving consolation.]\n\nThe year 1861 will ever be a period from which date results momentous in\nbehalf of civil and religious liberty for the <DW64>. It was the\nbeginning of the end of <DW64> slavery in the United States and the\npermanent establishment of religious freedom in Madagascar. Queen\nRanavalona had a long reign of thirty-three years, but in that year it\nbecame evident she could not reign much longer. Natives give details of\nher last days. The aged Queen had for some time been suffering in\nhealth; diviners had been urgently consulted, charms and potent herbs\nhad been employed, with no avail. Late in the summer of 1861 it became\ngenerally known that the fatal moment could not long be delayed.\nMysterious fires were said to be seen on the tops of mountains\nsurrounding the capital, and a sound like music was rising from Iatry to\nAndohalo. The Queen eagerly questioned those around her as to the\nmeaning of these portents. But while the dying Queen was anxiously\npraying to the idol in which she placed her trust, there were those who\nwhispered to the prince that the fire was the sign of jubilee to bring\ntogether the dispersed, and to redeem the lost, and so the event\nproved.\n\nThe aged Queen passed away during the night of August 15, 1861, and\nearly on the morning of August 16 the news spread rapidly through the\ncapital, and her son was proclaimed as Radama II. One of the first acts\nof the new sovereign was to proclaim religious liberty. The chains were\nstruck off from the persecuted Christians and the banished were\nrecalled. Many came back who had long been in banishment or in hiding,\nand their return seemed to friends who had supposed them to be dead like\na veritable resurrection.\n\nThe joy of the Christian was intense. The long season of repression had\nat last come to an end. Now it was no longer a crime to meet for\nChristian worship, or to possess Christian books. On that first Friday\nevening some of the older Christians met and spent the night in prayer,\nand Sunday services were begun in eleven private houses; but these were\nsoon consolidated into three large congregations. Radama II eagerly\nwelcomed intercourse with foreigners and gave Christians permission to\nwrite at once, urging that missionaries be sent out, himself writing to\nthe London Missionary Society making the same request. The society\nresponded promptly with a large band of men and women missionaries,\ntwenty or thirty thousand copies of the Bible, New Testament and tracts.\n\nThe result of three-quarters of a century of Christian work in\nMadagascar has been that the Christian religion has taken firm hold on\nthe people. Manifest and noticeable are the number and prominence of\nchurch buildings in and around the capital. There are four stone\nmemorial churches, built by the friends of the London Missionary Society\nto remind coming generations of the fidelity of the martyrs, and a very\nfine and well situated Roman Catholic cathedral in Ambodin Andaholo.\nProminent as Christian agencies in Madagascar are \"The Society for the\nPropagation of the Gospel,\" who sent out Bishop Kestel Cornish and James\nColes; \"The Norwegian Missionary Society,\" \"The Roman Catholic\nMissionary Society,\" and \"The Society of Friends in England.\"\n\nTo summarize, approximately there are now 110 foreign missionaries on\nthe island; over 2,000 congregations, with a total of 400,000 adherents,\nwhich include 100,000 church members; while the Protestant schools\ncontain 150,000 children. No statement of the Christianizing agencies\nand influences would be just or correct that did not include that of the\nRoman Catholic Church. \"No one,\" it has been truly said, \"can be long in\nMadagascar without learning to admire the self-denial, patience and\nheroic fortitude with which its work is carried on.\" It has been thus\nfittingly described, a few years ago, by an English visitor: \"In 1861,\nwhen Catholic missionaries landed on the shores of Tamatave there was\nnot a Catholic on the island; but little by little, by dint of\nunwearied labor, suffering and preaching, they won over not hundreds but\nthousands of pagans to the love and knowledge of our Lord and His truth,\nso that their pagan converts number over 130,000. They have built a\nmagnificent cathedral, which is the glory and pride of Antananarivo.\nThey have also 300 churches and 400 or more Catholic stations scattered\nover the island, where 18,000 children are taught and trained by a large\nand elevated staff of Christian brothers and sisters of St. Joseph, and\n641 native teachers. They have also created industrial schools, where\nvarious trades are taught by two devoted brothers, Benjamin and Arnoad,\nand at Ambohipo they have a flourishing college for young Malagash. They\nhave also on the island four large dispensaries, where thousands of\nprescriptions are distributed gratis to all who seek to relieve their\nsufferings. They have also established a leper hospital at Ambohivoraka,\nwhere the temporal and spiritual wants of 150 poor lepers are freely\nadministered to, and have already opened another such establishment, in\nBetsilio land. Prison visitation, dispensing rice, clothing, and\nspiritual instruction to half-starved and naked prisoners under the\nMadagascar rule; their catalogue of books devotional, literary and\nscientific; a dictionary, all of which have been edited and published in\nthe Madagascan language, are among the golden contributions for\ncivilization by the Catholics in this far-off island continent in the\nIndian seas.\"\n\nIn referring to their labors, and to which, comparatively, I have made\nbut brief reference, Mr. Cousins says: \"To much in the Roman Catholic\nsystem we may be strenuously opposed; but to their zeal, their skill,\ntheir patience, their self-denial, we render the homage of an ungrudging\nadmiration.\"\n\nThe foregoing were the labors and results of missionary effort up to the\ndate of the French taking absolute possession of the island. It is to be\nhoped there will be no retrograde movement lessening the efficiency of\nthese civilizing agencies. Although it is alleged that French control\nand influence in Tahiti and other South Sea islands have been averse to\nboth morality and evangelical Christianity, and hence there are not\nwanting those who predict incumbrances in missionary work, now French\nauthority is established. But in this age of progress along all the\nlines of human endeavor the French Government will undoubtedly see the\njustice and utility of governing with a regard to the advancement of\nthese wards that the prowess of its arms have committed to its care. It\nis not unreasonable to expect, and the promise should be flattering,\nthat with the European ideas of the proper functions of government, the\nincipient steps for the mental culture of the natives, present evidence\nof large expenditure and introduction of the most modern applications\nfor the physical development of the island, the Madagascan people will\nattain in the future a higher degree of human advancement from contact\nwith the civilization of the French than it was possible they could have\nunder \"Hova rule.\" And in this connection it is gratifying to note that\n\"The Native Race Protection Committee,\" headed by Mr. Paul Viollet, of\nthe Paris Institute, in June, 1899, addressed an appeal to the Colonial\nMinister in behalf of the Malagash, entreating him to shorten the forced\nlabor, to reduce the taxes, and to annul decrees, which greatly\nre-established slavery.\n\nThe appeal dwelt on the fearful mortality occasioned by forced labor on\nthe roads, which threatened to reduce the most robust population of the\nhighlands as to de-bar colonists from commercial and agricultural\nenterprises, and very pertinently asks \"Is it not better to be without\nroads than without a healthy population?\" The appeal also denounced\narbitrary acts. \"The native,\" it is said, \"is arrested and imprisoned\nfor months without a trial, and this with all the less forbearance, as\nthe prisoner is always utilized as an economic laborer.\" The justice of\nthis appeal and prompt reception and accord with the French conscience\nwas evidenced in the public announcement to the natives by Gen.\nGallieni, the Governor of Madagascar, a few months later, that forced\nlabor would be discontinued after January 1, 1900, and thereafter they\ncould work for whom they pleased, and if for government they would be\npaid wages agreed to.\n\nIt is needless to say that this proclamation was received by the natives\nwith tumultuous rejoicing. Forced labor is now abolished, and the\nnatives rejoice in a jubilee from a servitude the most galling.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\n\nThe adaptability of the <DW64> to conditions that are at the time\ninevitable has been the paladium that has sustained and multiplied him\namid the determined prejudice that has ever assailed him. The Indian,\nunassimilating, combatted the prejudice of caste by physical force, and\nhas been well nigh extinguished, while the <DW64> has bowed to the\ninevitable with the mental reservation to rise to a higher recognition\nby a persistent assimilation of the forces that disenthralled and\nexalted the Saxon.\n\nThe foregoing chapter, indicating the policy of the French in their\noccupation and dealing with Madagascar, the planting of a nation's\nauthority and establishing a colony on the ruins of a weaker power, or\nof subject races, under the plea of humanity, or through the chicanery\nof diplomacy, has ever been the rule when territory has been desired by\na stronger power. The proximity of Cuba to the States, and Spanish\nmisrule of that island, and also of the Philippines, were the \"open\nsesame,\" it is alleged, that beckoned the armed force of the United\nStates to take possession. But in truth the Spanish jewel, Cuba, shone\nin the distance, \"so near, and yet so far\"--so near for mischievous\ncomplication, and so far for material and diplomatic control. With a\nvicious administration by a nation of decaying prestige were all\nelements promising success to the invader. The covert and dastardly\ndestruction of the U. S. warship \"Maine\" in Cuban waters, the offspring\nof Spanish suspicion of American designs, was all, and more than\nrequired, to inaugurate a \"causi belli\" and complete the conquest of the\nisland. To claim that these movements had their incipiency in a\nconsensus of desire of the American people for justice to subject races,\nand was solely, or even mainly, on account of Spanish tyranny, is a\nstatement that will not bear investigation for moral consistency. It\nbeing the very antipodes of their current behavior to a large class of\ncitizens born beneath the pinions of their eagle of freedom at home.\n\nFor how does it happen that the alien Cuban and Filipino \nbrothers are so much more entitled to protection and the enjoyment of\ncivil and political rights than the  American brother, that\nthousands of lives and millions of treasure must be expended to\nestablish that humanity and justice abroad denied by these \"world\nreformers\" to millions of their citizens at home? Really, it would seem\nthat to duty and the bestowal of justice 'tis \"distance that lends\nenchantment to the view.\" \"Wherever you see a head, hit it,\" was the\nslogan of Pat, at Donnybrook Fair, and wherever there has been a\nterritorial plum ripe in its loneliness, and tempting in its\nlusciousness, there has not been wanting a \"grabber.\" It was the French\nin Madagascar, the English in Africa, and the Americans in the Antilles.\n\"O! civilization; what crimes are committed in thy name!\" The record of\nour stewardship is in the tomb of the future for the coming historian to\n\"point a moral or adorn a tale.\"\n\nThe acquisition of new territory, when honorably acquired, is ever\nattended with peculiar conditions and vicissitudes. The transformation\nof the population of which into a desirable element of the body politic\ndepends much upon the wisdom of the statesman, and the insistence of\nmoral rectitude on the part of the Christian and philanthropist whether\nit shall be a blessing or an evil to both parties in interest.\n\nIt is no secret that in many minds the motive and manner of acquiring\nthe Philippines are open to much disparaging comment. We are charged\nwith wresting by superior force that independence that a weak but heroic\npeople were and had been for ten years struggling to attain from the\nSpanish yoke; that we, whom they hailed as an assistant and in good\nfaith co-operated with in turn, became their hostile enemies and\ndestroyed that identity as an independent entity for which they fought.\n\n[Illustration: CHESTER W. KEATTS,\n\nGrand Master \"Mosaic Templars of America.\"\n\nBorn In Pulaski County, Arkansas, in 1860--For Many Years Prominent in\nthe Mail Service of that State--Broad in His Sympathies, and Strong as\nan Advocate for the Beneficent Principles of the Institution of which He\nis the Head.]\n\nThe conditions which confronted Aguinaldo as the leader of the\nPhilippine revolution have been vividly described by a writer of English\nhistory: \"With the statesman in revolutionary times, it is not through\ndecisive moments that seemed only trivial, and by important turns that\nseemed indifferent; for he explores dark and untried paths; groping his\nway through a jungle of vicissitudes, ambush and strategem; expedient, a\nmatch for fortune in all her moods. Regardless of what has been called\n'history's severe and scathing touch,' we cannot forget the torrid air\nof revolutionary times, the blinding sand storms of faction, the\nsuspicions, jealousies and hatreds, the distinctions of mood and aim,\nthe fierce play of passions that put an hourly strain of untold\nintensity on the constancy, the prudence, and the valor of a leader.\"\n\nNo one can read the state papers and proclamations of Aguinaldo without\nbeing impressed with his ability as a leader, the intensity of his\npatriotism and honesty of purpose depicted for the independence of his\ncountry from Spanish rule. The statesmanship he displayed, the\nintelligent and liberal conception of constitutional government, and the\nneeds and aspirations of his people, are at variance with the allegation\nthat the Filipinos were unfit for self-government.\n\nHence it is that men ask, \"Would it not have been national nobility of a\nhigh order if as a protector we should have given them a protectorate\ninstead of the ignoble action of shooting them down in their patriotic\nattempt?\" Indeed, it remains to be seen whether absolute authority\nobtained by such means, together with current American usage of <DW52>\nraces, will not evolve the fact that they have but changed masters. For\nhere in our own hemisphere our country's history continues to be rife\nwith lawlessness at the bidding of a vicious sentiment, and in some\nsections it is the rule and not the exception. Free from the restraint\nof law-abiding localities in the States, the American adventurer of\nlawless propensity will have free reign in bullying and oppressing, and\nprobable partiality in the administration of the law.\n\nGeorge E. Horr, the able editor of the \"Watchman,\" under \"Treatment to\nSubject Races,\" is pointed and timely when he says: \"The Englishman who\nemigrates to an English colony finds that he comes under the same laws\nthat apply to the natives; he is not a privileged personage, by virtue\nof the fact that he is an Englishman. Law is enacted and executed with\nabsolute impartiality. In India a native and an Englishman stand exactly\non the same plane before the law. Indeed, in many cases, an Englishman\nwill be tried by an Indian judge. The British have not succeeded in\nwinning the affections of the natives, but the natives are thoroughly\nconvinced the Englishman will act justly. There will not be (in\npractice) one law for European and another for the native, as in too\nmany cases in our own country there is one law for the white man and\nanother for the black man.\"\n\nBut let us all work, hope and trust that the best of American\nChristianity and civilization may be equal to the emergency, giving the\nFilipinos a larger measure of liberty and civil rights than they had\nunder the erstwhile rule of Spain.\n\nUnder a constitutional government it is premised that sustenance and\nvalor for \"amor patria\" proceeds from the fact that its institutions are\ndesigned as bulwarks for the citizen's liberty, and that its political\nand economic features are such as guarantee equality before the law and\npromote an equal chance in the race of life.\n\nThat there is a degree of selfishness in his patriotism, and that\ngovernment is revered only as a means to an end, is evidenced by\nrevolutionary tendencies ever uppermost when there are reasons to\nbelieve that these benign purposes are being thwarted. But if for\nwrongs, the return be fidelity, for obloquy patience, for maltreatment\nloyalty, be a high type of Christian ethics, the reflex influence of\nwhich, we read, are God-like; surely the <DW64> has virtues \"not born to\ndie,\" presaging an endurance that must evolve out of this nettle\ndiscomfort, justice and contentment. For, as heretofore, in the last war\nwith Spain, putting behind him his century of oppression in slavery, and\nthe vicious discrimination since his emancipation, forgetful of all\nelse save the honor and glory of the flag, there, as, always, he wrote\nhis name high up on the roll of his country's heroes. \"Our's not to ask\nthe reason why; our's to do or die.\" To read the reports of commanders\nand other officers, and the narratives of bystanders, all attesting to a\nbravery invincible, causes the blood to tingle and the patriot heart to\nleap. We are making history replete with self-abnegation as we continue\nto bring to our country's altar an unstinted devotion and brilliant\nachievement. These take their places fittingly, and we should keep them\nin the forefront of our claim for equality of citizenship.\n\nFor it is declared that \"not the least valuable lesson taught by the war\nwith Spain is the excellence of the <DW64> soldiery\". In the battle of\nSan Juan, near Santiago, a <DW64> regiment is said to have borne the\nbrunt of the battle. Three companies suffered nearly as seriously, yet\nthey remained steady under fire without an officer. The war has not\nshown greater heroism. In the battle of Guasimas it is said by some of\nthe \"Rough Riders\" themselves that it was the brilliant supporting\ncharge of the Tenth Cavalry that saved them from destruction. George\nRennon writes: \"I do not hesitate to call attention to the splendid\nbehavior of the <DW52> troops.\" It is the testimony of all who saw them\nunder fire that they fought with the utmost courage, coolness and\ndetermination; and Colonel Roosevelt said to a squad of them in the\ntrenches in my presence that he never expected to have and could not ask\nto have better men beside him in a hard fight. If soldiers come up to\nColonel Roosevelt's standard of courage, their friends have no reason to\nbe ashamed of them. His commendation is equivalent to a medal of honor\nfor conspicuous gallantry, because, in the slang of the camp, he is\nhimself a fighter \"from way back.\" I can testify, furthermore, from my\nown personal observation in the hospital of the Fifth Army Corps,\nSaturday and Sunday night, that the  regulars who were brought in\nthere displayed extraordinary fortitude and self-control. There were a\ngreat many of them, but I cannot remember to have heard a groan or\ncomplaint from a single man.\n\nGeneral Miles is quoted as favoring an increased number of \nsoldiers in the United States service. He said that \"in no instance had\nthey failed to do their full duty in this war, or in the campaigns in\nthe West; in short, they were model soldiers in every respect; not only\nin courage have they done themselves credit, but in their conduct as\nwell.\"\n\nWhen the Second Volunteer regiment of Immunes (white) became so\ndisorderly in Santiago that they had to be sent outside to the hills for\nbetter discipline, General Shafter ordered into the city the Eighth\nIllinois regiment of <DW52> troops, who had an unsullied name for\nsobriety and discipline, and enjoyed the thorough confidence of those in\ncommand. And the following brief compendium of Spanish war mention from\na few of the leading press of the country is good reading. A soldier\nwriting home to friends in Springfield said: \"You want to see the\n<DW64>s; they let out a yell and charge, and the fight is over.\" Arthur\nPartridge, of Co. B, writes: \"At first we got the worst of it, but we\nreceived reinforcements from the two regiments of  infantry, who\nwalked right up to the block house, against their whole fire; they lost\nheavily, but it put heart into everybody, and the way we drove those\nSpaniards was a caution. A <DW52> man can have anything of mine he\nwants. When storming they yelled like fiends.\" Corporal Keating of Co. B\nwrites: \"The <DW64>s are fighters from their toes up. They saved\nRoosevelt at the first battle, and took one of the forts in the battle a\nfew days ago.\"\n\nThomas Holmes, a Rough Rider, who hails from Newkirk, Oklahoma, was the\nmagnet of attraction at St. Paul's Hospital, says a writer in the New\nYork Tribune. \"He is a handsome, stalwart fellow, full of anecdote and\ngood humor, and popular all around. He was sitting next to Corporal\nJohnson, of the Tenth Cavalry, a <DW64> who still carries a Mauser bullet\nsomewhere 'inside of me inside,' as he expressed it. 'The \ncavalry fought well, eh?' interjected the clergyman. 'Indeed they did,'\nsaid Holmes, fervently. 'That old idea about a \"yellow streak\" being in\na <DW64> is all wrong. No men could have fought more bravely, and I want\nto tell you that but for the coming up of the Tenth Cavalry the Rough\nRiders might have been cut to pieces.' 'Oh, he is just talking,' said\nthe <DW52> man, who smiled like a happy child nevertheless.\"\n\nSays the \"Philadelphia Daily Press:\" \"At every forward movement in our\nnational life the <DW64> comes to the front and shares in the advance\nwith each national expansion. He does his part of the work, and deserves\nequal recognition. At Santiago two <DW64> regiments--the Ninth, in\nGeneral Sumner's Brigade, and the Tenth, in General Bates'--were at the\nfront in the center of the line. With the rest they crested the heights\nof San Juan; with the rest they left their men thickly scattered on the\n<DW72>, and since they shared in death every member of the race has a\nright to ask that in life no rights be denied and no privileges\ncurtailed. The white regiments that connected them in that thin blue\nline, that slender hoop of steel which hemmed in more than its opposing\nnumber, may have held men who hesitate about this and that, contact with\ncolor; but on that Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning, when risk and\nperil hung heavy over the line, there was no hesitation in closing up\non the Ninth and Tenth Regiments, because the men in them were .\nAll honor to the black troops of the gallant Tenth.\"\n\nSays the \"New York Mail and Express:\" \"No more striking example of\nbravery and coolness has been shown since the destruction of the Maine\nthan by the  veterans of the Tenth Cavalry during the attack on\nFort Caney of Saturday. By the side of the intrepid 'Rough Riders' they\nfollowed their leader up the terrible hill from whose crest the\ndesperate Spaniards poured down a deathly fire of shell and musketry.\nThey never faltered; the rents in their ranks were filled as soon as\nmade. Firing as they marched, their aim was splendid, their coolness\nsuperb, and their courage aroused the admiration of their comrades.\nTheir advance was greeted with wild cheers from the white regiments, and\nwith an answering shout they pressed onward over the trenches they had\ntaken close in pursuit of the retreating enemy. The war has not shown\ngreater heroism. The men whose freedom was baptised in blood have proven\nthemselves capable of giving their lives that others may be free. Today\nis a glorious 'Fourth' for all races of people in this great land.\"\n\nThe \"New Orleans Item\" gives its contemporary, the \"States,\" the\nfollowing spanking (with the usual interrogation, \"Now will you be\ngood?\"): \"The 'States' has evidently failed to profit by the beneficial\nlesson taught since the opening of the Santiago campaign. Had our\nesteemed contemporary been present in Richmond a few days since; when\nthe form of a <DW64> soldier pierced by nine Mauser bullets was tenderly\nborne through the streets by four stalwart white infantry men, he would\nhave heard the lustiest cheers that ever went up from the throats of the\nresidents of the former capital of the Confederacy. Perhaps our\nanti-<DW64> friend would have learned wisdom from the statement of a\nmember of Roosevelt's regiment, who declared in an interview with a\npress representative, that had it not been for the valiant conduct of\nthe <DW64> cavalry at Baguiri the Rough Riders would have found the\nrouting of the Spaniards almost a hopeless task. The attack of the\n'States' on the <DW64> soldier is vicious and unpardonable. There is no\nmore intrepid or hardy fighter to be found anywhere than the much-abused\ndescendant of Ham. He has dogged persistence and a determination to\nconquer which triumphs over all obstacles. He is aware of his social\ninferiority and never seeks to attain positions of eminence to which his\nvalor and his spirit of daring do not entitle him. The 'States' presents\none of the most rabid cases of negrophobia extant. It should seek an\nimmediate cure.\"\n\nSuch indorsements from the white press of the country is not only\ntimely, but for all time. History of his endurance and endeavor in\npeace, and his valor in war, stimulates his demand and strengthens his\nclaim for equal justice. Such and kindred books as \"Johnson's School\nHistory of the Race in America\" should be prominent as household gods in\nevery Afro-American home, that along the realm of time the vista of\nheroic effort \"bequeathed from sire to son\" may gladden hearts in \"the\ngood time coming;\" for it is display in endurance, a vigorous courage, a\ngladsome self-control, a triumphant self-sacrifice, that mankind applaud\nas supreme for exaltation, and the highest types of self-abnegation for\nhuman advancement; for \"before man made us citizens, Great Nature made\nus men.\"\n\nEqually as in the realm of war has the race produced its noblemen in the\narena of peace and mental development. For, if it be true that \"the\ngreatest names in history are those who in the full career and amid the\nturbid extremities of political action, have yet touched the closest and\nat most points the ever-standing problems of the world and the things in\nwhich the interests of men never die,\" our industrial educators are\nfittingly placed.\n\n[Illustration: HON. JOSIAH T. SETTLE, A. B. A. M.\n\nBorn in Tennessee September, 1850--Entered Oberlin College in\n1868--Graduated From Howard University, 1872--A Leading Member\nof the Bar--Member of State Legislature of 1883--Assistant\nAttorney-General--For Integrity as a Man, Learning as a Jurist, and\nEloquence of Appeal, He Has Made an Honorable Record.]\n\nOf the ever-standing problem of the world, and in which mankind is ever\nalert, is the struggle for survival, and he that by inspiring word and\nuntiring deeds leads the deserving poor and destitute to prosperity and\ncontentment, is entitled to unstinted praise as a great human force\ndirected to a high moral purpose. While an advocate for the higher\neducation of as many of the race who have the will or means to obtain\nit, for the majority, after obtaining a good English education, it\nshould be immediately supplemented by a trade, to labor skillfully, is\nits great want today.\n\nThe question has been asked: \"Can any race safely exist in any country\ncomposed only of unskilled laborers and professional men? Must not the\nfuture leaders of our people come from the middle classes, from those\nwho work and think?\" Education to be of practical advantage must not\nonly sharpen the intellect, but it must be of that sort that will enable\nthem to engage in pursuits and avocations above those of mere drudgery;\nthose that are more lucrative, and from which accumulate wealth. The\nschool room must be the stepping stone to a good trade. The statement\nhas been made (which may be problematical) that we have fewer,\ncomparatively, very many fewer, mechanics of all kinds now than we had\nin the days of slavery. The master knew that the money value of the\nslave was increased in the ratio of his efficiency as a skilled laborer.\n\nTo the credit of Kentucky, Alabama, Arkansas and other Southern States,\nthey have made generous provisions for industrial education by supplying\nmachinery and the most modern appliances to teach skilled labor to\nthose who prefer them to the white apron of the waiter or the grubbing\nhoe of the plantation. Of the students that graduate from our high\nschools and colleges there are those who have not the qualities of head\nand heart essential for teaching and preaching, including a love and\ndevotion to those callings, and possibly would have been shining marks\nhad their studies fitted them to grapple with the mercantile or\nindustrial factors that promise a future more independent and lucrative.\n\nThe advancement of any race in morals and culture is retarded when poor\nand dependent. It is indispensable to progress that it has the benefit\nof earnings laid by. It is therefore to these industrial features that\nwe must look for the foundation of advancement for the race. It will not\nbe found at either extreme of our present avocations; neither the\nattainment of the professions, nor devotion to menial labor will solve\nthe problem of the \"better way.\" A greater number must be fitted to\nobtain work more lucrative in character and more ennobling in effect.\nInstitutions of applied science and business pursuits seem to me the\ngreat doorway to ultimate success. Economy and industries of this kind\nwill more rapidly produce the means to achieve that higher education for\nthe race so desirable. Morality, learning and wealth are a trio\ninvincible.\n\nTo content ourselves with denouncing injustice is to fail to enlist the\neconomic features so necessary as assistants. For amid all our\ndisadvantages we are to a large extent arbiters of our fortunes, for we\ncan by an indomitable will dispel many, many seeming mountains that\nencumber our way. But we have much to unlearn, and especially that the\nroad to financial prosperity is not chiefly the dictum of the facile\nmouth, but through the manifestation of skilled hands and routine of\nbusiness methods, however much the mouth may attempt to compete,\nconscious of its wealth of assertion and extent of capacity. While it is\neminently proper we should strive for the administration of equitable\nlaws for our protection, it should be ever remembered that while local\nlaws under our constitutional government are supposed to be the equity\nof public opinion, for us they are not sustained unless in harmony with\nfeelings and sentiments of their environments. Our work as a dependent\nelement is plainly to use such, and only such, methods as will sustain\nor create the sentiment desired by a fraternization of business and\nmaterial interests. This we cannot do either in the arena of politics or\nthe status of the menial laborer. For in the one, when the polls are\nclosed, we are continuously reminded of \"Othello's occupation gone.\" In\nthe other, the abundance of raw and uncouth labor robs it of its\nvitality as a force to compel conditions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\n\nThe spirit in which these \"schools of trade\" have been conceived, and\nthe success of their conduct, indicate they have struck a responsive\nchord in the communities where local approval is a necessity.\nConstituting an agreeable counterpoise to the fixed determination of the\nwhite people of the South that within its purview the <DW64>, however\nworthy, shall not occupy political prominence. This, while diametrically\nopposed to the genius and spirit of republican government, may yet be\nthe boomerang, beneficent in its return, redounding to his advantage by\nturning the current of his aspirations to trades and business activities\nrich with promise of material and ennobling fame. From this point of\nview history records the Jew as a shining example. The <DW64>,\nconstitutionally buoyant, should be energetic and hopeful, for \"there is\na destiny that shapes our ends,\" blunt them however much by \"damning\nwith faint praise\" or apology for oppression from whilom friends. In the\ndarkest hour of slavery and ignorance came freedom and education. When\nlynchings became prevalent, lynching of whites made it unpopular; when\ndisfranchisement came, debasing him in localities as a factor in civil\ngovernment, came elevation and high honor ungrudgingly bestowed for\nheroic deeds by commanders of the national armies.\n\nPresident McKinley, in his order for the enlistment and promotion of the\n soldier in the Spanish war, added additional luster to his page\nin history, it being an act the result of which has been of inestimable\nvalue to the race. Just and inspiring is the speech of Hon. Charles H.\nGrosvenor, of Ohio, delivered at the close of the 56th Congress,\nentitled \"The  Citizen; His Share in the Affairs of the Nation in\nthe Years of 1897 to 1900. Fifteen thousand participated in the war. The\nPresident's generous treatment of <DW52> men in the military and civil\nservice of the Government.\"\n\nGeneral Grosvenor commences with an exordium eloquent in succinctness\nand noble in generosity. \"I cannot let pass this opportunity at the\nclose of a long session of Congress, and at the end of three years of\nthis Administration, without putting on record to enlighten future\ngenerations the history of the part which the  citizen has had in\nthe stirring events of this remarkable period. It is a period in the\nhistory of the country of which future generations will be proud, as are\nthose of today, and as the  citizens of the United States have\nparticipated nobly in it, it is but just to them that the facts be put\non record.\n\n\"I want to speak of his part in the war in Cuba, in Porto Rico, in the\nPhilippines. Would a war with Spain benefit the <DW64>? was a popular\nquestion for debate. Some thought it would benefit, others thought not.\nIn many respects it has been a Godsend and beyond dispute a great\nbenefit. If in no other way, 15,048 privates have shown their patriotism\nand their valor by offering their bared breasts as shields for the\ncountry's honor; 4,114 regulars did actual, noble and heroic service at\nEl Caney, San Juan and Santiago, while 266 officers (261 volunteers and\nfive regulars) did similar service and demonstrated the ability of the\nAmerican <DW64> to properly command ever so well, as he does readily\nobey.\"\n\nGeneral Grosvenor then pertinently adds: \"When we learn to appreciate\nthe fact that three years ago the <DW64> had in the army only five\nofficers and 4,114 privates, and that one year ago he had 266 officers\nand 15,048 privates, we must know that inestimable benefit has come to\nthe race. Among the officers are to be found many of the brightest minds\nof the race. Fully 80 per cent of those in authority come from the best\nknown and most influential families in the land. Their contact with and\ninfluence upon their superior officers will be sure to raise the <DW64>\nin the popular esteem and do an incalculable good.\"\n\nReference is made to disbursements to <DW64> officers and soldiers during\nthe Spanish war, which he colates to be $5,000,000; adding the salaries\nof those employed in the civil service brings up to a sum exceeding\n$6,000,000 paid the <DW64> citizen. This, coupled with the high honor\nattached to such military designations as colonels, lieutenants and\ncaptains conferred upon him, shed a halo of generosity over President\nMcKinley's Administration.\n\nGeneral Grosvenor is richly entitled to and received a just meed of\npraise for the great service he has done by putting this grand array of\nfact and heroic deed in popular form, and thereby strengthening the\n<DW64> appeal for justice and opportunity, while its pages are a noble\ncontribution to a valor that will illumine <DW64> history for all time.\nIt was most opportune, for the then pressing need to strengthen the weak\nand recall the recalcitrants who indiscriminately charge the party with\nbeing remiss in requiting and acknowledging the <DW64>'s devotion. The\nwell-earned plaudits for his bravery on the battlefield should widen the\narea of his consciousness, intensify conviction that mediocrity is a\ndrug in every human activity, for whether in the professions,\nliterature, agriculture or trades, it is excellence alone that counts\nand will bring recognition, despite the frowning battlements of caste.\nAs we become more and more valued factors in the common cause of the\ngeneral welfare, that the flexibility of American sentiment on\nconviction of merit will be more apparent we cannot but believe; for\nconditions seem to have surmounted law and seek their own solution,\nsince the supreme law of the land seems ineffectual and local sentiment\nthe arbiter, when the <DW64> is plaintiff.\n\nIn the first section of Article 14 of the Constitution we have: \"All\npersons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the\njurisdiction thereof are citizens of the United States and of the\nseveral States wherein they reside. No State shall enforce any law which\nshall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United\nStates.\" To neutralize this pronounced and unequivocal legislation we\nhave the dictum of the Supreme Court of the United States that this\nconstitutional right, so plainly set forth, can be legally abrogated by\na State convention or legislature. While from the premises stated the\nconclusion may be evident to a jurist, to the layman it is perplexing;\nand while bowing in obeyance to this court of last resort, he cannot but\nadmire the judicial agility in escaping the problem. He is reminded of a\nfinal response touching the character and standing of a church member of\nwhom the inquirer wishes to know. The reply was: \"Brother B. is quite\nprominent and well known here.\" \"Well, what is his standing?\" \"Oh, very\nhigh; he is the elder of our church and superintendent of the Sunday\nschool.\" \"Yes, but as I am thinking of having some business dealings\nwith him, what I want to know is, how does he stand for credit and\npromptness?\" \"Well, stranger, if you put it that way, I must say that\nheavenward Bro. B. is all right, but earthward he is rather twistical.\"\nOrdinaryward, the Supreme Court is all right; but Negroward, twistical.\n\n[Illustration: JOHN MARSHALL HARLAN,\n\nChief Justice of the United States.\n\nBorn in Kentucky--A Colonel in the Union Army--Candidate for\nVice-President of the United States--One of the Foremost Authorities on\nConstitutional Law--Learned and Impartial.]\n\nFor the law-abiding citizens of these Commonwealths we have this other,\nthe second section of the same article: \"When the right to vote at any\nelection for the choice of electors for President or Vice-President of\nthe United States, Representatives in Congress, the executive or\njudicial officers of a State, or the members of the legislature thereof,\nis denied to any one of the male inhabitants of such State being\ntwenty-one years of age and a citizen of the United States, or in any\nway abridged, except for participation in rebellion or other crimes, the\nbasis of representation thereon shall be reduced in the proportion which\nthe number of such male citizens shall bear to the whole number of male\ncitizens twenty-one years of age in such State.\"\n\nIf, as avowed, that it is for the welfare of such Southern States that\nthey desire to banish the <DW64> from politics, can welfare be promoted\nor national integrity sustained by such rank injustice, as their Members\nof Congress occupying seats therein, or having representation in the\nelectoral college based upon an apportionment in which the <DW64>\nnumerically is so prominent a factor, and in the exercise of rights\npertaining thereto, he is a nonentity.\n\n\"The Baptist Watchman\" takes this unassailable position of this misrule:\n\"Ex-Governor Northen, of Georgia, in his address before the\nCongregational Club the other evening, declared that the status of the\nblack race in the South was that of permanent dependence upon the white\nrace. The central point of his contention is that capacity to rule\nconfers the right to rule. The white man can give the black man a better\ngovernment that he can give himself; therefore, the black man should be\nglad to receive the blessing at the hands of the white man. For our\npart, we believe that, whatever specious defense on the ground of\nphilanthropy, civilization and religion may be made for this position,\nit is radically repugnant to the genius of American institutions. If the\nmen of the nation who are best qualified to rule have a right to rule,\nthey themselves being the judge of their qualifications, England or\nRussia would be justified in attempting to impose their sovereignty on\nthe United States, if they thought they could give us a better\ngovernment than we are apt to give ourselves. Unless the doctrine is\nvigorously maintained that governments 'derive their just powers from\nthe consent of the governed,' and not from the conceit of an aristocracy\nas to its own capacity, then we of the North will not find it easy to\nprotest effectively against the disfranchisement of the Southern\n<DW64>s.\"\n\nBut the issue will not be made in opposition to a great national party\nthat draws a large measure of its strength from the South till disaster\nfrom material issues compel. With the Republican party (as of a\nChristmas morning) \"everything is lovely and the goose hangs high;\" but\ndiscomfiture, sometimes laggard, is ever attendant on dereliction of\nduty. This usurpation, which should have been throttled when a babe, has\nnow become a giant seated in its castle, compelling deference and\nacquiescence to an anomaly, reaching beyond the <DW64> in its menace to\nrepresentative government.\n\nAnd now, while from inertia the Republican party has been privy to this\nmisrepresentation, prominent Northern leaders are trying to take\nadvantage of their own neglect in an attempt to reduce representation in\nnational conventions from Southern States, irregularly Democratic. But\nthe friends of just government need not despond, for the political and\nindustrial revolution which the war for the perpetuation of the Union\nand the basic principle of equity it evolved will continue to demand and\neventually secure equal rights for all beneath the flag.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n\nNow, on the eve of my departure from Madagascar, and approaching four\nyears of consular intercourse, I have only pleasant memories. My\nrelations with General Gallieni, Governor-General of the Island, and his\nofficial family, have ever been most cordial. On learning of my intended\ndeparture, he very graciously wrote me, as follows:\n\n    Madagascar and Dependencies.\n\n              Governeur-General.\n\n        Tananarivo, 19th Mch., 1901.\n\nMy Dear Consul:\n\nI learn with much displeasure of your early departure from Madagascar,\nand would have been very glad to have met you again at the beginning of\nMay, when going down to the coast. But I always intend to take a trip to\nAmerica, and perhaps may find an opportunity to see you again in your\npowerful and flourishing country, which I wish so much to know. I thank\nyou very much for your kind letter, and reciprocate. I had always with\nyou the best relations, and I could appreciate your friendly and highly\nestimable character, and regret your departure. I have read with great\npleasure your biographical sketch, and I see that you have already\nrendered many valuable services to your country, where your name is\nknown very honorably. Yours faithfully,\n\n                    GALLIENI.\n\nSocially, as a member of the \"Circle Francais\", a club of the elite of\nthe French residents, a constant recipient of its sociability, the\nurbanity and kindness of Messrs. Proctor Brothers, Messrs. Dadabhoy &\nCo., and Messrs. Oswold & Co., representing, respectively, the leading\nEnglish and German mercantile firms in the island, contributed much in\nmaking life enjoyable at that far-away post. My official life in\nMadagascar was not without its lights and shadows, and the latter\nsometimes \"paled the ineffectual rays\" of belated instructions. Of an\ninstance I may make mention. I was in receipt of a cablegram from the\nDepartment of State advising me that the flagship \"Chicago,\" with\nAdmiral Howison, would at an early date stop at Tamatave and instructing\nme to obtain what wild animals I could indigenous to Madagascar and have\nthem ready to ship thereby for the Smithsonian Institute, at Washington,\nD. C. How I responded, and the result of the response, is attempted to\nbe set forth in the following dispatch to the Department of State:\n\n        Consulate of the United States,\n      Tamatave, Madagascar; July 3, 1899.\n      Mr. Gibbs to the Department of State.\n\n                       Subject:\n\n    Madagascar Branch of Smithsonian Institute.\n\n                  A Consul's \"Burden.\"\n\n\n                  Abstract of Contents:\n\n    Procuration of Live Animals, as per Order of the Department, and\n    Declination of the Admiral to Receive Them on Board.\n\n    Honorable Assistant Secretary of State,\n\n                                    Washington, D. C.\n\nSir:--Referring to your cablegram under date of May 22d last, directing\nme to secure live animals for the Smithsonian Institute, to be sent home\non the flagship \"Chicago\" on its arrival at this port, I have to report\nthat I proceeded with more or less trepidation to accomplish the same,\nthe wild animals of Madagascar being exceedingly alive. With assistance\nof natives I succeeded, after much trouble and expense, in obtaining\ntwelve, had them caged and brought to the consulate weeks before the\narrival of the ship. This, I regret to say, was a misadventure. I should\nhave located them in the woods and pointed them out to the Admiral on\nhis arrival. At first they seemed to agree, and were tractable until a\npatriotic but unlucky impulse induced me to give them the names of a\nfew prominent Generals in the late war. After that, oh, my!\n\nThe twelve consist of different varieties. One of the twelve seems a\ncross of panther and wild cat, and rejoices in the appelation of \"Aye\nAye.\"\n\nOn the arrival of the \"Chicago,\" forthwith I reported to Admiral Howison\nmy success in capturing \"these things of beauty,\" and eternal terrors,\nand my desire that they change domicile. He received me with such\ncharming suavity, and my report with so many tender expressions of\nsympathy for the monkeys that I got a little mixed as to his preference.\nStill joy-smitten, I was ill-prepared for the announcement \"that it was\nunwise to take them, as it was impossible to procure food to keep them\nalive until the termination of the voyage.\"\n\nIt was then, Mr. Secretary, that I sadly realized that I was confronted\nby a condition. Over seventy years of age, 10,000 miles from home, a\nbeggarly salary, with a menagerie on my hands, while bankruptcy and a\nhumbled flag threatened to stare me in the face. There remained nothing\nfor me, but to \"bow to the inevitable,\" transpose myself into a\ncommittee of ways and means for the purpose of securing sleep for my\neyelids and a saving to the United States Treasury. For while ever loyal\nto \"the old flag and an appropriation,\" a sense of duty compels me to\nadvise that this branch of the Smithsonian Institute is of doubtful\nutility.\n\nWith a desire to avoid, if possible, \"the deep damnation of their\ntaking-off,\" by starvation, several plans promising relief suggested\nthemselves, viz: Sell them, turn them loose, or keep them at Government\nexpense. I very much regret that the latter course I shall be compelled\nto adopt. My many offers to sell seemed not understood, as the only\nresponse I have yet received has been: \"I get you more like him, I can.\"\nAs to turning them loose, I have been warned by the local authorities\nthat if I did so I would do so at my peril. A necessary part of diet for\nthese animals is condensed milk, meat, bread, jam, and bananas, but they\nare not content. Having been a member of the bar, and retaining much\nveneration for the Quixotic capers of judicial twelve, on their desire\nto leave I \"polled\" them and found a hung jury, swinging by their tails;\neleven indicated \"aye,\" but the twelfth, with his double affirmative cry\nof \"Aye, Aye,\" being equal to negative, hung them up. Meanwhile, they\nbid fair to be a permanent exhibit.\n\nUnder cover of even date I enclose account for animals' food and\nattention to June 30, and beg to say regarding the item of food, that I\nanticipate a monthly increase of cost, as the appetite of the animals\nseem to improve in captivity. I conclude, Mr. Secretary, with but a\nsingle solace: They may possibly eat off their heads, but their tails\ngive abundant promise of remaining in evidence. Patiently awaiting\ninstructions as the future disposition of these wild and wayward wards\nof the Government, I have the honor to be,\n\n        Your obedient servant,\n                  M. W. GIBBS,\n                    U. S. Consul.\n\nHow and when \"I got rid of my burden\" and the joyous expressions of a\nlong-suffering Government on the event, will (or will not) \"be continued\nin our next.\"\n\nHaving asked for leave of absence, and leaving Mr. William H. Hunt, the\nVice-Consul, in charge of the consulate, on the 3d of April, 1891, I\ntook passage on the French steamer, \"Yantse,\" for Marseilles, France.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\n\nApril 3, 1901.--It was not without regret, that found expression at a\nbanquet given me on the eve preceding my departure, by Mr. Erlington,\nthe German Consul at Tamatave, that I took my leave of Madagascar, when\nthe flags of the officials of the French Residency and flags of all the\nforeign consuls were flying, honoring me with a kindly farewell. A jolly\nFrench friend of mine, who came out to the steamer to see me off, said:\n\"Judge, don't you be too sure of the meaning of the flags flying at your\ndeparture from Tamatave, for we demonstrate here for gladness, as well\nas for regret.\" \"Well,\" I replied, \"in either event I am in unison with\nthe sentiment intended to be expressed; for I have both gladness and\nregret--gladness with anticipations of home, and with regret that, in\nall human probability, I am taking leave of a community from whom for\nnearly four years I have been the recipient, officially, of the highest\nrespect; and socially of unstinted friendliness.\"\n\n[Illustration: CHARLES W. CHESNUTT.\n\nA Distinguished <DW52> Writer--Author of \"The House Behind the Cedars,\"\n\"The Wife of My Youth,\" \"The Conjure Woman,\" \"The Morrow of\nTradition\"--All Sparkling with Justice, Wisdom, and Wit.]\n\nI found Vice-Consul Hunt had secured and had had my baggage placed in a\ndesirable state room. The ringing of the bell notified all\nnon-passengers ashore. After hearty handshakes from the Vice-Consul,\nGerman, French, and other friends, taking with them a bottle or two of\nwine that had been previously placed where it would do the most good,\nthey took the consular boat, and with the Stars and Stripes flying, and\nhandkerchiefs waving a final farewell, they were pulled ashore. The\nanchor weighs, and the good ship \"Yantse\" inhales a long, moist, and\nheated breath and commences to walk with stately strides and quickened\npace--weather charming and the sea as quiet as a tired child. The next\nday a stop at the Island of St. Maria, a French possession, and on the\nfifth day at Diego Suarez, on the north end of Madagascar.\n\nOn the ninth day from Tamatave we entered the Gulf of Aden, and after\nsome hours dropped anchor at Camp Aden, in Arabia. Mr. Byramzie, a\nTamatave friend of mine, and of the London firm of Dadabhoy & Co., with\na branch at Aden, came off to meet me and accompany me ashore. Camp Aden\nis a British fortification I cannot readily describe with reference to\nits topography or the heterogenous character and pursuits of its\ninhabitants. Nature was certainly in no passive mood when last it flung\nits constituents together; for, with the exception of a few circling\nacres forming a rim around the harbor, high, broken, and frowning\nbattlements of rock, ungainly and sterile, look down upon you as far as\nthe eye can reach. No sprig, or tree, or blade of grass takes root in\nits parched soil or stony bed, or survives the blasting heat. Scattered\nand dotted on crag, hilltop or <DW72>, in glaring white, are the many\noffices and residence buildings of the camp. While in hidden crevices\nand forbidden paths are planted the most approved armament, with its\n\"dogs of war\" to dispute a passage from the Gulf.\n\nIn a dilapidated four-wheeler, drawn by one horse, after considerable\ntime spent by my friend in agreeing on terms (concerning which I pause\nto remark that these benighted Jehus can give a Bowery cabman points on\n\"how not to do it\"), over a macadam road of five miles we reach Aden\nproper--the site of hotels, stores and residences with little\npretensions to architectural beauty; the buildings are quite all\nconstructed of stone, that material being in superabundance on every\nintended site; their massive walls contributing to a cool interior\nindispensable as a refuge from the blistering heat. Pure water for\ndrinking is a luxury, spasmodic in its supply. I once heard an hilarious\nIrish song that stated:\n\n    \"We are jolly and happy, for we know without doubt,\n    That the whisky is plenty, and the water is out.\"\n\nThis, I learn is the normal condition at Aden as to the relative status\nof whisky and water--a very elysium for the toper who could not\nunderstand why whisky should be spoiled by mixing it with water.\n\nRains are infrequent and well water unpalatable. Sea water is distilled,\nbut the mineral and health-giving qualities are said to be absent. The\nwater highly prized and sold is the rainwater caught in tanks. Hollowed\nout at the foot of the rock hills, there are numbers of peculiar\nconstruction, connected and on different elevations. But for the last\nthree years the non-rainfall has kept them without a tenant. As I looked\nin them not a drop sparkled within their capacious confines; they are\nseldom filled, and the supply is ever deficient. The population is from\n6,000 to 8,000, amid which the Parsee, the Mohammedan, Jew, Portuguese,\nand other nationalities compete for the commerce of the interior. The\nnatives are of varied castes, the Samiles the most energetic and\nprevailing type. The inferior classes go about almost naked and live in\nlong, unprepossessing structures, one story high, divided into single\nrooms, rude and uncleanly.\n\nWhile at Aden I availed myself of the honor and pleasure of a visit to\nthe American Consulate, and received a warm, jolly, and spiritual\nwelcome from the incumbent, the Hon. E. T. Cunningham, of Knoxville,\nTenn. Mr. Cunningham intended to stay at Aden for six months. Like\n\"linked sweetness long drawn out,\" that period has extended to three\nyears, and is now \"losing its sweetness on the desert air.\" He stated\nthat he was not infatuated with those \"scarlet days\" and \"Arabian\nnights,\" and is seeking relief or placement amid more congenial\nsurroundings, where distance (does not) \"lend enchantment to the view.\"\nBut I assured him the Department was as astute as selfish. It knows when\nit has a good thing, and endeavors to keep it. Mr. Cunningham has proved\nhimself to be an efficient and trusted official. We parted with mutual\nhope of again meeting in \"the land of the cotton and the corn.\"\n\nOn my way to the landing I passed many convoys of camels and asses,\nladen with coffee, it being one of the main articles of export. Arriving\nat the steamer and bidding my Parsee friend a last, long farewell,\nshortly we weighed anchor and away for a five days sail to Suez.\n\nOn the 17th of April, eventful to me, being my birthday, we arrived at\nSuez for a short stay, without time or inclination to go ashore. But,\nseeing the Stars and Stripes flying from a ship lying in the distance, I\ncould not withstand the temptation. Jumping into a native sailboat that\ndescribed every point of the compass with oars and adverse wind, I\nreached the United States cruiser, \"New York.\" Capt. Rodgers and his\ngentlemanly officers gave me a very cordial reception, ensuring an\nenjoyable visit. Capt. Rodgers informed me that Lieutenant Poundstone\nwas aboard, who knew me as a \"promoter\" for the Smithsonian Institute at\nWashington, he having been aboard the \"Chicago\" when it visited\nTamatave, and when Admiral Howison declined to convey my \"gay and\nfestive\" collection of wild animals to America. I would be most happy to\nsee him. He soon appeared with pleasant greetings and recollections of\nTamatave incidents. My stay from ship being limited, after a chat,\nmingled with sherry and cigars and an expression of regret from Capt.\nRodgers that, not being in our \"bailiwick,\" he could not give me a\nconsular salute from his guns, he ordered the ship's steam launch, and,\nescorted by the Lieutenant, under our national banner, I soon boarded my\nship. I was much indebted to Capt. Rodgers and officers for their\ncharming courtesy.\n\nLeaving Suez at mid-day, we shortly enter the Suez Canal--85 miles, with\nnumerous tie-ups to allow other ships the right of way.\n\nAt 8 o'clock the following morning we dropped anchor at Port Said, a\npopulous city of Arabia with 30,000 inhabitants, much diversified as to\nnativities, Turks, Assyrians, Jews, and Greeks being largely\nrepresented. The city is quite prepossessing, and seems to have improved\nits sanitary features since my visit four years ago. There are many\ncharming views; an interesting place for the tourist, alike for the\nvirtuous and the vicious, for those so inclined can see human nature\n\"unadorned.\" Wide streets pierce the city, the stores on which are a\ncontinuous bazaar, lined with many exquisite productions of necessity\nand Eastern art. But I have previously dwelt on Port Said peculiarities.\n\nLeaving Port Said on the 18th, our good ship soon enters the\nMediterranean, and with smooth seas passes through the Straits of\nMessina, with a fine view of Mt. Etna, as of yore, belching forth flames\nand smoke, with Sicily on our left and Italy and her cities on our\nright. Again entering the Mediterranean, we encounter our first rough\nseas and diminution of guests at the table. Neptune, who had been\nlenient for 17 days, now demanded settlement before digestion should\nagain be allowed to resume its sway. For myself, I was like and unlike\nthe impecunious boarder, who \"never missed a meal nor paid a cent,\" but\nlike him only in constant attendance, for I could ill-afford to miss any\npart of the pleasure of transit or menu costing $10 a day--happy,\nhowever, that I was minus \"mal de mer,\" seasickness. But this temporary\nailment of the passengers was soon banished by another phase of ocean\ntravel, that of being enveloped in a fog so dense that the ship's length\ncould not be seen ahead from the bow--every officer of the ship alert,\nthe fog horn blowing its warnings at short intervals, answered by the\n\"ships that pass in the night\" of fogs. The anxiety of the passengers\nthat the fog would lift was relieved after 36 hours, and our ship hied\naway and reached Marseilles on the 23d. From there by rail to Paris.\nEnsconced again at the \"Hotel Binda,\" the next day I visited the site of\nthe great Paris Exposition. Few of the buildings were in their entirety,\nbut what remained of the classic beauty of their construction shone the\nmore vivid amid the debris of demolition that surrounded them. The\nFrench were not enthusiastic in relation to the financial benefit of the\nexposition.\n\nA few days in Paris, and thence to Cherbourg to cross the English\nChannel to Southampton, London. This channel, which has a well-merited\nreputation for being gay and frolicsome, was extremely gracious,\nallowing us to glide over its placid bosom with scarce a tremor.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n\nThis was my first visit to the land of Wilberforces and Clarksons of the\nseventeenth century, whose devotion and fidelity to liberty abolished\nAfrican slavery in Britain's dominion and created the sentiment that\nfound expression in the immortal utterance of Judge Mansfield's\ndecision: \"Slaves cannot breathe in England; upon touch of its soil they\nstand forth redeemed and regenerated by the genius of universal\nliberty.\" With my English friend, C. B. Hurwitz, as an escort, I enjoyed\nan excursion on the Thames, and visited many places of note, including\nEngland's veteran bank, designated as the \"Old Lady of Threadneedle\nStreet,\" and the Towers of London. One of these, the Beauchamp Tower, is\nsupposed to have been built in the twelfth or thirteenth century, the\narchitecture corresponding with that in use at that period, and lately\nrestored to its original state. Herein are many inscriptions, some very\nrude, others quite artistic. It was during the restoration that these\ninscriptions were partially discovered and carefully preserved. They\nwere cut in the stone walls and partitions by the unhappy occupants,\nconfined for life or execution for their religion or rebellion in the\nthirteenth to the sixteenth century. Many are adorned with rude devices\nand inscriptions denoting the undying faith of the martyr; others the\nwailing of distress and despair. Five hundred years have elapsed, yet\nthe sadness of the crushed hearts of the unhappy occupants still lingers\nlike a funeral pall to point a moral that should strengthen tolerance\nand cherish liberty.\n\nLeaving Southampton, London, on the steamship St. Louis, after an\nuneventful passage I arrived in New York, and from thence to Washington,\nD. C. After my leave of absence had expired, I decided not to return to\nMadagascar. For after nearly four years' dalliance with the Malagash\nfever in the spring and dodging the bubonic plague in the fall, I\nconcluded that Madagascar was a good place to _come from_.\n\nW. H. Hunt, the Vice-Consul, who had filed application for the\nConsulship, conditioned upon my resignation, was appointed. An admirable\nappointment, for the duties pertaining thereto, I have no doubt, will be\nperformed with much credit to himself and to the satisfaction of the\nGovernment.\n\nI was honored as a delegate to a very interesting assembly of <DW52>\nmen from 32 States, designated the \"National <DW64> Business Men's\nLeague,\" which met in Chicago, Ill., Aug. 27, 1901. Of its object and\nlabors my conclusions were: That no better evidence can be produced\nthat the <DW64> has a good hold on the lever which will not only give a\nself-consciousness of latent powers, but will surely elevate him in the\nestimation of his fellow-citizens, than the increasing interest he is\ntaking and engaging in many of the business ventures of the country, and\nthe popular acquiescence manifested by the crowded attendance at every\nsession of the meeting.\n\nThe President of the League, Booker T. Washington, expressed the\nfollowing golden thoughts in his opening speech:\n\n\"As a race we must learn more and more that the opinion of the world\nregarding us is not much influenced by what we may say of ourselves, or\nby what others say of us, but it is permanently influenced by actual,\ntangible, visible results. The object-lesson of one honest <DW64>\nsucceeding magnificently in each community in some business or industry\nis worth a hundred abstract speeches in securing opportunity for the\nrace.\n\n\"In the South, as in most parts of the world, the <DW64> who does\nsomething and possesses something is respected by both races. Usefulness\nin the community where we live will constitute our most lasting and\npotent protection.\n\n\"We want to learn the lesson of small things and small beginnings. We\nmust not feel ourselves above the most humble occupation or the simple,\nhumble beginning. If our vision is clear, our will strong, we will use\nthe very obstacles that often seem to beset us as stepping-stones to a\nhigher and more useful life.\"\n\nThe enrollment of the members present was not completed at the first\nsession, but the hall was crowded and 200 of those present were visitors\nin Chicago. Pictures and some of the product of <DW64> concerns decorated\nthe walls, as evidence that the black man is rising above the cotton\nplantation, his first field of labor in this country. Pictures of brick\nblocks, factories, livery stables, farms and shops of every description\nowned by <DW64>s in many different States of the Union were in the\ncollection, but the greater evidence of the <DW64>'s development were the\nmen taking part in the deliberations of the sessions. They are clean\ncut, well-dressed, intelligent, and have put a business method into the\norganization.\n\nThe Governor of the State and Mayor of Chicago were represented with\nstirring addresses of welcome. The convention was singular and peculiar\nin this: The central idea of the meeting was scrupulously adhered to;\nthere was present no disposition to refer to grievances or deprivations.\nA feeling seemed to permeate the participants of confidence and surety\nthat they had fathomed the depths of much that stood in the way of a\njust recognition of <DW64> worth and a just appreciation and resolution\nto \"fight it out on that line if it took all summer,\" or many summers.\n\nThere were so many expressions so full of wisdom; so many suggestions\npractical and adaptable, I would, had I space, record them all here.\n\nTheodore Jones, of Chicago, a successful business man, in concluding an\nable paper, \"Can a <DW64> Succeed as a Business Man,\" said:\n\n\"The tone of this convention clearly indicates that the <DW64> will\nsucceed as a business man in proportion as he learns that manhood and\nwomanhood are qualities of his own making, and that no external forces\ncan either give or take them away. It demonstrates that intelligence,\npunctuality, industry, and integrity are the conquering forces in the\nbusiness and commercial world, as well as in all the affairs of human\nlife.\"\n\nGiles B. Jackson, Secretary of the Business League of Virginia, read a\npaper on \"<DW64> Industries,\" showing what had been done toward the\nsolution of the so-called \"<DW64> problem.\" The <DW64>s, he stated, had\n$14,000,000 invested in business enterprises in Virginia.\n\nWilliam L. Taylor, President of the \"True Reformers' Bank,\" of Richmond,\nVa., gave interesting details in an able and intelligent effort, of the\naims and accomplishments of that successful institution, presenting many\nphases of the enterprise--its branch stores, different farms, hotel and\nprinting department, giving employment to more than 100 officers,\nclerks, and employees. Dr. R. H. Boyd, of Nashville, Tenn., the head of\nthe \" Publishing Company, of Nashville,\" employing 123\nassistants, delivered an able address on the \"<DW64> in the Publishing\nBusiness,\" which was discussed with marked ability by the Rev. Dr.\nMorris, of Helena, Ark.\n\nAll the participants are worthy of a meed of praise for their many\nhelpful utterances and manly deportment. Prominent among them were\nCharles Banks, merchant and a large property owner of Clarkesdale,\nMiss., who spoke on \"Merchandizing\"; William O. Murphy, of Atlanta, Ga.,\non the \"Grocery Business\"; Harris Barrett, of Hampton, Va., on \"The\nBuilding and Loan Association of Hampton, Va.\"; A. N. Johnson, publisher\nand editor, of Mobile, on \"The <DW64> Business Enterprises of Mobile\"; F.\nD. Patterson, of Greenfield, Ohio, on \"Carriage Manufacturing\"; Martin\nFerguson on \"Livery Business,\" small in stature, light in weight, but\nherculean in size and heavy in force of persistency, told how by\nself-denial he had gained a fair competency; L. G. Wheeler, of Chicago,\nIll., on \"Merchant Tailoring\"; Willis S. Stearns, a druggist, of\nDecatur, Ala., in his address stated that 14 years ago there was not a\n<DW64> druggist in that State; now there are over 200 such stores owned\nby <DW52> men in various cities of that State, with an invested capital\nof $500,000. Walter P. Hall, of Philadelphia, Pa., an extensive dealer\nin game and poultry, spoke on that subject.\n\nAnd possibly as a fitting wind-up, as all sublunary things must come to\nan end, George E. Jones, of Little Rock, Ark., and G. E. Russel, of St.\nLouis, Mo., undertakers, spoke pathetically to their fellow-members of\nthe League (I trust not expectantly) of the advance in the science of\nembalming and other facilities for conveying them to that \"bourne from\nwhich no traveller returns.\" The session was \"a feast of reason and a\nflow of soul\" from its commencement until its close. And, as ever has\nbeen the case on our upward journey, there were women lighting the\npathway and stimulating effort; for during the sessions Mrs. Albreta\nSmith read a very interesting paper on \"The Success of the <DW64> Women's\nBusiness Club of Chicago\"; a delightful one was read by Mrs. Dora\nMiller, of Brooklyn, N. Y.; \"Dressmaking and Millinery\" was\nentertainingly presented by Mrs. Emma L. Pitts, of Macon, Ga., the\nladies dwelling on the great good that was being done by their\nestablishments by teaching and giving employment to scores of poor but\nworthy girls, and thereby helping them to lead pure and useful lives.\n\nI have given this exhibition of what the <DW64> is doing the foregoing\nspace for encouragement and precept, because I believe it to be the key\nto unlock many doors to honorable and useful lives heretofore barred\nagainst us.\n\n[Illustration: WILLIAM McKINLEY,\n\nLate Martyred President of the United States.\n\nWith a Record for Statesmanship, Patriotism, and Justice\nImperishable--\"His Life Was Gentle and the Elements so Mixed in Him,\nthat Nature Might Stand Up and Say to all the World, 'This is a Man.'\"]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\n\nLeaving Chicago, and having business with the President, I visited him\nat Canton, was kindly received, and accomplished the object of my visit,\nlittle thinking that, in common with my countrymen I was so soon to be\nhorrified and appalled by an atrocity which bathed the country in tears\nand startled the world in the taking-off of one of the purest patriots\nthat had ever trod his native soil.\n\nThe tragedy occurred at 4 o'clock p. m., on the 6th of September, 1901,\nin the Temple of Music on the grounds of and during the Exposition at\nBuffalo, N. Y. Surrounded by a body-guard, among whom was Secret Service\nDetective Samuel R. Ireland, of Washington, who was directly in front of\nthe President, the latter engaged in the usual manner of handshaking at\na public reception at the White House. Not many minutes had expired; a\nhundred or more of the line had passed the President, when a\nyoung-looking man named Leon Czolgosz, said to be of Polish, extraction,\napproached, offering his left hand, while his right hand contained a\npistol concealed under a handkerchief, fired two shots at the\nPresident.\n\nJames Parker, a <DW52> man, a very hercules in height, who was next to\nhave greeted the President, struck the assassin a terrific blow that\nfelled him to the floor, preventing him (as Czolgosz himself avers in\nthe following interview) from firing the third shot:\n\n\"Yesterday morning I went again to the Exposition grounds. Emma\nGoldman's speech was still burning me up. I waited near the central\nentrance for the President, who was to board his special train from that\ngate, but the police allowed nobody but the President's party to pass\nwhere the train waited. So I stayed at the grounds all day waiting.\n\n\"During yesterday I first thought of hiding my pistol under my\nhandkerchief. I was afraid if I had to draw it from my pocket I would be\nseen and seized by the guards. I got to the Temple of Music the first\none, and waited at the spot where the reception was to be held.\n\n\"Then he came, the President--the ruler--and I got in line and trembled\nand trembled until I got right up to him, and then I shot him twice\nthrough my white handkerchief. I would have fired more, but I was\nstunned by a blow in the face--a frightful blow that knocked me\ndown--and then everybody jumped on me. I thought I would be killed, and\nwas surprised the way they treated me.\"\n\nCzolgosz ended his story in utter exhaustion. When he had about\nconcluded he was asked:\n\n\"Did you really mean to kill the President?\"\n\n\"I did,\" was the cold-blooded reply.\n\n\"What was your motive; what good could it do?\"\n\n\"I am an anarchist. I am a disciple of Emma Goldman. Her words set me on\nfire,\" he replied, with not the slightest tremor.\n\nDuring the first few days after he was shot there were cheering\nbulletins issued by the medical fraternity in attendance, all typical of\nhis early recovery, and the heart of the nation was elated, to be, a\nweek later, depressed with sadness at the announcement that a change had\ncome and that the President was dying. Never was grief more sincere for\na ruler. He was buried encased with the homage and love of his people.\nWilliam McKinley will live in history, not only as a man whose private\nlife was stainless, and whose Administration of the Government was\nbeyond reproach, but as one brilliant, progressive, wise, and humane.\n\nPre-eminent as an arbiter and director, developing the nation as a world\npower, and bringing to the effete and semi-civilized peoples of the\nOrient the blessings of civilized Government; as a leader and protector\nof the industrial forces of the country, William McKinley was\nconspicuous. With strength of conviction, leading at one time an almost\nforlorn hope, by his statesmanship and intensity of purpose, he had\ngrafted on the statute books of the Nation a policy that has turned the\nwheels of a thousand idle mills, employed a hundred thousand idle hands,\nand stimulated every manufacturing industry.\n\nThis accomplished, in his last speech, memorable not only as his last\npublic utterance, but doubly so as to wise statesmanship in its advocacy\nof a less restrictive tariff, increased reciprocity, and interchange\nwith the world's commodities. His love of justice was imperial. He was\nnoted in this, that he was not only mentally eminent, but morally great.\nDuring his last tour in the South, while endeavoring to heal animosities\nengendered by the civil war and banish estrangement, he was positive in\nthe display of heartfelt interest in the <DW64>, visiting Tuskegee and\nother like institutions of learning, and by his presence and words of\ngood cheer stimulating us to noble deeds.\n\nNor was his interest manifest alone in words; his appointments in the\nbureaus of the Government of <DW52> men exceeded that of any previous\nExecutive--a representation which should increase in accordance with\nparity of numbers and fitness for place.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: JAMES B. PARKER.\n\nWho, Inspired by Patriotism and Fidelity, Struck Down the Assassin of\nPresident McKinley.]\n\nThe following excerpts from the Washington Post, the verity of which was\nechoed in the account of the crime by the New York and other\nmetropolitan journals on the day following the sad occurrence, gives a\nsketch of the manner and expressions of the criminal, and throws light\non a peculiar phase of the catastrophe, that for the truth of history\nand in the interest of justice should not be so rudely and covertly\nburied 'neath the immature \"beatings of time.\"\n\nWashington Post: In an interview Secret Service Detective Ireland, who,\nwith Officers Foster and Gallagher, was near the President when the\nshots were fired, said:\n\n\"A few moments before Czolgosz approached a man came along with three\nfingers of his right hand tied up in a bandage, and he had shaken hands\nwith his left. When Czolgosz came up I noticed he was a boyish-looking\nfellow, with an innocent face, perfectly calm, and I also noticed that\nhis right hand was wrapped in what appeared to be a bandage. I watched\nhim closely, but was interrupted by the man in front of him, who held on\nto the President's hand an unusually long time. This man appeared to be\nan Italian, and wore a short, heavy, black mustache. He was persistent,\nand it was necessary for me to push him along so that the others could\nreach the President. Just as he released the President's hand, and as\nthe President was reaching for the hand of the assassin, there were two\nquick shots. Startled for a moment, I looked and saw the President draw\nhis right hand up under his coat, straighten up, and, pressing his lips\ntogether, give Czolgosz the most scorn and contemptuous look possible to\nimagine.\n\n\"At the same time I reached for the young man, and caught his left arm.\nThe big <DW64> standing just back of him, and who would have been next to\ntake the President's hand, struck the young man in the neck with one\nhand, and with the other reached for the revolver, which had been\ndischarged through the handkerchief, and the shots from which had set\nfire to the linen.\n\n\"Immediately a dozen men fell upon the assassin and bore him to the\nfloor. While on the floor Czolgosz again tried to discharge the\nrevolver, but before he could point it at the President, it was knocked\nfrom his hand by the <DW64>. It flew across the floor, and one of the\nartillerymen picked it up and put it in his pocket.\"\n\nAnother account: \"Mr. McKinley straightened himself, paled slightly, and\nriveted his eyes upon the assassin. He did not fall or make an outcry. A\n<DW64>, named Parker, employed in the stadium, seized the wretch and\nthrew him to the floor, striking him in the mouth. As he fell he\nstruggled to use the weapon again, but was quickly overpowered. Guard\nFoster sprang to the side of Mr. McKinley, who walked to a chair a few\nfeet away.\"\n\nWashington Post, Oct. 9: James Parker, the six-foot Georgia <DW64>, who\nknocked down the assassin of President McKinley on the fatal day in the\nTemple of Music, after the two shots were fired, gave a talk to an\naudience in the Metropolitan A. M. E. Church last night. He was\nintroduced by Hon. George H. White. Parker arose, and after a few\npreliminary remarks, in which he thanked the crowd for its presence, he\nsaid he was glad to see so many <DW52> people believed he did what he\nclaimed he did at Buffalo.\n\n\"When the assassin dealt his blow,\" said Parker, \"I felt it was time to\nact. It is no great honor I am trying to get, but simply what the\nAmerican people think I am entitled to. If Mr. McKinley had lived there\nwould have been no question as to this matter. President McKinley was\nlooking right at me; in fact, his eyes were riveted upon me when I\nfelled the assassin to the floor.\n\n\"The assassin was in front of me, and as the President went to shake his\nhand, he looked hard at one hand which the fellow held across his breast\nbandaged. I looked over the man's shoulder to see what the President was\nlooking at. Just then there were two flashes and a report, and I saw the\nflame leap from the supposed bandage. I seized the man by the shoulder\nand dealt him a blow. I tried to catch hold of the gun, but he had\nlowered that arm. Quick as a flash I grasped his throat and choked him\nas hard as I could. As this happened he raised the hand with the gun in\nit again as if to fire, the burning handkerchief hanging to the weapon.\nI helped carry the assassin into a side room, and helped to search him.\"\n\nParker told of certain things he was about to do to the assassin when\none of the officers asked him to step outside. Parker refused. He\ndeclared the officers wanted to get him out of the way. He said he\nhelped to carry the assassin to the carriage in which the wretch was\ntaken to jail.\n\n\"I don't know why I wasn't summoned to the trial,\" he said.\n\nParker said Attorney Penney took his testimony after the shooting.\n\n\"I was not at the trial, though,\" concluded Parker in an injured tone.\n\"I don't say this was done with any intent to defraud me, but it looks\nmighty funny, that's all.\"\n\nThe above interviews with officers present agree with Parker's version\nof the affair, and whether the afterthought that further recognition of\nhis decisive action would detract from the reputation for vigilance\nwhich they were expected to observe is a fitting subject for\npresumption.\n\nAt the time of the occurrence Parker was the cynosure for all eyes.\nPieces of the clothing that he wore were solicited and given to his\nenthusiastic witnesses of the deed, to be preserved as trophies of his\naction in preventing the third shot. No one present at that perilous\nhour and witnessing doubted or questioned that Parker was the hero of\nthe occasion. This, the better impulse, indicating a just appreciation\nwas destined soon to be stifled and ignored. At the sittings of the\ncoroner's jury to investigate the shooting of the President, he was\nneither solicited nor allowed to be present, or testimony adduced in\nproof of his bravery in attempting to save the life of the Chief\nMagistrate of the Republic. Therefore, Parker, bereft of the well-earned\nplaudits of his countrymen, must content himself with duty done.\n\nRemarkable are the coincidences at every startling episode in the life\nof the Nation. Beginning at our country's history, the <DW64> is always\nfound at the fore. He was there when Crispus Attacks received the first\nof English bullets in the struggle of American patriots for\nIndependence; there in the civil war, when he asked to be assigned to\nposts of greatest danger. He was there quite recently at El Caney; and\nnow Parker bravely bares his breast between the intended third shot of\nthe assassin and that of President McKinley.\n\nIf this dispensation shall awaken the Nation to the peril of admitting\nthe refuse of nations within our borders, and clothing them with the\npanoply of American citizenship; if it shall engender a higher\nappreciation of the loyalty and devotion of the <DW64> citizens of the\nRepublic by the extension of justice to all beneath the flag, William\nMcKinley will not have died in vain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\n\nTaking up the reins of the Administration of the Government, with its\ncomplex statesmanship, where a master had laid them down, President\nRoosevelt, heretofore known for his sterling worth as an administrator,\nand his imperial honesty as a man, has put forth no uncertain sound as\nto his intended course. The announcement that the foreign policy of his\nillustrious predecessor would be chiefly adhered to has struck a\nresponsive chord in every patriotic heart. The appointment of ex-Gov.\nJones, of Alabama, to a Federal judgeship was an appointment in unison\nwith the best of popular accord. The nobility of the Governor in his\nutterances on the subject of lynching should endear him to every lover\nof justice and the faithful execution of law. For he so grandly evinced\nwhat is so sadly wanting in many humane and law-abiding men--the courage\nof his convictions.\n\n    \"For when a free thought sought expression,\n    He spoke it boldly, spoke it all.\"\n\nIt is only to the fruition of such expressions, the molding of an\nadverse sentiment to such lawlessness that we can look for the\nabolishment of that crime of crimes which, to the disgrace of our\ncountry, is solely ours.\n\n[Illustration: THEODORE ROOSEVELT,\n\nPresident of the United States.\n\nCivil Service Commissioner--Police Commissioner of New York--Assistant\nSecretary of War and Vice-President of the United States--A Hero in War,\na Statesman in Peace.]\n\nThis appointment is considered eminently wise, not only for the superior\nability of the appointee as a jurist, but for his broad humanity as a\nman, fully recognizing the inviolability of human life and its\nsubjection to law. For the <DW64>, his primal needs are protection and\nthe common liberty vouchsafed to his fellow-countrymen. To enjoy them it\nis necessary that he be in harmony with his environments. A bulwark he\nmust have, of a friendship not the product of coercion, but a concession\nfrom the pulse-beat of justice. Such appointments pass the word down the\nline that President Roosevelt, in his endeavor to be the exponent of the\ngenius of American citizenship, will recognize the sterling advocates of\nthe basic elements of constitutional Government, those of law and order,\nirrespective of party affiliation.\n\nThis appointment will probably cause dissent in Republican circles, but\nit may be doubted if the <DW64> advances his political fortunes by\ninvidious criticism of the efforts of a Republican Administration to\nharmonize ante-bellum issues. For while he in all honesty may be\nstrenuous for the inviolability of franchises of the Republican\nhousehold, and widens the gap between friendly surroundings, each of\nthe political litigants meet with their knees under each other's\nmahogany, and jocularly discuss <DW64> idiosyncrasies, and tacitly agree\nto give his political aspirations a \"letting alone.\" For, with character\nand ability unquestioned for the discharge of duties, the vote polled\nfor him usually falls far short of the average of that polled by his\nparty for other candidates on the ticket.\n\nThe summary killing of human beings by mobs without the form of law is\nnot of late origin. Ever since the first note of reconstruction was\nsounded, each Administration has denounced lynching. All history is the\nrecord that it is only through discussion and the ventilation of wrong\nthat right becomes a valued factor. But regard for justice is not\ndiminishing in our country. The judiciary, although weak and amenable to\nprevailing local prejudices in localities, as a whole is far in advance\non the sustenance of righteous rule than in the middle of the last\ncentury, when slavery ruled the Nation and its edicts were law, and its\nbaleful influence permeated every branch of the Government.\n\nOf the judiciary at that period Theodore Parker, an eminent\nCongregational divine and most noted leader of Christian thought, during\na sermon in 1854, said:\n\n\"Slavery corrupts the judicial class. In America, especially in New\nEngland, no class of men has been so much respected as the judges, and\nfor this reason: We have had wise, learned, and excellent men for our\njudges, men who reverenced the higher law of God, and sought by human\nstatutes to execute justice. You all know their venerable names and how\nreverentially we have looked up to them. Many of them are dead, and some\nare still living, and their hoary hairs are a crown of glory on a\njudicial life without judicial blot. But of late slavery has put a\ndifferent class of men on the benches of the Federal Courts--mere tools\nof the Government creatures who get their appointments as pay for past\npolitical service, and as pay in advance for iniquity not yet\naccomplished. You see the consequences. Note the zeal of the Federal\njudges to execute iniquity by statute and destroy liberty. See how ready\nthey are to support the Fugitive Slave Bill, which tramples on the\nspirit of the Constitution and its letter, too; which outrages justice\nand violates the most sacred principles and precepts of Christianity.\nNot a United States Judge, Circuit or District, has uttered one word\nagainst that bill of abominations. Nay, how greedy they are to get\nvictims under it. No wolf loves better to rend a lamb into fragments\nthan these judges to kidnap a fugitive slave and punish any man who\ndesires to speak against it. You know what has happened in Fugitive\nSlave Bill courts. You remember the 'miraculous' rescue of a Shadrach;\nthe peaceable snatching of a man from the hands of a cowardly kidnapper\nwas 'high treason;' it was 'levying war.' You remember the trial of the\nrescuers! Judge Sprague's charge to the jury that if they thought the\nquestion was which they ought to obey, the laws of man or the laws of\nGod, then they must 'obey both,' serve God and Mammon, Christ and the\ndevil in the same act. You remember the trial, the ruling of the bench,\nthe swearing on the stand, the witness coming back to alter and enlarge\nhis testimony and have another gird at the prisoner. You have not\nforgotten the trials before Judge Kane at Philadelphia and Judge Greer\nat Christiana and Wilkesbarre.\n\n\"These are natural results from causes well known. You cannot escape a\nprinciple. Enslave a <DW64>, will you? You doom to bondage your own sons\nand daughters by your own act.\"\n\n[Illustration: HON. GEORGE B. CORTELYOU.\n\nSecretary to the President.\n\nBorn July, 1862, in State of New York--Has Made Mark in Literature and\nArt--His Promotion Has Been Rapid, From Stenographer to Executive Clerk,\nThence to Secretary to Presidents McKinley and Roosevelt, an Office Now\nGrown to the Dignity of a Cabinet Position.]\n\nAt the death of Theodore Parker, among the many eulogies on his life was\none by Ralph Waldo Emerson, highly noted for his humanity, his learning\nand his philosophy. It contains apples of gold, and richly deserves\nimmortality; for in the worldly strife for effervescent wealth and\nprominence, a benign consciousness that our posthumous fame as unselfish\nbenefactors to our fellow-men is to live on through the ages, would be a\nsolace for much misrepresentation. Emerson said: \"It is plain to me that\nTheodore Parker has achieved a historic immortality here. It will not be\nin the acts of City Councils nor of obsequious Mayors nor in the State\nHouse; the proclamations of Governors, with their failing virtue failing\nthem at critical moments, that generations will study what really befel;\nbut in the plain lessons of Theodore Parker in this hall, in Faneuil\nHall and in legislative committee rooms, that the true temper and\nauthentic record of these days will be read. The next generation will\ncare little for the chances of election that govern Governors now; it\nwill care little for fine gentlemen who behaved shabbily; but it will\nread very intelligently in his rough story, fortified with exact\nanecdotes, precise with names and dates, what part was taken by each\nactor who threw himself into the cause of humanity and came to the\nrescue of civilization at a hard pinch; and those who blocked its\ncourse.\n\n\"The vice charged against America is the want of sincerity in leading\nmen. It does not lie at his door. He never kept back the truth for fear\nof making an enemy. But, on the other hand, it was complained that he\nwas bitter and harsh; that his zeal burned with too hot a flame. It is\nso hard in evil times to escape this charge for the faithful preacher.\nMost of all, it was his merit, like Luther, Knox, and Latimer and John\nthe Baptist, to speak tart truth when that was peremptory and when there\nwere few to say it. His commanding merit as a reformer is this, that he\ninsisted beyond all men in pulpit--I cannot think of one rival--that\nthe essence of Christianity is its practical morals; it is there for\nuse, or it is nothing: If you combine it with sharp trading, or with\nordinary city ambitions to glaze over municipal corruptions or private\nintemperance, or successful frauds, or immoral politics, or unjust wars,\nor the cheating of Indians, or the robbing of frontier natives, it is\nhypocrisy and the truth is not in you, and no love of religious music,\nor dreams of Swedenborg, or praise of John Wesley or of Jeremy Taylor,\ncan save you from the Satan which you are.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\n\nThe accord so generally given to the appointment of ex-Governor Jones,\nof Alabama--a Gold Democrat, having views on domestic order in harmony\nwith the Administration--to a Federal judgeship was destined to be\nfollowed by a bitter arraignment of President Roosevelt for having\ninvited Booker T. Washington to dine with him at the White House. As a\npassing event not without interest, in this era of the times, indicative\nof \"shadow and light,\" I append a few extracts from Southern and\nNorthern Journals:\n\n\nSHADOW.\n\nIn all parts of the country comment has been provoked by the fact that\nPresident Roosevelt, on Wednesday night last, entertained at dinner in\nthe White House, Booker T. Washington, who is generally regarded as the\nrepresentative of the <DW52> race in America. Especially in the South\nhas the incident aroused indignation, according to the numerous news\ndispatches. The following comments from the editorial columns of\nnewspapers and from prominent men are given:\n\nNew Orleans, Oct. 19.--The Times-Democrat says:\n\n\"It is strange news that comes from Washington. The President of the\nUnited States, for the first time in the history of the nation, has\nentertained a <DW64> at dinner in the White House. White men of the\nSouth, how do you like it? White women of the South, how do you like it?\n\n\"Everyone knows that when Mr. Roosevelt sits down to dinner in the White\nHouse with a <DW64> he that moment declares to all the world that in the\njudgment of the President of the United States the <DW64> is the social\nequal of the white man. The <DW64> is not the social equal of the white\nman. Mr. Roosevelt might as well attempt to rub the stars out of the\nfirmament as to try to erase that conviction from the heart and brain of\nthe American people.\"\n\nThe Daily States: \"In the face of the facts it can but appear that the\nPresident's action was little less than a studied insult to the South\nadopted at the outset of his Administration for the purpose of showing\nhis contempt for the sentiments and prejudices of this section.\"\n\nRichmond, Va., Oct. 19.--The Dispatch says:\n\n\"With many qualities that are good--with some, possibly, that are\ngreat--Mr. Roosevelt is a negrophilist. While Governor of New York he\ninvited a <DW64> (who, on account of race prejudice, could not obtain\naccommodation at any hotel) to be his guest at the Executive Mansion,\nand, it is said, gave him the best room in the house.\n\n\"Night before last the President had Prof. Booker T. Washington to dine\nwith him at the White House. That was a deliberate act, taken under no\nalleged pressure of necessity, as in the Albany case, and may be taken\nas outlining his policy toward the <DW64> as a factor in Washington\nsociety. We say 'Washington society,' rather than 'American society,'\nbecause the former, on account of its political atmosphere, is much more\n'advanced' in such matters than that of any other American city of which\nwe know anything. The President, having invited Booker T. Washington to\nhis table, residents of Washington of less conspicuous standing may be\nexpected to do likewise. And if they invite him they may invite lesser\nlights-- lights.\n\n\"When Mr. Cleveland was President he received Fred Douglass at some of\nhis public entertainments--'functions,' so-called--but we do not\nremember that Fred was singled out for the distinguished honor of dining\nwith the President, as Booker Washington has been.\n\n\"We do not like Mr. Roosevelt's negrophilism at all, and are sorry to\nsee him seeking opportunities to indulge in it. He is reported to have\nrejoiced that <DW64> children were going to school with his children at\nOyster Bay. But then, it may be said, too, that he has more reasons than\nthe average white man to be fond of <DW64>s, since it was a <DW64>\nregiment that saved the Rough Riders from decimation at San Juan Hill.\nAnd but for San Juan Hill it is quite unlikely that Mr. Roosevelt would\nbe President today.\n\n\"Booker Washington is said to have been very influential with the\nPresident in having Judge Jones put upon the Federal bench in Alabama,\nand we are now fully prepared to believe that statement.\n\n\"With our long-matured views on the subject of social intercourse\nbetween blacks and whites, the least we can say now is that we deplore\nthe President's taste, and we distrust his wisdom.\"\n\nBirmingham, Ala., Oct. 19.--The Enterprise says:\n\n\"It remained for Mr. Roosevelt to establish a precedent humiliating to\nthe South and a disgrace to the nation. Judge Jones owes a duty to the\nSouth, to his friends and to common decency to promptly resign and hurl\nthe appointment back into the very teeth of the white man who would\ninvite a <DW65> to eat with his family.\"\n\nAugusta, Ga., Oct. 19.--The Augusta Chronicle says, in its leading\neditorial, today:\n\n\"The news from Washington that President Booker T. Washington, of\nTuskegee Institute, was a guest at the White House at a dinner with\nPresident and Mrs. Roosevelt and family, and that after dinner there was\nthe usual social hour over cigars, is a distinct shock to the favorable\nsentiment that was crystallizing in the South for the new President.\n\n\"While encouraging the people in the hope that the <DW64> is to be\nlargely eliminated from office in the South, President Roosevelt throws\nthe fat in the fire by giving countenance to the <DW64>'s claims for\nsocial equality by having one to dine in the White House.\n\n\"President Roosevelt has made a mistake, one that will not only efface\nthe good impression he had begun to create in the South, but one that\nwill actively antagonize Southern people and meet the disapproval of\ngood Anglo-Saxon sentiment in all latitudes.\n\n\"The South does not relish the <DW64> in office, but that is a small\nmatter compared with its unalterable opposition to social equality\nbetween the races. President Roosevelt has flown in the face of public\nsentiment and precipitated an issue that has long since been fought out,\nand which should have been left in the list of settled questions.\"\n\nNashville, Tenn., Oct. 19.--The Evening Banner says:\n\n\"Whatever justification may be attempted of the President's action in\nthis instance, it goes without saying that it will tend to chill the\nfavor with which he is regarded in the South, and will embarrass him in\nhis reputed purpose to build up his party in this section.\"\n\nLouisville, Ky., Oct. 19.--The Times of yesterday afternoon says:\n\n\"The President has eliminated the color line from his private and\nofficial residences and with public office is hiring white Democrats to\nwhitewash it down South.\"\n\nAtlanta, Ga., Oct. 19.--Governor Candler says:\n\n\"No self-respecting white man can ally himself with the President after\nwhat has occurred. The step has done the Republican party no earthly\ngood, and it will materially injure its chances in the South. The effect\nof the Jones appointment is largely neutralized. Still, I guess it's\nlike the old woman when she kissed the cow. As a matter of fact,\nNorthern people do not understand the <DW64>. They see the best types and\njudge of the remainder by them.\"\n\n\nLIGHT.\n\nPhiladelphia, Oct. 19.--The Ledger this morning says:\n\n\"Because President Roosevelt saw fit, in his good judgment, to invite\nBooker T. Washington to dinner, strong words of disapproval are heard in\nthe South. Mr. Washington is a <DW52> man who enjoys the universal\nrespect of all people in this country, black and white, on account of\nattainments, character and deeds. As the President invited him to be his\nprivate guest, and did not attempt to enforce the companionship of a\n<DW52> man upon any one to whom the association could possibly be\ndistasteful, any criticism of the President's act savors of very great\nimpertinence. But, considered in any light, the invitation is not a\nsubject for criticism. Booker T. Washington is one of the most notable\ncitizens of the country, just because he has done noteworthy things. He\nis the founder and the successful executive of one of the most\nremarkable institutions in the United States, the Tuskegee (Alabama)\nInstitute, which not only aims, but in fact does, educate and train the\nyouth of the <DW64> race to become useful, industrious and\nself-supporting citizens.\n\n\"Booker T. Washington is the embodiment of common sense and, instead of\ninciting the members of his race to dwell upon their wrongs, to waste\ntheir time upon politics and to try to get something for nothing in this\nlife, in order to live without work, he has constantly preached the\ngospel of honest work, and has founded a great industrial school, which\nfits the young <DW64>s for useful lives as workers and teachers of\nindustry to others. This is the man who was justly called by President\nMcKinley, after he had inspected Tuskegee, the \"leader of his race,\" and\nin the South no intelligent man denies that he is doing a great service\nto the whole population of both colors in this land. It is evident that\nthe only objection that could be brought against association with such a\nman as that is color alone, and President Roosevelt will not recognize\nthat prejudice.\"\n\nThe Evening Bulletin says:\n\n\"President Roosevelt night before last had Booker T. Washington, the\nworthy and much-respected <DW52> man who is at the head of the Tuskegee\nInstitute, as a guest at his private table in the White House. This has\ncaused some indignation among Southerners and in Southern newspapers.\n\n\"Yet all the President really seems to have done was an act of courtesy\nin asking Mr. Washington to sit down with him to dinner and have a talk\nwith him. As Booker T. Washington is an entirely reputable man, as well\nas an interesting one, the President doubtless enjoyed his company. Many\nPresidents in the past have had far less reputable and agreeable men at\ntheir table. If Mr. Roosevelt shall have no worse ones among his private\nguests, the country will have no cause for complaint.\n\n\"The right of the President to dine with anyone he may please to have\nwith him is entirely his own affair, and Theodore Roosevelt is not a\nlikely man to pick out bad company, black or white, for his personal or\nsocial companionship. The rumpus which some indiscreet Southerners are\ntrying to raise because he has been hospitable to a <DW52> man is a\nfoolish display of both manners and temper.\"\n\nBoston, Oct. 19.--Commenting on President Roosevelt's action in\nextending hospitality to Booker T. Washington, President Charles Eliot,\nof Harvard, said:\n\n\"Harvard dined Booker Washington at her tables at the last commencement.\nHarvard conferred an honorary degree on him. This ought to show what\nHarvard thinks about the matter.\"\n\nWilliam Lloyd Garrison: \"It was a fine object lesson, and most\nencouraging. It was the act of a gentleman--an act of unconscious\nnatural simplicity.\"\n\nCharles Eliot Norton: \"I uphold the President in the bold stand that he\nhas taken.\"\n\n\nNO SYMPATHY WITH PREJUDICE.\n\nNew York Herald: The President has absolutely no sympathy with the\nprejudice against color. He has shown this on two occasions. Once he\ninvited to his house at Oyster Bay, Harris, the <DW64> half-back of Yale,\nand entertained him over night. The other occasion was when he took in\nat the Executive Mansion at Albany, Brigham, the <DW64> baritone of St.\nGeorge's Church, who was giving a concert in Albany and had been\nrefused food and shelter by all the hotels.\n\n\nWASTING THEIR BREATH.\n\nPhiladelphia Press: President Roosevelt's critics are wasting breath and\nspilling ink. There is an obstinate man in the White House. The cry of\n\"<DW65>\" will neither prevent him from continuing to appoint to any\noffice in the Southern States the best men, under whatever color of\npolitics, who can be found under current conditions, or recognizing in\nthe hospitalities of the White House the best type of American manhood,\nunder whatever color of skin it can be found.\n\n\nTHAT DINNER.\n\nNew York Tribune: The Southern politician who criticises President\nRoosevelt's action in inviting Prof. Booker T. Washington to dine at the\nWhite House is likely to raise the query whether the manager of the\nTuskegee Institute or himself is really the more deserving and genuine\nfriend of the South.\n\n\nDEMOCRATS HAVE CHANGED ATTITUDE.\n\nGlad of Booker T. Washington's Help in Securing Office.\n\nNOW JEER ROOSEVELT.\n\nBerate President for Dining With a <DW64>.\n\nSome Noted Occasions When the Alabama Educator Has Received the Plaudits\nof the South.\n\nWashington, D. C., Oct. 19.--President Roosevelt has a fine sense of\nhumor, and while he regrets that he has without malice stirred up a\ntempest in a teapot for the Southern editors by entertaining Professor\nBooker T. Washington at dinner, he cannot put aside the humorous side of\nthe situation. It is only a few weeks since a number of white Democrats\nco-operated with Booker Washington in regard to the appointment of\nex-Governor Jones to the vacancy on the Federal bench in Alabama, and\nWashington spoke for these white Democrats when he came to the capital\nand assured President Roosevelt that Jones would accept the appointment\nand that it would be satisfactory to all classes.\n\nWashington had seen the President and had acted as his agent in\ninterviewing Governor Jones and others as to the appointment. The\nSouthern Democrats applauded the appointment of Jones, and they praised\nWashington for using his influence at the White House to secure such an\nappointment for a Democrat. Then they all spoke of Washington as a\ngentleman of culture, who had the refined sense to cut loose from the\nRepublican leaders of the <DW64> party in the South and work in harmony\nwith the best class of whites. Now they are abusing the President for\ndining with a \"<DW65>.\"\n\nWashington has entertained more distinguished Northern men and more\ndistinguished Southern men at the Tuskegee Institute than any other man\nin the State, if not in the South. President McKinley and his Cabinet,\naccompanied by many other distinguished gentlemen, were the guests of\nWashington at Tuskegee two years ago, and they lunched at his table.\nWashington was the guest of honor at a banquet in Paris three years ago,\nwhen Ambassador Porter presided and ex-President Harrison and Archbishop\nIreland were among the guests. This same \"<DW65>\" was received by Queen\nVictoria and took tea in Buckingham Palace the same year.\n\n\nINVITATION FROM WHITE HOUSE.\n\nWhen he returned to this country Washington received invitations from\nall parts of the South to deliver addresses and attend receptions given\nby white people. He was received by the Governors of Georgia, Virginia,\nWest Virginia and Louisiana. He spoke to many mixed audiences in the\nSouth, where whites and blacks united to do him honor. When the people\nof Atlanta wanted an appropriation from Congress for their Exposition in\n1895 they sent a large committee of the most distinguished men in the\nSouth to the National Capital to plead their cause. Booker T. Washington\nwas one of these distinguished Southern men. Congressman Joseph E.\nCannon, Chairman of the Committee on Appropriations in the House, says\nthat Washington by his force and eloquence secured that appropriation of\n$250,000 for the Atlanta Exposition.\n\nThe Southern people had only praise for him when he was arranging to\ntake Vice-President Roosevelt to Tuskegee and Montgomery and Atlanta\nthis fall, and they were eager to co-operate with him in entertaining\nsuch a distinguished visitor. They still hope to have President\nRoosevelt visit the South, and if he goes he will go as the guest of\nBooker T. Washington.\n\nThe President knows, too, that the real leaders of the South, white\nDemocrats, do not sympathize with this hue and cry of Southern editors\nbecause Washington was a guest at the White House. Today the President\nhas received many messages from Southern men, urging him to pay no\nattention to the yawp of the bourbon editors, who have not been able to\nget over the old habit of historical discussion of \"social equality.\"\nSouthern men called at the White House today as usual to ask for favors\nat the hands of the President, and they are not afraid of contamination\nby meeting the man who \"ate with a <DW65>.\"\n\n\nAMUSES THE PRESIDENT.\n\nPresident Roosevelt cannot help seeing the humorous side of the\nsituation he has created by asking his friend to dinner, and he is\npursuing the even tenor of his way as President without worrying over\nthe outcome. He has, in the last two weeks, given cause for much\nexcitement in the South. The first was when he appointed a Democrat to\noffice and ignored the professional Republican politicians, who claimed\nto carry the \"<DW65>\" vote in their pocket. He was not disturbed by the\nthreats of the Southern Republican politicians over that incident, and\nhe is not disturbed by the threats of the Southern Democratic editors\nover this incident.\n\nAs to the Southern objection to dining, with a <DW64>, Opie Read, of\nChicago, tells a story about M. W. Gibbs, who has just resigned his\nposition as United States Consul at Tamatave, Madagascar. Gibbs is now\nin Washington on his way home to Little Rock. He resigned to give a\nyounger man a chance to serve his country as a Consul. Here is the story\nOpie Read told about Gibbs dining with white men at a banquet in honor\nof General Grant in Little Rock:\n\nIn the reconstruction days a <DW64> by the name of Mifflin Wistar Gibbs\nlocated in Little Rock, Ark. He showed the community that he was keener\nthan a whole lot of its leading citizens, who had kept the offices in\ntheir families for generations. Under the new order of things he was\nappointed Attorney of Pulaski County. His ability and the considerate\nmanner in which he conducted his relationship with the whites gave him a\ngreater popularity than any other <DW52> man had ever before enjoyed in\nthat place. His influence increased, until General Grant, then\nPresident, appointed him Register of the United States Land Office at\nLittle Rock.\n\n\nGIBBS' SPEECH THE BEST.\n\n\"When General Grant visited our city a banquet was prepared, and it was\nfinally decided that for the first time in the history of the 'Bear\nState' a <DW64> would be welcomed at a social function on terms of\nabsolute equality. I was then editor of the Gazette, and my seat was\nnext to that of Gibbs. The speaker who had been selected to respond to\nthe toast, 'The Possibilities of American Citizenship' was absent. I\nasked Gibbs if he would not talk on that subject. He consented, and I\narranged the matter with the toastmaster. The novelty and the\npicturesqueness of the thing appealed to me. Every guest was\nspellbound, and General Grant was astonished. Not only was the speech\nof the <DW64> the best one delivered on that occasion, but it was one of\nthe most remarkable to which I have ever listened.\n\n\"The owner of the Gazette was a Democrat of the Democrats, and a strict\nkeeper of the traditions of the South. Moreover, his paper was the\nofficial organ of the Democratic party, and we were in the heat of a\nbitter campaign. In spite of all this, however, I came out with the\neditorial statement that Gibbs had scored the greatest oratorical\ntriumph of the affair. Perhaps this didn't stir things up a little. But\nthe gratitude of Gibbs was touching. He is now United States Consul at\nTamatave, Madagascar. In my opinion he is the greatest living\nrepresentative of the <DW52> race. We have been close friends ever\nsince that banquet.\"\n\n\nBOOKER WASHINGTON THE VICTIM.\n\n(From the Washington (D. C.) Post, October 23, 1901.)\n\nQuite the most deplorable feature of the Booker Washington incident is,\nin our opinion, the effect it is likely to have on Washington himself;\nyet this is an aspect of the case which does not seem to have occurred\nthus far to any of the multitudinous and more or less enlightened\ncommentators who have bestowed their views upon the country. Criticisms\nof the President are matters of taste. For our part, we hold, and have\nalways held, that a President's private and domestic affairs are not\nproper subjects of public discussion. A man does not surrender all of\nhis personal liberties in becoming the Chief Executive of the Nation. At\nleast, his purely family arrangements are not the legitimate concern of\noutsiders. The Presidency would hardly be worth the having otherwise.\nThe country, however, has a right to consider the incident in the light\nof its probable injury to Washington and to the great and useful work in\nwhich he is engaged.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn closing this page of \"Shadow and Light\" I am loath to believe that\nthis extreme display of adverse feeling regarding the President's action\nin inviting Mr. Washington to dine with him, as shown in some\nlocalities, is fully shared by the best element of Southern opinion. Few\nSouthern gentlemen of the class who so cheerfully pay the largest amount\nof taxation for the tuition of the <DW64>, give him employment and do\nmuch to advance him along educational and industrial lines, fear that\nthe President's action will cause the obtrusion of his bronze pedals\nbeneath their mahogany. Trusting that he will be inspired to foster\nthose elements of character so conspicuous in Mr. Washington and that\nhave endeared him to his broad-minded countrymen both North and South.\nThe best intelligence, the acknowledged leaders of the race, are not\nonly conservative along political lines, but are in accord with those\nwho claim that social equality is not the creature of law, or the\nproduct of coercion, for, in a generic sense, there is no such thing as\nsocial equality. The gentlemen who are so disturbed hesitate, or refuse\nsuch equality with many of their own race; the same can be truthfully\nsaid of the <DW64>. Many ante-bellum theories and usages have already\nvanished under the advance of a higher civilization, but the \"old\ngrudge\" is still utilized when truth and justice refuse their service.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\n\nWashington, the American \"Mecca\" for political worshipers, is a\nbeautiful city, but well deserving its \"nom de plume\" as \"the city of\nmagnificent distances;\" for any one with whom you have business seems to\nlive five miles from every imaginable point of the compass; and should\nyou be on stern business bent, distance will not \"lend enchantment to\nthe view.\" It is here that the patriot, and the mercenary, the ambitious\nand the envious gather, and where unity and divergence hold high\ncarnival.\n\nDramatists have found no better field for portraying the vicissitudes\nand uncertainties, the successes and triumphs of human endeavor. The\nante-room to the President's office presents a vivid picture, as they\nwait for, or emerge from, executive presence, delineating the varied\nphases of impressible human nature--the despondent air of ill success;\nthe pomp of place secured; the expectant, but hope deferred; the\nbitterness depicted in waiting delegations on a mission of opposition\nbent; the gleam of gladness on success; homage to the influential--all\nthese figure, strut or bemoan in the ratio of a self-importance or a\ndejected mien. There is no more humorous reading, or more typical, than\nthe ups and downs of office-seekers. Sometimes it is that of William the\n\"Innocent,\" and often that of William the \"Croker.\" The trials of \"an\nunsuccessful,\" a prototype of \"Orpheus C. Kerr,\" the nom de plume of\nthat prince of writers, on this subject, is in place:\n\nDiary of an office-seeker, William the \"Innocent\":\n\nMarch 2d--Just arrived. Washington a nice town. Wonder if it would not\nbe as well to stay here as go abroad.\n\nMarch 4th--Saw McKinley inaugurated. We folks who nominated him will be\nall right now. Think I had better take an assistant secretaryship. The\nAdministration wants good men, who know something about politics;\nbesides, I am getting to like Washington.\n\nMarch 8th--Big crowd at the White House. They ought to give the\nPresident time to settle himself. Have sold my excursion ticket and will\nstay awhile. Too many people make a hotel uncomfortable. Have found a\ngood boarding house.\n\nMarch 11th--Shook hands with the President in the East Room and told him\nI would call on a matter of business in a few days. He seemed pleased.\n\nMarch 15th--Went to the Capitol and found Senator X. He was sour. Said\nthe whole State was there chasing him. Asked me what I wanted, and\nsaid, \"Better go for something in reach.\" Maybe an auditorship would be\nthe thing.\n\nMarch 23d--Took my papers to the White House. Thought I'd wait and have\na private talk with the President, but Sergeant Porter said I'd have to\ngo along with the rest. What an ill-natured set they were. Elbowed me\nright along just because they saw the President wanted to talk with me.\nWill have to go back and finish our conversation.\n\nMarch 27--Got some money from home.\n\nMarch 29th--Went to the White House, but the chap at Porter's door\nwouldn't let me in. Said it was after hours. He ought to be fired.\n\nApril 3d--Saw Mark Hanna, after waiting five hours. Asked him why my\nletter had not been answered. He said he was getting 400 a day and his\nsecretaries would catch up some time next year. I always thought Hanna\noverestimated. Now I know it.\n\nApril 5th--Had an interview with the President. Was last in the line, so\nthey could not push me along. When I told him of my services to the\nparty, he replied: \"Oh, yes;\" and for me to file my papers in the State\nDepartment. Said he had many good friends in Indiana and hoped they\nwould be patient. Can he have forgotten I am not from Indiana? Probably\nthe tariff is worrying him. Shameful the way the Senate is acting.\n\nApril 7th--Borrowed a little more money. Washington is an expensive town\nto live in.\n\nApril 11th--Senator X. says all the auditorships were mortgaged before\nthe election, but he will indorse me for a special agency or a chief\nclerkship, if I can find one that is not under the civil service law.\n\nApril 12th--D--n the civil service law.\n\nApril 17th--Didn't know there were so many good positions abroad. Ought\nto have gone for one of them in the first place. That State Department\nis a great thing. Think I'll start with Antwerp and check off a few\nwhich will suit me. Wonder where I can negotiate a small loan?\n\nApril 19th--Got in to see the President and told him I could best serve\nthe Administration and the party abroad. He said, \"Oh, yes,\" and to file\nmy papers in the Post-office Department, and he hoped his friends in\nMassachusetts would be patient. What made him think I was from\nMassachusetts? I suppose he gets mixed sometimes.\n\nApril 20th--Senator X. says there is one chance in a million of getting\na Consulate; but if I will concentrate on Z town he and the delegation\nwill do what they can. Salary, $1,000; fees, $87.\n\nApril 21st---Have concentrated on Z town. Got in line today just for a\nmoment to tell the President it would suit me. He said, \"Oh, yes,\" and\nto file my papers in the Treasury Department, and he hoped his friends\nin Minnesota would be patient till he could get around to them. Queer he\nshould think I was from Minnesota.\n\nApril 26th--The ingratitude of that man McKinley! He has nominated Jones\nfor Z town, when he knew I had concentrated on it. After my services to\nthe party, too! Who is Jones, anyhow?\n\nApril 27th--I am going home. Senator X has got me a pass. Will send for\nmy trunk later. It is base ingratitude.\n\nWilliam the \"Croker,\" the other applicant for official favor, wanted\n\"Ambassador to Russia,\" and while not attaining the full measure of his\nambition, was nevertheless rewarded for his pertinacity. His sojourn in\nWashington had been long, and was becoming irksome, particularly so to\nthe Senators and Members of Congress from his State, who had from time\nto time ministered to his pecuniary wants. But Seth Orton was noted at\nhome and abroad for his staying qualities. He came from an outlying\ndistrict in his State that was politically pivotal, and Seth had been\nknown on several occasions by his fox-horn contributions to rally the\n\"unwashed\" and save the day when hope but faintly glimmered above the\npolitical horizon. For his Congressional delegation Seth was both useful\nat home and expensive abroad. That the mission for which he aspired was\nbeyond his reach they were fully aware; that he must be disposed of\nthey were equally agreed. After having adroitly removed the props to his\naspirations for Ambassador, Minister Plenipotentiary and Consul, they\ntold him they had succeeded in getting him an Indian agency, paying\n$1,000 a year. He was disgusted, and proclaimed rebellion. They appeased\nhim by telling him that the appropriation for supplies and other\nnecessaries the last year was ten thousand dollars, and they were of the\nopinion that the former agent had saved half of it. A gleam of joy and\nquick consent were prompt! Walking up and down his Congressman's room,\npleased, then thoughtful, then morose, he finally exclaimed to his\npatron, \"Look here, Mr. Harris; don't you think that $5,000 of the\n$10,000 too much to give them d--n <DW65> Indians?\"\n\nOn the official side of  Washington life, we see much that is\ngratifying recognition. The receipt by us of over a million dollars\nannually, on the one side, and the rendering of a creditable service on\nthe other, while our professional and business status in the District is\nequally commendable, and much more prolific in the bestowal of\nsubstantial and lasting benefit. And on the domestic side we have much\nthat is cheering, comprising a large representation of wealth and\nintelligence, living in homes indicating refinement and culture, and\nwith a social contact the most desirable.\n\n[Illustration: WILLIAM CALVIN CHASE,\n\nLawyer, and Editor of \"Washington Bee.\"\n\nBorn in Washington, D. C., February, 1854--Leaving the Public School\nentered Howard University and there Graduated--As Editor or Lawyer He is\nTireless in His Adherence to well-formed Convictions--The \"Bee\" Hums no\nUncertain Sound.]\n\nMr. Andrew F. Hilyer, editor and compiler of \"The Twentieth Century\nUnion League Directory,\" in his introduction to that able and useful\npublication, says: \"This being the close of the nineteenth century,\nafter a generation of freedom, it was thought to be a good point at\nwhich to stop and take an account of stock, and see just what is the\nactual status of the <DW52> population of Washington, the Capital of\nthe Nation, where the <DW52> population is large, and where the\nconditions are the most favorable, to see what is their actual status as\nskilled workmen, in business, in the professions, and in their\norganizations; in short, to make a study, at first hand, of their\nefforts for social betterment.\"\n\nThis publication contains the names, character and location of 500\nbusiness men and women. It is creditable to the compiler and encouraging\nfor the subjects of its reference.\n\nThe  newspapers of the District, several in number, are of high\norder, and maintain a reputation for intelligent journalism, and for\nenergy and devotion to the cause they espouse are abreast with those of\nsister communities. The growth of <DW64> journals in our country has been\nmarked. We have now three hundred or more newspapers and magazines,\nedited and published by <DW52> men and women. The publisher of a race\npaper early finds that it is not a sinecure nor a bed of roses. If he is\nzealous and uncompromising in the defense of his race, exposing\noutrages and injustice; advertisements are withdrawn by those who have\nthe most patronage to bestow. Should he \"crook the pregnant hinges of\nthe knee, that thrift may follow fawning,\" and fail to denounce the\nwrong, the paper loses influence and subscriptions of those in whose\ninterest it is professedly established, and hence, as an advertising\nmedium, it is deserted.\n\nSo, as for the publisher (in the words of that eccentric Puritan,\nLorenzo Dow), \"He'll be damned if he does, and be damned if he don't.\"\nHe is between \"Scilla and Carribdes,\" requiring versatility of ability,\ncourage of conviction and a wise discretion, that he may steer \"between\nthe rocks of too much danger and pale fear,\" and reach the port of\nsuccess. The mission of the <DW64> press is a noble one, for \"Right is of\nno sex, and Wrong of no color,\" and God, the Father of us all, with\nthese as its standard, to be effectual it must give a \"plain,\nunvarnished tale, nor set down aught in malice.\" The white journals of\nthe country often quote the <DW64> press as to <DW64> wants and <DW64>\naspirations, and as time and conditions shall justify it will\nnecessarily become more metropolitan and less exclusive, dealing more\nwith economic and industrial subjects on broader lines and from more\nmaterial standpoints.\n\n[Illustration: HON. WILLIAM H. HUNT.\n\nUnited States Consul to Madagascar.\n\nBorn May, 1860, in Louisiana--Graduated at Groton Academy,\nMassachusetts, and Studied at Williams' College--Secretary and\nVice-Consul to the Consulate--Appointed Consul by President McKinley\nAugust 27, 1901--Competent and Worthy.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\nHOWARD UNIVERSITY.\n\n\nHoward University was established by a special act of Congress in 1867.\nIt takes its name from that of the great philanthropist and soldier,\nGen. O. O. Howard, who may be called its founder and greatest patron. It\nwas through the untiring efforts of General Howard that this special act\npassed Congress to establish a university on such broad and liberal\nlines as those that characterize Howard University.\n\nThis University admits students of both sexes and any color to all of\nits departments. The great majority of its students, however, are\n, and some of its graduates are the most distinguished men of the\n<DW64> race in America. It has splendid departments of law, medicine,\ntheology and the arts and sciences.\n\nHoward University is situated on one of the most beautiful sites of the\nCapital of the Nation.\n\nHaving two members of my family as teachers in the public schools of\nWashington City, I have learned considerable about them. They are said\nto rank among our best public schools, and are constantly improving,\nunder the careful supervision of a highly competent superintendent, and\na paid board of trustees. There are 112 school buildings in the city--75\nfor white and 37 for , the number being regulated according to\npopulation, about one-third being . New manual training schools\nhave just been erected, for both races, and a growing disposition exists\nto provide equal (though separate) accommodation and opportunity. The\n schools are taught exclusively by  teachers, the grade\nschools being conducted by the graduates of the Washington Normal School\nalmost entirely. The M Street High School, a leading sample of the best\npublic schools of the country, has a teaching faculty of twenty\nteachers, most of them graduates of our best colleges, such as Howard,\nYale, Oberlin, University of Michigan, Amherst, Brown and Cornell.\n\nR. H. Terrill, the present principal, is a graduate of Howard, with the\ndegree of \"Cum laude,\" and, after having won golden opinions from the\nboard and attaches of the school for his scholarship and supervising\nability, has been appointed by President Roosevelt to a judgeship of the\nDistrict, and will assume the duties thereof in January, 1902.\n\n[Illustration: JUDGE ROBERT H. TERRILL.\n\nWas born in Virginia in 1837--A Graduate of Harvard College--A Chief of\nDivision in the United States Treasury and Principal of the  High\nSchool--Appointed one of the Judges of the District of Columbia\nNovember, 1901.]\n\nAll such appointments are helpful, coming from the highest ruler, and\nfor place, at the fountain head of the Government, have a reflex\ninfluence upon much which is unjust. With each success we should beware\nof envy, the offspring of selfishness, which is apt to creep insidiously\ninto our lives. We should crown the man who has achieved distinction and\nadvise him as to pitfalls. \"No sadder proof,\" Carlisle has said, \"can be\ngiven by a man of his own littleness than disbelief in great men.\" There\nis no royal road to a lasting eminence but the toilsome pathway of\ndiligence, self-denial and high moral rectitude; surely not by turning\nsharp corners to follow that \"will-o'-the wisp\" transient success, at\nthe expense of upright conduct. Neither suavity of manner nor the\ngilding of education will atone for disregarding the sanctity of\nobligation, the violation of which continues to wreck the lives and\nblast the promise of many. By sowing the seed of uprighteousness, by\nunceasing effort and rigid frugality, the harvest, though sometimes\ntardy, will be sure to produce an hundred fold in Christian virtues and\nmaterial prosperity. The latter is a necessity for our progress; for,\nsay what you will about being \"just as good as anybody,\" the world of\nmankind has little use for a penniless man. The ratio of its attention\nto you is largely commensurate with your bank account and your ability\nto further ends involving expenditure. Whether this estimate is in\naccord with the highest principle, the <DW64> has not time to\ninvestigate, for he is up against the hard fact that confronts the great\nmajority of mankind, and one with which each for himself must grapple.\nOpportunity may be late, but it comes to him who watches and waits while\ndiligent in what his hands may find to do. For, with all that may be\nsaid, gracious or malicious, of the \"<DW64> problem,\" we are unmistakably\non the upward grade, educationally and financially, while these bitter\ncriticisms and animadversions will be the moral weights to steady our\nfootsteps and give surety to progress.\n\nGranting no excuse for ignorance or unfitness in a political aspirant,\nor for a religious ministry at the present day, we cannot but remember\nthat our present lines in more pleasant places, both in Church and\nState, had impetus through the trying ordeal of toil, suffering and\nmassacre during the era of reconstruction. Many, though unlettered, with\na nobility of soul that oppression could not humble, were martyrs to\ntheir Christian zeal for the right and finger boards and beacon lights\non the dark and perilous road to our present advanced position.\n\nIn concluding this imperfect autobiography, containing mention of \"men I\nhave met\" in the nineteenth century, absence of many co-laborers, both\nwhite and , will be observable, whose ability, devotion and\nsacrifice should be treasured as heirlooms by a grateful people.\n\nAnd now, kind reader, who has followed me in my wanderings--\n\n\"Say not 'Good night,' but in some brighter clime bid me 'Good\nmorning.'\"\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscribed from the 1902 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email\nccx074@coventry.ac.uk\n\n\n\n\n\nHISTORICAL LECTURES AND ESSAYS\nby Charles Kingsley\n\n\nContents:\n\nThe First Discovery of America\nCyrus, Servant of the Lord\nAncient Civilisation\nRondelet\nVesalius\nParacelsus\nBuchanan\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST DISCOVERY OF AMERICA\n\n\nLet me begin this lecture {1} with a scene in the North Atlantic 863\nyears since.\n\n\"Bjarne Grimolfson was blown with his ship into the Irish Ocean; and\nthere came worms and the ship began to sink under them.  They had a boat\nwhich they had payed with seals' blubber, for that the sea-worms will not\nhurt.  But when they got into the boat they saw that it would not hold\nthem all.  Then said Bjarne, 'As the boat will only hold the half of us,\nmy advice is that we should draw lots who shall go in her; for that will\nnot be unworthy of our manhood.'  This advice seemed so good that none\ngainsaid it; and they drew lots.  And the lot fell to Bjarne that he\nshould go in the boat with half his crew.  But as he got into the boat,\nthere spake an Icelander who was in the ship and had followed Bjarne from\nIceland, 'Art thou going to leave me here, Bjarne?'  Quoth Bjarne, 'So it\nmust be.'  Then said the man, 'Another thing didst thou promise my\nfather, when I sailed with thee from Iceland, than to desert me thus.  For\nthou saidst that we both should share the same lot.'  Bjarne said, 'And\nthat we will not do.  Get thou down into the boat, and I will get up into\nthe ship, now I see that thou art so greedy after life.'  So Bjarne went\nup into the ship, and the man went down into the boat; and the boat went\non its voyage till they came to Dublin in Ireland.  Most men say that\nBjarne and his comrades perished among the worms; for they were never\nheard of after.\"\n\nThis story may serve as a text for my whole lecture.  Not only does it\nsmack of the sea-breeze and the salt water, like all the finest old Norse\nsagas, but it gives a glimpse at least of the nobleness which underlay\nthe grim and often cruel nature of the Norseman.  It belongs, too, to the\nculminating epoch, to the beginning of that era when the Scandinavian\npeoples had their great times; when the old fierceness of the worshippers\nof Thor and Odin was tempered, without being effeminated, by the Faith of\nthe \"White Christ,\" till the very men who had been the destroyers of\nWestern Europe became its civilisers.\n\nIt should have, moreover, a special interest to Americans.  For--as\nAmerican antiquaries are well aware--Bjarne was on his voyage home from\nthe coast of New England; possibly from that very Mount Hope Bay which\nseems to have borne the same name in the time of those old Norsemen, as\nafterwards in the days of King Philip, the last sachem of the Wampanong\nIndians.  He was going back to Greenland, perhaps for reinforcements,\nfinding, he and his fellow-captain, Thorfinn, the Esquimaux who then\ndwelt in that land too strong for them.  For the Norsemen were then on\nthe very edge of discovery, which might have changed the history not only\nof this continent but of Europe likewise.  They had found and colonised\nIceland and Greenland.  They had found Labrador, and called it Helluland,\nfrom its ice-polished rocks.  They had found Nova Scotia seemingly, and\ncalled it Markland, from its woods.  They had found New England, and\ncalled it Vinland the Good.  A fair land they found it, well wooded, with\ngood pasturage; so that they had already imported cows, and a bull whose\nlowings terrified the Esquimaux.  They had found self-sown corn too,\nprobably maize.  The streams were full of salmon.  But they had called\nthe land Vinland, by reason of its grapes.  Quaint enough, and bearing in\nits very quaintness the stamp of truth, is the story of the first finding\nof the wild fox-grapes.  How Leif the Fortunate, almost as soon as he\nfirst landed, missed a little wizened old German servant of his father's,\nTyrker by name, and was much vexed thereat, for he had been brought up on\nthe old man's knee, and hurrying off to find him met Tyrker coming back\ntwisting his eyes about--a trick of his--smacking his lips and talking\nGerman to himself in high excitement.  And when they get him to talk\nNorse again, he says: \"I have not been far, but I have news for you.  I\nhave found vines and grapes!\"  \"Is that true, foster-father?\" says Leif.\n\"True it is,\" says the old German, \"for I was brought up where there was\nnever any lack of them.\"\n\nThe saga--as given by Rafn--had a detailed description of this quaint\npersonage's appearance; and it would not he amiss if American\nwine-growers should employ an American sculptor--and there are great\nAmerican sculptors--to render that description into marble, and set up\nlittle Tyrker in some public place, as the Silenus of the New World.\n\nThus the first cargoes homeward from Vinland to Greenland had been of\ntimber and of raisins, and of vine-stocks, which were not like to thrive.\n\nAnd more.  Beyond Vinland the Good there was said to be another land,\nWhiteman's Land--or Ireland the Mickle, as some called it.  For these\nNorse traders from Limerick had found Ari Marson, and Ketla of Ruykjanes,\nsupposed to have been long since drowned at sea, and said that the people\nhad made him and Ketla chiefs, and baptized Ari.  What is all this? and\nwhat is this, too, which the Esquimaux children taken in Markland told\nthe Northmen, of a land beyond them where the folk wore white clothes,\nand carried flags on poles?  Are these all dreams? or was some part of\nthat great civilisation, the relics whereof your antiquarians find in so\nmany parts of the United States, still in existence some 900 years ago;\nand were these old Norse cousins of ours upon the very edge of it?  Be\nthat as it may, how nearly did these fierce Vikings, some of whom seemed\nto have sailed far south along the shore, become aware that just beyond\nthem lay a land of fruits and spices, gold and gems?  The adverse current\nof the Gulf Stream, it may be, would have long prevented their getting\npast the Bahamas into the Gulf of Mexico; but, sooner or later, some\nstorm must have carried a Greenland viking to San Domingo or to Cuba; and\nthen, as has been well said, some Scandinavian dynasty might have sat\nupon the throne of Mexico.\n\nThese stories are well known to antiquarians.  They may be found, almost\nall of them, in Professor Rafn's \"Antiquitates Americanae.\"  The action\nin them stands out often so clear and dramatic, that the internal\nevidence of historic truth is irresistible.  Thorvald, who, when he saw\nwhat seems to be, they say, the bluff head of Alderton at the south-east\nend of Boston Bay, said, \"Here should I like to dwell,\" and, shot by an\nEsquimaux arrow, bade bury him on that place, with a cross at his head\nand a cross at his feet, and call the place Cross Ness for evermore;\nGudrida, the magnificent widow, who wins hearts and sees strange deeds\nfrom Iceland to Greenland, and Greenland to Vinland and back, and at\nlast, worn out and sad, goes off on a pilgrimage to Rome; Helgi and\nFinnbogi, the Norwegians, who, like our Arctic voyagers in after times,\ndevise all sorts of sports and games to keep the men in humour during the\nlong winter at Hope; and last, but not least, the terrible Freydisa, who,\nwhen the Norse are seized with a sudden panic at the Esquimaux and flee\nfrom them, as they had three weeks before fled from Thorfinn's bellowing\nbull, turns, when so weak that she cannot escape, single-handed on the\nsavages, and catching up a slain man's sword, puts them all to flight\nwith her fierce visage and fierce cries--Freydisa the Terrible, who, in\nanother voyage, persuades her husband to fall on Helgi and Finnbogi, when\nasleep, and murder them and all their men; and then, when he will not\nmurder the five women too, takes up an axe and slays them all herself,\nand getting back to Greenland, when the dark and unexplained tale comes\nout, lives unpunished, but abhorred henceforth.  All these folks, I say,\nare no phantoms, but realities; at least, if I can judge of internal\nevidence.\n\nBut beyond them, and hovering on the verge of Mythus and Fairyland, there\nis a ballad called \"Finn the Fair,\" and how\n\n   An upland Earl had twa braw sons,\n      My story to begin;\n   The tane was Light Haldane the strong,\n      The tither was winsome Finn.\n\nand so forth; which was still sung, with other \"rimur,\" or ballads, in\nthe Faroes, at the end of the last century.  Professor Rafn has inserted\nit, because it talks of Vinland as a well-known place, and because the\nbrothers are sent by the princess to slay American kings; but that Rime\nhas another value.  It is of a beauty so perfect, and yet so like the old\nScotch ballads in its heroic conception of love, and in all its forms and\nits qualities, that it is one proof more, to any student of early\nEuropean poetry, that we and these old Norsemen are men of the same\nblood.\n\nIf anything more important than is told by Professor Rafn and Mr. Black\n{2} be now known to the antiquarians of Massachusetts, let me entreat\nthem to pardon my ignorance.  But let me record my opinion that, though\nsomewhat too much may have been made in past years of certain\nrock-inscriptions, and so forth, on this side of the Atlantic, there can\nbe no reasonable doubt that our own race landed and tried to settle on\nthe shore of New England six hundred years before their kinsmen, and, in\nmany cases, their actual descendants, the august Pilgrim Fathers of the\nseventeenth century.  And so, as I said, a Scandinavian dynasty might\nhave been seated now upon the throne of Mexico.  And how was that strange\nchance lost?  First, of course, by the length and danger of the coasting\nvoyage.  It was one thing to have, like Columbus and Vespucci, Cortes and\nPizarro, the Azores as a halfway port; another to have Greenland, or even\nIceland.  It was one thing to run south-west upon Columbus's track,\nacross the Mar de Damas, the Ladies' Sea, which hardly knows a storm,\nwith the blazing blue above, the blazing blue below, in an ever-warming\nclimate, where every breath is life and joy; another to struggle against\nthe fogs and icebergs, the rocks and currents of the dreary North\nAtlantic.  No wonder, then, that the knowledge of Markland, and Vinland,\nand Whiteman's Land died away in a few generations, and became but\nfireside sagas for the winter nights.\n\nBut there were other causes, more honourable to the dogged energy of the\nNorse.  They were in those very years conquering and settling nearer home\nas no other people--unless, perhaps, the old Ionian Greeks--conquered and\nsettled.\n\nGreenland, we have seen, they held--the western side at least--and held\nit long and well enough to afford, it is said, 2,600 pounds of walrus'\nteeth as yearly tithe to the Pope, besides Peter's pence, and to build\nmany a convent, and church, and cathedral, with farms and homesteads\nround; for one saga speaks of Greenland as producing wheat of the finest\nquality.  All is ruined now, perhaps by gradual change of climate.\n\nBut they had richer fields of enterprise than Greenland, Iceland, and the\nFaroes.  Their boldest outlaws at that very time--whether from Norway,\nSweden, Denmark, or Britain--were forming the imperial life-guard of the\nByzantine Emperor, as the once famous Varangers of Constantinople; and\nthat splendid epoch of their race was just dawning, of which my lamented\nfriend, the late Sir Edmund Head, says so well in his preface to Viga\nGlum's Icelandic Saga, \"The Sagas, of which this tale is one, were\ncomposed for the men who have left their mark in every corner of Europe;\nand whose language and laws are at this moment important elements in the\nspeech and institutions of England, America, and Australia.  There is no\npage of modern history in which the influence of the Norsemen and their\nconquests must not be taken into account--Russia, Constantinople, Greece,\nPalestine, Sicily, the coasts of Africa, Southern Italy, France, the\nSpanish Peninsula, England, Scotland, Ireland, and every rock and island\nround them, have been visited, and most of them at one time or the other\nruled, by the men of Scandinavia.  The motto on the sword of Roger\nGuiscard was a proud one:\n\n   Appulus et Calaber, Siculus mihi servit et Afer.\n\nEvery island, says Sir Edmund Head, and truly--for the name of almost\nevery island on the coast of England, Scotland, and Eastern Ireland, ends\nin either _ey_ or _ay_ or _oe_, a Norse appellative, as is the word\n\"island\" itself--is a mark of its having been, at some time or other,\nvisited by the Vikings of Scandinavia.\n\nNorway, meanwhile, was convulsed by war; and what perhaps was of more\nimmediate consequence, Svend Fork-beard, whom we Englishmen call\nSweyn--the renegade from that Christian Faith which had been forced on\nhim by his German conqueror, the Emperor Otto II.--with his illustrious\nson Cnut, whom we call Canute, were just calling together all the most\ndaring spirits of the Baltic coasts for the subjugation of England; and\nwhen that great feat was performed, the Scandinavian emigration was\nparalysed, probably, for a time by the fearful wars at home.  While the\nking of Sweden, and St. Olaf Tryggvason, king of Norway, were setting on\nDenmark during Cnut's pilgrimage to Rome, and Cnut, sailing with a mighty\nfleet to Norway, was driving St. Olaf into Russia, to return and fall in\nthe fratricidal battle of Stiklestead--during, strangely enough, a total\neclipse of the sun--Vinland was like enough to remain still uncolonised.\nAfter Cnut's short-lived triumph--king as he was of Denmark, Norway,\nEngland, and half Scotland, and what not of Wendish Folk inside the\nBaltic--the force of the Norsemen seems to have been exhausted in their\nnative lands.  Once more only, if I remember right, did \"Lochlin,\" really\nand hopefully send forth her \"mailed swarm\" to conquer a foreign land;\nand with a result unexpected alike by them and by their enemies.  Had it\nbeen otherwise, we might not have been here this day.\n\nLet me sketch for you once more--though you have heard it, doubtless,\nmany a time--the tale of that tremendous fortnight which settled the fate\nof Britain, and therefore of North America; which decided--just in those\ngreat times when the decision was to be made--whether we should be on a\npar with the other civilised nations of Europe, like them the \"heirs of\nall the ages,\" with our share not only of Roman Christianity and Roman\ncentralisation--a member of the great comity of European nations, held\ntogether in one Christian bond by the Pope--but heirs also of Roman\ncivilisation, Roman literature, Roman Law; and therefore, in due time, of\nGreek philosophy and art.  No less a question than this, it seems to me,\nhung in the balance during that fortnight of autumn, 1066.\n\nPoor old Edward the Confessor, holy, weak, and sad, lay in his new choir\nof Westminster--where the wicked ceased from troubling, and the weary\nwere at rest.  The crowned ascetic had left no heir behind.  England\nseemed as a corpse, to which all the eagles might gather together; and\nthe South-English, in their utter need, had chosen for their king the\nablest, and it may be the justest, man in Britain--Earl Harold\nGodwinsson: himself, like half the upper classes of England then, of the\nall-dominant Norse blood; for his mother was a Danish princess.  Then out\nof Norway, with a mighty host, came Harold Hardraade, taller than all\nmen, the ideal Viking of his time.  Half-brother of the now dead St.\nOlaf, severely wounded when he was but fifteen, at Stiklestead, when Olaf\nfell, he had warred and plundered on many a coast.  He had been away to\nRussia to King Jaroslaf; he had been in the Emperor's Varanger guard at\nConstantinople--and, it was whispered, had slain a lion there with his\nbare hands; he had carved his name and his comrades' in Runic\ncharacters--if you go to Venice you may see them at this day--on the\nloins of the great marble lion, which stood in his time not in Venice but\nin Athens.  And now, king of Norway and conqueror, for the time, of\nDenmark, why should he not take England, as Sweyn and Canute took it\nsixty years before, when the flower of the English gentry perished at the\nfatal battle of Assingdune?  If he and his half-barbarous host had\nconquered, the civilisation of Britain would have been thrown back,\nperhaps, for centuries.  But it was not to be.\n\nEngland _was_ to be conquered by the Norman; but by the civilised, not\nthe barbaric; by the Norse who had settled, but four generations before,\nin the North East of France under Rou, Rollo, Rolf the Ganger--so-called,\nthey say, because his legs were so long that, when on horseback, he\ntouched the ground and seemed to gang, or walk.  He and his Norsemen had\ntaken their share of France, and called it Normandy to this day; and\nmeanwhile, with that docility and adaptability which marks so often truly\ngreat spirits, they had changed their creed, their language, their\nhabits, and had become, from heathen and murderous Berserkers, the most\ntruly civilised people of Europe, and--as was most natural then--the most\nfaithful allies and servants of the Pope of Rome.  So greatly had they\nchanged, and so fast, that William Duke of Normandy, the\ngreat-great-grandson of Rolf the wild Viking, was perhaps the finest\ngentleman, as well as the most cultivated sovereign, and the greatest\nstatesman and warrior in all Europe.\n\nSo Harold of Norway came with all his Vikings to Stamford Bridge by York;\nand took, by coming, only that which Harold of England promised him,\nnamely, \"forasmuch as he was taller than any other man, seven feet of\nEnglish ground.\"\n\nThe story of that great battle, told with a few inaccuracies, but told as\nonly great poets tell, you should read, if you have not read it already,\nin the \"Heimskringla\" of Snorri Sturluson, the Homer of the North:\n\n   High feast that day held the birds of the air and the beasts of the\n   field,\n   White-tailed erne and sallow glede,\n   Dusky raven, with horny neb,\n   And the gray deer the wolf of the wood.\n\nThe bones of the slain, men say, whitened the place for fifty years to\ncome.\n\nAnd remember, that on the same day on which that fight befell--September\n27, 1066--William, Duke of Normandy, with all his French-speaking\nNorsemen, was sailing across the British Channel, under the protection of\na banner consecrated by the Pope, to conquer that England which the Norse-\nspeaking Normans could not conquer.\n\nAnd now King Harold showed himself a man.  He turned at once from the\nNorth of England to the South.  He raised the folk of the Southern, as he\nhad raised those of the Central and Northern shires; and in sixteen\ndays--after a march which in those times was a prodigious feat--he was\nentrenched upon the fatal down which men called Heathfield then, and\nSenlac, but Battle to this day--with William and his French Normans\nopposite him on Telham hill.\n\nThen came the battle of Hastings.  You all know what befell upon that\nday; and how the old weapon was matched against the new--the English axe\nagainst the Norman lance--and beaten only because the English broke their\nranks.  If you wish to refresh your memories, read the tale once more in\nMr. Freeman's \"History of England,\" or Professor Creasy's \"Fifteen\nDecisive Battles of the World,\" or even, best of all, the late Lord\nLytton's splendid romance of \"Harold.\"  And when you go to England, go,\nas some of you may have gone already, to Battle; and there from off the\nAbbey grounds, or from Mountjoye behind, look down off what was then \"The\nHeathy Field,\" over the long <DW72>s of green pasture and the rich hop-\ngardens, where were no hop-gardens then, and the flat tide-marshes\nwinding between the wooded heights, towards the southern sea; and imagine\nfor yourselves the feelings of an Englishman as he contemplates that\nbroad green sloping lawn, on which was decided the destiny of his native\nland.  Here, right beneath, rode Taillefer up the <DW72> before them all,\nsinging the song of Roland, tossing his lance in air and catching it as\nit fell, with all the Norse berserker spirit of his ancestors flashing\nout in him, at the thought of one fair fight, and then purgatory, or\nValhalla--Taillefer perhaps preferred the latter.  Yonder on the left, in\nthat copse where the red-ochre gully runs, is Sanguelac, the drain of\nblood, into which (as the Bayeux tapestry, woven by Matilda's maids,\nstill shows) the Norman knights fell, horse and man, till the gully was\nbridged with writhing bodies for those who rode after.  Here, where you\nstand--the crest of the hill marks where it must have been--was the\nstockade on which depended the fate of England.  Yonder, perhaps, stalked\nout one English squire or house-carle after another: tall men with long-\nhandled battle-axes--one specially terrible, with a wooden helmet which\nno sword could pierce--who hewed and hewed down knight on knight, till\nthey themselves were borne to earth at last.  And here, among the trees\nand ruins of the garden, kept trim by those who know the treasure which\nthey own, stood Harold's two standards of the fighting-man and the dragon\nof Wessex.  And here, close by (for here, for many a century, stood the\nhigh altar of Battle Abbey, where monks sang masses for Harold's soul),\nupon this very spot the Swan-neck found her hero-lover's corpse.  \"Ah,\"\nsays many an Englishman--and who will blame him for it--\"how grand to\nhave died beneath that standard on that day!\"  Yes, and how right.  And\nyet how right, likewise, that the Norman's cry of _Dexaie_!--\"God\nHelp!\"--and not the English hurrah, should have won that day, till\nWilliam rode up Mountjoye in the afternoon to see the English army,\nterrible even in defeat, struggling through copse and marsh away toward\nBrede, and, like retreating lions driven into their native woods, slaying\nmore in the pursuit than they slew even in the fight.\n\nBut so it was to be; for so it ought to have been.  You, my American\nfriends, delight, as I have said already, in seeing the old places of the\nold country.  Go, I beg you, and look at that old place, and if you be\nwise, you will carry back from it one lesson: That God's thoughts are not\nas our thoughts; nor His ways as our ways.\n\nIt was a fearful time which followed.  I cannot but believe that our\nforefathers had been, in some way or other, great sinners, or two such\nconquests as Canute's and William's would not have fallen on them within\nthe short space of sixty years.  They did not want for courage, as\nStamford Brigg and Hastings showed full well.  English swine, their\nNorman conquerors called them often enough; but never English cowards.\nTheir ruinous vice, if we are to trust the records of the time, was what\nthe old monks called accidia--[Greek text]--and ranked it as one of the\nseven deadly sins: a general careless, sleepy, comfortable habit of mind,\nwhich lets all go its way for good or evil--a habit of mind too often\naccompanied, as in the case of the Angle-Danes, with self-indulgence,\noften coarse enough.  Huge eaters and huger drinkers, fuddled with ale,\nwere the men who went down at Hastings--though they went down like\nheroes--before the staid and sober Norman out of France.\n\nBut those were fearful times.  As long as William lived, ruthless as he\nwas to all rebels, he kept order and did justice with a strong and steady\nhand; for he brought with him from Normandy the instincts of a truly\ngreat statesman.  And in his sons' time matters grew worse and worse.\nAfter that, in the troubles of Stephen's reign, anarchy let loose tyranny\nin its most fearful form, and things were done which recall the cruelties\nof the old Spanish _conquistadores_ in America.  Scott's charming romance\nof \"Ivanhoe\" must be taken, I fear, as a too true picture of English\nsociety in the time of Richard I.\n\nAnd what came of it all?  What was the result of all this misery and\nwrong?\n\nThis, paradoxical as it may seem: That the Norman conquest was the making\nof the English people; of the Free Commons of England.\n\nParadoxical, but true.  First, you must dismiss from your minds the too\ncommon notion that there is now, in England, a governing Norman\naristocracy, or that there has been one, at least since the year 1215,\nwhen Magna Charta was won from the Norman John by Normans and by English\nalike.  For the first victors at Hastings, like the first\n_conquistadores_ in America, perished, as the monk chronicles point out,\nrapidly by their own crimes; and very few of our nobility can trace their\nnames back to the authentic Battle Abbey roll.  The great majority of the\npeers have sprung from, and all have intermarried with, the Commons; and\nthe peerage has been from the first, and has become more and more as\ncenturies have rolled on, the prize of success in life.\n\nThe cause is plain.  The conquest of England by the Normans was not one\nof those conquests of a savage by a civilised race, or of a cowardly race\nby a brave race, which results in the slavery of the conquered, and\nleaves the gulf of caste between two races--master and slave.  That was\nthe case in France, and resulted, after centuries of oppression, in the\ngreat and dreadful revolution of 1793, which convulsed not only France\nbut the whole civilised world.  But caste, thank God, has never existed\nin England, since at least the first generation after the Norman\nconquest.\n\nThe vast majority, all but the whole population of England, have been\nalways free; and free, as they are not where caste exists to change their\noccupations.  They could intermarry, if they were able men, into the\nranks above them; as they could sink, if they were unable men, into the\nranks below them.  Any man acquainted with the origin of our English\nsurnames may verify this fact for himself, by looking at the names of a\nsingle parish or a single street of shops.  There, jumbled together, he\nwill find names marking the noblest Saxon or Angle blood--Kenward or\nKenric, Osgood or Osborne, side by side with Cordery or Banister--now\nnames of farmers in my own parish--or other Norman-French names which may\nbe, like those two last, in Battle Abbey roll--and side by side the\nalmost ubiquitous Brown, whose ancestor was probably some Danish or\nNorwegian house-carle, proud of his name Biorn the Bear, and the\nubiquitous Smith or Smythe, the Smiter, whose forefather, whether he be\nnow peasant or peer, assuredly handled the tongs and hammer at his own\nforge.  This holds true equally in New England and in Old.  When I search\nthrough (as I delight to do) your New England surnames, I find the same\njumble of names--West Saxon, Angle, Danish, Norman, and French-Norman\nlikewise, many of primaeval and heathen antiquity, many of high nobility,\nall worked together, as at home, to form the Free Commoners of England.\n\nIf any should wish to know more on this curious and important subject,\nlet me recommend them to study Ferguson's \"Teutonic Name System,\" a book\nfrom which you will discover that some of our quaintest, and seemingly\nmost plebeian surnames--many surnames, too, which are extinct in England,\nbut remain in America--are really corruptions of good old Teutonic names,\nwhich our ancestors may have carried in the German Forest, before an\nEnglishman set foot on British soil; from which he will rise with the\ncomfortable feeling that we English-speaking men, from the highest to the\nlowest, are literally kinsmen.  Nay, so utterly made up now is the old\nblood-feud between Norseman and Englishman, between the descendants of\nthose who conquered and those who were conquered, that in the children of\nour Prince of Wales, after 800 years, the blood of William of Normandy is\nmingled with the blood of the very Harold who fell at Hastings.  And so,\nby the bitter woes which followed the Norman conquest was the whole\npopulation, Dane, Angle, and Saxon, earl and churl, freeman and slave,\ncrushed and welded together into one homogeneous mass, made just and\nmerciful towards each other by the most wholesome of all teachings, a\ncommunity of suffering; and if they had been, as I fear they were, a lazy\nand a sensual people, were taught\n\n   That life is not as idle ore,\n   But heated hot with burning fears,\n   And bathed in baths of hissing tears,\n   And battered with the strokes of doom\n   To shape and use.\n\nBut how did these wild Vikings become Christian men?  It is a long story.\nSo stanch a race was sure to be converted only very slowly.  Noble\nmissionaries as Ansgar, Rembert, and Poppo, had worked for 150 years and\nmore among the heathens of Denmark.  But the patriotism of the Norseman\nalways recoiled, even though in secret, from the fact that they were\nGerman monks, backed by the authority of the German emperor; and many a\nman, like Svend Fork-beard, father of the great Canute, though he had the\nKaiser himself for godfather, turned heathen once more the moment he was\nfree, because his baptism was the badge of foreign conquest, and neither\npope nor kaiser should lord it over him, body or soul.  St. Olaf, indeed,\nforced Christianity on the Norse at the sword's point, often by horrid\ncruelties, and perished in the attempt.  But who forced it on the\nNorsemen of Scotland, England, Ireland, Neustria, Russia, and all the\nEastern Baltic?  It was absorbed and in most cases, I believe, gradually\nand willingly, as a gospel and good news to hearts worn out with the\nstorm of their own passions.  And whence came their Christianity?  Much\nof it, as in the case of the Danes, and still more of the French Normans,\ncame direct from Rome, the city which, let them defy its influence as\nthey would, was still the fount of all theology, as well as of all\ncivilisation.  But I must believe that much of it came from that\nmysterious ancient Western Church, the Church of St. Patric, St. Bridget,\nSt. Columba, which had covered with rude cells and chapels the rocky\nislets of the North Atlantic, even to Iceland itself.  Even to Iceland;\nfor when that island was first discovered, about A.D. 840, the Norsemen\nfound in an isle, on the east and west and elsewhere, Irish books and\nbells and wooden crosses, and named that island Papey, the isle of the\npopes--some little colony of monks, who lived by fishing, and who are\nsaid to have left the land when the Norsemen settled in it.  Let us\nbelieve, for it is consonant with reason and experience, that the sight\nof those poor monks, plundered and massacred again and again by the\n\"mailed swarms of Lochlin,\" yet never exterminated, but springing up\nagain in the same place, ready for fresh massacre, a sacred plant which\nGod had planted, and which no rage of man could trample out--let us\nbelieve, I say, that that sight taught at last to the buccaneers of the\nold world that there was a purer manliness, a loftier heroism, than the\nferocious self-assertion of the Berserker, even the heroism of humility,\ngentleness, self-restraint, self-sacrifice; that there was a strength\nwhich was made perfect in weakness; a glory, not of the sword but of the\ncross.  We will believe that that was the lesson which the Norsemen\nlearnt, after many a wild and blood-stained voyage, from the monks of\nIona or of Derry, which caused the building of such churches as that\nwhich Sightrys, king of Dublin, raised about the year 1030, not in the\nNorse but in the Irish quarter of Dublin: a sacred token of amity between\nthe new settlers and the natives on the ground of a common faith.  Let us\nbelieve, too, that the influence of woman was not wanting in the good\nwork--that the story of St. Margaret and Malcolm Canmore was repeated,\nthough inversely, in the case of many a heathen Scandinavian jarl, who,\nmarrying the princely daughter of some Scottish chieftain, found in her\ncreed at last something more precious than herself; while his brother or\nhis cousin became, at Dublin or Wexford or Waterford, the husband of some\nsaffron-robed Irish princess, \"fair as an elf,\" as the old saying was;\nsome \"maiden of the three transcendent hues,\" of whom the old book of\nLinane says:\n\n   Red as the blood which flowed from stricken deer,\n   White as the snow on which that blood ran down,\n   Black as the raven who drank up that blood;\n\n--and possibly, as in the case of Brian Boru's mother, had given his fair-\nhaired sister in marriage to some Irish prince, and could not resist the\nspell of their new creed, and the spell too, it may be, of some sister of\ntheirs who had long given up all thought of earthly marriage to tend the\nundying fire of St. Bridget among the consecrated virgins of Kildare.\n\nI am not drawing from mere imagination.  That such things must have\nhappened, and happened again and again, is certain to anyone who knows,\neven superficially, the documents of that time.  And I doubt not that, in\nmanners as well as in religion, the Norse were humanised and civilised by\ntheir contact with the Celts, both in Scotland and in Ireland.  Both\npeoples had valour, intellect, imagination: but the Celt had that which\nthe burly angular Norse character, however deep and stately, and however\nhumorous, wanted; namely, music of nature, tenderness, grace, rapidity,\nplayfulness; just the qualities, combining with the Scandinavian (and in\nScotland with the Angle) elements of character which have produced, in\nIreland and in Scotland, two schools of lyric poetry second to none in\nthe world.\n\nAnd so they were converted to what was then a dark and awful creed; a\ncreed of ascetic self-torture and purgatorial fires for those who escape\nthe still more dreadful, because endless, doom of the rest of the human\nrace.  But, because it was a sad creed, it suited better, men who had,\nwhen conscience re-awakened in them, but too good reason to be sad; and\nthe minsters and cloisters which sprang up over the whole of Northern\nEurope, and even beyond it, along the dreary western shores of Greenland\nitself, are the symbols of a splendid repentance for their own sins and\nfor the sins of their forefathers.\n\nGudruna herself, of whom I spoke just now, one of those old Norse\nheroines who helped to discover America, though a historic personage, is\na symbolic one likewise, and the pattern of a whole class.  She too,\nafter many journeys to Iceland, Greenland, and Winland, goes on a\npilgrimage to Rome, to get, I presume, absolution from the Pope himself\nfor all the sins of her strange, rich, stormy, wayward life.\n\nHave you not read--many of you surely have--La Motte Fouque's romance of\n\"Sintram?\"  It embodies all that I would say.  It is the spiritual drama\nof that early Middle Age; very sad, morbid if you will, but true to fact.\nThe Lady Verena ought not, perhaps, to desert her husband, and shut\nherself up in a cloister.  But so she would have done in those old days.\nAnd who shall judge her harshly for so doing?  When the brutality of the\nman seems past all cure, who shall blame the woman if she glides away\ninto some atmosphere of peace and purity, to pray for him whom neither\nwarnings nor caresses will amend?  It is a sad book, \"Sintram.\"  And yet\nnot too sad.  For they were a sad people, those old Norse forefathers of\nours.  Their Christianity was sad; their minsters sad; there are few\nsadder, though few grander, buildings than a Norman church.\n\nAnd yet, perhaps, their Christianity did not make them sad.  It was but\nthe other and the healthier side of that sadness which they had as\nheathens.  Read which you will of the old sagas--heathen or\nhalf-Christian--the Eyrbiggia, Viga Glum, Burnt Niall, Grettir the\nStrong, and, above all, Snorri Sturluson's \"Heimskringla\" itself--and you\nwill see at once how sad they are.  There is, in the old sagas, none of\nthat enjoyment of life which shines out everywhere in Greek poetry, even\nthrough its deepest tragedies.  Not in complacency with Nature's beauty,\nbut in the fierce struggle with her wrath, does the Norseman feel\npleasure.  Nature to him was not, as in Mr. Longfellow's exquisite poem,\n{3} the kind old nurse, to take him on her knee and whisper to him, ever\nanew, the story without an end.  She was a weird witch-wife, mother of\nstorm demons and frost giants, who must be fought with steadily, warily,\nwearily, over dreary heaths and snow-capped fells, and rugged nesses and\ntossing sounds, and away into the boundless sea--or who could live?--till\nhe got hardened in the fight into ruthlessness of need and greed.  The\npoor strip of flat strath, ploughed and re-ploughed again in the short\nsummer days, would yield no more; or wet harvests spoiled the crops, or\nheavy snows starved the cattle.  And so the Norseman launched his ships\nwhen the lands were sown in spring, and went forth to pillage or to\ntrade, as luck would have, to summerted, as he himself called it; and\ncame back, if he ever came, in autumn to the women to help at harvest-\ntime, with blood upon his hand.  But had he stayed at home, blood would\nhave been there still.  Three out of four of them had been mixed up in\nsome man-slaying, or had some blood-feud to avenge among their own kin.\n\nThe whole of Scandinavia, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Orkney, and the rest,\nremind me ever of that terrible picture of the great Norse painter,\nTiddeman, in which two splendid youths, lashed together, in true Norse\nduel fashion by the waist, are hewing each other to death with the short\naxe, about some hot words over their ale.  The loss of life, and that of\nthe most gallant of the young, in those days must have been enormous.  If\nthe vitality of the race had not been even more enormous, they must have\ndestroyed each other, as the Red Indians have done, off the face of the\nearth.  They lived these Norsemen, not to live--they lived to die.  For\nwhat cared they?  Death--what was death to them? what it was to the\nJomsburger Viking, who, when led out to execution, said to the headsman:\n\"Die! with all pleasure.  We used to question in Jomsburg whether a man\nfelt when his head was off?  Now I shall know; but if I do, take care,\nfor I shall smite thee with my knife.  And meanwhile, spoil not this long\nhair of mine; it is so beautiful.\"\n\nBut, oh! what waste!  What might not these men have done if they had\nsought peace, not war; if they had learned a few centuries sooner to do\njustly, and love mercy, and walk humbly with their God?\n\nAnd yet one loves them, blood-stained as they are.  Your own poets, men\nbrought up under circumstances, under ideas the most opposite to theirs,\nlove them, and cannot help it.  And why?  It is not merely for their bold\ndaring, it is not merely for their stern endurance; nor again that they\nhad in them that shift and thrift, those steady and common-sense business\nhabits, which made their noblest men not ashamed to go on voyages of\nmerchandise.  Nor is it, again, that grim humour--humour as of the modern\nScotch--which so often flashes out into an actual jest, but more usually\nunderlies unspoken all their deeds.  Is it not rather that these men are\nour forefathers? that their blood runs in the veins of perhaps three men\nout of four in any general assembly, whether in America or in Britain?\nStartling as the assertion may be, I believe it to be strictly true.\n\nBe that as it may, I cannot read the stories of your western men, the\nwritings of Bret Harte, or Colonel John Hay, for instance, without\nfeeling at every turn that there are the old Norse alive again, beyond\nthe very ocean which they first crossed, 850 years ago.\n\nLet me try to prove my point, and end with a story, as I began with one.\n\nIt is just thirty years before the Norman conquest of England, the\nevening of the battle of Sticklestead.  St. Olaf's corpse is still lying\nunburied on the hillside.  The reforming and Christian king has fallen in\nthe attempt to force Christianity and despotism on the Conservative and\nhalf-heathen party--the free bonders or yeoman-farmers of Norway.\nThormod, his poet--the man, as his name means, of thunder mood--who has\nbeen standing in the ranks, at last has an arrow in his left side.  He\nbreaks off the shaft, and thus sore wounded goes up, when all is lost, to\na farm where is a great barn full of wounded.  One Kimbe comes, a man out\nof the opposite or bonder part.  \"There is great howling and screaming in\nthere,\" he says.  \"King Olaf's men fought bravely enough: but it is a\nshame brisk young lads cannot bear their wounds.  On what side wert thou\nin the fight?\"  \"On the best side,\" says the beaten Thormod.  Kimbe sees\nthat Thormod has a good bracelet on his arm.  \"Thou art surely a king's\nman.  Give me thy gold ring and I will hide thee, ere the bonders kill\nthee.\"\n\nThormod said, \"Take it, if thou canst get it.  I have lost that which is\nworth more;\" and he stretched out his left hand, and Kimbe tried to take\nit.  But Thormod, swinging his sword, cut off his hand; and it is said\nKimbe behaved no better over his wound than those he had been blaming.\n\nThen Thormod went into the barn; and after he had sung his song there in\npraise of his dead king, he went into an inner room, where was a fire,\nand water warming, and a handsome girl binding up men's wounds.  And he\nsat down by the door; and one said to him, \"Why art thou so dead pale?\nWhy dost thou not call for the leech?\"  Then sung Thormod:\n\n   \"I am not blooming; and the fair\n   And slender maiden loves to care\n   For blooming youths.  Few care for me,\n   With Fenri's gold meal I can't fee;\"\n\nand so forth, improvising after the old Norse fashion.  Then Thormod got\nup and went to the fire, and stood and warmed himself.  And the nurse-\ngirl said to him, \"Go out, man, and bring some of the split-firewood\nwhich lies outside the door.\"  He went out and brought an armful of wood\nand threw it down.  Then the nurse-girl looked him in the face, and said,\n\"Dreadful pale is this man.  Why art thou so?\"  Then sang Thormod:\n\n   \"Thou wonderest, sweet bloom, at me,\n   A man so hideous to see.\n   The arrow-drift o'ertook me, girl,\n   A fine-ground arrow in the whirl\n   Went through me, and I feel the dart\n   Sits, lovely lass, too near my heart.\"\n\nThe girl said, \"Let me see thy wound.\"  Then Thormod sat down, and the\ngirl saw his wounds, and that which was in his side, and saw that there\nwas a piece of iron in it; but could not tell where it had gone.  In a\nstone pot she had leeks and other herbs, and boiled them, and gave the\nwounded man of it to eat.  But Thormod said, \"Take it away; I have no\nappetite now for my broth.\"  Then she took a great pair of tongs and\ntried to pull out the iron; but the wound was swelled, and there was too\nlittle to lay hold of.  Now said Thormod, \"Cut in so deep that thou canst\nget at the iron, and give me the tongs.\"  She did as he said.  Then took\nThormod the gold bracelet off his hand and gave it the nurse-girl, and\nbade her do with it what she liked.\n\n\"It is a good man's gift,\" said he.  \"King Olaf gave me the ring this\nmorning.\"\n\nThen Thormod took the tongs and pulled the iron out.  But on the iron was\na barb, on which hung flesh from the heart, some red, some white.  When\nhe saw that, he said, \"The king has fed us well.  I am fat, even to the\nheart's roots.\"  And so leant back and was dead.\n\n\n\n\nCYRUS, THE SERVANT OF-THE LORD {4}\n\n\nI wish to speak to you to-night about one of those old despotic empires\nwhich were in every case the earliest known form of civilisation.  Were I\nminded to play the cynic or the mountebank, I should choose some corrupt\nand effete despotism, already grown weak and ridiculous by its decay--as\ndid at last the Roman and then the Byzantine Empire--and, after raising a\nlaugh at the expense of the old system say: See what a superior people\nyou are now--how impossible, under free and enlightened institutions, is\nanything so base and so absurd as went on, even in despotic France before\nthe Revolution of 1793.  Well, that would be on the whole true, thank\nGod; but what need is there to say it?\n\nLet us keep our scorn for our own weaknesses, our blame for our own sins,\ncertain that we shall gain more instruction, though not more amusement,\nby hunting out the good which is in anything than by hunting out its\nevil.  I have chosen, not the worst, but the best despotism which I could\nfind in history, founded and ruled by a truly heroic personage, one whose\nname has become a proverb and a legend, that so I might lift up your\nminds, even by the contemplation of an old Eastern empire, to see that\nit, too, could be a work and ordinance of God, and its hero the servant\nof the Lord.  For we are almost bound to call Cyrus, the founder of the\nPersian Empire, by this august title for two reasons--First, because the\nHebrew Scriptures call him so; the next, because he proved himself to be\nsuch by his actions and their consequences--at least in the eyes of those\nwho believe, as I do, in a far-seeing and far-reaching Providence, by\nwhich all human history is\n\n   Bound by gold chains unto the throne of God.\n\nHis work was very different from any that need be done, or can be done,\nin these our days.  But while we thank God that such work is now as\nunnecessary as impossible; we may thank God likewise that, when such work\nwas necessary and possible, a man was raised up to do it: and to do it,\nas all accounts assert, better, perhaps, than it had ever been done\nbefore or since.\n\nTrue, the old conquerors, who absorbed nation after nation, tribe after\ntribe, and founded empires on their ruins, are now, I trust, about to be\nreplaced, throughout the world, as here and in Britain at home, by free\nself-governed peoples:\n\n   The old order changeth, giving place to the new;\n   And God fulfils Himself in many ways,\n   Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.\n\nAnd that custom of conquest and empire and transplantation did more than\nonce corrupt the world.  And yet in it, too, God may have more than once\nfulfilled His own designs, as He did, if Scripture is to be believed, in\nCyrus, well surnamed the Great, the founder of the Persian Empire some\n2400 years ago.  For these empires, it must be remembered, did at least\nthat which the Roman Empire did among a scattered number of savage\ntribes, or separate little races, hating and murdering each other,\nspeaking different tongues, and worshipping different gods, and losing\nutterly the sense of a common humanity, till they looked on the people\nwho dwelt in the next valley as fiends, to be sacrificed, if caught, to\ntheir own fiends at home.  Among such as these, empires did introduce\norder, law, common speech, common interest, the notion of nationality and\nhumanity.  They, as it were, hammered together the fragments of the human\nrace till they had moulded them into one.  They did it cruelly, clumsily,\nill: but was there ever work done on earth, however noble, which was\nnot--alas, alas!--done somewhat ill?\n\nLet me talk to you a little about the old hero.  He and his hardy\nPersians should be specially interesting to us.  For in them first does\nour race, the Aryan race, appear in authentic history.  In them first did\nour race give promise of being the conquering and civilising race of the\nfuture world.  And to the conquests of Cyrus--so strangely are all great\ntimes and great movements of the human family linked to each other--to\nhis conquests, humanly speaking, is owing the fact that you are here, and\nI am speaking to you at this moment.\n\nIt is an oft-told story: but so grand a one that I must sketch it for\nyou, however clumsily, once more.\n\nIn that mountain province called Farsistan, north-east of what we now\ncall Persia, the dwelling-place of the Persians, there dwelt, in the\nsixth and seventh centuries before Christ, a hardy tribe, of the purest\nblood of Iran, a branch of the same race as the Celtic, Teutonic, Greek,\nand Hindoo, and speaking a tongue akin to theirs.  They had wandered\nthither, say their legends, out of the far north-east, from off some\nlofty plateau of Central Asia, driven out by the increasing cold, which\nleft them but two mouths of summer to ten of winter.\n\nThey despised at first--would that they had despised always!--the\nluxurious life of the dwellers in the plains, and the effeminate customs\nof the Medes--a branch of their own race who had conquered and\nintermarried with the Turanian, or Finnish tribes; and adopted much of\ntheir creed, as well as of their morals, throughout their vast but short-\nlived Median Empire.  \"Soft countries,\" said Cyrus himself--so runs the\ntale--\"gave birth to small men.  No region produced at once delightful\nfruits and men of a war-like spirit.\"  Letters were to them, probably,\nthen unknown.  They borrowed them in after years, as they borrowed their\nart, from Babylonians, Assyrians, and other Semitic nations whom they\nconquered.  From the age of five to that of twenty, their lads were\ninstructed but in two things--to speak the truth and to shoot with the\nbow.  To ride was the third necessary art, introduced, according to\nXenophon, after they had descended from their mountain fastnessess to\nconquer the whole East.\n\nTheir creed was simple enough.  Ahura Mazda--Ormuzd, as he has been\ncalled since--was the one eternal Creator, the source of all light and\nlife and good.  He spake his word, and it accomplished the creation of\nheaven, before the water, before the earth, before the cow, before the\ntree, before the fire, before man the truthful, before the Devas and\nbeasts of prey, before the whole existing universe; before every good\nthing created by Ahura Mazda and springing from Truth.\n\nHe needed no sacrifices of blood.  He was to be worshipped only with\nprayers, with offerings of the inspiring juice of the now unknown herb\nHoma, and by the preservation of the sacred fire, which, understand, was\nnot he, but the symbol--as was light and the sun--of the good spirit--of\nAhura Mazda.  They had no images of the gods, these old Persians; no\ntemples, no altars, so says Herodotus, and considered the use of them a\nsign of folly.  They were, as has been well said of them, the Puritans of\nthe old world.  When they descended from their mountain fastnesses, they\nbecame the iconoclasts of the old world; and the later Isaiah, out of the\ndepths of national shame, captivity, and exile, saw in them\nbrother-spirits, the chosen of the Lord, whose hero Cyrus, the Lord was\nholding by His right hand, till all the foul superstitions and foul\neffeminacies of the rotten Semitic peoples of the East, and even of Egypt\nitself, should be crushed, though, alas! only for awhile, by men who felt\nthat they had a commission from the God of light and truth and purity, to\nsweep out all that with the besom of destruction.\n\nBut that was a later inspiration.  In earlier, and it may be happier,\ntimes the duty of the good man was to strive against all evil, disorder,\nuselessness, incompetence in their more simple forms.  \"He therefore is a\nholy man,\" says Ormuzd in the Zend-avesta, \"who has built a dwelling on\nthe earth, in which he maintains fire, cattle, his wife, his children,\nand flocks and herds; he who makes the earth produce barley, he who\ncultivates the fruits of the soil, cultivates purity; he advances the law\nof Ahura Mazda as much as if he had offered a hundred sacrifices.\"\n\nTo reclaim the waste, to till the land, to make a corner of the earth\nbetter than they found it, was to these men to rescue a bit of Ormuzd's\nworld out of the usurped dominion of Ahriman; to rescue it from the\nspirit of evil and disorder for its rightful owner, the Spirit of Order\nand of Good.\n\nFor they believed in an evil spirit, these old Persians.  Evil was not\nfor them a lower form of good.  With their intense sense of the\ndifference between right and wrong it could be nothing less than hateful;\nto be attacked, exterminated, as a personal enemy, till it became to them\nat last impersonate and a person.\n\nZarathustra, the mystery of evil, weighed heavily on them and on their\ngreat prophet, Zoroaster--splendour of gold, as I am told his name\nsignifies--who lived, no man knows clearly when or clearly where, but who\nlived and lives for ever, for his works follow him.  He, too, tried to\nsolve for his people the mystery of evil; and if he did not succeed, who\nhas succeeded yet?  Warring against Ormuzd, Ahura Mazda, was Ahriman,\nAngra Mainyus, literally the being of an evil mind, the ill-conditioned\nbeing.  He was labouring perpetually to spoil the good work of Ormuzd\nalike in nature and in man.  He was the cause of the fall of man, the\ntempter, the author of misery and death; he was eternal and uncreate as\nOrmuzd was.  But that, perhaps, was a corruption of the purer and older\nZoroastrian creed.  With it, if Ahriman were eternal in the past, he\nwould not be eternal in the future.  Somehow, somewhen, somewhere, in the\nday when three prophets--the increasing light, the increasing truth, and\nthe existing truth--should arise and give to mankind the last three books\nof the Zend-avesta, and convert all mankind to the pure creed, then evil\nshould be conquered, the creation become pure again, and Ahriman vanish\nfor ever; and, meanwhile, every good man was to fight valiantly for\nOrmuzd, his true lord, against Ahriman and all his works.\n\nMen who held such a creed, and could speak truth and draw the bow, what\nmight they not do when the hour and the man arrived?  They were not a\n_big_ nation.  No; but they were a _great_ nation, even while they were\neating barley-bread and paying tribute to their conquerors the Medes, in\nthe sterile valleys of Farsistan.\n\nAnd at last the hour and the man came.  The story is half\nlegendary--differently told by different authors.  Herodotus has one\ntale, Xenophon another.  The first, at least, had ample means of\ninformation.  Astyages is the old shah of the Median Empire, then at the\nheight of its seeming might and splendour and effeminacy.  He has married\nhis daughter, the Princess Mandane, to Cambyses, seemingly a vassal-king\nor prince of the pure Persian blood.  One night the old man is troubled\nwith a dream.  He sees a vine spring from his daughter, which overshadows\nall Asia.  He sends for the Magi to interpret; and they tell him that\nMandane will have a son who will reign in his stead.  Having sons of his\nown, and fearing for the succession, he sends for Mandane, and, when her\nchild is born, gives it to Harpagus, one of his courtiers, to be slain.\nThe courtier relents, and hands it over to a herdsman, to be exposed on\nthe mountains.  The herdsman relents in turn, and bring the babe up as\nhis own child.\n\nWhen the boy, who goes by the name of Agradates, is grown, he is at play\nwith the other herdboys, and they choose him for a mimic king.  Some he\nmakes his guards, some he bids build houses, some carry his messages.  The\nson of a Mede of rank refuses, and Agradates has him seized by his guards\nand chastised with the whip.  The ancestral instincts of command and\ndiscipline are showing early in the lad.\n\nThe young gentleman complains to his father, the father to the old king,\nwho of course sends for the herdsman and his boy.  The boy answers in a\ntone so exactly like that in which Xenophon's Cyrus would have answered,\nthat I must believe that both Xenophon's Cyrus and Herodotus's Cyrus\n(like Xenophon's Socrates and Plato's Socrates) are real pictures of a\nreal character; and that Herodotus's story, though Xenophon says nothing\nof it, is true.\n\nHe has done nothing, the noble boy says, but what was just.  He had been\nchosen king in play, because the boys thought him most fit.  The boy whom\nhe had chastised was one of those who chose him.  All the rest obeyed:\nbut he would not, till at last he got his due reward.  \"If I deserve\npunishment for that,\" says the boy, \"I am ready to submit.\"\n\nThe old king looks keenly and wonderingly at the young king, whose\nfeatures seem somewhat like his own.  Likely enough in those days, when\nan Iranian noble or prince would have a quite different cast of\ncomplexion and of face from a Turanian herdsman.  A suspicion crosses\nhim; and by threats of torture he gets the truth from the trembling\nherdsman.\n\nTo the poor wretch's rapture the old king lets him go unharmed.  He has a\nmore exquisite revenge to take, and sends for Harpagus, who likewise\nconfessed the truth.  The wily old tyrant has naught but gentle words.  It\nis best as it is.  He has been very sorry himself for the child, and\nMandane's reproaches had gone to his heart.  \"Let Harpagus go home and\nsend his son to be a companion to the new-found prince.  To-night there\nwill be great sacrifices in honour of the child's safety, and Harpagus is\nto be a guest at the banquet.\"\n\nHarpagus comes; and after eating his fill, is asked how he likes the\nking's meat?  He gives the usual answer; and a covered basket is put\nbefore him, out of which he is to take--in Median fashion--what he likes.\nHe finds in it the head and hands and feet of his own son.  Like a true\nEastern he shows no signs of horror.  The king asks him if he knew what\nflesh he had been eating.  He answers that he knew perfectly.  That\nwhatever the king did pleased him.\n\nLike an Eastern courtier, he knew how to dissemble, but not to forgive,\nand bided his time.  The Magi, to their credit, told Astyages that his\ndream had been fulfilled, that Cyrus--as we must now call the foundling\nprince--had fulfilled it by becoming a king in play, and the boy is let\nto go back to his father and his hardy Persian life.  But Harpagus does\nnot leave him alone, nor perhaps, do his own thoughts.  He has wrongs to\navenge on his grandfather.  And it seems not altogether impossible to the\nyoung mountaineer.\n\nHe has seen enough of Median luxury to despise it and those who indulge\nin it.  He has seen his own grandfather with his cheeks rouged, his\neyelids stained with antimony, living a womanlike life, shut up from all\nhis subjects in the recesses of a vast seraglio.\n\nHe calls together the mountain rulers; makes friends with Tigranes, an\nArmenian prince, a vassal of the Mede, who has his wrongs likewise to\navenge.  And the two little armies of foot-soldiers--the Persians had no\ncavalry--defeat the innumerable horsemen of the Mede, take the old king,\nkeep him in honourable captivity, and so change, one legend says, in a\nsingle battle, the fortunes of the whole East.\n\nAnd then begins that series of conquests of which we know hardly\nanything, save the fact that they were made.  The young mountaineer and\nhis playmates, whom he makes his generals and satraps, sweep onward\ntowards the West, teaching their men the art of riding, till the Persian\ncavalry becomes more famous than the Median had been.  They gather to\nthem, as a snowball gathers in rolling, the picked youth of every tribe\nwhom they overcome.  They knit these tribes to them in loyalty and\naffection by that righteousness--that truthfulness and justice--for which\nIsaiah in his grandest lyric strains has made them illustrious to all\ntime; which Xenophon has celebrated in like manner in that exquisite book\nof his--the \"Cyropaedia.\"  The great Lydian kingdom of Croesus--Asia\nMinor as we call it now--goes down before them.  Babylon itself goes\ndown, after that world-famed siege which ended in Belshazzar's feast; and\nwhen Cyrus died--still in the prime of life, the legends seem to say--he\nleft a coherent and well-organised empire, which stretched from the\nMediterranean to Hindostan.\n\nSo runs the tale, which to me, I confess, sounds probable and rational\nenough.  It may not do so to you; for it has not to many learned men.\nThey are inclined to \"relegate it into the region of myth;\" in plain\nEnglish, to call old Herodotus a liar, or at least a dupe.  What means\nthose wise men can have at this distance of more than 2000 years, of\nknowing more about the matter than Herodotus, who lived within 100 years\nof Cyrus, I for myself cannot discover.  And I say this without the least\nwish to disparage these hypercritical persons.  For there are--and more\nthere ought to be, as long as lies and superstitions remain on this\nearth--a class of thinkers who hold in just suspicion all stories which\nsavour of the sensational, the romantic, even the dramatic.  They know\nthe terrible uses to which appeals to the fancy and the emotions have\nbeen applied, and are still applied to enslave the intellects, the\nconsciences, the very bodies of men and women.  They dread so much from\nexperience the abuse of that formula, that \"a thing is so beautiful it\nmust be true,\" that they are inclined to reply: \"Rather let us say\nboldly, it is so beautiful that it cannot be true.  Let us mistrust, or\neven refuse to believe _a priori_, and at first sight, all startling,\nsensational, even poetic tales, and accept nothing as history, which is\nnot as dull as the ledger of a dry-goods' store.\"  But I think that\nexperience, both in nature and in society, are against that ditch-water\nphilosophy.  The weather, being governed by laws, ought always to be\nequable and normal, and yet you have whirlwinds, droughts, thunderstorms.\nThe share-market, being governed by laws, ought to be always equable and\nnormal, and yet you have startling transactions, startling panics,\nstartling disclosures, and a whole sensational romance of commercial\ncrime and folly.  Which of us has lived to be fifty years old, without\nhaving witnessed in private life sensation tragedies, alas! sometimes too\nfearful to be told, or at least sensational romances, which we shall take\ncare not to tell, because we shall not be believed?  Let the ditch-water\nphilosophy say what it will, human life is not a ditch, but a wild and\nroaring river, flooding its banks, and eating out new channels with many\na landslip.  It is a strange world, and man, a strange animal, guided, it\nis true, usually by most common-place motives; but, for that reason,\nready and glad at times to escape from them and their dulness and\nbaseness; to give vent, if but for a moment, in wild freedom, to that\ndemoniac element, which, as Goethe says, underlies his nature and all\nnature; and to prefer for an hour, to the normal and respectable ditch-\nwater, a bottle of champagne or even a carouse on fire-water, let the\nconsequences be what they may.\n\nHow else shall we explain such a phenomenon as those old crusades?  Were\nthey undertaken for any purpose, commercial or other?  Certainly not for\nlightening an overburdened population.  Nay, is not the history of your\nown Mormons, and their exodus into the far West, one of the most\nstartling instances which the world has seen for several centuries, of\nthe unexpected and incalculable forces which lie hid in man?  Believe me,\nman's passions, heated to igniting point, rather than his prudence cooled\ndown to freezing point, are the normal causes of all great human\nmovement.  And a truer law of social science than any that political\neconomists are wont to lay down, is that old _Dov' e la donna_? of the\nItalian judge, who used to ask, as a preliminary to every case, civil or\ncriminal, which was brought before him, _Dov' e la donna_?  \"Where is the\nlady?\" certain, like a wise old gentleman, that a woman was most probably\nat the bottom of the matter.\n\nStrangeness?  Romance?  Did any of you ever read--if you have not you\nshould read--Archbishop Whately's \"Historic Doubts about the Emperor\nNapoleon the First\"?  Therein the learned and witty Archbishop proved, as\nearly as 1819, by fair use of the criticism of Mr. Hume and the Sceptic\nSchool, that the whole history of the great Napoleon ought to be treated\nby wise men as a myth and a romance, that there is little or no evidence\nof his having existed at all; and that the story of his strange successes\nand strange defeats was probably invented by our Government in order to\npander to the vanity of the English nation.\n\nI will say this, which Archbishop Whately, in a late edition,\nforeshadows, wittily enough--that if one or two thousand years hence,\nwhen the history of the late Emperor Napoleon the Third, his rise and\nfall, shall come to be subjected to critical analysis by future\nPhilistine historians of New Zealand or Australia, it will be proved by\nthem to be utterly mythical, incredible, monstrous--and that all the\nmore, the more the actual facts remain to puzzle their unimaginative\nbrains.  What will they make two thousand years hence, of the landing at\nBoulogne with the tame eagle?  Will not that, and stranger facts still,\nbut just as true, be relegated to the region of myth, with the dream of\nAstyages, and the young and princely herdsman playing at king over his\nfellow-slaves?\n\nBut enough of this.  To me these bits of romance often seem the truest,\nas well as the most important portions of history.\n\nWhen old Herodotus tells me how, King Astyages having guarded the\nfrontier, Harpagus sent a hunter to young Cyrus with a fresh-killed hare,\ntelling him to open it in private; and how, sewn up in it was the letter,\ntelling him that the time to rebel was come, I am inclined to say, That\nmust be true.  It is so beneath the dignity of history, so quaint and\nunexpected, that it is all the more likely _not_ to have been invented.\n\nSo with that other story--How young Cyrus, giving out that his\ngrandfather had made him general of the Persians, summoned them all, each\nman with a sickle in his hand, into a prairie full of thorns, and bade\nthem clear it in one day; and how when they, like loyal men, had\nfinished, he bade them bathe, and next day he took them into a great\nmeadow and feasted them with corn and wine, and all that his father's\nfarm would yield, and asked them which day they liked best; and, when\nthey answered as was to be expected, how he opened his parable and told\nthem, \"Choose, then, to work for the Persians like slaves, or to be free\nwith me.\"\n\nSuch a tale sounds to me true.  It has the very savour of the parables of\nthe Old Testament; as have, surely, the dreams of the old Sultan, with\nwhich the tale begins.  Do they not put us in mind of the dreams of\nNebuchadnezzar, in the Book of Daniel?\n\nSuch stories are actually so beautiful that they are very likely to be\ntrue.  Understand me, I only say likely; the ditch-water view of history\nis not all wrong.  Its advocates are right in saying great historic\nchanges are not produced simply by one great person, by one remarkable\nevent.  They have been preparing, perhaps for centuries.  They are the\nresult of numberless forces, acting according to laws, which might have\nbeen foreseen, and will be foreseen, when the science of History is more\nperfectly understood.\n\nFor instance, Cyrus could not have conquered the Median Empire at a\nsingle blow, if first that empire had not been utterly rotten; and next,\nif he and his handful of Persians had not been tempered and sharpened, by\nlong hardihood, to the finest cutting edge.\n\nYes, there were all the materials for the catastrophe--the cannon, the\npowder, the shot.  But to say that the Persians must have conquered the\nMedes, even if Cyrus had never lived, is to say, as too many philosophers\nseem to me to say, that, given cannon, powder, and shot, it will fire\nitself off some day if we only leave it alone long enough.\n\nIt may be so.  But our usual experience of Nature and Fact is, that\nspontaneous combustion is a rare and exceptional phenomenon; that if a\ncannon is to be fired, someone must arise and pull the trigger.  And I\nbelieve that in Society and Politics, when a great event is ready to be\ndone, someone must come and do it--do it, perhaps, half unwittingly, by\nsome single rash act--like that first fatal shot fired by an electric\nspark.\n\nBut to return to Cyrus and his Persians.\n\nI know not whether the \"Cyropaedia\" is much read in your schools and\nuniversities.  But it is one of the books which I should like to see,\neither in a translation or its own exquisite Greek, in the hands of every\nyoung man.  It is not all fact.  It is but a historic romance.  But it is\nbetter than history.  It is an ideal book, like Sidney's \"Arcadia\" or\nSpenser's \"Fairy Queen\"--the ideal self-education of an ideal hero.  And\nthe moral of the book--ponder it well, all young men who have the chance\nor the hope of exercising authority among your follow-men--the noble and\nmost Christian moral of that heathen book is this: that the path to solid\nand beneficent influence over our fellow-men lies, not through brute\nforce, not through cupidity, but through the highest morality; through\njustice, truthfulness, humanity, self-denial, modesty, courtesy, and all\nwhich makes man or woman lovely in the eyes of mortals or of God.\n\nYes, the \"Cyropaedia\" is a noble book, about a noble personage.  But I\ncannot forget that there are nobler words by far concerning that same\nnoble personage, in the magnificent series of Hebrew Lyrics, which begins\n\"Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people, saith the Lord\"--in which the\ninspired poet, watching the rise of Cyrus and his Puritans, and the fall\nof Babylon, and the idolatries of the East, and the coming deliverance of\nhis own countrymen, speaks of the Persian hero in words so grand that\nthey have been often enough applied, and with all fitness, to one greater\nthan Cyrus, and than all men:\n\n   Who raised up the righteous man from the East,\n   And called him to attend his steps?\n   Who subdued nations at his presence,\n   And gave him dominion over kings?\n   And made them like the dust before his sword,\n   And the driven stubble before his bow?\n   He pursueth them, he passeth in safety,\n   By a way never trodden before by his feet.\n   Who hath performed and made these things,\n   Calling the generations from the beginning?\n   I, Jehovah, the first and the last, I am the same.\n\n   Behold my servant, whom I will uphold;\n   My chosen, in whom my soul delighteth;\n   I will make my spirit rest upon him,\n   And he shall publish judgment to the nations.\n   He shall not cry aloud, nor clamour,\n   Nor cause his voice to be heard in the streets.\n   The bruised reed he shall not break,\n   And the smoking flax he shall not quench.\n   He shall publish justice, and establish it.\n   His force shall not be abated, nor broken,\n   Until he has firmly seated justice in the earth,\n   And the distant nations shall wait for his Law.\n   Thus saith the God, even Jehovah,\n   Who created the heavens, and stretched them out;\n   Who spread abroad the earth, and its produce:\n   I, Jehovah, have called thee for a righteous end,\n   And I will take hold of thy hand, and preserve thee,\n   And I will give thee for a covenant to the people,\n   And for a light to the nations;\n   To open the eyes of the blind,\n   To bring the captives out of prison,\n   And from the dungeon those who dwell in darkness.\n   I am Jehovah--that is my name;\n   And my glory will I not give to another,\n   Nor my praise to the graven idols.\n\n   Who saith to Cyrus--Thou art my shepherd,\n   And he shall fulfil all my pleasure:\n   Who saith to Jerusalem--Thou shalt be built;\n   And to the Temple--Thou shalt be founded.\n   Thus saith Jehovah to his anointed,\n   To Cyrus whom I hold fast by his right hand,\n   That I may subdue nations under him,\n   And loose the loins of kings;\n   That I may open before him the two-leaved doors,\n   And the gates shall not be shut;\n   I will go before thee\n   And bring the mountains low.\n   The gates of brass will I break in sunder,\n   And the bars of iron hew down.\n   And I will give thee the treasures of darkness,\n   And the hoards hid deep in secret places,\n   That thou mayest know that I am Jehovah.\n   I have surnamed thee, though thou knowest not me.\n   I am Jehovah, and none else;\n   Beside me there is no God.\n   I will gird thee, though thou hast not known me,\n   That they may know from the rising of the sun,\n   And from the west, that there is none beside me;\n   I am Jehovah, and none else;\n   Forming light and creating darkness;\n   Forming peace, and creating evil.\n   I, Jehovah, make all these.\n\nThis is the Hebrew prophet's conception of the great Puritan of the Old\nWorld who went forth with such a commission as this, to destroy the idols\nof the East, while\n\n   The isles saw that, and feared,\n   And the ends of the earth were afraid;\n   They drew near, they came together;\n   Everyone helped his neighbour,\n   And said to his brother, Be of good courage.\n\n   The carver encouraged the smith,\n   He that smoothed with the hammer\n   Him that smote on the anvil;\n   Saying of the solder, It is good;\n   And fixing the idol with nails, lest it be moved;\n\nBut all in vain; for as the poet goes on:\n\n   Bel bowed down, and Nebo stooped;\n   Their idols were upon the cattle,\n   A burden to the weary beast.\n   They stoop, they bow down together;\n   They could not deliver their own charge;\n   Themselves are gone into captivity.\n\nAnd what, to return, what was the end of the great Cyrus and of his\nempire?\n\nAlas, alas! as with all human glory, the end was not as the beginning.\n\nWe are scarce bound to believe positively the story how Cyrus made one\nwar too many, and was cut off in the Scythian deserts, falling before the\narrows of mere savages; and how their queen, Tomyris, poured blood down\nthe throat of the dead corpse, with the words, \"Glut thyself with the\ngore for which thou hast thirsted.\"  But it may be true--for Xenophon\nstates it expressly, and with detail--that Cyrus, from the very time of\nhis triumph, became an Eastern despot, a sultan or a shah, living apart\nfrom his people in mysterious splendour, in the vast fortified palace\nwhich he built for himself; and imitating and causing his nobles and\nsatraps to imitate, in all but vice and effeminacy, the very Medes whom\nhe had conquered.  And of this there is no doubt--that his sons and their\nempire ran rapidly through that same vicious circle of corruption to\nwhich all despotisms are doomed, and became within 250 years, even as the\nMedes, the Chaldeans, the Lydians, whom they had conquered, children no\nlonger of Ahura Mazda, but of Ahriman, of darkness and not of light, to\nbe conquered by Alexander and his Greeks even more rapidly and more\nshamefully than they had conquered the East.\n\nThis is the short epic of the Persian Empire, ending, alas! as all human\nepics are wont to end, sadly, if not shamefully.\n\nBut let me ask you, Did I say too much, when I said, that to these\nPersians we owe that we are here to-night?\n\nI do not say that without them we should not have been here.  God, I\npresume, when He is minded to do anything, has more than one way of doing\nit.\n\nBut that we are now the last link in a chain of causes and effects which\nreaches as far back as the emigration of the Persians southward from the\nplateau of Pamir, we cannot doubt.\n\nFor see.  By the fall of Babylon and its empire the Jews were freed from\ntheir captivity--large numbers of them at least--and sent home to their\nown Jerusalem.  What motives prompted Cyrus, and Darius after him, to do\nthat deed?\n\nThose who like to impute the lowest motives may say, if they will, that\nDaniel and the later Isaiah found it politic to worship the rising sun,\nand flatter the Persian conquerors: and that Cyrus and Darius in turn\nwere glad to see Jerusalem rebuilt, as an impregnable frontier fortress\nbetween them and Egypt.  Be it so; I, who wish to talk of things noble,\npure, lovely, and of good report, would rather point you once more to the\nmagnificent poetry of the later Isaiah which commences at the 40th\nchapter of the Book of Isaiah, and say--There, upon the very face of the\ndocument, stands written the fact that the sympathy between the faithful\nPersian and the faithful Jew--the two puritans of the Old World, the two\nhaters of lies, idolatries, superstitions, was actually as intense as it\nought to have been, as it must have been.\n\nBe that as it may, the return of the Jews to Jerusalem preserved for us\nthe Old Testament, while it restored to them a national centre, a sacred\ncity, like that of Delphi to the Greeks, Rome to the Romans, Mecca to the\nMuslim, loyalty to which prevented their being utterly absorbed by the\nmore civilised Eastern races among whom they had been scattered abroad as\ncolonies of captives.\n\nThen another, and a seemingly needful link of cause and effect ensued:\nAlexander of Macedon destroyed the Persian Empire, and the East became\nGreek, and Alexandria, rather than Jerusalem, became the head-quarters of\nJewish learning.  But for that very cause, the Scriptures were not left\ninaccessible to the mass of mankind, like the old Pehlevi liturgies of\nthe Zend-avesta, or the old Sanscrit Vedas, in an obsolete and hieratic\ntongue, but were translated into, and continued in, the then all but\nworld-wide Hellenic speech, which was to the ancient world what French is\nto the modern.\n\nThen the East became Roman, without losing its Greek speech.  And under\nthe wide domination of that later Roman Empire--which had subdued and\norganised the whole known world, save the Parthian descendants of those\nold Persians, and our old Teutonic forefathers in their German forests\nand on their Scandinavian shores--that Divine book was carried far and\nwide, East and West, and South, from the heart of Abyssinia to the\nmountains of Armenia, and to the isles of the ocean, beyond Britain\nitself to Ireland and to the Hebrides.\n\nAnd that book--so strangely coinciding with the old creed of the earlier\nPersians--that book, long misunderstood, long overlain by the dust, and\novergrown by the parasitic fungi of centuries, that book it was which\nsent to these trans-Atlantic shores the founders of your great nation.\nThat book gave them their instinct of Freedom, tempered by reverence for\nLaw.  That book gave them their hatred of idolatry; and made them not\nonly say but act upon their own words, with these old Persians and with\nthe Jewish prophets alike, Sacrifice and burnt offering thou wouldst not;\nThen said we, Lo, we come.  In the volume of the book it is written of\nus, that we come to do thy will, O God.  Yes, long and fantastic is the\nchain of causes and effects, which links you here to the old heroes who\ncame down from Central Asia, because the land had grown so wondrous cold,\nthat there were ten months of winter to two of summer; and when simply\nafter warmth and life, and food for them and for their flocks, they\nwandered forth to found and help to found a spiritual kingdom.\n\nAnd even in their migration, far back in these dim and mystic ages, have\nwe found the earliest link of the long chain?  Not so.  What if the\nlegend of the change of climate be the dim recollection of an enormous\nphysical fact?  What if it, and the gradual depopulation of the whole\nnorth of Asia, be owing, as geologists now suspect, to the slow and age-\nlong uprise of the whole of Siberia, thrusting the warm Arctic sea\nfarther and farther to the northward, and placing between it and the\nHighlands of Thibet an ever-increasing breadth of icy land, destroying\nanimals, and driving whole races southward, in search of the summer and\nthe sun?\n\nWhat if the first link in the chain, as yet conceivable by man, should be\nthe cosmic changes in the distribution of land and water, which filled\nthe mouths of the Siberian rivers with frozen carcases of woolly mammoth\nand rhinoceros; and those again, doubt it not, of other revolutions,\nreaching back and back, and on and on, into the infinite unknown?  Why\nnot?  For so are all human destinies\n\n   Bound with gold chains unto the throne of God.\n\n\n\n\nANCIENT CIVILISATION {5} {6}\n\n\nThere is a theory abroad in the world just now about the origin of the\nhuman race, which has so many patent and powerful physiological facts to\nsupport it that we must not lightly say that it is absurd or impossible;\nand that is, that man's mortal body and brain were derived from some\nanimal and ape-like creature.  Of that I am not going to speak now.  My\nsubject is: How this creature called man, from whatever source derived,\nbecame civilised, rational, and moral.  And I am sorry to say that there\nis tacked on by many to the first theory, another which does not follow\nfrom it, and which has really nothing to do with it, and it is this: That\nman, with all his wonderful and mysterious aspirations, always\nunfulfilled yet always precious, at once his torment and his joy, his\nvery hope of everlasting life; that man, I say, developed himself,\nunassisted, out of a state of primaeval brutishness, simply by\ncalculations of pleasure and pain, by observing what actions would pay in\nthe long run and what would not; and so learnt to conquer his selfishness\nby a more refined and extended selfishness, and exchanged his brutality\nfor worldliness, and then, in a few instances, his worldliness for next-\nworldliness.  I hope I need not say that I do not believe this theory.  If\nI did, I could not be a Christian, I think, nor a philosopher either.  At\nleast, if I thought that human civilisation had sprung from such a\ndunghill as that, I should, in honour to my race, say nothing about it,\nhere or elsewhere.\n\nWhy talk of the shame of our ancestors?  I want to talk of their honour\nand glory.  I want to talk, if I talk at all, about great times, about\nnoble epochs, noble movements, noble deeds, and noble folk; about times\nin which the human race--it may be through many mistakes, alas! and sin,\nand sorrow, and blood-shed--struggled up one step higher on those great\nstairs which, as we hope, lead upward towards the far-off city of God;\nthe perfect polity, the perfect civilisation, the perfect religion, which\nis eternal in the heavens.\n\nOf great men, then, and noble deeds I want to speak.  I am bound to do so\nfirst, in courtesy to my hearers.  For in choosing such a subject I took\nfor granted a nobleness and greatness of mind in them which can\nappreciate and enjoy the contemplation of that which is lofty and heroic,\nand that which is useful indeed, though not to the purses merely or the\nmouths of men, but to their intellects and spirits; that highest\nphilosophy which, though she can (as has been sneeringly said of her)\nbake no bread, she--and she alone, can at least do this--make men worthy\nto eat the bread which God has given them.\n\nI am bound to speak on such subjects, because I have never yet met, or\nread of, the human company who did not require, now and then at least,\nbeing reminded of such times and such personages--of whatsoever things\nare just, pure, true, lovely, and of good report, if there be any manhood\nand any praise to think, as St. Paul bids us all, of such things, that we\nmay keep up in our minds as much as possible a lofty standard, a pure\nideal, instead of sinking to the mere selfish standard which judges all\nthings, even those of the world to come, by profit and by loss, and into\nthat sordid frame of mind in which a man grows to believe that the world\nis constructed of bricks and timber, and kept going by the price of\nstocks.\n\nWe are all tempted, and the easier and more prosperous we are, the more\nwe are tempted, to fall into that sordid and shallow frame of mind.\nSordid even when its projects are most daring, its outward luxuries most\nrefined; and shallow, even when most acute, when priding itself most on\nits knowledge of human nature, and of the secret springs which, so it\ndreams, move the actions and make the history of nations and of men.  All\nare tempted that way, even the noblest-hearted.  _Adhaesit pavimento\nventer_, says the old psalmist.  I am growing like the snake, crawling in\nthe dust, and eating the dust in which I crawl.  I try to lift up my eyes\nto the heavens, to the true, the beautiful, the good, the eternal\nnobleness which was before all time, and shall be still when time has\npassed away.  But to lift up myself is what I cannot do.  Who will help\nme?  Who will quicken me? as our old English tongue has it.  Who will\ngive me life?  The true, pure, lofty human life which I did _not_ inherit\nfrom the primaeval ape, which the ape-nature in me is for ever trying to\nstifle, and make me that which I know too well I could so easily become--a\ncunninger and more dainty-featured brute?  Death itself, which seems at\ntimes so fair, is fair because even it may raise me up and deliver me\nfrom the burden of this animal and mortal body:\n\n   'Tis life, not death for which I pant;\n   'Tis life, whereof my nerves are scant;\n   More life, and fuller, that I want.\n\nMan?  I am a man not by reason of my bones and muscles, nerves and brain,\nwhich I have in common with apes and dogs and horses.  I am a man--thou\nart a man or woman--not because we have a flesh--God forbid! but because\nthere is a spirit in us, a divine spark and ray, which nature did not\ngive, and which nature cannot take away.  And therefore, while I live on\nearth, I will live to the spirit, not to the flesh, that I may be,\nindeed, a _man_; and this same gross flesh, this animal ape-nature in me,\nshall be the very element in me which I will renounce, defy, despise; at\nleast, if I am minded to be, not a merely higher savage, but a truly\nhigher civilised man.  Civilisation with me shall mean, not more wealth,\nmore finery, more self-indulgence--even more aesthetic and artistic\nluxury; but more virtue, more knowledge, more self-control, even though I\nearn scanty bread by heavy toil; and when I compare the Caesar of Rome or\nthe great king, whether of Egypt, Babylon, or Persia, with the hermit of\nthe Thebaid, starving in his frock of camel's hair, with his soul fixed\non the ineffable glories of the unseen, and striving, however wildly and\nfantastically, to become an angel and not an ape, I will say the hermit,\nand not the Caesar, is the civilised man.\n\nThere are plenty of histories of civilisation and theories of\ncivilisation abroad in the world just now, and which profess to show you\nhow the primeval savage has, or at least may have, become the civilised\nman.  For my part, with all due and careful consideration, I confess I\nattach very little value to any of them: and for this simple reason that\nwe have no facts.  The facts are lost.\n\nOf course, if you assume a proposition as certainly true, it is easy\nenough to prove that proposition to be true, at least to your own\nsatisfaction.  If you assert with the old proverb, that you may make a\nsilk purse out of a sow's ear, you will be stupider than I dare suppose\nanyone here to be, if you cannot invent for yourselves all the\nintermediate stages of the transformation, however startling.  And,\nindeed, if modern philosophers had stuck more closely to this old\nproverb, and its defining verb \"make,\" and tried to show how some person\nor persons--let them be who they may--men, angels, or gods--made the\nsow's ear into the silk purse, and the savage into the sage--they might\nhave pleaded that they were still trying to keep their feet upon the firm\nground of actual experience.  But while their theory is, that the sow's\near grew into a silk purse of itself, and yet unconsciously and without\nany intention of so bettering itself in life, why, I think that those who\nhave studied the history which lies behind them, and the poor human\nnature which is struggling, and sinning, and sorrowing, and failing\naround them, and which seems on the greater part of this planet going\ndownwards and not upwards, and by no means bettering itself, save in the\nincrease of opera-houses, liquor-bars, and gambling-tables, and that\nwhich pertaineth thereto; then we, I think, may be excused if we say with\nthe old Stoics--[Greek text]--I withhold my judgment.  I know nothing\nabout the matter yet; and you, oh my imaginative though learned friends,\nknow I suspect very little either.\n\n   Eldest of things, Divine Equality:\n\nso sang poor Shelley, and with a certain truth.  For if, as I believe,\nthe human race sprang from a single pair, there must have been among\ntheir individual descendants an equality far greater than any which has\nbeen known on earth during historic times.  But that equality was at best\nthe infantile innocence of the primary race, which faded away in the race\nas quickly, alas! as it does in the individual child.  Divine--therefore\nit was one of the first blessings which man lost; one of the last, I\nfear, to which he will return; that to which civilisation, even at its\nbest yet known, has not yet attained, save here and there for short\nperiods; but towards which it is striving as an ideal goal, and, as I\ntrust, not in vain.\n\nThe eldest of things which we see actually as history is not equality,\nbut an already developed hideous inequality, trying to perpetuate itself,\nand yet by a most divine and gracious law, destroying itself by the very\nmeans which it uses to keep itself alive.\n\n\"There were giants in the earth in those days.  And Nimrod began to be a\nmighty one in the earth\"--\n\n   A mighty hunter; and his game was man.\n\nNo; it is not equality which we see through the dim mist of bygone ages.\n\nWhat we do see is--I know not whether you will think me superstitious or\nold-fashioned, but so I hold--very much what the earlier books of the\nBible show us under symbolic laws.  Greek histories, Roman histories,\nEgyptian histories, Eastern histories, inscriptions, national epics,\nlegends, fragments of legends--in the New World as in the Old--all tell\nthe same story.  Not the story without an end, but the story without a\nbeginning.  As in the Hindoo cosmogony, the world stands on an elephant,\nand the elephant on a tortoise, and the tortoise on--what?  No man knows.\nI do not know.  I only assert deliberately, waiting, as Napoleon says,\ntill the world come round to me, that the tortoise does not stand--as is\nheld by certain anthropologists, some honoured by me, some personally\ndear to me--upon the savages who chipped flints and fed on mammoth and\nreindeer in North-Western Europe, shortly after the age of ice, a few\nhundred thousand years ago.  These sturdy little fellows--the kinsmen\nprobably of the Esquimaux and Lapps--could have been but the\n_avant-couriers_, or more probably the fugitives from the true mass of\nmankind--spreading northward from the Tropics into climes becoming, after\nthe long catastrophe of the age of ice, once more genial enough to\nsupport men who knew what decent comfort was, and were strong enough to\nget the same, by all means fair or foul.  No.  The tortoise of the human\nrace does not stand on a savage.  The savage may stand on an ape-like\ncreature.  I do not say that he does not.  I do not say that he does.  I\ndo not know; and no man knows.  But at least I say that the civilised man\nand his world stand not upon creatures like to any savage now known upon\nthe earth.  For first, it seems to be most unlikely; and next, and more\nimportant to an inductive philosopher, there is no proof of it.  I see no\nsavages becoming really civilised men--that is, not merely men who will\nape the outside of our so-called civilisation, even absorb a few of our\nideas; not merely that; but truly civilised men who will think for\nthemselves, invent for themselves, act for themselves; and when the\nsacred lamp of light and truth has been passed into their hands, carry it\non unextinguished, and transmit it to their successors without running\nback every moment to get it relighted by those from whom they received\nit: and who are bound--remember that--patiently and lovingly to relight\nit for them; to give freely to all their fellow-men of that which God has\ngiven to them and to their ancestors; and let God, not man, be judge of\nhow much the Red Indian or the Polynesian, the Caffre or the Chinese, is\ncapable of receiving and of using.\n\nMoreover, in history there is no record, absolutely no record, as far as\nI am aware, of any savage tribe civilising itself.  It is a bold saying.\nI stand by my assertion: most happy to find myself confuted, even in a\nsingle instance; for my being wrong would give me, what I can have no\nobjection to possess, a higher opinion than I have now, of the unassisted\ncapabilities of my fellow-men.\n\nBut civilisation must have begun somewhen, somewhere, with some person,\nor some family, or some nation; and how did it begin?\n\nI have said already that I do not know.  But I have had my dream--like\nthe philosopher--and as I have not been ashamed to tell it elsewhere, I\nshall not be ashamed to tell it here.  And it is this:\n\nWhat if the beginnings of true civilisation in this unique, abnormal,\ndiseased, unsatisfied, incomprehensible, and truly miraculous and\nsupernatural race we call man, had been literally, and in actual fact,\nmiraculous and supernatural likewise?  What if that be the true key to\nthe mystery of humanity and its origin?  What if the few first chapters\nof the most ancient and most sacred book should point, under whatever\nsymbols, to the actual and the only possible origin of civilisation, the\neducation of a man, or a family by beings of some higher race than man?\nWhat if the old Puritan doctrine of Election should be even of a deeper\nand wider application than divines have been wont to think?  What if\nindividuals, if peoples, have been chosen out from time to time for a\nspecial illumination, that they might be the lights of the earth, and the\nsalt of the world?  What if they have, each in their turn, abused that\ndivine teaching to make themselves the tyrants, instead of the ministers,\nof the less enlightened?  To increase the inequalities of nature by their\nown selfishness, instead of decreasing them, into the equality of grace,\nby their own self-sacrifice?  What if the Bible after all was right, and\neven more right than we were taught to think?\n\nSo runs my dream.  If, after I have confessed to it, you think me still\nworth listening to, in this enlightened nineteenth century, I will go on.\n\nAt all events, what we see at the beginning of all known and half-known\nhistory, is not savagery, but high civilisation, at least of an outward\nand material kind.  Do you demur?  Then recollect, I pray you, that the\nthree oldest peoples known to history on this planet are Egypt, China,\nHindostan.  The first glimpses of the world are always like those which\nthe book of Genesis gives us; like those which your own continent gives\nus.  As it was 400 years ago in America, so it was in North Africa and in\nAsia 4000 years ago, or 40,000 for aught I know.  Nay, if anyone should\nask--And why not 400,000 years ago, on Miocene continents long sunk\nbeneath the Tropic sea?  I for one have no rejoinder save--We have no\nproofs as yet.\n\nThere loom up, out of the darkness of legend, into the as yet dim dawn of\nhistory, what the old Arabs call Races of pre-Adamite Sultans--colossal\nmonarchies, with fixed and often elaborate laws, customs, creeds; with\naristocracies, priesthoods--seemingly always of a superior and conquering\nrace; with a mass of common folk, whether free or half-free, composed of\nolder conquered races; of imported slaves too, and their descendants.\n\nBut whence comes the royal race, the aristocracy, the priesthood?  You\ninquire, and you find that they usually know not themselves.  They are\nusually--I had almost dared to say, always--foreigners.  They have\ncrossed the neighbouring mountains.  The have come by sea, like Dido to\nCarthage, like Manco Cassae and Mama Belle to America, and they have\nsometimes forgotten when.  At least they are wiser, stronger, fairer,\nthan the aborigines.  They are to them--as Jacques Cartier was to the\nIndians of Canada--as gods.  They are not sure that they are not\ndescended from gods.  They are the Children of the Sun, or what not.  The\nchildren of light, who ray out such light as they have, upon the darkness\nof their subjects.  They are at first, probably, civilisers, not\nconquerors.  For, if tradition is worth anything--and we have nothing\nelse to go upon--they are at first few in number.  They come as settlers,\nor even as single sages.  It is, in all tradition, not the many who\ninfluence the few, but the few who influence the many.\n\nSo aristocracies, in the true sense, are formed.\n\nBut the higher calling is soon forgotten.  The purer light is soon\ndarkened in pride and selfishness, luxury and lust; as in Genesis, the\nsons of God see the daughters of men, that they are fair; and they take\nthem wives of all that they choose.  And so a mixed race springs up and\nincreases, without detriment at first to the commonwealth.  For, by a\nwell-known law of heredity, the cross between two races, probably far\napart, produces at first a progeny possessing the forces, and, alas!\nprobably the vices of both.  And when the sons of God go in to the\ndaughters of men, there are giants in the earth in those days, men of\nrenown.  The Roman Empire, remember, was never stronger than when the old\nPatrician blood had mingled itself with that of every nation round the\nMediterranean.\n\nBut it does not last.  Selfishness, luxury, ferocity, spread from above,\nas well as from below.  The just aristocracy of virtue and wisdom becomes\nan unjust one of mere power and privilege; that again, one of mere wealth\ncorrupting and corrupt; and is destroyed, not by the people from below,\nbut by the monarch from above.  The hereditary bondsmen may know\n\n         Who would be free,\n   Himself must strike the blow.\n\nBut they dare not, know not how.  The king must do it for them.  He must\nbecome the State.  \"Better one tyrant,\" as Voltaire said, \"than many.\"\nBetter stand in fear of one lion far away, than of many wolves, each in\nthe nearest wood.  And so arise those truly monstrous Eastern despotisms,\nof which modern Persia is, thank God, the only remaining specimen; for\nTurkey and Egypt are too amenable of late years to the influence of the\nfree nations to be counted as despotisms pure and simple--despotisms in\nwhich men, instead of worshipping a God-man, worship the hideous\ncounterfeit, a Man-god--a poor human being endowed by public opinion with\nthe powers of deity, while he is the slave of all the weaknesses of\nhumanity.  But such, as an historic fact, has been the last stage of\nevery civilisation--even that of Rome, which ripened itself upon this\nearth the last in ancient times, and, I had almost said, until this very\nday, except among the men who speak Teutonic tongues, and who have\npreserved through all temptations, and reasserted through all dangers,\nthe free ideas which have been our sacred heritage ever since Tacitus\nbeheld us, with respect and awe, among our German forests, and saw in us\nthe future masters of the Roman Empire.\n\nYes, it is very sad, the past history of mankind.  But shall we despise\nthose who went before us, and on whose accumulated labours we now stand?\n\nShall we not reverence our spiritual ancestors?  Shall we not show our\nreverence by copying them, at least whenever, as in those old Persians,\nwe see in them manliness and truthfulness, hatred of idolatries, and\ndevotion to the God of light and life and good?  And shall we not feel\npity, instead of contempt, for their ruder forms of government, their\nignorances, excesses, failures--so excusable in men who, with little or\nno previous teaching, were trying to solve for themselves for the first\ntime the deepest social and political problems of humanity.\n\nYes, those old despotisms we trust are dead, and never to revive.  But\ntheir corpses are the corpses, not of our enemies, but of our friends and\npredecessors, slain in the world-old fight of Ormuzd against\nAhriman--light against darkness, order against disorder.  Confusedly they\nfought, and sometimes ill: but their corpses piled the breach and filled\nthe trench for us, and over their corpses we step on to what should be to\nus an easy victory--what may be to us, yet, a shameful ruin.\n\nFor if we be, as we are wont to boast, the salt of the earth and the\nlight of the world, what if the salt should lose its savour?  What if the\nlight which is in us should become darkness?  For myself, when I look\nupon the responsibilities of the free nations of modern times, so far\nfrom boasting of that liberty in which I delight--and to keep which I\nfreely, too, could die--I rather say, in fear and trembling, God help us\non whom He has laid so heavy a burden as to make us free; responsible,\neach individual of us, not only to ourselves, but to Him and all mankind.\nFor if we fall we shall fall I know not whither, and I dare not think.\n\nHow those old despotisms, the mighty empires of old time, fell, we know,\nand we can easily explain.  Corrupt, luxurious, effeminate, eaten out by\nuniversal selfishness and mutual fear, they had at last no organic\ncoherence.  The moral anarchy within showed through, at last burst\nthrough, the painted skin of prescriptive order which held them together.\nSome braver and abler, and usually more virtuous people, often some\nlittle, hardy, homely mountain tribe, saw that the fruit was ripe for\ngathering; and, caring naught for superior numbers--and saying with\nGerman Alaric when the Romans boasted of their numbers, \"The thicker the\nhay the easier it is mowed\"--struck one brave blow at the huge inflated\nwind-bag--as Cyrus and his handful of Persians struck at the Medes; as\nAlexander and his handful of Greeks struck afterwards at the Persians--and\nbehold, it collapsed upon the spot.  And then the victors took the place\nof the conquered; and became in their turn an aristocracy, and then a\ndespotism; and in their turn rotted down and perished.  And so the\nvicious circle repeated itself, age after age, from Egypt and Assyria to\nMexico and Peru.\n\nAnd therefore, we, free peoples as we are, have need to watch, and\nsternly watch, ourselves.  Equality of some kind or other is, as I said,\nour natural and seemingly inevitable goal.  But which equality?  For\nthere are two--a true one and a false; a noble and a base; a healthful\nand a ruinous.  There is the truly divine equality, and there is the\nbrute equality of sheep and oxen, and of flies and worms.  There is the\nequality which is founded on mutual envy.  The equality which respects\nothers, and the equality which asserts itself.  The equality which longs\nto raise all alike, and the equality which desires to pull down all\nalike.  The equality which says: Thou art as good as I, and it may be\nbetter too, in the sight of God.  And the equality which says: I am as\ngood as thou, and will therefore see if I cannot master thee.\n\nSide by side, in the heart of every free man, and every free people, are\nthe two instincts struggling for the mastery, called by the same name,\nbut bearing the same relation to each other as Marsyas to Apollo, the\nSatyr to the God.  Marsyas and Apollo, the base and the noble, are, as in\nthe old Greek legend, contending for the prize.  And the prize is no less\na one than all free people of this planet.\n\nIn proportion as that nobler idea conquers, and men unite in the equality\nof mutual respect and mutual service, they move one step farther towards\nrealising on earth that Kingdom of God of which it is written: \"The\ndespots of the nations exercise dominion over them, and they that\nexercise authority over them are called benefactors.  But he that will be\ngreat among you let him be the servant of all.\"\n\nAnd in proportion as that base idea conquers, and selfishness, not self-\nsacrifice, is the ruling spirit of a State, men move on, one step\nforward, towards realising that kingdom of the devil upon earth, \"Every\nman for himself and the devil take the hindmost.\"  Only, alas! in that\nevil equality of envy and hate, there is no hindmost, and the devil takes\nthem all alike.\n\nAnd so is a period of discontent, revolution, internecine anarchy,\nfollowed by a tyranny endured, as in old Rome, by men once free, because\ntyranny will at least do for them what they were too lazy and greedy and\nenvious to do for themselves.\n\n   And all because they have forgot\n   What 'tis to be a man--to curb and spurn.\n   The tyrant in us: the ignobler self\n   Which boasts, not loathes, its likeness to the brute;\n   And owns no good save ease, no ill save pain,\n   No purpose, save its share in that wild war\n   In which, through countless ages, living things\n   Compete in internecine greed.  Ah, loving God,\n   Are we as creeping things, which have no lord?\n   That we are brutes, great God, we know too well;\n   Apes daintier-featured; silly birds, who flaunt\n   Their plumes, unheeding of the fowler's step;\n   Spiders, who catch with paper, not with webs;\n   Tigers, who slay with cannon and sharp steel,\n   Instead of teeth and claws:--all these we are.\n   Are we no more than these, save in degree?\n   Mere fools of nature, puppets of strong lusts,\n   Taking the sword, to perish by the sword\n   Upon the universal battle-field,\n   Even as the things upon the moor outside?\n\n      The heath eats up green grass and delicate herbs;\n   The pines eat up the heath; the grub the pine;\n   The finch the grub; the hawk the silly finch;\n   And man, the mightiest of all beasts of prey,\n   Eats what he lists.  The strong eat up the weak;\n   The many eat the few; great nations, small;\n   And he who cometh in the name of all\n   Shall, greediest, triumph by the greed of all,\n   And, armed by his own victims, eat up all.\n   While ever out of the eternal heavens\n   Looks patient down the great magnanimous God,\n   Who, Master of all worlds, did sacrifice\n   All to Himself?  Nay: but Himself to all;\n   Who taught mankind, on that first Christmas Day,\n   What 'tis to be a man--to give, not take;\n   To serve, not rule; to nourish, not devour;\n   To lift, not crush; if need, to die, not live.\n\n\"He that cometh in the name of all\"--the popular military despot--the\n\"saviour of his country\"--he is our internecine enemy on both sides of\nthe Atlantic, whenever he rises--the inaugurator of that Imperialism,\nthat Caesarism into which Rome sank, when not her liberties merely, but\nher virtues, were decaying out of her--the sink into which all wicked\nStates, whether republics or monarchies, are sure to fall, simply because\nmen must eat and drink for to-morrow they die.  The Military and\nBureaucratic Despotism which keeps the many quiet, as in old Rome, by\n_panem et circenses_--bread and games--or, if need be, Pilgrimages; that\nthe few may make money, eat, drink, and be merry, as long as it can last.\nThat, let it ape as it may--as did the Caesars of old Rome at first--as\nanother Emperor did even in our own days--the forms of dead freedom,\nreally upholds an artificial luxury by brute force; and consecrates the\nbasest of all aristocracies, the aristocracy of the money-bag, by the\ndivine sanction of the bayonet.\n\nThat at all risks, even at the price of precious blood, the free peoples\nof the earth must ward off from them; for, makeshift and stop-gap as it\nis, it does not even succeed in what it tries to do.  It does not last.\nHave we not seen that it does not, cannot last?  How can it last?  This\nfalsehood, like all falsehoods, must collapse at one touch of Ithuriel's\nspear of truth and fact.  And--\n\n\"Then saw I the end of these men.  Namely, how Thou dost set them in\nslippery places, and casteth them down.  Suddenly do they perish, and\ncome to a fearful end.  Yea, like as a dream when one awaketh, so shalt\nThou make their image to vanish out of the city.\"\n\nHave we not seen that too, though, thank God, neither in England nor in\nthe United States?\n\nAnd then?  What then?  None knows, and none can know.\n\nThe future of France and Spain, the future of the Tropical Republics of\nSpanish America, is utterly blank and dark; not to be prophesied, I hold,\nby mortal man, simply because we have no like cases in the history of the\npast whereby to judge the tendencies of the present.  Will they revive?\nUnder the genial influences of free institutions will the good seed which\nis in them take root downwards, and bear fruit upwards? and make them all\nwhat that fair France has been, in spite of all her faults, so often in\npast years--a joy and an inspiration to all the nations round?  Shall it\nbe thus?  God grant it may; but He, and He alone, can tell.  We only\nstand by, watching, if we be wise, with pity and with fear, the working\nout of a tremendous new social problem, which must affect the future of\nthe whole civilised world.\n\nFor if the agonising old nations fail to regenerate themselves, what can\nbefall?  What, when even Imperialism has been tried and failed, as fail\nit must?  What but that lower depth within the lowest deep?\n\n         That last dread mood\n   Of sated lust, and dull decrepitude.\n   No law, no art, no faith, no hope, no God.\n   When round the freezing founts of life in peevish ring,\n   Crouched on the bare-worn sod,\n   Babbling about the unreturning spring,\n   And whining for dead creeds, which cannot save,\n   The toothless nations shiver to their grave.\n\nAnd we, who think we stand, let us take heed lest we fall.  Let us\naccept, in modesty and in awe, the responsibility of our freedom, and\nremember that that freedom can be preserved only in one old-fashioned\nway.  Let us remember that the one condition of a true democracy is the\nsame as the one condition of a true aristocracy, namely, virtue.  Let us\nteach our children, as grand old Lilly taught our forefathers 300 years\nago--\"It is virtue, gentlemen, yea, virtue that maketh gentlemen; that\nmaketh the poor rich, the subject a king, the lowborn noble, the deformed\nbeautiful.  These things neither the whirling wheel of fortune can\noverturn, nor the deceitful cavillings of worldlings separate, neither\nsickness abate, nor age abolish.\"\n\nYes.  Let us teach our children thus on both sides of the Atlantic.  For\nif they--which God forbid--should grow corrupt and weak by their own\nsins, there is no hardier race now left on earth to conquer our\ndescendants and bring them back to reason, as those old Jews were brought\nby bitter shame and woe.  And all that is before them and the whole\ncivilised world, would be long centuries of anarchy such as the world has\nnot seen for ages--a true Ragnarok, a twilight of the very gods, an age\nsuch as the wise woman foretold in the old Voluspa.\n\n   When brethren shall be\n   Each other's bane,\n   And sisters' sons rend\n   The ties of kin.\n   Hard will be that age,\n   An age of bad women,\n   An axe-age, a sword-age,\n   Shields oft cleft in twain,\n   A storm-age, a wolf-age,\n   Ere earth meet its doom.\n\nSo sang, 2000 years ago, perhaps, the great unnamed prophetess, of our\nown race, of what might be, if we should fail mankind and our own calling\nand election.\n\nGod grant that day may never come.  But God grant, also, that if that day\ndoes come, then may come true also what that wise Vala sang, of the day\nwhen gods, and men, and earth should be burnt up with fire.\n\n   When slaked Surtur's flame is,\n   Still the man and the maiden,\n   Hight Valour and Life,\n   Shall keep themselves hid\n   In the wood of remembrance.\n   The dew of the dawning\n   For food it shall serve them:\n   From them spring new peoples.\n\nNew peoples.  For after all is said, the ideal form of human society is\ndemocracy.\n\nA nation--and, were it even possible, a whole world--of free men, lifting\nfree foreheads to God and Nature; calling no man master--for one is their\nmaster, even God; knowing and obeying their duties towards the Maker of\nthe Universe, and therefore to each other, and that not from fear, nor\ncalculation of profit or loss, but because they loved and liked it, and\nhad seen the beauty of righteousness and trust and peace; because the law\nof God was in their hearts, and needing at last, it may be, neither king\nnor priest, for each man and each woman, in their place, were kings and\npriests to God.  Such a nation--such a society--what nobler conception of\nmortal existence can we form?  Would not that be, indeed, the kingdom of\nGod come on earth?\n\nAnd tell me not that that is impossible--too fair a dream to be ever\nrealised.  All that makes it impossible is the selfishness, passions,\nweaknesses, of those who would be blest were they masters of themselves,\nand therefore of circumstances; who are miserable because, not being\nmasters of themselves, they try to master circumstance, to pull down iron\nwalls with weak and clumsy hands, and forget that he who would be free\nfrom tyrants must first be free from his worst tyrant, self.\n\nBut tell me not that the dream is impossible.  It is so beautiful that it\nmust be true.  If not now, nor centuries hence, yet still hereafter.  God\nwould never, as I hold, have inspired man with that rich imagination had\nHe not meant to translate, some day, that imagination into fact.\n\nThe very greatness of the idea, beyond what a single mind or generation\ncan grasp, will ensure failure on failure--follies, fanaticisms,\ndisappointments, even crimes, bloodshed, hasty furies, as of children\nbaulked of their holiday.\n\nBut it will be at last fulfilled, filled full, and perfected; not perhaps\nhere, or among our peoples, or any people which now exist on earth: but\nin some future civilisation--it may be in far lands beyond the sea--when\nall that you and we have made and done shall be as the forest-grown\nmounds of the old nameless civilisers of the Mississippi valley.\n\n\n\n\nRONDELET, {7} THE HUGUENOT NATURALIST {8}\n\n\n\"Apollo, god of medicine, exiled from the rest of the earth, was straying\nonce across the Narbonnaise in Gaul, seeking to fix his abode there.\nDriven from Asia, from Africa, and from the rest of Europe, he wandered\nthrough all the towns of the province in search of a place propitious for\nhim and for his disciples.  At last he perceived a new city, constructed\nfrom the ruins of Maguelonne, of Lattes, and of Substantion.  He\ncontemplated long its site, its aspect, its neighbourhood, and resolved\nto establish on this hill of Montpellier a temple for himself and his\npriests.  All smiled on his desires.  By the genius of the soil, by the\ncharacter of the inhabitants, no town is more fit for the culture of\nletters, and above all of medicine.  What site is more delicious and more\nlovely?  A heaven pure and smiling; a city built with magnificence; men\nborn for all the labours of the intellect.  All around vast horizons and\nenchanting sites--meadows, vines, olives, green champaigns; mountains and\nhills, rivers, brooks, lagoons, and the sea.  Everywhere a luxuriant\nvegetation--everywhere the richest production of the land and the water.\nHail to thee sweet and dear city!  Hail, happy abode of Apollo, who\nspreadest afar the light of the glory of thy name!\"\n\n\"This fine tirade,\" says Dr. Maurice Raynaud--from whose charming book on\nthe \"Doctors of the Time of Moliere\" I quote--\"is not, as one might\nthink, the translation of a piece of poetry.  It is simply part of a\npublic oration by Francois Fanchon, one of the most illustrious\nchancellors of the faculty of medicine of Montpellier in the seventeenth\ncentury.\"  \"From time immemorial,\" he says, \"'the faculty' of Montpellier\nhad made itself remarkable by a singular mixture of the sacred and the\nprofane.  The theses which were sustained there began by an invocation to\nGod, the Blessed Virgin, and St. Luke, and ended by these words: 'This\nthesis will be sustained in the sacred Temple of Apollo.'\"\n\nBut however extravagant Chancellor Fanchon's praises of his native city\nmay seem, they are really not exaggerated.  The Narbonnaise, or\nLanguedoc, is perhaps the most charming district of charming France.  In\nthe far north-east gleam the white Alps; in the far south-west the white\nPyrenees; and from the purple glens and yellow downs of the Cevennes on\nthe north-west, the Herault <DW72>s gently down towards the \"Etangs,\" or\ngreat salt-water lagoons, and the vast alluvial flats of the Camargue,\nthe field of Caius Marius, where still run herds of half-wild horses,\ndescended from some ancient Roman stock; while beyond all glitters the\nblue Mediterranean.  The great almond orchards, each one sheet of rose-\ncolour in spring; the mulberry orchards, the oliveyards, the vineyards,\ncover every foot of available upland soil: save where the rugged and arid\ndowns are sweet with a thousand odoriferous plants, from which the bees\nextract the famous white honey of Narbonne.  The native flowers and\nshrubs, of a beauty and richness rather Eastern than European, have made\nthe \"Flora Montpeliensis,\" and with it the names of Rondelet and his\ndisciples, famous among botanists; and the strange fish and shells upon\nits shores afforded Rondelet materials for his immortal work upon the\n\"Animals of the Sea.\"  The innumerable wild fowl of the Benches du Rhone;\nthe innumerable songsters and other birds of passage, many of them\nunknown in these islands, and even in the north of France itself, which\nhaunt every copse of willow and aspen along the brook-sides; the gaudy\nand curious insects which thrive beneath that clear, fierce, and yet\nbracing sunlight; all these have made the district of Montpellier a home\nprepared by Nature for those who study and revere her.\n\nNeither was Chancellor Fanchon misled by patriotism, when he said the\npleasant people who inhabit that district are fit for all the labours of\nthe intellect.  They are a very mixed race, and, like most mixed races,\nquick-witted, and handsome also.  There is probably much Roman blood\namong them, especially in the towns; for Languedoc, or Gallia\nNarbonnensis, as it was called of old, was said to be more Roman than\nRome itself.  The Roman remains are more perfect and more interesting--so\nthe late Dr. Whewell used to say--than any to be seen now in Italy; and\nthe old capital, Narbonne itself, was a complete museum of Roman\nantiquities ere Francis I. destroyed it, in order to fortify the city\nupon a modern system against the invading armies of Charles V.  There\nmust be much Visigothic blood likewise in Languedoc: for the Visigothic\nKings held their courts there from the fifth century, until the time that\nthey were crushed by the invading Moors.  Spanish blood, likewise, there\nmay be; for much of Languedoc was held in the early Middle Age by those\ndescendants of Eudes of Aquitaine who established themselves as kings of\nMajorca and Arragon; and Languedoc did not become entirely French till\n1349, when Philip le Bel bought Montpellier of those potentates.  The\nMoors, too, may have left some traces of their race behind.  They held\nthe country from about A.D. 713 to 758, when they were finally expelled\nby Charles Martel and Eudes.  One sees to this day their towers of meagre\nstonework, perched on the grand Roman masonry of those old amphitheatres,\nwhich they turned into fortresses.  One may see, too--so tradition\nholds--upon those very amphitheatres the stains of the fires with which\nCharles Martel smoked them out; and one may see, too, or fancy that one\nsees, in the aquiline features, the bright black eyes, the lithe and\ngraceful gestures, which are so common in Languedoc, some touch of the\nold Mahommedan race, which passed like a flood over that Christian land.\n\nWhether or not the Moors left behind any traces of their blood, they left\nbehind, at least, traces of their learning; for the university of\nMontpellier claimed to have been founded by Moors at a date of altogether\nabysmal antiquity.  They looked upon the Arabian physicians of the Middle\nAge, on Avicenna and Averrhoes, as modern innovators, and derived their\nparentage from certain mythic doctors of Cordova, who, when the Moors\nwere expelled from Spain in the eighth century, fled to Montpellier,\nbringing with them traditions of that primaeval science which had been\nrevealed to Adam while still in Paradise; and founded Montpellier, the\nmother of all the universities in Europe.  Nay, some went farther still,\nand told of Bengessaus and Ferragius, the physicians of Charlemagne, and\nof Marilephus, chief physician of King Chilperic, and even--if a letter\nof St. Bernard's was to be believed--of a certain bishop who went as\nearly as the second century to consult the doctors of Montpellier; and it\nwould have been in vain to reply to them that in those days, and long\nafter them, Montpellier was not yet built.  The facts are said to be:\nthat as early as the beginning of the thirteenth century Montpellier had\nits schools of law, medicine, and arts, which were erected into a\nuniversity by Pope Nicholas IV. in 1289.\n\nThe university of Montpellier, like--I believe--most foreign ones,\nresembled more a Scotch than an English university.  The students lived,\nfor the most part, not in colleges, but in private lodgings, and\nconstituted a republic of their own, ruled by an abbe of the scholars,\none of themselves, chosen by universal suffrage.  A terror they were\noften to the respectable burghers, for they had all the right to carry\narms; and a plague likewise, for, if they ran in debt, their creditors\nwere forbidden to seize their books, which, with their swords, were\ngenerally all the property they possessed.  If, moreover, anyone set up a\nnoisy or unpleasant trade near their lodgings, the scholars could compel\nthe town authorities to turn him out.  They were most of them, probably,\nmere boys of from twelve to twenty, living poorly, working hard,\nand--those at least of them who were in the colleges--cruelly beaten\ndaily, after the fashion of those times; but they seem to have comforted\nthemselves under their troubles by a good deal of wild life out of\nschool, by rambling into the country on the festivals of the saints, and\nnow and then by acting plays; notably, that famous one which Rabelais\nwrote for them in 1531: \"The moral comedy of the man who had a dumb\nwife;\" which \"joyous _patelinage_\" remains unto this day in the shape of\na well-known comic song.  That comedy young Rondelet must have seen\nacted.  The son of a druggist, spicer, and grocer--the three trades were\nthen combined--in Montpellier, and born in 1507, he had been destined for\nthe cloister, being a sickly lad.  His uncle, one of the canons of\nMaguelonne, near by, had even given him the revenues of a small chapel--a\njob of nepotism which was common enough in those days.  But his heart was\nin science and medicine.  He set off, still a mere boy, to Paris to study\nthere; and returned to Montpellier, at the age of eighteen, to study\nagain.\n\nThe next year, 1530, while still a scholar himself, he was appointed\nprocurator of the scholars--a post which brought him in a small fee on\neach matriculation--and that year he took a fee, among others, from one\nof the most remarkable men of that or of any age, Francois Rabelais\nhimself.\n\nAnd what shall I say of him?--who stands alone, like Shakespeare, in his\ngeneration; possessed of colossal learning--of all science which could be\ngathered in his days--of practical and statesmanlike wisdom--of knowledge\nof languages, ancient and modern, beyond all his compeers--of eloquence,\nwhich when he speaks of pure and noble things becomes heroic, and, as it\nwere, inspired--of scorn for meanness, hypocrisy, ignorance--of esteem,\ngenuine and earnest, for the Holy Scriptures, and for the more moderate\nof the Reformers who were spreading the Scriptures in Europe,--and all\nthis great light wilfully hidden, not under a bushel, but under a\ndunghill.  He is somewhat like Socrates in face, and in character\nlikewise; in him, as in Socrates, the demigod and the satyr, the man and\nthe ape, are struggling for the mastery.  In Socrates, the true man\nconquers, and comes forth high and pure; in Rabelais, alas! the victor is\nthe ape, while the man himself sinks down in cynicism, sensuality,\npractical jokes, foul talk.  He returns to Paris, to live an idle,\nluxurious life; to die--says the legend--saying, \"I go to seek a great\nperhaps,\" and to leave behind him little save a school of\nPantagruelists--careless young gentlemen, whose ideal was to laugh at\neverything, to believe in nothing, and to gratify their five senses like\nthe brutes which perish.  There are those who read his books to make them\nlaugh; the wise man, when he reads them, will be far more inclined to\nweep.  Let any young man who may see these words remember, that in him,\nas in Rabelais, the ape and the man are struggling for the mastery.  Let\nhim take warning by the fate of one who was to him as a giant to a pigmy;\nand think of Tennyson's words--\n\n         Arise, and fly\n   The reeling faun, the sensual feast;\n   Strive upwards, working out the beast,\n   And let the ape and tiger die.\n\nBut to return.  Down among them there at Montpellier, like a brilliant\nmeteor, flashed this wonderful Rabelais, in the year 1530.  He had fled,\nsome say, for his life.  Like Erasmus, he had no mind to be a martyr, and\nhe had been terrified at the execution of poor Louis de Berquin, his\nfriend, and the friend of Erasmus likewise.  This Louis de Berquin, a man\nwell known in those days, was a gallant young gentleman and scholar,\nholding a place in the court of Francis I., who had translated into\nFrench the works of Erasmus, Luther, and Melancthon, and had asserted\nthat it was heretical to invoke the Virgin Mary instead of the Holy\nSpirit, or to call her our Hope and our Life, which titles--Berquin\naverred--belonged alone to God.  Twice had the doctors of the Sorbonne,\nwith that terrible persecutor, Noel Beda, at their head, seized poor\nBerquin, and tried to burn his books and him; twice had that angel in\nhuman form, Marguerite d'Angouleme, sister of Francis I., saved him from\ntheir clutches; but when Francis--taken prisoner at the battle of\nPavia--at last returned from his captivity in Spain, the suppression of\nheresy and the burning of heretics seemed to him and to his mother,\nLouise of Savoy, a thank-offering so acceptable to God, that Louis\nBerquin--who would not, in spite of the entreaties of Erasmus, purchase\nhis life by silence--was burnt at last on the Place de Greve, being first\nstrangled, because he was of gentle blood.\n\nMontpellier received its famous guest joyfully.  Rabelais was now forty-\ntwo years old, and a distinguished savant; so they excused him his three\nyears' undergraduate's career, and invested him at once with the red gown\nof the bachelors.  That red gown--or, rather, the ragged phantom of it--is\nstill shown at Montpellier, and must be worn by each bachelor when he\ntakes his degree.  Unfortunately, antiquarians assure us that the\nprecious garment has been renewed again and again--the students having\nclipped bits of it away for relics, and clipped as earnestly from the new\ngowns as their predecessors had done from the authentic original.\n\nDoubtless, the coming of such a man among them to lecture on the\nAphorisms of Hippocrates, and the Ars Parva of Galen, not from the Latin\ntranslations then in use, but from original Greek texts, with comments\nand corrections of his own, must have had a great influence on the minds\nof the Montpellier students; and still more influence--and that not\naltogether a good one--must Rabelais's lighter talk have had, as he\nlounged--so the story goes--in his dressing-gown upon the public place,\npicking up quaint stories from the cattle-drivers off the Cevennes, and\nthe villagers who came in to sell their olives and their grapes, their\nvinegar and their vine-twig <DW19>s, as they do unto this day.  To him\nmay be owing much of the sound respect for natural science, and much,\ntoo, of the contempt for the superstition around them, which is notable\nin that group of great naturalists who were boys in Montpellier at that\nday.  Rabelais seems to have liked Rondelet, and no wonder: he was a\ncheery, lovable, honest little fellow, very fond of jokes, a great\nmusician and player on the violin, and who, when he grew rich, liked\nnothing so well as to bring into his house any buffoon or\nstrolling-player to make fun for him.  Vivacious he was, hot-tempered,\nforgiving, and with a power of learning and a power of work which were\nprodigious, even in those hard-working days.  Rabelais chaffs Rondelet,\nunder the name of Rondibilis; for, indeed, Rondelet grew up into a very\nround, fat, little man; but Rabelais puts excellent sense into his mouth,\ncynical enough, and too cynical, but both learned and humorous; and, if\nhe laughs at him for being shocked at the offer of a fee, and taking it,\nnevertheless, kindly enough, Rondelet is not the first doctor who has\ndone that, neither will he be the last.\n\nRondelet, in his turn, put on the red robe of the bachelor, and received,\non taking his degree, his due share of fisticuffs from his dearest\nfriends, according to the ancient custom of the University of\nMontpellier.  He then went off to practise medicine in a village at the\nfoot of the Alps, and, half-starved, to teach little children.  Then he\nfound he must learn Greek; went off to Paris a second time, and\nalleviated his poverty there somewhat by becoming tutor to a son of the\nViscomte de Turenne.  There he met Gonthier of Andernach, who had taught\nanatomy at Louvain to the great Vesalius, and learned from him to\ndissect.  We next find him setting up as a medical man amid the wild\nvolcanic hills of the Auvergne, struggling still with poverty, like\nErasmus, like George Buchanan, like almost every great scholar in those\ndays; for students then had to wander from place to place, generally on\nfoot, in search of new teachers, in search of books, in search of the\nnecessaries of life; undergoing such an amount of bodily and mental toil\nas makes it wonderful that all of them did not--as some of them doubtless\ndid--die under the hard training, or, at best, desert the penurious Muses\nfor the paternal shop or plough.\n\nRondelet got his doctorate in 1537, and next year fell in love with and\nmarried a beautiful young girl called Jeanne Sandre, who seems to have\nbeen as poor as he.\n\nBut he had gained, meanwhile, a powerful patron; and the patronage of the\ngreat was then as necessary to men of letters as the patronage of the\npublic is now.  Guillaume Pellicier, Bishop of Maguelonne--or rather then\nof Montpellier itself, whither he had persuaded Paul II. to transfer the\nancient see--was a model of the literary gentleman of the sixteenth\ncentury; a savant, a diplomat, a collector of books and manuscripts,\nGreek, Hebrew, and Syriac, which formed the original nucleus of the\npresent library of the Louvre; a botanist, too, who loved to wander with\nRondelet collecting plants and flowers.  He retired from public life to\npeace and science at Montpellier, when to the evil days of his master,\nFrancis I., succeeded the still worse days of Henry II., and Diana of\nPoitiers.  That Jezebel of France could conceive no more natural or easy\nway of atoning for her own sins than that of hunting down heretics, and\nfeasting her wicked eyes--so it is said--upon their dying torments.\nBishop Pellicier fell under suspicion of heresy: very probably with some\njustice.  He fell, too, under suspicion of leading a life unworthy of a\ncelibate churchman, a fault which--if it really existed--was, in those\ndays, pardonable enough in an orthodox prelate, but not so in one whose\northodoxy was suspected.  And for awhile Pellicier was in prison.  After\nhis release he gave himself up to science, with Rondelet and the school\nof disciples who were growing up around him.  They rediscovered together\nthe Garum, that classic sauce, whose praises had been sung of old by\nHorace, Martial, and Ausonius; and so child-like, superstitious if you\nwill, was the reverence in the sixteenth century for classic antiquity,\nthat when Pellicier and Rondelet discovered that the Garum was made from\nthe fish called Picarel--called Garon by the fishers of Antibes, and\nGiroli at Venice, both these last names corruptions of the Latin\nGerres--then did the two fashionable poets of France, Etienne Dolet and\nClement Marot, think it not unworthy of their muse to sing the praises of\nthe sauce which Horace had sung of old.  A proud day, too, was it for\nPellicier and Rondelet, when wandering somewhere in the marshes of the\nCamargue, a scent of garlic caught the nostrils of the gentle bishop, and\nin the lovely pink flowers of the water-germander he recognised the\nScordium of the ancients.  \"The discovery,\" says Professor Planchon,\n\"made almost as much noise as that of the famous Garum; for at that\nmoment of naive fervour on behalf of antiquity, to re-discover a plant of\nDioscorides or of Pliny was a good fortune and almost an event.\"\n\nI know not whether, after his death, the good bishop's bones reposed\nbeneath some gorgeous tomb, bedizened with the incongruous half-Pagan\nstatues of the Renaissance; but this at least is certain, that Rondelet's\ndisciples imagined for him a monument more enduring than of marble or of\nbrass, more graceful and more curiously wrought than all the sculptures\nof Torrigiano or Cellini, Baccio Bandinelli or Michael Angelo himself.\nFor they named a lovely little lilac snapdragon, _Linaria Domini\nPellicerii_--\"Lord Pellicier's toad-flax;\" and that name it will keep, we\nmay believe, as long as winter and summer shall endure.\n\nBut to return.  To this good Patron--who was the Ambassador at Venice--the\nnewly-married Rondelet determined to apply for employment; and to Venice\nhe would have gone, leaving his bride behind, had he not been stayed by\none of those angels who sometimes walk the earth in women's shape.  Jeanne\nSandre had an elder sister, Catharine, who had brought her up.  She was\nmarried to a wealthy man, but she had no children of her own.  For four\nyears she and her good husband had let the Rondelets lodge with them, and\nnow she was a widow, and to part with them was more than she could bear.\nShe carried Rondelet off from the students who were seeing him safe out\nof the city, brought him back, settled on him the same day half her\nfortune, and soon after settled on him the whole, on the sole condition\nthat she should live with him and her sister.  For years afterwards she\nwatched over the pretty young wife and her two girls and three boys--the\nthree boys, alas! all died young--and over Rondelet himself, who,\nimmersed in books and experiments, was utterly careless about money; and\nwas to them all a mother--advising, guiding, managing, and regarded by\nRondelet with genuine gratitude as his guardian angel.\n\nHonour and good fortune, in a worldly sense, now poured in upon the\ndruggist's son.  Pellicier, his own bishop, stood godfather to his first-\nborn daughter.  Montluc, Bishop of Valence, and that wise and learned\nstatesman, the Cardinal of Tournon, stood godfathers a few years later to\nhis twin boys; and what was of still more solid worth to him, Cardinal\nTournon took him to Antwerp, Bordeaux, Bayonne, and more than once to\nRome; and in these Italian journeys of his he collected many facts for\nthe great work of his life, that \"History of Fishes\" which he dedicated,\nnaturally enough, to the cardinal.  This book with its plates is, for the\ntime, a masterpiece of accuracy.  Those who are best acquainted with the\nsubject say, that it is up to the present day a key to the whole\nichthyology of the Mediterranean.  Two other men, Belon and Salviani,\nwere then at work on the same subject, and published their books almost\nat the same time; a circumstance which caused, as was natural, a three-\ncornered duel between the supporters of the three naturalists, each party\naccusing the other of plagiarism.  The simple fact seems to be that the\nalmost simultaneous appearance of the three books in 1554-55 is one of\nthose coincidences inevitable at moments when many minds are stirred in\nthe same direction by the same great thoughts--coincidences which have\nhappened in our own day on questions of geology, biology, and astronomy;\nand which, when the facts have been carefully examined, and the first\nflush of natural jealousy has cooled down, have proved only that there\nwere more wise men than one in the world at the same time.\n\nAnd this sixteenth century was an age in which the minds of men were\nsuddenly and strangely turned to examine the wonders of nature with an\nearnestness, with a reverence, and therefore with an accuracy, with which\nthey had never been investigated before.  \"Nature,\" says Professor\nPlanchon, \"long veiled in mysticism and scholasticism, was opening up\ninfinite vistas.  A new superstition, the exaggerated worship of the\nancients, was nearly hindering this movement of thought towards facts.\nNevertheless, Learning did her work.  She rediscovered, reconstructed,\npurified, commented on the texts of ancient authors.  Then came in\nobservation, which showed that more was to be seen in one blade of grass\nthan in any page of Pliny.  Rondelet was in the middle of this crisis a\nman of transition, while he was one of progress.  He reflected the past;\nhe opened and prepared the future.  If he commented on Dioscorides, if he\nremained faithful to the theories of Galen, he founded in his 'History of\nFishes' a monument which our century respects.  He is above all an\ninspirer, an initiator; and if he wants one mark of the leader of a\nschool, the foundation of certain scientific doctrines, there is in his\nspeech what is better than all systems, the communicative power which\nurges a generation of disciples along the path of independent research,\nwith Reason for guide, and Faith for aim.\"\n\nAround Rondelet, in those years, sometimes indeed in his house--for\nprofessors in those days took private pupils as lodgers--worked the group\nof botanists whom Linnaeus calls \"the Fathers,\" the authors of the\ndescriptive botany of the sixteenth century.  Their names, and those of\ntheir disciples and their disciples again, are household words in the\nmouth of every gardener, immortalised, like good Bishop Pellicier, in the\nplants that have been named after them.  The Lobelia commemorates Lobel,\none of Rondelet's most famous pupils, who wrote those \"Adversaria\" which\ncontain so many curious sketches of Rondelet's botanical expeditions, and\nwho inherited his botanical (as Joubert his biographer inherited his\nanatomical) manuscripts.  The Magnolia commemorates the Magnols; the\nSarracenia, Sarrasin of Lyons; the Bauhinia, Jean Bauhin; the Fuchsia,\nBauhin's earlier German master, Leonard Fuchs; and the Clusia--the\nreceived name of that terrible \"Matapalo\" or \"Scotch attorney,\" of the\nWest Indies, which kills the hugest tree, to become as huge a tree\nitself--immortalises the great Clusius, Charles de l'Escluse, citizen of\nArras, who, after studying civil law at Louvain, philosophy at Marburg,\nand theology at Wittemberg under Melancthon, came to Montpellier in 1551,\nto live in Rondelet's own house, and become the greatest botanist of his\nage.\n\nThese were Rondelet's palmy days.  He had got a theatre of anatomy built\nat Montpellier, where he himself dissected publicly.  He had, says\ntradition, a little botanic garden, such as were springing up then in\nseveral universities, specially in Italy.  He had a villa outside the\ncity, whose tower, near the modern railway station, still bears the name\nof the \"Mas de Rondelet.\"  There, too, may be seen the remnants of the\ngreat tanks, fed with water brought through earthen pipes from the\nFountain of Albe, wherein he kept the fish whose habits he observed.\nProfessor Planchon thinks that he had salt-water tanks likewise; and thus\nhe may have been the father of all \"Aquariums.\"  He had a large and\nhandsome house in the city itself, a large practice as physician in the\ncountry round; money flowed in fast to him, and flowed out fast likewise.\nHe spent much upon building, pulling down, rebuilding, and sent the bills\nin seemingly to his wife and to his guardian angel Catharine.  He himself\nhad never a penny in his purse: but earned the money, and let his ladies\nspend it; an equitable and pleasant division of labour which most married\nmen would do well to imitate.  A generous, affectionate, careless little\nman, he gave away, says his pupil and biographer, Joubert, his valuable\nspecimens to any savant who begged for them, or left them about to be\nstolen by visitors, who, like too many collectors in all ages, possessed\nlight fingers and lighter consciences.  So pacific was he meanwhile, and\nso brave withal that even in the fearful years of \"The Troubles,\" he\nwould never carry sword, nor even tuck or dagger: but went about on the\nmost lonesome journeys as one who wore a charmed life, secure in God and\nin his calling, which was to heal, and not to kill.\n\nThese were the golden years of Rondelet's life; but trouble was coming on\nhim, and a stormy sunset after a brilliant day.  He lost his sister-in-\nlaw, to whom he owed all his fortunes, and who had watched ever since\nover him and his wife like a mother; then he lost his wife herself under\nmost painful circumstances; then his best-beloved daughter.  Then he\nmarried again, and lost the son who was born to him; and then came, as to\nmany of the best in those days, even sorer trials, trials of the\nconscience, trials of faith.\n\nFor in the meantime Rondelet had become a Protestant, like many of the\nwisest men round him; like, so it would seem from the event, the majority\nof the university and the burghers of Montpellier.  It is not to be\nwondered at.  Montpellier was a sort of halfway resting-place for\nProtestant preachers, whether fugitive or not, who were passing from\nBasle, Geneva, or Lyons, to Marguerite of Navarre's little Protestant\ncourt at Pan or at Nerac, where all wise and good men, and now and then\nsome foolish and fanatical ones, found shelter and hospitality.  Thither\nCalvin himself had been, passing probably through Montpellier and\nleaving--as such a man was sure to leave--the mark of his foot behind\nhim.  At Lyons, no great distance up the Rhone, Marguerite had helped to\nestablish an organised Protestant community; and when in 1536 she herself\nhad passed through Montpellier, to visit her brother at Valence, and\nMontmorency's camp at Avignon, she took with her doubtless Protestant\nchaplains of her own, who spoke wise words--it may be that she spoke wise\nwords herself--to the ardent and inquiring students of Montpellier.\nMoreover, Rondelet and his disciples had been for years past in constant\ncommunication with the Protestant savants of Switzerland and Germany,\namong whom the knowledge of nature was progressing as it never had\nprogressed before.  For--it is a fact always to be remembered--it was\nonly in the free air of Protestant countries the natural sciences could\ngrow and thrive.  They sprung up, indeed, in Italy after the restoration\nof Greek literature in the fifteenth century; but they withered there\nagain only too soon under the blighting upas shade of superstition.\nTransplanted to the free air of Switzerland, of Germany, of Britain, and\nof Montpellier, then half Protestant, they developed rapidly and surely,\nsimply because the air was free; to be checked again in France by the\nreturn of superstition with despotism super-added, until the eve of the\ngreat French Revolution.\n\nSo Rondelet had been for some years Protestant.  He had hidden in his\nhouse for a long while a monk who had left his monastery.  He had himself\nwritten theological treatises: but when his Bishop Pellicier was\nimprisoned on a charge of heresy, Rondelet burnt his manuscripts, and\nkept his opinions to himself.  Still he was a suspected heretic, at last\nseemingly a notorious one; for only the year before his death, going to\nvisit patients at Perpignan, he was waylaid by the Spaniards, and had to\nget home through bypasses of the Pyrenees, to avoid being thrown into the\nInquisition.\n\nAnd those were times in which it was necessary for a man to be careful,\nunless he had made up his mind to be burned.  For more than thirty years\nof Rondelet's life the burning had gone on in his neighbourhood;\nintermittently it is true: the spasms of superstitious fury being\nsucceeded, one may charitably hope, by pity and remorse; but still the\nburnings had gone on.  The Benedictine monk of St. Maur, who writes the\nhistory of Languedoc, says, quite _en passant_, how someone was burnt at\nToulouse in 1553, luckily only in effigy, for he had escaped to Geneva:\nbut he adds, \"next year they burned several heretics,\" it being not worth\nwhile to mention their names.  In 1556 they burned alive at Toulouse Jean\nEscalle, a poor Franciscan monk, who had found his order intolerable;\nwhile one Pierre de Lavaur, who dared preach Calvinism in the streets of\nNismes, was hanged and burnt.  So had the score of judicial murders been\nincreasing year by year, till it had to be, as all evil scores have to be\nin this world, paid off with interest, and paid off especially against\nthe ignorant and fanatic monks who for a whole generation, in every\nuniversity and school in France, had been howling down sound science, as\nwell as sound religion; and at Montpellier in 1560-61, their debt was\npaid them in a very ugly way.  News came down to the hot southerners of\nLanguedoc of the so-called conspiracy of Amboise.--How the Duc de Guise\nand the Cardinal de Lorraine had butchered the best blood in France under\nthe pretence of a treasonable plot; how the King of Navarre and the\nPrince de Conde had been arrested; then how Conde and Coligny were ready\nto take up arms at the head of all the Huguenots of France, and try to\nstop this life-long torturing, by sharp shot and cold steel; then how in\nsix months' time the king would assemble a general council to settle the\nquestion between Catholics and Huguenots.  The Huguenots, guessing how\nthat would end, resolved to settle the question for themselves.  They\nrose in one city after another, sacked the churches, destroyed the\nimages, put down by main force superstitious processions and dances; and\ndid many things only to be excused by the exasperation caused by thirty\nyears of cruelty.  At Montpellier there was hard fighting, murders--so\nsay the Catholic historians--of priests and monks, sack of the new\ncathedral, destruction of the noble convents which lay in a ring round\nMontpellier.  The city and the university were in the hands of the\nHuguenots, and Montpellier became Protestant on the spot.\n\nNext year came the counter-blow.  There were heavy battles with the\nCatholics all round the neighbourhood, destruction of the suburbs,\nthreatened siege and sack, and years of misery and poverty for\nMontpellier and all who were therein.\n\nHorrible was the state of France in those times of the wars of religion\nwhich began in 1562; the times which are spoken of usually as \"The\nTroubles,\" as if men did not wish to allude to them too openly.  Then,\nand afterwards in the wars of the League, deeds were done for which\nlanguage has no name.  The population decreased.  The land lay untilled.\nThe fair face of France was blackened with burnt homesteads and ruined\ntowns.  Ghastly corpses dangled in rows upon the trees, or floated down\nthe blood-stained streams.  Law and order were at an end.  Bands of\nrobbers prowled in open day, and bands of wolves likewise.  But all\nthrough the horrors of the troubles we catch sight of the little fat\ndoctor riding all unarmed to see his patients throughout Languedoc; going\nvast distances, his biographers say, by means of regular relays of\nhorses, till he too broke down.  Well, for him, perhaps, that he broke\ndown when he did; for capture and recapture, massacre and pestilence,\nwere the fate of Montpellier and the surrounding country, till the better\ntimes of Henry IV. and the Edict of Nantes in 1598, when liberty of\nworship was given to the Protestants for awhile.\n\nIn the burning summer of 1566, Rondelet went a long journey to Toulouse,\nseemingly upon an errand of charity, to settle some law affairs for his\nrelations.  The sanitary state of the southern cities is bad enough\nstill.  It must have been horrible in those days of barbarism and\nmisrule.  Dysentery was epidemic at Toulouse then, and Rondelet took it.\nHe knew from the first that he should die.  He was worn out, it is said,\nby over-exertion; by sorrow for the miseries of the land; by fruitless\nstruggles to keep the peace, and to strive for moderation in days when\nmen were all immoderate.  But he rode away a day's journey--he took two\ndays over it, so weak he was--in the blazing July sun, to a friend's sick\nwife at Realmont, and there took to his bed, and died a good man's death.\nThe details of his death and last illness were written and published by\nhis cousin Claude Formy; and well worth reading they are to any man who\nwishes to know how to die.  Rondelet would have no tidings of his illness\nsent to Montpellier.  He was happy, he said, in dying away from the tears\nof his household, and \"safe from insult.\"  He dreaded, one may suppose,\nlest priests and friars should force their way to his bedside, and try to\nextort some recantation from the great savant, the honour and glory of\ntheir city.  So they sent for no priest to Realmont; but round his bed a\nknot of Calvinist gentlemen and ministers read the Scriptures, and sang\nDavid's psalms, and prayed; and Rondelet prayed with them through long\nagonies, and so went home to God.\n\nThe Benedictine monk-historian of Languedoc, in all his voluminous\nfolios, never mentions, as far as I can find, Rondelet's existence.  Why\nshould he?  The man was only a druggist's son and a heretic, who healed\ndiseases, and collected plants, and wrote a book on fish.  But the\nlearned men of Montpellier, and of all Europe, had a very different\nopinion of him.  His body was buried at Realmont; but before the schools\nof Toulouse they set up a white marble slab, and an inscription thereon\nsetting forth his learning and his virtues; and epitaphs on him were\ncomposed by the learned throughout Europe, not only in French and Latin,\nbut in Greek, Hebrew, and even Chaldee.\n\nSo lived and so died a noble man; more noble, to my mind, than many a\nvictorious warrior, or successful statesman, or canonised saint.  To know\nfacts, and to heal diseases, were the two objects of his life.  For them\nhe toiled, as few men have toiled; and he died in harness, at his\nwork--the best death any man can die.\n\n\n\n\nVESALIUS THE ANATOMIST {9}\n\n\nI cannot begin a sketch of the life of this great man better than by\ntrying to describe a scene so picturesque, so tragic in the eyes of those\nwho are wont to mourn over human follies, so comic in the eyes of those\nwho prefer to laugh over them, that the reader will not be likely to\nforget either it or the actors in it.\n\nIt is a darkened chamber in the College of Alcala, in the year 1562,\nwhere lies, probably in a huge four-post bed, shrouded in stifling\nhangings, the heir-apparent of the greatest empire in the then world, Don\nCarlos, only son of Philip II. and heir-apparent of Spain, the\nNetherlands, and all the Indies.  A short sickly boy of sixteen, with a\nbull head, a crooked shoulder, a short leg, and a brutal temper, he will\nnot be missed by the world if he should die.  His profligate career seems\nto have brought its own punishment.  To the scandal of his father, who\ntolerated no one's vices save his own, as well as to the scandal of the\nuniversity authorities of Alcala, he has been scouring the streets at the\nhead of the most profligate students, insulting women, even ladies of\nrank, and amenable only to his lovely young stepmother, Elizabeth of\nValois, Isabel de la Paz, as the Spaniards call her, the daughter of\nCatherine do Medicis, and sister of the King of France.  Don Carlos\nshould have married her, had not his worthy father found it more\nadvantageous for the crown of Spain, as well as more pleasant for him,\nPhilip, to marry her himself.  Whence came heart-burnings, rage,\njealousies, romances, calumnies, of which two last--in as far at least as\nthey concern poor Elizabeth--no wise man now believes a word.\n\nGoing on some errand on which he had no business--there are two stories,\nneither of them creditable nor necessary to repeat--Don Carlos has fallen\ndownstairs and broken his head.  He comes, by his Portuguese mother's\nside, of a house deeply tainted with insanity; and such an injury may\nhave serious consequences.  However, for nine days the wound goes on\nwell, and Don Carlos, having had a wholesome fright, is, according to\nDoctor Olivarez, the _medico de camara_, a very good lad, and lives on\nchicken broth and dried plums.  But on the tenth day comes on numbness of\nthe left side, acute pains in the head, and then gradually shivering,\nhigh fever, erysipelas.  His head and neck swell to an enormous size;\nthen comes raging delirium, then stupefaction, and Don Carlos lies as one\ndead.\n\nA modern surgeon would, probably, thanks to that training of which\nVesalius may be almost called the father, have had little difficulty in\nfinding out what was the matter with the luckless lad, and little\ndifficulty in removing the evil, if it had not gone too far.  But the\nSpanish physicians were then, as many of them are said to be still, as\nfar behind the world in surgery as in other things; and indeed surgery\nitself was then in its infancy, because men, ever since the early Greek\nschools of Alexandria had died out, had been for centuries feeding their\nminds with anything rather than with facts.  Therefore the learned\nmorosophs who were gathered round Don Carlos's sick bed had become\naccording to their own confession, utterly confused, terrified, and at\ntheir wits' end.\n\nIt is the 7th of May, the eighteenth day after the accident according to\nOlivarez's story: he and Dr Vega have been bleeding the unhappy prince,\nenlarging the wound twice, and torturing him seemingly on mere guesses.\n\"I believe,\" says Olivarez, \"that all was done well: but as I have said,\nin wounds in the head there are strange labyrinths.\"  So on the 7th they\nstand round the bed in despair.  Don Garcia de Toledo, the prince's\nfaithful governor, is sitting by him, worn out with sleepless nights, and\ntrying to supply to the poor boy that mother's tenderness which he has\nnever known.  Alva, too, is there, stern, self-compressed, most terrible,\nand yet most beautiful.  He has a God on earth, and that is Philip his\nmaster; and though he has borne much from Don Carlos already, and will\nhave to bear more, yet the wretched lad is to him as a son of God, a\nsecond deity, who will by right divine succeed to the inheritance of the\nfirst; and he watches this lesser deity struggling between life and death\nwith an intensity of which we, in these less loyal days, can form no\nnotion.  One would be glad to have a glimpse of what passed through that\nmind, so subtle and so ruthless, so disciplined and so loyal withal: but\nAlva was a man who was not given to speak his mind, but to act it.\n\nOne would wish, too, for a glimpse of what was passing through the mind\nof another man, who has been daily in that sick chamber, according to\nOlivarez's statement, since the first of the month: but he is one who has\nhad, for some years past, even more reason than Alva for not speaking his\nmind.  What he looked like we know well, for Titian has painted him from\nthe life--a tall, bold, well-dressed man, with a noble brain, square and\nyet lofty, short curling locks and beard, an eye which looks as though it\nfeared neither man nor fiend--and it has had good reason to fear both--and\nfeatures which would be exceeding handsome, but for the defiant\nsnub-nose.  That is Andreas Vesalius, of Brussels, dreaded and hated by\nthe doctors of the old school--suspect, moreover, it would seem to\ninquisitors and theologians, possibly to Alva himself; for he has dared\nto dissect human bodies; he has insulted the mediaevalists at Paris,\nPadua, Bologna, Pisa, Venice, in open theatre; he has turned the heads of\nall the young surgeons in Italy and France; he has written a great book,\nwith prints in it, designed, some say, by Titian--they were actually done\nby another Netherlander, John of Calcar, near Cleves--in which he has\ndared to prove that Galen's anatomy was at fault throughout, and that he\nhad been describing a monkey's inside when he had pretended to be\ndescribing a man's; and thus, by impudence and quackery, he has wormed\nhimself--this Netherlander, a heretic at heart, as all Netherlanders are,\nto God as well as to Galen--into the confidence of the late Emperor\nCharles V., and gone campaigning with him as one of his physicians,\nanatomising human bodies even on the battle-field, and defacing the\nlikeness of Deity; and worse than that, the most religious King Philip is\ndeceived by him likewise, and keeps him in Madrid in wealth and honour;\nand now, in the prince's extreme danger, the king has actually sent for\nhim, and bidden him try his skill--a man who knows nothing save about\nbones and muscles and the outside of the body, and is unworthy the name\nof a true physician.\n\nOne can conceive the rage of the old Spanish pedants at the\nNetherlander's appearance, and still more at what followed, if we are to\nbelieve Hugo Bloet of Delft, his countryman and contemporary. {10}\nVesalius, he says, saw that the surgeons had bound up the wound so tight\nthat an abscess had formed outside the skull, which could not break: he\nasserted that the only hope lay in opening it; and did so, Philip having\ngiven leave, \"by two cross-cuts.  Then the lad returned to himself, as if\nawakened from a profound sleep, affirming that he owed his restoration to\nlife to the German doctor.\"\n\nDionysius Daza, who was there with the other physicians and surgeons,\ntells a different story: \"The most learned, famous, and rare Baron\nVesalius,\" he says, advised that the skull should be trepanned; but his\nadvice was not followed.\n\nOlivarez's account agrees with that of Daza.  They had opened the wounds,\nhe says, down to the skull before Vesalius came.  Vesalius insisted that\nthe injury lay inside the skull, and wished to pierce it.  Olivarez\nspends much labour in proving that Vesalius had \"no great foundation for\nhis opinion:\" but confesses that he never changed that opinion to the\nlast, though all the Spanish doctors were against him.  Then on the 6th,\nhe says, the Bachelor Torres came from Madrid, and advised that the skull\nshould be laid bare once more; and on the 7th, there being still doubt\nwhether the skull was not injured, the operation was performed--by whom\nit is not said--but without any good result, or, according to Olivarez,\nany discovery, save that Vesalius was wrong, and the skull uninjured.\n\nWhether this second operation of the 7th of May was performed by\nVesalius, and whether it was that of which Bloet speaks, is an open\nquestion.  Olivarez's whole relation is apologetic, written to justify\nhimself and his seven Spanish colleagues, and to prove Vesalius in the\nwrong.  Public opinion, he confesses, had been very fierce against him.\nThe credit of Spanish medicine was at stake: and we are not bound to\nbelieve implicitly a paper drawn up under such circumstances for Philip's\neye.  This, at least, we gather: that Don Carlos was never trepanned, as\nis commonly said; and this, also, that whichever of the two stories is\ntrue, equally puts Vesalius into direct, and most unpleasant, antagonism\nto the Spanish doctors. {11}\n\nBut Don Carlos still lay senseless; and yielding to popular clamour, the\ndoctors called in the aid of a certain Moorish doctor, from Valencia,\nnamed Priotarete, whose unguents, it was reported, had achieved many\nmiraculous cures.  The unguent, however, to the horror of the doctors,\nburned the skull till the bone was as black as the colour of ink; and\nOlivarez declares he believes it to have been a preparation of pure\ncaustic.  On the morning of the 9th of May, the Moor and his unguents\nwere sent away, \"and went to Madrid, to send to heaven Hernando de Vega,\nwhile the prince went back to our method of cure.\"\n\nConsidering what happened on the morning of the 10th of May, we should\nnow presume that the second opening of the abscess, whether by Vesalius\nor someone else, relieved the pressure on the brain; that a critical\nperiod of exhaustion followed, probably prolonged by the Moor's premature\ncaustic, which stopped the suppuration: but that God's good handiwork,\ncalled nature, triumphed at last; and that therefore it came to pass that\nthe prince was out of danger within three days of the operation.  But he\nwas taught, it seems, to attribute his recovery to a very different\nsource from that of a German knife.  For on the morning of the 9th, when\nthe Moor was gone, and Don Carlos lay seemingly lifeless, there descended\ninto his chamber a _Deus e machina_, or rather a whole pantheon of\ngreater or lesser deities, who were to effect that which medical skill\nseemed not to have effected.  Philip sent into the prince's chamber\nseveral of the precious relics which he usually carried about with him.\nThe miraculous image of the Virgin of Atocha, in embroidering garments\nfor whom, Spanish royalty, male and female, has spent so many an hour ere\nnow, was brought in solemn procession and placed on an altar at the foot\nof the prince's bed; and in the afternoon there entered, with a\nprocession likewise, a shrine containing the bones of a holy anchorite,\none Fray Diego, \"whose life and miracles,\" says Olivarez, \"are so\nnotorious:\" and the bones of St. Justus and St. Pastor, the tutelar\nsaints of the university of Alcala.  Amid solemn litanies the relics of\nFray Diego were laid upon the prince's pillow, and the sudarium, or\nmortuary cloth, which had covered his face, was placed upon the prince's\nforehead.\n\nModern science might object that the presence of so many personages,\nhowever pious or well intentioned, in a sick chamber on a hot Spanish May\nday, especially as the bath had been, for some generations past, held in\nreligious horror throughout Spain, as a sign of Moorish and Mussulman\ntendencies, might have somewhat interfered with the chances of the poor\nboy's recovery.  Nevertheless the event seems to have satisfied Philip's\nhighest hopes; for that same night (so Don Carlos afterwards related) the\nholy monk Diego appeared to him in a vision, wearing the habit of St.\nFrancis, and bearing in his hand a cross of reeds tied with a green band.\nThe prince stated that he first took the apparition to be that of the\nblessed St. Francis; but not seeing the stigmata, he exclaimed, \"How?\nDost thou not bear the marks of the wounds?\"  What he replied Don Carlos\ndid not recollect; save that he consoled him, and told him that he should\nnot die of that malady.\n\nPhilip had returned to Madrid, and shut himself up in grief in the great\nJeronymite monastery.  Elizabeth was praying for her step-son before the\nmiraculous images of the same city.  During the night of the 9th of May\nprayers went up for Don Carlos in all the churches of Toledo, Alcala, and\nMadrid.  Alva stood all that night at the bed's foot.  Don Garcia de\nToledo sat in the arm-chair, where he had now sat night and day for more\nthan a fortnight.  The good preceptor, Honorato Juan, afterwards Bishop\nof Osma, wrestled in prayer for the lad the whole night through.  His\nprayer was answered: probably it had been answered already, without his\nbeing aware of it.  Be that as it may, about dawn Don Carlos's heavy\nbreathing ceased; he fell into a quiet sleep; and when he awoke all\nperceived at once that he was saved.\n\nHe did not recover his sight, seemingly on account of the erysipelas, for\na week more.  He then opened his eyes upon the miraculous image of\nAtocha, and vowed that, if he recovered, he would give to the Virgin, at\nfour different shrines in Spain, gold plate of four times his weight; and\nsilver plate of seven times his weight, when he should rise from his\ncouch.  So on the 6th of June he rose, and was weighed in a fur coat and\na robe of damask, and his weight was three arrobas and one pound--seventy-\nsix pounds in all.  On the 14th of June he went to visit his father at\nthe episcopal palace; then to all the churches and shrines in Alcala, and\nof course to that of Fray Diego, whose body it is said he contemplated\nfor some time with edifying devotion.  The next year saw Fray Diego\ncanonised as a saint, at the intercession of Philip and his son; and thus\nDon Carlos re-entered the world, to be a terror and a torment to all\naround him, and to die--not by Philip's cruelty, as his enemies reported\ntoo hastily indeed, yet excusably, for they knew him to be capable of any\nwickedness--but simply of constitutional insanity.\n\nAnd now let us go back to the history of \"that most learned, famous, and\nrare Baron Vesalius,\" who had stood by and seen all these things done;\nand try if we cannot, after we have learned the history of his early\nlife, guess at some of his probable meditations on this celebrated\nclinical case; and guess also how those meditations may have affected\nseriously the events of his afterlife.\n\nVesalius (as I said) was a Netherlander, born at Brussels in 1513 or\n1514.  His father and grandfather had been medical men of the highest\nstanding in a profession which then, as now, was commonly hereditary.  His\nreal name was Wittag, an ancient family of Wesel, on the Rhine, from\nwhich town either he or his father adopted the name of Vesalius,\naccording to the classicising fashion of those days.  Young Vesalius was\nsent to college at Louvain, where he learned rapidly.  At sixteen or\nseventeen he knew not only Latin, but Greek enough to correct the proofs\nof Galen, and Arabic enough to become acquainted with the works of the\nMussulman physicians.  He was a physicist too, and a mathematician,\naccording to the knowledge of those times; but his passion--the study to\nwhich he was destined to devote his life--was anatomy.\n\nLittle or nothing (it must be understood) had been done in anatomy since\nthe days of Galen of Pergamos, in the second century after Christ, and\nvery little even by him.  Dissection was all but forbidden among the\nancients.  The Egyptians, Herodotus tells us, used to pursue with stones\nand curses the embalmers as soon as they had performed their unpleasant\noffice; and though Herophilus and Erasistratus are said to have dissected\nmany subjects under the protection of Ptolemy Soter in Alexandria itself:\nyet the public feeling of the Greeks as well as of the Romans continued\nthe same as that of the ancient Egyptians; and Galen was fain--as\nVesalius proved--to supplement his ignorance of the human frame by\ndescribing that of an ape.  Dissection was equally forbidden among the\nMussulmans; and the great Arabic physicians could do no more than comment\non Galen.  The same prejudice extended through the Middle Age.  Medical\nmen were all clerks, _clerici_, and as such forbidden to shed blood.  The\nonly dissection, as far as I am aware, made during the Middle Age was one\nby Mundinus in 1306; and his subsequent commentaries on Galen--for he\ndare allow his own eyes to see no more than Galen had seen before\nhim--constituted the best anatomical manual in Europe till the middle of\nthe fifteenth century.\n\nThen, in Italy at least, the classic Renaissance gave fresh life to\nanatomy as to all other sciences.  Especially did the improvements in\npainting and sculpture stir men up to a closer study of the human frame.\nLeonardo da Vinci wrote a treatise on muscular anatomy.  The artist and\nthe sculptor often worked together, and realised that sketch of Michael\nAngelo's in which he himself is assisting Fallopius, Vesalius's famous\npupil, to dissect.  Vesalius soon found that his thirst for facts could\nnot be slaked by the theories of the Middle Age; so in 1530 he went off\nto Montpellier, where Francis I. had just founded a medical school, and\nwhere the ancient laws of the city allowed the faculty each year the body\nof a criminal.  From thence, after becoming the fellow-pupil and the\nfriend of Rondelet, and probably also of Rabelais and those other\nluminaries of Montpellier, of whom I spoke in my essay on Rondelet, he\nreturned to Paris to study under old Sylvius, whose real name was Jacques\nDubois, alias Jock o' the Wood; and to learn less--as he complains\nhimself--in an anatomical theatre than a butcher might learn in his shop.\n\nWere it not that the whole question of dissection is one over which it is\nright to draw a reverent veil, as a thing painful, however necessary and\nhowever innocent, it would be easy to raise ghastly laughter in many a\nreader by the stories which Vesalius himself tells of his struggles to\nlearn anatomy.  How old Sylvius tried to demonstrate the human frame from\na bit of a dog, fumbling in vain for muscles which he could not find, or\nwhich ought to have been there, according to Galen, and were not; while\nyoung Vesalius, as soon as the old pedant's back was turned, took his\nplace, and, to the delight of the students, found for him--provided it\nwere there--what he could not find himself;--how he went body-snatching\nand gibbet-robbing, often at the danger of his life, as when he and his\nfriend were nearly torn to pieces by the cannibal dogs who haunted the\nButte de Montfaucon, or place of public execution;--how he acquired, by a\nlong and dangerous process, the only perfect skeleton then in the world,\nand the hideous story of the robber to whom it had belonged--all these\nhorrors those who list may read for themselves elsewhere.  I hasten past\nthem with this remark--that to have gone through the toils, dangers, and\ndisgusts which Vesalius faced, argued in a superstitious and cruel age\nlike his, no common physical and moral courage, and a deep conscience\nthat he was doing right, and must do it at all risks in the face of a\ngeneration which, peculiarly reckless of human life and human agony,\nallowed that frame which it called the image of God to be tortured,\nmaimed, desecrated in every way while alive; and yet--straining at the\ngnat after having swallowed the camel--forbade it to be examined when\ndead, though for the purpose of alleviating the miseries of mankind.\n\nThe breaking out of war between Francis I. and Charles V. drove Vesalius\nback to his native country and Louvain; and in 1535 we hear of him as a\nsurgeon in Charles V.'s army.  He saw, most probably, the Emperor's\ninvasion of Provence, and the disastrous retreat from before\nMontmorency's fortified camp at Avignon, through a country in which that\ncrafty general had destroyed every article of human food, except the half-\nripe grapes.  He saw, perhaps, the Spanish soldiers, poisoned alike by\nthe sour fruit and by the blazing sun, falling in hundreds along the\nwhite roads which led back into Savoy, murdered by the peasantry whose\nhomesteads had been destroyed, stifled by the weight of their own armour,\nor desperately putting themselves, with their own hands, out of a world\nwhich had become intolerable.  Half the army perished.  Two thousand\ncorpses lay festering between Aix and Frejus alone.  If young Vesalius\nneeded \"subjects,\" the ambition and the crime of man found enough for him\nin those blazing September days.\n\nHe went to Italy, probably with the remnants of the army.  Where could he\nhave rather wished to find himself?  He was at last in the country where\nthe human mind seemed to be growing young once more; the country of\nrevived arts, revived sciences, learning, languages; and--though, alas!\nonly for awhile of revived free thought, such as Europe had not seen\nsince the palmy days of Greece.  Here at least he would be appreciated;\nhere at least he would be allowed to think and speak: and he was\nappreciated.  The Italian cities, who were then, like the Athenians of\nold, \"spending their time in nothing else save to hear or to tell\nsomething new,\" welcomed the brave young Fleming and his novelties.\nWithin two years he was professor of anatomy at Padua, then the first\nschool in the world; then at Bologna and at Pisa at the same time; last\nof all at Venice, where Titian painted that portrait of him which remains\nunto this day.\n\nThese years were for him a continual triumph; everywhere, as he\ndemonstrated on the human body, students crowded his theatre, or hung\nround him as he walked the streets; professors left their own\nchairs--their scholars having deserted them already--to go and listen\nhumbly or enviously to the man who could give them what all brave souls\nthroughout half Europe were craving for, and craving in vain--facts.  And\nso, year after year, was realised that scene which stands engraved in the\nfrontispiece of his great book--where, in the little quaint Cinquecento\ntheatre, saucy scholars, reverend doctors, gay gentlemen, and even cowled\nmonks, are crowding the floor, peeping over each other's shoulders,\nhanging on the balustrades; while in the centre, over his \"subject\"--which\none of those same cowled monks knew but too well--stands young Vesalius,\nupright, proud, almost defiant, as one who knows himself safe in the\nimpregnable citadel of fact; and in his hand the little blade of steel,\ndestined--because wielded in obedience to the laws of nature, which are\nthe laws of God--to work more benefit for the human race than all the\nswords which were drawn in those days, or perhaps in any other, at the\nbidding of most Catholic Emperors and most Christian Kings.\n\nThose were indeed days of triumph for Vesalius; of triumph deserved,\nbecause earned by patient and accurate toil in a good cause: but\nVesalius, being but a mortal man, may have contracted in those same days\na temper of imperiousness and self-conceit, such as he showed afterwards\nwhen his pupil Fallopius dared to add fresh discoveries to those of his\nmaster.  And yet, in spite of all Vesalius knew, how little he knew!  How\nhumbling to his pride it would have been had he known then--perhaps he\ndoes know now--that he had actually again and again walked, as it were,\nround and round the true theory of the circulation of the blood, and yet\nnever seen it; that that discovery which, once made, is intelligible, as\nfar as any phenomenon is intelligible, to the merest peasant, was\nreserved for another century, and for one of those Englishmen on whom\nVesalius would have looked as semi-barbarians.\n\nTo make a long story short: three years after the publication of his\nfamous book, \"De Corporis Humani Fabrica,\" he left Venice to cure Charles\nV., at Regensburg, and became one of the great Emperor's physicians.\n\nThis was the crisis of Vesalius's life.  The medicine with which he had\nworked the cure was China--Sarsaparilla, as we call it now--brought home\nfrom the then newly-discovered banks of the Paraguay and Uruguay, where\nits beds of tangled vine, they say, tinge the clear waters a dark-brown\nlike that of peat, and convert whole streams into a healthful and\npleasant tonic.  On the virtues of this China (then supposed to be a\nroot) Vesalius wrote a famous little book, into which he contrived to\ninterweave his opinions on things in general, as good Bishop Berkeley did\nafterwards into his essay on the virtues of tar-water.  Into this book,\nhowever, Vesalius introduced--as Bishop Berkeley did not--much, and\nperhaps too much, about himself; and much, though perhaps not too much,\nabout poor old Galen, and his substitution of an ape's inside for that of\na human being.  The storm which had been long gathering burst upon him.\nThe old school, trembling for their time-honoured reign, bespattered,\nwith all that pedantry, ignorance, and envy could suggest, the man who\ndared not only to revolutionise surgery, but to interfere with the\nprivileged mysteries of medicine; and, over and above, to become a\ngreater favourite at the court of the greatest of monarchs.  While such\nas Eustachius, himself an able discoverer, could join in the cry, it is\nno wonder if a lower soul, like that of Sylvius, led it open-mouthed.  He\nwas a mean, covetous, bad man, as George Bachanan well knew; and,\naccording to his nature, he wrote a furious book--\"Ad Vesani calumnias\ndepulsandas.\"  The punning change of Vesalius into Vesanus (madman) was\nbut a fair and gentle stroke for a polemic, in days in which those who\ncould not kill their enemies with steel or powder, held themselves\njustified in doing so, if possible, by vituperation, calumny, and every\nengine of moral torture.  But a far more terrible weapon, and one which\nmade Vesalius rage, and it may be for once in his life tremble, was the\ncharge of impiety and heresy.  The Inquisition was a very ugly place.  It\nwas very easy to get into it, especially for a Netherlander: but not so\neasy to get out.  Indeed Vesalius must have trembled, when he saw his\nmaster, Charles V., himself take fright, and actually call on the\ntheologians of Salamanca to decide whether it was lawful to dissect a\nhuman body.  The monks, to their honour, used their common sense, and\nanswered Yes.  The deed was so plainly useful that it must be lawful\nlikewise.  But Vesalius did not feel that he had triumphed.  He dreaded,\npossibly, lest the storm should only have blown over for a time.  He\nfell, possibly, into hasty disgust at the folly of mankind, and despair\nof arousing them to use their common sense, and acknowledge their true\ninterest and their true benefactors.  At all events, he threw into the\nfire--so it is said--all his unpublished manuscripts, the records of long\nyears of observation, and renounced science thenceforth.\n\nWe hear of him after this at Brussels, and at Basle likewise--in which\nlatter city, in the company of physicians, naturalists, and Grecians, he\nmust have breathed awhile a freer air.  But he seems to have returned\nthence to his old master Charles V., and to have finally settled at\nMadrid as a court surgeon to Philip II., who sent him, but too late, to\nextract the lance splinters from the eye of the dying Henry II.\n\nHe was now married to a lady of rank from Brussels, Anne van Hamme by\nname; and their daughter married in time Philip II.'s grand falconer, who\nwas doubtless a personage of no small social rank.  Vesalius was well off\nin worldly things; somewhat fond, it is said, of good living and of\nluxury; inclined, it may be, to say, \"Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow\nwe die,\" and to sink more and more into the mere worldling, unless some\nshock should awake him from his lethargy.\n\nAnd the awakening shock did come.  After eight years of court life, he\nresolved, early in the year 1564, to go on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.\n\nThe reasons for so strange a determination are wrapped in mystery and\ncontradiction.  The common story was that he had opened a corpse to\nascertain the cause of death, and that, to the horror of the bystanders,\nthe heart was still seen to beat; that his enemies accused him to the\nInquisition, and that he was condemned to death, a sentence which was\ncommuted to that of going on pilgrimage.  But here, at the very outset,\naccounts differ.  One says that the victim was a nobleman, name not\ngiven; another that it was a lady's maid, name not given.  It is most\nimprobable, if not impossible, that Vesalius, of all men, should have\nmistaken a living body for a dead one; while it is most probable, on the\nother hand, that his medical enemies would gladly raise such a calumny\nagainst him, when he was no longer in Spain to contradict it.  Meanwhile\nLlorente, the historian of the Inquisition, makes no mention of Vesalius\nhaving been brought before its tribunal, while he does mention Vesalius's\nresidence at Madrid.  Another story is, that he went abroad to escape the\nbad temper of his wife; another that he wanted to enrich himself.  Another\nstory--and that not an unlikely one--is, that he was jealous of the\nrising reputation of his pupil Fallopius, then professor of anatomy at\nVenice.  This distinguished surgeon, as I said before, had written a\nbook, in which he added to Vesalius's discoveries, and corrected certain\nof his errors.  Vesalius had answered him hastily and angrily, quoting\nhis anatomy from memory; for, as he himself complained, he could not in\nSpain obtain a subject for dissection; not even, he said, a single skull.\nHe had sent his book to Venice to be published, and had heard, seemingly,\nnothing of it.  He may have felt that he was falling behind in the race\nof science, and that it was impossible for him to carry on his studies in\nMadrid; and so, angry with his own laziness and luxury, he may have felt\nthe old sacred fire flash up in him, and have determined to go to Italy\nand become a student and a worker once more.\n\nThe very day that he set out, Clusius of Arras, then probably the best\nbotanist in the world, arrived at Madrid; and, asking the reason of\nVesalius's departure, was told by their fellow-countryman, Charles de\nTisnacq, procurator for the affairs of the Netherlands, that Vesalius had\ngone of his own free will, and with all facilities which Philip could\ngrant him, in performance of a vow which he had made during a dangerous\nillness.  Here, at least, we have a drop of information, which seems\ntaken from the stream sufficiently near to the fountain-head: but it must\nbe recollected that De Tisnacq lived in dangerous times, and may have\nfound it necessary to walk warily in them; that through him had been\nsent, only the year before, that famous letter from William of Orange,\nHorn, and Egmont, the fate whereof may be read in Mr. Motley's fourth\nchapter; that the crisis of the Netherlands which sprung out of that\nletter was coming fast; and that, as De Tisnacq was on friendly terms\nwith Egmont, he may have felt his head at times somewhat loose on his\nshoulders; especially if he had heard Alva say, as he wrote, \"that every\ntime he saw the despatches of those three senors, they moved his choler\nso, that if he did not take much care to temper it, he would seem a\nfrenzied man.\"  In such times, De Tisnacq may have thought good to return\na diplomatic answer to a fellow-countryman concerning a third\nfellow-countryman, especially when that countryman, as a former pupil of\nMelancthon at Wittemberg, might himself be under suspicion of heresy, and\ntherefore of possible treason.\n\nBe this as it may, one cannot but suspect some strain of truth in the\nstory about the Inquisition; for, whether or not Vesalius operated on Don\nCarlos, he had seen with his own eyes that miraculous Virgin of Atocha at\nthe bed's foot of the prince.  He had heard his recovery attributed, not\nto the operation, but to the intercession of Fray, now Saint Diego; {12}\nand he must have had his thoughts thereon, and may, in an unguarded\nmoment, have spoken them.\n\nFor he was, be it always remembered, a Netherlander.  The crisis of his\ncountry was just at hand.  Rebellion was inevitable, and, with rebellion,\nhorrors unutterable; and, meanwhile, Don Carlos had set his mad brain on\nhaving the command of the Netherlands.  In his rage, at not having it, as\nall the world knows, he nearly killed Alva with his own hands, some two\nyears after.  If it be true that Don Carlos felt a debt of gratitude to\nVesalius, he may (after his wont) have poured out to him some wild\nconfidence about the Netherlands, to have even heard which would be a\ncrime in Philip's eyes.  And if this be but a fancy, still Vesalius was,\nas I just said, a Netherlander, and one of a brain and a spirit to which\nPhilip's doings, and the air of the Spanish court, must have been growing\never more and more intolerable.  Hundreds of his country folk, perhaps\nmen and women whom he had known, were being racked, burnt alive, buried\nalive, at the bidding of a jocular ruffian, Peter Titelmann, the chief\ninquisitor.  The \"day of the _maubrulez_,\" and the wholesale massacre\nwhich followed it, had happened but two years before; and, by all the\nsigns of the times, these murders and miseries were certain to increase.\nAnd why were all these poor wretches suffering the extremity of horror,\nbut because they would not believe in miraculous images, and bones of\ndead friars, and the rest of that science of unreason and unfact, against\nwhich Vesalius had been fighting all his life, consciously or not, by\nusing reason and observing fact?  What wonder if, in some burst of noble\nindignation and just contempt, he forgot a moment that he had sold his\nsoul, and his love of science likewise, to be a luxurious, yet uneasy,\nhanger-on at the tyrant's court; and spoke unadvisedly some word worthy\nof a German man?\n\nAs to the story of his unhappy quarrels with his wife, there may be a\ngrain of truth in it likewise.  Vesalius's religion must have sat very\nlightly on him.  The man who had robbed churchyards and gibbets from his\nyouth was not likely to be much afraid of apparitions and demons.  He had\nhandled too many human bones to care much for those of saints.  He was\nprobably, like his friends of Basle, Montpellier, and Paris, somewhat of\na heretic at heart, probably somewhat of a pagan, while his lady, Anne\nvan Hamme, was probably a strict Catholic, as her father, being a\ncouncillor and master of the exchequer at Brussels, was bound to be; and\nfreethinking in the husband, crossed by superstition in the wife, may\nhave caused in them that wretched _vie a part_, that want of any true\ncommunion of soul, too common to this day in Catholic countries.\n\nBe these things as they may--and the exact truth of them will now be\nnever known--Vesalius set out to Jerusalem in the spring of 1564.  On his\nway he visited his old friends at Venice to see about his book against\nFallopius.  The Venetian republic received the great philosopher with\nopen arms.  Fallopius was just dead; and the senate offered their guest\nthe vacant chair of anatomy.  He accepted it: but went on to the East.\n\nHe never occupied that chair; wrecked upon the Isle of Zante, as he was\nsailing back from Palestine, he died miserably of fever and want, as\nthousands of pilgrims returning from the Holy Land had died before him.  A\ngoldsmith recognised him; buried him in a chapel of the Virgin; and put\nup over him a simple stone, which remained till late years; and may\nremain, for aught I know, even now.\n\nSo perished, in the prime of life, \"a martyr to his love of science,\" to\nquote the words of M. Burggraeve of Ghent, his able biographer and\ncommentator, \"the prodigious man, who created a science at an epoch when\neverything was still an obstacle to his progress; a man whose whole life\nwas a long struggle of knowledge against ignorance, of truth against\nlies.\"\n\nPlaudite: Exeat: with Rondelet and Buchanan.  And whensoever this poor\nfoolish world needs three such men, may God of His great mercy send them.\n\n\n\n\nPARACELSUS {13}\n\n\nI told you of Vesalius and Rondelet as specimens of the men who three\nhundred years ago were founding the physical science of the present day,\nby patient investigation of facts.  But such an age as this would\nnaturally produce men of a very different stamp, men who could not\nimitate their patience and humility; who were trying for royal roads to\nknowledge, and to the fame and wealth which might be got out of\nknowledge; who meddled with vain dreams about the occult sciences,\nalchemy, astrology, magic, the cabala, and so forth, who were reputed\nmagicians, courted and feared for awhile, and then, too often, died sad\ndeaths.\n\nSuch had been, in the century before, the famous Dr. Faust--Faustus, who\nwas said to have made a compact with Satan--actually one of the inventors\nof printing--immortalised in Goethe's marvellous poem.\n\nSuch, in the first half of the sixteenth century, was Cornelius Agrippa--a\ndoctor of divinity and a knight-at-arms; secret-service diplomatist to\nthe Emperor Maximilian in Austria; astrologer, though unwilling, to his\ndaughter Margaret, Regent of the Low Countries; writer on the occult\nsciences and of the famous \"De Vanitate Scientiarum,\" and what not? who\ndied miserably at the age of forty-nine, accused of magic by the\nDominican monks from whom he had rescued a poor girl, who they were\ntorturing on a charge of witchcraft; and by them hunted to death; nor to\ndeath only, for they spread the fable--such as you may find in Delrio the\nJesuit's \"Disquisitions on Magic\" {14}--that his little pet black dog was\na familiar spirit, as Butler has it in \"Hudibras\":\n\n   Agrippa kept a Stygian pug\n   I' the garb and habit of a dog--\n   That was his taste; and the cur\n   Read to th' occult philosopher,\n   And taught him subtly to maintain\n   All other sciences are vain.\n\nSuch also was Jerome Cardan, the Italian scholar and physician, the\nfather of algebraic science (you all recollect Cardan's rule,) believer\nin dreams, prognostics, astrology; who died, too, miserably enough, in\nold age.\n\nCardan's sad life, and that of Cornelius Agrippa, you can, and ought to\nread for yourselves, in two admirable biographies, as amusing as they are\nlearned, by Professor Morley, of the London University.  I have not\nchosen either of them as a subject for this lecture, because Mr. Morley\nhas so exhausted what is to be known about them, that I could tell you\nnothing which I had not stolen from him.\n\nBut what shall I say of the most famous of these men--Paracelsus? whose\nname you surely know.  He too has been immortalised in a poem which you\nall ought to have read, one of Robert Browning's earliest and one of his\nbest creations.\n\nI think we must accept as true Mr. Browning's interpretation of\nParacelsus's character.  We must believe that he was at first an honest\nand high-minded, as he was certainly a most gifted, man; that he went\nforth into the world, with an intense sense of the worthlessness of the\nsham knowledge of the pedants and quacks of the schools; an intense\nbelief that some higher and truer science might be discovered, by which\ndiseases might be actually cured, and health, long life, happiness, all\nbut immortality, be conferred on man; an intense belief that he,\nParacelsus, was called and chosen by God to find out that great mystery,\nand be a benefactor to all future ages.  That fixed idea might\ndegenerate--did, alas! degenerate--into wild self-conceit, rash contempt\nof the ancients, violent abuse of his opponents.  But there was more than\nthis in Paracelsus.  He had one idea to which, if he had kept true, his\nlife would have been a happier one--the firm belief that all pure science\nwas a revelation from God; that it was not to be obtained at second or\nthird hand, by blindly adhering to the words of Galen or Hippocrates or\nAristotle, and putting them (as the scholastic philosophers round him\ndid) in the place of God: but by going straight to nature at first hand,\nand listening to what Bacon calls \"the voice of God revealed in facts.\"\nTrue and noble is the passage with which he begins his \"Labyrinthus\nMedicorum,\" one of his attacks on the false science of his day,\n\n\"The first and highest book of all healing,\" he says, \"is called wisdom,\nand without that book no man will carry out anything good or useful . . .\nAnd that book is God Himself.  For in Him alone who hath created all\nthings, the knowledge and principle of all things dwells . . . without\nHim all is folly.  As the sun shines on us from above, so He must pour\ninto us from above all arts whatsoever.  Therefore the root of all\nlearning and cognition is, that we should seek first the kingdom of\nGod--the kingdom of God in which all sciences are founded . . . If any\nman think that nature is not founded on the kingdom of God, he knows\nnothing about it.  All gifts,\" he repeats again and again, confused and\nclumsily (as is his wont), but with a true earnestness, \"are from God.\"\n\nThe true man of science, with Paracelsus, is he who seeks first the\nkingdom of God in facts, investigating nature reverently, patiently, in\nfaith believing that God, who understands His own work best, will make\nhim understand it likewise.  The false man of science is he who seeks the\nkingdom of this world, who cares nothing about the real interpretation of\nfacts: but is content with such an interpretation as will earn him the\ngood things of this world--the red hat and gown, the ambling mule, the\nsilk clothes, the partridges, capons, and pheasants, the gold florins\nchinking in his palm.  At such pretenders Paracelsus sneered, at last\nonly too fiercely, not only as men whose knowledge consisted chiefly in\nwearing white gloves, but as rogues, liars, villains, and every epithet\nwhich his very racy vocabulary, quickened (it is to be feared) by wine\nand laudanum, could suggest.  With these he contrasts the true men of\nscience.  It is difficult for us now to understand how a man setting out\nin life with such pure and noble views should descend at last (if indeed\nhe did descend) to be a quack and a conjuror--and die under the\nimputation that\n\n   Bombastes kept a devil's bird\n   Hid in the pommel of his sword,\n\nand have, indeed, his very name, Bombast, used to this day as a synonym\nof loud, violent, and empty talk.  To understand it at all, we must go\nback and think a little over these same occult sciences which were\nbelieved in by thousands during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.\n\nThe reverence for classic antiquity, you must understand, which sprang up\nat the renaissance in the fifteenth century, was as indiscriminating as\nit was earnest.  Men caught the trash as well as the jewels.  They put\nthe dreams of the Neoplatonists, Iamblicus, Porphyry, or Plotinus, or\nProclus, on the same level as the sound dialectic philosophy of Plato\nhimself.  And these Neoplatonists were all, more or less, believers in\nmagic--Theurgy, as it was called--in the power of charms and spells, in\nthe occult virtues of herbs and gems, in the power of adepts to evoke and\ncommand spirits, in the significance of dreams, in the influence of the\nstars upon men's characters and destinies.  If the great and wise\nphilosopher Iamblicus believed such things, why might not the men of the\nsixteenth century?\n\nAnd so grew up again in Europe a passion for what were called the Occult\nsciences.  It had always been haunting the European imagination.  Mediaeval\nmonks had long ago transformed the poet Virgil into a great necromancer.\nAnd there were immense excuses for such a belief.  There was a mass of\ncollateral evidence that the occult sciences were true, which it was\nimpossible then to resist.  Races far more ancient, learned, civilised,\nthan any Frenchman, German, Englishman, or even Italian, in the fifteenth\ncentury had believed in these things.  The Moors, the best physicians of\nthe Middle Ages, had their heads full, as the \"Arabian Nights\" prove, of\nenchanters, genii, peris, and what not?  The Jewish rabbis had their\nCabala, which sprang up in Alexandria, a system of philosophy founded on\nthe mystic meaning of the words and the actual letters of the text of\nScripture, which some said was given by the angel Ragiel to Adam in\nParadise, by which Adam talked with angels, the sun and moon, summoned\nspirits, interpreted dreams, healed and destroyed; and by that book of\nRagiel, as it was called, Solomon became the great magician and master of\nall the spirits and their hoarded treasures.\n\nSo strong, indeed, was the belief in the mysteries of the Cabala, that\nReuchlin, the restorer of Hebrew learning in Germany, and Pico di\nMirandola, the greatest of Italian savants, accepted them; and not only\nPope Leo X. himself, but even statesmen and warriors received with\ndelight Reuchlin's cabalistic treatise, \"De Verbo Mirifico,\" on the\nmystic word \"Schemhamphorash\"--that hidden name of God, which whosoever\ncan pronounce aright is, for the moment, lord of nature and of all\ndaemons.\n\nAmulets, too, and talismans; the faith in them was exceeding ancient.\nSolomon had his seal, by which he commanded all daemons; and there is a\nwhole literature of curious nonsense, which you may read if you will,\nabout the Abraxas and other talismans of the Gnostics in Syria; and\nanother, of the secret virtues which were supposed to reside in gems:\nespecially in the old Roman and Greek gems, carved into intaglios with\nfigures of heathen gods and goddesses.  Lapidaria, or lists of these gems\nand their magical virtues, were not uncommon in the Middle Ages.  You may\nread a great deal that is interesting about them at the end of Mr. King's\nbook on gems.\n\nAstrology too; though Pico di Mirandola might set himself against the\nrest of the world, few were found daring enough to deny so ancient a\nscience.  Luther and Melancthon merely followed the regular tradition of\npublic opinion when they admitted its truth.  It sprang probably from the\nworship of the Seven Planets by the old Chaldees.  It was brought back\nfrom Babylon by the Jews after the Captivity, and spread over all\nEurope--perhaps all Asia likewise.\n\nThe rich and mighty of the earth must needs have their nativities cast,\nand consult the stars; and Cornelius Agrippa gave mortal offence to the\nQueen-Dowager of France (mother of Francis I.) because, when she\ncompelled him to consult the stars about Francis's chance of getting out\nof his captivity in Spain after the battle of Pavia, he wrote and spoke\nhis mind honestly about such nonsense.\n\nEven Newton seems to have hankered after it when young.  Among his MSS.\nin Lord Portsmouth's library at Hurstbourne are whole folios of\nastrologic calculations.  It went on till the end of the seventeenth\ncentury, and died out only when men had begun to test it, and all other\noccult sciences, by experience, and induction founded thereon.\n\nCountless students busied themselves over the transmutation of metals.  As\nfor magic, necromancy, pyromancy, geomancy, coscinomancy, and all the\nother mancies--there was then a whole literature about them.  And the\nwitch-burning inquisitors like Sprenger, Bodin, Delrio, and the rest,\nbelieved as firmly in the magic powers of the poor wretches whom they\ntortured to death, as did, in many cases, the poor wretches themselves.\n\nEveryone, almost, believed in magic.  Take two cases.  Read the story\nwhich Benvenuto Cellini, the sculptor, tells in his life (everyone should\nread it) of the magician whom he consults in the Coliseum at Rome, and\nthe figure which he sees as he walks back with the magician, jumping from\nroof to roof along the tiles of the houses.\n\nAnd listen to this story, which Mr. Froude has dug up in his researches.\nA Church commissioner at Oxford, at the beginning of the Reformation,\nbeing unable to track an escaped heretic, \"caused a figure to be made by\nan expert in astronomy;\" by which it was discovered that the poor wretch\nhad fled in a tawny coat and was making for the sea.  Conceive the\nrespected head of your College--or whoever he may be--in case you slept\nout all night without leave, going to a witch to discover whether you had\ngone to London or to Huntingdon, and then writing solemnly to inform the\nBishop of Ely of his meritorious exertions!\n\nIn such a mad world as this was Paracelsus born.  The son of a Swiss\nphysician, but of noble blood, Philip Aureolus Theophrastus was his\nChristian name, Bombast von Hohenheim his surname, which last word he\nturned, after the fashion of the times, into Paracelsus.  Born in 1493 at\nEinsiedeln (the hermitage), in Schweiz, which is still a famous place of\npilgrimage, he was often called Eremita--the hermit.  Erasmus, in a\nletter still extant, but suspected not to be genuine, addressed him by\nthat name.\n\nHow he passed the first thirty-three years of his life it is hard to say.\nHe used to boast that he had wandered over all Europe, been in Sweden,\nItaly, in Constantinople, and perhaps in the far East, with\nbarber-surgeons, alchemists, magicians, haunting mines, and forges of\nSweden and Bohemia, especially those which the rich merchants of that day\nhad in the Tyrol.\n\nIt was from that work, he said, that he learnt what he knew: from the\nstudy of nature and of facts.  He had heard all the learned doctors and\nprofessors; he had read all their books, and they could teach him\nnothing.  Medicine was his monarch, and no one else.  He declared that\nthere was more wisdom under his bald pate than in Aristotle and Galen,\nHippocrates and Rhasis.  And fact seemed to be on his side.  He\nreappeared in Germany about 1525, and began working wondrous cures.  He\nhad brought back with him from the East an arcanum, a secret remedy, and\nlaudanum was its name.  He boasted, says one of his enemies, that he\ncould raise the dead to life with it; and so the event all but proved.\nBasle was then the university where free thought and free creeds found\ntheir safest home; and hither OEcolampadius the reformer invited young\nParacelsus to lecture on medicine and natural science.\n\nIt would have been well for him, perhaps, had he never opened his lips.\nHe might have done good enough to his fellow-creatures by his own\nundoubted powers of healing.  He cured John Frobenius, the printer,\nErasmus's friend, at Basle, when the doctors were going to cut his leg\noff.  His fame spread far and wide.  Round Basle and away into Alsace he\nwas looked on, even an enemy says, as a new AEsculapius.\n\nBut these were days in which in a university everyone was expected to\ntalk and teach, and so Paracelsus began lecturing; and then the weakness\nwhich was mingled with his strength showed itself.  He began by burning\nopenly the books of Galen and Avicenna, and declared that all the old\nknowledge was useless.  Doctors and students alike must begin over again\nwith him.  The dons were horrified.  To burn Galen and Avicenna was as\nbad as burning the Bible.  And more horrified still were they when\nParacelsus began lecturing, not in the time-honoured dog-Latin, but in\ngood racy German, which everyone could understand.  They shuddered under\ntheir red gowns and hats.  If science was to be taught in German,\nfarewell to the Galenists' formulas, and their lucrative monopoly of\nlearning.  Paracelsus was bold enough to say that he wished to break up\ntheir monopoly; to spread a popular knowledge of medicine.  \"How much,\"\nhe wrote once, \"would I endure and suffer, to see every man his own\nshepherd--his own healer.\"  He laughed to scorn their long prescriptions,\nused the simplest drugs, and declared Nature, after all, to be the best\nphysician--as a dog, he says, licks his wound well again without our\nhelp; or as the broken rib of the ox heals of its own accord.\n\nSuch a man was not to be endured.  They hated him, he says, for the same\nreason that they hated Luther, for the same reason that the Pharisees\nhated Christ.  He met their attacks with scorn, rage, and language as\ncoarse and violent as their own.  The coarseness and violence of those\ndays seem incredible to us now; and, indeed, Paracelsus, as he confessed\nhimself, was, though of gentle blood, rough and unpolished; and utterly,\nas one can see from his writings, unable to give and take, to\nconciliate--perhaps to pardon.  He looked impatiently on these men who\nwere (not unreasonably) opposing novelties which they could not\nunderstand, as enemies of God, who were balking him in his grand plan for\nregenerating science and alleviating the woes of humanity, and he\noutraged their prejudices instead of soothing them.\n\nSoon they had their revenge.  Ugly stories were whispered about.\nOporinus, the printer, who had lived with him for two years, and who left\nhim, it is said, because he thought Paracelsus concealed from him\nunfairly the secret of making laudanum, told how Paracelsus was neither\nmore nor less than a sot, who came drunk to his lectures, used to prime\nhimself with wine before going to his patients, and sat all night in\npothouses swilling with the boors.\n\nMen looked coldly on him--longed to be rid of him.  And they soon found\nan opportunity.  He took in hand some Canon of the city from whom it was\nsettled beforehand that he was to receive a hundred florins.  The priest\nfound himself cured so suddenly and easily that, by a strange logic, he\nrefused to pay the money, and went to the magistrates.  They supported\nhim, and compelled Paracelsus to take six florins instead of the hundred.\nHe spoke his mind fiercely to them.  I believe, according to one story,\nhe drew his long sword on the Canon.  His best friends told him he must\nleave the place; and within two years, seemingly, after his first triumph\nat Basle, he fled from it a wanderer and a beggar.\n\nThe rest of his life is a blank.  He is said to have recommenced his old\nwanderings about Europe, studying the diseases of every country, and\nwriting his books, which were none of them published till after his\ndeath.  His enemies joyfully trampled on the fallen man.  He was a \"dull\nrustic, a monster, an atheist, a quack, a maker of gold, a magician.\"\nWhen he was drunk, one Wetter, his servant, told Erastus (one of his\nenemies) that he used to offer to call up legions of devils to prove his\nskill, while Wetter, in abject terror of his spells, entreated him to\nleave the fiends alone--that he had sent his book by a fiend to the\nspirit of Galen in hell, and challenged him to say which was the better\nsystem, his or Paracelsus', and what not?\n\nHis books were forbidden to be printed.  He himself was refused a\nhearing, and it was not till after ten years of wandering that he found\nrest and protection in a little village of Carinthia.\n\nThree years afterwards he died in the hospital of St. Sebastian at\nSalzburg, in the Tyrol.  His death was the signal for empirics and\nvisionaries to foist on the public book after book on occult philosophy,\nwritten in his name--of which you may see ten folios--not more than a\nquarter, I believe, genuine.  And these foolish books, as much as\nanything, have helped to keep up the popular prejudice against one who,\nin spite of all his faults was a true pioneer of science. {15}  I believe\n(with those moderns who have tried to do him justice) that under all his\nverbiage and confusion there was a vein of sound scientific, experimental\ncommon sense.\n\nWhen he talks of astronomy as necessary to be known by a physician, it\nseems to me that he laughs at astrology, properly so called; that is,\nthat the stars influence the character and destiny of man.  Mars, he\nsays, did not make Nero cruel.  There would have been long-lived men in\nthe world if Saturn had never ascended the skies; and Helen would have\nbeen a wanton, though Venus had never been created.  But he does believe\nthat the heavenly bodies, and the whole skies, have a physical influence\non climate, and on the health of men.\n\nHe talks of alchemy, but he means by it, I think, only that sound science\nwhich we call chemistry, and at which he worked, wandering, he says,\namong mines and forges, as a practical metallurgist.\n\nHe tells us--what sounds startling enough--that magic is the only\npreceptor which can teach the art of healing; but he means, it seems to\nme, only an understanding of the invisible processes of nature, in which\nsense an electrician or a biologist, a Faraday or a Darwin, would be a\nmagician; and when he compares medical magic to the Cabalistic science,\nof which I spoke just now (and in which he seems to have believed), he\nonly means, I think, that as the Cabala discovers hidden meaning and\nvirtues in the text of Scripture, so ought the man of science to find\nthem in the book of nature.  But this kind of talk, wrapt up too in the\nmost confused style, or rather no style at all, is quite enough to\naccount for ignorant and envious people accusing him of magic, saying\nthat he had discovered the philosopher's stone, and the secret of Hermes\nTrismegistus; that he must make gold, because, though he squandered all\nhis money, he had always money in hand; and that he kept a\n\"devil's-bird,\" a familiar spirit, in the pommel of that famous long\nsword of his, which he was only too ready to lug out on provocation--the\nsaid spirit, Agoth by name, being probably only the laudanum bottle with\nwhich he worked so many wondrous cures, and of which, to judge from his\nwritings, he took only too freely himself.\n\nBut the charm of Paracelsus is in his humour, his mother-wit.  He was\nblamed for consorting with boors in pot-houses; blamed for writing in\nracy German, instead of bad school-Latin: but you can hardly read a\nchapter, either of his German or his dog-Latin, without finding many a\ngood thing--witty and weighty, though often not a little coarse.  He\ntalks in parables.  He draws illustrations, like Socrates of old, from\nthe commonest and the oddest matters to enforce the weightiest truths.\n\"Fortune and misfortune,\" he says, for instance nobly enough, \"are not\nlike snow and wind, they must be deduced and known from the secrets of\nnature.  Therefore misfortune is ignorance, fortune is knowledge.  The\nman who walks out in the rain is not unfortunate if he gets a ducking.\"\n\n\"Nature,\" he says again, \"makes the text, and the medical man adds the\ngloss; but the two fit each other no better than a dog does a bath;\" and\nagain, when he is arguing against the doctors who hated chemistry--\"Who\nhates a thing which has hurt nobody?  Will you complain of a dog for\nbiting you, if you lay hold of his tail?  Does the emperor send the thief\nto the gallows, or the thing which he has stolen?  The thief, I think.\nTherefore science should not be despised on account of some who know\nnothing about it.\"  You will say the reasoning is not very clear, and\nindeed the passage, like too many more, smacks strongly of wine and\nlaudanum.  But such is his quaint racy style.  As humorous a man, it\nseems to me, as you shall meet with for many a day; and where there is\nhumour there is pretty sure to be imagination, tenderness, and depth of\nheart.\n\nAs for his notions of what a man of science should be, the servant of\nGod, and of Nature--which is the work of God--using his powers not for\nmoney, not for ambition, but in love and charity, as he says, for the\ngood of his fellow-man--on that matter Paracelsus is always noble.  All\nthat Mr. Browning has conceived on that point, all the noble speeches\nwhich he has put into Paracelsus's mouth, are true to his writings.  How\ncan they be otherwise, if Mr. Browning set them forth--a genius as\naccurate and penetrating as he is wise and pure?\n\nBut was Paracelsus a drunkard after all?\n\nGentlemen, what concern is that of yours or mine?  I have gone into the\nquestion, as Mr. Browning did, cannot say, and don't care to say.\n\nOporinus, who slandered him so cruelly, recanted when Paracelsus was\ndead, and sang his praises--too late.  But I do not read that he recanted\nthe charge of drunkenness.  His defenders allow it, only saying that it\nwas the fault not of him alone, but of all Germans.  But if so, why was\nhe specially blamed for what certainly others did likewise?  I cannot but\nfear from his writings, as well as from common report, that there was\nsomething wrong with the man.  I say only something.  Against his purity\nthere never was a breath of suspicion.  He was said to care nothing for\nwomen; and even that was made the subject of brutal jests and lies.  But\nit may have been that, worn out with toil and poverty, he found comfort\nin that laudanum which he believed to be the arcanum--the very elixir of\nlife; that he got more and more into the habit of exciting his\nimagination with the narcotic, and then, it may be, when the fit of\ndepression followed, he strung his nerves up again by wine.  It may have\nbeen so.  We have had, in the last generation, an exactly similar case in\na philosopher, now I trust in heaven, and to whose genius I owe too much\nto mention his name here.\n\nBut that Paracelsus was a sot I cannot believe.  That face of his, as\npainted by the great Tintoretto, is not the face of a drunkard, quack,\nbully, but of such a man as Browning has conceived.  The great globular\nbrain, the sharp delicate chin, is not that of a sot.  Nor are those\neyes, which gleam out from under the deep compressed brow, wild, intense,\nhungry, homeless, defiant, and yet complaining, the eyes of a sot--but\nrather the eyes of a man who struggles to tell a great secret, and cannot\nfind words for it, and yet wonders why men cannot understand, will not\nbelieve what seems to him as clear as day--a tragical face, as you well\ncan see.\n\nGod keep us all from making our lives a tragedy by one great sin.  And\nnow let us end this sad story with the last words which Mr. Browning puts\ninto the mouth of Paracelsus, dying in the hospital at Salzburg, which\nhave come literally true:\n\n   Meanwhile, I have done well though not all well.\n   As yet men cannot do without contempt;\n   'Tis for their good; and therefore fit awhile\n   That they reject the weak and scorn the false,\n   Rather than praise the strong and true in me:\n   But after, they will know me.  If I stoop\n   Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud,\n   It is but for a time.  I press God's lamp\n   Close to my breast; its splendour, soon or late,\n   Will pierce the gloom.  I shall emerge one day.\n\n\n\n\nGEORGE BUCHANAN, SCHOLAR\n\n\nThe scholar, in the sixteenth century, was a far more important personage\nthan now.  The supply of learned men was very small, the demand for them\nvery great.  During the whole of the fifteenth, and a great part of the\nsixteenth century, the human mind turned more and more from the\nscholastic philosophy of the Middle Ages to that of the Romans and the\nGreeks; and found more and more in old Pagan Art an element which\nMonastic Art had not, and which was yet necessary for the full\nsatisfaction of their craving after the Beautiful.  At such a crisis of\nthought and taste, it was natural that the classical scholar, the man who\nknew old Rome, and still more old Greece, should usurp the place of the\nmonk, as teacher of mankind; and that scholars should form, for a while,\na new and powerful aristocracy, limited and privileged, and all the more\nredoubtable, because its power lay in intellect, and had been won by\nintellect alone.\n\nThose who, whether poor or rich, did not fear the monk and priest, at\nleast feared the \"scholar,\" who held, so the vulgar believed, the keys of\nthat magic lore by which the old necromancers had built cities like Rome,\nand worked marvels of mechanical and chemical skill, which the degenerate\nmodern could never equal.\n\nIf the \"scholar\" stopped in a town, his hostess probably begged of him a\ncharm against toothache or rheumatism.  The penniless knight discoursed\nwith him on alchemy, and the chances of retrieving his fortune by the art\nof transmuting metals into gold.  The queen or bishop worried him in\nprivate about casting their nativities, and finding their fates among the\nstars.  But the statesman, who dealt with more practical matters, hired\nhim as an advocate and rhetorician, who could fight his master's enemies\nwith the weapons of Demosthenes and Cicero.  Wherever the scholar's steps\nwere turned, he might be master of others, as long as he was master of\nhimself.  The complaints which he so often uttered concerning the cruelty\nof fortune, the fickleness of princes and so forth, were probably no more\njust then than such complaints are now.  Then, as now, he got his\ndeserts; and the world bought him at his own price.  If he chose to sell\nhimself to this patron and to that, he was used and thrown away: if he\nchose to remain in honourable independence, he was courted and feared.\n\nAmong the successful scholars of the sixteenth century, none surely is\nmore notable than George Buchanan.  The poor Scotch widow's son, by force\nof native wit, and, as I think, by force of native worth, fights his way\nupward, through poverty and severest persecution, to become the\ncorrespondent and friend of the greatest literary celebrities of the\nContinent, comparable, in their opinion, to the best Latin poets of\nantiquity; the preceptor of princes; the counsellor and spokesman of\nScotch statesmen in the most dangerous of times; and leaves behind him\npolitical treatises, which have influenced not only the history of his\nown country, but that of the civilised world.\n\nSuch a success could not be attained without making enemies, perhaps\nwithout making mistakes.  But the more we study George Buchanan's\nhistory, the less we shall be inclined to hunt out his failings, the more\ninclined to admire his worth.  A shrewd, sound-hearted, affectionate man,\nwith a strong love of right and scorn of wrong, and a humour withal which\nsaved him--except on really great occasions--from bitterness, and helped\nhim to laugh where narrower natures would have only snarled,--he is, in\nmany respects, a type of those Lowland Scots, who long preserved his\njokes, genuine or reputed, as a common household book. {16}  A\nschoolmaster by profession, and struggling for long years amid the\ntemptations which, in those days, degraded his class into cruel and\nsordid pedants, he rose from the mere pedagogue to be, in the best sense\nof the word, a courtier: \"One,\" says Daniel Heinsius, \"who seemed not\nonly born for a court, but born to amend it.  He brought to his queen\nthat at which she could not wonder enough.  For, by affecting a certain\nliberty in censuring morals, he avoided all offence, under the cloak of\nsimplicity.\"  Of him and his compeers, Turnebus, and Muretus, and their\nfriend Andrea Govea, Ronsard, the French court poet, said that they had\nnothing of the pedagogue about them but the gown and cap.  \"Austere in\nface, and rustic in his looks,\" says David Buchanan, \"but most polished\nin style and speech; and continually, even in serious conversation,\njesting most wittily.\"  \"Rough-hewn, slovenly, and rude,\" says Peacham,\nin his \"Compleat Gentleman,\" speaking of him, probably, as he appeared in\nold age, \"in his person, behaviour, and fashion; seldom caring for a\nbetter outside than a rugge-gown girt close about him: yet his inside and\nconceipt in poesie was most rich, and his sweetness and facilitie in\nverse most excellent.\"  A typical Lowland Scot, as I said just now, he\nseems to have absorbed all the best culture which France could afford\nhim, without losing the strength, honesty, and humour which he inherited\nfrom his Stirlingshire kindred.\n\nThe story of his life is easily traced.  When an old man, he himself\nwrote down the main events of it, at the request of his friends; and his\nsketch has been filled out by commentators, if not always favourable, at\nleast erudite.  Born in 1506, at the Moss, in Killearn--where an obelisk\nto his memory, so one reads, has been erected in this century--of a\nfamily \"rather ancient than rich,\" his father dead in the prime of\nmanhood, his grandfather a spendthrift, he and his seven brothers and\nsisters were brought up by a widowed mother, Agnes Heriot--of whom one\nwishes to know more; for the rule that great sons have great mothers\nprobably holds good in her case.  George gave signs, while at the village\nschool, of future scholarship; and when he was only fourteen, his uncle\nJames sent him to the University of Paris.  Those were hard times; and\nthe youths, or rather boys, who meant to become scholars, had a cruel\nlife of it, cast desperately out on the wide world to beg and starve,\neither into self-restraint and success, or into ruin of body and soul.\nAnd a cruel life George had.  Within two years he was down in a severe\nillness, his uncle dead, his supplies stopped; and the boy of sixteen got\nhome, he does not tell how.  Then he tried soldiering; and was with\nAlbany's French Auxiliaries at the ineffectual attack on Wark Castle.\nMarching back through deep snow, he got a fresh illness, which kept him\nin bed all winter.  Then he and his brother were sent to St. Andrews,\nwhere he got his B.A. at nineteen.  The next summer he went to France\nonce more; and \"fell,\" he says, \"into the flames of the Lutheran sect,\nwhich was then spreading far and wide.\"  Two years of penury followed;\nand then three years of school-mastering in the College of St. Barbe,\nwhich he has immortalised--at least, for the few who care to read modern\nLatin poetry--in his elegy on \"The Miseries of a Parisian Teacher of the\nHumanities.\"  The wretched regent-master, pale and suffering, sits up all\nnight preparing his lecture, biting his nails and thumping his desk; and\nfalls asleep for a few minutes, to start up at the sound of the\nfour-o'clock bell, and be in school by five, his Virgil in one hand, and\nhis rod in the other, trying to do work on his own account at old\nmanuscripts, and bawling all the while at his wretched boys, who cheat\nhim, and pay each other to answer to truants' names.  The class is all\nwrong.  \"One is barefoot, another's shoe is burst, another cries, another\nwrites home.  Then comes the rod, the sound of blows, and howls; and the\nday passes in tears.\"  \"Then mass, then another lesson, then more blows;\nthere is hardly time to eat.\"  I have no space to finish the picture of\nthe stupid misery which, Buchanan says, was ruining his intellect, while\nit starved his body.  However, happier days came.  Gilbert Kennedy, Earl\nof Cassilis, who seems to have been a noble young gentleman, took him as\nhis tutor for the next five years; and with him he went back to Scotland.\n\nBut there his plain speaking got him, as it did more than once afterward,\ninto trouble.  He took it into his head to write, in imitation of Dunbar,\na Latin poem, in which St. Francis asks him in a dream to become a Gray\nFriar, and Buchanan answered in language which had the unpleasant fault\nof being too clever, and--to judge from contemporary evidence--only too\ntrue.  The friars said nothing at first; but when King James made\nBuchanan tutor to one of his natural sons, they, \"men professing\nmeekness, took the matter somewhat more angrily than befitted men so\npious in the opinion of the people.\"  So Buchanan himself puts it: but,\nto do the poor friars justice, they must have been angels, not men, if\nthey did not writhe somewhat under the scourge which he had laid on them.\nTo be told that there was hardly a place in heaven for monks, was hard to\nhear and bear.  They accused him to the king of heresy; but not being\nthen in favour with James, they got no answer, and Buchanan was commanded\nto repeat the castigation.  Having found out that the friars were not to\nbe touched with impunity, he wrote, he says, a short and ambiguous poem.\nBut the king, who loved a joke, demanded something sharp and stinging,\nand Buchanan obeyed by writing, but not publishing, \"The Franciscans,\" a\nlong satire, compared to which the \"Somnium\" was bland and merciful.  The\nstorm rose.  Cardinal Beaten, Buchanan says, wanted to buy him of the\nking, and then, of course, burn him, as he had just burnt five poor\nsouls; so, knowing James's avarice, he fled to England, through\nfreebooters and pestilence.\n\nThere he found, he says, \"men of both factions being burned on the same\nday and in the same fire\"--a pardonable exaggeration--\"by Henry VIII., in\nhis old age more intent on his own safety than on the purity of\nreligion.\"  So to his beloved France he went again, to find his enemy\nBeaten ambassador at Paris.  The capital was too hot to hold him; and he\nfled south to Bordeaux, to Andrea Govea, the Portuguese principal of the\nCollege of Guienne.  As Professor of Latin at Bordeaux, we find him\npresenting a Latin poem to Charles V.; and indulging that fancy of his\nfor Latin poetry which seems to us nowadays a childish pedantry, which\nwas then--when Latin was the vernacular tongue of all scholars--a\nserious, if not altogether a useful, pursuit.  Of his tragedies, so\nfamous in their day--the \"Baptist,\" the \"Medea,\" the \"Jephtha,\" and the\n\"Alcestis\"--there is neither space nor need to speak here, save to notice\nthe bold declamations in the \"Baptist\" against tyranny and priestcraft;\nand to notice also that these tragedies gained for the poor Scotsman, in\nthe eyes of the best scholars of Europe, a credit amounting almost to\nveneration.  When he returned to Paris, he found occupation at once; and,\nas his Scots biographers love to record, \"three of the most learned men\nin the world taught humanity in the same college,\" viz.  Turnebus,\nMuretus, and Buchanan.\n\nThen followed a strange episode in his life.  A university had been\nfounded at Coimbra, in Portugal, and Andrea Govea had been invited to\nbring thither what French savants he could collect.  Buchanan went to\nPortugal with his brother Patrick, two more Scotsmen, Dempster and\nRamsay, and a goodly company of French scholars, whose names and\nhistories may be read in the erudite pages of Dr. Irving, went likewise.\nAll prospered in the new Temple of the Muses for a year or so.  Then its\nhigh-priest, Govea, died; and, by a peripeteia too common in those days\nand countries, Buchanan and two of his friends migrated unwillingly from\nthe Temple of the Muses for that of Moloch, and found themselves in the\nInquisition.\n\nBuchanan, it seems, had said that St. Augustine was more of a Lutheran\nthan a Catholic on the question of the mass.  He and his friends had\neaten flesh in Lent; which, he says, almost everyone in Spain did.  But\nhe was suspected, and with reason, as a heretic; the Gray Friars formed\nbut one brotherhood throughout Europe; and news among them travelled\nsurely if not fast, so that the story of the satire written in Scotland\nhad reached Portugal.  The culprits were imprisoned, examined,\nbullied--but not tortured--for a year and a half.  At the end of that\ntime, the proofs of heresy, it seems, were insufficient; but lest, says\nBuchanan with honest pride, \"they should get the reputation of having\nvainly tormented a man not altogether unknown,\" they sent him for some\nmonths to a monastery, to be instructed by the monks.  \"The men,\" he\nsays, \"were neither inhuman nor bad, but utterly ignorant of religion;\"\nand Buchanan solaced himself during the intervals of their instructions,\nby beginning his Latin translation of the Psalms.\n\nAt last he got free, and begged leave to return to France; but in vain.\nAnd so, wearied out, he got on board a Candian ship at Lisbon, and\nescaped to England.  But England, he says, during the anarchy of Edward\nVI.'s reign, was not a land which suited him; and he returned to France,\nto fulfil the hopes which he had expressed in his charming \"Desiderium\nLutitiae,\" and the still more charming, because more simple, \"Adventus in\nGalliam,\" in which he bids farewell, in most melodious verse, to \"the\nhungry moors of wretched Portugal, and her clods fertile in naught but\npenury.\"\n\nSome seven years succeeded of schoolmastering and verse-writing: the\nLatin paraphrase of the Psalms; another of the \"Alcestis\" of Euripides;\nan Epithalamium on the marriage of poor Mary Stuart, noble and sincere,\nhowever fantastic and pedantic, after the manner of the times; \"Pomps,\"\ntoo, for her wedding, and for other public ceremonies, in which all the\nheathen gods and goddesses figure; epigrams, panegyrics, satires, much of\nwhich latter productions he would have consigned to the dust-heap in his\nold age, had not his too fond friends persuaded him to republish the\nfollies and coarsenesses of his youth.  He was now one of the most famous\nscholars in Europe, and the intimate friend of all the great literary\nmen.  Was he to go on to the end, die, and no more?  Was he to sink into\nthe mere pedant; or, if he could not do that, into the mere court\nversifier?\n\nThe wars of religion saved him, as they saved many another noble soul,\nfrom that degradation.  The events of 1560-62 forced Buchanan, as they\nforced many a learned man besides, to choose whether he would be a child\nof light or a child of darkness; whether he would be a dilettante\nclassicist, or a preacher--it might be a martyr--of the Gospel.  Buchanan\nmay have left France in \"The Troubles\" merely to enjoy in his own country\nelegant and learned repose.  He may have fancied that he had found it,\nwhen he saw himself, in spite of his public profession of adherence to\nthe Reformed Kirk, reading Livy every afternoon with his exquisite young\nsovereign; master, by her favour, of the temporalities of Crossraguel\nAbbey, and by the favour of Murray, Principal of St. Leonard's College in\nSt. Andrew's.  Perhaps he fancied at times that \"to-morrow was to be as\nto-day, and much more abundant;\" that thenceforth he might read his\nfolio, and write his epigram, and joke his joke, as a lazy comfortable\npluralist, taking his morning stroll out to the corner where poor Wishart\nhad been burned, above the blue sea and the yellow sands, and looking up\nto the castle tower from whence his enemy Beaton's corpse had been hung\nout; with the comfortable reflection that quieter times had come, and\nthat whatever evil deeds Archbishop Hamilton might dare, he would not\ndare to put the Principal of St. Leonard's into the \"bottle dungeon.\"\n\nIf such hopes ever crossed Geordie's keen fancy, they were disappointed\nsuddenly and fearfully.  The fire which had been kindled in France was to\nreach to Scotland likewise.  \"Revolutions are not made with rose-water;\"\nand the time was at hand when all good spirits in Scotland, and George\nBuchanan among them, had to choose, once and for all, amid danger,\nconfusion, terror, whether they would serve God or Mammon; for to serve\nboth would be soon impossible.\n\nWhich side, in that war of light and darkness, George Buchanan took, is\nnotorious.  He saw then, as others have seen since, that the two men in\nScotland who were capable of being her captains in the strife were Knox\nand Murray; and to them he gave in his allegiance heart and soul.\n\nThis is the critical epoch in Buchanan's life.  By his conduct to Queen\nMary he must stand or fall.  It is my belief that he will stand.  It is\nnot my intention to enter into the details of a matter so painful, so\nshocking, so prodigious; and now that that question is finally set at\nrest, by the writings both of Mr. Froude and Mr. Burton, there is no need\nto allude to it further, save where Buchanan's name is concerned.  One\nmay now have every sympathy with Mary Stuart; one may regard with awe a\nfigure so stately, so tragic, in one sense so heroic,--for she reminds\none rather of the heroine of an old Greek tragedy, swept to her doom by\nsome irresistible fate, than of a being of our own flesh and blood, and\nof our modern and Christian times.  One may sympathise with the great\nwomanhood which charmed so many while she was alive; which has charmed,\nin later years, so many noble spirits who have believed in her innocence,\nand have doubtless been elevated and purified by their devotion to one\nwho seemed to them an ideal being.  So far from regarding her as a\nhateful personage, one may feel oneself forbidden to hate a woman whom\nGod may have loved, and may have pardoned, to judge from the punishment\nso swift, and yet so enduring, which He inflicted.  At least, he must so\nbelieve who holds that punishment is a sign of mercy; that the most\ndreadful of all dooms is impunity.  Nay, more, those \"Casket\" letters and\nsonnets may be a relief to the mind of one who believes in her guilt on\nother grounds; a relief when one finds in them a tenderness, a sweetness,\na delicacy, a magnificent self-sacrifice, however hideously misplaced,\nwhich shows what a womanly heart was there; a heart which, joined to that\nqueenly brain, might have made her a blessing and a glory to Scotland,\nhad not the whole character been warped and ruinate from childhood, by an\neducation so abominable, that anyone who knows what words she must have\nheard, what scenes she must have beheld in France, from her youth up,\nwill wonder that she sinned so little: not that she sinned so much.  One\nmay feel, in a word, that there is every excuse for those who have\nasserted Mary's innocence, because their own high-mindedness shrank from\nbelieving her guilty: but yet Buchanan, in his own place and time, may\nhave felt as deeply that he could do no otherwise than he did.\n\nThe charges against him, as all readers of Scotch literature know well,\nmay be reduced to two heads.  1st.  The letters and sonnets were\nforgeries.  Maitland of Lethington may have forged the letters; Buchanan,\naccording to some, the sonnets.  Whoever forged them, Buchanan made use\nof them in his Detection, knowing them to be forged.  2nd.  Whether Mary\nwas innocent or not, Buchanan acted a base and ungrateful part in putting\nhimself in the forefront amongst her accusers.  He had been her tutor,\nher pensioner.  She had heaped him with favours; and, after all, she was\nhis queen, and a defenceless woman: and yet he returned her kindness, in\nthe hour of her fall, by invectives fit only for a rancorous and reckless\nadvocate, determined to force a verdict by the basest arts of oratory.\n\nNow as to the Casket letters.  I should have thought they bore in\nthemselves the best evidence of being genuine.  I can add nothing to the\narguments of Mr. Froude and Mr. Burton, save this: that no one clever\nenough to be a forger would have put together documents so incoherent,\nand so incomplete.  For the evidence of guilt which they contain is,\nafter all, slight and indirect, and, moreover, superfluous altogether;\nseeing that Mary's guilt was open and palpable, before the supposed\ndiscovery of the letters, to every person at home and abroad who had any\nknowledge of the facts.  As for the alleged inconsistency of the letters\nwith proven facts: the answer is, that whosoever wrote the letters would\nbe more likely to know facts which were taking place around them than any\ncritic could be one hundred or three hundred years afterwards.  But if\nthese mistakes as to facts actually exist in them, they are only a fresh\nargument for their authenticity.  Mary, writing in agony and confusion,\nmight easily make a mistake: forgers would only take too good care to\nmake none.\n\nBut the strongest evidence in favour of the letters and sonnets, in spite\nof the arguments of good Dr. Whittaker and other apologists for Mary, is\nto be found in their tone.  A forger in those coarse days would have made\nMary write in some Semiramis or Roxana vein, utterly alien to the\ntenderness, the delicacy, the pitiful confusion of mind, the conscious\nweakness, the imploring and most feminine trust which makes the letters,\nto those who--as I do--believe in them, more pathetic than any fictitious\nsorrows which poets could invent.  More than one touch, indeed, of utter\nself-abasement, in the second letter, is so unexpected, so subtle, and\nyet so true to the heart of woman, that--as has been well said--if it was\ninvented there must have existed in Scotland an earlier Shakespeare; who\nyet has died without leaving any other sign, for good or evil, of his\ndramatic genius.\n\nAs for the theory (totally unsupported) that Buchanan forged the poem\nusually called the \"Sonnets;\" it is paying old Geordie's genius, however\nversatile it may have been, too high a compliment to believe that he\ncould have written both them and the Detection; while it is paying his\nshrewdness too low a compliment to believe that he could have put into\nthem, out of mere carelessness or stupidity, the well-known line, which\nseems incompatible with the theory both of the letters and of his own\nDetection; and which has ere now been brought forward as a fresh proof of\nMary's innocence.\n\nAnd, as with the letters, so with the sonnets: their delicacy, their\ngrace, their reticence, are so many arguments against their having been\nforged by any Scot of the sixteenth century, and least of all by one in\nwhose character--whatever his other virtues may have been--delicacy was\nby no means the strongest point.\n\nAs for the complaint that Buchanan was ungrateful to Mary, it must be\nsaid: That even if she, and not Murray, had bestowed on him the\ntemporalities of Crossraguel Abbey four years before, it was merely fair\npay for services fairly rendered; and I am not aware that payment, or\neven favours, however gracious, bind any man's soul and conscience in\nquestions of highest morality and highest public importance.  And the\nimportance of that question cannot be exaggerated.  At a moment when\nScotland seemed struggling in death-throes of anarchy, civil and\nreligious, and was in danger of becoming a prey either to England or to\nFrance, if there could not be formed out of the heart of her a people,\nsteadfast, trusty, united, strong politically because strong in the fear\nof God and the desire of righteousness--at such a moment as this, a crime\nhad been committed, the like of which had not been heard in Europe since\nthe tragedy of Joan of Naples.  All Europe stood aghast.  The honour of\nthe Scottish nation was at stake.  More than Mary or Bothwell were known\nto be implicated in the deed; and--as Buchanan puts it in the opening of\nhis \"De Jure Regni\"--\"The fault of some few was charged upon all; and the\ncommon hatred of a particular person did redound to the whole nation; so\nthat even such as were remote from any suspicion were inflamed by the\ninfamy of men's crimes.\" {17}\n\nTo vindicate the national honour, and to punish the guilty, as well as to\nsave themselves from utter anarchy, the great majority of the Scotch\nnation had taken measures against Mary which required explicit\njustification in the sight of Europe, as Buchanan frankly confesses in\nthe opening of his \"De Jure Regni.\"  The chief authors of those measures\nhad been summoned, perhaps unwisely and unjustly, to answer for their\nconduct to the Queen of England.  Queen Elizabeth--a fact which was\nnotorious enough then, though it has been forgotten till the last few\nyears--was doing her utmost to shield Mary.  Buchanan was deputed, it\nseems, to speak out for the people of Scotland; and certainly never\npeople had an abler apologist.  If he spoke fiercely, savagely, it must\nbe remembered that he spoke of a fierce and savage matter; if he used--and\nit may be abused--all the arts of oratory, it must be remembered that he\nwas fighting for the honour, and it may be for the national life, of his\ncountry, and striking--as men in such cases have a right to strike--as\nhard as he could.  If he makes no secret of his indignation, and even\ncontempt, it must be remembered that indignation and contempt may well\nhave been real with him, while they were real with the soundest part of\nhis countrymen; with that reforming middle class, comparatively untainted\nby French profligacy, comparatively undebauched by feudal subservience,\nwhich has been the leaven which has leavened the whole Scottish people in\nthe last three centuries with the elements of their greatness.  If,\nfinally, he heaps up against the unhappy Queen charges which Mr. Burton\nthinks incredible, it must be remembered that, as he well says, these\ncharges give the popular feeling about Queen Mary; and it must be\nremembered also, that that popular feeling need not have been altogether\nunfounded.  Stories which are incredible, thank God, in these milder\ndays, were credible enough then, because, alas! they were so often true.\nThings more ugly than any related of poor Mary were possible enough--as\nno one knew better than Buchanan--in that very French court in which Mary\nhad been brought up; things as ugly were possible in Scotland then, and\nfor at least a century later; and while we may hope that Buchanan has\noverstated his case, we must not blame him too severely for yielding to a\ntemptation common to all men of genius when their creative power is\nroused to its highest energy by a great cause and a great indignation.\n\nAnd that the genius was there, no man can doubt; one cannot read that\n\"hideously eloquent\" description of Kirk o' Field, which Mr. Burton has\nwell chosen as a specimen of Buchanan's style, without seeing that we are\nface to face with a genius of a very lofty order: not, indeed, of the\nloftiest--for there is always in Buchanan's work, it seems to me, a want\nof unconsciousness, and a want of tenderness--but still a genius worthy\nto be placed beside those ancient writers from whom he took his manner.\nWhether or not we agree with his contemporaries, who say that he equalled\nVirgil in Latin poetry, we may place him fairly as a prose writer by the\nside of Demosthenes, Cicero, or Tacitus.  And so I pass from this painful\nsubject; only quoting--if I may be permitted to quote--Mr. Burton's wise\nand gentle verdict on the whole.  \"Buchanan,\" he says, \"though a zealous\nProtestant, had a good deal of the Catholic and sceptical spirit of\nErasmus, and an admiring eye for everything that was great and beautiful.\nLike the rest of his countrymen, he bowed himself in presence of the\nlustre that surrounded the early career of his mistress.  More than once\nhe expressed his pride and reverence in the inspiration of a genius\ndeemed by his contemporaries to be worthy of the theme.  There is not,\nperhaps, to be found elsewhere in literature so solemn a memorial of\nshipwrecked hopes, of a sunny opening and a stormy end, as one finds in\nturning the leaves of the volume which contains the beautiful epigram\n'Nympha Caledoniae' in one part, the 'Detectio Mariae Reginae' in\nanother; and this contrast is, no doubt, a faithful parallel of the\nreaction in the popular mind.  This reaction seems to have been general,\nand not limited to the Protestant party; for the conditions under which\nit became almost a part of the creed of the Church of Rome to believe in\nher innocence had not arisen.\"\n\nIf Buchanan, as some of his detractors have thought, raised himself by\nsubserviency to the intrigues of the Regent Murray, the best heads in\nScotland seem to have been of a different opinion.  The murder of Murray\ndid not involve Buchanan's fall.  He had avenged it, as far as pen could\ndo it, by that \"Admonition Direct to the Trew Lordis,\" in which he showed\nhimself as great a master of Scottish, as he was of Latin prose.  His\nsatire of the \"Chameleon,\" though its publication was stopped by\nMaitland, must have been read in manuscript by many of those same \"True\nLords;\" and though there were nobler instincts in Maitland than any\nBuchanan gave him credit for, the satire breathed an honest indignation\nagainst that wily turncoat's misgoings, which could not but recommend the\nauthor to all honest men.  Therefore it was, I presume, and not because\nhe was a rogue, and a hired literary spadassin, that to the best heads in\nScotland he seemed so useful, it may be so worthy, a man, that he be\nprovided with continually increasing employment.  As tutor to James I.;\nas director, for a short time, of the chancery; as keeper of the privy\nseal, and privy councillor; as one of the commissioners for codifying the\nlaws, and again--for in the semi-anarchic state of Scotland, government\nhad to do everything in the way of organisation--in the committee for\npromulgating a standard Latin grammar; in the committee for reforming the\nUniversity of St. Andrew's: in all these Buchanan's talents were again\nand again called for; and always ready.  The value of his work,\nespecially that for the reform of St. Andrew's, must be judged by\nScotsmen, rather than by an Englishman; but all that one knows of it\njustifies Melville's sentence in the well-known passage in his memoirs,\nwherein he describes the tutors and household of the young king.  \"Mr.\nGeorge was a Stoic philosopher, who looked not far before him;\" in plain\nwords, a high-minded and right-minded man, bent on doing the duty which\nlay nearest him.  The worst that can be said against him during these\ntimes is, that his name appears with the sum of 100 pounds against it, as\none of those \"who were to be entertained in Scotland by pensions out of\nEngland;\" and Ruddiman, of course, comments on the fact by saying that\nBuchanan \"was at length to act under the threefold character of\nmalcontent, reformer, and pensioner:\" but it gives no proof whatsoever\nthat Buchanan ever received any such bribe; and in the very month,\nseemingly, in which that list was written--10th March, 1579--Buchanan had\ngiven a proof to the world that he was not likely to be bribed or bought,\nby publishing a book, as offensive probably to Queen Elizabeth as it was\nto his own royal pupil; namely, his famous \"De Jure Regni apud Scotos,\"\nthe very primer, according to many great thinkers, of constitutional\nliberty.  He dedicates that book to King James, \"not only as his monitor,\nbut also as an importunate and bold exactor, which in these his tender\nand flexible years may conduct him in safety past the rocks of flattery.\"\nHe has complimented James already on his abhorrence of flattery, \"his\ninclination far above his years for undertaking all heroical and noble\nattempts, his promptitude in obeying his instructors and governors, and\nall who give him sound admonition, and his judgment and diligence in\nexamining affairs, so that no man's authority can have much weight with\nhim unless it be confirmed by probable reasons.\"  Buchanan may have\nthought that nine years of his stern rule had eradicated some of James's\nill conditions; the petulance which made him kill the Master of Mar's\nsparrow, in trying to wrest it out of his hand; the carelessness with\nwhich--if the story told by Chytraeus, on the authority of Buchanan's\nnephew, be true--James signed away his crown to Buchanan for fifteen\ndays, and only discovered his mistake by seeing Bachanan act in open\ncourt the character of King of Scots.  Buchanan had at last made him a\nscholar; he may have fancied that he had made him likewise a manful man:\nyet he may have dreaded that, as James grew up, the old inclinations\nwould return in stronger and uglier shapes, and that flattery might be,\nas it was after all, the cause of James's moral ruin.  He at least will\nbe no flatterer.  He opens the dialogue which he sends to the king, with\na calm but distinct assertion of his mother's guilt, and a justification\nof the conduct of men who were now most of them past helping Buchanan,\nfor they were laid in their graves; and then goes on to argue fairly, but\nto lay down firmly, in a sort of Socratic dialogue, those very principles\nby loyalty to which the House of Hanover has reigned, and will reign,\nover these realms.  So with his History of Scotland; later antiquarian\nresearches have destroyed the value of the earlier portions of it: but\nthey have surely increased the value of those later portions, in which\nBuchanan inserted so much which he had already spoken out in his\nDetection of Mary.  In that book also _liberavit animam suam_; he spoke\nhis mind fearless of consequences, in the face of a king who he must have\nknown--for Buchanan was no dullard--regarded him with deep dislike, who\nmight in a few years be able to work his ruin.\n\nBut those few years were not given to Buchanan.  He had all but done his\nwork, and he hastened to get it over before the night should come wherein\nno man can work.  One must be excused for telling--one would not tell it\nin a book intended to be read only by Scotsmen, who know or ought to know\nthe tale already--how the two Melvilles and Buchanan's nephew Thomas went\nto see him in Edinburgh, in September, 1581, hearing that he was ill, and\nhis History still in the press; and how they found the old sage, true to\nhis schoolmaster's instincts, teaching the Hornbook to his servant-lad;\nand how he told them that doing that was \"better than stealing sheep, or\nsitting idle, which was as bad,\" and showed them that dedication to James\nI., in which he holds up to his imitation as a hero whose equal was\nhardly to be found in history, that very King David whose liberality to\nthe Romish Church provoked James's witticism that \"David was a sair saint\nfor the crown.\"  Andrew Melville, so James Melville says, found fault\nwith the style.  Buchanan replied that he could do no more for thinking\nof another thing, which was to die.  They then went to Arbuthnot's\nprinting-house, and inspected the history, as far as that terrible\npassage concerning Rizzio's burial, where Mary is represented as \"laying\nthe miscreant almost in the arms of Maud de Valois, the late queen.\"\nAlarmed, and not without reason, at such plain speaking, they stopped the\npress, and went back to Buchanan's house.  Buchanan was in bed.  \"He was\ngoing,\" he said, \"the way of welfare.\"  They asked him to soften the\npassage; the king might prohibit the whole work.  \"Tell me, man,\" said\nBuchanan, \"if I have told the truth.\"  They could not, or would not, deny\nit.  \"Then I will abide his feud, and all his kin's; pray, pray to God\nfor me, and let Him direct all.\"  \"So,\" says Melville, \"before the\nprinting of his chronicle was ended, this most learned, wise, and godly\nman ended his mortal life.\"\n\nCamden has a hearsay story--written, it must be remembered, in James I.'s\ntime--that Buchanan, on his death-bed, repented of his harsh words\nagainst Queen Mary; and an old Lady Rosyth is said to have said that when\nshe was young a certain David Buchanan recollected hearing some such\nwords from George Buchanan's own mouth.  Those who will, may read what\nRuddiman and Love have said, and oversaid, on both sides of the question:\nwhatever conclusion they come to, it will probably not be that to which\nGeorge Chalmers comes in his life of Ruddiman: that \"Buchanan, like other\nliars, who, by the repetition of falsehoods are induced to consider the\nfiction as truth, had so often dwelt with complacency on the forgeries of\nhis Detections, and the figments of his History, that he at length\nregarded his fictions and his forgeries as most authentic facts.\"\n\nAt all events his fictions and his forgeries had not paid him in that\ncoin which base men generally consider the only coin worth having,\nnamely, the good things of this life.  He left nothing behind him--if at\nleast Dr. Irving has rightly construed the \"Testament Dative\" which he\ngives in his appendix--save arrears to the sum of 100 pounds of his\nCrossraguel pension.  We may believe as we choose the story in\nMackenzie's \"Scotch Writers\" that when he felt himself dying, he asked\nhis servant Young about the state of his funds, and finding he had not\nenough to bury himself withal, ordered what he had to be given to the\npoor, and said that if they did not choose to bury him they might let him\nlie where he was, or cast him in a ditch, the matter was very little to\nhim.  He was buried, it seems, at the expense of the city of Edinburgh,\nin the Greyfriars' Churchyard--one says in a plain turf grave--among the\nmarble monuments which covered the bones of worse or meaner men; and\nwhether or not the \"Throughstone\" which, \"sunk under the ground in the\nGreyfriars,\" was raised and cleaned by the Council of Edinburgh in 1701,\nwas really George Buchanan's, the reigning powers troubled themselves\nlittle for several generations where he lay.\n\nFor Buchanan's politics were too advanced for his age.  Not only Catholic\nScotsmen, like Blackwood, Winzet, and Ninian, but Protestants, like Sir\nThomas Craig and Sir John Wemyss, could not stomach the \"De Jure Regni.\"\nThey may have had some reason on their side.  In the then anarchic state\nof Scotland, organisation and unity under a common head may have been\nmore important than the assertion of popular rights.  Be that as it may,\nin 1584, only two years after his death, the Scots Parliament condemned\nhis Dialogue and History as untrue, and commanded all possessors of\ncopies to deliver them up, that they might be purged of \"the offensive\nand extraordinary matters\" which they contained.  The \"De Jure Regni\" was\nagain prohibited in Scotland, in 1664, even in manuscript; and in 1683,\nthe whole of Buchanan's political works had the honour of being burned by\nthe University of Oxford, in company with those of Milton, Languet, and\nothers, as \"pernicious books, and damnable doctrines, destructive to the\nsacred persons of Princes, their state and government, and of all human\nsociety.\"  And thus the seed which Buchanan had sown, and Milton had\nwatered--for the allegation that Milton borrowed from Buchanan is\nprobably true, and equally honourable to both--lay trampled into the\nearth, and seemingly lifeless, till it tillered out, and blossomed, and\nbore fruit to a good purpose, in the Revolution of 1688.\n\nTo Buchanan's clear head and stout heart, Scotland owes, as England owes\nlikewise, much of her modern liberty.  But Scotland's debt to him, it\nseems to me, is even greater on the count of morality, public and\nprivate.  What the morality of the Scotch upper classes was like, in\nBuchanan's early days, is too notorious; and there remains proof\nenough--in the writings, for instance, of Sir David Lindsay--that the\nmorality of the populace, which looked up to the nobles as its example\nand its guide, was not a whit better.  As anarchy increased, immorality\nwas likely to increase likewise; and Scotland was in serious danger of\nfalling into such a state as that into which Poland fell, to its ruin,\nwithin a hundred and fifty years after; in which the savagery of\nfeudalism, without its order or its chivalry, would be varnished over by\na thin coating of French \"civilisation,\" and, as in the case of Bothwell,\nthe vices of the court of Paris should be added to those of the Northern\nfreebooter.  To deliver Scotland from that ruin, it was needed that she\nshould be united into one people, strong, not in mere political, but in\nmoral ideas; strong by the clear sense of right and wrong, by the belief\nin the government and the judgments of a living God.  And the tone which\nBuchanan, like Knox, adopted concerning the great crimes of their day,\nhelped notably that national salvation.  It gathered together, organised,\nstrengthened, the scattered and wavering elements of public morality.  It\nassured the hearts of all men who loved the right and hated the wrong;\nand taught a whole nation to call acts by their just names, whoever might\nbe the doers of them.  It appealed to the common conscience of men.  It\nproclaimed a universal and God-given morality, a bar at which all, from\nthe lowest to the highest, must alike be judged.\n\nThe tone was stern: but there was need of sternness.  Moral life and\ndeath were in the balance.  If the Scots people were to be told that the\ncrimes which roused their indignation were excusable, or beyond\npunishment, or to be hushed up and slipped over in any way, there was an\nend of morality among them.  Every man, from the greatest to the least,\nwould go and do likewise, according to his powers of evil.  That method\nwas being tried in France, and in Spain likewise, during those very\nyears.  Notorious crimes were hushed up under pretence of loyalty;\nexcused as political necessities; smiled away as natural and pardonable\nweaknesses.  The result was the utter demoralisation, both of France and\nSpain.  Knox and Buchanan, the one from the standpoint of an old Hebrew\nprophet, the other rather from that of a Juvenal or a Tacitus, tried the\nother method, and called acts by their just names, appealing alike to\nconscience and to God.  The result was virtue and piety, and that manly\nindependence of soul which is thought compatible with hearty loyalty, in\na country labouring under heavy disadvantages, long divided almost into\ntwo hostile camps, two rival races.\n\nAnd the good influence was soon manifest, not only in those who sided\nwith Buchanan and his friends, but in those who most opposed them.  The\nRoman Catholic preachers, who at first asserted Mary's right to impurity\nwhile they allowed her guilt, grew silent for shame, and set themselves\nto assert her entire innocence; while the Scots who have followed their\nexample have, to their honour, taken up the same ground.  They have\nfought Buchanan on the ground of fact, not on the ground of morality:\nthey have alleged--as they had a fair right to do--the probability of\nintrigue and forgery in an age so profligate: the improbability that a\nQueen so gifted by nature and by fortune, and confessedly for a long\nwhile so strong and so spotless, should as it were by a sudden insanity\nhave proved so untrue to herself.  Their noblest and purest sympathies\nhave been enlisted--and who can blame them?--in loyalty to a Queen,\nchivalry to a woman, pity for the unfortunate and--as they conceived--the\ninnocent; but whether they have been right or wrong in their view of\nfacts, the Scotch partisans of Mary have always--as far as I know--been\nright in their view of morals; they have never deigned to admit Mary's\nguilt, and then to palliate it by those sentimental, or rather sensual,\ntheories of human nature, too common in a certain school of French\nliterature, too common, alas! in a certain school of modern English\nnovels.  They have not said, \"She did it; but after all, was the deed so\nvery inexcusable?\"  They have said, \"The deed was inexcusable: but she\ndid not do it.\"  And so the Scotch admirers of Mary, who have numbered\namong them many a pure and noble, as well as many a gifted spirit, have\nkept at least themselves unstained; and have shown, whether consciously\nor not, that they too share in that sturdy Scotch moral sense which has\nbeen so much strengthened--as I believe by the plain speech of good old\nGeorge Buchanan.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n{1}  This lecture was delivered in America in 1874.\n\n{2}  Black, translator of Mallett's \"Northern Antiquities,\" Supplementary\nChapter I., and Rafn's \"Antiquitates Americanae.\"\n\n{3}  On the Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz.\n\n{4}  This lecture was given in America in 1874.\n\n{5}  This lecture was given in America in 1874.\n\n{6}  This lecture and the two preceding ones, being published after the\nauthor's death, have not had the benefit of his corrections.\n\n{7}  A Life of Rondelet, by his pupil Laurent Joubert, is to be found\nappended to his works; and with an account of his illness and death, by\nhis cousin, Claude Formy, which is well worth the perusal of any man,\nwise or foolish.  Many interesting details beside, I owe to the courtesy\nof Professor Planchon, of Montpellier, author of a discourse on \"Rondelet\net vies Disciples,\" which appeared, with a learned and curious Appendix,\nin the \"Montpellier Medical\" for 1866.\n\n{8}  This lecture was given at Cambridge in 1869.\n\n{9}  This lecture was given at Cambridge in 1869.\n\n{10}  I owe this account of Bloet's--which appears to me the only one\ntrustworthy--to the courtesy and erudition of Professor Henry Morley, who\nfinds it quoted from Bloet's \"Acroama,\" in the \"Observationum Medicarum\nRariorum,\" lib. vii., of John Theodore Schenk.  Those who wish to know\nseveral curious passages of Vesalius's life, which I have not inserted in\nthis article, would do well to consult one by Professor Morley, \"Anatomy\nin Long Clothes,\" in \"Fraser's Magazine\" for November, 1853.  May I\nexpress a hope, which I am sure will be shared by all who have read\nProfessor Morley's biographies of Jerome Carden and of Cornelius Agrippa,\nthat he will find leisure to return to the study of Vesalius's life; and\nwill do for him what he has done for the two just-mentioned writers?\n\n{11}  Olivarez's \"Relacion\" is to be found in the Granvelle State Papers.\nFor the general account of Don Carlos's illness, and of the miraculous\nagencies by which his cure was said to have been effected, the general\nreader should consult Miss Frere's \"Biography of Elizabeth of Valois,\"\nvol. i. pp. 307-19.\n\n{12}  In justice to poor Doctor Olivarez, it must be said that, while he\nallows all force to the intercession of the Virgin and of Fray Diego, and\nof \"many just persons,\" he cannot allow that there was any \"miracle\nproperly so called,\" because the prince was cured according to \"natural\norder,\" and by \"experimental remedies\" of the physicians.\n\n{13}  This lecture was given at Cambridge in 1869, and has not had the\nbenefit of the author's corrections for the press.\n\n{14}  Delrio's book, a famous one in its day, was published about 1612.\n\n{15}  For a true estimate of Paracelsus you must read \"Fur Philippus\nAureolus Theophrarstus von Hohenheim,\" by that great German physician and\nsavant, Professor Marx, of Gottiingen; also a valuable article founded on\nDr. Marx's views in the \"Nouveau Biographie Universelle;\" and also--which\nis within the reach of all--Professor Maurice's article on Paracelsus in\nVol.  II. of his history of \"Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy.\"  But the\nbest key to Paracelsus is to be found in his own works.\n\n{16}  So says Dr. Irving, writing in 1817.  I have, however, tried in\nvain to get a sight of this book.  I need not tell Scotch scholars how\nmuch I am indebted throughout this article to Mr. David Irving's erudite\nsecond edition of Buchanan's Life.\n\n{17}  From the quaint old translation of 1721, by \"A Person of Honour of\nthe Kingdom of Scotland.\"\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by David Starner, Martin Pettit and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nbook was produced from images made available by the\nHathiTrust Digital Library.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCOMRADE YETTA\n\n[Illustration: Logo]\n\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\nNEW YORK . BOSTON . CHICAGO\nDALLAS . SAN FRANCISCO\n\nMACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED\nLONDON . BOMBAY . CALCUTTA\nMELBOURNE\n\nTHE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.\nTORONTO\n\n\n\n\nCOMRADE YETTA\n\nBY\nALBERT EDWARDS\nAUTHOR OF \"A MAN'S WORLD\"\n\nNew York\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n1913\n\n_All rights reserved_\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1918,\nBY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.\n\nSet up and electrotyped. Published February, 1913.\n\nNorwood Press\nJ. B. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.\nNorwood, Mass., U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nBOOK I\n\nCHAPTER                                PAGE\n     I. BENJAMIN'S BOOK-STORE             1\n\n    II. YETTA'S GIRLHOOD                 12\n\n   III. THE SWEAT-SHOP                   23\n\n    IV. LIFE CALLS                       34\n\n     V. HARRY KLEIN                      48\n\n    VI. THE PIT'S EDGE                   60\n\n\nBOOK II\n\n   VII. THE SKIRT-FINISHERS' BALL        75\n\n  VIII. NEW FRIENDS                      89\n\n    IX. YETTA ENLISTS                   106\n\n     X. THE W. T. U. L.                 122\n\n    XI. MABEL'S FLAT                    131\n\n   XII. YETTA'S GOOD-BY                 142\n\n\nBOOK III\n\n  XIII. THE STRIKE                      153\n\n   XIV. ARREST                          166\n\n    XV. THE WORKHOUSE                   185\n\n   XVI. CARNEGIE HALL                   199\n\n  XVII. THE OPERATING ROOM              216\n\n XVIII. WALTER'S FAREWELL               226\n\n\nBOOK IV\n\n   XIX. YETTA'S WORK                    243\n\n    XX. ISADORE BRAUN                   263\n\n   XXI. _THE STAR_                      274\n\n  XXII. WALTER'S RETURN                 295\n\n XXIII. THE PALACE OF DREAMS            312\n\n  XXIV. THE CRASH                       330\n\n\nBOOK V\n\n   XXV. ISADORE'S MEDICINE              344\n\n  XXVI. _THE CLARION_                   356\n\n XXVII. NEW WORK                        370\n\nXXVIII. YETTA TAKES HOLD                383\n\n  XXIX. WALTER'S HAVEN                  401\n\n   XXX. EVALUATION                      409\n\n  XXXI. YETTA FINDS HERSELF             423\n\n XXXII. OLD FRIENDS MEET--AND PART      435\n\n\n\n\nCOMRADE YETTA\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nBENJAMIN'S BOOK-STORE\n\n\nThe girlhood of Yetta Rayefsky was passed in her father's second-hand\nbook-store on East Broadway. In the late nineties the fame of his kindly\nphilosophy had attracted a circle of followers, and the store became\nalmost prosperous.\n\nIt was in a basement--four steps down from the sidewalk. The\nclose-packed cases around the walls were filled with the wildest\nassortment of second-hand English books. You were likely to find a novel\nof Laura Jean Libby cheek by jowl with \"The Book of Mormon,\" between two\nvolumes of \"Browning's Poems.\" The tables in the centre were piled\nchaotically with books and periodicals in Russian and Hebrew.\n\nEvery night in the week you would have found Benjamin Rayefsky and his\nlittle daughter Yetta perched on high stools back of the desk to the\nleft of the door. He would have greeted you with his sad, wistful smile,\nand would have gotten down to shake hands with you. It would have\nsurprised and hurt him if you had asked at once for a book, paid for it,\nand gone out. It was customary to take plenty of time and to make quite\nsure that he did not have in stock some book you would prefer to the one\nyou had come after.\n\nWhen he had succeeded in making you feel at home, he would have returned\nto his desk, and Yetta would have gone on reading aloud to him. Very\nlikely you would have wanted to laugh at the discussions they had over\nhow various English words should be pronounced. When they could not\nagree, Benjamin would write down the word on a slip of paper for Yetta\nto take to school in the morning and submit to the teacher. You would\nhave wondered with amusement how much the little lassie understood of\nthe ponderous tomes she read in her high-pitched uncertain voice.\n\nBut you would not have wanted to laugh at the memory you carried away of\nthe couple. More than one Gentile who had dropped into the store by\nchance went away racking their brains to recall the Holy Picture the\nRayefskys suggested. It was what the psychologists call \"inverse\nassociation.\" The Father and Daughter inevitably called to mind the\nMother and Son.\n\nBenjamin resembled--except for an ugly scar on his forehead--Guido\nReni's \"Christ.\" There was the same poignant sadness about his mouth,\nthe same soft beard and sensitive nose; there was the same otherworldly\nkindliness in his eyes and his every gesture. And little Yetta was very\nlike the Child Mary in Titian's \"Presentation.\"\n\nTowards nine o'clock the little shop began to fill up. First of the\nregulars was a consumptive lad whose attention had been caught by an\nadvertisement asserting that a certain encyclopaedia was worth a\nuniversity education. Lacking money to go to college or to acquire so\nlarge a set of books, he was reading one of these compendiums in\nRayefsky's Book-store. He had reached the letter \"R,\" and considered\nhimself a junior. There were others who came for regular reading, but\nmore came to talk--and to listen to Benjamin. At ten he would close\nYetta's book and, putting his arm about her shoulders, begin his evening\ndiscourse. Generally his text was some phrase from his reading which had\nimpressed him during the day. Before long the little girl's eyes would\nclose and her head fall over on her father's shoulder.\n\nBut one night he kept her awake. There was a wedding in progress across\nthe street. It was his custom to talk directly to some one person of his\naudience, and this night he addressed himself to Yetta. With poetic\nimagination he paraphrased the idyll of Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz, making of\nthe story an interpretation of marriage for his daughter's guidance.\nSome time in the years to come a Man would claim her, and against that\ntime he taught her the vow that Ruth made to Naomi.\n\n\"Whither thou goest, I will go; where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy\npeople shall be my people, and thy God my God: where thou diest will I\ndie, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if\naught but death part thee and me.\"\n\nHe made her repeat the vow over and over again in Hebrew until she knew\nit by heart.\n\n\"It is with these words, my daughter,\" he said, \"that you must greet the\nBridegroom.\"\n\nMuch of the gentle wisdom which her father preached to the little\nshopful of listeners Yetta did not fully understand. But for nine\nyears, from the time she was six till she reached fifteen, it was the\nlullaby to which, every night, she fell asleep, perched on her high\nstool, her head on his shoulder. Much of it sank in.\n\nThis is to be the story of how little Yetta Rayefsky grew up into useful\nhappiness. But her father's influence was the thing, more than all else,\nthat differentiated her from thousands of other East Side girls. Without\nBenjamin's story, hers would be incomprehensible.\n\nHis father had been a man of means in the Russian town of Kovna. But\nBenjamin, the only son, had no talent for trade; he was of the type of\nJews who dream. And he loved books. The library facilities of the Kovna\nGhetto were limited, but he read everything on which he could lay hands.\nFrom his youth up he knew and loved the Psalms and the more poetic\nsections of the Prophets. The age-old beauty of the Hebrew literature\nwas a never failing spring at which he refreshed his soul. He had also\nread the novels of Gogol, Korolenko, and Dostoiefsky, and the few books\nhe could find on history and science.\n\nA strange sort of cosmography had grown out of this ill-assorted\nreading. He took the Prophecies seriously and looked forward with\nabiding faith to the coming of the Kingdom of God on earth. Like most\ndeeply religious people he was not strictly orthodox. He scrupulously\nobserved the forms of Hebraic ritualism, but his real inspiration came\nfrom King David rather than from scribes who compiled the Talmud or the\nRabbis who minutely interpreted the Torah. He had much sympathy with the\nZionists, for they also had ardent faith in the Promises, but he took no\ninterest in the geographical aspects of their aspirations. The Messiah,\nwhen he came, would establish His reign over all the earth. He also\nbelieved, as did the Zionists, that the Jews were the light-bearers of\nthe human family, but he considered them a People chosen for special\nservice--not for peculiar favors.\n\nAdded to this hoary mysticism was a very disjointed idea of world's\nhistory and a crude conception of Evolution. He believed that God's\npurpose with the Race was being worked out through the development of\nDemocracy--which he understood to be another word for loving-kindness\nand brotherhood. He had never seen Democracy. He knew nothing of the\ncrimes committed in its name; he had no conception of the modern\nPlutocracy, which is everywhere in a life-and-death struggle with\nDemocracy--and as often as not seems to be winning the fight.\n\nThis vague idealization of Democracy was stimulated by the rare letters\nfrom his sister Martha in New York. While Benjamin was still a lad she\nhad married David Goldstein, a ne'er-do-weel of the community, and with\nher dowry they had emigrated. The poor woman could hardly be blamed if\nshe hid from her family the cruel realities of her life. She wrote what\nshe thought would please them. As her imagination was limited, she\nborrowed her metaphors from the Scriptures and had milk and honey\nflowing down the Bowery. Benjamin often illuminated his talks on the\nPromised Land by references to the freedom and justice of America. It\nwas not hard for him to believe in a Utopia. It did not seem too much to\nask that all men should be as unselfish and gentle as himself.\n\nLiving thus in his dreams he grew to manhood. In the early twenties he\nmarried. His wife, fortunately, had common sense enough for two, and\nprotected his patrimony from waste. The first child they named Benjamin,\nand a few years later Yetta was born.\n\nThe father held a privileged position in the Jewish community. His pure,\nunworldly life, his ever ready sympathy, his learning and homely wisdom,\nhad earned him the rank of a saint. There were some, of course, who\nshook their heads over his dreamings. With so much money to start with,\nthey said, he might have become rich--perhaps a \"merchant of the first\nclass.\" But every one loved him. The women came to him with their\ntroubles, and even the busiest, most careworn men liked to sit for a\nwhile and hear him recite the sonorous prophecies and talk of the\nKingdom which is to come.\n\nIt was in 1890 that Benjamin and his daughter were torn loose from their\nanchorage. The affair lacked the proportions of the later and more\nformal Jew-killings of Kishineff and Odessa. The cause of the outbreak\nwas never explained, but we, who lynch <DW64>s on so slight provocation,\nmay not throw stones. Unexpectedly a mob--the scum of the Christian\nquarter--rushed into the Ghetto. At first they were intent on loot, but\nthe hooligans had had to drink much vodka to generate sufficient courage\nto attack the defenceless Jews. Passions so stimulated cannot be\ncontrolled, and soon the mob was engaged in murder and rape. Benjamin\nwent out on the street to reason with them. They left him for dead.\n\nIt was several weeks before he regained his consciousness. An ugly scar\nstretched from above his left eye to his ear. Many of his friends held\nthat he never quite recovered from that wound, for as long as he lived\nhe sometimes spoke of his wife and his son Benjamin as though they were\nstill alive. But such lapses of memory happened rarely; generally he\nremembered that they had been buried while he was in the hospital. He\nhad only Yetta left. He would surely have gone mad if he had lived on\namong the memories of Kovna. So he had emigrated to join his sister in\nthe Happy Valley of America.\n\nThere was wonderful vitality to Benjamin's dreams. Even the tangible\nrealities of Orchard Street could not obliterate them.\n\nMany hideous things which he saw he did not understand. Among such\nphenomena was his brother-in-law. In the social organization of the\nKovna Ghetto, David Goldstein had found no place. The opportunities for\nviciousness were too limited for him; he had been only a shiftless\nmisfit. But on the East Side of New York his distorted talents found a\nmarket. He had sold them to Tammany Hall. His wife's money had been\nwasted in a legitimate business enterprise for which he had no fitness.\nA defalcation had caused his arrest, the District Leader had saved him\nfrom jail, and David found the niche into which he fitted. He was\nnominal owner of The Sioux Hotel--a saloon of the worst repute. The\nprofits of vice are large, but those \"higher up\" always claim the lion's\nshare. And as David had taken to drink--a rare vice among the Jews--his\nwife and her three children were having a very miserable time of it.\n\nPerhaps it was the wound across his forehead which made it difficult for\nBenjamin to see clearly. About all he seemed to realize was that his\nsister could not afford to live comfortably. He had brought with him a\nfew thousand dollars, the wreck of his father's fortune, and, by\noffering to pay liberally for a room and board, he enabled his sister to\nmove into a better flat and so dulled the edge of her poverty. Some\ninstinctive wisdom made him resist David's impassioned appeals to invest\nhis money in The Sioux Hotel.\n\nBut he was no more of a business man than his brother-in-law, and before\nlong, seduced by his passion for reading, he was persuaded to buy the\nsecond-hand book-store.\n\nIt was a dark basement. There were only a few hours a day when one could\nread, even in the front, without a lamp. But it was Yetta's home. To be\nsure, she and her father slept at the Goldstein's flat and had breakfast\nthere. But by seven they were in the book-store. For lunch they had tea\nand buns from the coffee-house upstairs, and at six o'clock Yetta\nbrought their dinner from her aunt's in a pail. At first the place had\nseemed to Yetta very large, and the darkness in the back limitless and\nfearsome. Once, when her father had gone back there and she could not\nsee him, she had become frightened and called him. He, laughing at her\ntimidity, had taken her in his arms and they had explored all the dark\ncorners by candle-light. She always remembered the sense of relief which\nhad come to her when she realized how small it was.\n\nBenjamin was thirty-four when this change in his life took place. With\nhis scholarly turn of mind, it did not take him long to learn to read\nEnglish fluently. But in his store on East Broadway he had little chance\nto speak the new language. Few of his customers spoke anything but\nRussian or Yiddish. Yetta always found it hard not to pronounce \"book\"\n\"buk.\" This was the first word her father taught her. He was an\ninsistent teacher. He realized his own inability to become an active\nunit in the seething, incomprehensible life about him. His explorations\nof the new world were meagre. He was tied to the store except on\nSaturday afternoons, and he could not desecrate the Sabbath by trolley\nrides. The poverty and misery which he could not ignore, he thought of\nas local. The unhappy lot of his people was due to their ignorance,\ntheir inability to understand the new language, their age-old habits of\nsemiserfdom. But with Yetta it was to be different! She was to be fitted\nfor full participation in the rich life of perfect freedom. He put\nespecial emphasis on the language.\n\nThere were few things which made him outspokenly angry. The principal\nones were the Jewish papers. Yiddish was to him the language of the\nKovna Ghetto, the language of persecutions and pogroms. The pure Hebrew\nof the Scriptures--Yes!--he would have every child of the Race know\nthat. He taught it to Yetta. It was the reservoir of all the rich\ntraditions and richer promises. But Yiddish was a bastard jargon which\nhis people had learned in captivity. It held no treasures of the past,\nno future hope. Let his people supplement the language of their\nforefathers by one of freedom. Let them learn the speech of the land of\nRefuge. His contempt for Yiddish, of course, isolated him from\neverything vital in the life of the East Side, and drove him back\nfarther into his dreams and to Yetta.\n\nAs soon as she was old enough she went to the closely packed public\nschool near by. While she was away, he read hungrily. He had cleared a\nshelf in the darkest corner of the store, and there he put by all the\nbooks which pleased him--those he wanted her to read when she grew old\nenough. They were not for sale. Yetta got very little play during her\nchildhood. Back in the store, after school hours, she perched up on a\nhigh stool beside her father and went over her lessons with him.\n\nAt the end of the first year Benjamin's bank account had decreased by\nfive hundred dollars. It had been a rare month when the total sales had\nequalled the month's rent and living expenses. But he was not depressed.\nA customer asked him one time about his business.\n\n\"Although I do not sell many books,\" Benjamin replied, \"I have much time\nto read.\"\n\nThe second year would have been worse except for the lucky chance which\nsecured him the agency for some Russian newspapers and considerably\nincreased his income. If he had not so stubbornly refused to have\nanything to do with Yiddish, the store might have become prosperous, for\nhe gradually learned the business and grew to use some judgment in\nreplenishing his stock. His quaint philosophy attracted a little group\nof admirers. Even if they did not entirely accept his dreams, they liked\nto hear him talk about them.\n\nIn this environment Yetta grew into girlhood. Every day when her school\nwork was finished she read aloud to her father from the books he had\nplaced on the reserved shelf. It was a planless mixture--a History of\nthe Jews, Motley and Prescott, Shakespeare and Dickens and Emerson.\n\nThe last thing she read to him was a three-volume edition of _Les\nMiserables_. She was fifteen then, and her reading was frequently\ninterrupted by his coughs. Perhaps he had caught it from the lad who was\nracing with death to graduate from the Encyclopedia. Benjamin's friends\nshook their heads mournfully. But he expected to recover soon; was he\nnot taking his \"patent medicine\" regularly? And so to the wonderful\nsymphony of Hugo's masterpiece Benjamin coughed out his life. The third\nvolume was read, not in the little store, but in their bedroom in the\nGoldstein's flat. It was the last book Yetta read for several years.\nWhen it was finished, she had begun to be afraid; she did not have the\ncourage to begin a new book. He was too sick to listen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nYETTA'S GIRLHOOD\n\n\nThe death of her father was a greater catastrophe to Yetta than she\nrealized. She felt only the personal loss. Her uncle took care of the\nfinancial matters, sold the book-store, and so forth. When the funeral\nexpenses were paid, he said there was nothing left. Coming back from the\ncemetery, her aunt, in as kindly a manner as was possible to so\nwoe-begone and soured a woman, tried to explain to her what it meant to\nbe penniless. Leave school? Go to work? She hardly listened. Her sorrow\nwas too real, too wild and incoherent.\n\nThe Goldsteins had three children. Isaac was eighteen. Two years before\nhe had graduated from the House of Refuge--a pickpocket of parts. He had\nhis ups and downs, but on the whole he found money \"easy,\" and hardly a\nweek passed when he did not hand his mother a few dollars.\n\nThe twin daughters of sixteen were working and brought their wages home.\nRosa was anaemic, querulous, and unattractive. She worked \"bei\nbuttonholes.\" A slight curvature of the spine, which had become apparent\nin her childhood, had developed into a pitiful deformity after the years\nbent over a machine. Rachel had monopolized all the charms of health\nand good spirits which should have been divided between them. Her face\nlooked much younger than Rosa's, but her body had developed into a\npleasing womanhood which had been entirely denied her sister. She was\nnot beautiful, but she was red blooded, merry, and likable. She was a\nmilliner and earned twice as much as Rosa.\n\nSo the Goldsteins should have been fairly prosperous, but the father's\ncraving for alcohol had grown more rapidly than the earning capacity of\nhis children. Poverty had weighed too heavily on Mrs. Goldstein to allow\nher to tolerate an idler, and besides she had always looked with\ndisapproval on Yetta's unwomanly education. It seemed almost impious to\nher to have a girl in school. She had perjured herself blissfully about\nthe age of her own daughters to avoid the Truant Officer. For a few days\nthe family left Yetta alone in her room to cry. Then they jerked her out\nof the stupor of her grief, and threw her into the cauldron of modern\nindustry.\n\nRachel had seen a sign which advertised the need of \"beginners\" in the\nVest Trade. Yetta followed her docilely up two flights of dirty stairs\ninto a long work-room, which had been made by knocking the partitions\nout of a tenement-house flat. It was a gloomy place, for the side\nwindows were faced by a dingy brick wall three feet away. The end\nwindows looked out on Allen Street. The tracks of the elevated were on a\nlevel with the floor, and every few minutes the light which might have\nbeen expected from this quarter was cut off by the rush of a train.\nArtificial illumination was needed all the year round.\n\nIn the street below children shouted and cried; pushcart peddlers\nhawked their wares in strident, rasping voices; heavy trucks, loaded\nwith clattering milk-cans, rattled deafeningly over the cobblestones.\nThe chaos of noise caught in the narrow canon of the street seemed to\nunaccustomed ears a pandemonium which must be audible in high heaven.\n\nBut none of this noise entered the long dark room two flights up. At one\nend of the shop a cheap electric motor threw its energy into two\nrevolving shafts along the ceiling; these in turn passed it down a maze\nof roaring belts to a dozen sewing-machines--all twelve going at top\nspeed. It sounded as if no one of the many bearings in the room had been\noiled, as if each of the innumerable cogs in the machines were a misfit.\nThe sound seemed like a tangible substance which could be felt. There\nwas no room left in the shop for the noises of the street. If Gabriel\nhad blown his horn on the sidewalk below, the silent women bent over the\nspeeding machines would not have heard--they would have missed the\nResurrection.\n\nDazed by this strange and fearsome environment, Yetta caught tight hold\nof her cousin's hand. But Rachel, the adventurous, would not have been\ndismayed in Daniel's den of lions. She boldly led the way into the\n\"office.\" Half a dozen women, all older, were already in line. The\nboss--a rotund, narrow-eyed man--was looking them over. But as soon as\nhe saw the young girls he lost interest in the women.\n\n\"This is my cousin, Yetta Rayefsky,\" Rachel said. \"She'd make a good\nbeginner.\"\n\n\"Afraid of work?\" he asked gruffly.\n\nYetta was speechlessly afraid of everything. But Rachel answered for\nher--a flood of extravagant, high-pitched eulogy.\n\n\"One dollar a week, while she's learning. Regular piece price when she\ngets a machine.\"\n\nOne of the older women, seeing the hopelessness of her own\nsituation,--all the bosses preferred youth,--began to wail.\n\n\"Shut up!\" the boss growled. \"I will take the girl. Get out, all of\nyou.\"\n\nSo Yetta was employed. At first the work consisted of carrying, piling,\nand wrapping bundles of vests. The loads were very heavy for her\nunpractised back. But she managed to live through the first day, and the\nnext, and gradually got used to it. After a long wait she was put at a\nmachine.\n\nEven in such grossly mechanical work as sweat-shop labor, brains and\nyouth count. Yetta's fingers were still plastic. Before long she had\nmastered the routine movements. Above all, she proved quicker than the\nother women in such emergencies as a broken thread. In less time than\nusual she worked to the top and became the \"speeder,\" drawing almost\ndouble pay.\n\nDuring the years which followed, while all that part of her brain which\nhad to do with manual dexterity was keenly alive, the rest--the part of\nher brain in which her father had been interested--went to sleep. It was\ninevitable. Perhaps if she had been older when the crisis came, she\nmight have made a struggle against her environment. She might have\nresisted her weariness for an hour or so after she came home, might have\npropped her eyes open and continued her studies, but she was only\nfifteen.\n\nAt first, while still a \"beginner,\" her earnings were so small that\nthere was some measure of charity in her aunt's sheltering of her. She\nwas constantly reminded of the need of increasing her wages. But before\nthis incentive had passed, before her pay began to amount to a fair\ncharge for her board and lodging, before her spirit had recovered from\nthe lethargy which had followed the loss of her father, she had been\ntaken captive by \"Speed.\" It was the keynote of her waking life. Every\ndetail of the sweat-shop, the talk of her table mates, the groaning song\nof the belts--even the vitiated air--were \"suggestions\" beating in on\nher plastic consciousness, urging ever increasing rapidity.\n\nIt had become a habit for her to hand over all her wages to her aunt.\nShe had her father's lack of guile and less experience. The bedroom\nwhich Benjamin had shared with his daughter was rented to a stranger.\nYetta had to sleep in the same bed with the twins. She had to wear their\noutgrown clothes. But even if she had realized how little she was\ngetting in exchange for her wages, she would not have had the courage to\ngo out among strangers. And she had not sufficient energy--after all the\nmachine took--to argue about it with her bitter, hardened aunt.\n\nThe drab monotony of her sweat-shop life was unbroken. The bosses\nchanged frequently. So did the workers. But the process was\nunchanged--except that each new boss shaved the price per piece and\npushed up the rate of speed. And then, after three years, a little\nflickering gleam of sunshine fell on Yetta's face. Rachel went to a\nball.\n\nMrs. Goldstein objected to \"dance-halls\" because she was old fashioned\nand knew nothing about them. Mr. Goldstein objected because he knew them\nall too well. So when Rachel announced one night at supper that she was\ngoing to \"The Mask and Civic Ball of the Hester Street Democratic Club,\"\na storm broke loose. Mr. Goldstein--none too gently--threw his daughter\ninto the bedroom and locked the door. Later in the evening he came home\na shade more drunk than usual. Smashing some furniture to wake the\nhousehold, he delivered a speech on the text of female respectability\nand where he would rather see his daughter than in a dance-hall. The\n\"grave\" was the least unattractive place he mentioned. Rachel seemed to\ngive in before the family wrath.\n\nBut in her trade there were frequent rush periods when it was necessary\nto work after supper. One night she came home unusually late. As soon as\nshe had put out the light and crawled into bed, she woke up the two\ngirls and confided to them in great excitement that she had been to a\nball. A girl in her shop had lent her some finery, a shirtwaist, a pair\nof white shoes, and a hat. Of course one could not go to a dance in a\nshawl. It had been \"something grand.\" She kept them awake a long time\ntelling of the fine dresses, the \"swell\" music, and the good-looking\nmen. She was too \"mad about it\" to sleep. She jumped out of bed and,\nhumming a popular tune, danced a waltz for them in her nightgown. She\nwas very sleepy in the morning, but the music was still in her ears. The\nother girls were rather dismayed by her rank disobedience. The morose\nand spiteful Rosa threatened to tell her father. Rachel herself became\nfrightened at this and promised never to do it again.\n\nBut not many days passed before Rachel announced at supper that she\nwould have to work late that night. Somehow Yetta knew it was a\npretext. She could hardly get to sleep. She woke up the moment Rachel\ntiptoed into the room.\n\n\"You've been again,\" she said.\n\n\"Sure. But don't wake up Rosa.\"\n\n\"It's very wrong.\"\n\nIt may be that Rachel, who was only nineteen and had been brought up\nblindfolded, did not see anything wrong in the two dances she had\nattended. There are many perfectly respectable dances on the East Side.\nFate may have led her to such. Or perhaps she glossed over dangers she\nhad seen. She denied Yetta's charge. Rosa snored regularly beside them,\nwhile the two girls whispered half the night through.\n\nRachel's defence, although some of it was only half expressed,--she was\nnot used to talking frankly about holy things,--was sound. After all,\nwomen do not come into the world to spend their lives in sweat-shops.\nThey ought to marry and bear children. What chance did she have? She saw\nno men in her factory. It might be all right to leave such things to\none's parents--if they were the right kind. But every one knew her\nfather was a penniless, shiftless drunkard. What sort of a match could\nhe arrange for her?\n\nShe was going to as many dances as she could. First of all, they were\nfun, and precious little fun did she get trimming hats for other women\nto wear. And then--well--she was not ugly. Perhaps some nice young man\nwould marry her. That very evening a \"swell fellow\" had danced with her\nfour times. He had wanted to walk home with her. But she would not let\nhim do that, till she was sure he was \"serious.\" She would see him\nagain at a dance on Saturday night, and she would find out. What other\nchance had she? Her father could do nothing for her. Nor her mother. Nor\nher brother. Well--she was of age, she would do for herself.\n\n\"And if I was as swell looking as you are, Yetta,\" she said, \"I'd sure\nget a winner. Why don't you come to a dance with me?\"\n\nThe next day at the lunch hour Yetta overheard some of the girls talking\nabout dances. Instead of going off by herself, as she generally did, to\nconsecrate her few minutes of leisure to memories of her father, she sat\ndown and listened to them. Yetta did not know how to dance. But the next\ntime a hurdy-gurdy came by at noon, she began with the help of her\nshopmates to learn. Although she made rapid progress, although she\nlistened eagerly to Rachel's account of stolen gayeties, she did not\ngive in to her cousin's urgings. Her natural timidity, joined to a habit\nof obedience, kept her from going to a dance.\n\nBut a new element had come into her life. She began to feel that in some\nshameful way she was being defrauded. Was she to know nothing of Life\nbut the sweat-shop? Was her youth to slip away uselessly? Since Rachel\nhad spoken of her looks, she sometimes lingered before the mirrors in\nstore windows and wondered if her smooth skin was doomed to turn\nwrinkled and yellow like that of the women at her table. Was she never\nto have children? The future, which she had never thought about before,\nbegan to look dark and fearsome. She did not feel that anything of\nlasting good could be gained by sneaking out to a ball, but at least, as\nRachel said, it must be fun. Was she never to have any fun? Were the\nyears--one after another--to creep by without music or laughter? Sooner\nor later the craving for a larger life would have forced her out to\nadventure with Rachel, but the temptress was suddenly removed.\n\nIsaac Goldstein encountered his sister at a dance. He had not been home\nfor more than a week, but he came the next day and told his parents.\nWhen Rachel came in from work that evening, the drunken father denounced\nher as a disgrace to his fair name. Rachel listened in sullen silence to\nhis foul abuse until, enraged by his own eloquence, he struck her. She\nturned very white and then suddenly laughed.\n\n\"Good-by, Yetta and Rosie!\" And then, clenching her fist at her father,\nshe cried out: \"And you--you go to Hell.\"\n\nShe slammed the door behind her and never came back.\n\nDavid Goldstein did not often trouble to go to the Synagogue, but the\nnext Friday night he put on his old frock-coat and frayed silk hat and\nin the meeting-house of the men of Kovna, he read the Service for the\nDead over his pleasure-loving daughter.\n\nYetta was surprised to find how much she missed her cousin. To be sure\nshe had not seen much of her--they worked in different shops. But since\nthey had shared this secret together, it had seemed almost like having a\nfriend. It had never been a joyous household, and now with Rachel's\noccasional laughs gone it was bleak indeed.\n\nBut these confidences, short-lived as they were, had--in spite of their\ntragic ending--done their work with Yetta. They had suddenly opened a\nwindow in the wall of the dark room where she lived. Through it she\nsaw, as through a glass darkly, a fair garden, lit with the sunlight of\nlaughter, a garden where blossomed the wondrous flowers of music, of\njoy--of Romance.\n\nSince the recent development of \"Child Study,\" since grave and erudite\nprofessors have written learned volumes on the subject of \"Play,\" many\nthings, which former generations thought lightly of, have taken on\nimportance. In the gurgling of a month-old baby we now see an\nexperimentation with, a training of, the vocal apparatus which may later\nwin the plaudits of a crowded opera or sway the council chamber of a\nnation. It is no longer senseless and rather disgusting noise. It is\npart of the profound development of Man. The haphazard muscular reflexes\nof a five-year-old boy--the running violently to nowhere in particular,\nthe jumping over nothing at all--is no longer, as our grandfathers held,\nan aimless and sometimes bothersome amusement. A human being is getting\nacquainted with the intricate system of nerve complexes and\nmotor-muscles which is to carry him through his allotted work in the\nworld. And the little girl with her sawdust doll has become a portentous\nthing. If she does not learn to hold it properly at seven, her real\nbabies, when she is twenty-seven, are likely to fare badly.\n\nYetta had never had dolls. There had been no younger children in her\nhousehold. She had never associated with boys. In a starved, vicarious\nway, through the confidence of Rachel, she had begun to \"play\" with the\nideas of marriage, of home-making, of babies. An unrest, the cause of\nwhich she did not guess, had invaded her. She was just coming into\nwomanhood. Nature was working deep and momentous changes in her being.\nIt is a transition which may be beautiful and joyous if freedom for play\nis given to the developing organs and nerve-centres. Because of her\nstarved childhood it came to Yetta late and abruptly. She was becoming a\nwoman in an environment where nobody wanted anything but wage-earning\n\"hands.\" And so to her it meant erratic moods of black despair, of\nuncontrolled and ludicrous lyricisms, of sudden and senseless\ntimidities, abnormal, insane desires.\n\nUnless something happened, her womanhood was to be wasted. She had sore\nneed of a Prince in Silver Armor. But no Princes go about nowadays\nrescuing fair damsels from the Ogre Greed. However, Rachel had opened a\nwindow on a quasi-fairyland where, if there were no bona fide princes,\nthere were at least some \"swell-looking men.\" And just as she was\ngetting intoxicated with the wonderful vision, the window was slammed\nshut in her face.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE SWEAT-SHOP\n\n\nThe sudden closing of the window made her prison cell seem darker than\nbefore. It needed the contrast of the vision to make her see the\nsordidness and squalor--the grim reality--of that long dark room, with\nits chaos of noise, its nerve-destroying \"speed.\"\n\nScattered through the East Side of New York there are hundreds such\n\"sweat-shops,\" engaged in the various branches of the \"garment trade.\"\nSometimes there will be half a dozen in the same tenement; one above\nanother. Even the factory inspectors are never sure of the exact number.\nThey are running so close a race with bankruptcy, it is hard to keep\ntrack of them. Often half a dozen will fail on the same day, and as many\nnew ones will start the next. It is not on record that any one ever\nfound a good word to say for the \"sweating system.\" Such \"shops\" exist\nbecause I and you and the good wife and the priest who married you like\nto buy our clothes as cheaply as possible.\n\nYetta's \"shop\" manufactured vests. The four women at each table formed a\n\"team.\" With separate operations on the same garment, they had to keep\nin exact unison. If any one slowed up, they all lost money by the\ndelay. They were paid \"by the piece,\" and long hours, seven days a week,\nbrought them so infinitesimal a margin over the cost of brute\nnecessities that the loss of a few cents a day was a tragedy for the\nolder women with children to feed.\n\nYetta, the youngest of all, was Number One at her table.\n\nThe name of Number Two was Mrs. Levy. She was anywhere between\ntwenty-five and fifty, bovine in appearance, but her fingers were as\nagile as a monkey's. She sat stolidly before her machine, her big body,\nwhich had lost all form, almost motionless, her arms alone active. Her\nface was void of any expression. Her washed-out eyes were half closed,\nfor they were inflamed with tracoma. Eight years before she had brought\nher three children over from Galicia to join her husband and had found\nhim dying of tuberculosis. She had been making vests ever since. She was\nan ideal sweat-shop worker, reliable--the kind that lasts.\n\nOpposite her Mrs. Weinstein grabbed the vests as they left Mrs. Levy's\nmachine. She also was a large woman, but not much over thirty, and just\nentering the trade. She was of merry disposition and had kept much of\nher youthful charm. Her hair, of course, was disordered; the cloth-dust\nstuck in blotches to her perspiring face. There was a smudge of machine\ngrease over one cheek, but where her blouse--unbuttoned--exposed her\nthroat and the rise of her breasts, the skin was still soft and white.\nHer husband, of whom she always spoke with fond admiration as a very\nkind and wise man, had deserted her a few months before. Engaged in\nanother branch of the garment trades, he had become involved in one of\nthe strikes which with increasing frequency were shaking the sweating\nsystem. He had been black-listed. After weeks of fruitless search for\nwork, he had disappeared. If he found work elsewhere, he would send for\nhis wife. He could not bear to stay and be supported by her. She had a\nsister, who had married well and who would not let the babies starve.\nBesides, she did not consider herself a regular vest-maker. Some day,\nsoon, her husband would find work, in Boston, Philadelphia--somewhere.\nShe was always expecting a letter to-morrow. So Mrs. Weinstein could\nafford to be cheerful.\n\nBut if Number Two had an unusually stolid body and phlegmatic brain--the\ntype which suffers least from sweating; and if Number Three had been\nblessed with a merry, hopeful soul, Mrs. Cohen, at the foot of the\ntable, had none of these advantages. She had been Number One, not so\nvery long before--a marvel of speed. Then she had begun to cough. It is\nimpossible to cough without breaking the regular rhythm which means\nspeed. In a few months she had slipped down to the bottom. She was no\nolder than Mrs. Weinstein, but her skin was as yellow as Mrs. Levy's,\nand even more unlovely, for the flesh behind it had melted away; the\nonly prominences on her body were where her bones pushed out.\n\nShe had begun at twenty-one, when her husband died leaving her with two\nchildren. There had been another baby a couple of years later--because\nshe had hoped the man would marry her and take her out of the inferno.\nHe had not. And there was no hope any more, for who would marry a woman\nwith bad lungs and three children?\n\nDespair, while embittering her, had cleared her vision. She saw the\n\"shop\" and the \"system\"--and understood. She had entered the trade\nstrong and healthy, and had been well-paid at first, when she had the\ngreat desideratum--Speed. It had seemed like good pay then. But now she\nknew better. They had been buying not only her day-by-day ability, they\nhad bought up her future. For the wages of less than ten years they had\nbought all her life--they had bought even her children! Already the flow\nof vests had piled up once or twice too swiftly for her. Jake Goldfogle,\nthe present boss, was threatening to discharge her. If she lost this\njob, it would be the end. The Gerry Society would surely take her babies\nand put them in \"institutions.\" No, she had not been well-paid in the\ndays when they had given her extra wages for the pace that kills. It is\nsmall pleasure for a mother to hush the hunger-cry of her children, but\nthat was all the joy that was left to Mrs. Cohen. And if she lost her\njob, she would lose even this.\n\nJust in proportion as Number Four at the bottom of the table had learned\nmany bitter things from life, so Yetta at the head had almost everything\nyet to learn. She began the long lesson with a pain in her back.\n\nIt came unexpectedly. It was as much the insulting surprise of it, as\nthe hurt itself, which made her cry out sharply and drop her\nwork--throwing the whole team out of rhythm.\n\n\"_Wos is dir_, Yetta?\" Mrs. Weinstein asked with motherly solicitude.\n\n\"Oy-yoy-yoy!\" Yetta said, putting her hand to her back--\"_Es is schon\nverbei_.\"\n\nMrs. Cohen at the bottom of the table laughed mirthlessly.\n\n\"It will come back,\" she screamed in Yiddish above the din of the\nmachinery. \"I know. It begins so. One speeds two, three\nyears--four--with one it is the lungs, with another it is the back, or\nthe eyes.\" She seized the momentary pause to ease herself with coughs.\n\nMrs. Levy, who had been long in the trade, had seen many a \"speeder\"\ngive in; some slowly, some suddenly. She had seen dozens of them,\nfighting desperately the fight for food, slip down from the head to the\nfoot and out--out through the door to the street and nowhere. As Mrs.\nCohen had said, it was sometimes the eyes, sometimes the lungs,\nsometimes the back. She nodded her head in affirmation. Oh yes, she had\nseen it many times. She could have told the story of one mother who had\ngone on speeding in spite of back and lungs and eyes, had kept on\nspeeding until one day she had fallen over her machine dead. Her hair\nhad gotten tangled in the cogs, and they had to cut it to take her away.\n\nMrs. Weinstein tried to comfort Yetta.\n\n\"Don't listen to them,\" she said. \"You are yet young--you'll be all\nright--\"\n\nShe stopped abruptly, for the office door had opened and Jake Goldfogle\ncame out. His ear, trained to the chaotic noise of the shop, had caught\nthe momentary halt.\n\n\"_Ober, mein Gott, wos is der mer?_\" he roared.\n\nMrs. Cohen, who had caught up with her work and was waiting for more,\npointed an accusing finger at Yetta.\n\nJake Goldfogle was twenty-eight. This was his first \"shop.\" The\ndominant expression of his face--which he tried to cover with an\nassumption of masterliness--was worry. The person who has been ground by\npoverty is never a debonaire gambler. But these ignorant, unimaginative\nwomen who slaved for him, whom he lashed with his tongue and sometimes\nstruck, did not understand his situation, did not know of the myriad\nnightmares which haunted his waking as well as his sleeping hours. They\nbent low over their machines, hurrying under the eye of the master,\nholding their breath to catch the torrent of abuse they expected to hear\nfall on Yetta.\n\nThey did not realize--least of all did Yetta--that she was an exception.\nJake swallowed the curses on his tongue and asked her in a constrained\nand unfamiliar voice what was wrong.\n\n\"Nothing,\" she said. \"A pain in my back.\"\n\nNo sort of pain known to women was considered a valid excuse for\nbreaking speed. She wondered with sullen, servile anger how much he\nwould fine her. If any of the women had looked up, they would have seen\nstrange twists on the boss's face. He turned abruptly, without a word,\nand went back to his office. He sat down at his desk and looked through\nthe little window, by means of which he could, glancing up from his\nledger, spy on the roomful of workers. His eyes rested a moment on\nYetta's stooped back. Then, grasping his temples, he paced up and down\nhis dingy office, cursing the day he was born. He was in love with Yetta\nand could not afford to tell her so.\n\nThe psychology of the refugees from Russian and Galician Ghettos, who\ncome to live among us, is very hard for us to understand. Above all,\nthe Jew is marked by single-mindedness and consistency of purpose. We\nhave our Anglo-Saxon tradition of compromise and confused issues. We\nhave generally several irons in the fire. We shift easily--often\nflippantly--from one purpose to another. The Semite, having once\naccepted a goal is hard to divert.\n\nComing to us, as most of them do, in abject poverty, it is small wonder\nthat many a Jewish lad decides that the Holy Grail is made of American\ndollars. The surprising thing is the unswerving fidelity with which they\nfollow the quest--a fidelity which is quite absent in the legends of\nKing Arthur's English Knights. It is the same no matter what ideal they\nchoose. Just as the money grubber will deny himself necessary food and\noverwork his wife and children to amass a little capital, so the East\nSide poet will stick to writing rhymes in Yiddish, although it can never\ngive him a decent living, and the Jewish Socialist will hold fast to his\nprinciples through starvation and persecution.\n\nJake Goldfogle had a vague recollection of a great wave which had washed\nover the steerage deck of an immigrant steamer and had scared him\nimmensely. All his other memories were set in the scenery of the New\nYork slums. He had \"got wise\" young, with the wisdom of the gutter,\nwhich says that you must be either a hammer or an anvil, preyed upon or\npreying. For the last fifteen years he and his sister, more recently\nreenforced by her husband, had been engaged in a desperate struggle to\npull up out of the muck.\n\nFor years the three of them had been slaves to the machine. Six months\nbefore they had put all their miserable savings, all their credit, into\nbuying this \"shop.\" They had accepted a highly speculative contract from\nwhich there could be no halfway issue. A dozen weeks more and it would\nbe over--either an immense success or utter ruin. Failure meant the\nswallowing up in a moment of the results of their long slavery; it meant\ngoing back to the machine.\n\nHundreds of men throughout the city, in the different garment trades,\nwere in exactly the same position. Ground between the gambling nature of\ntheir contracts and insufficiently secured credit, the fear of ruin in\ntheir hearts, they had been driving the rowels deeper and deeper into\nthe flanks of the animals who worked for them--on whose backs they hoped\nto win to the gilded goal of success. But revolt from such conditions\nwas inevitable. Strikes were constantly occurring. This fear was the\nworst of Jake Goldfogle's nightmares.\n\nThe revolt of the garment workers was as yet unorganized and chaotic.\nThere were a dozen odd unions, but few of them were strong or well\ndisciplined. Too many of those in the trade were immigrants from\nsoutheastern Europe and the Russian Pale--where only a few of the men\nare literate. Most of them were women--mothers. When the long hours in\nthe shops were over, they hurried home to their children. It was very\nhard to get them to meetings.\n\nBut in spite of all these handicaps the workers were gradually\norganizing. Such strikes as had already occurred had had little effect\nexcept to ruin the smaller bosses. The large manufacturers could afford\nto wait until their \"hands\" were starved back to the machines. But so\nclose was the contest,--it mattered little whether the trade was vests\nor shirtwaists or overalls,--that a few days' interruption was enough to\nruin the weaker bosses. The small fry, like Jake, echoed the sentiments\nof _Le Grand Monarque_--The Deluge might come after, if only they could\nspeed their contracts to completion. And so, with ever increasing\nviciousness, the rowels were driven deeper and deeper.\n\nIt had been a surprising sensation to Jake Goldfogle to discover that it\nwas more pleasant to look through his spying window at the curve of\nYetta's neck and the wild little curls of rich brown hair that clustered\nabout it than to add up columns of figures. Even the unhealthy, stooped\ncurve of her spine as she leaned forward to the machine seemed gracious\nto him. He looked forward eagerly to the times, every half hour, when he\nwent out into the shop on a tour of inspection, for then he could catch\nglimpses of her face. To be sure she never looked up from her work while\nhe was watching. But there was one place where he could stand unnoticed\nand see her in profile. It was a marvellously regular face for the East\nSide. The dark curve of her eyebrows was perfect, and sometimes he could\ncatch the gleam of her eyes. The skin of her throat was whiter even than\nMrs. Weinstein's. She was a trifle thinner than Jake's ideal--but he\ntold himself she would fill out. All this added color to his dream of\nsuccess, a deeper shade to his fear of ruin.\n\nA man of another race would probably have lost his head and asked her to\nmarry him. But Jake had a deep-seated habit of planning for success.\nLong before he had noticed the grace of her body and face he had\nrealized that she was the best worker in his shop, \"the pace-maker\" for\nthe whole establishment. If success was to be won, it would be by just\nthat very narrow margin, which the breaking in of a new \"speeder\" would\njeopardize. So he had tried to put her out of his mind till the \"rush\nseason\" was over. Intent on his main purpose he had not thought of her\nphysical well-being. She was young and healthy looking. It had not\noccurred to him that a few weeks more or less would matter. The pain in\nher back surprised him.\n\nIf the incident had occurred in the morning, he might have called her\ninto his office then and there and asked her to marry him. Things had\nlooked brighter in the morning. But at lunch--a frugal affair, two sweet\nbuns and a glass of tea--he had heard disquieting talk of the\n\"skirt-finishers\" strike. It had been more serious than most. Half a\ndozen shops had been already wiped out. And his informant--a hated\ncompetitor--had gloomily foretold trouble in their own trade. If strikes\nbroke out among the \"vest-makers,\" it would tighten credit. The call of\na couple of loans would be the end of Jake. No! He could not afford to\ntake Yetta out now. Any one who came to take her place might be infected\nwith the virus of Unionism. His own women did not know what a strike\nwas. No. He could not risk it. If Pincus & Company paid promptly on the\nnext delivery, he could take up those dangerous loans and\nthen--perhaps--\n\nHe put his face close to the spying window and looked out at Yetta's\nback. He wondered just where the pain had been and whether it still\nhurt.\n\n\"Poor little girl,\" he said.\n\nBut Yetta knew nothing of her boss's intention. She could see no\noutlet. The future stretched before her, so barren that it hurt to think\nof it. But she could not escape the thought. Was she to get fat and ugly\nlike Mrs. Levy? Would the pain come again and would she slip down--as\nMrs. Cohen prophesied--coughing herself to uselessness?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nLIFE CALLS\n\n\nIn the months that followed Rachel's departure Yetta began to lose hope.\nShe could see no promise of escape, and lethargic time gradually faded\nthe colors of her dream. The flame of holy discontent which had blazed\nfor a while in her soul threatened to go out. Sometimes she wondered\nwhat had happened to Rachel. But \"Speed\" eats up a person's power of\nwondering.\n\nYetta had been at the machine for a long time now. Her muscles had\nbecome hardened. She did not often suffer from weariness any more, but\nshe had, without knowing it, commenced to go downhill. The immense\nreserve of vitality, which is the blessing of so many of her race, was\nrunning low. It was amazing how her strong young body had resisted the\nstrain. But any doctor would have shaken his head over the future. After\nall there is a limit, beyond which the nerves and muscles of a woman\ncannot compete with electricity and steel.\n\nOne night, a few days after the pain had come in her back, an American\nwoman knocked at the door of the Goldstein flat while Yetta and Rosa\nwere eating supper.\n\n\"I'm a neighbor of yours,\" she said. \"My name is Miss Brail. I've come\nto get acquainted.\"\n\nMrs. Goldstein looked up hostilely from her sewing. Rosa, surly as\nusual, went on with her eating. But Yetta offered the intruder her\nchair. The visitor seemed used to such cold receptions; she sat down\nplacidly and tried violently to establish more friendly relations.\n\nShe and some other women had rented the house across the street and were\ngoing to live there. It was to be a sort of a school. First of all they\nwere going to start a kindergarten and day nursery for the children of\nwomen who worked. Rosa interrupted harshly that there were no children\nin their household. Miss Brail refused to be rebuffed. They were also\ngoing to have a sewing school for young women. Rosa, who had accepted\nthe responsibility of the conversation, although she had not stopped\neating, said that she and Yetta sewed all day long and did not need to\nlearn.\n\n\"Well,\" Miss Brail continued bravely, \"we will have a cooking-class\ntoo.\"\n\nRosa replied that her mother cooked for them.\n\n\"But don't you want to know how to cook yourself? Some day you'll have a\nhome of your own, and it will be worth while to know how to cook good\nmeals cheaply. Why, if the wife only knows how to buy scientifically and\nunderstands a little of food values, you can feed the ordinary family on\nonly--\"\n\nBut once more Rosa interrupted her. She had finished her meal and,\nemptying her tea-cup with a noisy sip, she stood up in her gaunt,\ntwisted unloveliness.\n\n\"Do you think any one's going to marry me?\" she asked defiantly.\n\nMiss Brail did not have the heart to answer the question truthfully.\nShe turned towards Yetta, who--confused by the implication of her\nlook--hung her head and blushed. Rosa laughed scornfully.\n\n\"She ain't got no money. Nobody'd marry a girl for her looks, even if\nshe could cook.\"\n\nAt this blasphemy against Romance, Miss Brail became eloquent. She was\nvery definitely unmarried herself. But not so much an \"old maid\" as a\nnew woman. It would have been impossible to picture her fondling a cat.\nShe was almost athletic in her build, her hair was combed to hide the\nfew streaks of gray, her eyes were young and full of fire. Her\ntailor-made suit was attractive; in a very modern, businesslike way,\neven coquettish. You could not look at her without feeling that no one\nwas to blame but herself that she was unmarried. She delivered an\nimpassioned harangue on the subject of men. Of course there were\nsoulless brutes who would marry only for money. But the right sort of a\nman would just as soon take a poor girl as a rich one if he really loved\nher. She knew lots of that kind. They were going to have clubs and\nclasses for young men in the house across the way--she called it The\nNeighborhood House. And once a month they would have dances. She invited\nRosa and Yetta to come.\n\nAt the word \"dance,\" Mrs. Goldstein stopped sewing, and sticking her\nneedle in her wig, got up threateningly. No! Neither her daughter nor\nher niece would go to a dance. With her bony hand she pointed\nemphatically at the door. Miss Brail protested that the Neighborhood\nHouse dances would be eminently respectable; only the young men and\nwomen they knew personally. She tried to say that it was good to give\nthe girls a chance to meet men in clean, orderly surroundings. But she\ncould not resist the old woman's wrath, and at last, shrugging her\nshoulders in defeat, she went out.\n\nMr. Goldstein, when he heard of the incident, added his curses to those\nof his wife. Dances had been the ruin of one daughter, and that was\nenough disaster for a self-respecting family. Besides, these Goyim were\ntrying to undermine the True Religion. David was hardly a religious man.\nBut social settlements always took an interest in reform politics.\nTammany Hall had small reason to be friendly with them. And as he could\nthink of no arguments, this religious talk seemed a handy weapon.\n\nBut all her uncle's and aunt's denunciations could not persuade Yetta\nthat Miss Brail was evil. Morning and evening, as she went out to work\nand came home, she stopped a moment on her doorstep to note the progress\nof rehabilitation in the house across the way. What the East Side calls\nthe \"parlor floor\" had formerly been a store. Its great plate-glass\nwindow was cleaned and a heavy curtain was stretched across the lower\nhalf, so that people on the sidewalk could not look in. White dimity\ncurtains were hung in the upstairs windows. The fine old front door was\npainted white, the rusted banister of the steps was replaced by a new\nand graceful one of polished steel. Before long the \"residents\" moved\nin. Their arrival coincided with the appearance of beautiful potted\nplants inside the windows.\n\nAlthough the screen hid the front parlor from the street, it was not\nhigh enough to hide it from the windows of the Goldstein's flat. From\nthat vantage-point Yetta learned the routine of evening work in the\nSettlement. A bulletin-board beside the door helped her to put names to\nthe things she saw. On Monday nights there were meetings of \"The Martha\nWashington Club.\" They were young women of her own age, and Miss Brail\npresided. There was generally some \"uptown woman\" who spoke or sang to\nthe girls. This part of the evening's entertainment lasted until nine,\nthen they grouped about Miss Brail at the piano and practised some\nchoral music. They ended with half an hour's dancing and went home a\nlittle after ten. Tuesday night there was a club of boys. Wednesday\nnight a class in sewing. Thursday night \"The Abraham Lincoln Debating\nClub\" held forth. Most of them were young men in the early twenties, but\na few were older. On Friday there was a \"Mothers' Club,\" and on Saturday\nnight a magic-lantern show.\n\nAt last it came time for the monthly dance. Yetta had noticed the\nannouncement on the bill-board several days before. On the eventful\nnight she pretended to be sleepy and went to bed early, but as soon as\nRosa began to snore she wrapped herself in her shawl and a blanket and\ntiptoed out into the front room to watch the ball. The Martha Washington\nClub had turned out in force, dazzlingly beautiful in their best\nclothes. The black-suited young men of the debating club also looked\nvery wonderful to the hungry-eyed girl who watched it from afar. As was\nthe strange custom of The Krists, the big window was opened although it\nwas mid-February, and the sound of the four-piece orchestra and the\nlaughter came up, unobstructed, to Yetta's ears.\n\nShe had never been so happy in all her life, but most of the time her\neyes were filled with tears. She imagined herself first as one of the\ngirls and then as another. There was one whose shirtwaist seemed\nespecially beautiful. Yetta was convinced that if she were a\nmillionnaire, or if a fairy godmother should offer her one choice, she\nwould choose just such clothes. There was one of the young men, a\ncurly-haired, laughing fellow, whom she had noticed on Thursday nights.\nWhenever he took part in the debates, all the other men clapped\nviolently. Generally she imagined herself dancing with him.\n\nAfter a while the music stopped. Miss Brail and the other settlement\nwomen brought in trays loaded with lemonade and sandwiches and cakes.\nThe curly-haired man sat down beside the girl in the resplendent waist.\nHot little blushes chased themselves all over Yetta's body. It\nfrightened her even to imagine that she was so gayly dressed, that such\na man sat close to her and whispered in her ear, looking at her and\nlaughing all the time.\n\nThe supper fire had not yet burned down in the Goldstein's sordid\nkitchen-eating-sitting room. It was stuffy and hot, but Yetta, in spite\nof her shawl and blanket, shivered when the intermission was over. The\ncurly-haired man nonchalantly put his arm about the gorgeous shirtwaist\nand, with his face rather close to his partner's, swung off into a dizzy\ntwo-step. Yetta felt as if she had been suddenly caressed. She had to\ngrit her teeth to keep them from chattering.\n\nA tremendous storm had broken out in the breast of the little sweat-shop\ngirl. Sometimes she had to close her eyes, the beauty of the vision was\nso dazzling. For a moment she would tear herself away from the\nblighting memory of reality, and her soul seemed to float away from her\nbody into the brightly lit room across the way. In the most deeply\nspiritual sense she became part of that gay scene. She was arrayed in\ngorgeous clothes. Men--even the wonderful curly-haired man--sought her\nas a partner. And she could laugh!\n\nBut the Blessed Angel of Forgetfulness is--like her sister, the Spirit\nof Delight--an inconstant hussy. No Wise Man of all the ages has learned\nthe trick of keeping her always at his side.\n\nThe memories of the day's stark realities would submerge Yetta. Back of\nher was the squalid flat, the snores of her loveless relatives. In her\ndark bedroom her one frayed dress was hung over the back of a chair,\nwaiting for her to put it on and hurry through the dawn to Jake\nGoldfogle's Vest Shop. Routine--hopeless monotony! A prison tread--from\nthe vitiated air and uneasy sleep of the tenement, so many steps to the\ncruel speed and inhumanity of the Machine. Then so many steps back to\nthe tenement, and all to do over again.\n\nIn front of her--in the room across the street--\"Life-as-it-might-be.\"\nBeauty--thrilling excitement--joy!\n\nThe eyes of Yetta's soul swung back and forth from one vision to the\nother. Through the long evening she knelt there by the window, so\nforgetful of her body that she did not realize how the dirty window\nledge was cutting into her elbows, how her knees were being bruised on\nthe unswept floor.\n\nAt last the musicians put away their instruments. Every one clapped\ninsistently and crowded about Miss Brail. But she waved her watch in\ntheir face. A distant church-bell tolled midnight. Yetta stayed at her\npost until the last laughing couple had shaken hands with the ladies at\nthe door. For several minutes more she watched the shadows on the upper\nwindows, while the \"residents\" talked over the success of the dance. She\nwatched till the last light was out, then she crept back to bed and\ncried herself to sleep.\n\nThe tears she shed that night were not the kind that heal. There was\nacid in them which ate into the quick. For nearly four years her body\nhad been on the rack. Now her soul was being torn. The questionings\nwhich had troubled her after Rachel's disappearance became more and more\ninsistent. Was she never to know what joy meant? Was day to crawl along\nafter day in desolate and weary monotony? Was this dull ache of\nsoul-hunger never to be relieved until some indefinite future was to\nfind her--cheated of everything--cast out useless on the human refuse\nheap? Was this weary plain of uneventfulness never to be broken by any\ndazzling mountain peaks nor shady valley?\n\nShortly after the Settlement Ball, which Yetta had watched as a\nstarveling beggar peers through a baker's window, Life suddenly opened\nup. The drab monotony was illumined by a lurid display of fireworks.\nRockets of glaring, appalling red shot up into the night. There was a\ngreat white blaze of hope, and all the sky became suffused by the soft\ncaressing colors of unsophisticated Romance.\n\nThe sweat-shop motor broke down. Jake Goldfogle cursed and tore his\nhair. He kept his \"hands\" waiting in idleness half through the\nafternoon, until the electricians had come and said that the damage\ncould not be righted till midnight. Then Jake surlily dismissed his\nwomen. It was rare that Yetta had such a holiday. There was no reason\nfor her to go to her dreary home. It was a precocious spring day, the\nsun shone with a heat that made the streets attractive.\n\nWandering about aimlessly, Yetta came to Hamilton Fish Park. The faint\nsuggestion of rising sap which came to her in that open space seemed\ninfectious. The questionings which had disturbed her returned with new\nforce. Why? What did it all mean? Was there no escape?\n\nSuddenly her attention was caught by a familiar figure, Rachel, arrayed\nin cheap finery. Yetta quickened her pace to overtake her and called\nher. It was a great shock to Rachel when she recognized her. She stared\nat her in bewilderment, but it was surely Yetta,--Yetta of the old life,\nof the great sad eyes, with the same old shawl over her head.\n\n\"The motor broke in my shop,\" Yetta explained as they sat down. \"I came\nout for a walk. Where are you working?\"\n\n\"I ain't working.\"\n\nYetta's eyes opened wider.\n\n\"Are you married,\" she asked with awe in her voice.\n\nShame closed Rachel's lips. How could she explain the grim dirtiness of\nLife to her ignorant little cousin? She started to get up and go away.\nBut suddenly the heart-break of it all--the memory of the girlish dreams\nshe had confided to Yetta--overcame her. She threw her arms around her\ncousin and cried, great sobs which shook them both. A few words came to\nher lips, the same phrase over and over: \"Oh! Yetta. I wanted to be\ngood.\" When the first burst of her grief was spent, she began to tell\nhow it had all come about.\n\nAt first everything had gone smoothly. She had taken a furnished room\nwith the girl from her shop who had lent her the hat and white shoes for\nher first dance. \"She had a crush on me,\" Rachel explained. They had led\na joyous but quite innocent life, working hard all day and two or three\nnights a week going to dances. As far as they knew how to choose they\nwent to respectable places. Several men had paid court to Rachel. A\nclerk in a dry-goods store on Sixth Avenue had been in love with her. He\nwas serious. But he was earning very little, had a marriageable sister,\nand wanted to wait a couple of years. She had even become engaged to one\nman. At first, she said, she had \"been crazy about him.\" She had let him\nkiss her and make pretty violent love to her. But after a while she saw\nhe was \"a spender,\" too free with his money--like her father. She did\nnot want a man like that, so she had sent him about his business. Then\nher room-mate \"got a crush\" on another girl and had left Rachel alone in\nthe furnished room.\n\n\"What can you do?\"--she began to cry again--\"when you ain't got no place\nto have your friend call except a furnished room? All alone? A girl\nain't got no chance--all alone--like that.\"\n\nShe could not tell Yetta what came next, so she asked about the family.\nAs Yetta told her meagre store of news, the flood-gates of Rachel's\nbitter heart opened. She cursed her family. They were to blame for her\ndisaster. Why had not her father made a decent home for his children?\nWas it her fault that her brother was a crook? If they had been honest\nand thrifty, they could have given her a marriage portion. Worse than\ndoing nothing for her, they had even eaten up her wages. If she had been\nan orphan, she could have put some of her pay in the bank--she could\nhave saved enough money to get married on.\n\n\"Don't you let them cheat you, Yetta,\" she broke out, \"the way they\ncheated me. Perhaps I'm a bad woman, but I never cheated little girls\nthe way they cheated us. I never robbed an orphan like they done to you.\nYou're a fool to stand for it. Why should you give them your wages?\nHaven't they cheated you enough? They made your poor father pay too much\nboard. The funeral never cost like they said it did. And now they're\nstealing your wages. I tell you what you do. You find some good woman in\nyour shop, who'll take you to board, and put your money in the bank. But\ndon't go to no 'furnished room.' Furnished rooms is Hell! You--\"\n\n\"Hello, Ray. Introduce me to your friend.\"\n\nThe intruder's voice sent a convulsive shiver through Rachel. He wore a\nsuit of dove-gray, the cuffs and collar of which were bound with silk\nbraid. There was a large diamond in his scarlet tie. As though he did\nnot wish to be outdone by the sun in its premature glory he wore a\nslightly soiled Panama hat, shaped after the fashion depicted in\nphotographs of the German Crown Prince.\n\n\"I say,\" he insisted, and there was a twang of menace in his soft voice,\na more evident threat in his hard domineering eyes, \"I say, introduce me\nto your friend.\"\n\n\"She's my cousin, Yetta Rayefsky,\" Rachel replied reluctantly.\n\n\"And my name,\" he said with easy assurance, \"is Harry Klein. I'm glad\nto make your acquaintance, Miss Rayefsky. Do you dance as well as your\ncousin?\"\n\n\"I've never been to a dance,\" Yetta stammered.\n\nShe was very much flustered by his stare of frank admiration. No man had\never put a \"Miss\" to her name before. Again the hot blushes chased\nthemselves over her body. But he did not seem to notice her\nembarrassment.\n\n\"I was walking along the street,\" he said, \"and noticed Miss Goldstein\nhere in the Park. I came to ask her to go to the Tim Sullivan ball with\nme to-night. Won't you come along?\"\n\n\"She ain't got no clothes for a ball,\" Rachel said.\n\n\"I'm sure,\" he said, his eyes turning hard again, \"that you could lend\nher some.\"\n\nBut Yetta was frightened beyond words at the bare idea of going. She\nrefused timidly.\n\nHarry Klein urged her, managing gracefully the while to weave in the\nstory of his life. He was a commercial traveller for a large silk-house\non Broadway. Of course it was very good pay, and in a few months he was\nto be taken into the firm, but it had its inconveniences. He did not get\nto New York very often. He liked dances, but it was no fun to go alone.\nBeing away so much, he did not know many nice girls. He had no use for\nthe kind you can \"pick up\" at a ball. He did wish she could come. He\nknew another travelling man who was also in town--a friend of his. It\nwould be great fun for the four of them to go together.\n\nBut he did not push his urgings too far. He was sorry she would not\ncome, but he hoped Miss Goldstein could find a partner for his friend.\nWould she come now on that errand?\n\n\"I'm sorry to run away with your cousin, Miss Rayefsky,\" he said,\nsignalling Rachel to get up. \"And I sure hope I'll have the pleasure of\nmeeting you again.\"\n\nHe bowed very low, made a gallant flourish with his hat, and taking\nRachel by the arm, started off gayly. But he turned back after a few\nsteps.\n\n\"I'm not going to be discouraged,\" he said with his very best smile,\n\"because you won't go with me to-night. I like your looks and want to\nget acquainted with you. I'll see you again.\"\n\nOnce more he flourished his hat, and rejoined Rachel.\n\nYetta sat still on the park bench for a long time after they had gone.\nShe tried to make some sense out of Life. But it was all very\nperplexing. What did Rachel's story mean? In a vague way she had heard\nof the women who are called \"bad.\" She knew their more blatant\nhall-marks. Rachel's cheeks were painted; she had spoken of herself as\n\"bad.\" But the term did not mean anything to Yetta which could include a\ngirl like her cousin who \"wanted to be good.\" She understood that Rachel\nwas unhappy, bitter, and very much ashamed, but she could not think of\nher as sinful or vicious. She tried--but entirely in vain--to imagine\nwhat sort of life Rachel was leading. She tried to picture in what sort\nof acts her \"badness\" consisted. She had heard somewhere of \"selling\nlove,\" but she had no idea how it was done. It was very perplexing for\nher--indeed it has perplexed older and wiser heads--to discover that\n\"bad\" people may after all be good.\n\nBut it was hard for her to keep her mind on this problem of ethics. It\nwas very much easier to think of Harry Klein. She had never talked to so\ncourteous and well dressed a gentleman. The dream of the curly-haired\ndebater was wiped from her mind--Harry Klein was much better looking.\n\nA queer question shot into her mind. Did a girl have to be \"bad\" to have\nsuch enchanting friends? No. That could not be. He had wanted to be\nfriends with her. She knew she was not bad.\n\nHe had said he wanted to be her friend! The blood raced through her\nveins at the thought. She went over again in her mind all her arguments\nwith Rachel. The only possible way to escape from the sweat-shop was to\nmarry. Of course she could not hope to win so debonair a gentleman as\nHarry Klein. But rescue--if it were to come at all--must come in some\nsuch way. It was her only hope.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nHARRY KLEIN\n\n\nWhen they were out of hearing, Harry Klein tightened his grip on\nRachel's arm.\n\n\"Say, Kid, that cousin of yours is a peach. Why didn't you put me on\nbefore?\"\n\n\"Oh, Jake,\" Rachel pleaded, \"leave her alone. She ain't got no chance.\nShe's only a kid. She ain't got no father or mother. Oh, Jake, please.\nPromise me you'll leave her alone. There are lots of other girls. She's\nonly a kid. Please--\"\n\n\"Oh, shut your face,\" he growled; \"you make me tired.\"\n\nAnd he began to whistle a light-hearted ditty. Rachel might just as well\nhave gone to Jake Goldfogle and have asked him, for the same reasons,\nnot to drive her cousin so hard. She might just as well have asked you\nor me to pay a decent price for our clothes. Harry Klein, just like Mr.\nGoldfogle--just like you and me--needed the money.\n\n\"Where's 'Blow Away'?\" he asked, interrupting his whistling.\n\n\"He's asleep,\" Rachel said.\n\n\"Well--we'll wake him up.\"\n\nThey turned down a side street.\n\n\"Jake,\" Rachel began again, \"I'll find you some other girl--I'll do\nanything for you. Oh, Jake, please.\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" he growled. \"Tell your troubles to a policeman.\"\n\nThey went up three flights of dirty stairs to a door which Rachel opened\nwith a latch-key. It gave on a long hall. Turning to the left, they\nentered a parlor fitted out with cheap plush furniture. The windows were\nclosed, the air heavy with the scent of stale beer and cigarette\nsmoke--all the varied stenches of a debauch.\n\n\"Wake him up,\" Jake ordered.\n\nRachel turned down the hall and opened a bedroom door. The air was even\nworse than in the parlor. A thin-chested youth of twenty-eight or so was\nasleep, lying across the bed on his face. The butt of a pistol stuck out\nof his hip pocket. His coat and vest and shirt were on the back of a\nchair, his shoes on the floor.\n\n\"Charlie,\" Rachel called.\n\nThere was no response. She approached the bed cautiously and gave a pull\nat his foot, jumping back out of reach as soon as she had touched him.\nThere were a couple of angry grunts.\n\n\"Charlie,\" she called again.\n\nHe sat up with a roar of profanity.\n\n\"How many times have I told you to leave me alone when I'm sleeping?\nI'll break your dirty face for you.\"\n\n\"Jake's in the front room,\" she interrupted him. \"Wants to see you.\"\n\n\"Jake?\" He lowered the hand he had raised to strike her. \"What in Hell\ndoes he want?\"\n\n\"How do I know?\"\n\n\"You never know nothing,\" he growled sourly, rubbing the sleep from his\neyes. He shuffled down the hall in his stocking feet. When the great\nones of the earth are waiting, you cannot stop to put on shoes.\n\n\"Hello, Blow Away,\" Jake said. \"I've got something to say to you. Your\nbundle\"--he indicated Rachel--\"steered me up to a honey bunch this\nafternoon, named Yetta Rayefsky. The little doll took my eye. See? She's\nRay's cousin. I just want you to explain to her--as a favor to me--that\nshe mustn't butt in. The less talking she does with her mouth the better\nit'll be. You'd better impress it on her, so she won't forget? See?\"\n\nCharlie--alias Blow Away--saw. And Rachel saw. She cowered down in a\ncorner and promised not to warn Yetta--if only they would not beat her.\nBut it was a basic belief of these two gentlemen that \"a beating is\nnever wasted on a woman.\"... It was from this time that Rachel began to\nkill herself with \"booze.\" She did not like to remember how she had\nbetrayed Yetta. And drink helped her to forget.\n\nThere were few things which Jake, or Harry Klein--it does not matter\nwhat name we use for him, for a hundred aliases were on the back of his\nportrait in the Rogues' Gallery--there were not many things which he\nenjoyed more than seeing some one cower before him. The servility with\nwhich \"Blow Away\" had obeyed his orders, the wild terror and passionate\npleadings of Rachel, had tickled the nerves of his perverted being, and\nhe smacked his lips as he went downstairs and out into the twilight of\nthe open streets.\n\nHe was the recognized leader of the principal East Side \"gang\"--a varied\nassortment of toughs, \"strong-arm men,\" pickpockets, \"panhandlers,\" and\npimps. It must not be supposed, however, that these various professions\nwere sharply differentiated. There is a hoary tradition which says that\nonce upon a time the under world of New York City was divided into rigid\nclasses and cliques, when a \"dip\" looked down on a beggar, and highway\nrobbers had a professional pride which kept them from associating with\npanders. But in the year of grace 1903--when Jake's crooked trail ran\nacross Yetta's path--such delicate distinctions, if they ever had\nexisted, were entirely lost. Many a man who claimed to be a\nprize-fighter sometimes \"stuck up a drunk.\" The \"flyest\" pickpocket did\nnot disdain the income to be derived from the sale of \"phony\" jewellery.\nIt was no longer possible to distinguish a \"yeggman\" from a \"flopper,\"\nand even bank robbers wrote \"begging letters.\" And of all \"easy money,\"\nthe easiest is from prostitution. There were very few denizens of the\nunder world who did not have one or two women \"on the string.\" Even the\nlegendary aristocracy of forgers had sunk thus low.\n\nThe political manifestation of the gang over which Jake ruled was the\nJames B. O'Rourke Democratic Club, of which he was president. This\norganization maintained, with the help of a subsidy from Fourteenth\nStreet, a shabby parlor floor club-room on Broome Street. They gave one\nball and one picnic a year. A central office detective, if he had\nattended a meeting, could have given a \"pedigree\" for almost all the\nmembers. But the political bigbugs, the members of the city\nadministration, who sometimes came to visit the club, did not bring a\ndetective with them. They saw only a roomful of ardent young Democrats.\nThe good-will of the club was an important asset to aspiring\npoliticians; the members would willingly vote half a dozen times for a\ncandidate they liked.\n\nThe social centre of the gang was a \"Raines Law\" hotel on lower Second\nAvenue. It had a very glittering back parlor for \"ladies.\" There, and in\nthe Hungarian Restaurant next door, Jake's followers spent their moments\nof relaxation. The frontier between their territory and that of hostile\ngangs was several blocks away. The \"hang out\" was just inside the\nborders of a police precinct, with whose captain they had a treaty of\npeace.\n\nThe more professional headquarters were in an innocent-looking barber\nshop on Chrystie Street. In the back there was a pool parlor. The lamps\nwere so shaded that the table was brilliantly illumined and the rest of\nthe room was black. If you walked in from the brightly lighted shop in\nfront, you could not tell how many people were there, nor how many\npistols were pointed at you. From the toilet-room in the back there was\nan inconspicuous door into the alley, which, besides its strategic\nadvantages, led to the back door of Pincus Kahan's pawnshop. Much stolen\ngoods followed this route.\n\nA sort of Robin Hood romance has been thrown around the notorious gang\nleaders of Lower New York. As usual, the reality back of the romance is\na very sorry thing. Jake, for instance, was not an admirably clever, nor\nstrong-willed, nor fearless specimen of the genus <DW25>. To be sure he\nexcelled many of his stunted, defective, and \"cocaine-doped\" retainers\nin these qualities, but above all he owed his position to a calculating,\npatient prudence. Discretion is certainly the better part of valor in\nknavery, and while most crooks are daredevils, Jake was discreet.\n\nSince his first detention in the House of Refuge, Jake had managed to\nkeep out of jail. On his release he had organized a \"mob\" of\npickpockets. Most of its members were boys he had met in that worthy\ninstitution. Neither the House of Refuge nor any of the other\n\"reformatories\" are to be blamed for the crimes of those who have passed\nthrough them. Many of their inmates are taught honorable trades, and\nsome follow them after release. Nearly half of the juvenile pickpockets\nwho gathered about Jake had never been arrested--and they were every bit\nas bad as those who had been in the House of Refuge.\n\nOwing to their leader's discretion, this little \"mob,\" which had\naffiliated with the dominant East Side Gang, enjoyed an almost unbroken\nrun of prosperity. But when he had turned eighteen, Jake retired from\nthe active practice of his profession. There was as much money and more\nsecurity in women. Nature had endowed him with the necessary external\ncharms. He enjoyed cleanliness, he was good looking, and above all he\nhad a soft, persuasive voice.\n\nHis covetousness, joined with a natural ability at organization, was\nalways pushing him into new enterprises. He gathered together the wreck\nof the notorious Beggars' Trust. He joined \"The Independent Benevolent\nSociety,\" and cornered the business of supplying girls to their \"brass\ncheck\" houses. One after another, he gained control of the gang's most\nlucrative ventures. Almost any other man of the under world would have\nmade a play for acknowledged leadership long before Jake did. He was\nmodest, or, as his enemies said, a coward. He waited until sudden death\nor imprisonment had removed his principal rivals--until the leadership\nwas practically forced upon him.\n\nThere were cleverer, more strong-willed, braver men in the gang than he.\nBut he was never careless. A civil war within the political machine had\ngiven him an opportunity to make explicit and profitable treaties with\nthose \"higher up.\" He had sense enough to leave \"dope\" alone. He lacked\nthe imagination to have any sentiment of loyalty or any sympathy, and\nthis made him what is called unscrupulous. Like most cowards he was\nbitter and cruel in revenge. He had never killed a man with his own\nhands, but he ruled his organization of \"thugs\" through fear.\n\nIt was two days after her encounter with him in the Park before Yetta\nsaw him again. As she came out of the factory, after the day's work, she\nalmost ran into him.\n\n\"Why, hello, Miss Rayefsky,\" he greeted her. \"Your cousin Ray told me\nwhere you worked. May I walk along with you?\"\n\nHe walked beside her to the corner of the street where she lived.\nGlowing stories he told her of the Ball, how much fun he and Rachel had\nhad, and how sorry he was that she had missed it. Really, she ought to\nhave come. What fun was there for working girls if they did not go to\ndances? To be sure some girls were too crazy about it, went to balls\nevery night and stayed up too late. He disapproved of such doings. He\nhad to work. And he did not want to be sleepy in the office. No, indeed!\nA serious young man with ambitions could not afford to try the all-night\ngame. He very seldom went to balls except on Saturday night.\n\nHairy Klein, alias Jake, had sized Yetta up and decided on the\n\"serious\" talk.\n\nIt was several days before he turned up again. He explained that he had\nbeen \"out on the road.\" In the course of half a dozen such walks he\nopened his heart to her. There was nothing about himself which he did\nnot tell her. She knew all his ambitions and hopes, the names of his\ninfluential relatives, the details of his serious, laborious life, and\nthe amount of his balance in the Bowery Savings Bank. Pretty soon the\n\"bosses\" would keep their promise and take him into the firm. They would\nbe surprised to find how much capital he had accumulated. Meanwhile he\nwas learning the business from A to Z. What he did not know about silk\nwas not worth knowing.\n\nTo all this fairy-story Yetta listened with credulous ears. The young\nman had a convincing manner; he was courteous and well dressed. And\nbesides, Rachel would have warned her if he had been bad.\n\nIf Yetta had grown up with boys, if she had played at courtship,--as\nmost young people happily do,--she might have seen through the surface\nglitter of this scoundrel. She had no standard by which to judge him.\n\nBut in a timidly defensive spirit she refused to go to a dance with him.\nIt was partly the instinct of coquetry, which told her to struggle\nagainst capture. It was more her humility. When he said he liked her,\nthought she was good looking, wanted \"to be her steady fellow,\" and so\nforth, it made her throb with a strange and disturbing pride. But it\nalso made her distrustful--it was too good to be true. He had somewhat\nover- his romance. If he had only pretended to be a clerk at\n$11.50 a week and meagre expectations, it would have been easier to\naccept. But why should this rich and brilliant young conqueror want\npoor, penniless her?\n\nIt was not so much that she doubted Harry's truthfulness; she found her\ngood luck unbelievable. And this uncertainty tormented her. Despite her\nlack of experience, she had a large fund of instinctive common sense.\nShe realized that she could not compromise with Life. Either this man\nwas good, wonderfully, gorgeously good, in which case the slightest\ndistrust was folly and cruelty, or he was bad--then the smallest grain\nof trust would be dangerous. She felt herself utterly unable to decide\nwisely so momentous a question. She longed ardently for some older\nconfidante, some woman whose goodness and wisdom she could trust. She\nwished she knew Miss Brail and the Settlement women. She was sure they\nwere both wise and good.\n\nThere was her aunt. In her desperate extremity she proposed one night\nthat Harry should call at the Goldstein's flat. But when he refused, she\ncould not blame him. His argument was good. Her aunt was sure to oppose\nany one who threatened to marry Yetta and divert her earnings. He stood\non the street-corner and urged her earnestly to leave her relatives. He\nhad wormed from her all the sordid details of that miserable family. Why\nshould she give her money to a drunkard who had no claim on her? He knew\na nice respectable place where she could get a room for half her wages.\nShe could buy some nice clothes with her savings. He made quite a pretty\nspeech about how much better she would look in a fine dress. It was his\nfirm conviction that she was the most beautiful girl in New York.\n\nYetta knew that it was foolish for her to go on living with the\nGoldsteins. As Rachel had said, they were and always had been cheating\nher. But a dread of the unknown kept her from at once accepting Harry's\nadvice. The waves of Life were swirling about her dizzyingly, and she\nfelt the need of a familiar haven. She held on in panic to the only home\nshe knew, sparring blindly for time, and hoping that something would\nhappen to convince her definitely whether or not she ought to put trust\nin the alluring dream.\n\nBut all the time her instinctive resistance was weakening; she had begun\nto give into his seduction. Her growing horror of the \"sweated\" monotony\nof her life was forcing her relentlessly into the clutches of this\npander. Strain her eyes as she might she could see no door of escape\nunless some such lover rescued her. Whenever she tried to think of the\npossible dangers of believing in Harry Klein, a mocking imp jeered at\nher with the grim certainties of life without him. What risk was there\nin the dream which was worse than the inevitable barrenness and\npremature fading of the sweat-shop? She listened eagerly to what he said\nabout the flat they would rent in Harlem. But with more thrilling\nattention, she listened to his stories of dances. Her heart hungered\npassionately for a little gayety. And then there was the fear that at\nsome dance he might meet a more attractive girl and leave her.\n\nShe was no longer handing over all her wages to her aunt. Under pretext\nof a slack season she was holding back a couple of dollars a week. She\ncarried these humble savings wrapped in a handkerchief inside her\nblouse. Every time she felt the hard lump against her body, her heart\ngave a little jump. She would have some money to buy a hat and some\nwhite shoes for her first dance.\n\nJake, alias Harry Klein, had a more devious psychology. When \"Blow Away\"\nasked him one night, in the Second Avenue \"hang-out,\" how things were\ngoing with Ray's cousin, Jake's lying face assumed a faraway contented\nsmile. But inwardly he was raging over Yetta's stubbornness. He was not\nused to such long chases. When he had first seen her, his money-loving\nsoul had revolted at so shameful a waste of earning capacity. A pretty\ngirl like that working in a sweat-shop! He had followed the scent\nwithout much enthusiasm. It would be an affair of a couple of weeks.\nMost pretty girls want good clothes to look prettier. Most of them lost\ntheir heads if a well-dressed man made love to them. The grim, hopeless\nmonotony of poverty made most of them hungry for a larger life. It was\nreally sickening to a man of his experience to see how greedily they\nswallowed his story of the silk firm on Broadway. It was--and this was\nhis expression for supreme easiness--like stealing pennies from a blind\nbeggar.\n\nYetta by her stubborn caution had won a sort of respect from him. His\npride was engaged. His face flushed when he thought of her. She stirred\nin him something more than vexation. The girl \"on his string\" who was at\nthe moment enjoying his special favor suddenly seemed stupid and insipid\nto him. In his distorted way he rather fell in love with Yetta. His\nday-dreaming moments were filled with passionate lurid pictures of\npossessing her. Although it was proving a long chase, he knew the odds\nand was sure of the outcome. Sometimes he thought almost tenderly of\nthe time of victory. Sometimes his face hardened, and he vowed he would\nmake her pay.\n\nThe pursuit had dragged on a solid month when quite by chance he\nstumbled on an argument which won his case.\n\nHe began to worry about her health. She ought to get out of the\nsweat-shop. It would kill her. He told her horrible stories about how\nwomen went to pieces in the sweat-shops, how they got \"bad lungs,\" or\nwent blind, or had things happen to them inside. He would, the very next\nday, find a position for her in a store or some place that would not be\nso hard on her. It did not matter if the wages were not so good; it\nbroke his heart to think of her ruining her health. As soon as they took\nhim into the firm he was going to marry her. He did not want his wife to\nbe sick or crippled.\n\nIn his mind was a dark and sinister plan to entice Yetta from her home\nand establish her in nominal employment with some complaisant woman. He\nwas really a very stupid young man. He did not realize that in all her\nlife Yetta had never had any one worry about her health. He did not\nguess how his solicitude, which seemed so unselfish, had choked her\nthroat and filled her eyes with tears. He went on with his evil\neloquence, when all the time he might have put his arms about her and\nkissed her, and carried her off wherever he wished.\n\nThe next afternoon in the sweat-shop, the pain smote Yetta in the back\nonce more.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE PIT'S EDGE\n\n\nThis second backache did not cause any noticeable interruption in the\nday's routine. Yetta gritted her teeth and kept the pace--if anything,\nincreased it. But while her fingers flew back and forth over the\naccustomed work, her thoughts soared far afield. If there had been\npersuasiveness in Harry's words, there was ten times as much eloquence\nin that sudden clutch of pain. As Mrs. Cohen had prophesied, it had come\nback. How soon would she feel it again?\n\nAt last the motor stopped its crazy rattle, the roar of the belts turned\nto a sob, the day's work was done. Yetta arranged her shawl with\ntrembling fingers and hurried down the stairs. But she hesitated a\nmoment inside the doorway before plunging out into the pack of workers\nwho were hurrying eastward.\n\nThe ebb and flow of this tide of tenement dwellers is one of the\nmomentous sights of Manhattan. At five in the morning the cross-town\nstreets are almost deserted. On the Bowery the milk wagons and\noccasional trucks rattle northward in the false dawn. The intervals\nbetween the elevated trains are long. But the side streets are even more\nlifeless. Now and then shadows flit eastward--women, night workers, who\nscrub out the great Broadway office buildings. They would be shadows\neven in broad daylight. Towards six one begins to hear sharper, hurrying\nfootfalls--coming westward. The tide has begun to flow. It grows in\nvolume with the increasing light. The congested tenements have awakened;\nby six the flood is at its height. So dense is the rush that it is hard\nto make way against it, eastward. So fast the flow that the observer can\nscarcely note the faces. It is the backs which catch the eye and leave\nan impress on the memory. A man who walked like a soldier--upright--in\nthat crowd would seem a monstrosity. Even the backs of the little\nchildren are bent. They seem to be carrying portly persons on their\nshoulders.\n\nThen for close to twelve hours these side streets are almost deserted\nagain--till the ebb begins. It is hard to decide which sight is the more\nawesome: the flow of humanity hurrying to its inhuman labor or the same\ncrowd ebbing, hurrying to their inhuman, bestial homes.\n\nBut Yetta was not thinking of her fellow-workers. With the egoism of\nyouth she was thinking of herself and the pain in her back. Harry had\nbeen right--the sweat-shop was killing her. There was a chance of escape\nand Life might never offer her another. She had come to the now-or-never\nplace. Yetta was not a coward, she was only timid. And the bravery of\ntimid people is sublime. For only a moment she hesitated in the dark\nhallway, below Goldfogle's Vest Company, and then with a smile--a\nfearless smile--on her lips she stepped out into the glare of the\narc-light. Harry was waiting for her. She slipped her hand confidently\ninto his arm.\n\n\"Say, Harry, to-morrow night, let's go to a ball.\"\n\n\"What?\" he said, stopping short, to the surprise and discomfort of the\nhome-rushing workers. \"What?\"\n\n\"Sure. I want some fun.\"\n\nAt last she had swallowed the bait! He could hardly believe his ears.\nBut he was afraid to seem too eager. They were swept along by the\nhurrying crowd almost a block before he spoke.\n\n\"How about clothes?\"\n\n\"I got some,\" she said. \"I'll bring 'em to the shop and put 'em on\nthere.\"\n\n\"Why not to-night.\"\n\n\"No. To-morrow.\"\n\nThey hurriedly talked over the details of her escape. She would tell her\naunt the \"rush-work story.\" When the shop closed, Harry could take her\nsomewhere to supper and afterwards to a dance.\n\n\"To-morrow night? Sure?\" he said when they separated at her corner.\n\n\"Sure,\" she called back.\n\nShe ran upstairs and told her aunt that there was a rush order in her\nshop and she must hurry back; she only had time for a glass of tea and a\npiece of bread. To-morrow she would take a bigger lunch and not come\nhome for supper. In a few minutes she out was again on the brightly lit\nstreets. From her scant store of savings she bought a hat, a blouse, a\npair of stockings and white shoes. She left her bundles at a store near\nher home, and then started on a pilgrimage.\n\nThe shrine she set out to visit was the little second-hand book-store on\nEast Broadway, where she had been so happy with her father. It had\nhardly changed at all. Only the man who sat on the high stool behind the\ndesk did not look like her father. She stood there aimlessly for a few\nminutes, and then her eye fell on the first two volumes of _Les\nMiserables_. It was the set she had read to her father. The last volume\nwas in her room.\n\n\"One volume is gone,\" the man told her; \"you can have them for\nseventy-five cents.\"\n\n\"I ain't got more'n half a dollar,\" she said.\n\n\"The complete set is worth five dollars.\"\n\n\"I only got fifty cents.\"\n\n\"All right. Take them.\"\n\nShe turned away from him to pull the last of her little horde out of her\nblouse. When she faced him, there were tears in her eyes.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" he asked kindly.\n\n\"Nothin'. My father used to keep this store. These were the last books I\nread to him.\"\n\n\"Oh! Is your name Rayefsky? I knew your father--he was a good man. And I\nguess I used to know you, when you were about so high. Let's see--what\nwas your name?\"\n\n\"Yetta.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, little Yetta Rayefsky, grown up into a big woman. I suppose\nyou'll be getting married soon.\"\n\n\"Say, can I sit down here fer a while,\" she asked, to change the\nsubject.\n\n\"Of course you can,\" he said cordially, bringing her a chair.\n\nShe pulled it back into the obscurity and sat there all the evening,\nwatching through wet eyes the old familiar scene, the people who came to\nbuy, and the people who came to talk. One or two she recognized. When\nshe had been a little girl, she used to sit up there behind the desk on\na high stool beside her father and fall asleep against his shoulder.\nThere was no one now to lean her head against when she was tired--except\nHarry. He promised to take care of her.\n\nMemories of her father seemed to crowd the dingy old store. Why were\nthere not more men like him in the world? He would not have wanted her\nto kill herself over the machine. How glad he would have been that she\nhad found a lover to rescue her. She recalled the sermon he had preached\nabout the wedding across the way. She did not remember many of the\nwords; much of it had been above her childish understanding. But she\nremembered how he had told her that she must love and trust and cherish\nher man. She recalled the Vow of Ruth which he had taught her. And now\nat last the lover had come. The old sad, drab life had ended; she was\nabout to enter into the glory. When it was time to close, the bookseller\ninsisted on giving back her fifty cents.\n\n\"You take the books,\" he said. \"And when you get married, you can call\nthem a wedding present from a man who knew your father, and never knew a\nbetter man.\"\n\nHugging the two volumes of _Les Miserables_ against her breast, she\nwalked home more light hearted because of this evening with ghosts--more\nlight hearted than she had ever been before.\n\nThe next morning Yetta left home earlier than usual, so that she could\npick up her bundles on her way to work. All the long morning the noisy\nmachinery of the shop seemed to be playing the music of The Song of\nSongs.\n\nBut suddenly The Fates seemed to become ashamed of the way they were\ntreating her. Perhaps Yetta's dreams of her father the night before had\npierced through the adamantine walls and stirred him out of the drowsy\nbliss of Paradise; he may have thrown himself at the feet of The Most\nHigh to plead his daughter's cause. Perhaps it was her Guardian Angel\nwhich intervened. Or perhaps it was just chance.\n\nWhen Yetta went down on the sidewalk during the noon rest to get a\nbreath of air,--with the Song ringing in her heart,--her attention was\nattracted by a group of people about a woman who was speaking. She\njoined the listening crowd. The woman was talking about a strike of \"The\nSkirt Finishers.\" The girls had been out now for weeks and were on the\npoint of starvation. The Woman's Trade Union League, to which the\nspeaker belonged, had arranged a ball for that night in behalf of the\n\"skirt finishers.\"\n\n\"Every garment worker ought to come,\" she said. \"It's your fight they\nare fighting. The garment trades are all 'sweated'--you've got to rise\nor die together. And every cent from the tickets goes to help the\nstrike. The hall, the orchestra, everything has been donated--all the\nmoney goes to the girls. But, more than the money, they need\nencouragement. Don't buy a ticket and throw it away. Of course the fifty\ncents will help, but we want more than the money, we want a crowd. It\nwill cheer up the girls a bit if the ball is a success. If you can't\ncome yourself, give a ticket to some one who will.\"\n\nNow the spirit of her father, or her Guardian Angel, or chance, moved\nYetta to give her last fifty cents to the cause of the strikers. The\ntime was so close when she was to leave the sweat-shop forever that her\nheart went out to all the less fortunate girls who had no such happy\nprospects. She would not only buy the ticket, but if the strikers needed\nencouragement, she would persuade Harry to take her there.\n\nWhen the day's work was over, she hurried into her new finery and\ndownstairs to meet her lover. Harry looked her over approvingly. Yes,\nshe was worth all the time it had taken. But he was too wily a fox to\nlet his evil glee be apparent. The rest was so easy; only a fool would\nrisk frightening her now. A couple of hours more love-making, the\nintoxication of a few dances, a little wine--if need be a drop or two of\nchloral--and the trick was turned.\n\nHe took her to \"Lorber's\" for supper. And leaning over the brightly\nlighted table, over dishes which all together cost less than a dollar,\nbut which seemed to her very wonderful, he solemnly asked her to promise\nto marry him. Just as solemnly she said \"yes.\" Jove's laughter did not\nreach her ears to disturb her as she looked trustful and happy into his\neyes. One cannot but wish that sometimes the guffaws of Jupiter were\nlouder.\n\nHarry promised to go to a jeweller in the morning and buy her an\nengagement ring. And when they had finished talking over this important\ndetail, Yetta remembered about her ticket to the Woman's Trade Union\nLeague ball. Harry tried to laugh the idea away. He knew nothing about\ntrade-unions except that high-class \"crooks\" did not belong to them. But\nthe Lyceum Hall, where it was to be held, was a very modest place.\n\n\"It's sure to be stupid in that hall,\" he said. \"They never have good\nballs there. I'm going to take you up to The Palace. There's a swell\naffair there every night--the real thing. And fifty cents! What fun can\nyou have at a fifty-cent ball? Sometimes the tickets cost five dollars\nat The Palace.\"\n\nBut Yetta had set her heart on using her own ticket, and it seemed an\nunimportant detail to Harry. They compromised; they would go to both,\nfirst to hers and then to his. She would see that he knew what he was\ntalking about.\n\nHe proposed a bottle of champagne. For a moment Yetta was frightened.\n\n\"I never drank no wine,\" she protested.\n\n\"Oh, come,\" he said, \"they always drink wine over a marriage contract. I\nwouldn't ask you to if it would hurt you.\"\n\nYetta looked at him out of her big, deep eyes. He had the peculiar kind\nof nerve which made it possible for him to look straight into them. He\nreached his hand across the table and put it caressingly on hers. And so\nshe believed him.\n\n\"If you says fer me to,\" she said, \"I'll do anything you wants me to,\nHarry--always.\" And then Yetta remembered her father and the vow he had\ntaught her. It made her suddenly bold. She took firm hold of the hand\nHarry had reached to her across the table, and in a singsong but\nthrobbing voice began to recite the wonderful old Hebrew words. The pimp\nwas bewildered. His religious instruction had been neglected; he knew no\nHebrew.\n\n\"Wot's this yer giving me?\" he asked.\n\nAnd Yetta translated into the vernacular.\n\n\"It means: 'Wherever you go, I'll go too, where you sleep, I'll sleep\nwid you, your folks will be my folks and I'll pray to your God; when you\ndie, I'll die too and be buried beside you. And God can do more to me,\nif I leave you before I die.' My father taught it to me. Ain't it a\nswell thing to say when you're engaged?\"\n\nWhen at last the significance of Yetta's avowal had penetrated Harry's\nthick skull, he moved uneasily on his chair. The business side of him\nsaid he was wasting time. It had been a foolish precaution to bring her\nto this respectable restaurant. He might have taken her straight to the\nSecond Avenue \"hang-out\"--with its complaisant proprietor and the rooms\nupstairs. But there was a sweetness--even to him--in such innocent,\nconfiding love. He had acted the part with her so long that it seemed\nsomething more than bald pretence. There was a residue of \"original\ndecency\" left under the hard shell, which living in this world of ours\nhad given him. And this part of him--God knows it was small and\nweak--wished that it was true. It was strong enough to make him prolong\nthe make-believe. He ordered only a half bottle of champagne--as a\nreally, truly lover would have done. It was nine o'clock when they left.\n\nThey walked along Grand Street towards the Bowery. A sudden wave of\ntenderness flooded Harry.\n\n\"Yetta,\" he said, \"you've never kissed me.\"\n\nHer feet on the roseate clouds, she was quite unconscious of the\npassers-by; she turned her face up to him unquestioningly. But Harry\nnever lost consciousness of such things. He did not dare to risk the\njibes of onlookers. He tightened his grip on her arm and led her into a\ndark doorway. The late March wind was cold, and no loiterers sat on the\nsteps nor stood about in the hall. Yetta--a bit surprised at his\nprudence--gave herself freely into his arms. When he kissed her, the\nlast faint shadow of a doubt disappeared. She was sure he really loved\nher. The blood pounding in her head under his caresses dizzied her--but\nshe was not afraid. Only somehow, the flush in his face and the husky\ntone of his voice seemed unfamiliar.\n\n\"Yetta,\" he said in a hot whisper. \"Did you mean what you said--that\nstuff your father taught you? Will you come with me to-night--to my room\nand--never go away?\"\n\nThis was a new idea to Yetta; she had not thought out the literal\nmeaning of the ancient vow. For a moment she looked into his face, then\nturned her head aside. After all, that was what her father had told her\nto do.\n\n\"I'll marry you,\" he said, \"as soon as they take me into the firm. It\nwon't be long.\"\n\nBut this aspect of it had not worried Yetta. She did not question his\ngood intentions. She was trying to picture to herself what such a change\nin her life would mean. There had been so little joy for her that now it\nwas hard to accept it.\n\nSuddenly a familiar figure crossed her range of vision. Her eyes, which\nhad been straining to pierce the future, focussed on the other side of\nthe street.\n\n\"Look! look! Harry,\" she cried. \"There's Rachel. Run and call her.\nQuick.\"\n\n\"No,\" he said firmly. \"That ain't Ray.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" Yetta insisted. \"I guess I knows my cousin when I sees\nher. Run after her. I'd like to tell her.\"\n\nBut Harry's hand, which before had caressed her, tightened over her arm\nin a brutal grip. He jerked her along in the other direction to the\nBowery.\n\n\"I tell you it ain't her. Come on. Get into this car.\"\n\nThe evil look in his eyes terrified her. The sound of his voice hurt\neven more than his cruel grip. She got into the car without a word. But\nshe knew he had lied. She realized suddenly and with terror that she did\nnot know the man beside her. She had caught a lightning gleam on a new\nside of his character. She had seen something dark and sinister. And all\nthe joy which had been in her heart shrivelled up and cowered.\n\nFor a moment they sat side by side in startled silence. Harry was\nsurprised and angry with himself for having lost his temper. He tried to\ncover his blunder, to get back to the old intimacy. But Yetta heard the\nforced note in his suave voice. The sight of Rachel had recalled her\nwarnings about the dangers which life holds for unprotected girls. She\ndid not answer him nor speak till the car passed Fifth Street.\n\n\"The Lyceum's on Sixth Street.\"\n\nAnd when they reached the sidewalk, she asked him flatly why he had\nlied.\n\n\"Can't you understand, Yetta,\" he asked, bending his head close to hers,\n\"that I didn't want anybody butting in to-night?\"\n\nBut she was not reassured. Once a doubt had entered, the whole fabric of\nher dreams had begun to totter. And while he told her over again the\nthreadbare story of his glowing prospects, she was remembering that she\nhad never seen the \"Silk-house\" on Broadway. When he spoke of how happy\nthey would be, she felt the sting of his rough grip on her arm. She was\na very frightened young person as they reached the door of the Lyceum\nHall.\n\nHarry felt the change in her and was raging. All the quasi-tenderness\nhe had felt for her earlier in the evening had gone. He wanted to break\nher. He cursed himself for the time he had wasted that evening. She\nwould have gone anywhere with him a half hour before. His distorted\nbrain was torn by strange emotions. Yetta had caught hold of the inner\nfabric of his imagination as no other girl had ever done. And, as is\njust as true of cadets as of other men, when they begin to care, they\nlose their _sang-froid_. He was suddenly afraid of losing her. He felt\nhimself awkward.\n\nHis lack of ease was intensified by his strange surroundings. He had\nnever been to a ball like this. He only knew two kinds: the flashy,\nvicious dances, organized by his own class, the kind he was planning to\ntake Yetta to, and \"Greenhorn balls\"--sordid but equally vicious--in the\nback rooms of low-class saloons, patronized by ignorant, newly arrived\nimmigrants.\n\nThe entry to the Lyceum Hall was packed with poorly dressed people, but\nthey were not greenhorns. The women were the strangest of all to him.\nTheir kind did not come to the balls he frequented. More than half of\nthem wore shawls; they were of all ages, from fifteen to seventy. They\nwere serious-eyed working women, and many of them looked hungry. He felt\nthat his foppish clothes were conspicuous. He felt hostility in the\nstares of the men. He would have given anything to be among his own\nkind, on familiar ground.\n\nIndeed he was conspicuous among that roomful of poorly dressed men. He\nattracted the attention of a couple who stood near the door, Mabel\nTrain and Walter Longman. In a way they were as conspicuous as he, but\nthe curious glances which turned in their direction were not hostile.\nMiss Train was secretary of the Woman's Trade Union League. Many of the\nwomen and girls, as they entered the room, rushed up to greet her. She\nwas about twenty-seven, tall and slender. In reality her body was an\nalmost perfect instrument. She was never sick, and rarely unpleasantly\ntired, but in looking at her one was more impressed with nervous than\nphysical energy. She was more graceful than beautiful. Her face was too\nsmall, a fault which was emphasized by her great mass of brown hair. But\nher diminutive mouth was strong in line. Her eyes were keenly alive and\nunafraid.\n\nLongman was over thirty, big of bone and limb. Although he strongly\nresembled a tame bear, he was a likable-looking man. And just as it\nsurprised people to find that Miss Train was a hardy horsewoman, and\ncould tire most men at skiing or swimming, so every one wanted to laugh\nwhen they were told that this lumbering giant, Longman, was an\nInstructor of Assyriology at Columbia.\n\n\"Look,\" she said as her eyes fell on Harry and Yetta, \"he's a cadet.\"\n\nThe remark, and the matter of fact, decisive way she said it, was\ntypical of Mabel Train. She knew the life of the East Side well enough\nto recognize Harry's unsavory profession at a glance, and she did not\nwaste time beating about the bush of euphemisms. She never declared a\nheart or a club when she meant a spade.\n\nLongman's eyebrows went up affirmatively, but he at once opposed the\nnatural deduction from her observation.\n\n\"Now, don't you go butting in, Mabel, until you're asked.\"\n\nShe shrugged her shoulders.\n\n\"The girl's a stranger. I guess I've got a right to welcome her.\"\n\nAnd with Longman lumbering behind her she crossed the hall.\n\n\"Good evening,\" she said to Yetta, elaborately ignoring Harry's\nexistence. \"I'm Miss Train, secretary of the League. What's your trade?\"\n\nBut Yetta replied with a question.\n\n\"Didn't you talk to the girls at the Neighborhood House?\"\n\n\"Yes. I gave them a talk on Trade Unions. Were you there? I don't\nremember your face.\"\n\nYetta started to explain how she had watched the meeting from her\nwindow. But suddenly she began to stutter; she saw Miss Train look at\nHarry, saw the scorn and contempt in her eyes. Yetta could not remember\nwhat she was trying to say. Some newcomers rushed up and interrupted\nthem. Mabel Train felt that the short conversation had been a decided\nfailure.\n\nBut to Yetta it had had immense significance. In the preceding months\nthe Settlement had come to typify all the good things of life, for which\nshe hungered. Like her cousin Rachel she \"wanted to be good.\" The women\nwhom she watched in the house across the street had seemed to her good,\nand also they seemed happy. Miss Train was of that world, she bore its\nstamp. And she did not trust Harry. Down crashed the dream into greater\nruin. Yetta was afraid with Harry. Beside such women she would be safe.\nHow could she escape?\n\nA man on the platform clapped his hands for attention and asked the\npeople to take seats close to the stage.\n\n\"Aw! Come on,\" Harry said; \"let's beat it. This place is stupid.\"\n\n\"No,\" Yetta said with the determination of fear; \"I want to stay.\"\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE SKIRT-FINISHERS' BALL\n\n\nHarry was right. It was a stupid ball. It was more of a strike-meeting\nthan a dance. To most of the people the speeches were of more importance\nthan the two-steps. As he followed Yetta, grumblingly, up towards the\nplatform he realized that the crowd of workers, packing in about them,\ncut off all possibility of escape. He had not set out that evening with\nthe intention of sitting on a hard bench and listening to \"a lot of\nrag-chewing.\"\n\n\"Is this what you call fun?\" he growled at Yetta.\n\nBut the crowd--so foreign to his manner of life--intimidated him. He\nsank into surly silence.\n\nThe first speaker was a nervous, overstrained Irish woman. With\nhigh-strung Celtic eloquence she told the story of the sweated. Her\nmanner was almost lyrical, as if she were chanting a new \"Song of the\nShirt.\" Most of the garment workers in the audience were Jews, but\nalthough her manner of appeal was strange to them, the subject matter of\nher speech was their very life, and they were deeply moved.\n\nThe president of the \"Skirt-Finishers' Union,\" who spoke in Yiddish,\nfollowed her. She told of the intolerable conditions of the trade: how\nthe prices had been shaved until no one but girls who lived at home and\nhad no rent to pay could earn a living at it; how at last the strike had\nstarted and how desperate the struggle was. The treasury was empty, so\nthey could pay \"benefits\" no longer. Unless money could be raised they\nwould be starved back to the machines--defeated.\n\nThen a young Jewish lawyer, Isadore Braun, spoke. It was the ringing\nmessage of Socialism he gave them. All the working people of the world\nwere victims of the same vicious industrial system. In one branch of\nindustry--like \"skirt-finishing,\" which they had just heard about--it\nmight momentarily be worse. But the same principle was back of all\nlabor. The coal-miner, the lace-maker, the farm-laborer, the\nclerk--every one who worked for wages--was in the same manner being\ncheated out of some of the product of his labor. Individually the\nworkingman is powerless. When men or women get together in a union, they\nare stronger and can sometimes win improvements in the conditions of\ntheir trade. But if they would all get together in one immense\norganization, if they would also vote together, they would be an\noverwhelming force in politics. They would rule society. They could\ninstall a new civilization based on Justice and Brotherhood.\n\n\"Workingmen of all countries, unite! You have nothing to lose but your\nchains. You have a world to gain!\"\n\nDr. Liebovitz rose when Braun sat down. He was a smooth-shaven,\namiable-looking man, but he spoke with a bitterness in striking contrast\nto his appearance.\n\n\"The bosses do more than cheat you. They're not only thieves--they're\nmurderers! I'm a doctor. Day and night I go about through this district\nwith a bag of medicine and surgical instruments trying to save the lives\nof people--men and women and newborn babies--who would never be sick if\nit was not for the crimes of capitalism!\n\n\"Tuberculosis! How many of you are there in this audience who haven't\nlost a relative from lungs? As I sat here a moment ago I heard at least\na dozen tubercular coughs. It's preventable--it's curable. There's no\nreason why any one should have it--less still that any one of you should\ndie of it--if Capitalistic Greed didn't force you to live in rotten\ntenements, to work long hours in worse shops.\n\n\"Unless you people who are here this evening--and all the working\npeople--make up your mind to make it impossible for some people to get\nfat off your misery, unless you get together to overthrow Capitalism, to\nestablish Socialism, some of your babies are going to die of impure\nmilk, others of adulterated food, more of T. B. Unless we can put these\nmurderers out of business there will never be an end to this horrible,\nneedless, inexcusable slaughter.\"\n\nMiss Train spoke when he had finished. She made no pretence of oratory,\ndid not seek to move them either to tears or anger. She tried to utilize\nthe emotions stirred by the other speakers, for the immediate object of\nthe meeting--raising funds for the \"skirt-finishers.\" A collection would\nnow be taken up. Mr. Casey, the secretary of the Central Federated\nUnion, had promised to address them. He had not yet come. She hoped he\nwould arrive while the girls were passing the hat.\n\n\"For Gawd's sake,\" Harry said, \"come on. This is fierce.\"\n\n\"No,\" Yetta replied, jerked down from the heights by his gruff voice. \"I\nwant to hear it all.\"\n\nShe had listened spellbound to the speakers. Never having been to a\nmeeting, she had never heard the life of the working class discussed\nbefore. Almost everything they said about the \"skirt-finishers\" applied\nequally to her own trade. Jake Goldfogle was grinding up women at his\nmachines to satisfy his greed. Before, he had seemed to her an\nunpleasant necessity. Now he took on an aspect of personal villainy. He\nwas not only harsh and foul-mouthed and brutal, he was robbing them.\nCheated at home by her relatives, at the shop by her boss, what wonder\nher life was poverty stricken!\n\nA strange thing was happening to Yetta. The champagne which Harry had\nurged on her was mounting to her brain. She had not taken enough to\nbefuddle her, but sufficient--in that hot, close hall--to free her from\nher natural self-consciousness, to open all her senses to impressions,\nto render her susceptible to \"suggestion.\" This, although Harry did not\nunderstand psychology, was why he had urged it on her. But his plan had\n\"gang aglee.\" The alcohol was working, not amid the seductions of a\nbrightly lighted, gay ball-room, but in this sombre, serious assembly.\nThe \"suggestions\" which were flowing in upon her receptive consciousness\nwere not the caresses of a waltz. She was being hypnotized by the pack\nof humanity about her. She was becoming one with that crowd of\nstruggling toilers, one with the vast multitude of workers outside the\nhall; she was feeling the throb of a broader Brotherhood, in a way she\nnever could have felt without the stimulation of the wine.\n\nOne of the speakers had alluded to the evil part in the sweating system\nwhich is played by the highly paid \"speeders.\" Yetta was a \"speeder.\"\nWhy? What good did it do her? Her uncle swallowed her wages. Jake\nGoldfogle--the slave-driver--profited most. How did it come about that\nshe--her father's daughter--was engaged in so shameful a role? She\nwanted passionately to talk it over with some one who understood.\n\nOpen-eyed she watched the group of speakers on the platform. She felt\nthe kinship between their idealism and her father's dreams. He would\nhave loved and trusted Miss Train. It must be wonderful to be a woman\nlike that. With the inspiration of the wine in her veins, she felt that\nshe might find courage to talk to her.\n\nThe young woman whom Yetta was so ardently admiring was holding in her\nhand a note from Mr. Casey which announced that he could not get to the\nmeeting, and she was asking Longman--ordering him, in fact--to fill the\ngap in the programme. He was protesting. He was not an orator. The sight\nof a crowd always made him mad. He was sure to say something which would\nanger them. It would be much better to begin the dance. But Miss Train\nwas used to having her way. His protest only half uttered, Longman found\nhimself out on the platform.\n\n\"Mr. Casey can't come. And Miss Train has asked me to take his place.\nNow, I'm no good as a speaker, and you won't like what I say, but I'm\ngoing to tell you what I believe. Braun and Dr. Liebovitz told you\nabout the rotten injustice of our social system, and what they said was\ntrue. But they did not tell you whose fault it is. You may think the\nbosses are to blame. It's your own fault. You're only getting what's\ncoming to you.\n\n\"You're slaves because you haven't the nerve to be free. You came here\nto hear the bosses called names. I don't like the bosses any more than\nyou do. But it makes me tired to hear everybody cursing them and not\nlooking at their own faults. You are getting cheated. What are you going\nto do about it? Are you cowards? Haven't you got the guts to stand up\nand fight for your rights?\n\n\"Fourscore and several years ago, our Fathers brought forth on this\ncontinent a new nation dedicated to the ideals of Democracy, of Liberty,\nJustice, and Brotherhood. And look at this nation now! Plutocracy has\nswallowed up Democracy. I don't have to tell you garment workers how\nlittle there is of Justice and Brotherhood. What's wrong? Were the\nFathers off on their ideals? No! But they neglected to people this\ncontinent with a race of men! The country is full of weak-kneed\ncringers, who read the Declaration of Independence once a year, but\nwould rather be slaves than go hungry. People whose rights are 'for\nsale.' People who prefer 'getting on in the world' to liberty. The\ntrouble with this country is that we've got too few patriots.\n\n\"I'm an American. What I've been saying to you Jews applies equally to\nmy own people. But at least I can say this for myself. It isn't much,\nbut it's more than you can say. My ancestors fought for Liberty. Back in\n1776 some of my forebears thought enough of independence to risk not\nonly their jobs--but their lives. My father valued human freedom enough\nin the sixties to fight for it.\n\n\"Do you want some one to give you Liberty?--to hand it to you on a\nplatter? You come here, hundreds of thousands every year, from the\noppression of mediaeval Europe, because here in America men of a\ndifferent race and creed have bought some measure of freedom with their\nblood. Not perfect Liberty--far from it. But we had to fight for the\nlittle we have.\n\n\"You're disappointed in America. You curse the bosses who enslave you.\nBut think a moment. Why should you be free? There's nothing in life\nworth having, which doesn't have to be striven for. One of the American\nRevolutionists said, 'Eternal vigilance is the price of Liberty.' Have\nyou been vigilant?\n\n\"To-day the age-old fight for Liberty is being fought out in\nIndustry--between Capital and Labor. What part in it are the Jews of\nAmerica going to take? Are you going to submit servilely to injustice,\nin the vain hope that some one else will win Justice for you? Or are you\ngoing to follow the footsteps of the glorious fighters of your race,\nlike Heine and Marx? Are you going to beg for Liberty or join the Army\nof Liberation, pay your share of the price and have the proud right to\nclaim your share of the Victory?\n\n\"I know your history. I know how the ages of oppression have bent your\nbacks. I know your poverty. But did you come to America to transplant\nhere these old traditions of servitude? No. You came in search of a\nbroader life, a larger measure of Freedom. Well. Just like every one\nelse you'll have to fight for it. You've got to sacrifice for it.\nYou've got to be ready to die for it.\n\n\"What are the most servile, down-trodden, abject trades in the city? The\nsweated garment trades. Who works in them? Jews. Where are the\nrottenest, vilest tenements? On the East Side. Who lives in them? Jews.\nYou are the worst-paid, hardest-driven, least-considered people in New\nYork. You are willing to work in sweat-shops. You consent to live in\ndumbbell tenements. You submit to injustice.\n\n\"You haven't joined the fight, although the Jew can fight when he wants\nto. I've no quarrel with these 'skirt-finishers.' But the fact remains\nthat--with a few glorious exceptions--the great mass of your people have\npreferred a new serfdom to the trouble of earning Liberty. The Chosen\nPeople are watching the combat from a safe distance.\n\n\"This may sound as if I was a Jew-hater. I'm not. But I love Liberty.\nThe fight is world-wide, international, interracial. It's bigger than\nJew or Gentile. It's for the Freedom of Humanity. And the people who are\nwilling to be slaves are more dangerous enemies than those who want to\nbe tyrants. It's rather good fun fighting oppressors. But it's Hell\ntrying to free ourselves from slaves.\"\n\nHis words inflamed Yetta's imagination. How often she had heard her\nfather explain the misery of their people by the lack of training in the\nhabits of freedom! He had felt--and it had been his keenest sorrow--that\nthe Chosen People were falling far short of their high calling. She\nremembered his solemn talks with her, his explanation of why he had\nwished her to study. He wanted her to be an American--a free woman.\n\nLongman stopped. Instead of applause there were angry murmurings. But\nhis words had sounded like the Ultimate Truth to Yetta. Why did they not\ngreet his message with a cheer. The wine accomplished its miracle.\nWithout its burning stimulation she would have been a cowering bundle of\ntimidity before that sullen audience. But many good things can the\nkindly Fates conjure out of vile beginnings. The champagne which was to\nhave been her utter undoing gave her courage. She got up as one\ninspired.\n\n\"What he says is true. We Jews don't fight for Freedom like we ought to.\nLook at me. My father loved Liberty. Perhaps some of you remember him.\nHis name was Rayefsky. He used to keep a book-store on East Broadway. He\ntalked to me about Liberty--all the time, and how we in this country\nought to do our share. And then he died, and I went to work in a\nsweat-shop. Vests. I forgot all he had told me. What right have I got to\nbe free? I forgot all about it. I ain't been vigilant. Nobody's talked\nto me about Liberty--since my father died. I'm\"--her voice trembled a\nmoment--\"Yes, I'll tell you. I'm speeder in my shop. I'm sorry. I didn't\nthink about it. Nobody ever told me what it meant before. If there's a\nunion in my trade, I'll join it. I'll try not to be a slave. I can't\nfight much. I don't know how. I guess that's the real trouble--we're not\nafraid--only we don't know. I ain't got no education. I had to stop\nschool when my father died. I was only fifteen. But I'll try not to make\nit harder for those that are fighting. I think...\"\n\nBut her excitement had burned out the stimulation of the wine. She\nsuddenly saw the sea of faces. It turned her from The Voice of her Race\ninto a very frightened young woman, who knew neither how to go ahead nor\nhow to sit down.\n\n\"That's all I've got to say!\" she stammered. \"I'll try not to be a\nslave.\"\n\nHer simple, straightforward story, above all her self-accusation, turned\nthe spirit of the assembly. \"That's right,\" a number of men admitted,\nand there was considerable applause. She was too confused, too\nfrightened at her own daring, to realize that she had saved the meeting\nfrom failure. But Miss Train, who never lost her presence of mind,\nrecognized the Psychological Moment to end the speech making, and she\nsignalled to the orchestra to begin the dance music. Every one got up\nand began, with a great hubbub, to move the benches back against the\nwalls.\n\nBut Harry Klein was in no mood for dancing. In this unfamiliar,\ndisturbing atmosphere, he also was discovering that his companion had a\nnew and unsuspected side. It was something he did not understand, with\nwhich he was unprepared to deal. Everything seemed conspiring to tear\nher away from him. There were limits even to his patience. He must get\nher out on the sidewalk--into his own country.\n\n\"Come on,\" he said gruffly, taking firm hold of her arm. \"I've had\nenough of this. Come on, I say. I ain't going to listen to hot air all\nnight.\"\n\nIn her moment of exaltation, Yetta had almost forgotten the existence of\nher fiance. His brusque manner broke into her mood with a suddenness\nwhich dazed her. He had led her down the hall, nearly to the door,\nbefore she could collect her wits. Beyond the door was the dark night\nand helplessness and unknown fear. Here in the hall was the woman who\nhad been in the Settlement, the woman of whom she was not afraid.\n\n\"Wait,\" she said. \"I want to talk to Miss Train.\"\n\nIn all that hostile environment, Miss Train's silent disdain had been\nthe most outspoken. Harry would rather have had Yetta talk with Rachel.\nRachel at least was afraid of him.\n\n\"Come on,\" he growled, and jerked her nearer to the door.\n\n\"No, no. I want to stop.\"\n\n\"Don't you begin to holler,\" he hissed, with a rough jerk. He tried to\nsubdue her with his hard eyes. \"Come on. Don't you make no row. Don't\nyou holler.\"\n\nThey were close to the dark doorway now, and somehow Yetta could not\nfind breath to scream out her fright. He pushed her roughly out into the\nvestibule. But his progress came to a sudden stop. Some one caught him\nby the collar and swung him off his feet.\n\n\"Not so fast, my man.\" It was Longman. \"Where are you trying to take\nthis young lady?\"\n\nHarry's free hand made an instinctive movement towards his hip pocket,\nbut Longman's hand got there first.\n\n\"Oh, ho!\" he said softly. \"Concealed weapons?\"\n\nJake nearly wept with rage. He--the president of a political club, the\ndreaded leader of a murderous gang--held up in such a manner for the\nmockery of a lot of working-men!\n\n\"I asked you where you were taking this young lady,\" Longman repeated.\n\n\"I brought her here,\" Jake snarled, trying desperately to regain his\n_sang froid_. \"I guess I can take her away when she's tired of the\nshow.\"\n\n\"Yes. Of course you can take her away, if she wants to go. But you\ncan't if she doesn't. I didn't catch your name,\" he continued, turning\nto Yetta, \"but I'd be very glad to see you safely home, whenever you\nwant to go. Would you prefer to go with me or with this--\" he looked\nfirst at the wilted desperado in his grip and then at the little circle\nof men who had gathered about. \"He's a Cadet, isn't he, comrades?\"\n\nThere was a growl of assent.\n\n\"You ain't going to throw me down now, are you, Yetta,\" Jake pleaded,\nthe thought of losing her suddenly undoing what he considered his\nmanhood, \"just because this gang has picked on me.\"\n\n\"Of course you can go with him if you want to,\" Longman said kindly.\n\"But really I think you'd better not. You won't do much for Freedom if\nyou go with him.\"\n\n\"I'll stay,\" Yetta said simply.\n\nAnd then Jake began to curse and threaten.\n\n\"Shut up,\" Longman said laconically, and Jake obeyed.\n\n\"Here,\" he continued to some of the men, \"hand him over to the police.\nBe careful; he's got a gun in his pocket. Make a charge of 'concealed\nweapons.' And--what is your name?--Rayefsky. Thanks. Miss Train wanted\nto speak to you--that's why I happened along just now. Won't you come\nand we'll find her.\"\n\nHe told her how much he had liked her speech, as he led her across the\nroom and chatted busily about other insignificant things, just as if\nrescuing a young girl from the brink of perdition was one of the most\nnatural things in the world. Yetta was not at all hysterical, but she\nhad had enough strange emotions to upset any one that night. His quiet\nsteady tone, as if everything of course was all right, was like a rock\nto lean upon.\n\nHe left her in an empty committee-room off the stage and hurried out to\nfind Mabel, who, as a matter of fact, had not sent him to find Yetta.\nWith no small exertions he pried her loose from the swarm of admiring\nyoung girls, and, leading her to the door of the committee-room, told\nher what had happened.\n\n\"Good old Walter,\" she laughed; \"warning me not to butt in, and doing\nthe rescue all by yourself.\"\n\n\"I didn't butt in,\" he said sheepishly, \"until the chap began to use\nforce.\"\n\n\"Are muscles the only kind of force you recognize?\" she said. \"I'll bet\nhe wasn't using half as much force when you interfered as he had other\ntimes without touching her.\"\n\nShe went into the committee-room and closed the door. And in a very few\nminutes Yetta was lost in the wonder of a friend. Hundreds of girls had\nsobbed out their troubles on Miss Train's shoulder before, but, although\nshe made jokes to her friends about how tears faded her shirtwaists,\nnone of the girls had ever failed to find a ready sympathy. Although the\nprocess had lost the charm of novelty to Mabel it was for Yetta a new\nand entirely wonderful experience. Not since her father had comforted\nher for a stubbed toe or a cut finger had she cried on anybody's\nshoulder. And Miss Train, as well as Longman, had the tact, as soon as\npossible, to lead her thoughts away from the evening's tragedy to the\nnew ideals which the meeting had called to life. As soon as her tears\nwere dried, Mabel took her out in the main hall and introduced her to\nher friends. Longman came up and claimed a dance, and after it was over\nhe sat beside her for a time and talked to her about labor unions and\nthe struggle for Liberty. And then he called over Isadore Braun, the\nsocialist lawyer, and had him dance with her. These two were her only\npartners at her first ball. Every few minutes Mabel managed to escape\nfrom her manifold duties and sit beside her.\n\nAbout midnight they took her home. Longman shook hands with her, and\nMabel kissed her good night. Yetta went up the dark stairway very tired\nand shaken.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nNEW FRIENDS\n\n\n\"Interesting girl,\" Longman said as he and Miss Train turned away from\nYetta's door.\n\n\"Yes. I'll have to keep an eye on her. She may be a valuable recruit.\"\n\nLongman laughed.\n\n\"What's so funny?\" she asked sharply.\n\n\"Funny isn't just the word, but don't you ever see anything in people\nexcept enemies and allies?\"\n\n\"I don't think much else matters--enemies and allies. There can't be\nneutrals in a fight for Justice.\"\n\n\"True enough, but I see a lot of interesting things in this little girl\nof the slums, which haven't anything to do with the fact that she is\nchuck full of fighting spirit and is sure to be on the right side.\"\n\n\"For instance?\"\n\n\"Well. To begin with, a sweet and pure character, which in some amazing\nway has formed itself in this rotten environment--a wonderfully delicate\nsort of a flower blossoming in the muck heap. The kind of a sensitive\nplant that the slightest rude touch would blight. It's a marvel how it\nhas escaped being trod upon--there are so many careless feet! I'm not\nproud of myself as I am, but I hate to think of what I'd be like if I'd\nbeen born in her cradle. It is always a marvel to me when some child of\nthe slum wants to be good. From where in all this sordidness did she get\nthe inspiration? And then it is always interesting to me--sad and\ninteresting--to see how utterly stupid this desire for goodness is--how\nit is just as likely to lead to utter damnation as anywhere else. This\nYetta Rayefsky has a beautiful and quite absurd trust in people. On a\nvery short acquaintance she trusts you completely. I think she trusts me\ntoo--just exactly as she trusted that Cadet. And the faith she put in\nhim was just as beautiful as what she has given you.\"\n\n\"Walter, a person who looked at you would never dream that you're such\na--\"\n\n\"Sentimentalist? I suppose you're going to call me that again.\"\n\nLongman said it bitterly. And she, knowing how the taunt would sting\nhim, with equal bitterness did not reply. They trudged on side by side\nin silence, across town to Broadway and up that deserted thoroughfare\ntowards Washington Square. They were neither of them happy.\n\nIn the bottom of her heart Mabel Train knew that something had been\nneglected by those fairies who had equipped her for life. They had\nshowered very many talents upon her. But they had forgotten that little\nknot of nerve cells which had to do with the deeper affections. There\nwere heights and depths of life which she knew she would never visit. It\nmade her feel unpleasantly different. And Longman, whom otherwise she\nliked very much, was always reminding her of this deficiency. It seemed\nto her that he was mocking her cold intellectualism. And being\nsupersensitive on this point, she had hurled \"sentimentalist\" in his\nface.\n\nOf all the odd types in New York City, Walter Longman was one of the\nmost bizarre. His parents had died while he was in Harvard. They had\nleft him an income of about five thousand a year. He did not make a\nbrilliant record in the University. There were nearly always one or two\nconditions hanging over his head, but a marked talent for languages and\na vital interest in philosophy carried him through. He was not popular\nwith the students because in spite of his immense body he could not\nmuster sufficient interest in football to join the \"squad.\" He preferred\nto sit in his window-seat and read.\n\nIn the course of his junior year he chanced in his haphazard reading\nupon a German scientific review which contained an account of some\nexcavations in the territory of Ancient Assyria. It told of the\ndiscovery of a large quantity of \"brick\" books, in a language as yet\nundeciphered. The matter interested him, and he set out to find what the\nlibrary contained on the subject. He was surprised at the amount of\nmaterial there was. The story of how Rawlinson and others had deciphered\nunknown languages fascinated him. He stayed on in Cambridge two months\nafter graduation to finish up this subject. He found more information\nabout the \"brick\" books which had first caught his attention. Several\nhundred of them had been brought to a museum in Berlin. Having nothing\npressing to do in America, he went over to have a look at them. All the\nspoil from this expedition had been housed in one room. After studying\nthe bricks for a couple of days, he thought he had found a clew. He\ncould get more ready access to them if he was a student, so he went to\nthe University and enrolled. He had no idea of staying long, nor of\nattending courses in the University, but his only plan for life in\nAmerica was to write a book on philosophy, and that could wait.\n\nThe first \"clew\" proved to be an illusion. But those rows and rows of\nancient bricks, with their cryptic writing which hid the story of a lost\ncivilization, had piqued his curiosity. Again he decided that his work\non philosophy could wait.\n\nIt was two years before he satisfactorily translated the first brick.\nOnce having found the key, his progress was rapid. If he had been in\ntouch with the Assyriologists of the University, he would probably have\nconfided in them at once. But he knew none of them personally, and he\nwent on with his work single-handed. It took him six months to translate\nthe entire collection. They contained the official records of a certain\nKing of kings, who had ruled over a long-forgotten people called the\nHaktites. It took him six months more to arrange a grammar and\ndictionary of the Haktite tongue. Then he remembered the University and\ntook his two manuscripts to the Professor of Assyriology. He was\ndecidedly provoked by the first scepticism which greeted his\nannouncement, even more bored by the hullabaloo which the savants made\nover him, when investigation proved the truth of his claim. He stayed a\nyear longer in Europe, to see an edition of his work through the press\nat Berlin and to translate the scattered Haktite bricks in other\nmuseums. This took him as far as Teheran and afield to the site of the\nexcavations, where there were numerous inscriptions on the stonework\nwhich was too unwieldy to be taken to European museums. Then he came to\nNew York to take up the position of Instructor in Assyriology in\nColumbia. He had stipulated that he should be granted a great deal of\nleisure. It was not a hard matter for the University to arrange, as\nthere was no great clamor among the students to learn Haktite. But\nLongman had insisted on the leisure, so that he would have opportunity\nto write his book on philosophy, which seemed to him very serious and\ninfinitely more important than the dead lore of his department. He was\nvexed with himself for having wasted so much time and acquired such fame\nin so useless a branch of human knowledge.\n\nHe established himself in the top floor of a two-story building on\nWashington Square, East. He took the place on a long lease, and making\nfree with the partitions, had arranged a big study in the front\noverlooking the Square, a bath, a bedroom, and a kitchenette behind it.\nTwo big rooms in the rear he sublet as storerooms to the carriage\npainter who rented the ground floor. Having a horror of servants, he\nmade his own coffee in the morning and Signora Rocco, a worthy Italian\nwoman, came in with a latch-key when he was out at lunch and put the\nplace in order. Twice a week he had to go up to the University.\n\nThe rest of his time went to what he considered his real work. He was to\ncall his book _A Synthetic Philosophy_. Hundreds of would-be sages had\ncut themselves off from all active communion with life, had retired to\nthe seclusion of a study or cave, and had written solemn tomes on what\nMan ought to think. Longman was going to discover what his kind really\ndid think. He went about it in a systematic, almost statistical way.\n\nHe had reduced the more important of the various possible human beliefs\nto twenty-odd propositions and many subheads, all of which he had had\nprinted on a double sheet of foolscap. It began boldly by raising the\nquestion of Deity. From the heights of metaphysical discussion of the\nExistence, the Unity, and the Attributes of God, it came nearer to earth\nby inquiring into Heaven and a belief in a future existence. Again it\nsoared up into the icy altitude of Pure Reason and the _Erkenntniss\nTheorie_. Again it swooped down to more practical questions of Ethics,\nwhat one considered the _summum bonum_ and under what circumstances one\nconceded the right to suicide, and whether or not one believed that\nevery man has his price. Whenever Longman found willing subjects he\ncross-questioned them by the hour. From the notes he took he tabulated\nthe victim's _credo_ on one of the printed questionnaires and filed it\naway. Almost every one laughed at his idea, but with the same dogged\nmomentum which had kept him bent for months on and over Assyrian bricks,\nwhich interested him only slightly, he stuck to this work which\ninterested him deeply.\n\nIn a way he was especially fitted for it. Every one liked him and found\nit easy to talk freely with him. And he was quick to detect any cant or\nlack of sincerity. If he wrote \"yes\" after the question, \"Do you believe\nit pays to be honest?\" it was the subject's basic belief, not a pretence\nnor a pose. And he had a knack of putting his questions in simple,\ncomprehensible language. The printed questionnaire bristled with\nappalling technical words. But he did not use such phrases as \"ultimate\nreality,\" \"the categorical imperative.\" He did not ask his subject if\nhis idea of God was anthropomorphic. Very few of the people whose faith\nhe analyzed would have understood such terms.\n\nIt was the essence of his proposition that he should tabulate the\nconvictions of all sorts and conditions of men. And in his quest for\nvaried points of view he had come into very close contact with a strange\nmixture of people. Into his \"operating room,\" as Mabel Train derisively\ncalled his study, he had enticed college professors and policemen,\nwell-bred young matrons and street-walkers. One of his sheets recorded\nthe intimate convictions of the man downstairs who painted carriages;\nanother, those of a famous opera singer. The Catholic Bishop of New York\nhad undergone the ordeal and a Salvation Army lassie, who had knocked at\nhis door to sell a _War-cry_, had come in to try to convert him. She had\nbeen very much distressed by his perplexing questions, but like all the\nrest had quickly fallen captive to his gentle manners and understanding\neyes. She had dropped her missionary pose and had talked freely to him,\nnot only of her beliefs, but also of her doubts.\n\nAlmost every one who had gone through the ordeal remembered it with a\nstrange, awed sort of pleasure. It is so very rarely that we find any\none to whom we can tell the truth.\n\nThere was a wreck of a man, an habitue of cheap lodging-houses and\ngin-mills, who would tell you the story on the slightest provocation.\nOne cold October night when he had no money for a bed and was trying to\nlive through the night on a park bench with a morning paper for a\nblanket, a man had asked him if he wanted a drink. Not suspecting the\ngood fortune which had befallen him, he had followed Longman to the\n\"operating room.\" First there had been a stiff bracer of whiskey--\"good\nScotch whiskey, sir,\"--and then a plentiful cold supper of bread and\ncheese and sardines and a steaming cup of coffee--\"as much as I could\neat, sir\"--and a cigar--\"as long as yer foot, sir. He was a real\ngentleman, sir, and he talked to me like I was a gentleman.\"\n\nThere was a young wife of an elderly professor. Some of the ladies of\nthe faculty raised their eyebrows when her name was mentioned and did\nnot go to her teas. She had been smitten by Longman's broad shoulders\nand gentle bearishness and had quite eagerly consented to come to his\nstudy. She did not tell anybody about it, but she cried when she thought\nabout it--cried that he had not asked her again.\n\nWhether or not Longman's book promised any great usefulness to humanity,\nthe preparing of it was of undoubted use to him. He had seen life at\nclose quarters, with what Mirabeau called \"terrible intimacy.\" His heart\nhad grown very large there in his \"operating room.\" As well as he could\nhe hid his ever ready sympathy under a surface joviality and flippancy.\nThere were very few people beside Mabel who realized what a\nsentimentalist he was. He was a brother to Abou ben Adhem. And that love\nof his fellow-men necessarily brought him into bitter revolt against\nthings as they are. But he had no collective sense; he loved his fellow\nmen individually. He had no feeling for mass movements. Intellectually\nhe realized the need of united activity, he believed in trade-unions\nand socialism. But the sight of a crowd always made him angry. He was an\nardent apostle of the Social Revolution. But he could not work\nharmoniously with an organization. So the socialists called him an\nAnarchist. He did not care what he was called. But most of the\ndifference between his very small living expenses and his liberal income\nfound its way unobtrusively into some socialist or labor organization.\n\nBut for three years now Mabel Train had been the \"Cause\" to which he\ngave his devotion.\n\nShe was also of the class of those who, never having had to work, had\nvolunteered in the cause of those who must. But she had done so in a\nmore intense, thoroughgoing, and practical way than had Longman. She had\ngiven not only what money she could spare, but herself.\n\nShe was a graduate of the University of Wisconsin, and having come under\nthe influence of the able and daring group of economists on that faculty\nhad been educated to a position in labor matters which is very nearly as\nradical as that of the socialists. One of her professors had told her\nthat in all his experience in coeducation he had never encountered a\nwoman with a more masculine brain. At the time she had felt\ncomplimented. She had, at twenty, been proud that she did not have\nhysterics, that her mind did not have \"fainting fits,\" that she could\ntackle the problems of the class-room in the same graceless, uninspired,\ndirect way that men did. At twenty-seven she was beginning to realize\nthat life was not a class-room exercise and that there were certain\ninevitable problems of womanhood which could not be solved man-fashion.\nShe felt herself cold in comparison to other women. The romances of the\ngirls in college had rather disgusted her. At twenty-seven she would\nhave given her right hand for the ability to lose her head like some of\nthe shop-girls among whom she worked.\n\nAs a matter of fact the professor had been quite wrong in calling her\nintellect masculine--it was only a remarkably good one. It had the\nfearlessness to look the folly of our industrial system in the face and\nunderstand it. She had a deep womanliness which made it impossible for\nher to accept a manner of life which was in contradiction to her\nintellectual convictions. Thinking as she did that the relations between\ncapital and labor were basically unjust, it was necessary for her to\nspend her life in the fight for justice.\n\nWhat might be called \"the normal mother instinct\" had been denied her.\nHer woman's nature had turned into an ardent desire to \"mother\" the\nrace. The babes who die unborn, those who are poisoned by bad milk, who\nwither up from bad air, whose growth is stunted by bad food--all the sad\nlittle children of the poor--were her own brood. She wrote rarely to her\ntwo blood sisters--she was the big sister of all the girls who are\nalone.\n\nHer parents were entirely out of sympathy with her interest in working\npeople. Principally to escape their ceaseless nagging, she had come\nEast. For several years she had been the head of the Woman's Trade Union\nLeague. Her gentle breeding made her successful with the wealthy ladies\non whom the League depended for support, the working girls idolized her,\nthe rather rough men of the Central Federated Union had come to\nrecognize that she never got up in meeting unless she had something to\nsay. And the bosses complimented her ability by hating her cordially.\n\nMost of the young men who tried to court her--and there was a constant\nstream of them, for she was a very attractive woman--fared badly. She\nwas distressingly illusive. Her intellect was so lively that it was hard\nto admire her manifold charms. She wanted the people who talked to her\nto think. And she checked sentimentality with scornful laughter.\n\nThings were further complicated for her would-be suitors by the fact\nthat Mabel, when she was not very busy, was always accompanied by her\nroom-mate Eleanor Mead. Eleanor did not look like a formidable duenna.\nShe was of a pure pre-Raphaelite type. By profession she was an interior\ndecorator, and her business card said, \"Formerly with Liberty--Avenue de\nl'Opera, Paris.\" She carefully cultivated the appearance of an Esthete.\nShe nearly always dressed in rich greens and old golds and was never\ntruly happy except during the limited season when she could wear fresh\ndaffodils in her girdle. She was clever at her work and gained a very\ngood income, which she augmented by fashionable entertainments where she\nlectured in French on subjects of Art and sometimes gave mildly dramatic\nreadings of Maeterlinck and other French mystics.\n\nMost men found her style of beauty too watery. But one of the \"Younger\nChoir\" had taken her as his Muse and had dedicated a string of\nPetrarchian sonnets to her. Eleanor had been rather flattered by the\ntribute until the unlucky bard had been forced by the exigencies of his\nrhyme to say that she had \"eyes of sapphire.\" People had begun to make\nsport of her \"sapphire\" eyes--they did have a rather washed-out\nlook--and had begun to call her \"Sapphire.\" Most of Mabel's lovers\nshortened it disrespectfully to \"Saph.\" She had given this aspiring\nversifier the sack, and his long hair was no longer to be seen in the\nhighly decorated apartment on Washington Square, South.\n\nAlthough her appearance was not at all dreadful, she was feared and\nhated by all Mabel's admirers. It was impossible to call on Miss\nTrain--it was necessary to call on both of them. Without any open\ndiscourtesy, with a well-bred effort to hide her jealousy, Eleanor made\nthe courting of her friend a hideous ordeal. Most aspirants dropped out\nof the race after a very few calls. But for three years Longman had held\non. It had not taken him long to know what was the matter with him, and\nafter two unsuccessful efforts to see Mabel alone and tell her about it,\nhe went one night to the flat with grim resolution.\n\n\"Miss Mead,\" he said abruptly on entering, \"I've got something very\nimportant I want to say to Miss Train. I want to ask her to marry me.\nWill you be so kind--?\"\n\nHe opened the door leading into the dining-room. His manner had been\nirresistible. And Eleanor with her head in the air had sailed out past\nhim. He shut the door carefully. All the evening long, Eleanor knelt\ndown outside it, with her ear glued to the keyhole. But she heard\nnothing to distress her.\n\nLongman got no satisfaction. Mabel had rejected his offer as decisively\nas possible. But he had refused to be discouraged. The third time that\nhe forced a proposal on her, it had made her angry and she had said that\nshe did not care to see him again. A few days later she received a very\nhumble letter from him. He pleaded for a chance to be her friend, and\nsolemnly promised not to say a word of love for six months. She had not\nanswered it, but the next Sunday he came to the flat for tea. They had\ndrifted into a close but unsound friendship. Eleanor's dislike for him\nwas so evident--she maintained that the way he had banished her to the\ndining-room proved that he was no gentleman--that he very rarely went to\ntheir apartment. But on every possible occasion he met Mabel outside.\nThe people who saw him at her side, night after night at labor meetings,\nassumed that they were engaged. This added intimacy only whetted\nLongman's love. From bodyguard he fell to the position of slave. He ran\nerrands for her.\n\nWith the masculine attitude towards such matters he did not believe that\nshe would accept such untiring service if there was no hope.\n\nWhen at the end of the stipulated six months she refused him\nagain,--just as coldly as at first,--it was a bitter surprise to him. If\na man had acted so, Longman would have unhesitatingly called him a cad.\n\nHe went away to the mountains to think it out. In a week he was back,\nproposing again. Once more she became angry. When she said \"no,\" she\nmeant \"no.\" She did not want to marry him and did not think she ever\nwould. He had asked to be her friend. Well. She enjoyed his friendship,\nbut if he was going to bother her every few days with distasteful\nproposals of marriage it made friendship impossible. For two weeks he\nstruggled with himself in solitude, torn between his desire to see her\nand his pride. Then he went to a meeting where he knew she would speak\nand walked home with her.\n\nSo it had recommenced and so it had continued--in all three years. A\ndeep camaraderie had grown between them. They knew each other better\nthan many couples who have been married twice as long. But Longman could\nsee no progress towards the consummation he so earnestly desired. During\nthe three years there had been alternate moods of hope and despair. At\ntimes he thought she surely must come to love him. At other times the\nhalf loaf of intercourse tasted bitter as quinine. He told himself that\nhe was a weak fool, a spectacle for the gods to laugh at, hanging to the\nskirts of a woman who had no care for him. At times he said, \"Let all\nthe rest go hang, to-day's sweet friendship is better than nothing.\"\nThere were sad and angry moments when he paced up and down in his study\nand cursed her and himself and his infatuation--and the next moment he\nwanted to kiss the dust she had trod upon.\n\nBut steadily the torment of their relationship grew worse. More and more\ninsistent had become the idea of going away. Perhaps she would miss his\nfriendship and call him back. But he had been too deeply enslaved to\ndare so drastic a revolt. However, that morning had brought him mail\nwhich had suddenly crystallized this idea. He had resolved to put it to\nthe test.\n\n\"Mabel,\" he said as they entered Washington Square, \"if you're not too\ntired let's go up to the Lafayette for a while. I've got something\nimportant to talk over with you.\"\n\nA look of vexation crossed her face, which, with quick and painful\nsensitiveness, he interpreted.\n\n\"No,\" he said gravely, \"I won't bore you with any professions of\naffection. It's a business matter on which I'd like your advice.\"\n\n\"Why not come up to the flat; we've some beer, and Eleanor's been making\nsome fudge. It's more comfortable than that noisy cafe.\"\n\n\"Very well, then,\" he said stiffly. \"I'll leave you at your door.\"\n\n\"Now, Walter--don't be a fool. What are you so sour about to-night? You\nhaven't opened your mouth for six blocks.\"\n\n\"You know very well that I can't talk with \"Saph\" on the job--she hates\nme. I'd like to talk this over with you.\"\n\n\"All right,\" she said, shaking his arm to cheer him up. \"But don't be\nquite so grumpy, just because I called you a sentimentalist.\"\n\nOver the marble-topped table in the cafe, he told her that a letter had\ncome inviting him to join an expedition, organized by the French\nGovernment, to excavate some Haktite ruins in Persia. From the point of\nview of an Assyriologist it was a flattering offer; they had selected\nhim as the most eminent American in that department. But it would be a\nthree or four years' undertaking in one of the most inaccessible corners\nof the globe. They would probably get mail no oftener than two or three\ntimes a year. And after all he was more interested in the thoughts of\nlive men than in mummies and cuneiform inscriptions. It would stop his\nwork on philosophy.\n\n\"In fact, Mabel,\" he ended, \"there is only one thing that makes me think\nof accepting. I can't stand this. I don't want to bring up the forbidden\nsubject. But I'm tired--worn out--with hiding it. If I stay here in New\nYork, I'm sure to--bore you.\"\n\nHe tried to smile lightly, but it was not much better than the smile\nwith which we ask the dentist if it is going to hurt. Mabel dug about in\nher _cafe parfait_ for a moment without replying. She understood all the\nthings he had not said. At last she did the unselfish, the kindly thing,\nwhich, if she had been a man, she would have done long before. She sent\nhim away.\n\n\"It looks to me like a great opportunity. It isn't only an honor for\npast achievements, but a chance for new and greater ones. Sometimes I\npoke fun at your Synthetic Philosophy, but seriously I don't think it is\nas big a thing as your Assyriology. Whether you like it or not the Fates\nhave given you a talent for that. Your wanting to do something\nelse--write philosophy--always seems to me like a great violinist who\nwants to be a jockey or chauffeur. You're really at the very top as an\nAssyriologist. It's not only me--but most of your friends--think you\nhave more talent for that. I think you'd best accept it.\"\n\nLongman swallowed his medicine like a man. A few minutes later he left\nMabel at her door.\n\nShe found \"Saph\" stretched out _a la Mme. Recamier_ on the dull green\nEmpire sofa.\n\n\"Will you never get out of the habit of staying to sweep up after the\nball?\" she asked languidly.\n\n\"I haven't been sweeping up,\" Mabel replied; \"I've been over at the\nLafayette with Walter. Now don't begin to sulk,\" she went on; \"he's been\ntelling me great news. The French Government has asked him to go on one\nof their expeditions to Central Asia. He's going.\"\n\n\"Goody,\" Eleanor cried, jumping up. \"I'm glad!\"\n\n\"I'm not,\" Mabel said; \"I'll miss him no end.\"\n\n\"Mabel Train, I believe you're in love with that man.\"\n\n\"No, I'm not. And I'm half sorry I'm not. I'm tired, done up. Good\nnight.\"\n\n\"Don't you want some fudge?--it turned out fine.\"\n\n\"No. Goodnight.\"\n\nMabel did not exactly bang her bedroom door, but she certainly shut it\ndecisively, and for more than an hour sat by her window, watching the\nceaseless movement in the Square. Once she saw Longman walk under an\narc-light. His head was bent, his hands deep in his pockets. Although\nthe sight of him left her quite cold, her eyes filled with tears as they\nhad not done for years. It was just because the sight of him left her\ncold that tears came.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nYETTA ENLISTS\n\n\nYetta did not fall asleep readily after the ball. Her mind was a\nturmoil. If she tried to fix her attention on this question of Liberty\nwhich had stirred her so deeply, she was suddenly thrown into confusion\nby a memory of the cold fear which Harry Klein's hard eyes and brutal\ngrip had caused her. She felt that she must think out her relationship\nwith him clearly if she was ever to be free from fear, but again this\nproblem would be disturbed by the thought of her wonderful new friends.\n\nSleep when it came at last was so heavy that she did not wake at the\naccustomed hour in the morning. When Mrs. Goldstein came into the\nbedroom to rouse her, she was startled by the sight of the new hat and\nwhite shoes, which Yetta had been too excited the night before to hide.\n\nThe first thing Yetta knew, there was a great commotion in her room. Her\nuncle and aunt, neither more than half dressed, were accusing her loudly\nof her crime and heaping maledictions on her head. It was several\nminutes before Yetta fully awoke to the situation. And when she did, a\nstrange transformation had taken place within her; she was no longer\nafraid of the sorry couple.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, sitting up in bed, drawing the blanket about her\nshoulders, \"I went to a ball. If you don't like it, I'll find some other\nplace to live.\"\n\nThe garrulous old couple fell silent. Goldstein's resentment against his\ndaughter Rachel was fully as much because she had stopped bringing him\nmoney to get drunk on as because she had \"gone wrong.\" After a minute's\namazement at Yetta's sudden display of independence, they began a\nsing-song duet about ingratitude. Had they not done everything for her?\nTaken her in when she was a penniless orphan? Clothed and fed and\nsheltered her?\n\n\"And haven't I paid you all my wages for four years?\" she replied. \"Go\naway. I want to get dressed.\"\n\nAt the shop Yetta found that the story of her speech had been spread by\none of the girls at the second table who had been at the ball.\nFortunately this girl had not witnessed the scene with Harry Klein.\nYetta found the women at her table discussing the matter in whispers\nwhen she arrived. In the moment before the motor started the day's work,\nthe bovine Mrs. Levy told her that she was a fool.\n\n\"You've got a good job,\" she said. \"You'll make trouble with your bread\nand butter. You're a fool.\"\n\n\"Better be careful,\" the cheerful Mrs. Weinstein advised. \"Don't I know?\nMy husband's a union man. Of course the unions are right, but they make\ntrouble.\"\n\n\"It ain't no use,\" the sad and worn Mrs. Cohen coughed from the foot of\nthe table. \"There ain't nothing that'll do any good. Women ain't got no\nchance.\"\n\nThe motor began with a roar.\n\nIt is a strange fact of life, how sometimes a sudden light will be\nturned on a familiar environment, making it all seem new and entirely\ndifferent from what we are accustomed to. Four years Yetta had worked in\nthat shop. She had accepted it all as an inevitability, which no more\nadmitted change or \"reform\" than the courses of the stars. The speeches\nto which she had listened made it suddenly appear in its true human\naspect. It was no longer a thing unalterable, it was an invention of\nhuman greed. It was a laboratory where, instead of base metals, the\nblood of women and young girls was transmuted into gold. The alchemists\nhad failed to find the Philosopher's Stone. The sweat-shop was a modern\nsubstitute. It was a contrivance by which such priceless things as youth\nand health and the hope of the next generation could be coined into good\nand lawful money of the realm.\n\nHer nimble fingers flying subconsciously at the terrible speed through\nthe accustomed motions, Yetta saw all the grim reality of the shop as\nnever before. She saw the broken door to the shamefully filthy toilet,\nsaw the closed, unwashed windows, which meant vitiated,\ntuberculosis-laden air, saw the backs of the women bent into unhealthy\nattitudes, saw the strained look in their eyes. More vaguely she saw a\nvision of the might-be life of these women,--clean homes and happy\nchildren. And behind her she felt the existence of the \"office\", where\nJake Goldfogle sat and watched them through his spying window, and\ncontrived new fines. And even more clearly than when she had made her\nspeech, she saw her own function in this infernal scheme of greed, saw\nherself a lieutenant of the slave-driver behind her. She wondered if\nthe other women hated her as she deserved to be hated. But habit is a\nhard thing to break, and her fingers sped on as of old.\n\nWhen the day's work was over, a sorry sort of a woman, named Levine, a\nwoman who had had many children and more troubles and very few joys,\nlingered in the shop and told Goldfogle the gossip about Yetta's speech.\nShe had expected some reward, a quarter--or even a dime--with which to\nbuy a little more food for her children. But she got only curses. During\nthe day one of Jake's loans had been called. What was he to do, hounded\nby his creditors, threatened from within? If he had been an Oriental\ndespot he would have slain the bearer of these bad tidings.\n\nYetta, afraid of meeting Harry Klein outside, clung as close as might be\nto Mrs. Weinstein on her way home. She ran the few blocks she had to go\nalone.\n\nIt was a useless precaution. He had no intention of accosting her that\nnight. The official dispensers of Justice had taken small interest in\nthe charge against him. He had been promptly bailed out and knew the\npapers would get lost in some pigeonhole. But although he was not\nworrying about his arrest, he was more unhappy than he had been since\nthe first day he had spent in jail as a boy. Like most crooks he\nbelieved in \"luck.\" Apparently his luck had turned. There was only one\nconsolation. It had been a single-handed game. None of his followers\nknew of his downfall. So he had set about planning a spectacular _coup_\nwhich would restore his prestige if the story of his disgrace got out.\nHis vengeance, to be complete, should have included Longman, but the\nscent was too faint. He did not know his adversary's name. But he knew\njust where to put his finger on Yetta. He was a discreet young man, and\nhe wanted to be very sure there would be no slip-up. So this night he\ntrailed along behind her, safely hidden in the crowd. When he saw that\nshe had walked home along the accustomed streets, he smiled contentedly.\n\n\"It's a cinch,\" he told himself.\n\nDuring the day an event had occurred in the Goldstein flat; a messenger\nboy had come with a letter and a bundle of pamphlets for Yetta. Even the\npostman is a rare visitor to such homes, and the arrival of a special\nmessenger is talked about by the whole street. Mr. Goldstein, whose\ndispute with his niece had driven him out to find solace from his\ntroubles, had, more early than usual, returned to the flat. He had found\nhis wife very much excited over the bundle which reposed in state on the\nkitchen table. He was not so befuddled but that he saw the tracts were\nabout Trade Unions. So when Yetta returned from her work she found a new\nstorm blowing. As a Tammany man and a pillar in the Temple of Things as\nThey Are--it is doubtful if he realized how important he and his kind\nare in the maintenance of that imposing structure. Mr. Goldstein had to\noppose trade-unions and socialism. They seemed to him more subversive of\nthe order of Society than social settlements, dance-halls, or the\nReligion of the Goyim. And he was sufficiently intoxicated to have\nforgotten the mercenary caution which had in the morning kept him from\nthrowing out the chief brandy-winner of the household. All through her\nsupper Yetta had to listen to reproaches--which were not too delicately\nworded. But they hardly bothered her. As soon as she could find a good\nplace to live she was going to leave. She was not afraid any more. And\nwhen she had crammed sufficient food into herself, she picked up the\nbigger of the two lamps and escaped to her room with the pamphlets and\nthe letter.\n\nIt had taken Mabel Train less than five minutes to dictate the letter,\nalthough she had two or three times stopped to attend to things which\nshe thought more important. But of course to Yetta, the letter seemed\nimportance itself. It was the first she had ever received, and it was\nfrom the most wonderful woman in the world. Mabel asked some questions\nabout the shop and the chances of organizing the vest trade, and she\nurged Yetta to come to the office of the League to see her. She gave a\nlist of the meetings at which she was to speak the next few nights, and\nasked Yetta, if it was impossible to get off in the daytime, to come to\none of these meetings. She wanted very much to have a long talk with\nher--above all she hoped that Yetta would not forget her. It was an\ninformal and affectionate letter. Yetta read it over five times, and\neach reading made her happier.\n\nThen she turned to the pamphlets and did not go to bed until she had\nfinished them. It was four years since she had read so much. There were\nhard words here and there which she did not understand, but on the whole\nthey seemed wonderfully clear. Many of the questions which had been\nperplexing her were answered, many new ones raised. Although the reading\nmade her feel keenly her ignorance--made her cheeks burn with shame over\nthe years when she had brutishly ceased to think--she certainly\nunderstood life better, she saw more clearly her place in it.\n\nThe last of the pamphlets bit into her. It was called \"Speed.\" It was\nwritten in a violent and unjust spirit. The author had failed to realize\nthat the \"speeders\" were human beings; that few, if any of them, were\nwilling or understanding tools in the hands of the bosses. He spoke of\nthem as \"traitors to their comrades,\" \"ignoble creatures--Judases who\nsold themselves to the oppressors for thirty pieces of silver,\" \"more\ndetestable than scabs.\" To be a \"speeder,\" this author held, was \"a\nprostitution more shameful than that of the streets.\" If Mabel had\nselected the pamphlets, this one would not have been sent to Yetta, but\nshe had told her stenographer to send \"half a dozen.\" And Yetta, not\nknowing much about stenographers and their blunders, thought that all\nthis was what the wonderful Miss Train thought about her. She felt that\nsome deep expiation was necessary if she wished to look her new friends\nin the face.\n\nShe was in the grip of hurrying forces. She could see but three courses\nopen before her. It was possible to go on as she had been doing, part of\nthe great machine which was robbing mankind of its liberty, a blind tool\nin the hands of the tyrants--a tool until she was worn out and\ndiscarded. She might slip into the hands of some Harry Klein. Or she\nmight risk all in the Cause of Freedom.\n\nIt would be easier for us to understand Yetta's outlook on life, if we\ntoo had stood on the very brink of that bottomless abyss; if we\nrealized, as she had suddenly come to realize, how very narrow is the\nmargin of safety, which even our greatest caution can give us. It did\nnot seem to her that she was risking much in risking everything she had.\n\nMabel Train, on the contrary, had joined the ranks of Social Revolt\nwithout any compulsion. She and her family were beneficiaries of the\nsystem to the overthrow of which she had dedicated her energy. It would\nhave been very easy for her to sink into the smug complacency of the\nlife to which she had been born and bred. Why should she not accept the\nconventional lies of our civilization as her mother, her sister, and her\nfriends did? She had been given this strangely strong intellect which\nher professor had called masculine, and she could not help but recognize\nthe \"falsehoods.\" She had also been given a keen sense of ethics and a\ntremendous pride. She could not bear the thought of being \"the kept\nwoman\" of Injustice.\n\nWith all that is ordinarily called \"good\" at her command, she had\nvoluntarily chosen a hard and cheerless life, a career which was largely\nthankless. Instead of cotillions she went to the balls of the\nAmalgamated Union of Skirt Finishers. She had given up a comfortable\nhome for light-housekeeping in a flat. The hardest of all was that\ninstead of being considered an ordinarily sane young woman, all the\npeople of her old life thought her a crank and a fool.\n\nYetta's situation was indeed different--less heroic but more tragic. And\njust in proportion as your own toothache hurts you more than your\nneighbor's, it was more vital. Her life seemed to her shameful, and as a\nprice of shame it offered her nothing but a gradual rotting into barren\nuselessness. Her first effort to escape from the vicious rut into which\nshe had fallen had led her to the brink of a greater shame, a surer\ndisaster. Of all the people with whom life had brought her into\ncontact, three seemed preeminently good: her father, Longman, and Mabel\nTrain. They all loved Liberty. Once her eyes had been opened, Yetta\nwould gladly have given up much more to the New Cause. As it was, the\ncrusade seemed to her not a sacrifice, but an escape. An irresistible\nforce was pushing her into Revolt--_la force majeure_ of poverty.\n\nShe did not foresee what form her new life would take; she was ignorant\nof too many important things. But she reached a determination to seek\nout Miss Train at the earliest opportunity and enlist.\n\nAnd having cleared up this problem, her mind was freer to face the case\nof Harry Klein. It was not an easy thing for her to fold away all the\nemotions and dreams to which he had given life. She was still\nunenlightened in such matters. She did not see clearly the details of\nthe horrors from which she had escaped. All she knew was that he had\nlied to her. He had with his honeyed words been plotting to make her\n\"bad.\" Some of Longman's words at the Skirt-Finishers' ball came back to\nher and seemed to apply. She had foolishly dreamed that some one could\ngive her freedom. That had been an idle hope; if she was to escape from\nher dungeon of monotony she must do it herself.\n\nHarry Klein did not go to sleep until his plans were laid. He had had a\nsatisfactory talk with the keeper of a Raines Law hotel on the route\nwhich Yetta followed on her way home after she left Mrs. Weinstein. The\nrooms upstairs would be empty on the morrow, and the ladies' parlor\nclear of witnesses. He had ordered a dozen of his followers to be in a\nsaloon across the street. At a signal from him they were to rush out\nand fire their revolvers in the air in imitation of a gang fight. All\nthe homeward hurrying crowd would shriek and run. In the excitement he\nwould jerk Yetta into the dark doorway.\n\nHe did not like to use such \"strong-arm\" methods. It was always safer\nand generally easy to fool the girl into coming willingly. But this\noccasion demanded decisive action. He went over the plan carefully, and\ncould find no flaw in it. \"It's a cinch,\" he repeated as he went to\nsleep.\n\nJake Goldfogle did not get to sleep at all. He tossed about on the bed\nin his stuffy tenement room--which he had hoped to leave so soon for a\nHarlem flat--and tried to think a way out of his difficulties. He had\nspent his last resources in meeting the unexpectedly called loan. If\ntrouble broke out in his shop, there was very little hope of pulling\nthrough. It was his nature to cross all bridges as soon as he heard of\nthem. But this one which seemed so close he could not traverse. Should\nhe appeal to Yetta at once? Or should he trust to luck, to the chance of\nthe storm blowing over? All night long he swung from one decision to the\nother. His final conclusion was to redouble his spying, and at the first\nhint of trouble to call Yetta into his office. He had no doubt that an\noffer of marriage would change her into an ally.\n\nYetta, having no idea how the powers of darkness were again closing\nabout her, set out to work in the morning in high spirits--her face\nillumined by her new resolve. But her exaltation was short lived. Mrs.\nCohen's lungs were much worse. All through the morning hours she\nstruggled desperately with her cough. Mrs. Levy had seen the same thing\nso often before that she gave it no attention. But Mrs. Weinstein's\nmerry eyes turned serious. And every cough tore at Yetta's heart. She\nwas partly to blame. During the noon respite she and Mrs. Weinstein took\ncare of the consumptive woman, tried to tempt her to eat with the\nchoicest morsels of their none too savory lunches. Yetta urged her to go\nhome for the afternoon and rest. But that was impossible. Goldfogle\nwould \"fire\" her if she left, and she needed the job.\n\nSo when the short lull was over, the women took their places about the\ntable. Hardly five minutes had passed when a paroxysm of coughing\nchecked Mrs. Cohen's hands, and the work began to pile up. Yetta broke\nher thread, and by the time she had mended it Mrs. Cohen had caught up.\nJake, hearing the stop, came to the door, but, seeing that Yetta was to\nblame, went back without speaking. Within half an hour Yetta had to\nbreak her thread again. But Mrs. Cohen was past the aid of such\nmomentary rests. Before three the crisis came. She let go her work and\ndropped her head on her hands, horribly shaken by sobs and coughs.\nYetta, feeling that she had helped to kill the woman, stopped her\nmachine. Jake rushed out into the shop.\n\n\"_Wos hat da passiert?_\" he demanded of Yetta, nervous and angry. \"Did\nyour thread break again?\"\n\n\"No.\" Yetta stood up. \"I stopped.\"\n\n\"Stopped?\" he repeated in amazement.\n\n\"Yes. I stopped. It's a shame. Mrs. Cohen is sick and can't keep up.\"\n\nJake was only too glad to find some one else to vent his vile temper\nupon. He ran around the table and grabbed Mrs. Cohen roughly by the\nshoulder.\n\n\"You're fired,\" he shrieked. \"I've had too much from you. You're the\nslowest woman here. Now you stop the whole table. You're fired.\"\n\n\"No, you don't, Mr. Goldfogle,\" Yetta cried, as excited as he was. \"You\ndon't fire her without you fire me too. See? Ain't you got no heart?\nShe's killed herself working for you. You ought to take care of her now\nshe's sick.\"\n\n\"Vot you tink?\" he wailed. \"Is it a hospital or a factory I'm running?\"\n\n\"If it's a slaughter-house, Jake Goldfogle, I won't work in it.\"\n\nThe altercation had stopped all the work. The shop was strangely quiet.\nAnd Jake, his hope of success, his dream of love, trembling about his\nears, could hardly keep back his tears. Suddenly he found voice and\nturned on the other women.\n\n\"Vot for do you stop? Vork! Vork, or I'll fire you.\"\n\nAnd then coming up close to Yetta he said:--\"You come vid me to my\noffice. I vant to talk vid you.\"\n\n\"Why don't you say it here?\" she asked defiantly. \"I don't care who\nhears me talk. You got to treat Mrs. Cohen right or I'll quit. The other\ngirls will quit too if they ain't cowards.\"\n\n\"No, no, no,\" he said, trying to hush her. \"You come vid me, Miss\nRayefsky.\"\n\nShe hesitated. She had expected him to rage and threaten her; his\ncringing manner disconcerted her. Anyhow it would give Mrs. Cohen time\nto breathe, so she reluctantly followed him into the dingy little\noffice. He carefully closed the door.\n\n\"I've got sometin' to tell you. I. Vell--Yetta, you be a good girl und\nnot make no trouble in the shop. Und ven de rush season is over,\nYetta--I'll, yes, Yetta, I luf you. I'll marry you. You be a good girl\nund not make trouble, Yetta, und I'll marry you.\"\n\nIf he had threatened to kill her, Yetta would not have been so\nsurprised. She was dumbfounded. And Jake, nervous, frightened, amorous\nJake, took her amazed speechlessness for consent. He thought the\nmagnificent generosity of his offer had overpowered her.\n\n\"Yes, Yetta,\" he drivelled on, \"I luv you already since a long while. I\nvant to tell you, but the contract is zu close. I need you in the shop.\nYou're the best vorker. It's only a few veeks now, Yetta. Ve'll be rich.\nRich! I don't care if you ain't got no money. Ven I seed you first,\nYetta, I luved you.\"\n\nHe grabbed one of her hands and tried to kiss her. The slap he received\ndizzied him.\n\n\"You come out in the shop, Jake Goldfogle,\" she cried, pulling open the\ndoor. \"You tell them what you told me. What do you think the pig said to\nme?\" she asked the surprised women. \"You tell them, Jake Goldfogle, or I\nwill. He wants me to marry him--after the rush season. He loves me so\nmuch he wants me to go on speeding for him--slave driving--till after\nthe rush season. Oh, the pig! I'd rather be hustling on the street, Jake\nGoldfogle, than be married to a sweat-shop keeper.\"\n\nJake's temper was never very good; it had been torn by too many and\ndesperate worries. To have his heart's dream thus publicly scoffed at,\nrobbed him of his last shred of self-control. Giving tongue to an\nincoherent burst of rage and filth, he rushed at Yetta. She thought he\nwas going to strike her. But she was too angry herself to be afraid.\n\n\"Don't you hit me, you brute,\" she screamed at him, shaking her own\nfists in his face. \"I ain't working for you no more, Jake Goldfogle.\nSee? I ain't one of your slaves any more. I'm a free woman. I'll have\nyou arrested, if you hit me. And shut your dirty mouth.\"\n\nJake was cowed. His fist unclenched.\n\n\"You see what kind of a boss we've been working for,\" Yetta said to the\nother women. \"He ain't a man. He's a pig! Wanted me to marry him--after\nthe rush season. I've quit him and you ought to quit too.\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" Jake shrieked.\n\n\"I won't shut up. See what you've done to Mrs. Cohen. You've killed her,\nand now you want to throw her out. We ought to strike.\"\n\n\"Don't you talk strike in my shop, you--\"\n\n\"Yes. We ought to strike. You know the dirty deal we're getting. Rotten\nwages and speed. It's because we ain't got no union and don't fight. We\nought to strike like the skirt-finishers.\"\n\n\"Police! Police!\" Jake howled, rushing to the door. \"I'll have you\narrested, you dirty little--\"\n\n\"I don't care if he does have me arrested,\" Yetta went on more quietly\nafter he had gone. \"If he was treating us decent, he wouldn't yell for\nthe police, when somebody says 'strike.' I ain't afraid of jail. I'm\nafraid of staying here on the job and coughing myself to death. I'm\ngoing to quit, and you ought to too.\"\n\n\"You're a fool. You're making trouble,\" the bovine Mrs. Levy said with\nconviction.\n\n\"No. She ain't,\" Mrs. Weinstein spoke up. \"I guess my man belongs to a\nunion. He's told me lots of times that us working people ain't got no\nother hope. It's the bosses what make trouble by cheating us. I'll\nstrike, if the rest do.\"\n\n\"I'll strike anyhow,\" Yetta said. \"I won't never work for a pig like\nthat, asking me to marry him after the rush season.\"\n\n\"I'll strike vid you, Yetta,\" the girl said who had been to the ball.\n\"My sister's a skirt-finisher. But the strike ain't no good unless\neverybody quits.\"\n\n\"I'll strike,\" another voice chimed in.\n\n\"All right,\" Mrs. Weinstein said. \"We'll all strike.\"\n\n\"It's foolishness,\" Mrs. Levy protested, rubbing her trachoma-eaten\neyes.\n\nBut the excitement had caught the rest of the women. And when Jake\nreturned, hatless and breathless, with a phlegmatic Irish policeman, he\nmet all his women coming downstairs. In spite of his frenzied pleading,\nthe policeman refused to arrest them, refused even to arrest Yetta.\n\n\"I'll take your number. I'll report you, if you don't arrest her. She's\nbeen making trouble.\"\n\n\"Aw! Go on, ye dirty little Jew. I'll smack your face, if ye talk back\nto me. And you women, move on. Don't stand around here making a noise or\nI'll run you in.\"\n\nBut on the next corner the group of women did stop. Where should they\ngo? What should they do next?\n\n\"Nobody'll go back to work,\" Yetta said, \"unless he'll take Mrs. Cohen,\ntoo, when she gets rested.\"\n\n\"I won't never get rested,\" the coughing woman said.\n\n\"Oh, yes, you will, sure,\" Mrs. Weinstein said. But everybody knew she\nwas lying.\n\nThe girl whose sister was a skirt-finisher and who knew all about\nstrikes took down the names and addresses of the twelve women. Mrs.\nWeinstein promised to look after Mrs. Cohen. And Yetta started uptown to\nthe office of the Woman's Trade Union League. And all the long walk her\nheart was chanting a glad hosanna. She wasn't a speeder any more. She\ncould look free people in the face.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE W. T. U. L.\n\n\nIt was near five in the afternoon when Yetta reached the brown-stone\nfront which held the offices of the Woman's Trade Union League. It had\nonce been a comfortable residence. But Business, ever crowding northward\non Manhattan Island, had driven homes away. The house seemed dwarfed\nbetween two modern buildings of twelve and eighteen stories.\n\nIn what had formerly been the \"parlor,\" Yetta found a rather barren,\nvery businesslike office. Two stenographers were industriously hammering\ntheir typewriters, but the chair behind the big roll-top desk was empty.\n\n\"Hello,\" one of the girls greeted her, hardly looking up from her notes.\n\"What do you want?\" \"I want to see Miss Train.\"\n\n\"Sit down. You'll have to wait. Advisory Council.\"\n\nShe jerked her head to one side to indicate the double doors which in\nmore aristocratic days had led to the dining-room. It was anything but a\ncordial welcome. To be sure the two girls were \"organized.\" Miss Train\nhad persuaded them to form a union. One was president and the other was\nsecretary, and there were about six other members. They had done it to\nplease her, just as they would have done anything to please her.\nNevertheless they felt themselves on a very much higher social plane\nthan mere shop girls.\n\nYetta sat down disconsolate. She had not expected to have to wait. She\ndid not appreciate the overwhelming importance of an Advisory Council.\nIn fact, she did not know what it was. And she did not think that there\ncould be anything more important than the strike in her shop. In a few\nminutes her impatience overcame her timidity.\n\n\"Say,\" she said, getting up and coming over to the girl who had spoken\nto her. \"You tell Miss Train that I'm here. It's important--about a\nstrike.\"\n\n\"Humph,\" the stenographer snorted, \"skirt-finisher?\"\n\n\"No. I ain't a skirt-finisher. I work bei vests. It's a new strike. Miss\nTrain'll want to know about it right away.\"\n\n\"What do you think?\" the stenographer asked her companion. \"Can't\ndisturb the Advisory Council, can I?\"\n\nThe two girls cross-questioned Yetta severely, but at last gave in to\nher insistence. One of them knocked at the double doors. They were\nopened from the inside a couple of inches and Mabel looked out.\n\n\"We've struck,\" Yetta cried, rushing towards her.\n\nMabel turned towards the occupants of the inner room and asked to be\nexcused a moment.\n\n\"I'm very busy just now,\" she said as she sat down beside Yetta. \"Tell\nme about it quickly.\"\n\nThe Industrial Conflict is not logical. At least it does not follow any\nlaws of logic known to the so-called \"labor leaders.\" It is connected\nwith, actuated by, a vague something, which for want of a better term we\ncall \"human nature.\" And labor leaders are just as uncertain what \"human\nnature\" will do next as the rest of us. They will spend patient years on\nend organizing a trade, collecting bit by bit a \"strike fund,\" preparing\nfor a battle which never comes off or miserably fizzles out. In the\nmidst of such discouragement, an unprepared strike in an unorganized\ntrade will break out and with no prospect of success will sweep to an\ninspiring victory. Mabel had seen such surprising things happen a\nhundred times.\n\nMore than once, since her short talk with Yetta at the ball, she had\nthought over the possibility of organizing the vest-makers. But the\nproject seemed to hold very little promise. The \"skirt-finishers\" had\nlost. She, with her hand on the pulse of things, knew it, even if the\nstrikers did not. And here, once more, a new strike had broken out, just\nas another was collapsing. It might be only a flash in the pan, a\nquarrel in one shop. It might spread. She listened closely to Yetta.\n\nHer eyes were also busy. She noted the peculiar charm of the young girl,\nthe big deep eyes with their sudden changes from excited hope to\nmelancholy sadness, her cheeks flushed with the impetuous enthusiasm of\na new convert.\n\nMabel thought of the group of well-to-do women in the other room. She\nhad small respect for most of them, none at all for some. It would have\nbeen a very complicated matter to analyze the reasons which caused these\n\"ladies\" to interest themselves in the cause of working girls. Some few\nof them had similar--if less forceful--motives to those which had led\nMabel to give her life to the work. Some of them liked to be thought\nodd, and found in labor unions a piquant fad. Two were suffragists and\nwere seriously interested in all organizations of women. There was one\nat least whose morbid instincts were tickled by the stories of desperate\nmisery which circulated in the League.\n\nProbably all of them had been somewhat influenced to seek election by\nthe fact that Mrs. Van Cleave was on the Board--she might invite them to\none of her functions.\n\nShe was a mystery to Mabel. She was very fat and very rich and a leader\nof the inner circle of \"Society.\" She attended the meetings regularly,\nand never seemed to take the slightest interest in anything. Every\nJanuary first she mailed a check for ten dollars. Mabel had never\nsucceeded in getting any other money from her. But her social prestige\nwas of unquestioned value--otherwise she was absolute dead-wood.\n\nMrs. Karner, the wife of a millionnaire newspaper owner, was the only\none of them all who really helped Mabel. She was an intelligent woman\nand rendered efficient service along many lines.\n\nIt was a hard group to work with. The sincere ones were occupied with\nmany other activities. It was difficult to get any enthusiasm into them.\nBut the League could not exist without their financial support. Now that\nthe \"skirt-finishers\" strike was ending in disaster, how could she keep\nup their interest, how could she persuade them further to open their\npocket-books? Yetta's radiant face gave her a suggestion.\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" she interrupted her in the middle of a sentence.\n\"There are some other people who ought to hear about this. Come along.\"\n\nShe led Yetta through the double doors into the committee-room. It was\none of Eleanor Mead's achievements. The room had been extended to the\nback of the house. Along the sides were piles of cheap folding chairs.\nWhen they were put up, they would accommodate about two hundred. By the\nwindows in the back there was a large flat-topped table and ten easy\nchairs in which the Advisory Council were comfortably installed. Above\nthe table hung a great mezzatone photograph of the Rouen statue of\nJeanne d'Arc. The room, all in brown tones, harmonized with it and the\nhalf-dozen similar portraits of famous women.\n\n\"Ladies,\" Mabel said, \"this is Yetta Rayefsky. She has just come to tell\nme of a new strike in her trade--vests. We've finished to-day's\nbusiness. And if you can spare the time, I am sure you will be\ninterested in her story. Begin at the beginning, Yetta,\" she went on as\nthe ladies nodded assent, \"and tell us all about it.\"\n\nYetta was utterly confused. She had never seen so much fine raiment nor\nso many jewels. No one had ever stared at her through lorgnettes in the\ninsolent way that Mrs. Van Cleave did.\n\n\"They are all friends, Yetta,\" Mabel encouraged her. \"And if the strike\nis to succeed, we will need all the help we can get.\"\n\nThus prodded, Yetta began. The many books which she had read to her\nfather as a child had familiarized her with good English. But in the\nlast four years she had fallen into the mixture of Yiddish and slipshod\nEnglish which is the language of the sweat-shop. Now she felt that she\nmust speak correctly, and the search for words added to her\nself-consciousness and ruined the effect of her story. Mabel was just\nbeginning to regret that she had brought her in, when in some sudden,\ninexplicable way all the excitement of the last few days came over Yetta\nwith a rush and stimulated her as the wine had on the night of the ball.\nShe began to speak simply, straight out from her heart. It was not an\neconomic exposition of the industrial conflict; not even a coherent\nexplanation of the strike in her shop. It was a more personal story. She\nwandered off from her main subject, told them about her father and the\nbook-store. She told them about Rachel and Mrs. Cohen. She told them\nabout Jake Goldfogle and his offer of marriage. Now and then Mabel asked\na question about the conditions in her trade. God knows they were bad\nenough, but to Yetta such things seemed insignificant details; she was\nconcerned with the frightful implications of poverty. Long hours and\npoor food seemed of small moment to her compared to the miserable\nmeagreness of the life of the girls. To be sure they were hungry, but\nmore awful was the fact that they were starving for sunlight. More than\nonce she came back to Rachel and how she had \"wanted to be good.\"\nSuddenly she stopped and turned to Mabel.\n\n\"Ought I to tell them about Harry Klein?\"\n\nThe roomful of women--ease-loving, worldly women--also turned to Mabel\nto catch her answer. They had fallen silent under the spell of Yetta's\nsimple eloquence. Some of them Mabel detested. It seemed almost\nsacrilegious to let this unsophisticated girl strip her soul naked\nbefore them. But she saw that Yetta was moving them more deeply than she\never could.\n\n\"It hasn't anything to do with the strike,\" she said after a slight\nhesitation. \"You don't need to tell it--if you'd rather not.\"\n\n\"Please tell us.\"\n\nIt was Mrs. Karner who had spoken. Yetta had felt that she was the\nfriendliest of all these fine ladies. She had found encouragement in her\neyes whenever she had looked at her. So taking a deep breath, she\nplunged in.\n\n\"You see, it was just luck--if it hadn't been for luck, I'd have gone\nwrong--just like Rachel.\"\n\nShe began with the night when she had watched the Settlement dance from\nher window. With the wonderful cleverness of self-forgetfulness she made\nthem feel how her heart had hungered for a little happiness; how,\nalthough she had wanted very much to be good, she had reached out her\nhands, pleadingly, toward the dream of joy. She made them understand how\nthe deadening barrenness of the sweat-shop had made it easy for her to\nbelieve in Harry Klein, how he had come to her singing the Song of\nSongs--like a Prince in Shining Armor riding forth to rescue her from\nthe Giant Greed. Even the fat Mrs. Van Cleave was crying behind her\nlorgnette when Yetta told of her first supper with Harry.\n\n\"You see,\" she ended, \"it's mostly against things like that that we\ngirls strike. We may think it's for higher wages or shorter hours, but\nit's because it's so hard for a poor girl to be happy.\"\n\nMrs. Karner jumped up and put her arms around Yetta and kissed her and\ncried against her cheek. \"Ladies,\" Mabel struck while the iron was hot,\n\"shall we support this strike? Shall we try to organize the vest\nworkers?\"\n\nNo formal motion was put, but Mrs. Karner, who was chairman, instructed\nthe secretary to enter on the minutes their unanimous decision to aid\nthe vest-makers. Mrs. Van Cleave nodded her head approvingly and\nvolunteered to head a sub-committee in finance. It was the first time\nshe had ever done anything but sit placidly in her chair. Then the\nmeeting adjourned, and when the last of the ladies had left the room,\nMabel gave Yetta a great hug.\n\n\"Oh, you darling,\" she said. \"You even made Mrs. Van Cleave cry. It was\nwonderful.\"\n\nAnd then without any reason at all, Yetta began to sob. Mabel installed\nher in one of the big chairs and sat down at her feet. \"There,\" she\nsaid, \"you cry as much as you want to. You've got a right to cry a week\nafter a speech like that.\"\n\nResting her head against Yetta's knee and holding her hand, she lit a\ncigarette and began to think out the new campaign. Yetta's sobs wore\nthemselves out quickly, and they began to talk. Mabel's grasp of\ndetails, her unexpected knowledge of the vest making, amazed Yetta.\nMabel knew things about the trade which she had never dreamed of.\n\nThe two stenographers were called in. One was set to work on a volume of\nFactory Reports, preparing a list of vest shops. And Mabel instructed\nthe other one to call up the _Forwaertz_--the Yiddish Socialist paper.\n\n\"What's your address?\" she asked Yetta. \"I'm going to ask Mr. Braun to\ncome and see you to-night and write up the strike.\"\n\nThe question reminded Yetta of a new complication.\n\n\"I forget,\" she said. \"I can't go home. My uncle's fierce against\nunions. I ain't got no place. I'll have to find one.\"\n\n\"That's all right; you come home with me to-night,\" Mabel reassured her.\nAnd turning to the stenographer, told her to ask Mr. Braun to come to\nher flat for dinner. She dictated letters to half a dozen different\npeople telling of the new plans and asking them to come to the League\nrooms on the morrow. It was nearly seven when she and Yetta and the two\nstenographers left the office.\n\nAll the last hour, Harry Klein had stood impatiently in the dark\ndoorway, waiting for Yetta to pass. As the last of the ebb tide flowed\nby him, he went across the street and told his followers that there was\nnothing doing. For two more nights he marshalled them, but Yetta did not\npass that way any more.\n\nHis luck had changed. It was not long before his retainers noticed it.\nIn due time a new president was elected to the James B. O'Rourke\nDemocratic Club. And so he passes out of this story.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nMABEL'S FLAT\n\n\nYetta had no clear idea of what fairy-land should be like, but when she\npassed through the door of Mabel's flat, it seemed that she had entered\nit.\n\nShe had never dreamed of such beautiful rooms. Even a more sophisticated\nobserver would have been impressed with Miss Mead's arrangements.\nInterior decoration was her profession, and she was more proud of her\nwork in this humble apartment than of anything she had done elsewhere.\nMost of her commissions were for people who were foolishly rich, who\nwere more anxious to have their rooms appear expensive than beautiful.\nThere was nothing in the apartment simply because it had been\nhigh-priced. Nothing pleased Eleanor more than to tell how little it had\nall cost. She could talk by the hour on the absolute lack of\nrelationship between pure aesthetics and money. One of her lectures was\non this subject, and she used the apartment as a demonstration room. But\nto Yetta the forty dollar flat seemed a miracle of luxury.\n\nThe room which impressed her most with its appearance of opulence was\nthe white enamelled, large-mirrored bath-room.\n\nEleanor herself was a vision of loveliness. Yetta had seen very few\nwomen with real blonde hair, and those few had not known how to wear\nit. There was a book she had seen as a child with a picture in it like\nEleanor, but she had not thought that such women walked the earth. And\nher dress! It seemed to the little East-sider fit raiment for a queen.\nShe could not imagine how it could shine so unless it was woven of spun\ngold. But it was not so costly as she imagined. The only real\nextravagance which Eleanor permitted herself in her quest for the\nBeautiful was the purchase of early daffodils.\n\nMabel got out one of her own shirt-waists and hurried Yetta into it.\nWhile she was changing her own workaday clothes for a fresh\noutfit,--hardly less gorgeous than Eleanor's,--they heard the maid\nadmitting Isadore Braun.\n\nHe was a product of the Social Settlement Movement. Even as a little boy\nhe had been bitten by the desire to know. The poverty of his family had\nforced him to go to work, but he had continued his studies in the night\nclasses of a Settlement. His boyish precociousness had attracted\nattention, and some of the University men of the Settlement, impressed\nby his eagerness to learn, had helped out his family finances so Isadore\ncould return to school. They had helped him through High School and into\nthe City College.\n\nDuring his sophomore year Isadore had joined the Socialist party. His\nconversion had been a deep and stormy spiritual experience to him. He\nknew it would shock and alienate his supporters. Caution, expediency,\nevery prudent consideration had urged him to postpone the issue--at\nleast till he had finished college. But the new vision of life flamed\nwith an impatient glory. He could not wait.\n\nHis new political faith separated him from the friends who had made\nthings easy for him. But it brought him new ones a-plenty who, if\npoorer, were truer. He had been compelled to leave college. But he had\nalready developed a marked talent for the kind of journalism the East\nSide appreciates, less \"newsy,\" but decidedly more literary than the\noutput of the English papers. He found a place on the _Forwaertz_ where,\nfor a bare living wage, he wrote columns about history and science and\nthe drama. It was an afternoon paper, so he had his evenings free to\nstudy. He had taken the night course in the New York Law School. It had\nbeen a desperate struggle which he could not have won through except for\na talent at reducing work to a routine and for one of those marvellous\nconstitutions--like Yetta's--which seem the special heritage of their\nrace, a physical and nervous endurance, which is probably explained by\nagelong observance of the strict dietary regulations of Moses.\n\nHe was not an attractive person to look at. His face was heavily lined\nand lumpy. His short, stocky body had been twisted by much application\nto desk work. His right shoulder was noticeably higher than his left.\n\nNor was his type of mind attractive. It was too utilitarian to admit of\nany graces. He was twenty-five years old, and, since the days of\nenthusiasm when he had become a Socialist, he had imposed on himself an\niron rule. He had not given himself a vacation, he had not read any\nbook, had not consciously done anything in these five years, which did\nnot seem to him useful. With the same merciless singleness of purpose\nwhich had marked Jake Goldfogle's struggle to become rich, Isadore\nBraun had driven himself in the acquisition of abilities, which would\nmake him a more forceful weapon in the fight for Socialism.\n\nHe had led his classes in the Law School. He had spurred himself on to\nimmense effort, not because he wanted to sit on the Supreme Bench, but\nbecause he saw that the workers were in sore need of competent,\nsympathetic legal representatives. He believed that the Socialists were\nthe most enlightened element in the great army of industrial revolt. He\nheld that they should be a sort of \"general staff,\" guiding and advising\nthe Labor Unions--the rank and file of the army. His only idea in\nentering the bar was to act as attorney for the unions. If he had been\noffered a large retainer to settle a will or draw up a business\ncontract, he would have been surprised and would have refused on the\nground that he was too busy. He had volunteered his services as legal\nadviser to the Woman's Trade Union League.\n\nHe still drew his meagre salary from the _Forwaertz_, but he wrote less\nfrequently on general subjects and had specialized on the labor\nsituation. He kept to the newspaper work, not only because it gave him a\nsmall income, but even more because it gave him an audience. Almost\nevery Yiddish-speaking workman in the city knew his name. He was a\nconcise and forceful speaker, and now that he no longer attended night\nschool he was on the platform, preaching Socialism, four or five nights\na week.\n\nThis manner of life had had its inevitable and unwholesome result. For\nyears he had been so intensely occupied with details that he had had no\ntime to think broadly, to criticise, and develop the fundamentals of\nhis faith. At twenty he had accepted the philosophy of Socialism; he had\nnot had time to think about it since. He was rapidly becoming a\nnarrow-minded fanatic. It was a strange, but common paradox. Having\nspent five years in the fight for Socialism, he could not have given a\nmore coherent, a maturer statement of his beliefs than at first. All his\nassociates held the same creed, but they discussed only its detailed\napplication. Like himself they were--with very few exceptions--slaves\nto, rather than masters of, the Great Idea.\n\nHis only non-Socialist friends were Mabel Train and Walter Longman. When\nhe first took up the work of the Woman's Trade Union League, he had had\na sweeping contempt for \"bourgeois reformers.\" Gradually Mabel had\nforced him to abandon his hostility and at last to give her a high\ndegree of respect. He was unable to understand her. But it was equally\nimpossible for him to withhold his admiration for her consistency of\npurpose, her dogged persistence in a far from pleasurable career, her\ngreat ability, and her strong, straight intellect. He knew no other\nwoman who was more steadfast than Mabel. But why? What were her motives?\nShe was not a Socialist. She explained casually that she did not have\ntime for more than Labor Unions. He could understand devotion to a great\nphilosophical principle, but he could discover no coherent system of\nthought back of Mabel's unquestioned devotion.\n\nHe was a frequent visitor at the flat. But it never occurred to him to\nmake a social call. For Eleanor he had no manner of use, a feeling which\nshe entirely reciprocated. While he tried to pretend to a polite\ninterest in \"interior decoration,\" she made no pretence at all of caring\nfor Socialism. And as soon as the business, which had caused him to\ncome, was finished he found himself ill at ease, even with Mabel. On the\nbasis of their common work, the organization of labor and the conduct of\nstrikes, they had a delightfully frank and free friendship. But on any\nother ground he felt constraint. He never discussed Socialism with her,\nand this was strange, as he was an ardent proselyter. Back of her\noffhand explanation that she was too busy to occupy herself with the\nparty, he felt the existence of a point of view entirely different from\nhis own. In reality he was afraid to open this subject with her; he was\nafraid of her brilliant vision and her incisive, railing style of\nargument. He had gotten out of the habit of discussing the broad\nfoundations of Socialism; he would be off his accustomed ground. He told\nhimself that she was a woman, and if she got the better of him in\nrepartee, she would think that she had demolished Socialism.\n\nThrough Mabel, he had met Longman, and if she did not fit into his\ntheory of life, Walter was an even greater exception. His easy-going,\nrather lazy brilliance was always startling Isadore and making him\nangry. Here was an exceptionally able man, who was keenly alive to the\nrottenness of the present order, but who took only a languid interest in\nrighting it. What a power he might be! Instead he spent his time on the\ndeadest of dead pasts and in an inconsequential way dallied--\"diddled,\"\nIsadore called it--with philosophy. He could not think of Longman's\nmanner of life without raging; it was such despicable waste. He ought\nto have despised him, but he could not help liking him. Having no bond\nof common work with Longman, as he had with Mabel, he found himself more\noften in his rooms than in her flat.\n\nYetta, somewhat abashed by the glorious clothes of her hostesses, found\nIsadore's unkempt appearance a decided relief. His hair, black, curly,\nwiry, looked as if it had not been brushed for a decade. The spotless\nlinen, the gilt shades of the candles, the bewildering assortment of\nforks and spoons, the white-aproned French maid, all rather dizzied her.\nIt was indeed comforting now and then to glance up at the familiar East\nSide face across the table.\n\nEleanor, after a few formal politenesses from the head of the table,\nfell silent, and Mabel began to tell Isadore about the new strike. Once\nin a while they asked Yetta a question. When the table was cleared and\nthe maid brought coffee--tiny, tiny cups of black coffee--Eleanor went\ninto the parlor and arranged herself with a book beside a green-shaded\nlamp. And Isadore, taking out some rough sheets of copy paper, began\nscribbling notes for the article which should tell the East Side on the\nmorrow that a gigantic, rapidly spreading, and surely victorious revolt\nhad broken out in the vest trade. Once Yetta protested that her\nshop--twelve women--was the only one which had struck. But they laughed\naside her objection. At least it was necessary to make it sound big,\nperhaps it would grow. Then they began drawing up a set of demands for\nthe strikers to submit to their employers. First of all came the\n\"recognition of the Union,\" and then a long list of shop reforms. About\nthe only one which would be intelligible to those not familiar with the\ntrade was that for a higher rate of pay per piece; the rest involved\nsuch technical considerations as the regulation of speed, ventilation,\netc. Yetta wanted them to put in a clause demanding the reinstatement of\nMrs. Cohen. But Mabel explained that there would be no sense to the\ndemands unless other shops joined the strike, so they could not put in\nanything which applied only to one.\n\n\"But,\" Yetta insisted, \"I guess there's a Mrs. Cohen in every shop.\"\n\nThey argued against her that the unions could not try to right\nindividual wrongs, they could only hope to win conditions which would\nstop the production of Mrs. Cohens. Although she was unconvinced, Yetta\ngave in. Isadore hurried off to a meeting.\n\nEleanor gave him a perfunctory good night without looking up from her\nbook, and Mabel walked down the hallway with him. Yetta felt suddenly\nforlorn. Eleanor went on reading, ignoring her existence, and Mabel\nlingered to talk with Isadore at the door.\n\nWhen Mabel came back, Eleanor looked up from her book and spoke\nquerulously in French.\n\n\"I should think you might at least say you are sorry for spoiling our\nevening.\"\n\n\"It isn't spoilt yet,\" Mabel replied. \"It's only begun.\"\n\n\"Not spoilt for you, perhaps. You never think of me. You solemnly\npromised to keep this evening free for some music. And at six your\nstenographer casually calls me up to say that there will be people for\ndinner. You can't even find time to telephone yourself.\"\n\n\"Now, Nell, don't be cross. If you listened to our talk, you must have\nseen how important--\"\n\n\"Oh, everything is more important than I.\"\n\n\"We'll have our music all right. I'll send the little one to bed.\"\n\nAnd then changing into English, Mabel told Yetta that she must be very\ntired after so much excitement, that they had a hard day before them,\nand that she had best take a piping-hot bath to make her sleep and turn\nin at once. Yetta did not understand French, but from Eleanor's tone she\nhad guessed the meaning of \"_de trop._\" She wanted very much to stay up\nand talk with Miss Train, but with a pang in her heart, she followed her\ndocilely into a bedroom, watched her lay out a nightgown and bath-robe,\nand as docilely followed her into the dazzling bath-room.\n\n\"Take it just as hot as you can stand it, and then jump right into bed,\"\nMabel said, and kissed her good night.\n\nBefore she was half through with her bath, she began to hear the sound\nof music. And when she had put on the nightgown and wrapped herself in\nthe bath-robe,--her skin had never felt such soft fabrics,--she opened\nthe door noiselessly and stood a moment unobserved in the hallway. In\nthe front room Mabel was sitting at the piano and Eleanor stood beside\nher, with closed eyes, a violin tucked lovingly under her chin, and\nswayed gently to the rhythm of the music. It was one of Chopin's\nNocturnes. Yetta did not know what a Nocturne was; the best music she\nhad ever heard had been the cheap orchestras at the Settlement and at\nthe Skirt-Finishers' Ball. Neither Eleanor nor Mabel were great\nmusicians; it would have seemed a commonplace performance to most of us,\nbut to the girl in the bath-robe it sounded beautiful beyond words, the\nmost wondrous thing of all the wonderful new world she had so suddenly\nentered.\n\nShe listened a moment and then tiptoed down the hall to her bedroom. She\ncarefully closed the window, which Mabel had as carefully opened, left\nher door ajar, so she could hear the music, and climbed in between the\nsoft white sheets. She was very tired, the hot bath had quieted her\nnerves, and it was while they were playing the third piece, something by\nGrieg, that she fell asleep. Her last conscious thought was a dreamy,\nwistful wonder if she could ever become a part, have a real share in so\ngorgeous a life.\n\nFor more than an hour they kept at their music. The people who wondered\nwhy two so different personalities lived together had never seen them as\nthey played. Neither of them was expert enough to perform in public, but\nthey both passionately loved to make music. Eleanor's ridiculous posing,\nher querulous jealousy, very often jarred on Mabel's nerves. She\nsometimes thought of breaking up the household. But there were precious\nmoments when their differences melted away and they enjoyed a rare and\nperfect harmony. Now and then Mabel escaped from her manifold\nengagements, and they went together to a concert or the Opera. Even more\nintense became their intimacy of emotion on the more frequent occasions\nwhen--as this evening--they played together. Such moments more than\ncompensated for the daily frictions. To the jealous Eleanor they meant\nthat Mabel's mind was cleansed of all preoccupations, when no one, no\nfancied duty came between them, when they could forget\neverything--everything--and be together. To Mabel such intimacies meant\nescape from all the heart-breaking routine of misery and struggle which\nwas her daily life; they were interludes of unalloyed happiness, white\nmoments in the sad business of living. Somehow the magic of the music\nsoothed and lulled to sleep the great ache of social consciousness. She\nknew no other way to win forgetfulness from the overwhelming melancholy\nof Life.\n\n\"Nell,\" Mabel said, putting her arms around Eleanor when at last they\nwere going to bed, \"do you want to be nice to me? Try to like this\nlittle Yetta. She interests me. And I'd like to have her stay here for a\nwhile, if you don't mind.\"\n\n\"At least,\" Eleanor replied, \"she's more decorative than most of your\nprotegees.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nYETTA'S GOOD-BY\n\n\nYetta woke at her accustomed hour. But instead of hearing the vague\nmurmur of awaking life about her, there was a strange silence. She could\nnot even hear any one snoring. She had a panicky feeling that perhaps\nthey had been murdered. So getting out of bed, she tiptoed down the hall\nto Mabel's open door and was reassured to see her sleeping peacefully.\nBack in her own room she climbed into bed again. But it did not occur to\nher to go to sleep, now that it was so light--lighter than her old\nbedroom had been at noon. For a few minutes she occupied herself looking\nabout, studying the pictures and _bibelots_. A narrow strip of old\ntapestry on the wall looked especially strange to her; it was badly\nfaded, the picture in it was hard to make out. It seemed almost uncanny\nto be in bed after she was awake, so she got up and dressed,\nnoiselessly. She sat down by the window and, pulling aside the curtain,\nlooked out, up the street, to Washington Square. Here and there were\nblotches of faint green; the early spring had started a few buds. Yetta\nhad seen very little green that was not painted. And the swelling buds\nof the little park seemed to typify all the strangenesses of the new\nworld which was opening before her.\n\nIt made her sad. She was not of this world. She could never be like\nMabel. Her instinctive common sense showed her the great gulf which\nseparated her from the life of her new friends.\n\nIn an uncertain way she was beginning to form a conception of Beauty and\nthe graciousness of luxury. Eleanor's gown, her daffodils, the way she\nstood when she played the violin, all suggested to Yetta an idea of\npersonal adornment much more intricate than her former ideal of a hat\nand white shoes. The dinner had shown her that eating might be something\nmore than the mere satisfying of hunger. Mabel had changed her street\nclothes for a dinner gown. Evidently she thought of clothing as\nsomething more than necessary covering. Even the room where she was\nsitting was more than a place to sleep. All this \"moreness\"--this\nsurplus over necessity--this luxury, was what separated her life from\nthis new world. It did not seem possible that she could ever cross that\nchasm.\n\nThe reverse of the proposition came to her with equal force. Could Mabel\ncross? Could she really become a part of the world of work, the world of\nless? It seemed just as improbable. Yetta felt lonely and out of place.\nAn inevitable wave of resentment came over her against these two favored\nwomen. Was not all this beauty and easy grace--this luxury--what she and\nher kind, Rachel and the other girls, were starving for? She felt\nherself in the enemy's country.\n\nThere was a light knock on her door, and Mabel, wrapped in her\ndressing-gown, came in.\n\n\"Oh, you're up already,\" she smiled.\n\nAll of Yetta's hostility melted before her frank greeting and morning\nkiss. Eleanor, it seemed, never got up before nine, so they must be\nquiet. In a few minutes Mabel reappeared in her street clothes, and\nclosing the dining-room door, so as not to disturb the sleeper, they had\ntheir breakfast. This meal, even more than the dinner, amazed Yetta.\nThere were coffee and rich cream and eggs and toast and marmalade. She\nhad known, of course, that people dine in state, but that any one ever\ndrank his morning coffee leisurely had never occurred to her. As Mabel\nread the newspaper, Yetta had much time to think, and once more the\nfeeling of hostility returned. For more than an hour now her people had\nbeen bent over the life-destroying machines, and Mabel sipped her coffee\nslowly and read the news. Yetta wanted to be up and doing.\n\nBut once out on the street she was amazed and humbled at the sight of\nMabel's efficiency. Yetta would not have known what to do first. Mabel\nhad the whole day's work planned out.\n\nFirst they went to the \"girl who knew all about strikes\" and from her\ngot the addresses of the other women in Jake Goldfogle's shop. It\ndeveloped that the bovine Mrs. Levy and the tell-tale Mrs. Levine had\ngone back that morning. But there was no work for only two, and Jake had\nsent them home with a promise to let them know as soon as he began\nagain. He expected to start the next morning, he had told them. To Mrs.\nLevine he had given a dollar and whispered instructions to join the\nstrikers and keep him informed.\n\nThe minute Mabel saw Mrs. Cohen she hurried out to a drug-store and\ncalled up Dr. Liebovitz. \"It will have to be a sanitarium,\" Yetta\noverheard her say. \"And at that I'm afraid it's too late. Whatever is\nnecessary put on my account.\" Then Mabel arranged that the Cohen babies\nshould be boarded by two of the poorest strikers and so out of her own\npocket assured a little income to these families. Above all, Yetta\nwondered at Mabel's ability to spread confidence. Most of the women were\nhelpless when they arrived, were hoping that Jake would forgive them and\ntake them back. With a few words Mabel had banished all doubt. Ten of\nthe dozen women--the exceptions were the bovine Mrs. Levy and Mrs.\nLevine, the spy--were soon convinced that victory was assured. And all\nexcept Mrs. Levy promised to come up to the Woman's Trade Union League\nat four o'clock and organize.\n\nThis attended to, Mabel, with Yetta at her heels, jumped into an uptown\ncar, and hurried to the office of the Central Federated Union to ask for\na charter for the new union. Mr. Casey, the secretary, was a hale and\nhearty Irishman of near forty. For twenty years he had been an expert\ntypesetter, and he never talked with any one twenty minutes without\ntelling how he had set up some of the Standard Dictionary--\"the most\ncompli-cated page iver printed.\"\n\n\"Gawd,\" he remarked at sight of Mabel, \"here comes some more trouble.\nCan't ye give a body any peace, Miss Train? Ye know there be two or\nthree men in the world besides yer blessed women.\"\n\nThe other men in the room got up and offered their chairs. Once more\nYetta was amazed at the ease with which Mabel stated her case. With her\nstraightforward way of looking at things, she had come to know and\nunderstand these men. She knew the personal history of most of them,\ntheir carefully hidden virtues as well as their vices. And whether she\nknew them to be \"grafters\" or \"straight\" she had a knack of winning her\npoint.\n\n\"Sure,\" Casey said. \"You can have the charter. That ain't no trouble.\nBut don't ask me nothing else now. The Devil himself won't be no more\nbusy on the Resurrection Day than I be.\"\n\n\"We're all busy,\" Mabel replied. \"And I really want you to come round at\nfour and help them organize.\"\n\nCasey waved his hands and pounded the table and swore--occasionally\nasking pardon for his \"damned profanity\"--but Mabel hung on. She had\nalready won the other men in the room, and they laughingly urged him to\ngo.\n\nHaving gained his promise to come, Mabel did not waste a minute more of\nhis time. She rushed Yetta over to the Woman's Trade Union League and\nplunged into her morning's correspondence.\n\nAll those things which had seemed to Yetta of overwhelming importance\nbegan to look very small. There were some of the \"skirt-finishers\" in\nthe office. Their strike involved several hundred women. There were only\ntwelve in Goldfogle's shop. While Mabel was busy at other things Yetta\npicked up a copy of _The American Federationist_, the monthly organ of\nthe national federation of labor unions. How infinitesimal was her part\nin this great industrial conflict! She read of thousands of miners\nstriking in the anthracite fields, of a hundred woollen mills which had\nlocked out their operatives. The street-car men were out in a Western\ncity. A strike referendum was being taken by the printers of half a\ndozen Southern States. A great revolt had tied up the Chicago\nstock-yards. And here in New York there were five different strikes in\nprogress. At one moment her pride swelled at the thought that she was a\npart of this vast army of workers who were fighting for a larger share\nof sunshine and Freedom. At the next it was borne in on her with a rush\nhow insignificant was the case of the vest-makers.\n\nShe had read almost every word in that month's issue of _The\nFederationist_ before Mabel called her and they went downstairs to the\nworking-girls' restaurant for lunch. They found an empty table, and\nYetta had just commenced on her long list of questions, when two excited\n\"skirt-finishers\" came in, and seeing Mabel, rushed up to their table.\nOnce more Yetta felt herself pushed back into a second place. That\nmorning the strike had reached its crisis, the women of two shops had\ngone back to work on a compromise which ignored the union; a general\nstampede was imminent.\n\nAbout two o'clock, the women of Goldfogle's shop began to appear, and\nsharp at four, Mabel tore herself away from the \"skirt-finishers\" and\ncame into the back room where the vest-makers were assembled. The\n_Forwaertz_ had come off the press an hour before, and the women who\ncould read Yiddish had read aloud Braun's glowing account of their\nexploits. It had given them a new sense of importance, the feeling that\nthere was sympathy and power back of them. And this feeling was\nstrengthened by Mr. Casey's jovial and inspiring speech. When they had\nelected officers,--Mrs. Weinstein, president; \"the girl who knew all\nabout unions,\" treasurer, and Yetta, secretary and business agent,--he\nhanded them over a charter printed in three colors which seemed to them\na sort of magic promise of victory. They agreed as a matter of course on\nthe set of demands which Braun had already printed in the _Forwaertz_.\n\nMabel pulled them down from their enthusiasm to talk details. She\nexplained that their one hope of success lay in persuading the other\nvest shops to join the strike. Alone they were helpless. Each one of\nthem was to think of all the vest workers she knew and persuade them to\nstart a strike in their shop. She read the list of vest shops and\nchecked off every one where some of the women had acquaintances. Then\nshe gave them great sheaves of the _Forwaertz_ and assigned them two by\ntwo to the principal vest shops. They were to stand at the door and\ndistribute papers to every one who came out. In the evening they were to\ncall on their friends in the trade and be on the job again in the\nmorning with copies of the _Forwaertz_ at other factory doors. She and\nYetta, their business agent, would go down and interview Goldfogle. Of\ncourse he would not give in at once, but it was best to show him they\nwere not afraid. And then with some words of encouragement about how the\n_Forwaertz_ was helping them, and the Central Federated Union and the\nSocialists, and of course the Woman's Trade Union League, she dismissed\nthem.\n\nWithout Mabel beside her, Yetta would hardly have found the courage to\nperform her first duty as business agent of the union. Some of the old\nterror of a boss's arbitrary power still clung about Jake Goldfogle. In\na moment of excitement she had dared to defy him. But it was a different\nthing to seek an interview with him in cold blood. But to Mabel it was\nall in the day's work. And she did most of the talking.\n\nJake received them nervously. He could not, like the big employers,\nafford to sit back cynically and wait for his workers to starve. A\nweek's tie-up meant certain ruin for him, and with equal certainty it\nmeant ruin for him to grant his women anything like decent conditions.\nSorely exploited by bigger capitalists, his one hope of success lay in a\nmiracle of more cruel exploitation. He had been busy all day with\nemployment agencies. They could furnish him with plenty of raw hands,\nbut he needed skilled labor. It would be much better if he could get his\nold force back. And so he greeted them with some decency. But the sight\nof Mabel, this unknown businesslike American woman, disconcerted him. He\nhad expected to have dealings only with his employees. He saw at once\nthat he could not fool nor browbeat this stranger.\n\nHe hardly listened to what she said, but grabbed at the typewritten\nsheet of \"demands.\" Before he was halfway through, all hope vanished.\n\n\"Vot you tink?\" he wailed. \"Am I a millionnaire? How you expect me to\nmake my contract?\"\n\n\"We don't expect you to make your contract, Mr. Goldfogle,\" Mabel\nreplied calmly. \"We expect you not to take any contract that you can't\nfill decently. You don't care how your workpeople live on the wages you\ngive, and we don't care for your contract. If you can give your people\nfair conditions, they'll be back at work in the morning. If you can't,\nit's a strike.\"\n\n\"Go avay! Get out,\" he cried, jumping up. \"To-morrow I vill start with\nnew hands. I'll never take none of the old ones back.\"\n\nMabel smiled at him undismayed.\n\n\"Scabs,\" she said, \"will break your machines. It will be cheaper to keep\nshut than to work with greenhorns.\"\n\nJake knew that this was only too true. But he thought that a bold\nattitude might scare his old employees into coming back.\n\n\"You tink so? Vell. I'll show you. Get out!\"\n\nIt was getting towards closing time, so Mabel and Yetta, with arms full\nof the afternoon's _Forwaertz_, stationed themselves before one of the\nbig vest shops and handed out copies to every one who would take one,\ntalked to all who would listen. They had supper in an East Side\nrestaurant and then went out again to call on some vest-makers whose\naddresses they knew.\n\nOnce, as they were hurrying along the street, Yetta suddenly stopped.\n\n\"I forgot,\" she said. \"I've got to go to my aunt's and get some things.\"\n\n\"That's so,\" Mabel said. \"They must be worrying about you. You tell them\nyou are going to live with me for a while.\"\n\n\"No,\" Yetta said. \"It don't matter what I tell them; they'll think I've\ngone wrong. But there are some things I want to get before they sell\nthem.\"\n\nThey were not very far from her doorway, and when they got there, Mabel\nasked if she should come up.\n\n\"No,\" Yetta said, \"you wait. It won't take me a minute.\"\n\nShe did not want her new friend to see the place where she had lived.\nHer uncle might be at home and drunk. But when she reached the door of\nthe Goldstein flat, her heart suddenly failed her. Perhaps he was home,\nperhaps he would curse her the way he had Rachel, perhaps he would\nstrike her. If it had been only her few clothes, the new hat and the\nwhite shoes, she would have slunk downstairs afraid. But there were the\nthree volumes of _Les Miserables_. So she went in.\n\nOnly her aunt and her cousin Rosa were in the room.\n\n\"I've come to get my things,\" she said, not wishing to give them time to\nformulate any accusations. \"There's a strike in my shop. I won't be\nearning any money now for a while, so you wouldn't want me here. I'm\ngoing to live with a friend.\"\n\nShe went into the bedroom and began wrapping up the books and shoes in\nher extra shirt-waist and skirt. Rosa stood in the doorway and watched\nher.\n\n\"Who's your friend?\" she asked.\n\n\"Her name's Miss Train.\"\n\n\"Oh. It's a woman, is it?\" Rosa sneered.\n\nYetta flushed angrily but held her tongue, and when she had gathered\ntogether her meagre belongings, she looked once more about the dismal\nbedroom and came out into the kitchen where Mrs. Goldstein was sitting\nin silence, sewing away at a frayed underskirt of Rosa's.\n\nA sudden tenderness came to Yetta for this hard old woman who had\nmistreated her.\n\n\"Good-by, Aunt Martha,\" she said.\n\nFor a moment she stitched on without apparently noticing her niece's\npresence. And then she spoke to Rosa.\n\n\"It isn't so bad,\" she said, \"as when Rachel went. She was my own\ndaughter.\"\n\n\"But I'm not going where Rachel did,\" Yetta protested. The old woman\ndid not reply.\n\n\"Auntie,\" Yetta went on, \"I ain't going wrong. If you ever want to know\nabout me, or if you ever need anything, you ask at the Woman's Trade\nUnion League. Here. I'll write down the address. They'll know where to\nfind me.\"\n\nShe tore off a piece of the paper from her bundle and scribbled the\naddress. As her aunt was not looking up, she left it on the table.\n\n\"Good-by, Rosa,\" she said. \"Good-by, Aunt Martha.\"\n\nOut in the hall she felt faint and dizzy. She had not loved the place\nnor its inmates. Why did it hurt to go? She leaned against the wall for\na moment to regain command of herself. Her little glimpse into the new\nworld had not given her the feeling that she would ever be at home\nthere. Even Columbus had misgivings about his enterprise into the\nunknown sea. But presently she felt the sharp corner of _Les Miserables_\ndigging into her side. She had been hugging her little bundle as if it\nhad been a life-preserver. And she found courage to go on down the dark\nstairs and to meet Mabel and the New Life with something of a smile.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE STRIKE\n\n\nIt was near midnight when Mabel and Yetta at last turned homeward. They\nhad talked to vest workers from a dozen shops. The article in the\n_Forwaertz_ had been a stirring one, and probably ninety per cent of the\ntrade had heard of the outbreak in Goldfogle's shop and Braun's prophecy\nof large consequences. Yetta could not see that much had been\naccomplished, but Mabel, more accustomed to judging such things, was\njubilant.\n\n\"Yetta, dear,\" she said, as she kissed her good night, \"there's a\nbeautiful French song called '_Ca ira_'--which being interpreted means,\n'There'll be something doing'!\"\n\nAll day long the conviction had grown on her that there was promise of\nbig development to the insignificant quarrel between Yetta and her boss.\nMore often than not strikes break out at the most inopportune times for\nthe workers. Sometimes a sudden provocation will drive the men into a\npremature revolt. Again there will be rumbles of trouble for a long time\nbefore the crisis, and when the men walk out, they find the bosses have\nhad ample time to make provision for the fight. But a careful study of\nthe vest-making industry could not have discovered a more favorable\nmoment. The rush season was just drawing to a close. On the one hand,\nthe bosses were straining every nerve to finish their contracts on time.\nOn the other hand, many of the workers would be laid off anyhow when the\nrush was over. By striking, the less skilled, poorest paid workers\nrisked only a few weeks' pay. And surely they had enough cause to\nrevolt. All those to whom she had talked had told of intolerable speed,\npitiful pay, and arbitrary fines, indecent conditions. There was good\nreason to hope that the whole trade would become involved. And so at\nbedtime she sang the \"_Ca ira_\" to Yetta.\n\nHer forecast proved true. Before two o'clock every one knew that the\nstrike had \"caught.\" Half a dozen shops, including one of the biggest,\nwalked out during the morning. And after the noon hour not a quarter of\nthe vest-makers were at work.\n\nWhile it might have been possible for Jake Goldfogle to find twelve\nskilled workers for his small shop, it was not possible to find enough\nfor the whole trade quickly. It settled down into an endurance fight.\nBoth sides \"organized.\" The strikers rented a hall in the sweat-shop\ndistrict for headquarters and a committee sat there _en permanence_,\nmaking out union cards for the strikers, and a card catalogue of their\nnames and addresses, arranging for the distribution in \"strike benefits\"\nof all the money that could be raised. In this detail work, of immense\nimportance to the successful conduct of a strike, Mabel was a tower of\nstrength. She had been through it all a hundred times before, and she\nnever got flurried. Everything seemed like a chaos, but through it her\ncool-headed generalship kept an effective order.\n\nIn a Broadway office the bosses organized \"The Association of Vest\nManufacturers.\" Their headquarters were less noisy than those of the\nUnion. But quiet does not always mean a higher standard of ethics. As\nthe Woman's Trade Union League was helping the strikers, so trained men\nwere lent to the bosses by the Employers' Association. In a few days\nskilled vest makers from other cities began to flow into New York. Some\nof the shops were able to begin work again at about half their normal\ncapacity. The press agents of the Association of Vest Manufacturers sent\nout announcements to the newspapers that the strike was over.\n\nThe Union retaliated by a campaign of \"picketing.\" Isadore Braun took\nthis work in hand. He marshalled the volunteer \"pickets\" every morning,\nassigned them to their posts, and carefully explained to them their\nlegal rights. They were free to stand anywhere on the street and to talk\nto any one who would listen, so long as they did not attract a crowd\nwhich impeded traffic. They must not detain any one by force, nor\nthreaten violence, nor use insulting language.\n\nRecently a justice of the Supreme Court of New York has handed down a\ndecision that \"peaceful picketing\" is a contradiction in terms. From his\npoint of view all picketing is inherently violent. As a legal maxim it\nis idiotic. The great majority of labor pickets are peaceful. But in any\nlarge and long-continued industrial conflict some of the strikers are\nstarving, many have hungry children at home. They cannot be expected to\nlove the \"scabs,\" who are taking their jobs. And it is desperately hard\nfor the leaders of a strike--no matter how sincerely they try--to\nprevent sporadic acts of violence. Braun, himself a lawyer and a\nSocialist, was a firm believer in legality. Again and again he impressed\non the strikers the urgent desirability of keeping within the letter of\nthe law.\n\nThe first day Mabel and Yetta picketed together. They stood on the\nsidewalk before the largest of the vest shops and tried to talk to every\none who went in. Mabel did most of it. She used the old, time-worn\narguments of the unionists. The only chance for the workers was in\nstanding together. If the scabs took the strikers' jobs, they were\nhelping the boss more than themselves. After a strike is settled the\nbosses always fire the scabs and take back their old force. If they did\nget steady work sooner or later, somebody would scab on them. If they\njoined the union they would get enough strike benefits to live on, and\nwith a strong organization the trade would be a good one. And after all\nit is dirty business stealing jobs from your brother workers. Most of\nthe scabs hurriedly passed them, a few listened sullenly, one or two\nreplied with insults. To an outsider, picketing looks hopeless. You very\nrarely see any one quit work. But long experience has taught the unions\nthat it does pay. It is not so much the rare cases where a dozen scabs\nstop at once as the regular drain of those who are ashamed to face the\npickets and who do not come back to work again.\n\nMabel was too busy to picket very often. She had her hands full trying\nto save what she could out of the wreckage of the skirt-finishers'\nstrike. And there were a thousand and one things to do for the\nvest-makers, arranging meetings, trying to interest the newspapers,\nspurring on the Advisory Council to raise money. They had collected a\ngood deal, but the poverty of the vest-makers was appalling; \"strike\nbenefits\" kept the treasury always empty. She had to see to replenishing\nit daily. Yetta, however, was on picket duty every day.\n\nGradually it became evident that the \"picket\" was successful. Most of\nthe imported vest-makers, the skilled operatives, had joined the union.\nOnly a few of the shops were running at all and at great expense on\naccount of the uneconomy of raw hands. The smaller bosses were going\ninto bankruptcy. Jake Goldfogle had been the first to fall. Five days\nhad cleaned him out. The next day two more went under. Credit was\nbeginning to tighten for even the biggest bosses.\n\nThe Association of Vest Manufacturers saw that it was necessary to break\nthe picket at any cost. There were a number of secret conferences with\ncity politicians. The police magistrate who was sitting at Essex Market\nCourt was transferred to an uptown jurisdiction, and his place was taken\nby a magistrate named Cornett, notorious for his outspoken hostility to\nunionism. The police also got their orders.\n\nBusy days began for Isadore Braun. Pickets were arrested on all sides.\nAt first he seemed to get the better of the legal battle in the dingy\nEssex Market Courthouse. He had the law on his side, and a forceful way\nof expressing it. The early batches of pickets were discharged with a\nwarning. But in a few days the police got the hang of the kind of\ntestimony which was expected of them. The court began to impose fines,\nwhich of course meant imprisonment, as the girls had no money.\n\nIt is an educational maxim of Froebel that we learn by doing. Like most\nconcise sayings, it is not entirely true. Yetta, for instance, had been\nmaking vests for four years, but she learned more about vest-making in\nthe first four weeks of the strike than she had in her years of labor.\n\nShe began to realize that her \"trade\" was more than a routine of flying\nfingers. Braun at one of the meetings had traced out the complicated\nprocess of industry. Outside of her shop there had been men who were\n\"cutters,\" men who prepared the pieces of cloth on which she worked.\nBack of them were the people who wove the cloth and spun the yarn, and\nfurther back still were the shepherds who grew the sheep and clipped the\nwool. And when the vests had left her shop, they had gone to\n\"finishers.\" From them to dealers who were buying coats and trousers of\nthe same cloth, and at last the complete suits were sold to wearers by\nthe retailer. And all these thousands of people, who were her\nco-workers, had to eat. Some one had to bake their bread. The bakers\nwere really part of the vest trade. And so were the cobblers who made\nshoes for the workers, and the coal miners who tore fuel for them from\nthe bowels of the earth, and the steel workers who made their machines\nand their needles. It was hard to think of any worker who did not in\nsome way contribute to the making of vests.\n\nBraun had said that all the people of the process were equally exploited\nby the same unjust system. They were all \"wage-slaves.\" And in her daily\nintercourse with the strikers, sometimes on picket duty, sometimes at\nmeetings, sometimes at headquarters attending to the clerical work of\ndistributing \"benefits,\" she came to realize as she never could have\ndone from her own experience alone, what \"wage-slavery\" means. The\ntragedy of Mrs. Cohen's life was being repeated on every side.\n\nShe had never made the acquaintance of hunger--the great Slave\nDriver--before. And even now, she only saw it. She at least got a good\nbreakfast at Mabel's flat. And sometimes she got a lunch or supper.\nMabel, in her immense preoccupation with the details of the strike, did\nnot realize how often Yetta went through the day on the one meal. But\nthe flat was twenty minutes' walk from the strike headquarters. Yetta\nhad no money for car fare and could rarely spend the time to walk there\nfor lunch or dinner. When there were meetings in the evening and she\nwalked home with Mabel and Longman, they generally had a cold supper.\nBut she was of course earning no wages and had taken nothing from the\nGoldstein flat which she could pawn. The need of the other strikers was\nso much more appalling than her own that she could not find heart to ask\nfor \"strike benefits.\"\n\nMabel, having at once realized Yetta's remarkable power of appeal, was\ncarefully engineering the limelight. With disconcerting frequency Yetta\nfound herself in its glare. The half-dozen newspaper men who had tried\nto get a story out of this sweat-shop revolt had been steered up to\nYetta. And they had all sent around their staff photographers to get her\npicture. The papers with a large circulation among the working classes\nhad made her face familiar to millions. One of them had the enterprise\nto get a snapshot of her, arguing with a scab, before the Sure-fit Vest\nCompany. Even the man who signed himself \"The Amused Onlooker\" in the\n_Evening Standard_, wrote a psychological sketch of this East Side\nfirebrand. His tone was railing as usual, but he tried to be\ncomplimentary towards the close by comparing her to Jeanne D'Arc.\n\nWhenever there was a chance, Mabel pushed Yetta on to the platform. The\nvarious women of the Advisory Council arranged afternoon teas for her to\naddress. To Yetta such begging speeches were much more unpleasant work\nthan picketing. But it was not hard for her to talk to these small\ngatherings. She spoke to them very simply. She did not again tell her\nown story--in the rush of events she had almost forgotten it. Every day\nbrought to her notice new and more bitter tragedies. On the whole the\nmoney raised was not much--ten, fifteen, sometimes twenty-five dollars.\nBut every cent was needed. Mabel, from much experience of her own in\nsimilar circumstances, knew that Yetta was surprisingly successful. But\nthere was hardly ever a woman present at these uptown teas whose\ncheapest ring was not worth many times the amount collected. Yetta,\nseeing the jewels and knowing the intense need of her people, counted\nover the few dollars and thought herself a failure.\n\nBut if these excursions into polite society did not bring the monetary\nreturns for which she wished, they at least made Yetta's face, her great\nsad eyes, and gentle voice, familiar to many women of social\nprominence--a result which was to bear fruit in the future.\n\nIt also cured her of the envy which had cast a shadow of bitterness over\nher first morning in Mabel's apartment. She came to realize even more\nclearly the gulf which separated her people from the world of luxury.\nShe no longer wanted to cross the gulf. The strange country into which\nshe got these occasional glimpses seemed a very hard-hearted place. It\nwas always a shock to her to see such laughing, light-hearted\nindifference. Sometimes she went on a similar errand to the headquarters\nof other unions. There she found her own people and sure sympathy. She\nspoke one evening in a barren, ill-lit room, where the \"pastry cooks\"\nheld their meetings. They were most of them foreigners, French and\nGerman, just coming out of a disastrous strike, and were very poor. They\nhad no money in their treasury, but some of them went down in their\npockets, and she got a handful of nickels and dimes. It was not as much\nas she had secured from some \"ladies\" in the afternoon, but it was more\ninspiring. She felt very keenly that in some mystic way their gift,\nwhich they could so ill afford, would be of greater use to the Cause\nthan the dollars from uptown.\n\nThe well-dressed women she met seemed to her of small worth compared to\nher trade-mates. She was proud of her share in the wonderful heroism of\nthe women who went hungry. The memory of her father was the most\nbrilliant of her mental treasures. If she had been brought up by a more\npractical man, if her father had taught her to consider elegance, or\nsocial success, or wealth, or culture of more virtue than loving\nkindness--as most of us are taught--her verdict would, of course, have\nbeen less severe. But she could not feel that the Golden Rule was taken\nseriously by the Christian women uptown. She doubted if they loved\ntheir neighbors as themselves. Certainly their definition of the word\ndid not reach downtown. The diamonds of their useless ornaments threw a\ncruel light on the misery of her people.\n\nIn forming this harsh estimate of the world of luxury she had Mabel\nbeside her as a standard of comparison. Why were the other women\ndifferent from Mabel? They were no more beautiful, no better educated,\nno more refined. But Mabel was the \"real thing.\" Yetta was ashamed of\nher first envy and distrust. Day by day she saw more fully the broad\nscope of Mabel's activities--of which this vest-makers' strike was only\none--and her admiring wonder grew. Mabel gave not only her time, but she\nwas not afraid of what the girls called \"dirty work\"; she carried a\nbanner in the street on the day of the parade, she did her turn at\npicketing, her share of addressing and sealing envelopes. And she\ncarried very much more than her share of the heavier responsibilities.\nYetta found it hard to understand how other women, who also knew the\nfacts of misery, could act so differently. Yet, day after day she told\nthem the facts, and they were content to give five or ten dollars. No.\nYetta did not want to be a \"lady.\"\n\nAlmost every day some of the pickets were arrested and sent to the\nworkhouse. But others always volunteered to take their places. There is\nno surer lesson to be learned from history than that persecution is like\noil to the flame of enthusiasm. Instead of breaking, as the bosses--with\nthe fatuousness of Nero--had hoped, the picket became more intense and\nmore effective. The bosses decided that \"something decisive must be\ndone.\" There were several conferences--very quiet and orderly they\nwere--with the expert strike-breakers who had been loaned to them by the\nEmployers' Association. A long statement was prepared, which informed\nthe public that the vest manufacturers, feeling that they were not\ngetting sufficient assistance from the city police, had employed a\nprivate detective agency to protect their property and the lives of\ntheir faithful employees from the outrages of the strikers. All the\nEnglish papers published this statement without any inquiry as to\nwhether life and property needed special protection. The more\ncomplaisant ones published the stories which the \"press agent\" of the\nassociation furnished on the \"outrages.\" So the impression was spread\nabroad that the striking vest-makers were smoky-haired furies, who\nbrawled in the streets and tore the clothes off respectable women.\n\nBut there was hardly any one who had ever been involved in a strike,\nemployer or employed, hardly a cub-reporter in the city, who did not\nknow what this announcement meant. The bosses had failed to break the\nstrike by \"legal\" means. The \"private detectives\" had been called in to\ndo it by intimidation and brutality. Girls began coming into the strike\nheadquarters with bleeding faces, with black and blue bruises from\nkicks.\n\nNo justice of the Supreme Court has handed down a decision on the\nprobability of the public peace being disturbed by the use of thugs,\ncalling themselves \"private detectives,\" in labor disputes.\n\nMabel, realizing Yetta's special usefulness as a speaker and\nmoney-raiser, tried to persuade her that this other work was more\nimportant than picketing.\n\n\"No,\" Yetta said. \"If I didn't spend the morning with the girls, I\nwould not have anything to say at night.\"\n\nMabel did not urge her further; she no longer called her _la petite_\nwhen she spoke of her to Eleanor. Every one who came in contact with her\nduring these weeks knew that she was growing very rapidly into\nwomanhood.\n\nYetta expected to get arrested. Why should she not? In a way she had\nstarted all the trouble. Why should the other girls be knocked about by\nthe ruffian private detectives and she escape? Day after day she took\nher post before one or another of the vest shops and did her duty as she\nsaw it, as the other women were doing it. There were always two pickets\nat each post, and it was in these morning watches that Yetta got her\ndeepest insight into the lives of her comrades.\n\nShe was having a very easy time of it. She had a pleasant place to\nsleep. She had her one sure meal a day. There were no children crying to\nher for food. The other women were faring worse than she. Some were\nsick, almost all were hungry and insufficiently clad. And while Yetta\nwas often called away to the less fatiguing work of the office, or to\nsome uptown tea, these women, used to sitting all day before a machine,\nwere standing hour after hour before their posts. But it was not the\nsight of them, pitiful spectacles as many of them were, which hurt Yetta\nmost. It was their stories--unintentionally told for the most part. The\nwords dropped by chance, which called up visions of sick husbands and\nthe hungry babies. Some of the pickets were gray-haired and bent, some\nwere younger than Yetta, and they all seemed to be suffering more for\nthe strike than she. And the hungry babies! Her sleep was troubled at\nnight by dreams of their cries.\n\nThat she had been spared by the police and thugs seemed to Yetta the\nmost unjust thing of all the injustice she saw about her. A week on \"the\nIsland\" would mean little to her; she had no one dependent on her. But\nalways they picked some widow, who had no one to care for her children\nwhile she was in prison. Yetta felt herself strong and healthy. Why did\nthe thugs always beat up some old woman or some frail consumptive girl?\nAlthough she had escaped trouble so long, she quietly and without\nexcitement expected it. Whenever she met any of the girls who had been\nin the workhouse, she asked about it--in the same way that we, if we\nwere expecting to winter in Paris, would inquire from friends who had\nbeen there about the rents and shops and so forth.\n\nBut when at last her turn came, it happened in a manner utterly\nunexpected.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nARREST\n\n\nAt headquarters on May Day morning Yetta was detailed to the Crown Vest\nCompany. As she was starting out, she met Mabel, whose mackintosh was\nglistening with rain.\n\n\"Oh, Yetta,\" she said, \"don't go out to-day. The weather's so bad, and\nif you catch cold you can't speak.\"\n\nBut Yetta only smiled. It seemed to Mabel that she had never looked so\nbeautiful before. Her face had begun to hollow a little from the strain,\nher olive skin was a shade paler, her eyes seemed to have grown bigger.\nAnd her shoulders, which had begun to stoop in the sweat-shop, had\nstraightened up with the month on her feet and the new pride of combat.\nShe was wearing the same skirt and waist she had worn to the dance, for\nshe was to speak uptown that afternoon, and she had a warm shawl over\nher head and shoulders. The soles of her shoes were worn through, but\nMabel could not see that.\n\n\"I've only got a few hours of it,\" she said. \"There's that Advisory\nCouncil again this afternoon.\"\n\nAnd she went out into the rain. The Crown Vest Company was on East\nFourth Street, just off Washington Square. As Yetta turned the corner\nfrom Broadway she was nearly blown off her feet. All the winds of\nheaven--the biting, penetrating winds of a late spring storm--were\ncaught in Washington Square as in a funnel, and escaped through the\nnarrow canon of East Fourth Street. Although Yetta was late, she was\nsurprised to find no other picket before the Crown Vest Company. They\nwere always assigned in couples. Her surprise turned to distress when\nshe recognized the \"private detective\" in the doorway. His real name\nnobody knew. He called himself Brennan, but the girls called him\n\"Pick-Axe.\" He was the one they dreaded more than any other. He thought\nhimself a wit. It was his custom to tilt a chair against the wall by the\ndoorway and, lighting his pipe, amuse himself by trying to make the\ngirls blush. There was no limit to the brutality or nastiness of his\ntongue.\n\n\"Come in out of the rain, Dearie,\" he said when he saw Yetta. \"There's\nroom for two on this chair.\"\n\nShe tried not to hear him and began a sentry-like tread back and forth\nbefore the door. At least she was glad it was raining. Sometimes in good\nweather a crowd of depraved loungers would gather to listen to\nPick-Axe's wit.\n\n\"It's too bad to have to work on a day like this, Little One,\" he called\nas she passed again. \"Let's go over to the saloon and have a drink.\nThere are nice warm rooms upstairs.\"\n\nYetta felt she would not shiver so hard if it were not for his cold,\nstinging voice. She decided it would be cowardly to let him drive her\nout of earshot. That would please him too much. She wondered why the\nother picket was not there.\n\n\"You needn't be so proud\"--when she was again opposite him. \"The first\ngirl this morning tried to be proud. But she got over it. What's the\nuse? Better come and have a drink, same as she did.\"\n\nYetta knew it was a lie. And yet--good God, it was cold! She had had her\nfill of eggs and hot coffee that morning. She wouldn't be hungry till\nnoon, and she was so near home, she could get a good lunch. Some of the\ngirls were always hungry. Few of them had warm clothes for such weather.\nHow could they stand it? She wished she had asked the name of the other\ngirl detailed to the Crown.\n\n\"I felt right sorry for her,\" Pick-Axe went on. \"Gawd! she was hungry.\nYou ought to have seen her eat. Pretty little girl, too. Now she's\nhaving a good sleep.\"\n\nOf course it was a lie. But Yetta felt herself getting colder and\ncolder. Pick-Axe got up and came towards her. She tried not to notice\nhim, but she wanted very much to run.\n\n\"Come on,\" he said. \"What's the use of being a fool? Nobody's outdoors.\nThey ain't no scabs coming to-day. Let's go over to the saloon and make\nfriends.\"\n\nYetta having reached the end of her beat turned mechanically and started\nback towards where he stood.\n\n\"That's a sensible girl,\" he said.\n\nBut she walked on past him as if he were a lamppost.\n\n\"Well,\" he snarled, \"I guess I'll have to go over and wake up your\nfriend. It'll take you about half an hour to wish you'd come\ninstead....\"\n\nThere is no need of printing all that he said.\n\nHe walked across the street. Yetta could not help turning her head to\nwatch him as he entered the swinging door. He caught her glance and\nwaved his hand. Her fright disappeared in anger. Of course she did not\nbelieve that he had persuaded one of her union girls to go into the\nsaloon with him. But it was even viler to pretend that he had. Some one\nought to kill the brute.\n\nJust then Yetta saw one of the strikers--little Mrs. Muscovitz--hurrying\nup the street. Yetta rushed to meet her.\n\n\"Were you detailed here?\" she asked eagerly.\n\nMrs. Muscovitz was coughing and could only nod her head affirmatively.\nYetta wanted to shout with joy. So Pick-Axe's story was after all a lie.\n\n\"I'm sorry I'm late,\" little Mrs. Muscovitz said hoarsely, for she was\n\"bad with bronchitis,\" \"but I got a little money this morning and I had\nto buy some things for the baby.\"\n\nOne glance told Yetta where the money had come from--Mrs. Muscovitz had\npawned her shawl. More than once they had picketed together, and Yetta\nknew the little woman's story. Three years before she had married a\nyoung sign painter. Before the honeymoon was over he had begun to cough.\nHe died before the baby was born. And when Mrs. Muscovitz had been able\nto get about again, all the furniture of their little home had gone for\ndoctor's bills. Her engagement and wedding rings had brought her enough\nto establish herself in a garret. She took the baby to a day nursery and\nwent to work. Now, she was coughing. It hurts to cough when one also has\nthe bronchitis. Having no shawl, her thin waist was soaked and plastered\nto her skin. Yetta could see the muscles of her back work convulsively\nwhenever she coughed.\n\n\"Look y'ere, Mrs. Muscovitz,\" she said authoritatively. \"You go home.\nYou ain't got no business out on a day like this. You'll catch your\ndeath. There ain't nothing doing to-day. I can hold it down alone.\"\n\n\"It's all right for you to talk, Yetta,\" Mrs. Muscovitz replied. \"You\ncan make speeches and you can work in the office and do lots of things\nfor the Union. There ain't nothing I can do but picket. I couldn't pay\nrent without the 'strike benefits.' I've got to do something.\"\n\nPick-Axe came out of the saloon and seeing them together, knowing that\nit was less sport trying to torment two women than one, pulled his chair\nwell inside of the doorway and cursed the vile weather.\n\n\"I tell you what you can do,\" Yetta went on arguing with Mrs. Muscovitz.\n\"It'll do more good than standing here. You go over to headquarters and\nmake some coffee. You tell Miss Train I said it was so cold she must\nsend coffee out to the girls. You can borrow some pails and cups and\nMrs. Weinstein's boy'll carry it round. Hot coffee'll do the girls good,\nand it'll make the cops sore to see us getting it. Making coffee'll do\nmore good than standing here. Nobody's out; I can hold down this job all\nright.\"\n\n\"I hate to leave you alone with that snake.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" Yetta laughed, more light-heartedly than she felt. \"Words don't\nbreak no bones. You run along.\"\n\nWhile Mrs. Muscovitz was hesitating, she caught sight of a scab. \"Look,\"\nshe whispered. A big-boned young woman of about twenty, poorly clad and\napparently much frightened, was standing on the opposite curbstone. She\nlooked up at the sign in the window of the Crown Vest Company\nadvertising the need of workers. And she looked down at the two women\nbefore the door. After a few indecisive minutes she started across the\nstreet.\n\n\"You run along to headquarters and get that coffee started,\" Yetta said.\n\"I'll talk to her.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mrs. Muscovitz. \"Let me do it. And then I'll go. I want to do\nsomething.\"\n\nShe started towards the woman. Pick-Axe, bundled up in his overcoat,\nback in the entryway, did not see the scab approaching. She had probably\nread in the papers lying stories of how the strike breakers were being\nattacked. She was very much afraid, and when she saw Mrs. Muscovitz\ncoming towards her, she screamed. Pick-Axe, not having seen what was\nhappening,--if one wishes to find excuses for him,--may have really\nbelieved that the little Mrs. Muscovitz had assaulted the husky young\nscab. At the sound of the scream he jumped out of his chair and rushed\nat Mrs. Muscovitz. She, thinking that he was going to strike her, held\nout her hand to guard her face. Pick-Axe grabbed it, and with a vicious\nwrench, twisted her down on her knees.\n\n\"You slut! You--! You--!\" he bellowed and swung his heavy-soled boot\ninto her ribs.\n\nYetta--to use a phrase of melodrama--\"saw red.\" Something happened in\nher brain. Her rather Platonic conviction of a few minutes before that\nsomebody ought to kill the brute, was changed into a passionate,\nthrobbing desire to do it herself.\n\nJust as his foot found its goal in Mrs. Muscovitz' side, Pick-Axe felt\nthe sudden impact of Yetta's whole weight. It was more of a spring than\na rush. As far as she had any idea, she wanted to choke him. The sudden\njolt bowled him over--he was standing on one foot--and as he fell his\nhead came down on the stone paving with a sickening thud. If it had not\nbeen for his heavy cap, the blow might have cracked his skull. As it was\nit stunned him. His face turned very white. The scab ran up the street\ntoo frightened to look back.\n\n\"I hope he's dead,\" Yetta said with tight-clenched fists.\n\nBut Mrs. Muscovitz felt his heart and shook her head.\n\n\"Sure?\" Yetta asked.\n\n\"Yes. His heart's beating. Feel it yourself.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't touch the snake with my foot,\" Yetta said; \"come on.\"\n\n\"Nobody but the scab seen us,\" Mrs. Muscovitz said.\n\n\"Come on,\" Yetta repeated. \"Let's go to headquarters.\"\n\nSomehow she did not care whether any one had seen her or not. She had\ntried to kill a man and regretted that she had not succeeded. She had\nread stories of murderers' remorse. And now she knew they were lies. She\nwould never have been sorry if she had killed that snake.\n\nAs they were turning into Broadway, Mrs. Muscovitz, who was always\nlooking back, suddenly gripped Yetta's arm.\n\n\"He's getting up,\" she said. \"There's a man helping him.\"\n\nThey both peered back around the corner and saw Pick-Axe, with the aid\nof the stranger, painfully getting to his feet and rubbing his head in\nbewilderment.\n\n\"Come on,\" Yetta said. \"He'll begin to holler in a minute. I've got a\ndime. We'll take a car.\"\n\nThey ran to catch a downtown car. They rode in silence, Mrs. Muscovitz\nnursing her aching arm and the bruise in her side. Yetta, surprised at\nthe calm which had come after the sudden typhoon of passion, kept\nrepeating, \"I tried to kill him, I tried to kill him.\"\n\nAt the headquarters they found Isadore Braun, just returned from\nattending to the morning's batch of arrested pickets in Essex Market\nCourt.\n\n\"Come into the committee-room,\" Yetta said to him quietly. \"We've had\nsome trouble.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" he asked professionally as he closed the door.\n\n\"It's bad,\" Yetta replied. \"Mrs. Muscovitz and I was picketing the\nCrown. And Pick-Axe--well, he jumped on her and--well--I knocked him\nsenseless.\"\n\nBraun bounced out of his chair in amazement.\n\n\"You? You knocked Pick-Axe senseless? You're joking.\"\n\nBut Yetta shrugged her shoulders affirmatively. And Braun began to\nlaugh. He knew Pick-Axe. Every few days he encountered the bully in\ncourt, listened to his cold-blooded perjuries. He knew, from the girls,\nof his brutality. And he thought he knew Yetta. Her first speech at the\nSkirt-Finishers' ball had attracted his attention. He had followed her\ndevelopment through the four weeks of the strike with increasing\ninterest. Above all he had been impressed with her quiet, gentle ways.\nThe idea that she had knocked out Pick-Axe was preposterous.\n\nBut Mrs. Muscovitz added her affirmation. As he gradually got the\ndetails from them he grew more and more serious. It was the first time\nthe enemy had had any real ground to charge them with violence. They\nwould certainly make the most of it.\n\n\"Do you think he knows your face?\" he asked Yetta.\n\n\"Sure.\"\n\nBraun realized that his question had been foolish. Yetta was the\nmost-advertised, best-known person connected with the strike.\n\n\"They'll be after you with a warrant,\" he said.\n\nYetta shrugged her shoulders.\n\n\"Were there any witnesses?\" he asked.\n\n\"Only the scab,\" Mrs. Muscovitz said. \"She run away. I guess she's too\nscared to come back. And the man who helped him get up.\"\n\nBraun sat for a few minutes, with his chin in his hands, thinking it\nout.\n\n\"We'll have to lie,\" he said at last. \"This is the story. Mrs. Muscovitz\nwas talking to the scab. Pick-Axe twisted her arm and kicked her. That's\nall true. You tried to separate them. That's true, too, in a way--\"\n\n\"I tried to kill him,\" Yetta put in.\n\n\"But you mustn't tell the judge that! You tried to separate them, and he\nslipped on the wet pavement and bumped his head. You two ran away,\nafraid that he'd attack you. You took a Broadway car and came straight\nhere. Let's see--\" he looked at his watch--\"You got here about eleven\nthirty.\"\n\n\"I'd rather tell the truth,\" Yetta insisted. \"Tell the judge just what\nthe snake said to me and why I was mad.\"\n\n\"You can't do that. In the first place the judge would not listen to all\nof it. And then he would not believe you. They're looking for a chance\nto say we are using violence. Why did you do it--Oh, well, there's no\nuse asking that. It's done. We've got to lie.\"\n\nYetta looked unconvinced.\n\n\"It won't only be worse for you,\" Braun went on. \"It'll be worse for all\nof us, if you tell the truth.\"\n\n\"All right, then,\" Yetta said reluctantly. \"I'll lie.\"\n\nJust then Mabel rushed in without knocking.\n\n\"Pick-Axe and a plain-clothes man are out here with a warrant for\nYetta,\" she cried. \"Where can we hide her?\"\n\n\"We won't hide her,\" Braun said. \"We don't want to seem afraid of this\ncharge.\"\n\n\"What's it all about?\" she asked.\n\n\"Why, Pick-Axe was getting gay as usual,\" Braun said. \"He slipped on the\nwet pavement or tripped over something and bumped his head. I guess he's\ntrying to make an assault charge out of it.\"\n\n\"What?\" Mabel asked in astonishment. \"He's got the face to say that\nYetta attacked him?\"\n\nYetta started to say, \"I did,\" but Braun kicked her unobtrusively and\nshe kept still.\n\n\"Go out and tell them we will surrender at once,\" Braun said.\n\nAs soon as Mabel had left he hurriedly repeated the story they were to\ntell.\n\n\"Don't tell anybody the truth,\" he insisted. \"Not any one. Not even Miss\nTrain. We've got to bluff. And the more people who believe we are\ntelling the truth, the better the bluff is.\"\n\nThey went out into the main room, and Yetta was formally put under\narrest.\n\n\"That's the other woman,\" Pick-Axe said at sight of Mrs. Muscovitz.\n\n\"I haven't any warrant for her,\" the plain-clothes man said. He had no\nespecial affection for the ruffian who pretended to be a detective.\n\n\"She is coming to court anyhow as a witness,\" Braun said.\n\nAt that moment he caught sight of Longman and a reporter and a ray of\nhope. He hurried over to them.\n\n\"Longman,\" he said, \"they've arrested Yetta Rayefsky on an utterly\nabsurd charge of attacking that thug, Brennan, whom the girls call\nPick-Axe. I wish you'd come over to court. I can use you, I think, in\nthe defence. And\"--he turned to the reporter, \"it may be worth your\nwhile to come, too. I think there'll be a story in it.\"\n\nSo the little procession set out. Yetta walked ahead between Pick-Axe\nand the detective. Braun and Mrs. Muscovitz and Longman and the reporter\ntrailed behind.\n\nThere was hardly anything more sincere about Pick-Axe than his fear and\nhatred of Braun, so he kept his mouth shut as long as he was in hearing.\nBut when the steel door of Essex Market Prison had clanged shut behind\nhim, as soon as the desk man had entered Yetta's name and age and\naddress on his book, Pick-Axe gave rein to his filthy wrath. They had\ntaken her into the \"examination room,\" and Yetta, following Braun's\nadvice, refused to answer any questions. She crouched in a corner and\ntried not to hear what he was saying. She had grown up in a community\nwhere men are not over-careful in their choice of expletives, but she\nhad never listened to anything like this.\n\nIt would have been very hard for Yetta to tell any one--even Mabel--what\nthat quarter of an hour meant to her. She was not exactly afraid. In a\nway she was prepared for it. She had heard Pick-Axe talk before. The\ngirls had told her that the worst thing they had suffered during their\nimprisonment was what they had had to listen to, insults and obscenity\nand the mad ravings of the \"drunks.\"\n\nAlthough Yetta was not afraid nor surprised, her whole being shuddered\nunder it. Her flesh seemed to contract in an effort to escape the\ncontagion of such loathsomeness. For years she would turn suddenly pale\nat the barest memory of that torrent of abuse. Once Pick-Axe came close\nas if he was going to strike her, but the detective pulled him away.\nYetta was almost sorry. It would have been a relief if he had struck her\nwith his hand.\n\nAnd yet it was very little for herself that Yetta suffered. She was\nbeing sacrificed for a great host. What they did to her mattered very\nlittle, but in her they were striking at all the myriad \"people of the\nprocess\"--the women of her trade, the cloth weavers, the wool-growers,\nthose who grew wheat for their bread, who made beds for them to sleep\nin. She felt herself a delicate instrument for the transmission of\nsound. Those stinging, cruel words were going out to the remotest\ncorners of the land, were bringing shame on all the lowly people of the\nearth, just as his kick, crashing into Mrs. Muscovitz' side, had made\nthem all gasp with pain. Once she looked up, she wanted to ask him what\nthey paid him that made it worth his while to treat her people so. But\nshe knew it was useless to ask--he would not have understood.\n\nThen echoing down the corridor, she heard a warden bawling her name.\nFrom the point of view of Braun's intended defence, Yetta's arrest had\ncome at a fortunate time of day. By noon the morning calendar is\ndisposed of, and he could have her arraigned for hearing at once. The\nleast delay meant the possibility of the prosecution finding some\nwitness who had seen Yetta strike Pick-Axe.\n\nYetta had wanted to tell the judge the truth. It was only because Braun\ninsisted that it would endanger the success of the strike that she had\nconsented to lie. But when she was led into the court-room, her scruples\nleft her.\n\nTelling the truth is like a quarrel--there must be two parties to it.\nNicolas Gay, the Russian painter, has a canvas called, \"What is Truth?\"\nIt portrays Pontius Pilate, putting this question to the Christ. And you\nrealize at once why the Prisoner could not answer. Truth is not the\nenunciation of certain words. Nothing which the scorned and scourged and\nthorn-crowned Jesus might have said about His Truth could have\npenetrated the thick skull of the gross and pride-filled Roman\nproconsul.\n\nYetta, in a somewhat similar situation, understood at once that this\ndingy court-room was not an Abode of Truth. Magistrate Cornett, before\nwhom she was led, although a young man, was quite bald. He sat hunched\nup in his great chair, and the folds of his heavy black robe made him\nlook deformed. His finger nails were manicured. His skin was carefully\ngroomed, but the flesh under it was flabby. His face and hands were\nthose of a gourmand.\n\nThe clerk read the complaint. It charged Yetta with assault in all its\ndegrees in that on that very day she had with felonious intent struck\none Michael Brennan on the head with a dangerous weapon, to wit a\nblackjack.\n\n\"Guilty or not guilty?\"\n\n\"Not guilty,\" Braun replied.\n\nThe plain-clothes man deposed that he knew nothing about the case except\nthat he had served the warrant as directed by the court. He had found\nthe defendant in the strike headquarters of the vest-makers.\n\nThe man who had helped Brennan get up was a clerk in a neighboring\nwholesale house. He had been sent out with a telegram, and in the\nrain-swept, deserted street he had seen no one but the prostrate\ndetective, who was just regaining consciousness as he came up. He helped\nthe stricken man to his feet, and that was all he knew.\n\nThen Michael Brennan, alias Pick-Axe, took the stand. Ordinarily he made\na fairly good appearance in court. He felt himself among friends, felt a\nreassuring kinship with the policemen, the clerks, and even with the\njudge. To be sure they all knew he was a perjurer, and very few of them\nwould shake hands with him. But still he was a necessary part in the\ngreat machine for preserving social order, by which they all were paid.\nBut this day he was not at his ease. In the first place his head ached\nhorribly. In the second, he was so infuriated that he could scarcely\ncontrol his tongue. And thirdly, he knew that he was in for a grilling\nfrom Braun. And he was more than usually afraid of this ordeal because\nhe was not sure what had happened. He remembered kicking Mrs. Muscovitz,\nhe had a vague conviction that Yetta had rushed at him--and then he\nremembered coming to and being helped to his feet.\n\n\"Yer Honor,\" he began, \"I was in front of the Crown Vest Company this\nmorning doing duty as usual. There wasn't nobody around except this here\nRayefsky girl and a woman she's brought as a witness. Well, Yer Honor, I\nwent into the hallway to light my pipe and just at that minute a scab\ncomes along--\"\n\n\"Your Honor,\" Braun interrupted, \"some of my clients have been sent to\nprison for using that term. This court has held it to be insulting and\nabusive.\"\n\n\"It was a slip of my tongue, Yer Honor,\" Pick-Axe said with confusion.\n\n\"Clerk,\" the Judge instructed, \"strike out that word, and you be more\ncareful, Brennan.\"\n\n\"Yes, Yer Honor. I was saying a respectable woman came along looking for\nwork--she wasn't really a woman, just a young girl. I didn't see her\nbecause I was in the hallway lighting my pipe, as I told Yer Honor, but\nI heard her holler and, rushing out, I seen this other woman a-laying\ninto her, beating her up something awful--\"\n\nMrs. Muscovitz tried to protest from the benches, but Longman, at a\nsignal from Braun, hushed her.\n\n\"Well, Yer Honor, I runs up and tries to arrest the woman, and the other\none--this Rayefsky girl--jumps on me with a blackjack and lays me out,\nYer Honor. The first thing I knows I come to, with this gentleman\na-helping me up. How long I laid there senseless, Yer Honor, I don't\nknow. I came right over here and got the warrant, and Officer Sheehan\nand me, we got her at the strike headquarters, like he told Yer Honor.\"\n\n\"Do you wish to question the witness, Mr. Braun?\"\n\n\"Brennan,\" he began, \"did you see a blackjack in the defendant's hand?\"\n\n\"No, sir! If I'd a knowed she had a blackjack would I have let her sneak\nup behind me? No. I'd have run her in before.\"\n\n\"What makes you think it was a blackjack?\"\n\n\"The bump on my head.\" He leaned over the bench so the judge could\nexamine it. \"She couldn't have made that with her hand, Yer Honor.\"\n\n\"It certainly looks like a blackjack,\" the judge said.\n\n\"Are you sure, Brennan, it wasn't a piece of stone?\"\n\n\"No. It wasn't no stone--I'd have seen her pick it up. It was a\nblackjack,\" he insisted doggedly.\n\n\"How do you know it wasn't a piece of gas-pipe?\"\n\n\"What's the use of such questions?\" the judge asked impatiently. \"The\ncrime would be no less serious if the blow had been struck with a piece\nof gas-pipe.\"\n\n\"Your Honor,\" Braun replied, \"it is a serious question. Brennan does not\nknow what hit him and I do. In two more questions I think I can convince\nthe Court that he does not know. Brennan,\" he turned to the witness,\n\"you say that you had gone into the hallway to light your pipe. When you\nrushed out to attack the picket, did you see this gentleman coming down\nthe street? Professor Longman, will you please rise? Brennan, did you\nsee this gentleman coming down the street with that cane in his hand?\"\n\nBrennan had been wondering why Longman had come to the court. He looked\nat him suspiciously.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"I never saw that man till I got to the strike\nheadquarters.\"\n\n\"Well, Brennan, are you quite sure, are you prepared to swear that when\nyou were kicking Mrs. Muscovitz about this gentleman did not knock you\ndown as you deserved--as any real man would have done?\"\n\n\"I didn't kick the woman,\" Brennan said.\n\n\"That's not the question. Are you sure it wasn't Professor Longman who\nlaid you out?\"\n\nFor a moment Brennan hesitated. It was hard for him to believe that\nYetta had knocked him senseless. He knew that Braun was trying to catch\nhim in a perjury. And he had a guilty conscience.\n\n\"If it was him that hit me,\" he roared, \"I'll have him sent up. I was\ndoing my duty.\"\n\n\"Officer,\" the judge said, \"see that this man does not leave the room.\"\n\n\"It is a useless precaution, Your Honor,\" Braun said. \"Professor Longman\nwas nowhere in the neighborhood. But I think it is quite clear that\nBrennan does not know who or what hit him.\"\n\nThe reporter who had come with them, not being regularly detailed to the\ncourt, was not afraid to laugh out loud.\n\n\"I have no other questions to ask,\" Braun went on. \"Will the Court have\nthe defendant's account of what happened?\"\n\nThe oath was administered to Yetta and she told the story, which Braun\nhad taught her, more calmly and simply than most people tell the truth.\nThe judge did not believe that a person who had just committed a\nmurderous assault could be so cool under the charge. He knew Brennan,\nand that he was probably lying now. He himself had slipped on the wet\npavement that morning, his motor had skidded on the way downtown. He\nbelieved Yetta. He had generally believed the strikers against whom\nBrennan and the other \"private detectives\" had testified, but, knowing\njust what was expected of him by those on whom he depended for\nadvancement, he had sent the other girls to jail. He twirled his pencil\na moment, asking her a few inconsequential questions, and regretfully\ncame to the conclusion that he could not possibly hold her on the\nassault charge.\n\n\"Are there any other witnesses?\" he asked.\n\n\"Mrs. Muscovitz, who was picketing with the defendant, is here,\" Braun\nsaid. \"She tells me exactly the same story. She will tell it to the\nCourt if Your Honor so directs. But it seems rather a waste of time.\nThere is no case against my client. Brennan has shown the Court that he\ndoesn't know what hit him. Look at the two of them, Your Honor. If you\nthink that any twelve men on earth will believe that this slip of a girl\nassaulted the complainant, you can of course hold her for the Grand\nJury. But I ask the Court to discharge the defendant.\"\n\n\"Not so fast, Mr. Braun,\" the judge snapped. \"Even admitting the truth\nof her improbable story--which I very much question--admitting there is\ninsufficient evidence to hold her on the assault charge, she confesses\nto disorderly conduct in interfering with an officer who was making an\narrest. Clerk, make out a charge of disorderly conduct. I suppose you'll\nswear to the complaint, Brennan.\"\n\nWhile this detail was being attended to at the clerk's desk, the judge\ndelivered himself of an informal philippic against the strikers. He\naimed a good deal of his discourse at Mrs. Muscovitz: it was only the\nextreme leniency of the Court, he said, which kept him from ordering\nher arrest;--as a matter of fact it was past his lunch time. His tirade,\nwhich he seemed to enjoy immensely, as he saw the reporter taking notes,\nwas interrupted by the Clerk handing him the new papers.\n\n\"Yetta Rayefsky, you admit picketing, which means intimidating honest\nwork-people, before the Crown Vest Company this morning; you admit\ninterfering with Officer Brennan, while he was engaged in the\nperformance of his duty. The Court finds you guilty of disorderly\nconduct. But the officers inform me that this is the first time you have\nbeen brought to court. As is my custom, I will discharge you if you\npromise not to picket any more. Understand that if you are brought\nbefore me again, I will send you to prison. Take my advice and go to\nwork. Idleness always breeds trouble. Will you promise not to picket any\nmore?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThe judge sat up with a jerk.\n\n\"Ten days, workhouse,\" he thundered.\n\nAnd as they led her away, he rapped on his desk with his gavel, and the\nclerk announced adjournment.\n\n\"That little Jew girl had more spunk than I gave her credit for,\" the\njudge said a few minutes later, in his chambers, to his secretary who\nwas helping him on with his fur-lined coat. \"I wonder if she did\nblackjack Brennan.\" He had to sit down again to laugh at the idea.\n\n\"Don't scold me,\" Yetta said to Braun, when he came into the prison and\nspoke to her through the grating. \"I was tired of lying.\"\n\nBraun said to himself as he went away that it was just like a woman to\nget away with a big lie and stumble over a little one.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE WORKHOUSE\n\n\nIn the afternoon Yetta was loaded into \"the wagon\" with a lot of\n\"drunks\" and prostitutes and taken up to the Department dock to wait for\nthe ferry across to the Island.\n\nShe had not realized how the month's strain had tired her until the\nexcitement was over and she was on the tug in midstream. In sheer\nweariness, she turned round on her seat and, crossing her arms on its\nback, buried her face in them. Presently she felt a hand on her\nshoulder.\n\n\"Don't take it so hard, Little One,\" a not unkindly voice said. \"It's\nfierce at first, but you get used to it.\" She looked up into a face of\nstained and faded gaudiness.\n\n\"Oh,\" the woman said, somewhat taken aback. \"You're one of them\nstrikers. Did they beat you up?\"\n\n\"No,\" Yetta replied, \"I got off easy.\"\n\nThe woman stood a moment first on one foot and then on the other--she\ncould not think of anything more to say. She went across the boat and\ntold one of her cronies what kind of a shame she thought it was \"to run\nin a nice girl like that.\"\n\nYetta was in a strange state of detachment. It surprised her afterwards\nto remember how little the discomforts of the prison had troubled her.\nShe was hardly conscious of the dirty, rough clothes they gave her. The\nbitter, hard, and useless work of scrubbing the stone flagging seemed to\nher unreal. She hardly noticed the food they set before her for supper.\nShe was not hungry. And when they let her go to bed, she plunged so\nquickly and deeply into the oblivion of sleep that she did not feel the\nvermin nor hear the sinister whispers of her cell-mates. Her mind,\nutterly fagged out with all the new thoughts and experiences, was taking\na vacation. Even the sense nerves were too tired to record with\nexactitude their impressions.\n\nBefore Yetta fell into this blissful, dreamless sleep her arrest had\nbegun to stir up considerable excitement in New York. When Braun and\nLongman returned to the strike headquarters from the court-house, they\nfound Mabel preparing to go uptown to the meeting of the Advisory\nCouncil. The imprisonment of Yetta seemed to her the crowning outrage of\nthe long list of trivial arrests. She did not dream how nearly the\ncharge came to being true. Dozens of other girls had been sent to the\nworkhouse on perjured evidence. But this seemed different. Yetta was\n\"hers.\" In the past weeks she had become \"her\" friend. So are we all\nconstituted. We read in the morning paper that thousands of Chinese or\nRussians or Moors are dying of famine. Perhaps we mail a check to the\nRed Cross. But if we should be hungry or one of our dear friends should\nstarve, it would seem extravagantly unjust.\n\nIn this ireful frame of mind, Mabel met the ladies of the Advisory\nCouncil. To them also Yetta was a much more real personality than the\nother girls who had been arrested. Their Yetta, their quiet-mannered,\nsad-eyed, gentle-voiced Yetta, arrested for assaulting a man? It was\nimpossible! With the tears in her eyes, Mabel assured them that it was\ntrue.\n\n\"We can't permit this,\" Mrs. Van Cleave said, snapping her lorgnette\nominously. \"It is preposterous! The young lady has been a guest in my\nhouse. I have introduced her to my friends. It can't be permitted.\"\n\n\"Well, what can we do about it?\" Mabel asked, for once at a loss.\n\nThere was a clamor of wild suggestions. It was at last Mrs. Karner, the\nwoman whom Yetta had liked, and at whose request she had told about\nHarry Klein, who brought out a practical plan.\n\n\"We've got to do it through the newspapers,\" she said. \"Stir up the\npress.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" Mabel said in despair, \"they laugh when I come into their offices.\nThey're not interested, or they're on the other side.\"\n\n\"They laugh because they're used to you. You haven't any news value,\"\nMrs. Karner went on. \"But they would not laugh if Mrs. Van Cleave talked\nto them.\"\n\n\"Hey? What?\" Mrs. Van Cleave asked with a start.\n\n\"Oh! you won't even have to go to their offices; you can send for them.\nI worked on a newspaper once, and I know. You won't have to go to them.\nThey'll come. The editors will eat out of your hand--do anything for you\non the chance that you might invite their wives to dinner. Have your\nsecretary call up the papers, and you'll have a hundred special writers\ncamped on your doorstep.\"\n\n\"Well, well! What an idea!\" Mrs. Van Cleave snorted.\n\nAll the women, with various degrees of obsequiousness, begged her to do\nit. But it was not the kind of newspaper notoriety she liked.\n\n\"No,\" she repeated a dozen times. \"I could not do that. Preposterous!\nPreposterous!\"\n\nBut she hardly heard the urgings. She was looking away beyond the room\nat the vision of a little girl who had died many years ago--the only\nthing which had not been worldly in all her life. And this little\ndaughter of hers had had eyes very much like Yetta's. Yes. Very much\nlike. In fact they were almost exactly the same. And just when the women\nwere giving up hope she suddenly spoke decisively.\n\n\"Yes. I'll do it. My secretary is outside in the motor. Call her in.\"\n\n\"Jane,\" she said when that very businesslike and faded young woman\nappeared, \"two things. One, a list of all the women who met that little\nworking-girl at my house. Two, telephone all the city editors. I want to\ngive out a statement, a personal statement. My house, to-night. Morning\npapers. You can use the telephone in the front office. That will do.\"\n\nYetta and Mrs. Van Cleave divided the first column the next morning. In\nthe two and three cent papers Yetta got most of the space, in the one\ncent papers the proportions were reversed. But Yetta's story, more or\nless diluted with descriptions of Mrs. Van Cleave's drawing-room and\ngown and diamond tiara--she had given the newspaper men a few minutes as\nshe was leaving for the Opera--was read by almost everybody in Greater\nNew York. Yetta was invariably described as little, in several cases as\nonly thirteen. Pick-Axe was ordinarily spoken of as an\nex-prize-fighter--a libel on the profession, which can at least boast of\nphysical courage.\n\nAmong others who read the story was the Commissioner of Correction. He\ncalled up the warden of the workhouse.\n\n\"That jackass, Cornett, has stirred up hell down at Essex Market. Seen\nthe papers? Well, there'll be fifteen hundred reporters bothering you\nthis morning, trying to interview this Rayefsky girl. Don't let them.\nBut they'll get at her when she comes out; she'll be telling her\nimpressions of prison life to everybody. Give her some snap. Feed her.\nDamn her soul, don't give her no chance to kick. See?\"\n\nIt was about nine o'clock when this message crossed the wire. A few\nminutes later the warden entered the women's wing of the workhouse.\nThere were about fifty prisoners on their knees, scrubbing the stone\nfloor.\n\n\"Yetta Rayefsky.\"\n\nShe got up in surprise and came towards him, wondering what new thing\nthey were going to do to her.\n\n\"Know anything about children?\" he asked.\n\nYetta was too much surprised by the question to answer.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"you don't look like you'd cut their throats. My wife\nneeds a nurse. Come on.\"\n\n\"Ain't you got any clothes that fits her?\" he asked the matron at the\ndoor. \"Clean ones. Don't want things like that in the house. Wash her\nup. We don't want bugs. And send her over right away.\"\n\n\"Gee,\" the matron said with sudden, cringing respect. \"Why didn't you\ntell me you had a pull?\"\n\nSo Yetta was taken out of the Inferno, before her tired senses had fully\nwaked up to its horrors. The warden's house was outside the prison. It\nhad a pleasant lawn, close-clipped, its flower beds well tended, for the\nlabor of the \"trusties\" was free. There was already a nurse for the\nchildren, and Yetta did not have anything to do. The yesterday's storm\nhad been the end of winter, and an almost midsummer heat had fallen on\nNew York. She spent most of her time on a rustic bench under a great\nelm. There was a fine open view across the busy river to the busier\ncity.\n\nThe real nurse was snobbish and would not speak to her, which saved her\nfrom much foolish chatter. Nobody paid any attention to her except the\nwarden's three-year-old boy, who continually escaped from his nurse and\ntried to climb into Yetta's lap. They gave her good meals and a\ncomfortable bed. It was somewhat unkind of them to jerk the baby out of\nYetta's lap whenever he found his way there. But otherwise she was very\nwell treated. The only restrictions they put on her was that she should\nnot leave the lawn and should not read the papers. \"It would give her a\nswelled head,\" the warden said. His prohibition had the advantage of\nkeeping her from the excitement of contact with the strike.\n\nAbove everything else, Yetta needed rest and quiet to think. The first\nday she dozed. The second day her mind woke up. She had a fear that she\nwould forget something. So many things had happened in the past month.\nTen days seemed to her a limitless time, so she began at the beginning.\nHer earliest recollections were of the dingy little book-store and her\nfather. The morning passed in rearranging her memories of him. When they\ncalled her for supper, she had reached, in the review of her life,\nRachel's first dance. Afterwards she sat in the little dormer window of\nher bedroom and looked out at the twilight falling over the city; she\nwatched the lights on the river and the stars in their courses overhead\nand went over her acquaintance with Harry Klein.\n\nShe had learned a great deal during this month out of the shop. From\nwords dropped here and there, from things she had seen, she had come to\na clearer understanding of the thing she had escaped. She had thought\nshe was in love with Harry Klein! She went to sleep realizing how hollow\nhad been her conception of love. The word had a very different content\nnow that she had seen Walter and Mabel together and had heard the gossip\nof the girls. The thought of two such people being in love seemed very\nwonderful to her.\n\nAfter breakfast the next morning she took her seat again in the shade of\nthe elm tree and, with her chin in her hands, pondered over the strike.\nShe had a remarkable memory for words and phrases. She could have given\na full synopsis of all the speeches she had heard in that month. Most of\nthe people who had talked at the meetings had tried to tell what the\nstrike meant. She went over the various and often contradictory\nexplanations, and, supplementing them with her own experience and\nobservations, reached an interpretation of her own. Much of it came as a\ndirect inheritance from her father. The two speakers who had influenced\nher most were Longman and Braun. With the former she believed that all\nthose who loved liberty were under a sacred obligation to struggle for\nit. And Braun's straightforward, concise statement of social\norganization seemed to her reasonable. As soon as possible she wanted to\nget a chance to study Socialism.\n\nMeanwhile the storm kicked up by her arrest was growing apace. That\nmorning the papers contained an open letter which the Commissioner of\nCorrections had addressed to the ladies of the Woman's Trade Union\nLeague. He had been forced to this action, because the evening papers\nhad published interviews with other strikers who had been in the\nworkhouse. They gave impressive details of the nauseous place, of the\nrank food, the vermin, the dark cells, and the debased associations. The\nCommissioner's letter was a dignified document. It had been written by\nhis secretary. In a sweeping manner he denounced the accusations made by\nthe strikers as malicious libel and referred the ladies of the Advisory\nCouncil and the public in general to page 213 of the last report of the\nPrison Association, which gave just tribute to the modern sanitation,\nthe wholesome dietary, and the healthy regime of the workhouse.\n\n\"In regard to the case of Miss Rayefsky, about whom this agitation has\ncentred, the Commissioner begs to point out that he has no manner of\nresponsibility over commitments. It is not within his province to pass\njudgment on the decisions of the courts. He must accept whomsoever is\ncommitted to his custody. In reply to his inquiry, the warden of the\nworkhouse informs him that, instead of suffering the fantastic tortures\nwhich certain hysterical lawbreakers have tried to persuade the public\nare actualities in the workhouse, Miss Rayefsky has been detailed to the\nwork of nurse to the warden's children, and is living--probably in\ngreater comfort than she ever knew before--as a member of his household.\n\n\"As the Commissioner does not care to ask the public to take his word in\npreference to irresponsible newspaper stories, he invites the Woman's\nTrade Union League to appoint a committee to visit Miss Rayefsky in the\nworkhouse and report to the public.\"\n\nWhile Yetta was pondering over the meanings of strikes and industrial\nwarfare, all New York was discussing her case and reading what various\nsociety ladies thought about the way their pet had been treated.\nPick-Axe lost his job as private detective and had to go back to highway\nrobbery.\n\nAfter lunch Yetta tackled the hardest problem of all--why had she tried\nto kill Pick-Axe? Instinctively she felt that Longman would understand.\nBut neither Mabel nor Braun would,--Braun least of all. Her act did not\nfit in with Socialism. No other speakers had urged the strikers as\nvigorously as the Socialists to abstain from violence or lawbreaking.\nLongman was not the only one who would understand. There was Casey, the\nsecretary of the Central Federated Union, and the men of the \"Pastry\nCooks' Union.\" She could have told them about it without any hesitancy.\nShe tried for some minutes to decide whether her father would have\nunderstood. She was not sure. She wanted to judge herself justly in the\nmatter, but try as hard as she might, she found it impossible to blame\nherself sincerely. Her speculations were interrupted by Longman's voice.\n\n\"What are you thinking about so hard?\"\n\nShe jumped up in surprise to see that Longman and Mrs. Karner had come\nacross the lawn without her hearing their approach. The warden had\nestablished himself in a chair where he could watch them.\n\nMrs. Karner had happened to be in the office when the Commissioner's\nletter arrived. She had appointed herself, together with Mabel and\nLongman, the committee to visit Yetta. They had notified the\nCommissioner, and he in turn had warned the warden. But just as they\nwere about to start, a representative of the Association of Vest\nManufacturers had telephoned to Mabel for a conference. It was too\nimportant to miss. So Mrs. Karner and Longman had come alone.\n\nYetta rushed into Mrs. Karner's arms and had hard work not to kiss\nLongman. She had not realized that she was lonely until she saw the\nfamiliar faces.\n\n\"We've only got fifteen minutes,\" Longman said. \"So we must get down to\nbusiness. Did they bring you to the warden's house at once?\"\n\n\"No. At first--the first night I was in a cell. It was about nine the\nnext morning the warden came and took me out.\"\n\n\"Just as I was telling you,\" Longman said to Mrs. Karner. \"When they\nread the newspapers, they got scared and made an exception for her. Your\nnewspaper campaign did it.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nAnd Mrs. Karner told Yetta all about it; how angry her friends were to\nhear of her being accused of assault and how they had made an awful row\nin the papers. Yetta's face burned. If Longman had been alone, she would\nhave told him the truth in spite of Braun's interdiction. But she was\nnot sure that Mrs. Karner would understand.\n\n\"It's hard on you, Yetta,\" Longman said, \"to be locked up. But it's\ngreat business for the strike. It was just such a picturesque outrage as\nthis that was needed to attract attention. The papers are full of it,\nand everybody's for the vest-makers. The girls took a collection on the\nstreet yesterday and got nearly a thousand dollars. The bosses are\nscared. Their organization is breaking up. Two of the shops have settled\nalready. It looks like a victory all round.\"\n\nFor ten minutes more they gave her the hopeful news and loving messages.\nThen they saw the warden coming across the grass.\n\n\"Is there anything you'd like to have me send you?\" Longman asked.\n\n\"I'd like some books that tell about Socialism.\"\n\n\"Warden,\" Longman said as the official approached, \"we've enjoyed this\nvisit very much. We're greatly obliged to you for your especial kindness\nto Miss Rayefsky. Would you have any objection to my sending her some\nbooks?\"\n\n\"She can read my books, if she wants to,\" he said gruffly.\n\n\"That's very kind, I'm sure. But she wants to study. It's some books on\neconomics I want to send her.\"\n\n\"I've no objection,\" the warden said. \"Send them to me. But no\nnewspapers.\"\n\nMrs. Karner kissed her again, and Longman shook hands. There had been\nlittle of such kindness in Yetta's life, and their visit touched her\ndeeply. The thoughts of the last few days had been tinged with\nbitterness. It was softened by the realization that she had friends. In\nthe great city there beyond the river were people who cared for her. And\nwhat wonderful people they were!\n\nThe Department tug swung out into the current, and Yetta saw Mrs. Karner\nwaving her handkerchief. She jumped up to wave back.\n\nWhen Mrs. Karner sat down, there were tears in her eyes.\n\n\"Do you suppose she'll keep the faith?\" she asked Longman.\n\nHe was surprised by the question. He had never heard Mrs. Karner use the\nword \"faith\" before. She was ordinarily brilliantly cynical.\n\n\"I don't quite understand.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, you do. Will she have the--what do the long distance runners\ncall it?--'wind,' 'staying power,' to keep her faith in revolt? In\nSocialism? It's a long race, this life of ours, and an obstacle race\nevery foot--will she last?\"... In a moment she went on. \"Oh, I hope she\nwill. It's beautiful! I hope she won't be fooled into something else.\nNothing on earth is worth so much as faith--Why don't you say\nsomething?\"\n\n\"I'm--\"\n\n\"Oh, you're surprised to hear me talk like this. But don't be mean and\nrub it in, even if I have sold out. Once upon a time--\" she broke off\nsuddenly and then began again. \"Do you really suppose any one ever lived\nwho has not had some youth and faith? I was a girl once. Time was when\nthere weren't any wrinkles on my soul. Why! Once upon a time, I was\ngoing to write the Great American Novel! Sometimes I try to comfort\nmyself by saying that newspaper work was too hard for a woman. I ought\nto make a pilgrimage somewhere--on my knees--to thank the gods I wasn't\nborn a vest-maker. I did not have the nerve--the staying power. I sold\nout.\n\n\"And when this dinky little boat gets to the dock, I'll ask you to get\ninto my car and come up to Sherry's for tea. It will save me from going\nto that great Social Institution, that bulwark of America's\ngreatness--The Home. I'd invite you to it, only it would seem like an\ninsult. There's a big room looking out on the Drive--full of Gothic\nfurniture; some of it was made in the Middle Ages and some was made in\nMilwaukee. Bert has a fad for Gothic. Home's a sort of Musee du Cluny.\nThis isn't my day, but some women are sure to drop in. Some in skirts\nand some in trousers, and they'll talk nonsense and worse. And once upon\na time I was a real woman, and worked with real men and had thoughts.\nIt's so long ago I almost forgot about it till this little vest-maker\ncame along, with her big eyes and her faith.\"\n\nThe boat bumped against the pier.\n\n\"Don't be scared at my melodramatics,\" she said. \"Come up to Sherry's\nand I'll tell you the latest scandal. Some of it is quite untellable.\nWe'll forget the little Jewess with her disturbing eyes. Curses on them!\nYou know, looking into them makes me understand why they crucified\nChrist at such an early age.--Will you come?\"\n\n\"Can we stop on the way and get those books for Yetta?\"\n\nLate that night Longman took out one of his printed sheets of foolscap\nand added Mrs. Karner's credo to his collection. It was the first of\nhis questionnaires he had filled out since he had begun preparations for\nthe expedition to Assyria.\n\nThe next morning the warden handed Yetta a bundle of books. On the\nfly-leaf of the smallest one--Thoreau's _Essays_--Longman had written:\n\"Thoreau lived before Socialism commenced. But I don't think any of the\nmodern writers have bettered 'On the Duty of Civic Disobedience.'\"\n\nIn the six days which were left of her sentence, Yetta had time to read\nand reread all the books Walter had sent her, and to think her way to a\nsurer footing in Life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nCARNEGIE HALL\n\n\nThe ten days when Yetta had nominally been in prison, but was really\nresting her body and improving her mind on the warden's pleasant lawn,\nhad been great days for the vest-makers.\n\nThe sudden publicity which her arrest had given their Cause turned the\ntide in their favor. None of the English papers gave an accurate nor\nintelligent account of the struggle, but in a vague way the generally\nlistless public came to realize that a picturesque conflict was raging\non the East Side between hundreds of half-starved women and the Powers\nof Greed. One could hardly call it sympathy, for sympathy requires some\ndegree of understanding. But the conviction became widespread that it\nwas not a \"fair fight.\" The pathos writers were daily turning out\nminiature _Uncle Tom's Cabins_. And the society writers continued to\ngive space to the new fad.\n\nThe strikers might have won considerable concessions without this\nfortuitous aid. They had tied up their trade for five weeks at the\nheight of the rush season. Their enthusiasm and _esprit du corps_ had\ngrown with hunger and persecution. Even the biggest bosses had begun to\nwonder if it would not be cheaper to make some compromise. But\ncertainly the strikers would not have won so quickly nor so largely if\nthis unexpected force had not come to their assistance. The judge in\nEssex Market Court no longer dared to be so high-handed. The hired thugs\nwere afraid that every passer-by was a reporter, every picket a society\npet. The second day two of the bosses deserted the Association of Vest\nManufacturers and settled with their forces. Once started, the stampede\nbecame general; every day more shops settled, and by the time Yetta was\ndischarged the strike was practically over.\n\nIt was four o'clock of a Thursday afternoon when she was given back her\nown clothes and told that she was free. As she waited on the Island dock\nfor the ferry to carry her across an unexpected wave of fear came over\nher. The city beyond the river looked hostile to her. Sooner or later\nthe vest strike would end. What should she do then? She knew that the\n\"strike\" would not be over for her--it would last as long as she lived.\nBut where was she to live, how was she to gain a living? How could she\nget the chance to study, which she felt to be her greatest need? This\nlast was what troubled her most. It did not matter where she slept nor\nwhat she ate, but she needed the knowledge which is power. As the tug\nfought its way against the current and the city came closer and closer,\nit looked to her like some jealous monster which stood guard over a\ngreat treasure. Somehow she must do battle with it, for the prize must\nbe hers. She felt herself very weak, and her armament seemed pitiable.\n\nOn the New York dock she found Mabel and Walter and Mrs. Karner waiting\nfor her.\n\n\"Yetta, Yetta,\" Mabel laughed and cried, with her arms about her.\n\"Remember what a crowd of girls came up to welcome the first ones who\ncame out? Why do you suppose they're not here to welcome you? They're\nback at work. We've won! We've won!\"\n\nYetta opened her big eyes very wide, but her heart was too jerky for her\nto speak. Over and above the joy of the dear victory was the\nexhilaration of friendship. It seemed as though these three friends had\ncome down to meet and arm her for the fight for the treasure. Mabel's\nembrace was like armor, Mrs. Karner's kiss was a helmet, and in\nLongman's frank grip she felt a sword placed in her hand.\n\n\"Come on,\" Mrs. Karner said. \"Climb into the motor. You're all going to\nhave dinner with me. You've got to speak to-night, child--the biggest\naudience you ever saw--Carnegie Hall. They had lots of foolish plans to\nbother you, but I said 'No! I'll take her in hand and see that she gets\na bath and clean clothes and a good meal and a little quiet to think out\nher speech.' Climb in.\"\n\nAs the car sped across the city, they explained to Yetta that Mrs. Van\nCleave had donated the rent of Carnegie Hall--this before the strike had\nbeen won--and that, as all the arrangements were made, they had to have\nthe meeting anyhow. It promised to be a big thing, as all those who were\nMrs. Van Cleave's friends, or wanted to be, had scrambled for boxes, and\nall the two and one dollar seats had been sold.\n\nMrs. Karner was as good as her word. Once in the imposing house on\nRiverside Drive, she left Longman uncomfortably balanced on a Gothic\nchair in the library, and she and Mabel rushed Yetta into a bath even\nmore dazzling than that which had so impressed her in the Washington\nSquare flat.\n\n\"When any one gets herself arrested and wins a strike all by herself,\nand is going to make a speech to the Four Hundred, she has to let other\npeople do things for her. So I got you some clothes.\"\n\nAt one of the meetings of the Advisory Council Mrs. Van Cleave had said,\n\"Of course some one must see to it that she is decently dressed.\" Mrs.\nKarner had volunteered to attend to that, and, talking it over with\nMabel, who brought some of Yetta's scanty wardrobe as a model, they had\narranged a simple, becoming suit of soft brown corduroy.\n\n\"If you're tired, you can take a nap. We'll wake you for dinner.\"\n\n\"No,\" Yetta said. \"I ain't sleepy. I want to hear about the strike.\"\n\nSo they arrayed her in the new dress and fussed around with her hair and\nat last brought her out into the library. For a while the four of them\ndiscussed the strike.\n\n\"Yetta,\" Mabel asked, changing the subject abruptly, \"what are you going\nto do now?\"\n\nThey had to wait several minutes before she answered.\n\n\"I don't know. I've been trying to think about that. There'll be more\nstrikes, and I want to help in them. When there ain't nothing like that\nto do, I want to study. I've got to study a lot. You see I ain't been to\nschool since I was fifteen, and you've all been to college. Of course I\ncan't never go to college, but I'd like to learn all I can.\n\n\"I don't know what I'll do. I'd like to keep on being business agent of\nmy union, if they ain't elected nobody else. But they can't pay me\nnothing. I suppose I'll go back to the trade. I don't know no other way\nto earn money. But I'd like to get out of it so I could study. I want to\nknow more, so I can be of more use. Yes. I've got to study. I'll have to\nthink about it.\"\n\n\"Well, there are two things we've got to suggest,\" Mrs. Karner said. \"I\nsuppose I'd better tell her Mrs. Van Cleave's offer first. You see,\nYetta, you've made a great hit with her, and she's got oodles of money.\nShe thinks you're very wonderful, just the way the rest of us\ndo\"--somehow Mrs. Karner's flattery was so kindly and laughing that it\nhardly made Yetta feel uncomfortable--\"and she thinks you ought to have\na college education. Look at the child's eyes open! Yes. It's true. She\nwants to pay all your expenses in preparatory school and Bryn Mawr. If\nyou worked very hard, you could graduate in six or seven years. Mrs. Van\nCleave really wants you to do it. Nobody asked her to nor suggested it.\nAnd she's very generous when she gets started. She'll give you a fat\nallowance, and you can dress just as well as the other girls. Miss Train\nand I have both been to college and we know what fun it is. Dances and\nall that. And it's nice to have good clothes. It's a great chance.\nYou've got brains and lots of common sense, and you don't have to worry\nabout any of the other girls being better looking than you are. You'll\nprobably spend your vacations with Mrs. Van Cleave. You'll like as not\nmarry a mil--\"\n\nYetta knew that Mrs. Karner was mocking.\n\n\"Is it a good college to study?\" she asked.\n\nThe two women were silent. Mabel was from Wisconsin and Mrs. Karner had\ngone to Mount Holyoke. Neither thought very highly of the college of\nMrs. Van Cleave's choice. Longman answered the question.\n\n\"There isn't any woman's college in the country which has a higher\nstandard of scholarship. It is one of the best there is in that way. If\nyou want to be a 'scholar,' if you want to go in for Greek or\nmathematics or one of the sciences, a degree from Bryn Mawr is something\nto be proud of. But most of the girls are rich. I don't mean that they\nwould be unkind to you. With Mrs. Van Cleave back of you, you don't need\nto worry--they'd probably go to the other extreme. But I don't believe\nyou'd find many of the girls--or many of the faculty--interested in the\nproblems of working people. Mrs. Van Cleave is very kind, but I think\neven she is more interested in you than in 'strikes.' As I say, if you\nwant to be a 'scholar,' it's a good place. But if you want to be a labor\nagitator, if you want to fight for freedom, I don't think Bryn Mawr\nwould help you much.\"\n\nThe excited glow in Yetta's eyes, the heightened color of her cheeks,\ndied out.\n\n\"What's the other offer?\" she asked. \"You said there were two.\"\n\n\"Oh, it isn't any fairy godmother proposition, my dear Cinderella,\" Mrs.\nKarner said. \"It's just everyday work. Nothing so fine as a college\ndegree. It's in Miss Train's line, so she'd better tell you.\"\n\n\"No, Yetta,\" Mabel said. \"This other offer is a pretty drab-\naffair. You know my old plan to try to ally all the garment workers,\nvests and coats and pants and cloaks and overalls, all in one big\nfederated union like the building trades. Well, this vest strike has\nbeen so successful, I've been able to interest some of the ladies in my\nbigger scheme and they've put up the money so the league can hire a new\norganizer. It isn't as much as you could earn at the machine, but it is\nenough to live on. We all think you'd be the ideal person. You could\nkeep on as business agent for the vest-makers. I know they want you, and\neven if they can't pay you anything, it would give you a standing with\nthe Central Federated Union and even among the unorganized workers. They\nall know about how this strike won, and there's sure to be others soon.\nOf course there would be lots of work, but the ladies would be willing\nto let you have your mornings free to study. It isn't like going to\ncollege. But if you really want to educate yourself, you could do it.\nWe'll all help you. I don't want to urge you. I want you to do the thing\nyou think is best for yourself. And Mrs. Van Cleave's offer is very\ngenerous. But you know how much I would like to have you working with me\nin the League.\"\n\nYetta got up and went to the window. She knew that all the eyes were\nfixed on her back. She knew what they were thinking, and she resented\nit. They had all had a college education given them as a matter of\ncourse. They could not know what it meant to her. She could not get her\nwits together under their silent regard.\n\n\"I guess I'll go and lie down till dinner,\" she said. \"I must\nthink--about to-night's speech.\"\n\nWhen she had disappeared, Longman broke out.\n\n\"Why can't you women be frank and say what you think? Mrs. Karner's\nproposal is better than Mrs. Van Cleave's. She'll make a horrible\nmistake if she ties up with a lot of millionnaire snobs.\"\n\n\"Mabel,\" Mrs. Karner said solemnly, \"let us keep perfectly still and\nlisten to some man-wisdom.\"\n\nIn the face of this jibe, Longman had nothing more to say.\n\n\"Does the lord of creation think,\" Mrs. Karner went on, \"that little\nYetta Rayefsky is only deciding whether she'll go to college or not?\"\n\n\"Well, for God's sake, why don't you try to help her instead of making\nit harder for her?\"\n\n\"Has the philosopher not yet discovered that some things are not decided\nuntil one decides them alone? Saint Paul had to go off to Arabia.\nYetta's gone to my guest-room. You can help a person pay her rent and,\nif you've lots of tact and taste and insight, you can help her choose a\nbecoming hat, but you can't help a person to do the brave thing.\"\n\n\"That's witty,\" Longman said sourly. \"But I didn't happen to be joking.\"\n\n\"When we want to vote, Mabel, the men say we have no sense of humor. But\nnow he accuses me of joking--and apparently,\" she said after a\npause,--\"he thinks Yetta doesn't know just how we feel.\"\n\nThe subject of their conversation had not lain down, she had curled up\nin a big chair drawn up before the window, looking out across the Hudson\nto the setting sun over the Palisades. She was trying desperately to\nunderstand the fable of the fox and the grapes after it is turned inside\nout. The enticing bunch was in easy reach. Were the grapes really sour?\nIt was nearly an hour before they called her, but she had not yet begun\nto think out what she should say at Carnegie Hall.\n\nThere is something grotesque about most large public meetings. Very\nrarely a speaker gets the feeling, at his first glance over the upturned\nfaces, that there is some cohesion in the assembly, some unity. He\nrealizes that they have come together from their various walks of life,\ntheir factories and counting-houses, because of some dominant idea. It\nis then his easy task, if he is anything of an orator, to catch the\nkeynote of the assembly and carry his hearers where he will.\n\nIt was not such an audience which gathered that night at Carnegie Hall.\nAfter Walter had given a quick glance from the door of the dressing-room\nover the mass on the floor, the circle of boxes, and the packed tiers of\nbalconies, he turned to Mabel.\n\n\"The people in the boxes,\" he said, \"have come to stare at Yetta, and\nthe rest to stare at them.\"\n\n\"Don't tell her that, for goodness' sake,\" Mabel said.\n\nBut Yetta saw it herself. For the first time she had a sort of\nstage-fright as she peeked out at them. The people in the boxes\nirritated her. She had talked to that kind of women before, and they had\nonly given a few dollars. She wondered how many of them had been to Bryn\nMawr.\n\nMabel called Yetta from the doorway to introduce the Rev. Dunham\nDenning, the rector of Mrs. Van Cleave's church, who was to act as\nchairman. And then she was presented to an honorable gentleman named\nCrossman, who had once been a cabinet member and had gray hair, and a\nwart on his nose. These two elderly gentlemen embarrassed Yetta very\nmuch by their courtly attentions. She did not have the slightest idea\nwhat to say to them.\n\nWhen at last the speakers stepped out on the platform, there was a break\nof polite hand-clapping from the auditorium and a perfect storm of\napplause from the back of the stage. Yetta turned in surprise to find\nthat banks of seats had been put up and that they were closely packed\nwith her own vest-makers. She had not seen them from the door of the\ndressing-room. She stopped stock-still with tears in her eyes. Mabel had\nto pull her sleeve to get her to come forward and acknowledge the\ngreeting of the main audience.\n\nBut the noise behind her had shaken Yetta out of the lassitude which the\nsight of the well-dressed, complacent people of the boxes had given her.\nShe must do her best. She felt herself very small and the thing she\nwanted to say very big. She pulled her chair close to Mabel's and\nslipped her hand into that of her friend.\n\nThe Rev. Dunham Denning in a very scholarly way reminded the audience of\nseveral things which the Christ had said about the neighbors and which\nhe--the reverend gentleman--feared were too often forgot. He introduced\nthe Honorable Mr. Crossman, who was known to all for his distinguished\nservices in the nation's business, his justly famed philanthropies, and\nhis active work in the Civic Federation, which was striving so\nefficiently to soften the bitterness of the industrial struggle. Mr.\nCrossman had very little to say, and said it in thundering periods. It\ntook him nearly an hour.\n\nThen it was Mabel's turn. She spoke, as was her wont, in an\nunimpassioned, businesslike way. She outlined the work of the\norganization which she represented and spoke of the vest-makers' strike\nas an example of what the league could do if it had sufficient means.\n\nWhen she sat down, the chairman began to cast the flowers of his\neloquence at Yetta's feet.\n\n\"If I may use such an expression,\" he said, \"while Miss Train has been\nthe brains of this strike, which we have gathered here to approve, the\nnext speaker has been its very soul. My own acquaintance with her is of\nthe slightest. But it has been sufficient to convince me past any doubt\nthat the charge on which she was sent to the workhouse was an infamous\nlibel. Who can look at her sweet face and believe her capable of vulgar\nassault? But you are to have the opportunity to judge for yourself. She\nwill tell us of this victory to which she has so glowingly contributed,\nand it is my hope, as I am sure it is that of this vast assembly, that\nshe will tell us about her own experiences.--Ladies and Gentlemen, I\npresent Miss Yetta Rayefsky.\"\n\nYetta squeezed Mabel's hand and, getting up, walked down to the edge of\nthe platform. She wanted to get near them so they could hear her.\n\nThe laughter and the conversation in the boxes stopped for a formal\nround of applause. But as they clapped their hands and stared at the\ncuriosity, something about her fragile beauty made them clap more\nheartily. At close range, Yetta looked abundantly healthy. But far away,\nstanding alone on the great platform, she seemed frail and exotic. The\ntwo-dollar seats took their cue from the boxes and made as much noise as\nthey could. The gallery and the mass of vest-makers behind her cheered\nand howled and stamped their feet without thought of the proprieties.\nAnd Yetta stood there alone, the blood mounting to her cheeks, looking\nmore and more like an orchid, and waited for the storm to pass.\n\n\"I'm not going to talk about this strike,\" she said when she could make\nherself heard. \"It's over. I want to tell you about the next one--and\nthe next. I wish very much I could make you understand about the strikes\nthat are coming.\n\n\"But first I ought to say a few words to you for my union. We're very\nmuch obliged to all who have helped us. We couldn't have won without\nmoney, and we're thankful to everybody that gave us a dime or a penny.\n\n\"It's a wonderful victory for us girls and women. We're very glad. For\nmore than a month we've been out on strike, and now we can go back to\nthe sweat-shop. Because we've been hungry for a month--some of us have\ngot children and it was worse to have them hungry,--because a lot of us\nhave been beaten up by the cops and more than twenty of us have gone to\njail, we can go back to the machines now and the bosses can't make us\nwork no more than fifty-six hours a week. That's not much more than nine\nhours a day, if we have one day off. And the bosses have promised us a\nlittle more pay and more air to breathe, and when we've wore ourselves\nout working for them, they won't throw us out to starve so long as they\ncan find any odd jobs for us to do. We've had to fight hard for this\nvictory, and we're proud we won, and we're thankful to all you who\nhelped us. But better than the shorter hours and everything else is our\nunion. We've got that now, and that's the most important. We won't\nnever be quite so much slaves again like we was before.\n\n\"But we've won this strike now, so we've all got to think about the next\none. I don't know what trade it will be in. Perhaps you never heard of\nthe paper-box makers, or the artificial-flower makers, or the tassel\nmakers. There's men with families in those trades that never earned as\nmuch as I did making vests. And the cigar makers--they're bad too. And\nif you seen the places where they bake bread, you wouldn't never eat it.\nIt don't matter which way you look, the people that work ain't none of\nthem getting a square deal. They ain't getting a square deal from the\nbosses. They ain't getting a square deal from the landlords. And the\nstorekeepers sell them rotten things for food. There's going to be\nstrikes right along, till everybody gets a square deal.\n\n\"Perhaps there's some of you never thought much about strikes till now.\nWell. There's been strikes all the time. I don't believe there's ever\nbeen a year when there wasn't dozens here in New York. When we began,\nthe skirt-finishers was out. They lost their strike. They went hungry\njust the way we did, but nobody helped them. And they're worse now than\never. There ain't no difference between one strike and another. Perhaps\nthey are striking for more pay or recognition or closed shops. But the\nnext strike'll be just like ours. It'll be people fighting so they won't\nbe so much slaves like they was before.\n\n\"The Chairman said perhaps I'd tell you about my experience. There ain't\nnothing to tell except everybody has been awful kind to me. It's fine to\nhave people so kind to me. But I'd rather if they'd try to understand\nwhat this strike business means to all of us workers--this strike we've\nwon and the ones that are coming. If I tell you how kind one woman wants\nto be to me, perhaps you'll understand. You see, it would be fine for\nme, but it wouldn't help the others any.\n\n\"Well. I come out of the workhouse to-day, and they tell me this lady\nwants to give me money to study, she wants to have me go to college like\nI was a rich girl. It's very kind. I want to study. I ain't been to\nschool none since I was fifteen. I guess I can't even talk English very\ngood. I'd like to go to college. And I used to see pictures in the\npapers of beautiful rich women, and of course it would be fine to have\nclothes like them. But being in a strike, seeing all the people suffer,\nseeing all the cruelty--it makes things look different.\n\n\"The Chairman told you something out of the Christian Bible. Well, we\nJews have got a story too--perhaps it's in your Bible--about Moses and\nhis people in Egypt. He'd been brought up by a rich Egyptian lady--a\nprincess--just like he was her son. But as long as he tried to be an\nEgyptian he wasn't no good. And God spoke to him one day out of a bush\non fire. I don't remember just the words of the story, but God said:\n'Moses, you're a Jew. You ain't got no business with the Egyptians. Take\noff those fine clothes and go back to your own people and help them\nescape from bondage.' Well. Of course, I ain't like Moses, and God has\nnever talked to me. But it seems to me sort of as if--during this\nstrike--I'd seen a Blazing Bush. Anyhow I've seen my people in bondage.\nAnd I don't want to go to college and be a lady. I guess the kind\nprincess couldn't understand why Moses wanted to be a poor Jew instead\nof a rich Egyptian. But if you can understand, if you can understand why\nI'm going to stay with my own people, you'll understand all I've been\ntrying to say.\n\n\"We're a people in bondage. There's lots of people who's kind to us. I\nguess the princess wasn't the only Egyptian lady that was kind to the\nJews. But kindness ain't what people want who are in bondage. Kindness\nwon't never make us free. And God don't send any more prophets nowadays.\nWe've got to escape all by ourselves. And when you read in the papers\nthat there's a strike--it don't matter whether it's street-car\nconductors or lace-makers, whether it's Eyetalians or <DW69>s or Jews or\nAmericans, whether it's here or in Chicago--it's my People--the People\nin Bondage who are starting out for the Promised Land.\"\n\nShe stopped a moment, and a strange look came over her face--a look of\ncommunication with some distant spirit. When she spoke again, her words\nwere unintelligible to most of the audience. Some of the Jewish\nvest-makers understood. And the Rev. Dunham Denning, who was a famous\nscholar, understood. But even those who did not were held spellbound by\nthe swinging sonorous cadence. She stopped abruptly.\n\n\"It's Hebrew,\" she explained. \"It's what my father taught me when I was\na little girl. It's about the Promised Land--I can't say it in good\nEnglish--I--\"\n\n\"Unless I've forgotten my Hebrew,\" the Reverend Chairman said, stepping\nforward, \"Miss Rayefsky has been repeating God's words to Moses as\nrecorded in the third chapter of Exodus. I think it's the seventh\nverse:--\n\n\n     \"'And the Lord said, I have surely seen the affliction of my people\n     which are in Egypt, and have heard their cry by reason of their\n     taskmasters; for I know their sorrows;\n\n     \"'And I am come down to deliver them out of the hand of the\n     Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land unto a good land\n     and a large, unto a land flowing with milk and honey.'\"\n\n\n\"Yes. That's it,\" Yetta said. \"Well, that's what strikes mean. We're\nfighting for the old promises.\"\n\n\n\"Pretty little thing, isn't she?\" a blonde lady in Mrs. Van Cleave's box\nasked her neighbor.\n\n\"Not my style,\" he replied. \"Even if you had no other charms, if you\nwere humpbacked and cross-eyed, that hair of yours would do the trick\nwith me. Haven't you a free afternoon next week, so we could get\nmarried?\"\n\n\"I didn't know old Denning was so snappy with his Hebrew,\" another broke\nin.\n\n\"Which reminds me of a story--\"\n\n\"Is it fit to listen to?\" the blonde lady asked.\n\n\"Yes--of course. It's about a Welsh minister--\"\n\nBut the lady had turned away discouraged, to the boredom of the man who\nreally wanted to marry her.\n\nBut perhaps in that crowded auditorium there may have been some who had\nunderstood what Yetta had been talking about.\n\n\nLater in the evening, when she was standing with Longman on the deserted\nstage, waiting for Mabel, who--to use Eleanor's expression--was\n\"sweeping up,\" he asked her what she was doing the next day.\n\n\"I want you to have dinner with me,\" he said. \"Mabel and Isadore Braun\nare coming. And if it isn't asking too much, I wish you could give me\nsome of the afternoon before they come. I'd like to talk over a lot of\nthings with you. You know I'm sailing the day after to-morrow. It's my\nlast chance to get really acquainted with you.\"\n\n\"Sure. I'd like to come,\" Yetta replied. \"But where are you going?\"\n\nShe listened in amazement to his plans. She had thought he was going to\nmarry Mabel. When he had left them at the door of the flat, Yetta asked\nher with naive directness if she wasn't engaged to Longman.\n\n\"No,\" Mabel laughed. \"Where did you get that idea?\"\n\n\"Why, all the girls think you are.\"\n\n\"Well, they're all wrong. I'm not.\"\n\n\"And aren't you in love with him?\"\n\n\"Not a bit. You Little Foolish, can't people be good friends without\nbeing in love?\"\n\nYetta went to sleep trying to think out this proposition. She hardly\nremembered the choice she had made between college and work, nor the\nstrain of the great meeting. It was very hard to believe that Mabel and\nWalter were not in love.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE OPERATING ROOM\n\n\nWalter's study seemed to Yetta an ideal room. There was no appearance of\nluxury about it--nothing to remind one by contrast of the hungry people\noutside. There were no \"decorations,\" except two portraits of his\ngrandparents and a small reproduction of one of the great cow-faced gods\nof the Haktites which stood on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. The\nrest of the room was made up of comfortable chairs, a well-padded\nwindow-seat, and books. The cases were full and so was the table and so\nwere some of the chairs and there were books on the floor. Knowledge was\na goal which her father had set before Yetta as almost synonymous with\n\"goodness\" and \"happiness.\" It was a thing she had forgotten about in\nthe sweat-shop, but for which her recent experience had given her an\nall-consuming hunger. No one who has been \"sent to college,\" who has had\nan education thrust upon him, can realize how much she venerated books.\nWhen Longman brought her to his room, it seemed to her as if she had\nentered the home of her dreams.\n\nThe greatest thing that had come to Yetta in the new life was the gift\nof friends. In the days since her father's death, with the exception of\nthe few weeks when Rachel had given her confidences, she had had only\nloveless relatives and shopmates. And now she could hardly count her\nfriends. From the very first she had given Longman the niche of honor in\nthis gallery. The reason was something more subtle than his dramatic\nentrance into her life. She seldom thought of him as her rescuer. But\nshe felt that his regard for her was more personal and direct than that\nof the others. She could not have explained it coherently to herself,\nbut she felt it no less keenly. Mrs. Van Cleave was fond of her because\nshe had eyes like those of the long-dead daughter. Mrs. Karner was\nattracted to her because she typified her own lost youth. Isadore Braun\nand Mabel valued her because of her flaming spirit of revolt.\n\nOver on \"the Island,\" the warden's little three-year-old son, in spite\nof her prison dress, in spite of the jealousy of his own nurse, had run\ninto her arms at first sight. Instinctively she felt that Walter liked\nher in a similar fashion. If, during the strike, she had sold out,\nturned \"scab,\" Braun and Mabel would no longer have been her friends.\nBut Longman would have come to her in his gentle, lumbering way and\nasked her about it. He might have been disappointed, even angry, but\nstill he would have been her friend.\n\nYetta wanted to begin at once with some questions about Socialism.\n\n\"You'd better save them till Isadore and Mabel come,\" Longman laughed.\n\"He's got all the answers down by heart--the orthodox ones. And Mabel\nisn't a Socialist. I'm neither fish, flesh, nor good red herring. It\nwill start a beautiful shindy if you spring those questions to-night.\"\n\nHe told her about his projected book on Philosophy, and how he would\nlike to add her credo to his collection. The big scope of the idea\ncaught her fancy, and she said she was willing.\n\nIt was slow work at first. The earlier questions on his list led her\ninto unfamiliar fields. She had never troubled her mind over\nmetaphysics. She was not sure what kind of a god she believed in--nor\nwhether It really ought to be called \"God.\" She had given no thought to\nthe question whether this is the best or worst possible world. The\nprophecies, which her father had loved so much, inclined her strongly to\nthe idea that it might be made a better one. But she had never even\ntried to determine whether the Universe is an elaborate and precise\nmechanical instrument, a personally conducted puppet show, or a roulette\nwheel. Her inability to answer these questions--and the way he put them\nmade them seem very important--shamed her. He seemed to be sounding the\ndepths of her ignorance. Did she believe in a future life? She threw up\nher hands.\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Nobody knows. It's a question of belief. You loved your father very\nmuch, and when you were a little girl he died. Was that the end of him?\"\n\nShe shook her head. He waited patiently for words.\n\n\"No. It wasn't the end of him. Anyhow the memory lasts.\"\n\n\"Do you ever talk to him now?\"\n\n\"Sometimes. I pretend to.\"\n\n\"Is it as good as if he was really here?\"\n\n\"Almost--sometimes.\"\n\n\"Well. After you die do you think you'll meet him?\"\n\nYetta curled herself up a little tighter on the window-seat, her\nforehead puckered into deep wrinkles.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said after a while. \"I think--once, anyhow--I'll have a\nchance to talk to him--tell him everything and ask him what was right\nand wrong--and he'll tell me.\"\n\n\"How will he look?\"\n\n\"I don't know. But I'll know it's him.\"\n\nThe ordeal became easier as the questions began to deal with more\nmundane problems. But before long they got into deep water again.\n\n\"Do you believe that honesty is the best policy?\"\n\nThat took a lot of thinking and brought back the wrinkles.\n\n\"Honesty--telling the truth,\" she said at last. \"I guess it's the best\nsomething, but it ain't always the best policy. If I hadn't perjured\nmyself, we wouldn't have won this strike.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I don't mind telling you. I lied in court. I swore I didn't hit\nPick-Axe; but I tried to kill him.\"\n\nLongman whistled softly.\n\n\"Tell me about it.\"\n\nWhen she had told him all,--what Pick-Axe had said and done, how\nsuddenly blind rage had overcome her, how at length Braun had persuaded\nher to lie,--she asked him if he thought honesty would have been the\nbest policy in this case.\n\n\"I'm asking questions this afternoon, not answering them,\" he said\ngravely. \"This interests me a lot. So you think it's sometimes right to\nlie in a good cause.\"\n\n\"No,\" she said quickly. \"I don't think it's never right to lie. But I\nguess sometimes you've just got to. If I'd told the truth, they'd have\nsent me to prison, instead of the workhouse. I wouldn't have cared. It\nain't nice to lie, and like Mr. Thoreau says, there's worse things than\nbeing in the worst prison. But it would have been awful for the others.\nJust because I told the truth all the papers would have lied and said\nall the girls were murderers. We'd have lost the strike. I'd have felt\nbetter if I'd told the truth. But there's more than two thousand girls\nin our trade.\n\n\"It's like this, I think. If you make up your mind that something is\ngood, you got to fight for it; you can't be afraid of getting beat up,\nor arrested, or killed, and you can't be afraid of hurting your\nconscience either. Mr. Thoreau has got an essay about John Brown and how\nhe fought to free the black slaves. Well, suppose somebody'd come to him\nand told him how he could do it, if he'd commit a big sin himself. I\nguess he'd have done it. If he'd said, 'You can beat me or put me in\nprison or hang me for those black men, but I won't sin for them,' he'd\nhave been a coward. I'd rather go to prison than tell a lie like I done.\nBut I ain't afraid to do both.\"\n\nShe had sat up stiffly on the window-seat while she was trying to say\nall this. Again she curled up. She watched Walter, as he sat there in\ndeep thought, absent-mindedly drumming on the table with his pencil. She\ncould not have talked like this to any one else in the world. She had\nexpressed herself poorly; in her intensity she had slipped back into her\nold ways of speech, but she knew he did not care about doubled\nnegatives, nor \"ain't's.\" She knew he had understood. And just when she\nhad found this wonderful friend, she was losing him. He was going away\nin the morning for years and years. Central Asia sounded far away and\ndangerous. Something might happen to him and he never come back. She was\nafraid she would cry if she kept silence any longer.\n\n\"What do you think?\" she asked.\n\n\"I was wondering if you are afraid of anything.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. Lots of things.\"\n\n\"For instance?\"\n\n\"Well, I'm afraid of the Yetta Rayefsky who tried to kill Pick-Axe. And\nI'm afraid of myself for not blaming her for it. And I'm afraid of being\nuseless. I'm afraid of waste. I'm afraid--more than anything else--of\nignorance.\" She sat up again. \"Yes. That's the worst thing the bosses do\nto us--they keep us ignorant. I don't think even you can understand\nthat. You've had books all your life. You've been to school and college,\nyou're a professor,\"--the awe grew in Yetta's voice,--\"your room is full\nof books. I sit here and look at them and try to think what it must mean\nto know all that's in so many books and I want to get down on my knees,\nI'm so ignorant.\"\n\n\"Good God! Yetta,\" he said savagely, jumping up. \"Don't talk like that.\nI'm not worth your stepping on.\"\n\nHe came over and took her hand and surprised her by kissing it humbly.\n\n\"I'm going away to-morrow--for a very long while--and I want to tell\nyou, before I go, that you're a saint, a heroine. Did books mean so much\nto you? And you decided to work instead of going to college? Books?\" He\ngrabbed one from the table and hurled it violently across the room.\n\"Books? They are only paper and ink and dead men's thoughts. Truth and\nwisdom don't come from books. They can't teach you those things in\ncollege. Yes. I've had books all my life. I live with them.\" He stamped\nup and down and shook his fists at the unoffending shelves. \"If I know\nanything Real, if I've got the smallest grain of wisdom, I didn't get it\nfrom them. There's only one teacher--that's Life, and before you can\nlearn you've got to suffer. I don't know much because things have been\neasy for me. How old are you? Nineteen? Well, I'm over thirty. You talk\nabout getting down on your knees to me! Good God! I've ten years start\nand every advantage, but I don't know--Capital K-N-O-W--as much as you.\nAnd good? I ought to ask your pardon for kissing your hands. I'm _no_\ngood! God! I want to break something!\"\n\nHe looked around savagely for something which would make a great noise.\nBut he suddenly changed his mind, and pulling up a chair to the\nwindow-seat, where Yetta was sitting bolt upright, he began again in a\nquieter tone.\n\n\"Yetta, I'm a lazy, self-indulgent imbecile. I've never done anything in\nall my life that I didn't want to do. I've never sacrificed anything for\nany cause, not my easy-chairs, nor my pipe, nor my good meals, nothing.\nNothing but automobiles and yachts which I didn't want. God gave me a\nbrain which I am too lazy to use. And besides my general uselessness and\nselfish waste, I'm a coward. Why am I going off to Persia? Is it because\nI think it will ever do anybody any good, ever make life sweeter or\nfiner for any one, to have me decipher the picture puzzles of the people\nwho worshipped that stupid-faced cow on the mantelpiece? No. I'm not\nthat foolish. Is it because I don't know what I might do, if I was as\nwise as you are--wise enough to know that we must give our lives to win\nour souls? No! I know that just as well as you do, Yetta. But I'm a\ncoward. I'm running away, because I'm afraid of life.\"\n\nHe jumped up again and began to pace the room.\n\n\"Oh, well!\" he groaned. \"Enough heroics for one afternoon. But don't let\nbooks hypnotize you, Yetta. Schopenhauer said once that the learning of\nthe West crumples up against the wisdom of the East like a leaden bullet\nagainst a stone wall. There's nothing in books but 'learning.' And\nyou've got some of the Eastern wisdom, Yetta. It's part of your Semitic\nheritage. Treasure it. Don't ever let books come between you and your\nintimacy with life. One pulse beat of a live heart is worth all the\nprinted words in a thousand books. I--\"\n\nBut he interrupted himself and sat down gloomily and looked out over\nYetta--who had curled up once more--at the budding green tree tops of\nWashington Square.\n\nHis tirade had disturbed Yetta much more than he dreamed. It was not\nuntil long afterwards that she was to bring out his words from the\ntreasure-house of her memory and come to understand what he meant by all\nhis talk of Knowledge and Wisdom. She would never think as lightly of\nbook learning as he did. She even less appreciated his ardently\nexpressed admiration of her, and his self-condemnation. It was his pain\nwhich impressed her. He had fallen from his godlike majesty. He was no\nlonger a calm-browed Olympian, who deigned to let her drink from the\nfountain of his wisdom. He was just a simple man, who suffered. And so\nYetta began to love him.\n\nIn the wonder of it she forgot that he was going away.\n\n\"Yetta,\" he said abruptly. \"Where are you planning to live? Are you\ngoing to stay on with Mabel and Miss Mead?\"\n\n\"Why, no,\" she rushed dizzily down through the cold spaces which\nseparate Dreamland from New York City. \"I--I don't suppose so. I'll find\na room somewhere. On the East Side, I guess.\"\n\n\"That's not a good plan,\" he said in a businesslike tone, for in spite\nof all he had been saying about heartbeats, he did not suspect the\ndisturbing rate of Yetta's pulse. \"The intellectual life on the East\nSide is too feverish. You'll get into their very bad habit of all-night\ndiscussions, which lead only to brain-fag. And besides you'd be living\ntoo near your work. You're going to study, and you'll need a place where\nyou'll be undisturbed. I've got a suggestion. I think it would be good\nfor you; it certainly would be a favor for me. Why not live here? I've\ngot a long lease on the place. I wouldn't want to give it up, even if I\ncould. I'd been planning to leave the key with Mrs. Rocco and have her\ncome in once a month to air the rooms and chase the moths. Then I was\ngoing to pay one of the stenographers up at the University to attend to\nmy mail. There are a few bills coming in every month, and the letters\nmust be forwarded to me. Not half an hour's work a week, but somebody's\ngot to do it. If you would care to, it would save me a little expense,\nand you'd save room rent. It's a good place to study--better than the\nEast Side. And some of the books are worth reading. What's the matter?\"\n\n\"Everybody's so kind to me,\" Yetta said, blinking her eyes to drive\naway the tears.\n\n\"This isn't kindness,\" he protested. \"It will save me about ten dollars\na month.\"\n\nTaking her silence for consent, he went on to explain to her how she was\nto open the letters and mail a printed card explaining his absence to\nthe writer and every week forward the bundle of mail to the French\nLegation in Teheran. And then he explained the money matters, how she\nwas to pay the rent and his subscriptions to various learned and\nphilanthropic societies and so forth.\n\nAll the while, Yetta, curled up on the window-seat, was trying to\nrealize how very empty her life would be after he left. It would at\nleast be some comfort to live here in his room with his ghost.\n\nWhile he was still explaining the details about his mail and the bank\naccount he would open in her name, a couple of waiters arrived laden\nwith linen and dishes. They were from the Lafayette, where Walter was a\nregular patron. He knew the _chef_ and the _garcons_ by their first\nnames and they had laid themselves out to make his farewell dinner\nmemorable. The books and papers on the table were piled on the floor.\nAnd just as one waiter was giving a last pat to the cloth and the other\nwas lighting the candles, Mabel and Isadore arrived.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nWALTER'S FAREWELL\n\n\nMabel had come to the dinner with some reluctance. She feared that the\nfarewell might take too personal a line for pleasure. Walter's heart was\nso full of bitterness that he was glad when things went to the other\nextreme and turned into a celebration of the strike victory.\n\nWhen at last the waiters had removed the debris of the feast, and Walter\nwas nursing the coffee urn, Mabel and Isadore began to discuss Yetta's\nplans. They had a great deal to say about her work in trying to ally the\ngarment trades. But Walter, when he had distributed the coffee, broke\ninto the conversation abruptly.\n\n\"You people seem to think,\" he challenged them, \"that Yetta's principal\njob is to organize the garment workers.\"\n\n\"Well, isn't it?\" Mabel asked.\n\n\"No! And I hope she won't let you two bluff her into thinking it is. Her\nmain job for the next few years is study. The garment workers will be\norganized and reorganized fifty times before they get a definite\nformation. She's only one opportunity to form her intellect. It must\nlast her all her life. It's more important than this work you talk about\nbecause it's to be the basis of the bigger jobs to come. All the time\nshe's going to be torn by what looks like conflicting duties. Every day\nshe'll wake up with the feeling that there's something she can do which\nwould or might help in this immediate campaign. The temptation to give\nall her time to the union work is the worst one she'll have to face. If\nshe yields to it, she'll regret it all her life. Three years hence the\nwork she did in the mornings will look very small indeed and the study\nshe neglected will look very, very big.\n\n\"When you talk about 'sweat-shops,' Mabel, you curse the bosses for\nrobbing the girls of leisure and all chance of culture. Watch out that\nyou don't 'sweat' Yetta, that you don't let her 'sweat' herself. It's\ncriminal nonsense to talk work, work, work. Plenty of people will be\nsaying that to her. I think she's got sense enough to keep her head, but\nyou who are her friends ought to be telling her study, study, study.\"\n\n\"You're right, Walter,\" Mabel said with unusual humility.\n\n\"What we ought to do,\" he went on, \"is to outline a course of study for\nher. What do you suggest, Isadore?\"\n\n\"We've just published a new pamphlet which outlines a course of\nreading,\" he said. \"It's called 'What to read on Socialism.'\"\n\n\"That's a fine idea of a liberal education.\" Mabel snorted. \"She isn't\ngoing to be a Socialist spellbinder. Her job's with the unions. The\nWebbs' _Industrial Democracy_ would help her a lot more than your\nSocialist tracts.\"\n\n\"It's just as iniquitous to sweat her intellect as her body,\" Longman\ngroaned. \"Can't you two blithering idiots realize that before you read\nany of these books you read hundreds of others, studied for years? I\nhope she won't specialize--in her study--on Socialism or trade-unions,\neither, for several years. She needs to keep her mind open and absorb a\nbackground. She ought to read Westermarck's _History of Human Marriage_\nbefore she tackles Bebel's _Woman_. She ought to read Lecky and Gibbon\nand John Fiske and Michelet and a lot of astronomy and geology and\nphysics and biology--a person's an ignoramus to-day who hasn't a broad\nknowledge of biology--and she ought to know something about psychology\nbefore she tackles the Webbs. She ought to put in some time on pure\nliterature. You people are thinking about Yetta Rayefsky, the labor\norganizer of the next few years. Well, I hope she's going to live still\nthree score years and more than ten. It's going to do her more good to\nread Marcus Aurelius than Marx and Engels. She wants to know something\nof the traditions of the race, the great men of the past, Homer and\nShakespeare and Rabelais and Swift. And above all she needs to know the\nideas of our own times, Ibsen and Tolstoi, Shaw and Anatole France.\nShe'll pick up the Socialist and trade-union dope as she goes along.\nIt's the background we, her friends, can give her.\"\n\nAnd so for an hour or more they squabbled over a large sheet of paper\nand at last evolved a course of reading for her. There were to be two\nmornings a week to natural science, two to history, two to social\nscience and psychology, and one to literature. Yetta sat back and\nlistened to it all, very much impressed by the way these three\nintellectual giants hurled at each other's heads the titles of books of\nwhich she had never heard. There was indeed very much for her to learn.\nMabel generally concurred in Walter's suggestions, but Isadore doggedly\ninsisted that more Socialist matter should be included. He was\nespecially rabid on the question of history.\n\n\"What's the use of learning a lot of rot you've got to unlearn? Why read\nMichelet and Carlyle on the French Revolution? These old idealists did\nthe best they knew how. Carlyle really thought Mirabeau made the\nRevolution and Michelet thought it was Danton. But nobody, not even the\nantisocialists, believes in the 'great man theory' any more. All our\nhistory has got to be rewritten from the modern point of view. It hasn't\nbeen done yet, and the only way to get things straight is to saturate\nyourself in the social idea, get it into your head that this is a world\nof economic classes, not individuals, then you can read anything without\ndanger--you know how to discount it.\n\n\"You talk about 'background'--well, that's what I'm insisting on. Let's\nget it right. It's the lack of a deeply social background that makes so\nmany of our well-intentioned modern reformers sterile. People still\nbelieve that great changes can be made by strong individuals. A lot of\npeace advocates believe that Mr. Carnegie is going to abolish war. But\nmost seem to think that things can be reformed piecemeal. This crusade\nagainst infant mortality is a good example. Its ideal is fine. But it\ntries to isolate it from all the rest of the social problem and cure it\nalone. It can't be done. It's tied up with rotten tenements and\nlandlordism, with bad milk and commercialism, with poor wages and\nindustrialism. Just like war, it is a natural, inevitable part of\ncapitalism.\n\n\"It's the same thing with the trade-unions. They try to separate their\neconomic struggle with their bosses from the political aspect of the\nsocial problem, and it can't be done. The unionists make a pitiful\nshowing just because they are still slaves to the old culture; they lack\nbroad insight. The actual things they try to do are good, but they're\nbarren because their background is wrong.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" Mabel said sarcastically. \"I'm so glad to know what's wrong\nwith us.\"\n\n\"Now, Yetta,\" Longman said, with the gesture of a circus man introducing\nhis curiosities, \"the show is about to commence. On your right you see\nthe 'pure,' the hidebound, the uncompromising Socialist, Isadore Braun.\nTo your left you see the 'suspect,' the 'bourgeoise,' step-by-step\nreformer, Miss Mabel Train. They are about to engage in a bloody\ncombat.\"\n\n\"But,\" interposed Yetta, \"what are you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Braun echoed. \"What are you?\"\n\n\"That's an uninteresting detail. I'm only the referee of this bout.\"\n\n\"He can poke fun at a serious position,\" Braun said. \"But he's afraid to\nor can't define his own.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you what he is, Yetta,\" Mabel volunteered. \"He's a--\"\n\n\"No, I'll tell her myself,\" Walter interrupted. \"If you want it in one\nword, I'm a _syndicaliste_. We haven't any English word for it.\"\n\n\"He believes in a general strike,\" Mabel explained, \"although not one\ntrade strike in ten really succeeds.\"\n\n\"Exactly and because,\" Walter assented emphatically.\n\n\"He believes,\" Braun supplemented, \"that although the working people\nhaven't enough class consciousness to vote together we can ask them to\nfight together.\"\n\n\"Exactly and once more exactly! I hate to talk, Yetta, because--as I\nconfessed to you before these two noble examples of self-sacrifice came\nin--I haven't the nerve to practise my beliefs. I hate to talk, and I've\nnever done anything else. But I've got just as definite a creed as\nIsadore.\n\n\"A general strike has more hope of success than a dozen little strikes,\nbecause it's a strike for liberty--and that's the only thing that\ninterests all the working class. The trade strikes are for a few extra\npennies. And when one of them does succeed, it's because of some bigger\nenthusiasm than was written in their demands. You went right to the\nheart of the matter last night when you said you had been striking so as\nnot to be slaves. I'll bet you've seen it when you talked to the other\nunions. Which of your demands interested them most? Dollars to doughnuts\nit was 'recognition of the union.' They all have demands of their own\nabout wages and hours. But when you say 'union' to them, you're saying\nliberty. You're appealing to something bigger than considerations of\npay--to their very love of life.\n\n\"The basis of a General Strike must be an ideal which is shared by every\nworking-man. The simon-pure unionists, the A. F. of L., the Woman's\nTrade Union League, are fighting for little shop improvements, different\nin every trade. Sometimes--often--one set of demands is in conflict with\nanother. The one thing that holds the movement of the workers closer\ntogether is this brilliant idea of union. And the leaders are busily\npreaching disunion.\n\n\"Read any history of labor and you'll see. First it was every man for\nhimself. Then shop unions and each shop for itself. Then all the workmen\nof one town. Now, its national trade-unions. To-morrow it will be\nindustrial unions. The change has already begun. We already have the\nAllied Building Trades. Mabel's keen on allying the various branches of\ngarment workers. The miners have gone further. They have a real\nindustrial union. That's the next step. We'll have the typesetters,\npressmen, folders, newsboys, all in one big newspaper union. Engineers,\nswitchmen, firemen, conductors, roundhouse and repair-shop men all in a\nbig brotherhood of railroad men. Twenty gigantic industrial unions in\nplace of the hundreds of impotent little trade organizations. No one can\nlook the facts in the face and deny either the need of the change or the\nactual progress towards it.\n\n\"Braun shudders at the thought because the men who are now urging this\nchange--the Industrial Workers of the World--are displeasing to him.\nThey are not good party socialists. Mabel don't like them because they\ntell unpleasant truths about the crooks in her organization. I don't\nlike them personally, either, because they are just as narrow-minded as\nIsadore, and I guess some of them are as crooked as any of the\ntrade-union leaders. But the idea is bigger than personalities. You mark\nmy words, Yetta, industrial unionism is going to be a bigger issue every\nyear with the working-men. It's going to win. And the outcome of\nindustrial unionism is the General Strike and Insurrection.\n\n\"Isadore pooh-poohs the idea of bloodshed. The social revolution is\ngoing to be a kid-glove affair. He will admit the possibility of\nsporadic riots. But the great victory is to be won at the voting booths.\nJustice is to be enthroned by ward caucuses and party conventions.\nVictor Berger instead of Dick Croker. The central committee instead of\nTammany Hall. He really believes this, but it is based on two\nsuppositions, both of which seem to me very uncertain. First, reason is\nto conquer the earth and the great majority is to vote reasonably--that\nis, the Socialist ticket. Second, the grafters and all the contented,\nwell-fed, complaisant people are going to resign without a struggle.\n\n\"I don't think they will. They may not have the courage to defend their\nprivileges themselves. But bravery, the fighting kind, is one of the\ncheapest things on the human market. Our government buys perfectly good\nsoldiers for $13.50 a month. The privileged class always has hired\nmercenaries to defend their graft and I think they will in the future.\nThey've already begun to do it with their State Constabulary in\nPennsylvania. Read about how the French capitalists massacred our\ncomrades after the Paris Commune. That was only thirty years ago. I\ndon't see any reason to hope for a very startling change in their\nnatures.\n\n\"And then is reason going to rule the world--the cold intellectual\nconvictions that Isadore means? I doubt it. The great movements in the\nworld's history have come from passionate enthusiasms. Take the\nReformation, or the English Commonwealth, or the French Revolution. Not\none man in ten of all the actors in those crises were what Isadore would\ncall reasonable. Reason is powerless unless it is backed by a great\nenthusiasm. And if we have that, we can turn the trick quicker with a\ngeneral strike and insurrection than we could by voting.\n\n\"This question of violence or peace is a thorny one. We've got to\nseparate what we would like to see from what seems probable. Bloodshed\nis abhorrent. But it is pretty closely associated with the history of\nhuman progress. Before the great Revolution the mass of the French\npeople were in the very blackest ignorance. They've had a century of\nrevolution and bloodshed, and to-day they are the most cultured nation\nin the world. The same thing is happening to-day in Russia. We read in\nthe papers of assassinations and executions and insurrections. It means\nthat the intellect of a great people is coming to life. And the mind of\nour nation has got to be shaken into wakefulness, too. We've got to\nlearn new and deeper meanings to the old words justice and liberty. I'd\nlike to believe we could learn them in school, by reading socialist\npamphlets. But all the race has ever learned about them so far has been\nin battle-fields and behind barricades. I hate and fear bloodshed. I\nbelieve it's wrong. Just as you said you thought it was wrong to lie.\nBut I love liberty more.\n\n\"And there's one other point: Until we learn these lessons, we've got to\nsee our strong men and women cut down by tuberculosis, we've got to\nstand by and watch a slaughter of innocent babies that makes Herod's\nlittle massacre look like a schoolboy's naughtiness. The socialists\ndon't like the word 'violence.' The reality is in the air we breathe.\nThe landlord wracks rent out of the poor by violence--no amount of legal\ndrivel can hide the fact that every injustice of our present society is\nput through by the aid--on the treat--of police. The whole force of the\nstate is back of the grafters. It's violence that drives people into the\nsweat-shops, that drives the boys to crime and the girls to\nprostitution. And all this deadly injustice will go on until we've\nlearned the lessons of justice and liberty. Let us learn them as\npeacefully and legally as possible, but we must learn them. Blood isn't\na nice thing to look at, but it isn't as unspeakably horrible as the\nsputum of tuberculosis.\"\n\n\"What you are saying is rank anarchy,\" Braun protested.\n\n\"I've told you a hundred times you can't scare me by calling names.\n'Anarchy' is just as much a word of progress as 'Socialism.' I think\nyou've got the best of it when it comes to a description and analysis of\nsociety and industrial development. But the Anarchists have got you\nbacked off the map in the understanding of human motives and social\nimpulses.\n\n\"I'm an optimist, Yetta, about this social conflict. I don't think it\nmatters much what form people give to their activity. The important\nthing is not to be neutral. The thing that is needed is a passion for\nrighteousness. Once a person sees--really sees--the conflict between\ngreed and justice, and enlists in the revolution, it doesn't matter much\nwhether he goes into the infantry or cavalry or artillery. I see in\nsociety a ruling class growing fat off injustice, a great, lethargic\nmass, indifferent through ignorance, and a constantly growing army of\nrevolt. Anybody who doubts the outcome is a fool. History does not\nrecord a single year which did not bring some victory for Justice. But a\nperson's equally a fool--I mean you, Isadore--who tries to prophesy just\nhow the war will be conducted. There isn't any omniscient general back\nof us, directing the campaign. The progress towards victory is the\nresult of myriad efforts, uncoordinated, often conflicting. It is\nentirely irrational--just like evolution. The anthropoidal ape, sitting\nunder a prehistoric palm tree and picking fleas off his better half, did\nnot know how--through the ages--his offspring were going to become men.\nEven with our superior intellects, our ability to study the records of\nthe past and guess into the future, we cannot presage the steps of the\nprogress. The directing force is the instinctive common sense of life.\nIt's a more mysterious force than any theological God. It's always on\nthe job, always pushing life through new experiments, through\n'variations' to the better form.\n\n\"All evolution has been a history of life struggling for liberty. It was\na momentous revolution, when the first tiny animalcule tore itself loose\nfrom immobility, when it conquered the ability to move about in quest of\nfood and a larger life. And so one after another life conquered new\nabilities. It's abilities, not rights, that constitute liberty. Think\nhow many fake experiments life made before it turned out a man. The same\nprocess is going on to-day. You can't crowd life into a definition.\nJustice is being approximated, not because of one formula. The victory\nwill come not because the people accept one theory, but because of\nthousands and thousands of experiments. And the ones that fail are just\nas much a part of the process.\n\n\"Gradually this common sense of life is awaking the minds of the\nlethargic mass. This is sure progress. It matters not at all whether the\nmind of the individual come to life in the trade-union, the Socialist\nparty, or the Anarchist Group--or the Salvation Army. The important\nthing is that a new person has conquered the ability to think for\nhimself. It doesn't even matter whether the words that woke him to life\nwere true or not.\n\n\"Life isn't logical. And socialism seems to me to have almost smothered\nits soul-stirring ideal in a wordy effort to seem logical. The\ntrade-unions are illogical enough. At least you can say that for them.\nBut it's only once in a while--by accident--that they sound the tocsin.\"\n\nThis kind of talk disturbed Isadore. From first to last it ran contrary\nto his manner of thinking. But in an illusive way it seemed to have a\nsemblance of truth--a certain persuasiveness. The error--if error there\nwas--was subtle and hard to nail down. As he listened he knew he was\nexpected to answer it. He must defend his colors before Yetta. It was\nnot an easy thing to do. His whole life was built on an abiding faith\nthat the hope of his people lay in the activities of the Socialist\nparty. There was no cant nor insincerity about him. He felt that the\nspread of such ideas as Longman's would render doubly difficult the work\nof his party. It vexed him not to be able at once to demolish his\nfriend's heresies. But he was used to arguing with opponents who thought\nany change was unnecessary or impossible. Walter admitted all this and\nwent further. Isadore was off his accustomed field.\n\n\"You're a hard person to argue with,\" he said, \"because your ideas are\nso unusual. I don't mean to say you're wrong just because you are in a\nminority of one. But it's hard to reason against oratory. I wish you\nwould put your position down on paper, so I could give it serious\nthought.\"\n\n\"Maeterlinck has come pretty close to it in _Notre devoir social_,\"\nWalter replied.\n\n\"Oh, that!\" Isadore said contemptuously. \"That isn't an argument, it's a\nsort of fairy story.\"\n\n\"Still calling names! There's truth in some fairytales--a whole lot of\ntruth you can't express in your dialectics.\"\n\n\"That!\" Isadore said, jumping at a point of attack, \"is, I guess, the\nfundamental difference between us. You're a sort of mediaevalist, living\nin a realm of romance and fairy stories--ruled over by your instinctive\nsense of life. You forget that we live in the age of reason. You said\nliberty consisted in abilities. Well, I believe that abilities bring\nobligations. Instead of jeering at reason and dialectics, I think it's\nour preeminent ability. We, reasoning animals, have a duty to use and\nperfect--and trust--our intellects. And the Socialist theory is the\nbiggest triumph of the human mind. The theory of evolution is the only\nthing to compare with it. But Darwin had only to fight a superstition.\nIt wasn't much of a feat to convince thinking people that it took more\nthan one hundred and forty-four hour's to create the world--then his\ncase was practically won. Marx had to fight not only such theological\nnonsense, but the entire opposition of the ruling class. Socialism had\nalways been proscribed. A college professor who taught it frankly would\nlose his job. But it has never had a set-back. It has gathered about it\nas brilliant a group of intellects as has Darwinism. It's growing\nsteadily.\n\n\"Having no trust in reason, you are driven back to violence. But I do\nbelieve in intelligence. I don't want to hang my hope of the future on\nsuch illogical things as dynamite and flying bullets.\n\n\"If you don't respect intellect and logic, of course you don't\nsympathize with Socialism. But you can't ask me to give up the results\nof my own reasoning, backed as they are by the best brains of our times,\nto accept your imaginings.\"\n\n\"I don't ask you to give up Socialism,\" Walter laughed. \"On the\ncontrary, as long as it seems truth to you, give up all the rest. Your\nability seems to find its right setting in the party--just as Mabel's\ndoes in the trade-unions--just as I'd be ill at ease and useless in\neither.\n\n\"The point I want to insist on is my faith that, back of your reasoning\nand activity and back of my speculations and laziness, this instinctive\nsense of life is working out its own purpose. Only future generations\nwill be able to know which--if either of us--is right.\"\n\nThis argument thrilled and fascinated Yetta. In the years that were to\nfollow she was to hear such debates repeated endlessly. The new circle\nof friends she was to make were as passionately interested in such\nquestions of social philosophy and ethics as are the art students of\nParis in the relative value of line and color or the concept of pure\nbeauty. In time talking would lose its charm; she was to realize\nthat--as Walter had said--it often leads to brain-fag. But this, her\nfirst experience, was an immense event.\n\nThe two men leaned back in their chairs, their faces relaxed. They\nseemed to have talked themselves out. Yetta turned to Mabel, who sat\nbeside her on the window-seat.\n\n\"You're not a Socialist?\" she asked.\n\n\"No.\" Mabel replied. Such discussions bored her. \"Nor an Anarchist\neither. I happen to be living in the year of grace 1903. I'm not\ninterested in Isadore's logical deductions nor Walter's imaginings. They\nboth know that if the working people want enough butter for their\nbread,--let alone Utopia,--they've got to organize. Cold experience\nshows that they can be organized on economic step-by-step demands, and\nthat we can build up stable, practical unions along these lines--which\nevery day are bringing to the working class a great spirit of unity. And\ncold experience also shows that the labor organizations which ask for\nthe earth don't last. There have been dozens just like the Industrial\nWorkers of the World before, and where are they now? Those people\nhaven't enough practical sense to organize a picnic.\n\n\"If I were a theorist, instead of a rather busy person, I would have\nnothing against Industrial Unionism. It's on the cards, and I am working\nfor it. But I haven't any time for these fanatical dreamers. I haven't\nanything against the Socialist idea of the working people going in for\npolitical representation. Whenever I get a chance I put in a word for\nit. But once more I've no time for people who don't do any real work and\nspend their time writing pamphlets about nothing at all and quarrelling\nover party intrigue. They're very wonderful, no doubt, with their reason\nand their imaginations--master-builders, the architects of the future,\nand all that. I'm quite content to be a little coral insect, adding my\nshare to the very necessary foundations, which they forget about.\nAnyhow, to-night isn't '_Le Grand Soir_'--and as dreaming isn't my job,\nI can't afford to sleep late. Come on.\"\n\nIn the doorway, as the four were going out, Mabel called Isadore, who\nwas pairing off with Yetta, and asked him about the injunction in the\ncigar-makers' case. Walter dropped behind with Yetta. He was almost glad\nthat Mabel had denied him these last few minutes of _tete-a-tete_ with\nher. He had been looking forward to it all the evening. But there was\nnot anything for him to say to her. So he talked to Yetta, as they\ncrossed the Square.\n\n\"There's one thing I almost forgot. Mrs. Karner has taken a great fancy\nto you. I know she'd appreciate it if you went up to see her every once\nin a while. Don't let her know I suggested it, but something she said\nthe other day made me see how much she likes you. She tries very hard to\npretend not to care about anything, but at bottom she's serious--and\ngood. In the League work you'll have to play around a good deal with\nsome of the swells, and she's a good one to practice on.\n\n\"Well, here we are. I'll send the keys over by Mrs. Rocco when I go. You\ncan move in any time you want to.\"\n\nMabel went up the steps and fitted her latch-key into the door. She\nreached down to shake hands with Walter.\n\n\"So long,\" she said with an even voice. \"Good luck.\"\n\n\"About once in every long while,\" he said, \"we'll get mail. I'd like to\nhear from you now and then.\"\n\n\"I'm not much of a letter-writer,\" she said, \"but I won't forget you.\"\n\nFor the first time, Yetta really believed that Mabel did not love him.\n\n\"Good-by, Mr. Longman,\" she said. \"We'll all be waiting for you to get\nback.\"\n\n\"Thanks! And I hope you'll write too--give me the news when you send me\nmy mail. And the good chance to you. Good-by, Mabel.\"\n\n\"Good-by, Walter,\" she called back over her shoulder.\n\n\"Isadore,\" Walter said, as the door shut behind the girls, \"come on over\nto the Lafayette and have a drink.\"\n\nBraun looked at his watch.\n\n\"Oh, damn the time. Come on. I want somebody to talk to me.\"\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IV\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nYETTA'S WORK\n\n\nIn the next few months Yetta learned a new meaning for the word \"work.\"\nIn the sweat-shop, day after day, she had sat before the machine, her\nmind a blank, three-quarters of her muscles lifeless, the rest speeding\nthrough a dizzying routine. Only when a thread broke had there been any\nthought to it. In the new work there was no repetition, none of this\ndead monotony. Every act, every word she spoke, was the result of a\nconsciousness vividly alive. In the keen, exhilarating thrill of it she\nhad little time to mope over Walter's absence.\n\nIt is a strange paradox of our life that, while no other social\nphenomenon touches us at so many intimate points as the organization of\nlabor, while very few are of more importance, most of us know nothing at\nall about the details of this great industrial struggle. Our clothes\nbear the \"union label\" or are \"scab.\" In either case they are an issue\nin the conflict. Heads have been broken over the question of whether\nthis page, from which you are reading, should be printed in a \"closed\"\nor \"open shop.\" Around our cigarettes, the boxes in which they are\npacked, the matches with which we light them, the easy-chairs in which\nwe smoke them, and the carpets on which we carelessly spill the ashes, a\ntragic battle is raging. Nine out of every ten people we meet are\nconcerned in it. The man who takes our nickel in the Subway, the waiter\nwho serves our lunch, the guests at dinner, the unseen person who pulls\nup the curtain at the theatre, the taxicab chauffeur who takes us home,\nare all fighting for or against \"unionism.\"\n\nFrom the human point of view there is no vaster, more passionate drama.\nIntense convictions, bitter, senseless prejudices, the dogged heroism of\nhunger, comfort-loving cynicism, black treachery, and wholehearted\nidealism are among the motives which inspire the actors. The\nstage--which is our Fatherland--is crossed by hired thugs from the\n\"detective agencies\" and by dynamiters. In the troupe are such people as\nJane Addams and Mr. Pinkerton, shedders of blood and preachers of peace.\nThere are hardly any of us who do not at some time step upon the stage\nand act our parts.\n\nFrom the viewpoint of politics, the conflict has a deeper significance.\nWhat is the statesmanlike attitude to the growing unrest of those who do\nthe work of the world--an unrest which is steadily and rapidly\norganizing? Close to two million of our citizens pay dues to the unions,\ntheir number grows by a quarter of a million a year. This is a momentous\nfact in politics. What is to be done about it? No one who thinks of such\nthings can deny that sooner or later we--as a nation--must answer that\nquestion.\n\nProfound in its political significance, rich in human color, the\norganization of labor touches us on every hand. But very few of us have\nany idea of the life of those men and women who devote themselves to\nthis imposing, threatening movement. What, for instance, is the daily\nwork of the secretary of the Gasfitters' Union in our town? What is an\n\"agitator\"? What are his duties? How does he spend his time? Why?\n\nIt was into this little-known life that Yetta was plunged. First of all\nshe was \"Business Agent\"--or as we more generally say \"the Walking\nDelegate\"--of her Vest-Makers' Union. She had to attend to all business\nbetween the organization and the bosses.\n\nWhen a complaint reached her that some employer was violating the\ncontract he had signed with the union, she had to investigate. If the\ncharge was justified, she could call the girls out until the offending\nboss decided to observe his agreement.\n\nIt is just as hard for a labor organization to find a satisfactory\n\"business agent,\" as it is for a mercantile concern. One will be too\naggressive, another too yielding. One will be always irritating the\nemployers and causing unnecessary friction. The next will make friends\nwith the bosses and be twisted about their fingers. Once in a while a\n\"business agent\" sells out, betrays his constituents for a bribe, just\nas some of our political representatives have done.\n\nEven in trades where the union has existed for a long time and somewhat\nstable relations have grown up between it and the employers, the\nposition of \"business agent\" calls for a degree of tact and force which\nis rare. It is impossible for the delegate of the men to reach a cordial\nunderstanding with the bosses. He has at heart the interest of the\nentire trade, men working in different places under varied conditions,\nwhile the boss thinks only of his own shop. One is trying to enforce\ngeneral rules, the other is seeking exceptions. The employer may be\nfriendly with the union and in some sudden rush ask a favor which the\nmen themselves would like to grant. But the walking delegate, knowing\nthat all bosses are not so well disposed, that he may not grant to one\nwhat he refuses to others, cannot make exception, even if it seems\nreasonable to him.\n\nYetta's position was doubly difficult. The boss vest-makers were\nsmarting under their defeat. They regarded the union as an unpleasant\ninnovation, an infringement of their liberty. A visit from Yetta seemed\nan impertinence. On the other hand the new union was pitifully weak. The\ntreasury was empty. The bosses knew this, knew just how much hunger the\nstrike had meant to their employees. They tried to take advantage of the\nsituation. The Association of Vest Manufacturers, after the\ndisorganization which followed the strike, was getting together again.\nTheir frequent meeting promised a new attack. All the girls felt trouble\nin the air. There were causes for quarrel in almost every shop. But a\nnew strike--if it failed--would surely wreck the union. Everything was\nto gain by delaying the new outbreak. Yetta's common sense, supplemented\nby Mabel's experienced advice, pulled them through many tight places.\n\nThe crisis came in about a month at the very Crown Vest Company, before\nwhich Yetta had tried to kill Pick-Axe. The boss, Edelstein, was just\nthe kind of man to have employed such a thug. He began the attack by\ndischarging three girls who had been prominent in the strike. A clause\nin the settlement, which he had signed, had said there should be no\ndiscrimination against the unionists. If Edelstein was allowed to\nviolate this agreement, the other bosses would surely follow suit, and\none by one the little advantages so dearly won would be lost.\n\nYetta tried to reason with the man. He tilted his cigar at a pugnacious\nangle, put his feet on the desk, and insolently hummed a tune while she\ntalked.\n\n\"If you think you can run my shop,\" he said, \"you can guess again. The\nunion wants to know why I fired these girls? Well, tell the union I\ndidn't like the way they wore their hair.\"\n\n\"It's nine o'clock now,\" Yetta said. \"If you don't reemploy those girls\nby three--that's six hours--or give the union a serious reason for their\ndischarge, I'll call a strike on your shop.\"\n\n\"Go ahead and call it,\" he said savagely. \"My girls have had enough of\nyour dirty union. They won't try striking again.\"\n\nAlthough Yetta had managed to deliver her ultimatum with outward calm\nand a show of confidence, the next six hours were the most unpleasant\nshe had ever spent. Would the girls walk out at her call? If they did\nnot, it would surely kill the union. Edelstein was certainly offering\nthem all sorts of inducements to stay. The other bosses were back of\nhim, urging him on. They wanted to break the union. What had she to\noffer the girls but hunger and an ideal? There were not ten dollars in\nthe treasury. Most of the girls were still in debt from the first\nstrike; many of them would be dispossessed by their landlords if they\nstruck again.\n\nBut Yetta's side was stronger than she realized. The success of the\nstrike had taught the girls the tangible value of loyalty. The break-up\nof the employers' association had had the opposite effect. Each and\nevery boss had tried to desert his fellows first and so make better\nterms with the union. Edelstein did not trust--would have been a fool to\ntrust--the other employers. They were using him as a catspaw, and he\nknew it. If he succeeded in breaking the union, they would gladly profit\nby it. But, after all, they were his competitors; if he got into trouble\nsingle-handed, they would just as gladly profit by that. He consulted\nhis forewomen. They all believed that enough of the force would go out\nto tie up his shop. So the three girls were reemployed.\n\nThis victory gave Yetta new strength and confidence. She had taken the\nmeasure of her opponents and was not afraid any more. She went about her\nwork with a firmer tread, with a greater faith in the eventual triumph\nof her cause. Her decisive stand with Edelstein had turned the balance.\nThe bosses began to accept the union as an inevitable thing. Yetta did\nnot have to call a strike for many months, not until the girls had\nrecovered their breath and gathered enough strength to demand and win a\nnew increase in wages.\n\nHer work as business agent absorbed only a small amount of her time.\nMost of it went into efforts to organize the other garment workers. The\nsuccess of the vest-makers had made a great impression on the sweated\ntrades. The idea of \"union\" was popular. Sooner or later they were bound\nto organize--as the inevitable logic of events forces labor to unite\neverywhere. It was not smooth sailing by any means. But Yetta gradually\ngrew to the stature of her work. Although she was sometimes discouraged\nat the slowness of her progress, Mabel was always radiant and talked\nmuch of her remarkable success.\n\nBut in her effort to ally the various garment trades, Yetta was face to\nface with the thorniest problem of labor organization. In union there is\nstrength, and if we do not hang together, we will surely hang\nseparately. But if you re-read the history of our country during the\nyears between the Revolution and the ratification of the Constitution,\nand recall the various efforts at secession which culminated in the\nCivil War, you will be impressed by the difficulty of living up to this\nbeautifully simple idea of united action in politics. It is not\ndifferent in labor organization.\n\nIn almost every industry there are small trades of highly skilled men\nwho occupy a favorable strategic position. It is so with \"the cutters\"\nin the business of making clothes. Their union was the oldest of all.\nPractically every man in the country who knew the trade was a member.\nThey could not be replaced by unskilled \"scabs.\" They were in a position\nto insist that the bosses address them as \"Mister.\" Why should they join\nforces with these new and penniless unions? What had they to gain by\nputting their treasury at the disposal of the struggling \"buttonhole\nworkers\"?\n\nWhy should the opulent province of New York enter into a union with tiny\nDelaware or far-away Georgia? In the proposed Congress how could\nrepresentation be justly distributed? The cutters would not listen to\nany proposal which did not give them an overwhelming voice in the\nCouncil. It is against such cold facts as these that the theory of\nIndustrial Unionism, which had sounded so alluring to Yetta as Longman\noutlined it, has to make headway.\n\nAt first Yetta was confused by the conflicting organizations which were\nstruggling for support from the workers. There was the American\nFederation of Labor, to which Mabel gave her allegiance. Its organizers\nwere practical men, interested first, last, and all the time in shop\nconditions. Effective in their way, but their cry, \"A little less\ninjustice, please,\" seemed timid to Yetta. Then there was the Socialist\nparty. Their theories were more impressive to her--they went further in\ntheir demands and seemed to have a broader vision. But of all the\nSocialists she knew, Braun was the only one who interested himself\nactively in the organization of the workers. The rest seemed wholly\noccupied with political action. There was also the Industrial Workers of\nthe World. They cared very little for either firmly organized unions,\nwhich were Mabel's hobby, or for the party in which Isadore put such\nfaith. They placed all their emphasis on the Spirit of Revolt. In a more\nspecific way than the other factions they were out for the Revolution.\nThey appealed strongly to that side of Yetta which was vividly touched\nby the manifold misery she saw about her, the side of her personality\nwhich had struck out blindly at Pick-Axe. She recognized that it had\nbeen a blind and dangerous impulse. It was not likely to come again. But\nthis phase of her character, although she feared it, she could not\ndespise. It was not dead, it was only asleep. And she knew that the same\nthing was present in the hearts of all the down-trodden people--her\ncomrades in the fight for life and liberty.\n\nThe triangular debate, which she had heard for the first time at\nWalter's farewell dinner, she heard repeated on all sides. She felt it\nno longer as an interesting academic discussion, but as the vital\nproblem of the working-class. It was an issue towards which she would\nhave to take a definite attitude.\n\nThe welter of ideas, the perplexing conflict between alluring theories\nand hard facts, was sharply illustrated to her by a mass meeting at\nCooper Union which had been called to raise funds for the Western\nFederation of Miners. All classes of society were shocked at the news of\nviolence and bloodshed in that spectacular outbreak of social war in\nColorado. One thing was clear to all--there was no use preaching peace,\nno use talking about the harmony of interest between labor and capital,\nthere was nothing the Civic Federation could do. The curtain had been\ntorn aside. It was war.\n\nFew of the workers in the city approved of the violent methods to which\nthe miners had resorted. But in the heat of battle such considerations\nbecame insignificant. The working-class of New York wanted to help.\n\nTwo or three orderly speeches had been made, when confusion was caused\nby the miners' delegate. Instead of telling the story of the strike, as\nhad been expected of him, he utilized his time in denunciation of the\nAmerican Federation of Labor and in chanting the praises of Industrial\nUnionism. The audience had gathered to express their sympathy for the\nminers. He insulted the organization to which most of these Easterners\nbelonged.\n\nYetta had never heard a more forceful piece of oratory. He had led a\ncharge against the State militia, and he was not afraid of a hostile\naudience. His appearance of immense strength dominated the more puny\ncity dwellers. His mighty voice rang out above the tumult and reduced\nit.\n\n\"The A. F. of L.,\" he shouted, \"is a rotten aristocracy. Everywhere it\nis holding down the less fortunate workers. More strikes are\ndouble-crossed by 'labor leaders' than are lost in a fair fight. Until\nwe smash it there's no hope for the working-class. Out in the mines\nwe've already won a three-fifty day. Not for the skilled trades, but for\nevery man who goes down. We don't have any leaders who go to the Civic\nFederation and drink champagne with the capitalists.\n\n\"Look at the unions you're proud of. You know as well as I do that the\nBig Six scabbed on the pressmen. Nobody in the printing industry has got\na chance. The typographers have pigged it all.\n\n\"Nobody's got a look-in with the labor fakirs unless they've got enough\nmoney to pay initiation fees.\n\n\"You craft unionists have won your house and lot and 'benefits.' But I\ntell you that the Revolution is coming from the unskilled who can't pay\nyour fees. If you don't get out of the way, you'll get run over with the\nrest of the aristocrats and grafters.\n\n\"Your graft is no good, anyhow. It won't last. It depends on your skill,\nand machines are killing skill every day. Look at the glass-blowers.\nThat was a fine craft--wasn't it? You couldn't blow glass unless you had\nserved a long apprenticeship. And when you once knew the trade, it was a\ncinch--a graft for the rest of your life. Sweet, wasn't it? Just the\nthing 'Old Sell-'em-out' Sam Gompers dreams about. All of a sudden\nsomebody invented a machine. Now the glass-blowers are yelling about the\nChild Labor Law--a kid of twelve can do more work with a machine than a\ndozen men by hand.\n\n\"You craft unionists ought to go out and look at a machine--an\nautomatic that's knocked Hell out of some other trade. You'd see what's\ncoming to you and your A. F. of L.\n\n\"My father was a 'grainer,' painted the graining on wainscoting and\nbureaus--fine trade it was, too. He had a nice little house with a\ngarden to it; the old woman had a servant. Some aristocrats we were. He\nwas going to send me to college--he was. Then they invented a machine.\nHe hit the trail to Colorado, and I went down in the mine when I was\nthirteen.\n\n\"Just think about that machine a minute. It could do the work better\nthan men, so it put the 'grainers' out of business. It ain't got no\nfeet, so it don't use shoes. Kind of hard on the cobblers. It ain't got\nno head, so it don't wear out three hats a year like my old man did.\nKind of hard on the hat makers. The machine ain't got no belly, it don't\neat nothing. That's a jolt for the butcher and baker--and the farmer\ntoo. The machine don't get sick. No use for a doctor. The machine\"--he\npaused for his climax--\"the machine has no soul--it don't even need a\nminister.\n\n\"The machine is killing the craft unions. It's bringing about the day of\nthe unskilled. The answer is--Industrial Unionism.\"\n\nThe audience was too angry at his attack to applaud. The collection,\nwhen it was taken up, was not half what had been expected.\n\n\"Perfectly insane,\" was Mabel's comment as they walked home.\n\n\"But what he said sounded true to me,\" Yetta protested.\n\n\"True?\" Mabel demanded. \"What was the true reason he came? To raise\nmoney for the striking miners--who need it. He didn't even come here at\nhis own expense. They sent him--to raise funds. He spouts a lot of his\ncrazy ideas and spoils it all. I don't believe we collected enough to\npay his railroad fare. Is that your idea of truth?\"\n\nYetta could not find an answer.\n\nBut the effort to solve such problems as this was a big factor in her\nmental development. It gave her added incentive to study. She sought\nlearning not because \"culture\" is conventionally considered a good\nthing, but because she had a vital need for a wider knowledge in her\ndaily life.\n\nAs Walter had foretold, she found constant temptation to neglect her\nstudy. She resisted it bravely. But when the \"knee-pant operatives,\"\nwhom she had organized, went out, she could not find heart for books.\nShe gave all her time to the strike. It was only a three weeks'\ninterruption. But the next year the buttonhole workers were out for two\nsolid months, the hottest of the year--and lost. It was Yetta's first\ndefeat. The last weeks had been a nightmare. Children had died of\nhunger. Some older women had hanged themselves. When at last it was\nover, Yetta dragged herself up to the Woman's Trade Union League and\nwrote out her resignation.\n\n\"What on earth do you mean?\" Mabel asked.\n\n\"Oh! I'm no good. I can't ever go down on the East Side again. I might\nsee one of them. It's all my fault. I called them out. I promised them\nso much.\"\n\nThe moment Yetta had left the office Mabel telephoned to Mrs. Karner at\nher country home at Cos-Cob-on-the-Sound.\n\nYetta had followed Walter's advice in regard to Mrs. Karner, and a real\nfriendship had grown up between them. Mabel did not understand why this\nblase society woman, with her carefully groomed flippancy, cared for the\nvery serious-minded young Jewess, but she knew that they frequently\nlunched together. So she told Mrs. Karner over the telephone how Yetta\nhad broken down.\n\nOn the window-seat of her room, Yetta cried herself to sleep,--the\ntroubled, haunted sleep of pure exhaustion. She was waked at last from\nher nightmare by a pounding on her door. It was Mrs. Karner.\n\n\"You poor youngster! I dropped into the office a moment ago to sign some\npapers for Mabel and she told me about your resignation. I'm so glad!\nNow you haven't any excuse not to visit me. I'm lonely out at Cos-Cob.\nThe motor's at the door. Put on your hat.\"\n\nBefore Yetta knew what was happening to her she was in the motor. In\nfifteen minutes they were out of the city, and Mrs. Karner put her arm\nabout her.\n\n\"It was such a very little they asked for,\" Yetta muttered. \"Not so much\nas we vest-makers demanded.\"\n\nMrs. Karner did not see fit to reply, and Yetta fell back into a sort of\ndoze. At last they turned through a stone gateway into the Karners'\nplace. She got only a hurried glance at the well-watered lawn and the\nopen stretch of the Sound. She was rushed upstairs and to bed. In the\nmorning Mrs. Karner would not let her get up. It was the first time\nYetta had spent a day in bed.\n\nWhen she was allowed to get up, she found the estate a strange country\nto be explored. The greenhouses, the tame deer, the spotless stables,\nthe dairy, the kennels, the boat-house, all were endlessly interesting\nto her. Interesting enough to make her forget for a while the horrors of\nNew York. It was the third day that she made friends with the gardener,\nand after that she got up with the sun to help him harvest the poppies.\n\nOn Friday Mr. Karner appeared, with a man and his wife, whose name Yetta\nnever troubled herself to remember, and they all went off for a week-end\ncruise. Most of the time the older people played bridge. Yetta made\nfriends with the sea and a gray-haired old sailor from the Azores, who\ncould speak nothing but Portuguese. Once while at anchor he helped her\ncatch a fish. She would have enjoyed the cruise more if they had let her\neat in the forecastle with the crew. She liked Mrs. Karner very much\nwhen they were alone together, but it was unpleasant to see her with\nthese others.\n\nIn time the color returned to Yetta's cheeks, and hearing that Mabel had\ntorn up her resignation, she went back to Washington Square and to work.\n\nExcept for such crises, Yetta followed rigorously the course of reading\nwhich Walter had mapped out for her. The afternoons and evenings\nbelonged to the work of the League, to the very busy life of the real\nworld. The mornings belonged to Walter. Her first thought was always of\nhim. While the coffee was heating, she attended to his mail. After\nbreakfast, with his prospectus spread out before her, she settled\nherself in one of his chairs and took up one of his books. Following his\nsuggestion she made copious notes, and, when a book was finished, she\nwrote a thousand words or so on the main ideas she had gained from it.\nShe carefully saved all these notes. When he returned he would see how\nthoroughly she had followed his directions.\n\nOn the other side of the world from Yetta, Longman was leading a rough,\nexciting tent-life among dangerously fanatic natives. It would have been\nhard to imagine two more sharply contrasting environments. He never\ndreamed of the loving devotion which was being offered him, so many\nthousand miles away. He did not suspect how his occasional letters, in\nreply to her weekly ones, fanned this flame. He was wholly occupied in\nracing against time and difficulties to complete his work.\n\nThe expedition was not having an easy time of it. The ruins about which\nthey were digging were regarded by the natives with superstitious\nveneration. The little group of scientists had only a score of\nunreliable soldiers for defence, so the real men--Le Marquis\nd'Hauteville, _Chef de l'expedition_, a wiry, gray-haired veteran of the\nAlgerian Wars; Delanoue, a dandified-looking Parisian, who had carved\nhis name as an explorer in all sorts of outlandish places; Vibert, the\nphotographer, and Walter--had their hands full. They were the rampart,\nbehind which the half-dozen querulous, rather old-maidish specialists\nmeasured skulls, gathered fragments of pottery, took rubbings of\ninscriptions, and collected folk-lore.\n\nIt is very much easier to love a person who is absent than to live\namicably at close quarters with his daily faults and foibles. As the\nmonths passed, Walter Longman--or rather the ghost which Yetta conjured\nup to that name--took on new graces, was endowed with ever more\nbrilliant characteristics. Yetta hardly knew the real man. In their\nhalf-dozen meetings she had seen certain charming traits. He came to\ntypify the kind of life she would like to lead. A life of cleanliness\nand comfort, but free from the shame of luxury. A life of books, but so\nclose and sympathetic to the struggling mass of humanity as to escape\nthe reproach of pedantry.\n\nHer dreams of him--thanks to his absence--could not be contradicted. If\nan act in the life about her seemed good, she did not doubt that Walter\ncould and would have done it better. Of the unpleasant pettinesses which\nshe saw among her associates, she was sure that he was free. The authors\nshe read seemed to her very wise, but their attainments could not be\ncompared to Walter's mystic wisdom. It is very easy to laugh at such\nfolly--and so much easier to cry.\n\nThe idolatrous incense which she burned at the altar of the Absent One\nwas a great incentive to her study. Knowledge was not only the road to\npower, but also to his approbation. But his greatest contribution was\nthe memory of his scorn for intellectual ruts, for cut-and-dried\nformulae. \"You can't crowd life into a definition,\" he had said. \"Beware\nof simple explanations. Living is a complex business.\"\n\nSuch phrases--sticking in her memory like illuminated mottoes--held her\nback from joining the Socialist party. Sooner or later it was inevitable\nthat she should do so. She was a logical Socialist, with the logic of\nevents. It would have been difficult to erect any other structure on the\nfoundations life had laid for her. She was a machine worker who had\nrevolted before the grinding monotony had killed her faith and vision.\nShe could still hope. She had the insight to see beyond the personal\npettiness of squabbling dogmatists to the great principles of Justice\nand Brotherhood, which their heated advocacy sometimes obscures. Her\nlife would have been poorer in any other setting.\n\nBut it was a real gain to her that she did not join the party hurriedly.\nShe might have resisted the urgings of Braun longer--even after she had\nread largely pro and con, even after she had familiarized herself with\nthe traditional theoretical \"objections to Socialism,\" and, weighing\nthem against the facts of life, which she saw about her, the bent and\naged women of thirty, the young men smitten with tuberculosis, the\nthousands of babies that never grow up, had found them light indeed--she\nmight still have held back longer from the personal and entirely\nillogical reason that Walter had never joined if it had not been for a\ndramatic meeting with her old boss--Jake Goldfogle.\n\nHis shop had failed in her first strike. She had lost all track of him.\n\nAbout nine o'clock one bitter winter night she was walking home along\nCanal Street. The row of pushcarts, lit by flaring oil lamps, were doing\na scant business. It was too cold for sidewalk bargaining. She was moved\nby a deep pity for these men and women, who were forced out on such a\nnight, to hawk their wares. It was not only the victims of the\nsweat-shop who find living a hard matter. Suddenly her notice fell on a\ndilapidated pedler, who was holding out a meagre tray of notions. He did\nnot have even a pushcart. A heavy black patch hid one side of his face,\nbut she recognized Jake at once. Her first impulse was to hurry past\nwith averted face. But his shivering poverty--he had no\novercoat--checked her.\n\n\"Hello, Mr. Goldfogle.\"\n\nHe turned his unbandaged eye on her in bewilderment. His frost-bitten\nface flushed with resentment.\n\n\"Come on and have a cup of coffee,\" she said. \"I want to talk with you.\"\n\nThe idea of coffee stopped the curses which were gathering on his\ntongue, and, ashamed of his lack of spirit, he followed her. They sat\ndown opposite each other at a dingy little tea-room table. Jake\nremembered Yetta as a frightened shop-girl. The last time she had seen\nhim, he had threatened her with arrest. He had solemnly sworn that he\nwould never give her back her job. And now she was giving him a cup of\ncoffee. He drank it in silence. Once upon a time he had dreamed of\nmarrying her as though it would be a great condescension.\n\nThe coffee warmed him so that he told his story. The failure had been\ncomplete. He and his sister and brother-in-law had gone back to the\nmachine. The sister had given out first with the East Side\ncommonplace--a cough. For a while the two men had stuck together, once\nmore a little money had begun to pile up. Then a belt broke; the flying\nend had caught Jake in the face. He lifted up the black patch and showed\nYetta the horrible scar where his eye had been. When he had come out of\nthe hospital, his brother-in-law had disappeared. For a while Jake had\nhoped to get some compensation out of his employer, but he had fallen\ninto the clutches of a \"shyster lawyer,\" who compromised the case out of\ncourt for a hundred dollars and kept seventy-five for his fee. This had\nhappened about a month before. Jake had been dragging out a miserable\nexistence, sleeping in the lowest doss-houses, and of the stock he had\nbought with his twenty-five dollars, the half-filled tray was all that\nremained. And if Yetta had not started the strike, he would have been a\nrich man. \"Und I vas in luv wit you, Yetta,\" he ended.\n\nIt happened that she had just received her month's pay, so she was able\nto buy Jake an overcoat and give him a few dollars for meals and\nlodging. And the next day she found work for him as a night watchman.\n\nBut although his gratitude for this job was voluminous it did not ease\nYetta's conscience in the matter. There was something sardonically\ngrotesque in the encounter. It convinced her, more surely than books\ncould ever have done, of the Socialist doctrine that all life is knit\ninto one whole; that Jake, just as much as Mrs. Cohen, had been a victim\nof a vicious system.\n\n\"As long as this bitter industrial competition continues,\" she wrote to\nWalter, \"there are bound to be such pitiful specimens as Jake. You see a\nlot in the papers nowadays about how the trusts are eliminating\ncompetition. The more I think about that the more horrible it seems.\nThey are eliminating competition in the sales departments, in the\ndistribution of the product, because there the waste is in dollars and\ncents. But in production--where the competitive waste is only human\nbeings--the struggle is as bitter as ever. The high-salaried,\n'gentlemanly' managers of the different plants of a trust cooeperate in\nselling and in buying raw material, but in the actual work of the mills\nthey have to compete to see who can exploit the workers hardest--just as\nJake was driven to overwork us girls. I don't see any possible cure\nexcept Socialism, and I'm going to join the party.\"\n\nMany months later, when the courier brought this letter into the camp\namong the ancient ruins, the exile opened it with feverish hands, ran\nhis fingers down page after page until he came to Mabel's name. It was\nnot until he had read this part several times that he gave any attention\nto the fact that Yetta had become a Socialist.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nISADORE BRAUN\n\n\nIt was shortly before her visit to Cos-Cob that Isadore Braun asked\nYetta to marry him.\n\nIn a way he was almost ashamed of himself for doing so. His tempestuous\ndesire for her was something he could not understand, something which\nforcibly escaped from the control of reason, to which all his life had\nbeen submitted.\n\nYetta had walked into his cold, impersonal life in an utterly disturbing\nway. It was as if some sudden leak had let a glare of sunlight into a\nphotographer's dark room. All the care which had been expended in\nfitting that laboratory for a specific--and valuable--piece of work was\nrendered useless.\n\nWith the methodical forethought of his race and the narrow vision of a\nfanatic, Isadore had arranged his future. He had planned not only each\nday's work, but his life-work. With dogged singleness of purpose he had\ntrained himself to be an efficient machine. Such an irrational thing as\nLove had no place in his scheme. To be sure, he believed that marriage\nwas good. Sometime--say at thirty-five--he would look around for a\nconvenient comrade, a woman of similar ideals and purpose, and they\nwould mate without any serious derangement in the life of either. But\nhe condemned Romance. It was irrational.\n\nRomance had accepted the challenge and had worsted him. His first\ninterest in the Yetta of the vest-makers' strike had turned into respect\nand admiration--and finally into something much more serious and\ndynamic. It was not until he caught himself neglecting some important\nwork to attend a meeting where nothing called him except the chance for\na few words with her that he discovered what was the matter with him.\nAgain and again he rallied all his intellectual forces for the combat,\nbut always after a short struggle he found himself flat on his back,\nwith Romance performing the dance of victory on his chest.\n\nAt first he tried to comfort himself with the thought that after all\nYetta was just such a mate as his intellect would have chosen. She also\nwas a Socialist. But he was too honest with himself to admit this\nsophistry. It was not because of her theories that the flame burned\nwithin him. He would have been just as helpless, just as irrationally\nenslaved, if she had been a chorus girl. She was not reason's choice,\nfor the intellect is colorless and Yetta was resplendent.\n\nTo admit the dominance of this irrational emotion was to abandon all his\ngods, to turn his back on his only religion. It is hard for most of us\nto realize the deep tragedy of Isadore's position. Few of us believe\nardently in anything. We have a comfortable ability to keep our faith in\nthings we know are false, a lazy credulity for exploded theories. We go\non burning our incense at shrines the gods have deserted. We pretend to\na love of liberty we do not feel. We are inclined to laugh at the\nspectacle of a man naive enough really to care, to rend himself in a\npassionate quest for Truth--and may God have mercy on such of us.\n\nIt was a month or more before Isadore surrendered to unreason. It was a\ndefeat which told on him in shrunken cheeks. There were some who thought\nhe was sick. But he knew better. Absolute reason, the god on whom he had\nstaked his faith, was crumbling. Longman's talk about the lack of logic\nin life had seemed to him drivel. But now reason--the all-powerful\ndeity--had gone down before the non-intellectual gleam in a young\nwoman's eye, had turned tail and fled before the curve and color of a\ncheek.\n\nHe tried to propose by letter. Night after night in his dismal, unkempt\nfurnished room, he laid out his writing-paper. Sometimes he scribbled\nfuriously, pouring it all out on paper predestined to be crumpled up and\nthrown away. More often he chewed the end of his pen in a sort of\nmechanical tongue-tiedness.\n\nAnd then one day--to his complete surprise--he proposed to her in the\noffice of the Woman's Trade Union League. They had gone into the\ncommittee-room to consult over the \"demands\" for the Skirt-makers'\nUnion. Yetta had drawn up a rough copy and Isadore was to put them into\nmore legal shape. They were leaning together over the big table under\nthe great picture of Jeanne d'Arc, when the grace of Yetta's wrist\nintruded between his consciousness and the troubles of the skirt-makers.\nHe was always discovering some such new attractiveness about her.\n\n\"Good God!\" he exclaimed, straightening up in vexation of spirit.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" Yetta asked.\n\nIsadore realized that this was neither the time nor the place, that\nneither of them was in the right mood, but he could not help telling\nher.\n\nYetta stopped him as soon as her amazement had given place to\nunderstanding. With the simple directness which was her most outstanding\ncharacteristic, she refused even to consider his suggestion.\nEmphatically she did not love him.\n\nFor a moment it seemed tremendously important to Isadore to light a\ncigarette without letting his hand give way to its insane desire to\ntremble. When it was lit, he looked Yetta squarely in the eyes and knew\nthere was no use in argument.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, after a few puffs, \"let's finish up these demands.\"\n\nThe incident brought their cordial intimacy to an end. Yetta no longer\ncalled him by his first name. As before, their work threw them\nfrequently together. Yetta, at first, was afraid of a fresh\noutbreak--and so was Isadore. He had lost faith in his self-control. But\nno outsider could have guessed the constraint which underlay their\ncomradely intercourse.\n\nIsadore was as much in love as Walter had been with Mabel, but he was of\na more masterful disposition. The Work, to which he and Yetta had\ndedicated their lives, was more important than personal pain. When the\nbusiness of the day required him to see her, he did not shirk it, but he\nno longer sought her out. If she did not love him, that ended it. He did\nnot want the hollow mockery of friendship.\n\nYetta's heart was full to overflowing with her romantic dream of Walter.\nIsadore, the real, the daily, had no chance. If some one had asked her\nabout him, she would have described him in glowing terms, with an\nenthusiastic tribute to his unusual loyalty and ability. Her respect for\nhim was deep. There was no man of her race nor near her own age whom she\nheld in such high esteem. But when it came to loving him,--unfortunately\nhe was real.\n\nHis proposal had seemed to her almost preposterous. Not that she felt\nherself too good for him. On the contrary her love for Walter had\nincreased her very real humility. It was the concreteness of his offer\nthat shocked her.\n\nShe rarely looked forward to Walter's return, and when she did, it was\nwith no definite visualizing thought of marriage. The concept of sex was\nvague to her--and decidedly fearsome. Not even Harry Klein, her first\nlover--and she always thought of him as an incident in a dim and very\nremote past--had really stirred her woman's nature. He had appealed to\nher as an instrument, a key by which to escape from her dungeon. The\nsentiments, which his meagre caresses had raised, had by the fright of\nthe adventure been driven back in dismay.\n\nSometimes, to be sure, a sort of sweet dizziness overcame her when she\nremembered how Walter had kissed her hand. The spot below the middle\nfinger of her left hand which his lips had touched was a holy place. But\nmore often she thought of his words. When in her dreams he seemed\nnearest, he was halfway across the room, in the big leather chair, while\nshe was curled up on the window-seat. She was not yet twenty-one. Her\ngirlhood had been sacrificed to the machine. Orderly, symmetrical\ndevelopment had been impossible. Now that she was a woman in body, in\nmind, in work, her imagination was still in the first flower of\nadolescence.\n\nOn the mantelpiece of his old room, where she lived, a snapshot of the\nwhite men of the Expedition leaned against the cow-faced god of the\nHaktites. Like Saul of old, Walter towered head and shoulders above his\nmates. Khaki and a pith helmet are not exactly silver armor--but to\nYetta he seemed the Shining Prince. And Isadore wanted her to live with\nhim in an East Side flat.\n\nIf falling in love with her had disturbed Isadore, his inability to put\nher out of his mind after her emphatic refusal troubled him a thousand\ntimes more. He got no ease from his pain except in work. The anxiety of\nhis friends increased. But, brushing aside their protests, he sought out\never new activities. He hated to be idle, he came to fear being alone in\nhis room. But not even the most strenuous endeavor to forget relieved\nhim.\n\nIn the beautifully illogical way life has, help came to Isadore from a\nsource he would never have dreamed of. He came home early one night to\nwrite an article for the _Forwaertz_. To his dismay he found that he had\nleft his notes in the office. The article would have to wait, and here\nhe was with nothing to do, alone in his room, where of all places he\nfound it hardest to escape from the aching hunger of his heart, the sad\nconfusion of his thoughts.\n\nIt was not much of a room--an iron cot, a big deal table, a few cheap\nchairs and bookcases. It was not even decently clean. In the five years\nhe had lived there he had been quite oblivious to its sordidness. But of\nlate it had become abhorrent to him. He was already half undressed. The\nbitter summer heat had driven the tenement dwellers out on the street.\nThe perspiring humanity which crowded the sidewalks offered no\ncomfortable escape.\n\nHe turned to his bookcases. But he needed something of more compelling\ninterest than the census and immigration reports to fill the time till\nsleep would come. Most of his little library were reference books, the\nrest he had read and reread. On the bottom shelf was a bundle he had\nnever unwrapped. They were books Walter had given him after one of their\ndiscussions over the meaning of Life. He had never read them, because he\nwas sure he would find no interest in the hodge-podge, haphazard kind of\nthinking which Walter seemed to enjoy. He pulled them out now--at least\nthey would offer the interest of novelty. The first book he opened was\nHenri Bergson's _L'Evolution Creatrice_. Walter, as was his custom, had\nannotated it copiously. On the fly-page he had written, \"A superb\ndiscussion of the limitations of Pure Reason.\" The phrase caught\nIsadore's eye as he listlessly read the note. Was not this \"limitation\"\nof reason the very thing that was troubling him?\n\nNo book that he had read in years seemed to vibrate so compellingly with\na sense of actuality. This was partly due no doubt to the master\ncraftsmanship of the author. But very likely it would have made no\nimpression on Isadore if he had read it when Walter had asked him to.\nThe jar and conflict of the last few months had opened up the\ncompartments of his brain to a long-lost receptivity. The facts of life\nhad shaken his intellectual structure until he was prepared to\nunderstand.\n\nThis suave and erudite Frenchman was calmly announcing that the Age of\nReason was a myth, rationalism a superstition. From every field of human\nknowledge Bergson was gathering his evidence, from the microscopic data\nof biology to the gigantic stellar facts beyond our vision, with\nmerciless logic he was proving that the instrument with which we reason\nis not divine. \"The God which has failed you,\" he said to Isadore, \"is a\nfalse god. The brain, with which you created it, is only a faulty animal\ninstrument, as liable to error as your eyes, for which you have been\ncompelled to buy rectifying glasses.\"\n\nWhile the message of Bergson is iconoclastic, a titanic warfare against\nthe formal gods, it is by no means destructive. It holds a more\nmagnificent, a more humanly satisfying optimism than metaphysics has\ndared, a promise of greater intimacy with the living truth than cold\nreason ever formulated. Above all it offered to Isadore to restore his\nself-respect.\n\nHe had to refill his lamp before he finished the book. And when he had\nreached the end, he could not sleep. A strange bodily unrest seized him.\nHe wanted to get away. When the heavens opened and a great light shone\nupon Saul of Tarsus, he felt at once the need of going out to some\ndistant desert place to rearrange his life in accordance with the new\nlight. Isadore also had need of an Arabia.\n\nSome time before he had received an invitation to visit a Socialist\nmagazine writer named Paulding at his lake-side camp in the Adirondacks.\nAlthough Isadore knew the invitation had been sincere, that he would be\nwelcome, he had refused it, because in his troubled frame of mind he had\nbeen frightened by the bare idea of idleness. He had been afraid to\nleave the rush of work. Now there was nothing he wanted more. So as dawn\nwas breaking over the city, he packed his bag, putting in with care the\nbooks Walter had given him, and telegraphing that he had changed his\nmind, set out.\n\nIt was the first real vacation he had ever taken. All the \"country\" he\nhad seen had been from car windows and the crumpled patches one\nencounters on labor-union picnics. The camp was the barest of\nlog-cabins. Mrs. Paulding was also a writer, and all the mornings his\nhosts were busy over their typewriters. So Isadore was much by himself.\nIt was an entirely new experience for him to chop firewood. It took a\nweek or more before he lost his diffidence before the pine trees. It was\neven longer before he became sufficiently familiar with the canoe to\nenjoy being out of sight of the landing. Paulding was an enthusiastic\nnature lover, and the struggles and adventures of the myriad animals of\nthe forest and the lake which he pointed out were like enchanting fairy\nstories. Isadore had read such things in books, but it was endlessly\nstrange for him to watch them in process. And all this strangeness\nhelped him to the rest which, in spite of his denials, he desperately\nneeded.\n\nGradually, as the weeks slipped by, he fought his way to a new outlook\non life. Bergson and the pragmatists had shaken him out of his\nintellectual rut. His dogmatism had resulted from his manner of life. He\nhad begun to think about social problems before he had come into\nintimate contact with social facts. His development had been the\nopposite of Yetta's. She had begun with facts and had judged all\ntheories by them. He, having accepted a philosophy while still in the\ncloistered life of college, had been too busy preaching it to have much\ntime to observe the complex reality of life. Bergson and his love for\nYetta had jolted him out of this attitude. He was man enough to see his\nerror and correct it.\n\nWhen he returned to the city in the fall, his comrades noticed the\nchange in him. His former domineering conviction that he was right had\ngiven place to a gentler, more tolerant, and smiling self-confidence. He\nwas no longer a doctrinaire. He was less cocksure, but more certain. His\nnative sympathy with suffering humanity, which had been the real motive\nof his Socialism and which for years he had suppressed as sentimental,\ncame to life again. It was in his public speaking that the new man\nshowed clearest. He no longer made his appeal solely to reason; there\nwas more red blood in his discourse, more pulsing life in his words. He\nhad come to see that his hearers must feel as well as think. His\nSocialism had lost some of its sharp definitions, some of its logical\nsimplicity, but it had come to bear a closer similitude to life.\n\nOne day, shortly after his return, while walking, down the Bowery with a\nfriend, he stopped and gave a nickel to an alcoholic-looking tramp. His\nfriend expostulated. Such erratic almsgiving was worse than useless. It\nencouraged vagrancy; it was unscientific, unreasonable. Suddenly Isadore\nrealized the change which had come over him. He grinned defiantly. \"The\npoor devil,\" he explained, \"looked as if he wanted a drink.\" His friend\nwas scandalized. But if Walter had heard of the incident, he would have\nrejoiced as the Angels in Heaven rejoice when a lost lamb finds the\nfold.\n\nThe change in Isadore had been more concrete than the acceptation of a\nnew outlook on life. Up in the mountains he had questioned not only his\nmetaphysics, but his habits. He had pondered over the practical tactics\nof Socialism as well as its philosophy. The loosening of his fundamental\nconcepts had solidified his attitude towards practical problems. The\nrather diffuse propaganda work he had been doing no longer satisfied\nhim. He wanted to concentrate on one tangible thing. And it seemed to\nhim that what the movement needed more than anything else was a daily\nEnglish paper. Back in New York, with a new and unconquerable\nenthusiasm, he set himself to this task.\n\nBut if his new point of view had healed his intellectual humiliation, it\nin no wise softened the torture of Yetta's indifference. Day after day,\nmonth after month, he lived with the ache of his love. But he came to\nlaugh more readily, became less of a machine and more of a man.\n\nIt was several months after Yetta's refusal before he reopened the\nsubject. He did it by a letter--so worded that it required no reply. He\nwould not bother her, he wrote, with repeated urgings. He could not see\nthe use of pleading. They were grown up, too serious-minded to act such\na comedy. But he wanted her to know that he was steadfast. If in the\nfuture her regard for him grew into the love he hungered for, he trusted\nthat she would tell him. And so the matter rested.\n\nOther suitors sprang up a-plenty, and their noisy importunity made Yetta\nvery thankful to Isadore for his dignified reserve.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\n_THE STAR_\n\n\nThe second summer after Walter had left, a desperate and successful\nstrike of the cloak-makers brought Yetta's name once more into the\npapers. Mrs. Karner used the opportunity to open a new line of work to\nYetta.\n\nMr. Karner owned _The Star_--the \"yellowest\" paper in the city. It was\nnot only vulgar to the edge of obscenity, it was notoriously corrupt in\npolitics. Being a one-cent paper, it of course posed as a \"friend of the\nworking-man,\" but it stood--unless the other side had collected an\nunusually large campaign fund--for Tammany Hall and the traction\ninterests.\n\nOne morning at breakfast--while the cloak-makers' strike was a \"live\"\nnews item--Mr. Karner spoke enviously of a woman who gave sentimental\nadvice to love-lorn damsels on the magazine page of his keenest rival.\n\n\"I wish I could find some counter attraction,\" he said. \"Our circulation\namong working girls is pitiful.\"\n\n\"Why don't you try Yetta Rayefsky?\" Mrs. Karner suggested. \"All the East\nSide girls know her. Do you happen to be advocating trade-unions this\nmonth?\"\n\n\"Mildly--as usual.\"\n\n\"Yetta is keen on that. You remember her. She was out at Cos-Cob last\nsummer. Rather caught your eye, I think.\"\n\n\"That little Jewess? She was good-looking. Has she any other\nqualifications as a journalist?\"\n\nMrs. Karner shrugged her shoulders.\n\n\"I thought you prided yourself on developing raw material.\"\n\nTwo days later Yetta was summoned to Mr. Karner's office. She went to\nthe appointment, wondering what the great newspaper man could want of\nher--hoping that she might interest him in her girls.\n\n\"Glad to see you,\" Mr. Karner said cordially as she was ushered into his\nbeautifully furnished sanctum. \"This cloak-makers' strike is a big\nstory. But we're not making the most of it. There's more in it than news\ncopy.\n\n\"There ought to be something for our magazine page. I don't know whether\nyou've ever read it, but it's the page that gets the women. They're not\ninterested in arguments--not much in facts. It's the human interest\nstory--something to make them cry--that gets over with them. About their\nown people. If they say 'That's just like Sadie or Flossie,' it's the\nright thing for us. We're always looking for that kind of copy.\n\n\"There must be some stories in this strike. Couldn't you give us two or\nthree?\"\n\nYetta was surprised at the offer and decidedly uncertain.\n\n\"It won't do any harm to try,\" he urged her.\n\nHe pressed a button, and when a rotund, merry-looking man appeared, he\nintroduced him.\n\n\"Mr. Brace, this is Miss Rayefsky. She has just promised to send us\nsome copy about the cloak-makers' strike for your magazine page.\"\n\nThey discussed it for a few minutes, and when Yetta had gone, Karner\nkept Brace a moment.\n\n\"My wife,\" he said, \"thinks we could train this Rayefsky girl to write.\nIf we could get some one to put a crimp in Lilian Leberwurtz' 'Balm for\nBusted Bussums,' it would help a lot. Look over her copy when it comes\nin. Buy enough anyhow to pay her for her trouble. And if it shows any\npromise, see what you can make of her. And keep me informed.\"\n\nYetta floated out of _The Star_ office on clouds. In a sudden flame of\nenthusiasm she pictured herself as a great author. But as she went home\na horrible doubt struck her--she might fail. The doubt increased as she\nlaid out a sheet of paper.\n\nAfter much hesitation and several false starts, she decided to stick as\nclosely as might be to reality. She wrote the story of one of her girls\nwho, although she worked on the highest-priced opera-cloaks, was so poor\nthat she had never worn any wrap but a frayed old shawl.\n\nIt was natural for Yetta to be simple and direct. The copious notes she\nhad written in connection with her study had taught her some familiarity\nwith her pen. Above all, her public speaking had helped her. It had\ntaught her to think ahead and plan her climax in advance. The women who\nwould read the magazine page were--or had been--shop-girls, such as the\naudiences she spoke to night after night. And Mr. Brace had told her to\nwrite just as she talked.\n\nAt last she mailed three sketches. Within twenty-four hours she received\na letter from Mr. Brace asking her to come and talk them over. She had\na difficult time looking unconcerned as she entered _The Star_ office.\nHer stories had seemed rather good when she had finished them, but they\nhad so sunk in her estimation by this time that she wished she had not\nwritten them. This sinking process was most rapid during the few minutes\nshe was kept waiting on a bench in the big reporters' room outside the\nglass door of Mr. Brace's private office.\n\nThere were long tables on two sides of the room; they were divided off\ninto sections by little railings. Most of the places were filled by\nreporters writing feverishly on yellow copy paper or banging away at\ntypewriters. Boys and men rushed about, carrying copy or proof in and\nout of the various glass doors about the room. Almost every one looked\ncuriously at Yetta and the others on the waiting bench. There were three\npeople ahead of her: a woman who looked like an actress, a white-haired\nold man, with a beard almost to his belt. He held a heavy manuscript on\nhis knees with great care, evidently afraid some one would steal it.\nNext to her was a perspiring young curate in a clerical collar.\n\nPresently Mr. Brace ushered a disappointed poet out of his office and\ncalled \"Miss Rayefsky.\" \"By appointment,\" he added, as those who were\nahead of her moved restlessly in protest.\n\nHe pulled up a chair for her beside his desk, and picking up his blue\npencil, began a little lecture on the advertising rate of the magazine\npage. It was ten cents a word. His blue pencil scratched out a sentence\nfrom one of her stories. It would certainly not do any one a dollar and\na half's worth of good. It began to look to Yetta as if there would be\nnothing left except blue pencil marks. But he glowed with pleasure\nduring the process. When he had come to the end, he announced with pride\nthat he had killed at least twenty-five dollars' worth of padding. She\nwished he would let her go quickly. She was afraid she might cry if he\njeered at her any more.\n\n\"I hope we can arrange for some more of this soon,\" he said abruptly,\nhanding her a check.\n\nIt was for seventy-five dollars! She had never had so much money at one\ntime before in her life. And she had earned it in four days!\n\nBut this was a small matter beside seeing her story in print that\nafternoon. Here was a tangible sign of her progress to send Walter. She\nwas just reaching the end of his outline of study, and she was already\nwriting for the papers! Her pride was somewhat tempered as she reread\nher story and realized how much it had been improved by Mr. Brace's\nvigorous slashing.\n\nHer new sense of importance became almost oppressive when, a few days\nlater, they offered her a contract at what seemed to her a magnificent\nsalary--to conduct a column on Working-girls' Worries.\n\nMabel also was enthusiastic about it. It was a great and unexpected\nchance to give publicity to their work of organizing women. _The Star_\nhad more than a million readers. Yetta could never have hoped to reach\nso large an audience with her voice.\n\nBut when Isadore saw the flaring posters which blossomed out on the East\nSide, announcing that Yetta Rayefsky was writing daily and exclusively\nfor _The Evening Star_, he was mightily disturbed. Such conscienceless\njournalism as Mr. Karner's seemed to him the worst crime of our\ncivilization. He could hardly believe that Yetta had thrown in her lot\nwith it. It shook him out of his reserve, and he rushed over to her\nroom.\n\nIn her new pride, in the excitement of her new career, Yetta seemed more\ndisturbingly beautiful to him than ever. Face to face with her he forgot\nall his carefully thought-out arguments.\n\n\"Oh, Yetta,\" he blurted out, \"is it really true that you're going to\nwork on that dirty paper?\"\n\n\"They have offered to let me conduct a column for working girls, and\nI've accepted,\" she replied defiantly.\n\n\"You know it's a dirty paper,\" he stuck to his point. \"Dirty in every\nway,--in its news, in its advertisements. Most of all in its rotten\npolitics. These yellow journals are the worst enemy Socialism has to\nface. They mislead the people. They're paid to. All the editors are\ncrooked--sold out. But Karner's the worst.\"\n\n\"I haven't anything to do with their news nor their advertising, nor\nwith Mr. Karner's politics--I've been talking to working girls as hard\nas I know how for the last two years. Suddenly I get a chance to speak\nlouder, so that thousands will hear. I might just as well refuse to\nspeak in some of the East Side halls, because on other nights they are\nused for rotten dances.\"\n\n\"Oh, Yetta,\" he broke in, \"you don't know what you are doing. I know it\nisn't the salary that makes you do it. But that's sure to be big. And\nKarner's not a philanthropist; he's not giving you money for nothing.\nHe's buying something. You've got to give him his money's worth. He's\nbuying your name. He's after circulation. He's using your name--have you\nseen the posters? He's using your popularity, Yetta, to sell his dirty\npaper to our people. He's paying you to persuade our working girls to\nread the filthiest paper in New York. Yetta, you don't realize what it\nmeans. It's a sort of betrayal--\"\n\n\"Are you through?\" she interrupted angrily.\n\n\"No, I'm not. I've got to say it all. Not because it's you and me,\nYetta, but Comrade to Comrade, because we're both Socialists. They won't\nlet you say what you want to. No capitalist paper could, least of all\nthis rotten one. If the class struggle means anything at all, it means\nthat they are our enemies. They won't pay you to fight against them.\nThey'll tie you up with some sort of a contract and gag you. They are\nbribing you, fooling you with the promise of a big audience. But they\nwon't--can't--let you say what you believe.\"\n\n\"Mr. Braun,\" she said, trying hard to keep her temper, but at the same\ntime to annihilate him, \"I've talked this over with a number of friends.\nThey all urged me to accept. So you see there is room for difference of\nopinion. You are the only one who has opposed it. Much as I respect your\nopinion in most matters, in this case I must--\"\n\n\"No. You must not!\" he stormed, jumping up and losing control of himself\nmore than ever before. \"I say you must not.\"\n\n\"What right have you--\"\n\n\"Right? Who's got a better right? You know I love you. I'd rather a\nthousand times see myself disgraced than you, Yetta. What do Mabel Train\nand the other women care? They see a chance to advertise their pet\nscheme. What do they care about your reputation, your self-respect? They\nthink it will be good for their little Trade Union League. But I see\nyou, Yetta--selling yourself to a bunch of crooks--not being able to do\nthe good you want to--and always with the shame of it on you! Oh, it's\ntoo terrible.\"\n\nHe sank down in the chair, his head in his hands. Yetta's hard words\nmelted as she saw how he was suffering.\n\n\"I'm sorry we can't agree on this, Comrade,\" she said. \"We do on most\nthings. Of course I may be making a mistake. But I've got to do what\nseems right to me--haven't I?\"\n\n\"Yetta,\" he said, looking up at her suddenly, \"are you in love with\nWalter Longman?\"\n\nShe stiffened up at the question, but Isadore cut short her indignation.\n\n\"Oh, I know, Yetta. Just loving you doesn't give me a right to ask that\nquestion. But sometimes I've thought you loved Walter. He's my best\nfriend. He wouldn't want you to go into this.\"\n\nHe looked at her tensely. It was a minute before she took up his\nchallenge.\n\n\"I care a great deal for Walter's good opinion,\" her voice was low, but\neven. \"I am quite sure he would be glad I had this chance. But even if\nhe thought it was unwise for me to accept it, he would not try to\nbrowbeat me.\"\n\nIsadore had shot his last bolt, it had rebounded on his own head. He\nfumbled for his hat.\n\n\"Good night, Yetta,\" he said.\n\n\"Good night, Mr. Braun.\"\n\nThe first month, Mr. Brace went over Yetta's contributions in detail,\ncramming into her all the advice he could think of. About the time his\nstock of journalistic epigrams ran out, the reports from the circulation\nmanager were so favorable, that he decided he could give his attention\nto other things. Mr. Brace, like all good newspaper men, was a mystic in\nsuch matters. God only knows what the public will like. It was his\nbusiness to scatter seeds. If they took root and grew into\n\"circulation,\" he had sense enough to leave them alone. And Yetta's\ncolumn had \"caught on.\"\n\nAt the end of three months the contract was renewed with a substantial\nincrease in salary. The posters which advertised her work became more\nflamboyant. The size of her mail grew daily. The letters dealt with all\nthe worries working girls are heirs to. Some of them were frivolous,\nmost were commonplace. But once in a while among the misspelt, poorly\nwritten scrawls, there would be a throbbing story of life. Such letters\ntore at Yetta's heart--giving her new determinations, new enthusiasm for\nher work. As their number increased Yetta knew that her audience, her\ninfluence, was growing. The Fates were smiling at her. She was earning\nmore money than she had ever hoped. Better still, she had as much time\nas before for the League work. She was rarely kept in the office after\nnoon. It did not occur to her that she might have demanded an increase\nin salary on the ground of the free advertising she was giving _The\nStar_ by her frequent speeches.\n\nShe was disappointed, however, not to be able to establish more cordial\nrelations with her fellow-workers. These newspaper people, men and\nwomen, worked under as great a strain as any sweat-shop girls, but they\nseemed more foreign to her--to her class--than the rich uptown women she\nhad met through the League. They had many good qualities which she\nappreciated--their _esprit de corps_, their hearty, open manners, the\ncamaraderie with which they lent each other money. But they were shot\nthrough with a cynicism which shocked her. The whole situation was\ntypified in the case of Maud Ripley, a special story writer, who tried\nto \"take her up.\"\n\nShe was a tired-eyed, meagre woman of near forty. She was brilliant.\nEvery one in the office referred to her for facts and figures instead of\ngoing to the encyclopaedia. Some of the things she wrote appealed\nstrongly to Yetta, others were utterly futile. Besides her signed\narticles, mostly interviews with prominent foreigners,--she was fluent\nin half a dozen modern languages,--she composed \"The Meditations of a\nMarriageable Maid.\" She was rather proud of this cheap wit.\n\nShe seemed to like Yetta, but always introduced her as \"_The Star's_ new\nsob-squeezer.\" Apparently she saw nothing in the new recruit but a\nsuccessful pathos writer--a rising star in the profitable business of\nstarting tears.\n\nThis attitude, which Yetta encountered on all sides, hurt her. She read\nsome of \"Lilian Leberwurtz'\" writings. She had discovered that the real\nname of this woman with whom she was expected to compete was Mrs.\nTreadway. It was hopeless slush; it sickened her. She tried vainly to\npicture the type of woman who could write such drivel seriously.\n\n\"Dine with me Sunday,\" Miss Ripley asked her one day. She always talked\nin the close-packed style of a foreign correspondent who telegraphs at a\ndollar a word. \"My flat. People you ought to know.\"\n\nYetta was essentially inclusive, she did not like to turn her back on\nany proffered friendship. So at one the next Sunday she rang the bell of\nthe uptown flat where Maud lived alone. There was one woman and three\nmen in the parlor.\n\n\"Who are they,\" Yetta whispered as she was brushing her hair in Maud's\nbedroom.\n\n\"Matthews writes 'best sellers'--doesn't expect his friends to read\nthem. Conklin has money--afford to write high-brow books that don't\nsell. Have to read between the lines. I'm too busy. Potter's a decadent\npoet. A bore, but all the rage. Mrs. Treadway--Lilian\nLeberwurtz--motherly old soul. Never know to look at her that she's the\nbest-paid woman in the game--come on.\"\n\nOf course Yetta was most interested in Mrs. Treadway. She would hardly\nhave called her motherly, although she sometimes referred to her son in\nHarvard and frequently used the phrase--\"when you get to be my age.\"\n\nShe was a large-bosomed, gaudy person with an almost expressionless\nface. Her gown looked cheap in spite of its evident expensiveness, and\nher jewellery was massive. But it was not her appearance nor her\nponderous condescension which troubled Yetta. Mrs. Treadway in her first\nhalf-dozen words showed herself to be utterly sophisticated. She did not\ntry to hide the insincerity of her work--she seemed to glory in it. Her\nfirst concern was to make it apparent that she was not such a fool as\none would judge from her sentimental advice.\n\nMatthews exuded prosperity from his lavender socks up to his insistent\ntie--but the brilliancy did not seem to go higher. Conklin was\napologetic in comparison. His face was spare, and when he was amused,\ndeep curved wrinkles formed on either side of his mouth like brackets.\nThe parenthetical effect of his smile was heightened by the fact that\nthe rest of his face remained sombre. The poet looked his part.\n\nWhen Yetta arrived, they were all looking at the latest number of _La\nvie parisienne_. Mrs. Treadway was shaking--like a gelatine\npudding--over the predicament in which one of Fabriano's naked women was\nportrayed. Potter began a ponderous argument on the humor of Audrey\nBeardsley's lines and the wit of Matisse's color. He pronounced Fabriano\n\"too obvious.\" He was happily interrupted by the announcement of dinner.\n\nThe conversation rambled on through the meal. No one stuck to a subject\nafter their epigrams had run out. Nobody was deeply interested in\nanything. Much of it dealt with things about which Yetta was proud of\nher ignorance.\n\nThe dinner was almost a disaster to her. \"Of course,\" she told herself\nas she walked home, \"this group is not typical. There are people, there\nmust be people, who take their writing seriously.\" But the attitude of\nMaud Ripley and her friends had shocked Yetta deeply. The worst of it\nwas that they respected her in a way--because she was \"making good.\" But\nthe fact that she was in earnest did not interest them. She would not\nhave dropped the least in their esteem if she had been utterly\ninsincere. She felt as if she had been insulted.\n\nThe next day a new incident increased Yetta's feeling of foreignness in\nthe office. She was waiting in the reporters' room for a chance to see\nBrace. Cowan, the gray-haired sporting editor, was telling whimsical\nstories of the \"old days\" when he had been a cub. Although older in\nyears than the others, he was the youngest-hearted of them all. Yetta\nfelt more drawn to him than to any one else on _The Star_.\n\nSuddenly a curly-haired Irishman, O'Rourke, burst in. He always entered\na room with a deafening bang.\n\n\"Gee,\" he said--\"some story this morning. A greenhorn bank-examiner, who\ndidn't know his A B C, dropped into Ex-Governor Billings' bank yesterday\nand found a pretty mess. The old boy never had a bank-examiner come in\nunexpectedly like that before in his long and useful life. It nearly\ngave him apoplexy. And he just putting up his name for the Senate. But\nthis blundering bank-examiner was not such a fool after all. The story\ngoes that Billings had to come across with an awful wad to hush him up.\"\n\n\"Why? Did the examiner find something wrong?\" Yetta asked.\n\n\"Yes, my child,\" O'Rourke said with playful pity. \"He was that foolish.\"\n\n\"What did he find?\" Yetta persisted.\n\n\"Unsecured loans. Billings had been lending himself the depositors'\nmoney, using his calling card as collateral.\"\n\n\"What'll happen to Billings?\"\n\n\"It's a shame for you to go around town without a nurse,\" O'Rourke\nteased her. \"It was decided a long time ago that Billings was to be the\nnext United States Senator from the glorious State of New York. A little\naccident like this can't be allowed to interfere.\"\n\n\"It's a rotten shame,\" Cowan said. He was old enough not to have to try\nto appear blase. \"They're going too strong--putting over a crook like\nthat on the people. Everybody with any memory knows his record. In the\ngood old days when yellow journalism was just beginning, before we got\nso respectable we couldn't print the truth, we showed Billings up--how\nhe came through for the railroads on that Death Avenue grade crossing.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's ancient history. It's only six months ago--\" another\nreporter began. One after another they added details to the\nEx-Governor's record of infamy. But that afternoon's paper contained a\neulogistic article on his patriotic achievement. An editorial which\nYetta knew O'Rourke had written praised him to the skies, and said the\npeople of the State were to be congratulated that so worthy a man had\nconsented to accept the nomination. Yetta could not understand the\npsychology of these men who, having in hand the evidence to defeat an\nunworthy candidate for public office, did not use it. This was worse\nthan cynicism--it was shameful.\n\nAs she was leaving the office a few days later, Cowan rode down in the\nelevator with her.\n\n\"If you don't mind, Miss Rayefsky,\" he said, when they had dodged the\ncars and had safely reached City Hall Park, \"I'd like to give you a\nlittle advice. Perhaps I'm butting in where I'm not wanted. But you see,\nmy youngest daughter is older than you are. And I guess breaking into a\nnew job and a new crowd isn't the easiest thing in the world for a\ngirl. I won't mind if you do snub me.\"\n\n\"Let's sit down a minute,\" Yetta said. \"I'd like to talk to you. I\ncertainly do feel lost.\"\n\n\"Well--\" He was evidently embarrassed. He seemed to give up hope of\nbeing tactful and dove into his subject. \"I overheard one of the men say\nthat you'd been to a dinner at Maud Ripley's. She's a clever woman. But\nI'd not like to see one of my daughters tie up with her.\"\n\n\"I didn't enjoy myself,\" Yetta said. \"I'm not going again.\"\n\n\"Good. That's all I had to say. She probably wouldn't do you any\nharm--certainly wouldn't try to. But newspaper men don't think much of\nher--except her brain. Excuse me for butting in.\"\n\nHe started to get up, but Yetta detained him. She was very deeply\ntouched by his kindly interest in her.\n\n\"There are a lot of things I would like to ask you, if you've the time.\"\n\nShe began on the affair of the Ex-Governor. Why did not Cowan and\nO'Rourke and the others use their knowledge against him? The answer to\nthat was simple. They would lose their jobs. Karner and Billings were\nfriends. But this did not satisfy Yetta. They argued it out for half an\nhour. Nobody saw the defects and limitations of journalism more clearly\nthan Cowan, and yet he was utterly loyal.\n\n\"If my son doesn't turn out a newspaper man, I'll disown him,\" he said\nemphatically. \"Now don't you go and get sore on newspaper work because\nit isn't all honest. It's one whole lot better than when I began. The\nPress is the hope of Democracy, and it is also its measure. Of course\nKarner's ethics are a bit queer. But no crookeder than the people will\nstand for. He'd be honest if it paid.\n\n\"The people can have just as good and clean a paper as they really want.\nThey get better and more democratic ones to-day than they did twenty\nyears ago, and when they want one that is really straight, they'll get\nthat.\n\n\"Of course it's bad if you want to look at it that way. It's a\ncompromise game. But there isn't any class of people in the country who\nare doing more for progress than this bunch of cynical newspaper men.\nThey are the real patriots. Every new recruit pushes the flag a little\nfarther forward. But you've got to make up your mind to compromise.\"\n\n\"I haven't had to do it yet,\" Yetta said.\n\n\"Perhaps not yet. But sooner or later you will have to, if you're going\nto play the newspaper game.\"\n\n\"That's the trouble with you people,\" Yetta exclaimed, as if she\nsuddenly saw a light, \"you call it a game. I'm not playing with life.\nI've got to consider myself and my work serious. I won't compromise. If\nit's the rule of the game--why, I'll quit playing it.\"\n\nThe surprising thing was that she was not asked to compromise. Mr. Brace\nseemed to take very little interest in what she wrote. When he spoke to\nher about it, it was to make some technical suggestion about the use of\n\"caps\" or \"italics.\" No party Socialist could have accused her\ncontributions of lack of orthodoxy. She was giving her readers the\nstraight gospel. Day after day Isadore read them and wondered.\n\nMrs. Karner also wondered. Coming home late one night, she encountered\nher husband in the hallway; he had just shown out some friends who had\nbeen playing poker. She swept by him with a curt \"Good night.\" He was a\nlittle drunk. But she stopped halfway up the stairs.\n\n\"I say, Bert. Explain to me the mystery of Yetta Rayefsky. Her column\nthis afternoon is straight Socialism. What does it mean? Has a ray of\nlight penetrated into the subterranean gloom of your office? Has the\neditorial staff fallen in love with her?\"\n\nKarner had been winning and was in good spirits.\n\n\"That's so. I've forgotten to thank you for suggesting her. She's a gold\nmine.\"\n\n\"Yes. But how can _The Star_ stand the tone of decency she gives it?\"\n\n\"Don't worry,\" he winked profoundly. \"There'll be money enough for your\ntrip to Europe. A column and a half won't hurt us.\"\n\n\"But why do you let her do it? What's the answer?\"\n\n\"As simple as A B C. I'm surprised you don't see it yourself. The little\nlady's bugs on sweat-shops. And sweat-shops don't advertise. See? As\nlong as she sticks to the East Side, she can damn any one she likes to.\nAnd as for Socialism--the girls don't vote.\"\n\n\"It was stupid of me not to understand,\" Mrs. Karner said as she went on\nup to her room. \"Goodnight--Cynic.\"\n\nShe never realized how much her jibes stung her husband.\n\n\"Damn the women,\" he muttered. \"She married me for my money and don't\nlike the way I earn it.\"\n\nMr. Karner had loved his wife more than anything--except the pleasure of\ncutting a figure in the world. His paper made him a power in the\ncommunity. Presidential candidates bid for his support. No one had dared\nto blackball him when he had recently put up his name at a club which\nwas supposed to be composed of gentlemen. But his wife neither respected\nnor feared him. He stood gloomily in the hallway--the fumes of champagne\nmaking things oscillate gently--wondering whether he dared to go to her\nroom. He decided he was afraid, and, calling for his hat and coat, went\nout.\n\nBut to the other people who were asking the same question which Mrs.\nKarner had put to her husband, no answer was given. Isadora's daily\namazement at Yetta's outspoken Socialism gradually grew into a\nconviction that he had been wrong. He wrote her a loyal letter of\napology, and Yetta in a condescending reply forgave him.\n\nBut trouble came as Christmas was approaching. Some ladies from the\nWoman's Consumers' League called on Yetta, and, after praising her work\nfor factory women, tried to enlist her aid in the cause of the\ndepartment-store girls, who are so shamefully overworked in the season\nof holiday shopping. They wanted her to speak at a mass meeting. It was\nnot hard to interest Yetta in such a cause.\n\n\"Give me some of the facts,\" she said, after she had promised to speak,\n\"and I'll run some stories about it in _The Star_.\"\n\nBut her first department-store article did not come out. It had been\n\"killed\" in favor of a receipt for preserving the gloss on finger-nails.\nA copy-reader, being wise in newspaper business and anxious to gain\nfavor, had run to the advertising manager with the proof. The\nadvertising manager had rushed angrily to Mr. Brace. Brace had gone to\nMr. Karner. Mr. Karner had thrown it into the wastepaper basket and\nsuggested the finger-nail story.\n\nWhen Yetta called up Mr. Brace about it, she found him inclined to treat\nthe matter as a joke. \"After all,\" he laughed, \"you know there are\nlimits. You can't take a man's money for advertisement on one page and\nspit in his eye on another. There is plenty of work for your scalping\nknife among people who don't advertise.\"\n\nYetta began to understand. It was her first introduction to serious\ntemptation. In six months newspaper work had got into her blood. Besides\nthe pleasant thrill of it, there was the usefulness. There were hundreds\nof girls who depended on her largely. It was hard to give up such an\naudience. And it was pleasant work--well-paid. It was a wonderful thing\nfor a sweat-shop girl to have climbed so high. Should she go on \"playing\nthe game\"? For a while she tried to shift the responsibility to other\nshoulders. What would people think? She knew what Mabel and Isadore\nwould think. Mabel would tell her to compromise. Isadore the opposite.\nWhat would Walter think? And then it suddenly came to her clearly that\nit didn't matter at all what anybody else thought. She had to decide it\nby herself. Whatever happened, she would always have to live with\nherself. Self-respect was more important than the regard of even the\nclosest friend. They were asking her to do just what she had\nemphatically told Cowan she would never do. She put on her hat and went\nto Mr. Karner's office.\n\n\"This matter does not concern me,\" he said. \"I employ Mr. Brace to edit\nthe magazine page, and I trust his ability and judgment. If he\nconsidered it unwise to run your article, that ends it.\"\n\n\"Mr. Karner, if _The Star_ is afraid to touch department stores, I'll\nresign.\"\n\nHe spun round in his chair.\n\n\"Afraid? That's strong language.\"\n\n\"It's very easy to prove it unjustified,\" she said quickly.\n\nHe looked at her sternly for a few minutes, taking her measure. It was\nhis ability at this process which had enabled him to build up his paper\nfrom a third-rater to its present position.\n\n\"Miss Rayefsky, you want a flat answer. We're in business to make money.\nWe won't attack our heaviest advertisers.\"\n\nYetta got up.\n\n\"Don't be in a hurry. Nobody gets a chance to resign from my staff\ntwice. Think this over for a couple of days. We've been satisfied with\nyour work; I hoped you were. I hoped that you thought what you were\ndoing was worth while. You can go on doing it indefinitely as far as I\ncan see. You're about to throw up this work because you can't do the\nimpossible. It isn't just _The Star_. It's a limitation of journalism.\nNo editor in the city could print that story.\"\n\n\"Within twenty-four hours I'll mail it to you in print,\" Yetta said,\nmoving towards the door.\n\n\"So!\" he growled. \"That's it, is it? Somebody else has offered you a\nbetter contract. You forget, of course, that we taught you how to\nwrite--that we advertised you--made you. You forget all that as soon as\nsomebody else offers you--\"\n\nBut Yetta had slammed the door in his face.\n\nBack in her room, she called up Isadore and told him the story.\n\n\"I'm mailing you the article to print in _The Clarion_.\"\n\nSo she made the honorable amend.\n\n\"I was half wrong, anyhow,\" he tried to comfort her. \"I never would have\nbelieved they'd let you free as long as they did. And besides--you've\nlearned to write. I hope you'll give us some more.\"\n\nWhat hurt Yetta most was that a cable had come from Teheran saying that\nWalter had started homeward. He would hear of the mess she had made.\n\nMr. Karner, when he received the Socialist paper, with Yetta's article\nin it, vented some of his profane rage on his wife. The quarrel which\nresulted brought Mrs. Karner to life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nWALTER'S RETURN\n\n\nWhen the Archaeological Expedition reached Constantinople, the married\nmen were met by their wives.\n\nTo the suburbanite who comes home after each day's work, the dinner is\nlikely to seem as important as his spouse. The waiting wife has a deeper\nsignificance for the sailor and explorer. For three years these men had\nseen no white women, except in a Scotch Mission compound, four days'\nride from their camp.\n\nThe Marquise d'Hauteville was much younger than her husband. She was a\ndaintily gowned Parisienne of the _Quartier St. Germain_. She was on the\ndock with her two boys, seven and four. The sight of her explained to\nWalter the nervous impatience which had kept the Chief pacing the deck\nrestlessly ever since they had left Batoum.\n\nDr. Bertholet, the querulous specialist in measuring skulls, suddenly\nbegan to smile when he caught sight of Madame--a fat _bourgeoise_ in\nblack silk, who looked like _la patronne_ of a cafe. Beckmeyer, the\nGerman authority on the ancient religions of Persia, waved his\nhandkerchief wildly to a flaxen-haired Gretchen. They had lost a son\nwhile he was away, and when the gang plank was down, they rushed into\neach other's arms and sobbed like children.\n\nThe unmarried men stood on one foot and then on the other until the\nfirst transports had quieted and were then presented to the ladies. The\nMarquis gave them a rendezvous in Paris for the next week. It was\nunderstood that the married men were to have a few days with their\nfamilies before the expedition should formally report its return.\n\nDelanoue, Vibert, and Walter rushed their baggage through the customs\nand had just time to catch the Orient Express. All three of them were in\na hurry to reach Paris. The two Frenchmen were like bathers on a\nspring-board about to dive into the sea. They let their imaginations run\nriot, trying to devise a suitable orgy to recompense them for their\nthree years of deprivation. Delanoue wished them both to be his guests.\nHe proposed to lead them to his favorite restaurant and order everything\non the bill of fare. Afterwards they would invade Montmartre. Unless\nParis had seriously deteriorated, he felt sure he could make them\nrealize how sad and colorless were the wildest dreams of the Arabian\nNights.\n\nVibert gleefully accepted the invitation. But Walter quietly refused. He\nalso was in a hurry to reach Paris--he hoped to find a letter from\nMabel. When the train reached the _Gare de l'Est_, in spite of their\njibes at his Puritanism, he left them.\n\nAt the Consulate he found three packages of mail. He hurried to a hotel\nand opened them eagerly. There was only one letter from Mabel, hardly\nmore than a note. Yetta, she wrote, had told her that he had started\nhomeward. She hoped the Expedition had been successful. She would be\nglad to see him again. She was, as usual, very busy, but both she and\nEleanor were well.\n\nWhat a fool he had been made by hope! He had not been able to accept her\ndefinite refusals--he remembered them all now. These three years he had\nshut his eyes to reality and had lived in a baseless hope. A man needs\nsomething more than routine work to keep him going. In all the idle\nmoments scattered through his busy, exciting life--the minutes before he\nfell asleep, the times some jackal's cry had waked him in the night, all\nthe intervals of waiting--he had thought of Mabel. And always he had\nasked himself if their long intimacy was to lead to nothingness. It\nseemed impossible. Surely she would feel his absence, miss him from her\nlife and want him back. His friendship must have meant something to her.\nShe was proud and hard to change. But time would work the miracle. She\nwould call to him. It seemed to be written in the stars, in the glory of\nthe desert dawns, in the haunting afterglows of the sunset.\n\nThe last months this dream had been more concrete than any reality. When\nhe reached Paris after his long exile, he would find her summons.\nPerhaps she would come there to meet him. There was only this cold and\nformal note.\n\nIn his barren hotel room he sounded the very depths of loneliness. Of\nall his recent comrades he alone was unwelcomed. He thought of the\ndainty Marquise d'Hauteville and her children. They had stopped off at\nSemmering in the Austrian Alps. He did not know where the Bertholets\nwere celebrating their reunion. Beckmeyer and his Gretchen had gone up\nto their village home on the edge of the Black Forest. And somewhere on\nthe side of _La Butte joyeuse_, Delanoue and Vibert were finding\ncompanionship and a hearty welcome. Here he was in his dismal hotel\nroom, alone with the Dead Hope he could not forget, a misfit, a\nmistake--_une vie manquee_.\n\nThe winter night fell over Paris, but he was too gloomy to notice the\ndarkness. It was the cold which at last stung into his consciousness. He\nwent to bed like a man who had been drugged.\n\nThe next morning he was awakened by a batch of reporters. Somehow the\nnews that the Expedition had returned had leaked out. The reporters had\nheard some vague rumors of \"the siege\" when for two weeks the fanatics\nhad attacked the camp, and how Walter, dressed in native clothes, had\nslipped through the lines and brought relief. But he refused to talk,\ntaking refuge behind the etiquette which requires subordinates to hold\ntheir peace until the chief has spoken.\n\nHe had hardly got rid of the reporters, when Delanoue and Vibert broke\nin with an incoherent account of their adventures. They were both drunk\nand decidedly tired. While Walter was shaving, Delanoue fell asleep on\nhis bed, Vibert on his lounge. And they were not quiet about it.\n\nThe coffee went cold in Walter's cup. What should he do? It was\nimpossible to spend the morning listening to uneasy grunts and snores.\nWhere should he go? On previous visits to Paris he had enjoyed himself.\nHe knew many people. But he did not feel that they would amuse him this\ntime. Anyhow it was too early to make calls. His coffee was hopelessly\ncold. He was trying to overcome his listlessness and ring for more, when\nthe _chasseur_ brought him a _petit bleue_ and the announcement that a\nnew swarm of reporters wanted to see him.\n\n\"Hello, hello, Mr. Walter Longman,\" the _pneumatique_ ran. \"The morning\npapers announce your advent. Come around for dejeuner. By all means\ncome. I'll lock the door. I warrant the newspaper men are hounding you.\nIf you are one half as agreeable as you used to be, you'll rescue from\nthe very bottom of boredom an unfortunate woman who signs herself\n\nYour friend\nBEATRICE MAYNARD KARNER.\"\n\nWalter had hardly thought of Mrs. Karner since leaving America. But five\nminutes after he had torn open the despatch, he had dodged the reporters\nand was out on the sidewalk. It was his intention to call a taxi and go\nat once to Mrs. Karner's, but he realized abruptly that it was much too\nearly. He had an hour and a half to kill before time for dejeuner. He\nsat down in one of the Boulevard Cafes and tried to interest himself in\nthe papers. But once more the ugly mood came to him. He let his coffee\ngrow cold again. He sat there glowering at an indefinite spot on the\npolished floor--wondering dully if there was any further interest left\nfor him in life. He felt so unsocial that he gave up the idea of going\nto Mrs. Karner's. He would be bored. But as lunch time approached he\nbecame disturbed at the idea of eating alone. Certainly anybody's\ncompany would be better than his own.\n\nMrs. Karner welcomed him gayly. She seemed bent on being merry. There\nwas a subtle change in her manner of dressing. She was less of a _grande\ndame_ than she had been in New York. She was feeling her way back to\nher youth. There was a dash of reckless uncertainty in her manner as of\na boy at the beginning of his vacation or a convict just released.\n\n\"How I envy you all the excitement you've been having! Tell me about\nit.\"\n\nHe had just started to reply when dejeuner was announced and they went\nout to the dining-room. He hardly remembered what they talked\nabout--details of the Expedition mostly. But when the meal was ended and\nthey went back to the salon, Mrs. Karner stretched out on a _chaise\nlongue_ and he sat down on the ottoman by the open fire. A constraint\nfell on them. For lack of a better remark he said--\n\n\"I've a pocket full of choice Caucasian cigarettes. Won't you try one?\"\n\nShe accepted his suggestion, but he could think of nothing further to\nsay.\n\n\"You're not exactly cheerful to-day,\" she said. \"Anything wrong?\"\n\nHe made a vague gesture.\n\n\"Bad news from home?\"\n\n\"Home?\" He tried to make his tone flippant. \"Is there any such place?\"\n\n\"Fine!\" she said. \"You're coming on, Walter. Your worst fault used to be\nyour belief in such superstitions.\"\n\nIt was her turn now to hide her seriousness behind the mask of\nflippancy.\n\n\"Do you notice anything particular about the furniture in this room?\"\n\n\"It's fine old Empire.\"\n\n\"Well, it doesn't matter whether it's _Empire_, or _Louis Seize_, or\n_Henri Quatre_, or _Chinois_. It isn't Gothic! That's the important\npoint. Yes,\" she went on in answer to the question in his eyes, \"I'm\nexpecting the final papers any day. I'll take my maiden name. Beatrice\nMaynard.\"\n\nShe threw back her head and blew out some rings of the fragrant smoke.\n\n\"It took me a long time to learn this trick,\" she said, as if it were a\nvery serious matter. \"The man who kept the Morgue on _The Star_ taught\nme--in the old days.\"\n\nBut Walter hardly heard her irrelevant words. He was thinking of the\nimplications of her smash-up, and overlaid on these thoughts was the\nimpression that her throat was very beautiful. He had never noticed it\nbefore.\n\n\"Fine cigarettes, these,\" she commented, still watching the smoke rings\nto avoid meeting his eyes.\n\nBut Walter did not reply. A sudden pity for her flooded him. How\nhopelessly lost they both were, splashing about aimlessly in the great\nmuddle of life. They sat silent for many minutes, staring blankly at the\ndead past and the future which promised to be stillborn.\n\nIt is strange how much we sometimes know of other people which has never\nbeen told. Mrs. Karner, although Walter had never taken her into his\nconfidence, knew with amazing clearness the import of his barren\nromance. And he, in the same way, sensed what was wrong with her, felt\nthe deadening tragedy which lay behind her mocking words.\n\nShe--frightened by the feeling that in this poignant silence they were\nbecoming dangerously intimate--brought their reveries to an abrupt end\nby jumping up.\n\n\"We're a sorry couple, aren't we? We've messed things up frightfully,\nand we want to cry. It's much better business to laugh. Let's shake\nhands and cheer up.\"\n\nThe wide sleeve of her morning gown fell back from her arm as she\nstretched out her hand to him. Her skin seemed inordinately,\npreposterously white to him as he stood up. But the thing which\nimpressed him most was the intricate network of tiny blue veins on the\ninside by the elbow.\n\n\"In France,\" he said, \"I claim French privileges.\"\n\nAs she did not pull her hand away when he raised it to his lips, he\nkissed the blue veins inside her elbow. He did not realize what he was\ndoing--what he had done--until he heard the sharp intake of her breath.\nThe look on her face made the blood pound in his temples.\n\nIt was only a matter of seconds that they were both silent. But it\nseemed an interminable time.\n\nWalter looked down into the glowing fireplace--struggling with the thing\nwhich burned within him more hotly than the coals. After all--why not?\nIt is horrible to be lonely.\n\n\"You foolish boy,\" she said, with an uneasy laugh, \"I didn't mean to be\ntaken so literally.\"\n\n\"I guess it's the only way for us--if we want to cheer up.\"\n\nHe snapped his half-burnt cigarette into the grate and turned towards\nher. Her face suddenly went white, and she swayed unsteadily. One hand\nwaved aimlessly in the air, seeking support. He took it in his.\n\n\nThe next few days the papers were full of the Expedition. The Marquis\nd'Hauteville came back from Semmering, and a large part of his statement\nwas a tribute to Walter's ability and courage. The other members of the\nExpedition, with the delightful courtesy of the French, emphasized his\npart in the Siege and exaggerated the perils he had run while bringing\nthem relief. Paris dearly loves such sensations. Nothing pleases the gay\ncity more than to idolize a foreigner. He did the best he could to\nescape the lionizing.\n\nThere was much work still to do in the preparing of the report. He moved\nfrom the hotel to a quiet cottage in Passy and settled down to work--and\nplay. Beatrice scrupulously respected his \"duty hours,\" but once he was\nfree from his desk, he plunged with her into a swirl of gayety, such as\nhe had never before permitted himself. The follies of the\n\"_Transatlantique_\" set--the rich Americans of the Etoile\ndistrict--interested him from their sheer novelty. Beatrice's incisive\ncomments on the bogus aristocracy--the Roumanian Grand Dukes and Princes\nof the Papal States--who fattened off the gullibility of his countrymen\namused him immensely.\n\nTheir intimacy was strange indeed. Before his infatuation with Mabel,\nWalter had not been exactly a Puritan, but he had never experienced\nanything like this. No word of love ever passed between him and\nBeatrice. The hallowed phrases of affection were under the ban. They\nwere feverishly engaged in trying to forget, in helping each other\nforget how hollow such words had proved. A feeling of delicacy\nrestrained him from using the word \"home,\" it had been such a mockery to\nher. And to have spoken to him of fidelity would have seemed to her rank\ncruelty.\n\nOnly once did they talk together of the past. What he had to tell was\ntold quickly. Her story was longer, and part of it she did not tell.\n\nHer father had been a doctor. His death, when she was in college, had\nleft her almost penniless, alone with an invalid mother. Literature had\nalways been her ambition; so, leaving college, she had come to New York\nto try newspaper work. She had fought her way to a very moderate\nsuccess. It was not the kind of work which interested her,--the\ndreariest kind of pot-boiling,--and it did not pay enough to keep her\nmother in the comfort she was accustomed to. There was no immediate\nprospect of bettering their position. Beatrice was very much\ndiscouraged. She thought she had it in her to write novels, but by\nwearing herself out with hack work she could not earn enough for her\nmother's needs and had no energy left for the things she longed to do.\n\nThen Bert Karner had come along. He was a young millionnaire from the\nWest. He bought _The Star_ on which Beatrice worked. Although rich, he\nwas not of proud family. He never told how his father had made his\nstake. His outspoken ambition was \"to make New York sit up and take\nnotice.\" He had a decided genius for journalism. And it was not long\nbefore the steadily increasing circulation of his paper--and his\npiratical methods--attracted attention. There was no statute by which he\ncould be sent to jail, so he became \"a leading citizen.\"\n\nAt the very first he fell wildly and tumultuously in love with Beatrice.\nAlthough his passion for her was very real, it was not entirely free\nfrom calculation. His project of \"being somebody\" required a skilled\nmanager. Beatrice was beautiful, she knew how to dress. She was witty,\nshe would make a distinguished-looking hostess. He could also rely on\nher taste in selecting his neckties. He was morbidly afraid of appearing\nvulgar, and especially in this matter of neck-wear he was afraid to\ntrust his own judgment. These considerations made him ask her to be his\nwife instead of his mistress. Her first refusal surprised him. But he\nwas used to buying what he wanted, and he kept raising her price.\n\nIf Mrs. Maynard had complained, her daughter would very likely have been\nmore egoistic. But her mother, whom she always referred to as an Angel\nin Heaven, never complained. And so at last Beatrice sold herself.\nBut--and this, for some unaccountable reason, she did not tell\nWalter--she had had an outspoken explanation with Karner. He knew what\nhe was buying, knew that she did not love him.\n\nThree months after the marriage Mrs. Maynard died suddenly. This was\nwhat had annihilated Beatrice. It was so horribly grotesque. If her\nmother had only died before the wedding! If the gods had only given\nBeatrice courage to hold out a little longer! To give her mother these\nthree months of comfort, she had sold all her life.\n\nIn her first fit of despair she had burned the half-finished novel. What\ndid a failure like herself have to tell the world? But her mother's\ndeath had not been Bert's fault. So at first she tried to fulfil her\ncontract with him, did what she could to organize his home and help him\nin his social climbing. But the Fates had not finished their\nbludgeonings. Into this dumb indifference which followed her mother's\ndeath came a sudden demonstration of her husband's rascality. When she\nhad married him, she had at least thought he was an upright man. If her\nspirit had not been broken, she would have left him at once. But she was\ntoo shattered to care any more. She had gone through the forms of life,\nseeking listlessly after distraction. The thing which had come nearest\nto reality had been her interest in the Woman's Trade Union League. She\nhad gone on the Board because her husband urged her to make friends with\nMrs. Van Cleave. It held her interest because her own hunger-years had\ngiven her a deep sympathy.\n\nAlthough she did not realize it, it was Yetta who had at last driven her\nto leave her husband. She had caught some of Yetta's life-giving faith.\nIt takes us a long time to recover when once we are dead, and Mrs.\nKarner had been a long time dead. She did not know what was happening,\nbut the grain of faith, which the little East Side vest-maker had\nplanted in her, grew steadily. Slowly it had forced out roots into the\ndead matter about it, pushed the stem which was to bear fruit up through\nthe hardened soil to the light. When Mr. Karner had profanely explained\nhow Yetta had left his office, his wife suddenly realized that she was\nalive again. The sham was over. The next day she had called on a lawyer\nand had left for Europe shortly afterwards.\n\nWalter and Beatrice did not have another serious talk for several\nmonths. He had nearly finished his work, and she at least had begun to\nwonder what would come next. An early spring day had tempted them to\nmotor down the river to St. Cloud. After supper, Walter was contentedly\nfilling his pipe, his back against a great chestnut tree, while she was\nrepacking the dishes in the lunch basket.\n\n\"If you want any help,\" he said lazily, \"I'll call the chauffeur. He's\npaid to do such things.\"\n\nShe ignored his remark until she had finished. Then she came over and\nsat beside him.\n\n\"Walter,\" she said, \"in three weeks now I'm going to leave Paris--for\nSwitzerland.\"\n\n\"It doesn't begin to get hot here till the end of June.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm not going in search of coolness. Quiet is what I want. I've\ngot to settle down to work--a novel. I must get away from this turmoil\nof a city and its disturbances.\"\n\n\"Am I one of the disturbances?\" he asked after a moment's thought.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It'll be very lonely for me when you go.\"\n\n\"Let's have a cigarette,\" she said.\n\nIt was not till it had almost burnt out that either of them spoke. She\nbroke the silence.\n\n\"Yes. I will be lonely too. But it looks to me like my only salvation.\"\nShe stopped to press out the spark of her cigarette on the sole of her\nslipper. \"I'm not a success as a light-minded woman, Walter. I'm no good\nat dancing a clog. I rather think you saved my life. I've been leaning\non you more than you have known, I guess. I've caught my breath--thanks\nto you.\"\n\nHe put out his hand in protest:--\n\n\"There's lots of thanking to be done, but it's the other way round.\"\n\nBut she did not seem to hear him. Her brow was puckered up trying to\nfind words for the thing she wanted to say.\n\n\"I've got to stand on my own feet--alone. I didn't want to take any\nmoney from Bert. A good friend lent me some. Enough for a year or two,\nbut I can't always be dependent.\"\n\n\"Why not lean on me a little more effectively,\" he broke in impetuously.\n\"Why not go on just as we are--at least till you find your footing.\"\n\n\"No,\" she shook her head decisively. \"That wouldn't do at all. Look\nhere, Walter, we're grown up--we can talk it out straight. What future\nis there for us if we go on? Only two alternatives. We'll get to hate\neach other--or--we'll get to--we'll become a habit. Woof! Habits are\nhard to break. No. If I'm really going to live, I've got to avoid habits\nas I would leprosy. There'll never be any decent life for me till I've\nconvinced myself that I can go it alone. I've got a whole lot of things\nto fight out. My plan is best. Three weeks more of vacation, three weeks\nmore of ribbons--and then armor.\"\n\n\"As you think best,\" he said.\n\nThe last day, he bought her ticket for her, engaged her berth in the\nmorning, and then they went out again to St. Cloud to spend the day.\nAfter lunch they spread out a rug under the great trees.\n\n\"Boy,\" she began. She was not as old as he, but being a woman she liked\nto pretend she was. \"I've come to a momentous conclusion about you. You\nought to be married.\"\n\nHe sat up with a jerk.\n\n\"Don't be frightened,\" she said. \"I'm not a candidate. I've had too much\nof it already. But seriously--you're different. I don't mean to be\ninsulting, but you were made to be a family man. Our little holiday has\nbeen pleasant without end, but it's not what you were meant for. After\nall you're not too old to reform. You've been on the rocks. But there's\na good deal left of the wreckage. I got into trouble because I didn't\nhave the nerve to hold tight enough to my dream. Watch out that you\ndon't make the opposite mistake. Let me diagnose your case.\"\n\nShe moved around in front of him, and from time to time shook her\nslender finger at him solemnly.\n\n\"You've ability. Serious ability--the kind this old world of ours needs.\nAnd you've this 'social conscience' with which the younger generation is\ncursed. You won't be content to waste yourself. What are you going to\ndo? Somehow you've got to find a place where you'll seem to yourself\nuseful. If not, you'd better commit suicide at once. If you're going to\nrun to waste, at least spare yourself the shameful years. But no. You're\nnot defeated enough for the arsenic bottle.\n\n\"You've two kinds of ability. You pretend to despise this\narchaeology--but nobody else does. The other ability is your grasp of\nsocial philosophy. For either career--and, wise as I am, I'm not sure\nwhich will be better for you--you need a quiet, orderly life, not a\ndisturbing, disorderly romp like these last months. You need to be well\nkept, you need a wife.\"\n\nWalter smoked away quietly, but his face had turned haggard.\n\n\"I don't want to hurt you,\" she went on relentlessly, \"but Mabel Train\nisn't the only woman in the world.\"\n\n\"She's the only one I ever especially noticed, till you came along.\"\n\n\"Leave me out of this discussion. There's just the trouble. If you\ninsist on keeping your eyes closed to the other women, you'd best run\nalong and blow your fool head off at once. If you want a real life, open\nyour eyes.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said with a wry smile, \"I suppose you've got some victim to\nrecommend. Whom shall I notice?\"\n\nIt was several minutes before she took up his challenge.\n\n\"Why don't you notice Yetta Rayefsky?\"\n\n\"Yetta Rayefsky?\" he repeated in amazement.\n\n\"Yes. Why not? She's a fine girl, and she worships the ground you walk\non.\"\n\n\"You're joking.\"\n\n\"Not at all. I know what I'm talking about. Perhaps she doesn't realize\nit herself, but she's very much in love with you.\"\n\n\"The poor little girl!\"\n\n\"Yes. Of course. You ought to be sorry for her. You don't deserve it.\nBut when it comes to that, did any man ever live who really deserved to\nhave a woman love him? That's the tragedy of our sex. We have nothing\nbetter to love than mere men.\"\n\nThere were no heroics over their separation. They went to town for\nsupper. They were both sufficiently civilized to keep up the appearance\nof gayety.\n\nJust before the train started she leaned out of the window of her\ncompartment and tossed him a final challenge.\n\n\"Walter,\" she said, \"I'm more fortunate than you. I know what I'm going\nto do next. Better not waste time deciding. You know what my advice is.\nGo back to New York and get married.\"\n\nBut there was no agreement in his face as the train pulled out.\n\nThe next weeks were Hell for him. Left to himself, the bitter memories\ncame back with a rush. The _Quatorze feuillet_ brought him the Legion of\nHonor. He had often thought that it was the one distinction he would\nenjoy most. The investiture seemed a farce. What good are honors, when\nthere is no one at whose feet to lay them? Then came the offer of a\nprofessorship at Oxford. It was a life berth, the highest scholastic\nhonor to which he could aspire. After all, if these people valued his\nknowledge of Haktite and no one else valued him at all, why not accept?\n\nBut he could not bring himself to a definite separation from Mabel. He\ndecided to have one more try. He asked for a month to consider the\nOxford offer and started home. He announced his coming by two cables--to\nMabel and to Yetta.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nTHE PALACE OF DREAMS\n\n\nWhen the cablegram from Teheran had announced that Walter was starting\nhomeward, it became necessary for Yetta to rearrange her attitude\ntowards him. As long as he had been an abstraction she had been\nperfectly free to love him according to her fancy. Evidently she would\nhave to treat the real person differently.\n\nOf course she was glad that he was coming back, but there was an\nundercurrent of sadness to the thought. It is very hard to give up\nhabits which have become dear. And she was habituated to his absence. In\na more tangible way his rooms had become dear to her. In this setting\nshe had come into life. Almost every memory she valued, except those of\nher father, were connected with the place. She had read so many books in\nhis great leather chair! She had learned to write at his desk. Even the\ntwo oil portraits, of his grandfather in a stiff stock and his\ngrandmother in crinoline, had become in a way personal possessions. She\nmust leave all this, must learn to live in new surroundings.\n\nBut this regret was only half conscious. There were more vivid\nsensations of expectancy. Above all she tremblingly hoped for his\napprobation. When the Great Jahwe had completed his six days' labor and\nwas looking it over, the Earth must have had a palpitating moment of\nsuspense while it waited His verdict. Yetta felt herself the work of\nWalter's hands. Would he say, \"It is good\"?\n\nHer love had made her foolishly humble. An objective observer would have\ndoubted if Walter was worthy to unlace her shoes. The fairies had been\ngenerous at his christening. They had given him health and wealth and\nbrains. He himself would have admitted that most of his talents had lain\nidle, wrapped in a napkin. Yetta had not been so richly endowed. At\nfifteen, with hardly any education, the Fates had put her in a\nsweat-shop. But she had been given one priceless talent--a keen hunger\nfor an ever larger life. No slightest opportunity for growth had she let\nslip. Walter was a pitiful example of wasted opportunities compared to\nthis young woman of twenty-two.\n\nThere was a more subtle disparity between them.\n\nYetta's beliefs were passionate faiths, Walter's were intellectual\nconvictions. The dozen odd years' difference in age might have explained\nthis, but it went deeper. Walter had never had the knack of being an\nintimate part of activity. He was an observer rather than a participant\nin life. He never got closer to the stage than the wings. And more often\nhe sat in a box. Between her ardent faith and his tired disillusionment\nlay a chasm which was more than a matter of years. But she, being in\nlove with him, and hardly knowing him at all--at most she had had a\ndozen talks with him--could not see this.\n\nWould he give her more than approbation? As long as she could, Yetta\ntried to avoid a definite answer to this question. But it became\ninsistent. She knew he had been in love with Mabel. Eleanor Mead's\ngossip had supplemented her own conviction. At first it had seemed the\ninevitable that he should love the wonderful Miss Train. But the last\nyear had seen almost a quarrel between Yetta and Mabel. There were\nconstant disagreements as to the policy of the Woman's Trade Union\nLeague. Mabel did not want it to become avowedly Socialist and Yetta\ndid. Mabel felt that she had a discoverer's right to Yetta and was\nprovoked whenever her _protegee_ showed a will of her own. It is hard\nenough for men to keep friends in the face of serious and long-continued\ndifference of opinion. Women, with lesser experience in the world of\naffairs, with a more personal tradition, find it harder. It had come to\na climax over Yetta's resignation from _The Star_. Mabel had been very\nindignant and had called it a piece of stupid Quixotism. It had shown\nYetta very clearly the fundamental gap between their points of view.\nThey still called each other by their first names and professed undying\naffection. But it was hard nowadays for Yetta to realize how the\nwonderful Walter had ever loved this rather narrow-minded woman. She\nknew where Mabel bought her false hair. Surely Walter would get over his\ninfatuation. Vague hopes inevitably mingled with her thoughts of the\nfuture. But she was almost relieved by his unexpectedly long stay in\nParis.\n\nWalter had hardly seen the lights of Le Havre sink below the horizon\nbefore he began to regret his decision to go to New York. Once more hope\nhad made a fool of him. What chance was there that Mabel would have\nchanged her mind in these six months? Certainly she had not loved him\nwhen she had written that miserably cold note of welcome. His escapade\nwith Beatrice would hardly help matters. What perversity was it that\ndrove him home to receive a new humiliation?\n\nTwo days out they ran into a gale, and Walter, who was a good sailor,\nhad the promenade deck almost to himself. Standing up forward, an arm\nround a stanchion for a brace, the spray in his face, it seemed as if\nthe cobwebs which had been smothering him were blown away. He could look\nat himself calmly, objectively. One question after another posed itself,\nand he sought the answers, not as an infatuated fool, but as a man who\nhas \"suffered unto wisdom.\"\n\nWhat was there for him to hope for from Mabel? Nothing. Absolutely\nnothing. Even if she relented, it was a sorry prospect. If now, after\nsix years, after her youth had passed, she suddenly decided to pick up\nwhat she had so long despised, it would be in discouragement. He had\nmore disillusions than enough of his own. And Mabel in slippers was a\nrevolting idea. The romantic thing for him to do, now that romance was\ndead, was to kill himself on the lady's front doorstep. But the age of\nromance had passed for him.\n\nFor the first time in six years he looked out upon a future in which\nMabel played no part. Beatrice had said he must find some useful work.\nThere was the Oxford offer. Of course every acquisition to the museum of\nhuman knowledge is worth while. But it was very hard for him to apply\nthis theory to his specialty. What good did it do any one to have him\npiece together the broken fragments of a semicivilization, so long dead?\nHe could think of no branch of study which more truly deserved Carlyle's\njibe of \"dry-as-dust.\" It was perhaps better than suicide, but was there\nno more human sort of utility for him? As Beatrice had said, the \"social\nconscience\" was keen in him. He wanted to serve the people of his day\nand generation.\n\nThe one activity he could think of was suggested by the news in Yetta's\nletters of the English Socialist newspaper which Isadore Braun was\nediting and to which she was occasionally contributing. His surplus\nmoney, quite a lot of it had piled up in the last three years, would\nhelp immensely. Even if they could not raise enough to maintain a daily,\nhis income would suffice for a weekly. The three of them would be a\nstrong editorial combination. More and more the idea attracted him. They\ncould make a representative publication of it. Isadore with his faith in\nthe political party, Yetta in close touch with the trade-unions, and he\nto furnish a broader, more philosophical expression of the movement of\nrevolt. They were three able, intelligent people who were not afraid.\nWhat better thing could he do with the remnant of his life than to weld\nthem into an organized force? Gradually they would attract other brains\nto their group. Just such an intellectual centre was what the movement\nneeded. The idea at least had the virtue of stirring a wave of true\nenthusiasm in him.\n\nThis line of thought brought Yetta to his mind--and Beatrice's advice.\nHe smiled at the idea. Intellectually he might admit that it would be\nwell for him to marry. But the Yetta he remembered was a frightened\nlittle East Side girl, who had not enough sense to keep out of the\nclutches of a cadet. Of course she had grown up, her letters showed\nthat. And she had been a pretty youngster. If, as Beatrice believed, she\nwas in love with him, it might possibly work out that way in time. But\nhe was in no mood for romance. Hunger for a life of activity kept his\nmind on his project of work. The few times his thoughts touched on\nYetta, he wrenched them back to what the three of them might accomplish\nwith the paper.\n\nAs the ship slipped into its berth, Walter leaned over the rail and\neagerly scanned the upturned faces of the welcoming crowd on the dock.\nWhen at last he convinced himself that there was no one there whom he\nknew, he suddenly realized that once more the hope had tripped him up.\nHe had been looking for Mabel. He went back to the smoking-room and\ntried to regain his self-respect by a glass of whiskey. As the cab took\nhim through the familiar streets, he was grimly telling himself that it\nwould never happen again; Mabel did not exist any more.\n\nYetta was waiting for him in his rooms. She had spent her last night\nthere, and at eight in the morning had carried her valise--the trunk had\ngone before--to her new quarters on Waverly Place. She could not afford\na place to herself and had gone in with another Socialist girl, Sadie\nMichelson, in joint control of a small flat. While she was waiting\nthrough the morning hours, she rearranged his business papers for the\nfiftieth time. There was a pile of receipts, year by year, each one\nnumbered to correspond to its check. There were the check-books, each\nvoucher pinned to its stub. The bank-book had just been balanced.\n\nIt was about eleven when the cab rattled up to the door. From her seat\nin the window she saw him get out. Casting a quick glance over the room\nto reassure herself that everything was exactly as he had left it, she\nopened the door and went out on the landing. \"Welcome home,\" she called\ndown to him.\n\nIt did not occur to her that what she was doing was dramatic. But the\nlonely hearted man who was struggling up the narrow stairs with his two\ngrips was deeply moved by her words and the vision which greeted his\nupturned eyes. A flood of light came out through the door of his room\nand illumined her as she stood above him on the landing.\n\n\"Hello,\" he said out loud. But to himself he said, \"My God!\"\n\nYetta's girlish promise of beauty had been richly fulfilled. Her figure\nhad become more definite. There had been a sort of precociousness about\nthe sweat-shop girl he remembered. The Yetta who greeted him now was a\nfully developed symmetrical woman. Her face, her arms, her neck had\ncaught up with the rest of her body. There was nothing fragile about her\nany more. One no longer feared that she might be suddenly snuffed out\nand leave nothing but the haunting memory of her eyes. More striking,\nand at the same time more subtle, was the transformation from\nself-conscious awkwardness to the assured grace of a personage who has\nfound a place in life. The Yetta he remembered had been impulsive--a\ncreature of extremes--one moment lost in a childish abandon of\nenthusiasm, the next embarrassed and _gauche_. This woman was calm,\nrestrained, and while perfectly conscious of herself was not\nself-conscious.\n\nHe had remembered her as pretty. Good food and a healthy life had taken\nfrom her the exotic, orchid-like charm of her girlhood. Yet she had\ngrown greatly in beauty. Her face had gained immensely in \"range\"--to\nborrow a musical term. It held the capacity of a whole gamut of\nexpressions it had before lacked. Her eyes were as beautiful as ever,\nand they had looked on many things. Her mouth had always been\nwell-proportioned. Now any one could see that it was a perfected\ninstrument. There were thousands of things it could say. Her cheeks had\nflushed or paled with a myriad of emotions and had grown more beautiful.\nAnd yet the mass of rich brown hair, which had always been the crown of\nher beauty, had not begun to lose its lustre.\n\nWhen Walter reached the head of the stairs and shook hands with her, she\nhad changed from the dimmest of possibilities to a vivid desire.\n\n\"Did you have a good passage?\"\n\n\"Fine. A gale all the way over.\"\n\nThere were a few more banalities.\n\n\"Good Lord, Yetta,\" he exploded. \"How you've grown up and changed!\"\n\nYetta had hoped for his approbation of her works. He was admiring her\nperson. He was looking her over with frank pleasure. The blush hurt her\ncheek. She turned away to hide it.\n\n\"Here's a note Mabel gave me for you,\" she said.\n\nWalter took it mechanically. He ought to have tossed it into the\nwaste-paper basket. But the hope, the fool, the idiot hope grabbed him\nby the throat. Once more. He tore it open. This would be positively the\nlast concession to the Dream.--Eleanor Mead was decorating a country\nhouse out near Stamford, Mabel had gone out to pass the week-end with\nher. She was glad to hear that Walter was back and looked forward to\nhearing about his adventures. She judged from the papers that he had had\na lot--So! Spending a few days with Eleanor, whom she saw all the time,\nwas more important than staying in town to greet him, whom she had not\nseen for years. He stuck the letter in his pocket and turned to Yetta,\nwho was watching him closely.\n\n\"How's 'Saph' coming on?\" he asked lightly.\n\n\"I don't see much of her.\"\n\n\"Good,\" he laughed. \"She was never exactly a chum of mine.\"\n\n\"Here are all your business papers,\" Yetta said, going over to his desk,\n\"receipts and all that.\"\n\n\"Oh! bother the receipts,\" he said. \"I want to talk. How's Isadore's\npaper getting along?\"\n\n\"There isn't any money,\" she said with a grimace. \"There's a note on\nyesterday's editorial page, which says if they can't raise five thousand\nthis week they'll have to stop. I guess one thousand will keep them\ngoing. They'll get it. But in a couple of weeks it will be the same\nthing over again. I guess it's doomed.\"\n\n\"I've been thinking about it,\" Walter said, \"and I've got a scheme.\nIsadore tackled too much in a daily. That costs such a frightful lot.\nThere isn't yet a big enough Socialist audience to support it. A\nweekly--a good lively, red-hot weekly--is the thing.\"\n\nHe went on to elaborate his idea. Gradually the constraint which Yetta\nhad felt at first wore off. She curled up on the window-seat and\nlistened to his talk as she had done the first day in his room--as she\nhad done ever since in her dreams. She knew it would be hard work to\npersuade Isadore to give up the daily, but she felt that sooner or later\nhe would have to. And in Walter's scheme was the promise of\ncollaboration and constant association with him. She could hardly be\nexpected to bring forth any serious criticism.\n\nWhile he talked, she had the opportunity to look him over. After all he\nwas not a god. The thing which surprised her most was his hair--it was\nshot through with irregular patches of gray. But this was only a detail.\nThe soft life of the last few months in Paris had not quite killed the\ntan which the glare of the Persian sun had given him. He looked very\nrugged and strong--if his hands had been larger, he might have sat as a\nmodel for Rodin. And the halo of fame played about his forehead. The\nnewspapers had given some space to him, and two or three lurid \"Sunday\nstories\" had been run about \"the siege.\" They had recounted the various\nhonors which had been given him. Yetta knew that the narrow red ribbon\nin his buttonhole was the Legion of Honor. And he was calmly proposing\nto give up what seemed to her a great renown for the obscure career of\nSocialist propaganda. Her love put forth blossoms.\n\n\"Gee,\" he interrupted himself at last. \"It's long past lunch-time. Let's\ngo over to the Lafayette. Any of the old waiters still there?\"\n\nAlthough Walter insisted that the cooking had deteriorated, it was a\nresplendent meal to Yetta. The proprietor came to their table and asked\nif he might present the French Consul, who was lunching there and who\nwanted to congratulate Walter on the red ribbon. The Consul made a\nformal and stilted speech on behalf of the French Colony in New York.\nYetta was as much impressed as Walter was bored. When this disturbance\nwas over, he made her talk about herself. The meal was finished before\nshe was half through with her news.\n\n\"Come on,\" he said. \"It's too blazing hot to be in town. Let's jump on a\nferry and go down to Staten Island.\"\n\n\"I ought to go up to the League.\"\n\n\"Oh! bother the League. One doesn't come home from Persia every day in\nthe year. I want to celebrate.\"\n\nAll New York's four millions seemed bent on the same errand, but they\nmanaged to crowd into the \"elevated,\" and after a breathless scramble at\nthe Battery fought their way to places on the ferry, and at last found a\nfairly secluded spot on the beach. He listened through the afternoon to\nthe story of how she had spent the three and a half years of his\nabsence. Just as at first, she still found it easy to talk to him. Sure\nof his quick understanding, she found herself telling him everything.\nShe told him of Isadore's proposal. That disturbed him somewhat.\n\n\"Will it interfere with the three of us working together?\" he asked.\n\n\"Why, no,\" she said, her eyes opening wider with surprise. \"Of course\nnot. I guess he's got over it. It was two years ago. But anyhow we've\nbeen working together all the time. He wouldn't let a thing like that\ninterfere with work.\"\n\nAnd Walter, judging Isadore by himself, decided that it could not have\nbeen very serious. Although Yetta did not know it, she was, in almost\nevery word, showing Walter her love. There was a naive directness in all\nher relations with people. It was always hard for her to act a part. She\ntalked to Walter as a woman naturally talks to a man she loves. Even\nwithout Beatrice's hint, he would have understood.\n\nIt was a new sensation to feel himself loved so simply and wholly. Such\nlove is rare in this world, and no man sees it offered without a deep\nfeeling of awe. What should he do? Should he turn her loyalty into a\nderision, as had been the fate of his own? His life counted for very\nlittle to him. It had been burnt out. That the love of this fine, clean,\nloyal young woman might be pleasant to him seemed to count relatively\nlittle. He did not feel particularly selfish, he was only a fool. He was\nsorry for her, and thought he could make her happy.\n\nBeatrice, who knew him better than any other woman did, thought he\ncould. Of course he realized that it was not exactly a romantic\nproposition. He had small use for romance. But if any one had charged\nhim with planning to seduce Yetta into marriage under pretext of love,\nhe would have indignantly denied it. What does love mean? Undoubtedly\nhis feeling and hers were miles apart. But, after all, he was fond of\nher. Even in a most impersonal way he admired her immensely. He had\nliked her spirit from the first. He had not listened unmoved to the\nstory of her struggle of these three years. There was nothing he admired\nmore than such capacity for consistent effort. And it took a serious\nexercise of will power to think about her impersonally. It was so much\neasier to lie back on the sand and refresh his senses with the charm of\nher youth.\n\nSome one might have reminded him that emotionally he was very much of a\nwreck, that her youth had a right to demand its like, that his wearied\ndisillusionment was no match for her fresh, exuberant faith. He would\nhave answered that she was not a child, she was old enough to choose.\n\nHe listened and watched her and the sun slipped down among the Jersey\nhills.\n\n\"It's time to be going back,\" Yetta said.\n\n\"I'm quite happy here, and when we get hungry, there are restaurants\nabout.\"\n\n\"I think Isadore will come to see you to-night. I told him you were due\nto-day.\"\n\n\"Oh, bother Isadore. Bother everything except this delectable breeze and\nthe smell of the sea and you and me and the moon. Look at it, Yetta. It\nwas at its unforgettable best last night--but it will be better\nto-night. It's going to be very beautiful right here where we are. And\nmuch as I like and admire Isadore, he isn't beautiful.\n\n\"Life,\" he went on in a moment, \"and its swirl of duties will grab us\nsoon enough, Yetta. We're going to be too busy on that paper, my friend,\nto hunt out such places as this. Let's sit very, very still and be happy\nas long as we may.\"\n\nThey both were very still as they watched the twilight fall over the\nBay. The little red and green and white lights of the passing boats\nswayed softly in the gentle swell. A great liner crept up the channel\ntowards the Narrows, row above row of gleaming portholes. Coney\nIsland--section by section--woke to a glare of electricity. The blade\nof a searchlight at Fort Hamilton cut great slashes in the night. A\nstrident orchestra in a restaurant behind them tried in vain to attract\ntheir attention.\n\nYetta found it easy to be happy; she felt that Walter approved of her.\n\n\"Yetta,\" he said, rolling over closer to where she sat, her back against\nthe rotting beam of a wrecked ship, \"Yetta, I didn't expect to find you\nso good to look at. I wonder if you know how very beautiful you are.\"\n\nThe wreck against which she leaned cast a moon-shadow across her face,\nand he could not see the desperate blush which flooded her cheeks and\nneck. Something laid hold of her heart and told it to be quiet, to beat\ngently and not to make a noise.\n\n\"But that's not the way to begin, Yetta. It's hard for me to say what I\nwant to, because--well--I'm past the poetic age. I couldn't sing\nnow--nor play on a lute--if I tried. Perhaps it's just as well to talk\nprose, because it's all very serious.\"\n\n\"Since I've finished up this Persian job, I've been thinking a lot about\nwhat to do next. I could go on with that kind of work very easily. But I\nwant some more concrete kind of usefulness. You'll know what I mean. I\nwant to make my life count at something more than dry scholarship. And\nthe only thing I can think of that seems worth doing is to pitch in and\nhelp Isadore on this paper. We'd need you in the combine. And that means\nthinking about you. I've done a lot of it. Wondering what manner of\nperson you had grown to be. I was sure we'd be able to work well\ntogether. But I did not expect to find you so wonderful. Less than four\nyears ago you were only a girl. You've grown amazingly, Yetta, grown in\nwisdom and in beauty--beauty of soul and face.\n\n\"I'm a lonely and rather battered old bachelor, Yetta. And no man really\nwants to be a bachelor. Sometimes, coming over on the boat, I thought\nabout you--in that connection. But I couldn't help thinking of you as a\nyoung girl, lovable and very dear, but very young. And I'm getting old.\nMy hair is turning gray, and many things turn gray inside, Yetta, before\nthe hair turns. You don't seem so painfully young to me now, and the\ndream doesn't seem ludicrous. We're going to work together, Yetta, be\npartners and comrades. I've very little to offer you, but it would be a\ngreat thing for me if you would also be my wife.\"\n\n\"I thought you were in love with Mabel,\" she said.\n\nThe cool sound of her words startled her. With the heavens opening,\ncould she speak in so commonplace a voice? They sounded so utterly\ninadequate that she would have given worlds to have them back, unsaid.\nIt was a moment before he sat up and answered her.\n\n\"I was.\"\n\n\"I told you, Yetta,\" he went on in a moment, \"that I'm a bit\ndilapidated, getting gray.\n\n\"Yetta,\" he began again, forgetting that he was going to let her choose\nfreely, \"you believe in the reformation even of criminals. Isn't there\nany hope for me?\"\n\nHer arms were about him, her sobs shook him, he could feel the moisture\nof her tears against his cheek. Except for the sharp rasp of her breath,\nthey were very still. Suddenly he felt ashamed of himself. What did he\nhave to give her in exchange for such vibrant love? But gradually the\nsense of contact, the pressure of her arms and her soft young body\nbrushed aside this feeling that he was cheating her. Taking her face in\nhis hands he turned it towards the moon and kissed her. When he held\nback her head so that the light fell on her face, its deep solemnity\nfrightened him.\n\n\"Can't you smile a little?\" he asked.\n\nThe tears welled up in her eyes again, but a smile such as he had never\nseen came, too. A laugh rippled up her throat and rang out into the\nnight.\n\n\"Oh, Walter, Walter, I'm such a little fool to cry. But if I hadn't\ncried, I'd have died.\"\n\nThey forgot all about the moon they had waited out to see. Like dozens\nof other lovers on the beach that night, they forgot about supper. They\nmissed the one o'clock boat and sat outside of the ferryhouse in the\nshadow of some packing-cases till two o'clock. They decided that it\nwould be fun to walk home through the deserted streets. When they could\nthink of no further reason to pass and repass her door, she kissed him\n\"a really truly good night.\"\n\n\"I'll wake you up by telephone in the morning,\" she said, \"and come\nround and make your coffee.\"\n\nFor half an hour after she had undressed she sat in her window looking\nup at the moon above the airshaft. She did not want ever to forget how\nthe moon looked that night. But fearing that she might oversleep and\nlose the chance to breakfast with him, she at last went to bed.\n\nFor an hour more Walter paced up and down in Washington Square, between\nthe sleeping figures huddled up on the park benches or stretched\nuneasily on the hard dry ground. He was ill at ease. He wished he might\ngo to a hotel, some place less saturated with memories of Mabel than his\nown diggings. Had he lied when he had used the past tense about Mabel?\nDid he love her still? Was it fair to talk marriage to Yetta with this\nuncertainty in his mind?\n\n\"Morbid scruples!\" he told himself disgustedly, and went to bed. But he\ndreamed about Mabel.\n\nFar away in Stamford, she also was late in falling asleep. That evening\nshe and Eleanor had played together for several hours. But at first the\nmusic had gone wrong. Mabel, like Beatrice, like Isadore--like\neverybody--knew that Yetta was in love with Walter. She was thinking\nabout them, wondering about their meeting, and it had thrown her into\ndiscord with Eleanor. They had almost had a quarrel over it, for Eleanor\nguessed the cause. At last, with an effort of will, Mabel had lost\nherself in the music, a closer harmony than usual had sprung up between\nthe two friends--it had ended as a very happy evening. But after Eleanor\nfell asleep, the thought of Walter and Yetta came back again\ndisturbingly. Eleanor, Mabel told herself, was a fool to be jealous. She\ndid not love Walter. She would not have left the city except that she\nwanted to give Yetta a clear field. She hoped they would marry, for she\nliked them both. But how she envied Yetta! There was no treasure she\ncould dream of which she would not have sacrificed to feel herself in\nlove as Yetta was.\n\nA little after eight in the morning, Walter was shaken out of sleep by\nthe noisy din of his telephone bell.\n\n\"Good morning, Beloved,\" Yetta's fresh voice came to his sleepy ears. \"I\ncouldn't call you up before--not till my room-mate went out. I could\nget dressed and round to your room in three minutes, but I'll give you\nten. Put the water on. You can't have slept much, because a lot of times\nI felt you kiss me.\"\n\n\"Well, don't waste time talking about it,\" he interrupted. \"Hurry.\"\n\n\"All right,\" and he heard the click of her receiver.\n\nThe scruples of the night before had vanished at the sound of her voice.\nHe jumped into his bath and clothes with a keen thrill of expectancy. He\nsat in the window-seat and watched for her coming. God! What a queer\nworld it was! He had been thinking over the possible expediency of\nsuicide, and now life was opening up to him in thrilling vistas.\n\nHe waved his hand when he caught sight of her, and pinched himself to be\nsure he was awake when he noticed her quicken her pace.\n\nHe pretended to scold her for being slow. A dozen times he interrupted\nthe coffee-making at critical moments to kiss her. She said it would\nsurely be spoiled, and he swore he did not care. Yetta pretended to be\nin a hurry to finish the dishes and get uptown to work. It was a very\nmeagre pretence. And what wonderful plans they made! With his arm about\nher they explored the two rooms in the back, which the carriage painter\nused as a storehouse for his brushes and cans. He would have to vacate.\nOne they would turn into a dining-room. Yetta spoke of the other as the\nguest-room. But Walter christened it \"the nursery.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nTHE CRASH\n\n\nWhen it was time for lunch, Yetta said she would rather cook than go to\na restaurant, so they raided a delicatessen store.\n\nIt was during the afternoon that the first shadow fell across their\ndream. Yetta asked him if he had heard about Mrs. Karner's divorce.\n\n\"Yes, I know.\"\n\nThere was a queer ring in his voice which made her look up; something in\nhis face disturbed her.\n\n\"What's the matter?\"\n\nHe took his arms from about her and got up.\n\n\"Yetta,\" he said, pacing the room, \"I suppose I'm a fool to ask you. But\nhow much do you want to know? Very few men in this world of ours live up\nto their own ideals. I certainly haven't. I told you I was getting gray.\nWell--she's one of the gray spots--inside. I'd rather not tell you about\nit. It will only hurt you. But I'm not a good liar. You noticed\nsomething at the bare mention of her name. But if you want to know, I'll\ntell you.\"\n\nFor a moment Yetta was silent.\n\n\"I think you'd better tell me,\" she said. \"I'm not afraid.\"\n\nBut she was. She had accepted the idea that Mabel had preceded her in\nhis affection. She had not thought of other women. This was disturbing\nenough. But what really frightened her was that he was reluctant to\ntell. If there was any one tangible thing which love meant to her, it\nwas frankness. She had told him everything without his asking. Here was\nsomething he had held back. What it was did not matter so much as the\ndifferent point of view it showed. It was startling to realize how very\nlittle she knew of his life.\n\nHe pulled up a chair beside the window-seat where she lay, and told her\nabout Beatrice; told it in a way that did not make her seem offensive to\nYetta. He told the story as truthfully as might be, without giving its\nreal explanation--his heartbreak over Mabel. He did not want to bring\nthis in. If Yetta had asked him point-blank how long it was since he had\nbeen in love with Mabel, he would not have tried to deceive her. But the\ntelling of it would only distress her.\n\n\"It may not sound to you like a pretty story,\" he ended. \"I'm not proud\nof it. But I'm not exactly ashamed either. It's a sick sort of a world\nwe live in. There are better days coming when the relations between men\nand women will be saner and sweeter--and finer. But I don't think more\nlightly of Beatrice because of this. She's a remarkable woman. Life has\nnot been very kind to her. But she's fought her way to the place where\nshe is through with pretence. That at least was fine about our\nfriendship. We were not pretending. I haven't told it very well, perhaps\nI haven't made you understand. But I hope Beatrice can look back on it\nwithout being ashamed. I can.\"\n\nAlthough Yetta listened intently, she was all the time thinking not so\nmuch of Mrs. Karner as of what she typified--the unknown life of the man\nshe loved, the things he had not told her.\n\n\"Am I forgiven?\" he asked, kneeling beside her and taking her hand.\n\n\"Oh! Forgiven! That isn't it. Who am I to forgive you or blame you? It's\nthat I don't understand. And when I don't understand, I'm afraid.\"\n\n\"You mustn't be afraid of the past, darling.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that. When it comes to love, I can't think of any\npast or present or future. It's just somehow eternally always and now\nand for ever and ever. I'm not sure we can get away from the past. I\ncan't explain it very well, but some things are real and some aren't. I\ndon't think I'll ever get rid of the real things which have come to me.\nThey'll never die.\"\n\n\"Well, don't worry about Beatrice,--that was only an interlude--not\n'real.'\"\n\n\"And Mabel?\"\n\n\"A dream.\"\n\n\"But some dreams are real,\" she insisted.\n\n\"No dream in all the world, Yetta, is real like your lips.\"\n\nShe wanted so much to be kissed, had been so frightened for a moment,\nthat she sought his arms without questioning this statement. But a few\nminutes later the thought came to her suddenly that he had kissed\nBeatrice just as he was kissing her. He felt her wince.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" he asked.\n\n\"Oh, I'm dizzy. Let me go a minute.\"\n\nShe got up and stood by the window. She was doing him an injustice. He\nhad never kissed Beatrice as he had just kissed her. But women seem\nnever to understand that it is an utter impossibility for a man to\ncaress different women in the same way. Probably our Father Adam and\nMother Eve are the only couple the Earth has seen who have not had words\non this subject. If Yetta had spoken out what was in her mind, Walter\nalso would have taken up the age-old argument--in vain. But Yetta did\nnot speak. She was fighting with herself--striving to regain her\nself-control. She had always believed that jealousy was contemptible.\nBut he had kissed Mrs. Karner just as--\n\n\"Still thinking of Beatrice?\" he asked quietly.\n\n\"Trying not to, Walter. Oh, Beloved, you must be patient with me. It is\nall so new--so dizzyingly new. I've got to trust you, Walter. I've got\nto believe every word you say. I know I mustn't have doubts. I've got to\nbelieve every word you say\"--she repeated it as if giving herself a\nlesson--\"and I do, Walter. I mustn't ever think when you kiss me that\nperhaps you'd rather kiss some one else--and I won't.\"\n\nShe reached out her arms to him, and blinded by tears she stumbled\nacross the room to him.\n\nWalter should have seized this moment to tell her the whole truth. There\nis one very strong argument for always telling the truth. It is so\ndesperately hard to know which moments in our rapidly moving life are\nsuch as to make a lie fatal.\n\nMost of us believe that ultimately truth will out. But most of us try to\ncontrol its outings. On the basis of what we vaguely call \"worldly\nwisdom,\" by silences, by false emphasis--sometimes by frank lies--we try\nto protect our friends and enemies from the vision of Truth in her\ndisturbing nudity. And there is hardly one of us who would not give his\nright hand if, in some crisis of his life, he had only had sense enough\nto tell the whole truth.\n\nThere were very real obstacles between Walter and his desire. Between\ntheir experiences and their outlooks on life there was a great chasm.\nBut his best chance was to face things frankly.\n\nBeatrice was only an incident. Mabel was a more important matter. But\nstill he could have made out a good case for himself. When he was\nsix--nearly seven--years younger, he had fallen romantically in love\nwith her. He had followed that love with a fidelity which promised well\nfor his future obligations. It had become a habit, and a six years'\nhabit is hard to break. He had come to the realization that this blind\ninfatuation was leading him to waste. With all the manhood he could\nmuster he had tried to break the habit. Sometimes--possibly for a long\ntime to come--the nerve-cells of his brain would fall back into the old\nruts. But when this happened, it would be only the ghost of a dead\ndesire. Even the ghost would be laid in time.\n\nHe could have told her that the very sense of life which throbbed within\nthem--that made such questions seem of so great importance--laid upon\nthem in no uncertain terms the imperious duty of the future. He had no\nRomeo-youth to offer her. Some of his hair was gray beyond dispute. But\nhis strong and promising manhood was worth more than any hothouse\nflowers of romance. He could have offered her the finest of all\ncomradeships, the communion of ideals, the life and labor shared\ntogether.\n\nYetta might have refused such an offer, refused to make any compromise\nwith the love she dreamed of. The romantic thing is to demand that the\nprince's armor shall be as spotless as on the day he first rode out to\nseek the Grail. And Yetta was romantic. But Walter, with his larger\nexperience with life, could probably have convinced her of the patent\nfact that most of us have to accept much more meagre terms from life\nthan he offered. The ideal love is woefully rare, but there are a great\nmany happy marriages.\n\nWalter did not recognize this as one of the moments which demand entire\nfrankness. Why should he hurt her at this moment with another ghost\nstory? Had he not bruised her enough for one afternoon with Beatrice?\n\nWithout realizing it, his attitude toward Yetta had changed subtly. The\nday before on the beach he had been impressed by her evident love for\nhim. But the girl for whom he had been sorry had changed into the woman\nhe ardently desired. So he kissed her tears away and taught her to smile\nagain.\n\nThere had been enough left from the lunch purchases to serve their\nappetites for supper. They sat together in the window-seat and watched\nthe twilight fall across the Square. All that was tangled in life\nstraightened out before them, the future seemed a sort of paradisaical\nboulevard. In the days which were to come they were to have many hours\nof such sweet communion, hours when they locked the door against the\nworld and talked or read together. And there were to be days of work.\nThey were neither of them shirkers, and it was to be hard work. But\nwhether it was work or play the sun was always to shine upon them, for\nthere were to be no clouds of misunderstanding or discouragement. Side\nby side, how could they be discouraged? Walter was getting on towards\nforty, but all this seemed possible to him.\n\nAt last they turned on the lights so Yetta could read to him some verses\nshe had learned to love. And while they were still striving to find some\nfitting expression for their emotions among the poets, there was a knock\nat the door, and Isadore came in. Walter greeted him enthusiastically.\n\n\"Yetta,\" he said, \"shall we tell him the great news?\"\n\nBut there was no need to tell him. All the time he had been shaking\nhands he had been looking over Walter's shoulder at Yetta. His face went\npale and rigid. He stiffened up perceptibly.\n\n\"I'm glad,\" he said slowly, looking squarely at Walter, \"if you can make\nher happier than I could. I love her, too.\"\n\nThe words seemed to Walter like a challenge. For a second or two their\neyes met. He was the first to look away. He could not meet the younger\nman's directness.\n\n\"Walter,\" Isadore said, \"you're my best friend. Be good to her.\"\n\nHe hesitated a moment, irresolute, then turned abruptly and went away.\nWalter stood still in the middle of the room--dazed by the intensity of\nIsadore's emotions, realizing suddenly how many more of the priceless\ngifts of Youth there were in Isadore's hands than in his own. The shame\nwhich had flooded him at Yetta's first caress came back. Yetta, in her\ninfatuation, could not see how little--even of love--he had to offer.\nShe was too blinded to choose freely.\n\n\"Yetta,\" he said, coming over and sitting on the other end of the\nwindow-seat from her, \"why didn't you tell me about this?\"\n\n\"Why, Walter, I did tell you. I said he asked me to marry him--two years\nago.\"\n\n\"But I didn't realize that he loved you as much as this.\"\n\n\"Walter,\" she said, taking fright at his tone, \"I never gave him any\nencouragement. I never--\"\n\n\"It isn't that, Yetta,\" he interrupted her. \"Oh! I don't mean that. But\nwhy didn't you marry him?\"\n\nIt was her turn to be dazed and bewildered. She stood up before him, but\nhe had covered his face with his hands.\n\n\"Why? How could I when I loved you?\"\n\n\"Loved me? Yetta, you hardly knew me.\"\n\nThere was an earthquake in Dreamland. Just what was happening in his\nsoul she did not know, but all things were a-tremble.\n\n\"Walter? Walter? What do you mean?\"\n\nHe looked up at her with a haggard face.\n\n\"Don't you understand?\" he asked seriously. \"I'm more than a dozen years\nolder than you are, close to ten years older than Isadore. Years don't\nalways mean much, but these last ones have been very long for me.\n\n\"Youth counts for very much in this dreary world of ours. It means\nundimmed faith, it means courage, it means vibrancy and reserve power.\nIsadore has never been really defeated, Yetta, and I'm a mass of poorly\nhealed wounds. The best of me is gone, some of it expended, more of it\nwasted. I come to you like a beggar, asking for all these precious\nthings--faith, hope, incentive. My hands are empty. But Isadore could\ngive you these things, when you need them--as you surely will some day,\nYetta. If I'd been here all these years, you'd have seen the difference\nbetween us.\n\n\"A long time ago, when you were very young, I seemed wonderful to you. I\nwent away--stop and think a moment how very little you know of me--and\nyou made a romance about me. Romance is a very dangerous thing. It's a\nsort of Lorelei song, Yetta. After all, our business is to push on down\nthe River, not to stop and play with the fairies on the rocks. It's a\nreal world we must live in, Yetta dear, not a dream, and the facts must\nbe faced. Youth is worth more than anything else. Your kisses made me\nforget to think of you--Isadore reminded me.\"\n\n\"What are you trying to do, Walter?\" she asked. \"Don't you want me to\nmarry you?\"\n\n\"I want you to be happy, Little One.\"\n\nOnce more he buried his face in his hands, but she knelt before him and\npulled his hands away.\n\n\"Do you think anything in all the world could make me as happy as your\nlove?\"\n\nSuddenly--with a great rush of weariness--he saw clearly the gulf\nbetween them. He knew from his own experience what thrilling things the\nword \"love\" may mean. And he could no longer lay claim to it.\n\n\"What do you mean by love?\" he asked drearily.\n\nYetta crumpled up in a heap at his feet. If he did not know what \"love\"\nmeant, the Palace of Dreams was indeed crumbling.\n\n\"Don't you know?\" she whispered.\n\nThe clock ticked dolefully while she waited for his answer.\n\n\"Yes. I'm afraid I do know what it means to you, Yetta. And I haven't\ngot that to give you. I think love means romance to you. That is what\nIsadore and Youth have to offer. I had it once--years ago--enough and to\nspare. I gave it all away--where it wasn't wanted. There isn't any\nglitter left.\n\n\"I came to you, Yetta, in quest of this very thing--which I have lost. I\ncan't tell you how beautiful, how dazzling you look to my tired\neyes--how much to be desired--how much above price--like the Song of\nSongs. And being selfish, I thought only of my want, of my hungry\nloneliness. I did not remember--till Isadore came in--that you too had a\nright--a much better right than my desire--to Youth.\n\n\"It would not be honest, Yetta, to accept your love, unless I made quite\nsure that you know me, know what you are doing, the choice you are\nmaking--stripped of romance, in its cold nakedness. It isn't a choice,\nYetta, between me and Isadore. It's deeper than that, deeper than\nindividuals. I must see that you make your choice with clear eyes. If\nyou want romance--the grand passion--well--I haven't that to offer you.\nI--\"\n\nHis voice trailed off into silence. Perhaps he was a fool. But for the\nfirst time in his life he was giving up something he wanted, something\nhe could have for the asking. For the first time in his life he had\nutterly cleansed himself of selfishness. It was a momentous triumph over\nhis nature, but it was only momentary. His desire for the girl at his\nfeet came over him with a rush. She was resting her head against the\nledge of the window-seat and--her clenched fist pressed against her\nlips--was staring at the black shadows under the table.\n\nPerhaps a scrupulous definition forbade the use of the word \"love\" to\ndescribe his emotion, but it was none the less strong. The last\ntwenty-four hours had been wondrously sweet to him. There was a grace to\nher clean, fresh youth, a charm to her caresses, her restrained but\nunhid passion, the timidities and spontaneous abandon of her maidenhood,\nwhich had enchanted all the roots of his being. And besides and above\nall this--though life holds little better than such emotions--was the\nhope that with her he might get into the swing of activity, the\nascending curve of work and purpose.\n\n\"I'm through pleading for you, Yetta. Let me plead a little for myself.\nWhat is it that makes me talk to you like this? It's not romance.\nPerhaps it isn't what you would call love. But I would call it that.\nIt's a very desperate desire to forget all about myself and--as Isadore\nsaid--'be good to you.' Get up, darling, and sit here beside me. Let us\ntalk over again all our plans of work. After all, work is more important\nthan romance.\"\n\nShe got up rather unsteadily, but she did not sit down beside him.\n\n\"I think love is necessary,\" she said.\n\n\"Don't let's wreck things over a word, Yetta. 'Love' means so many\nthings. Tell me what it is I feel for you. What is it that makes me\nthrill so to your kisses? What is it that makes me want you, Yetta, for\nall time and always? What is it makes me know I can win to usefulness,\nif you will help me? What is it that makes me risk losing what I want\nmost in the world, for fear I may not be true and just to you? I don't\ncare what name you give it. But isn't it enough? Let's try to think of\nrealities, not words.\"\n\n\"No. It's not the word I care about,\" she said. \"But the reality is\nnecessary. I love you, Walter, and I'm not afraid of the word. You know\nwhat it means to me--all that it ever meant to any woman--and more. It\nmeans thinking only and above everything else of the other--and more\nthan that. It means giving one's self without any 'if's'--and more than\nthat too. I can't tell you what love is--just because the reality is so\nmuch bigger than any words. But of one thing I am sure. There can't be\nany regrets in love. Are you sorry it isn't Mabel who loves you? I don't\ncare about the past any more. I did for a minute this afternoon--because\nit surprised me. But I love you too much to care about the past. But,\noh! the future, Walter? We daren't cheapen that! That's all there is\nleft to us. And our life together--our future--couldn't be fine if you\nhad regrets. If ever you had to hide things from me and had wishes I\ncouldn't share. If you wished sometimes I was some one else. It's very\nsimple, Walter. It's this way. If Mabel should come into this room and\nstand here beside me and say, 'I love you,' as I say it--which of us\nwould you choose?\"\n\n\"She'll never come into the room, Yetta.\"\n\n\"Oh, Walter! answer me! I know you won't lie. And I'll believe you for\never and ever.\"\n\nAnd so he could not lie. He buried his face once more in his hands. He\ndid not look up when he heard the rustle of her skirts. He did not see\nher as she picked up her hat and stood there, the tears in her eyes,\nwaiting--hoping that he would say the word.\n\nHe did not look up until he heard the door close behind her. He paced\nthe room aimlessly for several minutes, then filled his pipe and,\nturning out the light, went back to the window-seat. He was not exactly\nsuffering. He felt himself miserably inert and dead.\n\nBut one thing he saw clearly--and it made him glad. Yetta's romance had\ncome while she was still young. She was only twenty-two. Life would pick\nher up again. It might be Isadore, it might be some one else. But her\npulse was too strong to let her decay. There are many real joys in life\nif you get rid of romance early enough.\n\nTime was when he had felt as she did, when nothing but the best seemed\nworth having. He saw clearly that what he could have given her would not\nhave satisfied her.\n\nYetta had not stopped to put on her hat. Her eyes dimmed with tears, she\nhad stumbled down the stairs and out across the street into the Square,\ntowards home. Then she remembered that it was early, that her room-mate\nwould be still awake. She could not go home. There were many people\nabout, some stretched on the grass, some grouped on the benches, some\nstrolling about. Many noticed the hatless girl who shuffled along\nblindly. And presently she ran into Isadore. He also was walking about\naimlessly, his head bent, his hands deep in his pockets.\n\n\"Good God, Yetta,\" he cried in amazement, \"what's wrong?\"\n\nShe raised her tear-wet face to him, stretching out her hand towards the\nfamiliar voice.\n\n\"We're not going to get married,\" she said.\n\n\"Hadn't you better let me take you home?\"\n\n\"Sadie'll be up. I don't want to go home.\"\n\n\"Well, then, come over here and sit down.\"\n\nHardly knowing what she did, she followed him to an empty bench. Now,\nIsadore did not believe in guardian angels, but something told him not\nto talk.\n\n\"It's like this,\" Yetta said, feeling that some further explanation was\nnecessary, \"he's still in love with Mabel.\"\n\nAnd Isadore had sense enough to say nothing at all. Yetta turned about\non the bench and, resting her head on her arms, began to sob. Half the\nnight through, Isadore sat beside her there on guard.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK V\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nISADORE'S MEDICINE\n\n\nSadie Michelson, as she was making coffee the next morning, was\ncogitating over the fact that she had not seen her new room-mate since\nthey had moved into the flat. What was the meaning of these late hours?\nShe was convinced that this Mr. Longman, whose rooms Yetta had formerly\noccupied and who had just come back to claim them, had something to do\nwith it.\n\nHer speculations were interrupted by the telephone bell. Yetta also\nheard it vaguely in her uneasy sleep and dreamed that Walter was calling\nher. Sadie hurried to the receiver. She hoped to find a clew to the\nmystery. It was a surprise--and a disappointment--for her to recognize\nIsadore's voice.\n\n\"Hello, Sadie. Is Yetta up yet?\"\n\n\"No. She got in very late last night and--\"\n\n\"I know,\" Isadore interrupted. \"I was out with her.\"\n\nThis was a new disappointment. Mr. Longman was not to blame after all.\n\n\"Don't wake her,\" he went on. \"But I wish you'd take a message--put it\nunder her door, where she's sure to see it. If she possibly can, it\nwould be a great favor if she could help us down here this morning.\nWe're awfully rushed. Locke's sick. There's a strike over in Brooklyn\nwe've got to cover. And there's nobody here to do it. It would help a\nlot if Yetta could. Got that straight?--All right--much obliged.\"\n\nThe noise of Sadie's leaving woke Yetta. Her first feeling was of escape\nfrom some dread nightmare. Surely last night's storm had been a tempest\nin the tea-pot. Her whole concept of Walter was that he was\nall-powerful, very wise and resourceful. Surely he would find some way\nto make things come straight again.\n\nShe lay still a few minutes, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling. But\nall orderly processes of the mind were difficult. Her recent experiences\nhad unloosed a flood of tumultuous feelings. A new personality had\nemerged from that first embrace on the beach at Staten Island. Something\nhad died within her at his kiss--something new and disturbingly\nwonderful had been born in its place. For a moment, forgetting the\nbitter reality, she let herself bathe in this dizzying sweet sensation.\nThe hot blood rushed to her cheeks, but it was the blush of exultation.\n\"Death\" and \"birth\" did not seem to her the right words to describe the\ntransformation. It was more of a blossoming, as when a butterfly\noutfolds its wings from a chrysalis. How wonderful it had been to feel\nhis arms reaching out to her! How much more wonderful had been the\nfeeling of reaching out to him.\n\nThe memory of their parting fell on her abruptly. It had all been a\nhoax. He did not love her. And that which a moment before had seemed so\nwonderfully right, now smarted as a shame. The butterfly wings snapped.\nShe could find no tears. She looked forward, in dull pain, dry-eyed, to\na life of abject crawling.\n\nThere was the inevitable wave of bitterness. What right had he to teach\nher flight and then break her wings? But this mood could not last. She\nloved him. All her pride, all her ideals of life and work--everything\nfirm--deserted her. Nothing mattered any more except not to lose him.\nThere was no humiliation, through which she would not crawl to regain\nhis companionship. What did this talk of Love matter? She wanted to be\nwith him, to feel his arms once more about her. Her whole being cried\nout that she was \"his,\" utterly \"his.\" Had she not loved him since their\nfirst encounter? She would go to him, asking no terms.\n\nIn the rush of this passionate impulse, she jumped out of bed--and saw\nthe note under her door. The dream came back to her. Walter had called\nher. She had wasted these miserably unhappy moments in bed, and all the\nwhile his message had been waiting her!\n\n\"Dear Yetta. Isadore called up about 8.30 and asked me to tell--\"\n\nThe note crumpled up in Yetta's hand. And there, alone in her room, with\nno one to see her, she had only one idea. She must not make a scene.\n\nShe smoothed out the note and went through the motions of reading it.\nEvery muscle was tense, her teeth were gritted in the supreme effort to\ndominate the storm of wild impulses within her, to keep her head above\nthe buffeting waves of circumstance. Mechanically she bathed and\nbrushed her hair and dressed herself. Her mind was rigid--clenched like\nher teeth.\n\nBut subconsciously--behind this outward calmness--a momentous conflict\nwas raging. In those few minutes, alone in her strange new quarters,\nwith no one by to help or encourage her, she faced the fight and won.\nShe did not win through unscathed,--modern psychology is teaching us\nthat no one does come through such conflicts without wounds, which heal\nslowly, if at all.\n\nIn the din of the spiritual fray a new outlook on life had come to her.\nIt was not so sharp a change as that which Walter's caresses had caused,\nbut it was more fundamental--in the way that spiritual matters are\nalways more significant than things physical.\n\nLife as she had seen it was a ceaseless, desperate struggle, a constant\nclash of personalities, an unrelenting war of social classes. In an\nexternal, rather mechanical way she had been involved in this struggle.\nShe looked forward to being \"a striker\" all her life. But she had always\nthought of herself as a part of the conflict. Now--and this was the new\nviewpoint--it seemed that the fight was taking place within her. The\nstrategic position, the key to the whole battlefield, the place where\nthe fiercest blows were to be exchanged, was her own soul. If she was\ndefeated there, the fight was over--as far as she was concerned.\n\nIt was not to be until years afterwards that she came to a full\nunderstanding of what that half-hour had meant to her. It was to take\nmany months before she could arrange her life in accord with this new\noutlook. But as she poured out the coffee, which Sadie had left on the\nback of the stove, she knew that she had won this first fight in the\nnew campaign. For the moment, at least, she was the Captain of Her Soul.\n\nIn the overwhelming sadness of victory, in the poignant wistfulness of\ntriumph, she had regained her pride. She was not going to humiliate\nherself to gain the narcotic pleasure of kisses when she wanted love.\nWalter would come to her or he would not. That was for him to decide. In\neither case the battle of life was still to be fought. She must not\ndesert.\n\nIt was half past nine, and no word from Walter. She could not sit there\nidly, waiting for him to change his mood. To escape from the pain of\nuncertainty she reread Isadore's message--understandingly. Here was the\nday's work concretely before her. She put on her hat.\n\nOut on Waverly Place she suddenly realized that her feet were carrying\nher to Washington Square and Walter. The Enemy made a desperate\nassault--surprised her with her visor up, her sword in its sheath, her\nshield hanging useless on her back. Why not? He would not have the heart\nto send her away. She knew his kindliness. If they were together, he\nwould grow to love her. How could she expect him to change while they\nwere apart? Together all would go well--\n\nShe had thought that the struggle of a few minutes before had been\nfinal--and here it was all to do over again.\n\nA white-haired old man was walking towards her, but she did not notice\nhim until he stopped and spoke.\n\n\"Are you sick, Miss?\"\n\n\"No\"--she shivered as she realized the import of what he had said, how\nmuch worse it was than he suspected--\"Oh, no! I'm not sick.\"\n\nBut the old man stood still watching her as she turned down McDougal\nStreet. He was half inclined to call a doctor. Soon Yetta realized that\nshe had reached Bleecker Street. She turned across town to the Subway\nand so down to Newspaper Row and _The Clarion_ office.\n\nIt bore no resemblance to that of _The Star_. The loft of a warehouse\nhad been cut in two by a flimsy partition. In the back was a battery of\nsecond-hand, old-style linotypes, a couple of type-frames for the\nadvertisement and job work, the make-up slab, the proof tables, and the\nstereotyping outfit. The stairway opened into this noisy, crowded room.\nYetta had to walk carefully between the machines to reach the editorial\nroom beyond the partition.\n\nA low railing divided the front room between the \"editorial\" and\n\"business\" departments. To the right was a long reporters' table,\nsmaller ones for the \"City\" and \"Exchange\" editors, and a roll-top desk\nbeyond for Isadore.\n\nLevine, a youngster with very curly black hair, a wilted collar, and\nsoaked shirt, jumped up to greet Yetta.\n\n\"Hello,\" he shouted above the din of the typewriters and machines.\n\"Here's a note from Isadore. He's out trying to raise money. I hope to\nGod you can help us. Locke's sick. I'm running his desk and mine and\nIsadore's this morning. Harry's covering the Party News and Woman's Page\nbesides his Telegraph and Exchanges, so that Sam can cover the State\nConvention. How in hell they expect us to get out a paper so\nshort-handed is--\"\n\n\"Oh, stop your croaking,\" Harry Moore yelled from his table, hardly\nlooking up from a pile of Labor Papers he was clipping. \"Things are no\nworse than usual. We'll get her out somehow. We always do. God's good\nto drunks and fools and Socialists.\"\n\nOne of the bookkeepers, from the \"business\" side of the railing,\noverhearing this \"editorial\" controversy, began to count at the top of\nhis voice.\n\n\"One! Two! Three!\"\n\nAt \"Three\" every one in the room, except Yetta and Levine, chanted in\nunison:--\n\n\"O-o-oh! Cut it out and work for Socialism!\"\n\n\"You make me tired,\" Levine growled back at them, and sat down at his\ntable with a despairing gesture.\n\nIsadore's note told Yetta that a small but desperate strike had broken\nout among some paper-box factories in an out-of-the-way corner of\nBrooklyn. The workers were recently arrived immigrants who spoke no\nEnglish. The regular papers had not mentioned the strike, and under\ncover of this secrecy, the bosses, who were allied with prominent Kings\nCounty politicians, were having everything their own way. He thought\nthere was a big story in it. The publicity would certainly help the\nstrikers. There was no one in the office to cover it.\n\nNot a word of their last night's encounter.\n\n\"Comrade,\" Yetta asked Levine, \"what time do you go to press?\"\n\n\"One o'clock. Copy must be in by twelve-thirty. It's idiotic! Our Final\nEdition is on the streets before the regular papers lock up for their\nHome Edition. We can't get out a decent sheet in such--\"\n\n\"One! Two! Three!\"\n\n\"O-o-oh! Cut it out and work for Socialism!\"\n\n\"They're fools!\"\n\n\"Well,\" Yetta said, smiling for the first time that day, \"I'll call you\nup about noon. Put a stenographer on the wire. That'll give you an\nopener for to-day. I'll have the whole story for a follow-up to-morrow.\nSo long.\"\n\nAbout the time that Yetta was starting off on this assignment, Isadore\ncame into the office of the Woman's Trade Union League.\n\n\"Hello,\" Mabel greeted him. Then, as a second thought, and somewhat less\ncordially, she added, \"Stranger.\"\n\nShe was not in a happy mood. Of late she had felt her grip on life\nweakening. People upon whom she depended were deserting her. It had\nbegun when Isadore had given up his work for the League to start _The\nClarion_. When a new lawyer had been broken in, Mrs. Karner had left. It\nhad been impossible to replace her. The Advisory Council was doubly hard\nto manage without her. There had been other desertions. Isadore seemed\nto have started a stampede. And Mabel did not feel these days the same\nbuoyancy in meeting such emergencies. Her few gray hairs she was still\nable to hide, but there was no getting away from the tired look about\nher eyes. Her sudden irritabilities frightened her. She was haunted by\nthe idea that she was getting \"crabbed.\"\n\nIsadore pulled up a chair and broke at once into his business. He wanted\nMabel to persuade Yetta to take up some regular work on _The Clarion_.\nYetta had a talent for writing which ought not to be wasted. He would\ngive them a column or so daily for their work of organizing women. \"It\nwould be helpful all round,\" he said. \"Publicity for you. If it looks\ngood to you, put it up to Yetta.\"\n\n\"It doesn't look good to me,\" Mabel said decisively. \"You forget I'm\nnot interested in your crazy little paper. What good is publicity to us\namong the couple of thousand hidebound Socialists who buy _The\nClarion_?\"\n\n\"Our circulation is over ten thousand.\"\n\n\"Pooh! Nobody but party members read it. Most of your circulation is\ngiven away--and thrown into the gutter. You think working-men ought to\nread a Socialist paper. But they don't. They prefer a real paper with\nnews in it and pictures and a funny page. Yetta was a fool to give up\nher work on _The Star_. That was real publicity.\n\n\"You want to get Yetta on _The Clarion_. You surely do need somebody who\nknows how to write! You want her to drift away from the real work of\norganization--just as you did. I see through your mutual benefit talk.\nInstead of helping our work, you want to get her away from us. Well, the\nless she gets mixed up with _The Clarion_ and your little closed circle\nof dogmatists, the better I'll be pleased.\"\n\n\"Come to think of it,\" Isadore said, changing his tactics, \"I would like\nto see Yetta give all her time to _The Clarion_. As you say, we surely\ndo need good writers. But that wasn't in my mind when I came in.\n\n\"I'm worried about Yetta. She needs to be kept busy--busier than she is.\nOf course I wouldn't want her to know I was butting in like this. But\nshe's worrying about something--\"\n\nMabel, her mind made up to be disagreeable, interrupted him.\n\n\"I knew it wasn't interest in the League that brought you here. I owe\nthis visit to your solicitude about Yetta.\"\n\n\"That's not just, either, Mabel--although it's nearer right than your\nfirst guess. Yetta's principal work is with the League. It's natural I\nshould come to you. I am really worried about her. Something's troubling\nher.\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\" Isadore was surprised at the ease with which he lied.\n\"You don't have to know what's wrong to see that things aren't right.\nYou'd have noticed it, too, if you had not been seeing her every day.\nBut I haven't seen her for a long time\"--he expanded his lie. \"She came\ninto my office this morning and it scared me. This 'what's-the-use'\nlook. She's moody, sad. Going through some sort of a crisis. We all have\nthem. Times when we wonder what God had against us when He made us, and\nall that. The only thing that helps is work.\n\n\"Yetta isn't doing much more for you than when she was studying or\nworking on _The Star_. I guess it's the empty mornings that cause the\ntrouble. Really, the way she looked startled me. I was coming uptown,\nanyway, and I decided to drop in and put it up to you. I really think\nthe work I suggested--which would fill up her mornings--would help you\nfully as much as us.\"\n\nMabel bit the end of her pencil and looked out at the street. She was\nsure that Isadore had not told her all he knew. Probably Yetta had found\nWalter indifferent and was cut up over that. She would find out in the\nevening when Walter called on her. Perhaps more work would be good for\nYetta. Not the job Isadore suggested. She had a decided hostility to him\nand this wild newspaper fad which had taken him away from \"really useful\nwork.\"\n\n\"You may be right about Yetta,\" she said, trying to soften her\nill-humor. \"I haven't seen any signs of a soul tragedy. But if she needs\nmore work, I can give her more than she can handle right here--without\nurging her to waste time on your hobby.\"\n\n\"Your hobby or mine,\" Isadore said, getting up. \"I don't care much\nwhich. My idea in coming was to see that Yetta was kept busy. And I\nthink you'll see I was right about it. So long.\"\n\nHe was really glad that things had taken this turn. The impersonal,\nSocialist side of him would have rejoiced in winning Yetta's support for\n_The Clarion_. But he knew that in a personal way it would have been\nharder to have her always about. The sharpest pain in Cupid's quiver is\nto watch the one you love break heart for some one else.\n\nFrom the League Isadore went in search of Wilhelm Stringer, the\n\"organizer\" of the \"branch\" of the Socialist local to which Yetta\nbelonged. For near forty years, Stringer had earned what money he needed\nas a brass polisher. But his real job was Socialism. He had long been a\nwidower, his own children had died in infancy and his cheated paternal\ninstinct had found an outlet in quiet, intense love for the \"young\nComrades.\" He was a kindly \"Father Superior\" to the whole city\norganization.\n\nIsadore found him eating his lunch on the sidewalk, in the shade of the\nfactory. They were old friends and could talk without evasions.\n\n\"Bill,\" Isadore said, \"this is a personal matter. It's just by chance I\nknow about it. Comrade Yetta Rayefsky is up against it. You can guess\nthe trouble as well as I could tell you. What she needs is to be kept so\nbusy that she'll forget it. She's in your branch. There must be some\nwork which isn't being done that you could unload on her. Work's the\nbest medicine for her.\"\n\nVery slowly Stringer chewed up his mouthful of cheese sandwich.\n\n\"Vell. Ve must send a delegate to der komitaet von education. Nowadays\nthey meet three times a veek. That vill be a start. Und alzo ve commence\nsoon mit the hauz to hauz mit tracts--for the campaign. That is much\nvork. Poor leetle girl. I guess ve can most kill her. Vork is gut\nmedicine.\"\n\nAnd Isadore, having stolen half a morning from his regular work, rushed\ndowntown to the office.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\n_THE CLARION_\n\n\nYetta found the strike of the paper-box makers more serious than she had\nexpected. The conditions of the trade were appalling. The half dozen\nfactories were only the centre of a widespread sweating system. More\nthan half of the work was done in the tenements of the districts where\nthe Child Labor Law could be evaded and where women could be driven to\nwork incredibly long hours beyond the reach of the Factory Inspectors.\n\nThe strikers were not only isolated--lost in a backwater district of\nBrooklyn, out of touch with labor organizations, ignorant of the laws\nand of their rights--they were also weakened by the division of\nlanguages. All were \"greenhorn\" immigrants, who had not yet learned\nEnglish. They belonged to diverse and hostile races--a disunited medley\nof Slovaks, Poles, Italians, and Jews. The bosses have been quick to\ndiscover how serious an impediment to organization is a mixture of\nraces.\n\nYetta came to them in the same way that Mabel, three and a half years\nbefore, had come to the striking vest-makers--bringing detailed,\npractical knowledge of how to manage a strike. As soon as she had\ntelephoned in a first story to _The Clarion_, she took up the work of\nbringing order and hope into the despairing chaos of the struggle. She\ncalled on the police captain, and her threat of publicity made him\nchange his mind in regard to the right of the strikers to hold meetings.\nBefore supper-time the effect of the _Clarion_ story was evident. Half a\ndozen labor organizers and Socialist speakers turned up. With this\noutside help the paper-box makers were able to organize their picket,\narrange meetings, and start plans for money-raising. A Socialist lawyer\ntook up the cases of the dozen odd strikers who had been arrested.\n\nBy ten o'clock the situation was immensely improved. Yetta escaped to a\ntypewriter to get out her big \"follow-up\" for the next day's paper. She\nwent at it with a peculiar thrill. She was realizing for the first time\nwhat a power in the fight a working-man's paper might be.\n\nWhile she was working out her story, the semi-annual stockholders'\nmeeting of the Cooeperative Newspaper Publishing Company was called to\norder in one of the halls of the Labor Temple on East Eighty-fourth\nStreet.\n\nWalter had spoken of _The Clarion_ as \"Isadore's paper.\" In reality it\nwas a cooeperative enterprise. In the days when the working-men nearly\nelected Henry George as Mayor of New York, they had started to raise\nmoney to found a newspaper which would represent the interests of their\nclass. It was decided that fifty thousand dollars was necessary, and a\ncommittee had been formed. In the first enthusiasm they had collected\nfive thousand. Fresh efforts had been made intermittently, and the sum\nhad grown to eight thousand.\n\nWhen Isadore had returned from his vacation with the Pauldings, he had\ndecided to centre his efforts on this project. He had studied the ways\nand means carefully, he had infused new life into the committee, and at\nlast he had succeeded in organizing this cooeperative publishing company.\nAt their first meeting they had decided that fifty thousand was\nhopeless, and that they could begin with twenty-five. But after\nstraining every nerve for six months, arranging balls and picnics and\nfairs, they had raised only twelve thousand. _The Clarion_ was started\non that amount. Every one who knew anything about modern journalism told\nIsadore he was a fool.\n\nAt first the paper ran on its capital. But after a few months the income\nfrom circulation, advertisements, and job-printing reduced the weekly\ndeficit to about five hundred dollars. This was met in part by the\nMaintenance Pledge Fund. About two thousand people, mostly members of\nthe Socialist party, had pledged weekly contributions ranging from ten\ncents to a few dollars. The remaining deficit was met by pure and simple\nbegging and by rebates from the wages. Never was a paper run on a more\nstrenuous and flimsy basis. The lack of economy of such poverty-stricken\noperation would have shocked any business man, would have caused\napoplexy to an \"efficiency expert.\" The cost of every process was twice\nor thrice what it would have been if they had had more money.\n\nBut financial worries were only a small part of what Isadore and his\nlittle band of enthusiastic helpers had to contend with. _The Clarion_\nwas the property of the democratically organized shareholders, who\nelected an Executive Committee of five to manage it. Of all phases of\npublic life, Democracy has shown itself least prepared to deal sanely\nwith this business of newspapers. As a whole the stockholders of the\ncompany were deeply dissatisfied with the regular newspapers and\nardently desired one which would truly represent their class. But\nalthough they were making great sacrifices, were putting up an amazingly\nlarge share of their earnings to support _The Clarion_, their idea of\nwhat to expect from it was very vague. They knew nothing at all of the\ntechnical problems of journalism.\n\nThe Executive Committee had stated meetings every week, and seemed to\nIsadore to be holding special meetings every ten minutes. More of his\ntime went to educating this board of managers, teaching them what could\nand what could not be done with their limited resources, than in actual\nwork on the paper.\n\nWhen the meeting of the shareholders had been called to order,\nRheinhardt, the chairman of the Executive Committee, read his report.\nThe circulation had reached twelve thousand. The weekly deficit had been\nreduced to $400. The Maintenance Pledge Fund had brought in $310. Gifts\nto the amount of $66.50 had been received. The office force had\nreceipted for $23.50 which they had not received. For the first time in\nthe history of _The Clarion_ a week had passed without increasing the\nindebtedness.\n\nThen the meeting fell into its regular routine of useless criticism. One\ndesperately earnest Socialist vehemently objected to some of the\nadvertisements which, he said, favored capitalistic enterprise. He was\nimmediately followed by another Comrade who accused the advertising\nforce of rank inefficiency in not securing more of it. A third speaker\nsaid it was foolish to waste space on sporting news. The working-class\nhad more serious things to think about. Three or four others at once\nclamored for the floor. They all told the same story: the men in their\nshops bought the papers to see how the Giants were coming along in the\nrace for the baseball pennant. They would not buy _The Clarion_ because\nits athletic news was weak. So it went on as usual--every suggestion was\ncombated by a counterproposal--and so it would have gone on till\nadjournment, if one of the Executive Committee had not lost heart in the\nface of this futile criticism and resigned.\n\nWilhelm Stringer jumped up.\n\n\"Ve haf in our branch a comrade who is one gut newspaper lady. She has\nvorked mit a big yellow journal. I like to see gut Socialist on the\nkomitaet, but alzo ve need some gut newspaper man. Und I nominate Comrade\nYetta Rayefsky.\"'\n\nNo one sought the nomination, for it was a hard and thankless job, so\nYetta was elected by acclamation.\n\n\"Ve vill nearly kill her mit vork. Yes?\" Stringer said to Isadore as the\nmeeting broke up.\n\n\"Do you think she'll accept?\" Isadore asked dubiously.\n\n\"Sure, she vill. It is a gut girl. I haf not as yet asked her, but now I\nvill write a letter und tell her.\"\n\nHe gave the note to Isadore to deliver.\n\nYetta finished her copy about midnight, but finding much detail still\nneeding attention at the strike headquarters, she decided to make a\nnight of it and sleep in Brooklyn with a family of strikers. It was\nthree in the morning before she turned in--too tired to remember with\nany clearness that her butterfly wings had been broken. More than once\nduring the day she had had to fight against her tears--to struggle\nagainst the desire to drop all this work and rush back to Manhattan and\nWalter. But always at the weak moment some one who was weaker had asked\nher help.\n\nIt all had to be fought out again when she woke. She might not have won,\nif the conviction had not come to her during her sleep that somehow it\nmust all turn out right in the end. When she reached \"headquarters\" she\nfound so much to do that she had no time to mourn. The first mail\nbrought in more than fifty dollars--the result of her yesterday's story.\nBut better still was the fact that _The Clarion's_ glaring headlines had\nforced the attention of the regular papers. The strike was receiving\nwide publicity. There is no other class of evil-doers who so ardently\nlove darkness in their business as \"unfair\" employers. The bosses had\nnot been much worried by the revolt of their workers, but they did not\nlike to read about it--to have their acquaintances read about it--in\ntheir morning papers.\n\nIt was ten o'clock before Yetta could get away. Coming across on the\nelevated, she had her first chance to look at the yesterday's issue of\n_The Clarion_. It caused a revulsion from her feeling of enthusiasm over\na working-man's paper. What a pitiful sheet it was! How different in\ntone and quality from the one Walter had talked of so glowingly! It was\nnot only unattractive in appearance. There was not a detail which, to\nYetta's trained eye, seemed well done. The headlines of her own story,\nwhich spread across the top of the front page, were crude. A dozen\nbetter ones suggested themselves to her. The mistakes they had made in\nexpanding her telephone message to two columns were ludicrous and\nvexatious. What else was there in the paper? The rest of the front page\nwas filled with telegrams which had been news several hours before it\nhad gone to press! The second page--it was headed \"Labor News\"--offended\nYetta especially. It was mostly \"exchange paragraphs\" clipped from trade\njournals. The original matter was written by some one who did not\nunderstand nor sympathize with the Trade-Union Movement, who evidently\nthought that every worker who was not a party member was mentally\ndefective. The only spark of personality on the last page was Isadore's\neditorial. It was a bit ponderous and long-drawn-out, but at least it\nwas intense and thoughtful. The cartoon was poorly drawn and required an\nanalytic mind to discover the point. Yetta found it hard to believe that\ntwelve thousand people had been willing to buy so uninteresting a paper\nwhen they could get the bright, snappy, sixteen-page _Star_ for the same\nmoney.\n\nShe was tired and discouraged when she reached the office.\n\n\"I'm not a headline writer,\" she said as she tossed her copy on Levine's\ntable, \"but I've ground out some that aren't quite so stupid as those\nyou ran yesterday.\"\n\nWithout waiting for his retort she went on to Isadore's desk.\n\n\"Here's a note from Stringer,\" he said as a greeting.\n\nShe tore it open listlessly.\n\n\"Well! That's a nervy piece of business,\" she said, throwing it into the\nwaste-paper basket. \"Electing me without asking my consent.\"\n\n\"Won't you serve?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nIsadore leaned back in his swivel chair and puffed nervously at his\ncigarette.\n\n\"Don't you think the job's worth doing?\"\n\n\"It's worth doing well--but not like this.\"\n\nIt seemed to Isadore that a word of encouragement from her would have\nput new life into him. But she--like everybody else--had only criticism.\nHe had a foolish desire to cry and an equally insane desire to curse. He\nmanaged to do neither.\n\n\"Well, what would you suggest? To bring it up to your standard of\nworth-while-ness?\"\n\n\"It'll never be a newspaper till the front page gets over this\nday-before-yesterday look--for one thing.\"\n\n\"If you knew what we're up against,\" he said, laboriously trying to hide\nthe sting her scorn gave him, \"I think you'd be proud of our news\ndepartment--as proud as I am. In the first place, of course, we have to\nsubscribe to the very cheapest News Agency. Until we can afford some\nmore delivery wagons--we've only got two now--we'll have to go to press\nby one. That means that the telegraphic copy must be in at\ntwelve-thirty. The flimsies don't begin to come in till eleven. We can\nreceive only one hour and a half out of twenty-four. And it's a rotten,\nunreliable, dirty capitalistic service--the only one we can afford. Half\nof it has to be rewritten. Harry Moore, who also reports night meetings,\nclips the labor papers, attends to the make-up, runs the 'Questions and\nAnswers,' and collects jokes and fillers, has to read every despatch and\nrewrite most of them. Yes, I'm rather proud of our telegraphic\ndepartment.\"\n\n\"Is the financial side so hopeless?\" Yetta asked.\n\n\"Well, I don't call it hopeless. You're a member of the Executive\nCommittee--at least till you resign--so you'd best look into the books.\"\n\nFor half an hour they bent their heads over balance-sheets. It was an\nappalling situation. The debt was out of all proportion to the property.\nTo be sure much of it was held by sympathizers, who were not likely to\nforeclose. But there was no immediate hope of decreasing the burden. Any\nnew income would have to go into improvements. The future of the paper\ndepended not only on its ability to carry this dead weight, but on the\ncontinuance of the Pledge Fund and on Isadore's success in begging about\na hundred dollars a week.\n\n\"It's hopeless,\" Yetta said. \"You might run a good weekly on these\nresources, but you need ten times as much to keep up a good daily.\"\n\n\"Well, if you feel that way about it, Yetta, I hope you'll resign at\nto-night's meeting.\" His eyes turned away from her face about the busy\nroom, and his discouraged look gave place to one of conviction. A note\nof dogged determination rang in his voice.--\"Because it isn't hopeless!\nOur only real danger is that the executive committee may kill us with\ncold water. If we can get a committee that believes in us, we'll be all\nright. A paper like this isn't a matter of finance. That's what you--and\nthe other discouragers--don't see. You look at it from a bourgeoise\ndollar-and-cents point of view. It's hopeless, is it? Well, we've been\ndoing this impossible thing for more than a year. It's hopeless to carry\nsuch indebtedness? Good God! We started with nothing but debts--nothing\nat all to show. Every number that comes out makes it more hopeful. The\nadvertising increases. The Pledge Fund grows. Why, we've got twelve\nthousand people in the habit of reading it now. That habit is an asset\nwhich doesn't show in the books. Six months ago we had nothing!--not\neven experience. Why, our office force wasn't even organized! And now\nyou say it's hopeless--want us to quit--just when it's getting\nrelatively easy. We--\"\n\nLevine's querulous voice rose above the din of the machines--finding\nfault with something. A stenographer in a far corner began to count,\n\"One! Two! Three!\" Every one in the office, even the linotypers and\nprinter's devil beyond the partition took up the slogan.\n\n\"O-o-oh! Cut it out and work for Socialism.\"\n\nThe tense expression on Isadore's face relaxed into a confident grin.\n\n\"That's it. You think we need money to run this paper? We're doing it on\nenthusiasm. And nothing is going to stop us.\"\n\n\"I'll think it over,\" Yetta said. \"If I can't see any chance of helping,\nI won't stay on the Committee to discourage you. I've got to go up to\nthe League now and make peace with Mabel. I was so busy in Brooklyn last\nnight I forgot all about a speaking engagement she'd made for me.\"\n\nAs she rode uptown Yetta was surprised by a strange revulsion towards\nher old work and workmates. Why the shattering of her romance should\nhave changed her outlook on life she could not determine. She seemed\nsomehow to have graduated from it all. Even with wings broken a\nbutterfly does not want to crawl back into the chrysalis. All her old\nlife had become abhorrent to her. She hated the steps in front of the\nLeague office as she walked up them. She realized that she was\ndangerously near hating Mabel. More sharply than ever before she felt\nthe chasm between this finely bred upper-class woman and herself. No\nmatter how hard she tried she would never be able to climb entirely out\nof her sweat-shop past. Jealousy made her unjust. She attributed\nWalter's preference--which was purely a matter of chance--to this\ndifference in breeding.\n\nMabel, sitting within at her desk, was in no more cordial a mood. Walter\nhad not called the night before. This had affected her more than she\nwould have believed possible. It seemed typical of the way she was being\ndeserted. A hungry loneliness had been gathering within her of late. The\nprocess of growing old seemed to be a gradual sloughing off of the\nrelationships which really counted. Old age with Eleanor was a dreary\noutlook. She had not had many suitors this last year--none that\nmattered. As she had sat at home waiting for Walter to call, realizing\nminute by minute that he was not coming, the loneliness which had been\nonly a hungry ache had changed to an acute pain. She was no more in love\nwith him than before. But--although she had not admitted it to herself\nin so many words--if he had come, still seeking her, she knew she would\nhave married him out of sheer fright at the doleful prospect of being\nleft alone.\n\nAt the office that morning she had found a letter, which he had written\nthe day before. He was sorry to have missed her. He was to be in the\ncountry only a few days, was leaving that afternoon for Boston--a\ncollection he wanted to look over in the Harvard Museum--and was sailing\nfrom there to England. He told of the Oxford professorship he was\naccepting, and he was \"Very truly yours.\" He did not even give his\nBoston address.\n\nIt was his formal \"_adieu_.\" It was the concrete evidence--which is\noften so distressing, even when the fact is already known--that another\nchapter was finished.\n\nShe had hardly finished this letter when a telephone message had come,\nasking why Yetta had failed to appear at the meeting. It was a small\nmatter, but it seemed important to Mabel. Yetta, the reliable, the\ndependable, had failed her. Was this a new desertion?\n\nThe stenographers had made more mistakes that morning than was their\ngeneral average for a week.\n\nAt last Yetta came in. Her haggard face shocked Mabel. She forgot her\nown discomforts in a sudden flood of sympathy.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" she asked anxiously. \"Are you sick? Is that why you\ndidn't speak last night?\"\n\n\"No,\" Yetta replied shortly. It irritated her to think that her\nheartbreak showed in her face. \"I'm not sick. I forgot.\"\n\n\"Forgot?\"\n\n\"Yes. I forgot all about it till it was too late to do any good\ntelephoning. I was over in Brooklyn. And even if I hadn't forgot, I\ncouldn't have come. This paper-box strike is a lot more important than\nthat meeting.\"\n\n\"Paper-box makers? I did not know they were striking.\"\n\n\"If you read _The Clarion_, you'd find out about such things.\"\n\nYetta tossed her copy on Mabel's desk. The edge of each word had shaved\na trifle off the traditional friendship between them. Mabel had not\nintended to lose her temper. The sight of Yetta had touched her deeply.\nBut it seemed to her--from Yetta's first word--that she was being\nflouted. _The Clarion_ was the last straw. Below the glaring headlines\nwas Yetta's name at the head of the story.\n\n\"So, you thought it more important to write an article for _The Clarion_\nthan to keep an engagement for the League? I'd like to know whether\nyou're working for me or for Isadore Braun.\"\n\nYetta had not intended to lose her temper, either. But she had been too\ntired and storm-tossed to be thoughtful. She was flooded by an insolent\nrecklessness. Mabel Train did not need to put on airs, just because she\nhad had a better education.\n\n\"Neither,\" she said defiantly. \"I'm drawing my salary from the Woman's\nTrade Union League. If they don't like my work, all they've got to do is\nto tell me.\"\n\nA stenographer giggled.\n\nYetta walked over to her letter-box and looked over her mail.\n\n\"Am I to understand that you are offering me your resignation?\" Mabel\nasked.\n\n\"Oh, no! I was just making a general statement. Any time the Advisory\nCouncil want my resignation they can get it by asking.\"\n\nSuddenly Yetta wanted to cry.\n\n\"What's the use of quarrelling?\" she said contritely, coming over to\nMabel's desk. \"I'm all done up. Haven't had any sleep lately. Cross as a\nbear. I'll go home--a couple of hours' sleep will do me good. I'm sorry\nI--\"\n\nHer eye fell on the envelope of Walter's note. His well-loved\nhandwriting stared at her--jeeringly. What did he have to say to Mabel?\nThe apology died on her lips.\n\nMabel was too deeply offended to make peace easily. She had felt\nhumiliated by the snicker of her secretary. She kept her eyes turned\naway and so did not see the sudden spasm of pain which twisted Yetta's\nface. She waited a moment for the apology which did not come. Then she\nturned back to her work without looking up.\n\n\"I will certainly present the matter to the next meeting of the Advisory\nCouncil,\" she said coldly.\n\nYetta turned without a word and slammed the door as she went out.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nNEW WORK\n\n\nThings seemed very muddled indeed to Yetta as she rushed out of the\noffice of the Woman's Trade Union League. It was not until she reached\nthe elevated and was on her way downtown that any coherent thought came\nto her. Then she was caught by one of those amazing psychological\nreactions, which escape all laboratory explanation. She was suddenly\ncalm. All this turmoil of misunderstanding and quarrels was utterly\nunbelievable. It was quite impossible that her love for Walter, her long\nfriendship with Mabel, should be wrecked in so short a time. With the\nfairest look of truth the whole muddle straightened out. That note on\nMabel's desk had been Walter's definite break with her, an announcement\nof his new love. It was as plain as day. A letter like that would\nexplain Mabel's raw humor. She would find Walter waiting for her on her\ndoorstep. They would have supper together and never, never separate\nagain. She began to smile at the thought of all the dumb, gratuitous\nmisery of these last two days. She ran down the stairs of the Ninth\nStreet station, dashed through the chaos of Sixth Avenue cars, and\nwalked her fastest to Waverly Place.\n\nWalter was not sitting on her doorstep.\n\nIt was dark in the hallway--appallingly dark. But the light shone about\nher once more when she found a letter from him in her box. She ran\nupstairs, let herself into the apartment, locked her bedroom door, and\ntore open the letter. It was written on the paper of the Cafe Lafayette.\n\n\n     \"DEAR YETTA,\n\n     \"No word from you all morning--so I know you have decided to keep\n     faith with your Dream. Perhaps you are right. I hope for your sake\n     that you are--although it seems very like a death sentence to me.\n\n     \"I should like to ask your pardon for all the pain this has caused\n     you, but it's hard to apologize for having tried desperately to\n     tell the truth. Feeling as your silence tells me you do about it,\n     it must be better for both of us that Isadore's coming forced an\n     explanation, forced us to an understanding--in time. I trust you,\n     Yetta, to see clearly--perhaps not now, but sometime--how I tried\n     above all things to be fair and honest to you. I wanted your love.\n     You must never think I was pretending about that, Yetta darling.\n     There is nothing I want more at this moment. And, although you will\n     not agree with me--and may be right--I thought we could win\n     together to a happy, useful life. I still think we might if you did\n     not feel about such things as you do.\n\n     \"But after all, it doesn't matter much what I think. You're a\n     woman. You've lived long enough to make your own choice, to\n     formulate for yourself the demands you will present to the Great\n     Employer--Life.\n\n     \"I don't feel that you are asking too much--I don't believe we can\n     do that. I won't admit that you are asking more than I. But I doubt\n     if you are asking wisely--for the Real Thing. Yet, for years on\n     end, I made the same demand. Perhaps it is my defeat which has\n     changed me from a romanticist to a realist. Nowadays I prefer\n     something real to any Dream.\n\n     \"But you must make your choice according to your present lights. I\n     can't ask you to accept my experience. And more deeply--more\n     devoutly--than I wish for anything else, I hope that your Dream may\n     lead your feet into pleasant paths--to the Happy Valley.\n\n     \"Once my pen is started, I could write on and on to you. But this\n     desire to commune with you is not what you think love should be, so\n     it would be of no comfort. After all, there is nothing more for me\n     to say. It was my business to make you see the choice clearly. You\n     did, I think. And you made it bravely. So I must say Good-by.\n\n     \"I'm leaving in half an hour for Boston, and I will sail from there\n     in a few days. The Fates have arranged a haven for me in Oxford. It\n     is not what I would like most in the world, but it will do. Better\n     chance to you.\n\n     \"WALTER.\"\n\n\nVery little of this letter reached Yetta's consciousness. The import of\nall these phrases was that he had gone. So there was not any hope. If\nWalter had loved her--in anything like the way she meant--he would not\nhave gone.\n\nYetta had not cried very much, even as a little girl. Now, it seemed to\nher that, having lost control of her tears, she had lost everything. She\nwilted on to the bed, burying her face in the pillow to hide the shame\nof her sobs.\n\nHer body was utterly prone on the bed--but her spirit had fallen even\nlower. Why had she let Isadore divert her with the call to work? What\ndid work matter, if she had lost Walter? Why had she not gone to him\nthat first morning? He had waited for some word from her. She had let\nher stupid pride stand in her way. What was her pride worth to her? If\nshe had gone to his room, she might have held something of him. She had\ndemanded all and had lost everything.\n\nAs the minutes grew into hours, Yetta sank deeper and deeper into the\nSlough of Despond. She lost desire to struggle out. But gradually the\nwild turmoil of grief wore away, and she fell into a heavy sleep.\n\nWhen she awoke, she heard Sadie moving about in the kitchen. The pride\nwhich she had cursed a few hours before came back to her. She did not\nwant Sadie to see her defeat. There is a vast difference between the\nabstract proposition, \"Is life worth living?\" and the concrete question,\n\"Shall I let Tom, Dick, or Mary see tears in my eyes!\" She had wanted to\ndie, and now she did not want to be ashamed.\n\nSo the will came to Yetta to hold her head high. It was six o'clock when\nshe got up and washed her face. Sadie was preparing supper. She wanted\nto go out and help. But instead she sat down drearily. She did not have\nthe courage to face her room-mate. The willing of a deed does not\nguarantee the power of execution.\n\nShe was dry-eyed now; the tears were spent, but she was utterly weak.\nShe leaned a little sideways and, resting her cheek against the cool\nsurface of her bureau, looked--unseeing--out of her window at the array\nof milk bottles on the window ledge across the airshaft. Where could she\nfind help? It was the first time in her life she had wanted such\nassistance. Often she had needed advice, aid in thinking things out. But\nnow she needed help in the elemental job of living. Often she had been\nat a loss as to what she ought to do, but now she knew. Yet instead of\ngoing out to help Sadie, she sat there--weak.\n\nIf she had been an Italian, she might have crept out to the\nConfessional, whispered her troubles into a kind Padre's ear, and so\nfound comfort and strength. But the solace of religion was unknown to\nher. In these latter active years, even the memory of her father had\nfaded. She could no longer shut her eyes and talk things over with him.\nBut without some external aid, she knew she could not go forward.\nShe--the individual--was defeated. Like the little band of besieged in\nLucknow there was nothing more that she could do. The ammunition was\nspent. In what direction should she turn in the hope of hearing the\npipes of the rescuers?\n\nIn those few desolate moments she saw her situation clearly. She did not\nwant to die. But unless relief came quickly the black waves of death\nwhich were beleaguering her spirit would close over her. Never as long\nas she might live could she ever be proud of her strength again.\n\nWhat solid, basic thing was there for her to lean against?\n\nSuddenly she caught the sound of the distant bagpipes. She rushed out\ninto the hall and took down the receiver of the telephone.\n\n\"Hello, Central. Park Row 3900.\"...\n\n\"Hello. _The Clarion_?\"...\n\n\"One! Two! Three!!\"\n\nSadie came to the kitchen door and looked out in surprise. The gaslight\nshone full on Yetta's face; it was drawn and haggard.\n\nHarry Moore, who happened to answer the call in _The Clarion_ office,\ndid not recognize Yetta's voice, but he recognized the signal of\ndistress.\n\n\"O-o-oh!\" he shouted back. \"Cut it out and work for Socialism.\"\n\nYetta's fixed stare melted into the look of one who sees a fair vision,\nthe strained lines about her mouth relaxed into a glad smile.\n\n\"Thanks!\" she said, and hung up the receiver.\n\nAfter all, there was something bigger than her little personal woes--a\nCause to work for even if her wings were broken.\n\n\"I'm sorry to have slept so late,\" she said, coming out into the\nkitchen. \"I was up on that paper-box strike in Brooklyn most of last\nnight. Dead tired. I turned in about one this afternoon. I thought I'd\nsurely wake up in time to get supper.\"\n\nSadie was aggrieved at Yetta's matter-of-fact tone. She knew that\nsomething was wrong. In spite of the firm smile, Sadie was sure\nsomething exciting had happened. She herself was used to telling her\ntroubles to almost any one who would listen. That her ready sympathy\nshould be allowed to lie fallow, hurt her. But she did not want Yetta to\nthink she was prying. So she talked about other things. But when Yetta\nput on her hat after supper, Sadie could not help asking where she was\ngoing.\n\n\"Down to _The Clarion_. An Executive Committee. I hope I'll get back\nearly. This all-night game is killing me.\"\n\nYetta took little part in the Committee meeting, but she listened\ncarefully to get the measure of the other members. Rheinhardt, the\nchairman, was a printer; he had some familiarity with that side of\nnewspaper work at least. He was a quiet, earnest man, and as the evening\npassed, Yetta's respect for him grew. He seemed sleepy and indifferent\nmost of the time, but whenever any matter of real importance came up, he\nwas wide-awake. Paulding, the magazine writer, with whom Isadore had\nspent his vacation, was the strongest man on the Committee. But in spite\nof his deep interest in the paper, he was a bit restive, quick to voice\nany passing discouragement, impatient with the less-cultured working-men\nand their rather indirect methods of thought and work. Idle discussion,\nwaste of time, made him fume. Yetta saw that if she was to do any real\nwork on this Committee, it must be in cooeperation with Rheinhardt and\nPaulding against the other two who were dead-wood--nonentities.\n\nWhen the routine work had ended and they had reached, in the Order of\nBusiness, \"Good and Welfare,\" Rheinhardt asked Yetta if she had any\nsuggestions.\n\n\"Every improvement,\" she said, \"seems to depend on getting more money.\nAnd that's got to be done by increased circulation. Our financial\ncondition will never be sound so long as we are dependent on gifts and\nfriendly loans. We've got about 12,000 circulation now, and I guess\nthat's as many Socialists as we can count on. If we're to grow, it must\nbe among non-Socialist working-men. So it seems to me that we must put\nour best efforts on the labor page. That page is very weak now. It's\nfull of stuff about the unions, but it's written to interest Socialists.\nIt ought to be the other way round. Until it is made interesting to\nworking-men who are not yet Socialists it's useless as a\ncirculation-getter.\"\n\nPaulding leaned forward and broke in impulsively.\n\n\"Comrade, everybody has knocks! Every page in the paper is weak. We\ndon't have to be told that. How can it be improved with the resources at\nhand? That's the question.\"\n\n\"Nothing can be done without some money. But if we could raise one man's\nsalary, I think we could make a great improvement. What's needed is a\nman who can give all his time to it, some one who has an idea of\nnews-value, of up-to-date journalism, who understands the labor movement\nand can write about it without an offensive Socialist bias.\"\n\n\"And,\" Paulding growled, \"how much would a man like that cost us? There\naren't half a dozen men with those qualifications in the city. How much\nwould Karner pay a man, who could make real circulation for _The Star_\nout of a labor page?\"\n\n\"The kind of man I mean would value the freedom we could give him.\nNobody who's sincere likes to work for Karner. We can get him for less.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm doubtful,\" Paulding said. \"We're sweating our staff now worse\nthan any sweat-shop. Look at this rotten office where we ask them to\nwork. We're overworking them, underpaying them, and about every week\nasking them to sign off some of their wages.\"\n\n\"They do it willingly,\" one of the nonentities put in, \"the Great\nIdeal--\"\n\n\"Oh! that Great Ideal talk makes me tired,\" Paulding interrupted. \"We\ncan't get high-class men at such terms. I know two really able men; they\ngive us a lot of stuff gratis. They've got the Great Ideal as strong as\nanybody, but they've also got families! They'd be glad to work for us if\nwe could give them, not fancy salaries, but decent ones. We can't. The\nmen we've got are wonderful. I take off my hat whenever I think of them.\nThey're devoted to the limit. Very likely they're of high moral\ncharacter\"--his voice rose querulously--\"good to their mothers, and all\nthat. But there is no use shutting our eyes to the fact that they're not\nnewspaper men. Braun had some experience on the _Forwaertz_. But there\nisn't a man in the office who ever saw the inside of a modern\nmetropolitan daily.\n\n\"What can we offer a man? Twenty-five dollars a week--at most. That's\nwhat Braun is getting--sometimes. It's a joke. A hundred a month to our\neditor-in-chief! That's our whole trouble. What we--\"\n\n\"Could you offer twenty-five a week?\" Yetta interrupted his despondency.\n\n\"It would be hard,\" Rheinhardt said.\n\n\"Sure we could--for a good man,\" Paulding contradicted him. \"I could\nguarantee it myself. I've a lot of friends who are interested in _The\nClarion_, but just dead sick of its sloppy appearance. I haven't seen\nanything in it for weeks that jolted me till this paper-box story of\nyours. Think of it! A Socialist paper which isn't afraid to tell the\ntruth, but can't afford to hire the brains to do it! Yes, if we had a\nlive-wire on the paper, I could find ten people who would pledge ten\ndollars a month. But what's the use of talking about it? The kind of man\nwe need could get fifty a week--more. It's the same all the way through.\nWe need keen men in every department and can't afford to pay their\nmarket value. If we got the right kind of a man for advertising\nmanager--the kind we need--he'd be valuable to other richer papers. The\nright kind of a man for our circulation department would be worth ten\nthousand to a dozen other--\"\n\n\"I don't know anything about the business side of it,\" Yetta interrupted\nagain. \"But I know a lot of reporters. If you'll authorize me to offer\ntwenty-five a week, I'll see if I can find one.\"\n\n\"No one can work on the paper who isn't a party member,\" the other\nnonentity said. \"We can't ask the Comrades to put up money to support a\nbroken-down capitalist.\"\n\n\"What's the use of discussing it?\" Paulding asked Yetta, ignoring the\nnonentity. \"Have you the nerve to ask a friend to take such a job? You\nwouldn't do it yourself.\"\n\nYetta suddenly remembered that she was probably jobless.\n\n\"On the contrary,\" she said, \"if I had the right kind of training, I'd\njump at it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Rheinhardt said, suddenly waking up, \"I think you come nearer to\nwhat we need than any one we're likely to find. If Paulding can raise\ntwenty-five a week, will you accept it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Paulding chimed in, \"I'll get the money. Will you do it?\"\n\n\"I haven't the training,\" Yetta laughed, not taking the offer\nseriously. \"I've only had six months' newspaper work altogether, and\nthat was very specialized stuff on the Woman's page. We need some one\nwith more general and longer experience.\"\n\n\"You don't answer,\" Rheinhardt said, slumping back in his chair; \"we\ncan't get the wonder you talk about. Even with your limited experience\nyou can earn more elsewhere.\"\n\n\"Of course you won't take it,\" Paulding sneered. \"Not that I blame you.\nI'm not taking it either.\"\n\n\"On second thought,\" Yetta said, \"I will.\"\n\nIt was a complicated psychological process which caused Yetta so\nsuddenly to throw in her lot with the struggling Socialist paper. She\ndid not often act so impetuously.\n\nThe motive which seemed to her strongest was the distaste for her old\nlife which had suddenly flooded her. She had emigrated spiritually. Fate\nhad jerked her roughly out of the orderly progress, which had been\ntypified by Walter's great leather chair. It seemed incongruous to go on\nwith the old work of the League from the new flat in Waverly Place.\nEverything must be changed.\n\nBut a self-protective instinct, more subtle and less easily recognized,\nwas equally strong. She was not so likely to be reminded of Walter in\nthe rushing turmoil of _The Clarion_ office. In learning the details of\na new job she would have less time and energy for the destructive work\nof mourning.\n\nDeeper even than this was a subconscious reaching out for help. Here she\ncould find the strength she needed to go forward. She had tapped it over\nthe telephone wire when she had been tottering on the raw edge of\ndespair. She wanted to keep ever in touch with this indomitable little\nband of fighters. She had looked down upon them--rather despised\nthem--from the false standard she had acquired uptown. They had seemed\nto her unkempt. But in her moment of greatest need it was to them she\nhad turned. \"Culture\" and \"gentility\" had been no help to her. It was\nthe handclasp of her own people that had given her strength to climb up\nout of the Slough of Despond.\n\nAs a little child in whose brain is as yet no clear concept of \"danger\"\nclings, when frightened, to its mother's hand, so Yetta--knowing that\nher need had not passed, afraid of the future--wanted to keep close to\nthe protecting enthusiasm, the dauntless faith which had proven her only\nhelper--her one hope of salvation.\n\nBut it was not until many months had passed that Yetta woke up to a\nvital, emotional attitude towards her new work. The deeper side of her\npersonality had been stunned by the crash of her romance. She walked\nthrough life a high-class physical machine, a keen, forthright\nintellect. But it did not seem to matter very much to her. Nothing did.\nThe moments came when she cursed the Fates for having sent Walter to\nrescue her from Harry Klein. That could have been no more painful, and\nit would have been over quicker. The years she had spent studying seemed\nonly to have increased her capacity for suffering.\n\nEach day was a task to be accomplished. The very uncertainty of _The\nClarion's_ existence fitted into Yetta's mood. Any moment the flimsy\nstructure might collapse. She thought of the future as little as\npossible. Can I get through another day without breaking down? Can we\nget out another issue? These two questions seemed almost the same to\nher. She and the paper were struggling desperately to keep going until\nthey found firmer ground underfoot.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nYETTA TAKES HOLD\n\n\nBut if Yetta did not think her work mattered very much, Isadore and\nRheinhardt and Paulding and all those who had the welfare of _The\nClarion_ at heart thought very differently about it. Gradually she\ntransformed the labor page into a vital force in the trade-union world.\n\nOrganized labor is fighting out the same problem in democracy which our\nlarger community is facing. \"How shall elected delegates be made to\nrepresent their constituents?\" The rank and file of workers cannot\nattend all the meetings of their central organizations any more than we\ncan spend all our time in watching Congress. Labor bosses, like\npolitical crooks, love darkness. Yetta, taking a suggestion from the\nprogressive magazines, turned the light of publicity on the weekly\nmeetings of the Central Federated Union. She made the Monday afternoon\nlabor page a verbatim report of the Sunday session. Among the delegates\nto the C. F. U. there were many fearless, upright men who were as much\nopposed to gang politics as any insurgent senator at Washington. Yetta\nknew them from her old work and drew them into a sort of informal Good\nGovernment Club. Every day she tried to run some story dealing with\nthis issue of clean politics. More and more the \"labor grafters\"\ndenounced _The Clarion_, and more and more their opponents came to rely\non it as their greatest ally. The percentage of \"crooked\" and \"straight\"\namong the unionists is about the same as in any church membership. The\ncirculation grew among the honest workers--the vast majority.\n\nHer influence was not confined to her own department. Her experience in\nthe Woman's Trade Union League had made her an expert beggar; more and\nmore she helped Isadore, relieving him of some of the burden of\nmoney-raising. This freed more of his time and energy for his page. He\nlistened more docilely to her suggestions about bettering the style of\nhis editorials--adding snap to them--than he had done when Paulding had\ntried to help him. The improvement was noticeable. During her\napprenticeship under Mr. Brace Yetta had absorbed some of his \"sense of\nmake-up.\" Harry Moore often appealed to her judgment. In time _The\nClarion_ began to look almost attractive.\n\nOne day Yetta's old friend Cowan, the sporting editor of _The Star_, met\nher on the street.\n\n\"I hear you're working on this Socialist paper,\" he said. \"How goes it?\"\n\n\"I like it better than _The Star_,\" she replied.\n\n\"I've looked over some of the copies,\" he said. \"You people aren't\nhandling local news the way you ought to. Why don't you tear the lid off\nthis Subway scandal? I'm not a Socialist. But I hate to see such good\nstories going to waste.\"\n\nYetta rather wearily went over the long story of their limitations. She\nhad learned to recite it as glibly as Isadore or Paulding.\n\n\"It's too bad,\" Cowan said, as he left her. \"I didn't realize you were\nup against it so hard. I sure hate to see some of these hot stories\nunused.\"\n\nA couple of days later, Yetta received a long, unsigned typewritten\nmanuscript. It was a well-written story of a session of the Public\nService Commission. A witness had made a statement which seemed to offer\nthe key to the whole situation in the tangled effort of the city to get\ndecent transportation. A few more questions promised to bring out the\nfact--generally suspected--that a well-known banker was obstructing\nprogress. The chairman had unexpectedly adjourned the sitting. When they\nreassembled, the old witness--the only one who had ever shown any\nwillingness to remember important things--had left town. Then followed\nfrom official court records a list of the cases in which the Chairman of\nthe Commission had served as personal attorney for the banker who was\nunder suspicion. It was a wrought-iron story, hardly a word in it was\nnot public record; chapter and verse were cited for every allegation.\nYetta called up Cowan and asked him about it. He denied all knowledge of\nit so ardently that she was sure he had sent it. They made a screaming\nfront-page story of it. The regular papers denounced it as \"a malicious\nand audacious lie\"--which was good advertising for _The Clarion_. More\nanonymous stories followed. They attracted a new class of readers. The\ncirculation grew. Gradually Yetta and _The Clarion_ found firmer ground\nunderfoot.\n\nDespite her strenuous work for _The Clarion_, Yetta did not lose\ninterest in, nor neglect, her vest-makers union. She was not alone in\nher ambition to see all the garment trades allied in a strong\nfederation. There were many Socialists in the various unions, and there\nwere many who, while not party members, had been influenced by the\npropaganda of the Industrial Workers of the World. As the months passed\nthe sentiment for \"One Big Union\" grew steadily. At last, when Yetta had\nbeen about a year on _The Clarion_, a convention of all the garment\ntrades was called to consider the matter.\n\nThe victory of Yetta's faction was by no means sure. Each union had its\nown ambitions, which it was loath to sacrifice for the common good. In\nall the unions there were little groups of \"officials\"--some of them\nafraid of losing their salaries in the proposed new arrangement, more\nwho feared to lose their influence. A union man who is elected to the\nexecutive committee by his fellows has all the personal pride in the\nmatter that a college graduate has in being on the board of governors of\nhis club. The union man has the same temptation to resort to petty\nintrigues to hold his place. Officialdom always distrusts\ninnovations--is always conservative. Working-men are surprisingly like\nthe rest of us--especially in these little personal jealousies and\nmeannesses.\n\nThere was also the hostility of the American Federation of Labor to\novercome. Within that great organization the same struggle between\nindustrialism and the old-fashioned craft-unionism was waxing more\nbitter every year. A bitter opposition was growing against the rule of\nSamuel Gompers and his _satellites_. No one denied that this group had\ndone great service to the cause of labor--ten, fifteen, twenty years\nago. But the younger union men--especially those most in sympathy with\nSocialism or the I. W. W.--said these \"leaders\" were getting old, that\nthey were out of touch with the times. Naturally these leaders did not\nlook with favor on the spread of such ideas.\n\nYetta and her friends saw at once that their only hope of success lay in\nappealing to the rank and file. So during the first days of the\nconvention, while the official delegates were denouncing the principles\nof Industrial Unionism, Yetta spoke at noon factory meetings, two or\nthree times each evening, and devoted almost all of _The Clarion's_\n\"Labor Page\" to the same subject. This is the secret of democratic\npolitics. If the mass of the people can be stirred into watching and\ncontrolling their representatives, Democracy is safe. The mass of the\ngarment workers believed in federation. They made their wishes heard\neven in the Convention Hall,--it is rare, indeed, that the will of the\npeople control such assemblies,--and when the crucial vote was taken,\nthe resolution of the industrial unionists was carried by an\nunexpectedly large majority.\n\nFor close to five years, Yetta had been working towards this end. At\nfirst she had been laughed at and snubbed. The victory made her wild\nwith joy--but also she felt very tired. The meeting did not break up\ntill after one in the morning. The last week had been a ceaseless rush.\nShe felt that if she went to sleep she would not wake up for a month or\nso. It was important to have the story in the morrow's _Clarion_, and\nIsadore ought to write an editorial on the victory. She decided to go to\nthe office, hammer out the \"copy,\" leave a note for Isadore, and then go\nhome to sleep with a clear conscience.\n\nThe elevator was not running at this hour, and Yetta had to climb up\nthe six flights to the _Clarion's_ loft in the dark. There is something\neerie and weird about a deserted office. The feverish activity of the\nday haunts the place like a ghost, even in the stillest hours of the\nnight. Although Yetta knew the room was empty there was a very distinct\nfeeling that some one was there. She was not afraid of the dark, but it\nwas a decided relief when, after much fumbling about, she found the way\nto her table and turned on the light. The electric globe hung low, and\nthe light was so concentrated, by a green glass shade, that it shone\nglaringly on the table and typewriter, but did not illumine the rest of\nthe room at all.\n\nOnce Yetta had a sheet of paper arranged in her machine, the feeling of\nweirdness left her, and soon the spirit of composition made her forget\nthat she was tired. For an hour she hammered the keyboard without\ninterruption. It was not till she had finished her \"story\" that the\nfatigue reasserted itself. She ought to look over the copy to make\ncorrections. She ought also to write a note to Isadore about the\nconvention and to say that she was going home to sleep a week. She\nstretched herself energetically to drive away the drowsiness\nand--unconsciously--her arms went down on the table, her head down on\nher arms, and she was hopelessly asleep.\n\nIsadore was generally the first of the editorial force to come to the\noffice. His \"eight-hour\" workday was from 4 A.M. till noon. On his way\nto the office in the morning he picked up the early editions of the\nother papers, clipped the news he wanted worked up for their afternoon\nedition, and got his day's editorial finished before the rest of the\nstaff turned up. It was his theory that if he had an evening\nengagement,--a committee meeting or a speech to make,--he would sleep\nfour hours in the afternoon. If he had work in the afternoon, he went to\nbed before nine. So he got in seven hours of sleep every\nday--theoretically. But it so often happened that he had work to do both\nafternoon and evening that the week was rare when he averaged more than\nfive hours sleep a day.\n\nHe generally found the office empty when he arrived. But this morning a\nlight was burning in the back of the loft--\"the composing room.\" One of\nthe linotypers, who was also a mechanic, had come a few minutes before\nhim to repair one of the machines which had gone wrong, and so save the\nexpense of bringing in an expert. It was a violation of the union rules,\nbut this linotyper was a Socialist.\n\n\"Comrade,\" he said, when he saw Braun, \"it's a crime. This linotype is\nworn out. I'm getting it so it will run again, but it's dead slow. And\nit'll break down again in a couple of days. It ought to be scrapped. It\ncosts more to keep it going than the interest on the price of a new\nmachine. It's uneconomic.\"\n\nIsadore said he would talk it over with the executive committee. He made\nhis way through the shadowy machines to the front part of the loft,\nwhich was by courtesy called \"the Editorial Room.\" No one who has not\nexperienced the expensiveness of poverty can realize how maddening it is\nto throw money away because you are not rich enough to save it. Isadore\nknew there was very little chance of buying a new linotype. He turned\nthe end of a long bookcase and suddenly saw the light burning over\nYetta's table; he saw her stretched out motionless across her work. He\nhad never seen her asleep. With an awful sinking of the heart the\nthought came that she might be dead. He sprang towards her and called\nher name. In the semidarkness he upset a chair with appalling clatter.\n\nYetta, startled out of profound sleep, sprang to her feet. Her head\nstruck the light, which hung low, broke the glass shade; the jar\ndislocated the fragile film of the lamp. In the instant before the light\nwent out, the only thing which Yetta realized was that her surroundings\nwere unfamiliar. She had never been so frightened before in her life.\nWhen they told her afterwards that she had screamed, she could hardly\nbelieve it. She could not recall having done so. The first thing she was\nconscious of was that some one's arms were about her and Isadore's voice\nwas saying,--ungrammatically but convincingly,--\"It's me.\"\n\nAfter the hideous nightmare of fright, his accustomed voice, his strong\narms about her, were utterly comforting. She told herself afterwards\nthat she must have been partly over the verge of fainting, for Isadore\nkissed her and she made no motion--had no idea--of resistance. First, in\nthe darkness, his hand had found the way to her neck and face; then she\nhad felt the hot wave of his breath,--murmuring words which made no\nsense to her,--and then his lips on her cheek and mouth. She was never\nquite sure if she had kissed him back. Whether she had or not she knew\nshe had been very close to doing so.\n\nBut the moment of forgetfulness had been interrupted by the linotyper,\nrunning towards them and asking the cause of the commotion. At the idea\nof an onlooker, Yetta disengaged herself from Isadore's arms--just in\ntime. The linotyper turned on a light. Isadore tried to laugh.\n\n\"We scared ourselves nearly to death,\" he explained. \"Comrade Rayefsky\nhad fallen asleep. The sight of her scared me into upsetting a chair.\nThat startled her awake. She jumped up so quick she broke the lamp.\"\n\nThe linotyper was a good fellow. He unscrewed a lamp from another socket\nand substituted it for the one Yetta had broken, and went decently back\nto his work.\n\nIsadore seemed on the point of coming towards her, and Yetta retreated\nback of the chair.\n\n\"How stupid of me to fall asleep. We won out at the convention. I came\ndown to write it up. I must have just started to look it over when I\nwent to sleep. You'll have to grind out an editorial on it. I'll finish\nit up at once.\"\n\nShe sat down to her work.\n\nIsadore found it harder to bring his wits together. But her movement of\nretreat had been like a blow in the face to him. It steadied him a\ntrifle--but only a trifle. He had kissed Yetta. All these years he had\nloved her. Suddenly--utterly unexpectedly--the Heavens had opened. He\nhad held her in his arms, he had kissed her.\n\nThe foolish idea came to him that he would like to look at his lips,\nwhich--after waiting so long--had at last found their goal. As there was\nno mirror in the office, this was manifestly impossible. But his\nhand--at least he could look at that--it also had caressed the beloved\nface. His hand was stained with blood. For an instant he was dazed.\nYetta--her cheeks aflame--was bent over her work. A little stream of\nblood ran down her neck, where a bit of the broken lamp-shade had cut\nher in its fall.\n\n\"Yetta, Yetta!\" he cried, \"you're wounded.\"\n\n\"What?\" she said in amazement. She had been preparing a crushing answer\nin case he started to make love again. The emotions that were tearing\nher were too violent to let her take note of a little cut.\n\n\"Look,\" he said, showing her his hand. \"Broken glass. On your neck. Let\nme see.\"\n\nImpressed by the sight of blood, she bent her head for the examination.\nBut Isadore's ideas of treating such a wound were sentimental rather\nthan scientific.\n\n\"Oh, don't. Please!\" she protested, agonized by shame. She struggled up\nto her feet, but somehow she had forgotten the crushing retort she had\nprepared. \"It isn't serious. It doesn't hurt. Please let me finish this\nwork.\"\n\nIsadore retreated before her distressed eyes.\n\n\"Wipe the blood off your lips,\" she ordered sternly.\n\nThen she sat down again, utterly confused. It seemed such a stupid,\ninane thing she had said. It was all her fault, she unjustly told\nherself. If only she had kept her wits that first moment instead of\nbeing so childishly frightened. She felt humiliated. It took an extreme\neffort of will to turn her attention to the garment workers and the\narticle she must correct. It would have helped if she could have heard\nthe scratching of his pen or the rustle of his newspaper. There was not\na sound from his desk. She did not dare to look around.\n\nAt last the task was finished. She put on her cloak and hat and wrapped\nthe muffler about her throat before she found courage to look at\nIsadore. He was sunk down in his chair, watching her hungrily. She bit\nher lip at the sight and had trouble speaking.\n\n\"Isad--Comrade, here's the copy. I hope you can make an editorial out of\nit. It's awfully important for Organized Labor.--This convention has\nfinished me. I'm dead tired. I'll take a vacation to-morrow--I mean\nto-day--and sleep.\"\n\nIsadore did not reply. He just looked at her, a dumb plea in his\neyes--which she did not want to seem to understand.\n\n\"So long,\" she said.\n\nShe was almost out of sight before he spoke.\n\n\"You'll come back? When you're rested?\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" she said. \"Of course.\"\n\nIt was at least half an hour before Isadore pulled himself together and\ngot to work. But the editorial which he wrote on the Federated Garment\nTrades was very creditable.\n\nYetta walked home through the dawn. She was very tired, and she tried\nnot to think. But she could not free herself from the insistent\nquestion--\"Did I really kiss him?\" She looked at herself in the glass,\njust before she turned out the gas and went to bed. \"Did I really kiss\nhim?\" she asked her reflected image. She got no answer, and, as though\nvexed at this silence, she spoke defiantly. \"If I did, I'm sorry. I\ndon't love him.\" This rather comforted her, and she fell asleep at once.\n\nBut when she woke up in the early afternoon, she felt worse about the\nnight's adventure than ever. Very emphatically she told herself that she\nloved Walter. That had been _La grande passion_. No. Not \"had been\"; it\n\"was.\" It was a treason to think of it as \"having been.\" She had told\nWalter that love had no tenses, that it was \"somehow eternally always\nand now and for ever and ever.\" Romance still dominated all her\nthinking. The books and poems said there could only be one real love.\nShe was sure that her love for Walter had been real--hence, in strict\nlogic, she loved him still and always would and could never love any one\nelse.\n\nAlthough she really believed this--wanted to believe it, felt that life\nwould be impossible on any other hypothesis--she was beginning to\nrealize that somehow the Romantic Explanation of Life does not quite\nexplain. For the poets it was beautifully simple--either you loved or\nyou did not love. It was the crudest sort of dualism. Things were black\nor white. The gray tones were not mentioned.\n\nBut while she did not love Isadore as she had loved Walter, he was\ncertainly in a different category from all the other men whom she did\nnot love. The men at the office, for instance. She was the best of chums\nwith them; she respected them, admired them, liked them--and did not\nlove them. But it was different with Isadore.\n\nThe hungry look in his eyes haunted her. The memory of his sudden,\nunexpected ardor--the rough vehemence of his caresses, his stormy\noutbreak of passionate tenderness--disturbed and distressed her. She had\nnever taken him quite seriously before. She had deliberately, but\nunconsciously, refused to look the matter in the face. It is very hard\nto be sympathetic and just to a love we do not return. It had not\noccurred to her that Isadore's love was as painful to him as hers for\nWalter had been. That startling contact in the dark of the office had\nopened her eyes to the reality of his passion. What a mess it all was!\nIsadore loved her. She loved Walter. Walter loved Mabel!\n\nThe sun was resplendent, and Yetta--having promised herself a\nholiday--walked over to Washington Square and took a bus up to Riverside\nDrive. It was zero weather, the sun shone dazzlingly on the blanket of\nsnow, which had given an unwonted beauty to the Jersey shore. Yetta\nwalked up and down the Drive till the sinking sun had reddened the West\nwith an added glory. It was not often that she had such outings. The\ncrisp air stimulated her. She was happy with the pure joy of being alive\nand outdoors in a way she had not known since Walter went away. To be\nsure her mood was tinged with melancholy. She was sorry for Isadore. But\nless sorry than usual for herself. Somehow she felt less bitterly the\nappalling loneliness.\n\nAs she was going downtown in the dusk she noticed a poster of the\nRussian Symphony Orchestra. It offered a programme from Tchaikovsky. She\nhad some neglected work she ought to finish up. She had barely enough\nmoney in her pocket for a ticket--and a hundred things she ought to use\nit for. But in a sudden daredevil expansiveness, she dropped off the\nbus, got a scrap of supper at a Childs' restaurant, and went to the\nconcert.\n\nUnder the spell of the music she forgot all her preoccupations. Her\nintellect dropped down into subconsciousness. She did not think--she\nfelt.\n\nMusic can be the most decorative of all the Arts--or the most\nintellectual. The trained musician, who knows the meaning of \"theme\" and\n\"development,\" who can recite glibly all the arguments for or against\n\"programme\" music, who will tell you offhand in what year this Symphony\nwas written, whether it is a production of the composer's \"first period\"\nor a mature work, cannot avoid bringing a large assortment of purely\nintellectual considerations--historical and technical--to the\nappreciation of music. But to the naive listener, like Yetta, music is\ndecorative. It appeals solely to the emotions. It is never\ninteresting--it is either pleasing or displeasing. Yetta sat dreamily\nthrough the concert--half the time with closed eyes--and found it\nwonderful. There was too little chance for the play of sentiments in her\nlife. Every waking hour she had to think. Tchaikovsky laid a caressing\nhand over the tired eyes of her intellect and showed beautiful things to\nher heart.\n\nThe next morning as Yetta went to the office she thought with some\nuneasiness of meeting Isadore. As usual in such matters she decided to\nface the affair frankly.\n\n\"Good morning,\" she said, going at once to his desk; \"I'm sorry about\nwhat happened the other night. I was startled and bewildered.\"\n\nIsadore knew that she had been taken unawares--that the kiss did not\nbelong to him by rights.\n\n\"If there's any apology necessary,\" he said, \"I'm the one to make it. I\nwas as much startled and bewildered as you were. I'm sorry if you feel\nbad about it.\"\n\n\"We'll forget it,\" Yetta said.\n\nIsadore did not look as if he were certain on this point.\n\nThey fell again into the accustomed rut of comradeship. Neither of them\nspoke again of the outburst. No one in the office noticed any change in\ntheir relationship.\n\nBut there was a change. Isadore could never forget that wonderful\nmoment; he could never be quite the same. And Yetta--when in time the\nmemory of it lost its element of excitement, when she got over being\nafraid that Isadore might begin again--found that she also had changed.\nThe fact that Isadore loved her passionately had taken a definite place\nin her consciousness. She could not ignore this any more, as she had\ndone before. In a way it made him more interesting. She did not for a\nmoment think of marrying him--she loved Walter. But she was sorry for\nIsadore. They had this added thing in common--the pain of a hopeless\nlove.\n\nIt seemed wildly unjust to her that she might not in any way show her\nsympathy to him without encouraging his love--making him \"hope.\" She\nknew when he was tired and discouraged; she would have liked to cheer\nhim. She sometimes sewed on a button for Harry Smith. She ordered Levine\nabout severely. She did not like either of them half as much as she did\nIsadore, but she must not show him any of these womanly attentions. It\nwas stupid and vexatious that just because Isadore loved her, she must\nbe carefully and particularly unfriendly to him.\n\nPaulding was raising Yetta's salary among his personal friends, and his\ncheck came to her directly without passing through the general treasury.\nHer work kept her out of the office most of the time, and it was not\nuntil her second year that she chanced to be at her desk on a Saturday\nmorning. About twelve-thirty Harry Moore came in from the\ncomposing-room, where he had been attending to the lock-up. He leaned\nback in his chair and stretched wearily.\n\n\"About time for the 'ghost' to walk,\" he said.\n\n\"Not much of a ghost this week,\" the pessimistic Levine growled.\n\nA few minutes later Mary Ames, the treasurer, bustled in. Her face was\nround and unattractive; she was short and had been fat, but her clothes\nhung about her loosely as though she had lost much flesh.\n\n\"It's a bad week, Comrades,\" she announced cheerfully. \"Thought I wasn't\ngoing to be able to meet the union pay-roll to-day. Six dollars short.\nBut the ten o'clock mail brought in twenty. Isadore went out and touched\nMrs. Wainwright for fifty, and Branch 3 just sent in eleven from a\nspecial collection. So I've seventy-five for you. Who comes first?\"\n\n\"Locke's wife is sick,\" Levine said mournfully.\n\n\"That's twenty dollars, isn't it?\" Mary said, counting off the bills.\n\"And you know Isadore hasn't had full pay for months. We must be a\nhundred and fifty back on his salary.\"\n\n\"Twenty-five to him,\" the stenographer said. \"It'll give him a\nsurprise.\"\n\n\"Surprise?\" Levine said gloomily. \"It'll give him apoplexy.\"\n\n\"That's forty-five gone,\" Mary said. \"There's thirty left.\"\n\n\"How much do you need, Nell?\" Moore asked the stenographer.\n\n\"I'm nearly a month back on my room rent. I'm in a bad hole, but I could\nget along with ten.\"\n\n\"Oh, make it fifteen,\" Harry said. \"Girls always need money for ribbons\nand ice-cream sodas.\"\n\n\"That leaves fifteen for us, Harry,\" Levine wailed. \"It's what I call a\ndog's life.\"\n\n\"Oh, cheer up.\" Moore pocketed the fifteen dollars. \"Come on up to\nSherry's for lunch.--It's on me.\"\n\nLinking his arm in Levine's, he led him, still grumbling, out of the\noffice.\n\nMary Ames sat down heavily in a chair and began to cry.\n\n\"If I wasn't so ugly,\" she said, \"I'd just like to kiss those boys.\"\n\nShe shook the tears out of her eyes and jerked her chair up towards\nYetta's desk.\n\n\"I know you think I'm a sentimental old flop--crying like this. You're\nalways so calm. But I can't help it. You might think I'm\ndiscouraged--rushing round all week begging money, and every Saturday\nmorning having to come in and tell the boys I've failed--that I haven't\nenough to pay their salaries. But it isn't discouragement that makes me\ncry, it's just joy! I wouldn't have the nerve to peg through week after\nweek of it if it wasn't for being the ghost on Saturdays. It's those two\nboys, Levine always grumbling and Harry Moore making jokes. And--I\nknow--sometimes they don't have enough to eat. And you ought to see the\nhole they sleep in!\"\n\nHer lips began to twitch again, and perfect rivers of tears ran down her\ncheeks.\n\n\"I wish I could stop crying. But it's just too wonderful to work with\npeople like this. I've been a bookkeeper in dozens of offices--everybody\nselfish and hating each other and trying to get on. I've seen so much of\nthe other. It's hard for me to believe in this.\n\n\"I don't know much about Socialism,\" she went on. \"I ain't educated\nlike you young people; I haven't read very much. Keeping books all day\nis all my eyes are good for. But I just know it's right. If it wasn't\nthe real thing, there'd never be a paper like this. How can you sit\nthere so calm and cold and not cry? It's the biggest thing in the world,\nand we're part of it.\"\n\nYetta put her arms about the older woman.\n\n\"I love it, too,\" she said. \"But it doesn't make me cry. Somehow it's\ntoo big for me. It matters so little whether I'm part of it or not. It\nwould go on just the same--if I wasn't here. It isn't mine. I could cry\nover a little baby--if it was mine. But not over this--\"\n\nShe was surprised to find that her tears were contradicting her words.\nOnce started, it was hard to stop. It seemed very sad to her that a\nyoung woman of twenty-three should have nothing more personal to cry\nover.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nWALTER'S HAVEN\n\n\nWhile all these things were happening to Yetta, Walter was settling down\ninto the rut of University life easily--almost contentedly. He was\nemployed to be a scholar rather than a teacher. And while conducting\nclasses is always a dismal task, study--to one with any bent that\nway--is a pleasant occupation. He was not dependent on his salary, and\nso escaped from the picturesque discomfort of the quarters assigned to\nhim in the mediaeval college building, to a \"garden cottage.\" There was a\nlodge in front and a lawn running down to the river behind. He had found\nan excellent cook, who was married to an indifferent gardener. And,\nalthough his lawn was not so smooth nor his grape crop so plentiful as\nhis neighbors', he was very pleasantly installed.\n\nSometimes, of course, he thought regretfully of the might-have-been life\nin New York. But the more he studied the Haktites, the more interesting\nthey became. He had also revived his project of a Synthetic Philosophy.\n\nOn his return from the Christmas holidays of his second year at Oxford,\nhe found a book in the mail which was waiting him. It was a novel--_The\nOther Solution_, by Beatrice Maynard. It had been sent to his old New\nYork address. On the fly-leaf she had written, \"Merry Xmas.\" It was an\nunexpected pleasure to have some one remember him at this holiday\nseason. He had not received a Christmas present in years.\n\nHe hurried through his supper to begin it. Beyond occasionally filling\nhis pipe he did not stop until the end.\n\nIt was, he decided, just such a book as he would have expected her to\nwrite! There was the patience of real art in the way it was done. Not a\ngreat book, but packed full of keen observation, and its finish was like\na cameo.\n\nIt was a simple story of a very rich girl in New York. One hardly\nrealized that it was about the Smart Set. Beatrice knew her people too\nwell to have any illusion about their nobility or their special\ndepravity. The men changed their clothes rather too often, but were on\nthe whole a kindly meaning lot. The women were a bit burdened with their\njewellery, but very human, nevertheless. They were all bored by their\nuselessness. There was a cynical old bachelor uncle, who gave the Girl\nepigrammatical advice about the virtue of frivolity and the danger of\ntaking things seriously. There was a maiden aunt--the romance of whose\nlife had been shot to pieces at Gettysburg--who had sought solace in a\nmorbid religious intensity. She was always warning the Girl, in the\nphraseology of Lamentations, against light-mindedness and the Wrath to\nCome. The \"Other Solution\" proved to be a very modern kind of nerve\nspecialist, whose own nerves were going to pieces because of overwork\nand the cooking of an absinthe-drinking Frenchwoman. He was just on the\npoint of beginning to take cocaine, when Beatrice persuaded him to take\nthe Girl, instead.\n\n\"Good work,\" Walter said as he closed it.\n\nFor some moments he sat there wondering what sort of an anchorage\nBeatrice had found. Such a book could not have been written in a hurry\nnor in unpleasant surroundings. He had never heard from her. At first he\nhad been too heavy of heart to care. But as the months, growing into\nyears, had somewhat healed his hurts, he had often thought of her. But\nnot knowing exactly what sort of memories she held of him, he had felt\nthat if the long silence was to be broken, it should be done by her.\n\nHe was glad she had cared enough to do it. He swung his chair around to\nthe table and wrote to her. There was praise of the book and thanks for\nthe remembrance. In a few paragraphs he gave a whimsical description of\nhis bachelor establishment and of his work, and asked news of her. He\naddressed it in care of her publishers, a London house.\n\nA few days later her answer came to him at breakfast-time. His letter\nhad caught her in London, where she had come over from Normandy to\narrange about her new novel. Could he not come up to town during the few\ndays she would be there? If he wired, she would let everything else slip\nto keep the appointment.\n\nHe sent the gardener out with a telegram and went up on an afternoon\ntrain. It was tea time when he found her in the parlor of her hotel.\n\n\"I hope I haven't begun to show my age, as you have,\" she greeted him.\n\n\"You haven't.\"\n\nShe had both hands busy with the tea things, so he could find no\nopportunity to be more gallant.\n\n\"I see by your note,\" she said,--\"is it two lumps and cream or three and\nlemon?--that you did not follow my advice.\"\n\n\"No, not exactly. Two lumps, please. I tried to. I've often wondered if\nyou realized what irresponsible and dangerous advice it was.\"\n\nSo he told her about Yetta.\n\n\"I never thought she'd be such an idealistic idiot,\" Beatrice commented.\n\n\"Of such are the Kingdom of Heaven.\"\n\n\"Walter, I believe you were in love with her and did not have the sense\nto say so.\"\n\nHe waved his hands as a Spaniard does when saying, \"_Quien sabe?_\"\n\n\"What's your news?\" he asked.\n\nShe told him of the charming little village she had discovered in\nNormandy, of her roses and poppies and of her big writing-room, which\noverlooked three separate backyards and gave her endless\nopportunity--when the ink did not flow smoothly--to study the domestic\nlife of her neighbors. What fun it was to write! How happy she was to\nget back to it again! Altogether she was going to write ten novels, each\none was to be an improvement, and the last one really good. And then the\nSweet Chariot was going to swing low and carry her home.\n\n\"I'm getting into the stride,\" she said. \"_The Other Solution_ came\nhard. I'm so glad you liked it. I'd go stale on it. Have to lay it\naside, so I've three coming out close together, now. I'm just finishing\nthe proof of number two, _Babel_. It's about those crazy\n_Transatlantiques_ we played with in Paris. And the next one strikes a\ndeeper note. I think I'll call it _The Mess of Pottage_. It's almost\nfinished--a couple of months' polishing. I've been working on all three\nof these at the same time. But from now on it's one a year--regularly.\"\n\nThe conversation rambled back and forth. It jumped from the criminal\ncode of the Haktites to Strauss' _Electra_, and that brought them to\nMrs. Van Cleave, whom Beatrice had encountered in the foyer of the Paris\nOpera at _Pelleas et Melisande_. Mrs. Van Cleave reminded them of a\nthousand things. The two years since they had seen each other fell away,\nthe old intimacy returned. Beatrice suddenly reverted to Yetta.\n\n\"Don't blame me if you muddled things up. I advised you to marry\nher--not to get into a metaphysical discussion with her. I'm not sure\nbut you're the bigger fool of the two. '_De l'audace et encore de\nl'audace et toujours de l'audace._' They say that Danton was a\nsuccessful man with the ladies.\"\n\n\"The answer to that is,\" Walter said, \"that you write your next novel in\nOxford.\"\n\n\"Oxford! Why, a university town is no place for audacity!\"\n\n\"It's the place for you,\" he said decisively. \"To-morrow I'll rent the\ncottage next to mine--it's bigger. I noticed a 'To Let' sign on it this\nmorning. It's a love of a place. And quiet! There isn't a corner of\nPhiladelphia that's as quiet Sunday morning as Oxford is.\"\n\nBut Beatrice refused to consider his suggestion.\n\n\"I'm doing very well as I am, thank you. Having just got on my feet at\nlast--no more entanglements for me!\"\n\nBut two days after the summer recess began, Walter dropped off the train\nin her little Norman village.\n\n\"It's no use struggling, Beatrice,\" he said, before she had recovered\nfrom her surprise at his invasion. \"You're going to write your next\nnovel in Oxford. I've rented the larger house, and as soon as the French\nlaw allows we'll get married.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" she said.\n\nHe came over and stood in front of her chair and talked to her in a\nquiet third personal tone--as if he were the family lawyer.\n\n\"B., here we are, two unattached and lonely individuals of the opposite\nsexes. You said that morning in Paris that we were a sorry couple who\nhad messed things up frightfully and wanted to cry. Well, we've got a\nbit more used to the mess, don't want to cry as much as we\ndid--but--well, we want to live.\n\n\"I was a fool to ask Yetta to marry me, and she was very wise to run\naway. After all, she and I were strangers. She did not understand me any\nmore than I did her. She was in love with a very nebulous sort of a\ndream--which I didn't resemble at all.\n\n\"It's different with us. At least we've 'the mess' in common. I don't\nknow whether you've tried to forget our--escapade. I haven't. It seems\nto me, when I think of it, an immensely solemn thing--a memory I want to\ntreasure. Somehow out of our misery a sudden understanding and sympathy\nwas born. I'm inclined to think it was the most fundamental, the most\nspontaneous and real thing that ever happened to me. I'd chatted with\nyou half a dozen times, had had only one real talk with you back in New\nYork. There in Paris, in two minutes--no, it was a matter of seconds--we\nknew each other better than--well--it's hard to say what I mean, because\nI'm not much of a mystic. But never before or since have I experienced a\ndeeper feeling of nearness. Two years pass without a word exchanged,\nand, in a tawdry hotel parlor in London, with a string of people walking\npast the open doors, I find the same sudden understanding.\n\n\"I don't need to tell you that there in London I wished the people were\nnot walking past the door, that right now I wish your _bonne_ would\ndisappear, so I could--\n\n\"But I don't want to talk about that. I'd like to get over something a\nlot deeper. It's this fundamental and immensely worth-while agreement\nand sympathy.\n\n\"And just because I have this conviction of understanding, I'm sure\nyou're lonely, too--just as lonely as I am. We both of us have a desire\nfor 'the accustomed'--for Lares and Penates. Even an escapade as\ndelightful as the last one wouldn't quite satisfy either of us any more.\n'The Other Solution' is the big house in Oxford--with a work-room for\nyou, a study for me, and the other rooms for us.\"\n\nHe shook his shoulders as though to shrug off his seriousness.\n\n\"You say you don't want to get married again. That's idiotic. Haven't\nyou lived long enough to escape from fear of this 'marriage bond'\nbugaboo? With all your talk of emancipation, you're still as\nconventional as Mrs. Grundy. Marriage will save us from tiresome\nructions with the neighbors, but as far as being afraid of the\nceremony--why--I'd just as lief marry a person as lend her ten dollars.\n\n\"Where does the _Maire_ live? I'll go down and tell him to dust his\ntricolor sash.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"B., _il faut de l'audace_.\"\n\n\"It would be foolish after Paris.\"\n\n\"_Et encore de l'audace_--\"\n\n\"Besides I've leased this cottage for two years.\"\n\n\"_Et toujours de l'audace._\"\n\n\"Well,\" she said, \"if you're as flippant about it as all that, I don't\nsuppose it matters much.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\nEVALUATION\n\n\nThe first two years on _The Clarion_ were a desperate struggle for\nYetta. But after all, struggle is the surest sign of life. To herself\nshe seemed dead. The collapse of her romance had left a hollow place in\nher spirit, which could not be filled by work--not even the frenzy of\nwork by which each issue of _The Clarion_ was achieved. But all this\ntime life was gathering force within her, preparing to assert itself\nonce more.\n\nOur literature is full of the idea of Man, the Protector--a proposition\nwhich crumbles before the slightest criticism. The protective element in\nlife is overwhelmingly feminine. No one of us would have survived the\ngrim dangers of childhood except for mothering. Adult men--even though\nunconscious of it--are pretty generally dependent on their womenfolk.\n\nA function unused surely turns into an ache. Because Yetta felt no one\ndependent on her, life seemed barren and painful. The outer wrapper of\nherself--the hands with which she banged out copy on her typewriter, the\nfeet which carried her about, the eyes and ears with which she watched\nand listened to the conflict of labor, the tongue with which she argued\nand pleaded for money, the brain with which she pondered and\nplanned--all were busy. But this hurrying activity did not touch the\nsubtle inner substance of herself. For this there was only the barren,\nempty ache.\n\nComing downtown one night from a union meeting in the Bronx, Yetta's eye\ncaught a paragraph in the paper which told that David Goldstein,\nproprietor of the Sioux Hotel, who had been shot two days before in a\ngang fight, had died in the City Hospital.\n\nIt was the first Yetta had heard of her relatives since she had left\nthem. She stayed on the car until she had reached the centre of the\nGhetto. A policeman, who was standing outside the Sioux Hotel, went\ninside for her and found her aunt's address. It was not far off, and in\na few minutes Yetta found herself in the dismalest of three-room flats.\nHalf a dozen dumb, miserable old women sat in the kitchen. It was with\nsome difficulty that Yetta made out which was Mrs. Goldstein.\n\n\"Aunt Martha, don't you remember me?\" she asked in Yiddish.\n\nBut Mrs. Goldstein was too dazed to reply. From the other women, Yetta\nlearned that her aunt was entirely alone and penniless. The son had not\nbeen seen for several years. Rosa had disappeared. As soon as might be\nYetta drove out the Kovna _lands leit_, and when they were gone, she\nknelt down beside the old woman.\n\n\"Don't you understand, Auntie Martha? It's little Yetta come back to\ntake care of you. You won't ever have to worry any more. I'll take care\nof you.\"\n\nTears came suddenly to the old woman, the first in a long, long time,\nand Yetta got her to bed. Two decidedly noisy young men lodged in the\nfront room. Yetta was rather frightened; it took her a long time to fall\nasleep in the stuffy bedroom beside her aunt.\n\nIt was easy to reconstruct the process by which the Goldstein family had\ndisintegrated. Isaac was in prison. Rosa had probably gone off to live\nby herself--tired of bringing home wages for her father to guzzle. She\nwould be living alone in some dismal furnished room. She had been too\npoorly endowed by Nature to \"go wrong.\"\n\nBut despite the squalor of the flat and the heavy air of the dark\nbedroom, Yetta woke up with a new and firmer grip on life. She had found\nsome one who needed her. The first of the next month she moved her aunt\nto a flat nearer _The Clarion_ office. There were four rooms and a bath.\nThe parlor she rented to Moore and Levine. It was a great improvement\nfor them, and Mrs. Goldstein's cooking was less expensive and more\nnourishing than the restaurant fare on which they had been subsisting.\nYetta shared the bedroom with her aunt.\n\nThe metamorphosis in the old woman was startling. Yetta remembered her\nas a very unlovely person, hardened and bitter. It had been a reflection\nof her environment. Now in clean and decent surroundings, in the midst\nof those who treated her with respect, under the sunshine of her niece's\naffection, she changed completely. Yetta was continually surprised to\nfind how much her aunt reminded her of her father.\n\nThe struggle in the office was as intense as ever, but now Yetta had a\nhome. Her wounds were healing rapidly.\n\nSome months after her new establishment had been founded, Yetta came\ninto _The Clarion_ office and found confusion. Every one talked at once,\nand it took some minutes to get a connected story. Isadore had caved in.\nFor several days he had been rather surly--excusing himself on the\nground of a headache. That morning about nine o'clock he had tumbled out\nof his chair, unconscious. Dr. Liebovitz--the Comrade whom Yetta had\nheard speak at her first labor-meeting--had been called in. He had\npronounced it typhoid fever.\n\n\"We had him taken up to our room,\" Harry Moore said; \"Levine and I will\ntake his. It's no place for a sick man. And besides, when the nurse\ngoes, your aunt can take care of him.\"'\n\nA sort of helplessness had fallen on the little group, now that their\nleader was stricken. But Levine in this crisis changed his character--or\nlet his true character shine through his crust of pessimism. He pushed\nevery one back into their places and set the wheels going again.\n\nWhen the forms were locked up and the next day's assignment made, the\noffice force was loath to separate. It is regrettable that the virtues\nof our friends are like our kidneys--we never notice them till something\ngoes wrong. For the first time they were realizing what a tower of\nstrength Isadore had been. As the days had passed they had more often\nbeen impressed by his occasional bursts of nervous irascibility, his\nunaccountable stubbornnesses. He had walked about among them, with his\nbent shoulder, his wrinkled, lumpy face, as far removed from Mary Ames'\nsentimentality, or Harry Moore's flippant optimism, as from Levine's\ningrowing surliness. His most salient characteristic seemed to have been\nthat he was \"always there.\" Now he was gone.\n\n\"He's so modest and simple,\" Harry said, \"that we never noticed how\nstrong he was.\"\n\n\"I wish there was something I could do for him,\" Nell sniffled.\n\n\"Well, I guess the best medicine we can give him,\" Yetta said, sticking\nthe pin in her hat decisively, \"is to report every week that the\ncirculation has jumped.\"\n\nThe accustomed streets were a blur as she walked home. The idea that\nIsadore was sick, helpless, was as disturbing as if the paper had\nannounced that the Rock of Gibraltar had escaped from its moorings and\nwas floating away.\n\nIn the dining-room she found her aunt, with Jewish gloominess,\npredicting the worst. Yetta went down the hall and knocked lightly at\nthe parlor door. It was opened by a nurse. The room was darkened, but\nshe caught a glimpse--which was to stick in her memory--of Isadore's\nhaggard face above the sheets. The nurse put her finger to her lips and\ncame out into the hall.\n\n\"It's typhoid, all right,\" she said.\n\n\"Dangerous?\"\n\n\"It's always dangerous. But there isn't a better doctor in the city for\ntyphoid than Liebovitz. He'll be in again in a few minutes. I'll go back\nnow.\"\n\nYetta stood there in the dim hallway, appalled, looking more closely\ninto the face of Death than she had ever done before. There was\nsomething unbelievable in the thought that Isadore might die. All the\nfibres of her strong young body revolted at the idea. But beyond the\nclosed door the dread fight was in progress. The pale face she had\nglimpsed was unconscious of it all. As far as Isadore was concerned\nDeath had already won. Liebovitz and the nurse would have to do his\nfighting for him.\n\nShe heard her aunt admitting the doctor. She had never seen him when he\nwas working before. With a curt greeting he strode past her and entered\nthe sick-room. She stood in the doorway unnoticed.\n\n\"What's the temperature?\"\n\n\"105.\"\n\nThere was a string of questions and answers given in an unemotional\ntone. They seemed almost flippant to Yetta, impious, in the face of the\ngreat tragedy. She felt hurt that he did not do something at once.\n\nAt last Liebovitz took off his hat and turned abruptly to the bed. After\na moment's scrutiny of the patient's face, he turned down the covers. It\nseemed to Yetta that he was suddenly transformed into a pair of Hands.\nThe rest of him melted away. His half-shut eyes were fixed blankly on\nthe wall as his wonderful, infinitely sensitive hands played about\nIsadore's heart. Then he knelt down and became an Ear. His eyes were\nquite shut now, as he listened, listened--the intense strain of it\nshowing on his rigid face--to the almost inaudible rumble of the battle\nraging within the sick man's chest. Then he straightened up, the mystic\nappearance left him; he became once more the ordinary, cold-blooded\nprofessional man.\n\n\"You've a telephone?\" he asked the nurse. \"Good. You can get Ripley any\ntime this afternoon if you need some one quick. Call me up at the Post\nGraduate at five minutes to four. I've a lecture--till five. I can\nleave it if necessary. I'll come down right afterwards, anyhow.\"\n\nYetta tried to detain him in the hall to ask about the chances.\n\n\"Too busy to talk,\" he said. \"Anyhow I'm no wizard. I can't prophesy.\nHe's pretty sick. But he'll have to get a lot sicker before we let go.\nReally, I can't stop now. I've got a confinement, a T. B. test, and an\noperation before four.\"\n\nYetta went out into the kitchen and set her aunt to work getting supper\nfor the nurse. Then, feeling suddenly very tired, she went to her room.\nBut she could not sleep. The wonder of a doctor's life had caught her\nimagination. It dizzied her to try to realize what it must mean to rush,\nas Liebovitz was doing, from a desperate struggle with death to a\nchildbirth.\n\nAgain and again the vision came back to her of Isadore's shrunken,\npallid face.\n\nWhen the doctor came down after his lecture, Yetta asked if she could be\nof any help in the sick-room.\n\n\"No,\" he replied shortly. \"You'd only use up good air.\"\n\nShe had never felt so useless before in her life. The next few days\npassed--in dread. Most of the time she spent at the office. She had\ntaken on Isadore's editorial work. There was some comfort in that. His\nother tasks had been divided between Locke and Moore and Levine. A big\nstrike broke out in the Allied Building Trades; it meant extra work--but\nalso increased circulation. After the day's grind, Yetta came back to\nthe hushed home where the great battle was being fought out and where\nshe was perforce a non-combatant.\n\nThere were a hundred questions she wanted to ask the doctor, but he was\ngenerally too busy to talk. One night after Isadore had been sick more\nthan a week Liebovitz came down from a lecture in a genial mood.\n\n\"I hope your aunt has cooked a big supper,\" he said. \"Nothing to eat at\nhome. The good wife is house cleaning.\"\n\n\"Well. How's it going?\" Yetta asked, as he came out of the sick-room and\nsat down to a plate of steaming noodle-soup.\n\n\"We've done our part. It's up to him now. We've pulled him through the\nregular crisis. If he don't take it into his head to relapse and if he\nreally wants to get well, I guess he will.\"\n\nHe answered her questions in monosyllables until he had stowed away the\nlast of Mrs. Goldstein's cooking. Then, lighting a cigarette and putting\nthree lumps of sugar in his coffee, he began joking with the old woman\nin Yiddish. But Yetta kept interrupting him with more questions.\n\n\"You want to know what I think?\" he said, turning to her severely.\n\"Well, listen. I think Isadore will get well. I hope so. It wouldn't do\nany good to have him die. None of you people would read the lesson. But\nhe don't deserve to. For ten years he's been violating all the rules of\nhealth regularly. You're all intelligent enough to understand some of\nNature's laws, but you're too utterly light-minded to obey them! Isadore\nstarted out with a wonderful constitution and now is so run-down that an\ninsignificant little typhoid germ gets into his mouth and nearly kills\nhim. Good God. You all want to blame the germ. But they can't do any\nharm unless you're already sick--made yourself sick, as Isadore has.\nI'm not afraid of them--my business takes me right where they live. I'm\nas hard as nails. And you ought to see my kids. They're as sound as I\nam.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by his making himself sick? Overwork?\"\n\n\"Overwork? Thunder! I don't get as much undisturbed sleep as he did.\nI've been 'overworking' longer than he has. Work doesn't hurt\npeople--not if they are living sensibly. You people--all of you--are\nabnormal, almost hysterical, in your attitude towards life. You take the\nlittle jobs of life too seriously and aren't serious enough about the\nbig job of living.\n\n\"Isadore doesn't realize--never has--that a man needs rest and\nrelaxation. He doesn't know what play means. Treats his body as a\nmachine. He ought to be married. Ought to have a wife and children to\nthink about besides his work--some one to play with. Some one to beat\nhim over the head, if necessary, to distract his attention from the rut\nhis mind has fallen into. He thinks too much over the generations of the\nfuture, not enough over this one and the next. And then he just\nnaturally ought to have a wife, as every man who wants to be normally\nhealthy does. Living like a monk and trying to do a real man's work! But\nwhat's the use of talking? You won't listen. It'll get you, too--just as\nsure as sunrise. Then you'll come yelping to me to help you out.\"\n\n\"Why, I'm well,\" Yetta protested. \"I don't know any one in better\ncondition than I am.\"\n\n\"Humph,\" he snorted.\n\nHe finished his coffee, and getting up, stamped about the room\nimpatiently.\n\n\"Yetta, why do you suppose Nature divided the race into male and female?\nFor more millions of years than we can count Nature has been at work\nmaking women, shaping their bodies by minute steps, forming intricate\norgans within them--for a special task. Back of you are myriad\ngenerations of females. You wouldn't be alive to-day, you'd never have\nbeen born, if a single one of them had neglected her woman's work. Do\nyou think that all of a sudden you can break this age-old habit? That\nyou can waste all the pain and travail of your myriad mothers with\nimpunity? You're twenty-four now. For more than five years now you've\nbeen thwarting life, rendering barren all the vast time, the appalling\nagony, the ceaseless struggle, it has cost Nature to produce you--with\nyour chance to pass on the flame of life. Out of all these millions of\nmothers, thousands and thousands have given their life that the line\nmight be preserved. It doesn't matter at all what reason you can give\nfor not having had children. I admit there are a few good reasons. But\nNature is insistent in this matter of the next generation--as cold as a\nsword's edge. It seems almost like human spite. But you can't blame her.\nIt's such appalling waste to throw away all the toiling, suffering\ngenerations back of us. You can't expect Nature to be indifferent; it\nhas cost her so much. And she's got this advantage over God, her\npunishments come in this life. Four, five, perhaps ten years, you can go\nalong without noticing it. Then you'll come to me. 'I have headaches,\nbackaches. I'm irritable. I don't sleep.\" I can give you drugs to\ndeaden the headache, dope which will make you seem to sleep. I can ward\noff a little of Nature's revenge--but I can't cure you. There are plenty\nof accidents and some kinds of sickness that you can't blame a person\nfor, but drying up into barren, unlovely old maidhood ought to be\nforbidden by law.\n\n\"Lord,\" he exclaimed, looking at his watch, \"it's late. I promised to\nspeak at a Socialist meeting up in the Bronx, but I've got to look in at\ntwo cases first. So long.\"\n\nFor a moment Yetta sat still, pondering over what the doctor had said.\nThe thing which impressed her most was the stupendous idea of the\nunbroken line of mothers which stretched back of her to that dim epoch\nwhen the new element of life first appeared on the shores of the\nprimordial sea.\n\nBut in thinking back about it in after years, it did not seem to her\nthat the doctor's talk had influenced her very much. She was a fearless\nperson and the threat of personal ill-health would not have daunted her.\nHer feeling towards Isadore had already changed.\n\nIt was the long months of common work and mutual aspirations which had\ndrawn her closer and closer to him. The change in their relationship had\nbeen so gradual that it needed some shock to open her eyes. The sudden\nrealization, the day he had fallen sick, of the sharp contrast between\nhis former strength and his utter weakness, had been the beginning. At\nfirst, when she saw that she had come to love him, it had been hard to\nbelieve. But the day after the crisis, while helping the nurse to change\nthe bed linen, she had had to lift him. His emaciation had appalled her.\nAnd in his delirium, he had called her name. It was then that she saw\nclearly.\n\nOne night, not long after he had given her the lecture, Liebovitz came\nout of the sick-room.\n\n\"He's clear-headed now, and he's worrying about the paper. Go in and\ntalk to him. Give him good news if you have to lie, and get him to\nsleep.\"\n\nIsadore opened his eyes as she leaned over him and smiled when he\nrecognized her. He had forgotten all about _The Clarion_. But she had to\nsay something to keep back the tears; it was so painfully wonderful to\nmean so much to another.\n\n\"The circulation has gone up to 20,000.\"\n\nBut he had already dropped back to sleep at the bare sight of her.\n\nIt had not been a lie. The circulation was growing steadily. Isadore's\nsickness had seemed a spur to the energy of every one connected with the\npaper. The news that he was recovering had given them all a new hope, a\nnew determination to put it on a firmer basis against his return.\n\nIsadore gradually fought his way back to life. But it was a long and\ndreary convalescence. There was snow on the ground when he fell sick.\nSummer had begun in earnest before he was able to walk across the room.\nOne Saturday afternoon, Yetta came in joyous and found him stretched out\non the lounge.\n\n\"What do you think, Isadore? When the ghost walked to-day, every pay\nenvelope was full. What do you think of that? It was a revolution. Mary\nAmes didn't have a chance to cry, and Levine couldn't find anything to\ngrumble about. They were both unhappy.\"\n\n\"I don't see why I worked so hard to get well,\" he said wearily. \"You're\ngetting along better without me than when I was there.\"\n\n\"I hope you're ashamed of yourself,\" she said, taking off her hat and\nsitting down beside him. \"I bring you home some good news and that's all\nthe thanks I get.\"\n\nIsadore blinked his eyes hard, but in spite of himself two great tears\nescaped down his cheeks.\n\n\"What's the matter, old fellow?\" Yetta asked in dismay.\n\n\"Oh, nothing. Only I'm so foolishly weak still. Of course I'm glad. Only\nit's easy to get discouraged.\" The tears escaped all control. \"It's\ndreary coming back to life.\"\n\nAbove all other advice, Dr. Liebovitz had insisted that Isadore should\nnot be excited. But Yetta forgot all about that. She knelt down on the\nfloor beside him.\n\n\"Isadore, when you were very sick, you talked a good deal in your sleep.\nDo you know who you talked about?\"\n\n\"You.\"\n\n\"Is it just the same as ever, Isadore?\"\n\n\"_Far immer und ewig_,\" he said slowly.\n\nYetta had always shared her father's dislike for Yiddish, but somehow\nhis dropping back into their mother-tongue seemed to her like a caress.\n\n\"I guess that,\" he went on in the same language, \"is what makes it seem\nso dreary to me--the lone-someness.\"\n\n\"Hush, Isadore,\" she said breathlessly. \"You musn't talk like that. The\nPauldings are going to Europe this summer. They told me you could go up\nto their camp, if there was any one to take care of you.--I'll go with\nyou--we won't either of us be lonely any more--Oh Dear Heart.--Oh, it\nisn't anything to cry about--just because I've made up my mind to marry\nyou. Dr. Liebovitz will give me an awful scolding if he finds you taking\non so.\"\n\n\nA Christian Socialist minister married them, by a ceremony of his own\nconcoction. It was quite as fantastic as his creed--but at least it was\nlegal. As soon as Dr. Liebovitz would allow Isadore to be moved, they\nset out for the mountains.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI\n\nYETTA FINDS HERSELF\n\n\nThe first days in the woods were distressing for Yetta. The strain of\nthe journey had prostrated Isadore; she was afraid he was going to have\na serious relapse. But he slept off the fatigue--fourteen and eighteen\nhours a day at first. And he soon regained his appetite. They got fresh\nmilk and eggs and garden truck from a near-by farmer, and three times a\nweek a man came in a boat with other provisions from the town at the\nfoot of the lake. Isadore began to put on flesh and very gradually to\nregain his strength.\n\nWhen the first worry was over, Yetta entered into a period of perfect\npeace. The conviction which had grown on her gradually--unnoticed at\nfirst--that she \"really loved\" Isadore, solidified. She had counted on\nfinding it pleasant to take care of him; she had found it so in the\ncity, it proved unexpectedly sweet here in the woods. In New York she\nhad been only an accident; a dozen others could have nursed him just as\nwell. Here she was all he had. Here too she could give all her time to\nhim. He was as helpless as a baby at first, and submitted docilely to\nher loving tyranny. She had never \"kept house\" for any one before. In\nthe kitchen of the little cabin--walking about on tiptoe, so as not to\ndisturb his health-bringing sleep--she found a very real delight in the\nnew experience of cooking a meal for her man, in washing and mending his\nclothes.\n\nEven more pleasant to her was the utter intimacy which their isolation\nforced on them. Whenever he was awake, they talked--of everything under\nthe sun, except _The Clarion_. They had agreed to forget that. After a\ncouple of weeks, when he had grown a little stronger, she read to him.\nShe found it embarrassing at first, almost as if it were immodest. She\nhad never read aloud before. The joy of books had been something\nentirely individual. She was unaccustomed to launch out on the adventure\nof a new point of view in company. But after the first diffidence had\nworn off, it proved an undreamed-of delight. Now and again one or the\nother would interrupt the reading to think out loud. \"Let's hear that\nagain,\" he would say. Or, \"I must read that passage over. Isn't it\nfine?\" she would break out.\n\nAlmost all of Isadore's reading had been historical or scientific. He\nhad no idea of grace in writing. \"Force\" and \"Truth\" were the only\nliterary qualities he recognized. Meredith, who had been one of Yetta's\nfavorites rather weakened under his incisive criticism. Zola's \"Labor\"\nthey both liked. Poetry generally went wrong. Swinburne, whose luxurious\nmusic hypnotized Yetta past all comprehension of what he was talking\nabout, disgusted Isadore--until Yetta came to \"The lie on the lips of\nthe priests and the blood on the hands of the Kings.\"\n\n\"That's good business,\" Isadore said. \"Why didn't he stick to that\nstyle?\"\n\nIt was the other way round with Henley. He fared better at first.\nIsadore liked the hospital verses. But when they came to \"I am the\nmaster of my fate, I am the captain of my soul,\" Isadore revolted.\n\n\"Do you really suppose he believed that rot?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Yetta said. \"Don't you?\"\n\n\"Not for a minute. You've been the master of my fate these last few\nyears.\"\n\nNaturally Yetta forgave him for disagreeing with Henley.\n\nBut there was a cloud in the sky--even these delicious, peaceful days.\nYetta vaguely dreaded the time when Isadore would be quite well. She was\nno longer the unsophisticated girl who had promised to live with Harry\nKlein without knowing what it meant. She knew it was impossible to\ncontinue this pleasant relationship of nurse and patient. Sooner or\nlater he would revolt from his role--he would want something quite\ndifferent from nursing.\n\nContrary to her custom Yetta did not face this situation frankly. She\ntried to avoid thinking of it. When it forced itself on her, she told\nherself, \"Of course I want children.\" Almost every time she had heard\nthis business of maternity referred to, its painful side had been\nemphasized. She had heard a great deal about the \"heroism of\nmotherhood.\" Her attitude towards the sexual side of marriage was very\nlike her attitude to the dentist. And no matter how firmly we have\ndecided to go to the dentist, we are a bit reluctant about starting.\nYetta did what she could to postpone the duty she had firmly decided to\nperform stoically and gamely.\n\nShe really thought about this matter surprisingly little. All she had\nread in the poets about the joys of passionate love she thought of as\nromantic, and she was in full reaction against romance. In real life\nshe had never encountered any one who even remotely resembled Heloise or\nFrancesca or Melisande or the Queen Isolde. The married women she knew,\nthe mothers of children, did not give any sign of such dizzying\nemotions.\n\nThe reality of love she had decided was a spiritual matter. The night\nIsadore had kissed her in the dark of the office, she had been too\nfrightened to appreciate it as a caress. He had never stirred her\nemotions as Walter had. She was not afraid to think of them both at the\nsame time any more. She calmly knew that her love for Isadore was the\nmore real. But still she could not look forward to his complete recovery\nwithout a slight tremor.\n\nWhen Isadore seemed on the point of talking about this, she adroitly\nchanged the subject. She always came to his room to kiss him \"good\nnight,\" and the first thing in the morning after she was dressed she\ncame to his bedside and kissed him \"good morning.\" But although she was\nnaturally demonstrative, she carefully avoided any disturbing caresses.\n\nAs Isadore gained strength the crisis inevitably approached. One\nmoonlight night, out on the Lake in their guide boat, Isadore, who had\nbeen lazily rowing, rested on his oars.\n\n\"Yetta,\" he said. \"Sometimes I have a horrible thought--I wonder if you\nreally love me.\"\n\nYetta, stretched out on the cushions in the stern-sheets, had been\nperfectly happy--at least as happy as she knew how to be--before he\nspoke. She knew at once what he meant, and it troubled her.\n\n\"Why, what do you mean?\" she said, to gain time.\n\n\"I wonder if you know what it means--what love means--to a man?\"\n\n\"I know what it means to a well man,\" she said.\n\nIsadore began rowing again. Of course Yetta did not know what love means\nto a well man. She knew that she did not know. She was shocked at\nherself for the spirit of hostility which had shown in her answer.\n\n\"Isadore,\" she said in a few minutes, \"dearest, I love you very, very\nmuch. Aren't you content? It seems so sweet to me, just to be together\nlike this. Aren't you content?\"\n\nIsadore--like many men of his race--was instinctively wise in regard to\nwomen. He did not have to think over his reply.\n\n\"No,\" he said laconically.\n\nHe rowed on in silence for several minutes. He did not understand, but\nhe sensed, Yetta's trouble. She was trembling on the threshold of the\nGreat Mystery. When he spoke again, it was to calm and reassure her.\nAshore, they sat for a long time in the moonlight, hand in hand. He did\nnothing to frighten her, and she felt flooded by his tenderness.\n\nA week later he brought up the subject again. They had climbed a\nmountain in the morning. To be sure, it was a small one, but still a\nmountain. He had slept most of the afternoon. When supper was over, she\nread to him a while, and then sent him to bed. When she came to his room\nto kiss him \"good night,\" he put his arms about her and--as though to\nshow that he was really strong again--he crushed her tightly in his\nembrace.\n\n\"Dearie,\" he said. \"Is your name Yetta or _Not_-yetta?\"\n\n\"Not-quite-yet-ta,\" she panted.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe black fly season had passed, the leaves had begun to turn, before\nthey packed up their meagre belongings to go back to the city and work.\nIt had commenced to get cold, but on their last day the sun came out as\nif it were July.\n\nThey rowed across the lake to bid farewell to a great pine tree they had\ncome to love. It stood alone on a little promontory, a hundred feet\nabove the water. Its mates had fallen before the storms. Its loneliness\nemphasized its magnificent grandeur. There was a rich cushion of needles\nat its foot, and the view across the lake was exquisite.\n\nThe last month of their stay in the woods had been a veritable\nhoneymoon. There was no spot on the lake so closely associated with\ntheir ardent emotions as this giant pine tree. Many times during the hot\nspell of August they had brought rugs and pillows and spent the night at\nits foot--bathing in the water below at sunrise.\n\nWhen they had moored their boat and clambered up the steep bank, Isadore\nsat down, leaning against the trunk of their tree. Yetta stretched out\non the carpet of pine needles and rested her head on his knee. Isadore\nran his hand through her hair and now and again caressed her cheek. For\nsome time they were silent--both rather oppressed by the idea that on\nthe morrow they must go back to the city. They would no longer be alone\ntogether; much of this dear intimacy would have to be sacrificed to\nwork.\n\nYetta suddenly turned and looked up into his face.\n\n\"Ib,\" she began. This name which she had concocted out of his\ninitials--in spite of its absurdity--had the most tender connotation of\nany word in their vocabulary _a deux_--\"Ib, there is something I want to\ntell you.\"\n\nAnd then she stopped. Isadore, impressed her by seriousness, waited\npatiently for her to speak.\n\n\"It's hard to find words for it,\" she went on at last. \"But I want you\nto know that I've been happier these weeks than I ever dreamed any one\ncould be. This--\" their vocabulary _a deux_ had many lacunae--\"It's been\nso different from what I expected. It isn't that I was afraid--only I\nwas a little. I didn't think love would be like this. You see I hate to\ndarn my own stockings--but I really enjoy darning yours. I guess that's\ninherently feminine. No service is really unpleasant when it's for the\none we love. And I was ready to do any service for you--gladly. Can you\nunderstand what I'm trying to say? Well. It's been a surprise--a\ndizzying, joyous surprise. It isn't a service at all. It's--\" Once more\nwords failed her. \"You remember one night you asked me if I really loved\nyou. I thought I did then. I didn't know what I was talking about. But\nnow--now that I know\"--she brushed the foolish tears out of her eyes and\nreached up her hand to his cheek--\"I really, really love you.\n\n\"Please. I don't want to be loved just now. I want to talk.\n\n\"What bothers me,\" she went on in a moment, \"is that I was ignorant.\nWhy? Why didn't I know about this? I knew about the physiology of love,\nbut that is only so very little of it. I'd read Forel; everybody says\nthat is the best book on sex. But that did not tell me. I've talked with\na few women. They either haven't said anything or they've been\nhostile--they spoke of the 'burden of sex' or of 'woman's sacrifice to\nman.' Why did not some one tell me the truth, so that I would not have\nbeen dismayed? So I might have been altogether glad? It seems so evident\nthat ignorance is bad--and dangerous.\"\n\n\"Of course it's dangerous,\" he replied. \"There is only one thing more\ndangerous than ignorance--that's misinformation. That's where young men\nsuffer. I've thought about this a lot, Yetta. It's hideous. Long before\nany one ever told me anything that was true, I had learned so much that\nwas false. Men learn their first lessons of sex from women--poor, pallid\nwomen who have never known what love was. It doesn't matter whether a\nboy goes to them or not. Indirectly, if not directly, he learns their\nlore. The older boys who tell him about women have learned from them.\n\n\"Prostitution is the blackest blot on this civilization we Socialists\nare trying to overthrow. In spite of the hypocrisy which tries to ignore\nits existence it is just as fundamental an institution as the churches\nand armies. Present society could not exist without these women any more\nthan it could without its warships and worships. It's hideous in so many\nways. But the point we don't hear about so often is that these women,\nwhom we despise and consistently degrade, are the teachers who instruct\nour youth in this business of sex. It is the holiest thing in life. Its\npriestesses are the most polluted class in the community. Not that I\nblame them. They are victims. But they get their revenge--a horrible\nrevenge.\n\n\"Our girls are kept in ignorance about sex. It's very few of them,\nYetta, who have read a book like Forel's. And the boys are sent to\nschool in the brothels. Most brides come to this business of sex,\nthinking of it--a bit timorously--as a Great White Sacrifice to Love.\nMost men think of sex as the climax of a spree. That any such marriages\nare happy is a wonder to me.\"\n\n\"But why doesn't some one have the courage to tell the truth?\" Yetta\nexclaimed.\n\n\"It isn't as simple as that,\" he replied. \"It isn't so much a question\nof courage as it is of ability. You,--if a young woman asked you,--could\nyou tell her? I couldn't if a boy asked me. I could tell him about the\nmechanism of sex--just as Forel and a dozen writers have done. There are\nplenty of technical words. But I'd have to stop there. The reality can't\nbe expressed in scientific language--and the gutter words are false when\nyou talk of love. I'll warrant that you wouldn't like to tackle the\njob.\"\n\n\"It would be hard,\" she admitted. And then--\"But isn't there any hope?\nMust there always be this misunderstanding?\"\n\n\"Oh, no! At first, with primitive man, there wasn't any such\n_mis_understanding--there was just lack of understanding. Love is such a\nnew thing in the history of life that we are just vaguely beginning to\nunderstand it. Man--we say--is an animal who has gained consciousness of\nself. But this did not happen suddenly. It must have taken thousands and\nthousands of years. The process is not yet complete. Out of general\nconsciousness the animal that was becoming man, gradually, in one point\nafter another, won self-consciousness. Gradually sex became a little\nmore than the simple reflex act that we see in the lower animals\nto-day--forgotten as soon as accomplished. It was not until what we\ncall the Middle Ages that man became conscious of something more in love\nthan physical passion. The love affairs of Mary, Queen of Scots, would\nseem very unspiritual to us to-day. And think how very recent that was\ncompared to the date of the Stone Age. It was only in the last century\nthat the romantic idea took possession of literature. Like all new ideas\nit was full of extravagances. Now we call ourselves Realists--the\nnecessary reaction. But there is more of the new spirit of love in Zola\nthan Shakespeare ever dreamed of. I doubt if he would recognize a modern\nproduction of _Romeo and Juliet_ any more than Christ would recognize\nhis service in a High Mass.\n\n\"As we begin to get used to this startlingly new concept of love, we'll\ndevelop the words to express it. It's too big a task to be accomplished\nby one brain or one generation.\"\n\nThey fell silent again. Yetta, looking off across the lake,--unconscious\nof the beauty of the view,--was thinking desperately of this matter of\nlove, and was realizing with pain, as all who try to write must do, her\nutter inability to express what this Mystery of Love meant to her. She\ncould not even tell Isadore.\n\nHer girlish romance about Walter seemed to her now almost as empty as\nher affair with Harry Klein. She had at first given herself to Isadore\non a rather intellectual basis. She knew him profoundly before she had\nmarried him. She had been quite sure of a life of loving comradeship and\nmutual understanding. From a matter of fact, work-a-day point of view\nthe marriage was to be as satisfactory as she could imagine. And to all\nthis had been added an unexpected element--this mystic, unexpressible\njoy of sex. Yetta had the sense to know that she was fortunate above\nmost women. She looked up at the dear face above her, hoping to find\nsome gesture to express the overflowing happiness for which she could\nfind no words. She was struck by the look of intense thought on his\nface.\n\n\"What are you thinking about, Ib?\"\n\nHe started, as he came back from his revery.\n\n\"I've been thinking,\" he said, \"that we'll have to be awfully tactful\nwhen we get back to the office. Smith and Levine have been running\nthings so long by themselves that it's only human for them to be a bit\njealous about our coming back.\"\n\nThese words caused a very complicated mix-up in Yetta's mind.\n\nThe hereditary woman in her, the part of her which was formed by the\nmyriad wives who had been her ancestors, shuddered as though under the\nlash at the idea that on this very last day his thoughts had gone so far\naway. Every cell in her brain had been intent on him. She had just\ndecided that no one had ever loved any one as much as she loved him--and\nhe had been thinking of the office. A tidal wave of tears started\ninstinctively towards her eyes.\n\nBut all that was modern about Yetta, all that part of her which had\nlearned to reason, was suffused with tenderness, as the other part of\nher would have been by a caress. She was proud of the single-minded\ndevotion of her man. She was not surprised at the tangent along which\nhis thoughts had flown. She had the immense advantage over most brides,\nthat she knew her husband. She knew the depth of sincerity which was\nsometimes obscured by his pedantic phrases. She had learned to love\n_him_. She had been spared the pain of discovering a reality back of a\ndream of love. The only new thing she had learned about him since their\nmarriage was the wealth of tenderness back of his rather rough\nexterior,--the gentle consideration that lay under his rugged\nmanners,--the undreamed-of sweetness which was hidden to most eyes by\nhis evident force. She was not disillusioned by intimacy.\n\nFor a few minutes she let him talk about the work that was awaiting\nthem. She was as much interested in it as he. But at last the hereditary\nwoman within her reminded her that after all this was their last day of\nsolitude. She stopped listening to him and considered the matter from\nthis point of view for a moment. Then she shamelessly interrupted him in\nthe midst of a ponderous sentence.\n\n\"Ib,\" she said, \"I love you.\"\n\n\nThey had been back in the city many months before their faces lost the\nmark of the sun. In due course of time Comrade Yetta Braun qualified to\nedit the \"Mother's Column.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII\n\nOLD FRIENDS MEET--AND PART\n\n\nFour years after their marriage Yetta and Isadore received a tangible\ntoken of the respect in which they were held by their Comrades. They\nwere chosen among the delegates to the International Socialist Congress\nwhich was to meet in London. No one who is not an active worker in the\nSocialist party can appreciate how much this election means to the\nComrades. Every three years the party has to choose half a dozen of its\nmembers as most worthy to represent them in the international councils.\nIt is a real honor.\n\nThey were, after their four years of unremitting work on _The Clarion_,\nin need of a vacation. They had not had one since their honeymoon in the\nwoods. But, except for the eight lazy days in the second cabin of a slow\nsteamer, they found very little rest at the Congress. Besides the\nregular sessions, so much time went to getting acquainted with the\nEuropean Comrades, whose names they had long revered, whose books they\nhad read. It took a big effort to escape long enough to have a look at\nthe Houses of Parliament and the Abbey. That was all the sight-seeing\nthey did in London.\n\nThe next to the last day, when Yetta reached her seat in the convention\nhall, she found a letter on her desk. She did not at first recognize the\nhandwriting.\n\n\n     \"DEAR YETTA.\n\n     I suppose you've quite forgotten me. But try to remember.\n\n     Can't you and Isadore come down to Oxford for a few days after the\n     Congress? Walter noticed your name in the paper among the\n     delegates. We are both anxious to renew the old friendships. When\n     can we expect you?\n\n     Sincerely,\n     BEATRICE LONGMAN.\"\n\n\nYetta was glad that Isadore had been detained in the corridor. She put\nthe letter in her pocket before he joined her. All day long this\ninvitation was flitting back and forth from the back of her brain to the\nfront. In every moment of half leisure she thought about it, and more\nand more she wanted to go. It was partly curiosity to see what sort of a\nlife Walter had made for himself, partly a desire to exhibit her own\nhappiness. She did not want him to think she was still broken-hearted.\nAnd it was partly a very real tenderness for these old friends who very\nlong ago had meant so much to her. But it was not until they were alone\ntogether in their modest hotel room at night that she spoke to Isadore\nabout it.\n\n\"Oh, I forgot. Here's a letter that came from Mrs. Longman.--You\nremember she used to be Mrs. Karner.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, when he had read it, \"that's simple. We're too busy.\"\n\n\"But I'd like to see them again.\"\n\n\"You would?\" he asked in surprise--and a little hurt. \"All right; of\ncourse, if you want to. I've got to rush back. But there's no reason why\nyou shouldn't stay.\"\n\n\"Don't be foolish, dear,\" she said. \"You know I won't stay a minute\nlonger than you. I wouldn't think of going alone. We could leave here\nafter lunch Thursday and stay in Oxford for dinner and catch our boat\nall right. You see, dearest, it's sort of like dying never to see people\nwho meant so much once. You don't know how much I grieve about Mabel.\nShe was my first friend--the first real friend I ever had. It was my\nfault that we quarrelled. I wouldn't like to feel that it was my fault\nif I lost all touch with Walter and Mrs. Karner--I mean Mrs. Longman.\nThey've asked us to come in a friendly spirit. I think we ought to go.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" he said. \"Wire that we'll come. But it sounded to me like a\nsort of duty note--not exactly cordial.\"\n\nAs a matter of fact it had not been in an entirely cordial spirit that\nBeatrice had written.\n\nOne morning Walter, who very rarely disturbed his wife when she was\nwriting, knocked at the door of her work-room.\n\n\"May I interrupt a minute,\" he asked apologetically.\n\n\"What is it?\" she asked.\n\nHe came over and laid a newspaper on her table, pointing halfway down a\ncolumn which was headed, \"International Socialist Congress.\" Among the\nnames of the delegates from the United States were those of Isadore and\nYetta Braun.\n\n\"You'd like to have me invite them out here?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes, if it isn't inconvenient. I'd like to see them again.\"\n\nFor the next few days Beatrice's work went wrong. More often than not\nshe found herself looking up from her paper, staring out through the\nwindow, across the lawn to the grape arbor. She would catch herself at\nit and turn again to her work. Finally she decided that she had best\nfight it out. So--forgetting to put the cap on her fountain-pen--she\nwalked out into the garden.\n\nThere was no possible doubt of it. She was afraid of Yetta--jealous! She\ntried to laugh at herself, but it hurt too much. Yetta was years younger\nthan she.\n\nIsadore she had scarcely known, was not quite sure whether she had the\nname attached to the right vague memory, but she held an impression that\nhe was an unattractive person. Yetta had probably married him in\ndiscouragement. Undoubtedly she still loved Walter. In these last four\nyears Beatrice had been constantly discovering that he was more lovable\nthan she had realized before. Yes; Yetta was probably still in love with\nhim. Would she accept the invitation?\n\nA telegraph boy turned into their gate. She had not opened a despatch\nwith such unsteady nervousness in a long time.\n\n\n     \"Arrive Oxford thursday afternoon four o'clock leave ten for\n     Liverpool Yetta\"\n\n\nBeatrice walked slowly back to the house and into Walter's study. It was\nas dissimilar from her very orderly work-room as well might be. There\nwere three large tables, but each was too small for the litter of books\nand charts and drawings and closely written notes it carried.\n\n\"They're coming to-morrow at four,\" she said, handing him the telegram.\n\n\"Good.\"\n\n\"I suppose we'd best have tea and then sight-see them around the\ncolleges till dinner.\"\n\n\"I guess the tour is obligatory,\" he said with a grimace. \"Has the Muse\nbeen refractory this morning? I saw you rambling round in the garden.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" her lips twisted into a wry smile. \"Had to fight out a new idea.\nIt's provoking. You get things nicely planned out, everything marching\nplacidly to a happy ending--then something unexpected turns up, some\neleventh-hour disturbance. Something you've got to take time off to\nthink out.\"\n\n\"Fine,\" he said. \"You're growing into a more realistic vision of life\nall the time, B. And that means constantly improving novels.\"\n\nHe got up and walked about the room, developing into quite a speech his\nideas on the Unexpected Element in Life and how it deserved more\nrecognition in literature. But all the time, while she was appearing to\nlisten in rapture to his wisdom, she was telling herself bitter things\nabout the literal-minded, uncomprehending male.\n\nThursday afternoon as Yetta and Isadore found their places in the train\nfor Oxford they both had an unusual feeling of tongue-tiedness. They\nwere quite tired and it was a relief to have sleepiness as an excuse for\nnot talking. Yetta was not conscious of any stress between them. She\nbelieved that Isadore was as sleepy as he pretended to be. It seemed to\nher the most natural thing in the world to renew old friendships.\n\nShe opened her eyes now and then for a glimpse at the unfamiliar\ncountryside. But most of the time she dreamily lived over again \"the old\ndays.\" She was generally too busy to think these things out\nleisurely--as you must if you are to think of them at all. She found it\nhard to recognize the picture of herself which she drew out of her\nmemory. The few years, which had passed since her marriage, seemed to\nher much longer and fuller than all her life before. She, a mother of\ntwo children, found it very hard to sympathize with the _jeune fille_,\nwho had been so very much in love with this man she had scarcely seen a\ndozen times. She was half sorry she had accepted the invitation. She was\nno longer the same person whom Walter and Beatrice had known. Instead of\nrenewing an old acquaintance, her visit to Oxford would be that of a\nstranger. It would be embarrassing if Walter treated her like the girl\nhe had known. But it never occurred to her that Isadore was suffering\nfrom jealous apprehension.\n\n\"Oxford's the next station,\" Isadore said.\n\nIt jerked her out of her revery. As they got off the train there was a\nkaleidoscopic moment, an impression of many people rushing hither and\nthither in a senseless chaos. Then suddenly the vagueness dissolved, and\nthere were Walter and Beatrice, the blank look on their faces just\nmelting into a smile of recognition. Everybody shook hands, the women\nkissed each other, and Walter and Isadore rushed off to check the bags.\n\nYetta's motherhood had changed her subtly. She could not have been\ncalled matronly. In fact, Beatrice, who was childless, was poignantly\nconscious that she looked the more like a regulation matron. The\ncontrast hurt her.\n\nThe thing which Yetta saw was that Beatrice had come to reflect the\ngracious refinement of her surroundings. There was a sudden longing that\nlife might have thrown her into an environment where she too could have\ngiven time and thought to being beautiful. It was rare indeed that she\ncould devote ten minutes to \"doing her hair.\" It took all the time she\ncould spare to keep herself clean and neat. Beatrice's appearance\nsuggested that the selecting of even her underwear was a matter of\ncareful thought. Yetta, also, was poignantly conscious of the contrast.\n\nWhen the men rejoined them, they all--still under the constraint of\nstock-taking--climbed into the dogcart and drove through the quaint\nOxford streets to the house.\n\nYetta talked busily--a bit raggedly--about her two children. Walter\npointed out the towers of some of the colleges. Neither Beatrice nor\nIsadore added much to the conversation. The tea-table was set on the\nlawn, but the constraint was still on them. Yetta told with slightly\nforced enthusiasm of the little house and lot they had taken in a\nBuilding and Loan Association on Long Island. Isadore at last rallied in\nreply to Walter's questions and talked about the International Congress.\nThe thing which had impressed him most was the widespread growth of\nrevolutionary, nonpolitical labor organizations. The growth of\nindustrial unionism in America was closely paralleled by the\n_Syndicaliste_ movement in Europe.\n\n\"I never gave you sufficient credit as a prophet, Walter,\" he said.\n\"I'm an orthodox party member still, but this 'direct actionism' doesn't\nseem so much like heresy to me as it did. It's too universal to be all\nwrong.\"\n\nWhen they got up from the table to wander about in the University, he\nand Walter walked ahead, still in the heat of this discussion. The women\nbrought up the rear. Yetta found that the easiest things to talk about\nwere the babies and Beatrice's novels. She had read and liked them very\nmuch.\n\nThey sat down together in the grounds of Christ Church, and Isadore\nbegan to tell about _The Clarion_. Yetta joined in the men's talk, and\nBeatrice felt herself decidedly out of it. She was glad when the time\ncame to go back for dinner. But that was no better, for still the talk\nclung to _The Clarion_. It interested them so much that she could not\nfind heart to change the subject.\n\nThe moon came up royally as they took their coffee on the terrace.\nWithout any one suggesting it, they strolled down the lawn and along the\nriver. Great trees stretched their branches overhead across the stream.\nIt was a warm night, and many boats were out. Their gay lanterns\nglistened over the water. Here and there a song floated through the\ndusk. The predominant note of the scene was laughter.\n\nBut the riverside did not seem beautiful to Isadore; Beatrice had never\ncared less for it. Walter and Yetta were walking on ahead.\n\nBeatrice found a sort of whimsical sympathy for her companion--realizing\nthat he also was troubled by the turn things had taken. The unrest of\neach infected the other. It required all the social tact she could\ncommand to keep up the semblance of a conversation.\n\nYetta had taken Walter's arm, and for a while they walked in silence.\nBut somehow the constraint suddenly fell away, and she felt in him the\nold friend to whom it had always been so easy to talk.\n\n\"It's strange,\" she said, \"how very often I have taken your advice and\nfound it good. More and more I realize what a big factor you've been in\nmy life. A dozen times I've been on the point of writing to you. But\nit's so hard to put on paper the deeper sort of thanks.\"\n\nWalter tried to protest.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" she insisted. \"I've lots of things to thank you for. It's\nhard to put it into words. But now that it's ancient history, now that\nthe wounds have healed, I want to talk about it. When you told me to\nmarry Isadore, it seemed like the cruelest words that could be spoken.\nYou were right in smashing up my romance. But of all the lessons you\never set me, that was the hardest to learn, the bitterest. I could not\ntake your word for it. I had to learn it for myself. But if you had not\ndriven me to it, I would have been a romanticist still--always weaving\ndreams. I would never have found the wonder and beauty of life as it is.\n\n\"I guess any suffering is worth while that teaches a real lesson. I can\nbe philosophic about those tear-stained months now. But they were dreary\nenough--and sometimes worse. I don't believe there was anything that Job\nsaid about the day he was born that I did not echo.\n\n\"Isadore was wonderful those days. He didn't give me any advice nor try\nto comfort me. He just called me up in the morning and gave me enough\nwork for six people. I did have a little sense left. I could see that\nwork was my only hope of pulling through. _The Clarion_ office was the\nbusiest place I could find--so I cut loose from the League and went down\nthere.\n\n\"But Mabel has never forgiven me for leaving her. I've hardly seen her\nsince.\"\n\nThey walked on for a moment in silence, and then she took up her story\nagain.\n\n\"My real ignorance used to be that I thought there could be no love\nwithout romance. I thought they were the same thing. And that's the\nwonder of reality, it calls out something so immensely deeper than\ndream-love. I see Isadore's crooked shoulder as clearly as any one. I\nknow the words he insists on mispronouncing. I know the little,\nuncontrolled hooks of his temper that things are always catching on. I\ndon't for a moment think he's a god. Perhaps it is just the fact that I\nknow him so very much better than other people do that would make me\nlaugh at any one who said I didn't truly love him! And then the babies!\nThink of it, Walter. I've got two of them. My very own! You said\nsomething like this once--that flesh and blood were more wonderful than\nany dream. It was a hard, painful lesson to learn, but I guess it's the\none I want to thank you for most.\"\n\n\"It's a truth,\" Walter replied, \"which Beatrice has helped me to\nrediscover very often these last years. We love each other with a big E.\nIt certainly didn't start with the romantic capital L. It's just the\nopposite of that proposition--of the flaming beginning that gradually\npeters out. It's something with us that's alive--growing every day.\"\n\nHer hand on his arm gave him a friendly, understanding squeeze.\n\n\"It's so wonderful a world,\" she said, \"it almost hurts! There's so\nvery, very much to do. The minutes are so amazingly full. And somehow it\nall seems to centre around the babies. They've given Socialism a new\nmeaning to me, have brought it all nearer, made it more intimate and\npersonal, more closely woven into myself. Isadore and I were used to the\ntenements, they'd ceased to impress us--till the babies came. I'm glad\nmy little brood can grow up in the sunlight and fresh air, with a little\ngrass to play on. But the thought of all the millions of babies in the\nslums has become the very corner-stone of my thinking. It's for them.\nWe've just got to win Socialism for the babies! I wish you could see\nmine. I'll send you a photograph.\"\n\nHer mind switched off to more concrete problems; she talked of immediate\nplans and hopes. Meanwhile, Isadore kept looking at his watch, and each\ntime he pulled it out, Beatrice asked him what time it was. At last it\nwas necessary to turn back to catch the train.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nConversation lagged as the Longmans walked home from the station. Walter\nwas wrapped up in some line of thought and Beatrice's first efforts fell\nflat. The silence became oppressive to her as they entered their house.\n\n\"Walter,\" she said, \"I'd bid as high as three shillings for your\nthoughts.\"\n\n\"Keep your money. These are jewels beyond price.\" He tumbled himself\nlazily into a big leather chair. \"What they tell about that paper of\ntheirs is amazing. I'm beginning to see some reason for the hostility\nwhich the working-class has for the 'intellectuals.' If Isadore had\nasked my advice,--or any of the college-bred Socialists in New\nYork,--he'd have been told that it was absolutely impossible to pull\nthrough with a daily. Well, the working-class knew what they wanted and\ndarned if they didn't get it! It's amazing!\"\n\n\"Walter, if I really believed that was what you'd been thinking about,\nI'd kiss you.\"\n\n\"I don't see why you shouldn't do both,\" he said, making room for her in\nthe chair beside him. But seeing a suspicious glitter in her eyes, he\nsprang up. \"Why, B.! You're crying! What's the matter?\"\n\nShe put her hands on his shoulders and looked searchingly in his face.\n\n\"Honest? Cross your heart to die? Weren't you thinking about Yetta?\"\n\n\"You little idiot,\" he said, with the glow which comes to a man who is\nbeing indirectly flattered. \"Been jealous, have you?\"\n\nHe picked her up in his arms.\n\n\"Let's go out on the porch. I'll tell you everything she said to me--and\nthen we'll look up at the moon.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Well,\" Yetta said, settling herself in the compartment of the train, as\nthe lights of Oxford slipped past the windows, \"I'm glad we visited\nthem.\"\n\nIsadore moved uneasily.\n\n\"It wasn't unpleasant?\" he asked in Yiddish--so that the other\npassengers might not understand. \"I don't feel as if I showed up very\nwell in comparison to Walter.\"\n\nShe leaned forward so she could look him squarely in the face.\n\n\"Isadore!\" she said in an aggrieved tone, \"can't men ever understand\nwomen--not even the very simplest things? Three years I wasted\ndreaming--no; I won't say 'wasted.' I haven't any quarrel with my\ngirlhood. Three years I dreamed about him. But it's four years now--four\nyears--that I've lived with you. Can't you understand how immense that\ndifference seems to a woman? There are some of my ideas, perhaps, some\nof my intellect that he's father of. But, Isadore, you're the father of\nmy children.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, somewhat comforted. \"I think I can understand a little\nof that--but--well, I never wished I had money so much before. I wish I\ncould give you the things Walter would have.\"\n\n\"Don't you do any mourning about that,\" she said brazenly, \"till I begin\nit.\"\n\nShe slipped her hand into his, indifferent to the other passengers. Her\nconscience hurt a little on this score, for after all she had envied\nBeatrice's opportunity to be beautiful. They sat silent for quite a long\ninterval.\n\n\"I'm glad we visited them,\" she went on. \"But I'm gladder that we're\nstarted home again. I'm crazy to get back.\"\n\n\"Worrying about the kids?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! Of course, I worry about them all the time. Aunt Martha's as\ngood to them as she knows how, but she's so old-fashioned. But I'm glad\nfor another reason. I never realized before the real difference between\nWalter and me. It's a wonderfully beautiful life, that cottage of\ntheirs, the books, the old colleges, and the river. You can't deny that\nthere's a graciousness about it. But it would kill me. He's happy\nthinking about things. But I'd die if I wasn't doing things! Love isn't\nenough by itself. I'd starve. I'm hungry to get back to work. That's the\nReal Thing, we got, Isadore. It makes our Love worth while. Our Work.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe following pages contain advertisements of Macmillan books by the\nsame author, and new fiction\n\n\n_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_\n\n\nA Man's World\n\nBy ALBERT EDWARDS\n\n_Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net; postpaid, $1.36_\n\n\"A striking book that should attract wide attention.\"--_New York\nTribune._\n\n\"There never has been a book like 'A Man's World.'... A novelist of\nskill and power.... His greatest gift is his power of creating the\nillusion of reality.... Vividness and conviction unite in the wonderful\nportrait of Nina.... There never has been such a character in American\nfiction before.... Nina will be one of the famous twentieth century\nheroines.\"--_Brooklyn Eagle._\n\n\"It is a great book, full of the real things of life.... Zola might have\nwritten such a book had he lived in New York and not in Paris. Yet, it\nis doubtful if he could have told a better tale in a better way, for\nNina and Ann are just as true to life as Nana and Ninon.\"--_Chicago\nRecord-Herald._\n\n\"The book is far from ordinary and its philosophy is\nextraordinary.\"--_New York Times Book Review._\n\n\"A new type of human document--written in all sincerity and\nhonesty.\"--_New York Herald._\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York\n\n\n_NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION OF THE BEST BOOK ON PANAMA FOR THE GENERAL\nREADER_\n\n\nPANAMA\n\nBy ALBERT EDWARDS\n\n_Profusely illustrated, decorated cloth, 12mo\n$1.50 net_; _postpaid, $1.62_\n\n\"A thoroughly satisfactory book for one who is looking for solid\ninformation.\"--_Boston Globe._\n\n\"A most interesting picture of the country as it is to-day.\"--_San\nFrancisco Chronicle._\n\n\"One of the very few books on any Latin-American country that gives any\nidea of the whole land and people.\"--_Los Angeles Times._\n\n\"One of the very best of travel books.\"--_Continent._\n\n\"Lively and readable, containing the real atmosphere of the\ntropics.\"--_Minneapolis Tribune._\n\n\"A book which every American ought to read, both for pleasure and\nprofit.\"--_New York Herald._\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York\n\n\n_NEW MACMILLAN FICTION_\n\n\nWINSTON CHURCHILL'S NEW NOVEL\n\nThe Inside of the Cup\n\nBy the author of \"A Modern Chronicle,\" \"The Crisis,\"\n\"Richard Carvel,\" etc.\n\nREADY MAY 25, 1913\n\n_Cloth, gilt top; illustrated, 12mo, $1.50 net; postpaid, $1.65_\n\n\n     Mr. Churchill is acknowledged to be America's leading novelist. No\n     other author has ever gained and held so large a following as Mr.\n     Churchill. This new book is the most mature and vital of all his\n     work and the one in which Mr. Churchill has achieved greatest\n     originality. It is a powerful study of the modern tendencies in\n     religion and their new relations to the modern life. It sets forth\n     in most masterly delineation the personal history of a young\n     clergyman, and the transformation of his views and attitudes toward\n     life. It is a book that will provoke much discussion and\n     admiration, dealing, as it does, with the more delicate phases of\n     life to-day and of conditions vital to the national welfare.\n\n\nOne Woman's Life\n\nBy ROBERT HERRICK\nAuthor of \"Together,\" \"The Healer,\" etc.\n\n_Cloth, 12mo, $1.35 net_\n\n\n     The women characters of Robert Herrick's books have always been\n     peculiarly significant. Sometimes storms of protest have centred\n     around them and the ideas of womankind which the author has\n     advanced through them. But the penetration and keenness of the\n     analyses and, sentiment aside, the truth of the pictures, and the\n     skill with which they have been drawn, have never been denied. The\n     fact that in this new book Mr. Herrick gives his whole attention to\n     the story of a woman is, therefore, an unusually interesting\n     announcement. Milly Ridge is as striking and convincing a creation\n     as has ever come from his pen, and in her struggle for social\n     supremacy Mr. Herrick has a theme distinctly modern and admirably\n     well suited to his powers.\n\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York\n\n\n_A NEW DANBY NOVEL_\n\n\nConcert Pitch\n\nBy FRANK DANBY\n\nAuthor of \"The Heart of a Child,\" \"Joseph in Jeopardy,\" \"Sebastian,\" etc.\n\n_Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.35 net_\n\n\n     In \"Concert Pitch\" Frank Danby has again written a love story of\n     unflagging interest, full of thrilling passages and rich in the\n     romance of real life. The book is crowded with types etched in with\n     masterly fidelity of vision and sureness of touch, with feminine\n     subtlety as well as virile audacity. Frank Danby's skill in making\n     vividly real the people and conditions of London has never been\n     shown to a better advantage than in her new novel.\n\n\nThe Feet of the Furtive\n\nBy CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS\n\nAuthor of \"The Backwoodsmen,\" \"Neighbors Unknown,\" etc.\n\nIllustrated by PAUL BRANSON\n\n_Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.35 net_\n\n\n     It is to be doubted whether there is a more popular animal writer\n     to-day than Charles G. D. Roberts, whose stories of the inhabitants\n     of forests and streams are read with pleasure by young and old\n     alike. In this book are brought together some of his most\n     interesting tales. The bear, the bat, the seal, the moose, the\n     rabbit, and other animals are here made vivid in their life and\n     habits. Mr. Roberts has true imaginative touches in his way of\n     writing about the woods and their denizens. But he is not open to\n     the charge of misrepresenting the facts in order to make a good\n     story. As one well-known critic said, \"He does not, in giving\n     animals life, turn them into half humans; but he takes their\n     pathos, their tragedy, their drama, on the animal level and writes\n     for them as though they had their own interpreter whispering in his\n     ear.\"\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York\n\n\nPOOR, DEAR MARGARET KIRBY\n\n_By KATHLEEN NORRIS_\n\nAuthor of \"Mother,\" \"The Rich Mrs. Burgoyne\"\n\nFRONTISPIECE IN COLOR\n\n_Decorated Cloth, 12mo, $1.30 net_\n\n\n     Though Kathleen Norris has become most widely known through her two\n     novels, it was, as is frequently the case, through the short story\n     field that she entered the ranks of fictionists. Her success in\n     demonstrating that the creation of the short story is an art of\n     itself makes the publication of this collection of tales from her\n     pen most interesting. There are probably many people in this\n     country who, if asked to name their favorite magazine writer, would\n     name Mrs. Norris. Here is gathered together the best of the work\n     upon which this reputation rests. Stories of sentiment, of purpose,\n     humorous stories, stories reflecting the more serious phases of\n     life, and stories which were evidently written just because they\n     afforded their author pleasure, all find a place in this versatile\n     volume.\n\n\nPATSY\n\n_By S. R. CROCKETT_\n\nAuthor of \"Love's Young Dream,\" \"The Raiders,\" etc.\n\n_Decorated Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net_\n\n\n     A lively, saucy person is Patsy, one of the best girl characters\n     Mr. Crockett has ever depicted. She is the central figure in this\n     new Galloway romance in which smuggling and Patsy's abduction and\n     recapture by a royal prince and all the other good things\n     synonymous with Mr. Crockett's name have a part. While the book is\n     one of historical adventure, the love interest is paramount\n     throughout. The time of the story is just one hundred years ago,\n     when the country in which the scene is laid was in universal revolt\n     against the brutal system of compulsory enlistment and bands were\n     being formed to fight the manhunters, and smuggling was in full\n     blast along the shores of Solway.\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York\n\n\nTHE IMPEACHMENT OF PRESIDENT ISRAELS\n\n_By FRANK B. COPLEY_\n\n_Illustrated, Cloth, 12mo, $1.00 net_\n\n\n     This is the story of the impeachment of David Israels, President of\n     the United States, as told by his private secretary. Instead of\n     preparing for war to avenge the killing of four American sailors,\n     President Israels persisted in proposals for peace, finally sending\n     a fleet to Constantinople to celebrate some Turkish anniversary,\n     which act brought upon him the terrible stigma. All this, it might\n     be explained, has yet to take place, for Israels is a future\n     president. The effect of reality is well kept up by Mr. Copley, who\n     incidentally introduces some very wholesome truths, notably that\n     the way to realize universal peace is to refuse even to consider\n     the possibility of war, that moral suasion is more forceful than\n     physical threats, and that a war resulting from mob panic and hate\n     is only folly and wickedness.\n\n\nVANISHING POINTS\n\n_By ALICE BROWN_\n\nAuthor of \"The Secret of the Clan\"\n\n_Decorated Cloth, 12mo, $1.30 net_\n\n\n     As a writer of delicately turned short stories, fine in their\n     execution, Alice Brown has few equals. She is best known, perhaps,\n     for her New England tales, and there are a number in the present\n     collection which present the true and ever pleasing atmosphere of\n     that part of this country. The book is not, however, composed\n     solely of this kind of fiction. Not a few of the most interesting\n     of the stories make their appeal because they rest on feelings,\n     beliefs, and characteristics that are universal in human nature.\n     One feels, as one reads of the man who thought that as so many\n     people in this broad land must suffer from poverty and cold and\n     hunger, he, too, should share their lot, or of the writer who,\n     though his success did not appear to be great, was, nevertheless,\n     influencing the work of others, or of the editor who took a stand\n     against the unfair policy of his magazine, or of the mother who\n     saved her son from the wiles of an adventuress, or of any, in fact,\n     of Miss Brown's delightful characters, that the art of short\n     fiction is at last coming into its own.\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York\n\n\n     \"There is not another book like this 'Crock of Gold' in English\n     literature. There are many books like pieces of it, but the humor\n     and the style--these things are Mr. Stephens's own peculiar\n     gift\"--_The London Standard._\n\nTHE CROCK OF GOLD\n\n_By JAMES STEPHENS_\n\nAuthor of \"The Hill of Vision\"\n\n_Decorated Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net_\n\n\n     A story of the open air, of deep forests, of rock-strewn pastures\n     and mountain tops, and though the human element is not absent, of\n     the fairy folk of old Ireland with the God Pan and the great Angus\n     Og, this is what the author of \"The Charwoman's Daughter,\" who is,\n     perhaps, better known for his verse, \"The Hill of Vision\" and\n     \"Insurrections,\" tells. While the book should, perhaps, be regarded\n     more as a fantasy with a beautiful moral than an ordinary novel,\n     the discriminating reader will, nevertheless, find interwoven with\n     it many a wise, witty, and penetrating reflection on human life and\n     destiny.\n\n_Press Opinions_\n\n     The Times.--\"It is crammed full of life and beauty ... this\n     delicious, fantastical, amorphous, inspired medley of\n     topsy-turvydom.\"\n\n     The Athenaeum.--\"In 'The Crock of Gold' Mr. Stephens gives the\n     measure of a larger and more individual talent than could have been\n     absolutely foretold.... There has been nothing hitherto quite like\n     it, but it is safe to prophesy that by and by there will be plenty\n     of imitators to take it for their pattern.... Mr. Stephens has\n     produced a remarkably fine and attractive work of art.\"\n\n     The Globe.--\"We have read nothing quite like 'The Crock of Gold.'\n     It has a charm and humor peculiar to itself, and places its author\n     high in the ranks of imaginative poetic writers.\"\n\n     The Nation.--\"The final state (in the case of the reviewer) was one\n     of complete surrender to the author--'go on, go on, fiddle on your\n     theme what harmonics you will; this is delightful.'... Mr.\n     Stephens's novel, 'The Charwoman's Daughter,' was a remarkable\n     book, and, in this one, he shows he can succeed as well in quite\n     other directions.\"\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\nPublishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Comrade Yetta, by Albert Edwards\n\n*** "}
{"text": "*Project Gutenberg Etext Fall of the Moghul Empire of Hindustan*\n\n\nCopyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check\nthe copyright laws for your country before posting these files!!\n\nPlease take a look at the important information in this header.\nWe encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an\nelectronic path open for the next readers.  Do not remove this.\n\n\n**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**\n\n**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**\n\n*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*\n\nInformation on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and\nfurther information is included below.  We need your donations.\nProject Gutenberg surfs with a modem donated by Supra.\n\n\nThe Fall of the Moghul Empire of Hindustan\n\nby H. G. 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If you\n     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are\n     payable to \"Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon\n     University\" within the 60 days following each\n     date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare)\n     your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return.\n\nWHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?\nThe Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time,\nscanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty\nfree copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution\nyou can think of.  Money should be paid to \"Project Gutenberg\nAssociation / Carnegie-Mellon University\".\n\n*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*\n\n\n\n\n\nEtext prepared by Ken West, maghreb@pcisys.net\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Fall of the Moghul Empire of Hindustan, by H. G. Keene\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FALL OF THE MOGHUL EMPIRE OF HINDUSTAN,\nA NEW EDITION,\nWITH CORRECTIONS AND ADDITIONS.\n\n1887\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nTwo editions of this book having been absorbed, it has been\nthought that the time was come for its reproduction in a form\nmore adapted to the use of students. Opportunity has been taken\nto introduce considerable additions and emendations.\n\nThe rise and meridian of the Moghul Empire have been related in\nElphinstone's \" History of India: the Hindu and Mahometan Period;\n\" and a Special Study of the subject will Also be found in the \"\nSketch of the History of Hindustan\" published by the present\nwriter in 1885. Neither of those works, however, undertakes to\ngive a detailed account of the great Anarchy that marked the\nconclusion of the eighteenth century, the dark time that came\nbefore the dawn of British power in the land of the Moghul. Nor\nis there is any other complete English book on the Subject.\n\nThe present work is, therefore, to be regarded as a monograph on\nthe condition of the capital and neighbouring territories, from\nthe murder of Alamgir II. in 1759 to the occupation of Dehli by\nLake in 1803. Some introductory chapters are prefixed, with the\nview of showing how these events were prepared; and an account of\nthe campaign of 1760-1 has been added, because it does not seem\nto have been hitherto related on a scale proportioned to its\nimportance. That short but desperate struggle is interesting as\nthe last episode of medi¾val war, when battles could be decided\nby the action of mounted men in armour. It is also the sine qua\nnon of British Empire in India. Had the Mahrattas not been\nconquered then, it is exceedingly doubtful if the British power\nin the Bengal Presidency would ever have extended beyond Benares.\n\nThe author would wish to conclude this brief explanation by\nreproducing the remarks which concluded the Preface to his second\nedition.\n\n\"There were two dangers,\" it was there observed; \"the first, that\nof giving too much importance to the period; the second, that of\nattempting to illustrate it by stories — such as those of Clive\nand Hastings — which had been told by writers with whom\ncompetition was out of the question. Brevity, therefore, is\nstudied; and what may seem baldness will be found to be a\nconciseness, on which much pains have been bestowed.\"\n\n\"The narrative,\" it was added, \"is one of confusion and\ntransition; and chiefly interesting in so far as it throws light\non the circumstances which preceded and caused the accession of\nthe East India Company to paramount power in India.\" The author\nhas only to add an expression of his hope that, in conjunction\nwith Mr. S. Owen's book, what he has here written may help to\nremove doubts as to the benefits derived by the people of India\nfrom the Revolution under consideration.\n\nFinally, mention should be made of Mr. Elphinstone's posthumous\nwork, \"The Rise of British Power in the East.\" That work does\nnot, indeed, clash with the present book; for it did not enter\ninto the scope of the distinguished author to give the native\nside of the story, or to study it from the point of view here\npresented. For the military and political aims and operations of\nthe early British officers in Madras and Bengal, however,\nElphinstone will be found a valuable guide. His narrative bears\nto our subject a relation similar to that of the \"Roman de Rou\"\nto the history of the Carling Empire of Northern France.\n\nOXFORD, 1887.\n\nCONTENTS.\n\nPART I.\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nPreliminary Observations on Hindustan and the City of Dehli\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nGreatness of the Timurides\n\nCauses of Empire's decline\n\nCharacter of Aurungzeb\n\nProgress of disruption under his descendants\n\nMuhamadan and Hindu enemies\n\nThe stage emptied\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nMuhamad Shah\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nAhmad Shah\n\nAlamgir II.\n\nCHAPTER V,\n\nAfghan invasion\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nOverthrow of Mahrattas at Panipat\n\nPART II.\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nA.D. 1760-67.\n\n1760.          Movements of Shahzada Ali Gohar, after escaping\nfrom Dehli\n\n               Shojaa-ud-Daulal\n\n               His Character\n\n               Ramnarayan defeated\n\n               M. Law\n\n1761.          Battle of Gaya\n\n1762.          March towards Hindustan\n\n1763.          Massacre of Patna\n\n1764.          Flight of Kasim and Sumroo\n\n               Battle of Buxar\n\n1705.          Treaty with British\n\n1767.          Establishment at Allahabad\n\n               Legal position\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nA.D. 1764-71.\n\n1764.          Najib-ud-Daula at Dehli\n\n               Mirza Jawan Bakht Regent\n\n               The Jats\n\n               The Jats attacked by Najib\n\n               Death of Suraj Mal\n\n1765.          Jats attack Jaipur .\n\n1766.          Return of Mahrattas\n\n1767.          Ahmad Abdali defeats Sikhs .\n\n1768.          Mahrattas attack Bhartpur\n\n1770.          Rohillas yield to them\n\n               Death of Najib-ud-Daula\n\n               State of Rohilkand\n\n               Zabita Khan .\n\n1771.          Mahrattas invite Emperor to return to Dehli\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nA.D. 1771-76\n\n               Agency of Restoration .\n\n               Madhoji Sindhia\n\n               Emperor's return to Dehli . . . .\n\n1772.          Zabita Khan attacked by Imperial force under Mirza\nNajaf Khan\n\n               Flight of Zabita\n\n               Treaty with Rohillas\n\n               Zabita regains office\n\n               Mahrattas attack Dehli .\n\n1773.          Desperation of Mirza Najaf .\n\n               Mahrattas attack Rohilkand .\n\n               Opposed by British\n\n               Advance of Audh troops\n\n               Restoration of Mirza\n\n               Abdul Ahid Khan .\n\n               Suspicious conduct of Rohillas\n\n               Tribute withheld by H. Rahmat\n\n1774.          Battle of Kattra\n\n1775.          Death of Shojaa-ud-Daula\n\n               Zabita Khan rejoins Jats\n\n               Najaf Kuli Khan\n\n               Successes of Imperial army\n\n1776.          Zabita and the Sikhs\n\n               Death of Mir Kasim\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nA.D. 1776-85\n\n               Vigour of Empire under M. Najaf\n\n               Zabita rebels again\n\n1777.          Emperor takes the field .\n\n               And the rebellion is suppressed\n\n               Sumroo's Jaigir\n\n1778.          Abdul Ahid takes the field against the Sikhs\n\n               Unsuccessful campaign\n\n1779.          Sikhs plunder Upper Doab\n\n               Dehli threatened, but relieved\n\n1780.          Mirza Najaf's arrangements\n\n               Popham takes Gwalior\n\n               Death of Sumroo\n\n1781.          Begam becomes a Christian\n\n1782.          Death of Mirza\n\n               Consequent transactions\n\n               Afrasyab Khan becomes Premier\n\n               Mirza Shaffi at Dehli\n\n1783.          Murder of Shaffi\n\n               Action of Warren Hastings\n\n1784.          Flight of Shahzadah Jawan Bakht\n\n               Madhoji Sindhia goes to Agra\n\n               Afrasyab murdered\n\n1785.          Tribute demanded from British, but refused\n\n               Death of Zabita\n\n               Sindhia supreme\n\n               Chalisa Famine\n\n               State of Country\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nA.D. 1786-88.\n\n1786.          Gholam Kadir succeeds his father Zabita\n\n               Siege of Raghogarh\n\n1787.          British policy\n\n               Measures of Sindhia\n\n               Rajput confederacy\n\n               Battle of Lalsot\n\n               Mohammed Beg's death\n\n               Defection of his nephew Ismail Beg\n\n               Greatness of Sindhia\n\n               Gholam Kadir enters Dehli\n\n               But checked by Begam Sumroo and Najaf Kuli\n\n               Gholam Kadir joins Ismail Beg\n\n1788.          Battle of Chaksana\n\n               Emperor proceeds towards Rajputana\n\n               Shahzada writes to George III.\n\n               Najaf Kuli rebels\n\n               Death of Shahzada\n\n               Siege of Gokalgarh\n\n               Emperor's return to Dehli\n\n               Battles of Fatihpur and Firozabad\n\n               Confederates meet at Dehli\n\n               Sindhia is inactive\n\n               Benoit de Boigne\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nA.D. 1788\n\n               Defection of Moghuls and retreat of Hindu Guards\n\n               Confederates obtain possession of palace\n\n               Emperor deposed\n\n               Palace plundered\n\n               Gholam Kadir in the palace\n\n               Emperor blinded\n\n               Approach of Mahrattas\n\n               Apprehensions of the spoiler\n\n               Moharram at Dehli\n\n               Explosion in palace\n\n               Gholam Kadir flies to Meerut\n\n               His probable intentions\n\n               His capture and punishment\n\n               Sindhia's measures\n\n               Future nature of narrative\n\n               Poetical lament of Emperor\n\nPART III.\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nA.D. 1788 - 94.\n\n               Sindhia as Mayor of palace\n\n               British policy\n\n1789.          Augmentation of Sindhia's Army\n\n1790.          Ismail Beg joins the Rajput rising\n\n               Battle of Patan\n\n               Sindhia at Mathra\n\n               Siege of Ajmir\n\n               Jodhpur Raja\n\n               Battle of Mirta\n\n               Rivals alarmed\n\n               French officers\n\n1792.          Sindhia's progress to Puna\n\n               Holkar advances in his absence\n\n               Ismail Beg taken prisoner\n\n               Battle of Lakhairi\n\n               Sindhia rebuked by Lord Cornwallis\n\n               His great power\n\n               Rise of George Thomas\n\n1793.          He quits Begam's service\n\n               Sindhia at Punah\n\n1794.          His death and character\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nA.D. 1794 - 1800.\n\n               Daulat Rao Sindhia\n\n               Thomas adopted by Appa Khandi Rao\n\n1795.          Revolution at Sardhana\n\n               Begum delivered by Thomas\n\n               Becomes a wiser woman\n\n               Movements of Afghans\n\n               Battle of Kurdla\n\n1796.          De Boigne retires\n\n1797.          General Perron\n\n               Musalman intrigues\n\n               Afghans checked\n\n               Succession in Audh\n\n1798           War of the Bais\n\n1799.          Afghans and British, and treaty with the Nizam\n\n               Rising of Shimbunath\n\n               Thomas independent\n\n               Revolt of Lakwa Dada\n\n1801.          Holkar defeated at Indor\n\n               Power of Perron\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nA.D. 1801-3.\n\n               Feuds of Mahrattas\n\n               Perron attacks Thomas\n\n               Thomas falls\n\n1802.          Treaty of Bassein\n\n1803.          Marquis of Wellesley\n\n               Supported from England\n\n               Fear entertained of the French\n\n               Sindhia threatened\n\n               Influence of Perron\n\n               Plans of the French\n\n               The First Consul.\n\n               Wellesley's views\n\n               War declared\n\n               Lake's Force\n\n               Sindhia's European officers\n\n               Anti-English feelings, and fall of Perron\n\n               Battle of Dehli\n\n               Lake enters the capital\n\n               Is received by Emperor\n\n               No treaty made\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nCONCLUSION\n\n               Effect of climate upon race\n\n               Early immigrants\n\n               Early French and English\n\n               Empire not overthrown by British\n\n               Perron's administration\n\n               Changes since then\n\n               The Talukdars\n\n               Lake's friendly intentions towards them\n\n               Their power curbed\n\n               No protection for life, property, or traffic\n\n               Uncertain reform without foreign aid\n\n               Concluding remarks\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n\n\nTHE FALL OF THE MOGHUL EMPIRE OF HINDUSTAN.\n\nPART I.\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nPreliminary Observations on Hindustan and the City of Dehli.\n\nTHE country to which the term Hindustan is strictly and properly\napplied may be roughly described as a rhomboid, bounded on the\nnorth-west by the rivers Indus and Satlej, on the south-west by\nthe Indian Ocean, on the south-east by the Narbadda and the Son,\nand on the north-east by the Himalaya Mountains and the river\nGhagra. In the times of the emperors, it comprised the provinces\nof Sirhind (or Lahore), Rajputana, Gujrat, Malwa, Audh (including\nRohilkand, strictly Rohelkhand, the country of the Rohelas, or\n\"Rohillas\" of the Histories), Agra, Allahabad, and Dehli: and the\npolitical division was into subahs, or divisions, sarkars or\ndistricts; dasturs, or sub-divisions; and parganahs, or fiscal\nunions.\n\nThe Deccan, Panjab (Punjab), and Kabul, which also formed parts\nof the Empire in its widest extension at the end of the\nseventeenth century, are omitted, as far as possible, from\nnotice, because they did not at the time of our narration form\npart of the territories of the Empire of Hindustan, though\nincluded in the territory ruled by the earlier and greater\nEmperors.\n\nBengal, Bihar, and Orissa also formed, at one time, an integral\nportion of the Empire, but fell away without playing an important\npart in the history we are considering, excepting for a very\nbrief period. The division into Provinces will be understood by\nreference to the map. Most of these had assumed a practical\nindependence during the first quarter of the eighteenth century,\nthough acknowledging a weak feudatory subordination to the Crown\nof Dehli.\n\nThe highest point in the plains of Hindustan is probably the\nplateau on which stands the town of Ajmir, about 230 miles south\nof Dehli. It is situated on the eastern <DW72> of the Aravalli\nMountains, a range of primitive granite, of which Abu, the chief\npeak, is estimated to be near 5,000 feet above the level of the\nsea; the plateau of Ajmir itself is some 3,000 feet lower.\n\nThe country at large is, probably, the upheaved basin of an\nexhausted sea which once rendered the highlands of the Deccan an\nisland like a larger Ceylon. The general quality of the soil is\naccordingly sandy and light, though not unproductive; yielding,\nperhaps, on an average about one thousand lbs. av. of wheat to\nthe acre. The cereals are grown in the winter, which is at least\nas cold as in the corresponding parts of Africa. Snow never\nfalls, but thin ice is often formed during the night. During the\nspring heavy dews fall, and strong winds set in from the west.\nThese gradually become heated by the increasing radiation of the\nearth, as the sun becomes more vertical and the days longer.\n\nTowards the end of May the monsoon blows up from the Indian Ocean\nand from the Bay of Bengal, when a rainfall averaging about\ntwenty inches takes place and lasts during the ensuing quarter.\nThis usually ceases about the end of September, when the weather\nis at its most sickly point. Constant exhalations of malaria take\nplace till the return of the cold weather.\n\nAfter the winter, cacurbitaceous crops are grown, followed by\nsowings of rice, sugar, and cotton. About the beginning of the\nrainy season the millets and other coarse grains are put in, and\nthe harvesting takes place in October. The winter crops are\nreaped in March and April. Thus the agriculturists are never out\nof employ, unless it be during the extreme heats of May and June,\nwhen the soil becomes almost as hard from heat as the earth in\nEngland becomes in the opposite extreme of frost.\n\nOf the hot season Mr. Elphinstone gives the following strong but\njust description: — \"The sun is scorching, even the wind is hot,\nthe land is brown and parched, the dust flies in whirlwinds, all\nbrooks become dry, small rivers scarcely keep up a stream, and\nthe largest are reduced to comparative narrow channels in the\nmidst of vast sandy beds.\" It should, however, be added, that\ntowards the end of this terrible season some relief is afforded\nto the river supply by the melting of the snow upon the higher\nHimalayas, which sends down some water into the almost exhausted\nstream-beds. But even so, the occasional prolongation of the dry\nweather leads to universal scarcity which amounts to famine for\nthe mass of the population, which affects all classes, and which\nis sure to be followed by pestilence. Lastly, the malaria noticed\nabove as following the monsoon gives rise to special disorders\nwhich become endemic in favouring localities, and travel thence\nto all parts of the country, borne upon the winds or propagated\nby pilgrimages and other forms of human intercourse. Such are the\nawful expedients by which Nature checks the redundancy of a\nnon-emigrating population with simple wants. Hence the\nconstruction of drainage and irrigation-works has not merely a\ndirect result in causing temporary prosperity, but an indirect\nresult in a large increase of the responsibilities of the ruling\npower. Between 1848 and 1854 the population of the part of\nHindustan now called the North-West Provinces, where all the\nabove described physical features prevail, increased from a ratio\nof 280 to the square mile till it reached a ratio of 350. In the\nsubsequent sixteen years there was a further increase. The latest\nrate appears to be from 378 to 468, and the rate of increase is\nbelieved to be about equal to that of the British Islands.\n\nThere were at the time of which we are to treat few\nfield-labourers on daily wages, the Metayer system being\neverywhere prevalent where the soil was not actually owned by\njoint-stock associations of peasant proprietors, usually of the\nsame tribe.\n\nThe wants of the cultivators were provided for by a class of\nhereditary brokers, who were often also chandlers, and advanced\nstock, seed, and money upon the security of the unreaped crops.\n\nThese, with a number of artisans and handicraftsmen, formed the\nchief population of the towns; some of the money-dealers were\nvery rich, and 36 per cent. per annum was not perhaps an extreme\nrate of interest. There were no silver or gold mines, external\ncommerce hardly existed, and the money-price of commodities was\nlow.\n\nThe literary and polite language of Hindustan, called Urdu or\nRekhta, was, and still is, so far common to the whole country,\nthat it everywhere consists of a mixture of the same elements,\nthough in varying proportions; and follows the same grammatical\nrules, though with different accents and idioms. The constituent\nparts are the Arabised Persian, and the Prakrit (in combination\nwith a ruder basis, possibly of local origin), known as Hindi.\nSpeaking loosely, the Persian speech has contributed nouns\nsubstantive of civilization, and adjectives of compliment or of\nscience; while the verbs and ordinary vocables and particles\npertaining to common life are derived from the earlier tongues.\nSo, likewise, are the names of animals, excepting those of beasts\nof chase.\n\nThe name Urdu, by which this language is usually known, is said\nto be of Turkish origin, and means literally \"camp.\" But the\nMoghuls of India first introduced it in the precincts of the\nImperial camp; so that as Urdu-i-muali (High or Supreme Camp)\ncame to be a synonym for new Dehli after Shahjahan had made it\nhis permanent capital, so Urdu-ki-zaban meant the lingua franca\nspoken at Dehli. It was the common method of communication\nbetween different classes, as English may have been in London\nunder Edward III. The classical languages of Arabia and Persia\nwere exclusively devoted to uses of law, learning, and religion;\nthe Hindus cherished their Sanskrit and Hindi for their own\npurposes of business or worship, while the Emperor and his Moghul\ncourtiers kept up their Turkish speech as a means of free\nintercourse in private life. The Chaghtai dialect resembled the\nTurkish still spoken in Kashgar.\n\nOut of such elements was the rich and still growing language of\nHindustan formed, and it is yearly becoming more widely spread\nover the most remote parts of the country, being largely taught\nin Government schools, and used as a medium of translation from\nEuropean literature, both by the English and by the natives. For\nthis purpose it is peculiarly suited, from still possessing the\npower of assimilating foreign roots, instead of simply inserting\nthem cut and dried, as is the case with languages that have\nreached maturity. Its own words are also liable to a kind of\nchemical change when encountering foreign matter (e.g., jau,\nbarley: when oats were introduced some years ago, they were at\nonce called jaui — \"little barley\").\n\nThe peninsula of India is to Asia what Italy is to Europe, and\nHindustan may be roughly likened to Italy without the two\nSicilies, only on a far larger scale. In this comparison the\nHimalayas represent the Alps, and the Tartars to the north are\nthe Tedeschi of India; Persia is to her as France, Piedmont is\nrepresented by Kabul, and Lombardy by the Panjab. A recollection\nof this analogy may not be without use in familiarizing the\nnarrative which is to follow.\n\nSuch was the country into which successive waves of invaders,\nsome of them, perhaps, akin to the actual ancestors of the Goths,\nHuns, and Saxons of Europe, poured down from the plains of\nCentral Asia. At the time of which our history treats, the\naboriginal Indians had long been pushed out from Hindustan into\nthe mountainous forests that border the Deccan; which country has\nbeen largely peopled, in its more accessible regions, by the\nSudras, who were probably the first of the Scythian invaders.\nAfter them had come the Sanskrit-speaking race, a congener of the\nancient Persians, who brought a form of fire-worshipping, perhaps\nonce monotheistic, of which traces are still extant in the Vedas,\ntheir early Scriptures. This form of faith becoming weak and\neclectic, was succeeded by a reaction, which, under the auspices\nof Gautama, obtained general currency, until in its turn\ndisplaced by the gross mythology of the Puranas, which has since\nbeen the popular creed of the Hindus.\n\nThis people in modern times has divided into three main\ndenominations: the Sarawagis or Jains (who represent some sect\nallied to the Buddhists or followers of Gautama); the sect of\nShiva, and the sect of Vishnu.\n\nIn addition to the Hindus, later waves of immigration have\ndeposited a Musalman population — somewhat increased by the\nconversions that occurred under Aurangzeb. The Mohamadans are now\nabout one-seventh of the total population of Hindustan; and there\nis no reason to suppose that this ratio has greatly varied since\nthe fall of the Moghuls.\n\nThe Mohamadans in India preserved their religion, though not\nwithout some taint from the circumjacent idolatry. Their\ncelebration of the Moharram, with tasteless and extravagant\nceremonies, and their forty days' fast in Ramzan, were alike\nmisplaced in a country where, from the movable nature of their\ndates, they sometimes fell in seasons when the rigour of the\nclimate was such as could never have been contemplated by the\nArabian Prophet. They continued the bewildering lunar year of the\nHijra, with its thirteenth month every third year; but, to\nincrease the confusion, the Moghul Emperors also reckoned by\nTurkish cycles while the Hindus tenaciously maintained in matters\nof business their national Sambat, or era of Raja Bikram Ajit.\n\nThe Emperor Akbar, in the course of his endeavours to fuse the\npeoples of India into a whole, endeavoured amongst other things\nto form a new religion. This, it was his intention, should be at\nonce a vindication of his Tartar and Persian forefathers against\nArab proselytism, and a bid for the suffrages of his Hindu\nsubjects. Like most eclectic systems it failed. In and after his\ntime also Christianity in its various forms has been feebly\nendeavouring to maintain a footing. This is a candid report, from\na source that cannot but be trusted, of the result of three\ncenturies of Missionary labour.\n\n\"There is nothing which can at all warrant the opinion that the\nheart of the people has been largely touched, or that the\nconscience of the people has been affected seriously. There is no\nadvance in the direction of faith in Christ, like that which\nPliny describes, or Tertullian proclaims as characteristic of\nformer eras. In fact, looking at the work of Missions on the\nbroadest scale, and especially upon that of our own Missions, we\nmust confess that, in many cases, the condition is one rather of\nstagnation than of advance. There seems to be a want in them of\nthe power to edify, and a consequent paralysis of the power to\nconvert. The converts, too often, make such poor progress in the\nChristian life, that they fail to act as leaven in the lump of\ntheir countrymen. In particular, the Missions do not attract to\nChrist many men of education; not even among those who have been\ntrained within their own schools. Educated natives, as a general\nrule, will stand apart from the truth; maintaining, at the best,\na state of mental vacuity which hangs suspended, for a time,\nbetween an atheism, from which they shrink, and a Christianity,\nwhich fails to overcome their fears and constrain their\nallegiance.\" — Extract from Letter of the Anglican Bishops of\nIndia, addressed to the English Clergy, in May, 1874.\n\nThe capital cities of Northern India have always been Dehli and\nAgra; the first-named having been the seat of the earlier\nMusalman Empires, while the Moghuls, for more than a full\ncentury, preferred to hold their Court at Agra. This dynasty,\nhowever, re-transferred the metropolis to the older situation;\nbut, instead of attempting to revive any of the pristine\nlocalities, fixed their palace and its environs upon a new--and a\npreferable—piece of ground.\n\nIf India be the Italy of Asia, still more properly may it be said\nthat Dehli is its Rome. This ancient site stretches ruined for\nmany miles round the present inhabited area, and its original\nfoundation is lost in a mythical antiquity. A Hindu city called\nIndraprastha was certainly there on the bank of the Jamna near\nthe site of the present city before the Christian era, and\nvarious Mohamadan conquerors occupied sites in the neighbourhood,\nof which numerous remains are still extant. There was also a city\nnear the present Kutb Minar, built by a Hindu rajah, about 57\nB.C. according to General Cunningham. This was the original (or\nold) Dilli or Dehli, a name of unascertained origin. It appears\nto have been deserted during the invasion of Mahmud of Ghazni,\nbut afterwards rebuilt about 1060 A.D. The last built of all the\nancient towns was the Din Panah of Humayun, nearly on the site of\nthe old Hindu town; but it had gone greatly to decay during the\nlong absence of his son and grandson at Agra and elsewhere.\n\nAt length New Dehli—the present city—was founded by Shahjahan,\nthe great-grandson of Humayun, and received the name, by which it\nis still known to Mohamudans, of Shahjahanabad. The city is seven\nmiles round, with seven gates, the palace or citadel one-tenth of\nthe area. Both are a sort of irregular semicircle on the right\nbank of the Jamna, which river forms their eastern arc. The plain\nis about 800 feet above the level of the sea, and is bordered at\nsome distance by a low range of hills, and receiving the drainage\nof the Mewat Highlands. The greatest heat is in June, when the\nmean temperature in the shade is 92¡ F.; but it falls as low as\n53¡ in January. The situation—as will be seen by the map—is\nextremely well chosen as the administrative centre of Hindustan;\nit must always be a place of commercial importance, and the\nclimate has no peculiar defect. The only local disorder is a very\nmalignant sore, which may perhaps be due to the brackishness of\nthe water. This would account for the numerous and expensive\ncanals and aqueducts which have been constructed at different\nperiods to bring water from remote and pure sources. Here\nShahjahan founded, in 1645 A.D., a splendid fortified palace,\nwhich continued to be occupied by his descendants down to the\nGreat Revolt of 1857.\n\nThe entrance to the palace was, and still is, defended by a lofty\nbarbican, passing which the visitor finds himself in an immense\narcaded vestibule, wide and lofty, formerly appropriated to the\nmen and officers of the guard, but in later days tenanted by\nsmall shopkeepers. This opened into a courtyard, at the back of\nwhich was a gate surmounted by a gallery, where one used to hear\nthe barbarous performances of the royal band. Passing under this,\nthe visitor entered the 'Am-Khas or courtyard, much fallen from\nits state, when the rare animals and the splendid military\npageants of the earlier Emperors used to throng its area.\nFronting you was the Diwan-i-Am (since converted into a canteen),\nand at the back (towards the east or river) the Diwan-i-Khas,\nsince adequately restored. This latter pavilion is in echelon\nwith the former, and was made to communicate on both sides with\nthe private apartments.\n\nOn the east of the palace, and connected with it by a bridge\ncrossing an arm of the river, is the ancient Pathan fort of\nSalimgarh, a rough and dismal structure, which the later Emperors\nused as a state prison. It is a remarkable contrast to the rest\nof the fortress, which is surrounded by crenellated walls of high\nfinish. These walls being built of the red sandstone of the\nneighbourhood, and seventy feet in height, give to the exterior\nof the buildings a solemn air of passive and silent strength, so\nthat, even after so many years of havoc, the outward appearance\nof the Imperial residence continues to testify of its former\ngrandeur. How its internal and actual grandeur perished will be\nseen in the following pages. The Court was often held at Agra,\nwhere the remains of a similar palace are still to be seen. No\ndetailed account of this has been met with at all rivalling the\ncontemporary descriptions of the Red Palace of Dehli. But an\nattempt has been made to represent its high and palmy state in\nthe General Introduction to the History of Hindustan by the\npresent writer.\n\nOf the character of the races who people the wide Empire of which\nDehli was the metropolis, very varying estimates have been\nformed, in the most extreme opposites of which there is still\nsome germ of truth. It cannot be denied that, in some of what are\ntermed the unprogressive virtues, they exceeded, as their sons\nstill exceed, most of the nations of Europe; being usually\ntemperate, self-controlled, patient, dignified in misfortune, and\naffectionate and liberal to kinsfolk and dependents. Few things\nperhaps show better the good behaviour — one may almost say the\ngood breeding — of the ordinary native than the sight of a crowd\nof villagers going to or returning from a fair in Upper India.\nThe stalwart young farmers are accompanied by their wives; each\nwoman in her  wimple, with her shapely arms covered\nnearly to the elbow with cheap glass armless. Every one is\nsmiling, showing rows of well-kept teeth, talking kindly and\ngently; here a little boy leads a pony on which his white-bearded\ngrandfather is smilingly seated; there a baby perches, with eyes\nof solemn satisfaction, on its father's shoulder. Scenes of the\nimmemorial East are reproduced before our modern eyes; now the\n\"flight into Egypt,\" now St. John and his lamb. In hundreds and\nin thousands, the orderly crowds stream on. Not a bough is broken\noff a way-side tree, not a rude remark addressed to the passenger\nas he threads his horse's way carefully through the everywhere\nyielding ranks. So they go in the morning and so return at night.\n\nBut, on the other hand, it is not to be rashly assumed that, as\nIndia is the Italy, so are the Indian races the Italians of Asia.\nAll Asiatics are unscrupulous and unforgiving. The natives of\nHindustan are peculiarly so; but they are also unsympathetic and\nunobservant in a manner that is altogether their own. From the\nlanguor induced by the climate, and from the selfishness\nengendered by centuries of misgovernment, they have derived a\nweakness of will, an absence of resolute energy, and an\noccasional audacity of meanness, almost unintelligible in a\npeople so free from the fear of death. Many persons have thought\nthat moral weakness of this kind must be attributable to the\nsystem of caste by which men, placed by birth in certain grooves,\nare forbidden to even think of stepping out of them. But this is\nnot the whole explanation. Nor, indeed, are the most candid\nforeign critics convinced that the system is one of unmixed evil.\nThe subjoined moderate and sensible estimate of the effects of\ncaste, upon the character and habits of the people is from the\nBishops' letter quoted above. \"In India, Caste has been the bond\nof Society, defining the relations between man and man, and\nthough essentially at variance with all that is best and noblest\nin human nature, has held vast communities together, and\nestablished a system of order and discipline under which\nGovernment has been administered, trade has prospered, the poor\nhave been maintained, and some domestic virtues have flourished.\"\n\nMacaulay has not overstated Indian weaknesses in his Essay on\nWarren Hastings, where he has occasion to describe the character\nof Nand Komar, who, as a Bengali man-of-the-pen, appears to have\nbeen a marked type of all that is most unpleasing in the Hindoo\ncharacter. The Bengalis, however, have many amiable\ncharacteristics to show on the other side of the shield, to which\nit did not suit the eloquent Essayist to draw attention. And in\ngoing farther North many other traits, of a far nobler kind, will\nbe found more and more abundant. Of the Musalmans, it only\nremains to add that, although mostly descended from hardier\nimmigrants, they have imbibed the Hindu character to an extent\nthat goes far to corroborate the doctrine which traces the morals\nof men to the physical circumstances that surround them. The\nsubject will be found more fully treated in the concluding\nchapter.\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nA.D. 1707-19.\n\n\n\nGreatness of Timur's Descendants—Causes of the Empire's\nDecline—Character of Aurangzeb—Progress of Disruption under his\nSuccessors—Muhamadan and Hindu enemies—The Stage emptied.\n\n\n\nFor nearly two centuries the throne of the Chaghtais continued to\nbe filled by a succession of exceptionally able Princes. The\nbrave and simple-hearted Babar, the wandering Humayun, the\nglorious Akbar, the easy but uncertain-tempered Jahangir, the\nmagnificent Shahjahan, all these rulers combined some of the best\nelements of Turkish character — and their administration was\nbetter than that of any other Oriental country of their date. Of\nShahjahan's government and its patronage of the arts — both\ndecorative and useful — we have trustworthy contemporary\ndescriptions. His especial taste was for architecture; and the\nMosque and Palace of Dehli, which he personally designed, even\nafter the havoc of two centuries, still remain the climax of the\nIndo-Saracenic order, and admitted rivals to the choicest works\nof Cordova and Granada.\n\nThe abilities of his son and successor ALAMGIR, known to\nEuropeans by his private name, AURANGZEB, rendered him the most\nfamous member of his famous house. Intrepid and enterprising as\nhe was in war, his political sagacity and statecraft were equally\nunparalleled in Eastern annals. He abolished capital punishment,\nunderstood and encouraged agriculture, founded numberless\ncolleges and schools, systematically constructed roads and\nbridges, kept continuous diaries of all public events from his\nearliest boyhood, administered justice publicly in person, and\nnever condoned the slightest malversation of a provincial\ngovernor, however distant his province. Such were these emperors;\ngreat, if not exactly what we should call good, to a degree rare\nindeed amongst hereditary rulers.\n\nThe fact of this uncommon succession of high qualities in a race\nborn to the purple may be ascribed to two main considerations. In\nthe first place, the habit of contracting, marriages with Hindu\nprincesses, which the policy and the latitudinarianism of the\nemperors established, was a constant source of fresh blood,\nwhereby the increase of family predisposition was checked. Few if\nany races of men are free from some morbid taint: scrofula,\nphthisis, weak nerves, or a disordered brain, are all likely to\nbe propagated if a person predisposed to any such ailment marries\na woman of his own stock. From this danger the Moghul princes\nwere long kept free. Khuram, the second son of Jahangir, who\nsucceeded his father under the title of Shah Jahan, had a Hindu\nmother, and two Hindu grandmothers. All his sons, however, were\nby a Persian consort — the lady of the Taj.\n\nSecondly, the invariable fratricidal war which followed the\ndemise of the Crown gave rise to a natural selection (to borrow a\nterm from modern physical science), which eventually confirmed\nthe strongest in possession of the prize. However humanity may\nrevolt from the scenes of crime which such a system must perforce\nentail, yet it cannot be doubted that the qualities necessary to\nensure success in a struggle of giants would certainly both\ndeclare and develop themselves in the person of the victor by the\ntime that struggle was concluded.\n\nIt is, however, probable that both these causes aided ultimately\nin the dissolution of the monarchy.\n\nThe connections which resulted from the earlier emperors' Hindu\nmarriages led, as the Hindus became disaffected after the\nintolerant rule of Aurangzeb, to an assertion of partisanship\nwhich gradually swelled into independence; while the wars between\nthe rival sons of each departing emperor gave more and more\noccasion for the Hindu chiefs to take sides in arms.\n\nThen it was that each competitor, seeking to detach the greatest\nnumber of influential feudatories from the side of his rivals,\nand to propitiate such feudatories in his own favour, cast to\neach of these the prize that each most valued. And, since this\nwas invariably the uncontrolled dominion of the territories\nconfided to their charge, it was in this manner that the reckless\ndisputants partitioned the territories that their forefathers had\naccumulated with such a vast expenditure of human happiness and\nhuman virtue. For, even from those who had received their\ntitledeeds at the hands of claimants to the throne ultimately\nvanquished, the concession could rarely be wrested by the\nexhausted conqueror. Or, when it was, there was always at hand a\npartisan to be provided for, who took the gift on the same terms\nas those upon which it had been held by his predecessor.\n\nAurangzeb, when he had imprisoned his father and, conquered and\nslain his brothers, was, on his accession, A.D. 1658, the most\npowerful of all the Emperors of Hindustan, and, at the same time,\nthe ablest administrator that the Empire had ever known. In his\nreign the house of Timur attained its zenith. The wild Pathans of\nKabul were temporarily tamed; the Shah of Persia sought his\nfriendship; the ancient Musalman powers of Golconda and Bijapur\nwere subverted, and their territories rendered subordinate to the\nsway of the Empire; the hitherto indomitable Rajputs were subdued\nand made subject to taxation; and, if the strength of the\nMahrattas lay gathered upon the Western Ghats like a cloud risen\nfrom the sea, yet it was not to be anticipated that a band of\nsuch marauders could long resist the might of the great Moghul.\n\nYet that might and that greatness were reduced to a mere show\nbefore his long reign terminated; and the Moghul Empire resembled\n— to use a familiar image — one of those Etruscan corpses which,\nthough crowned and armed, are destined to crumble at the breath\nof heaven or at the touch of human hands. And still more did it\nresemble some splendid palace, whose gilded cupolas and towering\nminarets are built of materials collected from every quarter of\nthe world, only to collapse in undistinguishable ruin when the\nFicus religiosa has lodged its destructive roots in the\nfoundation on which they rest. Thus does this great ruler furnish\nanother instance of the familiar but everneeded lesson, that\ncountries may be over-governed. Had he been less anxious to stamp\nhis own image and superscription upon the palaces of princes and\nthe temples of priests; upon the moneys of every market, and upon\nevery human heart and conscience; he might have governed with as\nmuch success as his free thinking and pleasure-seeking\npredecessors. But he was the Louis Quatorze of the East; with\nless of pomp than his European contemporary, but not less of the\nlust of conquest, of centralization, and of religious conformity.\nThough each monarch identified the State with himself, yet it may\nbe doubted if either, on his deathbed, knew that his monarchy was\ndying also. But so it was that to each succeeded that gradual but\ncomplete cataclysm which seems the inevitable consequence of the\nsystem which each pursued.\n\nOne point peculiar to the Indian emperor is that the persecuting\nspirit of his reign was entirely due to his own character. The\njovial and clement Chaghtai Turks, from whom he was descended,\nwere never bigoted Mohamadans. Indeed it may be fairly doubted\nwhether Akbar and his son Jahangir were, to any considerable\nextent, believers in the system of the Arabian prophet. Far\ndifferent, however, was the creed of Aurangzeb, and ruthlessly\ndid he seek to force it upon his Hindu subjects. Thus there were\nnow added to the usual dangers of a large empire the two peculiar\nperils of a jealous centralization of power, and a deep-seated\ndisaffection of the vast majority of the subjects. Nor was this\nall. There had never been any fixed settlement of the succession;\nand not even the sagacity of this politic emperor was superior to\nthe temptation of arbitrarily transferring the dignity of\nheir-apparent from one son to another during his long reign.\nTrue, this was no vice confined exclusively to Aurangzeb. His\npredecessors had done the like; but then their systems had been\notherwise genial and fortunate. His successors, too, were\ndestined to pursue the same infatuated course; and it was a\ndefeated intrigue of this sort which probably first brought the\npuppet emperor of our own time into that fatal contact with the\npower of England which sent him to die in a remote and\ndishonoured exile.\n\nWhen, therefore, the sceptre had fallen from the dead man's\nhands, there were numerous evil influences ready to attend its\nassumption by any hands that were less experienced and strong.\nThe prize was no less than the possession of the whole peninsula,\nestimated to have yielded a yearly revenue of the nominal value\nof thirty-four millions of pounds sterling, and guarded by a\nveteran army of five hundred thousand men.\n\nThe will of the late emperor had left the disposal of his\ninheritance entirely unsettled. \"Whoever of my fortunate sons\nshall chance to rule my empire,\" is the only reference to the\nsubject that occurs in this brief and extraordinary document.\n\nHis eldest surviving son consequently found two competitors in\nthe field, in the persons of his brothers. These, however, he\ndefeated in succession, and assumed the monarchy under the title\nof BAHADUR SHAH. A wise and valiant prince, he did not reign long\nenough to show how far he could have succeeded in controlling or\nretarding the evils above referred to; but his brief occupation\nof the monarchy is marked by the appearance of all those powers\nand dynasties which afterwards participated, all in its\ndismemberment, and most in its spoil. Various enemies, both Hindu\nand Musalman, appeared, and the Empire of the Chaghtai Turks was\nsapped and battered by attempts which, though mostly founded on\nthe most selfish motives, involved a more or less patriotic\nfeeling. Sikhs, Mahrattas, and Rajputs, all aimed at\nindependence; while the indigenous Mohamadans, instead of joining\nthe Turks in showing a common front to the common enemy, weakened\nthe defence irrecoverably by opposition and rivalry.\n\nIn the attempt to put down the Sikhs, Bahadur died at Lahor, just\nfive years after the death of his father. The usual struggle\nensued. Three of the princes were defeated and slain in detail;\nand the partisans of the eldest son, Mirza Moizudin, conferred\nupon him the succession (by the title of JAHANDAR SHAH), after a\nwholesale slaughter of such of his kindred as fell within their\ngrasp. After a few months, the aid of the governors of Bihar and\nAllahabad, Saiyids of the tribe of Barha, enabled the last\nremaining claimant to overthrow and murder the incapable Emperor.\nThe conqueror succeeded his uncle under the title of FAROKHSIAR.\n\nThe next step of the Saiyids, men of remarkable courage and\nability was to attack the Rajputs; and to extort from their\nchief, the Maharajah Ajit Sing, the usual tribute, and the hand\nof his daughter for the Emperor, who, like some of his\npredecessors, was anxious to marry a Hindu princess. But the\nlevity and irresolution of the Emperor soon led to his being, in\nhis turn, dethroned and slaughtered. The race was now quite worn\nout.\n\nA brief interregnum ensued, during which the all-powerful Saiyids\nsought to administer the powers of sovereignty behind the screen\nof any royal scion they could find of the requisite nonentity.\nBut there was a Nothing still more absolute than any they could\nfind; and after two of these shadow-kings had passed in about\nseven months, one after the other, into the grave, the usurpers\nwere at length constrained to make a choice of a more efficient\npuppet. This was the son of Bahadur Shah's youngest son, who had\nperished in the wars which followed that emperor's demise. His\nprivate name was Sultan Roshan Akhtar (\"Prince Fair Star\"), but\nhe assumed with the Imperial dignity the title of MOHAMMAD SHAH,\nand is memorable as the last Indian emperor that ever sat upon\nthe peacock throne of Shah Jahan.\n\nThe events mentioned in the preceding brief summary, though they\ndo not comprehend the whole disintegration of the Empire, are\nplainly indicative of what is to follow. In the final chapters of\nthe First Part we shall behold somewhat more in detail the\nrapidly accelerating event. During the long reign of Mohammad\nforeign violence will be seen accomplishing what native vice and\nnative weakness have commenced; and the successors to his\ndismantled throne will be seen passing like other decorations in\na passive manner from one mayor of the palace to another, or\nmaking fitful efforts to be free, which only rivet their chains\nand hasten their destruction. One by one the provinces fall away\nfrom this distempered centre. At length we shall find the throne\nliterally without an occupant, and the curtain will seem to\ndescend while preparations are being made for the last act of\nthis Imperial tragedy.\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nA.D. 1719-48\n\n\n\nMuhammad Shah — Chin Kulich Khan, his retirement from Dehli —\nMovements of the Mahrattas — Invasion of Nadir Shah — Ahmad Khan\nrepulsed by the Moghuls.\n\n\n\nGUIDED by his mother, a person of sense and spirit, the young\nEmperor began his reign by forming a party of Moghul friends, who\nwere hostile to the Saiyids on every conceivable account. The\nformer were Sunnis, the latter Shias; and perhaps the animosities\nof sects are stronger than those of entirely different creeds.\nMoreover, the courtiers were proud of a foreign descent; and,\nwhile they despised the ministers as natives of India, they\npossessed in their mother tongue — Turkish — a means of\ncommunicating with the Emperor (a man of their own race) from\nwhich the ministers were excluded. The Saiyids were soon\noverthrown, their ruin being equally desired by Chin Kulich, the\nhead of the Turkish party, and Saadat Ali, the newly-arrived\nadventurer from Persia. These noblemen now formed the rival\nparties of Turan and Iran; and became distinguished, the one as\nfounder of the principality of Audh, abolished in 1856, the other\nas that of the dynasty of Haidarabad, which still subsists. Both,\nhowever, were for the time checked by the ambition and energy of\nthe Mahrattas. Chin Kulich was especially brought to his knees in\nBhopal, where the Mahrattas wrung from him the cession of Malwa,\nand a promise of tribute to be paid by the Imperial Government to\nthese rebellious brigands.\n\nThis was a galling situation for an ancient nobleman, trained in\nthe traditions of the mighty Aurangzeb. The old man was now\nbetween two fires. If he went on to his own capital, Haidarabad,\nhe would be exposed to wear out the remainder of his days in the\nsame beating of the air that had exhausted his master. If he\nreturned to the capital of the Empire, he saw an interminable\nprospect of contempt and defeat at the hands of the\nCaptain-General Khan Dauran, the chief of the courtiers who had\nbeen wont to break their jests upon the old-fashioned manners of\nthe veteran.\n\nThus straitened, the Nizam, for by that title Chin Kulich was now\nbeginning to be known, took counsel with Saadat, the Persian, who\nwas still at Dehli. Nadir Shah, the then ruler of Persia, had\nbeen for some time urging on the Court of Dehli remonstrances\narising out of boundary quarrels and similar grievances. The two\nnobles, who may be described as opposition leaders, are believed\nto have in 1738 addressed the Persian monarch in a joint letter\nwhich had the result of bringing him to India, with all the\nconsequences which will be found related in the History of\nHindustan by the present writer, and in the well-known work of\nMountstuart Elphinstone.\n\nIt would be out of place in this introduction to dwell in detail\nupon the brief and insincere defence of the Empire by Saadat\n'Ali, in attempting to save whom the Khan Dauran lost his life,\nwhile the Nizam attempted vain negotiations. The Persians, as is\nwell-known, advanced on Dehli, massacred some 100,000 of the\ninhabitants, held the survivors to ransom, and ultimately retired\nto their own country, with plunder that has been estimated at\neighty millions sterling, and included the famous Peacock Throne.\n\nThe Nizam was undoubtedly the gainer by these tragic events. In\naddition to being Viceroy of the Deccan, he found himself\nall-powerful at Dehli, for Saadat 'Ali had died soon after the\nKhan Dauran. Death continuing to favour him, his only remaining\nrival, the Mahratta Peshwa, Baji Rao, passed away in 1740, on the\neve of a projected invasion of Hindustan. In 1745 the Province of\nRohelkhand became independent, as did the Eastern Subahs of\nBengal, Bihar, and Orissa. Leaving his son to represent him at\nDehli, the Nizam settled at Haidarabad as an independent ruler,\nalthough he still professed subordination to the Empire, of which\nhe called himself Vakil-i-Mutlak, or Regent.\n\nShortly after, a fresh invader from the north appeared in the\nperson of Ahmad Khan Abdali, leader of the Daurani Afghans, who\nhad obtained possession of the frontier provinces during the\nconfusion in Persian politics that succeeded the assassination of\nNadir. But a new generation of Moghul nobles was now rising,\nwhose valour formed a short bright Indian summer in the fall of\nthe Empire; and the invasion was rolled back by the spirit and\nintelligence of the heir apparent, the Vazir's son Mir Mannu, his\nbrother-in-law Ghazi-ud-din, and the nephew of the deceased\nGovernor of Audh, Abul-Mansur Khan, better known to Europeans by\nhis title Safdar Jang. The decisive action was fought near\nSirhind, and began on the 3rd March, 1748. This is memorable as\nthe last occasion on which Afghans were ever repulsed by people\nof India until the latter came to have European leaders. The\ndeath of the Vazir took place eight days later. This Vazir\n(Kamr-ul-din Khan), who had long been the head of the Turkish\nparty in the State, was the nominal leader of the expedition, in\nconjunction with the heir-apparent, though the chief glory was\nacquired by his gallant son Mannu, or Moin-ul-din. The Vazir did\nnot live to share the triumph of his son, who defeated the enemy,\nand forced him to retire. The Vazir Kamr-ul-din died on the 11th,\njust before the retreat of the Afghans. A round shot killed him\nas he was praying in his tent; and the news of the death of this\nold and constant servant, who had been Mohammad's personal friend\nthrough all the pleasures and cares of his momentous reign,\nproved too much for the Emperor's exhausted constitution. He was\nseized by a strong convulsion as he sate administering justice in\nhis despoiled palace at Dehli, and expired almost immediately,\nabout the 16th of April, A.D. 1748.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nA.D. 1748-54.\n\n\n\nAhmad Shah — The Rohillas — Ghazi-ud-din the younger —\nPerplexities of the Emperor — Alamgir II. placed on the throne.\n\nSELDOM has a reign begun under fairer auspices than did that of\nAhmad Shah. The Emperor was in the flower of his age; his\nimmediate associates were men distinguished for their courage and\nskill; the Nizam was a bar to the Mahrattas in the Deccan, and\nthe tide of northern invasion had ebbed out of sight.\n\nThere is, however, a fatal element of uncertainty in all systems\nof government which depend for their success merely upon personal\nqualities. The first sign of this precarious tenure of greatness\nwas afforded by the death of the aged Nizam Chin Kulich, Viceroy\nof the Deccan, which took place immediately after that of the\nlate Emperor.\n\nThe eldest son of the old Nizam contended with the nephew of the\ndeceased Saadat — whose name was Mansur, but who is better known\nby his title of Safdar Jang — for the Premiership, or office of\nVazir, and his next brother Nasir Jang held the Lieutenancy of\nthe Deccan. The command in Rajputan, just then much disturbed,\ndevolved at first on a Persian nobleman who had been his Bakhshi,\nor Paymaster of the Forces, and also Amir-ul-Umra, or Premier\nPeer. His disaster and disgrace were not far off, as will be seen\npresently. The office of Plenipotentiary was for the time in\nabeyance. The Vazirship, which had been held by the deceased\nKamr-ul-din was about the same time conferred upon Safdar Jang,\nwho also succeeded his uncle as Viceroy or Nawab of Audh. Hence\nthe title, afterwards so famous, of Nawab-Vazir.\n\nHaving made these dispositions, the Emperor followed the\nhereditary bent of his natural disposition, and left the\nprovinces to fare as best they might, while he enjoyed the\npleasures to which his opportunities invited him. The business of\nstate fell very much into the hands of a eunuch named Jawid Khan,\nwho had long been the favourite of the Emperor's mother, a Hindu\ndanseuse named Udham Bai, who is known in history as the Kudsiya\nBegam. The remains of her villa are to be seen in a garden still\nbearing her name, on the Jamna side a little beyond the Kashmir\nGate of New Dehli. For a time these two had all at their command;\nand the lady at least appears to have made a beneficent use of\nher term of prosperity. Meanwhile, the two great dependencies of\nthe Empire, Rohilkand and the Panjab, become the theatre of\nbloody contests.\n\nThe Rohillas routed the Imperial army commanded by the Vazir in\nperson, and though Safdar Jung wiped off this stain, it was only\nby undergoing the still deeper disgrace of encouraging the Hindu\npowers to prey upon the growing weakness of the Empire.\n\nAided by the Mahrattas under Holkar and by the Jats under Suraj\nMal, the Vazir defeated the Rohillas at the fords of the Ganges;\nand pushed them up into the malarious country at the foot of the\nKumaon mountains, where famine and fever would soon have\ncompleted their subjugation, but for the sudden reappearance in\nthe north-west of their Afghan kindred under Ahmad Khan the\nAbdali.\n\nThe Mahrattas were allowed to indemnify themselves for these\nservices by seizing on part of the Rohilla country, and drawing\nchauth from the rest; consideration of which they promised their\nassistance to cope with the invading Afghans; but on arriving at\nDehli they learned that the Emperor, in the Vazir's absence, had\nsurrendered to Ahmad the provinces of Lahor and Multan, and thus\nterminated the war.\n\nAn expedition was about this time sent to Ajmir, under the\ncommand of Saadat Khan, the Amir-ul-Umra, the noble of the Shiah\nor \"Iranian\" party already mentioned as commanding in Rajputan,\nand who was also the Imperialist Viceroy of Agra. He wasted his\ntime and strength, however, in an attack upon the Jats, through\nwhose country the way went. When at last he neared Ajmir he\nallowed himself to be entangled in the local intrigues which it\nwas the object of his expedition to suppress. He returned after\nabout fifteen months of fruitless campaigning, and was dismissed\nfrom his office by the all-powerful Jawid, Ghazi-ud-din succeeded\nas Amir-ul- Umra.\n\nAlmost every section of the History of Ahmad Shah abstracted by\nProfessor Dowson (VIII.) ends with some sinister allusion to this\nfavourite eunuch and his influence. The Emperor had nothing to\nsay as to what went on, as his mother and Jawid were the real\nrulers. The Emperor considered it to be most suitable to him to\nspend his time in pleasure; and he made his Zanana extend a mile.\nFor weeks he would remain without seeing the face of a male\ncreature. There was probably no sincere friend to raise a\nwarning; and the doom deepened and the hand wrote upon the wall\nunheeded. The country was overrun with wickedness and wasted with\nmisery. The disgrace of the unsuccessful Saadat returning from\nAjmir, was enhanced by his vainly attempting to strike a blow at\nthe Empress and her favourite. They called in the Turkish element\nagainst him, and contrived to alienate his countryman, Safdar\nJang, who departed towards his Viceroyship of Audh; leaving the\nwretched remains of an Empire to ferment and crumble in its own\nway.\n\nThe cabinet of the Empress was now, in regard to Ghazi-ud-din and\nthe Mahrattas, in the position of a necromancer who has to\nfurnish his familiars with employment on pain of their destroying\nhim. But an escape seemed to be afforded them by the projects of\nGhazi-ud-din, who agreed to draw off the dangerous auxiliaries to\naid him in wresting the Lieutenancy of the Deccan from his third\nbrother Salabat Jang who had possessed himself of the\nadministration on the death of Nasir Jang, the second son and\nfirst successor of Chin Kulich, the old Nizam. He was to be\nrepresented at Dehli by a nephew.\n\nGladly did the Persian party behold their rival thus depart;\nlittle dreaming of the dangerous abilities of the boy he had left\nbehind. This youth, best known by the family affix of\nGhazi-ud-din (2nd), but whose name was Shahabuddin, and who is\nknown in native histories by his official title of Aamad-ul-Mulk,\nwas son of Firoz Jang, the old Nizam's fourth son. He at once\nassumed the head of the army, and may be properly described,\nhenceforth, as \"Captain-General.\" He was but sixteen when the\nnews of his uncle's sudden death at Aurangabad was brought to\nDehli. Safdar Jang, returning from Lucknow, removed the Emperor's\nchief favourite, Jawid, by assassination (28th August, 1752) and\ndoubtless thought himself at length arrived at the goal of his\nambition. But the young Ghazi, secretly instigated by the weak\nand anxious monarch, renewed against the Persian the same war of\nTuran and Iran, of Sunni and Shia, which in the last reign had\nbeen waged between the uncle of the one and the grandfather of\nthe other. The only difference was that both parties being now\nfully warned, the mask of friendship that had been maintained\nduring the old struggle was now completely dropped; and the\nstreets of the metropolis became the scene of daily fights\nbetween the two factions. Many splendid remains of the old cities\nare believed to have been destroyed during these struggles. The\nJats from Bhurtpore came up under Suraj Mal, their celebrated\nleader, and plundered the environs right and left. The Vazir's\npeople, the Persian partly, breached a bastion of the city wall,\nand their victory seemed near at hand. But Mir Mannu, the famous\nViceroy of the Punjab — who was Ghazi's near kinsman — sent a\nbody of veterans to aid the Moghul cause; the account is\nconfused, but this seems to have turned the tide. The Moghuls, or\nTurks, for the time won; and Ghazi assumed the command of the\narmy. The Vazirship was conferred on Intizam-ud-daulah the Khan\nKhanan (a son of the deceased Kamr-ul-din, and young Ghazi's\ncousin), while Safdar Jang falling into open rebellion, called\nthe Jats under Surajmal to his assistance. The Moghuls were thus\nled to have recourse to the Mahrattas; and Holkar was even\nengaged as a nominal partizan of the Empire, against his\nco-religionists the Jats, and his former patron the Viceroy of\nAudh. The latter, who was always more remarkable for sagacity\nthan for personal courage, soon retired to his own country, and\nthe hands of the conqueror Ghazi fell heavily upon the\nunfortunate Jats.\n\nThe Khan Khanan and the Emperor now began to think that things\nhad gone far enough; and the former, who was acquainted with his\nkinsman's unscrupulous mind and ruthless passions, persistently\nwithheld from him a siege-train which was required for the\nreduction of Bhartpur, the Jat capital. The Emperor was thus in a\nsituation from which the utmost judgment in the selection of a\nline of conduct was necessary for success, indeed for safety. The\ngallant Mir Mannu, son of his father's old friend and servant\nKamar-uddin, was absent in the Panjab, engaged on the arduous\nduty of keeping the Afghans in check. But his brother-in-law, the\nKhan Khanan, was ready with alternative projects, of which each\nwas courageous and sensible. To call back Safdar Jung, and openly\nacknowledge the cause of the Jats, would probably cost only one\ncampaign, well conceived and vigorously executed. On the other\nhand, to support the Captain-General Ghazi honestly and without\nreserve, would have secured immediate repose, whilst it crushed a\nformidable Hindu power.\n\nThe irresolute voluptuary before whom these plans were laid could\ndecide manfully upon neither. He marched from Dehli with the\navowed intention of supporting the Captain-General, to whom he\naddressed messages of encouragement. He at the same time wrote to\nSurajmal, to whom he promised that he would fall upon the rear of\nthe army (his own !), upon the Jats making a sally from the\nfortress in which they were besieged.\n\nSafdar Jang not being applied to, remained sullenly aloof: the\nEmperor's letter to the Jats fell into the hands of Ghazi-ud-din,\nthe Captain-General, who returned it to him with violent menaces.\nThe alarmed monarch began to fall back upon his capital, pursued\nat a distance by his rebellious general. Holkar meanwhile\nexecuted a sudden and independent attack upon the Imperial camp,\nwhich he took and plundered at Sikundrabad, near Bolandshahr. The\nladies of the Emperor's family were robbed of everything, and\nsent to Dehli in country carts. The Emperor and his minister lost\nall heart, and fled precipitately into Dehli, where they had but\njust time to take refuge in the palace, when they found\nthemselves rigorously invested.\n\nKnowing the man with whom they had to deal, their last hope was\nobviously in a spirited resistance, combined with an earnest\nappeal to the Audh Viceroy and to the ruler of the Jats. And it\nis on record in a trustworthy native history that such was the\ntenor of the Vazir's advice to the Emperor. But the latter,\nperhaps too sensible of the difficulties of this course from the\nknown hostility of Safdar Jang, and the great influence of\nGhazi-ud-din over the Moghul soldiery, rejected the bold counsel.\nUpon this the Vazir retired to his own residence, which he\nfortified, and the remaining adherents of the Emperor opened the\ngates and made terms with the Captain-General. The latter then\ninvested himself with the official robes of the Vazirate (5th\nJune, 1754) and convened the Moghul Darbar, from which, with his\nusual address, he contrived to obtain as a vote of the cabinet\nwhat was doubtless the suggestion of his own unprincipled\nambition. \"This Emperor,\" said the assembled nobles, \"has shown\nhis unfitness for rule. He is unable to cope with the Mahrattas:\nhe is false and fickle towards his friends. Let him be deposed,\nand a worthier son of Timur raised to the throne.\" This\nresolution was immediately acted upon; the unfortunate monarch\nwas blinded and consigned to the State prison of Salim Garh,\nadjoining the palace; and a son of Jahandar Shah, the competitor\nof Farokhsiar, proclaimed Emperor under the sounding title of\nAlamgir II., July, 1754 A.D. The new Emperor (whose title was due\nto the fact that his predecessor — the great Aurangzeb — had been\nthe first to bear it) was in the fifty-fourth year of his age. He\nwas a quiet old devotee, whose only pleasures were reading\nreligious books and attending divine service. His predecessor was\nnot further molested, and lived on in his captivity to his death\nin 1775, from natural causes, at the age of fifty. Ghazi-ud-din\nwas at the same time acknowledged as Vazir in the room of the\nKhan Khanan. That officer was murdered about five years later,\naccording to Beale (Orl. Bl. Dicty in voc.) So also the\nSiyar-ul-mutikharin.\n\nOne name, afterwards to become very famous, is heard of for the\nfirst time during these transactions; and, since the history of\nthe Empire consists now of little more than a series of\nbiographies, the present seems the proper place to consider the\noutset of his career. Najib Khan was an Afghan soldier of\nfortune, who had attained the hand of the daughter of Dundi Khan,\none of the chieftains of the Rohilkand Pathans. Rewarded by this\nruler with the charge of a district, now Bijnaur, in the\nnorth-west corner of Rohilkand, he had joined the cause of Safdar\nJang, when that minister occupied the country; but on the\nlatter's disgrace had borne a part in the campaigns of\nGhazi-ud-din. When the Vazir first conceived the project of\nattacking the government, he sent Najib in the command of a\nMoghul detachment to occupy the country, about Saharanpur, then\nknown as the Bawani mahal, which had formed the jagir of the\nEx-Vazir Khan Khanan. This territory thus became in its turn\nseparated from the Empire, and continued for two generations in\nthe family of Najib. Though possessing the unscrupulous nature of\nhis class, he was not without the virtues that are found in its\nbest specimens. He was active, painstaking, and faithful to\nengagements; when he had surmounted his early difficulties he\nproved a good administrator. He ruled the dwindled Empire for\nnine years, and died a peaceful death, leaving his charge in an\nimproved and strengthened condition, ready for its lawful\nmonarch. He was highly esteemed by the British in India.— (v. inf\n89 )\n\nThe dominions of Akbar and Aurangzeb had now indeed fallen into a\npitiable state. Although the whole of the peninsula still\nnominally owned the sway of the Moghul, no provinces remained in\nthe occupation of the Government besides part of the upper Doab,\nand a few districts south of the Satlaj. Gujarat was overrun by\nthe Mahrattas; Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa were occupied by the\nsuccessor of Aliverdi Khan, Audh and Allahabad by Safdar Jang,\nthe central Doab by the Afghan tribe of Bangash, the province now\ncalled Rohilkand by the Rohillas. The Panjab had been virtually\nabandoned; the rest of India had been recovered by the Hindus,\nwith the exception of such portions of the Deccan as still formed\nthe arena for the family wars of the sons of the old Nizam. Small\nencroachments continued to be made by the English traders.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nA.D. 1754-60.\n\n\n\nProgress of Ghazi ud-din — Ahmad Khan enters Dehli — Escape of\nthe Prince Ali Gauhar — Murder of the Emperor — Ahmad the Abdali\nadvances on Dehli — End of Ghazi's career.\n\nNo sooner was the revolution accomplished than the young\nkingmaker took effective measures to secure his position. He\nfirst seized and imprisoned his relation the Khan Khanan, whose\noffice he had usurped, as above stated. The opportune death of\nSafdar Jang (17th October, 1754) removed another danger, while\nthe intrepidity and merciless severity with which (assisted by\nNajib Khan) he quelled a military mutiny provoked by his own\narbitrary conduct, served at once as a punishment to the\nmiserable offenders and a warning to all who might be meditating\nfuture attacks.\n\nOf such there were not a few, and those too in high places. The\nimbecile Emperor became the willing centre of a cabal bent upon\nthe destruction of the daring young minister; and, though the\nprecautions of the latter prevented things from going that\nlength, yet the constant plotting that went on served to\nneutralize all his efforts at administration, and to increase in\nhis mind that sense of misanthropic solitude which is probably\nthe starting-point of the greatest crimes.\n\nAs soon as he judged that he could prudently leave the Court, the\nMinister organized an expedition to the Panjab, where the gallant\nMir Mannu had been lately killed by falling from his horse. Such\nhad been the respect excited in men's minds towards this\nexcellent public servant, that the provinces of Lahor and Multan,\nwhen ceded to the Afghans in the late reign, had been ultimately\nleft in his charge by the new rulers. Ahmad the Abdali even\ncarried on this policy after the Mir's death, and confirmed the\nGovernment in the person of his infant son. The actual\nadministrators during the minority were to be the widow of Mannu\nand a statesman of great local experience, whose name was Adina\nBeg. This man was a Hindu by origin, a, self-made man, bold and\nintelligent.\n\nIt was upon this opportunity that the Vazir resolved to strike.\nHastily raising, such a force as the poor remnant of the imperial\ntreasury could furnish, he marched on Lahor, taking with him the\nheir apparent, Mirza Ali Gauhar. Seizing the town by a coup de\nmain, he possessed himself of the Lady Regent and her daughter,\nand returned to Dehli, asserting that he had extorted a treaty\nfrom the Afghan monarch, and appointed Adina Beg sole\nCommissioner of the provinces.\n\nHowever this may have been, the Court was not satisfied; and the\nless so that the success of the Minister only served to render\nhim more violent and cruel than ever. Nor is it to be supposed\nthat Ahmad the Abdali would overlook, for any period longer than\nhis own convenience might require, any unauthorized interference\nwith arrangements made by himself for territory that he might\njustly regard as his own. Accordingly the Afghan chief soon lent\na ready ear to the representations of the Emperor's party, and\nswiftly presented himself at the head of an army within twenty\nmiles of Dehli. Accompanied by Najib Khan, (who was in secret\ncorrespondence with the invader,) the Minister marched out to\ngive battle; and so complete was the isolation into which his\nconduct had thrown him, that he learned for the first time what\nwas the true state of affairs when he saw the chief part of the\narmy follow Najib into the ranks of the enemy, where they were\nreceived as expected guests.\n\nIn this strait the Minister's personal qualities saved him.\nHaving in the meantime made Mannu's daughter his wife, he had the\naddress to obtain the intercession of his mother-in-law; and not\nonly obtained the pardon of the invader, but in no long time so\ncompletely ingratiated himself with that simple soldier as to be\nin higher power than even before the invasion.\n\nAhmad Khan now took upon himself the functions of government, and\ndeputed the Minister to collect tribute in the Doab, while Sardar\nJahan Khan, one of his principal lieutenants, proceeded to levy\ncontributions from the Jats, and Ahmad himself undertook the\nspoliation of the capital.\n\nFrom the first expedition Ghazi returned with considerable booty.\nThe attack upon the Jats was not so successful; throwing\nthemselves into the numerous strongholds with which their country\nwas dotted, they defied the Afghan armies and cut off their\nforaging parties in sudden sallies. Agra too made an obstinate\ndefence under a Moghul governor; but the invaders indemnified\nthemselves both in blood and plunder at the expense of the\nunfortunate inhabitants of the neighbouring city of Mathra, whom\nthey surprised at a religious festival, and massacred without\ndistinction of age or sex.\n\nAs for the citizens of Dehli, their sufferings were grievous,\neven compared with those inflicted twenty years before by the\nPersians of Nadir Shah, in proportion as the conquerors were less\ncivilized, and the means of satisfying them less plentiful. All\nconceivable forms of misery prevailed during the two months which\nfollowed the entry of the Abdali, 11th September, 1757, exactly\none hundred years before the last capture of the same city by the\navenging force of the British Government during the Great Mutiny.\n\nHaving concluded these operations, the invader retired into\ncantonments at Anupshahar, on the Ganges, and there proceeded to\nparcel out the Empire among such of the Indian chiefs as he\ndelighted to honour. He then appointed Najib to the office of\nAmir-ul-umra, an office which involved the personal charge of the\nPalace and its inmates; and departed to his own country, from\nwhich he had lately received some unsatisfactory intelligence.\nThe Emperor endeavoured to engage his influence to bring about a\nmarriage which he desired to contract with a daughter of the\npenultimate Emperor, Muhammad Shah: but the Abdali, on his\nattention being drawn to the young lady, resolved upon espousing\nher himself. He at the same time married his son Timur Shah to\nthe daughter of the heir apparent, and, having left that son in\ncharge of the Panjab, retired with the bulk of his army to\nKandahar.\n\nRelieved for the present from his anxieties, the Minister gave\nsway to that morbid cruelty which detracted from the general\nsagacity of his character. He protected himself against his\nnumerous enemies by subsidizing a vast body-guard of Mahratta\nmercenaries, to pay whom he was led to the most merciless\nexactions from the immediate subjects of the Empire. He easily\nexpelled Najib (who since his elevation must be distinguished by\nhis honorific name of Najib ud daula, \"Hero of the State\"): he\ndestroyed or kept in close confinement the nobles who favoured\nthe Emperor, and even sought to lay hands upon the heir apparent,\nAli Gohar.\n\nThis prince was now in his seven-and-thirtieth year, and\nexhibited all those generous qualities which we find in the men\nof his race as long as they are not enervated by the voluptuous\nrepose of the Palace. He had been for some time residing in a\nkind of open arrest in the house of Ali Mardan Khan, a fortified\nbuilding on the banks of the river. Here he learned that the\nMinister contemplated transferring him to the close captivity of\nSalim Garh, the state prison which stood within the precincts of\nthe Palace. Upon this he consulted with his companions, Rajah\nRamnath and a Musalman gentleman, Saiyid Ali, who with four\nprivate troopers agreed to join in the hazardous enterprise of\nforcing their way through the bands which by this time invested\nthe premises. Early the following morning they descended to the\ncourtyard and mounted their horses in silence.\n\nThere was no time to spare. Already the bolder of the assailants\nhad climbed upon the neighbouring roofs, from which they began to\nfire upon the little garrison, while their main forces guarded\nthe gateway. But it so happened that there was a breach in the\nwall upon the river side, at the rear of the premises. By this\nthe Prince and his friends galloped out, and without a moment's\nhesitation plunged their horses into the broad Jamna. One alone,\nSaiyid Ali, stayed behind, and single-handed held the pursuers at\nbay until the prince had made good his escape. The loyal follower\npaid for his loyalty with his life. The fugitives found their way\nto Sikandra, which was the centre of Najib's new fief; and the\nPrince, after staying some time under the protection of the\nAmir-ul-Umra, ultimately reached Lucknow, where, after a vain\nattempt to procure the co-operation of the new Viceroy in an\nattack upon the British, he was eventually obliged to seek the\nprotection of that alien power.\n\nAhmad the Abdali being informed of these things by letters from\nDehli, prepared a fresh incursion; the rather that Adina Beg,\nwith the help of the Mahrattas had at the same time chased his\nson, Timur Shah, from Lahor; while with another force they had\nexpelled Najib from his new territory, and forced him to seek\nsafety in his forts in the Bawani Mahal. The new Viceroy of Audh\nraised the Rohillas and his own immediate followers in the\nAbdali's name; the Mahrattas were driven out of Rohilkand; and\nthe Afghans, crossing the Jamna in Najib's territory to the north\nof Dehli, arrived once more at Anupshahar about September, 1759,\nwhence they were enabled to hold uninterrupted communication with\nAudh.\n\nThe ruthless Ghazi was now almost at the end of his resources. He\ntherefore resolved to play his last card, and either win all by\nthe terror of his monstrous crime, or lose all, and retire from\nthe game.\n\nThe harmless Emperor, amongst his numerous foibles, cherished the\npardonable weakness of a respect for the religious mendicants,\nwho form one of the chronic plagues of Asiatic society. Taking\nadvantage of this, a Kashmirian in the interest of the Minister\ntook occasion to mention to Alamgir that a hermit of peculiar\nsanctity had recently taken up his abode in the ruined fort of\nFirozabad, some two miles south of the city, and (in those days)\nupon the right bank of the Jamna, which river has now receded to\na considerable distance. The helpless devotee resolved to consult\nwith this holy man, and repaired to the ruins in his palanquin.\nArrived at the door of the room, which was in the N.E. corner of\nthe palace of Firoz Shah, he was relieved of his arms by the\nKashmirian, who admitted him, and closed the entrance. A cry for\naid being presently heard was gallantly responded to by Mirza\nBabar, the emperor's son-in-law, who attacked and wounded the\nsentry, but was overpowered and sent to Salim Garh in the\nEmperor's litter. The latter meanwhile was seized by a savage\nUzbek, named Balabash, who had been stationed within, and who\nsawed off the defenceless monarch's head with a knife. Then\nstripping off the rich robe he cast the headless trunk out of the\nwindow, where it lay for some hours upon the sands until the\nKashmirian ordered its removal. The date of this tragic event is\nbetween the 10th and 30th of November, 1759 (the latter being the\nday given by Dowson, vol. viii. p. 243). The late Minister,\nIntizam-ud-Daula, had been murdered by order of his successor\nthree days earlier. A grandson of Kam Bakhsh (the unfortunate son\nof Aurangzeb) was then taken out of the Salim Garh and proclaimed\nEmperor by the sonorous title of \"Shah Jahan II.\" But he is not\nrecognised on the list of emperors, and his reign — such as it\nwas — lasted but a moment. Ghazi - (or Shahab) ud-din attempted\nto reproduce the policy of the Sayyids by governing behind this\npuppet; but the son of the murdered emperor proclaimed himself in\nBihar (v. inf.), and Ahmad the Abdali moved against Ghazi, as we\nshall see in the next chapter. Discretion was the only part of\nvalour left, and the young and unscrupulous politician fled to\nBhartpur, where he found a temporary asylum with Suraj Mal.\n\nAs this restless criminal here closes his public life, it may be\nonce for all mentioned that he reluctantly and slowly retired to\nFarukhabad, where he remained till Shall Alam came there in 1771\n(inf. p. 98); that being driven from thence at the Restoration he\nonce more became a wanderer, and spent the next twenty years of\nhis life in disguise and total obscurity; till being accidentally\ndiscovered by the British police at Surat, about 1791, he was, by\nthe Governor-General's orders, allowed to depart with a small sum\nof money to Mecca, the refuge of many a Mohamadan malcontent.\nReturning thence he visited Kabul, where he joined one of the\nDehli princes in an attempted invasion of India. The prince went\nmad at Multan, and Ghazi, leaving him there, went on to\nBandelkhand, where he received a grant of land on which he\nchiefly passed the remainder of his days. He died in 1800, and\nwas buried at Pakpatan in the Panjab (v. Journal of the As. Soc.\nof Bengal, No. CCXXVI. 1879, pp. 129, ff.)\n\nThe vengeance of the Abdali, therefore, fell upon the unoffending\ninhabitants of the capital — once more they were scourged with\nfire and sword. Leaving a garrison in the palace, the Abdali then\nquitted the almost depopulated city, and fell back on his old\nquarters at Anupshahar, where he entered into negotiations with\nthe Rohillas, and with the Nawab of Audh, of which the result was\na general combination of the Musalmans of Hindustan with a view\nof striking a decisive blow in defence of Islam. But these events\nwill form the subject of a separate chapter.\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\n\nThe Campaign of Panipat.\n\n\n\nTHE Mahratta confederacy was in 1759 irresistible from the\nborders of Berar to the banks of the Ganges. On one side they\nwere checked by the Nizam and Haidar, on the other by\nShujaa-ud-daula, the young ruler of Audh. Between these limits\nthey were practically paramount. To the westward a third\nMohamadan power, the newly-formed Daurani empire, was no doubt a\nstanding menace; but it is very possible that, with Ahmad Shah,\nas with the other Moslem chiefs, arrangements of a pacific nature\nmight have been made. All turned upon the character and conduct\nof one man. That man was Sadasheo Rao, the cousin and minister of\nthe Mahratta leader, the Peshwa, into whose hands had fallen the\nsway of Mahratta power. For their titular head, the descendant of\nSivaji the original founder, was a puppet, almost a prisoner,\nsuch as we, not many years ago, considered the Mikado of Japan.\n\nThe state of the country is thus described by a contemporary\nhistorian, quoted by Tod: — \"The people of Hindustan at this\nperiod thought only of personal safety and gratification. Misery\nwas disregarded by those who escaped it; and man, centred solely\nin self, felt not for his kind. This selfishness, destructive of\npublic, as of private, virtue, became universal in Hindustan\nafter the invasion of Nadir Shah; nor have the people become more\nvirtuous since, and consequently are neither happy nor more\nindependent.\"\n\nAhmad Khan (known as \"the Abdali\"), whom we are now to recognise\nas Ahmad Shah, the Daurani emperor, returned to Hindustan (as\nstated in the last chapter) late in the summer, and marched to\nDehli, when he heard of the murder of Alamgir II. The execrable\nShahabuddin (or Ghazi-ud-din the younger) fled at his approach,\ntaking refuge with the Jats. Mahratta troops, who had occupied\nsome places of strength in the Panjab, were defeated and driven\nin. The capital was again occupied and plundered, after which the\nShah retired to the territory of his ally Najib, and summoned to\nhis standard the chiefs of the Rohillas. On the other hand the\nMahrattas, inviting to their aid the leaders of the Rajputs and\nJats, moved up from the South. They possessed themselves of the\ncapital in December 1759.\n\nThe main force of the Mahrattas that left the Deccan consisted of\n20,000 chosen horse, under the immediate command of the minister,\nSadasheo, whom for convenience we may in future call by his title\nof \"the Bhao.\" He also took with him a powerful disciplined corps\nof 10,000 men, infantry and artillery, under a Mohamadan soldier\nof fortune, named Ibrahim Khan. This general had learned French\ndiscipline as commandant de la qarde to Bussy, and bore the\ntitle, or nickname, of \"gardi,\" a souvenir of his professional\norigin.\n\nThe Bhao's progress was joined by Mahratta forces under Holkar,\nSindhia, the Gaikwar, Gobind Pant, and others. Many of the Rajput\nStates contributed, and Suraj Mal brought a contingent of 20,000\nhardy Jats. Hinduism was uniting for a grand effort; Islam was\nrallied into cohesion by the necessity of resistance. Each party\nwas earnestly longing for the alliance of the Shias under Shujaa,\nViceroy of Audh, whose antecedents led men on both sides to look\nupon them as neutral.\n\nThe Bhao had much prestige. Hitherto always victorious, his\npersonal reputation inspired great respect. His camp, enriched\nwith the plunder of Hindustan, was on a scale of unwonted\nsplendour. \"The lofty and spacious tents,\" says Grant-Duff,\n\"lined with silks and broadcloths, were surmounted by large\ngilded ornaments, conspicuous at a distance..... Vast numbers of\nelephants, flags of all descriptions, the finest horses,\nmagnificently caparisoned .... seemed to be collected from every\nquarter .... it was an imitation of the more becoming and\ntasteful array of the Moghuls in the zenith of their glory.\" Nor\nwas this the only innovation. Hitherto the Mahrattas had been\nlight horsemen, each man carrying his food, forage, bedding, head\nand heel ropes, as part of his accoutrements; marching fifty\nmiles after a defeat, and then halting in complete readiness to\n\"fight another day.\" Now, for the first time, they were to be\nsupported by a regular park of artillery, and a regular force of\ndrilled infantry. But all these seeming advantages only\nprecipitated and rendered more complete and terrible their\nultimate overthrow.\n\nHolkar and Suraj Mal, true to the instincts of their old\npredatory experience, urged upon the Bhao, that regular warfare\nwas not the game that they knew. They counselled, therefore, that\nthe families and tents, and all heavy equipments, should be left\nin some strong place of safety, such as the almost impregnable\nforts of Jhansi and Gwalior, while their clouds of horse harassed\nthe enemy and wasted the country before and round him. But the\nBhao rejected these prudent counsels with contempt. He had seen\nthe effect of discipline and guns in Southern war; and, not\nwithout a shrewd foresight of what was afterwards to be\naccomplished by a man then in his train, resolved to try the\neffect of scientific soldiership, as he understood it. The\ndetermination proved his ruin; not because the instrument he\nchose was not the best, but because it was not complete, and\nbecause he did not know how to handle it. When Madhoji Sindhia,\nafter a lapse of twenty years, mastered all Asiatic opposition by\nthe employment of the same instrument, he had a European general,\nthe Count de Boigne, who was one of the great captains of his\nage; and he allowed him to use his own strategy and tactics.\nThen, the regular battalions and batteries, becoming the nucleus\nof the army, were moved with resolution and aggressive purpose,\nwhile the cavalry only acted for purposes of escort,\nreconnoissance, and pursuit. In the fatal campaign before us, we\nshall find the disciplined troops doing all that could fairly be\nexpected of them under Asiatic leaders, but failing for want of\nnumbers, and of generalship.\n\nOn arriving at Dehli, the Bhao surrounded the citadel in which\nwas situated the palace of the emperors. It was tenanted by a\nweak Musalman force, which had been hastily thrown in under the\ncommand of a nephew of Shah Wali Khan, the Daurani Vazir. After a\nbrief bombardment, this garrison capitulated, and the Bhao took\npossession and plundered the last remaining effects of the\nemperors, including the silver ceiling of the divan khas, which\nwas thrown into the melting-pot and furnished seventeen lakhs of\nrupees ( £170,000).\n\nAhmad, in the meantime, was cantoned at Anupshahr, on the\nfrontier of the Rohilla country, where he was compelled to remain\nwhile his negotiations with Shujaa were pending. So came on the\nsummer of 1760, and the rainy season was at hand, during which,\nin an unbridged country, military operations could not be carried\non. All the more needful that the time of enforced leisure should\nbe given to preparation. Najib, the head of the Rohillas, was\nvery urgent with the Shah that Shujaa should be persuaded to take\npart against the Mahrattas. He pointed out that, such as the\nMoghul empire might be, Shujaa was its Vazir. As Ahmad Shah had\nhitherto been foiled by the late Nawab Safdar Jang, it was for\nhis majesty to judge how useful might be the friendship of a\npotentate whose predecessor's hostility had been so formidable.\n\"But,\" added the prudent Rohilla, \"it must be remembered that the\nrecollection of the past will make the Vazir timorous and\nsuspicious. The negotiation will be as delicate as important. It\nshould not be entrusted to ordinary agency, or to the impersonal\nchannel of epistolary correspondence.\"\n\nThe Shah approved of these reasonings, and it was resolved that\nNajib himself should visit the Vazir, and lay before him the\ncause which he so well understood, and in which his own interest\nwas so deep. The envoy proceeded towards Audh, and found the\nVazir encamped upon the Ganges at Mahdi Ghat. He lost no time in\nopening the matter; and, with the good sense that always\ncharacterized him, Najib touched at once the potent spring of\nself. Shia or Sunni, all Moslems were alike the object of\nMahratta enmity. He, Najib, knew full well what to expect, should\nthe Hindu league prevail. But would the Vazir fare better?\n\"Though, after all, the will of God will be done, it behoves us\nnot the less to help destiny to be beneficent by our own best\nendeavours. Think carefully, consult Her Highness, your mother: I\nam not fond of trouble, and should not have come all this\ndistance to see your Excellency were I not deeply interested.\"\nSuch, as we learn from an adherent of Shujaa's, was the substance\nof the advice given him by the Rohilla chieftain.\n\nThe nature of these negotiations is not left to conjecture. The\nnarrative of what occurred is supplied by Kasi Raj Pandit, a\nHindu writer in the service of the Nawab Vazir, and an\neye-witness of the whole campaign. He was present in both camps,\nhaving been employed in the negotiations which took place between\nthe Mahrattas and Mohamadans; and his account of the battle (of\nwhich a translation appeared in the Asiatic Researches for 1791,\nreprinted in London in 1799) is at once the most authentic that\nhas come down to our times, and the best description of war ever\nrecorded by a Hindu.\n\nShujaa-ud-daulah, after anxious deliberation, resolved to adopt\nthe advice of his Rohilla visitor. And, having so resolved, he\nadhered honestly to his resolution. He sent his family to\nLucknow, and accompanied Najib to Anupshahr, where he was warmly\nreceived by the Daurani Shah, and his minister Shah Wali Khan.\n\nShortly after, the united forces of the Moslems moved down to\nShahdara, the hunting-ground of the emperors, near Dehli, from\nwhich, indeed, it was only separated by the river Jamna. But, the\nmonsoon having set in, the encounter of the hostile armies was\nfor the present impossible. The interval was occupied in\nnegotiation. The Bhao first attempted the virtue of Shujaa, whom\nhe tempted with large offers to desert the Sunni cause. Shujaa\namused him with messages in which our Pandit acted as go-between;\nbut all was conducted with the knowledge of Najib, who was fully\nconsulted by the Nawab Vazir throughout. The Shah's minister,\nalso, was aware of the transaction, and apparently disposed to\ngrant terms to the Hindus. Advantage was taken of the\nopportunity, and of the old alliance between Shujaa and the Jats,\nto shake the confidence of Suraj Mal, and persuade him to abandon\nthe league, which he very willingly did when his advice was so\nhaughtily rejected. It was the opinion of our Pandit, that a\npartition of the country might even now have been effected had\neither party been earnest in desiring peace. He did not evidently\nknow what were the Bhao's real feelings, but probably judged him\nby the rest of his conduct, which was that of a bold, ambitious\nstatesman. From what he saw in the other camp, he may well have\nconcluded that Najib had some far-seeing scheme on foot, which\nkept him from sincerely forwarding the proposed treaty. Certainly\nthat astute Rohilla was ultimately the greatest gainer from the\nanxieties and sufferings of the campaign. But the first act of\nhostility came from the Bhao, who moved up stream to turn the\ninvader's flank.\n\nAbout eighty miles north of Dehli, on the meadowlands lying\nbetween the Western Jamna Canal and the river (from whose right\nbank it is about two miles distant), stands the small town of\nKunjpura. In the invasion of Nadir Shah, it had been occupied by\na force of Persian sharpshooters, who had inflicted much loss on\nthe Moghul army from its cover. Induced, perhaps, by the\nremembrance of those days, Ahmad had made the mistake of placing\nin it a garrison of his own people, from which he was now\nseparated by the broad stream of the Jamna, brimming with\nautumnal floods. Here the Bhao struck his first blow, taking the\nwhole Afghan garrison prisoners after an obstinate defence, and\ngiving up the place to plunder, while the main Afghan army sat\nidle on the other side.\n\nAt length arrived the Dasahra, the anniversary of the attack of\nLanka by the demigod Ram, a proverbial and almost sacred day of\nomen for the commencement of Hindu military expeditions. Ahmad\nadopted the auspices of his enemy and reviewed his troops the day\nbefore the festival. The state of his forces is positively given\nby the Pandit, as consisting of 28,000 Afghans, powerful men,\nmounted on hardy Turkoman horses, forty pieces of cannon, besides\nlight guns mounted on camels; with some 28,000 horse, 38,000\nfoot, and about forty guns, under the Hindustani Musalmans. The\nMahrattas had more cavalry, fewer foot, and an artillery of 200\nguns; in addition to which they were aided, if aid it could be\ncalled in regular warfare, by clouds of predatory horsemen,\nmaking up their whole force to over 200,000, mostly, as it turned\nout, food for the sabre and the gun.\n\nOn the 17th of October, 1760, the Afghan host and its allies\nbroke up from Shahdara; and between the 23rd and 25th effected a\ncrossing at Baghpat, a small town about twenty-four miles up the\nriver. The position of the hostile armies was thus reversed; that\nof the northern invaders being nearer Dehli, with the whole of\nHindustan at their backs, while the Southern defenders of their\ncountry were in the attitude of men marching down from the\nnorth-west with nothing behind them but the dry and war-wasted\nplains of Sirhind. In the afternoon of the 26th, Ahmad's advanced\nguard reached Sambalka, about half-way between Sonpat and\nPanipat, where they encountered the vanguard of the Mahrattas. A\nsharp conflict ensued, in which the Afghans lost a thousand men,\nkilled and wounded, but drove back the Mahrattas on their main\nbody, which kept on retreating slowly for several days,\ncontesting every inch of the ground until they reached Panipat.\nHere the camp was finally pitched in and about the town, and the\nposition was at once covered by digging a trench sixty feet wide\nand twelve deep, with a rampart on which the guns were mounted.\nThe Shah took up ground four miles to the south, protecting his\nposition by abattis of felled timber, according to his usual\npractice, but pitching in front a small unprotected tent from\nwhich to make his own observations.\n\nThe small reverse of the Mahrattas at Sambalka was soon followed\nby others, and hopes of a pacific solution became more and more\nfaint. Gobind Pant Bundela, foraging near Meerut with 10,000\nlight cavalry, was surprised and slain by Atai Khan at the head\nof a similar party of Afghans. The terror caused by this affair\nparalysed the Bhao's commissariat, while it greatly facilitated\nthe foraging of the Shah. Shortly after, a party of 2,000\nMahratta horsemen, each carrying a keg of specie from Dehli, fell\nupon the Afghan pickets, which they mistook for their own in the\ndark of night. On their answering in their own language to the\nsentry's challenge, they were surrounded and cut up by the enemy,\nand something like £200,000 in silver was lost to the Bhao.\nIbrahim and his disciplined mercenaries now became very clamorous\nfor their arrears of pay, on which Holkar proposed that the\ncavalry should make an immediate attack without them. The Bhao\nironically acquiesced, and turned the tables upon Holkar, who\nprobably meant nothing less than to lead so hare-brained a\nmovement.\n\nDuring the next two months constant skirmishes and duels took\nplace between parties and individual champions upon either side.\nIn one of these Najib lost 3,000 of his Rohillas, and was very\nnear perishing himself; and the chiefs of the Indian Musalmans\nbecame at last very urgent with the Shah to put an end to their\nsuspense by bringing on a decisive action. But the Shah, with the\npatience of a great leader, as steadily repressed their ardour,\nknowing very well that (to use the words of a modern leader on a\nsimilar occasion) the enemy were all the while \"stewing in their\nown-gravy.\" For this is one of the sure marks of a conqueror,\nthat he makes of his own troubles a measure of his antagonist's\nmisfortunes; so that they become a ground, not of losing heart,\nbut of gaining courage.\n\nMeanwhile the vigilance of his patrol, for which service he had\n5,000 of his best cavalry employed through the long winter\nnights, created almost a blockade of the Mahrattas. On one\noccasion 20,000 of their camp-followers, who had gone to collect\nprovisions, were massacred in a wood near the camps by this\nvigilant force.\n\nThe Bhao's spirit sank under these repeated blows and warnings,\nand he sent to the Nawab Vazir, Shujaa-ud-daulah, to offer to\naccept any conditions that might still be obtainable. All the\nother chiefs were willing, and the Shah referred them to the\nRohillas. But Najib proved implacable. The Pandit went to the\nRohilla leader, and urged on him every possible consideration\nthat might persuade him to agree. But his clear good sense\nperceived the nature of the crisis. \"I would do much,\" he said,\n\"to gratify, the Nawab and show my respect for his Excellency.\nBut oaths are not chains; they are only words, things that will\nnever bind the enemy when once he has escaped from the dangers\nwhich compel him to undertake them. By one effort we can get this\nthorn out of our sides.\"\n\nProceeding to the Shah's tent he obtained instant admission,\nthough it was now midnight. Here he repeated his arguments;\nadding that whatever his Majesty's decision might be was\npersonally immaterial to himself. \"For I,\" he concluded, \"am but\na soldier of fortune, and can make terms for myself with either\nparty.\" The blunt counsel pleased the Shah. \"You are right,\nNajib,\" said Ahmad, \"and the Nawab is misled by the impulses of\nyouth. I disbelieve in the Mahratta penitence, and I am not going\nto throw you over whom I have all along regarded as the manager\nof this affair. Though in my position I must hear every one, yet\nI promise never to act against your advice.\"\n\nWhile these things were passing in the Moslem camp, the\nMahrattas, having exhausted their last resource by the plunder of\nthe town of Panipat, sent all their chiefs on the same evening to\nmeet in the great durbar-tent. It was now the 6th of January, and\nwe may fancy the shivering, starving Southerners crouched on the\nground and discussing their griefs by the wild torchlight. They\nrepresented that they had not tasted food for two days, and were\nready to die fighting, but not to die of hunger. Pan was\ndistributed, and all swore to go out an hour before daybreak and\ndrive away the invaders or perish in the attempt.\n\nAs a supreme effort, the Bhao, whose outward bearing at durbar\nhad been gallant and dignified, had despatched a short note to\nour Pandit, who gives the exact text. \"The cup is full to the\nbrim, and cannot hold another drop. If anything can be done, do\nit. If not, let me know plainly and at once; for afterwards there\nwill be no time for writing, or for speech.\" The Pandit was with\nShujaa, by the time this note arrived — the hour was 3 A.M. — and\nhe handed it to his master, who began to examine the messenger.\nWhile he was so doing, his spies ran in with the intelligence\nthat the Mahrattas had left their lines. Shujaa, at once hastened\nto the Shah's tent.\n\nAhmad had lain down to rest, but his horse was held ready saddled\nat the entry. He rose from his couch and asked, \"What news?\" The\nNawab told him what he had heard. The Shah immediately mounted\nand sent for the Pandit. While the latter was corroborating the\ntidings brought by his master, Ahmad, sitting on his horse, was\nsmoking a Persian pipe and peering into the darkness. All at once\nthe Mahratta cannon opened fire, on which the Shah, handing his\npipe to an orderly, said calmly to the Nawab, \"Your follower's\nnews was very true I see.\" Then summoning his prime minister,\nShah Wali, and Shah Pasand the chief of his staff, he made his\ndispositions for a general engagement when the light of day came.\n\nYes, the news was true. Soon after the despatch of the Bhao's\nnote, the Mahratta troops broke their fast with the last\nremaining grain in camp, and prepared for a mortal combat; coming\nforth from their lines with turbans dishevelled and\nturmeric-smeared faces, like devotees of death. They marched in\nan oblique line, with their left in front, preceded by their\nguns, small and great. The Bhao, with the Peshwa's son and the\nhousehold troops, was in the centre. The left wing consisted of\nthe gardis under Ibrahim Khan; Holkar and Sindhia were on the\nextreme right.\n\nOn the other side the Afghans formed a somewhat similar line,\ntheir left being formed by Najib's Rohillas, and their right by\ntwo brigades of Persian troops. Their left centre was led by the\ntwo vazirs, Shujaa-ud-daulah and Shah Wali. The right centre\nconsisted of Rohillas, under the well-known Hafiz Rahmat and\nother chiefs of the Indian Pathans. Day broke, but the Afghan\nartillery for the most part kept silence, while that of the\nenemy, losing range in its constant advance, threw away its\nammunition over the heads of the enemy and dropped its shot a\nmile to their rear. Shah Pasand Khan covered the left wing with a\nchoice body of mailed Afghan horsemen, and in this order the army\nmoved forward, leaving the Shah at his usual post in the little\ntent, which was now in rear of the line, from whence he could\nwatch and direct the battle.\n\nOn the other side no great precautions seem to have been taken,\nexcept indeed by the gardis and their vigilant leader, who\nadvanced in silence and without firing a shot, with two\nbattalions of infantry bent back to their left flank, to cover\ntheir advance from the attack of the Persian cavalry forming the\nextreme right of the enemy's line. The valiant veteran soon\nshowed the worth of French discipline, and another division such\nas his would have probably gained the day. Well mounted and\narmed, and carrying in his own hand the colours of his own\npersonal command, he led his men against the Rohilkhand columns\nwith fixed bayonets, and to so much effect that nearly 8,000 were\nput hors de combat. For three hours the gardis remained in\nunchallenged possession of that part of the field.\nShujaa-ud-daulah, with his small but compact force, remained\nstationary, neither fighting nor flying, and the Mahrattas\nforebore to attack him. The corps between this and the Pathans\nwas that of the Daurani Vazir, and it suffered severely from the\nshock of an attack delivered upon them by the Bhao himself at the\nhead of the household troops. The Pandit, being sent through the\ndust to inform Shujaa of what was going on, found Shah Wali\nvainly trying to rally the courage of his followers, of whom many\nwere in full retreat. \"Whither would you run, friends,\" cried the\nVazir, \"your country is far from here.\"\n\nMeanwhile, on the left of the Mohamadan line, the prudent Najib\nhad masked his advance by a series of breastworks, under cover of\nwhich he had gradually approached the hostile force. \"I have the\nhighest stake to-day,\" he said, \"and cannot afford to make any\nmistakes.\" The part of the enemy's force immediately opposed to\nhim was commanded by the then head of the Sindhia house, who was\nNajib's personal enemy. Till noon Najib remained on the\ndefensive, keeping off all close attacks upon his earthworks by\ncontinuous discharges of rockets. But so far the fortune of the\nday was evidently inclined towards the Mahrattas. The Mohamadans'\nleft still held their own under the two Vazirs and Najib; but the\ncentre was cut in two, and the right was almost destroyed.\nVictory seemed to await the Mahrattas.\n\nOf the circumstances which turned the tide and gave the crisis to\nthe Moslems, but one account necessarily exists. Hitherto we have\nhad the guidance of Grant-Duff for the Mahratta side of the\naffair, but now the whole movement was to be from the other side,\nand we cannot do better than trust the Pandit. Dow, the only\nother contemporary author of importance — if we except Gholam\nHosain, who wrote at a very remote place — is most irremediably\ninaccurate and vague about all these transactions. The Pandit,\nthen, informs us that, during those earlier hours of the\nconflict, the Shah had watched the fortunes of the battle from\nhis tent, guarded by the still unbroken forces on his left. But\nnow, hearing that his right was reeling and his centre was\ndefeated, he felt that the moment was come for a final effort. In\nfront of him the Hindu cries of Har! Har! Jai Mahadeo! were\nmaintaining an equal and dreadful concert with those of Allah!\nAllah! Din! Din! from his own side. The battle wavered to and fro\nlike that of Flodden as described by Scott. The Shah saw the\ncritical moment in the very act of passing. He therefore sent 500\nof his own body-guard with orders to arise all able-bodied men\nout of camp, and send them to the front at any cost. 1,500 more\nhe sent to encounter those who were flying, and slay without pity\nany who would not return to the fight. These, with 4,000 of his\nreserve troops, went to support the broken ranks of the Rohilla\nPathans on the right. The remainder of the reserve, 10,000\nstrong, were sent to the aid of Shah Wali, still labouring\nunequally against the Bhao in the centre of the field. The Shah's\norders were clear. These mailed warriors were to charge with the\nVazir in close order, and at full gallop. As often as they\ncharged the enemy in front, the chief of the staff and Najib were\ndirected to fall upon either flank. These orders were immediately\ncarried out.\n\nThe forward movement of the Moslems began at 1 P.M. The fight was\nclose and obstinate, men fighting with swords, spears, axes, and\neven with daggers. Between 2 and 3 P.M. the Peshwa's son was\nwounded, and, having fallen from his horse, was placed upon an\nelephant. The last thing seen of the Bhao was his dismounting\nfrom another elephant, and getting on his Arab charger. Soon\nafter the young chief was slain. The next moment Holkar and the\nGaikwar left the field. In that instant resistance ceased, and\nthe Mahrattas all at once became helpless victims of butchery.\nThousands were cut down; other thousands were drowned in\nescaping, or were slaughtered by the country people whom they had\nso long pillaged. The Shah and his principal commanders then\nretired to camp, leaving the pursuit to be completed by\nsubordinate officers. Forty thousand prisoners are said to have\nbeen slain. Among the prisoners was Ibrahim, the valiant and\nskilful leader of the gardis. Though severely wounded, he was\ntaken care of in Shujaa's tents, where his wounds received\nsurgical attention. Shujaa also endeavoured to extend protection\nto the head of the house of Sindhia. A subordinate member of the\nclan, the afterwards celebrated Madhoji — who was to become in\nhis turn master of the whole country — fled from the field; and\nthe late Colonel Skinner used to describe how this chief — in\nwhose service he at one time was — would relate the mental\nagonies he endured on his light Deccanee mare from the lobbing\npaces and roaring breath of a big Northern horse, on which he was\npursued for many miles by an Afghan, greedy of blood and booty.\n\nJankoji, the then head of the family, was killed next day, a\nvictim to the enmity of Najib, whose policy included\nrelentlessness. Ibrahim Gardi was taken from Shujaa by a mixture\nof force and fraud. He was put into the charge of the Afghan\nVazir, and died in that charge a week after. A headless body,\nsupposed to be that of the Bhao, was found some twenty or thirty\nmiles off. The body, with that of the Peshwa's son, received the\nusual honours of Hindu cremation at the prayer of the Nawab\nShujaa. Several pretenders to the name of this Oriental Sebastian\nafterwards appeared from time to time; the last was in captivity\nin 1782, when Warren Hastings procured his liberation.\n\nAfter these things the allies moved to Dehli; but the Daurani\ntroops became mutinous and quarrelsome; and they parted on ill\nterms. Shujaa marched back to Mahdi Ghat, whence he had come six\nmonths before, with the titular appointment of Vazir of the\nEmpire. The Shah, having written to the fugitive Shah Alam, to\nsalute him as emperor, got what money he could out of the\nexhausted treasury and departed to his own country. Najib Khan\nremained at Dehli under the title of Najib-ud-daulah, with a son\nof the absent emperor as ostensible regent. Having made these\ndispositions, Ahmad the Abdali returned to his own country, and\nonly once again interposed actively in the affairs of the Indian\npeninsula.\n\nSuch was the famous Campaign of Panipat, the first disaster, on a\ngreat scale, of the power of the Mahratta confederacy, and the\nbesom which swept the land of Hindustan for the advent of the\nBritish.\n\nIt appears that, at this period, the Shahzada had applied to\nColonel Clive for an Asylum in Calcutta, while the Colonel was at\nthe same time in receipt of a letter from the minister at Dehli —\nthe unscrupulous Ghazi-ud-din — calling on him to arrest the\nprince as a rebel and forward him to Court in custody. Clive\ncontented himself by sending him a small present in money. About\nthe same time, however, Clive wrote to Lord Chatham (then Prime\nMinister, and Mr. Pitt), recommending the issue of orders\nsanctioning his demanding the Viceroyship of the Eastern Subahs\non behalf of the King of England; an application which he\nguaranteed the Emperor's granting on being assured of the\npunctual payment of fifty lakhs a year, the estimated fifth of\nthe revenues. \"This,\" he says, \"has of late been very ill-paid,\nowing to the distractions in the heart of the Moghul Empire,\nwhich have prevented the Court from attending to their concerns\nin those distant provinces.\" Although nothing came of these\nproceedings, they are here noted as the presage of future events.\n\n\nPART II.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nThe English — Shujaa-ud-daulah — Shahzada enters Bihar; his\ncharacter — Ramnarayan defeated — M. Law — Battle of Gaya — March\ntowards Hindustan — Massacre of Patna — Flight of Kasim and Sumro\n— Battle of Buxar — Treaty with British — Text of Treaty —\nEstablishment at Allahabad — Emperor's establishment —\nAuthorities cited — Broome's Bengal Army — Legal position.\n\nTHE events related in the foregoing introductory chapters had led\nto a complete obscuration of the Timuride family and power.\nWhether or no that dynasty was to resume its sway once more\ndepended entirely on the turn that events were to take at this\ncrisis; and chiefly on what might happen in the eastern provinces\nof Bihar and Bengal, where a new power was rapidly making itself\nfelt. To that quarter, therefore, general attention was\nhenceforth drawn; and the new power — the English — began to be,\nby common consent, treated as arbiter of the future. The Nawab of\nAudh was also an important element in the problem, as it then\nappeared; and the return of the ruler of Kabul to the plains\nwhere he had so lately struck a blow that seemed decisive, was a\nmatter of almost daily expectation.\n\n1759. — When in 1759 the heir to what was left of the empire of\nHindostan had gallantly cut his way through the myrmidons sent\nagainst him by the ruthless Minister, he crossed the Jamna and\ntook refuge with Najib-ud-daulah, the Afghan, who was then at\nSaharanpur in the Fifty-Two Parganas. But finding that noble\nunable to afford him material support, and still fearing the\nmachinations of his enemy, he gradually retired to Lucknow,\nintending perhaps to wait there until the return of the Abdali\nleader might afford him an opportunity of turning upon the\nMohamadan and Hindu rebels.\n\nThe present viceroy of Audh was Shujaa-ud-daulah, the son of the\nfamous Safdar Jang, whom he equalled in ability, and far exceeded\nin soldierly qualities. On his first succession to his father's\nnow almost independent fief he was young, and content with the\nunbounded indulgence of those bodily faculties with which he was\nlargely endowed. He is described as extremely handsome, and above\nthe average stature; with an acute mind, somewhat too volatile;\nand more prone by nature to the exercises of the field than to\nthe deliberations of the cabinet. But neither was the son of\nSafdar Jang likely to be brought up wholly without lessons in\nthat base and tortuous selfishness which, in the East even more\nthan elsewhere, usually passes for statecraft; nor were those\nlessons likely to be read in ears unprepared to understand them.\nShujaa's conduct in the late Rohilla war had been far from frank;\nand he was particularly unwilling to throw himself irredeemably\ninto the cause of a ruined sovereign's fugitive heir. Foiled in\nhis application to the Viceroy of Audh, the Shahzada (Prince)\nthen turned to a member of the same family who held the Fort and\nDistrict of Allahabad, and was named Mohammad Kuli Khan. To this\nofficer he exhibited an imperial patent in his own name for the\nlieutenancy of Bahar, Bengal, and Orissa, which were then the\ntheatre of wars between the British traders of Calcutta and the\nfamily of the usurping Viceroy of those Subahs, Aliverdi Khan.\nThe Prince proposed to Mohammad Kuli that they should raise the\nImperial standard and reduce both competitors to their proper\nlevel. The governor, a man of ambition and spirit, was warmly\nencouraged to this scheme by his relation, the Viceroy of Audh\n(for reasons of his own, which we shall speedily discover, Shujaa\nhighly approved of the arrangement); and a powerful official,\nnamed Kamgar Khan, promised assistance in Bihar. Thus supported,\nthe Prince crossed the frontier stream (Karamnassa) in November,\n1759, just at the time that his unfortunate father lost his life\nin the manner related above. (Part I. chapter v.)\n\n1760. — In the distracted state of the country it was more than a\nmonth before the news of this tragedy arrived in camp, which was\nthen pitched at a village called Kanauti, in Bihar. The Prince\nimmediately assumed the succession, and, as a high aim leads to\nhigh shooting, his title was to be nothing short of \"sovereign of\nthe known world,\" or SHAH ALAM. He is recorded to have ordered\nthat his reign should be reckoned from the day of his father's\n\"martyrdom\"; and there are firmans of his patent-office still\nforthcoming in confirmation of the record. He was at once\nrecognised as emperor by all parties; and, for his part, he\nwisely confirmed Shujaa-ud-daulah as Vazir; while he intrusted\nthe command of the army in Hindustan, in the room of the assassin\nGhazi, to Najib-ud-daulah, the Abdali's nominee.\n\nHaving made these arrangements he proceeded to collect revenue\nand establish himself in Bihar. He was at this time a tall,\nportly man, forty years old, or thereabout, with the\nconstitutional character of his race, and some peculiarities of\nhis own. Like his ancestors, he was brave, patient, dignified,\nand merciful; but all contemporary accounts support the view\nsuggested by his whole history, and debit him with defects which\nmore than balanced these great virtues. His courage was rather of\nthe nature of fortitude than of that enterprising boldness which\nwas absolutely necessary in his situation. His clemency did great\nharm when it led him to forgive and ignore all that was done to\nhim, and to lend his ear and his hand to any person of stronger\nwill who was nearest to him at the moment. His patience was of a\nkind which ere long degenerated into a simple compromise with\nfortune, in which he surrendered lofty hopes for the future in\nexchange for immediate gratifications of sense. In a word,\nwriters unacquainted with English history have combined to\nproduce a picture which bears a strong likeness, both in features\nand position, to that of Charles the Second of Britain, after the\ndeath of his father.\n\nThe Eastern Subahs were at this time held by Clive's nominee, Mir\nJafar Khan, known in English histories as Meer Jaffier, and the\nDeputy in Bihar was a Hindu man of business, named Raja\nRamnarayan. This official, having sent to Murshidabad and\nCalcutta for assistance, attempted to resist the proceedings of\nhis sovereign; but the Imperial army defeated him with\nconsiderable loss, and the Hindu official, wounded in body and\nalarmed in mind, retired into the shelter of Patna, which the\nMoghuls did not, at that time, think fit to attack.\n\nMeantime, the army of the Nawab having been joined by a small\nBritish contingent, marched to meet the Emperor, who was worsted\nin an engagement that occurred on the 15th of February, 1760. On\nthis the Emperor adopted the bold plan of a flank march, by which\nhe should cut between the Bengal troops and their capital,\nMurshidabad, and possess himself of that town in the absence of\nits defenders. But before he could reach Murshidabad, he was\nagain overtaken and repulsed by the activity of the English (7th\nApril), and, being by this time joined by a small body of French\nunder a distinguished officer, he resolved to remain in Bihar and\nset about the siege of Patna.\n\nThese French were a party of about one hundred officers and men\nwho had refused to join in the capitulation of Chandarnagar three\nyears before, and had since been wandering about the country\npersecuted by their relentless victor Clive. Their leader was the\nChevalier Law, a relation of the celebrated speculator of the\nRegency; and he now hastened to lay at the feet of the Royal\nadventurer the skill and enterprise of his followers and himself.\nHis ambition was high and bold, perhaps more so than his previous\ndisplay of abilities might well warrant. But he soon saw enough\nof the weakness of the Emperor, of the treachery and low motives\nof the Moghul nobles, to contract the hopes his self-confidence\nhad fostered. To the historian Gholam Hossain Khan he said: —\n\n\"As far as I can see, there is nothing that you could call\ngovernment between Patna and Dehli. If men in the position of\nShujaa-ud-daulah would loyally join me, I could not only beat off\nthe English, but would undertake the administration of the\nEmpire.\"\n\nThe very first step in this ambitious programme was never to be\ntaken. Whilst the Emperor with his new adherents — (and a hundred\nFrenchmen under even such a leader as Law were as strong as a\nreinforcement of many thousand native troops under a faithless\nMoghul)—whilst these strangely matched associates were\nbeleaguering Patna, Captain Knox, at the head of a small body of\ninfantry, of which only 200 men were European, ran across the 300\nmiles between Murshidabad and Patna in the space of thirteen\ndays, and fell upon the Imperial army, whom he utterly routed and\ndrove southward upon Gaya. The Imperial army was now commanded by\nKamgar Khan; for Mohammad Kuli had returned to Allahabad, and\nbeen murdered by his unscrupulous cousin Shujaa, who seized upon\nthe province and fort. The Emperor, as is evident from his\nretreating southward, still hoped to raise the country in his\nfavour, and his hopes were so far justified that he was joined by\nanother Moghul officer, named Khadim Hossain. Thus reinforced, he\nagain advanced on Patna opposed by Knox, who in his turn had been\njoined by a Hindu Raja named Shatab Rai. Another defeat was the\nresult, and the baffled sovereign at length evacuated the\ncountry, and fled northward, pursued by the whole united forces\nof the British and the Bengal Nawab. The son of the latter,\nhowever, being killed in a thunderstorm in July, the allied\narmies retired to cantonments at Patna, and the pertinacious\nImperialists once more posted themselves between that place and\nthe capital, at their old station of Gaya.\n\n1761. — Early next year, therefore, the Anglo-Bengali troops once\nmore took the field, and encountering the Imperialists at Suan,\nnear the city of Bihar, gave them a fresh overthrow, in which Law\nwas taken prisoner, fighting to the last, and refusing to\nsurrender his sword, which he was accordingly permitted to\nretain.\n\nNext morning the British commander paid his respects to the\nEmperor, who was now quite weary of the hopeless struggle he had\nbeen maintaining for nearly two years, and who willingly departed\ntowards Hindustan. He had by this time heard of the battle of\nPanipat, and of the plans formed by the Abdali for the\nrestoration of the empire; and there is reason to believe that,\nbut for the jealousy of Mir Kasim, whom a late revolution\n(brought about by the English) had placed in the room of Mir\nJafar, the Emperor would have been at once reinstated at Dehli\nunder British protection. Before he went he created Mir Kasim\nSubahdar; and the fiscal administration also vested in him, the\nEnglish having so determined. The Emperor was to have an annual\ntribute of £240,000.\n\n1762. — As affairs turned out there was much to be done and\nsuffered by the British before they had another opportunity of\ninterfering in the affairs of Hindustan; and a strange series of\nvicissitudes impended upon the Emperor before he was to meet them\nin the palace of his fathers. On his way to the northwest he fell\ninto the hands of the ambitious Nawab Vazir of Audh, who had\nreceived the Abdali's orders to render the Emperor all\nassistance, and who carried out the letter of these instructions\nby retaining him for some two years in an honourable confinement,\nsurrounded by the empty signs of sovereignty, sometimes at\nBenares, sometimes at Allahabad, and sometimes at Lucknow.\n\n1763. — In the meanwhile the unscrupulous heroes who were\nfounding the British Government of India had thought proper to\nquarrel with their new instrument Mir Kasim, whom they had so\nlately raised to the Masnad of Bengal. This change in their\ncouncils had been caused by an insubordinate letter addressed to\nthe Court of Directors by Clive's party, which had led to their\ndismissal from employ. The opposition then raised to power\nconsisted of all the more corrupt members of the service; and the\nimmediate cause of their rupture with Mir Kasim was about the\nmonopoly they desired to have of the local trade for their own\nprivate advantage. They were represented at that Nawab's Court by\nMr. Ellis, the most violent of their body; and the consequence of\nhis proceedings was, in no long time, seen in the murder of the\nResident and all his followers, in October, 1763. The scene of\nthis atrocity (which remained without a parallel for nearly a\ncentury) was at Patna, which was then threatened and soon after\nstormed by the British; and the actual instrument was a\nFranco-German, Walter Reinhardt by name, of whom, as we are to\nhear much more hereafter, it is as well here to take note.\n\nThis European executioner of Asiatic barbarity is generally\nbelieved to have been a native of Treves, in the Duchy of\nLuxemburg, who came to India as a sailor in the French navy. From\nthis service he is said to have deserted to the British, and\njoined the first European battalion raised in Bengal. Thence\ndeserting he once more entered the French service; was sent with\na party who vainly attempted to relieve Chandarnagar, and was one\nof the small party who followed Law when that officer took\ncommand of those, who refused to share in the surrender of the\nplace to the British. After the capture of his ill-starred chief,\nReinhardt (whom we shall in future designate by his Indian\nsobriquet of \" Sumroo,\" or Sombre) took service under Gregory, or\nGurjin Khan, Mir Kasim's Armenian General.\n\nBroome, however, adopts a somewhat different version. According\nto this usually careful and accurate historian, Reinhardt was a\nSalzburg man who originally came to India in the British service,\nand deserted to the French at Madras, whence he was sent by Lally\nto strengthen the garrison of the Bengal settlement. The details\nare not very material: Sumroo had certainly learned war both in\nEnglish and French schools.\n\nAfter the massacre of the British, Kasim and his bloodhound\nescaped from Patna (which the British stormed and took on the 6th\nof November), and found a temporary asylum in the dominions of\nShojaa-ud-daulah. That nobleman solemnly engaged to support his\nformer antagonist, and sent him for the present against some\nenemies of his own in Bundelkand, himself marching to Benares\nwith his Imperial captive, as related in the preceding page.\n\n1764. — In February, 1764, the avenging columns of the British\nappeared upon the frontier, but the Sepoys broke into mutiny,\nwhich lasted some time, and was with difficulty and but\nimperfectly quelled by Colonel Carnac. Profiting by the delay and\nconfusion thus caused, the allies crossed into Bihar, and made a\nfurious, though ultimately unsuccessful attack upon the British\nlines under the walls of Patna on the 3rd of May.\nShujaa-ud-daulah, the Nawab of Audh, temporarily retiring, the\nEmperor resumed negotiations with the British commander; but\nbefore these could be concluded, the latter was superseded by\nMajor (afterwards Sir Hector) Monro. This officer's arrival\nchanged the face of affairs. Blowing from guns twenty-four of the\nmost discontented of the sepoys, the Major led the now submissive\narmy westward to Buxar (Baksar), near the confluence of the\nKaramnassa with the Ganges, where the two Nawabs (for Kasim and\nthe Audh Viceroy had now united their forces) encountered him to\nbe totally routed on the 23rd October, 1764.\n\nThe Emperor, who had taken no part in the action, came into the\ncamp on the evening of the following day. By the negotiations\nwhich ultimately ensued, the British at last obtained a legal\nposition as administrators of the three Subahs, with the further\ngrant of the Benares and Ghazipur sarkars as fiefs of the Empire.\nThe remainder of the Subah of Allahabad was secured to the\nEmperor with a pecuniary stipend which raised his income to the\nnominal amount of a million a year of our money.\n\nBut the execution of these measures required considerable delay,\nand some further exercise of that pertinacious vigour which\npeculiarly distinguished the British in the eighteenth century.\n\nShujaa-ud-daulah fled first to Faizabad in his own territories;\nbut, hearing that Allahabad had fallen, and that the English were\nmarching on Lucknow, he had recourse to the Pathans of Rohilkand,\nwhose hospitality he afterwards repaid with characteristic\ningratitude. Not only did the chiefs of the Rohillas harbour the\nNawab Vazir's family at Bareilly, but they also lent him the aid\nof 3,000 of their troops. Further supported by the restless\nMahrattas of Malhar Rao Holkar, a chief who always maintained\nrelations with the Musulmans, Shujaa returned to the conflict.\n\n1765. — It may be easily imagined that what he failed to do with\nthe aid of Mir Kasim and his own territory, he did not effect\nwith his present friends as an exile; and Kasim having fled, and\nSumroo having entered the service of the Jats of Bhartpur, the\nVazir consented to negotiate with the English; the latter, under\nstrong pressure from Clive, who had lately returned to India,\nshowing themselves perfectly placable, now that it had become\nimpossible for them to insist upon the terms, so distasteful to\nan Eastern chief, which required the surrender of his infamous\nguests. General Carnac, who had resumed the command, gave the\nNawab and his allies a final defeat near Cawnpore, and drove the\nMahrattas across the Jamna. The treaty confirming the terms\nbroached after the battle of Buxar was now concluded, and Audh,\ntogether with part of the Doab, made over to the Nawab Vazir\nShujaa-ud-daulah, who, being thus reinstated as a feudatory of\nthe British Diwans, returned to his own country, leaving Shah\n'Alam at Allahabad as a British pensioner.\n\nThe terms accorded to the Emperor will be seen from the\ncounterpart issued by him, part of which is subjoined:—\n\n\" + + + Whereas, in consideration of the attachment and services\nof the high and mighty, the noblest of nobles, the chief of\nillustrious warriors, our faithful servants and loyal\nwell-wishers, worthy of royal favour the English Company, we have\ngranted to them the Diwani of the Soobahs of Bengal, Bahar, and\nOrissa, from the beginning of the spring harvest of the Bengal\nyear 1171, as a free gift and fief (Al tumgha), without the\nassociation of any other person, and with an exemption from the\npayment of the tribute of the Diwan which used to be paid to this\ncourt; it is therefore requisite that the said Company engage to\nbe security for the sum of twenty-six lakhs of rupees a year for\nour revenue (which sum has been imposed upon the Nawab), and\nregularly remit the same.\n\n\"Given on the 8th Safar, in the sixth year of our reign.\"\n\nThe Nawab was to continue Subahdar, the Company was to be his\ncolleague for purposes of civil and fiscal administration, they\nwere to support the Nawab's (Nizamat) expenses, and to pay the\ntribute (Nazarana) in his name.\n\nThe Emperor's establishment during the next few years is thus\ndescribed by a British officer who enjoyed his intimacy: — \"He\nkeeps the poor resemblance of a Court at Allahabad, where a few\nruined omrahs, in hopes of better days to their prince, having\nexpended their fortunes in his service, still exist, the ragged\npensioners of his poverty, and burden his gratitude with their\npresence. The districts in the king's possession are valued at\nthirty lakhs, which is one-half more than they are able to bear.\nInstead of gaining by this bad policy, that prince, unfortunate\nin many respects, has the mortification to see his poor subjects\noppressed by those who farm the revenue, while he himself is\nobliged to compound with the farmers for half the stipulated sum.\nThis, with the treaty payment from the revenues of Bengal, is all\nShah Alum possesses to support the dignity of the Imperial house\nof Timor. [Dow. ii. 356, A.D. 1767.]\n\nThe following further particulars respecting Shah 'Alam's Court\nat this period are furnished by Gholam Hossain, and should be\nnoted here as relating to personages of some of whom we shall\nhear more anon.\n\nMirza Najaf Khan, the Imperial General, was a Persian noble of\nhigh, even of royal, extraction, and destined to play a\nconspicuous part in the events related in a large portion of the\nremainder of this history. It will suffice, for the present, to\nstate that, having been a close follower of Mohammad Kuli, he\njoined the British after that Chief's murder (Vide Sup. p. 68)\nand was by them recommended to the Emperor for employment. He\nreceived a stipend of one lakh a year, and was nominated Governor\nof Kora, where he occupied himself in the suppression of\nbanditti, and in the establishment of the Imperial authority.\nUnder the modest state of steward of the household,\nManir-ud-daulah was the Emperor's most trusted councillor and\nmedium of communication with the English. Raja Ram Nath, whom we\nsaw accompanying the prince in his escape from Dehli, continued\nabout him; but the chief favourite was an illiterate ruffian\ncalled by the title Hissam-ud-daulah, who stooped to any baseness\nwhereby he could please the self-indulgent monarch by pandering\nto his lowest pursuits. The duties of the office of Vazir were\ndelegated by Shujaa to his son Saadat Ali, who afterwards\nsucceeded him as Nawab of Audh.\n\nFallen as the Emperor truly was, and sincerely as we may\nsympathize with his desire to raise the fortunes of his life, it\nmight have been well for him to have remained content with the\nhumble but guaranteed position of a protected Titular, rather\nthan listen to the interested advice of those who ministered, for\ntheir own purposes, to his natural discontent.\n\nIn this chapter I have been partly referring to Mill. Not only is\nthat indefatigable historian on his strongest ground when\ndescribing battles and negotiations of the British from civil and\nmilitary despatches recorded at the India House, but in treating\nof the movements of the native powers he has had access to a\ntranslation of the very best native work upon the subject — the\nSiar-ul-mutakharin — which was written by Ghulam Hossain Khan, a\nMusalman gentleman of Patna, himself an eye-witness of many of\nthe scenes described. His account of the capture of Law, for\nexample, given at length in a foot-note to Mill's short account\nof the action of Gaya after which the affair occurred, is full of\ntruthfulness and local colour.\n\nSince, however, the events were already amply detailed, and the\nbest authorities exhausted in a standard work accessible to most\nEnglish readers; and since, moreover, they did not occur in\nHindustan, and only indirectly pertained to the history of that\ncountry, I have not thought it necessary to relate them more\nminutely than was required to elucidate the circumstances which\nled to the Emperor Shah Alam becoming, for the first time, a\npensioner on British bounty, or a dependent on British policy.\n\nThose who require a complete account of the military part of the\naffair will find it admirably given in Broome's Bengal Army, a\nwork of which it is to be regretted that the first volume alone\nhas hitherto been made public. Of the value of this book it would\nbe difficult to speak too highly. Coming from the pen of an\naccomplished professional man, it sets forth, in a manner no\ncivilian could hope to rival, the early exploits of that army of\nwhich the author was a member. It may be well to note, in\nconcluding this chapter, what appears to have been at this time\nthe legal relation of the British settlers in Bengal towards the\nGovernment of the Empire. In 1678 the Company's Agents had\nobtained a patent conferring upon them the power of trading in\nBengal. In 1696 they purchased from the Nawab the land\nsurrounding their factory, and proceeded to protect it by rude\nfortifications. A number of natives soon began to settle here\nunder the protection of the British; and when the Nawab, on this\naccount, was desirous of sending a judicial officer to reside\namong them, the factors staved off the measure by means of a\ndonation in money. The grant of land and permission of a formal\nkind for the fortifications followed in 1716 on Mr. Hamilton's\ncure of the Emperor Farokhsiar. During all this period tribute\ncontinued to be paid (nominally at least) to the Emperor; but in\n1759, by espousing, as stated in the beginning of this chapter,\nthe cause of Mir Jafar, the British committed acts of open\nrebellion against the Sovereign. By the treaty of Benares,\nhowever, they returned to their nominal allegiance, and became\nonce more subjects, tenants and even subordinate officials of the\nGreat Moghul ( Vide Judgment of Lord Brougham in the case of the\nMayor of Lyons v. East India Company). Elphinstone (Rise of Brit.\nPower, 438ÄÄ) finds this \"treaty difficult to explain.\" But the\nfact is that all the contemporaneous powers concerned looked upon\nthe Empire as the legitimate source of authority; and not only\nthen but for many years after. The British had no legal status\nuntil they received the Emperor's grant; and to think of the\narrangement as \"a treaty\" may be a source of misapprehension.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nA.D. 1765-71.\n\n\n\nNajib-ud-daulah and Jawan Bakht — The Jats — Bhartpur State —\nSuraj Mal — Najib attacks Jats — Negotiations — Death of Suraj\nMal — Jats attack Jaipur — Return of the Mahrattas — They attack\nBhartpur — Rohillas yield — Death of Najib — State of Rohilkand —\nZabita Khan — Mahrattas invite Emperor to return to Dehli.\n\n\n\nAT the conclusion of Part I. we saw that the Abdali ruler of\nKabul had returned to his own land, soon after the battle of\nPanipat, in 1761, having recognized the legitimate claims of the\nexiled heir to the throne (1764), and placed that prince's eldest\nson, Mirza Jawan Bakht, in the nominal charge of affairs, under\nthe protection of Najib-ud-daulah, the Rohilla (Indian Afghan). A\nbetter choice could not have been made in either case. The young\nregent was prudent and virtuous, as was usual with the men of his\naugust house during their earlier years, and the premier noble\nwas a man of rare intelligence and integrity. Being on good terms\nwith his old patrons, Dundi Khan Rohilla, and the Nawab of Audh,\nShujaa-ud-daulah, and maintaining a constant understanding with\nMalhar Rao Holkar, whom we have seen deserting the cause of his\ncountrymen, and thus exempted from their general ruin at Panipat,\nNajib-ud-daulah swayed the affairs of the dwindled empire with\ndeserved credit and success. The Mahratta collectors were\nexpelled from the districts of the Doab, while Agra admitted a\nJat garrison; nor did the discomfited freebooters of the southern\nconfederacy make any farther appearance in Hindustan for eight\nyears, if we except the share borne by Malhar Rao, acting on his\nown account in the disastrous campaign against the British in\n1765.\n\nThe area on which these exertions were made was at first but\nsmall, and the lands directly swayed by Najib-ud-daulah were\nbounded, within 100 miles south of the capital, by the\npossessions of the Jats, who, however, were at the time friendly.\n\nOf the rise of this singular people few authentic records appear\nto exist. It is, however, probable that they represent a later\nwave of that race, whether true Sudras, or a later wave of\nimmigrants from Central Asia, which is found farther south as\nMahratta; and perhaps they had, in remote times, a Scythian\norigin like the earlier and nobler Rajputs. They affect Rajput\nways, although the Rajputs would disdain their kinship; and they\ngive to their chiefs the Rajput title of \"Thakur,\" a name common\nto the Deity and to great earthly lords, and now often used to\nstill lower persons. So much has this practice indeed extended,\nthat some tribes use the term generically, and speak of\nthemselves as of the \"Thakur\" race. These, however, are chiefly\npure Rajputs. It is stated, by an excellent authority, that even\nnow the Jats \"can scarcely be called pure Hindus, for they have\nmany observances, both domestic and religious, not consonant with\nHindu precepts. There is a disposition also to reject the fables\nof the Puranic Mythology, and to acknowledge the unity of the\nGodhead.\" (Elliot's Glossary, in voce \"Jat.\") Wherever they are\nfound, they are stout yeomen; able to cultivate their fields, or\nto protect them, and with strong administrative habits of a\nsomewhat republican cast. Within half a century, they have four\ntimes tried conclusions with the might of Britain. The Jats of\nBhartpur fought Lord Lake with success, and Lord Combermere with\ncredit; and their \"Sikh\" brethren in the Panjab shook the whole\nfabric of British India on the Satlaj, in 1845, and three years\nlater on the field of Chillianwala. The Sikh kingdom has been\nbroken up, but the Jat principality of Bhartpur still exists,\nthough with contracted limits, and in a state of complete\ndependence on the British Government. There is also a thriving\nlittle principality — that of Dholpur — between Agra and Gwalior,\nunder a descendant of the Jat Rana of Gohad, so often met with in\nthe history of the times we are now reviewing (v. inf. p. 128.)\nIt is interesting to note further, that some ethnologists have\nregarded this fine people as of kin to the ancient Get¾, and to\nthe Goths of Europe, by whom not only Jutland, but parts of the\nsouth-east of England and Spain were overrun, and to some extent\npeopled. It is, therefore, possible that the yeomen of Kent and\nHampshire have blood relations in the natives of Bhartpur and the\nPanjab.\n\nThe area of the Bhartpur State is at present 2,000 square miles,\nand consists of a basin some 700 feet above sea level, crossed by\na belt of red sandstone rocks. It is hot and dry; but in the\nskilful hands that till it, not unfertile; and the population has\nbeen estimated at near three-quarters of a million.\n\nAt the time at which our history has arrived, the territory\nswayed by the chiefs of the Jats was much more extensive, and had\nundergone the fate of many another military republic, by falling\ninto the hands of the most prudent and daring of a number of\ncompetent leaders. It has already been shown (in Part I.) how\nSuraj Mal, as Raja of the Bhartpur Jats, joined the Mahrattas in\ntheir resistance to the great Musalman combination of 1760. Had\nhis prudent counsels been followed, it is possible that this\nresistance would have been more successful, and the whole history\nof Hindustan far otherwise than what it has since been. But the\nhaughty leader of the Hindus, Sheodasheo Rao Bhao, regarded Suraj\nMal as a petty landed chief not accustomed to affairs on a grand\nscale, and so went headlong on his fate.\n\nEscaping, like his friend Holkar, from the disaster of Panipat —\nthough in a less discreditable way, for he did not profess to\ntake the field and then fly in the midst of battle, as the other\ndid — Suraj Mal took an early opportunity of displacing the\nMahratta Governor of the important fort of Agra, and at the same\ntime, occupied some strong places in the Mewat country. The\nsagacious speculator, about the same time, dropped the falling\ncause of Ghazi-ud-din, whose method of statesmanship was too\nvigorous for his taste, and who, as has been above shown, retired\nsoon after from a situation which he had aided to render\nimpracticable. But a criminal of greater promise, about the same\ntime, joined Suraj Mal. This was none other than the notorious\nSumroo, who had wisely left his late protector the Nawab of Audh,\nat the head of a battalion of Sepoys, a detail of artillery, and\nsome three hundred European ruffians of all countries.\n\nThus supported, the bucolic sagacity of the Jat Raja began for\nthe first time to fail him, and he made demands which seemed to\nthreaten the small remains of the Moghul Empire. Najib-ud-daulah\ntook his measures with characteristic promptitude and prudence.\nSummoning the neighbouring Musalman chiefs to the aid of Islam\nand of the empire, he took the field at the head of a small but\nwell-disciplined Moghul army, and soon found the opportunity to\nstrike a decisive blow.\n\nIn this campaign the premier was so fortunate as to obtain solid\nassistance from the Biloch chiefs of Farokhnagar and Bahadurgarh,\nwho were in those days powerful upon both banks of the Jamna up\nto as far north as Saharanpur on the eastern, and Hansi on the\nwestern side. The actual commencement of hostilities between\nSuraj Mal and the Moghuls arose from a demand made by the former\nfor the Faujdarship (military prefecture) of the small district\nof Farokhnagar. Unwilling to break abruptly with the Jat chief,\nNajib had sent an envoy to him, in the first instance, pointing\nout that the office he solicited involved a transfer of the\nterritory, and referring him to the Biloch occupant for his\nconsent. The account of the negotiation is so characteristic of\nthe man and the time, that I have thought it worth preserving.\nThe Moghul envoy introduced himself — in conformity with Eastern\ncustom — by means of a gift, which, in this instance, consisted\nof a handsome piece of flowered chintz, with which the rural\npotentate was so pleased that he ordered its immediate conversion\ninto a suit of clothes. Since this was the only subject on which\nthe Jat chief would for the present converse, the Moghul proposed\nto take his leave, trusting that he might reintroduce the subject\nof the negotiations at a more favourable moment. \"Do nothing\nrashly, Thakur Sahib,\" said the departing envoy; \"I will see you\nagain to-morrow.\" \"See me no more,\" replied the inflated boor,\n\"if these negotiations are all that you have to talk of.\" The\ndisgusted envoy took him at his word, and returned to Najib with\na report of the interview. \"Is it so?\" said the premier. \"Then we\nmust fight the unbeliever; and if it be the pleasure of the Most\nHigh God, we will assuredly smite him.\"\n\nBut before the main body of the Moghuls had got clear of the\ncapital, Suraj Mal had arrived near Shahdara on the Hindan,\nwithin six miles of Dehli; and, had he retained the caution of\nhis earlier years, he might have at once shut up the Imperialists\nin their walled city. But the place being an old hunting-ground\nof the Emperor's the Thakur's motive in coming had been chiefly\nthe bravado of saying that he had hunted in a royal park, and he\nwas therefore only attended by his personal staff. While he was\nreconnoitring in this reckless fashion, he was suddenly\nrecognised by a flying squadron of Moghul horse, who surprised\nthe Jats, and killed the whole party, bringing the body of the\nchief to Najib. The minister could not at first believe in this\nunhoped-for success, nor was he convinced until the envoy who had\nrecently returned from the Jat camp identified the body by means\nof his own piece of chintz, which formed its raiment. Meanwhile\nthe Jat army was marching up in fancied security from\nSikandrabad, under Jowahir Singh, the son of their chief, when\nthey were suddenly charged by the Moghul advanced guard, with the\nhead of Suraj Mal borne on a horseman's lance as their standard.\nIn the panic which ensued upon this ghastly spectacle, the Jats\nwere thoroughly routed and driven back into their own country.\nThis event occurred towards the end of the year.\n\nFoiled in their unaided attempt, they next made a still more\nsignal mistake in allying themselves with Malhar Rao Holkar, who,\nas we have seen, was secretly allied to the Musalmans. At first\nthey were very successful, and besieged the premier for three\nmonths in Dehli; but Holkar suddenly deserted them, as was only\nto have been expected had they known what we know now; and they\nwere fain to make the best terms that they could, and return to\ntheir own country, with more respectful views towards the empire\nand its protector.\n\nBut the young Thakur's thirst of conquest was by no means\nappeased, and he proceeded in 1765 to attack Madhu Sing, the\nRajput ruler of Jaipur, son of the Kachwaha Raja Jai Singh, who\nhad lately founded a fine city there in lieu of the ancestral\nsite, Amber. Descended from Kusha, the eldest son of the Hindu\ndemigod Rama, this tribe appears to have been once extensive and\npowerful, traces of them being still found in regions as far\ndistant from each other as; Gwalior and the Northern Doab. (Vide\nElliot, in voc.) In this attempt Jowahir appears to have been but\nfeebly sustained by Sumroo, who immediately deserted to the\nvictors, after his employer had been routed at the famous Lake of\nPokar, near Ajmir. Jowahir retreated first upon Alwar, thence he\nreturned to Bhartpur, and soon after took up his abode at Agra,\nwhere he not long afterwards was murdered, it is said at the\ninstigation of the Jaipur Raja. A period of very great confusion\nensued in the Jat State; nor was it till two more of the sons of\nSuraj Mal had perished — one certainly by violence — that the\nsupremacy of the remaining son, Ranjit Singh, was secured. In his\ntime the Jat power was at its height; he swayed a country thick\nwith strongholds, from Alwar on the N.W. to Agra on the S.W.,\nwith a revenue of two millions sterling, and an army of 60,000\nmen.\n\nMeantime the Mahrattas, sickened by their late encounter with\nCarnac (p. 73), and occupied with their own domestic disputes in\nthe Deccan, paid little or no attention to the affairs of\nHindustan; and the overtures made to them by the Emperor in 1766,\nfrom Allahabad, were for the time disregarded, though it is\nprobable that they caused no little uneasiness in the British\nPresidency, where it was not desired that the Emperor should be\nrestored by such agency.\n\nAt this period Najib, as minister in charge of the metropolis and\nits immediate dependencies, though skilfully contending against\nmany obstacles, yet had not succeeded in consolidating the empire\nso much as to render restoration a very desirable object to an\nEmperor living in ease and security. Scarcely had the premier\nbeen freed from the menace of the Eastern Jats by his own prowess\nand by their subsequent troubles, than their kindred of the\nPanjab began to threaten Dehli from the west. Fortunately for the\nminister, his old patron, the Abdali, was able to come to his\nassistance; and in April, 1767, having defeated the Sikhs in\nseveral actions, Ahmad once more appeared in the neighbourhood of\nPanipat, at the head of 50,000 Afghan horse.\n\nHe seems to have been well satisfied with the result of the\narrangements that he had made after crushing the Mahrattas in the\nsame place six years before; only that he wrote a sharp reprimand\nto Shujaa-ud-daulah for his conduct towards the Emperor. But\nthis, however well deserved, would not produce much effect on\nthat graceless politician, when once the Afghan had returned to\nhis own country. This he soon after did, and appeared no more on\nthe troubled scene of Hindustan.\n\nProfiting by the disappearance of their enemy, the Mahrattas,\nhaving arranged their intestine disputes, crossed the Chambal (a\nriver flowing eastward into the Jamna from the Ajmir plateau),\nand fell upon the Jaipur country towards the end of 1768. Hence\nthey passed into Bhartpur, where they exacted tribute, and whence\nthey threatened Dehli in 1769. Among their leaders were two of\nwhom much will be seen hereafter. One was Madhoji Sindhia—\"Patel\"\n—the other was Takuji Holkar. The first of these was the natural\nson of Ranoji Sindhia, and inherited, with his father's power,\nthe animosity which that chief had always felt against Najib and\nthe Rohillas. The other was a leader in the army of Malhar Rao\nHolkar (who had lately died), and, like his master, was friendly\nto the Pathans. Thus, with the hereditary rivalry of their\nrespective clans, these foremost men of the Mahratta army\ncombined a traditional difference of policy, which was destined\nto paralyze the Mahratta proceedings, not only in this, but in\nmany subsequent campaigns.\n\n1770. — Aided by Holkar, the Dehli Government entered into an\naccommodation with the invaders, in which the Jats were\nsacrificed, and the Rohillas were shortly after induced by\nNajib-ud-daulah to enter into negotiations. These led to the\nsurrender to the Mahrattas of the Central Doab, between the\nprovinces held by the Emperor to the eastward, and the more\nimmediate territories administered in his name from Dehli. These\nlatter tracts were spared in pursuance of the negotiations with\nthe Emperor which were still pending.\n\nSoon after these transactions the prudent and virtuous minister\ndied, and was succeeded in his post by his son, Zabita Khan. It\nis not necessary to enlarge upon the upright and faithful\ncharacter of Najib-ud-daulah, which has been sufficiently obvious\nin the course of our narrative, as have also his skill and\ncourage. It would have been well for the empire had his posterity\ninherited the former qualities. Had Zabita, for instance,\nfollowed in his father's steps, and had the Emperor at the same\ntime been a man of more decision, it was perhaps even then\npossible for a restoration to have taken place, in which, backed\nby the power of Rohilkand, and on friendly terms with the\nBritish, the Court of Dehli might have played off Holkar against\nSindhia, and shaken off all the irksome consequences of a\nMahratta Protectorate.\n\nThe preceding record shows how superior Najib-ud-daulah's\ncharacter and genius were to those of the native Hindustani\nnobles. It may be interesting to see how he impressed a European\ncontemporary, who had excellent opportunities of judging:—\n\n\"He is the only example in Hindustan of, at once, a great and a\ngood character. He raised himself from the command of fifty horse\nto his present grandeur entirely by his superior valour,\nintegrity, and strength of mind. Experience and abilities have\nsupplied the want of letters and education, and the native\nnobleness and goodness of his heart have amply made amends for\nthe defect of his birth and family. He is now about sixty years\nof age, borne down by fatigue and sickness.\" — (Mr. Verelst, to\nthe Court of Directors, March 28th, 1768, ap. Mill.)\n\nSince this prominent mention has been made of the Rohillas, and\nsince they are now for a short time to play a yet more\nconspicuous part in the fortunes of the falling empire, it will\nbe well to give a brief description of their situation at the\ntime.\n\nIt has been seen how Ali Mohammad rose in the reign of Mohammad\nShah, and had been removed from Rohilkand by the aid of Safdar\nJang, the Viceroy of Audh. On the latter falling into disgrace,\nAli Mohammad returned to his native province about A.D. 1746. In\nthe next two or three years he continued successfully to\nadminister the affairs of the fair and fertile tract, but,\nunfortunately for his family, died before his heirs were capable\nof acting for themselves. Two relations of the deceased chief\nacted as regents — Dundi Khan, the early patron of Najib, and\nRahmat Khan, known in India by the title of Hafiz, or\n\"Protector.\" Safdar Jang continued to pursue them with relentless\npurpose; and although the important aid of Ahmad, their foreign\nfellow-clansman, and the necessity of combining against the\nMahrattas, prevented the Audh Viceroy's hostility from taking any\nvery active form, yet there can be no doubt but that he\nbequeathed it to his successor, Shujaa, along with many other\nunscrupulous designs. The Rohilla Pathans, for their part, were\nas a race determined fighters, but generally false, fickle, and\ndissolute.\n\nIn 1753 the elder son of Ali Mohammad had made an attempt to\nremove the Protector and his colleague from their post. It was\nnot successful, and its only result was to sow dissensions among\nthe Rohillas, which caused their final ruin. In 1761, however,\nthey bore a part in the temporary overthrow of the Mahrattas at\nPanipat; and during the next seven years the Rohilla power had\npassed the frontier of the Ganges, and overflowed the Central\nDoab, while the Najibabad family (who had a less close connection\nwith local politics, but were powerful kinsmen and allies) had\npossession of the Upper Doab, up to the Siwalik Hills, above\nSaharanpur. Nevertheless, this seeming good fortune was neither\npermanent nor real.\n\nIn 1769, as we have just seen, Najib, though well disposed, was\nunable to prevent the Central Doab from passing under the\nMahratta sway, and he died soon after its occupation occurred.\nDundi Khan also passed away about the same time; and the\nProtector Rahmat was left alone in the decline of his\never-darkening days, to maintain, as best he might, an usurped\nauthority menaced by a multitude of foes.\n\nZabita Khan, the son and successor of the late minister, and\nhimself an Afghan or Pathan by race, did nevertheless for a time\ncontribute to the resources of the Protector, his co-religionist\nand quasi countryman.\n\nHe may, therefore, be reckoned amongst the Rohillas at this\nperiod; and, as far as extent of territory went, he might have\nbeen an ally of some importance. But territory in imbecile hands\nand with foes like the Mahrattas was anything but a source of\nstrength. While these indefatigable freebooters spread themselves\nover the whole Upper and Central Doab, and occupied all Rohilkand\n— excepting the small territory of Farakhabad, to the south of\nthe latter and north of the former — Zabita khan, instead of\nendeavouring to prepare for the storm, occupied himself in\nirritating the Emperor, by withholding the tribute due at\nAllahabad, and by violating the sanctity of the Imperial zenana\nat Dehli by intrigues with the Begams.\n\nThus passed the winter of 1770-71, at the end of which the\nMahrattas swarmed into the Doab, and occupied the metropolis;\nonly respecting the palace, where the Prince Regent and the\nImperial family continued to reside. Zabita, having organized no\nplan, could offer no resistance, and escaped towards his\nnorthward possessions.\n\nBy the connivance of his hereditary ally, Takuji Holkar (as Grant\nDuff supposes), he left the field open for the Deccani marauders\nto treat directly with Shah Alam for his restoration to the\nthrone of his father.\n\n\n\nNOTE. — The authority chiefly followed in the portion of this\nchapter that relates to Rohilla affairs, has been Hamilton's\n\"History of the Rohillas,\" a valuable collection of\ncontemporaneous memoirs, although not always quite impartial.\nCaptain Grant Duff's research and fairness are beyond all praise,\nwherever transactions of the Mahrattas are concerned. The sketch\nof Jat politics is derived from the Siar-ul-Mutakharin and the\nTarikh-i-Mozafari; but it is as well to state, once for all that\nthe native chroniclers seldom present anything like complete\nmaterials for history. A credulous and uncritical record of\ngossip combined with a very scanty analysis of character and\nmotive characterizes their works, which are rather a set of\nhighly- pictures without proportion or perspective, than\nthose orderly annals from which history elsewhere has chiefly\nbeen compiled.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nA.D. 1771-76.\n\n\n\n\n\nAgency of Restoration — Madhoji Sindhia - Zabita attacked — Mirza\nNajaf Khan — Flight of Zabita — Treaty with Rohillas — Zabita\nregains office — Mahrattas attack Dehli — Desperation of Mirza\nNajaf — Mahrattas attack Rohilkand — Opposed by British — Advance\nof Audh Troops — Re-employment of Mirza — Abdul Ahid Khan —\nSuspicious conduct of Hafiz Rahmat and Rohillas — Tribute\nwithheld by Hafiz Rahmat - Battle of Kattra — Death of\nShujaa-ud-daulah — Campaign against Jats — Najaf Kuli Khan —\nSuccesses of the Imperial Army — Zabita and Sikhs — Death of Mir\nKasim.\n\n\n\nIT would be interesting to know the exact terms upon which the\nMahrattas engaged to restore the Emperor to his throne in the\npalace of Shahjahan. But, since they have even escaped the\nresearch of Captain Grant Duff, who had access to the archives of\nPunah, it is hopeless for any one else to think of recovering\nthem. The emissary employed appears to have been the person of\nindifferent character who, like the Brounker and Chiffinch of the\nEnglish restoration of 1660, had been usually employed in less\ndignified agencies. Unacquainted with this man's name, we must be\ncontent to take note of him by his title of Hissam, or Hashim Ud\nDaula. The Mahrattas were, amongst other rewards, to receive a\npresent fee of ten lakhs of rupees (nominally expressible at\n£100,000 sterling, but in those days representing as much,\nperhaps, as ten times that amount of our present money), nor\nwould they stir in the matter until they received the sum in hard\ncash. It is also probable that the cession of the provinces of\nAllahabad and Korah formed part of the recompense they hoped to\nreceive hereafter.\n\nThough the Emperor, if he guaranteed this latter gift, was\nparting from a substance in order to obtain a shadow, yet the\nvery receipt of that substance by the others depended upon\ncircumstances over which they had (as the phrase is) no control.\nEarly in the year 1771 the Emperor had sent to the authorities in\nCalcutta, to consult them on his proposed movements; and they had\nstrongly expressed their disapprobation. But Shujaa-ud-daula, for\nreasons of his own, earnestly, though secretly, encouraged the\nenterprise. The Emperor set out in the month of May, at the head\nof a small but well-appointed army, amongst whom was a body of\nsepoys drilled after the European fashion, and commanded by a\nFrenchman named Medoc, an illiterate man, but a good soldier. The\ncommand-in-chief was held by Mirza Najaf Khan. A British\ndetachment, under Major-General Sir Robert Barker, attended him\nto the Korah frontier, where the General repeated, for the last\ntime, the unwelcome dissuasions of his Government. The Emperor\nunheedingly moved on, as a ship drives on towards a lee shore;\nand the British power closed behind his wake, so that no trace of\nhim or his Government ever reappeared in the provinces that he\nhad so inconsiderately left.\n\nFrom this date two great parties in the Empire are clearly\ndefined; the Musalmans, anxious to retain (and quarrel over) the\nleavings of the great Afghan leader, Ahmad Abdali; and the\nMahrattas, anxious to revenge and repair the losses of Panipat.\nThe Audh Viceroy acts henceforth for his own hand — ready to\nbenefit by the weakness of whichever party may be worsted; and\nthe British, with more both of vigour and of moderation, follow a\nlike course of conduct.\n\nArrived at Farrukhabad, the Imperial adventurer confirmed the\nsuccession of that petty state to the Bangash chief, whose father\nwas lately dead, and received at the investiture a fine\n(peshkash) of five lakhs of rupees. He then cantoned his army in\nthe neighbourhood, and awaited the cessation of the periodical\nrains. The Mahratta army, some 30,000 strong, was still encamped\nat Dehli, but Madhoji Sindhia, the Patel, waited upon the Emperor\nin his cantonments, and there concluded whatever was wanting of\nthe negotiations. The Emperor then proceeded, and entered his\ncapital on Christmas Day.\n\nAt that time of year Dehli enjoys a climate of great loveliness;\nand it may be supposed that the unhappy citizens, for their\nparts, would put on their most cheerful looks and the best\nremnants of their often plundered finery, to greet the return of\ntheir lawful monarch. The spirit of loyalty to persons and to\nfamilies is very strong in the East, and we can imagine that, as\nthe long procession marched from Shahdara and crossed the shrunk\nand sandy Jamna, Shah Alam, from the back of his chosen elephant,\nlooked down upon a scene of hope and gaiety enough to make him\nfor the moment forget both the cares of the past and the\nanxieties of the future, and feel himself at last every inch a\nking.\n\n1772. — Whatever may have been his mood, his new allies did not\nleave him to enjoy it long. Within three weeks of his return to\nthe palace of his forefathers, he was induced to take the field;\nand he set out northward at the head of 90,000 men, the greater\nnumber of whom were Mahratta horsemen. It has already been shown\nthat Zabita Khan had escaped to his own estates a year before.\nThe Bawani Mahal (comprising fifty-two pergunnahs, now included\nin the districts of Saharanpur and Muzaffarnaggar) contained\nthree strongholds: Pathargarh on the left, Sukhartal on the right\nof the Ganges, and Ghausgarh, near Muzaffarnagar. The first two\nhad been built by the late minister, Najib-ud-daulah, to protect\nthe ford which led to his fief in the north-western corner of\nRohilkand, for the Ganges is almost always fordable here, except\nin the high floods. The last was the work of Zabita Khan himself,\nand its site is still marked by a mosque of large size and fine\nproportions. Upon these points the first attacks of the\nImperialists were directed. Ghausgarh was hurriedly evacuated at\ntheir approach to be completely plundered; and Zabita was soon\ndriven to take refuge in his eastern fort of Pathargarh, nearest\nto any aid that the Rohilkand Pathans might be able and willing\nto afford. The open country, and minor strongholds and towns were\nleft to the mercy of the invaders.\n\nAlthough this campaign was dictated by a Mahratta policy, yet the\nsmall Moghul nucleus bore a certain part, being ably commanded by\nthe Persian, Mirza Najaf Khan, who has been already mentioned as\nGovernor of Korah, and of whom we shall hear frequently during\nthe account of the next ten years.\n\nThis nobleman, who bore the title \"Mirza\" in token of belonging\nto the late royal family of Persia, evinced the same superiority\nover the natives of India which usually characterized the\noriginal immigrants. He had married his sister to a brother of\nthe former Viceroy, Safdar Jang, and attached himself to the late\nunfortunate Governor of Allahabad, Mohammad Kuli Khan, a son of\nhis brother-in-law (though whether his own nephew or by another\nmother does not appear). On the murder of the Governor by his\nunscrupulous cousin Shujaa, Najaf Khan succeeded to his place in\nthe favour of the Emperor, and commanded, as we have seen, the\nforce which accompanied the Emperor on his restoration.\n\nTo the combined armies Zabita opposed a spirited resistance; but\nthe aid of the Rohilla Afghans (or Pathans, as they are called in\nIndia) was delayed by the menacing attitude of Shujaa; and the\nMahratta and Moghul armies having crossed the Ganges by a mixture\nof boldness and stratagem, Zabita Khan fled to the Jat country,\nleaving his family and the greater part of the treasures amassed\nby his father to fall into the hands of the enemy.\n\nThis occasion is especially memorable, because among the children\nof Zabita was his eldest son, a beautiful youth, named Gholam\nKadir Khan, whom the Emperor is said, by tradition, to have\ntransmuted into a haram page, and who lived to exact a fearful\nvengeance for any ill-treatment that he may have received.\n\nAt the approach of the monsoon the Emperor, dissatisfied at not\nreceiving the whole of the share of the spoils promised him by\nhis covetous allies, returned to the metropolis. The Mahrattas\n(who even during his presence in the camp had paid him but scanty\nrespect) now threw off the last shreds of disguise, and\nappropriated all the profits of the campaign. They at the same\ntime restored to Zabita Khan — whom they hoped hereafter to make\ninto a serviceable tool — the members of his family taken at\nPathargarh; receiving in exchange a ransom of a lakh and a half\nof rupees, which was advanced to them on Zabita's account, by the\nViceroy Shujaa-ud-daulah.\n\nThe rainy season of 1772 was spent by the Emperor at Dehli; by\nthe Mahrattas at Agra and in the neighbourhood. They would\nwillingly have proceeded to complete the reduction of all\nRohilkand, but that Mirza Najaf flatly refused to join or\nsanction such a course; seeing clearly that it must involve a\ncollision with Shujaa-ud-daulah, who was supported by the British\nalliance, and of whose traditional policy the annexation of the\nprovince formed an essential part. The Rohillas, on their part,\noccupied themselves in negotiations with the Audh Viceroy, in the\nhope of reconstructing the Mohamadan League, which had once been\nso successful.\n\nThe result of which was a treaty, drawn up under the good offices\nof the British general, Sir R. Barker, by which the protector,\nHafiz Rahmat Khan, bound himself to join Shujaa in any steps he\nmight take for the assistance of Zabita Khan, and pay him forty\nlakhs of rupees, in four annual instalments upon condition of the\nMahrattas being expelled from Rohilkand. This treaty, which\nproved the ruin of the Rohillas, was executed on the 11th of\nJuly, 1772.\n\nThe next step in the destruction of these brave but impolitic\nPathans was the outbreak of several violent quarrels, in which\nbrother fought against brother and father against son. Zabita\nKhan, meanwhile, being secretly urged by the faithless Shujaa,\nhad made terms for himself with the Mahrattas, who engaged to\nprocure not only his pardon but his investiture with the office\nof Premier Noble, formerly held by his father, Najib-ud-daulah.\nTheir barefaced boldness in restoring Zabita Khan's family and\nappropriating the ransom paid to the Emperor's account for them\nhas been already mentioned.\n\nWith the view of paving the way for the removal from power of\nMirza Najaf, they next addressed themselves to creating\ndisturbances in the country around Dehli. For they knew that this\nwould at once alarm the Emperor and involve the Mirza in\ndifficulty and danger; and they foresaw in the result of such\nintrigues an easy method of ruining one whom they justly regarded\nas an obstacle to the recall to office of their protege Zabita.\nThey accordingly instigated Ranjit Singh, the ruler of the\nBhartpur Jats, to prefer a claim to the fief of Balamgarh, held\nby a petty chieftain of his own nation. This chief solicited aid\nfrom the Emperor against his powerful rival; and in the end of\nthe year 1772 Mirza Najaf Khan, who henceforth figures in the\nnative histories by his newly-acquired title of\nZulfikar-ud-daulah, sent a force under a Biloch leader to the aid\nof the Balamgarh man. The Mahrattas, on the other hand, sent a\nforce from Agra, which joining with the Bhartpur Jats, forced the\nImperialists to retreat towards the capital; but the Patel,\ndisapproving of the Rohilla element contributed to this\nconfederacy by the presence of Zabita Khan, retired towards\nJaipur, where he occupied himself in plundering the Rajputs.\nTakuji Holkar and the other Mahratta chiefs, feeling strong\nenough to dispense with his aid, and anxious, for reasons of\ntheir own, to fulfil their promise to Zabita, advanced towards\nDehli, but were met at a place called Baddarpur, ten miles south\nof the city, by a force under the minister himself. In the action\nwhich ensued, the Moghul force which, though well disciplined and\nwell led by Mirza Najaf, seconded by M. Medoc and some efficient\nnative officers, was numerically weak, fell back upon Humayun's\ntomb, within four miles of the palace of New Dehli. Here ensued a\nseries of skirmishes, which lasted four days; till the Mirza\nhaving had a nephew slain, retreated to the new town by way of\nDaryaoganj, followed by a strong detachment of the enemy. He\nstill obstinately defended the palace and its environs; but\nHissam-ud-daulah (whose backstair influence has been already\nmentioned) went in person to the Mahratta camp the following day,\nand informed them, as from his master, that the brave minister\nwould be sacrificed by his weak and ungrateful master. Holkar and\nhis train of black and unkempt pygmies swarmed insolently into\nthe palace, where they dictated their own terms. The Mahrattas,\nwho were anxious to return to the Deccan, were not disposed to\nmake difficulties; their main terms were the restoration to the\noffice of premier noble of Zabita Khan, and the cession of those\nprovinces in the Lower Doab which had been under the direct sway\nof the Emperor, while he enjoyed British protection. These terms\nbeing granted, they picked a quarrel with Mirza Najaf Khan, about\na payment which he was alleged to have guaranteed them during the\nSukhartal campaign, and obtained an order from the Emperor\nbanishing him the court. These events occurred at the end of\nDecember, just a twelvemonth after the unfortunate monarch's\nrestoration.\n\n1773 — Finding Zabita Khan in office, and the pander Hisam in\nhigh favour, the heroic ax-minister, having still with him a\nstrong and faithful escort of Moghul horse, together with the\nremains of the trained infantry, and having sent to Saharanpur\nfor his adopted son, Afrasyab Khan, who had some squadrons with\nhim for the protection of that district, threw himself into a\nfortified house outside the Kabul Gate of the city. The forces of\nthe new Minister surrounded him, while the Mahrattas looked on\nwith curiosity, which seems to have been tempered by admiration\nfor his heroism; and the next day he formed one of those\ndesperate resolutions which have so often been known to influence\nthe course of Asiatic politics. Putting on all his armour, and\nwearing over it a sort of shroud of green, in the fashion used\nfor the grave-clothes of a descendant of the Prophet, Najaf Khan\nrode out at the head of his personal guards. As the small band\napproached the Mahratta camp, shouting their religious war-cries\nof \"Allah Ho Akbar,\" and \"Ya Hossain,\" they were met by a\npeaceful deputation of the unbelievers who courteously saluted\nthem, and conducted them to camp in friendly guise.\n\nIt can only be supposed that the news of the Peshwa's death,\nwhich had recently arrived from Punah, and the unsettled state of\nthe Rohilla quarrel combined to render the Mahrattas indisposed\nto push matters to extremity against a man of Najaf Khan's\ncharacter and influence, and thus gave rise to this extraordinary\nscene. The result was that the ex-minister's excitement was\ncalmed, and he agreed to Join the Mahrattas in an attack on\nRohilkand. One cannot but remark the tortuous policy of these\nrestless rievers. First they move the Emperor upon the Rohillas;\nthen they move the Rohilla, Zabita Khan, upon the Emperor; and\nthen, having united these enemies, they make use of a fresh\ninstrument to renew the original attack. With this new ally they\nmarched upon Rohilkand by way of Ramghat, below Anupshahar, where\nthe Ganges is fordable during the winter months; and at the same\ntime parties of their troops devastated the Doab.\n\nMeanwhile the British, finding that the Emperor was unable to\nprotect the provinces about Allahabad, which they had put into\nhis charge, made them over to the Viceroy of Audh, to whose\nmanagement they had been attached previous to the negotiations\nthat followed the battle of Buxar, and between whose dominions\nand those of the British they formed the connecting link. They\nhad been abandoned by the Emperor when he proceeded to Dehli,\ncontrary to the remonstrance of the Bengal Council, and though\nhis own lieutenant had reported, and with perfect accuracy, that\nhe could not regard the order to give them up to the Mahrattas as\na free act of his master's. It would, indeed, have been an easy\nstep towards the ruin of the British to have allowed the\nMahrattas to take possession of this tract, and so form a\npermanent lodgement upon the borders of the possessions in Bihar\nand the Eastern Subahs which the British held by the indefeasible\nand twofold tenure of conquest, and of an Imperial grant. And it\nso happened that the necessary transfer could not be carried out\nwithout an armed demonstration for the expulsion or coercion of\nthe usurping Mahrattas. The expenses of this expedition were\nnaturally met by the Viceroy. Judged even by modern standards,\nthis cannot but be regarded as a perfectly legitimate act of\nself-defence. It is, however, thus characterized by Macaulay:\n\"The provinces which had been torn from the Mogul were made over\nto the government of Audh for about half a million sterling.''\nThe British having joined their forces to those of the\nVazir-Viceroy Shujaa, accordingly marched to meet the invaders.\nHafiz Rahmat, whom we have lately seen treating with those\npowers, now became anxious about the money-payments for which he\nhad engaged, in the usual reckless Oriental way, and entered into\nnegotiations with the Mahrattas. In this scheme, the sudden\narrival of the British and Audh armies surprised him and he was\nforced to abandon it for the present and join the allies in an\nadvance against the Mahrattas, who precipitately retired on\nEtawa, and thence to their own country in May, 1773.\n\nIt has been already seen that Mirza Najaf Khan was a family\nconnection of Shujaa-ud-daulah, and an old friend of the British\ngeneral; and, on the retreat of his Mahratta supporters, he came\nover to the allied camp, where he met the reception due to his\nmerits.\n\nThe allied armies moved on to Anupshahar, accompanied by the\nex-minister, who was attended by his faithful Moghuls. This town,\nwhich had, as we have seen, been a cantonment of Ahmad the\nAbdali, was particularly well situated for the advanced post of a\npower like the British, seeking to hold the balance among the\nnative states of Hindustan. To the north were the fords of\nSukhartal, by which the Najibabad Rohillas passed from one part\nof their dominions to another; to the south was the ford of\nRamghat, leading from Aligarh to Bareilly. It remained a British\ncantonment from this time until some time subsequent to the\noccupation of the country in general, in 1806; after which the\ntown of Meerut was found more central, and Anupshahar ceased to\nbe a station for troops. It is a thriving commercial entrepot in\nour days, though much menaced by the Ganges, on whose right bank\nit stands. The only memorial of the long-continued presence of a\nBritish force is now to be found in two cemeteries, containing\nnumbers of tombs from which the inscriptions have disappeared.\n\nAt this station Najaf Khan took leave of his patrons, having\nreceived from Shujaa-ud-daulah the portfolio (or, to use the\nEastern phrase, the pencase), of Deputy Vazir, and from the\nBritish General a warm letter of recommendation to the Emperor.\nIt was especially magnanimous on the part of the Vazir to let\nbygones be bygones, since they included the murder, by himself,\nof his new Deputy's kinsman and former patron Mohammad Kuli Khan,\nthe former Governor of Allahabad; and it was not an impolitic,\nthough probably unintentional, stroke on the part of Sir R.\nBarker to lend his assistance towards introducing into the\ndirection of the Imperial councils a chief who was as strongly\nopposed to the Rohillas as to the Mahrattas.\n\nArmed with these credentials, and accompanied by a small but\ncompact and faithful force, the Mirza proceeded to Court to\nassume his post. The newly-created premier noble, Zabita Khan,\ntook refuge with the Jats; but Hisam-ud-daulah, who had been for\nsome time in charge of the local revenue (Diwan-i-Khalsa) was\ndismissed, put under arrest, and made to surrender some of his\nill-gotten wealth. An inadequate idea may be formed of the want\nof supervision which characterized Shah Alam's reign, by\nobserving that this man, who had not been more than two years in\ncharge of the collections of a small and impoverished district,\ndisgorged, in all, no less than fifteen lakhs of rupees. He was\nsucceeded in his appointment by Abdul Ahid Khan (who bears\nhenceforth the title of Majad-ud-daulah), while Manzur Ali Khan,\nanother nominee of the minister's, became Vazir, or Controller of\nthe Household. Of these two officers it is only necessary here to\nobserve, that after events showed the former — who was a Musalman\nnative of Kashmir — as a character marked by the faithlessness\nand want of manly spirit for which the people of that country are\nproverbial in India. The latter was to turn out either a very\nblundering politician, or a very black-hearted traitor.\n\nTitle and lucrative office were now conferred upon the\nKashmirian, Abdul Ahid, whose pliant manners soon enabled him to\nsecure a complete influence over his indolent master. Najaf Khan\nseems to have been equally deceived at the time; but after-events\nshowed the difference between the undeceiving of a worn-out\nvoluptuary, and that of a nature unsuspicious from its own\ngoodness.\n\nSuch were the first fruits of Najaf's alliance with the Viceroy\nof Audh; the price was to be paid in the bestowal of the Imperial\nsanction upon the final destruction of the Rohilla Pathans. It\nhas been already seen how this province, which ran up between the\npersonal domains of the crown and the fief of the Viceroy of\nAudh, had been seized, first by Ali Mohammad, and latterly by his\nson's guardian, the Protector Rahmat Khan. But ever since Ali\nMohammad's wars with the late Vazir, Safdar Jang, the rulers of\nAudh had probably coveted the province, and the retreat of the\nMahrattas and their occupation in domestic pursuits in the Deccan\nafforded just the occasion for which Shujaa-ud-daula was waiting.\nMuch eloquent indignation has been vented by Macaulay and Mill on\nthe subject of the accession to this campaign of the British\nGovernor, Mr. Hastings. As I am not writing a history of British\nadministration, I shall only observe that the Emperor, whose\nservants the British professed themselves, had conferred the\nauthority usurped by Rahmat Khan upon the Vazir, with whom they\nhad been for some years in alliance. As allies of both parties\nthey were clearly at liberty to throw in their help against the\ncommon enemies of both, especially when these chanced to be their\nown enemies also. The Mahrattas were the foes of all rulers on\nthat side of India; and the Rohillas were either in collusion\nwith the Mahrattas or unable to oppose them. It was essential, if\nnot to the safety of the possessions of the Vazir-Viceroy, at\nleast to British interests in Bengal, that a band of faithless\nusurpers should not be allowed to hold a country which they could\nnot, or would not, prevent from affording a high road for the\nMahrattas at all seasons of the year. That view, perhaps,\ncommended itself to the House of Lords when they finally\nacquitted Mr. Hastings, after a protracted trial, in which some\nof the ablest of the Whig orators had been engaged against the\naccused. It is easy for historians, writing long after the\npassions, the temptations, the necessities of the moment have\nceased to press, to criticize the acts of the past by the \"dry\nlight\" of pure reason and abstract morality. But the claims of\nnecessity should not be ignored in delivering what is intended to\nform a sort of judicial award.\n\nIt is perhaps a mark of the good sense and justice of the English\nnation that, when they had considered the matter calmly, they\nshould have come to the conclusion that to condemn Hastings would\nbe to condemn their own existence in India. Such a conclusion\nwould logically require their retirement from the country _ a\nstep they did not feel at all called upon to take. This appears\nthe moral of the acquittal. Even Macaulay, who objects to the\ndecision of the Peers acquitting Hastings as inadmissible at the\nbar of history nevertheless confesses that it was generally\napproved by the nation. At all events, this particular affair was\ndropped out of the charges even before the impeachment began.\n\nBut, however important to the existence of the British in India\nmight be the possession of this frontier territory by the\nstrongest ally they could secure, the conduct of the Emperor (or\nrather of Mirza Najaf, in whose hands he was not quite a free\nagent) remains the special subject of inquiry in this place. I\nthink, however, that both the minister and his master were quite\njustified in wishing to transfer the province of Rohilkand from\nthe hands of Rahmat to those of the Vazir. It has been already\nseen that the Pathan usurpers of that province had always been\nfoes of the Moghul power, since the first rebellion of Ali\nMohammad, with the solitary exception of the campaign of 1761,\nwhen they joined their Abdali kinsman at Panipat. It has also\nbeen seen that the fords by which the Ganges could be crossed in\nthe cold weather were in their country, but that they could never\nhold them; and that, lastly, they were known to have been lately\nin treaty with the Mahrattas, without reference to the interests\nof the Empire. Eastern politicians are not usually or especially\nscrupulous; but, when it is remembered that the Rohillas were\nfeudatories who had neither the will nor the power to be\nfaithful, it must follow that here were substantial\nconsiderations of vital importance to the Dehli Government,\nsufficient to give them a fair inducement to sanction the\nenterprise of one who was their chief minister and most powerful\nsupporter.\n\nOf Shujaa's own motives there is not so much palliation to offer.\nHe had often received aid from the Rohillas, and was under\npersonal obligations to them, which ought to have obliterated all\nearlier memories of a hostile character; and, whatever grounds\nthe Emperor may have had for consenting to an attack upon the\nPathans, or the British for aiding the same, none such are likely\nto have seriously actuated the Vazir in his individual character.\nIf he thought the Rohillas were inclined to negotiate with the\nMahrattas, he must have seen how those negotiations had been\nbroken off the instant he came to their assistance; and if he\nwished to command the movements of the Mahrattas, he might first\nhave endeavoured to strengthen the hands of the Imperial\nGovernment, and to cordially carry out his share of the treaty of\n1772.\n\nIt must, however, be added — although the Vazir's character was\nnot such as to render him altogether entitled to such\njustifications — that the latter of those engagements had been\nbetter fulfilled by himself than by the Pathans. For while, on\nthe one hand, he had driven the Mahrattas out of the country, the\nProtector Rahmat Khan, on his part, had neither collected the\nwage of that service from the other chiefs, nor paid it himself.\nMoreover, the Vazir's proceedings were only directed against the\nusurping Protector and his actual adherents; and he was joined by\nZabita and some Rohilla chiefs, while others, among whom were the\nsons of the late Dundi Khan, held aloof altogether, and Faizula\nKhan, the son of the first founder of the Rohilla power, Ali\nMohammad, and in every way the most respectable of the clan,\nthough he would not desert an old friend in his hour of need, yet\nstrongly disapproved of his proceedings, and urged him to fulfil\nhis compact and pay the Vazir's claim. The bribe by which Zabita\nhad been detached from the confederacy, was an assignment of the\ndistrict in the neighbourhood of Meerut, which had cleared itself\nof Mahratta occupation under the late Vazir's rule.\n\n1774. — In October, 1773, the fort of Etawa fell, and the last\nMahratta forces were driven from the Doab. The next two or three\nmonths were occupied in vain negotiations on the part of the\nVazir with the Rohillas; and in more serious combinations with\nthe Imperial Government, and with the British. And in January,\n1774, the allied armies moved forward. On the 12th of April the\nBritish entered Rohilkand; the Protector, when finally summoned\nto pay what he owed, having replied by a levee en masse of all\nwho would obey his summons. At the same time, the Emperor ordered\nout a column which he accompanied for a few marches; and issued\npatents confirming the Vazir Shujaa-ud-daula in his Doab\nconquests, as also in the grant already made by the British of\nKorah and Allahabad. This latter circumstance removes all ground\nfor calling in question the cession of those provinces by their\ntemporary masters, and shows that the Emperor was conscious of\nhis own inability to hold them, or to grant them to enemies of\nAudh and of England.\n\nOn the 23rd of the same month (April) the British army completely\nsurprised the camp of the Protector, who was defeated and slain,\nafter a brave but brief resistance at Kattra. Faizula was\npardoned and maintained in his own patrimonial fief of Rampur\n(still held by his descendants), while the rest of the province\nwas occupied, with but little further trouble, by the Vazir, in\nstrict conformity to an Imperial firman to that effect.\n\nThe army of the Empire, under Mirza Najaf Khan, the Deputy Vazir,\nhad not arrived in time to participate actively in this brief\ncampaign; but the Vazir acknowledged the importance of the moral\nsupport that he had received from the Empire by remitting to\ncourt a handsome fine, on his investiture with the administration\nof the conquered territory. He also gave the Mirza some\nreinforcement, to aid him in his pending operations against the\nJats of Bhartpur. Zabita Khan was at the same time expelled from\nhis lately acquired fief at Meerut, but was again put in charge\nnext year; a proof, were proof required, of the weakness of the\nHome administration of Majad-ud-daulah, who (it need hardly be\nsaid) received a bribe on the occasion.\n\nAnticipating a little, we may notice that the Viceroy of Audh, at\nthe very climax of his good fortune, met the only enemy whom\nneither force can subdue nor policy deceive. Shujaa-ud-daulah\ndied in January, 1775; and as it was not possible for so\nconspicuous a public character to pass away without exciting\npopular notice, the following explanation of the affair was\ncirculated at the time; which, whether a fact or a fiction,\ndeserves to be mentioned as the sort of ending which was\nconsidered in his case probable and appropriate. It was believed\nthat, the family of Rahmat Khan having fallen into his hands,\nShujaa-ud-daulah sent for one of the fallen chief's daughters,\nand that the young lady, in the course of the interview, avenged\nthe death of her father by stabbing his conqueror with a poisoned\nknife. \"Although,\" says the author of the Siar-ul-Mutakharin, who\nis the authority for the story, \"there may be no foundation of\ntruth in this account, yet it was at the time as universally\nbelieved as that God is our Refuge.\"\n\nThe editor of the Calcutta translation of 1789 asserts that he\nhad satisfactory proof of the truth of this story. The Viceroy\ndied of a cancer in the groin; and the women of his Zanana, who\nwere let out on the occasion, and with one of whom he (the\ntranslator) was acquainted, had made a song upon the subject.\nThey gave full particulars of the affair, and stated that the\nyoung lady — she was only seventeen — had been put to death on\nthe day the Viceroy received the wound. (S. U. M., III. 268.)\n\nThe death of the Viceroy-Vazir, however occasioned, was a serious\nblow to the reduced Empire of Dehli, which was just then\nbeginning to enjoy a gleam of sunshine such as had not visited it\nsince the day when Mir Mannu and the eldest son of Mohammad Shah\ndefeated the Abdali, in 1743. Had the career of Shujaa-ud-daulah\nbeen prolonged a few years, it is possible that his ambitious\nenergy, supported by British skill and valour, and kept within\nbounds by Mirza Najaf Khan's loyal and upright character, would\nhave effectually strengthened the Empire against the Mahrattas,\nand altered the whole subsequent course of Indian history.\n\nBut Shujaa's son and successor was a weak voluptuary, who never\nleft his own provinces; and although the Mirza, his deputy in the\nVazirship and real locum tenens, received for his lifetime the\nreward of his merits, yet he was unable of himself to give a\npermanent consolidation to the tottering fabric.\n\nIt has been seen that he was meditating a campaign against the\nJats, whom Zabita's recent fall had again thrown into discontent,\nwhen summoned to Rohilkand, in 1774. In fact, he had already\nwrested from them the fort of Agra, and occupied it with a\ngarrison of his own, under a Moghul officer, Mohammad Beg, of\nHamadan. Not daunted by this reverse, Ranjit Singh, the then\nruler of that bold tribe the Jats, advanced upon the capital, and\noccupied Sikandrabad with 10,000 horse. The forces left in Dehli\nconsisted of but 5,000 horse and two battalions of sepoys; but\nthey sufficed to expel the intruder. He shortly afterwards,\nhowever, returned, reinforced by the regulars and guns under\nSumroo; but by this time the Mirza was returned from Rohilkand,\nand after the rains of 1774, marched against them, aided by a\nchief from Hariana, named after himself Najaf Kuli Khan, who\nbrought into the field some 10,000 troops. This man, who was a\ngood soldier and a faithful follower of the minister, was a\nconverted Hindu, of the Rathur tribe; a native of the Bikanir\ncountry bordering on Rajputana Proper to the south, and to the\nnorth on Hariana and other states immediately surrounding the\nmetropolis. Having been in service at Allahabad, under the father\nof Mohammad Kuli, the connection and early patron of the Mirza,\nhe became a Mohammadan under the sponsorship of the latter, and\never after continued a member of his household. At the time of\nwhich I write, he had been appointed to the charge of districts\nreturning twenty lakhs a year, with the title of Saif-ud-daulah.\n\nThe departure of the Mirza for this campaign was extremely\nagreeable to the Diwan, Majad-ud-daulah, for he never lost an\nopportunity of prejudicing the Emperor's mind against this\npowerful rival, in whose recent appointment to the office of Naib\nVazir, moreover, he had found a special disappointment. Indeed,\nShah Alam, between these two ministers, was like the hero of\nmedi¾val legend between his good and evil angels; only differing\nin this, that in his case the good influence was also, to a great\nextent, the most powerful. What the wily Kashmirian might have\ndone in the way of supplanting the Mirza, if the latter had been\nsignally worsted, and he himself had been otherwise fortunate,\ncannot now be certainly conjectured, for a fresh revolt of\nZabita's summoned the Diwan to the northward, whilst his rival\nwas successfully engaged with the Jats. In this expedition\nMajad-ud-daulah displayed a great want of spirit and of skill, so\nthat Zabita became once more extremely formidable. Fortunately at\nthis crisis Dehli was visited by an envoy, soliciting investiture\nfor the new Viceroy of Audh, Asaf-ud-daulah. Accompanying the\nembassy was a force of 5,000 good troops, with a train of\nartillery, the whole under command of the deceased Shujaa's\nfavourite general, Latafat Khan. This timely reinforcement saved\nthe metropolis, and allowed of a settlement being made with the\nincorrigible Zabita, which preserved, to some extent at least,\nthe dignity of the Government (Vide next chapter).\n\nMeanwhile the Imperialists had found the Jats, under their\nchieftain, intrenched near Hodal, a town sixty miles from Dehli,\non the Mathra road. Dislodged from this, they fell back a few\nmiles, and again took up a position in a fortified village called\nKotban, where the Mirza endeavoured to blockade them. After\namusing him with skirmishes for about a fortnight, they again\nfell back on Dig, a stronghold, to become the scene of still more\nimportant events a few years later. Dig — the name is perhaps a\ncorruption of some such word as Dirajgarh — is a strong fort,\nwith a beautiful palace and pleasure-grounds adjoining, on the\nshores of an artificial lake, fed by the drainage of part of the\nAlwar Highlands. Observing that the sallies of the Jats had\nceased, the Mirza left their camp at Dig in his rear, and marched\nto Barsana, where a pitched battle was fought.\n\n1775. — The van of the Imperialists was commanded by Najaf Kuli.\nIn the centre of the main line was the Mirza himself, with\nbattalions of sepoys and artillery, under officers trained by the\nEnglish in Bengal, on the two wings. In the rear was the Moghul\ncavalry. The enemy's regular infantry — 5,000 strong, and led by\nSumroo — advanced to the attack, covered by clouds of Jat\nskirmishers, and supported by a heavy cannonade, to which the\nMirza's artillery briskly replied, but from which he lost several\nof his best officers and himself received a wound. A momentary\nconfusion ensued; but the Mirza, fervently invoking the God of\nIslam, presently charged the Jats at the head of the Moghul\nhorse, who were, it will be remembered, his personal followers.\nNajaf Kuli, accompanied by the regular infantry, following at the\ndouble, the Jats were broken; and the resistance of Sumroo's\nbattalions only sufficed to cover the rout of the rest of the\narmy, and preserve some appearance of order as he too retreated,\nthough in somewhat better order, towards Dig. An immense quantity\nof plunder fell into the hands of the victors, who soon reduced\nthe open country, and closely invested the beaten army. Such,\nhowever, was the store of grain in the Fort of Dig, that the\nstrictest blockade proved fruitless for a twelvemonth; nor was\nthe Fort finally reduced till the end of March, 1776, when the\ngarrison found means — not improbably by connivance — to escape\nto the neighbouring castle of Kumbhair with portable property on\nelephants. The rest of the Thakur's wealth was seized by the\nvictors — his silver plate, his stately equipages and\nparaphernalia, and his military chest, containing six lakhs of\nrupees — which may perhaps be regarded as not very inferior, in\nrelative value, to a quarter of a million sterling of our modern\nmoney.\n\nIn the midst of these successes, and whilst he was occupied in\nsettling the conquered country, the Mirza received intelligence\nfrom Court that Zabita Khan, emboldened by his easy triumph over\nthe Diwan, Majad-ud-daulah (Abdul Ahid Khan), had taken into his\npay a large body of Sikhs, with whom he was about to march upon\nthe metropolis.\n\nThe enterprising minister returned at once to Dehli, where he was\nreceived with high outward honour. He was, on this occasion,\nattended by the condottiere Sumroo, who, in his usual fashion,\nhad transferred his battalions to the strongest side soon after\nthe battle of Barsana. Sumroo's original patron, Mir Kasim, died\nabout the same time, in the neighbourhood of Dehli, where he had\nsettled, after years of skulking and misery, in the vain hope of\nobtaining employment in the Imperial service. The date of his\ndeath is given by Broome (Hist. of Beng. Army, p. 467) as 6th\ndune, 1777: it is added that his last shawl was sold to pay for a\nwinding-sheet, and that his family were plundered of the last\nwreck of their possessions. But the detail of this year's events\nand their consequences requires a fresh chapter.\n\n\n\nNOTE—The following is the text of the supplemental treaty of\n1772, as given by Captain Hamilton. (The former portion having\nprovided in general terms for an alliance, offensive and\ndefensive.) \"The Vuzeer of the Empire shall establish the\nRohillas, obliging the Mahrattas to retire, either by peace or\nwar. If at any time they shall enter the country, their expulsion\nis the business of the Vuzeer. The Rohilla Sirdars, in\nconsequence of the above to agree to pay to the Vuzeer forty\nlakhs of rupees, in manner following — viz., ten lakhs, in\nspecie, and the remaining thirty lakhs in three years from the\nbeginning of the year 1180 Fussulee.\" Only redundant or\nunimportant phrases have been omitted: there is not a word of\npayment to the Mahrattas. The contention that the Vazir of Oudh\nwas only surety for the payment to the Mahrattas is not very\npertinent. For the Mahrattas did not quit Rohilcand till the\nVazir expelled them, and the money was not paid. But, as we have\nseen, the gloss is unsupported. Besides Hamilton,\nTarikh-i-Mozafari and Francklin's \"Shah Alum\" have been the chief\nauthorities for this chapter.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nA.D. 1776-85.\n\n\n\nVigour of Mirza Najaf — Zabita rebels — Emperor takes the Field,\nand the Rebellion is suppressed — Sumroo's Jaigir — Abdul Ahid\ntakes the Field — Unsuccessful Campaign against the Sikhs — Dehli\nthreatened, but relieved by Najaf — Mirza's arrangements — Popham\ntakes Gwalior — Begum Sumroo — Death of Mirza Najaf — Consequent\nTransactions — Afrasyab Khan becomes Premier — Mirza Shaffi\nreturns to Dehli — Is it Peace? — Murder of Shaffi — Action of\nMr. Hastings — Flight of Shahzada — Madhoji Sindhia goes to Agra\n— Afrasyab's Death — Tribute claimed from British — Death of\nZabita Khan — Sindhia supreme — Chalisa famine — State of Country\n— General distress.\n\n\n\n1776. — THE splendid exertions of Mirza Najaf, though not yet at\nan end, might have been expected to give the Empire a\nbreathing-time wherein to recover its strength. If we except the\nBritish in Bengal, it was now the most formidable military power\non this side of India. No more than three fortified places\nremained to the Jats of all their once vast possessions. The\nMahrattas had been occupied in the Deccan by the events that\nfollowed upon the death of their Peshwa, Madho Rao; and the whole\nof their forces were temporarily withdrawn during the course of\nthe year, by order of his successor. Najaf held viceregal state\nat Agra, surrounded not only by his faithful Moghuls and\nPersians, but by two brigades of foot and artillery, under the\ncommand, respectively, of Sumroo and of Medoc. The Mirza's chief\nAsiatic subordinates were Najaf Kuli Khan his adopted son, the\nconverted Hindu, otherwise Saif-ud-daulah; and Mohammad Beg of\nHamadan: two officers of whom frequent mention will be found in\nthe progress of this narrative. Mirza Shaffi, the minister's\nnephew, also held a high command. Shah Alam lived the life of\nease which had become a second nature to him, at Dehli,\nsurrounded by able servants of the Mirza's selection. One of\nthese, indeed, soon obtained an apparent ascendancy over the\nindolent monarch, which was destined to afford another instance\nof the wisdom of that maxim invented of old in the East, \"Put not\nyour trust in Princes.\" The only enemy who could disturb the\nrepose of what may be termed the Home Districts was Zabita Khan,\nwho still exhibited all the faithlessness so common with his\nrace, and a turbulent disposition peculiar to himself. Finding\nall present hope of aid from the Jats and Mahrattas at an end\n(and instigated, it was suspected, by his late unsuccessful\nopponent, the Financial Minister, Abdul Ahlid Khan), Zabita, as\nstated at the close of the preceding chapter, turned to the\nSikhs: a people who, in the decay of the Empire, had established\nthemselves in the Sirhind territory, notably in Pattiala, and in\nJhind. These pushing warriors — of whose prowess, both against\nand for the British, modern history tells so much — gladly\naccepted the invitation of the Pathan insurgent, and, crossing\nthe Jamna in considerable numbers, joined his force at Ghausgarh,\nthe fort between Saharanpur and Muzafarnagar, of which mention\nhas been already made. It is even stated by Francklin (though, as\nusual, without specification of authority) that the Pathan on\nthis occasion embraced the religion of the Sikhs, a sort of\neclectic Monotheism tinctured with Hindu doctrine.\n\n1777. — This conduct was justly regarded by the Mirza as a gross\ninstance, not merely of disloyalty, but — what in his eyes was\neven worse — of impiety. In the opinion of a stern soldier of\nIslam, such as the Persian Prince had always shown himself to be,\nthe act of joining with unbelievers was unpardonable. He\ntherefore despatched a strong force against the combined rebels,\nunder the command of an officer named Abdul Kasim Khan. Nothing\ndaunted, the Confederates drew out their troops in front of the\nfort of Ghausgarh, and at once engaged the Imperial troops, whom\nthey at the same time outflanked with a large body of horse, who\ngot into the rear of the Imperialists without being perceived.\nPlaced between two attacks, and deprived of their leader by a\nstray shot, the latter soon gave way, and Zabita, having pursued\nthem for some distance, returned to his stronghold triumphant. On\nthis Mirza Najaf Khan resolved to take the field with all his\npower, and ere long presented himself before Ghausgarh,\naccompanied by the Emperor in person. The Mirza was aided in this\ncampaign by the force of 5,000 men, with artillery, contributed\nby the new Viceroy of Audh, as part of the peshkash, or fine for\nthe investiture, and for the succession to the office of Vazir of\nthe Empire, which had been held by his father, and which he\ndesired to retain against the counter-claims of the Nizam and of\nother competitors. (Vide last chapter, p. 115.) The Pathan had,\nhowever, evacuated the fort on receiving notice of their\napproach, and retreated with his allies to their country beyond\nthe Jamna, closely followed by the Imperial forces. An attempt at\nnegotiation having been contemptuously rejected by the\nCaptain-General, Mirza Najaf Khan, the two armies engaged on the\nfamous field of Panipat, and the action which ensued is described\n(with manifest exaggeration) as having been only less terrible\nthan the last that was fought on the same historic ground,\nbetween the Mahrattas and the Musalmans, in 1761. Beyond this the\nnative historians give no particulars of the battle, which raged\ntill night, and with not unequal fortunes, if we may judge from\nthe result — for on the following morning Zabita Khan's renewed\napplications to treat were favourably received; on which occasion\nhis estates were restored, and a double matrimonial alliance\nconcluded. The Mirza himself condescended to take the Pathan's\nsister as his wife, while his godson (so to speak), Najaf Kuli,\nwas promised the hand of Zabita's daughter. The pardon of this\nrestless rebel was attributed to the intercession of Latafat, the\nGeneral of the Audh Vazir, who is said to have had a large bribe\non the occasion. (Francklin, chap. Y.)\n\nPeace being thus restored to Hindustan, the Minister revisited\nAgra, where he proceeded to provide for the administration of the\ncountry.\n\nThe English sought his alliance; but the negotiation failed\nbecause he would not surrender Sumroo. Asaf-ud-daulah, Viceroy of\nAudh, was recognized as titular Vazir; a trustworthy chief,\nMaulah Ahmad Dad, was appointed to the charge of Sirhind; Najaf\nKuli Khan held the vast tract extending from that frontier to the\nborders of Rajputana; and Sumroo was placed in charge of the\ncountry adjoining Zabita Khan's lands, in the centre of which he\nfixed his capital at Sardhana, long destined to remain in the\npossession of his family, and where a country house and park,\nfamiliar to the English residents at Meerut, still belong to the\nwidow of his last descendant. This territory, nominally assigned\nfor the maintenance of the troops under the adventurer's command,\nwas valued in those days at six laths of rupees annually; so that\nthe blood-stained miscreant, whose saturnine manners had given\nhim a bad name, even among the rough Europeans of the Company's\nbattalion, found his career of crime rewarded by an income\ncorresponding to that of many such petty sovereigns as those of\nhis native country.\n\n1778. — The beginning of this year was marked by a bloodless\ncampaign, to which Majad-ud-daulah led the Emperor. The Rajputs\nwere the object of the attack, and they were rigorously mulcted.\nThe Mirza's personal share in this matter was confined to that of\na peacemaker. He probably disapproved of the campaign, which had\nbeen undertaken in a spirit of rivalry to himself; and by\nobtaining terms for the Rajputs he made new ties while displaying\nhis own power. He accompanied the return of the expedition to\nDehli, where his daughter was married to Najaf Kuli in the\npresence of the Emperor.\n\nMirza Najaf Khan then departed once more to Agra, the seat of his\nadministration and his favourite abode. But his repose was not of\nlong continuance, and he was soon called upon for fresh\nexertions; the Sikhs having risen against Maulah Ahmad Dad, the\nFaujdar of Sirhind, whom they defeated and slew. On the receipt\nof this intelligence the Emperor had deputed Abdul Ahid Khan —\nknown to us by his title of Nawab Majad-ud-daulah — with an army\nnominally under the command of one of the Imperial Princes, to\nindict signal chastisement upon obstinate offenders. If the\nsurmise of the native historians be correct — that Abdul Ahid\nKhan had been privy to the late combination between the Sikhs and\nZabita Khan against Mirza Najaf — the fact of his being sent\nagainst them, without any objection from so wise and loyal a\nminister as the Mirza, can only be accounted for by citing it as\na proof of the peculiar danger to which great men are exposed,\nunder an Eastern despotism, of reposing their confidence in\nsecret enemies. That Abdul Ahid was even then plotting against\nhis patron will be seen to be likely from his subsequent conduct,\nand certainly derives no confutation from the circumstance of his\nbeing a native of Kashmir, a country the faithlessness of whose\ninhabitants is proverbial, even in Indian story.\n\nThe Prince, whose standard was the rallying point of the army, is\nvariously named as Jawan Bakht, Farkhanda Bakht, and Akbar; the\nformer being the name of the Prince whom we saw acting as Regent\nduring the Emperor's residence under English protection at\nAllahabad, the later that of the future successor to the titular\nEmpire. Whoever it may have been, the outset of the expedition\npromised him success, if not distinction. The Imperial host,\n20,000 strong and with an efficient park of artillery. came in\ncontact with the enemy at Karnal; but Majad-ud-daulah preferred\nnegotiation to fighting, and induced the Sikhs to pay down a sum\nof three lakhs, and pledge themselves to the payment of an annual\ntribute. Joining the Sikh forces to his own, the Majad-ud-daulah\nnext proceeded northwards, but was brought to a check at Pattiala\nby Amar Singh, the Jat chief of that state. Here fresh\nnegotiations ensued, in which the perfidious Kashmirian is said\nto have offered to allay himself with the Sikhs for the\ndestruction of Mirza Najaf Khan, on condition of being supported\nby them in his endeavours to be made Prime Minister in the room\nof that statesman. Whether the Jat leader had profited by the\nlesson lately read to his brethren of Bhartpur, or whether he was\nmerely actuated by a desire to try conclusions with the\nKashmirian, having penetrated the cowardice of his character, is\nmatter for conjecture. Whatever the intrigue may have been, it\nwas soon frustrated. A large Sikh reinforcement profited by the\ntime gained in the negotiation to advance from Lahor; the Karnal\nforce deserted the Imperial camp, and a general onset was made\nupon it the following morning. Led by a half-hearted commander\nand an inexperienced Prince, the Imperialists offered but a faint\nresistance; but their retreat was covered by the artillery, and\nthey contrived to escape without suffering much in the pursuit,\nand indeed without being very closely followed up. It is\ninteresting to observe, among the names of the Sikh Sirdars, who\nplayed this game of \"diamond cut diamond\" with the Kashmirian,\nthat of Ranjit Singh, afterwards the wily Egbert of the Panjab\nHeptarchy, and the firm friend of Britain for nearly forty years.\n\nThis disastrous campaign occurred in the cold weather of 1778-79,\nand the victorious Panjabis poured into the Upper Doab, which\nthey forthwith began to plunder.\n\n1779. — Meanwhile, Mirza Najaf Khan remained in contemptuous\nrepose at Agra, only interrupted by a short and successful dash\nat some Rajput malcontents, who had been stirred up, it is\nthought, at the instigation of his rival Majad-ud-daulah. That\ninefficient but unscrupulous intriguer is also shown by Captain\nGrant Duff to have been at the same time engaged in a\ncorrespondence with Madhoji Sindhia, in view to joining, when\nonce he should have gained possession of the power of the Empire,\nin an attack on the British Provinces. Duff gives this story on\nthe authority of Sindhia's own letters, which that chief's\ngrandson had placed in his hands; but he does not say whether the\nfickle Emperor was or was not a party to this iniquitous\nconspiracy for the ruin of his faithful servant and his\nlong-established friends.\n\nCertain it is that Sindhia was at that time very far from the\nstatesmanlike views and reasonable aims which he ultimately\nadopted. Towards the close of the year, indeed, he took the\nill-judged step of joining with Haidar Ali and the Nizam with the\nobject of expelling the British from every part of the Indian\nContinent. But Mr. Hastings soon disturbed the plans of the\nconfederates and ere long rendered them hopeless. Some were\nconquered by force of arms, others were conciliated; and Sindhia\nin particular, received a lesson which made upon his sagacious\nmind a permanent impression.\n\n1780. — There was, in the country now known as Dholpur, between\nAgra and Gwalior, a local Jat landholder who had in the decay of\nthe Empire followed the example of Suraj Mal (of Bhurtpore) and\nassumed independence. In 1771, when Shah Alam was returning to\nthe throne of his ancestors, Chatr Singh, the then Zemindar,\nadvanced money to the Treasury, and was soon after created a peer\nby the title of Maharaj Rana. Henceforth he figures in history as\nthe \"Rana of Gohad.\" Having a hereditary feud against the\nMahrattas and a hereditary claim, such as it was, to the fortress\nof Gwalior, then in Sindhia's hands, he seemed to Hastings a\nuseful instrument for causing a diversion. Major Popham, one of\nthe best of the local officers, was accordingly sent to assist\nthe Rana and stir up a confederation of Jat and Rajput powers to\naid against the Musalman-Mahratta alliance by which British\ninterests were threatened. The situation of the fort of Gwalior\non a scarped and isolated rock over 200 feet high, need not here\nbe more than mentioned; the manner of its capture, however,\ncannot be too often referred to as an instance of what resolution\nand conduct can effect in Asiatic warfare. Having prepared\nscaling ladders in such secrecy that even his European officers\nwere ignorant of what was being done or planned, Popham sent a\nstorming party of sepoys, backed by twenty Europeans, to a place\nat the foot of the rock pointed out to him by some thieves. It\nwas the night of the 3rd August, 1780, and the party, under the\ncommand of Captain Bruce, were shod with cotton to render their\napproach inaudible. The enemies' rounds were passing as they came\nnear the spot; so the assaulting column lay down and waited until\nthe lights and voices had ceased; then the ladders were placed\nagainst the cliff, and one of the robber guides mounting returned\nwith intelligence that the guard had gone to sleep. The next\nmoment the first ladder was mounted by Lieutenant Cameron, the\nengineer officer, and the others followed in silence, Captain\nBruce having reached the rampart with twenty sepoys, a scuffle\nensued which lasted till Popham arrived with the Europeans and\nmade good the entrance. Thus was this strong place captured, and\nwithout the loss of one single life on the British side. The fort\nwas made over to the Rana, but he did not long retain it, Sindhia\nhaving recaptured it. He soon afterwards took Gohad also (1784),\nand the descendants of the Jat chief are now known as Ranas of\nDholpur.\n\nWe have seen how marked a feature of the Emperor's character was\nhis inability to resist the pertinacious counsels of an adviser\nwith whom he was in constant intercourse; and it is certain that\nhe gave Majad-ud-daulah all the support which his broken power\nand enfeebled will enabled him to afford.\n\nBut the danger was now too close and too vast to allow of further\nweakness. The Emperor's eyes seem to have been first opened by\nhis army's evident confusion, as it returned to Dehli, and by the\nprevaricating reports and explanations which he received from its\ncommander. If Mirza Jawan Bakht was the prince who had\naccompanied the ill-stared expedition, we know enough of his\nprudence and loyalty to be sure that he would have done all in\nhis power to make his father see the matter in its true light;\nand what was wanting to his firm but dutiful remonstrances, would\nbe supplied by the cries of fugitive villagers and the smoke of\nplundered towns.\n\nNajaf Khan was urgently summoned from Agra, and obeyed the call\nwith an alacrity inspired by his loyal heart, and perhaps also by\na dignified desire for redress. As he approached the capita], he\nwas met by the Prince and the baffled Kashmirian. To the former\nhe was respectful, but the latter he instantly placed under\narrest, and sent back under a strong guard. The fallen Minister\nwas confined, but in his own house; and the Mirza, on reaching\nDehli, confiscated, on behalf of the Imperial treasury, his\nwealth, stated to have amounted to the large sum (for those days)\nof twenty lakhs, reserving nothing for himself but some books and\na medicine chest. This was the second time he had triumphed over\nan unworthy rival, and signalized his own noble temper by so\nblending mercy with justice as has seldom been done by persons\nsituated as he was. Abdul Ahid Khan — or Majad-ud-daulah — was a\n<DW2>, very delicate in his habits, and a curiosity-seeker in the\nway of food and physic. It is said by the natives that he always\nhad his table-rice from Kashmir, and knew by the taste whether it\nwas from the right field or not.\n\nFully restored to the Imperial favour, the Mirza lost no time in\nobeying the pressing behests of his Sovereign, and sending an\nadequate force under his nephew, Mirza Shafi, to check the\ninvaders. Their army, which had been collected to meet the\nImperialists, drew up and gave battle near Meerut, within forty\nmiles of the metropolis; but their unskilled energy proved no\nmatch for the resolution of the Moghul veterans, and for the\ndisciplined valour of the Europeanized battalions. The Sikhs were\ndefeated with the loss of their leader and 5,000 men, and at once\nevacuated the country.\n\n1780. — It cannot have escaped notice we have been here reviewing\nthe career of one whose talents and virtues merited a nobler\narena than that on which they were displayed, and who would have\nindeed distinguished himself in any age and country. Profiting by\nexperience, the successful Minister did not repeat the former\nblunder of retiring to Agra, where, moreover, his presence was no\nlonger required; but continued for the brief remainder of his\nlife to reside in the metropolis, and enjoy the fruit of his\nlaborious career in the administration of the Empire, to which he\nhad restored something of its old importance. Mirza Shafi\ncommanded the army in the field; while Mohammad Beg, of Hamadan,\nwas Governor of the Fort and District of Agra. Najaf Khan himself\nwas appointed Amir-ul-Umra (Premier Noble); his title, as it had\nlong been, was Zulfikar-ud-daulah — \"Sword of State.\"\n\nI have not thought it necessary to interrupt the narrative of the\nMirza's successes by stopping to notice the death of Sumroo. This\nevent occurred at Agra on the 4th of May, 1778, as appears from\nthe Portuguese inscription upon his tombstone there. He appears\nto have been a man without one redeeming quality —\"stern and\nbloody-minded, in no degree remarkable for fidelity or devotion\nto his employers\" — the one essential virtue of a free lance.\nThis character is cited from the memoirs of Skinner, where it is\nalso added that he cannot have been devoid of those qualities\nwhich attach the soldiery to their officer. But even this becomes\ndoubtful, when we find the late Sir W. Sleeman (who was in the\nhabit of moving about among the natives, and is an excellent\nauthority on matters of tradition), asserting that he was\nconstantly under arrest, threatened, tortured, and in danger at\nthe hands of his men.\n\nThe force was maintained by his widow, and she was accordingly\nput in charge of the lands which he had held for the same\npurpose.\n\nThis remarkable woman was the daughter (by a concubine) of a\nMohamadan of Arab descent, settled in the town of Kotana, a small\nplace about thirty miles north-west of Meerut, and born about\n1753. On the death of her father, she and her mother became\nsubject to ill-treatment from her half-brother the legitimate\nheir; and they consequently removed to Dehli about 1760. It is\nnot certain when she first entered the family of Sumroo, but she\ndid not become his wife till some time afterwards. It has even\nbeen doubted if any formal marriage-ceremony ever took place, for\nSumroo had a wife living, though insane; and the fact was\nprobably sufficiently notorious to prevent any Catholic clergyman\nin that part of the country from celebrating a bigamous alliance\nwith the rites of the Church.\n\n1781 .— At his death he left a son, baptized as \"Aloysius,\" who\nwas still in his minority; and the Minister, observing the\nBegum's abilities, saw fit to place her in charge, as has been\nalready said. The ultimate result amply justified his choice. In\n1781 — under what influence is not recorded — she embraced\nChristianity, and was baptized, according to the ritual of the\nLatin Church, by the name of Johanna. Her army is stated to have\nconsisted, at this time, of five battalions of Sepoys, about 300\nEuropeans, officers and gunners, with 40 pieces of cannon, and a\nbody of Moghul horse. She founded a Christian Mission, which grew\nby degrees into a convent, a cathedral, and a college; and to\nthis day there are some 1,500 native and Anglo-Indian Christians\nresident at Sardhana.\n\n1782. - On the 26th April died Mirza Najaf Khan, after a\nresidence in India of about forty-two years, so that he must have\nbeen aged at least sixty. He appears to have been an even greater\nand better man than his predecessor, Najib-ud-daulah, over whom\nhe had the advantage in point of blood, being at once a\ndescendant of the Arabian prophet, and a member of the Saffavi\nhouse, which had been removed from the throne of Persia by the\nusurpation of Nadir Shah. Captain Scott — who was a good scholar\nand well acquainted with Native politics, as Persian Secretary to\nthe Governor-General of British India — records of the Mirza that\nno one left his presence dissatisfied. If he could grant a\nrequest he would, and that with a grace as if it pleased him; if\nhe could not, he could always convince the petitioner of his\nsorrow at being obliged to refuse. The faulty side of him appears\nto have been a love of money, and (towards the last part of his\nlife, at least,) of pleasure. It will be seen in the sequel how\nsoon his gains were dissipated, and his house overthrown. At his\ndeath he wielded all the power of the Empire which his energies\nand virtues had restored. He was Deputy Vazir of the absentee\nViceroy of Audh, and Commander-in-Chief of the army. He held the\ndirect civil administration, with receipt of the surplus\nrevenues, agreeably to Eastern usages, of the province of Agra\nand the Jat territories, together with the district of Alwar to\nthe south-west and those portions of the Upper Doab which he had\nnot alienated in Jaidad. But he died without issue, and the\ndivision of his offices and his estates became the subject of\nspeedy contests, which finally overthrew the last fragments of\nMoghul dominion or independence. The following notice of these\ntransactions is chiefly founded on a Memorial, drawn up and\nsubmitted to the British Governor at Lucknow in 1784, by the\nShahzada Jawan Bakht, of whom mention has been already made more\nthan once, and who had, for the ten years preceding the Emperor's\nreturn to Dehli, in '71, held the Regency under the title of\nJahandar Shah. After referring to the fact that Majad-ud-daulah\n(the title, it may be remembered, of Abdul Ahid Khan) had been\nand still was in custody, but that an equerry of the Emperor's\nprocured the issue of patents confirming existing appointments,\nthe Prince proceeds, — \"The morning after the Mirza's death, I\nsaw the attendants on His Majesty were consulting to send some\npersons to the house of the deceased, in order to calm\ndisturbances; and at last the Wisdom enlightening the world\nresolved on deputing me to effect that object. [I] having\ndeparted with all speed, and given assurances to the afflicted,\nthe friends of the departed had leisure to wash and dress the\nbody, and the clamour began to cease. After necessary\npreparation, I attended the corpse to the Masjid, and the rites\nof Islam having been performed, sent it to the place of\ninterment, under the care of Afrasyab Khan, who was the\ncherished-in-the- bosom\" (adopted) \"son\" of the noble deceased;\nwhose sister also regarded him as her adopted son.\n\n\"Afrasyab Khan soon became ambitious of the dignities and\npossessions of the deceased, and the Begam (deceased's sister)\npetitioned his Majesty in his favour, with earnest entreaty; but\nthis proved disagreeable to the far-extending sight of the royal\nWisdom, as Mirza Shaffi Khan, who had a great army and\nconsiderable resources, looked to the succession, and would never\nagree to be superseded in this manner, so that contentions would\nnecessarily ensue.\" There can be no doubt of the correctness of\nShah Alam's views. Mirza Shaffi was the nearest relative of the\ndeceased, and in actual possession of the command of the army. He\nwas thus not merely the most eligible claimant, but the best able\nto support his claims. But the Emperor — never, as we have seen,\na man of much determination — was now enfeebled by years and by a\nhabit of giving way to importunity.\n\n\"Instigated,\" proceeds Jawan Bakht, \"by female obstinacy, the\nBegam would not withdraw her request, and her petition was at\nlength, though reluctantly, honoured with compliance. The khillat\nof Amir-ul-Omra and acting Minister was conferred upon Afrasyab\nby his Majesty, who directed this menial (though he [the writer]\nwas sensible of the ill-promise of the measure) to write to Mirza\nShaffi to hasten to the presence.\"\n\nIt is not quite clear whether the measure, to which this\nparenthesis represents the prince as objecting, was the\nappointment of Afrasyab, or the summons to the Mirza. He was\nevidently opposed to the former, who was a weak young man, devoid\nof resources either mental or material. On the other hand, his\nown matured good sense should have shown him that no good\nconsequences could follow the temporizing policy which brought\nthe rivals face to face at Court. Afrasyab's first measure was to\nrelease the Kashmirian Ex-Minister Majad-ud-daulah (Abdul Ahid\nKhan) from arrest, and by his recommendation this foolish and\nnotorious traitor was once more received into the Imperial\nfavour. In the meanwhile, Mirza Shaffi arrived at Dehli, and took\nup his quarters in the house of his deceased uncle, whose widow\nhe conciliated by promising to marry her daughter, his first\ncousin. A period of confusion ensued, which ended for the time in\nthe resignation of Afrasyab, who retired to his estate at Ajhir,\nleaving his interests at Court to be attended to by\nMajad-ud-daulah and by the converted Rajput Najaf Kuli. Shortly!\nafter his departure, Mirza Shaffi surrounded the houses of these\nagents, and arrested Majad-ud-daulah on the 11th September, 1782,\nand the Rajput on the following day, confining them in his aunt's\nhouse under his own eye. The Prince upon this received orders to\nnegotiate with the Mizra, who was appointed to the office he had\nbeen so long endeavouring to compass. But Afrasyab Khan, his\nabsent competitor, had still allies at Court, and they succeeded\nin bringing over to his cause M. Paoli, the commander of Begam\nSumroo's Brigade, together with Latafat Khan, commandant of the\nbattalions that had been detached to the Imperial service by the\nViceroy of Audh. This took place a few days only after the arrest\nof the agents, and was almost immediately followed by the\ndesertion from Mirza Shaffi of the bulk of the army. The Emperor\nput himself at the head of the troops, and proceeded to the\nMinister's house. Finding the premises had been evacuated the\nShah marched in triumph — not quite after the magnificent fashion\nof his ancestors — to the Jamma Masjid, and Mirza Shaffi fled to\nKosi, in the vicinity of Mathra, acting by the advice of the\nprince, as the latter informs us. The army did not pursue the\nfugitive, and the latter enlarged Majad-ud-daulah, who promised\nto intercede for him with the Emperor, and also made a friend in\nMohamad Beg of Hamadan, whom we have already met with as Governor\nof Agra.\n\n1783. — While the Moghuls were disturbing and weakening the\nempire by these imbecile contentions, Madhoji Sindhia, the Patel,\nwas hovering afar off, like an eagle on the day of battle. His\nposition had just been greatly improved by the treaty of Salbai,\nan arrangement which was probably the result of the spirited\npolicy pursued by Hastings, of which the storming of Gwalior was\na specimen. Coote and Stuart too, in Madras, and Goddard in the\nDeccan, struck repeated blows at the confederacy. Peace, too, was\nconcluded between the French and English in India as in Europe.\nSindhia was one of the first to submit, and in 1782 acceded to\nthat famous instrument, in which the British authorities had\nrecognized him as the representative chief of the Mahrattas, the\nPeshwa being still a minor, and the ostensible head of the\nRegency, Nana Farnavis, being a mere civilian, though otherwise\nan able man. The British Governor-General also, naturally alarmed\nat what was going on, and foreseeing danger from the\ninterposition of the Mahrattas, with whom his Government had,\ntill lately, been engaged in a deadly conflict, soon after sent\ntwo officers to the Imperial Court, being the first English\nEmbassy that had visited the city of the Moghul since the\nmemorable deputation from the infant Factory to the throne of\nFarokhsiar.\n\nBut before these officials could arrive, further complications\nhad occurred; Mirza Shaffi returning to Dehli, in company with\nMohamad Beg, requested that his new opponents, Paoli and Latafat,\nmight be sent to them with authority to treat, and the\napplication was granted, much against the advice of the prince,\nwho tells us that he proposed either that an immediate attack\nshould be made upon the rebels before they had time to\nconsolidate their power, or else that they should be summoned to\nthe presence, and made to state their wishes there. To the envoys\nelect, he observed that, even were the concession made of sending\na deputation to treat with refractory subjects, he would advise\nthat only one should go at a time. \"But,\" he continues, \"as the\ndesigns of Providence had weakened the ears of their\nunderstandings, an interview appeared to them most advisable; - a\nmutual suspicion rendering each unwilling that one should go and\nthe other remain in camp, lest he who went should make his own\nterms without the other.\" What a glimpse this gives of the\ndissolution of all that we are accustomed to call society! The\ntwo envoys set out, but never returned: like the emissaries sent\nto the Jewish captain, as he drove furiously along the plain of\nEsdraelon to ask, Is it peace? The European was slain at once,\nthe Audh general being imprisoned and deprived of sight. Mirza\nShaffi and Mohamad Beg next began to quarrel with each other. The\nEmperor was now much perplexed, but matters were arranged for the\ntime through the instrumentality of the prince and by the return\nof Afrasyab, who became reconciled to his late competitor. The\nthree nobles were presented with khillats (dresses of honour) and\nMirza Shaffi became Premier, under the title of Amir-ul-Umra,\nwhile Majad-ud-daulah reverted to his ancient post of Intendant\nof the Home Revenues. We pursue the prince's narrative.\n\n\"It was at this period that much anxiety and melancholy intruding\non the sacred mind of his Majesty, the Asylum of the World, and\nalso on the breast of this loyal servant,\" their attention was\nturned towards the English alliance, which had been in abeyance\nfor some years. On the 23rd of September, 1783, Mirza Shaffi, who\nhad been to Agra, was shut out from the palace on his return,\nprobably owing to Afrasyab Khan's renewed desire to obtain the\nchief place in the State. On this the Mirza retired to Agra\nagain, and naturally adopted a hostile attitude, an emissary was\nsent forth to treat with him, in the person of Mohamad Beg\nHamadani. The meeting took place in the open air in front of the\nmain gate of the old Fort of Agra; and when the elephants, upon\nwhich the two noblemen were seated, drew near to each other, the\nMirza held out his hand in greeting, when Mohamed Beg at once\nseized the opportunity, and pistolled him under the arm. It is\nasserted, indeed, by some that the actual crime was perpetrated\nby the attendant who occupied the back seat of the howdah;\npossibly Ismail Beg Khan, nephew of the Hamadani.\n\nAfrasyab, who had instigated this murder, profited by it, and\nsucceeded to the post of his ambition, while the mind of the\nprince became still more anxious, and still more bent upon\nopening his case, if possible, in a personal interview with the\nEnglish Governor.\n\nMeanwhile, the envoys of the latter were not less urgent on their\nemployer to support the Emperor with an army. \"The business of\nassisting the Shah\" — thus they wrote in December, 1783 — \"must\ngo on if we wish to be secure in India, or regarded as a nation\nof faith and honour.\" Mr. Hastings was not deaf to these\nconsiderations, and subsequent events proved their entire\nsoundness. He desired to sustain the authority of the Empire,\nbecause he foresaw nothing from its dissolution but an\nalternative between Chaos and the Mahrattas; and, but for the\nopposition of his council in Calcutta, he would have interposed,\nand interposed after his fashion, with effect. Yet his not doing\nso was afterwards made the ground of one of the charges (No. 18)\nagainst him, and he was accused of having intrigued in the\ninterest of Madhoji Sindhia, the Patel. That Mr. Hastings, when\noverruled in his desire of anticipating Sindhia in Court\ninfluence at Dehli, preferred seeing the latter succeed, rather\nthan the Empire should fall a prey to complete anarchy; that he\n\"turned the circumstance to advantage\" — to use Grant Duff's\nphrase — was neither contrary to sound statesmanship, nor to the\nparticular views of the British Government, which was then\noccupied in completing the treaty of Salbai. Under this compact\nCentral India was pacified, and the Carnatic protected from the\nencroachments of the notorious Haidar Ali Khan, and his son, the\nequally famous Tippu Sahib. It is important here to observe that\nthe Calcutta Gazettes of the day contain several notices of the\nprogress of the Sikhs, and the feeble opposition offered to them\nby the courtiers. All these things called for prompt action.\n\n1781. — On the 27th March, the British Governor arrived at\nLucknow, and Jawan Bakht resolved to escape from the palace, and\nlay before him an account of Dehli politics, such as should\ninduce him to interpose. The design being communicated to his\nmaternal uncle, a body of Gujars, from the prince's estate, was\nposted on the opposite bank of the river, and everything fixed\nfor the 14th of April. About 8 P.M., having given out that he was\nindisposed, and on no account to be disturbed, the prince\ndisguised himself, and, secretly departing from his chamber in\nthe palace, passed from the roof of one building to the roof of\nanother, until he reached the aqueduct which crossed the garden\nof the palace. The night was stormy, and the prince was suffering\nfrom fever, but he found a breach where the canal issued, by\nwhich he got to the rampart of the Salimgarh. Here he descended\nby means of a rope, and joined his friends on the river sands;\nand, with a considerable mixture of audacity and address, found\nmeans to elude the sentries and get across the river. One trait\nis worth preserving, as illustrative of the characteristic\nclemency of the house of Timur. \"I believe,\" said the prince, in\ntalking of this night's adventure to Mr. Hastings, \"I ought to\nhave killed the guide who showed me where to ford the river; but\nmy conscience disapproved, and I let him go, preferring to trust\nmyself to the care of Providence. In effect, the man justified my\nsuspicions, for he instantly went to the nearest guard and gave\nhim information of my route, as I learned soon after; but I made\nsuch speed that my pursuers could not overtake me.\"\n\nHis Highness reached Lucknow, where he impressed all who met him\nwith a highly favourable opinion of his humanity, his\nintelligence, and his knowledge of affairs; but the only\nconsolation he received, either from the Viceroy or from Mr.\nHastings, hampered as the latter was by the opposition of his\ncouncil, was the advice to turn to Madhoji Sindhia. Captain\nJonathan Scott (who was on Hastings' staff) says that the prince\nreceived an allowance of £40,000 a year from the British\nGovernment (Scott's Ferishta, vol. ii. 242.)\n\nIn the meanwhile Mohamed Beg, who had returned to his old\nresidence at Agra, continued to trouble the repose of the new\nminister Afrasyab, so that he also turned to the redoubled Patel,\nand this successful soldier who had barely escaped\nfour-and-twenty years before from the slaughter of Panipat, now\nfound himself master of the situation. The movements of the\nMahratta chief began, indeed, to be all-important. They were thus\nnoticed in the Calcutta Gazette for 18th April: — \"We learn that\nSindhia is going on a hunting party. ... . We also learn that he\nwill march towards Bundelkund.\" He marched in the direction, as\nit proved, of Agra.\n\nHe sent an envoy to Lucknow to treat with the Governor-General,\nand proceeded in person to Hindustan, proposing to meet the\nEmperor, who was on his way to dislodge Mohamad Beg from the fort\nof Agra.\n\nThe Calcutta Gazette for May 10th says, \"His Majesty has\nsignified by letters to the Governor-General and Sindhia that he\nwill march towards Agra.\"\n\nThe Emperor's desire to put himself into the hands of Sindhia was\nvery much increased by the violent conduct of Afrasyab towards\none who, whatever his faults, had endeared himself, by long\nyears' association, to the facile monarch. Majad-ud-daulah, the\nFinance Minister, having attempted to dissuade his Majesty from\ngoing to Agra, the haughty Moghul sent Najaf Kuli Khan with a\nsufficient force to Majad's house, and seizing him, with the\nwhole of his property, kept him in close arrest, in which he\ncontinued for the most part till his death, in 1788.\n\nOn his arrival, Sindhia had an interview with Afrasyab Khan, at\nwhich it was agreed to concert a combined attack upon Mohamad Beg\nforthwith. Three days after, the minister was assassinated, viz.,\n2nd November, 1784. The actual hand that struck this blow was\nthat of Zain-ul-Abidin, brother of Mirza Shaffi, who, no doubt,\nwas not unwilling to have an opportunity of punishing the\nsupposed author of his uncle's murder; but there were not wanting\nthose who, on the well-known maxim, cui bono, attributed the\ninstigation to Sindhia. Francklin records, on the authority of\none Said Raza Khan, that Zain-ul-Abidin found shelter with\nSindhia immediately after the murder, which was effected in the\nvery tent of the victim. Rajah Himmat Bahadur (the Gosain leader)\nat once proceeded to Sindhia's tent, accompanied by the chief\nMoghul nobles, where all joined in congratulations and\nprofessions of service.\n\n1785 — The latter, at all events, immediately stepped into the\ndead man's shoes, leaving the title of Vazir to the Audh Viceroy;\nand contenting himself with the substance of authority. Calling\nthe Peshwa of Puna — the head of the Mahrattas — by the revived\ntitle of Plenipotentiary of the Empire, formerly borne (it may be\nremembered) by the first Nizam, he professed to administer as the\nPeshwa's deputy. He assumed with the command of the army, the\ndirect management of the provinces of Dehli and Agra, and\nallotted a monthly payment of sixty-five thousand rupees for the\npersonal expenses of Shah Alam. In order to meet these expenses,\nand at the same time to satisfy himself and reward his followers,\nthe Pate] had to cast about him for every available pecuniary\nresource. Warren Hastings having now left India, the time may\nhave been thought favourable for claiming some contribution from\nthe foreign possessors of the Eastern Subahs. Accordingly we find\nin the Calcutta Gazette the following notice, under the date\nThursday, 12th May, 1785: —\n\n\"We have authority to inform the public that on the 7th of this\nmonth the Governor-General received from the Emperor Shah Alam\nand Maha Rajah Madagee Sindia an official and solemn disavowal,\nunder their respective seals, of demands which were transmitted\nby them, on Mr. Macpherson's accession to the Government, for the\nformer tribute from Bengal.\n\n\"The demands of the tribute were transmitted through Major Brown,\nand made immediately upon his recall from the Court of Shah Alam,\nbut without any communication of the subject to Mr. Anderson.\n\n\"Mr. Anderson was immediately instructed to inform Sindhia that\nhis interference in such demands would be considered in the light\nof direct hostility, and a breach of our treaty with the\nMahrattas; and Shah Alam was to be informed that the justice of\nthe English to his illustrous house could never admit the\ninterference or recommendation of other powers, and could alone\nflow from their voluntary liberality.\n\n\"A disavowal of claims advanced unjustly and disrespectfully was\ninsisted upon; and we are authorized to declare that Mr.\nAnderson's conduct in obtaining that disavowal was open and\ndecided, highly honourable to him as a public minister. He acted\nin conformity to the orders of Government even before he received\nthem. He founded his remonstrances on a short letter which he had\nreceived from the Governor-General, and upon circumstances which\npassed in the presence of Sindhia, at Shah Alam's Darbar, as\nMajor Brown was taking his leave.\n\n\"The effects which Mr. Anderson's remonstrance produced are very\nsatisfactory and creditable to Government, and such explanations\nhave followed upon the part of Sindhia, as must eventually\nstrengthen our alliance with the Mahrattas, expose the designs of\nsecret enemies, and secure the general tranquillity of India.\"\n\nThe revolution begun by the Patel was soon completed. Zabita Khan\ndied about this time; and Mohamad Beg, being deserted by his\ntroops, had no resource but to throw himself upon the mercy of\nthe Mahratta chief. The fort of Agra surrendered on the 27th of\nMarch, 1785; and all that remained of the power of the Moghul\nparty was the fort of Aligarh, where the widow and brother of the\nlate minister, Afrasyab Khan, still held out, in the hope of\npreserving the property of the deceased, the bulk of which was\nstored there. This stronghold, which the late Najaf Khan had\nwrested from the Jats, had been fortified with great care, and it\nhad a strong garrison, but, having held out from July to\nNovember, the Governor was at last prevailed upon, by the\nentreaties of the ladies, to avert from them the horrors of a\nstorm, and make terms with the besiegers. The result of the\ncapitulation was that the eldest son of the deceased Afrasyab\nreceived an estate, yielding a yearly revenue of a lakh and a\nhalf of rupees. The rest of the property — valued at a crore, a\nsum then corresponding to a million of money, but really\nrepresenting much more of our present currency — was seized by\nSindhia.\n\nThe latter was now supreme in Hindustan; the disunited Moghul\nchiefs, one and all, acknowledged his authority; and a Mahratta\ngarrison, occupying the Red Castle of Shah Jahan, rendered the\nEmperor little more than an honourable pageant. He joined,\nhowever, personally in all the operations of 1785, and did not\nreturn to Dehli until the middle of the following year. Sindhia\ndid not at the time accompany him, but retired to his favourite\ncantonment of Mathra.\n\nIt has been already mentioned that there is little or nothing\nrecorded of the condition of the country or of the people by\nnative historians. It must not, however, be thought that I am\nsatisfied with recording merely the dates of battles, or the\nbiographies of prominent men. On the contrary, the absence of\ninformation upon the subject of the condition of the nation at\nlarge, is a great cause of regret and disappointment to me. A few\nparticulars will be found in the concluding chapter.\n\nIn 1783, when Afrasyab Khan was distracting the country by his\nambitious attempts, occurred a failure of the periodical rains,\nfollowed by one of those tremendous famines which form such a\nfearful feature of Indian life. In Bengal, where the monsoon is\nregular, and the alluvial soil moist, these things are almost as\nunknown as in England: but the arid plains of Hindustan, basking\nat the feet of the vastest mountain-chain in the world, become a\nperfect desert, at least once in every quarter of a century. The\nfamine of 1783-4 has made a peculiarly deep impression upon the\npopular mind, under the name of the \"Chalisa,\" in reference to\nthe Sambat date 1840, of the era of Vikram Adit. An old Gosain,\nwho had served under Himmat Bahadur, near Agra, once told the\nauthor that flour sold near Agra that year 8 seers for the rupee;\nwhich, allowing for the subsequent fall in the value of money, is\nperhaps equivalent to a rate of three seers for our present rupee\n— a state of things partly conceivable by English readers, if\nthey will imagine the quartern loaf at four shillings, and\nbutcher's meat in proportion.\n\nThese famines were greatly intensified by the want of hands for\nfield-labour, that must have been caused by the constant drafting\nof men to the armies, and by the massacre and rapine that\naccompanied the chronic warfare of those times. The drain on the\npopulation, however, combined with the absence of the\ntax-gatherer, must have given this state of things some sort of\ncompensation in the long run. Some few further particulars\nregarding the state of the country will be found in the\nconcluding chapter.\n\n\n\nNOTE.—Besides the Mozafari, the principal authorities for this\nchapter have been Francklin's \"Shah Alum\" (v. inf. p. 194) the\nnarrative of the Shahzadah published by Warren Hastings and the\ncontinuation of Ferishta by Captain Jonathan Scott. This\ngentleman has already been mentioned (V. sup. p. 132), he was\nassisted in compiling his narrative by Maj. Polier, who was at\nDehli at the time. All these authorities are strictly original\nand contemporaneous; and in general agree with each other. The\nMemoirs of Iradat Khan have also been consulted — a Dehli noble\nof the period. A traditional account of the Famine by an \"Old\nResident\" of Aligarh may not be without interest. It is taken\nfrom the Dehli Gazette of 6th June, 1874. \"As told by many\npersons who witnessed it, the disastrous circumstance which\noccurred during Sindiah's rule and prior to Du Boigne's\nadministration known by the people as the 'Chaleesa Kaut,' the\nsevere famine of A.D. 1783 in a considerable degree desolated the\ncountry, and the many ruinous high mounds still visible in the\ndistrict owe their origin to this calamity. The inhabitants\neither fell victims, or fled to other parts where they met a\nsimilar fate, for the famine was a general one. It was described\nto me by those who lived then, that for the two previous years\nthe rains were very unfavourable, and the produce very scanty,\nthe third year, A.D. 1783, the people entertained strong hopes\nthat the season would be a propitious one: but sad was their\ncondition when they found the rainy months, 'Assaur and Sawun,\npassing off with a scorching sun. In 'Bhadoon' they had clouds\nbut no rain, and when the calamity came, all hopes were gone the\nprice of grain was enormous and with difficulty it could be\nprocured, thousands died of sheer starvation within their walls\nand streets, and the native governments rendered no assistance to\nameliorate or relieve the wants of their unfortunate subjects.\nChildren were left to go astray and find their sustenance in the\nwild berries of the peepul, burrh, and goolur, and thus became an\neasy prey to the wild beasts who in numbers roved round the\ncountry in open day, living on carcases. About the middle of\nSeptember or 'Kooar,' the rains fell, and so regularly that the\ngrain which was thrown in the fields in the two previous years\nand did not generate for want of moisture, now came up profusely,\nand abundant was the produce. The state of things gradually\nchanged for the better in October and November. An old Brahmin of\nSecundra Rao narrated that some years before 1810 the harvest was\nso plentiful that on the occasion he built a house which was on a\nvery high plinth: he filled the plinth instead of with mud with\nan inferior course of small grain called 'kodun,' selling at that\ntime uncommonly cheap, much lower than the cost of mud would be;\nwhen the famine came he dug up the coarse grain, which was found\ngood, and sold it, and with the money he made his house a pucka\none, besides gaining a large sum in coin.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nA.D. 1786-88.\n\n\n\nGholam Kadir — Pillars of the State — Siege of Raghogarh —\nBritish policy — Measures of Sindhia — Rajput Confederacy —\nBattle of Lalsaut — Muhammad Beg's death — Defection of Ismail\nBeg — Greatness of Sindhia — Gholam Kadir enters Dehli — Is\nchecked by Begam Sumroo and Najaf Kuli Khan — Gholam Kadir\npardoned; joins Ismail Beg — Battle of Chaksana — Rajput Embassy\n— Emperor takes the field — Shahzada writes to George III. —\nNajaf Kuli rebels — Death of Shahzada — Emperor's return — Battle\nof Firozabad — Confederates at Dehli — Their difficulties —\nSindhia inactive — Benoit de Boigne.\n\n\n\n1786. — The eldest son of the deceased chief of the Bawani Mahal\nwas that Gholam Kadir, whom we have seen already in the character\nof a captive and a page. It does not appear under what\ncircumstances he had recovered his liberty; but, on the death of\nZabita Khan, he at once succeeded to his estates, under the title\nof \"Najib-ud-daulah Hoshyar Jang.\" As in the lower empire of\nByzantium, so in the present case, in proportion as the State\ncrumbled, the titles of its unserviceable supporters became more\nsonorous, until at last there was not a pillar of the ruinous\nfabric, however weak and however disengaged from the rest of the\nbody, but bore some inscription equally \"imposing\" in both senses\nof the word. Daulah or Daulat means \"The State,\" and the Musalman\nnobles were called Arkan-i-Daulat — \"Columns of the\nCommonwealth.\" Of these one was its Sword, another its Asaph (the\n\"Recorder\" of David and Solomon), a third its Hero, and a fourth\nits Shield. The young \"Najib\" Gholam Kadir Khan, was now the most\nprominent representative of the Hindustani Afghans. Among the\nMoghuls the leading spirit was Mohamad Beg of Hamadan, for whom\nthe Patel provided employment by sending him with an army into\nMalwa, where he was for some time occupied by the siege of\nRaghogarh. This was a very strong fort, held by a colony of\nKachwaha Rajputs since the times of Najaf Khan, and commanding\none of the main roads between Hindustan and the Mahratta country.\nIt had resisted the Mahrattas when they first invaded Malwa, and\nit was destined to resist Sindhia's successors almost down to our\nown times. It is now a peaceful market town, and the traces of\nits former strength are all that it retains of a military\ncharacter.\n\nSindhia's progress in the Doab was more rapid, nor was it long\nbefore Musalman jealousy began to be aroused. The Patel opened\nnegotiations with Mirza Jawan Bakht, having the object of\ninducing. that prince to return to the capital; but from this he\nwas strongly dissuaded by the Viceroy Vazir, acting under the\nadvice of Major Palmer, the British Resident at Lucknow. That\ngentleman considered the interests of the Company and of the\nVazir as deeply bound up in the fate of the prince. Whilst he\nremained under their joint protection, the Mahratta usurpation\nmust be incomplete; should he fall into the power of the Patel, a\npermanent Mahratta occupation would be established, which would\nbe a serious danger indeed.\n\n1787. — Under these circumstances the acting Governor-General\nMacpherson, who, as already noted, had succeeded Mr. Hastings\nwhen the latter left India, resolved on retaining a British\nBrigade in the Doab; and Lord Cornwallis, on taking office the\nfollowing year, confirmed the measure. That a change began to\ncome over the policy of the British in India about this time is\nwell known, however the English might strive to hide it from\nothers — or even from themselves: see, for instance, the\nfollowing passage from the Calcutta Gazette for March 8th, 1787:-\n\n\"Though the Mussulmans dwindle into insignificance, we have\nnothing to apprehend from the Hindus. Many have urged the\nnecessity of upholding the influence of Moghuls to counterbalance\nthe power of Hindus; but this should seem bad policy, as we would\ncauselessly become obnoxious, and involve ourselves in the\ninterests of a declining State, who are at the same time our\nsecret enemy and rivals.\"\n\nThe new Governor, likewise, further alarmed Sindhia by sending a\nminister to reside at the Peshwa's Court at Punah, and the Patel\nanxiously set himself to work to consolidate his power in\nHindustan, so as to be ready for the storm, from whatever quarter\nit might break. Impressed with the success which had attended his\npredecessor, Mirza Najaf, Sindhia's first care was to organize a\nbody of regular troops — a measure repugnant to the old politics\nof the Mahrattas, but none the less approving itself to his\njudgment on that account.\n\nThe nucleus of this force was the corps raised and organized, in\n1785, by Benoit de Boigne, an officer whose history, as it forms\nan excellent illustration of the condition of Hindustan in the\nlatter part of the last century, will be given briefly in a note\nat the end of this chapter. The General in command of Sindhia's\nforces was a Mahratta, named Appa Khandi Rao, of whom we shall\nhereafter have occasion to make further mention.\n\nIn civil matters, the first step taken by the Patel was the\nsequestration of a number of the Jaigirs of the Musalman nobles —\na cause of discontent to the sufferers, and of alarm to the\nremainder; but even this step had a military character, for the\nJaigirs were fiefs bestowed for military service, and their\nreduction formed part of the system under which he was\nendeavouring to organize a standing army. With this view he at\nthe same time recalled Mohamad Beg from the siege of Raghogarh\nand attempted, vainly, to induce that Chief to disband his\nlevies.\n\nAmongst other unpopular measures must also be enumerated the\nremoval of Raja Narayan Dass, who had for some time been in\ncharge of the Home Revenues, and who was replaced by Shah\nNizam-ud-din, a creature of Sindhia's. At the same time the\nGosain leader, Himmat Bahadur, went into open rebellion in\nBundelkand, on being called upon to give an account of the\nmanagement of his Jaigir, a measure which he construed as\nportending resumption.\n\nNor was it an easy matter, at this particular juncture, to set\nabout military reforms, for the Rajputs, emboldened perhaps by\nthe resistance of Raghogarh, now began to organize a combination,\nwhich not only implied a considerable loss of power and of\nrevenue, but likewise threatened to cut off the Patel's\ncommunications with Punah. Raja Partab Singh (head of the\nKachwahas, and Dhiraj of Jaipur), called for the aid of the head\nof the Rathor clan, Maharaja Bijai Singh of Jodhpur, who had\nmarried his daughter, and who adopted his cause with alacrity.\nJoined by the Rana of Udaipur, and by other minor chiefs, the\nRajput leaders found themselves at the head of a force of 100,000\nhorse and foot, and 400 pieces of artillery, and with this array\nthey took post at Lalsot, a town forty-three miles east from\nJaipur, and there awaited the attack of the Imperial forces, with\nthe more confidence that they were aware of the growing\ndisaffection of the Moghul nobles.\n\nHere they were encountered at the end of May, 1787, by an\nenormous force under Sindhia in person, with Ambaji Inglia, Appa\nKhandi, M. de Boigne, and other trusty lieutenants. The Moghul\nhorse and the regular infantry in the Imperial service were under\nthe general direction of Mohamad Beg and his nephew. The latter,\na young man who will play a conspicuous part in the succeeding\npages, was named Ismail Beg, and was the son of Nahim Beg, who\nhad accompanied his brother Mohamad from Hamadan, the two\nattaching themselves to their Persian countryman, Mirza Najaf,\nduring that minister's later prosperity. Ismail Beg had married\nhis uncle's daughter, and was a person of great spirit, though\nnot, as it would seem, of much judgment or principle.\n\nThe battle, as described by Native history, began by a\nreconnaisance of Ismail Beg at the head of 300 Moghul horse. A\nlarge body of Rajput horse made way before him, but the Mahrattas\nnot following up, and nearly half his men being slain, he was\nforced to retreat to his uncle's division. This terminated the\nfighting for that day, but the next morning Ismail renewed the\nfight, leading on his artillery on foot, and followed by his\nuncle on an elephant with the rest of the corps. They were\nthroughout the day engaged with the bulk of the Rajput army, but\na heavy storm arose from the westward, as evening came on. The\nMahrattas, having been in the meantime severely handled by a body\nof Rajput swordsmen mad with opium, the battle degenerated into a\ncannonade, at long ranges and at fitful intervals. Suddenly a\nchance round-shot dropped into the Moghul ranks, which, after\noverthrowing two horsemen, made a bound and struck Mohamad Beg on\nthe right arm. He fell from his elephant, and, coming in contact\nwith a small stack of branches of trees that had been piled at\nhand for the elephants' fodder, received a splinter in his temple\nwhich proved instantly mortal. Ismail, hearing of this event,\nexclaimed, \"I am now the leader!\" and immediately addressed the\ntroops, and concluded the action for that day with a brisk\ncannonade. The next day (the 1st of June, and the third of this\nprotracted engagement) both sides continued to fight till towards\nevening, when a body of some 14,000 infantry surrounded Sindhia's\ntents and clamorously demanded an issue of pay — very probably in\narrear — and sent a message at the same time to the Jaipur Raja,\noffering to join him on receipt of two lakes of rupees. The Raja\nreadily accepting these terms, the battalions joined his camp and\nreceived their money on the spot.\n\nMeanwhile, such was the distress in the Moghul-Mahratta camp,\nisolated, at it was, in an enemy's country, that wheat was\nselling at four seers the Rupee, and there was every prospect of\nthe scarcity increasing; while the countless camp-followers of\nthe Rajputs were engaged in nightly depredations, stealing the\nelephants and horses from the midst of the sentries. Under these\ncircumstances, the Patel broke up his quarters the next evening,\nand fell back upon Alwar, whence Ismail Beg marched off without\nleave towards Agra, taking with him 1,000 horse, four battalions,\nand six guns. Sindhia, justly regarding this as an open act of\ndefection, instantly made terms with Ranjit Singh, the leader of\nthe Jats, and pushed on all his forces to the pursuit, at the\nsame time throwing a strong reinforcement into the fort of Agra,\nthe garrison of which was placed under the command of Lakwa Dada,\none of his best officers.\n\nThe following version of the affair appears in the Calcutta\nGazette: —\n\n\"Reports are various respecting the particulars of an engagement\nbetween Scindia and the Rajahs of Joynaghur and Jeypore; it is\ncertain a very bloody battle was fought near Joynaghur about the\nend of last month, in which, though the enemy were repulsed in\ntheir attack on his advanced body by Scindia's troops, with much\ngallantry, they were ultimately in a great measure victorious, as\nScindia lost a part of his artillery during the engagement, which\nwas long and obstinate, and in which upwards of 2,000 men were\nkilled on either side. Both armies, however, still kept the\nfield. Among the chiefs of note who fell on the part of Scindia,\nis Ajeet Roy. On that of the Joynaghur Rajah, is Mohamed Beg\nHumdanee, a very celebrated commander, much regretted by that\nparty, and, but for whose loss, it is said that the Mahrattas\nwould have been totally defeated. Several of Scindia's\nbattalions, with a considerable corps of artillery, went over to\nthe enemy on the 1st instant, but the intelligence we have yet\nreceived does not enable us to account for this revolt.\"\n\nFrancklin says, in general terms, that Mohamad Beg went over at\nthe commencement of the action, and that it was Partab Singh who\nconferred the command of the Moghuls upon Ismail Beg. But Partab\nSingh would have no voice in such a matter, and Francklin\ninconsistently adds that the trained battalions of the late\nAfrasyab's force went over later in the day. Where no authorities\nare given, it is inevitable that we should judge for ourselves.\nAnd, after all, the point is not of much importance. It is,\nhowever, pretty clear that the Moghul nobles were grievously\ndiscontented; that their discontents were known to the Rajputs\nbefore they provoked a collision; and that the latter were joined\nby them as soon as a likelihood appeared of Sindhia's being\ndefeated.\n\nGeneral de Boigne used to relate that this was the hour of\nSindhia's moral greatness. He made vast efforts to conciliate the\nJats, appealing to the Thakur's rustic vanity by costly presents,\nwhile he propitiated the feeling of the Bhartpur army, and the\npatriotism of the country at large, by restoring to the Jats the\nfortress of Dig, which had been held for the Emperor ever since\nits conquest by Najaf Khan. He likewise placed his siege-train in\nthe charge of his new allies, who stored it in their chief fort\nof Bhartpur. At the same time he wrote letters to Poona,\nearnestly urging a general combination for the good cause.\n\nIsmail Beg, on his part was not idle. His first effort was to\nprocure the co-operation of the Rajputs, and had they not been\ntoo proud or too indolent to combine actively with him, it is\npossible that Mahratta influence might have been again\noverthrown, and the comparatively glorious days of Mirza Najaf\nKhan renewed in the Empire of Hindostan. A fresh associate, too,\nin these designs are now to appear upon the scene, which, for a\nbrief but terrible period, he was soon after to fill. This was\nGholam Kadir, who hastened from Ghausgarh to join in the\nresuscitation of Mohamadan interests, and to share in the gains.\nThe Emperor, moreover, was known to be in private correspondence\nwith the Rajput chiefs, who shortly after this inflicted another\ndefeat on the Mahrattas under Ambaji.\n\nUnable to resist this combination, Sindhia fell back upon\nGwalior, and Ismail Beg hotly pressed the siege of Agra.\n\nTowards the end of the rainy season of 1787, Gholam Kadir\napproached Dehli, and encamped on the Shahdara side of the river,\nhis object at this time being, in all probability, a renewal of\nhis father's claims, and attempts to obtain the dignity of\nAmir-ul-Umra or Premier Noble. He is always understood to have\nbeen acting under the direction of Manzur Ali Khan, Controller of\nthe Imperial Household, who thought to secure a valuable support\nfor the cause of Islam by introducing the young Pathan chief into\nthe administration. The Mahratta garrison was commanded by a\nson-in-law of the Patel, known in Musalman History as the Desmukh\n— which is interpreted \"Collector of Land Revenue,\" — and by a\nmember of the Imperial Household, on whom, from some unexplained\nreason, had been bestowed the title of the great Aulia Saint Shah\nNizam-ud-din, and who had lately been placed in charge of the\nHome Revenues, as stated above (p. 152.) These officers\nimmediately opened fire from the guns on the riverside of the\nfort, and the young Rohilla replied from the opposite bank. At\nthe same time, however, he did not fail to employ the usual\nEastern application of war's sinews; and the Moghul soldiers of\nthe small force being corrupted, the Mahrattas made but a feeble\nresistance. Gholam Kadir crossed the river, and the Imperial\nofficers fled to the Jat Fort of Balamgarh, leaving their camp\nand private effects to the mercy of the victor.\n\nIt need hardly be observed that the firing on the palace was an\nact of gross disrespect, and, unless explained, of rebellion. Nor\nwas the young chief blind to the importance of basing his\nproceedings on an appearance of regularity. He accordingly\nentered into a correspondence with the above mentioned Manzur Ali\n(a nominee, it may be remembered, of the late Mirza Najaf Khan).\nBy the agency of this official, Gholam Kadir was introduced to\nthe Diwan Khas, where he presented a Nazar of five gold mohurs,\nand was graciously received. He excused his apparent violence by\nattributing it to zeal for the service of his Majesty, formally\napplied for the patent of Amir-ul-Umra, and with professions of\nimplicit obedience withdrew to cultivate the acquaintance of the\ncourtiers, retiring at night to his own camp. Matters remained in\nthis condition for two or three days, when Gholam Kadir,\nimpatient perhaps at the non-occurrence of any circumstance which\nmight advance his designs, re-entered the Palace with seventy or\neighty troopers, and took up his abode in the quarters usually\noccupied by the Amir-ul-Umra.\n\nMeanwhile, Begam Sumroo, who was with her forces operating\nagainst a fresh rising of the Cis-Satlaj Sikhs, hastened from\nPanipat and presented herself in the palace. Awed by this loyal\nlady and her European officers, and finding the Moghul courtiers\nunwilling to enter into any combination against them, the baffled\nRohilla retired across the river, and remained for some time\nquiet in his camp. Francklin, indeed, states that the cannonade\nwas renewed immediately on Gholam Kadir's return to his camp; but\nit is more probable that, as stated above, this renewal did not\noccur until the arrival of Najaf Kuli Khan. The Emperor showed on\nthis occasion some sparks of the temper of old time, before\nmisfortune and sensual indulgence had demoralized his nature. He\nsent Moghul chiefs to keep an eye on the Pathan, while he\nincreased his household troops by a levy of 6,000 horse, for the\npay of whom he melted a quantity of his personal plate. He also\ndespatched messengers to the converted Rathor, Najaf Kuli Khan,\nwho was on his estate at Rewari, urging his immediate attendance\nin Dehli.\n\nRewari is in what is now the district of Gurgaon, and lies about\nfifty miles S.W. of Dehli. It is a country of mixed mountain and\nvalley; the former being a table-land of primitive rocks, the\nlatter the sandy meadow land on the right bank of the river\nJamna. Here, in a district wrested by his former patron from the\nJats, Najaf Kuli had been employed in endeavours to subjugate the\nindigenous population of Mewatis, a race professing Islam like\nhimself, but mixing it with many degrading superstitions, and\nresembling their neighbours the Minas of Rajputana and the\nBhattis of Hariana in habits of vagrancy and lawlessness, which\nabove half a century of British administration has even now\nfailed to eradicate.\n\nNajaf Kuli Khan obeyed the Imperial summons, and reached Dehli,\nwhere he encamped close to the Begam Sumroo, in front of the main\ngate of the Palace, on the 17th November, 1787. The general\ncommand of the Imperial troops was conferred upon the Emperor's\nsecond son, Mirza Akbar, who, since the flight of his elder\nbrother, had been considered as heir apparent, and who now\nreceived a khillat of seven pieces. The son of a Hindu official,\nnamed Ram Rattan, was appointed the Prince's deputy (although he\nwas by descent nothing but a modi or \"chandler\"); and a cannonade\nwas opened on the camp of Gholam Kadir, who replied by sending\nround shot into the palace itself, some of which fell on the\nDiwan Khas.\n\nSindhia's conduct at this juncture has never been explained. He\nwas himself at Gwalior, and his army under Lakwa Dada, shut up in\nthe fort of Agra, was defending itself as well as it might\nagainst the forces under Ismail Beg. At the same time the author\nof the Tarikh-i-Mazafari assures us that Ambaji Inglia — one of\nSindhia's most trusty lieutenants, arrived in Dehli with a small\nforce, and that his arrival was the signal for a reconciliation\nbetween the Emperor's principal adherents and Gholam Kadir, who\nwas then introduced to the presence, and invested with the\ndignity of Premier Noble (Shah Alam himself binding upon his head\nthe jewelled fillet called Dastar-u-Goshwara). It is probable\nthat a compromise was effected, in which Gholam Kadir, by\nreceiving the desired office at the hands of the Mahratta\nminister, was supposed to have acknowledged the supremacy of the\nlatter. The whole story is perplexing. When cannonaded, the\nPathan chief suddenly appears within the palace; when Sindhia's\ntroops arrive, he receives the investiture that he was seeking in\nopposition to Sindhia; and at the moment of success he marches\noff to Aligarh. This latter movement is, however, accounted for\nby Francklin, who attributes it to the news of Prince Jawan Bakht\nbeing at hand with the forces of Himmat Bahadur, who had joined\nthe cause of Ismail Beg. At all events, if Gholam Kadir owed this\nsudden improvement in his position to the good offices of the man\nwhose garrison he had so lately chased from Dehli, he did not\nevince his gratitude in a form that could have been expected; for\nhe lost no time in marching against Sindhia's late conquest of\nAligarh, which fort almost immediately fell into his hands. He\nthen proceeded to join his forces to those of Ismail Beg, before\nAgra; and remained for some months assisting at the siege of that\nfort; these operations being subject to constant annoyance from\nthe Jats, and from the troops of Sindhia, who finally crossed the\nChambal at the end of the cold season of 1787, having received\nlarge reinforcements from the Deccan. Ismail Beg and Gholam Kadir\nimmediately raised the siege of Agra, turned upon the advancing\narmy, and an obstinate battle took place at Chaksana, eleven\nmiles from Bhartpur, on the 24th April. The particulars of this\naction are not given by the native historian, whom I here follow,\nbut they are detailed by Grant Duff, who probably had them from\nGeneral de Boigne, who was present at the action, and with whom\nthat writer had frequent conversations at Chamberi after the\nGeneral's retirement to his native country. The Mahratta army was\ncommanded by Rana Khan, a man who, having in the capacity of a\nwater-carrier been the means of assisting Sindhia to escape from\nthe carnage of Panipat in 1761, had been much protected by him;\nand being otherwise a man of merit, was now become one of the\nchief officers of the army. Besides M. de Boigne there was\nanother French officer present, whose name is given by Duff as\nListeneaux, perhaps a mistake for some such word as Lestonneaux.\nJohn Hessing was also in this campaign, as may be gathered from\nthe epitaph on his tomb, which is close to that of Sumroo at\nAgra. (See Appendix.) The Musalman leaders fought well, Gholam\nKadir threw himself upon the infantry of the right wing, and\nbroke them. Ismail Beg with all the impetuosity of his character\nvigorously attacked the battalions of M. de Boigne, but was\nreceived with sang froid and resolution. The Mahratta horse\nsupported the infantry fairly, but were overmatched for such\nsevere duty by the weight of the Moghul cavalry and their\nsuperior discipline. It is probable, however, that the infantry,\nformed and led by Europeans, would have been more than a match\nfor all their attempts, had not three of the battalions deserted\nand joined the enemy, while the Jat cavalry failed to sustain the\nefforts of the remaining sepoys. The army of Rana Khan, under\nthese circumstances, withdrew under cover of night to Bhartpur;\nand Ismail Beg renewed the siege of Agra, while Gholam Kadir\nmoved northward in order to protect his own possessions from an\nincursion of the Sikhs, with which he was then just threatened.\n\nWhile these transactions were going on to the south and\nsouth-east of the capital, the Emperor had been occupied by a\ncampaign which he conducted personally in the west, and which\nmight have given Sindhia much anxiety had it been directed by a\nmore efficient leader. As events turned, this expedition is\nchiefly remarkable as being the last faint image of the once\nsplendid operations of the great military monarchy of Akbar and\nof Aurangzeb.\n\nAt the end of 1787, and probably in consequence of Ismail Beg's\nattempts to secure the co-operation of the Rajputs, an embassy\nfrom Jodhpur had presented itself at the Court of Shah Alam,\nbearing a handsome nazar (gift of homage or respect) and a golden\nkey. The envoy explained that he was instructed by his master\nBijai Singh, the Rathor leader, to present this, the key of the\nFort of Ajmir, in token of his wish that an Imperial army under\nhis Majesty in person might march thither and take possession of\nthat country; adding that Partab Sing, the Kachwaha Dhiraj of\nJaipur joined in the application.\n\nIt seems plain that principle and prudence should have combined\nto deter the Emperor from consenting to this invitation, whereby\nhe took an active step of hostility towards Sindhia, his\nminister, and at this time perhaps his most powerful and best\ndisposed supporter. But the dream of a Musalman restoration, even\nwith Hindu aid, will always have a fascination for the sons of\nIslam; and the weak Shah Alam adopted the proposal with an\nalacrity such as he had not shown for many years. On the 5th of\nJanuary, 1788, he marched from Dehli, accompanied by several of\nthe princes and princesses of his family. From the fact of Mirza\nAkbar continuing to be regarded as heir apparent, and from some\nother considerations, it may be gathered that the last attempt of\nJawan Bakht in the Emperor's favour, and its eventual defeat,\nmust have already taken place; for such is the confused manner in\nwhich these events are related by my authorities — some leaving\nout one part, and some another, while the dates shine few and\nfar, like stars in a stormy night — that the relative position of\nevents is sometimes left entirely open to conjecture. But it is\ncertain that the excellent prince whom we have heretofore\nencountered more than once, did about this time make his\nappearance at the capital, with a small contingent supplied him\nby the Viceroy of Audh, adding to his force such irregular troops\nas he was able to raise upon the way; and that on this occasion\nit was that he addressed to George III. of Britain the touching\nyet manly appeal from which I make the following extract: —\n\"Notwithstanding the wholesome advice given from the throne to\nSindhia, to conciliate the attachment of the ancient nobility,\nand to extend protection to the distressed peasantry, that\nungrateful chief, regardless of the royal will, has established\nhimself in continued and unvaried opposition; until he, having by\nhis oppressions exasperated the Rajas and Princes of the Empire,\nparticularly the most illustrious prince of Jainagar, Raja Partab\nSingh, as likewise the ruler of Jodhpur, both of whom are allied\nby blood to our family, these chiefs united to chastise the\noppressor, gave him battle, and defeated him; but the\nmachinations of the rebellious increased. On one side, Gholam\nKadir Khan (son of the detested Afghan Zabita Khan) has raised\nthe standard of rebellion. His example having encouraged others,\nthe disturbance became so formidable as to penetrate even to the\nthreshold of the Imperial palace; so that our august parent was\ncompelled to make use of the most strenuous exertions.\"\n\nThis statement of the condition of the Empire is interesting, as\nbeing given by a contemporary writer in all respects the best\nable to judge. He concludes by an urgent appeal to the British\nmonarch for assistance \"to restore the royal authority, punish\nthe rebellious and re-establish the house of Timur, and, by this\nkind interposition, to give repose to the people of God, and\nrender his name renowned among the princes of the earth.\"\n\nAmong the pressing disturbances noted by the prince was\nundoubtedly the defection of Najaf Kuli Khan, whom we have lately\nseen combined with the Begam in the protection of the Emperor\nagainst the insults of Gholam Kadir, but who had since gone into\nopen rebellion, upon an attempt made by the faction in temporary\npower to supplant him in his government by one Murad Beg. This\nMoghul officer having been put in charge of some part of the\nconvert's territorial holding, the latter not unnaturally\nregarded the act as a menace to his whole power, waylaid the\nMoghul on his way to his new post, and put him in confinement at\nRewari.\n\nBut the men who had given the advice which led to this misfortune\ndid not stop there, but proceeded to strike at the prince\nhimself, whom they accused to the Emperor of designs upon the\nthrone. He obtained however the titular office of Governor of\nAgra, and seriously attempted, with the aid of Ismail Beg, to\nobtain possession of the fort and province. Foiled in this, and\nescaping narrowly an attempt upon his person by Gholam Kadir, he\nultimately retired to the protection of the British at Benares,\nwhere he died a mortified and heartbroken man on the 31st May, in\nthe eventful year 1788. It is not quite clear, from the records\nof these transactions, why the prince, experienced statesman as\nhe was, attempted to ally himself to those Musalman malcontents\nrather than to the Mahratta Chief, whose ability and resources\nmust have been well known to him. It must, however, be admitted\nthat Sindhia was just then showing an inaction which was\ncalculated to arouse Jawan Bakht's suspicions, and we can trace,\nin the letter quoted a short time back, signs of hostility in his\nmind against that wily politician. Idle as the speculation may\nnow appear, it is difficult to refrain from a passing thought on\nthe manner in which his choice of associates affected the fate\nnot merely of his royal Father, but of Hindustan and the British\npower there. United with Sindhia he would in all probability have\ndrawn off Gholam Kadir and changed the whole fortunes of the\ncountry. Dis aliter visum.\n\nThe prince, who was known to the English as Jahandar Shah, is\ndescribed as \"an accomplished gentleman, irreproachable in his\nprivate character, constant, humane, and benevolent\" (Francklin,\np. 162). He was about forty at the time of his death which was\ncaused by a fit, and is narrated in detail at p. 256 of the\nselections from the Calcutta Gazettes, in a manner somewhat more\nminute than that of Francklin, whose account (taken as usual from\nRaza Khan) appears inaccurate as well as incomplete.\n\nUnattended therefore by this, his best and nearest friend, the\npoor old Emperor began his march to the westward. On the way it\nappeared well to take the opportunity of reducing Najaf Kuli,\nwho, confident in his stronghold of Gokalgarh, would make no\nsubmission unless he were appointed premier. As we know that the\nController Manzur Ali, who was at present all-powerful, was in\nfavour of the claims of Gholam Kadir, we may suppose that these\nterms were rejected with scorn, and the trenches were accordingly\nopened and the fort invested. The Emperor's army on this occasion\nconsisted, according to Francklin, of some battalions of\nhalf-drilled infantry (called Najibs), the body guard, called the\n\"Red Battalion,\" a very considerable body of Moghul horse, and\nthree disciplined regiments which had been raised and drilled by\nthe deceased Sumroo, and now with a detail of artillery and about\ntwo hundred European gunners, served under the well-known Begam;\nwith these forces Shah Alam sate down before Gokalgarh. On the\n5th April, 1788, the besieged made a vigorous sally, and charged\nclose up to the tents of the Emperor. Such was the unprepared\nstate of the royal camp, that the whole family were in imminent\ndanger of being killed or captured; the imperial army was already\nin commotion, when, at this moment, three battalions of the\nBegam's Sepoys and a field piece dashed up, under the command of\nher chief officer Mr. Thomas. The infantry deployed with the gun\nin the centre, and threw in a brisk fire of musketry and grape,\nwhich checked the sortie, and gave the Imperialists time to form.\nThe Moghul horse lost their leader: on the other side the Chela\n(adopted son) of the chief was shot dead; Himmat Bahadur, at the\nhead of his Gosains (a kind of fighting friars who were then\nbeginning to be found useful as mercenaries), delivered a frantic\ncharge, in which they lost 200 men; and Najaf Kuli was finally\ndriven in with the loss of his field-guns. He soon after opened\nnegotiations through the inevitable Manzur Ali; and, the Begam\nSumroo joining in his favour, he was admitted to the presence and\nfully pardoned. In the same Darbar, the Begam was publicly\nthanked for her services, and proclaimed the Emperor's daughter,\nunder the title of Zeb-un-Nissa — \"Ornament of her sex.\"\n\nThe expedition, however, exhausted itself in this small triumph.\nWhether from mistrust of the Rajputs, or from fear of Sindhia,\nwho was just then hovering about Bhartpur, the Emperor was\ninduced to turn back on the 15th April, and reached the capital\nby a forced march of twenty-four hours, accompanied by Himmat\nBahadur. The Begam retired to Sirdhana, and Gholam Kadir and\nIsmail Beg parted, as we have already seen, after the indecisive\naction of Chaksana, a few days later. Though disappointed in\ntheir hopes of aid from Dehli, the Rajput chiefs fought on, and\nthe tide of Sindhia's fortunes seemed to ebb apace. After the\nlast-named fight he had fallen back upon Alwar, but only, to be\nencountered by Partab Singh, the Kachwaha prince, of Jaipur, who\ndrove him back once more upon Agra. Here Ismail Beg met him again\nand chased him across the Chambal. Meanwhile Ambaji Inglia was\nprevented from rendering aid to his master by the persistence of\nthe Rathors of Jodhpur, who put him to flight after an obstinate\nengagement. Thus cut off, Sindhia remained under the friendly\nprotection of the Chambal until the month of June, when Rana Khan\njoined him with a fresh body of troops that he had received from\nthe Deccan. Thus reinforced Sindhia once more marched to the\nrelief of his gallant follower Lakwa Dada, who still held out in\nthe Fort of Agra. The attack was made on this occasion from the\neastward, near the famous ruins of Fatihpur-Sikri, and was met by\nIsmail Beg with one of his furious cavalry charges. De Boigne's\ninfantry and artillery however repulsed him, before Gholam Kadir,\nwho was returning to the Moghul's aid, had been able to cross his\nforces over the Jamna, or effect a junction. Ismail Beg, who was\nseverely wounded, did not hesitate to plunge his horse into the\nstream, swollen and widened as it was by the melting of the\nHimalayan snows. The Mahrattas, satisfied with having raised the\nsiege, did not pursue him, and the two Mohammadan chiefs once\nmore united their forces at Firozabad. Francklin (who very seldom\ngives a date) says that this final battle took place on the 22nd\nAugust. He also states that Gholam Kadir had already joined\nIsmail Beg, but drew off on the approach of the Mahratta army.\nThe former statement is easily seen to be erroneous, as both the\nnoblemen in question were in a very different scene in August of\nthat year. The latter is possible, but the weight of authorities,\nMahratta and Musalman, is in favour of the account given above.\nFrancklin carelessly adds: — \"Agra surrendered,\" the fact being\nthat the gallant governor Lakwa Dada was a brother officer of\nRana Khan's, and his relief had been the object of the battle.\nAbout this time de Boigne retired from Sindhia's employ and went\nto Lucknow, where he entered into a business partnership with the\nfamous Claude Martine, or Martin. Whether this step was caused by\nweariness, by doubts of ultimate success, or by hopes of more\nmaterial advantage, is not known. But the immediate consequence\nthat followed was, that the Patel went into cantonments at\nMathra, and remained there watching events throughout the whole\nof that eventful autumn.\n\nThere is reason to believe that Gholam Kadir — whether from\navarice, from ambition, from a desire to avenge some personal\ninjury, or from a combination of any two or of the whole of these\nmotives — had by this time formed a project, vague perhaps at\nfirst, of repeating the career of crime with which Ghazi-ud-din\nhad startled Asia nearly thirty years before. Meantime he spoke\nIsmail fair, seeing in him a chief, worsted indeed for the\nmoment, but a rallying-point for the Moghuls, on account as much\nof his proved valour as his high birth; one who would be alike\nuseful as a friend, and dangerous as a foe. He accordingly\nexplained, as best he could, his late defection, and persuaded\nthe simple soldier to lose no time in collecting his scattered\nforces for an attack upon the capital. No sooner had the Beg left\nfor this purpose, than Gholam Kadir also departed, and proceeding\nto Dehli renewed his hypocritical professions of loyalty through\nthe instrumentality of Manzur Ali Khan.\n\nHe asserted that Ismail Beg, who had arrived before him, and who\nnow joined forces with him, was like himself actuated by the sole\ndesire to save the Empire from the usurpations of the Mahratta\nchief; and, as far as the Beg was concerned, these professions\nwere possibly not without foundation. At present the conduct of\nboth leaders was perfectly respectful. In the meantime a small\nforce was sent to Dehli by Sindhia and entered the palace, upon\nwhich the confederates, whose strength was not yet fully\nrecruited, retired to their former encamping ground at Shahdara —\nthe scene, it may be remembered, of Surajmal's fall in the days\nof Najib-ud-daulah. In this situation the confederates began to\nbe straitened for provisions, for it was now the month of July,\nand the stock of winter crops, exhausted as were the\nagriculturists by years of suffering and uncertainty, was running\nlow, whilst the lawless character of the young Pathan and his\nRohillas was not such as to encourage the presence of many\ngrain-dealers in their camp. Desertions began to take place, and\nGholam Kadir prepared for the worst by sending off his heavy\nbaggage to Ghausgarh. He and his companions renewed to the\nEmperor their messages of encouragement in the project of\nthrowing off the yoke of Sindhia; but the Emperor, situated as he\nwas, naturally returned for answer, \"That his inclinations did\nnot lie that way.\" Shah Alam was sustained in this firm line of\nconduct by the presence of the Mahratta troops under Himmat\nBahadur, and by the ostensible support of Gul Mohammad, Badal Beg\nKhan, Sulaiman Beg, and other Moghul courtiers whom he believed\nto be faithful; and it seemed for the moment as if the\nconfederates' cause was lost.\n\nThus pressed, these desperate men at length dropped all disguise\nand opened fire on the palace with all their heavy guns. The\nEmperor on this invited the aid of his Mahratta minister, who was\nnow at Mathra, only a week's hard marching from the capital. It\nwas Madhoji Sindhia's undoubted duty to have hastened to the\nrelief of him whom he professed to serve; but it must be admitted\nthat the instances he had already witnessed of Shah Alam's want\nof resolution and of good faith may have furnished the minister\nwith some excuse for wishing to read him a severe lesson. He had\nalso had sufficient taste of the fighting powers of the Musalmans\nto lead him to avoid a general engagement as long as possible,\nsince every day would increase the probability of their\nquarrelling if left to themselves, while external attacks would\nonly drive them to cohere.\n\nSindhia accordingly pursued a middle path. He sent to the Begam\nSumroo, and urged her to hasten to the Emperor's assistance; but\nthe prudent lady was not willing to undertake a task from which,\nwith his vastly superior resources, she saw him shrink. He\nlikewise sent a confidential Brahmin, who arrived on 10th July,\nand five days after, appeared a force of 2,000 horse under\nRayaji, a relation of Sindhia's. The Ballamgarh Jats likewise\ncontributed a small contingent.\n\n\n\nNOTE. — The following account of de Boigne's early career is from\nCaptain Duff, who knew him at Chamberi, about the year 1825:—\n\nAfter describing his adventures as a youthful soldier of fortune,\nfirst as an ensign in the French army, and then in the Russian\nservice in the Levant, whence he reached Cairo, and finally got\nto India by what is now called the Overland Route, — the writer\nproceeds to state that M. de Boigne was appointed an ensign in\nthe 6th Native Battalion under the Presidency of Madras, from\nwhence he, not long after, proceeded to Calcutta, bearing letters\nof recommendation to Mr. Hastings, the Governor-General. He was\nthen permitted to join Major Browne's Embassy to Dehli (in 1784,\nvide sup.), when he took the opportunity of visiting Sindhia's\ncamp, on the invitation of Mr. Anderson, the British resident.\nGohad being at this time besieged by Sindhia (who had treated de\nBoigne very scurvily), the latter communicated a plan for its\nrelief to a Mr. Sangster, who commanded 1,000 sepoys and a train\nof artillery in the service of the Gohad Rana. The scheme broke\ndown, because the Rana could not or would not advance the\nrequired sum of money.\n\nDe Boigne next made overtures to the Raja of Jaipur, and was\ncommissioned by him to raise two battalions; but Mr. Hastings\nhaving meanwhile recalled him to Calcutta, the Raja was induced\nto alter his intentions. De Boigne finally entered the service of\nhis original enemy, Madhoji Sindhia, on an allowance of Rs. 1,000\na month for himself, and eight all round for each of his men. To\nthe privates he gave five and a half, and paid the officers\nproportionately from the balance. M. de Boigne gradually got\nEuropean officers of all nations into his corps. Mr. Sangster,\nfrom the service of the Rana of Gohad, joined him, and became\nsuperintendent of his cannon foundry.\n\nSome account of the further proceedings of General de Boigne will\nappear in the succeeding pages: and some notes regarding the\nclose of his life will be found in the Appendix. Though moving in\nan obscure scene he was one of the great personages of the\nWorld's Drama; and much of the small amount of the civil and\nmilitary organization upon which the British administration in\nHindustan was ultimately founded is due to his industry, skill,\nand valour.\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nA.D. 1788.\n\n\n\nDefection of Moghuls - Confederates obtain possession of Palace —\nEmperor deposed — Palace plundered — Gholam Kadir in the Palace —\nEmperor blinded — Approach of Mahrattas — Apprehensions of\nSpoiler — The Moharram — Explosion in Palace — Flight to Meerut -\nProbable Intentions — Capture of Gholam Kadir — His Punishment —\nExcuse for his Deeds — Sindhia's Measures — Future nature of\nNarrative — Poetical Lament — Col. Francklin.\n\n\n\nALARMED by these various portents, Gholam Kadir lost no time in\nsummoning all his adherents from Ghausgarh, stimulating their\nzeal with the promise of plunder. At the same time he deputed\nIsmail Beg across the river to practice upon the fidelity of the\ngarrison; and such was the Beg's influence that the Moghul\nportion of the Imperial troops joined him immediately, and left\nthe unfortunate Emperor to be protected exclusively by\nunbelievers, under the general direction of the Gosain leader,\nHimmat Bahadur. This mercenary, not perhaps having his heart in\nthe cause, terrified by the threats of the Pathan, and (it is\npossible) tampered with by traitors about the emperor's person,\nsoon withdrew; and the confederate chiefs at once crossed the\nriver, and took possession of the city.\n\nThe Emperor now became seriously anxious, and, after a\nconsultation with his attendants, resolved on deputing Manzur Ali\nto seek a personal explanation with Gholam Kadir and Ismail Beg.\nIt has always been customary to tax this official with the\nresponsibility of this measure, and of the appalling results\nwhich followed; but it does not appear absolutely necessary to\nimpute his conduct to complicity with the more criminal part of\nGholam Kadir's designs; and his subsequent fate is perhaps some\nsort of argument in his favour. But, be this as it may, he went\nto the chiefs by order of the Emperor, and demanded, \"What were\ntheir intentions?\" In the usual style of Eastern manners they\nreplied, \"These slaves are merely in attendance for the purpose\nof presenting their duty in person to his Majesty.\" \"Be it so,\"\nsaid the Controller; and his acquiescence seems to have been\nunavoidable. \"But,\" he added, \"you surely need not bring your\narmy into the palace: come with a small retinue, lest the\nGovernor should shut the gates in your faces.\" Upon this advice\nthe two noblemen acted, and entered the Am Khas on the forenoon\nof the following day (18th of July) with some half hundred\nmen-at-arms. Each received a khilat of seven pieces, together\nwith a sword and other presents; Gholam Kadir also receiving a\nrichly-jewelled shield. They then returned to their respective\nresidences in the town, where Ismail Beg spent the rest of the\nday in making arrangements in order to preserve the safety and\nconfidence of the inhabitants. Next day, he removed his quarters\npermanently to the house formerly occupied by Mohammad Shah's\nVazir, Kammar-ud-din Khan; and his men were quartered a couple of\nmiles south of the city, in and about the celebrated monumental\ntomb of the ancient Saint, Shah Nizam-ud-din. Gholam Kadir's men\nwere nearer the palace, where the present Native Infantry\ncantonment is, in Dariaoganj; while his officers occupied the\nvast premises formerly belonging successively to the Ministers\nGhazi-ud-din and Mirza Najaf, outside of the Cabul Gate. The\nostensible state of Dehli politics was now this; Gholam Kadir was\nPremier (an office he swore upon the Koran faithfully to\ndischarge), vice Madhoji Sindhia, dismissed; and the combined\narmies were the troops of the Empire, commanded by Ismail Beg.\n\nUnder these circumstances Gholam Kadir did not want a pretext,\nand at seven in the morning of Friday, the 29th July, he returned\nto the palace, where he had an interview with the Emperor in the\nDiwan Khas. Francklin is at fault again here; making his second\ninterview one with that which occurred more than a week before.\nCiting the authority of Ismail Beg, who stood by, he represented\nthat the army was prepared to march on Mathra, and to chase the\nMahrattas from Hindustan; but that they first demanded a\nsettlement of their arrears, for which the Imperial treasury was\nalone responsible, and alone sufficient.\n\nThis harangue, at its conclusion, was warmly echoed by the\nController, by his Deputy, and by Ramrattan Modi. On the other\nside. Lalla Sital Das, the Treasurer, who was at once summoned,\ndeclared that, whatever might be the responsibility of the\nTreasury for an army in whose raising it had had no share, and by\nwhose service it had not hitherto at all profited, at least that\nits chests contained no means for meeting the claims. He boldly\nurged that the claims should be resisted at all hazards.\n\nGholam Kadir replied by an assumed fit of ungoverned anger, and\nproducing an intercepted letter from Shah Alam, calling upon\nSindhia for help, ordered the Emperor to be disarmed, together\nwith his personal guard, and removed into close arrest; and then,\ntaking from the privacy of the Salim Garh a poor secluded son of\nthe late Emperor Ahmad Shah, set him on his throne, hailed him\nEmperor, under the title of Bedar Bakht, and made all the\ncourtiers and officials do him homage. It is but just to record,\nin favour of one whose memory has been much blackened, that\nManzur Ali, the Controller, appears on this occasion to have\nacted with sense, if not spirit. When Bedar Bakht was first\nbrought forward, Shah Alam was still upon the throne, and, when\nordered to descend, began to make some show of resistance. Gholam\nKadir was drawing his sword to cut him down, when the Controller\ninterposed; advising the Emperor to bow to compulsion, and retire\npeacefully to his apartments. For three days and nights the\nEmperor and his family remained in close confinement, without\nfood or comfort of any sort; while Gholam Kadir persuaded Ismail\nBeg to return to his camp, and devoted himself to wholesale\nplunder during the absence of his associate. The latter's\nsuspicions were at length aroused, and he soon after sent an\nagent to remind Gholam Kadir that he and his men had received\nnothing of what it had been agreed to pay them. But the faithless\nPathan repudiated every kind of agreement, and proceeded to\ndefend the palace and apply all that it contained to his own use.\n\nIsmail Beg, now sensible of his folly, lost no time in sending\nfor the heads of the civic community, whom he exhorted to provide\nfor their own protection; at the same time strictly charging his\nown lieutenants to exert themselves to the very utmost should the\nPathans attempt to plunder. For the present, Gholam Kadir's\nattention was too much taken up with the pillage of the Imperial\nfamily to allow of his doing much in the way of a systematic sack\nof the town. Dissatisfied with the jewellery realised from the\nnew Emperor, to whom the duty of despoiling the Begams was at\nfirst confided, he conceived the notion that Shah Alam, as the\nhead of the family, was probably, nay, certainly, the possessor\nof an exclusive knowledge regarding the place of a vast secret\nhoard. All the crimes and horrors that ensued are attributable to\nthe action of this monomania. On the 29th, he made the new\nTitular, Bedar Bakht, inflict corporal chastisement upon his\nvenerable predecessor. On the 30th, a similar outrage was\ncommitted upon several of the ladies of Shah Alam's family, who\nfilled the beautiful buildings with their shrieks of alarm and\nlamentation. On the 31st, the ruffian thought he had secured\nenough to justify his attempting to reconcile Ismail Beg and his\nmen by sending them a donative of five lakhs of rupees. The\nresult of this seems to have been that a combined, though\ntolerably humane and orderly attempt was made to levy\ncontributions from the Hindu bankers of the city.\n\nOn the 1st of August a fresh attempt was made to wrest the\nsupposed secret from the Shah, who once more denied all knowledge\nof it, employing the strongest figure of denial. \"If,\" said the\nhelpless old man, \"you think I have any concealed treasures, they\nmust be within me. Rip open my bowels, and satisfy yourself.\" The\ntormentor then tried cajolery and promises, but they were equally\nfutile. \"God protect you, who has laid me aside,\" said the fallen\nMonarch. \"I am contented with my fate.\"\n\nThe aged widows of former Emperors were next exposed to insult\nand suffering. These ladies were at first treated kindly, their\nservices being thought necessary in the plunder of the female\ninhabitants of the Imtiaz Mahal, whose privacy was at first\nrespected. But on the failure of this attempt, the poor old women\nthemselves were plundered and driven out of the palace. When\nother resources had been exhausted, the Controller fell under the\ndispleasure of his former protege, and was made to disburse seven\nlakhs. On the 3rd August, Gholam Kadir gave proof of the degraded\nbarbarity of which Hindustani Pathans can be guilty, by lounging\non the throne on the Diwan Khas, side by side with the nominal\nEmperor, whom he covered with abuse and ridicule, as he smoked\nthe hookah in his face. On the 6th, he destroyed the same throne\nfor the sake of the plating which still adhered to it, which he\nthrew into the melting-pot; and passed the next three days in\ndigging up the floors, and taking every other conceivable measure\nin pursuit of his besetting chimera — the hidden treasure. During\nthis interval, however, he appears to have been at times\nundecided; for, on the 7th he visited the Emperor in his\nconfinement, and offered to put on the throne Mirza Akbar, the\nEmperor's favourite son — who did in fact ultimately succeed. The\nonly answer to these overtures was a request by Shah Alam that he\nmight be left alone, \"for he was weary,\" he said, \"of such state\nas he had lately known, and did not wish to be disturbed with\npublic business.\"\n\nAt length arrived the memorable 10th of August, which, perhaps,\nas far as any one date deserves the distinction, was the last day\nof the legal existence of the famous Empire of the Moghuls.\nFollowed by the Deputy Controller, Yakub Ali, and by four or five\nof his own most reckless Pathans, Gholam Kadir entered the Diwan\nKhas, and ordered Shah Alam to be brought before him. Once more\nthe hidden treasure was spoken of, and the secret of its deposit\nimperiously demanded; and once more the poor old Emperor — whom\nwe not long ago saw melting his plate to keep together a few\ntroops of horse — with perfect truth replied that if there was\nany such secret he for one was in total ignorance of it. \"Then,\"\nsaid the Rohilla, \"you are of no further use in the world, and\nshould be blinded.\" \"Alas!\" replied the poor old man, with native\ndignity, \"do not so: you may spare these old eyes, that for sixty\nyears have grown dim with the daily study of God's word.\" The\nspoiler then ordered his followers to torture the sons and\ngrandsons of the Emperor, who had followed, and now surrounded\ntheir parent. This last outrage broke down the old man's\npatience. \"Take my sight,\" he cried, \"rather than force upon it\nscenes like these.\" Gholam Kadir at once leaped from the throne,\nfelled the old man to the ground, threw himself upon the\nprostrate monarch's breast, and, so some historians relate,\nstruck out one of his eyes with his own dagger. Then rising, he\nordered a byestander — apparently a member of the household,\nYakub Ali himself — to complete the work. On his refusing, he\nslew him with his own hand. He then ordered that the Princes\nshould share the fate of their father and be deprived of\neyesight, but desisted from this part of his brutality on the\npressing, remonstrance of the Treasurer, Lalla Sital Das. The\nEmperor was, however, completely blinded by the Pathans, and\nremoved to Salimgarh, amid the shrill lamentations of women, and\nthe calmer, but not less passionate curses of men, who were not\nscourged into silence without some difficulty and delay.\nFrancklin, following his usual authority, the MS. narrative of\nSaiyid Raza Khan, says that, under these accumulated misfortunes,\nthe aged Emperor evinced a firmness and resignation highly\nhonourable to his character. It is pitiable to think how much\nfortitude may be thrown away by an Asiatic for want of a little\nactive enterprise. There were probably not less than half-a-dozen\npoints in Shah Alam's life when a due vigour would have raised\nhim to safety, if not to splendour; but his vigour was never\nready at the right moment. There is a striking instance in\nKhair-ud-din's Ibratnama. Gholam Kadir asking the blind Emperor\nin mockery \"If he saw anything?\" was answered, \"Nothing but the\nKoran between thee and me.\"\n\nThe anxious citizens were not at once aware of the particulars of\nthis tragedy; but ere long rumours crept out to them of what\ncrimes and sufferings had been going on all day in the Red\nCastle, — behind those stern and silent walls that were not again\nto shield similar atrocities for nearly seventy years. Then\nanother day of horror was to come, when one of the princes who\nwere tortured on the 10th of August, 1788, was to see women and\nchildren brutally massacred in the same once splendid courts; and\nto find himself in the hands of adherents whose crimes would\nrender him a puppet if they succeeded, and a felon if they\nfailed.\n\nBut on the 12th more money was sent to Ismail Beg; and, as\nbefore, the citizens were offered as the victims of the\nreconciliation. They now began to leave the city in large\nnumbers; but on the 14th flying parties of Mahrattas began to\nappear from the southward, and somewhat restored confidence.\nIsmail Beg, who had long ceased to have any real confidence in\nGholam Kadir, and who (let us hope for the credit of human\nnature) felt nothing but disgust at his companion's later\nexcesses, now opened negotiations with Rana Khan. On the 17th a\nconvoy of provisions from Ghausgarh was cut off, and a number of\nthe Pathans who escorted it put to the sword or drowned in\nattempting to cross the river. On the 18th the Mahrattas came up\nin considerable force on the left bank of the Jamna, where they\nblockaded the approach from all but the side of the Musalman\ncamp. In the city the shops were shut, and supplies began totally\nto fail. Scarcity even began to prevail in the palace, and the\ntroops within to murmur loudly for their share of the spoil. Next\nday the spoiler condescended to argue with some who remonstrated\nwith him on his treatment of the Royal Family. Their condition\nwas in truth becoming as bad as it could well be; many of the\nwomen dying daily of starvation. It is almost with relief that we\nfind, that the increasing scarcity compelling fresh acts of\nspoliation, the Controller, who had so much helped in bringing\nabout this deplorable state of affairs, became himself its\nvictim, being deprived of everything that he possessed. Thus\npassed the month of August, 1788, in Dehli.\n\nThe courage of Gholam Kadir did not at once yield to his growing\nperils and difficulties. He appropriated an apartment in the\npalace — probably the Burj-i-Tilla or \"Golden Bastion.\" Here he\ncaroused with his officers, while the younger members of the\nroyal family played and danced before them like the common\nperformers of the streets. And they were rewarded by the\nassurance on the part of their tormentor that, however deficient\nthey might be in princely virtues, their talents would preserve\nthem from wanting bread. Khair-ud-din adds a strange account of\nGholam Kadir going to sleep among them; and on waking, he is\nrepresented as reviling them for their lack of courage in not\nstabbing him while thus at their mercy! Many of the younger\nprincesses were exposed to insult and outrage, according to this\nwriter. Gholam Kadir at the same time partially suppressed the\ndiscontents of his men, though not without risk to his life. At\nlength, on the 7th of September, finding the Mahrattas increasing\nin numbers and boldness, and fearing to be surrounded and cut\noff, Gholam Kadir moved his army back to its old encampment\nacross the river, and despatched part of his plunder to\nGhausgarh, conciliating his followers by the surrender of what\nwas less portable, such as the rich tents and equipage which had\nbeen lately used by the Emperor on his expedition to Rewari. On\nthe 14th he paid a further visit to his camp, being under\napprehensions from Ismail Beg, but returned to the palace soon\nafter, in order to make one more attempt to shake what he\nconsidered the obstinacy of Shah Alam about the hid treasure.\nFoiled in this, and hemmed in by difficulties, it may be hoped\nthat he now began to perceive with horror the shadow of an\nadvancing vengeance. His covering the retreat to the eastward of\nthe palace and city favours the supposition.\n\nMeanwhile the great ceremony of mourning for the sons of Ali drew\non; the Moharram, celebrated in Hindustan alike by the Shias, who\nvenerate their memory, and by the Sunnis, who uphold their\nmurderers. The principal features of this celebration are\nprocessions of armed men, simulating the battle of Karbala; and\nthe public funeral of the saints, represented, not by an effigy\nof their bodies, but by a model of their tombs. Loving spectacle\nand excitement, with the love of a rather idle and illiterate\npopulation whose daily life is dull and torpid, the people of\nIndia have very generally lost sight of the fasting and\nhumiliation which are the real essence of the Moharram, and have\nturned it into a diversion and a show. But there was no show nor\ndiversion for the citizens of Dehli that year, menaced by\ncontending armies, and awed by the knowledge of a great crime. At\nlength, on the 11th October, the last day of the fast, a sense of\ndeliverance began to be vaguely felt. It began to be known that\nIsmail Beg was reconciled to Rana Khan, and that the latter was\nreceiving reinforcements from the Deccan. Lestonneaux, with the\nformidable \"Telinga\" battalions of de Boigne, had already\narrived; all was movement and din in the Pathan camp at Shahdara.\nFinally, as the short chill evening of the autumn day closed in,\nthe high walls of the Red Castle blabbed part of their secret to\nthose who had so long watched them. With a loud explosion, the\npowder magazine rose into the air, and flames presently spread\nabove the crenellated parapets. The bystanders, running to the\nrampart of the town, facing the river, saw, by the lurid light,\nboats being rowed across; while a solitary elephant was moving\ndown at his best pace over the heavy sands, bearing the rebel\nchief. Gholam Kadir had finally departed, leaving the Salimgarh\nby a sally-port, and sending before him the titular Emperor, the\nplundered controller of the household, and all the chief members\nof the royal family.\n\nThe exact events which had passed in the interior of the palace\nthat day can never now be known. Whether, as is usually thought,\nGholam Kadir tried to set fire to the palace, that his long crime\nmight be consummated by the destruction of Shah Alam among the\nblazing ruins of his ancestral dwelling; or whether, as the\nauthor of the Mozafari supposes, he meant to hold out against the\nMahrattas to the last, and was only put to flight by the\nexplosion, which he attributed to a mine laid by them, can only\nbe a matter for speculation. To myself, I confess, the popular\nstory appears the more probable. If Gholam Kadir meant to stand a\nsiege, why did he send his troops across the river? and why, when\nhe was retiring at the appearance of a mine — which he must have\nknown was likely to be one of the siege operations — did he\nremove the royal family, and only leave his chief victim? Lastly,\nwhy did he leave that victim alive? Possibly he was insane.\n\nThe Mahratta general immediately occupied the castle; and the\nexertions of his men succeeded in extinguishing the flames before\nmuch injury had occurred. Shah Alam and the remaining ladies of\nhis family were set at liberty, provided with some present\ncomforts, and consoled as to the future. Rana Khan then awaited\nfurther reinforcements from Sindhia, while the Pathans retired\ntowards their own country.\n\nThe Court of Punah saw their advantage in strengthening the\nPatel, and sent him a strong body of troops, led by Takuji Holkar\nin person, on condition that both that chief and the Peshwa\nshould participate in the fruits of the campaign. The arrival of\nthese forces was welcomed alike by Rana Khan and by the long\nharassed citizens of Dehli; and after the safety of the palace\nhad been secured, the rest of the army, commanded by Rana Khan,\nAppa Khandi Rao, and others, started in pursuit of Gholam Kadir,\nwho found himself so hard pressed that he threw himself into the\nFort of Meerut, three marches off, and about equi-distant from\nDehli, from Ghausgarh, and from the frontiers of Rohilkand. Why\nhe did not, on leaving Dehli, march due north to Ghausgarh cannot\nbe now positively determined; but it is possible that, having his\nspoil collected in that fort, he preferred trying to divert the\nenemy by an expedition in a more easterly direction; and that he\nentertained some hopes of aid from his connection, Faizula Khan\nof Rampur, or from the Bangash of Farrukhabad.\n\nBe this as it may, the fort of Meerut sheltered him for the time,\nbut in that fort he was ere long surrounded. The investing army\nwas large, and, as the chances of escape diminished, the Pathan's\naudacity at length began to fail, and he offered terms of the\nmost entire and abject submission. These being sternly rejected,\nhe prepared for the worst. On the 21st of December a general\nassault was delivered by the Mahratta army; against which Gholam\nKadir and his men defended themselves with resolution throughout\nthe short day. But his men in general were now weary, if not of\nhis crimes at all events of his misfortunes, and he formed the\nresolution to separate from them without further delay. He\naccordingly stole out of the fort that night, mounted on a horse,\ninto whose saddle-bags he had stuffed a large amount of the most\nvaluable jewellery from the palace plunder, which he had ever\nsince retained in his own keeping, in view of an emergency. He\nrode some twelve miles through the winter night, avoiding the\nhaunts of men, and apparently hoping to cross the Jamna and find\nrefuge with the Sikhs. At last, in the mists of the dawn, his\nweary horse, wandering over the fields, fell into a <DW72> used\nfor the descent of the oxen who draw up the bucket from the well,\nfor the purposes of irrigation. The horse rose and galloped off\nby the incline made for the bullocks, but the rider was either\nstunned or disabled by his bruises, and remained where he fell.\nAs the day dawned the Brahmin cultivator came to yoke his cattle\nand water the wheat, when he found the richly-dressed form of one\nwhom he speedily recognized as having but lately refused him\nredress when plundered by the Pathan soldiery. \"Salam, Nawab\nSahib!\" said the man, offering a mock obeisance, with clownish\nmalice, to his late oppressor. The scared and famished caitiff\nsate up and looked about him. \"Why do you call me Nawab?\" he\nasked. \"I am a poor soldier, wounded, and seeking my home. I have\nlost all I have, but put me in the road to Ghausgarh, and I will\nreward you hereafter.\" Necessarily, the mention of this fort\nwould have put at rest any doubt in the Brahmin's mind; he at\nonce shouted for assistance, and presently carried off his prize\nto Rana Khan's camp. Hence the prisoner was despatched to\nSindhia, at Mathra, while the Pathans, left to themselves,\nabandoned the Fort of Meerut and dispersed to their respective\nhomes. Bedar Bakht, the titular Emperor, was sent to Dehli, where\nhe was confined and ultimately slain, and the unfortunate\ncontroller, Manzur Ali, who had played so prominent a part in the\nlate events as to have incurred general suspicion of treacherous\nconnivance, was tied to the foot of an elephant and thus dragged\nabout the streets until he died.\n\nFor the Rohilla chief a still more horrible fate was prepared. On\nhis arrival at Mathra, Sindhia inflicted upon him the punishment\nof Tashhir, sending him round the bazaar on a jackass, with his\nface to the tail, and a guard instructed to stop at every\nconsiderable shop and beg a cowree, in the name of the Nawab of\nthe Bawani. The wretched man becoming abusive under the\ncontemptuous treatment, his tongue was torn out of his mouth.\nGradually he was mutilated further, being first blinded, as a\nretribution for his treatment of the Emperor, and subsequently\ndeprived of his nose, ears, hands and feet, and sent to Dehli.\nDeath came to his relief upon the road, it is believed by his\nbeing hanged upon a tree 3rd March, 1789, and the mangled trunk\nwas sent to Dehli, where it was laid before the sightless\nmonarch, the most ghastly Nazar that ever was presented in the\nDiwin Khas.\n\nPerhaps, if we could hear Gholam Kadir's version of the\nrevolution here described, we might find that public indignation\nhad to some extent exaggerated his crimes. It is possible that\nthe tradition which imputes his conduct to revenge for an alleged\ncruelty of Shah Alam may be a myth, founded upon a popular\nconception of probability, and only corroborated by the fact that\nhe died childless. Perhaps he merely thought that he was\nperforming a legitimate stroke of State, and imitating the\nvigorous policy of Ghazi-ud-din the younger; perhaps the plunder\nof the palace was necessary to conciliate his followers; perhaps\nthe firing of the palace was an accident. But the result of the\ncombination of untoward appearances has been to make his name a\nbye-word among the not over-sensitive inhabitants of Hindustan,\nfamiliar, by tradition and by personal experience, with almost\nevery form of cruelty, and almost every degree of rebellion. It\nis said that during moments of reaction, after some of his\ndebauches in the palace (v. p. 183), Gholam Kadir attempted to\njustify his conduct by representing himself as acting under\nsupernatural inspiration. \"As I was sleeping,\" he averred, \"in a\ngarden at Sikandra, an apparition stood over me and smote me on\nthe face saying, Arise, go to Dehli, and possess thyself of the\npalace.\" It may be that at such times he experienced some\nfeelings of remorse. At all events, his punishment was both\nimmediate and terrible, and his crimes proved the ruin of his\nhouse. Ghausgarh was forthwith razed to the ground, so that — as\nalready mentioned — no vestige but the mosque remains. The\nbrother of the deceased fled to the Panjab.\n\nThe first care of the Patel, after these summary vindications of\njustice, was to make provision for the administration of\nHindustan, to which he probably foresaw that he should not be\nable to give constant personal attention, and in which he\nresolved to run no further risks of a Musalman revival. The\nfallen Emperor was restored to his throne, in spite of his own\nreluctance, \"in spite of his blindness,\" as the native historian\nsays, who knew that no blind man could be a Sultan; and at the\nenthronement, to which all possible pomp was lent, the agency of\nthe Peshwa, with Sindhia for his deputy, was solemnly renewed and\nfirmly established. We also learn from Francklin that an annual\nallowance of nine lakes of rupees was assigned for the support of\nthe Emperor's family and Court, an adequate civil list if it had\nbeen regularly paid. But Shah Nizam-ud-din, who had been restored\nto office, was an unfit man to be entrusted with the uncontrolled\nmanagement of such a sum; and during the Patel's frequent and\nprotracted absences, the royal family were often reduced to\nabsolute indigence. Sayid Raza Khan, on whose authority this\nshocking statement rests, was the resident representative of the\nBritish Minister at Lucknow, and was the channel through which\nthe aged Emperor received from the British Government a monthly\nallowance of 2,000 rupees. This, together with the fees paid by\npersons desirous of being presented, was all that Shah Alam could\ncount on in his old age for the support of his thirty children\nand numerous kinsfolk and retainers. Captain Francklin was an\neye-witness of the semblance of State latterly maintained in the\nRed Castle, where he paid his respects in 1794. He found the\nEmperor represented by a crimson velvet chair under an awning in\nthe Diwan Khas, but the Shah was actually in one of the private\nrooms with three of his sons. The British officers presented\ntheir alms under the disguise of a tributary offering, and\nreceived some nightgowns, of sprigged calico, by way of honorific\ndresses.\n\nThe so-called Emperor being now incapable of ruling, even\naccording to the very lax political code of the East, and all\nreal power being in the hands of a Hindu headborough supported by\nmercenary troops, the native records, to which I have had access,\neither cease altogether, or cease to concern themselves with the\nspecial story of Hindustan. And, indeed, as far as showing the\nfall of the empire, my task is also done. I do not agree with\nthose who think that the empire fell with the death of Aurangzeb,\nor even with the events that immediately preceded the campaign of\nPanipat, in 1761. I consider the empire to have endured as long\nas \"the king's name was a tower of strength\"; as long as Nawabs\npaid large fines on succession, and contending parties intrigued\nfor investiture; as long as Shujaa-ud-daulah could need its\nsanction to his occupation of Kattahir, or Najaf Khan led its\narmies to the conquest of the Jats. We have seen how that state\nof affairs originated, and how it came to an end; there is\nnothing now left but to trace briefly the concluding career of\nthose who have played their parts in the narrative, and to\nintroduce their successors upon the vast and vacant theatre. In\nso doing it must be borne in mind that, although we, from our\npresent standpoint, can see that the Moghul Empire was ended, it\ndid not altogether so appear to contemporaries. Whether\nfederation or disintegration be the best ideal destiny, for a\nnumber of Provinces whose controlling centre has given way, is a\nquestion which may admit of more than one answer. But it is, in\nany case, certain that in the year 1789 the Provinces of which\nthe Empire had been composed, were not ripe for independent and\norganic existence. There was still, therefore, a craving for a\nparamount power; and that craving was to be finally met by the\nBritish. In the meanwhile the almost effete machinery of the\nEmpire, directed and administered by Sindhia, made the best\navailable substitute; General de Boigne — who had the most\ncomplete information on the subject — bears unequivocal testimony\non this subject. His words will be found at the beginning of the\nnext chapter.\n\n\n\nNOTE. — It would be curious to know what became of Gholam Kadir's\njewel-laden horse after the rider fell into the pit. In Skinner's\nlife, it is conjectured that he came into the hands of M.\nLestonneaux. It is certain that this officer abruptly abandoned\nSindhia's service at this very time. Perhaps the crown jewels of\nthe Great Mughal are now in France. The Emperor (who composed\npoetry with estimation under the name of \"Aftab\") solaced his\ntemporary captivity by writing verses, which are still celebrated\nin Hindustan, and of which the following is a correct\ntranslation. The resemblance to the Psalms of David is\nnoticeable: —\n\n\"The storms of affliction have destroyed the Majesty of my\nGovernment: and scattered my State to the winds.\n\nI was even as the Sun shining in the firmament of the Empire: but\nthe sun is setting in the sorrowful West.\n\nIt is well for me that I have become blind; for so I am hindered\nfrom seeing another on my throne.\n\nEven as the saints were afflicted by Yazid; so is the ruin that\nhas fallen upon me, through the appointment of Destiny.\n\nThe wealth of this world was my sickness; but now the Lord hath\nhealed me.\n\nI have received the just reward of mine iniquities; but now He\nhath forgiven me my sins.\n\nI gave milk to the young adder; and he became the cause of my\ndestruction.\n\nThe Steward who served me thirty years compassed my ruin; but a\nswift recompense hath overtaken him.\n\nThe lords of my council who had covenanted to serve me; even they\ndeserted me, and took whatsoever in thirty years I had put by for\nmy children.\n\nMoghuls and Afghans alike failed me; and became confederates in\nmy imprisonment.\n\nEven the base-born man of Hamadan, and Gul Mohammad, full of\nwickedness; Allah Yar also, and Solaiman and Badal Beg all met\ntogether for my trouble.\n\nAnd now that this young Afghan hath destroyed the dignity of my\nempire; I see none but thee, O Most Holy! to have compassion upon\nme.\n\nYet peradventure Timur Shah my kinsman may come to my aid; and\nMadhoji Sindhia, who is even as a son unto me he also will surely\navenge my cause.\n\nAsaf-ud-daula and the chief of the English; they also may come to\nmy relief.\n\nShame were it if Princes and People gathered not together; to the\nend that they might bring me help.\n\nOf all the fair women of my chambers none is left to me but\nMubarik Mahal.\n\nO Aftab! verily thou hast been this day overthrown by Destiny;\nyet God shall bless thee and restore thy fallen brightness.\"\n\n\n\nFrancklin's Shah Alum has been constantly referred to. He was an\nofficer of great diligence, who had large local opportunities,\nhaving been in Dehli, the Doab, and Rohilkand, from 1793 to 1796,\non a survey ordered by the British Government. He had access to\nmany native sources of information; but unfortunately never cites\nany in the margin but Sayid Raza's MS. I have not hesitated to\ncombat his views on several points; but there are few English\nwriters on the subject to whom we are more indebted. Besides this\nwork, and one to be hereafter noticed, he was the author of books\non Ancient Palibothra and on snake-worship. He died a\nlieutenant-colonel in the Bengal army.\n\n\n\nPART III.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nA.D. 1789-94.\n\n\n\nSindhia as Mayor of Palace — British Policy — Augmentation of\nArmy under General de Boigne — Ismail Beg joins the Rajput rising\n— Battle of Patan — Sindhia at Mathra — Siege of Ajmir — Jodhpur\nRajah — Battle of Mirta — Rivals alarmed — French Officers —\nProgress to Puna — Holkar advances — Ismail Beg taken — Battle of\nLakhairi — Sindhia rebuked — Power of Sindhia — Rise of George\nThomas — Thomas quits Begam — Sindhia at Puna - Death and\ncharacter of Madhoji Sindhia — Koil in the last Century.\n\n\n\nFROM the time of the revolution of 1788 each of the dismembered\nprovinces has its separate history; and the present record\nnaturally shrinks to the contracted limits of a local history of\nthe capital, and of the districts more especially connected with\nit by proximity or by political ties. Still, since the country is\none that has long been occupying our attention, and the persons\nwho have made it do so are still upon the scene, it may be\ninteresting to those who have followed the narrative thus far if\na brief conclusion is presented to them. The story of the\nempire's fall will thus be completed, and the chasm between the\nMoghul rule and the English rule will be provisionally bridged.\nIt must, moreover, be remembered that the visible centre of\nauthority is a thing for which men will always look. And, even in\nthe fallen state of the Dehli monarchy this was still in the\npalace of the descendant of Babar. To use de Boigne's words,\nwritten in 1790: — \"le respect .... envers la maison de Timour\nregnait a tel point que, quoique toute la peninsule se fut\nsucessivement soustraite a son autorite, aucun prince .... de\nl'Inde ne s'etait arroge le titre de souverain. Sindhia\npartageait le respect, et Shah Alam etait toujours assis sur le\nTrone Mogol, et tout se faisait en son nom.\"\n\nIt has been already shown how \"Maharaja Patel,\" as Madhoji\nSindhia is called by the native writers, assumed the actual\ngovernment, whilst he secured for the youthful chief of the\nMahratta confederacy the titular office of \"Agent\nPlenipotentiary,\" which had been once or twice previously used to\ndesignate mighty Viceroys like the first Nizam.\n\nIn providing this distinction for his native superior, the\nusually shrewd old minister intended to blind his countrymen and\nhis rivals; and by another still more clumsy coup de theatre, he\nassumed to himself the position of a servant, as harmonizing with\nthe rural dignity of Beadle or Headborough, which, as we have\nseen, he persisted in affecting. Decorated however by the blind\nold Emperor with the more sonorous appellations of\nMadar-ul-Maham, Ali Jah, Bahadur (\"Exalted and valorous Centre of\nAffairs\"), he played the Mayor-of-the-Palace with far more effect\nat Dehli than it would have been possible for him to do at Punah.\nCircumstances, moreover, were now far more in his favour than\nthey had been since 1785. During the three years that followed,\nthe Rohillas of Ghausgarh were broken, Muhammad Beg was dead, the\nstrength of the brave but indolent Rajputs was much paralyzed,\nand Najaf Kuli Khan — who never had opposed him, but might have\nbeen formidable if he pleased — had succumbed to a long attack of\ndropsy. Ismail Beg, it is true, was still in existence, and now\nmore than ever a centre of influence among the Moghuls. But\nIsmail Beg was at present conciliated, having joined the Patel's\nparty ever since his former associate, Gholam Kadir, had\nproceeded to such criminal excesses in the palace. As a further\nmeans of attaching to him this important, even if not very\nintelligent chief, the Patel about this time conferred upon him a\nportion of Najaf Kuli's fief in the Mewat country south of Dehli.\nBy this he not only pleased the Moghul noble, but trusted to\nfurnish him with occupation in the reduction and management of\nthe wild mountaineers of that district. It was indeed idle to\nhope that Ismail Beg would remain faithful in the event of any\nfuture resurrection of the Musalman power; and it could not be\ndenied that something of the kind might at any time occur, owing\nto the menacing attitude of the Afghans, who were still very\npowerful under the famous Ahmad Abdali's son, Timur Shah. Indeed,\nthis was a ceaseless difficulty during the whole of Madhoji's\nremaining life; and one that would have been still more serious,\nbut for the anxiously pacific policy which, for the most part,\ncharacterized the British administration during that period. Nor\ndid the Minister at this time enjoy the advantage of being served\nby European commanders. Lestonneaux retired suddenly in the\nbeginning of 1789; and de Boigne, as above-mentioned, had also\nleft the army, and was engaged in commercial pursuits at Lucknow.\nBut the army continued to comprise a certain proportion of\nregular troops; nor was it long before M. de Boigne, being\nearnestly solicited by Madhoji, and offered his own terms,\nresumed his command, augmented this portion of the force, and\nassumed a position of confidence and freedom which had not\npreviously been allowed him. The skeletons of his two original\nbattalions remained to form the nucleus of the new force. The\nbattalion of Lestonneaux — or whatever the name — was deserted by\nits commandant, with eight months' arrears due to it, was\ndisorganized and mutinous; and Sindhia meditated an attack upon\nit with an overwhelming body of horse. De Boigne however\ninterceded, representing that the soldiers were not to blame for\ntheir colonel's defection and that their demand, though it might\nnot be expressed with due respect, was after all founded on\njustice. Sindhia relented so far as to award a present payment of\nhalf the arrears, and a permission that the men should be\nabsorbed in the brigade about to be formed; but the astute\nSavoyard took care first to make them pile their arms, so that\ntheir future entertainment should be as individuals only. The\nofficers were at the same time cashiered; and thus the mutiny of\na battalion was patiently and ingeniously suppressed without its\nprecious material being lost to the service. The requisite new\nrecruits were principally raised from Rohilkand and Audh — the\nfuture nurseries of the famous Bengal army. The officers were the\nmost respectable Europeans that the General could collect; and\nthe non-commissioned posts were given to picked men of the old\nbattalions.\n\nThe augmented force gradually reached the strength of three\nbrigades, each brigade consisting of eight battalions of sepoys,\neach 700 strong; with 500 cavalry and forty fieldpieces. The\nGeneral was allowed 10,000 rupees per mensem for his own pay, and\na liberal scale was fixed for the European officers, whose number\nwas from time to time increased, and the whole force, forming a\nsmall army in itself, marched under the white cross of Savoy, the\nnational colours of its honourable chief. A gratuity was secured\nto all who might be wounded in action, and it was guaranteed that\ntheir pay should go on while in hospital. Invalids were to have\npensions in money and grants of land.\n\nIt soon had to take the field: for Ismail Beg's loyalty, already\nwavering in view of an Afghan invasion, gave way entirely in the\nbeginning of 1790 before the solicitations of the Rajput chiefs.\nThese high-spirited men, longing for an opportunity to strike\nanother blow for national independence, fancied, and not without\nreason, that they could reckon upon the aid of the restless\nIsmail with whom they had already combined during the Lalsaut\ncampaign in 1787.\n\nThe corps of de Boigne formed part of the army sent under the\ncommand of Sindhia's Mahratta generals, Lakwa Dada and Gopal Rao\nBhao, to prevent if possible the junction of Ismail Beg with his\nRajput allies. But the Moghul soldier of fortune was determined\nnot to yield without a struggle. No sooner did he raise his\nstandard than thousands of disbanded Afghan and Persian horsemen\nflocked to his headquarters. In March de Boigne left his employer\nat his favourite cantonment of Mathra, and sending before him a\ncloud of Mahratta horse, marched upon Ismail Beg with a complete\nbrigade, including fifty pieces of artillery. On the morning of\nthe 10th May they came upon him at a place called Patan, in the\nrocky country between Ajmir and Gwalior, not many miles from the\nscene of the former battle at Lalsaut. For three weeks or more\nnothing was effected, but on the 19th June Ismail announced his\nintention of attacking the Mahratta lines. De Boigne sent a\nmessenger to say that he would spare him the fatigue of the\njourney, and advanced to the encounter with all his force on the\nfollowing morning.\n\nThe Rajputs had come up; but there was no longer union between\nthem; for the Patel, taking advantage of a temporary soreness\nfelt by the Kachwahas of Jaipur on some trifling provocation, had\ncontrived to secure their inaction before the battle began.\nNotwithstanding this defection, a large body of infantry still\nstood firm, but European skill and resolution conquered in the\nend. Ismail at the head of his Moghul cavaliers repeatedly\ncharged de Boigne's artillery, sabring the gunners at their\nposts. Between the charges the infantry were thinned by\nwell-directed volleys of grape, and the squares had to be formed\nwith the greatest rapidity as the cavalry of the enemy once more\nattacked them. De Boigne's squares, however, resisted all\nattempts throughout the afternoon, and a general advance of the\nwhole line at length took place, before which the enemy gradually\nbroke. De Boigne placing himself at the head of one of his\nbattalions, ordered the others to follow, and precipitated his\nfoot upon the enemy's batteries. The first was carried with the\nshock; at eight in the evening he was master of the second; the\nthird fell an hour later; the Moghuls' resistance was completely\noverpowered, and their leader was chased into the city of Jaipur.\nIsmail also lost in this engagement one hundred guns, fifty\nelephants, two hundred stand of colours and all his baggage; and\non the following day a large portion of his army, amounting to\nseven battalions of foot and ten thousand irregular troops, went\nover to the victors. On this, as on many other occasions, the\nMahratta cause was jeopardised by jealousies; Holkar holding\naloof during the action, which would have begun earlier, and in\nall probability proved more decisive and with less loss, had he\ngiven due co-operation. There is a modest account of this action\nfrom de Boigne's pen in the Calcutta Gazette for 22nd July, 1790.\nThe letter is dated 24th June — four days after the battle — and\ndoes not represent the exertions of the Mahrattas in anything\nlike the serious light adopted in Captain Grant Duff's work, to\nwhich I have been principally indebted for my account of the\naction. The gallant writer estimates Ismail Beg's Moghul horse,\nhowever, at 5,000 sabres; and admits that the Mahrattas would\nhave sustained severe loss but for the timely firmness of the\nregular battalions. The fact appears to be that the diminished\nRajput infantry, deficient in discipline and zeal, and wanting\nthe prestige and coolness inspired among Asiatics by the presence\nof European leaders, did not support the cavalry, and that the\nlatter become exhausted by their vain assaults upon the\nwell-trained squares. Seeing this, de Boigne marched up his men\n(10,000 strong, by his own account), under the protection of a\nsteady cannonade from his own guns, and stormed the enemy's camp.\nHe estimates his own loss at 120 killed and 472 wounded; the\nenemy's foot were not much cut up, because they were intrenched;\n\"but they have lost a vast number of cavalry.\" He says of\nhimself, \"I was on horseback encouraging our men; thank God I\nhave realized all the sanguine expectations of Sindhia; the\nofficers in general have behaved well; to them I am a great deal\nindebted for the fortune of the day.\" This was the most important\nvictory that Sindhia had ever gained, and fully justified the\nincreased confidence that he had shown his Savoyard General. The\nmemoir above cited, estimates the whole combined forces of the\nenemy at 25,000 foot and 20,000 horse, but it is probable that\nthey were not all engaged. Patan, a fortress which has been\ncompared to Gibraltar, was taken by storm after three days of\nopen trenches, and Ismail Beg fled to the Panjab.\n\nThe Patel himself was not present with the army during this\ncampaign, but remained at Mathra, which was a favourite residence\nof his, owing to its peculiar reputation for holiness among the\nHindus. This ancient city, which is mentioned both by Arrian and\nby Pliny, is the centre of a small district which is to the\nworshippers of Vishnu what Palestine is to Christians, and the\nWestern part of Arabia is to the people of the Prophet. Here was\nborn the celebrated Krishna, reported to be an incarnation of the\nDeity; here was his infant life sought by the tyrant Kans; hence\nhe fled to Gujrat; returning when he came to man's estate, and\npartially adopting it as his residence after having slain his\nenemy.\n\nWe have seen how the general of Ahmad the Abdali massacred the\ninhabitants, with a zeal partaking of the fanatic and the robber\nin equal proportions, in 1757. Since then the place, standing at\nthe head of the Bhartpur basin, and midway between Dehli and the\nRajput country, had recovered its importance, and now formed\nMadhoji's chief cantonment. Here it was that he received the news\nof the battle of Patan, and of the temporary disappearance of\nIsmail Beg; and hence he proceeded to Dehli, and there obtained a\nfresh confirmation of the office of Plenipotentiary for the\nPeshwa, together with two fresh firmans (or patents). One\nconferring upon himself the power to choose a successor in the\nMinistry from among his own family, and the other an edict\nforbidding the slaughter of horned cattle (so highly reverenced\nby the Hindus) throughout all the territory which still owned the\nsway, however nominal, of the Moghul sceptre.\n\nSoon after he ordered his army, commanded as before, to return to\nRajputana, and punish Bijai Singh, the Rathor leader of Jodhpur,\nfor abetting the resistance of Ismail Beg. On the 21st of August\nthe General arrived at Ajmir, and took the town on the following\nday. He then sat down to form the regular siege of the citadel,\ncalled Taragarh (a fastness strong by nature, and strengthened\nstill more by art, and situated on an eminence some 3,000 feet\nabove sea-level). Bijai Singh, in Rajput fashion, was ready to\ntry negotiation, and thought that he might succeed in practicing\nupon one whom he would naturally regard in the light of a\nmercenary leader. He accordingly sent a message to de Boigne\noffering him the fort, with the territory for fifty miles round\nAjmir if he would desert his employer. But the General sent him\nfor answer that \"Sindhia had already given him both Jodhpur and\nJaipur, and that the Rajah could not be so unreasonable as to\nexpect him to exchange the whole of those territories for the\nportion offered.\" After delivering himself of this grim piece of\nhumour, and leaving a force to blockade the citadel, General de\nBoigne marched west to encounter the Rajah. Burning to retrieve\nthe disgrace of Patan, Bijai Singh was marching up from Jodhpur\nto the relief of Taragarh when de Boigne met him at Mirta, a\nwalled town about two marches distant from Ajmir and 76 miles\nN.E. of Jodhpur. It stands on high ground, the western wall being\nof mud, the eastern of masonry. On the 9th September the armies\napproached, and Gopal Rao was for attacking at once, but the\nGeneral, with his accustomed coolness, pointed out that, not only\nwere the men fatigued with marching and in need of repose, but\nthat the day was too far advanced to allow of due pursuit being\nmade should they — as was to be hoped — gain the action. It was\ntherefore determined to try the effect of a surprise after the\nmen had had a meal and a few hours repose. The forces on either\nside were not unequal. The Rajputs had the better in point of\ncavalry, their strength in this arm has been computed at 30,000\nsabres. The Mahrattas had the advantage in artillery and in\ndisciplined foot. The lines of the Rajputs were partially covered\nin rear by the walls of the town. But the spot was of evil omen.\nBijai Singh had sustained a severe defeat on this very ground\nnear forty years before. Nevertheless, years had not taught the\nRathors wisdom, nor misfortune schooled them to prudence. De\nBoigne came up in the grey of the morning, when the indolent\nHindus were completely off their guard. And when the Rajah and\nhis companions were roused from the drunken dreams of Madhu, they\nalready found the camp deserted, and the army in confusion. Fifty\nfield pieces were piercing the lines with an incessant discharge\nof grape-shot, and Colonel Rohan who commanded de Boigne's right\nwing had, with unauthorised audacity, thrown himself into the\nmidst of the camp at the head of three battalions. Rallying a\nstrong body of horse — and the Rajput cavaliers were brave to a\nfault — the Rajah fell furiously upon the advanced corps of\ninfantry, which he hoped to annihilate before they could be\nsupported from the main army. But European discipline was too\nmuch. for Eastern chivalry. Hastily forming hollow square the\nbattalions of de Boigne awaited the storm; the infantry of\nWaterloo before the gendarmerie of Agincourt. The ground shook\nbeneath the impetuous advance of the dust-cloud sparkling with\nthe flashes of quivering steel. But when the cloud cleared off,\nthere were still the hollow squares of infantry, like living\nbastions, dealing out lightnings far more terrible than any that\nthey had encountered. The baffled horsemen wheeled furiously\nround on the Mahratta cavalry, and scattered them to the four\ncorners of the field. They then attempted to gallop back, but it\nwas through a Valley of Death. The whole of the regular troops of\nthe enemy lined the way; the guns of de Boigne, rapidly served,\npelted them with grape at point-blank distance; the squares\nmaintained their incessant volleys; by nine in the morning nearly\nevery man of the 4,000 who had charged with their prince lay dead\nupon the ground. Unfatigued and almost uninjured, the\nwell-trained infantry of de Boigne now became assailants. The\nbattalions rapidly deployed, and advancing with the support of\ntheir own artillery, made a general attack upon the Rajput line.\nBy three in the afternoon all attempt at resistance had ceased.\nThe whole camp, with vast plunder and munitions of war, fell into\nthe hands of the victors. The middle-ages were over in India; and\nthe prediction of Bernier was vindicated by the superiority of\nscientific warfare over headlong valour. The town was easily\ntaken, and the fall of Taragarh, the lofty and almost\nimpregnable-looking citadel that frowns above Ajmir, followed\nsoon after. The echo of this blow resounded throughout native\nIndia. The Nana Farnavis heard it at Punah, and redoubled his\nBrahmin intrigues against his successful countryman. He likewise\nstimulated the rivalry of Takuji Holkar, who, with more of\npractical sagacity, resolved to profit by Sindhia's example, and\nlost no time in raising a force similarly organised to that which\nhad won this great victory. De Boigne, almost worn out himself,\nallowed his victorious troops no time to cool, but marched on\nJodhpur, and arrived at Kuarpur in the vicinity of the capital on\nthe 18th of November. But his presence was enough. The Rajas of\nUdaipur and Jodhpur hastened to offer their submission to the\nchief who combined the prestige of the house of Timur with the\nglamour of the fire-eating Feringhee. Sindhia (to borrow a phrase\nfrom the gambling table) backed his luck. He gave de Boigne an\nincreased assignment of territory; and authority to raise two\nmore brigades, on which by express permission of the blind old\nShah was conferred the title of Army of the Empire. The territory\nassigned to the General extended from Mathra to Dehli, and over\nthe whole Upper Doab, yielding a total revenue of about\ntwenty-two lakhs of rupees, a large sum for those days. After\nliquidating the pay of the troops it was estimated that this left\na balance in his favour of about 40,000 rupees a year besides his\npay, and very large perquisites. He also exercised unlimited\ncivil and military jurisdiction. His headquarters were at\nAligarh, where he exercised quasi-royal sway over the whole\nsurrounding country. Some further work, however, awaited de\nBoigne before he finally retired into purely civil\nadministration. Among the last to hold out against the good\nfortune and genius of Sindhia was the founder of the present\nstate of Indore, Jeswant Rao Holkar, who resolved to try the\neffect upon his rival of a blow struck with his own weapons. The\nDuke of Wellington in 1803 took much the same view of this\nfondness on the part of the Mahrattas for European discipline and\nfashions in war as that vainly urged on Sheodasheo Rao by Malhar\nRao Holkar in 1760. \"Sindhia's armies had actually,\" so wrote\nGeneral Wellesley in 1803, \"been brought to a very favourable\nstate of discipline, and his power had become formidable by the\nexertions of European officers in his service; but, I think, it\nis much to be doubted whether his power — or rather that of the\nwhole Mahratta nation — would not have been more formidable if\nthey had never had a European or an infantry soldier in their\nservice, and had carried on their operations in the manner of the\noriginal Mahrattas, only by means of cavalry.\" Malhar Rao and\nWellesley were two great authorities; but, in any case, when once\nany State had introduced the new system, all its rivals were\ncompelled to do likewise, and the State which did it with the\nmost energy prevailed. The citation above given is from Owen's\nSelections, p. 336.\n\nThis was the hey-day of European adventure in the East. France,\nstill under the influence of feudal institutions, continued to\nsend out brave young men who longed, while providing for\nthemselves, to restore the influence of their country in India,\nshaken as it had been by the ill success of Dupleix, Lally, and\nLaw. The native princes, on the other side, were not backward in\navailing themselves of this new species of wardog. A Frenchman\nwas worth his weight in gold; even an Anglo-Indian — the race is\nnow relegated to the office-stool — fetched, we may say, his\nweight in silver. But men of the latter class, though not\ndeficient in valour, and not without special advantages from\ntheir knowledge of the people and their language, were not so\nfully trusted. Doubtless the French officers would be more\nserviceable in a war with England; and that contingency was\nprobably never long absent from the thoughts of the native\nchiefs. With the exception of the Musalman Viceroys of Audh and\nthe Deccan, every native power dreaded the advance of the\nEnglish, and desired their destruction. In fact, now that the\nEmpire was fallen, a general Hindu revival had taken its place,\nthe end of which was not seen till the Sikhs were finally subdued\nin 1849.\n\nHolkar's new army was commanded by a French officer, whose name\nvariously spelt, was perhaps du Drenec. He was the son of an\nofficer in the Royal navy of France, and is described as an\naccomplished and courteous gentleman. He usually receives from\ncontemporary writers the title of Chevalier, and his conduct\nsustained the character of a well-born soldier.\n\n1792. — The Patel lost no time in pushing his success in the only\nquarter where he now had anything to fear. The combination of the\nNana in the cabinet and Holkar with an Europeanized army in the\nfield, was a serious menace to his power; and with enterprising\nversatility he resolved at once to counteract it. With this view\nhe obtained khillats of investiture, for the Peshwa and for\nhimself, from the Emperor, and departed for Puna, where he\narrived after a slow triumphal progress, on the 11th of June,\n1792. On the 20th of the same month the ceremony took place with\ncircumstances of great magnificence; the successful deputy\nendeavouring to propitiate the hostility of the Nana by appearing\nin his favourite character of the Beadle, and carrying the\nPeshwa's slippers, while the latter sate splendidly attired upon\na counterfeit of the peacock throne. All men have their foibles,\nand Sindhia's was histrionism, which imposed on no one. The thin\nassumption of humility by a dictator was despised, and the\nsplendid caparisons of the nominal chief were ridiculed by the\nMahrattas and Brahmans of the old school.\n\nMeanwhile Holkar saw his opportunity and struck his blow.\nProfiting by the absence of his rival, he for the first time\nsince 1773, advanced on Hindustan; and summoning Ismail Beg like\nan evil spirit from his temporary obscurity, he hurled him upon\nthe country round the capital, while he himself lost no time in\nforcing a rupture with Sindhia's civil deputy in Rajputana.\n\nIn the northern part of the Rewari country is a place called\nKanaund; about equidistant from Dehli and Hansi, to the south of\nboth cities. Here Najaf Kuli Khan had breathed his last in a\nstronghold of earth faced with stone, on the borders of the great\nBikanir desert, among sand-hills and low growths of tamarisk; and\nhere his widow — a sister of the deceased Gholam Kadir —\ncontinued to reside. A call to surrender the fort to Sindhia's\nofficers being refused by the high-spirited Pathan lady, gave\nIsmail Beg occasion to reappear upon the scene. He hastened to\nher aid, but found the place surrounded by a force under the\ncommand of M. Perron, a French officer whose name will often\nrecur hereafter. The Beg, as usual, attacked furiously, and, as\nusual, was defeated. He took refuge in the fort which he\ncontrived to enter, and the defence of which he conducted for\nsome time. But the lady being killed by a shell, the garrison\nlost heart, and began to talk of throwing overboard the Moghul\nJonah. The latter, obtaining from Perron a promise of his life\nbeing spared, and having that strong faith in the truth of his\npromise which is the real homage that Asiatics pay to Europeans,\nlost no time in coming into camp, and was sent into confinement\nat Agra, where he remained till his death a few years later.\nFrancklin, writing about 1794, says that he had no chance of\ndeliverance so long as Mahratta sway endured at Dehli; but that\nhe might, otherwise, still live to play a conspicuous part. But I\nbelieve he died about four years later. His residence was in the\nquarters near the Dehli Gate of the Fort, popularly known as Dan\nSah Jat's house, still standing.\n\nDe Boigne meantime took the field in person against Holkar, who\nbrought against him not only the usual host of Mahratta horsemen,\nbut, what was far more formidable, four battalions of sepoys\nunder Colonel du Drenec. The forces of the Empire, of somewhat\ninferior strength, brought Holkar to action at Lakhairi, not far\nfrom Kanaund, and on the road to Ajmir. The battle which ensued,\nwhich was fought in the month of September, 1792, was considered\nby M. de Boigne as the most obstinate that he ever witnessed. The\nground had been skilfully chosen by du Drenec; he held the crest\nof a pass, his rear being partly protected by a wood; a marsh\ncovered his front, while the sides were flanked by forests. The\nregular infantry was supported by a strong artillery, and guarded\nby 30,000 cavalry. Having reconnoitred this position from a\nrising ground, de Boigne advanced under a discouraging fire from\nHolkar's batteries; and as his own guns — whose advance had been\nunexpectedly impeded — came into action he hoped to silence those\nof the enemy. But his artillery officer was unlucky that day. A\ntumbril being struck in de Boigne's batteries, led to the\nexplosion of ten or twelve others; and Holkar observing the\nconfusion, endeavoured to extricate his cavalry from the trees,\nand charge, while du Drenec engaged the enemy's infantry. But the\ncharge of Holkar's horse was confused and feeble (here Ismail\nBeg's absence must have been felt), and de Boigne sheltering his\nmen in another wood, soon repulsed the cavalry with a\nwell-directed and well-sustained discharge from 9,000 muskets. As\nthey retreated, he launched his own cavalry upon them, and drove\nthem off the field. It was now his turn once more to advance.\nRe-forming his infantry and guns in the shelter of the thick\ntree-growth, he fell upon the left of the enemy where the\nregulars still maintained themselves. Raw levies as they were,\nthey fought bravely but unskilfully till they were annihilated;\ntheir European officers were nearly all slain, and their guns\ntaken, to the number of thirty-eight. The battle was lost without\nretrieval, mainly owing to the inefficiency of Holkar's horse;\nthus vindicating the wise, if premature, confidence of Ibrahim\nGardi at Panipat more than thirty years before. Holkar, with the\nremnant of: his army, crossed the Chambal, and fell back on\nMalwa, where he revenged himself by sacking Ujain, one of\nSindhia's chief cities.\n\nWhile these things were taking place, a new rebuff was being\nprepared for himself by the Emperor, from whom neither age nor\nmisfortune had taken that levity of character which, partly\ninherited from his ancestors, partly constitutional to himself,\nformed at once his chief weakness and his greatest consolation.\nIn his dependent condition, enjoying but the moderate stipend of\nninety thousand pounds a year for his whole civil list — and that\nnot punctually paid — the blind old man turned envious thoughts\nupon the prosperity of the provinces which he had formerly ceded\nto his old protectors, the British. Accordingly, in July 1792,\nthe Court newsman of Dehli was directed to announce that\ndespatches had been sent to Punah, instructing Sindhia to collect\ntribute from the administration of Bengal. A similar attempt had\nbeen made, it will be remembered, though without success, in 1785\n(vide sup. Pt. II. c. iv. in fin. ) The present attempt fared no\nbetter. This hint was taken certainly, but not in a way that\ncould have been pleasant to those who gave it; for it was taken\nextremely ill. In a state-paper of the 2nd of August, Lord\nCornwallis, the then Governor General, gave orders that\ninformation should be conveyed to Madhoji Sindhia to the effect\nthat in the present condition of the Dehli court he, Sindhia,\nwould be held directly responsible for every writing issued in\nthe name of the Emperor, and that any attempt to assert a claim\nto tribute from the British Government would be \"warmly\nresented.\" Once more the disinclination of the British to\ninterfere in the Empire was most emphatically asserted, but it\nwas added significantly, that if any should be rash enough to\ninsult them by an unjust demand or in any shape whatever, they\nfelt themselves both able and resolved to exact ample\nsatisfaction.\n\nThis spirited language, whether altogether in accordance with\nabstract right or not, was probably an essential element in the\nmaintenance of that peaceful policy which prevailed in the\ndiplomatic valley that occurred between Warren Hastings and the\nMarquess Wellesley. Sindhia (not unmindful of Popham's Gwalior\nperformance just twelve years before) hastened to assure the\nBritish Government that he regarded them as supreme within their\nown territories; and that, for his part, his sole and whole\nobject was to establish the Imperial authority in those\nterritories that were still subject to the Emperor.\n\nIn this he had perfectly succeeded. The fame of his political\nsagacity, and the terror of General de Boigne's arms, were\nacknowledged from the Satlaj to the Ganges, and from the\nHimalayas to the Vindhyas. And for nearly ten years the history\nof Hindustan is the biography of a few foreign adventurers who\nowed their position to his successes. In the centre of the\ndominions swayed by the Dictator-Beadle were quartered two who\nhad attained to almost royal state in the persons of General de\nBoigne and the Begam Sumroo: the one at Sardhana, the other at\nAligarh. The Chevalier du Drenec, who had not been well used by\nHolkar, left (without the slightest blame) the service of that\nunprosperous chief, and joined his quasi-compatriot and former\nantagonist, the Savoyard de Boigne, as the commandant of a\nbattalion. The \"dignity of History\" in the last century has not\ndeigned to preserve any particulars of the private life of these\ngallant soldiers; but one can fancy them of an evening at a table\nfurnished with clumsy magnificence, and drinking bad claret\nbought up from the English merchants of Calcutta at fabulous\nprices; not fighting over again the battle of Lakhairi, but\nrather discussing the relative merits of the <DW72>s of the Alps\nand the cliffs of the Atlantic; admitting sorrowfully the merits\nof the intermediate vineyards, or trilling to the bewilderment of\ntheir country-born comrades, light little French songs of love\nand wine.\n\nAmong the officers of the Begam's army there would be few\ncongenial companions for such men. The Brigadier, Colonel\nLevaissoult (or le Vasseur; it is impossible to be quite sure of\nthese names as manipulated by the natives of India), seems to\nhave been a young man of some merit. Her only other European\nofficer who was at all distinguished was an Irishman named George\nThomas, who had deserted from a man-of-war in Madras Roads about\nten years before, and after some obscure wanderings in the\nCarnatic, had entered the Begam's service, and distinguished\nhimself, as we have seen, in the rescue of Shah Alam before\nGokalgarh, in 1788. The officers of the Begam's little army had\nnever recovered the taint thrown over the service by its original\nfounder, the miscreant Sumroo, and the merits of the gallant\nyoung Irishman, tall, handsome, intrepid, and full of the\nreckless generosity of his impulsive race, soon raised him to\ndistinction. About his military genius, untaught as it must have\nbeen, there could be no doubt in the minds of those who had seen\nthe originality of his movement at Golkalgarh; his administrative\ntalents, one would suppose, must have given some indication by\nthis time of what they were hereafter to appear in a more leading\ncharacter, and upon a larger stage.\n\nSome time in 1792 the partiality of the Begam for M. Levaissoult\nbegan to show itself; and Mr. Thomas who was not only conscious\nof his own merits, but had all the hatred of a Frenchman which\ncharacterized the British tar of those days, resolved to quit her\nservice and attempt a more independent career. With this view he\nretired, in the first instance, to Anupshahar on the Ganges, so\noften noticed in these pages, and now, for some time, the\ncantonment of the frontier brigade of the English establishment\nin the Presidency of the Fort William. Here he found a hospitable\nwelcome, and from this temporary asylum commenced a\ncorrespondence with Appa Khandi Rao, a chief whom he had formerly\nmet in the Mahratta army, and whose service he presently entered\nwith an assignment of land in Ismail Beg's former Jaigir of\nMewat. In the Mewat country he remained for the next eighteen\nmonths, engaged in a long and arduous attempt to subjugate his\nnominal subjects; in which employment we must for the present\nleave him engaged.\n\nIn the meanwhile the Begam had been married to M. Levaissoult,\naccording to the rites of the ancient Church to which both\nadhered. Unfortunately for the lady's present reputation and the\ngentleman's official influence, the marriage was private; the\nonly witnesses of the ceremony being two of the bridegroom's\nfriends, MM. Saleur and Bernier.\n\nAll this time Sindhia was at Punah endeavouring to raise his\ninfluence in the Mahratta country to something like a level with\nhis power in Hindustan. But the situation was one of much greater\ndifficulty in the former instance than in the latter. In the one\ncase he had to deal with a blind old voluptuary, of whom he was\nsole and supreme master; in the other the sovereign Madhu Rao\nPeshwa was in the vigour of life, and had a confidential adviser\nin the Nana Farnavis, who was almost a match for the Patel in\nability, and had an undoubted superiority in the much greater\nunity of his objects and the comparative narrowness of his field\nof action. It is no part of my task to trace the labyrinth of\nMahratta politics in a work which merely professes to sketch the\nanarchy of Hindustan; it will be sufficient for our present\npurpose to state that the Tarikh-i-Muzafari, the Persian history\nto which we have heretofore been so largely indebted, notices an\nincident as occurring at this time which is not detailed in the\nusually complete record of Captain Grant Duff, though it is not\nat variance with the account that he gives of Punah politics in\n1794. The Persian author briefly states that the Peshwa (whose\nmind was certainly at this time much embittered against Madhoji\nSindhia) sent assassins to waylay him at a little distance from\nthe city, against whose attack the Patel defended himself with\nsuccess, but only escaped at the expense of some severe wounds.\nFrom the situation of the writer, who appears always to have\nlived in Bihar or Hindustan, as well as from the vagueness with\nwhich he tells the story, it is evidently a mere rumour deriving\nsome strength from the fact that Madhoji died at Wanauli, in the\nneighbourhood of the Mahratta capital, on the 12th February of\nthat year, in the midst of intrigues in which he was opposed, not\nonly by the Nana, but by almost all the chiefs of the old\nMahratta party.\n\nAn interesting and careful, though friendly analysis of the\nPatel's character will be found in the fifth chapter of Grant\nDuff's third volume. As evinced in his proceedings in Hindustan,\nwe have found him a master of untutored statecraft, combining in\nan unusual manner the qualities of prudence in counsel and\nenterprise in action; tenacious of his purposes, but a little\nvulgar in his means of affecting opinion. He was possessed of the\naccomplishment of reading and writing; was a good accountant and\nversed in revenue administration; and thus able to act for\nhimself, instead of being obliged, like most Mahratta leaders, to\nput himself into the hands of designing Brahmans. My valued\nfriend Sir Dinkar Rao informs me that, among other traditions of\nhigh Mahratta society, he has been told by aged men that the\nMaharaja was never known to evince serious displeasure save with\ncowards and men who fled in battle. To all others his favour was\nequal, and solely apportioned to merit, no matter what might be\ntheir creed, caste, or colour. He showed discrimination and\noriginality in the wholesale reform that he introduced into the\norganization of the army, and the extensive scale on which he\nemployed the services of soldiers trained and commanded by men of\na hardier race than themselves. Sic fortis Etruria crevit; and it\nis curious to find the same circumstances which in the Middle\nAges of Europe caused the greatness of the Northern Italian\nStates thus reproducing themselves in the Italy of the East.\n\n\n\nNOTE. — The following extract from the Dehli Gazette of June 5th,\n1874, gives the existing tradition as to the domicile of the\nofficers at Aligarh: — \"De Boigne lived in his famous mansion,\ncalled Sahib Bagh, between the fort and city, and on leaving for\nFrance he gave it to Perron, who considerably improved the\nbuilding and garden, which was well laid out with all\ndescriptions of fruit trees procured from distant climes. He so\nadorned the place that it was said by the French officers that\nthe garden was next to that of Ram Bagh, on the Agra river, so\nbeautiful was the scenery. Perron had a number of officers in his\narmy, English, French, and Italian. Next to Perron was Colonel\nPedron, who commanded the fortress of Allygurh; this officer had\nhis mansion in an extensive garden, which at the British conquest\nwas converted into the Judges' Court, and the site is the same\nwhere it now stands. There are still some old jamun trees of the\nsaid garden in the school compound. Chevalier Dudernaque was\nanother officer of distinction in Perron's Brigade; his house was\non the edge of the city, it still stands in the occupancy of\nKhooshwuk Allee, a respectable Mahomedan, who has an Illaqua in\nSahnoul.\" — History of Coel. Aligurhs, by an Old Resident.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nA.D. 1794-1800.\n\n\n\nDaulat Rao Sindhia — Thomas adopted by Appa Khandi Rao —\nRevolution at Sardhana — Begam Sumroo attacked but delivered —\nBegam Sumroo becomes a wiser Woman — Movements of Afghans — De\nBoigne retires — General Perron — Musalman intrigues — Afghans\nchecked — Succession in Audh — War of \"The Bais\" — Afghans and\nBritish — Rising of Shimbunath — Thomas independent — Revolt of\nLakwa Dada — Holkar's defeat at Indor — Power of Perron.\n\n\n\n1794. — THE powers and dignities of the old Patel were peaceably\nassumed by Daulat Rao, the son of the deceased's youngest nephew,\nwhom he had, shortly before his death made preparations to adopt\nas a son. This new minister was only in his fifteenth year, but\nthe chiefs of the Deccan soon becoming involved in war with their\nMusalman neighbours, and Takuji Holkar shortly afterwards\nbecoming imbecile both in mind and in body, the young man had\nleisure to consolidate his power. He retained eight battalions\nalways about him, under the command of a Neapolitan named Filose,\nand continued to reside at Punah; the Begam Sumroo and her new\nhusband were at Sardhana; de Boigne at Aligarh; and Thomas still\nengaged in conquering the country which had been nominally\nconferred upon him by a chieftain who had no right to it himself.\nNothing can better show the anarchy that prevailed than such a\nstate of things as this last mentioned.\n\nThe news of Madhoji's death, and the short suspense that followed\non the subject of the succession, caused some little confusion at\nDehli, and led Appa Khandi Rao to visit the metropolis, on which\noccasion Thomas attended him. Here they received investiture to\ntheir several fiefs from Sindhia's local representative, Gopal\nRao Bhao; but it was not long before this chief, stirred up, says\nThomas's biographer, by the Begam and her husband, begam to\ntamper with the fidelity of Appa Khandi's men, who mutinied and\nconfined their chief. Thomas retaliated by plundering the Begam's\nestates to the south of Dehli, and loyally escorted his master to\nKanaund. On this occasion Appa (who seems not to have been\ndestitute of good impulses) adopted him as his son, made him some\nhandsome presents, and conferred upon him the management of\nseveral contiguous tracts, yielding in all an annual revenue of\none lakh and a half of the money of those days.\n\nOne cannot wonder at the faith in the pagoda-tree which formed so\nprominent an article of the English social creed of those days,\nwhen we thus find a common sailor, at forty years of age,\nattended by a body-guard of chosen cavaliers, and managing\ndistricts as large and rich as many a minor kingdom. No doubt the\nprice paid was high. Thomas's exertions were evidently prodigious\nand ceaseless; while his position — nay, his very existence — was\nextremely precarious. On the other hand, his prospect of\nrealizing any part of his good fortune, and retiring to enjoy it\nin his native Tipperary  - which must have sometimes presented\nitself to his mind — was certainly not hopeful. To the degenerate\nEuropeans of the present day, whose programme involves constant\nholidays in a mountain climate, occasional furloughs to England,\nand, when resident in India, a residence made endurable by\nimported luxuries, and by every possible precaution against heat,\nthere is something almost incredible in this long life of exile,\nwhere the English language would not be heard for years, and\nwhere quilted curtains and wooden shutters would be all the\nprotection of the most luxurious quarters, and an occasional\ncarouse upon fiery bazaar spirits the chief excitement of the\nmost peaceful intervals of repose. Such intervals, however, were\nvery rare; and the sense of constant struggles in which one's\nsuccess was entirely due to one's own merits, must have been the\nchief reward of such a life as Thomas was now leading.\n\nForemost among the difficulties with which he had to contend was\nthe uncertain character of his chief: and he was at the time of\nwhich we are treating — 1794 — strongly tempted by Lakwa Dada to\nenter the service of Sindhia, in which he was offered the command\nof 2,000 horse. This temptation, however, he manfully resisted,\nand continued true to Appa, even though that chief was neither\ntrue to his follower nor to himself. Whilst thus engaged in a\ncause of but small promise, he was once more exposed to the\nmachinations of the Begam, who, influenced by her husband,\nmarched into Thomas's new district and encamped about three\nmarches S.E. from Jhajar, at the head of a force of four\nbattalions of infantry, twenty guns, and four squadrons of horse.\nThomas made instant preparations to meet the invasion, when it\nwas suddenly rolled away in a manner which presents one of the\ncharacteristic dissolving views of that extraordinary period.\n\nThe ruffianly character of most of the officers in the Sardhana\nservice has been already mentioned. With the exception of one or\ntwo, they could not read or write, and they had all the debauched\nhabits and insolent bearing which are the besetting sins of the\nuneducated European in India; especially when to the natural\npride of race are added the temptations of a position of\nauthority for which no preparation has been made in youth. Among\nthese men (whom Le Vaissoult, not unnaturally, refused to admit\nto his dinner-table) was a German or Belgian, now only known to\nus by the nickname of Liegeois, probably derived from his native\nplace. With this man it is supposed that Thomas now opened a\ncorrespondence by means of which he practiced on the disaffection\nof his former comrades. The secrecy which the Begam continued to\npreserve on the subject of her marriage naturally added to the\nunpopularity of Le Vaissoult's position; and the husband and wife\nhurried back to Sardhana on learning that the officers had\ncommenced negotiations with Aloysius the son of the deceased\nSumroo, who resided at Dehli with the title of Nawab Zafaryab\nKhan, and had carried over with them a portion of the troops.\nFinding the situation untenable, they soon resolved on quitting\nit and retiring into the territories of the British with their\nportable property, estimated at about two lakhs of rupees. With\nthis view they wrote to Colonel McGowan, commanding the brigade\nat Anupshahar; and finding that officer scrupulous at\nparticipating at the desertion of an Imperial functionary, Le\nVaissoult, in April, 1794, addressed the Governor General direct.\nThe result was that Sindhia's permission was obtained to a secret\nflitting; and Le Vaissoult was to be treated as a prisoner of\nwar, allowed to reside with his wife at Chandarnagar.\n\nTowards the end of 1795, Zafaryab, at the head of the revolted\nsoldiery set out from Dehli; determined, by what judicial\nstupidity I cannot tell, to cut off the escape of that enemy for\nwhom, if he had been wise, he ought to have paved the road, had\nit been with silver. The intelligence of this movement\nprecipitated Le Vaissoult's measures; and he set out with his\nwife — the latter was in a palankeen, the former armed and on\nhorseback — with a mutual engagement between them that neither\nwas to survive if certified of the death of the other. The troops\nwho still remained at Sardhana, either corrupted by the\nmutineers, or willing to secure the plunder before the latter\nshould arrive, immediately set out in pursuit. The sequel is thus\ntold by Sleeman, who gathered his information from eye-witnesses\non the spot: — \"They had got three miles on the road to Meerut,\nwhen they found the battalions gaining fast upon the palankeen.\nLe Vaissoult drew a pistol from his holster and urged on the\nbearers. He could have easily galloped off and saved himself, but\nhe would not quit his wife's side. At last the soldiers came up\nclose behind them. The female attendants of the Begam began to\nscream, and looking into the litter, Le Vaissoult observed the\nwhite cloth that covered the Begam's breast stained with blood.\nShe had stabbed herself, but the dagger had struck against one of\nthe bones of her chest, and she had not courage to repeat the\nblow. Her husband put the pistol to his temple and fired. The\nball passed through his head, and he fell dead to the ground.\"\nThis tragedy is somewhat differently detailed in the account\nfurnished by Thomas to his biographer, which is made to favour\nthe suspicion that the Begam intentionally deceived her husband\nin order to lead him to commit suicide. Thomas says that Le\nVaissoult was riding at the head of the procession, and killed\nhimself on receiving a message from the rear attested by the\nsight of a blood-stained garment borne by the messenger: but it\nis hard to see why a man in his position should have been absent\nfrom his wife's side at such a critical moment. Thomas was\nnaturally disposed to take an unfavourable view of the Begam's\nconduct; but the immediate results of the scene were certainly\nnot such as to support the theory of her having any understanding\nwith the mutineers. She was carried back to the Fort, stripped of\nher property, and tied under a gun. In this situation she\nremained several days, and would have died of starvation but for\nthe good offices of a faithful ayah, who continued to visit her\nmistress, and supply her more pressing necessities.\n\nThe new Nawab was a weak and dissolute young man; and the Begam\nhad a friend among the officers, Saleur, whom the reader may\nrecollect as one of the witnesses of her marriage. She was ere\nlong released, and M. Saleur lost no time in communicating with\nThomas, whose aid he earnestly invoked. The generous Irishman,\nforgetful of the past, at once wrote strongly to his friends in\nthe service, pointing out that the disbandment of the force would\nbe the only possible result of their persisting in disorderly\nconduct, so detrimental to the welfare of the Emperor and his\nminister. He followed up this peaceful measure by a rapid march\non Sardhana, where he surprised the Nawab by dashing upon him at\nthe head of the personal escort of horse, which formed part of\nthe retinue of every leader of those days. The troops, partly\ncorrupted, partly intimidated, tired of being their own masters,\nand disappointed in Zafaryab, made a prisoner of their new chief.\nHe was plundered to the skin, and sent back to Dehli under\narrest; while the Begam, by the chivalry of one she had ill-used\nfor years, recovered her dominions, and retained them unmolested\nfor the rest of her life. The secret of her behaviour is probably\nnot very difficult of discovery. Desirous of giving to her\npassion for the gallant young Frenchman the sanction of her\nadopted religion, she was unwilling to compromise her position as\nSumroo's heir by a publicly acknowledged re-marriage. She had\nlarge possessions and many enemies; so that, once determined to\nindulge her inclinations, she had to choose between incurring\nscandalous suspicions, and jeopardising a succession which would\nbe contested, if she were known to have made a fresh and an\nunpopular marriage.\n\nM. Saleur was now appointed to the command of the forces; but the\nastute woman never again allowed the weakness of her sex to\nimperil her sovereignty; and from the period of her restoration\nby Thomas (who spent two lakhs of rupees in the business), to the\ndate of her death in 1836, her supremacy was never again menaced\nby any domestic danger. Having, as far as can be conjectured, now\narrived at the ripe age of forty-two, it may be hoped that she\nhad learned to conquer the impulse that sometimes leads a female\nsovereign to make one courtier her master, at the expense of\nmaking all the rest her enemies. The management of her extensive\nterritories henceforward occupied her chief attention, and they\nwere such as to require a very great amount of labour and time\nfor their effective supervision: stretching from the Ganges to\nbeyond the Jamna, and from the neighbourhood of Aligarh to the\nnorth of Mozafarnagar. There was also a Jaigir on the opposite\nside of the Jamna, which has formed the subject of litigation\nbetween her heirs and the Government in recent times. Her\nresidence continued to be chiefly at Sardhana, where she\ngradually built the palace, convent, school, and cathedral, which\nare still in existence. Peace and order were well kept throughout\nher dominions; no lawless chiefs were allowed to harbour\ncriminals and defraud the public revenue; and the soil was\nmaintained in complete cultivation. This is considerable praise\nfor an Asiatic ruler; the reverse of the medal will have to be\nlooked at hereafter.\n\nDeath soon relieved her of all anxiety on the score of her\nundutiful stepson, who drank himself to death in his arrest at\nDehli, leaving a daughter, who married a Mr. Dyce, and became the\nmother of Mr. D. O. Dyce-Sombre, whose melancholy story is fresh\nin the memory of the present generation. Zafaryab Khan was buried\nlike his infamous father at Agra. But his monument is not in the\ncemetery, but in a small church since secularized.\n\nThomas was now, for the moment, completely successful. The\nintrigues of his Mahratta enemy Gopal Rao ended in that officer\nbeing superseded, and Thomas's friend Lakwa Dada became\nLieutenant-General in Hindustan. Appa Khandi, it is true,\ncommenced a course of frivolous treachery towards his faithful\nservant and adopted son, which can only be accounted for on the\nsupposition of a disordered intellect; but Thomas remained in the\nfield, everywhere putting down opposition, and suppressing all\nmarauding, unless when his necessities tempted him to practise it\non his own account.\n\nAbout this time we begin, for the first time, to find mention of\nthe threatening attitude of the Afghans, which was destined to\nexercise on the affairs of Hindustan an influence so important,\nyet so different from what the invaders themselves could have\nanticipated. Timur Shah, the kinsman to whom Shah Alam alludes in\nhis poem, had died in June, 1793; and after a certain amount of\ndomestic disturbance, one of his sons had succeeded under the\ntitle of Zaman Shah. The Calcutta Gazette of 28th May, 1795, thus\nnotices the new ruler:—\n\n\"Letters from Dehli mention that Zaman Shah, the ruler of the\nAbdalees, meditated an incursion into Hindustan, but had been\nprevented, for the present, by the hostility of his brothers. . .\n. . We are glad to hear the Sikhs have made no irruption into the\nDoab this season.\"\n\nThis Zaman Shah is the same who died, many years later, a blind\npensioner of the English at Ludiana; and for the restoration of\nwhose dynasty, among other objects, the British expedition to\nKabul in 1839 took place.\n\nTo this period also belongs the unsuccessful attempt to revive\nMusalman power in the South of India, in which the Nizam of the\nDeccan engaged with the aid of his French General, the famous\nRaymond. The battle fought at Kardla, near Ahmadnagar, on the\n12th March, 1795, is remarkable for the number of Europeans and\ntheir trained followers who took part on either side. On the\nNizam's side, besides a vast force of horse and foot of the\nordinary Asiatic kind, there were no less than 17,000 infantry\nunder Raymond, backed by a large force of regular cavalry and\nartillery. The Mahrattas had 10,000 regulars under Perron, 5,000\nunder Filose, 3,000 under Hessing, 4,500 under du Drenec and\nBoyd. An animated account of this battle will be found in Colonel\nMalleson's excellent book, The Final Struggles of the French in\nIndia, in which, with admirable research and spirit, the gallant\nauthor has done justice to the efforts of the brave Frenchmen by\nwhom British victory was so often checked in its earlier flights.\nThe power of the Musalmans was completely broken by Perron and\nhis associates on this occasion. It is further remarkable as the\nlast general assembly of the chiefs of the Mahratta nation under\nthe authority of their Peshwa (Grant Duff, ii. 284-8). The Moghul\npower in the Deccan was only preserved by the intervention of the\nBritish, and has ever since been dependent on their Government.\n\nEarly in 1796 a change was perceptible in the health of General\nde Boigne, which time and war had tried for nearly a quarter of a\ncentury in various regions. He had amassed a considerable fortune\nby his exertions during this long period, and entertained the\nnatural desire of retiring with it to his native country. Sindhia\nhad no valid ground for opposing his departure, and he set out\nfor Calcutta somewhere about the middle of the year, accompanied\nby his personal escort — mounted upon choice Persian horses — who\nwere afterwards taken into the British Governor's body-guard. In\nthe profession of a soldier of fortune, rising latterly to almost\nunbounded power, de Boigne had shown all the virtues that are\nconsistent with the situation. By simultaneous attention to his\nown private affairs he amassed a fortune of nearly half a million\nsterling, which he was fortunate enough to land in his own\ncountry, where it must have seemed enormous. He lived for many\nyears after as a private gentleman in Savoy, with the title of\nCount, and visitors from India were always welcome and sure of\nbeing hospitably entertained by the veteran with stories of\nMahratta warfare. On the 1st February, 1797, he was succeeded,\nafter some brief intermediate arrangements, by M. Perron, an\nofficer of whom we have already had some glimpses, and whom de\nBoigne considered as a steady man and a brave soldier. Like\nThomas, he had come to India in some humble capacity on board a\nman-of-war, and had first joined the native service under Mr.\nSangster, as a non-commissioned officer. De Boigne gave him a\ncompany in the first force which he raised, with the title of\nCaptain-Lieut. On the absconding of Lestonneaux, in 1788, as\nabove described — when that officer was supposed to have\nappropriated the plunder taken by Gholam Kadir on his flight from\nMeerut — Perron succeeded to the command of a battalion, from\nwhich, after the successes of the army against Ismail Beg, he\nrose to the charge of a brigade. He was now placed over the whole\nregular army, to which the civil administration, on de Boigne's\nsystem, was inseparably attached, and under him were brigades\ncommanded by Colonel du Drenec and by other officers, chiefly\nFrench, of whom we shall see more hereafter. De Boigne, while\nentertaining a high opinion of Perron's professional ability,\nseems to have misdoubted his political wisdom, for both Fraser\nand Duff assert that he solemnly warned Daulat Rao Sindhia\nagainst those very excesses into which — partly by Perron's\ncounsel — he was, not long after, led. \"Never to offend the\nBritish, and sooner to discharge his troops than risk a war,\" was\nthe gist of the General's parting advice.\n\nSindhia remaining in the Deccan, in pursuance of his uncle's plan\nof managing both countries at once, the ax-Sergeant became very\ninfluential in Hindustan, where (jealousies with his Mahratta\ncolleagues excepted) the independent career of George Thomas was\nthe only serious difficulty with which he had to contend.\n\nFor the present the two seamen did not come in contact, for\nThomas confined his operations to the west and north-west, and\nfound his domestic troubles and the resistance of the various\nneighbouring tribes sufficient to fully occupy his attention.\nScarcely had he patched up a peace with his treacherous employer,\nand brought affairs in Mewat to something like a settlement, when\nhis momentary quiet was once more disturbed by the intelligence\nthat Appa had committed suicide by drowning himself, and that his\nson and successor, Vaman Rao, was showing signs of an intention\nto imitate the conduct of the deceased in its untruthful and\nunreliable character. With the exception of a brief campaign in\nthe Upper Doab, in which the fortified towns of Shamli and\nLakhnaoti had rebelled, Thomas does not appear to have had any\nactive employment until he finally broke with Vaman Rao.\n\nThe rebellion of the Governor of Shamli (which Thomas suppressed\nwith vigour) seems to have been connected with the movements of\nthe restless Rohillas of the Najibabad clan, whose chief was now\nBhanbu Khan, brother of the late Gholam Kadir, and an exile among\nthe Sikhs since the death of his brother and the destruction of\nthe Fort of Ghausgarh. Profiting by the long-continued absence of\nSindhia, he re-opened that correspondence with the Afghans which\nalways formed part of a Mohamadan attempt in Hindustan, and\nappealed, at the same time, to the avarice of the Sikhs, which\nhad abundantly recovered its temporary repulse by Mirza Najaf in\n1779. The grandson of the famous Abdali soon appeared at Peshawar\nat the head of 33,000 Afghan horse. But the Sikhs and Afghans\nsoon quarrelled; a desperate battle was fought between them at\nAmritsar, in which, after a futile cannonade, the Sikhs flung\nthemselves upon Zaman's army in the most reckless manner. The\naggregate losses were estimated at 35,000 men. The Shah retreated\nupon Lahor; and the disordered state of the Doab began to be\nreflected in the only half-subdued conquests of the Viceroy of\nAudh in Rohilkand.\n\nAt this crisis 'Asaf-ud-daulah, the then holder of this title,\ndied at Lucknow, 21st September, 1797, and it was by no means\ncertain that his successor, Vazir 'Ali, would not join in the\nreviving struggles of his co-religionists. It must be remembered\nthat, in virtue of its subjugation to the Sindhias, the Empire\nwas now regarded as a Hindu power, and that Shia and Sunni might\nwell be expected to join, as against the Mahrattas or the\nEnglish, however they might afterwards quarrel over the spoil,\nshould success attend their efforts. Furthermore it is to be\nnoted that in this or the following year the Afghans, under Zaman\nShah, were known to be advancing again upon Lahor.\n\nThis state of things appeared to the then Governor-General of the\nBritish possessions sufficiently serious to warrant an active\ninterposition. The calm courage of Sir John Shore, who held a\nlocal investigation into what, to most politicians, might have\nappeared a very unimportant matter — namely, whether the\nheir-apparent was really 'Asaf-ud-daulah's son or not; the grave\ndecision against his claims (the claims of a de facto prince);\nhis deposition and supersession by his eldest uncle, Saadat 'Ali\nthe Second; and Vazir 'Ali's subsequent violence, when, too late\nto save his throne, he contrived, by the gratuitous murder of Mr.\nCherry, the British resident at Benares, to convert his position\nfrom that of a political martyr to that of a life-convict, are\nall amply detailed in the well-known History of Mill, and in the\nLife of Lord Teignmouth by his son. Shore, at the same time, sent\nan embassy to Persia under Mahdi 'Ali Khan, the result of which\nwas an invasion of Western Afghanistan and the consequent\nretirement of the Shah from the Panjab. The events referred to\nonly so far belong to the History of Hindustan, that they are a\nsort of crepuscular appearance there of British power, and show\nhow the most upright and moderate statesmen of that nation were\ncompelled, from time to time, to make fresh advances into the\npolitical sphere of the Empire.\n\nAbout this time died Takaji Holkar, who had lately ceased to play\nany part in the politics, either of Hindustan or of the Deccan.\nHe was no relation, by blood, of the great founder of the house\nof Holkar, Malhar Rao; but he had carried out the traditionary\npolicy of the clan, which may be described in two words —\nhostility to Sindhia, and alliance with any one, Hindu or\nMusalman, by whom that hostility might be aided. He was succeeded\nby his illegitimate son Jaswant Rao, afterwards to become famous\nfor his long and obstinate resistance to the British; but for the\npresent only remarkable for the trouble that he soon began to\ngive Daulat Rao Sindhia.\n\n1798. — The latter, meanwhile, as though there were no such\npersons as Afghans or English within the limits of India, was\nengaging in domestic affairs of the most paltry character. His\nmarriage (1st March) with the daughter of the Ghatgai, Shirji\nRao, put him into the hands of that notorious person, whose\nambition soon entangled the young chief in the obscure and\ndiscreditable series of outrages and of intrigues regarding his\nuncle's widow, known as the War of the Bais. The cause of these\nladies being espoused by Madhoji's old commander, Lakwa Dada,\nwhom the younger Sindhia had, as we have seen, raised to the\nLieutenant-Generalship of the Empire, a serious campaign\n(commenced in May) was the result. Sindhia's army (nominally the\narmy of the Emperor) was under the chief command of Ambaji\nInglia, and in 1798 a campaign of some magnitude was undertaken,\nwith very doubtful results.\n\nThe ladies first retreated to the camp of the Peshwa's brother,\nImrat Rao, but were captured by a treacherous attack ordered by\nSindhia's general, and undertaken by M. Drugeon, a French\nofficer, at the head of two regular brigades, during the\nunguarded hours of a religious festival. This was an overt act of\nwarfare against Sindhia's lawful superior, the Peshwa, in whose\nprotection the ladies were, and threw the Peshwa into the hands\nof the British and their partizans.\n\nSindhia, for his part, entered into negotiations with the famous\nusurper of Mysore, Tippu Sultan, who was the hereditary opponent\nof the British, and who soon after lost his kingdom and his life\nbefore the Mahrattas could decide upon an open espousal of his\ncause.\n\n1799. — The glory of the coming conquerors now began to light up\nthe politics of Hindustan. The Afghans retired from Lahor in\nJanuary, and were soon discovered to have abandoned their\nattempts on Hindustan for the present. But it was not known how\nlong it might be before they were once more renewed. The\ncelebrated treaty of \"subsidiary alliance\" between the British\nand the Nizam (22nd June, 1799), occupied the jealous attention\nof Sindhia, who had accommodated matters with the Peshwa, and\ntaken up his quarters at Punah, where his immense material\nresources rendered him almost paramount. Still more was his\njealousy aroused by the knowledge that, as long as the attitude\nof the Afghans continued to menace the ill-kept peace of the\nEmpire, the British must be of necessity driven to keep watch in\nthat quarter, in proportion, at least, as he, for his part, might\nbe compelled to do so elsewhere. To add to his perplexities,\nJaswant Rao Holkar, the hereditary rival of his house, about this\ntime escaped from the captivity of Nagpur. to which Sindhia's\ninfluence had consigned him. Thus pressed on all sides, the\nMinister restored Lakwa Dada to favour, and by his aid quelled a\nfresh outbreak in the Upper Doab, where Shimbunath, the officer\nin charge of the Bawani Mahal, had called in the Sikhs in aid of\nhis attempts at independence. Shimbunath was met and repulsed by\na Moghul officer, named Ashraf Beg; and, hearing that Perron had\nsent reinforcements under Captain Smith, retired to the Panjab.\n\nAt the same time the Mahratta Governor of Dehli rebelled, but\nPerron reduced him after a short siege, and replaced him by\nCaptain Drugeon, the French officer already mentioned in\nreference to the war of the Bais.\n\nThomas was for the present quite independent; and it may interest\nthe reader to have a picture, however faint, of the scene in\nwhich this extraordinary conversion of a sailor into a sovereign\ntook place. Hansi is one of the chief towns of the arid province\ncuriously enough called Hariana, or \"Green land,\" which lies\nbetween Dehli and the Great Sindh Deserts. When Thomas first\nfixed on it as the seat of his administration, it was a ruin\namong the fragments of the estates which had belonged to the\ndeceased Najaf Kuli Khan. His first care was to rebuild the\nfortifications and invite settlers; and such was his reputation,\nthat the people of the adjacent country, long plundered by the\nwild tribes of Bhatiana, and by the Jats of the Panjab, were not\nslow in availing themselves of his protection. Here, to use his\nown words, \"I established a mint, and coined my own rupees, which\nI made current (!) in my army and country . . . . cast my own\nartillery, commenced making muskets, matchlocks, and\npowder.....till at length, having gained a capital and country\nbordering on the Sikh territories, I wished to put myself in a\ncapacity, when a favourable opportunity should offer, of\nattempting the conquest of the Panjab, and aspired to the honour\nof placing the British standard on the banks of the Attock.\"\n\nHis new possessions consisted of 14 Pargannas, forming an\naggregate of 250 townships, and yielding a total revenue of\nnearly three lakhs of rupees, — Thomas being forced to make very\nmoderate settlements with the farmers in order to realize\nanything. From his former estates, acquired in the Mahratta\nservice, which he still retained, he derived nearly a lakh and a\nhalf more.\n\nHaving made these arrangements, Thomas consented to join Vaman\nRao, the son of his former patron, in a foray upon the Raja of\nJaipur; and in this was nearly slain, only escaping with the loss\nof his lieutenant, John Morris, and some hundreds of his best\nmen. He then renewed his alliance with Ambaji Sindhia's favourite\ngeneral, who was about to renew the war against Lakwa Dada in the\nUdaipur country.\n\nThis new campaign was the consequence of Lakwa having connived at\nthe escape of the Bais, a trait of conduct creditable to his\nregard for the memory of Madhoji Sindhia, his old master, but\nruinous to his own interests. For the moment, however, the Dada\nwas completely successful, routing all the detachments sent\nagainst him, and taking possession of a considerable portion of\nRajputana.\n\nThomas did not join this campaign without undergoing a fresh\ndanger from the mutiny of his own men. This is a species of peril\nto which persons in his position seem to have been peculiarly\nopen; and it is related that the infamous Sumroo was sometimes\nseized by his soldiers, and seated astride upon a heated cannon,\nin order to extort money from him. In the gallant Irishman the\ntroops had a different subject for their experiments; and the\ndisaffection was soon set at rest by Thomas seizing the\nringleaders with his own hands, and having them blown from guns\non the spot. This is a concrete exhibition of justice which\nalways commands the respect of Asiatics; and we hear of no more\nmutinies in Thomas's army.\n\n1800. — In 1800 the sailor-Raja led his men once more against\ntheir neighbours to the north and northwest of his territories,\nand gathered fresh laurels. He was now occupied in no less a\nscheme than the conquest of the entire Panjab, from which\nenterprise he records that he had intended to return, like\nanother Nearchus, by way of the Indus, to lay his conquests at\nthe feet of George the Third of England. But the national foes of\nthat monarch were soon to abridge the career of his enterprising\nsubject, the Irish Raja of Hansi. For the present, Perron marched\ninto the country of the Dattia Raja, in Bandelkhand, and entirely\ndefeated Lakwa Dada, who soon after cried of his wounds. His\nsuccess was at first balanced by Holkar, who routed a detachment\nof the Imperial army, under Colonel Hessing, at Ujain. Hessing's\nfour battalions were completely cut up; and of eleven European\nofficers, seven were slain and three made prisoners. This event\noccurred in June, 1801. But it was not long before the disaster\nwas retrieved at Indor (the present seat of the Holkar family),\nby a fresh force under Colonel Sutherland. Holkar lost\nninety-eight guns, and his capital was seized and sacked by the\nvictors, about four months after the former battle.\n\nThe French commander of the regular troops was indeed now master\nof the situation. Victorious in the field, in undisturbed\npossession of the Upper Doab, and with a subordinate of his own\nnation in charge of the metropolis and person of the sovereign,\nGeneral Perron was not disposed to brook the presence of a rival\n— and that a Briton — in an independent position of sovereignty\nwithin a few miles of Dehli. The French sailor and the English\nsailor having surmounted their respective difficulties, were now,\nin fact, face to face, each the only rival that the other had to\nencounter in the Empire of Hindustan.\n\n\n\nNOTE. — Thomas describes the Begam as small and plump; her\ncomplexion fair, her eyes large and animated. She wore the\nHindustani costume, made of the most costly materials. She spoke\nPersian and Urdu fluently, and attended personally to business,\ngiving audience to her native employee behind a screen. At\ndarbars she appeared veiled; but in European society she took her\nplace at table, waited on exclusively by maid-servants. Her\nstatue, surmounting a group in white marble by Tadolini, stands\nover her tomb in the Church at Sardhana.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nA.D. 1801-3.\n\n\n\nFeuds of the Mahrattas — Perron attacks Thomas — End of Thomas —\nTreaty of Bassein — Lord Wellesley — Treaty of Lucknow —\nWellesley supported — Fear of the French — Sindhia threatened —\nInfluence of Perron - Plans of the French — The First Consul —\nWellesley's Views — War declared — Lake's Force — Sindhia's\nEuropean Officers, English and French — Anti-English Feelings and\nFall of Perron — Battle of Dehli — Lake enters the Capital —\nEmperor's Petition — No Treaty made.\n\n\n\n1801. — THE end was now indeed approaching. Had the Mahrattas\nbeen united, it is possible that their confederacy might have\nretrieved the disasters of 1760-1, and attained a position in\nHindustan similar to that which was soon after achieved by the\nSikhs in the Panjab. But this could not be. The Peshwa still\nassumed to be Vicegerent of the Empire, as well as head of the\nMahrattas, under the titular supremacy of Satara, and Sindhia\naffected to rule in Hindustan as the Peshwa's Deputy. But the new\nPeshwa, Baji Rao — having dislodged the usurping minister Nana\nFarnavis — had proceeded to provoke the Holkars. Jeswant Rao, the\npresent head of that clan, took up arms against the Peshwa, whose\nside was espoused by Sindhia; and Sindhia consequently found\nhimself constrained to leave the provinces north of the Narbadda\nto the charge of subordinates. Of these the most powerful and the\nmost arrogant was the promoted Quarter-Master Sergeant, now\nGeneral Perron.\n\nAs long as the last-named officer was in a subordinate position,\nhe evinced much honourable manhood. But the extremes of\nprosperity and adversity proved alike the innate vulgarity of the\nman's nature.\n\nWhen every hereditary prince, from the Satlaj to the Narbadda,\nacknowledged him as master, and he enjoyed an income equal to\nthat of the present Viceroy and the Commander-in-Chief of India\ncombined; at this climacteric of his fortunes, when he was\nactually believed to have sent an embassy to the First Consul of\nthe French Republic, instead of seriously and soberly seeking to\nconsolidate his position, or resign it with honour, his insolence\nprepared the downfall which he underwent with disgrace.\n\nNot content with openly flouting his Mahratta colleagues, and\nestranging such of the Europeans as were not his connections or\nhis creatures, he now summoned George Thomas to Dehli, and called\nupon him to enter Sindhia's service — in other words, to own his\n(Perron's) supremacy. The British tar repudiated this invitation\nwith national and professional disdain; upon which a strong\nFranco-Mahratta army invaded his territories under Louis\nBourquin, one of Perron's lieutenants. Judgment formed no part of\nThomas's character; but he acted with his wonted decision.\nSweeping round the invading host, he fell upon the detachment at\nGeorgegarh — one of his forts which was being beleaguered — and\nhaving routed the besiegers with great loss, threw himself into\nthe place, and protected his front with strong outworks,\nresolving to await assistance from Holkar, or to seize a\nfavourable opportunity to strike another blow.\n\nEvents showed the imprudence of this plan. No aid came; the\nFrench being reinforced, invested his camp, so as to produce a\nblockade: corruption from the enemy joined with their own\ndistress to cause many desertions of Thomas's soldiers, till at\nlength their leader saw no alternative but flight. About 9 P.M.\ntherefore, on the 10th November, 1801, he suddenly darted forth\nat the head of his personal following, and succeeded in reaching\nHansi by a circuitous route, riding the same horse — a fine\nPersian — upwards of a hundred miles in less than three days. But\nhis capital was soon invested by his relentless foes as strictly\nas his camp had been; and although the influence of his character\nwas still shown in the brave defence made by the few select\ntroops whom neither hope nor fear could force from his side, he\nwas at last obliged to see the cruelty of taxing their fidelity\nany farther. M. Bourquin was much incensed against this obstinate\nantagonist; but the latter obtained terms through the mediation\nof the other officers, and was allowed to retire to British\nterritory with the wreck of his fortune, on the 1st of January,\n1802. He died in August, on his way down to Calcutta, and was\ninterred at Barhampur. He left a family, of whom the Begam Sumroo\nat first took charge, but their descendants have now become mixed\nwith the ordinary population of the country.\n\nThis extraordinary man was largely endowed by Nature, both\nmorally and physically. During the time of his brief authority he\nsettled a turbulent country, and put down some crimes, such as\nfemale infanticide, with which all the power of Britain has not\nalways coped successfully. It would have been profitable to the\nBritish Government had they supported him in his manful struggles\nagainst Mahratta lawlessness, and against French ambition and\nill-will.\n\n1802. — The overthrow of Thomas was nearly the last of Sindhia's\nsuccesses. Having made a final arrangement with the Bais (from\nwhom we here gladly part), he confined his attention to the\npolitics of the Deccan, where he underwent a severe defeat from\nHolkar, at Punah, in October, 1802. The Peshwa, on whose side\nSindhia had been fighting, sought refuge with the British at\nBassein, and Holkar obtained temporary possession of the Mahratta\ncapital. On the 31st of December the celebrated treaty of Bassein\nwas concluded with the Peshwa. It appears from the Wellington\nDispatches, published by Mr. Owen in 1880, that this treaty was\ncertainly not conceived in a spirit of hostility to Daulat Rao.\nHe was a party directly, to the preceding negotiations and, by\nthe agency of his minister, \"to the whole transaction.\" (Owen's\nSelection, p. 30.) Still, as Mr. Wheeler has pointed out, this\ninstrument tended to substitute the British as the paramount\npower in Hindustan (Short History, p. 433), and \"shut Sindhia out\nfrom the grand object of his ambition, namely, to rule the\nMahratta empire in the name of the Peshwa.\" One of the articles\nof the treaty debarred the Mahrattas from entertaining French\nofficers. Grant Duff had seen a secret letter written shortly\nafter the date of the treaty by the Peshwa in which he summoned\nSindhia to Punah. (II. Grant Duff, p. 384.) Then, not only\nsupplanted by the British as Protector of the Mahratta State, but\nalarmed on the score of his position in Hindustan, Sindhia began\nto intrigue with the hitherto inactive Mahratta chief, Raghoji,\nthe Bhonsla Raja of Nagpur.\n\nAided by the British under the already famous Arthur Wellesley,\nthe Peshwa soon regained his metropolis, which Sindhia was\npreparing to occupy. That chief was still further estranged in\nconsequence of the disappointment.\n\nHolkar now held aloof, wisely resolving to remain neutral, at\nleast until his rival should be either overthrown or\nirresistible. The Governor- General, Marquis Wellesley, apprised\nby his brother and other political officers of the intrigues of\nSindhia, demanded from the latter a categorical explanation of\nhis intentions. And this not being given, General Wellesley was\nordered to open the campaign in the Deccan, while General Lake\nco-operated in the Doab of Hindustan.\n\nIn order to appreciate the grounds of this most important\nmeasure, it will be necessary to break through the rule by which\nI have been hitherto guided of keeping nothing before the reader\nbesides the affairs of Hindustan proper. The motives of Lord\nWellesley formed part of a scheme of policy embracing nearly the\nwhole inhabited world; and whether we think him right or wrong,\nwe can hardly avoid the conclusion that the virtual assumption of\nthe Moghul Empire at this time was due to his personal character\nand political projects.\n\nAs far back as February, 1801, the Governor-General had\nco-operated in European affairs by sending a contingent to Egypt\nunder General Baird; though the force arrived too late to\nparticipate actively in a campaign by which the French were\nexpelled from that country. A twelvemonth later the Marquis\nreceived official intimation of the virtual conclusion of the\nnegotiations on which was based the Peace of Amiens. In the\ninterval he had sent his brother, Mr. Henry Wellesley, to\nLucknow, and had concluded through that agency the famous treaty\nof the 10th November, 1801, by which British rule was introduced\ninto Gorakpur, the Eastern and Central Doab, and a large part of\nRohilkand. The immediate result of this will be seen ere long.\n\nHaving inaugurated these important changes in the position of\nBritish power in the East, Lord Wellesley now notified to the\nCourt of Directors (by whom he had conceived himself thwarted),\nhis intention to resign his office, and to return to Europe in\nthe following December. At the same time he issued to General\nLake, the Commander-in-Chief, instructions for a substantial\nreduction of the forces. He added however the following\nremarkable words: \"It is indispensable to our safety in India\nthat we should be prepared to meet any future crisis of war with\nunembarrassed resources;\" words whereby he showed that even\nreduction was undertaken with an eye to future exertions. In a\nsimilar spirit he rebuked the naval Commander Admiral Rainier,\nfor refusing to employ against the Mauritius the forces that had\nbeen set free by the evacuation of Egypt; laying down in terms as\ndecided as courtesy permitted the principle that, as responsible\nagent, he had a right to be implicitly obeyed by all His\nMajesty's servants.\n\nAnd that bold assertion received the approbation of King George\nIII., in a despatch of the 5th May; the further principle being\ncommunicated by the writer, Lord Hobart, in His Majesty's name,\n\"that it should be explicitly understood that in the distant\npossessions of the British empire during the existence of war,\nthe want of the regular authority should not preclude an attack\nupon the enemy in any case that may appear calculated to promote\nthe public interest.\"\n\nThus fortified, the Governor-General was persuaded to reconsider\nhis intention of at once quitting India, the more so since the\nterms in which the Court of Directors recorded their desire that\nhe should do so, displayed an almost equal confidence, and\namounted, if not to any apology for past obstruction, at least to\na promise of support for the future. In his despatch of 24th\nDecember, 1802, Lord Wellesley plainly alluded to the opening for\nextending the British power in India which he considered to be\noffered by the then pending treaty of Bassein, though at the same\ntime he records, apparently without apprehension, the intention\nof Sindhia to proceed from Ujan towards Punah to counteract the\nmachinations of Holkar. On the 11th February, 1803, Lord\nWellesley signified his willingness to remain at his post another\nyear, though without referring to any military or political\nprospects.\n\nBut the direction in which his eye was constantly cast is soon\nbetrayed by a despatch of the 27th March, to General Lake,\nconveying instructions for negotiating with General Perron, who,\nfrom motives we shall briefly notice lower down, was anxious to\nretire from the service of Sindhia. In this letter Lord Wellesley\nplainly says, \"I am strongly disposed to accelerate Hr. Perron's\ndeparture, conceiving it to be an event which promises much\nadvantage to our power in India.\"\n\nIt appears, nevertheless, from the Marquis's address to the\nSecret Committee of the Court of Directors of 19th April, 1803,\nthat, up to that time, he still entertained hopes that Sindhia\nwould remain inactive, and would see his advantage in giving his\nadhesion to the treaty of Bassein, if not from friendship for\nEngland, from hostility to Holkar, against whom that settlement\nwas primarily and ostensibly directed. Meanwhile, advices\ncontinued to arrive from Europe, showing the extremely precarious\nnature of the Peace of Amiens, and the imminent probability of a\nrenewal of hostilities with France, thus keeping awake the\nGovernor-General's jealousy of Sindhia's French officers, and\ndelaying the restoration of French possessions in India, which\nhad been promised by the treaty.\n\nIn May the Marquis proceeded explicitly to forbid the crossing of\nthe Narbadda by Sindhia, and to warn the Bhonsla Raja of Berar or\nNagpur against joining in the schemes of the former chief, to\nwhom a long and forcible despatch was sent, through the Resident,\nColonel Collins, in the early part of the following month (vide\nW. Desp. p. 120). In this letter Colonel Collins — while vested\nwith much discretionary power — was distinctly instructed to\n\"apprise Scindiah (Sindhia) that his proceeding to Poonah, under\nany pretext whatever, will infallibly involve him in hostilities\nwith the British power.\" The Resident was also to require from\nhim \"an explanation with regard to the object of any confederacy\"\nwith the Bhonsla chiefs of Berar and Nagpur, or with Holkar.\nSindhia met all these approaches with the Oriental resources of\nequivocation  and delay; apparently unable either to arrange with\ndue rapidity any definite understanding with the other Mahratta\nleaders, or to make up his mind, or persuade his chief advisers\nto give a confident and unconditional reception to the friendship\noffered him by the British ruler. Whether the latter course would\nhave saved him is a question that now can only be decided by each\nperson's interpretation of the despatches above analysed.\n\nThose who desire to study the subject further may refer to the\nfirst volume of Malcolm's Political History, to Mill's History,\nand to Grant Duff's concluding volume, but will hardly obtain\nmuch result from their labour. On the one hand, it may be\npresumed that, had the British Government really been ambitious\nof extending their North-Western frontier, they would have\nassisted Thomas in 1801; on the other hand, it is certain that\nthey supplanted Sindhia at Punah soon afterwards, and that they\nhad for some years been exceedingly jealous of French influence\nin India. In this connection should also be mentioned the\ninvasion planned by the Czar Paul, in concert with the First\nConsul, in 1800, of which the details were first made public in\nEnglish by Mr. Michell (Rawlinson's England and Russia in the\nEast, p. 187). The general fact of Paul's submission to the\nascendancy of Napoleon was, of course, well known to British\nstatesmen at the time. There was also the fear of an Afghan\ninvasion, which led to the mission of Malcolm to Persia, and\nwhich was, perhaps, not the mere bugbear which it now appears. A\nmasterly statement of Lord Wellesley's political complications\nwill be found in his brother's Memorandum, given as an\nIntroduction to Professor Owen's Selection, published in 1880. It\nis quite clear, again, that Sindhia, for his part, was not\nunwilling to see the British espouse the Peshwa's cause as\nagainst Holkar; while it is highly probable that his mind was\nworked upon by Perron when the latter found himself under\ncombined motives of self-interest and of national animosity.\n\nThe French General had been losing favour on account of his\nincreasing unpopularity among the native chiefs of the army; and\nhad been so contumeliously treated by Daulat Rao Sindhia at\nUjain, in the beginning of the year 1803, that he had resigned\nthe service. But hardly was the treaty of Bassein communicated to\nSindhia, when Perron consented to remain at his post, and even,\nit is believed, drew up a plan for hostilities against the\nBritish, although the latter had shown as yet no intention of\ndeclaring war, but, on the contrary, still maintained a minister\nin Sindhia's camp. These facts, together with the statistics that\nfollow, are chiefly derived from the memoirs of an Anglo-Indian\nofficer of Perron's, the late Colonel James Skinner, which have\nbeen edited by Mr. Baillie Fraser. \"Sindhia and Raghoji together\"\n(Raghoji was the name of the Bhonsla of Nagpur) \"had about\n100,000 men, of whom 50,000 were Mahratta horse, generally good,\n30,000 regular infantry and artillery, commanded by Europeans;\nthe rest half-disciplined troops. Sindhia is understood to have\nhad more than 300 pieces of cannon. The army of Hindustan, under\nPerron, consisted of 16,000 to 17,000 regular infantry, and from\n15,000 to 20,000 horse, with not less than twenty pieces of\nartillery.\" It may be added, on the authority of Major Thorn,\nthat his army was commanded by about three hundred European\nofficers, of whom all but forty were French. In this estimate\nmust be included the forces of the Begam Sumroo.\n\nThe French plans, as far as they can now be learned, were as\nfollows: — The blind and aged Shah Alam was to be continued upon\nthe Imperial throne, under the protection of the French Republic.\n\"This great question being decided,\" proceeds the memorial from\nwhich I am extracting, \"it remains to consider whether it is not\npossible that the branches of that unfortunate family may find\nprotectors who shall assert their sacred rights and break their\nignominious chains. It will then follow that mutual alliance and\na judicious union of powers will secure the permanent sovereignty\nof the Emperor, to render his subjects happy in the enjoyment of\npersonal security and of that wealth which springs from peace,\nagriculture, and free trade. The English Company, by its\nignominious treatment of the great Moghul, has forfeited its\nrights as Deewan of the Empire.\" (\"Memoir of Lieutenant Lefebre,\"\n6th August, 1803.)\n\nLord Wellesley himself records this document, which was found in\nPondicherry, it does not appear exactly how or when; he may have\nhad an inkling of the policy previously, but the date is\nsufficient to show that he had not seen it before going to war\nwith Sindhia. Lord Wellesley refers, about the same time, to the\nmagnitude of the establishment sent out to take possession of the\nsettlements which the French were to recover in India by the\nPeace of Amiens, an establishment obviously too large for the\nmere management of Pondicherry and Chandarnagar.\n\nPerhaps the memoir in question (which was drawn up by an officer\nof the staff sent out on that occasion) may have expressed\ncorrectly the intentions which the First Consul held at the time;\nfor nobody appears to have been very sincere or much in earnest\non either side at the Peace of Amiens. And it is not impossible\nthat the paper expresses intentions which might have been more\nthoroughly carried out had not the terrible explosion in St.\nDomingo subsequently diverted the attention of the French\nGovernment to another hemisphere. At all events it is a\nthinly-veiled pretext of aggression; and the accusations against\nthe English are scandalously false, as will be clear to those who\nmay have perused the preceding pages. Considering that it was\nPerron's own employer who kept the Imperial House in penury and\ndurance, it was the extreme of impudence for one of Perron's\ncompatriots to retort the charge upon the English, to whom Shah\nAlam was indebted for such brief gleams of good fortune as he had\never enjoyed, and whose only offence against him had been a\nfruitless attempt to withhold him from that premature return to\nDehli, which had been the beginning of his worst misfortunes. It\nwas, moreover, a gross exaggeration to call the British the\nDiwans of the empire now, whatever may have once been their\ntitular position in Bengal. On the 6th of July Lord Wellesley\nreceived from the ministry in England a hint that war with France\nwould be likely to be soon renewed; and on the 8th of the same\nmonth he addressed to his commander-in-chief a short private\nletter, of which the following extract shows the purport: — \"I\nwish you to understand, my dear Sir, that I consider the\nreduction of Sindhia's power on the north-west frontier of\nHindustan to be an important object in proportion to the\nprobability of a war with France. M. de Boigne (Sindhia's late\ngeneral) is now the chief confident of Bonaparte; he is\nconstantly at St. Cloud. I leave you to judge why and wherefore.\"\n— (Desp. III. 182.)\n\nThe Governor-General here shows his own views, although his\nsagacity probably overleaped itself in the imputation against de\nBoigne, for which I have found no other authority. Ten days later\nhe sends Lake more detailed instructions, closing his covering\nletter with a sentence especially worthy of the reader's\nattention: — \"I consider an active effort against Scindhia and\nBerar to be the best possible preparation for the renewal of the\nwar with France.\" There is little doubt of this being the\nkey-note of the policy that led the British to the conquest of\nHindustan. — Vide App. E.\n\nOn the 31st July, General Wellesley wrote to the Resident at the\ncourt of Sindhia (Colonel Collins) stating that the reasons\nassigned by the confederates for not withdrawing their troops\nwere illusory, and ordering Collins to leave their camp at once.\nOn the 15th August Lord Wellesley received a packet, which the\ncollector of Moradabad had transmitted nearly a month before,\ncontaining translation of a letter from the Nawab of Najibabad,\nBhanbu Khan, brother of the late Gholam Kadir, covering copy of a\ncircular letter in which Sindhia was attempting to stir him and\nthe other chiefs against the English as \"that unprincipled race\";\nand begging them to co-operate with General Perron. War, however,\nhad already been declared, and a letter addressed by the\nGovernor-General to Shah Alam.\n\nThe force with which General Lake was to meet the 35,000\nFranco-Mahrattas in Hindustan, consisted of eight regiments of\ncavalry, of which three were European, one corps of European\ninfantry, and eleven battalions of Sepoys, beside a proper\ncomplement of guns, with two hundred British artillerymen, making\na total of 10,500, exclusive of the brigade at Anupshahar.\n\nThe assembling of this force on the immediate frontier of the\ndominion occupied by Sindhia and the French, had been facilitated\nby the treaty of the 10th November, 1801, by which Saadat Ali\nKhan, whom the British had lately raised to the Viceroyship of\nAudh, had ceded to them the frontier provinces above named. This\ncession was made in commutation for the subsidy which the Nawab\nhad been required to pay for the maintenance of the force by\nwhich he was supported against his own subjects. The Peshwa had\npreviously ceded a portion of Bundelkand by the treaty of\nBassein, and the red colour was thus surely, if slowly, creeping\nover the map of India. Perron resisted the cession of the new\nfrontier under the treaty of Lucknow. The \"Old Resident\" makes\nthe following note on the subject: — \"When the British came to\nSasnee, which was ceded by the Nawab Wuzier of Lucknow by a\ntreaty in 1802 to Government, the Pergunnahs of Sasnee,\nAkberabad, Jellalee, and Secundra came under British rule, but\nnot without much bloodshed in the sieges of Sasnee, Bijey Gurh\nand Kuchoura fortresses; in all these places we buried the\nremains of British officers who first shed their blood for their\nKing and country. At Sasnee the masonry graves in a decayed\ncondition are still to be seen. At Bijey Gurh they are in the low\n'Duhur' lands apart from the Fort, and at the Kuchoura in Locus\nKanugla, lies the tomb of Major Naivve, Commanding the 2nd\nCavalry, who was shot whilst leading his men to the assault. A\nsurviving relation of the above officer had a monument built in\n1853 at Bhudwas, on the Trunk Road, with the original tablet\nwhich was torn off from the tomb by the villagers, and by chance\ndiscovered by a European overseer of the roads after a lapse of\nfifty years.\"\n\nIn Sindhia's armies there were, as we have seen, a number of\nofficers who were not Frenchmen. These were mostly half-castes,\nor (to use a term subsequently invented) Eurasians,\nEuropeo-Asiatics, or persons of mixed blood; in other words, the\noffspring of connections which British officers in those days\noften formed with native females. Nearly all these officers,\nwhether British or half-British, were upon this occasion\ndischarged from the service by Perron, who had probably very good\nreason to believe that they would not join in fighting against\nthe army of their own sovereign. Carnegie, Stewart, Ferguson,\nLucan, two Skinners, Scott, Birch, and Woodville, are the only\nnames recorded, but there may have been others also who were\ndismissed from the army at Perron's disposal. The prospects of\nthose who were absent on duty in the Deccan, and elsewhere, soon\nbecame far more serious. Though not at present dismissed, they\nwere mostly reserved for a still harder fate. Holkar beheaded\nColonel Vickers and seven others; Captain Mackenzie and several\nmore were confined, and subsequently massacred, by orders of\nSindhia; others perished \"in wild Mahratta battle,\" fighting for\nmoney in causes not their own, nor of the smallest importance to\nthe world. General Wellesley complained, after the battle of\nAssai, of \"Sindhia's English officers.\" He says that his wounded\nmen heard them give orders for their massacre as they lay upon\nthe field, and promises to send up a list of their names after\nfull inquiry (Owen, 311). No such list has ever been heard of;\nand it appears, from Lewis F. Smith's memoir, that the European\nofficers there present were all French, or Italian, or German. It\nis barely possible that they used English in conversing,\ncertainly not probable; but the story was very likely prompted by\nthe imagination of the wounded men who saw white faces among the\nenemy and concluded that they must be their own countrymen. The\nonly European officers known to have been engaged on the Mahratta\nside are Pohlmann and Dupont (both named by Wellesley) and Saleur\nof the Begam's service who commanded the baggage-guard; with\nperhaps, J. B. da Fontaine.\n\nAlthough the French officers were now without any Christian\nrivals, it does not appear that their position was a satisfactory\none. The reader may refer to Law's remarks on this subject,\nduring the Emperor's unsuccessful attempts to the eastward. The\nisolation and impossibility of trusting native colleagues, of\nwhich that gallant adventurer complained, were still, and always\nmust be, fatal to the free exercise of civilized minds serving an\nAsiatic ruler. All the accounts that we have of those times\ncombine to show that, whoever was the native master, the\ncondition of the European servant was precarious, and his\ninfluence for good weak. On the 24th of June, 1802, Colonel\nCollins, the British Resident at the Court of Sindhia, had\nwritten thus to his Government in regard to Perron whom he had\nlately visited at Aligarh: — \"General Perron has been\nperemptorily directed by Sindhia to give up all the Mahals\n(estates) in his possession not appertaining to his own jaidad\n(fief); and I understand that the General is highly displeased\nwith the conduct of Sindhia's ministers on this occasion,\ninsomuch that he entertains serious intentions of relinquishing\nhis present command.\"\n\nThis intention, as we have already seen, was at one time on the\npoint of being carried out, and Perron was evidently at the time\nsincere in his complaints.\n\nIt is not however possible to use, as Mill does, these\ndiscontents — alleged by Perron in conversation with a British\npolitical officer — as a complete proof of his not having had,\ntowards the British, hostile views of his own. The whole tenor of\nColonel Skinner's Memoir, already frequently cited (the work, be\nit remembered, of a person in the service at the time), is to\nshow an intense feeling of hostility on Perron's part towards the\nBritish, both as a community of individuals and as a power in\nIndia. It is more than probable that but for the Treaty of\nBassein, which gave the British in India the command of the\nIndian Ocean and the Western Coast, and but for the\ncontemporaneous successes of Abercromby and Hutchinson in Egypt,\nPerron, supported by the troops of the French Republic, might\nhave proved to the British a most formidable assailant. Skinner\ngives a graphic account of his vainly attempting to get\nreinstated by Perron, who said: \"Go away, Monsieur Skinner! I no\ntrust.\" He would not trust officers with British blood and\nsympathies.\n\nBut such was the fortune, and such were the deserts of those by\nwhom England was at that time served, that they were able,\nwithout much expense of either time or labour, to conquer the\nhalf-hearted resistance of the French, and the divided councils\nof the Mahrattas. Holkar not only did not join Sindhia, but\nassisted the British cause by his known rivalry. Arthur Wellesley\ngave earnest of his future glory by the hard-fought battle of\nAssai, in which the Begam Sumroo's little contingent, under its\nFrench officers, gave Sindhia what support they could; and\nGeneral Lake overthrew the resistance of M. Perron's army at\nAligarh, and soon reduced the Fort, in spite of the gallant\ndefence offered by the garrison. Mention has been made of this\nFort in the account of the overthrow of Najaf Khan's successors\nby Sindhia (sup. p. 145). Since those days it had been much\nimproved. The following is the account of the Dehli Gazette's\n\"old Resident.\" — \"The Fort of Allyqurh was made by the Jauts\nwhile the place was under the Delhi Kings. Nawab Nujjuff Khan,\nthe Governor, improved the fortification, and de Boigne brought\nit into a regular defensive state according to the French system.\nPerron and Pedron subsequently added their skill in strengthening\nthe fortress, which commanded a wide open plain, the most part\nbeing under water during the heavy rains on account of the lands\nbeing low.\" The gate was blown in and the place rapidly stormed\nby the 76th, piloted by a Mr. Lucan, who was made a captain in\nthe British service for his treachery. He was afterwards taken\nprisoner during Monson's retreat and put to death by Holkar's\norders. The enemy were commanded by natives, having withdrawn\ntheir confidence from Perron's French Lieutenant, Colonel Pedron,\nwho was on that occasion made prisoner by the troops. Perron\nhimself, having first retreated upon Agra, and thence on Mathra,\ncame over to the English with two subordinates, and was at once\nallowed a free passage to Chandarnagar with his family and his\nproperty. Bourquien, who commanded the army in Dehli, attempted\nto intrigue for the chief command, but was put under arrest by\nhis native officers; and the Mahratta army, like sheep without a\nshepherd, came out to meet the advancing British on the Hindan, a\nfew miles to the east of the capital, on the old road from the\ntown of Sikandrabad, so often mentioned in this narrative. After\nthey had killed six officers and about 160 men by a furious\ncannonade, their obstinacy was broken down by the undeniable and\nwell-disciplined pertinacity of the 27th Dragoons and the 76th\nFoot; and they suffered a loss of 3,000 men and sixty-eight\npieces of artillery, mounted in the best French style. This\ndecisive victory was gained on the 11th September, 1803; when on\nthe 14th the army crossed the Jamna, and General Bourquien, with\nfour other French officers, threw themselves upon British\nprotection. Their example was soon after followed by the\nChevalier du Drenec and two other officers from the army of the\nDeccan; and shortly after by Hessing and other European officers\nin command of the garrison at Agra, which had at first confined\nthem, but afterwards capitulated through their mediation.\n\nNo sooner did the ill-starred Emperor hear of the sudden\noverthrow of his custodians, than he opened formal negotiations\nwith the British General, with whom he had been already treating\nsecretly. The result was that on the 16th, the Heir Apparent,\nMirza Akbar, was despatched to wait upon General Lake in camp,\nand conduct him to the presence of the blind old man, who was the\nlegitimate and undoubted fountain of all honour and power in\nHindustan. The prince vindicated his dignity in a manner peculiar\nto Asiatics, by keeping the conqueror waiting for three hours.\nThe cavalcade was at last formed, and, after a slow progress of\nfive miles, reached the palace as the sun was setting. Rapid\nmotion was rendered impossible by the dense collection of nearly\n100,000 persons in the narrow ways; and even the courts of the\nPalace were on this occasion thronged with spectators, free at\nlast. A tattered awning had been raised over the entrance to the\nfamous Diwan-i-Khas, and underneath, on a mockery of a throne,\nwas seated the descendant of Akbar and of Aurangzeb. It would be\ninteresting to know what was the exact manner of General Lake's\nreception, and what were the speeches on either side; but the\ninflated enthusiasm of the \"Court-Newsman,\" and the sonorous\ngeneralities of Major Thorn and the Marquess Wellesley, are all\nthe evidence which survives. According to the latter, the people\nof Dehli were filled with admiring joy, and the Emperor with\ndignified thankfulness; according to the former, so great was the\nvirtue of the joyful tears shed on this occasion by the Monarch,\nthat they restored his eyesight — the eyesight destroyed fifteen\nyears before by Gholam Kadir's dagger. Such is the nature of the\nstones offered by these writers to the seeker for historical\nnourishment.\n\nWhat is certain is, that the British General received the title\nof Khan Dauran, which was considered the second in the Empire,\nand which implied perhaps a recognition of the claims of the Audh\nNawab to be hereditary Vazir; while the British Government\n\"waived all question of the Imperial prerogative and authority\" —\nin other words virtually reserved them to itself. The Emperor was\nonly sovereign in the city and small surrounding district; and\neven that sovereignty was to be exercised under the control of a\nBritish Resident, who was to pay his Majesty the net proceeds,\nbesides a monthly stipend of 90,000 rupees.\n\nThese conditions received the sanction of Government, and are\nrecorded in despatches. No treaty is forthcoming; although native\ntradition asserts that one was executed, but afterwards\nsuppressed; the copy recorded in the palace archives having been\npurloined at the instigation of the British. This suspicion is\nentirely unfounded; no treaty was ever concluded with Shah Alam,\nthough his Majesty formed the subject of a clause in the treaty\nwith Sindhia. This is of importance, as serving to show the\nposition to which the Court of Directors was supposed to have\nsucceeded; namely to that of Vakil-mutlak or Plenipotentiary\nVicegerent of the Empire, in the room of the Mahratta Peshwa and\nhis once all-powerful Deputy. They were subjects of George III.,\nno doubt, but servants of Shah Alam; money continued to be struck\nin the Emperor's name, and the laws then prevailing in Hindustan\nremained in force. The very disclaimer of all intention to usurp\nthe royal prerogative or assert \"on the part of His Majesty (Shah\nAlam) any of the claims which, as Emperor of Hindustan he might\nbe considered to possess upon the provinces composing the Moghul\nEmpire,\" is full of significance.\n\nOn the 1st November Lake overthrew the brigade of du Drenec in\nthe bloody battle of Laswari; and Arthur Wellesley having been\nequally victorious a second time in the Deccan, Sindhia consented\nto the Treaty of Sarji-Arjangaon. By that instrument Daulat. Rao\nSindhia ceded, besides other territories, all his conquests in\nthe Doab.\n\nThus passed into the hands of British delegates the\nadministration of the sceptre of Hindustan: a sceptre which had\nbeen swayed with success as long as it protected life, order, and\nproperty, leaving free scope to conduct, to commerce, and to\nconscience; nor failed in discharging the former class of\nobligations until after it had ceased to recognize the latter.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\n\n\n\nEffects of climate — Early immigrants — French and English —\nMohammedan power not overthrown by British — Perron's\nadministration — Changes since then — The Talukdars - Lake's\nfriendly intentions — Talukdars' misconduct — Their power curbed\n— No protection for life, property, or traffic — Such things\nstill dependent on foreign aid — Conclusion.\n\n\n\nAFTER many blunderings and much labour, the judgment of history\nappears to have formed the final conclusion that the physical\nconditions of a given country will always be the chief\ndetermining agents in forming the national character of those who\ninhabit it; and that the people of one country, transplanted into\nanother, where the soil and the sun act in a manner to which they\nhave not been accustomed, will, in the course of a few\ngenerations, exhibit habits of mind and body very different to\nwhat characterized them in their original seats.\n\nIt is therefore without legitimate cause for surprise that we\nhear from scholars that the feeble folk of Hindustan are the\ndirect and often unmixed representatives of the dominant races of\nthe world. To begin with the Hindus: the Brahmans and some of the\nother classes are believed to be descended from the brave and\ncivilized peoples of ancient Asia, of whom sacred and profane\nwriters make such frequent mention, of some of the founders of\nNineveh and Babylon, and of the later empire of the Medes and\nPersians, which was on the eve of subjugating Europe when stopped\nby the Greeks at Marathon and Salamis. Nay, more, the ancient\nGreeks and Romans themselves, together with the modern\ninhabitants of Europe, are alike descended from the same grand\nstock.\n\nThe Mohamadans, again, are mainly of three noble tribes. The\nearlier Mohamadan invaders of India belonged to the victorious\nArabian warriors of the Crescent, or to their early allies, the\nbold mountaineers of Ghazni and of Ghor; and their descendants\nare still to be found in India, chiefly under the names\nrespectively of Shaikh and Pathan. A few Saiyids will also be\nfound of this stock.\n\nIn later days came hordes of Turks and Mongols (Tartars as they\nare generically though inaccurately called by Europeans), the\npeople of Janghiz and of Timur, terrible us the locusts of\nprophecy — the land before them like the garden of Eden, and\nbehind them a desolate wilderness.\n\nTo these, again, succeeded many Persians, chiefly Saiyids, or\nso-called descendants of the Prophet; a later race of Afghans,\nalso called Pathans, and a fresh inroad of Tartars (converted to\nIslam) who finally founded the Moghul Empire. Under the regime\nthus established the civilization of India assumed a Persian\ntype; and the term \"Moghul\" in the present day, in India\nsignifies rather a Persian than a Turkman or Tartar. They add the\nword \"Beg\" to their names, and are usually of the Shiah\ndenomination; as also are the descendants of the Persian Saiyids.\nThe Saiyids of Arab origin take the title of \"Mir;\" the Pathans\nare commonly known by the affix \"Khan.\" All but the offspring of\nconverted Hindus represent foreign invasions by races more\nwarlike than the people of India.\n\nAll these mighty conquerors, one after another, succumbed to the\nenervating nature of the climate of Hindustan, with its fertile\nsoil and scanty motives to an exertion which, in that heat, must\nalways be peculiarly unwelcome.\n\nIt is not, however, the heat alone which causes this degeneracy.\nArabia is one of the hottest countries in the world, but the\nArabs have at one time or another overthrown both the Roman\nEmpire of Byzantium and the Gothic monarchy of Spain. On the\nother hand, the lovely climate of Kashmir produces men more\neffeminate than the Hindustanis, some of whom indeed, notably the\npeasantry of the Upper Doab, are often powerful men, innured to\nconsiderable outdoor labour; their country is far hotter. But the\ncurse of Hindustan, as of Kashmir, and more or less of all\ncountries where life is easy, lies in the absence of motives to\nsustained exertion; owing to which emulation languishes into\nenvy, and the competitive instincts, missing their true vent,\nexhibit themselves chiefly in backbiting and malice. Whatever\nadvantage may be derived by Kashmiris from their climate is shown\nin the superiority of their intellects.\n\nHence, after the battle of Panipat, 1761, which exhausted the\nvictors almost as much as it exhausted the vanquished, and left\nHindustan so completely plundered as to afford no further\nincitements to invasion, little other immigration took place; and\nthe effete and worn-out inhabitants were left to wrangle, in\ntheir own degenerate way, over the ruined greatness of their\nfathers. The anarchy and misery to the mass of the population\nthat marked these times have been partly shown to the reader of\nthese pages.\n\nBut there was fresh blood at hand from a most unexpected quarter.\nBred in a climate which gives hardness to the frame (while it\nincreases the number of human wants as much as it does the\ndifficulty of satisfying them), the younger sons of the poorer\ngentry of England and France, then (at least) the two most active\nnations of Europe, began to seek in both hemispheres those means\nof sharing in the gifts of fortune which were denied to them by\nthe laws and institutions of their own countries. Their struggles\nconvulsed India and America at once. Still the empire of\nHindustan did not fall by their contests there; nor were the\nvalour and ambition of the new comers the only causes of its fall\nwhen at last the catastrophe arrived. But when, to predisposing\ncauses, there was now added the grossest incompetence on the part\nof nearly all natives concerned in the administration, it became\ninevitable that one or other of the competing European nations\nshould grasp the prize. Any one who wishes to study this subject\nin its romantic details should refer to Colonel Malleson's two\nworks on the French in India. Living under a better Home\nGovernment, and more regularly supported and supplied, the\nEnglish prevailed.\n\nIn sketching a part of the process of substituting foreign rule\nfor anarchy, it has been my task to exhibit the main events which\ncaused, or accompanied the preparation of the tabula rasa, upon\nwhich was to be traced the British Empire of India. It has been\nshown that the occupation of the seaboard, and a few of the\nprovinces thereto contiguous, long constituted the whole of the\nposition; and that it was only in self-protection, and after long\nabstinence, that the \"Company of Merchants\" finally assumed the\ncentral power. Upper India, in the meanwhile, stood to their\nCalcutta Government in a very similar relation to that occupied,\nsuccessively, by the Panjab and by Afghanistan in later times\ntowards its successors. This, though absolutely true, has been\npopularly ignored, owing to the accident of Calcutta continuing\nto be the chief seat of the Supreme Government after the empire\nhad become British; but the events of 1857 are sufficient to show\nthat, for the native imagination, Hindustan is the centre, and\nDehli still the metropolis of the Empire. The idea, however, that\nthe British have wrested the Empire from the Mohamadans is a\nmistake. The Mohamadans were beaten down — almost everywhere\nexcept in Bengal — before the British appeared upon the scene;\nBengal they would not have been able to hold, and the name of the\n\"Mahratta Ditch\" of Calcutta shows how near even the British\nthere were to extirpation by India's new masters. Had the British\nnot won the battles of Plassey and Buxar, the whole Empire would\nere now have become the fighting ground of Sikhs, Rajputs, and\nMahrattas. Except the Nizam of the Deccan there was not a\nvigorous Musalman ruler in India after the firman of Farokhsiar\nin 1716; the Nizam owed his power to the British after the battle\nof Kurdla (sup. p. 229), and it was chiefly British support that\nmaintained the feeble shadow of the Moghul Empire, from the death\nof Alamgir II. to the retirement of Mr. Hastings. Not only\nHaidarabad but all the other existing Musalman principalities of\nmodern India owe their existence, directly, or indirectly, to the\nBritish intervention.\n\nIt only now remains to notice, as well as the available materials\nwill permit, what was the social condition of these capital\nterritories of the empire when they passed into the hands of the\nultimate conquerors.\n\nPerhaps the best picture is that presented in a work published by\norder of the local Government, more than half a century later,\nupon the condition of that portion of the country which was under\nthe personal management of the French general.\n\nThis record informs us that, having obtained this territory for\nthe maintenance of the army, Perron reigned over it in the\nplenitude of sovereignty. \"He maintained all the state and\ndignity of an oriental despot, contracting alliances with the\nmore potent Rajahs and overawing by his military superiority, the\npetty chiefs. At Dehli, and within the circuit of the imperial\ndominions, his authority was paramount to that of the Emperor.\nHis attention was chiefly directed to the prompt realization of\nrevenue. Pargannahs were generally farmed; a few were allotted as\njaidad to chiefs on condition of military service; [of the lands\nin the neighbourhood of Aligarh] the revenue was collected by the\nlarge bodies of troops always concentrated at head-quarters. A\nbrigade was stationed at Sikandrabad for the express purpose of\nrealizing collections. In the event of any resistance on the part\nof a land-holder, who might be in balance, a severe and immediate\nexample was made by the plunder and destruction of his village;\nand life was not unfrequently shed in the harsh and hasty\nmeasures which were resorted to. The arrangements for the\nadministration of justice were very defective; there was no fixed\nform of procedure, and neither Hindu nor Mohamadan law was\nregularly administered. The suppression of crime was regarded as\na matter of secondary importance. There was an officer styled the\nBakshi Adalat, whose business was to receive reports from the\nAmils [officials] in the interior, and communicate General\nPerron's orders respecting the disposal of any offenders\napprehended by them. No trial was held; the proof rested on the\nAmil's report, and the punishment was left to General Perron's\njudgment.\n\n\"Such was the weakness of the administration that the Zamindars\ntyrannized over the people with impunity, levying imposts at\ntheir pleasure, and applying the revenues solely to their own\nuse.\" The \"Old Resident\" thus compares the past and present of\nAligarh: — \"Under the native rule no one attempted to build a\nshowy masonry house for fear of being noticed as one possessing\nproperty, and thus become subject to heavy taxations. Even in de\nBoigne and Perron's time it was the same as before, people lived\nin a very low state both as regards their food and clothes, their\nmarriages were not costly, and none of their females dared to put\njewels on. In such a state of things, the well-to-do accumulated\nmoney and could not enjoy it, they buried it under ground, and\noften from death and other causes the wealth got into other hands\nby the sudden discovery of the place. What a mighty change in the\nspace of seventy years the city of Coel bears now to what it did\nbefore? elegant houses now stand in the city everywhere, and the\nmarket is well stocked with articles of trade and consumption.\nBankers and money changers have their shops open, free from any\napprehension of danger, and the females go about with their\ntrinkets and jewels, all enjoying the wholesome protection of\nlaw. The bazar street of the city of Coel was very narrow in\nPerron's time, and neither he nor de Boigne ever paid any\nattention to the improvement or welfare of the people. Their time\nwas principally occupied in military tactics and preserving order\nin the country. They knew and were told by their own officers\nthat their rule was only for the time being, and that a war with\nScindhia would change the state of affairs, and with it\neventually these provinces.\"\n\nFrom a report written so near the time as 1808 confirmation of\nthese statements is readily obtained. The Collector of Aligarh,\nin addressing the Board formed for constructing a system of\nadministration in the conquered provinces, recommended cautious\nmeasures in regard to the assessment of the land tax or\nGovernment rental. He stated that, in consequence of former\nmisrule, and owing to the ravages of famine in 1785, and other\npast seasons, or to the habits induced by years of petty but\nchronic warfare, the land was fallen, in a great measure, into a\nstate of nature. He anticipated an increase in cultivation and\nrevenue of thirty-two per cent., if six years of peace should\nfollow.\n\nThe great landholders, whether originally officials, or farmers\nwho had succeeded in making good a position before the conquest,\nwere numerous in this neighbourhood. The principal persons of\nimportance were, to the westward, Jats, from Bhartpur; the\neastward, Musalmans descended from converted Bargujar Rajputs.\nThe long dissensions of the past had swept away the Moghul\nnobility, few or none of whom now held land on any large scale.\n\nThese Jats and these Musalmans were among the ancestors of the\nfamous Talukdars of the North-West Provinces; and as the\nlimitation of their power has been the subject of much\ncontroversy, justice to the earlier British administrators\nrequires that we should carefully note the position which they\nhad held under the Franco-Mahratta rule, and the conditions under\nwhich they become members of British India.\n\nWe have already seen that the Talukdars (to use by anticipation a\nterm now generally understood, though not applied to the large\nlandholders at the time) were in the habit of making unauthorized\ncollections, which they applied to their own use. Every\nconsiderable village had its Sayar Chabutra (customs-platform),\nwhere goods in transit paid such dues as seemed good to the rural\npotentates. Besides this, they derived a considerable income from\nshares in the booty acquired by highwaymen and banditti, of whom\nthe number was constantly maintained by desertions from the army,\nand was still further swollen at the conquest by the general\ndisbandment which ensued.\n\nBoth of these sources of emolument were summarily condemned by\nGeneral Lake; though he issued a proclamation guaranteeing the\nlandholders in the full possession of their legitimate rights.\nBut the rights of fighting one another, and of plundering\ntraders, were as dear to the Barons of Hindustan as ever they had\nbeen to their precursors in medi¾val Europe; and, in the fancied\nsecurity of their strong earthen ramparts, they very generally\nmaintained these unsocial privileges.\n\nSo far back as the beginning of 1803, before war had been\ndeclared upon Sindhia, the whole force of the British in Upper\nIndia, headed by the Commander-in-Chief himself, had been\nemployed in the reduction of some of the forts in that portion of\nthe Doab which had been ceded by the Nawab of Audh during the\npreceding year. The same course was pursued, after long\nforbearance, towards the Musalman chiefs of the conquered\nprovinces. In December, 1804, they had rebelled in the\nneighbourhood of Aligarh, and occupied nearly the whole of the\nsurrounding district. Captain Woods, commanding the fort of\nAligarh, could only occasionally spare troops for the collector's\nsupport; and the rebellion was not finally suppressed until the\nfollowing July, by a strong detachment sent from headquarters.\nThey again broke out in October, 1806, after having in the\ninterim amassed large supplies by the plunder of their tenantry;\nthe whole of the northern part of the Aligarh district, and the\nsouthern part of the adjoining district of Bolandshahar were\noverrun; the forts of Kamona and Ganora were armed and placed in\na state of defence; and the former defended against the British\narmy under Major-General Dickens, on the 19th November, 1807,\nwith such effect that the loss of the assailants, in officers and\nmen, exceeded that sustained in many pitched battles. The\nsubjugation of the tribe shortly followed.\n\nThe Jat Talukdars of the Aligarh district were not finally\nreduced to submission for nearly ten years more; and there is\nreason to believe that during this long interval they had\ncontinued to form the usual incubus upon the development of\nsociety, by impeding commerce and disturbing agriculture. At\nlength the destruction of the fort of Hatras and the expulsion of\nDaya Ram the contumacious Raja, put the finishing stroke to this\nstate of things in March, 1817.\n\nIt may be fairly assumed that the protection of life and\nproperty, and that amount of security under which merchants will\ndistribute the productions of other countries, and husbandmen\nraise the means of subsistence from the soil, are among the\nprimary duties of Government. But in the dark days of which our\nnarrative has had to take note, such obligations had not been\nrecognized.\n\n\"It is a matter of fact,\" say the authors of the \"Statistics\"\nbefore me, \"that in those days the highways were unoccupied, and\nthe travellers walked through by-ways. The facility of escape\ninto the Begam Sumroo's territories, the protection afforded by\nthe heavy jungles and numerous forts which then studded the\ncountry, and the ready sale for plundered property, combined to\nfoster robbery.\"\n\nA special force was raised by the British conquerors, and placed\nunder the command of Colonel Gardner, distinguished Mahratta\nofficer. His exertions were completely successful, as far as the\nactual gangs then in operation were concerned; but unfortunately\nthey were soon encouraged to renewed attempts by the countenance\nwhich they received from Hira Sing, another Jat Talukdar. This\nsystem also was finally concluded by the destruction of the Raja\nof Hatras; nor will fourteen years appear a long time for the\nreorganization of order, which had been in abeyance for more than\nforty.\n\nThe following extract from Vol. I. of Forbes's Oriental Memoirs,\nis the result of observations made in a more southern part of the\ncountry between 1763 and 1783, and published, not with a purpose,\nor in controversy, but in the calm evening of retirement, and at\nleast thirty years later. \"Marre was the nearest Mahratta town of\nconsequence to the hot wells; by crossing the river it was within\na pleasant walk, and we made frequent excursions to an excavated\nmountain in its vicinity. Marre is fortified, large, and\npopulous; the governor resided at Poona, inattentive to the\nmisery of the people, whom his duan, or deputy, oppressed in a\ncruel manner; indeed the system of the Mahratta government is so\nuniformly oppressive that it appears extraordinary to hear of a\nmild and equitable administration; venality and corruption guide\nthe helm of State and pervade the departments; if the sovereign\nrequires money the men in office and governors of provinces must\nsupply it; the arbitrary monarch seldom inquires by what means it\nis procured; this affords them an opportunity of exacting a\nlarger sum from their duans, who fleece the manufacturers and\nfarmers to a still greater amount than they had furnished; thus\nthe country is subjected to a general system of tyranny. From the\nchieftains and nobles of the realm to the humblest peasant in a\nvillage, neither the property nor the life of a subject can be\ncalled his own. When Providence has blessed the land with the\nformer and the latter rain, and the seed sown produces an\nhundredfold, the Indian ryot, conscious that the harvest may be\nreaped by other hands, cannot like an English farmer behold his\nripening crop with joyful eyes; his cattle are in the same\npredicament; liable to be seized, without a compensation, for\nwarlike service or any other despotic mandate; money he must not\nbe known to possess; if by superior talent or persevering\nindustry he should have accumulated a little more than his\nneighbours, he makes no improvements, lives no better than\nbefore, and through fear and distrust buries it in the earth,\nwithout informing his children of the concealment.\" And again at\nVol. II. p. 339 — \"Of all Oriental despots the arbitrary power of\nthe Mahrattas falls perhaps with the most oppressive weight; they\nextort money by every kind of vexatious cruelty, without\nsupporting commerce, agriculture, and the usual sources of wealth\nand prosperity in well-governed States.\" We have further pictures\nof native rule, drawn in 1807, by the collectors of the\nnewly-acquired districts of Etawah and Koel, and to be found at\npages 314 and 337 of the North-West Provinces Selections from\nRevenue Records, published in 1873. Says the Collector of Etawah;\n— \"The warlike tribes of this country, from disposition and\nhabit, prefer plunder to peace, and court the exchange of the\nploughshare for the sword. Foreign invasion and intestine tumults\nhad materially checked population; whilst the poverty of the\ncountry, and the rapacity of its governors had almost annihilated\ncommerce or had confined it, for the most part, to a few wealthy\nresidents from the Lower Provinces\" (to the Babu \"Zemindar\"). But\nhe of Koel is even more bold: — \"The consequences of the various\nrevolutions which have taken place are sufficiently evident in an\nimpoverished country and a declining population; the form of\ngovernment which has existed has not operated to relieve the\nnecessities of the subjects, or to improve the resources of this\nextensive empire, by the encouragement of husbandry and commerce;\nand military life has been embraced by a large body of the\npeople. Habits of peace and industry have been neglected for the\nprofession of arms, which was more suited to the disposition of\nthe people and to the character of the times, and which has also\ntended to affect the revenue and to thin the population. The\nsystem of rent-oppression and extortion likewise, which has\nprevailed, has operated with the most injurious influence upon\nthe country. The exertions of the landholders have been\ndiscouraged, and means of cultivation denied them by depriving\nthem of the fair profits of their industry. They have found every\nattempt at improvement, instead of being beneficial to\nthemselves, to have been subservient only to the rapacity of the\nGovernment, or of farmers; and without any inducement to\nstimulate their labours, agriculture as a natural consequence has\nlanguished and declined.\"\n\nAligarh (Koel) details are the more noticeable because they\nrelate to the part of the country which had been first occupied\nby the conquering British, and still more because, having been\nunder the immediate management of General Perron, that part may\nbe supposed to have been a somewhat more favourable specimen than\ndistricts whose management had not had the advantage of European\nsupervision. In districts administered exclusively by Asiatics,\nor which were more exposed to Sikh incursions, or where the\nnatural advantages of soil, situation and climate were inferior,\nmuch greater misery, no doubt, prevailed; but what has been shown\nwas perhaps bad enough. An administration without law, an\naristocracy without conscience, roads without traffic, and fields\novergrown by forest — such is the least discreditable picture\nthat we have been able to exhibit of the results of\nself-government by the natives of Hindustan, immediately\npreceding British rule.\n\nOn the whole record of the past there emerge clearly a few\nindisputable truths. Setting apart the community of colour, and\nto a less degree of language, the British are no more foreigners\nto the people of India than the people of one part of India may\nbe, and often are, to the people of another. Demoralized by the\nhereditary and traditional influence of many generations of\nmisgovernment and of anarchy, none of these populations have as\nyet shown fitness for supreme rule over the entire peninsula,\nvast and thickly inhabited as it is. For example, the Brahmans\nand their system fell before the fury of the early Muslims, as\nthese, again, were subdued by the Moghuls. When the Pathans and\nMoghuls in their turn became domesticated in Hindustan they\nformed nothing more than two new castes of Indians, having lost\nthe pride and vigour of their hardy mountain ancestry. The\nalliance of a refugee, like M. Law, or of a runaway seaman, like\nGeorge Thomas, became an object of as much importance as that of\na Muslim noble with a horde of followers.\n\nNor is it to be overlooked that, in the best days of Muslim rule\nin Hindustan, however much the governing class had the chief\nattributes of sovereignty, the details of administration were,\nmore or less, in the hands of the patient, painstaking natives of\nthe land. And the immediate decay of the Muslim Empire was\npreceded by an attempt to centralize the administration in the\nImperial Durbar, and to cashier and alienate the Hindu element.\nBut the Hindus remained, as indeed we still see them,\nindispensable to the conduct of administrative details.\n\nNone the less is it certain that the real, if overbearing,\nsuperiority of the Muslim conquerors had emasculated the Hindu\nmind and paved the way for anarchy, which was reached as soon as\nimmigration ceased and degeneration set in. Holding now the\nposition once abused and lost by the Muslims, the British in\nIndia are bound alike by honour and by interest to mark the\nwarning. Called and chosen by fortune and their own enterprise to\nrule so many tribes and nations in a stage of evolution so unlike\ntheir own, they have to be wary, gentle, and firm. Their office\nis to advance the natives and fit them for a true and noble\npolitical life.\n\nIt does not follow that the result will be to tempt the natives\nto demand Home Rule. Difficulty there will no doubt always be,\nand the end is hidden from our eyes. Moreover, that difficult\nwill be increased by the unavoidably secular character of\nState-education. When races lacking in material resources are\nalso in a very submissive and very ignorant condition they may be\nkept on a dead level of immobility; and that has perhaps been the\nideal of many not incompetent rulers. But it is not one which\nwill satisfy the spirit of the day in England. Modern Englishmen\nhave recognized that it is their bounder duty to impart knowledge\nin India. On the other hand, their relations towards the people\nforbid them to attempt religious instruction. Thus the students\nin British-Indian schools and colleges are in a fair way to lose\ntheir own spiritual traditions without gaining anything instead.\nIt is likely enough that such a system may lead to discontent.\n\nMen who lose their hopes of compensation in another state of\nbeing, will be the more anxious about securing the good things of\nthat state in which they find themselves placed.\n\nNevertheless, of discontent there are, plainly, two sorts; and\none sort tends to exclude the other. The multitude may hanker\nafter the flesh-pots of Egypt, or they may long for the milk and\nhoney of a Promised Land. In the one case they will be inclined\nto obey their leaders, in the other to murmur against them. It\ncannot be necessary to dwell upon the application. Let the rulers\nof India persuade the people that they are being conducted to\nlight and to liberty. Let us hold up before those laborious and\ngentle millions the picture of a redeemed India moving in an\norderly path among the members of a great Imperial system. That\nideal may never be completely realized in the days of any of the\nexisting generation. But it is one that may still be profitably\nmaintained for the contemplation of all who aspire and work for\nthe strength and welfare of Greater Britain.\n\n\n\nNOTE. — The following list of Perron's possessions is taken from\nthe schedule annexed to the treaty of Sarji Anjangaum (dated 30th\nDecember, 1803):—\n\n\n\nResumed Jaigirs, seven, yielding an annual income of ... ... ...\n...  3,75,248\n\nTalukas in the Doab, four ... ... ...   84,047\n\nTo the west of the Jamna, three districts ...     65,000\n\nSubah of Saharanpur, eighteen ... ...   4,78,089\n\nFormerly held by General de Boigne in the Doab, twenty-seven ..\n20,83,287\n\nTo the west of the Jamna, nine ... ...  10,31,852\n\nGrand Total, Rs. 41,12,523\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX A.\n\n\n\nIN the foregoing pages I have endeavoured to steer a middle path\nbetween obliterating all trace of my materials and encumbering\nthe margin with references that appeared superfluous. Wherever I\nhave decided a disputed point, I have endeavoured to indicate the\nchief sources of information — at least throughout the portions\nwhich form the actual history — and to give my reasons for\nfollowing one authority rather than another.\n\nBesides the authorities — English and Persian — which have been\nthus cited, the following works have been occasionally\nconsulted:—\n\n1. Amad us-Saudat. — A history of the Viceroys of Lucknow from\nthe death of Farokhsiar to the accession of Saadat Ali II., in\n1797.\n\n2. Jam-i-Jum. — Genealogical tables of the House of Timur.\n\n3. Tasallat-i-Sahiban Anqriz. — An account of the rise of British\npower in Hindustan and Bengal. By Munshi Dhonkal Singh;\noriginally written for the information of Ranjit Singh, Thakur of\nBhartpur, about the end of the last century.\n\n4. Hal-i-Begam Sahiba. — A little Persian memoir of Begam Sumroo,\nfull of vagueness and error, written four years after her death,\nand from traditional sources.\n\nMuch information as to the views of the British chiefs of those\ndays lies at present inaccessible at the Calcutta Foreign Office;\nand it is to be hoped that the Record Commission will ultimately\nmake public many useful and interesting papers.\n\nOther information perhaps exists, very difficult to be got at, in\nthe private archives of old native families at Dehli. But the\nevents of 1857 broke up many of these collections. A continuation\nof the Tarikh-i-Mozafari, down to the taking of Dehli by Sir A.\nWilson, would be a most valuable work, if there be any native\nauthor possessed of the three requisites of leisure, knowledge,\nand a fearless love of truth.\n\nSome account of the Siar-ul-Mutakharin has been already given\n(vide Note to Part II. Chap. i.). The author was a Saiyid of the\nnoble stock of Taba-Taba, whose father had been employed by\nSafdar Jang, in Rohilkand, during that minister's temporary\npredominance. The family afterwards migrated to Patna. This\ncelebrated history — which has been twice translated into\nEnglish, and of which an edition in the original Persian has been\nlikewise printed — is a work of suprising industry, and contains\nmany just reflections on the position of the English and the\nfeelings of the people towards them, which are almost as true now\nas they were when written. The translation of the S. u. M.. which\nhas been mentioned in the text, was made by a French creole,\nstyling himself Mustafa, but whose true name, it is relieved, was\nRaymond. The notes are often interesting.\n\nBut my chief guide, where no other authority is cited, has been\nthe Tarikh-i-Mozafari, the work of an Ansari of good family, some\nof whose descendants are still living at Panipat. He was the\ngrandson of Latfula Sadik, a nobleman who had held high office\nunder the Emperor Mohammad Shah. The historian himself was in\ncivil employ in Bihar, under the Nawab Mohammad Raza Khan, so\nfamous in the history of Bengal during the last century. To him\nthe work was dedicated, and its name is derived from his title of\n\"Mozafar Jang.\" The work is laborious, free from party bias, and\nmuch thought of by the educated natives of Hindustan. For access\nto Persian MSS. I was indebted to the late Colonel Hamilton,\nformerly Commissioner of Dehli, and of his friendly assistance\nand encouragement I take this opportunity to make thankful\nacknowledgment.\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX B.\n\n\n\nREFERENCE has been made in the text, p. 130, to the tomb of\nSumroo, in Padretola, or Padresanto, at Agra. This is one of the\nmost ancient Christian cemeteries in Eastern Asia, consisting of\na piece of land situated to the north of the Courts of Justice,\nand forming part of the original area attached to the\nneighbouring township of Lashkarpur. The estate was conferred\nupon the Roman Catholic Mission by the Emperor Akbar, or early in\nthe reign of his son and successor. It contains many tombs, with\nArmenian and Portuguese inscriptions, more than two hundred years\nold, and promises, with ordinary care, long to continue in good\npreservation, owing to the great dryness of the air and soil. The\nmausoleum of the Sumroo family is a handsome octagon building,\nsurmounted by a low dome rising out of a cornice, with a deep\ndrip-stone, something in the style of a Constantinople fountain.\nThe inscription is in Portuguese — a proof, most likely, that\nthere were no French or English in Agra at the time of its being\nmade. The following is its text: — AQVI IAZO WALTER REINHARD,\nMORREO AOS 4 DE MAYO, NO ANNO DE 1778. (\"Here lies Walter\nReinhard, died on the 4th May, in the year 1778.\") There is also\na Persian chronogram.\n\nThe tomb of John Hessing, hard by, is a still more splendid\nedifice, being a copy, in red sandstone, of the famous Taj Mahal,\nand on a pretty extensive scale too, though far smaller than the\noriginal. The tomb, which was completed in or about the year of\nthe British conquest, bears an inscription in good English,\nsetting forth that the deceased colonel was a Dutchman, who died\nCommandant of Agra, in his 63rd year, 21st of July, 1803, just\nbefore Lake's successful siege of the place.\n\nAPPENDIX C.\n\n\n\nTHE following additional particulars regarding M. de Boigne are\nthe last that the writer has been able to obtain from an\neyewitness; they are from the enthusiastic pages of Colonel Tod,\nwho knew the general at Chamberi, in 1826.\n\n\"Distinguished by his prince, beloved by a numerous and amiable\nfamily, and honoured by his native citizens, the years of the\nveteran now numbering more than four score, glide in agreeable\ntranquillity in his native city, which, with oriental\nmagnificence, he is beautifying by an entire new street, and a\nhandsome dwelling for himself.\"\n\nHis occupation consisted chiefly in dictating the memoirs of his\neventful life to his son, the Comte Charles de Boigne, by whom\nthey were published in 1829. This statement is also made on the\nauthority of Tod; but the memoir in my possession - though a\nsecond edition — lays claim to no such authority, but is a modest\ncompilation, derived in great measure from Grant Duff, and\noriginally, as appears from the \"Advertissement sur cette\nedition,\" produced during the General's lifetime. The Royal\nAcademic Society of Savoy — of which the veteran was honorary and\nperpetual President — gives the most extraordinary account of his\nmunificence to his native city, which comprised the complete\nendowment of a college, a fund of over £4,000 sterling towards\nthe relief of the poor, a hospital for contagious diseases, an\nentire new street leading from the Chateau to the Boulevard, and\nthe restoration of the Hotel de Ville, besides minor projects\nfull of wise benevolence. He died on the 21st June, 1830, and his\nremains received a magnificent military funeral.\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX D.\n\n\n\nLOVERS of detail may like the following view of Begam Sumroo's\nfief, as it appeared when it lapsed on her death. The facts and\nfigures are from the report furnished to the Revenue Board in\n1840, by the officer deputed to make the necessary fiscal\nsettlement. This gentleman begins by saying that the assessments\non the land were annual, but their average rates about one-third\nhigher than those which prevailed on the neighbouring British\ndistrict. In those days, the British took two-thirds of the net\nrental, so we see what was left to the Begam's tenants. The\nsettlement officer at once reduced the total demand of land\nrevenue from nearly seven lakhs (6,91,388) to little more than\nfive. But, he did more than that, for he swept away the customs\nduties, which he thus describes: — \"They were levied on all kinds\nof property, and equally on exports and imports; animals, wearing\napparel, and clothes of every description; hides, cotton,\nsugar-cane, spices, and all other produce; all were subjected to\na transit duty, in and out. Transfers of lands and houses, and\nsugar works, also paid duty; the latter very high.\"\n\nThe good side of this system has been already glanced at (Part\nIII. Chap. ii.). It was strictly patriarchal. The staple crop\n(sugar) was grown on advances from the Begam: and, if a man's\nbullocks died, or he required the usual implements of husbandry,\nhe received a loan from the Treasury, which he was strictly\ncompelled to apply to its legitimate purpose. The revenue\nofficers made an annual tour through their respective tracts in\nthe ploughing season; sometimes encouraging, and oftener\ncompelling the inhabitants to cultivate. A writer in the Meerut\nUniversal Magazine stated about the same time, that the actual\npresence in the fields of soldiers with fixed bayonets was\nsometimes required for this purpose.\n\nThe settlement officer adds that the advances to agriculturists\nwere always recovered at the close of the year, together with\ninterest at 24 per cent. The cultivators were, in fact,\nrack-rented up to the minimum of subsistence. but this much was\ninsured to them; in other words, they were predial serfs. \"To\nmaintain such system,\" he proceeds, \"required much tact; and,\nwith the energy of the Begam's administration, this was not\nwanting: but when her increasing age and infirmities devolved the\nuncontrolled management on her heir, the factitious nature of her\nsystem was clearly demonstrated.\" The result of these last few\nyears was, that one-third of the estate of which the fief\nconsisted fell under \"direct management;\" the plain meaning of\nwhich is that they were, more or less, abandoned by their owners,\nand by the better class of the peasantry, and tilled by a sort of\nserfs.\n\n\"Nothing, in fact,\" concludes this portion of the Report \"could\nmore satisfactorily have shown the estimation in which the\nBritish rule is held by those who do not enjoy its blessings than\nthe rapid return of the population to their homes, which followed\nimmediately on the lapse.\" (Trevor Plowden, Esq., to Board of\nRevenue, Reports of Revenue Settlement, N. W.P., vol. i.)\n\nThis, be it remembered, is the picture of a fief in the heart of\nour own provinces, as swayed in quite recent times, by a ruler of\nChristian creed desirous of British friendship.\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX E.\n\n\n\nNo. CXV.\n\n\n\nThe GOVERNOR-GENERAL IN COUNCIL to the SECRET COMMITTEE OF THE\nHONOURABLE THE COURT OF DIRECTORS. (Extract.)\n\n\n\nFORT WILLIAM. June 2nd, 1805.\n\nHONOURABLE SIRS, — The Governor-General in Council now submits to\nyour honourable Committee the arrangement which has been adopted\nby this Government for the purpose of providing for the future\nmaintenance of his Majesty Shah Allum, and the royal family, and\nfor the general settlement of his Majesty's affairs, and the\nprinciples upon which that arrangement is formed.\n\nIt has never been in the contemplation of this Government to\nderive from the charge of supporting and protecting his Majesty,\nthe privilege of employing the royal prerogative, as an\ninstrument of establishing any control or ascendancy over the\nstates and chieftains of India, or of asserting on the part of\nhis Majesty any of the claims which, in his capacity of Emperor\nof Hindustan, his Majesty may be considered to possess upon the\nprovinces originally composing the Moghul Empire. The benefits\nwhich the Governor-General in Council expected to derive from\nplacing the King of Dehli and the royal family under the\nprotection of the British Government are to be traced in the\nstatements contained in our despatch to your honourable Committee\nof the 18th of July, 1804, relative to the evils and\nembarrassments to which the British power might have been exposed\nby the prosecution of claims and pretensions on the part of the\nMahrattas, or of the French, in the name and under the authority\nof his Majesty Shah Allum, if the person and family of that\nunhappy monarch had continued under the custody and control of\nthose powers, and Especially of the French. With reference to\nthis subject, the Governor-General in Council has the honour to\nrefer your honourable Committee to the contents of the inclosure\nof our despatch of the 13th of July, 1804, marked A, and to the\nseventy-third paragraph of that despatch, in proof of the actual\nexistence of a project for the subversion of the British Empire\nin India, founded principally upon the restoration of the\nauthority of the Emperor Shall Allum under the control and\ndirection of the agents of France. The difficulty of every\nproject of that nature has been considerably increased by the\nevents which have placed the throne of Dehli under the protection\nof the Honourable Company. The Governor-General in Council\nfurther contemplated the advantages of the reputation which the\nBritish Government might be expected to derive from the\nsubstitution of a system of lenient protection, accompanied by a\nliberal provision for the ease, dignity, and comfort of the aged\nmonarch and his distressed family, in the room of that oppressive\ncontrol and the degraded condition of poverty, distress, and\ninsult, under which the unhappy representative of the house of\nTimur and his numerous family had so long laboured.\n\nRegulated by these principles and views, the attention of the\nBritish Government has been directed exclusively to the object of\nforming such an arrangement for the future support of the King\nand the royal family, as might secure to them the enjoyment of\nevery reasonable comfort and convenience, and every practicable\ndegree of external state and dignity compatible with the extent\nof our resources, and with the condition of dependence in which\nhis Majesty and the Royal Family must necessarily be placed with\nrelation to the British power. In extending to the Royal Family\nthe benefits of the British protection, no obligation was imposed\nupon us to consider the rights and claims of his Majesty Shah\nAllum as Emperor of Hindustan, and the Governor-General has\ndeemed it equally unnecessary and inexpedient to combine with the\nintended provision for his Majesty, and his household, the\nconsideration of any question connected with the future exercise\nof the Imperial prerogative and authority.\n\nThe Governor-General in Council has determined to adopt an\narrangement upon the basis of the following provisions: —\n\nThat a specified portion of the territories in the vicinity of\nDehli situated on the right bank of the Jamna should be assigned\nin part of the provision for the maintenance of the Royal Family.\nThat those lands should remain under charge of the Resident at\nDehli, and that the revenue should be collected, and justice\nshould be administered in the name of his Majesty Shah Allum,\nunder regulations to be fixed by the British Government. That his\nMajesty should be permitted to appoint a Deewan, and other\ninferior officers to attend at the office of collector, for the\npurpose of ascertaining and reporting to his Majesty the amount\nof the revenues which should be received, and the charges of\ncollection, and of satisfying his Majesty's mind that no part of\nthe produce of the assigned territory was misappropriated. That\ntwo courts of justice should be established for the\nadministration of civil and criminal justice, according to the\nMahomedan law, to the inhabitants of the city of Dehli, and of\nthe assigned territory. That no sentences of the criminal courts\nextending to death should be carried into execution without the\nexpress sanction of his Majesty, to whom the proceedings in all\ntrials of this description should be reported, and that sentences\nof mutilation should be commuted.\n\nThat to provide for the immediate wants of his Majesty and the\nRoyal household, the following sums should be paid monthly, in\nmoney from the treasury of the Resident at Dehli, to his Majesty\nfor his private expenses, Sa. Rs. 60,000; to the heir-apparent,\nexclusive of certain Jagheers, Sa. Rs. 10,000; to a favourite son\nof his Majesty named Mirza Izzut Buksh, Sa. Rs. 5,000; to two\nother sons of his Majesty, Sa. Rs. 1,500; to his Majesty's fifty\nyounger sons and daughters, Sa. Rs. 10,000; to Shah Newanze Khan,\nhis Majesty's treasurer, 2,50O; to Syud Razzee Khan, British\nagent at his Majesty's Court, and related to his Majesty by\nmarriage, Sa. Rs. 1,000; total per mensem, Sa. Rs. 90,000.\n\nThat if the produce of the revenue of the assigned territory\nshould hereafter admit of it, the monthly sum to be advanced to\nhis Majesty for his private expenses might be increased to one\nlakh of rupees.\n\nThat in addition to the sums specified, the sum of Sa. Rs. 10,000\nshould be annually be paid to his Majesty on certain festivals\nagreeably to ancient usage.\n\nThe Governor-General in Council deemed the arrangement proposed\nby the Resident at Dehli for the establishment of a military\nforce for the protection of the assigned territory and of the\nNorth-Western frontier of our possessions in Hindustan, to be\njudicious, and accordingly resolved to confirm those arrange\nmeets, with certain modifications calculated to afford a\nprovision for part of the irregular force in the service of the\nBritish Government, from the expense of which it was an object of\nthe British Government to be relieved, and also for a proportion\nof the European officers heretofore in the service of Dowlut Rao\nScindiah, who quitted that service under the proclamation of the\nGovernor-General in Council of the 29th August, 1803.\n\nOn the basis of this plan of arrangement detailed instructions\nwere issued to the Resident at Dehli, under the date the 23rd\nMay, with orders to carry it into effect with the least\npracticable delay.\n\nThe Governor-General in Council entertains a confident\nexpectation that the proposed arrangement and provision will be\nsatisfactory to his Majesty, and will be considered throughout\nall the states of India to be consistent with the acknowledged\njustice, liberality, and benevolence of the British Government.\n\nThe Governor-General in Council also confidently trusts that the\nproposed arrangement will be sanctioned by the approbation of\nyour honourable Committee, and of the honourable the Court of\nDirectors.\n\n\n\nWe have the honour to be,\n\nHONOURABLE SIRS,\n\nYour most faithful, humble servants,\n\n(Signed)\n\nWELLESLEY,\n\nG. H. BARLOW,\n\nG. UDNY.\n\n\n\n[\"Wellesley Despatches,\" vol. iv. p. 553.]\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX F.\n\n\n\nNote to page 209.\n\n\n\nSINCE printing the following indication has been found of the\npossible original of name printed \"Du Drenec.\" In the \"Familles\nFrancaises\" of Count Regis de l'Estourbeillon (Names, 1886) is a\nlist of extinct Breton families. One of these is given as \"Du\nDrenec-Keroulas, fondue dans Keroulas.\" This was, most likely,\nthe true orthography of the Indian adventurer's name.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg Etext Fall of the Moghul Empire of Hindustan\n\n"}
{"text": "PRINCIPLES OF OUR PROTESTANT CHURCH***\n\n\nTranscribed from the 1845 J. Hatchard and Son edition by David Price,\nemail ccx074@pglaf.org\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 SERMONS\n                                  ON THE\n                          SCRIPTURAL PRINCIPLES\n                                  OF OUR\n                            PROTESTANT CHURCH.\n\n\n                                  BY THE\n                         REV. EDWARD HOARE, M.A.\n                       CURATE OF RICHMOND, SURREY.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                     J. HATCHARD AND SON, PICCADILLY;\n               RICHMOND, DARNILL AND SON; KINGSTON, SEELEY.\n                                  1845.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nBY THE SAME AUTHOR.\n\n\nTRACTS ON TRANSUBSTANTIATION AND INVOCATION OF SAINTS.  Price 3s. 6d. a\nhundred.\n\nA SERMON ON THE THEATRE.  Price 4d., or 3s. per dozen.\n\nFRIENDLY SOCIETIES COMPARED WITH THE OLD BENEFIT CLUBS.  A Dialogue.\nPrice 1d. each, or 10d. per dozen.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nTHE following Sermons are committed to the press at the request of many\nbeloved parishioners.  They were originally preached, as they are now\npublished, under a deep sense of their imperfection, only equalled by the\nperfect conviction of their truth.  The consciousness of defect has\nstrongly prompted me to keep them back from public criticism; the\nassurance of truth has emboldened me to hope that those who took an\ninterest in their delivery, may derive some profit from their study.  May\nGod, the Holy Ghost, be pleased to make them useful!  May he accompany\neach copy with his blessing! and, forgiving all defects, may He honour\nthis little volume as an instrument in his own hand for the perfecting of\nthe saints, for the work of the ministry, and for the edifying of the\nbody of Christ!\n\nIn stating the doctrines of the Church of Rome, the appeal has been made\neither to the decrees or the catechism of the Council of Trent.  These\nare both authoritative documents, and form the standards of Roman\nCatholic theology.  Yet, strange to say, some Protestants are heard to\nargue, that by appealing to Trent, we misrepresent the Church of Rome.\nThe decrees, it is maintained, are antiquated documents, and no longer\nexpress the real opinions of the church.  The true Romanist would not\nthank his advocate for such an argument.  A change in their fixed\nprinciples would destroy their claim to infallibility.  Eternal truth\nchanges not; and whoever changes must be wrong either before the change\nor after it.\n\nBut such a change has never taken place.  The decrees stand unrepealed.\nRomish priests are required to swear to them at their ordination; Romish\ndisputants appeal to them in controversy; the Pope himself quotes them in\nhis letters; and they are to this day in full force as the standard\ndocuments of Romanist theology.\n\nOthers, again, are often heard to argue that, although these may be the\nprinciples of the Church, they are not the opinions of individuals in\nunion with Rome.  It is much to be hoped that this charitable supposition\nis true of multitudes; that there are very many, who from circumstances\nare connected with her communion, but who, from conviction, disclaim many\nof her errors.  But how fearful is the position of such an enlightened\nRoman Catholic!  A layman may be a member of the Church of England, but\nyet differ from many of our principles, for the only declaration of faith\nrequired as an essential to church membership is an assent to the\nApostles’ Creed.  This, and nothing more, is expected of every man before\nhe can be received into the congregation of Christ’s flock.  Those who\nare admitted to the ministry, must add their subscription to the\nArticles.  But no subscription is required of the layman; he may\ntherefore be a faithful churchman, but yet differ from some of the\nChurch’s doctrines.  What is impossible for the honest clergyman, is\nquite possible for him.  But such modification of sentiment is altogether\nimpossible with Rome.  A layman must be either an entire Romanist, or\nreject Rome altogether.  There is no middle course.  A man cannot say “I\nam attached to the Church of Rome, but I do not go all lengths with her\nopinions.  I believe it to be the true church, but I disapprove of her\nworship of the Virgin.”  For Rome has fenced in her opinions with her\ncurses.  Rome is a cursing church, and the curses attached to her decrees\nrender modification impossible in her laity.  Take, e.g., the decrees\nrespecting saint and image worship, in the beginning of the 25th session.\nIn those decrees, it is declared that images ought to be retained in\nchurches, and that honour and veneration should be paid to them: and then\nis added the curse, “If any man either teach or think contrary to these\ndecrees, let him be accursed.”  Now it is very plain, that at first sight\nthe word of God appears in opposition to these decrees, for, if not, the\nsecond commandment would never have been expunged from Romish catechisms.\nBut if any conscientious Roman Catholic happen to read the 20th chapter\nof the book of Exodus; if the thought flash across his mind that the word\nof God may possibly mean what it certainly appears to say; if he venture\nto think that God meant to forbid image worship when he said, “Thou shalt\nnot make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is\nin heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water\nunder the earth: thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve\nthem.”  For that one passing thought his own church curses him.  She does\nnot wait till the thought has found utterance in language; he may never\nbreathe his difficulties to his dearest friend; it is enough if he ever\ndare to feel a difficulty; for that one secret doubt the church lays upon\nhim the burden of her anathema.  Modified popery is therefore an\nimpossibility.  If men believe the Church of Rome to be the true church,\nthey must receive her whole system; they cannot pick and choose for\nthemselves; they cannot retain communion, and yet differ from any of her\ndoctrines.  They must reject her altogether, or deliver themselves over,\nbound hand and foot, mind and conscience, judgment and will, to her\ndecisions.  Such are the terms of union which Rome imposes on her people.\nThey leave no middle course between abject submission and fearless\nrejection; between unconditional surrender to her decrees, and\nunflinching defiance of her anathemas.\n\nLet us Protestants turn those curses into prayers!  Let us plead with God\nto have compassion on our poor Roman Catholic brethren; to burst the\nbands which are now rivetted on their conscience and their judgment; and\nto lead them by his Spirit to the full enjoyment of the truth as it is in\nJesus!\n\n_Richmond_, _May_ 1845.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n                        SERMON I.\n2 Tim. iii. 15.  The Scriptures                   _Page_ 1\n                        SERMON II.\nActs xiii. 39.  Justification                           18\n                       SERMON III.\nLuke xxiii. 43.  Purgatory                              34\n                        SERMON IV.\nHebrews x. 12.  Transubstantiation                      45\n                        SERMON V.\n2 Tim. iii. 1.  The church in the latter days           71\n\n\n\n\nSERMON I.\nTHE SCRIPTURES.\n\n\n                               2 TIM. iii. 15.\n\n    And that from a child thou hast known the holy Scriptures, which are\n    able to make thee wise unto salvation through faith which is in\n    Christ Jesus.\n\n“TO everything there is a season.”  There is “a time to keep silence, and\na time to speak;” a time to be still, and a time to act; and it is the\nduty of the careful watchman of the Lord, to be ever on the alert in\nwatching the rapid progress of God’s providence; to be silent when it is\nthe time for stillness; to speak, and speak plainly, when he deems it to\nbe the time for utterance.  It is a conviction of this, which has led to\nthe commencement of the present course of sermons.  There has never been\na period since the days of the Reformation, in which greater efforts have\nbeen made for the advancement of the influence, and power, of the Church\nof Rome; agents have been multiplied in every direction; the order of\nJesuits has been revived; and a zeal has been shown in all branches of\ntheir efforts, which would reflect honour on a better cause.  But there\nare two facts in our present position, which deserve our especial\nnotice,—the one, that our own happy island is the great object of their\nexertions.  Yes, England, our own dear England, is the prize at which\nRome is aiming.  The other, that at the very point of this remarkable\ncrisis in the history of our nation, it is proposed in the parliament of\nthis protestant country, to give a large and permanent endowment to the\nRoman Catholic college at Maynooth; that is, to strengthen and increase\nthe priests of a system, which is declared by our constitution to be\nunscriptural and untrue.\n\nSurely, then, the time is come to speak.  Surely the watchman is bound to\nsound the note of warning.  Surely the whole company of God’s believing\npeople should know well the reason of the hope that is in them, that they\nmay be able to take their place with boldness in the armies of the Lord;\nand, in the last great fearful struggle against Antichrist, be found\nstanding stedfast, amongst the fearless, faithful, followers of the Lamb.\n\nIt is my intention, therefore, to preach a short course of sermons on\nsome of the leading principles of our protestant church.  It will be my\nendeavour rather to set forth the truth than to occupy your time in\nexposing error.  God’s people come here to be fed with the bread of life,\nand they must not be robbed of their daily food by the introduction of\ncold and cheerless controversy.  Our constant desire and prayer to God\nfor you all is, not that you should be subtle controversialists, but well\ninstructed and practical believers in your Lord.  This great end I now\nhope to keep steadily in view.\n\nPray for me, dear brethren, that my intention may be carried into effect.\nPray that the spirit of the living God may himself direct me in this\neffort for his glory!  Pray for us, as we pray for you, “that speaking\nthe truth in love, we may grow up unto him in all things.”\n\nNow the controversy between the church of England, and that of Rome,\nhinges mainly upon one great turning point, namely this, they deny the\nBible to be the only rule of faith, and appeal to other writings as a\nsufficient authority in their statements of sacred truth.  To the Bible,\nthen, as the rule of faith, we must direct our first attention, and will\nendeavour to point out,\n\nI.  Its supreme authority.\n\nII.  Its complete sufficiency.\n\nIII.  Its clear intelligibility.\n\nI.  First, then, for its supreme authority.  There is no occasion now to\nenter into proofs of its inspiration.  That all scripture is given by\ninspiration of God, we may regard as an admitted truth: we are not\ndealing with the infidel, but with those who profess to believe the\nScriptures: we are to receive it “not as the word which man’s wisdom\nteacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth:” to listen to it, “as it is\nin truth, the word of God.”  All that we are concerned with now is the\nsupreme authority, which, being inspired, it possesses over man.  Our\nobject is to point out, that as the word of God, it has absolute\nauthority in all its statements of divine truth, and that just as the\nwritten law is the one rule for the nation’s government, so the written\nword is the one rule of the Church’s faith.  Who can reveal the truth of\nGod but God himself?  “The things of God knoweth no man, but the Spirit\nof God.”  And when God speaks, who shall dare to give an opposing\njudgment?  “Be silent, O all flesh, before the Lord!”  Let us strive then\nto realize this fact, that the Bible comes direct from “God, who cannot\nlie;” that it is his own statement of his own divine purposes; that He\nhas, as it were, put his seal and signature to it, to mark it as his own;\nthat he has brought it forth amongst us with the solemn preface, “Thus\nsaith the Lord;” and there can then be no doubt left as to its certain,\nits invariable, its unfailing, its authoritative truth.  There it stands,\nunshaken in its supremacy: like the Sun in heaven, beyond the reach of\nman’s attack: like the great mountains, immoveable by man’s effort.  “Thy\nword is truth,” saith the Saviour, certain, unfailing, unerring truth;\nand though multitudes may deny, though thousands may resist, though the\nwhole body of unconverted men may hate its message, it is still truth;\nthe pure, unmixed, unadulterated truth of God.  Nor can any amount of\nhuman evidence rival its authority.  Multiplication does not make\ninspiration.  Ten thousand butterflies do not make an eagle; nor can the\nhuman intellect, however multiplied, be measured for a moment with the\nmind of God.  Thus, if it were to fall out, (which thanks be to his grace\nit never can), that all living men, of all ages and all ranks, were to\nagree in the denial of any one doctrine of the gospel; if all the great,\nall the learned, all philosophers, and all divines; all that now live, or\never have lived, were to concur in one united opinion, and that opinion\nwere in opposition to the Bible; then all must be wrong, and the Bible\nmust be right; for they are men, and the Holy Ghost is God; and “Let God\nbe true, and every man a liar.”\n\nNow, we fully admit that the Church of Rome does not openly deny the\nsupreme authority of Scripture, but it virtually sets it aside by two\nprinciples: the one, that it is not complete; the other, that it cannot\nbe understood without the interpretation of the Church.  We must examine,\ntherefore,\n\nII.  Its complete sufficiency.\n\nThe idea taught by the Church of Rome is, that there are two channels of\ndivine truth, two streams conveying the same water, the written, and the\nunwritten word, the written found in the Bible, the unwritten, in the\ntraditions and decrees of the Church. {5}  Thus by attempting to blend\nthe two, they throw the Bible virtually into the shade; and like the Jews\nof old, “make void the commandment of God by their traditions.”  The\nopposing principle of the Church of England, is, that the written word is\nitself sufficient; that it contains an ample and complete statement of\nthe whole truth of God.\n\n“Holy Scripture containeth all things necessary to Salvation: so that\nwhatsoever is not read therein, nor may be proved thereby, is not to be\nrequired of any man, that it should be believed as an Article of the\nFaith, or be thought requisite or necessary to salvation.  In the name of\nthe Holy Scripture we do understand those canonical books of the Old and\nNew Testament, of whose authority was never any doubt in the Church.” {6}\n\n1.  And is not this evident from the _direct statements_ of the word of\nGod itself?\n\nLook only at the passage from which our text is taken, v. 15.  The Holy\nScriptures “are able to make thee wise unto salvation through faith which\nis in Christ Jesus.”  They are sufficient, then, for the heavenly wisdom\nof the people of God; nothing more is needed; they contain God’s truth,\nand make men wise in his wisdom.  But this is not all: follow on the\npassage: “All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable\nfor doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in\nrighteousness.”  And what is the result?  “That the man of God may be\nperfect, throughly furnished unto all good works.”  Who shall presume to\nsay, then, that the written word is not sufficient?  There is enough in\nit to form a perfect character, to leave nothing wanting in the furniture\nof the religious mind.  When it says, “They are able to make thee wise\nunto salvation,” it teaches that they reveal all that can be needful to\nmake Christ’s coming kingdom ours: when it adds, “That the man of God may\nbe perfect, throughly furnished unto all good works;” it proves that they\nalso supply us with the sum total of all that can be needed in our\npilgrimage through life.\n\n2.  But, even, if we had no such direct statement, we have ample proof of\nthe completeness of the Bible in the simple fact, that there is _nothing\nelse inspired_.  If there be a void left, it must remain unfilled for\never.  If there be a chasm, the whole world can never close it.  For if\nthere were deficiencies in the Bible, to whom should we go to supply the\ndefect?  To the Fathers?  They were holy, devoted, fervent men, and\nmultitudes amongst their number counted not their life dear unto them, if\nonly they might fulfil the ministry, which they received of the Lord.\nBut they were men after all, fallible, and often failing men; they never\npretended to inspiration; they knew far too much both of themselves and\nGod to presume to say of their own writings, “Thus saith the Lord.”  They\nnever claimed either inspiration or infallibility.  To whom then shall we\ngo?  To councils?  But they were human too, they were assemblies of\nfallible men, so fallible, that in one instance the whole church was\nactually induced to decide against the divinity of our blessed Lord.\nThis was the case, when the whole body of the Church, bishops, priests,\ndeacons, and laymen, were all arrayed against Athanasius, and Athanasius\nalone stood forth as the champion for truth.  Athanasius was against the\nworld and the world against Athanasius.  To whom then shall we go?  To\nthe Pope?  But he too is a man, and as too many sad facts in the history\nof popedom prove, a fallible and often failing man.  To whom then shall\nwe go?  Shall we seek for some united testimony of fathers, councils, and\npopes?  It would be a hopeless task, it would be to attempt an\nimpossibility, for they are perpetually differing, and when we had gained\nit, we should after all have only the testimony of man.  To whom then\nshall we go?  Peter must give the answer, “Thou hast the words of eternal\nlife.”  We will not now stop to discuss the question whether it be\npossible for men to fill up the deficiencies of the word of God.  He that\ncannot add a single inch to his own stature, he surely can add nothing to\nthe volume of inspired truth.  He that cannot add one single leaf to the\nflower, nor give one additional wing to the insect, he surely can\ncontribute nothing to the most perfect of all the works of God, the\nrevelation of his own hidden will.  It was prophesied originally of the\nRoman Empire, that it should be part of iron, part of clay; a fit image\nof that false system, which would blend together in one whole, the word\nof God, and the word of man.  As well might you expect to strengthen iron\nby the mixture of a little fragile clay: as well might you hold up the\ncandle in the vain endeavour to add to the brightness of the noon-day\nsun: as well might you strive to perfect the beauty of the clear fountain\nof water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God and\nof the Lamb, by adding to it waters that have been stained and thickened\nin their passage along an earthly world, as hope to add anything to the\nword of God, by mixing up with it the word of man.\n\nThe fact, then, that there is nothing else inspired, is in itself a proof\nthat the Bible is complete.  Either the Bible is sufficient, or we are\nleft without a sufficient guide.  We may, therefore, rest satisfied as to\nthe complete sufficiency, as well as the supreme authority of the word of\nGod.  But there yet remains another subject of scarcely less importance,\nwhich we cannot leave unnoticed.  Namely,\n\nIII.  Its clear intelligibility.\n\nIt is not enough, that the Scriptures are sufficient and complete.  For\npractical purposes they must be within the reach of common men.\n\nNow the Church of Rome takes the Bible out of the hands of private\nChristians.  They acknowledge the authority of Scripture, but add that\nthe church alone has the power to interpret it: they say there are many\ndifficulties, and that it requires the church’s interpretation to unravel\nthe path of life. {9}  This principle places the people in absolute\ndependence on those who call themselves the church.  It draws their\nattention to the church rather than to God.  It teaches them to rely on\nman’s comment, and to lose sight of God’s decree.  When looking through a\npainted window, your eye is fixed on the glass, and loses sight of the\nsun behind, which lightens it; so when we look at truth through the\nmedium of human interpretation, the sight is caught by the human\ncolouring, and the light of God’s eternal truth is thrown into obscurity\nwith the neglected word.  Now true Protestants gain their light, not\nthrough the coloured glass, but from heaven itself, that is, they look to\nthe word of God, and not to man’s interpretation as the decision of\nchristian truth.\n\nAt the same time we must not deny that there are difficulties in the\nScriptures.  Its subject is infinity, its range eternity, its author God;\nand it would be folly to suppose that poor, frail, shortsighted, and\nshortlived man, should be able at a glance to measure the unfathomable\ndepths of God’s unexplored wisdom.\n\nNor are we to underrate the high importance of the sacred ministry.  It\nwas the gift of our blessed Lord after his ascension. {10a}  It is\ncarried on under the appointment and arrangement of the Holy Ghost. {10b}\nWhen Israel was without “a teaching priest,” they were “without the true\nGod,” and “without the law.” {10c}  When men labour for Christ, “rightly\ndividing the word of truth,” they are the great instruments in the hand\nof God for the ingathering of his elect, and the preservation of his\nchildren for eternal glory.  We admit then freely and fully, 1st, the\nexistence of difficulties in Scripture, and 2ndly, the importance and\nextreme value of a living and expounding ministry.  At the same time, we\nare no less prepared to assert with the utmost earnestness, that the\npeople of God are bound by, or dependent on, no interpretation of any man\nwhatever.  God has spoken in his word, and God has spoken plainly.  Let\nus examine two or three of the many proofs.\n\n1.  See the _use made of Scripture in the time of inspiration_.  Look at\nthe well known case of the Bereans, Acts xvii. 11: they brought Paul\nhimself to the test of Scripture; a set of laymen went daily to their\nBibles to see if the man of God himself were true, and for this, which\nwould be mortal sin in the Church of Rome, they were actually commended\nby the Holy Ghost, for a “These were more noble than those in\nThessalonica, in that they received the word with all readiness of mind,\nand searched the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so.”  The\nBerean laymen, therefore, were right, when they studied their Bible as\nthe rule of faith.  Take again the case of Timothy.  Timothy, we know,\nwas a remarkable man.  St. Paul loved him as his own child, and always\nspoke of him as his son.  He was to Paul what John was to Christ.  The\ngrace in his heart was of early growth; he was one of those chosen few,\nwho were believers from their youth.  But mark his early history.  He\nlived at Lystra, a heathen city: his father was a heathen, yet Timothy\nknew his Bible well: he had learned it of his mother, as she too from\nhers.  Here then we have a little band of Bible students in the midst of\na heathen city: it consisted of two women and one little boy.  And yet we\nare to be told that the bible does not speak plainly to common people,\nthat it cannot be understood until the church interpret.  Who interpreted\nto Timothy?  Who to Eunice?  Who to Lois?\n\n2.  Or refer to the _purpose for which the book was written_.  The Lord\nsaid to Habakkuk, {12a} “Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables,\nthat he may run that readeth it.”  It was his intention, therefore, that\nthe prophecy should be understood.  Of the whole Old Testament, St. Paul\nsays, “Whatsoever things were written aforetime, were written for our\nlearning, that we” (i.e. believers generally) “might have hope.” Rom. xv.\n4.  They were intended therefore for the learning and comfort of the\nchurch.  St. John’s gospel was written “that ye might believe that Jesus\nis the Christ the Son of God, and that believing ye might have life\nthrough his name.” John xx. 31.  And his epistle was addressed to those\nthat believe on the Son of God; “that ye might know that ye have eternal\nlife, and that ye might believe on the name of the Son of God,” John v.\n13.  What can be plainer than that God designed the Bible for the church\nat large, for the comfort and instruction of the whole body of his\nbelieving people?\n\nAnd now add to this the declared purpose for which the Holy Ghost dwells\namongst men.  He is “the Spirit of truth,” {12b} “to guide us into all\ntruth,” “the Spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Christ.”\n{12c}  And of Him St. John writes: “The anointing which ye have received\nof him abideth in you, and ye need not that any man teach you: but as the\nsame anointing teacheth you of all things, and is truth and is no lie,\nand even as it hath taught you, ye shall abide in him.” {13a}  Can any\none read such passages and doubt for a moment that it is the purpose of\nthe Holy Ghost to teach God’s people by throwing light upon the pages of\nhis inspired word? and would not that man set himself up above the God of\nheaven, who would dare to pronounce it inexpedient to give the Bible to\nevery living soul within the church?\n\nAnd now observe the following pastoral letter from the Romish bishops and\narchbishops in Ireland.  Having received a letter from Pope Leo the 12th,\ndated May 1824, addressed to all Patriarchs, Primates, Archbishops, and\nBishops, and they conveyed the substance of it to the Irish priests in\nthe following words.  “Our holy Father recommends to the observance of\nthe faithful, a rule of the congregation of the Index, which prohibits\nthe perusal of the Sacred scriptures in the vulgar tongue, without the\nsanction of the competent authorities.  His holiness wisely remarks that\nmore evil than good is found to result from the indiscriminate perusal of\nthem on account of the malice or infirmity of men. {13b}  In this\nsentiment of our head and chief we fully concur.”  So they do not\nhesitate boldly to declare, that the very words which the Holy Ghost\ninspired for our learning are productive of more harm than good.  It is\ntrue that they ascribe the failure to the malice or infirmity of men: but\ndid not God know what men were when he gave the Scriptures?  Did he\nsuppose men better than they are? or has the Pope a greater insight into\nhuman nature than God himself?  The use of such language implies either\nthat God was ignorant of man’s nature, or knowing it, was unsuccessful in\naddressing it; in other words it amounts to the bold blasphemy of\nascribing either ignorance or impotence to God.\n\n3.  But again, look at the _practical experience_ of daily life.  We\nappeal to every Bible reading Christian, does not the word of God speak\nplainly? 1 know there are some to whom it may appear a sealed book, but\nGod always opens it as they advance in their study.  There are many\nflowers, which in the early morn, seem to possess little interest or\nbeauty, for their bloom is closed; but when the sun gets up, and they\nfeel its genial heat, the leaf expands, and the blossom opens, sweet in\nits fragrance, and lovely in its colouring and form.  So it is with the\nScriptures.  The unopened Bible may seem dull and powerless to the\nbeginner, but let the Holy Ghost beam his light upon its sacred pages,\nand it becomes more beautiful than the lily, more fragrant than the rose\nof Sharon.  Did ever hungry soul go to the word, and not find in it the\nclear description of the bread of life?  Is there any confusion in its\nlanguage, when it addresses the broken-hearted penitent, and assures him,\nsaying, “The blood of Jesus Christ the son cleanseth us from all sin?”\nIs there any indistinctness in that gentle whisper with which God, as a\ntender husband, sooths the sorrowing widow, and leading her into a\nsolitary place, there speaks to her heart, saying, “Comfort, comfort ye\nmy people?”  Is there any want of lucid clearness in the lovely\nportraiture of our blessed Lord?  Is it possible to mistake his holy\ncharacter?  Is there any lack of shrill distinctness in the sound of the\nwarning trumpet, in the prophecies of coming judgment, in the curse\npassed on sin, in the promises of glory?  Nay, beloved! man may tell us\nthat the traveller cannot see to track his path, when the summer sun\nshines in its strength: man may tell us that there is no refreshment in\nthe cool stream that gurgles up clear as crystal from beneath the shady\nrock: and we would believe them, even then, sooner than we would believe\nthe Church of Rome, when she tells us, that the way of life is not\npointed out plainly, in the word which God has written, to guide and\ncheer his people heavenwards.\n\nWe have found, then, that the Bible is of supreme authority, complete\nsufficiency, and clear intelligibility.  And now, dear brethren, what a\ndeep sympathy should we feel for the laity of the Church of Rome!  One\nfact may illustrate their position.  When two members of the deputation\nof the Church of Scotland to the Jews arrived at Brody, on the borders of\nAustrian Poland, every book was taken from them, even their Hebrew and\nEnglish Bibles.  Being sealed up they were sent on to Cracow, and\ndelivered to them when they quitted the Austrian dominions.  On pleading\nfor their English Bible, the only answer was, “It is not allowed in\nAustria.”  Thus are the bulk of the people kept at a distance from that\nclear and lucid stream.  The church, like the painted window, stands\nbetween them and the pure light of heaven.  Who can wonder, then, that\nthere are errors and superstitions?  Who can be surprised to see them\nbend before the Virgin, when they are thus kept back from Christ?  We\nshould not despise them, but pity them: we should weep for them, as our\nlord wept over Jerusalem: we should pray for them, as he prayed upon the\ncross, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”  None can\ndoubt that multitudes are truly desiring to walk with God; truly in\nearnest in their rounds of prayers and penance.  You may oftentimes see\nthem on the Continent sobbing and pleading in unremitting and earnest\nprayer, but alas! it is too often before the Virgin’s picture.  They know\nno better, they are kept from the word of life, and in many cases they\nsink to their grave, ignorant of the very existence of the Bible.\n\nAnd there is a lesson here for ourselves too, dear brethren.  We must\nremember that it is not enough to belong to a church which puts the Bible\ninto our hands, or to listen to a ministry which appeals to it as the\nrule of faith.  We must make it our own; we must take it to ourselves as\nour birth-right.  It is not enough that we possess the printed book, it\nmust be also written on the understanding by careful, diligent,\npersevering study; and on the heart by the pen of the Holy Ghost himself.\nHe is but a poor Protestant that neglects his Bible.  Nay, more, he is\nbut a poor Christian, for he that knows little of his Bible can scarcely\nfail to know still less of God.  Let us, then, be stedfast Bible\nChristians, devoted Bible students.  Let us determine that, God giving us\ngrace, we will know Christ as our God reveals him, know him as our own\nRedeemer, as our own Advocate, as our own Lord and King, and let us never\nrest content till we can say with the prophet “Thy word was found and I\ndid eat it: and thy word was unto me the joy and rejoicing of my heart.”\n\n\n\n\nSERMON II.\nJUSTIFICATION.\n\n\n                                ACTS xiii. 39.\n\n    And by him all that believe are justified from all things, from which\n    ye could not be justified by the law of Moses.\n\nIF my object in the present course of sermons had been simply to produce\na popular impression against the church of Rome, I doubt whether I should\nhave selected the doctrine of justification as the subject for our\nthought this evening.  The error, though quite as deadly, is not so\nglaring as in other portions of their system.  But, as I said on Sunday\nlast, my great design is to confirm you in the saving truths of Christ’s\ngospel, “that speaking the truth in love, we may grow up unto him in all\nthings.”  To this end there is no subject more important than the\npresent; it touches our very life; it concerns our present peace and\neternal joy; it involves the question, whether the door is closed or\nopened, by which the sinner can find access to God.  Let us endeavour\nthen to approach it with the seriousness due to so great a matter, and\nlet us all lift up our hearts to the Father of lights, the giver of every\ngood and perfect gift, that the Holy Ghost may be shed on us abundantly\nthrough Jesus Christ our Lord!\n\nThe point at issue between the Church of Rome and Church of England does\nnot relate to the justification of the heathen man, when he first\napproaches Christ in baptism.  This they term the first justification,\nand acknowledge with us that it is through faith.  It is with reference\nto what is usually called the second justification that the great\ndifference exists between us.  This is the justification of baptized\nChristians, of persons like ourselves, who have sinned after baptism; and\nthe question is, What is the instrument by which justification is applied\nto us?\n\nThe doctrine of our Protestant church is clearly laid down in the 11th\nArticle, “We are accounted righteous before God only for the merit of our\nLord and Saviour Jesus Christ by faith, and not for our works, or\ndeservings: Wherefore, that we are justified by faith only is a most\nwholesome doctrine, and very full of comfort, as more largely is\nexpressed in the Homily of Justification.”\n\nThe doctrine of the church of Rome is that there is righteousness infused\ninto the mind, as warmth into the heated iron, and that we are justified\nby the merit of this infused or inherent righteousness; or, in other\nwords, that our own good thoughts, good works, alms, prayers, fastings,\n&c. so satisfy God’s law, that in consequence of them we may claim\neternal life as our own well deserved reward.  The council of Trent has\ndecreed as follows:—“If any man shall say, that men are justified either\nby the sole imputation of the righteousness of Christ, or the sole\nremission of our sins, and not by grace and charity, which is diffused in\ntheir hearts by the Holy Spirit, and is inherent in them, let him be\naccursed.” {19}\n\nIn other words the Church of England teaches that we are accepted before\nGod through the righteousness of our blessed Lord, imputed freely to all\nthat believe; the Church of Rome, that we are accepted before God through\nthe righteousness wrought in us, and the merit of our own acts and\ndoings.  The Church of England that we are justified by faith; the Church\nof Rome that we are justified by works.\n\nTo those who know their Bibles, there can be little difficulty in the\ndecision of this important question.  That we are justified by faith\nstands forth as plainly as the summer sun in heaven.\n\nActs xiii. 39.  “And by him all that believe are justified from all\nthings, from which ye could not be justified by the law of Moses.”\n\nRomans iii. 24.  “Being justified freely by his grace, through the\nredemption that is in Christ Jesus.”\n\n26.  “To declare, I say, at this time, his righteousness: that he might\nbe just and the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus.”\n\n28.  “Therefore we conclude that a man is justified by faith without the\ndeeds of the law.”\n\niv. 2, 3.  “For if Abraham were justified by works, he hath whereof to\nglory; but not before God.  For what saith the scripture?  Abraham\nbelieved God, and it was counted to him for righteousness.”\n\nGal. ii. 16.  “Knowing that a man is not justified by the works of the\nlaw, but by the faith of Jesus Christ, even we have believed in Jesus\nChrist, that we might be justified by the faith of Christ, and not by the\nworks of the law: for by the works of the law shall no flesh be\njustified.”\n\nHere we might well leave the subject, but as this was the great\nbattle-field of the Reformation, it may be well to examine rather more\ncarefully into the question.  In doing this we will endeavour to show—\n\nI.  That all justifying righteousness must be perfect.\n\nII.  That inherent righteousness can never justify even the regenerate.\n\nIII.  That the imputed righteousness of Christ is of itself perfect and\nsufficient.\n\nI.  All justifying righteousness must be perfect; for justification is a\nlegal act, and justifying righteousness is that which satisfies the law.\nThe law, or will of God, lays down a certain rule of life and conduct, as\nthe law of a country lays down certain regulations for the citizen.  As\nthe sovereign for his subjects, so God appoints his law for man.  Now if\nthe law be satisfied by man, then man is justified by the law.  The law\nlays nothing to his charge; he is really free, and he is accounted free;\nhe is fully and completely justified by his perfect fulfilment of the\nwill of God.  Such a character would stand before God in the same\nposition as we do before the earthly judge.  We are justified by our\ncountry’s laws; we enjoy our liberty, and walk through the length and\nbreadth of our happy land, free as the winds of heaven, in our own right,\nand, as far as human law is concerned, our own righteousness.  We have\nnot broken our country’s laws, so we can stand up boldly before our\ncountry’s judge.  Now, with reference to our country, or to the law of\nman, this innocence is a justifying righteousness.  It secures to us a\nperfect freedom, it strips the law of all claim either on liberty or\nlife.  If there were a similar obedience to the law of God, that\nobedience would be a justifying righteousness before God.  If the law\nwere satisfied, the creature would be justified; the satisfied law would\nitself declare him free.  The law would be disarmed of all power of\nthreat, curse, or punishment; the righteous man would stand boldly before\nthe judgment, and say, “I have fulfilled the law, and I now demand the\ncrown.”\n\nNow there is one thing self-evident respecting this justifying\nrighteousness; namely this, It must be perfect, or it all falls to the\nground.  If one stone be removed from the self-supporting arch, the whole\nfabric falls into ruin.  One leak is enough to sink the noblest ship in\nEngland’s navy.  So by the laws of our country, if there be one breach of\none law, our liberty is lost, our right is gone, our justifying\nrighteousness is no more.  If there be one single act of transgression,\none single violation of one single statute, the law is broken, and the\noffender is subject to its punishment.  How many a poor culprit has lost\nhis life for one solitary act!  As with the law of England, so it is with\nthe law of God.  The righteousness that can justify must be a perfect\nrighteousness.  If there be one act of disobedience, the offender becomes\na sinner, and must plead for mercy, if he would hope to shun the curse.\nHis right and righteousness are gone together; he must cease for ever to\nurge any claim on glory.  St. James states this plainly, {23a} “For\nwhosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is\nguilty of all.  For he that said, Do not commit adultery, said also, Do\nnot kill.  Now if thou commit no adultery, yet if thou kill, thou art\nbecome a transgressor of the law:” and St. Paul confirms it, when he\nquotes the words, {23b} “Cursed is every one that continueth not in _all_\nthings that are written in the book of the law to do them.”  He does not\nsay _some_ things, or _most_ things, or a _great many_ things, but _all_\nthings.\n\nAnd this may point out the distinction between the righteousness which\ncan justify, and the righteousness which may please.  That which can\njustify must be perfect, for it must leave the law unbroken before the\njudge; that which can please may be defective, for it may be little more\nthan the first risings of a filial love, than the first efforts to do the\nwill of a loving Father.  The prodigal pleased his father, when he first\nturned his thoughts towards his long forsaken home, but none would argue\nthat he was then justified by his obedience.  Mary pleased her Saviour,\nwhen she sat at his feet, and drank in his sacred teaching, but that one\nact could not justify her soul before the judgment-seat of God.  David\ndid well that it was in his heart to build the temple, but he could not\nappeal to that one secret, unfulfilled intention, as a justifying\nrighteousness, which could clear his soul, or fulfil the law.  To sing\nthe song of thankful praise pleaseth the Lord “better than a bullock that\nhath horns and hoofs,” but though we sang that song throughout eternity,\nit would prove nothing before the judgment-seat, it could never\nconstitute such a righteousness that the judge could say “Well done, you\nhave fulfilled the law.” {24}\n\nIf we bear in mind this distinction, we shall easily establish our second\npoint, namely,\n\nII.  That inherent righteousness can never justify even the regenerate:\nand for this one simple reason, that the righteousness of the very best\nis altogether imperfect before God.\n\nWe all know what a vast change is wrought in a man when he is born again\nof the Holy Ghost, a change sometimes compared to a resurrection,\nsometimes to a new creation, and always ascribed to the arm of God’s\nomnipotent sovereignty.  In this change the heart of stone is taken away,\nand the heart of flesh is granted; the eagle is transformed into the\ndove; the lion becomes the lamb; the wild bramble is changed into the\nfruitful vine; the barren waste rejoices and blossoms like the rose.  Let\nus none lower the character of this vast and most lovely change.  It is\nmore beautiful than that of the chrysalis to the butterfly; more\nwonderful than that of the buried corpse to the living man; more\ngladdening, than when the vast world sprang out of nothing at the command\nof God.  There are only two occasions mentioned in the Bible, in which\nthe company before the throne are described as finding increase to their\nalready perfect joy; the one was the creation, when “all the sons of God\nshouted for joy:”{25a}—the other, the gathering in of the new born\npenitent, for “there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth.”\n{25b}\n\nBut yet the righteousness thus implanted cannot justify, for just look at\n\n(1)  _The works produced_.\n\nThere is a constant activity to be seen amongst the people of God; they\ndelight to do his will; they labour, and labour diligently, to relieve\ndistress, to comfort sorrow, to spread the glad tidings of the kingdom of\nour Lord.  Such works are the fruits of the Spirit, and they are\ngladdening both to God and man.  To witness them in the flock is the\nhighest joy of the Christian minister, and never do we know such true\npleasure, as when we see you, dear brethren, thus striving to labour\nstedfastly for Christ.  Ay! and they are the joy of one higher far than\nwe.  They are the fruits of the Spirit, the delight of Christ himself,\nthe sacrifice well pleasing, acceptable unto God.  St. Paul desires such\nresults as these, when he prays, {25c} “That ye might walk worthy of the\nLord unto all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work, and increasing\nin the knowledge of God.”  And Christ himself has put his seal and stamp\nupon them, saying, {26a} “Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear\nmuch fruit; so shall ye be my disciples.”  But how vain it is to suppose\nthat they can justify! they may please the Father, but they cannot\nsatisfy the law.  They may seem fair before men, but who is bold enough\nto pronounce them perfect before God?  For remember that motives must be\nconsidered as well as acts.  See how St. Paul argues this, 1st Cor. xiii.\n3, “And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give\nmy body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.”\nWhat could be a nobler thing than martyrdom?  What liberality equal to\nthe consecration of all his goods to feed the poor?  Yet if there be one\nsecret, hidden defect of motive perceived by God alone, the Apostle\nbecomes nothing, “it profiteth me nothing.” {26b}  “Cut off then those\nthings wherein we have regarded our own glory, those things which men do\nto please men, and to satisfy our own likings, those things we do for any\nby respect, not sincerely and purely for the love of God, and a small\nscore will serve for the number of our righteous deeds.”  It is with them\nas with the drop of water.  To the naked eye it seems clear and\nsparkling, but when you see it under the searching light of the solar\nmicroscope, you find it full of all uncleanness.  So it is with the best\nof human actions.  To the naked eye they may appear pure and even\nbrilliant, but let the light of divine truth beam on their inward\ncharacter and motive, and there is so much defect, so much defilement,\nthat we are filled with wonder, not because they fail to justify, but\nbecause God is so gracious as to condescend to say they please.  Yea,\nverily! if the whole church of Christ were to select from all its\nmultitudes the very holiest of all living men, and if that holiest of men\nwere to select the holiest action that he ever wrought in the holiest\nperiod of his most holy life, that one act when referred to the heart\nsearching, motive judging, law of God, would be found so tainted with\ndefiling sin, that if his justification were to depend on its\nrighteousness alone, he must abandon for ever all hope of life with God.\n“There is none that doeth good, no not one.” {27}\n\n(2)  We have here referred to outward actions, let us now trace the\nstream up to its source, and look at the inward state of heart, or as it\nis sometimes called “habitual righteousness.”  Can this justify?  We all\nknow what an inward change is wrought by the Holy Ghost in those who are\ntruly born of God.  Their whole heart and mind and will are changed.\nThey love that they once despised, they long for that which they once\nscorned, they walk with Jesus, whereas before they were the slaves of\nsin.  To recur to the simile employed before, as heat is diffused through\niron, so a new love, a new righteousness is spread through the soul.  But\nyet it cannot justify, for it is not perfect.  It is sufficient to\nplease, but it is defective still.  There may be great heat spread\nthrough the iron, while still the metal retains its substance.  The ice\nmay be melted, and the water retain the winter’s chill.  Just so it is\nwith the righteousness planted in us by the Holy Ghost.  There is a new\nwarmth, but the nature retains too much of its iron hardness: there is a\nmelting of the soul, but the winter’s chill is still found in the melted\nspirit.  This is the meaning of our article when it says “The infection\nof nature doth remain yea in them that are regenerate,” and this\nremaining corruption destroys at once all hope of justification through\nthe righteousness of the heart.  Take one or two examples from the\nScriptures.  There can be no doubt of the inward righteousness of David.\nHe was “the sweet psalmist of Israel,” “the man after God’s own heart.”\nIf the Holy Ghost ever gave the new life to any man it was to David.  But\nwas David’s inward righteousness such that he was justified?  Listen to\nhis own prayer, Ps. cxliii. 2, “Enter not into judgment with thy servant;\nfor in thy sight shall no man living be justified.”  There can be no\ndoubt of the change of heart in Peter.  The ardour of his noble mind was\nnobly consecrated to Christ.  But was Peter justified by his inward\nrighteousness?  See how it failed.  One wave of strong temptation broke\ndown his faith, and for the time chilled his love: so that on one evening\neven Peter was thrice guilty of the denial of his Lord.  Could Peter then\nbe justified by his inward love?  There can be no doubt of the inward\nrighteousness of Paul.  He was God’s chosen vessel to bear his name among\nthe Gentiles.  His whole life bore witness to the constraining power of\nthe love of Jesus.  But was he justified by that inward love?  Listen to\nhis own affecting language, Rom. vii. 22–24, “For I delight in the law of\nGod after the inward man: But I see another law in my members warring\nagainst the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of\nsin which is in my members.  O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver\nme from the body of this death?”\n\nOr refer the matter to your own personal experience.  It is a case that\nrequires no farfetched arguments.  There are multitudes amongst you, I am\nwell persuaded, in whom the Holy Ghost has wrought this sanctifying\nchange.  It is your joy, your delight, your chief desire to walk with\nGod.  And now we would appeal to you.  Are you walking with God so\nperfectly that by that righteousness you can be justified?  Has there\nbeen no neglect, no languor, no forgetfulness, no sloth in his service?\nHas the whole life been like the vigorous, active, cheerful, service of\nthe angels around the throne?  Or, to go farther: is there any one hour\nthat you have passed from the moment of your new birth till now, upon the\nperfect holiness of which you would dare to stake your salvation\nthroughout eternity?  Select the time of greatest spiritual enjoyment,\nthe happy season when your soul glowed most fervently with the love of\nJesus; when Heaven seemed the nearest, and God rose before you as the\nloveliest of the lovely; and decide whether you can truly say “For that\ntime at least I did fully, completely, and without defect, rise to the\nmeasure of the perfect will of God.”  How then can Rome declare that we\nare justified by the righteousness within us?  How can she presume to\ncurse those who differ from her sentence?  How can she say “If any man\nsay, that we are justified by the sole imputation of Christ’s\nrighteousness, or by the sole remission of our sins, and not by an\ninherent grace diffused in our hearts by the Holy Ghost; let him be\nanathema?”  Who is there either in Rome or England that can have any\nhope, but in free, simple, unfettered mercy—that can have any plea before\nthe throne of God but that of the poor publican, who said “Lord be\nmerciful to me a sinner?” {30}\n\nAnd this leads us, thirdly, to remark\n\nIII.  That the imputed righteousness of Christ is of itself perfect and\nsufficient.  This is plainly the truth denied in the decree above quoted.\nJustification is there ascribed in part to the imputation of Christ’s\nrighteousness, but this alone is said to be insufficient.  The article of\nour church and this decree have evident reference to each other.  The\narticle says “We are accounted righteous before God _only_ for the merit\nof our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.”  The Council of Trent “If any man\nshall say that men are justified by the _sole_ imputation of Christ’s\nrighteousness, let him be accursed.”  The turning point, therefore, of\nthe whole question is the _complete_ sufficiency of the work of Christ.\n\n1.  Consider, then, his atonement. {31}  “He died, the just for the\nunjust, to bring us to God.”  He was our substitute, he took our place,\nhe endured the curse of our guilt, “he bare our sins in his own body on\nthe tree.”  Was the price sufficient, or was it not?  Was the substitute\naccepted, or was it not?  Was the law satisfied, or was it not?  If it\nwas, the atonement was complete, the believer free, and no further\njustification through righteousness can be required.  If not, of this one\nthing I am persuaded, that nothing we can do can supply the deficiency of\nthe work of Jesus.  No tears, no toils, no fastings, penances, or alms\ndeeds can supply that which is lacking in the price paid for the sinner.\nIf we were to weep till the ocean overflowed with the swelling tide of\npenitential tears, it would avail less than one single drop of the most\nprecious blood of God’s well beloved Son.  If we were to lacerate the\nbody with fastings and self-inflicted sufferings, till the very life sunk\nunder the penance, it would procure no gift that is not already\npurchased, it could satisfy no law that is not already satisfied by the\nlife of Jesus.\n\n2.  Consider also the imputed righteousness of Christ.  He made himself\none of us, and became our substitute on the cross.  As our\nrepresentative, He bore our sins in his own body, and as our\nrepresentative He is now at the right hand of God.  God punished our sins\nin Him upon the cross.  God accepts us in Him as his ransomed people.\nOur sins were placed to his account, and his righteousness to ours.  This\nexplains 2 Cor. v. 21, “For he hath made him to be sin for us who knew no\nsin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.”  He was not\nmade really sinful, but sin was imputed to him; he was reckoned as a\nsinner; he bore the sinner’s curse.  But we are made the righteousness of\nGod in the same sense in which he was made sin; that is, righteousness is\nimputed to us, we are reckoned righteous, we are made heirs of the\nRedeemer’s glory.  Now this righteousness is indeed a justifying\nrighteousness: it is the righteousness of Christ, the righteousness of\nGod, perfect in every thought, perfect from eternity.  For ever, and for\never, has he been one with God, and never for one single moment, has one\nsingle tainted thought dared to intrude on the heavenly holiness of his\nmost holy soul.  Now if this righteousness be imputed to us, what can\nours add to it?  If we be justified by Christ’s merit, how is it possible\nthat we should be any longer justified by our own?  Can ours add to his?\nCan it supply any defects in his?  Can we make up a patchwork\nrighteousness, partly his, and partly ours?  The very holiest act of the\nvery holiest of men would be like a spot upon the sun, a stain and\nblemish to the perfect brilliancy of the holiness of Jesus.\n\nNow that is the justifying righteousness of the believer.  In Christ we\nstand, in Christ we are accepted, in Christ the law is satisfied, in\nChrist we are free from the curse, in Christ we have peace with God—so in\nChrist, and in Christ alone, must the true believer look for life.\n\nAway, then, with all false thoughts of human merit; away with the deadly\nheresy that man by inherent excellence can recommend himself to God; away\nwith the self-exalting notion that any man, at any time, can stand in any\nother attitude than that of a convicted sinner, freely pardoned through\nthe blood of the Lamb.  We will strive to please him, we will press on\nalong the path of life, we will spare nothing that we may walk with God.\nWe will long for the day when Christ’s image shall be formed in\nperfection within the soul.  But, meanwhile, we will rest on his\natonement, on his righteousness alone: and though worldly men may count\nit folly, though self-righteous men may deem it frenzy, though Rome may\nhurl against us the thunder of her anathemas, we will believe, and\nbelieve to our everlasting peace and joy, that “God hath made him to be\nsin for us”; and that by that one act, without the smallest human merit,\n“We are made the righteousness of God in him.”\n\n\n\n\nSERMON III.\nPURGATORY.\n\n\n                               LUKE xxiii. 43.\n\n    And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, To day shalt thou be\n    with me in paradise.\n\nHAVE you ever stood by the bedside of a dying believer? ever watched the\ndecaying strength of some dear object of your fondest love?  Then you\nknow the deep emotions of that solemn moment, when, in the stillness of\nthe chamber of death, the heavy breathing ceases, and the happy spirit\nwings its flight to God.  What conflicting feelings then struggle for\nmastery in the heart!  Faith, joy, doubt, and sorrow, seem in turn to\ntake possession of the soul: nay, rather! they all reign there at once:\nwe mourn in widowhood, but acquiesce in faith: we look on our own life as\ndesolate through separation; but, thinking on the present glory of the\ndeparted, we cannot withhold a glad Amen from Cowper’s lines upon his\nmother.\n\n    But oh! the thought that thou art safe and he!\n    That thought is joy, arise what may to me.\n\nYes it is a joy! a mournful joy, but a joy unutterable; a joy that draws\nfrom the same eye tears of rejoicing, and tears of grief; a joy which,\nstrange to say, melts us into sadness, while it gives a calm, holy,\npeaceful satisfaction from the full and complete assurance that those we\nlove most are for ever safe with Jesus.  This joy is the birthright of\nGod’s faithful children; and this the balm with which in our funeral\nservice, we strive to staunch the mourner’s tears.  Who that has ever\nwept beside the open grave can fail to remember those hallowed words: “I\nheard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write, from henceforth, blessed\nare the dead which die in the Lord, even so saith the Spirit, for they\nrest from their labours”?\n\nBut the Church of Rome, at one fatal blow, robs us of all this; and in\nthe Catechism of the Council of Trent, declares, {35a} “Besides (hell,)\nthere is a fire of purgatory, in which the souls of the pious being\ntormented for a definite time, expiate their sin, that so an entrance may\nbe opened to them, into the eternal country, into which nothing defiled\ncan enter.”\n\nYou will here observe four things.\n\n1.  That the souls in purgatory are under torture.  “Cruciatæ.”\n\n2.  That this torture is by fire. {35b}\n\n3.  That the persons suffering it are not the wicked, but the pious, i.e.\nbelievers, God’s dear children, those to whom Christ would say, “Depart\nin peace, thy faith hath saved thee.”\n\n4.  That the purpose of it is to expiate sin, or make an atonement for\ntransgression before they can be admitted to eternal glory.\n\nSo that if we are to believe Rome, we must abandon all our bright hopes\nfor our dear departed brethren.  Our mothers, and fathers, and fond\nfriends, who have stuck closer to us than a brother, holy believers, who\nfull of faith, fell asleep in Jesus, are at this present moment, writhing\nand gnashing their teeth, in the fierce agony of scorching heat; yet glad\neven of the flame to hide them from the displeasure of that Saviour whom\nthey once delighted to trust and love.\n\nHaving thus stated the doctrine, I am well persuaded I might here safely\nleave it.  But it forms one of the bulwarks of the Romish system, and is\none of the great sources of Roman wealth. {36a}  The parish priests are\nordered by their church frequently and diligently to discourse on it.\n{36b}  Let us examine then how the matter stands in the word of God.\n\nI.  And 1st, we would remark that there is not a shadow of foundation for\nit in the Bible.  We read of hell, and we read of heaven; we read\nplainly, “That where the tree falleth there shall it lie.”  But of\npurgatory not a word is to be found.\n\nThere are, however, two texts generally quoted to which it may be well\nbriefly to refer.\n\nThe first is, 1 Cor. iii. 12–15.  “Now if any man build upon this\nfoundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble; every man’s\nwork shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it\nshall be revealed by fire; and the tire shall try every man’s work of\nwhat sort it is.  If any man’s work abide which he hath built thereupon,\nhe shall receive a reward.  If any man’s work shall be burned, he shall\nsuffer loss: but he himself shall be saved; yet so as by fire.”\n\nOne glance is enough to shew that these words have no connection with the\nsubject.  The apostle is speaking of the ministry, and compares the\nministers who followed him at Corinth to builders raising a temple on the\nfoundation he himself had laid.  The temple then is the visible Church;\nthe material, the professing members of it: some of whom, like gold,\nsilver, and precious stones, are shining as true believers to the glory\nof their Saviour: others, like wood, hay, and stubble, are worthless\nprofessors, fit only to be burned.  The day of revealing fire refers\neither to the day of judgment, or the great fearful conflict with the\nenemy, described by St. Peter as “the fiery trial which is to try you.”\n{37}  The effect will be to separate the tares from the wheat; the\nprecious from the vile; the false from the true; the gold, silver, and\nprecious stones, from the wood, hay, and stubble; and so to reveal the\ncharacter of the work.  There is no allusion then to purgatory.  The fire\nof purgatory is to make expiation for the sins of believers; the day of\nfire here described is to try the Church and reveal its character.\n\nIf possible the other passage has still less bearing on the subject.  It\nis, 1 Pet. iii. 18–20.\n\n“Being put to death in the flesh, but quickened in the spirit: by the\nwhich also he went and preached unto the spirits in prison: which\nsometimes were disobedient, when once the longsuffering of God waited in\nthe days of Noah, while the ark was a preparing, wherein few, that is,\neight souls were saved by water.”  This is said to prove that our blessed\nLord preached to the spirits in purgatory at his burial.  But it does\nnothing of the kind.  Those that had sinned against Noah’s preaching were\nguilty of disobedience and unbelief.  They, therefore, the Church of Rome\nitself being witness, were not in purgatory but in hell.  The true\nmeaning of the text is this: Christ was raised up by the divine power of\nthe Holy Ghost, by which as the eternal God, he preached even in the time\nof Noah to those wicked persons, who having then rejected him, are now\nfast bound in the miseries of hell.  He preached then, not at the time of\nthe crucifixion, but, as the pre-existent God, at the time of Noah: and\npreached not to dead souls, but to living men.  These two texts are the\npillars on which Purgatory rests.  They remind us of the two pillars on\nwhich stood the house of Dagon.  God grant that they may not be equally\ndestructive to the thousands of souls who rest on them!\n\nThere is therefore no support for the doctrine; let us now proceed to\nshow,\n\nII.  That it is in direct contradiction to the word of God.\n\nThere are many passages to which we should feel great joy in now\nreferring, where the present blessedness of departed spirits is painted\nin lively colours by the Holy Ghost; but you will at once see that those\nonly concern our present argument, which describe an _immediate_ entrance\ninto joy and rest.\n\n1.  Let us begin then with the language of our blessed Saviour to the\ndying thief; which shows that they are gathered immediately to a joyful\nhome; “To day thou shalt be with me in paradise.”  There can be no\nquestion here as to his immediate happiness; there was no need of prayer\nfor the repose of his soul.  That very afternoon, when his poor exhausted\nframe hung lifeless on the cross, when he was carried off as an unclean\nthing to be buried out of the sight of man; that very afternoon, before\nthe evening closed in, was the happy spirit in paradise with Jesus.  And\nthere is something very beautiful in the name here given to the home of\nSpirits.  In 2 Cor. v. 1, it is described as “a building of God, an house\nnot made with hands, eternal in the heavens;” but there is no name given\nthere; here the name is given, but no description; the name is\n“Paradise.”  In paradise there was no pain, no sickness, no sorrow, no\ndeath, no sin.  Tears were never witnessed there till Adam turned his\nback on it, and so it is with the home of believers.  Neither sin nor\nsorrow can ever gain admission.  The gate is too strait for them, they\nare left behind with us on earth.  In that home holiness is the joy,\npraise the incense, love the atmosphere, and Christ the light.\n\n2.  In this home again there is immediate rest.  “They rest not day and\nnight,” it is true, “crying, {40a} Holy, holy, holy, &c.;” for to them\nnothing could be so fatiguing as a pause from praise.  Their most\ntoilsome toil is to be silent from giving thanks.  But from all labour\nthey rest at once.  When the spirit once takes its flight, to that soul\nthe warfare is accomplished, the struggle over, the battle won.  Only\nlook at the words of St. John, Revelation xiv. 13.  See how they are\nushered in.  “I heard a voice from heaven.”  See how God would have them\npreserved as the lasting joy of the Church of Christ; for he says,\n“Write.”  Mark their confirmation by the Holy Ghost, “Yea, thus saith the\nSpirit.”  And now see their plain, indisputable testimony to the\nimmediate and complete blessedness of the saints.  “Blessed are the dead\nwhich die in the Lord from henceforth, yea, thus saith the Spirit, that\nthey may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.”  There\nis no delay, no interval, no expiation.  They are at once blessed; at\nonce at rest; for they are fallen asleep in Jesus: they have died in the\nLord.\n\n3.  This immediate blessedness is taught us also from the case of\nLazarus. {40b} “When the beggar died he was carried by the angels into\nAbraham’s bosom,” not to purgatory; and when there he was comforted in\nthe enjoyment of a rest with God.\n\n4.  But above all, the dying spirit passes immediately into the presence\nof Christ the Saviour.\n\nIt is most important for us to observe this, for there can be no real joy\nto the Christian if he be separate from Christ.  The pure river of the\nfountain of life would lose all its charm if it did not proceed out of\nthe throne of God and of the Lamb.  The sea of glass, clear as crystal,\nwould have no beauty if the face of Jesus were not reflected in it.  The\nnew Jerusalem itself would be no object of desire, though its walls be of\njasper, its gate of pearl, its streets of gold, if Christ himself were\nnot the light of it: for the brightest diamond has no brightness in the\ndark.  Yea, heaven itself would become a hell if the Son of God were not\nthe reigning Lord of it.\n\nIf we cannot prove, therefore, that the departed believer passes at once\ninto the presence of his Lord, we in fact prove nothing.  If for one\nmoment we are to be separated from him, it little matters where.  But\nthanks be to God we can prove it without the possibility of\ncontradiction.\n\nWhen Stephen died {41a} “he saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at\nthe right hand of God;” saw, as it were, the arm of Christ reaching forth\nto draw him up to heaven; so he fell down and prayed “Lord Jesus receive\nmy spirit.”\n\nWhen St. Paul doubted between life and death, he {41b} “had a desire to\ndepart and be with Christ, which was far better.”  Death then was a\ndeparture into the immediate presence of his Lord.  But above all refer\nto 2 Cor. v. 6, 7, 8.  “Therefore we are always confident, knowing that,\nwhilst we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord; (for we\nwalk by faith not by sight;) we are confident, I say, and willing rather\nto be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.”  The idea\nof this passage is that there are two homes for believers; two dwellings,\none on earth, and one in heaven; one in the body, one in the presence of\nour Lord.  While here we know him, but it is by faith alone.  “We walk by\nfaith, not by sight.”  When there we shall see him in the full brilliancy\nof his love and glory.  And this change is immediate.  The veil is very\nthin that separates the world of flesh from the world of spirits.  Every\nprayer of faith pierces it.  The stream is very narrow that separates\nearth and heaven, and no sooner do we quit the one than we enter on the\nother; no sooner is the earthly home dissolved, than Christ himself is\nseen and the heavenly home opens for his people.  So long as “we are at\nhome in the body, we are absent from the Lord;” and we are willing rather\nto be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord.  The departed\nbeliever, therefore, is at once found with Christ.\n\n5.  But there is another passage in which all these immediate blessings\nappear summed up in one short, but most expressive, word.  “To me to live\nis Christ, and to die is gain.” {42}\n\nWe should have no fear in resting the question upon this text alone.  It\nplaces the truth beyond the reach of all attack.  “To die is gain,”\ntherefore to die is not to go to purgatory.  “To die is gain,” therefore\nto die is not to be tortured in fire for the expiation of our sin.  Nor\nmust we suppose that this refers to St. Paul alone.  His acceptance\nrested on the same terms as ours.  He was a sinner pardoned through the\nLamb’s blood, and accepted on the same terms as the weakest believer in\nour congregation.  To die was gain; not because he was an Apostle, but\nbecause to live was Christ.  And if to us to live is Christ, then to us\nto die is gain.\n\nLook then at the present happiness of believers, the present joy of the\nnew born child of God.  He does not see Christ, it is true, with the eye\nof sense; but he knows him, he loves him, he delights in him, he speaks\nto him, his soul is filled with joy at the assurance of his grace.  “Whom\nhaving not seen we love, in whom though now ye see him not, yet believing\nye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory.”  In every care and\ntrial he can find a sweet repose, for he knows that Christ is near, and\nhe has the precious promise “The beloved of the Lord shall dwell in\nsafety by him; and the Lord shall cover him all the day long.”  So when\nhis frame becomes enfeebled and the time of his departure seems at hand,\nhe can lie down peacefully upon the bed of languishing, for he has the\nprecious promise that the Lord shall strengthen him; the sweet assurance\n“_Thou_ wilt make _all_ his bed in his sickness.”  Ay! and when the\nillness itself draws to a close, when all power to alleviate is gone,\nwhen the physician’s skill is helpless, and the wife’s affection\nfruitless; when the dying man is passing alone through the valley of the\nshadow of death, he is still supported, still happy, still at peace.  For\nthe same Lord is nigh.  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the\nshadow of death I will fear no evil: for thou art with me, thy rod and\nthy staff, they comfort me.”  Oh!  Blessed life!  Oh! happy death of the\nchild of God!  “Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last\nend be like his!” {44}\n\nBut now suppose the valley crossed.  The arm has upheld him through the\nstruggle; the beloved of the Lord has been borne safely through.  Is the\nfirst sight which meets his affrighted eye the lurid glare of the\nflashing flames of purgatorial fire?—the first sound that startles his\near the groaning of God’s beloved children writhing under the torments of\nexpiating torture?  Is that calm repose on Jesus suddenly changed by one\nterrific plunge into the scorching agony of a purgatorial flame?  Would\nit be gain thus to die?  Would such a death be “far better” than the life\nof faith?  It would be better surely to dwell safely as the beloved of\nthe Lord, than to burn miserably in the expiation of unforgiven sin.\n\nWe may conclude then that the doctrine of purgatory is in direct\nopposition to the word of God, but we have a yet farther, and, if\npossible, graver charge to urge against it, viz.,\n\nIII.  That it is in direct opposition to the doctrine of atonement as set\nforth in scripture.\n\nYou will remember the extract already quoted from the Catechism of the\nCouncil of Trent, in which it was stated that in the fire of purgatory\nthe souls of the pious make expiation for their sin.  Pause for a moment\nto observe these words.  There are two things to be noticed in them, (1.)\nthey assert directly that man’s sufferings can make expiation for his\nsin, and (2.) they imply that the death of our Lord was not a complete\nexpiation for our sin.  Let us examine each part separately.\n\n(1.)  First then we have a direct assertion that by enduring pain the\nbeliever makes expiation for his soul; that is, that our temporary\nsufferings satisfy God’s broken law.\n\nIf this be true, what occasion was there for the blood of Jesus.  Why the\nstupendous mystery of man’s redemption?  Why the agony in the garden?\nWhy the burden of the cross?  Why the hiding of God’s countenance?  Why\nthe endurance of the curse in our stead?  Such a work was surely\nneedless, a mere mistake on the part of Jesus.  The atonement is become a\nfable, if man’s passing pain can make expiation for his sin.\n\nBut, again, if pain is expiation, how is it that hell-fire burns for\never?  Was ever suffering so intense as that?  Was there ever such a\nscene of woe and misery, of hatefulness and hopelessness, as that?  But\ndoes it make expiation for the sinner’s sin?  Does it blot out the curse?\nDoes the fire burn out its fuel?  “It is the worm that dieth not, and the\nfire that is not quenched.”  Yea, verily, if the curse of one single sin\ncould be burned out by ten thousand centuries of pain, hell would be no\nlonger hell, for there would be a faint gleam of far distant hope,\nshining even upon the miseries of the damned.\n\nThere is no expiation then in pain.  Believers are chastened, but\nchastening is not atonement.  It is God’s gentle discipline by which he\nprepares his jewels for his crown; and just as the finest gold is wrought\nmost carefully, so the most precious of God’s children are often\nchastened most heavily, for “whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and\nscourgeth every son whom he receiveth.”  There must be a melting of the\ngold, before it can be separated from the ore; there must be a rending of\nthe root, before the tree can be taken from the wilderness and\ntransplanted into the garden of the Lord.  And so it is with believers.\nThere must be a melting of the heart, a humbling of the earthly will, a\nweaning of soul, that they may cleave to Christ alone.  And this is the\npurpose for which, beloved, we are chastened.  He does it for our profit,\nthat we may be partakers of his holiness.  Affliction has the same effect\nthat Nebuchadnezzar’s furnace had on the three children in captivity.  It\ncould not touch their person, but it burnt the bands that bound them, and\nenabled them to walk more freely with their Lord.  But expiation!  That\nis Christ’s work.  “He is the propitiation for our sins,” and if\nsuffering in man could expiate for sin in man, then the suffering of\nChrist were a waste of blood, a waste of agony, a waste of life, a waste\nof love.\n\n(2.)  And this leads us to our second remark, that the doctrine of\nexpiation through purgatorial fire implies an incompleteness in the\natonement of our blessed Lord.  If expiation be still needful, then in\nhis atonement there must be something wanting.  Nor is this the mere\nconclusion of a bigoted protestant, it is the bold assertion of the\nChurch of Rome herself.  Listen to her canon, “If any man shall say that\nafter the gift of Justification has been received, sin is so remitted to\nany repentant sinner,” (observe it speaks of justified believers and true\npenitents) “and the debt of eternal punishment so blotted out, that there\nremains no debt of temporary punishment to be endured either in this\nworld or the world to come in purgatory, before a way can be opened into\nthe kingdom of heaven, let him be Anathema.” {47}\n\nI feel utterly at a loss in attempting to speak on such an awful passage.\nCan they remember that they are speaking of the atonement wrought by the\nSon of God?  He gave his own most precious life to satisfy the law, and\ncan any portion of the debt remain?  He purchased us with the price of\nhis own most precious blood: is farther payment needed?  The eternal\nRedeemer was our ransom: are we not free?  The well beloved of the Father\nendured the curse as our substitute: was his work so ineffectual that the\ncurse still hangs over the very men he came to save?  Awful dishonour to\nthe Son of God!  Now Rome thou must indeed be Antichrist, for thou dost\nrob Christ of his glory; thou strivest to tarnish the beauty of his\ndiadem.  He says “Behold the Lamb of God that takest away the sins of the\nworld.”  But thou contradictest Christ and sayest that there is a remnant\nleft to be punished in the believer still.  He says “I, even I, am he,\nthat blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not\nremember thy sins.”  But thou sayest that the blot is not effaced, that\nthe sin is still remembered, still punished, even in the child of God.\nHe says “I am the way,” “I am the door; by me if any man enter in he\nshall be saved.”  But thou sayest that the door cannot be opened, except\nit be through purgatorial pain.  He says that he has loved us and washed\nus from our sins in his own blood, and made us kings and priests unto God\nand the Father.  But thou sayest the washing was incomplete, for sin must\nafter all be burned out by fire; that love is still defective, for the\nsaints must yet be punished; the inheritance not fully purchased, for,\nafter all that Christ has done, the justified believer has still to make\nan expiation for his sin. {49}\n\nNo! beloved! we will not for a moment admit the thought of any other\nexpiation, than that wrought out for us by the Lamb of God.  And as for\nour dear departed brethren, nothing that Rome can say shall ever rob us\nof our delightful hope.  They have felt no pain since the day we parted;\ntheir sainted spirits have been basking in the sunshine of the\ncountenance of God.  I myself have parted with a mother, such a mother\nthat I often wonder if the world can ever more behold her equal: so\nstrong in faith; so ardent in her thirsting after God; so pure in spirit;\nso sensitive to sin; so beaming in her holy loveliness, that you might\nalmost believe you saw the Father’s name written legibly by the Holy\nGhost upon her forehead.  To this day do I hear the tones of her dying\nvoice, when in answer to my questions respecting her soul’s peace, she\nreplied “I can reverently say with the deepest humility, ‘Lord, thou\nknowest all things, thou knowest that I love thee.’”  And I would rather\nhave this arm torn from its socket, I would rather be scorched and\nscathed in Moloch’s fire, than I would abandon my firm and fixed\npersuasion that such love has never been interrupted, that her Redeeming\nLord has never left her for a moment; my perfect assurance, that while we\nwere weeping in solemn stillness around her bed of death, she was taking\nher place amongst the company of palm bearers, and is now standing before\nthe throne, having washed her robes, and made them white in the blood of\nthe Lamb.\n\nSo also for ourselves! dear brethren! for we too must die; our day is\nhastening on, our time drawing to its close.  A few short years and\nmultitudes amongst us must change their faith for sight, the world of\nflesh for the world of spirits: a few, short, rapid years, and every one,\nboth you and I, shall find ourselves in heaven or in hell.  But let us\nfear nothing.  Only let us be found in Christ, justified through his\nblood, with our name written in his book of life, and the Father’s name\nengraven by the Holy Ghost on our forehead, and then neither death or\nhell can ever prevail to hurt us.  In Christ we are safe; washed in his\nblood we are completely pardoned; clad in his righteousness we are\ncompletely justified; and kept in his right hand we are completely and\nfor ever safe.\n\nOnly let us be found in Christ.  Then the outward man may decay; the poor\nframe may wax faint and feeble; the eye may become dim, even with the dim\nfixedness of death: and then, when all earthly power has sunk under\nexhaustion, the eye will open; a new world will spring up before us;\nattendant angels will hover around the new-born citizen of heaven; and\nwithout tears, or fears, or weakness, we shall behold Christ in the\nbrightness of his glory, and cry aloud in the heartfelt thankfulness of\nunutterable joy, “Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne and\nunto the Lamb.”\n\n\n\n\nSERMON IV.\nTRANSUBSTANTIATION.\n\n\n                                HEBREWS x. 12.\n\n    But this man, after he had offered one sacrifice for sins, for ever\n    sat down on the right hand of God.\n\nTHERE was never a more tremendous judgment than that uttered by the voice\nof Malachi, {52} “I will curse your blessings.”  There can be no scourge\nmore heavy than a blessing cursed.  The more choice the gift, the more\nfatal is the misuse of it; the richer the blessing, the deadlier its\ncorruption.  So it was with Christ himself.  He was the most precious\ngift that could be found even in the treasuries of heaven—the well\nbeloved Son of God; but to those who rejected him he became a stone of\nstumbling and rock of offence.  So it has been with that sacred feast,\nwhich he left as a parting legacy to his church.  The Sacrament of the\nLord’s Supper is one of the richest blessings in the church’s birthright.\nIt is a sacred opportunity of feeding in faith upon the body and blood of\nthe Lamb, a perpetual remembrance of his boundless grace, a bond of holy\nfellowship with our brethren in the faith, a sacred pledge of our union\nand communion with the Lord.  Yet even this has been corrupted.  As with\nthe Jews of old, so with professing Christians “their table has become a\nsnare before them, and that which should have been for their welfare has\nbecome a trap.” {53a}  We allude, of course, to the doctrine of\ntransubstantiation, of which the Council of Trent decrees as follows:\n\n“By the consecration of the bread and wine there is effected a change in\nthe whole substance of the bread into the substance of the body of Christ\nour Lord, and of the whole substance of the wine into the substance of\nhis blood.” {53b}  Here we have the bread and wine transformed into the\nactual substance of the person of our blessed Lord: so transformed that\naccording to the Catechism {53c} there are “bones and nerves in it.”\nNay, more! so changed that there is actually his whole person, not\nexcepting his soul and his divinity, for the Council declares {53d} “If\nany man shall say that the body and blood of the Lord Jesus Christ,\ntogether with his soul and divinity, and, in short, that a whole Christ,\nis not contained truly, really, and substantially in the sacrament of the\nmost Holy Eucharist, but shall say that he is in it only in sign, or\nfigure, or power, let him be anathema.”\n\nThere is no misunderstanding such words as these.  And if there were, the\n6th canon shows how Rome herself interprets them, for she not only\nacknowledges the fact, but follows it consistently to its conclusion, and\ndeclares plainly that we are to worship it with the worship due to God.\n{54}\n\n“If any shall say that in the Holy Sacrament of the Eucharist, Christ,\nthe only begotten Son of God, is not to be adored, and that outwardly\nwith the worship of Latria (the worship paid to God), and that he ought\nnot to be . . . carried solemnly about in processions, or that he ought\nnot to be set before the people that he may be worshipped, and that the\nworshippers of him are idolaters, let him be anathema.”\n\nBut even this is not all: for not merely do they claim the power of thus\nmaking the bread into the very person of the only begotten of the Father,\nthey add yet this also, that they can put that Saviour to death, and by\nthat sacrifice make a propitiation for the sins of the dead and living.\nThe Council of Trent declares {55a} “In the sacrifice of the mass, that\nsame Christ is sacrificed without blood who once with blood offered\nhimself upon the cross.”  And in Canon iii. {55b} it adds that “If any\nman shall say that the sacrifice is not propitiatory and profits the\nreceiver only, and ought not to be offered for the living and the dead,\nfor sins, punishments, satisfaction, and other necessities, let him be\nanathema.”\n\nSuch is the doctrine of transubstantiation as taught by the Church of\nRome.  According to it by a few words of consecration a wafer of\nunleavened bread is transformed into the very person of the Son of God: a\nman may be worshipping with divine honour in the afternoon a morsel of\nthat same wheaten flour on which he made his breakfast in the morning:\nthe one half he may bake for the sustenance of his children, the other he\nmay be bound to adore when the priest has transubstantiated it into God.\nOn reading such a doctrine it is impossible altogether to forget God’s\ncutting language against the sin of Israel.\n\n“He burneth part of it in the fire; with part thereof he eateth flesh; he\nroasteth roast, and is satisfied: yea, he warmeth himself, and saith,\nAha! I am warm, I have seen the fire: and the residue thereof he maketh a\ngod, even his graven image: he falleth down unto it, and prayeth unto it,\nand saith, deliver me for thou art my god.” {56}\n\nSurely, then, it is reasonable to ask that the truth of such a principle\nshould be tried by the word of God alone.  It is opposed to the evidence\nof our senses, it is opposed to reason, and it is no less opposed to the\ngeneral tenor of the sacred scriptures.  It is a case, therefore, in\nwhich no human evidence can avail any thing; the best, the wisest, the\nholiest of men, are wholly insufficient witnesses to prove, that what is\napparently a piece of bread, lifeless, motionless, and powerless, is the\nvery person of Christ himself, the only begotten of the Father, reigning\ntriumphantly at the right hand of the throne of God.  Such a fact, if it\nbe a fact, must be taught by God himself.\n\nAt the same time, if God has said it we are bound cheerfully to believe\nit.  It is condemned by every faculty which God has given us; it is\nopposed to experience, and to every pre-existent principle of religion,\nyet so complete should be our submission to the Bible, so absolute and\nunquestioning our conviction of its certain truth, that if we clearly\nfind even transubstantiation there, we must believe without a murmur, we\nmust abandon all human thoughts in submission to his all perfect wisdom.\nYea though our revered church declares it plainly both “a blasphemous\nfable and a dangerous deceit;” {57} though the martyred fathers of the\nReformation chose rather to die in agony than admit its truth; yet if God\nsays it we will joyfully believe it, “for God is in heaven and we upon\nearth, therefore must our words be few.”\n\nBy the word of God, then, let us proceed to try the question, and we will\nexamine the language of Scripture,\n\nI.  With reference to the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper;\n\nII.  With reference to the life and work of our blessed Lord.\n\nMay the Holy Ghost lead us calmly, seriously, and dispassionately to\nlearn the truths of his own most holy word!\n\nI.  The language of Scripture with reference to the sacrament of the\nLord’s Supper.\n\nThe doctrine is supposed to rest upon the words of our blessed Saviour,\n“This is my body,” or as they were revealed to St. Paul, “This is my body\nwhich is broken for you.”\n\nThis sentence is thought to contain a plain, literal, absolute, assertion\nthat the bread was changed into his body; changed so completely that\nwhile the Saviour spoke the words, that bread which he held within his\nhand, was his real, natural, whole, and substantial person.  The belief\nof the Church of England is that the words have no such literal meaning;\nbut were employed to teach that the bread and wine were signs, figures,\nor emblems of his body broken, and his blood shed upon the cross. {58a}\nHe says, “I am the vine, ye are the branches.”  “I am the door:” but none\nsuppose that he was a real vine, a real door, or his people real branches\nof a growing tree.  St. Paul says “That rock was Christ:” but none\nbelieve that the flinty rock was in very fact a living man. {58b}  In all\nthese passages we never doubt for a single moment what was the meaning of\nthe Holy Ghost.  The vine and the rock represented Christ, and the door\nwas a figure of him.  Just so we believe it to be with the words of\nconsecration; the bread was a figure of his body and the wine of his\nblood.\n\nThat this is the true meaning of the passage seems to lie upon its very\nsurface.  Let us turn to 1st Corinthians xi.  We shall there find that\n\n1st.  It is inconsistent to take the words literally; for they are quite\nas explicit and literal when spoken of the wine as of the bread.  “This\nis my body which is broken for you.”  “This cup is the New Testament in\nmy blood.”  But in this one passage there are no less than three figures.\nThe cup stands as the emblem or figure of the wine contained in it; the\nnew covenant is said to be the New Testament _in_ his blood, because it\nwas sealed and ratified by his blood; and the cup itself is declared\npositively to be the testament.  This must be figurative, it must mean\nthat the cup is a sign, emblem, or figure of the testament.  Thus the\nwarmest advocate of the doctrine of transubstantiation is compelled to\nallow the use of figure with reference to the cup.  Is it consistent? is\nit defensible or any principle of scriptural interpretation to deny it\nwith reference to the bread? ought they not to be interpreted on the same\nprinciples?  Here are two sentences, spoken at the same time, by the same\nperson, under the same circumstances, to the same company, and for the\nsame purpose.  But there must be a figure in the one, who shall deny it\nin the other?  The cup must be an emblem of the testament, can we be\nwrong in believing also that the bread is an emblem of the body?\n\n2d.  But this is not all.  We have besides the direct testimony of the\nHoly Ghost that the bread remains bread, and the wine remains wine after\nconsecration.  Of the wine our Lord spoke in terms which it is quite\nimpossible to mistake or misinterpret.  In Matthew xxvi. 29, he expressly\nsays, “I will drink no more of this fruit of the vine until that day when\nI drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.”  These words were spoken\n_after_ the consecration, and they seem uttered with especial caution as\nif he had foreseen the error which was about to creep into his professing\nchurch.  He does not rest content with the name of “wine,” but calls it\n“fruit of the vine,” as if to prove beyond the possibility of a doubt\nthat it had gained no new substance, but remained as it was before, the\nnatural produce of the vine, the simple unaltered juice of the grape.\nNor is the evidence less positive with reference to the bread.  Again and\nagain do we read of the breaking of the bread, never once of the\nsacrifice of the body.  Nor is this merely accidental, for in the 10th\nand 11th chapters of 1st Corinthians we have the bread called bread by\nthe Holy Ghost, no less than four times after consecration.  In 1 Cor. x.\n17, the Christian communicant is said to partake of bread, not of flesh\nwith bones and nerves; “We are all partakers of that one _bread_.”  In 1\nCor. xi. 26, “For as often as ye eat this _bread_, and drink this _cup_,\nye do show the Lord’s death till he come.”  In 27, “Whosoever shall eat\nthis _bread_, and drink this _cup_ of the Lord unworthily shall be guilty\nof the body and blood of the Lord;” and 28, “But let a man examine\nhimself, and so let him eat of that _bread_, and drink of that _cup_.”\nWe do not, therefore, rest on human reason only when we deny the doctrine\nof transubstantiation.  We boldly cast ourselves upon the teaching of the\nBible, yea, upon the teaching of the Son of God himself, and believe the\nbread to be still bread, and the wine to remain as the fruit of the vine.\nWe behold in them the signs and symbols of the passion of our Lord; and\nbeholding the sign, we feed in faith on the reality.  They are the\nfigures of himself; the representations of his passion; the emblems and\nsigns of his atoning death.  As such we value, we receive, we honour\nthem: but we live on Christ himself; we rest on the passion itself, on\nthe atonement itself; and so by a strong, spiritual, realizing faith we\nare made partakers of his flesh and blood.  “The words that I speak unto\nyou they are spirit, and they are life.”\n\n3rd.  But if the words were to be taken literally, they would not even\nthen furnish the slightest proof of the doctrine taught by Rome: for you\nwill remember the canon {61} already quoted, which says, “If any man\nshall say that the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, together with\nhis soul and divinity, and in short that a whole Christ is not contained\nin the Sacrament, let him be accursed.”  The utmost that the words of\nJesus can be understood as teaching is, that the bread is\ntransubstantiated into the body.  The narrative is given by three\nEvangelists and one Apostle; but in no single instance is there the least\nmention made of his soul or spirit.  He did not say, “This is my body,\nsoul, and divinity.”  He said simply, “This is my body.”  They refer to\nit exclusively, and this exclusiveness is marked in them with a peculiar\nand distinctive point.  If he had simply said, “This is my body,” it\nmight have been possible for a lively imagination to clothe them with\nsome reference to all the properties of his sacred person; but by adding\nthe words “Which is broken for you,” he has given a definite fixedness to\ntheir meaning; he has tied them down to a distinct and exclusive\napplication; he has showed that they refer simply and solely to the real,\nhuman body; to that flesh through which the nails were driven, to that\nhuman frame which was seen hanging on the cross, which was embalmed by\nthe women, and which lay buried in the tomb of Joseph.\n\nThere is not, therefore, the faintest appearance of the least shade of\nscriptural evidence, in support of the canon that the bread is changed\ninto the soul and divinity of our Lord.  It is an addition made by the\nchurch of Rome on her own simple, unsupported, authority. {62}  There is\nnot one single passage, which, on any principle of interpretation, can be\nforced or twisted into the most distant reference to such a change.  The\nSaviour said “This is my body.”  Rome adds, “it is his soul and\ndivinity.”  And what an addition have we here!  The soul shudders at the\nthought that men dare presume to make it!  Had we the tongue of angels we\nshould utterly fail to describe the unutterable glory of the majesty of\nGod.  As well might the insect swallow up the ocean as any finite\ncreature exhibit truly the unbounded vastness of an infinite Jehovah.  In\nMajesty incomprehensible he dwelleth in the light which no man can\napproach unto: in power omnipotent he created all things without one\nsingle atom of material substance: in life eternal he dwelt alone from\nthe beginning, filling with his own self the vast regions of unbounded\nspace; and now that he has peopled a universe with the countless\ncreatures of his skill, he is present everywhere, exhausted no where.\n“Do not I the Lord fill earth and heaven?”  Yet does Rome venture on the\nunsupported authority of man to ascribe all this to the unleavened wafer,\nand fearlessly to hurl her curses against those who tremble at the\nthought of kneeling down to the bread and wine, and adoring them with the\nworship which belongs to the mighty God, the everlasting Father, the\nPrince of Peace.  “If any man shall say that, he (i.e. the\ntransubstantiated wafer) is not to be adored with the worship due to God,\nlet him be accursed.” {63}\n\nII.  We may pass then to our second point, and compare the doctrine of\ntransubstantiation with the teaching of Scripture concerning both the\nlife and work of Jesus.\n\nAnd first we may remark that, according to the Bible, he now lives and\nreigns in his complete and perfect manhood.  This appears very plainly in\nthe language of our text.  “But this man, after he had offered one\nsacrifice for sins, for ever sat down on the right hand of God.”  The\nsame that made the offering is now seated at the right hand of God.  Yes!\nthat same human person that was born of the Virgin, that grew in stature,\nthat was wearied at the well, that slept in the ship, that thirsted on\nthe cross, that was laid in the new tomb of Joseph; that same person is\nthe triumphant King seated as a conqueror on the throne of God.  “I am he\nthat liveth and was dead, and behold I am alive for evermore, Amen, and\nhave the keys of hell and death.” {64a}\n\nAnd this explains the language of Scripture, which describes him in one\ndefined and determined place, seated at the right hand of God.  In his\ndivine nature he is God himself, and fills earth and heaven.  To the Son\nmay we say as to the Father, “If I ascend up into heaven thou art there;\nif I make my bed in hell thou art there.”  But in his human nature he is\nperfect man, and as man limited.  As Jehovah he is omnipotent and created\nall things, but yet as man he was dependent, and prayed for strength; so\nas Jehovah, he is omnipresent, watching everywhere over the most hidden\nof his scattered children, as man he has his one abiding place, and is\nseated at the right hand of God.  He was always omnipresent, but when he\nwent to Bethany he left Jerusalem.  So too he is as God now omnipresent\neverywhere, but when he went to the Father, as man he left the presence\nof the church below.  “It is expedient for you that I go away, for if I\ngo not away the Comforter will not come unto you, but if I depart I will\nsend him unto you.” {64b}\n\nHence it is that he speaks of his ascension as a leaving of the world; in\nthe body he went to God, though in divine power he never left his church\non earth.  Hence his second advent is described as a coming back to his\npeople; “This same Jesus which is taken up from you into heaven shall so\ncome in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven.” {65a}  Hence,\nalso, we are expressly taught that until the appointed day shall dawn his\nhabitation will be heaven, and his seat the throne of God. {65b}  “Whom\nthe heavens must receive until the times of restitution of all things.”\n\nWe dare not, therefore, admit the thought that before his advent his\nhuman person can be present with his church on earth.  The language of\nsacred scripture is plain and oft repeated, that he has left the world,\nand is not to be seen in person here; it leaves no space for doubt or\nimagination, but teaches the believer to look on his risen Saviour in one\nplace and one alone; “in heaven itself now to appear in the presence of\nGod for us.”  There he sits in triumphant peace, having fought the fight,\nhaving won the victory, having gained the crown.  Thousand thousand\nsaints attend him, ten thousand times ten thousand bow before him, and\nnot a murmur, not a whisper, ever breaks for a moment the cheerful peace\nof his dominion.  Nothing there prevails to ruffle the calm surface of\nthat sea of glass, which, clear as crystal, reflects the countenance of\nits reigning Lord.  And though the troubled passions of this lower world\nmay be lashed into fury by the action of universal sin; though the waters\nthereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the\nswelling thereof, it cannot disturb the lowest pediment of his footstool;\nfor “The Lord sitteth above the water-flood, the Lord sitteth king for\never.”  And yet shall Rome tell us that we are to adore in that piece of\nbread the very person of our reigning Lord? that the wafer which can\nneither save itself from the insect, from the reptile, or from\nputrefaction; and which, to protect it, the Priest must shut carefully in\nthe casket, is in very truth the reigning Jesus, with all his life and\nall his attributes?  We might believe them possibly if they were to tell\nus that they had plucked up Vesuvius by the roots, and cast the huge\nmountain like a pebble into the deep.  We might perhaps listen to the\ntale, if the priest were to tell us that he was about to stretch forth\nhis bold hand, and tear down the sun from its high place amongst the\nstars of heaven; but we will never believe that any man, or set of men,\non earth, can hold within their hand, can shut within their casket, can\ncarry in their procession, or can kill at their pleasure, that living,\nreigning Saviour, whom the Holy Ghost declares to be seated triumphantly\non the right hand of God.\n\n(2)  But the worst yet remains.  Christ passed to glory through the\ngrave; his kingdom was bought by blood.  “After he had made one offering\nfor sin, he for ever sat down at the right hand of God.”  See how that\none offering is affected by the doctrine of the mass.  You will remember\nthe canon already quoted which declared that when the mass was offered, a\npropitiatory sacrifice was made for the sins both of the dead and of the\nliving.  Now what does that imply?  Nothing short of this, that the\natonement made by Christ was neither complete, nor final: not complete,\nelse where the need of further sacrifice? not final, else where the\npossibility of a repetition?  But if there be any one point on which the\nHoly Ghost has spoken more explicitly than another, that one point is the\nfinal sufficiency of the work of Jesus.\n\nIt was complete.\n\nBy his one oblation of himself once offered, he made a full, perfect, and\nsufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction for the sins of the\nwhole world.  He paid the whole price, he bore the whole curse.  He left\nno room for further payment, for any sacrifice in application of the one\noffering to the sinner’s case.  That one atonement itself reached to the\nlowest depths of the sinner’s fall; it broke down every barrier between\nthe soul and God; it so completely blotted out the curse that the Gospel\nmessage is, “Believe and live.”  “By one offering he hath perfected for\nthem that are sanctified,” v. 14.  When Christ died the veil of the\ntemple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; not half-way only.\nThe way into the holiest was then laid completely open.  There was no\nsecond rending needed; no drawing aside the curtain.  There stood the\nmercy seat in full view of the adoring multitude.  So it is with “the new\nand living way which Christ has consecrated for us through the veil, that\nis to say, his flesh.”  It lays the way of life completely open to the\nsinner; and we only honour God, when we believe, to our inexpressible\njoy, that a poor, guilty, broken-hearted penitent, may, without money,\nwithout price, and without sacrifice, enter in boldly, and through the\nsimple look of faith find life and peace to his soul.  “Believe on the\nLord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.”\n\nIt was final.\n\nThe passage from which our text is taken seems written with prophetic\nreference to this very subject.  It could not have spoken with more\nplainness if we Protestants had composed it for ourselves.  No less than\nfive times in these few verses does the Holy Ghost declare that the\npropitiation made by Christ was offered once, and once alone.\n\nIX. 26.  “But now _once_ in the end of the world hath he appeared to put\naway sin by the sacrifice of himself.”\n\nIX.  28.  “So Christ was _once_ offered to bear the sins of many.”\n\nX.  10.  “By the which will we are sanctified through the offering of the\nbody of Jesus Christ _once for all_.”\n\nX. 12.  “But this man, after he had offered _one_ sacrifice for sins, for\never sat down on the right hand of God.”\n\nX. 14.  “For by _one_ offering he hath perfected for ever them that are\nsanctified.”\n\nIf there were any possibility of mistaking these plain and oft repeated\nwords, even that would be removed by the slightest glance at the pointed\nargument in which we find them.  The Apostle is drawing a contrast\nbetween the gospel and the law; between the priesthood of Christ and that\nof the sons of Levi.  Now mark the especial point of contrast; their\nsacrifices being imperfect require frequent repetition, his being perfect\nwas made once, and for ever, upon the cross.\n\nIX. 25 and 26.  “Nor yet that he should offer himself often, as the High\nPriest entereth into the holy place every year with blood of others; for\nthen must he often have suffered since the foundation of the world, but\nnow once in the end of the world hath he appeared to put away sin by the\nsacrifice of himself.”  The whole argument turns upon the impossibility\nof repetition in the sacrifice of our Lord.  If that can be repeated the\nwhole contrast falls to the ground.\n\nThere is, therefore, the most complete, clear, and explicit proof that\nChrist could be no more offered, and that propitiation could be no more\nmade for sin.  Yea, verily, so complete is that perfect work already\nfinished by Christ as our substitute; so perfect is that satisfaction\nwhich he made upon the cross for the sins of man, that if the whole of\nthat sad scene were once more enacted upon Calvary; if the crown of\nthorns were once more placed on his head; if his holy frame were once\nmore broken and bowed down by death; neither his agony nor death could\navail one jot, or one tittle, to the blotting out of one single sinner’s\nsin.  Who can whiten that which is already white as snow?  What can\ncleanse the garment that is already washed in the Lamb’s most precious\nblood?  Who can take away the curse which is already blotted out for\never?  What new atonement, what second sacrifice, what fresh victim, can\navail anything to the perfect acceptance of that believer’s soul who is\nalready made the righteousness of God in Christ?\n\nNo more then of the awful thought that, that piece of bread is the very\nperson of our reigning Lord!  No more of the tremendous principle that\nthere can be a second sacrifice of the sacred life of Jesus; a second\npropitiation for the sins which the Son of God has borne!  We will adore\nour blessed Saviour himself, as he is now seated at the right hand of\nGod.  We will adore him as our Advocate, adore him as our king, adore him\nas our accepted substitute.  We will trust him for his grace, we will\npraise him for his glory; we will believe in the perfection of his\nperfect and all sufficient-work.  He has taken the burden of every sin\nfor which conscience ever can condemn us.  He has endured the curse of\nevery transgression of which Satan ever can accuse us.  He has washed\nunto spotless whiteness the most sin-stained garment of his most\nsin-polluted child.  So scorning the thought of any second sacrifice, we\nwill go direct to Christ himself; and there in faith lie waiting before\nhis footstool, feeding on his grace, rejoicing in his love, triumphing in\nhis power, till he come again in glory and welcome to his kingdom the\nwhole multitude of his ransomed saints.  Even so, come Lord Jesus!!  Come\nquickly.\n\n\n\n\nSERMON V.\nTHE CHURCH IN THE LATTER DAYS.\n\n\n                                2 TIM. iii. 1.\n\n    This know also that in the last days perilous times shall come.\n\nIT is nearly 1800 years since our blessed Lord declared to his Apostle,\n“Behold I come quickly.”  It, therefore, well becomes his children to be\nwatching the signs of his appearing, and to be studying with intense\ninterest the records which he has given for the guidance and warning of\nhis people.  It is not presumption, but sober faith, thus to inquire into\nGod’s prophetic word.  The Book of Revelations was written {71a} “to show\nunto God’s servants things which must shortly come to pass;” and our Lord\nhimself has directed us to observe the appointed signs, to compare and\ncheck them with advancing history, and when we shall see all these things\ncome to pass, to know that the day is near, even at the doors. {71b}\n\nWe purpose, then, to close our present course by carefully examining into\nGod’s description of the state of the church in the latter days.\n\nWe sometimes hear the expression of sanguine and happy hopes that the\nGospel will so prevail throughout the world as to leave no place either\nfor heresy in religion, or for viciousness in life; that there will\narrive a time before the coming of our blessed Lord, when men will\nwitness the fulfilment of the prophecy “that righteousness shall cover\nthe earth as the waters cover the sea.”  Yet the smallest glance at the\nprophetic Scriptures is sufficient to show that there is no warrant for\nsuch bright anticipations there.  Again and again does God declares that\nthe days immediately proceeding Christ’s coming shall be days of especial\ndarkness both to the world and to the church.  “Upon the earth distress\nof nations, with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring; men’s hearts\nfailing them for fear; and for looking after those things which are\ncoming on the earth: for the powers of heaven shall be shaken.  And then\nshall they see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great\nglory.” {72}\n\nWith this description the language of our text is in close and complete\naccordance.  “This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall\ncome.”\n\nLet us, then, endeavour to profit by the word of warning, and examine\n\nI.  The perils of the latter days;\n\nII.  The character and security of the saints of God.\n\nI.  The perils of the latter days.\n\n(1.)  There will be perils from the world without.  We have already\nlearned from the language of our blessed Lord that there will be\n“distress of nations with perplexity, men’s hearts failing them for fear,\nand for looking after those things which are coming on the earth.”  We\nare told in St. Mark {73} that there shall be “wars and rumours of wars,”\nthat “nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; and\nthere shall be earthquakes in divers places; and there shall be famines\nand troubles; these are the beginning of sorrows.”  It is of course\nimpossible but that the people of God should be deeply affected by this\nawful convulsion of the moral atmosphere of the world.  When there is a\nuniversal earthquake in society, all must feel the shock; when the storm\nbursts around us, all must be more or less affected by the crash.\n\n(2.)  We must, therefore, reckon this coming convulsion of society as one\nof the leading causes of the peculiar perils of the latter days.  But\nthere are plain intimations in the Word of God that the chief source of\nperil is to be found within the visible church itself.  An enemy within\nthe citadel is always more dangerous than an enemy without; and such an\nenemy is plainly predicted in the Bible.  Our text describes not the\nopposition of infidelity, but the corruption of Christianity; and draws\nour thoughts not to the conflicting powers of the world, but to the\ndegenerate principles of the church.  “For men shall be lovers of their\nown selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to\nparents, unthankful, unholy, without natural affection, truce breakers,\nfalse accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good,\ntraitorous, heady, high-minded, lovers of pleasure more than lovers of\nGod, having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof.”  There\nis nothing here of wars or rumours of wars, of the array of earthly\nmonarchs against the cross; the danger here predicted is found within the\nbody of professors, and consists in a wide spread, deep-rooted apostacy\nfrom the faith.  Nor does this apostacy lead to the open and avowed\nrejection of the Gospel.  Would that it did!  The apostate body retains\nits visible profession, and parades its high-sounding name of\nChristianity, for (verse 5) it has “a form of godliness,” while it denies\nits power.  Though ignorant of the truth, these false professors do not\nprofessedly reject it, for they are “ever learning and never able to come\nto a knowledge of the truth.”  Thus are they reprobate concerning the\nfaith.  To be reprobate implies appearance, pretension, profession.  Tin\nis not reprobate unless it be passed as silver, nor the infidel reprobate\nunless he assume the name of Christianity.  The reprobate persons,\ntherefore, described in our text must retain their place amongst\nprofessors, they must have the form of godliness, the bright appearance\nof some precious metal, yet when tested and tried by the Word of God,\nmust be found to be a base coinage, reprobate concerning the faith.\n\nFrom these remarks it must be plain to all that the peculiar peril of the\nlatter day consists in the corruption of Christianity by a body of men\nwho all the while retain its form; of men who, with a high-sounding\nprofession, resist the truth as it is in Jesus.  The same appears with no\nless distinctness in 1 Tim. iv. 1–3, “Now the Spirit speaketh expressly\nthat in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to\nseducing spirits, and doctrines of devils; speaking lies in hypocrisy;\nhaving their conscience seared with a hot iron; forbidding to marry, and\ncommanding to abstain from meats, which God hath created to be received\nwith thanksgiving of them which believe and know the truth.”  There can\nbe no doubt that in both passages the Holy Spirit is warning us of the\nsame danger; for in both the leading features are the same.  The evil\nsprings up not without the church to resist, but within the church to\ncorrupt it.  The deadly plant has its root in the garden of the Lord.\n“Some shall _depart_ from the faith.”  There is no rejection of the\nvisible profession of the Gospel, for the description given applies not\nto infidelity but to degeneracy; it is a departure from the faith, not\nfrom the name of Christianity.  “Forbidding to marry, and commanding to\nabstain from meats.”  So the influence exerted is on Christian brethren,\nfor they seek to bind the yoke around the neck of those which “believe\nand know the truth.”\n\nThese two passages are enough to show that the apostacy of professors,\nand not the assault of infidels, is the great source of peril in the\nlatter days.  But there is one further passage which we cannot pass\nunnoticed, namely, 2 Thess. ii. 3–11. {76a}  In verse 3 we are plainly\ntold that before the day of Christ shall come there must be a falling\naway, a revealing of the man of sin, the son of perdition.  “Let no man\ndeceive you by any means; for that day shall not come, except there come\na falling away first, and that man of sin be revealed, the son of\nperdition.”  The connexion of the passage with those just considered\nappears more distinctly in the Greek than in the English, where the\nsentence stands.  “Except there come _the_ {76b} falling away,” the\nexpression “_the_” connecting it plainly with the other prophecies of the\nBible, and the general expectation of the Church.  The connexion also\nwith the latter days of the world’s history is proved distinctly by the\nfact that the man of sin is to be destroyed by the brightness of our\nLord’s return, “whom the Lord shall consume with the Spirit of his mouth\nand destroy with the brightness of his coming.”  We may, therefore,\nregard this chapter as giving an account of the same apostacy as that\nalluded to in the other texts.  And now mark its character.  It springs\nup in the church itself.  Apostacy means departure or decline, and\ntherefore, as we remarked in the text from Timothy, it is not an infidel\npower rising up against us to attack, but a degenerate power growing up\nin the midst of us to corrupt.  As it springs up within the church so\ndoes it retain its place there.  “It sits in the temple of God.”  The\nchurch of God is often spoken of as a temple, as in 1 Cor. iii. 16, “Know\nye not that ye are the temple of God?” {77}  And to sit in the temple of\nGod implies that it occupies the seat, retains the name, and assumes the\nsanctity of the church of God.  So again the words, “Sheweth himself that\nhe is God,” point not to the infidel but to the professor, to one\nusurping, not attacking the sovereignty of Jehovah.  The man of sin does\nnot deny God’s existence, but usurps God’s authority.  But when thus\nseated in the temple of God he is guilty of most awful sin.  He sets\nhimself above God; he displays himself as though he were God; he “shows\nhimself that he is God;” he assumes God’s attributes; he lays claim to\nthe powers and even titles of Jehovah.  The elements of this apostacy\nwere at work even in the days of the apostle.  The seed was even then\nsown, the deadly leaven was already fermenting in the church.  “The\nmystery of iniquity doth already work.”  The time, however, was not yet\ncome for the revealing or manifestation of his character and power.\nThere was a certain restraining force which then kept him in.  But this\nforce was not to last for ever, for he “that letteth should be taken\naway, and then should that wicked be revealed.”  This restraining force\nhas always been explained as that of the Roman empire.  The early church\nnever questioned it, and it is a fact stated on good authority, and\nworthy of the deepest consideration, that the primitive Christians used\nto pray in their public worship for the preservation of the empire of\npagan Rome, because they were persuaded from this prophecy, that when it\nfell the man of sin should be established on its ruins.  But there is one\nother feature in this man of sin to be most carefully noted by the\nchurch.  It does not refer to any single individual, but to a long series\nof apostate professors.  It has been thought by some that the man of sin\nwill be some single individual; one glance, however, at the passage will\nsuffice to show that it must refer to a long series of successors.  The\nwhole period between the date of the epistle and the final coming of our\nblessed Lord is divided in the prophecy between “him that letteth” {78}\nand “the man of sin.”  He that letteth then existed, and would continue\ntill the man of sin took his place.  The man of sin again would retain\nhis place till the Lord Jesus appeared in glory.  The two together,\ntherefore, occupy a period of almost 1800 years.  They cannot, therefore,\nboth be individuals.  One at least must represent a series of successors.\nBut the two expressions are equally personal.  “He that letteth” (ὁ\nκατέχων) is a form of expression quite as personal as “the man of sin.”\nIt would be inconsistent therefore to say that one represents a series,\nand the other an individual.  They must be both successions or both\nindividuals.  The latter supposition we have already shown to be\nimpossible, the former we firmly believe to be the truth.\n\nThe apostacy, therefore, is not a sudden and passing outbreak of\ncorruption just in advance of the advent of our Lord, but a deep-rooted,\nlong-existing, departure from the faith, handed down from age to age, and\nspreading its baneful influence from the breaking up of the Roman empire\nto its final destruction at the coming of the Lord in glory.  Now it is\nplain that the existence of such a body must render the latter days\nindeed perilous to the saints of God.  It possesses every influence of\nevery worldly kind; the influence of secular power, rising up as the\nsuccessor to the empire of Rome; the authority of ecclesiastical\nposition, sitting in the temple of God; the cunning of deep\nseductiveness, being itself the mystery of iniquity; the association of\nlong-continued influence, spreading on from century to century; with the\ndirect support of Satan himself, “for his coming is after the working of\nSatan with all power and signs and lying wonders.” {80}  Such is the\napostacy against which the saints of God are called to take their stand,\nand with reference to which it is predicted by the Spirit that “in the\nlast days perilous times shall come.”\n\nBut where are we to look for this apostacy?  It is described in prophecy:\ncan it be traced in history?  It is predicted in the word: can it be\nfound in fact?  Is the man of sin yet seated in the temple of God?  I\nshould not be a faithful servant of my God, if I did not express my deep\nconviction that this most perilous apostacy is the Papal system of the\nChurch of Rome.  For mark the close correspondence between the words of\nthe prophecy, and the facts of history.  The man of sin, according to the\nprophecy, was to spring up in the bosom of the church itself.  Who shall\ndeny that this is the case with the Romish popedom?  The man of sin was\nto sit in the temple of God.  The Pope of Rome declares himself that he\nsits as Christ’s vicar in the chair of Peter, and sways the sceptre of\nuniversal dominion in the church.  The man of sin represents a long\nsuccession, maintaining the same principles, and heading the same\napostacy from the truth: the exact counterpart of the popes of Rome.\n\nThe history of the man of sin is marked by three important dates.  His\nprinciples were working secretly in the days of the apostles.  He would\nbe revealed or made manifest at the breaking up of the Roman empire.  He\nwould be destroyed at the coming of our blessed Lord.  The two first of\nthese dates exactly tally with the history of the Romish popedom.  From\nmany passages in the Epistles it may be gathered that its principles were\nworking secretly when the apostles wrote them. {81}  As the empire\ndeclined the Bishop of Rome rose in power, till at length, when the\nEmperor was taken out of the way, the Bishop stepped into his place,\nasserted himself to be Christ’s vicar, and pronounced himself Lord of all\nthe authorities of the known world.  The words therefore can allude to no\nlater heresy at some future time to arise within the church, for the\nmystery was already working, and the public development was to take place\nwhen the Roman empire was destroyed.  Of course the third date cannot yet\nbe tried by history.  It may serve, however, to fix the prophecy on the\nChurch of Rome, for it proves that it can refer to none of the early\nheresies in the church; they have long since vanished, and cannot be\ndestroyed by the brightness of Christ’s appearing.  The history of the\nChurch of Rome then exactly tallies with the prophecy, and _nothing else\ncan_.  But what shall we say of the awful assumption predicted of the man\nof sin?  Can that be charged on the Romish popedom?  It saith, “Who\nopposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God or that is\nworshipped.”  With sorrow of heart we are compelled to acknowledge that\nwe fear it is one of the marked features of his character.  See how he\nhas dared to tamper with the commands of God himself.  I have myself seen\na catechism, in which the second commandment is actually struck out of\nthe decalogue of God.  Why is it, again, that none of the laity in the\nChurch of Rome receive the cup in the Sacrament of the Lord’s supper?\nOur Lord himself plainly commanded it.  He even made the command more\nexpressive for the cup than for the bread, saying, “Drink ye _all_ of\nthis;” yet Rome says to all her laity, “Drink ye none of this.”  What is\nthis but to exalt himself above the Saviour, and with a bold hand to set\naside the plain command of God himself?  And look again at the doctrine\nof transubstantiation.  You will remember the passages quoted last Sunday\nfrom the Councils.  They taught that the priest could make {83} Christ\nthe Son of God, could shut him in a casket, could carry him in a\nprocession, could sacrifice him for sin.  What is this but to exalt\nhimself above all that is called God or that is worshipped?  But the\nprophecy adds, “Sitteth in the temple of God shewing himself that he is\nGod.”  This may refer to the assumption either of God’s attributes or\ntitles.  The claim of infallibility, universal dominion, and the power of\nabsolute forgiveness is nothing less than a usurpation of the attributes\nof God.  But he has dared also to assume the titles, yea the very title\nof God himself.  When the Lateran Council was held at Rome, and Pope Leo\nsat enthroned in the Lateran church, which claimed to be the mother\nchurch of universal Christendom, when he thus sat in the temple of God\nsurrounded by its assembled representatives, the public orator,\nMarcellus, had the daring boldness to give utterance to the words, “Thou\nart our shepherd, our physician, in short, a second God in the world.”\n{84}  “Sitteth in the temple of God, showing himself that he is God.”\nDid ever portrait more completely represent the person?\n\nWe conclude then that the Church of Rome is the great apostacy, the\npeculiar danger which makes the latter days so pre-eminently perilous.\nBut we have not yet done with the consideration of their danger, for we\nare taught,\n\n(3)  That there will be a peculiar power of seduction immediately\npreceding the advent of our Lord.  All the prophecies to which we have\nto-day alluded agree in showing that the great apostacy would be marked\nthroughout its course by a mysterious power of seducing souls.  But there\nare plain intimations in the word of God, that this power will be put\nforth in the latter days with an energy both multiplied and quickened.\nNor is this a point of trivial importance; for you often hear it urged\nthat we are too enlightened in this nineteenth century to be again\nensnared by the superstitious principles of Rome.  The rapid progress of\nscientific knowledge is thought a sufficient antidote against the\nseductions of those who would pervert the truth.  Now such opinions will\nnot stand for a moment the test of Scripture; for the Holy Ghost declares\nexpressly that at the very time when science shall have reached its\nheight, and when human intelligence shall have gained the very climax of\nits perfection, (I mean at the time just preceding the advent of our\nLord,) that at that very crisis there shall be an unparalleled spirit of\ndelusion in vigorous activity throughout the Church.  Our Lord himself\nhas prepared us for such a fact. {85}  “For there shall arise false\nChrists and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders;\ninsomuch that if it were possible they shall deceive the very elect.”\nAnd the Spirit of God has expressly revealed it in Rev. xvi. 13–15.  “And\nI saw three unclean spirits like frogs, come out of the mouth of the\ndragon, and out of the mouth of the beast, and out of the mouth of the\nfalse prophet.  For they are the spirits of devils, working miracles,\nwhich go forth unto the kings of the earth, and the whole world, to\ngather them to the battle of that great day of God Almighty.  Behold I\ncome as a thief.  Blessed is he that watcheth, and keepeth his garments\nlest he walk naked, and they see his shame.”  I cannot now attempt a\ncomment on these remarkable words, but only just observe two things\nrespecting them.\n\n(1)  They allude to a period closely preceding the winding up of the\nworld’s history: there are seven vials, and these spirits appear under\nthe sixth; when the seventh is poured out, the words are uttered, “It is\ndone.” {86a}\n\n(2)  They represent this period as a time of peculiar delusion throughout\nthe world.  The other vials all speak of war, suffering, and bloodshed:\nunder the sixth there is a hush, like the hush of peace; its leading\nfeature is delusion; delusion varied in all its forms, for there are\nthree spirits; devilish in its origin, for they are the spirits of\ndevils; prevailing in its influence, for it will throw its seductive\npower over the rulers of the world, and so sway the minds of states, that\nthey will be, as it were, spell-bound, and lend their influence to the\ndirect support of the antagonist of God.  “They go forth to the kings of\nthe earth, and of the whole world, and gather them to the battle of that\ngreat day of God Almighty.” {86b}  I am not now intending to occupy your\ntime by comparing this prophecy with history; my object is to bring home\nto each of you the fact, the one simple and most startling fact, that a\nspirit of strong delusion will peculiarly mark the latter days.  The\nchurch is not to sit still in calm security, as though her warfare were\naccomplished, and her crown won at the Reformation.  The great struggle\nis to be at last, the unclean spirits are to come forth at last; the\nsifting and searching days are to be at last.  The nearer we approach to\nthe advent, the greater the need of watchfulness; the farther the world\nadvances, the more cautious heed should we pay to the warning voice of\nour Saviour; “Behold, I come as a thief.  Blessed is he that watcheth and\nkeepeth his garments, lest he walk naked, and they see his shame.”\n\nThere is, therefore, abundant reason to believe that in the last days\nperilous times shall occur, it behoves us then to look most carefully\ninto the second division of our subject.\n\nII.  The character and security of the people of God.\n\nNor is it enough for us to rest in any general description, as for\nexample, in the fact that they are called, sealed, written in the book of\nlife; we want such a description of their character as shall place them\nin contrast with the apostacy of the age in which they live.  Such a\ndescription we may reasonably look for in the book of Revelation.  The\nfullest account is there given of the apostacy; so there we should look\nfor the clearest description of the contrasted saints.  Now there is one\nsentence in that sacred book, which may supply us with the exact\ndescription we require, and which appears to point to two leading signs\nas distinguishing the character of the saints of God, viz. their\nsubmission to the word of God, and their simple faith in Christ himself.\nI allude to the language of the Holy Ghost in Rev. xiv. 12.  “Here is the\npatience of the saints: here are they that keep the commandments of God,\nand the faith of Jesus.”\n\nNor is this a single, solitary passage.  It seems to form as it were the\nmotto of the whole book of the Apocalypse.\n\n“Who bare record of the word of God, and of the testimony of Jesus\nChrist.” Rev. i. 2.\n\n“I, John, was in the isle that is called Patmos, for the word of God, and\nfor the testimony of Jesus Christ.” Rev. i. 9.\n\n“I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of\nGod, and for the testimony which they held.” Rev. vi. 9.\n\n“And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their\ntestimony.” Rev. xii. 12.\n\n“And the dragon was wroth with the woman, and went to make war with the\nremnant of her seed, which keep the commandments of God, and have the\ntestimony of Jesus Christ.” Rev. xii. 17.\n\n“And I saw the souls of them that were beheaded for the witness of Jesus,\nand for the word of God.” Rev. xx. 4.\n\nIn these words we have the saints of God again and again placed in direct\ncontrast with the apostacy; we may therefore boldly refer to them as\nmarking distinctly their character.\n\n(1)  What then is this character?  They are witnesses.\n\nThey are not carried away by the prevailing apostacy of the times, but\nare witnesses against surrounding error.  The expression “witness”\nimplies that they stand aloof as a protesting body.  The witness for God\nis not one who floats down the broad tide of popular opinion, but who\nstands up in opposition to it, and boldly proclaims the truth of God.\nAthanasius was a witness for Christ, when he stood forth with all the\nworld against him, and himself alone contending against the world.  Our\nSaviour was a witness to the truth, when before Pontius Pilate he\nwitnessed a good confession, and was bold to endure the cross in order to\nfulfil the Father’s will.  Thus the Greek word for “witnesses” is the\nsame as that for “martyrs,” {89a} and the witness for Christ must be one\nraising the voice of protest, and contending against opposition for the\ntruth once delivered to the Saints.\n\nBut for what are they witnesses?  “For Jesus and the word of God.” {89b}\n\nThese two subjects form the great matter of their protest.  “They keep\nthe commandments of God and the faith of Jesus.”  They are not occupied\nby secondary matters, nor debating on ecclesiastical distinctions.  Such\nquestions would not justify their separation.  The word of God and the\nSon of God are the grand points for which they struggle.\n\nNow this, let it be well observed, is the exact position of the faithful\nProtestant.  As witnesses we are forced into separation from the great\nmass of professing Christendom.  We were compelled at the Reformation\neither to abandon truth, or to quit the church which claims to itself the\nname of Catholic.  And what is the subject matter of our protest?  What\nare the points for which we struggle?  If we were to search throughout\nthe English language for any one short sentence, which should contain at\nonce the sum and substance of our Protestant profession, I know of none\nthat could be so exactly suitable as that with which the Holy Ghost has\nfurnished us,—“the witness of Jesus and the Word of God.”  The whole of\nthe Protestant controversy branches out from this one passage: it\ncontains the germ of the whole argument.\n\nNow there is something very cheering in this conclusion.  We are often\ntaunted with our disunion from the (so called) Catholic church: we are\noften reproached because we are in a state of separation.  But we give\nthanks for those reproaches.  They are amongst the title-deeds of our\ninheritance; they help to prove us what we wish to be, the saints of God,\nand the witnesses for Christ.  Had the Spirit of God described the saints\nin the latter days, as united under one vicar upon earth, as swaying the\nsceptre of unresisted power, as exercising lordship over kings and\npotentates, as reigning triumphantly through the known world, then indeed\nwe should have trembled.  But now it is the reverse.  Our position is\nexactly that ascribed to the saints of God in prophecy; the position of\nRome exactly that ascribed to the man of sin.  The Scriptures tell us\nplainly that the saints in the latter days must stand aloof from the\ngreat apostacy, raising against it the voice of protest; and it fills our\nheart with gladness to find ourselves in that exact position.  The saints\nof God are described in prophecy almost by the very name of “Protestant.”\nWe are not ashamed, therefore, of the blessed title, but following the\nguidance of the prophetic Scriptures, we had rather far be called\n“Protestant” than “Catholic.”  He that sits in the temple of God, showing\nhimself that he is God, he is sure to claim for himself the name of\nCatholic, but he that is the servant of God must stand out boldly as the\nunflinching Protestant for Christ.\n\n(2)  This also is the security of the saints.\n\nTo stand against the apostacy of the latter days, they must be drawing\ntruth from God himself, and deriving life from Christ himself.  They must\nlisten to God himself, as speaking to them in his own inspired word, they\nmust be kept by Christ himself while they believe on him as their only\nLord.  Their strength lies in this, that there is no curtain, no veil, no\ncloud between the soul and God—no second Mediator to convey the truth to\nthem, or to convey them to Christ.  They go straight into the presence of\nthe Father: they learn his own word from his own lips, and they are\nushered into his presence by his own well-beloved Son.  So it is that\nthey “overcome by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their\ntestimony.”\n\nThis is their safety against error.  In the doubts, and dangers, and\ndelusions of the latter days, they rest on that which is infallible.\nHoly writers may mislead; human guides may fail; the most attractive\nministers may become spellbound by the seductions of the day; but the\nWord of God remains unaltered and unalterable; and the saints of God must\nstand secure, being taught by the Spirit to depend on it alone for truth.\n\nThis is their security against a fall.  They bear their testimony to the\nglories of Christ’s grace, and meanwhile they rest secure in it.  As\nwitnesses for Christ, they are believers in Christ.  The foundation on\nwhich they build is Christ himself.  They lean on his atonement, his\nall-sufficient sacrifice, his perfect and complete redemption, nor can\nall the storms of hell prevail to shake their safety.  The anchor of\ntheir soul entereth into that within the veil; and though they may here\nbe tossed and troubled, no trouble, no turmoil, no distraction can tear\nthem from the anchor that is fixed fast in the sanctuary of God.  They\nderive their strength from Christ himself, as seated at the right hand of\nGod; they live with him in the enjoyment of a direct and immediate union\nwith himself; “Their life is hid with Christ in God:” and no man can rend\nthe bond; no distractions can burst the union; nor can all the devils in\nhell combined prevail to pluck one single saint out of the faithful hand\nof his redeeming Lord.  “I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor\nangels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to\ncome, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to\nseparate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”\n\nAnd now, dear brethren, to conclude.  I have preached these sermons under\nthe deep conviction that clouds are gathering around us, and that our\ngreat sifting time is near.  Eighteen hundred years have nearly passed\nsince the Saviour said, “I come quickly.”  Nor are there signs wanting of\nhis approach.  There is to be seen throughout the world a breaking down\nof fixed principles of religious belief, a spirit of un-settlement\nbrooding over the minds of men, and a loose indifference to the\nunscriptural claims of Rome.  All this is predicted as a sign of his\napproach.  Let us then stand fast in Jesus Christ, and Jesus Christ\nalone.  As pardoned sinners, let us cling to the cross; as justified\nbelievers, let us go boldly to the throne of grace; as God’s elect, let\nus rally round the banner of the Lamb.  Then men of expediency may\nforsake the truth in the hour of its need; men ignorant of their bibles\nmay be carried off by the seducing spirits of the latter days: men of\nunbelief may scoff alike at our fears and hopes; but Christ will hold us\nfast in his own right hand till the day of his coming.  Clouds may\ngather, black as hell; storms may burst, terrific in their crash; but we\nshall be kept safe in the pavilion of our God, till we join the one,\nvast, harmonious hymn of praise, which will swell up from the whole\ncompany of God’s elect, to welcome Christ as he comes forth in his\nkingdom, the Redeemer, the Advocate, the Strength, the Salvation of his\nsaints.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n\nA.\n\n\nTHE 4th Rule of the Council of Trent respecting Prohibited Books:—\n\n“Since it has been found by experience that if the Sacred Scriptures are\nallowed everywhere without distinction in the vulgar tongue, more harm\nthan good arises in consequence of the rashness of man; let this be left\nto the judgment of the Bishop or Inquisitor; so that with the advice of\nthe parish priest or confessor he may allow the use of the Bible in the\nvulgar tongue, when translated by Catholic authors, to such persons as\nthey may consider capable of receiving not injury, but an increase of\ntheir faith and piety, from this kind of reading: which permission they\nmust receive in writing.  But any one who shall presume without such\npermission either to read or to possess them, shall be forbidden the\nabsolution of his sins, unless he first restore the Bible to the\nordinary.  Booksellers also, who shall sell the Bible in the vulgar\ntongue to any one without the aforesaid permission, or shall in any other\nway provide it, shall forfeit the price of the books, to be employed in\npious uses by the Bishop, and shall be subject to such other penalties as\nthe Bishop may think it right to inflict, according to the character of\nthe offence.  Regulars may neither read nor purchase them without\nreceiving permission from their prelates.”\n\nN.B.—It is very important to observe that this rule refers to Roman\nCatholic versions, i.e., to their own authorized translations, and\nforbids even the regulars to possess a copy without permission from the\nBishop.\n\n\n\nB.\n\n\nThe following extracts from the letter of the present Pope, dated 8th of\nMay, 1844, show that the decree of the Council of Trent is still in full\nforce with reference to the circulation of the Scriptures:—\n\n“To return to Bibles translated into the vulgar tongue.  It is long since\npastors found themselves necessitated to turn their attention\nparticularly to the versions current at secret conventicles, and which\nheretics laboured, at great expense, to disseminate.\n\n“Hence the warning and decrees of our predecessor, Innocent III., of\nhappy memory, on the subject of lay societies and meetings of women, who\nhad assembled themselves in the diocese of Metz, for objects of piety and\nthe study of the Holy Scriptures.  Hence the prohibition which\nsubsequently appeared in France and Spain during the sixteenth century,\nwith respect to the vulgar Bible.  It became necessary, subsequently, to\ntake even greater precautions, when the pretended Reformers, Luther and\nCalvin, daring by a multiplicity and incredible variety of errors, to\nattack the immutable doctrine of the faith, omitted nothing in order to\nseduce the faithful by their false interpretations, and translations into\ntheir vernacular tongues, which the then novel invention of printing\ncontributed more rapidly to propagate and multiply.  Whence it was\ngenerally laid down in the regulations dictated by the Fathers, adopted\nby the Council of Trent, and approved of by our predecessor, Pius VII.,\nof happy memory, and which regulations are prefixed to the list of\nprohibited books, that the reading of the holy Bible translated into the\nvulgar tongue, should not be permitted except to those to whom it might\nbe deemed necessary to confirm in the faith and piety.  Subsequently,\nwhen heretics still persisted in their frauds, it became necessary for\nBenedict XIV. to superadd {96} the injunction that no versions whatever\nshould be suffered to be read but those which should be approved of by\nthe Holy See, accompanied by notes derived from the writings of the holy\nFathers, or other learned and Catholic authors.  Notwithstanding this,\nsome new sectarians of the school of Jansenius, after the example of the\nLutherans and Calvinists, feared not to blame these justifiable\nprecautions of the Apostolical See, as if the reading of the holy books\nhad been at all times, and for all the faithful, useful, and so\nindispensable that no authority could assail it.\n\n“But we find this audacious assertion of Jansenius, withered by the most\nrigorous censures in the solemn sentence, which was pronounced against\ntheir doctrine, with the assent of the whole Catholic universe, by the\nsovereign pontiffs of modern times, Clement XI. in his _unigenitus_\nconstitution of the year 1713, and Pius VI. in his constitution _auctorem\nfidei_ of the year 1794.\n\n“Consequently, even before the establishment of Bible Societies was\nthought of, the decrees of the Church which we have quoted, were intended\nto guard the faithful against the frauds of heretics, who cloak\nthemselves under the specious pretext that it is necessary to propagate\nand render common the study of the holy books.  Since then, our\npredecessor, Pius VII. of glorious memory, observing the machinations of\nthese societies to increase under his pontificate, did not cease to\noppose their efforts, at one time through the medium of the apostolical\nnuncios, at another by letters and decrees, emanating from the several\ncongregations of cardinals of the holy Church, and at another by the two\npontifical letters addressed to the Bishops of Gnesen and the Archbishop\nof Mohilif.  After him, another of our holy predecessors, Leo XII.,\nreproved the operations of the Bible Societies, by his circulars\naddressed to all the Catholic pastors in the universe, under the date of\nMay 5th, 1824.\n\n“Shortly afterwards, our immediate predecessor, Pius VIII. of happy\nmemory, confirmed their condemnation by his circular letter of May 24,\n1829.  We, in short, who succeeded them, notwithstanding our great\nunworthiness, have not ceased to be solicitous on this subject, and have\nespecially studied to bring to the recollection of the faithful, the\nseveral rules which have been successively laid down with regard to the\nvulgar versions of the holy books.”\n\nAnd again.\n\n“Let all know then the enormity of the sin against God and the church\nwhich they are guilty of, who dare to associate themselves with any of\nthese (the bible) societies, or abet them in any way.  Moreover, we\nconfirm and renew the decrees recited above, delivered in former times by\napostolic authority against the publication, distribution, reading, and\npossession of books of the Holy Scriptures translated into the vulgar\ntongue.  With reference to the works of whatsoever writer we call to\nmind, the observance of the general rules and decrees of our\npredecessors, to be found prefixed to the _index_ of prohibited books:\nand we invite the faithful to be upon their guard, not only against the\nbooks named in the _index_, but also against those prescribed in the\ngeneral prescriptions.”\n\nThese extracts prove beyond the possibility of controversy\n\n(1.)  That the rule of the Index of the Council of Trent has never been\npermitted to fall into abeyance, and has never been repealed.  From the\ntime of its enactment it has always been, and now is, the binding law of\nthe Church of Rome.  It has been constantly enforced by Papal authority,\nand is especially commended to the careful attention of the faithful by\nthe authoritative letter of the present Pope.\n\n(2.)  That no Roman Catholic is permitted on any pretext to read, or to\npossess a copy of the Bible in his own language, without a written order\nfrom the Bishop or Inquisitor.  It matters not who is the author of the\ntranslation, whether Protestant or Romanist, whether Luther or the Pope\nhimself; if any man either possess or read it, for that offence he is cut\noff from absolution and thereby from church communion.\n\n(3.)  That since the days of Benedict XIV. it has always been, and now\nis, unlawful under any circumstances to read any version without notes.\nGod’s word is not allowed to speak for itself; man’s gloss must accompany\nit; the truth is forbidden in its simplicity; they are afraid to allow\nthe people to read even their own version, without superadding extracts\nfrom “other learned and Catholic authors.”\n\n(4.)  That these versions with their notes may not be possessed or read\nunless they are first approved of by the Holy See.  Query.  How many\nversions approved by the Pope exist in the whole world?  Is there one in\nEngland?  It is of course difficult to prove a negative; but those who\nare best acquainted with the subject assert that they have never been\nable to discover one.  See Venn’s Letter to Waterworth, Jan. 15, 1845.\n\n(5.)  That the Church of Rome attacks the broad principle of the general\nusefulness of the Bible.  The Pope does not merely discuss the\ncomparative merits of this or that version, but goes boldly to the great\nquestion, whether the reading of the Bible is really useful for the\npeople.  The Jansenists, according to his own account, asserted that the\nreading of the holy books “had been at all times, and for all the\nfaithful, useful, and so indispensable that no authority could assail\nit.”  This he declares to be an audacious assertion, and pronounces it\nwithered by the unanimous condemnation of the whole Catholic universe.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 THE END.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 LONDON:\n               G. J. PALMER, PRINTER, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES.\n\n\n{5}  The use of this double rule may be seen in any Roman Catholic\nwriting.  Take e.g. the 1st decree of the 25th Session of the Council of\nTrent.  “Since the Catholic Church, taught by the Holy Spirit, has\nlearned from the Sacred Scriptures, and from the ancient tradition of the\nFathers, that there is a purgatory, &c.”  Here is an appeal to two\nsources of divine truth, Scripture and Tradition.\n\n{6}  Art. VI.\n\n{9}  This appears very plainly from a letter of the present Pope, dated,\n8th of May, 1844, and addressed to the Patriarchs, Primates, Archbishops,\nand Bishops.  He complains of Bible Societies, as “Pretending to\npopularize the holy pages, and render them intelligible without the aid\nof any interpreter.”\n\n{10a}  Eph. iv. 11,12.\n\n{10b}  Acts xx. 28.\n\n{10c}  2 Chron. xv. 3.\n\n{12a}  Hab. ii. 2.\n\n{12b}  John xvi. 13.\n\n{12c}  Eph. i. 17.\n\n{13a}  1 John ii. 27.\n\n{13b}  In the letter itself, Leo says, “Reprove . . . that the faithful\nentrusted to you, (adhering strictly to the rules of our congregation of\nthe Index,) be persuaded that if the Sacred Scriptures be everywhere\nindiscriminately published, more evil than advantage will arise thence,\non account of the rashness of men.”  The congregation of the Index, is a\ncongregation appointed by the Church of Rome to draw up a list of\nprohibited books.  In the 4th rule they condemn the free circulation of\nthe Bible.  See Appendix A.\n\nIt should be observed that these extracts refer not to Protestant, but to\ntheir own Roman Catholic versions.  See Mr. Venn’s letter to Mr.\nWaterworth, January 15th, 1845.\n\nThe present Pope agrees with his predecessors.  In the letter above\nreferred to, dated May the 8th, 1844, he says, “We confirm and renew the\ndecrees recited above, delivered in former times, by apostolic authority,\nagainst the publication, distribution, reading, and possession of books\nof the Holy Scripture translated into the vulgar tongue.”  The motive for\nthese restrictions appears very plainly from another passage in the same\nletter.  “Watch attentively over those who are appointed to expound the\nHoly Scriptures, and see that they acquit themselves faithfully according\nto the capacity of their hearers, and that they dare not under any\npretext whatever, interpret or explain the holy pages contrary to the\ntradition of the holy fathers, and to the service of the Catholic\nchurch.”  Here are two standards of interpretation laid down, tradition,\nand self-interest.  The Romish Preacher must not preach even God’s truth,\nif it does not happen to serve the purposes of Rome.  It seems very\nstrange that an infallible church should be so afraid of the infallible\nword.  Appendix B.\n\n{19}  Sess. VI. Can. 11.  “Si quis dixerit, homines justificari vel solâ\nimputatione justitiæ Christi, vel solâ peccatorum remissione, exclusâ\ngratia et charitate, quæ in cordibus eorum per Spiritum Sanctum\ndiffundatur, atque illis inhæreat; aut etiam gratiam, quâ justificamur,\nesse tantum favorum Dei, anathema sit.”\n\n{23a}  James ii. 10, 11.\n\n{23b}  Gal. iii. 10.\n\n{24}  Article xii.  “Albeit that good works, which are the fruits of\nfaith, and follow after justification, cannot put away our sins, and\nendure the severity of God’s judgment, yet are they pleasing and\nacceptable to God in Christ, and do spring out necessarily of a true and\nlively faith; inasmuch that by them a lively faith may be as evidently\nknown, as a tree discerned by the fruit.”\n\n{25a}  Job xxvii. 7.\n\n{25b}  Luke xv. 7.\n\n{25c}  Coloss. i. 10.\n\n{26a}  John xv. 8.\n\n{26b}  Hooker on Justification.\n\n{27}  Psalm xix. 3.\n\n{30}  The doctrine of supererogation is worse still.  According to it\nsome men do more than is required, and not only satisfy God’s law\nthemselves, but gain a superfluous merit which may be made over to their\nless perfect brethren.  Catechism of the Council of Trent, Part II., De\nPænitentia, 109, 110, “The extreme goodness and clemency of God must be\nchiefly praised for this, that he has granted to human weakness that one\nshall be allowed to make satisfaction for another, which indeed belongs\nespecially to this part of penitence, for as with reference to contrition\nand confession no man can mourn or confess for another, so those who are\nindued with divine grace can perform in the name of another that which is\ndue to God.  Whence it happens that in one sense one man is found to bear\nanother’s burden.”\n\n{31}  1 Pet iii. 18.\n\n{35a}  “Præterea est purgatorius ignis, quo piorum animæ ad definitum\ntempus cruciatæ expiantur, ut eis in æternam patriam ingressus patere\npossit, in quam nihil coinquinatum ingreditur.”  Part I. Art. v. §§ 5.\n\n{35b}  This is sometimes denied, when men wish to recommend the doctrine\nto Protestants, but it stands written in the book.  “Purgatorius ignis.”\n\n{36a}  Large sums are left in legacy, and paid by surviving friends, in\norder that masses may be said for souls in purgatory.\n\n{36b}  Catm. part I, Art. v. § 5.\n\n{37}  1 Pet. iv. 12.\n\n{40a}  Rev. iv. 8.\n\n{40b}  Luke xvi. 22.\n\n{41a}  Acts vii. 55.\n\n{41b}  Phil. i. 23.\n\n{42}  Phil. i. 21.\n\n{44}  Psalm xxiii. 4.\n\n{47}  “Si quis post acceptam justificationis gratiam, cuilibet peccatori\npænitenti ita culpam remitti, ut reatum æternæ pœnæ deleri dixerit, ut\nnullus remaneat reatus pænæ temporalis exsolvendæ vel in hoc Sœculo, vel\nin futuro in Purgatorio, antequam ad regna cælorum aditus patere possit;\nanathema sit.”—Trent Sess. vi. Can. 30.\n\nI never could understand how the Church of Rome reconciles this decree\nwith its doctrine of extreme unction.  The Council of Trent decrees,\nSess. xiv., Extreme Unction, Chap. 2, “The matter of the Sacrament is the\ngrace of the Holy Spirit, whose unction blots out all such offences, and\nremains of sin, as still require expiation.”  “Cujus unctio delicta, si\nquæ sint adhuc expianda, ac peccati reliquias abstergit.”  If this be\ntrue, what sins remain for expiation in purgatory?  What can be the use\nof masses for the dead?  Surely the priests of the Church of Rome cannot\nbelieve their own decree; for if they did, it would be nothing short of\nrobbery to receive fees for extricating souls from purgatory.  They are\nalready free through extreme unction.\n\n{49}  How miserable is the confidence of a poor dying Roman Catholic!  He\ntrembles at the thought of purgatorial fire, and leaves money to the\npriest that masses may be said for his release.  If the priest happen to\nforget him, in purgatory he must remain.  Nay, more!  If the masses are\noffered they may be worthless, for the Church of Rome declares the\nintention of the priest to be necessary to a sacrament.  Trent, Sess.\nvii., Can. 11.  “If any man shall say that the intention of doing that\nwhich the church does is not required in ministers while they perform and\nconfer the sacrament, let him be accursed.”  The priest, therefore, may\nperform all the masses, and get all the money, and yet if his intention\nhappen to be wanting the poor soul would profit nothing.  This places the\nsoul in purgatory at the absolute mercy of the priest on earth.  The Rev.\nJames Page, in his “Letters to a Priest of the Church of Rome,” gives the\nfollowing passage from the “Master Key of Popery,” written by D. Antonio\nGavin, in which he, who was himself a priest, gives an extract from the\nprivate confession of a priest, being at the point of death, in 1710.\n“The necessary intention of a priest, in the administration of baptism\nand consecration, without which the sacraments are of none effect, I\nconfess I had it not several times, as you shall see in the parish books;\nand observe there, that all those marked with a star, the baptism was not\nvalid, for I had no intention; and for this I can give no other reason\nthan my malice and wickedness; many of them are dead, for which I am\nheartily sorry.  As for the times I have consecrated without intention,\nwe must leave it to God Almighty’s mercy for the wrong done by it to the\nsouls of my parishioners, and those in purgatory cannot be helped.”  Oh!\nthat we could persuade our poor Roman Catholic brethren to trust at once\nto the great High Priest, who blotteth out all sin by his own most\nprecious blood!\n\n{52}  Mal. ii. 2.\n\n{53a}  Psalm lxix. 22.\n\n{53b}  Sess. xiii.  De Eucharistia, Section 4, “Sancta hæc synodus\ndeclarat per consecrationem panis et vini conversionem fieri totius\nsubstantiæ panis in substantiam corporis Christi Domini nostri, et totius\nsubstantiæ vini in substantiam sanguinis ejus.”\n\n{53c}  Catm. Part ii.  De Eucharistia, Sec. 32, “A pastoribus explicandum\nest non solum verum Christi corpus, et quidquid ad veram corporis\nrationem pertinet, velut ossa et nervos, sed etiam totum Christum in hoc\nsacramento contineri.”\n\n{53d}  Sess. xiii.  Canon 1, “Si quis negaverit, in sanctissimæ\neucharistiæ sacramento contineri veré, realiter et substantialiter corpus\net sanguinem unà cum anima et divinitate Domini nostri Jesu Christi, ac\nproinde totum Christum; sed dixerit tantummodò esse in eo, ut in signo,\nvel figura, aut virtute; anathema sit.”\n\n{54}  Sees. xiii.  Can. 6, “Si quis dixerit, in Sancto Eucharistiæ\nSacramento Christum unigenitum Dei Filium non esse cultu Latriæ etiam\nexterno, adorandum: atque ideò nec festivâ peculiari celebritate\nvenerandum, neque in processionibus, secundùm laudabilem et universalem\nEcclesia Sancta ritum et consuetudinem, solemniter circumgestandum, vel\nnon publicè, ut adoretur, populo proponendum, et ejus adoratores esse\nidololatres; anathema sit.”\n\n{55a}  Sess. xxii. 2, “In divino hoc sacrificio, quod in missa peragitur,\nidem ille Christus continetur, et incruentê immolatur, qui in ara crucis\nsimul seipsum cruentè obtulit.”\n\n{55b}  Sess. xxii. Can. 3, “Si quis dixerit, missa sacrificium tantum\nesse laudis, et gratiarum actionis, aut nudam commemorationem sacrificii\nin cruce peracti, non autem propitiatorium, vel soli prodesse sumenti;\nneque pro vivis et defunctis, pro peccatis, pœnis, satisfactionibus et\naliis necessitatibus, offerri debere; anathema sit.”\n\n{56}  Isa. xliv. 16, 17.\n\n{57}  Art. 31.\n\n{58a}  Art. 28.  “The body of Christ is given, taken, and eaten in the\nsupper, only after an heavenly and spiritual manner.  And the mean\nwhereby the body of Christ is received and eaten in the supper is faith.”\n\n{58b}  Dr. Cumming states that there are no less than 37 passages in the\nBible in which there is a similar form of expression.  Lectures, p. 147.\n\n{61}  The words would not prove the doctrine of the Church of Rome, even\nif the soul and divinity were not added as they are.  The utmost that\ncould possibly be proved from them is, that the bread was his body, and\nthe wine his blood.  There is not a hint at the doctrine that the wafer\n_alone_ is a whole Christ, including both body and blood.  Indeed the\naddition of the words “This is my blood,” distinctly proves the contrary,\nit shows that both were not united in one.  To avoid this obvious\nconclusion is, I suspect, the reason why the cup is withheld from the\nlaity.\n\n{62}  The Council of Trent appears conscious of this absence of all\nscriptural authority, for in its decree respecting the adoration of the\nwafer it appeals to tradition only.  “Pro more in Catholica ecclesia\nsemper recepto.”  Sess. xiii. 5.\n\n{63}  If the intention of the Priest be wanting, then, according to the\nprinciples of the Church of Rome, all the worshippers of the Host must be\nidolaters, for according to their own Canon, (See page 49,) without his\nsecret intention no change takes place.  In such cases, therefore, the\nbread remains bread, according to their own doctrine; and to worship it\nwith latria (the honour due to God) is manifest idolatry.\n\n{64a}  Rev. i. 18.\n\n{64b}  John xvi. 7.\n\n{65a}  Acts i. 11.\n\n{65b}  Acts iii. 21.\n\n{71a}  Rev. i. 1.\n\n{71b}  Matt. xxiv. 33.\n\n{72}  Luke xxi. 25–27.\n\n{73}  Mark xiii. 7.\n\n{76a}  3  Let no man deceive you by any means: for that day shall not\ncome, except there come a falling away first, and that man of sin be\nrevealed, the son of perdition;\n\n4  Who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God, or\nthat is worshipped; so that he as God sitteth in the temple of God,\nshewing himself that he is God.\n\n5  Remember ye not, that, when I was yet with you, I told you these\nthings?\n\n6  And now ye know what withholdeth that he might be revealed in his\ntime.\n\n7  For the mystery of iniquity doth already work: only he who now letteth\nwill let, until he be taken out of the way.\n\n8  And then shall that Wicked be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume\nwith the spirit of his mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness of\nhis coming:\n\n9  Even him, whose coming is after the working of Satan with all power\nand signs and lying wonders,\n\n10  And with all deceivableness of unrighteousness in them that perish;\nbecause they received not the love of the truth, that they might be\nsaved.\n\n11  And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they\nshould believe a lie.\n\n{76b}  ἡ ἁποστασία.\n\n{77}  See also Eph. ii. 20–22.\n\n{78}  Tertullian, who lived in the second century, says of the letting\npower, “Who can this be but the Roman state? the division of which into\nten kingdoms will bring on Antichrist, and then the wicked one shall be\nrevealed.”  De resurrect. carnis, c. 24.  And in his Apology, “There is\nespecial necessity that we should pray for the emperors, the empire, and\nthe general prosperity of Rome, for we know that a mighty power\nthreatening the whole world and the end of the world itself, is kept back\nby the intervention of the Roman empire.”—Apol. c. 32.  Cyril says, “This\nthe predicted Antichrist will come when the times of the Roman empire\nshall be fulfilled, and the consummation of the world shall approach.\nTen kings of the Romans shall arise together, in different places indeed,\nbut they shall reign at the same time; among these the eleventh is\nAntichrist who by magical and wicked artifice shall seize the Roman\npower.”  Catech. 15, c. 5.  See Newton on the Prophecies.\n\n{80}  Verse 9.\n\n{81}  E.G.  The exaltation of human tradition, Coloss. ii. 8, “Beware\nlest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the\ntradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after\nChrist.”  The doctrine of justification by works, to overthrow which is\nthe single object of the Epistle to the Galatians.  Worshipping angels\nand professing to be wise above that which is written.  Coloss. ii. 18,\n“Let no man beguile you of your reward in a voluntary humility, and\nworshipping of angels, intruding into those things which he hath not\nseen, vainly puffed up by his fleshly mind, Making religion consist in\nforms that can never satisfy.”  Coloss. ii. 20–23.  Exaltation of the\npriesthood, 1 Pet. v. 3, “Neither as being lords of God’s heritage, but\nbeing ensamples to the flock.”\n\n{83}  Remember especially the doctrine of intention (page 49.)  If in the\nconsecration the priest think proper to withhold his intention, then the\nwafer remains a wafer, and no change takes place.  If the priest think\nfit to will it, then the wafer is the very person, body, nerves, soul,\nand divinity, of our living and reigning Lord.  The creation of the\nSaviour is therefore made dependent upon the uncontrolled will of the\npriest.  What is this but to exalt himself above all that is called God\nor that is worshipped?\n\n{84}  These blasphemous titles were not only given to the Pope by the\nflattery of orators, but with the acts of the Council were afterwards\npublished by papal authority.  At the inauguration of the Pope he sits\nupon the high altar in St. Peter’s church, making the table of the Lord\nhis footstool, and in that position receives adoration from the people.\nThe following language was addressed to him in 4th Session of the Lateran\nCouncil: “Our Lord God the Pope; another God upon earth; king of kings,\nand lord of lords.  The same is the dominion of God and the Pope.  To\nbelieve that our Lord God the Pope might not decree, as he has decreed,\nwere a matter of heresy.  The power of the Pope is greater than all\ncreated power, and extends itself to things celestial, terrestial, and\ninfernal.  The Pope doeth whatsoever things he listeth, even things\nunlawful, and is more than God (et est plus quam Deus).”  See Newton on\nthe Prophecies.\n\n{85}  Matt. xxiv. 24.\n\n{86a}  Verse 17.\n\n{86b}  It is remarkable that these unclean spirits appear to aim at\npolitical influence more than at personal persuasion.  “They go forth to\nthe kings.”  The prophecy therefore prepares us for a time when\ngovernments shall support popery in opposition to the feelings of the\npeople.\n\n{89a}  μάρτυρες.\n\n{89b}  Rev. xx. 4.\n\n{96}  In his controversy with Mr. Venn, Mr. Waterworth alluded to this\ninjunction as a repeal of the 4th Rule.  In this he was at variance with\nthe Pope, for his Holiness says it was an addition to it.\n\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                             THE CROOKED STICK\n\n                           OR, POLLIE'S PROBATION\n\n                             BY ROLF BOLDREWOOD\n\nAUTHOR OF 'ROBBERY UNDER ARMS,' 'THE MINER'S RIGHT,' 'NEVERMORE,' ETC.\n\n\n    London\n    MACMILLAN AND CO.\n    AND NEW YORK\n    1895\n\n    _All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nThe time, the close of a lurid sultry February day, towards the end of a\nlong, dry summer succeeding a rainless winter, in the arid region of\nWest Logan. A blood-red sun sinking all too slowly, yet angrily, into a\ncrimson ocean; suddenly disappearing, as if in despotic defiance of all\nfuture rainfall. A fiery portent receding into the inferno of a vast\nconflagration, was the image chiefly presented to the dwellers in that\npastoral desert, long heartsick with hope deferred.\n\nThe scene, a limitless stretch of plain--its wearisome monotony feebly\nbroken by belts of timber or an infrequent pine-ridge. The earth adust.\nA hopeless, steel-blue sky. The atmosphere stagnated, breezeless. The\nforest tribes all dumb. The Wannonbah mail-coach toiling over the\nfurrows of a sandhill, walled in by a pine thicket.\n\n'Thank God! the sun is down at last; we must sight Hyland's within the\nhour,' exclaimed the passenger on the box-seat, a tall, handsome man,\nwith 'formerly in the army' legibly impressed on form and feature. 'How\nglad I shall be to see the river; and what a luxury a swim will be!'\n\n'Been as hot a day as ever I know'd, Captain,' affirmed the sun-bronzed\ndriver, with slow decision; 'but'--and here he double-thonged the\noff-wheeler, as if in accentuation of his statement--'heat, and flies,\nand muskeeters, dust and sand and bad water, ain't the wust of this\nroad--not by a long chalk!'\n\n'What the deuce _can_ be worse?' demanded the ex-militaire, with\npardonable acerbity. 'Surely no ruffians have taken to the bush lately\nin this part of the world?'\n\n'Well, I did hear accidental-like as \"The Doctor\" and two other cross\nchaps, whose names I won't say, had laid it out to stick us up to-day.\nThey'd heard that Mr. Tracknell was going up to Orange, and they have it\nin for him along o' the last Bandamah cattle racket.'\n\n'Stop the coach, the infernal scoundrels! What do they expect to do\nnext? The country won't be fit for decent people to live in if this sort\nof thing is not put a stop to.'\n\n'Well, Captain Devereux,' replied the driver, a tall, sinewy,\nslow-speaking son of the soil, 'if I was you I wouldn't trouble my head\nabout them no more than I could help. It ain't your business, as one\nmight say, if they've a down on Tracknell. He nearly got the Doctor\nshopped over them Bandamah cattle, an' he wasn't in it at all, only them\nClarkson boys. My notion is that Tracknell got wind of it yesterday, and\nforgot to come a purpose.'\n\n'So, if a gang of rascally cattle-stealers choose to stop the coach that\nI travel in, I am to sit still because I'm not the man they want, who\ndid his duty in hunting them down.'\n\n'Now hear reason, Captain! There ain't a chap in the district, square or\ncross, that would touch you, or any one from Corindah--no, not from here\nto Baringun. The place has got such a name for being liberal-like to\ngentle and simple. If we meet those chaps--and we've got the Wild Horse\nplain to cross yet--you take my tip and say nothing to them if they\ndon't interfere with you.'\n\nThe man to whom he spoke raised his head and gazed full in the speaker's\nface. The expression of his features had changed, and there was a hard\nset look, altogether different from his usually frank and familiar air,\nas he said, 'Are you aware that I've held Her Majesty's commission?'\n\nThe driver took his horses in hand, and sent them along at a pace to\nwhich for many miles they had been strangers, as they left the heavy\nsand of the pine-hill and entered upon the baked red soil of the plain.\n\n'I'm dashed sorry to hear it now,' he said slowly. 'Some people's mighty\nfond of having their own way. Yes, by God! I was afeared they'd block us\nthere. They're a-waiting ahead near that sheep break--three of 'em.\nThat's the Doctor on the grey. Blast him!'\n\nWith this conclusively fervent adjuration, Mr. Joe Bates pulled his\nhorses into a steady yet fast trot, and approached the three men, who\nsat quietly on their horses near a rough timber fence which, originally\nconstructed for counting a passing flock of sheep, partly obstructed the\nroad.\n\nCaptain Devereux looked keenly at the strangers, then at the driver, as\nhe drew forth a revolver of the latest pattern.\n\n'Listen to me, Bates! I can make fair shooting with this at fifty yards.\nWhen they call on you to stop, draw up the team quietly but keep them in\nhand. Directly I fire, send your horses along. It is a chance if they\noffer to follow.'\n\n'For God's sake, Captain, don't be rash,' said the young fellow\nearnestly. 'I'm no coward, but remember there's others on the coach.\nOnce them chaps sees Tracknell ain't a passenger, they'll clear--take my\nword. You can't do no good by fighting three armed men.'\n\n'Do as you're told, my good fellow,' returned his passenger, who seemed\ntransformed into quite another personage from the good-natured,\neasy-going gentleman with whom he had been chatting all day, 'unless you\nwish me to believe that you are in league with robbers and murderers.'\n\nJoe Bates made no further remonstrance, but drew the reins carefully\nthrough his hands in the method affected by American stage-coach\ndrivers, as he steadily approached the spot where the men sat,\nstatue-like, on their horses. As the coach came abreast of them the man\non the grey turned towards it, and, with a raised revolver in his hand,\nshouted, 'Bail up!'\n\nThe leaders stopped obedient to the rein. As they did so Captain\nDevereux fired three shots in rapid succession. The first apparently\ntook effect on the rider of the grey horse, whose right arm fell to his\nside the instant after he had discharged his pistol. The second man\nstaggered in his seat, and the horse of the third robber reared and fell\nover on his rider, who narrowly escaped being crushed. At the same\nmoment, at a shout from the driver, the team started at a gallop, and\ntaking the road across the plain, hardly relaxed their speed until the\nhotel at the angle of the Mackenzie River was in sight.\n\nLooking back, they caught one glimpse of their quondam foes. Two were\nevidently wounded, while the third man was reduced to the grade of a\nfoot-soldier. There was, therefore, no great probability of pursuit by\nthis highly irregular cavalry force.\n\n'By George! Captain,' said the driver, touching up the leaders with\nrenewed confidence as he saw the outline of the roadside inn define\nitself more clearly in the late twilight, 'you can shoot straight and no\nmistake. Dashed if I could hit a haystack without a rest. The Doctor and\none of the other chaps fired the very minute you did. One ball must have\ngone very close to you or me. I felt pretty ticklish, you bet! for I've\nseen the beggar hit a half-crown at twenty yards before now.'\n\n'I believe he _did_ hit me,' said Devereux, coolly putting his hand to\nhis side. 'It's only a graze; but we'll see when we get down. I scarcely\nfelt it at the time.'\n\n'Good God!' said the kind-hearted young fellow. 'You don't say so,\nCaptain? There's blood on your coat too. We'll have a look as soon as we\nget to Hyland's.'\n\n'It's a strange thing though,' continued Devereux, 'that unless you're\nhard hit you never know whether a gunshot wound is serious or not. It's\nnot my first knock, and I certainly shouldn't like it to be the last,\nafter an engagement of this nature. However, we shall soon see.'\n\nSomething was in the air. As they drew up before the inn door, the\ncustomary group awaiting one of the great events of bush life was\nnoticeably swelled. A confused murmur of voices arose, in tones more\nearnest than ordinary events called forth. The driver threw his reins to\na helper, and took the landlord aside.\n\n'We've been stuck up, and there's been a bit of a brush with the\nDoctor's mob. They've got it hot, but the Captain's hit too. You send a\nboy to Dr. Chalmers at Hastings township, and that darkie of yours to\nthe police station. The Captain had better get to bed. The mails are\nright and the passengers.'\n\nThe hotelkeeper, beyond a brief and comprehensive dedication of the\nfalse physician to the infernal powers, forebore remark, and so\naddressed himself to the practical alternative, that within five minutes\ntwo eager youngsters, one black and one white, were riding for their\nlives towards the points indicated, brimful of excitement not altogether\nof an unpleasant nature, as being the bearers of tragical tidings, and\nthus to be held free from blame--indeed, to be commended--if they did\nthe distance in less than the best recorded time.\n\nInside the hotel the bustle was considerable. The bar was crowded,\ngroups of men surrounded the inside passengers, who had each his tale of\nwonder and miraculous escape to relate. 'The Captain had behaved like a\nhero. Knocked over one man, broke the Doctor's shoulder, and dropped the\nthird chap's horse nearly atop of him. If there'd only been another\nrevolver in the coach they'd have took the lot easy. All the same,\nthey'd just as well have let them have what they'd a mind too. They only\nwanted to serve out Tracknell, and when they found he wasn't there\nthey'd have gone off as like as not. If the Captain was hurt--as looked\nlikely--his life was worth all the bushrangers between here and Bourke,\nand a d----d bad swop at that.'\n\n'Well, but some one must fight,' said a pot-valorous bar loafer, 'else\nthey'd take the country from us.'\n\n'That's a dashed sight more than _you_'d do, in my opinion,' retorted\nthe speaker, who was a back-block storekeeper. 'We can do our share, I\nsuppose, when there's no other show. But we should have been all safe\nhere now if we'd taken 'em easy--a few notes poorer, but what's that?\nThe police are paid for shooting these chaps, not us. And if the Captain\nnever goes back to Corindah, but has to see it out in a bush pub like\nthis, I say it's hard lines. However, Chalmers will be here in an\nhour--if he's sober--and then we'll know.'\n\nThe sound of galloping hoofs in less than the specified time caused\nevery one to adjourn to the verandah, when the question of identity, as\ntwo figures emerged from a cloud of dust, was quickly settled by a local\nexpert. 'That's the doc's chestnut by the way he holds his head, and\nhe's as sober as a judge.'\n\n'How can you tell that?' queried a wondering passenger.\n\n'Why, easy enough. Doc.'s not man enough for the chestnut except when\nhe's right off it. When he's betwixt and between like he takes the old\nbay mare. She stops for him if he tumbles off, and would carry him home\nunsensible, I b'leeve, a'most, if she could only histe him into the\nsaddle.'\n\nThe medical practitioner referred to rode proudly into the inn yard\nunconscious of the critical ordeal he had undergone, and throwing down\nthe reins of his clever hackney, walked into the house, followed by the\nrespectful crowd.\n\n'Bad affair, Hyland,' he said to the landlord. 'Which room? No. 3? All\nright! I'll call for you as soon as I look the Captain over. It may be\nnothing after all.'\n\nEntering the bedroom to which the wounded man had retired, he found him\nsitting at a small table, smoking a cigar with his coat off and busily\nengaged in writing a letter. This occupation he relinquished, leaving\nthe unfinished sheet and greeting the medico cordially. 'Glad to see\nyou, doctor. Wish it was a pleasanter occasion. We shall soon know how\nto class the interview--Devereux slightly, seriously, or dangerously\nwounded has been in more than one butcher's bill. One may hold these\nthings too cheap, however.'\n\n'Take off your shirt, Captain; we're losing time,' said the doctor;\n'talk as much as you like afterwards. Hum! ha! gunshot wound--small\norifice--upper ribs--may have lodged in muscles of the shoulders. Excuse\nme.' Here he introduced a flexible shining piece of steel, with which he\ncautiously followed the track of the bullet. His brow became contracted\nand his face betrayed disappointment as he drew back the probe and wiped\nit meditatively in restoring it to its case. 'Can't find the\nbullet--gone another direction. Take a respiration, Captain. Good. Now\ncough, if you please.'\n\n'Do you feel any internal sensation; slight pain here, for instance?'\nThe Captain nodded affirmatively. 'Inclination to expectorate?'\n\n'Yes.'\n\n'Ha! much as I feared. Now put on your shirt again; and if I were you,\nI'd get into bed.'\n\n'Not just yet, if you'll allow me; we had better settle this question\nfirst. Is the matter serious--you know what I mean--or only so so?'\n\n'You're a strong man, Captain, and have seen all this before. I shall\ntell you exactly how the matter stands. This confounded lead pill, small\nas it is, has not taken the line I hoped it had towards the shoulder or\nlumbar muscles. It has turned inwards. You have been shot through the\nlungs, Captain, and, of course, you know the chances are against you.'\n\nThe wounded man nodded his head, and lit another cigar, offering the\ndoctor one, which he took.\n\n'Well! a man must go when his time comes. All soldiers know that. For my\nwife's sake and the darling of our hearts' I could have wished it\notherwise. Poor Mary! It might have been avoided, as the driver said;\nbut then I should have had to have changed natures with some one else.\nIt is Kismet, as the Moslem says--written in the book of fate from the\nbeginning of the world. And now, doctor, when will the inflammation come\non?'\n\n'Perhaps to-night late; certainly to-morrow.'\n\n'I may smoke, I suppose; and I want to write a letter before my head\ngets affected.'\n\n'Do anything you like, my dear sir. You can't catch cold this weather.\nTake a glass of brandy if you feel faint. No, thanks! none for me at\npresent. See you early to-morrow. I'll tell Mrs. Hyland what to do if\nhaemorrhage sets in. Good-night!'\n\nThe doomed man smoked his cigar out as he gazed across the broad reach\nof the river, on a high bluff of which the house had been built. 'Done\nout of my swim, too,' he muttered, with a half smile. 'I can hardly\nbelieve it all to be true. How often a man reads of this sort of thing,\nlittle expecting it will come home to himself. Forty-eight hours, at the\nutmost, to prepare! How the stars glitter in the still water! To think\nthat I shall know so much more about them before Saturday, most probably\nat any rate. What a strange idea! Poor Mary! what will she do when she\nhears? Poor darling! expecting me home on Saturday evening, and now\nnever to meet on earth. Never, nevermore! To think that I kissed her and\nthe bright, loving little darling Pollie--how she clung round my\nneck!--for the last time! The last time! It is hard, very hard! I feel a\nchoking sort of feeling in my chest--that wasn't there before. I had\nbetter begin my letter. The letter--the last on earth.'\n\nHe flung away the fragment of the cigar, and sat down wearily to the\nletter which was to be the farewell message of Brian Devereux to his\nwife and child. How dear they were to him--reckless in some respects as\nhis life had been--until then, he never knew before. He sat there\nwriting and making memoranda until long after midnight. Then he lit one\nlast cigar, which he smoked slowly and calmly to the end. 'They are very\ngood. I may never get another. Who knows what the morrow may bring\nforth? Good-night, my darlings!' he said, waving his hand in the\ndirection of Corindah. 'Good-night, sweet fond wife and child of my\nlove! God keep and preserve you when I am gone! Good-night, my pleasant\nhome, its easy duties and measureless content! Good-night, O earth and\nsea, wherein I have roamed so far and sailed so many a league! Once\nmore, darlings of my heart, farewell! A long good-night!'\n\nAnd so, having an instinctive feeling that the hour was at hand when the\ninjured mechanism of the fleshly frame, grandly perfect as it had\nhitherto proved itself, would no longer provide expression for the free\nspirit, Brian Devereux, outworn and faint, sought the couch from which\nhe was never to arise. At daylight he was delirious, while the frequent\npassage of blood and froth from his unconscious lips confirmed the\ncorrectness of the medical diagnosis. Before the evening of the\nfollowing day the proud, loyal, gallant spirit of Brian Devereux was at\nrest. He lies beneath the waving desert acacia, in the graveyard by the\nriver allotted to the little town of Hastings. He was followed to the\ngrave by every man of note and position in a large pastoral district;\nand on the marble tombstone which was in the after-time erected at the\npublic cost above his mortal remains are included the words:--\n\n    'SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF BRIAN DEVEREUX,\n    LATE CAPTAIN OF H.M. 88TH REGIMENT,\n    WHO WAS MORTALLY WOUNDED BY BUSHRANGERS\n    WHILE MAKING A GALLANT AND SUCCESSFUL DEFENCE.\n    HONOUR TO THE BRAVE!'\n\nSo fell a gallant man-at-arms, obscurely slain--ingloriously in a sense,\nyet dying in strict accordance with the principles which had actuated\nhim through life. There was deep, if not ostentatious, sorrow in his old\nregiment, and more than one comrade emptied his glass at the mess table\nmore frequently the night the news came of the death of Brian Devereux,\nwhom all men admired, and many women had loved.\n\nBrave to recklessness, talented, grandly handsome, the darling of the\nmess, the idol of the regiment, the descendant of a Norman family long\ndomiciled in the west of Ireland, he had always exhibited, commingled\nwith brilliant and estimable qualities, a certain wayward impatience of\nrestraint which at critical periods of his career had hindered his\nchance of promotion. A good-natured superior, on more than one occasion,\nhad reported favourably on differences of opinion scarcely in accordance\nwith the canons of the Horse Guards. At length a breach of discipline\noccurred too serious to be overlooked. In truth, a provoking,\nunreasonable martinet narrowly escaped personal discomfiture. Captain\nDevereux was compelled to send in his papers, to the despair of the\nsubalterns and the deep though suppressed discontent of the regiment.\n\nSorely hurt and aggrieved, though far too proud for outward sign, he\nresolved to quit the mother-land for the more free, untrammelled life of\na new world. The occasion was fortunate. The sale of his commission,\nwith a younger son's portion, sufficed at that time to purchase Corindah\nat a low price, on favourable terms. Adopting, with all the enthusiasm\nof his nature, the free, adventurous career of an Australian squatter,\nhe married the fair and trusting daughter of a high Government\nofficial--herself a descendant of one of the old colonial families of\ndistinction,--and bade fair, in the enjoyment of unclouded domestic\nhappiness and the management of a confessedly improving property, to\nbecome one of the leading pastoral magnates of the land.\n\nBut who shall appease Fate? The bolt fell, leaving the fair, fond wife a\nwidow, and the baby daughter fatherless, whose infantine charms had\naroused the deepest feelings of his nature.\n\nAfter the first transports of her grief, Mrs. Devereux, with the calm\ndecision of purpose which marked her character, adopted the course which\nwas to guide her future life. At Corindah she had tasted the early joys\nof her bridal period. There her babe had been born. There had her\nbeloved, her idolised husband--the worshipped hero of the outwardly calm\nbut intensely impassioned Mary Cavendish--pleased himself in a congenial\noccupation, with visions of prosperity and distinction yet to come. She\nwould never leave Corindah. It should be her home and that of his child\nafter her. Her resolution formed, she proceeded to put in practice her\nideas. She retained the overseer--a steady, experienced man, in whom her\nhusband had had confidence. She went over the books and accounts, thus\nsatisfying herself of the solvency and exact position of the estate.\nThis done, she explained to him that she intended to retain the\nestablishment in her own hands, and trusted, with his assistance, to\nmake it progressive and remunerative.\n\n'Captain Devereux, my poor husband,' she said, 'had the greatest\nconfidence in you. It is my intention to live here--in this place which\nhe loved and improved so much--as long as there is sufficient for me and\nmy baby to live on. I shall trust to you, Mr. Gateward, to do for me\nexactly as you would have done for him.' Here the steady voice trembled,\nand the tears that would not be suppressed flowed fast.\n\n'I will do that and more, Mrs. Devereux,' said the plain, blunt bushman.\n'Corindah is the best station on the river, and if the seasons hold\nmiddling fair, it will keep double the stock it has on now in a few\nyears. You leave it to me, ma'am; I'll be bound the run will find a home\nand a snug bank account for you and missie for many a year to come.'\n\nBetween Mr. Gateward and Corindah Plains, 'the best run on this side of\nMingadee,' as the men said, the promise had been kept. The years had\nbeen favourable on the average. When the dire distress of drought came\nthere had been a reserve of pasture which had sufficed to tide over the\nseason of adversity. Besides this, Corindah was decidedly a 'lucky run,'\na favoured 'bit of country.' When all the land was sore stricken with\ngrass and water famines, it had springs which never ran dry; 'storms'\ntoo fell above Corindah; also strayed waterspouts, while all around was\ndry as Gideon's fleece. In the two decades which were coming to an end\nwhen Pollie Devereux had reached womanhood, the rigid economy and\nunwavering prudence with which the property had been managed had borne\nfruit. The credit balance at the bank had swelled noticeably during the\nlater and more fortunate years. And Mrs. Devereux was known to be one of\nthe wealthiest pastoral proprietors in a district where the extensive\nrun-holders were gradually accumulating immense freeholds and colossal\nfortunes. A temporary check had taken place during the last most\nunfortunate season. No rain had fallen for nearly a year. The loss of\nstock on all sides had been terrific, well-nigh unprecedented. Mrs.\nDevereux, rather over-prudent and averse to expenditure (as are women\nmostly, from Queen Elizabeth downwards, when they have the uncontrolled\nmanagement of affairs), had felt keenly the drawbacks and disasters of\nthe period.\n\n'I wonder if we shall get our letters to-morrow, mother,' said Pollie\nDevereux to that lady, as they sat at breakfast at Corindah on one\nclear, bright autumnal morning. 'Things do really happen if you wait\nlong enough.'\n\n'What is going to happen?' asked the elder lady dreamily, as if hardly\naroused from a previous train of disturbing thoughts. 'We are all going\nto be ruined, or nearly so, if the winter proves dry. Mr. Gateward says\nthe cattle never looked so wretched for years, and the poor sheep are\nbeginning to die already.'\n\n'Mr. Gateward is a raven for croaking; not that I ever saw one, but it\nsounds well,' replied the girl. 'He has no imagination. Why didn't he\nsend the sheep away to the mountains before they got so weak, as Mr.\nCharteris and Mr. Atherstone did? It will be all his fault if they die,\nbesides the shocking cruelty of slow starvation.'\n\n'He is a conscientious, hard-working, worthy man,' said Mrs. Devereux.\n'We should find it difficult to replace him. Besides, travelling sheep\nis most expensive. You are too impatient, my dear. We may have rain yet,\nyou know.'\n\n'I wish I had been a boy, mother,' replied the unconvinced damsel,\ndrumming her fingers on the table as she looked wistfully through the\nopen casement, festooned by a great trailing climber, to where the dim\nblue of a distant mountain range broke the monotony of the plain. 'It\nseems to me that none of the men we know have energy or enterprise\nenough to go beyond the dull round of routine in which they have been\nreared. Sheep and cattle, cattle and sheep, with a little turf talk for\nvariation. They smoke all day, because they can't talk, and never think.\nSurely new countries were not discovered or the world's battles fought\nby people like those I see. I think I should have been different,\nmother, don't you?'\n\n'I am sure of that, my darling,' answered the mother with a sigh,\npatting the girl's bright abundant hair as she rose in her eagerness and\nstood before her. 'You put me in mind of your father when you look like\nthat. But you must never forget that the world's exciting work is rarely\nallotted to women. The laws of society are harsh, but those of our sex\nthat resist them are chiefly unhappy, always worsted in the end. My girl\ncannot help her eager, impatient heart, but she will never despise her\nmother's teaching, will she?'\n\n'Never while life lasts,' said the girl impetuously, throwing her arm\nround the elder woman's neck, and burying her face in her bosom with\nchildlike abandon--'not when she has an angel for a mother, like me; but\nI _am_ so tired and wearied out with the terrible sameness of the life\nwe lead. Though I have been here all my life, I seem to get less and\nless able to bear it. I am afraid I am very wicked, mother, but surely\nGod never intended us to live and die at Corindah?'\n\n'But you will be patient, darling?' said the mother tenderly, as with\nevery fond endearment she soothed the restless, unfamiliar spirit newly\narisen from the hitherto unruffled depths of the maiden's nature. 'You\nknow I had intended to take you to Sydney for the summer months, if this\nterrible season had not set in. But when----'\n\n'When the rain comes, when the grass grows--when the millennium of the\npastoral world arrives--we may hope to have a glimpse of Paradise, as\nrepresented by Sydney, the Botanical Gardens, and the Queen's-birthday\nball. That's what you were going to say, mother darling, wasn't it? Poor\nold mother! while you're fretting about those troublesome sheep, poor\nthings, that always seem to be wanting water, or grass, or rock-salt,\nwhich doesn't happen to be procurable--here's your ungrateful,\nrebellious child crying for the moon, to make matters worse. I'm ashamed\nof myself; I deserve to be whipped and sent to bed--not that I ever was,\nyou soft-hearted old mammy. Besides, isn't this delightful unknown\ncousin, Captain Devereux, coming some fine day? He's a whole chapter of\nromance in himself. I declare I had forgotten all about him.'\n\nThe foregoing conversation was held in the morning room of the very\ncomfortable cottage--or one might say _one_ of the cottages--which, with\na score of other buildings of various sorts and sizes, heights and\nbreadths, ages and orders of architecture, went to make up Corindah head\nstation. Perhaps the building referred to had the highest pretension to\nbe called 'the house'--inasmuch as it was larger, more ornate, and more\nclosely environed with flower-beds, shrubs, and trailing, many-coloured\nclimbers, all of which bore tokens of careful tendance--than any of the\nothers. As for the outward appearance of the edifice, it was composed of\nsolid sawn timber, disposed outwardly in the form of horizontal slabs,\nlined more carefully as to the inner side; the whole finished with gay,\nfresh wall-papers and appropriate mouldings. A broad, low verandah ran\naround the house. A wide hall, of which both back and front doors seemed\nto be permanently open, completely bisected the building. Wire stands,\nupon which stood delicate pot-plants of every shade of leaf and flower,\ngave a greenhouse air to this division. At a short distance, and\nsituated within the enclosed garden, was a smaller, older building of\nmuch the same form and proportion. This was known as 'the barrack,' and\nwas delivered over to Mr. Gateward and such bachelor guests as might\nfrom time to time visit the station. This arrangement, which often\nobtains in bush residences, is found to be highly convenient and\nsatisfactory. In the sitting-room smoking and desultory, even jovial\nconversation can be carried on, together with the moderate consumption\nof refreshments, around the fire, after the ladies of the household have\nretired, without disturbing any one. In summer the verandah, littered\nwith cane lounges and hammocks, can be similarly used. In the event of\nan early departure being necessary, the man-cook of the junior\nestablishment can be relied on to provide breakfast at any reasonable,\nor indeed unreasonable, hour.\n\nOn several accounts Corindah was looked upon as a representative\nstation, one of the show places of the district. It was a stage which\nwas seldom missed by any of the younger squatters who could find a\nconvenient excuse for calling there, upon the journey either to or from\nthe metropolis. It was a large, prosperous, naturally favoured tract of\ncountry, a considerable and increasingly valuable property. It was\nmanaged after a liberal, hospitable, and kindly fashion. Mrs. Devereux,\nthough most unobtrusive in all her ways, permitted it to be known that\nshe did not approve of her friends passing the door without calling; and\nthey were, certainly, treated so well that there was no great inducement\nto neglect that form of respect. There was yet another reason why few of\nthe travellers along the north-western road, friends, acquaintances, or\neven strangers, passed by the hospitable gate of Corindah. During these\neventful years Mary Augusta, generally spoken of as 'Pollie Devereux' by\nall who could claim anything bordering upon the necessary grade of\nintimacy, had grown to be the handsomest girl within a hundred miles of\nthe secluded spot in which she had been born and brought up.\n\nAnd she was certainly a maiden fair, of mien and face that would have\nentranced that sculptor of old whose half-divine impress upon the marble\nwill outlast how many a changing fashion, how many a fleeting age! Tall,\nlithe, and vigorous, yet completed as to hand and foot with an exquisite\ndelicacy that contrasted finely with the full moulding of her tapering\narms, her stately poise, her rounded form, blue-eyed, tawny-haired, with\nclassic features and a regal air, she looked like some virgin goddess of\nthe olden mythology, a wood-nymph strayed from Arcadian forests ere\nearlier faiths grew dim and ancient monarchs were discrowned.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nThe heiress of Corindah had been carefully educated in a manner\nbefitting her birth, as also the position she was likely to occupy in\nafter-life. Governesses had been secured for her of the highest\nqualifications, at the most liberal salaries. Her talents for music and\ndrawing had been highly cultivated. For the last three years of her\neducational term she had resided in Sydney with a relative, so that she\nmight have the benefit of masters and professors. She had profited\nlargely by instruction. She had read more widely and methodically than\nmost young women. Well grounded in French and Italian, she had a handy\nsmattering of German, such as would enable her, in days to come, either\nto perfect herself in the language by conversation or to dive more\ndeeply into the literature than in the carelessness of youth she thought\nnecessary.\n\nThese things being matters of general knowledge and common report in the\ndistrict, it was held as a proved fact by the wives and daughters of her\nneighbours that Pollie Devereux had got everything in the world that she\ncould possibly wish for. Agreed also that, if anything, she was a great\ndeal too well off, having been petted and indulged in every way since\nher babyhood. That she ought to be only too thankful for these rare\nadvantages, whereas at times she was discontented with her lot in life,\nand professed her desire for change--which was a clear indication that\nshe was spoiled by overindulgence, and did not know what was for her\nreal good. That her mother, poor Mrs. Devereux, ought to have been more\nstrict with her. These well-intentioned critics were not so far astray\non general principles. They, however, omitted consideration of one\nwell-established fact, that amid the hosts of ordinary human beings,\nevolved generation after generation from but slightly differing\nprogenitors, and amenable chiefly to similar social laws, strongly\nmarked varieties of the race have from time to time arisen. These\nphenomenal personages have differed from their compeers in a ratio of\ndivergence altogether incomprehensible to the ordinary intelligence.\n\nWhence originating, the fact remains that each generation of mankind is\nliable to be enriched or confounded by the apparition of individuals of\nabnormal force, beauty, or intellect. Neither does it seem possible for\nthe Attila or the Tamerlane, the Semiramis or the Cleopatra of the\nperiod to escape the destiny that accompanies the birthright, whether it\nbe empire or martyrdom, the sovereignty of hearts or the disposal of\nkingdoms. In spite of all apparent restraint of circumstance, the\nunchangeable type, dormant perhaps for centuries, reasserts its\nancestral attributes.\n\nSuch,\n\n              'Till the sun turns cold,\n              And the stars grow old,\n    And the leaves of the Judgment-book unfold,'\n\nwill be the course of Nature. The 'mute inglorious Milton' is the poet's\nfiction. He is not mute, but bursts into song, which, if a wild\nuntutored melody, has the richness of the warbling bird, the power of\nthe storm, the grandeur of heaven's own wind-harp. The 'Cromwell\nguiltless of his country's blood' remains not in the stern world of\nfacts the patient hind, the brow-beaten servitor. He leads armies and\nsways nations. To the soldier of fortune, who smiles only on the\nbattlefield, and comprehends intuitively the movements of battalions,\nbook-knowledge is superfluous and learning vain. He finds his\nopportunity, or makes it. And the world of his day knows him for its\nmaster.\n\nAnd the queen of society, what of her? Like the poet, _nascitur non\nfit_, she is born not manufactured. Doubtless, the jewel may be\nheightened by the setting, but the diamond glitters star-like in the\nrough. The red gold-fire burns in the darksome mine. Pollie Devereux,\nher admirers asserted, would have ruled her _monde_ had she been born a\nnursery-maid or an orange-girl. Her beauty, her grace, her courage, her\nnatural _savoir-faire_, would have carried her high up the giddy heights\nof social ladders in despite of all the drawbacks which ever delayed the\ntriumph of a heroine.\n\nStill, the while we are indulging in these flights of imagination, our\nbush-bred maiden is a calmly correct damsel, outwardly conventionally\narrayed, and but for a deep-seated vein of latent ambition and an\noccasional fire-flash of brilliant unlikeness, undistinguishable from\nthe _demoiselles bien-elevees_ of eighteen or twenty that are to work\nsuch weal or woe with unsuspicious mankind. In a general way this young\nwoman's unrest and disapproval of her environments merely took the form\nof a settled determination to explore the wondrous capitals, the\nbrilliant societies, the glory and splendour of the Old World--to roam\nthrough that fairy-land of which from her very childhood she had eagerly\nread the legends, dreamed the dreams, and learned the languages.\n'Eager-hearted as a boy,' all-womanly as she was in her chief\nattributes, she could not slake the thirst for change, travel, and\nadventure, even danger, with a draught less deep than actual experience.\nIf she had been her father's son instead of his daughter, the inborn\nfeeling could hardly have been stronger.\n\nWhen she thought of leaving her mother, in whom all the softer feelings\nof her heart found their natural home and refuge, she wept long and\noften. But still the passionate desire to be a part of all of which she\nhad read and dreamed, to see with her eyes, to hear with her ears, the\nsights and sounds of far lands, grew with her growth and strengthened\nwith her strength. As the months, the years rolled on, it acquired the\npower of fate, of a resistless destiny for good or evil; of a dread,\nunknown, controlling power, which beckoned her with a shadowy hand, and\nexercised a mysterious fascination.\n\nThat there are men so formed, so endowed with natures apart from the\ncommon herd of toilers and pleasure-seekers, no one doubts. It is\nequally true that there are women set apart by original birthright as\nclearly distinct from the tame tribes of conventional captives. But\nsociety, to strengthen its despotic rule, chooses to ignore the fact,\npreferring rather to coerce rebellion than to decorate distinction.\n\nThe eventful days leading slowly, but all too surely, towards the\ntragedy which is too apt to follow the idyllic course of our early\nyears, fleeted by; a too peaceful, undisturbed period had arrived.\nAnother morning broke clear and bright, as free from cloud or wind, mist\nor storm wrack, in that land of too changeless summer, as if winter had\nbeen banished to another hemisphere.\n\n'Oh dear!' exclaimed Pollie, as springing from her bed she ran lightly\nto the open window, and drawing up the green jalousies gazed wistfully\nat the red golden shield of the day-god slowly uprearing its wondrous\nsplendour above the pearl-hued sky-line, while far and near the great\nplain-ocean lay in dim repose, soundless, unmarked by motion or shadow.\n'Ah me, how tired I am of the sight of the sun! Will it never rain\nagain? How long are we to endure this endless calm? this bright, dismal,\ndestructive weather? I never realised how cruel the sun could be before.\nAs a child I was so fond of him, too, the king of light and warmth, of\njoy and gladness. But that is only in green-grass countries. Here he is\na pitiless tyrant. How I should delight in Europe to be sure, with\never-changing cloud and mist, even storm! I am aweary, aweary. I have\nhalf a mind to ride out and meet the coach at Pine Ridge--I feel too\nimpatient to sit in the house all day. What a time I have been standing\nhere talking or thinking all this nonsense! I wish I could help thinking\nsometimes, but I _can't_ if I try ever so hard. Mother says I ought to\nemploy myself more; so I do, till I feel half dead sometimes. Then I get\na lazy fit, and the thinking, and restlessness, and discontent come back\nas bad as ever. Heigho! I suppose I must go and dress now. There's no\nfear of catching cold at any rate. Now I wonder if Wanderer was brought\nin from Myall Creek?'\n\nActing upon this sensible resolution, and apparently much interested in\nthe momentous question of her favourite hackney having been driven in\nfrom a distant enclosure, failure of which would have doomed her to\ninaction, Pollie's light form might have been seen threading the garden\npaths; after which she even ventured as far as the great range of\nstabling near the corner of the other farm buildings. Here she\nencountered the overseer, Mr. Gateward, when, holding up the skirts of\nher dress so as to avoid contact with the somewhat miscellaneous dust\nwhich lay deeply over the enclosure, she thus addressed him--\n\n'Good-morning, Mr. Gateward! Do you think it will ever rain again? Never\nmind answering that question. Russell himself knows no more than we do,\nI believe. What I _really_ want to know is, did they bring Wanderer in\nfrom the Myall Creek? because I _must_ ride him to-day.'\n\n'Yes, Miss Pollie, the old horse came in. I told them not to leave him\nbehind on any account. There's no knowing what may happen in a dry year.\nVery well he looks too, considering. You'll find him in his box. We'll\nsoon have him fit enough. He's worth feeding if ever a horse was, though\nchaff's as dear as white sugar.'\n\n'I should think he was, the dear old fellow. I knew you'd look after\nhim, and I wasn't mistaken, was I? I can always depend on you.'\n\n'You'll never want a horse, or anything else you fancy, Miss Pollie,\nwhile I'm on Corindah,' said the veteran bushman, looking tenderly at\nthe girl. 'What a little thing you was, too, when I first know'd you;\nand what a grand girl you've grow'd into! I hope you'll be as happy as\nyou deserve. You've a many friends, but none of 'em all will do more for\nyou than poor old Joe Gateward, 'cept it might be Mr. Atherstone. That's\nwhat I'd like to see, miss----'\n\n'Never mind Mr. Atherstone; you're all so good to me,' said the girl,\nblushing, as she took the hard, brown hand in hers and pressed it warmly\nin her slender palm. 'I feel quite wicked whenever I feel discontented.\nI _ought_ to be the happiest girl in Australia. Perhaps I shall be when\nI'm older and wiser. And now I must run in. I want to put fresh flowers\non the breakfast-table; but I must first go and say good-morning to dear\nold Wanderer.'\n\nShe dashed off to the loose box, and opening the door, gazed with\nsparkling eyes at the good horse that stood there munching his morning\nmeal of chaff and maize with an appetite sharpened by weeks of\nabstinence from anything more appetising than extremely dry grass and\nattenuated salt-bush.\n\n'Oh, you darling old pet!' she cried, as she walked up to his shoulder,\npassing her taper fingers over his velvety face and smooth neck,\nsilken-skinned and delicate of touch even after the trials of so hard a\nseason. 'And your dear old legs look as clean as ever! Was it starved\nand ill-treated in that nasty bare paddock? Never mind, there's a load\nof corn come up. I know who'll have his share now, however the rest may\ncome off. Now go on with your breakfast, sir, for I must get mine, and\nwe'll have a lovely gallop after lunch.'\n\nThe grand old hackney, nearly thorough-bred, and showing high caste in\nevery point, looked at the speaker with his mild, intelligent eyes, and\nthen waving his head to and fro, as was his wont when at all excited,\nbetook himself once more to his corn.\n\nThe day wore on slowly, wearily, with a dragging, halting march, as it\nseemed to the impatient maiden. The sun rose high in the hard blue sky,\nand glared, as was his wont, upon the limitless pastures, dry and adust,\nthe pale-hued, melancholy copses, the fast-falling river, the forgotten\ncreeks. The birds were silent; even the flies held truce in the darkened\nrooms--there was a deathlike absence of sound or motion. Hot,\nbreezeless, unutterably lifeless, and for all less vigorous natures\nrelaxing and depressing, was the atmosphere. To this girl, however, had\ncome by inheritance, under the mysterious laws of heredity, a type of\nquenchless energy, a form combining the old Greek attributes of graceful\nstrength and divinely dowered intellect, impervious alike, as were her\nanti-types, to sun and shade, to fatigue or privation, to climatic\ninfluence or untoward circumstance.\n\n'Mother,' she said, after tossing about from sofa to chair, from carpet\nto footstool, the while the elder woman sat patiently sewing as if the\nfamily fortunes depended upon the due adjustment of\n\n    Seam and gusset and band,\n    Band and gusset and seam,\n\n'I must go and put on my riding-habit. I shall die here, I'm certain, if\nI stay indoors much longer. I feel apoplexy coming on, or heart disease,\nI'm sure. Besides, there is a breeze always outside, or we can make one,\nWanderer and I, on the plain.'\n\n'My darling, it's surely too hot to go out yet,' pleaded the mother.\n\n'It's twice as hot indoors,' retorted the wilful damsel, rising. 'I'll\nride as far as the Mogil Mogil clump; you can send little Tarpot after\nme as soon as he gets the cows in. But a gallop I must have.'\n\nThe sun was declining as the girl rode out of the paddock gates, but no\nhint of coolness had as yet betokened the coming eve. The homestead was\nstill and solitary of aspect, as a Mexican hacienda at the hour of the\nsiesta, but for a different reason. Hot and wearisome as had been the\nday, every man about the place had been hard at work in his own proper\ndepartment, and had been so occupied since sunrise.\n\nIn Australia, however scorching the day, how apparently endless and\ndesolating the summer, no man, being of British birth or extraction,\nthinks of intermitting his daily work from sunrise to nightfall, except\nduring the ordinary hours allotted to meals.\n\nSo the overseer was away on his never-ending round of inspection of\nstock--'out on the run,' as the phrase is--to return at, or perhaps long\nafter, nightfall. The boundary riders were each and all on their\ndifferent beats--some at the wells; others at the now treacherous and\ndaily more dangerous quagmires surrounding the watering-places, from\nwhich it was their duty to extricate the feeble sheep. No one was at\nhome but a small native boy named Tarpot, with whose assistance Pollie\nmanaged to saddle her loved steed. Leaving injunctions with him to\nfollow her as soon as he should have brought up the cows, she turned her\nhorse's head to the broad plain; and as he snuffed up the fresh dry air\nand bounded forward in a stretching gallop along the level sandy track,\nthe heart of the rider swelled within her, and she wished it was not\nunfeminine to shout aloud like the boy stock-riders who occasionally\nfavoured the musters of Corindah with their company.\n\nThe well-bred animal which she rode was fully inclined to sympathise\nwith his mistress's exhilaration. Tossing his head and opening his\nnostrils, Wanderer dashed forward along the far-stretching level road,\njust sufficiently yielding to be the most perfect track a free horse\ncould tread at speed, as if he were anxious to run a race with the\nfabled coursers of that sun now slowly trailing blood-red banners and\npurple raiment towards his western couch. Mile after mile was passed in\na species of ecstatic eagerness, which for steed and rider seemed to\nknow no abatement. The homestead faded far behind them, and still\nnothing met the view but the endless grey plain; the mirage-encircled\nlines of slender woodland opening out north and south, each the exact\ncounterpart of the other. An ever-widening, apparently illimitable\nwaste, a slowly retreating sun, a sky hopeless in unchanging, pitiless\nsplendour of hue, looking down upon a despairing world of dying\ncreatures.\n\n'The Mogil Mogil clump is a short ten miles,' she said, as she reined\nher impatient steed and compelled him to walk. 'I mustn't send along the\npoor old fellow so fast; he's not quite in form yet. I shall be there\nbefore the coach passes, and then have plenty of time to ride home in\nthe cool. What a blessed relief this is from that choking atmosphere\nindoors!'\n\nAnother half-hour and the clump is reached. Still no sign of the\nstage-coach visible, as it should be for a mile or two, even more on\nthat billiard table of a plain. The girl's impatient spirit chafed at\nthe unlooked for delay. As she gazed upon the red sun, the far-seen\ncrimson streamers, the endless, voiceless plain, the spirit of rebellion\nwas again roused within her. She sat upon her horse and looked\nwistfully, wearily over the arid drought-stricken levels. She marked the\nsand pillars, whirling and eddying in the distance. They seemed to her\nfanciful imagination the embodied spirits of the waste--the evil genii\nof the Eastern tale, which might at any time, unfolding, disclose an\nAfreet or a Ghoul. The thought of long years to be spent amid these vast\nsolitudes seemed to her hateful--doubly unendurable. Before her rose in\nimagination the dull familiar round of all too well known duties,\noccupations, tasks, and pleasures, or but feeble, pulseless alternations\nfrom the mill-horse track which people call duty.\n\n'Was I born only for such a fate?' she passionately exclaimed. 'Is it\npossible that the great Creator of all things, the Lord and Giver of\nLife, made this complex, eager nature of mine to wear itself out with\naimless automatic movements, or frantic struggles against the prison\nbars of fate? Oh! had my father not been cut off in his prime, in what a\ndifferent position we should have been! We could have afforded to travel\nin Europe, to revel in the glories of art, science, and literature, to\nlook upon the theatres of the great deeds of mankind--to _live_, in a\nword. We do not live in Corindah--we grow.'\n\nOvercome by the emotions which the enthusiasm of her nature had suffered\ntemporarily to overwhelm her ordinary intelligence, she had not noticed\nthat the stage-coach, bringing its bi-weekly freight of letters,\nnewspapers, and passengers, had approached the clump of wild orange\ntrees, on the edge of which she had reined her steed. The sensitive\nthorough-bred, more alive to transitory impressions than his mistress,\naroused by a sudden crack of the driver's whip, started, and as she drew\nthe curb-rein, reared.\n\n'What a naughty Wanderer!' she exclaimed, as, slackening her rein, she\nleaned a little forward, stroking her horse's glossy neck, and soothing\nhim with practised address. At the same moment the four-horse team swept\npast the spot, and revealed the unwonted apparition to the gaze of the\npassengers, male and female, who, from the fixed attention they appeared\nto bestow upon her, were much interested in the situation. Apparently\nthe young lady was not equally gratified, inasmuch as she turned her\nhorse's head towards the distant line of timber which marked the line of\nthe homestead, and swept across the plain like the daughter of a sheikh\nof the Nejd.\n\n'What a handsome girl!' said a passenger on the box-seat; 'deuced fine\nhorse too--good across country, I should say. Not a bushranger, I\nsuppose, driver? They don't get themselves up like that, eh?'\n\n'That's Miss Devereux of Corindah,' answered the driver, in a hushed,\nrespectful accent, as who should say to the irreverent querist in\nBritain, 'That's the squire's daughter.' 'She came up here to see if the\ncoach was coming; we're past our time, nearly half an hour. Got\nthinking, I suppose, and didn't know we was so close. I cracked my whip\njust to let her know like.'\n\n'But suppose her horse had thrown her,' asked the inquiring stranger,\n'what then?'\n\n'Beggin' your pardon, sir, there's mighty few horses that can do\nthat--not in these parts anyway. She can ride anything that you can lift\nher on; and she's as kind-hearted and well respected a young lady as\never touched bridle-rein.'\n\nNow ever since Corindah had been 'taken up' in the good old days when\noccupation with stock and the payment of L10 per annum as license fee\nwere the only obligatory conditions encumbering the sovereign right to\nuse, say, half a million acres of pastoral land, the adjoining 'run' of\nMaroobil and its proprietors had been associated in men's minds among\nthe floating population of the district.\n\nBoth had been 'taken up,' or legally occupied, the same year. The\nhomesteads were at no great distance from each other, so placed with the\nview to being mutually handy in case of a sudden call to arms when the\nblacks were 'bad.' More than once on either side the 'fiery cross' had\nbeen sent forth, when every available horse and man, gun and pistol, of\nthe summoned station had been furnished.\n\nOld Mr. Atherstone, a Border Englishman, had died soon after Brian\nDevereux, leaving his son Harold, then a grave boy of twelve,\nprecociously wise and practical as to the management of stock, and a\ngreat favourite with Pollie, then a tiny fairy of three years old, who\nused to throw up her hands and shout for joy when Harold's pony came\ngalloping up to the garden gate. He had watched the child grow into a\ntall slip of a girl, with masses of bright hair, never very neatly\nbraided. He had seen the unformed girl ripen into a beautiful maiden, an\nenchanting mixture to his eye of much of the old daring, wilful nature\nmingled with a sweet womanly consciousness inexpressibly attractive. He\ncould hardly recollect the time when he had not been in love with Pollie\nDevereux. And now, in these latter years, he told himself that there was\nbut one woman in the world for him--nor could it ever be otherwise.\n\nMen varied much in their dispositions. He knew that by observation and\nexperience. There was Bob Liverstone, whose heart (as he himself\nrepeatedly averred) was broken beyond recovery, his prospects of\nhappiness eternally ruined, his life blasted, because of the beautiful\nMiss Wharton, with her pale face, raven hair, and haunting eyes, who\nwouldn't have him. He broke his heart over again shamelessly within six\nmonths, after unsuccessful devotion to a blonde with eyes like blue\nchina; and finally married a lady who bore not the least resemblance in\nmind, body, or estate to either of her predecessors being plump, and\nmerely pretty, but exceptionally well dowered.\n\nThese and similar divagations of the ardent male adult Harold had\nseen--seen with alarm and surprise primarily, then with amused assent.\nFor himself he could as little conceive such oscillations in his own\ntastes and affections as he could fancy himself emulating the\nsomersaults of an acrobat or the witticisms of a clown. No! thrice no!\nFor a man of his deep, dreamy, passionate, perhaps originally\nmelancholy, nature there was but one sequel possible after the\ndeliberate choice of youth had been ratified by the calm reason of\nmanhood. If fate denied him this happiness, all too perfect for this\nworld--the unearthly, unutterable bliss which her love would\nconfer--there should be no counterfeit presentment, no mocking travesty\nof the heart's lost illusions. He had rightly judged that as yet the\ngirl's feeling for him was that of a pure and deep friendship, but of\nfriendship only. The love of a sister, unselfish, sinless, seraphic, not\nthe fiercer passion akin to hate, despair, revenge in its inverted\nforces, bearing along with it the choicest fruits that mortal hands can\ncull, yet joined in unholy joy, in perverted triumph to the groans of\nthe eternally lost, to the endless torment, the dread despair of the\nprison vaults beneath.\n\nThus Harold Atherstone watched and waited--awaited the perhaps fortunate\nturn of events, the effect of the moral suasion which he knew Mrs.\nDevereux gently exercised. And she had told him that he was the one man\nto whom in fullest trust and confidence she could bequeath her darling,\nwere she compelled to leave her.\n\n'But you must wait, Harold,' she said. 'My child's nature is one neither\nto be controlled nor easily satisfied. I can trace her father's tameless\nsoul in her. Poor Pollie! it's a thousand pities that she was not born a\nboy, as she says herself. How much easier life would have been for\nher--and for me!' Here Mrs. Devereux sighed.\n\n'All very well, my dear Mrs. Devereux, but in the meantime nature chose\nto mould her in the form of a beautiful woman, so sweet and lovely in my\neyes that I have never seen her equal, and indeed hardly imagined such a\ncreation. She will pass through the unsettled time of girlhood in\nanother year or two, and after that take pity upon her faithful slave\nand worshipper, who has adored her all his life and who will die in the\nsame faith.'\n\n'That is the worst feature in your case, my poor Harold,' said Mrs.\nDevereux; 'I am as fond of you as if you were my own son, and she loves\nyou like a brother. You have seen too much of each other. Women's\nfancies are caught by the unknown, the unfamiliar: we are all alike. I\nwish I could help you, or bend her to my wish like another girl, for I\n_know_ how happy she would be. But she cannot be guided in the\ndisposition of her affections.'\n\n'And I should not wish it,' said the young man, as his face grew hard.\n'No, though I should die of the loss of her.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe contract time of the Wannonbah mail was indulgent. The driver had no\nparticular reason to reach that somewhat prosaic and monotoned village\nbefore the stated hour. When Wanderer slackened speed a mile on the\nhither side of the Corindah gate, it was with some surprise that Pollie\ndescried a strange four-in-hand converging from another point. Wanderer\npricked up his ears, while his rider looked eagerly across the plain\nwith the intense, far-searching gaze of a dweller in the desert, as if\nshe had power to read, even at that distance, each sign and symbol of\nthe equipage.\n\n'Can't be a coach, surely,' she soliloquised. 'One mail is more than\nenough for all our wants in the letter and passenger way. Cobb and Co.\ngrumble at feeding their teams now, poor things! Who in the world is\nlikely to drive four horses in a season like this? No one but a lunatic,\nI should think. Such well-bred ones too! I can see the leaders tossing\ntheir heads--a grey and a bay. I can't make out the wheelers for the\ndust. No! Yes! Now I know who it is. Oh, what fun! I beg his pardon. Of\ncourse it's Jack Charteris. He said he was going to town. Poor Jack! I\nwish I was going with him. But that _won't_ do. I should like to go and\nmeet him, only then he would make sure I was interested in him. What a\nmisfortune it is to be a girl! Now I must go in and dress for the\nevening, and receive him properly, which means unnaturally and\nartificially. Come along, Wanderer!'\n\nWhen Mr. Jack Charteris swept artistically and accurately through the\nentrance gate and drew up before the stable range with a fixed\nexpectation that some one might see and admire him, he was disappointed\nto observe no one but Mr. Gateward and a black boy. To them it was left\nto perform the _role_ of spectators, audience, and sympathisers\ngenerally.\n\n'Why, Gateward, old man, what's the meaning of this?' said the\ncharioteer, signing to his own black urchin to jump down. 'Are you and\nTarpot all the men left alive on Corindah? Sad effects of a dry season\nand overstocking, eh? No rouse-abouts, no boundary riders, no new chums,\nno nobody? Family gone away too? I'm not going to ruin you in the forage\nline either. Brought my own feed--plenty of corn and chaff inside the\ndrag. Don't intend to eat my friends out of house and home this beastly\nseason.'\n\nBy this time Mr. Gateward and the black boys had applied themselves with\na will to the unharnessing of the team, so that the new-comer, who had\nuttered the preceding remarks, exclamations, and inquiries in a loud,\ncheerful, confident manner, threw down his reins and descended from his\nseat without more ado.\n\nHere he stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the taking out of\nhis horses, a well-bred, well-matched, and well-conditioned team, never\nintermitting a flow of badinage and small-talk which seemed to proceed\nfrom him without effort and forethought.\n\n'Now then, Jerry, you put 'em that one harness along a peg, two feller\nleader close up, then two feller poler. Tie 'em up long a post, that one\nyarraman, bimeby get 'um cool, baal gibit water, else that one die. You\nput 'em feed along a manger all ready. Mine come out bimeby.'\n\n'I'll see after 'em, Mr. Charteris, don't you bother yourself,' said the\noverseer good-naturedly. 'Tarpot, you take 'em saddle-box belong a\nmahmee inside barracks. He'll show you, sir,--you know where the\nbathroom is. There's water there, though we are pretty short.'\n\n'Deuced glad to hear it. The dust's inside my skin like the wool bales\nlast summer. Must be half an inch of it somewhere. I've been living in\nit all day. Frightful season! I'm just going down to file my\nschedule--fact--unless my banker takes a good-natured fit. Can't stand\nit much longer. Ladies well? Mrs. Devereux and Miss Pollie? Not got\nfever, or cholera, or consumption this God-forsaken summer?'\n\nThe grave bushman smiled. 'I doubt we shall all have to go up King\nStreet when _you_ give in, Mr. Charteris! You can work it somehow or\nother, whoever goes under. Besides, rain ain't far off; can't be now.\nThe ladies are all right, and a little cheering up won't hurt 'em. Miss\nPollie was out for a gallop just before you came up.'\n\n'Then it was her I saw,' said the young man petulantly. 'Knocked smoke\nout of the team to catch her up, and missed her after all.'\n\nMr. Jack Charteris, of Monda, was a young squatter who lived about a\nhundred miles to the west of Corindah, where he had a large and valuable\nstation, a good deal diminished as to profits by the present untoward\nseason. He was of a sanguine, intrepid, rather speculative disposition,\nhaving investments in new country as well. People said he had too many\nirons in the fire, and would probably be ruined unless times changed.\nBut more observant critics asserted that under careless speech and\nmanner Jack Charteris masked a cool head and calculating brain; that he\nwas not more likely to go wrong than his neighbours--in fact, less so,\nbeing of uncommon energy and quite inexhaustible resource. With any\ndecent odds he was a safe horse to back to land a big stake.\n\nFor the rest he was a good-looking, athletic, cheery young fellow, in\ngeneral favour and acceptation with ladies, having a great fund of good\nspirits and an unfailing supply of conversation, that most of his\nfeminine acquaintances found agreeable. He was not easily daunted, and\nadded the qualities of perseverance and a fixed belief in his persuasive\npowers to the list of his good qualities.\n\nThe past masters in the science of conquest aver that the chief secret\nof fascination lies in the power to amuse the too often vacant and\n_distraite_ feminine mind. Women suffer, it is asserted, more from\ndulness and ennui than from all other sources, injuries and disabilities\nput together. Consider, then, at what an enormous advantage he commences\nthe siege who is able to surprise, to interest, to entertain the\nemotional, laughter-loving garrison, so often in the doldrums, so\nindifferently able to fill up the lingering hours. It is not the 'rare\nsmile' which lights up the features of the dark and melancholy hero of\nthe Byronic novelists which is so irresistible. Much more dangerous is\nthe jolly, nonsensical, low-comedy person, in whose jokes the superior,\nthe gifted rival can see no wit, indeed but little fun. Thackeray is\ntrue to life when he makes Miss Fotheringay unbend to Foker's harmless\nmirth, rewarding him with a make-believe box on the ear, while Pen, the\nsombre and dramatic, stands sulkily aloof.\n\nThis being an axiomatic truth, Mr. Charteris should have had, to use his\nown idiom, a considerable 'pull' in commending himself to the good\ngraces of Miss Devereux, being one of those people to whom women always\nlistened, and never without being more or less amused. But though he\nwould hardly have sighed in vain at the feet of any of the _demoiselles_\nof the day, rural or metropolitan, he found this particular princess\nupon whom he had perversely set his heart, unapproachable within a\ncertain clearly defined limit.\n\nNot that she did not like him, respect, admire, even in certain ways to\nthe extent of fighting his battles when absent, praising up his good\nqualities, delicately advising him for his good, laughing heartily at\nhis good stories and running fire of jests and audacious compliments.\nThat made it so hard to bear. The very fearlessness and perfect candour\nof her nature forbade him to hope that any softer feeling lay underneath\nthe frankly expressed liking, and a natural dignity which never quitted\nher restrained him from urging his suit more decisively.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nWhen Mr. Charteris had concluded his ablutions, and sauntered into the\nverandah after a careful toilette, he there encountered Miss Devereux,\nwho, having arrayed herself in a light Indian muslin dress, gracefully\nreclined upon one of the Cingalese couches. His lonely life of late may\nhave had something to do with it, but his ordinary well-maintained\nequilibrium nearly failed him before the resistless force of her charms.\n\nHer eyes involuntarily brightened as she partly raised herself from the\ncouch and held out her hand with unaffected welcome. He took in at one\nrapturous glance her slender yet wondrously moulded form, her delicate\nhand, her rounded arm seen through the diaphanous fabric, her massed and\nshining hair, her eloquent face.\n\n'Oh, Lord!' he inwardly ejaculated, as he afterwards confessed. 'I used\nto wonder at fellows shooting themselves about a girl, and all that, and\nlaugh at the idea. But I don't now. When I saw Pollie Devereux that\nevening I could have done the maddest thing in the world for the ghost\nof a chance of winning her. And to win, and wear, and lose her again, as\nhappens to a man here and there. Good heavens' why, it would make a\nfellow--make--me--run amuck like a Malay, and kill a town full of people\nbefore I was half satisfied.'\n\nBut Mr. Charteris controlled those too impetuous feelings, and forced\nhimself to remark, as he clasped her cool, soft hand despairingly while\nshe expressed her frank pleasure at seeing him, 'Always delighted to\ncome to Corindah, Miss Devereux, you know that. Didn't I see you near\nthe gate as I drove up? Thought you might have come to meet me.'\n\n'Well, so I would,' the young lady answered, with an air of provoking\ncandour, 'only I had been out to see the coach and find out if they'd\nbrought our package from England--presents that came by last mail,--I\nwas so hot and dusty, and thought it was time to go and dress.'\n\n'And I wanted to see how Wanderer looked, too,' quoth he reproachfully;\n'you know I always think he could win the steeplechase at Bourke if\nyou'd let me ride him and wear your colours.'\n\n'I couldn't think of that for two reasons,' replied the girl with\ndecision. 'First of all Wanderer might get hurt. Didn't you see that\npoor Welcome, at Wannonbah races, broke his leg and had to be shot? I\nshould die, or go into a decline, if anything happened to Wanderer. And\nthen there's another reason.'\n\n'What's that?' inquired Mr. Charteris, with less than his usual\nintrepidity.\n\n'Why--a--_you_ might get hurt, Mr. Charteris, you see, and I can't\nafford to lose an old friend that way.'\n\n'Oh, is that all?' retorted Master Jack, recovering his audacity; 'well,\nyou could have me shot like Wanderer if I broke my back or anything.\n'Pon my soul! it would come to just the same thing if you ordered me out\nto execution before the race.'\n\n'Now, Mr. Charteris!' said Pollie, in a steady, warning voice, 'you are\ndisobeying orders, you know. I shall hand you over to mother, who has\njust come to say tea is ready. Mother, he is talking most childish\nnonsense about shooting himself.'\n\n'But I never talk anything else, do I Mrs. Devereux?' said the young\ngentleman, running up to the kindly matron with a look of sincere\naffection. 'Your mother's known me all my life, Miss Devereux, and she\nwon't believe any harm of me. Will you, my dear madam?'\n\n'I never hear of you _doing_ any foolish thing, my dear Jack,' said Mrs.\nDevereux maternally; 'and as long as that is the case I shall not be\nvery angry at anything you can say. We all know you mean no harm. Don't\nwe, Pollie? And now take me into tea, and you may amuse us as much as\never you like. I'm rather low myself on account of the season.'\n\n'No use thinking about it,' quoth Charteris, dashing gallantly into the\nposition assigned to him. 'That's why I'm going to Sydney to have a\nregular carnival, also to be in time to get the wires to work directly\nthe drought breaks up. I can't make it rain, now can I? And I've a\nregular tough, steady overseer, a sort of first cousin to your Joe\nGateward, with twice as much sense and work in him as I have. I mean to\ntake it easy at the Club till he wires me: \"Drought over. Six inches\nrain.\" Left the telegram all ready written and pinned up over his desk.\nHe's nothing to do but fill in the number of inches and sign it, and I\nshall know what to do. That shows faith, doesn't it?'\n\n'But isn't it rather mad to go to Sydney with a four-in-hand and spend\nmoney, when you might be ruined, and all of us?' said Pollie.\n\n'You are too prudent but don't look ahead--like most women, my dear\nyoung lady,' replied Jack, in the tone of experienced wisdom. 'Nothing\nlike having a logical mind, which, I flatter myself, I possess. I always\nthink the situation out, as thus:--If we are all going to be ruined--the\nodds are against it, but still it's on the cards--why not have a real\nfirst-class time of enjoyment before the grand smash? The trifling\nexpenditure of a good spree won't make any appreciable difference in the\nuniversal bankruptcy. You grant me that, don't you?--Yes, thanks, I will\ntake some more wild turkey. Strange that one should have any appetite\nthis weather, isn't it?'\n\n'Not if one rides or drives all day and half the night, as you do, Mr.\nCharteris,' said Pollie. 'Even talking makes you thirsty, doesn't it?\nBut go on with the logic.'\n\n'Did you ever see me scowl, Miss Pollie? Beware of my ferocious mood.\nNow we're agreed about this, that five hundred pounds, more or less,\nmakes no difference if you're going to be ruined and lose fifty\nthousand.'\n\n'I suppose not,' reluctantly assented Mrs. Devereux. 'Still it's money\nwasted.'\n\n'Money wasted!' exclaimed Mr. Charteris. 'I'm surprised at you, Mrs.\nDevereux. Think of the delights of yachting in the harbour, of the ocean\nbreeze after this vapour from the pit of--of--Avernus. Knew I should\nfind it in time. Then the evening parties, the dinners at the Club, the\nraces, the lawn-tennis, the cricket matches! The English eleven are to\nbe there. Why, I haven't been down for six whole months. Don't you think\nrational amusement worth all the money you can pay for it? Would you\nthink a couple of years' ramble on the Continent too dearly bought if we\nwere all able to afford to go together?'\n\nThe girl's eyes began to glow at this. 'Oh mother!' she said, 'surely we\nshall be able to go some day. Do you think this horrid drought will stop\nthe possibility of it altogether? If I was sure of that I believe I\nshould drown myself--no, I couldn't do that; but I would burn myself in\na bush fire. That's a proper Australian notion of suicide. Water's too\nscarce and expensive. Think of the consequences if I spoiled a tank. I\nshould like to see Mr. Gateward's face.'\n\nAnd here the wilful damsel, having at first smiled at the alarmed\nexpression of her mother's countenance, abandoned herself to childish\nmerriment at the ludicrous idea of a drowned maiden in a bad season\nintensifying the bitterness in the minds of economical pastoralists with\nthe reflection that a flock of sheep would probably be deprived thereby\nof that high-priced luxury in a dry country--a sufficiency of water.\n\nMr. Charteris laughed heartily for a few minutes, and then, with sudden\nsolemnity, turned upon the young lady. 'You never will be serious, you\nknow. Why can't you take pattern by me? Let us pursue our argument.\nPleasure being worth its price, let us pay it cheerfully. I was reading\nabout the Three Hundred, those Greek fellows you know, dressing their\nhair before Thermopylae; it gave me the idea, I think. Mine's too\nshort'--here he rubbed his glossy brown pate, canonically cropped. 'But\nthe principle's the same, Miss Pollie, eh?'\n\n'What principle?' echoed Pollie, 'or want of it, do you mean?'\n\n'The principle of dying game, Miss Devereux,' returned Charteris, with a\nsteady eye and heroic pose. 'Surely you can respect that? It all\nresolves itself into this. I'm going to put down my ace. If the cards go\nwrong I have played a dashing game. If the season turns up trumps I'll\nmake the odd trick. You'll see who has the cream of the store\nsheep-market when the drought breaks!'\n\n'I admire bold play, and you have my best wishes, Mr. Charteris. You've\nexplained everything so clearly. Don't you think if you read history a\nlittle more it might lead you to still more brilliant combinations?'\n\n'If you'd only encourage me a little,' answered the young man, with a\ntouch of unusual humility.\n\n'Isn't that Jack Charteris?' said a man's voice in the passage. 'I'll\nswear I heard him talking about his ace. May I come in, or is there a\nfamily council or anything?'\n\n'Come in, Harold, and don't be a goose,' said Mrs. Devereux; 'you are\nnot going to stand on ceremony here at this or any other time.'\n\n'I've had a longish ride,' said the voice, 'nothing to eat, half a\nsunstroke, I believe, and my journey for my pains. I'm late for tea\nbesides, though I rode hard--takes one so long to dress. If I was any\none else I believe I should be cross. I think you'd better all leave me,\nand I'll join you in the verandah when I've fed and found my temper.'\n\n'Nothing of the sort, mother; you take out Mr. Charteris and give him\ngood advice, while I see after Mr. Atherstone, and recommend him to\nbegin with the wild turkey while I get him some Bukkulla. What's the\nreason you've not been near us lately, sir?'\n\nThe new-comer was a very tall man, though he did not at first sight give\nyou the idea of being much above the middle size, but Mr. Charteris, who\nwas by no means short, looked so when they stood together. Then you saw\nthat he was much above the ordinary stature of mankind. His frame was\nbroad and muscular, and there was an air of latent power about his\nbearing such as gave the impression of perfect confidence, of physical\nor mental equality to whatever emergency might befall.\n\nMr. Charteris lingered, and seemed to question the soundness of the\narrangement which divided him from the enchantress and reduced him to\nthe placid enjoyment of Mrs. Devereux's always sensible but not exciting\nconversation.\n\n'Look here, Jack, I can't have you here while I'm dining, you know,'\npersisted Mr. Atherstone, with a calm decision. 'You've such an\nenergetic, highly organised nature, you know, that calm people like me\ncan't sustain your electric currents. I perceive by the appearance of\nthat turkey that I'm about to dine in comfort. Pollie has gone to bring\nin a bottle of Bukkulla. \"Put it to yourself carefully,\" as Mr. Jaggers\nsays, that I have had no lunch. She will be quite as much as I can bear\nduring such a delicate period. So out you go. Order him off, Mrs.\nDevereux, if you've any pity for me.'\n\n'Well, you are the coolest ruffian, I must say,' quoth Mr. Charteris, as\nPollie reappeared bearing a dusty bottle of the cool and fragrant\nBukkulla. 'Mrs. Devereux, you spoil him. It's very weak of you. You'll\nhave people talking.'\n\n'We don't mind what people say, do we, Harold?' said the widow, as she\nwatched him carefully draw the cork of the bottle, while Pollie sat near\nand placed a large hock glass before him. 'Leave them alone for half an\nhour. I'm sure, poor fellow, he's awfully tired and hungry. I know where\nhe's been; it was on an errand of mine; Mr. Gateward couldn't go. Surely\nyou can put up with my company for a little while.'\n\n'Poor Harold!' grumbled Jack, 'he is to be pitied indeed! Mrs. Devereux,\nyou know I always say there's no one talks so charmingly as you do, and\nI always say what I mean. Now isn't there something I can do for you in\nSydney?'\n\nThe symposium thus ostentatiously heralded did not take quite so long as\nmight have been expected, and Pollie, making her appearance in the\ndrawing-room apparently before its termination, went to the piano at Mr.\nCharteris's instigation, and sang two or three of his favourite songs in\na fashion which brought any lingering remnants of his passion once more\nto the surface. Mr. Atherstone was also good enough to express his\napproval from the dining-room, the door of which was open, and to\nrequest that she would reserve her importation from the metropolis until\nhe came in. This exhortation was followed by his personal apparition,\nwhen the latest composition of Stephen Adams was selected by him and\nduly executed.\n\nAmong the natural endowments lavished upon this young creature was such\na voice as few women possess, few others adequately develop or worthily\nemploy. Rich, flexible, with unusual compass, depth, and power, it\ncombined strangely mingled tones, which carried with them smiles or\ntears, hate, defiance, love and despair, the child's glee, the woman's\npassion; all were enwrapped in this wondrous organ, prompt to appear\nwhen the magician touched her spirit with his wand. Harold once said\nthat in her ordinary mood all the glories of vocal power seemed\nimprisoned in her soul, like the tunes that were frozen in the magic\nhorn.\n\nMen were used to sit with heads bent low, lest the faintest note might\nescape their highly wrought senses. Grizzled war-worn veterans had wept\nunrestrainedly as she sang the simple ballads that recalled their youth.\nWomen even were deeply affected, and could not find one word of\ndelicatest depreciation that would sound otherwise than sacrilegious.\nThis was one of her good nights, her amiable, well-behaved nights,\nHarold said. So the men sat and smoked in the verandah, with Mrs.\nDevereux near them; all in silence or low, murmuring converse, while the\nstars burnt brightly in the blue eternity of the summer night--the\nseason itself in its unchanging brightness an emblem of the endless\nprocession of creation--while the girl's melodious voice, now low and\nsoft, now wildly appealing, tender or strong, rose and fell, or swelled\nand died away--'like an angel's harp,' said Harold to her mother, as she\narose and came towards them; 'and it is specially fortunate for us\nhere,' he continued, 'as the season is turning us all into something\nlike the other thing.'\n\n'Hush, Harold, my boy; have faith in God's providence!' replied Mrs.\nDevereux, placing her hand on his. 'We have been sorely tried at times,\nbut that hope and faith have never failed me.'\n\n'What a lovely, glorious, heavenly night!' said the girl, stepping out\non the broad walk which wound amid the odorous orange-trees, still kept\nin leaf and flower by profuse watering. 'What a shame that one should\nhave to go to bed! I feel too excited to sleep. That is why you\nfortunate men smoke, I suppose? It calms the excitable nervous system,\nif you ever suffer in that way.'\n\n'Ask Jack,' said Mr. Atherstone; 'he is more delicately organised. I\nsuppose I like smoking, because I do it a good deal. It is a\ncontemplative, reflective practice, possessing at the same time a\nsedative effect. It prevents intemperate cerebration. It arrests the\nwheels of thought, which are otherwise apt to go round and round when\nthere's nothing for them to do--mills with no corn to grind.'\n\n'I never heard so many good reasons before for what many people call a\nbad habit,' said Pollie. 'However, I must say, considering the hard work\nyou poor fellows have to do at times, I think a man enjoying his pipe\nafter his day's work a dignified and ennobling spectacle.'\n\n'Quite my idea, Miss Pollie,' said Jack. 'I really thought my brain was\ngiving way once in a dry season. If I hadn't smoked, should have had to\nfall back upon drinking. Dreadful to think of, isn't it? A mixture of\nLatakia and Virginia I got from a fellow down from India on leave saved\nmy life.'\n\n'I think we are all sufficiently soothed and edified now to go to bed,'\nsaid Mrs. Devereux, with mild, suggestive authority. 'Dear me! nearly\ntwelve o'clock too. The days are so long now that it is ever so late\nbefore dinner is finished and the evening fairly begun.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe parcel from England to which reference had been made on the occasion\nof Pollie's excursion to Mogil Mogil clump had arrived safely, and its\ncontents been duly admired, when a letter received by the next\nmail-steamer contained such exceptional tidings that all other incidents\nbecame tame and uninteresting.\n\nThis English letter proved to be from Captain Devereux's elder brother,\nwith whom, since the former's death, Mrs. Devereux had kept up a formal\nbut regular correspondence. The members of her husband's family had\nproved sympathetic in her hour of sorrow. They had possibly been touched\nby the passionate grief of a relative whose letters after a while\ncommenced to exhibit so much sound sense and proper feeling. From that\ntime the elders of the house of Devereux never omitted befitting\nattention and friendly recognition of the far-off, unknown kinswoman.\n\nAnd now, it seems, they had despatched Mr. Bertram Devereux, late\nlieutenant in Her Majesty's 6th Dragoon Guards, who, from force of\ncircumstances, reckless extravagance and imprudence no doubt, but from\nno improper conduct, had been compelled to quit that crack corps and the\nbrilliant society he adorned. He had a small capital, however, several\nthousand pounds fortunately, the bequest of an aunt. Having decided upon\na colonial career, he was anxious to gain the requisite experience on\nthe estate of his cousin, Mrs. Brian Devereux. If she had no objection,\nwould she lay them all under a deep obligation by receiving the young\nman into her family, and by acting a mother's part to one who was forced\nto quit home and native land, perhaps for ever?'\n\nThis last enclosure was from Lady Anne Devereux, a lady in her own\nright, who, much to the distaste of her friends and family, had been\nfascinated by the handsome Colonel Dominick Daly Devereux, one of the\nmilitary celebrities of the day. In the main the tone of the letter was\nproud and cold; but there were a few expressions which so plainly showed\nthe mother's bruised heart, that Mrs. Devereux could not resist the\nappeal.\n\n'I fear he will be a troublesome inmate in one sense or another,' she\nreflected. 'He is hardly young enough to take kindly to station life.\nThen again, how will my darling girl be affected by his companionship?\nBut I can enter into a mother's feelings. I cannot refuse hospitality to\nmy dear husband's nephew. We must make the best of it. He will not be\nworse, I suppose, than other newly arrived young men. They are an awful\nbother during the first year. After that they become like other people.\nI hope Mr. Gateward will take to him.'\n\nAnd now the stated time had been over-passed. The _Indus_ (P. and O.\nService) had arrived; a telegram had been received; and Mr. Bertram\nDevereux was hourly expected by the mail-coach. This fateful vehicle did\nactually arrive rather late on the evening specified, it is true, but\nwithout having, according to Pollie's prophecies and reiterated\nassertions, either broken down, upset, or lost its way owing to the new\ndriver taking a back track which led into the wilderness and ended at a\nlately finished tank, far from the habitations of civilised man.\n\nAs the coach swung round the corner of the stock-yard and drew up\nunderneath a wide-branched white acacia which shaded a large proportion\nof an inner enclosure, the driver received a _douceur_ which confirmed\nhim in the opinion which he had previously entertained of his passenger\nbeing 'a perfect gentleman.' He therefore busied himself actively in\nunloading his portmanteau and other effects, deposited the station\nmail-bag, and without further loss of time took the well-trodden road to\nthe township. As the eyes of his late fare rested mechanically upon the\nfast-departing coach, he saw little but a cloud of dust outlining every\nturn of the road, amid which gleamed the five great lamps, which finally\ndiminished apparently into star-fragments, as they traversed the\nunending plain which stretched northward and northward ever.\n\nA young man, whose Crimean shirt and absence of necktie denoted to the\ntraveller the presumed abandon of bush life, advanced from the door of a\nspecies of shop for general merchandise, as it seemed to the stranger,\nand dragging in the mail-bag, saluted him courteously. 'Mr. Devereux, I\nthink? Please to come in.'\n\nMeekly following his interlocutor through the 'shop,' as he termed it,\nhe found himself in a smaller and more comfortable room. Looking around\nat the somewhat 'cabin'd, cribb'd, and confin'd' section, he answered,\n'My name is Devereux. I have come to remain. May I ask which of these\nrooms is to be allotted to me?'\n\nThe storekeeper smiled. 'You didn't think this was the house, sir? This\nis the overseer's place, the barracks, as we call it in the bush. If you\ncome after me I'll show you the way. Your luggage will be brought to you\nif you will leave it here.'\n\nThe new-comer had not, in truth, troubled himself to consider what\nAustralian dwellings might resemble. He expected nothing. He had made up\nhis mind to the worst. Therefore he would not have been in the least\nsurprised if his aunt or cousin had issued from one of the small\napartments which opened out from the larger room; had directed him to\noccupy another; had then and there placed a kettle on the smouldering\nwood fire for the purpose of providing him with refreshment after his\njourney.\n\nHe therefore mechanically followed his guide through a passage and along\na verandah until they reached a white gate in a garden paling, when the\nyoung man in the light raiment quitted him with this farewell precept--\n\n'The front entrance is between those two large rose-bushes, and the\nfirst room to the right of the hall. Mrs. Devereux or Miss Pollie sure\nto be there.'\n\nProceeding along the path as he had been directed, Bertram Devereux\ncommenced to experience a slight degree of surprise, even curiosity. He\nwas evidently in an aesthetic region, short as had been the distance from\nthe sternest commonplace. The borders had been carefully kept. Flowers\nwere blooming profusely. Oranges and limes shed a subtle and powerful\nodour around. The stars gleamed on a sheet of water which had evidently\nhelped to create this oasis in the desert. The whispering leaves of the\nbanana brought back memories of tropic glories of foliage. Turning\nbetween two vast cloth-of-gold standards, the blooms of which met and\nclustered about his head, he ascended a flight of steps and found\nhimself in a broad verandah furnished with cane lounges and hammocks.\n\nThe hanging lamp, which illumined a wide and lofty hall, showed ferns of\nvarious size and foliage, the delicate colouring of which struck\ngratefully upon his aching and dust-enfeebled eyes. A book, a few\ngathered flowers, lay upon a small table with some half-executed\nornamental needlework. All told of recent feminine presence and\noccupation.\n\nAs he lingered in observation of these novelties, a lady passed into the\nhall from a side-door and advanced with a look of kindly welcome.\n\n'You are Bertram Devereux, I know, and oh! though your hair and eyes are\ndark'--here she looked wistfully in his face--'I can see the family\nlikeness to my darling husband. You are the only one of his relations I\nhave seen. You may think how welcome you are at Corindah. But it is a\nlonely life. I am afraid you will miss the society you have been\naccustomed to. My husband could never have endured it but that he hoped\nto make a fortune.'\n\n'And so do I, Aunt Mary,' said the young man, with a quiet smile. 'Had I\nnot expected great things I should never have come so far from\ncivilisation. But I should not talk so,' he added, looking round. 'You\nseem to have everything one has been used to, conservatories and all.'\n\n'We have always tried to live in reasonable comfort,' replied Mrs.\nDevereux. 'As to the fortune, it is sometimes a long time in coming. And\na dry year like this delays it still more. Now, having told you how glad\nwe are to see you, you will be anxious to be shown your bedroom. In half\nan hour the bell will ring for tea. We do not dine late, but I can\npromise you something substantial after your journey.'\n\nAfter a bath and a leisurely change of toilette in the very well\nappointed bedroom where he was installed--the flowers upon the dressing\nand writing tables betokening the expected guest--the pilgrim commenced\nto take a more tolerant view of Australian prospects than up to this\nperiod he had deemed possible.\n\n'Quiet, yet dignified and refined woman, my new aunt,' he soliloquised.\n'Very far from the bustling farmer's wife I had expected. Handsome in\nher youth--very--must have been. My erratic cousin was by no means such\na fool as we all thought him. And her fair daughter, too--how about her?\nA beauty and an heiress, they all say. I never bargained for that. Seems\nas if there were women wherever one goes--wherever I go, at least. Just\nmy luck.'\n\nMr. Devereux had scarcely enunciated this disheartening truism, with a\nmildly resigned, not to say desponding expression of countenance, when\nthe bell of which he had been warned rang out a peal. Placing a rosebud\nof Gloire de Dijon in his button-hole, he sought the drawing-room, of\nwhich he found himself the sole occupant.\n\nHe had observed that it was handsomely furnished, in a style not\nnoticeably different from the fashion of the day, being not wholly\ndevoid of china, having a few rare plaques and Moorish brass-ware--there\nwas even a dado, also a magnificent grand piano by Erard--when two young\npeople came through one of the French windows which 'gave' into the\nverandah.\n\n'I shall never agree with you, Harold,' the girl was saying to her\ncompanion; 'not even if we lived here for the next twenty years--and I\nshall drown or otherwise make away with myself in that case.'\n\n'There are worse places than Corindah,' replied a young man who followed\nher in. 'You may live to be convinced of the fact.'\n\n'I should hate any place,' retorted the girl, in playful defiance, 'if I\nhad to live there all my life. I quite envy my cousin Mr. Devereux, who\nhas only just come. Everything will be so nice and new to him. Cousin\nBertram,' she said, advancing and holding out her hand, 'I am charmed to\nwelcome you. Mother and I have been talking of no one else for the last\nweek. Let me introduce Mr. Harold Atherstone, a near neighbour and a\ngreat friend of ours. He will be able to give you advice and information\nbeyond all price.'\n\nThe two men bowed gravely, as is the manner of freshly acquainted\nBritons, and looked steadily, if not searchingly, into each other's\neyes. The new-comer spoke first.\n\n'I can't tell you how pleased I am with everything--and everybody,' he\nsaid, after a slight pause; 'so different from what I had expected. I\nfeel as if I had found a home and relations instead of leaving them for\never. Most happy to meet Mr. Atherstone, and hope to profit by his\nexperience and other people's.'\n\nFor the few seconds that passed while the new friend and the old one\nconfronted one another the young lady regarded them keenly. Nor was her\nmind idle. 'As far as appearance goes,' she thought, 'Harold has\ncertainly the best of it. Tall, well-proportioned, with nice brown hair\nand beard, and those honest grey eyes--what most girls would call a\nsplendid fellow, and so he is. Why am I not fonder of him? Bertram is\ncertainly distinguished looking, but he is only middle-sized and almost\nplain--dark hair and eyes, rather good these last. I feel disappointed;\nI don't know why. He smiles nicely--that is, he _could_ if he took the\ntrouble. We must wait, I suppose, till his character develops. I hate\nwaiting. I see mother coming. We had better go in to tea.'\n\nThis last observation was the only one audible. The other results of\nlightning-like apprehension had only been flashed by electric agencies\nfrom eye and heart to brain--there registered, doubtless, for future\nverification or erasure, as circumstances might determine. Mrs. Devereux\nhad entered. Pollie offered her arm to her cousin, whom she piloted to\nthe dining-room, leaving Mr. Atherstone to follow with her mother.\n\nIf the young _emigre_ had been previously astonished at the tone of the\nhousehold arrangements, he was even more surprised as he surveyed the\nwell-lighted room and marked with much inward satisfaction the\nwell-served repast, the complete and elegant table appointments. The tea\nequipage at the head of the table, over which Mrs. Devereux presided,\ndetermined the character of the repast; but the general effect was that\nof a sufficiently good dinner, with adjuncts of light wine and the pale\nale of Britain, which neither of the young men declined. Both ladies\nwere becomingly dressed in evening costume--Mrs. Devereux plainly and\nunobtrusively, while her daughter had donned for the occasion a\nsea-green mermaiden triumph of millinery, which subtly suited the\ndelicate tints of her complexion, as also the silken masses of her\nabundant hair.\n\nIn the trial of first introductions, unless the key-note be swiftly\nstruck and more than one of the talkers be enthusiastic, the\nconversation is apt to languish, being chiefly tentative and\nfragmentary. Now Pollie was eagerly enthusiastic, but her burning\nimpatience on a score of subjects awoke no responsive note in the\nincurious, undemonstrative kinsman. He was apparently ready to receive\ninformation about the customs of a country and people to him so novel,\nbut did not press for it.\n\nHe studiously avoided committing himself to opinions, and made but few\nassertions. On the other hand, Harold Atherstone declined to pose as a\ndidactic or locally well-informed personage, contenting himself with\nremarking that those intending pastoralists who possessed common sense\nacquired information for themselves; to the other division advice was\nuseless and experience vain. This cynical summing up of the Great\nAustralian Question merely caused the stranger to raise his eyebrows,\nand Pollie to pout and declare that Mr. Atherstone was very disobliging\nand quite unlike himself that evening.\n\nUpon this it appeared to Mrs. Devereux to interpose an apologetic\nobservation concerning the state of the country, including the roads,\nlive-stock, and pasturage; to which their guest made answer that he had\nalways believed Australia to be a dry and parched region, and had\nsupposed this to be a normal state of matters.\n\n'Oh! we're not quite so bad always as you see us now,' exclaimed Pollie,\nsuppressing a laugh. 'Are we, Harold? You would hardly believe that\nthese dusty plains are covered with grass as high as a horse's head in a\ngood season, would you now?'\n\nMr. Devereux did _not_ believe it. But he inclined his head politely and\nsaid that it must present a very pleasing appearance.\n\n'Yes, indeed,' continued the girl. 'In the old days the shepherds were\nprovided with horses, because the grass was so tall that the sheep used\nto get lost. Men on foot could not see them in it.'\n\nThe listener began to feel convinced that the facts related were\napproaching the border of strange travel and adventure so\ncircumstantially described by one Lemuel Gulliver, but he manfully\nwithheld utterance of the heresy, merely remarking that they would think\nthat very strange in England.\n\n'I'm afraid you're cautious,' quoth his fair teacher, trying to frown.\n'If there's anything I despise, it's caution. It's your duty as a newly\narrived person to be wildly astonished at anything, to make quantities\nof mistakes, and so gradually to learn the noble and aristocratic\nprofession of a squatter. If you're going to be unnaturally rational, I\nshall have no pleasure in teaching you.'\n\n'If _you_ will undertake the task,' replied the neophyte, with a sudden\ngleam in his dark eyes which for an instant lighted up the somewhat\nsombre countenance, 'I will promise to commit all the errors you may\nthink necessary.'\n\n'As to that, we'll see,' answered the damsel, with a fine affectation of\ncarelessness. 'I make no promises. We shall have plenty of time--Oh,\ndear! what quantities of it we do waste here--to find out all one\nanother's bad qualities. Shall we not, Harold?'\n\n'I have never made any discoveries of the sort, Miss Devereux,' said the\nyoung man; 'I can't answer, of course, for the result of your\nexplorations.'\n\n'I couldn't find anything bad in you,' said the girl eagerly, 'if I\ntried for a century. That's the worst of it. You always put me in the\nwrong. Doesn't he, mother? There's no satisfaction in quarrelling with\nhim.'\n\n'Why should you quarrel if it comes to that?' queried the matron, with a\nwistful glance at her child. 'You only differ in opinion occasionally, I\nobserve.'\n\n'Why, because quarrelling is one of the necessities--I should almost say\nluxuries--of existence,' retorted the young lady. 'What would life be\nwithout it? Think of the pleasure of making it up. I should die if I\ndidn't quarrel with somebody now and then.'\n\n'Or talk nonsense occasionally, as your cousin has doubtless by this\ntime observed,' answered her mother. 'I think we may adjourn to the\ndrawing-room.'\n\nThe drawing-room in this case meant the verandah, in which luxurious\nretreat the little party soon ensconced themselves.\n\n'Really,' remarked Devereux, as he lit a cigar and abandoned himself to\nthe inner depths of a Cingalese chair, 'if there was a little motion, I\ncould fancy we were in the Red Sea. Same sky, same stars, same mild\ntemperature, and tobacco. This is very different from the stern\nrealities of colonial life I had pictured to myself.'\n\n'We don't give ourselves out as industrial martyrs,' remarked Atherstone\nplacidly, 'but you will probably find out that bush life is not all beer\nand skittles.'\n\n'Hope not,' replied Devereux. 'That would be too good to last,\nobviously. Still I can gather that you have extenuating circumstances. I\ncertainly never expected to spend my first evening like this.'\n\nAtherstone made no answer, but apparently permitted his pipe reverie to\nprevail. The other man reclined as if somewhat fatigued, and smoked his\ncigar, listening indolently to the running conversational comment which\nhis cousin kept up, sometimes with him, sometimes with Atherstone, whose\nanswers were chiefly monosyllabic. The girl's fresh voice falling\npleasantly upon his ear, with the lulling effect of rhythmic melody or\nmurmuring stream, Mr. Bertram Devereux was led to the conclusion, by his\nnovel and interesting experience, that an evening might be spent\npleasantly, even luxuriously, at this incredible 'distance from town,'\nas he himself would have expressed it.\n\nWith this conviction, however, and the termination of his cigar came a\ndistinctly soporific proclivity, so that, pleading fatigue and declining\nfurther refreshment, the new-comer was fain to betake himself to bed, in\nwhich blessed refuge from care and pain, labour and sorrow, he shortly\nceased to revolve the very comprehensive subject of colonial experience.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nOn the morning after his arrival the visitor, making his appearance at\nan early hour, had a short conversation with Mr. Gateward, whom he found\nat the horse-yard sending out his men for the day. 'Of course I know\nnothing of this sort of thing,' he said; 'but I have come here to learn,\nwith a view to investing a few thousands I have in a property, or\nstation, as I think you call it. Now understand clearly that I shall be\nglad to help in the work of the place, in any way that I am fitted for.\nI can ride and drive decently, shoot, walk, keep accounts; in a general\nway do most things that other people can. Of course I can't pick up the\nwhole drill at once, but I don't want you to spare me. I came to\nAustralia to work, and the sooner I learn the better.'\n\n'All right, sir,' replied the bronzed veteran, 'I'll see what I can do.\nIf you ride about with me every day, and keep your eyes open, you'll\npick up as much in six months as most of the people know that own\nstations. It's a bad year now, and we're all in the doldrums, as the\nsailors say. But it's not going to be that way always. The wind'll\nchange or the rain'll come, and then we'll be able to show you what\nCorindah looks like in a good season.'\n\n'Then we understand each other. I'll take my orders from you, but, of\ncourse, from no one else--('Not likely,' interjected Mr. Gateward,\nlooking at the steady eye and short, proud upper lip of the\nspeaker)--'and early or late, wet or dry (if it ever _is_ wet here), hot\nor cold, you'll find me ready and willing. Give me a couple of good\nhacks, and I'll soon have an idea of how you carry on the war.'\n\n'I'm dashed sure you will, sir, and I shall be proud to help a gentleman\nlike you to a knowledge of things, that's willing to learn, and not too\nproud to take a hint.'\n\n'Quite so. I suppose you remember my cousin Brian? I was very young when\nhe left home, but I always heard that he was a hard man to beat at\nanything he chose to go in for.'\n\n'He was as fine a man as ever wore shoe-leather,' said the overseer.\n'Everybody respected him in these parts, and he was that jolly and kind\nin his ways, nobody could help liking him. If he hadn't been cut off in\nhis prime by that infernal Doctor--the cattle-duffing, horse-stealing\nhound--he'd have been one of the richest men in the district this very\nminute.'\n\n'He was shot by a highway robber?' inquired Devereux; 'what you call a\nbushranger in Australia, don't you?'\n\n'Well, there are bushrangers and bushrangers,' said the overseer. 'This\nchap, the Doctor, hadn't regularly took to the bush, as one might say,\nthough he was worse than many as did. He belonged to a mob of\ncattle-stealers that used to duff cattle in the back country, and pass\nthem over to Queensland. Well, Mr. Tracknell, one of the squatters in\nthe back blocks, began to run 'em pretty close, and put the police on\n'em. They heard he was to be in the coach from Orange on a certain day,\nand made it right to stick it up and give him a lesson.'\n\n'What's sticking up?'\n\n'Well, sir, by what one hears and reads, it is what used to be called\n\"stopping\" on the Queen's highway in England.'\n\n'Then they had no grudge against Brian Devereux?'\n\n'Not a bit in the world. He was known far and wide as a free-handed\ngentleman. Any one was welcome to stop at Corindah in his time, and no\npoor man ever went away hungry. The man the Doctor and Bill Bond wanted\nwasn't in the coach as it happened. He'd got wind of it and cleared. But\nthey heard there was a gentleman with a big beard going down the\ncountry, and made sure it was him. When they came up and saw their\nmistake, they'd have rode off again, only the Captain was that\nhot-tempered and angry at their stopping him, that he fired on them, and\nnearly collared the lot. They returned it, and rode off as well as they\ncould, and never knew till days after that they had hit him. Them as\ntold me said the Doctor was devilish sorry for it, and that he was the\nlast man in the district they'd have hurt.'\n\n'What became of the Doctor, as you call him?'\n\n'Well, sir, he's in the back country somewhere in Queensland yet, I\nbelieve. He served a sentence for horse-stealing of seven years; but\nhe's wanted again, and there's a warrant out for him. He's a desperate\nman now, and I wouldn't be sure he won't do something that'll be talked\nabout yet before his end comes.'\n\n'It's to be hoped there'll be a rope round his neck on that day,' said\nBertram; 'scoundrels of that kind should be trapped or poisoned like\nvermin.'\n\n'Well, sir, the Doctor's no chop, but there's worse than Bill Bond, if\nyou'll believe me. The only thing is, now he's hunted from pillar to\npost so, and he ain't got half a chance to repent if he wanted ever so\nmuch, I'm afraid he'll do something out of the way bad yet.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe autumnal season, with calm sun-gilded days, cool starlight,\nunclouded nights, and mornings fresh and exhilarating, as if newly\nordered from Paradise, came gradually to an end. Lovely, passing fair,\nas weather in the abstract; but dry, dry, always dry, and as such\nlamentable and injurious. Then winter made believe to arrive with the\nfirst week in June. But how could it be winter, Bertram thought, when\nthe skies were still cloudless and untroubled, the mid-day warm, the\nplains dusty, the air soft, the river low; when the flowers in the\ngarden bloomed and budded as usual; when no leaf fell from the forest;\nwhen, save the great acacias in the backyard and the white cedars in the\ngarden, all the trees at Corindah were green and full-foliaged? The\nchief difference was that the nights were longer, cooler. There were\nsharp frosts from time to time; and when Bertram arose early in the\nmorning, according to his wont, all things were covered with an icy\nmantle. On one occasion, when he met Mr. Gateward coming in from a long\nnight ride, his abundant beard was frozen stiff as a stalactite.\n\nThe sheep died faster than ever, at which Bertram wondered much, but did\nnot ask questions. 'Everything comes to him who waits,' was one of his\nfavourite proverbs.\n\n'If it had been always thus,' he told himself, 'so many evidences of\ncapital and prosperity would not be here. A change will come sometime,\nbut I cannot hasten it by ignorant questions. I shall learn all about\nthis extraordinary country in the course of time.'\n\nHis theory was sound. But Mrs. Devereux was neither so self-contained\nnor philosophical. She complained and bemoaned herself from time to\ntime, as is the way of women. At the evening meal, when after the day's\nduties the two young people and herself met with an affectation of\nsocial enjoyment, she made many things plain to the inquiring mind of\nBertram Devereux, silent and incurious as he seemed to be.\n\n'It had not always been thus. In the old, happy days droughts had\ncertainly occurred, but with intervals of years between. Now the seasons\nseemed to have changed. The year before last was a drought, and\nnow--this was the most sore and terrible grass famine she had ever\nremembered. Their losses would be frightful, disastrous, ruinous.'\n\n'Was it on the cards that she would be actually ruined--lose all her\nproperty, that is--if the season remained unchanged?'\n\n'Well, not absolutely. She could not truthfully say that. Even if all\nthe sheep on Corindah died, the whole fifty thousand, the land and\nfences would remain. But twenty or thirty thousand pounds would be an\nimmense sum to make up. The very thought made her shudder. To think of\nthe years it had taken to make and save it! No doubt she could get more\nsheep. Her credit, she was thankful to say, was good enough for that.'\n\n'I believe it's all Mr. Gateward's fault, said Pollie impetuously. 'Why\ndid he persuade you not to buy a station in the mountains last year,\nwhere there's beautiful green grass and running water in the driest\nsummer. That's what is needed for the poor sheep now. And all for a\nthousand pounds.'\n\n'A thousand pounds is a great deal of money,' said Mrs. Devereux. 'He\nthought he could get some country cheaper, and in the meantime it was\nsnapped up. I have been sorry for it ever since. But he meant well, as\nhe always does.'\n\n'I know that. He's as good an old creature as ever lived, and devoted to\nyou and me, mother. I wouldn't say a word against him for the world. But\nhe's too slow and cautious in matters like this, which need decision.\nThink of all the poor weak sheep, with their imploring eyes, that would\nhave been kept alive if we had sent twenty or thirty thousand up to\nthose lovely mountains.'\n\n'I suppose it's too late now,' said Bertram. 'Of course I know nothing\nas yet, but could not some of them--ten thousand or so--be taken away\nnow?'\n\n'That's where the misery is,' said Pollie. 'The snow has fallen on the\nmountains. Indeed, nearly all the sheep have come away. Those thirty\nthousand of Mr. Haller's that passed here last week, and gave you so\nmuch trouble, had just come from there. And how nice and strong they\nwere, do you remember? Our poor things are so weak that they couldn't\ntravel if we had ever so much green grass to send them to.'\n\n'It's Napoleon's Russian campaign over again--only, that our country's\ntoo dry to hold us, and his was too cold. And is there no return from\nElba?'\n\n'When the rain comes, not before. It may come soon, in a few months,\nthis year, next year, not at all. So we're in a pleasing state of\nuncertainty, don't you think?'\n\n'And you are not all sitting in sackcloth and ashes, or fasting, or\nmaking vows to the saints, and what not! This is a wonderful country,\nand you are wonderful people, I must say, to take matters so calmly.'\n\n'We know our country and the general course of the seasons,' said Mrs.\nDevereux. 'In the long-run they prove favourable, though the exceptional\nyears are hard. And we strive to have faith in God's providence,\nbelieving that whoso trusts in Him will not be left desolate.'\n\nLetter from Miss M. A. Devereux to Miss Clara Thornton, Fairoaks,\nEdgecliffe, Sydney:--\n\n     MY DARLING CLARA--I hope you think of me daily, nightly, at\n     breakfast and lunch time; also at midnight, when you can look\n     out of your bedroom window, and see that lovely South Head\n     beacon-light and the star-showers gleaming on the wavelets of\n     the bay; when you can inhale the strong sweet ocean breath, and\n     dream of far-away tropic isles and palm groves, coral reefs,\n     pirates too, and all the delightful denizens of the world of\n     romance. How you ought to pity me, shut up in poor, dry, dusty\n     Corindah!--the weather going from bad to worse; Mother and Mr.\n     Gateward looking more woebegone every day; and the poor sheep\n     dying at such a rate that even as we sit in the house odours\n     are wafted towards us not exactly of Araby the Blest. Bertie\n     calls it '_bouquet de merino_.'\n\n     Who is Bertie? Did I not tell you before? He is the English\n     cousin that has come to live with us and learn how to make a\n     fortune by keeping sheep in Australia. 'What is he like?' of\n     course you ask. Well, he is _not_ a great many things. So he is\n     not a hero of romance, ready made for the consolation of your\n     poor friend in this famine year. He is not handsome, nor tall,\n     nor clever--that is, brilliantly so. Not a particular admirer\n     of his poor Australian cousin either. He is very cool and\n     undemonstrative; lets you find out his talents and strong\n     points by degrees, accidentally, as it were. If I were to\n     describe him more accurately than in any other way that occurs\n     to me, I should say he is different from everybody else I have\n     ever seen in this colony--extremely well able to take care of\n     himself under all circumstances, and quite careless as to the\n     effect he produces.\n\n     He is very well educated--cultured, I might say; reads and\n     speaks French and German. So, as we have absolutely nothing to\n     do in the evenings, he reads with me, and I get on a great deal\n     faster than any of us did at Miss Watchtower's. You know I have\n     always had a passion for what is called 'seeing the world'; it\n     seems to be born in me, and I can recollect when I was quite a\n     little thing being far more interested in books of travel than\n     any other reading. I really believe that if anything led to the\n     station being sold, and we have any money left after these\n     frightful droughts, that I should persuade mother to take me\n     'home,' as we Australians always say, and then have a good,\n     satisfactory, leisurely prowl over Europe. Now, do you see what\n     I am coming to? What is the use of seeing everything in dumb\n     show? I intend to work hard, very hard, at languages now I have\n     the chance. Then I shall be able to enjoy life and instruct my\n     mind fully when I do go abroad. Abroad! Rome, Paris, Florence!\n     The idea is too ecstatic altogether. I shall die if it is not\n     realised. I feel as if I should die of joy if it is.\n\n     I am writing at my little table in my bedroom. As I look out\n     the moonlight makes everything as clear as day. There is a\n     slight breeze, and I can actually see the dust as it rises on\n     the plain, midwinter though it is supposed to be. I couldn't\n     live here all my life, now could I? Not for all the cattle and\n     sheep in Australia! I don't feel inclined to go to bed. But I\n     suppose I must say good-night to my dearest Clara, and remain\n     your too lonely friend,\n\n     POLLIE.\n\nAfter the first month or two of the excitement caused by the arrival of\na 'new chum' at Corindah on the experience ticket, as the vernacular of\nthe West Logan had it, much of the mingled curiosity, doubt, or\ndisapproval with which the emigrant gentleman is usually regarded in a\ndistant provincial circle died away. Of this last attribute of the\nneophyte Mr. Devereux had incurred but little. Studiously careful of\nspeech, habitually courteous in bearing, and wholly indifferent to\ngeneral opinion, but few men of those with whom he was brought into\ncontact could find anything upon which to found depreciatory opinion.\nThe utmost that professional carpers and cynics could aver amounted\nmerely to an inability to 'make him out,' as they phrased it, coupled\nwith a lurking suspicion that he 'thought himself a deuced deal too good\nfor the district of West Logan and the people that belonged to it.'\n\n'Confound him!' said Bob Barker, who posed as a leading society man and\n_arbiter elegantiarum_, 'what right has he to come here and look down on\nthe lot of us as if we were small farmers or country bumpkins? Suppose\nhe _was_ in the Guards, there's nothing so wonderful about that. I know\nhis mother was a lady in her own right, but a gentleman is only a\ngentleman, and other people have relatives in the aristocracy as well as\nhim.'\n\nHere Bob twisted his moustache and looked proudly around the\ncompany--squatters, magistrates, and others, a select party of whom,\nthis being Court-day at Wannonbah, had assembled in the parlour of the\nprincipal hotel.\n\n'Are you quite sure that he does look down, as you call it, upon all of\nus fellows, Barker, or did you only think it was ten to one he would?'\nsaid one of the assembled magistrates, a native-born Australian, with a\nslow, monotonous intonation which did injustice to a shrewd intellect\nand keen sense of humour. 'You know we _are_ rather rusty, some of us.\nWe've been so long away from England.' Here the speaker bestowed a wink\nof preternatural subtlety upon a good-humoured looking, middle-aged man\nwho occupied the chair at the head of the table.\n\n'Rusty be hanged!' said Mr. Barker. 'I could go home and take my\nposition in society to-morrow as if I had never left. I don't want any\nyoung military puppy to teach _me_ manners.'\n\n'But what--did--he--do, Barker?' inquired the other squatter;\n'or--what--did--he--say--that--put--your--monkey--up?'\n\n'Well, of course he didn't do anything, and as for saying, he was\ninfernally polite; but somehow I knew by the quiet, simple way he spoke\nwhat he was thinking of. And then, when we were playing whist,\nAtherstone and I with Miss Devereux and the old lady, he looked on until\nI asked if he was approved of our play. He smiled faintly, and then\nbegged to know whether \"out here\" we were always in the habit of leading\nfrom our longest suits? I could have kicked him on the spot.'\n\n'But--perhaps--he--only--wanted--to--know,' pursued his tormentor, who\nnow appeared honestly desirous of extracting information.\n'You're--so--very--smart--Barker, yourself--you--know.'\n\n'Oh, I dropped down to him,' said Barker. 'They've got some confounded\nnew-fangled way of calling for trumps in these London clubs, and of\ncourse, like all English people, he thinks we never hear anything or\nread anything, and have never seen any society men for a century but\nhimself. Why, wasn't General Burstall here the other day on leave from\nIndia? Saw my brother at Simla just the week he left. However, wait till\nthis season's over. That'll take some of the starch out of him.'\n\n'It'll--take--the--starch--out--of--some--of--us--too,'\nreplied the first speaker, 'if--it--doesn't--break--up--soon.\nI've--lost--six--thousand--pounds--worth--of--cattle--already.\nEverybody--says--your--frontage--looks--frightful--Bar--ker--eh?'\n\nThe intense gravity and slow solemnity with which this sudden assault\nwas performed upon Mr. Barker, impugning the character of his run, and\nby implication his probable solvency, appeared so overpoweringly\nludicrous to the company, that a diversion was effected in favour of Mr.\nBarker's pasturage, who therefore permitted the personal questions to\nlapse.\n\nLetter from Bertram Devereux to Captain Goodwood, 6th Dragoon Guards:--\n\n     CORINDAH, NEW SOUTH WALES, AUSTRALIA, _June 1877_.\n\n     _My dear Charlie_--Partly on account of a weak promise to let\n     you and one or two more of the old set into the secrets of my\n     other-world life when I said good-bye after that fatal Derby\n     that proved such a smasher, partly because one has such\n     enormous quantities of spare time in the desert here, I am\n     going to produce a respectable despatch--may even go the length\n     of becoming a regular correspondent--while quartered here.\n\n     My jottings down, apart from any personal interest which may\n     yet survive the writer's departure, ought to possess a certain\n     value as tidings from a far country--descriptions of a mode of\n     life and state of society of which no one I ever met in England\n     had the faintest idea. It is odd, too, for how many youngsters\n     from good families that we know have emigrated within the last\n     ten years! And with one or two exceptions there was no gleaning\n     any information from their friends. Either the fellows didn't\n     write or had done indifferently, and so the less said the\n     better, or else the friends hardly could tell whether they\n     lived in Victoria, Western Australia, New South Wales, or\n     Tasmania, which is much as if the whereabouts of a continental\n     traveller should be described as indifferently as in Belgium,\n     Berlin, Switzerland, or Sicily. There is a want of exactitude\n     about our countrymen, I must say, in all matters that do not\n     concern their own immediate interests, most painful to persons\n     gifted with a love of method--like you and me, for instance. No\n     wonder we English are always caught unprepared when we go to\n     war, and get laughed at all over Europe--till we begin to\n     fight, that is. The reaction sets in then.\n\n     However, _revenons a nos moutons_--a strictly appropriate tag,\n     inasmuch as this lodge in the wilderness is surrounded by\n     enormous estates, leasehold, not freehold, by the way, all\n     devoted to the production of the merino variety of the ovine\n     family. Millions of them are bred in these great solitudes. In\n     favourable years I gather that one is enabled to export about\n     one-half to a fourth of their value, in the shape of wool. This\n     brings a good price, is as negotiable as gold, and the fortunes\n     of the returned colonists that we used to see in London society\n     are thus compiled. Of course there are details, the which I am\n     setting my mind to master. But they would hardly interest you.\n     One trifling fact I may mention, lest you may imagine the\n     progress of fortune-constructing too ridiculously easy. It is,\n     that there has been next to no rain for more than a year,\n     strange, almost incredible, as it may seem to you of the rainy\n     isles. In consequence, the country looks like a desert, and\n     tens of thousands of sheep are dying here, and for hundreds of\n     miles in every direction. Occurrences of this kind, you will\n     understand, delay indefinitely and perhaps wholly frustrate\n     one's too obvious purpose of gathering a competency and\n     hurrying out of the strange country as fast as may be.\n\n     'All this is very well,' I hear you say; 'but what about the\n     social system? Why doesn't he tell me about _her_?--for of\n     course there is a woman somewhere within the orbit of his\n     existence. Wonder what they're like out there. Must be some, I\n     suppose.'\n\n     With your usual acuteness, which I have rarely known at fault,\n     unless confronted by a plain unvarnished robbery like the doing\n     to death of the favourite (and very nearly the backers) in our\n     fatal year, you have hit the gold.\n\n     Well, somehow or other, there _is_ a she. How strange it seems\n     that one's life, whether\n\n     'Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis\n     Arbor aestiva recreatur aura,' etc.,\n\n     or in the midst of cities, or even in the comparatively assured\n     and fortified privacy of a messroom, should never be wholly\n     free from the invasion of womankind. A book, a photograph, a\n     souvenir of the slightest kind, is sufficient to arouse the\n     tempestuous motives of those who are doomed to be 'the prey of\n     the gods' in this peculiar fashion. How much more so the\n     perfect human form, 'ripe and real,' when it comes before your\n     eyes in all the unconscious temptation of virgin youth and\n     beauty scarce unfolded morning, noon, and night. Add to this\n     that I'm at present _habitans in sicco_, and you will conclude,\n     with the swift logical subtlety so proverbially yours, that as\n     a latter-day hermit I may compare favourably with St. Anthony.\n\n     Heaven knows I did not rush into danger. Languid and prostrated\n     as I was after the overthrow of all my worldly hopes; worn and\n     despairing when the one devouring, passionate love of my life\n     had disappeared, and it was like the last scene of a tragedy,\n     when nothing is left for the spectators but to wrap their\n     cloaks around them and go home--I deemed that I was coming to a\n     land where there were no women, except black ones or those\n     required for culinary purposes.\n\n     How little we know of these new lands and their inhabitants,\n     all English as they are, as if in the Midland Counties, yet of\n     manner strangely fresh! All is high development and new\n     material. How I am shut up with a magnificent young creature,\n     with a face like Egeria, and a figure like the huntress maid,\n     burning with enthusiasm, talented, cultured, full of all noble\n     feminine attributes; dangerous with the fascinations of fresh,\n     innocent womanhood, yet ignorant of the ways of the world, and\n     childlike in her unsuspicious confidence!\n\n     How I wish I was young again! I do really, Charlie. Could I but\n     blot out the years that have intervened--not so many--but what\n     Dead-Sea fruits have I not tasted during their stormy course?\n     What a burnt-out volcano is this heart of mine! Could I but\n     recall the past and be like one of our schoolboy heroes!\n\n     'The happy page who was the lord\n     Of one soft heart and his own sword.'\n\n     What empires and kingdoms would I give--supposing them to be\n     mine--to revert to that position, and so prove myself worthy of\n     the fresh heart, the petals of which are about to open before\n     my graduated advance, like a rose in June! That I shall be the\n     favoured suitor, despite of the opposition of a good-looking,\n     stalwart, provincial rival, my experience assures me. With\n     women _l'inconnu_ is always the interesting, the romantic, the\n     irresistible. In despite of myself, I can see clearly my future\n     position of _jeune premier_ in this opera of the wilderness. It\n     might be worse, you will say. That I grant. But you know that\n     Helen of Troy would never control this restless, wayward heart\n     of mine in perpetuity.\n\n     For the rest, the life is bearable enough, free, untrammelled,\n     novel, with a tinge of adventure. My days are spent in the\n     saddle. There's just a hint of shooting, no hunting, no\n     fishing. We dress for dinner, and live much as at a\n     shooting-lodge in the Highlands, with stock-riders for gillies.\n     So we are not altogether barbarous, as you others imagine. This\n     letter is far too long, and imprudently confiding, so I hasten\n     to subscribe myself yours, as of old,\n\n     BERTRAM DEVEREUX.\n\nSo much for the impression Pollie was capable of producing on a worn,\nworld-weary heart.\n\nIt was a strange fate which had thus imprisoned this beautiful creature,\nso richly endowed with all the attributes which combine to form the\nrestless, tameless, unsatisfied man, amid surroundings so uninteresting\nand changeless. Eager for adventure, even for danger, she was curious\nwith a child's hungering, insatiable appetite for the knowledge of\nwondrous lands, cities, peoples; hating the daily monotone to which the\nwoman's household duties are necessarily attuned. Capable of the\nstrongest, the most passionate attachments, yet all-ignorant as yet of\nthe subtle, sweet, o'ermastering tone of the world-conquering harmony of\nlove. In the position to which she appeared immovably attached by\ncircumstance, she seemed like a strayed bright-plumaged bird, a foreign\ncaptive, taken in infancy and reared in an alien land.\n\nA chamois in a sheepfold, a leopardess in a drawing-room, a red deer in\na trim and close-paled enclosure, could not have been more hopelessly at\nwar with surroundings, more incongruously provided with food and\nshelter. Day after day a growing discontent, a hopeless despair of life,\nseemed to weigh her down, to take the savour from existence, to restrain\nthe instinctive sportiveness of youth, to hush the spirit-song of praise\nwith which, like the awakening bird, she should have welcomed each\ndawning morn.\n\n'Why must it be thus?' she often asked herself when, restless at\nmidnight as at noon-day, she gazed from her window across the wide\nstar-lit plain, in which groups of melancholy, swaying, pale-hued trees\nseemed to be whispering secrets of past famine years or sighing weirdly\nover sorrows to come.\n\n'Will it always be thus?' thought she, 'and is my life to trickle slowly\nalong like the course of our enfeebled stream, until after long\nassimilation to this desert dreariness I become like one of the\nhouse-mothers I see around me? Ignorant, incurious, narrow, with an\nintelligence gradually shrivelling up to the dimensions of a childhood\nwith which they have nothing else in common! What a hateful prospect!\nWhat a death in life to look forward to! Were it not for my darling\nmother and the few friends I may call my own, I feel as if I could put\nan end to an existence which has so little to recommend it, so pitiably\nsmall an outlook.'\n\nIn all this outburst of capricious discontent the experienced reader of\nthe world's page will perceive nothing more than the instinctive,\nunwarranted impatience of youth, which in man or woman is so utterly\ndevoid of reason or gratitude.\n\nWhat! does not the vast, calm universe wait and watch, weak railer at\ndestiny, for the completion of 'Nature's wondrous plan,' counting not\nthe years, the aeons, as the sands of the sea, that intervene between\npromise and fulfilment? Hast thou not enjoyed ease, love unwearying,\nanxious tendance, from the dawn of thy helpless, as yet useless being;\nand while all creation suffers and travails, canst thou not endure the\nunfolding of thy fated lot?\n\nApplying, possibly, some such remedies to her mental ailment, life\nappeared to go on at Corindah much as it had done, Pollie thought, since\nthe earliest days she could remember as a tiny girl. She could almost\nhave supposed that the same things had been said by the same people, or\npeople very like them, since her babyhood. Wonderings whether it would\nrain soon, by the mildly expectant; doubts whether it would ever rain\nagain, by the scoffers and unbelievers; assertions that the seasons had\nchanged, by the prophets of evil; superficial, sanguine predictions that\nit would rain some day, by the light-minded; hope and trusting\nconfidence in the Great Ruler, by the devout, that He would not suffer\nhis people to be utterly cast down and forsaken, that the dumb creatures\nof His hand would have a bound set to their sufferings--all these things\nhad she heard and experienced from time to time ever since she could\nrecall herself as a conscious entity. Then after a less or greater\ninterval the blessed rain of heaven would fall, plenteously,\nexcessively, perhaps superfluously, without warning, without limit, and\nthe long agony of the drought would be over.\n\nSomething of this sort had Pollie been saying to her cousin, as they sat\nat breakfast one gusty, unsettled, red-clouded morning. He had been\ninquiring satirically whether it ever rained at Corindah.\n\n'He had been here six months and had never seen any. Would all the sheep\ndie? Would all the watercourses dry up? Would they all be forced to\nabandon the station? And was this a sample of Australia and its vaunted\nbush life?'\n\n'Things are not quite so bad generally,' laughed Pollie; 'though I\ncannot deny that in these months, unless the weather changes, it will be\nwhat you call a \"blue look-out.\" Poor mother is more anxious every week,\nand Mr. Gateward's face is becoming fixed in one expression, like that\nof a bronze idol.'\n\n'It hardly seems like a laughing matter,' said he gravely. 'The loss of\nthe labour of years, of a fortune, and then \"Que faire?\"'\n\n'I am laughing in faith,' retorted Pollie; 'so that really I am in a\nmore religious frame of mind than all the solemn-faced people who\ndespair of God's goodness. Of course, it will rain some time or other.\nIt might even rain to-night, though it does not look the least like it.\nAgain, it might not rain for a year.'\n\n'What a terribly incomprehensible state of matters to exist in!' said\nBertram. 'I little thought, when I grumbled at a rainy week in England,\nwhat blessings in disguise I was undervaluing. And what would be the\ncase if a small deluge took place?'\n\n'All the rivers would be in flood. A few shepherds and mail-men, poor\nfellows! would be drowned, and the whole North-West country, say a\nthousand miles square, would be one luxuriant prairie of grass nearly as\nhigh as your head. Mr. Gateward would sing for joy as far as his musical\ndisabilities would permit him; and poor mother's bank account would be\nnearly twenty thousand pounds on the right side within a few weeks.'\n\n'And the sheep?'\n\n'A few hundreds would die--the wet and cold would kill them, being weak.\nAll the rest would wax fat, and perhaps kick in a month.'\n\n'Truly wonderful! I must take your word literally, but really I should\nhardly believe any one else.'\n\n'You may always believe me,' the girl said proudly, as she stood up and\nfaced him, with raised head and erect form, her bright blue eyes fixed\nsteadfastly upon his, and almost emitting a flash, it seemed to him,\nfrom their steady glow. 'Promise me that every word I say shall be\naccepted by you as the absolute, unalterable truth, or I shall speak to\nyou no more about my native land, or anything else.'\n\n'I promise,' he said, taking her hand in his own and reverently bowing\nover it; 'and now I am going for a long ride, to the outer well; I must\nbe off.'\n\n'To Durbah, forty miles and more?' she said. 'Why did not you make an\nearlier start? What are you going to ride?'\n\n'Wongamong,' he said. 'He is a wonderful goer, and seems quieter than he\nwas.'\n\n'He is a treacherous, bad-tempered brute,' she returned answer, rather\nquickly, 'and nothing will ever make him quiet. Besides, I think there's\nsome break of weather coming on. The wind has changed for the third time\nsince sunrise, and the clouds are banking up fast to the west. We might\nhave a storm.'\n\n'What fun!' said the Englishman; 'I should like it of all things. The\nclimate here does not seem to have energy enough for a right down good\nstorm.'\n\n'You don't know what you are talking about,' she said; 'you haven't seen\na storm, or a flood, or a bush-fire, or anything. Take my advice and\nride a steady horse to-day. Something tells me you might want one.\nPromise me that you will.'\n\nThere was an unusual earnestness in the girl's voice as she spoke, as,\nplacing her hand on his shoulder, she looked in his face. A low\nmuttering roll of thunder seemed to accentuate her appeal. The young man\nsmiled, as he answered, 'My dearest Pollie, I should be sorry to refuse\nthe slightest request so flatteringly in my interest: I will seek me a\ncharger practised in the _menage_ in place of the erratic Wongamong.'\n\nIn a few minutes more, as she stood by the open window, she saw him ride\nthrough the outer gate on a dark bay horse, whose elastic stride and\npowerful frame showed him to be one of those rare combinations of\nstrength, speed, and courage, of which the great Australian land holds\nno inconsiderable number.\n\n'Dear old Guardsman! I'm so glad that he took him. I didn't know that he\nwas in. I wonder what makes me so nervous to-day. It surely cannot be\ngoing to _rain_, or is there an earthquake imminent? I believe in\npresentiments, and if the day is like the others we have had this year,\nI never shall do so again. There goes another clap of thunder!'\n\nThat morning was spent by Pollie Devereux, it must be confessed, in a\nmanner so aimless, so inconsistent with her mother's fixed principles on\nthe score of regular employment for young women, that it drew forth more\nthan one mild reproach from that kindly matron.\n\n'My dear, I can't bear to see you going about from one room to another\nwithout settling to anything. Can you not sit down to your work, or\npractise, or go on with some historical reading, or your French, in\nwhich Bertram says you are making such progress? You're wasting your\ntime sadly.'\n\n'Mother!' said her daughter, facing round upon her with mock defiance,\n'could you sit down to your work if there was going to be a shipwreck,\nor a cyclone, or a great battle fought on the plain? Though, really, you\ngood old mother, I think you would, and thread your needle till the\nRoundheads marched in at the outer gate, as they did in \"The Lay of\nBritomart,\" or took down the slip-rails, as it would be in our case. But\ndo you know, there is an electrical current in the air, I am sure, and\nso I, being of a more excitable nature, do really feel so aroused and\nexcited, that I can't keep quiet. Something is going to happen.'\n\n'Now, my dearest Pollie, are not you letting your imagination run away\nwith you? What can happen? There may be a little wind and rain--what the\nshepherds call \"a nice storm\"--but nothing else, I fear.'\n\n'\"Something wicked this way comes,\"' chanted Pollie, putting herself\ninto a dramatic attitude. 'See how dark it is growing! Look at the\nlightning! Oh, dear, what a flash! And down comes the rain at last--in\nearnest, too.'\n\n'The rain will have to be very earnest, my dear,' said Mrs. Devereux,\n'before poor Corindah feels the benefit of it--though that certainly is\na heavy shower. Early in the season too; this is only the 8th of\nFebruary. There is the lunch-bell. Come along, my dear. A little lunch\nwill do you good.'\n\n'How wet poor Bertram will be!' said Pollie, pityingly. 'He said we\ncouldn't have storms here.'\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nDuring the half hour bestowed on lunch the weather apparently devoted\nitself to falsifying Mrs. Devereux's prediction, and raising Pollie to\nthe position of a prophetess. It is a curious fact that in Australia few\npeople are weather-wise. No one can tell, for instance, with any\ncertainty, when it will rain. No one can say with precision when it will\nnot rain. All other forms of weather, be it understood, are immaterial.\nRain means everything--peace, plenty, prosperity, the potentiality of\nboundless wealth; the want of it losses and crosses, sin, suffering, and\nstarvation. For nearly two years the hearts of the dwellers in that vast\npastoral region had been made sick with hope deferred. Now, without\nwarning, with no particular indication of change from the long, warm\ndays and still, cloudless nights that seemed as if they would never end,\nthat earth would gradually become desiccated into a grave of all living\ncreatures, suddenly it commenced to rain as if to reproduce the Noachian\ndeluge.\n\nThe larger creeks bore a turgid tide, level with their banks, on the\nsurface of which tree-stems and branches, with differing samples of\n_debris_, whirled floating down.\n\nAs the hours passed by with no abatement of violence in the falling of\nthe rain or the fury of the storm, in which the wind had arisen, and\nraged with tempestuous fury in the darkened sky, a feeling of awe and\nalarm crept over the minds of the two women.\n\n'There is not a soul about the place, I believe,' said Mrs. Devereux;\n'Mr. Gateward is away, and every man and boy with him. During all the\nyears I have been here I have never seen such a storm. Poor Bertram! I\nhope he has taken shelter somewhere. This cold rain is enough to kill\nhim, with such thin clothing as he has on. But of course he will stay at\nBaradeen; it would be madness to come on.'\n\n'He said that he would be home to-night, wet or dry. Those were his last\nwords, and he's rather obstinate. Haven't you remarked that, mother?'\n\n'I am afraid he is. It runs in the blood,' the elder remarked, with a\nsigh. 'But there will be no danger unless the Wawanoo Creek is up. It\nnever rises unless the river does, and there's not rain enough for\nthat.'\n\n'There seems rain enough for anything,' said the girl, shuddering.\n'Hark! how it is pouring down now. It will be dark in an hour. I do wish\nBertram was home.'\n\nThe creek alluded to was a ravine of considerable size and depth, which,\nserving as one of the anabranches of the river, was rarely filled except\nin flood time, when it acted as a canal for the purpose of carrying off\nthe superfluous water. Now it was almost dry, and apparently would\nremain so. It could be distinctly seen from the windows of the room\nwhere they were sitting.\n\nAt a sudden cry from the girl Mrs. Devereux went to the window. 'What a\nwonder of wonders!' she said; 'the Wawanoo is coming down. The paling\nfence in the flat has been carried away.'\n\nThe fence alluded to was a high and close palisade across a portion of\nthe flat, down which ran one of the channels of the said Wawanoo Creek.\nAn unusual body of rain, falling apparently during one of the\nthunder-showers, had completely submerged the valley, which, narrowing\nabove the said fence, and being dammed back by it, finally overbore it,\nand rushed down the main channel of the creek in a yeasty flood.\n\n'The creek will be twenty feet deep where the road crosses it now,' said\nPollie. 'If he comes to it he will have to swim. He will never think of\nits being so deep, and he might be drowned. I knew something would\nhappen. What a lucky thing he took Guardsman!'\n\nAs she spoke her mother pointed to a spot where the track crossed the\ncreek. The road itself was now plainly marked as a sepia-coloured, brown\nline winding through the grassless, herbless, grey levels of the\ndrought-stricken waste. A horseman was riding at speed along the clearly\nprinted track, through the misty lines of fast-falling rain.\n\n'It is Bertram coming back,' cried Pollie. 'I know Guardsman's long\nstride; how he is throwing the dirt behind him! I wouldn't mind the ride\nmyself if I had an old habit on. It must be great fun to be as wet as he\nmust be, and to know one cannot be any worse. Do you think he will try\nto swim the creek?'\n\n'He does not seem to dream of pulling up,' said Mrs. Devereux. 'Very\nlikely he thinks it can't be deep when he crossed dry-shod this\nmorning.'\n\n'Oh, look!' cried the girl, with a long-drawn inspiration. 'He has\nridden straight in without stopping. What a plunge! They are both over\nhead and ears in it. But Guardsman swims well. Mr. Gateward told me he\nsaw him in the last flood, when he was only a colt. I can see his head;\nhow he shakes it! Gallant old fellow! And there is Bertram sitting as\nquietly as if he was on dry land. They will be carried down lower, but\nit is good shelving land on this side. Now they are out, rather\nstaggering, but safe. Thank God for that! Oh, mother are you not glad?'\n\nAs Bertram and the brown made joint entrance to the square opposite the\nstable-yard, dripping like a sea-horse bestridden by a merman, he saw a\nfeminine figure in the verandah of the barracks gesticulating wildly to\nhim, and in a fashion demanding to be heard.\n\n'Mother says you are to come in directly and change your clothes and\ntake something hot, and not to stay out a moment longer than you can\nhelp.'\n\n'I must see Guardsman made snug first,' answered the young man, with the\nsame immovable quiet voice, in which not the slightest inflection\nbetrayed any hint of unusual risk. 'I really couldn't answer it to my\nconscience to turn him out to-night. I won't be long, however.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'When it _does_ rain here it rains hard, I must admit!' said Mr.\nDevereux an hour afterwards, as, completely renovated and very carefully\nattired, he presented himself at dinner. 'Could not have imagined such a\ntransformation scene of earth and sky. The plain has become a gigantic\nbatter pudding, and the ludicrous attempt at a brook--the Wawanoo\nCreek--is a minor Mississippi. I thought the old horse would have been\nswept right down once.'\n\n'You will find our rivers and some other Australian matters are not to\nbe laughed at,' answered Pollie, with a heightened colour. 'But mother\nand I are too glad to see you back safe to scold you for anything you\nmight say to-night.'\n\n'Really I feel quite heroic,' he answered, with a smile which was rarely\nbestowed with so much kindness; 'I suppose people _are_ drowned now and\nthen.'\n\n'I should think so,' said Pollie. 'Do you remember that poor young\nClarence, from Amhurst, two or three years ago? He was very anxious to\nget to the Bindera station, where they were having a party; he was told\nthe creek was dangerous, but would try. His horse got caught in a log or\nsomething, and came over with him. He was drowned, and carried into the\nBindera house next morning a corpse.'\n\n'Very sad. But men must drop in life's battle now and then. There would\nbe too many of us fellows else \"crawling between earth and heaven,\" as\nHamlet says.'\n\n'What a cold-blooded way to talk!' said Pollie; 'but of course you\nreally do not think so. Think of quitting life suddenly with all its\npleasures.'\n\n'Pleasures?' replied Mr. Devereux abruptly. 'Yes! I daresay very young\npersons look at it in that light. After all it's quite a lottery like\nother games of pitch and toss. Sometimes the backers have it all their\nown way. Then comes a \"fielder's\" year, and the first-named are\nobliterated.'\n\n'Then do you really think life is only another name for a sort of Derby\nDay on a large scale, or a Grand National?' demanded Pollie, with a\nshocked expression of countenance--'at the end of which one man is borne\nin a shining hero, aglow with triumph, while another breaks his neck\nover the last leap, or loses fame and fortune irrevocably; and that\nneither can help the appointed lot?'\n\nHer cousin regarded her for a moment with a fixed and searching gaze.\nThen a ripple of merriment broke over his features, and a rarely seen\nexpression of frank admiration succeeded to the ordinary composure of\nhis visage. 'I don't go quite as far as that.\n\n    \"There's a divinity that shapes our ends,\n    Rough-hew them how we will.\"\n\nBut I am afraid few of us live as if we thought so. That ever I should\nhave found myself in Australia was at one time so unlikely, so all but\nimpossible, that I may well believe in the interposition of a Ruler of\nEvents.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'I believe they've had rain,' is the usual answer to him who 'speirs' in\nAustralia as to the pastoral welfare of a particular province, district,\nor locality. It is unnecessary to say more. 'Man wants but little here\nbelow' is comparatively true; but a short supply of the aqueous fluid on\nland parallels in its destructive effects the over abundance at sea.\nWhen the rain is withheld for a year or two years, as the case may be,\nlosses accumulate, and ruin stalks on apace. The severity of the\nacknowledged droughts, not merely accidental drynesses, is comparative,\nand is often matter of conversation.\n\n'This is the worst drought known for many years,' was remarked to a\nyoung but war-worn pioneer.\n\n'Pretty well, but not equal to that of 187-,' he made answer.\n\n'Why do you think so?'\n\n'When that drought commenced,' he said slowly, 'we had nine thousand\nhead of cattle on our run on the Darwin. When it broke up we mustered\nsixteen hundred, and on foot too: we had not had a horse to ride for\neighteen months.'\n\nFrom such merciless disaster was Corindah now saved. Prosperity was\nassured for at least two years, as well to that spacious property which\ncomprehended 290,000 acres (and not a bad one among them, as Mr.\nGateward was fond of asserting) as to a hundred similar pastoral\nleaseholds from the Macquarie to the Darr. An entirely new state of\nmatters had suddenly arisen. In all directions telegraphic messages were\nspeeding through space, withdrawing this lot of 20,000 ewes or that of a\nthousand store bullocks from sale; while eager forecasting operators\nlike Mr. Jack Charteris had swept up the supply of saleable sheep, and\nleft their more cautious comrades lamenting their inability to purchase\nexcept at prices which 'left no margin,' the alternative being to have\ntens of thousands of acres of waving prairie 'going to waste' for want\nof stock to eat it. The face of Nature had indeed changed. Within a\nfortnight the arid dusty plains, so barren of aspect, were carpeted with\na green mantle, wondrously vivid of hue and rapid of growth. The creek\nran musically murmuring towards the river, which itself 'came down,' a\ntawny, turbid stream bank high, and in places overflowing into long dry\nlagoons and lakelets. Even the birds of the air seemed to be apprised of\nthe wondrous atmospheric change. Great flocks of wild-fowl soared in,\nmigrating from undreamed of central wastes. The lakelets and the river\nreaches were alive with the heron and the egret. The bird of the\nwilderness, with giant beak and sweeping wing, was there in battalions;\nwhile the roar of wings when a cloud of wild-fowl rose from water was\nlike a discharge of artillery.\n\nBertram Devereux was, in his heart, truly astonished at the wondrous\nchange wrought in the outward appearance of the region, in the manner\nand bearing of the dwellers therein, in the tone of the leading\nnewspapers, in everybody's plans, position, and prospects, which had\nbeen wrought by so simple and natural an agent. He, however, carefully\npreserved his ordinary incurious, impassive immobility, and after\ncasually remarking that this was evidently one of the lands known to the\nauthor of the _Arabian Nights_, and that somebody had been rubbing the\nmagic lamp, and commanded a genie to fetch a few million tons of water\nfrom Ireland or Upper India, where it was superfluous, and deliver it\nhere, made no other observation, but rode daily with Mr. Gateward over\nthe sodden, springing pastures, wading through the overflowing marshes,\nand swimming the dangerous creeks 'where ford there was none,' as if he\nhad always expected the West Logan to be akin to the west of Ireland as\nto soil and climate, and was not disappointed in his expectation.\n\nOn the morning after the flood Harold Atherstone had betaken himself to\nthe metropolis, only to be forestalled by Jack Charteris in his rapid\nand comprehensive purchases of stock. Doubtless other pastoral\npersonages had been duly informed by the magic wire of the momentous\nchange, but even then, such had been the terror, the suffering, the dire\nendurance of every evil of a twofold ruin, that numbers of owners were\nfound willing to sell their advertised sheep at a very slight advance\nupon the pre-pluvial prices. So might they be assured of the solvency\nand security which they had dreaded would never be theirs again. So\nmight they again lay their heads on their pillow at night, thanking God\nfor all His mercies, and for the safety of the future of those dear to\nthem. So might they again be enabled to go forth among their fellow-men,\nstrong in the consciousness that the aching dread, the long-deferred\nhope, the dark despair slowly creeping on like some dimly seen but\nimplacable beast of prey, were things of the past, phantoms and shadows\nto be banished for ever from their unhaunted lives.\n\nAll these but lately altered circumstances were distinctly in favour of\na quick and decisive operator, as was Harold Atherstone when he 'saw his\nway.' Not a plunger like Jack Charteris, he was firm and rapid of\nevolution when he had distinctly demonstrated his course of action. So\nwhen he returned to Maroobil after a month's absence, he had as many\nsheep on the road, at highly paying prices, as would keep that\n'well-known fattening station' and Corindah besides in grass-eaters for\nmany a month to come. Mrs. Devereux was full of gratitude towards him\nfor managing her delegated business so safely and promptly, and again\nand again declared that there was no living man like Harold Atherstone.\nHe was always to be relied on in the hour of need. He never made\nmistakes, or was taken in, or forgot things, or procrastinated, like\nother men. When he said he would do a thing, that thing was done, if it\nwas in the compass of mortal man to do it.\n\n'In short,' said Pollie, before whom and for whose benefit and\nedification this effusive statement was made, 'in short, he is\nperfection--a man without a fault. What a pity it is that paragons are\nnever attractive!'\n\n'Beware of false fires, my darling,' said the tender mother--'misleading\nlights of feeling apart from reason, which are apt to wreck the\ntrusting, and to end in despairing darkness.'\n\nAmong the visitors to Corindah, who made at least a bi-monthly call, was\nthe Honourable Hector MacCallum, M.L.C.\n\nHe was a prosperous bachelor, verging on middle age, with several good\nstations, and an enviable power of leaving them in charge of managers\nand overseers, while he disported himself in the pleasantest spots of\nthe adjacent colonies, or indeed wheresoever he listed--sometimes even\nin Tasmania, where he was famed for his picnics, four-in-hand driving,\nand liberality in entertaining. In that favoured isle, where maidens\nfair do so greatly preponderate, Mr. MacCallum might have brought back a\nwife from any of his summer trips; and few would have asserted that the\ndamsel honoured by his choice was other than among the fairest and\nsweetest of that rose-garden of girls.\n\nBut then something always prevented him. He wanted to go to New Zealand.\nIt was impossible to settle down before he had seen the wonders of that\nwonderland--the pink-and-white terraces, the geysers, the paradisiacal\ngardens, the Eves that flitted through the 'rata' thickets, the\nfountains that dripped and flashed through the hush of midnight.\nSomething was always incomplete. He would come again. And more than one\nfair cheek grew pale, and bright eyes lost their lustre, ere the\ninconstant squatter prince was heralded anew.\n\nBut now it seemed as if the goodly fish, which had so often drawn back\nand disappeared, was about to take the bait.\n\nMr. MacCallum's visits were apparently accidental. He happened to be in\nthat part of the country, and took the opportunity of calling. He was on\nhis way to Melbourne or Sydney, and was sure he could execute a\ncommission for Mrs. Devereux or Miss Pollie. This, of course, involved a\nvisit on the way back. He was a good-looking, well-preserved man, so\nthat his forty odd years did not put him at much disadvantage, if any,\nwhen he came into competition with younger men. Indeed, it is asserted\nby the experienced personages of their own sex that young girls are in\ngeneral not given to undervalue the attentions of men older than\nthemselves. It flatters their vanity or gratifies their self-esteem to\ndiscover that their callow charms and undeveloped intellects, so lately\nemancipated from the prosaic thraldom of the schoolroom, suffice to\nattract men who have seen the world--have, perhaps, borne themselves\n'manful under shield' in the battlefield of life, have struck hard in\ngrim conflicts where quarter is neither given nor received, and been a\nportion of the great 'passion-play' of the universe. They look down upon\ntheir youthful admirers as comparatively raw and inexperienced, like\nthemselves. Theirs is a career of hope and expectation all to come, like\ntheir own. They like and esteem them, perhaps take their parts in\nrehearsals of the old, old melodrama. But in many cases it is not till\nthey see at their feet the war-worn soldier, the scarred veteran who has\ntempted fate so often in the great hazards of the campaign, who has\nshared the cruel privations, the deadly hazards of real life--that the\nimaginative heart of woman fills up all the spaces in the long-outlined\nsketch of the hero and the king, the lord and master of her destiny, to\nwhom she is henceforth proud to yield worship and loving service.\n\nWhy Mr. MacCallum did not marry all this time--he owned to thirty-seven,\nand his enemies said he was more like forty-five--the dwellers in the\ncountry towns on the line of march exhausted themselves in conjecturing.\nThe boldest hazarded the guess that he might have an unacknowledged wife\n'at home.' Others averred that he was pleasure-loving, of epicurean,\nself-indulgent tastes, having neither high ambition nor religious views.\nThey would be sorry to trust Angelina or Frederica to such a\nguardianship. Besides, he was getting quite old. In a few years there\nwould be a great change in him. He had aged a good deal since that last\ntrip of his to Europe, when he had the fever in Rome. Of course he was\nwealthy, but money was not everything, and a man who spent the greater\npart of the year at his club was not likely to make a particularly good\nhusband.\n\nThe object of all this criticism, comment, and secret exasperation was a\nsquarely built, well-dressed man, slightly above the middle height, and\nwith that indefinable ease of manner and social tact that travel,\nleisure, and the possession of an assured position generally produce. He\nwas kindly, amusing, invariably polite, and deferential to women of all\nages; and there were few who did not acknowledge the charm of his\nmanner, even when they abused him in his absence, or deceived him for\ntheir own purposes. In spite of all he was popular, was the Honourable\nHector, a man of wide and varied experience, of a bearing and general\n_tournure_ which left little to be desired. In the matter of courtship\nhe knew sufficiently well that it was injudicious to force the running;\nthat a waiting race was his best chance. He took care never to prolong\nhis visit; always to encircle himself with some surrounding of interest\nduring his stay at Corindah. He pleased Pollie and her mother by being\nin possession of the newest information on all subjects in which he knew\nthey were interested. He was good-natured and _bon camarade_ with the\nyoung men, at the same time in a quiet way exhibiting a slight\nsuperiority--as of one whose sphere was larger, whose possessions,\ninterests, opportunities, and prospects generally, placed him upon a\ndifferent plane from that with which the ordinary individual must be\ncontented. This, of course, rendered more effective the habitual\ndeference which he invariably yielded to both the ladies whom he wished\nto propitiate, rightly deeming that all the avenues to Pollie's heart\nwere guarded by the mental presentment of her mother.\n\n'Really, we quite miss Mr. MacCallum when he leaves Corindah,' said\nPollie one day, as she watched the well-appointed mail-phaeton and\nhigh-bred horses which that gentleman always affected, disappearing in\nthe distance. 'He's most amusing and well-informed; his manners are so\nfinished--really, there is hardly anything about him that you could wish\naltered.'\n\n'So clever and practical, too, said Mrs. Devereux. 'He showed me in a\nfew minutes how he was going to lay out the garden at the new house at\nWanwondah. Really, it will be the most lovely place. And the irrigation\nis from a plan of his own.'\n\n'It's almost a pity to be so extravagant there, isn't it?' said her\ndaughter. 'He told me he never saw it except in the winter and spring.\nHe always spends the summer in some other colony. This year he will go\nto the hot springs of Waiwera, and see all that delicious North Island,\nand those unutterably lovely pink-and-white terraces. How I should like\nto go!'\n\n'Quite easy,' said Harold Atherstone, who had been standing by the\nmantlepiece apparently in a fit of abstraction. 'You've to say \"yes\" to\nthe Honourable Hector's unspoken prayer, and he'll take you there, or to\nthe moon, when Mr. Cook discovers a practicable route. He's not more\nthan twenty years older than you are--hardly that.'\n\n'So you think I am likely to marry for the new house at Wanwondah\nCrossing-place?' retorted Pollie. 'Also for the power of going away and\nleaving all you stupid people to be roasted and boiled during the long\ndismal summer? Poor things! what would you do without me to tease you\nall? But it's a strange peculiarity of society, I believe, that a girl\ncan never make any personal remark but invariably the next idea\nsuggested to her by her friends is, \"Whom is she trying to marry?\" That\nbeing so, why shouldn't I marry Mr. MacCallum? Not that he has ever\nasked me.'\n\n'But he will--you know he will--and if you allow yourself to be carried\naway by dreams of luxury and unlimited power of travel, which is more\nlikely, you will regret it once only--that is, all your life after.'\n\n'But say you are not serious, my darling,' said her mother, with a\nhalf-alarmed look. 'Really, I will take you to Tasmania, or even New\nZealand, though it's dreadfully rough--anywhere, rather than you should\nbe tempted to act against your better judgment. Mr. MacCallum is\nextremely nice and suitable--but he is far too _old_ for you.'\n\n'I don't see that at all,' replied the young lady petulantly. 'I like\nsome one I can look up to. All women do. He knows the world of society,\nletters, politics--not only of these colonies either. Most other girls\nwould--perhaps the phrase is vulgar--\"jump at him.\" Besides, he is most\namusing. Not a mere talker, but full of crisp, pleasant expressions and\nsuggestions. He is a new magazine, with the leaves uncut. Not like some\npeople, gloomy and abstracted half the time.'\n\n'You don't see _him_ when he's off colour--excuse my slang,' answered\nthe young man. 'He is not always amusing, people say. But that's not my\naffair. If age and experience are the valued qualities, I'm sorry I was\nnot born a generation earlier. And now I must say good-bye; I'm wanted\nat the back-block Inferno, and have no idea when I shall see you again.'\n\n'If you are not here this day fortnight,' said the young lady, with a\nsolemn and tragic expression, 'and at tea-time, see to it.'\n\n'But there's all sorts of trouble at Ban Ban. The dogs are showing up.\nAll the sheep have to come in. There are no shepherds to be got. My\nworking overseer is laid up with acute rheumatism. How can I----'\n\n'Shepherd or no shepherd,' persisted the girl,--'rain or\nshine--rheumatism or not--this day fortnight, or you will take the\nconsequence.'\n\n'I suppose I must manage it,' quoth the unfortunate young man. 'Do you\nremember your _Ivanhoe_: \"Gurth, the son of Beowulf, is the born thrall\nof Cedric of Rotherwood\"? Seems to me that villenage is not extinct,\neven in this colonial and democratic community.'\n\n'And a very good thing too,' retorts this haughty, undisciplined damsel.\n'The feudal system had an amazing deal of good about it. I don't see why\nwe shouldn't revive it out here.'\n\n'Looks rather it at present!' grumbled Harold. 'Good-bye, Mrs. Devereux.\nFortunately the rain's general, so we can stand a good deal of\noppression and intimidation.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     'In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of\n     love,'\n\nsang the laureate. And the parallel is sound. Of course it always rains\nin spring in England.\n\nBut suppose it didn't--as in Australia? He would find that things went\ndifferently. The 'wanton lapwing' would not get himself another crest,\nand the poet would have to furnish himself with another example.\n\nIn the absence of rain we can assure our readers that things are much\notherwise, even with the dumb and feathered tribes. The wild-fowl do\ncome down in a serious, philosophical sort of way. But what they do in\neffect is this:--\n\nThey say--'We have ciphered this thing out, and have come to the\nconclusion that it is not going to rain, that it will be a dry spring.\nThat being the case, we are not going to pair, or build, or lay eggs, or\ngoing through the ordinary foolishness, in anticipation of rain and\ncertain other adjuncts to matrimony, which _will not come_.\n\nAnd they do _not_ pair.\n\nHow are such things managed? Who teaches the birds of the air? How do\nthey know it is going to keep dry?\n\nYet the results are as I state. There is no young family to provide for,\nno presents, no trousseaux--and a very good thing, too, under the\ncircumstances.\n\nSo with the social and amatory enterprises of the human inhabitants of\nthe dry country; the phenomenon of six inches of rain or otherwise makes\nall the difference. Mr. Oldhand had promised to build his youngest son\nDick a new cottage at the Bree Bree station, which he had managed for\nhim successfully for several years, after which Dick's marriage with\nMary Newcome was to take place, they having been engaged, as was well\nknown to the neighbours here, for the last three years. But the season\n'set in dry.' Dick had a bad lambing, and lost sheep besides. So the\ncottage can't be built this year, the marriage is put off, and Dick's\nmanly countenance wears an air of settled gloom.\n\n_Ergo_, it follows that immediately upon the supervening of a period of\nunexampled prosperity, consequent upon the abnormal rainfall which 'ran'\nWawanoo Creek in half an hour, and narrowly escaped devoting Bertram\nDevereux to the unappeased deities of the waste as a befitting\nsacrifice, proposals of marriage were thick in the air, and matrimonial\noffers became nearly as plentiful as bids for store sheep.\n\nWhen Hector MacCallum therefore, as became him, gallantly took the lead\nas representative of the marrying pastoral section, no one wondered.\nSpeculation and conjecture doubtless, were evoked as to where the\nmany-stationed Sultan might deign to cast his coveted kerchief. In\ndespite of inter-provincial jealousies, however, no one was much\nastonished when reliable information was disseminated to the effect that\nhe had been on a visit of nearly a week to Corindah, had been seen\ndriving Mrs. and Miss Devereux to points of interest in the\nneighbourhood in his mail-phaeton, that his groom's livery was more\nresplendent than ever, and that the famous chestnuts had been replaced\nby a team of brown horses, admirably matched, thorough-bred, and said to\nbe the most valuable turn-out in work on this side of the line.\nAcidulated persons, as usual, made exclamation to the effect that 'they\nnever could see what there was in that girl; some people had wonderful\nluck; boldness and assurance seemed to take better than any other\nqualities with the men nowadays,' and so on. But when gradually it oozed\nout that there was no triumphant proclamation of engagement after all,\nthat Mr. MacCallum was going to England, could not be back for two or\nthree years, etc.--all of which certainly pointed to the fact of his\nproposals having been declined, impossible as such a fact would\nappear--the clamour of the hard-to-please contingent rose loud and high.\n'What did the girl want? Was she waiting for a prince of the blood?\nAfter having befooled all the men within her reach, from Jack Charteris\nto the parson, and ending up with a man old enough to be her father, and\nwho certainly should have known better, was it not heartless and\nindecent to treat him as she had done? Would not the whole district cry\nshame upon her, and she be left lamenting in a few years, deserted by\nevery one that had any sense? A vinegary old maid in the future--it\nwould be all her own fault, and that of her mother's ridiculous vanity\nand indulgence.'\n\nAll unknowing or careless of these arrows of criticism, the free and\nfearless maiden pursued her career. Mr. MacCallum had, at a well-chosen\nmoment, made his effort and pressed with practised persistence for a\nfavourable answer. But in vain. Under other conditions, men of his age\nand attributes have been frequently successful, to the wrath and\nastonishment of younger rivals. But circumstances have been in their\nfavour. Poverty, ignorance of the world, ambition on the part of the\ngirl's friends, gratitude, have all or each conspired in such case to\nturn the scale in favour of the wealthy and adroit, if mature, wooer.\nAnd so the contract, often a fairly happy one, is concluded.\n\nBut in this case Love, the lord of all, had fair play for once. Pollie\nhad distinctly made up her mind, since she was conscious of possessing\nsuch a faculty, that she would never marry any one unless she was in\nlove with him ardently, passionately, romantically, without any manner\nof doubt. People might come and try to please. She could not help that.\nIt was hardly in her nature to be cold or rude to anybody. But as to\nmarrying any one she only liked, she would die first.\n\nShe liked, she respected, she in every way approved of Mr. MacCallum;\nbut no! She was much honoured, flattered, and pleased, and really shrank\nfrom the idea of giving him so much pain. Mr. MacCallum exaggerated his\nprobable agonies in such a way that a weaker woman might probably have\ngiven in--from sheer pity. But as to marrying him, it was out of the\nquestion. Her answer was 'No,' and nothing could ever alter it.\n\nSo the Honourable Hector had to depart in a more disappointed and\ndisgusted frame of mind than had happened to His Royal Highness for many\na day. Drought, debts, dingoes, travelling sheep, were all as nothing to\nthis crowning disaster. Everything else being so flourishing, it was a\nthunderbolt out of a blue sky, crushing his equanimity and\nself-satisfaction to the dust.\n\nNot his happiness, however. A middle-aged bachelor with a good digestion\nand enviable bank balance is not--whatever the sensational novelist may\nassert--usually slaughtered by one such miscalculation. He does not like\nit, of course. He fumes and frets for a week or two, and probably says,\n'Confound the girl! I thought she really liked me.' Then he falls back\nupon the time-honoured calculation--a most arithmetically correct\none--of those 'other fish in the sea.' Claret has a soothing effect. The\nClub produces alleviating symptoms. And the Laird of Cockpen either\nmarries the next young lady on his list, or, departing to far lands,\ndiscovers that the supply of Calypsos and Ariadnes is practically\nunlimited.\n\nMacCallum, like a shrewd personage, as he was, held his tongue and took\nthe next mail for Europe, reappearing within two years with an\nexceedingly handsome and lady-like wife, who did full justice to his\nmany good qualities, was very popular, and made Wanwondah quite the show\ncountry-house of the neighbourhood.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nAfter this stupendous incident had ruffled the waters of provincial\nrepose, a long untroubled calm succeeded. Little was heard in the\narticle of news except the weekly chronicle of stock movements: who had\nsold, who had bought, who, having stocked up--that is, filled his run\nwith all the sheep it would carry, and more--had sold to a new arrival,\nand gone to England 'for good,' or at least till the long-dated station\nbills became due. Among this last-named division was Mr. Jack Charteris,\nwho, having sold one of his far-out runs to a Queenslander, considered\nthis to be a favourable opportunity to take 'a run home,' as he\nexpressed it, for a year, for various specified reasons which he\ndisplayed before his friends, such as seeing the world and renewing his\nconstitution, lately injured by hard work and anxiety. So he\nostentatiously took his passage by a well-known mail-steamer, and made\nall ready to start in a couple of months. He had, however, two plans _in\npetto_, of which he did not advise society generally.\n\nOne was, by personal application to English capitalists--being provided\nwith all proper credentials from his bankers and others, with a\ncarefully drawn out schedule of his properties (purchased lands,\nleasehold, sheep, cattle, horses, outside country), with carefully kept\naccounts showing the profits upon stations and stock for the last five\nor ten years, the increasing value of the wool clip, and the annual\nexpenditure upon permanent improvements; the whole with personal\nvaluation (approximate), and references to leading colonists of rank and\nposition--to discover whether he, John Charteris, with an improving\nproperty, but constantly in want of cash advances, could not secure a\nloan for a term of years at English rates of interest, say five or six\nper cent, instead of at colonial rates, eight, nine, and ten. This would\nmake a considerable difference to Mr. Jack's annual disbursements,\nrelieve him from anxiety when the money-market hardened, and would,\nmoreover, euchre his friends the bankers in Sydney, with whom he was\nwont to carry on a half-playful, half-serious war of words whenever they\nmet.\n\nHis other _coup_ was to make a farewell visit to Corindah, and at the\nlast moment 'try his luck,' as he phrased it, with the daughter of the\nhouse. He was not over sanguine, but in reviewing the situation, he\ndecided that with women, as with other 'enterprises of great pith and\nmoment,' you never know what you can do till you try. He ran over all\nthe reasons for and against on his fingers--as he was wont to do in a\nbargain for stock--finally deciding that he would 'submit an offer.'\n\nMany a time and often had he acted similarly after the same\ncalculation--offered a price far below the owner's presumable valuation\nand the market rate of the article. As often, to his great surprise, it\nhad been accepted. He would do so now.\n\n'Let me see,' he said to himself. 'Old MacCallum got the sack, they say.\nI rather wonder at that--that is, I should have wondered if it had been\nany other girl. Not another girl in the district but would have accepted\nhim on his knees. Such a house--such horses! Good-looking, pleasant\nfellow, full-mouthed of course, but sound on his pins, hardly a grey\nhair--regular short price in the betting. What a sell for him! Well, now\nabout Jack Charteris. How stands he for odds? Nine-and-twenty next\nbirthday; fairly good-looking, so the girls say; plenty of pluck, good\nnature, and impudence; ride, run, shoot, or fight any man of his weight\nin the country. Clever? Well, I wish I was a little better up in those\nconfounded books. If I were, I really believe I might go in and win. The\nonly man I'm afraid of is that confounded cousin fellow. He is\ninfernally sly and quiet, and, I expect, is coming up in the inside\nrunning. I'd like to punch his head.'\n\nHere Mr. Charteris stood up, squared his shoulders, and delivered an\nimaginary right and left into an enemy with extraordinary gusto. Then\nexclaiming, 'Here goes anyhow! I'll go in for it on my way to Sydney.\nI'll provide a retreat in case of total rout and defeat. It will be half\nforgotten by the time I return.'\n\nTo resolve and to execute were with Mr. Charteris almost simultaneous\nacts. Working night and day until his preparations were complete, he\nsent on a note to say when he might be expected, and on the appointed\nevening drove up, serious and determined, to Corindah gate. He was\nreceived with so much cordiality that he half thought his mission was\naccomplished, and that the princess would accompany him to Europe\nwithout notice, which would have been one of the rapid and triumphant\n_coups_ in which his speculative soul delighted. The real reason was,\nthat both ladies were moved in their feminine hearts by the idea of so\nold an acquaintance going a journey to a far land, and were sensitively\nanxious to show him all the honour and attention they could under such\nexceptional circumstances.\n\nSo the best of us are deceived occasionally. Who has not seen the\nunwonted sparkle in a woman's eyes and as often as not--if the truth be\ntold--put a totally wrong interpretation upon the signal?\n\nThus Mr. Charteris fared, much encouraged, and greatly heightened in\ndetermination. He was at his best and brightest all the evening, and\nwhen he said--pressing Pollie's hand as they parted--that he wanted to\nsay a last word to her about his voyage if she would be in the orangery\nbefore breakfast, that young woman assented in the most unsuspicious\nmanner, believing it to be something about Maltese lace, as to which she\nhad given him a most unmerciful commission. So, shaking his hand with\nrenewed fervour, she went off to bed, leaving Mr. Charteris in the\nseventh heaven, and almost unable to sleep for the tumultuous nature of\nhis emotions.\n\nThe sun was closely inspected by John Charteris next morning, from its\nearliest appearance until after about an hour's radiance had been shed\nupon the vast ocean of verdure, from which its heat extracted a silvery\nmist. How different from the outlook one little year ago! His eye roamed\nover the vast expanse meditatively, as if calculating the number of\nsheep to the acre such a grass crop would sustain, if one could only\nhave it for five years all the season through. Suddenly he became aware\nof a light form flitting through the dark-green foliage and gold-globed\ngreenery of the orangery.\n\nIn a moment he was by her side. His face lit up with innocent pleasure\nas she greeted him with childish joy. In her heart she thought she had\nnever known him so pleasant in his manner, so nice and friendly, and yet\nreticent, before. If so improved now, what would he be when he returned\nfrom Europe? She had no more idea of any _arriere pensee_ in meeting him\nby appointment in the garden than if he had been the Bishop of Riverina.\n\nWhen Mr. Charteris, after a few unconnected remarks about the beauty of\nthe weather, the prospects of the season, his sorrow for leaving all his\nold friends, thought it time to come to the point, especially as Pollie\nin the goodness of her heart replied to the last statement with 'Not\nmore sorry than they are to lose you, Mr. Charteris,' he certainly\nproduced an effect.\n\n'Oh, Miss Devereux, oh, my dearest Pollie, if you will let me call you\nso, why should we part at all? Surely you must see the affection I've\ncherished, the feelings I've had for you ever since we first met. Years\nand years I've stood by and said nothing, because--because I was\ndoubtful of your affection, but now, now!'\n\nHere he took her hand and began gently to draw her towards him, putting\nan imploring expression into his eyes, which was so utterly foreign to\ntheir usual merry and audacious expression, that Pollie, after one wild,\nfixed gaze of horrified anxiety, as if to see whether he had not become\nsuddenly insane, burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.\n\n'Miss Devereux, surely,' began he, with a hurt and surprised look, 'this\nis not exactly fair or kind under the circumstances. What I have said\nmay or may not be ridiculous, but it is generally looked upon as a\ncompliment paid to a young lady and not as a matter, pardon me, for\nridicule and contempt.'\n\nThe girl's face changed suddenly. She made a strong effort and prevented\nherself from lapsing into what might have been an hysterical outbreak of\nmirth.\n\n'Mr. Charteris,' she said gravely, 'I am the last person, as you ought\nto know, likely to hurt your feelings consciously; but I might ask you\nwhether you think it right or fair to entice me here, with my mind\nrunning on Maltese lace and Cingalese ornaments, which were the last\nthings we spoke about last night, and suddenly fire off a proposal in\nform at me. I declare I was never more astonished in my life. Whatever\ncould you be thinking of?'\n\n'What every one who sees you is thinking of,' answered Jack, humbly and\nregretfully--'love and admiration for your sweet self. Oh! Miss\nDevereux, I worship the very ground you stand upon.'\n\n'I will never be decently civil to any one again,' declared Pollie. 'I\nsuppose you saw mother and I were glad to see you, and so\nthought--Heaven forgive you!--that I had fallen in love with you. Don't\nyou know that girls never show their feelings that way? It will be a\nlesson to you another time. Don't say another word. We shall always be\ngood friends, I hope. When you come out with a wife--you'll find lots of\nnicer girls than me in England, so everybody says--we shall laugh over\nthis. Mother and I will hold our tongues; nobody need know. I shall not\nshow at breakfast. You had better tell her, and she will comfort you.\nGood-bye.'\n\nShe looked him frankly in the face and held out her hand, which poor\nJack took ruefully, and raising it to his lips, turned away. When he\nlooked round, she had disappeared. The glory of the morning had passed\naway with her. He made a melancholy attempt to whistle, and slowly\nbetook himself to the stables, where he arranged that his luggage should\nbe stowed in his phaeton and all things made ready for a start at a\nmoment's notice after breakfast.\n\nThis done, he sauntered into the house, and, intercepting Mrs. Devereux\nbefore she reached the breakfast-room, told her of the melancholy\noccurrence with a countenance to match, and begged her pardon and her\ndaughter's for making so great a mistake.\n\nMrs. Devereux was a tender-hearted woman, and, as are most of her age,\ninclined to condone all offences of this nature, though, like her\ndaughter, as Mr. Charteris resentfully felt, she expressed extreme\nastonishment at the idea of his having come with malice prepense to make\nso serious a proposition. She was sure that Pollie had not given him\nreason to think that she had any other feeling for him but that of\nsincere, unalloyed friendship, which they had always felt, and, she\ntrusted, always would.\n\nBut Mr. Charteris' humility broke down and changed at this point into\nsomething very like a strong sense of unfair treatment. 'Confound it!'\nhe broke out. 'That is, I beg a thousand pardons; but it appears to me\nthe first time in my life that you are not quite just, Mrs. Devereux.\nHow in the world is a man to find out if a girl likes him, if he doesn't\nask her? Is he to wait years and years until they both grow old, or\nuntil he worries her into making some sign that she cares for him more\nthan other fellows? I call that rather a mean way. I must say I thought\nMiss Devereux liked me, and that's enough in my mind for a man to begin\non. I've had my shot, and missed. But for the life of me, I can't see\nwhere I've acted either unlike a man or a gentleman.'\n\nAs Jack stood straight up and delivered himself of this explanation of\nhis views and principles, with a heightened colour and a kindling eye,\nMrs. Devereux could not help thinking that he would have advanced his\nviews very much with her daughter if he had spoken to her in the same\ndecided tone and manner. 'He really is a fine young man,' she thought to\nherself, 'and very good-looking too. But there's no persuading a wilful\ngirl. I hope she may never do worse.'\n\nThen she took Jack's hand herself in her's, and said, 'My dear John,\nneither I nor Polly would hurt your feelings for the world. It _did_\ntake us by surprise; but perhaps I ought to have noticed that your\nadmiration for her was genuine. I quite agree with you that it is more\nmanly and straightforward for a man to declare himself positively. I am\nsure we shall always look upon you as one of our best and dearest\nfriends.'\n\n'I hope Miss Pollie may do better,' said Jack gloomily, as he pressed\nthe hand of the kind matron. 'She may or she may not. A girl doesn't\nalways judge men rightly until it is too late--too late--but whether or\nno, God bless her and you in that and everything else! Don't forget poor\nJack Charteris.'\n\nAnd he was gone.\n\nMr. Charteris, with habitual forethought, had left nothing till the last\nmoment. As he came into the yard, he had but to take the reins and gain\nthe box-seat. His horses plunged at their collars, and swept out of the\nyard across the plain at a rate which showed that they were\ninstinctively aware that a rapid start was intended. Half-way across the\nfirst plain he encountered Harold Atherstone on horseback, looking like\na man who had already had a long ride.\n\n'Hallo! Jack, whither away? You look as if you were driving against\ntime. What's up?'\n\n'Well, I'm off by next week's mail-steamer, as I told you before. I've\nbeen at Corindah since yesterday, where I've been fool enough to run my\nhead against a post. I needn't explain.' Harold nodded sympathetically.\n'We're in the same boat, I expect. I wouldn't care if you were the\nfortunate man, old fellow; though every one has a right to try his own\nluck. But I expect we shall both be euchred by that infernal,\nsmooth-faced, mild-voiced, new-chum cousin. I can't see what there is to\nattract the women about him; but they are all in the same line. I heard\nBella Pemberton praising him up hill and down dale. I suppose there is a\nfate in these things. Where is he now?'\n\n'I am not prepared to agree with all you say,' answered Harold calmly.\n'The end will show. I don't trust him too much myself, though I should\nbe puzzled upon what to ground my \"Doctor Fell\" feeling. He is away on\nsome back country that Mrs. Devereux has rented, and won't be back for a\nmonth.'\n\n'I hope his horse will put its foot in a crab-hole and break its neck,'\nsaid Jack viciously. 'I wouldn't mind the girl being carried away from\nus by a _man_. She has a right to follow her fancy. But a pale-faced,\nhalf-baked, sea-sick looking beggar like that--it's more than a fellow\ncan bear.'\n\n'Come, Jack, you're unjust, and not over respectful to Miss Devereux\nherself. But I make allowances. Good-bye, old man. _Bon voyage!_ Bring\nout a rosy-cheeked English girl. Hearts are reparable commodities, you\nknow. Yours has been broken before.'\n\n'Never like this, Harold; give you my word. I could sell the whole\nplace, and cut the colony for ever, I feel so miserable and downhearted.\nBut I'm not one of the lie-down-and-die sort, so I suppose I shall risk\nanother entry. Good-bye, old man. God bless you!'\n\nA silent hand-grasp, and the friends parted. Mr. Charteris' equipage\ngradually faded away in the mirage of the far distance, while Harold\nrode quietly onward towards his own station--much musing and with a\nheart less calm than his words had indicated.\n\nWhen he arrived at the spot where the tracks diverged, he was conscious\nof a strong instinctive inclination--first of his steed, and then of\nhimself--to take the track which led to Corindah. After combating this\nnot wholly logical tendency, and telling himself that it was his first\nduty to go and see that all things were well in order at home before\nmaking his usual call at Corindah, he descried another horseman coming\nrather fast across the plain, and evidently making for the Corindah\ntrack.\n\nPulling up so as to give the stranger an opportunity for ranging\nalongside, he presently said to himself involuntarily, 'Why, it's the\nparson; and furthermore, I shall have to go to Corindah now, as the old\nlady says she finds it hard work entertaining Courtenay all by himself.\nHe's not a bad hand at talking, but he's so terrifically serious and\nmatter-of-fact that he's rather much for a couple of women. When\nBertram's there it's better, for I notice he generally contrives to get\nup an argument with him, and bowl him over on some point of church\nhistory. That fellow Bertram knows everything, to do him justice.'\n\nAs these thoughts passed through his mind the individual referred to\ncantered up on an active-looking hackney, rather high in bone, and\ngreeted him with pleased recognition.\n\n'I was debating in my own mind, Mr. Atherstone,' he said, 'whether I\nshould hold divine service at your station to-day or at that of Mrs.\nDevereux.'\n\n'You are equally welcome at both houses, as you know,' said the layman;\n'but I think it may be perhaps a more convenient arrangement in all\nrespects to manage it in this way. If you will ride home with me now to\nMaroobil, I will see that all the men are mustered and the wool-shed got\nready to-night. I can send a messenger to Corindah with a note telling\nMrs. Devereux that you and I will be there to-morrow night, which will\nbe Saturday. She will then have everything prepared for a regular\nmorning service on Sunday.'\n\nThe clergyman bowed assentingly. 'I think that will suit better than the\nplan I had proposed to myself of going there to-night. There are a good\nmany people within a few hours' ride of Corindah, and Mrs. Devereux\nalways kindly sends word to them of my arrival. The Sabbath will be the\nmore appropriate day for divine service at Corindah, where there will\nprobably be a larger gathering.'\n\n'Then we may as well ride,' said the other, looking at his watch, 'and\nwe shall be in time for a late lunch at Maroobil.'\n\nThe Rev. Cyril Courtenay was a spare, rather angular young man, about\nseven-and-twenty, who had a parish about as large as Scotland to supply,\nas he best might, with religious nourishment and spiritual consolation.\nHe had taken a colonial University degree, and was therefore well\ninstructed in a general way, in addition to which he was a gentleman by\nbirth and early training. He was gifted with a commendable amount of\nzeal for the cause of true religion generally, if more particularly for\nthe Church of England, of which he was an ordained clergyman.\n\nHis duties were different from what they would have been in an English\nparish. The distances were indeed magnificent. His stipend was paid\nchiefly by the voluntary contributions of the inhabitants of the\ndistrict of West Logan, and partly from a fund of which the bishop of\nhis diocese had the management, and from which he was able to supplement\nthe incomes of the poorer clergy. This amounted to about two hundred and\nfifty pounds per annum. The contributories were almost entirely\nsquatters. The other laymen of the denomination--labourers, shepherds,\nstation hands, boundary riders, etc.--though they attended his services\ncheerfully, did not consider themselves bound to pay anything; holding,\napparently, that the Rev. Cyril was included in the category of\n'swells'--a class radically differing from themselves, whose subsistence\nwas safe and assured, being provided for in some mysterious manner\nbetween the squatters and the Government, by whom all the good things of\nthis life, in their opinion, including 'place and pay,' were distributed\nat will.\n\nThe horse of the Rev. Cyril had started off when Mr. Atherstone gave the\nsignal to his own hackney, and powdered along the level road as if a\nhand-gallop was the only pace with which he was acquainted. It is a\ncurious fact that the clergymen of all Protestant denominations ride\nhard, and are not famous for keeping their horses in good condition.\n_Exceptis excipiendis_, of course. There are not many of them, either,\nto whom the laity are anxious to lend superior hackneys. They are\naccused, and not without reason, of being hard on their borrowed mounts,\nand of not being careful of their sustenance. The priest of the Romish\ncommunion, on the other hand, invariably has a good horse, in good\ncondition. He treats him well and tenderly withal. Why this difference?\nWhy the balance of care and merciful dealing on the side of our Roman\nCatholic brethren? For one thing, priests are chiefly Irishmen, who are\nhorsemen and horse-lovers to a man. Then the celibate Levite, having no\nhuman outlet for his affections, pets his steed, as the old maid her\ncat. With the married clergyman the oats of the rough-coated, though\nserviceable, steed come often in competition with the butcher's and\nbaker's bills or the children's schooling. The married parson's horse,\nlike himself, must work hard on the smallest modicum of sustenance,\nlodging, and support that will keep body and soul together. And very\ngood work the pair often do.\n\nThe Rev. Cyril, however, being a bachelor, and living a good deal at\nfree quarters, was not an impecunious individual. He should therefore\nhave had his hackney in better order. But it was more a matter of\ncarelessness with him than lack of purpose. He had not been a horseman\nin his youth. Australian born as he was, he had studied hard and\npermitted himself few recreations of a physical kind; so that when,\nafter serving as a catechist, he was appointed to the district of West\nLogan, where he had two or three hundred miles a week to ride or drive\nin a general way, he found himself awkwardly deficient in this\nparticular accomplishment.\n\nTo take a man-servant with him always would have doubled his expenses,\nwithout being of any corresponding benefit. After trying it for a few\nmonths he gave it up. He then took to riding and driving himself--at\nfirst with partial success, inasmuch as he had several falls, and the\nperiodical overthrow of the parson's buggy became part of the monthly\nnews of the district. Gradually, however, he attained to that measure of\nproficiency which enables a man to ride a quiet horse along a road or\nthrough open country, besides being able to drive a buggy without\ncolliding with obstacles. He certainly drove with painfully loose reins,\nand rode his horse much after the sailor's fashion, as if they are\nwarranted to go fifty miles without stopping. However, he got on pretty\nwell on the whole, and Australian horses, like Cossack ponies, being\naccustomed to stand a good deal of violent exercise with the aid only of\noccasional feeding and no grooming at all, Mr. Courtenay and his steed\ngot through their work and adventures reasonably well.\n\nThree o'clock saw the two young men at the Maroobil home station, a\nlarge, old-fashioned, comfortable congeries of buildings, without\nattempt at architectural embellishment. The barns, sheds, and stables\nwere massive and commodious, showing signs of having been built in that\nearlier period of colonial history when less attention was paid to\nrapidity of construction. The garden was full of fruit-trees of great\nage and size, which even in the late droughts seemed to have been\nsupplied with adequate moisture. Comfort and massiveness had been the\nleading characteristics of the establishment since its foundation.\nHomesteads have a recognisable expression at first sight, even as their\nproprietors.\n\nA neat brown-faced groom took the horses from the young men as they\ndismounted, looking critically at the rather 'tucked up' condition of\nthe parson's steed. 'Take Mr. Courtenay's horse to a box and feed him\ntill sundown; then put him into the creek paddock. Go round and tell the\nhands to roll up in the shed at half-past seven to-night. Mr. Courtenay\nwill hold service.' The groom touched his hat with a gesture of assent,\nand departed with his charge.\n\nThe principal sitting-room at Maroobil was a fairly large apartment,\nwhich did not aspire to the dignity of a drawing-room. In the days of\nhis father and mother Harold had always remembered them sitting there in\nthe evenings after the evening meal had been cleared away. There was a\nlarge old-fashioned fireplace, where in winter such a fire glowed as\neffectually prevented those in the room from being cold. A solid\nmahogany table enabled any one to read or write thereon with comfort.\nAnd Harold was one of those persons who was unable to pass his evenings\nin a general way without doing more or less of both. A well-chosen\nlibrary, with most of the standard authors and a reasonable infusion of\nmodern light literature, filled up one end of the room. Sofas and\nlounges helped to redeem the room from stiffness or discomfort.\nFull-length portraits in oil of Harold's father and mother, as also of a\npreceding generation, with an admiral who had fought at Trafalgar,\nadorned the walls.\n\nA stag's head and antlers shot in New Zealand, with a brace of stuffed\npheasants and the brush of an Australian-bred fox, were fixed over\ndoorways. Guns and rifles of every kind of size, gauge, and construction\nfilled a couple of racks. All things were neat and scrupulously clean,\nbut there was that total absence of ornamentation which characterises a\nbachelor establishment of a settled and confirmed type.\n\nIn the evening, when the master of the establishment and his clerical\nguest walked across the half-mile which separated the wool-shed from the\nhouse--another old-world institution absurdly near the homestead, as the\noverseer, a 'Riverina man' of advanced views, declared--a fairly\nnumerous congregation was assembled. The chairs and forms had been\nconveniently placed for the people. The wool table had been dressed up,\nso as to be made a serviceable reading-desk. Candles in tin sconces lit\nup the building--a matter which had been found necessary during\ntheatrical representations in the same building during the shearing\nseason, when travelling troupes of various orders of merit essay to levy\ntoll on the cash earnings so freely disbursed at such times.\n\nIt was a representative gathering, in some respects a strange and\npathetic assemblage. It was known that Mr. Atherstone particularly\nwished all his employees to attend these occasional services, and to pay\ndue respect to whatever clergyman, in the exercise of his vocation,\nmight find his way to Maroobil. Harold was unprejudiced as to\ndenominations, although firmly attached to his own, and exacted as far\nas possible a decent recognition of the trouble and personal expenditure\nundertaken for the spiritual welfare of the neighbourhood.\n\nOn the nearest form might be seen the unmistakable type of the English\npeasant from Essex. The gardener, John Thrum, and his wife, had\nemigrated from Bishop-Stortford thirty years ago, and finding a\ncongenial resting-place at Maroobil, had remained there ever since,\nsaving their money, and at the beginning of every year expressing their\ndetermination to 'go home to England.' A dozen station hands and\nboundary riders exhibited bronzed and sunburnt features, darkened almost\nto the complexion of 'Big Billy,' the black fellow, who, with a clean\nshirt and a countenance of edifying solemnity, sat on one of the back\nbenches. A score of young men and lads, long of limb, rather slouching\nof manner, with regular features and athletic frames, showed a general\nresemblance in type, such as that towards which the Anglo-Celtic and\nAnglo-Saxon Australian is gradually merging. A few women and children, a\nstray hawker, a policeman on the track of horse-stealers, resplendent in\nspotless boots and breeches--_voila tous_! There were Roman Catholics\namong the crowd, but much abiding in the backwoods had rubbed off\nprejudice. Padres were scarce, anyhow. There was no chapel within fifty\nmiles, and they didn't think it would be any harm to come.\n\nFor the rest, the service of the Church of England, slightly condensed,\nwas gone through; a plain, serviceable sermon, sound in doctrine and not\nabove the heads of the hearers, was administered; the benediction was\nsaid; and the little congregation composed of such different elements\ndispersed--some of them certainly soothed and comforted by the familiar\nwords, if by nought else; others, let us hope, induced to consider or\namend their course of life, where such was needful.\n\nAs the young men strolled home back to the homestead the clergyman,\nafter a pause, said, 'It often oppresses me with a feeling of sadness,\nthe doubt which I feel whether any appreciable good results from these\noccasional services, the efforts of myself and other men, who labour\nunder different titles in the Lord's vineyard. When we reflect on the\nlives these men, almost without exception, lead--the old gardener,\nperhaps, the sole exception, and the women and children--a man may well\ndoubt whether he is not wearing out his life for nought.'\n\n'It's hard to say,' answered Harold. 'If the soldier does not fight, the\nbattle is not won. One does not see much improvement, certainly, from\ndecade to decade. Perhaps there is less of the open, reckless profligacy\nthat we used to hear of in our boyhood. But no doubt most of the men\nthat we saw to-night gamble, drink, and in riotous living of one form or\nother dispose of their yearly wages; confessedly going to town at\nChristmas, or some other holiday, to \"knock it down.\"'\n\n'All of them?' said the preacher. 'Surely there must be some of them who\ndo not?'\n\n'Well, not the married men perhaps--those who have farms and who live in\nthe cooler regions, near the foothills, as the Americans say, of the\ngreat mountain-chain. They save their money, and take it home to their\nwives; it helps for harvest and other time of need. But the older men,\nthe regular nomadic hands, who are rarely married, and the boys, save\nnothing, except for a grand annual carnival, which after a month leaves\nthem penniless for another year.'\n\n'A practice which must have the most demoralising effect upon these poor\nvictims of drink and debauchery?'\n\n'I really can't say that it has,' replied Harold Atherstone. 'That is\nthe extraordinary part of it. That grizzled, clean-shaved man with the\nsquare shoulders and highly respectable English appearance is a\nDevonshire man, who came here early in life. He has been employed on\nMaroobil, off and on, ever since I remember. He never drinks when at\nwork. You might send him into the township with a five-pound note any\nday and he would return sober. He is as hard as nails. I would take his\nword as soon as any friend I know. He is brave, honest, hard-working,\nsimple. As a labourer he is without a fault. He is the stuff of which\nEngland's best soldiers and sailors are made. And yet----'\n\n'And yet what?'\n\n'He is a hopeless and irreclaimable drunkard. He has collected his\nknock-about money, his shearing, and his harvest money about the end of\nJanuary. By the first or second week in March he has not a shilling in\nthe world--starting out \"on the wallaby,\" as he calls it, sober and\npenniless, with barely a shirt to his back, trusting to the first job he\nmeets for food and covering. What are you to do with a man like that?'\n\n'Surely a word in season might influence him?'\n\n'Not if one rose from the dead.\n\n'Because, now consider the case carefully, as Mr. Jaggers says. Here is\na man who has self-denial enough, with the raging drunkard's thirst upon\nhim, to suddenly determine to abstain wholly, solely, and absolutely\nfrom even a teaspoonful of beer, wine, or alcohol, with gallons of it\nunder his nose at every public-house he passes. When you talk to him he\nis as sober as I am--more so indeed, for I am going to have a glass of\nwhisky and water to-night, whereas he will touch nothing for nearly a\nyear. He says, \"Well, master, I be always main sorry at the time, and I\ndo aim not to touch it no more. But the devil, he be too strong for I,\nand zumhow or zumhow, the old feeling comes over me arter Christmas\ntime, and I knocks all the cheques down, zame as before. But I've\nneither chick nor child, and I reckon I harm no one but myself.\"\n\n'\"But you'll die in a ditch some day, Ben,\" I say to him.\n\n'\"Like as not, master,\" he replies, quite good-humouredly; \"and no\ngreat matter. A man must die when his turn comes. But you'll have the\nhay spoiling, master, if you keeps a-talkin' to your hands 'stead of\ndrivin' 'em at their work.\"'\n\n'How it must ruin their constitution!' groaned the clergyman. 'They\ncan't have a healthy pulse or movement.'\n\n'Even that is not borne out by fact,' said the squatter. 'Have up this\nold private in the industrial army, and what do you find? His eye is\nclear, his cheek is healthy and brown. Let either of us, fairly strong\nmen--taller and broader too--stand alongside of him at a hard day's\nwork, and see where we shall be! Every muscle and sinew, strained and\ntested since childhood, is like wire compared to cord. The country-bred\nEnglishman is certainly the best working animal in the world, and I\ncannot conscientiously say that this man's bodily or mental powers have\nsuffered for the life he has led.'\n\n'Is there no hope, then?' said the young preacher despondingly. 'Must\nthe best and bravest of the race be doomed to this hopeless degradation?\nThe preacher's warning is useless, the kindly master's advice, the\nteaching of experience, the voice of God. What are we to look to in the\nfuture?'\n\n'To the spread of education and the development of intelligence. I see\nno other safeguard. Ben can neither read nor write. Hundreds like him\ncan do so with difficulty--which amounts to nearly the same thing. A\ncertain reaction sets in after continuous labour. What change or\nrecreation have these barren intelligences so complete, so transforming\nas the madness of intoxication? With culture--national and\nuniversal--will come additional means of recreation a hundredfold\nmultiplied. With the refinement inseparable from education will come the\ndistaste for unbridled debauchery, for the coarse and degrading\nenjoyments of mere sensuality, for a practice which will have become\nunfashionable with every grade and every class of society.'\n\n'Then you trust in the millennium of universal education--secular or\notherwise--not fearing the communistic and atheistic principles which\nmay be involved by mere mental culture unregulated by religious\nteaching.'\n\n'So long as the race preserves the attributes which have always\ndistinguished it, so long as the passions disturb the reasoning powers,\nso long as the body preserves its present relation to the spirit, men\nwill drink to heighten pleasure or to dull pain. But in proportion as\nthe mental powers are developed and refined by culture, so will the vice\nwhich we call drunkenness diminish, perhaps disappear. With other\nresults of the tillage of that rich and boundless estate, the nation's\nmind, so long fallow, so negligently worked, I shall not at present\nconcern myself. I have my own opinion.'\n\n'You will not take anything?' said Atherstone, lighting his pipe as the\ntwo men sat over the wide fireplace upon their return from the\nwool-shed. 'Light wine or spirits you will find on the tray; the aerated\nwater is yonder.'\n\n'I think it better for me to practise what I preach in the matter of\nintoxicating liquors,' said Mr. Courtenay, filling a large tumbler with\nthe aerated water. 'This is very refreshing--though I do not feel called\nupon to denounce the moderate use of what was doubtless ordained for\nwise purposes.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'I can put your horse in the paddock, and let me drive you over to\nCorindah,' said the host after breakfast next morning. 'He will be all\nthe better for it, and on return you can make across to Yandah just as\nwell from here. I'll send Jack with you across the bush, and he'll put\nyou on to the main Wannonbah road.'\n\n'Thank you very much, Mr. Atherstone; you are always considerate. I\nbegan to think Rover was failing a little; yet I had only ridden him\nforty miles when I met you.'\n\n'Before lunch-time?' said the other, smiling. 'Well, he is a good horse,\nand carries you well; only, when you come back from Yandah, I'd put the\nother nag into commission. Leave Rover here till autumn, and he'll be\nfat and strong to carry you all the winter. And now, if you have any\nwriting to do before lunch, I must leave you in possession. We'll start\nat half-past three sharp. There's the library, the writing-table, the\nhouse generally, to do as you like with till I come back to lunch.'\n\nPunctually at the appointed hour after lunch the pair of fast-trotting,\nwell-bred buggy horses whirled the two young men away on the track to\nCorindah, a pathway which, already well-beaten, did not appear to be in\ndanger of becoming faint from disuse.\n\nArriving before sundown, they were received with unmistakable cordiality\nby the lady of the house, who explained that Pollie had gone out for a\nride with her cousin, but would be home by tea-time. This trifling piece\nof intelligence did not, strange to relate, appear to add to the\nsatisfaction of either guest. Nor even when the missing damsel came\nriding in, looking deliciously fresh and exhilarated by the healthful\nexercise, talking in an animated way to Mr. Bertram Devereux, who,\nattired with great neatness and mounted upon the handsomest horse that\nCorindah 'had to its name,' looked like an equestrian lounger from\nRotten Row, was their equanimity altogether restored. Harold was\nreserved and imperturbable as usual--even more so. Mr. Courtenay\ndiscoursed gloomily about the low state of morality everywhere apparent\nin the bush. The rather carefully prepared tea entertainment, to which\npoor Mrs. Devereux had looked forward with a certain pleasurable\nanticipation, proved flat and uninteresting.\n\nThe attendance was comparatively large in the dining-room of the\nbachelor's quarters, which Mrs. Devereux had caused to be rigorously\ncleaned out for the occasion. But it was agreed that the sermon of Mr.\nCourtenay was not so good as usual; that he had 'gone off' in his\npreaching, and had not been so pleasant-mannered as was his wont. Mrs.\nDevereux was lost in astonishment at the variation in his performance\nand demeanour, and concluded by remarking to Pollie privately that\nclergymen were uncertain in their ways, and that Mr. Courtenay in\nparticular, must have been overworking himself lately, which accounted\nfor his altered form.\n\nMrs. Devereux was anxious to confide in Harold about Mr. Charteris'\nunlucky declaration before his departure, and to assure herself of his\napproval of her conduct. She knew that the young men were as brothers,\nand that Mr. Charteris would by no means object to such a proceeding.\nBut Harold said rather sternly that he and Mr. Courtenay must drive home\nthat afternoon: he had work to do, etc.; and in spite of an appealing\nand surprised glance from Miss Pollie, he adhered to his resolution, and\nafter saying farewell formally, was seen no more.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nThough there was nothing overt in the manner of Harold Atherstone upon\nwhich she could fasten as showing resentment or offence, yet did Miss\nDevereux acknowledge in her secret heart a coolness in the demeanour of\nher old friend which troubled her. He was always so kind, so honest, so\nconsiderate. 'Tender and true' expressed her thoughts. She could not\nthink of his disapproval without regret, even pain. He had a way of\nalways being in the right, too. On many occasions had they differed in\nopinion. She recalled how invariably it had been forced upon her cooler,\njuster self that his opinion had been correct from the beginning.\nSuppose, she thought to herself, as she leaned out of the window and\nwatched the stars with strange undefined yearnings, that Harold should\nbe right this time! He had said nothing, only showed by his manner, by\nhis countenance, every inflexion of which she knew so well, that he\ndisliked this increasing intimacy with her cousin. Was it increasing? A\nmere half-friendship, founded on curiosity, admiration of the unknown,\nupon her own ideal, enveloping him like a costume at a masquerade.\n\nIt is possible that this highly important retrospective process might\nhave proceeded to much greater length and depth of research, that\ncuriously constructed organ the female heart being full of all manner of\nstrange corridors, galleries, and shafts, of utterly unknown measure and\nlimit. But circumstances arose--circumstances which altered the aspect\nof affairs--which turned temporarily the maiden's thoughts into far\nother channels.\n\nThe season being so exceptionally good, the stock and station being\nnearly 'able to manage themselves,' as Mr. Gateward expressed it, the\nhighly original idea of a summer trip, for the benefit of her own and\nher daughter's health, suggested itself to the mind of Mrs. Devereux.\n\n'Poor dear! she has been shut up here quite long enough,' said the\nloving mother. 'I can't say that she doesn't look well, but a voyage\nmust benefit her. It will give a change of ideas. It may take away that\nrestless, discontented feeling which comes to her now so often.'\n\nThereupon it was decided that they were to go to Sydney, and spend a\nfortnight among their friends. Then by steamer to Melbourne. From that\ncity they would take one of the New Zealand boats, so as to pass a\nportion of the summer at the fairy lakes of Rotomahana and the hot\nsprings of Waiwera--that modern imitation of Paradise.\n\nFor this unprecedented step Mrs. Devereux had more than one reason. She\ncertainly thought it would tend to her darling's mental and bodily\nimprovement. But that was not all. With womanly quickness sharpened by a\nmother's instinct, she had divined that the intimacy between Pollie and\nher cousin was slowly but surely coming closer, nearer, perhaps dearer.\n\nOf the probable _denouement_ she had an instinctive dread. 'I don't know\nwhat it is,' she said to herself, 'but I can't altogether put faith in\nBertram. It isn't that I can say anything against him. He is clever,\nmanly, good-looking in his way. I didn't think so at first. But somehow\nI don't seem to be able to know him. He is as great a stranger as the\nfirst day I set eyes upon him. Oh! why can't she take Harold Atherstone,\nwho is worth half a dozen of him--of any other man I ever saw, except\npoor Brian?'\n\nIf there was any regret at parting with any one at Corindah, Pollie\navailed herself of one of the sex's weapons, and reticently made no\nsign. She appeared to be wild with delight at the\n\n                      sea-change\n    Into something rich and strange,\n\nwhich her daily life was presently to undergo. It may be that she\nherself was conscious of the slowly increasing power of a fascination\nwhich she was powerless to resist. In its present stage--such is the\ncurious, contradictory nature of the maiden's heart--she regarded it\nwith fear and unwillingness.\n\nThus she caught eagerly at the chance afforded her of a totally new\nexperience, of the strange environments of a delicious foreign\nexistence, such as in the future she might never have the chance of\nrealising under similar conditions. Joyous anticipation seemed to have\ntaken possession of her mind with a sudden rush, forcibly expelling all\nprevious sensations.\n\nBertram Devereux was chagrined at the change of programme. Coldly\nself-possessed as usual, however, he betrayed not, by word or manner,\nhis real feeling on the subject.\n\n'Why don't you go home to England while you are about it, Mrs.\nDevereux?' he asked. 'The time would not be so much longer. You have\nfriends and relations there, and I should be delighted to give you\nintroductions to some of mine.'\n\n'You are indeed most kind,' said the unsuspecting matron, cordially\ngrateful; 'but a voyage to England is too serious a matter to be\nundertaken lightly. We are doing great things in going to New Zealand\nand Melbourne. Nothing would induce me to go a step farther, or to stay\naway more than three or four months at the outside.'\n\n'I feel certain that your daughter would enjoy the European travel. It\nwould be new life to her, and would even benefit you, after your many\nanxieties,' continued the tempter suavely. 'There'll be nothing to do\nhere or to see to for a couple of years, so Gateward says. You could\nspare the time well.'\n\n'You seem very anxious to get rid of us,' said the younger lady, with a\npout. 'Some people will think six months a long time to miss us from\nCorindah.'\n\n'Can you think _I_ shall not miss you?' returned he, with a sudden\nchange of tone and expression which thrilled her in a manner for which\nshe could not account, as he bent his searching, steadfast gaze upon\nher. 'But you ought to see the \"kingdoms of the world and the glory of\nthem\" now that you have the opportunity. I should follow you, mentally,\nall the way.'\n\nHere one of his rare smiles lit up his face, as he gazed at her with the\ntenderness one bestows on a child; and again her eyes sank under his,\nwhile a faint flush tinged her snow-fair cheek.\n\n'Mother and I cannot make up our minds to such an expedition as going to\nEngland all at once,' she replied slowly. 'We require to be educated up\nto it. Wait until we return from New Zealand, then we will fold our\nwings, and perhaps make ready for a longer flight.'\n\n'\"Would I were, sweet bird, like thee!\"' hummed Mr. Devereux, as he\ngracefully declined further controversy. 'Some of these days you will\nawake to your privileges, I suppose. We all develop by unmarked changes,\nnone the less surely, however, as fate decrees.'\n\nMrs. Devereux grew, indeed, half afraid of the momentous enterprise on\nwhich she was about to enter. Supported, however, by her daughter, she\nkept up to the task of packing and providing for departure. This\neventually took the form of being driven to the nearest railway\nterminus, a short day's journey, and being deposited in a first-class\ncarriage, with all their effects in the brake-van, carefully labelled.\nThe next morning saw them in Sydney, the Sea-Queen of the South,\nsomewhat nervously excited at being so far from Corindah, so\nimmeasurably removed from their ordinary life.\n\n'After all,' cried Pollie, as they sat in the balcony of their hotel\nafter breakfast, and gazed over the matchless sea-lake, gay with boats\nof every size and shape, and the argosies of all lands, while beyond lay\nthe grand eternal mystery of ocean, guarded only by the grim sandstone\nportals, against which so many ages of tidal force have foamed and\nraged--'after all we make too much of leaving home for a few months'\ntravel. What wonders and miracles stay-at-home people miss! What human\nlimpets they are; and how narrow are their paths to enjoyment! \"I feel\nas if I were in Paradise, in Paradise,\"' she warbled. 'Oh, what a change\nfrom our dear old monotonous Corindah!'\n\n'Home is very sweet after all,' said the elder woman, 'though I enjoy\nthis lovely sea-view. But, my darling, you frighten me by these\nexpressions of wild delight. It cannot be good for any one to revel in\npleasure, the mere luxurious sensation of change of scene, so intensely,\nso passionately as you do. Such feelings are unsafe for women. You\nshould moderate them, or evil may come to you from these very unchecked\nemotions.'\n\n'My darling old mother, I am positively shivering with delight; but why\nshould this or any other natural impulse be wrong? Surely we are given\nthese feelings, like the rest of our nature, for wise reasons? Like\nspeech, laughter, thought, they are unutterable mercies, to be\nreasonably used and economised. But I see your meaning, and I will guard\nmy emotions a little. I must do so when I get to the hot springs Eden,\nor I shall be plunging into hot water in mistake for tepid. Fancy a\nheroine of romance boiled alive!'\n\n'Don't talk of it, my darling,' said Mrs. Devereux, with a shudder.\n'Really, don't you think Melbourne will be quite far enough, and very\npleasant at this time of year? We might leave New Zealand till another\ntime.'\n\n'Not for worlds,' said the steadfast damsel. 'I want to get a little\nnearer to the pole. I shall feel like an Arctic explorer.'\n\nThe pleasures of the metropolis, doubly sweet after a lengthened\nabsence, had been sipped for a fortnight, when a breezy morn saw the\nladies of Corindah steaming out of the harbour on board the _Cathay_, a\nmagnificent sea-monster of the P. and O. persuasion, containing all\nkinds of delicious foreign novelties, social and material.\n\n'Mother, I don't think I can have been really alive before,' exclaimed\nPollie, as they walked down the splendid flush deck. 'I suppose I was\nliving, but I must have been in a state of torpor, with a few mechanical\nsenses feebly revolving, as it were. Isn't this unutterably\nlovely--quite an eastern fairy-tale in action? Look at those splendidly\nugly Seedees in the engine-room, ghouls and afreets every one; besides,\neven the lascars--what classic profiles and lithe, graceful shapes they\nhave! I feel in love with everybody and everything, down to the Chinese\nwaiters in spotless white.'\n\nWhen the heads were cleared, and the strong north-easter sent the\n_Cathay_ flying south at the rate of fifteen knots per hour, the motion\nwas increased and perhaps complicated, whereupon an entirely new class\nof sensations succeeded those of rapturous delight in Pollie's case, in\nconsequence of which a hasty descent into the cabin was rendered\nnecessary.\n\nThe morning, however, brought smoother seas and a less urgent breath\nfrom AEolus. The naturally strong constitution of the girl triumphed over\ntemporary _malaise_, and soon she was enabled to sit upon deck and enjoy\nthe brilliant and wondrous succession of sea and shore and sky pageants\nunrolled before her.\n\nA full complement of passengers, bound to and from all parts of the\nworld, had been received on board, so that Pollie's observant eye and\nsympathetic mind had full employment as the long rows of chairs became\ngradually filled. People for India, _via_ Ceylon; home-returning\nofficers and civilians having exhausted their furlough; globe-trotters\nwho had traversed the Australian world from Dan to Beersheba and found\nall barren, or 'not half a bad place,' according to the state of their\nliving or their reception in clubs and coteries; home-returning\nAustralians, visiting Europe for the first time in their lives, or after\nmany years; mere intercolonial voyagers like themselves; a successful\ngold-digger or two, treating themselves to first-class passages, plain\nof aspect, but reserved and correct of manner, as such men generally\nare, whatever may be said to the contrary by superficial scribes. After\nPollie had got over her astonished delight at the _Arabian Nights_\nportion of the ship, she found a new world of interest and romance\nopening before her eyes in the Anglo-Saxon section comprising the\nfirst-class passengers. This was not lessened in any way when, lunch\nbeing announced, she found her mother and herself placed in seats of\nhonour on the right hand of His Majesty the Captain--such being his\nroyal command--while the wife of an eminent Indian civilian looked\nindignantly and incredulously at them from the opposite side of the\ntable.\n\nIt had leaked out through a Sydney friend of Captain Belmont's that this\nwas _the_ Mrs. Devereux of Corindah and her daughter, who had taken\ntheir passages in the _Cathay en route_ to New Zealand, persons of\nfabulous wealth, girl sole heiress, could not be worth less than a\nhundred thousand, besides freehold property, and so on. Now Pollie was\nunquestionably the belle of the ship, and persons of prepossessing\nappearance were not scarce either; but the slight paleness and languor\nproduced by her unwonted sensations had given her haughty beauty a tinge\nof softness which, when she issued from her cabin, made her positively\nirresistible. So the captain, an experienced but susceptible bachelor,\nhad avowed with many nautical asseverations, and thereupon directed the\npurser, a most distinguished individual in uniform, whom Pollie took to\nbe an admiral at least, to induct them into the place of honour.\n\nWhen a glass of claret and Selters-water, insisted upon by the captain\nas a medical necessity, and some slight refection from the luxuriously\nappointed table had revived the spirits of both ladies, Pollie was\nenabled to realise her position. Here was she, seated almost upon the\ndais in point of social elevation, above the wives and daughters of the\nmilitary, civil, and mercantile swells, palpably receiving the most\nassiduous attention from the acknowledged autocrat of their _monde_--of\nthat loftiest, most resistless of despots, that uncrowned king, the\ncaptain of a crack ocean steamer on board his own ship.\n\nBesides his dazzling and unquestioned superiority, Captain Belmont was a\nhandsome, striking-looking man. Courteous, polished even in manner, he\nhad the eagle eye, the air of resolute command, with which years of\nunquestioned authority invest the sea-king. Prompt, watchful, fearless,\nscorning sleep or fatigue when danger menaced, the arbiter of freedom or\nimprisonment within his own realm, the guardian of every life so\nconfidently entrusted to his care--where is the man who to the maiden's\nheart, during the long reveries of a sea voyage, so amply fills the\ncharacter of a hero of romance as the captain? Who has not marked his\ninfluence in danger's darkest hour, when the moaning wind, rising fast\nto the shriek of the tempest, the lurid sky, the labouring bark, and\n'the remorseless dash of billows,' all speak to the fear-stricken crowd\nof dread endings, of wreck in mid-ocean? In such an hour how does every\neye turn to the calm, resolute seaman, who directs every act, who\nforesees the need of every rope that is drawn, of every turn of the\nhelm! How does every listener hang upon his words and dwell upon his\nlightest syllable of hope!\n\nHas no one seen the grateful company of passengers when land was\nreached, and, as they deemed, through his skill and vigilance those\nlives were saved which, in the hour of deadly peril, he held in the\nhollow of his hand--gather around the captain to express such words of\ngrateful confidence as are seldom yielded to man, the women tearful, the\nmen pressing to shake his hand with honest friendliness? Such a meeting\ntook place, after a dangerous voyage, in honour of one who for twenty\nyears had worthily borne the name of being one of Britain's best and\nboldest seamen. And the impression on the mind of one eye-witness was\nnever effaced.\n\nIt was, therefore, a new and intoxicating position in which Miss Pollie\nDevereux found herself. The acknowledged object of respectful admiration\nto this resplendently heroic character, and on equal terms with all the\nother potentates, from the first officer--a magnificent personage, and\nsecond only to the captain in importance--while the rank and file of\npassengers stood aloof in timid or cynical survey of the damsel whom the\nAhasuerus of the hour delighted to honour.\n\nThough partially awed by the eminence of their position, Mrs. Devereux,\nwho had been accustomed in her time to much of respect and\nconsideration, saw nothing very unusual in their promotion. Pollie\nherself was charmed to find herself on equal conversational terms with\nsuch an autocrat. With girlish eagerness she pressed him to tell her of\nthe dangers he had braved and the wonders he had seen. He, nothing\nloath, produced from time to time, in temptingly small quantities,\nprecious reminiscences of cyclones in the China seas, pirate schooners\nin the Spanish Main, slavers in Sierra Leone--for he had been in the\nnavy--opium clippers, Chinese mail-boats taken by mutineers and never\nheard of after, wreck and fire, even all kinds of peril by sea and land\nin which he had borne a part; so that Pollie or any other damsel might\nbe pardoned for feeling a temporary conviction that such a man had gone\nthrough adventures transcending in interest those of the lives of a\nhundred mere landsmen--that, were the hero of her choice a sailor, she\nwould gladly wear out her life in accompanying him in his voyages.\n\nThe next day was Sunday. According to custom, the lascar crew turned out\ngorgeous in crimson-and-gold scarfs, spotless white robes, and\nembroidered turbans, very different from their dingy working garb. After\nbreakfast, when the captain in full uniform passed close between the\ndouble rank, with the air of Caliph Haroun Al-Raschid, the men lowly\nsalaaming as if thankful not to be doomed to death on that occasion, it\nwas a reproduction in the romantic girl's brain of yet another chapter\nin the rich traditional glory of the past. Even the Seedees gambolled\nuncouthly in strange gaudy raiment, looking like slaves who had found an\nopulent and indulgent master. The while Pollie sat in great state on a\ncane lounge of honour, with a cushion under her feet and a parasol like\nthe Queen of Sheba's.\n\nUnfortunately for the permanent enjoyment of these dreamy delights, the\n_Cathay_ drove through 'The Rip,' at the entrance to the vast haven at\nthe farther end of which Melbourne commences, on the morning of the\nthird day. A short railway transit saw them deposited at the Esplanade\nHotel, where an extended, though not, critically speaking, picturesque\nsea-view was afforded to them.\n\nCaptain Belmont had, with the dash and rapidity which characterise the\nnautical admirer, obtained Mrs. Devereux' consent to join 'a theatre\nparty' which he had organised. As it happened, an actor of world-wide\nreputation was performing a favourite melodrama of his own composition.\nThis was a chance, he speciously urged, which Miss Devereux should not\nbe suffered to miss. The promise was made. The captain arrived in due\ntime and escorted them to the Theatre Royal, where one more process of\nart-magic was added to Pollie's collection.\n\nAs their open carriage rolled through the wide, straight streets, in\nwhich long rows of lamps glittered on either side, or faded star-like in\nthe far distance, they were impressed with the utterly different\nexpression of Melbourne from that of their own fair city by the sea.\n\n'What a wonderful place!' said Pollie, gazing up the great street which\ncontains all the pleasures and palaces, and is nightly crowded with\ntheir votaries. 'How the lamps glow and shimmer! What a vast size and\nalmost sombre uniformity in the buildings which line the streets! There\nis something weird, too, in the electric lights which create a pale\ndaylight around those endless colonnades. I feel as if I had been\ntransported to some city raised by the wand of an enchanter.'\n\n'Not unlike a little sorcery,' said one of the party, 'when you come to\nthink. There were gum-trees and blacks here \"in full blast\" half a\ncentury ago. Here we are at the Royal.'\n\nIt was a command night. The representative of Her Majesty had signified\nhis intention of being present. One of the best boxes in the\ndress-circle--but two distant from the vice-regal compartment--had been\nsecured by the forecasting captain. The house was crammed. As the\npopular governor and his party entered, the great assemblage rose like\none man to the air of the National Anthem, which aroused Pollie to a\nburst of loyal enthusiasm.\n\n'It always brings the tears into my eyes,' she said; 'it looks foolish,\nbut I cannot help it. Something in the old tune and the reverence with\nwhich our people always greet it stirs my very heart's core. I suppose\nthese feelings are hereditary.'\n\n'The colonies are wonderfully loyal,' said the captain. 'I never saw\nanything like it. You are more English than the English themselves.'\n\n'I hope we shall always remain so,' said Mrs. Devereux, 'though I\nbelieve at home they think we must be essentially different. But the\ncurtain rises. Now, Pollie!'\n\nIt follows, as a thing of course, that the whole party, and more\nparticularly Pollie, with her sensitive nature, appreciative as well of\nthe lightest touches of humour as the deeper tones of pathos, were\ncharmed with the play, which had enthralled London nightly for a whole\nyear.\n\nWhen, after the finale, the party adjourned to the carefully appointed\nsupper which the gallant captain had insisted upon providing--when, amid\nthe popping of champagne corks, a flow of pleasant criticism and\nenjoyable badinage went round--Pollie realised that she was tasting one\nof those highly flavoured, almost forbidden pleasures of life which she\nhad read of, but hardly dared to think of sharing.\n\n'This sort of thing is too good to be true,' she replied to Captain\nBelmont, who was expressing his general and particular satisfaction with\n'the way things had gone off.' 'There is so much enjoyment that it must\nbe a little sinful. Don't you think so? I shall wake to-morrow to find\nit all a dream; or mother will decide that I am never to go to a theatre\nparty again.'\n\nThe captain murmured that all manner of delights--the joys that\nembellish existence--were in her power. She had but to speak the word,\ndoubtless, and slaves in scores would be at her command, himself among\nthe number, only too happy to administer to her slightest wish now and\nfor his whole life after. Here the captain's deep voice faltered, and\nhis expressive eyes, which had done only too much execution in their\nday, were fixed on hers with an ardent, well-nigh magnetic gaze. The\ngirl trembled involuntarily for a moment, and then laughed lightly, as\nshe replied, 'Is that out of a play, Captain Belmont? I think I have\nheard it somewhere before. But I feel as if we all belonged to the\nopera, and that even compliments of that sort chime in with our\ncondition in life.'\n\nThe captain's expression changed to one almost gravely paternal as he\nbowed and trusted she might never meet in after life with friends less\nsincere than those who would so deeply regret her departure from the\n_Cathay_. Then, as Mrs. Devereux made the slightly perceptible movement\nwhich defined the limit of the symposium, they joined the retreat, and\nthe captain surrendered whatever illusion he may have cherished\nconcerning his too charming passenger.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nAfter the splendour and distinction of the _Cathay_, the voyage to New\nZealand was a tame affair, voted so even by Mrs. Devereux. Both ladies\nwere heartily glad when the wooded heights of the Britain of the South\nrose from the underworld, and they addressed themselves to the great\nquestion of disembarkation with earnestness.\n\nOf their stay in the land of the Maori and of their enjoyment of the\ndaily supply of delights and wonders, it were superfluous to tell; of\nPollie's reverential admiration for the first Rangatira whom she\nencountered--a grizzled, war-worn chief who had fought stubbornly\nagainst us at the Gate Pah, and had in his day killed (and eaten) many a\ntribal foe. Upon the brilliant verdure of the pasture refreshed by the\nperennial moisture of a sea-girdled isle, the hawthorn hedges, the\nroadside ditches, the old-world English look of so many things and\npeople, she was never tired of expatiating. The people, the scenery, the\nclimate, and the soil were new. The forests of strange glossy-leaved\ntrees, of noble pines, of clinging parasites with crimson blossoms, held\nneither bird, nor beast, nor leaf, nor flower akin to those of the\nAustralian continent.\n\n'What a wonderful region! So near to us--a few days' voyage only--and\nyet so unlike. And what a sheep country! No dingoes, no eagles, no\nsnakes, no crows! This last is simply incredible. Fancy a country\nwithout crows! There must be something wrong about it. What would Mr.\nGateward say? And such grass! If we only could have \"travelled\" over\nhere in the drought! It seems hard that Providence devoted all the\nintervening distance to water. Had it been dry land, it would have been\nworth all the rest of our continent.'\n\n'\"The earth is the Lord's and the fulness thereof,\" my darling,' said\nthe mother. 'I don't like to hear you talk lightly about such things.\nSeas and lands were doubtless arranged as they are for some wise\npurpose.'\n\n'I never meant to be irreverent, my dearest. I was only thinking what a\npity this fine south latitude region should be useless. Only fancy,\nexcept this little New Zealand dot, there is no habitable land between\nus and the South Pole. Oh! I forgot the Crozets--those islands where the\nship was wrecked, and the passengers were cast away nearly twelve\nmonths. All their hair turned white as fleeces. So complexion is only a\nmatter of latitude after all.'\n\nTheir time was all too short when the route was again given, and the\nparty with which they had amalgamated proceeded by tourist stages to the\ndream-region of Rotomahana.\n\nOf the glories and triumphs of that wonderland who shall tell\nadequately, who depict with a tithe of the fresh brilliant colouring\nthat Nature--earliest of Royal Academicians--has invented?\n\n'I will never go back,' quoth Pollie; 'here I will live and die. I will\nbecome a guide, like Maori Kate here--magnificent creature that she is!\nI will never be proud of civilisation again. What do we get by it\nforsooth? Headaches, neuralgia, nervous systems, toothaches, and\nshortened lives. These noble Maoris never have headaches, except from\ntoo much rum--which is only a transient, not a chronic ailment--but\nunfailing appetite, health, strength and activity; hair that doesn't\ncome out or turn bald and grey; teeth that serve to reduce food and not\nto enrich dentists. I say we are manifestly inferior to this noble\npeople. Why do we want to conquer them or convert them?'\n\n'My darling,' said Mrs. Devereux, 'this air is too stimulating; I am\nafraid you are going out of your mind. It will never do for you to go on\nin England like this. Fancy what your father's family would think!'\n\n'I shall sober down before we take our European tour,' answered the\nyoung lady. 'I shall have something to talk about, though, shan't I? And\nwe must go through Paris; I don't want to be \"bonneted\" metaphorically\n(that's rather neat, dear, between ourselves) because my headgear is not\nup to the fashionable cousins' standard. But I think I could hold my\nown. I shall begin by being _very_ simple, and having things explained\nto me that I have known all my life; then dawn on them by degrees.'\n\n'My darling, you only need to be your own dear, sweet self, and be\nassured you will be able to hold your own with any people you are likely\nto meet at home or abroad. I don't wish my pet to affect anything,\neither below or above her. You have great natural gifts, a fairly good\neducation, and what experience you are deficient in will always be made\nup by your unusual quickness of comprehension. That is your old mother's\nhonest opinion, and she would not deceive you for the world.'\n\n'And I care not two straws for anybody else in comparison, you dear old\ndarling. You are ever so clever too--if you were not so unreasonably\ndiffident about yourself. However, I will educate you when we reach\nEngland. You'll see the firm of \"Pollie and Mother\" will achieve\ndistinction.'\n\nThe summer joys passed all too quickly. Why cannot one remain in\nfairy-land? Perhaps as the years rolled on we should hear one morning a\ndismal summons. The faces of our gay companions would undergo a terrible\nalteration. The dread messenger had arrived who was to exact 'the teind\nfor hell.' Thus it ran in the old ballad. So True Thomas found it. The\nfairy flowers withered, the fay faces changed. All was pale, awesome.\nThe day of payment for pleasure unstinted and unhallowed joys had\narrived.\n\nThere is always a day of reckoning, a reactionary change from pleasant\nsojourns. True Thomas lies beneath the 'knowe' at Ercildoune. Our modern\nfairies are clad in tulle and tarlatan; are seen beneath electric\nlights. Old faiths are crumbling. They lie--like 'ancient thrones'--in\nthe workrooms of scientists and positivists. Yet still is there a\nflavour of the old-world belief which clings about us. Remorse and\nregret, passion and despair, survive. And even as we return from the\nland of pleasure along paths of duty, the refrain sounds sadly in our\nears that all earth's joys are fleeting; that the ocean of eternity must\nbe the end of life's bark; that its tideless waves may ever be heard,\ndeeply dirgeful, in the intervals of vanity and madness.\n\nSo, when the first Australian winter month--that of May--found the\ntravellers again _en route_ for Corindah, where everything bade fair to\nbe as quiet and peaceful as on the day they left, Pollie's first feeling\nwas one of indefinable regret. 'I could almost wish we had never left\nhome, mother,' she said; 'everything will look so quiet and dull till we\nregain our eyesight. It looks mean and ungrateful to the dear old place\nand our friends to go back to them as a kind of _pis aller_ after having\nexhausted the pleasures of vagabondising. I suppose we shall drop into\nour old sleepy ways again by degrees. We are such creatures of habit.'\n\n'For my part, I am thankful to get back,' said Mrs. Devereux. 'My dear\ngarden will be looking so well, as I see that they have had rain. I\nquite pine for a little needlework, too. I miss my steady pursuits, I\nmust say.'\n\n'Garden!' said Pollie disdainfully; 'a pretty garden it will look after\nthe bright rata and laurel thickets, the ancient groves of totara and\nkauri, the ferny dells of Waitaki! It seems like growing mustard and\ncress upon a yard of damp flannel, as I used to do in my childhood.\nHowever, as I said before, our tastes will recover themselves I hope.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCorindah once more. Again the endless grey-green plains--the\nsandhills--the myall--the mogil--the familiar, not ungraceful, but\nsparse and monotonous woodland--the wire fences stretching for scores of\nmiles on every side--the gates all of the same pattern--the hundreds of\nthousands of merino sheep, each unit undistinguishable from another save\nby the eye of experience--the blue heaven--the mirage--the boundary\nriders--the men--the horses--the collie dogs--all moving in unvarying\ngrooves, as if they had never done anything else since the travellers\ndeparted, and were incapable of change, emotion, or alteration.\n\nHowever, as the buggy from the station drove through the well-remembered\ngate, Harold Atherstone, with Bertram and Mr. Gateward, were there to\nmeet the home-returning travellers. The evident pleasure in each face\ntouched the girl's heart, and she pressed the gnarled hand of the\noverseer with considerably more cordiality than she was in the habit of\nputting into her greetings, as she replied to the general expression of\nwelcome.\n\n'Thought you'd followed my advice and taken the New Zealand mail-steamer\nfor England,' said Mr. Devereux, with his usual calmness of intonation,\nthough a flush on his ordinarily pale cheek betrayed suppressed emotion.\n'I should have done so in your case I know.'\n\n'I daresay they have only come home to pack now,' said Harold. 'A taste\nfor travel, once acquired, is never shaken off--by women at any rate.\nThe West Logan must look like the Soudan after your late experiences.'\n\n'You are all very unkind,' said Pollie; 'that is, except Mr. Gateward,\nwho is too glad to see us to make rude speeches. Don't we enjoy coming\nhome like other people with hearts? We are not going away for years, are\nwe, mother?'\n\n'Not if my wishes are consulted, my dearest,' said Mrs. Devereux,\nstretching her neck to look over the garden paling. 'I want rest, and\ntime to think my own thoughts and enjoy a little quiet life again.'\n\n'You have come to the right \"shop\" for that, as I heard one of the\nboundary riders say to-day, my dear Mrs. Devereux,' said Bertram.\n'Anything more uniform, not to say monotonous, than our lives here in\nyour absence cannot be imagined. Nothing ever happens here, now that the\nexcitement of the drought is over.'\n\n'I heard some news by telegram before I came over,' said Harold, 'which\nis likely to cause a stir in the district. It's rather bad of its sort,\nand may lead to worse results even.'\n\n'Thank God for it, anyhow!' said Bertram; 'anything is better than the\ndead level of dulness we have lately been reduced to. What is it?'\n\nThe other man looked grave. 'It's not a matter to be lightly treated.\nTwo bushrangers are \"out.\" They shot dead one of the escort troopers\nfrom Denman Gaol to Berrima, overpowered the others, and are now at\nlarge at no great distance from Wannonbah.'\n\n'Oh!' said Mrs. Devereux, turning pale, 'I am so sorry. Not that I feel\nfrightened; but now that they have shed blood, and must suffer if taken,\nthey are desperate men, and will scarcely be taken alive. Do you know\ntheir names?'\n\n'The younger man is Billy Mossthorne; as for the other, I don't know. He\nis an old offender. The police are, of course, all over the district.\nSergeant Herne passed Maroobil in an old slouched hat and plain clothes,\nbut one of the men knew him and told me. He will run them down if any\none can. Every trooper in the North-West is out.'\n\n'But what chance in a country like this will he have?' said Bertram.\n'The outlaws are miles away by this time, and can easily cross the\nborder into Queensland. I'd take short odds they are never seen again.'\n\nMr. Atherstone smiled. 'He has the chance of the sleuth-hound on the\ntrail of the deer. The police force of this colony is well organised.\nMossthorne is a horseman, a bushman, and a dare-devil not easily\nmatched; but there are as good men as he on his track.'\n\n'If the brutes would only come into the open,' said Bertram, with his\nquiet sneer, 'one would be saved the bother of thinking about them. They\nhaven't pluck enough for that, I expect.'\n\n'To do them justice,' replied Atherstone, 'they don't lack the old\nEnglish virtue of bulldog courage, as any one will find that meets them\nunder fire. Personally, I should not be grieved if they got away to the\n\"Never Never country,\" and were not heard of again. Mossthorne worked\nfor me once. He was a fine manly young fellow, and I have always\nregretted deeply that he got into bad company and worse ways. In the\nfront of a line regiment or on a quarter-deck, Billy would have shown\nwhat stuff he was made of, and his country might have been proud of\nhim.'\n\n'I have no sympathy with such ruffians, old or young,' said Devereux.\n'The sooner they are hanged or shot the better, and I should like to\nhave the chance of putting a bullet into either of them.'\n\n'I daresay I shall shoot as straight as any one else if it comes to a\nscrimmage,' said the other; 'but I can't help mourning over a good man\nspoiled. That they will not be taken alive, we may make tolerably sure.'\n\nAt the commencement of the conversation Mrs. Devereux had turned pale.\nThe sad memories of the past were awakened. She took the first\nopportunity of retiring with her daughter, leaving the young men to\ntheir argument.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'And what have you done with yourself all the time?' said Pollie to her\ncousin, as they sat at breakfast next morning. 'It does seem so hard to\nhave been shut up here while we were in Fairy-land--were we not,\nmother?' she said, appealing to Mrs. Devereux, who sat in her place with\nrather an abstracted air.\n\n'What were you saying, my dear? Oh! yes, delightful, was it not? I was\njust thinking that we need not have hurried back. Did you go anywhere,\nBertram, or see any society in our absence?'\n\n'I went to Bourke for a fortnight?' he answered, with a smile in which\nthere was more sarcasm than merriment. 'I was afraid to trust myself\nwithin the fascination of real civilisation, so I declined Melbourne or\nSydney.'\n\n'And what did you think of that desert city?' inquired Pollie, with mock\nhumility. 'Did Your Royal Highness find anybody fit to talk to?'\n\n'It struck me as a queer place,' he said. 'You could not expect me to\nhave seen anything like it before. But it wasn't bad in its way. The\nweather was glorious. The men were better than I expected. Rather fast,\nperhaps. Their manners lacked repose. They took care no one else should\nhave any, as they kept it up all night most of the time I was there. One\nyoung fellow jumped his horse over the hotel bar--a thing I had\npreviously taken to be pure fiction, on the American pattern.'\n\n'That's rather old-fashioned bush pleasantry,' said Pollie; 'he must\nhave been very young. How did the horse like it?'\n\n'I don't know, but he did it cleverly. I expected to see both their\nnecks broken and the smash general; but all came right by a miracle, and\nthe fellow won his bet--twenty pounds. I heard him make it.'\n\n'And was that the only style of society you encountered?' queried\nPollie, with a disdainful and disapproving air. 'You could have enjoyed\nthat at Wannonbah.'\n\n'Permit me. I did not enjoy it; I only observed it. But there were\nreally some nice fellows, who had just come over from Queensland--Lord\nHarrowsby's younger brother, and Thoresby, a Suffolk man, whose cousin I\nwas quartered with once. They had just been investing in a sugar\nplantation, and were going to make a fortune in three years. One of the\nlocal men asked us all out to his place. Drove four-in-hand, too. We had\na famous week of it. I never expected to enjoy it so much. Lived in a\nreally good style.'\n\n'Wonderful, when you come to think of it,' said the girl saucily, 'that\nany one should have a decent establishment in Australia! But you'll make\ndiscoveries by degrees.'\n\n'I'm afraid you're laughing at me,' he said gravely. 'I am not of a\nsanguine disposition, I own. I didn't expect _anything_ when I came\nhere. But perhaps I shall have fewer mistakes to retract than if I had\nbeen imaginative.'\n\n'I am not laughing at you; indeed, I think you wonderfully wise and\nprudent for the time you have been out. By and by you will know\neverything that we do ourselves. But what always entertains me about you\nrecent importations is the mild air of surprise with which you regard\nthe smallest evidence that the men that preceded you, and built up these\ngreat cities, this wonderful country, were of much the same birth,\nbreeding, and social status as ourselves.'\n\n'But many were not, surely? That must be admitted.'\n\n'The majority were; the leaders, certainly, in every branch of\ncivilisation: how else would the miraculous progress have been effected?\nThe rank and file were much like other people--good, bad, and\nindifferent.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOnce more the old life was resumed at Corindah. Once more the succession\nof easy tasks and simple pleasures obtained. The walks by the\nriver-side--the rides and drives--the history readings--the French and\nItalian lessons--the peaceful mornings when tranquil Nature seemed\nassured against change, disturbance, or decay--the dreamy\nafternoons--the long, quiet evenings divided between books, music, and\nan occasional game of whist for Mrs. Devereux's entertainment when\nHarold Atherstone came over. As the weeks glided on, Pollie could not\nbelieve that she had ever left Corindah, that the voyages, the travel,\nthe strange people and incidents were unrealities, fashioned of 'such\nstuff as dreams are made on.'\n\nShe had resumed her quasi-friendly relations with Bertram Devereux, who\napparently had not noticed the alteration of her feelings towards him.\nWith his accustomed patience he had accepted the position, and merely\nset himself to overcome her doubts and maidenly scruples. In this\nattempt his knowledge of the subject assured him that he would\nultimately succeed.\n\nHarold Atherstone certainly came pretty frequently. He was not a man to\nbe lightly regarded as a rival. 'What a stir he would have made in some\nplaces that I have known!' thought Devereux to himself. 'That _grand\nseigneur_ air of his, the height, the stalwart frame, his Indian-chief\nsort of immobility, joined to his consummate skill in all\naccomplishments of an athletic nature. Here,' he said to himself, with a\nsardonic smile, 'he is thrown away. The type is more common than with\nus, and he has the fatal drawback, in the eyes of our _prima donna_, of\ntoo early, too familiar, too brotherly an intimacy. She knows him like a\nbook. With the perverse instinct of her sex, she despises the well-read,\ndog's-eared volume, full of high thought and purpose, and longs for a\nnewer work--inferior, possibly, as it may be, but with uncut pages. I\nshall win this game, I foresee, as I win the odd trick at our little\nwhist tournaments--by superior science, even against better cards. Well,\nwhat then? As the husband of the handsomest woman of her year, with\nCorindah for her ultimate dowry, and a handsome allowance, I suppose one\ncould live in London. Ah! would it not be life again? Not this vegetable\nexistence, which one can stand for a year or two, but dull, dismal, _a\nfaire peur_, after a while.'\n\nHad the intensity of the feeling which Bertram Devereux had reached\nreacted upon the girl's sensitive organisation? No alteration of manner,\nor one so trifling that it could hardly be perceived, had taken place.\nStill, like the swimmer on the smoothly gliding tide which leads to the\nwhirlpool or the rapids, she felt conscious of a hidden force, which\nbecame daily more difficult to analyse or resist.\n\nHad any one told her, upon the arrival of Bertram Devereux at Corindah,\nthat her heart would eventually be forced to surrender at his summons,\nthe proud beauty would have laughed the prophecy to scorn. But now, when\nwith pensive brow and thoughtful air she searched its recesses, and\nexamined the feelings which held possession of her waking thoughts, she\ncould not deny that the image of the stranger had no rival to fear, no\nrefusal to dread, in the fateful hour which would decide two destinies.\n\nBut in the intervals of distrust which disturbed her mind--and there\nwere many--one question invariably asserted prominence, one dark spirit\nof doubt refused to be laid. She knew that Bertram Devereux had lived\nmuch in society in early life; had been of the _haute volee_ of the\ngreat world both in England and abroad. Was it possible that he should\nhave been a recognised figure in those luxurious, exclusive circles\nwithout having given his heart to some one of the fascinating personages\nwhich there abounded?\n\nWere it so, would it be possible that he had pledged himself,\nunalterably, irrevocably, to return from Australia and fulfil his\npromise within a certain time? Englishmen often did this, and when time\nhad altered their ideas, or loosened the bonds which in good faith\nshould have remained inflexible, married some girl that took their fancy\nin the colonies, and quietly settled down for life in the land of their\nadoption. But such a lover should not be hers, she told herself. He who\nfor gold or light love forfeited his pledged word was a forsworn coward.\nShe could not for an instant brook the idea of being mentally compared\nwith the former occupant of a heart every pulse of which should beat for\nher and her alone. She knew that every thought, every aspiration, every\nfibre of her being would be blended in the existence of her lover.\nProud, sensitive, unconsciously exacting, even jealous, the fierce blood\nshe inherited from Brian Devereux boiled up as she thought of the\nindignity, the degradation of sharing in such a sense the affections of\nany living man. She did not rise from her long musing fit on that still,\ndreamy, silent eve without telling herself, that in the probable case of\nBertram Devereux declaring himself, he should satisfy her fully upon\nthis point, or hand of hers should never clasp his before the altar.\n\nWhile the great hope which arises in every human breast was perfecting\nitself--that flower which blooms so fair, or pales and fades untimely,\nwas daily ripening, tending towards fragrance and fruition--the little\nworld of West Logan was apparently stationary. The vast green prairies\nwere commencing to grow yellow before the warm breezes of the early\nsummer; the days were lengthening; the dark-blue gold-fretted nights\nwere shorter; the dawn followed midnight with lesser interval. All\nthings appeared calm and changeless as a summer sea. The stormy ways of\nevil deeds, crime, and death seemed as improbable as messages from\nanother planet.\n\nStrangers came and went, but they were principally camp-followers of the\ngreat armies of sheep which from time to time, being mobilised for\nvarious reasons, marched from one end of the territory to the other, or\nto the borders of other colonies. But one evening a shabbily-dressed\nman, on a rough-looking horse, rode into the stable-yard, where he\nencountered Mr. Gateward, whom he engaged in serious conversation.\n\n'Who in the world can that be?' asked Bertram irritably, from his seat\nin the verandah. A book of Rossetti's poems was before him. He had been\nreading aloud to his cousin. Her work lay unheeded on the Pembroke\ntable. 'Another of those confounded sheep \"reporters\"! I wish they would\nstay at home for a time. I am sure Gateward and I are sick of the very\nsight of travelling sheep.'\n\n'Wait till I take a peep at him,' said the girl. 'He does not look\naltogether like a sheep man.'\n\nPollie walked to the end of the verandah, and peeping over the lemon\nhedge which bounded the garden, examined the stranger with a searching\nand practised eye.\n\n'His bit and stirrups are rusty. He has an old slouched felt hat, and\nonly one spur. He stoops as he sits in his saddle. Mr. Gateward is\nlooking very serious. What do you make of all that?' she said archly, as\nshe came back to her companion.\n\n'Working overseer--thirty or forty thousand sheep--to be at our boundary\ngate to-night. Wants to go the inner track, where Gateward is saving the\ngrass. No wonder he looks serious.'\n\n'It would not be a bad guess if matters ran in their ordinary groove;\nbut I see signs of a change, with danger signals ahead. That\nquiet-looking man is Miles Herne, one of the smartest sergeants in the\npolice force. He has been on the track of the two bushrangers. I saw him\ntwo or three years ago, and I don't forget people that interest me. He\nis here to get information, or to give some that may be important.'\n\n'That man a sergeant of police!' exclaimed Bertram, surprised out of his\nusual equanimity. 'You must surely be mistaken, or he is a consummate\nartist in disguise.'\n\n'It is the man himself,' persisted she. 'We Australians have sharp\neyes--savage attributes, you know. He has captured many a\ncattle-stealer, they say, in that unassuming bush attire. There is a\ngood deal of talent among our New South Wales troopers. There was\nSenior-Constable Ross, who used to be told off to catch sly\ngrog-sellers. His get-up was wonderful. Once, Harold told me, he went as\none of a pair of blackfellows, and quite outdid the real aboriginal,\nsecuring a conviction too. Go down and see the sergeant. I am uneasy\nabout his errand.'\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nBefore the young man made his way into the stable-yard, Pollie meanwhile\nretreating to her mother's room, the strange horseman had hung up his\nsteed to a post and followed Mr. Gateward to the barracks, in the\nsitting-room of which unpretending but useful adjunct to the mansion\nproper Mr. Devereux found them in earnest conclave. They stopped\nspeaking when he entered. The stranger looked searchingly at the young\nEnglishman, who decided, after encountering the keen grey eye and\nmarking the resolute face and wiry, athletic frame, that no ordinary man\nwas before him.\n\nGateward, after looking round carefully, began in a tone of solemnity\nand mysterious import. 'Mr. Devereux, this is Sergeant Herne, stationed\nat Warban, but now on duty out of uniform, for reasons as you'll\nunderstand. He's on the track of the men we've heard on.' The stranger\nsaluted in military style, and Bertram instinctively returned the\ncourtesy in like form. 'And bad news he've heard, I'm afraid,' continued\nMr. Gateward.\n\n'The sergeant will tell us himself,' interposed Bertram. 'These\nbushrangers are in the neighbourhood? We heard that before.'\n\n'It's a trifle worse than that, sir,' said the disguised man-at-arms,\nunbuckling a leather belt and placing a navy revolver, previously\nconcealed by his coat, upon the table. 'Unless my information is\nfalse--and I have every reason to think otherwise--the pair of them, the\nDoctor and Billy Mossthorne, will be here to-night.'\n\n'Here! good God!' said Bertram. 'Why the deuce should they come here?\nFancy having to fight the scoundrels with ladies in the house! Can't we\nmeet them and have it out on the road?'\n\n'It's impossible to say which way they'll come in,' said the sergeant\nthoughtfully. 'Fellows like them don't travel on roads. They know every\ninch of the bush from here to the Lachlan, and can go as straight as a\nblackfellow by night as well as by day. They're hid in the Warrambong\nscrubs now, it's a good way off, and my men have run them close. But by\nhard riding they'll get here by midnight, expecting every one in the\nplace to be sound asleep.'\n\n'But what do they want here?'\n\n'It's hard to know what the Doctor wants. He's one of the biggest\nscoundrels unhanged. But what Bill Mossthorne is after is a couple of\nyour best horses, and as much clothes and grub as'll see them across the\nQueensland border. He was hurt in the scuffle, and walking in his\nleg-irons for forty-eight hours gave him a terrible shaking. The Doctor\nhad to carry him on his back part of the last day, I was told.'\n\n'Then we shan't see them until they turn up here?'\n\n'Not if I'm laid on properly,' said the hunter of men. 'Between twelve\nand one o'clock to-night, if we've luck, they'll drop into as pretty a\ntrap as ever they were in in their lives.'\n\n'The Doctor, as they call that scoundrel--haven't I heard something\nabout him before?' said Bertram musingly. 'It must have been long ago,\nbut I seem to have an indistinct memory concerning him.'\n\nThe two others looked meaningly at each other. Then Mr. Gateward spoke.\n\n'Perhaps it will be as well to keep it from the missis, sir. It might\nshake her a deal, thinkin' on it. But the Doctor's the man that shot her\nhusband thirteen years ago this very month. The Captain hit him hard the\nsame time, and he's been heard to say he'll leave his mark on Corindah\nyet.'\n\nBertram Devereux set his teeth, and a smile, such as men wear in the\nmoment of hard and bitter resolve, passed slowly over his face, while\nhis eyes lightened and gleamed, as if he saw his dearest hope realised.\n\n'By God! you don't tell me so?' he said, in so changed a voice that both\nof the men shifted position and gazed upon him as he spoke. 'What an\nastonishing coincidence! I wouldn't have missed this night for a\nfortune. To think, too, that I was so nearly off to that back station\nthis morning, Gateward, wasn't I? And now, sergeant, you are our\ncommanding officer. You have the _carte du pays_. What is the order of\nthe day, or rather of the night?'\n\nThe sergeant sat himself composedly down on the substantial table which\ntook up the centre of the apartment, and in a businesslike tone of\ncalculation and arrangement unfolded his plan of action.\n\n'You see, I had only one trooper with me,' he said. 'The rest are round\nWarrambong Mountains. I sent him with a note to Maroobil. Mr. Atherstone\nwill be here to-night. That will be plenty. We don't want a mob round\nthe place. Some one might show out too soon, and then they wouldn't\ncome. If they're let alone, and come in as I say, we'll get them \"to\nrights.\" There'll be some close shooting, but they can't get away if\nwe've a rag of luck.'\n\n'Which way will they attempt to enter?' said Bertram, lighting a\ncigarette. 'Here or at the house?'\n\n'From what I was told,' said the sergeant, with an air of satisfaction,\n'they will come to the barracks, to this very room, and a better\nline--for us--they couldn't have taken. They know this place and all the\nins and outs of the premises well. Their dart is to knock up the\nstorekeeper, Mr. Newman, and make him hand over whatever they want--or\nwill--or the cash-box. They know the back entrance from here to the\nhouse.'\n\n'Which they'll never set foot in,' said Bertram. 'If we don't give a\ngood account of them here, prepared as we shall be when they turn up, we\ndeserve never to pull trigger again.'\n\n'I've had a few close brushes with men of their sort,' said Herne, with\na grim smile of satisfaction, 'but I don't know that ever I saw a neater\nthing than what we're working now. We've got 'em on toast. You see, sir,\nwhat a beautiful room this is?'\n\nDevereux looked round the unadorned apartment with a slight expression\nof inquiry.\n\n'I mean to be \"stuck up in\" of course. Don't know that I ever saw the\nequal of it. They begin in the verandah. We're safe to hear their step\nor voices. It's all dark, of course. They light a match to rouse up Mr.\nNewman. They know that's his room on the right-hand side there. You and\nI stand just inside this bedroom, Constable Gray and Mr. Atherstone\nabout there. The moment they light their match, we call on them to\nsurrender in the Queen's name. Mr. Gateward, who's behind the bale of\nsheepskins, lights a lantern that stands all ready, so as we can see\nwhat we're about, and in a brace of shakes the thing's over.'\n\n'It's quite certain there's no more than two of them, sergeant?' said\nMr. Gateward. 'You're sure of that, I reckon. Not that we mind much, but\nit might make a difference.'\n\n'There might be a third man. I heard that \"Johnny the Pacer\" was seen at\nWarrambong the other day. But he's more in the horse-duffing line than\nwhere there's shooting going on.'\n\n'However, you never know when these fellows will turn out. There's been\na warrant out for him these two years.'\n\n'We shall be all the better matched,' said Bertram. 'The more the\nmerrier, as long as we're only man to man. I wonder Atherstone isn't\nover yet. I suppose the ladies had better not know anything about the\nvisitors we expect.'\n\n'Begging your pardon, sir,' said Gateward, with a look of resolve upon\nhis face. 'It will be best to put them on their guard. It would give\nthem a shock if they woke up and heard the shooting. They're neither of\nthem ladies as will scream and faint or act with any foolishness.'\n\n'I think Gateward is right,' said the sergeant gravely. 'If they're\nprepared, depend upon it they'll be brave and steady; ladies mostly are\nin the real push of danger. And Mrs. Devereux hasn't lived here all\nthese years without knowing about bushrangers, more's the pity.'\n\n'Had reason to know 'em too well,' said the overseer, shaking his head.\n'You won't frighten Miss Pollie, sir, and the missus, for, as quiet as\nshe looks, she isn't to say timorsome.'\n\n'I hear horses now,' said the young man. 'Atherstone and your trooper, I\nsuppose. If you think it's best for the ladies to know, we will tell\nthem.'\n\n'And I'll go with Gateward and get something to eat,' said the sergeant.\n'I've had a long ride, and nothing's passed my lips since sunrise. We\nshall all want something before the night's over.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHarold Atherstone rode into the stable-yard, followed by a slight,\nwiry-looking young fellow in the uniform of the mounted police. He was\nmounted upon an upstanding, well-bred bay, and led a saddled roan, the\npoints and condition of which denoted blood, good keep, and regular\nstabling.\n\n'You'll find spare stalls or boxes there, constable,' said Bertram.\n'Charley, the groom, is somewhere about. He'll give you a hand to bed\ndown your horses.'\n\n'This is a queer business, Atherstone,' said he, when the trooper had\ndeparted with the horses. 'We shall have sharp shooting if these fellows\nturn up, and I suppose there's no doubt about it.'\n\n'It will be the first time I ever knew Miles Herne wrong,' said\nAtherstone, 'if they're not here at the hour he says. I wish to Heaven\nthey had picked Maroobil for their next bit of devilry. However, it\ncan't be helped. It's lucky we were both in the way, and doubly\nfortunate that we've had timely warning.'\n\n'By Jove! yes,' said the other, 'and I was near as could be going away\nback this morning. How savage I should have been! Come into my room and\ndress. I can tell you all about Herne's arrangements. What a smart\nfellow he is, and as cool as a cucumber!'\n\n'If you'd known all the close things I've seen him in, and the arrests\nhe's made, you'd say so,' replied the other. 'He's the show trooper of\nthe North-West. They always detail him when there's anything specially\ndangerous to be done. He'll be promoted this time if he bags these\nfellows, and I hope to Heaven he may.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen the two young men made their appearance in the dining-room, there\nwas but little need for them to speak.\n\n'I know there is something dreadful the matter,' said Pollie, 'by\nHarold's grave face. I suspected Sergeant Herne didn't turn up here for\nnothing. That was a trooper and two police horses that came with you,\nHarold, was it not? Better tell us at once. Mother is growing pale with\nanxiety.'\n\n'Do not be afraid for us,' said the widow, with a sad smile. 'I have\nborne too much sorrow to have room for fear.'\n\n'The whole mighty matter,' said Harold, thinking that he could best\ndescribe the affair in the familiar terms which would perhaps divest the\nintelligence of sudden terror, 'is that Herne has got news of these\nbushranger fellows. Thinks they might possibly pay Corindah a visit\nto-night.'\n\n'Is that all?' exclaimed Pollie, her head raised, her face aglow with\nexcitement, while her large bright eyes sparkled with an expression much\nmore akin to pleasurable expectation than fear. 'Why, I thought some one\nwas dead--that some terrible, irrevocable accident had happened. And\nwhat time will they arrive? I suppose they won't send in their cards?'\n\n'My darling, do not talk so lightly,' said her mother, whose set, grave\nexpression showed in how different a light she regarded the news. 'These\nmen have blood upon their hands. More will be shed yet, I fear, and\nwhose it may be we know not.'\n\n'We must not be too serious over it either, Mrs. Devereux,' said\nAtherstone. 'With the preparations we have been able to make and a\nsuperior force well armed, the only fear in Herne's mind, I suspect, is\nthat one of their telegraphs may get wind of our plan, and warn them\naway. About midnight is the time they were likely to be about, if his\nscouts spoke truly.'\n\n'Why, it will be something like the midnight attack in _Wild Sports of\nthe West_,' said Pollie, 'that I used to devour when I was a tiny girl.\nDon't you remember, Harold, when the daughter of the house comes in with\nan apron full of cartridges? Oh! I shall be so disappointed if they\ndon't come after all.'\n\nThe young men felt much inclined to laugh at the genuine desire for\nfight, the keen enjoyment of a probable _melee_, which Pollie had\nevidently inherited with her Milesian blood. But one look at the white\nface and drawn lips of Mrs. Devereux checked them. 'The names,' she\nsaid, 'have you heard the names?'\n\n'One of them is called----' said Bertram, anxious to exhibit his\nknowledge of the affair.\n\n'Called Mossthorne--William Mossthorne,' interposed Harold, with a\nmeaning look at Devereux. 'The other is a stranger. They are not sure\nwhether he is the man they fancy or not. We shall know if he comes one\nway or the other.'\n\nMrs. Devereux looked relieved. Her face had a far-off, dreamy\nexpression, as if she were recalling the old days of sudden misery, of\nwoe unutterable, of hopeless agony, from which she had been so long\nrecovering. But for the bright-eyed girl, that now with eager face and\nfearless brow brought back her father's very face to her, she told\nherself that she never would have cared to live. And now, after all\nthese years, the old accursed work was to recommence, with, perhaps,\nloss of valuable life, with enmity and bloodshed certainly. At their\nvery gates too; beneath their hitherto inviolate roof-tree. When was it\nall to end?\n\nHowever, she felt it incumbent on her as the chatelaine to put a brave\nface upon the matter. There was not the slightest chance of victory on\nthe part of the outlaws, outnumbered and outmatched as they would be.\nShe therefore exerted herself during the remainder of the meal to appear\nresolute and steadfast. She even gave advice which her long experience\nof colonial manners and customs enabled her to offer.\n\n'Bertram, above all things, you mustn't be rash,' she said. 'Remember\nthat these are not men to hold cheaply. They are cunning and artful,\nbesides being brave with the desperation of despair. Don't think because\nyou have been a soldier, that these bush brigands are to be despised. My\npoor husband paid dearly for that mistake.'\n\nThe young man looked up cheerfully. 'My dear aunt,' he said, 'I don't\ndespise our friends the bush robbers, or whatever they call them. I\nthink them very ugly customers. Some of the shearers we had the row with\nlast year would be truly formidable with arms in their hands. But I am a\nconsistent fatalist in these matters. One man gets shot in such an\naffray; around another the bullets rain harmless. If I am fated to drop,\nI shall do so, and not otherwise.'\n\n'And what are _we_ to do all the time?' inquired Pollie, with an air of\ndisapproval. 'Go to bed and sleep? Just as if any one could, with a\nbattle coming off next door. I suppose we must stay quiet till it is all\nover? What a dreadful thing it is to be a woman!'\n\n'Very likely there won't be any engagement at all; it may not come off,'\nsaid Harold. 'So I would not advise you to lie awake on the chance of\nit. You may lose your rest for nothing. In fact, the chances are six to\nfour--firstly, that they'll surrender directly they see us prepared to\nreceive them; secondly, that they won't come into the barracks at all.\nThey may turn back, like dingoes suspecting a trap.'\n\n'Pray Heaven it may be so!' said Mrs. Devereux. 'I am not unwilling to\ntake my share of the risk and loss for the country's good. But oh! if it\nshould turn out to be a false alarm, how thankful I should be!'\n\nThe evening passed off without much to distinguish it from other\nevenings, momentous as was the contingent finale. Mrs. Devereux was\nabsent and preoccupied. Pollie was alternately in high spirits or\ndepressed and silent. Atherstone and Bertram talked in a matter-of-fact\nsort of way about things in general, but made no further allusion to the\nsubject which engrossed their thoughts.\n\nAt ten o'clock the ladies retired, rather to the relief of the young\nmen. Mrs. Devereux did not omit, however, to again urge upon Bertram the\nnecessity of caution and prudence.\n\n'I shall not risk my precious person unwisely,' he said, a little\nimpatiently; 'but why do you not warn Atherstone here in the same\nmaternal manner? I know you regard him as an old and valued friend. Is\nhe so much more experienced than I--who have done a little soldiering,\nyou will recollect--or is my life more precious than his in your eyes?'\n\n'Harold knows very well,' said the widow simply, 'how I feel towards\nhim. But he can take care of himself among these people, whereas you, my\ndear Bertram, are at a disadvantage. I do you no injustice when I\ncompare you with my darling husband, who lost his life, as you may do\nto-night, from contempt of his adversary and want of proper caution.'\n\n'Harold, you are to take care of yourself, and Bertram too. Do you\nhear?' called out Pollie, who was in the passage. 'You are to tell him\nwhat to do, for of course, being newly arrived, he will know nothing.\nYou mustn't be angry, Bertram. All you Jackaroos (as the Queenslanders\ncall you) are the same; you leave cover and get shot down like an owl in\nthe daylight, for want of the commonest woodcraft. So don't be\nobstinate, or I shall be obliged to come down and stand alongside of\nyou. Good-night! Good-night! That is one apiece.'\n\nWhen the young men entered the room at the barracks, they found the\nsergeant and Mr. Gateward sitting over the fire smoking. The young\nconstable was on guard outside, in case the attack might come off\nearlier than was anticipated.\n\nThe sergeant, though in an attitude of luxurious contentment, was in\nfull uniform, and fully prepared for sudden action. By his side stood a\nWinchester rifle in excellent order, while within reach of his arm was a\nlarge-sized navy revolver. Mr. Gateward had girded on one of the same\npattern.\n\n'You're all ready, gentlemen, I suppose?' said the officer. 'Both with\nrevolvers, I see. They're pretty tools, but I prefer my rifle for close\nrange. In an hour more we must put out the lights; so you'd better light\nup, and make the most of our smoking time.'\n\nThey did so, and for another hour the four men sat round the fire\nsmoking placidly, occasionally exchanging remarks, while moment by\nmoment the hour of mystery and doom grew closer. In spite of the high\ndegree of courage and coolness which characterised every individual who\nsat in that room, a certain amount of anxious expectation could not be\navoided.\n\nThere was no doubt that there would be shooting. One or two men would\n'lose the number of their mess'--the phrase by which among Englishmen\nthe loss of life is generally indicated--and _who_ would it be? That was\nthe question. It was not in human nature to avoid the speculation as to\nwhether the evil-doers would be laid low, or whether, on the contrary,\none of themselves, now so instinct with life and vitality, would not be\nstretched lifeless upon the unpitying earth.\n\n'Half-past eleven, gentlemen,' said the sergeant, looking at his watch.\n'We must take our places, and neither move nor speak until the time\ncomes. Mr. Newman, you had better go to bed; we will take care to have a\nword with them before they rouse you up. Mr. Atherstone, will you please\nto take that corner? Mr. Devereux, you'll stand here by me. That will\ngive us the chance of first shot, if you care for it. Mr. Gateward,\nyou'll plant behind that bale in the corner--out of harm's way. All\nyou've got to think of is to light the fat-lamp we leave on the top of\nthe wool-pack, and duck down again. They can't hurt you. Constable Gray\nwill stop outside. As soon as he hears horses coming across the plain,\nhe's to come in here and let us know. He's a smart young native, isn't\nhe, Mr. Atherstone? He can track like a blackfellow, he's a pretty shot,\nand at riding and bush work he's a match for Billy Mossthorne or any\nother moonlighter that ever shook a clear skin.'\n\n'A quiet, manly young fellow, sergeant,' said Atherstone; 'I had a talk\nwith him coming over. You want more natives in the police to be on equal\nterms with these down-the-river fellows. They are pretty smart, to do\nthem justice, and it's no use having a man who can't ride to follow\nthem. It's like setting a collie dog after a flying forester buck.'\n\n'We are getting some fine young men in the police now,' said the\nsergeant. 'There's three brothers out of one family I know, born and\nbred Australians; two out of the three promoted already and the other\nsafe for it. But the time's getting close; I hope nothing's happened to\nthe beggars.'\n\nThe sergeant's voice expressed such a pathetic tone of anxiety that the\nyoung men could not help laughing. However, all relapsed into silence\nshortly. The hands of the clock in the room pointed towards midnight.\nWould they never come? or, in a few moments more, would the deep hush of\nthe autumn night be broken by shots and strange sounds, groans and\ncurses?\n\n'How the moments crawl!' said Bertram, lighting a match and looking at\nthe brass clock on the mantel, the ticking of which sounded loud and\nsonorous out of all proportions to its size. 'Only a quarter-past\nnow--it seems half an hour since I looked last.'\n\n'It reminds me of the scene in _Old Mortality_,' said Atherstone, 'when\nthe fanatics are waiting for the clock to strike to put Harry Merton to\ndeath. You remember one of them hears a sound in the distance which he\nsays is \"the wind among the brackens\"? Another declares it to be \"the\nrippling of the brook over the pebbles.\" Then a third says, \"It is the\ngalloping of horse.\"'\n\n'Harry who?' asked Bertram, rather impatiently. 'I don't remember Walter\nScott's characters very clearly. They all seem so devilish like one\nanother to me.'\n\n'Hush!' said the sergeant, in a low voice. 'By--! here they are. They'll\ncome up fast because they know that the dogs will give the alarm. Their\ndart is to be in the house before any one has time to think about it.'\n\nAs the four men listened intently, a faint, dull noise in the distance\ngradually resolved itself into the familiar sound of hoof-beats, the\nmeasured strokes of horses ridden at speed, which came nearer and still\nnearer. In the stillness of the night each sound could be heard as\nplainly as though within the home paddock.\n\nAt this moment Constable Gray entered, his eyes glistening with\nexcitement. 'They're near a mile off yet,' he said. 'I went to the\npaddock gate and listened. There's three of 'em. Three horses, any\nroad--that's Johnny the Pacer has joined 'em; though I don't expect _he_\nmeans fighting. The dogs'll challenge when they come a bit closer.'\n\n'You stay outside till they dismount,' said the sergeant. 'See what door\nthey make for, and then fall back on us. They don't know what's before\nthem.'\n\nThe young trooper went quietly out, moving with cautious and wary tread.\nThe roll of hoofs sounded yet closer. Suddenly there arose a chorus of\nfurious barking and fierce growling from the pack of dogs of various\nbreed which a head station always supports. It told that\nstrangers--presumably hostile--had at that late hour invaded the\npremises.\n\nJust then Gray re-entered. 'One man left with the horses. Two coming\nthis way, making for the back-door.'\n\n'It's unlatched,' said the sergeant. 'Let them come.'\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\nIn another moment steps were heard on the verandah. The growling dogs,\nstill deeply distrustful, remained in the yard. A hand tried the\nback-door; it yielded, but this apparently excited no suspicion. It is\nnot the custom to lock up houses in the bush of Australia. Burglars are\nunknown, and bushrangers prefer to transact their business chiefly in\nbroad daylight--about the hour of 11 A.M. This was held to be an\nexceptional case.\n\n'The storekeeper sleeps off the big room,' said some one cautiously. 'I\nsaw him there when I was buying tobacco.'\n\n'That's Billy's voice,' whispered Gray. 'I'd know it amongst a\nthousand.'\n\n'Let's go in anyhow,' a rougher voice answered. 'There's not a dashed\nsoul awake. Light a match and we'll have him out.'\n\nA match flashed, lighting up the dim room, but with a result wholly\nunexpected by the chief actors in the melodrama. As they looked\ncarelessly round the silent room they could hardly restrain a start of\nsurprise as their roving eyes fell upon the sergeant in full uniform,\nthe armed men, the levelled weapons. At the same moment Mr. Gateward\narose from behind his bale, and lighting a tallow lamp, retired\ndiscreetly.\n\nBut in far less time than is occupied in tracing these ephemeral lines,\nthought had matured and action followed. Outmanoeuvred, outnumbered as\nthey were, the cool courage of the race was as manifest in these unhappy\noutlaws as in the best men of Britain's warlike forces.\n\n'Surrender in the Queen's name!' roared the sergeant. 'It's no use,\nBilly; better give in quietly.'\n\n'Not alive you don't get us,' answered the younger man, with the soft,\ndeliberate intonation of the native-born Australian, while he raised his\nrevolver.\n\nThe other, a grizzled, broad-shouldered ruffian, shorter than his\ncompanion by several inches, forbore reply, but firing at the sergeant's\nfirst word, shot Bertram Devereux through the body, sending also a\nsecond bullet into Harold Atherstone's right arm without loss of time.\nAs he did so, Atherstone shifted his revolver to his left hand and fired\ndeliberately. The robber sprang and fell on his face.\n\nAt that moment it seemed as if every firearm in the room was discharged\nsimultaneously--the sergeant's rifle, Gray's and Mossthorne's revolvers.\nWhen the smoke cleared, Mossthorne lay dead with a rifle bullet through\nhis heart and with a smaller bullet through his shoulder. Bertram\nDevereux, bleeding profusely, was lying insensible.\n\nMr. Gateward had come forward from behind his entrenchment. 'Seems there\nwas enough of you without me,' he said, 'but I felt cowardly like,\nstowed away behind the sheepskins. But _surely_ the Doctor ain't\nfinished this young gentleman now, as well as the poor Captain long\nago?'\n\n'By--! that rally's over quick!' exclaimed the sergeant, as he drew a\nfull breath and gazed around, while Mr. Gateward looked on the prostrate\nforms with a curious mixture of relief and regret. 'Short and sharp\nwhile it lasted, wasn't it, Mr. Atherstone?' the sergeant continued,\naddressing himself to that gentleman, who had raised Devereux's head\nwith his left arm, and was trying to discover the nature of the wound.\n'I'd rather have taken the Doctor alive, but he gave us no time;\nshooting's too good for him! As for poor Billy, he's better where he is\nthan locked up in gaol for his natural life. Now about Mr. Devereux. We\nmust look to him first thing. He's hard hit, but it mayn't be serious.\nWhere's Dr. Ryan? Oh! at Wannonbah. That's just right. We'll want him\nfor the inquest besides. Constable Gray!'\n\nThe young man, who had been examining the wound in Mossthorne's breast,\nstood at attention. 'Take my roan horse and ride like h--l to Wannonbah.\nTell Dr. Ryan to come here straight. Then go to the barracks and tell\nthe senior constable to telegraph to the coroner straight off. Come back\nwith him yourself.'\n\nWith a sign of assent the young man passed out into the night. A rush of\nflying hoofs told in marvellously short space that he was speeding on\nhis errand on the best three-miler in the district.\n\n'Now let's have a look at Mr. Devereux,' said Herne. 'Hold his head a\nlittle higher. How do you feel, sir? Bleeding stopped, but you've lost a\nlot of blood. Faintish, I daresay. Gateward, bring the brandy out of\nyour room; a taste will do him good--and Mr. Atherstone too, for the\nmatter of that. Seems the ball turned outward. Breathe a little, sir.\nThat's all right,' as the wounded man took a deep inspiration. 'Take a\nsip of this, and we'll carry you to bed.'\n\n'I feel better, I think,' said the wounded man, speaking with\ndifficulty. 'I must have fainted, I suppose. That scoundrel was too\nquick for me. I thought he might surrender. What! are _you_ winged,\nAtherstone?'\n\n'Yes, worse luck,' said Harold, suppressing a groan as the broken bone\ngrated. 'The fellow did not shoot badly, either. Billy just missed the\nsergeant, I see. There's his bullet mark in the door.'\n\n'He fired first; but I didn't miss _him_,' replied that officer, with a\ngrim smile. 'Gray's revolver bullet went through his shoulder. You\ndropped the Doctor in good time, Mr. Atherstone, just before he got to\nhis third barrel. We'd better put a cloth over them now.'\n\nAs he spoke a tall white female figure appeared in the doorway. It was\nPollie Devereux herself, wrapped in a dressing-gown. In her eyes, wide\nand shining in the half-light, was horror unspeakable, with nameless\ndread, as she gazed upon the forms that lay prone and so motionless.\n\n'I _could_ not wait longer after the shots ceased,' she said pleadingly.\n'I was growing mad with anxiety. Mother is praying still. Are the men\nboth dead? This one is Billy Mossthorne, I know. Poor fellow! I can't\nhelp being sorry for him. I remember his being at Maroobil.'\n\nHer gaze, which had been for the moment riveted to the still forms which\n\n    Lay as dead men only lie,\n\nstrayed towards the darker corner of the room, where Atherstone was\nsupporting Bertram Devereux. The expression of her features changed\ninstantaneously to that of agonising terror. She raised her arms with a\ngesture of despair, and for the moment seemed as if about to abandon\nherself to a transport of grief. But recovering with a strong effort of\nwill, she sprang to the side of the wounded man, and kneeling, threw her\narms around his neck, while she implored Harold to tell her if the wound\nwas mortal.\n\n'Oh, how his blood has been flowing!' she said. 'How pale he is! His\neyes are shut. And you too, Harold? Your arm is hurt; and I was wicked\nenough to joke about him last night. If he dies I shall never forgive\nmyself. Oh, my dear, dear Bertram!'\n\nWhether this impassioned adjuration had any special effect upon the\npatient is uncertain, but as he opened his eyes, he smiled faintly in\nacknowledgment of the sympathetic words.\n\n'Much better, dearest Pollie,' he said. 'No cause--for--alarm--much\nbetter. Flesh wound--only.' With this he turned pale and closed his\neyes.\n\n'Oh! _why_ has not some one gone for the doctor?' demanded the girl\npassionately. 'He may die yet for want of assistance, and we are so\nhelpless. I will go myself to Wannonbah if there is no one else.'\n\n'Constable Gray is half-way there by this time,' said Harold calmly. 'No\ntime has been lost. If I might suggest, you will help us best by asking\nMrs. Devereux to be kind enough to have your cousin's bedroom prepared,\nso that we may carry him in.'\n\n'You are quite right. Mother and I will watch by him till Dr. Ryan\ncomes. I know I am unreasonable and foolish, but you must bear with me a\nlittle. Is your wound painful?'\n\n'My wound is a scratch,' he answered roughly. 'Don't trouble yourself\nabout it. Ask your mother to do what I say.' Upon this Pollie retired;\nand with but little loss of time Mr. Bertram Devereux was placed upon\nhis own bed in the spacious apartment which he occupied, and with all\nthe necessary arrangements promptly made for his benefit.\n\nMrs. Devereux at once devoted herself to his relief and solace as if she\nhad been his mother. Her heart was stirred with additional tenderness as\nshe recalled her husband's death from a similar wound at the hands of\nthe same man. For the truth had leaked out through Mr. Gateward. The\nwidow of Brian Devereux now knew that the hand stained with her\nhusband's life-blood had been imbrued with that of the younger scion of\nthe house, now wan and helpless before her; that the robber in his turn\nhad fallen by Harold Atherstone's bullet and lay dead beneath her roof.\n\n'Thank God! Harold is but slightly hurt,' she exclaimed. 'I regard him\nwith a feeling I should extend to no other man as the avenger of my\nhusband's blood. But oh! if the boy be likewise sacrificed! What a fate\nseems to pursue the race. May God in His infinite mercy avert it!'\n\nPollie had been sent to bed with peremptory commands to go to sleep\ninstantly, and on no account to rise till she was called. The mother\nwatched, hour after hour, with the unwearied patience of women under the\nexcitation of grief or duty. Ere daylight broke, a trampling of horses\nwas heard, and the man of skill, the arbiter of life and death, appeared\nin the chamber.\n\nAfter careful examination, Dr. Ryan gave it as his decided opinion that\nthe bullet had taken an outward course; had therefore injured no vital\norgan; that the faintness had been caused by loss of blood, which\nsymptom was natural, but not necessarily dangerous. He commanded Mrs.\nDevereux to seek the rest she required, saying that he would take her\nplace at the bedside of his patient. He would see what Mr. Atherstone's\ninjury was like, and would make a search for the missing bullet in the\nmorning.\n\n'You will have me here for a day or two, Mrs. Devereux, so you must make\nme useful. It will all come to the same in the bill. I shall be wanted\nwhen the coroner comes. Fortunate escape you have all had, to be sure.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWith the morn came good tidings, and relief from the doubts and fears\nwhich had so cruelly tortured the dwellers at Corindah. Dr. Ryan, by his\nexercise of professional skill or the aid of exceptional good fortune,\nverified his favourable diagnosis by extracting the bullet, which had\nlodged in the outer muscle. The bleeding having ceased and the wound\nbeen dressed, there was no reason, he averred, why the patient, with\nsuch careful and intelligent nursing as he was certain to enjoy at\nCorindah, should not be well and hearty within the month.\n\nThe coroner too, a high and dignified official, arrived with the jury,\nmore police, and, it appeared, likewise with a large proportion of the\npopulation of Wannonbah. The inquest was held duly and formally, a jury\nof twelve being impanelled, by whom a verdict of justifiable homicide\nwas returned, the slain men being declared to have been killed in\nrighteous defence. A rider was added to the effect that 'the conduct of\nSergeant Herne and Constable Gray was deserving of high commendation,\ntheir coolness and courage rendering them, in the opinion of the jury,\nworthy of speedy promotion. In token of which, as well the Coroner as we\nthe said jurors have attached our seals,' etc.\n\nThe bodies were buried in the little graveyard of Wannonbah, situated\nupon a yarran-shaded sandhill about a mile from that infant city. The\ndenominational divisions, owing to the climate or other influences\nperhaps, were not so strictly defined as is the case in some rural\nAustralian cemeteries, where a closely paled fence divides Protestant\nfrom Catholic, and Jew from Dissenter. At Wannonbah the dead slept much\nas they pleased, or rather, as their relatives desired. So Billy\nMossthorne, having kinsfolk and sympathisers in the district, was buried\nnear a maternal aunt who had nursed him in his childhood; and the\nDoctor, coming in for his share of indulgent forgiveness, was interred\nby the side of a horse-breaker of reasonably unblemished character.\n\nCorindah was again tranquil. The inevitable sequences, great and small,\nof the night attack had been disposed of. The police troopers, the\ndoctor, the coroner, the jurors had come and gone. The account _in\nextenso_ of the 'battle, murder, and sudden death,' had been first\npublished in the _Wannonbah Watchman_, and then had gone the round of\nthe metropolitan and provincial papers. Sergeant Miles Herne was\npromoted to be sub-inspector, Constable Gray to be senior constable.\nThen the excitement ended, and the midnight affray at Corindah slipped\ninto the limbo of partly forgotten facts.\n\nOne or two results, however, were not so speedily disposed of. Harold\nAtherstone's good right arm was of very little use to him during the\nensuing half-year, the broken bones being somewhat tardy in uniting; and\nBertram Devereux, through carelessness on his own part, had a relapse,\nand after hovering between life and death for several weeks, lay\ndeathlike and slowly recovering in his room, needing the most careful\nand constant attendance to 'bring him through,' as Dr. Ryan expressed it\nhimself. In this labour of love both mother and daughter were closely\nengaged for many a day after the event. It was the first time that\nPollie's feminine instincts had been called into play by the necessity\nfor personal service which a wounded soldier generally imposes upon the\nnearest available maiden. No situation, as persons of experience will\nadmit, is more favourable to the development of the tender passion. The\ntouching helplessness of the sufferer, the sense of possession and\nownership, so to speak--albeit temporary--the allowable exaggeration of\ngratitude, the implied devotion: all these circumstances in combination\nrender the relative positions of maiden fair and helpless knight so\nextremely suitable for mutual attachment, that the blind archer rarely\nfails to score an inner gold.\n\nSo, during the patient hours when the heavy eyes were closed, when the\npale brow required bathing with _eau de Cologne_, when the spasm of pain\ncontracted the features, when the restless fever-tossed frame lay\nhelpless, the heart of the maiden, unfolding flower-like, grew tender\nand loving. She persuaded herself that a fate mightier than themselves\nhad decreed their union. She awaited but the avowal which his eyes had\nlong made, but which his lips had not yet confirmed, to acknowledge\nherself his own for ever, in life or death, here in her native land or\nin the unknown regions beyond the sea.\n\nAfter much consideration Miss Devereux had sagely concluded that Bertram\nwas the only man she had ever met who inspired her with feelings of\nsufficiently romantic intensity, who aroused in her as yet untouched\nheart the longing and the dread, the joy and the mystery, the strange,\ninexplicable, subtly compounded essence which the poets in all ages have\ntermed love.\n\nWhy it should be so she was unable to comprehend. She told herself that\nhe was not so strong and true as this adorer, so clever as that, or so\namusing as the other; but still, why was it? Who can tell? who explain\nthe birth of fancy, the apparition of love? But she chose to make him\nher hero. And if she so willed it, who was there to gainsay her?\n\nAmong the other privileges which her nursing sisterhood permitted was\nthat of receiving and bringing in the letters of her patient. About\nthese he had always been reticent, never encouraging conversation\nthereon, or admitting that any patently feminine superscriptions were\nnot those of his mother, sisters, or cousins.\n\nAmong those which arrived by the monthly mail-steamer was one, the\npeculiar handwriting of which Pollie remembered having noticed at an\nearlier period of his sojourn. The characters were delicately formed,\nbut the abrupt terminal strokes indicated, as she thought, no ordinary\ndegree of determination, even obstinacy of purpose.\n\n'Ah! my cousin Eleanor,' he said with a faint smile, as she held up the\nletter; 'she is my most regular, most useful correspondent. Poor little\nNellie, how she would stare to see me lying here! She was my best friend\nwhen I was a graceless schoolboy, and takes an interest in the poor\nexile now.' He opened the other letters one by one, but did not seem to\navail himself of this one. 'It will keep,' he said carelessly. 'Country\nnews, for which I am losing my relish, poachers and pheasants, hunting\nand coursing, quite a journal of village historiettes.'\n\n'A good correspondent, evidently,' said Pollie. 'Judging from the\nthickness of the letters, she deserves some gratitude. But when we women\nharness ourselves to a man's chariot, that is the treatment we chiefly\nreceive.'\n\n'That we are always over-indulged,' he answered, with a faint smile and\na meaning look, 'I am the last man living to deny. But what must we do?\nIt is cruel to refuse kind offices, the mere acceptance of which so\ngratifies the donor.'\n\n'It may be so,' assented the girl thoughtfully, 'but the bare suspicion\nthat my offering was _tolerated_ would madden me. \"All or nothing\" is\nthe Devereux motto, and it seems to embody the family temperament.'\n\nPoor Pollie! could her eyes have pierced the inclosure!\n\nThis was the missive she unconsciously bore to the interesting\nsufferer:--\n\n     WYNTON HALL, _27th May_ 188-\n\n     MY OWN DARLING BERTIE--You seem carelessly to have missed the\n     last mail, at which I was woefully disappointed, and besides, I\n     was not by any means satisfied with the tone of your last\n     letter, sir! I read it, yes, fool that I am, over and over\n     again, to see if I could not cheat myself into the belief that\n     your feelings towards me were unchanged and, as mine are,\n     unchangeable.\n\n     But I could not do it. Something, too, seems to exhale from the\n     very lines of your writing, every letter of which I know so\n     well, breathing coldness and change, the decay of love, the\n     death of constancy.\n\n     Yes, Bertram Devereux, I distrust you. You are beginning to\n     play a double game. Another woman has taken your fancy--most\n     likely the lovely cousin of whom you wrote in your first\n     letter, but about whom you have been suspiciously silent or\n     guarded of late. You can deceive, have deceived many people,\n     but you never deceived _me_. So beware! If for money, or what\n     you men call love, you elect to play the traitor with me, to\n     prove false to the vows which you called heaven and earth to\n     witness, to break the compact which I have rigidly\n     observed--_gardez-vous bien, mon ami_!\n\n     If you do not already know me sufficiently, believe this, that\n     you will do so. I will never be deserted and scorned with\n     impunity. I hold you bound to me by the most sacred oaths, by\n     what I have forfeited on earth irrevocably, by what in heaven\n     or hell I may yet have to expiate. And remember, I am capable\n     of _anything_ in the way of revenge to punish your falsehood.\n\n     If you dare to betray me, to doom me to a life of loneliness\n     and remorse, to the torture of neglect, to the endless regret\n     of desertion and contempt--but no, you _cannot_ dream of\n     perpetrating such fiendish cruelty. I am mad to make the\n     accusation. My brain seems on fire. I can write no more.\n     Believe me for ever and for ever yours only,\n\n     SYBIL DE WYNTON.\n\nThat night the sleep of the convalescent was troubled. His head moved\nrestlessly on the pillow. His brain was feverishly active. His soothing\ndraught failed of its effect. When Pollie came to his bedside with his\nbreakfast she was shocked at the drawn look of his face, its pallor, and\nthe dark rings under his eyes.\n\n'We must keep back your home letters until you are quite strong,' she\nsaid, with an archly innocent smile, and a child's mischievous gleam in\nher eye, 'if they affect you like this. Your cousin's country chronicle\nmust be strong meat for babes. But perhaps you have really had bad news,\nand I am talking foolishness?'\n\n'My news is of a mixed complexion,' he said, trying to assume a cheerful\nexpression. 'Partly good, but I have been disappointed in an important\nmatter upon which I had set my heart. But I am so weak that the least\nthing tells upon me.' Here he lifted his eyes to the sympathetic, tender\nface, which to him now seemed as that of an angel, and a wistful appeal\nfor pity appeared to be written on every line of his countenance.\n\nIt was the fateful moment in which heart answers to heart, and the\ndestinies of two beings are for ever determined. It was the electric\nspark which fires the mine, which shatters the feeble defence raised by\nreason against that most ancient strategist and arch-conqueror, Love. A\nchange passed over the girl's countenance, so swift, so subtle, so\nprofound, that a less experienced student of woman's ways might have\nread the sign. To Bertram Devereux it was the plainest of print--with\nlove's surrender in every line. He saw that pity, measureless and\ntender, as is woman's sympathy for man's strength laid low, had\ncompleted the spell which had been working on her sensitive, imaginative\nnature since his arrival. But for his wound, his near escape from death,\nthe long hours of tendance, he doubted whether the capture of this shy,\nsweet wild-bird of the waste would have been effected. But now he\ndoubted no longer. She would nestle in his bosom, would trill her song\nand curb her flight at his desire. The victory was won, and in the blaze\nof his triumph all doubts vanished as clouds at dawn. For the moment he\nscorned the dread which had tortured him in the dreary night-watches. He\nforgot that he was a coward and a traitor. He banished the thought of\nthe sad, reproachful gaze of a forsaken woman. A new life in a new land,\na new world of love and splendour lay before him.\n\nTheir eyes had met, their hands, their lips, long before this glowing,\npassionate thought-procession passed through his excited brain. As the\ngirl sat by the bedside of her pale, death-stricken lover, with his\nwasted hand in hers, she felt as if the surrender of her every thought\nand feeling to his future welfare would be a price all too small to pay\nfor the boundless happiness which had been granted to her. She was the\nmost favoured of earth's daughters. All other thoughts and sensations\nshowed wan and lifeless before this wondrous magic rose of love.\n\n'But I must leave you, Bertram dear,' she said. 'You are too weak to be\ntroubled with me. No! not another minute. Mother will bring you your\nmedicine. You must then have a good sleep, and wake up quite a new man.'\nSo, with one long look of tenderest denial, the fairy of his dreams\nvanished from the gazer's sight.\n\nThe days of Bertram Devereux's lingering in hospital were nearly ended.\nOver those which he still had to undergo was shed the radiance, the\nsweet love-light of woman's first love. He seemed to gain strength from\nthat hour. He was soon able to lie at length and dream in the cane\nlounge in the shaded verandah; later on, to wander amid the orange trees\nby the lagoon edge, supported indeed by Pollie's fair round arm, and\nclosely pressed to that true and tender heart. At the termination of his\nillness, when but for a slightly added pallor, a languor, that but\naccentuated his ordinary indifferent manner, no trace remained of the\neffects of the wound that had well-nigh proved fatal, it was then\nofficially made known to the friends of the family that the heiress of\nCorindah was engaged to be married to her cousin Mr. Devereux, late of\nHer Majesty's Sixth Dragoon Guards.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n\nEven in the first flush and transport of her love-dream Pollie could not\nwholly divest herself of the dread that Bertram Devereux might in\nEngland have loved with all the depth of his nature some one who even\nnow had claims upon him. In vain she asked herself why such a thought\nshould have passed through her mind. She could not tell. But, to her\ndeep unrest, it remained to arise and torment her at intervals, like an\nunquiet spirit. On the subject of his feminine correspondence she had\nnoticed, as she thought, a departure from his usual calmness, a studied\nair of carelessness. What if her surmises should be true, that he was\neither engaged or had been the victim of one of those absorbing,\nsoul-engrossing attachments which leave the heart of man a burnt-out\nvolcano--barren, lifeless, dead to all succeeding influences? She would\nask him. The torment of doubt on such a subject was too acute for\nendurance. Yet so far had she softened towards him, so far was her whole\nnature in a malleable state, that if he had but made frank confession\nshe could have forgiven him.\n\nAnd one day accident led up to the subject of previous attachment.\nHaving disclaimed, on her part, the slightest tenderness in the past to\nliving man, she looked her lover full in the face, as was her wont when\naroused, and said--\n\n'You have had my disclaimer, but tell me now, Bertram, if there lives\nany woman in the land you have left who is able to say, \"That is my\nlover. This is the man whose vows, if kept, would bind him to me till\ndeath. He has broken faith and betrayed love in deserting me now.\"\nAnswer me truly, on your soul's peril, and the subject shall be buried\nfor evermore.'\n\nAs she realised in her own mind the slow torture, the melancholy days,\nthe 'dead unhappy nights' to which a woman is doomed who waits in vain\nfor him whom she loves, hoping against hope, refusing the sad truth,\nuntil all limit of credence be passed, so vehement an indignation fired\nher every feeling against the imaginary recreant that she looked like an\ninspired vestal denouncing the sins of a nation. 'Tell me truly,\nBertram,' she said, 'that there is no hateful ghost of a dead love\nbetween you and my soul's devotion.'\n\nA thrill passed through his inmost heart as he thought how nearly her\nrandom shaft had touched the dark secret of his life. Yet his eyes met\nhers fully and fairly. With men he had ever been exact and truthful,\neven to bluntness, but in the school of ethics in which he had been\nreared it was held no dishonour to lie frankly where a woman was\nconcerned. So he bore himself accordingly.\n\n'I scarcely think,' he said slowly, 'that a man is bound to lay bare the\nwhole of his former life to the woman he is about to marry, nor is she\nwise to ask it. But,' and here he looked steadily into her innocent,\ntrustful eyes, 'if it comforts you to think that you are the sole\npossessor of this invaluable heart of mine, I give you my word that no\nother woman has the shadow of a claim upon it.'\n\n'I believe you,' she said; 'it removes my last lingering doubt as to our\nperfect happiness. In sickness, in health, in poverty or riches, by land\nor sea, never had man a truer mate than you will find in me.'\n\nHe drew her to his side in silence, even then repenting of his falsehood\nto this trusting, easily deceived creature. Still, what good would it do\nher to know? Why pain her sensitive heart? And was there any--the\nremotest--chance of his deceit being exposed? An ocean rolled between\nhim and that passionate, headstrong woman whom he had loved with the\nunreflecting ardour of youth. Circumstances had certainly tended of late\nyears to favour the idea that she would be free. In that event he had\nsworn a thousand times to make her his wife. But it was a contingency\nwhich might never arise. In the meantime was he to give up a career such\nas was now opening before him? A lovely, loving bride, who would be an\nenvied possession wherever they went? A fortune which would enable him\nto satisfy all desires and tastes hitherto ungratified? Was all this to\nbe sacrificed--for what? For a passion of which he had overrated the\nforce and permanence in the days of inexperience? The price was too\ngreat to pay.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe marriage was fixed for the ensuing November, the first summer month.\nThey would leave the hot plains of the North-West for New Zealand, after\nvisiting the Australian capitals. Side by side they would revel in the\nglories of Rotomahana, sail on the magic lake, and marvel over the fairy\nterraces, returning only with the last month of autumn, when the\npeerless winter of the interior would be before them. A year's peaceful\nenjoyment of the quiet Corindah life would prepare them for the\nmomentous, unutterably delicious expedition to the Old World, when the\ndream of Pollie's life would be realised and an elysium of bliss, a\nparadise, intellectual, social and material, would open before her.\n\n'You romantic child!' Bertram said, looking almost pityingly at her, as\nin one of her imaginative flights she was, like an improvisatrice,\npicturing vividly a long list of pleasures to come. 'And so you believe\nin happiness! I only trust you will not be disillusioned when we reach\nthis wonderful dream England of yours. And yet it may be so,' he said,\nsmoothing her bright hair as one placates a child. 'In your company, O\nmy sweet, I shall renew the youth I have been in danger of losing.'\n\nWhatever might have been Mr. Bertram Devereux's secret thoughts on the\nsubject of his prospects, he appeared to have improved outwardly, as all\nthe neighbours and employees agreed. The alteration extended to his\ngeneral demeanour. He threw off in great part the reserve which had\nmarked his earlier tone, and assumed a genial _role_ which no one could,\nwhen he liked, sustain better than himself. He took occasion to visit\nWannonbah more frequently. He identified himself with the local\ninterests and occupations of the district. He utilised his exceptional\ngifts and attainments to such purpose that all envy at his good fortune\ndisappeared. He was finally voted by the younger squatters and the\nWannonbah society generally to be a 'deuced good fellow' (when you came\nto know him), who would take his position among them, and be an\nacquisition to the district.\n\nHarold Atherstone had gone away for change of air about the time when\nhis arm was recovering its strength, and did not return until the\nengagement between Pollie and her cousin was matter of general comment.\nHe heard of it, indeed, before he left town, at his club. What his\nsensations were at the announcement none ever knew. A man who bore his\ngriefs and failures in secret, he disclosed none of his deeper feelings.\nWhen he met Pollie Devereux in her own home, it was with an untroubled\nbrow. The kind, brave face, the wise, steadfast eyes, which she had\nknown from childhood, were unaltered.\n\nPollie herself had vague misgivings that her all-important step would\nnot meet with his approbation. Knowing that she needed not to hold\nherself responsible to him or any other, she yet feared lest a kind of\nindefinable injustice had been done by forsaking so loyal a friend. She\nwould have felt unspeakably relieved by his full approbation and\nconsent.\n\n'You have heard of my engagement,' she said, as he held her hand at\ntheir first meeting after his return. 'Are you not going to give me joy\nand congratulate me on my happiness?'\n\n'I may congratulate _him_' he said, a little sadly. 'My wishes for your\nhappiness need no renewal. They do not date from to-day, as you well\nknow. Whatever renders you happy and preserves you so will always be a\npart of my joy in life. May God bless you, dear, and keep you from\nsorrow evermore!'\n\nIn a half-unconscious way he drew the girl towards him, and kissed her\nas might a brother--tenderly, but without passion. Then he turned and\nleft her, while she walked slowly and pensively towards the house. She\nfelt that he had forgiven her; that he was too noble to harbour envy or\nresentment. But with woman's quickness she divined that he was grieved\nto the heart, and that all his self-command was needed to enable him to\nappear unmoved. Again and again she asked herself whether she had done\nwisely in following the passion-cries of her heart rather than the\ndictates of reason. A vain wish that she could have combined both\nagitated her. Of how many women and men might the same tale be told!\n\nMrs. Devereux was rather resigned to the arrangement as inevitable and\nimpossible to amend than wholly approving. More acute and experienced,\nshe had noticed the smaller defects of character in Bertram Devereux\nwhich had escaped the eye of her daughter. Not that Pollie would have\nsuffered them to influence her. But the unconscious selfishness, the\nirritability, the ignoring of the tastes of others, which she had\nobserved in her future son-in-law, did not, in her estimation, augur\nwell for her child's happiness. When she thought of Harold Atherstone's\nlong, unrewarded devotion, she could scarcely repress her vexation.\n'What fools we women are!' she said bitterly to herself. 'We trample on\npearls and gems of manhood, only to prize some glittering pebble without\nintrinsic value or beauty. When, as in my case, one is blessed with a\nhusband who unites all the qualities which women love and men respect,\nFate steps in and deprives her of him. How little real happiness there\nseems to be in this world of ours!'\n\nWhile poor Mrs. Devereux thus bemoaned herself over the anomalies of\nlife, the weeks of the short spring and early summer passed quickly\nalong the flowery track, which, even in the Waste, is fair with wealth\nof leaf and blossom, with joyous birds and tempered sunshine, with high\nhope and joy and expectation of the coming year. The season had again\nbeen favourable. Wealth was flowing into Corindah and the neighbouring\nstations after the abundant fashion which, during a succession of good\nyears, obtains in Australia Deserta. After her child was gone, Mrs.\nDevereux thought she would sell out and take up her abode in Europe for\ngood. After tasting the glories and social splendours of the Old World,\nwhich she would fully appreciate, Pollie would not choose to return to\nAustralia. Men sometimes came back to the land of spur and snaffle and\nwide-acred freedom, weary of cities and the artificial European life;\nbut women, in her experience, never. They had reached across the ocean a\nfairy realm, where the supreme social luxuries were purchasable and\nabundant; servants and equipages, households and surroundings, music and\nthe drama, art and literature, society at once congenial and\naristocratic, travel and excitement--all these things were to be had for\nmoney. This they possessed. Why should they return to a land where much\nof this enticing catalogue did not exist, where a tithe of civilisation\nwas difficult, the rest impossible to obtain?\n\nSo Mrs. Devereux sadly looked forward to passing the close of her days\nin England--a foreign land, as far as she was concerned--far from the\nhome, the friends, the associations of her youth, her whole life indeed,\nup to this stage. To her the prospect was simply one of exile and\nendurance.\n\nIt had been arranged that the marriage was to take place in Sydney early\nin November. Mrs. Devereux would go thither with her daughter\nimmediately after that important annual ceremony, the shearing at\nCorindah, was concluded. The good lady preferred in a general way to\nmanage her own affairs. She signed her own cheques, which during\nSeptember and October were like the sands of the sea for multitude. Mr.\nGateward was economical and loyal. Still, it was always worth while to\nattend to one's own business, she thought. So that, although Bertram had\npleaded for an earlier day, the month of November was fixed for the\nwedding, principally on account of the said shearing and its\nresponsibilities--which he had come to loathe in consequence as a\ncomparatively trifling, but none the less vexatious, obstacle.\n\nSo when the October mail-steamer arrived he was still at Corindah, and\nthither his letters came. He happened to be away on the day of arrival,\nand Pollie, emptying on the hall table the well-filled Corindah\nmail-bag, sorted out the different addresses to 'Bertram Devereux, Esq.,\nCorindah, Wannonbah, New South Wales, Australia,' as was the general\nsuperscription of his European letters. Among them Pollie descried two\nletters in the feminine handwriting which she had before remarked. One\nwas addressed to her lover, one to herself.\n\nYes, there could be no mistake. 'Miss Devereux, Corindah, Wannonbah, New\nSouth Wales, Australia.' It was doubtless from her good, motherly cousin\nEleanor, in congratulation. It was very kind of her. She had had only\njust time to write, too. Had the marriage been in the month of October\nas Bertram wished, she would have been too late.\n\nSo, with smiling eyes and unsuspicious eagerness to behold the kindly,\nunfamiliar lines from the probable kinswoman, Pollie opened the letter.\nA painter would have seized the moment for a priceless portrait, had he\nbeen at hand to mark the instantaneous changes of expression--first wild\nsurprise, then horror; the slow, expressive alteration from trusting\nconfidence and loving hope to disappointment unspeakable, dismay,\ndespair.\n\nThis was the fatal sheet upon which her eyes, first flashing indignant\nsurprise, then fell:--\n\n     Wynton Hall, _9th August 188-._\n\n     I should owe you an apology, Miss Devereux, for thus addressing\n     you, would the occasion admit of unnecessary courtesy or delay.\n     If the lifelong happiness or misery of two women--of yourself\n     or me--be sufficient reason for disregarding ceremony, you will\n     hold me excused, nay, bless me in the future, whatever may be\n     the shock to your present feelings. I have accidentally\n     discovered, what before I only surmised, that Bertram and\n     yourself are about to be married. _He_ was careful not to give\n     me a hint of his plot--for such I must consider it to be. An\n     Australian gentleman, a Mr. Charteris, however, happened to be\n     staying in the house where I was visiting, and mentioned that\n     his friend Bertram Devereux was about to be married to the\n     beautiful heiress of Corindah. He had just heard the news from\n     a correspondent. From what I have heard of your character, I\n     assume that you would prefer to know the truth at all hazards.\n     You would not be willing, as are some weak women, to pardon in\n     the man of your choice shameless falsehood, base betrayal, and\n     broken vows.\n\n     I swear to you now, as God shall judge me at the Great Day,\n     that Bertram Devereux is _mine_--mine by every vow, by every\n     tie, which can bind man to woman. Whoso accepts him, virtually\n     takes another woman's husband with her eyes open. As events are\n     shaping themselves I shall be shortly free. No legal obstacle\n     to his fulfilment of the promise which he has a hundred times\n     made, will exist. You will wonder that I choose to hold him to\n     his bond after his proved faithlessness. May you long be free\n     from the forbidden knowledge which would enlighten you! That I\n     love him still is one proof more, were it needed, of the wild\n     inconsistency of a woman's heart. I have told him of the letter\n     to you. I fear him not; nothing earthly has power to daunt me\n     now.\n\n     You are free to take your own course, but you are now warned\n     against the sacrifice of your own happiness and that of the\n     wretched and desperate woman who calls herself--\n\n     SYBIL DE WYNTON.\n\nHolding the letter in her hand, the girl walked feebly and uncertainly,\nlike one in a dream, to her own room. She saw through the open window a\nhorseman riding across the plain towards the entrance gate. A few short\nmoments since she would have flown to meet him. Now all was changed. It\nwas the loveliest afternoon. The air was warm, yet free from the least\nexcess of heat. A sighing breeze swept along the course of the now\nfull-fed stream, and over the vast breadth of prairie, waving with\nprofuse vegetation. But 'cloudless skies had lost their power to cheer.'\nA wintry blight had fallen upon the summer scene, banished its gladness,\nand turned the bright-hued landscape into a scene of desolation and\ndespair.\n\nSweet love was dead. In the heart of the maiden was fixed an immovable\nsense of disaster--life-wreck, woe unutterable. So, when the word of\ndoom is pronounced by the couch of those near and dear, all know that no\nhope or amendment, no recovery or reparation is possible for evermore.\n\nSuch was the fatal effect in the girl's mind. She had no further thought\nor speculation in the matter. Nothing was possible. All was at an end\nbetween them. Her life-dream was over. He had deceived her. He had\nbetrayed and had planned to desert this other woman. In her innocent\neyes it was guilt of a blackness and criminality inconceivable. All that\nhad gone before was like an evil dream of hairbreadth escape amid\navalanche and precipice, from which the sleeper starts, breathing\ngratitude for life and safe awakening.\n\nShe locked the door of her room, and casting herself upon the bed, 'all\nher o'er-laden heart gave way, and she wept and lamented.' The evening\nbrought a partial calmness. The half-instinctive sorrow abated its\npoignant agony; but a dull, hopeless heartache, almost physical,\nremained. When the bell rang for the evening meal a maid-servant came to\ninquire if she had heard the summons. Her she despatched to her mother,\nwho soon appeared with alarm and surprise in every line of her face.\n\n'My darling, what has happened?' she exclaimed. 'Bertram and I were\nwondering what kept you. He has had such a pleasant day.'\n\n'Has he read his letters?' demanded the girl, with an air of half-veiled\nbitterness.\n\n'Oh, no! he said he should devote the morning to them. Most of them were\nfamily epistles, he expected, of no great consequence.'\n\n'Oh, mother, my heart is broken! I shall die!' cried the girl, with\nsudden abandonment, as she threw her arms round the elder woman's neck.\n'Read this, oh, mother, mother!' Here she produced the fatal letter.\n\nAs Mrs. Devereux commenced to cast her eyes over the sheet they seemed\nto dilate like those of one who sees suddenly an object of horror and\nloathing. When the end was reached she threw down the letter, as if it\nhad been a clinging serpent, and made as though she would trample upon\nit.\n\n'Let it lie there!' she said, her ordinarily serene countenance changed\nas the girl had seldom seen it. 'Not that I have any bitter feeling\ntowards the miserable woman that has wrought this woe to us. No! my\nheart is filled with indignation against the man who has acted so\ndeceitful, so treacherous a part, who so nearly succeeded in ruining\nyour happiness, my darling. That you would have been unhappy, who can\ndoubt?'\n\n'Unhappy!' cried the girl. 'If I had come to the knowledge of his\ndeceit, his wickedness, his cruelty in abandoning one to whom he had\nsworn faith, I think I should have died; all belief in truth and honour\nwould have deserted me. I should have hated my own existence.'\n\n'Let us thank God, my darling, that our eyes have been opened in time,\nere it was too late. I never heartily approved of the affair. But Heaven\nknows, though I had a kind of intuitive distrust of him, I never dreamt\nof anything like this. And now I must give Mary her orders.'\n\n'Oh, mother, don't leave me.'\n\n'I will only tell her to say that neither of us will be down, that you\nare not well, and that I have retired for the night. She can bring up a\ncup of tea, which is all that either of us is likely to need.'\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\n\nWhen Bertram Devereux, who had waited patiently for the chatelaine's\nappearance, received the intimation that she would not appear again that\nnight, that Miss Pollie being indisposed, he was requested to order in\ndinner, he was considerably astonished. He addressed himself\nmechanically to his solitary meal, but after an absent, desultory\nfashion and with less than his ordinary appetite. He failed to\nunderstand or account for the sudden seizure. She had walked with him to\nthe outer gate in the morning, had patted his horse's neck, apparently\nas well and handsome as ever she was in her life. Why then this\nastonishing change for the worse? The whole thing was vexatious and\ndisappointing in the last degree. He would go over to the barracks,\nsmoke his cigar, and read his letters. A chat with old Gateward would be\nbetter than a solitary evening in the drawing-room.\n\nCarrying over his mails, the young man lit a cigar and wended his way to\nthe barrack-room. Mr. Gateward was out; the storekeeper was in the store\nwriting up his accounts; so he threw his letters upon the large\ndining-room table and commenced to sort them with a strong sense of\nill-treatment.\n\nThe first that attracted his notice was like the one which he had\ndescribed as a cousin's to his unsuspecting _fiancee_. He opened it\nhastily; his brow clouded and his face grew dark as he commenced to\ndevour rather than read the contents. 'Confound the woman!' he said with\na fierce oath, before he had read half a dozen lines; 'she was born to\nbe my ruin, I believe, and by--! she has managed it this time.'\n\nThis was her letter.\n\n     WYNTON HALL, _9th August 188-_.\n\n     BERTRAM DEVEREUX--When you learn that I have written by this\n     mail to Miss Devereux explaining all, and that she has received\n     my letter, your wrath will be bitter against me. _N'importe._ I\n     know you as well, aye, better than you know yourself. The wound\n     to your vanity will be sore, your spirit will chafe, nay,\n     agonise for a time, but your ultimate good will result directly\n     from this _eclaircissement_.\n\n     Now look me in the face, mentally, and say, what is this thing\n     that you have been proposing to do? To marry an innocent,\n     unsophisticated girl, partly for her beauty, partly for her\n     money; to desert and betray me, who have loved you long, truly,\n     wildly well; and to pretend to yourself that you were going to\n     be happy--yes, happy! ha! ha!\n\n     No, Bertram Devereux, it is not in you. You have deceived\n     yourself as well as her. You would have cheated me, but the\n     attempt has failed. You _know_ in your heart, or rather in your\n     inmost consciousness, that you are incapable of love, pure,\n     unsullied, constant--such as the poets sing of; such as this\n     young girl, doubtless, has brought to you. In the maelstrom of\n     London life, under the spell of old associations, you would\n     have fallen as you have fallen before, and dragged others with\n     you. In that hour I am the only one who has power over you. Is\n     it not so? And my hand withdrawn from the helm, your bark and\n     its inmates would have gone down into depths unfathomable.\n     Angel or demon, I, and I alone, am qualified to act as your\n     guardian. Elude my power, and you are lost, irrevocably and\n     eternally.\n\n     I see from the papers that old Walter Devereux is dead, and has\n     left you an income, which, though not large, ought to suffice\n     for your reasonable needs. So take my advice once more; _soyez\n     bon enfant_; quit the wild country of your banishment; make\n     your adieux with the best grace you may to these Arcadian\n     relatives; and return to a society where you have been\n     missed--strange to say--and to a civilised life amid people\n     that understand you. Among those who are ready to welcome the\n     returned wanderer will most likely be your true friend as of\n     yore,\n\n    SYBIL DE WYNTON.\n\nHe went patiently through his letters after reading this one, with a\ncountenance which gave but little clue to the nature of the\ncommunications. One business-appearing epistle in round, legal\nhandwriting he put aside and re-read. He then lighted a fresh cigar, and\nfor nearly an hour remained in deep meditation before he sought his\nroom. There he employed a portion of the night in arranging his effects,\nso as to be ready for that departure on the morrow upon which he had\ndetermined.\n\nMrs. Devereux did not appear at the breakfast table, but as he walked to\nand fro along the lagoon path, smoking the matutinal cigar, he saw her\ncome into the garden. He threw down his cigar, and at once went to meet\nher.\n\nShe stopped a few paces ere she came to him, and looking at him with a\nsad, reproachful gaze, said, 'Oh, Bertram, what is this you have done to\nus? Did we deserve this at your hands?'\n\n'My dearest Aunt Mary,' he said, advancing and taking her hand with a\nshow of natural feeling which she could not resent, 'I cannot justify\nmyself wholly, but it is due to me that I should be permitted to\nexplain. All is over, I know, between your daughter and myself; still I\ndo not wish her to think worse of me than is needful. When I won her\nlove I pledged my word to her in good faith and sincerity to do all that\na man might to promote her happiness. Whether I should have kept that\nresolution God knows, but I should have given my whole being to the\ntask.\n\n'By a fatal mischance she has been made acquainted with a dark chapter\nin my life. I do not excuse it, but it is such as many men who show\nfairly before the world keep locked away in secret cabinets. No doubt I\ndeceived Pollie in denying the existence of former passages of so\ncompromising a nature; but I thought myself justified in keeping the\nwhole thing from her pure mind. I think so still. And now,' he said,\nwith a return to his old charm of manner, 'I fear that nothing remains\nbut to thank you fervently for the kindness with which you have always\ntreated me, in sickness and in health. I owe my life to your tender\nnursing. Corindah will be amongst my purest, happiest memories to my\nlife's end.'\n\nBy this time they had reached the house. Entering the old dining-room,\nBertram threw himself into a chair, and Mrs. Devereux took her seat near\nhim.\n\n'No words can describe, Bertram,' said Mrs. Devereux, with softened air,\n'how grieved I feel that we should part in this manner. I have always\nlooked upon you as a near relative; latterly I have regarded you as a\nson. It is unspeakably sad to me to think that all is over--that\nhenceforth we must be as complete strangers, as if we had never met.'\n\n'And how little I thought yesterday that this would be my last day at\nCorindah!' he said half musingly. 'And yet it is best so. As if in\nmockery of my position, I have just been left an income by an old\ngrand-uncle which will enable me to return to England and more or less\ntake my former place in society.'\n\n'I am sincerely glad for your sake,' she said warmly, 'and I know Pollie\nwill be so also. We could not have borne that you should leave Corindah\nto go we knew not where. Now we shall have no fear on that score.'\n\n'I should like to see her once before we part for ever, if you would\nconsent,' he said pleadingly--'if it were but to hear her say that she\nforgives me.'\n\n'No, Bertram!' said the matron firmly, if sorrowfully. 'Such a meeting\nwould answer no good end. You have had forgiveness. She will never\nharbour a bitter thought, believe me. She has overcome her first natural\nfeeling of resentment, such as any woman would feel who had been\ndeceived by the man she loved. But she will grieve over the\ncircumstances which led to your estrangement; she will pity and forgive\none so near her heart as you have been.'\n\n'If I may not see her, will you let her read a farewell letter which I\nwill leave with you? Surely it is not necessary to debar me from the\nhumblest felon's privilege--that of defence before condemnation.'\n\n'She shall have your letter. I have no intention of being in the least\ndegree harsh, Bertram, but it is by her own wish that I decline an\ninterview. Our paths will henceforth lie separate. We shall pray for\nyour welfare. You have a powerful will. Oh, may God guide you to use it\naright! Your welfare will always concern us; but in this world we shall\nmeet no more. And now farewell! May God bless and keep you, and forgive\nyou even as you are forgiven by me and my poor child!'\n\nHe wrung the kindly, high-souled matron's hand in silence. An unwonted\nglistening in his dark eyes showed the depth to which his feelings were\nstirred, and if there ever was a moment in which Bertram Devereux truly\nrepented of the sins of the past and vowed amendment of life in the\nfuture, that was the hour and the minute.\n\nIt was shortly after this interview that he held a colloquy with Mr.\nGateward, and rode over to Wannonbah, with a black boy behind him, who\nduly led back Guardsman. He had apparently arranged for the transmission\nof his luggage, inasmuch as the portmanteaux, three in number, were\ntaken on by the coach when that indispensable vehicle arrived in due\ncourse. Next morning it was announced by Mr. Gateward to the storekeeper\nand other employees of the station generally that Mr. Devereux had been\nleft a fortune, which he had to go 'home' to claim, owing to law matters\nand other details not comprehensible by ordinary intelligence.\n\n'He'll be back afore next shearing,' quoth one of the boundary riders.\n'Leastways I know I should if I was in his place.'\n\n'He'll be back,' replied Mr. Gateward oracularly, with an expression of\ncountenance at once severe and impenetrable, 'when he _does_ come back.\nIf he shouldn't turn up at all, I don't know as it's any business of\nours. There's as good men left behind, and would be if there were a\ndozen like him off by the next mail-steamer.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThose who are of opinion that provincial gossip, along with all other\nBritish traditionary institutions, is not faithfully reproduced in\nBritish colonies, underrate the vivacious ardour of bush society when\npresented with a brand-new topic. No sooner was it definitely announced\nthat Mr. Devereux had been seen on his way to the metropolis, _en route_\nto England, with all his portmanteaux--the same with which he had\narrived--than a perfect flood of conjecture and assertion arose.\n\n'He had come into a title and a fortune. Of course he was not going to\nmarry in the colonies now, so he broke off his engagement at once.'\n\n'It was Pollie's temper--nothing else--that did it; everybody knew how\nungovernable that was. He couldn't stand it any longer, though Mrs.\nDevereux went down on her knees to him.'\n\n'He wanted Mrs. D. to settle twenty thousand on Polly on her\nwedding-day, which she refused to do. He declared off at once.'\n\n'Pollie flirted so with that Mr. Atherstone; no man could stand it. He\nfound them walking by moonlight or something, and gave her notice at\nonce.' 'Mr. Atherstone was in Queensland.' 'Oh, was he? Then it was some\none else. It came to the same thing.'\n\nFinally the torrent of popular criticism subsided, to settle down into a\ntrickling rill of authentic information. It ran to the effect that\nBertram Devereux had been bequeathed money by a relative, and had for\nsome reason or other left suddenly for England.\n\nIt was neither the next day nor the next week after Bertram's departure\nthat Pollie reappeared in her accustomed place, to lead her old life at\nCorindah. A weary time of illness supervened, and when the girl crept\ndown to the drawing-room sofa to be shawled, and nursed, and petted for\nbeing graciously pleased to be better, she was but the shadow of her\nformer self. As marked a mental change had apparently taken place, for\nshe was mild and patient, piteously subdued in tone and bearing. How\ndifferent from the wilful spoilt beauty who had turned so many heads,\nand who paid so little heed to good advice!\n\n'You will have a better daughter in the time to come, mother,' she said,\nas she clasped the matron's neck with arms that were sadly shrunken from\ntheir former lovely roundness. 'I have had time to think over my past\nfolly, to know who are my truest friends;' and then both wept and\nembraced each other, as is the way of women--the mother thankful to\nHeaven for the recovery of her child, the child softened by suffering\nand chastened by the near approach of the Death Angel.\n\nHarold Atherstone had been far away in Northern Queensland during this\neventful time. He had apparently needed stronger excitement than the\neveryday life of a prosperous, long-settled station; so he had elected\nto report upon an immense tract of country west of the 'Red Barcoo,'\nwhich, taken up by a pioneer squatter some years back, had passed into\nthe hands of a syndicate, of which he was a shareholder.\n\nSo, from one cause or another, it fell out that Corindah seemed to be\nmore solitary, not to say monotoned, than it had ever been before. The\nvisitors who came were of the occasional, transitory sort; all their old\nfriends seemed to have mysteriously vanished. The Rev. Cyril Courtenay\nwas the only one of their _habitues_ who did not fail them. He made his\nmonthly visitation, when, indeed, Mrs. Devereux was more than usually\nglad to see him.\n\nHe was sympathetic in his manner, as divining that something unusual had\naffected his friends. With tact, as well as sincerity, he drew forth an\nadmission of grief. This done, he essayed to lead their thoughts to the\nHealer of all mortal sorrow, the Bearer of burdens, the Consoler in time\nof trouble. He dwelt upon the unsatisfactory nature of all earthly\npleasures, the disappointment inseparably connected with mere worldly\naspirations, the only sure hope of forgiveness of sins, the need of\nrepentance, the certainty of peace.\n\nAs at the time of pain and anguish, of fear and danger, the physician\nattains a status which in the heedless hours of health is withheld, so,\nin the hour of the mind's sickness, the physician of souls is welcomed\nand revered. Urged to lengthen his stay, the Rev. Cyril gladly consented\nto remain over the ensuing Sunday. His ministrations, he thought, had\nnever been so appreciated before at Corindah. And when he quitted the\nlocality his heart beat high with the consciousness that he had aided\nthe consolation of the dearest friends and best supporters of the Church\n_in sicco_, while a yet more daring thought caused his colourless cheek\nto burn and his pulses to throb with unwonted speed.\n\nThe summer days grew longer and longer. The fever heat of the season\nwaxed more and more intense. The still air grew tremulous with the\nquivering, ardent sun-rays. Yet no suggestion was made by Pollie to go\nto the sea-side or to call the ocean breezes to aid her recovered\nhealth. Her mother would have rushed off directly the great event of the\nyear was over, but the girl would not hear of it.\n\n'No, mother dear,' she said, 'I have sinned and suffered. I have been\nwilful and headstrong. Let me remain and mortify the flesh for a season.\nYou do not mind the heat, I know, and I am strong enough now to bear it\nin the dear old place where I was born. We may have many a year to live\nhere together yet, and I may as well commence to accustom myself to it.'\n\nSo the two women laid their account to remain patiently at home till the\nfollowing summer, and Pollie set resolutely to work to utilise all her\nresources, natural and acquired. She commenced to be more methodical in\nthe appointment of her time. She rose early and took exercise in the\nfresh morning air, before the sun had gained power--the truest hygienic\nrule in the torrid zone. She read and did needlework at appointed hours,\nand resolutely set herself to perfect her knowledge of French and\nGerman. She 'kept up' her music, vocal and instrumental, though it was\nlong ere her voice recovered from a certain tremulous tendency, far\ndifferent from the rich, full tones soaring upwards like the skylark to\nperilous altitudes unharmed. She rode regularly, or drove her mother out\nin the light American carriages which no station is now without. She\nvisited the wives and children of the employees, showing a more\nconsiderate and intelligent interest in their welfare than had been\nbefore observable.\n\n'Mother,' said the girl, as they sat together on the verandah in the\nwaning summer-time, when a south wind speeding from the coast had\nunexpectedly cooled the air, 'I won't say that I was never so happy\nbefore; but I don't think I ever was so fully occupied. There is, no\ndoubt, a sense of relief and satisfaction to be gained when one does\nwhat one can; I never thought I should feel like this again.'\n\n'Let us have faith and patience, my darling,' said the mother, looking\ninto her child's eyes with the measureless fondness of earlier days,\n'and happiness will still come to us. Only persevere in the duties that\nlie nearest to you. In His own good time God will reward and bless you.\nAfter all, there are many good things in this life yet remaining.'\n\nIt was the late autumn when Harold Atherstone returned from his far,\nwild journeyings. A long-practised and trained bushman 'to the manner\nborn,' he was familiar with all the exigencies of the wildest woodcraft.\nBut from his appearance this expedition had been no child's play. Tanned\nand swart, almost to Indian darkness, both mother and daughter gazed at\nhim in astonishment. He had been down with fever and ague, and was\nhaggard and worn of aspect. He had even had a brush with the blacks, he\nsaid, on one of the far out-stations, and had managed to drop in for a\nspear wound. He was becoming quite a scarred veteran, he averred.\nHowever, save for a cicatrix to mark the trifling occurrence, he was\nunharmed. Altogether, though he had enjoyed the chances and adventures\nof his pioneer life, he was very glad to find himself within hail of\nCorindah again.\n\n'And we are so glad to have our old Harold back, I can tell you,' said\nMrs. Devereux. 'We missed him dreadfully all the summer, didn't we,\nPollie? To be ill, and weak, and lonely at the same time, is hard to\nbear.'\n\nPollie made an inaudible reply to her mother's query, but as her eyes\nrested upon the bronzed, athletic frame, and met the frank gaze of the\nAustralian, it may be that a comparison, not wholly to his disadvantage,\npassed through her mind.\n\n'It is the first time when there was trouble at Corindah that I have\nbeen absent, I think,' he said gently. 'You must manage to have me more\navailable in future.'\n\n'What reason is there for your risking your life in that terrible Never\nNever country?' said Mrs. Devereux. 'It is not as if you needed to make\nany more money, or had no one to care for you.'\n\n'One must do something with one's life,' he said simply. 'I don't know\nthat it greatly mattered if that Myall's spear _had_ gone through me, as\nit did through poor Williamson. I had got very tired of an easy life at\nMaroobil. I needed a strong change, and I got it, I must say.'\n\n'It's positively wicked to talk in that way,' said his hostess.\n'However, now you have come back, your friends must take care of you and\nkeep you among them. You look dreadfully thin; but I suppose you're not\nill, are you?' And then the kind creature looked at him with the same\nanxiety in her face that he remembered so well when he was a boy, over\nwhose accidents and offences she had always mourned maternally.\n\n'If it comes to that, it seems to me that no one looks very pink,' he\nreturned playfully. 'Pollie's not what she used to be. You look as if\nyou had gone through another night attack. And Bertram Devereux has gone\nhome? What has happened? I feel abroad.'\n\n'You are going to stay to-night, and your old room is ready for you, of\ncourse,' Mrs. Devereux answered. 'Do not allude to it when Pollie comes\ndown. (This young lady had retired temporarily to her room.) I will tell\nyou all about it after tea.'\n\nHarold Atherstone looked searchingly at her, but held his peace. In a\nminute afterwards Pollie appeared, looking, in spite of her illness, so\ndelicately lovely and overpowering, after his long sojourn in the\ndesert, that all doubts and conjectures were put to flight or lost in\nthe regained pleasure of seeing her smile of welcome and hearing the\nwell-remembered tones of her voice.\n\nIt was a happy evening. Apart from 'love and love's sharp woe' there\n_is_ such a thing as friendship, pure and unalloyed, between people of\ndiffering sexes. The sentiment of these friends was deep and\nsincere--founded upon sympathy, congenial tasks, and the long experience\nof mutual truth, loyalty, and affection. They were honestly glad to see\neach other again. Love temporarily divides friends, and, as it were,\nelbows out all other claimants. But as its fervour declines, the purer\nflame burns with a deeper glow. As the years advance, the fires of\npassion wax dim; the altar reared to friendship regains its votaries;\nwhile the more ornate and ephemeral edifice is too often deserted,\nempty, and ungarnished.\n\nThus, at their pleasant evening meal, all was mirthful interchange of\nnews and adventures since last the little party had met. Harold's\nfavourite wine of the remembered brand was brought out as of old; then\nPollie was persuaded to sing some of her oldest songs, while Mrs.\nDevereux and their guest talked confidentially in the verandah. It\nseemed as if the happy old Corindah days had come again, when no malign\ninfluence intervened; when, in Mrs. Devereux's eyes, all things were\npeacefully tending towards the cherished aspiration of her life.\nFinally, when the parting hour--later than usual--arrived, each secretly\nconfessed to a sensation so nearly akin to the joy long since departed\nfrom their lives, that not only wonder but even a _soupcon_ of hope was\ncommingled with its formation.\n\nHarold Atherstone had been placed fully in possession of facts by Mrs.\nDevereux, as they sat on the verandah in the hushed southern night,\nwhile Pollie's sweet voice trilled nightingale-like through the odorous\nbreath of the rose and the orange bloom. He heard how she had been\ndeceived, wounded in her tenderest feelings, and was now deserted and\nleft desolate. When he thought of her lying wearily on a bed of\nsickness, wan and wasted, heart-sore and despairing, he could not\nrepress a malediction upon the head of the man who had received such\nunstinted kindness at the hands of the speaker, and had thus repaid it.\n\nWhen the tale was finished he took her hand and pressed it silently.\n'The poor child has suffered deeply,' he said; 'but matters are best as\nthey are. Who knows but that deeper, more irrevocable misery might have\nbeen her lot had she not been warned in time? I mourn over the change in\nher, but she is returning to her old ways, and the memory of her sorrow\nwill become yet more faint. Her youth and pride, with the resources at\nher command, will enable her to divest herself of all trace of what was\none of the inevitable mistakes of youth.'\n\n'You think then that she acted rightly in refusing to see him again?'\n\n'Unquestionably; no other course was possible. I never thought him\nworthy of her. But he was her choice, and as a man of honour I could not\ndisparage him, even had I any other grounds than those of mere taste and\nprejudice, which I had not. The event has proved that my instinctive\ndistrust was correct. I need not tell you how I rejoice that she is\nagain free and unfettered.'\n\nHe said no more. The summer had passed. The nights became longer,\ncolder. The calm, peaceful, autumnal season, which in this south land\nbrings no fall of the leaf, commenced to herald the mild but well-marked\nwinter of the plains. It was the Indian summer of their old, peaceful\nCorindah life. They rode, and walked, and drove together, the three\nfriends, much as in the old days before the advent of the disturbing\nstranger from beyond the sea. Then Harold Atherstone had been the\nfavourite companion of the girl, the trusted friend and counsellor of\nthe elder woman. The _bon vieux temps_ had returned. Once more the\nheavens were bright, and the storm-cloud had disappeared with the\ntempest which had so nearly wrecked the frail bark of a woman's\nhappiness.\n\nAnd yet both were changed. The girl, mild and pensive, was almost humble\nin mien. All her wilfulness and obstinacy had departed. A deeper, more\nreasoning spirit of advance and inquiry seemed to possess her, to mould\nher every action and thought. He, on the other hand, had acquired\nbroader views of life, and had seriously modified many of his earlier\nopinions.\n\nBut their parting was near. Harold received a telegram, without warning\nor notice, which necessitated instant action. His presence was again\nrequired at the far North, where everything was going on as badly as\ncould be imagined. The chief manager lay dying of fever, the blacks were\ntroublesome, and becoming emboldened, had commenced to scatter off the\ncattle. To mend matters, a drought of unprecedented severity had set in.\n'If Mr. Atherstone did not go out,' the telegram stated, 'the whole\nenterprise might be wrecked, and ruinous loss accrue to shareholders.'\n\nAt first he rebelled, swore stoutly, indeed, that he would not go. He\nwould let things take their course. He was happy where he was, and there\nwas no reason why he should risk his life and tempt again the dangers of\nthe Waste. However, cooler reflection decided him to take the field as a\nduty to his comrades in the enterprise, as well as to the shareholders,\nwho had risked their money perhaps on the guarantee of his known\njudgment and reputation for management.\n\nHe made his preparations quickly, as was his wont, bade farewell to\nCorindah and its inmates, and set off on the long, hazardous journey.\n\nSomehow Corindah seemed more lonely than ever. He had been very kind and\nthoughtful as a brother, but no word of warmer admiration had passed his\nlips. Pollie pursued her tasks and occupations with accustomed\nregularity, but was more unequal in her spirits than ever. One day her\nmother surprised her in tears. A letter had been received from Harold,\nand the tone of it had aroused her from habitual indifferentism.\n\n'Why is he always so studiously cool and brotherly?' she said, with\nsomething of her old impetuosity. 'Does he think that I am likely to\nmisconstrue his feelings? That he requires to keep a guard over his\nexpressions? But I know how it is. He has met some one else in that far\ncountry. He spoke of some English families settled there. I have lost\nhis love, which once was so truly mine. I despised it then. Now I am\nrightly punished by contempt and desertion.'\n\nMrs. Devereux gained from this little speech a fresh and accurate\ninsight into the state of her daughter's heart. It went to confirm the\nsuspicion which she had lately entertained that the recent companionship\nof Harold Atherstone, the daily experience of his strong, true\ncharacter, had not been without its effect. He had come most opportunely\nto cheer their loneliness. His manner had somewhat altered, too, of\nlate, they had remarked; had become more gay and carelessly mirthful,\nmore easy and conventional. His travels and adventures had supplied him\nwith a larger field of observation, had added to his conversational\npowers, or else he had exerted himself exceptionally for their\nentertainment.\n\nHis sense of humour seemed to have developed, and withal there were\noccasional touches of tenderness and deep feeling which, always latent,\nhad been rarely exhibited. Both women confessed that they had never done\njustice to the versatile force of his character; never had they dreamed\nhe could exert fascination in addition to his power of compelling\nrespect.\n\nAnd now he was gone thousands of miles away--the true friend, the\ngallant gentleman, the loyal lover--to brave the risks of the Waste,\nperhaps die there, as had done many a brave man before him; perhaps to\nbe attracted by some newer, fresher face, never to return to his old\nallegiance. The thought was bitter. No wonder that Pollie's tears flowed\nfast.\n\nHarold Atherstone had exhibited his habitual self-control in quitting\nCorindah for a long absence without making sign or giving expression to\nhis feelings. He had carefully considered the situation, had come to\ncertain conclusions, had decided upon his course of action. His feelings\nwere unchanged with respect to Pollie. It had been hard to bear, almost\nunendurably torturing, to know that she preferred another; to witness\nher bright glances and hear her tender tones directed towards one whom\nin his heart he deemed unworthy of her. In his chivalric generosity he\nfelt this to be the crowning bitterness of the whole. Unable to bear it\nlonger, he elected to join this dangerous enterprise, reckless of life\nand health, hoping only for 'surcease of sorrow' in peril and privation.\n\nBut on his return he found that the enchanted portal had been opened,\nthe captive princess liberated. The glamour had fallen from her eyes.\nThe magic fetters had been unloosed. He could picture the scorn and\nindignation with which she had renounced Bertram Devereux for ever. From\nhis lifelong knowledge of her character he believed that she had freed\nherself from the memory of his treason as from something foul and\nrevolting; that it had fallen from her pure soul as earth from a golden\nrobe; that she had returned instinctively to the simple loyalty and\nfreedom of her youth. From his experience of life and woman's nature he\nforesaw that she would turn to him as to one of the lost ideals of her\ngirlhood, if only he were not precipitate and premature. These were not\nthe faults with which men charged Harold Atherstone. So he returned\nsilent and self-contained to the far North.\n\nHis unswerving courage and iron will stood him in good stead in this\nsupreme hazard.\n\nWhen Harold returned from the far country, his friends at Corindah were\nunaffectedly glad to see him. Pollie especially was so radiant in\nrenewed health and beauty that he felt irresistibly impelled to ask the\nmomentous question.\n\nHe chose an appropriate time and place--one of the star-bright,\ncloudless nights which in the southern hemisphere so glorify the\nmajestic solitude of nature. Low-toned and musical was the whispering\nbreeze which, stealing over the 'lone Chorasmian waste,' stirred the\nslumbering lemon sprays and murmured to the love-fraught roses as they\nwalked by the margin of the lakelet, all silver-bright in the wondrous\ntransparent atmosphere. It seemed as though, after the rude experiences\nof his desert life, he had re-entered paradise. He was so delighted to\nreturn, so charmed with the warm welcome accorded to him, that he would\nnever more return to the wilderness. He would indeed promise and\nguarantee to do so, but on one condition only. Need we say what that\nwas, or that the concession was made?\n\n'Are you sure that you think me worthy of your love, after all my\nfolly?' murmured she. 'But I have suffered--you will know how much. I\nhave repented, and, dearest Harold, I will try to be the woman you would\nhave me to be.'\n\n'There has been but one woman in the world for me,' he said, clasping\nher to his heart. 'She is mine now for ever; life holds no other prize\nhenceforth that I will stretch out my hand to seize.'\n\nWhat more remains to tell? Pollie's probation was ended. Her wayward,\nerrant woman's heart, 'with feelings and fancies like birds on the\nwing,' had found rest, relief, and safety on the manly breast of Harold\nAtherstone. Henceforth there was no fear, uncertainty or anxiety. She\nfelt a wavering dread at times lest he, requiring so much love (as she\nhad gauged his temperament), would find her nature unequal to the\ndemand. But, as generally happens in similar cases, this proved to be a\ngroundless apprehension.\n\nAs for Mrs. Devereux, she was prepared to sing '_Nunc dimittis._' Her\ncherished hope had been realised. Maroobil and Corindah in conjunction\nwould make a princely property, no matter how many there might be to\ninherit it. In every relation of life Harold was a tower of strength.\nNow she had a son whom she had loved since the days of his fearless\nchildhood. Now was she proud, happy, thankful. Providence _did_\nsometimes settle affairs of mortals aright. She had only to thank God\nhumbly on her bended knees that night, to pray with tears and sobs for\nher darling's happiness, believing in her inmost heart that it was now\nassured and lasting.\n\nAnd she was happy--perfectly, utterly, completely, if there be such a\nthing in this world below. They lived for the greater part of the year\nat Maroobil or Corindah, choosing by preference the quiet home life,\nwhere they had full enjoyment of each other's society, varied only by\nthe ordinary demands upon their hospitality, which they were careful to\nrecognise fully as of old. Maroobil was voted to be the pleasantest\nvisiting-place in the West, and Mrs. Harold Atherstone the most perfect\nhostess.\n\n'What a fortunate thing that you were able to sell out of that horrid\nQueensland country so advantageously!' said Mrs. Atherstone a month\nafter their marriage, when, resting under the shadows of Mount\nWellington, they absorbed rather than admired the charms of the varied\nTasmanian landscape. 'I shall never forget my fears on your account\nduring that last journey.'\n\n'I take great credit for not committing myself before I started,' he\nsaid. 'It grieved me sore, but I held out. I was mortally afraid, too,\nthat you might have another proposal in my absence. I suppose you\nhadn't?'\n\n'Well, not quite a proposal, only from Mr.----.'\n\n'Why, you insatiable woman, you don't mean to say that? Tell me this\nmoment who it was. Why didn't I know before?'\n\n'Don't look so fierce, and I'll confess everything. It is not much. But\nMr. Courtenay, the Rev. Cyril, _did_ call while you were away.'\n\n'Confound him! The smooth-faced humbug!' growled Harold, twirling his\nmoustache. 'However, \"Better men than he,\" etc. Well, go on, Circe----'\n\n'None of your heathen innuendoes, or I stop. But really, love, the poor\nfellow said he had been left a competence by an uncle, and that as he\ncould not now be accused of mercenary feelings, he wished me to know,\netc.; we should be able to do so much good with his means and those\nProvidence had gifted me with. Of course I explained gently that it\ncould not be. I felt quite clever, I assure you. I had only to alter\nwhat I said to Mr. MacCallum a very little. It would have served you\nright, sir, if I had taken him after your leaving me in that way.'\n\n'H--m, you won't be left much in future, madam, as you are not to be\ntrusted.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBrian Devereux Atherstone and Harold the second were respectively three\nyears and one year old when, the season being a good one, and wool above\nthe average, it was decided by the collective wisdom of the family that\na suitable opportunity had occurred for the long-promised visit to\nEurope. Mrs. Devereux had no objection to offer, except that the dear\nchildren might not in all respects be benefited. But this was overruled.\nStatistics were quoted to the effect that on board the P. and O. and\nMessageries steamers children were stronger, happier, and longer lived\nthan on shore. Finally the project was carried out, Mr. Gateward being\nleft in full possession of the station for the three years which it was\nintended that the tour should embrace.\n\nWhy attempt to portray here with what supreme, almost unutterable,\ndelight two cultured persons of congenial tastes and fresh, unworn\nmental palates savoured the intellectual banquets placed before them?\nAgain and again did Mrs. Atherstone declare that her cup of happiness\nwas filled to the brim, even running over.\n\nOn one of those elysian days, as Pollie sat dreamily under the columns\nof the Temple of Poseidon, while around them stretched the green plain\nof Paestum, Harold, who had been reading Galignani with a Briton's\nnever-failing interest, handed the paper to her with a pencil-marked\nparagraph.\n\nHer cheek paled for an instant, then glowed more brightly, her eye\nflashed, her head was raised, as she ran over the following extract from\na society paper:--'We observe with regret that the demise of Sir Ralph\nde Wynton at his seat, Wynton Hall, Herefordshire, took place on\nThursday last. The announcement will not surprise many who were\nacquainted with the sombre family history of the last male heir of this\nancient race. The deceased baronet had been for many years a hopeless\ninvalid. It was believed, indeed, that he was placed in confinement at\nthose periods when he was supposed to be travelling abroad. Owing to\ndifferences which had arisen at an early period of their union, it was\ngenerally supposed that Lady de Wynton, who resided chiefly at Florence,\nhad arranged a virtual separation. The estates, with all property, real\nand personal, excepting only her ladyship's ample jointure, pass to\nColonel de Wynton of the Life Guards.'\n\n'So, poor thing, she has been freed from her fetters at last!' said the\nfair reader, as she handed back the paper with a smile of loving content\nand absolute trust to her husband. 'She will now be free to marry\nBertram, and I trust sincerely they will be happy. I always pitied her\nfrom my heart, and thought it a case of cruel wrong and injustice.'\n\n'H--m!' replied Harold, with cautious non-committal. 'I suppose very\nprobable. \"More sinned against,\" etc. But I don't wonder at your\nsympathy. You are under greater obligations to Sybil, Lady de Wynton,\nthan to any living woman, the grandmum only excepted.'\n\n'Obligations indeed! Why?' she demands, in much astonishment. 'Oh! I\nknow--though it's like your cool audacity to say so--because but for her\nI should have gone through the wood, and through the wood, and taken--as\nI fully believe and acknowledge _now_--\"The Crooked Stick\" at last.'\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crooked Stick, by Rolf Boldrewood\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Dagny; John Bickers\n\n\n\n\n\nSIR HUMPHREY GILBERT'S VOYAGE TO NEWFOUNDLAND\n\nBy Edward Hayes\n\n\n     PREPARER'S NOTE\n\n     This text is one of the items included in Voyages and Travels:\n     Ancient and Modern and was prepared from a 1910 edition,\n     published by P F Collier & Son Company, New York.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY NOTE\n\nSir Humphrey Gilbert, the founder of the first English colony in North\nAmerica, was born about 1539, the son of a Devonshire gentleman,\nwhose widow afterward married the father of Sir Walter Raleigh. He was\neducated at Eton and Oxford, served under Sir Philip Sidney's father in\nIreland, and fought for the Netherlands against Spain. After his return\nhe composed a pamphlet urging the search for a northwest passage to\nCathay, which led to Frobisher's license for his explorations to that\nend.\n\nIn 1578 Gilbert obtained from Queen Elizabeth the charter he had long\nsought, to plant a colony in North America. His first attempt failed,\nand cost him his whole fortune; but, after further service in Ireland,\nhe sailed again in 1583 for Newfoundland. In the August of that year he\ntook possession of the harbor of St. John and founded his colony, but\non the return voyage he went down with his ship in a storm south of the\nAzores.\n\nThe following narrative is an account of this last voyage of Gilbert's,\ntold by Edward Hayes, commander of \"The Golden Hind,\" the only one to\nreach England of the three ships which set out from Newfoundland with\nGilbert.\n\nThe settlement at St. John was viewed by its promoter as merely the\nbeginning of a scheme for ousting Spain from America in favor of\nEngland. The plan did not progress as he hoped; but after long delays,\nand under far other impulses than Gilbert ever thought of, much of his\ndream was realized.\n\n\n\n\n\nSIR HUMPHREY GILBERT'S VOYAGE TO NEWFOUNDLAND\n\n\nA report of the Voyage and success thereof, attempted in the year of\nour Lord 1583, by Sir Humphrey Gilbert, Knight, with other gentlemen\nassisting him in that action, intended to discover and to plant\nChristian inhabitants in place convenient, upon those large and ample\ncountries extended northward from the Cape of Florida, lying under very\ntemperate climes, esteemed fertile and rich in minerals, yet not in the\nactual possession of any Christian prince. Written by Mr. Edward\nHayes, gentleman, and principal actor in the same voyage,[*] who alone\ncontinued unto the end, and, by God's special assistance, returned home\nwith his retinue safe and entire.\n\n     [*] Hayes was captain and owner of the _Golden Hind_,\n     Gilbert's Rear-Admiral.\n\nMany voyages have been pretended, yet hitherto never any thoroughly\naccomplished by our nation, of exact discovery into the bowels of those\nmain, ample, and vast countries extended infinitely into the north from\nthirty degrees, or rather from twenty-five degrees, of septentrional\nlatitude, neither hath a right way been taken of planting a Christian\nhabitation and regiment (government) upon the same, as well may appear\nboth by the little we yet do actually possess therein, and by our\nignorance of the riches and secrets within those lands, which unto this\nday we know chiefly by the travel and report of other nations, and most\nof the French, who albeit they cannot challenge such right and interest\nunto the said countries as we, neither these many years have had\nopportunity nor means so great to discover and to plant, being vexed\nwith the calamities of intestine wars, as we have had by the inestimable\nbenefit of our long and happy peace, yet have they both ways performed\nmore, and had long since attained a sure possession and settled\ngovernment of many provinces in those northerly parts of _America_, if\ntheir many attempts into those foreign and remote lands had not been\nimpeached by their garboils at home.\n\nThe first discovery of these coasts, never heard of before, was well\nbegun by John Cabot the father and Sebastian his son, an Englishman\nborn, who were the first finders out of all that great tract of land\nstretching from the Cape of Florida, into those islands which we now\ncall the Newfoundland; all which they brought and annexed unto the crown\nof England. Since when, if with like diligence the search of inland\ncountries had been followed, as the discovery upon the coast and\noutparts thereof was performed by those two men, no doubt her Majesty's\nterritories and revenue had been mightily enlarged and advanced by this\nday; and, which is more, the seed of Christian religion had been sowed\namongst those pagans, which by this time might have brought forth a most\nplentiful harvest and copious congregation of Christians; which must\nbe the chief intent of such as shall make any attempt that way; or else\nwhatsoever is builded upon other foundation shall never obtain happy\nsuccess nor continuance.\n\nAnd although we cannot precisely judge (which only belongeth to God)\nwhat have been the humours of men stirred up to great attempts of\ndiscovering and planting in those remote countries, yet the events do\nshew that either God's cause hath not been chiefly preferred by them, or\nelse God hath not permitted so abundant grace as the light of His word\nand knowledge of Him to be yet revealed unto those infidels before the\nappointed time. But most assuredly, the only cause of religion hitherto\nhath kept back, and will also bring forward at the time assigned by God,\nan effectual and complete discovery and possession by Christians both\nof those ample countries and the riches within them hitherto concealed;\nwhereof, notwithstanding, God in His wisdom hath permitted to be\nrevealed from time to time a certain obscure and misty knowledge, by\nlittle and little to allure the minds of men that way, which else will\nbe dull enough in the zeal of His cause, and thereby to prepare us unto\na readiness for the execution of His will, against the due time ordained\nof calling those pagans unto Christianity.\n\nIn the meanwhile it behoveth every man of great calling, in whom is any\ninstinct of inclination unto this attempt, to examine his own motions,\nwhich, if the same proceed of ambition or avarice, he may assure himself\nit cometh not of God, and therefore cannot have confidence of God's\nprotection and assistance against the violence (else irresistible) both\nof sea and infinite perils upon the land; whom God yet may use as an\ninstrument to further His cause and glory some way, but not to build\nupon so bad a foundation. Otherwise, if his motives be derived from\na virtuous and heroical mind, preferring chiefly the honour of God,\ncompassion of poor infidels captived by the devil, tyrannizing in most\nwonderful and dreadful manner over their bodies and souls; advancement\nof his honest and well-disposed countrymen, willing to accompany him\nin such honourable actions; relief of sundry people within this realm\ndistressed; all these be honourable purposes, imitating the nature of\nthe munificent God, wherewith He is well pleased, who will assist such\nan actor beyond expectation of many. And the same, who feeleth this\ninclination in himself, by all likelihood may hope or rather confidently\nrepose in the preordinance of God, that in this last age of the world\n(or likely never) the time is complete of receiving also these gentiles\ninto His mercy, and that God will raise Him an instrument to effect the\nsame; it seeming probable by event of precedent attempts made by the\nSpaniards and French sundry times, that the countries lying north of\nFlorida God hath reserved the same to be reduced into Christian civility\nby the English nation. For not long after that Christopher Columbus had\ndiscovered the islands and continent of the West Indies for Spain,\nJohn and Sebastian Cabot made discovery also of the rest from Florida\nnorthwards to the behoof of England.\n\nAnd whensoever afterwards the Spaniards, very prosperous in all their\nsouthern discoveries, did attempt anything into Florida and those\nregions inclining towards the north, they proved most unhappy, and were\nat length discouraged utterly by the hard and lamentable success of\nmany both religious and valiant in arms, endeavouring to bring those\nnortherly regions also under the Spanish jurisdiction, as if God had\nprescribed limits unto the Spanish nation which they might not exceed;\nas by their own gests recorded may be aptly gathered.\n\nThe French, as they can pretend less title unto these northern parts\nthan the Spaniard, by how much the Spaniard made the first discovery of\nthe same continent so far northward as unto Florida, and the French did\nbut review that before discovered by the English nation, usurping upon\nour right, and imposing names upon countries, rivers, bays, capes, or\nheadlands as if they had been the first finders of those coasts; which\ninjury we offered not unto the Spaniards, but left off to discover\nwhen we approached the Spanish limits; even so God hath not hitherto\npermitted them to establish a possession permanent upon another's right,\nnotwithstanding their manifold attempts, in which the issue hath been\nno less tragical than that of the Spaniards, as by their own reports is\nextant.\n\nThen, seeing the English nation only hath right unto these countries\nof America from the Cape of Florida northward by the privilege of first\ndiscovery, unto which Cabot was authorised by regal authority, and set\nforth by the expense of our late famous King Henry the Seventh; which\nright also seemeth strongly defended on our behalf by the powerful hand\nof Almighty God withstanding the enterprises of other nations; it may\ngreatly encourage us upon so just ground, as is our right, and upon so\nsacred an intent, as to plant religion (our right and intent being meet\nfoundations for the same), to prosecute effectually the full possession\nof those so ample and pleasant countries appertaining unto the crown of\nEngland; the same, as is to be conjectured by infallible arguments of\nthe world's end approaching, being now arrived unto the time of God\nprescribed of their vocation, if ever their calling unto the knowledge\nof God may be expected. Which also is very probable by the revolution\nand course of God's word and religion, which from the beginning hath\nmoved from the east towards, and at last unto, the west, where it is\nlike to end, unless the same begin again where it did in the east, which\nwere to expect a like world again. But we are assured of the contrary by\nthe prophecy of Christ, whereby we gather that after His word preached\nthroughout the world shall be the end. And as the Gospel when it\ndescended westward began in the south, and afterward begun in the south\ncountries of America, no less hope may be gathered that it will also\nspread into the north.\n\nThese considerations may help to suppress all dreads rising of hard\nevents in attempts made this way by other nations, as also of the heavy\nsuccess and issue in the late enterprise made by a worthy gentleman\nour countryman, Sir Humfrey Gilbert, Knight, who was the first of our\nnations that carried people to erect an habitation and government in\nthose northerly countries of America. About which albeit he had consumed\nmuch substance, and lost his life at last, his people also perishing for\nthe most part: yet the mystery thereof we must leave unto God, and judge\ncharitably both of the cause, which was just in all pretence, and of\nthe person, who was very zealous in prosecuting the same, deserving\nhonourable remembrance for his good mind and expense of life in so\nvirtuous an enterprise. Whereby nevertheless, lest any man should be\ndismayed by example of other folks' calamity, and misdeem that God doth\nresist all attempts intended that way, I thought good, so far as myself\nwas an eye-witness, to deliver the circumstance and manner of our\nproceedings in that action; in which the gentleman was so unfortunately\nencumbered with wants, and worse matched with many ill-disposed people,\nthat his rare judgment and regiment premeditated for those affairs was\nsubjected to tolerate abuses, and in sundry extremities to hold on a\ncourse more to uphold credit than likely in his own conceit happily to\nsucceed.\n\nThe issue of such actions, being always miserable, not guided by God,\nwho abhorreth confusion and disorder, hath left this for admonition,\nbeing the first attempt by our nation to plant, unto such as shall take\nthe same cause in hand hereafter, not to be discouraged from it; but to\nmake men well advised how they handle His so high and excellent\nmatters, as the carriage is of His word into those very mighty and\nvast countries. An action doubtless not to be intermeddled with base\npurposes, as many have made the same but a colour to shadow actions\notherwise scarce justifiable; which doth excite God's heavy judgments\nin the end, to the terrifying of weak minds from the cause, without\npondering His just proceedings; and doth also incense foreign princes\nagainst our attempts, how just soever, who cannot but deem the sequel\nvery dangerous unto their state (if in those parts we should grow to\nstrength), seeing the very beginnings are entered with spoil.\n\nAnd with this admonition denounced upon zeal towards God's cause, also\ntowards those in whom appeareth disposition honourable unto this action\nof planting Christian people and religion in those remote and barbarous\nnations of America (unto whom I wish all happiness), I will now proceed\nto make relations briefly, yet particularly, of our voyage undertaken\nwith Sir Humfrey Gilbert, begun, continued, and ended adversely.\n\nWhen first Sir Humfrey Gilbert undertook the western discovery of\nAmerica, and had procured from her Majesty a very large commission to\ninhabit and possess at his choice all remote and heathen lands not\nin the actual possession of any Christian prince, the same commission\nexemplified with many privileges, such as in his discretion he might\ndemand, very many gentlemen of good estimation drew unto him, to\nassociate him in so commendable an enterprise, so that the preparation\nwas expected to grow unto a puissant fleet, able to encounter a king's\npower by sea. Nevertheless, amongst a multitude of voluntary men, their\ndispositions were diverse, which bred a jar, and made a division in the\nend, to the confusion of that attempt even before the same was begun.\nAnd when the shipping was in a manner prepared, and men ready upon\nthe coast to go aboard, at that time some brake consort, and followed\ncourses degenerating from the voyage before pretended. Others failed\nof their promises contracted, and the greater number were dispersed,\nleaving the General with few of his assured friends, with whom he\nadventured to sea; where, having tasted of no less misfortune, he was\nshortly driven to retire home with the loss of a tall ship and, more to\nhis grief, of a valiant gentleman, Miles Morgan.\n\nHaving buried, only in a preparation, a great mass of substance, whereby\nhis estate was impaired, his mind yet not dismayed, he continued his\nformer designment, and purposed to revive this enterprise, good occasion\nserving. Upon which determination standing long without means to satisfy\nhis desire, at last he granted certain assignments out of his commission\nto sundry persons of mean ability, desiring the privilege of his grant,\nto plant and fortify in the north parts of America about the river of\nCanada; to whom if God gave good success in the north parts (where then\nno matter of moment was expected), the same, he thought, would\ngreatly advance the hope of the south, and be a furtherance unto his\ndetermination that way. And the worst that might happen in that course\nmight be excused, without prejudice unto him, by the former supposition\nthat those north regions were of no regard. But chiefly, a possession\ntaken in any parcel of those heathen countries, by virtue of his grant,\ndid invest him of territories extending every way 200 leagues; which\ninduced Sir Humfrey Gilbert to make those assignments, desiring greatly\ntheir expedition, because his commission did expire after six years, if\nin that space he had not gotten actual possession.\n\nTime went away without anything done by his assigns; insomuch that\nat last he must resolve himself to take a voyage in person, for more\nassurance to keep his patent in force, which then almost was expired or\nwithin two years. In furtherance of his determination, amongst others,\nSir George Peckham, Knight, shewed himself very zealous to the action,\ngreatly aiding him both by his advice and in the charge. Other gentlemen\nto their ability joined unto him, resolving to adventure their substance\nand lives in the same cause. Who beginning their preparation from that\ntime, both of shipping, munition, victual, men, and things requisite,\nsome of them continued the charge two years complete without\nintermission. Such were the difficulties and cross accidents opposing\nthese proceedings, which took not end in less than two years; many of\nwhich circumstances I will omit.\n\nThe last place of our assembly, before we left the coast of England,\nwas in Cawset Bay, near unto Plymouth, then resolved to put unto the\nsea with shipping and provision such as we had, before our store yet\nremaining, but chiefly the time and season of the year, were too far\nspent. Nevertheless, it seemed first very doubtful by what way to shape\nour course, and to begin our intended discovery, either from the south\nnorthward or from the north southward. The first, that is, beginning\nsouth, without all controversy was the likeliest, wherein we were\nassured to have commodity of the current which from the Cape of Florida\nsetteth northward, and would have furthered greatly our navigation,\ndiscovering from the foresaid cape along towards Cape Breton, and all\nthose lands lying to the north. Also, the year being far spent, and\narrived to the month of June, we were not to spend time in northerly\ncourses, where we should be surprised with timely winter, but to covet\nthe south, which we had space enough then to have attained, and there\nmight with less detriment have wintered that season, being more mild\nand short in the south than in the north, where winter is both long and\nrigorous. These and other like reasons alleged in favour of the southern\ncourse first to be taken, to the contrary was inferred that forasmuch as\nboth our victuals and many other needful provisions were diminished and\nleft insufficient for so long a voyage and for the wintering of so many\nmen, we ought to shape a course most likely to minister supply; and that\nwas to take the Newfoundland in our way, which was but 700 leagues from\nour English coast. Where being usually at that time of the year, and\nuntil the fine of August, a multitude of ships repairing thither for\nfish, we should be relieved abundantly with many necessaries, which,\nafter the fishing ended, they might well spare and freely impart\nunto us. Not staying long upon that Newland coast, we might proceed\nsouthward, and follow still the sun, until we arrived at places more\ntemperate to our content.\n\nBy which reasons we were the rather induced to follow this northerly\ncourse, obeying unto necessity, which must be supplied. Otherwise, we\ndoubted that sudden approach of winter, bringing with it continual\nfog and thick mists, tempest and rage of weather, also contrariety of\ncurrents descending from the Cape of Florida unto Cape Breton and Cape\nRace, would fall out to be great and irresistible impediments unto our\nfurther proceeding for that year, and compel us to winter in those north\nand cold regions. Wherefore, suppressing all objections to the contrary,\nwe resolved to begin our course northward, and to follow, directly as\nwe might, the trade way unto Newfoundland; from whence, after our\nrefreshing and reparation of wants, we intended without delay, by God's\npermission, to proceed into the south, not omitting any river or bay\nwhich in all that large tract of land appeared to our view worthy of\nsearch. Immediately we agreed upon the manner of our course and orders\nto be observed in our voyage; which were delivered in writing, unto the\ncaptains and masters of every ship a copy, in manner following.\n\nEvery ship had delivered two bullets or scrolls, the one sealed up\nin wax, the other left open; in both which were included several\nwatchwords. That open, serving upon our own coast or the coast of\nIreland; the other sealed, was promised on all hands not to be broken up\nuntil we should be clear of the Irish coast; which from thenceforth\ndid serve until we arrived and met all together in such harbours of\nthe Newfoundland as were agreed for our rendezvous. The said watchwords\nbeing requisite to know our consorts whensoever by night, either by\nfortune of weather, our fleet dispersed should come together again; or\none should hail another; or if by ill watch and steerage one ship should\nchance to fall aboard of another in the dark.\n\nThe reason of the bullet sealed was to keep secret that watchword while\nwe were upon our own coast, lest any of the company stealing from the\nfleet might bewray the same; which known to an enemy, he might board us\nby night without mistrust, having our own watchword.\n\n\nOrders agreed upon by the Captains and Masters to be observed by the\nfleet of Sir Humfrey Gilbert.\n\nFirst, The Admiral to carry his flag by day, and his light by night.\n\n2. Item, if the Admiral shall shorten his sail by night, then to shew\ntwo lights until he be answered again by every ship shewing one light\nfor a short time.\n\n3. Item, if the Admiral after his shortening of sail, as aforesaid,\nshall make more sail again; then he to shew three lights one above\nanother.\n\n4. Item, if the Admiral shall happen to hull in the night, then to make\na wavering light over his other light, wavering the light upon a pole.\n\n5. Item, if the fleet should happen to be scattered by weather, or other\nmishap, then so soon as one shall descry another, to hoise both topsails\ntwice, if the weather will serve, and to strike them twice again; but\nif the weather serve not, then to hoise the maintopsail twice, and\nforthwith to strike it twice again.\n\n6. Item, if it shall happen a great fog to fall, then presently every\nship to bear up with the Admiral, if there be wind; but if it be a calm,\nthen every ship to hull, and so to lie at hull till it clear. And if\nthe fog do continue long, then the Admiral to shoot off two pieces\nevery evening, and every ship to answer it with one shot; and every man\nbearing to the ship that is to leeward so near as he may.\n\n7. Item, every master to give charge unto the watch to look out well,\nfor laying aboard one of another in the night, and in fogs.\n\n8. Item, every evening every ship to hail the Admiral, and so to fall\nastern him, sailing through the ocean; and being on the coast, every\nship to hail him both morning and evening.\n\n9. Item, if any ship be in danger in any way, by leak or otherwise,\nthen she to shoot off a piece, and presently to bring out one light;\nwhereupon every man to bear towards her, answering her with one light\nfor a short time, and so to put it out again; thereby to give knowledge\nthat they have seen her token.\n\n10. Item, whensoever the Admiral shall hang out her ensign in the main\nshrouds, then every man to come aboard her as a token of counsel.\n\n11. Item, if there happen any storm or contrary wind to the fleet after\nthe discovery, whereby they are separated; then every ship to repair\nunto their last good port, there to meet again.\n\nOUR COURSE _agreed upon_.\n\nThe course first to be taken for the discovery is to bear directly to\nCape Race, the most southerly cape of Newfoundland; and there to harbour\nourselves either in Rogneux or Fermous, being the first places appointed\nfor our rendezvous, and the next harbours unto the northward of Cape\nRace: and therefore every ship separated from the fleet to repair to\nthat place so fast as God shall permit, whether you shall fall to the\nsouthward or to the northward of it, and there to stay for the meeting\nof the whole fleet the space of ten days; and when you shall depart, to\nleave marks.\n\nBeginning our course from Scilly, the nearest is by west-south-west\n(if the wind serve) until such time as we have brought ourselves in\nthe latitude of 43 or 44 degrees, because the ocean is subject much to\nsoutherly winds in June and July. Then to take traverse from 45 to 47\ndegrees of latitude, if we be enforced by contrary winds; and not to go\nto the northward of the height of 47 degrees of septentrional latitude\nby no means, if God shall not enforce the contrary; but to do your\nendeavour to keep in the height of 46 degrees, so near as you can\npossibly, because Cape Race lieth about that height.\n\nNOTE.\n\nIf by contrary winds we be driven back upon the coast of England, then\nto repair unto Scilly for a place of our assembly or meeting. If we be\ndriven back by contrary winds that we cannot pass the coast of Ireland,\nthen the place of our assembly to be at Bere haven or Baltimore\nhaven. If we shall not happen to meet at Cape Race, then the place\nof rendezvous to be at Cape Breton, or the nearest harbour unto the\nwestward of Cape Breton. If by means of other shipping we may not safely\nstay there, then to rest at the very next safe port to the westward;\nevery ship leaving their marks behind them for the more certainty of the\nafter comers to know where to find them. The marks that every man ought\nto leave in such a case, were of the General's private device written\nby himself, sealed also in close wax, and delivered unto every ship\none scroll, which was not to be opened until occasion required, whereby\nevery man was certified what to leave for instruction of after comers;\nthat every of us coming into any harbour or river might know who had\nbeen there, or whether any were still there up higher into the river, or\ndeparted, and which way.\n\n\nOrders thus determined, and promises mutually given to be observed,\nevery man withdrew himself unto his charge; the anchors being already\nweighed, and our ships under sail, having a soft gale of wind, we began\nour voyage upon Tuesday, the 11 day of June, in the year of our Lord\n1583, having in our fleet (at our departure from Cawset Bay) these\nships, whose names and burthens, with the names of the captains and\nmasters of them, I have also inserted, as followeth:--1. The _Delight_,\nalias the _George_, of burthen 120 tons, was Admiral; in which went the\nGeneral, and William Winter, captain in her and part owner, and Richard\nClarke, master. 2. The bark _Raleigh_, set forth by Master Walter\nRaleigh, of the burthen of 200 tons, was then Vice-Admiral; in which\nwent Master Butler, captain, and Robert Davis, of Bristol, master. 3.\nThe _Golden Hind_, of burthen 40 tons, was then Rear-Admiral; in which\nwent Edward Hayes, captain and owner, and William Cox, of Limehouse,\nmaster. 4. The _Swallow_, of burthen 40 tons; in her was captain Maurice\nBrowne. 5. The _Squirrel_, of burthen 10 tons; in which went captain\nWilliam Andrews, and one Cade, master. We were in number in all about\n260 men; among whom we had of every faculty good choice, as shipwrights,\nmasons, carpenters, smiths, and such like, requisite to such an action;\nalso mineral men and refiners. Besides, for solace of our people, and\nallurement of the savages, we were provided of music in good variety;\nnot omitting the least toys, as morris-dancers, hobby-horse, and\nMay-like conceits to delight the savage people, whom we intended to\nwin by all fair means possible. And to that end we were indifferently\nfurnished of all petty haberdashery wares to barter with those simple\npeople.\n\nIn this manner we set forward, departing (as hath been said) out of\nCawset Bay the 11 day of June, being Tuesday, the weather and wind fair\nand good all day; but a great storm of thunder and wind fell the same\nnight. Thursday following, when we hailed one another in the evening,\naccording to the order before specified, they signified unto us out of\nthe Vice-Admiral, that both the captain, and very many of the men,\nwere fallen sick. And about midnight the Vice-Admiral forsook us,\nnotwithstanding we had the wind east, fair and good. But it was after\ncredibly reported that they were infected with a contagious sickness,\nand arrived greatly distressed at Plymouth; the reason I could never\nunderstand. Sure I am, no cost was spared by their owner, Master\nRaleigh, in setting them forth; therefore I leave it unto God. By this\ntime we were in 48 degrees of latitude, not a little grieved with the\nloss of the most puissant ship in our fleet; after whose departure the\n_Golden Hind_ succeeded in the place of Vice-Admiral, and removed her\nflag from the mizen into the foretop. From Saturday, the 15 of June,\nuntil the 28, which was upon a Friday, we never had fair day without\nfog or rain, and winds bad, much to the west-north-west, whereby we were\ndriven southward unto 41 degrees scarce.\n\nAbout this time of the year the winds are commonly west towards the\nNewfoundland, keeping ordinarily within two points of west to the south\nor to the north; whereby the course thither falleth out to be long and\ntedious after June, which in March, April, and May, hath been performed\nout of England in 22 days and less. We had wind always so scant from the\nwest-north-west, and from west-south-west again, that our traverse was\ngreat, running south unto 41 degrees almost, and afterwards north into\n51 degrees. Also we were encumbered with much fog and mists in manner\npalpable, in which we could not keep so well together, but were\ndiscovered, losing the company of the _Swallow_ and the _Squirrel_\nupon the 20 day of July, whom we met again at several places upon\nthe Newfoundland coast the 3 of August, as shall be declared in place\nconvenient. Saturday, the 27 July, we might descry, not far from us, as\nit were mountains of ice driven upon the sea, being then in 50 degrees,\nwhich were carried southward to the weather of us; whereby may be\nconjectured that some current doth set that way from the north.\n\nBefore we came to Newfoundland, about 50 leagues on this side, we pass\nthe bank, which are high grounds rising within the sea and under water,\nyet deep enough and without danger, being commonly not less than 25 and\n30 fathom water upon them; the same, as it were some vein of mountains\nwithin the sea, do run along and form the Newfoundland, beginning\nnorthward about 52 or 53 degrees of latitude, and do extend into the\nsouth infinitely. The breadth of this bank is somewhere more, and\nsomewhere less; but we found the same about ten leagues over, having\nsounded both on this side thereof, and the other toward Newfoundland,\nbut found no ground with almost 200 fathom of line, both before and\nafter we had passed the bank. The Portugals, and French chiefly, have a\nnotable trade of fishing upon this bank, where are sometimes an hundred\nor more sails of ships, who commonly begin the fishing in April, and\nhave ended by July. That fish is large, always wet, having no land near\nto dry, and is called cod fish. During the time of fishing, a man\nshall know without sounding when he is upon the bank, by the incredible\nmultitude of sea-fowl hovering over the same, to prey upon the offals\nand garbage of fish thrown out by fishermen, and floating upon the sea.\n\nUpon Tuesday, the 11 of June we forsook the coast of England. So again\non Tuesday, the 30 of July, seven weeks after, we got sight of land,\nbeing immediately embayed in the Grand Bay, or some other great bay;\nthe certainty whereof we could not judge, so great haze and fog did hang\nupon the coast, as neither we might discern the land well, nor take the\nsun's height. But by our best computation we were then in the 51\ndegrees of latitude. Forsaking this bay and uncomfortable coast (nothing\nappearing unto us but hideous rocks and mountains, bare of trees, and\nvoid of any green herb) we followed the coast to the south, with weather\nfair and clear. We had sight of an island named Penguin, of a fowl there\nbreeding in abundance almost incredible, which cannot fly, their wings\nnot able to carry their body, being very large (not much less than\na goose) and exceeding fat, which the Frenchmen use to take without\ndifficulty upon that island, and to barrel them up with salt. But for\nlingering of time, we had made us there the like provision.\n\nTrending this coast, we came to the island called Baccalaos, being not\npast two leagues from the main; to the north thereof lieth Cape St.\nFrancis, five leagues distant from Baccalaos, between which goeth in a\ngreat bay, by the vulgar sort called the Bay of Conception. Here we met\nwith the _Swallow_ again, whom we had lost in the fog, and all her\nmen altered into other apparel; whereof it seemed their store was so\namended, that for joy and congratulation of our meeting, they spared\nnot to cast up into the air and overboard their caps and hats in good\nplenty. The captain, albeit himself was very honest and religious, yet\nwas he not appointed of men to his humour and desert; who for the most\npart were such as had been by us surprised upon the narrow seas of\nEngland, being pirates, and had taken at that instant certain Frenchmen\nladen, one bark with wines, and another with salt. Both which we\nrescued, and took the man-of-war with all her men, which was the same\nship now called the _Swallow_; following still their kind so oft as,\nbeing separated from the General, they found opportunity to rob and\nspoil. And because God's justice did follow the same company, even\nto destruction, and to the overthrow also of the captain (though not\nconsenting to their misdemeanour) I will not conceal anything that\nmaketh to the manifestation and approbation of His judgments, for\nexamples of others; persuaded that God more sharply took revenge upon\nthem, and hath tolerated longer as great outrage in others, by how much\nthese went under protection of His cause and religion, which was then\npretended.\n\nTherefore upon further enquiry it was known how this company met with a\nbark returning home after the fishing with his freight; and because the\nmen in the _Swallow_ were very near scanted of victuals, and chiefly\nof apparel, doubtful withal where or when to find and meet with their\nAdmiral, they besought the captain that they might go aboard this\n_Newlander_, only to borrow what might be spared, the rather because\nthe same was bound homeward. Leave given, not without charge to deal\nfavourably, they came aboard the fisherman, whom they rifled of tackle,\nsails, cables, victuals, and the men of their apparel; not sparing by\ntorture, winding cords about their heads, to draw out else what they\nthought good. This done with expedition, like men skilful in such\nmischief, as they took their cockboat to go aboard their own ship, it\nwas overwhelmed in the sea, and certain of these men there drowned;\nthe rest were preserved even by those silly souls whom they had before\nspoiled, who saved and delivered them aboard the _Swallow_. What became\nafterwards of the poor _Newlander_, perhaps destitute of sails and\nfurniture sufficient to carry them home, whither they had not less to\nrun than 700 leagues, God alone knoweth; who took vengeance not long\nafter of the rest that escaped at this instant, to reveal the fact, and\njustify to the world God's judgments indicted upon them, as shall be\ndeclared in place convenient.\n\nThus after we had met with the _Swallow_, we held on our course\nsouthward, until we came against the harbour called St. John, about five\nleagues from the former Cape of St. Francis, where before the entrance\ninto the harbour, we found also the frigate or _Squirrel_ lying at\nanchor; whom the English merchants, that were and always be Admirals\nby turns interchangeably over the fleets of fishermen within the same\nharbour, would not permit to enter into the harbour. Glad of so happy\nmeeting, both of the _Swallow_ and frigate in one day, being Saturday,\nthe third of August, we made ready our fights, and prepared to enter\nthe harbour, any resistance to the contrary notwithstanding, there being\nwithin of all nations to the number of 36 sails. But first the General\ndespatched a boat to give them knowledge of his coming for no ill\nintent, having commission from her Majesty for his voyage he had in\nhand; and immediately we followed with a slack gale, and in the very\nentrance, which is but narrow, not above two butts' length, the Admiral\nfell upon a rock on the larboard side by great oversight, in that the\nweather was fair, the rock much above water fast by the shore, where\nneither went any sea-gate. But we found such readiness in the English\nmerchants to help us in that danger, that without delay there were\nbrought a number of boats, which towed off the ship, and cleared her of\ndanger.\n\nHaving taken place convenient in the road, we let fall anchors, the\ncaptains and masters repairing aboard our Admiral; whither also came\nimmediately the masters and owners of the fishing fleet of Englishmen,\nto understand the General's intent and cause of our arrival there.\nThey were all satisfied when the General had shewed his commission and\npurpose to take possession of those lands to the behalf of the crown of\nEngland, and the advancement of the Christian religion in those paganish\nregions, requiring but their lawful aid for repairing of his fleet, and\nsupply of some necessaries, so far as conveniently might be afforded\nhim, both out of that and other harbours adjoining. In lieu whereof he\nmade offer to gratify them with any favour and privilege, which upon\ntheir better advice they should demand, the like being not to be\nobtained hereafter for greater price. So craving expedition of his\ndemand, minding to proceed further south without long detention in those\nparts, he dismissed them, after promise given of their best endeavour\nto satisfy speedily his so reasonable request. The merchants with their\nmasters departed, they caused forthwith to be discharged all the great\nordnance of their fleet in token of our welcome.\n\nIt was further determined that every ship of our fleet should deliver\nunto the merchants and masters of that harbour a note of all their\nwants: which done, the ships, as well English as strangers, were\ntaxed at an easy rate to make supply. And besides, commissioners were\nappointed, part of our own company and part of theirs, to go into other\nharbours adjoining (for our English merchants command all there) to levy\nour provision: whereunto the Portugals, above other nations, did most\nwillingly and liberally contribute. In so much as we were presented,\nabove our allowance, with wines, marmalades, most fine rusk or biscuit,\nsweet oils, and sundry delicacies. Also we wanted not of fresh salmons,\ntrouts, lobsters, and other fresh fish brought daily unto us. Moreover\nas the manner is in their fishing, every week to choose their Admiral\nanew, or rather they succeed in orderly course, and have weekly their\nAdmiral's feast solemnized: even so the General, captains, and masters\nof our fleet were continually invited and feasted. To grow short in our\nabundance at home the entertainment had been delightful; but after our\nwants and tedious passage through the ocean, it seemed more acceptable\nand of greater contentation, by how much the same was unexpected in that\ndesolate corner of the world; where, at other times of the year, wild\nbeasts and birds have only the fruition of all those countries, which\nnow seemed a place very populous and much frequented.\n\nThe next morning being Sunday, and the fourth of August, the General and\nhis company were brought on land by English merchants, who shewed unto\nus their accustomed walks unto a place they call the Garden. But nothing\nappeared more than nature itself without art: who confusedly hath\nbrought forth roses abundantly, wild, but odoriferous, and to sense very\ncomfortable. Also the like plenty of raspberries, which do grow in every\nplace.\n\nMonday following, the General had his tent set up; who, being\naccompanied with his own followers, summoned the merchants and masters,\nboth English and strangers, to be present at his taking possession of\nthose countries. Before whom openly was read, and interpreted unto the\nstrangers, his commission: by virtue whereof he took possession in\nthe same harbour of St. John, and 200 leagues every way, invested the\nQueen's Majesty with the title and dignity thereof, had delivered unto\nhim, after the custom of England, a rod, and a turf of the same soil,\nentering possession also for him, his heirs and assigns for ever; and\nsignified unto all men, that from that time forward, they should take\nthe same land as a territory appertaining to the Queen of England, and\nhimself authorised under her Majesty to possess and enjoy it, and\nto ordain laws for the government thereof, agreeable, so near as\nconveniently might be, unto the laws of England, under which all people\ncoming thither hereafter, either to inhabit, or by way of traffic,\nshould be subjected and governed. And especially at the same time for\na beginning, he proposed and delivered three laws to be in force\nimmediately. That is to say the first for religion, which in public\nexercise should be according to the Church of England. The second, for\nmaintenance of her Majesty's right and possession of those territories,\nagainst which if any thing were attempted prejudicial, the party or\nparties offending should be adjudged and executed as in case of high\ntreason, according to the laws of England. The third, if any person\nshould utter words sounding to the dishonour of her Majesty, he should\nlose his ears, and have his ship and goods confiscate.\n\nThese contents published, obedience was promised by general voice and\nconsent of the multitude, as well of Englishmen as strangers, praying\nfor continuance of this possession and government begun; after this, the\nassembly was dismissed. And afterwards were erected not far from that\nplace the arms of England engraven in lead, and infixed upon a pillar of\nwood. Yet further and actually to establish this possession taken in the\nright of her Majesty, and to the behoof of Sir Humfrey Gilbert, knight,\nhis heirs and assigns for ever, the General granted in fee-farm divers\nparcels of land lying by the water-side, both in this harbour of St.\nJohn, and elsewhere, which was to the owners a great commodity, being\nthereby assured, by their proper inheritance, of grounds convenient to\ndress and to dry their fish; whereof many times before they did fail,\nbeing prevented by them that came first into the harbour. For which\ngrounds they did covenant to pay a certain rent and service unto Sir\nHumfrey Gilbert, his heirs or assigns for ever, and yearly to maintain\npossession of the same, by themselves or their assigns.\n\nNow remained only to take in provision granted, according as every ship\nwas taxed, which did fish upon the coast adjoining. In the meanwhile,\nthe General appointed men unto their charge: some to repair and trim the\nships, others to attend in gathering together our supply and provisions:\nothers to search the commodities and singularities of the country, to be\nfound by sea or land, and to make relation unto the General what either\nthemselves could know by their own travail and experience, or by good\nintelligence of Englishmen or strangers, who had longest frequented the\nsame coast. Also some observed the elevation of the pole, and drew plots\nof the country exactly graded. And by that I could gather by each man's\nseveral relation, I have drawn a brief description of the Newfoundland,\nwith the commodities by sea or land already made, and such also as are\nin possibility and great likelihood to be made. Nevertheless the cards\nand plots that were drawn, with the due gradation of the harbours, bays,\nand capes, did perish with the Admiral: wherefore in the description\nfollowing, I must omit the particulars of such things.\n\nThat which we do call the Newfoundland, and the Frenchmen _Baccalaos_,\nis an island, or rather, after the opinion of some, it consisteth\nof sundry islands and broken lands, situate in the north regions of\nAmerica, upon the gulf and entrance of a great river called St. Lawrence\nin Canada; into the which, navigation may be made both on the south and\nnorth side of this island. The land lieth south and north, containing in\nlength between 300 and 400 miles, accounting from Cape Race, which is\nin 46 degrees 25 minutes, unto the Grand Bay in 52 degrees, of\nseptentrional latitude. The land round about hath very many goodly bays\nand harbours, safe roads for ships, the like not to be found in any part\nof the known world.\n\nThe common opinion that is had of intemperature and extreme cold that\nshould be in this country, as of some part it may be verified, namely\nthe north, where I grant it is more cold than in countries of Europe,\nwhich are under the same elevation: even so it cannot stand with reason\nand nature of the clime, that the south parts should be so intemperate\nas the bruit hath gone. For as the same do lie under the climes of\nBretagne, Anjou, Poictou in France, between 46 and 49 degrees, so can\nthey not so much differ from the temperature of those countries: unless\nupon the out-coast lying open unto the ocean and sharp winds, it must\nindeed be subject to more cold than further within the land, where the\nmountains are interposed as walls and bulwarks, to defend and to resist\nthe asperity and rigour of the sea and weather. Some hold opinion that\nthe Newfoundland might be the more subject to cold, by how much it lieth\nhigh and near unto the middle region. I grant that not in Newfoundland\nalone, but in Germany, Italy and Afric, even under the equinoctial line,\nthe mountains are extreme cold, and seldom uncovered of snow, in their\nculm and highest tops, which cometh to pass by the same reason that\nthey are extended towards the middle region: yet in the countries lying\nbeneath them, it is found quite contrary. Even so, all hills having\ntheir descents, the valleys also and low grounds must be likewise hot\nor temperate, as the clime doth give in Newfoundland: though I am of\nopinion that the sun's reflection is much cooled, and cannot be so\nforcible in Newfoundland, nor generally throughout America, as in Europe\nor Afric: by how much the sun in his diurnal course from east to west,\npasseth over, for the most part, dry land and sandy countries, before he\narriveth at the west of Europe or Afric, whereby his motion increaseth\nheat, with little or no qualification by moist vapours. Whereas, on the\ncontrary, he passeth from Europe and Afric unto American over the ocean,\nfrom whence he draweth and carrieth with him abundance of moist vapours,\nwhich do qualify and enfeeble greatly the sun's reverberation upon\nthis country chiefly of Newfoundland, being so much to the northward.\nNevertheless, as I said before, the cold cannot be so intolerable under\nthe latitude of 46, 47, and 48, especial within land, that it should be\nunhabitable, as some do suppose, seeing also there are very many people\nmore to the north by a great deal. And in these south parts there be\ncertain beasts, ounces or leopards, and birds in like manner, which\nin the summer we have seen, not heard of in countries of extreme and\nvehement coldness. Besides, as in the months of June, July, August and\nSeptember, the heat is somewhat more than in England at those seasons:\nso men remaining upon the south parts near unto Cape Race, until after\nholland-tide (All-hallow-tide--November 1), have not found the cold so\nextreme, nor much differing from the temperature of England. Those\nwhich have arrived there after November and December have found the snow\nexceeding deep, whereat no marvel, considering the ground upon the\ncoast is rough and uneven, and the snow is driven into the places most\ndeclining, as the like is to be seen with us. The like depth of snow\nhappily shall not be found within land upon the plainer countries, which\nalso are defended by the mountains, breaking off the violence of winds\nand weather. But admitting extraordinary cold in those south parts,\nabove that with us here, it cannot be so great as in Swedeland, much\nless in Moscovia or Russia: yet are the same countries very populous,\nand the rigour of cold is dispensed with by the commodity of stoves,\nwarm clothing, meats and drinks: all of which need not be wanting in the\nNewfoundland, if we had intent there to inhabit.\n\nIn the south parts we found no inhabitants, which by all likelihood have\nabandoned those coasts, the same being so much frequented by Christians;\nbut in the north are savages altogether harmless. Touching the\ncommodities of this country, serving either for sustentation of\ninhabitants or for maintenance of traffic, there are and may be made\ndivers; so that it seemeth that nature hath recompensed that only defect\nand incommodity of some sharp cold, by many benefits; namely, with\nincredible quantity, and no less variety, of kinds of fish in the sea\nand fresh waters, as trouts, salmons, and other fish to us unknown; also\ncod, which alone draweth many nations thither, and is become the most\nfamous fishing of the world; abundance of whales, for which also is a\nvery great trade in the bays of Placentia and the Grand Bay, where is\nmade train oil of the whale; herring, the largest that have been heard\nof, and exceeding the Marstrand herring of Norway; but hitherto was\nnever benefit taken of the herring fishing. There are sundry other\nfish very delicate, namely, the bonito, lobsters, turbot, with others\ninfinite not sought after; oysters having pearl but not orient in\ncolour; I took it, by reason they were not gathered in season.\n\nConcerning the inland commodities, as well to be drawn from this land,\nas from the exceeding large countries adjoining, there is nothing which\nour east and northerly countries of Europe do yield, but the like also\nmay be made in them as plentifully, by time and industry; namely, resin,\npitch, tar, soap-ashes, deal-board, masts for ships, hides, furs, flax,\nhemp, corn, cables, cordage, linen cloth, metals, and many more. All\nwhich the countries will afford, and the soil is apt to yield. The trees\nfor the most in those south parts are fir-trees, pine, and cypress, all\nyielding gum and turpentine. Cherry trees bearing fruit no bigger than a\nsmall pease. Also pear-trees, but fruitless. Other trees of some sort\nto us unknown. The soil along the coast is not deep of earth, bringing\nforth abundantly peasen small, yet good feeding for cattle. Roses\npassing sweet, like unto our musk roses in form; raspises; a berry which\nwe call whorts, good and wholesome to eat. The grass and herb doth\nfat sheep in very short space, proved by English merchants which have\ncarried sheep thither for fresh victual and had them raised exceeding\nfat in less than three weeks. Peasen which our countrymen have sown in\nthe time of May, have come up fair, and been gathered in the beginning\nof August, of which our General had a present acceptable for the\nrareness, being the first fruits coming up by art and industry in that\ndesolate and dishabited land. Lakes or pools of fresh water, both on the\ntops of mountains and in the valleys; in which are said to be muscles\nnot unlike to have pearl, which I had put in trial, if by mischance\nfalling unto me I had not been letted from that and other good\nexperiments I was minded to make. Fowl both of water and land in great\nplenty and diversity. All kind of green fowl; others as big as bustards,\nyet not the same. A great white fowl called of some a gaunt. Upon the\nland divers sort of hawks, as falcons, and others by report. Partridges\nmost plentiful, larger than ours, grey and white of colour, and\nrough-footed like doves, which our men after one flight did kill\nwith cudgels, they were so fat and unable to fly. Birds, some like\nblackbirds, linnets, canary birds, and other very small. Beasts of\nsundry kinds; red deer, buffles, or a beast as it seemeth by the tract\nand foot very large, in manner of an ox. Bears, ounces or leopards, some\ngreater and some lesser; wolves, foxes, which to the northward a little\nfarther are black, whose fur is esteemed in some countries of Europe\nvery rich. Otters, beavers, marterns; and in the opinion of most men\nthat saw it, the General had brought unto him a sable alive, which he\nsent unto his brother, Sir John Gilbert, Knight, of Devonshire, but it\nwas never delivered, as after I understood. We could not observe\nthe hundredth part of creatures in those unhabited lands; but these\nmentioned may induce us to glorify the magnificent God, who hath\nsuper-abundantly replenished the earth with creatures serving for the\nuse of man, though man hath not used the fifth part of the same, which\nthe more doth aggravate the fault and foolish sloth in many of our\nnations, choosing rather to live indirectly, and very miserably to live\nand die within this realm pestered with inhabitants, then to adventure\nas becometh men, to obtain an habitation in those remote lands, in which\nnature very prodigally doth minister unto men's endeavours, and for art\nto work upon. For besides these already recounted and infinite more, the\nmountains generally make shew of mineral substance; iron very common,\nlead, and somewhere copper. I will not aver of richer metals; albeit by\nthe circumstances following, more than hope may be conceived thereof.\n\nFor amongst other charges given to enquire out the singularities of\nthis country, the General was most curious in the search of metals,\ncommanding the mineral-man and refiner especially to be diligent. The\nsame was a Saxon born, honest, and religious, named Daniel. Who after\nsearch brought at first some sort of ore, seeming rather to be iron than\nother metal. The next time he found ore, which with no small show of\ncontentment he delivered unto the General, using protestation that if\nsilver were the thing which might satisfy the General and his followers,\nthere it was, advising him to seek no further; the peril whereof he\nundertook upon his life (as dear unto him as the crown of England\nunto her Majesty, that I may use his own words) if it fell not out\naccordingly.\n\nMyself at this instant liker to die than to live, by a mischance, could\nnot follow this confident opinion of our refiner to my own satisfaction;\nbut afterward demanding our General's opinion therein, and to have some\npart of the ore, he replied, _Content yourself, I have seen enough; and\nwere it but to satisfy my private humour, I would proceed no further.\nThe promise unto my friends, and necessity to bring also the south\ncountries within compass of my patent near expired, as we have already\ndone these north parts, do only persuade me further. And touching the\nore, I have sent it aboard, whereof I would have no speech to be made so\nlong as we remain within harbour; here being both Portugals, Biscayans,\nand Frenchmen, not far off, from whom must be kept any bruit or\nmuttering of such matter. When we are at sea, proof shall be made; if\nit be our desire, we may return the sooner hither again._ Whose answer\nI judged reasonable, and contenting me well; wherewith I will conclude\nthis narration and description of the Newfoundland, and proceed to the\nrest of our voyage, which ended tragically.\n\nWhile the better sort of us were seriously occupied in repairing our\nwants, and contriving of matters for the commodity of our voyage, others\nof another sort and disposition were plotting of mischief; some casting\nto steal away our shipping by night, watching opportunity by the\nGeneral's and captains' lying on the shore; whose conspiracies\ndiscovered, they were prevented. Others drew together in company, and\ncarried away out of the harbours adjoining a ship laden with fish,\nsetting the poor men on shore. A great many more of our people stole\ninto the woods to hide themselves, attending time and means to return\nhome by such shipping as daily departed from the coast. Some were\nsick of fluxes, and many dead; and in brief, by one means or other our\ncompany was diminished, and many by the General licensed to return home.\nInsomuch as after we had reviewed our people, resolved to see an end of\nour voyage, we grew scant of men to furnish all our shipping; it seemed\ngood thereof unto the General to leave the _Swallow_ with such provision\nas might be spared for transporting home the sick people.\n\nThe captain of the _Delight_ or Admiral, returned into England, in whose\nstead was appointed captain Maurice Browne, before the captain of the\n_Swallow_; who also brought with him into the _Delight_ all his men of\nthe _Swallow_, which before have been noted of outrage perpetrated and\ncommitted upon fishermen there met at sea.\n\nThe General made choice to go in his frigate the _Squirrel_, whereof\nthe captain also was amongst them that returned into England; the same\nfrigate being most convenient to discover upon the coast, and to search\ninto every harbour or creek, which a great ship could not do. Therefore\nthe frigate was prepared with her nettings and fights, and overcharged\nwith bases and such small ordnance, more to give a show, than with\njudgment to foresee unto the safety of her and the men, which afterward\nwas an occasion also of their overthrow.\n\nNow having made ready our shipping, that is to say, the _Delight_, the\n_Golden Hind_, and the _Squirrel_, we put aboard our provision, which\nwas wines, bread or rusk, fish wet and dry, sweet oils, besides many\nother, as marmalades, figs, limons barrelled, and such like. Also we had\nother necessary provision for trimming our ships, nets and lines to fish\nwithal, boats or pinnaces fit for discovery. In brief, we were supplied\nof our wants commodiously, as if we had been in a country or some city\npopulous and plentiful of all things.\n\nWe departed from this harbour of St. John's upon Tuesday, the 20 of\nAugust, which we found by exact observation to be in 47 degrees 40\nminutes; and the next day by night we were at Cape Race, 25 leagues from\nthe same harborough. This cape lieth south-south-west from St. John's;\nit is a low land, being off from the cape about half a league; within\nthe sea riseth up a rock against the point of the cape, which thereby is\neasily known. It is in latitude 46 degrees 25 minutes. Under this cape\nwe were becalmed a small time, during which we laid out hooks and lines\nto take cod, and drew in less than two hours fish so large and in such\nabundance, that many days after we fed upon no other provision. From\nhence we shaped our course unto the island of Sablon, if conveniently it\nwould so fall out, also directly to Cape Breton.\n\nSablon lieth to the seaward of Cape Breton about 25 leagues, whither we\nwere determined to go upon intelligence we had of a Portugal, during our\nabode in St. John's, who was himself present when the Portugals, above\nthirty years past, did put into the same island both neat and swine to\nbreed, which were since exceedingly multiplied. This seemed unto us very\nhappy tidings, to have in an island lying so near unto the main, which\nwe intended to plant upon, such store of cattle, whereby we might at\nall times conveniently be relieved of victual, and served of store for\nbreed.\n\nIn this course we trended along the coast, which from Cape Race\nstretcheth into the north-west, making a bay which some called Trepassa.\nThen it goeth out again towards the west, and maketh a point, which with\nCape Race lieth in manner east and west. But this point inclineth to the\nnorth, to the west of which goeth in the Bay of Placentia. We sent men\non land to take view of the soil along this coast, whereof they made\ngood report, and some of them had will to be planted there. They saw\npease growing in great abundance everywhere.\n\nThe distance between Cape Race and Cape Breton is 87 leagues; in which\nnavigation we spent eight days, having many times the wind indifferent\ngood, yet could we never attain sight of any land all that time, seeing\nwe were hindered by the current. At last we fell into such flats and\ndangers that hardly any of us escaped; where nevertheless we lost our\nAdmiral (the _Delight_) with all the men and provisions, not knowing\ncertainly the place. Yet for inducing men of skill to make conjecture,\nby our course and way we held from Cape Race thither, that thereby the\nflats and dangers may be inserted in sea cards, for warning to others\nthat may follow the same course hereafter, I have set down the best\nreckonings that were kept by expert men, William Cox, Master of the\n_Hind_, and John Paul, his mate, both of Limehouse. . . . Our course we\nheld in clearing us of these flats was east-south-east, and south-east,\nand south, fourteen leagues, with a marvellous scant wind.\n\nUpon Tuesday, the 27 of August, toward the evening, our General caused\nthem in his frigate to sound, who found white sand at 35 fathom, being\nthen in latitude about 44 degrees. Wednesday, toward night, the wind\ncame south, and we bare with the land all that night, west-north-west,\ncontrary to the mind of Master Cox; nevertheless we followed the\nAdmiral, deprived of power to prevent a mischief, which by no\ncontradiction could be brought to hold another course, alleging they\ncould not make the ship to work better, nor to lie otherways. The\nevening was fair and pleasant, yet not without token of storm to ensue,\nand most part of this Wednesday night, like the swan that singeth before\nher death, they in the Admiral, or _Delight_, continued in sounding of\ntrumpets, with drums and fifes; also winding the cornets and hautboys,\nand in the end of their jollity, left with the battle and ringing of\ndoleful knells. Towards the evening also we caught in the _Golden Hind_\na very mighty porpoise with harping iron, having first stricken divers\nof them, and brought away part of their flesh sticking upon the iron,\nbut could recover only that one. These also, passing through the ocean\nin herds, did portend storm. I omit to recite frivolous report by them\nin the frigate, of strange voices the same night, which scared some from\nthe helm.\n\nThursday, the 29 of August, the wind rose, and blew vehemently at south\nand by east, bringing withal rain and thick mist, so that we could\nnot see a cable length before us; and betimes in the morning we were\naltogether run and folded in amongst flats and sands, amongst which\nwe found shoal and deep in every three or four ships' length, after we\nbegan to sound; but first we were upon them unawares, until Master Cox\nlooking out, discerned, in his judgment, white cliffs, crying _Land!_\nwithal; though we could not afterward descry any land, it being very\nlikely the breaking of the sea white, which seemed to be white cliffs,\nthrough the haze and thick weather.\n\nImmediately tokens were given unto the _Delight_, to cast about to\nseaward, which, being the greater ship, and of burthen 120 tons, was yet\nforemost upon the breach, keeping so ill watch, that they knew not the\ndanger, before they felt the same, too late to recover it; for presently\nthe Admiral struck aground, and has soon after her stern and hinder\nparts beaten in pieces; whereupon the rest (that is to say, the\nfrigate, in which was the General, and the _Golden Hind_) cast about\neast-south-east, bearing to the south, even for our lives, into the\nwind's eye, because that way carried us to the seaward. Making out from\nthis danger, we sounded one while seven fathom, then five fathom, then\nfour fathom and less, again deeper, immediately four fathom then but\nthree fathom, the sea going mightily and high. At last we recovered, God\nbe thanked, in some despair, to sea room enough.\n\nIn this distress, we had vigilant eye unto the Admiral, whom we saw cast\naway, without power to give the men succour, neither could we espy any\nof the men that leaped overboard to save themselves, either in the\nsame pinnace, or cock, or upon rafters, and such like means presenting\nthemselves to men in those extremities, for we desired to save the men\nby every possible means. But all in vain, sith God had determined their\nruin; yet all that day, and part of the next, we beat up and down as\nnear unto the wrack as was possible for us, looking out if by good hap\nwe might espy any of them.\n\nThis was a heavy and grievous event, to lose at one blow our chief ship\nfreighted with great provision, gathered together with much travail,\ncare, long time, and difficulty; but more was the loss of our men,\nwhich perished to the number almost of a hundred souls. Amongst whom was\ndrowned a learned man, a Hungarian (Stephen Parmenius), born in the\ncity of Buda, called thereof Budoeus, who, of piety and zeal to good\nattempts, adventured in this action, minding to record in the Latin\ntongue the gests and things worthy of remembrance, happening in this\ndiscovery, to the honour of our nations, the same being adorned with the\neloquent style of this orator and rare poet of our time.\n\nHere also perished our Saxon refiner and discoverer of inestimable\nriches, as it was left amongst some of us in undoubted hope. No less\nheavy was the loss of the captain, Maurice Browne, a virtuous, honest,\nand discreet gentleman, overseen only in liberty given late before\nto men that ought to have been restrained, who showed himself a man\nresolved, and never unprepared for death, as by his last act of\nthis tragedy appeared, by report of them that escaped this wrack\nmiraculously, as shall be hereafter declared. For when all hope was past\nof recovering the ship, and that men began to give over, and to save\nthemselves, the captain was advised before to shift also for his life,\nby the pinnace at the stern of the ship; but refusing that counsel, he\nwould not give example with the first to leave the ship, but used all\nmeans to exhort his people not to despair, nor so to leave off their\nlabour, choosing rather to die than to incur infamy by forsaking\nhis charge, which then might be thought to have perished through his\ndefault, showing an ill precedent unto his men, by leaving the ship\nfirst himself. With this mind he mounted upon the highest deck, where he\nattended imminent death, and unavoidable; how long, I leave it to God,\nwho withdraweth not his comfort from his servants at such times.\n\nIn the mean season, certain, to the number of fourteen persons, leaped\ninto a small pinnace, the bigness of a Thames barge, which was made in\nthe Newfoundland, cut off the rope wherewith it was towed, and committed\nthemselves to God's mercy, amidst the storm, and rage of sea and winds,\ndestitute of food, not so much as a drop of fresh water. The boat\nseeming overcharged in foul weather with company, Edward Headly, a\nvaliant soldier, and well reputed of his company, preferring the greater\nto the lesser, thought better that some of them perished than all, made\nthis motion, to cast lots, and them to be thrown overboard upon whom\nthe lots fell, thereby to lighten the boat, which otherways seemed\nimpossible to live, and offered himself with the first, content to take\nhis adventure gladly: which nevertheless Richard Clarke, that was master\nof the Admiral, and one of this number, refused, advising to abide\nGod's pleasure, who was able to save all, as well as a few. The boat was\ncarried before the wind, continuing six days and nights in the\nocean, and arrived at last with the men, alive, but weak, upon the\nNewfoundland, saving that the foresaid Headly, who had been late sick,\nand another called of us Brazil, of his travel into those countries,\ndied by the way, famished, and less able to hold out than those of\nbetter health. . . . Thus whom God delivered from drowning, he appointed\nto be famished; who doth give limits to man's times, and ordaineth the\nmanner and circumstance of dying: whom, again, he will preserve,\nneither sea nor famine can confound. For those that arrived upon the\nNewfoundland were brought into France by certain Frenchmen, then being\nupon the coast.\n\nAfter this heavy chance, we continued in beating the sea up and down,\nexpecting when the weather would clear up that we might yet bear in\nwith the land, which we judged not far off either the continent or some\nisland. For we many times, and in sundry places found ground at 50, 45,\n40 fathoms, and less. The ground coming upon our lead, being sometime\ncozy sand and other while a broad shell, with a little sand about it.\n\nOur people lost courage daily after this ill success, the weather\ncontinuing thick and blustering, with increase of cold, winter drawing\non, which took from them all hope of amendment, settling an assurance of\nworse weather to grow upon us every day. The leeside of us lay full of\nflats and dangers, inevitable if the wind blew hard at south. Some again\ndoubted we were ingulfed in the Bay of St. Lawrence, the coast full of\ndangers, and unto us unknown. But above all, provision waxed scant,\nand hope of supply was gone with the loss of our Admiral. Those in the\nfrigate were already pinched with spare allowance, and want of clothes\nchiefly: thereupon they besought the General to return to England before\nthey all perished. And to them of the _Golden Hind_ they made signs\nof distress, pointing to their mouths, and to their clothes thin and\nragged: then immediately they also of the _Golden Hind_ grew to be of\nthe same opinion and desire to return home.\n\nThe former reasons having also moved the General to have compassion of\nhis poor men, in whom he saw no want of good will, but of means fit to\nperform the action they came for, he resolved upon retire: and calling\nthe captain and master of the _Hind_, he yielded them many reasons,\nenforcing this unexpected return, withal protesting himself greatly\nsatisfied with that he had seen and knew already, reiterating these\nwords: _Be content, we have seen enough, and take no care of expense\npast: I will set you forth royally the next spring, if God send us safe\nhome. Therefore I pray you let us no longer strive here, where we\nfight against the elements._ Omitting circumstance, how unwillingly the\ncaptain and master of the _Hind_ condescended to this motion, his own\ncompany can testify; yet comforted with the General's promise of a\nspeedy return at spring, and induced by other apparent reasons, proving\nan impossibility to accomplish the action at that time, it was concluded\non all hands to retire.\n\nSo upon Saturday in the afternoon, the 31 of August, we changed our\ncourse, and returned back for England. At which very instant, even in\nwinding about, there passed along between us and towards the land which\nwe now forsook a very lion to our seeming, in shape, hair, and colour,\nnot swimming after the manner of a beast by moving of his feet, but\nrather sliding upon the water with his whole body excepting the legs,\nin sight, neither yet diving under, and again rising above the water,\nas the manner is of whales, dolphins, tunnies, porpoises, and all\nother fish: but confidently showing himself above water without hiding:\nnotwithstanding, we presented ourselves in open view and gesture to\namaze him, as all creatures will be commonly at a sudden gaze and sight\nof men. Thus he passed along turning his head to and fro, yawing and\ngaping wide, with ugly demonstration of long teeth, and glaring eyes;\nand to bid us a farewell, coming right against the _Hind_, he sent forth\na horrible voice, roaring or bellowing as doth a lion, which spectacle\nwe all beheld so far as we were able to discern the same, as men prone\nto wonder at every strange thing, as this doubtless was, to see a lion\nin the ocean sea, or fish in shape of a lion. What opinion others had\nthereof, and chiefly the General himself, I forbear to deliver: but he\ntook it for _bonum omen_, rejoicing that he was in war against such\nan enemy, if it were the devil. The wind was large for England at our\nreturn, but very high, and the sea rough, insomuch as the frigate,\nwherein the General went, was almost swallowed up.\n\nMonday in the afternoon we passed in sight of Cape Race, having made as\nmuch way in little more than two days and nights back again, as before\nwe had done in eight days from Cape Race unto the place where our ship\nperished. Which hindrance thitherward, and speed back again, is to be\nimputed unto the swift current, as well as to the winds, which we\nhad more large in our return. This Monday the General came aboard the\n_Hind_, to have the surgeon of the _Hind_ to dress his foot, which he\nhurt by treading upon a nail: at which time we comforted each other\nwith hope of hard success to be all past, and of the good to come.\nSo agreeing to carry out lights always by night, that we might keep\ntogether, he departed into his frigate, being by no means to be\nentreated to tarry in the _Hind_, which had been more for his security.\nImmediately after followed a sharp storm, which we over passed for that\ntime, praised be God.\n\nThe weather fair, the General came aboard the _Hind_ again, to make\nmerry together with the captain, master, and company, which was the last\nmeeting, and continued there from morning until night. During which\ntime there passed sundry discourses touching affairs past and to come,\nlamenting greatly the loss of his great ship, more of the men, but most\nof all his books and notes, and what else I know not, for which he was\nout of measure grieved, the same doubtless being some matter of more\nimportance than his books, which I could not draw from him: yet by\ncircumstance I gathered the same to be the ore which Daniel the Saxon\nhad brought unto him in the Newfoundland. Whatsoever it was, the\nremembrance touched him so deep as, not able to contain himself, he\nbeat his boy in great rage, even at the same time, so long after the\nmiscarrying of the great ship, because upon a fair day, when we were\nbecalmed upon the coast of the Newfoundland near unto Cape Race, he sent\nhis boy aboard the Admiral to fetch certain things: amongst which, this\nbeing chief, was yet forgotten and left behind. After which time he\ncould never conveniently send again aboard the great ship, much less he\ndoubted her ruin so near at hand.\n\nHerein my opinion was better confirmed diversely, and by sundry\nconjectures, which maketh me have the greater hope of this rich mine.\nFor whereas the General had never before good conceit of these north\nparts of the world, now his mind was wholly fixed upon the Newfoundland.\nAnd as before he refused not to grant assignments liberally to them\nthat required the same into these north parts, now he became contrarily\naffected, refusing to make any so large grants, especially of St.\nJohn's, which certain English merchants made suit for, offering to\nemploy their money and travail upon the same yet neither by their\nown suit, nor of others of his own company, whom he seemed willing to\npleasure, it could be obtained. Also laying down his determination\nin the spring following for disposing of his voyage then to be\nre-attempted: he assigned the captain and master of the _Golden Hind_\nunto the south discovery, and reserved unto himself the north, affirming\nthat this voyage had won his heart from the south, and that he was now\nbecome a northern man altogether.\n\nLast, being demanded what means he had, at his arrival in England, to\ncompass the charges of so great preparation as he intended to make\nthe next spring, having determined upon two fleets, one for the south,\nanother for the north; _Leave that to me_, he replied, _I will ask a\npenny of no man. I will bring good tiding unto her Majesty, who will\nbe so gracious to lend me 10,000 pounds_, willing us therefore to be\nof good cheer; for _he did thank God_, he said, _with all his heart for\nthat he had seen, the same being enough for us all, and that we needed\nnot to seek any further_. And these last words he would often repeat,\nwith demonstration of great fervency of mind, being himself very\nconfident and settled in belief of inestimable good by this voyage;\nwhich the greater number of his followers nevertheless mistrusted\naltogether, not being made partakers of those secrets, which the General\nkept unto himself. Yet all of them that are living may be witnesses of\nhis words and protestations, which sparingly I have delivered.\n\nLeaving the issue of this good hope unto God, who knoweth the truth\nonly, and can at His good pleasure bring the same to light, I will\nhasten to the end of this tragedy, which must be knit up in the person\nof our General. And as it was God's ordinance upon him, even so the\nvehement persuasion and entreaty of his friends could nothing avail to\ndivert him of a wilful resolution of going through in his frigate;\nwhich was overcharged upon the decks with fights, nettings, and small\nartillery, too cumbersome for so small a boat that was to pass through\nthe ocean sea at that season of the year, when by course we might expect\nmuch storm of foul weather. Whereof, indeed, we had enough.\n\nBut when he was entreated by the captain, master, and other his\nwell-willers of the _Hind_ not to venture in the frigate, this was his\nanswer: _I will not forsake my little company going homeward, with whom\nI have passed so many storms and perils._ And in very truth he was urged\nto be so over hard by hard reports given of him that he was afraid of\nthe sea; albeit this was rather rashness than advised resolution, to\nprefer the wind of a vain report to the weight of his own life. Seeing\nhe would not bend to reason, he had provision out of the _Hind_, such\nas was wanting aboard his frigate. And so we committed him to God's\nprotection, and set him aboard his pinnace, we being more than 300\nleagues onward of our way home.\n\nBy that time we had brought the Islands of Azores south of us; yet we\nthen keeping much to the north, until we had got into the height and\nelevation of England, we met with very foul weather and terrible seas,\nbreaking short and high, pyramid-wise. The reason whereof seemed to\nproceed either of hilly grounds high and low within the sea, as we see\nhills and vales upon the land, upon which the seas do mount and fall,\nor else the cause proceedeth of diversity of winds, shifting often in\nsundry points, all which having power to move the great ocean, which\nagain is not presently settled, so many seas do encounter together,\nas there had been diversity of winds. Howsoever it cometh to pass, men\nwhich all their lifetime had occupied the sea never saw more outrageous\nseas, we had also upon our mainyard an apparition of a little fire by\nnight, which seamen do call Castor and Pollux. But we had only one,\nwhich they take an evil sign of more tempest; the same is usual in\nstorms.\n\nMonday, the 9 of September, in the afternoon, the frigate was near cast\naway, oppressed by waves, yet at that time recovered; and giving forth\nsigns of joy, the General, sitting abaft with a book in his hand, cried\nout to us in the _Hind_, so oft as we did approach within hearing, _We\nare as near to heaven by sea as by land!_ Reiterating the same speech,\nwell beseeming a soldier, resolute in Jesus Christ, as I can testify he\nwas.\n\nThe same Monday night, about twelve of the clock, or not long after, the\nfrigate being ahead of us in the _Golden Hind_, suddenly her lights were\nout, whereof as it were in a moment we lost the sight, and withal our\nwatch cried _the General was cast away_, which was too true. For in that\nmoment the frigate was devoured and swallowed up of the sea. Yet still\nwe looked out all that night, and ever after until we arrived upon the\ncoast of England; omitting no small sail at sea, unto which we gave\nnot the tokens between us agreed upon to have perfect knowledge of each\nother, if we should at any time be separated.\n\nIn great torment of weather and peril of drowning it pleased God to\nsend safe home the _Golden Hind_, which arrived in Falmouth the 22 of\nSeptember, being Sunday, not without as great danger escaped in a flaw\ncoming from the south-east, with such thick mist that we could not\ndiscern land to put in right with the haven. From Falmouth we went to\nDartmouth, and lay there at anchor before the Range, while the captain\nwent aland to enquire if there had been any news of the frigate, which,\nsailing well, might happily have been before us; also to certify Sir\nJohn Gilbert, brother unto the General, of our hard success, whom the\ncaptain desired, while his men were yet aboard him, and were witnesses\nof all occurrences in that voyage, it might please him to take the\nexamination of every person particularly, in discharge of his and their\nfaithful endeavour. Sir John Gilbert refused so to do, holding himself\nsatisfied with report made by the captain, and not altogether despairing\nof his brother's safety, offered friendship and courtesy to the captain\nand his company, requiring to have his bark brought into the harbour; in\nfurtherance whereof a boat was sent to help to tow her in.\n\nNevertheless, when the captain returned aboard his ship, he found his\nmen bent to depart every man to his home; and then the wind serving to\nproceed higher upon the coast, they demanded money to carry them home,\nsome to London, others to Harwich, and elsewhere, if the barque should\nbe carried into Dartmouth and they discharged so far from home, or else\nto take benefit of the wind, then serving to draw nearer home, which\nshould be a less charge unto the captain, and great ease unto the men,\nhaving else far to go. Reason accompanied with necessity persuaded the\ncaptain, who sent his lawful excuse and cause of this sudden departure\nunto Sir John Gilbert, by the boat of Dartmouth, and from thence the\n_Golden Hind_ departed and took harbour at Weymouth. All the men tired\nwith the tediousness of so unprofitable a voyage to their seeming, in\nwhich their long expense of time, much toil and labour, hard diet, and\ncontinual hazard of life was unrecompensed; their captain nevertheless\nby his great charges impaired greatly thereby, yet comforted in the\ngoodness of God, and His undoubted providence following him in all that\nvoyage, as it doth always those at other times whosoever have confidence\nin Him alone. Yet have we more near feeling and perseverance of His\npowerful hand and protection when God doth bring us together with others\ninto one same peril, in which He leaveth them and delivereth us, making\nus thereby the beholders, but not partakers, of their ruin. Even so,\namongst very many difficulties, discontentments, mutinies, conspiracies,\nsicknesses, mortality, spoilings, and wracks by sea, which were\nafflictions more than in so small a fleet or so short a time may be\nsupposed, albeit true in every particularity, as partly by the former\nrelation may be collected, and some I suppressed with silence for their\nsakes living, it pleased God to support this company, of which only\none man died of a malady inveterate, and long infested, the rest kept\ntogether in reasonable contentment and concord, beginning, continuing,\nand ending the voyage, which none else did accomplish, either not\npleased with the action, or impatient of wants, or prevented by death.\n\nThus have I delivered the contents of the enterprise and last action of\nSir Humfrey Gilbert, Knight, faithfully, for so much as I thought meet\nto be published; wherein may always appear, though he be extinguished,\nsome sparks of his virtues, be remaining firm and resolute in a purpose\nby all pretence honest and godly, as was this, to discover, possess, and\nto reduce unto the service of God and Christian piety those remote and\nheathen countries of America not actually possessed by Christians, and\nmost rightly appertaining unto the crown of England, unto the which as\nhis zeal deserveth high commendation, even so he may justly be taxed of\ntemerity, and presumption rather, in two respects. First, when yet there\nwas only probability, not a certain and determinate place of habitation\nselected, neither any demonstration if commodity there _in esse_, to\ninduce his followers; nevertheless, he both was too prodigal of his own\npatrimony and too careless of other men's expenses to employ both his\nand their substance upon a ground imagined good. The which falling, very\nlike his associates were promised, and made it their best reckoning, to\nbe salved some other way, which pleased not God to prosper in his first\nand great preparation. Secondly, when by his former preparation he was\nenfeebled of ability and credit to perform his designments, as it were\nimpatient to abide in expectation better opportunity, and means which\nGod might raise, he thrust himself again into the action, for which he\nwas not fit, presuming the cause pretended on God's behalf would carry\nhim to the desired end. Into which having thus made re-entry, he could\nnot yield again to withdraw, though he saw no encouragement to proceed;\nlest his credit, foiled in his first attempt, in a second should utterly\nbe disgraced. Between extremities he made a right adventure, putting all\nto God and good fortune; and, which was worst, refused not to entertain\nevery person and means whatsoever, to furnish out this expedition, the\nsuccess whereof hath been declared.\n\nBut such is the infinite bounty of God, who from every evil deriveth\ngood. For besides that fruit may grow in time of our travelling into\nthose north-west lands, the crosses, turmoils, and afflictions, both\nin the preparation and execution of this voyage, did correct the\nintemperate humours which before we noted to be in this gentleman, and\nmade unsavoury and less delightful his other manifold virtues. Then\nas he was refined, and made nearer drawing unto the image of God so it\npleased the Divine will to resume him unto Himself, whither both his and\nevery other high and noble mind have always aspired.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sir Humphrey Gilbert's Voyage to\nNewfoundland, by Edward Hayes\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Delphine Lettau, Judith Wirawan and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  +------------------------------------------------------------------+\n  | Transcriber's Notes:                                             |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | Words surrounded by _ are italicized.                            |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | Due to the restriction of the latin-1 font, diacritical marking  |\n  | macron (straight horizonal line above a letter) in this text is  |\n  | represented with [=x].                                           |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | A number of obvious errors have been corrected in this text. For |\n  | a complete list, please see the bottom of this document.         |\n  |                                                                  |\n  +------------------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\n  The Works of\n\n  \"FIONA MACLEOD\"\n\n  _UNIFORM EDITION_\n\n  ARRANGED BY\n\n  MRS. WILLIAM SHARP\n\n  VOLUME IV\n\n\n\n\n    _The Gods approve the depth and not the tumult of\n  the soul._\n\n        _It is loveliness I seek, not lovely things._\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: From the original by L. Y. Cameron\nIona Cathedral]\n\n\n\n\n  THE DIVINE ADVENTURE\n\n  IONA\n\n  STUDIES IN SPIRITUAL HISTORY\n\n  BY\n\n  \"FIONA MACLEOD\"\n  (WILLIAM SHARP)\n\n\n  LONDON\n  WILLIAM HEINEMANN\n  1912\n\n\n  _UNIFORM EDITION_\n\n  _First published 1910. New Edition 1912_\n\n  _Copyright 1895, 1910._\n\n\n\n\n           THE WIND, SILENCE, AND LOVE\n         FRIENDS WHO HAVE TAUGHT ME MOST:\n  BUT SINCE,  LONG AGO, TWO WHO ARE NOT FORGOTTEN\n   WENT AWAY UPON THE ONE, AND DWELL, THEMSELVES\n  REMEMBERING, IN THE OTHER, I DEDICATE THIS BOOK\n                        TO\n                    EALASAIDH\n       WHOSE LOVE AND SPIRIT LIVE HERE ALSO\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                  PAGE\n\n  THE DIVINE ADVENTURE                                               1\n\n  IONA                                                              91\n\n  BY SUNDOWN SHORES:\n\n      BY SUNDOWN SHORES                                            253\n\n      THE WIND, SILENCE, AND LOVE                                  263\n\n      BARABAL: A MEMORY                                            268\n\n      THE WHITE HERON                                              276\n\n      THE SMOOTHING OF THE HAND                                    292\n\n      THE WHITE FEVER                                              298\n\n      THE SEA-MADNESS                                              303\n\n      EARTH, FIRE, AND WATER                                       308\n\n  FROM \"GREEN FIRE\":\n\n      THE HERDSMAN                                                 319\n\n      FRAGMENTS                                                    383\n\n  A DREAM                                                          405\n\n  NOTES                                                            411\n\n  BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE                                             433\n      By Mrs. William Sharp.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DIVINE ADVENTURE\n\n\n  \"_Let the beginning, I say, of this little book, as if it were some\n  lamp, make it clear that a divine miracle was manifested._\"\n\n                                       _St. Adamnan_, Book II. c. I.\n\n\n\n\nThe Divine Adventure\n\n\nI\n\n  \"We were three: the Body, the Will, and the Soul.... The Will, the\n  Soul, which for the first time had gone along outside of our common\n  home, had to take upon themselves bodily presences likewise.\"--_The\n  Divine Adventure._\n\nI remember that it was on St. John's Eve we said we would go away\ntogether for a time, but each independently, as three good friends. We\nhad never been at one, though we had shared the same home, and had\nenjoyed so much in common; but to each, at the same time, had come the\ngreat desire of truth, than which there is none greater save that of\nbeauty.\n\nWe had long been somewhat weary. No burden of years, no serious ills, no\ngrief grown old in its own shadow, distressed us. We were young. But we\nhad known the two great ends of life--to love and to suffer. In deep\nlove there is always an inmost dark flame, as in the flame lit by a\ntaper: I think it is the obscure suffering upon which the Dancer lives.\nThe Dancer!--Love, who is Joy, is a leaping flame: he it is who is the\nson of that fabled planet, the Dancing Star.\n\nOn that St. John's Eve we had talked with friends on the old mysteries\nof this day of pagan festival. At last we withdrew, not tired or in\ndisagreement, but because the hidden things of the spirit are the only\nrealities, and it seemed to us a little idle and foolish to discuss in\nthe legend that which was not fortuitous or imaginary, since what then\nheld up white hands in the moonlight, even now, in the moonlight of the\ndreaming mind, beckons to the Divine Forges.\n\nWe left the low-roofed cottage room, where, though the window was open,\ntwo candles burned with steadfast flame. The night was listeningly\nstill. Beyond the fuchsia bushes a sighing rose, where a continuous\nfoamless wave felt the silences of the shore. The moonpath, far out upon\nthe bronze sea, was like a shadowless white road. In the dusk of the\nhaven glimmered two or three red and green lights, where the\nfishing-cobles trailed motionless at anchor. Inland were shadowy hills.\nOne of the St. John's Eve fires burned on the nearest of these, its cone\nblotting out a thousand eastern stars. The flame rose and sank as\nthough it were a pulse: perhaps at that great height the sea-wind or a\nmountain air played upon it. Out of a vast darkness in the south swung\nblacker abysses, where thunders breathed with a prolonged and terrible\nsighing; upon their flanks sheet-lightnings roamed.\n\nThere was no sound in the little bay. Beyond, a fathom of\nphosphorescence showed that mackerel were playing in the moonshine. Near\nthe trap-ledges, which ran into deep water sheer from the goat-pastures,\nwere many luminous moving phantoms: the medusae, green, purple, pale\nblue, wandering shapes filled with ghostly fire.\n\nWe stood a while in silence, then one of us spoke:\n\n\"Shall we put aside, for a brief while, this close fellowship of ours;\nand, since we cannot journey apart, go together to find if there be any\nlight upon those matters which trouble us, and perhaps discern things\nbetter separately than when trying, as we ever vainly do, to see the\nsame thing with the same eyes?\"\n\nThe others agreed. \"It may be I shall know,\" said one? \"It may be I\nshall remember,\" said the other.\n\n\"Then let us go back into the house and rest to-night, and to-morrow,\nafter we have slept and eaten well, we can set out with a light heart.\"\n\nThe others did not answer, for though to one food meant nothing, and to\nthe other sleep was both a remembering and a forgetting, each\nunwittingly felt the keen needs of him whom they despised overmuch, and\nfeared somewhat, and yet loved greatly.\n\n\nII\n\nThus it was that on a midsummer morning we set out alone and afoot, not\nbent for any one place, though we said we would go towards the dim blue\nhills in the west, the Hills of Dream, as we called them; but, rather,\nidly troubled by the very uncertainties which beset our going. We began\nthat long stepping westward as pilgrims of old who had the Holy City for\ntheir goal, but knew that midway were perilous lands.\n\nWe were three, as I have said: the Body, the Will, and the Soul. It was\nstrange for us to be walking there side by side, each familiar with and\nyet so ignorant of the other. We had so much in common, and yet were so\nincommunicably alien to one another. I think that occurred to each of\nus, as, with brave steps but sidelong eyes, we passed the fuchsia\nbushes, where the wild bees hummed, and round by the sea pastures, where\nwhite goats nibbled among the yellow flags, and shaggy kine with their\nwild hill-eyes browsed the thyme-sweet salted grass. A fisherman met us.\nIt was old Ian Macrae, whom I had known for many years. Somehow, till\nthen, the thought had not come to me that it might seem unusual to those\nwho knew my solitary ways, that I should be going to and fro with\nstrangers. Then, again for the first time, it flashed across me that\nthey were so like me--or save in the eyes I could myself discern no\ndifference--the likeness would be as startling as it would be\nunaccountable.\n\nI stood for a moment, uncertain. \"Of course,\" I muttered below my\nbreath, \"of course, the others are invisible; I had not thought of\nthat.\" I watched them slowly advance, for they had not halted when I\ndid. I saw them incline the head with a grave smile as they passed Ian.\nThe old man had taken off his bonnet to them, and had stood aside.\n\nStrangely disquieted, I moved towards Macrae.\n\n\"Ian,\" I whispered rather than spoke.\n\n\"Ay,\" he answered simply, looking at me with his grave, far-seeing eyes.\n\n\"Ian, have you seen my friends before?\"\n\n\"No, I have never seen them before.\"\n\n\"They have been here for--for--many days.\"\n\n\"I have not seen them.\"\n\n\"Tell me; do you recognise them?\"\n\n\"I have not seen them before.\"\n\n\"I mean, do you--do you see any likeness in them to any you know?\"\n\n\"No, I see no likeness.\"\n\n\"You are sure, Ian?\"\n\n\"Ay, for sure. And why not?\" The old fisherman looked at me with\nquestioning eyes.\n\n\"Tell me, Ian, do you see any difference in me?\"\n\n\"No, for sure, no.\"\n\nBewildered, I pondered this new mystery. Were we really three\npersonalities, without as well as within?\n\nAt that moment the Will turned. I heard his voice fall clearly along the\nheather-fragrant air-ledges.\n\n\"We, too, are bewildered by this mystery,\" he said.\n\nSo he knew my thought. It was _our_ thought. Yes, for now the Soul\nturned also; and I heard his sunwarm breath come across the\nhoneysuckles by the roadside.\n\n\"I, too, am bewildered by this mystery,\" he said.\n\n\"Ian,\" I exclaimed to the old man, who stared wonderingly at us; \"Ian\ntell me this: what like are my companions; how do they seem to you?\"\n\nThe old man glanced at me, startled, then rubbed his eyes as though he\nwere half-awakened from a dream.\n\n\"Why are you asking that thing?\"\n\n\"Because, Ian, you do not see any likeness in them to myself. I had\nthought--I had thought they were so like.\"\n\nMacrae put his wavering, wrinkled hand to his withered mouth. He gave a\nchuckling laugh.\n\n\"Ah, I understand now. It is a joke you are playing on old Ian.\"\n\n\"Maybe ay, and maybe no, Ian; but I do want to know how they seem to\nyou, those two yonder.\"\n\n\"Well, well, now, for sure, that friend of yours there, that spoke\nfirst, he is just a weary, tired old man, like I am myself, and so like\nme, now that I look at him, that he might be my wraith. And the other,\nhe is a fine lad, a fisher-lad for sure, though I fear God's gripped\nhis heart, for I see the old ancient sorrow in his eyes.\"\n\nI stared: then suddenly I understood.\n\n\"Good-day, Ian,\" I added hurriedly, \"and the blessing of Himself be upon\nyou and yours, and upon the nets and the boats.\"\n\nThen I moved slowly towards my companions, who awaited me. I understood\nnow. The old fisherman had seen after his own kind. The Will, the Soul,\nwhich for the first time had journeyed outside our common home, had to\ntake upon themselves bodily presences likewise. But these wavering\nimages were to others only the reflection of whoso looked upon them. Old\nIan had seen his own tired self and his lost youth. With a new fear the\nBody called to us, and we to him; and we were one, yet three; and so we\nwent onward together.\n\n\nIII\n\nWe were silent. It is not easy for three, so closely knit, so intimate,\nas we had been for so many years, suddenly to enter upon a new\ncomradeship, wherein three that had been as one were now several. A new\nreticence had come to each of us. We walked in silence--conscious of\nthe beauty of the day, in sea and sky and already purpling moors; of the\nwhite gulls flecking the azure, and the yellowhammers and stonechats\nflitting among the gorse and fragrant bog-myrtle--we knew that none was\ninclined to speak. Each had his own thoughts.\n\nThe three dreamers--for so we were in that lovely hour of dream--walked\nsteadfastly onward. It was not more than an hour after noon that we came\nto an inlet of the sea, so narrow that it looked like a stream, only\nthat a salt air arose between the irises which thickly bordered it, and\nthat the sunken rock-ledges were fragrant with sea-pink and the\nstone-convolvulus. The moving tidal water was grass-green, save where\ndusked with long, mauve shadows.\n\n\"Let us rest here,\" said the Body. \"It is so sweet in the sunlight, here\nby this cool water.\"\n\nThe Will smiled as he threw himself down upon a mossy <DW72> that reached\nfrom an oak's base to the pebbly margins.\n\n\"It is ever so with you,\" he said, still smiling. \"You love rest, as the\nwandering clouds love the waving hand of the sun.\"\n\n\"What made you think of that?\" asked the Soul abruptly, who till that\nmoment had been rapt in silent commune with his inmost thoughts.\n\n\"Why do you ask?\"\n\n\"Because I, too, was thinking that just as the waving hand of the sun\nbeckons the white wandering clouds, as a shepherd calls to his scattered\nsheep, so there is a hand waving to us to press forward. Far away,\nyonder, a rainbow is being woven of sun and mist. Perhaps, there, we may\ncome upon that which we have come out to see.\"\n\n\"But the Body wishes to rest. And, truly, it is sweet here in the\nsunflood, and by this moving green water, which whispers in the reeds\nand flags, and sings its own sea-song the while.\"\n\n\"Let us rest, then.\"\n\nAnd, as we lay there, a great peace came upon us. There were hushed\ntears in the eyes of the Soul, and a dreaming smile upon the face of the\nWill, and, in the serene gaze of the Body, a content that was exceeding\nsweet. It was so welcome to lie there and dream. We knew a rare\nhappiness in that exquisite quietude.\n\nAfter a time, the Body rose, and moved to the water-edge.\n\n\"It is so lovely,\" he said, \"I must bathe\"--and with that he threw\naside his clothes, and stood naked among the reeds and yellow flags\nwhich bordered the inlet.\n\nThe sun shone upon his white body, the colour of pale ivory. A delicate\nshadow lightly touched him, now here, now there, from the sunlit green\nsheaths and stems among which he stood. He laughed out of sheer joy and\nraised his arms, and made a splashing with his trampling feet.\n\nLooking backward with a blithe glance, he cried:\n\n\"After all, it is good to be alive: neither to think nor to dream, but\njust content _to be_.\"\n\nReceiving no answer, he laughed merrily, and, plunging forward, swam\nseaward against the sun-dazzle.\n\nHis two companions watched him with shining eyes.\n\n\"Truly, he is very fair to look upon,\" said the Soul.\n\n\"Yes,\" added the Will, \"and perhaps he has chosen the better part\nelsewhere as here.\"\n\n\"Can it be the better part to prefer the things of the moment of those\nof Eternity?\"\n\n\"What is Eternity?\"\n\nFor a few seconds the Soul was silent. It was not easy for him to\nunderstand that what was a near horizon to him was a vague vista,\npossibly a mirage, to another. He was ever, in himself, moving just the\nhither side of the narrow mortal horizon which Eternity swims in upon\nfrom behind and beyond. The Will looked at him questioningly, then spoke\nagain:\n\n\"You speak of the things of Eternity. What is Eternity?\"\n\n\"Eternity is the Breath of God.\"\n\n\"That tells me nothing.\"\n\n\"It is Time, freed from his Mortality.\"\n\n\"Again, that tells me little. Or, rather, I am no wiser. What is\nEternity to _us_?\"\n\n\"It is our perpetuity.\"\n\n\"Then is it only a warrant against Death?\"\n\n\"No, it is more. Time is our sphere: Eternity is our home.\"\n\n\"There is no other lesson for you in the worm, and in the dust?\"\n\n\"What do you mean, brother?\"\n\n\"Does dissolution mean nothing to you?\"\n\n\"What is dissolution?\"\n\nIt was now the Will who stared with wondering eyes. To him that question\nwas as disquieting as that which he had asked the Soul. It was a minute\nbefore he spoke again.\n\n\"You ask me what is dissolution? Do you not understand what death means\nto _me_?\"\n\n\"Why to you more than to me, or to the Body?\"\n\n\"What is it to you?\"\n\n\"A change from a dream of Beauty, to Beauty.\"\n\n\"And at the worst?\"\n\n\"Freedom: escape from narrow walls--often dark and foul.\"\n\n\"In any case nothing but a change, a swift and absolute change, from\nwhat was to what is?\"\n\n\"Even so.\"\n\n\"And you have no fear?\"\n\n\"None. Why should I?\"\n\n\"Why should you not?\"\n\nAgain there was a sudden silence between the two. At last the Soul\nspoke:\n\n\"Why should I not? I cannot tell you. But I have no fear. I am a Son of\nGod.\"\n\n\"And we?\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, dear brother: you, too, and the Body.\"\n\n\"But we perish!\"\n\n\"There is the resurrection of the Body.\"\n\n\"Where--when?\"\n\n\"As it is written. In God's hour.\"\n\n\"Is the worm also the Son of God?\"\n\nThe soul stared downward into the green water, but did not answer. A\nlook of strange trouble was in his eyes.\n\n\"Is not the Grave on the hither side of Eternity?\"\n\nStill no answer.\n\n\"Does God whisper beneath the Tomb?\"\n\nAt this the Soul rose, and moved restlessly to and fro.\n\n\"Tell me,\" resumed the Will, \"what is Dissolution?\"\n\n\"It is the returning into dust of that which was dust.\"\n\n\"And what is dust?\"\n\n\"The formless: the inchoate: the mass out of which the Potter makes new\nvessels, or moulds new shapes.\"\n\n\"But _you_ do not go into dust?\"\n\n\"I came from afar: afar I go again.\"\n\n\"But we--we shall be formless: inchoate?\"\n\n\"You shall be upbuilded.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\nThe Soul turned, and again sat by his comrade.\n\n\"I know not,\" he said simply.\n\n\"But if the Body go back to the dust, and the life that is in him be\nblown out like a wavering flame; and if you who came from afar, again\nreturn afar; what, then, for me, who am neither an immortal spirit nor\nyet of this frail human clan?\"\n\n\"God has need of you.\"\n\n\"When--where?\"\n\n\"How can I tell what I cannot even surmise?\"\n\n\"Tell me, tell me this: if I am so wedded to the Body that, if he\nperish, I perish also, what resurrection can there be for me?\"\n\n\"I do not know.\"\n\n\"Is it a resurrection for the Body if, after weeks, or years, or scores\nof years, his decaying dust is absorbed into the earth, and passes in a\nchemic change into the living world?\"\n\n\"No: that is not a resurrection: that is a transmutation.\"\n\n\"Yet that is all. There is nothing else possible. Dust unto dust. As\nwith the Body, so with the mind, the spirit of life, that which I am,\nthe Will. In the Grave there is no fretfulness any more: neither any\nsorrow, or joy, or any thought, or dream, or fear, or hope whatsoever.\nHath not God Himself said it, through the mouth of His prophet?\"\n\n\"I do not understand,\" murmured the Soul, troubled.\n\n\"Because the Grave is not your portion.\"\n\n\"But I, too, must know Death!\"\n\n\"Yes, truly--a change what was it?--a change from a dream of Beauty, to\nBeauty!\"\n\n\"God knows I would that we could go together--you, and he yonder, and I;\nor, if that cannot be, he being wholly mortal, then at the least you and\nI.\"\n\n\"But we cannot. At least, so it seems to us. But I--I too am alive, I\ntoo have dreams and visions, I too have joys and hopes, I too have\ndespairs. And for me--_nothing_. I am, at the end, as a blown flame.\"\n\n\"It may not be so. Something has whispered to me at times that you and I\nare to be made one.\"\n\n\"Tell me: can the immortal wed the mortal?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then how can we two wed, for I am mortal. My very life depends on the\nBody. A falling branch, a whelming wave, a sudden ill, and in a moment\nthat which was is not. He, the Body, is suddenly become inert,\nmotionless, cold, the perquisite of the Grave, the sport of the maggot\nand the worm: and I--I am a subsided wave, a vanished spiral of smoke, a\nlittle fugitive wind-eddy abruptly ended.\"\n\n\"You know not what is the end any more than I do. In a moment we are\ntranslated.\"\n\n\"Ah, is it so with you? O Soul, I thought that you had a profound\nsurety!\"\n\n\"I know nothing: I believe.\"\n\n\"Then it may be with you as with us?\"\n\n\"I know little: I believe.\"\n\n\"When I am well I believe in new, full, rich, wonderful life--in life in\nthe spiritual as well as the mortal sphere. And the Body, when he is\nill, he, too, thinks of that which is your heritage. But if _you_ are\nnot sure--if _you_ know nothing--may it not be that you, too, have fed\nupon dreams, and have dallied with Will-o'-the-wisp, and are an\nidle-blown flame even as I am, and have only a vaster spiritual outlook?\nMay it not be that you, O Soul, are but a spiritual nerve in the dark,\nconfused, brooding mind of Humanity? May it not be that you and I and\nthe Body go down unto one end?\"\n\n\"Not so. There is the word of God.\"\n\n\"We read it differently.\"\n\n\"Yet the Word remains.\"\n\n\"You believe in the immortal life?--You believe in Eternity?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then what is Eternity?\"\n\n\"Already you have asked me that!\"\n\n\"You believe in Eternity. What is Eternity?\"\n\n\"Continuity.\"\n\n\"And what are the things of Eternity?\"\n\n\"Immortal desires.\"\n\n\"Then what need for us who are mortal to occupy ourselves with what must\nbe for ever beyond us?\"\n\nThereat, with a harsh laugh, the Will arose, and throwing his garments\nfrom him, plunged into the sunlit green water, with sudden cries of joy\ncalling to the Body, who was still rejoicefully swimming in the\nsun-dazzle as he breasted the tide.\n\nAn hour later we rose, and, silent again, once more resumed our way.\n\n\nIV\n\nIt was about the middle of the afternoon that we moved inland, because\nof a difficult tract of cliff and bouldered shore. We followed the\ncourse of a brown torrent, and were soon under the shadow of the\nmountain. The ewes and lambs made incessantly that mournful crying,\nwhich in mountain solitudes falls from ledge to ledge as though it were\nno other than the ancient sorrow of the hills.\n\nThence we emerged, walking among boulders green with moss and grey with\nlichen, often isled among bracken and shadowed by the wind-wavering\nbirches, or the finger-leafed rowans already heavy with clusters of\nruddy fruit. Sometimes we spoke of things which interested us: of the\nplay of light and shadow in the swirling brown torrent along whose banks\nwe walked, and by whose grayling-haunted pools we lingered often, to\nlook at the beautiful shadowy unrealities of the perhaps not less\nshadowy reality which they mirrored: of the solemn dusk of the pines; of\nthe mauve shadows which slanted across the scanty corn that lay in green\npatches beyond lonely crofts; of the travelling purple phantoms of\nphantom clouds, to us invisible, over against the mountain-breasts; of a\nsolitary seamew, echoing the wave in that inland stillness.\n\nAll these things gave us keen pleasure. The Body often laughed joyously,\nand talked of chasing the shadow till it should turn and leap into him,\nand he be a wild creature of the woods again, and be happy, knowing\nnothing but the incalculable hour. It is an old belief of the Gaelic\nhill-people.\n\n\"If one yet older be true,\" said the Will, speaking to the Soul, \"you\nand Shadow are one and the same. Nay, the mystery of the Trinity is\nsymbolised here again--as in us three; for there is an ancient forgotten\nword of an ancient forgotten people, which means alike the Breath, the\nShadow, and the Soul.\"[1]\n\nAs we walked onward we became more silent. It was about the sixth hour\nfrom noon that we saw a little coast-town lying amid green pastures,\noverhung, as it seemed, by the tremulous blue band of the sea-line. The\nBody was glad, for here were friends, and he wearied for his kind. The\nWill and the Soul, too, were pleased, for now they shared the common lot\nof mortality, and knew weariness as well as hunger and thirst. So we\nmoved towards the blue smoke of the homes.\n\n\"The home of a wild dove, a branch swaying in the wind, is sweet to it;\nand the green bracken under a granite rock is home to a tired hind; and\nso we, who are wayfarers idler than these, which blindly obey the law,\nmay well look to yonder village as our home for to-night.\"\n\nSo spoke the Soul.\n\nThe Body laughed blithely. \"Yes,\" he added, \"it is a cheerier home than\nthe green bracken. Tell me, have you ever heard of The Three Companions\nof Night?\"\n\n\"The Three Companions of Night? I would take them to be Prayer, and\nHope, and Peace.\"\n\n\"So says the Soul--but what do _you_ say, O Will?\"\n\n\"I would take them to be Dream, and Rest, and Longing.\"\n\n\"We are ever different,\" replied the Body, with a sigh, \"for the Three\nCompanions of whom I speak are Laughter, and Wine, and Love.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we mean the same thing,\" muttered the Will, with a smile of\nbitter irony.\n\nWe thought much of these words as we passed down a sandy lane hung with\nhoneysuckles, which were full of little birds who made a sweet\nchittering.\n\nPrayer, and Hope, and Peace; Dream, and Rest, and Longing; Laughter, and\nWine, and Love: were these analogues of the Heart's Desire?\n\nWhen we left the lane, where we saw a glow-worm emitting a pale fire as\nhe moved through the green dusk in the shadow of the hedge, we came upon\na white devious road. A young man stood by a pile of stones. He stopped\nhis labour and looked at us. One of us spoke to him.\n\n\"Why is it that a man like yourself, young and strong, should be doing\nthis work, which is for broken men?\"\n\n\"Why are you breathing?\" he asked abruptly.\n\n\"We breathe to live,\" answered the Body, smiling blithely.\n\n\"Well, I break stones to live.\"\n\n\"Is it worth it?\"\n\n\"It's better than death.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Body slowly, \"it is better than death.\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" asked the Soul, \"why is it better than death?\"\n\n\"Who wants not to want?\"\n\n\"Ah--it is the need to want, then, that is strongest!\"\n\nThe stone-breaker looked sullenly at the speaker.\n\n\"If you're not anxious to live,\" he said, \"will you give me what money\nyou have? It is a pity good money should be wasted. I know well where I\nwould be spending it this night of the nights,\" he added abruptly in\nGaelic.\n\nThe Body looked at him with curious eyes.\n\n\"And where would you be spending it?\" he asked, in the same language.\n\n\"This is the night of the marriage of John Macdonald, the rich man from\nAmerica, who has come back to his own town, and is giving a big night of\nit to all his friends, and his friends' friends.\"\n\n\"Is that the John Macdonald who is marrying Elsie Cameron?\" demanded the\nBody eagerly.\n\n\"Ay, the same; though it may be the other daughter of Alastair Rua, the\ngirl Morag.\"\n\nA flush rose to the face of the Body. His eyes sparkled.\n\n\"It is Elsie,\" he said to the man.\n\n\"Belike,\" the stone-breaker muttered indifferently.\n\n\"Do you know where Alastair Rua and his daughters are?\"\n\n\"Yes, at Beann Marsanta Macdonald's big house of the One-Ash Farm.\"\n\n\"Can you show me the way?\"\n\n\"I'm going that way.\"\n\nThereat the Body turned to his comrades:\n\n\"I love her,\" he said simply; \"I love Morag Cameron.\"\n\n\"She is not for your loving,\" answered the Will sharply; \"for she has\ngiven troth to old Archibald Sinclair.\"\n\nThe Body laughed.\n\n\"Love is love,\" he said lightly.\n\n\"Come,\" interrupted the Soul wearily; \"we have loitered long enough. Let\nus go.\"\n\nWe stood looking at the stone-breaker, who was gazing curiously at us.\nSuddenly he laughed.\n\n\"Why do you laugh?\" asked the Soul.\n\n\"Well, I'm not for knowing that. But I'll tell you this: if you two wish\nto go into the town, you have only to follow this road. And if _you_\nwant to come to One-Ash Farm, then you must come this other way with\nme.\"\n\n\"Do not go,\" whispered the Soul.\n\nBut the Body, with an impatient gesture, drew aside. \"Leave me,\" he\nadded: \"I wish to go with this man. I will meet you to-morrow morning at\nthe first bridge to the westward of the little town yonder, just where\nthe stream slackens over the pebbles.\"\n\nWith reluctant eyes the two companions saw their comrade leave. For a\nlong time the Will watched him with a bitter smile. Redeeming love was\nin the longing eyes of the Soul.\n\nWhen the Body and the stone-breaker were alone, as they walked towards\nthe distant farm-steading, where already were lights, and whence came a\nlowing of kye in the byres, for it was the milking hour, they spoke at\nintervals.\n\n\"Who were those with you?\" asked the man.\n\n\"Friends. We have come away together.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"Well, as you would say, to see the world.\"\n\n\"To see the world?\" The man laughed. \"To see the world! Have you money?\"\n\n\"Enough for our needs.\"\n\n\"Then you will see nothing. The world gives to them that already have,\nan' more than have.\"\n\n\"What do you hope for to-night?\"\n\n\"To be drunk.\"\n\n\"That is a poor thing to hope for. Better to think of the laugh and the\njoke by the fireside; and of food and drink, too, if you will: of the\npipes, and dancing, and pretty girls.\"\n\n\"Do as you like. As for me, I hope to be drunk.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Why? Because I'll be another man then. I'll have forgotten all that I\nnow remember from sunrise to sundown. Can you think what it is to break\na hope in your heart each time you crack a stone on the roadside?\nThat's what I am, a stone-breaker, an' I crack stones inside as well as\noutside. It's a stony place my heart, God knows.\"\n\n\"You are young to speak like that, and you speak like a man who has\nknown better days.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm ancient enough,\" said the man, with a short laugh.\n\n\"What meaning does that have?\"\n\n\"What meaning? Well, it just means this, that I'm as old as the Bible.\nFor there's mention o' me there. Only there I'm herding swine, an' here\nI'm breaking stones.\"\n\n\"And is _your_ father living?\"\n\n\"Ay, he curses me o' Sabbaths.\"\n\n\"Then it's not the same as the old story that is in the Bible?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing's the same an' everything's the same--except when you're\ndrunk, an' then it's only the same turned outside in. But see, yonder's\nthe farm. Take my advice, an' drink. It's better than the fireside, it's\nbetter than food, it's better than kisses, ay it's better than love,\nit's as good as hate, an' it's the only thing you can drown in except\ndespair.\"\n\nSoon after this the Body entered the house of the Beann Marsanta\nMacdonald, and with laughter and delight met Morag Cameron, and others\nwhom his heart leaped to see.\n\nAt midnight, the Will sat in a room in a little inn, and read out of two\nbooks, now out of one, now out of the other. The one was the Gaelic\nBible, the other was in English and was called _The One Hope_.\n\nHe rose, as the village clock struck twelve, and went to the window. A\nsalt breath, pungent with tide-stranded seaweed, reached him. In the\nlittle harbour, thin shadowy masts ascended like smoke and melted. A\ngreen lantern swung from one. The howling of a dog rose and fell. A\nfaint lapping of water was audible. On a big fishing-coble some men were\nlaughing and cursing.\n\nOverhead was an oppressive solemnity. The myriad stars were as the\nincalculable notes of a stilled music, become visible in silence. It was\na relief to look into unlighted deeps.\n\n\"These idle lances of God pierce the mind, slay the spirit,\" the Will\nmurmured, staring with dull anger at the white multitude.\n\n\"If the Soul were here,\" he added bitterly, \"he would look at these\nglittering mockeries as though they were harbingers of eternal hope. To\nme they are whited sepulchres. They say _we live_, to those who die;\nthey say _God endures,_ to Man that perisheth; they whisper the Immortal\nHope to Mortality.\" Turning, he went back to where he had left the\nbooks. He lifted one, and read:--\n\n\"_Have we not the word of God Himself that Time and Chance happeneth to\nall: that soon or late we shall all be caught in a net, we whom Chance\nhath for his idle sport, and upon whom Time trampleth with impatient\nfeet? Verily, the rainbow is not more frail, more fleeting, than this\ndrear audacity._\"\n\nWith a sigh he put the book down, and lifted the other. Having found the\npage he sought, he read slowly aloud:--\n\n\"_... but Time and Chance happeneth to them all. For man also knoweth\nnot his time: as the fishes that are taken in an evil net, and as the\nbirds that are caught in the snare, even so are the sons of men snared\nin an evil time, when it falleth suddenly upon them._\"\n\nHe went to the window again, brooding darkly. A slight sound caught his\near. He saw a yellow light run out, leap across the pavement and pass\nlike a fan of outblown flame. Then the door closed, and we heard a step\non the stone flags. He looked down. The Soul was there.\n\n\"Are you restless? Can you not sleep?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, dear friend. But my heart is weary because of the Body. Yet before\nI go, let me bid you read that which follows upon what you have just\nread. It is not only Time and Chance upon which to dwell; but upon this,\nthat God knows that which He does, and the hour and the way, and sees\nthe end in the beginning.\"\n\nAnd while the Soul moved softly down the little windy street, the Will\nopened the Book again, and read as the Soul had bidden.\n\n\"It may be so,\" he muttered, \"it may be that the dreamer may yet wake to\nbehold his dream--As thou knowest not what is the way of the wind, even\nso thou knowest not the work of God Who doeth all?\"\n\nWith that he sighed wearily, and then, afraid to look again at the\nbitter eloquence of the stars, lit a candle as he lay down on his bed,\nand watched the warm companionable flame till sleep came upon him, and\nhe dreamed no more of the rue and cypress, but plucked amaranths in the\nmoonshine.\n\nMeanwhile the Soul walked swiftly to the outskirts of the little town,\nand out by the grassy links where clusters of white geese huddled in\nsleep, and across the windy common where a tethered ass stood, with\ndrooping head, his long, twitching ears now motionless. In the\nmoonlight, the shadow of the weary animal stretched to fantastic\nlengths, and at one point, when the startled Soul looked at it, he\nbeheld the shadow of the Cross.\n\nWhen he neared One-Ash Farm he heard a loud uproar from within. Many\ncouples were still dancing, and the pipes and a shrill flute added to\nthe tumult. Others sang and laughed, or laughed and shouted, or cursed\nhoarsely. Through the fumes of smoke and drink rippled women's laughter.\n\nHe looked in at a window, with sad eyes. The first glance revealed to\nhim the Body, his blue eyes aflame, his face flushed with wine, his left\narm holding close to his heart a bright winsome lass, with hair\ndishevelled, and wild eyes, but with a wonderful laughing eagerness of\njoy.\n\nIn vain he called. His voice was suddenly grown faint. But what the ear\ncould not hear, the heart heard. The Body rose abruptly.\n\n\"I will drink no more,\" he said.\n\nA loud insensate laugh resounded near him. The stone-breaker lounged\nheavily from a bench, upon the servant's table.\n\n\"I am drunk now, my friend,\" the man cried with flaming eyes. \"I am\ndrunk, an' now I am as reckless as a king, an' as serene as the Pope,\nan' as heedless as God.\"\n\nThe Soul turned his gaze and looked at him. He saw a red flame rising\nfrom grey ashes. The ashes were his heart. The flame was his impotent,\nperishing life.\n\nStricken with sorrow, the Soul went to the door, and entered. He went\nstraight to the stone-breaker, who was now lying with head and arms\nprone on the deal table.\n\nHe whispered in the drunkard's ear. The man lifted his head, and stared\nwith red, brutish eyes.\n\n\"What is that?\" he cried.\n\n\"Your mother was pure and holy. She died to give you her life. What will\nit be like on the day she asks for it again?\"\n\nThe man raised an averting arm. There was a stare of horror in his eyes.\n\n\"I know you, you devil. Your name is Conscience.\"\n\nThe Soul looked at the Speaker. \"I do not know,\" he answered simply;\n\"but I believe in God.\"\n\n\"In the love of God?\"\n\n\"In the love of God.\"\n\n\"He dwells everywhere?\"\n\n\"Everywhere.\"\n\n\"Then I will find Him, I will find His love, _here_\"--and with that the\nman raised the deathly spirit to his lips again, and again drank. Then,\nlaughing and cursing, he threw the remainder at the feet of his unknown\nfriend.\n\n\"Farewell!\" he shouted hoarsely, so that those about him stared at him\nand at the new-comer.\n\nThe Soul turned sadly, and looked for his strayed comrade, but he was\nnowhere to be seen. In a room upstairs that friend whom he loved was\nwhispering eager vows of sand and wind; and the girl Morag, clinging\nclose to him, tempted him as she herself was tempted, so that both stood\nin that sand, and in the intertangled hair of each that wind blew.\n\nThe Soul saw, and understood. None spoke to him, a stranger, as he went\nslowly from the house, though all were relieved when that silent,\nsad-eyed foreigner withdrew.\n\nOutside, the cool sea-wind fell freshly upon him. He heard a corncrake\ncalling harshly to his mate, where the corn was yellowing in a little\nstone-dyked field; and a night-jar creeping forward on a juniper,\nuttering his whirring love-note; and he blessed their sweet, innocent\nlust. Then, looking upward, he watched for a while the white procession\nof the stars. They were to him the symbolic signs of the mystery of God.\nHe bowed his head. \"Dust of the world,\" he muttered humbly, \"dust of\nthe world.\"\n\nMoving slowly by the house--so doubly noisy, so harshly discordant,\nagainst the large, serene, nocturnal life--he came against the gable of\nan open window. On the ledge lay a violin, doubtless discarded by some\nreveller. The Soul lifted it, and held it up to the night-wind. When it\nwas purified, and the vibrant wood was as a nerve in that fragrant\ndarkness, he laid it on his shoulder and played softly.\n\nWhat was it that he played? Many heard it, but none knew what the strain\nwas, or whence it came. The Soul remembered, and played. It is enough.\n\nThe soft playing stole into the house as though it were the cool\nsea-wind, as though it were the flowing dusk. Beautiful, unfamiliar\nsounds, and sudden silences passing sweet, filled the rooms. The last\nguests left hurriedly, hushed, strangely disquieted. The dwellers in the\nfarmstead furtively bade good-night, and slipt away.\n\nFor an hour, till the sinking of the moon, the Soul played. He played\nthe Song of Dreams, the Song of Peace, the three Songs of Mystery. The\nevil that was in the house ebbed. Everywhere, at his playing, the\nsecret obscure life awoke. Nimble aerial creatures swung, invisibly\npassive, in the quiet dark. From the brown earth, from hidden\nsanctuaries in rocks and trees, green and grey lives slid, and stood\nintent. Out of the hillside came those of old. There were many eager\nvoices, like leaves lapping in a wind. The wild-fox lay down, with red\ntongue lolling idly: the stag rose from the fern, with dilated nostrils;\nthe night-jar ceased, the corncrake ceased, the moon-wakeful thrushes\nmade no single thrilling note. The silence deepened. Sleep came stealing\nsoftly out of the obscure, swimming dusk. There was not a swaying reed,\na moving leaf. The strange company of shadows stood breathless. Among\nthe tree-tops the loosened stars shone terribly--lonely fires of\nsilence.\n\nThe Soul played. Once he thought of the stone-breaker. He played into\nhis heart. The man stirred, and tears oozed between his heavy lids. It\nwas his mother's voice that he heard, singing-low a cradle-sweet song,\nand putting back her white hair that she might look earthward to her\nlove. \"Grey sweetheart, grey sweetheart,\" he moaned. Then his heart\nlightened, and a moonlight of peace hallowed that solitary waste place.\n\nAgain, at the last, the Soul thought of his comrade, heavy with wine in\nthe room overhead, drunken with desire. And to him he played the\nimperishable beauty of Beauty, the Immortal Love, so that, afterwards,\nhe should remember the glory rather than the shame of his poor frailty.\nWhat he played to the girl's heart only those women know who hear the\nwhispering words of Mary the Mother in sleep, when a second life\nbreathes beneath each breath.\n\nWhen he ceased, deep slumber was a balm upon all. He fell upon his knees\nand prayed.\n\n\"Beauty of all Beauty,\" he prayed, \"let none perish without thee.\"\n\nIt was thus that we three, who were one, realised how Prayer and Hope\nand Peace, how Dream and Rest and Longing, how Laughter and Wine and\nLove, are in truth but shadowy analogues of the Heart's Desire.\n\n\nV\n\nAt dawn we woke. A movement of gladness was in the lovely tides of\nmorning--delicate green, and blue, and gold. The spires of the grasses\nwere washed in dew; the innumerous was as one green flower that had lain\nall night in the moonshine.\n\nWe had agreed to meet at the bridge over the stream where it lapsed\nthrough gravelly beaches just beyond the little town.\n\nThere the Soul and the Will long awaited the Body. The sun was an hour\nrisen, and had guided a moving multitude of gold and azure waters\nagainst the long reaches of yellow-poppied sand, and to the bases of the\ngreat cliffs, whose schist shone like chrysolite, and whose dreadful\nbastions of black basalt loomed in purple shadow, like suspended\nthunder-clouds on a windless afternoon.\n\nThe air was filled with the poignant sweetness of the loneroid or\nbog-myrtle, meadow-sweet, and white wild-roses. The green smell of the\nbracken, the delicate woodland odour of the mountain-ash, floated\nhitherward and thitherward on the idle breath of the wind, sunwarm when\nit came across the sea-pinks and thyme-set grass, cool and fresh when it\neddied from the fern-coverts, or from the heather above the\nhillside-boulders where the sheep lay, or from under the pines at the\nbend of the sea-road where already the cooing of grey doves made an\nindolent sweetness.\n\nThe Soul was silent. He had not slept, but, after his playing in the\ndark, peace had come to him.\n\nBefore dawn he had gone into the room where the Will lay, and had\nlooked long at his comrade. In sleep the Will more resembled him, as\nwhen awake he the more resembled the Body. A deep pity had come upon the\nSoul for him whom he loved so well, but knew so little.\n\nWhy was it, he wondered, that he felt less alien from the Body? Why was\nit that this strange, potent, inscrutable being, whom both loved, should\nbe so foreign to each? The Body feared him. As for himself, he, too,\nfeared him at times. There were moments when all his marvellous\nbackground of the immortal life shrank before the keen gaze of his\nfriend. Was it possible that Mind could have a life apart from mortal\nsubstances? Was it possible? If so----\n\nIt was here that the Will awoke, and smiled at his friend.\n\nHe gave no greeting, but answered his thought.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said gravely, and as though continuing an argument, \"it is\nimpossible, if you mean the mortal substance of our brother, the Body.\nBut yet not without material substance. May it not be that the Mind may\nhave an undreamed-of shaping power, whereby it can instantly create?\"\n\n\"Create what?\"\n\n\"A new environment for its need? Drown it in the deepest gulfs of the\nsea, and it will, at the moment it is freed from the body, sheathe\nitself in a like shape, and habit itself with free spaces of air, so\nthat it may breathe, and live, and emerge into the atmosphere, there to\ntake on a new shape, to involve itself in new circumstances, to live\nanew?\"\n\n\"It is possible. But would that sea-change leave the mind the same or\nanother?\"\n\n\"The Mind would come forth one and incorruptible.\"\n\n\"If in truth, the Mind be an indivisible essence?\"\n\n\"Yes, if the mind be one and indivisible.\"\n\n\"You believe it so?\"\n\n\"Tell me, are you insubstantial? You, yourself, below this accident of\nmortality?\"\n\n\"I know not what you mean.\"\n\n\"You were wondering if, after all, it were possible for me to have a\nlife, a conscious, individual continuity, apart from this mortal\nsubstance in which you and I now share--counterparts of that human home\nwe both love and hate, that moving tent of the Illimitable, which at\nbirth appears a speck on sands of the Illimitable, and at death again\nabruptly disappears. You were wondering this. But, tell me: have you\nyourself never wondered how you can exist, as yourself, apart from\nsomething of this very actuality, this form, this materialism to which\nyou find yourself so alien in the Body?\"\n\n\"I am spirit. I am a breath.\"\n\n\"But you are you?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am I.\"\n\n\"The surpassing egotism is the same, whether in you, the Soul, who are\nbut a breath; or in me, the Will, who am but a condition; or in our\nbrother, the Body, a claimant to Eternal Life while perishing in his\nmortality!\"\n\n\"I live in God. Whence I came, thither shall I return.\"\n\n\"A breath?\"\n\n\"It may be.\"\n\n\"Yet you shall be you?\"\n\n\"Yes; I.\"\n\n\"Then that breath which will be you must have form, even as the Body\nmust have form.\"\n\n\"Form is but the human formula for the informulate.\"\n\n\"Nay, Form _is_ life.\"\n\n\"You have ever one wish, it seems to me, O Will: to put upon me the\nheavy yoke of mortality.\"\n\n\"Not so: but to lift it from myself.\"\n\n\"And the Body?\"\n\n\"Where did you leave him last night?\"\n\n\"You remember what he said about the Three Companions of Night:\nLaughter, and Wine, and Love? I left him with these.\"\n\n\"They are also called Tears, and Weariness, and the Grave. He has his\nportion. Perhaps he does well. Death intercepts many retributions.\"\n\n\"He, too, has his dream within a dream.\"\n\n\"Yes, you played to it, in the silence and the darkness.\"\n\n\"You heard my playing--you here, I there?\"\n\n\"I heard.\"\n\n\"And did you sleep or wake, comforted?\"\n\n\"I heard a Wind. I have heard it often. I heard, too, my own voice\nsinging in the dark.\"\n\n\"What was the song?\"\n\n\"This:--\n\n    In the silences of the woods\n    I have heard all day and all night\n    The moving multitudes\n    Of the Wind in flight.\n    He is named Myriad:\n    And I am sad\n    Often, and often I am glad;\n    But oftener I am white\n    With fear of the dim broods\n    That are his multitudes.\"\n\n\"And then, when you had heard that song?\"\n\n\"There was a rush of wings. My hair streamed behind me. Then a sudden\nstillness, out of which came moonlight; and a star fell slowly through\nthe dark, and as it passed my face I felt lips pressed against mine, and\nit seemed to me that you kissed me.\"\n\n\"And when I kissed you, did I whisper any word?\"\n\n\"You whispered: '_I am the Following Love._'\"\n\n\"And you knew then that it was the Breath of God, and you had deep\npeace, and slept?\"\n\n\"I knew that it was the Following Love,--that is the Breath of God, and\nI had deep peace, and I slept.\"\n\nThe Soul crossed from the window to the bed, and stooped, and kissed the\nWill.\n\n\"Beloved,\" he whispered, \"the star was but a dewdrop of the Peace that\npasseth understanding. And can it be that to you, to whom the healing\ndew was vouchsafed, shall be denied the water-springs?\"\n\n\"Ah, beautiful dreamer of dreams, bewilder me no more with your lovely\nsophistries. See, it is already late, and we have to meet the Body at\nthe shore-bridge over the little stream!\"\n\n\nIt was then that the two, having had a spare meal of milk and new bread,\nleft the inn, and went, each communing with his own thoughts, to the\nappointed place.\n\nThey heard the Body before they saw him, for he was singing as he came.\nIt was a strange, idle fragment of a song--\"The Little Children of the\nWind\"--a song that some one had made, complete in its incompleteness, as\na wind-blown blossom, and, as a blossom discarded by a flying bird,\nthrown heedlessly on the wayside by its unknown wandering singer:--\n\n    I hear the little children of the wind\n    Crying solitary in lonely places:\n    I have not seen their faces,\n    But I have seen the leaves eddying behind,\n    The little tremulous leaves of the wind.\n\nThe Soul looked at the Will.\n\n\"So he, too, has heard the Wind,\" he said softly.\n\n\nVI\n\nAll that day we journeyed westward. Sometimes we saw, far off, the pale\nblue films of the Hills of Dream, those elusive mountains towards which\nour way was set. Sometimes they were so startlingly near that, from\ngorse upland or inland valley, we thought we saw the shadow-grass shake\nin the wind's passage, or smelled the thyme still wet with dew where it\nlay under the walls of mountain-boulders. But at noon we were no nearer\nthan when, at sunrise, we had left the little sea-town behind us: and\nwhen the throng of bracken-shadows filled the green levels between the\nfern and the pines--like flocks of sheep following fantastic\nherdsmen--the Hills of the West were still as near, and as far, as the\nbright raiment of the rainbow which the shepherd sees lying upon his\nlonely pastures.\n\nBut long before noon we were glad because of what happened to one of us.\n\nThe dawn had flushed into a wilderness of rose as we left the bridge by\nthe stream. Long shafts of light, plumed with pale gold, were flung up\nout of the east: everywhere was the tremulous awakening of the new day.\nA score of yards from the highway a cottage stood, sparrows stirring in\nthe thatch, swift fairy-spiders running across the rude white-washed\nwalls, a redbreast singing in the dew-drenched fuchsia-bush. The blue\npeat-smoke which rose above it was so faint as to be invisible beyond\nthe rowan which stood sunways. The westward part of the cottage was a\nbyre: we could hear the lowing of a cow, the clucking of fowls.\n\nIn every glen, on each hillside, are crofts such as this. There was\nnothing unusual in what we saw, save that a collie crouched whimpering\nbeyond a <DW18> on the farther side of the rowan.\n\n\"All is not well here,\" said the Will.\n\n\"No,\" murmured the Soul, \"I see the shadowy footsteps of those who serve\nthe Evil One. Await me here.\"\n\nWith that the Soul walked swiftly towards the cottage, and looked in at\nthe little window. His thought was straightway ours, and we knew that a\nwoman lay within and was about to give birth to a child. We knew, also,\nthat those who had dark, cruel eyes, and wore each the feather of a\nhawk, had no power within, but were baffled, and roamed restlessly\noutside the cottage on the side of shadow. The _Fuath_ himself was not\nthere, but when his call came the evil spirits rose like a flock of\ncrows and passed away. Then we saw our comrade stand back, and bow down,\nand fall upon his knees.\n\nWhen he rejoined us we were for a moment as one, and saw seven tall and\nbeautiful spirits, starred and flame-crested, hand-clasped and standing\ncirclewise round the cottage. They were Sons of Joy, who sang because in\nthat mortal hour was born an immortal soul who in the white flame and\nthe red of mortal life was to be a spirit of gladness and beauty. For\nthere is no joy in the domain of the Spirit like that of the birth of a\nnew joy.\n\nA long while we walked in silence. In the eyes of the Soul we saw a\ndivine and beautiful light: in the eyes of the Will we saw\nrainbow-spanned depths: in the eyes of the Body we saw gladness.\n\n\"We are one!\"\n\nNone knew who spoke. For a moment I heard my own voice, saw my own\nshadow in the grass; then, in the twinkling of an eye, three stood,\nlooking at each other with startled gaze.\n\n\"Let us go,\" said the Soul; \"we have a long way yet to travel.\"\n\nEach dreaming his own dream, we walked onward. Suddenly the Soul turned\nand looked in the eyes of the Body.\n\n\"You are thinking of your loneliness,\" he said gravely.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the Body.\n\n\"And I too,\" said the Will.\n\nFor a time no word more was said.\n\n\"I am indeed alone.\" This I murmured to myself after a long while, and\nin a moment the old supreme wisdom sank, and we were not one but three.\n\n\"But you, O Soul,\" said the Will, \"how can you be alone when in every\nhour you have the company of the invisible, and see the passage of\npowers and influence, of demons and angels, creatures of the triple\nuniverse, souls, and the pale flight of the unembodied?\"\n\n\"I do not know loneliness because of what I see or do not see, but\nbecause of what I feel. When I walk here with you side by side it is as\nthough I walked along a narrow shore between a fathomless sea and\nfathomless night.\"\n\nThe thought of one was the thought of three. I shivered with that great\nloneliness. The Body glanced sidelong at the Will, the Will at the Soul.\n\n\"It is not good to dwell upon that loneliness,\" said the last.\n\n\"To you, O Body, and to you, O Will, as to me, it is the signal of Him\nwhom we have lost. Listen, and in the deepest hollow of loneliness we\ncan hear the voice of the Shepherd.\"\n\n\"I hear nothing,\" said the Body.\n\n\"I hear an echo,\" said the Will: \"I hear an echo; but so, too, I can\nhear the authentic voice of the sea in a hollow shell. Authentic! ...\nwhen I know well that the murmur is no eternal voice, no whisper of the\nwave made one with pearly silence, but only the sound of my flowing\nblood heard idly in the curves of ear and shell?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" ... cried the Body, \"it is a lie, that cruel word of science. The\nshell must ever murmur of the sea; if not, at least let us dream that it\ndoes. Soon, soon we shall have no dream left. How am I to know that\n_all_, that everything, is not but an idle noise in my ears? How am I to\nknow that the Hope of the Will, and the Voice of the Soul, and the\nmessage of the Word, and the Whisper of the Eternal Spirit, are not one\nand all but a mocking echo in that shell which for me is the Shell of\nLife, but may be only the cold inhabitation of my dreams?\"\n\n\"Yet were it not for these echoes,\" the Soul answered, \"life would be\nintolerable for you, as for you too, my friend.\"\n\nThe Will smiled scornfully.\n\n\"Dreams are no comfort, no solace, no relief from weariness even, if one\nknows them to be no more than the spray above the froth of a distempered\nmind.\"\n\nSuddenly one of us began in a low voice a melancholy little song:--\n\n    I hear the sea-song of the blood in my heart,\n    I hear the sea-song of the blood in my ears;\n    And I am far apart,\n    And lost in the years.\n\n    But when I lie and dream of that which was\n    Before the first man's shadow flitted on the grass--\n    I am stricken dumb\n    With sense of that to come.\n\n    Is then this wildering sea-song but a part\n    Of the old song of the mystery of the years--\n    Or only the echo of the tired Heart\n    And of Tears?\n\nBut none answered, and so again we walked onward, silent. The wind had\nfallen, and in the noon-heat we began to grow weary. It was with relief\nthat we saw the gleam of water between the branches of a little wood of\nbirches, which waded towards it through a tide of bracken. Beyond the\nbirks shimmered a rainbow; a stray cloud had trailed from glen to glen,\nand suddenly broken among the tree-tops.\n\n\"There goes Yesterday!\" cried the Body laughingly--alluding to the\nsaying that the morning rainbow is the ghost of the day that passed at\ndawn. The next moment he broke into a fragment of song:--\n\n    Brother and Sister, wanderers they\n    Out of the Golden Yesterday--\n    Thro' the dusty Now and the dim To-morrow\n    Hand-in-hand go Joy and Sorrow.\n\n\"Yes, joy and sorrow, O glad Body,\" exclaimed the Will--\"but it is the\njoy only that is vain as the rainbow, which has no other message. It\nshould be called the Bow of Sorrow.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" said the Soul gently, \"or, if so, not as you mean, dear\nfriend:--\n\n    It is not Love that gives the clearest sight:\n    For out of bitter tears, and tears unshed,\n    Riseth the Rainbow of Sorrow overhead,\n    And 'neath the Rainbow is the clearest light.\n\nThe Will smiled:--\n\n\"I too must have my say, dear poets:--\n\n    Where rainbows rise through sunset rains\n      By shores forlorn of isles forgot,\n    A solitary Voice complains\n      'The World is here, the World is not.'\n\n    The Voice may be the wind, or sea,\n      Or spirit of the sundown West:\n    Or, mayhap, some sweet air set free\n      From off the Islands of the Blest:\n\n    It may be; but I turn my face\n      To that which still I hold so dear;\n    And lo, the voices of the days--\n      'The World is not, the World is here.'\n\n    'Tis the same end whichever way\n      And either way is soon forgot:\n    The World is all in all, To-day:\n      'To-morrow all the World is not.'\n\n\nVII\n\nIn the noon-heat we lay, for rest and coolness, by the pool, and on the\nshadow-side of a hazel. The water was of so dark a brown that we knew it\nwas of a great depth, and, indeed, even at the far verge, a heron,\nstanding motionless, wetted her breast-feathers.\n\nIn the mid-pool, where the brown lawns sloped into depths of\npurple-blue, we could see a single cloud, invisible otherwise where we\nlay. Nearer us, the water mirrored a mountain-ash heavy with ruddy\nclusters. That long, feathery foliage, that reddening fruit, hung in a\nstrange, unfamiliar air; the stranger, that amid the silence of those\nphantom branches ever and again flitted furtive shadow-birds.\n\nWe had walked for hours, and were now glad to rest. With us we had\nbrought oaten bread and milk, and were well content.\n\n\"It was by a pool such as this,\" said one of us, after a long interval,\n\"that dreamers of old called to Connla, and Connla heard. That was the\nmortal name of one whose name we know not.\"\n\n\"Call him now,\" whispered the Body eagerly.\n\nThe Soul leaned forward, and stared into the fathomless brown dusk.\n\n\"Speak, Connla! Who art thou?\"\n\nClear as a Sabbath-bell across windless pastures we heard a voice:\n\n\"I am of those who wait yet a while. I am older than all age, for my\nyouth is Wisdom; and I am younger than all youth, for I am named\nTo-morrow.\"\n\nWe heard no more. In vain, together, separately, we sought to break that\nsilence which divides the mortal moment from hourless time. The Soul\nhimself could not hear, or see, or even remember, because of that mortal\nraiment of the flesh which for a time he had voluntarily taken upon\nhimself.\n\n\"I will tell you a dream that is not all a dream,\" he said at last,\nafter we had lain a long while pondering what that voice had uttered,\nthat voice which showed that the grave held a deeper mystery than\nsilence.\n\nThe Will looked curiously at him.\n\n\"Is it a dream wherein we have shared?\" he asked slowly.\n\n\"That I know not: yet it may well be so. I call my dream 'The Sons of\nJoy.' If you or the Body have also dreamed, let each relate the dream.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Body, \"I have dreamed it. But I would call it rather\n'The Sons of Delight.'\"\n\n\"And I,\" said the Will, \"The Sons of Silence.\"\n\n\"Tell it,\" said the Soul, looking towards the Body.\n\n\"It was night,\" answered the Body at once: \"and I was alone in a waste\nplace. My feet were entangled among briars and thorns, and beside me was\na quagmire. On the briar grew a great staff, and beside it a circlet of\nwoven thorn. I could see them, in a soft, white light. It must have been\nmoonlight, for on the other side of the briar I saw, in the moonshine, a\nmaze of wild roses. They were lovely and fragrant. I would have liked to\ntake the staff, but it was circled with the thorn-wreath; so I turned to\nthe moonshine and the wild roses. It was then that I saw a multitude of\ntall and lovely figures, men and women, all rose-crowned, and the pale,\nbeautiful faces of the women with lips like rose-leaves. They were\nsinging. It was the Song of Delight. I, too, sang. And as I sang, I\nwondered, for I thought that the eyes of those about me were heavy with\nlove and dreams, as though each had been pierced with a shadowy thorn.\nBut still the song rose, and I knew that the flowers in the grass\nbreathed to it, and that the vast slow cadence of the stars was its\nmajestic measure. Then the dawn broke, and I saw all the company, winged\nand crested with the seven colours, press together, so that a rainbow\nwas upbuilded. In the middle space below the rainbow, a bird sang. Then\nI knew I was that bird; and as the rainbow vanished, and the dawn grew\ngrey and chill, I sank to the ground. But it was all bog and swamp. I\nknew I should sing no more. But I heard voices saying: 'O happy,\nwonderful bird, who has seen all delight, whose song was so rapt, sing,\nsing, sing!' But when I could sing no more I was stoned, and lay dead.\n\n\"That was my dream.\"\n\nThe Soul sighed.\n\n\"It was not thus I dreamed,\" he murmured; \"but thus:--\n\n\"I stood, at night, on the verge of the sea, and looked at the maze of\nstars. And while looking and dreaming, I heard voices, and, turning,\nbeheld a multitude of human beings. All were sorrowful; many were heavy\nwith weariness and despair; all suffered from some grievous ill. Among\nthem were many who cried continually that they had no thought, or dream,\nno wish, but to forget all, and be at rest:\n\n\"I called to them, asking whither they were bound?\n\n\"'We are journeying to the Grave,' came the sighing answer.\n\n\"Then suddenly I saw the Grave. An angel stood at the portals. He was so\nbeautiful that the radiance of the light upon his brow lit that\nshoreless multitude; in every heart a little flame arose. The name of\nthat divine one was Hope.\n\n\"As shadow by shadow slipt silently into the dark road behind the Grave,\nI saw the Angel touch for a moment every pale brow.\n\n\"I knew at last that I saw beyond the Grave. Infinite ways traversed the\nuniverse, wherein suns and moons and stars hung like fruit. Multitude\nwithin multitude was there.\n\n\"Then, again, suddenly I stood where I had been, and saw the Grave\nreopen, and from it troop back a myriad of bright and beautiful beings.\nI could see that some were souls re-born, some were lovely thoughts,\ndreams, hopes, aspirations, influences, powers and mighty spirits too.\nAnd all sang:\n\n\"'We are the Sons of Joy.'\n\n\"That was my dream.\"\n\nWe were still for a few moments. Then the Will spoke.\n\n\"This dream of ours is one thing as the Body's, and another as the\nSoul's. It is yet another, as I remember it:--\n\n\"On a night of a cold silence, when the breath of the equinox sprayed\nthe stars into a continuous dazzle, I heard the honk of the wild geese\nas they cleft their way wedgewise through the gulfs overhead.\n\n\"In the twinkling of an eye I was beyond the last shadow of the last\nwing.\n\n\"Before me lay a land solemn with auroral light. For a thousand years,\nthat were as a moment, I wandered therein. Then, far before me, I saw an\nimmense semi-circle of divine figures, tall, wonderful, clothed with\nmoonfire, each with uplifted head, as a forest before a wind. To the\nright they held the East, and to the left the West.\n\n\"'Who are you?' I cried, as I drifted through them like a mist of pale\nsmoke.\n\n\"'We are the Laughing Gods,' they answered.\n\n\"Then after I had drifted on beyond the reach of sea or land, to a\nfrozen solitude of ice, I saw again a vast concourse stretching\ncrescent-wise from east to west: taller, more wonderful, crowned with\nstars, and standing upon dead moons white with perished time.\n\n\"'Who are you?' I cried, as I went past them like a drift of pale smoke.\n\n\"'We are the Gods who laugh not,' they answered.\n\n\"Then when I had drifted beyond the silence of the Pole, and there was\nnothing but unhabitable air, and the dancing fires were a flicker in the\npale sheen far behind, I saw again a vast concourse stretching\ncrescent-wise from east to west. They were taller still; they were more\nwonderful still. They were crowned with flaming suns, and their feet\nwere white with the dust of ancient constellations.\n\n\"'Who are you!' I cried, as I went past them like a mist of pale smoke.\n\n\"'We are the Gods,' they answered.\n\n\"And while I waned into nothingness I felt in my nostrils the salt\nsmell of the sea, and, listening, I heard the honk of the wild geese\nwedging southward.\n\n\"That was my dream.\"\n\nWhen the Will ceased, nothing was said. We were too deeply moved by\nstrange thoughts, one and all. Was it always to be thus ... that we\nmight dream one dream, confusedly real, confusedly unreal, when we three\nwere one; but that when each dreamed alone, the dream, the vision, was\never to be distinct in form and significance?\n\nWe lay resting for long. After a time we slept. I cannot remember what\nthen we dreamed, but I know that these three dreams were become one, and\nthat what the Soul saw and what the Will saw and what the Body saw was a\nmore near and searching revelation in this new and one dream than in any\nof the three separately. I pondered this, trying to remember: but the\ndeepest dreams are always unrememberable, and leave only a fragrance, a\nsound as of a quiet footfall passing into silence, or a cry, or a sense\nof something wonderful, unimagined, or of light intolerable: but I could\nrecall only the memory of a moment ... a moment wherein, in a flash of\nlightning, I had seen all, understood all.\n\nI rose ... there was a dazzle on the water, a shimmer on every leaf, a\nfalling away as of walls of air into the great river of the wind ... and\nthere were three, not one, each staring dazed at the other, in the ears\nof each the bewilderment of the already faint echo of that lost \"I.\"\n\n\nVIII\n\nTowards sundown we came upon a hamlet, set among the hills. Our hearts\nhad beat quicker as we drew near, for with the glory of light gathered\nabove the west the mountains had taken upon them a bloom soft and\nwonderful, and we thought that at last we were upon the gates of the\nhills towards which we had journeyed so eagerly. But when we reached the\nlast pines on the ridge we saw the wild doves flying far westward.\nBeyond us, under a pale star, dimly visible in a waste of rose, were the\nHills of Dream.\n\nThe Soul wished to go to them at once, for now they seemed so near to us\nthat we might well reach them with the rising of the moon. But the\nothers were tired, nor did the Hills seem so near to them. So we sat\ndown by the peat-fire in a shepherd's cottage, and ate of milk and\nporridge, and talked with the man about the ways of that district, and\nthe hills, and how best to reach them. \"If you want work,\" he said,\n\"you should go away south, where the towns are, an' not to these lonely\nhills. They are so barren, that even the goatherds no longer wander\ntheir beasts there.\"\n\n\"It's said they're haunted,\" added the Body, seeing that the others did\nnot speak.\n\n\"Ay, sure enough. That's well known, master. An' for the matter o' that,\nthere's a wood down there to the right where for three nights past I\nhave seen figures and the gleaming of fire. But there isn't a soul in\nthat wood--no, not a wandering tinker. I took my dogs through it to-day,\nan' there wasn't the sign even of a last-year's gypsy. As for the low\nbare hill beyond it, not a man, let alone a woman or child, would go\nnear it in the dark. In the Gaelic it's called Maol De, that is to say,\nthe Hill of God.\"\n\nFor a long time we sat talking with the shepherd, for he told us of many\nthings that were strange, and some that were beautiful, and some that\nwere wild and terrible. One of his own brothers, after an evil life, had\nbecome mad, and even now lived in caves among the higher hills, going\never on hands and feet, and cursing by day and night because he was made\nas one of the wild swine, that know only hunger and rage and savage\nsleep. He himself tended lovingly his old father, who was too frail to\nwork, and often could not sleep at nights because of the pleasant but\nwearying noise the fairies made as they met on the dancing-lawns among\nthe bracken. Our friend had not himself heard the simple people, and in\na whisper confided to us that he thought the old man was a bit mazed,\nand that what he heard was only the solitary playing of the Amadan-Dhu,\nwho, it was known to all, roamed the shadows between the two dusks.\n\"Keep away from the river in the hollow,\" he said at another moment,\n\"for it's there, on a night like this, just before the full moon got up,\nthat, when I was a boy, I saw the Aonaran. An' to this day, if I saw you\nor any one standing by the water, it 'ud be all I could do not to thrust\nyou into it and drown you: ay, I'd have to throw myself on my face, an'\nbite the grass, an' pray till my soul shook the murder out at my throat.\nFor that's the Aonaran's doing.\"\n\nLater, he showed us, when we noticed it, a bit of smooth coral that hung\nby a coarse leathern thong from his neck.\n\n\"Is that an amulet?\" one of us asked.\n\n\"No: it's my lassie's.\"\n\nWe looked at the man inquiringly.\n\n\"The bairn's dead thirty years agone.\"\n\nIn the silence that followed, one of us rose, and went with the shepherd\ninto the little room behind. When the man came back it was with a\nwonderful light in his face. Our comrade did not return ... but when we\nglanced sidelong, lo, the Soul was there, as though he had not moved.\nThen, of a sudden, we knew what he had done, what he had said, and were\nglad.\n\nWhen we left (the shepherd wanted us to stay the night, but we would\nnot), the stars had come. The night was full of solemn beauty.\n\nWe went down by the wood of which the shepherd had spoken, and came upon\nit as the moon rose. But as a path bordered it, we followed that little\nwinding white gleam, somewhat impatient now to reach those far hills\nwhere each of us believed he would find his heart's desire, or, at the\nleast, have that vision of absolute Truth, of absolute Beauty, which we\nhad set out to find.\n\nWe had not gone a third of the way when the Body abruptly turned, waving\nto us a warning hand. When we stood together silent, motionless, we saw\nthat we were upon a secret garden. We were among ilex, and beyond were\ntall cypresses, like dark flames rising out of the earth, their hither\nsides lit with wavering moonfire. Far away the hill-foxes barked.\nSomewhere near us in the dusk an owl hooted. The nested wild doves were\nsilent. Once, the faint churr of a distant fern-owl sent a vibrant\ndissonance, that was yet strangely soothing, through the darkness and\nthe silence.\n\n\"Look!\" whispered the Body.\n\nWe saw, on a mossy <DW72> under seven great cypresses, a man lying on the\nground, asleep. The moonshine reached him as we looked, and revealed a\nface of so much beauty and of so great a sorrow that the heart ached.\nNevertheless, there was so infinite a peace there, that, merely gazing\nupon it, our lives stood still. The moonbeam slowly passed from that\ndivine face. I felt my breath rising and falling, like a feather before\nthe mystery of the wind is come. Then, the further surprised, we saw\nthat the sleeper was not alone. About him were eleven others, who also\nslept; but of these one sat upright, as though the watchman of the dark\nhour, slumbering at his post.\n\nWhile the Body stooped, whispering, we caught sight of the white face of\nyet another, behind the great bole of a tree. This man, the twelfth of\nthat company which was gathered about the sleeper in its midst, stared,\nwith uplifted hand. In his other hand, and lowered to the ground, was a\ntorch. He stared upon the Sleeper.\n\nSlowly I moved forward. But whether in so doing, or by so doing, we\nbroke some subtle spell, which had again made us as one, I know not.\nSuddenly three stood in that solitary place, with none beside us,\nneither sleeping nor watching, neither quick nor dead. Far off the\nhill-foxes barked. Among the cypress boughs an owl hooted, and was\nstill.\n\n\"Have we dreamed?\" each asked the other. Then the Body told what he had\nseen, and what heard; and it was much as is written here, only that the\nsleepers seemed to him worn and poor men, ill-clad, weary, and that\nbehind the white face of the twelfth, who hid behind a tree, was a\ncompany of evil men with savage faces, and fierce eyes, and drawn\nswords.\n\n\"I have seen nothing of all this,\" said the Will harshly, \"but only a\nfire drowning in its own ashes, round which a maze of leaves circled\nthis way and that, blown by idle winds.\"\n\nThe Soul looked at the speaker. He sighed. \"Though God were to sow\nliving fires about you, O Will,\" he said, \"you would not believe.\"\n\nThe Will answered dully: \"I have but one dream, one hope, and that is to\nbelieve. Do not mock me.\" The Soul leaned and kissed him lovingly on the\nbrow.\n\n\"Look,\" he said; \"what I saw was this: I beheld, asleep, the Divine\nLove; not sleeping, as mortals sleep, but in a holy quiet, brooding upon\ninfinite peace, and in commune with the Eternal Joy. Around him were the\nNine Angels, the _Crois nan Aingeal_ of our prayers, and two\nSeraphs--the Eleven Powers and Dominions of the World. And One stared\nupon them, and upon Him, out of the dark wood, with a face white with\ndespair, that great and terrible Lord of Shadow whom some call Death,\nand some Evil, and some Fear, and some the Unknown God. Behind him was a\nthrong of demons and demoniac creatures: and all died continually. And\nthe wood itself--it was an infinite forest; a forest of human souls\nawaiting God.\"\n\nThe Will listened, with eyes strangely ashine. Suddenly he fell upon his\nknees, and prayed. We saw tears falling from his eyes.\n\n\"I am blind and deaf,\" he whispered in the ear of the Body, as he rose;\n\"but, lest I forget, tell me where I am, in what place we are.\"\n\n\"It is a garden called Gethsemane,\" answered the other--though I know\nnot how he knew--I--we--as we walked onward in silence through the dusk\nof moon and star, and saw the gossamer-webs whiten as they became\nmyriad, and hang heavy with the pale glister of the dews of dawn.\n\n\nIX\n\nThe morning twilight wavered, and it was as though an incalculable host\nof grey doves fled upward and spread earthward before a wind with\npinions of rose: then the dappled dove-grey vapour faded, and the rose\nhung like the reflection of crimson fire, and dark isles of ruby and\nstraits of amethyst and pale gold and saffron and April-green came into\nbeing: and the new day was come.\n\nWe stood silent. There is a beauty too great. We moved slowly round by\nthe low bare hill beyond the wood. No one was there, but on the summit\nstood three crosses; one, midway, so great that it threw a shadow from\nthe brow of the East to the feet of the West.\n\nThe Soul stopped. He seemed as one rapt. We looked upon him with awe,\nfor his face shone as though from a light within. \"Listen,\" he\nwhispered, \"I hear the singing of the Sons of Joy. Farewell: I shall\ncome again.\"\n\nWe were alone, we two. Silently we walked onward. The sunrays slid\nthrough the grass, birds sang, the young world that is so old smiled:\nbut we had no heed for this. In that new solitude each almost hated the\nother. At noon a new grief, a new terror, came to us. We were upon a\nridge, looking westward. There were no hills anywhere.\n\nDoubtless the Soul had gone that way which led to them. For us ... they\nwere no longer there.\n\n\"Let us turn and go home,\" said the Body wearily.\n\nThe Will stood and thought.\n\n\"Let us go home,\" he said.\n\nWith that he turned, and walked hour after hour. It was by a road\nunknown to us, for, not noting where we went, we had traversed a path\nthat led us wide of that by which we had come. At least we saw nothing\nof it. Nor, at dusk, would the Will go further, nor agree even to seek\nfor a path that might lead to the garden called Gethsemane.\n\n\"We are far from it,\" he said, \"if indeed there be any such place. It\nwas a dream, and I am weary of all dreams. When we are home again, O\nBody, we will dream no more.\"\n\nThe Body was silent, then abruptly laughed. His comrade looked at him\ncuriously.\n\n\"Why do you laugh?\"\n\n\"Did you not say there would be no more tears? And of that I am glad.\"\n\n\"You did not laugh gladly. But what I said was that there shall be no\nmore dreams for us, that we will dream no more.\"\n\n\"It is the same thing. We have tears because we dream. If we hope no\nmore, we dream no more: if we dream no more, we weep no more. And I\nlaughed because of this: that if we weep no more we can live as we like,\nwithout thought of an impossible to-morrow, and with little thought even\nfor to-day.\"\n\nFor a time we walked in brooding thought, but slowly, because of the\ngathering dark. Neither spoke, until the Body suddenly stood still,\nthrowing up his arms.\n\n\"Oh, what a fool I have been! What a fool I have been!\"\n\nThe Will made no reply. He stared before him into the darkness.\n\nWe had meant to rest in the haven of the great oaks, but a thin rain had\nbegun, and we shivered with the chill. The thought came to us to turn\nand find our way back to the house of the shepherd, hopeless as the\nquest might prove, for we were more and more bewildered as to where we\nwere, or even as to the direction in which we moved, being without pilot\nof moon or star, and having already followed devious ways. But while we\nwere hesitating, we saw a light. The red flame shone steadily through\nthe rainy gloom, so we knew that it was no lantern borne by a\nfellow-wayfarer. In a brief while we came upon it, and saw that it was\nfrom a red lamp burning midway in a forest chapel.\n\nWe lifted the latch and entered. There was no one visible. Nor was any\none in the sacristy. We went to the door again, and looked vainly in all\ndirections for light which might reveal a neighbouring village, or\nhamlet, or even a woodlander's cottage.\n\nGlad as we were of the shelter, and of the glow from the lamp, a\nthought, a dream, a desire, divided us. We looked at each other\nsidelong, each both seeking and avoiding the other's eyes.\n\n\"I cannot stay here,\" said the Body at last; \"the place stifles me. I am\nfrightened to stay. The path outside is clear and well trodden; it must\nlead somewhere, and as this chapel is here, and as the lamp is lit, a\nvillage, or at least a house, cannot be far off.\"\n\nThe Will looked at him.\n\n\"Do not go,\" he said earnestly.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I do not know. But do not let us part. I dare not leave here. I feel as\nthough this were our one safe haven to-night.\"\n\nThe Body moved to the door and opened it.\n\n\"I am going. And--and--I am going, too, because I am tired both of you\nand the Soul. There is only one way for me, I see, and I go that way.\nFarewell.\"\n\nThe door closed. The Will was alone. For a few moments he stood, smiling\nscornfully. With a sudden despairing gesture he ran to the door, flung\nit open, and peered into the darkness.\n\nHe could see no one; could hear no steps. His long beseeching cry was\ndrowned among these solitudes. Slowly he re-closed the door; slowly\nwalked across the stone flags; and with folded arms stood looking upon\nthe altar, dyed crimson with the glow from the great lamp which hung\nmidway in the nave.\n\nThere was a choir-stall to the right. Here he sat, for a time glad\nmerely to be at rest.\n\nSoon all desire of sleep went from him, and he began to dream. At this\nhe smiled: it was so brief a while ago since he had said he would dream\nno more.\n\nAway now from his two lifelong comrades, and yet subtly connected with\nthem, and living by and through each, he felt a new loneliness. Life\ncould be very terrible. Life ... the word startled him. What life could\nthere be for him if the Body perished? That was why he had cried out in\nanguish after his comrade had left, with that ominous word \"farewell.\"\nTrue, now he lived, breathed, thought, as before: but this, he knew, was\nby some inexplicable miracle of personality, by which the three who had\nbeen one were each enabled to go forth, fulfilling, and in all ways\nruled and abiding by, the natural law. If the Body should die, would he\nnot then become as a breath in frost? If the Soul ... ah! he wondered\nwhat then would happen.\n\n\"When I was with the Body,\" he muttered, \"I was weary of dreams, or\nlonged only for those dreams which could be fulfilled in action. But now\n... now it is different. I am alone. I must follow my own law. But what\n... how ... where ... am I to choose? All the world is a wilderness with\na heart of living light. The side we see is Life: the side we do not see\nwe call Hope. All ways--a thousand myriad ways--lead to it. Which shall\nI choose? How shall I go?\"\n\nThen I began to dream ... I ... we ... then the Will began to dream.\n\nSlowly the Forest Chapel filled with a vast throng, ever growing more\ndense as it became more multitudinous, till it seemed as though the\nwalls fell away and that the aisles reached interminably into the world\nof shadow, through the present into the past, and to dim ages.\n\nBehind the altar stood a living Spirit, most wonderful, clothed with\nBeauty and Terror.\n\nThen the Will saw, understood, that this was not the Christ, nor yet the\nHoly Spirit, but a Dominion. It was the Spirit of this world, one of the\nPowers and Dominions whom of old men called the gods. But all in that\nincalculable throng worshipped this Spirit as the Supreme God. He saw,\ntoo, or realised, that, to those who worshipped, this Spirit appeared\ndifferently, now as a calm and august dreamer, now as an inspired\nwarrior, now as a man wearing a crown of thorns against the shadow of a\ngigantic cross: as the Son of God, or the Prophet of God, or in manifold\nways the Supreme One, from Jehovah to the savage Fetich.\n\nTurning from that ocean of drowned life, he looked again at the\nrainbow-plumed and opal-hued Spirit: but now he could see no one,\nnothing, but a faint smoke that rose as from a torch held by an\ninvisible hand. The altar stood unserved.\n\nNor was the multitude present. The myriad had become a wavering shadow,\nand was no more.\n\nA child had entered the church. The little boy came slowly along the\nnave till he stood beneath the red lamp, so that his white robe was warm\nwith its glow. He sang, and the Will thought it was a strange song to\nhear in that place, and wondered if the child were not an image of what\nwas in his own heart.\n\n    When the day darkens,\n    When dusk grows light,\n    When the dew is falling,\n      When Silence dreams...\n    I hear a wind\n    Calling, calling\n    By day and by night.\n\n    What is the wind\n    That I hear calling\n    By day and by night,\n      The crying of wind?\n    When the day darkens,\n    When dusk grows light,\n    When the dew is falling?\n\nThe Will rose and moved towards the child. No one was there, but he saw\nthat a wind-eddy blew about the altar, for a little cloud of rose-leaves\nswirled above it. As in a dream he heard a voice, faint and sweet:--\n\n    Out of the Palace\n    Of Silence and Dreams\n    My voice is falling\n      From height to height:\n    I am the Wind\n    Calling, calling\n    By day and by night.\n\nThe red flame waned and was no more. Above the altar a white flame, pure\nas an opal burning in moonfire, rose for a moment, and in a moment was\nmysteriously gathered into the darkness.\n\nStartled, the Will stood moveless in the obscurity. Were these symbols\nof the end--the red flame and the white ... the Body and the Soul?\n\nThen he remembered the ancient wisdom of the Gael, and went out of the\nForest Chapel and passed into the woods. He put his lips to the earth,\nand lifted a green leaf to his brow, and held a branch to his ear: and\nbecause he was no longer heavy with the sweet clay of mortality, though\nyet of the human clan, he heard that which we do not hear, and saw that\nwhich we do not see, and knew that which we do not know. All the green\nlife was his. In that new world he saw the lives of trees, now pale\ngreen, now of woodsmoke blue, now of amethyst: the grey lives of stone:\nbreaths of the grass and reed: creatures of the air, delicate and wild\nas fawns, or swift and fierce and terrible, tigers of that undiscovered\nwilderness, with birds almost invisible but for their luminous wings,\ntheir opalescent crests.\n\nWith these and the familiar natural life, with every bird and beast\nkindred and knowing him kin, he lived till the dawn, and from the dawn\ntill sunrise, and from sunrise till noon. At noon he slept. When he woke\nhe saw that he had wandered far, and was glad when he came to a\nwoodlander's cottage. Here a woman gave him milk and bread, but she was\ndumb, and he could learn nothing from her. She showed him a way which he\nfollowed; and by that high upland path, before sundown, he came again\nupon the Forest Chapel, and saw that it stood on a spur of blue hills.\n\nWere it not for a great and startling weakness that had suddenly come\nupon him, he would have gone in search of his lost comrade. While he lay\nwith his back against a tree, vaguely wondering what ill had come upon\nhim, he heard a sound of wheels. Soon after a rough cart was driven\nrapidly towards the Forest Chapel, but when the countryman saw him he\nreined in abruptly, as though at once recognising one whom he had set\nout to seek. \"Your friend is dying,\" he said; \"come at once if you want\nto see him again. He sent me to look for you.\"\n\nIn a moment all lassitude and pain went from the Will, and he sprang\ninto the cart, asking (while his mind throbbed with a dreadful anxiety)\nmany questions. But all he could learn from his taciturn companion was\nthat yester eve his comrade had fallen in with a company of roystering\nand loose folk, with whom he had drunk heavily over-night and gamed and\nlived evilly; that all this day he had lain as in a stupor, till the\nafternoon, when he awoke and straightway fell into a quarrel about a\nwoman, and, after fierce words and blows, had been mortally wounded\nwith a knife. He was now lying, almost in the grasp of death, at the Inn\nof the Crossways.\n\nIn the whirl of anxiety, dread, and a new and terrible confusion, the\nWill could not think clearly as to what he was to say or do, what was to\nbe or could be done for his friend. And while he was still swayed\nhelplessly, this way and that, as a herring in a net drifted to and fro\nby wind and wave, the Inn was reached.\n\nWith stumbling eagerness he mounted the rough stairs, and entered a\nsmall room, clean, though almost sordid in its bareness, yet through its\nwestern window filled with the solemn light of sunset.\n\nOn a white bed lay the Body, and the Will saw at a glance that his\ncomrade had not long to live. The handkerchief the sufferer held on his\nbreast was stained with the bright crimson of the riven lungs; his white\nface was whiter than the pillow, the more so, as a red splatch lay on\neach cheek.\n\nThe dying man opened his eyes as the door opened. He smiled gladly when\nhe saw who had come.\n\n\"I am glad indeed of this,\" he whispered. \"I feared I was to die alone,\nand in delirium or unconsciousness. Now I shall not be alone till the\nend. And then----\"\n\nBut here the Will sank upon his knees by the bedside. For a few minutes\nhis tears fell upon the hand he clasped. The sobs shook in his throat.\nHe had never fully realised what love he bore his comrade, his second\nself; how interwrought with him were all his joys and sorrows, his\ninterests, his hopes and fears.\n\nSuddenly, with supplicating arms, he cried, \"Do not die! Oh, do not die!\nSave me, save me, save me!\"\n\n\"How can I save you, how can I help you, dear friend?\" asked the Body in\na broken voice; \"my sand is all but run out; my hour is come.\"\n\n\"But do you not know, do you not see, that I cannot live without\nyou!--that I must _die_--that if you perish so must I also pass with\nyour passing breath!\"\n\n\"No--no--no!--for, see, we are no longer one, but three. The Soul is far\nfrom us now, and soon you too will be gone on your own way. It is only I\nwho can go no more into the beautiful dear world. O Will, if I could, I\nwould give all your knowledge and endless quest of wisdom and all your\nhopes, and all the dreams and the white faith of the Soul, for one\nlittle year of sweet human life--for one month even--ah, what do I say,\nfor a few days even, for a day, for a few hours! It is so terrible thus\nto be stamped out. Yesterday I saw a dog leaping and barking in delight\nas it raced about a wagon, and then in a moment a foot caught and it was\nentangled, and the wagon-wheel crushed it into a lifeless mass. There\nwas no dog; for that poor beast it was the same as though it had never\nbeen, as though the world had never been, as though nothing more was to\nbe. He was a breath blown unremembering out of nothing into nothing.\nThat is what death is. That is what death is, O Will!\"\n\n\"No, no, it is too horrible--too cruel--too unjust.\"\n\n\"Yes, for you. But not for me. Your way is not the way of death, but of\nlife. For me, I am as the beasts are, their sorry lord, but akin--oh\nyes, akin, akin. I follow the natural law in all things. And I know this\nnow, dear comrade: that without you and the Soul I should have been no\nother than the brutes that know nothing save their innocent lusts and\nlive and die without thought.\"\n\nThe Will slowly rose.\n\n\"It was madness for us to separate and come upon this quest,\" he said,\nlooking longingly at the Body.\n\n\"Not so, dear friend. We should have had to separate soon or late,\nwhatsoever we had done. If I have feared you at times, and turned from\nyou often, I have loved you well, and still more the Soul. I think you\nhave both lied to me overmuch, and you mostly. But I forgive what I know\nwas done in love and hope. And you, O Will, forgive me for all I have\nbrought, what I now bring, upon you; forgive the many thwartings and\ndull indifference and heavy drag I have so often, oh, so often been to\nyou. For now death is at hand. But I have one thing I wish to ask you.\"\n\n\"Speak.\"\n\n\"Before my life was broken, there was one whom I loved. Every hope,\nevery dream, every joy, every sorrow that I had came from this love. It\nwas her death which broke my life--not only for the piteous loss and all\nit meant to me, but because death came with tragic heedlessness--for she\nwas young, and strong, and beautiful. And before she died, she said we\nshould meet again. I was never, and now am far the less worthy of her;\nand yet--and yet--oh, if only that great, beautiful love were all I had\nto doubt or fear, I should have no doubt or fear! But no--no--we shall\nnever meet. How can we? Before to-morrow I shall be like that crushed\ndog, and not be: just as if I had never been!\"\n\nThe blood rose, and sobs and tears made further words inaudible. But\nafter a little the Body spoke again.\n\n\"But you, O Will, you and the Soul both resemble me. We are as flowers\nof the same colour, as clay of the same mould. It may be you shall meet\nher. Tell her that my last thought was of her: take her all my dreams\nand hopes--and say--and say--say----\"\n\nBut here the Body sat up in the bed, ash-white, with parted lips and\nstraining eyes.\n\n\"What? Quick, quick, dear Body--say?----\"\n\n\"Say that I loved best that in her which I loved best in myself--the\nSoul. Tell her I have never wholly despaired. Ah, if only the Soul were\nhere, I would not even now despair! Tell her I leave all to the\nSoul--and--and--love shall triumph----\"\n\nThere was a rush of blood, a gurgling cry, and the Body sank back\nlifeless. In the very moment of death the eyes lightened with a\nwonderful radiance--it was as though the evening stars suddenly came\nthrough the dark.\n\nThe Will looked to see whence it came. The Soul stood beside him, white,\nwonderful, radiant.\n\n\"I have come,\" he said.\n\n\"For me?\" said the Will, shaking as with an ague, yet in bitter irony.\n\n\"Yes, for you, and for the Body too.\"\n\n\"For the Body?--see, he is already clay. What word have you to say to\n_that_, to _me_ who likewise am already perishing?\n\n\"This--do you remember what so brief a while ago we three as one\nwrote--wrote with my spirit, through your mind, and the Body's\nhand--these words: _Love is more great than we conceive, and Death is\nthe keeper of unknown redemptions?_\"\n\n\"Yes--yes--O Soul! I remember, I remember.\"\n\n\"It was true there: it is true here. Have I not ever told you that Love\nwould save?\"\n\nWith that the Soul moved over to the bedside, and kissed the Body.\n\n\"Farewell, fallen leaf. But the tree lives--and beyond the tree is the\nwind, the breath of the eternal.\"\n\n\"Look,\" he added, \"our comrade is still asleep, though now no mortal\nskill could nourish the hidden spark\"; and with that he stooped and\nkissed again the silent lips and the still brow and the pulseless\nheart, and suddenly a breath, an essence, came from the body, in form\nlike itself, a phantom, yet endued with a motion of life.\n\nAs the faintest murmur in a shell we heard him whisper, _Life! Life!\nLife!_ Then, as a blown vapour, he was one with us. A singular change\ncame upon the clay which had once been so near and dear to us: a frozen\nwhiteness that had not been there before, a stillness as of ancient\nmarble.\n\nThe Will stood, appalled, with wild eyes. Some dreadful invisible power\nwas upon him.\n\n\"Lost!\" he cried; and now his voice, too, was faint as a murmur in a\nshell. But the Soul smiled.\n\nThen the Will grew grey as a willow-leaf aslant in the wind; and as the\nshadow of a reed wavered in the wind; and as a reed's shadow is and is\nnot, so was he suddenly no more.\n\nBut, in the miracle of a moment, the Soul appeared in the triple mystery\nof substance, and mind, and spirit. In full and joyous life the Will\nstood re-born, and now we three were one again.\n\nI looked for the last time on that which had been our home. The lifeless\nthing lay, most terribly still and strange; yet with a dignity that\ncame as a benediction, for this dead temple of life had yielded to a\ndivine law, allied not to shadow and decay, but to the recurrent spring,\nto the eternal ebb and flow, to the infinite processional. It is we of\nthe human clan only who are troubled by the vast waste and refuse of\nlife. There is not any such waste, neither in the myriad spawn nor the\nmyriad seed: a Spirit sows by the law we do not see, and reaps by a law\nwe do not know.\n\nThen I turned and went to the western window. I saw that the Inn stood\nupon the Hills of Dream, yet, when I looked within, I knew that I was\nagain in my familiar home. Once more, beyond the fuchsia bushes, the sea\nsighed, as it felt the long shore with a continuous foamless wave. In\nthe little room below, the lamp was lit; for the glow fell warmly upon\nthe gravel path, shell-bordered, and upon the tufted mignonette,\nsea-pinks, and feathery southernwood. The sound of hushed voices rose.\n\nAnd now the dawn is come, and I have written this record of what we, who\nare now indeed one, but far more truly and intimately than before, went\nout to seek. In another hour I shall go hence, a wayfarer again. I have\na long road to travel, but am sustained by joy, and uplifted by a great\nhope. When, tired, I lay down the pen, and with it the last of mortal\nuses, it will be to face the glory of a new day. I have no fear. I shall\nnot leave all I have loved, for I have that in me which binds me to this\nbeautiful world, for another life at least, it may be for many lives.\nAnd that within me which dreamed and hoped shall now more gladly and\nwonderfully dream, and hope, and seek, and know, and see ever deeper and\nfurther into the mystery of beauty and truth. And that within me which\n_knew_, now _knows_. In the deepest sense there is no spiritual dream\nthat is not true, no hope that shall for ever go famished, no tears that\nshall not be gathered into the brooding skies of compassion, to fall\nagain in healing dews.\n\nWhat the Body could not, nor ever could see, and what to the Will was a\ndarkness, or at best a bewildering mist, is now clear. There are\nmysteries of which I cannot write; not from any occult secret, but\nbecause they are so simple and inevitable, that, like the mystery of day\nand night, or the change of the seasons, or life and death, they must be\nlearned by each, in his own way, in his own hour. It is not out of their\nlight that I see; it is by these stars that I set forth, where else I\nshould be as a shadow upon a trackless waste.\n\nBut Love, I am come to realise, is the supreme deflecting force. Love\n\"unloosens sins,\" unites failure, disintegrates the act; not by an\ninconceivable conflict with the immutable law of consequence, but by\ndeflection. For the divine love follows the life, and turns and meets it\nat last, and in that meeting deflects: so that that which is mortal,\nevil, and what is of the mortal law, the act, sinks; and on the forehead\nof the divine law that which is alone inevitable survives and moves\nonward in the rhythm that is life. When we understand the mystery of\nRedemption, we shall understand what Love is. The expiatory is an\nunknown attribute in the Divine. Expiation is but the earthly\nburnt-offering of that in us that is mortal: Redemption, which is the\nspiritual absorption of the expiation due to others, and the measureless\nrestitution in love of wrong humbly brought to the soul and consumed\nthere--so that it issues a living force to meet and deflect--is the\nliving witness in that of us which is immortal. Those who wrong us do\nindeed become our saviours. It is _their_ expiation that we make _ours_:\nthey must go free of us; and when they come again and discrown us, then\nin love we shall be at one and equal. So far, words may clothe thought;\nbut, beyond, the soul knows there is no expiation. Except you redeem\nyourself, there is no God. Forgiveness is the dream of little children:\nbeautiful because thus far we see and know, but no farther.\n\nI see now what madness it was, as so often happened, to despise the\nbody. But one mystery has become clear to me through this strange quest\nof ours--though when I say \"I,\" or \"our,\" I know not whether it is the\nBody or the Will or the Soul that speaks, till I remember that triune\nmarriage at the deathbed, and know that while each is consciously\neach--the one with memory, the other with knowledge and hope, the third\nwith wisdom and faith--we are yet one, as are the yellow and the white\nand the violet in the single flame in this candle beside me. And this\nmystery is, that the body was not built of life-warmed clay merely to be\nthe house of the soul. Were it so, were the soul unwed to its mortal\ncomrades, it would be no more than a moment's uplifted wave on an\ninfinite sea. Without memory, without hope, it would be no more than a\nbreath of the Spirit. But before the Divine Power moulded us into\nsubstance, we were shaped by it in form. And form is, in the spiritual\nlaw, what the crystal is in the chemic law.\n\nFor now I see clearly that the chief end of the body is to enable the\nsoul to come into intimate union with the natural law, so that it may\nfulfil the divine law of Form, and be at one with all created life and\nyet be for ever itself and individual. By itself the soul would only\nvainly aspire; it has to learn to remember, to become at one with the\nwind and the grass and with all that lives and moves; to take its life\nfrom the root of the body, and its green life from the mind, and its\nflower and fragrance from what it may of itself obtain, not only from\nthis world, but from its own dews, its own rainbows, dawn stars and\nevening stars, and vast incalculable fans of time and death. And this I\nhave learned: that there is no absolute Truth, no absolute Beauty, even\nfor the Soul. It may be that in the Divine Forges we shall be so moulded\nas to have perfect vision. Meanwhile only that Truth is deepest, that\nBeauty highest which is seen, not by the Soul only, or by the Mind, or\nby the Body, but all three as one. Let each be perfect in kind and\nperfect in unity. This is the signal meaning of the mystery. It is so\ninevitable that it has its blind descent to fetich as well as its divine\nascension. But the ignoble use does not annul the noble purport, any\nmore than the blindness of many obscures the dream of one.\n\nThere could be no life hereafter for the soul were it not for the body,\nand what were that life without the mind, the child of both, whom the\nancient seers knew and named Mnemosyne? Without memory life would be a\nvoid breath, immortality a vacuum.\n\nAh, the glory of the lifting light! The new day is come. Farewell.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[1] The Aztec word _Ehecatl_, which signifies alike the Wind (or\nBreath), Shadow, and Soul.\n\n\n\n\nIONA\n\n\n  \"_There are moments when the soul takes wings: what it has to\n  remember, it remembers: what it loves, it loves still more: what it\n  longs for, to that it flies._\"\n\n\n\n\nIona\n\n\nA few places in the world are to be held holy, because of the love which\nconsecrates them and the faith which enshrines them. Their names are\nthemselves talismans of spiritual beauty. Of these is Iona.\n\nThe Arabs speak of Mecca as a holy place before the time of the prophet,\nsaying that Adam himself lies buried here: and, before Adam, that the\nSons of Allah, who are called Angels, worshipped; and that when Allah\nHimself stood upon perfected Earth it was on this spot. And here, they\nadd, when there is no man left upon earth, an angel shall gather up the\ndust of this world, and say to Allah, \"There is nothing left of the\nwhole earth but Mecca: and now Mecca is but the few grains of sand that\nI hold in the hollow of my palm, O Allah.\"\n\nIn spiritual geography Iona is the Mecca of the Gael.\n\nIt is but a small isle, fashioned of a little sand, a few grasses salt\nwith the spray of an ever-restless wave, a few rocks that wade in\nheather and upon whose brows the sea-wind weaves the yellow lichen. But\nsince the remotest days sacrosanct men have bowed here in worship. In\nthis little island a lamp was lit whose flame lighted pagan Europe, from\nthe Saxon in his fens to the swarthy folk who came by Greek waters to\ntrade the Orient. Here Learning and Faith had their tranquil home, when\nthe shadow of the sword lay upon all lands, from Syracuse by the\nTyrrhene Sea to the rainy isles of Orcc. From age to age, lowly hearts\nhave never ceased to bring their burthen here. Iona herself has given us\nfor remembrance a fount of youth more wonderful than that which lies\nunder her own boulders of Dun-I. And here Hope waits.\n\nTo tell the story of Iona is to go back to God, and to end in God.\n\n\nBut to write of Iona, there are many ways of approach. No place that has\na spiritual history can be revealed to those who know nothing of it by\nfacts and descriptions. The approach may be through the obscure glens of\nanother's mind and so out by the moonlit way, as well as by the track\nthat thousands travel. I have nothing to say of Iona's acreage, or\nfisheries, or pastures: nothing of how the islanders live. These things\nare the accidental. There is small difference in simple life anywhere.\nMoreover, there are many to tell all that need be known.\n\nThere is one Iona, a little island of the west. There is another Iona,\nof which I would speak. I do not say that it lies open to all. It is as\nwe come that we find. If we come, bringing nothing with us, we go away\nill-content, having seen and heard nothing of what we had vaguely\nexpected to see or hear. It is another Iona than the Iona of sacred\nmemories and prophecies: Iona the metropolis of dreams. None can\nunderstand it who does not see it through its pagan light, its Christian\nlight, its singular blending of paganism and romance and spiritual\nbeauty. There is, too, an Iona that is more than Gaelic, that is more\nthan a place rainbow-lit with the seven desires of the world, the Iona\nthat, if we will it so, is a mirror of your heart and of mine.\n\nHistory may be written in many ways, but I think that in days to come\nthe method of spiritual history will be found more suggestive than the\nmethod of statistical history. The one will, in its own way, reveal\ninward life, and hidden significance, and palpable destiny: as the\nother, in the good but narrow way of convention, does with exactitude\ndelineate features, narrate facts, and relate events. The true\ninterpreter will as little despise the one as he will claim all for the\nother.\n\nAnd that is why I would speak here of Iona as befalls my pen, rather\nthan as perhaps my pen should go: and choose legend and remembrance, and\nmy own and other memories and associations, and knowledge of my own and\nothers, and hidden meanings, and beauty and strangeness surviving in\ndreams and imaginations, rather than facts and figures, that others\ncould adduce more deftly and with more will.\n\n\nIn the _Felire na Naomh Nerennach_ is a strangely beautiful if fantastic\nlegend of one Mochaoi, Abbot of n'-Aondruim in Uladh. With some\ncompanions he was at the edge of a wood, and while busy in cutting\nwattles wherewith to build a church, \"he heard a bright bird singing on\nthe blackthorn near him. It was more beautiful than the birds of the\nworld.\" Mochaoi listened entranced. There was more in that voice than in\nthe throat of any bird he had ever heard, so he stopped his\nwattle-cutting, and, looking at the bird, courteously asked who was\nthus delighting him. The bird at once answered, \"A man of the people of\nmy Lord\" (that is, an angel). \"Hail,\" said Mochaoi, \"and for why that, O\nbird that is an angel?\" \"I am come here by command to encourage you in\nyour good work, but also, because of the love in your heart, to amuse\nyou for a time with my sweet singing.\" \"I am glad of that,\" said the\nsaint. Thereupon the bird sang a single surpassing sweet air, and then\nfixed his beak in the feathers of his wing, and slept. But Mochaoi heard\nthe beauty and sweetness and infinite range of that song for three\nhundred years. Three hundred years were in that angelic song, but to\nMochaoi it was less than an hour. For three hundred years he remained\nlistening, in the spell of beauty: nor in that enchanted hour did any\nage come upon him, or any withering upon the wattles he had gathered;\nnor in the wood itself did a single leaf turn to a red or yellow flame\nbefore his eyes. Where the spider spun her web, she spun no more: where\nthe dove leaned her grey breast from the fir, she leaned still.\n\nThen suddenly the bird took its beak from its wing-feathers, and said\nfarewell. When it was gone, Mochaoi lifted his wattles, and went\nhomeward as one in a dream. He stared, when he looked for the little\nwattled cells of the Sons of Patrick. A great church built of stone\nstood before his wondering eyes. A man passed him, and told the stranger\nthat it was the church of St. Mochaoi. When he spoke to the assembled\nbrothers, none knew him: some thought he had been taken away by the\npeople of the Shee, and come back at fairy-nightfall, which is the last\nhour of the last day of three hundred years. \"Tell us your name and\nlineage,\" they cried. \"I am Mochaoi, Abbot of n'-Aondruim,\" he said, and\nthen he told his tale, and they knew him, and made him abbot again. In\nthe enchanted wood a shrine was built, and about it a church grew, \"and\nsurpassingly white angels often alighted there, or sang hymns to it from\nthe branches of the forest trees, or leaned with their foot on tiptoe,\ntheir eyes on the horizon, their ear on the ground, their wings\nflapping, their bodies trembling, waiting to send tidings of prayer and\nrepentance with a beat of their wings to the King of the Everlasting.\"\n\nThere are many who thought that Mochaoi was dead, when he was seen no\nmore of his fellow-monks at the forest monastery of n'Aondruim in Uladh.\nBut his chronicler knew: \"a sleep without decay of the body Mochaoi of\nAntrim slept.\"\n\nI am reminded of the story of Mochaoi when I think of Iona. I think she\ntoo, beautiful isle, while gathering the help of human longing and tears\nand hopes, strewn upon her beaches by wild waves of the world, stood,\nenchanted, to listen to a Song of Beauty. \"That is a new voice I hear in\nthe wave,\" we can dream of her saying, and of the answer: \"we are the\nangelic flocks of the Shepherd: we are the Voices of the Eternal: listen\na while!\"\n\nIt has been a long sleep, that enchanted swoon. But Mochaoi awoke, after\nthree hundred years, and there was neither time upon his head, nor age\nin his body, nor a single withered leaf of the forest at his feet. And\nshall not that be possible for the Isle of Dreams, whose sands are the\ndust of martyrs and noble and beautiful lives, which was granted to one\nman by \"one of the people of my Lord?\"\n\n\nWhen I think of Iona I think often, too, of a prophecy once connected\nwith Iona; though perhaps current no more in a day when prophetical\nhopes are fallen dumb and blind.\n\nIt is commonly said that, if he would be heard, none should write in\nadvance of his times. That I do not believe. Only, it does not matter\nhow few listen. I believe that we are close upon a great and deep\nspiritual change. I believe a new redemption is even now conceived of\nthe Divine Spirit in the human heart, that is itself as a woman, broken\nin dreams, and yet sustained in faith, patient, long-suffering, looking\ntowards home. I believe that though the Reign of Peace may be yet a long\nway off, it is drawing near: and that Who shall save us anew shall come\ndivinely as a Woman, to save as Christ saved, but not, as He did, to\nbring with Her a sword. But whether this Divine Woman, this Mary of so\nmany passionate hopes and dreams, is to come through mortal birth, or as\nan immortal Breathing upon our souls, none can yet know.\n\nSometimes I dream of the old prophecy that Christ shall come again upon\nIona, and of that later and obscure prophecy which foretells, now as the\nBride of Christ, now as the Daughter of God, now as the Divine Spirit\nembodied through mortal birth in a Woman, as once through mortal birth\nin a Man, the coming of a new Presence and Power: and dream that this\nmay be upon Iona, so that the little Gaelic island may become as the\nlittle Syrian Bethlehem. But more wise it is to dream, not of hallowed\nground, but of the hallowed gardens of the soul wherein She shall appear\nwhite and radiant. Or, that upon the hills, where we are wandered, the\nShepherdess shall call us home.\n\nFrom one man only, on Iona itself, I have heard any allusion to the\nprophecy as to the Saviour who shall yet come: and he in part was\nobscure, and confused the advent of Mary into the spiritual world with\nthe possible coming again to earth of Mary, as another Redeemer, or with\na descending of the Divine Womanhood upon the human heart as a universal\nspirit descending upon awaiting souls. But in intimate remembrance I\nrecall the words and faith of one or two whom I loved well. Nor must I\nforget that my old nurse, Barabal, used to sing a strange \"oran,\" to the\neffect that when St. Bride came again to Iona it would be to bind the\nhair and wash the feet of the Bride of Christ.\n\nOne of those to whom I allude was a young Hebridean priest, who died in\nVenice, after troubled years, whose bitterest vicissitude was the\nclouding of his soul's hope by the wings of a strange multitude of\ndreams--one of whom and whose end I have elsewhere written: and he told\nme once how, \"as our forefathers and elders believed and still believe,\nthat Holy Spirit shall come again which once was mortally born among us\nas the Son of God, but, then, shall be the Daughter of God. The Divine\nSpirit shall come again as a Woman. Then for the first time the world\nwill know peace.\" And when I asked him if it were not prophesied that\nthe Woman is to be born in Iona, he said that if this prophecy had been\nmade it was doubtless of an Iona that was symbolic, but that this was a\nmatter of no moment, for She would rise suddenly in many hearts, and\nhave her habitation among dreams and hopes. The other who spoke to me of\nthis Woman who is to save was an old fisherman of a remote island of the\nHebrides, and one to whom I owe more than to any other spiritual\ninfluence in my childhood, for it was he who opened to me the three\ngates of Beauty. Once this old man, Seumas Macleod, took me with him to\na lonely haven in the rocks, and held me on his knee as we sat watching\nthe sun sink and the moon climb out of the eastern wave. I saw no one,\nbut abruptly he rose and put me from him, and bowed his grey head as he\nknelt before one who suddenly was standing in that place. I asked\neagerly who it was. He told me that it was an Angel. Later, I learned (I\nremember my disappointment that the beautiful vision was not winged with\ngreat white wings) that the Angel was one soft flame of pure white, and\nthat below the soles of his feet were curling scarlet flames. He had\ncome in answer to the old man's prayer. He had come to say that we could\nnot see the Divine One whom we awaited. \"But you will yet see that Holy\nBeauty,\" said the Angel, and Seumas believed, and I too believed, and\nbelieve. He took my hand, and I knelt beside him, and he bade me repeat\nthe words he said. And that was how I first prayed to Her who shall yet\nbe the Balm of the World.\n\nAnd since then I have learned, and do see, that not only prophecies and\nhopes, and desires unclothed yet in word or thought, foretell her\ncoming, but already a multitude of spirits are in the gardens of the\nsoul, and are sowing seed and calling upon the wind of the south; and\nthat everywhere are watching eyes and uplifted hands, and signs which\ncannot be mistaken, in many lands, in many peoples, in many minds; and,\nin the heaven itself that the soul sees, the surpassing signature.\n\nI recall one whom I knew, a fisherman of the little green island: and I\ntell this story of Coll here, for it is to me more than the story of a\ndreaming islander. One night, lying upon the hillock that is called\nCnoc-nan-Aingeal, because it is here that St. Colum was wont to hold\nconverse with an angel out of heaven, he watched the moonlight move like\na slow fin through the sea: and in his heart were desires as infinite as\nthe waves of the sea, the moving homes of the dead.\n\nAnd while he lay and dreamed, his thoughts idly adrift as a net in deep\nwaters, he closed his eyes, muttering the Gaelic words of an old line,\n\n_In the Isle of Dreams God shall yet fulfil Himself anew_.\n\nHearing a footfall, he stirred. A man stood beside him. He did not know\nthe man, who was young, and had eyes dark as hill-tarns, with hair light\nand soft as thistledown; and moved light as a shadow, delicately\ntreading the grass as the wind treads it. In his hair he had twined the\nfantastic leaf of the horn-poppy.\n\nThe islander did not move or speak: it was as though a spell were upon\nhim.\n\n\"God be with you,\" he said at last, uttering the common salutation.\n\n\"And with you, Coll mac Coll,\" answered the stranger. Coll looked at\nhim. Who was this man, with the sea-poppy in his hair, who, unknown,\nknew him by name? He had heard of one whom he did not wish to meet, the\nGreen Harper: also of a grey man of the sea whom islesmen seldom alluded\nto by name: again, there was the Amadan Dhu ... but at that name Coll\nmade the sign of the cross, and remembering what Father Allan had told\nhim in South Uist, muttered a holy exorcism of the Trinity.\n\nThe man smiled.\n\n\"You need have no fear, Coll mac Coll,\" he said quietly.\n\n\"You that know my name so well are welcome, but if you in turn would\ntell me your name I should be glad.\"\n\n\"I have no name that I can tell you,\" answered the stranger gravely;\n\"but I am not of those who are unfriendly. And because you can see me\nand speak to me, I will help you to whatsoever you may wish.\"\n\nColl laughed.\n\n\"Neither you nor any man can do that. For now that I have neither father\nnor mother, nor brother nor sister, and my lass too is dead, I wish\nneither for sheep nor cattle, nor for new nets and a fine boat, nor a\nbig house, nor as much money as MacCailein Mor has in the bank at\nInveraora.\"\n\n\"What then do you wish for, Coll mac Coll?\"\n\n\"I do not wish for what cannot be, or I would wish to see again the dear\nface of Morag, my lass. But I wish for all the glory and wonder and\npower there is in the world, and to have it all at my feet, and to know\neverything that the Holy Father himself knows, and have kings coming to\nme as the crofters come to MacCailein Mor's factor.\"\n\n\"You can have that, Coll mac Coll,\" said the Green Harper, and he waved\na withe of hazel he had in his hand.\n\n\"What is that for?\" said Coll.\n\n\"It is to open a door that is in the air. And now, Coll, if that is your\nwish of all wishes, and you will give up all other wishes for that wish,\nyou can have the sovereignty of the world. Ay, and more than that: you\nshall have the sun like a golden jewel in the hollow of your right hand,\nand all the stars as pearls in your left, and have the moon as a white\nshining opal above your brows, with all knowledge behind the sun, within\nthe moon, and beyond the stars.\"\n\nColl's face shone. He stood, waiting. Just then he heard a familiar\nsound in the dusk. The tears came into his eyes.\n\n\"Give me instead,\" he cried, \"give me a warm breast-feather from that\ngrey dove of the woods that is winging home to her young.\" He looked as\none moon-dazed. None stood beside him. He was alone. Was it a dream, he\nwondered? But a weight was lifted from his heart. Peace fell upon him as\ndew upon grey pastures. Slowly he walked homeward. Once, glancing back,\nhe saw a white figure upon the knoll, with a face noble and beautiful.\nWas it Colum himself come again? he mused: or that white angel with whom\nthe Saint was wont to discourse, and who brought him intimacies of God?\nor was it but the wave-fire of his dreaming mind, as lonely and cold and\nunreal as that which the wind of the south makes upon the wandering\nhearths of the sea?\n\nI tell this story of Coll here, for, as I have said, it is to me more\nthan the story of a dreaming islander. He stands for the soul of a race.\nIt is because, to me, he stands for the sorrowful genius of our race,\nthat I have spoken of him here. Below all the strife of lesser desires,\nbelow all that he has in common with other men, he has the livelong\nunquenchable thirst for the things of the spirit. This is the thirst\nthat makes him turn so often from the near securities and prosperities,\nand indeed all beside, setting his heart aflame with vain, because\nillimitable, desires. For him, the wisdom before which knowledge is a\nfrosty breath: the beauty that is beyond what is beautiful. For, like\nColl, the world itself has not enough to give him. And at the last, and\nabove all, he is like Coll in this, that the sun and moon and stars\nthemselves may become as trampled dust, for only a breast-feather of\nthat Dove of the Eternal, which may have its birth in mortal love, but\nhas its evening home where are the dews of immortality.\n\n\n\"The Dove of the Eternal.\" It was from the lips of an old priest of the\nHebrides that I first heard these words. I was a child, and asked him if\nit was a white dove, such as I had seen fanning the sunglow in\nIcolmkill.\n\n\"Yes,\" he told me, \"the Dove is white, and it was beloved of Colum, and\nis of you, little one, and of me.\"\n\n\"Then it is not dead?\"\n\n\"It is not dead.\"\n\nI was in a more wild and rocky isle than Iona then, and when I went\ninto a solitary place close by my home it was to a stony wilderness so\ndesolate that in many moods I could not bear it. But that day, though\nthere were no sheep lying beside boulders as grey and still, nor\nwhinnying goats (creatures that have always seemed to me strangely\nhomeless, so that, as a child, it was often my noon-fancy on hot days to\nplay to them on a little reed-flute I was skilled in making, thwarting\nthe hill-wind at the small holes to the fashioning of a rude furtive\nmusic, which I believed comforted the goats, though why I did not know,\nand probably did not try to know): and though I could hear nothing but\nthe soft, swift, slipping feet of the wind among the rocks and grass and\na noise of the tide crawling up from a shore hidden behind crags\n(beloved of swallows for the small honey-flies which fed upon the\nthyme): still, on that day, I was not ill at ease, nor in any way\ndisquieted. But before me I saw a white rock-dove, and followed it\ngladly. It flew circling among the crags, and once I thought it had\npassed seaward; but it came again, and alit on a boulder.\n\nI went upon my knees, and prayed to it, and, as nearly as I can\nremember, in these words:--\n\n\"O Dove of the Eternal, I want to love you, and you to love me: and if\nyou live on Iona, I want you to show me, when I go there again, the\nplace where Colum the Holy talked with an angel. And I want to live as\nlong as you, Dove\" (I remember thinking this might seem disrespectful,\nand that I added hurriedly and apologetically), \"Dove of the Eternal.\"\n\nThat evening I told Father Ivor what I had done. He did not laugh at me.\nHe took me on his knee, and stroked my hair, and for a long time was so\nsilent that I thought he was dreaming. He put me gently from him, and\nkneeled at the chair, and made this simple prayer which I have never\nforgotten: \"O Dove of the Eternal, grant the little one's prayer.\"\n\nThat is a long while ago now, and I have sojourned since in Iona, and\nthere and elsewhere known the wild doves of thought and dream. But I\nhave not, though I have longed, seen again the White Dove that Colum so\nloved. For long I thought it must have left Iona and Barra too, when\nFather Ivor died.\n\nYet I have not forgotten that it is not dead. \"I want to live as long as\nyou,\" was my child's plea: and the words of the old priest, knowing and\nbelieving were, \"O Dove of the Eternal, grant the little one's prayer.\"\n\n\nIt was not in Barra, but in Iona, that, while yet a child, I set out one\nevening to find the Divine Forges. A Gaelic sermon, preached on the\nshoreside by an earnest man, who, going poor and homeless through the\nwest, had tramped the long roads of Mull over against us, and there fed\nto flame a smouldering fire, had been my ministrant in these words. The\n\"revivalist\" had spoken of God as one who would hammer the evil out of\nthe soul and weld it to good, as a blacksmith at his anvil: and\nsuddenly, with a dramatic gesture, he cried: \"This little island of Iona\nis this anvil; God is your blacksmith: but oh, poor people, who among\nyou knows the narrow way to the Divine Forges?\"\n\nThere is a spot on Iona that has always had a strange enchantment for\nme. Behind the ruined walls of the Columban church, the <DW72>s rise, and\nthe one isolated hill of Iona is, there, a steep and sudden wilderness.\nIt is commonly called Dun-I (_Doon-ee_), for at the summit in old days\nwas an island fortress; but the Gaelic name of the whole of this\nuplifted shoulder of the isle is Slibh Meanach. Hidden under a wave of\nheath and boulder, near the broken rocks, is a little pool. From\ngeneration to generation this has been known, and frequented, as the\nFountain of Youth.\n\nThere, through boggy pastures, where the huge-horned shaggy cattle\nstared at me, and up through the ling and roitch, I climbed: for, if\nanywhere, I thought that from there I might see the Divine Forges, or at\nleast might discover a hidden way, because of the power of that water,\ntouched on the eyelids at sunlift, at sunset, or at the rising of the\nmoon.\n\nFrom where I stood I could see the people still gathered upon the dunes\nby the shore, and the tall, ungainly figure of the preacher. In the\nnarrow strait were two boats, one being rowed across to Fionnaphort, and\nthe other, with a dun sail burning flame-brown, hanging like a bird's\nwing against Glas Eilean, on the tideway to the promontory of Earraid.\nWas the preacher still talking of the Divine Forges? I wondered; or were\nthe men and women in the ferry hurrying across to the Ross of Mull to\nlook for them among the inland hills? And the Earraid men in the\nfishing-smack: were they sailing to see if they lay hidden in the\nwilderness of rocks, where the muffled barking of the seals made the\nloneliness more wild and remote?\n\nI wetted my eyelids, as I had so often done before (and not always\nvainly, though whether vision came from the water, or from a more\nquenchless spring within, I know not), and looked into the little pool.\nAlas! I could see nothing but the reflection of a star, too obscured by\nlight as yet for me to see in the sky, and, for a moment, the shadow of\na gull's wing as the bird flew by far overhead. I was too young then to\nbe content with the symbols of coincidence, or I might have thought that\nthe shadow of a wing from Heaven, and the light of a star out of the\nEast, were enough indication. But, as it was, I turned, and walked idly\nnorthward, down the rough side of Dun Bhuirg (at Cul Bhuirg, a furlong\nwestward, I had once seen a phantom, which I believed to be that of the\nCuldee, Oran, and so never went that way again after sundown) to a\nthyme-covered mound that had for me a most singular fascination.\n\nIt is a place to this day called Dun Mananain. Here, a friend who told\nme many things, a Gaelic farmer named Macarthur, had related once a\nfantastic legend about a god of the sea. Manaun was his name, and he\nlived in the times when Iona was part of the kingdom of the Suderoeer.\nWhenever he willed he was like the sea, and that is not wonderful, for\nhe was born of the sea. Thus his body was made of a green wave. His hair\nwas of wrack and tangle, glistening with spray; his robe was of windy\nfoam; his feet, of white sand. That is, when he was with his own, or\nwhen he willed; otherwise, he was as men are. He loved a woman of the\nsouth so beautiful that she was named Dear-sadh-na-Ghrene (Sunshine). He\ncaptured her and brought her to Iona in September, when it is the month\nof peace. For one month she was happy: when the wet gales from the west\nset in, she pined for her own land: yet in the dream-days of November,\nshe smiled so often that Manaun hoped; but when Winter was come, her\nlover saw that she could not live. So he changed her into a seal. \"You\nshall be a sleeping woman by day,\" he said, \"and sleep in my dun here on\nIona: and by night, when the dews fall, you shall be a seal, and shall\nhear me calling to you from a wave, and shall come out and meet me.\"\n\nThey have mortal offspring also, it is said.\n\nThere is a story of a man who went to the mainland, but could not see to\nplough, because the brown fallows became waves that splashed noisily\nabout him. The same man went to Canada, and got work in a great\nwarehouse; but among the bales of merchandise he heard the singular note\nof the sandpiper, and every hour the sea-fowl confused him with their\ncrying.\n\nProbably some thought was in my mind that there, by Dun Mananain, I\nmight find a hidden way. That summer I had been thrilled to the inmost\nlife by coming suddenly, by moonlight, on a seal moving across the last\nsand-dune between this place and the bay called Port Ban. A strange\nvoice, too, I heard upon the sea. True, I saw no white arms upthrown, as\nthe seal plunged into the long wave that swept the shore; and it was a\ngrey skua that wailed above me, winging inland; yet had I not had a\nvision of the miracle?\n\nBut alas! that evening there was not even a barking seal. Some sheep fed\nupon the green <DW72> of Manaun's mound.\n\n\nSo, still seeking a way to the Divine Forges, I skirted the shore and\ncrossed the sandy plain of the Machar, and mounted the upland district\nknown as Sliav Starr (the Hill of Noises), and walked to a place, to me\nsacred. This was a deserted green airidh between great rocks. From here\nI could look across the extreme western part of Iona, to where it\nshelved precipitously around the little Port-na-Churaich, the Haven of\nthe Coracle, the spot where St. Columba landed when he came to the\nisland.\n\nI knew every foot of ground here, as every cave along the wave-worn\nshore. How often I had wandered in these solitudes, to see the great\nspout of water rise through the grass from the caverns beneath, forced\nupward when tide and wind harried the sea-flocks from the north; or to\nlook across the ocean to the cliffs of Antrim, from the Carn cul Ri\nEirinn, the Cairn of the Hermit King of Ireland, about whom I had woven\nmany a romance.\n\nI was tired, and fell asleep. Perhaps the Druid of a neighbouring mound,\nor the lonely Irish King, or Colum himself (whose own Mound of the\nOutlook was near), or one of his angels who ministered to him, watched,\nand shepherded my dreams to the desired fold. At least I dreamed, and\nthus:--\n\nThe skies to the west beyond the seas were not built of flushed clouds,\nbut of transparent flame. These flames rose in solemn stillness above a\nvast forge, whose anvil was the shining breast of the sea. Three great\nSpirits stood by it, and one lifted a soul out of the deep shadow that\nwas below; and one with his hands forged the soul of its dross and\nwelded it anew; and the third breathed upon it, so that it was winged\nand beautiful. Suddenly the glory-cloud waned, and I saw the multitude\nof the stars. Each star was the gate of a long, shining road. Many--a\ncountless number--travelled these roads. Far off I saw white walls,\nbuilt of the pale gold and ivory of sunrise. There again I saw the three\nSpirits, standing and waiting. So these, I thought, were not the walls\nof Heaven, but the Divine Forges.\n\nThat was my dream. When I awaked, the curlews were crying under the\nstars.\n\nWhen I reached the shadowy glebe, behind the manse by the sea, I saw the\npreacher walking there by himself, and doubtless praying. I told him I\nhad seen the Divine Forges, and twice; and in crude, childish words told\nhow I had seen them.\n\n\"It is not a dream,\" he said.\n\nI know now what he meant.\n\n\nIt would seem to be difficult for most of us to believe that what has\nperished can be reborn. It is the same whether we look upon the dust of\nancient cities, broken peoples, nations that stand and wait, old\nfaiths, defeated dreams. It is so hard to believe that what has fallen\nmay arise. Yet we have perpetual symbols; the tree, that the winds of\nAutumn ravage and the Spring restores; the trodden weed, that in April\nawakes white and fragrant; the swallow, that in the south remembers the\nnorth. We forget the ebbing wave that from the sea-depths comes again:\nthe Day, shod with sunrise while his head is crowned with stars.\n\nFar-seeing was the vision of the old Gael, who prophesied that Iona\nwould never wholly cease to be \"the lamp of faith,\" but would in the end\nshine forth as gloriously as of yore, and that, after dark days, a new\nhope would go hence into the world. But before that (and he prophesied\nwhen the island was in its greatness)--\n\n    \"Man tig so gu crich\n    Bithidh I mar a bha,\n    Gun a ghuth mannaich\n    Findh shalchar ba ...\"\n\nquaint old-world Erse words, which mean--\n\n    \"Before this happens,\n    Iona will be as it was,\n    Without the voice of a monk,\n    Under the dung of cows.\"[2]\n\nAnd truly enough the little island was for long given over to the\nsea-wind, whose mournful chant even now fills the ruins where once the\nmonks sang matins and evensong; for generations, sheep and long-horned\nshaggy kine found their silent pastures in the wilderness that of old\nwas \"this our little seabounded Garden of Eden.\"\n\nBut now that Iona has been \"as it was,\" the other and greater change may\nyet be, may well have already come.\n\nStrange, that to this day none knows with surety the derivation or\noriginal significance of the name Iona. Many ingenious guesses have been\nmade, but of these some are obviously far-fetched, others are impossible\nin Gaelic, and all but impossible to the mind of any Gael speaking his\nancient tongue. Nearly all these guesses concern the Iona of Columba:\nfew attempt the name of the sacred island of the Druids. Another people\nonce lived here with a forgotten faith; possibly before the Picts there\nwas yet another, who worshipped at strange altars and bowed down before\nShadow and Fear, the earliest of the gods.\n\nThe most improbable derivation is one that finds much acceptance. When\nColumba and his few followers were sailing northward from the isle of\nOronsay, in quest, it is said, of this sacred island of the Druids,\nsuddenly one of the monks cried _sud i_ (_? siod e!_) \"yonder it!\" With\nsudden exultation Columba exclaimed, _Mar sud bithe I, goir thear II_,\n\"Be it so, and let it be called I\" (I or EE). We are not the wiser for\nthis obviously monkish invention. It accounts for a syllable only, and\nseems like an effort to explain the use of _I_ (II, Y, Hy, Hee) for\n\"island\" in place of the vernacular Innis, Inch, Eilean, etc. Except in\nconnection with Iona I doubt if _I_ for island is ever now used in\nmodern Gaelic. Icolmkill is familiar: the anglicised Gaelic of the Isle\nof Colum of the Church. But it is doubtful if any now living has ever\nheard a Gael speak of an island as _I_; I doubt if an instance could be\nadduced. On the other hand, _I_ might well have been, and doubtless is,\nused in written speech as a sign for Innis, as _'s_ is the common\nwriting of _agus_, and. As for the ancient word _Idh_ or _Iy_ I do not\nknow that its derivation has been ascertained, though certain Gaelic\nlinguists claim that _Idh_ and Innis are of the same root.\n\nI do not know on what authority, but an anonymous Gaelic writer, in an\naccount of Iona in 1771, alludes to the probability that Christianity\nwas introduced there before St. Columba's advent, and that the island\nwas already dedicated to the Apostle St. John, \"for it was originally\ncalled _I'Eoin_, i.e. the Isle of John, whence Iona.\" _I'eoin_ certainly\nis very close in sound, as a Gael would pronounce it, to Iona, and there\ncan be little doubt that the island had druids (whether Christian monks\nalso with or without) when Columba landed. Before Conall, King of Alba\n(as he was called, though only Dalriadic King of Argyll), invited Colum\nto Iona, to make that island his home and sanctuary, there were\ncertainly Christian monks on the island. Among them was the\nhalf-mythical Odran or Oran, who is chronicled in the _Annals of the\nFour Masters_ as having been a missionary priest, and as having died in\nIona fifteen years before Colum landed. Equally certainly there were\ndruids at this late date, though discredited of the Pictish king and his\npeople, for a Cymric priest of the old faith was at that time Ard-Druid.\nThis man Gwendollen, through his bard or second-druid Myrddin (Merlin),\ndeplored the persecution to which he was subject, in that now he and his\nno longer dared to practise the sacred druidical rites \"in raised\ncircles\"--adding bitterly, \"the grey stones themselves, even, they have\nremoved.\"\n\nAgain, Davies in his _Celtic Researches_ speaks of Colum as having on\nhis settlement in Iona burnt a heap of druidical books. It is at any\nrate certain that druidical believers (helots perhaps) remained to\nColum's time, even if the last druidic priest had left. In the explicit\naccounts which survive there is no word of any dispossession of the\ndruidic priests. It is more than likely that the Pictish king, who had\nbeen converted to Christianity, and gave the island to Columba by\nspecial grant, had either already seen Irish monks inhabit it, or at\nleast had withdrawn the lingering priests of the ancient faith of his\npeople. Neither Columba nor Adamnan nor any other early chronicler\nspeaks of Iona as held by the Druids when the little coracle with the\ncross came into Port-na-Churaich.\n\nOthers have derived the name from _Aon_, an isthmus, but the objections\nto this are that it is not applicable to the island, and perhaps never\nwas; and, again, the Gaelic pronunciation. Some have thought that the\nword, when given as _I-Eoin_, was intended, not for the Isle of John,\nbut the Isle of Birds. Here, again, the objection is that there is no\nreason why Iona should be called by a designation equally applicable to\nevery one of the numberless isles of the west. To the mountaineers of\nMull, however, the little low-lying seaward isle must have appeared the\nhaunt of the myriad sea-fowl of the Moyle; and if the name thus derives,\ndoubtless a Mull man gave it.\n\nAgain, it is said that Iona is a miswriting of _Ioua_, \"the avowed\nancient name of the island.\" It is easy to see how the scribes who\ncopied older manuscripts might have made the mistake; and easy to\nunderstand how, the mistake once become the habit, fanciful\ninterpretations were adduced to explain \"Iona.\"\n\nThere is little reasonable doubt that _Ioua_ was the ancient Gaelic or\nPictish name of the island. I have frequently seen allusions to its\nhaving been called Innis nan Dhruidnechean, or Dhruidhnean, the Isle of\nthe Druids: but that is not ancient Gaelic, and I do not think there is\nany record of Iona being so called in any of the early manuscripts.\nDoubtless it was a name given by the Shenachies or bardic story-tellers\nof a later date, though of course it is quite possible that Iona was of\nold commonly called the Isle of the Druids. In this connection I may put\non record that a few years ago I heard an old man of the western part of\nthe Long Island (Lewis), speak of the priests and ministers of to-day as\n\"druids\"; and once, in either Coll or Tiree, I heard a man say, in\nEnglish, alluding to the Established minister, \"Yes, yes, that will be\nthe way of it, for sure, for Mr. ---- is a wise druid.\" It might well\nbe, therefore, that in modern use the Isle of Druids signified only the\nIsle of Priests. There is a little island of the Outer Hebrides called\nInnis Chailleachan Dhubh--the isle of the black old women; and a legend\nhas grown up that witches once dwelt here and brewed storms and evil\nspells. But the name is not an ancient name, and was given not so long\nago, because of a small sisterhood of black-cowled nuns who settled\nthere.\n\nSt. Adamnan, ninth Abbot of Iona, writing at the end of the seventh\ncentury, invariably calls the island _Ioua_ or the _Iouan Island_.\nUnless the hypothesis of the careless scribes be accepted, this should\nbe conclusive.\n\nFor myself I do not believe that there has been any slip of _n_ for _u_.\nAnd I am confirmed in this opinion by the following circumstance. Three\nyears ago I was sailing on one of the sea-lochs of Argyll. My only\ncompanion was the boatman, and incidentally I happened to speak of some\nskerries (a group of sea-set rocks) off the Ross of Mull, similarly\nnamed to rocks in the narrow kyle we were then passing; and learned with\nsurprise that my companion knew them well, and was not only an Iona man,\nbut had lived on the island till he was twenty. I asked him about his\npeople, and when he found that I knew them he became more confidential.\nBut he professed a strange ignorance of all concerning Iona. There was\nan old Iona iorram, or boat-song, I was anxious to have: he had never\nheard of it. Still more did I desire some rendering or even some lines\nof an ancient chant of whose existence I knew, but had never heard\nrecited, even fragmentarily. He did not know of it: he \"did not know\nGaelic,\" that is, he remembered only a little of it. Well, no, he\nadded, perhaps he did remember some, \"but only just to talk to fishermen\nan' the like.\"\n\nSuddenly a squall came down out of the hills. The loch blackened. In a\nmoment a froth of angry foam drove in upon us, but the boat righted, and\nwe flew before the blast, as though an arrow shot by the wind. I noticed\na startling change in my companion. His blue eyes were wide and\nluminous; his lips twitched; his hands trembled. Suddenly he stooped\nslightly, laughed, cried some words I did not catch, and abruptly broke\ninto a fierce and strange sea-chant. It was no other than the old Iona\nrann I had so vainly sought!\n\nSome memory had awakened in the man, perhaps in part from what I had\nsaid--with the old spell of the sea, the old cry of the wind.\n\nThen he ceased abruptly, he relapsed, and with a sheepish exclamation\nand awkward movement shrank beside me. Alas, I could recall only a few\nlines; and I failed in every effort to persuade him to repeat the rann.\nBut I had heard enough to excite me, for again and again he had called\nor alluded to Iona by its ancient pre-Columban name of Ioua, and once at\nleast I was sure, from the words, that the chant was also to Ioua the\nMoon.\n\nThat night, however, he promised to tell me on the morrow all he could\nremember of the old Ioua chant. On the morrow, alas, he had to leave\nupon an unexpected business that could not be postponed, and before his\nreturn, three days later, I was gone. I have not seen him again, but it\nis to him I am indebted for the loan of an ancient manuscript map of\nIona, a copy of which I made and have by me still. It was an heirloom:\nby his own account had been in his family, in Iona, for seven\ngenerations, \"an it's Himself knows how much more.\" He had been to the\nisland the summer before, because of his father's death, and had brought\nthis coarsely painted and rudely framed map away with him. He told me\ntoo, that night, how the oldest folk on the island--\"some three or four\no' them, anyway; them as has the Gaelic\"--had the old Ioua chant in\ntheir minds. As a boy he had heard it at many a winter _ceilidh_. \"Ay,\nay, for sure, Iona was called Ioua in them old ancient days.\"\n\nMy friend also had a little book of his mother's which contained, in a\nneat hand, copies of Gaelic songs, among them some of the old Islay and\nSkye oar-chants of the _iorram_ kind. I recall an iorram that had\nhardly a word in it, but was only a series of barbaric cries, sometimes\nfull of lament (_ho-ro-aroo-arone_, _ho-ro_, _ah-hone_, _ah-hone_!),\nwhich was the Iona fisherman's song to entice seals to come near. I\nremember, too, the opening of a \"maighdean-mhara\" or mermaid song, by a\nlittle-known namesake of my own, a sister of Mary Macleod, \"the sweet\nsinger of the Hebrides,\" because it had as a heading (perhaps put there\nby the Iona scribe) some lines of Mary's that I liked well.\n\nI quote from memory, but these were to the effect that, in his home,\nwhat the Macleod loved, was playing at chess\n\n    _Agus fuaim air a chlarsaich\n    Gus e h'eachdraidh na dheigh sin\n    Greis air ursgeul na Feine_\n\n[_and the music of the harp, and the telling of tales of the feats of\nthe Feinn_ (the Fingalians).] There are not many now, I fear, who could\nfind entertainment thus, or care to sit before the peat-fires.\n\nOn one other occasion I have heard the name Ioua used by a fisherman. I\nwas at Strachnr, on Loch Fyne, and was speaking to the skipper of a\nboat's crew of Macleods from the Lews, when I was attracted by an old\nman. He knew my Uist friend, then at Strachur, who told me more than one\nstrange legend of the Sliochd-nan-Ron, the seal-men. I met the old man\nthat night before the peat-glow, and while he was narrating a story of a\nPrincess of Spain who married the King of Ireland's son, he spoke\nincidentally of their being wrecked on Iona, \"that was then called Ioua,\nay, an' that for one hundred and two hundred and three hundred years and\nthrice a hundred on the top o' that before it was Icolmkill.\"\n\nI did not know him, but a friend told me that the late Mr. Cameron, the\nminister of Brodick, in Arran, had the M.S. of an old Iona (or\nHebridean) iorram, in the refrain of which _Ioua_ was used throughout.\n\nNeither do I think the name the island now bears has anything in common\nwith _Ioua_. In a word, I am sure that the derivations of Iona are\ncommonly fanciful, and that the word is simply Gaelic for the Isle of\nSaints, and was so given it because of Columba and the abbots and monks\nwho succeeded him and his. In Gaelic, the letters _sh_ at the beginning\nof a word are invariably mute; so that _I-shona_, the Isle of Saints,\nwould be pronounced _Iona_. I think that any lingering doubt I had\nabout the meaning of the name went when I got the old map of which I\nhave spoken, and found that in the left corner was written in large rude\nletters _II-SHONA_.\n\n\nHow great a man was the Irish monk Crimthan, called Colum, the Dove:\nColumcille, the Dove of the Church. One may read all that has been\nwritten of him since the sixth century, and not reach the depths of his\nnature. I doubt if any other than a Gael can understand him aright. More\nthan any Celt of whom history tells, he is the epitome of the Celt. In\nwar, Cuchullin himself was not more brave and resourceful. Finn, calling\nhis champions to the pursuit of Grania, or Oisin boasting of the Fianna\nbefore Patrick, was not more arrogant, yet his tenderness could be as\nhis Master's was, and he could be as gentle as a young mother with her\nchild, and had a child's simplicity. He knew the continual restlessness\nof his race. He was forty-two when he settled in Iona, and had led a\nlife of frequent and severe vicissitude, often a wanderer, sometimes\nwith blood against him and upon his head, once in extremity of danger,\nan outlaw, excommunicated. But even in his haven of Iona he was not\ncontent. He journeyed northward through the Pictish realms, a more\ndangerous and obscure adventure then than to cross Africa to-day. He\nsailed to \"the Ethican island\" as St. Adamnan calls Tiree, and made of\nit a sanctuary, where prayer might rise as a continual smoke from quiet\nhomes. No fear of the savage clans of Skye--where a woman had once\nreigned with so great a fame in war that even the foremost champion of\nIreland went to her in his youth to learn arms and\nbattle-wisdom--restrained him from facing the island Picts. Long before\nHakon the Dane fought the great seafight off Largs on the mainland,\nColum had built a church there. In the far Perthshire wilds, before\nMacbeth slew Duncan the king, the strong abbot of Iona had founded a\nmonastery in that thanedom. At remote Inbhir Nis, the Inverness of\nto-day, he overcame the King of the Picts and his sullen Druids, by his\ndaring, the fierce magnetism of his will, his dauntless resource. Once,\nin a savage region, far north-eastward, towards the Scandinavian sea, he\nwas told that there his Cross would not long protect either wattled\nchurch or monk's cell: on that spot he built the monastery of Deir, that\nstood for a thousand years, and whose priceless manuscript is now one of\nthe treasures of Northumbria.\n\nColumba was at once a saint, a warrior, a soldier of Christ, a great\nabbot, a dauntless explorer, and militant Prince of the Church; and a\nstudent, a man of great learning, a poet, an artist, a visionary, an\narchitect, administrator, law-maker, judge, arbiter. As a youth this\nprince, for he was of royal blood, was so beautiful that he was likened\nto an angel. In mature manhood, there was none to equal him in stature,\nmanly beauty, strength, and with a voice so deep and powerful that it\nwas like a bell and could be heard on occasion a mile away, and once,\nindeed, at the court of King Bruidh, literally overbore and drowned a\nconcerted chorus of sullen druids. These had tried to outvoice him and\nhis monks, little knowing what a mighty force the sixty-fourth Psalm\ncould be in the throat of this terrible Culdee, who to them must have\nseemed much more befitting his house-name, Crimthan (Wolf), than \"the\nDove\"!\n\nThis vocal duel was a characteristic device of the Druids. I recall one\nnotable instance long before Colum's time, though the _Leabhar na\nH'Uidhre_ in which it is to be found was not compiled till A.D. 1000. In\nthe story of the love of Connla, son of Conn of the Hundred Battles, for\na woman of the other world, a druid asks her whence she has come, and\nwhen she answers that it is from the lands of those who live a beautiful\nand deathless life, he knows that she is a woman of the _Sidhe_. So he\nchants against the fair woman till the spell of her voice is overcome,\nand she goes away as a mist that falls on the shore, as a Hebridean poet\nwould say.[3]\n\nLater, she comes again, and now invisible to all save Connla. Conn the\nking hears her chanting to Connla that it is no such lofty place he\nholds \"amid short-lived mortals awaiting fearful death\" that he need\ndread to leave it, \"the more as the ever-living ones invite thee to be\nthe ruler over Tethra (a Kingdom of Joy).\" So once more the king calls\nupon the Ard-Druid to dispel the woman by his incantations. For a moment\nConnla wavers, but the Fairy Woman, with a music of mockery, sings to\nhim that Druidism is in ill-favour \"over yonder,\" little loved and\nlittle honoured \"there,\" for, in effect, the nations of the Shee do not\nneed that idle dream. Connla's longing is more great to him than his\nkingdom or the fires of home, and he goes with his leannanshee in a\nboat, till those on the strand see him dimly and then no more in that\nsundown glow, nor ever again. Columba, a poet and scholar familiar with\nthe old tables of his beloved Eire, probably did not forget on occasion\nto turn this druidic tale against Druidism itself, repeating how, in its\nown time, before the little bell of the tonsured folk was heard in\nIreland (so little a bell to be the tocsin of fallen gods and broken\nnations), \"Druidism is not loved, for little has it progressed to honour\non the great Righteous Strand.\"\n\n\nFor one thing of great Gaelic import, Columba has been given a singular\npre-eminence--not for his love of country, pride of race, passionate\nloyalty to his clan, to every blood-claim and foster-claim, and\nfriendship-claim, though in all this he was the very archetype of the\nclannish Gael--but because (so it is averred) he was the first of our\nrace of whom is recorded the systematic use of the strange gift of\nspiritual foresight, \"second-sight.\" It has been stated authoritatively\nthat he is the first of whom there is record as having possessed this\nfaculty; but that could only be averred by one ignorant of ancient\nGaelic literature. Even in Adamnan's chronicle, within some seventy\nyears after the death of Columba, there is record of others having this\nfaculty, apart from the perhaps more purely spiritual vision of his\nmother Aithne, when an angel raimented her with the beauty of her unborn\nson, or of his foster-father, the priest Cruithnechan, who saw the\nsingular light of the soul about his sleeping pupil, or of the abbot\nBrendan who redeemed the saint from excommunication and perhaps death by\nhis vision of him advancing with a pillar of fire before him and an\nangel on either side. (When, long years afterwards, Brendan died in\nIreland, Colum in Iona startled his monks by calling for an immediate\ncelebration of the Eucharist, because it had been revealed to him that\nSt. Brendan had gone to the heavenly fatherland yesternight: \"Angels\ncame to meet his soul: I saw the whole earth illumined with their\nglory.\") Among others there is the story of Abbot Kenneth, who, sitting\nat supper, rose so suddenly as to leave without his sandals, and at the\naltar of his church prayed for Colum, at that moment in dire peril upon\nthe sea: the story of Ernan, who, fishing in the river Fenda, saw the\ndeath of Colum in a symbol of flame: the story of Lugh mac Tailchan,\nwho, at Cloinfinchoil, beheld Iona (which he had never visited), and\nabove it a blaze of angels' wings, and Colum's soul. In the most ancient\ntales there is frequent allusion to what we call second-sight. The\nwriters alluded to could not have heard of the warning of the dread\nMor-Rigan to Cuchullin before the fatal strife of the Tain-Bo-Cuailgne;\nor Cuchullin's own pre-vision (among a score as striking) of the\nhostings and gatherings on the fatal plain of Muirthemne; or the\nAmazonian queen, Scathach's, fore-knowledge of the career and early\ndeath of the champion of the Gaels:\n\n    \"(At the last) great peril awaits thee ...\n    Alone against a vast herd:\n    Thirty years I reckon the length of thy years\n      (literally, the strength of thy valour);\n    Further than this I do not add;\"\n\nor of Deirdre's second-sight, when by the white cairn on Sliav Fuad she\nsaw the sons of Usna headless, and Illann the Fair headless too, but\nBuimne the Ruthless Red with his head upon his shoulders, smiling a grim\nsmile--when she saw over Naois, her beloved, a cloud of blood--or that,\nalas, too bitter-true a foreseeing, when in the Craebh Derg, the House\nof the Red Branch, she cried to her lover and his two brothers that\ndeath was at the door and \"grievous to me is the deed O darling\nfriends--and till the world's end Emain will not be better for a single\nnight than it is to-night.\" Or, again, of that pathetic, simultaneous\ndeath-vision of Baile the Sweet-Spoken and Aillinn, he in the north, she\nin the south, so that each out of a grief unbearable straightway died,\nas told in one of the oldest as well as loveliest of ancient Gaelic\ntales, the _Scel Baili Binnberlaig_.\n\nThere is something strangely beautiful in most of these \"second-sight\"\nstories of Columba. The faculty itself is so apt to the spiritual law\nthat one wonders why it is so set apart in doubt. It would, I think, be\nfar stranger if there were no such faculty.\n\nThat I believe, it were needless to say, were it not that these words\nmay be read by many to whom this quickened inward vision is a\nsuperstition, or a fantastic glorification of insight. I believe; not\nonly because there is nothing too strange for the soul, whose vision\nsurely I will not deny, while I accept what is lesser, the mind's\nprescience, and, what is least, the testimony of the eyes. That I have\ncause to believe is perhaps too personal a statement, and is of little\naccount; but in that interior wisdom, which is no longer the flicker of\none little green leaf but the light and sound of a forest, of which the\nleaf is a part, I know that to be true, which I should as soon doubt as\nthat the tide returns or that the sap rises or that dawn is a ceaseless\nflashing light beneath the circuit of the stars. Spiritual logic demands\nit.\n\nIt would ill become me to do otherwise. I would as little, however, deny\nthat this inward vision is sometimes imperfect and untrustworthy, as I\nwould assert that it is infallible. There is no common face of good or\nevil; and in like fashion the aspect of this so-called mystery is\nvariable as the lives of those in whom it dwells. With some it is a\nprescience, more akin to instinct than to reason, and obtains only among\nthe lesser possibilities, as when one beholds another where in the body\nnone is; or a scene not possible, there, in that place; or a face, a\nmeeting of shadows, a disclosure of hazard or accident, a coming into\nview of happenings not yet fulfilled. With some it is simply a larger\nsight, more wide, more deep; not habitual, because there is none of us\nwho is not subject to the law of the body; and sudden, because all tense\nvision is a passion of the moment. It is as the lightning, whose\nsustenance is sure for all that it has a second's life. With a few it is\na more constant companion, a dweller by the morning thought, by the\nnoon reverie, by the evening dream. It lies upon the pillow for some:\nto some it as though the wind disclosed pathways of the air; a swaying\nbranch, a dazzle on the wave, the quick recognition in unfamiliar eyes,\nis, for others, sufficient signal. Not that these accidents of the\nmanner need concern us much. We have the faculty, or we do not have it.\nNor must we forget that it can be the portion of the ignoble as well as\nof those whose souls are clear. When it is in truth a spiritual vision,\nthen we are in company of what is the essential life, that which we call\ndivine.\n\nIt was this that Columba had, this serene perspicuity. That it was a\nconscious possession we know from his own words, for he gave this answer\nto one who marvelled: \"Heaven has granted to some to see on occasion in\ntheir mind, clearly and surely, the whole of earth and sea and sky.\"\n\nIt is not unlikely that in the seventy years which elapsed between\nColum's death and the writing of that lovely classic of the Church,\nAdamnan's _Vita St. Columbae_, some stories grew around the saint's\nmemory which were rather the tribute of childlike reverence and love\nthan the actual experiences of the holy man himself. What then? A field\nin May is not the less a daughter of Spring, because the\ncowslip-wreaths found there may have been brought from little wayward\ngarths by children who wove them lovingly as they came.\n\nMany of these strange records are mere coincidences; others reveal so\nhappy a surety in the simple faith of the teller that we need only\nsmile, and with no more resentment than at a child who runs to say he\nhas found stars in a wayside pool. Others are rather the keen insight of\na ceaseless observation than the seeing of an inward sense. But, and\nperhaps oftener, they are not inherently incredible. I do not think our\nforebears did ill to give haven to these little ones of faith, rather\nthan to despise, or to drive them away.\n\nI have already spoken of Columba as another St. Francis, because of his\ntenderness for creatures. I recall now the lovely legend (for I do not\nthink Colum himself attributed \"second-sight\" to an animal) which tells\nhow the old white pony which daily brought the milk from the cow-shed to\nthe monastery came and put its head in the lap of the aged and feeble\nabbot, thus mutely to bid farewell. Let Adamnan tell it: \"This creature\nthen coming up to the saint, and knowing that his master would soon\ndepart from him, and that he would see his face no more, began to utter\nplaintive moans, and, as if a man, to shed tears in abundance into the\nsaint's lap, and so to weep, frothing greatly. Which when the attendant\nsaw, he began to drive away that weeping mourner. But the saint forbade\nhim, saying, 'Let him alone? As he loves me so, let him alone, that into\nthis my bosom he may pour out the tears of his most bitter lamentation.\nBehold, thou, a man, that hast a soul, yet in no way hast knowledge of\nmy end save what I have myself shown thee; but to this brute animal the\nMaster Himself hath revealed that his master is about to go away from\nhim.' And so saying, he blessed his sorrowing servant the horse.\"\n\nIf there be any to whom the aged Colum comforting the grief of his old\nwhite pony is a matter of disdain or derision, I would not have his soul\nin exchange for the dumb sorrow of that creature. One would fare further\nwith that sorrow, though soulless, than with the soul that could not\nunderstand that sorrow.\n\nIf one were to quote from Adamnan's three Books of the Prophecies,\nMiracles, and Visions of Columba, there would be another book. Amid much\nthat is childlike, and a little that is childish, what store of\nspiritual beauty and living symbol in these three books--the Book of\nProphetic Revelations, the Book of Miracles of Power, the Book of\nAngelic Visitations. But there, as elsewhere, one must bear in\nremembrance that, in spiritual sight, there is symbolic vision as well\nas actual vision. When Colum saw his friend Columbanus (who, unknown to\nany on Iona, had set out in his frail coracle from the Isle of Rathlin)\ntossed in the surges of Corryvrechan; or when, nigh Glen Urquhart, he\nhurried forward to minister to an old dying Pict \"who had lived well by\nthe light of nature,\" and whose house, condition, and end had been\nsuddenly revealed to him: then we have actual vision. When Aithne, his\nmother, dreamed that an angel showed her a garment of so surpassing a\nloveliness that it was as though woven of flowers and rainbows, and then\nthrew it on high, till its folds expanded and covered every mountain-top\nfrom the brows of Connaught to the feet of the Danish sea, and so\nrevealed to her what manner of son she bore within her womb; or when, in\nthe hour of Colum's death, the aged son of Tailchan beheld the whole\nexpanse of air flooded with the blaze of angels' wings, which trembled\nwith their songs: then we have symbolic vision. And sometimes we have\nthat which partakes of each, as when (as Adamnan tells us in his third\nbook) Colum saw angels standing upon the rocks on the opposite side of\nthe Sound which divides Iona from the Ross of Mull, calling to his soul\nto cross to them, yet, as they assembled and beckoned, mysteriously and\nsuddenly restrained, for his hour was not come.\n\nAnd in all actual vision there is gradation; from what is so common,\npremonition, to what is not common, prescience, and to what is rare,\nrevelation. Thus when the labourers on Iona looked up from the fields\nand saw the aged abbot whom they so loved, borne in a wagon to give them\nbenediction at seed-sowing, many among them knew that they would not see\nColum again, and Colum knew it, and so shared that premonition. And\nwhen, many years before, he and the abbot Comgell, returning from a\nfutile conference of the kings Aedh and Aidan, rested by a spring,\nconcerning which Colum said that the day would come when it would be\nfilled with human blood, \"because my people, the Hy-Neill, and the\nPictish folk, thy relations according to the flesh, will wage war by\nthis fortress of Cethirn close by,\" Comgell learned, through Colum's\nforeknowledge, of what did in truth come to pass. Again, when Colum\nbade a brother go three days thence to the sea-shore on the west side of\nIona, and lie in readiness to help \"a certain guest, a crane to wit,\nbeaten by the winds during long and circuitous and aerial flights, which\nwill arrive after the ninth hour of the day, very weary and sore\ndistressed,\" and bade him to lift it and tend it lovingly for three days\nand three nights till it should have strength to return to \"its former\nsweet home,\" and to do this out of love and courtesy because \"it comes\nfrom our fatherland\"--and when all happens and is done as the saint\nforetold and commanded, then we have revelation, the vision that is\nabsolute, the knowledge that is the atmosphere of the inevitable. It\nwould take a book indeed to tell all the stories of Columba's visionary\nand prophetic powers. That I write at this length concerning him,\nindeed, is because he is himself Iona. Columba is Christian Iona, as\nmuch as Iona is Icolmkill. I have often wondered (because of a passage\nin Adamnan) if the island be not indeed named after him, the Dove: for\nas Adamnan says incidentally, the name Columba is identical with the\nHebrew name Jonah, also signifying a Dove, and by the Hebrews pronounced\nIona.\n\nIt is enough now to recall that this man, so often erring but so human\nalways, in whose life we see the soul of Iona as in a glass, is become\nthe archetype of his race, as Iona is the microcosm of the Gaelic world.\nThat he came into this life heralded by dreams and visions, that from\nhis youth onward to old age he knew every mystery of dream and vision,\nand that before and after his death his soul was revealed to others\nthrough dreams and visions, is but an added hieratic grace: yet we do\nwell to recall often how these dreams before and these visions after\nwere angelical, and nobly beautiful: how there was left of him, and to\nhis little company, and to us for remembrance, that last signal vision\nof a blaze of angelic wings, more intolerable than the sun at noon, the\ntempestuous multitude trembling with the storm of song.\n\n\nColumba and Oran ... these are the two great names in Iona. Love and\nFaith have made one immortal; the other lives also, clothed in legend. I\nam afraid there is not much definite basis for the popular Iona legend\nof Oran. It is now the wont of guides and others to speak of the Reilig\nOdhrain, Oran's burial-place, as that of Columba's friend (and victim),\nbut it seems likelier that the Oran who lies here is he who is spoken\nof in the _Annals of the Four Masters_ as having died in the year 548,\nthat is fifteen years before Colum came to the island. This, however,\nmight well be a mistake: what is more convincing is that Adamnan never\nmentions the episode, nor even the name of Oran, nor is there mention of\nhim in that book of Colum's intimate friend and successor, Baithene,\nwhich Adamnan practically incorporated. On the other hand, the Oran\nlegend is certainly very old. The best modern rendering we have of it is\nthat of Mr. Whitley Stokes in his _Three Middle-Irish Homilies_, and\nreaders of Dr. Skene's valuable _Celtic Scotland_ recollect the\ntranslation there redacted. The episode occurs first in an ancient Irish\nlife of St. Columba. The legend, which has crystallised into a popular\nsaying, \"Uir, uir, air suil Odhrain! mu'n labhair e tuille\ncomhraidh\"--\"Earth, earth on Oran's eyes, lest he further blab\"--avers\nthat three days after the monk Oran or Odran was entombed alive (some\nsay in the earth, some in a cavity), Colum opened the grave, to look\nonce more on the face of the dead brother, when to the amazed fear of\nthe monks and the bitter anger of the abbot himself, Oran opened his\neyes and exclaimed, \"There is no such great wonder in death, nor is Hell\nwhat it has been described.\" (Ifrinn, or Ifurin--the word used--is the\nGaelic Hell, the Land of Eternal Cold.) At this, Colum straightway cried\nthe now famous Gaelic words, and then covered up poor Oran again lest he\nshould blab further of that uncertain world whither he was supposed to\nhave gone. In the version given by Mr. Whitley Stokes there is no\nmention of Odran's grave having been uncovered after his entombment. But\nwhat is strangely suggestive is that both in the oral legend and in that\nearly monkish chronicle alluded to, Columba is represented as either\nsuggesting or accepting immolation of a living victim as a sacrifice to\nconsecrate the church he intended to build.\n\nOne story is that he received a divine intimation to the effect that a\nmonk of his company must be buried alive, and that Odran offered\nhimself. In the earliest known rendering \"Colum Cille said to his\npeople: 'It is well for us that our roots should go underground here';\nand he said to them, 'It is permitted to you that some one of you go\nunder the earth of this island to consecrate it.' Odran rose up readily,\nand thus he said: 'If thou wouldst accept me,' he said, 'I am ready for\nthat.' ... Odran then went to heaven. Colum Cille then founded the\nChurch of Hii.\"\n\nIt would be a dark stain on Columba if this legend were true. But apart\nfrom the fact that Adamnan does not speak of it or of Oran, the\nprobabilities are against its truth. On the other hand, it is, perhaps,\nquite as improbable that there was no basis for the legend. I imagine\nthe likelier basis to be that a druid suffered death in this fashion\nunder that earlier Odran of whom there is mention in the _Annals of the\nFour Masters_: possibly, that Odran himself was the martyr, and the\nArd-Druid the person who had \"the divine intimation.\" Again, before it\nbe attributed to Columba, one would have to find if there is record of\nsuch an act having been performed among the Irish of that day. We have\nno record of it. It is not improbable that the whole legend is a\nsymbolical survival, an ancient teaching of some elementary mystery\nthrough some real or apparent sacrificial rite.\n\nAmong the people of Iona to-day there is a very confused idea about St.\nOran. To some he is a saint: to others an evil-doer: some think he was a\nmartyr, some that he was punished for a lapse from virtue. Some swear by\nhis grave, as though it were almost as sacred as the Black Stone of\nIona: to others, perhaps most, his is now but an idle name.\n\nBy the Black Stone of Iona! One may hear that in Icolmkill or anywhere\nin the west. It used to be the most binding oath in the Highlands, and\neven now is held as an indisputable warrant of truth. In Iona itself,\nstrangely enough, one would be much more likely to hear a statement\naffirmed \"by St. Martin's Cross.\" On this stone--the old Druidic Stone\nof Destiny, sacred among the Gael before Christ was born--Columba\ncrowned Aidan King of Argyll. Later, the stone was taken to\nDunstaffnage, where the Lords of the Isles were made princes: thence to\nScone, where the last of the Celtic Kings of Scotland was crowned on it.\nIt now lies in Westminster Abbey, a part of the Coronation Chair, and\nsince Edward I. every British monarch has been crowned upon it. If ever\nthe Stone of Destiny be moved again, that writing on the wall will be\nthe signature of a falling dynasty; but perhaps, like Iona in the island\nsaying, this can be left to the Gaelic equivalent of Nevermas, \"gus am\nbi MacCailein na' righ,\" \"till Argyll be a king.\"\n\n\nIn my childhood I well recall meeting in Iona an old man who had come\nfrom the glens of Antrim, to me memorable because he was the last\nGaelic minstrel of the old kind I have seen. \"It was a poor land,\nAntrim,\" he said, \"with no Gaelic, a bitter lot o' protestantry, an'\nlittle music.\"\n\nI remember, too, his adding in effect:\n\n\"It is in the west you should be if you want music, an' men and women\nwithout coldness or the hard mouth. In Donegal an' Mayo an' all down\nConnemara-way to the cliffs of Moher you'll hear the wind an' the voices\no' the Shee with never a man to curse the one or the other.\" I asked him\nwhy he had come to Iona. It was to see the isle of Colum, he said, \"St.\nBridget's brother, God bless the pair av' thim.\" He was on his way to\nOban, thence to go to a far place in the Athole country, where his\ndaughter had married a factor who had returned to his own land from the\nIrish west, and was the more dear to the old man because his only living\nblood-kin, and because she had called her little girl by the name of the\nold harper's long-lost love, \"my love an' my wife.\"\n\nThe last harper, though he had not his harp with him. He had come from\nDrogheda in a cattle-boat to Islay (whence he had sailed in a\nfishing-smack to Iona), and his friend the mate had promised to leave\nthe harp and his other belongings at Oban in safe keeping. He had with\nhim, however, a small instrument that he called his little clar. It was\nsomething between a guitar and a cithern, suggestive of a primitive\nviolin, and he played on it sometimes with his fingers, sometimes with a\nshort bit of wood like a child's tipcat; and, he said, could make good\nmusic with a hazel-wand or \"the dry straight rod of a quicken when\nthat's to be had.\" He said this quaint instrument had come down to him\nthrough fifty-one generations: literally, \"eleven and twice twenty\n_sheanairean_ (grandfathers, or elders or forebears),\" of whom he could\nat any moment give the pedigree of _ceithir deug air 'fhichead_, \"four\nand ten upon twenty\"--that is, to translate the Gaelic method of\nenumeration, \"thirty-four.\"\n\nThis was at the house of a minister then lodging in the island, and it\nwas he who hosted the old harper. He told me, later, that he had no\ndoubt this was the old-world cruit, the Welsh _crwth_ of to-day, and the\nonce colloquial Lowland \"crowther,\" akin to the Roman _canora cythara_,\nthe \"forebear\" of the modern Spanish guitar. To this day, I may add,\nHighlanders (at least in the west) call the guitar the\n_Cruit-Spanteach_. There seems to have been four kinds of \"harp\" in the\nold days: the clar or clarsach, the kairneen (ceirnine), the\nkreemtheencrooth (cream-thine-cruit), and the cionar cruit. The clarsach\nwas the harp proper; that is, the small Celtic harp. The ceirnine was\nthe smaller hand-harp. The \"creamthine cruit\" had six strings, and was\nprobably used chiefly at festivals, possibly for a strong sonance to\naccentuate chants; while the cionar cruit had ten strings, and was\nplayed either by a bow or with a wooden or other instrument. It must\nhave been a cionar-cruit, ancient or a rude later-day imitation, that\nthe old harper had.\n\nPoor old man, I fear he never played on his harp again; for I learned\nlater that he had found his Athole haven broken up, and his daughter and\nher husband about to emigrate to Canada, so that he went with them, and\ndied on the way--perhaps as much from the mountain-longing and\nhome-sickness as from any more tangible ill.\n\nI have a double memento of him that I value. In Islay he had bought or\nbeen given a little book of Gaelic songs (the Scoto-Gaelic must have\npuzzled him sorely, poor old _eirionnach_), and this he left behind him,\nand my minister friend gave it to me, with much of the above noted down\non its end-pages. The little book had been printed early in the century,\nand was called _Ceilleirean Binn nan Creagan Aosda_, literally\n\"Melodious Little Warblings from the Aged Rocks\"; and it has always been\ndear to me because of one lovely phrase in it about birds, where the\nunknown Gaelic singer calls them \"clann bheag' nam preas,\" the small\nclan of the bushes, equivalent in English to \"the children of the\nbushes.\" This occurs in a lovely verse--\n\n    \"Mu'n cuairt do bhruachaibh ard mo glinn,\n    Biodh luba gheuga 's orra blath,\n    's clann bheag' nam preas a' tabhairst seinn\n    Do chreagaibh aosd oran graidh.\"\n\n(\"Along the lofty sides of my glen let there be bending boughs clad in\nblossom, and the children of the bushes making the aged rocks re-echo\ntheir songs of love\")--truly a characteristic Gaelic wish,\ncharacteristically expressed.\n\nAnd though this that I am about to say did not happen on Iona, I may\ntell it here, for it was there and from an islander I heard it, an old\nman herding among the troubled rocky pastures of Sguir Mor and Cnoc na\nFhiona, in the south of that western part called Sliav Starr--one\ntranslation of which might be Wuthering Heights, for the word can be\nrendered wind-blustery or wind-noisy; though I fancy that _starr_ is, on\nIona, commonly taken to mean a strong coarse grass. (Fhiona here I take\nto be not the genitive of a name, nor that of \"wine,\" but a mis-spelling\nof _fionna_, grain.)\n\nWhen he was a boy he was in the island of Barra, he said, and he had a\nfoster-brother called Iain Macneil. Iain was born with music in his\nmind, for though he was ever a poor creature as a man, having as a child\neaten of the bird's heart, he could hear a power o' wonder in the\nwind.[4] He had never come to any good in a worldly sense, my old\nherdsman Micheil said; but it was not from want of cleverness only, but\nbecause \"he had enough with his music.\" \"Poor man, he failed in\neverything he did but that--and, sure, that was not against him, for _is\nann air an traghadh a rugadh e_--wasn't he born when the tide was\nebbing?\" Besides, there was a mystery. Iain's father was said to be an\nIona man, but that was only a politeness and a play upon words (\"_The\nHoly Isle of the Western Sea_\" could mean either Iona or the mystic\nHy-Brasil, or Tir-na-thonn of the underworld); for he had no mortal\nfather, but a man of the Smiling Distant People was his father. Iain's\nmother had loved her Leannan-shee, her fairy sweetheart, but that love\nis too strong for a woman to bear, and she died. Before Iain was born\nshe lay under a bush of whitethorn, and her Leannan appeared to her. \"I\ncan't give you life,\" he said, \"unless you'll come away with me.\" But\nshe would not; for she wished the child to have Christian baptism.\n\"Well, good-bye,\" he said, \"but you are a weak love. A woman should care\nmore for her lover than her child. But I'll do this: I'll give the child\nthe dew, an' he won't die, an' we'll take him away when we want him. An'\nfor a gift to him, you can have either beauty or music.\" \"I don't want\nthe dew,\" she said, \"for I'd rather he lay below the grass beside me\nwhen his time comes: an' as for beauty, it's been my sorrow. But because\nI love the songs you have sung to me an' wooed me with, an' made me\nforget to hide my soul from you--an' it fallen as helpless as a broken\nwave on damp sand--let the child have the _binn-beul_ an' the _lamh\nclarsaireachd_ (the melodious mouth an' the harping hand).\"\n\nAnd truly enough Iain Macneil \"went away.\" He went back to his own\npeople. It must have been a grief to him not to lie under the grass\nbeside his mother, but it was not for his helping. For days before he\nmysteriously disappeared he went about making a _ciucharan_ like a\nNovember wind, a singular plaintive moaning. When asked by his\nfoster-brother Micheil why he was not content, he answered only \"_Far am\nbi mo ghaol, bidh mo thathaich_\" (Where my Love is, there must my\nreturning be). He had for days, said Micheil, the mournful crying in the\near that is so often a presage of death or sorrow; and himself had said\nonce \"Tha 'n eabh a' m' chenais\"--the cry is in my ear. When he went\naway, that going was the way of the snow.\n\n\nIt is no wonder that legends of Finn and Oisein, of Oscur and Gaul and\nDiarmid, of Cuchullin, and many of the old stories of the Gaelic\nchivalry survive in the isles. There, more than in Ireland, Gaelic has\nsurvived as the living speech, and though now in the Inner Hebrides it\nis dying before \"an a' Beurla,\" the English tongue, and still more\nbefore the degraded \"Bheurla leathan\" or Glasgow-English of the lowland\nwest, the old vernacular still holds an ancient treasure.\n\nThe last time I sailed to Staffa from Ulva, a dead calm set in, and we\ntook a man from Gometra to help with an oar--his recommendation being\nthat he was \"cho laidir ri Cuchullin,\" as strong as Coohoolin. But\nneither in Iona nor in the northward isles nor in Skye itself, have I\nfound or heard of much concerning the great Gaelic hero. Fionn and Oisin\nand Diarmid are the names oftenest heard, both in legend and proverbial\nallusion. An habitual mistake is made by writers who speak of the famous\nCuchullin or Cuthullin mountains in Skye as having been named after\nCuchullin; and though sometimes the local guides to summer tourists may\nspeak of the Gaelic hero in connection with the mountains north of\nCoruisk, that is only because of hearsay. The Gaelic name should never\nbe rendered as the Cuthullin or Cohoolin mountains, but as the Coolins.\nThe most obvious meaning of the name _Cuilfhion_ (Kyoolyun or Coolun),\nis \"the fine corner,\" but, as has been suggested, the hills may have got\ntheir name because of the \"cuillionn mara\" or sea-holly, which is\npronounced _Ku' l'-unn_ or _coolin_. This is most probably the origin\nof the name.\n\nIn fine weather one may see from Iona the Coolins standing out in lovely\nblue against the northern sky-line, their contours the most beautiful\nfeature in a view of surpassing beauty. How often I have watched them,\nhave often dreamed of what they have seen, since Oisin passed that way\nwith Malvina: since Cuchullin learned the feats of war at Dun Scaaiah,\nfrom that great queen whose name, it is said, the island bears in\nremembrance of her; since Connlaoch, his son, set sail to meet so tragic\na death in Ireland. There are two women of Gaelic antiquity who above\nall others have always held my imagination as with a spell: Scathach or\nSgathaith (_sky-ah_), the sombre Amazonian queen of the mountain-island\n(then perhaps, as now, known also as the Isle of Mist), and Meave, the\ngreat queen of Connaught, whose name has its mountain bases in gigantic\nwars, and its summits among the wild poetry and romance of the Shee.\n\nMy earliest knowledge of the heroic cycle of Celtic mythology and\nhistory came to me, as a child, when I spent my first summer in Iona.\nHow well I remember a fantastic legend I was told: how that these far\nblue mountains, so freaked into a savage beauty, were due to the\nsword-play of Cuchullin. And this happened because the Queen o' Skye had\nput a spear through the two breasts of his love, so that he went in\namong her warrior women and slew every one, and severed the head of\nSgayah herself, and threw it into Coruisk, where to this day it floats\nas Eilean Dubh, the dark isle. Thereafter, Cuchullin hewed the\nmountain-tops into great clefts, and trampled the hills into a craggy\nwilderness, and then rushed into the waves and fought with the\nsea-hordes till far away the bewildered and terrified stallions of the\nocean dashed upon the rocks of Man and uttermost shores of Erin.\n\nThis magnificent mountain range can be seen better still from Lunga near\nIona, whence it is a short sail with a southerly wind. In Lunga there is\na hill called Cnoc Cruit or Dun Cruit, and thence one may see, as in a\nvast illuminated missal whose pages are of deep blue with bindings of\nazure and pale gold, innumerable green isles and peaks and hills of the\nhue of the wild plum. When last I was there it was a day of cloudless\nJune. There was not a sound but the hum of the wild bee foraging in the\nlong garths of white clover, and the continual sighing of a wave.\nListening, I thought I heard a harper playing in the hollow of the hill.\nIt may have been the bees heavy with the wine of honey, but I was\ncontent with my fancy and fell asleep, and dreamed that a harper came\nout of the hill, at first so small that he seemed like the green stalk\nof a lily and had hands like daisies, and then go great that I saw his\nbreath darkening the waves far out on the Hebrid sea. He played, till I\nsaw the stars fall in a ceaseless, dazzling rain upon Iona. A wind blew\nthat rain away, and out of the wave that had been Iona I saw thousands\nupon thousands of white doves rise from the foam and fly down the four\ngreat highways of the wind. When I woke, there was no one near. Iona lay\nlike an emerald under the wild-plum bloom of the Mull mountains. The\nbees stumbled through the clover; a heron stood silver-grey upon the\ngrey-blue stone; the continual wave was, as before, as one wave, and\nwith the same hushed sighing.\n\n\nTwo or three years ago I heard a boatman using a singular phrase, to the\neffect that a certain deed was as kindly a thought as that of the piper\nwho played to St. Micheil in his grave. I had never heard of this\nbefore, or anything like it, nor have I since, on lip or in book. He\ntold me that he spoke of a wandering piper known as Piobaire Raonull\nDall, Blind Piper Ronald, who fifty years or so ago used to wander\nthrough the isles and West Highlands; and how he never failed to play a\nspring on his pipes, either to please or to console, or maybe to air a\nlament for what's lost now and can't come again, when on any holy day he\nstood before a figure of the Virgin (as he might well do in Barra or\nSouth Uist), or by old tombs or habitations of saints. My friend's\nfather or one of his people, once, in the Kyles of Bute, when sailing\npast the little ruinous graveyard of Kilmichael on the Bute shore, had\ncome upon Raonull-Dall, pacing slowly before the broken stones and the\nlittle cell which legend says is both the hermitage and the grave of St.\nMicheil. When asked what he was playing and what for, in that lonely\nspot, he said it was an old ancient pibroch, the Gathering of the\nClerics, which he was playing just to cheer the heart of the good man\ndown below. When told that St. Micheil would be having his fill of good\nmusic where he was, the old man came away in the boat, and for long sat\nsilent and strangely disheartened. I have more than once since then\nsailed to that little lonely ancient grave of Kilmichael in the Kyles of\nBute, from Tignabruaich or further Cantyre, and have wished that I too\ncould play a spring upon the pipes, for if so I would play to the kind\nheart of \"Piobaire Raonull Dall.\"\n\nOf all the saints of the west, from St. Molios or Molossius (Maol-Iosa?\nthe servant by Jesus?) who has left his name in the chief township in\nArran, to St. Barr, who has given his to the largest of the Bishop's\nIsles, as the great Barra island-chain in the South Hebrides used to be\ncalled, there is none so commonly remembered and so frequently invoked\nas St. Micheil. There used to be no festival in the Western Isles so\npopular as that held on 29th September, \"La' Fheill Mhicheil,\" the Day\nof the Festival of Michael; and the Eve of Michael's Day is still in a\nfew places one of the gayest nights in the year, though no longer is\nevery barn turned into a dancing place or a place of merry-making or, at\nleast, a place for lovers to meet and give betrothal gifts. The day\nitself, in the Catholic Isles, was begun with a special Mass, and from\nhour to hour was filled with traditional duties and pleasures.\n\nThe whole of the St. Micheil ceremonies were of a remote origin, and\nsome, as the ancient and almost inexplicable dances, and their archaic\naccompaniment of word and gesture far older than the sacrificial slaying\nof the Michaelmas Lamb. It is, however, not improbable that this latter\nrite was a survival of a pagan custom long anterior to the substitution\nof the Christian for the Druidic faith.\n\nThe \"Iollach Mhicheil\"--the triumphal song of Michael--is quite as much\npagan as Christian. We have here, indeed, one of the most interesting\nand convincing instances of the transmutation of a personal symbol. St.\nMichael is on the surface a saint of extraordinary powers and the patron\nof the shores and the shore-folk: deeper, he is an angel, who is upon\nthe sea what the angelical saint, St. George, is upon the land: deeper,\nhe is a blending of the Roman Neptune and the Greek Poseidon: deeper, he\nis himself an ancient Celtic god: deeper, he is no other than Manannan,\nthe god of ocean and all waters, in the Gaelic Pantheon: as, once more,\nManannan himself is dimly revealed to us as still more ancient, more\nprimitive, and even as supreme in remote godhead, the Father of an\nimmortal Clan.\n\nTo this day Micheil is sometimes alluded to as the god Micheil, and I\nhave seen some very strange Gaelic lines which run in effect:--\n\n    \"It was well thou hadst the horse of the god Micheil\n    Who goes without a bit in his mouth,\n    So that thou couldst ride him through the fields of the air,\n    And with him leap over the knowledge of Nature\"--\n\npresumably not very ancient as they stand, because of the use of \"steud\"\nfor horse, and \"naduir\" for nature, obvious adaptations from English and\nLatin. Certainly St. Michael has left his name in many places, from the\nshores of the Hebrides to the famous Mont St. Michel of Brittany, and I\ndoubt not that everywhere an earlier folk, at the same places, called\nhim Manannan. In a most unlikely place to find a record of old hymns and\nfolk-songs, one of the volumes of Reports of the Highlands and Islands\nCommission, Mr. Carmichael many years ago contributed some of his\nunequalled store of Hebridean reminiscence and knowledge. Among these\nold things saved, there is none that is better worth saving than the\nbeautiful Catholic hymn or invocation sung at the time of the midsummer\nmigration to the hill-pastures. In this shealing-hymn the three powers\nwho are invoked are St. Micheil (for he is a patron saint of horses and\ntravel, as well as of the sea and seafarers), St. Columba, guardian of\nCattle, and the Virgin Mary, \"Mathair Uain ghil,\" \"Mother of the White\nLamb,\" as the tender Gaelic has it, who is so beautifully called the\ngolden-haired Virgin Shepherdess.\n\nIt is pleasant to think of Columba, who loved animals, and whose care\nfor his shepherd-people was always so great, as having become the patron\nsaint of cattle. It is thus that the gods are shaped out of a little\nmortal clay, the great desire of the heart, and immortal dreams.\n\nI may give the whole hymn in English, as rendered by Mr. Carmichael:\n\n    I\n\n    \"Thou gentle Michael of the white steed,\n    Who subdued the Dragon of blood,\n    For love of God and the Son of Mary,\n    Spread over us thy wing, shield us all!\n    Spread over us thy wing, shield us all!\n\n    II\n\n    \"Mary beloved! Mother of the White Lamb,\n    Protect us, thou Virgin of nobleness,\n    Queen of beauty! Shepherdess of the flocks!\n    Keep our cattle, surround us together,\n    Keep our cattle, surround us together.\n\n    III\n\n    \"Thou Columba, the friendly, the kind,\n    In name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,\n    Through the Three-in-One, through the Three,\n    Encompass us, guard our procession,\n    Encompass us, guard our procession.\n\n    IV\n\n    \"Thou Father! Thou Son! Thou Holy Spirit!\n    Be the Three-One with us day and night,\n    On the machair plain, on the mountain ridge,\n    The Three-one is with us, with His arm around our head,\n    The Three-One is with us, with his arm around our head.\"\n\nI have heard a paraphrase of this hymn, both in Gaelic and English, on\nIona; and once, off Soa, a little island to the south of Icolmkill, took\ndown a verse which I thought was local, but which I afterwards found\n(with very slight variance) in Mr. Carmichael's Governmental\nUist-Record. It was sung by Barra fishermen, and ran in effect \"O\nFather, Son, and Holy Ghost! O Holy Trinity, be with us day and night.\nOn the crested wave as on the mountain-side! Our Mother, Holy Mary\nMother, has her arm under our head; our pillow is the arm of Mary, Mary\nthe Holy Mother.\"\n\nIt is perhaps the saddest commentary that could be made on what we have\nlost that the children of those who were wont to go to rest, or upon any\nadventure, or to stand in the shadow of death, with some such words as\n\n    \"My soul is with the Light on the mountains,\n    Archangel Micheil shield my soul!\"\n\nnow go or stand in a scornful or heedless silence, or without\nremembrance, as others did who forgot to trim their lamps.\n\nWho now would go up to the hill-pastures singing the Beannachadh\nBuachailleag, the Herding Blessing? With the passing of the old language\nthe old solemnity goes, and the old beauty, and the old patient, loving\nwonder. I do not like to think of what songs are likely to replace the\nHerding Blessing, whose first verse runs thus:\n\n    \"I place this flock before me\n    As ordained by the King of the World,\n    Mary Virgin to keep them, to wait them, to watch them.\n      On hill and glen and plain,\n      On hill, in glen, on plain.\"\n\nIn the maelstrom of the cities the old race perishes, drowns. How common\nthe foolish utterance of narrow lives, that all these old ways of\nthought are superstitious. To have a superstition is, for these, a\nworse ill than to have a shrunken soul. I do not believe in spells and\ncharms and foolish incantations, but I think that ancient wisdom out of\nthe simple and primitive heart of an older time is not an ill heritage;\nand if to believe in the power of the spirit is to be superstitious, I\nam well content to be of the company that is now forsaken.\n\nBut even in what may more fairly be called superstitious, have we surety\nthat we have done well in our exchange?\n\nA short while ago I was on the hillside above one of the much-frequented\nlochs in eastern Argyll. Something brought to my mind, as I went farther\nup into the clean solitudes, one of the verses of the Herding Blessing:\n\n    \"From rocks, from snow-wreaths, from streams,\n    From crooked ways, from destructive pits,\n    From the arrows of the slim fairy women,\n      From the heart of envy, the eye of evil,\n        Keep us, Holy St. Bride.\"\n\n\"From the arrows of the slim fairy women.\" And I--do I believe in that?\nAt least it will be admitted that it is worth a belief; it is a pleasant\ndream; it is a gate into a lovely world; it is a secret garden, where\nare old sweet echoes; it has the rainbow-light of poetry. Is it not\npoetry? And I--oh yes, I believe it, that superstition: a thousand-fold\nmore real is it, more believable, than that coarse-tongued,\nill-mannered, boorish people, desperate in slovenly pleasure. For that\nwill stay, and they will go. And if I am wrong, then I will rather go\nwith it than stay with them. And yet--surely, surely the day will come\nwhen this sordidness of life as it is so often revealed to us will sink\ninto deep waters, and the stream become purified, and again by its banks\nbe seen the slim fairy women of health and beauty and all noble and\ndignified things.\n\nThis is a far cry from Iona! And I had meant to write only of how I\nheard so recently as three or four summers ago a verse of the Uist\nHerding Chant. It was recited to me, over against Dun-I, by a friend who\nis a crofter in that part of Iona. It was not quite as Mr. Carmichael\ntranslates it, but near enough. The Rann Buachhailleag is, I should add,\naddressed to the cattle.\n\n    \"The protection of God and Columba\n    Encompass your going and coming,\n    And about you be the milkmaid of the smooth white palms,\n    Briget of the clustering hair, golden brown.\"\n\nOn Iona, however, there is, so far as I remember, no special spot sacred\nto St. Micheil: but there is a legend that on the night Columba died\nMicheil came over the waves on a rippling flood of light, which was a\ncloud of angelic wings, and that he sang a hymn to the soul of the saint\nbefore it took flight for its heavenly fatherland. No one heard that\nhymn save Colum, but I think that he who first spoke of it remembered a\nmore ancient legend of how Manannan came to Cuchullin when he was in the\ncountry of the Shee, when Liban laughed.\n\n\nI spoke of Port-na-Churaich, the Haven of the Coracle, a little ago. How\nstrange a history is that of Iona since the coming of the Irish priest,\nCrimthan, or Crimmon as we call the name, surnamed Colum Cille, the Dove\nof the Church. Perhaps its unwritten history is not less strange. God\nwas revered on Iona by priests of a forgotten faith before the Cross was\nraised. The sun-priest and the moon-worshipper had their revelation\nhere. I do not think their offerings were despised. Colum, who loved the\nTrinity so well that on one occasion he subsisted for three days on the\nmystery of the mere word, did not forego the luxury of human sacrifice,\nthough he abhorred the blood-stained altar. For, to him, an obstinate\npagan slain was to the glory of God. The moon-worshipper did no worse\nwhen he led the chosen victim to the dolmen. But the moon-worshipper was\na Pict without the marvel of the written word; so he remained a heathen,\nand the Christian named himself saint or martyr.\n\nNone knows with surety who dwelled on this mysterious island before the\nfamous son of Feilim of Clan Domnhuil, great-grandson of Niall of the\nNine Hostages, came with his fellow-monks and raised the Cross among the\nwondering Picts. But the furthest record tells of worship. Legend itself\nis more ancient here than elsewhere. Once a woman was worshipped. Some\nsay she was the moon, but this was before the dim day of the\nmoon-worshippers. (In Gaelic too, as with all the Celtic peoples, it is\nnot the moon but the sun that is feminine.) She may have been an\nancestral Brighde, or that mysterious Anait whose Scythian name survives\nelsewhere in the Gaelic west, and nothing else of all her ancient glory\nbut that shadowy word. Perhaps, here, the Celts remembered one whom they\nhad heard of in Asian valleys or by the waters of Nilus, and called upon\nIsis under a new name.\n\nThe Haven of the Coracle! It was not Colum and his white-robe company\nwho first made the isle sacred. I have heard that when Mary Macleod (our\nbest-loved Hebridean poet) was asked what she thought of Iona, she\nreplied that she thought it was the one bit of Eden that had not been\ndestroyed, and that it was none other than the central isle in the\nGarden untouched of Eve or Adam, where the angels waited.\n\nMany others have dreamed by that lonely cairn of the Irish king, before\nColum, and, doubtless, many since the child who sought the Divine\nforges.\n\n\nYears afterwards I wrote, in the same place, after an absence wherein\nIona had become as a dream to me, the story of St. Briget, in the\nHebrides called Bride, under the love-name commonly given her, Muime\nChriosd--Christ's Foster-Mother. May I quote again, here, as so apposite\nto what I have written, to what indirectly I am trying to convey of the\nspiritual history of Iona, some portion of it?\n\nIn my legendary story I tell of how one called Dughall, of a kingly\nline, sailing from Ireland, came to be cast upon the ocean-shore of\nIona, then called Innis-nan-Dhruidhneach, the Isle of the Druids--for\nthis was before the cry of the Sacred Wolf was heard, as an old-time\nisland-poet has it, playing upon Colum's house-name, Crimthan,\nsignifying a wolf. The frail coracle in which he and others had crossed\nthe Moyle had been driven before a tempest, and cast at sunrise like a\nspent fish upon the rocks of the little haven that is now called\nPort-na-Churaich. All had found death in the wave except himself and the\nlittle girl-child he had brought with him from Ireland, the child of so\nmuch tragic mystery.\n\nWhen, warmed by the sun, they rose, they found themselves in a waste\nplace. Dughall was ill in his mind because of the portents, and now to\nhis fear and amaze the child Briget knelt on the stones, and, with\nclaspt hands, frail and pink as the sea-shells round about her, sang a\nsong of words which were unknown to him. This was the more marvellous,\nas she was yet but an infant, and could say few words even of Erse, the\nonly tongue she had heard.\n\nAt this portent, he knew that Aodh the Arch-Druid had spoken seeingly.\nTruly this child was not of human parentage. So he, too, kneeled; and,\nbowing before her, asked if she were of the race of the Tuatha de\nDanann, or of the older gods, and what her will was, that he might be\nher servant. Then it was that the kneeling child looked at him, and sang\nin a low sweet voice in Erse:\n\n    \"I am but a little child,\n    Dughall, son of Hugh, son of Art,\n    But my garment shall be laid\n    On the lord of the world,\n    Yea, surely it shall be that He,\n    The King of Elements Himself,\n    Shall lean against my bosom,\n    And I will give him peace,\n    And peace will I give to all who ask\n    Because of this mighty Prince,\n    And because of his Mother that is the Daughter of Peace.\"\n\nAnd while Dughall Donn was still marvelling at this thing, the\nArch-Druid of Iona approached, with his white-robed priests. A grave\nwelcome was given to the stranger. While the youngest of the servants of\nGod was entrusted with the child, the Arch-Druid took Dughall aside and\nquestioned him. It was not till the third day that the old man gave his\ndecision. Dughall Don was to abide on Iona if he so willed; but the\nchild was to stay. His life would be spared, nor would he be a bondager\nof any kind, and a little land to till would be given him, and all that\nhe might need. But of his past he was to say no word. His name was to\nbecome as nought, and he was to be known simply as Duvach. The child,\ntoo, was to be named Bride, for that was the way the name Briget is\ncalled in the Erse of the Isles.\n\nTo the question of Dughall, that was thenceforth Duvach, as to why he\nlaid so great stress on the child, who was a girl, and the reputed\noffspring of shame at that, Cathal the Arch-Druid replied thus: \"My\nkinsman Aodh of the golden hair, who sent you here, was wiser than Hugh\nthe king, and all the Druids of Aoimag. Truly, this child is an\nImmortal. There is an ancient prophecy concerning her: surely of her who\nis now here, and no other. There shall be, it says, a spotless maid born\nof a virgin of the ancient divine race in Innisfail. And when for the\nseventh time the sacred year has come, she will hold Eternity in her lap\nas a white flower. Her maiden breasts shall swell with milk for the\nPrince of the World. She shall give suck to the King of the Elements. So\nI say unto you, Duvach, go in peace. Take unto yourself a wife, and live\nupon the place I will allot on the east side of Ioua. Treat Bride as\nthough she were your soul, and leave her much alone, and let her learn\nof the sun and the wind. In the fulness of time the prophecy shall be\nfulfilled.\"\n\nSo was it, from that day of the days. Duvach took a wife unto himself,\nwho weaned the little Bride, who grew in beauty and grace, so that all\nmen marvelled. Year by year for seven years the wife of Duvach bore him\na son, and these grew apace in strength, so that by the beginning of the\nthird year of the seventh circle of Bride's life there were three\nstalwart youths to brother her, and three comely and strong lads, and\none young boy fair to see. Nor did any one, not even Bride herself,\nsaving Cathal the Arch-Druid, know that Duvach the herdsman was Dughall\nDonn, of a princely race in Innisfail.\n\nIn the end, too, Duvach came to think that he had dreamed, or at the\nleast that Cathal had not interpreted the prophecy aright. For though\nBride was of exceeding beauty, and of a holiness that made the young\ndruids bow before her as though she were a bandia, yet the world went on\nas before, and the days brought no change. Often, while she was still a\nchild, he had questioned her about the words she had said as a babe, but\nshe had no memory of them. Once, in her ninth year, he came upon her on\nthe hillside of Dun-I singing these self-same words. Her eyes dreamed\nfar away. He bowed his head, and, praying to the Giver of Light, hurried\nto Cathal. The old man bade him speak no more to the child concerning\nthe mysteries.\n\nBride lived the hours of her days upon the <DW72>s of Dun-I, herding the\nsheep, or in following the kye upon the green hillocks and grassy dunes\nof what then, as now, was called the Machar. The beauty of the world was\nher daily food. The spirit within her was like sunlight behind a white\nflower. The birdeens in the green bushes sang for joy when they saw her\nblue eyes. The tender prayers that were in her heart were often seen\nflying above her head in the form of white doves of sunshine.\n\nBut when the middle of the year came that was (though Duvach had\nforgotten it) the year of the prophecy, his eldest son, Conn, who was\nnow a man, murmured against the virginity of Bride, because of her\nbeauty and because a chieftain of the mainland was eager to wed her. \"I\nshall wed Bride or raid Ioua,\" was the message he had sent.\n\nSo one day, before the Great Fire of the Summer Festival, Conn and his\nbrothers reproached Bride.\n\n\"Idle are these pure eyes, O Bride, not to be as lamps at thy\nmarriage-bed.\"\n\n\"Truly, it is not by the eyes that we live,\" replied the maiden gently,\nwhile to their fear and amazement she passed her hand before her face\nand let them see that the sockets were empty.\n\nTrembling with awe at this portent, Duvach intervened:\n\n\"By the sun I swear it, O Bride, that thou shalt marry whomsoever thou\nwilt and none other, and when thou wilt, or not at all, if such be thy\nwill.\"\n\nAnd when he had spoken, Bride smiled, and passed her hand before her\nface again, and all there were abashed because of the blue light as of\nmorning that was in her shining eyes.\n\nIt was while the dew was yet wet on the grass that on the morrow Bride\ncame out of her father's house, and went up the steep <DW72> of Dun-I.\nThe crying of the ewes and lambs at the pastures came plaintively\nagainst the dawn. The lowing of the kye arose from the sandy hollows by\nthe shore, or from the meadows on the lower <DW72>s. Through the whole\nisland went a rapid, trickling sound, most sweet to hear: the myriad\nvoices of twittering birds, from the dotterel in the seaweed, to the\nlarks climbing the blue <DW72>s of heaven.\n\nThis was the festival of her birth, and she was clad in white. About her\nwaist was a girdle of the sacred rowan, the feathery green leaves\nflickering dusky shadows upon her robe as she moved. The light upon her\nyellow hair was as when morning wakes, laughing in wind amid the tall\ncorn. As she went she sang to herself, softly as the crooning of a dove.\nIf any had been there to hear he would have been abashed, for the words\nwere not in Erse, and the eyes of the beautiful girl were as those of\none in a vision.\n\nWhen, at last, a brief while before sunrise, she reached the summit of\nthe Scuir, that is so small a hill and yet seems so big in Iona, where\nit is the sole peak, she found three young druids there, ready to tend\nthe sacred fire the moment the sunrays should kindle it. Each was clad\nin a white robe, with fillets of oak leaves; and each had a golden\narmlet. They made a quiet obeisance as she approached. One stepped\nforward, with a flush in his face because of her beauty, that was as a\nsea-wave for grace and a flower for purity, as sunlight for joy and\nmoonlight for peace.\n\n\"Thou mayst draw near if thou wilt, Bride, daughter of Duvach,\" he said,\nwith something of reverence as well as of grave courtesy in his voice;\n\"for the holy Cathal hath said that the breath of the Source of All is\nupon thee. It is not lawful for women to be here at this moment, but\nthou hast the law shining upon thy face and in thine eyes. Hast thou\ncome to pray?\"\n\nBut at that moment a cry came from one of his companions. He turned, and\nrejoined his fellows. Then all three sank upon their knees, and with\noutstretched arms hailed the rising of God.\n\nAs the sun rose, a solemn chant swelled from their lips, ascending as\nincense through the silent air. The glory of the new day came\nsoundlessly. Peace was in the blue heaven, on the blue-green sea, and on\nthe green land. There was no wind, even where the currents of the deep\nmoved in shadowy purple. The sea itself was silent, making no more than\na sighing slumber-breath round the white sands of the isle, or a dull\nwhisper where the tide lifted the long weed that clung to the rocks.\n\nIn what strange, mysterious way, Bride did not see; but as the three\ndruids held their hands before the sacred fire there was a faint\ncrackling, then three thin spirals of blue smoke rose, and soon dusky\nred and wan yellow tongues of flame moved to and fro. The sacrifice of\nGod was made. Out of the immeasurable heaven He had come, in His golden\nchariot. Now, in the wonder and mystery of His love, He was re-born upon\nthe world, re-born a little fugitive flame upon a low hill in a remote\nisle. Great must be His love that He could die thus daily in a thousand\nplaces: so great His love that he could give up His own body to daily\ndeath, and suffer the holy flame that was in the embers He illumined to\nbe lighted and revered and then scattered to the four quarters of the\nworld.\n\nBride could bear no longer the mystery of this great love. It moved her\nto an ecstasy. What tenderness of divine love that could thus redeem the\nworld daily: what long-suffering for all the evil and cruelty done\nhourly upon the weeping earth: what patience with the bitterness of the\nblind fates! The beauty of the worship of Be'al was upon her as a golden\nglory. Her heart leaped to a song that could not be sung.\n\nBowing her head, so that the tears fell upon her hands, she rose and\nmoved away.\n\n\nElsewhere I have told how a good man of Iona sailed along the coast one\nSabbath afternoon with the Holy Book, and put the Word upon the seals of\nSoa: and, in another tale, how a lonely man fought with a sea-woman\nthat was a seal; as, again, how two fishermen strove with the sea-witch\nof Earraid: and, in \"The Dan-nan-Ron,\" of a man who went mad with the\nsea-madness, because of the seal-blood that was in his veins, he being a\nMacOdrum of Uist, and one of the Sliochd nan Ron, the Tribe of the Seal.\nAnd those who have read the tale, twice printed, once as \"The Annir\nChoille,\" and again as \"Cathal of the Woods,\" will remember how, at the\nend, the good hermit Molios, when near death in his sea-cave of Arran,\ncalled the seals to come out of the wave and listen to him, so that he\nmight tell them the white story of Christ; and how in the moonshine,\nwith the flowing tide stealing from his feet to his knees, the old saint\npreached the gospel of love, while the seals crouched upon the rocks,\nwith their brown eyes filled with glad tears: and how, before his death\nat dawn, he was comforted by hearing them splashing to and fro in the\nmoon-dazzle, and calling one to the other, \"We, too, are of the sons of\nGod.\"\n\nWhat has so often been written about is a reflection of what is in the\nmind: and though stories of the seals may be heard from the Rhinns of\nIslay to the Seven Hunters (and I first heard that of the MacOdrums, the\nseal-folk, from a Uist man), I think that it was because of what I\nheard of the sea-people on Iona, when I was a child, that they have been\nso much with me in remembrance.\n\nIn the short tale of the Moon-child, I told how two seals that had been\nwronged by a curse which had been put upon them by Columba, forgave the\nsaint, and gave him a sore-won peace. I recall another (unpublished)\ntale, where a seal called Domnhuil Dhu--a name of evil omen--was heard\nlaughing one Hallowe'en on the rocks below the ruined abbey, and calling\nto the creatures of the sea that God was dead: and how the man who heard\nhim laughed, and was therewith stricken with paralysis, and so fell\nsidelong from the rocks into the deep wave, and was afterwards found\nbeaten as with hammers and shredded as with sharp fangs.\n\nBut, as most characteristic, I would rather tell here the story of Black\nAngus, though the longer tale of which it forms a part has been printed\nbefore.\n\nOne night, a dark rainy night it was, with an uplift wind battering as\nwith the palms of savage hands the heavy clouds that hid the moon, I\nwent to the cottage near Spanish Port, where my friend Ivor Maclean\nlived with his old deaf mother. He had reluctantly promised to tell me\nthe legend of Black Angus, a request he had ignored in a sullen silence\nwhen he and Padruic Macrae and I were on the Sound that day. No tales of\nthe kind should be told upon the water.\n\nWhen I entered, he was sitting before the flaming coal-fire; for on Iona\nnow, by decree of MacCailein Mor, there is no more peat burned.\n\n\"You will tell me now, Ivor?\" was all I said.\n\n\"Yes; I will be telling you now. And the reason why I never told you\nbefore was because it is not a wise or a good thing to tell ancient\nstories about the sea while still on the running wave. Macrae should not\nhave done that thing. It may be we shall suffer for it when next we go\nout with the nets. We were to go to-night; but, no, not I, no, no, for\nsure, not for all the herring in the Sound.\"\n\n\"Is it an ancient _sgeul_, Ivor?\"\n\n\"Ay. I am not for knowing the age of these things. It may be as old as\nthe days of the Feinn, for all I know. It has come down to us. Alasdair\nMacAlasdair of Tiree, him that used to boast of having all the stories\nof Colum and Brigdhe, it was he told it to the mother of my mother, and\nshe to me.\"\n\n\"What is it called?\"\n\n\"Well, this and that; but there is no harm in saying it is called the\nDark Nameless One.\"\n\n\"The Dark Nameless One!\"\n\n\"It is this way. But will you ever have heard of the MacOdrums of Uist?\"\n\n\"Ay; the Sliochd-nan-ron.\"\n\n\"That is so. God knows. The Sliochd-nan-ron ... the progeny of the\nSeal.... Well, well, no man knows what moves in the shadow of life. And\nnow I will be telling you that old ancient tale, as it was given to me\nby the mother of my mother.\"\n\n\nOn a day of the days, Colum was walking alone by the sea-shore. The\nmonks were at the hoe or the spade, and some milking the kye, and some\nat the fishing. They say it was on the first day of the _Faoilleach\nGeamhraidh_, the day that is called _Am Fheill Brighde_, and that they\ncall Candlemas over yonder.\n\nThe holy man had wandered on to where the rocks are, opposite to Soa. He\nwas praying and praying; and it is said that whenever he prayed aloud,\nthe barren egg in the nest would quicken, and the blighted bud unfold,\nand the butterfly break its shroud.\n\nOf a sudden he came upon a great black seal, lying silent on the rocks,\nwith wicked eyes.\n\n\"My blessing upon you, O Ron,\" he said, with the good kind courteousness\nthat was his. \"_Droch spadadh ort_,\" answered the seal, \"A bad end to\nyou, Colum of the Gown.\"\n\n\"Sure now,\" said Colum angrily, \"I am knowing by that curse that you are\nno friend of Christ, but of the evil pagan faith out of the north. For\nhere I am known ever as Colum the White, or as Colum the Saint; and it\nis only the Picts and the wanton Normen who deride me because of the\nholy white robe I wear.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" replied the seal, speaking the good Gaelic as though it\nwere the tongue of the deep sea, as God knows it may be for all you, I,\nor the blind wind can say; \"well, well, let that thing be: it's a\nwave-way here or a wave-way there. But now, if it is a druid you are,\nwhether of fire or of Christ, be telling me where my woman is, and where\nmy little daughter.\"\n\nAt this, Colum looked at him for a long while. Then he knew.\n\n\"It is a man you were once, O Ron?\"\n\n\"Maybe ay and maybe no.\"\n\n\"And with that thick Gaelic that you have, it will be out of the north\nisles you come?\"\n\n\"That is a true thing.\"\n\n\"Now I am for knowing at last who and what you are. You are one of the\nrace of Odrum the Pagan?\"\n\n\"Well, I am not denying it, Colum. And what is more, I am Angus\nMacOdrum, Aonghas mac Torcall mhic Odrum, and the name I am known by is\nBlack Angus.\"\n\n\"A fitting name too,\" said Colum the Holy, \"because of the black sin in\nyour heart, and the black end God has in store for you.\"\n\nAt that Black Angus laughed.\n\n\"Why is the laughter upon you, Man-Seal?\"\n\n\"Well, it is because of the good company I'll be having. But, now, give\nme the word: Are you for having seen or heard of a woman called Kirsteen\nM'Vurich?\"\n\n\"Kirsteen--Kirsteen--that is the good name of a nun it is, and no\nsea-wanton!\"\n\n\"O, a name here or a name there is soft sand. And so you cannot be for\ntelling me where my woman is?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then a stake for your belly, and nails through your hands, thirst on\nyour tongue, and the corbies at your eyne!\"\n\nAnd, with that, Black Angus louped into the green water, and the hoarse\nwild laugh of him sprang into the air and fell dead upon the shore like\na wind-spent mew.\n\nColum went slowly back to the brethren, brooding deep. \"God is good,\" he\nsaid in a low voice, again and again; and each time that he spoke there\ncame a daisy into the grass, or a bird rose, with song to it for the\nfirst time, wonderful and sweet to hear.\n\nAs he drew near to the House of God he met Murtagh, an old monk of the\nancient race of the isles.\n\n\"Who is Kirsteen M'Vurich, Murtagh?\" he asked.\n\n\"She was a good servant of Christ, she was, in the south isles, O Colum,\ntill Black Angus won her to the sea.\"\n\n\"And when was that?\"\n\n\"Nigh upon a thousand years ago.\"\n\n\"But can mortal sin live as long as that?\"\n\n\"Ay, it endureth. Long, long ago, before Oisin sang, before Fionn,\nbefore Cuchullin, was a glorious great prince, and in the days when the\nTuatha-de-Danann were sole lords in all green Banba, Black Angus made\nthe woman Kirsteen M'Vurich leave the place of prayer and go down to\nthe sea-shore, and there he leaped upon her and made her his prey, and\nshe followed him into the sea.\"\n\n\"And is death above her now?\"\n\n\"No. She is the woman that weaves the sea-spells at the wild place out\nyonder that is known as Earraid: she that is called the sea-witch.\"\n\n\"Then why was Black Angus for the seeking her here and the seeking her\nthere?\"\n\n\"It is the Doom. It is Adam's first wife she is, that sea-witch over\nthere, where the foam is ever in the sharp fangs of the rocks.\"\n\n\"And who will he be?\"\n\n\"His body is the body of Angus, the son of Torcall of the race of Odrum,\nfor all that a seal he is to the seeming; but the soul of him is Judas.\"\n\n\"Black Judas, Murtagh?\"\n\n\"Ay, Black Judas, Colum.\"\n\n\nBut with that, Ivor Macrae rose abruptly from before the fire, saying\nthat he would speak no more that night. And truly enough there was a\nwild, lone, desolate cry in the wind, and a slapping of the waves one\nupon the other with an eerie laughing sound, and the screaming of a\nseamew that was like a human thing.\n\nSo I touched the shawl of his mother, who looked up with startled eyes\nand said, \"God be with us\"; and then I opened the door, and the salt\nsmell of the wrack was in my nostrils, and the great drowning blackness\nof the night.\n\n\nWhen I was a child I used to throw offerings--small coins, flowers,\nshells, even a newly caught trout, once a treasured flint\narrow-head--into the sea-loch by which we lived. My Hebridean nurse had\noften told me of Shony, a mysterious sea-god, and I know I spent much\ntime in wasted adoration: a fearful worship, not unmixed with\ndisappointment and some anger. Not once did I see him. I was frighted\ntime after time, but the sudden cry of a heron, or the snort of a\npollack chasing the mackerel, or the abrupt uplifting of a seal's head,\nbecame over-familiar, and I desired terror, and could not find it by the\nshore. Inland, after dusk, there was always the mysterious multitude of\nshadow. There too, I could hear the wind leaping and growling. But by\nthe shore I never knew any dread, even in the darkest night. The sound\nand company of the sea washed away all fears.\n\nI was amused not long ago to hear a little girl singing, as she ran\nwading through the foam of a troubled sunlit sea, as it broke on those\nwonderful white sands of Iona--\n\n    \"Shanny, Shanny, Shanny,\n    Catch my feet and tickle my toes!\n    And if you can, Shanny, Shanny, Shanny,\n    I'll go with you where no one knows!\"\n\nI have no doubt this daintier Shanny was my old friend Shony, whose more\nterrifying way was to clutch boats by the keel and drown the sailors,\nand make a death-necklace of their teeth. An evil Shony; for once he\nnetted a young girl who was swimming in a loch, and when she would not\ngive him her love he tied her to a rock, and to this day her long brown\nhair may be seen floating in the shallow green wave at the ebb of the\ntide. One need not name the place!\n\nThe Shanny song recalls to me an old Gaelic alphabet rhyme, wherein a\n_Maigh-deann-M'hara_, or Mermaid, stood for M, and a Suire (also a\nmermaid) stood for S; and my long perplexities as to whether I would\nknow a shuera from a midianmara when I saw either. It also recalls to me\nthat it was from a young schoolmaster priest, who had come back from\nIreland to die at home, that I first heard of the Beth-Luis-Nuin, the\nGaelic equivalent of \"the A B C.\" Every letter in the Gaelic alphabet\nis represented by a tree, and Beithe and Luis and Nuin are the Birch,\nthe Rowan, and the Ash. The reason why the alphabet is called the\nBeth-Luis-Nuin is that B, L, N, and not A, B, C, are its first three\nletters. It consists of eighteen letters--and in ancient Gaelic\nseventeen, for H (the Uath, or Whitethorn) does not exist there, I\nbelieve: and these run, B, L, N, F, S (H), D, T, C, M, G, P, R, A, O, U,\nE, I--each letter represented by the name of a tree, Birch, Rowan, Ash,\netc. Properly, there is no C in Gaelic, for though the letter C is\ncommon, it has always the sound of K.\n\nSince this page first appeared I have had so many letters about the\nGaelic alphabet of to-day that I take the opportunity to add a few\nlines. To-day as of old all the letters of the Gaelic alphabet are\ncalled after trees, from the oak to the shrub-like elder, with the\nexception of G, T, and U, which stand for Ivy, Furze and Heather. It no\nlonger runs B, L, N, etc., but in sequence follows the familiar and\namong western peoples, universal A, B, C, etc. It is, however, short of\nour Roman alphabet by eight letters J, K, Q, V, W, X, Y and Z. On the\nother hand, each of these is represented, either by some other letter\nhaving a like value or by a combination: thus K is identical with C,\nwhich does not exist in Gaelic as a soft sound any more than it does in\nGreek, but only as the C in English words such as _cat_ or _cart_, or in\ncombination with h as a gutteral as in _loch_--while v as common a sound\nin Gaelic as the hiss of s in English exists in almost every second or\nthird word as _bh_ or _mh_. The Gaelic A, B, C of to-day, then, runs as\nfollows: Ailm, Beite, Coll, Durr, Eagh, Fearn, Gath, Huath, Togh, Luis,\nMuin, Nuin, Oir, Peith, Ruis, Suil, Teine, Ur--which again is equivalent\nto saying Elm, Birch, Hazel, Oak, Aspen, Alder, Ivy, Whitethorn, Yew,\nRowan or Quicken, Vine, Ash, Spindle-tree, Pine, Elder, Willow, Furze,\nHeath.\n\nThe little girl who knew so much about Shanny knew nothing about her own\nA B C. But I owe her a debt, since through her I came upon my good\nfriend \"Gunainm.\" From her I heard first, there on Iona, on a chance\nvisit of a few summer days, of two of the most beautiful of the ancient\nGaelic hymns, the Fiacc Hymn and the Hymn of Broccan. My friend had\ndelineated them as missals, with a strangely beautiful design to each.\nHow often I have thought of one, illustrative of a line in the Fiacc\nHymn: \"There was pagan darkness in Eire in those days: the people\nadored Faerie.\" In the Broccan Hymn (composed by one Broccan in the time\nof Lugaid, son of Loegaire, A.D. 500) is one particularly lovely line:\n\"Victorious Bride (Briget) loved not this vain world: here, ever, she\nsat the seat of a bird on a cliff.\"\n\nIn a dream I dream frequently, that of being the wind, and drifting over\nfragrant hedgerows and pastures, I have often, through unconscious\nremembrance of that image of St. Bride sitting the seat of a bird on the\nedge of the cliff that is this world, felt myself, when not lifted on\nsudden warm fans of dusk, propelled as on a swift wing from the edge of\na precipice.\n\nI would that we had these winds of dream to command. I would, now that I\nam far from it, that this night at least I might pass over Iona, and\nhear the sea-doves by the ruins making their sweet mournful croon of\npeace, and lift, as a shadow gathering phantom flowers, the pale orchis\nby the lapwing's nest.\n\n\nOne day, walking by a reedy lochan on the Ross of Mull, not far inland\nfrom Fionnaphort, where is the ferry for Baile-Mor of Iona, I met an old\nman who seemed in sorrow. When he spoke I was puzzled by some words\nwhich were not native there, and then I learned that he had long lived\nin Edinburgh and later in Dunfermline, and in his work had associated\nwith Hollanders and others of the east seas.\n\nHe had come back, in his old age, to \"see the place of his two\nloves\"--the hamlet in Earraid, where his old mother had blessed him\n\"forty year back,\" and the little farm where Jean Cameron had kissed him\nand promised to be true. He had gone away as a soldier, and news reached\nthem of his death; and when he came out of the Indies, and went up Leith\nWalk to the great post-house in Edinburgh, it was to learn that the\nEarraid cottage was empty, and that Jean was no longer Jean Cameron.\n\nThere was not a touch of bitterness in the old man's words. \"It was my\nname, for one thing,\" he said simply: \"you see, there's many a 'J.\nMacdonald' in the Highland regiments; and the mistake got about that\nway. No, no--the dear lass wasna to blame. And I never lost her love.\nWhen I found out where she was I went to see her once more, an' to tell\nher I understood, an' loved her all the same. It was hard, in a way,\nwhen I found she had made a loveless marriage, but human nature's human\nnature, an' I could not but be proud and glad that she had nane but\npuir Jamie Macdonald in her heart. I told her I would be true to her,\nand since she was poor, would help her, an' wi' God's kindness true I\nwas, an' helped her too. For her man did an awfu' business one day, and\nwas sentenced for life. She had three bairns. Well, I keepit her an'\nthem--though I ne'er saw them but once in the year, for she had come\nback to the west, her heart brast with the towns. First one bairn died,\nthen another. Then Jean died.\"\n\nThe old man resumed suddenly: \"I had put all my savings into the Grand\nNorth Bank. When that failed I had nothing, for with the little that was\ngot back I bought a good 'prenticeship for Jean's eldest. Since then\nI've lived by odd jobs. But I'm old now, an' broke. Every day an' every\nnight I think o' them two, my mother an' Jean.\"\n\n\"She must have been a leal fine woman,\" I said, but in Gaelic. With a\nflash he looked at me, and then said slowly, as if remembering, \"_Eudail\nde mhnathan an domhain_,\" \"Treasure of all the women in the world.\"\n\nI have often thought of old \"Jamie Macdonald\" since. How wonderful his\ndeep love! This man was loyal to his love in long absence, and was not\nless loyal when he found that she was the wife of another; and gave up\nthought of home and comfort and companionship, so that he might make\nlife more easy for her and the children that were not his. He had no\nouter reward for this, nor looked for any.\n\nWe crossed to Baile-Mor together, and when I came upon him next day by\nthe Reilig Odhrain, I asked him what he thought of Iona.\n\nHe looked at the grey worn stones, \"the stairway of the kings,\" the\ntombs, the carved crosses, the grey ruins of the wind-harried cathedral,\nand with a wave of his hand, said simply, \"_Comunn mo ghaoil_,\" \"'Tis a\ncompanionship after my heart.\"\n\nI do not doubt that the old man went on his way comforted by the grey\nsilence and grey beauty of this ancient place, and that he found in Iona\nwhat would be near him for the rest of his days.\n\n\nAs a child I had some wise as well as foolish instruction concerning the\nnations of Faerie. If, in common with nearly all happy children, I was\nbrought up in intimate, even in circumstantial, knowledge of \"the\nfairies\"--being charitably taught, for one thing, so that I have often\nleft a little bowl of milk, a saucerful of oatcake and honey, and the\nlike, under a wooden seat, where they would be sure to see it--I was\ntold also of the Sidhe, often so rashly and ignorantly alluded to as the\nfairies in the sense of a pretty, diminutive, harmless, natural folk;\nand by my nurse Barabal instructed in some of the ways, spells,\ninfluences, and even appearances of these powerful and mysterious clans.\n\nI do not think, unless as a very young child, I ever confused them. I\nrecollect well my pleasure at a sign of gratitude. I was fond of making\nlittle reed or bulrush or ash flutes, but once I was in a place where\nthese were difficult to get, and I lost the only one I had. That night I\nput aside a small portion of my supper of bread and milk and honey, and\nremember also the sacrifice of a gooseberry of noble proportions,\nrelinquished, not without a sigh, in favour of any wandering fairy lad.\n\nNext morning when I ran out--three of us then had a wild morning\nperformance we called some fantastic, forgotten name, and ourselves the\nSun-dancers--I saw by the emptied saucer my little reed-flute! Here was\nproof positive! I was so grateful for that fairy's gratitude, that when\ndusk came again I not only left a larger supper-dole than usual, but,\ndecked with white fox-glove bells (in which I had unbounded faith), sat\ndrenched in the dew and played my little reed. Any moment (I was sure) a\nsmall green fellow would appear, and with wild indignation I found\nmyself snatched from the grass, and my ears dinned now with reproaches\nabout the dew, now with remonstrances against \"that frightfu'\nreed-screeching that scared awa' the varry hens.\"\n\nAh, there are souls that know nothing of fairies, or music!\n\nBut the Sidhe are a very different people from the small clans of the\nearth's delight.\n\nHowever (though I could write of both a great volume), I have little to\nsay of either just now, except in one connection.\n\nIt is commonly said that the People of the Sidhe dwell within the hills,\nor in the underworld. In some of the isles their home, now, is spoken of\nas Tir-na-thonn, the Land of the Wave, or Tir-fo-Tuinn, the Land under\nthe Sea.\n\nBut from a friend, an Islander of Iona, I have learned many things, and\namong them, that the Shee no longer dwell within the inland hills, and\nthat though many of them inhabit the lonelier isles of the west, and in\nparticular The Seven Hunters, their Kingdom is in the North.\n\nSome say it is among the pathless mountains of Iceland. But my friend\nspoke to an Iceland man, and he said he had never seen them. There were\nSecret People there, but not the Gaelic Sidhe.\n\nTheir Kingdom is in the North, under the _Fir-Chlisneach_, the Dancing\nMen, as the Hebrideans call the polar aurora. They are always young\nthere. Their bodies are white as the wild swan, their hair yellow as\nhoney, their eyes blue as ice. Their feet leave no mark on the snow. The\nwomen are white as milk, with eyes like sloes, and lips like red rowans.\nThey fight with shadows, and are glad; but the shadows are not shadows\nto them. The Shee slay great numbers at the full moon, but never hunt on\nmoonless nights, or at the rising of the moon, or when the dew is\nfalling. Their lances are made of reeds that glitter like shafts of ice,\nand it is ill for a mortal to find one of these lances, for it is tipped\nwith the salt of a wave that no living thing has touched, neither the\nwailing mew nor the finned sgadan nor his tribe, nor the narwhal. There\nare no men of the human clans there, and no shores, and the tides are\nforbidden.\n\nLong ago one of the monks of Columba sailed there. He sailed for thrice\nseven days till he lost the rocks of the north; and for thrice thirty\ndays, till Iceland in the south was like a small bluebell in a great\ngrey plain; and for thrice three years among bergs. For the first three\nyears the finned things of the sea brought him food; for the second\nthree years he knew the kindness of the creatures of the air; in the\nlast three years angels fed him. He lived among the Sidhe for three\nhundred years. When he came back to Iona, he was asked where he had been\nall that long night since evensong to matins. The monks had sought him\neverywhere, and at dawn had found him lying in the hollow of the long\nwave that washes Iona on the north. He laughed at that, and said he had\nbeen on the tops of the billows for nine years and three months and\ntwenty-one days, and for three hundred years had lived among a deathless\npeople. He had drunk sweet ale every day, and every day had known love\namong flowers and green bushes, and at dusk had sung old beautiful\nforgotten songs, and with star-flame had lit strange fires, and at the\nfull of the moon had gone forth laughing to slay. It was heaven, there,\nunder the Lights of the North. When he was asked how that people might\nbe known, he said that away from there they had a cold, cold hand, a\ncold, still voice, and cold ice-blue eyes. They had four cities at the\nfour ends of the green diamond that is the world. That in the north was\nmade of earth; that in the east, of air; that in the south, of fire;\nthat in the west, of water. In the middle of the green diamond that is\nthe world is the Glen of Precious Stones. It is in the shape of a heart,\nand glows like a ruby, though all stones and gems are there. It is there\nthe Sidhe go to refresh their deathless life.\n\nThe holy monks said that this kingdom was certainly Ifurin, the Gaelic\nHell. So they put their comrade alive in a grave in the sand, and\nstamped the sand down upon his head, and sang hymns so that mayhap even\nyet his soul might be saved, or, at least, that when he went back to\nthat place he might remember other songs than those sung by the\nmilk-white women with eyes like sloes and lips red as rowans. \"Tell that\nhoney-mouthed cruel people they are in Hell,\" said the abbot, \"and give\nthem my ban and my curse unless they will cease laughing and loving\nsinfully and slaying with bright lances, and will come out of their\nsecret places and be baptized.\"\n\nThey have not yet come.\n\nThis adventurer of the dreaming mind is another Oran, that fabulous Oran\nof whom the later Columban legends tell. I think that other Orans go\nout, even yet, to the Country of the Sidhe. But few come again. It must\nbe hard to find that glen at the heart of the green diamond that is the\nworld; but, when found, harder to return by the way one came.\n\n\nOnce when I was sailing to Tiree, I stopped at Iona, and went to see an\nold woman named Giorsal. She was of my own people, and, not being\nIona-born, the islanders called her the foreigner. She had a daughter\nnamed Ealasaidh, or Elsie as it is generally given in English, and I\nwanted to see her even more than the old woman.\n\n\"Where is Elsie?\" I asked, after our greetings were done.\n\nGiorsal looked at me sidelong, and then shifted the kettle, and busied\nherself with the teapot.\n\nI repeated the question.\n\n\"She is gone,\" the old woman said, without looking at me.\n\n\"Gone? Where has she gone to?\"\n\n\"I might as well ask you to tell me that.\"\n\n\"Is she married ... had she a lover ... or ... or ... do you mean that\nshe ... that you ... have lost her?\"\n\n\"She's gone. That's all I know. But she isn't married, so far as I know:\nan' I never knew any man she fancied: an' neither I nor any other on\nIona has seen her dead body; an' by St. Martin's Cross, neither I nor\nany other saw her leave the island. And that was more than a year ago.\"\n\n\"But, Giorsal, she must have left Iona and gone to Mull, or maybe gone\naway in a steamer, or----\"\n\n\"It was in midwinter, an' when a heavy gale was tearing through the\nSound. There was no steamer an' no boat that day. There isn't a boat of\nIona that could have taken the sea that day. And no--Elsie wasna\ndrowned. I see that's what's in your mind. She just went out o' the\nhouse again cryin'. I asked her what was wrong wi' her. She turned an'\nsmiled, an' because o' that terrifying smile I couldna say a word. She\nwent up behind the Ruins, an' no one saw her after that but Ian Donn. He\nsaw her among the bulrushes in the swamp over by Staonaig. She was\nlaughing an' talking to the reeds, or to the wind in the reeds. So Ian\nDonn says.\"\n\n\"And what do _you_ say, Giorsal?\"\n\nThe old woman went to the door, looked out, and closed it. When she\nreturned, she put another bit on the fire, and kept her gaze on the red\nglow.\n\n\"Do you know much about them old Iona monks?\" she asked abruptly.\n\n\"What old monks?\"\n\n\"Them as they call the Culdees. You used to be askin' lots o' questions\nabout them. Ay? well ... they aye hated folk from the North, an'\nwomen-folk above all.\"\n\nI waited, silent.\n\n\"And Elsie, poor lass, she hated them in turn. She was all for the wild\nclansmen out o' Skye and the Long Island. She said she wished the Siol\nLeoid had come to Iona before Colum built the big church. And for why?\nWell, there's this, for one thing: For months a monk had come to her o'\nnights in her sleep, an' said he would kill her, because she was a\nheathen. She went to the minister at last, an' said her say. He told her\nshe was a foolish wench, an' was sore angry with her. So then she went\nto old Mary Gillespie, out by the lochan beyond Fionnaphort on the Ross\nyonder--her that has the sight an' a power o' the old wisdom. After that\nshe took to meeting friends in the moonshine.\"\n\n\"Friends?\"\n\n\"Ay. There's no call to name names. One day she told me that she had\nbeen bidden to go over to them. If she didn't, the monks would kill her,\nthey said. The monks are still the strongest here, they told her, or she\nme, I forget which. That is, except over by Staonaig. Up between Sgeur\nIolaire and Cnoc Druidean there's a path that no monk can go. There, in\nthe old days, they burned a woman. She was not a woman, but they thought\nshe was. She was one o' the Sorrows of the Sheen, that they put out to\nsuffer for them, an' get the mortal ill. That's the plague to _them_.\nIt's ill to any that brings harm on _them_. That's why the monks arena\nstrong over by Staonaig way. But I told my girl not to mind. She was\nsafe wi' me, I said. She said that was true. For weeks I heard no more\no' that monk. One night Elsie came in smiling an' pluckin' wild roses.\n'_Breisleach_!' I cried, 'what's the meanin' o' roses in January?' She\nlooked at me, frighted, an' said nothin', but threw the things on the\nfire. It was next day she went away.\"\n\n\"And----\"\n\n\"An' that's all. Here's the tea. Ay, an' for sure here's my good man.\n_Whist_, now! Rob, do you see who's here?\"\n\nNothing is more strange than the confused survival of legends and pagan\nfaiths and early Christian beliefs, such as may be found still in some\nof the isles. A Tiree man, whom I met some time ago on the boat that was\ntaking us both to the west, told me there's a story that Mary Magdalene\nlies in a cave in Iona. She roamed the world with a blind man who loved\nher, but they had no sin. One day they came to Knoidart in Argyll. Mary\nMagdalene's first husband had tracked her there, and she knew that he\nwould kill the blind man. So she bade him lie down among some swine, and\nshe herself herded them. But her husband came and laughed at her. \"That\nis a fine boar you have there,\" he said. Then he put a spear through the\nblind man. \"Now I will take your beautiful hair,\" he said. He did this\nand went away. She wept till she died. One of Colum's monks found her,\nand took her to Iona, and she was buried in a cave. No one but Colum\nknew who she was. Colum sent away the man, because he was always mooning\nand lamenting. She had a great wonderful beauty to her.\n\nIt is characteristic enough, even to the quaint confusion that could\nmake Mary Magdalene and St. Columba contemporary. But as for the story,\nwhat is it but the universal Gaelic legend of Diarmid and Grania? They\ntoo wandered far to escape the avenger. It does not matter that their\n\"beds\" are shown in rock and moor, from Glenmoriston to Loch Awe, from\nLora Water to West Loch Tarbert, with an authenticity as absolute as\nthat which discovers them almost anywhere between Donegal and Clare; nor\nthat the death-place has many sites betwixt Argyll and Connemara. In\nGaelic Scotland every one knows that Diarmid was wounded to the death on\nthe rocky ground between Tarbert of Loch Fyne and the West Loch. Every\none knows the part the boar played, and the part Finn played.\n\nDoubtless the story came by way of the Shannon to the Loch of Shadows,\nor from Cuchullin's land to Dun Sobhairce on the Antrim coast, and\nthence to the Scottish mainland. In wandering to the isles, it lost\nsomething both of Eire and Alba. The Campbells, too, claimed Diarmid;\nand so the Hebrideans would as soon forget him. So, there, by one byplay\nof the mind or another, it survived in changing raiment. Perhaps an\nislesman had heard a strange legend about Mary Magdalene, and so named\nGrania anew. Perhaps a story-teller consciously wove it the new way.\nPerhaps an Iona man, hearing the tale in distant Barra or Uist, in Coll\nor Tiree, \"buried\" Mary in a cave of Icolmkill.\n\nThe notable thing is, not that a primitive legend should love fantastic\nraiment, but that it should be so much alike, where the Syrian wanders\nfrom waste to waste, by the camp-fires of the Basque muleteers, and in\nthe rainy lands of the Gael.\n\nIn Mingulay, one of the south isles of the Hebrides, in South Uist, and\nin Iona, I have heard a practically identical tale told with striking\nvariations. It is a tale so wide-spread that it has given rise to a\npathetic proverb, \"Is mairg a loisgeadh a chlarsach dut,\" \"Pity on him\nwho would burn the harp for you.\"\n\nIn Mingulay, the \"harper\" who broke his \"harp\" for a woman's love was a\nyoung man, a fiddler. For three years he wandered out of the west into\nthe east, and when he had made enough money to buy a good share in a\nfishing-boat, or even a boat itself, he came back to Mingulay. When he\nreached his Mary's cottage, at dusk, he played her favourite air, an\n\"oran leannanachd,\" but when she came out it was with a silver ring on\nher left hand and a baby in her arms. Thus poor Padruig Macneill knew\nMary had broken her troth and married another man, and so he went down\nto the shore and played a \"marbh-rann,\" and then broke his fiddle on the\nrocks; and when they came upon them in the morning he had the strings of\nit round his neck. In Uist, the instrument is more vaguely called a\n\"tiompan,\" and here, on a bitter cold night in a famine time, the\nmusician breaks it so as to feed the fire to warm his wife--a sacrifice\nill repaid by the elopement of the hard woman that night. In Iona, the\ntale is of an Irish piper who came over to Icolmkill on a pilgrimage,\nand to lay his \"peeb-h'yanna\"[5] on \"the holy stones\"; but, when there,\nhe got word that his young wife was ill, so he \"made a loan of his\nclar,\" and with the money returned to Derry, only to find that his dear\nhad gone away with a soldier for the Americas.\n\nThe legendary history of Iona would be as much Pagan as Christian.\nTo-day, at many a _ceilidh_ by the warm hearths in winter, one may hear\nallusions to the Scandinavian pirates, or to their more ancient and\nobscure kin, the Fomor.... The Fomor or Fomorians were a people that\nlived before the Gael, and had their habitations on the isles: fierce\nprowlers of the sea, who loved darkness and cold and storm, and drove\nherds of wolves across the deeps. In other words, they were elemental\nforces. But the name is sometimes used for the Norse pirates who ravaged\nthe west, from the Lews to the town of the Hurdle-ford.\n\nIn poetic narration \"the men of Lochlin\" occurs oftener: sometimes the\nSummer-sailors, as the Vikings called themselves; sometimes, perhaps\noftenest, the Danes. The Vikings have left numerous personal names among\nthe islanders, notably the general term \"summer-sailors,\" _somerledi_,\nwhich survives as Somerled. Many Macleods and Macdonalds are called\nSomerled, Torquil (also Torcall, Thorkill), and Manus (Magnus), and in\nthe Hebrides surnames such as Odrum betray a Norse origin. A glance at\nany good map will reveal how largely the capes and promontories and\nheadlands, and small bays and havens of the west, remember the lords of\nthe Suderoeer.\n\nThe fascination of this legendary history is in its contrast of the\nbarbaric and the spiritual. Since I was a child I have been held\nspellbound by this singular union. To see the Virgin Mary in the sombre\nand terrible figure of the Washer of the Ford, or spiritual destiny in\nthat of the Woman with the Net, was natural: as to believe that the\nsame Columba could be as tender as St. Bride or gentle as St. Francis,\nand yet could thrust the living Oran back into his grave, or prophesy,\nas though himself a believer in the druidic wisdom, by the barking of a\nfavourite hound that had a white spot on his forehead--_Donnalaich chon\nchinain_.\n\n\nOf this characteristic blending of pagan and Christian thought and\nlegend I have tried elsewhere to convey some sense--oftener, perhaps,\nhave instinctively expressed: and here, as they are apposite to Iona, I\nwould like to select some pages as representative of three\nphases--namely, of the barbaric history of Iona, of the primitive\nspiritual history which is so childlike in its simplicity, and of that\ndirect grafting of Christian thought and imagery upon pagan thought and\nimagery which at one time, and doubtless for many generations (for it\nstill survives), was a normal unconscious method. Some five years ago I\nwrote three short Columban stories, collectively called _The Three\nMarvels of Iona_, one named \"The Festival of the Birds,\" another \"The\nSabbath of the Fishes and the Flies,\" and the third \"The Moon-Child.\" It\nis the second of these that, somewhat altered to its present use by\nrunning into it part of another Columban tale, I add now.\n\n\nBefore dawn, on the morning of the hundredth Sabbath after Colum the\nWhite had made glory to God in Hy, that was theretofore called Ioua, or\nthe Druid Isle, and is now Iona, the saint beheld his own sleep in a\nvision.\n\nMuch fasting and long pondering over the missals, with their golden and\nazure and sea-green initials and earth-brown branching letters, had made\nColum weary. He had brooded much of late upon the mystery of the living\nworld that was not man's world.\n\nOn the eve of that hundredth Sabbath, which was to be a holy festival in\nIona, he had talked long with an ancient greybeard out of a remote isle\nin the north, the wild Isle of the Mountains, where Scathach the queen\nhanged the men of Lochlin by their yellow hair.\n\nThis man's name was Ardan, and he was of the ancient people. He had come\nto Iona because of two things. Maolmor, the king of the northern Picts,\nhad sent him to learn of Colum what was this god-teaching he had brought\nout of Eire: and for himself he had come when old age was upon him, to\nsee what manner of man this Colum was, who had made Ioua, that was\n\"Innis-nan-Dhruidhnean\"--the Isle of the Druids--into a place of new\nworship.\n\nFor three hours Ardan and Colum had walked by the sea-shore. Each\nlearned of the other. Ardan bowed his head before the wisdom. Colum knew\nin his heart that the Druid saw mysteries.\n\nIn the first hour they talked of God.\n\n\"Ay, sure: and now,\" said the saint, \"O Ardan the wise, is my God thy\nGod?\"\n\nAt that Ardan turned his eyes to the west. With his right hand he\npointed to the sun that was like a great golden flower. \"Truly, He is\nthy God and my God.\" Colum was silent. Then he said: \"Thee and thine, O\nArdan, from Maolmor the Pictish king to the least of his slaves, shall\nhave a long weariness in Hell. That fiery globe yonder is but the Lamp\nof the World: and sad is the case of the man who knows not the torch\nfrom the torch-bearer.\"\n\nIn the second hour they talked of Man. While Ardan spoke, Colum smiled\nin his deep, grey eyes.\n\n\"It is for laughter that,\" he said, when Ardan ceased.\n\n\"And why will that be, O Colum Cille?\" Ardan asked. Then the smile went\nout of Colum's grey eyes, and he turned and looked about him.\n\nHe saw near, a crow, a horse, and a hound.\n\n\"These are thy brethren,\" he said scornfully.\n\nBut Ardan answered quietly, \"Even so.\"\n\nThe third hour they talked about the beasts of the earth and the fowls\nof the air.\n\nAt the last Ardan said: \"The ancient wisdom hath it that these are the\nsouls of men and women that have been, or are to be.\" Whereat Colum\nanswered: \"The new wisdom, that is old as eternity, declareth that God\ncreated all things in love. Therefore are we at one, O Ardan, though we\nsail to the Isle of Truth from the west and the east. Let there be peace\nbetween us.\" \"Peace,\" said Ardan.\n\nThat eve, Ardan of the Picts sat with the monks of Iona.\n\nColum blessed him and said a saying. Cathal of the Songs sang a hymn of\nbeauty. Ardan rose, and put the wine of guests to his lips, and chanted\nthis rann:\n\n    O Colum and monks of Christ,\n    It is peace we are having this night:\n    Sure, peace is a good thing,\n    And I am glad with the gladness.\n\n    We worship one God,\n    Though ye call him Dia--\n    And I say not, O De!\n    But cry _Bea'uil Bel_!\n\n    For it is one faith for man,\n    And one for the living world,\n    And no man is wiser than another--\n    And none knoweth much.\n\n    None knoweth a better thing than this:\n    The Sword, Love, Song, Honour, Sleep.\n    None knoweth a surer thing than this:\n    Birth, Sorrow, Pain, Weariness, Death.\n\n    Sure, peace is a good thing;\n    Let us be glad of peace:\n    We are not men of the Sword,\n    But of the Rune and the Wisdom.\n\n    I have learned a truth of Colum,\n    And he hath learned of me:\n    All ye on the morrow shall see\n    A wonder of the wonders.\n\nArdan would say no more after that, though all besought him. Many\npondered long that night. Cathal made a song of mystery. Colum brooded\nthrough the dark; but before dawn he fell asleep upon the fern that\nstrewed his cell. At dawn, with waking eyes, and weary, he saw his Sleep\nin a vision.\n\nIt stood grey and wan beside him.\n\n\"What art thou, O Spirit?\" he said.\n\n\"I am thy Sleep, Colum.\"\n\n\"And is it peace?\"\n\n\"It is peace.\"\n\n\"What wouldst thou?\"\n\n\"I have wisdom. Thy mind and thy soul were closed. I could not give what\nI brought. I brought wisdom.\"\n\n\"Give it.\"\n\n\"Behold!\"\n\nAnd Colum, sitting upon the strewed fern that was his bed, rubbed his\neyes that were heavy with weariness and fasting and long prayer. He\ncould not see his Sleep now. It was gone as smoke that is licked up by\nthe wind....\n\nFor three days thereafter Colum fasted, save for a handful of meal at\ndawn, a piece of rye-bread at noon, and a mouthful of dulse and\nspring-water at sun-down. On the night of the third day, Oran and Keir\ncame to him in his cell. Colum was on his knees lost in prayer. No sound\nwas there, save the faint whispered muttering of his lips and on the\nplastered wall the weary buzzing of a fly.\n\n\"Holy One!\" said Oran in a low voice, soft with pity and awe; \"Holy\nOne!\"\n\nBut Colum took no notice. His lips still moved, and the tangled hairs\nbelow his nether lip shivered with his failing breath.\n\n\"Father!\" said Keir, tender as a woman; \"Father!\"\n\nColum did not turn his eyes from the wall. The fly droned his drowsy hum\nupon the rough plaster. It crawled wearily for a space, then stopped.\nThe slow hot drone filled the cell.\n\n\"Father,\" said Oran, \"it is the will of the brethren that thou shouldst\nbreak thy fast. Thou art old, and God has thy glory. Give us peace.\"\n\n\"Father,\" urged Keir, seeing that Colum kneeled unnoticingly, his lips\nstill moving above his grey beard, with the white hair of him falling\nabout his head like a snowdrift slipping from a boulder. \"Father, be\npitiful! We hunger and thirst for thy presence. We can fast no longer,\nyet we have no heart to break our fast if thou art not with us. Come,\nholy one, and be of our company, and eat of the good broiled fish that\nawaiteth us. We perish for the benediction of thine eyes.\"\n\nThen it was that Colum rose, and walked slowly towards the wall.\n\n\"Little black beast,\" he said to the fly that droned its drowsy hum and\nmoved not at all; \"little black beast, sure it is well I am knowing\nwhat you are. You are thinking you are going to get my blessing, you\nthat have come out of hell for the soul of me!\"\n\nAt that the fly flew heavily from the wall, and slowly circled round and\nround the head of Colum the White.\n\n\"What think ye of that, brother Oran, brother Keir?\" he asked in a low\nvoice, hoarse because of his long fast and the weariness that was upon\nhim.\n\n\"It is a fiend,\" said Oran.\n\n\"It is an angel,\" said Keir.\n\nThereupon the fly settled upon the wall again, and again droned his\ndrowsy hot hum.\n\n\"Little black beast,\" said Colum, with the frown coming down into his\neyes, \"is it for peace you are here, or for sin? Answer, I conjure you\nin the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!\"\n\n\"_An ainn an Athar, 's an Mhic, 's an Spioraid Naoimh_,\" repeated Oran\nbelow his breath.\n\n\"_An ainn an Athar, 's an Mhic, 's an Spioraid Naoimh_,\" repeated Keir\nbelow his breath.\n\nThen the fly that was upon the wall flew up to the roof and circled to\nand fro. And it sang a beautiful song, and its song was this:\n\n    Praise be to God, and a blessing too at that, and a blessing!\n    For Colum the White, Colum the Dove, hath worshipped;\n    Yea, he hath worshipped and made of a desert a garden,\n    And out of the dung of men's souls have made a sweet savour of\n      burning.\n\n    A savour of burning, most sweet, a fire for the altar,\n    This he hath made in the desert; the hell-saved all gladden.\n    Sure he hath put his benison, too, on milch-cow and bullock,\n    On the fowls of the air, and the man-eyed seals, and the otter.\n\n    But high in His Dun in the great blue mainland of heaven,\n    God the All-Father broodeth, where the harpers are harping His\n      glory:\n    There where He sitteth, where a river of ale poureth ever,\n    His great sword broken, His spear in the dust, He broodeth.\n\n    And this is the thought that moves in his brain, as a cloud filled\n      with thunder\n    Moves through the vast hollow sky filled with the dust of the\n      stars--\n    \"What boots it the glory of Colum, when he maketh a Sabbath to bless\n      me,\n    And hath no thought of my sons in the deeps of the air and the sea?\"\n\nAnd with that the fly passed from their vision. In the cell was a most\nwondrous sweet song, like the sound of far-off pipes over water.\n\nOran said in a low voice of awe, \"O God, our God!\"\n\nKeir whispered, white with fear, \"O God, my God!\"\n\nBut Colum rose, and took a scourge from where it hung on the wall. \"It\nshall be for peace, Oran,\" he said, with a grim smile flitting like a\nbird above the nest of his grey beard; \"it shall be for peace, Keir!\"\n\nAnd with that he laid the scourge heavily upon the bent backs of Keir\nand Oran, nor stayed his hand, nor let his three days' fast weaken the\ndeep piety that was in the might of his arm, and because of the glory of\nGod.\n\nThen, when he was weary, peace came into his heart, and he sighed\n\"_Amen_!\"\n\n\"Amen!\" said Oran the monk.\n\n\"Amen!\" said Keir the monk.\n\n\"And this thing has been done,\" said Colum, \"because of your evil wish\nand the brethren, that I should break my fast, and eat of fish, till God\nwill it. And lo, I have learned a mystery. Ye shall all witness to it on\nthe morrow, which is the Sabbath.\"\n\nThat night the monks wondered much. Only Oran and Keir cursed the fishes\nin the deeps of the sea and the flies in the deeps of the air.\n\nOn the morrow, when the sun was yellow on the brown seaweed, and there\nwas peace on the isle and upon the waters, Colum and the brotherhood\nwent slowly towards the sea.\n\nAt the meadows that are close to the sea, the saint stood still. All\nbowed their heads.\n\n\"O winged things of the air,\" cried Colum, \"draw near!\"\n\nWith that the air was full of the hum of innumerous flies, midges, bees,\nwasps, moths, and all winged insects. These settled upon the monks, who\nmoved not, but praised God in silence.\n\n\"Glory and praise to God,\" cried Colum, \"behold the Sabbath of the\nchildren of God that inhabit the deeps of the air! Blessing and peace be\nupon them.\"\n\n\"Peace! Peace!\" cried the monks, with one voice.\n\n\"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!\" cried Colum\nthe White, glad because of the glory to God.\n\n\"_An ainn an Athar, 's an Mhic, 's an Spioraid Naoimh_,\" cried the\nmonks, bowing reverently, and Oran and Keir deepest of all, because they\nsaw the fly that was of Colum's cell leading the whole host, as though\nit were its captain, and singing to them a marvellous sweet song.\n\nOran and Keir testified to this thing, and all were full of awe and\nwonder, and Colum praised God.\n\nThen the saints and the brotherhood moved onward and went upon the\nrocks. When all stood ankle-deep in the seaweed that was swaying in the\ntide, Colum cried:\n\n\"O finny creatures of the deep, draw near!\"\n\nAnd with that the whole sea shimmered as with silver and gold. All the\nfishes of the sea, and the great eels, and the lobsters and the crabs,\ncame in a swift and terrible procession. Great was the glory.\n\nThen Colum cried, \"O fishes of the deep, who is your king?\" Whereupon\nthe herring, the mackerel, and the dogfish swam forward, and each\nclaimed to be king. But the echo that ran from wave to wave said, _The\nHerring is King_!\n\nThen Colum said to the mackerel, \"Sing the song that is upon you.\"\n\nAnd the mackerel sang the song of the wild rovers of the sea, and the\nlust of pleasure.\n\nThen Colum said, \"But for God's mercy, I would curse you, O false fish.\"\n\nThen he spoke likewise to the dogfish, and the dogfish sang of slaughter\nand the chase, and the joy of blood.\n\nAnd Colum said, \"Hell shall be your portion.\"\n\nThen there was peace. And the herring said:\n\n\"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.\"\n\nWhereat all that mighty multitude, before they sank into the deep, waved\ntheir fins and their claws, each after its kind, and repeated as with\none voice:\n\n\"_An ain ann Athar, 's an Mhic, 's an Spioraid Naoimh!_\"\n\nAnd the glory that was upon the Sound of Iona was as though God trailed\na starry net upon the waters, with a shining star in every little\nhollow, and a flowing moon of gold on every wave.\n\nThen Colum the White put out both his arms, and blessed the children of\nGod that are in the deeps of the sea and that are in the deeps of the\nair.\n\nThat is how Sabbath came upon all living things upon Ioua that is\ncalled Iona, and within the air above Ioua, and within the sea that is\naround Ioua.\n\nAnd the glory is Colum's.\n\n\nTo illustrate the history of the island I select the following episode\nfrom _Barbaric Tales_. It deals with The Flight of the Culdees. The name\nculdee is somewhat loosely used both by mediaeval and modern writers, for\nit does not appear to have been given to the Brotherhood of the Columban\nChurch till two hundred years after Columba's death. The word may be\ntaken to mean the Cleric of God; perhaps, later, it was the equivalent\nof anchorite. This episode is, in date, about A.D. 800 or soon after.\n\n\nOn the wane of the moon, on the day following the ruin of Bail'-tiorail,\nsails were seen far east of Stromness.\n\nOlaus the White called his men together. The boats coming before the\nwind were doubtless his own galleys which he had lost when the\nsouth-gale had blown them against Skye; but no man can know when and how\nthe gods may smile grimly, and let the swords that whirl be broken, or\nthe spears that are flat become a hedge of death.\n\nAn hour later, a startled word went from viking to viking. The galleys\nin the offing were the fleet of Sweno the Hammerer. Why had he come so\nfar southward, and why were oars so swift and the stained sails\ndistended before the wind? They were soon to know.\n\nSweno himself was the first to land. A great man he was, broad and\nburly, with a sword-slash across his face that brought his brows in a\nperpetual frown above his savage blood-shot eyes.\n\nIn few words he told how he had met a galley, with only half its crew,\nand of these many who were wounded. It was the last of the fleet of Haco\nthe Laugher. A fleet of fifteen war-birlinns had set out from the Long\nIsland, and had given battle. Haco had gone into the strife, laughing\nloud as was his wont, and he and all his men had the berserk rage, and\nfought with joy and foam at the mouth. Never had the Sword sung a\nsweeter song.\n\n\"Well,\" said Olaus the White grimly, \"well, how did the Raven fly?\"\n\n\"When Haco laughed for the last time, his sword waving out of the\ndeath-tide where he sank, there was only one galley left. No more than\nnine vikings lived thereafter to tell the tale. These nine we took out\nof their boat, which was below waves soon. Haco and his men are all\nfighting the sea-shadows by now.\"\n\nA loud snarling went from man to man. This became a cry of rage. Then\nsavage shouts filled the air. Swords were lifted up against the sky; and\nthe fierce glitter of blue eyes and the bristling of tawny beards were\nfair to see, thought the captive women, though their hearts beat in\ntheir breasts like eaglets behind the bars of a cage.\n\nSweno the Hammerer frowned a deep frown when he heard that Olaus was\nthere with only the _Svart-Alf_ out of the galleys which had gone the\nsouthward way.\n\n\"If the islanders come upon us now with their birlinns we shall have to\nmake a running fight,\" he said.\n\nOlaus laughed.\n\n\"Ay, but the running shall be after the birlinns, Sweno.\"\n\n\"I hear there are fifty and nine men of these Culdees yonder under the\nsword-priest, Maoliosa?\"\n\n\"It is a true word. But to-night, after the moon is up, there shall be\nnone.\"\n\nAt that, all who heard laughed, and were less heavy in their hearts\nbecause of the slaying and drowning of Haco the Laugher and all his\ncrew.\n\n\"Where is the woman Brenda that you took?\" Olaus asked, as he stared at\nSweno's boat and saw no woman there.\n\n\"She is in the sea.\"\n\nOlaus the White looked. It was his eyes that asked.\n\n\"I flung her into the sea because she laughed when she heard of how the\nbirlinns that were under Somhairle the Renegade drove in upon our ships,\nand how Haco laughed no more, and the sea was red with viking blood.\"\n\n\"She was a woman, Sweno--and none more fair in the isles, after Morna\nthat is mine.\"\n\n\"Woman or no woman, I flung her into the sea. The Gael call us Gall:\nthen I will let no Gael laugh at the Gall. It is enough. She is drowned.\nThere are always women: one here, one there--it is but a wave blown this\nway or that.\"\n\nAt this moment a viking came running across the ruined town with\ntidings. Maoliosa and his culdees were crowding into a great birlinn.\nPerhaps they were coming to give battle: perhaps they were for sailing\naway from that place.\n\nOlaus and Sweno stared across the fjord. At first they knew not what to\ndo. If Maoliosa thought of battle he would hardly choose that hour and\nplace. Or was it that he knew the Gael were coming in force, and that\nthe vikings were caught in a trap?\n\nAt last it was clear. Sweno gave a great laugh.\n\n\"By the blood of Odin,\" he cried, \"they come to sue for peace!\"\n\nFilled with white-robed culdees, the birlinn drew slowly across the\nloch. A tall, old man stood at the prow, with streaming hair and beard,\nwhite as sea-foam. In his right hand he grasped a great Cross, whereon\nChrist was crucified.\n\nThe vikings drew close to one another.\n\n\"Hail them in their own tongue, Sweno,\" said Olaus.\n\nThe Hammerer moved to the water-edge, as the birlinn stopped, a short\narrow-flight away.\n\n\"Ho, there, priests of the Christ-faith!\"\n\n\"What would you, viking?\" It was Maoliosa himself that spoke.\n\n\"Why do you come here among us, you that are Maoliosa?\"\n\n\"To win you and yours to God, Pagan.\"\n\n\"Is it madness that is upon you, old man? We have swords and spears\nhere, if we lack hymns and prayers.\"\n\nAll this time Olaus kept a wary watch inland and seaward, for he feared\nthat Maoliosa came because of an ambush.\n\nTruly the old monk was mad. He had told his culdees that God would\nprevail, and that the pagans would melt away before the Cross. The\nebb-tide was running swift. Even while Sweno spoke, the birlinn touched\na low sea-hidden ledge of rock. A cry of consternation went up from the\nwhite-robes. Loud laughter came from the vikings.\n\n\"Arrows!\" cried Olaus.\n\nWith that threescore men took their bows. A hail of death-shafts fell.\nMany pierced the water, but some pierced the necks and hearts of the\nculdees.\n\nMaoliosa himself, stood in death transfixed to the mast. With a scream\nthe monks swept their oars backward. Then they leaped to their feet, and\nchanged their place, and rowed for life.\n\nThe summer-sailors sprang into their galley. Sweno the Hammerer was at\nthe bow. The foam curled and hissed. The birlinn of the culdees grided\nupon the opposite shore at the moment when Sweno brought down his\nbattle-axe upon the monk who steered. The man was cleft to the shoulder.\nSweno swayed with the blow, stumbled, and fell headlong into the sea. A\nculdee thrust at him with an oar, and pinned him among the sea-tangle.\nThus died Sweno the Hammerer.\n\nLike a flock of sheep the white-robes leaped upon the shore. Yet Olaus\nwas quicker than they. With a score of vikings he raced to the Church of\nthe Cells, and gained the sanctuary. The monks uttered a cry of despair,\nand, turning, fled across the sands. Olaus counted them. There were now\nforty in all.\n\n\"Let forty men follow,\" he cried.\n\nThe monks fled this way and that. Olaus, and those who watched, laughed\nto see how they stumbled, because of their robes. One by one fell,\nsword-cleft or spear-thrust. The sand-dunes were red.\n\nSoon there were fewer than a score--then twelve only--ten!\n\n\"Bring them back!\" Olaus shouted.\n\nWhen the ten fugitives were captured and brought back, Olaus took the\ncrucifix that Maoliosa had raised, and held it before each in turn.\n\n\"Smite!\" he said to the first monk. But the man would not.\n\n\"Smite!\" he said to the second; but he would not. And so it was to the\ntenth.\n\n\"Good!\" said Olaus the White; \"they shall witness to their God.\"\n\nWith that he bade his vikings break up the birlinn, and drive the planks\ninto the ground and shore them up with logs. When this was done he\ncrucified each culdee. With nails and with ropes he did unto each what\ntheir God had suffered. Then all were left there by the water-side.\n\nThat night, when Olaus the White and the laughing Morna left the great\nbonfire where the vikings sang and drank horn after horn of strong ale,\nthey stood and looked across the strait. In the moonlight, upon the dim\nverge of the island shore, they could see ten crosses. On each was a\nmotionless white splatch.\n\n\nOnce more, for an instance of the grafting of Christian thought and\nimagery on pagan thought and imagery, I take a few pages of the\nintroductory part to the story of \"The Woman with the Net,\" in a later\nvolume.[6] They tell of a young monk who, inspired by Colum's holy\nexample, went out of Iona as a missionary to the Pictish heathen of the\nnorth.\n\nWhen Artan had kissed the brow of every white-robed brother on Iona, and\nhad been thrice kissed by the aged Colum, his heart was filled with\ngladness.\n\nIt was late summer, and in the afternoon-light peace lay on the green\nwaters of the Sound, on the green grass of the dunes, on the domed\nwicker-woven cells of the culdees over whom the holy Colum ruled, and on\nthe little rock-strewn hill which rose above where stood Colum's wattled\nchurch of sun-baked mud. The abbot walked slowly by the side of the\nyoung man. Colum was tall, with hair long and heavy but white as the\ncanna, and with a beard that hung low on his breast, grey as the moss on\nold firs. His blue eyes were tender. The youth--for though he was a\ngrown man he seemed a youth beside Colum--had beauty. He was tall and\ncomely, with yellow curling hair, and dark-blue eyes, and a skin so\nwhite that it troubled some of the monks who dreamed old dreams and\nwashed them away in tears and scourgings.\n\n\"You have the bitter fever of youth upon you, Artan,\" said Colum, as\nthey crossed the dunes beyond Dun-I; \"but you have no fear, and you will\nbe a flame among these Pictish idolaters, and you will be a lamp to show\nthem the way.\"\n\n\"And when I come again, there will be clappings of hands, and hymns,\nand many rejoicings?\"\n\n\"I do not think you will come again,\" said Colum. \"The wild people of\nthese northlands will burn you, or crucify you, or put you upon the\ncrahslat, or give you thirst and hunger till you die. It will be a great\njoy for you to die like that, Artan, my son?\"\n\n\"Ay, a great joy,\" answered the young monk, but with his eyes dreaming\naway from his words.\n\nSilence was between them as they neared the cove where a large coracle\nlay, with three men in it.\n\n\"Will God be coming to Iona when I am away?\" asked Artan.\n\nColum stared at him.\n\n\"Is it likely that God would come here in a coracle?\" he asked, with\nscornful eyes.\n\nThe young man looked abashed. For sure, God would not come in a coracle,\njust as he himself might come. He knew by that how Colum had reproved\nhim. He would come in a cloud of fire, and would be seen from far and\nnear. Artan wondered if the place he was going to was too far north for\nhim to see that greatness; but he feared to ask.\n\n\"Give me a new name,\" he asked; \"give me a new name, my father.\"\n\n\"What name will you have?\"\n\n\"Servant of Mary.\"\n\n\"So be it, Artan Gille-Mhoire.\"\n\nWith that Colum kissed him and bade farewell, and Artan sat down in the\ncoracle, and covered his head with his mantle, and wept and prayed.\n\nThe last word he heard was, _Peace_!\n\n\"That is a good word, and a good thing,\" he said to himself; \"and\nbecause I am the Servant of Mary, and the Brother of Jesu the Son, I\nwill take peace to the _Cruitne_, who know nothing of that blessing of\nthe blessings.\"\n\nWhen he unfolded his mantle, he saw that the coracle was already far\nfrom Iona. The south wind blew, and the tides swept northward, and the\nboat moved swiftly across the water. The sea was ashine with froth and\nsmall waves leaping like lambs.\n\nIn the boat were Thorkeld, a helot of Iona, and two dark wild-eyed men\nof the north. They were Picts, but could speak the tongue of the Gael.\nMyrdu, the Pictish king of Skye, had sent them to Iona, to bring back\nfrom Colum a culdee who could show wonders.\n\n\"And tell the chief Druid of the Godmen,\" Myrdu had said, \"that if his\nculdee does not show me good wonders, and so make me believe in his two\ngods and the woman, I will put an ash-shaft through his body from the\nhips and out at his mouth, and send him back on the north tide to the\nIsle of the White-Robes.\" The sun was already among the outer isles when\nthe coracle passed near the Isle of Columns. A great noise was in the\nair: the noise of the waves in the caverns, and the noise of the tide,\nlike sea-wolves growling, and like bulls bellowing in a narrow pass of\nthe hills.\n\nA sudden current caught the boat, and it began to drift towards great\nreefs white with ceaseless torn streams.\n\nThorkeld leaned from the helm, and shouted to the two Picts. They did\nnot stir, but sat staring, idle with fear.\n\nArtan knew now that it was as Colum had said. God would give him glory\nsoon.\n\nSo he took the little clarsach he had for hymns, for he was the best\nharper on Iona, and struck the strings, and sang. But the Latin words\ntangled in his throat, and he knew too that the men in the boat would\nnot understand what he sang; also that the older gods still came far\nsouth, and in the caves of the Isle of Columns were demons. There was\nonly one tongue common to all; and since God has wisdom beyond that of\nColum himself, He would know the song in Gaelic as well as though sung\nin Latin.\n\nSo Artan let the wind take his broken hymn, and he made a song of his\nown, and sang:\n\n    O Heavenly Mary, Queen of the Elements,\n    And you, Brigit the fair with the little harp,\n    And all the saints, and all the old gods\n    (And it is not one of them I'd be disowning),\n    Speak to the Father, that he may save us from drowning.\n\nThen seeing that the boat drifted closer, he sang again:\n\n    Save us from the rocks and the sea, Queen of Heaven!\n    And remember that I am a Culdee of Iona,\n    And that Colum has sent me to the _Cruitne_\n    To sing them the song of peace lest they be damned for ever!\n\nThorkeld laughed at that.\n\n\"Can the woman put swimming upon you?\" he said roughly. \"I would rather\nhave the good fin of a great fish now than any woman in the skies.\"\n\n\"You will burn in hell for that,\" said Artan, the holy zeal warm at his\nheart.\n\nBut Thorkeld answered nothing. His hand was on the helm, his eyes on the\nfoaming rocks. Besides, what had he to do with the culdee's hell or\nheaven? When he died, he, who was a man of Lochlann, would go to his own\nplace.\n\nOne of the dark men stood, holding the mast. His eyes shone. Thick words\nswung from his lips like seaweed thrown out of a hollow by an ebbing\nwave.\n\nThe coracle swerved, and the four men were wet with the heavy spray.\n\nThorkeld put his oar in the water, and the swaying craft righted.\n\n\"Glory to God,\" said Artan.\n\n\"There is no glory to your god in this,\" said Thorkeld scornfully. \"Did\nyou not hear what Necta sang? He sang to the woman in there that drags\nmen into the caves, and throws their bones on the next tide. He put an\nincantation upon her, and she shrank, and the boat slid away from the\nrocks.\"\n\n\"That is a true thing,\" thought Artan. He wondered if it was because he\nhad not sung his hymn in the holy Latin.\n\nWhen the last flame died out of the west, and the stars came like sheep\ngathering at the call of the shepherd, Artan remembered that he had not\nsaid his prayers and sang the vesper hymn.\n\nHe lay back and listened. There were no bells calling across the water.\nHe looked into the depths. It was Manann's kingdom, and he had never\nheard that God was there; but he looked. Then he stared into the\ndark-blue star-strewn sky.\n\nSuddenly he touched Thorkeld.\n\n\"Tell me,\" he said, \"how far north has the Cross of Christ come?\"\n\n\"By the sea way it has not come here yet. Murdoch the Freckled came with\nit this way, but he was pulled into the sea, and he died.\"\n\n\"Who pulled him into the sea?\"\n\nThorkeld stared into the running wave. He had no words.\n\nArtan lay still for a long while.\n\n\"It will go ill with me,\" he thought, \"if Mary cannot see me so far away\nfrom Iona, and if God will not listen to me. Colum should have known\nthat, and given me a holy leaf with the fair branching letters on it,\nand the Latin words that are the words of God.\"\n\nThen he spoke to the man who had sung.\n\n\"Do you know of Mary, and God, and the Son, and the Spirit?\"\n\n\"You have too many Gods, Culdee,\" answered the Pict sullenly: \"for of\nthese one is your god's son, and the other is the woman his mother, and\nthe third is the ghost of an ancestor.\"\n\nArtan frowned.\n\n\"The curse of the God of Peace upon you for that,\" he said angrily; \"do\nyou know that you have hell for your dwelling-place if you speak evil of\nGod the Father, and the Son, and the Mother of God?\"\n\n\"How long have they been in Iona, White-Robe?\"\n\nThe man spoke scornfully. Artan knew they had not been there many years.\nHe had no words.\n\n\"My father worshipped the Sun on the Holy Isle before ever your great\nDruid that is called Colum crossed the Moyle. Were your three gods in\nthe coracle with Colum? They were not on the Holy Isle when he came.\"\n\n\"They were coming there,\" answered Artan confusedly. \"It is a long, long\nway from--from--from the place they were sailing from.\"\n\nNecta listened sullenly.\n\n\"Let them stay on Iona,\" he said: \"gods though they be, it would fare\nill with them if they came upon the Woman with the Net.\" Then he turned\non his side, and lay by the man Darach, who was staring at the moon and\nmuttering words that neither Artan nor Thorkeld knew.\n\nA white calm fell. The boat lay like a leaf on a silent pool. There was\nnothing between that dim wilderness and the vast sweeping blackness\nfilled with quivering stars, but the coracle, that a wave could crush.\n\n\nAt times, I doubt not, there must have been weaker brethren among these\nsimple and devoted Culdees of Iona, though in Colum's own day there was\nprobably none (unless it were Oran) who was not the visible outward\nshrine of a pure flame.\n\nThinking of such an one, and not without furtive pagan sympathy, I wrote\nthe other day these lines, which I may also add here as a further\nside-light upon that half-Pagan, half-Christian basis upon which the\nColumban Church of Iona stood.\n\n    Balva the old monk I am called: when I was young, Balva Honeymouth.\n    That was before Colum the White came to Iona in the West.\n    She whom I loved was a woman whom I won out of the South.\n    And I had a good heaven with my lips on hers and with breast to\n      breast.\n\n    Balva the old monk I am called: were it not for the fear\n    That the soul of Colum the White would meet my soul in the Narrows\n    That sever the living and dead, I would rise up from here,\n    And go back to where men pray with spears and arrows.\n\n    Balva the old monk I am called: ugh! ugh! the cold bell of the\n      matins--'tis dawn!\n    Sure it's a dream I have had that I was in a warm wood with the sun\n      ashine,\n    And that against me in the pleasant greenness was a soft fawn,\n    And a voice that whispered \"Balva Honeymouth, drink, I am thy wine!\"\n\nAs I write,[7] here on the hill-<DW72> of Dun-I, the sound of the furtive\nwave is as the sighing in a shell. I am alone between sea and sky, for\nthere is no other on this bouldered height, nothing visible but a single\nblue shadow that slowly sails the hillside. The bleating of lambs and\newes, the lowing of kine, these come up from the Machar that lies\nbetween the west <DW72>s and the shoreless sea to the west; these ascend\nas the very smoke of sound. All round the island there is a continuous\nbreathing; deeper and more prolonged on the west, where the open sea\nis; but audible everywhere. The seals on Soa are even now putting their\nbreasts against the running tide; for I see a flashing of fins here and\nthere in patches at the north end of the Sound, and already from the\nruddy granite shores of the Ross there is a congregation of\nseafowl--gannets and guillemots, skuas and herring-gulls, the\nlong-necked northern diver, the tern, the cormorant. In the sunblaze,\nthe waters of the Sound dance their blue bodies and swirl their flashing\nwhite hair o' foam; and, as I look, they seem to me like children of the\nwind and the sunshine, leaping and running in these flowing pastures,\nwith a laughter as sweet against the ears as the voices of children at\nplay.\n\nThe joy of life vibrates everywhere. Yet the Weaver does not sleep, but\nonly dreams. He loves the sun-drowned shadows. They are invisible thus,\nbut they are there, in the sunlight itself. Sure, they may be heard: as,\nan hour ago, when on my way hither by the Stairway of the Kings--for so\nsometimes they call here the ancient stones of the mouldered princes of\nlong ago--I heard a mother moaning because of the son that had had to go\nover-sea and leave her in her old age; and heard also a child sobbing,\nbecause of the sorrow of childhood--that sorrow so unfathomable, so\nincommunicable. And yet not a stone's-throw from where I lie, half\nhidden beneath an overhanging rock, is the Pool of Healing. To this\nsmall, black-brown tarn, pilgrims of every generation, for hundreds of\nyears, have come. Solitary, these; not only because the pilgrim to the\nFount of Eternal Youth must fare hither alone, and at dawn, so as to\ntouch the healing water the moment the first sunray quickens it--but\nsolitary, also, because those who go in quest of this Fount of Youth are\nthe dreamers and the Children of Dream, and these are not many, and few\ncome now to this lonely place. Yet, an Isle of Dream Iona is, indeed.\nHere the last sun-worshippers bowed before the Rising of God; here\nColumba and his hymning priests laboured and brooded; and here Oran or\nhis kin dreamed beneath the monkish cowl that pagan dream of his. Here,\ntoo, the eyes of Fionn and Oisin, and of many another of the heroic men\nand women of the Fianna, may have lingered; here the Pict and the Celt\nbowed beneath the yoke of the Norse pirate, who, too, left his dreams,\nor rather his strangely beautiful soul-rainbows, as a heritage to the\nstricken; here, for century after century, the Gael has lived, suffered,\njoyed, dreamed his impossible, beautiful dream; as here, now, he still\nlives, still suffers patiently, still dreams, and through all and over\nall, broods upon the incalculable mysteries. He is an elemental, among\nthe elemental forces. He knows the voices of wind and sea: and it is\nbecause the Fount of Youth upon Dun-I of Iona is not the only wellspring\nof peace, that the Gael can front destiny as he does, and can endure.\nWho knows where its tributaries are? They may be in your heart, or in\nmine, and in a myriad others.\n\nI would that the birds of Angus Og might, for once, be changed, not, as\nfabled, into the kisses of love, but into doves of peace, that they\nmight fly into the green world, and nest there in many hearts, in many\nminds, crooning their incommunicable song of joy and hope.\n\n\nA doomed and passing race. I have been taken to task for these words.\nBut they are true, in the deep reality where they obtain. Yes, but true\nonly in one sense, however vital that is. The Breton's eyes are slowly\nturning from the enchanted West, and slowly his ears are forgetting the\nwhisper of the wind around menhir and dolmen. The Manxman has ever been\nthe mere yeoman of the Celtic chivalry; but even his rude dialect\nperishes year by year. In Wales, a great tradition survives; in Ireland,\na supreme tradition fades through sunset-hued horizons; in Celtic\nScotland, a passionate regret, a despairing love and longing, narrows\nyearly before a dull and incredibly selfish alienism. The Celt has at\nlast reached his horizon. There is no shore beyond. He knows it. This\nhas been the burden of his song since Malvina led the blind Oisin to his\ngrave by the sea: \"Even the Children of Light must go down into\ndarkness.\" But this apparition of a passing race is no more than the\nfulfilment of a glorious resurrection before our very eyes. For the\ngenius of the Celtic race stands out now with averted torch, and the\nlight of it is a glory before the eyes, and the flame of it is blown\ninto the hearts of the stronger people. The Celt fades, but his spirit\nrises in the heart and the mind of the Anglo-Celtic peoples, with whom\nare the destinies of generations to come.\n\nI stop, and look seaward from this hillslope of Dun-I. Yes, even in this\nIsle of Joy, as it seems in this dazzle of golden light and splashing\nwave, there is the like mortal gloom and immortal mystery which moved\nthe minds of the old seers and bards. Yonder, where that thin spray\nquivers against the thyme-set cliff, is the Spouting Cave, where to this\nday the Mar-Tarbh, dread creature of the sea, swims at the full of the\ntide. Beyond, out of sight behind these craggy steeps, is\nPort-na-Churaich, where, a thousand years ago, Columba landed in his\ncoracle. Here, eastward, is the landing-place, for the dead of old,\nbrought hence out of Christendom for sacred burial in the Isle of the\nSaints. All the story of the Gael is here. Iona is the microcosm of the\nGaelic world.\n\nLast night, about the hour of the sun's going, I lay upon the heights\nnear the Cave, overlooking the Machar--the sandy, rock-frontiered plain\nof duneland on the west side of Iona, exposed to the Atlantic. There was\nneither bird nor beast, no living thing to see, save one solitary human\ncreature. The man toiled at kelp-burning. I watched the smoke till it\nmerged into the sea-mist that came creeping swiftly out of the north,\nand down from Dun-I eastward. At last nothing was visible. The mist\nshrouded everything. I could hear the dull, rhythmic beat of the waves.\nThat was all. No sound, nothing visible.\n\nIt was, or seemed, a long while before a rapid thud-thud trampled the\nheavy air. Then I heard the rush, the stamping and neighing, of some\nyoung mares, pasturing there, as they raced to and fro, bewildered or\nperchance in play. A glimpse I caught of three, with flying manes and\ntails; the others were blurred shadows only. A swirl, and the mist\ndisclosed them; a swirl, and the mist enfolded them again. Then, silence\nonce more.\n\nAbruptly, though not for a long time thereafter, the mist rose and\ndrifted seaward.\n\nAll was as before. The kelp-burner still stood, straking the smouldering\nseaweed. Above him a column ascended, bluely spiral, dusked with shadow.\n\n\nThe kelp-burner: who was he but the Gael of the Isles? Who but the Gael\nin his old-world sorrow? The mist falls and the mist rises. He is there\nall the same, behind it, part of it; and the column of smoke is the\nincense out of his longing heart that desires Heaven and Earth, and is\ndowered only with poverty and pain, hunger and weariness, a little isle\nof the seas, a great hope, and the love of love.\n\n\nBut ... to the island-story once more!\n\nSome day, surely, the historian of Iona will appear.\n\nHow many \"history-books\" there are like dead leaves. The simile is a\ntravesty. There is no little russet leaf of the forest that could not\ncarry more real, more intimate knowledge. There is no leaf that could\nnot reveal mystery of form, mystery of colour, wonder of structure,\nsecret of growth, the law of harmony; that could not testify to birth,\nand change, and decay, and death; and what history tells us more?--that\ncould not, to the inward ear, bring the sound of the south wind making a\ngreenness in the woods of Spring, the west wind calling his brown and\nred flocks to the fold.\n\nWhat a book it will be! It will reveal to us the secret of what Oisin\nsang, what Merlin knew, what Columba dreamed, what Adamnan hoped: what\nthis little \"lamp of Christ\" was to pagan Europe; what incense of\ntestimony it flung upon the winds; what saints and heroes went out of\nit; how the dust of kings and princes were brought there to mingle with\nits sands; how the noble and the ignoble came to it across long seas and\nperilous countries. It will tell, too, how the Danes ravaged the isles\nof the west, and left not only their seed for the strengthening of an\nolder race, but imageries and words, words and imageries so alive to-day\nthat the listener in the mind may hear the cries of the viking above\nthe voice of the Gael and the more ancient tongue of the Pict. It will\ntell, too, how the nettle came to shed her snow above kings' heads, and\nthe thistle to wave where bishops' mitres stood; how a simple people out\nof the hills and moors, remembering ancient wisdom or blindly cherishing\nforgotten symbols, sought here the fount of youth; and how, slowly, a\nlong sleep fell upon the island, and only the grasses shaken in the\nwind, and the wind itself, and the broken shadows of dreams in the minds\nof the old, held the secret of Iona. And, at the last--with what lift,\nwith what joy--it will tell how once more the doves of hope and peace\nhave passed over its white sands, this little holy land! This little\nholy land! Ah, white doves, come again! A thousand thousand wait.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] A more polished later version, though attributed to Columba, runs:--\n\n    \"An I mo chridhe, I mo ghraidh\n    An aite guth mhanach bidh geum ba;\n    Ach mu'n tig an saoghal gu crich,\n    Bithidh I mar a bha.\"\n\n(In effect: _In Iona that is my heart's desire, Iona that is my love,\nthe lowing of cows shall yet replace the voices of monks: but before the\nend is come Iona shall again be as it was._)\n\n[3] In a beautiful old Scoto-Gaelic ballad, the \"Bas Fhraoich,\" occurs\nthe line, _Thuit i air an traigh na neul_, \"she fell on the shore as a\nmist,\" though here finely used for a swoon only.\n\n[4] An allusion to the Hebridean proverb, _Ma dh' itheas tu cridh an\neoin, bidh do chridhe air chrith ri d' bheo_ (\"If you eat the bird's\nheart, your heart will palpitate for ever.\")\n\n[5] The Irish pipes are called \"Piob-theannaich\" to distinguish them\nfrom the \"Piob\" or \"Piob-Mhor\" of the Highlands.\n\n[6] _The Dominion of Dreams_, 1st Ed.\n\n[7] See Notes, p. 429.\n\n\n\n\nBY SUNDOWN SHORES\n\n\n    \"_Cette ame qui se lamente\n    En cette plaine dormante\n      C'est la notre n'est-ce pas?\n    La mienne, dis, et la tienne,\n    Dont s'exhale l'humble antienne\n      Par ce tiede soir, tout, bas?_\"\n\n\n\n\nBy Sundown Shores\n\n\n    \"_'N hano ann Tad, ar Mab hac ar Spered-Zantel,\n    Homan' zo'r ganaouenn zavet en Breiz-Izel!\n    Zavet gant eur paour-kez, en Ar-goat, en Ar-vor,\n    Kanet anez-hi, pewienn, hac ho pezo digor._\"\n\n    \"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit\n    This song of mine was raised in my Breton Fatherland,\n    In Argoat forest-clad, in Arvor of the grey wave:\n    Sing it, wayfarers, and all gates will open before you.\"\n\nI do not know the name of the obscure minstrel who sang this song, as he\npassed from village to village, by the coasts, along the heath-lands of\nBrittany. But there are poets who have no name and no country, because\nthey are named by the secret name of the longing of many minds, and\nmysteriously come from and pass to the Land of Heart's Desire, which is\ntheir own land. This wandering Breton minstrel is of that company. His\nsone is familiar. I have heard it where Connemara breaks in grey rock\nand sudden pastures to the sea: where only the wind and the heather\npeople the solitudes of Argyll: where the silent Isles shelve to\nperpetual foam. He speaks for all his brotherhood of Armorica: he speaks\nalso for the greater brotherhood of his race, the broken peoples who now\nstand upon the sundown shores, from wild Ushant to the cliffs of Achil,\nfrom St. Bride's Bay to solitary St. Kilda. He is not only the genius of\nArvor, daughter of dreams, but the genius of a race whose farewell is in\na tragic lighting of torches of beauty around its grave. For it is the\nsoul of the Celt who wanders homeless to-day, with his pathetic burthen\nthat his _sone_ was made by ancestral woods, by the unchanging sea;\ndreaming the enchanted air will open all doors. Alas! few doors open:\nthe wayfarer must not tarry. Memories and echoes he may leave, but he\nmust turn his face. Grey dolmen and grey menhir already stand there, by\nthe last shores, memorials of his destiny.\n\nThe ancient Gaels believed that in the western ocean there was an island\ncalled Hy Brasil, where all that was beautiful and mysterious lived\nbeyond the pillars of the rainbow. The legendary romances of the Celtic\nraces may be described as the Hy Brasil of literature.\n\nIn the Celtic commune there are many legendary tales which, but for the\naccident of names and local circumstances, are identical. The familiar\nHighland legend of the children who, bathing in a mountain loch, were\ncarried off by a water-horse, has its counterpart in Connemara, in\nMerioneth, and in Finistere, though in the Welsh recital the children\nare the victims of a dragon, and in the Breton legend the monster is a\nboar. For that matter, this elemental tale has its roots in the east,\nand Macedonia and the Himalaya retain the memory of what Aryan wagoners\ntold by the camp-fires during their centuries-long immigration into\nEurope. Whether, however, a tale be universal or strictly Celtic,\ngenerally it has a parallel in one or all of the racial dialects. True,\nthere are legendary cycles which are local. The Arzur of Brittany is a\nmere echo in the Hebrides, and the name of Cuculain or the fame of the\nRed Branch has not reached the dunes of Armorica. Nevertheless, even in\nthe mythopoeic tales there is a kindred character. Nomenoe may have been\na Breton Fionn, though he had no Oisin to wed his deeds to a deathless\nmusic; and Diarmid and Grainne have loved beneath the oaks of\nBroceliande or the beech-groves of Llanidris, as well as among the hills\nof Erin, or in the rocky fastnesses of Morven. It is characteristic,\ntoo, how Celtland has given to Celtland. Scotland gave Ireland St.\nPatrick; Ireland gave Scotland St. Columba; the chief bard of Armorica\ncame from Wales; and Cornwall has the Arthurian fame which is the meed\nof Kymric Caledonia. To this day no man can say whether Oisin, old and\nblind, wandered at the last to Drumadoon in Arran, or if indeed he\nfollowed out of Erin the sweet voice from Tirnan-Og, and was seen or\nheard of by none, till three centuries later the bells of the clerics\nand the admonitions of Patrick made his days a burden not to be borne.\nDid not the greatest of Irish kings die in tributary lands by the banks\nof the Loire, and who has seen the moss of that lost grave in\nBroceliande where Merlin of the North lay down to a long sleep?\n\nEven where there seems no probability of a common origin, there is often\na striking similarity in the matter and the manner of folk-tales,\nparticularly those which narrate the strange experiences of the saints.\nThus, for example, in one of the most beautiful of the legendary stories\ngiven in _The Shadow of Arvor_[8] there is an account of how Gradlon,\n\"the honoured chief of Kerne, the monarch who built Ys, and on whose\nbrow were united the crowns of Armorica,\" having voluntarily become a\nwandering beggar, arrived at last in the heart of an ancient forest:\n\"towering moss-clad pillars bearing a heavy roof of foliage, full of the\nmystery of a cathedral aisle by night.\" Here the king vowed to build a\ngreat temple, but before he could fulfil his vow he died. Gwennole the\nmonk had missed Gradlon, and had followed him to the forest, to find him\nthere on the morrow, lying on a bed of moss which the fallen leaves had\nflecked with gold. Near him crouched a human figure. This was Primel the\nanchorite. Note how the king speaks to the Christian monk Gwennole\nconcerning this ancient hermit. \"Have mercy on this poor old man beside\nme: the length of three men's lives has been his, and he has known the\ndeeps of sorrow. The sorrows which have come upon me are nothing to his;\nfor while I have wept over the fate of my royal city, and while for Ahez\nmy heart has been broken, this man has lost his gods. There is no sorrow\nthat is so great a sorrow. He is a Druid lamenting a dead faith. Show\nhim tenderness.\" Therewith Gradlon dies. Over the dead king \"Gwennole\nmurmured a Latin chant; the druid in a tremulous voice intoned a\nrefrain in an unknown tongue; and Gradlon, ruler of the sea, slept in\nthat glade watched over by the priest of Christ and by the last\nsurviving servant of Teutates.... There, amid the majestic solitudes of\nthe forest, the two religions of the ancient race joined hands and were\nat one before the mystery of death.\" Later, the druid bids Gwennole\nbuild a Christian sanctuary on the spot where \"the belated ministrant of\na fallen faith\" died beside Gradlon Maur, the Great King. One strange\ntouch of bitterness occurs. \"But,\" exclaims Gwennole, \"if the sanctuary\nbe reared here, we shall invade thy last refuge.\" \"As for me ...!\"\nreplies the old man; then, after a silence he adds, with a gesture of\ninfinite weariness, \"it is my gods who should protect me. Let them save\nme if they can.\" The dying druid turns away to seek his long rest under\nthe sacred oaks: \"Gwennole, his heart full of a tender love and pity\nwhich he could not understand, moved slowly towards the sea.\" A fitting\nclose to a book full of interest, charm, and spiritual beauty.\n\nIn the third book of St. Adamnan's _Life of St. Columba_, there is an\nepisode entitled \"Of a manifestation of angels meeting the soul of one\nEmchath.\" Columba, \"making his way beyond the Ridge of Britain\n(Drum-Alban), near the lake of the river Nisa (Loch Ness), being\nsuddenly inspired by the Holy Spirit, says to the brethren who are\njourneying with him at that time: 'Let us make haste to meet the holy\nangels who, that they may carry away the soul of a certain heathen man,\nwho is keeping the moral law of nature even to extreme old age, have\nbeen sent out from the highest regions of heaven, and are waiting until\nwe come thither, that we may baptize him in time before he dies.'\nThereafter the aged saint made as much haste as he could to go in\nadvance of his companions, until he came to the district which is named\nAirchartdan (Glen Urquhart).\" There he found \"the holy heathen man,\"\nEmchath by name.\n\nHere, then, is an instance of a Celtic priest in Armorica and of a\nCeltic priest in Scotland acting identically towards an upright heathen.\nA large book would be necessary to relate the correspondence between the\nfolk-tales, the traditional romances, and the Christian legends of the\nfour great branches of the Celtic race.\n\nOn the seventh day, when God rested, says a poet of the Gael, He dreamed\nof the lands and nations he had made, and out of that dreaming were\nborn Ireland and Brittany. Truly, within Christian days, there were more\nsaints, there were more lamps of the spirit lit in that grey peninsula,\nin that green land, in the little sand-cinctured isle Iona, than\nanywhere betwixt the Syrian deserts and the meads of Glastonbury. It\ntakes nothing from, it adds much to these lands where spiritual ecstasy\nhas longest dreamed, that the old gods have not perished but merge into\nthe brotherhood of Christ's company; that the old faiths, and the\nancient spirit, and the pagan soul were not given to the wave for foam,\nto the pastures for idle sand. Ireland and Brittany! Behind the\nsorrowful songs of longing and regret, behind the faint chime of bells\nwhich some day linger as an echo in the towers of Ys where she lies\nunder the wave, are the cries of the tympan and the forgotten music of\ndruidic harps. What song the oaks knew in Broceliande, what song\nTaliesin heard, what chant Merlin the Wild raised among dim woods in\nCaledon: these may be lost to us for ever, or live only through our\nsongs and dreams as shadows live in the hollows of the sunrain: but\nBroceliande and Gethsemane are in symbol akin, Taliesin is but another\nname of him who ate the wild honey and listened to the wind, and\nMerlin, with the nuts of wisdom in his hand, stands hearkening to the\nsame deep murmur of the eternal life which was heard upon the Mount of\nOlives.\n\nIt has occurred to me often of late, from what I have seen, and read,\nand heard from others, that the Celtic mythopoeic faculty is still\nconcerning itself largely with an interweaving of Pagan and Christian\nthought, of Pagan and Christian symbol, of the old Pagan tales of a day\nand of mortal beauty with the Christian symbolic legends that are of no\nday and are of immortal beauty.\n\nA fisherman told me the story of Diarmid and Grainne, in the guise of a\nlegend of the Virgin Mary and her Gaelic husband. Three years ago, in\nAppin, an old woman, Jessie Stewart, told me that when Christ was\ncrucified He came back to us as Oisin of the Songs. From a ferryman on\nLoch Linnhe, near the falls of Lora, a friend heard a confused story of\nOisin (confused because the narrator at one moment spoke of Oisin, and\nat another of \"Goll\"), how on the day that Christ was crucified Oisin\nslew his own son, and knew madness, crying that he was but a shadow, and\nhis son a shadow, and that what he had done was but the shadow of what\nwas being done in that hour \"to the black sorrow of time and the\nuniverse (_domhain_).\" In this connection, Celtic students will recall\nthe story of Concobar mac Nessa, the High King of Ulster: how on that\nday he rose suddenly and fled into the woods and hewed down the branches\nof trees, crying that he slew the multitudes of those who at that moment\nwere doing to death the innocent son of a king.\n\nOut of this confusion may arise a new interpretation of certain great\nsymbolic persons and incidents in the old mythology. As this legendary\nlore is being swiftly forgotten, it is well that it should be saved to\nnew meanings and new beauty, by that mythopoeic faculty which, in the\nCeltic imagination, is as a wing continually uplifting fallen dreams to\nthe imaging wind of the Spirit.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[8] _Vide_ Notes, p. 431.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WIND, SILENCE, AND LOVE\n\n\nI know one who, asked by a friend desiring more intimate knowledge as to\nwhat influences above all other influences had shaped her inward life,\nanswered at once, with that sudden vision of insight which reveals more\nthan the vision of thought, \"The Wind, Silence, and Love.\"\n\nThe answer was characteristic, for, with her who made it, the influences\nthat shape have always seemed more significant than the things that are\nshapen. None can know for another the mysteries of spiritual\ncompanionship. What is an abstraction to one is a reality to another:\nwhat to one has the proved familiar face, to another is illusion.\n\nI can well understand the one of whom I write. With most of us the\nshaping influences are the common sweet influences of motherhood and\nfatherhood, the airs of home, the place and manner of childhood. But\nthese are not for all, and may be adverse, and in some degree absent.\nEven when a child is fortunate in love and home, it may be spiritually\nalien from these: it may dimly discern love rather as a mystery dwelling\nin sunlight and moonlight, or in the light that lies on quiet meadows,\nwoods, quiet shores: may find a more intimate sound of home in the wind\nwhispering in the grass, or when a sighing travels through the\nwilderness of leaves, or when an unseen wave moans in the pine.\n\nWhen we consider, could any influences be deeper than these three\nelemental powers, for ever young, yet older than age, beautiful\nimmortalities that whisper continually against our mortal ear. The Wind,\nSilence, and Love: yes, I think of them as good comrades, nobly\nministrant, priests of the hidden way.\n\nTo go into solitary places, or among trees which await dusk and storm,\nor by a dark shore; to be a nerve there, to listen to, inwardly to hear,\nto be at one with, to be as grass filled with, as reeds shaken by, as a\nwave lifted before, the wind: this is to know what cannot otherwise be\nknown; to hear the intimate, dread voice; to listen to what long, long\nago went away, and to what now is going and coming, coming and going,\nand to what august airs of sorrow and beauty prevail in that dim empire\nof shadow where the falling leaf rests unfallen, where Sound, of all\nelse forgotten and forgetting, lives in the pale hyacinth, the\nmoon-white <DW29>, the cloudy amaranth that gathers dew.\n\nAnd, in the wood; by the grey stone on the hill; where the heron waits;\nwhere the plover wails: on the pillow; in the room filled with\nflame-warmed twilight; is there any comrade that is as Silence is? Can\nshe not whisper the white secrecies which words discolour? Can she not\nsay, when we would forget, forget; when we would remember, remember? Is\nit not she also who says, Come unto me all ye who are weary and heavy\nladen, and I will give you rest? Is it not she who has a lute into which\nall loveliness of sound has passed, so that when she breathes upon it\nlife is audible? Is it not she who will close many doors, and shut away\ncries and tumults, and will lead you to a green garden and a fountain in\nit, and say, \"This is your heart, and that is your soul; listen.\"\n\nThat third one, is he a Spirit, alone, uncompanioned? I think sometimes\nthat these three are one, and that Silence is his inward voice and the\nWind the sound of his unwearying feet. Does he not come in wind, whether\nhis footfall be on the wild rose, or on the bitter wave, or in the\ntempest shaken with noises and rains that are cries and tears, sighs\nand prayers and tears?\n\nHe has many ways, many hopes, many faces. He bends above those who meet\nin twilight, above the cradle, above dwellers by the hearth, above the\nsorrowful, above the joyous children of the sun, above the grave. Must\nhe not be divine, who is worshipped of all men? Does not the wild-dove\ntake the rainbow upon its breast because of him, and the salmon leave\nthe sea for inland pools, and the creeping thing become winged and\nradiant?\n\nThe Wind, Silence, and Love: if one cannot learn of these, is there any\ncomradeship that can tell us more, that can more comfort us, that can so\ninhabit with living light what is waste and barren?\n\nAnd, in the hidden hour, one will stoop, and kiss us on the brow, when\nour sudden stillness will, for others, already be memory. And another\nwill be as an open road, with morning breaking. And the third will meet\nus, with a light of joy in his eyes; but we shall not see him at first\nbecause of the sunblaze, or hear his words because in that summer air\nthe birds will be multitude.\n\nMeanwhile they are near and intimate. Their life uplifts us. We cannot\nforget wholly, nor cease to dream, nor be left unhoping, nor be without\nrest, nor go darkly without torches and songs, if these accompany us; or\nwe them, for they go one way.\n\n\n\n\nBARABAL\n\nA MEMORY\n\n\nI have spoken in \"Iona\" and elsewhere of the old Highland woman who was\nmy nurse. She was not really old, but to me seemed so, and I have always\nso thought of her. She was one of the most beautiful and benignant\nnatures I have known.\n\nI owe her a great debt. In a moment, now, I can see her again, with her\npale face and great dark eyes, stooping over my bed, singing \"Wae's me\nfor Prince Charlie,\" or an old Gaelic Lament, or that sad, forgotten,\nbeautiful and mournful air that was played at Fotheringay when the Queen\nof Scots was done to death, \"lest her cries should be heard.\" Or, later,\nI can hear her telling me old tales before the fire; or, later still,\nbefore the glowing peats in her little island-cottage, speaking of men\nand women, and strange legends, and stranger dreams and visions. To her,\nand to an old islander, Seumas Macleod, of whom I have elsewhere spoken\nin this volume, I owe more than to any other influences in my childhood.\nPerhaps it is from her that in part I have my great dislike of towns.\nThere is no smoke in the lark's house, to use one of her frequent\nsayings--one common throughout the west.\n\nI never knew any one whose speech, whose thought, was so  with\nthe old wisdom and old sayings and old poetry of her race. To me she\nstands for the Gaelic woman, strong, steadfast, true to \"her own,\" her\npeople, her clan, her love, herself. \"When you come to love,\" she said\nto me once, \"keep always to the one you love a mouth of silk and a heart\nof hemp.\"\n\nHer mind was a storehouse of proverbial lore. Had I been older and\nwiser, I might have learned less fugitively. I cannot attempt to reach\nadequately even the most characteristic of these proverbial sayings; it\nwould take overlong. Most of them, of course, would be familiar to our\nproverb-loving people. But, among others of which I have kept note, I\nhave not anywhere seen the following in print. \"You could always tell\nwhere his thoughts would be ... pointing one way like the hounds of\nFinn\" (_i.e._ the two stars of the north, the Pointers); \"It's a\ncomfort to know there's nothing missing, as the wren said when she\ncounted the stars\"; \"The dog's howl is the stag's laugh\"; and again, \"I\nwould rather cry with the plover than laugh with the dog\" (both meaning\nthat the imprisoned comfort of the towns is not to be compared with the\nlife of the hills, for all its wildness); \"True love is like a\nmountain-tarn; it may not be deep, but that's deep enough that can hold\nthe sun, moon, and stars\"; \"It isn't silence where the lark's song\nceases\"; \"St. Bride's Flower, St. Bride's Bird, and St. Bride's Gift\nmake a fine spring and a good year.\" (_Am Bearnan Bhrigde, 'us\nGille-Bhrigde, 'us Lunn-Bata Bhrigde, etc.--the dandelion, the\noyster-catcher, and the cradle_[9]--because the dandelion comes with the\nfirst south winds and in a sunny spring is seen everywhere, and because\nin a fine season the oyster-catcher's early breeding-note fortells\nprosperity with the nets, and because a birth in spring is good luck for\nchild and mother.) \"It's easier for most folk to say _Lus Bealtainn_\nthan _La' Bealtainn_\": i.e. people can see the small things that\nconcern themselves better than the great things that concern the world;\nliterally, \"It's easier to say marigold than may-day\"--in Gaelic, a\nclose play upon words; \"_Cuir do lamh leinn_,\" \"Lend us a hand,\" as the\nfox in the ditch said to the duckling on the roadside; \"_Gu'm a slan\ngu'n till thu_,\" \"May you return in health,\" as the young man said when\nhis conscience left him; \"It's only a hand's-turn from _eunadair_ to\n_eunadan_\" (from the bird-snarer to the cage); \"Saying _eud_ is next\ndoor to saying _eudail_,\" as the girl laughed back to her sweetheart\n(_eud_ is jealousy and _eudail_ my Treasure); \"The lark doesn't need\n_broggan_ (shoes) to climb the stairs of the sky.\"\n\nAmong those which will not be new to some readers, I have note of a\nrhyme about the stars of the four seasons, and a saying about the three\nkinds of love, and the four stars of destiny. Wind comes from the spring\nstar, runs the first; heat from the summer star, water from the autumn\nstar, and frost from the winter star. Barabal's variant was \"wind (air)\nfrom the spring star in the east; fire (heat) from the summer star in\nthe south; water from the autumn star in the west; wisdom, silence and\ndeath from the star in the north.\" Both this season-rhyme and that of\nthe three kinds of love are well known. The latter runs:--\n\n    _Gaol nam fear-diolain, mar shruth-lionaidh na mara;\n    Gaol nam fear-fuadain, mar ghaoith tuath 'thig o'n charraig;\n    Gaol nam fear-posda, mar luing a' seoladh gu cala._\n\n    _Lawless love is as the wild tides of the sea;\n    And the roamer's love cruel as the north wind blowing from barren\n      rocks;\n    But wedded love is like the ship coming safe home to haven._\n\nI have found these two and many others of Barabal's sayings and rhymes,\nexcept those I have first given, in collections of proverbs and\nfolklore, but do not remember having noted another, though doubtless\n\"The Four Stars of Destiny (or Fate)\" will be recalled by some. It ran\nsomewhat as follows:--\n\n    _Reul Near_ (Star of the East), Give us kindly birth;\n    _Reul Deas_ (Star of the South), Give us great love;\n    _Reul Niar_ (Star of the West), Give us quiet age;\n    _Reul Tuath_ (Star of the North), Give us Death.\n\nIt was from her I first heard of the familiar legend of the waiting of\nFionn and the Feinn (popularly now Fingal and the Fingalians),\n\"fo-gheasaibh,\" spellbound, till the day of their return to the living\nworld. In effect the several legends are the same. That which Barabal\ntold was as an isleswoman would more naturally tell it. A man so pure\nthat he could give a woman love and yet let angels fan the flame in his\nheart, and so innocent that his thoughts were white as a child's\nthoughts, and so brave that none could withstand him, climbed once to\nthe highest mountain in the Isles, where there is a great cave that no\none has ever entered. A huge white hound slept at the entrance to the\ncave. He stepped over it, and it did not wake. He entered, and passed\nfour tall demons, with bowed heads and folded arms, one with great wings\nof red, another with wings of white, another with wings of green, and\nanother with wings of black. They did not uplift their dreadful eyes.\nThen he saw Fionn and the Feinn sitting in a circle.\n\nTheir long hair trailed on the ground; their eyebrows fell to their\nbeards; their beards lay upon their feet, so that nothing of their\nbodies was seen but hands like scarped rocks that clasped gigantic\nswords. Behind them hung an elk-horn with a mouth of gold. He blew this\nhorn, but nothing happened, except that the huge white hound came in,\nand went to the hollow place round which the Feinn sat, and in silence\nate greedily of treasures of precious stones. He blew the horn again,\nand Fionn and all the Feinn opened their great, cold, grey, lifeless\neyes, and stared upon him; and for him it was as though he stood at a\ngrave and the dead man in the grave put up strong hands and held his\nfeet, and as though his soul saw Fear.\n\nBut with a mighty effort he blew the horn a third time. The Feinn leaned\non their elbows, and Fionn said, \"Is the end come?\" But the man could\nwait no more, and turned and fled, leaving that ancient mighty company\nleaning upon its elbow, spellbound thus, waiting for the end. So they\nshall be found. The four demons fled into the air, and tumultuous winds\nswung him from that place. He heard the baying of the white hound, and\nthe mountain vanished. He was found lying dead in a pasture in the\nlittle island that was his home. I recall this here because the legend\nwas plainly in Barabal's mind when her last ill came upon her. In her\ndelirium she cried suddenly, \"The Feinn! The Feinn! they are coming down\nthe hill!\"\n\n\"I hear the bells of the ewes,\" she said abruptly, just before the end:\nso by that we knew she was already upon far pastures, and heard the\nShepherd calling upon the sheep to come into the fold.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[9] It is probably in the isles only that the pretty word _Lunn-Bata_ is\nused for _cr[=a]-all (creathall)_, a cradle. It might best be rendered as\nboat-on-a-billow, _lunn_ being a heaving billow.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WHITE HERON\n\n\nIt was in summer, when there is no night among these Northern Isles. The\nslow, hot days waned through a long after-glow of rose and violet; and\nwhen the stars came, it was only to reveal purple depths within depths.\n\nMary Macleod walked, barefoot, through the dewy grass, on the long\nwestern <DW72> of Innisron, looking idly at the phantom flake of the moon\nas it hung like a blown moth above the rose-flush of the West. Below it,\nbeyond her, the ocean. It was pale, opalescent; here shimmering with the\nhues of the moonbow; here dusked with violet shadow, but, for the most\npart, pale, opalescent. No wind moved, but a breath arose from the\nmomentary lips of the sea. The cool sigh floated inland, and made a\ncontinual faint tremor amid the salt grasses. The skuas and guillemots\nstirred, and at long intervals screamed.\n\nThe girl stopped, staring seaward. The illimitable, pale, unlifted wave;\nthe hinted dusk of the quiet underwaters; the unfathomable violet gulfs\noverhead;--these silent comrades were not alien to her. Their kin, she\nwas but a moving shadow on an isle; to her, they were the veils of\nwonder beyond which the soul knows no death, but looks upon the face of\nBeauty, and upon the eyes of Love, and upon the heart of Peace.\n\nAmid these silent spaces two dark objects caught the girl's gaze. Flying\neastward, a solander trailed a dusky wing across the sky. So high its\nflight that the first glance saw it as though motionless; yet, even\nwhile Mary looked, the skyfarer waned suddenly, and that which had been\nwas not. The other object had wings too, but was not a bird. A\nfishing-smack lay idly becalmed, her red-brown sail now a patch of warm\ndusk. Mary knew what boat it was--the _Nighean Donn_, out of Fionnaphort\nin Ithona, the westernmost of the Iarraidh Isles.\n\nThere was no one visible on board the _Nighean Donn_, but a boy's voice\nsang a monotonous Gaelic cadence, indescribably sweet as it came, remote\nand wild as an air out of a dim forgotten world, across the still\nwaters. Mary Macleod knew the song, a strange _iorram_ or boat-song made\nby Pol the Freckled, and by him given to his friend Angus Macleod of\nIthona. She muttered the words over and over, as the lilt of the boyish\nvoice rose and fell--\n\n    It is not only when the sea is dark and chill and desolate\n      I hear the singing of the queen who lives beneath the ocean:\n    Oft have I heard her chanting voice when moon o'erfloods his golden\n        gate,\n      Or when the moonshine fills the wave with snow-white mazy motion.\n\n    And some day will it hap to me, when the black waves are leaping,\n      Or when within the breathless green I see her shell-strewn door,\n    That singing voice will lure me where my sea-drown'd love lies\n        sleeping\n      Beneath the slow white hands of her who rules the sunken shore.\n\n    For in my heart I hear the bells that ring their fatal beauty.\n      The wild, remote, uncertain bells that chant their lonely sorrow:\n    The lonely bells of sorrow, the bells of fatal beauty,\n      Oft in my heart I hear the bells, who soon shall know no morrow.\n\nThe slow splashing of oars in the great hollow cavern underneath her\nfeet sent a flush to her face. She knew who was there--that it was the\nlittle boat of the _Nighean Donn_, and that Angus Macleod was in it.\n\nShe stood among the seeding grasses, intent. The cluster of white\nmoon-daisies that reached to her knees was not more pale than her white\nface; for a white silence was upon Mary Macleod in her dreaming\ngirlhood, as in her later years.\n\nShe shivered once as she listened to Angus's echoing song, while he\nsecured his boat, and began to climb from ledge to ledge. He too had\nheard the lad Uille Ban singing as he lay upon a coil of rope, while the\nsmack lay idly on the unmoving waters; and hearing, had himself taken up\nthe song--\n\n    _For in my heart I hear the bells that ring their fatal beauty,\n      The wild, remote, uncertain bells that chant their lonely sorrow:\n    The lonely bells of sorrow, the bells of fatal beauty,\n      Oft in my heart I hear the bells, who soon shall know no morrow._\n\nMary shivered with the vague fear that had come upon her. Had she not\ndreamed, in the bygone night, that she heard some one in the sea singing\nthat very song--some one with slow, white hands which waved idly above a\ndead man? A moment ago she had listened to the same song sung by the lad\nUille Ban; and now, for the third time, she heard Angus idly chanting\nit as he rose invisibly from ledge to ledge of the great cavern below.\nThree idle songs yet she remembered that death was but the broken\nrefrain of an idle song.\n\nWhen Angus leaped onto the <DW72> and came towards her, she felt her\npulse quicken. Tall and fair, he looked fairer and taller than she had\never seen him. The light that was still in the west lingered in his\nhair, which, yellow as it was, now glistened as with the sheen of\nbronze. He had left his cap in the boat; and as he crossed swiftly\ntowards her, she realized anew that he deserved the Gaelic name given\nhim by Pol the poet--Angus the yellow-haired son of Youth. They had\nnever spoken of their love, and now both realized in a flash that no\nwords were needed. At midsummer noon no one says the sun shines.\n\nAngus came forward with outreaching hands. \"Dear, dear love!\" he\nwhispered. \"Mhairi mo run, muirnean, mochree!\"\n\nShe put her hands in his; she put her lips to his; she put her head to\nhis breast, and listened, all her life throbbing in response to the\nleaping pulse of the heart that loved her.\n\n\"Dear, dear love!\" he whispered again.\n\n\"Angus!\" she murmured.\n\nThey said no more, but moved slowly onward, hand in hand.\n\nThe night had their secret. For sure, it was in the low sighing of the\ndeep when the tide put its whispering lips against the sleeping sea; it\nwas in the spellbound silences of the isle; it was in the phantasmal\nlight of the stars--the stars of dream, in a sky of dream, in a world of\ndream. When, an hour--or was it an eternity, or a minute?--later, they\nturned, she to her home near the clachan of Innisron, he to his boat, a\nlight air had come up on the forehead of the tide. The sail of the\n_Nighean Donn_ flapped, a dusky wing in the darkness. The penetrating\nsmell of sea-mist was in the air.\n\nMary had only one regret as she turned her face inland, when once the\ninvisibly gathering mist hid from her even the blurred semblance of the\nsmack--that she had not asked Angus to sing no more that song of Pol the\nFreckled, which vaguely she feared, and even hated. She had stood\nlistening to the splashing of the oars, and, later, to the voices of\nAngus and Uille Ban; and now, coming faintly and to her weirdly through\nthe gloom, she heard her lover's voice chanting the words again. What\nmade him sing that song, in that hour, on this day of all days?\n\n    For in my heart I hear the bells that ring their fatal beauty,\n      The wild, remote, uncertain bells that chant their lonely sorrow:\n    The lonely bells of sorrow, the bells of fatal beauty,\n      Oft in my heart I hear the bells, who soon shall know no morrow.\n\nBut long before she was back at the peat-fire again she forgot that sad,\nhaunting cadence, and remembered only his words--the dear words of him\nwhom she loved, as he came towards her, across the dewy grass, with\noutstretched hands--\n\n\"Dear, dear love!--Mhairi mo run, muirnean, mochree!\"\n\nShe saw them in the leaping shadows in the little room; in the red glow\nthat flickered along the fringes of the peats; in the darkness which,\nlike a sea, drowned the lonely croft. She heard them in the bubble of\nthe meal, as slowly with wooden spurtle she stirred the porridge; she\nheard them in the rising wind that had come in with the tide; she heard\nthem in the long resurge and multitudinous shingly inrush as the hands\nof the Atlantic tore at the beaches of Innisron.\n\nAfter the smooring of the peats, and when the two old people, the father\nof her father and his white-haired wife, were asleep, she sat for a\nlong time in the warm darkness. From a cranny in the peat ash a\nsmouldering flame looked out comfortingly. In the girl's heart a great\npeace was come as well as a great joy. She had dwelled so long with\nsilence that she knew its eloquent secrets; and it was sweet to sit\nthere in the dusk, and listen, and commune with silence, and dream.\n\nAbove the long, deliberate rush of the tidal waters round the piled\nbeaches she could hear a dull, rhythmic beat. It was the screw of some\ngreat steamer, churning its way through the darkness; a stranger,\nsurely, for she knew the times and seasons of every vessel that came\nnear these lonely isles. Sometimes it happened that the Uist or Tiree\nsteamers passed that way; doubtless it was the Tiree boat, or possibly\nthe big steamer that once or twice in the summer fared northward to\nfar-off St. Kilda.\n\nShe must have slept, and the sound have passed into her ears as an echo\ninto a shell; for when, with a start, she arose, she still heard the\nthud-thud of the screw, although the boat had long since passed away.\n\nIt was the cry of a sea-bird which had startled her. Once--twice--the\nscream had whirled about the house. Mary listened, intent. Once more it\ncame, and at the same moment she saw a drift of white press up against\nthe window.\n\nShe sprang to her feet, startled.\n\n\"It is the cry of a heron,\" she muttered, with dry lips; \"but who has\nheard tell of a white heron?--and the bird there is white as a\nsnow-wreath.\"\n\nSome uncontrollable impulse made her hesitate. She moved to go to the\nwindow, to see if the bird were wounded, but she could not. Sobbing with\ninexplicable fear, she turned and fled, and a moment later was in her\nown little room. There all her fear passed. Yet she could not sleep for\nlong. If only she could get the sound of that beating screw out of her\nears, she thought. But she could not, neither waking nor sleeping; nor\nthe following day; nor any day thereafter; and when she died, doubtless\nshe heard the thud-thud of a screw as it churned the dark waters in a\nnight of shrouding mist.\n\nFor on the morrow she learned that the _Nighean Donn_ had been run down\nin the mist, a mile south of Ithona, by an unknown steamer. The great\nvessel came out of the darkness, unheeding; unheeding she passed into\nthe darkness again. Perhaps the officer in command thought that his\nvessel had run into some floating wreckage; for there was no cry heard,\nand no lights had been seen. Later, only one body was found--that of the\nboy Uille Ban.\n\nWhen heartbreaking sorrow comes, there is no room for words. Mary\nMacleod said little; what, indeed, was there to say? The islanders gave\nwhat kindly comfort they could. The old minister, when next he came to\nInnisron, spoke of the will of God and the Life Eternal.\n\nMary bowed her head. What had been, was not: could any words, could any\nsolace, better that?\n\n\"You are young, Mary,\" said Mr. Macdonald, when he had prayed with her.\n\"God will not leave you desolate.\"\n\nShe turned upon him her white face, with her great, brooding, dusky\neyes:\n\n\"Will He give me back Angus?\" she said, in her low, still voice, that\nhad the hush in it of lonely places.\n\nHe could not tell her so.\n\n\"It was to be,\" she said, breaking the long silence that had fallen\nbetween them.\n\n\"Ay,\" the minister answered.\n\nShe looked at him, and then took his hand. \"I am thanking you, Mr.\nMacdonald, for the good words you have put upon my sorrow. But I am not\nwishing that any more be said to me. I must go now, for I have to see\nto the milking, an' I hear the poor beasts lowing on the hillside. The\nold folk too are weary, and I must be getting them their porridge.\"\n\nAfter that no one ever heard Mary Macleod speak of Angus. She was a good\nlass, all agreed, and made no moan; and there was no croft tidier than\nScaur-a-van, and because of her it was; and she made butter better than\nany on Innisron; and in the isles there was no cheese like the\nScaur-a-van cheese.\n\nHad there been any kith or kin of Angus, she would have made them hers.\nShe took the consumptive mother of Uille Ban from Ithona, and kept her\nsafe-havened at Scaur-a-van, till the woman sat up one night in her bed,\nand cried in a loud voice that Uille Ban was standing by her side and\nplaying a wild air on the strings of her heart, which he had in his\nhands, and the strings were breaking, she cried. They broke, and Mary\nenvied her, and the whispering joy she would be having with Uille Ban.\nBut Angus had no near kin. Perhaps, she thought, he would miss her the\nmore where he had gone. He had a friend, whom she had never seen. He was\na man of Iona, and was named Eachain MacEachain Maclean. He and Angus\nhad been boys in the same boat, and sailed thrice to Iceland together,\nand once to Peterhead, that maybe was as far or further, or perhaps upon\nthe coast-lands further east. Mary knew little geography, though she\ncould steer by the stars. To this friend she wrote, through the\nminister, to say that if ever he was in trouble he was to come to her.\n\nIt was on the third night after the sinking of the _Nighean Donn_ that\nMary walked alone, beyond the shingle beaches, and where the ledges of\ntrap run darkly into deep water. It was a still night and clear. The\nlambs and ewes were restless in the moonshine; their bleating filled the\nupper solitudes. A shoal of mackerel made a spluttering splashing sound\nbeyond the skerries outside the haven. The ebb, sucking at the weedy\nextremes of the ledges, caused a continuous bubbling sound. There was no\nstir of air, only a breath upon the sea; but, immeasurably remote,\nfrayed clouds, like trailed nets in yellow gulfs of moonlight, shot\nflame-shaped tongues into the dark, and seemed to lick the stars as\nthese shook in the wind. \"No mist to-night,\" Mary muttered; then,\nstartled by her own words, repeated, and again repeated, \"There will be\nno mist to-night.\"\n\nThen she stood as though become stone. Before her, on a solitary rock, a\ngreat bird sat. It was a heron. In the moonshine its plumage glistened\nwhite as foam of the sea; white as one of her lambs it was.\n\nShe had never seen, never heard of, a white heron. There was some old\nGaelic song--what was it?--no, she could not remember--something about\nthe souls of the dead. The words would not come.\n\nSlowly she advanced. The heron did not stir. Suddenly she fell upon her\nknees, and reached out her arms, and her hair fell about her shoulders,\nand her heart beat against her throat, and the grave gave up its sorrow,\nand she cried--\n\n\"Oh, Angus, Angus, my beloved! Angus, Angus, my dear, dear love!\"\n\nShe heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, knew nothing, till, numbed\nand weak, she stirred with a cry, for some creeping thing of the sea had\ncrossed her hand. She rose and stared about her. There was nothing to\ngive her fear. The moon rays danced on a glimmering sea-pasture far out\nupon the water; their lances and javelins flashed and glinted merrily. A\ndog barked as she crossed the flag-stones at Scaur-a-van, then suddenly\nbegan a strange furtive baying. She called, \"Luath! Luath!\"\n\nThe dog was silent a moment, then threw its head back and howled,\nabruptly breaking again into a sustained baying. The echo swept from\ncroft to croft, and wakened every dog upon the isle.\n\nMary looked back. Slowly circling behind her she saw the white heron.\nWith a cry, she fled into the house.\n\nFor three nights thereafter she saw the white heron. On the third she\nhad no fear. She followed the foam-white bird; and when she could not\nsee it, then she followed its wild, plaintive cry. At dawn she was still\nat Ardfeulan, on the western side of Innisron; but her arms were round\nthe drowned heart whose pulse she had heard leap so swift in joy, and\nher lips put a vain warmth against the dear face that was wan as spent\nfoam, and as chill as that.\n\nThree years after that day Mary saw again the white heron. She was alone\nnow, and she was glad, for she thought Angus had come, and she was\nready.\n\nYet neither death nor sorrow happened. Thrice, night after night, she\nsaw the white gleam of nocturnal wings, heard the strange bewildering\ncry.\n\nIt was on the fourth day, when a fierce gale covered the isle with a\nmist of driving spray. No Innisron boat was outside the haven; for that,\nall were glad. But in the late afternoon a cry went from mouth to mouth.\n\nThere was a fishing-coble on the skerries! That meant death for all on\nboard, for nothing could be done. The moment came soon. A vast drowning\nbillow leaped forward, and when the cloud of spray had scattered, there\nwas no coble to be seen. Only one man was washed ashore, nigh dead, upon\nthe spar he clung to. His name was Eachain MacEachain, son of a Maclean\nof Iona.\n\nAnd that was how Mary Macleod met the friend of Angus, and he a ruined\nman, and how she put her life to his, and they were made one.\n\nHer man ... yes, he was her man, to whom she was loyal and true, and\nwhom she loved right well for many years. But she knew, and he too knew\nwell, that she had wedded one man in her heart, and that no other could\ntake his place there, then or for ever. She had one husband only, but it\nwas not he to whom she was wed, but Angus, the son of Alasdair--him whom\nshe loved with the deep love that surpasseth all wisdom of the world\nthat ever was, or is, or shall be.\n\nAnd Eachain her man lived out his years with her, and was content,\nthough he knew that in her silent heart his wife, who loved him well,\nhad only one lover, one dream, one hope, one passion, one remembrance,\none husband.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SMOOTHING OF THE HAND\n\n\nGlad am I that wherever and whenever I listen intently I can hear the\nlooms of Nature weaving Beauty and Music. But some of the most beautiful\nthings are learned otherwise--by hazard, in the Way of Pain, or at the\nGate of Sorrow.\n\nI learned two things on the day when I saw Seumas McIan dead upon the\nheather. He of whom I speak was the son of Ian McIan Alltnalee, but was\nknown throughout the home straths and the countries beyond as Seumas\nDhu, Black James, or, to render the subtler meaning implied in this\ninstance, James the Dark One. I had wondered occasionally at the\ndesignation, because Seumas, if not exactly fair, was not dark. But the\nname was given to him, as I learned later, because, as commonly\nrumoured, he knew that which he should not have known.\n\nI had been spending some weeks with Alasdair McIan and his wife Silis\n(who was my foster-sister), at their farm of Ardoch, high in a remote\nhill country. One night we were sitting before the peats, listening to\nthe wind crying amid the corries, though, ominously as it seemed to us,\nthere was not a breath in the rowan-tree that grew in the sun's way by\nthe house. Silis had been singing, but silence had come upon us. In the\nwarm glow from the fire we saw each other's faces. There the silence\nlay, strangely still and beautiful, as snow in moonlight. Silis's song\nwas one of the _Dana Spioradail_, known in Gaelic as the Hymn of the\nLooms. I cannot recall it, nor have I ever heard or in any way\nencountered it again.\n\nIt had a lovely refrain, I know not whether its own or added by Silis. I\nhave heard her chant it to other runes and songs. Now, when too late, my\nregret is deep that I did not take from her lips more of those\nsorrowful, strange songs or chants, with their ancient Celtic melodies,\nso full of haunting sweet melancholy, which she loved so well. It was\nwith this refrain that, after a long stillness, she startled us that\nOctober night. I remember the sudden light in the eyes of Alasdair\nMcIan, and the beat at my heart, when, like rain in a wood, her voice\nfell unawares upon us out of the silence:\n\n    _Oh! oh! ohrone, arone! Oh! oh! mo ghraidh, mo chridhe!\n    Oh! oh! mo ghraidh, mo chridhe!_[10]\n\nThe wail, and the sudden break in the second line, had always upon me an\neffect of inexpressible pathos. Often that sad wind-song has been in my\nears, when I have been thinking of many things that are passed and are\npassing.\n\nI know not what made Silis so abruptly begin to sing, and with that\nwailing couplet only, or why she lapsed at once into silence again.\nIndeed, my remembrance of the incident at all is due to the circumstance\nthat shortly after Silis had turned her face to the peats again, a knock\ncame to the door, and then Seumas Dhu entered.\n\n\"Why do you sing that lament, Silis, sister of my father?\" he asked,\nafter he had seated himself beside me, and spread his thin hands against\nthe peat glow, so that the flame seemed to enter within the flesh.\n\nSilis turned to her nephew, and looked at him, as I thought,\nquestioningly. But she did not speak. He, too, said nothing more, either\nforgetful of his question, or content with what he had learned or\nfailed to learn through her silence.\n\nThe wind had come down from the corries before Seumas rose to go. He\nsaid he was not returning to Alltnalee, but was going upon the hill, for\na big herd of deer had come over the ridge of Mel Mor. Seumas, though\nskilled in all hill and forest craft, was not a sure shot, as was his\nkinsman and my host, Alasdair McIan.\n\n\"You will need help,\" I remember Alasdair Ardoch saying mockingly,\nadding, \"_Co dhiubh is fhearr let mise thoir sealladh na faileadh\ndhiubh?_\"--that is to say, Whether would you rather me to deprive them\nof sight or smell?\n\nThis is a familiar saying among the old sportsmen in my country, where\nit is believed that a few favoured individuals have the power to deprive\ndeer of either sight or smell, as the occasion suggests.\n\n\"_Dhuit ciar nan carn!_--The gloom of the rocks be upon you!\" replied\nSeumas, sullenly: \"mayhap the hour is come when the red stag will sniff\nat my nostrils.\"\n\nWith that dark saying he went. None of us saw him again alive.\n\nWas it a forewarning? I have often wondered. Or had he sight of the\nshadow?\n\nIt was three days after this, and shortly after sunrise, that, on\ncrossing the south <DW72> of Mel Mor with Alasdair Ardoch, we came\nsuddenly upon the body of Seumas, half submerged in a purple billow of\nheather. It did not, at the moment, occur to me that he was dead. I had\nnot known that his prolonged absence had been noted, or that he had been\nsearched for. As a matter of fact, he must have died immediately before\nour approach, for his limbs were still loose, and he lay as a sleeper\nlies.\n\nAlasdair kneeled and raised his kinsman's head. When it lay upon the\npurple tussock, the warmth and glow from the sunlit ling gave a fugitive\ndeceptive light to the pale face. I know not whether the sun can have\nany chemic action upon the dead. But it seemed to me that a dream rose\nto the face of Seumas, like one of those submarine flowers that are said\nto rise at times and be visible for a moment in the hollow of a wave.\nThe dream, the light, waned; and there was a great stillness and white\npeace where the trouble had been. \"It is the Smoothing of the Hand,\"\nsaid Alasdair McIan, in a hushed voice.\n\nOften I had heard this lovely phrase in the Western Isles, but always as\napplied to sleep. When a fretful child suddenly falls into quietude and\ndeep slumber, an isleswoman will say that it is because of the Smoothing\nof the Hand. It is always a profound sleep, and there are some who hold\nit almost as a sacred thing, and never to be disturbed.\n\nSo, thinking only of this, I whispered to my friend to come away; that\nSeumas was dead weary with hunting upon the hills; that he would awake\nin due time.\n\nMcIan looked at me, hesitated, and said nothing. I saw him glance\naround. A few yards away, beside a great boulder in the heather, a small\nrowan stood, flickering its feather-like shadows across the white wool\nof a ewe resting underneath. He moved thitherward, slowly, plucked a\nbranch heavy with scarlet berries, and then, having returned, laid it\nacross the breast of his kinsman.\n\nI knew now what was that passing of the trouble in the face of Seumas\nDhu, what that sudden light was, that calming of the sea, that ineffable\nquietude. It was the Smoothing of the Hand.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[10] Pronounce mogh-r[=a]y, mogh-r[=e]e (my heart's delight--_lit._ my dear\none, my heart).\n\n\n\n\nTHE WHITE FEVER\n\n\nOne night, before the peats, I was told this thing by old Cairstine\nMacdonald, in the isle of Benbecula. It is in her words that I give it:\n\n\nIn the spring of the year that my boy Tormaid died, the moon-daisies\nwere as thick as a woven shroud over the place where Giorsal, the\ndaughter of Ian, the son of Ian MacLeod of Baille 'n Bad-a-sgailich,\nslept night and day.[11]\n\nAll that March the cormorants screamed, famished. There were few fish in\nthe sea, and no kelp-weed was washed up by the high tides. In the island\nand in the near isles, ay, and far north through the mainland, the\nblight lay. Many sickened. I knew young mothers who had no milk. There\nare green mounds in Carnan kirkyard that will be telling you of what\nthis meant. Here and there are little green mounds, each so small that\nyou might cuddle it in your arm under your plaid.\n\nTormaid sickened. A bad day was that for him when he came home, weary\nwith the sea, and drenched to the skin, because of a gale that caught\nhim and his mates off Barra Head. When the March winds tore down the\nMinch, and leaped out from over the Cuchullins, and came west, and lay\nagainst our homes, where the peats were sodden and there was little\nfood, the minister told me that my lad would be in the quiet havens\nbefore long. This was because of the white fever. It was of that same\nthat Giorsal waned, and went out like a thin flame in sunlight.\n\nThe son of my man (years ago weary no more) said little ever. He ate\nnothing almost, even of the next to nothing we had. At nights he couldna\nsleep because of his cough. The coming of May lifted him awhile. I hoped\nhe would see the autumn; and that if he did, and the herring came, and\nthe harvest was had, and what wi' this and what wi' that, he would\nforget his Giorsal that lay i' the mools in the quiet place yonder.\nMaybe then, I thought, the sorrow would go, and take its shadow with\nit.\n\nOne gloaming he came in with all the whiteness of his wasted body in his\nface. His heart was out of its shell; and mine, too, at the sight of\nhim.[12]\n\nThis was the season of the hanging of the dog's mouth.\n\n\"What is it, Tormaid-a-ghaolach?\" I asked, with the sob that was in my\nthroat.\n\n\"_Thraisg mo chridhe_,\" he muttered (My heart is parched). Then, feeling\nthe asking in my eyes, he said, \"I have seen her.\"\n\nI knew he meant Giorsal. My heart sank. But I wore my nails into the\npalms of my hands. Then I said this thing, that is an old saying in the\nisles: \"Those who are in the quiet havens hear neither the wind nor the\nsea.\" He was so weak he could not lie down in the bed. He was in the big\nchair before the peats, with his feet on a _claar_.\n\nWhen the wind was still I read him the Word. A little warm milk was all\nhe would take. I could hear the blood in his lungs sobbing like the\nebb-tide in the sea-weed. This was the thing that he said to me:\n\n\"She came to me, like a grey mist, beyond the <DW18> of the green place,\nnear the road. The face of her was grey as a grey dawn, but the voice\nwas hers, though I heard it under a wave, so dull and far was it. And\nthese are her words to me, and mine to her--and the first speaking was\nmine, for the silence wore me:\n\n    Am bheil thu' falbh,\n      O mo ghraidh?\n        _B'idh mi falbh,\n          Muirnean!_\n\n    C'uin a thilleas tu,\n      O mo ghraidh?\n      _Cha till mi an rathad so;\n      Tha an't ait e cumhann--\n        O Muirnean, Muirnean!\n      B'idh mi falbh an drugh\n      Am tigh Pharais,\n        Muirnean!_\n\n    Seol dhomh an rathad,\n      Mo ghraidh!\n        _Thig an so, Muirnean-mo,\n          Thig an so!_\n\n    Are you going,\n      My dear one?\n        _Yea, now I am going,\n          Dearest._\n\n    When will you come again,\n      My dear one?\n      _I will not return this way;\n      The place is narrow--\n        O my Darling!\n      I will be going to Paradise,\n        Dear, my dear one!_\n\n    Show me the way,\n      Heart of my heart!\n        _Come hither, dearest, come hither,\n          Come with me!_\n\n\"And then I saw that it was a mist, and that I was alone. But now this\nnight it is that I feel the breath on the soles of my feet.\"\n\nAnd with that I knew there was no hope. \"_Ma tha sin an dan!_ ... if\nthat be ordained,\" was all that rose to my lips. It was that night he\ndied. I fell asleep in the second hour. When I woke in the grey dawn,\nhis face was greyer than that, and more cold.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[11] _Baille 'n Bad-a-sgailich_: the Farm of the Shadowy Clump of Trees.\n_Cairstine_, or _Cairistine_, is the Gaelic for _Christina_ (for\n_Christian_), as _Tormaid_ is for Norman, and _Giorsal_ for Grace. \"The\nquiet havens\" is the beautiful island phrase for graves. Here, also, a\nswift and fatal consumption that falls upon the doomed is called \"The\nWhite Fever.\" By \"the mainland,\" Harris and the Lewis are meant.\n\n[12] _A cockall a' chridhe_: his heart out of its shell--a phrase often\nused to express sudden derangement from any shock. The ensuing phrase\nmeans the month from the 15th of July to the 15th of August, _Mios\ncrochaidh nan con_, so called as it is supposed to be the hottest, if\nnot the most waterless, month in the isles. The word _claar_, used\nbelow, is the name given a small wooden tub, into which the potatoes are\nturned when boiled.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEA-MADNESS\n\n\nI know a man who keeps a little store in a village by one of the lochs\nof Argyll. He is about fifty, is insignificant, commonplace, in his\ninterests parochial, and on Sundays painful to see in his sleek\nrespectability. He lives within sight of the green and grey waters,\nabove which grey mountains stand; across the kyle is a fair wilderness;\nbut to my knowledge he never for pleasure goes upon the hills, nor\nstands by the shore, unless it be of a Saturday night to watch the\nherring-boats come in, or on a Sabbath afternoon when he has word with a\nfriend.\n\nYet this man is one of the strangest men I have met or am like to meet.\nFrom himself I have never heard word but the commonest, and that in a\nmanner somewhat servile. I know his one intimate friend, however. At\nintervals (sometimes of two or three years, latterly each year for three\nyears in succession) this village chandler forgets, and is suddenly\nbecome what he was, or what some ancestor was, in unremembered days.\n\nFor a day or two he is listless, in a still sadness; speaking, when he\nhas to speak, in a low voice; and often looking about him with sidelong\neyes. Then one day he will leave his counter and go to the shed behind\nhis shop, and stand for a time frowning and whispering, or perhaps\nstaring idly, and then go bareheaded up the hillside, and along tangled\nways of bog and heather, and be seen no more for weeks.\n\nHe goes down through the Wilderness locally called The Broken Rocks.\nWhen he is there, he is a strong man, leaping like a goat--swift and\nfurtive. At times he strips himself bare, and sits on a rock staring at\nthe sun. Oftenest he walks along the shore, or goes stumbling among\nweedy boulders, calling loudly upon the sea. His friend, of whom I have\nspoken, told me that he had again and again seen Anndra stoop and lift\nhandfuls out of the running wave and throw the water above his head\nwhile he screamed or shouted strange Gaelic words, some incoherent, some\nold as the grey rocks. Once he was seen striding into the sea, batting\nit with his hands, smiting the tide-swell, and defying it and deriding\nit, with stifled laughters that gave way to cries and sobs of broken\nhate and love.\n\nHe sang songs to it. He threw bracken, and branches, and stones at it,\ncursing: then falling on his knees would pray, and lift the water to his\nlips, and put it on his head. He loved the sea as a man loves a woman.\nIt was his light o' love: his love: his God. Than that desire of his I\nhave not heard of any more terrible. To love the wind and the salt wave,\nand be for ever mocked of the one and baffled of the other; to lift a\nheart of flame, and have the bleak air quench it; to stoop, whispering,\nand kiss the wave, and have its saltness sting the lips and blind the\neyes: this indeed is to know that bitter thing of which so many have\ndied after tears, broken hearts, and madness.\n\nHis friend, whom I will call Neil, once came upon him when he was in\ndread. Neil was in a boat, and had sailed close inshore on the flow.\nAnndra saw him, and screamed.\n\n\"I know who you are! Keep away!\" he cried. \"_Fear faire na h'aon\nsula_--I know you for the One-Eyed Watcher!\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Neil, \"the salt wave went out of his eyes and he knew me,\nand fell on his knees, and wept, and said he was dying of an old broken\nlove. And with that he ran down to the shore, and lifted a palmful of\nwater to his lips, so that for a moment foam hung upon his tangled\nbeard, and called out to his love, and was sore bitter upon her, and\nthen up and laughed and scrambled out of sight, though I heard him\ncrying among the rocks.\"\n\nI asked Neil who the One-Eyed Watcher was. He said he was a man who had\nnever died and never lived. He had only one eye, but that could see\nthrough anything except grey granite, the grey crow's egg, and the grey\nwave that swims at the bottom. He could see the dead in the water, and\nwatched for them: he could see those on the land who came down near the\nsea, if they had death on them. On these he had no pity. But he was\nunseen except at dusk and in the grey dawn. He came out of a grave. He\nwas not a man, but he lived upon the deaths of men. It was worse to be\nalive, and see him, than to be dead and at his feet.\n\nWhen the man Anndra's madness went away from him--sometimes in a week or\ntwo weeks, sometimes not for three weeks or more--he would come back\nacross the hill. In the dark he would slip down through the bracken and\nbog-myrtle, and wait a while among the ragged fuchsias at the <DW18> of\nhis potato-patch. Then he would creep in at the window of his room, or\nperhaps lift the door-latch and go quietly to his bed. Once Neil was\nthere when he returned. Neil was speaking to Anndra's sister, who kept\nhouse for the poor man. They heard a noise, and the sudden flurried\nclucking of hens.\n\n\"It's Anndra,\" said the woman, with a catch in her throat; and they sat\nin silence, till the door opened. He had been away five weeks, and hair\nand beard were matted, and his face was death-white; but he had already\nslipped into his habitual clothes, and looked the quiet respectable man\nhe was. The two who were waiting for him did not speak.\n\n\"It's a fine night,\" he said; \"it's a fine night, an' no wind.--Marget,\nit's time we had in mair o' thae round cheeses fra Inverary.\"\n\n\n\n\nEARTH, FIRE, AND WATER\n\n\nIn \"The Sea-Madness\" I have told of a man--a quiet dull man, a chandler\nof a little Argyll loch-town--who, at times, left his counter, and small\ncanny ways, and went out into a rocky wilderness, and became mad with\nthe sea. I have heard of many afflicted in some such wise, and have\nknown one or two.\n\nIn a tale written a few years ago, \"The Ninth Wave,\" I wrote of one whom\nI knew, one Ivor MacNeill, or \"Carminish,\" so called because of his farm\nbetween the hills Strondeval and Rondeval, near the Obb of Harris in the\nOuter Hebrides. This man heard the secret calling of the ninth wave.\nNone may hear that, when there is no wave on the sea, or when perhaps he\nis inland, and not follow. That following is always to the ending of all\nfollowing. For a long while Carminish put his fate from him. He went to\nother isles: wherever he went he heard the call of the sea. \"Come,\" it\ncried, \"come, come away!\" He passed at last to a kinsman's croft on\nAird-Vanish in the island of Taransay. He was not free there. He\nstopped at a place where he had no kin, and no memories, and at a\nhidden, quiet farm. This was at Eilean Mhealastaidh, which is under the\nmorning shadow of Griomabhal on the mainland. His nights there were a\nsleepless dread. He went to other places. The sea called. He went at\nlast to his cousin Eachainn MacEachainn's bothy, near Callernish in the\nLews, where the Druid Stones stand by the shore and hear nothing for\never but the noise of the waves and the cry of the sea-wind. There,\nweary in hope, he found peace at last. He slept, and none called upon\nhim. He began to smile, and to hope.\n\nOne night the two were at the porridge, and Eachainn was muttering his\n_Bui 'cheas dha 'n Ti_, the Thanks to the Being, when Carminish leaped\nto his feet, and with a white face stood shaking like a rope in the\nwind.\n\nIn the grey dawn they found his body, stiff and salt with the ooze.\n\nI did not know, but I have heard of another who had a light tragic end.\nSome say he was witless. Others, that he had the Friday-Fate upon him. I\ndo not know what evil he had done, but \"some one\" had met him and said\nto him \"_Bidh ruith na h'Aoin' ort am_ _Feasda_,\" \"The Friday-Fate will\nfollow you for ever.\" So it was said. But I was told this of him: that\nhe had been well and strong and happy, and did not know he had a\nterrible gift, that some have who are born by the sea. It is not well to\nbe born on a Friday night, within sound of the sea; or on certain days.\nThis gift is the \"_Eolas na h'Aoine_,\" the Friday-Spell. He who has this\ngift must not look upon any other while bathing: if he does, that\nswimmer must drown. This man, whom I will call Finlay, had this eolas.\nThree times the evil happened. But the third time he knew what he did:\nthe man who swam in the sunlight loved the same woman as Finlay loved;\nso he stood on the shore, and looked, and laughed. When the body was\nbrought home, the woman struck Finlay in the face. He grew strange after\na time, and at last witless. A year later it was a cold February. Finlay\nwent to and fro singing an old February rhyme beginning:\n\n    _Feadag, Feadag, mathair Faoillich fhuair!_\n\n(Plover, plover, Mother of the bleak Month). He was watching a man\nploughing. Suddenly he threw down his cromak. He leaped over a <DW18>, and\nran to the shore, calling, \"I'm coming! I'm coming! Don't pull me--I'm\ncoming!\" He fell upon the rocks, which had a blue bloom on them like\nfruit, for they were covered with mussels; and he was torn, so that his\nhands and face were streaming red. \"I am your red, red love,\" he cried,\n\"sweetheart, my love\"; and with that he threw himself into the sea.\n\nMore often the sea-call is not a madness, but an inward voice. I have\nbeen told of a man who was a farmer in Carrick of Ayr. He left wife and\nhome because of the calling of the sea. But when he was again in the far\nisles, where he had lived formerly, he was well once more. Another man\nheard the sobbing of the tide among seaweed whenever he dug in his\ngarden: and gave up all, and even the woman he loved, and left. She won\nhim back, by her love; but on the night before their marriage, in that\ninland place where her farm was, he slipt away and was not seen again.\nAgain, there was the man of whom I have spoken in \"Iona,\" who went to\nthe mainland, but could not see to plough because the brown fallows\nbecame waves that splashed noisily about him: and how he went to Canada\nand got work in a great warehouse, but among the bales of merchandise\nheard continually the singular note of the sandpiper, while every hour\nthe sea-fowl confused him with their crying.\n\nI have myself in lesser degree, known this irresistible longing. I am\nnot fond of towns, but some years ago I had to spend a winter in a great\ncity. It was all-important to me not to leave during January; and in one\nway I was not ill-pleased, for it was a wild winter. But one night I\nwoke, hearing a rushing sound in the street--the sound of water. I would\nhave thought no more of it, had I not recognised the troubled noise of\nthe tide, and the sucking and lapsing of the flow in weedy hollows. I\nrose and looked out. It was moonlight, and there was no water. When,\nafter sleepless hours, I rose in the grey morning I heard the splash of\nwaves. All that day and the next I heard the continual noise of waves. I\ncould not write or read; at last I could not rest. On the afternoon of\nthe third day the waves dashed up against the house. I said what I could\nto my friends, and left by the night train. In the morning we (for a\nkinswoman was with me) stood on Greenock Pier waiting for the Hebridean\nsteamer, the _Clansman_, and before long were landed on an island,\nalmost the nearest we could reach, and one that I loved well. We had to\nbe landed some miles from the place I wanted to go to, and it was a\nlong and cold journey. The innumerable little waterfalls hung in icicles\namong the mosses, ferns, and white birches on the roadsides. Before we\nreached our destination, we saw a wonderful sight. From three great\nmountains, their flanks flushed with faint rose, their peaks, white and\nsolemn, vast columns of white smoke ascended. It was as though volcanic\nfires had once again broken their long stillness. Then we saw what it\nwas: the north wind (unheard, unfelt, where we stood) blew a hurricane\nagainst the other side of the peaks, and, striking upon the leagues of\nhard snow, drove it upward like smoke, till the columns rose gigantic\nand hung between the silence of the white peaks and the silence of the\nstars.\n\nThat night, with the sea breaking less than a score yards from where I\nlay, I slept, though for three nights I had not been able to sleep. When\nI woke, my trouble was gone.\n\nIt was but a reminder to me. But to others it was more than that.\n\nI remember that winter for another thing, which I may write of here.\n\nFrom the fisherman's wife with whom I lodged I learned that her daughter\nhad recently borne a son, but was now up and about again, though for\nthe first time, that morning. We went to her, about noon. She was not in\nthe house. A small cabbage-garden lay behind, and beyond it the mossy\nedge of a wood of rowans and birches broke steeply in bracken and\nloneroid. The girl was there, and had taken the child from her breast,\nand kneeling, was touching the earth with the small lint-white head.\n\nI asked her what she was doing. She said it was the right thing to do;\nthat as soon as possible after the child was born, the mother should\ntake it--and best, at noon, and facing the sun--and touch its brow to\nthe earth. My friends (like many islanders of the Inner Hebrides, they\nhad no Gaelic) used an unfamiliar phrase; \"It's the old Mothering.\" It\nwas, in truth, the sacrament of Our Mother, but in a far ancient sense.\nI do not doubt the rite is among the most primitive of those practised\nby the Celtic peoples.\n\nI have not seen it elsewhere, though I have heard of it. Probably it is\noften practised yet in remote places. Even where we were, the women were\nsomewhat fearful lest \"the minister\" heard of what the young mother had\ndone. They do not love these beautiful symbolic actions, these\n\"ministers,\" to whom they are superstitions. This old, pagan,\nsacramental earth-rite is, certainly, beautiful. How could one better be\nblessed, on coming into life, than to have the kiss of that ancient\nMother of whom we are all children? There must be wisdom in that first\ntouch. I do not doubt that behind the symbol lies, at times, the old\nmiraculous communication. For, even in this late day, some of us are\nborn with remembrance, with dumb worship, with intimate and uplifting\nkinship to that Mother.\n\nSince then I have asked often, in many parts of the Highlands and\nIslands, for what is known of this rite, when and where practised, and\nwhat meanings it bears; and some day I hope to put these notes on\nrecord. I am convinced that the Earth-Blessing is more ancient than the\nwestward migration of the Celtic peoples.\n\nI have both read and heard of another custom, though I have not known of\nit at first-hand. The last time I was told of it was of a crofter and\nhis wife in North Uist. The once general custom is remembered in a\nfamiliar Gaelic saying, the English of which is, \"He got a turn through\nthe smoke.\" After baptism, a child was taken from the breast, and handed\nby its mother (sometimes the child was placed in a basket) to the\nfather, across the fire. I do not think, but am not sure, if any signal\nmeaning lie in the mother handing the child to the father. When the rite\nis spoken of, as often as not it is only \"the parents\" that the speaker\nalludes to. The rite is universally recognised as a spell against the\ndominion, or agency, of evil spirits. In Coll and Tiree, it is to keep\nthe Hidden People from touching or singing to the child. I think it is\nan ancient propitiatory rite, akin to that which made our ancestors\ntouch the new-born to earth; as that which makes some islanders still\nbaptize a child with a little spray from the running wave, or a\nfingerful of water from the tide at the flow; as that which made an old\nwoman lift me as a little child and hold me up to the south wind, \"to\nmake me strong and fair and always young, and to keep back death and\nsorrow, and to keep me safe from other winds and evil spirits.\" Old\nBarabal has gone where the south wind blows, in blossom and flowers and\ngreen leaves, across the pastures of Death; and I ... alas, I can but\nwish that One stronger than she, for all her love, will lift me, as a\nchild again, to the Wind, and pass me across the Fire, and set me down\nagain upon a new Earth.\n\n\n\n\nFROM \"GREEN FIRE\"\n\n\n  _Be not troubled in the inward Hope. It lives in beauty, and the\n  hand of God slowly wakens it year by year, and through the many ways\n  of Sorrow. It is an Immortal, and its name is Joy._\n\n                                                               F. M.\n\n\n\n\nThe Herdsman\n\n\nOn the night when Alan Carmichael with his old servant and friend, Ian\nM'Ian, arrived in Balnaree (\"Baile'-na-Righ\"), the little village\nwherein was all that Borosay had to boast of in the way of civic life,\nhe could not disguise from himself that he was regarded askance.\n\nRightly or wrongly, he took this to be resentment because of his having\nwed (alas, he recalled, wed and lost) the daughter of the man who had\nkilled Ailean Carmichael in a duel. So possessed was he by this idea,\nthat he did not remember how little likely the islanders were to know\nanything of him or his beyond the fact that Ailean MacAlasdair Rhona had\ndied abroad.\n\nThe trouble became more than an imaginary one when, on the morrow, he\ntried to find a boat for the passage to Rona. But for the Frozen Hand,\nas the triple-peaked hill to the south of Balnaree was called, Rona\nwould have been visible; nor was it, with a fair wind, more than an\nhour's sail distant.\n\nNevertheless, he could detect in every one to whom he spoke a strange\nreluctance. At last he asked an old man of his own surname why there was\nso much difficulty.\n\nIn the island way, Seumas Carmichael replied that the people on Elleray,\nthe island adjacent to Rona, were unfriendly.\n\n\"But unfriendly at what?\"\n\n\"Well, at this and at that. But for one thing, they are not having any\ndealings with the Carmichaels. They are all Macneills there, Macneills\nof Barra. There is a feud, I am thinking; though I know nothing of it;\nno, not I.\"\n\n\"But Seumas mac Eachainn, you know well yourself that there are almost\nno Carmichaels to have a feud with! There are you and your brother, and\nthere is your cousin over at Sgorr-Bhan on the other side of Borosay.\nWho else is there?\"\n\nTo this the man could say nothing. Distressed, Alan sought Ian and bade\nhim find out what he could. He also was puzzled and uneasy. That some\nevil was at work could not be doubted, and that it was secret boded\nill.\n\nIan was a stranger in Borosay because of his absence since boyhood; but,\nafter all, Ian mac Iain mhic Dhonuill was to the islanders one of\nthemselves; and though he came there with a man under a shadow (though\nthis phrase was not used in Ian's hearing), that was not his fault.\n\nAnd when he reminded them that for these many years he had not seen the\nold woman, his sister Giorsal; and spoke of her, and of their long\nseparation, and of his wish to see her again before he died, there was\nno more hesitation, but only kindly willingness to help.\n\nWithin an hour a boat was ready to take the homefarers to the Isle of\nCaves, as Rona is sometimes called. Before the hour was gone, they, with\nthe stores of food and other things, were slipping seaward out of\nBorosay Haven.\n\nThe moment the headland was rounded, the heights of Rona came into view.\nGreat gaunt cliffs they are, precipices of black basalt; though on the\nsouth side they fall away in grassy declivities which hang a greenness\nover the wandering wave for ever sobbing round that desolate shore. But\nit was not till the Sgorr-Dhu, a conical black rock at the south-east\nend of the island, was reached, that the stone keep, known as\nCaisteal-Rhona, came in sight.\n\nIt stands at the landward extreme of a rocky ledge, on the margin of a\ngreen _airidh_. Westward is a small dark-blue sea loch, no more than a\nnarrow haven. To the north-west rise precipitous cliffs; northward,\nabove the green pasture and a stretch of heather, is a woodland belt of\nsome three or four hundred pine-trees. It well deserves its poetic name\nof I-monair, as Aodh the Islander sang of it; for it echoes ceaselessly\nwith wind and wave. If the waves dash against it from the south or east,\na loud crying is upon the faces of the rocks; if from the north or\nnorth-east, there are unexpected inland silences, but amid the pines a\ncontinual voice. It is when the wind blows from the south-west, or the\nhuge Atlantic billows surge out of the west, that Rona is given over to\nan indescribable tumult. Through the whole island goes the myriad echo\nof a continuous booming; and within this a sound as though waters were\npouring through vast hidden conduits in the heart of every precipice,\nevery rock, every boulder. This is because of the sea-arcades of which\nit consists, for from the westward the island has been honeycombed by\nthe waves. No living man has ever traversed all those mysterious,\nwinding sea-galleries. Many have perished in the attempt. In the olden\ndays the Uisteans and Barrovians sought refuge there from the marauding\nDanes and other pirates out of Lochlin; and in the time when the last\nScottish king took shelter in the west, many of his island followers\nfound safety among these perilous arcades.\n\nSome of them reach an immense height. These are filled with a pale green\ngloom which in fine weather, and at noon or toward sundown, becomes\nalmost radiant. But most have only a dusky green obscurity, and some are\nat all times dark with a darkness that has seen neither sun nor moon nor\nstar for unknown ages. Sometimes, there, a phosphorescent wave will\nspill a livid or a cold blue flame, and for a moment a vast gulf of\ndripping basalt be revealed; but day and night, night and day, from year\nto year, from age to age, that awful wave-clamant darkness is unbroken.\n\nTo the few who know some of the secrets of the passages, it is possible,\nexcept when a gale blows from any quarter but the north, to thread these\ndim arcades in a narrow boat, and so to pass from the Hebrid Seas to the\nouter Atlantic. But for the unwary there might well be no return; for in\nthat maze of winding galleries and sea-washed, shadowy arcades,\nconfusion is but another name for death. Once bewildered, there is no\nhope; and the lost adventurer will remain there idly drifting from\nbarren passage to passage, till he perish of hunger and thirst, or,\nmaddened by the strange and appalling gloom and the unbroken\nsilence--for there the muffled voice of the sea is no more than a\nwhisper--leap into the green waters which for ever slide stealthily from\nledge to ledge.\n\nNow, as Alan approached his remote home, he thought of these\ndeath-haunted corridors, avenues of the grave, as they are called in the\n\"Cumha Fhir-Mearanach Aonghas mhic Dhonuill\"--the Lament of mad Angus\nMacdonald.\n\nWhen at last the unwieldy brown coble sailed into the little haven, it\nwas to create unwonted excitement among the few fishermen who put in\nthere frequently for bait. A group of eight or ten was upon the rocky\nledge beyond Caisteal-Rhona, among them the elderly woman who was sister\nto Ian mac Iain.\n\nAt Alan's request, Ian went ashore in advance in a small punt. He was to\nwave his hand if all were well, for Alan could not but feel\napprehensive on account of the strange ill-will that had shown itself at\nBorosay.\n\nIt was with relief that he saw the signal when, after Ian had embraced\nhis sister, and shaken hands with all the fishermen, he had explained\nthat the son of Ailean Carmichael was come out of the south, and had\ncome to live a while at Caisteal-Rhona.\n\nAll there uncovered and waved their hats. Then a shout of welcome went\nup, and Alan's heart was glad. But the moment he had set foot on land he\nsaw a startled look come into the eyes of the fishermen--a look that\ndeepened swiftly into one of aversion, almost of fear.\n\nOne by one the men moved away, awkward in their embarrassment. Not one\ncame forward with outstretched hand, or said a word of welcome.\n\nAt first amazed, then indignant, Ian reproached them. They received his\nwords in shamed silence. Even when with a bitter tongue he taunted them,\nthey answered nothing.\n\n\"Giorsal,\" said Ian, turning in despair to his sister, \"is it madness\nthat you have?\"\n\nBut even she was no longer the same. Her eyes were fixed upon Alan with\na look of dread, and indeed of horror. It was unmistakable, and Alan\nhimself was conscious of it with a strange sinking of the heart. \"Speak,\nwoman!\" he demanded. \"What is the meaning of this thing? Why do you and\nthese men look at me askance?\"\n\n\"God forbid!\" answered Giorsal Macdonald with white lips; \"God forbid\nthat we look at the son of Ailean Carmichael askance. But----\"\n\n\"But what?\"\n\nWith that the woman put her apron over her head and moved away,\nmuttering strange words.\n\n\"Ian, what is this mystery?\"\n\n\"How am I for knowing, Alan mac Ailean? It is all a darkness to me also.\nBut I will be finding that out soon.\"\n\nThat, however, was easier for Ian to say than to do. Meanwhile, the\nbrown coble tacked back to Borosay, and the fisherman sailed away to the\nBarra coasts, and Alan and Ian were left solitary in their wild and\nremote home.\n\nBut in that very solitude Alan found healing. From what Giorsal hinted,\nhe came to believe that the fishermen had experienced one of those\nstrange dream-waves which, in remote isles, occur at times, when whole\ncommunities will be wrought by the self-same fantasy. When day by day\nwent past, and no one came near, he at first was puzzled, and even\nresentful; but this passed, and soon he was glad to be alone. Ian,\nhowever, knew that there was another cause for the inexplicable aversion\nthat had been shown. But he was silent, and kept a patient watch for the\nhour that the future held in its shroud. As for Giorsal, she was dumb;\nbut no more looked at Alan askance.\n\nAnd so the weeks went. Occasionally a fishing smack came with the\nprovisions, for the weekly despatch of which Alan had arranged at Loch\nBoisdale, and sometimes the Barra men put in at the haven, though they\nwould never stay long, and always avoided Alan as much as was possible.\n\nIn that time Alan and Ian came to know and love their strangely\nbeautiful island home. Hours and hours at a time they spent exploring\nthe dim, green, winding sea-galleries, till at last they knew the chief\narcades thoroughly.\n\nThey had even ventured into some of the narrow, snake-like inner\npassages, but never for long, because of the awe and dread these held,\nsilent estuaries of the grave.\n\nWeek after week passed, and to Alan it was as the going of the grey\nowl's wing, swift and silent.\n\n\nThen it was that, on a day of the days, he was suddenly stricken with a\nnew and startling dread.\n\n\nII\n\nIn the hour that this terror came upon him Alan was alone upon the high\n<DW72>s of Rona, where the grass fails and the lichen yellows at close on\na thousand feet above the sea.\n\nThe day had been cloudless since sunrise. The sea was as the single vast\npetal of an azure flower, all of one unbroken blue save for the shadows\nof the scattered isles and the slow-drifting mauve or purple of floating\nweed. Countless birds congregated from every quarter. Guillemots and\npuffins, cormorants and northern divers, everywhere darted, swam, or\nslept upon the listless ocean, whose deep breathing no more than lifted\na league-long calm here and there, to lapse breathlike as it rose.\nThrough the not less silent quietudes of air the grey skuas swept with\ncurving flight, and the narrow-winged terns made a constant white\nshimmer. At remote altitudes the gannet motionlessly drifted. Oceanward\nthe great widths of calm were rent now and again by the shoulders of the\nporpoises which followed the herring trail, their huge, black, revolving\nbodies looming large above the silent wave. Not a boat was visible\nanywhere; not even upon the most distant horizons did a brown sail fleck\nitself duskily against the skyward wall of steely blue.\n\nIn the great stillness which prevailed, the noise of the surf beating\naround the promontory of Aonaig was audible as a whisper; though even in\nthat windless hour the confused rumour of the sea, moving through the\narcades of the island, filled the hollow of the air overhead. Ever since\nthe early morning Alan had moved under a strange gloom. Out of that\ngolden glory of midsummer a breath of joyous life should have reached\nhis heart, but it was not so. For sure, there is sometimes in the quiet\nbeauty of summer an air of menace, a premonition of suspended force--a\nforce antagonistic and terrible. All who have lived in these lonely\nisles know the peculiar intensity of this summer melancholy. No noise of\nwind, no prolonged season of untimely rains, no long baffling of mists\nin all the drear inclemencies of that remote region, can produce the\nsame ominous and even paralysing gloom sometimes born of ineffable\npeace and beauty. Is it that in the human soul there is a mysterious\nkinship with the outer soul which we call Nature; and that in these few\nsupreme hours which come at the full of the year, we are, sometimes,\nsuddenly aware of the tremendous forces beneath and behind us, momently\nquiescent?\n\nDetermined to shake off this dejection, Alan wandered high among the\nupland solitudes. There a cool air moved always, even in the noons of\nAugust; and there, indeed, often had come upon him a deep peace. But\nwhatsoever the reason, only a deeper despondency possessed him. An\nincident, significant in that mood, at that time, happened then. A few\nhundred yards away from where he stood, half hidden in a little glen\nwhere a fall of water tossed its spray among the shadows of rowan and\nbirch, was the bothie of a woman, the wife of Neil MacNeill, a fisherman\nof Aoinaig. She was there, he knew, for the summer pasturing; and even\nas he recollected this, he heard the sound of her voice as she sang\nsomewhere by the burnside. Moving slowly toward the corrie, he stopped\nat a mountain ash which over hung a pool. Looking down, he saw the\nwoman, Morag MacNeill, washing and peeling potatoes in the clear brown\nwater. And as she washed and peeled, she sang an old-time shealing hymn\nof the Virgin-Shepherdess, of Michael the White, and of Columan the\nDove. It was a song that, years ago, far away in Brittany, he had heard\nfrom his mother's lips. He listened now to every word of the doubly\nfamiliar Gaelic; and when Morag ended, the tears were in his eyes, and\nhe stood for a while as one under a spell.[13]\n\n    \"A Mhicheil mhin! nan steud geala,\n    A choisin cios air Dragon fala,\n    Air ghaol Dia 'us Mhic Muire,\n    Sgaoil do sgiath oirnn dian sinn uile,\n    Sgaoil do sgiath oirnn dian sinn uile.\n\n    \"A Mhoire ghradhach! Mathair Uain-ghil,\n    Cobhair oirnne, Oigh na h-uaisle;\n    A rioghainn uai'reach! a bhuachaille nan treud!\n    Cum ar cuallach cuartaich sinn le cheil,\n    Cum ar cuallach cuartaich sinn le cheil.\n\n    \"A Chalum-Chille: chairdeil, chaoimh,\n    An ainm Athar, Mic, 'us Spioraid Naoimh,\n    Trid na Trithinn! trid na Triath!\n    Comraig sinne, gleidh ar trial,\n    Comraig sinne, gleidh ar trial.\n\n    \"Athair! A Mhic! A Spioraid Naoimh!\n    Bi'eadh an Tri-Aon leinn, a la's a dh-oidhche!\n    'S air chul nan tonn, no air thaobh nan beann,\n    Bi'dh ar Mathair leinn, 's bith a lamh fo'r ceann,\n    Bi'dh ar Mathair leinn, 's bith a lamh fo'r ceann.\n\n    \"Thou gentle Michael of the white steed,\n    Who subdued the Dragon of blood,\n    For love of God and the Son of Mary,\n    Spread over us thy wing, shield us all!\n    Spread over us thy wing, shield us all!\n\n    \"Mary beloved! Mother of the White Lamb,\n    Protect us, thou Virgin of nobleness,\n    Queen of beauty! Shepherdess of the flocks!\n    Keep our cattle, surround us together,\n    Keep our cattle, surround us together.\n\n    \"Thou Columba, the friendly, the kind,\n    In name of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit Holy,\n    Through the Three-in-One, through the Three,\n    Encompass us, guard our procession,\n    Encompass us, guard our procession.\n\n    \"Thou Father! thou Son! thou Spirit Holy!\n    Be the Three-in-One with us day and night.\n    And on the crested wave, or on the mountain side.\n    Our Mother is there, and her arm is under our head,\n    Our Mother is there, and her arm is under our head.\"\n\nAlan found himself repeating whisperingly, and again and again--\n\n    \"Bi 'eadh an Tri-Aon leinn, a la's a dh-oidhche!\n    'S air chul nan tonn, no air thaobh nam beann.\"\n\nSuddenly the woman glanced upward, perhaps because of the shadow that\nmoved against the green bracken below. With a startled gesture she\nsprang to her feet. Alan looked at her kindly, saying, with a smile,\n\"Sure, Morag nic Tormod, it is not fear you need be having of one who is\nyour friend.\" Then, seeing that the woman stared at him with something\nof terror as well as surprise, he spoke to her again.\n\n\"Sure, Morag, I am no stranger that you should be looking at me with\nthose foreign eyes.\" He laughed as he spoke, and made as though he were\nabout to descend to the burnside. Unmistakably, however, the woman did\nnot desire his company. He saw this, with the pain and bewilderment\nwhich had come upon him whenever the like happened, as so often it had\nhappened since he had come to Rona.\n\n\"Tell me, Morag MacNeill, what is the meaning of this strangeness that\nis upon you? Why do you not speak? Why do you turn away your head?\"\n\nSuddenly the woman flashed her black eyes upon him.\n\n\"Have you ever heard of _am Buachaill Ban--am Buachaill Buidhe?_\"\n\nHe looked at her in amaze. _Am Buachaill Ban!_ ... The fair-haired\nHerdsman, the yellow-haired Herdsman! What could she mean? In days gone\nby, he knew, the islanders, in the evil time after Culloden, had so\nnamed the fugitive Prince who had sought shelter in the Hebrides; and in\nsome of the runes of an older day still the Saviour of the World was\nsometimes so called, just as Mary was called _Bhuachaile nan\ntreud_--Shepherdess of the Flock. But it could be no allusion to either\nof these that was intended.\n\n\"Who is the Herdsman of whom you speak, Morag?\"\n\n\"Is it no knowledge you have of him at all, Alan MacAilean?\"\n\n\"None. I know nothing of the man, nothing of what is in your mind. Who\nis the Herdsman?\"\n\n\"You will not be putting evil upon me because that you saw me here by\nthe pool before I saw you?\"\n\n\"Why should I, woman? Why do you think that I have the power of the evil\neye? Sure, I have done no harm to you or yours, and wish none. But if it\nis for peace to you to know it, it is no evil I wish you, but only\ngood. The Blessing of Himself be upon you and yours and upon your\nhouse!\"\n\nThe woman looked relieved, but still cast her furtive gaze upon Alan,\nwho no longer attempted to join her.\n\n\"I cannot be speaking the thing that is in my mind, Alan MacAilean. It\nis not for me to be saying that thing. But if you have no knowledge of\nthe Herdsman, sure it is only another wonder of the wonders, and God has\nthe sun on that shadow, to the Stones be it said.\"\n\n\"But tell me, Morag, who is the Herdsman of whom you speak?\"\n\nFor a minute or more the woman stood regarding him intently. Then\nslowly, and with obvious reluctance, she spoke--\n\n\"Why have you appeared to the people upon the isles, sometimes by\nmoonlight, sometimes by day or in the dusk, and have foretold upon one\nand all who dwell here black gloom and the red flame of sorrow? Why have\nyou, who are an outcast because of what lies between you and another,\npretended to be a messenger of the Son--ay, for sure, even, God forgive\nyou, to be the Son Himself?\"\n\nAlan stared at the woman. For a time he could utter no word. Had some\nextraordinary delusion spread among the islanders, and was there in the\ninsane accusation of this woman the secret of that which had so troubled\nhim?\n\n\"This is all an empty darkness to me, Morag. Speak more plainly, woman.\nWhat is all this madness that you say? When have I spoken of having any\nmission, or of being other than I am? When have I foretold evil upon you\nor yours, or upon the isles beyond? What man has ever dared to say that\nAlan MacAilean of Rona is an outcast? And what sin is it that lies\nbetween me and another of which you know?\"\n\nIt was impossible for Morag MacNeill to doubt the sincerity of the man\nwho spoke to her. She crossed herself, and muttered the words of a\n_seun_ for the protection of the soul against the demon powers. Still,\neven while she believed in Alan's sincerity, she could not reconcile it\nwith that terrible and strange mystery with which rumour had filled her\nears. So, having nothing to say in reply to his eager questions, she\ncast down her eyes and kept silence.\n\n\"Speak, Morag, for Heaven's sake! Speak if you are a true woman; you\nthat see a man in sore pain, in pain, too, for that of which he knows\nnothing, and of the ill of which he is guiltless!\"\n\nBut, keeping her face averted, the woman muttered simply, \"I have no\nmore to say.\" With that she turned and moved slowly along the pathway\nwhich led from the pool to her hillside bothie.\n\nWith a sigh, Alan walked slowly away. What wonder, he thought, that deep\ngloom had been upon him that day? Here, in the woman's mysterious words,\nwas the shadow of that shadow.\n\nSlowly, brooding deep over what he had heard, he crossed the\nMonadh-nan-Con, as the hill-tract there was called, till he came to the\nrocky wilderness known as the <DW72> of the Caverns.\n\nThere for a time he leaned against a high boulder, idly watching a few\nsheep nibbling the short grass which grew about some of the many caves\nwhich opened in slits or wide hollows. Below and beyond he saw the pale\nblue silence of the sea meet the pale blue silence of the sky;\nsouth-westward, the grey film of the coast of Ulster; westward, again\nthe illimitable vast of sea and sky, infinitudes of calm, as though the\nblue silence of heaven breathed in that one motionless wave, as though\nthat wave sighed and drew the horizons to its heart. From where he\nstood he could hear the murmur of the surge whispering all round the\nisle; the surge that, even on days of profound stillness, makes a\nmurmurous rumour among the rocks and shingle of the island shores. Not\nupon the moor-side, but in the blank hollows of the caves around him, he\nheard, as in gigantic shells, the moving of a strange and solemn rhythm:\nwave-haunted shells indeed, for the echo that was bruited from one to\nthe other came from beneath, from out of those labyrinthine passages and\ndim, shadowy sea-arcades, where among the melancholy green glooms the\nAtlantic waters lose themselves in a vain wandering.\n\nFor long he leaned there, revolving in his mind the mystery of Morag\nMacNeill's words. Then, abruptly, the stillness was broken by the sound\nof a dislodged stone. So little did he expect the foot of fellow-man,\nthat he did not turn at what he thought to be the slip of a sheep. But\nwhen upon the <DW72> of the grass, a little way beyond where he stood, a\ndusky blue shadow wavered fantastically, he swung round with a sudden\ninstinct of dread.\n\nAnd this was the dread which, after these long weeks since he had come\nto Rona, was upon Alan Carmichael.\n\nFor there, standing quietly by another boulder, at the mouth of another\ncave, was a man in all appearance identical with himself. Looking at\nthis apparition, he beheld one of the same height as himself, with hair\nof the same hue, with eyes the same and features the same, with the same\ncarriage, the same smile, the same expression. No, there, and there\nalone, was any difference.\n\nSick at heart, Alan wondered if he looked upon his own wraith. Familiar\nwith the legends of his people, it would have been no strange thing to\nhim that there, upon the hillside, should appear the wraith of himself.\nHad not old Ian McIain--and that, too, though far away in a strange\nland--seen the death of his mother moving upward from her feet to her\nknees, from her knees to her waist, from her waist to her neck, and,\njust before the end, how the shroud darkened along the face until it hid\nthe eyes? Had he not often heard from her, from Ian, of the second self\nwhich so often appears beside the living when already the shadow of doom\nis upon him whose hours are numbered? Was this, then, the reason of what\nhad been his inexplicable gloom? Was he indeed at the extreme of life?\nWas his soul amid shallows, already a rock upon a blank, inhospitable\nshore? If not, who or what was this second self which leaned there\nnegligently, looking at him with scornful smiling lips, but with intent,\nunsmiling eyes.\n\nSlowly there came into his mind this thought: How could a phantom, that\nwas itself intangible, throw a shadow upon the grass, as though it were\na living body? Sure, a shadow there was indeed. It lay between the\napparition and himself. A legend heard in boyhood came back to him;\ninstinctively he stooped and lifted a stone and flung it midway into the\nshadow.\n\n\"Go back into the darkness,\" he cried, \"if out of the darkness you came;\nbut if you be a living thing, put out your hands!\"\n\nThe shadow remained motionless. When Alan looked again at his second\nself, he saw that the scorn which had been upon the lips was now in the\neyes also. Ay, for sure, scornful silent laughter it was that lay in\nthose cold wells of light. No phantom that; a man he, even as Alan\nhimself. His heart pulsed like that of a trapped bird, but with the\nspoken word his courage came back to him.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he asked, in a voice strange even in his own ears.\n\n\"_Am Buachaill_,\" replied the man in a voice as low and strange. \"I am\nthe Herdsman.\"\n\nA new tide of fear surged in upon Alan. That voice, was it not his own?\nthat tone, was it not familiar in his ears? When the man spoke, he heard\nhimself speak; sure, if he were _Am Buachaill Ban_, Alan, too, was the\nHerdsman, though what fantastic destiny might be his was all unknown to\nhim.\n\n\"Come near,\" said the man, and now the mocking light in his eyes was\nwild as cloud-fire--\"come near, oh _Buachaill Ban_!\"\n\nWith a swift movement, Alan sprang forward; but as he leaped, his foot\ncaught in a spray of heather, and he stumbled and fell. When he rose, he\nlooked in vain for the man who had called him. There was not a sign, not\na trace of any living being. For the first few moments he believed it\nhad all been a delusion. Mortal being did not appear and vanish in that\nghostly way. Still, surely he could not have mistaken the blank of that\nplace for a speaking voice, or out of nothingness have fashioned the\nliving phantom of himself? Or could he? With that, he strode forward and\npeered into the wide arch of the cavern by which the man had stood. He\ncould not see far into it; but so far as it was possible to see, he\ndiscerned neither man nor shadow of man, nor anything that stirred; no,\nnot even the gossamer bloom of a bearnan-bride, that grew on a patch of\ngrass a yard or two within the darkness, had lost one of its delicate\nfilmy spires. He drew back, dismayed. Then, suddenly, his heart leaped\nagain, for beyond all question, all possible doubt, there, in the bent\nthyme, just where the man had stood, was the imprint of his feet. Even\nnow the green sprays were moving forward.\n\n\nIII\n\nAn hour passed, and Alan Carmichael had not moved from the entrance to\nthe cave. So still was he that a ewe, listlessly wandering in search of\ncooler grass, lay down after a while, drowsily regarding him with her\namber- eyes. All his thought was upon the mystery of what he had\nseen. No delusion this, he was sure. That was a man whom he had seen.\nBut who could he be? On so small an island, inhabited by less than a\nscore of crofters, it was scarcely possible for one to live for many\nweeks and not know the name and face of every soul. Still, a stranger\nmight have come. Only, if this were so, why should he call himself the\nHerdsman? There was but one herdsman on Rona and he Angus MacCormic, who\nlived at Einaval on the north side. In these outer isles, the shepherd\nand the herdsman are appointed by the community, and no man is allowed\nto be one or the other at will, any more than to be a _maor_. Then, too,\nif this man were indeed herdsman, where was his _iomair-ionailtair_, his\nbrowsing tract? Looking round him, Alan could perceive nowhere any\nfitting pasture. Surely no herdsman would be content with such an\n_iomair a bhuachaill_--rig of the herdsman--as that rocky wilderness\nwhere the soft green grass grew in patches under this or that boulder,\non the sun side of this or that rocky ledge. Again, he had given no\nname, but called himself simply _Am Buachaill_. This was how the woman\nMorag had spoken; did she indeed mean this very man? and if so, what lay\nin her words? But far beyond all other bewilderment for him was that\nstrange, that indeed terrifying likeness to himself--a likeness so\nabsolute, so convincing, that he knew he might himself easily have been\ndeceived, had he beheld the apparition in any place where it was\npossible that a reflection could have misled him.\n\nBrooding thus, eye and ear were both alert for the faintest sight or\nsound. But from the interior of the cavern not a breath came. Once, from\namong the jagged rocks high on the west <DW72> of Ben Einaval, he\nfancied he heard an unwonted sound--that of human laughter, but laughter\nso wild, so remote, so unmirthful, that fear was in his heart. It could\nnot be other than imagination, he said to himself; for in that lonely\nplace there was none to wander idly at that season, and none who,\nwandering, would laugh there solitary.\n\nIt was with an effort that Alan at last determined to probe the mystery.\nStooping, he moved cautiously into the cavern, and groped his way along\nthe narrow passage which led, as he thought, into another larger cave.\nBut this proved to be one of the innumerable blind ways which intersect\nthe honeycombed <DW72>s of the Isle of Caves. To wander far in these\nlightless passages would be to track death. Long ago the piper whom the\nPrionnsa-Ban, the Fair Prince, loved to hear in his exile--he that was\ncalled Rory M'Vurich--penetrated one of the larger hollows to seek there\nfor a child that had idly wandered into the dark. Some of the clansmen,\nwith the father and mother of the little one, waited at the entrance to\nthe cave. For a time there was silence; then, as agreed upon, the sound\nof the pipes was heard, to which a man named Lachlan M'Lachlan replied\nfrom the outer air. The skirl of the pipes within grew fainter and\nfainter. Louder and louder Lachlan played upon his chanter; deeper and\ndeeper grew the wild moaning of the drone; but for all that, fainter and\nfainter waned the sound of the pipes of Rory M'Vurich. Generations have\ncome and gone upon the isle, and still no man has heard the returning\nair which Rory was to play. He may have found the little child, but he\nnever found his backward path, and in the gloom of that honeycombed hill\nhe and the child and the music of the pipes lapsed into the same\nstillness. Remembering this legend, familiar to him since his boyhood,\nAlan did not dare to venture further. At any moment, too, he knew he\nmight fall into one of the crevices which opened into the sea-corridors\nhundreds of feet below. Ancient rumour had it that there were mysterious\npassages from the upper heights of Ben Einaval which led into the heart\nof this perilous maze. But for a time he lay still, straining every\nsense. Convinced at last that the man whom he sought had evaded all\npossible quest, he turned to regain the light. Brief way as he had gone,\nthis was no easy thing to do. For a few moments, indeed, Alan lost his\nself-possession when he found a uniform dusk about him, and could not\ndiscern which of the several branching narrow corridors was that by\nwhich he had come. But following the greener light, he reached the cave,\nand soon, with a sigh of relief, was upon the sun-sweet warm earth\nagain.\n\nHow more than ever beautiful the world seemed! how sweet to the eyes\nwere upland and cliff, the wide stretch of ocean, the flying birds, the\nsheep grazing on the scanty pastures, and, above all, the homely blue\nsmoke curling faintly upward from the fisher crofts on the headland east\nof Aonaig!\n\nPurposely he retraced his steps by the way of the glen: he would see the\nwoman Morag MacNeill again, and insist on some more explicit word. But\nwhen he reached the burnside once more, the woman was not there.\nPossibly she had seen him coming, and guessed his purpose; half he\nsurmised this, for the peats in the hearth were brightly aglow, and on\nthe hob beside them the boiling water hissed in a great iron pot wherein\nwere potatoes. In vain he sought, in vain called. Impatient, he walked\naround the bothie and into the little byre beyond. The place was\ndeserted. This, small matter as it was, added to his disquietude.\nResolved to sift the mystery, he walked swiftly down the <DW72>. By the\nold shealing of Cnoc-na-Monie, now forsaken, his heart leaped at sight\nof Ian coming to meet him.\n\nWhen they met, Alan put his hands lovingly on the old man's shoulders,\nand looked at him with questioning eyes. He found rest and hope in those\ndeep pools of quiet light, whence the faithful love rose comfortingly to\nmeet his own yearning gaze.\n\n\"What is it, Alan-mo-ghray; what is the trouble that is upon you?\"\n\n\"It is a trouble, Ian, but one of which I can speak little, for it is\nlittle I know.\"\n\n\"Now, now, for sure you must tell me what it is.\"\n\n\"I have seen a man here upon Rona whom I have not seen or met before,\nand it is one whose face is known to me, and whose voice too, and one\nwhom I would not meet again.\"\n\n\"Did he give you no name?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"Where did he come from? Where did he go to?\"\n\n\"He came out of the shadow, and into the shadow he went.\"\n\nIan looked steadfastly at Alan, his wistful gaze searching deep into his\nunquiet eyes, and thence from feature to feature of the face which had\nbecome strangely worn of late.\n\nBut he questioned no further.\n\n\"I, too, Alan MacAilean, have heard a strange thing to-day. You know old\nMarsail Macrae? She is ill now with a slow fever, and she thinks that\nthe shadow which she saw lying upon her hearth last Sabbath, when\nnothing was there to cause any shadow, was her own death, come for her,\nand now waiting there. I spoke to the old woman, but she would not have\npeace, and her eyes looked at me.\n\n\"'What will it be now, Marsail?' I asked.\n\n\"'Ay, ay, for sure,' she said, 'it was I who saw you first.'\n\n\"'Saw me first, Marsail?'\n\n\"'Ay, you and Alan MacAilean.'\n\n\"'When and where was this sight upon you?'\n\n\"'It was one month before you and he came to Rona.'\n\n\"I asked the poor old woman to be telling me her meaning. At first I\ncould make little of what was said, for she muttered low, and moved her\nhead this way and that, and moaned like a stricken ewe. But on my taking\nher hand, she looked at me again, and then told me this thing--\n\n\"'On the seventh day of the month before you came--and by the same token\nit was on the seventh day of the month following that you and Alan\nMcAilean came to Caisteal-Rhona--I was upon the shore at Aonaig,\nlistening to the crying of the wind against the great cliff of\nBiola-creag. With me were Ruaridh Macrae and Neil MacNeill, Morag\nMacNeill, and her sister Elsa; and we were singing the hymn for those\nwho were out on the wild sea that was roaring white against the cliffs\nof Berneray, for some of our people were there, and we feared for them.\nSometimes one sang, and sometimes another. And sure, it is remembering I\nam, how, when I had called out with my old wailing voice--\n\n    \"'Bi 'eadh an Tri-aon leinn, a la's a dh-oidche;\n    'S air chul nan tonn, A Mhoire ghradhach!\n\n    (Be the Three-in-One with us day and night;\n    And on the crested wave, O Mary Beloved!)\n\n\"'Now when I had just sung this, and we were all listening to the sound\nof it caught by the wind and blown up against the black face of\nBiola-creag, I saw a boat come sailing into the haven. I called out to\nthose about me, but they looked at me with white faces, for no boat was\nthere, and it was a rough, wild sea it was in that haven.\n\n\"'And in that boat I saw three people sitting; and one was you, Ian\nMacIain, and one was a man who had his face in shadow, and his eyes\nlooked into the shadow at his feet. I saw you clear, and told those\nabout me what I saw.' And Seumas MacNeill, him that is dead now, and\nbrother to Neil here at Aonaig, he said to me, 'Who was that whom you\nsaw walking in the dusk the night before last?'--'Ailean MacAlasdair\nCarmichael,' answered one at that. Seumas muttered, looking at those,\nabout him, 'Mark what I say, for it is a true thing--that Ailean\nCarmichael of Rona is dead now, because Marsail saw him walking in the\ndusk when he was not upon the island; and now, you Neil, and you Rory,\nand all of you, will be for thinking with me that one of the men in the\nboat whom Marsail sees now will be the son of him who has changed.'\n\n\"Well, well, it is a true thing that we each of us thought that thought,\nbut when the days went and nothing more came of it, the memory of the\nseeing went too. Then there came the day when the coble of Aulay\nMacAulay came out of Borosay into Caisteal-Rhona haven. Glad we were to\nsee your face again, Ian McIain, and to hear the sob of joy coming out\nof the heart of Giorsal your sister; but when you and Alan MacAilean\ncame on shore, it was my voice that then went from mouth to mouth, for\nI whispered to Morag MacNeill who was next me that you were the men I\nhad seen in the boat.'\n\n\"Well, after that,\" Ian added, with a grave smile, \"I spoke gently to\nold Marsail, and told her that there was no evil in that seeing, and\nthat for sure it was nothing at all, at all, to see two people in a\nboat, and nothing coming of that, save happiness for those two, and glad\ncontent to be here.\n\n\"Marsail looked at me with big eyes.\n\n\"But when I asked her what she meant by that, she would say no more. No\nasking of mine would bring the word to her lips, only she shook her head\nand kept her gaze from my face. Then, seeing that it was useless, I said\nto her--\n\n\"'Marsail, tell me this: Was this sight of yours the sole thing that\nmade the people here on Rona look askance at Alan MacAilean?'\n\n\"For a time she stared at me with dim eyes, then suddenly she spoke--\n\n\"'It is not all.'\n\n\"'Then what more is there, Marsail Macrae?'\n\n\"'That is not for the saying. I have no more to say. Let you, or Alan\nMacAilean, go elsewhere. That which is to be, will be. To each his own\nend.'\n\n\"'Then be telling me this now at least,' I asked: 'is there danger for\nhim or me in this island?'\n\n\"But the poor old woman would say no more, and then I saw a swoon was on\nher.\"\n\nAfter this, Alan and Ian walked slowly home together, both silent, and\neach revolving in his mind as in a dim dusk that mystery which, vague\nand unreal at first, had now become a living presence, and haunted them\nby day and night.\n\n\nIV\n\n\"In the shadow of pain, one may hear the footsteps of joy.\" So runs a\nproverb of old.\n\nIt was a true saying for Alan. That night he lay down in pain, his heart\nheavy with the weight of a mysterious burden. On the morrow he woke\nblithely to a new day--a day of absolute beauty. The whole wide\nwilderness of ocean was of living azure, aflame with gold and silver.\nAround the promontories of the isles the brown-sailed fishing-boats of\nBarra and Berneray, of Borosay and Seila, moved blithely hither and\nthither. Everywhere the rhythm of life pulsed swift and strong. The\nfirst sound which had awakened Alan was of a loud singing of fishermen\nwho were putting out from Aonaig. The coming of a great shoal of\nmackerel had been signalled, and every man and woman of the near isles\nwas alert for the take. The watchers had known it by the swift\ncongregation of birds, particularly the gannets and skuas. And as the\nmen pulled at the oars, or hoisted the brown sails, they sang a snatch\nof an old-world tune, still chanted at the first coming of the birds\nwhen spring-tide is on the flow again--\n\n    \"Bui' cheas dha 'n Ti thaine na Gugachan\n    Thaine's na h-Eoin-Mhora cuideriu,\n    Cailin dugh ciaru bo's a chro!\n    Bo dhonn! bo dhonn! bo dhonn bheadarrach!\n    Bo dhonn a ruin a bhlitheadh am baine dhuit\n    Ho ro! mo gheallag! ni gu rodagach!\n    Cailin dugh ciaru bo's a chro--\n    Na h-eoin air tighinn! cluinneam an ceol!\"\n\n    (Thanks to the Being, the Gannets have come,\n    Yes! and the Great Auks along with them.\n    Dark-haired girl!--a cow in the fold!\n    Brown cow! brown cow! brown cow, beloved ho!\n    Brown cow! my love! the milker of milk to thee!\n    Ho ro! my fair-skinned girl--a cow, in the fold,\n    And the birds have come!--glad sight, I see!)\n\nEager to be of help, Ian put off in his boat, and was soon among the\nfishermen, who in their new excitement were forgetful of all else than\nthat the mackerel were come, and that every moment was precious. For the\nfirst time Ian found himself no unwelcome comrade. Was it, he wondered,\nbecause that, there upon the sea, whatever of shadow dwelled about him,\nor rather about Alan MacAilean, on the land, was no longer visible.\n\nAll through that golden noon he and the others worked hard. From isle to\nisle went the chorus of the splashing oars and splashing nets; of the\nsplashing of the fish and the splashing of gannets and gulls; of the\nsplashing of the tide leaping blithely against the sun-dazzle, and the\nillimitable rippling splash moving out of the west;--all this blent with\nthe loud, joyous cries, the laughter, and the hoarse shouts of the men\nof Barra and the adjacent islands. It was close upon dusk before the\nRona boats put into the haven of Aonaig again; and by that time none was\nblither than Ian MacIain, who in that day of happy toil had lost all the\ngloom and apprehension of the day before, and now returned to\nCaisteal-Rhona with lighter heart than he had known for long.\n\nWhen, however, he got there, there was no sign of Alan. He had gone,\nsaid Giorsal, he had gone out in the smaller boat midway in the\nafternoon, and had sailed around to Aoidhu, the great scaur which ran\nout beyond the precipices at the south-west of Rona.\n\nThis Alan often did, and of late more and more often. Ever since he had\ncome to the Hebrid Isles his love of the sea had deepened and had grown\ninto a passion for its mystery and beauty. Of late, too, something\nimpelled to a more frequent isolation, a deep longing to be where no eye\ncould see and no ear hearken.\n\nSo at first Ian was in no way alarmed. But when the sun had set, and\nover the faint blue film of the Isle of Tiree the moon had risen, and\nstill no sign of Alan, he became restless and uneasy. Giorsal begged him\nin vain to eat of the supper she had prepared. Idly he moved to and fro\nalong the rocky ledge, or down by the pebbly shore, or across the green\n_airidh_, eager for a glimpse of him whom he loved so well.\n\nAt last, unable longer to endure a growing anxiety, he put out in his\nboat, and sailed swiftly before the slight easterly breeze which had\nprevailed since moonrise. So far as Aoidhu, all the way from Aonaig,\nthere was not a haven anywhere, nor even one of the sea caverns which\nhoneycombed the isle beyond the headland. A glance, therefore, showed\nhim that Alan had not yet come back that way. It was possible, though\nunlikely, that he had sailed right round Rona; unlikely, because in the\nnarrow straits to the north, between Rona and the scattered islets known\nas the Innsemhara, strong currents prevailed, and particularly at the\nfull of the tide, when they swept north-eastward dark and swift as a\nmill-race.\n\nOnce the headland was passed and the sheer precipitous westward cliffs\nloomed black out of the sea, he became more and more uneasy. As yet,\nthere was no danger; but he saw that a swell was moving out of the west;\nand whenever the wind blew that way, the sea-arcades were filled with a\nlifting, perilous wave. Later, escape might be difficult, and often\nimpossible. Out of the score or more great passages which opened between\nAoidhu and Ardgorm, it was difficult to know into which to chance the\nsearch of Alan. Together they had examined all of them. Some twisted but\nslightly; others wound sinuously till the green, serpentine alleys,\nflanked by basalt walls hundreds of feet high, lost themselves in an\nindistinguishable maze.\n\nBut that which was safest, and wherein a boat could most easily make its\nway against wind or tide, was the huge, cavernous passage known locally\nas the Uaimh-nan-roin, the Cave of the Seals.\n\nFor this opening Ian steered his boat. Soon he was within the wide\ncorridor. Like the great cave at Staffa, it was wrought as an aisle in\nsome natural cathedral; the rocks, too, were columnar, and rose in\nflawless symmetry, as though graven by the hand of man. At the far end\nof this gigantic aisle, there diverges a long, narrow arcade, filled by\nday with the green shine of the water, and by night, when the moon is\nup, with a pale froth of light. It is one of the few where there are\nopen gateways for the sea and the wandering light, and by its spherical\nshape almost the only safe passage in a season of heavy wind. Half-way\nalong this arched arcade a corridor leads to a round cup-like cavern,\nmidway in which stands a huge mass of black basalt, in shape suggestive\nof a titanic altar. Thus it must have impressed the imagination of the\nislanders of old; for by them, even in a remote day, it was called\nTeampull-Mara, the Temple of the Sea. Owing to the narrowness of the\npassage, and to the smooth, unbroken walls which rise sheer from the\ngreen depths into an invisible darkness, the Strait of the Temple is not\none wherein to linger long, save in a time of calm.\n\nInstinctively, however, Ian quietly headed his boat along this narrow\nway. When, silently, he emerged from the arcade, he could just discern\nthe mass of basalt at the far end of the cavern. But there, seated in\nhis boat, was Alan, apparently idly adrift, for one oar floated in the\nwater alongside, and the other swung listlessly from the tholes.\n\nHis heart had a suffocating grip as he saw him whom he had come to seek.\nWhy that absolute stillness, that strange, listless indifference? For a\ndreadful moment he feared death had indeed come to him in that lonely\nplace where, as an ancient legend had it, a woman of old time had\nperished, and ever since had wrought death upon any who came thither\nsolitary and unhappy.\n\nBut at the striking of the shaft of his oar against a ledge, Alan moved,\nand looked at him with startled eyes. Half rising from where he crouched\nin the stern, he called to him in a voice that had in it something\nstrangely unfamiliar.\n\n\"I will not hear!\" he cried. \"I will not hear! Leave me! Leave me!\"\n\nFearing that the desolation of the place had wrought upon his mind, Ian\nswiftly moved toward him, and the next moment his boat glided alongside.\nStepping from the one to the other, he kneeled beside him.\n\n\"_Ailean mo caraid, Ailean-aghray_, what is it? What gives you dread?\nThere is no harm here. All is well. Look! See, it is I, Ian--old Ian\nMacIain! Listen, _mo ghaoil_; do you not know me--do you not know who I\nam? It is I, Ian; Ian who loves you!\"\n\nEven in that obscure light he could clearly discern the pale face, and\nhis heart smote him as he saw Alan's eyes turn upon him with a glance\nwild and mournful. Had he indeed succumbed to the sea madness which ever\nand again strikes into a terrible melancholy one here and there among\nthose who dwell in the remote isles? But even as he looked, he noted\nanother expression come into the wild strained eyes; and almost before\nhe realised what had happened, Alan was on his feet and pointing with\nrigid arm.\n\nFor there, in that nigh unreachable and for ever unvisited solitude, was\nthe figure of a man. He stood on the summit of the huge basalt altar,\nand appeared to have sprung from out the rock, or, himself a shadowy\npresence, to have grown out of the obscure unrealities of the darkness.\nIan stared, fascinated, speechless.\n\nThen with a spring he was on the ledge. Swift and sure as a wild cat, he\nscaled the huge mass of the altar.\n\nNothing; no one! There was not a trace of any human being. Not a bird,\nnot a bat; nothing. Moreover, even in that slowly blackening darkness,\nhe could see that there was no direct connection between the summit or\nside with the blank, precipitous wall of basalt beyond. Overhead there\nwas, so far as he could discern, a vault. No human being could have\ndescended through that perilous gulf.\n\nWas the island haunted? he wondered, as slowly he made his way back to\nthe boat. Or had he been startled by some wild fantasy, and imagined a\nlikeness where none had been? Perhaps even he had not really seen any\none. He had heard of such things. The nerves can soon chase the mind\ninto the shadow wherein it loses itself.\n\nOr was Alan the vain dreamer? That, indeed, might well be. Mayhap he had\nheard some fantastic tale from Morag MacNeill, or from old Marsail\nMacrae; the islanders had _sgeul_ after _sgeul_ of a wild strangeness.\n\nIn silence he guided the boats back into the outer arcade, where a faint\nsheen of moonlight glistened on the water. Thence, in a few minutes, he\noared that wherein he and Alan sat, with the other fastened astern, into\nthe open.\n\nWhen the moonshine lay full on Alan's face, Ian saw that he was thinking\nneither of himself nor of where he was. His eyes were heavy with dream.\n\nWhat wind there was blew against their course, so Ian rowed unceasingly.\nIn silence they passed once again the headland of Aoidhu; in silence\nthey drifted past a single light gleaming in a croft near Aonaig--a red\neye staring out into the shadow of the sea, from the room where the\nwoman Marsail lay dying; and in silence their keels grided on the patch\nof shingle in Caisteal-Rhona haven.\n\n\nFor days thereafter Alan haunted that rocky, cavernous wilderness where\nhe had seen the Herdsman.\n\nIt was in vain he had sought everywhere for some tidings of this\nmysterious dweller in those upland solitudes. At times he believed that\nthere was indeed some one upon the island of whom, for inexplicable\nreasons, none there would speak; but at last he came to the conviction\nthat what he had seen was an apparition, projected by the fantasy of\noverwrought nerves. Even from the woman Morag MacNeill, to whom he had\ngone with a frank appeal that won its way to her heart, he learned no\nmore than that an old legend, of which she did not care to speak, was in\nsome way associated with his own coming to Rona.\n\nIan, too, never once alluded to the mysterious incident of the green\narcades which had so deeply impressed them both: never after Alan had\ntold him that he had seen a vision.\n\nBut as the days passed, and as no word came to either of any unknown\nperson who was on the island, and as Alan, for all his patient wandering\nand furtive quest, both among the upland caves and in the green arcades,\nfound absolutely no traces of him whom he sought, the belief that he had\nbeen duped by his imagination deepened almost to conviction.\n\nAs for Ian, he, unlike Alan, became more and more convinced that what he\nhad seen was indeed no apparition. Whatever lingering doubt he had was\ndissipated on the eve of the night when old Marsail Macrae died. It was\ndusk when word came to Caisteal-Rhona that Marsail felt the cold wind\non the soles of her feet. Ian went to her at once, and it was in the\ndark hour which followed that he heard once more, and more fully, the\nstrange story which, like a poisonous weed, had taken root in the minds\nof the islanders. Already from Marsail he had heard of the Prophet,\nthough, strangely enough, he had never breathed word of this to Alan,\nnot even when, after the startling episode of the apparition in the\nTeampull-Mara, he had, as he believed, seen the Prophet himself. But\nthere in the darkness of the low, turfed cottage, with no light in the\nroom save the dull red gloom from the heart of the smoored peats,\nMarsail, in the attenuated, remote voice of those who have already\nentered into the vale of the shadow, told him this thing, in the\nhomelier Gaelic--\n\n\"Yes, Ian mac Iain-Ban, I will be telling you this thing before I\nchange. You are for knowing, sure, that long ago Uilleam, brother of him\nwho was father to the lad up at the castle yonder, had a son? Yes, you\nknow that, you say, and also that he was called Donnacha Ban? No,\nmo-caraid, that is not a true thing that you have heard, that Donnacha\nBan went under the waves years ago. He was the seventh son, an' was born\nunder the full moon; 'tis Himself will be knowing whether that was for\nor against him. Of these seven none lived beyond childhood except the\ntwo youngest, Kenneth an' Donnacha. Kenneth was always frail as a\nFebruary flower, but he lived to be a man. He an' his brother never\nspoke, for a feud was between them, not only because that each was\nunlike the other, an' the younger hated the older because through him he\nwas the penniless one, but most because both loved the same woman. I am\nnot for telling you the whole story now, for the breath in my body will\nsoon blow out in the draught that is coming upon me; but this I will say\nto you: darker and darker grew the gloom between these brothers. When\nGiorsal Macdonald gave her love to Kenneth, Donnacha disappeared for a\ntime. Then, one day, he came back to Borosay, an' smiled quietly with\nhis cold eyes when they wondered at his coming again. Now, too, it was\nnoticed that he no longer had an ill-will upon his brother, but spoke\nsmoothly with him an' loved to be in his company. But to this day no one\nknows for sure what happened. For there was a gloaming when Donnacha Ban\ncame back alone in his sailing-boat. He an' Kenneth had sailed forth, he\nsaid, to shoot seals in the sea-arcades to the west of Rona, but in\nthese dark and lonely passages they had missed each other. At last he\nhad heard Kenneth's voice calling for help, but when he had got to the\nplace it was too late, for his brother had been seized with the cramps,\nan' had sunk deep into the fathomless water. There is no getting a body\nagain that sinks in these sea-galleries. The crabs know that.\n\n\"Well, this and much more was what Donnacha Ban told to his people. None\nbelieved him; but what could any do? There was no proof; none had ever\nseen them enter the sea-caves together. Not that Donnacha Ban sought in\nany way to keep back those who would fain know more. Not so; he strove\nto help to find the body. Nevertheless, none believed; an' Giorsal nic\nDugall Mor least of all. The blight of that sorrow went to her heart.\nShe had death soon, poor thing! but before the cold greyness was upon\nher she told her father, an' the minister that was there, that she knew\nDonnacha Ban had murdered his brother. One might be saying these were\nthe wild words of a woman; but, for sure, no one said that thing upon\nBorosay or Rona, or any of these isles. When all was done, the minister\ntold what he knew, an' what he thought, to the Lord of the South Isles,\nand asked what was to be put upon Donnacha Ban. 'Exile for ever,' said\nthe chief, 'or if he stays here, the doom of silence. Let no man or\nwoman speak to him or give him food or drink, or give him shelter, or\nlet his shadow cross his or hers.'\n\n\"When this thing was told to Donnacha Ban Carmichael, he laughed at\nfirst; but as day after day slid over the rocks where all days fall, he\nlaughed no more. Soon he saw that the chief's word was no empty word;\nan' yet would not go away from his own place. He could not stay upon\nBorosay, for his father cursed him; an' no man can stay upon the island\nwhere a father's curse moves this way an' that, for ever seeing him.\nThen, some say a madness came upon him, and others that he took wildness\nto be his way, and others that God put upon him the shadow of\nloneliness, so that he might meet sorrow there and repent. Howsoever\nthat may be, Donnacha Ban came to Rona, an' by the same token, it was\nthe year of the great blight, when the potatoes and the corn came to\nnaught, an' when the fish in the sea swam away from the isles. In the\nautumn of that year there was not a soul left on Rona except Giorsal an'\nthe old man Ian, her father, who had guard of Caisteal-Rhona for him who\nwas absent. When, once more, years after, smoke rose from the crofts,\nthe saying spread that Donnacha Ban, the murderer, had made his home\namong the caves of the upper part of the isle. None knew how this saying\nrose, for he was seen of none. The last man who saw him--an' that was a\nyear later--was old Padruig M'Vurich the shepherd. Padruig said that, as\nhe was driving his ewes across the north <DW72> of Ben Einaval in the\ngloaming, he came upon a silent figure seated upon a rock, with his chin\nin his hands, an' his elbows on his knees--with the great, sad eyes of\nhim staring at the moon that was lifting itself out of the sea. Padruig\ndid not know who the man was. The shepherd had few wits, poor man! and\nhe had known, or remembered, little about the story of Donnacha Ban\nCarmichael; so when he spoke to the man, it was as to a stranger. The\nman looked at him and said--\n\n\"'You are Padruig M'Vurich, the shepherd.'\n\n\"At that a trembling was upon old Padruig, who had the wonder that this\nstranger should know who and what he was.\n\n\"'And who will you be, and forgive the saying?' he asked.\n\n\"'_Am Faidh_--the Prophet,' the man said.\n\n\"'And what prophet will you be, and what is your prophecy?' asked\nPadruig.\n\n\"'I am here because I wait for what is to be, and that will be the\ncoming of the Woman who is the Daughter of God.'\n\n\"And with that the man said no more, an' the old shepherd went down\nthrough the gloaming, an', heavy with the thoughts that troubled him,\nfollowed his ewes down into Aonaig. But after that neither he nor any\nother saw or heard tell of the shadowy stranger; so that all upon Rona\nfelt sure that Padruig had beheld no more than a vision. There were some\nwho thought that he had seen the ghost of the outlaw Donnacha Ban; an'\nmayhap one or two who wondered if the stranger that had said he was a\nprophet was not Donnacha Ban himself, with a madness come upon him; but\nat last these sayings went out to sea upon the wind, an' men forgot.\nBut, an' it was months and months afterwards, an' three days before his\nown death, old Padruig M'Vurich was sitting in the sunset on the rocky\nledge in front of his brother's croft, where then he was staying, when\nhe heard a strange crying of seals. He thought little of that; only,\nwhen he looked closer, he saw, in the hollow of the wave hard by that\nledge, a drifting body.\n\n\"'_Am Faidh--Am Faidh!_' he cried; 'the Prophet, the Prophet!'\n\n\"At that his brother an' his brother's wife ran to see; but it was\nnothing that they saw. 'It would be a seal,' said Pol M'Vurich; but at\nthat Padruig had shook his head, an' said no for sure, he had seen the\nface of the dead man, an' it was of him whom he had met on the hillside,\nan' that had said he was the Prophet who was waiting there for the\nsecond coming of God.\n\n\"And that is how there came about the echo of the thought that Donnacha\nBan had at last, after his madness, gone under the green wave and was\ndead. For all that, in the months which followed, more than one man said\nhe had seen a figure high up on the hill. The old wisdom says that when\nGod comes again, or the prophet who will come before, it will be as a\nherdsman on a lonely isle. More than one of the old people on Rona and\nBorosay remembered that _sgeul_ out of the _Seanachas_ that the\ntale-tellers knew. There were some who said that Donnacha Ban had never\nbeen drowned at all, an' that he was this Prophet, this Herdsman. Others\nwould not have that saying at all, but believed that the wraith was\nindeed Am Buachaill Ban, the Fair-haired Shepherd, who had come again\nto redeem the people out of their sorrow. There were even those who said\nthat the Herdsman who haunted Rona was no other than Kenneth Carmichael\nhimself, who had not died but had had the mind-dark there in the\nsea-caves where he had been lost, an' there had come to the knowledge of\nsecret things, and so was at last Am Faidh Chriosd.\"\n\n\nA great weakness came upon the old woman when she had spoken thus far.\nIan feared that she would have breath for no further word; but after a\nthin gasping, and a listless fluttering of weak hands upon the coverlet,\nwhereon her trembling fingers plucked aimlessly at the invisible\nblossoms of death, she opened her eyes once more, and stared in a dim\nquestioning at him who sat by her bedside.\n\n\"Tell me,\" whispered Ian, \"tell me Marsail, what thought it is that is\nin your own mind?\"\n\nBut already the old woman had begun to wander.\n\n\"For sure, for sure,\" she muttered, \"_Am Faidh ... Am Faidh_ ... an' a\nchild will be born ... the Queen of Heaven, an' ... that will be the\nvoice of Domhuill, my husband, I am hearing ... an' dark it is, an' the\ntide comin' in ... an'----\"\n\nThen, sure, the tide came in, and if in that darkness old Marsail Macrae\nheard any voice at all, it was that of Domhuill who years agone had sunk\ninto the wild seas off the head of Barra.\n\nAn hour later Alan walked slowly under the cloudy night. All he had\nheard from Ian came back to him with a strange familiarity. Something of\nthis, at least, he had known before. Some hints of this mysterious\nHerdsman had reached his ears. In some inexplicable way his real or\nimaginary presence there upon Rona seemed a pre-ordained thing for him.\n\nHe knew that the wild imaginings of the islanders had woven the legend\nof the Prophet, or of his mysterious message, out of the loom of the\ndeep longing whereon is woven that larger tapestry, the shadow-thridden\nlife of the island Gael. Laughter and tears, ordinary hopes and\npleasures, and even joy itself, and bright gaiety, and the swift,\nspontaneous imaginations of susceptible natures--all this, of course, is\nto be found with the island Gael as with his fellows elsewhere. But\nevery here and there are some who have in their minds the inheritance\nfrom the dim past of their race, and are oppressed as no other people\nare oppressed by the gloom of a strife between spiritual emotion and\nmaterial facts. It is the brains of dreamers such as these which clear\nthe mental life of the community; and it is in these brains are the\nmysterious looms which weave the tragic and sorrowful tapestries of\nCeltic thought. It were a madness to suppose that life in the isles\nconsists of nothing but sadness and melancholy. It is not so, or need\nnot be so, for the Gael is a creature of shadow and shine. But whatever\nthe people is, the brain of the Gael hears a music that is sadder than\nany music there is, and has for its cloudy sky a gloom that shall not\ngo; for the end is near, and upon the westernmost shores of these remote\nisles the voice of Celtic sorrow may be heard crying, \"_Cha till, cha\ntill, cha till mi tuille_\": \"I will return, I will return, I will return\nno more.\"\n\nAlan knew all this well; and yet he too dreamed his dream--that, even\nyet, there might be redemption for the people. He did not share the wild\nhope which some of the older islanders held, that Christ Himself shall\ncome again to redeem an oppressed race; but might not another saviour\narise, another redeeming spirit come into the world? And if so, might\nnot that child of joy be born out of suffering and sorrow and crime; and\nif so, might not the Herdsman be indeed a prophet, the Prophet of the\nWoman in whom God should come anew as foretold?\n\nWith startled eyes he crossed the thyme-set ledge whereon stood\nCaisteal-Rhona. Was it, after all, a message he had received, and was\nthat which had appeared to him in that lonely cavern of the sea but a\nphantom of his own destiny? Was he himself, Alan Carmichael, indeed _Am\nFaidh_, the predestined Prophet of the isles?\n\n\nV\n\nEver since the night of Marsail's death, Ian had noticed that Alan no\nlonger doubted, but that in some way a special message had come to him,\na special revelation. On the other hand, he had himself swung further\ninto his conviction that the vision he had seen in the cavern was, in\ntruth, that of a living man. On Borosay, he knew, the fishermen believed\nthat the _aonaran nan creag_, the recluse of the rocks, as commonly they\nspoke of him, was no other than Donnacha Ban Carmichael, survived there\nthrough these many years, and long since mad with his loneliness and\nbecause of the burden of his crime.\n\nBut by this time the islanders had come to see that Alan MacAilean was\ncertainly not Donnacha Ban. Even the startling likeness no longer\nbetrayed them in this way. The ministers and the priests on Berneray and\nBarra scoffed at the whole story, and everywhere discouraged the idea\nthat Donnacha Ban could still be among the living. But for the common\nbelief that to encounter the Herdsman, whether the lost soul of Donnacha\nBan or indeed the strange phantom of the hills of which the old legends\nspoke, was to meet inevitable disaster, the islanders might have been\npersuaded to make such a search among the caves of Rona as would almost\ncertainly have revealed the presence of any who dwelt therein.\n\nBut as summer lapsed into autumn, and autumn itself through its golden\nsilences waned into the shadow of the equinox, a strange, brooding\nserenity came upon Alan. Ian himself now doubted his own vision of the\nmysterious Herdsman--if he indeed existed at all except in the\nimaginations of those who spoke of him either as the Buachaill Ban, or\nas the _aonaran nan creag_. If a real man, Ian believed that at last he\nhad passed away. None saw the Herdsman now; and even Morag MacNeill, who\nhad often on moonlight nights been startled by the sound of a voice\nchanting among the upper solitudes, admitted that she now heard nothing\nunusual.\n\nSt. Martin's summer came at last, and with it all that wonderful,\ndreamlike beauty which bathes the isles in a flood of golden light, and\ndraws over sea and land a veil of deeper mystery.\n\nOne late afternoon, Ian, returning to Caisteal-Rhona after an\nunexplained absence of several hours, found Alan sitting at a table.\nSpread before him were the sheets of one of the strange old Gaelic tales\nwhich he had ardently begun to translate. Alan lifted and slowly read\nthe page or paraphrase which he had just laid down. It was after the\nhomelier Gaelic of the _Eachdaireachd Challum mhic Cruimein_.\n\n\"And when that king had come to the island, he lived there in the shadow\nof men's eyes; for none saw him by day or by night, and none knew whence\nhe came or whither he fared; for his feet were shod with silence, and\nhis way with dusk. But men knew that he was there, and all feared him.\nMonths, even years, tramped one on the heels of the other, and perhaps\nthe king gave no sign, but one day he would give a sign; and that sign\nwas a laughing that was heard somewhere, upon the lonely hills, or on\nthe lonely wave, or in the heart of him who heard. And whenever the king\nlaughed, he who heard would fare ere long from his fellows to join that\nking in the shadow. But sometimes the king laughed only because of vain\nhopes and wild imaginings, for upon these he lives as well as upon the\nstrange savours of mortality.\"\n\nThat night Alan awakened Ian suddenly, and taking him by the hand made\nhim promise to go with him on the morrow to the Teampull-Mara.\n\nIn vain Ian questioned him as to why he asked this thing. All Alan would\nsay was that he must go there once again, and with him, for he believed\nthat a spirit out of heaven had come to reveal to him a wonder.\nDistressed by what he knew to be a madness, and fearful that it might\nprove to be no passing fantasy, Ian would fain have persuaded him\nagainst this intention. Even as he spoke, however, he realised that it\nmight be better to accede to his wishes, and, above all, to be there\nwith him, so that it might not be one only who heard or saw the expected\nrevelation.\n\nAnd it was a strange faring indeed, that which occurred on the morrow.\nAt noon, when the tide was an hour turned in the ebb, they sailed\nwestward from Caisteal-Rhona. It was in silence they made that strange\njourney together; for, while Ian steered, Alan lay down in the hollow of\nthe boat, with his head against the old man's knees, and slept, or at\nleast lay still with his eyes closed.\n\nWhen at last they passed the headland and entered the first of the\nsea-arcades, Alan rose and sat beside him. Hauling down the now useless\nsail, Ian took an oar and, standing at the prow, urged the boat inward\nalong the narrow corridor which led to the huge sea-cave of the Altar.\n\nIn the deep gloom--for even on that day of golden light and beauty the\ngreen air of the sea-cave was heavy with shadow--there was a deathly\nchill. What dull light there was came from the sheen of the green water\nwhich lay motionless along the black basaltic ledges. When at last the\nbase of the Altar was reached, Ian secured the boat by a rope passed\naround a projecting spur, and then seated himself in the stern beside\nAlan.\n\n\"Tell me, Alan-a-ghaoil, what is this thing that you are thinking you\nwill hear or see?\"\n\nAlan looked at him strangely for a while, but, though his lips moved, he\nsaid nothing.\n\n\"Tell me, my heart,\" Ian urged again, \"who is it you expect to see or\nhear?\"\n\n\"_Am Buachaill Ban_,\" Alan answered, \"the Herdsman.\"\n\nFor a moment Ian hesitated. Then, taking Alan's hand in his and raising\nit to his lips, he whispered in his ear--\n\n\"There is no Herdsman upon Rona. If a man was there who lived solitary,\nthe _aonaran nan creag_ is dead long since. What you have seen and heard\nhas been a preying upon you of wild thoughts. Be thinking no more now of\nthis vision.\"\n\n\"This man,\" Alan answered quietly, \"is not Donnacha Ban, but the Prophet\nof whom the people speak. He himself has told me this thing. Yesterday I\nwas here, and he bade me come again. He spoke out of the shadow that is\nabout the Altar, though I saw him not. I asked him if he were Donnacha\nBan, and he said 'No.' I asked him if he were _Am Faidh_, and he said\n'Yes.' I asked him if he were indeed an immortal spirit and herald of\nthat which was to be, and he said 'Even so.'\"\n\nFor a long while after this no word was spoken. The chill of that remote\nplace began to affect Alan, and he shivered slightly at times. But more\nhe shivered because of the silence, and because that he who had promised\nto be there gave no sign. Sure, he thought, it could not be all a\ndream; sure, the Herdsman would come again.\n\nThen at last, turning to Ian, he said, \"We must come on the morrow, for\nto-day he is not here.\"\n\n\"I will do what you ask, Alan-mo-ghaol.\"\n\nBut of a sudden Alan stepped on the black ledges at the base of the\nAltar, and slowly mounted the precipitous rock.\n\nIan watched him till he became a shadow in that darkness. His heart\nleaped when suddenly he heard a cry fall out of the gloom.\n\n\"Alan, Alan!\" he cried, and a great fear was upon him when no answer\ncame; but at last he heard him clambering slowly down the perilous <DW72>\nof that obscure place. When he reached the ledge Alan stood still\nregarding him.\n\n\"Why do you not come into the boat?\" Ian asked, terrified because of\nwhat he saw in Alan's eyes.\n\nAlan looked at him with parted lips, his breath coming and going like\nthat of a caged bird.\n\n\"What is it?\" Ian whispered.\n\n\"Ian, when I reached the top of the Altar, and in the dim light that was\nthere, I saw the dead body of a man lying upon the rock. His head was\nlain back so that the gleam from a crevice in the cliff overhead fell\nupon it. The man had been dead many hours. He is a man whose hair has\nbeen greyed by years and sorrow, but the man is he who is of my blood;\nhe whom I resemble so closely; he that the fishermen call the hermit of\nthe rocks; he that is the Herdsman.\"\n\nIan stared, with moving lips: then in a whisper he spoke--\n\n\"Would you be for following a herdsman who could lead you to no fold?\nThis man is dead, Alan mac Alasdair; and it is well that you brought me\nhere to-day. That is a good thing, and for sure God has willed it.\"\n\n\"It is not a man that is dead. It is my soul that lies there. It is\ndead. God called me to be His Prophet, and I hid in dreams. It is the\nend.\" And with that, and death staring out of his eyes, he entered the\nboat and sat down beside Ian.\n\n\"Let us go,\" he said, and that was all.\n\nSlowly Ian oared the boat across the shadowy gulf of the cave, along the\nnarrow passage, and into the pale green gloom of the outer cavern,\nwherein the sound of the sea made a forlorn requiem in his ears.\n\nBut the short November day was already passing to its end. All the sea\nwestward was aflame with gold and crimson light, and in the great dome\nof the sky a wonderful radiance lifted above the paleness of the clouds,\nwhose pinnacled and bastioned heights towered in the south-west.\n\nA faint wind blew eastwardly. Raising the sail, Ian made it fast and\nthen sat down beside Alan. But he, rising, moved along the boat to the\nmast, and leaned there with his face against the setting sun.\n\nIdly they drifted onward. Deep silence lay between them; deep silence\nwas all about them, save for the ceaseless, inarticulate murmur of the\nsea, the splash of low waves against the rocks of Rona, and the sigh of\nthe surf at the base of the basalt precipices.\n\nAnd this was their homeward sailing on that day of revelation: Alan,\nwith his back against the mast, and his lifeless face irradiated by the\nlight of the setting sun; Ian, steering, with his face in shadow.\n\n  _Love in Shadow has two sacred ministers, Oblivion and Faith, one to\n  heal, the other to renovate and upbuild._--F. M.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[13] This hymn was taken down in the Gaelic and translated by Mr.\nAlexander Carmichael of South Uist.\n\n\n\n\nFRAGMENTS FROM \"GREEN FIRE\"\n\n\nTHE BIRDS OF ANGUS OG\n\n  \"_Then, in the violet forest all a-bourgeon, Eucharis, said to me:\n  It is Spring_.\"--ARTHUR RIMBAUD.\n\nAfter the dim purple bloom of a suspended Spring, a green rhythm ran\nfrom larch to thorn, from lime to sycamore: spread from meadow to\nmeadow, from copse to copse, from hedgerow to hedgerow. The blackthorn\nhad already snowed upon the nettle-garths. In the obvious nests, among\nthe bare boughs of ash and beech, the eggs of the blackbird were\nblue-green as the sky that March had bequeathed to April. For days past,\nwhen the breath of the Equinox had surged out of the west, the\nmissel-thrushes had bugled from the wind-swayed topmost branches of the\ntallest elms. Everywhere the green rhythm ran.\n\nIn every leaf that had uncurled there was a delicate bloom, that which\nis upon all things in the first hours of life. The spires of the grass\nwere washed in a green, dewy light. Out of the brown earth a myriad\nliving things thrust tiny green shafts, arrow-heads, bulbs, spheres,\nclusters. Along the pregnant soil keener ears than ours would have heard\nthe stir of new life, the innumerous whisper of the bursting seed: and,\nin the wind itself, shepherding the shadow-chased sunbeams, the voice of\nthat vernal gladness which has been man's clarion since Time began.\n\nDay by day the wind-wings lifted a more multitudinous whisper from the\nwoodlands. The deep hyperborean note, from the invisible ocean of air,\nwas still audible: within the concourse of bare boughs which wrought\nagainst it, that surging voice could not but have an echo of its wintry\nroar. In the sun-havens, however, along the southerly copses, in daisied\ngarths of orchard-trees, amid the flowering currant and guelder and\nlilac bushes, in quiet places where the hives were all a-murmur, the\nwind already sang its lilt of Spring. From dawn till noon, from an hour\nbefore sundown till the breaking foam along the wild-cherry flushed\nfugitively because of the crimson glow out of the west, there was a\nceaseless chittering of birds. The starlings and the sparrows enjoyed\nthe commune of the homestead; the larks and fieldfares and green and\nyellow linnets congregated in the meadows, where, too, the wild bee\nalready roved. Among the brown ridgy fallows there was a constant\nflutter of black, white-gleaming, and silver-grey wings, where the\nstalking rooks, the jerking peewits, and the wary, uncertain gulls from\nthe neighbouring sea feasted tirelessly from the teeming earth. Often,\ntoo, the wind-hover, that harbinger of the season of the young broods,\nquivered his curved wings in his arrested flight, while his lance-like\ngaze penetrated the whins beneath which a new-born rabbit crawled, or\ndiscerned in the tangle of a grassy tuft the brown watchful eyes of a\nnesting quail.\n\nIn the remoter woodlands the three foresters of April could be heard;\nthe woodpecker tapping on the gnarled boles of the oaks, the wild dove\ncalling in low crooning monotones to his silent mate, the cuckoo tolling\nhis infrequent peals from skiey belfries built of sun and mist.\n\nIn the fields, where the thorns were green as rivulets of melted snow\nand the grass had the bloom of emerald, and the leaves of docken,\nclover, cinquefoil, sorrel, and a thousand plants and flowers, were\nwave-green, the ewes lay, idly watching with their luminous amber eyes\nthe frisking and leaping of the close-curled, tuft-tailed, woolly-legged\nlambs. In corners of the hedgerows, and in hollows in the rolling\nmeadows, the primrose, the celandine, the buttercup, the dandelion, and\nthe daffodil spilled little eddies of the sunflood which overbrimmed\nthem with light. All day long the rapture of the larks filled the blue\nair with vanishing spirals of music, swift and passionate in the ascent,\nrepetitive and less piercing in the narrowing downward gyres. From every\nwhin the poignant monotonous note of the yellow hammer re-echoed. Each\npastoral hedge was alive with robins, chaffinches, and the dusky shadows\nof the wild mice darting here and there among the greening boughs.\n\nWhenever this green fire is come upon the earth, the swift contagion\nspreads to the human heart. What the seedlings feel in the trees, what\nthe blood feels in the brown mould, what the sap feels in every creature\nfrom the newt in the pool to the nesting bird, so feels the strange\nremembering ichor that runs its red tides through human hearts and\nbrains. Spring has its subtler magic for us, because of the dim\nmysteries of unremembering remembrance and of the vague radiances of\nhope. Something in us sings an ascendant song, and we expect we know not\nwhat: something in us sings a decrescent song, and we realise vaguely\nthe stirring of immemorial memories.\n\nThere is none who will admit that Spring is fairer elsewhere than in his\nown land. But there are regions where the season is so hauntingly\nbeautiful that it would seem as though Angus Og knew them for his chosen\nresting-places in his green journey.\n\nAngus Og, Angus MacGreigne, Angus the Ever Youthful, the Son of the Sun,\na fair god he indeed, golden-haired and wonderful as Apollo Chrusokumos.\nSome say that he is Love: some, that he is Spring: some, even, that in\nhim Thanatos, the Hellenic Celt that was his far-off kin, is\nreincarnate. But why seek riddles in flowing water? It may well be that\nAngus Og is Love, and Spring, and Death. The elemental gods are ever\ntriune: and in the human heart, in whose lost Eden an ancient tree of\nknowledge grows, wherefrom the mind has not yet gathered more than a few\nwindfalls, it is surely sooth that Death and Love are oftentimes one and\nthe same, and that they love to come to us in the apparel of Spring.\n\nSure, indeed, Angus Og is a name above all sweet to lovers, for is he\nnot the god--the fair Youth of the Tuatha-de-Danann, the Ancient People,\nwith us still, though for ages seen of us no more--from the meeting of\nwhose lips are born white birds, which fly abroad and nest in lovers'\nhearts till the moment come when, on the yearning lips of love, their\ninvisible wings shall become kisses again?\n\nThen, too, there is the old legend that Angus goes to and fro upon the\nworld, a weaver of rainbows. He follows the Spring, or is its herald.\nOften his rainbows are seen in the heavens: often in the rapt gaze of\nlove. We have all perceived them in the eyes of children, and some of us\nhave discerned them in the hearts of sorrowful women, and in the dim\nbrains of the old. Ah, for sure, if Angus Og be the lovely Weaver of\nHope, he is deathless comrade of the Spring, and we may well pray to him\nto let his green fire move in our veins; whether he be but the Eternal\nYouth of the World, or be also Love, whose soul is youth; or even though\nhe be likewise Death himself, Death to whom Love was wedded long, long\nago.\n\n\nII\n\nAlan was a poet, and to dream was his birthright.... He was ever\noccupied by that wonderful past of his race which was to him a living\nreality. It was perhaps because he so keenly perceived the romance of\nthe present--the romance of the general hour, of the individual\nmoment--that he turned so insatiably to the past with its deathless\ncharm, its haunting appeal.... His mind was as irresistibly drawn to the\nCeltic world of the past as the swallow to the sun-way. In a word he was\nnot only a poet but a Celtic poet; and not only a Celtic poet but a\ndreamer of the Celtic dream. Perhaps this was because of the double\nstrain in his veins. Doubtless, too, it was continuously enhanced by his\nintimate knowledge of two of the Celtic languages, that of the Breton\nand that of the Gael. It is language that is the surest stimulus to the\nremembering nerves. We have a memory within memory as layers of skin\nunderlie the epidermis. With most of us this anterior remembrance\nremains dormant throughout life: but to some are given swift ancestral\nrecollections. Alan was of these.\n\nWith this double key Alan unlocked many doors. In his brain ran ever\nthat Ossianic tide which has borne so many marvellous argosies through\nthe troubled waters of the modern mind. Old ballad of his nature isles,\nwith their haunting Gaelic rhythm of idioms, their frequent reminiscence\nof Norse viking and the Danish summer-sailor were often in his ears. He\nhad lived with his hero Cuchullin from the days when the boy shewed his\nroyal blood at Emain-Macha till that sad hour when his madness came upon\nhim and he died. He had fared forth with many a Lifting of the Sunbeam,\nand had followed Oisin step by step on that last melancholy journey when\nMalvina led the blind old man along the lonely shores of Arran. He had\nwatched the _crann-tara_ flare from glen to glen, and at the bidding of\nthat fiery cross he had seen the whirling of the swords, the dusky\nflight of arrow-rain, and from the isles, the leaping forth of the war\n_birlinns_ to meet the Viking galleys. How often, too, he had followed\ntrial of Niall of the nine Hostages and had seen the Irish Charlemagne\nride victor through Saxon London, or across the Norman plains or with\nonward sword direct his army against the white walls of the Alps!... It\nwas all this marvellous life of old which wrought upon Alan's life as by\na spell. Often he recalled the words of a Gaelic _Sean_ he had heard\nYann croon in his soft monotonous voice,--words which made a light\nshoreward eddy of the present and were solemn with the deep-sea sound of\nthe past, that is with us even as we speak....\n\nTruly his soul must have lived a thousand years ago. In him, at least,\nthe old Celtic brain was reborn with a vivid intensity which none\nguessed, for Alan himself only vaguely surmised the extent and depth of\nthis obsession. In heart and brain that old world lived anew. Himself a\npoet, all that was fair and tragically beautiful was for ever undergoing\nin his mind a marvellous transformation--a magical resurrection rather,\nwherein what was remote and bygone, and crowned with oblivious dust,\nbecame alive again with intense and beautiful life....\n\n\nDeep passion instinctively moves towards the shadow rather than towards\nthe golden noons of light. Passion hears what love at most dreams of;\npassion sees what love mayhap dimly discerns in a glass darkly. A\nmillion of our fellows are \"in love\" at any or every moment: and for\nthese the shadowy way is intolerable. But for the few, in whom love is,\nthe eyes are circumspect against the dark hour which comes when heart\nand brain and blood are aflame with the paramount ecstasy of love....\n\nOh, flame that burns where fires of home are lit! and oh, flame that\nburns in the heart to whom life has not said, Awake! and oh, flame that\nsmoulders from death to life, and from life to death, in the dumb lives\nof those to whom the primrose way is closed! Everywhere the burning of\nthe burning, the flame of the flame, pain and the shadow of pain, joy\nand the rapt breath of joy, flame of the flame that, burning, destroyeth\nnot, till the flame is no more!...\n\n\nIt is said of an ancient poet of the Druid days that he had the power to\nsee the lines of the living, and these as though they were phantoms,\nseparate from the body. Was there not a young king of Albainn who, in a\nperilous hour, discovered the secret of old time, and knew how a life\nmay be hidden away from the body so that none may know of it, save the\nwind that whispers all things, and the tides of day and night that bear\nall things upon their dark flood?...\n\nThe fragrance of the forest intoxicated him. Spring was come indeed. The\nwild storm had ruined nothing, for at its fiercest it had swept\noverhead. Everywhere the green fire of Spring would be litten anew. A\ngreen flame would pass from meadow to hedgerow, from hedgerow to the\ntangled thickets of bramble and dog-rose, from the underwoods to the\ninmost forest glades.\n\nEverywhere song would be to the birds, everywhere young life would\npulse, everywhere the rhythm of a new rapture would run rejoicing. The\nMiracle of Spring would be accomplished in the sight of all men, of all\nbirds and beasts, of all green life. Each, in its kind would have a\nswifter throb in the red blood of the vivid sap....\n\nShe was his Magic. The light of their love was upon everything. Deeply\nas he loved beauty he had learned to love it far more keenly and\nunderstandingly because of her. He saw now through the accidental and\neverywhere discerned the Eternal Beauty, the echoes of whose wandering\nare in every heart and brain though few discern the white vision or hear\nthe haunting voice.... Thus it was she had for him this immutable\nattraction which a few women have for a few men; an appeal, a charm,\nthat atmosphere of romance, that _air_ of ideal beauty, wherein lies the\nsecret of all passionate art.\n\nThe world without wonder, the world without mystery! That indeed is the\nrainbow without colours, the sunrise without living gold, the noon void\nof light....\n\nIn deep love there is no height nor depth between two hearts, no height\nnor depth nor length nor breadth. There is simply love. What if both at\ntimes were wrought too deeply by this beautiful dream? What if the inner\nlife triumphed now and then, and each forgot the deepest instinct of\nlife that here the body is overlord, and the soul but a divine consort?\n\n\nThere are three races of man. There is the myriad race which loses all\nthrough (not bestiality, for the brute world is clean and sane)\nperverted animalism; and there is the myriad race which denounces\nhumanity, and pins all its faith and joy to a life the very conditions\nof whose existence are incompatible with the law to which we are\nsubject--the sole law, the law of nature.\n\nThen there is that small untoward clan, which knows the divine call of\nthe spirit through the brain, and the secret whisper of the soul in the\nheart, and for ever perceives the veils of mystery and the rainbows of\nhope upon our human horizons, which hears and sees, and yet turns\nwisely, meanwhile, to the life of the green earth, of which we are part,\nto the common kindred of living things with which we are at one--is\ncontent, in a word, to live because of the dream that makes living so\nmysteriously sweet and poignant; and to dream because of the commanding\nimmediacy of life....\n\nWhat are dreams but the dust of wayfaring thoughts? Or whence are they,\nand what air is upon their shadowy wings? Do they come out of the\ntwilight of man's mind: are they ghosts of exiles from vanished palaces\nof the brain: or are they heralds with proclamations of hidden tidings\nfor the soul that dreams?\n\n\nIII\n\nTHE BEAUTY OF THE WORLD\n\n  \"_The Souls of the Living are the Beauty of the World._\"--BACON.\n\nFor out of his thoughts about Annaik and Ynys arose a fuller, a deeper\nconception of womanhood. How well he remembered a legend that Ynys had\nonce told him: a legend of a fair spirit which goes to and fro upon the\nworld, the Weaver of Tears. He loves the pathways of sorrow. His voice\nis low and sweet, with a sound like the bubbling of waters in that fount\nwhence the rainbows rise. His eyes are in quiet places, and in the dumb\npain of animals as in the agony of the human brain: but most he is\nfound, oftenest are the dewy traces of his feet, in the heart of woman.\n\nTears, tears: they are not the saltest tears which are on the lids of\nthose who weep. Fierce tears there are, hot founts of pain in the mind\nof many a man, that are never shed, but slowly crystallise in furrows on\nbrow and face, and in deep weariness in the eyes: fierce tears,\nunquenchable, in the heart of many a woman, whose brave eyes look\nfearlessly at life, whose dauntless courage goes forth daily to die but\nnever to be vanquished.\n\nIn truth the Weaver of Tears abides in the heart of woman. O Mother of\nPity, of Love, of deep Compassion: with thee it is to yearn for ever for\nthe ideal human, to bring the spiritual love into fashion with human\ndesire, endlessly to strive, endlessly to fail, always to hope in spite\nof disillusion, to love unswervingly against all baffling and\nmisunderstanding, and even forgetfulness! O Woman, whose eyes are always\nstretched out to her erring children, whose heart is big enough to cover\nall the little children in the world, and suffer with their sufferings,\nand joy with their joys: Woman, whose other divine names are Strength\nand Patience, who is no girl, no virgin, because she has drunk too\ndeeply of the fount of Life to be very young or very joyful. Upon her\nlips is the shadowy kiss of death: in her eyes is the shadow of birth.\nShe is the veiled interpreter of the two mysteries. Yet what joyousness\nlike hers, when she wills: because of her unwavering hope, her\ninexhaustible fount of love?\n\nSo it was that just as Alan had long recognised as a deep truth, how the\nspiritual nature of man has been revealed to humanity in many divine\nincarnations, so he had come to believe that the spiritual nature of\nwoman has been revealed in the many Marys, sisters of the Beloved, who\nhave had the keys of the soul and the heart in their unconscious\nkeeping. In this exquisite truth he knew a fresh and vivid hope.... A\nWoman-Saviour, who would come near to all of us, because in her heart\nwould be the blind tears of the child, the bitter tears of the man, and\nthe patient tears of the woman: who would be the Compassionate One, with\nno end or aim but compassion--with no doctrine to teach, no way to show,\nbut only deep, wonderful, beautiful, inalienable, unquenchable\ncompassion.\n\nFor in truth there is the divine eternal feminine counterpart to the\ndivine eternal male, and both are needed to explain the mystery of the\ndual spirit within us--the mystery of the two in one, so infinitely\nstranger and more wonderful than that triune life which the blind\nteachers of the blind have made a rock of stumbling and offence out of a\ntruth clear and obvious as noon.\n\nWe speak of Mother Nature, but we do not discern the living truth behind\nour words. How few of us have the vision of this great brooding Mother,\nwhose garment is the earth and sea, whose head is pillowed among the\nstars: she, who, with death and sleep as her familiar shapes, soothes\nand rests all the weariness of the world, from the waning leaf to the\nbeating pulse, from the brief span of a human heart to the furrowing of\ngranite brows by the uninterrupted sun, the hounds of rain and wind, and\nthe untrammelled airs of heaven.\n\nNot cruel, relentless, impotently anarchic, chaotically potent, this\nMater Genetrix. We see her thus, who are flying threads in the loom she\nweaves. But she is patient, abiding, certain, inviolate, and silent\never. It is only when we come to this vision of her whom we call Isis,\nor Hera, or Orchil, or one of a hundred other names, our unknown\nEarth-Mother, that men and women will know each other aright, and go\nhand in hand along the road of life without striving to crush, to\nsubdue, to usurp, to retaliate, to separate.\n\nAh, fair vision of humanity to come: man and woman side by side, sweet,\nserene, true, simple, natural, fulfilling earth's and heaven's behests,\nunashamed, unsophisticated, unaffected, each to each and for each,\nchildren of one mother, inheritors of a like destiny, and, at the last,\nartificers of an equal fate.\n\nPondering thus, Alan rose, and looked out, into the night. In that\ngreat stillness, wherein the moonlight lay like the visible fragrance of\nthe earth, he gazed long and intently. How shadow, now, were those lives\nthat had so lately palpitated in this very place: how strange their\nsilence, their incommunicable knowledge, their fathomless peace!\n\nWas it all lost ... the long endurance of pain, the pangs of sorrow? If\nso, what was the lesson of life? Surely to live with sweet serenity and\ngladness, content against the inevitable hour. There is solace of a kind\nin the idea of a common end, of that terrible processional march of life\nwherein the myriad is momentary, and the immeasurable is but a passing\nshadow. But, alas, it is only solace of a kind: for what heart that has\nbeat to the pulse of love can relinquish the sweet dream of life, and\nwhat coronal can philosophy put upon the brows of youth in place of\neternity.\n\nNo, no: of this he felt sure. In the Beauty of the World lies the\nultimate redemption of our mortality. When we shall become at one with\nnature in a sense profounder even than the poetic imaginings of most of\nus, we shall understand what now we fail to discern. The arrogance of\nthose who would have the stars as candles for our night, and the\nuniverse as a pleasance for our thought, will be as impossible as their\nblind fatuity who say we are of dust, briefly vitalised, that shall be\ndust again, with no fragrance saved from the rude bankruptcy of life, no\nbeauty raised up against the sun to bloom anew.\n\nIt is no idle dream, this: no idle dream that we are a perishing clan\namong the sons of God, because of this slow waning of our joy, of our\npassionate delight, in the Beauty of the World. We have been unable to\nlook out upon the shining of our star, for the vision overcomes us; and\nwe have used veils which we call \"scenery,\" \"picturesqueness,\" and the\nlike--poor, barren words that are so voiceless and remote before the\nrustle of leaves and the lap of water, before the ancient music of the\nwind, and all the sovran eloquence of the tides of light. But a day may\ncome--nay, shall surely come--when indeed the poor and the humble shall\ninherit the earth: they who have not made a league with temporal evils\nand out of whose heart shall arise the deep longing, that shall become\nuniversal, of the renewal of youth.\n\n\n... Often, too, alone in his observatory, where he was wont to spend\nmuch of his time, Alan knew that strange nostalgia of the mind for\nimpossible things. Then, wrought for a while from his vision of green\nlife, and flamed by another green fire than that born of the earth, he\ndreamed his dream. With him, the peopled solitude of night was a\nconcourse of confirming voices. He did not dread the silence of the\nstars, the cold remoteness of the stellar fire.\n\nIn that other watch-tower in Paris, where he had spent the best hours of\nhis youth, he had loved that nightly watch on the constellations. Now,\nas then, in the pulse of the planets he found assurances which faith had\nnot given him. In the vast majestic order of that nocturnal march, that\ndiurnal retreat, he had learned the law of the whirling leaf and the\nfalling star, of the slow aeon-delayed comet and of the slower wane of\nsolar fires. Looking with visionary eyes into that congregation of\nstars, he realised, not the littleness of the human dream, but its\ndivine impulsion. It was only when, after long vigils into the quietudes\nof night, he turned his gaze from the palaces of the unknown, and\nthought of the baffled fretful swarming in the cities of men, that his\nsoul rose in revolt against the sublime ineptitude of man's spiritual\nleaguer against destiny.\n\nDestiny--\"An Dan\"--it was a word familiar to him since childhood, when\nfirst he had heard it on the lips of old Ian Macdonald. And once, on the\neve of the Feast of Paschal, when Alan had asked Daniel Dare what was\nthe word which the stars spelled from zenith to nadir, the Astronomer\nhad turned and answered simply, \"_C'est le Destin_.\"\n\nBut Alan was of the few to whom this talismanic word opens lofty\nperspectives, even while it obscures those paltry vistas which we deem\nunending and dignify with vain hopes and void immortalities.\n\n  _To live in Beauty is to sum up in four words all the spiritual\n  aspiration of the soul of man._--F. M.\n\n\n\n\nA DREAM\n\n_To G. R. S. MEAD_\n\n\n  _Our thought, our consciousness, is but the scintillation of a wave:\n  below us is a moving shadow, our brief forecast and receding way;\n  beneath the shadow are depths sinking into depths, and then the\n  unfathomable unknown._--F. M.\n\n\n\n\nA Dream\n\n\nI was on a vast, an illimitable plain, where the dark blue horizons were\nsharp as the edges of hills. It was the world, but there was nothing in\nthe world. There was not a blade of grass nor the hum of an insect, nor\nthe shadow of a bird's wing. The mountains had sunk like waves in the\nsea when there is no wind; the barren hills had become dust. Forests had\nbecome the fallen leaf; and the leaf had passed. I was aware of one who\nstood beside me, though that knowledge was of the spirit only; and my\neyes were filled with the same nothingness as I beheld above and beneath\nand beyond. I would have thought I was in the last empty glens of Death,\nwere it not for a strange and terrible sound that I took to be the voice\nof the wind coming out of nothing, travelling over nothingness and\nmoving onward into nothing.\n\n\"There is only the wind,\" I said to myself in a whisper.\n\nThen the voice of the dark Power beside me, whom in my heart I knew to\nbe Dalua, the Master of Illusions, said: \"Verily, this is your last\nillusion.\"\n\nI answered: \"It is the wind.\"\n\nAnd the voice answered: \"That is not the wind that you hear, for the\nwind is dead. It is the empty, hollow echo of my laughter.\"\n\nThen, suddenly, he who was beside me lifted up a small stone, smooth as\na pebble of the sea. It was grey and flat, and yet to me had a terrible\nbeauty because it was the last vestige of the life of the world.\n\nThe Presence beside me lifted up the stone and said: \"It is the end.\"\n\nAnd the horizons of the world came in upon me like a rippling shadow.\nAnd I leaned over darkness and saw whirling stars. These were gathered\nup like leaves blown from a tree, and in a moment their lights were\nquenched, and they were further from me than grains of sand blown on a\nwhirlwind of a thousand years.\n\nThen he, that terrible one, Master of Illusions, let fall the stone, and\nit sank into the abyss and fell immeasurably into the infinite. And\nunder my feet the world was as a falling wave, and was not. And I fell,\nthough without sound, without motion. And for years and years I fell\nbelow the dim waning of light; and for years and years I fell through\nuniverses of dusk; and for years and years and years I fell through the\nenclosing deeps of darkness. It was to me as though I fell for\ncenturies, for aeons, for unimaginable time. I knew I had fallen beyond\ntime, and that I inhabited eternity, where were neither height, nor\ndepth, nor width, nor space.\n\nBut, suddenly, without sound, without motion, I stood steadfast upon a\nvast ledge. Before me, on that ledge of darkness become rock, I saw this\nstone which had been lifted from the world of which I was a shadow,\nafter shadow itself had died away. And as I looked, this stone became\nfire and rose in flame. Then the flame was not. And when I looked the\nstone was water; it was as a pool that did not overflow, a wave that did\nnot rise or fall, a shaken mirror wherein nothing was troubled.\n\nThen, as dew is gathered in silence, the water was without form or\ncolour or motion. And the stone seemed to me like a handful of earth\nheld idly in the poise of unseen worlds. What I thought was a green\nflame rose from it, and I saw that it had the greenness of grass, and\nhad the mystery of life. The green herb passed as green grass in a\ndrought; and I saw the waving of wings. And I saw shape upon shape, and\nimage upon image, and symbol upon symbol. Then I saw a man, and he,\ntoo, passed; and I saw a woman, and she, too, passed; and I saw a child,\nand the child passed. Then the stone was a Spirit. And it shone there\nlike a lamp. And I fell backward through deeps of darkness, through\nunimaginable time.\n\nAnd when I stood upon the world again it was like a glory. And I saw the\nstone lying at my feet.\n\nAnd One said: \"Do you not know me, brother?\"\n\nAnd I said: \"Speak, Lord.\"\n\nAnd Christ stooped and kissed me upon the brow.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n  _Unity does not lie in the emotional life of expression which we\n  call Art, which discerns it; it does not lie in nature, but in the\n  Soul of man._--F. M.\n\n\n\n\nNotes to First Edition\n\nTHE DIVINE ADVENTURE\n\n\nWhen \"The Divine Adventure\" appeared in the _Fortnightly Review_ in\nNovember and December last, I received many comments and letters. From\nthese I infer that my present readers will also be of two sections,\nthose who understand at once why, in this symbolical presentment, I\nignore the allegorical method--and those who, accustomed to the\nartificial method of allegory, would rather see this \"story of a soul\"\ntold in that method, without actuality, or as an ordinary essay stript\nof narrative.\n\nBut each can have only his own way of travelling towards a desired goal.\nI chose my way, because in no other, as it seemed to me, could I convey\nwhat I wanted to convey. Is it so great an effort of the imagination to\nconceive of the Mind and Soul actual as the Body is actual? And is there\nany tragic issue so momentous, among all the tragic issues of life, as\nthe problem of the Spirit, the Mind--the Will as I call it; that\nproblem as to whether it has to share the assured destiny of the Body,\nor the desired and possible destiny of the Soul? There is no spiritual\ntragedy so poignant as this uncertainty of the Will, the Spirit, what we\ncall the thinking part of us, before the occult word of the Soul,\ninhabiting here but as an impatient exile, and the inevitable end of\nthat Body to which it is so intimately allied, with which are its\nimmediate, and in a sense its most vital interests, and in whose\nmortality it would seem to have a dreadful share.\n\nThe symbolist, unlike the allegorist, cannot disregard the actual, the\nreality as it seems: he must, indeed, be supremely heedful of this\nreality as it seems. The symbolist or the mystic (properly they are one)\nabhors the vague, what is called the \"mystical\": he is supremely a\nrealist, but his realism is of the spirit and the imagination, and not\nof externals, or rather not of these merely, for there, too, he will not\ndisregard actuality, but make it his base, as the lark touches the solid\nearth before it rises where it can see both Earth and Heaven and sing a\nsong that partakes of each and belongs to both. \"In the kingdom of the\nimagination the ideal must ever be faithful to the general laws of\nnature,\" wrote one of the wisest of mystics. Art is pellucid mystery,\nand the only spiritually logical interpretation of life; and her\ninevitable language is Symbol--by which (whether in colour, or form, or\nsound, or word, or however the symbol be translated) a spiritual image\nillumines a reality that the material fact narrows or obscures.\n\nFor the rest, \"The Divine Adventure\" is an effort to solve, or obtain\nlight upon, the profoundest human problem. It is by looking inward that\nwe shall find the way outward. The gods--and what we mean by the\ngods--the gods seeking God have ever penetrated the soul by two roads,\nthat of nature and that of art. Edward Calvert put it supremely well\nwhen he said \"I go inward to God: outward to the gods.\" It was Calvert\nalso who wrote:--\n\n\"To charm the truthfulness of eternal law into a guise which it has not\nhad before, and clothe the invention with expression, this is the magic\nwith which the poet would lead the listener into a world of his own, and\nmake him sit down in the charmed circle of his own gods.\"\n\n\n_Page 96. The Felire na Naomh Nerennach_ (so spelt, more phonetically\nthan correctly) is an invaluable early \"Chronicle of Irish Saints.\"\nUladh--or Ulla--is the Gaelic for Ulster, though the ancient boundaries\nwere not the same as those of the modern province; and at periods Uladh\nstood for all North Ireland. Tara in the south was first the capital of\na kingdom, and later the federal capital. Thus, at the beginning of the\nChristian era, Concobar mac Nessa was both King of the Ultonians (the\nclans of Uladh) and Ard-Righ or High-King of Ireland, a nominal\nsuzerainty.\n\nThe name of Mochaoi's abbacy, _n' Aondruim_, was in time anglicised to\nAntrim.\n\nThe characteristic Gaelic passage quoted in English at p. 98 is not from\nthe _Felire na Naomh Nerennach_, but from a Hebridean source: excerpted\nfrom one of the many treasures-troves rescued from extant or recently\nextant Gaelic lore by Mr. Alexander Carmichael, all soon to be published\n(the outcome of a long life of unselfish devotion) under the title _Or\nagus Ob_, though we may be sure that there will be little \"dross\" and\nmuch \"gold.\"\n\n\n_Page 101._ The allusion is to the story or sketch called \"The Book of\nthe Opal\" in _The Dominion of Dreams_: a sketch true in essentials, but\nhaving at its close an arbitrary interpolation of external symbolism\nwhich I now regret as superfluous. I have since realised that the only\nliving and convincing symbol is that which is conceived of the spirit\nand not imagined by the mind. My friend's life, and end, were strange\nenough--and significant enough--without the effort to bring home to\nother minds by an arbitrary formula what should have been implicit.\n\n\n_Page 102._ I have again and again, directly or indirectly, since my\nfirst book _Pharais_ to the repeated record in this book, alluded to\nSeumas Macleod; and as I have shown in \"Barabal,\" here, and in the\ndedication to this book, it is to the old islander and to my Hebridean\nnurse, Barabal, that I owe more than to any other early influences. For\nthose who do not understand the character of the Island-Gael, or do not\nrealise that all Scotland is not Presbyterian, it may be as well to add\nthat many of the islesmen are of the Catholic faith (broadly, the\nSouthern Hebrides are wholly Catholic), and that therefore the brooding\nimagination of an old islander--who spoke Gaelic only, and had never\nvisited the mainland--might the more readily dwell upon Mary the Mother:\nMary of the Lamb, Mary the Shepherdess, as she is lovingly called. I do\nnot, for private reasons, name the island where he lived: but I have\nwritten of him, or of what he said, nothing but what was so, or was thus\nsaid. He had suffered much, and was lonely: but was, I think, the\nhappiest, and, I am sure, the wisest human being I have known. What I\ncannot now recall is whether his belief in Mary's Advent was based on an\nold prophecy, or upon a faith of his own dreams and visions,  by\nthe visions and dreams of a like mind and longing: perhaps, and\nlikeliest, upon both. I was not more than seven years old when that\nhappened of which I have written on p. 102, and so recall with surety\nonly that which I saw and heard.\n\nI am glad to know that another is hardly less indebted to old Seumas\nMacleod. I am not permitted to mention his name, but a friend and\nkinsman allows me to tell this: that when he was about sixteen he was on\nthe remote island where Seumas lived, and on the morrow of his visit\ncame at sunrise upon the old man, standing looking seaward with his\nbonnet removed from his long white locks; and upon his speaking to\nSeumas (when he saw he was not \"at his prayers\") was answered, in Gaelic\nof course, \"Every morning like this I take off my hat to the beauty of\nthe world.\"\n\nThe untaught islander who could say this had learned an ancient wisdom,\nof more account than wise books, than many philosophies.\n\nLet me tell one other story of him, which I have meant often to tell,\nbut have as often forgotten. He had gone once to the Long Island, with\nthree fishermen, in their herring-coble. The fish had been sold, and the\nboat had sailed southward to a Lews haven where Seumas had a relative.\nThe younger men had \"hanselled\" their good bargain overwell, and were\nlaughing and talking freely, as they walked up the white road from the\nhaven. Something was said that displeased Seumas greatly, and he might\nhave spoken swiftly in reproof; but just then a little naked child ran\nlaughing from a cottage, chased by his smiling mother. Seumas caught up\nthe child, who was but an infant, and set him in their midst, and then\nkneeled and said the few words of a Hebridean hymn beginning:--\n\n    \"Even as a little child\n      Most holy, pure....\"\n\nNo more was said, but the young men understood; and he who long\nafterward told me of this episode added that though he had often since\nacted weakly and spoken foolishly, he had never, since that day, uttered\nfoul words. Another like characteristic anecdote of Seumas (as the\nskipper who made his men cease mocking a \"fool\") I have told in the tale\ncalled \"The Amadan\" in the _The Dominion of Dreams_.\n\nI could write much of this revered friend--so shrewd and genial and\nworldly-wise, for all his lonely life; so blithe in spirit and swiftly\nhumorous; himself a poet, and remembering countless songs and tales of\nold; strong and daring, on occasion; good with the pipes, as with the\nnets; seldom angered, but then with a fierce anger, barbaric in its\nvehemence; a loyal clansman; in all things, good and not so good, a Gael\nof the Isles.\n\nBut since I have not done so, not gathered into one place, I add this\nnote.\n\n\n_Page 113._ The kingdom of the Suderoeer (_i.e._ Southern Isles) was the\nNorse name for the realm of the Hebrides and Inner Hebrides when the\nIsles were under Scandinavian dominion.\n\n\n_Page 118._ The ignorance or supineness which characterises so many\nEnglish writers on Celtic history is to be found even among Highland\nand Irish clerics and others who have not taken the trouble to study or\neven become acquainted with their own ancient literature, but fallen\ninto the foolish and discreditable conventionalism which maintains that\nbefore Columban or in pre-Christian days the Celtic race consisted of\nwholly uncivilised and broken tribes, rivals only in savagery.\n\nHow little true that is; as wide of truth as the statements that the far\ninfluences of Iona ceased with the death of Columba. Not only was the\nisland for two centuries thereafter (in the words of an eminent\nhistorian) \"the nursery of bishops, the centre of education, the asylum\nof religious knowledge, the place of union, the capital and necropolis\nof the Celtic race,\" but the spiritual colonies of Iona had everywhere\nleavened western Europe. Charlemagne knew and reverenced \"this little\npeople of Iona,\" who from a remote island in the wild seas beyond the\nalmost as remote countries of Scotland and England had spread the Gospel\neverywhere. Not only were many monasteries founded by monks from Iona in\nthe narrower France of that day, but also in Lorraine, Alsatia, in\nSwitzerland, and in the German states; in distant Bavaria even, no\nfewer than sixteen were thus founded. In the very year the Danes made\ntheir first descent on the doomed island, a monk of Iona was Bishop of\nTarento in Italy. In a word, in that day, Iona was the brightest gem in\nthe spiritual crown of Rome.\n\n\n_Page 128._ The \"little-known namesake of my own\" alluded to is Fiona,\nor Fionaghal Macleod, known (in common with her more famous sister Mary)\nby the appellation _Nighean Alasdair Ruadh_, \"Daughter of Alasdair the\nRed,\" was born _circa_ 1575.\n\n\n_Page 130._ Columba, whose house-name was Crimthan, \"Wolf\"--surviving in\nour Scoto-Gaelic MacCrimmon--who was of royal Irish blood and, through\nhis mother of royal Scottish (Pictish) blood also, came to Iona in A.D.\n563, when he was in his forty-second year. At that date, St. Augustine,\n\"the English Columba,\" had not yet landed in Kent--that more famous\nevent occurring thirty-four years later. In this year of 563, the East\nhad not yet awakened to its wonderful dream that to-day has in number\nmore dreamers than the Cross of Christ; for it was not till six years\nlater, when Columba was on a perilous mission of conversion among the\nPicts, that Mahomet was born. In 563, when Colum landed on Iona, the\nyoung Italian priest who was afterwards to be called the Architect of\nthe Church and to become famous as Pope Gregory the Great, was dreaming\nhis ambitious dreams; and farther East, in Constantinople, then the\ncapital of the Western World, the great Roman Emperor Justinian was\nlaying the foundation of modern law.\n\n\nWith the advent of Charlemagne, two hundred years later, \"the old world\"\npassed. When the ninth century opened, the great Gregory's dearest hopes\nwere in the dust where his bones lay; Justinian's metropolis was fallen\nfrom her pride; and, on Iona, the heathen Danes drank to Odin.\n\n\n_Page 136._ The _Mor-Rigan_. This euphemerised Celtic queen is called by\nmany names: even those resembling that just given vary much--_Morrigu_,\n_Mor Reega_, _Morrigan_, _Morgane_, _Mur-ree (Mor Ree)_, etc. The old\nword _Mor-Rigan_ means \"the great queen.\" She is the mother of the\nGaelic Gods, as _Bona Dea_ of the Romans. \"_Anu_ is her name,\" says an\nancient writer. Anu suckled the elder gods. Her name survives in\n_Tuatha-De-Danann_, in _Danu_, _Ana_, and perhaps in that mysterious\nScoto-Gaelic name, Teampull _Anait_--the temple of Anait--whom some\nwriters collate with an ancient Asiatic goddess, Anait (see p. 171). It\nhas been suggested that the Celts gave _Bona Dea_ to the Romans, for\nthese considered her Hyperborean. A less likely derivation of the\npopular \"_Morrigu_\" is that _Mor Reega_ is _Mor Reagh_ (wealth).\nKeating, it may be added, speaks of Monagan, Badha, and Macha as the\nthree chief goddesses of the Divine Race of Ana (the Tuatha De Danann).\nStudents of Celtic mythology and legend, and of the Tain-bo-Cuailgne in\nparticular, will remember that her white bull \"Find-Bennach\" was\n\"antagonist\" to the famous brown bull of Cuailgne. The Mor Rigan has\nbeen identified with Cybele--as the Goddess of Prosperity: but only\nspeculatively. Another name of the Mother of all Gods is _Aine (Anu?)_.\nProf. Rhys says _Ri_ or _Roi_ was the Mother of the gods of the\nnon-Celtic races. It is suggestive that _Ana_ is a Phoenician word: that\npeople had a (virgin?) goddess named _Ana-Perema_.\n\n\n_Page 156._ _Finn_--_Oisin_--_Oscur_--_Gaul_--_Diarmid_--_Cuchullin_.\nThese names as they stand exhibit the uncertainty of Gaelic\nname-spelling. In the case of the first named there is constant\nvariation. The oldest writing is Find (also Fend), or Fin. Some Gaelic\nwriters prefer, in modern use, Fionn. Through a misapprehension,\nMacpherson popularised the name in Scotland as Fingal, and the _Fein_\nand _Fianna_ (for they are not the same, as commonly supposed, the\nformer being the Clan or People of Finn, and the latter a kind of\nmilitia raised for the defence of Uladh), as the Fingalians. Some Irish\ncritics have been severe upon Macpherson's \"impossible nomenclature\";\nbut _Fingal_ is not \"impossible,\" though it is certainly not old Gaelic\nfor Finn--for the word can quite well stand for Fair Stranger, and might\nwell have been a name given to a Norse (or for that matter a Gaelic)\nchampion.\n\n_Fin MacCumhal_ (Fin MacCooal or MacCool) is now commonly rendered as\nFinn or Fionn. The latter is good Gaelic and the finer word, but the\nother is older. Fionn obtains more in Gaelic Scotland. _Fingal_ and the\n_Fingalians_ are modern, and due solely to the great vogue given by\nMacpherson--though many writers and even Gaelic speakers have adopted\nthem.\n\nFionn's famous son, again, is almost universally (outside Gaelic\nScotland and Ireland) known as Ossian, because of Macpherson's spelling\nof the name. Neither the Highland nor Irish Gaels pronounce it so--but\nOshshen, and the like--best represented by the Gaelic _Oisin_ or Oisein.\nPersonally I prefer Oisin to any other spelling; but perhaps it would be\nbest if the word were uniformly spelt in the manner in which it is\nuniversally familiar. Obviously, too, \"Ossianic\" is the only suitable\nuse of the name in adjective form. _Oscur_ is probably merely a Gaelic\nspelling of the Norse Oscar; though I recollect a student of ancient\nGaelic names telling me that the name was Gaelic and only resembled the\nfamiliar Scandinavian word. _Gaul_ is commonly so spelt; but Goll is\nprobably more correct. _Diarmid_ has many variations, from Diarmuid to\nDermid; but Diarmid is the best English equivalent both in sound and\ncorrectness.\n\nIt is still a moot point as to whether in narration, Gaelic names should\nbe given as they are, or be anglicised--or Gaelic exclamations to\nphrases in their original spelling, or more phonetically to an English\near. I think it should depend on circumstances, and within the writer's\ntact. I have myself been taken to task again and again, by critics eager\nwith the eagerness of little knowledge, for partial anglicisation of\nnames and presumed mistakes in Gaelic spelling, when, surely, the\nintention was obvious that a compromise was being attempted. Let me give\nan example. How would the English reader like a story of, say, a Donald\nMacintyre and a Grace Maclean and an Ivor Mackay if these names were\ngiven in their Gaelic form, as Domnhuil Mac-an-t-Saoir and Giorsal nic\nIlleathain and Imhir Mac Aodh--or even if simple names, like, say, Meave\nand Malvina, were given as Medb or Malmhin?\n\nIt is a pity there is not one recognised way of spelling the legendary\nname of Setanta, the chief hero of the Gaelic chivalry. Probably the\nbest rendering is Cuchulain. The old form is Cuculaind. But colloquially\nthe name in Gaelic is called Coohoolin or Coohullun; and so Cuculaind\nwould mislead the ordinary reader. The Scottish version is generally\nCuchullin--the _ch_ soft: a more correct rendering of the Macphersonian\nCuthullin, a misnomer responsible no doubt for the common mistake that\nthe Coolin (Cuthullin) mountains in Skye have any connection with the\ngreat Gaelic hero (see p. 155). Setanta, a prince of Uladh, was taught\nfor a time in the art of weaponry by one Culain or Culaind, and after a\ncertain famous act of prowess became known as The Hound of Culain--_Cu_\nbeing a hound, whence Cuculain, or with the sign of the genitive,\nCuchulain. Every variation of the name, and all the legends of the\nCuchullin cycle, will be found in Miss Eleanor Hull's excellent\nredaction, published by Mr. Nutt. The interested reader should see also\nthe classical work of O'Curry: the vivid and romantic chronicle of Mr.\nStandish O'Grady; and the fascinating and scholarly edition of _The\nFeast of Bricrin_, recently published as the second volume of the Irish\nTexts Society, by Dr. George Henderson, the most scholarly of Highland\nspecialists.\n\n\n_Page 162 seq._ No one has collected so much material on the subject of\nSt. Michael as Mr. Alexander Carmichael has done. Some of his lore, in\nsheiling-hymns and fishing-hymns, he has already made widely known,\ndirectly and indirectly: but in his forthcoming _Or agus Ob_, already\nalluded to, there will be found a long and invaluable section devoted to\nSt. Micheil, as also, I understand, one of like length and interest on\nSt. Bride or Briget, the most beloved of Hebridean saints, and herself\nprobably a Christian successor of a much more ancient Brighde, a Celtic\ndeity, it is said, of Song and Beauty.\n\n\n_Page 181. Be'al._ I do not think there is any evidence to prove that\nthe Be'al or Bel often spelt Baal--whose name and worship survive to\nthis day in _Bealltainn_ (Beltane), May-day--of Gaelic mythology, is\nidentical with the Phoenician god Baal, though probably of a like\nsignificance. The Gaelic name, which may be anglicised into Be'al,\nsignifies \"Source of All.\"\n\nI am inclined to believe that the Be'al or Bel of the Gaels has his\nanalogue in the Gaulish mythology in _Hesus_ (also _Esua_, _Aesus_, and\n_Heus_), a mysterious (supreme?) god of ancient Gaul, surviving still in\nArmorican legend. If so, Hesus or Aesus may be identical with the \"lost\"\nGaelic god _Aesar_ or _Aes_. _Aesar_ means \"fire-kindler,\" whence the\nCreator. (In this connection I would ask if _Aed_, an ancient Gaelic god\nof fire, also of death, be identical with (as averred) a still more\nancient Greek name of Fire, or God of Fire = _Aed_?). Be'al, the Source\nof All, may take us back to the Phoenician _Baal_: but the Gaelic _Aes_\nand the Gaulish _Aesus (Hesus)_ take us, with the Scandinavian _Aesir_,\nfurther still: to the Persian _Aser_, the Hindoo _Aeswar_, the Egyptian\n_Asi_ (the Sun-bull), and the Etruscan _Aesar_. The _Bhagavat-Gita_ says\nof Aeswar that \"he resides in every mortal.\"\n\n\n_Pages 199-203._ This section, slightly adapted, is from an unpublished\nbook, in gradual preparation, entitled _The Chronicles of the Sidhe_.\n\n\n_Page 225. The Culdees._ Though I have alluded in the text to the\nprobable meaning of a word that has perplexed many people, I add this\nnote as I have just come upon another theoretical statement about the\nCuldees as though they were an oriental race or sect. The writer\nevidently thinks they are the same as Chaldaeans, and builds a\nstartlingly unscientific theory on that assumption. In all probability\nthe word is simply _Cille-De_, _i.e._, [the man of the] Cell of\nGod--_Cille_ being Cell, a Church--and so a Cille-De man would be \"man\nof God,\" a monk, a cleric. A much more puzzling problem obtains in the\napparent traces of Buddha-worship in the Hebrides. It may or may not be\nof much account that the author of _Lewisiana_ \"admits reluctantly\" that\n\"we must accept the possibility of a Buddhist race passing north of\nIreland.\" I have not seen _Lewisiana_ for some years, and cannot recall\non what grounds the author arrives at his conclusion. But from my notes\non the subject I see that M. Coquebert-Montbret, in the _Soc. des\nAntiquaires de_ _France_, argues at great length that the Asiatic\nBuddhist missionaries who penetrated to Western Europe, reached Ireland\nand Scotland. He asks if the ancient Gaelic Deity named _Budd_ or\n_Budwas_ be not _Buddh_ (Buddha). Another French antiquary avers that\nthe Druids were \"an order of Eastern priests adoring Buddwas.\" Some\nlight on the problem is thrown by the fact that the Gaulo-Celtic museum\nin St. Germain is an ancient Celtic \"god\"--the fourth in kind that has\nbeen found--with its legs crossed after the manner of the Indian Buddha.\nIt is more interesting still to note that in the Hebrides spirits are\nsometimes called _Boduchas_ or _Buddachs_, and that the same word is (or\nused to be) applied to heads of families, as the Master.\n\n\n_Pages 242, 248._ These two sections, rearranged, and in part rewritten,\nare excerpted from what I wrote in Iona, some five years ago, for a\npreface to _The Sin-Eater_.\n\n\n_Page 256._ In its original form this was written about a book of great\ninterest and beauty, _The Shadow of Arvor: Legendary Romances of\nBrittany_. Translated and retold by Edith Wingate Rinder.\n\n_Arvor (or Armor_) is one of the bardic equivalents of _Armorica_, as\nBrittany is called in many old tales. The name means the Sea-Washed\nLand, _Vor_ or _Mor_ being Breton for \"sea,\" as in the famous region\n_Morbihan_ the Little Sea. Neither the Bretons for their Cymric kindred,\nhowever, call Brittany _Arvor_, or the Latinised _Armorica_. Arvor is\nthe poetic name of a portion of Basse Bretagne only. Bretons call\nBrittany _Breiz_, and their language _Brezoned_, and themselves\n_Breiziaded_ (singular _Breiziad_)--as they keep to the French\ndifferentiation of _Bretagne_ and _Grande Bretagne_ in _Bro-Zaos_, the\nSaxon-Land, as they speak of France (beyond Brittany), as _Bro-chall_,\nthe Land of Gaul. In Gaelic I think Brittany is always spoken of as\n_Breatunn-Beag_, Little Britain. The Welsh call the country, its people,\nand language, _Llydaw_, _Llydawiaid_, _Llydawaeg_.\n\n                                                                 F. M.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE\n\nBy Mrs. William Sharp\n\n\nThe first edition of _The Divine Adventure: Iona: By Sundown Shores_ was\npublished in 1900 by Messrs. Chapman and Hall. The Titular Essay (since\nrevised) appeared first in _The Fortnightly Review_ for November and\nDecember, 1899. A large portion of \"Iona\" (though in different sequence)\nappeared also in _The Fortnightly_, March and April, 1900. Both\n\"spiritual histories\" were published separately in book form in America\nby Mr. T. Mosher; \"Iona,\" curtailed and rearranged under the title of\n\"The Isle of Dreams,\" in 1905. The Essay \"Celtic\" in its original form,\nfirst printed in _The Contemporary Review_, will now be found, revised\nand materially added to, in _The Winged Destiny_. In this Uniform\nEdition of the writings of \"Fiona Macleod\" (William Sharp) the following\nstories, etc., have been transferred to the present volume: \"The White\nFever\" and \"The Smoothing of the Hand\" from _The Sin-Eater_; \"The White\nHeron\" which relates to the earlier story of Mary Maclean in _Pharais_,\nis from _The Dominion of Dreams_, and in its earliest version appeared\nwith illustrations in the Christmas number of _Harper_ in 1898. \"A\nDream\" appeared first in the _Theosophical Review_ of September, 1904.\nFinally I have added to this volume the latter portion and some detached\nfragments from _Green Fire_, a Romance by \"Fiona Macleod\" dealing with\nBrittany and the Hebrid Isles and published in 1896 by Messrs. A.\nConstable, and in America by Messrs. Harper Bros. But William Sharp\nconsidered that the book suffered from grave defects of design and\nconstruction and decided that, when out of print, it should not be\nrepublished. \"The Herdsman,\" however, is--as he stated in a note to the\nfirst Edition of _The Dominion of Dreams_, \"a re-written and materially\naltered version of the Hebridean part of _Green Fire_ of which book it\nis all I care to preserve.\" Nevertheless, in accordance with the wishes\nof several friends, I have very willingly put together a series of\ndetached fragments from the book and placed them beside \"The Herdsman\"\nas, in our opinion equally worthy of preservation, since the author's\nprohibition precludes the possibility of reprinting the book in its\nentirety.\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    WOODS & SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, LONDON, N.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n          _UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_\n\n          THE COLLECTED WORKS OF FIONA MACLEOD\n          (WILLIAM SHARP)\n\n          In Seven Volumes. Crown 8vo. Price 5s. net.\n          With Photogravure Frontispieces from\n          Photographs and Drawings by D. Y. Cameron,\n          A.R.S.A.\n\n            I. PHARAIS: THE MOUNTAIN LOVERS\n           II. THE SIN EATER; THE WASHER OF THE FORD AND\n               OTHER LEGENDARY MORALITIES\n          III. THE DOMINION OF DREAMS: UNDER THE DARK\n               STAR\n           IV. THE DIVINE ADVENTURE: IONA: STUDIES IN\n               SPIRITUAL HISTORY\n            V. THE WINGED DESTINY: STUDIES IN THE\n               SPIRITUAL HISTORY OF THE GAEL\n           VI. THE SILENCE OF AMOR: WHERE THE FOREST\n               MURMURS\n          VII. POEMS AND DRAMAS\n\n\n          ALSO UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE\n\n          SELECTED WRITINGS OF WILLIAM SHARP\n\n          In Five Volumes\n\n            I. POEMS\n           II. STUDIES AND APPRECIATIONS\n          III. PAPERS CRITICAL AND REMINISCENT\n           IV. LITERARY GEOGRAPHY AND TRAVEL SKETCHES\n            V. VISTAS: GIPSY CHRIST AND OTHER PROSE\n               IMAGININGS\n\n          AND\n          MEMOIRS OF WILLIAM SHARP\n          (FIONA MACLEOD)\n          Compiled by MRS. WILLIAM SHARP\n          (In two volumes)\n\n          LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN\n\n\n\n\n  +------------------------------------------------------------------+\n  | Transcriber's Notes:                                             |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | Obvious punctuation errors repaired.                             |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | Printer errors corrected. These include:                         |\n  | - Page 34, word \"creening\" corrected to be \"creeping\" (night-jar |\n  |   creeping forward)                                              |\n  | - Page 40, word \"it's\" corrected to be \"its\" (for its need)      |\n  | - Page 94, word \"lighed\" corrected to be \"lighted\" (whose flame  |\n  |   lighted)                                                       |\n  | - Page 189, word \"do\" corrected to be \"no\" (speak no more)       |\n  | - Page 196, word \"bu\" corrected to be \"but\" (had nane but)       |\n  | - Page 224, word \"Colnm\" corrected to be \"Colum\" (Colum the      |\n  |   White)                                                         |\n  | - Page 314, word \"lonroid\" corrected to be \"loneroid\" (bracken   |\n  |   and loneroid)                                                  |\n  | - Page 344, word \"thonght\" corrected to be \"thought\" (as he      |\n  |   thought)                                                       |\n  | - Page 347, word \"npon\" corrected to be \"upon\" (here upon Rona)  |\n  | - Page 377, word \"sale\" corrected to be \"sail\" (useless sail)    |\n  | - Page 378, word \"Allen\" corrected to be \"Alan\" (to affect Alan) |\n  | - Page 384, word \"commume\" corrected to be \"commune\" (enjoyed    |\n  |   the commune)                                                   |\n  | - Page 390, word \"mavellous\" corrected to be \"marvellous\" (so    |\n  |   many marvellous)                                               |\n  | - Page 402, word \"hs\" corrected to be \"he\" (he dreamed his)      |\n  | - Page 416, word \"treasures-trove\" corrected to be               |\n  |   \"treasure-troves\" (many treasure-troves rescued)               |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | The author's variable spelling (both in English and Gaelic) has  |\n  | been kept. This includes:                                        |\n  | - Both \"airidh\" and \"airidh\"                                     |\n  | - Both \"Amadan-Dhu\" and \"Amadan Dhu\"                             |\n  | - Both Angus \"Og\" and \"Og\"                                       |\n  | - Both \"Beite\" and \"Beithe\"                                      |\n  | - Both Buachaill \"Ban\" and \"Ban\"                                 |\n  | - Both \"bhuachaile\" and \"bhuachaille\"                            |\n  | - Both \"chlarsach\" and \"chlarsaich\"                              |\n  | - Both \"Coolins\" and \"Coolin\" mountain                           |\n  | - Both \"Eachainn\" and \"Eachain\" MacEachainn                      |\n  | - Both \"Feinn\" and \"Feinn\"                                       |\n  | - Both \"fore-knowledge\" and \"foreknowledge\"                      |\n  | - Both \"foretell\" and \"fortell\"                                  |\n  | - Both \"hill-<DW72>\" and \"hillslope\"                              |\n  | - Both \"maighdean-mhara\" and \"Maigh-deann-M'hara\"                |\n  | - Both mo \"ghraidh\" and \"ghraidh\"                                |\n  | - Both \"mythopoeic\" and \"mythopoeic\"                             |\n  | - Both \"n'Aondruim\" and \"n'-Aondruim\"                            |\n  | - Both \"Oisin\" and \"Oisin\"                                       |\n  | - Both \"re-born\" and \"reborn\"                                    |\n  | - Both \"re-written\" and \"rewritten\"                              |\n  | - Both \"Reilig\" and \"Reilig\" Odhrain                             |\n  | - Both \"sea-fowl\" and \"seafowl\"                                  |\n  | - Both \"sea-weed\" and \"seaweed\"                                  |\n  | - Both \"sheiling-hymn\" and \"shealing-hymn\"                       |\n  | - \"Sliochd-nan-Ron,\" \"Sliochd nan Ron,\" and \"Sliochd-nan-ron\"    |\n  | - Both \"Sidhe\" and \"Sidhe\"                                       |\n  | - Both \"sun-down\" and \"sundown\"                                  |\n  | - Both \"Uain-ghil\" and \"Uain ghil\"                               |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | Some advertisements for other books published by William         |\n  | Heinemann were moved from the start (before the title) to the    |\n  | end of the text(after the Bibliographical Note).                 |\n  |                                                                  |\n  +------------------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Divine Adventure etc. (Works vol.\n4), by Fiona Macleod\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPASSAGES FROM THE FRENCH AND ITALIAN NOTE-BOOKS\n\nOF\n\nNATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\n\nVOL. I.\n\n\n\n\n\nPASSAGES FROM HAWTHORNE'S NOTE-BOOKS IN FRANCE AND ITALY.\n\n\n\n\nFRANCE.\n\n\nHotel de Louvre, January 6th, 1858.--On Tuesday morning, our dozen trunks\nand half-dozen carpet-bags being already packed and labelled, we began to\nprepare for our journey two or three hours before light. Two cabs were at\nthe door by half past six, and at seven we set out for the London Bridge\nstation, while it was still dark and bitterly cold.  There were already\nmany people in the streets, growing more numerous as we drove city-ward;\nand, in Newgate Street, there was such a number of market-carts, that we\nalmost came to a dead lock with some of them.  At the station we found\nseveral persons who were apparently going in the same train with us,\nsitting round the fire of the waiting-room.  Since I came to England\nthere has hardly been a morning when I should have less willingly\nbestirred myself before daylight; so sharp and inclement was the\natmosphere.  We started at half past eight, having taken through tickets\nto Paris by way of Folkestone and Boulogne.  A foot-warmer (a long, flat\ntin utensil, full of hot water) was put into the carriage just before we\nstarted; but it did not make us more than half comfortable, and the frost\nsoon began to cloud the windows, and shut out the prospect, so that we\ncould only glance at the green fields--immortally green, whatever winter\ncan do against them--and at, here and there, a stream or pool with the\nice forming on its borders.  It was the first cold weather of a very mild\nseason.  The snow began to fall in scattered and almost invisible flakes;\nand it seemed as if we had stayed our English welcome out, and were to\nfind nothing genial and hospitable there any more.\n\nAt Folkestone, we were deposited at a railway station close upon a\nshingly beach, on which the sea broke in foam, and which J----- reported\nas strewn with shells and star-fish; behind was the town, with an old\nchurch in the midst; and, close, at hand, the pier, where lay the steamer\nin which we were to embark.  But the air was so wintry, that I had no\nheart to explore the town, or pick up shells with J----- on the beach; so\nwe kept within doors during the two hours of our stay, now and then\nlooking out of the windows at a fishing-boat or two, as they pitched and\nrolled with an ugly and irregular motion, such as the British Channel\ngenerally communicates to the craft that navigate it.\n\nAt about one o'clock we went on board, and were soon under steam, at a\nrate that quickly showed a long line of the white cliffs of Albion behind\nus.  It is a very dusky white, by the by, and the cliffs themselves do\nnot seem, at a distance, to be of imposing height, and have too even an\noutline to be picturesque.\n\nAs we increased our distance from England, the French coast came more and\nmore distinctly in sight, with a low, wavy outline, not very well worth\nlooking at, except because it was the coast of France.  Indeed, I looked\nat it but little; for the wind was bleak and boisterous, and I went down\ninto the cabin, where I found the fire very comfortable, and several\npeople were stretched on sofas in a state of placid wretchedness. . . .\nI have never suffered from sea-sickness, but had been somewhat\napprehensive of this rough strait between England and France, which seems\nto have more potency over people's stomachs than ten times the extent of\nsea in other quarters.  Our passage was of two hours, at the end of which\nwe landed on French soil, and found ourselves immediately in the clutches\nof the custom-house officers, who, however, merely made a momentary\nexamination of my passport, and allowed us to pass without opening even\none of our carpet-bags.  The great bulk of our luggage had been\nregistered through to Paris, for examination after our arrival there.\n\nWe left Boulogne in about an hour after our arrival, when it was already\na darkening twilight.  The weather had grown colder than ever, since our\narrival in sunny France, and the night was now setting in, wickedly black\nand dreary.  The frost hardened upon the carriage windows in such\nthickness that I could scarcely scratch a peep-hole through it; but, from\nsuch glimpses as I could catch, the aspect of the country seemed pretty\nmuch to resemble the December aspect of my dear native land,--broad,\nbare, brown fields, with streaks of snow at the foot of ridges, and along\nfences, or in the furrows of ploughed soil.  There was ice wherever there\nhappened to be water to form it.\n\nWe had feet-warmers in the carriage, but the cold crept in nevertheless;\nand I do not remember hardly in my life a more disagreeable short journey\nthan this, my first advance into French territory.  My impression of\nFrance will always be that it is an Arctic region.  At any season of the\nyear, the tract over which we passed yesterday must be an uninteresting\none as regards its natural features; and the only adornment, as far as I\ncould observe, which art has given it, consists in straight rows of very\nstiff-looking and slender-stemmed trees.  In the dusk they resembled\npoplar-trees.\n\nWeary and frost-bitten,--morally, if not physically,--we reached Amiens\nin three or four hours, and here I underwent much annoyance from the\nFrench railway officials and attendants, who, I believe, did not mean to\nincommode me, but rather to forward my purposes as far as they well\ncould.  If they would speak slowly and distinctly I might understand them\nwell enough, being perfectly familiar with the written language, and\nknowing the principles of its pronunciation; but, in their customary\nrapid utterance, it sounds like a string of mere gabble.  When left to\nmyself, therefore, I got into great difficulties. . . . It gives a\ntaciturn personage like myself a new conception as to the value of\nspeech, even to him, when he finds himself unable either to speak or\nunderstand.\n\nFinally, being advised on all hands to go to the Hotel du Rhin, we were\ncarried thither in an omnibus, rattling over a rough pavement, through an\ninvisible and frozen town; and, on our arrival, were ushered into a\nhandsome salon, as chill as a tomb.  They made a little bit of a\nwood-fire for us in a low and deep chimney-hole, which let a hundred\ntimes more heat escape up the flue than it sent into the room.\n\nIn the morning we sallied forth to see the cathedral.\n\nThe aspect of the old French town was very different from anything\nEnglish; whiter, infinitely cleaner; higher and narrower houses, the\nentrance to most of which seeming to be through a great gateway,\naffording admission into a central court-yard; a public square, with a\nstatue in the middle, and another statue in a neighboring street.  We met\npriests in three-cornered hats, long frock-coats, and knee-breeches; also\nsoldiers and gendarmes, and peasants and children, clattering over the\npavements in wooden shoes.\n\nIt makes a great impression of outlandishness to see the signs over the\nshop doors in a foreign tongue.  If the cold had not been such as to dull\nmy sense of novelty, and make all my perceptions torpid, I should have\ntaken in a set of new impressions, and enjoyed them very much.  As it\nwas, I cared little for what I saw, but yet had life enough left to enjoy\nthe cathedral of Amiens, which has many features unlike those of English\ncathedrals.\n\nIt stands in the midst of the cold, white town, and has a high-shouldered\nlook to a spectator accustomed to the minsters of England, which cover a\ngreat space of ground in proportion to their height.  The impression the\nlatter gives is of magnitude and mass; this French cathedral strikes one\nas lofty.  The exterior is venerable, though but little time-worn by the\naction of the atmosphere; and statues still keep their places in numerous\nniches, almost as perfect as when first placed there in the thirteenth\ncentury.  The principal doors are deep, elaborately wrought, pointed\narches; and the interior seemed to us, at the moment, as grand as any\nthat we had seen, and to afford as vast an idea of included space; it\nbeing of such an airy height, and with no screen between the chancel and\nnave, as in all the English cathedrals.  We saw the differences, too,\nbetwixt a church in which the same form of worship for which it was\noriginally built is still kept up, and those of England, where it has\nbeen superseded for centuries; for here, in the recess of every arch of\nthe side aisles, beneath each lofty window, there was a chapel dedicated\nto some Saint, and adorned with great marble sculptures of the\ncrucifixion, and with pictures, execrably bad, in all cases, and various\nkinds of gilding and ornamentation.  Immensely tall wax candles stand\nupon the altars of these chapels, and before one sat a woman, with a\ngreat supply of tapers, one of which was burning.  I suppose these were\nto be lighted as offerings to the saints, by the true believers.\nArtificial flowers were hung at some of the shrines, or placed under\nglass.  In every chapel, moreover, there was a confessional,--a little\noaken structure, about as big as a sentry-box, with a closed part for the\npriest to sit in, and an open one for the penitent to kneel at, and\nspeak, through the open-work of the priest's closet.  Monuments, mural\nand others, to long-departed worthies, and images of the Saviour, the\nVirgin, and saints, were numerous everywhere about the church; and in the\nchancel there was a great deal of quaint and curious sculpture, fencing\nin the Holy of Holies, where the High Altar stands.  There is not much\npainted glass; one or two very rich and beautiful rose-windows, however,\nthat looked antique; and the great eastern window which, I think, is\nmodern.  The pavement has, probably, never been renewed, as one piece of\nwork, since the structure was erected, and is foot-worn by the successive\ngenerations, though still in excellent repair.  I saw one of the small,\nsquare stones in it, bearing the date of 1597, and no doubt there are a\nthousand older ones.  It was gratifying to find the cathedral in such\ngood condition, without any traces of recent repair; and it is perhaps a\nmark of difference between French and English character, that the\nRevolution in the former country, though all religious worship disappears\nbefore it, does not seem to have caused such violence to ecclesiastical\nmonuments, as the Reformation and the reign of Puritanism in the latter.\nI did not see a mutilated shrine, or even a broken-nosed image, in the\nwhole cathedral.  But, probably, the very rage of the English fanatics\nagainst idolatrous tokens, and their smashing blows at them, were\nsymptoms of sincerer religious faith than the French were capable of.\nThese last did not care enough about their Saviour to beat down his\ncrucified image; and they preserved the works of sacred art, for the sake\nonly of what beauty there was in them.\n\nWhile we were in the cathedral, we saw several persons kneeling at their\ndevotions on the steps of the chancel and elsewhere.  One dipped his\nfingers in the holy water at the entrance: by the by, I looked into the\nstone basin that held it, and saw it full of ice.  Could not all that\nsanctity at least keep it thawed?  Priests--jolly, fat, mean-looking\nfellows, in white robes--went hither and thither, but did not interrupt\nor accost us.\n\nThere were other peculiarities, which I suppose I shall see more of in my\nvisits to other churches, but now we were all glad to make our stay as\nbrief as possible, the atmosphere of the cathedral being so bleak, and\nits stone pavement so icy cold beneath our feet.  We returned to the\nhotel, and the chambermaid brought me a book, in which she asked me to\ninscribe my name, age, profession, country, destination, and the\nauthorization under which I travelled.  After the freedom of an English\nhotel, so much greater than even that of an American one, where they make\nyou disclose your name, this is not so pleasant.\n\nWe left Amiens at half past one; and I can tell as little of the country\nbetween that place and Paris, as between Boulogne and Amiens.  The\nwindows of our railway carriage were already frosted with French breath\nwhen we got into it, and the ice grew thicker and thicker continually.  I\ntried, at various times, to rub a peep-hole through, as before; but the\nice immediately shot its crystallized tracery over it again; and, indeed,\nthere was little or nothing to make it worth while to look out, so bleak\nwas the scene.  Now and then a chateau, too far off for its\ncharacteristics to be discerned; now and then a church, with a tall gray\ntower, and a little peak atop; here and there a village or a town, which\nwe could not well see.  At sunset there was just that clear, cold, wintry\nsky which I remember so well in America, but have never seen in England.\n\nAt five we reached Paris, and were suffered to take a carriage to the\nhotel de Louvre, without any examination of the little luggage we had\nwith us.  Arriving, we took a suite of apartments, and the waiter\nimmediately lighted a wax candle in each separate room.\n\nWe might have dined at the table d'hote, but preferred the restaurant\nconnected with and within the hotel.  All the dishes were very delicate,\nand a vast change from the simple English system, with its joints,\nshoulders, beefsteaks, and chops; but I doubt whether English cookery,\nfor the very reason that it is so simple, is not better for men's moral\nand spiritual nature than French.  In the former case, you know that you\nare gratifying your animal needs and propensities, and are duly ashamed\nof it; but, in dealing with these French delicacies, you delude yourself\ninto the idea that you are cultivating your taste while satisfying your\nappetite.  This last, however, it requires a good deal of perseverance to\naccomplish.\n\nIn the cathedral at Amiens there were printed lists of acts of devotion\nposted on the columns, such as prayers at the shrines of certain saints,\nwhereby plenary indulgences might be gained.  It is to be observed,\nhowever, that all these external forms were necessarily accompanied with\ntrue penitence and religious devotion.\n\n\nHotel de Louvre, January 8th.--It was so fearfully cold this morning that\nI really felt little or no curiosity to see the city. . . . Until after\none o'clock, therefore, I knew nothing of Paris except the lights which I\nhad seen beneath our window the evening before, far, far downward, in the\nnarrow Rue St. Honore, and the rumble of the wheels, which continued\nlater than I was awake to hear it, and began again before dawn.  I could\nsee, too, tall houses, that seemed to be occupied in every story, and\nthat had windows on the steep roofs.  One of these houses is six stories\nhigh.  This Rue St. Honore is one of the old streets in Paris, and is\nthat in which Henry IV. was assassinated; but it has not, in this part of\nit, the aspect of antiquity.\n\nAfter one o'clock we all went out and walked along the Rue de\nRivoli. . . . We are here, right in the midst of Paris, and close to\nwhatever is best known to those who hear or read about it,--the Louvre\nbeing across the street, the Palais Royal but a little way off, the\nTuileries joining to the Louvre, the Place de la Concorde just beyond,\nverging on which is the Champs Elysees.  We looked about us for a\nsuitable place to dine, and soon found the Restaurant des Echelles, where\nwe entered at a venture, and were courteously received.  It has a\nhandsomely furnished saloon, much set off with gilding and mirrors; and\nappears to be frequented by English and Americans; its carte, a bound\nvolume, being printed in English as well as French. . . .\n\nIt was now nearly four o'clock, and too late to visit the galleries of\nthe Louvre, or to do anything else but walk a little way along the\nstreet.  The splendor of Paris, so far as I have seen, takes me\naltogether by surprise: such stately edifices, prolonging themselves in\nunwearying magnificence and beauty, and, ever and anon, a long vista of a\nstreet, with a column rising at the end of it, or a triumphal arch,\nwrought in memory of some grand event.  The light stone or stucco, wholly\nuntarnished by smoke and soot, puts London to the blush, if a blush could\nbe seen on its dingy face; but, indeed, London is not to be mentioned,\nnor compared even, with Paris.  I never knew what a palace was till I had\na glimpse of the Louvre and the Tuileries; never had my idea of a city\nbeen gratified till I trod these stately streets.  The life of the scene,\ntoo, is infinitely more picturesque than that of London, with its\nmonstrous throng of grave faces and black coats; whereas, here, you see\nsoldiers and priests, policemen in cocked hats, Zonaves with turbans,\nlong mantles, and bronzed, half-Moorish faces; and a great many people\nwhom you perceive to be outside of your experience, and know them ugly to\nlook at, and fancy them villanous.  Truly, I have no sympathies towards\nthe French people; their eyes do not win me, nor do their glances melt\nand mingle with mine.  But they do grand and beautiful things in the\narchitectural way; and I am grateful for it.  The Place de la Concorde is\na most splendid square, large enough for a nation to erect trophies in of\nall its triumphs; and on one side of it is the Tuileries, on the opposite\nside the Champs Elysees, and, on a third, the Seine, adown which we saw\nlarge cakes of ice floating, beneath the arches of a bridge.  The Champs\nElysees, so far as I saw it, had not a grassy soil beneath its trees, but\nthe bare earth, white and dusty.  The very dust, if I saw nothing else,\nwould assure me that I was out of England.\n\nWe had time only to take this little walk, when it began to grow dusk;\nand, being so pitilessly cold, we hurried back to our hotel.  Thus far, I\nthink, what I have seen of Paris is wholly unlike what I expected; but\nvery like an imaginary picture which I had conceived of St. Petersburg,--\nnew, bright, magnificent, and desperately cold.\n\nA great part of this architectural splendor is due to the present\nEmperor, who has wrought a great change in the aspect of the city within\na very few years.  A traveller, if he looks at the thing selfishly, ought\nto wish him a long reign and arbitrary power, since he makes it his\npolicy to illustrate his capital with palatial edifices, which are,\nhowever, better for a stranger to look at, than for his own people to pay\nfor.\n\nWe have spent to-day chiefly in seeing some of the galleries of the\nLouvre.  I must confess that the vast and beautiful edifice struck me far\nmore than the pictures, sculpture, and curiosities which it contains,--\nthe shell more than the kernel inside; such noble suites of rooms and\nhalls were those through which we first passed, containing Egyptian, and,\nfarther onward, Greek and Roman antiquities; the walls cased in\nvariegated marbles; the ceilings glowing with beautiful frescos; the\nwhole extended into infinite vistas by mirrors that seemed like vacancy,\nand multiplied everything forever.  The picture-rooms are not so\nbrilliant, and the pictures themselves did not greatly win upon me in\nthis one day.  Many artists were employed in copying them, especially in\nthe rooms hung with the productions of French painters.  Not a few of\nthese copyists were females; most of them were young men, picturesquely\nmustached and bearded; but some were elderly, who, it was pitiful to\nthink, had passed through life without so much success as now to paint\npictures of their own.\n\nFrom the pictures we went into a suite of rooms where are preserved many\nrelics of the ancient and later kings of France; more relics of the elder\nones, indeed, than I supposed had remained extant through the Revolution.\nThe French seem to like to keep memorials of whatever they do, and of\nwhatever their forefathers have done, even if it be ever so little to\ntheir credit; and perhaps they do not take matters sufficiently to heart\nto detest anything that has ever happened.  What surprised me most were\nthe golden sceptre and the magnificent sword and other gorgeous relics of\nCharlemagne,--a person whom I had always associated with a sheepskin\ncloak.  There were suits of armor and weapons that had been worn and\nhandled by a great many of the French kings; and a religious book that\nhad belonged to St. Louis; a dressing-glass, most richly set with\nprecious stones, which formerly stood on the toilet-table of Catherine\nde' Medici, and in which I saw my own face where hers had been.  And\nthere were a thousand other treasures, just as well worth mentioning as\nthese.  If each monarch could have been summoned from Hades to claim his\nown relics, we should have had the halls full of the old Childerics,\nCharleses, Bourbons and Capets, Henrys and Louises, snatching with\nghostly hands at sceptres, swords, armor, and mantles; and Napoleon would\nhave seen, apparently, almost everything that personally belonged to\nhim,--his coat, his cocked hats, his camp-desk, his field-bed, his\nknives, forks, and plates, and even a lock of his hair.  I must let it\nall go.  These things cannot be reproduced by pen and ink.\n\n\nHotel de Louvre, January 9th.--. . . . Last evening Mr. Fezaudie called.\nHe spoke very freely respecting the Emperor and the hatred entertained\nagainst him in France; but said that he is more powerful, that is, more\nfirmly fixed as a ruler, than ever the first Napoleon was.  We, who look\nback upon the first Napoleon as one of the eternal facts of the past, a\ngreat bowlder in history, cannot well estimate how momentary and\ninsubstantial the great Captain may have appeared to those who beheld his\nrise out of obscurity.  They never, perhaps, took the reality of his\ncareer fairly into their minds, before it was over.  The present Emperor,\nI believe, has already been as long in possession of the supreme power as\nhis uncle was.  I should like to see him, and may, perhaps, do--so, as he\nis our neighbor, across the way.\n\nThis morning Miss ------, the celebrated astronomical lady, called.  She\nhad brought a letter of introduction to me, while consul; and her purpose\nnow was to see if we could take her as one of our party to Rome, whither\nshe likewise is bound.  We readily consented, for she seems to be a\nsimple, strong, healthy-humored woman, who will not fling herself as a\nburden on our shoulders; and my only wonder is that a person evidently so\nable to take care of herself should wish to have an escort.\n\nWe issued forth at about eleven, and went down the Rue St. Honore, which\nis narrow, and has houses of five or six stories on either side, between\nwhich run the streets like a gully in a rock.  One face of our hotel\nborders and looks on this street.  After going a good way, we came to an\nintersection with another street, the name of which I forget; but, at\nthis point, Ravaillac sprang at the carriage of Henry IV. and plunged his\ndagger into him.  As we went down the Rue St. Honore, it grew more and\nmore thronged, and with a meaner class of people.  The houses still were\nhigh, and without the shabbiness of exterior that distinguishes the old\npart of London, being of light- stone; but I never saw anything\nthat so much came up to my idea of a swarming city as this narrow,\ncrowded, and rambling street.\n\nThence we turned into the Rue St. Denis, which is one of the oldest\nstreets in Paris, and is said to have been first marked out by the track\nof the saint's footsteps, where, after his martyrdom, he walked along it,\nwith his head under his arm, in quest of a burial-place.  This legend may\naccount for any crookedness of the street; for it could not reasonably be\nasked of a headless man that he should walk straight.\n\nThrough some other indirections we at last found the Rue Bergere, down\nwhich I went with J----- in quest of Hottinguer et Co., the bankers,\nwhile the rest of us went along the Boulevards, towards the Church of the\nMadeleine. . . . This business accomplished, J----- and I threaded our\nway back, and overtook the rest of the party, still a good distance from\nthe Madeleine.  I know not why the Boulevards are called so.  They are a\nsuccession of broad walks through broad streets, and were much thronged\nwith people, most of whom appeared to be bent more on pleasure than\nbusiness.  The sun, long before this, had come out brightly, and gave us\nthe first genial and comfortable sensations which we have had in Paris.\n\nApproaching the Madeleine, we found it a most beautiful church, that\nmight have been adapted from Heathenism to Catholicism; for on each side\nthere is a range of magnificent pillars, unequalled, except by those of\nthe Parthenon.  A mourning-coach, arrayed in black and silver, was drawn\nup at the steps, and the front of the church was hung with black cloth,\nwhich covered the whole entrance.  However, seeing the people going in,\nwe entered along with them.  Glorious and gorgeous is the Madeleine.  The\nentrance to the nave is beneath a most stately arch; and three arches of\nequal height open from the nave to the side aisles; and at the end of the\nnave is another great arch, rising, with a vaulted half-dome, over the\nhigh altar.  The pillars supporting these arches are Corinthian, with\nrichly sculptured capitals; and wherever gilding might adorn the church,\nit is lavished like sunshine; and within the sweeps of the arches there\nare fresco paintings of sacred subjects, and a beautiful picture covers\nthe hollow of the vault over the altar; all this, besides much sculpture;\nand especially a group above and around the high altar, representing the\nMagdalen smiling down upon angels and archangels, some of whom are\nkneeling, and shadowing themselves with their heavy marble wings.  There\nis no such thing as making my page glow with the most distant idea of the\nmagnificence of this church, in its details and in its whole.  It was\nfounded a hundred or two hundred years ago; then Bonaparte contemplated\ntransforming it into a Temple of Victory, or building it anew as one.\nThe restored Bourbons remade it into a church; but it still has a\nheathenish look, and will never lose it.\n\nWhen we entered we saw a crowd of people, all pressing forward towards\nthe high altar, before which burned a hundred wax lights, some of which\nwere six or seven feet high; and, altogether, they shone like a galaxy of\nstars.  In the middle of the nave, moreover, there was another galaxy of\nwax candles burning around an immense pall of black velvet, embroidered\nwith silver, which seemed to cover, not only a coffin, but a sarcophagus,\nor something still more huge.  The organ was rumbling forth a deep,\nlugubrious bass, accompanied with heavy chanting of priests, out of which\nsometimes rose the clear, young voices of choristers, like light flashing\nout of the gloom.  The church, between the arches, along the nave, and\nround the altar, was hung with broad expanses of black cloth; and all the\npriests had their sacred vestments covered with black.  They looked\nexceedingly well; I never saw anything half so well got up on the stage.\nSome of these ecclesiastical figures were very stately and noble, and\nknelt and bowed, and bore aloft the cross, and swung the censers in a way\nthat I liked to see.  The ceremonies of the Catholic Church were a superb\nwork of art, or perhaps a true growth of man's religious nature; and so\nlong as men felt their original meaning, they must have been full of awe\nand glory.  Being of another parish, I looked on coldly, but not\nirreverently, and was glad to see the funeral service so well performed,\nand very glad when it was over.  What struck me as singular, the person\nwho performed the part usually performed by a verger, keeping order among\nthe audience, wore a gold-embroidered scarf, a cocked hat, and, I\nbelieve, a sword, and had the air of a military man.\n\nBefore the close of the service a contribution-box--or, rather, a black\nvelvet bag--was handed about by this military verger; and I gave J----- a\nfranc to put in, though I did not in the least know for what.\n\nIssuing from the church, we inquired of two or three persons who was the\ndistinguished defunct at whose obsequies we had been assisting, for we\nhad some hope that it might be Rachel, who died last week, and is still\nabove ground.  But it proved to be only a Madame Mentel, or some such\nname, whom nobody had ever before heard of.  I forgot to say that her\ncoffin was taken from beneath the illuminated pall, and carried out of\nthe church before us.\n\nWhen we left the Madeleine we took our way to the Place de la Concorde,\nand thence through the Elysian Fields (which, I suppose, are the French\nidea of heaven) to Bonaparte's triumphal arch.  The Champs Elysees may\nlook pretty in summer; though I suspect they must be somewhat dry and\nartificial at whatever season,--the trees being slender and scraggy, and\nrequiring to be renewed every few years.  The soil is not genial to them.\nThe strangest peculiarity of this place, however, to eyes fresh from\nmoist and verdant England, is, that there is not one blade of grass in\nall the Elysian Fields, nothing but hard clay, now covered with white\ndust.  It gives the whole scene the air of being a contrivance of man, in\nwhich Nature has either not been invited to take any part, or has\ndeclined to do so.  There were merry-go-rounds, wooden horses, and other\nprovision for children's amusements among the trees; and booths, and\ntables of cakes, and candy-women; and restaurants on the borders of the\nwood; but very few people there; and doubtless we can form no idea of\nwhat the scene might become when alive with French gayety and vivacity.\n\nAs we walked onward the Triumphal Arch began to loom up in the distance,\nlooking huge and massive, though still a long way off.  It was not,\nhowever, till we stood almost beneath it that we really felt the grandeur\nof this great arch, including so large a space of the blue sky in its\nairy sweep.  At a distance it impresses the spectator with its solidity;\nnearer, with the lofty vacancy beneath it.  There is a spiral staircase\nwithin one of its immense limbs; and, climbing steadily upward, lighted\nby a lantern which the doorkeeper's wife gave us, we had a bird's-eye\nview of Paris, much obscured by smoke or mist.  Several interminable\navenues shoot with painful directness right towards it.\n\nOn our way homeward we visited the Place Vendome, in the centre of which\nis a tall column, sculptured from top to bottom, all over the pedestal,\nand all over the shaft, and with Napoleon himself on the summit.  The\nshaft is wreathed round and roundabout with representations of what, as\nfar as I could distinguish, seemed to be the Emperor's victories.  It has\na very rich effect.  At the foot of the column we saw wreaths of\nartificial flowers, suspended there, no doubt, by some admirer of\nNapoleon, still ardent enough to expend a franc or two in this way.\n\n\nHotel de Louvre, January 10th.--We had purposed going to the Cathedral\nof Notre Dame to-day, but the weather and walking were too unfavorable\nfor a distant expedition; so we merely went across the street to the\nLouvre. . . . .\n\nOur principal object this morning was to see the pencil drawings by\neminent artists.  Of these the Louvre has a very rich collection,\noccupying many apartments, and comprising sketches by Annibale Caracci,\nClaude, Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Michel Angelo, Rubens, Rembrandt, and\nalmost all the other great masters, whether French, Italian, Dutch, or\nwhatever else; the earliest drawings of their great pictures, when they\nhad the glory of their pristine idea directly before their minds' eye,--\nthat idea which inevitably became overlaid with their own handling of it\nin the finished painting.  No doubt the painters themselves had often a\nhappiness in these rude, off-hand sketches, which they never felt again\nin the same work, and which resulted in disappointment, after they had\ndone their best.  To an artist, the collection must be most deeply\ninteresting: to myself, it was merely curious, and soon grew wearisome.\n\nIn the same suite of apartments, there is a collection of miniatures,\nsome of them very exquisite, and absolutely lifelike, on their small\nscale.  I observed two of Franklin, both good and picturesque, one of\nthem especially so, with its cloud-like white hair.  I do not think we\nhave produced a man so interesting to contemplate, in many points of\nview, as he.  Most of our great men are of a character that I find it\nimpossible to warm into life by thought, or by lavishing any amount of\nsympathy upon them.  Not so Franklin, who had a great deal of common and\nuncommon human nature in him.\n\nMuch of the time, while my wife was looking at the drawings, I sat\nobserving the crowd of Sunday visitors.  They were generally of a lower\nclass than those of week-days; private soldiers in a variety of uniforms,\nand, for the most part, ugly little men, but decorous and well behaved.\nI saw medals on many of their breasts, denoting Crimean service; some\nwore the English medal, with Queen Victoria's head upon it.  A blue\ncoat, with red baggy trousers, was the most usual uniform.  Some had\nshort-breasted coats, made in the same style as those of the first\nNapoleon, which we had seen in the preceding rooms.  The policemen,\ndistributed pretty abundantly about the rooms, themselves looked\nmilitary, wearing cocked hats and swords.  There were many women of the\nmiddling classes; some, evidently, of the lowest, but clean and decent,\nin  gowns and caps; and laboring men, citizens, Sunday gentlemen,\nyoung artists, too, no doubt looking with educated eyes at these\nart-treasures, and I think, as a general thing, each man was mated with a\nwoman.  The soldiers, however, came in pairs or little squads,\naccompanied by women.  I did not much like any of the French faces, and\nyet I am not sure that there is not more resemblance between them and the\nAmerican physiognomy, than between the latter and the English.  The women\nare not pretty, but in all ranks above the lowest they have a trained\nexpression that supplies the place of beauty.\n\nI was wearied to death with the drawings, and began to have that dreary\nand desperate feeling which has often come upon me when the sights last\nlonger than my capacity for receiving them.  As our time in Paris,\nhowever, is brief and precious, we next inquired our way to the galleries\nof sculpture, and these alone are of astounding extent, reaching, I\nshould think, all round one quadrangle of the Louvre, on the basement\nfloor.  Hall after hall opened interminably before us, and on either side\nof us, paved and incrusted with variegated and beautifully polished\nmarble, relieved against which stand the antique statues and groups,\ninterspersed with great urns and vases, sarcophagi, altars, tablets,\nbusts of historic personages, and all manner of shapes of marble which\nconsummate art has transmuted into precious stones.  Not that I really\ndid feel much impressed by any of this sculpture then, nor saw more than\ntwo or three things which I thought very beautiful; but whether it be\ngood or no, I suppose the world has nothing better, unless it be a few\nworld-renowned statues in Italy.  I was even more struck by the skill and\ningenuity of the French in arranging these sculptural remains, than by\nthe value of the sculptures themselves.  The galleries, I should judge,\nhave been recently prepared, and on a magnificent system,--the adornments\nbeing yet by no means completed,--for besides the floor and wall-casings\nof rich, polished marble, the vaulted ceilings of some of the apartments\nare painted in fresco, causing them to glow as if the sky were opened.\nIt must be owned, however, that the statuary, often time-worn and\ndarkened from its original brilliancy by weather-stains, does not suit\nwell as furniture for such splendid rooms.  When we see a perfection of\nmodern finish around them, we recognize that most of these statues have\nbeen thrown down from their pedestals, hundreds of years ago, and have\nbeen battered and externally degraded; and though whatever spiritual\nbeauty they ever had may still remain, yet this is not made more apparent\nby the contrast betwixt the new gloss of modern upholstery, and their\ntarnished, even if immortal grace.  I rather think the English have given\nreally the more hospitable reception to the maimed Theseus, and his\nbroken-nosed, broken-legged, headless companions, because flouting them\nwith no gorgeous fittings up.\n\nBy this time poor J----- (who, with his taste for art yet undeveloped, is\nthe companion of all our visits to sculpture and picture galleries) was\nwofully hungry, and for bread we had given him a stone,--not one stone,\nbut a thousand.  We returned to the hotel, and it being too damp and raw\nto go to our Restaurant des Echelles, we dined at the hotel.  In my\nopinion it would require less time to cultivate our gastronomic taste\nthan taste of any other kind; and, on the whole, I am not sure that a man\nwould not be wise to afford himself a little discipline in this line.  It\nis certainly throwing away the bounties of Providence, to treat them as\nthe English do, producing from better materials than the French have to\nwork upon nothing but sirloins, joints, joints, steaks, steaks, steaks,\nchops, chops, chops, chops!  We had a soup to-day, in which twenty kinds\nof vegetables were represented, and manifested each its own aroma; a\nfillet of stewed beef, and a fowl, in some sort of delicate fricassee.\nWe had a bottle of Chablis, and renewed ourselves, at the close of the\nbanquet, with a plate of Chateaubriand ice.  It was all very good, and we\nrespected ourselves far more than if we had eaten a quantity of red roast\nbeef; but I am not quite sure that we were right. . . .\n\nAmong the relics of kings and princes, I do not know that there was\nanything more interesting than a little brass cannon, two or three inches\nlong, which had been a toy of the unfortunate Dauphin, son of Louis XVI.\nThere was a map,--a hemisphere of the world,--which his father had drawn\nfor this poor boy; very neatly done, too.  The sword of Louis XVI., a\nmagnificent rapier, with a beautifully damasked blade, and a jewelled\nscabbard, but without a hilt, is likewise preserved, as is the hilt of\nHenry IV.'s sword.  But it is useless to begin a catalogue of these\nthings.  What a collection it is, including Charlemagne's sword and\nsceptre, and the last Dauphin's little toy cannon, and so much between\nthe two!\n\n\nHotel de Louvre, January 11th.--This was another chill, raw day,\ncharacterized by a spitefulness of atmosphere which I do not remember\never to have experienced in my own dear country.  We meant to have\nvisited the Hotel des Invalides, but J----- and I walked to the Tivoli,\nthe Place de la Concorde, the Champs Elysees, and to the Place de\nBeaujou, and to the residence of the American minister, where I wished to\narrange about my passport.  After speaking with the Secretary of\nLegation, we were ushered into the minister's private room, where he\nreceived me with great kindness.  Mr. ------ is an old gentleman with a\nwhite head, and a large, florid face, which has an expression of\namiability, not unmingled with a certain dignity.  He did not rise from\nhis arm-chair to greet me,--a lack of ceremony which I imputed to the\ngout, feeling it impossible that he should have willingly failed in\ncourtesy to one of his twenty-five million sovereigns.  In response to\nsome remark of mine about the shabby way in which our government treats\nits officials pecuniarily, he gave a detailed account of his own troubles\non that score; then expressed a hope that I had made a good thing out of\nmy consulate, and inquired whether I had received a hint to resign; to\nwhich I replied that, for various reasons, I had resigned of my own\naccord, and before Mr. Buchanan's inauguration.  We agreed, however, in\ndisapproving the system of periodical change in our foreign officials;\nand I remarked that a consul or an ambassador ought to be a citizen both\nof his native country and of the one in which he resided; and that his\npossibility of beneficent influence depended largely on his being so.\nApropos to which Mr. ------ said that he had once asked a diplomatic\nfriend of long experience, what was the first duty of a minister.  \"To\nlove his own country, and to watch over its interests,\" answered the\ndiplomatist.  \"And his second duty?\" asked Mr. ------.  \"To love and to\npromote the interests of the country to which he is accredited,\" said his\nfriend.  This is a very Christian and sensible view of the matter; but it\ncan scarcely have happened once in our whole diplomatic history, that a\nminister can have had time to overcome his first rude and ignorant\nprejudice against the country of his mission; and if there were any\nsuspicion of his having done so, it would be held abundantly sufficient\nground for his recall.  I like Mr. ------, a good-hearted, sensible old\nman.\n\nJ-----  and I returned along the Champs Elysees, and, crossing the Seine,\nkept on our way by the river's brink, looking at the titles of books on\nthe long lines of stalls that extend between the bridges.  Novels,\nfairy-tales, dream books, treatises of behavior and etiquette,\ncollections of bon-mots and of songs, were interspersed with volumes in\nthe old style of calf and gilt binding, the works of the classics of\nFrench literature.  A good many persons, of the poor classes, and of\nthose apparently well to do, stopped transitorily to look at these books.\nOn the other side of the street was a range of tall edifices with shops\nbeneath, and the quick stir of French life hurrying, and babbling, and\nswarming along the sidewalk.  We passed two or three bridges, occurring\nat short intervals, and at last we recrossed the Seine by a bridge which\noversteps the river, from a point near the National Institute, and\nreaches the other side, not far from the Louvre. . . .\n\nThough the day was so disagreeable, we thought it best not to lose the\nremainder of it, and therefore set out to visit the Cathedral of Notre\nDame.  We took a fiacre in the Place de Carousel, and drove to the door.\nOn entering, we found the interior miserably shut off from view by the\nstagings erected for the purpose of repairs.  Penetrating from the nave\ntowards the chancel, an official personage signified to us that we must\nfirst purchase a ticket for each grown person, at the price of half a\nfranc each.  This expenditure admitted us into the sacristy, where we\nwere taken in charge by a guide, who came down upon us with an avalanche\nor cataract of French, descriptive of a great many treasures reposited in\nthis chapel.  I understood hardly more than one word in ten, but gathered\ndoubtfully that a bullet which was shown us was the one that killed the\nlate Archbishop of Paris, on the floor of the cathedral.  [But this was a\nmistake.  It was the archbishop who was killed in the insurrection of\n1848.  Two joints of his backbone were also shown.]  Also, that some\ngorgeously embroidered vestments, which he drew forth, had been used at\nthe coronation of Napoleon I.  There were two large, full-length\nportraits hanging aloft in the sacristy, and a gold or silver gilt, or,\nat all events, gilt image of the Virgin, as large as life, standing on a\npedestal.  The guide had much to say about these, but, understanding him\nso imperfectly, I have nothing to record.\n\nThe guide's supervision of us seemed not to extend beyond this sacristy,\non quitting which he gave us permission to go where we pleased, only\nintimating a hope that we would not forget him; so I gave him half a\nfranc, though thereby violating an inhibition on the printed ticket of\nentrance.\n\nWe had been much disappointed at first by the apparently narrow limits\nof the interior of this famous church; but now, as we made our way round\nthe choir, gazing into chapel after chapel, each with its painted window,\nits crucifix, its pictures, its confessional, and afterwards came back\ninto the nave, where arch rises above arch to the lofty roof, we came to\nthe conclusion that it was very sumptuous.  It is the greatest of pities\nthat its grandeur and solemnity should just now be so infinitely marred\nby the workmen's boards, timber, and ladders occupying the whole centre\nof the edifice, and screening all its best effects.  It seems to have\nbeen already most richly ornamented, its roof being painted, and the\ncapitals of the pillars gilded, and their shafts illuminated in fresco;\nand no doubt it will shine out gorgeously when all the repairs and\nadornments shall be completed.  Even now it gave to my actual sight what\nI have often tried to imagine in my visits to the English cathedrals,--\nthe pristine glory of those edifices, when they stood glowing with gold\nand picture, fresh from the architects' and adorners' hands.\n\nThe interior loftiness of Notre Dame, moreover, gives it a sublimity\nwhich would swallow up anything that might look gewgawy in its\nornamentation, were we to consider it window by window, or pillar by\npillar.  It is an advantage of these vast edifices, rising over us and\nspreading about us in such a firmamental way, that we cannot spoil them\nby any pettiness of our own, but that they receive (or absorb) our\npettiness into their own immensity.  Every little fantasy finds its place\nand propriety in them, like a flower on the earth's broad bosom.\n\nWhen we emerged from the cathedral, we found it beginning to rain or\nsnow, or both; and, as we had dismissed our fiacre at the door, and could\nfind no other, we were at a loss what to do.  We stood a few moments on\nthe steps of the Hotel Dieu, looking up at the front of Notre Dame, with\nits twin towers, and its three deep-pointed arches, piercing through a\ngreat thickness of stone, and throwing a cavern-like gloom around these\nentrances.  The front is very rich.  Though so huge, and all of gray\nstone, it is carved and fretted with statues and innumerable devices, as\ncunningly as any ivory casket in which relics are kept; but its size did\nnot so much impress me. . . .\n\n\nHotel de Louvre, January 12th.--This has been a bright day as regards\nweather; but I have done little or nothing worth recording.  After\nbreakfast, I set out in quest of the consul, and found him up a court, at\n51 Rue Caumartin, in an office rather smaller, I think, than mine at\nLiverpool; but, to say the truth, a little better furnished.  I was\nreceived in the outer apartment by an elderly, brisk-looking man, in\nwhose air, respectful and subservient, and yet with a kind of authority\nin it, I recognized the vice-consul.  He introduced me to Mr. ------, who\nsat writing in an inner room; a very gentlemanly, courteous, cool man of\nthe world, whom I should take to be an excellent person for consul at\nParis.  He tells me that he has resided here some years, although his\noccupancy of the consulate dates only from November last.  Consulting him\nrespecting my passport, he gave me what appear good reasons why I should\nget all the necessary vises here; for example, that the vise of a\nminister carries more weight than that of a consul; and especially that\nan Austrian consul will never vise a passport unless he sees his\nminister's name upon it.  Mr. ------ has travelled much in Italy, and\nought to be able to give me sound advice.  His opinion was, that at this\nseason of the year I had better go by steamer to Civita Veechia, instead\nof landing at Leghorn, and thence journeying to Rome.  On this point I\nshall decide when the time comes.  As I left the office the vice-consul\ninformed me that there was a charge of five francs and some sous for the\nconsul's vise, a tax which surprised me,--the whole business of passports\nhaving been taken from consuls before I quitted office, and the consular\nfee having been annulled even earlier.  However, no doubt Mr. ------ had\na fair claim to my five francs; but, really, it is not half so pleasant\nto pay a consular fee as it used to be to receive it.\n\nAfterwards I walked to Notre Dame, the rich front of which I viewed with\nmore attention than yesterday.  There are whole histories, carved in\nstone figures, within the vaulted arches of the three entrances in this\nwest front, and twelve apostles in a row above, and as much other\nsculpture as would take a month to see.  We then walked quite round it,\nbut I had no sense of immensity from it, not even that of great height,\nas from many of the cathedrals in England.  It stands very near the\nSeine; indeed, if I mistake not, it is on an island formed by two\nbranches of the river.  Behind it, is what seems to be a small public\nground (or garden, if a space entirely denuded of grass or other green\nthing, except a few trees, can be called so), with benches, and a\nmonument in the midst.  This quarter of the city looks old, and appears\nto be inhabited by poor people, and to be busied about small and petty\naffairs; the most picturesque business that I saw being that of the old\nwoman who sells crucifixes of pearl and of wood at the cathedral door.\nWe bought two of these yesterday.\n\nI must again speak of the horrible muddiness, not only of this part of\nthe city, but of all Paris, so far as I have traversed it to-day.  My\nways, since I came to Europe, have often lain through nastiness, but I\nnever before saw a pavement so universally overspread with mud-padding as\nthat of Paris.  It is difficult to imagine where so much filth can come\nfrom.\n\nAfter dinner I walked through the gardens of the Tuileries; but as dusk\nwas coming on, and as I was afraid of being shut up within the iron\nrailing, I did not have time to examine them particularly.  There are\nwide, intersecting walks, fountains, broad basins, and many statues; but\nalmost the whole surface of the gardens is barren earth, instead of the\nverdure that would beautify an English pleasure-ground of this sort.  In\nthe summer it has doubtless an agreeable shade; but at this season the\nnaked branches look meagre, and sprout from slender trunks.  Like the\ntrees in the Champs Elysees, those, I presume, in the gardens of the\nTuileries need renewing every few years.  The same is true of the human\nrace,--families becoming extinct after a generation or two of residence\nin Paris.  Nothing really thrives here; man and vegetables have but an\nartificial life, like flowers stuck in a little mould, but never taking\nroot.  I am quite tired of Paris, and long for a home more than ever.\n\n\n\nMARSEILLES.\n\n\nHotel d'Angleterre, January 15th.--On Tuesday morning, (12th) we took our\ndeparture from the Hotel de Louvre.  It is a most excellent and perfectly\nordered hotel, and I have not seen a more magnificent hall, in any\npalace, than the dining-saloon, with its profuse gilding, and its\nceiling, painted in compartments; so that when the chandeliers are all\nalight, it looks a fit place for princes to banquet in, and not very fit\nfor the few Americans whom I saw scattered at its long tables.\n\nBy the by, as we drove to the railway, we passed through the public\nsquare, where the Bastille formerly stood; and in the centre of it now\nstands a column, surmounted by a golden figure of Mercury (I think),\nwhich seems to be just on the point of casting itself from a gilt ball\ninto the air.  This statue is so buoyant, that the spectator feels quite\nwilling to trust it to the viewless element, being as sure that it would\nbe borne up as that a bird would fly.\n\nOur first day's journey was wholly without interest, through a country\nentirely flat, and looking wretchedly brown and barren.  There were rows\nof trees, very slender, very prim and formal; there was ice wherever\nthere happened to be any water to form it; there were occasional\nvillages, compact little streets, or masses of stone or plastered\ncottages, very dirty and with gable ends and earthen roofs; and a\nsuccession of this same landscape was all that we saw, whenever we rubbed\naway the congelation of our breath from the carriage windows.  Thus we\nrode on, all day long, from eleven o'clock, with hardly a five minutes'\nstop, till long after dark, when we came to Dijon, where there was a halt\nof twenty-five minutes for dinner.  Then we set forth again, and rumbled\nforward, through cold and darkness without, until we reached Lyons at\nabout ten o'clock.  We left our luggage at the railway station, and took\nan omnibus for the Hotel de Provence, which we chose at a venture, among\na score of other hotels.\n\nAs this hotel was a little off the direct route of the omnibus, the\ndriver set us down at the corner of a street, and pointed to some lights,\nwhich he said designated the Hotel do Provence; and thither we proceeded,\nall seven of us, taking along a few carpet-bags and shawls, our equipage\nfor the night.  The porter of the hotel met us near its doorway, and\nushered us through an arch, into the inner quadrangle, and then up some\nold and worn steps,--very broad, and appearing to be the principal\nstaircase.  At the first landing-place, an old woman and a waiter or two\nreceived us; and we went up two or three more flights of the same broad\nand worn stone staircases.  What we could see of the house looked very\nold, and had the musty odor with which I first became acquainted at\nChester.\n\nAfter ascending to the proper level, we were conducted along a\ncorridor, paved with octagonal earthen tiles; on one side were\nwindows, looking into the courtyard, on the other doors opening into the\nsleeping-chambers.  The corridor was of immense length, and seemed still\nto lengthen itself before us, as the glimmer of our conductor's candle\nwent farther and farther into the obscurity.  Our own chamber was at a\nvast distance along this passage; those of the rest of the party were on\nthe hither side; but all this immense suite of rooms appeared to\ncommunicate by doors from one to another, like the chambers through which\nthe reader wanders at midnight, in Mrs. Radcliffe's romances.  And they\nwere really splendid rooms, though of an old fashion, lofty, spacious,\nwith floors of oak or other wood, inlaid in squares and crosses,\nand waxed till they were slippery, but without carpets.  Our own\nsleeping-room had a deep fireplace, in which we ordered a fire, and asked\nif there were not some saloon already warmed, where we could get a cup of\ntea.\n\nHereupon the waiter led us back along the endless corridor, and down the\nold stone staircases, and out into the quadrangle, and journeyed with us\nalong an exterior arcade, and finally threw open the door of the salle a\nmanger, which proved to be a room of lofty height, with a vaulted roof, a\nstone floor, and interior spaciousness sufficient for a baronial hall,\nthe whole bearing the same aspect of times gone by, that characterized\nthe rest of the house.  There were two or three tables covered with white\ncloth, and we sat down at one of them and had our tea.  Finally we wended\nback to our sleeping-rooms,--a considerable journey, so endless seemed\nthe ancient hotel.  I should like to know its history.\n\nThe fire made our great chamber look comfortable, and the fireplace threw\nout the heat better than the little square hole over which we cowered in\nour saloon at the Hotel de Louvre. . . .\n\nIn the morning we began our preparations for starting at ten.  Issuing\ninto the corridor, I found a soldier of the line, pacing to and fro there\nas sentinel.  Another was posted in another corridor, into which I\nwandered by mistake; another stood in the inner court-yard, and another\nat the porte-cochere.  They were not there the night before, and I know\nnot whence nor why they came, unless that some officer of rank may have\ntaken up his quarters at the hotel.  Miss M------ says she heard at\nParis, that a considerable number of troops had recently been drawn\ntogether at Lyons, in consequence of symptoms of disaffection that have\nrecently shown themselves here.\n\nBefore breakfast I went out to catch a momentary glimpse of the city.\nThe street in which our hotel stands is near a large public square; in\nthe centre is a bronze equestrian statue of Louis XIV.; and the square\nitself is called the Place de Louis le Grand.  I wonder where this statue\nhid itself while the Revolution was raging in Lyons, and when the\nguillotine, perhaps, stood on that very spot.\n\nThe square was surrounded by stately buildings, but had what seemed to be\nbarracks for soldiers,--at any rate, mean little huts, deforming its\nample space; and a soldier was on guard before the statue of Louis le\nGrand.  It was a cold, misty morning, and a fog lay throughout the area,\nso that I could scarcely see from one side of it to the other.\n\nReturning towards our hotel, I saw that it had an immense front, along\nwhich ran, in gigantic letters, its title,--\n\n     HOTEL DE PROVENCE ET DES AMBASSADEURS.\n\nThe excellence of the hotel lay rather in the faded pomp of its\nsleeping-rooms, and the vastness of its salle a manger, than in anything\nvery good to eat or drink.\n\nWe left it, after a poor breakfast, and went to the railway station.\nLooking at the mountainous heap of our luggage the night before, we had\nmissed a great carpet-bag; and we now found that Miss M------'s trunk had\nbeen substituted for it, and, there being the proper number of packages\nas registered, it was impossible to convince the officials that anything\nwas wrong.  We, of course, began to generalize forthwith, and pronounce\nthe incident to be characteristic of French morality.  They love a\ncertain system and external correctness, but do not trouble themselves to\nbe deeply in the right; and Miss M------ suggested that there used to be\nparallel cases in the French Revolution, when, so long as the assigned\nnumber were sent out of prison to be guillotined, the jailer did not much\ncare whether they were the persons designated by the tribunal or not.  At\nall events, we could get no satisfaction about the carpet-bag, and shall\nvery probably be compelled to leave Marseilles without it.\n\nThis day's ride was through a far more picturesque country than that we\nsaw yesterday.  Heights began to rise imminent above our way, with\nsometimes a ruined castle wall upon them; on our left, the rail-track\nkept close to the hills; on the other side there was the level bottom of\na valley, with heights descending upon it a mile or a few miles away.\nFarther off we could see blue hills, shouldering high above the\nintermediate ones, and themselves worthy to be called mountains.  These\nhills arranged themselves in beautiful groups, affording openings between\nthem, and vistas of what lay beyond, and gorges which I suppose held a\ngreat deal of romantic scenery.  By and by a river made its appearance,\nflowing swiftly in the same direction that we were travelling,--a\nbeautiful and cleanly river, with white pebbly shores, and itself of a\npeculiar blue.  It rushed along very fast, sometimes whitening over\nshallow descents, and even in its calmer intervals its surface was all\ncovered with whirls and eddies, indicating that it dashed onward in\nhaste.  I do not now know the name of this river, but have set it down as\nthe \"arrowy Rhone.\"  It kept us company a long while, and I think we did\nnot part with it as long as daylight remained.  I have seldom seen\nhill-scenery that struck me more than some that we saw to-day, and the\nold feudal towers and old villages at their feet; and the old churches,\nwith spires shaped just like extinguishers, gave it an interest\naccumulating from many centuries past.\n\nStill going southward, the vineyards began to border our track, together\nwith what I at first took to be orchards, but soon found were plantations\nof olive-trees, which grow to a much larger size than I supposed, and\nlook almost exactly like very crabbed and eccentric apple-trees.  Neither\nthey nor the vineyards add anything to the picturesqueness of the\nlandscape.\n\nOn the whole, I should have been delighted with all this scenery if it\nhad not looked so bleak, barren, brown, and bare; so like the wintry New\nEngland before the snow has fallen.  It was very cold, too; ice along the\nborders of streams, even among the vineyards and olives.  The houses are\nof rather a different shape here than, farther northward, their roofs\nbeing not nearly so sloping.  They are almost invariably covered with\nwhite plaster; the farm-houses have their outbuildings in connection with\nthe dwelling,--the whole surrounding three sides of a quadrangle.\n\nWe travelled far into the night, swallowed a cold and hasty dinner at\nAvignon, and reached Marseilles sorely wearied, at about eleven o'clock.\nWe took a cab to the Hotel d'Angleterre (two cabs, to be quite accurate),\nand find it a very poor place.\n\nTo go back a little, as the sun went down, we looked out of the window of\nour railway carriage, and saw a sky that reminded us of what we used to\nsee day after day in America, and what we have not seen since; and, after\nsunset, the horizon burned and glowed with rich crimson and orange\nlustre, looking at once warm and cold.  After it grew dark, the stars\nbrightened, and Miss M------ from her window pointed out some of the\nplanets to the children, she being as familiar with them as a gardener\nwith his flowers.  They were as bright as diamonds.\n\nWe had a wretched breakfast, and J----- and I then went to the railway\nstation to see about our luggage.  On our walk back we went astray,\npassing by a triumphal arch, erected by the Marseillais, in honor of\nLouis Napoleon; but we inquired our way of old women and soldiers, who\nwere very kind and courteous,--especially the latter,--and were directed\naright.  We came to a large, oblong, public place, set with trees, but\ndevoid of grass, like all public places in France.  In the middle of it\nwas a bronze statue of an ecclesiastical personage, stretching forth his\nhands in the attitude of addressing the people or of throwing a\nbenediction over them.  It was some archbishop, who had distinguished\nhimself by his humanity and devotedness during the plague of 1720.  At\nthe moment of our arrival the piazza was quite thronged with people, who\nseemed to be talking amongst themselves with considerable earnestness,\nalthough without any actual excitement.  They were smoking cigars;\nand we judged that they were only loitering here for the sake of the\nsunshine, having no fires at home, and nothing to do.  Some looked like\ngentlemen, others like peasants; most of them I should have taken for the\nlazzaroni of this Southern city,--men with cloth caps, like the classic\nliberty-cap, or with wide-awake hats.  There were one or two women of the\nlower classes, without bonnets, the elder ones with white caps, the\nyounger bareheaded.  I have hardly seen a lady in Marseilles; and I\nsuspect, it being a commercial city, and dirty to the last degree,\nill-built, narrow-streeted, and sometimes pestilential, there are few or\nno families of gentility resident here.\n\nReturning to the hotel, we found the rest of the party ready to go\nout; so we all issued forth in a body, and inquired our way to the\ntelegraph-office, in order to send my message about the carpet-bag.  In a\nstreet through which we had to pass (and which seemed to be the Exchange,\nor its precincts), there was a crowd even denser, yes, much denser, than\nthat which we saw in the square of the archbishop's statue; and each man\nwas talking to his neighbor in a vivid, animated way, as if business were\nvery brisk to-day.\n\nAt the telegraph-office, we discovered the cause that had brought out\nthese many people.  There had been attempts on the Emperor's life,--\nunsuccessful, as they seem fated to be, though some mischief was done to\nthose near him.  I rather think the good people of Marseilles were glad\nof the attempt, as an item of news and gossip, and did not very greatly\ncare whether it were successful or no.  It seemed to have roused their\nvivacity rather than their interest.  The only account I have seen of it\nwas in the brief public despatch from the Syndic (or whatever he be) of\nParis to the chief authority of Marseilles, which was printed and posted\nin various conspicuous places.  The only chance of knowing the truth with\nany fulness of detail would be to come across an English paper.  We have\nhad a banner hoisted half-mast in front of our hotel to-day as a token,\nthe head-waiter tells me, of sympathy and sorrow for the General and\nother persons who were slain by this treasonable attempt.\n\nJ----- and I now wandered by ourselves along a circular line of quays,\nhaving, on one side of us, a thick forest of masts, while, on the\nother, was a sweep of shops, bookstalls, sailors' restaurants and\ndrinking-houses, fruit-sellers, candy-women, and all manner of open-air\ndealers and pedlers; little children playing, and jumping the rope, and\nsuch a babble and bustle as I never saw or heard before; the sun lying\nalong the whole sweep, very hot, and evidently very grateful to those who\nbasked in it.  Whenever I passed into the shade, immediately from too\nwarm I became too cold.  The sunshine was like hot air; the shade, like\nthe touch of cold steel,--sharp, hard, yet exhilarating.  From the broad\nstreet of the quays, narrow, thread-like lanes pierced up between the\nedifices, calling themselves streets, yet so narrow, that a person in the\nmiddle could almost touch the houses on either hand.  They ascended\nsteeply, bordered on each side by long, contiguous walls of high houses,\nand from the time of their first being built, could never have had a\ngleam of sunshine in them,--always in shadow, always unutterably nasty,\nand often pestiferous.  The nastiness which I saw in Marseilles exceeds\nmy heretofore experience.  There is dirt in the hotel, and everywhere\nelse; and it evidently troubles nobody,--no more than if all the people\nwere pigs in a pigsty. . . .\n\nPassing by all this sweep of quays, J----- and I ascended to an elevated\nwalk, overlooking the harbor, and far beyond it; for here we had our\nfirst view of the Mediterranean, blue as heaven, and bright with\nsunshine.  It was a bay, widening forth into the open deep, and bordered\nwith heights, and bold, picturesque headlands, some of which had either\nfortresses or convents on them.  Several boats and one brig were under\nsail, making their way towards the port.  I have never seen a finer\nsea-view.  Behind the town, there seemed to be a mountainous landscape,\nimperfectly visible, in consequence of the intervening edifices.\n\n\n\nTHE MEDITERRANEAN SEA.\n\n\nSteamer Calabrese, January 17th.--If I had remained at Marseilles, I\nmight have found many peculiarities and characteristics of that Southern\ncity to notice; but I fear that these will not be recorded if I leave\nthem till I touch the soil of Italy.  Indeed, I doubt whether there be\nanything really worth recording in the little distinctions between one\nnation and another; at any rate, after the first novelty is over, new\nthings seem equally commonplace with the old.  There is but one little\ninterval when the mind is in such a state that it can catch the fleeting\naroma of a new scene.  And it is always so much pleasanter to enjoy this\ndelicious newness than to attempt arresting it, that it requires great\nforce of will to insist with one's self upon sitting down to write.  I\ncan do nothing with Marseilles, especially here on the Mediterranean,\nlong after nightfall, and when the steamer is pitching in a pretty lively\nway.\n\n(Later.)--I walked out with J----- yesterday morning, and reached the\noutskirts of the city, whence we could see the bold and picturesque\nheights that surround Marseilles as with a semicircular wall.  They rise\ninto peaks, and the town, being on their lower <DW72>, descends from them\ntowards the sea with a gradual sweep.  Adown the streets that descend\nthese declivities come little rivulets, running along over the pavement,\nclose to the sidewalks, as over a pebbly bed; and though they look vastly\nlike kennels, I saw women washing linen in these streams, and others\ndipping up the water for household purposes.  The women appear very much\nin public at Marseilles.  In the squares and places you see half a dozen\nof them together, sitting in a social circle on the bottoms of upturned\nbaskets, knitting, talking, and enjoying the public sunshine, as if it\nwere their own household fire.  Not one in a thousand of them, probably,\never has a household fire for the purpose of keeping themselves warm, but\nonly to do their little cookery; and when there is sunshine they take\nadvantage of it, and in the short season of rain and frost they shrug\ntheir shoulders, put on what warm garments they have, and get through the\nwinter somewhat as grasshoppers and butterflies do,--being summer insects\nlike then.  This certainly is a very keen and cutting air, sharp as a\nrazor, and I saw ice along the borders of the little rivulets almost at\nnoonday.  To be sure, it is midwinter, and yet in the sunshine I found\nmyself uncomfortably warm, but in the shade the air was like the touch of\ndeath itself.  I do not like the climate.\n\nThere are a great number of public places in Marseilles, several of\nwhich are adorned with statues or fountains, or triumphal arches or\ncolumns, and set out with trees, and otherwise furnished as a kind of\ndrawing-rooms, where the populace may meet together and gossip.  I never\nbefore heard from human lips anything like this bustle and babble, this\nthousand-fold talk which you hear all round about you in the crowd of a\npublic square; so entirely different is it from the dulness of a crowd in\nEngland, where, as a rule, everybody is silent, and hardly half a dozen\nmonosyllables will come from the lips of a thousand people.  In\nMarseilles, on the contrary, a stream of unbroken talk seems to bubble\nfrom the lips of every individual.  A great many interesting scenes take\nplace in these squares.  From the window of our hotel (which looked into\nthe Place Royale) I saw a juggler displaying his art to a crowd, who\nstood in a regular square about him, none pretending to press nearer than\nthe prescribed limit.  While the juggler wrought his miracles his wife\nsupplied him with his magic materials out of a box; and when the\nexhibition was over she packed up the white cloth with which his table\nwas covered, together with cups, cards, balls, and whatever else, and\nthey took their departure.\n\nI have been struck with the idle curiosity, and, at the same time, the\ncourtesy and kindness of the populace of Marseilles, and I meant to\nexemplify it by recording how Miss S------ and I attracted their notice,\nand became the centre of a crowd of at least fifty of them while doing no\nmore remarkable thing than settling with a cab-driver.  But really this\npitch and swell is getting too bad, and I shall go to bed, as the best\nchance of keeping myself in an equable state.\n\n\n\nROME.\n\n\n37 Palazzo Larazani, Via Porta Pinciana, January 24th.--We left\nMarseilles in the Neapolitan steamer Calabrese, as noticed above, a week\nago this morning.  There was no fault to be found with the steamer, which\nwas very clean and comfortable, contrary to what we had understood\nbeforehand; except for the coolness of the air (and I know not that this\nwas greater than that of the Atlantic in July), our voyage would have\nbeen very pleasant; but for myself, I enjoyed nothing, having a cold upon\nme, or a low fever, or something else that took the light and warmth out\nof everything.\n\nI went to bed immediately after my last record, and was rocked to sleep\npleasantly enough by the billows of the Mediterranean; and, coming on\ndeck about sunrise next morning, found the steamer approaching Genoa.  We\nsaw the city, lying at the foot of a range of hills, and stretching a\nlittle way up their <DW72>s, the hills sweeping round it in the segment of\na circle, and looking like an island rising abruptly out of the sea; for\nno connection with the mainland was visible on either side.  There was\nsnow scattered on their summits and streaking their sides a good way\ndown.  They looked bold, and barren, and brown, except where the snow\nwhitened them.  The city did not impress me with much expectation of size\nor splendor.  Shortly after coming into the port our whole party landed,\nand we found ourselves at once in the midst of a crowd of cab-drivers,\nhotel-runnets, and coin missionaires, who assaulted us with a volley of\nFrench, Italian, and broken English, which beat pitilessly about our\nears; for really it seemed as if all the dictionaries in the world had\nbeen torn to pieces, and blown around us by a hurricane.  Such a pother!\nWe took a commissionaire, a respectable-looking man, in a cloak, who said\nhis name was Salvator Rosa; and he engaged to show us whatever was\ninteresting in Genoa.\n\nIn the first place, he took us through narrow streets to an old church,\nthe name of which I have forgotten, and, indeed, its peculiar features;\nbut I know that I found it pre-eminently magnificent,--its whole interior\nbeing incased in polished marble, of various kinds and colors, its\nceiling painted, and its chapels adorned with pictures.  However, this\nchurch was dazzled out of sight by the Cathedral of San Lorenzo, to which\nwe were afterwards conducted, whose exterior front is covered with\nalternate slabs of black and white marble, which were brought, either in\nwhole or in part, from Jerusalem.  Within, there was a prodigious\nrichness of precious marbles, and a pillar, if I mistake not, from\nSolomon's Temple; and a picture of the Virgin by St. Luke; and others\n(rather more intrinsically valuable, I imagine), by old masters, set in\nsuperb marble frames, within the arches of the chapels.  I used to try to\nimagine how the English cathedrals must have looked in their primeval\nglory, before the Reformation, and before the whitewash of Cromwell's\ntime had overlaid their marble pillars; but I never imagined anything at\nall approaching what my eyes now beheld: this sheen of polished and\nvariegated marble covering every inch of its walls; this glow of\nbrilliant frescos all over the roof, and up within the domes; these\nbeautiful pictures by great masters, painted for the places which they\nnow occupied, and making an actual portion of the edifice; this wealth of\nsilver, gold, and gems, that adorned the shrines of the saints, before\nwhich wax candles burned, and were kept burning, I suppose, from year's\nend to year's end; in short, there is no imagining nor remembering a\nhundredth part of the rich details.  And even the cathedral (though I\ngive it up as indescribable) was nothing at all in comparison with a\nchurch to which the commissionaire afterwards led us; a church that had\nbeen built four or five hundred years ago, by a pirate, in expiation of\nhis sins, and out of the profit of his rapine.  This last edifice, in its\ninterior, absolutely shone with burnished gold, and glowed with pictures;\nits walls were a quarry of precious stones, so valuable were the marbles\nout of which they were wrought; its columns and pillars were of\ninconceivable costliness; its pavement was a mosaic of wonderful beauty,\nand there were four twisted pillars made out of stalactites.  Perhaps the\nbest way to form some dim conception of it is to fancy a little\ncasket, inlaid inside with precious stones, so that there shall not a\nhair's-breadth be left unprecious-stoned, and then to conceive this\nlittle bit of a casket iucreased to the magnitude of a great church,\nwithout losing anything of the excessive glory that was compressed into\nits original small compass, but all its pretty lustre made sublime by the\nconsequent immensity.  At any rate, nobody who has not seen a church\nlike this can imagine what a gorgeous religion it was that reared it.\n\nIn the cathedral, and in all the churches, we saw priests and many\npersons kneeling at their devotions; and our Salvator Rosa, whenever we\npassed a chapel or shrine, failed not to touch the pavement with one\nknee, crossing himself the while; and once, when a priest was going\nthrough some form of devotion, he stopped a few moments to share in it.\n\nHe conducted us, too, to the Balbi Palace, the stateliest and most\nsumptuous residence, but not more so than another which he afterwards\nshowed us, nor perhaps than many others which exist in Genoa, THE SUPERB.\nThe painted ceilings in these palaces are a glorious adornment; the walls\nof the saloons, incrusted with various- marbles, give an idea of\nsplendor which I never gained from anything else.  The floors, laid in\nmosaic, seem too precious to tread upon.  In the royal palace, many of\nthe floors were of various woods, inlaid by an English artist, and they\nlooked like a magnification of some exquisite piece of Tunbridge ware;\nbut, in all respects, this palace was inferior to others which we saw.  I\nsay nothing of the immense pictorial treasures which hung upon the walls\nof all the rooms through which we passed; for I soon grew so weary of\nadmirable things, that I could neither enjoy nor understand them.  My\nreceptive faculty is very limited, and when the utmost of its small\ncapacity is full, I become perfectly miserable, and the more so the\nbetter worth seeing are the things I am forced to reject.  I do not know\na greater misery; to see sights, after such repletion, is to the mind\nwhat it would be to the body to have dainties forced down the throat long\nafter the appetite was satiated.\n\nAll this while, whenever we emerged into the vaultlike streets,\nwe were wretchedly cold.  The commissionaire took us to a sort of\npleasure-garden, occupying the ascent of a hill, and presenting seven\ndifferent views of the city, from as many stations.  One of the objects\npointed out to us was a large yellow house, on a hillside, in the\noutskirts of Genoa, which was formerly inhabited for six months by\nCharles Dickens.  Looking down from the elevated part of the\npleasure-gardens, we saw orange-trees beneath us, with the golden fruit\nhanging upon them, though their trunks were muffled in straw; and, still\nlower down, there was ice and snow.\n\nGladly (so far as I myself was concerned) we dismissed the\ncommissionaire, after he had brought us to the hotel of the Cross of\nMalta, where we dined; needlessly, as it proved, for another dinner\nawaited us, after our return on board the boat.\n\nWe set sail for Leghorn before dark, and I retired early, feeling still\nmore ill from my cold than the night before.  The next morning we were in\nthe crowded port of Leghorn.  We all went ashore, with some idea of\ntaking the rail for Pisa, which is within an hour's distance, and might\nhave been seen in time for our departure with the steamer.  But a\nnecessary visit to a banker's, and afterwards some unnecessary\nformalities about our passports, kept us wandering through the streets\nnearly all day; and we saw nothing in the slightest degree interesting,\nexcept the tomb of Smollett, in the burial-place attached to the English\nChapel.  It is surrounded by an iron railing, and marked by a slender\nobelisk of white marble, the pattern of which is many times repeated over\nsurrounding graves.\n\nWe went into a Jewish synagogue,--the interior cased in marbles, and\nsurrounded with galleries, resting upon arches above arches.  There were\nlights burning at the altar, and it looked very like a Christian church;\nbut it was dirty, and had an odor not of sanctity.\n\nIn Leghorn, as everywhere else, we were chilled to the heart, except when\nthe sunshine fell directly upon us; and we returned to the steamer with a\nfeeling as if we were getting back to our home; for this life of\nwandering makes a three days' residence in one place seem like home.\n\nWe found several new passengers on board, and among others a monk, in a\nlong brown frock of woollen cloth, with an immense cape, and a little\nblack covering over his tonsure.  He was a tall figure, with a gray\nbeard, and might have walked, just as he stood, out of a picture by one\nof the old masters.  This holy person addressed me very affably in\nItalian; but we found it impossible to hold much conversation.\n\nThe evening was beautiful, with a bright young moonlight, not yet\nsufficiently powerful to overwhelm the stars, and as we walked the deck,\nMiss M------ showed the children the constellations, and told their\nnames.  J----- made a slight mistake as to one of them, pointing it out\nto me as \"O'Brien's belt!\"\n\nElba was presently in view, and we might have seen many other interesting\npoints, had it not been for our steamer's practice of resting by day, and\nonly pursuing its voyage by night.  The next morning we found ourselves\nin the harbor of Civita Vecchia, and, going ashore with our luggage, went\nthrough a blind turmoil with custom-house officers, inspectors of\npassports, soldiers, and vetturino people.  My wife and I strayed a\nlittle through Civita Vecchia, and found its streets narrow, like clefts\nin a rock (which seems to be the fashion of Italian towns), and smelling\nnastily.  I had made a bargain with a vetturino to send us to Rome in a\ncarriage, with four horses, in eight hours; and as soon as the\ncustom-house and passport people would let us, we started, lumbering\nslowly along with our mountain of luggage.  We had heard rumors of\nrobberies lately committed on this route; especially of a Nova Scotia\nbishop, who was detained on the road an hour and a half, and utterly\npillaged; and certainly there was not a single mile of the dreary and\ndesolate country over which we passed, where we might not have been\nrobbed and murdered with impunity.  Now and then, at long distances, we\ncame to a structure that was either a prison, a tavern, or a barn, but\ndid not look very much like either, being strongly built of stone, with\niron-grated windows, and of ancient and rusty aspect.  We kept along by\nthe seashore a great part of the way, and stopped to feed our horses at a\nvillage, the wretched street of which stands close along the shore of the\nMediterranean, its loose, dark sand being made nasty by the vicinity.\nThe vetturino cheated us, one of the horses giving out, as he must have\nknown it would do, half-way on our journey; and we staggered on through\ncold and darkness, and peril, too, if the banditti were not a myth,--\nreaching Rome not much before midnight.  I perpetrated unheard-of\nbriberies on the custom-house officers at the gates, and was permitted to\npass through and establish myself at Spillman's Hotel, the only one where\nwe could gain admittance, and where we have been half frozen ever since.\n\nAnd this is sunny Italy, and genial Rome!\n\n\nPalazzo Larazani, Via Porta Pinciana, February 3d.--We have been in Rome\na fortnight to-day, or rather at eleven o'clock to-night; and I have\nseldom or never spent so wretched a time anywhere.  Our impressions were\nvery unfortunate, arriving at midnight, half frozen in the wintry rain,\nand being received into a cold and cheerless hotel, where we shivered\nduring two or three days; meanwhile seeking lodgings among the sunless,\ndreary alleys which are called streets in Rome.  One cold, bright day\nafter another has pierced me to the heart, and cut me in twain as with a\nsword, keen and sharp, and poisoned at point and edge.  I did not think\nthat cold weather could have made me so very miserable.  Having caught a\nfeverish influenza, I was really glad of being muffled up comfortably in\nthe fever heat.  The atmosphere certainly has a peculiar quality of\nmalignity.  After a day or two we settled ourselves in a suite of ten\nrooms, comprehending one flat, or what is called the second piano of this\nhouse.  The rooms, thus far, have been very uncomfortable, it being\nimpossible to warm them by means of the deep, old-fashioned, inartificial\nfireplaces, unless we had the great logs of a New England forest to burn\nin them; so I have sat in my corner by the fireside with more clothes on\nthan I ever wore before, and my thickest great-coat over all.  In the\nmiddle of the day I generally venture out for an hour or two, but have\nonly once been warm enough even in the sunshine, and out of the sun never\nat any time.  I understand now the force of that story of Diogenes when\nhe asked the Conqueror, as the only favor he could do him, to stand out\nof his sunshine, there being such a difference in these Southern climes\nof Europe between sun and shade.  If my wits had not been too much\ncongealed, and my fingers too numb, I should like to have kept a minute\njournal of my feelings and impressions during the past fortnight.  It\nwould have shown modern Rome in an aspect in which it has never yet been\ndepicted.  But I have now grown somewhat acclimated, and the first\nfreshness of my discomfort has worn off, so that I shall never be able to\nexpress how I dislike the place, and how wretched I have been in it; and\nsoon, I suppose, warmer weather will come, and perhaps reconcile\nme to Rome against my will.  Cold, narrow lanes, between tall, ugly,\nmean-looking whitewashed houses, sour bread, pavements most uncomfortable\nto the feet, enormous prices for poor living; beggars, pickpockets,\nancient temples and broken monuments, and clothes hanging to dry about\nthem; French soldiers, monks, and priests of every degree; a shabby\npopulation, smoking bad cigars,--these would have been some of the points\nof my description.  Of course there are better and truer things to be\nsaid. . . .\n\nIt would be idle for me to attempt any sketches of these famous sites and\nedifices,--St. Peter's, for example,--which have been described by a\nthousand people, though none of them have ever given me an idea of what\nsort of place Rome is. . . .\n\nThe Coliseum was very much what I had preconceived it, though I was not\nprepared to find it turned into a sort of Christian church, with a pulpit\non the verge of the open space. . . . The French soldiers, who keep\nguard within it, as in other public places in Rome, have an excellent\nopportunity to secure the welfare of their souls.\n\n\nFebruary 7th.--I cannot get fairly into the current of my journal since\nwe arrived, and already I perceive that the nice peculiarities of Roman\nlife are passing from my notice before I have recorded them.  It is a\nvery great pity.  During the past week I have plodded daily, for an hour\nor two, through the narrow, stony streets, that look worse than the worst\nbackside lanes of any other city; indescribably ugly and disagreeable\nthey are, . . . . without sidewalks, but provided with a line of larger\nsquare stones, set crosswise to each other, along which there is somewhat\nless uneasy walking. . . . Ever and anon, even in the meanest streets,\n--though, generally speaking, one can hardly be called meaner than\nanother,--we pass a palace, extending far along the narrow way on a line\nwith the other houses, but distinguished by its architectural windows,\niron-barred on the basement story, and by its portal arch, through which\nwe have glimpses, sometimes of a dirty court-yard, or perhaps of a clean,\nornamented one, with trees, a colonnade, a fountain, and a statue in the\nvista; though, more likely, it resembles the entrance to a stable, and\nmay, perhaps, really be one.  The lower regions of palaces come to\nstrange uses in Rome. . . . In the basement story of the Barberini\nPalace a regiment of French soldiers (or soldiers of some kind [we find\nthem to be retainers of the Barberini family, not French]) seems to be\nquartered, while no doubt princes have magnificent domiciles above.  Be\nit palace or whatever other dwelling, the inmates climb through rubbish\noften to the comforts, such as they may be, that await them above.  I\nvainly try to get down upon paper the dreariness, the ugliness,\nshabbiness, un-home-likeness of a Roman street.  It is also to be said\nthat you cannot go far in any direction without coming to a piazza, which\nis sometimes little more than a widening and enlarging of the dingy\nstreet, with the lofty facade of a church or basilica on one side, and a\nfountain in the centre, where the water squirts out of some fantastic\npiece of sculpture into a great stone basin.  These fountains are often\nof immense size and most elaborate design. . . .\n\nThere are a great many of these fountain-shapes, constructed under the\norders of one pope or another, in all parts of the city; and only the\nvery simplest, such as a jet springing from a broad marble or porphyry\nvase, and falling back into it again, are really ornamental.  If an\nantiquary were to accompany me through the streets, no doubt he would\npoint out ten thousand interesting objects that I now pass over\nunnoticed, so general is the surface of plaster and whitewash; but often\nI can see fragments of antiquity built into the walls, or perhaps a\nchurch that was a Roman temple, or a basement of ponderous stones that\nwere laid above twenty centuries ago.  It is strange how our ideas of\nwhat antiquity is become altered here in Rome; the sixteenth century, in\nwhich many of the churches and fountains seem to have been built or\nre-edified, seems close at hand, even like our own days; a thousand\nyears, or the days of the latter empire, is but a modern date, and\nscarcely interests us; and nothing is really venerable of a more recent\nepoch than the reign of Constantine.  And the Egyptian obelisks that\nstand in several of the piazzas put even the Augustan or Republican\nantiquities to shame.  I remember reading in a New York newspaper an\naccount of one of the public buildings of that city,--a relic of \"the\nolden time,\" the writer called it; for it was erected in 1825!  I am glad\nI saw the castles and Gothic churches and cathedrals of England before\nvisiting Rome, or I never could have felt that delightful reverence for\ntheir gray and ivy-hung antiquity after seeing these so much older\nremains.  But, indeed, old things are not so beautiful in this dry\nclimate and clear atmosphere as in moist England. . . .\n\nWhatever beauty there may be in a Roman ruin is the remnant of what was\nbeautiful originally; whereas an English ruin is more beautiful often in\nits decay than even it was in its primal strength.  If we ever build such\nnoble structures as these Roman ones, we can have just as good ruins,\nafter two thousand years, in the United States; but we never can have a\nFurness Abbey or a Kenilworth.  The Corso, and perhaps some other\nstreets, does not deserve all the vituperation which I have bestowed on\nthe generality of Roman vias, though the Corso is narrow, not averaging\nmore than nine paces, if so much, from sidewalk to sidewalk.  But palace\nafter palace stands along almost its whole extent,--not, however, that\nthey make such architectural show on the street as palaces should.  The\nenclosed courts were perhaps the only parts of these edifices which the\nfounders cared to enrich architecturally.  I think Linlithgow Palace, of\nwhich I saw the ruins during my last tour in Scotland, was built, by an\narchitect who had studied these Roman palaces.  There was never any idea\nof domestic comfort, or of what we include in the name of home, at all\nimplicated in such structures, they being generally built by wifeless and\nchildless churchmen for the display of pictures and statuary in galleries\nand long suites of rooms.\n\nI have not yet fairly begun the sight-seeing of Rome.  I have been four\nor five times to St. Peter's, and always with pleasure, because there is\nsuch a delightful, summerlike warmth the moment we pass beneath the\nheavy, padded leather curtains that protect the entrances.  It is almost\nimpossible not to believe that this genial temperature is the result of\nfurnace-heat, but, really, it is the warmth of last summer, which will be\nincluded within those massive walls, and in that vast immensity of space,\ntill, six months hence, this winter's chill will just have made its way\nthither.  It would be an excellent plan for a valetudinarian to lodge\nduring the winter in St. Peter's, perhaps establishing his household in\none of the papal tombs.  I become, I think, more sensible of the size of\nSt. Peter's, but am as yet far from being overwhelmed by it.  It is not,\nas one expects, so big as all out of doors, nor is its dome so immense as\nthat of the firmament.  It looked queer, however, the other day, to see a\nlittle ragged boy, the very least of human things, going round and\nkneeling at shrine after shrine, and a group of children standing on\ntiptoe to reach the vase of holy water. . . .\n\nOn coming out of St. Peter's at my last visit, I saw a great sheet of ice\naround the fountain on the right hand, and some little Romans awkwardly\nsliding on it.  I, too, took a slide, just for the sake of doing what I\nnever thought to do in Rome.  This inclement weather, I should suppose,\nmust make the whole city very miserable; for the native Romans, I am\ntold, never keep any fire, except for culinary purposes, even in the\nseverest winter.  They flee from their cheerless houses into the open\nair, and bring their firesides along with them in the shape of small\nearthen vases, or pipkins, with a handle by which they carry them up and\ndown the streets, and so warm at least their hands with the lighted\ncharcoal.  I have had glimpses through open doorways into interiors, and\nsaw them as dismal as tombs.  Wherever I pass my summers, let me spend my\nwinters in a cold country.\n\nWe went yesterday to the Pantheon. . . .\n\nWhen I first came to Rome, I felt embarrassed and unwilling to pass, with\nmy heresy, between a devotee and his saint; for they often shoot their\nprayers at a shrine almost quite across the church.  But there seems to\nbe no violation of etiquette in so doing.  A woman begged of us in\nthe Pantheon, and accused my wife of impiety for not giving her an\nalms. . . . People of very decent appearance are often unexpectedly\nconverted into beggars as you approach them; but in general they take a\n\"No\" at once.\n\n\nFebruary 9th.--For three or four days it has been cloudy and rainy, which\nis the greater pity, as this should be the gayest and merriest part of\nthe Carnival.  I go out but little,--yesterday only as far as Pakenham's\nand Hooker's bank in the Piazza de' Spagna, where I read Galignani and\nthe American papers.  At last, after seeing in England more of my\nfellow-compatriots than ever before, I really am disjoined from my\ncountry.\n\nTo-day I walked out along the Pincian Hill. . . . As the clouds still\nthreatened rain, I deemed it my safest course to go to St. Peter's for\nrefuge.  Heavy and dull as the day was, the effect of this great world of\na church was still brilliant in the interior, as if it had a sunshine of\nits own, as well as its own temperature; and, by and by, the sunshine of\nthe outward world came through the windows, hundreds of feet aloft, and\nfell upon the beautiful inlaid pavement. . . . Against a pillar, on one\nside of the nave, is a mosaic copy of Raphael's Transfiguration, fitly\nframed within a great arch of gorgeous marble; and, no doubt, the\nindestructible mosaic has preserved it far more completely than the\nfading and darkening tints in which the artist painted it.  At any rate,\nit seemed to me the one glorious picture that I have ever seen.  The\npillar nearest the great entrance, on the left of the nave, supports the\nmonument to the Stuart family, where two winged figures, with inverted\ntorches, stand on either side of a marble door, which is closed forever.\nIt is an impressive monument, for you feel as if the last of the race had\npassed through that door.\n\nEmerging from the church, I saw a French sergeant drilling his men in the\npiazza.  These French soldiers are prominent objects everywhere about the\ncity, and make up more of its sight and sound than anything else that\nlives.  They stroll about individually; they pace as sentinels in all the\npublic places; and they march up and down in squads, companies, and\nbattalions, always with a very great din of drum, fife, and trumpet; ten\ntimes the proportion of music that the same number of men would require\nelsewhere; and it reverberates with ten times the noise, between the high\nedifices of these lanes, that it could make in broader streets.\nNevertheless, I have no quarrel with the French soldiers; they are fresh,\nhealthy, smart, honest-looking young fellows enough, in blue coats and\nred trousers; . . . . and, at all events, they serve as an efficient\npolice, making Rome as safe as London; whereas, without them, it would\nvery likely be a den of banditti.\n\nOn my way home I saw a few tokens of the Carnival, which is now in full\nprogress; though, as it was only about one o'clock, its frolics had not\ncommenced for the day. . . . I question whether the Romans themselves\ntake any great interest in the Carnival.  The balconies along the Corso\nwere almost entirely taken by English and Americans, or other foreigners.\n\nAs I approached the bridge of St. Angelo, I saw several persons engaged,\nas I thought, in fishing in the Tiber, with very strong lines; but on\ndrawing nearer I found that they were trying to hook up the branches, and\ntwigs, and other drift-wood, which the recent rains might have swept into\nthe river.  There was a little heap of what looked chiefly like willow\ntwigs, the poor result of their labor.  The hook was a knot of wood, with\nthe lopped-off branches projecting in three or four prongs.  The Tiber\nhas always the hue of a mud-puddle; but now, after a heavy rain which has\nwashed the clay into it, it looks like pease-soup.  It is a broad and\nrapid stream, eddying along as if it were in haste to disgorge its\nimpurities into the sea.  On the left side, where the city mostly is\nsituated, the buildings hang directly over the stream; on the other,\nwhere stand the Castle of St. Angelo and the Church of St. Peter, the\ntown does not press so imminent upon the shore.  The banks are clayey,\nand look as if the river had been digging them away for ages; but I\nbelieve its bed is higher than of yore.\n\n\nFebruary 10th.--I went out to-day, and, going along the Via Felice and\nthe Via delle Quattro Fontane, came unawares to the Basilica of Santa\nMaria Maggiore, on the summit of the Esquiline Hill.  I entered it,\nwithout in the least knowing what church it was, and found myself in a\nbroad and noble nave, both very simple and very grand.  There was a long\nrow of Ionic columns of marble, twenty or thereabouts on each side,\nsupporting a flat roof.  There were vaulted side aisles, and, at the\nfarther end, a bronze canopy over the high altar; and all along the\nlength of the side aisles were shrines with pictures, sculpture, and\nburning lamps; the whole church, too, was lined with marble: the roof was\ngilded; and yet the general effect of severe and noble simplicity\ntriumphed over all the ornament.  I should have taken it for a Roman\ntemple, retaining nearly its pristine aspect; but Murray tells us that it\nwas founded A. D. 342 by Pope Liberius, on the spot precisely marked out\nby a miraculous fall of snow, in the month of August, and it has\nundergone many alterations since his time.  But it is very fine, and\ngives the beholder the idea of vastness, which seems harder to attain\nthan anything else.  On the right hand, approaching the high altar, there\nis a chapel, separated from the rest of the church by an iron paling;\nand, being admitted into it with another party, I found it most\nelaborately magnificent.  But one magnificence outshone another, and made\nitself the brightest conceivable for the moment.  However, this chapel\nwas as rich as the most precious marble could make it, in pillars and\npilasters, and broad, polished slabs, covering the whole walls (except\nwhere there were splendid and glowing frescos; or where some monumental\nstatuary or bas-relief, or mosaic picture filled up an arched niche).\nIts architecture was a dome, resting on four great arches; and in size it\nwould alone have been a church.  In the centre of the mosaic pavement\nthere was a flight of steps, down which we went, and saw a group in\nmarble, representing the nativity of Christ, which, judging by the\nunction with which our guide talked about it, must have been of peculiar\nsanctity.  I hate to leave this chapel and church, without being able to\nsay any one thing that may reflect a portion of their beauty, or of the\nfeeling which they excite.  Kneeling against many of the pillars there\nwere persons in prayer, and I stepped softly, fearing lest my tread on\nthe marble pavement should disturb them,--a needless precaution, however,\nfor nobody seems to expect it, nor to be disturbed by the lack of it.\n\nThe situation of the church, I should suppose, is the loftiest in Rome:\nit has a fountain at one end, and a column at the other; but I did not\npay particular attention to either, nor to the exterior of the church\nitself.\n\nOn my return, I turned aside from the Via delle Quattro Fontane into the\nVia Quirinalis, and was led by it into the Piazza di Monte Cavallo.  The\nstreet through which I passed was broader, cleanlier, and statelier than\nmost streets in Rome, and bordered by palaces; and the piazza had noble\nedifices around it, and a fountain, an obelisk, and two nude statues in\nthe centre.  The obelisk was, as the inscription indicated, a relic of\nEgypt; the basin of the fountain was an immense bowl of Oriental granite,\ninto which poured a copious flood of water, discolored by the rain; the\nstatues were colossal,--two beautiful young men, each holding a fiery\nsteed.  On the pedestal of one was the inscription, OPUS PHIDIAE; on the\nother, OPUS PRAXITELIS.  What a city is this, when one may stumble, by\nmere chance,--at a street corner, as it were,--on the works of two such\nsculptors!  I do not know the authority on which these statues (Castor\nand Pollux, I presume) are attributed to Phidias and Praxiteles; but they\nimpressed me as noble and godlike, and I feel inclined to take them for\nwhat they purport to be.  On one side of the piazza is the Pontifical\nPalace; but, not being aware of this at the time, I did not look\nparticularly at the edifice.\n\nI came home by way of the Corso, which seemed a little enlivened by\nCarnival time; though, as it was not yet two o'clock, the fun had not\nbegun for the day.  The rain throws a dreary damper on the festivities.\n\n\nFebruary 13th.--Day before yesterday we took J----- and R----- in a\ncarriage, and went to see the Carnival, by driving up and down the Corso.\nIt was as ugly a day, as respects weather, as has befallen us since we\ncame to Rome,--cloudy, with an indecisive wet, which finally settled into\na rain; and people say that such is generally the weather in Carnival\ntime.  There is very little to be said about the spectacle.  Sunshine\nwould have improved it, no doubt; but a person must have very broad\nsunshine within himself to be joyous on such shallow provocation.  The\nstreet, at all events, would have looked rather brilliant under a sunny\nsky, the balconies being hung with bright- draperies, which were\nalso flung out of some of the windows. . . . Soon I had my first\nexperience of the Carnival in a handful of confetti, right slap in my\nface. . . . Many of the ladies wore loose white dominos, and some of\nthe gentlemen had on defensive armor of blouses; and wire masks over the\nface were a protection for both sexes,--not a needless one, for I\nreceived a shot in my right eye which cost me many tears.  It seems to be\na point of courtesy (though often disregarded by Americans and English)\nnot to fling confetti at ladies, or at non-combatants, or quiet\nbystanders; and the engagements with these missiles were generally\nbetween open carriages, manned with youths, who were provided with\nconfetti for such encounters, and with bouquets for the ladies.  We had\none real enemy on the Corso; for our former friend Mrs. T------ was\nthere, and as often as we passed and repassed her, she favored us with a\nhandful of lime.  Two or three times somebody ran by the carriage and\npuffed forth a shower of winged seeds through a tube into our faces and\nover our clothes; and, in the course of the afternoon, we were hit with\nperhaps half a dozen sugar-plums.  Possibly we may not have received our\nfair share of these last salutes, for J----- had on a black mask, which\nmade him look like an imp of Satan, and drew many volleys of confetti\nthat we might otherwise have escaped.  A good many bouquets were flung at\nour little R-----, and at us generally. . . . This was what is called\nmasking-day, when it is the rule to wear masks in the Corso, but the\ngreat majority of people appeared without them. . . . Two fantastic\nfigures, with enormous heads, set round with frizzly hair, came and\ngrinned into our carriage, and J----- tore out a handful of hair\n(which proved to be sea-weed) from one of their heads, rather to\nthe discomposure of the owner, who muttered his indignation in\nItalian. . . . On comparing notes with J----- and R-----, indeed with\nU---- too, I find that they all enjoyed the Carnival much more than I\ndid.  Only the young ought to write descriptions of such scenes.  My cold\ncriticism chills the life out of it.\n\n\nFebruary 14th.--Friday, 12th, was a sunny day, the first that we had had\nfor some time; and my wife and I went forth to see sights as well as to\nmake some calls that had long been due.  We went first to the church of\nSanta Maria Maggiore, which I have already mentioned, and, on our return,\nwe went to the Piazza di Monte Cavallo, and saw those admirable ancient\nstatues of Castor and Pollux, which seem to me sons of the morning, and\nfull of life and strength.  The atmosphere, in such a length of time, has\ncovered the marble surface of these statues with a gray rust, that\nenvelops both the men and horses as with a garment; besides which, there\nare strange discolorations, such as patches of white moss on the elbows,\nand reddish streaks down the sides; but the glory of form overcomes all\nthese defects of color.  It is pleasant to observe how familiar some\nlittle birds are with these colossal statues,--hopping about on their\nheads and over their huge fists, and very likely they have nests in their\nears or among their hair.\n\nWe called at the Barberini Palace, where William Story has established\nhimself and family for the next seven years, or more, on the third piano,\nin apartments that afford a very fine outlook over Rome, and have the sun\nin them through most of the day.  Mrs. S---- invited us to her fancy\nball, but we declined.\n\nOn the staircase ascending to their piano we saw the ancient Greek\nbas-relief of a lion, whence Canova is supposed to have taken the idea of\nhis lions on the monument in St. Peter's.  Afterwards we made two or\nthree calls in the neighborhood of the Piazza de' Spagna, finding only\nMr. Hamilton Fish and family, at the Hotel d'Europe, at home, and next\nvisited the studio of Mr. C. G. Thompson, whom I knew in Boston.  He has\nvery greatly improved since those days, and, being always a man of\ndelicate mind, and earnestly desiring excellence for its own sake, he has\nwon himself the power of doing beautiful and elevated works.  He is now\nmeditating a series of pictures from Shakespeare's \"Tempest,\" the\nsketches of one or two of which he showed us, likewise a copy of a small\nMadonna, by Raphael, wrought with a minute faithfulness which it makes\none a better man to observe. . . . Mr. Thompson is a true artist, and\nwhatever his pictures have of beauty comes from very far beneath the\nsurface; and this, I suppose, is one weighty reason why he has but\nmoderate success.  I should like his pictures for the mere color, even if\nthey represented nothing.  His studio is in the Via Sistina; and at a\nlittle distance on the other side of the same street is William Story's,\nwhere we likewise went, and found him at work on a sitting statue of\nCleopatra.\n\nWilliam Story looks quite as vivid, in a graver way, as when I saw him\nlast, a very young man.  His perplexing variety of talents and\naccomplishments--he being a poet, a prose writer, a lawyer, a painter, a\nmusician, and a sculptor--seems now to be concentrating itself into this\nlatter vocation, and I cannot see why he should not achieve something\nvery good.  He has a beautiful statue, already finished, of Goethe's\nMargaret, pulling a flower to pieces to discover whether Faust loves her;\na very type of virginity and simplicity.  The statue of Cleopatra, now\nonly fourteen days advanced in the clay, is as wide a step from the\nlittle maidenly Margaret as any artist could take; it is a grand subject,\nand he is conceiving it with depth and power, and working it out with\nadequate skill.  He certainly is sensible of something deeper in his art\nthan merely to make beautiful nudities and baptize them by classic names.\nBy the by, he told me several queer stories of American visitors to his\nstudio: one of them, after long inspecting Cleopatra, into which he has\nput all possible characteristics of her time and nation and of her own\nindividuality, asked, \"Have you baptized your statue yet?\" as if the\nsculptor were waiting till his statue were finished before he chose the\nsubject of it,--as, indeed, I should think many sculptors do.  Another\nremarked of a statue of Hero, who is seeking Leander by torchlight, and\nin momentary expectation of finding his drowned body, \"Is not the face a\nlittle sad?\"  Another time a whole party of Americans filed into his\nstudio, and ranged themselves round his father's statue, and, after much\nsilent examination, the spokesman of the party inquired, \"Well, sir, what\nis this intended to represent?\"  William Story, in telling these little\nanecdotes, gave the Yankee twang to perfection. . . .\n\nThe statue of his father, his first work, is very noble, as noble and\nfine a portrait-statue as I ever saw.  In the outer room of his studio a\nstone-cutter, or whatever this kind of artisan is called, was at work,\ntransferring the statue of Hero from the plaster-cast into marble; and\nalready, though still in some respects a block of stone, there was a\nwonderful degree of expression in the face.  It is not quite pleasant to\nthink that the sculptor does not really do the whole labor on his\nstatues, but that they are all but finished to his hand by merely\nmechanical people.  It is generally only the finishing touches that are\ngiven by his own chisel.\n\nYesterday, being another bright day, we went to the basilica of St. John\nLateran, which is the basilica next in rank to St. Peter's, and has the\nprecedence of it as regards certain sacred privileges.  It stands on a\nmost noble site, on the outskirts of the city, commanding a view of the\nSabine and Alban hills, blue in the distance, and some of them hoary with\nsunny snow.  The ruins of the Claudian aqueduct are close at hand.  The\nchurch is connected with the Lateran palace and museum, so that the whole\nis one edifice; but the facade of the church distinguishes it, and is\nvery lofty and grand,--more so, it seems to me, than that of St. Peter's.\nUnder the portico is an old statue of Constantine, representing him as a\nvery stout and sturdy personage.  The inside of the church disappointed\nme, though no doubt I should have been wonderstruck had I seen it a month\nago.  We went into one of the chapels, which was very rich in \nmarbles; and, going down a winding staircase, found ourselves among the\ntombs and sarcophagi of the Corsini family, and in presence of a marble\nPieta very beautifully sculptured.  On the other side of the church we\nlooked into the Torlonia Chapel, very rich and rather profusely gilded,\nbut, as it seemed to me, not tawdry, though the white newness of the\nmarble is not perfectly agreeable after being accustomed to the milder\ntint which time bestows on sculpture.  The tombs and statues appeared\nlike shapes and images of new-fallen snow.  The most interesting thing\nwhich we saw in this church (and, admitting its authenticity, there can\nscarcely be a more interesting one anywhere) was the table at which the\nLast Supper was eaten.  It is preserved in a corridor, on one side of the\ntribune or chancel, and is shown by torchlight suspended upon the wall\nbeneath a covering of glass.  Only the top of the table is shown,\npresenting a broad, flat surface of wood, evidently very old, and showing\ntraces of dry-rot in one or two places.  There are nails in it, and the\nattendant said that it had formerly been covered with bronze.  As well as\nI can remember, it may be five or six feet square, and I suppose would\naccommodate twelve persons, though not if they reclined in the Roman\nfashion, nor if they sat as they do in Leonardo da Vinci's picture.  It\nwould be very delightful to believe in this table.\n\nThere are several other sacred relics preserved in the church; for\ninstance, the staircase of Pilate's house up which Jesus went, and the\nporphyry slab on which the soldiers cast lots for his garments.  These,\nhowever, we did not see.  There are very glowing frescos on portions of\nthe walls; but, there being much whitewash instead of incrusted marble,\nit has not the pleasant aspect which one's eye learns to demand in Roman\nchurches.  There is a good deal of statuary along the columns of the\nnave, and in the monuments of the side aisles.\n\nIn reference to the interior splendor of Roman churches, I must say that\nI think it a pity that painted windows are exclusively a Gothic ornament;\nfor the elaborate ornamentation of these interiors puts the ordinary\ndaylight out of countenance, so that a window with only the white\nsunshine coming through it, or even with a glimpse of the blue Italian\nsky, looks like a portion left unfinished, and therefore a blotch in the\nrich wall.  It is like the one spot in Aladdin's palace which he left for\nthe king, his father-in-law, to finish, after his fairy architects had\nexhausted their magnificence on the rest; and the sun, like the king,\nfails in the effort.  It has what is called a porta santa, which we saw\nwalled up, in front of the church, one side of the main entrance.  I know\nnot what gives it its sanctity, but it appears to be opened by the pope\non a year of jubilee, once every quarter of a century.\n\nAfter our return . . . . I took R----- along the Pincian Hill, and\nfinally, after witnessing what of the Carnival could be seen in the\nPiazza del Popolo from that safe height, we went down into the Corso, and\nsome little distance along it.  Except for the sunshine, the scene was\nmuch the same as I have already described; perhaps fewer confetti and\nmore bouquets.  Some Americans and English are said to have been brought\nbefore the police authorities, and fined for throwing lime.  It is\nremarkable that the jollity, such as it is, of the Carnival, does not\nextend an inch beyond the line of the Corso; there it flows along in a\nnarrow stream, while in the nearest street we see nothing but the\nordinary Roman gravity.\n\n\nFebruary 15th.--Yesterday was a bright day, but I did not go out till the\nafternoon, when I took an hour's walk along the Pincian, stopping a good\nwhile to look at the old beggar who, for many years past, has occupied\none of the platforms of the flight of steps leading from the Piazza de'\nSpagna to the Triniti de' Monti.  Hillard commemorates him in his book.\nHe is an unlovely object, moving about on his hands and knees,\nprincipally by aid of his hands, which are fortified with a sort of\nwooden shoes; while his poor, wasted lower shanks stick up in the air\nbehind him, loosely vibrating as he progresses.  He is gray, old, ragged,\na pitiable sight, but seems very active in his own fashion, and bestirs\nhimself on the approach of his visitors with the alacrity of a spider\nwhen a fly touches the remote circumference of his web.  While I looked\ndown at him he received alms from three persons, one of whom was a young\nwoman of the lower orders; the other two were gentlemen, probably either\nEnglish or American.  I could not quite make out the principle on which\nhe let some people pass without molestation, while he shuffled from one\nend of the platform to the other to intercept an occasional individual.\nHe is not persistent in his demands, nor, indeed, is this a usual fault\namong Italian beggars.  A shake of the head will stop him when wriggling\ntowards you from a distance.  I fancy he reaps a pretty fair harvest, and\nno doubt leads as contented and as interesting a life as most people,\nsitting there all day on those sunny steps, looking at the world, and\nmaking his profit out of it.  It must be pretty much such an occupation\nas fishing, in its effect upon the hopes and apprehensions; and probably\nhe suffers no more from the many refusals he meets with than the angler\ndoes, when he sees a fish smell at his bait and swim away.  One success\npays for a hundred disappointments, and the game is all the better for\nnot being entirely in his own favor.\n\nWalking onward, I found the Pincian thronged with promenaders, as also\nwith carriages, which drove round the verge of the gardens in an unbroken\nring.\n\nTo-day has been very rainy.  I went out in the forenoon, and took a\nsitting for my bust in one of a suite of rooms formerly occupied by\nCanova.  It was large, high, and dreary from the want of a carpet,\nfurniture, or anything but clay and plaster.  A sculptor's studio has not\nthe picturesque charm of that of a painter, where there is color, warmth,\nand cheerfulness, and where the artist continually turns towards you the\nglow of some picture, which is resting against the wall. . . . I was\nasked not to look at the bust at the close of the sitting, and, of\ncourse, I obeyed; though I have a vague idea of a heavy-browed\nphysiognomy, something like what I have seen in the glass, but looking\nstrangely in that guise of clay. . . .\n\nIt is a singular fascination that Rome exercises upon artists.  There is\nclay elsewhere, and marble enough, and heads to model, and ideas may be\nmade sensible objects at home as well as here.  I think it is the\npeculiar mode of life that attracts, and its freedom from the\ninthralments of society, more than the artistic advantages which Rome\noffers; and, no doubt, though the artists care little about one another's\nworks, yet they keep each other warm by the presence of so many of them.\n\nThe Carnival still continues, though I hardly see how it can have\nwithstood such a damper as this rainy day.  There were several people--\nthree, I think--killed in the Corso on Saturday; some accounts say that\nthey were run over by the horses in the race; others, that they were\nridden down by the dragoons in clearing the course.\n\nAfter leaving Canova's studio, I stepped into the church of San Luigi de'\nFrancesi, in the Via di Ripetta.  It was built, I believe, by Catherine\nde' Medici, and is under the protection of the French government, and a\nmost shamefully dirty place of worship, the beautiful marble columns\nlooking dingy, for the want of loving and pious care.  There are many\ntombs and monuments of French people, both of the past and present,--\nartists, soldiers, priests, and others, who have died in Rome.  It was so\ndusky within the church that I could hardly distinguish the pictures in\nthe chapels and over the altar, nor did I know that there were any worth\nlooking for.  Nevertheless, there were frescos by Domenichino, and\noil-paintings by Guido and others.  I found it peculiarly touching to\nread the records, in Latin or French, of persons who had died in this\nforeign laud, though they were not my own country-people, and though I\nwas even less akin to them than they to Italy.  Still, there was a sort\nof relationship in the fact that neither they nor I belonged here.\n\n\nFebruary 17th.--Yesterday morning was perfectly sunny, and we went out\nbetimes to see churches; going first to the Capuchins', close by the\nPiazza Barberini.\n\n[\"The Marble Faun\" takes up this description of the church and of the\ndead monk, which we really saw, just as recounted, even to the sudden\nstream of blood which flowed from the nostrils, as we looked at him.--\nED.]\n\nWe next went to the Trinita de' Monti, which stands at the head of the\nsteps, leading, in several flights, from the Piazza de' Spagna.  It is\nnow connected with a convent of French nuns, and when we rang at a side\ndoor, one of the sisterhood answered the summons, and admitted us into\nthe church.  This, like that of the Capuchins', had a vaulted roof over\nthe nave, and no side aisles, but rows of chapels instead.  Unlike the\nCapuchins', which was filthy, and really disgraceful to behold, this\nchurch was most exquisitely neat, as women alone would have thought it\nworth while to keep it.  It is not a very splendid church, not rich in\ngorgeous marbles, but pleasant to be in, if it were only for the sake of\nits godly purity.  There was only one person in the nave; a young girl,\nwho sat perfectly still, with her face towards the altar, as long as we\nstayed.  Between the nave and the rest of the church there is a high iron\nrailing, and on the other side of it were two kneeling figures in black,\nso motionless that I at first thought them statues; but they proved to be\ntwo nuns at their devotions; and others of the sisterhood came by and by\nand joined them.  Nuns, at least these nuns, who are French, and probably\nladies of refinement, having the education of young girls in charge, are\nfar pleasanter objects to see and think about than monks; the odor of\nsanctity, in the latter, not being an agreeable fragrance.  But these\nholy sisters, with their black crape and white muslin, looked really pure\nand unspotted from the world.\n\nOn the iron railing above mentioned was the representation of a golden\nheart, pierced with arrows; for these are nuns of the Sacred Heart.  In\nthe various chapels there are several paintings in fresco, some by\nDaniele da Volterra; and one of them, the \"Descent from the Cross,\" has\nbeen pronounced the third greatest picture in the world.  I never should\nhave had the slightest suspicion that it was a great picture at all, so\nworn and faded it looks, and so hard, so difficult to be seen, and so\nundelightful when one does see it.\n\nFrom the Trinita we went to the Santa Maria del Popolo, a church built on\na spot where Nero is said to have been buried, and which was afterwards\nmade horrible by devilish phantoms.  It now being past twelve, and all\nthe churches closing from twelve till two, we had not time to pay much\nattention to the frescos, oil-pictures, and statues, by Raphael and other\nfamous men, which are to be seen here.  I remember dimly the magnificent\nchapel of the Chigi family, and little else, for we stayed but a short\ntime; and went next to the sculptor's studio, where I had another sitting\nfor my bust.  After I had been moulded for about an hour, we turned\nhomeward; but my wife concluded to hire a balcony for this last afternoon\nand evening of the Carnival, and she took possession of it, while I went\nhome to send to her Miss S------ and the two elder children.  For my\npart, I took R-----, and walked, by way of the Pincian, to the Piazza del\nPopolo, and thence along the Corso, where, by this time, the warfare of\nbouquets and confetti raged pretty fiercely.  The sky being blue and the\nsun bright, the scene looked much gayer and brisker than I had before\nfound it; and I can conceive of its being rather agreeable than\notherwise, up to the age of twenty.  We got several volleys of confetti.\nR----- received a bouquet and a sugar-plum, and I a resounding hit from\nsomething that looked more like a cabbage than a flower.  Little as I\nhave enjoyed the Carnival, I think I could make quite a brilliant sketch\nof it, without very widely departing from truth.\n\n\nFebruary 19th.--Day before yesterday, pretty early, we went to St.\nPeter's, expecting to see the pope cast ashes on the heads of the\ncardinals, it being Ash-Wednesday.  On arriving, however, we found no\nmore than the usual number of visitants and devotional people scattered\nthrough the broad interior of St. Peter's; and thence concluded that the\nceremonies were to be performed in the Sistine Chapel.  Accordingly, we\nwent out of the cathedral, through the door in the left transept, and\npassed round the exterior, and through the vast courts of the Vatican,\nseeking for the chapel.  We had blundered into the carriage-entrance of\nthe palace; there is an entrance from some point near the front of the\nchurch, but this we did not find.  The papal guards, in the strangest\nantique and antic costume that was ever seen,--a party- dress,\nstriped with blue, red, and yellow, white and black, with a doublet and\nruff, and trunk-breeches, and armed with halberds,--were on duty at the\ngateways, but suffered us to pass without question.  Finally, we reached\na large court, where some cardinals' red equipages and other carriages\nwere drawn up, but were still at a loss as to the whereabouts of the\nchapel.  At last an attendant kindly showed us the proper door, and led\nus up flights of stairs, along passages and galleries, and through halls,\ntill at last we came to a spacious and lofty apartment adorned with\nfrescos; this was the Sala Regia, and the antechamber to the Sistine\nChapel.\n\nThe attendant, meanwhile, had informed us that my wife could not be\nadmitted to the chapel in her bonnet, and that I myself could not enter\nat all, for lack of a dress-coat; so my wife took off her bonnet, and,\ncovering her head with her black lace veil, was readily let in, while I\nremained in the Sala Regia, with several other gentlemen, who found\nthemselves in the same predicament as I was.  There was a wonderful\nvariety of costume to be seen and studied among the persons around me,\ncomprising garbs that have been elsewhere laid aside for at least three\ncenturies,--the broad, plaited, double ruff, and black velvet cloak,\ndoublet, trunk-breeches, and sword of Queen Elizabeth's time,--the papal\nguard, in their striped and party- dress as before described,\nlooking not a little like harlequins; other soldiers in helmets and\njackboots; French officers of various uniform; monks and priests;\nattendants in old-fashioned and gorgeous livery; gentlemen, some in black\ndress-coats and pantaloons, others in wide-awake hats and tweed\novercoats; and a few ladies in the prescribed costume of black; so that,\nin any other country, the scene might have been taken for a fancy ball.\nBy and by, the cardinals began to arrive, and added their splendid purple\nrobes and red hats to make the picture still more brilliant.  They were\nold men, one or two very aged and infirm, and generally men of bulk and\nsubstance, with heavy faces, fleshy about the chin.  Their red hats,\ntrimmed with gold-lace, are a beautiful piece of finery, and are\nidentical in shape with the black, loosely cocked beavers worn by the\nCatholic ecclesiastics generally.  Wolsey's hat, which I saw at the\nManchester Exhibition, might have been made on the same block, but\napparently was never cocked, as the fashion now is.  The attendants\nchanged the upper portions of their master's attire, and put a little cap\nof scarlet cloth on each of their heads, after which the cardinals, one\nby one, or two by two, as they happened to arrive, went into the chapel,\nwith a page behind each holding up his purple train.  In the mean while,\nwithin the chapel, we heard singing and chanting; and whenever the\nvoluminous curtains that hung before the entrance were slightly drawn\napart, we outsiders glanced through, but could see only a mass of people,\nand beyond them still another chapel, divided from the hither one by a\nscreen.  When almost everybody had gone in, there was a stir among the\nguards and attendants, and a door opened, apparently communicating with\nthe inner apartments of the Vatican.  Through this door came, not the\npope, as I had partly expected, but a bulky old lady in black, with a red\nface, who bowed towards the spectators with an aspect of dignified\ncomplaisance as she passed towards the entrance of the chapel.  I took\noff my hat, unlike certain English gentlemen who stood nearer, and found\nthat I had not done amiss, for it was the Queen of Spain.\n\nThere was nothing else to be seen; so I went back through the\nantechambers (which are noble halls, richly frescoed on the walls and\nceilings), endeavoring to get out through the same passages that had let\nme in.  I had already tried to descend what I now supposed to be the\nScala Santa, but had been turned back by a sentinel.  After wandering to\nand fro a good while, I at last found myself in a long, long gallery, on\neach side of which were innumerable inscriptions, in Greek and Latin, on\nslabs of marble, built into the walls; and classic altars and tablets\nwere ranged along, from end to end.  At the extremity was a closed iron\ngrating, from which I was retreating; but a French gentleman accosted me,\nwith the information that the custode would admit me, if I chose, and\nwould accompany me through the sculpture department of the Vatican.  I\nacceded, and thus took my first view of those innumerable art-treasures,\npassing from one object to another, at an easy pace, pausing hardly a\nmoment anywhere, and dismissing even the Apollo, and the Laocoon, and the\nTorso of Hercules, in the space of half a dozen breaths.  I was well\nenough content to do so, in order to get a general idea of the contents\nof the galleries, before settling down upon individual objects.\n\nMost of the world-famous sculptures presented themselves to my eye with a\nkind of familiarity, through the copies and casts which I had seen; but I\nfound the originals more different than I anticipated.  The Apollo, for\ninstance, has a face which I have never seen in any cast or copy.  I must\nconfess, however, taking such transient glimpses as I did, I was more\nimpressed with the extent of the Vatican, and the beautiful order in\nwhich it is kept, and its great sunny, open courts, with fountains,\ngrass, and shrubs, and the views of Rome and the Campagna from its\nwindows,--more impressed with these, and with certain vastly capacious\nvases, and two seat sarcophagi,--than with the statuary.  Thus I went\nround the whole, and was dismissed through the grated barrier into the\ngallery of inscriptions again; and after a little more wandering, I made\nmy way out of the palace. . . .\n\nYesterday I went out betimes, and strayed through some portion of ancient\nRome, to the Column of Trajan, to the Forum, thence along the Appian Way;\nafter which I lost myself among the intricacies of the streets, and\nfinally came out at the bridge of St. Angelo.  The first observation\nwhich a stranger is led to make, in the neighborhood of Roman ruins, is\nthat the inhabitants seem to be strangely addicted to the washing of\nclothes; for all the precincts of Trajan's Forum, and of the Roman Forum,\nand wherever else an iron railing affords opportunity to hang them, were\nwhitened with sheets, and other linen and cotton, drying in the sun.  It\nmust be that washerwomen burrow among the old temples.  The second\nobservation is not quite so favorable to the cleanly character of the\nmodern Romans; indeed, it is so very unfavorable, that I hardly know how\nto express it.  But the fact is, that, through the Forum, . . . . and\nanywhere out of the commonest foot-track and roadway, you must look well\nto your steps. . . . If you tread beneath the triumphal arch of Titus\nor Constantine, you had better look downward than upward, whatever be the\nmerit of the sculptures aloft. . . .\n\nAfter a while the visitant finds himself getting accustomed to this\nhorrible state of things; and the associations of moral sublimity and\nbeauty seem to throw a veil over the physical meannesses to which I\nallude.  Perhaps there is something in the mind of the people of these\ncountries that enables them quite to dissever small ugliness from great\nsublimity and beauty.  They spit upon the glorious pavement of St.\nPeter's, and wherever else they like; they place paltry-looking wooden\nconfessionals beneath its sublime arches, and ornament them with cheap\nlittle  prints of the crucifixion; they hang tin hearts and other\ntinsel and trumpery at the gorgeous shrines of the saints, in chapels\nthat are incrusted with gems, or marbles almost as precious; they put\npasteboard statues of saints beneath the dome of the Pantheon; in short,\nthey let the sublime and the ridiculous come close together, and are not\nin the least troubled by the proximity.  It must be that their sense of\nthe beautiful is stronger than in the Anglo-Saxon mind, and that it\nobserves only what is fit to gratify it.\n\nTo-day, which was bright and cool, my wife and I set forth immediately\nafter breakfast, in search of the Baths of Diocletian, and the church of\nSanta Maria degl' Angeli.  We went too far along the Via di Porta Pia,\nand after passing by two or three convents, and their high garden walls,\nand the villa Bonaparte on one side, and the villa Torlonia on the other,\nat last issued through the city gate.  Before us, far away, were the\nAlban hills, the loftiest of which was absolutely silvered with snow and\nsunshine, and set in the bluest and brightest of skies.  We now retraced\nour steps to the Fountain of the Termini, where is a ponderous heap of\nstone, representing Moses striking the rock; a colossal figure, not\nwithout a certain enormous might and dignity, though rather too evidently\nlooking his awfullest.  This statue was the death of its sculptor, whose\nheart was broken on account of the ridicule it excited.  There are many\nmore absurd aquatic devices in Rome, however, and few better.\n\nWe turned into the Piazza de' Termini, the entrance of which is at this\nfountain; and after some inquiry of the French soldiers, a numerous\ndetachment of whom appear to be quartered in the vicinity, we found our\nway to the portal of Santa Maria degl' Angeli.  The exterior of this\nchurch has no pretensions to beauty or majesty, or, indeed, to\narchitectural merit of any kind, or to any architecture whatever; for it\nlooks like a confused pile of ruined brickwork, with a facade resembling\nhalf the inner curve of a large oven.  No one would imagine that there\nwas a church under that enormous heap of ancient rubbish.  But the door\nadmits you into a circular vestibule, once an apartment of Diocletian's\nBaths, but now a portion of the nave of the church, and surrounded with\nmonumental busts; and thence you pass into what was the central hall;\nnow, with little change, except of detail and ornament, transformed into\nthe body of the church.  This space is so lofty, broad, and airy, that\nthe soul forthwith swells out and magnifies itself, for the sake of\nfilling it.  It was Michael Angelo who contrived this miracle; and I feel\neven more grateful to him for rescuing such a noble interior from\ndestruction, than if he had originally built it himself.  In the ceiling\nabove, you see the metal fixtures whereon the old Romans hung their\nlamps; and there are eight gigantic pillars of Egyptian granite, standing\nas they stood of yore.  There is a grand simplicity about the church,\nmore satisfactory than elaborate ornament; but the present pope has paved\nand adorned one of the large chapels of the transept in very beautiful\nstyle, and the pavement of the central part is likewise laid in rich\nmarbles.  In the choir there are several pictures, one of which was\nveiled, as celebrated pictures frequently are in churches.  A person, who\nseemed to be at his devotions, withdrew the veil for us, and we saw a\nMartyrdom of St. Sebastian, by Domenichino, originally, I believe,\npainted in fresco in St. Peter's, but since transferred to canvas, and\nremoved hither.  Its place at St. Peter's is supplied by a mosaic copy.\nI was a good deal impressed by this picture,--the dying saint, amid the\nsorrow of those who loved him, and the fury of his enemies, looking\nupward, where a company of angels, and Jesus with them, are waiting to\nwelcome him and crown him; and I felt what an influence pictures might\nhave upon the devotional part of our nature.  The nailmarks in the hands\nand feet of Jesus, ineffaceable, even after he had passed into bliss and\nglory, touched my heart with a sense of his love for us.  I think this\nreally a great picture.  We walked round the church, looking at other\npaintings and frescos, but saw no others that greatly interested us.  In\nthe vestibule there are monuments to Carlo Maratti and Salvator Rosa, and\nthere is a statue of St. Bruno, by Houdon, which is pronounced to be very\nfine.  I thought it good, but scarcely worthy of vast admiration.  Houdon\nwas the sculptor of the first statue of Washington, and of the bust,\nwhence, I suppose, all subsequent statues have been, and will be, mainly\nmodelled.\n\nAfter emerging from the church, I looked back with wonder at the stack of\nshapeless old brickwork that hid the splendid interior.  I must go there\nagain, and breathe freely in that noble space.\n\n\nFebruary 20th.--This morning, after breakfast, I walked across the city,\nmaking a pretty straight course to the Pantheon, and thence to the bridge\nof St. Angelo, and to St. Peter's.  It had been my purpose to go to the\nFontana Paolina; but, finding that the distance was too great, and being\nweighed down with a Roman lassitude, I concluded to go into St. Peter's.\nHere I looked at Michael Angelo's Pieta, a representation of the dead\nChrist, in his mother's lap.  Then I strolled round the great church, and\nfind that it continues to grow upon me both in magnitude and beauty, by\ncomparison with the many interiors of sacred edifices which I have lately\nseen.  At times, a single, casual, momentary glimpse of its magnificence\ngleams upon my soul, as it were, when I happen to glance at arch opening\nbeyond arch, and I am surprised into admiration.  I have experienced that\na landscape and the sky unfold the deepest beauty in a similar way; not\nwhen they are gazed at of set purpose, but when the spectator looks\nsuddenly through a vista, among a crowd of other thoughts.  Passing near\nthe confessional for foreigners to-day, I saw a Spaniard, who had just\ncome out of the one devoted to his native tongue, taking leave of his\nconfessor, with an affectionate reverence, which--as well as the benign\ndignity of the good father--it was good to behold. . . .\n\nI returned home early, in order to go with my wife to the Barberini\nPalace at two o'clock.  We entered through the gateway, through the Via\ndelle Quattro Fontane, passing one or two sentinels; for there is\napparently a regiment of dragoons quartered on the ground-floor of the\npalace; and I stumbled upon a room containing their saddles, the other\nday, when seeking for Mr. Story's staircase.  The entrance to the\npicture-gallery is by a door on the right hand, affording us a sight of a\nbeautiful spiral staircase, which goes circling upward from the very\nbasement to the very summit of the palace, with a perfectly easy ascent,\nyet confining its sweep within a moderate compass.  We looked up through\nthe interior of the spiral, as through a tube, from the bottom to the\ntop.  The pictures are contained in three contiguous rooms of the lower\npiano, and are few in number, comprising barely half a dozen which I\nshould care to see again, though doubtless all have value in their way.\nOne that attracted our attention was a picture of \"Christ disputing with\nthe Doctors,\" by Albert Duerer, in which was represented the ugliest,\nmost evil-minded, stubborn, pragmatical, and contentious old Jew that\never lived under the law of Moses; and he and the child Jesus were\narguing, not only with their tongues, but making hieroglyphics, as it\nwere, by the motion of their hands and fingers.  It is a very queer, as\nwell as a very remarkable picture.  But we passed hastily by this, and\nalmost all others, being eager to see the two which chiefly make the\ncollection famous,--Raphael's Fornarina, and Guido's portrait of Beatrice\nCenci.  These were found in the last of the three rooms, and as regards\nBeatrice Cenci, I might as well not try to say anything; for its spell is\nindefinable, and the painter has wrought it in a way more like magic than\nanything else. . . .\n\nIt is the most profoundly wrought picture in the world; no artist did it,\nnor could do it, again.  Guido may have held the brush, but he painted\n\"better than he knew.\"  I wish, however, it were possible for some\nspectator, of deep sensibility, to see the picture without knowing\nanything of its subject or history; for, no doubt, we bring all our\nknowledge of the Cenci tragedy to the interpretation of it.\n\nClose beside Beatrice Cenci hangs the Fornarina. . . .\n\nWhile we were looking at these works Miss M------ unexpectedly joined us,\nand we went, all three together, to the Rospigliosi Palace, in the Piazza\ndi Monte Cavallo.  A porter, in cocked hat, and with a staff of office,\nadmitted us into a spacious court before the palace, and directed us to a\ngarden on one side, raised as much as twenty feet above the level on\nwhich we stood.  The gardener opened the gate for us, and we ascended a\nbeautiful stone staircase, with a carved balustrade, bearing many marks\nof time and weather.  Reaching the garden-level, we found it laid out in\nwalks, bordered with box and ornamental shrubbery, amid which were\nlemon-trees, and one large old exotic from some distant clime.  In the\ncentre of the garden, surrounded by a stone balustrade, like that of the\nstaircase, was a fish-pond, into which several jets of water were\ncontinually spouting; and on pedestals, that made part of the balusters,\nstood eight marble statues of Apollo, Cupid, nymphs, and other such sunny\nand beautiful people of classic mythology.  There had been many more of\nthese statues, but the rest had disappeared, and those which remained had\nsuffered grievous damage, here to a nose, there to a hand or foot, and\noften a fracture of the body, very imperfectly mended.  There was a\npleasant sunshine in the garden, and a springlike, or rather a genial,\nautumnal atmosphere, though elsewhere it was a day of poisonous Roman\nchill.\n\nAt the end of the garden, which was of no great extent, was an edifice,\nbordering on the piazza, called the Casino, which, I presume, means a\ngarden-house.  The front is richly ornamented with bas-reliefs, and\nstatues in niches; as if it were a place for pleasure and enjoyment, and\ntherefore ought to be beautiful.  As we approached it, the door swung\nopen, and we went into a large room on the ground-floor, and, looking up\nto the ceiling, beheld Guido's Aurora.  The picture is as fresh and\nbrilliant as if he had painted it with the morning sunshine which it\nrepresents.  It could not be more lustrous in its lines, if he had given\nit the last touch an hour ago.  Three or four artists were copying it at\nthat instant, and positively their colors did not look brighter, though a\ngreat deal newer than his.  The alacrity and movement, briskness and\nmorning stir and glow, of the picture are wonderful.  It seems impossible\nto catch its glory in a copy.  Several artists, as I said, were making\nthe attempt, and we saw two other attempted copies leaning against the\nwall, but it was easy to detect failure in just essential points.  My\nmemory, I believe, will be somewhat enlivened by this picture hereafter:\nnot that I remember it very distinctly even now; but bright things leave\na sheen and glimmer in the mind, like Christian's tremulous glimpse of\nthe Celestial City.\n\nIn two other rooms of the Casino we saw pictures by Domenichino, Rubens,\nand other famous painters, which I do not mean to speak of, because I\ncared really little or nothing about them.  Returning into the garden,\nthe sunny warmth of which was most grateful after the chill air and cold\npavement of the Casino, we walked round the laguna, examining the\nstatues, and looking down at some little fishes that swarmed at the stone\nmargin of the pool.  There were two infants of the Rospigliosi family:\none, a young child playing with a maid and head-servant; another, the\nvery chubbiest and rosiest boy in the world, sleeping on its nurse's\nbosom.  The nurse was a comely woman enough, dressed in bright colors,\nwhich fitly set off the deep lines of her Italian face.  An old painter\nvery likely would have beautified and refined the pair into a Madonna,\nwith the child Jesus; for an artist need not go far in Italy to find a\npicture ready composed and tinted, needing little more than to be\nliterally copied.\n\nMiss M------ had gone away before us; but my wife and I, after leaving\nthe Palazzo Rospigliosi, and on our way hone, went into the Church of St.\nAndrea, which belongs to a convent of Jesuits.  I have long ago exhausted\nall my capacity of admiration for splendid interiors of churches, but\nmethinks this little, little temple (it is not more than fifty or sixty\nfeet across) has a more perfect and gem-like beauty than any other.  Its\nshape is oval, with an oval dome, and, above that, another little dome,\nboth of which are magnificently frescoed.  Around the base of the larger\ndome is wreathed a flight of angels, and the smaller and upper one is\nencircled by a garland of cherubs,--cherub and angel all of pure white\nmarble.  The oval centre of the church is walled round with precious and\nlustrous marble of a red-veined variety interspersed with columns and\npilasters of white; and there are arches opening through this rich wall,\nforming chapels, which the architect seems to have striven hard to make\neven more gorgeous than the main body of the church.  They contain\nbeautiful pictures, not dark and faded, but glowing, as if just from the\npainter's hands; and the shrines are adorned with whatever is most rare,\nand in one of them was the great carbuncle; at any rate, a bright, fiery\ngem as big as a turkey's egg.  The pavement of the church was one star of\nvarious- marble, and in the centre was a mosaic, covering, I\nbelieve, the tomb of the founder.  I have not seen, nor expect to see,\nanything else so entirely and satisfactorily finished as this small oval\nchurch; and I only wish I could pack it in a large box, and send it home.\n\nI must not forget that, on our way from the Barberini Palace, we stopped\nan instant to look at the house, at the corner of the street of the four\nfountains, where Milton was a guest while in Rome.  He seems quite a man\nof our own day, seen so nearly at the hither extremity of the vista\nthrough which we look back, from the epoch of railways to that of the\noldest Egyptian obelisk.  The house (it was then occupied by the Cardinal\nBarberini) looks as if it might have been built within the present\ncentury; for mediaeval houses in Rome do not assume the aspect of\nantiquity; perhaps because the Italian style of architecture, or\nsomething similar, is the one more generally in vogue in most cities.\n\n\nFebruary 21st.--This morning I took my way through the Porta del Popolo,\nintending to spend the forenoon in the Campagna; but, getting weary of\nthe straight, uninteresting street that runs out of the gate, I turned\naside from it, and soon found myself on the shores of the Tiber.  It\nlooked, as usual, like a saturated solution of yellow mud, and eddied\nhastily along between deep banks of clay, and over a clay bed, in which\ndoubtless are hidden many a richer treasure than we now possess.  The\nFrench once proposed to draw off the river, for the purpose of recovering\nall the sunken statues and relics; but the Romans made strenuous\nobjection, on account of the increased virulence of malaria which would\nprobably result.  I saw a man on the immediate shore of the river, fifty\nfeet or so beneath the bank on which I stood, sitting patiently, with an\nangling rod; and I waited to see what he might catch.  Two other persons\nlikewise sat down to watch him; but he caught nothing so long as I\nstayed, and at last seemed to give it up.  The banks and vicinity of the\nriver are very bare and uninviting, as I then saw them; no shade, no\nverdure,--a rough, neglected aspect, and a peculiar shabbiness about the\nfew houses that were visible.  Farther down the stream the dome of St.\nPeter's showed itself on the other side, seeming to stand on the\noutskirts of the city.  I walked along the banks, with some expectation\nof finding a ferry, by which I might cross the river; but my course was\nsoon interrupted by the wall, and I turned up a lane that led me straight\nback again to the Porta del Popolo.  I stopped a moment, however, to see\nsome young men pitching quoits, which they appeared to do with a good\ndeal of skill.\n\nI went along the Via di Ripetta, and through other streets, stepping into\ntwo or three churches, one of which was the Pantheon. . . .\n\nThere are, I think, seven deep, pillared recesses around the\ncircumference of it, each of which becomes a sufficiently capacious\nchapel; and alternately with these chapels there is a marble structure,\nlike the architecture of a doorway, beneath which is the shrine of a\nsaint; so that the whole circle of the Pantheon is filled up with the\nseven chapels and seven shrines.  A number of persons were sitting or\nkneeling around; others came in while I was there, dipping their fingers\nin the holy water, and bending the knee, as they passed the shrines and\nchapels, until they reached the one which, apparently, they had selected\nas the particular altar for their devotions.  Everybody seemed so devout,\nand in a frame of mind so suited to the day and place, that it really\nmade me feel a little awkward not to be able to kneel down along with\nthem.  Unlike the worshippers in our own churches, each individual here\nseems to do his own individual acts of devotion, and I cannot but think\nit better so than to make an effort for united prayer as we do.  It is my\nopinion that a great deal of devout and reverential feeling is kept alive\nin people's hearts by the Catholic mode of worship.\n\nSoon leaving the Pantheon, a few minutes' walk towards the Corso brought\nme to the Church of St. Ignazio, which belongs to the College of the\nJesuits.  It is spacious and of beautiful architecture, but not\nstrikingly distinguished, in the latter particular, from many others; a\nwide and lofty nave, supported upon marble columns, between which arches\nopen into the side aisles, and at the junction of the nave and transept a\ndome, resting on four great arches.  The church seemed to be purposely\nsomewhat darkened, so that I could not well see the details of the\nornamentation, except the frescos on the ceiling of the nave, which were\nvery brilliant, and done in so effectual a style, that I really could not\nsatisfy myself that some of the figures did not actually protrude from\nthe ceiling,--in short, that they were not  bas-reliefs, instead\nof frescos.  No words can express the beautiful effect, in an upholstery\npoint of view, of this kind of decoration.  Here, as at the Pantheon,\nthere were many persons sitting silent, kneeling, or passing from shrine\nto shrine.\n\nI reached home at about twelve, and, at one, set out again, with my wife,\ntowards St. Peter's, where we meant to stay till after vespers.  We\nwalked across the city, and through the Piazza de Navona, where we\nstopped to look at one of Bernini's absurd fountains, of which the water\nmakes but the smallest part,--a little squirt or two amid a prodigious\nfuss of gods and monsters.  Thence we passed by the poor, battered-down\ntorso of Pasquin, and came, by devious ways, to the bridge of St. Angelo;\nthe streets bearing pretty much their weekday aspect, many of the shops\nopen, the market-stalls doing their usual business, and the people brisk\nand gay, though not indecorously so.  I suppose there was hardly a man or\nwoman who had not heard mass, confessed, and said their prayers; a thing\nwhich--the prayers, I mean--it would be absurd to predicate of London,\nNew York, or any Protestant city.  In however adulterated a guise, the\nCatholics do get a draught of devotion to slake the thirst of their\nsouls, and methinks it must needs do them good, even if not quite so pure\nas if it came from better cisterns, or from the original fountain-head.\n\nArriving at St. Peter's shortly after two, we walked round the whole\nchurch, looking at all the pictures and most of the monuments, . . . .\nand paused longest before Guido's \"Archangel Michael overcoming Lucifer.\"\nThis is surely one of the most beautiful things in the world, one of the\nhuman conceptions that are imbued most deeply with the celestial. . . .\n\nWe then sat down in one of the aisles and awaited the beginning of\nvespers, which we supposed would take place at half past three.  Four\no'clock came, however, and no vespers; and as our dinner-hour is\nfive, . . . . we at last cane away without hearing the vesper hymn.\n\n\nFebruary 23d.--Yesterday, at noon, we set out for the Capitol, and after\ngoing up the acclivity (not from the Forum, but from the opposite\ndirection), stopped to look at the statues of Castor and Pollux, which,\nwith other sculptures, look down the ascent.  Castor and his brother seem\nto me to have heads disproportionately large, and are not so striking, in\nany respect, as such great images ought to be.  But we heartily admired\nthe equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, . . . . and looked at\na fountain, principally composed, I think, of figures representing the\nNile and the Tiber, who loll upon their elbows and preside over the\ngushing water; and between them, against the facade of the Senator's\nPalace, there is a statue of Minerva, with a petticoat of red porphyry.\nHaving taken note of these objects, we went to the museum, in an edifice\non our left, entering the piazza, and here, in the vestibule, we found\nvarious old statues and relics.  Ascending the stairs, we passed through\na long gallery, and, turning to our left, examined somewhat more\ncarefully a suite of rooms running parallel with it.  The first of these\ncontained busts of the Caesars and their kindred, from the epoch of the\nmightiest Julius downward; eighty-three, I believe, in all.  I had seen a\nbust of Julius Caesar in the British Museum, and was surprised at its\nthin and withered aspect; but this head is of a very ugly old man\nindeed,--wrinkled, puckered, shrunken, lacking breadth and substance;\ncareworn, grim, as if he had fought hard with life, and had suffered in\nthe conflict; a man of schemes, and of eager effort to bring his schemes\nto pass.  His profile is by no means good, advancing from the top of his\nforehead to the tip of his nose, and retreating, at about the same angle,\nfrom the latter point to the bottom of his chin, which seems to be thrust\nforcibly down into his meagre neck,--not that he pokes his head forward,\nhowever, for it is particularly erect.\n\nThe head of Augustus is very beautiful, and appears to be that of a\nmeditative, philosophic man, saddened with the sense that it is not very\nmuch worth while to be at the summit of human greatness after all.  It is\na sorrowful thing to trace the decay of civilization through this series\nof busts, and to observe how the artistic skill, so requisite at first,\nwent on declining through the dreary dynasty of the Caesars, till at\nlength the master of the world could not get his head carved in better\nstyle than the figure-head of a ship.\n\nIn the next room there were better statues than we had yet seen; but in\nthe last room of the range we found the \"Dying Gladiator,\" of which I had\nalready caught a glimpse in passing by the open door.  It had made all\nthe other treasures of the gallery tedious in my eagerness to come to\nthat.  I do not believe that so much pathos is wrought into any other\nblock of stone.  Like all works of the highest excellence, however, it\nmakes great demands upon the spectator.  He must make a generous gift of\nhis sympathies to the sculptor, and help out his skill with all his\nheart, or else he will see little more than a skilfully wrought surface.\nIt suggests far more than it shows.  I looked long at this statue, and\nlittle at anything else, though, among other famous works, a statue of\nAntinous was in the same room.\n\nI was glad when we left the museum, which, by the by, was piercingly\nchill, as if the multitude of statues radiated cold out of their marble\nsubstance.  We might have gone to see the pictures in the Palace of the\nConservatori, and S-----, whose receptivity is unlimited and forever\nfresh, would willingly have done so; but I objected, and we went towards\nthe Forum.  I had noticed, two or three times, an inscription over a\nmean-looking door in this neighborhood, stating that here was the\nentrance to the prison of the holy apostles Peter and Paul; and we soon\nfound the spot, not far from the Forum, with two wretched frescos of the\napostles above the inscription.  We knocked at the door without effect;\nbut a lame beggar, who sat at another door of the same house (which\nlooked exceedingly like a liquor-shop), desired us to follow him, and\nbegan to ascend to the Capitol, by the causeway leading from the Forum.\nA little way upward we met a woman, to whom the beggar delivered us over,\nand she led us into a church or chapel door, and pointed to a long flight\nof steps, which descended through twilight into utter darkness.  She\ncalled to somebody in the lower regions, and then went away, leaving us\nto get down this mysterious staircase by ourselves.  Down we went,\nfarther and farther from the daylight, and found ourselves, anon, in a\ndark chamber or cell, the shape or boundaries of which we could not make\nout, though it seemed to be of stone, and black and dungeon-like.\nIndistinctly, and from a still farther depth in the earth, we heard\nvoices,--one voice, at least,--apparently not addressing ourselves, but\nsome other persons; and soon, directly beneath our feet, we saw a\nglimmering of light through a round, iron-grated hole in the bottom of\nthe dungeon.  In a few moments the glimmer and the voice came up through\nthis hole, and the light disappeared, and it and the voice came\nglimmering and babbling up a flight of stone stairs, of which we had not\nhitherto been aware.  It was the custode, with a party of visitors, to\nwhom he had been showing St. Peter's dungeon.  Each visitor was provided\nwith a wax taper, and the custode gave one to each of us, bidding us wait\na moment while he conducted the other party to the upper air.  During his\nabsence we examined the cell, as well as our dim lights would permit, and\nsoon found an indentation in the wall, with an iron grate put over it for\nprotection, and an inscription above informing us that the Apostle Peter\nhad here left the imprint of his visage; and, in truth, there is a\nprofile there,--forehead, nose, mouth, and chin,--plainly to be seen, an\nintaglio in the solid rock.  We touched it with the tips of our fingers,\nas well as saw it with our eyes.\n\nThe custode soon returned, and led us down the darksome steps, chattering\nin Italian all the time.  It is not a very long descent to the lower\ncell, the roof of which is so low that I believe I could have reached it\nwith my hand.  We were now in the deepest and ugliest part of the old\nMamertine Prison, one of the few remains of the kingly period of Rome,\nand which served the Romans as a state-prison for hundreds of years\nbefore the Christian era.  A multitude of criminals or innocent persons,\nno doubt, have languished here in misery, and perished in darkness.  Here\nJugurtha starved; here Catiline's adherents were strangled; and,\nmethinks, there cannot be in the world another such an evil den, so\nhaunted with black memories and indistinct surmises of guilt and\nsuffering.  In old Rome, I suppose, the citizens never spoke of this\ndungeon above their breath.  It looks just as bad as it is; round, only\nseven paces across, yet so obscure that our tapers could not illuminate\nit from side to side,-- the stones of which it is constructed being as\nblack as midnight.  The custode showed us a stone post, at the side of\nthe cell, with the hole in the top of it, into which, he said, St.\nPeter's chain had been fastened; and he uncovered a spring of water, in\nthe middle of the stone floor, which he told us had miraculously gushed\nup to enable the saint to baptize his jailer.  The miracle was perhaps\nthe more easily wrought, inasmuch as Jugurtha had found the floor of the\ndungeon oozy with wet.  However, it is best to be as simple and childlike\nas we can in these matters; and whether St. Peter stamped his visage into\nthe stone, and wrought this other miracle or no, and whether or no he\never was in the prison at all, still the belief of a thousand years and\nmore gives a sort of reality and substance to such traditions.  The\ncustode dipped an iron ladle into the miraculous water, and we each of us\ndrank a sip; and, what is very remarkable, to me it seemed hard water and\nalmost brackish, while many persons think it the sweetest in Rome.  I\nsuspect that St. Peter still dabbles in this water, and tempers its\nqualities according to the faith of those who drink it.\n\nThe staircase descending into the lower dungeon is comparatively modern,\nthere having been no entrance of old, except through the small circular\nopening in the roof.  In the upper cell the custode showed us an ancient\nflight of stairs, now built into the wall, which used to lead from the\nCapitol.  The whole precincts are now consecrated, and I believe the\nupper portion, perhaps both upper and lower, are a shrine or a chapel.\n\nI now left S------ in the Forum, and went to call on Mr. J. P. K------ at\nthe Hotel d'Europe.  I found him just returned from a drive,--a gentleman\nof about sixty, or more, with gray hair, a pleasant, intellectual face,\nand penetrating, but not unkindly eyes.  He moved infirmly, being on the\nrecovery from an illness.  We went up to his saloon together, and had a\ntalk,--or, rather, he had it nearly all to himself,--and particularly\nsensible talk, too, and full of the results of learning and experience.\nIn the first place, he settled the whole Kansas difficulty; then he made\nhavoc of St. Peter, who came very shabbily out of his hands, as regarded\nhis early character in the Church, and his claims to the position he now\nholds in it.  Mr. K------ also gave a curious illustration, from\nsomething that happened to himself, of the little dependence that can be\nplaced on tradition purporting to be ancient, and I capped his story by\ntelling him how the site of my town-pump, so plainly indicated in the\nsketch itself, has already been mistaken in the city council and in the\npublic prints.\n\n\nFebruary 24th.--Yesterday I crossed the Ponte Sisto, and took a short\nramble on the other side of the river; and it rather surprised me to\ndiscover, pretty nearly opposite the Capitoline Hill, a quay, at which\nseveral schooners and barks, of two or three hundred tons' burden, were\nmoored.  There was also a steamer, armed with a large gun and two brass\nswivels on her forecastle, and I know not what artillery besides.\nProbably she may have been a revenue-cutter.\n\nReturning I crossed the river by way of the island of St. Bartholomew\nover two bridges.  The island is densely covered with buildings, and is a\nseparate small fragment of the city.  It was a tradition of the ancient\nRomans that it was formed by the aggregation of soil and rubbish brought\ndown by the river, and accumulating round the nucleus of some sunken\nbaskets.\n\nOn reaching the hither side of the river, I soon struck upon the ruins of\nthe theatre of Marcellus, which are very picturesque, and the more so\nfrom being closely linked in, indeed, identified with the shops,\nhabitations, and swarming life of modern Rome.  The most striking portion\nwas a circular edifice, which seemed to have been composed of a row of\nIonic columns standing upon a lower row of Doric, many of the antique\npillars being yet perfect; but the intervening arches built up with\nbrickwork, and the whole once magnificent structure now tenanted by poor\nand squalid people, as thick as mites within the round of an old cheese.\nFrom this point I cannot very clearly trace out my course; but I passed,\nI think, between the Circus Maximus and the Palace of the Caesars, and\nnear the Baths of Caracalla, and went into the cloisters of the Church of\nSan Gregorio.  All along I saw massive ruins, not particularly\npicturesque or beautiful, but huge, mountainous piles, chiefly of\nbrickwork, somewhat tweed-grown here and there, but oftener bare and\ndreary. . . . All the successive ages since Rome began to decay have\ndone their best to ruin the very ruins by taking away the marble and the\nhewn stone for their own structures, and leaving only the inner filling\nup of brickwork, which the ancient architects never designed to be seen.\nThe consequence of all this is, that, except for the lofty and poetical\nassociations connected with it, and except, too, for the immense\ndifference in magnitude, a Roman ruin may be in itself not more\npicturesque than I have seen an old cellar, with a shattered brick\nchimney half crumbling down into it, in New England.\n\nBy this time I knew not whither I was going, and turned aside from a\nbroad, paved road (it was the Appian Way) into the Via Latina, which I\nsupposed would lead to one of the city gates.  It was a lonely path: on\nmy right hand extensive piles of ruin, in strange shapes or\nshapelessness, built of the broad and thin old Roman bricks, such as may\nbe traced everywhere, when the stucco has fallen away from a modern Roman\nhouse; for I imagine there has not been a new brick made here for a\nthousand years.  On my left, I think, was a high wall, and before me,\ngrazing in the road . . . . [the buffalo calf of the Marble Faun.--ED.].\nThe road went boldly on, with a well-worn track up to the very walls of\nthe city; but there it abruptly terminated at an ancient, closed-up\ngateway.  From a notice posted against a door, which appeared to be the\nentrance to the ruins on my left, I found that these were the remains of\nColumbaria, where the dead used to be put away in pigeon-holes.  Reaching\nthe paved road again, I kept on my course, passing the tomb of the\nScipios, and soon came to the gate of San Sebastiano, through which I\nentered the Campagna.  Indeed, the scene around was so rural, that I had\nfancied myself already beyond the walls.  As the afternoon was getting\nadvanced, I did not proceed any farther towards the blue hills which I\nsaw in the distance, but turned to my left, following a road that runs\nround the exterior of the city wall.  It was very dreary and solitary,--\nnot a house on the whole track, with the broad and shaggy Campagna on one\nside, and the high, bare wall, looking down over my head, on the other.\nIt is not, any more than the other objects of the scene, a very\npicturesque wall, but is little more than a brick garden-fence seen\nthrough a magnifying-glass, with now and then a tower, however, and\nfrequent buttresses, to keep its height of fifty feet from toppling over.\nThe top was ragged, and fringed with a few weeds; there had been\nembrasures for guns and eyelet-holes for musketry, but these were\nplastered up with brick or stone.  I passed one or two walled-up gateways\n(by the by, the Parts, Latina was the gate through which Belisarius first\nentered Rome), and one of these had two high, round towers, and looked\nmore Gothic and venerable with antique strength than any other portion of\nthe wall.  Immediately after this I came to the gate of San Giovanni,\njust within which is the Basilica of St. John Lateran, and there I was\nglad to rest myself upon a bench before proceeding homeward.\n\nThere was a French sentinel at this gateway, as at all the others; for\nthe Gauls have always been a pest to Rome, and now gall her worse than\never.  I observed, too, that an official, in citizen's dress, stood there\nalso, and appeared to exercise a supervision over some carts with country\nproduce, that were entering just then.\n\n\nFebruary 25th.--We went this forenoon to the Palazzo Borghese, which is\nsituated on a street that runs at right angles with the Corso, and very\nnear the latter.  Most of the palaces in Rome, and the Borghese among\nthem, were built somewhere about the sixteenth century; this in 1590, I\nbelieve.  It is an immense edifice, standing round the four sides of a\nquadrangle; and though the suite of rooms comprising the picture-gallery\nforms an almost interminable vista, they occupy only a part of the\nground-floor of one side.  We enter from the street into a large court,\nsurrounded with a corridor, the arches of which support a second series\nof arches above.  The picture-rooms open from one into another, and have\nmany points of magnificence, being large and lofty, with vaulted ceilings\nand beautiful frescos, generally of mythological subjects, in the flat\ncentral part of the vault.  The cornices are gilded; the deep embrasures\nof the windows are panelled with wood-work; the doorways are of polished\nand variegated marble, or covered with a composition as hard, and\nseemingly as durable.  The whole has a kind of splendid shabbiness thrown\nover it, like a slight coating of rust; the furniture, at least the\ndamask chairs, being a good deal worn, though there are marble and mosaic\ntables, which may serve to adorn another palace when this one crumbles\naway with age.  One beautiful hall, with a ceiling more richly gilded\nthan the rest, is panelled all round with large looking-glasses, on which\nare painted pictures, both landscapes and human figures, in oils; so that\nthe effect is somewhat as if you saw these objects represented in the\nmirrors.  These glasses must be of old date, perhaps coeval with the\nfirst building of the palace; for they are so much dimmed, that one's own\nfigure appears indistinct in them, and more difficult to be traced than\nthe pictures which cover them half over.  It was very comfortless,--\nindeed, I suppose nobody ever thought of being comfortable there, since\nthe house was built,--but especially uncomfortable on a chill, damp day\nlike this.  My fingers were quite numb before I got half-way through the\nsuite of apartments, in spite of a brazier of charcoal which was\nsmouldering into ashes in two or three of the rooms.  There was not, so\nfar as I remember, a single fireplace in the suite.  A considerable\nnumber of visitors--not many, however--were there; and a good many\nartists; and three or four ladies among them were making copies of the\nmore celebrated pictures, and in all or in most cases missing the\nespecial points that made their celebrity and value.  The Prince Borghese\ncertainly demeans himself like a kind and liberal gentleman, in throwing\nopen this invaluable collection to the public to see, and for artists to\ncarry away with them, and diffuse all over the world, so far as their own\npower and skill will permit.  It is open every day of the week, except\nSaturday and Sunday, without any irksome restriction or supervision; and\nthe fee, which custom requires the visitor to pay to the custode, has the\ngood effect of making us feel that we are not intruders, nor received in\nan exactly eleemosynary way.  The thing could not be better managed.\n\nThe collection is one of the most celebrated in the world, and contains\nbetween eight and nine hundred pictures, many of which are esteemed\nmasterpieces.  I think I was not in a frame for admiration to-day, nor\ncould achieve that free and generous surrender of myself which I have\nalready said is essential to the proper estimate of anything excellent.\nBesides, how is it possible to give one's soul, or any considerable part\nof it, to a single picture, seen for the first time, among a thousand\nothers, all of which set forth their own claims in an equally good light?\nFurthermore, there is an external weariness, and sense of a thousand-fold\nsameness to be overcome, before we can begin to enjoy a gallery of the\nold Italian masters. . . . I remember but one painter, Francia, who\nseems really to have approached this awful class of subjects (Christs and\nMadonnas) in a fitting spirit; his pictures are very singular and\nawkward, if you look at them with merely an external eye, but they are\nfull of the beauty of holiness, and evidently wrought out as acts of\ndevotion, with the deepest sincerity; and are veritable prayers upon\ncanvas. . . .\n\nI was glad, in the very last of the twelve rooms, to come upon some Dutch\nand Flemish pictures, very few, but very welcome; Rubens, Rembrandt,\nVandyke, Paul Potter, Teniers, and others,--men of flesh and blood, and\nwarm fists, and human hearts.  As compared with them, these mighty\nItalian masters seem men of polished steel; not human, nor addressing\nthemselves so much to human sympathies, as to a formed, intellectual\ntaste.\n\n\nMarch 1st.--To-day began very unfavorably; but we ventured out at about\neleven o'clock, intending to visit the gallery of the Colonna Palace.\nFinding it closed, however, on account of the illness of the custode, we\ndetermined to go to the picture-gallery of the Capitol; and, on our way\nthither, we stepped into Il Gesu, the grand and rich church of the\nJesuits, where we found a priest in white, preaching a sermon, with vast\nearnestness of action and variety of tones, insomuch that I fancied\nsometimes that two priests were in the agony of sermonizing at once.  He\nhad a pretty large and seemingly attentive audience clustered round him\nfrom the entrance of the church, half-way down the nave; while in the\nchapels of the transepts and in the remoter distances were persons\noccupied with their own individual devotion.  We sat down near the chapel\nof St. Ignazio, which is adorned with a picture over the altar, and with\nmarble sculptures of the Trinity aloft, and of angels fluttering at the\nsides.  What I particularly noted (for the angels were not very real\npersonages, being neither earthly nor celestial) was the great ball of\nlapis lazuli, the biggest in the world, at the feet of the First Person\nin the Trinity.  The church is a splendid one, lined with a great variety\nof precious marbles, . . . . but partly, perhaps, owing to the dusky\nlight, as well as to the want of cleanliness, there was a dingy effect\nupon the whole.  We made but a very short stay, our New England breeding\ncausing us to feel shy of moving about the church in sermon time.\n\nIt rained when we reached the Capitol, and, as the museum was not yet\nopen, we went into the Palace of the Conservators, on the opposite side\nof the piazza.  Around the inner court of the ground-floor, partly under\ntwo opposite arcades, and partly under the sky, are several statues and\nother ancient sculptures; among them a statue of Julius Caesar, said to\nbe the only authentic one, and certainly giving an impression of him more\nin accordance with his character than the withered old face in the\nmuseum; also, a statue of Augustus in middle age, still retaining a\nresemblance to the bust of him in youth; some gigantic heads and hands\nand feet in marble and bronze; a stone lion and horse, which lay long at\nthe bottom of a river, broken and corroded, and were repaired by\nMichel Angelo; and other things which it were wearisome to set down.\nWe inquired of two or three French soldiers the way into the\npicture-gallery; but it is our experience that French soldiers in\nRome never know anything of what is around them, not even the name of\nthe palace or public place over which they stand guard; and though\ninvariably civil, you might as well put a question to a statue of an old\nRoman as to one of them.  While we stood under the loggia, however,\nlooking at the rain plashing into the court, a soldier of the Papal Guard\nkindly directed us up the staircase, and even took pains to go with us to\nthe very entrance of the picture-rooms.  Thank Heaven, there are but two\nof them, and not many pictures which one cares to look at very long.\n\nItalian galleries are at a disadvantage as compared with English ones,\ninasmuch as the pictures are not nearly such splendid articles of\nupholstery; though, very likely, having undergone less cleaning and\nvarnishing, they may retain more perfectly the finer touches of the\nmasters.  Nevertheless, I miss the mellow glow, the rich and mild\nexternal lustre, and even the brilliant frames of the pictures I have\nseen in England.  You feel that they have had loving care taken of them;\neven if spoiled, it is because they have been valued so much.  But these\npictures in Italian galleries look rusty and lustreless, as far as the\nexterior is concerned; and, really, the splendor of the painting, as a\nproduction of intellect and feeling, has a good deal of difficulty in\nshining through such clouds.\n\nThere is a picture at the Capitol, the \"Rape of Europa,\" by Paul\nVeronese, that would glow with wonderful brilliancy if it were set in a\nmagnificent frame, and covered with a sunshine of varnish; and it is a\nkind of picture that would not be desecrated, as some deeper and holier\nones might be, by any splendor of external adornment that could be\nbestowed on it.  It is deplorable and disheartening to see it in faded\nand shabby plight,--this joyous, exuberant, warm, voluptuous work.  There\nis the head of a cow, thrust into the picture, and staring with wild,\nludicrous wonder at the godlike bull, so as to introduce quite a new\nsentiment.\n\nHere, and at the Borghese Palace, there were some pictures by Garofalo,\nan artist of whom I never heard before, but who seemed to have been a man\nof power.  A picture by Marie Subleyras--a miniature copy from one by her\nhusband, of the woman anointing the feet of Christ--is most delicately\nand beautifully finished, and would be an ornament to a drawing-room; a\nthing that could not truly be said of one in a hundred of these grim\nmasterpieces.  When they were painted life was not what it is now, and\nthe artists had not the same ends in view. . . . It depresses the\nspirits to go from picture to picture, leaving a portion of your vital\nsympathy at every one, so that you come, with a kind of half-torpid\ndesperation, to the end.  On our way down the staircase we saw several\nnoteworthy bas-reliefs, and among them a very ancient one of Curtius\nplunging on horseback into the chasm in the Forum.  It seems to me,\nhowever, that old sculpture affects the spirits even more dolefully than\nold painting; it strikes colder to the heart, and lies heavier upon it,\nbeing marble, than if it were merely canvas.\n\nMy wife went to revisit the museum, which we had already seen, on the\nother side of the piazza; but, being cold, I left her there, and went out\nto ramble in the sun; for it was now brightly, though fitfully, shining\nagain.  I walked through the Forum (where a thorn thrust itself out and\ntore the sleeve of my talma) and under the Arch of Titus, towards the\nColiseum.  About a score of French drummers were beating a long, loud\nroll-call, at the base of the Coliseum, and under its arches; and a score\nof trumpeters responded to these, from the rising ground opposite the\nArch of Constantine; and the echoes of the old Roman ruins, especially\nthose of the Palace of the Caesars, responded to this martial uproar of\nthe barbarians.  There seemed to be no cause for it; but the drummers\nbeat, and the trumpeters blew, as long as I was within hearing.\n\nI walked along the Appian Way as far as the Baths of Caracalla.  The\nPalace of the Caesars, which I have never yet explored, appears to be\ncrowned by the walls of a convent, built, no doubt, out of some of the\nfragments that would suffice to build a city; and I think there is\nanother convent among the baths.  The Catholics have taken a peculiar\npleasure in planting themselves in the very citadels of paganism, whether\ntemples or palaces.  There has been a good deal of enjoyment in the\ndestruction of old Rome.  I often think so when I see the elaborate pains\nthat have been taken to smash and demolish some beautiful column, for no\npurpose whatever, except the mere delight of annihilating a noble piece\nof work.  There is something in the impulse with which one sympathizes;\nthough I am afraid the destroyers were not sufficiently aware of the\nmischief they did to enjoy it fully.  Probably, too, the early Christians\nwere impelled by religious zeal to destroy the pagan temples, before the\nhappy thought occurred of converting them into churches.\n\n\nMarch 3d.--This morning was U----'s birthday, and we celebrated it by\ntaking a barouche, and driving (the whole family) out on the Appian Way\nas far as the tomb of Cecilia Metella.  For the first time since we came\nto Rome, the weather was really warm,--a kind of heat producing languor\nand disinclination to active movement, though still a little breeze which\nwas stirring threw an occasional coolness over us, and made us distrust\nthe almost sultry atmosphere.  I cannot think the Roman climate healthy\nin any of its moods that I have experienced.\n\nClose on the other side of the road are the ruins of a Gothic chapel,\nlittle more than a few bare walls and painted windows, and some other\nfragmentary structures which we did not particularly examine.  U---- and\nI clambered through a gap in the wall, extending from the basement of the\ntomb, and thus, getting into the field beyond, went quite round the\nmausoleum and the remains of the castle connected with it.  The latter,\nthough still high and stalwart, showed few or no architectural features\nof interest, being built, I think, principally of large bricks, and not\nto be compared to English ruins as a beautiful or venerable object.\n\nA little way beyond Cecilia Metella's tomb, the road still shows a\nspecimen of the ancient Roman pavement, composed of broad, flat\nflagstones, a good deal cracked and worn, but sound enough, probably, to\noutlast the little cubes which make the other portions of the road so\nuncomfortable.  We turned back from this point and soon re-entered the\ngate of St. Sebastian, which is flanked by two small towers, and just\nwithin which is the old triumphal arch of Drusus,--a sturdy construction,\nmuch dilapidated as regards its architectural beauty, but rendered far\nmore picturesque than it could have been in its best days by a crown of\nverdure on its head.  Probably so much of the dust of the highway has\nrisen in clouds and settled there, that sufficient soil for shrubbery to\nroot itself has thus been collected, by small annual contributions, in\nthe course of two thousand years.  A little farther towards the city we\nturned aside from the Appian Way, and came to the site of some ancient\nColumbaria, close by what seemed to partake of the character of a villa\nand a farm-house.  A man came out of the house and unlocked a door in a\nlow building, apparently quite modern; but on entering we found ourselves\nlooking into a large, square chamber, sunk entirely beneath the surface\nof the ground.  A very narrow and steep staircase of stone, and evidently\nancient, descended into this chamber; and, going down, we found the walls\nhollowed on all sides into little semicircular niches, of which, I\nbelieve, there were nine rows, one above another, and nine niches in\neach row.  Thus they looked somewhat like the little entrances to a\npigeon-house, and hence the name of Columbarium.  Each semicircular niche\nwas about a foot in its semidiameter.  In the centre of this subterranean\nchamber was a solid square column, or pier, rising to the roof, and\ncontaining other niches of the same pattern, besides one that was high\nand deep, rising to the height of a man from the floor on each of the\nfour sides.  In every one of the semicircular niches were two round holes\ncovered with an earthen plate, and in each hole were ashes and little\nfragments of bones,--the ashes and bones of the dead, whose names were\ninscribed in Roman capitals on marble slabs inlaid into the wall over\neach individual niche.  Very likely the great ones in the central pier\nhad contained statues, or busts, or large urns; indeed, I remember that\nsome such things were there, as well as bas-reliefs in the walls; but\nhardly more than the general aspect of this strange place remains in my\nmind.  It was the Columbarium of the connections or dependants of the\nCaesars; and the impression left on me was, that this mode of disposing\nof the dead was infinitely preferable to any which has been adopted since\nthat day.  The handful or two of dry dust and bits of dry bones in each\nof the small round holes had nothing disgusting in them, and they are no\ndrier now than they were when first deposited there.  I would rather have\nmy ashes scattered over the soil to help the growth of the grass and\ndaisies; but still I should not murmur much at having them decently\npigeon-holed in a Roman tomb.\n\nAfter ascending out of this chamber of the dead, we looked down into\nanother similar one, containing the ashes of Pompey's household, which\nwas discovered only a very few years ago.  Its arrangement was the same\nas that first described, except that it had no central pier with a\npassage round it, as the former had.\n\nWhile we were down in the first chamber the proprietor of the spot--a\nhalf-gentlemanly and very affable kind of person--came to us, and\nexplained the arrangements of the Columbarium, though, indeed, we\nunderstood them better by their own aspect than by his explanation.  The\nwhole soil around his dwelling is elevated much above the level of the\nroad, and it is probable that, if he chose to excavate, he might bring to\nlight many more sepulchral chambers, and find his profit in them too, by\ndisposing of the urns and busts.  What struck me as much as anything was\nthe neatness of these subterranean apartments, which were quite as fit to\nsleep in as most of those occupied by living Romans; and, having\nundergone no wear and tear, they were in as good condition as on the day\nthey were built.\n\nIn this Columbarium, measuring about twenty feet square, I roughly\nestimate that there have been deposited together the remains of at least\nseven or eight hundred persons, reckoning two little heaps of bones and\nashes in each pigeon-hole, nine pigeon-holes in each row, and nine rows\non each side, besides those on the middle pier.  All difficulty in\nfinding space for the dead would be obviated by returning to the ancient\nfashion of reducing them to ashes,--the only objection, though a very\nserious one, being the quantity of fuel that it would require.  But\nperhaps future chemists may discover some better means of consuming or\ndissolving this troublesome mortality of ours.\n\nWe got into the carriage again, and, driving farther towards the city,\ncame to the tomb of the Scipios, of the exterior of which I retain no\nvery definite idea.  It was close upon the Appian Way, however, though\nseparated from it by a high fence, and accessible through a gateway,\nleading into a court.  I think the tomb is wholly subterranean, and that\nthe ground above it is covered with the buildings of a farm-house; but of\nthis I cannot be certain, as we were led immediately into a dark,\nunderground passage, by an elderly peasant, of a cheerful and affable\ndemeanor.  As soon as he had brought us into the twilight of the tomb, he\nlighted a long wax taper for each of us, and led us groping into blacker\nand blacker darkness.  Even little R----- followed courageously in the\nprocession, which looked very picturesque as we glanced backward or\nforward, and beheld a twinkling line of seven lights, glimmering faintly\non our faces, and showing nothing beyond.  The passages and niches of the\ntomb seem to have been hewn and hollowed out of the rock, not built by\nany art of masonry; but the walls were very dark, almost black, and our\ntapers so dim that I could not gain a sufficient breadth of view to\nascertain what kind of place it was.  It was very dark, indeed; the\nMammoth Cave of Kentucky could not be darker.  The rough-hewn roof was\nwithin touch, and sometimes we had to stoop to avoid hitting our heads;\nit was covered with damps, which collected and fell upon us in occasional\ndrops.  The passages, besides being narrow, were so irregular and\ncrooked, that, after going a little way, it would have been impossible to\nreturn upon our steps without the help of the guide; and we appeared to\nbe taking quite an extensive ramble underground, though in reality I\nsuppose the tomb includes no great space.  At several turns of our dismal\nway, the guide pointed to inscriptions in Roman capitals, commemorating\nvarious members of the Scipio family who were buried here; among them, a\nson of Scipio Africanus, who himself had his death and burial in a\nforeign land.  All these inscriptions, however, are copies,--the\noriginals, which were really found here, having been removed to the\nVatican.  Whether any bones and ashes have been left, or whether any were\nfound, I do not know.  It is not, at all events, a particularly\ninteresting spot, being such shapeless blackness, and a mere dark hole,\nrequiring a stronger illumination than that of our tapers to distinguish\nit from any other cellar.  I did, at one place, see a sort of frieze,\nrather roughly sculptured; and, as we returned towards the twilight of\nthe entrance-passage, I discerned a large spider, who fled hastily away\nfrom our tapers,--the solitary living inhabitant of the tomb of the\nScipios.\n\nOne visit that we made, and I think it was before entering the city\ngates, I forgot to mention.  It was to an old edifice, formerly called\nthe Temple of Bacchus, but now supposed to have been the Temple of Virtue\nand Honor.  The interior consists of a vaulted hall, which was converted\nfrom its pagan consecration into a church or chapel, by the early\nChristians; and the ancient marble pillars of the temple may still be\nseen built in with the brick and stucco of the later occupants.  There is\nan altar, and other tokens of a Catholic church, and high towards the\nceiling, there are some frescos of saints or angels, very curious\nspecimens of mediaeval, and earlier than mediaeval art.  Nevertheless,\nthe place impressed me as still rather pagan than Christian.  What is\nmost remarkable about this spot or this vicinity lies in the fact that\nthe Fountain of Egeria was formerly supposed to be close at hand; indeed,\nthe custode of the chapel still claims the spot as the identical one\nconsecrated by the legend.  There is a dark grove of trees, not far from\nthe door of the temple; but Murray, a highly essential nuisance on such\nexcursions as this, throws such overwhelming doubt, or rather\nincredulity, upon the site, that I seized upon it as a pretext for not\ngoing thither.  In fact, my small capacity for sight-seeing was already\nmore than satisfied.\n\nOn account of ------ I am sorry that we did not see the grotto, for her\nenthusiasm is as fresh as the waters of Egeria's well can be, and she has\npoetical faith enough to light her cheerfully through all these mists of\nincredulity.\n\nOur visits to sepulchral places ended with Scipio's tomb, whence we\nreturned to our dwelling, and Miss M------ came to dine with us.\n\n\nMarch 10th.--On Saturday last, a very rainy day, we went to the Sciarra\nPalace, and took U---- with us.  It is on the Corso, nearly opposite to\nthe Piazza Colonna.  It has (Heaven be praised!) but four rooms of\npictures, among which, however, are several very celebrated ones.  Only a\nfew of these remain in my memory,--Raphael's \"Violin Player,\" which I am\nwilling to accept as a good picture; and Leonardo da Vinci's \"Vanity and\nModesty,\" which also I can bring up before my mind's eye, and find it\nvery beautiful, although one of the faces has an affected smile, which I\nhave since seen on another picture by the same artist, Joanna of Aragon.\nThe most striking picture in the collection, I think, is Titian's \"Bella\nDonna,\"--the only one of Titian's works that I have yet seen which makes\nan impression on me corresponding with his fame.  It is a very splendid\nand very scornful lady, as beautiful and as scornful as Gainsborough's\nLady Lyndoch, though of an entirely different type.  There were two\nMadonnas by Guido, of which I liked the least celebrated one best; and\nseveral pictures by Garofalo, who always produces something noteworthy.\nAll the pictures lacked the charm (no doubt I am a barbarian to think it\none) of being in brilliant frames, and looked as if it were a long, long\nwhile since they were cleaned or varnished.  The light was so scanty,\ntoo, on that heavily clouded day, and in those gloomy old rooms of the\npalace, that scarcely anything could be fairly made out.\n\n[I cannot refrain from observing here, that Mr. Hawthorne's inexorable\ndemand for perfection in all things leads him to complain of grimy\npictures and tarnished frames and faded frescos, distressing beyond\nmeasure to eyes that never failed to see everything before him with the\nkeenest apprehension.  The usual careless observation of people both of\nthe good and the imperfect is much more comfortable in this imperfect\nworld.  But the insight which Mr. Hawthorne possessed was only equalled\nby his outsight, and he suffered in a way not to be readily conceived,\nfrom any failure in beauty, physical, moral, or intellectual.  It is not,\ntherefore, mere love of upholstery that impels him to ask for perfect\nsettings to priceless gems of art; but a native idiosyncrasy, which\nalways made me feel that \"the New Jerusalem,\" \"even like a jasper stone,\nclear as crystal,\" \"where shall in no wise enter anything that defileth,\nneither what worketh abomination nor maketh a lie,\" would alone satisfy\nhim, or rather alone not give him actual pain.  It may give an idea of\nthis exquisite nicety of feeling to mention, that one day he took in his\nfingers a half-bloomed rose, without blemish, and, smiling with an\ninfinite joy, remarked, \"This is perfect.  On earth a flower only can be\nperfect.\"--ED.]\n\nThe palace is about two hundred and fifty years old, and looks as if it\nhad never been a very cheerful place; most shabbily and scantily\nfurnished, moreover, and as chill as any cellar.  There is a small\nbalcony, looking down on the Corso, which probably has often been filled\nwith a merry little family party, in the carnivals of days long past.  It\nhas faded frescos, and tarnished gilding, and green blinds, and a few\ndamask chairs still remain in it.\n\nOn Monday we all went to the sculpture-gallery of the Vatican, and saw as\nmuch of the sculpture as we could in the three hours during which the\npublic are admissible.  There were a few things which I really enjoyed,\nand a few moments during which I really seemed to see them; but it is in\nvain to attempt giving the impression produced by masterpieces of art,\nand most in vain when we see them best.  They are a language in\nthemselves, and if they could be expressed as well any way except by\nthemselves, there would have been no need of expressing those particular\nideas and sentiments by sculpture.  I saw the Apollo Belvedere as\nsomething ethereal and godlike; only for a flitting moment, however, and\nas if he had alighted from heaven, or shone suddenly out of the sunlight,\nand then had withdrawn himself again.  I felt the Laocoon very\npowerfully, though very quietly; an immortal agony, with a strange\ncalmness diffused through it, so that it resembles the vast rage of the\nsea, calm on account of its immensity; or the tumult of Niagara, which\ndoes not seem to be tumult, because it keeps pouring on for ever and\never.  I have not had so good a day as this (among works of art) since we\ncame to Rome; and I impute it partly to the magnificence of the\narrangements of the Vatican,--its long vistas and beautiful courts, and\nthe aspect of immortality which marble statues acquire by being kept free\nfrom dust.  A very hungry boy, seeing in one of the cabinets a vast\nporphyry vase, forty-four feet in circumference, wished that he had it\nfull of soup.\n\nYesterday, we went to the Pamfili Doria Palace, which, I believe, is the\nmost splendid in Rome.  The entrance is from the Corso into a court,\nsurrounded by a colonnade, and having a space of luxuriant verdure and\nornamental shrubbery in the centre.  The apartments containing pictures\nand sculptures are fifteen in number, and run quite round the court in\nthe first piano,--all the rooms, halls, and galleries of beautiful\nproportion, with vaulted roofs, some of which glow with frescos; and all\nare colder and more comfortless than can possibly be imagined without\nhaving been in them.  The pictures, most of them, interested me very\nlittle.  I am of opinion that good pictures are quite as rare as good\npoets; and I do not see why we should pique ourselves on admiring any but\nthe very best.  One in a thousand, perhaps, ought to live in the applause\nof men, from generation to generation, till its colors fade or blacken\nout of sight, and its canvas rots away; the rest should be put in\ngarrets, or painted over by newer artists, just as tolerable poets are\nshelved when their little day is over.  Nevertheless, there was one long\ngallery containing many pictures that I should be glad to see again under\nmore favorable circumstances, that is, separately, and where I might\ncontemplate them quite undisturbed, reclining in an easy-chair.  At one\nend of the long vista of this gallery is a bust of the present Prince\nDoria, a smooth, sharp-nosed, rather handsome young man, and at the other\nend his princess, an English lady of the Talbot family, apparently a\nblonde, with a simple and sweet expression.  There is a noble and\nstriking portrait of the old Venetian admiral, Andrea Doria, by Sebastian\ndel Piombo, and some other portraits and busts of the family.\n\nIn the whole immense range of rooms I saw but a single fireplace, and\nthat so deep in the wall that no amount of blaze would raise the\natmosphere of the room ten degrees.  If the builder of the palace, or any\nof his successors, have committed crimes worthy of Tophet, it would be a\nstill worse punishment for him to wander perpetually through this suite\nof rooms on the cold floors of polished brick tiles or marble or mosaic,\ngrowing a little chiller and chiller through every moment of eternity,--\nor, at least, till the palace crumbles down upon him.\n\nNeither would it assuage his torment in the least to be compelled to gaze\nup at the dark old pictures,--the ugly ghosts of what may once have been\nbeautiful.  I am not going to try any more to receive pleasure from a\nfaded, tarnished, lustreless picture, especially if it be a landscape.\nThere were two or three landscapes of Claude in this palace, which I\ndoubt not would have been exquisite if they had been in the condition of\nthose in the British National Gallery; but here they looked most forlorn,\nand even their sunshine was sunless.  The merits of historical painting\nmay be quite independent of the attributes that give pleasure, and a\nsuperficial ugliness may even heighten the effect; but not so of\nlandscapes.\n\n\nVia Porta, Palazzo Larazani, March 11th.--To-day we called at Mr.\nThompson's studio, and . . . . he had on the easel a little picture of\nSt. Peter released from prison by the angel, which I saw once before.  It\nis very beautiful indeed, and deeply and spiritually conceived, and I\nwish I could afford to have it finished for myself.  I looked again, too,\nat his Georgian slave, and admired it as much as at first view; so very\nwarm and rich it is, so sensuously beautiful, and with an expression of\nhigher life and feeling within.  I do not think there is a better painter\nthan Mr. Thompson living,--among Americans at least; not one so earnest,\nfaithful, and religious in his worship of art.  I had rather look at his\npictures than at any except the very finest of the old masters, and,\ntaking into consideration only the comparative pleasure to be derived, I\nwould not except more than one or two of those.  In painting, as in\nliterature, I suspect there is something in the productions of the day\nthat takes the fancy more than the works of any past age,--not greater\nmerit, nor nearly so great, but better suited to this very present time.\n\nAfter leaving him, we went to the Piazza de' Termini, near the Baths of\nDiocletian, and found our way with some difficulty to Crawford's studio.\nIt occupies several great rooms, connected with the offices of the Villa\nNegroni; and all these rooms were full of plaster casts and a few works\nin marble,--principally portions of his huge Washington monument, which\nhe left unfinished at his death.  Close by the door at which we entered\nstood a gigantic figure of Mason, in bag-wig, and the coat, waistcoat,\nbreeches, and knee and shoe buckles of the last century, the enlargement\nof these unheroic matters to far more than heroic size having a very odd\neffect.  There was a figure of Jefferson on the same scale; another of\nPatrick Henry, besides a horse's head, and other portions of the\nequestrian group which is to cover the summit of the monument.  In one of\nthe rooms was a model of the monument itself, on a scale, I should think,\nof about an inch to afoot.  It did not impress me as having grown out of\nany great and genuine idea in the artist's mind, but as being merely an\ningenious contrivance enough.  There were also casts of statues that\nseemed to be intended for some other monument referring to Revolutionary\ntimes and personages; and with these were intermixed some ideal statues\nor groups,--a naked boy playing marbles, very beautiful; a girl with\nflowers; the cast of his Orpheus, of which I long ago saw the marble\nstatue; Adam and Eve; Flora,--all with a good deal of merit, no doubt,\nbut not a single one that justifies Crawford's reputation, or that\nsatisfies me of his genius.  They are but commonplaces in marble and\nplaster, such as we should not tolerate on a printed page.  He seems to\nhave been a respectable man, highly respectable, but no more, although\nthose who knew him seem to have rated him much higher.  It is said that\nhe exclaimed, not very long before his death, that he had fifteen years\nof good work still in him; and he appears to have considered all his life\nand labor, heretofore, as only preparatory to the great things that he\nwas to achieve hereafter.  I should say, on the contrary, that he was a\nman who had done his best, and had done it early; for his Orpheus is\nquite as good as anything else we saw in his studio.\n\nPeople were at work chiselling several statues in marble from the plaster\nmodels,--a very interesting process, and which I should think a doubtful\nand hazardous one; but the artists say that there is no risk of mischief,\nand that the model is sure to be accurately repeated in the marble.\nThese persons, who do what is considered the mechanical part of the\nbusiness, are often themselves sculptors, and of higher reputation than\nthose who employ them.\n\nIt is rather sad to think that Crawford died before he could see his\nideas in the marble, where they gleam with so pure and celestial a light\nas compared with the plaster.  There is almost as much difference as\nbetween flesh and spirit.\n\nThe floor of one of the rooms was burdened with immense packages,\ncontaining parts of the Washington monument, ready to be forwarded to its\ndestination.  When finished, and set up, it will probably make a very\nsplendid appearance, by its height, its mass, its skilful execution; and\nwill produce a moral effect through its images of illustrious men, and\nthe associations that connect it with our Revolutionary history; but I do\nnot think it will owe much to artistic force of thought or depth of\nfeeling.  It is certainly, in one sense, a very foolish and illogical\npiece of work,--Washington, mounted on an uneasy steed, on a very narrow\nspace, aloft in the air, whence a single step of the horse backward,\nforward, or on either side, must precipitate him; and several of his\ncontemporaries standing beneath him, not looking up to wonder at his\npredicament, but each intent on manifesting his own personality to the\nworld around.  They have nothing to do with one another, nor with\nWashington, nor with any great purpose which all are to work out\ntogether.\n\n\nMarch 14th.--On Friday evening I dined at Mr. T. B. Read's, the poet and\nartist, with a party composed of painters and sculptors,--the only\nexceptions being the American banker and an American tourist who has\ngiven Mr. Read a commission.  Next to me at table sat Mr. Gibson, the\nEnglish sculptor, who, I suppose, stands foremost in his profession at\nthis day.  He must be quite an old man now, for it was whispered about\nthe table that he is known to have been in Rome forty-two years ago, and\nhe himself spoke to me of spending thirty-seven years here, before he\nonce returned home.  I should hardly take him to be sixty, however,\nhis hair being more dark than gray, his forehead unwrinkled, his\nfeatures unwithered, his eye undimmed, though his beard is somewhat\nvenerable. . . .\n\nHe has a quiet, self-contained aspect, and, being a bachelor, has\ndoubtless spent a calm life among his clay and marble, meddling little\nwith the world, and entangling himself with no cares beyond his studio.\nHe did not talk a great deal; but enough to show that he is still an\nEnglishman in many sturdy traits, though his accent has something foreign\nabout it.  His conversation was chiefly about India, and other topics of\nthe day, together with a few reminiscences of people in Liverpool, where\nhe once resided.  There was a kind of simplicity both in his manner and\nmatter, and nothing very remarkable in the latter. . . .\n\nThe gist of what he said (upon art) was condemnatory of the\nPre-Raphaelite modern school of painters, of whom he seemed to spare\nnone, and of their works nothing; though he allowed that the old\nPre-Raphaelites had some exquisite merits, which the moderns entirely\nomit in their imitations.  In his own art, he said the aim should be to\nfind out the principles on which the Greek sculptors wrought, and to do\nthe work of this day on those principles and in their spirit; a fair\ndoctrine enough, I should think, but which Mr. Gibson can scarcely be\nsaid to practise. . . . The difference between the Pre-Raphaelites and\nhimself is deep and genuine, they being literalists and realists, in a\ncertain sense, and he a pagan idealist.  Methinks they have hold of the\nbest end of the matter.\n\n\nMarch 18th.--To-day, it being very bright and mild, we set out, at noon,\nfor an expedition to the Temple of Vesta, though I did not feel much\ninclined for walking, having been ill and feverish for two or three days\npast with a cold, which keeps renewing itself faster than I can get rid\nof it.  We kept along on this side of the Corso, and crossed the Forum,\nskirting along the Capitoline Hill, and thence towards the Circus\nMaximus.  On our way, looking down a cross street, we saw a heavy arch,\nand, on examination, made it out to be the Arch of Janus Quadrifrons,\nstanding in the Forum Boarium.  Its base is now considerably below the\nlevel of the surrounding soil, and there is a church or basilica close\nby, and some mean edifices looking down upon it.  There is something\nsatisfactory in this arch, from the immense solidity of its structure.\nIt gives the idea, in the first place, of a solid mass constructed of\nhuge blocks of marble, which time can never wear away, nor earthquakes\nshake down; and then this solid mass is penetrated by two arched\npassages, meeting in the centre.  There are empty niches, three in a row,\nand, I think, two rows on each face; but there seems to have been very\nlittle effort to make it a beautiful object.  On the top is some\nbrickwork, the remains of a mediaeval fortress built by the Frangipanis,\nlooking very frail and temporary being brought thus in contact with the\nantique strength of the arch.\n\nA few yards off, across the street, and close beside the basilica, is\nwhat appears to be an ancient portal, with carved bas-reliefs, and an\ninscription which I could not make out.  Some Romans were lying dormant\nin the sun, on the steps of the basilica; indeed, now that the sun is\ngetting warmer, they seem to take advantage of every quiet nook to bask\nin, and perhaps to go to sleep.\n\nWe had gone but a little way from the arch, and across the Circus\nMaximus, when we saw the Temple of Vesta before us, on the hank of the\nTiber, which, however, we could not see behind it.  It is a most\nperfectly preserved Roman ruin, and very beautiful, though so small that,\nin a suitable locality, one would take it rather for a garden-house than\nan ancient temple.  A circle of white marble pillars, much time-worn and\na little battered, though but one of them broken, surround the solid\nstructure of the temple, leaving a circular walk between it and the\npillars, the whole covered by a modern roof which looks like wood, and\ndisgraces and deforms the elegant little building.  This roof resembles,\nas much as anything else, the round wicker cover of a basket, and gives a\nvery squat aspect to the temple.  The pillars are of the Corinthian\norder, and when they were new and the marble snow-white and sharply\ncarved and cut, there could not have been a prettier object in all Rome;\nbut so small an edifice does not appear well as a ruin.\n\nWithin view of it, and, indeed, a very little way off, is the Temple of\nFortuna Virilis, which likewise retains its antique form in better\npreservation than we generally find a Roman ruin, although the Ionic\npillars are now built up with blocks of stone and patches of brickwork,\nthe whole constituting a church which is fixed against the side of a tall\nedifice, the nature of which I do not know.\n\nI forgot to say that we gained admittance into the Temple of Vesta, and\nfound the interior a plain cylinder of marble, about ten paces across,\nand fitted up as a chapel, where the Virgin takes the place of Vesta.\n\nIn very close vicinity we came upon the Ponto Rotto, the old Pons Emilius\nwhich was broken down long ago, and has recently been pieced out by\nconnecting a suspension bridge with the old piers.  We crossed by this\nbridge, paying a toll of a baioccho each, and stopped in the midst of the\nriver to look at the Temple of Vesta, which shows well, right on the\nbrink of the Tiber.  We fancied, too, that we could discern, a little\nfarther down the river, the ruined and almost submerged piers of the\nSublician bridge, which Horatius Cocles defended.  The Tiber here whirls\nrapidly along, and Horatius must have had a perilous swim for his life,\nand the enemy a fair mark at his head with their arrows.  I think this is\nthe most picturesque part of the Tiber in its passage through Rome.\n\nAfter crossing the bridge, we kept along the right bank of the river,\nthrough the dirty and hard-hearted streets of Trastevere (which have in\nno respect the advantage over those of hither Rome), till we reached St.\nPeter's.  We saw a family sitting before their door on the pavement in\nthe narrow and sunny street, engaged in their domestic avocations,--the\nold woman spinning with a wheel.  I suppose the people now begin to live\nout of doors.  We entered beneath the colonnade of St. Peter's and\nimmediately became sensible of an evil odor,--the bad odor of our fallen\nnature, which there is no escaping in any nook of Rome. . . .\n\nBetween the pillars of the colonnade, however, we had the pleasant\nspectacle of the two fountains, sending up their lily-shaped gush, with\nrainbows shining in their falling spray.  Parties of French soldiers, as\nusual, were undergoing their drill in the piazza.  When we entered the\nchurch, the long, dusty sunbeams were falling aslantwise through the dome\nand through the chancel behind it. . . .\n\n\nMarch 23d.--On the 21st we all went to the Coliseum, and enjoyed\nourselves there in the bright, warm sun,--so bright and warm that we were\nglad to get into the shadow of the walls and under the arches, though,\nafter all, there was the freshness of March in the breeze that stirred\nnow and then.  J----- and baby found some beautiful flowers growing round\nabout the Coliseum; and far up towards the top of the walls we saw tufts\nof yellow wall-flowers and a great deal of green grass growing along the\nridges between the arches.  The general aspect of the place, however, is\nsomewhat bare, and does not compare favorably with an English ruin both\non account of the lack of ivy and because the material is chiefly brick,\nthe stone and marble having been stolen away by popes and cardinals to\nbuild their palaces.  While we sat within the circle, many people, of\nboth sexes, passed through, kissing the iron cross which stands in the\ncentre, thereby gaining an indulgence of seven years, I believe.  In\nfront of several churches I have seen an inscription in Latin,\n\"INDULGENTIA PLENARIA ET PERPETUA PRO CUNCTIS MORTUIS ET VIVIS\"; than\nwhich, it seems to me, nothing more could be asked or desired.  The terms\nof this great boon are not mentioned.\n\nLeaving the Coliseum, we went and sat down in the vicinity of the Arch of\nConstantine, and J----- and R----- went in quest of lizards.  J----- soon\ncaught a large one with two tails; one, a sort of afterthought, or\nappendix, or corollary to the original tail, and growing out from it\ninstead of from the body of the lizard.  These reptiles are very\nabundant, and J----- has already brought home several, which make their\nescape and appear occasionally darting to and fro on the carpet.  Since\nwe have been here, J----- has taken up various pursuits in turn.  First\nhe voted himself to gathering snail-shells, of which there are many\nsorts; afterwards he had a fever for marbles, pieces of which he found on\nthe banks of the Tiber, just on the edge of its muddy waters, and in the\nPalace of the Caesars, the Baths of Caracalla, and indeed wherever else\nhis fancy led him; verde antique, rosso antico, porphyry, giallo antico,\nserpentine, sometimes fragments of bas-reliefs and mouldings, bits of\nmosaic, still firmly stuck together, on which the foot of a Caesar had\nperhaps once trodden; pieces of Roman glass, with the iridescence glowing\non them; and all such things, of which the soil of Rome is full.  It\nwould not be difficult, from the spoil of his boyish rambles, to furnish\nwhat would be looked upon as a curious and valuable museum in America.\n\nYesterday we went to the sculpture-galleries of the Vatican.  I think I\nenjoy these noble galleries and their contents and beautiful arrangement\nbetter than anything else in the way of art, and often I seem to have a\ndeep feeling of something wonderful in what I look at.  The Laocoon on\nthis visit impressed me not less than before; it is such a type of human\nbeings, struggling with an inextricable trouble, and entangled in a\ncomplication which they cannot free themselves from by their own efforts,\nand out of which Heaven alone can help them.  It was a most powerful\nmind, and one capable of reducing a complex idea to unity, that imagined\nthis group.  I looked at Canova's Perseus, and thought it exceedingly\nbeautiful, but, found myself less and less contented after a moment or\ntwo, though I could not tell why.  Afterwards, looking at the Apollo, the\nrecollection of the Perseus disgusted me, and yet really I cannot explain\nhow one is better than the other.\n\nI was interested in looking at the busts of the Triumvirs, Antony,\nAugustus, and Lepidus.  The first two are men of intellect, evidently,\nthough they do not recommend themselves to one's affections by their\nphysiognomy; but Lepidus has the strangest, most commonplace countenance\nthat can be imagined,--small-featured, weak, such a face as you meet\nanywhere in a man of no mark, but are amazed to find in one of the three\nforemost men of the world.  I suppose that it is these weak and shallow\nmen, when chance raises them above their proper sphere, who commit\nenormous crimes without any such restraint as stronger men would feel,\nand without any retribution in the depth of their conscience.  These old\nRoman busts, of which there are so many in the Vatican, have often a most\nlifelike aspect, a striking individuality.  One recognizes them as\nfaithful portraits, just as certainly as if the living originals were\nstanding beside them.  The arrangement of the hair and beard too, in many\ncases, is just what we see now, the fashions of two thousand years ago\nhaving come round again.\n\n\nMarch 25th.--On Tuesday we went to breakfast at William Story's in the\nPalazzo Barberini.  We had a very pleasant time.  He is one of the most\nagreeable men I know in society.  He showed us a note from Thackeray, an\ninvitation to dinner, written in hieroglyphics, with great fun and\npictorial merit.  He spoke of an expansion of the story of Blue Beard,\nwhich he himself had either written or thought of writing, in which the\ncontents of the several chambers which Fatima opened, before arriving at\nthe fatal one, were to be described.  This idea has haunted my mind ever\nsince, and if it had but been my own I am pretty sure that it would\ndevelop itself into something very rich.  I mean to press William Story\nto work it out.  The chamber of Blue Beard, too (and this was a part of\nhis suggestion), might be so handled as to become powerfully interesting.\nWere I to take up the story I would create an interest by suggesting a\nsecret in the first chamber, which would develop itself more and more in\nevery successive hall of the great palace, and lead the wife irresistibly\nto the chamber of horrors.\n\nAfter breakfast, we went to the Barberini Library, passing through the\nvast hall, which occupies the central part of the palace.  It is the most\nsplendid domestic hall I have seen, eighty feet in length at least, and\nof proportionate breadth and height; and the vaulted ceiling is entirely\ncovered, to its utmost edge and remotest corners, with a brilliant\npainting in fresco, looking like a whole heaven of angelic people\ndescending towards the floor.  The effect is indescribably gorgeous.  On\none side stands a Baldacchino, or canopy of state, draped with scarlet\ncloth, and fringed with gold embroidery; the scarlet indicating that the\npalace is inhabited by a cardinal.  Green would be appropriate to a\nprince.  In point of fact, the Palazzo Barberini is inhabited by a\ncardinal, a prince, and a duke, all belonging to the Barberini family,\nand each having his separate portion of the palace, while their servants\nhave a common territory and meeting-ground in this noble hall.\n\nAfter admiring it for a few minutes, we made our exit by a door on the\nopposite side, and went up the spiral staircase of marble to the library,\nwhere we were received by an ecclesiastic, who belongs to the Barberini\nhousehold, and, I believe, was born in it.  He is a gentle, refined,\nquiet-looking man, as well he may be, having spent all his life among\nthese books, where few people intrude, and few cares can come.  He showed\nus a very old Bible in parchment, a specimen of the earliest printing,\nbeautifully ornamented with pictures, and some monkish illuminations of\nindescribable delicacy and elaboration.  No artist could afford to\nproduce such work, if the life that he thus lavished on one sheet of\nparchment had any value to him, either for what could be done or enjoyed\nin it.  There are about eight thousand volumes in this library, and,\njudging by their outward aspect, the collection must be curious and\nvaluable; but having another engagement, we could spend only a little\ntime here.  We had a hasty glance, however, of some poems of Tasso, in\nhis own autograph.\n\nWe then went to the Palazzo Galitzin, where dwell the Misses Weston, with\nwhom we lunched, and where we met a French abbe, an agreeable man, and an\nantiquarian, under whose auspices two of the ladies and ourselves took\ncarriage for the Castle of St. Angelo.  Being admitted within the\nexternal gateway, we found ourselves in the court of guard, as I presume\nit is called, where the French soldiers were playing with very dirty\ncards, or lounging about, in military idleness.  They were well behaved\nand courteous, and when we had intimated our wish to see the interior of\nthe castle, a soldier soon appeared, with a large unlighted torch in his\nhand, ready to guide us.  There is an outer wall, surrounding the solid\nstructure of Hadrian's tomb; to which there is access by one or two\ndrawbridges; the entrance to the tomb, or castle, not being at the base,\nbut near its central height.  The ancient entrance, by which Hadrian's\nashes, and those of other imperial personages, were probably brought into\nthis tomb, has been walled up,--perhaps ever since the last emperor was\nburied here.  We were now in a vaulted passage, both lofty and broad,\nwhich circles round the whole interior of the tomb, from the base to the\nsummit.  During many hundred years, the passage was filled with earth and\nrubbish, and forgotten, and it is but partly excavated, even now;\nalthough we found it a long, long and gloomy descent by torchlight to the\nbase of the vast mausoleum.  The passage was once lined and vaulted with\nprecious marbles (which are now entirely gone), and paved with fine\nmosaics, portions of which still remain; and our guide lowered his\nflaming torch to show them to us, here and there, amid the earthy\ndampness over which we trod.  It is strange to think what splendor and\ncostly adornment were here wasted on the dead.\n\nAfter we had descended to the bottom of this passage, and again retraced\nour steps to the highest part, the guide took a large cannon-ball, and\nsent it, with his whole force, rolling down the hollow, arched way,\nrumbling, and reverberating, and bellowing forth long thunderous echoes,\nand winding up with a loud, distant crash, that seemed to come from the\nvery bowels of the earth.\n\nWe saw the place, near the centre of the mausoleum, and lighted from\nabove, through an immense thickness of stone and brick, where the ashes\nof the emperor and his fellow-slumberers were found.  It is as much as\ntwelve centuries, very likely, since they were scattered to the winds,\nfor the tomb has been nearly or quite that space of time a fortress; The\ntomb itself is merely the base and foundation of the castle, and, being\nso massively built, it serves just as well for the purpose as if it were\na solid granite rock.  The mediaeval fortress, with its antiquity of more\nthan a thousand years, and having dark and deep dungeons of its own, is\nbut a modern excrescence on the top of Hadrian's tomb.\n\nWe now ascended towards the upper region, and were led into the vaults\nwhich used to serve as a prison, but which, if I mistake not, are\nsituated above the ancient structure, although they seem as damp and\nsubterranean as if they were fifty feet under the earth.  We crept down\nto them through narrow and ugly passages, which the torchlight would not\nilluminate, and, stooping under a low, square entrance, we followed the\nguide into a small, vaulted room,--not a room, but an artificial cavern,\nremote from light or air, where Beatrice Cenci was confined before her\nexecution.  According to the abbe, she spent a whole year in this\ndreadful pit, her trial having dragged on through that length of time.\nHow ghostlike she must have looked when she came forth!  Guido never\npainted that beautiful picture from her blanched face, as it appeared\nafter this confinement.  And how rejoiced she must have been to die at\nlast, having already been in a sepulchre so long!\n\nAdjacent to Beatrice's prison, but not communicating with it, was that of\nher step-mother; and next to the latter was one that interested me almost\nas much as Beatrice's,--that of Benvenuto Cellini, who was confined here,\nI believe, for an assassination.  All these prison vaults are more\nhorrible than can be imagined without seeing them; but there are worse\nplaces here, for the guide lifted a trap-door in one of the passages, and\nheld his torch down into an inscrutable pit beneath our feet.  It was an\noubliette, a dungeon where the prisoner might be buried alive, and never\ncome forth again, alive or dead.  Groping about among these sad\nprecincts, we saw various other things that looked very dismal; but at\nlast emerged into the sunshine, and ascended from one platform and\nbattlement to another, till we found ourselves right at the feet of the\nArchangel Michael.  He has stood there in bronze for I know not how many\nhundred years, in the act of sheathing a (now) rusty sword, such being\nthe attitude in which he appeared to one of the popes in a vision, in\ntoken that a pestilence which was then desolating Rome was to be stayed.\n\nThere is a fine view from the lofty station over Rome and the whole\nadjacent country, and the abbe pointed out the site of Ardea, of\nCorioli, of Veii, and other places renowned in story.  We were ushered,\ntoo, into the French commandant's quarters in the castle.  There is\na large hall, ornamented with frescos, and accessible from this a\ndrawing-room, comfortably fitted up, and where we saw modern furniture,\nand a chess-board, and a fire burning clear, and other symptoms that the\nplace had perhaps just been vacated by civilized and kindly people.  But\nin one corner of the ceiling the abbe pointed out a ring, by which, in\nthe times of mediaeval anarchy, when popes, cardinals, and barons were\nall by the ears together, a cardinal was hanged.  It was not an\nassassination, but a legal punishment, and he was executed in the best\napartment of the castle as an act of grace.\n\nThe fortress is a straight-lined structure on the summit of the immense\nround tower of Hadrian's tomb; and to make out the idea of it we must\nthrow in drawbridges, esplanades, piles of ancient marble balls for\ncannon; battlements and embrasures, lying high in the breeze and\nsunshine, and opening views round the whole horizon; accommodation for\nthe soldiers; and many small beds in a large room.\n\nHow much mistaken was the emperor in his expectation of a stately, solemn\nrepose for his ashes through all the coming centuries, as long as the\nworld should endure!  Perhaps his ghost glides up and down disconsolate,\nin that spiral passage which goes from top to bottom of the tomb, while\nthe barbarous Gauls plant themselves in his very mausoleum to keep the\nimperial city in awe.\n\nLeaving the Castle of St. Angelo, we drove, still on the same side of the\nTiber, to the Villa Pamfili, which lies a short distance beyond the\nwalls.  As we passed through one of the gates (I think it was that of San\nPancrazio) the abbe pointed out the spot where the Constable de Bourbon\nwas killed while attempting to scale the walls.  If we are to believe\nBenvenuto Cellini, it was he who shot the constable.  The road to the\nvilla is not very interesting, lying (as the roads in the vicinity of\nRome often do) between very high walls, admitting not a glimpse of the\nsurrounding country; the road itself white and dusty, with no verdant\nmargin of grass or border of shrubbery.  At the portal of the villa we\nfound many carriages in waiting, for the Prince Doria throws open the\ngrounds to all comers, and on a pleasant day like this they are probably\nsure to be thronged.  We left our carriage just within the entrance, and\nrambled among these beautiful groves, admiring the live-oak trees, and\nthe stone-pines, which latter are truly a majestic tree, with tall\ncolumnar stems, supporting a cloud-like density of boughs far aloft, and\nnot a straggling branch between there and the ground.  They stand in\nstraight rows, but are now so ancient and venerable as to have lost the\nformal look of a plantation, and seem like a wood that might have\narranged itself almost of its own will.  Beneath them is a flower-strewn\nturf, quite free of underbrush.  We found open fields and lawns,\nmoreover, all abloom with anemones, white and rose- and purple and\ngolden, and far larger than could be found out of Italy, except in\nhot-houses.  Violets, too, were abundant and exceedingly fragrant.  When\nwe consider that all this floral exuberance occurs in the midst of March,\nthere does not appear much ground for complaining of the Roman climate;\nand so long ago as the first week of February I found daisies among the\ngrass, on the sunny side of the Basilica of St. John Lateran.  At this\nvery moment I suppose the country within twenty miles of Boston may be\ntwo feet deep with snow, and the streams solid with ice.\n\nWe wandered about the grounds, and found them very beautiful indeed;\nnature having done much for them by an undulating variety of surface, and\nart having added a good many charms, which have all the better effect now\nthat decay and neglect have thrown a natural grace over them likewise.\nThere is an artificial ruin, so picturesque that it betrays itself;\nweather-beaten statues, and pieces of sculpture, scattered here and\nthere; an artificial lake, with upgushing fountains; cascades, and\nbroad-bosomed coves, and long, canal-like reaches, with swans taking\ntheir delight upon them.  I never saw such a glorious and resplendent\nlustre of white as shone between the wings of two of these swans.  It was\nreally a sight to see, and not to be imagined beforehand.  Angels, no\ndoubt, have just such lustrous wings as those.  English swans partake of\nthe dinginess of the atmosphere, and their plumage has nothing at all to\nbe compared to this; in fact, there is nothing like it in the world,\nunless it be the illuminated portion of a fleecy, summer cloud.\n\nWhile we were sauntering along beside this piece of water, we were\nsurprised to see U---- on the other side.  She had come hither with E----\nS------ and her two little brothers, and with our R-----, the whole under\nthe charge of Mrs. Story's nursery-maids.  U---- and E---- crossed, not\nover, but beneath the water, through a grotto, and exchanged greetings\nwith us.  Then, as it was getting towards sunset and cool, we took our\ndeparture; the abbe, as we left the grounds, taking me aside to give me a\nglimpse of a Columbarium, which descends into the earth to about the\ndepth to which an ordinary house might rise above it.  These grounds, it\nis said, formed the country residence of the Emperor Galba, and he was\nburied here after his assassination.  It is a sad thought that so much\nnatural beauty and long refinement of picturesque culture is thrown away,\nthe villa being uninhabitable during all the most delightful season of\nthe year on account of malaria.  There is truly a curse on Rome and all\nits neighborhood.\n\nOn our way home we passed by the great Paolina fountain, and were\nassailed by many beggars during the short time we stopped to look at it.\nIt is a very copious fountain, but not so beautiful as the Trevi, taking\ninto view merely the water-gush of the latter.\n\n\nMarch 26th.--Yesterday, between twelve and one, our whole family went to\nthe Villa Ludovisi, the entrance to which is at the termination of a\nstreet which passes out of the Piazza Barberini, and it is no very great\ndistance from our own street, Via Porta Pinciana.  The grounds, though\nvery extensive, are wholly within the walls of the city, which skirt\nthem, and comprise a part of what were formerly the gardens of Sallust.\nThe villa is now the property of Prince Piombini, a ticket from whom\nprocured us admission.  A little within the gateway, to the right, is a\ncasino, containing two large rooms filled with sculpture, much of which\nis very valuable.  A colossal head of Juno, I believe, is considered the\ngreatest treasure of the collection, but I did not myself feel it to be\nso, nor indeed did I receive any strong impression of its excellence.  I\nadmired nothing so much, I think, as the face of Penelope (if it be her\nface) in the group supposed also to represent Electra and Orestes.  The\nsitting statue of Mars is very fine; so is the Arria and Paetus; so are\nmany other busts and figures.\n\nBy and by we left the casino and wandered among the grounds, threading\ninterminable alleys of cypress, through the long vistas of which we could\nsee here and there a statue, an urn, a pillar, a temple, or garden-house,\nor a bas-relief against the wall.  It seems as if there must have been a\ntime, and not so very long ago,--when it was worth while to spend money\nand thought upon the ornamentation of grounds in the neighborhood of\nRome.  That time is past, however, and the result is very melancholy; for\ngreat beauty has been produced, but it can be enjoyed in its perfection\nonly at the peril of one's life. . . . For my part, and judging from my\nown experience, I suspect that the Roman atmosphere, never wholesome, is\nalways more or less poisonous.\n\nWe came to another and larger casino remote from the gateway, in which\nthe Prince resides during two months of the year.  It was now under\nrepair, but we gained admission, as did several other visitors, and saw\nin the entrance-hall the Aurora of Guercino, painted in fresco on the\nceiling.  There is beauty in the design; but the painter certainly was\nmost unhappy in his black shadows, and in the work before us they give\nthe impression of a cloudy and lowering morning which is likely enough to\nturn to rain by and by.  After viewing the fresco we mounted by a spiral\nstaircase to a lofty terrace, and found Rome at our feet, and, far off,\nthe Sabine and Alban mountains, some of them still capped with snow.  In\nanother direction there was a vast plain, on the horizon of which, could\nour eyes have reached to its verge, we might perhaps have seen the\nMediterranean Sea.  After enjoying the view and the warm sunshine we\ndescended, and went in quest of the gardens of Sallust, but found no\nsatisfactory remains of them.\n\nOne of the most striking objects in the first casino was a group by\nBernini,--Pluto, an outrageously masculine and strenuous figure, heavily\nbearded, ravishing away a little, tender Proserpine, whom he holds aloft,\nwhile his forcible gripe impresses itself into her soft virgin flesh.  It\nis very disagreeable, but it makes one feel that Bernini was a man of\ngreat ability.  There are some works in literature that bear an analogy\nto his works in sculpture, when great power is lavished a little outside\nof nature, and therefore proves to be only a fashion,--and not\npermanently adapted to the tastes of mankind.\n\n\nMarch 27th.--Yesterday forenoon my wife and I went to St. Peter's to see\nthe pope pray at the chapel of the Holy Sacrament.  We found a good many\npeople in the church, but not an inconvenient number; indeed, not so many\nas to make any remarkable show in the great nave, nor even in front of\nthe chapel.  A detachment of the Swiss Guard, in their strange,\npicturesque, harlequin-like costume, were on duty before the chapel, in\nwhich the wax tapers were all lighted, and a prie-dieu was arranged near\nthe shrine, and covered with scarlet velvet.  On each side, along the\nbreadth of the side aisle, were placed seats, covered with rich tapestry\nor carpeting; and some gentlemen and ladies--English, probably, or\nAmerican--had comfortably deposited themselves here, but were compelled\nto move by the guards before the pope's entrance.  His Holiness should\nhave appeared precisely at twelve, but we waited nearly half an hour\nbeyond that time; and it seemed to me particularly ill-mannered in the\npope, who owes the courtesy of being punctual to the people, if not to\nSt. Peter.  By and by, however, there was a stir; the guard motioned to\nus to stand away from the benches, against the backs of which we had been\nleaning; the spectators in the nave looked towards the door, as if they\nbeheld something approaching; and first, there appeared some cardinals,\nin scarlet skull-caps and purple robes, intermixed with some of the Noble\nGuard and other attendants.  It was not a very formal and stately\nprocession, but rather straggled onward, with ragged edges, the\nspectators standing aside to let it pass, and merely bowing, or perhaps\nslightly bending the knee, as good Catholics are accustomed to do when\npassing before the shrines of saints.  Then, in the midst of the purple\ncardinals, all of whom were gray-haired men, appeared a stout old man,\nwith a white skull-cap, a scarlet, gold-embroidered cape falling over\nhis shoulders, and a white silk robe, the train of which was borne up by\nan attendant.  He walked slowly, with a sort of dignified movement,\nstepping out broadly, and planting his feet (on which were red shoes)\nflat upon the pavement, as if he were not much accustomed to locomotion,\nand perhaps had known a twinge of the gout.  His face was kindly\nand venerable, but not particularly impressive.  Arriving at the\nscarlet-covered prie-dieu, he kneeled down and took off his white\nskull-cap; the cardinals also kneeled behind and on either side of him,\ntaking off their scarlet skull-caps; while the Noble Guard remained\nstanding, six on one side of his Holiness and six on the other.  The pope\nbent his head upon the prie-dieu, and seemed to spend three or four\nminutes in prayer; then rose, and all the purple cardinals, and bishops,\nand priests, of whatever degree, rose behind and beside him.  Next, he\nwent to kiss St. Peter's toe; at least I believe he kissed it, but I was\nnot near enough to be certain; and lastly, he knelt down, and directed\nhis devotions towards the high altar.  This completed the ceremonies, and\nhis Holiness left the church by a side door, making a short passage into\nthe Vatican.\n\nI am very glad I have seen the pope, because now he may be crossed out of\nthe list of sights to be seen.  His proximity impressed me kindly and\nfavorably towards him, and I did not see one face among all his cardinals\n(in whose number, doubtless, is his successor) which I would so soon\ntrust as that of Pio Nono.\n\nThis morning I walked as far as the gate of San Paolo, and, on\napproaching it, I saw the gray sharp pyramid of Caius Cestius pointing\nupward close to the two dark-brown, battlemented Gothic towers of the\ngateway, each of these very different pieces of architecture looking the\nmore picturesque for the contrast of the other.  Before approaching the\ngateway and pyramid, I walked onward, and soon came in sight of Monte\nTestaccio, the artificial hill made of potsherds.  There is a gate\nadmitting into the grounds around the hill, and a road encircling its\nbase.  At a distance, the hill looks greener than any other part of the\nlandscape, and has all the curved outlines of a natural hill, resembling\nin shape a headless sphinx, or Saddleback Mountain, as I used to see it\nfrom Lenox.  It is of very considerable height,--two or three hundred\nfeet at least, I should say,--and well entitled, both by its elevation\nand the space it covers, to be reckoned among the hills of Rome.  Its\nbase is almost entirely surrounded with small structures, which seem to\nbe used as farm-buildings.  On the summit is a large iron cross, the\nChurch having thought it expedient to redeem these shattered pipkins from\nthe power of paganism, as it has so many other Roman ruins.  There was a\npathway up the hill, but I did not choose to ascend it under the hot sun,\nso steeply did it clamber up.  There appears to be a good depth of soil\non most parts of Monte Testaccio, but on some of the sides you observe\nprecipices, bristling with fragments of red or brown earthenware, or\npieces of vases of white unglazed clay; and it is evident that this\nimmense pile is entirely composed of broken crockery, which I should\nhardly have thought would have aggregated to such a heap had it all been\nthrown here,--urns, teacups, porcelain, or earthen,--since the beginning\nof the world.\n\nI walked quite round the hill, and saw, at no great distance from it, the\nenclosure of the Protestant burial-ground, which lies so close to the\npyramid of Caius Cestius that the latter may serve as a general monument\nto the dead.  Deferring, for the present, a visit to the cemetery, or to\nthe interior of the pyramid, I returned to the gateway of San Paolo, and,\npassing through it, took a view of it from the outside of the city wall.\nIt is itself a portion of the wall, having been built into it by the\nEmperor Aurelian, so that about half of it lies within and half without.\nThe brick or red stone material of the wall being so unlike the marble of\nthe pyramid, the latter is as distinct, and seems as insulated, as if it\nstood alone in the centre of a plain; and really I do not think there is\na more striking architectural object in Rome.  It is in perfect\ncondition, just as little ruined or decayed as on the day when the\nbuilder put the last peak on the summit; and it ascends steeply from its\nbase, with a point so sharp that it looks as if it would hardly afford\nfoothold to a bird.  The marble was once white, but is now covered with a\ngray coating like that which has gathered upon the statues of Castor and\nPollux on Monte Cavallo.  Not one of the great blocks is displaced, nor\nseems likely to be through all time to come.  They rest one upon another,\nin straight and even lines, and present a vast smooth triangle, ascending\nfrom a base of a hundred feet, and narrowing to an apex at the height of\na hundred and twenty-five, the junctures of the marble slabs being so\nclose that, in all these twenty centuries, only a few little tufts of\ngrass, and a trailing plant or two, have succeeded in rooting themselves\ninto the interstices.\n\nIt is good and satisfactory to see anything which, being built for an\nenduring monument, has endured so faithfully, and has a prospect of such\nan interminable futurity before it.  Once, indeed, it seemed likely to be\nburied; for three hundred years ago it had become covered to the depth of\nsixteen feet, but the soil has since been dug away from its base, which\nis now lower than that of the road which passes through the neighboring\ngate of San Paolo.  Midway up the pyramid, cut in the marble, is an\ninscription in large Roman letters, still almost as legible as when first\nwrought.\n\nI did not return through the Paolo gateway, but kept onward, round the\nexterior of the wall, till I came to the gate of San Sebastiano.  It was\na hot and not a very interesting walk, with only a high bare wall of\nbrick, broken by frequent square towers, on one side of the road, and a\nbank and hedge or a garden wall on the other.  Roman roads are most\ninhospitable, offering no shade, and no seat, and no pleasant views of\nrustic domiciles; nothing but the wheel-track of white dust, without a\nfoot path running by its side, and seldom any grassy margin to refresh\nthe wayfarer's feet.\n\n\nApril 3d.--A few days ago we visited the studio of Mr. ------, an\nAmerican, who seems to have a good deal of vogue as a sculptor.  We found\na figure of Pocahontas, which he has repeated several times; another,\nwhich he calls \"The Wept of the Wish-ton-Wish,\" a figure of a smiling\ngirl playing with a cat and dog, and a schoolboy mending a pen.  These\ntwo last were the only ones that gave me any pleasure, or that really had\nany merit; for his cleverness and ingenuity appear in homely subjects,\nbut are quite lost in attempts at a higher ideality.  Nevertheless, he\nhas a group of the Prodigal Son, possessing more merit than I should have\nexpected from Mr. ------, the son reclining his head on his father's\nbreast, with an expression of utter weariness, at length finding perfect\nrest, while the father bends his benign countenance over him, and seems\nto receive him calmly into himself.  This group (the plaster-cast\nstanding beside it) is now taking shape out of an immense block of\nmarble, and will be as indestructible as the Laocoon; an idea at once\nawful and ludicrous, when we consider that it is at best but a\nrespectable production.  I have since been told that Mr. ------ had\nstolen, adopted, we will rather say, the attitude and idea of the group\nfrom one executed by a student of the French Academy, and to be seen\nthere in plaster.  (We afterwards saw it in the Medici Casino.)\n\nMr. ------ has now been ten years in Italy, and, after all this time, he\nis still entirely American in everything but the most external surface of\nhis manners; scarcely Europeanized, or much modified even in that.  He is\na native of ------, but had his early breeding in New York, and might,\nfor any polish or refinement that I can discern in him, still be a\ncountry shopkeeper in the interior of New York State or New England.  How\nstrange!  For one expects to find the polish, the close grain and white\npurity of marble, in the artist who works in that noble material; but,\nafter all, he handles club, and, judging by the specimens I have seen\nhere, is apt to be clay, not of the finest, himself.  Mr. ------ is\nsensible, shrewd, keen, clever; an ingenious workman, no doubt; with tact\nenough, and not destitute of taste; very agreeable and lively in his\nconversation, talking as fast and as naturally as a brook runs, without\nthe slightest affectation.  His naturalness is, in fact, a rather\nstriking characteristic, in view of his lack of culture, while yet his\nlife has been concerned with idealities and a beautiful art.  What degree\nof taste he pretends to, he seems really to possess, nor did I hear a\nsingle idea from him that struck me as otherwise than sensible.\n\nHe called to see us last evening, and talked for about two hours in a\nvery amusing and interesting style, his topics being taken from his own\npersonal experience, and shrewdly treated.  He spoke much of Greenough,\nwhom he described as an excellent critic of art, but possessed of not the\nslightest inventive genius.  His statue of Washington, at the Capitol, is\ntaken precisely from the Plodian Jupiter; his Chanting Cherubs are copied\nin marble from two figures in a picture by Raphael.  He did nothing that\nwas original with himself  To-day we took R-----, and went to see Miss\n------, and as her studio seems to be mixed up with Gibson's, we had an\nopportunity of glancing at some of his beautiful works.  We saw a Venus\nand a Cupid, both of them tinted; and, side by side with them, other\nstatues identical with these, except that the marble was left in its pure\nwhiteness.\n\nWe found Miss ------ in a little upper room.  She has a small, brisk,\nwide-awake figure, not ungraceful; frank, simple, straightforward, and\ndownright.  She had on a robe, I think, but I did not look so low, my\nattention being chiefly drawn to a sort of man's sack of purple or\nplum- broadcloth, into the side-pockets of which her hands were\nthrust as she came forward to greet us.  She withdrew one hand, however,\nand presented it cordially to my wife (whom she already knew) and to\nmyself, without waiting for an introduction.  She had on a shirt-front,\ncollar, and cravat like a man's, with a brooch of Etruscan gold, and on\nher curly head was a picturesque little cap of black velvet, and her face\nwas as bright and merry, and as small of feature as a child's.  It looked\nin one aspect youthful, and yet there was something worn in it too.\nThere never was anything so jaunty as her movement and action; she was\nvery peculiar, but she seemed to be her actual self, and nothing affected\nor made up; so that, for my part, I gave her full leave to wear what may\nsuit her best, and to behave as her inner woman prompts.  I don't quite\nsee, however, what she is to do when she grows older, for the decorum of\nage will not be consistent with a costume that looks pretty and excusable\nenough in a young woman.\n\nMiss ------ led us into a part of the extensive studio, or collection of\nstudios, where some of her own works were to be seen: Beatrice Cenci,\nwhich did not very greatly impress me; and a monumental design, a female\nfigure,--wholly draped even to the stockings and shoes,--in a quiet\nsleep.  I liked this last.  There was also a Puck, doubtless full of fun;\nbut I had hardly time to glance at it.  Miss ------ evidently has good\ngifts in her profession, and doubtless she derives great advantage from\nher close association with a consummate artist like Gibson; nor yet does\nhis influence seem to interfere with the originality of her own\nconceptions.  In one way, at least, she can hardly fail to profit,--that\nis, by the opportunity of showing her works to the throngs of people who\ngo to see Gibson's own; and these are just such people as an artist would\nmost desire to meet, and might never see in a lifetime, if left to\nhimself.  I shook hands with this frank and pleasant little person, and\ntook leave, not without purpose of seeing her again.\n\nWithin a few days, there have been many pilgrims in Rome, who come hither\nto attend the ceremonies of holy week, and to perform their vows, and\nundergo their penances.  I saw two of them near the Forum yesterday, with\ntheir pilgrim staves, in the fashion of a thousand years ago. . . . I\nsat down on a bench near one of the chapels, and a woman immediately came\nup to me to beg.  I at first refused; but she knelt down by my side, and\ninstead of praying to the saint prayed to me; and, being thus treated as\na canonized personage, I thought it incumbent on me to be gracious to the\nextent of half a paul.  My wife, some time ago, came in contact with a\npickpocket at the entrance of a church; and, failing in his enterprise\nupon her purse, he passed in, dipped his thieving fingers in the holy\nwater, and paid his devotions at a shrine.  Missing the purse, he said\nhis prayers, in the hope, perhaps, that the saint would send him better\nluck another time.\n\n\nApril 10th.--I have made no entries in my journal recently, being\nexceedingly lazy, partly from indisposition, as well as from an\natmosphere that takes the vivacity out of everybody.  Not much has\nhappened or been effected.  Last Sunday, which was Easter Sunday, I went\nwith J----- to St. Peter's, where we arrived at about nine o'clock, and\nfound a multitude of people already assembled in the church.  The\ninterior was arrayed in festal guise, there being a covering of scarlet\ndamask over the pilasters of the nave, from base to capital, giving an\neffect of splendor, yet with a loss as to the apparent dimensions of the\ninterior.  A guard of soldiers occupied the nave, keeping open a wide\nspace for the passage of a procession that was momently expected, and\nsoon arrived.  The crowd was too great to allow of my seeing it in\ndetail; but I could perceive that there were priests, cardinals, Swiss\nguards, some of them with corselets on, and by and by the pope himself\nwas borne up the nave, high over the heads of all, sitting under a\ncanopy, crowned with his tiara.  He floated slowly along, and was set\ndown in the neighborhood of the high altar; and the procession being\nbroken up, some of its scattered members might be seen here and there,\nabout the church,--officials in antique Spanish dresses; Swiss guards, in\npolished steel breastplates; serving-men, in richly embroidered liveries;\nofficers, in scarlet coats and military boots; priests, and divers other\nshapes of men; for the papal ceremonies seem to forego little or nothing\nthat belongs to times past, while it includes everything appertaining to\nthe present.  I ought to have waited to witness the papal benediction\nfrom the balcony in front of the church; or, at least, to hear the famous\nsilver trumpets, sounding from the dome; but J----- grew weary (to say\nthe truth, so did I), and we went on a long walk, out of the nearest city\ngate, and back through the Janiculum, and, finally, homeward over the\nPonto Rotto.  Standing on the bridge, I saw the arch of the Cloaca\nMaxima, close by the Temple of Vesta, with the water rising within two or\nthree feet of its keystone.\n\nThe same evening we went to Monte Cavallo, where, from the gateway of the\nPontifical Palace, we saw the illumination of St. Peter's.  Mr. Akers,\nthe sculptor, had recommended this position to us, and accompanied us\nthither, as the best point from which the illumination could be witnessed\nat a distance, without the incommodity of such a crowd as would be\nassembled at the Pincian.  The first illumination, the silver one, as it\nis called, was very grand and delicate, describing the outline of the\ngreat edifice and crowning dome in light; while the day was not yet\nwholly departed.  As ------ finally remarked, it seemed like the\nglorified spirit of the Church, made visible, or, as I will add, it\nlooked as this famous and never-to-be-forgotten structure will look to\nthe imaginations of men, through the waste and gloom of future ages,\nafter it shall have gone quite to decay and ruin: the brilliant, though\nscarcely distinct gleam of a statelier dome than ever was seen, shining\non the background of the night of Time.  This simile looked prettier in\nmy fancy than I have made it look on paper.\n\nAfter we had enjoyed the silver illumination a good while, and when all\nthe daylight had given place to the constellated night, the distant\noutline of St. Peter's burst forth, in the twinkling of an eye, into a\nstarry blaze, being quite the finest effect that I ever witnessed.  I\nstayed to see it, however, only a few minutes; for I was quite ill and\nfeverish with a cold,--which, indeed, I have seldom been free from, since\nmy first breathing of the genial atmosphere of Rome.  This pestilence\nkept me within doors all the next day, and prevented me from seeing the\nbeautiful fireworks that were exhibited in the evening from the platform\non the Pincian, above the Piazza del Popolo.\n\nOn Thursday, I paid another visit to the sculpture-gallery of the\nCapitol, where I was particularly struck with a bust of Cato the Censor,\nwho must have been the most disagreeable, stubborn, ugly-tempered,\npig-headed, narrow-minded, strong-willed old Roman that ever lived.  The\ncollection of busts here and at the Vatican are most interesting, many of\nthe individual heads being full of character, and commending themselves\nby intrinsic evidence as faithful portraits of the originals.  These\nstone people have stood face to face with Caesar, and all the other\nemperors, and with statesmen, soldiers, philosophers, and poets of the\nantique world, and have been to them like their reflections in a mirror.\nIt is the next thing to seeing the men themselves.\n\nWe went afterwards into the Palace of the Conservatori, and saw, among\nvarious other interesting things, the bronze wolf suckling Romulus and\nRemus, who sit beneath her dugs, with open mouths to receive the milk.\n\nOn Friday, we all went to see the Pope's Palace on the Quirinal.  There\nwas a vast hall, and an interminable suite of rooms, cased with marble,\nfloored with marble or mosaics or inlaid wood, adorned with frescos on\nthe vaulted ceilings, and many of them lined with Gobelin tapestry; not\nwofully faded, like almost all that I have hitherto seen, but brilliant\nas pictures.  Indeed, some of them so closely resembled paintings, that I\ncould hardly believe they were not so; and the effect was even richer\nthan that of oil-paintings.  In every room there was a crucifix; but I\ndid not see a single nook or corner where anybody could have dreamed of\nbeing comfortable.  Nevertheless, as a stately and solemn residence for\nhis Holiness, it is quite a satisfactory affair.  Afterwards, we went\ninto the Pontifical Gardens, connected with the palace.  They are very\nextensive, and laid out in straight avenues, bordered with walls of box,\nas impervious as if of stone,--not less than twenty feet high, and\npierced with lofty archways, cut in the living wall.  Some of the avenues\nwere overshadowed with trees, the tops of which bent over and joined one\nanother from either side, so as to resemble a side aisle of a Gothic\ncathedral.  Marble sculptures, much weather-stained, and generally\nbroken-nosed, stood along these stately walks; there were many fountains\ngushing up into the sunshine; we likewise found a rich flower-garden,\ncontaining rare specimens of exotic flowers, and gigantic cactuses, and\nalso an aviary, with vultures, doves, and singing birds.  We did not see\nhalf the garden, but, stiff and formal as its general arrangement is, it\nis a beautiful place,--a delightful, sunny, and serene seclusion.\nWhatever it may be to the pope, two young lovers might find the Garden of\nEden here, and never desire to stray out of its precincts.  They might\nfancy angels standing in the long, glimmering vistas of the avenues.\n\nIt would suit me well enough to have my daily walk along such straight\npaths, for I think them favorable to thought, which is apt to be\ndisturbed by variety and unexpectedness.\n\n\nApril 12th.--We all, except R-----, went to-day to the Vatican, where we\nfound our way to the Stanze of Raphael, these being four rooms, or halls,\npainted with frescos.  No doubt they were once very brilliant and\nbeautiful; but they have encountered hard treatment since Raphael's time,\nespecially when the soldiers of the Constable de Bourbon occupied these\napartments, and made fires on the mosaic floors.  The entire walls and\nceilings are covered with pictures; but the handiwork or designs of\nRaphael consist of paintings on the four sides of each room, and include\nseveral works of art.  The School of Athens is perhaps the most\ncelebrated; and the longest side of the largest hall is occupied by a\nbattle-piece, of which the Emperor Constantine is the hero, and which\ncovers almost space enough for a real battle-field.  There was a\nwonderful light in one of the pictures,--that of St. Peter awakened in\nhis prison, by the angel; it really seemed to throw a radiance into the\nhall below.  I shall not pretend, however, to have been sensible of any\nparticular rapture at the sight of these frescos; so faded as they are,\nso battered by the mischances of years, insomuch that, through all the\npower and glory of Raphael's designs, the spectator cannot but be\ncontinually sensible that the groundwork of them is an old plaster wall.\nThey have been scrubbed, I suppose,--brushed, at least,--a thousand times\nover, till the surface, brilliant or soft, as Raphael left it, must have\nbeen quite rubbed off, and with it, all the consummate finish, and\neverything that made them originally delightful.  The sterner features\nremain, the skeleton of thought, but not the beauty that once clothed it.\nIn truth, the frescos, excepting a few figures, never had the real touch\nof Raphael's own hand upon them, having been merely designed by him, and\nfinished by his scholars, or by other artists.\n\nThe halls themselves are specimens of antique magnificence, paved with\nelaborate mosaics; and wherever there is any wood-work, it is richly\ncarved with foliage and figures.  In their newness, and probably for a\nhundred years afterwards, there could not have been so brilliant a suite\nof rooms in the world.\n\nConnected with them--at any rate, not far distant--is the little Chapel\nof San Lorenzo, the very site of which, among the thousands of apartments\nof the Vatican, was long forgotten, and its existence only known by\ntradition.  After it had been walled up, however, beyond the memory of\nman, there was still a rumor of some beautiful frescos by Fra Angelico,\nin an old chapel of Pope Nicholas V., that had strangely disappeared out\nof the palace, and, search at length being made, it was discovered, and\nentered through a window.  It is a small, lofty room, quite covered over\nwith frescos of sacred subjects, both on the walls and ceiling, a good\ndeal faded, yet pretty distinctly preserved.  It would have been no\nmisfortune to me, if the little old chapel had remained still hidden.\n\nWe next issued into the Loggie, which consist of a long gallery, or\narcade or colonnade, the whole extent of which was once beautifully\nadorned by Raphael.  These pictures are almost worn away, and so defaced\nas to be untraceable and unintelligible, along the side wall of the\ngallery; although traceries of Arabesque, and compartments where there\nseem to have been rich paintings, but now only an indistinguishable waste\nof dull color, are still to be seen.  In the coved ceiling, however,\nthere are still some bright frescos, in better preservation than any\nothers; not particularly beautiful, nevertheless.  I remember to have\nseen (indeed, we ourselves possess them) a series of very spirited and\nenergetic engravings, old and coarse, of these frescos, the subject being\nthe Creation, and the early Scripture history; and I really think that\ntheir translation of the pictures is better than the original.  On\nreference to Murray, I find that little more than the designs is\nattributed to Raphael, the execution being by Giulio Romano and other\nartists.\n\nEscaping from these forlorn splendors, we went into the\nsculpture-gallery, where I was able to enjoy, in some small degree, two\nor three wonderful works of art; and had a perception that there were a\nthousand other wonders around me.  It is as if the statues kept, for the\nmost part, a veil about them, which they sometimes withdraw, and let\ntheir beauty gleam upon my sight; only a glimpse, or two or three\nglimpses, or a little space of calm enjoyment, and then I see nothing but\na discolored marble image again.  The Minerva Medica revealed herself\nto-day.  I wonder whether other people are more fortunate than myself,\nand can invariably find their way to the inner soul of a work of art.  I\ndoubt it; they look at these things for just a minute, and pass on,\nwithout any pang of remorse, such as I feel, for quitting them so soon\nand so willingly.  I am partly sensible that some unwritten rules of\ntaste are making their way into my mind; that all this Greek beauty has\ndone something towards refining me, though I am still, however, a very\nsturdy Goth. . . .\n\n\nApril 15th.--Yesterday I went with J----- to the Forum, and descended\ninto the excavations at the base of the Capitol, and on the site of the\nBasilica of Julia.  The essential elements of old Rome are there:\ncolumns, single, or in groups of two or three, still erect, but battered\nand bruised at some forgotten time with infinite pains and labor;\nfragments of other columns lying prostrate, together with rich capitals\nand friezes; the bust of a colossal female statue, showing the bosom and\nupper part of the arms, but headless; a long, winding space of pavement,\nforming part of the ancient ascent to the Capitol, still as firm and\nsolid as ever; the foundation of the Capitol itself, wonderfully massive,\nbuilt of immense square blocks of stone, doubtless three thousand years\nold, and durable for whatever may be the lifetime of the world; the Arch\nof Septimius, Severus, with bas-reliefs of Eastern wars; the Column of\nPhocas, with the rude series of steps ascending on four sides to its\npedestal; the floor of beautiful and precious marbles in the Basilica of\nJulia, the slabs cracked across,--the greater part of them torn up and\nremoved, the grass and weeds growing up through the chinks of what\nremain; heaps of bricks, shapeless bits of granite, and other ancient\nrubbish, among which old men are lazily rummaging for specimens that a\nstranger may be induced to buy,--this being an employment that suits the\nindolence of a modern Roman.  The level of these excavations is about\nfifteen feet, I should judge, below the present street, which passes\nthrough the Forum, and only a very small part of this alien surface has\nbeen removed, though there can be no doubt that it hides numerous\ntreasures of art and monuments of history.  Yet these remains do not make\nthat impression of antiquity upon me which Gothic ruins do.  Perhaps it\nis so because they belong to quite another system of society and epoch of\ntime, and, in view of them, we forget all that has intervened betwixt\nthem and us; being morally unlike and disconnected with them, and not\nbelonging to the same train of thought; so that we look across a gulf to\nthe Roman ages, and do not realize how wide the gulf is.  Yet in that\nintervening valley lie Christianity, the Dark Ages, the feudal system,\nchivalry and romance, and a deeper life of the human race than Rome\nbrought to the verge of the gulf.\n\nTo-day we went to the Colonna Palace, where we saw some fine pictures,\nbut, I think, no masterpieces.  They did not depress and dishearten me so\nmuch as the pictures in Roman palaces usually do; for they were in\nremarkably good order as regards frames and varnish; indeed, I rather\nsuspect some of them had been injured by the means adopted to preserve\ntheir beauty.  The palace is now occupied by the French Ambassador, who\nprobably looks upon the pictures as articles of furniture and household\nadornment, and does not choose to have squares of black and forlorn\ncanvas upon his walls.  There were a few noble portraits by Vandyke; a\nvery striking one by Holbein, one or two by Titian, also by Guercino, and\nsome pictures by Rubens, and other forestieri painters, which refreshed\nmy weary eyes.  But--what chiefly interested me was the magnificent and\nstately hall of the palace; fifty-five of my paces in length, besides a\nlarge apartment at either end, opening into it through a pillared space,\nas wide as the gateway of a city.  The pillars are of giallo antico, and\nthere are pilasters of the same all the way up and down the walls,\nforming a perspective of the richest aspect, especially as the broad\ncornice flames with gilding, and the spaces between the pilasters are\nemblazoned with heraldic achievements and emblems in gold, and there are\nVenetian looking-glasses, richly decorated over the surface with\nbeautiful pictures of flowers and Cupids, through which you catch the\ngleam of the mirror; and two rows of splendid chandeliers extend from end\nto end of the hall, which, when lighted up, if ever it be lighted up,\nnow-a-nights, must be the most brilliant interior that ever mortal eye\nbeheld.  The ceiling glows with pictures in fresco, representing scenes\nconnected with the history of the Colonna family; and the floor is paved\nwith beautiful marbles, polished and arranged in square and circular\ncompartments; and each of the many windows is set in a great\narchitectural frame of precious marble, as large as the portal of a door.\nThe apartment at the farther end of the hall is elevated above it, and is\nattained by several marble steps, whence it must have been glorious in\nformer days to have looked down upon a gorgeous throng of princes,\ncardinals, warriors, and ladies, in such rich attire as might be worn\nwhen the palace was built.  It is singular how much freshness and\nbrightness it still retains; and the only objects to mar the effect were\nsome ancient statues and busts, not very good in themselves, and now made\ndreary of aspect by their corroded surfaces,--the result of long burial\nunder ground.\n\nIn the room at the entrance of the hall are two cabinets, each a wonder\nin its way,--one being adorned with precious stones; the other with ivory\ncarvings of Michael Angelo's Last Judgment, and of the frescos of\nRaphael's Loggie.  The world has ceased to be so magnificent as it once\nwas.  Men make no such marvels nowadays.  The only defect that I remember\nin this hall was in the marble steps that ascend to the elevated\napartment at the end of it; a large piece had been broken out of one of\nthem, leaving a rough irregular gap in the polished marble stair.  It is\nnot easy to conceive what violence can have done this, without also doing\nmischief to all the other splendor around it.\n\n\nApril 16th.--We went this morning to the Academy of St. Luke (the Fine\nArts Academy at Rome) in the Via Bonella, close by the Forum.  We rang\nthe bell at the house door; and after a few moments it was unlocked or\nunbolted by some unseen agency from above, no one making his appearance\nto admit us.  We ascended two or three flights of stairs, and entered a\nhall, where was a young man, the custode, and two or three artists\nengaged in copying some of the pictures.  The collection not being vastly\nlarge, and the pictures being in more presentable condition than usual, I\nenjoyed them more than I generally do; particularly a Virgin and Child by\nVandyke, where two angels are singing and playing, one on a lute and the\nother on a violin, to remind the holy infant of the strains he used to\nhear in heaven.  It is one of the few pictures that there is really any\npleasure in looking at.  There were several paintings by Titian, mostly\nof a voluptuous character, but not very charming; also two or more by\nGuido, one of which, representing Fortune, is celebrated.  They did not\nimpress me much, nor do I find myself strongly drawn towards Guido,\nthough there is no other painter who seems to achieve things so magically\nand inscrutably as he sometimes does.  Perhaps it requires a finer taste\nthan mine to appreciate him; and yet I do appreciate him so far as to see\nthat his Michael, for instance, is perfectly beautiful. . . . In the\ngallery, there are whole rows of portraits of members of the Academy of\nSt. Luke, most of whom, judging by their physiognomies, were very\ncommonplace people; a fact which makes itself visible in a portrait,\nhowever much the painter may try to flatter his sitter.  Several of the\npictures by Titian, Paul Veronese, and other artists, now exhibited in\nthe gallery, were formerly kept in a secret cabinet in the Capitol, being\nconsidered of a too voluptuous character for the public eye.  I did not\nthink them noticeably indecorous, as compared with a hundred other\npictures that are shown and looked at without scruple;--Calypso and her\nnymphs, a knot of nude women by Titian, is perhaps as objectionable as\nany.  But even Titian's flesh-tints cannot keep, and have not kept their\nwarmth through all these centuries.  The illusion and lifelikeness\neffervesces and exhales out of a picture as it grows old; and we go on\ntalking of a charm that has forever vanished.\n\nFrom St. Luke's we went to San Pietro in Vincoli, occupying a fine\nposition on or near the summit of the Esquiline mount.  A little abortion\nof a man (and, by the by, there are more diminutive and ill-shapen men\nand women in Rome than I ever saw elsewhere, a phenomenon to be accounted\nfor, perhaps, by their custom of wrapping the new-born infant in\nswaddling-clothes), this two-foot abortion hastened before us, as we drew\nnigh, to summon the sacristan to open the church door.  It was a needless\nservice, for which we rewarded him with two baiocchi.  San Pietro is a\nsimple and noble church, consisting of a nave divided from the side\naisles by rows of columns, that once adorned some ancient temple; and its\nwide, unencumbered interior affords better breathing-space than most\nchurches in Rome.  The statue of Moses occupies a niche in one of the\nside aisles on the right, not far from the high altar.  I found it grand\nand sublime, with a beard flowing down like a cataract; a truly majestic\nfigure, but not so benign as it were desirable that such strength should\nbe.  The horns, about which so much has been said, are not a very\nprominent feature of the statue, being merely two diminutive tips rising\nstraight up over his forehead, neither adding to the grandeur of the\nhead, nor detracting sensibly from it.  The whole force of this statue is\nnot to be felt in one brief visit, but I agree with an English gentleman,\nwho, with a large party, entered the church while we were there, in\nthinking that Moses has \"very fine features,\"--a compliment for which the\ncolossal Hebrew ought to have made the Englishman a bow.\n\nBesides the Moses, the church contains some attractions of a pictorial\nkind, which are reposited in the sacristy, into which we passed through a\nside door.  The most remarkable of these pictures is a face and bust of\nHope, by Guido, with beautiful eyes lifted upwards; it has a grace which\nartists are continually trying to get into their innumerable copies, but\nalways without success; for, indeed, though nothing is more true than the\nexistence of this charm in the picture, yet if you try to analyze it, or\neven look too intently at it, it vanishes, till you look again with more\ntrusting simplicity.\n\nLeaving the church, we wandered to the Coliseum, and to the public\ngrounds contiguous to them, where a score and more of French drummers\nwere beating each man his drum, without reference to any rub-a-dub but\nhis own.  This seems to be a daily or periodical practice and point of\nduty with them.  After resting ourselves on one of the marble benches, we\ncame slowly home, through the Basilica of Constantine, and along the\nshady sides of the streets and piazzas, sometimes, perforce, striking\nboldly through the white sunshine, which, however, was not so hot as to\nshrivel us up bodily.  It has been a most beautiful and perfect day as\nregards weather, clear and bright, very warm in the sunshine, yet\nfreshened throughout by a quiet stir in the air.  Still there is\nsomething in this air malevolent, or, at least, not friendly.  The Romans\nlie down and fall asleep in it, in any vacant part of the streets, and\nwherever they can find any spot sufficiently clean, and among the ruins\nof temples.  I would not sleep in the open air for whatever my life may\nbe worth.\n\nOn our way home, sitting in one of the narrow streets, we saw an old\nwoman spinning with a distaff; a far more ancient implement than the\nspinning-wheel, which the housewives of other nations have long since\nlaid aside.\n\n\nApril 18th.--Yesterday, at noon, the whole family of us set out on a\nvisit to the Villa Borghese and its grounds, the entrance to which is\njust outside of the Porta del Popolo.  After getting within the grounds,\nhowever, there is a long walk before reaching the casino, and we found\nthe sun rather uncomfortably hot, and the road dusty and white in the\nsunshine; nevertheless, a footpath ran alongside of it most of the way\nthrough the grass and among the young trees.  It seems to me that the\ntrees do not put forth their leaves with nearly the same magical rapidity\nin this southern land at the approach of summer, as they do in more\nnortherly countries.  In these latter, having a much shorter time to\ndevelop themselves, they feel the necessity of making the most of it.\nBut the grass, in the lawns and enclosures along which we passed, looked\nalready fit to be mowed, and it was interspersed with many flowers.\n\nSaturday being, I believe, the only day of the week on which visitors are\nadmitted to the casino, there were many parties in carriages, artists on\nfoot, gentlemen on horseback, and miscellaneous people, to whom the door\nwas opened by a custode on ringing a bell.  The whole of the basement\nfloor of the casino, comprising a suite of beautiful rooms, is filled\nwith statuary.  The entrance hall is a very splendid apartment, brightly\nfrescoed, and paved with ancient mosaics, representing the combats with\nbeasts and gladiators in the Coliseum, curious, though very rudely and\nawkwardly designed, apparently after the arts had begun to decline.  Many\nof the specimens of sculpture displayed in these rooms are fine, but none\nof them, I think, possess the highest merit.  An Apollo is beautiful; a\ngroup of a fighting Amazon, and her enemies trampled under her horse's\nfeet, is very impressive; a Faun, copied from that of Praxiteles, and\nanother, who seems to be dancing, were exceedingly pleasant to look at.\nI like these strange, sweet, playful, rustic creatures, . . . . linked so\nprettily, without monstrosity, to the lower tribes. . . . Their\ncharacter has never, that I know of, been wrought out in literature; and\nsomething quite good, funny, and philosophical, as well as poetic, might\nvery likely be educed from them. . . . The faun is a natural and\ndelightful link betwixt human and brute life, with something of a divine\ncharacter intermingled.\n\nThe gallery, as it is called, on the basement floor of the casino, is\nsixty feet in length, by perhaps a third as much in breadth, and is\n(after all I have seen at the Colonna Palace and elsewhere) a more\nmagnificent hall than I imagined to be in existence.  It is floored with\nrich marble in beautifully arranged compartments, and the walls are\nalmost entirely eased with marble of various sorts, the prevailing kind\nbeing giallo antico, intermixed with verd antique, and I know not what\nelse; but the splendor of the giallo antico gives the character to the\nroom, and the large and deep niches along the walls appear to be lined\nwith the same material.  Without coming to Italy, one can have no idea of\nwhat beauty and magnificence are produced by these fittings up of\npolished marble.  Marble to an American means nothing but white\nlimestone.\n\nThis hall, moreover, is adorned with pillars of Oriental alabaster, and\nwherever is a space vacant of precious and richly  marble it is\nfrescoed with arabesque ornaments; and over the whole is a coved and\nvaulted ceiling, glowing with picture.  There never can be anything\nricher than the whole effect.  As to the sculpture here it was not very\nfine, so far as I can remember, consisting chiefly of busts of the\nemperors in porphyry; but they served a good purpose in the upholstery\nway.  There were also magnificent tables, each composed of one great slab\nof porphyry; and also vases of nero antico, and other rarest substance.\nIt remains to be mentioned that, on this almost summer day, I was quite\nchilled in passing through these glorious halls; no fireplace anywhere;\nno possibility of comfort; and in the hot season, when their coolness\nmight be agreeable, it would be death to inhabit them.\n\nAscending a long winding staircase, we arrived at another suite of rooms,\ncontaining a good many not very remarkable pictures, and a few more\npieces of statuary.  Among the latter, is Canova's statue of Pauline, the\nsister of Bonaparte, who is represented with but little drapery, and in\nthe character of Venus holding the apple in her hand.  It is admirably\ndone, and, I have no doubt, a perfect likeness; very beautiful too; but\nit is wonderful to see how the artificial elegance of the woman of this\nworld makes itself perceptible in spite of whatever simplicity she could\nfind in almost utter nakedness.  The statue does not afford pleasure in\nthe contemplation.\n\nIn one of these upper rooms are some works of Bernini; two of them,\nAeneas and Anchises, and David on the point of slinging a stone at\nGoliath, have great merit, and do not tear and rend themselves quite out\nof the laws and limits of marble, like his later sculpture.  Here is also\nhis Apollo overtaking Daphne, whose feet take root, whose, finger-tips\nsprout into twigs, and whose tender body roughens round about with bark,\nas he embraces her.  It did not seem very wonderful to me; not so good as\nHillard's description of it made me expect; and one does not enjoy these\nfreaks in marble.\n\nWe were glad to emerge from the casino into the warm sunshine; and, for\nmy part, I made the best of my way to a large fountain, surrounded by a\ncircular stone seat of wide sweep, and sat down in a sunny segment of the\ncircle.  Around grew a solemn company of old trees,--ilexes, I believe,--\nwith huge, contorted trunks and evergreen branches, . . . . deep groves,\nsunny openings, the airy gush of fountains, marble statues, dimly visible\nin recesses of foliage, great urns and vases, terminal figures, temples,\n--all these works of art looking as if they had stood there long enough\nto feel at home, and to be on friendly and familiar terms with the grass\nand trees.  It is a most beautiful place, . . . . and the Malaria is its\ntrue master and inhabitant!\n\n\nApril 22d.--We have been recently to the studio of Mr. Brown [now dead],\nthe American landscape-painter, and were altogether surprised and\ndelighted with his pictures.  He is a plain, homely Yankee, quite\nunpolished by his many years' residence in Italy; he talks\nungrammatically, and in Yankee idioms; walks with a strange, awkward gait\nand stooping shoulders; is altogether unpicturesque; but wins one's\nconfidence by his very lack of grace.  It is not often that we see an\nartist so entirely free from affectation in his aspect and deportment.\nHis pictures were views of Swiss and Italian scenery, and were most\nbeautiful and true.  One of them, a moonlight picture, was really\nmagical,-- the moon shining so brightly that it seemed to throw a light\neven beyond the limits of the picture,--and yet his sunrises and sunsets,\nand noontides too, were nowise inferior to this, although their\nexcellence required somewhat longer study, to be fully appreciated.  I\nseemed to receive more pleasure front Mr. Brown's pictures than from any\nof the landscapes by the old masters; and the fact serves to strengthen\nme in the belief that the most delicate if not the highest charm of a\npicture is evanescent, and that we continue to admire pictures\nprescriptively and by tradition, after the qualities that first won\nthem their fame have vanished.  I suppose Claude was a greater\nlandscape-painter than Brown; but for my own pleasure I would prefer one\nof the latter artist's pictures,--those of the former being quite changed\nfrom what he intended them to be by the effect of time on his pigments.\nMr. Brown showed us some drawings from nature, done with incredible care\nand minuteness of detail, as studies for his paintings.  We complimented\nhim on his patience; but he said, \"O, it's not patience,--it's love!\"  In\nfact, it was a patient and most successful wooing of a beloved object,\nwhich at last rewarded him by yielding itself wholly.\n\nWe have likewise been to Mr. B------'s [now dead] studio, where we saw\nseveral pretty statues and busts, and among them an Eve, with her wreath\nof fig-leaves lying across her poor nudity; comely in some points, but\nwith a frightful volume of thighs and calves.  I do not altogether see\nthe necessity of ever sculpturing another nakedness.  Man is no longer a\nnaked animal; his clothes are as natural to him as his skin, and\nsculptors have no more right to undress him than to flay him.\n\nAlso, we have seen again William Story's Cleopatra,--a work of genuine\nthought and energy, representing a terribly dangerous woman; quiet enough\nfor the moment, but very likely to spring upon you like a tigress.  It is\ndelightful to escape to his creations from this universal prettiness,\nwhich seems to be the highest conception of the crowd of modern\nsculptors, and which they almost invariably attain.\n\nMiss Bremer called on us the other day.  We find her very little changed\nfrom what she was when she came to take tea and spend an evening at our\nlittle red cottage, among the Berkshire hills, and went away so\ndissatisfied with my conversational performances, and so laudatory of my\nbrow and eyes, while so severely criticising my poor mouth and chin.  She\nis the funniest little old fairy in person whom one can imagine, with a\nhuge nose, to which all the rest of her is but an insufficient appendage;\nbut you feel at once that she is most gentle, kind, womanly, sympathetic,\nand true.  She talks English fluently, in a low quiet voice, but with\nsuch an accent that it is impossible to understand her without the\nclosest attention.  This was the real cause of the failure of our\nBerkshire interview; for I could not guess, half the time, what she was\nsaying, and, of course, had to take an uncertain aim with my responses.\nA more intrepid talker than myself would have shouted his ideas across\nthe gulf; but, for me, there must first be a close and unembarrassed\ncontiguity with my companion, or I cannot say one real word.  I doubt\nwhether I have ever really talked with half a dozen persons in my life,\neither men or women.\n\nTo-day my wife and I have been at the picture and sculpture galleries of\nthe Capitol.  I rather enjoyed looking at several of the pictures, though\nat this moment I particularly remember only a very beautiful face of a\nman, one of two heads on the same canvas by Vandyke.  Yes; I did look\nwith new admiration at Paul Veronese's \"Rape of Europa.\"  It must have\nbeen, in its day, the most brilliant and rejoicing picture, the most\nvoluptuous, the most exuberant, that ever put the sunshine to shame.  The\nbull has all Jupiter in him, so tender and gentle, yet so passionate,\nthat you feel it indecorous to look at him; and Europa, under her thick\nrich stuffs and embroideries, is all a woman.  What a pity that such a\npicture should fade, and perplex the beholder with such splendor shining\nthrough such forlornness!\n\nWe afterwards went into the sculpture-gallery, where I looked at the Faun\nof Praxiteles, and was sensible of a peculiar charm in it; a sylvan\nbeauty and homeliness, friendly and wild at once.  The lengthened, but\nnot preposterous ears, and the little tail, which we infer, have an\nexquisite effect, and make the spectator smile in his very heart.  This\nrace of fauns was the most delightful of all that antiquity imagined.  It\nseems to me that a story, with all sorts of fun and pathos in it, might\nbe contrived on the idea of their species having become intermingled with\nthe human race; a family with the faun blood in them, having prolonged\nitself from the classic era till our own days.  The tail might have\ndisappeared, by dint of constant intermarriages with ordinary mortals;\nbut the pretty hairy ears should occasionally reappear in members of the\nfamily; and the moral instincts and intellectual characteristics of the\nfaun might be most picturesquely brought out, without detriment to the\nhuman interest of the story.  Fancy this combination in the person of a\nyoung lady!\n\nI have spoken of Mr. Gibson's  statues.  It seems (at least Mr.\nNichols tells me) that he stains them with tobacco juice. . . . Were he\nto send a Cupid to America, he need not trouble himself to stain it\nbeforehand.\n\n\nApril 25th.--Night before last, my wife and I took a moonlight ramble\nthrough Rome, it being a very beautiful night, warm enough for comfort,\nand with no perceptible dew or dampness.  We set out at about nine\no'clock, and, our general direction being towards the Coliseum, we soon\ncame to the Fountain of Trevi, full on the front of which the moonlight\nfell, making Bernini's sculptures look stately and beautiful, though the\nsemicircular gush and fall of the cascade, and the many jets of the\nwater, pouring and bubbling into the great marble basin, are of far more\naccount than Neptune and his steeds, and the rest of the figures. . . .\n\nWe ascended the Capitoline Hill, and I felt a satisfaction in placing my\nhand on those immense blocks of stone, the remains of the ancient\nCapitol, which form the foundation of the present edifice, and will make\na sure basis for as many edifices as posterity may choose to rear upon\nit, till the end of the world.  It is wonderful, the solidity with which\nthose old Romans built; one would suppose they contemplated the whole\ncourse of Time as the only limit of their individual life.  This is not\nso strange in the days of the Republic, when, probably, they believed in\nthe permanence of their institutions; but they still seemed to build for\neternity, in the reigns of the emperors, when neither rulers nor people\nhad any faith or moral substance, or laid any earnest grasp on life.\n\nReaching the top of the Capitoline Hill, we ascended the steps of the\nportal of the Palace of the Senator, and looked down into the piazza,\nwith the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius in the centre of it.  The\narchitecture that surrounds the piazza is very ineffective; and so, in my\nopinion, are all the other architectural works of Michael Angelo,\nincluding St. Peter's itself, of which he has made as little as could\npossibly be made of such a vast pile of material.  He balances everything\nin such a way that it seems but half of itself.\n\nWe soon descended into the piazza, and walked round and round the statue\nof Marcus Aurelius, contemplating it from every point and admiring it in\nall. . . . On these beautiful moonlight nights, Rome appears to keep\nawake and stirring, though in a quiet and decorous way.  It is, in fact,\nthe pleasantest time for promenades, and we both felt less wearied than\nby any promenade in the daytime, of similar extent, since our residence\nin Rome.  In future, I mean to walk often after nightfall.\n\nYesterday, we set out betimes, and ascended the dome of St. Peter's.  The\nbest view of the interior of the church, I think, is from the first\ngallery beneath the dome.  The whole inside of the dome is set with\nmosaic-work, the separate pieces being, so far as I could see, about half\nan inch square.  Emerging on the roof, we had a fine view of all the\nsurrounding Rome, including the Mediterranean Sea in the remote distance.\nAbove us still rose the whole mountain of the great dome, and it made an\nimpression on me of greater height and size than I had yet been able to\nreceive.  The copper ball at the summit looked hardly bigger than a man\ncould lift; and yet, a little while afterwards, U----, J-----, and I\nstood all together in that ball, which could have contained a dozen more\nalong with us.  The esplanade of the roof is, of course, very extensive;\nand along the front of it are ranged the statues which we see from below,\nand which, on nearer examination, prove to be roughly hewn giants.  There\nis a small house on the roof, where, probably, the custodes of this part\nof the edifice reside; and there is a fountain gushing abundantly into a\nstone trough, that looked like an old sarcophagus.  It is strange where\nthe water comes from at such a height.  The children tasted it, and\npronounced it very warm and disagreeable.  After taking in the prospect\non all sides we rang a bell, which summoned a man, who directed us\ntowards a door in the side of the dome, where a custode was waiting to\nadmit us.  Hitherto the ascent had been easy, along a <DW72> without\nstairs, up which, I believe, people sometimes ride on donkeys.  The rest\nof the way we mounted steep and narrow staircases, winding round within\nthe wall, or between the two walls of the dome, and growing narrower and\nsteeper, till, finally, there is but a perpendicular iron ladder, by\nmeans of which to climb into the copper ball.  Except through small\nwindows and peep-holes, there is no external prospect of a higher point\nthan the roof of the church.  Just beneath the ball there is a circular\nroom capable of containing a large company, and a door which ought to\ngive access to a gallery on the outside; but the custode informed us that\nthis door is never opened.  As I have said, U----, J-----, and I\nclambered into the copper ball, which we found as hot as an oven; and,\nafter putting our hands on its top, and on the summit of St. Peter's,\nwere glad to clamber down again.  I have made some mistake, after all, in\nmy narration.  There certainly is a circular balcony at the top of the\ndome, for I remember walking round it, and looking, not only across the\ncountry, but downwards along the ribs of the dome; to which are attached\nthe iron contrivances for illuminating it on Easter Sunday. . . .\n\nBefore leaving the church we went to look at the mosaic copy of the\n\"Transfiguration,\" because we were going to see the original in the\nVatican, and wished to compare the two.  Going round to the entrance of\nthe Vatican, we went first to the manufactory of mosaics, to which we had\na ticket of admission.  We found it a long series of rooms, in which the\nmosaic artists were at work, chiefly in making some medallions of the\nheads of saints for the new church of St. Paul's.  It was rather coarse\nwork, and it seemed to me that the mosaic copy was somewhat stiffer and\nmore wooden than the original, the bits of stone not flowing into color\nquite so freely as paint from a brush.  There was no large picture now in\nprocess of being copied; but two or three artists were employed on small\nand delicate subjects.  One had a Holy Family of Raphael in hand; and the\nSibyls of Guercino and Domenichino were hanging on the wall, apparently\nready to be put into mosaic.  Wherever great skill and delicacy, on the\nartists' part were necessary, they seemed quite adequate to the occasion;\nbut, after all, a mosaic of any celebrated picture is but a copy of a\ncopy. The substance employed is a stone-paste, of innumerable different\nviews, and in bits of various sizes, quantities of which were seen in\ncases along the whole series of rooms.\n\nWe next ascended an amazing height of staircases, and walked along I know\nnot what extent of passages, . . . . till we reached the picture-gallery\nof the Vatican, into which I had never been before.  There are but three\nrooms, all lined with red velvet, on which hung about fifty pictures,\neach one of them, no doubt, worthy to be considered a masterpiece.  In\nthe first room were three Murillos, all so beautiful that I could have\nspent the day happily in looking at either of them; for, methinks, of all\npainters he is the tenderest and truest.  I could not enjoy these\npictures now, however, because in the next room, and visible through the\nopen door, hung the \"Transfiguration.\"  Approaching it, I felt that the\npicture was worthy of its fame, and was far better than I could at once\nappreciate; admirably preserved, too, though I fully believe it must have\npossessed a charm when it left Raphael's hand that has now vanished\nforever.  As church furniture and an external adornment, the mosaic copy\nis preferable to the original, but no copy could ever reproduce all the\nlife and expression which we see here.  Opposite to it hangs the\n\"Communion of St. Jerome,\" the aged, dying saint, half torpid with death\nalready, partaking of the sacrament, and a sunny garland of cherubs in\nthe upper part of the picture, looking down upon him, and quite\ncomforting the spectator with the idea that the old man needs only to be\nquite dead in order to flit away with them.  As for the other pictures I\ndid but glance at, and have forgotten them.\n\nThe \"Transfiguration\" is finished with great minuteness and detail, the\nweeds and blades of grass in the foreground being as distinct as if they\nwere growing in a natural soil.  A partly decayed stick of wood with the\nbark is likewise given in close imitation of nature.  The reflection of a\nfoot of one of the apostles is seen in a pool of water at the verge of\nthe picture.  One or two heads and arms seem almost to project from the\ncanvas.  There is great lifelikeness and reality, as well as higher\nqualities.  The face of Jesus, being so high aloft and so small in the\ndistance, I could not well see; but I am impressed with the idea that it\nlooks too much like human flesh and blood to be in keeping with the\ncelestial aspect of the figure, or with the probabilities of the scene,\nwhen the divinity and immortality of the Saviour beamed from within him\nthrough the earthly features that ordinarily shaded him.  As regards the\ncomposition of the picture, I am not convinced of the propriety of its\nbeing in two so distinctly separate parts,--the upper portion not\nthinking of the lower, and the lower portion not being aware of the\nhigher.  It symbolizes, however, the spiritual short-sightedness of\nmankind that, amid the trouble and grief of the lower picture, not a\nsingle individual, either of those who seek help or those who would\nwillingly afford it, lifts his eyes to that region, one glimpse of which\nwould set everything right.  One or two of the disciples point upward,\nbut without really knowing what abundance of help is to be had there.\n\n\nApril 27th.--To-day we have all been with Mr. Akers to some studios of\npainters; first to that of Mr. Wilde, an artist originally from Boston.\nHis pictures are principally of scenes from Venice, and are miracles of\ncolor, being as bright as if the light were transmitted through rubies\nand sapphires.  And yet, after contemplating them awhile, we became\nconvinced that the painter had not gone in the least beyond nature, but,\non the contrary, had fallen short of brilliancies which no palette, or\nskill, or boldness in using color, could attain.  I do not quite know\nwhether it is best to attempt these things.  They may be found in nature,\nno doubt, but always so tempered by what surrounds them, so put out of\nsight even while they seem full before our eyes, that we question the\naccuracy of a faithful reproduction of them on canvas.  There was a\npicture of sunset, the whole sky of which would have outshone any gilded\nframe that could have been put around it.  There was a most gorgeous\nsketch of a handful of weeds and leaves, such as may be seen strewing\nacres of forest-ground in an American autumn.  I doubt whether any other\nman has ever ventured to paint a picture like either of these two, the\nItalian sunset or the American autumnal foliage.  Mr. Wilde, who is still\nyoung, talked with genuine feeling and enthusiasm of his art, and is\ncertainly a man of genius.\n\nWe next went to the studio of an elderly Swiss artist, named Mueller, I\nbelieve, where we looked at a great many water-color and crayon drawings\nof scenes in Italy, Greece, and Switzerland.  The artist was a quiet,\nrespectable, somewhat heavy-looking old gentleman, from whose aspect one\nwould expect a plodding pertinacity of character rather than quickness of\nsensibility.  He must have united both these qualities, however, to\nproduce such pictures as these, such faithful transcripts of whatever\nNature has most beautiful to show, and which she shows only to those who\nlove her deeply and patiently.  They are wonderful pictures, compressing\nplains, seas, and mountains, with miles and miles of distance, into the\nspace of a foot or two, without crowding anything or leaving out a\nfeature, and diffusing the free, blue atmosphere throughout.  The works\nof the English watercolor artists which I saw at the Manchester\nExhibition seemed to me nowise equal to these.  Now, here are three\nartists, Mr. Brown, Mr. Wilde, and Mr. Mueller, who have smitten me with\nvast admiration within these few days past, while I am continually\nturning away disappointed from the landscapes of the most famous among\nthe old masters, unable to find any charm or illusion in them.  Yet I\nsuppose Claude, Poussin, and Salvator Rosa must have won their renown by\nreal achievements.  But the glory of a picture fades like that of a\nflower.\n\nContiguous to Mr. Mueller's studio was that of a young German artist, not\nlong resident in Rome, and Mr. Akers proposed that we should go in there,\nas a matter of kindness to the young man, who is scarcely known at all,\nand seldom has a visitor to look at his pictures.  His studio comprised\nhis whole establishment; for there was his little bed, with its white\ndrapery, in a corner of the small room, and his dressing-table, with its\nbrushes and combs, while the easel and the few sketches of Italian scenes\nand figures occupied the foreground.  I did not like his pictures very\nwell, but would gladly have bought them all if I could have afforded it,\nthe artist looked so cheerful, patient, and quiet, doubtless amidst huge\ndiscouragement.  He is probably stubborn of purpose, and is the sort of\nman who will improve with every year of his life.  We could not speak his\nlanguage, and were therefore spared the difficulty of paying him any\ncompliments; but Miss Shepard said a few kind words to him in German.\nand seemed quite to win his heart, insomuch that he followed her with\nbows and smiles a long way down the staircase.  It is a terrible\nbusiness, this looking at pictures, whether good or bad, in the presence\nof the artists who paint them; it is as great a bore as to hear a poet\nread his own verses.  It takes away all my pleasure in seeing the\npictures, and even remakes me question the genuineness of the impressions\nwhich I receive from them.\n\nAfter this latter visit Mr. Akers conducted us to the shop of the\njeweller Castellani, who is a great reproducer of ornaments in the old\nRoman and Etruscan fashion.  These antique styles are very fashionable\njust now, and some of the specimens he showed us were certainly very\nbeautiful, though I doubt whether their quaintness and old-time\ncuriousness, as patterns of gewgaws dug out of immemorial tombs, be not\ntheir greatest charm.  We saw the toilet-case of an Etruscan lady,--that\nis to say, a modern imitation of it,--with her rings for summer and\nwinter, and for every day of the week, and for thumb and fingers; her\nivory comb; her bracelets; and more knick-knacks than I can half\nremember.  Splendid things of our own time were likewise shown us; a\nnecklace of diamonds worth eighteen thousand scudi, together with\nemeralds and opals and great pearls.  Finally we came away, and my wife\nand Miss Shepard were taken up by the Misses Weston, who drove with them\nto visit the Villa Albani.  During their drive my wife happened to raise\nher arm, and Miss Shepard espied a little Greek cross of gold which had\nattached itself to the lace of her sleeve. . . . Pray heaven the\njeweller may not discover his loss before we have time to restore the\nspoil!  He is apparently so free and careless in displaying his precious\nwares,--putting inestimable genes and brooches great and small into the\nhands of strangers like ourselves, and leaving scores of them strewn on\nthe top of his counter,--that it would seem easy enough to take a diamond\nor two; but I suspect there must needs be a sharp eye somewhere.  Before\nwe left the shop he requested me to honor him with my autograph in a\nlarge book that was full of the names of his visitors.  This is probably\na measure of precaution.\n\n\nApril 30th.--I went yesterday to the sculpture-gallery of the Capitol,\nand looked pretty thoroughly through the busts of the illustrious men,\nand less particularly at those of the emperors and their relatives.  I\nlikewise took particular note of the Faun of Praxiteles, because the idea\nkeeps recurring to me of writing a little romance about it, and for that\nreason I shall endeavor to set down a somewhat minutely itemized detail\nof the statue and its surroundings. . . .\n\nWe have had beautiful weather for two or three days, very warm in the\nsun, yet always freshened by the gentle life of a breeze, and quite cool\nenough the moment you pass within the limit of the shade. . . .\n\nIn the morning there are few people there (on the Pincian) except the\ngardeners, lazily trimming the borders, or filling their watering-pots\nout of the marble-brimmed basin of the fountain; French soldiers, in\ntheir long mixed-blue surtouts, and wide scarlet pantaloons, chatting\nwith here and there a nursery-maid and playing with the child in her\ncare; and perhaps a few smokers, . . . . choosing each a marble seat or\nwooden bench in sunshine or shade as best suits him.  In the afternoon,\nespecially within an hour or two of sunset, the gardens are much more\npopulous, and the seats, except when the sun falls full upon them, are\nhard to come by.  Ladies arrive in carriages, splendidly dressed;\nchildren are abundant, much impeded in their frolics, and rendered stiff\nand stately by the finery which they wear; English gentlemen and\nAmericans with their wives and families; the flower of the Roman\npopulation, too, both male and female, mostly dressed with great nicety;\nbut a large intermixture of artists, shabbily picturesque; and other\npersons, not of the first stamp.  A French band, comprising a great many\nbrass instruments, by and by begins to play; and what with music,\nsunshine, a delightful atmosphere, flowers, grass, well-kept pathways,\nbordered with box-hedges, pines, cypresses, horse-chestnuts, flowering\nshrubs, and all manner of cultivated beauty, the scene is a very lively\nand agreeable one.  The fine equipages that drive round and round through\nthe carriage-paths are another noticeable item.  The Roman aristocracy\nare magnificent in their aspect, driving abroad with beautiful horses,\nand footmen in rich liveries, sometimes as many as three behind and one\nsitting by the coachman.\n\n\nMay 1st.--This morning, I wandered for the thousandth time through some\nof the narrow intricacies of Rome, stepping here and there into a church.\nI do not know the name of the first one, nor had it anything that in Rome\ncould be called remarkable, though, till I came here, I was not aware\nthat any such churches existed,--a marble pavement in variegated\ncompartments, a series of shrines and chapels round the whole floor, each\nwith its own adornment of sculpture and pictures, its own altar with tall\nwax tapers before it, some of which were burning; a great picture over\nthe high altar, the whole interior of the church ranged round with\npillars and pilasters, and lined, every inch of it, with rich yellow\nmarble.  Finally, a frescoed ceiling over the nave and transepts, and a\ndome rising high above the central part, and filled with frescos brought\nto such perspective illusion, that the edges seem to project into the\nair.  Two or three persons are kneeling at separate shrines; there are\nseveral wooden confessionals placed against the walls, at one of which\nkneels a lady, confessing to a priest who sits within; the tapers are\nlighted at the high altar and at one of the shrines; an attendant is\nscrubbing the marble pavement with a broom and water, a process, I should\nthink, seldom practised in Roman churches.  By and by the lady finishes\nher confession, kisses the priest's hand, and sits down in one of the\nchairs which are placed about the floor, while the priest, in a black\nrobe, with a short, white, loose jacket over his shoulders, disappears by\na side door out of the church.  I, likewise, finding nothing attractive\nin the pictures, take my departure.  Protestantism needs a new apostle to\nconvert it into something positive. . . .\n\nI now found my way to the Piazza Navona.  It is to me the most\ninteresting piazza in Rome; a large oblong space, surrounded with tall,\nshabby houses, among which there are none that seem to be palaces.  The\nsun falls broadly over the area of the piazza, and shows the fountains in\nit;--one a large basin with great sea-monsters, probably of Bernini's\ninventions, squirting very small streams of water into it; another of the\nfountains I do not at all remember; but the central one is an immense\nbasin, over which is reared an old Egyptian obelisk, elevated on a rock,\nwhich is cleft into four arches.  Monstrous devices in marble, I know not\nof what purport, are clambering about the cloven rock or burrowing\nbeneath it; one and all of them are superfluous and impertinent, the only\nessential thing being the abundant supply of water in the fountain.  This\nwhole Piazza Navona is usually the scene of more business than seems to\nbe transacted anywhere else in Rome; in some parts of it rusty iron is\noffered for sale, locks and keys, old tools, and all such rubbish; in\nother parts vegetables, comprising, at this season, green peas, onions,\ncauliflowers, radishes, artichokes, and others with which I have never\nmade acquaintance; also, stalls or wheelbarrows containing apples,\nchestnuts (the meats dried and taken out of the shells), green almonds in\ntheir husks, and squash-seeds,--salted and dried in an oven,--apparently\na favorite delicacy of the Romans.  There are also lemons and oranges;\nstalls of fish, mostly about the size of smelts, taken from the Tiber;\ncigars of various qualities, the best at a baioccho and a half apiece;\nbread in loaves or in small rings, a great many of which are strung\ntogether on a long stick, and thus carried round for sale.  Women and men\nsit with these things for sale, or carry them about in trays or on boards\non their heads, crying them with shrill and hard voices.  There is a\nshabby crowd and much babble; very little picturesqueness of costume or\nfigure, however, the chief exceptions being, here and there, an old\nwhite-bearded beggar.  A few of the men have the peasant costume,--a\nshort jacket and breeches of light blue cloth and white stockings,--the\nugliest dress I ever saw.  The women go bareheaded, and seem fond of\nscarlet and other bright colors, but are homely and clumsy in form.  The\npiazza is dingy in its general aspect, and very dirty, being strewn with\nstraw, vegetable-tops, and the rubbish of a week's marketing; but there\nis more life in it than one sees elsewhere in Rome.\n\nOn one side of the piazza is the Church of St. Agnes, traditionally said\nto stand on the site of the house where that holy maiden was exposed to\ninfamy by the Roman soldiers, and where her modesty and innocence were\nsaved by miracle.  I went into the church, and found it very splendid,\nwith rich marble columns, all as brilliant as if just built; a frescoed\ndome above; beneath, a range of chapels all round the church, ornamented\nnot with pictures but bas-reliefs, the figures of which almost step and\nstruggle out of the marble.  They did not seem very admirable as works of\nart, none of them explaining themselves or attracting me long enough to\nstudy out their meaning; but, as part of the architecture of the church,\nthey had a good effect.  Out of the busy square two or three persons had\nstepped into this bright and calm seclusion to pray and be devout, for a\nlittle while; and, between sunrise and sunset of the bustling market-day,\nmany doubtless snatch a moment to refresh their souls.\n\nIn the Pantheon (to-day) it was pleasant looking up to the circular\nopening, to see the clouds flitting across it, sometimes covering it\nquite over, then permitting a glimpse of sky, then showing all the circle\nof sunny blue.  Then would come the ragged edge of a cloud, brightened\nthroughout with sunshine, passing and changing quickly,--not that the\ndivine smile was not always the same, but continually variable through\nthe medium of earthly influences.  The great slanting beam of sunshine\nwas visible all the way down to the pavement, falling upon motes of dust,\nor a thin smoke of incense imperceptible in the shadow.  Insects were\nplaying to and fro in the beam, high up toward the opening.  There is a\nwonderful charm in the naturalness of all this, and one might fancy a\nswarm of cherubs coming down through the opening and sporting in the\nbroad ray, to gladden the faith of worshippers on the pavement beneath;\nor angels bearing prayers upward, or bringing down responses to them,\nvisible with dim brightness as they pass through the pathway of heaven's\nradiance, even the many hues of their wings discernible by a trusting\neye; though, as they pass into the shadow, they vanish like the motes.\nSo the sunbeam would represent those rays of divine intelligence which\nenable us to see wonders and to know that they are natural things.\n\nConsider the effect of light and shade in a church where the windows are\nopen and darkened with curtains that are occasionally lifted by a breeze,\nletting in the sunshine, which whitens a carved tombstone on the pavement\nof the church, disclosing, perhaps, the letters of the name and\ninscription, a death's-head, a crosier, or other emblem; then the curtain\nfalls and the bright spot vanishes.\n\n\nMay 8th.--This morning my wife and I went to breakfast with Mrs. William\nStory at the Barberini Palace, expecting to meet Mrs. Jameson, who has\nbeen in Rome for a month or two.  We had a very pleasant breakfast, but\nMrs. Jameson was not present on account of indisposition, and the only\nother guests were Mrs. A------ and Mrs. H------, two sensible American\nladies.  Mrs. Story, however, received a note from Mrs. Jameson, asking\nher to bring us to see her at her lodgings; so in the course of the\nafternoon she called on us, and took us thither in her carriage.  Mrs.\nJameson lives on the first piano of an old palazzo on the Via di Ripetta,\nnearly opposite the ferry-way across the Tiber, and affording a pleasant\nview of the yellow river and the green bank and fields on the other side.\nI had expected to see an elderly lady, but not quite so venerable a one\nas Mrs. Jameson proved to be; a rather short, round, and massive\npersonage, of benign and agreeable aspect, with a sort of black skullcap\non her head, beneath which appeared her hair, which seemed once to have\nbeen fair, and was now almost white.  I should take her to be about\nseventy years old.  She began to talk to us with affectionate\nfamiliarity, and was particularly kind in her manifestations towards\nmyself, who, on my part, was equally gracious towards her.  In truth, I\nhave found great pleasure and profit in her works, and was glad to hear\nher say that she liked mine.  We talked about art, and she showed us a\npicture leaning up against the wall of the room; a quaint old Byzantine\npainting, with a gilded background, and two stiff figures (our Saviour\nand St. Catherine) standing shyly at a sacred distance from one another,\nand going through the marriage ceremony.  There was a great deal of\nexpression in their faces and figures; and the spectator feels, moreover,\nthat the artist must have been a devout man,--an impression which we\nseldom receive from modern pictures, however awfully holy the subject, or\nhowever consecrated the place they hang in.  Mrs. Jameson seems to be\nfamiliar with Italy, its people and life, as well as with its\npicture-galleries.  She is said to be rather irascible in her temper; but\nnothing could be sweeter than her voice, her look, and all her\nmanifestations to-day.  When we were coming away she clasped my hand in\nboth of hers, and again expressed the pleasure of having seen me, and her\ngratitude to me for calling on her; nor did I refrain from responding\nAmen to these effusions. . . .\n\nTaking leave of Mrs. Jameson, we drove through the city, and out of the\nLateran Gate; first, however, waiting a long while at Monaldini's\nbookstore in the Piazza de' Spagna for Mr. Story, whom we finally took up\nin the street, after losing nearly an hour.\n\nJust two miles beyond the gate is a space on the green campagna where,\nfor some time past, excavations have been in progress, which thus far\nhave resulted in the discovery of several tombs, and the old, buried, and\nalmost forgotten church or basilica of San Stefano.  It is a beautiful\nspot, that of the excavations, with the Alban hills in the distance, and\nsome heavy, sunlighted clouds hanging above, or recumbent at length upon\nthem, and behind the city and its mighty dome.  The excavations are an\nobject of great interest both to the Romans and to strangers, and there\nwere many carriages and a great many visitors viewing the progress of the\nworks, which are carried forward with greater energy than anything else I\nhave seen attempted at Rome.  A short time ago the ground in the vicinity\nwas a green surface, level, except here and there a little hillock, or\nscarcely perceptible swell; the tomb of Cecilia Metella showing itself a\nmile or two distant, and other rugged ruins of great tombs rising on the\nplain.  Now the whole site of the basilica is uncovered, and they have\ndug into the depths of several tombs, bringing to light precious marbles,\npillars, a statue, and elaborately wrought sarcophagi; and if they were\nto dig into almost every other inequality that frets the surface of the\ncampagna, I suppose the result might be the same.  You cannot dig six\nfeet downward anywhere into the soil, deep enough to hollow out a grave,\nwithout finding some precious relic of the past; only they lose somewhat\nof their value when you think that you can almost spurn them out of the\nground with your foot.  It is a very wonderful arrangement of Providence\nthat these things should have been preserved for a long series of coming\ngenerations by that accumulation of dust and soil and grass and trees and\nhouses over them, which will keep them safe, and cause their reappearance\nabove ground to be gradual, so that the rest of the world's lifetime may\nhave for one of its enjoyments the uncovering of old Rome.\n\nThe tombs were accessible by long flights of steps going steeply\ndownward, and they were thronged with so many visitors that we had to\nwait some little time for our own turn.  In the first into which we\ndescended we found two tombs side by side, with only a partition wall\nbetween; the outer tomb being, as is supposed, a burial-place constructed\nby the early Christians, while the adjoined and minor one was a work of\npagan Rome about the second century after Christ.  The former was much\nless interesting than the latter.  It contained some large sarcophagi,\nwith sculpture upon them of rather heathenish aspect; and in the centre\nof the front of each sarcophagus was a bust in bas-relief, the features\nof which had never been wrought, but were left almost blank, with only\nthe faintest indications of a nose, for instance.  It is supposed that\nsarcophagi were kept on hand by the sculptors, and were bought ready\nmade, and that it was customary to work out the portrait of the deceased\nupon the blank face in the centre; but when there was a necessity for\nsudden burial, as may have been the case in the present instance, this\nwas dispensed with.\n\nThe inner tomb was found without any earth in it, just as it had been\nleft when the last old Roman was buried there; and it being only a week\nor two since it was opened, there was very little intervention of\npersons, though much of time, between the departure of the friends of the\ndead and our own visit.  It is a square room, with a mosaic pavement, and\nis six or seven paces in length and breadth, and as much in height to the\nvaulted roof.  The roof and upper walls are beautifully ornamented with\nfrescos, which were very bright when first discovered, but have rapidly\nfaded since the admission of the air, though the graceful and joyous\ndesigns, flowers and fruits and trees, are still perfectly discernible.\nThe room must have been anything but sad and funereal; on the contrary,\nas cheerful a saloon, and as brilliant, if lighted up, as one could\ndesire to feast in.  It contained several marble sarcophagi, covering\nindeed almost the whole floor, and each of them as much as three or four\nfeet in length, and two much longer.  The longer ones I did not\nparticularly examine, and they seemed comparatively plainer; but the\nsmaller sarcophagi were covered with the most delicately wrought and\nbeautiful bas-reliefs that I ever beheld; a throng of glad and lovely\nshapes in marble clustering thickly and chasing one another round the\nsides of these old stone coffins.  The work was as perfect as when the\nsculptor gave it his last touch; and if he had wrought it to be placed in\na frequented hall, to be seen and admired by continual crowds as long as\nthe marble should endure, he could not have chiselled with better skill\nand care, though his work was to be shut up in the depths of a tomb\nforever.  This seems to me the strangest thing in the world, the most\nalien from modern sympathies.  If they had built their tombs above\nground, one could understand the arrangement better; but no sooner had\nthey adorned them so richly, and furnished them with such exquisite\nproductions of art, than they annihilated them with darkness.  It was an\nattempt, no doubt, to render the physical aspect of death cheerful, but\nthere was no good sense in it.\n\nWe went down also into another tomb close by, the walls of which were\nornamented with medallions in stucco.  These works presented a numerous\nseries of graceful designs, wrought by the hand in the short space of\n(Mr. Story said it could not have been more than) five or ten minutes,\nwhile the wet plaster remained capable of being moulded; and it was\nmarvellous to think of the fertility of the artist's fancy, and the\nrapidity and accuracy with which he must have given substantial existence\nto his ideas.  These too--all of them such adornments as would have\nsuited a festal hall--were made to be buried forthwith in eternal\ndarkness.  I saw and handled in this tomb a great thigh-bone, and\nmeasured it with my own; it was one of many such relics of the guests who\nwere laid to sleep in these rich chambers.  The sarcophagi that served\nthem for coffins could not now be put to a more appropriate use than as\nwine-coolers in a modern dining-room; and it would heighten the enjoyment\nof a festival to look at them.\n\nWe would gladly have stayed much longer; but it was drawing towards\nsunset, and the evening, though bright, was unusually cool, so we drove\nhome; and on the way, Mr. Story told us of the horrible practices of the\nmodern Romans with their dead,--how they place them in the church, where,\nat midnight, they are stripped of their last rag of funeral attire, put\ninto the rudest wooden coffins, and thrown into a trench,--a half-mile,\nfor instance, of promiscuous corpses.  This is the fate of all, except\nthose whose friends choose to pay an exorbitant sum to have them buried\nunder the pavement of a church.  The Italians have an excessive dread of\ncorpses, and never meddle with those of their nearest and dearest\nrelatives.  They have a horror of death, too, especially of sudden death,\nand most particularly of apoplexy; and no wonder, as it gives no time for\nthe last rites of the Church, and so exposes them to a fearful risk of\nperdition forever.  On the whole, the ancient practice was, perhaps, the\npreferable one; but Nature has made it very difficult for us to do\nanything pleasant and satisfactory with a dead body.  God knows best; but\nI wish he had so ordered it that our mortal bodies, when we have done\nwith them, might vanish out of sight and sense, like bubbles.  A person\nof delicacy hates to think of leaving such a burden as his decaying\nmortality to the disposal of his friends; but, I say again, how\ndelightful it would be, and how helpful towards our faith in a blessed\nfuturity, if the dying could disappear like vanishing bubbles, leaving,\nperhaps, a sweet fragrance diffused for a minute or two throughout the\ndeath-chamber.  This would be the odor of sanctity!  And if sometimes the\nevaporation of a sinful soul should leave an odor not so delightful, a\nbreeze through the open windows would soon waft it quite away.\n\nApropos of the various methods of disposing of dead bodies, William Story\nrecalled a newspaper paragraph respecting a ring, with a stone of a new\nspecies in it, which a widower was observed to wear upon his finger.\nBeing questioned as to what the gem was, he answered, \"It is my wife.\"\nHe had procured her body to be chemically resolved into this stone.  I\nthink I could make a story on this idea: the ring should be one of the\nwidower's bridal gifts to a second wife; and, of course, it should have\nwondrous and terrible qualities, symbolizing all that disturbs the quiet\nof a second marriage,--on the husband's part, remorse for his\ninconstancy, and the constant comparison between the dead wife of his\nyouth, now idealized, and the grosser reality which he had now adopted\ninto her place; while on the new wife's finger it should give pressures,\nshooting pangs into her heart, jealousies of the past, and all such\nmiserable emotions.\n\nBy the by, the tombs which we looked at and entered may have been\noriginally above ground, like that of Cecilia Metella, and a hundred\nothers along the Appian Way; though, even in this case, the beautiful\nchambers must have been shut up in darkness.  Had there been windows,\nletting in the light upon the rich frescos and exquisite sculptures,\nthere would have been a satisfaction in thinking of the existence of so\nmuch visual beauty, though no eye had the privilege to see it.  But\ndarkness, to objects of sight, is annihilation, as long as the darkness\nlasts.\n\n\nMay 9th.--Mrs. Jameson called this forenoon to ask us to go and see her\nthis evening; . . . . so that I had to receive her alone, devolving part\nof the burden on Miss Shepard and the three children, all of whom I\nintroduced to her notice.  Finding that I had not been farther beyond the\nwalls of Rome than the tomb of Cecilia Metella, she invited me to take a\ndrive of a few miles with her this afternoon. . . . The poor lady seems\nto be very lame; and I am sure I was grateful to her for having taken the\ntrouble to climb up the seventy steps of our staircase, and felt pain at\nseeing her go down them again.  It looks fearfully like the gout, the\naffection being apparently in one foot.  The hands, by the way, are\nwhite, and must once have been, perhaps now are, beautiful.  She must\nhave been a perfectly pretty woman in her day,--a blue or gray eyed,\nfair-haired beauty.  I think that her hair is not white, but only flaxen\nin the extreme.\n\nAt half past four, according to appointment, I arrived at her lodgings,\nand had not long to wait before her little one-horse carriage drove up to\nthe door, and we set out, rumbling along the Via Scrofa, and through the\ndensest part of the city, past the theatre of Marcellus, and thence along\nbeneath the Palatine Hill, and by the Baths of Caracalla, through the\ngate of San Sebastiano.  After emerging from the gate, we soon came to\nthe little Church of \"Domine, quo vadis?\"  Standing on the spot where St.\nPeter is said to have seen a vision of our Saviour bearing his cross,\nMrs. Jameson proposed to alight; and, going in, we saw a cast from\nMichael Angelo's statue of the Saviour; and not far from the threshold of\nthe church, yet perhaps in the centre of the edifice, which is extremely\nsmall, a circular stone is placed, a little raised above the pavement,\nand surrounded by a low wooden railing.  Pointing to this stone, Mrs.\nJameson showed me the prints of two feet side by side, impressed into its\nsurface, as if a person had stopped short while pursuing his way to Rome.\nThese, she informed me, were supposed to be the miraculous prints of the\nSaviour's feet; but on looking into Murray, I am mortified to find that\nthey are merely facsimiles of the original impressions, which are\ntreasured up among the relics of the neighboring Basilica of San\nSebastiano.  The marks of sculpture seemed to me, indeed, very evident in\nthese prints, nor did they indicate such beautiful feet as should have\nbelonged to the hearer of the best of glad tidings.\n\nHence we drove on a little way farther, and came to the Basilica of San\nSebastiano, where also we alighted, and, leaning on my arm, Mrs. Jameson\nwent in.  It is a stately and noble interior, with a spacious\nunencumbered nave, and a flat ceiling frescoed and gilded.  In a chapel\nat the left of the entrance is the tomb of St. Sebastian,--a sarcophagus\ncontaining his remains, raised on high before the altar, and beneath it a\nrecumbent statue of the saint pierced with gilded arrows.  The sculpture\nis of the school of Bernini,--done after the design of Bernini himself,\nMrs. Jameson said, and is more agreeable and in better taste than most of\nhis works.  We walked round the basilica, glancing at the pictures in the\nvarious chapels, none of which seemed to be of remarkable merit, although\nMrs. Jameson pronounced rather a favorable verdict on one of St. Francis.\nShe says that she can read a picture like the page of a book; in fact,\nwithout perhaps assuming more taste and judgment than really belong to\nher, it was impossible not to perceive that she gave her companion no\ncredit for knowing one single simplest thing about art.  Nor, on the\nwhole, do I think she underrated me; the only mystery is, how she came to\nbe so well aware of my ignorance on artistical points.\n\nIn the basilica the Franciscan monks were arranging benches on the floor\nof the nave, and some peasant children and grown people besides were\nassembling, probably to undergo an examination in the catechism, and we\nhastened to depart, lest our presence should interfere with their\narrangements.  At the door a monk met us, and asked for a contribution in\naid of his church, or some other religious purpose.  Boys, as we drove\non, ran stoutly along by the side of the chaise, begging as often as they\ncould find breath, but were constrained finally to give up the pursuit.\nThe great ragged bulks of the tombs along the Appian Way now hove in\nsight, one with a farm-house on its summit, and all of them\npreposterously huge and massive.  At a distance, across the green\ncampagna on our left, the Claudian aqueduct strode away over miles of\nspace, and doubtless reached even to that circumference of blue hills\nwhich stand afar off, girdling Rome about.  The tomb of Cecilia Metella\ncame in sight a long while before we reached it, with the warm buff hue\nof its travertine, and the gray battlemented wall which the Caetanis\nerected on the top of its circular summit six hundred years ago.  After\npassing it, we saw an interminable line of tombs on both sides of the\nway, each of which might, for aught I know, have been as massive as that\nof Cecilia Metella, and some perhaps still more monstrously gigantic,\nthough now dilapidated and much reduced in size.  Mrs. Jameson had an\nengagement to dinner at half past six, so that we could go but a little\nfarther along this most interesting road, the borders of which are strewn\nwith broken marbles; fragments of capitals, and nameless rubbish that\nonce was beautiful.  Methinks the Appian Way should be the only entrance\nto Rome,--through an avenue of tombs.\n\nThe day had been cloudy, chill, and windy, but was now grown calmer and\nmore genial, and brightened by a very pleasant sunshine, though great\ndark clouds were still lumbering up the sky.  We drove homeward, looking\nat the distant dome of St. Peter's and talking of many things,--painting,\nsculpture, America, England, spiritualism, and whatever else came up.\nShe is a very sensible old lady, and sees a great deal of truth; a good\nwoman, too, taking elevated views of matters; but I doubt whether she has\nthe highest and finest perceptions in the world.  At any rate, she\npronounced a good judgment on the American sculptors now in Rome,\ncondemning them in the mass as men with no high aims, no worthy\nconception of the purposes of their art, and desecrating marble by the\nthings they wrought in it.  William Story, I presume, is not to be\nincluded in this censure, as she had spoken highly of his sculpturesque\nfaculty in our previous conversation.  On my part, I suggested that the\nEnglish sculptors were little or nothing better than our own, to which\nshe acceded generally, but said that Gibson had produced works equal to\nthe antique,--which I did not dispute, but still questioned whether the\nworld needed Gibson, or was any the better for him.  We had a great\ndispute about the propriety of adopting the costume of the day in modern\nsculpture, and I contended that either the art ought to be given up\n(which possibly would be the best course), or else should be used for\nidealizing the man of the day to himself; and that, as Nature makes us\nsensible of the fact when men and women are graceful, beautiful, and\nnoble, through whatever costume they wear, so it ought to be the test of\nthe sculptor's genius that he should do the same.  Mrs. Jameson decidedly\nobjected to buttons, breeches, and all other items of modern costume;\nand, indeed, they do degrade the marble, and make high sculpture utterly\nimpossible.  Then let the art perish as one that the world has done with,\nas it has done with many other beautiful things that belonged to an\nearlier time.\n\nIt was long past the hour of Mrs. Jameson's dinner engagement when we\ndrove up to her door in the Via Ripetta.  I bade her farewell with much\ngood-feeling on my own side, and, I hope, on hers, excusing myself,\nhowever, from keeping the previous engagement to spend the evening with\nher, for, in point of fact, we had mutually had enough of one another for\nthe time being.  I am glad to record that she expressed a very favorable\nopinion of our friend Mr. Thompson's pictures.\n\n\nMay 12th.--To-day we have been to the Villa Albani, to which we had a\nticket of admission through the agency of Mr. Cass (the American\nMinister).  We set out between ten and eleven o'clock, and walked through\nthe Via Felice, the Piazza Barberini, and a long, heavy, dusty range of\nstreets beyond, to the Porta Salara, whence the road extends, white and\nsunny, between two high blank walls to the gate of the villa, which is at\nno great distance.  We were admitted by a girl, and went first to the\ncasino, along an aisle of overshadowing trees, the branches of which met\nabove our heads.  In the portico of the casino, which extends along its\nwhole front, there are many busts and statues, and, among them, one of\nJulius Caesar, representing him at an earlier period of life than others\nwhich I have seen.  His aspect is not particularly impressive; there is a\nlack of chin, though not so much as in the older statues and busts.\nWithin the edifice there is a large hall, not so brilliant, perhaps, with\nfrescos and gilding as those at the Villa Borghese, but lined with the\nmost beautiful variety of marbles.  But, in fact, each new splendor of\nthis sort outshines the last, and unless we could pass from one to\nanother all in the same suite, we cannot remember them well enough to\ncompare the Borghese with the Albani, the effect being more on the fancy\nthan on the intellect.  I do not recall any of the sculpture, except a\ncolossal bas-relief of Antinous, crowned with flowers, and holding\nflowers in his hand, which was found in the ruins of Hadrian's Villa.\nThis is said to be the finest relic of antiquity next to the Apollo and\nthe Laocoon; but I could not feel it to be so, partly, I suppose, because\nthe features of Autinous do not seem to me beautiful in themselves; and\nthat heavy, downward look is repeated till I am more weary of it than of\nanything else in sculpture.  We went up stairs and down stairs, and saw a\ngood many beautiful things, but none, perhaps, of the very best and\nbeautifullest; and second-rate statues, with the corroded surface of old\nmarble that has been dozens of centuries under the ground, depress the\nspirits of the beholder.  The bas-relief of Antinous has at least the\nmerit of being almost as white and fresh, and quite as smooth, as if it\nhad never been buried and dug up again.  The real treasures of this\nvilla, to the number of nearly three hundred, were removed to Paris by\nNapoleon, and, except the Antinous, not one of them ever came back.\n\nThere are some pictures in one or two of the rooms, and among them I\nrecollect one by Perugino, in which is a St. Michael, very devout and\nvery beautiful; indeed, the whole picture (which is in compartments,\nrepresenting the three principal points of the Saviour's history)\nimpresses the beholder as being painted devoutly and earnestly by a\nreligious man.  In one of the rooms there is a small bronze Apollo,\nsupposed by Winckelmann to be an original of Praxiteles; but I could not\nmake myself in the least sensible of its merit.\n\nThe rest of the things in the casino I shall pass over, as also those in\nthe coffee-house,--an edifice which stands a hundred yards or more from\nthe casino, with an ornamental garden, laid out in walks and flower-plats\nbetween.  The coffee-house has a semicircular sweep of porch with a good\nmany statues and busts beneath it, chiefly of distinguished Romans.  In\nthis building, as in the casino, there are curious mosaics, large vases\nof rare marble, and many other things worth long pauses of admiration;\nbut I think that we were all happier when we had done with the works of\nart, and were at leisure to ramble about the grounds.  The Villa Albani\nitself is an edifice separate from both the coffee-house and casino, and\nis not opened to strangers.  It rises, palace-like, in the midst of the\ngarden, and, it is to be hoped, has some possibility of comfort amidst\nits splendors.--Comfort, however, would be thrown away upon it; for\nbesides that the site shares the curse that has fallen upon every\npleasant place in the vicinity of Rome, . . . . it really has no occupant\nexcept the servants who take care of it.  The Count of Castelbarco, its\npresent proprietor, resides at Milan.  The grounds are laid out in the\nold fashion of straight paths, with borders of box, which form hedges of\ngreat height and density, and as even as a brick wall at the top and\nsides.  There are also alleys forming long vistas between the trunks and\nbeneath the boughs of oaks, ilexes, and olives; and there are shrubberies\nand tangled wildernesses of palm, cactus, rhododendron, and I know not\nwhat; and a profusion of roses that bloom and wither with nobody to pluck\nand few to look at them.  They climb about the sculpture of fountains,\nrear themselves against pillars and porticos, run brimming over the\nwalls, and strew the path with their falling leaves.  We stole a few, and\nfeel that we have wronged our consciences in not stealing more.  In one\npart of the grounds we saw a field actually ablaze with scarlet poppies.\nThere are great lagunas; fountains presided over by naiads, who squirt\ntheir little jets into basins; sunny lawns; a temple, so artificially\nruined that we half believed it a veritable antique; and at its base a\nreservoir of water, in which stone swans seemed positively to float;\ngroves of cypress; balustrades and broad flights of stone stairs,\ndescending to lower levels of the garden; beauty, peace, sunshine, and\nantique repose on every side; and far in the distance the blue hills that\nencircle the campagna of Rome.  The day was very fine for our purpose;\ncheerful, but not too bright, and tempered by a breeze that seemed even a\nlittle too cool when we sat long in the shade.  We enjoyed it till three\no'clock. . . .\n\nAt the Capitol there is a sarcophagus with a most beautiful bas-relief of\nthe discovery of Achilles by Ulysses, in which there is even an\nexpression of mirth on the faces of many of the spectators.  And to-day\nat the Albani a sarcophagus was ornamented with the nuptials of Peleus\nand Thetis.\n\nDeath strides behind every man, to be sure, at more or less distance,\nand, sooner or later, enters upon any event of his life; so that, in this\npoint of view, they might each and all serve for bas-reliefs on a\nsarcophagus; but the Romans seem to have treated Death as lightly and\nplayfully as they could, and tried to cover his dart with flowers,\nbecause they hated it so much.\n\n\nMay 15th.--My wife and I went yesterday to the Sistine Chapel, it being\nmy first visit.  It is a room of noble proportions, lofty and long,\nthough divided in the midst by a screen or partition of white marble,\nwhich rises high enough to break the effect of spacious unity.  There are\nsix arched windows on each side of the chapel, throwing down their light\nfrom the height of the walls, with as much as twenty feet of space (more\nI should think) between them and the floor.  The entire walls and ceiling\nof this stately chapel are covered with paintings in fresco, except the\nspace about ten feet in height from the floor, and that portion was\nintended to be adorned by tapestries from pictures by Raphael, but, the\ndesign being prevented by his premature death, the projected tapestries\nhave no better substitute than paper-hangings.  The roof, which is flat\nat top, and coved or vaulted at the sides, is painted in compartments by\nMichael Angelo, with frescos representing the whole progress of the world\nand of mankind from its first formation by the Almighty . . . . till\nafter the flood.  On one of the sides of the chapel are pictures by\nPerugino, and other old masters, of subsequent events in sacred history;\nand the entire wall behind the altar, a vast expanse from the ceiling to\nthe floor, is taken up with Michael Angelo's summing up of the world's\nhistory and destinies in his \"Last Judgment.\"\n\nThere can be no doubt that while these frescos continued in their\nperfection, there was nothing else to be compared with the magnificent\nand solemn beauty of this chapel.  Enough of ruined splendor still\nremains to convince the spectator of all that has departed; but methinks\nI have seen hardly anything else so forlorn and depressing as it is now,\nall dusky and dim, even the very lights having passed into shadows, and\nthe shadows into utter blackness; so that it needs a sunshiny day, under\nthe bright Italian heavens, to make the designs perceptible at all.  As\nwe sat in the chapel there were clouds flitting across the sky; when the\nclouds came the pictures vanished; when the sunshine broke forth the\nfigures sadly glimmered into something like visibility,--the Almighty\nmoving in chaos,--the noble shape of Adam, the beautiful Eve; and,\nbeneath where the roof curves, the mighty figures of sibyls and prophets,\nlooking as if they were necessarily so gigantic because the thought\nwithin them was so massive.  In the \"Last Judgment\" the scene of the\ngreater part of the picture lies in the upper sky, the blue of which\nglows through betwixt the groups of naked figures; and above sits Jesus,\nnot looking in the least like the Saviour of the world, but, with\nuplifted arm, denouncing eternal misery on those whom he came to save.  I\nfear I am myself among the wicked, for I found myself inevitably taking\ntheir part, and asking for at least a little pity, some few regrets, and\nnot such a stern denunciatory spirit on the part of Him who had thought\nus worth dying for.  Around him stand grim saints, and, far beneath,\npeople are getting up sleepily out of their graves, not well knowing what\nis about to happen; many of them, however, finding themselves clutched by\ndemons before they are half awake.  It would be a very terrible picture\nto one who should really see Jesus, the Saviour, in that inexorable\njudge; but it seems to me very undesirable that he should ever be\nrepresented in that aspect, when it is so essential to our religion to\nbelieve him infinitely kinder and better towards us than we deserve.  At\nthe last day--I presume, that is, in all future days, when we see\nourselves as we are--man's only inexorable judge will be himself, and the\npunishment of his sins will be the perception of them.\n\nIn the lower corner of this great picture, at the right hand of the\nspectator, is a hideous figure of a damned person, girdled about with a\nserpent, the folds of which are carefully knotted between his thighs, so\nas, at all events, to give no offence to decency.  This figure represents\na man who suggested to Pope Paul III. that the nudities of the \"Last\nJudgment\" ought to be draped, for which offence Michael Angelo at once\nconsigned him to hell.  It shows what a debtor's prison and dungeon of\nprivate torment men would make of hell if they had the control of it.  As\nto the nudities, if they were ever more nude than now, I should suppose,\nin their fresh brilliancy, they might well have startled a not very\nsqueamish eye.  The effect, such as it is, of this picture, is much\ninjured by the high altar and its canopy, which stands close against the\nwall, and intercepts a considerable portion of the sprawl of nakedness\nwith which Michael Angelo has filled his sky.  However, I am not\nunwilling to believe, with faith beyond what I can actually see, that the\ngreatest pictorial miracles ever yet achieved have been wrought upon the\nwalls and ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.\n\nIn the afternoon I went with Mr. Thompson to see what bargain could be\nmade with vetturinos for taking myself and family to Florence.  We talked\nwith three or four, and found them asking prices of various enormity,\nfrom a hundred and fifty scudi down to little more than ninety; but Mr.\nThompson says that they always begin in this way, and will probably come\ndown to somewhere about seventy-five.  Mr. Thompson took me into the Via\nPortoghese, and showed me an old palace, above which rose--not a very\ncustomary feature of the architecture of Rome--a tall, battlemented\ntower.  At one angle of the tower we saw a shrine of the Virgin, with a\nlamp, and all the appendages of those numerous shrines which we see at\nthe street-corners, and in hundreds of places about the city.  Three or\nfour centuries ago, this palace was inhabited by a nobleman who had an\nonly son and a large pet monkey, and one day the monkey caught the infant\nup and clambered to this lofty turret, and sat there with him in his arms\ngrinning and chattering like the Devil himself.  The father was in\ndespair, but was afraid to pursue the monkey lest he should fling down\nthe child from the height of the tower and make his escape.  At last he\nvowed that if the boy were safely restored to him he would build a shrine\nat the summit of the tower, and cause it to be kept as a sacred place\nforever.  By and by the monkey came down and deposited the child on the\nground; the father fulfilled his vow, built the shrine, and made it\nobligatory, on all future possessors of the palace to keep the lamp\nburning before it.  Centuries have passed, the property has changed\nhands; but still there is the shrine on the giddy top of the tower, far\naloft over the street, on the very spot where the monkey sat, and there\nburns the lamp, in memory of the father's vow.  This being the tenure by\nwhich the estate is held, the extinguishment of that flame might yet turn\nthe present owner out of the palace.\n\nMay 21st.--Mamma and I went, yesterday forenoon, to the Spada Palace,\nwhich we found among the intricacies of Central Rome; a dark and massive\nold edifice, built around a court, the fronts giving on which are adorned\nwith statues in niches, and sculptured ornaments.  A woman led us up a\nstaircase, and ushered us into a great gloomy hall, square and lofty, and\nwearing a very gray and ancient aspect, its walls being painted in\nchiaroscuro, apparently a great many years ago.  The hall was lighted by\nsmall windows, high upward from the floors, and admitting only a dusky\nlight.  The only furniture or ornament, so far as I recollect, was the\ncolossal statue of Pompey, which stands on its pedestal at one side,\ncertainly the sternest and severest of figures, and producing the most\nawful impression on the spectator.  Much of the effect, no doubt, is due\nto the sombre obscurity of the hall, and to the loneliness in which the\ngreat naked statue stands.  It is entirely nude, except for a cloak that\nhangs down from the left shoulder; in the left hand, it holds a globe;\nthe right arm is extended.  The whole expression is such as the statue\nmight have assumed, if, during the tumult of Caesar's murder, it had\nstretched forth its marble hand, and motioned the conspirators to give\nover the attack, or to be quiet, now that their victim had fallen at its\nfeet.  On the left leg, about midway above the ankle, there is a dull,\nred stain, said to be Caesar's blood; but, of course, it is just such a\nred stain in the marble as may be seen on the statue of Antinous at the\nCapitol.  I could not see any resemblance in the face of the statue to\nthat of the bust of Pompey, shown as such at the Capitol, in which there\nis not the slightest moral dignity, or sign of intellectual eminence.  I\nam glad to have seen this statue, and glad to remember it in that gray,\ndim, lofty hall; glad that there were no bright frescos on the walls, and\nthat the ceiling was wrought with massive beams, and the floor paved with\nancient brick.\n\nFrom this anteroom we passed through several saloons containing pictures,\nsome of which were by eminent artists; the Judith of Guido, a copy of\nwhich used to weary me to death, year after year, in the Boston\nAthenaeum; and many portraits of Cardinals in the Spada family, and other\npictures, by Guido.  There were some portraits, also of the family, by\nTitian; some good pictures by Guercino; and many which I should have been\nglad to examine more at leisure; but, by and by, the custode made his\nappearance, and began to close the shutters, under pretence that the\nsunshine would injure the paintings,--an effect, I presume, not very\nlikely to follow after two or three centuries' exposure to light, air,\nand whatever else might hurt them.  However, the pictures seemed to be in\nmuch better condition, and more enjoyable, so far as they had merit, than\nthose in most Roman picture-galleries; although the Spada Palace itself\nhas a decayed and impoverished aspect, as if the family had dwindled from\nits former state and grandeur, and now, perhaps, smuggled itself into\nsome out-of-the-way corner of the old edifice.  If such be the case,\nthere is something touching in their still keeping possession of Pompey's\nstatue, which makes their house famous, and the sale of which might give\nthem the means of building it up anew; for surely it is worth the whole\nsculpture-gallery of the Vatican.\n\nIn the afternoon Mr. Thompson and I went, for the third or fourth time,\nto negotiate with vetturinos. . . . So far as I know them they are a\nvery tricky set of people, bent on getting as much as they can, by hook\nor by crook, out of the unfortunate individual who falls into their\nhands.  They begin, as I have said, by asking about twice as much as they\nought to receive; and anything between this exorbitant amount and the\njust price is what they thank heaven for, as so much clear gain.\nNevertheless, I am not quite sure that the Italians are worse than other\npeople even in this matter.  In other countries it is the custom of\npersons in trade to take as much as they can get from the public,\nfleecing one man to exactly the same extent as another; here they take\nwhat they can obtain from the individual customer.  In fact, Roman\ntradesmen do not pretend to deny that they ask and receive different\nprices from different people, taxing them according to their supposed\nmeans of payment; the article supplied being the same in one case as in\nanother.  A shopkeeper looked into his books to see if we were of the\nclass who paid two pauls, or only a paul and a half for candles; a\ncharcoal-dealer said that seventy baiocchi was a very reasonable sum for\nus to pay for charcoal, and that some persons paid eighty; and Mr.\nThompson, recognizing the rule, told the old vetturino that \"a hundred\nand fifty scudi was a very proper charge for carrying a prince to\nFlorence, but not for carrying me, who was merely a very good artist.\"\nThe result is well enough; the rich man lives expensively, and pays a\nlarger share of the profits which people of a different system of\ntrade-morality would take equally from the poor man.  The effect on the\nconscience of the vetturino, however, and of tradesmen of all kinds,\ncannot be good; their only intent being, not to do justice between man\nand man, but to go as deep as they can into all pockets, and to the very\nbottom of some.\n\nWe had nearly concluded a bargain, a day or two ago, with a vetturino to\ntake or send us to Florence, via Perugia, in eight days, for a hundred\nscudi; but he now drew back, under pretence of having misunderstood the\nterms, though, in reality, no doubt, he was in hopes of getting a better\nbargain from somebody else.  We made an agreement with another man, whom\nMr. Thompson knows and highly recommends, and immediately made it sure\nand legally binding by exchanging a formal written contract, in which\neverything is set down, even to milk, butter, bread, eggs, and coffee,\nwhich we are to have for breakfast; the vetturino being to pay every\nexpense for himself, his horses, and his passengers, and include it\nwithin ninety-five scudi, and five crowns in addition for\nbuon-mano. . . . .\n\n\nMay 22d.--Yesterday, while we were at dinner, Mr. ------ called.  I never\nsaw him but once before, and that was at the door of our little red\ncottage in Lenox; he sitting in a wagon with one or two of the\nSedgewicks, merely exchanging a greeting with me from under the brim of\nhis straw hat, and driving on.  He presented himself now with a long\nwhite beard, such as a palmer might have worn as the growth of his long\npilgrimages, a brow almost entirely bald, and what hair he has quite\nhoary; a forehead impending, yet not massive; dark, bushy eyebrows and\nkeen eyes, without much softness in them; a dark and sallow complexion; a\nslender figure, bent a little with age; but at once alert and infirm.  It\nsurprised me to see him so venerable; for, as poets are Apollo's kinsmen,\nwe are inclined to attribute to them his enviable quality of never\ngrowing old.  There was a weary look in his face, as if he were tired of\nseeing things and doing things, though with certainly enough still to see\nand do, if need were.  My family gathered about him, and he conversed\nwith great readiness and simplicity about his travels, and whatever other\nsubject came up; telling us that he had been abroad five times, and was\nnow getting a little home-sick, and had no more eagerness for sights,\nthough his \"gals\" (as he called his daughter and another young lady)\ndragged him out to see the wonders of Rome again.  His manners and whole\naspect are very particularly plain, though not affectedly so; but it\nseems as if in the decline of life, and the security of his position, he\nhad put off whatever artificial polish he may have heretofore had, and\nresumed the simpler habits and deportment of his early New England\nbreeding.  Not but what you discover, nevertheless, that he is a man of\nrefinement, who has seen the world, and is well aware of his own place in\nit.  He spoke with great pleasure of his recent visit to Spain.  I\nintroduced the subject of Kansas, and methought his face forthwith\nassumed something of the bitter keenness of the editor of a political\nnewspaper, while speaking of the triumph of the administration over the\nFree-Soil opposition.  I inquired whether he had seen S------, and he\ngave a very sad account of him as he appeared at their last meeting,\nwhich was in Paris.  S------, he thought, had suffered terribly, and\nwould never again be the man he was; he was getting fat; he talked\ncontinually of himself, and of trifles concerning himself, and seemed to\nhave no interest for other matters; and Mr. ------ feared that the shock\nupon his nerves had extended to his intellect, and was irremediable.  He\nsaid that S------ ought to retire from public life, but had no friend\ntrue enough to tell him so.  This is about as sad as anything can be.  I\nhate to have S------ undergo the fate of a martyr, because he was not\nnaturally of the stuff that martyrs are made of, and it is altogether by\nmistake that he has thrust himself into the position of one.  He was\nmerely, though with excellent abilities, one of the best of fellows, and\nought to have lived and died in good fellowship with all the world.\n\nS------ was not in the least degree excited about this or any other\nsubject.  He uttered neither passion nor poetry, but excellent good\nsense, and accurate information on whatever subject transpired; a very\npleasant man to associate with, but rather cold, I should imagine, if one\nshould seek to touch his heart with one's own.  He shook hands kindly all\nround, but not with any warmth of gripe; although the ease of his\ndeportment had put us all on sociable terms with him.\n\nAt seven o'clock we went by invitation to take tea with Miss Bremer.\nAfter much search, and lumbering painfully up two or three staircases in\nvain, and at last going about in a strange circuity, we found her in a\nsmall chamber of a large old building, situated a little way from the\nbrow of the Tarpeian Rock.  It was the tiniest and humblest domicile that\nI have seen in Rome, just large enough to hold her narrow bed, her\ntea-table, and a table covered with books,--photographs of Roman ruins,\nand some pages written by herself.  I wonder whether she be poor.\nProbably so; for she told us that her expense of living here is only five\npauls a day.  She welcomed us, however, with the greatest cordiality and\nlady-like simplicity, making no allusion to the humbleness of her\nenvironment (and making us also lose sight of it, by the absence of all\napology) any more than if she were receiving us in a palace.  There is\nnot a better bred woman; and yet one does not think whether she has any\nbreeding or no.  Her little bit of a round table was already spread for\nus with her blue earthenware teacups; and after she had got through an\ninterview with the Swedish Minister, and dismissed him with a hearty\npressure of his hand between both her own, she gave us our tea, and some\nbread, and a mouthful of cake.  Meanwhile, as the day declined, there had\nbeen the most beautiful view over the campagna, out of one of her\nwindows; and, from the other, looking towards St. Peter's, the broad\ngleam of a mildly glorious sunset; not so pompous and magnificent as many\nthat I have seen in America, but softer and sweeter in all its changes.\nAs its lovely hues died slowly away, the half-moon shone out brighter and\nbrighter; for there was not a cloud in the sky, and it seemed like the\nmoonlight of my younger days.  In the garden, beneath her window, verging\nupon the Tarpeian Rock, there was shrubbery and one large tree, softening\nthe brow of the famous precipice, adown which the old Romans used to\nfling their traitors, or sometimes, indeed, their patriots.\n\nMiss Bremer talked plentifully in her strange manner,--good English\nenough for a foreigner, but so oddly intonated and accented, that it is\nimpossible to be sure of more than one word in ten.  Being so little\ncomprehensible, it is very singular how she contrives to make her\nauditors so perfectly certain, as they are, that she is talking the best\nsense, and in the kindliest spirit.  There is no better heart than hers,\nand not many sounder heads; and a little touch of sentiment comes\ndelightfully in, mixed up with a quick and delicate humor and the most\nperfect simplicity.  There is also a very pleasant atmosphere of\nmaidenhood about her; we are sensible of a freshness and odor of the\nmorning still in this little withered rose,--its recompense for never\nhaving been gathered and worn, but only diffusing fragrance on its stem.\nI forget mainly what we talked about,--a good deal about art, of course,\nalthough that is a subject of which Miss Bremer evidently knows nothing.\nOnce we spoke of fleas,--insects that, in Rome, come home to everybody's\nbusiness and bosom, and are so common and inevitable, that no delicacy is\nfelt about alluding to the sufferings they inflict.  Poor little Miss\nBremer was tormented with one while turning out our tea. . . . She\ntalked, among other things, of the winters in Sweden, and said that she\nliked them, long and severe as they are; and this made me feel ashamed of\ndreading the winters of New England, as I did before coming from home,\nand do now still more, after five or six mild English Decembers.\n\nBy and by, two young ladies came in,--Miss Bremen's neighbors, it\nseemed,--fresh from a long walk on the campagna, fresh and weary at the\nsame time.  One apparently was German, and the other French, and they\nbrought her an offering of flowers, and chattered to her with\naffectionate vivacity; and, as we were about taking leave, Miss Bremer\nasked them to accompany her and us on a visit to the edge of the Tarpeian\nRock.  Before we left the room, she took a bunch of roses that were in a\nvase, and gave them to Miss Shepard, who told her that she should make\nher six sisters happy by giving one to each.  Then we went down the\nintricate stairs, and, emerging into the garden, walked round the brow of\nthe hill, which plunges headlong with exceeding abruptness; but, so far\nas I could see in the moonlight, is no longer quite a precipice.  Then\nwe re-entered the house, and went up stairs and down again, through\nintricate passages, till we got into the street, which was still peopled\nwith the ragamuffins who infest and burrow in that part of Rome.  We\nreturned through an archway, and descended the broad flight of steps into\nthe piazza of the Capitol; and from the extremity of it, just at the head\nof the long graded way, where Castor and Pollux and the old milestones\nstand, we turned to the left, and followed a somewhat winding path, till\nwe came into the court of a palace.  This court is bordered by a parapet,\nleaning over which we saw the sheer precipice of the Tarpeian Rock, about\nthe height of a four-story house. . . .\n\nOn the edge of this, before we left the court, Miss Bremer bade us\nfarewell, kissing my wife most affectionately on each cheek, . . . . and\nthen turning towards myself, . . . . she pressed my hand, and we parted,\nprobably never to meet again.  God bless her good heart! . . . . She is a\nmost amiable little woman, worthy to be the maiden aunt of the whole\nhuman race.  I suspect, by the by, that she does not like me half so well\nas I do her; it is my impression that she thinks me unamiable, or that\nthere is something or other not quite right about me.  I am sorry if it\nbe so, because such a good, kindly, clear-sighted, and delicate person is\nvery apt to have reason at the bottom of her harsh thoughts, when, in\nrare cases, she allows them to harbor with her.\n\nTo-day, and for some days past, we have been in quest of lodgings for\nnext winter; a weary search, up interminable staircases, which seduce us\nupward to no successful result.  It is very disheartening not to be able\nto place the slightest reliance on the integrity of the people we are to\ndeal with; not to believe in any connection between their words and their\npurposes; to know that they are certainly telling you falsehoods, while\nyou are not in a position to catch hold of the lie, and hold it up in\ntheir faces.\n\nThis afternoon we called on Mr. and Mrs. ------ at the Hotel de l'Europe,\nbut found only the former at home.  We had a pleasant visit, but I made\nno observations of his character save such as I have already sufficiently\nrecorded; and when we had been with him a little while, Mrs. Chapman, the\nartist's wife, Mr. Terry, and my friend, Mr. Thompson, came in.  ------\nreceived them all with the same good degree of cordiality that he did\nourselves, not cold, not very warm, not annoyed, not ecstatically\ndelighted; a man, I should suppose, not likely to have ardent individual\npreferences, though perhaps capable of stern individual dislikes.  But I\ntake him, at all events, to be a very upright man, and pursuing a narrow\ntrack of integrity; he is a man whom I would never forgive (as I would a\nthousand other men) for the slightest moral delinquency.  I would not be\nbound to say, however, that he has not the little sin of a fretful and\npeevish habit; and yet perhaps I am a sinner myself for thinking so.\n\n\nMay 23d.--This morning I breakfasted at William Story's, and met there\nMr. Bryant, Mr. T------ (an English gentleman), Mr. and Mrs. Apthorp,\nMiss Hosmer, and one or two other ladies.  Bryant was very quiet, and\nmade no conversation audible to the general table.  Mr. T------ talked of\nEnglish politics and public men; the \"Times\" and other newspapers,\nEnglish clubs and social habits generally; topics in which I could well\nenough bear my part of the discussion.  After breakfast, and aside from\nthe ladies, he mentioned an illustration of Lord Ellenborough's lack of\nadministrative ability,--a proposal seriously made by his lordship in\nreference to the refractory Sepoys. . . .\n\nWe had a very pleasant breakfast, and certainly a breakfast is much\npreferable to a dinner, not merely in the enjoyment, while it is passing,\nbut afterwards.  I made a good suggestion to Miss Hosmer for the design\nof a fountain,--a lady bursting into tears, water gushing from a thousand\npores, in literal translation of the phrase; and to call the statue\n\"Niobe, all Tears.\"  I doubt whether she adopts the idea; but Bernini\nwould have been delighted with it.  I should think the gush of water\nmight be so arranged as to form a beautiful drapery about the figure,\nswaying and fluttering with every breath of wind, and rearranging itself\nin the calm; in which case, the lady might be said to have \"a habit of\nweeping.\" . . . . Apart, with William Story, he and I talked of the\nunluckiness of Friday, etc.  I like him particularly well. . . .\n\nWe have been plagued to-day with our preparations for leaving Rome\nto-morrow, and especially with verifying the inventory of furniture,\nbefore giving up the house to our landlord.  He and his daughter have\nbeen examining every separate article, down even to the kitchen skewers,\nI believe, and charging us to the amount of several scudi for cracks and\nbreakages, which very probably existed when we came into possession.  It\nis very uncomfortable to have dealings with such a mean people (though\nour landlord is German),--mean in their business transactions; mean even\nin their beggary; for the beggars seldom ask for more than a mezzo\nbaioccho, though they sometimes grumble when you suit your gratuity\nexactly to their petition.  It is pleasant to record that the Italians\nhave great faith in the honor of the English and Americans, and never\nhesitate to trust entire strangers, to any reasonable extent, on the\nstrength of their being of the honest Anglo-Saxon race.\n\nThis evening, U---- and I took a farewell walk in the Pincian Gardens to\nsee the sunset; and found them crowded with people, promenading and\nlistening to the music of the French baud.  It was the feast of\nWhitsunday, which probably brought a greater throng than usual abroad.\n\nWhen the sun went down, we descended into the Piazza del Popolo, and\nthence into the Via Ripetta, and emerged through a gate to the shore of\nthe Tiber, along which there is a pleasant walk beneath a grove of trees.\nWe traversed it once and back again, looking at the rapid river, which\nstill kept its mud-puddly aspect even in the clear twilight, and beneath\nthe brightening moon.  The great bell of St. Peter's tolled with a deep\nboom, a grand and solemn sound; the moon gleamed through the branches of\nthe trees above us; and U---- spoke with somewhat alarming fervor of her\nlove for Rome, and regret at leaving it.  We shall have done the child no\ngood office in bringing her here, if the rest of her life is to be a\ndream of this \"city of the soul,\" and an unsatisfied yearning to come\nback to it.  On the other hand, nothing elevating and refining can be\nreally injurious, and so I hope she will always be the better for Rome,\neven if her life should be spent where there are no pictures, no statues,\nnothing but the dryness and meagreness of a New England village.\n\n\n\nJOURNEY TO FLORENCE.\n\n\nCivita Castellana, May 24th.--We left Rome this morning, after troubles\nof various kinds, and a dispute in the first place with Lalla, our female\nservant, and her mother. . . . Mother and daughter exploded into a\nlivid rage, and cursed us plentifully,--wishing that we might never come\nto our journey's end, and that we might all break our necks or die of\napoplexy,--the most awful curse that an Italian knows how to invoke upon\nhis enemies, because it precludes the possibility of extreme unction.\nHowever, as we are heretics, and certain of damnation therefore, anyhow,\nit does not much matter to us; and also the anathemas may have been blown\nback upon those who invoked them, like the curses that were flung out\nfrom the balcony of St Peter's during Holy Week and wafted by heaven's\nbreezes right into the faces of some priests who stood near the pope.\nNext we had a disagreement, with two men who brought down our luggage,\nand put it on the vettura; . . . . and, lastly, we were infested with\nbeggars, who hung round the carriages with doleful petitions, till we\nbegan to move away; but the previous warfare had put me into too stern a\nmood for almsgiving, so that they also were doubtless inclined to curse\nmore than to bless, and I am persuaded that we drove off under a perfect\nshower of anathemas.\n\nWe passed through the Porta del Popolo at about eight o'clock; and after\na moment's delay, while the passport was examined, began our journey\nalong the Flaminian Way, between two such high and inhospitable walls of\nbrick or stone as seem to shut in all the avenues to Rome.  We had not\ngone far before we heard military music in advance of us, and saw the\nroad blocked up with people, and then the glitter of muskets, and soon\nappeared the drummers, fifers, and trumpeters, and then the first\nbattalion of a French regiment, marching into the city, with two mounted\nofficers at their head; then appeared a second and then a third\nbattalion, the whole seeming to make almost an army, though the number on\ntheir caps showed them all to belong to one regiment,--the 1st; then came\na battery of artillery, then a detachment of horse,--these last, by the\ncrossed keys on their helmets, being apparently papal troops.  All were\nyoung, fresh, good-looking men, in excellent trim as to uniform and\nequipments, and marched rather as if they were setting out on a campaign\nthan returning from it; the fact being, I believe, that they have been\nencamped or in barracks within a few miles of the city.  Nevertheless, it\nreminded me of the military processions of various kinds which so often,\ntwo thousand years ago and more, entered Rome over the Flaminian Way, and\nover all the roads that led to the famous city,--triumphs oftenest, but\nsometimes the downcast train of a defeated army, like those who retreated\nbefore Hannibal.  On the whole, I was not sorry to see the Gauls still\npouring into Rome; but yet I begin to find that I have a strange\naffection for it, and so did we all,--the rest of the family in a greater\ndegree than myself even.  It is very singular, the sad embrace with which\nRome takes possession of the soul.  Though we intend to return in a few\nmonths, and for a longer residence than this has been, yet we felt the\ncity pulling at our heartstrings far more than London did, where we shall\nprobably never spend much time again.  It may be because the intellect\nfinds a home there more than in any other spot in the world, and wins the\nheart to stay with it, in spite of a good many things strewn all about to\ndisgust us.\n\nThe road in the earlier part of the way was not particularly\npicturesque,--the country undulated, but scarcely rose into hills, and\nwas destitute of trees; there were a few shapeless ruins, too indistinct\nfor us to make out whether they were Roman or mediaeval.  Nothing struck\none so much, in the forenoon, as the spectacle of a peasant-woman riding\non horseback as if she were a man.  The houses were few, and those of a\ndreary aspect, built of gray stone, and looking bare and desolate, with\nnot the slightest promise of comfort within doors.  We passed two or\nthree locandas or inns, and finally came to the village (if village it\nwere, for I remember no houses except our osteria) of Castel Nuovo di\nPorta, where we were to take a dejeuner a la fourchette, which was put\nupon the table between twelve and one.  On this journey, according to the\ncustom of travellers in Italy, we pay the vetturino a certain sum, and\nlive at his expense; and this meal was the first specimen of his catering\non our behalf.  It consisted of a beefsteak, rather dry and hard, but not\nunpalatable, and a large omelette; and for beverage, two quart bottles of\nred wine, which, being tasted, had an agreeable acid flavor. . . . The\nlocanda was built of stone, and had what looked like an old Roman altar\nin the basement-hall, and a shrine, with a lamp before it, on the\nstaircase; and the large public saloon in which we ate had a brick floor,\na ceiling with cross-beams, meagrely painted in fresco, and a scanty\nsupply of chairs and settees.\n\nAfter lunch, we wandered out into a valley or ravine near the house,\nwhere we gathered some flowers, and J----- found a nest with the young\nbirds in it, which, however, he put back into the bush whence he took it.\n\nOur afternoon drive was more picturesque and noteworthy.  Soracte rose\nbefore us, bulging up quite abruptly out of the plain, and keeping itself\nentirely distinct from a whole horizon of hills.  Byron well compares it\nto a wave just on the bend, and about to break over towards the\nspectator.  As we approached it nearer and nearer, it looked like the\nbarrenest great rock that ever protruded out of the substance of the\nearth, with scarcely a strip or a spot of verdure upon its steep and gray\ndeclivities.  The road kept trending towards the mountain, following the\nline of the old Flaminian Way, which we could see, at frequent intervals,\nclose beside the modern track.  It is paved with large flag-stones, laid\nso accurately together, that it is still, in some places, as smooth and\neven as the floor of a church; and everywhere the tufts of grass find it\ndifficult to root themselves into the interstices.  Its course is\nstraighter than that of the road of to-day, which often turns aside to\navoid obstacles which the ancient one surmounted.  Much of it, probably,\nis covered with the soil and overgrowth deposited in later years; and,\nnow and then, we could see its flag-stones partly protruding from the\nbank through which our road has been cut, and thus showing that the\nthickness of this massive pavement was more than a foot of solid stone.\nWe lost it over and over again; but still it reappeared, now on one side\nof us, now on the other; perhaps from beneath the roots of old trees, or\nthe pasture-land of a thousand years old, and leading on towards the base\nof Soracte.  I forget where we finally lost it.  Passing through a town\ncalled Rignano, we found it dressed out in festivity, with festoons of\nfoliage along both sides of the street, which ran beneath a triumphal\narch, bearing an inscription in honor of a ducal personage of the Massimi\nfamily.  I know no occasion for the feast, except that it is Whitsuntide.\nThe town was thronged with peasants, in their best attire, and we met\nothers on their way thither, particularly women and girls, with heads\nbare in the sunshine; but there was no tiptoe jollity, nor, indeed,\nany more show of festivity than I have seen in my own country at a\ncattle-show or muster.  Really, I think, not half so much.\n\nThe road still grew more and more picturesque, and now lay along ridges,\nat the bases of which were deep ravines and hollow valleys.  Woods were\nnot wanting; wilder forests than I have seen since leaving America, of\noak-trees chiefly; and, among the green foliage, grew golden tufts of\nbroom, making a gay and lovely combination of hues.  I must not forget to\nmention the poppies, which burned like live coals along the wayside, and\nlit up the landscape, even a single one of them, with wonderful effect.\nAt other points, we saw olive-trees, hiding their eccentricity of boughs\nunder thick masses of foliage of a livid tint, which is caused, I\nbelieve, by their turning their reverse sides to the light and to the\nspectator.  Vines were abundant, but were of little account in the scene.\nBy and by we came in sight, of the high, flat table-land, on which stands\nCivita Castellana, and beheld, straight downward, between us and the\ntown, a deep level valley with a river winding through it; it was the\nvalley of the Treja.  A precipice, hundreds of feet in height, falls\nperpendicularly upon the valley, from the site of Civita Castellana;\nthere is an equally abrupt one, probably, on the side from which we saw\nit; and a modern road, skilfully constructed, goes winding down to the\nstream, crosses it by a narrow stone bridge, and winds upward into the\ntown.  After passing over the bridge, I alighted, with J----- and R-----,\n. . . . and made the ascent on foot, along walls of natural rock, in\nwhich old Etruscan tombs were hollowed out.  There are likewise antique\nremains of masonry, whether Roman or of what earlier period, I cannot\ntell.  At the summit of the acclivity, which brought us close to the\ntown, our vetturino took us into the carriage again and quickly brought\nus to what appears to be really a good hotel, where all of us are\naccommodated with sleeping-chambers in a range, beneath an arcade,\nentirely secluded from the rest of the population of the hotel.  After a\nsplendid dinner (that is, splendid, considering that it was ordered by\nour hospitable vetturino), U----, Miss Shepard, J-----, and I walked out\nof the little town, in the opposite direction from our entrance, and\ncrossed a bridge at the height of the table-land, instead of at its base.\nOn either side, we had a view down into a profound gulf, with sides of\nprecipitous rock, and heaps of foliage in its lap, through which ran the\nsnowy track of a stream; here snowy, there dark; here hidden among the\nfoliage, there quite revealed in the broad depths of the gulf.  This was\nwonderfully fine.  Walking on a little farther, Soracte came fully into\nview, starting with bold abruptness out of the middle of the country; and\nbefore we got back, the bright Italian moon was throwing a shower of\nsilver over the scene, and making it so beautiful that it seemed\nmiserable not to know how to put it into words; a foolish thought,\nhowever, for such scenes are an expression in themselves, and need not be\ntranslated into any feebler language.  On our walk we met parties of\nlaborers, both men and women, returning from the fields, with rakes and\nwooden forks over their shoulders, singing in chorus.  It is very\ncustomary for women to be laboring in the fields.\n\n\n\nTO TERNI.--BORGHETTO.\n\n\nMay 25th.--We were aroused at four o'clock this morning; had some eggs\nand coffee, and were ready to start between five and six; being thus\nmatutinary, in order to get to Terni in time to see the falls.  The road\nwas very striking and picturesque; but I remember nothing particularly,\ntill we came to Borghetto, which stands on a bluff, with a broad valley\nsweeping round it, through the midst of which flows the Tiber.  There is\nan old castle on a projecting point; and we saw other battlemented\nfortresses, of mediaeval date, along our way, forming more beautiful\nruins than any of the Roman remains to which we have become accustomed.\nThis is partly, I suppose, owing to the fact that they have been\nneglected, and allowed to mantle their decay with ivy, instead of being\ncleaned, propped up, and restored.  The antiquarian is apt to spoil the\nobjects that interest him.\n\nSometimes we passed through wildernesses of various trees, each\ncontributing a different hue of verdure to the scene; the vine, also,\nmarrying itself to the fig-tree, so that a man might sit in the shadow of\nboth at once, and temper the luscious sweetness of the one fruit with the\nfresh flavor of the other.  The wayside incidents were such as meeting a\nman and woman borne along as prisoners, handcuffed and in a cart; two men\nreclining across one another, asleep, and lazily lifting their heads to\ngaze at us as we passed by; a woman spinning with a distaff as she walked\nalong the road.  An old tomb or tower stood in a lonely field, and\nseveral caves were hollowed in the rocks, which might have been either\nsepulchres or habitations.  Soracte kept us company, sometimes a little\non one side, sometimes behind, looming up again and again, when we\nthought that we had done with it, and so becoming rather tedious at last,\nlike a person who presents himself for another and another leave-taking\nafter the one which ought to have been final.  Honeysuckles sweetened the\nhedges along the road.\n\nAfter leaving Borghetto, we crossed the broad valley of the Tiber, and\nskirted along one of the ridges that border it, looking back upon the\nroad that we had passed, lying white behind us.  We saw a field covered\nwith buttercups, or some other yellow flower, and poppies burned along\nthe roadside, as they did yesterday, and there were flowers of a\ndelicious blue, as if the blue Italian sky had been broken into little\nbits, and scattered down upon the green earth.  Otricoli by and by\nappeared, situated on a bold promontory above the valley, a village of a\nfew gray houses and huts, with one edifice gaudily painted in white and\npink.  It looked more important at a distance than we found it on our\nnearer approach.  As the road kept ascending, and as the hills grew to be\nmountains, we had taken two additional horses, making six in all, with a\nman and boy running beside them, to keep them in motion.  The boy had two\nclub feet, so inconveniently disposed that it seemed almost inevitable\nfor him to stumble over them at every step; besides which, he seemed to\ntread upon his ankles, and moved with a disjointed gait, as if each of\nhis legs and thighs had been twisted round together with his feet.\nNevertheless, he had a bright, cheerful, intelligent face, and was\nexceedingly active, keeping up with the horses at their trot, and\ninciting them to better speed when they lagged.  I conceived a great\nrespect for this poor boy, who had what most Italian peasants would\nconsider an enviable birthright in those two club feet, as giving him a\nsufficient excuse to live on charity, but yet took no advantage of them;\non the contrary, putting his poor misshapen hoofs to such good use as\nmight have shamed many a better provided biped.  When he quitted us, he\nasked no alms of the travellers, but merely applied to Gaetano for some\nslight recompense for his well-performed service.  This behavior\ncontrasted most favorably with that of some other boys and girls, who ran\nbegging beside the carriage door, keeping up a low, miserable murmur,\nlike that of a kennel-stream, for a long, long way.  Beggars, indeed,\nstarted up at every point, when we stopped for a moment, and whenever a\nhill imposed a slower pace upon us; each village had its deformity or its\ninfirmity, offering his wretched petition at the step of the carriage;\nand even a venerable, white-haired patriarch, the grandfather of all the\nbeggars, seemed to grow up by the roadside, but was left behind from\ninability to join in the race with his light-footed juniors.  No shame is\nattached to begging in Italy.  In fact, I rather imagine it to be held an\nhonorable profession, inheriting some of the odor of sanctity that used\nto be attached to a mendicant and idle life in the days of early\nChristianity, when every saint lived upon Providence, and deemed it\nmeritorious to do nothing for his support.\n\nMurray's guide-book is exceedingly vague and unsatisfactory along this\nroute; and whenever we asked Gaetano the name of a village or a castle,\nhe gave some one which we had never heard before, and could find nothing\nof in the book.  We made out the river Nar, however, or what I supposed\nto be such, though he called it Nera.  It flows through a most stupendous\nmountain-gorge; winding its narrow passage between high hills, the broad\nsides of which descend steeply upon it, covered with trees and shrubbery,\nthat mantle a host of rocky roughnesses, and make all look smooth.  Here\nand there a precipice juts sternly forth.  We saw an old castle on a\nhillside, frowning down into the gorge; and farther on, the gray tower of\nNarni stands upon a height, imminent over the depths below, and with its\nbattlemented castle above now converted into a prison, and therefore kept\nin excellent repair.  A long winding street passes through Narni,\nbroadening at one point into a market-place, where an old cathedral\nshowed its venerable front, and the great dial of its clock, the figures\non which were numbered in two semicircles of twelve points each; one, I\nsuppose, for noon, and the other for midnight.  The town has, so far as\nits principal street is concerned, a city-like aspect, with large, fair\nedifices, and shops as good as most of those at Rome, the smartness of\nwhich contrasts strikingly with the rude and lonely scenery of mountain\nand stream, through which we had come to reach it.  We drove through\nNarni without stopping, and came out from it on the other side, where a\nbroad, level valley opened before us, most unlike the wild, precipitous\ngorge which had brought us to the town.  The road went winding down into\nthe peaceful vale, through the midst of which flowed the same stream that\ncuts its way between the impending hills, as already described.  We\npassed a monk and a soldier,--the two curses of Italy, each in his way,--\nwalking sociably side by side; and from Narni to Terni I remember nothing\nthat need be recorded.\n\nTerni, like so many other towns in the neighborhood, stands in a high and\ncommanding position, chosen doubtless for its facilities of defence, in\ndays long before the mediaeval warfares of Italy made such sites\ndesirable.  I suppose that, like Narni and Otricoli, it was a city of the\nUmbrians.  We reached it between eleven and twelve o'clock, intending to\nemploy the afternoon on a visit to the famous falls of Terni; but, after\nlowering all day, it has begun to rain, and we shall probably have to\ngive them up.\n\n\nHalf past eight o'clock.--It has rained in torrents during the afternoon,\nand we have not seen the cascade of Terni; considerably to my regret, for\nI think I felt the more interest in seeing it, on account of its being\nartificial.  Methinks nothing was more characteristic of the energy and\ndetermination of the old Romans, than thus to take a river, which they\nwished to be rid of, and fling it over a giddy precipice, breaking it\ninto ten million pieces by the fall. . . . We are in the Hotel delle\ntre Colonne, and find it reasonably good, though not, so far as we are\nconcerned, justifying the rapturous commendations of previous tourists,\nwho probably travelled at their own charges.  However, there is nothing\nreally to be complained of, either in our accommodations or table, and\nthe only wonder is how Gaetano contrives to get any profit out of our\ncontract, since the hotel bills would alone cost us more than we pay him\nfor the journey and all.  It is worth while to record as history of\nvetturino commissary customs, that for breakfast this morning we had\ncoffee, eggs, and bread and butter; for lunch an omelette, some stewed\nveal, and a dessert of figs and grapes, besides two decanters of a\nlight- acid wine, tasting very like indifferent cider; for dinner,\nan excellent vermicelli soup, two young fowls, fricasseed, and a hind\nquarter of roast lamb, with fritters, oranges, and figs, and two more\ndecanters of the wine aforesaid.\n\nThis hotel is an edifice with a gloomy front upon a narrow street, and\nenterable through an arch, which admits you into an enclosed court;\naround the court, on each story, run the galleries, with which the\nparlors and sleeping-apartments communicate.  The whole house is dingy,\nprobably old, and seems not very clean; but yet bears traces of former\nmagnificence; for instance, in our bedroom, the door of which is\nornamented with gilding, and the cornices with frescos, some of which\nappear to represent the cascade of Terni, the roof is crossed with carved\nbeams, and is painted in the interstices; the floor has a carpet, but\nrough tiles underneath it, which show themselves at the margin.  The\nwindows admit the wind; the door shuts so loosely as to leave great\ncracks; and, during the rain to-day, there was a heavy shower through our\nceiling, which made a flood upon the carpet.  We see no chambermaids;\nnothing of the comfort and neatness of an English hotel, nor of the smart\nsplendors of an American one; but still this dilapidated palace affords\nus a better shelter than I expected to find in the decayed country towns\nof Italy.  In the album of the hotel I find the names of more English\ntravellers than of any other nation except the Americans, who, I think,\neven exceed the former; and, the route being the favorite one for\ntourists between Rome and Florence, whatever merit the inns have is\nprobably owing to the demands of the Anglo-Saxons.  I doubt not, if we\nchose to pay for it, this hotel would supply us with any luxury we might\nask for; and perhaps even a gorgeous saloon and state bedchamber.\n\nAfter dinner, J----- and I walked out in the dusk to see what we could of\nTerni.  We found it compact and gloomy (but the latter characteristic\nmight well enough be attributed to the dismal sky), with narrow streets,\npaved from wall to wall of the houses, like those of all the towns in\nItaly; the blocks of paving-stone larger than the little square torments\nof Rome.  The houses are covered with dingy stucco, and mostly low,\ncompared with those of Rome, and inhospitable as regards their dismal\naspects and uninviting doorways.  The streets are intricate, as well as\nnarrow; insomuch that we quickly lost our way, and could not find it\nagain, though the town is of so small dimensions, that we passed through\nit in two directions, in the course of our brief wanderings.  There are\nno lamp-posts in Terni; and as it was growing dark, and beginning to rain\nagain, we at last inquired of a person in the principal piazza, and found\nour hotel, as I expected, within two minutes' walk of where we stood.\n\n\n\nFOLIGNO.\n\n\nMay 26th.--At six o'clock this morning, we packed ourselves into our\nvettura, my wife and I occupying the coupe, and drove out of the city\ngate of Terni.  There are some old towers near it, ruins of I know not\nwhat, and care as little, in the plethora of antiquities and other\ninteresting objects.  Through the arched gateway, as we approached, we\nhad a view of one of the great hills that surround the town, looking\npartly bright in the early sunshine, and partly catching the shadows of\nthe clouds that floated about the sky.  Our way was now through the Vale\nof Terni, as I believe it is called, where we saw somewhat of the\nfertility of Italy: vines trained on poles, or twining round mulberry and\nother trees, ranged regularly like orchards; groves of olives and fields\nof grain.  There are interminable shrines in all sorts of situations;\nsome under arched niches, or little penthouses, with a brick-tiled roof,\njust large enough to cover them; or perhaps in some bit of old Roman\nmasonry, on the wall of a wayside inn, or in a shallow cavity of the\nnatural rock, or high upward in the deep cuts of the road; everywhere, in\nshort, so that nobody need be at a loss when he feels the religious\nsentiment stir within him.  Our way soon began to wind among the hills,\nwhich rose steep and lofty from the scanty, level space that lay between;\nthey continually thrust themselves across the passage, and appeared as if\ndetermined to shut us completely in.  A great hill would put its foot\nright before us; but, at the last moment, would grudgingly withdraw it,\nand allow us just room enough to creep by.  Adown their sides we\ndiscerned the dry beds of mountain torrents, which had lived too fierce a\nlife to let it be a long one.  On here and there a hillside or promontory\nwe saw a ruined castle or a convent, looking from its commanding height\nupon the road, which very likely some robber-knight had formerly infested\nwith his banditti, retreating with his booty to the security of such\nstrongholds.  We came, once in a while, to wretched villages, where there\nwas no token of prosperity or comfort; but perhaps there may have been\nmore than we could appreciate, for the Italians do not seem to have any\nof that sort of pride which we find in New England villages, where every\nman, according to his taste and means, endeavors to make his homestead an\nornament to the place.  We miss nothing in Italy more than the neat\ndoorsteps and pleasant porches and thresholds and delightful lawns or\ngrass-plots, which hospitably invite the imagination into a sweet\ndomestic interior.  Everything, however sunny and luxuriant may be the\nscene around, is especially dreary and disheartening in the immediate\nvicinity of an Italian home.\n\nAt Strettura (which, as the name indicates, is a very narrow part of the\nvalley) we added two oxen to our horses, and began to ascend the Monte\nSomma, which, according to Murray, is nearly four thousand feet high\nwhere we crossed it.  When we came to the steepest part of the ascent,\nGaetano, who exercises a pretty decided control over his passengers,\nallowed us to walk; and we all, with one exception, alighted, and began\nto climb the mountain on foot.  I walked on briskly, and soon left the\nrest of the party behind, reaching the top of the pass in such a short\ntime that I could not believe it, and kept onward, expecting still\nanother height to climb.  But the road began to descend, winding among\nthe depths of the hills as heretofore; now beside the dry, gravelly bed\nof a departed stream, now crossing it by a bridge, and perhaps passing\nthrough some other gorge, that yet gave no decided promise of an outlet\ninto the world beyond.  A glimpse might occasionally be caught, through a\ngap between the hill-tops, of a company of distant mountain-peaks,\npyramidal, as these hills are apt to be, and resembling the camp of an\narmy of giants.  The landscape was not altogether savage; sometimes a\nhillside was covered with a rich field of grain, or an orchard of\nolive-trees, looking not unlike puffs of smoke, from the peculiar line of\ntheir foliage; but oftener there was a vast mantle of trees and shrubbery\nfrom top to bottom, the golden tufts of the broom shining out amid the\nverdure, and gladdening the whole.  Nothing was dismal except the houses;\nthose were always so, whether the compact, gray lines of village hovels,\nwith a narrow street between, or the lonely farm-house, standing far\napart from the road, built of stone, with window-gaps high in the wall,\nempty of glass; or the half-castle, half-dwelling, of which I saw a\nspecimen or two, with what looked like a defensive rampart, drawn around\nits court.  I saw no look of comfort anywhere; and continually, in this\nwild and solitary region, I met beggars, just as if I were still in the\nstreets of Rome.  Boys and girls kept beside me, till they delivered me\ninto the hands of others like themselves; hoary grandsires and\ngrandmothers caught a glimpse of my approach, and tottered as fast as\nthey could to intercept me; women came out of the cottages, with rotten\ncherries on a plate, entreating me to buy them for a mezzo baioccho; a\nman, at work on the road, left his toil to beg, and was grateful for the\nvalue of a cent; in short, I was never safe from importunity, as long as\nthere was a house or a human being in sight.\n\nWe arrived at Spoleto before noon, and while our dejeuner was being\nprepared, looked down from the window of the inn into the narrow street\nbeneath, which, from the throng of people in it, I judged to be the\nprincipal one: priests, papal soldiers, women with no bonnets on their\nheads; peasants in breeches and mushroom hats; maids and matrons, drawing\nwater at a fountain; idlers, smoking on a bench under the window; a talk,\na bustle, but no genuine activity.  After lunch we walked out to see the\nlions of Spoleto, and found our way up a steep and narrow street that led\nus to the city gate, at which, it is traditionally said, Hannibal sought\nto force an entrance, after the battle of Thrasymene, and was repulsed.\nThe gateway has a double arch, on the inner one of which is a tablet,\nrecording the above tradition as an unquestioned historical fact.  From\nthe gateway we went in search of the Duomo, or cathedral, and were kindly\ndirected thither by an officer, who was descending into the town from the\ncitadel, which is an old castle, now converted into a prison.  The\ncathedral seemed small, and did not much interest us, either by the\nGothic front or its modernized interior.  We saw nothing else in Spoleto,\nbut went back to the inn and resumed our journey, emerging from the city\ninto the classic valley of the Clitumnus, which we did not view under the\nbest of auspices, because it was overcast, and the wind as chill as if it\nhad the cast in it.  The valley, though fertile, and smilingly\npicturesque, perhaps, is not such as I should wish to celebrate, either\nin prose or poetry.  It is of such breadth and extent, that its frame of\nmountains and ridgy hills hardly serve to shut it in sufficiently, and\nthe spectator thinks of a boundless plain, rather than of a secluded\nvale.  After passing Le Vene, we came to the little temple which Byron\ndescribes, and which has been supposed to be the one immortalized by\nPliny.  It is very small, and stands on a declivity that falls\nimmediately from the road, right upon which rises the pediment of the\ntemple, while the columns of the other front find sufficient height to\ndevelop themselves in the lower ground.  A little farther down than the\nbase of the edifice we saw the Clitumnus, so recently from its source in\nthe marble rock, that it was still as pure as a child's heart, and as\ntransparent as truth itself.  It looked airier than nothing, because it\nhad not substance enough to brighten, and it was clearer than the\natmosphere.  I remember nothing else of the valley of Clitumnus, except\nthat the beggars in this region of proverbial fertility are wellnigh\nprofane in the urgency of their petitions; they absolutely fall down on\ntheir knees as you approach, in the same attitude as if they were praying\nto their Maker, and beseech you for alms with a fervency which I am\nafraid they seldom use before an altar or shrine.  Being denied, they ran\nhastily beside the carriage, but got nothing, and finally gave over.\n\nI am so very tired and sleepy that I mean to mention nothing else\nto-night, except the city of Trevi, which, on the approach from Spoleto,\nseems completely to cover a high, peaked hill, from its pyramidal tip to\nits base.  It was the strangest situation in which to build a town,\nwhere, I should suppose, no horse can climb, and whence no inhabitant\nwould think of descending into the world, after the approach of age\nshould begin to stiffen his joints.  On looking back on this most\npicturesque of towns (which the road, of course, did not enter, as\nevidently no road could), I saw that the highest part of the hill was\nquite covered with a crown of edifices, terminating in a church-tower;\nwhile a part of the northern side was apparently too steep for building;\nand a cataract of houses flowed down the western and southern <DW72>s.\nThere seemed to be palaces, churches, everything that a city should have;\nbut my eyes are heavy, and I can write no more about them, only that I\nsuppose the summit of the hill was artificially tenured, so as to prevent\nits crumbling down, and enable it to support the platform of edifices\nwhich crowns it.\n\n\nMay 27th.--We reached Foligno in good season yesterday afternoon.  Our\ninn seemed ancient; and, under the same roof, on one side of the\nentrance, was the stable, and on the other the coach-house.  The house is\nbuilt round a narrow court, with a well of water at bottom, and an\nopening in the roof at top, whence the staircases are lighted that wind\nround the sides of the court, up to the highest story.  Our dining-room\nand bedrooms were in the latter region, and were all paved with brick,\nand without carpets; and the characteristic of the whole was all\nexceeding plainness and antique clumsiness of fitting up.  We found\nourselves sufficiently comfortable, however; and, as has been the case\nthroughout our journey, had a very fair and well-cooked dinner.  It\nshows, as perhaps I have already remarked, that it is still possible to\nlive well in Italy, at no great expense, and that the high prices charged\nto the forestieri at Rome and elsewhere are artificial, and ought to be\nabated. . . .\n\nThe day had darkened since morning, and was now ominous of rain; but as\nsoon as we were established, we sallied out to see whatever was worth\nlooking at.  A beggar-boy, with one leg, followed us, without asking for\nanything, apparently only for the pleasure of our company, though he kept\nat too great a distance for conversation, and indeed did not attempt to\nspeak.\n\nWe went first to the cathedral, which has a Gothic front, and a\nmodernized interior, stuccoed and whitewashed, looking as neat as a New\nEngland meeting-house, and very mean, after our familiarity with the\ngorgeous churches in other cities.  There were some pictures in the\nchapels, but, I believe, all modern, and I do not remember a single one\nof them.  Next we went, without any guide, to a church attached to a\nconvent of Dominican monks, with a Gothic exterior, and two hideous\npictures of Death,--the skeleton leaning on his scythe, one on each side\nof the door.  This church, likewise, was whitewashed, but we understood\nthat it had been originally frescoed all over, and by famous hands; but\nthese pictures, having become much injured, they were all obliterated, as\nwe saw,--all, that is to say, except a few specimens of the best\npreserved, which were spared to show the world what the whole had been.\nI thanked my stars that the obliteration of the rest had taken place\nbefore our visit; for if anything is dreary and calculated to make the\nbeholder utterly miserable, it is a faded fresco, with spots of the white\nplaster dotted over it.\n\nOur one-legged boy had followed us into the church and stood near the\ndoor till he saw us ready to come out, when he hurried on before us, and\nwaited a little way off to see whither we should go.  We still went on at\nrandom, taking the first turn that offered itself, and soon came to\nanother old church,--that of St. Mary within the Walls,--into which we\nentered, and found it whitewashed, like the other two.  This was\nespecially fortunate, for the doorkeeper informed us that, two years ago,\nthe whole church (except, I suppose, the roof, which is of timber) had\nbeen covered with frescos by Pinturicchio, all of which had been\nruthlessly obliterated, except a very few fragments.  These he proceeded\nto show us; poor, dim ghosts of what may once have been beautiful,--now\nso far gone towards nothingness that I was hardly sure whether I saw a\nglimmering of the design or not.  By the by, it was not Pinturicchio, as\nI have written above, but Giotto, assisted, I believe, by Cimabue, who\npainted these frescos.  Our one-legged attendant had followed us also\ninto this church, and again hastened out of it before us; and still we\nheard the dot of his crutch upon the pavement, as we passed from street\nto street.  By and by a sickly looking man met us, and begged for\n\"qualche cosa\"; but the boy shouted to him, \"Niente!\" whether intimating\nthat we would give him nothing, or that he himself had a prior claim to\nall our charity, I cannot tell.  However, the beggar-man turned round,\nand likewise followed our devious course.  Once or twice we missed him;\nbut it was only because he could not walk so fast as we; for he appeared\nagain as we emerged from the door of another church.  Our one-legged\nfriend we never missed for a moment; he kept pretty near us,--near enough\nto be amused by our indecision whither to go; and he seemed much\ndelighted when it began to rain, and he saw us at a loss how to find our\nway back to the hotel.  Nevertheless, he did not offer to guide us; but\nstumped on behind with a faster or slower dot of his crutch, according to\nour pace.  I began to think that he must have been engaged as a spy upon\nour movements by the police who had taken away my passport at the city\ngate.  In this way he attended us to the door of the hotel, where the\nbeggar had already arrived.  The latter again put in his doleful\npetition; the one-legged boy said not a word, nor seemed to expect\nanything, and both had to go away without so much as a mezzo baioccho out\nof our pockets.  The multitude of beggars in Italy makes the heart as\nobdurate as a paving-stone.\n\nWe left Foligno this morning, and, all ready for us at the door of the\nhotel, as we got into the carriage, were our friends, the beggar-man and\nthe one-legged boy; the latter holding out his ragged hat, and smiling\nwith as confident an air as if he had done us some very particular\nservice, and were certain of being paid for it, as from contract.  It was\nso very funny, so impudent, so utterly absurd, that I could not help\ngiving him a trifle; but the man got nothing,--a fact that gives me a\ntwinge or two, for he looked sickly and miserable.  But where everybody\nbegs, everybody, as a general rule, must be denied; and, besides, they\nact their misery so well that you are never sure of the genuine article.\n\n\n\nPERUGIA.\n\n\nMay 25th.--As I said last night, we left Foligno betimes in the morning,\nwhich was bleak, chill, and very threatening, there being very little\nblue sky anywhere, and the clouds lying heavily on some of the\nmountain-ridges.  The wind blew sharply right in U----'s face and mine,\nas we occupied the coupe, so that there must have been a great deal of\nthe north in it.  We drove through a wide plain--the Umbrian valley, I\nsuppose--and soon passed the old town of Spello, just touching its\nskirts, and wondering how people, who had this rich and convenient plain\nfrom which to choose a site, could think of covering a huge island of\nrock with their dwellings,--for Spello tumbled its crooked and narrow\nstreets down a steep descent, and cannot well have a yard of even space\nwithin its walls.  It is said to contain some rare treasures of ancient\npictorial art.\n\nI do not remember much that we saw on our route.  The plains and the\nlower hillsides seemed fruitful of everything that belongs to Italy,\nespecially the olive and the vine.  As usual, there were a great many\nshrines, and frequently a cross by the wayside.  Hitherto it had been\nmerely a plain wooden cross; but now almost every cross was hung with\nvarious instruments, represented in wood, apparently symbols of the\ncrucifixion of our Saviour,--the spear, the sponge, the crown of thorns,\nthe hammer, a pair of pincers, and always St. Peter's cock, made a\nprominent figure, generally perched on the summit of the cross.\n\nFrom our first start this morning we had seen mists in various quarters,\nbetokening that there was rain in those spots, and now it began to\nspatter in our own faces, although within the wide extent of our prospect\nwe could see the sunshine falling on portions of the valley.  A rainbow,\ntoo, shone out, and remained so long visible that it appeared to have\nmade a permanent stain in the sky.\n\nBy and by we reached Assisi, which is magnificently situated for\npictorial purposes, with a gray castle above it, and a gray wall around\nit, itself on a mountain, and looking over the great plain which we had\nbeen traversing, and through which lay our onward way.  We drove through\nthe Piazza Grande to an ancient house a little beyond, where a hospitable\nold lady receives travellers for a consideration, without exactly keeping\nan inn.\n\nIn the piazza we saw the beautiful front of a temple of Minerva,\nconsisting of several marble pillars, fluted, and with rich capitals\nsupporting a pediment.  It was as fine as anything I had seen at Rome,\nand is now, of course, converted into a Catholic church.\n\nI ought to have said that, instead of driving straight to the old lady's,\nwe alighted at the door of a church near the city gate, and went in to\ninspect some melancholy frescos, and thence clambered up a narrow street\nto the cathedral, which has a Gothic front, old enough, but not very\nimpressive.  I really remember not a single object that we saw within,\nbut am pretty certain that the interior had been stuccoed and\nwhitewashed.  The ecclesiastics of old time did an excellent thing in\ncovering the interiors of their churches with brilliant frescos, thus\nfilling the holy places with saints and angels, and almost with the\npresence of the Divinity.  The modern ecclesiastics do the next best\nthing in obliterating the wretched remnants of what has had its day and\ndone its office.  These frescos might be looked upon as the symbol of the\nliving spirit that made Catholicism a true religion, and glorified it as\nlong as it did live; now the glory and beauty have departed from one and\nthe other.\n\nMy wife, U----, and Miss Shepard now set out with a cicerone to visit the\ngreat Franciscan convent, in the church of which are preserved some\nmiraculous specimens, in fresco and in oils, of early Italian art; but as\nI had no mind to suffer any further in this way, I stayed behind with\nJ----- and R-----, who we're equally weary of these things.\n\nAfter they were gone we took a ramble through the city, but were almost\nswept away by the violence of the wind, which struggled with me for my\nhat, and whirled R----- before it like a feather.  The people in the\npublic square seemed much diverted at our predicament, being, I suppose,\naccustomed to these rude blasts in their mountain-home.  However, the\nwind blew in momentary gusts, and then became more placable till another\nfit of fury came, and passed as suddenly as before.  We walked out of the\nsame gate through which we had entered,--an ancient gate, but recently\nstuccoed and whitewashed, in wretched contrast to the gray, venerable\nwall through which it affords ingress,--and I stood gazing at the\nmagnificent prospect of the wide valley beneath.  It was so vast that\nthere appeared to be all varieties of weather in it at the same instant;\nfields of sunshine, tracts of storm,--here the coming tempest, there the\ndeparting one.  It was a picture of the world on a vast canvas, for there\nwas rural life and city life within the great expanse, and the whole set\nin a frame of mountains,--the nearest bold and dust-net, with the rocky\nledges showing through their sides, the distant ones blue and dim,--so\nfar stretched this broad valley.\n\nWhen I had looked long enough,--no, not long enough, for it would take a\ngreat while to read that page,--we returned within the gate, and we\nclambered up, past the cathedral and into the narrow streets above it.\nThe aspect of everything was immeasurably old; a thousand years would be\nbut a middle age for one of those houses, built so massively with huge\nstones and solid arches, that I do not see how they are ever to tumble\ndown, or to be less fit for human habitation than they are now.  The\nstreets crept between them, and beneath arched passages, and up and down\nsteps of stone or ancient brick, for it would be altogether impossible\nfor a carriage to ascend above the Grand Piazza, though possibly a donkey\nor a chairman's mule might find foothold.  The city seems like a stony\ngrowth out of the hillside, or a fossilized city,--so old and singular it\nis, without enough life and juiciness in it to be susceptible of decay.\nAn earthquake is the only chance of its ever being ruined, beyond its\npresent ruin.  Nothing is more strange than to think that this now dead\ncity--dead, as regards the purposes for which men live nowadays--was,\ncenturies ago, the seat and birthplace almost of art, the only art in\nwhich the beautiful part of the human mind then developed itself.  How\ncame that flower to grow among these wild mountains?  I do not conceive,\nhowever, that the people of Assisi were ever much more enlightened or\ncultivated on the side of art than they are at present.  The\necclesiastics were then the only patrons; and the flower grew here\nbecause there was a great ecclesiastical garden in which it was sheltered\nand fostered.  But it is very curious to think of Assisi, a school of art\nwithin, and mountain and wilderness without.\n\nMy wife and the rest of the party returned from the convent before noon,\ndelighted with what they had seen, as I was delighted not to have seen\nit.  We ate our dejeuner, and resumed our journey, passing beneath the\ngreat convent, after emerging from the gate opposite to that of our\nentrance.  The edifice made a very good spectacle, being of great extent,\nand standing on a double row of high and narrow arches, on which it is\nbuilt up from the declivity of the hill.\n\nWe soon reached the Church of St. Mary of the Angels, which is a modern\nstructure, and very spacious, built in place of one destroyed by an\nearthquake.  It is a fine church, opening out a magnificent space in its\nnave and aisles; and beneath the great dome stands the small old chapel,\nwith its rude stone walls, in which St. Francis founded his order.  This\nchapel and the dome appear to have been the only portions of the ancient\nchurch that were not destroyed by the earthquake.  The dwelling of St.\nFrancis is said to be also preserved within the church; but we did not\nsee it, unless it were a little dark closet into which we squeezed to see\nsome frescos by La Spagna.  It had an old wooden door, of which U----\npicked off a little bit of a chip, to serve as a relic.  There is a\nfresco in the church, on the pediment of the chapel, by Overbeck,\nrepresenting the Assumption of the Virgin.  It did not strike me as\nwonderfully fine.  The other pictures, of which there were many, were\nmodern, and of no great merit.\n\nWe pursued our way, and came, by and by, to the foot of the high hill on\nwhich stands Perugia, and which is so long and steep that Gaetano took a\nyoke of oxen to aid his horses in the ascent.  We all, except my wife,\nwalked a part of the way up, and I myself, with J----- for my companion,\nkept on even to the city gate,--a distance, I should think, of two or\nthree miles, at least.  The lower part of the road was on the edge of the\nhill, with a narrow valley on our left; and as the sun had now broken\nout, its verdure and fertility, its foliage and cultivation, shone forth\nin miraculous beauty, as green as England, as bright as only Italy.\nPerugia appeared above us, crowning a mighty hill, the most picturesque\nof cities; and the higher we ascended, the more the view opened before\nus, as we looked back on the course that we had traversed, and saw the\nwide valley, sweeping down and spreading out, bounded afar by mountains,\nand sleeping in sun and shadow.  No language nor any art of the pencil\ncan give an idea of the scene.  When God expressed himself in the\nlandscape to mankind, he did not intend that it should be translated into\nany tongue save his own immediate one.  J----- meanwhile, whose heart is\nnow wholly in snail-shells, was rummaging for them among the stones and\nhedges by the roadside; yet, doubtless, enjoyed the prospect more than he\nknew.  The coach lagged far behind us, and when it came up, we entered\nthe gate, where a soldier appeared, and demanded my passport.  We drove\nto the Grand Hotel de France, which is near the gate, and two fine little\nboys ran beside the carriage, well dressed and well looking enough to\nhave been a gentleman's sons, but claiming Gaetano for their father.  He\nis an inhabitant of Perugia, and has therefore reached his own home,\nthough we are still little more than midway to our journey's end.\n\nOur hotel proves, thus far, to be the best that we have yet met with.  We\nare only in the outskirts of Perugia; the bulk of the city, where the\nmost interesting churches and the public edifices are situated, being far\nabove us on the hill.  My wife, U----, Miss Shepard, and R----- streamed\nforth immediately, and saw a church; but J-----, who hates them, and I\nremained behind; and, for my part, I added several pages to this volume\nof scribble.\n\nThis morning was as bright as morning could be, even in Italy, and in\nthis transparent mountain atmosphere.  We at first declined the services\nof a cicerone, and went out in the hopes of finding our way to whatever\nwe wished to see, by our own instincts.  This proved to be a mistaken\nhope, however; and we wandered about the upper city, much persecuted by a\nshabby old man who wished to guide us; so, at last, Miss Shepard went\nback in quest of the cicerone at the hotel, and, meanwhile, we climbed to\nthe summit of the hill of Perugia, and, leaning over a wall, looked forth\nupon a most magnificent view of mountain and valley, terminating in some\npeaks, lofty and dim, which surely must be the Apennines.  There again a\nyoung man accosted us, offering to guide us to the Cambio or Exchange;\nand as this was one of the places which we especially wished to see, we\naccepted his services.  By the by, I ought to have mentioned that we had\nalready entered a church (San Luigi, I believe), the interior of which we\nfound very impressive, dim with the light of stained and painted windows,\ninsomuch that it at first seemed almost dark, and we could only see the\nbright twinkling of the tapers at the shrines; but, after a few minutes,\nwe discerned the tall octagonal pillars of the nave, marble, and\nsupporting a beautiful roof of crossed arches.  The church was neither\nGothic nor classic, but a mixture of both, and most likely barbarous; yet\nit had a grand effect in its tinted twilight, and convinced me more than\never how desirable it is that religious edifices should have painted\nwindows.\n\nThe door of the Cambio proved to be one that we had passed several times,\nwhile seeking for it, and was very near the church just mentioned, which\nfronts on one side of the same piazza.  We were received by an old\ngentleman, who appeared to be a public officer, and found ourselves in a\nsmall room, wainscoted with beautifully carved oak, roofed with a coved\nceiling, painted with symbols of the planets, and arabesqued in rich\ndesigns by Raphael, and lined with splendid frescos of subjects,\nscriptural and historical, by Perugino.  When the room was in its first\nglory, I can conceive that the world had not elsewhere to show, within so\nsmall a space, such magnificence and beauty as were then displayed here.\nEven now, I enjoyed (to the best of my belief, for we can never feel sure\nthat we are not bamboozling ourselves in such matters) some real pleasure\nin what I saw; and especially seemed to feel, after all these ages, the\nold painter's devout sentiment still breathing forth from the religious\npictures, the work of a hand that had so long been dust.\n\nWhen we had looked long at these, the old gentleman led us into a chapel,\nof the same size as the former room, and built in the same fashion,\nwainscoted likewise with old oak.  The walls were also frescoed, entirely\nfrescoed, and retained more of their original brightness than those we\nhad already seen, although the pictures were the production of a somewhat\ninferior hand, a pupil of Perugino.  They seemed to be very striking,\nhowever, not the less so, that one of them provoked an unseasonable\nsmile.  It was the decapitation of John the Baptist; and this holy\npersonage was represented as still on his knees, with his hands clasped\nin prayer, although the executioner was already depositing the head in a\ncharger, and the blood was spouting from the headless trunk, directly, as\nit were, into the face of the spectator.\n\nWhile we were in the outer room, the cicerone who first offered his\nservices at the hotel had come in; so we paid our chance guide, and\nexpected him to take his leave.  It is characteristic of this idle\ncountry, however, that if you once speak to a person, or connect yourself\nwith him by the slightest possible tie, you will hardly get rid of him by\nanything short of main force.  He still lingered in the room, and was\nstill there when I came away; for, having had as many pictures as I could\ndigest, I left my wife and U---- with the cicerone, and set out on a\nramble with J-----.  We plunged from the upper city down through some of\nthe strangest passages that ever were called streets; some of them,\nindeed, being arched all over, and, going down into the unknown darkness,\nlooked like caverns; and we followed one of them doubtfully, till it\nopened out upon the light.  The houses on each side were divided only by\na pace or two, and communicated with one another, here and there, by\narched passages.  They looked very ancient, and may have been inhabited\nby Etruscan princes, judging from the massiveness of some of the\nfoundation stones.  The present inhabitants, nevertheless, are by no\nmeans princely,--shabby men, and the careworn wives and mothers of the\npeople,--one of whom was guiding a child in leading-strings through these\nantique alleys, where hundreds of generations have trod before those\nlittle feet.  Finally we came out through a gateway, the same gateway at\nwhich we entered last night.\n\nI ought to have mentioned, in the narrative of yesterday, that we crossed\nthe Tiber shortly before reaching Perugia, already a broad and rapid\nstream, and already distinguished by the same turbid and mud-puddly\nquality of water that we see in it at Rome.  I think it will never be so\ndisagreeable to me hereafter, now that I find this turbidness to be its\nnative color, and not (like that of the Thames) accruing from city sewers\nor any impurities of the lowlands.\n\nAs I now remember, the small Chapel of Santa Maria degl' Angeli seems to\nhave been originally the house of St. Francis.\n\n\nMay 29th.--This morning we visited the Church of the Dominicans, where we\nsaw some quaint pictures by Fra Angelico, with a good deal of religious\nsincerity in them; also a picture of St. Columba by Perugino, which\nunquestionably is very good.  To confess the truth, I took more interest\nin a fair Gothic monument, in white marble, of Pope Benedict XII.,\nrepresenting him reclining under a canopy, while two angels draw aside\nthe curtain, the canopy being supported by twisted columns, richly\nornamented.  I like this overflow and gratuity of device with which\nGothic sculpture works out its designs, after seeing so much of the\nsimplicity of classic art in marble.\n\nWe then tried to find the Church of San Pietro in Martire, but without\nsuccess, although every person of whom we inquired immediately attached\nhimself or herself to us, and could hardly be got rid of by any efforts\non our part.  Nobody seemed to know the church we wished for, but all\ndirected us to another Church of San Pietro, which contains nothing of\ninterest; whereas the right church is supposed to contain a celebrated\npicture by Perugino.\n\nFinally, we ascended the hill and the city proper of Perugia (for our\nhotel is in one of the suburbs), and J----- and I set out on a ramble\nabout the city.  It was market-day, and the principal piazza, with the\nneighboring streets, was crowded with people. . . .\n\nThe best part of Perugia, that in which the grand piazzas and the\nprincipal public edifices stand, seems to be a nearly level plateau on\nthe summit of the hill; but it is of no very great extent, and the\nstreets rapidly run downward on either side.  J----- and I followed one\nof these descending streets, and were led a long way by it, till we at\nlast emerged from one of the gates of the city, and had another view of\nthe mountains and valleys, the fertile and sunny wilderness in which this\nancient civilization stands.\n\nOn the right of the gate there was a rude country-path, partly overgrown\nwith grass, bordered by a hedge on one side, and on the other by the gray\ncity wall, at the base of which the track kept onward.  We followed it,\nhoping that it would lead us to some other gate by which we might\nre-enter the city; but it soon grew so indistinct and broken, that it\nwas evidently on the point of melting into somebody's olive-orchard or\nwheat-fields or vineyards, all of which lay on the other side of the\nhedge; and a kindly old woman of whom I inquired told me (if I rightly\nunderstood her Italian) that I should find no further passage in that\ndirection.  So we turned back, much broiled in the hot sun, and only now\nand then relieved by the shadow of an angle or a tower.\n\nA lame beggar-man sat by the gate, and as we passed him J----- gave him\ntwo baiocchi (which he himself had begged of me to buy an orange with),\nand was loaded with the pauper's prayers and benedictions as we entered\nthe city.  A great many blessings can be bought for very little money\nanywhere in Italy; and whether they avail anything or no, it is pleasant\nto see that the beggars have gratitude enough to bestow them in such\nabundance.\n\nOf all beggars I think a little fellow, who rode beside our carriage on a\nstick, his bare feet scampering merrily, while he managed his steed with\none hand, and held out the other for charity, howling piteously the\nwhile, amused me most.\n\n\n\nPASSIGNANO.\n\n\nMay 29th.--We left Perugia at about three o'clock to-day, and went down a\npretty steep descent; but I have no particular recollection of the road\ntill it again began to descend, before reaching the village of Magione.\nWe all, except my wife, walked up the long hill, while the vettura was\ndragged after us with the aid of a yoke of oxen.  Arriving first at the\nvillage, I leaned over the wall to admire the beautiful paese (\"le bel\npiano,\" as a peasant called it, who made acquaintance with me) that lay\nat the foot of the hill, so level, so bounded within moderate limits by a\nframe of hills and ridges, that it looked like a green lake.  In fact, I\nthink it was once a real lake, which made its escape from its bed, as I\nhave known some lakes to have done in America.\n\nPassing through and beyond the village, I saw, on a height above the\nroad, a half-ruinous tower, with great cracks running down its walls,\nhalf-way from top to bottom.  Some little children had mounted the hill\nwith us, begging all the way; they were recruited with additional members\nin the village; and here, beneath the ruinous tower, a madman, as it\nseemed, assaulted us, and ran almost under the carriage-wheels, in his\nearnestness to get a baioccho.  Ridding ourselves of these annoyances, we\ndrove on, and, between five and six o'clock, came in sight of the Lake of\nThrasymene, obtaining our first view of it, I think, in its longest\nextent.  There were high hills, and one mountain with its head in the\nclouds, visible on the farther shore, and on the horizon beyond it; but\nthe nearer banks were long ridges, and hills of only moderate height.\nThe declining sun threw a broad sheen of brightness over the surface of\nthe lake, so that we could not well see it for excess of light; but had a\nvision of headlands and islands floating about in a flood of gold, and\nblue, airy heights bounding it afar.  When we first drew near the lake,\nthere was but a narrow tract, covered with vines and olives, between it\nand the hill that rose on the other side.  As we advanced, the tract grew\nwider, and was very fertile, as was the hillside, with wheat-fields, and\nvines, and olives, especially the latter, which, symbol of peace as it\nis, seemed to find something congenial to it in the soil stained long ago\nwith blood.  Farther onward, the space between the lake and hill grew\nstill narrower, the road skirting along almost close to the water-side;\nand when we reached the town of Passignano there was but room enough for\nits dirty and ugly street to stretch along the shore.  I have seldom\nbeheld a lovelier scene than that of the lake and the landscape around\nit; never an uglier one than that of this idle and decaying village,\nwhere we were immediately surrounded by beggars of all ages, and by men\nvociferously proposing to row us out upon the lake.  We declined their\noffers of a boat, for the evening was very fresh and cool, insomuch that\nI should have liked an outside garment,--a temperature that I had not\nanticipated, so near the beginning of June, in sunny Italy.  Instead\nof a row, we took a walk through the village, hoping to come upon the\nshore of the lake, in some secluded spot; but an incredible number of\nbeggar-children, both boys and girls, but more of the latter, rushed out\nof every door, and went along with us, all howling their miserable\npetitions at the same moment.\n\nThe village street is long, and our escort waxed more numerous at every\nstep, till Miss Shepard actually counted forty of these little\nreprobates, and more were doubtless added afterwards.  At first, no\ndoubt, they begged in earnest hope of getting some baiocchi; but, by and\nby, perceiving that we had determined not to give them anything, they\nmade a joke of the matter, and began to laugh and to babble, and turn\nheels over head, still keeping about us, like a swarm of flies, and now\nand then begging again with all their might.  There were as few pretty\nfaces as I ever saw among the same number of children; and they were as\nragged and dirty little imps as any in the world, and, moreover, tainted\nthe air with a very disagreeable odor from their rags and dirt; rugged\nand healthy enough, nevertheless, and sufficiently intelligent; certainly\nbold and persevering too; so that it is hard to say what they needed to\nfit them for success in life.  Yet they begin as beggars, and no doubt\nwill end so, as all their parents and grandparents do; for in our walk\nthrough the village, every old woman and many younger ones held out their\nhands for alms, as if they had all been famished.  Yet these people kept\ntheir houses over their heads; had firesides in winter, I suppose, and\nfood out of their little gardens every day; pigs to kill, chickens,\nolives, wine, and a great many things to make life comfortable.  The\nchildren, desperately as they begged, looked in good bodily ease, and\nhappy enough; but, certainly, there was a look of earnest misery in the\nfaces of some of the old women, either genuine or exceedingly well acted.\n\nI could not bear the persecution, and went into our hotel, determining\nnot to venture out again till our departure; at least not in the\ndaylight.  My wife and the rest of the family, however, continued their\nwalk, and at length were relieved from their little pests by three\npolicemen (the very images of those in Rome, in their blue, long-skirted\ncoats, cocked chapeaux-bras, white shoulder-belts, and swords), who boxed\ntheir ears, and dispersed them.  Meanwhile, they had quite driven away\nall sentimental effusion (of which I felt more, really, than I expected)\nabout the Lake of Thrasymene.\n\nThe inn of Passignano promised little from its outward appearance; a\ntall, dark old house, with a stone staircase leading us up from one\nsombre story to another, into a brick-paved dining-room, with our\nsleeping-chambers on each side.  There was a fireplace of tremendous\ndepth and height, fit to receive big forest-logs, and with a queer,\ndouble pair of ancient andirons, capable of sustaining them; and in a\nhandful of ashes lay a small stick of olive-wood,--a specimen, I suppose,\nof the sort of fuel which had made the chimney black, in the course of a\ngood many years.  There must have been much shivering and misery of cold\naround this fireplace.  However, we needed no fire now, and there was\npromise of good cheer in the spectacle of a man cleaning some lake-fish\nfor our dinner, while the poor things flounced and wriggled under the\nknife.\n\nThe dinner made its appearance, after a long while, and was most\nplentiful, . . . . so that, having measured our appetite in anticipation\nof a paucity of food, we had to make more room for such overflowing\nabundance.\n\nWhen dinner was over, it was already dusk, and before retiring I opened\nthe window, and looked out on Lake Thrasymene, the margin of which lies\njust on the other side of the narrow village street.  The moon was a day\nor two past the full, just a little clipped on the edge, but gave light\nenough to show the lake and its nearer shores almost as distinctly as by\nday; and there being a ripple on the surface of the water, it made a\nsheen of silver over a wide space.\n\n\n\nAREZZO.\n\n\nMay 30th.--We started at six o'clock, and left the one ugly street of\nPassignano, before many of the beggars were awake.  Immediately in the\nvicinity of the village there is very little space between the lake in\nfront and the ridge of hills in the rear; but the plain widened as we\ndrove onward, so that the lake was scarcely to be seen, or often quite\nhidden among the intervening trees, although we could still discern the\nsummits of the mountains that rise far beyond its shores.  The country\nwas fertile, presenting, on each side of the road, vines trained on\nfig-trees; wheat-fields and olives, in greater abundance than any other\nproduct.  On our right, with a considerable width of plain between, was\nthe bending ridge of hills that shut in the Roman army, by its close\napproach to the lake at Passignano.  In perhaps half all hour's drive, we\nreached the little bridge that throws its arch over the Sanguinetto, and\nalighted there.  The stream has but about a yard's width of water; and\nits whole course, between the hills and the lake, might well have been\nreddened and swollen with the blood of the multitude of slain Romans.\nIts name put me in mind of the Bloody Brook at Deerfield, where a company\nof Massachusetts men were massacred by the Indians.\n\nThe Sanguinetto flows over a bed of pebbles; and J----- crept under the\nbridge, and got one of them for a memorial, while U----, Miss Shepard,\nand R----- plucked some olive twigs and oak leaves, and made them into\nwreaths together,--symbols of victory and peace.  The tower, which is\ntraditionally named after Hannibal, is seen on a height that makes part\nof the line of enclosing hills.  It is a large, old castle, apparently of\nthe Middle Ages, with a square front, and a battlemented sweep of wall.\nThe town of Torres (its name, I think), where Hannibal's main army is\nsupposed to have lain while the Romans came through the pass, was in full\nview; and I could understand the plan of the battle better than any\nsystem of military operations which I have hitherto tried to fathom.\nBoth last night and to-day, I found myself stirred more sensibly than I\nexpected by the influences of this scene.  The old battle-field is still\nfertile in thoughts and emotions, though it is so many ages since the\nblood spilt there has ceased to make the grass and flowers grow more\nluxuriantly.  I doubt whether I should feel so much on the field of\nSaratoga or Monmouth; but these old classic battle-fields belong to the\nwhole world, and each man feels as if his own forefathers fought them.\nMine, by the by, if they fought them at all, must have been on the side\nof Hannibal; for, certainly, I sympathized with him, and exulted in the\ndefeat of the Romans on their own soil.  They excite much the same\nemotion of general hostility that the English do.  Byron has written some\nvery fine stanzas on the battle-field,--not so good as others that he has\nwritten on classical scenes and subjects, yet wonderfully impressing his\nown perception of the subject on the reader.  Whenever he has to deal\nwith a statue, a ruin, a battle-field, he pounces upon the topic like a\nvulture, and tears out its heart in a twinkling, so that there is nothing\nmore to be said.\n\nIf I mistake not, our passport was examined by the papal officers at the\nlast custom-house in the pontifical territory, before we traversed the\npath through which the Roman army marched to its destruction.  Lake\nThrasymene, of which we took our last view, is not deep set among the\nhills, but is bordered by long ridges, with loftier mountains receding\ninto the distance.  It is not to be compared to Windermere or Loch Lomond\nfor beauty, nor with Lake Champlain and many a smaller lake in my own\ncountry, none of which, I hope, will ever become so historically\ninteresting as this famous spot.  A few miles onward our passport was\ncountersigned at the Tuscan custom-house, and our luggage permitted to\npass without examination on payment of a fee of nine or ten pauls,\nbesides two pauls to the porters.  There appears to be no concealment on\nthe part of the officials in thus waiving the exercise of their duty, and\nI rather imagine that the thing is recognized and permitted by their\nsuperiors.  At all events, it is very convenient for the traveller.\n\nWe saw Cortona, sitting, like so many other cities in this region, on its\nhill, and arrived about noon at Arezzo, which also stretches up a high\nhillside, and is surrounded, as they all are, by its walls or the remains\nof one, with a fortified gate across every entrance.\n\nI remember one little village, somewhere in the neighborhood of the\nClitumnus, which we entered by one gateway, and, in the course of two\nminutes at the utmost, left by the opposite one, so diminutive was this\nwalled town.  Everything hereabouts bears traces of times when war was\nthe prevalent condition, and peace only a rare gleam of sunshine.\n\nAt Arezzo we have put up at the Hotel Royal, which has the appearance of\na grand old house, and proves to be a tolerable inn enough.  After lunch,\nwe wandered forth to see the town, which did not greatly interest me\nafter Perugia, being much more modern and less picturesque in its aspect.\nWe went to the cathedral,--a Gothic edifice, but not of striking\nexterior.  As the doors were closed, and not to be opened till three\no'clock, we seated ourselves under the trees, on a high, grassy space\nsurrounded and intersected with gravel-walks,--a public promenade, in\nshort, near the cathedral; and after resting ourselves here we went in\nsearch of Petrarch's house, which Murray mentions as being in this\nneighborhood.  We inquired of several people, who knew nothing about the\nmatter; one woman misdirected us, out of mere fun, I believe, for she\nafterwards met us and asked how we had succeeded.  But finally, through\n------'s enterprise and perseverance, we found the spot, not a\nstone's-throw from where we had been sitting.\n\nPetrarch's house stands below the promenade which I have just mentioned,\nand within hearing of the reverberations between the strokes of the\ncathedral bell.  It is two stories high, covered with a light-\nstucco, and has not the slightest appearance of antiquity, no more than\nmany a modern and modest dwelling-house in an American city.  Its only\nremarkable feature is a pointed arch of stone, let into the plastered\nwall, and forming a framework for the doorway.  I set my foot on the\ndoorsteps, ascended them, and Miss Shepard and J----- gathered some weeds\nor blades of grass that grew in the chinks between the steps.  There is a\nlong inscription on a slab of marble set in the front of the house, as is\nthe fashion in Arezzo when a house has been the birthplace or residence\nof a distinguished man.\n\nRight opposite Petrarch's birth-house--and it must have been the well\nwhence the water was drawn that first bathed him--is a well which\nBoccaccio has introduced into one of his stories.  It is surrounded with\na stone curb, octagonal in shape, and evidently as ancient as Boccaccio's\ntime.  It has a wooden cover, through which is a square opening, and\nlooking down I saw my own face in the water far beneath.\n\nThere is no familiar object connected with daily life so interesting as a\nwell; and this well or old Arezzo, whence Petrarch had drunk, around\nwhich he had played in his boyhood, and which Boccaccio has made famous,\nreally interested me more than the cathedral.  It lies right under the\npavement of the street, under the sunshine, without any shade of trees\nabout it, or any grass, except a little that grows in the crevices of its\nstones; but the shape of its stone-work would make it a pretty object in\nan engraving.  As I lingered round it I thought of my own town-pump in\nold Salem, and wondered whether my townspeople would ever point it out to\nstrangers, and whether the stranger would gaze at it with any degree of\nsuch interest as I felt in Boccaccio's well.  O, certainly not; but yet I\nmade that humble town-pump the most celebrated structure in the good\ntown.  A thousand and a thousand people had pumped there, merely to water\noxen or fill their teakettles; but when once I grasped the handle, a rill\ngushed forth that meandered as far as England, as far as India, besides\ntasting pleasantly in every town and village of our own country.  I like\nto think of this, so long after I did it, and so far from home, and am\nnot without hopes of some kindly local remembrance on this score.\n\nPetrarch's house is not a separate and insulated building, but stands in\ncontiguity and connection with other houses on each side; and all, when I\nsaw them, as well as the whole street, extending down the <DW72> of the\nhill, had the bright and sunny aspect of a modern town.\n\nAs the cathedral was not yet open, and as J----- and I had not so much\npatience as my wife, we left her and Miss Shepard, and set out to return\nto the hotel.  We lost our way, however, and finally had to return to the\ncathedral, to take a fresh start; and as the door was now open we went\nin.  We found the cathedral very stately with its great arches, and\ndarkly magnificent with the dim rich light coming through its painted\nwindows, some of which are reckoned the most beautiful that the whole\nworld has to show.  The hues are far more brilliant than those of any\npainted glass I saw in England, and a great wheel window looks like a\nconstellation of many- gems.  The old English glass gets so smoky\nand dull with dust, that its pristine beauty cannot any longer be even\nimagined; nor did I imagine it till I saw these Italian windows.  We saw\nnothing of my wife and Miss Shepard; but found afterwards that they had\nbeen much annoyed by the attentions of a priest who wished to show them\nthe cathedral, till they finally told him that they had no money with\nthem, when he left them without another word.  The attendants in churches\nseem to be quite as venal as most other Italians, and, for the sake of\ntheir little profit, they do not hesitate to interfere with the great\npurposes for which their churches were built and decorated; hanging\ncurtains, for instance, before all the celebrated pictures, or hiding\nthem away in the sacristy, so that they cannot be seen without a fee.\n\nReturning to the hotel, we looked out of the window, and, in the street\nbeneath, there was a very busy scene, it being Sunday, and the whole\npopulation, apparently, being astir, promenading up and down the smooth\nflag-stones, which made the breadth of the street one sidewalk, or at\ntheir windows, or sitting before their doors.\n\nThe vivacity of the population in these parts is very striking, after the\ngravity and lassitude of Rome; and the air was made cheerful with the\ntalk and laughter of hundreds of voices.  I think the women are prettier\nthan the Roman maids and matrons, who, as I think I have said before,\nhave chosen to be very uncomely since the rape of their ancestresses, by\nway of wreaking a terrible spite and revenge.\n\nI have nothing more to say of Arezzo, except that, finding the ordinary\nwine very bad, as black as ink, and tasting as if it had tar and vinegar\nin it, we called for a bottle of Monte Pulciano, and were exceedingly\ngladdened and mollified thereby.\n\n\n\nINCISA.\n\n\nWe left Arezzo early on Monday morning, the sun throwing the long shadows\nof the trees across the road, which at first, after we had descended the\nhill, lay over a plain.  As the morning advanced, or as we advanced, the\ncountry grew more hilly.  We saw many bits of rustic life,--such as old\nwomen tending pigs or sheep by the roadside, and spinning with a distaff;\nwomen sewing under trees, or at their own doors; children leading goats,\ntied by the horns, while they browse; sturdy, sunburnt creatures, in\npetticoats, but otherwise manlike, at work side by side with male\nlaborers in the fields.  The broad-brimmed, high-crowned hat of Tuscan\nstraw is the customary female head-dress, and is as unbecoming as can\npossibly be imagined, and of little use, one would suppose, as a shelter\nfrom the sun, the brim continually blowing upward from the face.  Some of\nthe elder women wore black felt hats, likewise broad-brimmed; and the men\nwore felt hats also, shaped a good deal like a mushroom, with hardly any\nbrim at all.  The scenes in the villages through which we passed were\nvery lively and characteristic, all the population seeming to be out of\ndoors: some at the butcher's shop, others at the well; a tailor sewing in\nthe open air, with a young priest sitting sociably beside him; children\nat play; women mending clothes, embroidering, spinning with the distaff\nat their own doorsteps; many idlers, letting the pleasant morning pass in\nthe sweet-do-nothing; all assembling in the street, as in the common room\nof one large household, and thus brought close together, and made\nfamiliar with one another, as they can never be in a different system\nof society.  As usual along the road we passed multitudes of shrines,\nwhere the Virgin was painted in fresco, or sometimes represented in\nbas-reliefs, within niches, or under more spacious arches.  It would be a\ngood idea to place a comfortable and shady seat beneath all these wayside\nshrines, where the wayfarer might rest himself, and thank the Virgin for\nher hospitality; nor can I believe that it would offend her, any more\nthan other incense, if he were to regale himself, even in such\nconsecrated spots, with the fragrance of a pipe or cigar.\n\nIn the wire-work screen, before many of the shrines, hung offerings of\nroses and other flowers, some wilted and withered, some fresh with that\nmorning's dew, some that never bloomed and never faded,--being\nartificial.  I wonder that they do not plant rose-trees and all kinds of\nfragrant and flowering shrubs under the shrines, and twine and wreathe\nthem all around, so that the Virgin may dwell within a bower of perpetual\nfreshness; at least put flower-pots, with living plants, into the niche.\nThere are many things in the customs of these people that might be made\nvery beautiful, if the sense of beauty were as much alive now as it must\nhave been when these customs were first imagined and adopted.\n\nI must not forget, among these little descriptive items, the spectacle of\nwomen and girls bearing huge bundles of twigs and shrubs, or grass, with\nscarlet poppies and blue flowers intermixed; the bundles sometimes so\nhuge as almost to hide the woman's figure from head to heel, so that she\nlooked like a locomotive mass of verdure and flowers; sometimes reaching\nonly half-way down her back, so as to show the crooked knife slung\nbehind, with which she had been reaping this strange harvest-sheaf.  A\nPre-Raphaelite painter--the one, for instance, who painted the heap of\nautumnal leaves, which we saw at the Manchester Exhibition--would find an\nadmirable subject in one of these girls, stepping with a free, erect, and\ngraceful carriage, her burden on her head; and the miscellaneous herbage\nand flowers would give him all the scope he could desire for minute and\nvarious delineation of nature.\n\nThe country houses which we passed had sometimes open galleries or\narcades on the second story and above, where the inhabitants might\nperform their domestic labor in the shade and in the air.  The houses\nwere often ancient, and most picturesquely time-stained, the plaster\ndropping in spots from the old brickwork; others were tinted of pleasant\nand cheerful lines; some were frescoed with designs in arabesques, or\nwith imaginary windows; some had escutcheons of arms painted on the\nfront.  Wherever there was a pigeon-house, a flight of doves were\nrepresented as flying into the holes, doubtless for the invitation and\nencouragement of the real birds.\n\nOnce or twice I saw a bush stuck up before the door of what seemed to be\na wine-shop.  If so, it is the ancient custom, so long disused in\nEngland, and alluded to in the proverb, \"Good wine needs no bush.\"\nSeveral times we saw grass spread to dry on the road, covering half the\ntrack, and concluded it to have been cut by the roadside for the winter\nforage of his ass by some poor peasant, or peasant's wife, who had no\ngrass land, except the margin of the public way.\n\nA beautiful feature of the scene to-day, as the preceding day, were the\nvines growing on fig-trees (?) [This interrogation-mark must mean that\nMr. Hawthorne was not sure they were fig-trees.--ED.], and often wreathed\nin rich festoons from one tree to another, by and by to be hung with\nclusters of purple grapes.  I suspect the vine is a pleasanter object of\nsight under this mode of culture than it can be in countries where it\nproduces a more precious wine, and therefore is trained more\nartificially.  Nothing can be more picturesque than the spectacle of an\nold grapevine, with almost a trunk of its own, clinging round its tree,\nimprisoning within its strong embrace the friend that supported its\ntender infancy, converting the tree wholly to its own selfish ends, as\nseemingly flexible natures are apt to do, stretching out its innumerable\narms on every bough, and allowing hardly a leaf to sprout except its own.\nI must not yet quit this hasty sketch, without throwing in, both in the\nearly morning, and later in the forenoon, the mist that dreamed among the\nhills, and which, now that I have called it mist, I feel almost more\ninclined to call light, being so quietly cheerful with the sunshine\nthrough it.  Put in, now and then, a castle on a hilltop; a rough ravine,\na smiling valley; a mountain stream, with a far wider bed than it at\npresent needs, and a stone bridge across it, with ancient and massive\narches;--and I shall say no more, except that all these particulars, and\nmany better ones which escape me, made up a very pleasant whole.\n\nAt about noon we drove into the village of Incisa, and alighted at the\nalbergo where we were to lunch.  It was a gloomy old house, as much like\nmy idea of an Etruscan tomb as anything else that I can compare it to.\nWe passed into a wide and lofty entrance-hall, paved with stone, and\nvaulted with a roof of intersecting arches, supported by heavy columns of\nstuccoed-brick, the whole as sombre and dingy as can well be.  This\nentrance-hall is not merely the passageway into the inn, but is likewise\nthe carriage-house, into which our vettura is wheeled; and it has, on one\nside, the stable, odorous with the litter of horses and cattle, and on\nthe other the kitchen, and a common sitting-room.  A narrow stone\nstaircase leads from it to the dining-room, and chambers above,\nwhich are paved with brick, and adorned with rude frescos instead of\npaper-hangings.  We look out of the windows, and step into a little\niron-railed balcony, before the principal window, and observe the scene\nin the village street.  The street is narrow, and nothing can exceed the\ntall, grim ugliness of the village houses, many of them four stories\nhigh, contiguous all along, and paved quite across; so that nature is as\ncompletely shut out from the precincts of this little town as from the\nheart of the widest city.  The walls of the houses are plastered, gray,\ndilapidated; the windows small, some of them drearily closed with wooden\nshutters, others flung wide open, and with women's heads protruding,\nothers merely frescoed, for a show of light and air.  It would be a\nhideous street to look at in a rainy day, or when no human life pervaded\nit.  Now it has vivacity enough to keep it cheerful.  People lounge round\nthe door of the albergo, and watch the horses as they drink from a stone\ntrough, which is built against the wall of the house, and filled with the\nunseen gush of a spring.\n\nAt first there is a shade entirely across the street, and all the\nwithin-doors of the village empties itself there, and keeps up a\nbabblement that seems quite disproportioned even to the multitude of\ntongues that make it.  So many words are not spoken in a New England\nvillage in a whole year as here in this single day.  People talk about\nnothing as if they were terribly in earnest, and laugh at nothing as if\nit were all excellent joke.\n\nAs the hot noon sunshine encroaches on our side of the street, it grows a\nlittle more quiet.  The loungers now confine themselves to the shady\nmargin (growing narrower and narrower) of the other side, where, directly\nopposite the albergo, there are two cafes and a wine-shop, \"vendita di\npane, vino, ed altri generi,\" all in a row with benches before them.  The\nbenchers joke with the women passing by, and are joked with back again.\nThe sun still eats away the shadow inch by inch, beating down with such\nintensity that finally everybody disappears except a few passers-by.\n\nDoubtless the village snatches this half-hour for its siesta.  There is a\nsong, however, inside one of the cafes, with a burden in which several\nvoices join.  A girl goes through the street, sheltered under her great\nbundle of freshly cut grass.  By and by the song ceases, and two young\npeasants come out of the cafe, a little affected by liquor, in their\nshirt-sleeves and bare feet, with their trousers tucked up.  They resume\ntheir song in the street, and dance along, one's arm around his fellow's\nneck, his own waist grasped by the other's arm.  They whirl one another\nquite round about, and come down upon their feet.  Meeting a village maid\ncoming quietly along, they dance up and intercept her for a moment, but\ngive way to her sobriety of aspect.  They pass on, and the shadow soon\nbegins to spread from one side of the street, which presently fills\nagain, and becomes once more, for its size, the noisiest place I ever\nknew.\n\nWe had quite a tolerable dinner at this ugly inn, where many preceding\ntravellers had written their condemnatory judgments, as well as a few\ntheir favorable ones, in pencil on the walls of the dining-room.\n\n\n\nTO FLORENCE.\n\n\nAt setting off [from Incisa], we were surrounded by beggars as usual, the\nmost interesting of whom were a little blind boy and his mother, who had\nbesieged us with gentle pertinacity during our whole stay there.  There\nwas likewise a man with a maimed hand, and other hurts or deformities;\nalso, an old woman who, I suspect, only pretended to be blind, keeping\nher eyes tightly squeezed together, but directing her hand very\naccurately where the copper shower was expected to fall.  Besides these,\nthere were a good many sturdy little rascals, vociferating in proportion\nas they needed nothing.  It was touching, however, to see several\npersons--themselves beggars for aught I know--assisting to hold up the\nlittle blind boy's tremulous hand, so that he, at all events, might not\nlack the pittance which we had to give.  Our dole was but a poor one,\nafter all, consisting of what Roman coppers we had brought into Tuscany\nwith us; and as we drove off, some of the boys ran shouting and whining\nafter us in the hot sunshine, nor stopped till we reached the summit of\nthe hill, which rises immediately from the village street.  We heard\nGaetano once say a good thing to a swarm of beggar-children, who were\ninfesting us, \"Are your fathers all dead?\"--a proverbial expression, I\nsuppose.  The pertinacity of beggars does not, I think, excite the\nindignation of an Italian, as it is apt to do that of Englishmen or\nAmericans.  The Italians probably sympathize more, though they give less.\nGaetano is very gentle in his modes of repelling them, and, indeed, never\ninterferes at all, as long as there is a prospect of their getting\nanything.\n\nImmediately after leaving Incisa, we saw the Arno, already a considerable\nriver, rushing between deep banks, with the greenish line of a duck-pond\ndiffused through its water.  Nevertheless, though the first impression\nwas not altogether agreeable, we soon became reconciled to this line, and\nceased to think it an indication of impurity; for, in spite of it, the\nriver is still to a certain degree transparent, and is, at any rate, a\nmountain stream, and comes uncontaminated from its source.  The pure,\ntransparent brown of the New England rivers is the most beautiful color;\nbut I am content that it should be peculiar to them.\n\nOur afternoon's drive was through scenery less striking than some which\nwe had traversed, but still picturesque and beautiful.  We saw deep\nvalleys and ravines, with streams at the bottom; long, wooded hillsides,\nrising far and high, and dotted with white dwellings, well towards the\nsummits.  By and by, we had a distant glimpse of Florence, showing its\ngreat dome and some of its towers out of a sidelong valley, as if we were\nbetween two great waves of the tumultuous sea of hills; while, far\nbeyond, rose in the distance the blue peaks of three or four of the\nApennines, just on the remote horizon.  There being a haziness in the\natmosphere, however, Florence was little more distinct to us than the\nCelestial City was to Christian and Hopeful, when they spied at it from\nthe Delectable Mountains.\n\nKeeping steadfastly onward, we ascended a winding road, and passed a\ngrand villa, standing very high, and surrounded with extensive grounds.\nIt must be the residence of some great noble; and it has an avenue of\npoplars or aspens, very light and gay, and fit for the passage of the\nbridal procession, when the proprietor or his heir brings home his bride;\nwhile, in another direction from the same front of the palace, stretches\nan avenue or grove of cypresses, very long, and exceedingly black and\ndismal, like a train of gigantic mourners.  I have seen few things more\nstriking, in the way of trees, than this grove of cypresses.\n\nFrom this point we descended, and drove along an ugly, dusty avenue, with\na high brick wall on one side or both, till we reached the gate of\nFlorence, into which we were admitted with as little trouble as\ncustom-house officers, soldiers, and policemen can possibly give.  They\ndid not examine our luggage, and even declined a fee, as we had already\npaid one at the frontier custom-house.  Thank heaven, and the Grand Duke!\n\nAs we hoped that the Casa del Bello had been taken for us, we drove\nthither in the first place, but found that the bargain had not been\nconcluded.  As the house and studio of Mr. Powers were just on the\nopposite side of the street, I went to it, but found him too much\nengrossed to see me at the moment; so I returned to the vettura, and we\ntold Gaetano to carry us to a hotel.  He established us at the Albergo\ndella Fontana, a good and comfortable house. . . . Mr. Powers called in\nthe evening,--a plain personage, characterized by strong simplicity and\nwarm kindliness, with an impending brow, and large eyes, which kindle as\nhe speaks.  He is gray, and slightly bald, but does not seem elderly, nor\npast his prime.  I accept him at once as an honest and trustworthy man,\nand shall not vary from this judgment.  Through his good offices, the\nnext day, we engaged the Casa del Bello, at a rent of fifty dollars a\nmonth, and I shall take another opportunity (my fingers and head being\ntired now) to write about the house, and Mr. Powers, and what appertains\nto him, and about the beautiful city of Florence.  At present, I shall\nonly say further, that this journey from Rome has been one of the\nbrightest and most uncareful interludes of my life; we have all enjoyed\nit exceedingly, and I am happy that our children have it to look back\nupon.\n\n\nJune 4th.--At our visit to Powers's studio on Tuesday, we saw a marble\ncopy of the fisher-boy holding a shell to his ear, and the bust of\nProserpine, and two or three other ideal busts; various casts of most of\nthe ideal statues and portrait busts which he has executed.  He talks\nvery freely about his works, and is no exception to the rule that an\nartist is not apt to speak in a very laudatory style of a brother artist.\nHe showed us a bust of Mr. Sparks by Persico,--a lifeless and thoughtless\nthing enough, to be sure,--and compared it with a very good one of the\nsame gentleman by himself; but his chiefest scorn was bestowed on a\nwretched and ridiculous image of Mr. King, of Alabama, by Clark Mills, of\nwhich he said he had been employed to make several copies for Southern\ngentlemen.  The consciousness of power is plainly to be seen, and the\nassertion of it by no means withheld, in his simple and natural\ncharacter; nor does it give me an idea of vanity on his part to see and\nhear it.  He appears to consider himself neglected by his country,--by\nthe government of it, at least,--and talks with indignation of the byways\nand political intrigue which, he thinks, win the rewards that ought to be\nbestowed exclusively on merit.  An appropriation of twenty-five thousand\ndollars was made, some years ago, for a work of sculpture by him, to be\nplaced in the Capitol; but the intermediate measures necessary to render\nit effective have been delayed; while the above-mentioned Clark Mills--\ncertainly the greatest bungler that ever botched a block of marble--has\nreceived an order for an equestrian statue of Washington.  Not that Mr.\nPowers is made bitter or sour by these wrongs, as he considers them; he\ntalks of them with the frankness of his disposition when the topic comes\nin his way, and is pleasant, kindly, and sunny when he has done with it.\n\nHis long absence from our country has made him think worse of us than we\ndeserve; and it is an effect of what I myself am sensible, in my shorter\nexile: the most piercing shriek, the wildest yell, and all the ugly\nsounds of popular turmoil, inseparable from the life of a republic, being\na million times more audible than the peaceful hum of prosperity and\ncontent which is going on all the while.\n\nHe talks of going home, but says that he has been talking of it every\nyear since he first came to Italy; and between his pleasant life of\ncongenial labor, and his idea of moral deterioration in America, I think\nit doubtful whether he ever crosses the sea again.  Like most exiles of\ntwenty years, he has lost his native country without finding another; but\nthen it is as well to recognize the truth,--that an individual country is\nby no means essential to one's comfort.\n\nPowers took us into the farthest room, I believe, of his very extensive\nstudio, and showed us a statue of Washington that has much dignity and\nstateliness.  He expressed, however, great contempt for the coat and\nbreeches, and masonic emblems, in which he had been required to drape the\nfigure.  What would he do with Washington, the most decorous and\nrespectable personage that ever went ceremoniously through the realities\nof life?  Did anybody ever see Washington nude?  It is inconceivable.  He\nhad no nakedness, but I imagine he was born with his clothes on, and his\nhair powdered, and made a stately bow on his first appearance in the\nworld.  His costume, at all events, was a part of his character, and must\nbe dealt with by whatever sculptor undertakes to represent him.  I wonder\nthat so very sensible a man as Powers should not see the necessity of\naccepting drapery, and the very drapery of the day, if he will keep his\nart alive.  It is his business to idealize the tailor's actual work.  But\nhe seems to be especially fond of nudity, none of his ideal statues, so\nfar as I know them, having so much as a rag of clothes.  His statue of\nCalifornia, lately finished, and as naked as Venus, seemed to me a very\ngood work; not an actual woman, capable of exciting passion, but\nevidently a little out of the category of human nature.  In one hand she\nholds a divining-rod.  \"She says to the emigrants,\" observed Powers,\n\"'Here is the gold, if you choose to take it.'\"  But in her face, and in\nher eyes, very finely expressed, there is a look of latent mischief,\nrather grave than playful, yet somewhat impish or sprite-like; and, in\nthe other hand, behind her back, she holds a bunch of thorns.  Powers\ncalls her eyes Indian.  The statue is true to the present fact and\nhistory of California, and includes the age-long truth as respects the\n\"auri sacra fames.\" . . . .\n\nWhen we had looked sufficiently at the sculpture, Powers proposed that we\nshould now go across the street and see the Casa del Bello.  We did so in\na body, Powers in his dressing-gown and slippers, and his wife and\ndaughters without assuming any street costume.\n\nThe Casa del Bello is a palace of three pianos, the topmost of which is\noccupied by the Countess of St. George, an English lady, and two lower\npianos are to be let, and we looked at both.  The upper one would have\nsuited me well enough; but the lower has a terrace, with a rustic\nsummer-house over it, and is connected with a garden, where there are\narbors and a willow-tree, and a little wilderness of shrubbery and roses,\nwith a fountain in the midst.  It has likewise an immense suite of rooms,\nround the four sides of a small court, spacious, lofty, with frescoed\nceilings and rich hangings, and abundantly furnished with arm-chairs,\nsofas, marble tables, and great looking-glasses.  Not that these last are\na great temptation, but in our wandering life I wished to be perfectly\ncomfortable myself, and to make my family so, for just this summer, and\nso I have taken the lower piano, the price being only fifty dollars per\nmonth (entirely furnished, even to silver and linen).  Certainly this is\nsomething like the paradise of cheapness we were told of, and which we\nvainly sought in Rome. . . .\n\nTo me has been assigned the pleasantest room for my study; and when I\nlike I can overflow into the summer-house or an arbor, and sit there\ndreaming of a story.  The weather is delightful, too warm to walk, but\nperfectly fit to do nothing in, in the coolness of these great rooms.\nEvery day I shall write a little, perhaps,--and probably take a brief nap\nsomewhere between breakfast and tea,--but go to see pictures and statues\noccasionally, and so assuage and mollify myself a little after that\nuncongenial life of the consulate, and before going back to my own hard\nand dusty New England.\n\nAfter concluding the arrangement for the Casa del Bello, we stood talking\na little while with Powers and his wife and daughter before the door of\nthe house, for they seem so far to have adopted the habits of the\nFlorentines as to feel themselves at home on the shady side of the\nstreet.  The out-of-door life and free communication with the pavement,\nhabitual apparently among the middle classes, reminds me of the plays of\nMoliere and other old dramatists, in which the street or the square\nbecomes a sort of common parlor, where most of the talk and scenic\nbusiness of the people is carried on.\n\n\nJune 5th.--For two or three mornings after breakfast I have rambled a\nlittle about the city till the shade grew narrow beneath the walls of the\nhouses, and the heat made it uncomfortable to be in motion.  To-day I\nwent over the Ponte Carraja, and thence into and through the heart of the\ncity, looking into several churches, in all of which I found people\ntaking advantage of the cool breadth of these sacred interiors to refresh\nthemselves and say their prayers.  Florence at first struck me as having\nthe aspect of a very new city in comparison with Rome; but, on closer\nacquaintance, I find that many of the buildings are antique and massive,\nthough still the clear atmosphere, the bright sunshine, the light,\ncheerful hues of the stucco, and--as much as anything else, perhaps--the\nvivacious character of the human life in the streets, take away the sense\nof its being an ancient city.  The streets are delightful to walk in\nafter so many penitential pilgrimages as I have made over those little\nsquare, uneven blocks of the Roman pavement, which wear out the boots and\ntorment the soul.  I absolutely walk on the smooth flags of Florence for\nthe mere pleasure of walking, and live in its atmosphere for the mere\npleasure of living; and, warm as the weather is getting to be, I never\nfeel that inclination to sink down in a heap and never stir again, which\nwas my dull torment and misery as long as I stayed in Rome.  I hardly\nthink there can be a place in the world where life is more delicious for\nits own simple sake than here.\n\nI went to-day into the Baptistery, which stands near the Duomo, and, like\nthat, is covered externally with slabs of black and white marble, now\ngrown brown and yellow with age.  The edifice is octagonal, and on\nentering, one immediately thinks of the Pantheon,--the whole space within\nbeing free from side to side, with a dome above; but it differs from the\nsevere simplicity of the former edifice, being elaborately ornamented\nwith marble and frescos, and lacking that great eye in the roof that\nlooks so nobly and reverently heavenward from the Pantheon.  I did little\nmore than pass through the Baptistery, glancing at the famous bronze\ndoors, some perfect and admirable casts of which I had already seen at\nthe Crystal Palace.\n\nThe entrance of the Duomo being just across the piazza, I went in there\nafter leaving the Baptistery, and was struck anew--for this is the third\nor fourth visit--with the dim grandeur of the interior, lighted as it is\nalmost exclusively by painted windows, which seem to me worth all the\nvariegated marbles and rich cabinet-work of St. Peter's.  The Florentine\nCathedral has a spacious and lofty nave, and side aisles divided from it\nby pillars; but there are no chapels along the aisles, so that there is\nfar more breadth and freedom of interior, in proportion to the actual\nspace, than is usual in churches.  It is woful to think how the vast\ncapaciousness within St. Peter's is thrown away, and made to seem smaller\nthan it is by every possible device, as if on purpose.  The pillars and\nwalls of this Duomo are of a uniform brownish, neutral tint; the\npavement, a mosaic work of marble; the ceiling of the dome itself is\ncovered with frescos, which, being very imperfectly lighted, it is\nimpossible to trace out.  Indeed, it is but a twilight region that is\nenclosed within the firmament of this great dome, which is actually\nlarger than that of St. Peter's, though not lifted so high from the\npavement.  But looking at the painted windows, I little cared what\ndimness there might be elsewhere; for certainly the art of man has never\ncontrived any other beauty and glory at all to be compared to this.\n\nThe dome sits, as it were, upon three smaller domes,--smaller, but still\ngreat,--beneath which are three vast niches, forming the transepts of the\ncathedral and the tribune behind the high altar.  All round these hollow,\ndome-covered arches or niches are high and narrow windows crowded with\nsaints, angels, and all manner of blessed shapes, that turn the common\ndaylight into a miracle of richness and splendor as it passes through\ntheir heavenly substance.  And just beneath the swell of the great\ncentral dome is a wreath of circular windows quite round it, as brilliant\nas the tall and narrow ones below.  It is a pity anybody should die\nwithout seeing an antique painted window, with the bright Italian\nsunshine glowing through it.  This is \"the dim, religious light\" that\nMilton speaks of; but I doubt whether he saw these windows when he was in\nItaly, or any but those faded or dusty and dingy ones of the English\ncathedrals, else he would have illuminated that word \"dim\" with some\nepithet that should not chase away the dimness, yet should make it shine\nlike a million of rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and topazes,--bright in\nthemselves, but dim with tenderness and reverence because God himself was\nshining through them.  I hate what I have said.\n\nAll the time that I was in the cathedral the space around the high altar,\nwhich stands exactly under the dome, was occupied by priests or acolytes\nin white garments, chanting a religious service.\n\nAfter coming out, I took a view of the edifice from a corner of the\nstreet nearest to the dome, where it and the smaller domes can be seen at\nonce.  It is greatly more satisfactory than St. Peter's in any view I\never had of it,--striking in its outline, with a mystery, yet not a\nbewilderment, in its masses and curves and angles, and wrought out with a\nrichness of detail that gives the eyes new arches, new galleries, new\nniches, new pinnacles, new beauties, great and small, to play with when\nwearied with the vast whole.  The hue, black and white marbles, like the\nBaptistery, turned also yellow and brown, is greatly preferable to the\nbuff travertine of St. Peter's.\n\nFrom the Duomo it is but a moderate street's length to the Piazza del\nGran Duca, the principal square of Florence.  It is a very interesting\nplace, and has on one side the old Governmental Palace,--the Palazzo\nVecchio,--where many scenes of historic interest have been enacted; for\nexample, conspirators have been hanged from its windows, or precipitated\nfrom them upon the pavement of the square below.\n\nIt is a pity that we cannot take as much interest in the history of\nthese Italian Republics as in that of England, for the former is much the\nmore picturesque and fuller of curious incident.  The sobriety of the\nAnglo-Saxon race--in connection, too, with their moral sense--keeps them\nfrom doing a great many things that would enliven the page of history;\nand their events seem to come in great masses, shoved along by the agency\nof many persons, rather than to result from individual will and\ncharacter.  A hundred plots for a tragedy might be found in Florentine\nhistory for one in English.\n\nAt one corner of the Palazzo Vecchio is a bronze equestrian statue of\nCosmo de' Medici, the first Grand Duke, very stately and majestic; there\nare other marble statues--one of David, by Michael Angelo--at each side\nof the palace door; and entering the court I found a rich antique arcade\nwithin, surrounded by marble pillars, most elaborately carved, supporting\narches that were covered with faded frescos.  I went no farther, but\nstepped across a little space of the square to the Loggia di Lanzi, which\nis broad and noble, of three vast arches, at the end of which, I take it,\nis a part of the Palazzo Uffizi fronting on the piazza.  I should call it\na portico if it stood before the palace door; but it seems to have been\nconstructed merely for itself, and as a shelter for the people from sun\nand rain, and to contain some fine specimens of sculpture, as well\nantique as of more modern times.  Benvenuto Cellini's Perseus stands\nhere; but it did not strike me so much as the cast of it in the Crystal\nPalace.\n\nA good many people were under these great arches; some of whom were\nreclining, half or quite asleep, on the marble seats that are built\nagainst the back of the loggia.  A group was reading an edict of the\nGrand Duke, which appeared to have been just posted on a board, at the\nfarther end of it; and I was surprised at the interest which they\nventured to manifest, and the freedom with which they seemed to discuss\nit.  A soldier was on guard, and doubtless there were spies enough to\ncarry every word that was said to the ear of absolute authority.\nGlancing myself at the edict, however, I found it referred only to the\nfurtherance of a project, got up among the citizens themselves, for\nbringing water into the city; and on such topics, I suppose there is\nfreedom of discussion.\n\n\nJune 7th.--Saturday evening we walked with U---- and J----- into the\ncity, and looked at the exterior of the Duomo with new admiration.  Since\nmy former view of it, I have noticed--which, strangely enough, did not\nstrike me before--that the facade is but a great, bare, ugly space,\nroughly plastered over, with the brickwork peeping through it in spots,\nand a faint, almost invisible fresco of colors upon it.  This front was\nonce nearly finished with an incrustation of black and white marble, like\nthe rest of the edifice; but one of the city magistrates, Benedetto\nUguccione, demolished it, three hundred years ago, with the idea of\nbuilding it again in better style.  He failed to do so, and, ever since,\nthe magnificence of the great church has been marred by this unsightly\nroughness of what should have been its richest part; nor is there, I\nsuppose, any hope that it will ever be finished now.\n\nThe campanile, or bell-tower, stands within a few paces of the cathedral,\nbut entirely disconnected from it, rising to a height of nearly three\nhundred feet, a square tower of light marbles, now discolored by time.\nIt is impossible to give an idea of the richness of effect produced by\nits elaborate finish; the whole surface of the four sides, from top to\nbottom, being decorated with all manner of statuesque and architectural\nsculpture.  It is like a toy of ivory, which some ingenious and pious\nmonk might have spent his lifetime in adorning with scriptural designs\nand figures of saints; and when it was finished, seeing it so beautiful,\nhe prayed that it might be miraculously magnified from the size of one\nfoot to that of three hundred.  This idea somewhat satisfies me, as\nconveying an impression how gigantesque the campanile is in its mass and\nheight, and how minute and varied in its detail.  Surely these mediaeval\nworks have an advantage over the classic.  They combine the telescope and\nthe microscope.\n\nThe city was all alive in the summer evening, and the streets humming\nwith voices.  Before the doors of the cafes were tables, at which people\nwere taking refreshment, and it went to my heart to see a bottle of\nEnglish ale, some of which was poured foaming into a glass; at least, it\nhad exactly the amber hue and the foam of English bitter ale; but perhaps\nit may have been merely a Florentine imitation.\n\nAs we returned home over the Arno, crossing the Ponte di Santa Trinita,\nwe were struck by the beautiful scene of the broad, calm river, with the\npalaces along its shores repeated in it, on either side, and the\nneighboring bridges, too, just as perfect in the tide beneath as in the\nair above,--a city of dream and shadow so close to the actual one.  God\nhas a meaning, no doubt, in putting this spiritual symbol continually\nbeside us.\n\nAlong the river, on both sides, as far as we could see, there was a row\nof brilliant lamps, which, in the far distance, looked like a cornice of\ngolden light; and this also shone as brightly in the river's depths.  The\nlilies of the evening, in the quarter where the sun had gone down, were\nvery soft and beautiful, though not so gorgeous as thousands that I have\nseen in America.  But I believe I must fairly confess that the Italian\nsky, in the daytime, is bluer and brighter than our own, and that the\natmosphere has a quality of showing objects to better advantage.  It is\nmore than mere daylight; the magic of moonlight is somehow mixed up with\nit, although it is so transparent a medium of light.\n\nLast evening, Mr. Powers called to see us, and sat down to talk in a\nfriendly and familiar way.  I do not know a man of more facile\nintercourse, nor with whom one so easily gets rid of ceremony.  His\nconversation, too, is interesting.  He talked, to begin with, about\nItalian food, as poultry, mutton, beef, and their lack of savoriness as\ncompared with our own; and mentioned an exquisite dish of vegetables\nwhich they prepare from squash or pumpkin blossoms; likewise another\ndish, which it will be well for us to remember when we get back to\nthe Wayside, where we are overrun with acacias.  It consists of the\nacacia-blossoms in a certain stage of their development fried in\nolive-oil.  I shall get the receipt from Mrs. Powers, and mean to deserve\nwell of my country by first trying it, and then making it known; only I\ndoubt whether American lard, or even butter, will produce the dish quite\nso delicately as fresh Florence oil.\n\nMeanwhile, I like Powers all the better, because he does not put his life\nwholly into marble.  We had much talk, nevertheless, on matters of\nsculpture, for he drank a cup of tea with us, and stayed a good while.\n\nHe passed a condemnatory sentence on classic busts in general, saying\nthat they were conventional, and not to be depended upon as trite\nrepresentations of the persons.  He particularly excepted none but the\nbust of Caracalla; and, indeed, everybody that has seen this bust must\nfeel the justice of the exception, and so be the more inclined to accept\nhis opinion about the rest.  There are not more than half a dozen--that\nof Cato the Censor among the others--in regard to which I should like to\nask his judgment individually.  He seems to think the faculty of making a\nbust an extremely rare one.  Canova put his own likeness into all the\nbusts he made.  Greenough could not make a good one; nor Crawford, nor\nGibson.  Mr. Harte, he observed,--an American sculptor, now a resident in\nFlorence,--is the best man of the day for making busts.  Of course, it is\nto be presumed that he excepts himself; but I would not do Powers the\ngreat injustice to imply that there is the slightest professional\njealousy in his estimate of what others have done, or are now doing, in\nhis own art.  If he saw a better man than himself, he would recognize him\nat once, and tell the world of him; but he knows well enough that, in\nthis line, there is no better, and probably none so good.  It would not\naccord with the simplicity of his character to blink a fact that stands\nso broadly before him.\n\nWe asked him what he thought, of Mr. Gibson's practice of coloring his\nstatues, and he quietly and slyly said that he himself had made wax\nfigures in his earlier days, but had left off making them now.  In short,\nhe objected to the practice wholly, and said that a letter of his on the\nsubject had been published in the London \"Athenaeum,\" and had given great\noffence to some of Mr. Gibson's friends.  It appeared to me, however,\nthat his arguments did not apply quite fairly to the case, for he seems\nto think Gibson aims at producing an illusion of life in the statue,\nwhereas I think his object is merely to give warmth and softness to the\nsnowy marble, and so bring it a little nearer to our hearts and\nsympathies.  Even so far, nevertheless, I doubt whether the practice is\ndefensible, and I was glad to see that Powers scorned, at all events, the\nargument drawn from the use of color by the antique sculptors, on which\nGibson relies so much.  It might almost be implied, from the contemptuous\nway in which Powers spoke of color, that he considers it an impertinence\non the face of visible nature, and would rather the world had been made\nwithout it; for he said that everything in intellect or feeling can be\nexpressed as perfectly, or more so, by the sculptor in colorless marble,\nas by the painter with all the resources of his palette.  I asked him\nwhether he could model the face of Beatrice Cenci from Guido's picture so\nas to retain the subtle expression, and he said he could, for that the\nexpression depended entirely on the drawing, \"the picture being a badly\n thing.\"  I inquired whether he could model a blush, and he said\n\"Yes\"; and that he had once proposed to an artist to express a blush in\nmarble, if he would express it in picture.  On consideration, I believe\none to be as impossible as the other; the life and reality of the blush\nbeing in its tremulousness, coming and going.  It is lost in a settled\nred just as much as in a settled paleness, and neither the sculptor nor\npainter can do more than represent the circumstances of attitude and\nexpression that accompany the blush.  There was a great deal of truth in\nwhat Powers said about this matter of color, and in one of our\ninterminable New England winters it ought to comfort us to think how\nlittle necessity there is for any hue but that of the snow.\n\nMr. Powers, nevertheless, had brought us a bunch of beautiful roses, and\nseemed as capable of appreciating their delicate blush as we were.  The\nbest thing he said against the use of color in marble was to the effect\nthat the whiteness removed the object represented into a sort of\nspiritual region, and so gave chaste permission to those nudities which\nwould otherwise suggest immodesty.  I have myself felt the truth of this\nin a certain sense of shame as I looked at Gibson's tinted Venus.\n\nHe took his leave at about eight o'clock, being to make a call on the\nBryants, who are at the Hotel de New York, and also on Mrs. Browning, at\nCasa Guidi.\n\n\nEND OF VOL. I.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Passages From the French and Italian\nNotebooks, Volume 1, by Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by A www.PGDP.net Volunteer, Jeannie Howse and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCOLONIAL REPORTS--MISCELLANEOUS.\n\nNo. 54.\n\nNEWFOUNDLAND.\n\nREPORT BY THE GOVERNOR ON A VISIT TO\nTHE MICMAC INDIANS AT BAY D'ESPOIR.\n\nPresented to both Houses of Parliament by Command of His Majesty.\n_September, 1908._\n\n[Illustration]\n\nLONDON:\nPRINTED FOR HIS MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE,\nBY DARLING & SON, LTD., 34-40, BACON STREET, E.\n\nAnd to be purchased, either directly or through any Bookseller, from\nWYMAN AND SONS, LTD., FETTER LANE, E.C., and\n32, ABINGDON STREET, WESTMINSTER, S.W.; or\nOLIVER & BOYD, TWEEDDALE COURT, EDINBURGH; or\nE. PONSONBY, 116, GRAFTON STREET, DUBLIN.\n\n1908.\n\n[Cd. 4197.] _Price 2d._\n\n\n\n\nNo. 54.\n\nNEWFOUNDLAND.\n\nREPORT BY THE GOVERNOR ON A VISIT TO THE MICMAC INDIANS AT BAY\nD'ESPOIR.\n\n\nTHE GOVERNOR TO THE SECRETARY OF STATE.\n\n  Government House,\n    St. John's,\n      8th July, 1908.\n\nMY LORD,\n\nI have the honour to inform you that I left St. John's on the 28th May\nto visit the settlement of the Micmac Indians at Bay d'Espoir, on the\nsouth coast of this Island.\n\nBay d'Espoir is a long inlet of the sea, extending up country over a\nscore of miles. The district is hilly, and is covered by a forest of\nrather small trees, spruce and birch, but further inland the hills are\ngenerally bare. There are comparatively few European residents in this\nbay.\n\n2. The Micmac settlement is on a reservation situated on the eastern\nside of the Conne arm of the bay, with a frontage to the water of 230\nchains, with an average depth of about 30 chains. It is on the <DW72>\nof a wooded hill which is generally steep down to the sea, and at most\nplaces hard and rocky, covered by spruce forest. Most of the Micmac\nhouses are on an area of about a quarter of a mile, where the ground\nis least steep and most suitable for building and gardening. In\nAppendix I. hereto is given a list of the 23 families, consisting of\n131 persons, now living on or near the Reservation; and of the 7\npersons that have left it for Glenwood in this Colony. Two years ago\nthree families left the Reservation to settle at Lewisport, and have\nnot returned.\n\n3. The Reservation, it appears, was laid off for the Micmacs about\n1872, by Mr. Murray, Geological Surveyor of the Colony. It contained\n24 blocks of about 30 acres each, with a water frontage of 10 chains.\nFrom the copy of the plan of the Reservation enclosed herewith it will\nbe noticed that each parcel was to form the subject of a personal\ngrant to the individual whose name is on the allotment. The right then\nconferred was in each case a \"licence to occupy,\" of which I enclose\na copy in blank form. The licence, it will be observed, would, on the\nfulfilment of certain conditions, have been replaced by a grant in\nfee, after five years. In few cases, if in any, have the terms of the\nlicence been complied with, and no grant in fee or other title has\nbeen issued to any of the occupants on this Reservation.\n\n[Illustration: PLAN OF INDIAN SETTLEMENT CONNE RIVER BAY D'ESPOIR]\n\n4. These Micmacs are hunters and trappers, and are ignorant alike of\nagriculture, of seamanship, and of fishing. There are not more than\nthree or four acres of cultivated land in the whole settlement. The\ngreatest cultivator would not grow in one year more than three or four\nbarrels of potatoes and a few heads of cabbage. There are two\nmiserable cows in the place, and some of the least poor Micmacs\npossess three or four extremely wretched sheep. They have practically\nno fowls, but I saw one fowl and a tame wild goose. Their houses are\nsmall and inferior, of sawn timber, but have windows of glass. A few\nhundred yards of road, constructed at the expense of the Government,\ntraverses the end of the settlement where most of the people reside.\n\n5. The community is Roman Catholic, and they have a small church,\ndecently well built and kept, on the best site on the Reservation. It\nis built of sawn timber and would contain nearly one hundred people,\nwhich is too small for the festival of St. Anne, the patroness of the\ncongregation. Over the entrance to the church there is printed in\nlarge characters, in the Micmac language, a total prohibition against\nspitting in church.\n\nThe cemetery immediately adjoins the church, and there they bury their\ndead as members of a single family.\n\nThey have had a small school open since the 17th January last. It is a\nwooden room, about 12 feet by 15 feet, by no means new, with a small\nstove and two little windows.\n\nThe teacher is a woman of partly Micmac origin. She receives some very\nsmall allowance from the parish priest, and a few of the children, she\nsays, pay some small fees. There are 34 children on the roll, and the\nwinter attendance was from 25 to 30. They are divided into three\nclasses, the highest of which could read slowly, in English, words of\nthree or four letters. About half of them could write a little, a few\nof them surprisingly well on such brief tuition. The teacher says they\nare very amenable to discipline. Seldom has a school been started\nunder greater difficulties than this Micmac institution. I was able\nsincerely to congratulate the teacher on what she has been able to\naccomplish under such unfavourable circumstances. It is manifest that\nthe children are bright and clever, and that they would become useful\nand intelligent citizens if they had ordinary educational advantages.\nIn this probably lies the best hope of a future prospect for this\ncommunity. The settlement is visited now once a month by the parish\npriest; and in his absence, one of themselves, Stephen Jeddore, reads\nthe service on Sunday. Last year they were visited by the Right\nReverend Bishop McNeil.\n\n6. They appear to be a comparatively healthy people. So far as known,\nno one is at present affected by tuberculosis in any form. I saw one\nwoman of ninety years of age, Sarah Aseleka, perhaps the only Micmac\nof pure blood in the settlement. She was born at Bay St. George, and\ncame to Bay d'Espoir some three score of years ago when the Micmacs\nfirst settled in this bay. The next oldest person is John Bernard, who\nis about eighty. Few of them were even fairly well clothed; the\nmajority were in rags. A few wore home-made deer-skin boots, but most\nof them had purchased ready-made boots or shoes. They make deer-skin\nboots by scraping caribou skin, and tanning it in a decoction of\nspruce bark. Such boots are, they state, worn through in a few days.\nThe women can spin wool, and knit stockings. Their food consists\nchiefly of flour, a few potatoes, some cabbage, and perhaps about half\na score of caribou a year for each family, hung up on trees and thus\nfrozen during the winter. They also smoke fish, principally freshwater\nfish, and obtain a few grouse and hares, but this small game has\nalmost disappeared from the district. They have to go inland a score\nof miles to obtain caribou for food.\n\nThe men are of good size, and strongly built, but clearly of mixed\ndescent, many being nearly like Europeans. The children have all,\nwithout exception, very dark, soft eyes, straight black hair, and the\nnose much more prominent than in the Esquimaux of Labrador.\n\n7. The principal Chief is Olibia, but I unfortunately did not meet\nhim. He had gone out in March to his trapping ground near Mount\nSylvester, but could not then reach his traps on account of the\nunusually great quantity of snow, and he had returned thither at the\ntime of my visit.\n\nI was informed that he was selected as Chief by the Micmacs of the\nReservation, and was appointed by the principal Micmac Chief at St.\nAnne's, Nova Scotia, and by the priest. I was shown the insignia of\noffice worn on ceremonial occasions by the Chief. It consists of a\ngold medallion with a chain attached, the whole in a case covered by\nred velvet. The medallion is inscribed \"Presented to the Chief of the\nMicmacs Indians of Newfoundland,\" but with neither name nor date. The\ncommunity paid for this badge of office forty-eight dollars.\n\nThe second chief is Geodol--called in English Noel Jeddore--who\nrepresented Olibia in his absence. Geodol is the owner of one of the\ntwo cows on the Reservation, and his brother possesses the second one.\nThe Chieftainship is not hereditary, but is conferred, when a vacancy\noccurs, on the man the people prefer. They are easy to govern and\nseldom quarrel. They have no intoxicating liquor and seldom obtain\nany. They pay 60 to 70 cents a pound for their tobacco, 20 to 30\ncents for gunpowder, and 10 cents for shot. They sell their fur\nlocally where they make their small family purchases.\n\n8. The head of each family has his own special trapping ground in the\ninterior, over which others may travel, fish, or shoot, but not trap.\nFor example Geodol, the second chief, traps about Gulp Lake; Olibia,\nthe chief, about Mount Sylvester; Nicholas Jeddore about Burnt Hill;\nGeorge Jeddore at Bare Hill and Middle Ridge; Stephen Jeddore at\nScaffold Hill; Noel Matthews at Great Burnt Lake; &c.\n\nNone go as far north as the railway, but Meiklejohn goes as far as\nJohn's Pond. Europeans are encroaching on their trapping lands, but do\nnot go far inland. This pushes the Micmacs further inland to get away\nfrom the Europeans. They claim no fishing rights at sea, and say\nfrankly they are only trappers and guides.\n\nThey go inland in September, when their first care is to shoot a deer\nand smoke the flesh as food. They return home from the 20th to the\n25th November to prepare their traps for fox, lynx, otter, and bear.\nIn December they shoot, as winter food for the family, does and young\nstags, but not old stags. They say the arctic hare is now very rare on\ntheir trapping lands; and snipe, geese, and ducks are far fewer than\nthey were a few years ago. They appear to be very careful not to waste\nvenison, never killing any deer they do not actually require and use\nas food.\n\n9. It is not possible to regard the present condition and the\nprospects of this settlement of Micmacs as being bright. Game, their\nprincipal food, is manifestly becoming more difficult to procure;\ntheir trapping lands are being encroached upon by Europeans; they are\nnot seamen; they are not fishermen; and they do not understand\nagriculture. In the middle of their Reservation a saw-mill has been in\noperation some years, apparently on the allotment of Bernard John, but\nwithout his sanction or permission, and, it seems, in spite of the\nprotests of the community. None of the Micmacs work at this mill.\nFormerly they cut logs for it, but the trees that grew near the water\nhave, they say, all been used up and there are none left within their\nreach that they could bring to the water. The saw-mill is thus an\neyesore to them, as it is on what they regard as their land, and in\ndefiance of them.\n\nAlthough they have not complied with the conditions set forth on the\nform of licence, which would have entitled them to a grant in fee, yet\ntheir occupation has extended over so many years that there is no\nprobability whatever that the Government of Newfoundland would\nwithhold from them grants, as a matter of grace, if they only applied\nfor them and could show how they could use the land. It would not be\ndifficult to find a location for the community that would be more\nsuitable for them so far as cultivation is concerned, and be equally\ngood for hunting and trapping. With some aid, such as supplies of\nseed potatoes and a few animals, they could no doubt derive much\ngreater resources than at present from agriculture, especially if to\nthat were added a good school for the young.\n\nThe question of their trapping lands will have to be dealt with before\nlong. Each man regards his rights to his trapping area as\nunimpeachable. They are recognised at present among themselves, but\nthey have no official sanction for their trapping lands either as a\ncommunity or as individuals, just as they have no official title to\nthe Reservation.\n\nI was accompanied on this visit by the Honourable Eli Dawe, Minister\nof Marine and Fisheries, who, as a member of the Government, will\nhimself take an interest in the settlement, and call the attention of\nhis colleagues to the condition of the Micmacs. I was also assisted by\nMr. James Howley, who has been on friendly terms with these people for\nmany years. I enclose photographs[A] of some of the Micmacs, taken by\nMr. Howley during this visit.\n\n10. The Micmacs are held by ethnologists to be a branch of the\nAlgonquins, who inhabited Maine, New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia. It\nwas from the last-named province that they extended to Newfoundland,\napparently not much more than a century ago. The fact that they did\nnot effect a lodgment on Newfoundland sooner may be at least partly\naccounted for by supposing that the Beothuks, the aboriginal natives\nof Newfoundland, were able to defend themselves and their country from\nthe Micmacs so long as both sides were unprovided with firearms, and\nuntil the Beothuks were nearly destroyed by their French and English\naggressors.\n\nA sufficiently accurate view of the arrival and early doings of the\nMicmacs in Newfoundland may be had from the brief extracts from\nofficial records enclosed herewith. Governor Duckworth reports in 1809\nthat the Micmacs were coming over, and that the Beothuks were keeping\nto the interior in dread of them. The Governor followed up this Report\nnext year (1810) by a Proclamation to the Micmacs and other American\nIndians frequenting Newfoundland, warning them that any person that\nmurdered a native Indian (Beothuk) would be punished with death.\nUnfortunately this Proclamation it would appear had no restraining\neffect, as Governor Keats reports to the Secretary of State in 1815\nthat the Micmacs had recently come over from Nova Scotia in greater\nnumbers, and had reached the eastern coast of Newfoundland; and he\nexpressed the fear that these newcomers would destroy the native\nIndians of the Island, whose arms were the bow and arrow.\n\nThe Micmacs, it appears, have always possessed firearms since they\narrived in Newfoundland. On the other hand I have never heard of a\nsingle instance in which the native Beothuks ever obtained such a\nweapon. The fears of Governor Keats were therefore only too well\nfounded. The unfortunate Beothuk was thus crushed out of existence by\nthe white man and the invading Micmac. Between the white man and the\nBeothuk there was always hostility; and I have not heard of any family\nor person in Newfoundland in whose veins flows Beothuk blood. On the\nother hand it may be doubted whether there is a single pure-blooded\nMicmac on the Island to-day. As an ethnic unit the Micmac can\ntherefore hardly be said to exist here.\n\nAt the same time the Micmac community, such as it is, will not, at\nleast for several generations, be absorbed into the European\npopulation of Newfoundland. It is at present a separate entity, and as\nsuch clearly requires special attention and treatment at the hands of\nthe Administration, for the Reservation families have claims on\nNewfoundland by right of a century of Micmac occupation, and by virtue\nof the European blood that probably each one of them has inherited.\n\n  I have, &c.,\n    WM. MACGREGOR.\n\nThe Right Honourable\n    The Earl of Crewe, K.G.,\n        &c., &c., &c.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote A: Not reproduced.]\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX I.\n\n\nMICMACS AT CONNE SETTLEMENT, 29th May, 1908.\n\nHead of Family.         Family.      Condition of Members\n                                      of Family.\nStephen Joe               5         Self, wife, 3 children.\nStephen Bernard           5         Self, mother, 3 children.\nNoel Matthew             13         Self, wife, 11 children.\nNicholas Jeddore          5         Self, wife, 3 children.\nNoel Jeddore              9         Self, wife, 7 children.\nBernard John              2         Self, wife.\nJohn                      5         Self, sister, 3 brothers.\nJoseph Jeddore            3         Self, wife, 1 brother.\nStephen Jeddore           7         Self, wife, 5 children.\nJohn McDonald, Sr.        2         Self, wife.\nJohn D. Jeddore           2         Self, wife.\nJohn McDonald, Jr.        7         Self, wife, 5 children.\nWilliam Drew              4         Self, wife, 2 children.\nMatthew Burke             4         Self, wife, 2 children.\nJohn Benoit               9         Self, wife, 7 children.\nBen Benoit               12         Self, wife, 10 children.\nJohn Juks                 7         Self, 6 children.\nEdward Pullett            4         Self, wife, 2 children.\nReuben Louis              2         Self, sister.\nThomas McDonald           8         Self, wife, 6 children.\nPeter Joe                 5         Self, wife, 3 children.\nJohn Martin               3         Self, wife, 1 child.\n\nTotal Micmacs on the Reservation, 123.\n\n              _Living off the Reservation were--_\n\nHead of Family.         Family.      Condition of Members\n                                      of Family.\nWilliam McDonald          8         Self, wife, 6 children.\n\n                  _Gone to Glenwood._\n\nLewis John                5         Self, wife, 3 children.\nPeter John                1         Self.\nLouis John                1         Self.\n\n                  _Totals._\n\nLiving on the Reservation                 123\nLiving near the Reservation                 8\nGone from the Reservation to Glenwood       7\n                                         ----\n                       Total              138\n                                         ----\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX II.\n\n\nNEWFOUNDLAND.                                         _No._\n                                 _To all to whom these Presents\n                                     shall come, I,_ ANTHONY\n                                     MUSGRAVE, _Esquire, Governor\n                                     and Commander-in-Chief in and\n                                     over the island of Newfoundland\n                                     and its Dependencies, &c., &c._\n\nSEND GREETING:\n\n  WHEREAS ______________________\n\n  of __________________________ desirous of permanently settling on\n  the Land hereinafter mentioned: KNOW YE, that in pursuance of the\n  power and authority vested in me by the Act of the Legislature of\n  this Colony, passed in the 23rd year of the Reign of Her present\n  Majesty, entitled \"An Act to amend an Act passed in the Seventh\n  year of Her Majesty's Reign, entitled 'An Act to make provision\n  for the Disposal and Sale of ungranted and unoccupied Crown Lands,\n  within the Island of Newfoundland and its Dependencies, and for\n  other purposes';\" I, the said Governor, do hereby give to the said\n  ________________________ a License to Occupy all that Piece or\n  Parcel of Land situate and being\n  __________________________________________________________________\n  To Have and to Hold the same, with all rights and all privileges\n  thereto belonging, to the said ________________________________\n  Executors, Administrators and Assigns, for the term of Five Years\n  from the date of these Presents: Provided always that if the said\n  _____________________ shall have settled on and occupied the said\n  Land for the said term of Five Years, and have cultivated _____\n  acres thereof, within the said term, and have conformed to the\n  provisions of said Act, _____ shall be entitled to a Grant in fee,\n  under the Great Seal, for the said Land: but should he fail to\n  comply with the conditions of this License and conform to the said\n  Act, he shall forfeit all claim to the said Land and Grant\n  aforesaid.\n\n                   Given under my Hand and Seal at St. John's\n                          in Our Island of Newfoundland, this\n                            ___________ day of ______________\n                               Anno Domini One Thousand Eight\n                               Hundred and _________________\n                          By His Excellency's Command,\n                            _Colonial Secretary._\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX III.\n\n\n  \"Antelope\" at Spithead.\n    25th November, 1809.\n\n   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\nI am sorry to inform Your Lordship that I am again disappointed in my\nhopes of coming at the Native Indians (Beothuks); they still keep in\nthe interior of the Island (it is reported) from a dread of the\nMicmacs, who come over from Cape Breton. The articles that were\npurchased for them are deposited in the Naval Store House at St.\nJohn's, where I have directed them to be kept for some future trial of\nmeeting with them.\n\n   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE GOVERNOR'S ADDRESS TO THE MICMACS, &C.\n\nHis Excellency, Sir John Thomas Duckworth, K.B., Vice-Admiral of the\nRed, Governor and Commander-in-Chief in and over the Island of\nNewfoundland, &c.\n\nTo the Micmacs, the Esquimaux, and other American Indians frequenting\nthe said Island, Greeting:\n\nWHEREAS it is the gracious pleasure of His Majesty the King, my\nmaster, that all kindness should be shewn to you in his Island of\nNewfoundland, and that all persons of all nations at friendship with\nhim should be considered in this respect as his own subjects, and\nequally claiming his protection while they are within his Dominions:\nThis is to greet you in His Majesty's name and to entreat you to live\nin harmony with each other, and to consider all his subjects and all\npersons inhabiting in his Dominions as your brothers, always ready to\ndo you service, to redress your grievances, and to relieve you in your\ndistress. In the same light also are you to consider the native\nIndians of this Island; they too are, equally with ourselves, under\nthe protection of our King, and therefore equally entitled to your\nfriendship. You are entreated to behave to them on all occasions as\nyou would do to ourselves. You know that we are your friends, and as\nthey too are our friends, we beg you to be at peace with each other.\nAnd withal, you are hereby warned that the safety of these Indians is\nso precious to His Majesty, who is always the support of the feeble,\nthat if one of ourselves were to do them wrong he would be punished as\ncertainly and as severely as if the injury had been done to the\ngreatest among his own people, and he who dared to murder any one of\nthem would be severely punished with death; your own safety is in the\nsame manner provided for; see therefore that you do no injury to them.\nIf an Englishman were known to murder the poorest and the meanest of\nyour Indians, his death would be the punishment of his crime. Do you\nnot therefore deprive any one of our friends, the native Indians, of\nhis life, or it will be answered with the life of him who has been\nguilty of murder.\n\n Fort Townshend, St. John's, Newfoundland,\n    1st August, 1810.\n\n      J.T. DUCKWORTH.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n_Extract from Despatch from Governor Sir R.G. Keats to the Secretary\nof State, 10th November, 1815._\n\nSome years ago the Micmac Indians formed a settlement in St. George's\nBay on the West Coast of Newfoundland, which is thriving and\nindustrious. The success of this settlement has probably induced\nothers to follow them, and latterly they have come over in more\nconsiderable numbers, penetrated into the country and shewn themselves\nthe present season on the eastern coast of Newfoundland. It is to be\nfeared the arrival of these new comers will prove fatal to the native\nIndians of the Island, whose arms are the bow, with whom their tribe\nas well as the Esquimaux are at war, and whose number it is believed\nhas for some years past not exceeded a few hundred.\n\n10th November, 1815.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Report by the Governor on a Visit to\nthe Micmac Indians at Bay d'Espoir, by William MacGregor\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from scans of\npublic domain works at The National Library of Australia.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                             A BRIEF SKETCH\n                                 OF THE\n                         LONG AND VARIED CAREER\n                                   OF\n                          Marshall MacDermott\n                              ESQ., J.P.,\n                                   OF\n                       ADELAIDE, SOUTH AUSTRALIA.\n\n\n                                -------\n\n            WRITTEN SOLELY FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION AMONGST\n                     RELATIVES AND SPECIAL FRIENDS.\n\n\n                                -------\n\n                               ADELAIDE:\n            WILLIAM KYFFIN THOMAS, PRINTER, GRENFELL-STREET.\n\n                                -------\n\n                                 1874.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                             A BRIEF SKETCH\n\n                                 OF THE\n\n                         LONG AND VARIED CAREER\n\n                                   OF\n\n                    Marshall MacDermott, Esq., J.P.\n\n                     OF ADELAIDE, SOUTH AUSTRALIA.\n\n                    --------------------------------\n\n\nTHE following pages were written very recently, under a degree of\npressure from some members of my family; and as I possessed no memoranda\nwhatever to aid me in such a work, I have had to rely entirely upon\nmemory; therefore errors in details may reasonably claim excuse, after\nthe lapse of so long a period of time. These papers are written _solely_\nfor private distribution amongst relatives and special friends; and, as\nmy family is rather numerous and dispersed, the necessity arises of\nhaving them printed.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nI obtained a Commission in the Army of His late Majesty King George\nIII., at a very early age, through the influence of Lord Hutchinson, at\nthat time British Ambassador at the Court of St. Petersburg, and joined\nthe 2nd Battalion of the 8th (or King’s) Regiment of Foot, in the year\n1808, at Chester. Being anxious to be employed on foreign service, I\nobtained leave in the same year to join the 1st Battalion of the\nRegiment at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and towards the close of that year\nembarked again with a division of troops under Sir Geo. Prevost, to\nattack the French islands of Martinique, Guadaloup, &c., in the West\nIndies. The Halifax Division consisted of the 8th, 13th, 7th, and 23rd\nFusileers, with Artillery and Engineers; and we joined the West Indian\nDivision under the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Geo. Beckwith, at Barbadoes.\n\nDuring the voyage from Halifax, the convoy, including a large fleet of\ntransports, encountered a “white squall,” which only lasted about\nfifteen minutes. From the fury of the tempest the sea could not rise; it\nwas smooth as a table, but covered with a dense white foam. The fleet\nhad been carrying a press of sail, especially the dull sailors; when,\nlike a clap of thunder, it was suddenly thrown on its beam ends. Sails\nwere torn into ribbons and small spars and wreck were flying in all\ndirections. Heavy rains then descended, followed by a dead calm, when an\nenormous sea arose—ships on the crest of the waves, finding others in\nthe gulph below them under no control, and in imminent danger of\ncrushing each other. Damages were repaired, and without any serious\nlosses the fleet proceeded on its voyage.\n\nThe united force sailed from Barbadoes for Martinique, accompanied by\nthe West India squadron, commanded by Sir Alexander Cochrane, who took\nup a position with the West Indian Division of Troops outside of Port\nRoyal Harbour, on the west side of the island. The North American\nDivision landed at Bay Robert, on the east side, and after two days’\nsharp fighting drove the French force, consisting of four regiments of\nthe line and about 11,000 Militia, across the island, when they took\nrefuge in the strong fortress of Fort Bourbon, disbanding their Militia.\nOn this occasion I had the honour of carrying the King’s colours of my\nregiment.\n\nThe siege of the fortress, armed with over 200 pieces of heavy ordnance,\nthen commenced. The 8th Regiment was placed in position along a range of\nhills facing the fort, being a coffee plantation, forming part of the\nestate of the Empress Josephine of France. The ground had been recently\nbroken up, and there being no tents, the heavy tropical rains severely\ntested the constitutions of the soldiers, who left their moulds in the\nloose earth on rising each following morning.\n\nThe mortar and breaching batteries maintained a heavy fire for about six\nweeks, when two breaches being reported practicable, the storming\nparties were told off for the assault on the following morning. At the\ndawn of day, however, a white flag was discernible; the garrison\nsurrendered, marched out with the honours of war at 12 o’clock, piled\narms, and were immediately placed on board transports for conveyance to\nEurope.\n\nFour Imperial Eagles, the first Napoleon had ever lost, were among the\ntrophies; afterwards placed in the Royal Chapel at Whitehall, London.\nThe 8th Regiment chanced to encounter the French 8th of the line on this\noccasion, as it had previously done in Egypt; and was presented by the\nCommander-in-Chief with the fine set of brass drums delivered up by the\nlatter corps.\n\nJust previous to the arrival of the expedition, a French frigate,\nheavily laden with gunpowder for the garrison, had arrived at\nMartinique; but before it could be landed, preparations for cutting her\nout having been observed amongst the English fleet, she was blown up at\nnight by the French. The whole island was shaken by the explosion; and\nthe mountain of fire, with floating wreck clearly visible, was\ninconceivably grand and awful.\n\nAt this time, war with America appearing to be imminent, the North\nAmerican Division was immediately embarked, and sailed for the defence\nof these provinces, landing at Halifax.\n\nThe 8th Regiment was ordered to embark, and sailed for Quebec in 1810,\nwhen it was thought the navigation of the River St. Lawrence would be\nopen. The transports passed through the Gut of Causo towards evening,\nand entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence. About midnight they found\nthemselves surrounded by broken ice, and four of the ships put back; but\nthat in which I sailed continued her course. For three days and nights\nshe was imperilled amongst floes of broken ice; fortunately, however, to\nleeward of a field of ice extending about 40 miles in length. The nights\nwere dark, and men were placed on the bowsprit to watch the floating ice\nand give warning for the ship to put about. Very often the time was\ninsufficient, and the ship’s sides were so frequently felt to be\ngrinding against the ice, that it was feared the planks might not be\nable to resist such frequent abrasions. A few days later she cleared the\nGulf and entered the noble River St. Lawrence, 90 miles wide at its\nmouth, and 400 miles distant from Quebec. On approaching the city the\nscene was magnificent. On the right, the large Island of Orleans—a\nperfect garden. Further on, the Falls of Montmorency, 240 feet high; and\nin front, the river here taking a bend, the Citadel, and the City of\nQuebec on a very lofty elevation. The latter has a most remarkable\nappearance, all the steeples and houses being covered with bright tin,\nto facilitate the snow in shooting off from the roofs.\n\nBoth banks of the river, so far as it had been settled by the French in\nLower Canada, were laid out on a uniform military plan—a town with a\nsteeple every nine miles, where the Captain of Militia was stationed,\none of his lieutenants being on the other flank and another in the\ncentre.\n\nThe regiment was quartered at Quebec during the summer. At this time,\nhowever, the 2nd Battalion of the 8th had arrived at Halifax from\nEngland, and I was ordered to join it on promotion, which I did, sailing\non board a man-of-war in which I had been offered a passage. Soon\nafterwards I was placed with a detachment at Melville Island, in charge\nof French prisoners of war amongst whom I observed an intelligent young\nmidshipman, who I regretted to find herded with the common sailors, and\nfrequently had him to breakfast at my quarters, after which we used to\npractice the small sword exercise with foils, and became tolerably\nefficient. After some time I applied to the Admiral, Sir J. B. Warren,\nand obtained his parole, which the young scamp subsequently broke, and\ndisappeared.\n\nIn the year 1811, the 2nd Battalion 8th was stationed at St. John’s, in\nthe Province of New Brunswick, to which place, after marching through\nNova Scotia, they crossed the Bay of Fundy. Here the tides rise forty\nfeet, and enter a small gulf leading to the town of Windsor in the\nlatter province, in the form of a bore, that is, suddenly, as a wall of\nwater, nearly perpendicular, and eight or ten feet high.\n\nDuring the year 1812 the Americans declared war against England, at\nWashington, having previously ordered their army on the frontier to\ninvade Upper Canada, on the _same_ day, being several days before the\nintelligence could be known at that place. They signally failed,\nhowever, in their first attacks. Reinforcements being urgently required,\nand the River St. Lawrence being frozen up for the season, the 2nd\nBattalion 8th was ordered to attempt the winter march on snow shoes to\nQuebec; generally through desert country, and partly through the enemy’s\nterritory, and where no baggage animals could travel.\n\nThe march occupied forty-two days, with a day’s interval between each\ndivision or company. Fortunately, there had been just sufficient time to\nform two depôts of provisions on the line of march, thus making three\nstages of fourteen days each. On leaving each station officers and men\nalike had to carry on their backs fourteen days’ provisions, personal\nbaggage, arms, &c., and frequently to march on snow shoes, which,\nwithout other encumbrances, is a labour to those unpractised. The\ncamping at evening presented a novel scene. Huts were formed of poles\ncovered with branches of spruce-fir, leaving the tops open for the smoke\nto escape. Large fires were kept up the whole length of the huts; poles\nbeing staked down at proper distances on each side, against which, the\nsleeping soldiers rested their feet—their couches being formed of layers\nof spruce boughs on the snow, which made capital elastic beds. The march\nwas successful, having only lost one man from the fall of a tree, and\nfourteen men afterwards discharged disabled from being severely\nfrost-bitten.\n\nWhen the snow was deep it was necessary to march in Indian files, that\nis, only one man in front to tread down a path, the leading man falling\nin rear after fifteen or twenty paces, the next then leading, and so on\nin succession, the fatigue on snow shoes being great. Another rule was,\nthat the last man of each division should be an officer, to keep up\nstragglers. There happened to be a long march of twenty-five miles\nacross Lake Tamiskwata, next to the grand portage between that lake and\nthe River St. Lawrence, when it was my turn to be the last man of my\ndivision. A violent snow-storm commenced early in the day, and after\nmarching about eight miles, a man was seized with convulsions. What was\nto be done? The snow was drifting in eddies and circles, obliterating\nthe path in front. No wood was accessible to light a fire, and the man\nmust not be left behind. Fortunately, the party had with them an Indian\ncontrivance, called a “tobaugan,” being a thin board twelve feet long\nturned up in front like a skate, used to relieve sick and weakly men of\ntheir loads. This was unpacked and the load distributed amongst those\npresent; the sick man was covered with many blankets, tied on and\ndragged by the party, eight in number, in turns. Happily, they arrived\nsafely at the end of their stage. My load on that day’s march was,\nbesides my own luggage and provisions, a soldier’s knapsack and two\nmuskets, my share of drawing the tobaugan, and marching on snow shoes.\nThe division in front encountered great dangers in crossing the Grand\nPortage over a mountainous country; the snow drifting in circles,\nobliterating paths, and filling up deep hollows. Great risks arose from\nmen lying down from fatigue, which required unwearied exertions on the\npart of the officers to prevent, to save them from perishing. After\nmarching for twenty-two hours until daylight next morning, the division\nhad only progressed eight miles, having been partially travelling in\ncircles with the drifting snow.\n\nThe divisions struck the St. Lawrence ninety miles below Quebec, and the\nspontaneous kindness of the French Canadians could not have been\nexceeded. The carrioles, sleighs, and sledges of the whole district were\nassembled, and no man was suffered to march. They also fed the whole\nregiment during the route. On their arrival at Point Levi, opposite\nQuebec, where the river is over a mile wide, it was found that the ice\nhad broken up and was floating down in great masses with a current of\nabout six miles an hour. A number of large wooden canoes were collected,\ncarrying about twenty men each, in the management of which the Canadians\nare very expert. After the men were seated the canoe was launched into\nopen water, and the crew paddled away with all their might. When they\nencountered a large piece of ice they jumped out, and hauled up the\ncanoe upon it, dragged it across, and launched it on the opposite side.\nThis was rather a nervous operation, as the inclines, both in launching\nand hauling up, were very steep, and required holding on hard. This had\nto be repeated several times during the passage.\n\nEarly in the following spring the regiment embarked in steam-boats for\nMontreal. Shortly afterwards, a remarkable and most interesting ceremony\ntook place there, at which I was present. The chiefs of about forty\nIndian nations, or tribes—some from the shores of the Pacific Ocean,\ndistant about 4,000 miles—assembled at Government House for the purpose\nof holding a “talk” or council with the Governor-General, Sir George\nPrevost, and concluding a treaty with him—offensive and defensive. Each\nchief had been presented with a scarlet robe, and the scene was very\nimposing.\n\nThe chiefs, generally, were remarkably fine-looking men, their features\nGrecian, their carriage easy and graceful. Each chief, while addressing\nthe Governor-General, held a “wampum” belt, handsomely embroidered with\nporcupine quills, and beads of various colours, which is their record of\nthe treaty. When the recognised superior chief had concluded his speech\nhe should have handed the “wampum” belt to the chief next in dignity of\nthe Sioux tribe. It so happened, however, that he was passed over, and\nit was offered to him as the third speaker. He declined the honour in a\nmost dignified and courteous manner, and would not deliver his address\nuntil after all the others had finished.\n\nTheir language was very poetical, figurative, and quite in the Ossian\nstyle, somewhat in the following manner:—\n\n“Father, listen to your Red Children.\n\n“We have come from the setting to the rising sun to help our Father in\nhis time of need, and to live or die with him.”\n\n“Listen, Father.\n\n“In days long past our Father and his Red Children fought with the Big\nKnives (the Americans) and they laid our Father on his back; and he held\nout his hand to the Big Knives (made peace) but forgot his Red Children.\nWe hope he will not do so again.”\n\n“Listen, Father.\n\n“We ask our great Father at the other side of the Big Lake, (the\nAtlantic Ocean) to supply his Red Children with arms and ammunition, and\nto help us in our time of need.”\n\nTheir addresses were long, and very beautiful; and six Canadians were\nfound sufficient to interpret their numerous dialects.\n\nAfter a short stay at Montreal, the regiment marched to La Prairie, near\nLake Champlain, on the frontier of the State of New York, where a force\nof 10,000 men was assembled, including Militia, for the purpose of\nattacking the American fortress of Plattsburgh, on that lake. During the\nadvance I was severely wounded in a night attack. A ball struck my chain\nwing, on the right shoulder, cutting it into three slugs which entered\nmy neck (together with six links of brass chain, a brass button, and\nsome cloth and bullion) close to the carotid artery, dividing the\ngullet, and lodged near the carotid artery on the other side, whence\nthey were afterwards cut out, sundry sinews being attached to the brass\nchain. I lay all night on the field in a pool of blood, and was carried\ninto camp the next morning. The copious bleeding—which was repeated\nthree times afterwards by the surgeon—was probably, humanly speaking,\nthe means of saving my life, which was spared by the mercy of Almighty\nGod. From excessive inflammation and swelling nothing passed my lips for\neight days, and then on taking a little milk and water it passed out\nthrough the wound over my shoulder. I recovered in six months; but the\nwound broke out again after fifteen years, from a cold, and was nearly\nfatal.\n\nDuring the years 1813 and 1814 the 1st Battalion, 8th, 41st, and 49th\nRegiments, together with some Militia, had to defend a frontier of 1,500\nmiles, from Montreal to Michilimakina, on Lake Superior. The American\nfleets on the several lakes being generally superior, were enabled to\nland numerous forces to attack weak points. On such occasions the\nEnglish troops had to concentrate by forced marches during summer and\nwinter. Numerous sanguinary actions were fought, and their losses in\nkilled and wounded were rarely equalled. But they not only maintained\ntheir ground, but took possession of the Michigan territory—larger than\nEngland—which was not restored to the Americans until after the treaty\nof peace.\n\nDuring these campaigns the 1st Battalion of the 8th Regiment lost more\nin killed and wounded than their original number, viz., 45 officers and\nover 900 men. Its number, however, was maintained by drafts from the 2nd\nBattalion and recruits from England.\n\nDuring the winter of 1814-15 a king’s messenger arrived at Montreal with\ndespatches, announcing the conclusion of a treaty of peace with America,\nand I was ordered to proceed with this despatch to Upper Canada to put\nan end to further hostilities. I travelled by sleigh with a pair of\nhorses on the ice, driven by a French Canadian along the River St.\nLawrence, avoiding the rapids at the several portages. When crossing\nLake St. Francois—an expansion of the St. Lawrence—it being near the\nclose of the winter, the ice broke under us. The driver was skilful,\nlashed his horses, which sprang with their fore-feet on the firm ice,\ngiving them a fresh impulse; this also broke and several others in\nsuccession, until at length the firm ice was gained at some distance.\nThe current underneath was very rapid. I delivered my despatch to the\nCommodore, Sir Jas. Yeo, on board his flag ship the “Ontario,” 110 guns,\nat Kingston, Lake Ontario. This ship was an extraordinary object to see\non a fresh water lake.\n\nAfter my return from Upper Canada I rejoined the 1st Battalion of my\nregiment, and intelligence having arrived of the escape of Napoleon\nBonaparte from Elba, 10,000 troops, chiefly composed of regiments\nrecently arrived, and which had belonged to the army of the Duke of\nWellington, were ordered to embark at Quebec, and were to receive\nfurther instructions on reaching the English Channel. Those troops were\nformed into three brigades, under Sir Geo. Murray, Sir Thos. Brisbane,\nand Sir Fredk. Robinson, with artillery, and equipped in all points\nready to take the field. They sailed in the month of May, and expected\nto reach Europe in time to take part in the first battle with the army\nof Napoleon. When the fleet of transports reached the banks of\nNewfoundland it was enveloped in a dense fog, and the ships’ bells were\nconstantly ringing to prevent their falling foul of each other. Suddenly\nthey entered a clear atmosphere, which was caused by the presence of\nnumerous icebergs of enormous size. The Commodore, Sir Geo. Collyer, in\nthe “Liffey” frigate, sailed close to one of them, and his royal-masts\nonly reached two-thirds of its height. It must have been 100 feet high,\nand ice is always two-thirds under water; its length was about three\nmiles, and its enormous bulk may thus be conceived. It must have broken\noff from some very high cliff. It appeared clear as crystal, and\nnumerous rills of water were flowing down its sides forming gullies. The\nclear atmosphere extended within a radius of about five miles; after\nwhich the ships re-entered the fog on the opposite side.\n\nOn entering the English Channel a frigate was waiting the arrival of the\nfleet, and gave the intelligence that the Battle of Waterloo had been\nfought only seven days previously. The strong regiments landed in France\nand joined the army of occupation at Paris. The 8th landed at Portsmouth\nand marched to Windsor, where it was quartered.\n\nThe 8th Regiment relieved the Coldstream Guards at Windsor, and in their\ncampaigning costume their appearance did not satisfy the\nPrincesses—daughters of King George III. It became necessary, therefore,\nto purchase some new articles of clothing at the cost of the soldiers.\nThose ladies, especially Princess Elizabeth, were very critical in\nmatters of dress. Three officers happened to be walking in the Green\nPark without their swords, and noticing the approach of the Princesses,\nthey turned into a side walk to avoid them. The ladies, evidently\nintentionally, also turned off into the same walk, and suddenly met the\nofficers face to face. Neither party could avoid laughing. But the\ncircumstance of their appearing without swords was afterwards mentioned\nto Sir Herbert Taylor, the King’s equerry. His Majesty was at this time\ninsane, and occupied a padded room in the Castle, just over the terrace,\nin care of an attendant. The terrace was closed against the public, but\nthe officers on guard, when visiting their sentries, frequently saw His\nMajesty at the windows. His appearance was most venerable, with a white\nflowing beard down upon his breast. Previous to his insanity it was\nrelated of him that he accosted a sentry on the terrace one morning,\nasking his name and if he had a family; the man replied, “Yes.” The King\nthen said, “Come, along with me to the garden, and I will give you some\ncabbages.” “Please your Majesty, I must not leave my post.” “O, well,\nwell, come when you are relieved, and I will fill your sack with\ncabbages.”\n\nOn home service few events occur worth recording. Remaining two years at\nWindsor, the regiment embarked at Portsmouth for Malta. After passing\nGibraltar, while becalmed off Cape de Gat, on the Spanish coast, a\nnumber of turtles were observed floating on the water. I, with some\nother officers, got into a boat and rowed towards them. They were\napparently sleeping, and eight of them were caught by the fins and\ncaptured. One of them, however, weighing about 200 lbs., caught three of\nmy fingers in its beak and cut me severely. I was quite willing to let\nmy antagonist escape, but my opponent would not consent, and he was\nhauled on board still holding his prey. Fortunately, there was a\nmarlinspike on board and the fingers were released, thus affording an\nillustration of “catching a Tartar.”\n\nMalta, with its magnificent harbour, is remarkable in many respects.\nValletta, its capital, is built on a rock surrounded on three sides by\nthe harbour, and is strongly fortified, as well as its three suburbs and\ndock-yard situated across the harbour. The parapets of the various\nfortifications by which all these places are enclosed are said to\nmeasure forty-two miles. The works are of great magnitude. When the\nisland was held by the knights of Malta—formerly knights of Rhodes, and\noriginally knights of St. John of Jerusalem—it is stated that at one\nperiod they had as many as 100,000 Saracens, prisoners of war, on the\nisland, who were employed on these stupendous works.\n\nThe ditch between Valletta and its suburb Floreana is sixty feet wide\nand forty feet deep, cut out of solid rock, a sandstone resembling that\nat Bath. The catacombs between Valletta and Citta Vecchia, distant seven\nand a-half miles, are a perfect labyrinth of excavated galleries, and so\nmany persons have been lost there that the dangerous passages have been\nwalled up. Solid oblong masses of human skulls and bones have been piled\nin various places, and there are several spacious halls, supposed to\nhave been used as places of concealment.\n\nAt Citta Vecchia an ancient church exists—a re-building of one erected\non the spot stated by tradition to be the place where St. Paul had been\nbitten by a viper. And you see before you the channel “where two seas\nmeet,” between the islands of Malta and Gozo; where they “_cast out four\nanchors by the stern_, lightened the ship, and wished for the day.” It\nis curious that Lord Nelson is supposed to have gained the Battle of the\nNile by adopting this plan; for, when breaking through the French line\nof battle, the latter reserved their fire until his ships should swing\nround at their anchors; which, of course, having anchored by the stern,\ndid not take place, and they lost their opportunity of raking his ships.\n\nThe Malta stone when first quarried is soft, but hardens by exposure. It\nis commonly worked in lathes in various beautiful forms, such as vases,\nbalustrades, &c. The Palazzos of the Grand Knights are rich in\narchitecture, generally quadrangles. The churches and public buildings\nare also very fine, and some of the monuments of the knights are\nbeautiful; altogether the city is very handsome. The ditch, before\nreferred to, had been converted by the knights into a beautiful garden,\nthe soil of which had all been conveyed from Sicily in ships; and the\nwalks had been so skilfully laid out as to convey a strong impression of\nextent.\n\nWhile at Malta I was recommended for the appointment of Pay-master of my\nregiment, which I accepted, my prospects of promotion during peace being\nremote; and I proceeded to England, on leave of absence, on board a post\noffice packet. This vessel was obliged to put in for repairs at\nGibraltar, where she was detained eight days; affording me a fine\nopportunity for examining that celebrated fortress.\n\nThe neck of land which connects it with Spain is only 400 yards wide,\nover which the rock rises with a perpendicular face to a great height.\nTwo wide galleries—one over the other—have been excavated along this\nnorth face, through which port-holes have been cut out at intervals for\ncannon, commanding the neutral ground. The east side is impregnable from\nperpendicular rock. The defences towards the bay on the west and on the\nsouth sides are very strong. The length of the rock from north to south\nis about three miles. Toward the centre the high ridge of rock dips\nconsiderably, and here a battery has been placed; on visiting which I\nfound about 100 wild monkeys chattering. They jumped down the eastern\nface of the rock, catching stunted shrubs at intervals with their tails,\nuntil they reached the bottom. They are not allowed to be shot. The\npopulation of Gibraltar—about 16,000—is entirely dependent on rain for\ntheir supply of fresh water; but from flat roofs, and tanks under every\nhouse, besides large public reservoirs, they have sufficient and to\nspare for supplying ships of war.\n\nDuring my visit to England the 8th Regiment was removed from Malta to\nCorfù, one of the Ionian Islands, and previous to my rejoining it\noverland I made arrangements for a tour extending over several months\nthrough France, Switzerland, and Italy. Passing through Calais,\nBoulogne, Abbeville, Montreuil, Beauvois, and St. Denis, I entered\nParis, where I remained, in company with a brother officer, for a\nfortnight. Being resolved to see everything remarkable which time would\nadmit of during this tour, I worked hard, early and late. At this time\n(1819) Paris was not the beautiful city it has since become, and its\npopulation has now (1871) been more than doubled. The gutters were made\nin the centre of the streets, which were not kept over cleanly; there\nwere no footpaths—nor was the improved system of road-making by McAdam\nthen adopted. Oil lamps were attached to ropes suspended across the\nstreets, and early risers ran the risk of encountering shower baths of\nquestionable purity, ejected from the windows. Leaving Paris in a\nsouth-east direction, the ascent of Mount Jura commences from Dijon, a\ndistance of about 380 miles from Paris. Many of the old Roman roads\nstill remained, paved with large blocks of stone, which were very rough\ntravelling, and planted on each side with poplars or cypress. On\nreaching the summit of the road over the Jura Mountains you come\nsuddenly upon a most magnificent view—Mount Blanc, the range of Alps,\nthe lake and city of Geneva, Lausanne, the exit of the river Rhone from\nthe lake, and many other interesting objects. Days might be occupied in\ncontemplating such a view. Below Geneva, one and a-half miles, the Rhone\nforms a junction with the Arve. At this place was fought one of Julius\nCæsar’s great and decisive battles.\n\nLeaving Geneva the road skirts the northern shore of the beautiful and\nextensive lake of that name, passing through the picturesque town of\nLausanne. At the head of the lake lies the village of Vevay. Here I met\nwith two Irish gentlemen of most agreeable manners, and highly\nintelligent; and their plans being very similar to my own, we agreed to\ntravel together. It may be here remarked, that not until the end of two\nmonths afterwards was it discovered, from a casual observation, that all\nthree had been school-fellows. Proceeding up the valley of the Rhone the\ncelebrated Pass of the Simplon across the Alps, between Switzerland and\nItaly, is reached. After his great campaign in Italy, Napoleon I.\nordered this fine road to be made. The gradients are so easy that a\ncarriage may be trotted up nearly to the summit—above 8,000 feet over\nthe sea level—passing through a few short tunnels, where rocky spurs of\nthe mountain intervene. Here a monastery is situated, where the noble\ndogs are trained to search for lost travellers in the snow. No\ndescription is capable of conveying to the mind the magnificent scenery\nof the Alps, which is ever varying. At one point the road passes close\nto a perpendicular cleft in the mountain, said to be 1,000 feet deep,\nand only forty or fifty yards wide at the top. A rushing torrent can be\nheard from the bottom, but in total darkness.\n\nAfter crossing the Simplon the first Italian town is Duomo Dossola;\nafter which the road passes along the shore of Lake Maggiore—the scenery\nstill being beautiful. The small island of Isola Bella is situated in\nthis lake, and is quite unique. On its summit stands a palazzo, of\nItalian architecture, surrounded by three broad terraces, below each\nother, down to the water’s edge, and planted in a most tasteful and\nornamental manner. Under the palace there is an extensive natural cave,\nin which is a spring of running water. This cave is formed into a\ngrotto, embellished with coral and shell work, and must be a delightful\nretreat during the heat of summer.\n\nOn the shore opposite Isola Bella is situated the colossal bronze statue\nof Prince Carlo Borromeo, a Bishop or Cardinal. The pedestal is\nthirty-six feet high, and the statue seventy-two feet, in all 108 feet.\nThe figure appears in Roman costume, with a Bible in the left hand. The\ninterior is ascended by ladders, and it is said that eight persons could\nsit within the head. This statue was erected by the inhabitants of Milan\nin gratitude for the devoted labours of the Prince during the great\nplague which visited that city three or four centuries back.\n\nTravellers enter Milan through a beautiful marble triumphal arch,\nerected in honour of Napoleon. The Duomo or Cathedral is a wonderful\nbuilding of white marble, the façade of which was not completed until he\nhad conquered Italy, although the remainder of the building, which has\nbeen very costly, had been commenced in the year 1386. At the top of\neach pinnacle, and in various recesses, are placed marble statues, said\nto be 3,000 in number. This building should be viewed at night during\nthe full moon, when it has the appearance of ivory, and is a sight\nrarely equalled.\n\nBeing desirous of visiting Venice, I left my fellow-travellers at Milan;\nhaving arranged to rejoin them at Florence, I proceeded through the\nvalley of the Po, by way of Bergamo, Breschia, Peschiera, Verona, and\nPadua, from whence I crossed the Lagoon to Venice.\n\nThe Province of Lombardy is very beautiful, situated between the Alps\nand Apennines, and watered by many rivers. The country generally is\ndivided into square blocks, and extensively irrigated. These blocks are\nsurrounded by mulberry trees planted at regular intervals, and grape\nvines are festooned from tree to tree. The fruit, being ripe at this\ntime, presented a rich and lovely scene. The fertility of the soil,\nconsequent upon irrigation, is very great, producing generally three\ncrops annually. The culture of silk is very valuable in many respects.\nIt employs a large number of women and children at their own homes, and\nthe annual export of silk, raw and manufactured, amounts to about four\nmillions sterling.\n\nVenice is built on a number of small islets, and partly on piles, and is\nsituated in the centre of a large lagoon at the head of the Adriatic\nSea, from which the lagoon is separated by two narrow strips of land\nstretching from opposite shores, leaving a narrow channel between for\nships to enter, which is strongly fortified. Instead of streets there\nare very numerous canals; and horses and carriages being useless, the\ninhabitants move about the streets in a picturesque description of boats\ncalled “gondolas.” The Palace of the Doges and the Cathedral of St.\nMarco are very fine buildings. The former is connected with the Hall of\nJustice by Lord Byron’s “Bridge of Sighs.” The monuments of the Doges,\nthe paintings, and the Grecian antique statues collected here, are\nbeautiful. In the Palazzo Manfrini there are many valuable paintings.\nThe three portraits by Georgione, so greatly extolled by Lord Byron in\nhis “Beppo,” are here. A curious anecdote respecting that poem has been\nrelated. It is said to have originated in a bet. A literary party,\nincluding Lord Byron, Sir Walter Scott, Tom Moore, and some foreigners\nof distinction, were dining together at Venice, when the conversation\nturned upon the flexibility or inflexibility of modern languages for the\npurposes of “colloquial poetry.” A general opinion was expressed that\nthe English language was the least adapted. Lord Byron, however,\nmaintained the contrary, and proposed a bet to produce a short poem in\n_that_ style, within twenty-four hours, against any other like poem that\ncould be found in any language. The bet was accepted, and resulted in\nhis writing “Beppo.” The umpire declared that Lord Byron had won his\nwager.\n\nLeaving Venice, the road to Florence passes through Ferrara and Bologna.\nHere the Campo Santo, or burial ground, is worth visiting; it contains\nmany handsome monuments, and the gateway at the entrance is fine—the\npillars of which are surmounted by colossal marble statues of “Time” and\n“Death.” Exquisite paintings are also to be seen here.\n\nCrossing the Apennines, you pass a spot called Pietra Mala, where gas\nescapes from the earth through small fissures, which were burning at the\ntime. The flame did not rise above five or six inches, but varies\naccording to the state of the atmosphere, and it spread over about half\nan acre of ground.\n\nI rejoined my fellow-travellers at Florence, where I remained ten days.\nThis is a most delightful city, containing a variety of interesting\nobjects. The Palazzo Pitti—the then Archducal residence—contains some of\nthe most valuable paintings and sculptures to be found anywhere—the\nlatter including the Venus de Medicis and Apollo Belvedere. Costly works\nin Mosaics and Cameos are produced at Florence, where artists in such\nworks are very skilful. The Duomo, or Cathedral, is a fine building, and\nthe fountains are ornamental.\n\nPassing through Arezzo, Trasimene (the scene of a great battle),\nPerugia, Spoleto, Terni, you enter Rome—the Eternal City. The travellers\nhere remained a fortnight working hard to examine the objects of highest\ninterest. The first attraction was the Cathedral of St. Peter, which\ntook 150 years to build, at a cost of forty-five millions of crowns; and\nhere you are lost in wonder at the magnitude of its proportions, 569\nfeet long and 487 feet high. On the right hand, as you enter, you see a\nbaptismal font, supported by two angels of a miniature size to\nappearance, compared with other objects around; but when you approach\nthem they are colossal. In the nave there are twelve elevated recesses,\nin each of which stands a statue of one of the Apostles. A ladder stood\nagainst one of them, to enable a workman to do some repairs. As he stood\nin the recess his head reached to the knee of the statue. The size of\neach object is so admirably adjusted that nothing seems disproportioned.\nThere are twelve side-chapels—six on each side of the nave; and over\neach altar is placed a copy, in Mosaic, of some celebrated painting.\nThey measured fifteen feet by twelve feet high. The first examined by\nour travellers was a copy of the transfiguration, by Raphael. One of\nthem, who had long promised himself a feast in viewing that picture, was\nin raptures, and it was some time before he discovered that it was a\nMosaic copy—the original being in the Vatican. The High Altar, an\nelevation, I think, of 104 feet, is grand. In the Piazza in front, 1,000\nfeet long, stands an ancient obelisk brought from Egypt, being a single\npiece of granite, eighty-three feet high, and two handsome fountains;\nthe piazza being enclosed on two sides by stately semi-circular\ncolonnades of four columns abreast, sixty feet high, and 372 in number.\n\nThe next object of attraction was the Colosseum. The place which once\nechoed the shouts of 100,000 persons was now silent. It should be viewed\nby moonlight. It is a very ancient and wonderful structure. The Vatican\nis an extensive pile of buildings, situated close to St. Peter’s Church.\nWhen our travellers reached the principal entrance, the hall was\ncrowded, and they saw Pope Pius VII. descending the staircase, leaning\non Cardinal Gonsalvi. The crowd all knelt except the three strangers,\nwho stood uncovered, to whom the Pope made a distinct bow.\n\nThe treasures of art contained in the Vatican are so numerous as to\nbaffle description. The studios of Canova and Thorvaldsen were visited,\nas also those of the most skilful artists in Mosaics and Cameos. Many of\nthe antiquities deserve close inspection—the Columns of Antonine and\nTrajan; the Triumphal Arches of Septimus Severus, Titus, and\nConstantine; the Capitol and Tarpeian Rock; the Temples of Concord,\nJupiter Stater, Anthony and Faustina, and of Peace, the prison in which\nSt. Peter was confined.\n\nFrom Rome to Naples you pass through Frascati, Velletri, Frosinone,\nPontecorvo, and Capua, once the winter quarters of Hannibal and his\narmy. Shortly after leaving Rome you cross the Pontine Marshes,\nextending south about thirty or forty miles, which infect the air to\nsuch a degree in summer as to resemble a plague. Although apparently\nfertile, it is almost depopulated, and with few habitations. The malaria\narises from stagnant swamps, and their few inhabitants are wretched\nobjects, emaciated and pot-bellied, generally dying prematurely from\ndropsy. Few efforts in modern times had been made to drain them, the\nresources of the Pontifical Government being absorbed in unnecessary\nchurches and processions.\n\nA large body of banditti, generally prisoners, escaped from the galleys,\nand then, supposed to number about 400, infested the neighbouring\nmountains; and several gibbets were seen at intervals on the road, at\nplaces where murders had been committed by them. A few days previously\nthey entered the town of Tivoli and carried off two of the principal\ninhabitants, for whose ransom they demanded 3,000 crowns, and the\nGovernment seemed quite unable to suppress those disorders.\n\nThe situation of Naples, with its magnificent Bay, is much to be\nadmired. The Royal “Museum Borbonico” contains objects of the highest\ninterest—a vast number of articles of ancient glass, mostly Egyptian,\nSicilian Vases, &c.; and the collections from Herculaneum and Pompeii,\nconsisting of ancient instruments, utensils, female ornaments, and\nhousehold articles found in those cities, and recently removed here from\nthe museum at Portici, are quite unique. The Grottos of Posillipo and\ndel Cane are close to Naples. In the latter, a noxious gas is so\npowerful that nothing living can exist within it. Dogs held by cords\nentering into it four or five feet become insensible, and are dragged\nout. The tomb of Virgil is near this place. The ancient manuscripts\nbrought from Herculaneum are like pieces of charcoal about a foot long.\nI saw a person trying to unroll one of them. He used an apparatus like a\nminiature windlass, with a number of fine threads hanging from the\nbarrel, under which the manuscript was placed. When the end of the roll\nwas found, those threads were attached to it by means of scraps like\ngoldbeaters’ leaf, and then most carefully wound up until more scraps\nwere required. Many gaps were left, and in most cases the task was\nhopeless. I was informed that the matter hitherto deciphered from those\npapyri was not of much interest.\n\nAn early visit was made to Herculaneum and Pompeii, on Mount Vesuvius.\nAfter being buried in lava or ashes for 1,600 years their discovery was\nremarkable. A nobleman residing near Portici, a spot of high elevation,\nthought that if he could penetrate the various beds of lava by sinking a\nshaft he might find water. After sinking about seventy feet, the workmen\ncame upon a flight of marble steps, which, being followed, led into a\ntheatre in Herculaneum. There had been a statue near this place, which\nhad been thrown down, and in the lava which had flown over it was found\na fine cast of the statue. The theatre was excavated, and some other\nbuildings, but the city having been destroyed by lava, it was too costly\nto make very extensive excavations, and everything perishable was\ndestroyed by the burning lava.\n\nPompeii had been buried in ashes, and was situated on a plain, at the\nfoot of Vesuvius. A vineyard had been planted over its site. On\nploughing the land nearly a century back, the workmen were obstructed by\na stone wall; and on excavations being made, houses were discovered\nwhich proved to be part of the ancient city of Pompeii. When visited by\nme a large portion had been cleared. Its overthrow had evidently taken\nthe inhabitants by surprise, for many skeletons were found in the\nhouses. One of them had been laid prostrate on his face, with a bunch of\nkeys in one hand and some coins in the other. Many signs and names over\nshops remained, and in the streets paved with lava the ruts of cart\nwheels were visible. Fresco paintings on the walls still remained; and\nalso the inscriptions on tombs in the burial-ground. There were some\ntemples, but of no great magnitude, and the houses generally had but one\nstory.\n\nThe next visit was made to Vesuvius, and I having taken leave with\nregret of my fellow-travellers and school-fellows, whose journey\nterminated at Naples, proceeded to the Mount, accompanied by three\nforeign gentlemen—a Russian, a Pole, and a Dane. At this time (1819) the\neruption of the volcano was very active, and an English naval officer\nhad his arm broken on the previous day by a falling stone, owing to an\nunexpected change of wind; it being necessary during eruptions to\napproach the crater on the windward side. The party slept for a few\nhours at a hermitage half way up the ascent, in order to obtain a view\nof the rising sun over the Bay of Naples, which is certainly a most\nglorious sight. From this place the ascent is very rough—over\nsharp-pointed, heated lava; a stream of which, about six feet wide and\nfour miles long, was then flowing, falling over a cliff and filling a\nvalley beyond. Seen in the dark it was a bright red colour, but by\ndaylight it was of a dull dark colour. A piece of it was scraped out,\nand the impression of a coin was made on it. The crater was nearly half\na mile in diameter, and threw up large stones and ashes to a great\nheight, accompanied by a fearfully roaring noise. The travellers were\nenabled to look down towards the bottom of the crater, but from the\nconfusion of flames, gases, and smoke, no correct idea could be formed\nof its depth. The stream of lava was flowing from a hole at the side of\nthe cone. The stones thrown up generally fell nearly perpendicularly,\nbut the ashes are blown to leeward, generally towards the east, where\nthe descent is extremely steep, and attended with some little danger.\nThe ascent of the mount occupies several hours, but the descent on this\nside is effected with great rapidity. The travellers agreed to attempt\nit. You step with one foot on deep fine ashes, which slide down with you\ntwenty or thirty feet; you then put down the other foot, sliding down in\nlike manner, and so on alternately until you reach the bottom. The\ndanger consists in over-balancing yourself, when you must roll down to\nthe bottom—some 5,000 or 8,000 feet, I think—but by holding your head\nand shoulders well back you avoid this.\n\nFrom Naples I travelled alone through Calabria and Apulia, across the\nSouthern Apennines to the Adriatic Sea—having passed over the place\nwhere so many bushels of rings were collected from the fingers of the\nRoman senators who had fallen in battle. On my arrival at Barletta, I\nfound a British gun-boat bound for Corfù, in which I embarked for that\nisland.\n\nThis most delightful tour, which can never be forgotten, was thus\naccomplished. Travellers seeking pleasure will visit France; those\npartial to magnificent scenery and tranquillity, Switzerland; but for\nantiquities, and the arts, you must visit Italy.\n\nI rejoined my regiment at Corfù, one of the Ionian Islands, situated\nopposite the coast of Albania, where the celebrated Ali Pasha, of\nJanina, nominally, ruled as Viceroy under the Sultan of Constantinople.\nHe was said to possess in his treasury £8,000,000 sterling, and at that\ntime contemplated shaking off the yoke of Turkey. He requested an\ninterview with Colonel (subsequently Sir) Charles Napier, then on the\nstaff at Corfù, and afterwards Commander-in-Chief in India; and it was\nbelieved that the Pasha proposed to him to raise and command a military\nforce to accomplish his object. It was further said that Colonel Napier\nagreed to the proposal, provided the sum of £1,000,000 sterling was\nplaced at his disposal for the purpose. This, however, the Pasha\ndeclined, being very parsimonious. He shortly afterwards rebelled, and\nlost his treasure and his life.\n\nThe citadel of Corfù was strong, but its value as a military post was\ndoubtful, as fleets could easily pass into the Adriatic unperceived\nduring the night. The chief products of the island were olive oil and\nwine. At this time a violent earthquake took place in the middle of the\nnight. I was awakened from a sound sleep by the shaking of my bed; the\nchurch bells were ringing from the concussions; and the inhabitants were\nscreaming and rushing into the streets. Many walls were fractured, but\nno houses were overthrown at Corfù. This shock, however, was very\npowerful throughout the Ionian Islands, and nearly 800 houses were\noverthrown or seriously damaged by it at Zante. Shortly afterwards,\nColonel Sir Patrick Ross was desirous of making an extensive tour, to\noccupy a year, through Egypt, Nubia, Palestine, Asia Minor,\nConstantinople, Thessaly, Macedonia, and Peloponnesus, and invited\nColonel Duffy, Dr. Cartan, and myself to join him. We all agreed to do\nso, and our plans being arranged, we applied to the Lord High\nCommissioner for leave of absence. He declined to grant it, to our great\nregret, on the ground that, as the proposed tour would be through\ncountries subject to Turkey and Greece, and the latter country being\nthen in a state of insurrection, we should be subject to insults, which\nmight embarrass the English Government.\n\nThe Greek insurrection having now become very general, the inhabitants\nof Zante manifested a strong disposition to join in the revolt. The 8th\nRegiment was suddenly ordered to embark for that island, having only\nfour hours’ notice. The officers had only time to pack up their\nportmanteaus, leaving the remainder of their luggage behind, and some\nofficers who had been out shooting were obliged to embark in their\nshooting-dresses.\n\nThe regiment arrived at Zante after a passage of eight days in a ship\ndensely crowded, which had to put back to renew its supply of water. It\nrained nearly the whole time, and the heat below being intolerable, the\ngreater number remained on deck night and day. At this time the\ninsurrection was in full activity, and the Zantiates in a state of great\nexcitement. Shortly afterwards a cannonading was heard at sea, and a\nTurkish ship of war came in sight, chased by sixteen Greek armed\nmerchant ships. The Turk, having been crippled in his rigging, found\nthat he could not weather a certain headland, and observing the red\ncoats of a few soldiers, who had been sent there to maintain the\nquarantine laws, he ran his ship ashore to obtain their protection. He\nhad fought a most gallant action. For nearly two hours those sixteen\nships had in succession been pouring in broadsides, raking in crossing\nhis bows, firing again on the opposite side, and again raking in\ncrossing his stern, and yet he never struck his colours. When the\ncannonading had ceased, the peasantry commenced firing on the Turk with\ntheir long muskets. And when the soldiers were pushing them back—forming\na cordon—they began firing on the troops. I happened to be there mounted\nas a spectator, and recommended the young officer to collect his men on\na neighbouring hill, and defend himself as well as he could, while I\ngalloped into town, four miles distant, for reinforcements. These soon\narrived, and quickly dispersed the mob. Three soldiers, however, had\nbeen killed and their bodies barbarously mutilated.\n\nWhen the report reached Corfù, Sir Frederick Adam came down, declared\nmartial law, and held a Court of High Commission under the Venetian\nlaws, which had been guaranteed to the Islanders; and after a very\npatient investigation, selected four of the principal ringleaders, who\nwere hung two hours after sentence was passed.\n\nThe Ionian Greeks had always been in the habit of carrying long muskets\nand pistols, even when pursuing their daily labour. Sir Frederick Adam\nimmediately issued a proclamation for disarming the population. In every\ndistrict, town, and village the inhabitants were ordered, under severe\npenalties, to bring in their arms, which were piled in heaps and burned\nin the presence of English officers appointed for that purpose. A few\nyears previously, the French, with a garrison of three regiments, had\nattempted the same thing and failed.\n\nSome time afterwards I was seated at a window overlooking the bay, and\nheard a distant heavy cannonading; presently a perfect cloud of ships\ncame in sight with all sail crowded, which proved to be Greek armed\nmerchantmen, numbering ninety sail. They were pursued by the Turkish\nfleet, consisting of sixty men of war, including four sail of the line\nand twelve heavy frigates. Just as the two fleets were abreast of the\nbay, a violent squall of wind came on, and the Turkish fleet entered the\nbay, allowing the Greeks to escape. This they should not have done, as,\nin such weather, heavy ships possess very decided advantages.\n\nAbout this time, Major-General Sir John Malcolm, K.C.B., arrived at\nZante from Persia, at which Court he had been British Minister. He\naccepted an invitation to become an honorary member of the mess of the\n8th Regiment, and remained about a fortnight. He related many\ninteresting particulars respecting his journey across the Syrian Desert\nto Cairo in his own curricle, he being the first person who had ever\ntravelled this route by such a conveyance. He said he had encountered no\ndifficulties, and had found it a most convenient and comfortable mode of\ntravelling.\n\nThe Zante currant is a most valuable product, and is there extensively\ncultivated. There are two parallel ranges of limestone hills in that\nisland, and the valley between is a rich black loam, varying from three\nto four miles wide, and twenty-five miles long, or from seventy-five to\n100 square miles. This valley is wholly cultivated for that plant. When\nthe fruit is ripe, oblong patches of ground, about twenty feet by\nthirty, are carefully levelled, wetted, plastered over, and when dry,\nswept clean from dust; the fruit is spread to dry on these in single\nlayers, and awnings are drawn over them at night to protect them from\nthe dews. The black surface attracts the heat; the fruit is generally\ndry and fit to pack for market in about ten days, in hogsheads weighing\n1,000 lbs. (a milliardo), and is usually repacked in England in small\nboxes.\n\nAfter passing a year at Zante, the military authorities were desirous of\nremoving the 8th Regiment to Cephalonia, but the necessary shipping not\nbeing available, Captain Hamilton of the “Cambrian” Frigate, volunteered\nto take them there, inviting half the officers into his own cabin, the\nremainder being guests in the wardroom.\n\nThe regiment landed at Argostoli, the capital of the island, situated on\na fine harbour—Colonel Charles Napier being then Commandant. It is the\nlargest of the Ionian group, and produces the Zante currant, wine, and\nolives. An elevated range of hills divides the island from north-east to\nsouth-west, cutting off the two sides from intercourse with each other,\nthere being neither roads across the range or wheel carriages. Colonel\nNapier, with his usual energy, caused a fine road of easy gradients to\nbe made over the range, and induced some of the inhabitants to introduce\nwheel carriages, greatly to their own benefit. There is a remarkable\n_Cyclopian_ wall, with twelve projecting towers, across the neck of a\npeninsula, about a quarter of a mile in length, in the northern part of\nthe island. One stone measured nineteen feet long, four feet deep, and\nfour feet high. Three courses of the wall and towers, twelve feet high,\nremained perfect. It was probably about 3,000 years old.\n\nA party, including myself, proceeded to visit Ithaca, a narrow channel\nof about seven miles separating it from Cephalonia. This visit was full\nof interest.\n\nIthaca is a small island in shape like an hour-glass. The far-famed\ncastle of Ulysses is situated on this elevated narrow neck, and commands\na most magnificent view, second to none in the eyes of persons of\nclassical tastes. From that spot you behold Sappho’s Leap (Cape\nLeucadia); the River Meander, on the Coast of Epirus; Cape Lepanto; the\nsnow-capped mountains of Albania—Mounts Parnassus, Pindas, and Olympus;\nthe Suitors’ Island, Ulysses’ Cave, and the spot where the Fountain of\nArethusa is situated in Ithaca. Of the ruins of Ulysses Castle there are\nstill considerable remains. The walls are Cyclopian, the stones of which\nweigh generally eight or ten tons each, and form all sorts of angles so\nadmirably joined together as to present a level outer surface, with very\nsmall openings at the joints, and without any cement, somewhat like a\ntesselated pavement. This is the most antique description of Cyclopian\nwall. Those of more recent periods are cut square or oblong with smooth\nfaces, and in the most recent the edges are levelled.\n\nIt was an ancient custom of the Greeks to bury their dead wearing their\ntrinkets, and coins were placed in their mouths to pay their ferry\nacross the Styx to Charon. These were of gold, silver, or copper,\naccording to the position in life of deceased. A place of interment was\ndiscovered not far from the castle; it was a bare, smooth, sandstone\nrock of considerable extent. The graves were excavated about three feet\ndeep, and the stone slabs covering them were so accurately fitted, the\njoints also being covered with grass, that it required the most skilful\nand practised eye to detect them. An English officer stationed on the\nisland had made a most valuable collection of these articles. He\nseparated from his most choice assortment the coins of the period of\nAlexander the Great, as being “modernissimo”—too recent to deserve a\nplace in it.\n\nShortly after returning to Argostoli, a severe shock of an earthquake\ntook place. The regiment was standing in a line on parade, and the line\nhad a serrated appearance. The tiles on the roofs of houses were moving,\nand a mounted officer had to dismount his horse which was trembling in\nevery limb. The damages occasioned, however, were not very serious.\n\nAbout this time, Lord Byron arrived at Argostoli in his yacht from\nItaly, accompanied by Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Trelawney, Count Gamba, and an\nItalian medical gentleman. He retained his yacht for about three weeks,\nand frequently entertained the officers of the regiment on board,\nsometimes until late hours. He was very temperate on such occasions;\ndrinking claret and water, or soda water. His conversation was usually\nfull of interest. Trelawney used to relate many of his wild stories\nduring his residence for some years in Arabia, amongst the Wahabee\ntribes. One evening some one referred to Lord Byron having swam across\nthe Hellespont, from Sestos to Abydos; but Trelawney made light of it,\nand challenged Lord Byron to swim with him across the channel from\nCephalonia to Ithaca. The challenge was accepted, but afterwards\nTrelawney drew back. At the end of three weeks, Lord Byron discharged\nhis yacht, and took a villa about four miles from the town. He usually\nrode in in the afternoon, and took his wine at the mess, after which he\nfrequently joined small parties of officers in their rooms to smoke\ncigars. Lord Byron received a letter from Lady Byron at his villa, when\ntwo of the officers were with him, informing him of the illness of his\ndaughter Ada. He shed tears on that occasion, and appeared to be deeply\naffected.\n\nAt the mess the conversation usually turned upon the Greek insurrection\nthen raging, and the character of their leaders. These were generally\nunprincipled men, who had numerous followers while they obtained\nabundance of plunder; but when that attraction failed they were deserted\nfor more fortunate commanders. Numerous bodies, in the field one day,\nwere scattered the next; and the central Government had no organized\nforce on which they could rely.\n\nLord Byron was fully satisfied as to the correctness of this\ndescription. He said, however, that he felt so deeply interested in\ntheir cause from admiration of the ancient glories of their race, that\nhe had determined to place himself and all his means at their disposal.\nAs to the manner, however, in which he could best accomplish his object,\nhe was desirous of receiving advice. The general opinion was that he\nshould raise a permanent force, to be regularly paid and trained, to be\nalways held at the disposal of the central Government.\n\nSome time previous to this, the Suliotes, an Albanian tribe of Greeks,\nobtained information that Ali Pasha of Yanina was preparing to burn\ntheir villages as a punishment for some outrage they had committed; the\nwhole population, therefore, abandoned their homes, and took refuge in\nCephalonia. The small Peninsula of Asso was assigned for their temporary\nresidence, and there they encamped. Their number, including women and\nchildren, was about 2,000, and they could muster above 400 fighting men.\nThese readily entered into Lord Byron’s service, and formed the nucleus\nof the force he afterwards placed at the disposal of the Greek\nGovernment. They were remarkably fine men, and their costume was quite\npicturesque.\n\nDr. Kennedy, the staff surgeon at Cephalonia, was very desirous of\ndelivering a course of lectures on the “Evidences of Christianity” in\nthe presence of Lord Byron, who accepted his invitation for that\npurpose; and Colonel Napier offered one of his rooms for the occasion.\nThere were only eight persons invited to be present—namely, Colonel\nNapier, Lord Byron, Dr. Kennedy, Colonel Duffy, Lieutenant Kennedy of\nthe Royal Engineers, Dr. Cartan, a Commissariat Officer, and myself. The\nDoctor’s lectures were most interesting and valuable, and Lord Byron\noccasionally argued on various points. He did not believe, however, in\nprophecy, in miracles, or in the inspiration of the Holy Scriptures; and\nat the conclusion of the third lecture he excused himself from further\nattendance, complimenting Dr. Kennedy by saying that _he was the most\ngentleman-like Christian with whom he had ever held a discussion upon\nthe subject_. The other persons named continued their attendance to the\nend of the course of eight lectures.\n\nAt this time I obtained leave of absence to England, and Lord Byron\nentrusted me with the manuscript of the last portion of any poem he ever\nwrote, namely, the three last cantos of “Don Juan,” to be delivered to\nSir John Cam. Hobhouse. I had a handsome portable brass bedstead which\nLord Byron was desirous of having, and on that bedstead he died, in the\nfortress of Missalonghi, opposite the coast of Cephalonia, which\nwithstood a long siege by the Turks.\n\nIt may here be mentioned the very general opinion held as to the\ncharacter of the belligerents. The Greeks were considered a lawless\nrace, in whose veracity or integrity no reliance could be placed. The\nTurks, on the contrary, although sometimes fanatical, were held to be a\npeople of integrity, on whose word you might rely. Neither, however,\nwere wanting in bravery.\n\nThe 8th Regiment was ordered home, and was stationed in the Citadel of\nPlymouth in the year 1826, where I rejoined it. While there, the great\nstorm took place, by which twenty-seven ships were wrecked in Plymouth\nharbour, and the military barrack partially unroofed. At one spot eight\nships were so jammed together that it was difficult to distinguish the\nwreck of one from the other. The storm commenced towards evening with\ngreat fury, and while I was on my way to the mess-room I met an old\nbrother officer hurrying to get on board his ship before dark, as it was\nto sail next morning for Demerara. I persuaded him to dine with me at\nthe mess, and that night his ship parted in two at the water-line, the\nupper works being new.\n\nDuring the next year the regiment proceeded to Glasgow. At a previous\nperiod it had been employed there in suppressing some riots, and had\nfallen into bad odour. This had not then been forgotten. Great distress,\nhowever, prevailed at this time, and the officers and men subscribed a\nday’s pay towards their relief, which created a most amicable feeling\ntowards them.\n\nAfter passing a very agreeable year in Glasgow, the regiment proceeded\nto Londonderry, in the north of Ireland. While there, the great Ordnance\nSurvey of Ireland, under Colonel Colby, R.E., was in progress; and a\n_base line_ eight miles long—said to be the longest ever previously\naccomplished—was then completed. As a great scientific work it is very\nremarkable. It was necessarily on a dead level, bearing east and west,\nand was constructed by a combination of different metals, sliding in\ngrooves, so that their expansion or contraction, caused by changes of\ntemperature, indicated the true medium.\n\nThe great length of this line enabled the surveyors to take very distant\nbearings with perfect accuracy. At the same time, Mr. Drummond, of the\nRoyal Engineers, discovered the celebrated light named after him, by\nmeans of which, exhibited from the summit of a high mountain in the\nCounty Tipperary, its accurate bearing was taken from the base line—a\ndistance of 150 English miles. By this means, also, a bearing in\nScotland was obtained for the first time, thus tying in the surveys of\nScotland and Ireland. The survey of Ireland was constructed on a very\nlarge scale, and included the acreage of arable, pasture, mountain, and\nbog lands, besides being a geological survey. And it is a curious fact,\nthat when the periodical work of twenty or thirty parties were sent in,\nthe chief engineer sitting in his office could detect the slightest\nerror in any one of them, and send it back for correction, so that the\nwhole should tie in with the most perfect accuracy.\n\nLeaving Londonderry, the regiment was next quartered at Enniskillen,\nsituated on Loch Erne. The scenery in this neighbourhood is beautiful,\nand the hospitality of its numerous gentry could not be surpassed. Sir\nHenry Brooke, Bart., had a splendid mansion, including forty bedrooms.\nThere were fox-hounds and harriers, and the hunting parties generally\nincluded three or four ladies. There was excellent shooting, and any\nnumber of guns with gamekeepers; good salmon and trout fishing, with\nplenty of tackle; and billiard tables. There was a succession of company\nduring the season, each party being invited for three or four days, with\nhorses and carriages for their use. The tenantry had been living on the\nestate for three or four generations, many of them wealthy, and to crown\nall the host and hostess were most amiable and accomplished persons.\n\nA general order to the troops serving in Ireland was issued at this\ntime, directing an officer and two sergeants from each regiment to\nproceed to Dublin to be instructed in the broadsword exercise, which\nthey were afterwards to teach to the officers and men of their\nrespective regiments. I volunteered to proceed on this duty, and became\nan honorary member of the mess of the Rifle Brigade. A very eminent\nswordsman, Mr. Michael Angelo, was the instructor at the Riding School\nof the Royal Barracks. The instruction lasted for four months, and was a\nvery fine exercise, bringing every muscle into action. But the\nregimental drills afterwards were very troublesome, and occupied much\ntime.\n\nFrom Enniskillen the regiment proceeded to Newry, and not long\nafterwards from thence to Dublin. This station was very popular with the\nofficers, from its very extensive circle of good society. At this time I\nhad turned my thoughts towards the Australian Colonies, and sought\nadvice from Sir Thos. Brisbane, in whose brigade I had formerly served.\nHe strongly recommended New South Wales, of which colony he had recently\nbeen Governor. It may here be mentioned that when an honorary member of\nthe 8th mess in Lower Canada, when encamped on the frontier of the\nUnited States, his conversation frequently turned upon the subject of\nastronomy, and he expressed a wish, when his military services were not\nrequired, to proceed to New South Wales, for the purpose of observing\nthe transit of the planet Venus. This wish was gratified; and he caused\nthe observatory at Parramatta, near Sydney, to be erected for that\npurpose.\n\nDuring the year 1829, I came to the decision of retiring from the army,\nafter a military service of upwards of twenty-two years. I was permitted\nto sell a company, but was delayed for four months, during the last\nillness of His Majesty George IV., as no commissions could be issued\nuntil the following reign. It is hardly necessary to say that parting\nfrom many old and valued friends was very painful to me, and previous to\nmy departure the Colonel of my regiment, the late Hon. Sir George\nCathcart, accompanied by the two Majors, waited on me and presented me\nwith a handsome silver breakfast service in the name of the regiment.\n\nThe colony of Western Australia was being formed at this time; and the\nlarge concessions of land offered to the settlers by the Government on\neasy terms induced me to select that colony for my future residence. Two\nofficers of the Rifle Brigade, Captains Molloy and Byrne, proposed to\naccompany me. And it was agreed that they should join me in purchasing a\nship, to be loaded with wooden houses and boats, and to convey the three\nparties and their establishments to the new settlement.\n\nI proceeded to Gothenburgh, in Sweden, for that purpose, where a fine\nship of 500 tons was purchased, and during her repairs a cargo of wooden\nhouses was framed and loaded. I then proceeded with a fine Swedish crew\nto Christiansand in Norway, where a large number of boats were shipped.\nThe character and scenery both of Sweden and Norway reminded me of Nova\nScotia, from their extensive pine forests, numerous lakes, and granite\nrocks. Intemperance was prevalent from the use of ardent spirits, the\nclimate being cold; and the observation occurred to me that in warmer,\nwine-producing countries intoxication is much less frequent.\n\nThe ship proceeded to Cowes, in the Isle of Wight, and I by Post-Office\nPacket to Harwich, on the coast of England. I travelled from thence into\nDerbyshire, where the family of my affianced wife resided at Holme Hall,\nand was there happily married. I had been desirous of avoiding the\nfrequent inconvenience of moving about with a family while in the army,\nand my wife was willing to share my fortunes in Australia.\n\nFrom the delay referred to, arising from the King’s illness, I did not\narrive in Western Australia until June, 1830. The passage from England\nwas favourable, although tedious, only touching at the Cape de Verde\nIslands. And on arrival at the anchorage at Fremantle, I and my wife\nwere hospitably received at the house of Mr. George Leake, the leading\nmerchant at that time.\n\nAn entirely new career now lay before me, but I had health and strength\nfor the undertaking. I was fortunate in finding shelter in a colony only\nfounded the previous year. My less fortunate predecessors at an earlier\nperiod, finding neither houses or sheds, had to resort to tents; and\ntheir handsome furniture, including satin and gilt chairs, harps, grand\npianos (some of them afterwards gutted to make cupboards, &c.), lay\nexposed to all weathers on the beach. My first object was to find land\nfor a homestead within a moderate distance from Perth, the capital. But\nsuch lands had all been already selected; and although I was entitled\naccording to regulations to select 27,000 acres, in virtue of property\nand servants introduced, I found it necessary to purchase 5,000 acres on\nthe Swan River, about nine miles from Perth. The Governor, Sir James\nStirling, had a summer residence adjoining this land, the use of which\nhe offered to me until I could erect some temporary accommodation, and\nthe offer was thankfully accepted.\n\nThe purchased land was on the navigable part of the River Swan for\nboats, and my luggage and stores were conveyed to it by contract.\n\nI had brought out as servants nineteen souls, including one family; and\nnow hard work was to be done, in which I took my full share. In a short\ntime, temporary accommodation, including a small cottage, store, and\nhuts for the men, were erected; the luggage and stores under shelter,\nand a commencement made in clearing land for tillage.\n\nTroubles had to be surmounted at an early period. Not many months had\nelapsed when an alarm of fire was given at a late hour one evening,\nduring my absence at Perth, and the store, containing from twenty to\nthirty tons of provisions, luggage, furniture, &c., was in a blaze. As\nthe roof was of thatch and the building contained some gunpowder, it was\ndangerous to attempt saving anything—all was destroyed. The dwelling was\nwithin thirty feet of it, but the wind blew from it, and a providential\nshower of rain then falling saved that building. The origin of the fire\nwas not discovered, but a discontented servant was suspected. His\npassage from England had been provided, and he was under a written\nengagement, at moderate wages, to serve for three years; this he\nendeavoured to break without repaying his passage-money. However, he was\ndischarged, but was afterwards convicted, in another service, on a\nfelonious charge and transported.\n\nThere were some very fine alluvial flats, on the banks of the Swan, on\nwhich no live stock had been depastured. In conjunction with another\ngentleman I arranged, during the following season, to mow the land for\nhay, at that time worth £14 per ton. Three stacks, of fifty tons each,\nwere made; but the aborigines, not having seen anything of the sort\nbefore, were desirous of witnessing the effect of a large fire, and\nstuck firebrands into them—which made short work. They were all\ndestroyed.\n\nThe Governor, Sir James Stirling, undertook to lead an exploring party\nto examine the country between Perth and King George’s Sound, which was\nthen unknown. I and some other gentlemen entitled to select land\naccompanied him, also some surveyors. A couple of drays drawn by oxen,\nand loaded with provisions and some surveying instruments, accompanied\nthe party. The character of the country was very variable. After a few\ndays’ travelling, the cattle fed on some poisonous plants and several of\nthem died, at our camping place, during the night. One of the drays,\nsome provisions and instruments, were necessarily abandoned there.\nShortly afterwards, we struck on a river, then named the Williams,\nsituated in a fine and apparently extensive district. Some of the party\nproceeded up the valley about twenty miles the following day, and camped\nfor the night. I and another gentleman, however, strolled a couple of\nmiles from the camp, in a southerly direction, and returning northerly,\nwe felt satisfied that the river would bring us up and that we could not\nmiss the camp, even at night. The bed of the river at that time,\nhowever, was a succession of pools, and the long intervals between them\nwere thickly grassed. We thus crossed the river without knowing it,\nafter dusk, over one of those intervals, and lost ourselves. Thinking\nthere might be some extraordinary bend of the river, we walked on until\nmidnight, and then lay down to rest. There was no water and nothing\neatable except a morsel of cheese the size of a walnut, which we\ndivided. After consultation, we started at daylight on a due west\ncourse, hoping to cut the track made by Sir James Stirling’s party\ntravelling south. This we happily discovered towards evening, and rested\nfor the night. On the evening of the third day we rejoined the main\nparty, which had been searching for us, and had almost given us up as\nlost.\n\nIt was arranged that on the following day those entitled to select land\nshould again proceed up the Williams River for that purpose, accompanied\nby a surveyor, Sir James Stirling and the remainder of the party\nproceeding in a south direction to accomplish the chief object of the\nexpedition. On reaching a selected point on the river, the measurement\nwas to commence. The surveying instruments, chains, &c., had been\nabandoned where the bullocks died. The surveyor had a compass, but\ndistances had to be paced. Long frontages to the river were desirable,\nand long legs possessed an advantage—subject, however, to a final\nsurvey, when any surplus would be struck off from the back land. The\ngeneral course of the river was from S.W. to N.E., but very winding. A\ntree was marked on the river’s bank, from whence the surveyor started\ndue east, the paces being counted; but after pacing a mile, the river\nstill receding, a due north course was taken to strike the river again,\nand so on alternately east and north, until the required due east\ndirection was attained. This process gave me about ten miles of river\nfrontage, although the due east measurement was scarcely half that\ndistance.\n\nThe Williams district was undulating, well grassed, and the soil in the\nvicinity of the river excellent, producing abundance of sandal wood. A\nmob of about 200 kangaroos was started during the day, and some of the\nparty had a good gallop after them. About three days were occupied in\nmaking the selections, after which the surveyor was instructed on his\nreturn to Perth to explore a new country westward of that already\ntravelled.\n\nThe party started accordingly on a west course, and crossed Sir James\nStirling’s track. On the third day we passed over the Darling range—an\nelevation under 2,000 feet—a rough, stony country, heavily timbered, but\nwith little arable land. The following day we reached the coast, at the\nmouth of the River Murray. This was the third day the party had been\nwithout water, and the men made a rush to the river to drink, but found\nthe water to be salt. No efforts could avail to dissuade two of the\nparty from drinking immoderately, and one of them shortly afterwards\nbecame insane. Fresh water was soon found, and after two more days the\nparty reached Perth. The character of the land traversed on this\noccasion was very variable, but the proportion of bad country was in\nexcess.\n\nIn the early stage of the colony the deficiency of a circulating medium\nwas severely felt, and consequently few transactions could take place,\nexcept by means of barter. The Government regulations entitled settlers\nto claim land in consideration of the importation of servants,\nprovisions, agricultural implements, live stock, &c.; but no claim could\nbe made on account of capital in the shape of money. The settlers\ntherefore invested almost the whole of their resources in such articles\nas would entitle them to claim land. If you required a team of horses,\nthe person desirous of selling one did not want what you could offer in\nexchange, but wished for sheep. You then applied to an owner of sheep,\nwho desired something you did not possess; and frequently two or three\nexchanges were necessary before you could procure the articles you\nwanted—generally losing something on each exchange.\n\nUnder such circumstances, I proposed a scheme for the formation of a\nlocal bank, and was ably assisted by Mr. George Leake and a few other\nfriends possessing influence and property—but no cash.\n\nWe depended on the Commissariat issues for the Government expenditure\nfor supplies of coin. The necessary nominal capital was subscribed, and\nthe shareholders assembled to make the arrangements required for opening\nthe bank. At their request, I undertook the management of it, with a\nBoard of Directors. They issued their notes, and the benefits derived by\nthe public became manifest immediately. The bank was very successful. A\nsufficient supply of coin was gradually obtained from the Government\nexpenditure, and the shareholders for some time divided profits of forty\nper cent. on their _nominal_ capital, which was simply the credit of\ntheir names.\n\nThe system which enabled settlers to obtain enormous grants of land was\nfound in practice to be neither advantageous to those persons or to the\ncolony. They could not make a profitable use of them; they became a drag\nupon their resources to meet necessary expenditure, and the lands were\nlocked up from those who might have turned them to better account. One\nsettler, Mr. Peel, obtained 250,000 acres, with a right under certain\nconditions to claim a like additional quantity of land. The early\nsettlers introduced a large number of servants at their own expense,\ngenerally articled to serve for three years at moderate wages. Their\nemployers were inexperienced, not knowing how to apply their labour to\nthe best advantage. For a short time provisions reached famine prices,\nflour selling at two shillings and sixpence per pound. Servants would\nnot then accept their discharges, but when prices fell they broke their\nengagements, and instances have occurred of masters having become the\nservants of their former ploughmen.\n\nThe local Bank had been in existence about five years, to the great\nbenefit of the colony, when the Bank of Australasia proposed an\namalgamation; and, after due consideration, it was thought advisable for\nthe interests of the colony to secure the co-operation of that important\ncorporation. The Manager sent from London died before the Bank was\nopened, and the management of the new Bank was conferred on me.\n\nAn opinion prevailed in the colony that the interests of religion would\nbe greatly promoted were Western Australia erected into the See of a\nBishop, and I proposed a scheme to create an endowment for that object\nby means of subscriptions of land, to which I contributed 500 acres.\nAfter an interval of several years the object was happily accomplished\nby the appointment of an excellent man, Dr. Matthew Hale, formerly\nArchdeacon of Flinders, in South Australia, to be the first Bishop of\nWestern Australia.\n\nAfter an experience of another five years the Bank of Australasia came\nto the conclusion that their business in Western Australia was too\nlimited to justify their maintaining an isolated branch at Perth. It was\ntherefore ordered to be closed, and I was offered the management of\ntheir branch at Adelaide, in South Australia, which I accepted. Thus it\nfell to my lot to open and also to close two Banks.\n\nIt was with feelings of much pain that I made up my mind to leave a\ncolony in which I had resided for sixteen years. The interest felt in\nthe formation and progress of a new settlement became a tie binding\nsociety together. Being situated on a western coast, where the sea\nbreezes prevailed for nine months in the year, the climate was\nexcellent; and, although the average of the land was of an inferior\nquality, yet there was abundance of rich land for purposes of tillage.\n\nPrevious to my departure, I was gratified by receiving a flattering\naddress, signed by all the members of the Executive Council, the\nmagistrates, clergy, and many others, testifying to my zeal in promoting\nobjects of public utility.\n\nIn April, 1846, I and my family arrived in Adelaide, and assumed charge\nof the Bank of Australasia at that place, at that time temporarily\nsituated in Hindley Street. A new and excellent site was obtained in\nKing William Street shortly afterwards, on which handsome premises were\nerected. This ground, about ninety feet square, was purchased in\nexchange for 640 acres of excellent country land. To avoid the\ndifficulty of proving the signatures of a corporate body frequently\nchanging, the mode of conveyance chosen, being remarkable, is here\nmentioned. It was the old feudal system of “livery of seizin.” I went\nupon the land, pulled a twig off a tree, which I presented to the\npurchaser in the presence of witnesses, using a few formal words. The\ntransaction was recorded and registered, and thus conferred an\nindefeasible title in law.\n\nAt the period referred to, Adelaide was in a very primitive state and I\nactually lost myself for a short time within its boundaries. The streets\nand pathways were generally in their natural state, and from the traffic\nin wet weather foot passengers were up to their ankles in mud. St.\nJohn’s Church was like a barn; and, on my appointment as warden, I\ncollected a considerable sum to build a vestry, plaster the walls, and\nmake other improvements.\n\nNo superior school had been established for the education of boys at\nthat time, and I devoted all my spare time towards the attainment of\nthat object. I assembled a meeting of gentlemen, representing various\nreligious bodies, to consider the question, which met on two or three\noccasions. Several of them, however, strongly urged as a principle, that\nthere should be no religious teaching whatever. This principle was\nrejected by a large majority. I then secured the co-operation of a\ncommittee of twelve gentlemen, of which I was elected chairman, who\nagreed to form a proprietary grammar school on Church of England\nprinciples, but open to all denominations. I collected £2,000 from\neighty subscribers of £25 each, and after a delay of four or five months\nthe school was at length opened in the school-room of Trinity Church.\nThe Revs. W. J. Woodcock and James Farrell and Mr. G. W. Hawkes were\nmost energetic coadjutors.\n\nShortly afterwards I suggested to Captain Allen—a munificent friend to\neducation—that as the school had made a fair start, I hoped some of our\nwealthy friends would push it on, as I wished to secure a good site and\nerect buildings. In this he concurred, saying he would give £1,000 and\nthought Mr. Graham would do the same. I pointed out that Mr. Graham was\nin England and not accessible, but hinted that the £1,000 might be\nincreased to £2,000, which Captain Allen at once agreed to. He\nafterwards increased his donations to upwards of £7,000.\n\nThe Lord Bishop of Adelaide arrived about this time from England. He had\nobtained a grant of £2,000, from the Society for Promoting Christian\nKnowledge, which he agreed to place at the disposal of the School\nCommittee—provided accommodation in their new buildings was set apart\nfor four theological students. This arrangement was concluded\naccordingly, and the school was afterwards, by Act of Parliament,\nincorporated as the “Church of England Collegiate School of St. Peter.”\n\nA very valuable site of about thirty-seven acres of land close to\nAdelaide was secured, on which extensive and handsome buildings have\nbeen erected. The late Mr. DaCosta bequeathed a reversionary property to\nthe Institution, valued at £23,000; and the late Dean Farrell bequeathed\nhis estate, valued at £15,000, to the College, subject to a few\nannuities. The school has attained to a high reputation, many of its\npupils having attained first-class honours at the English Universities,\nincluding the degrees of Wrangler at Cambridge, and its staff of masters\nis believed to be unsurpassed in the Southern Hemisphere.\n\nThrough the munificent liberality of Captain Allen a school for the\neducation of the middle classes was also established, and suitable\nbuilding erected in Pulteney-street, the property being vested in the\nthen Governors of the Collegiate School, and on similar principles, the\nobject being to cheapen the cost of education to suit the circumstances\nof that class. Mr. Masters endowed this school with three country\nsections of land; the Government of that day also contributing £500. The\nproperty of this Institution is worth about £3,000, and it has been\neminently successful.\n\nHaving been formerly stationed in the Island of Zante, one of the Ionian\nIslands, I became aware of the great mercantile value of the Zante\ncurrant, and while in Western Australia succeeded in introducing the\nplant into that province. Its history was remarkable. After a long\ncorrespondence in establishing agency, the Curator of the Government\nGarden of St. Antonio, in Malta, received an application from London for\na supply of cuttings, which reached him a month after the pruning\nseason, but the request being urgent he pruned a second time. The\ncuttings were then rolled in damp flannel, packed, and soldered in a tin\ncase, and forwarded to Dr. Hooker, Curator of Kew Gardens, near London.\nThat gentleman planted them in a glazed case, but many months elapsed\nbefore an opportunity occurred to forward them to their destination.\nThey at length reached Western Australia, but at the wrong season.\nHowever, Mr. Mackay, the Judge of the Supreme Court, had a conservatory\nin which they were planted and most carefully attended. In the following\nspring they were removed and planted out, the roots being like fine\nwhite Cambric threads; but in the second year a few tolerably strong\nshoots were obtained. To save time, the double system of budding and\ngrafting was adopted on old grape vines, and in the following year about\n400 rooted plants of the Zante currant were established. None other\nexisted in Australia. Mr. McArthur, of New South Wales, wrote to request\na few plants, which I had the pleasure of forwarding, and distributed\nothers to several gentlemen in South Australia.\n\nAs kindred to the above it may be here noticed that, during my residence\nin Western Australia, in conjunction with Mr. Richard Nash, we formed a\nVineyard Society, the object being to prepare and trench a nursery for\nvines, to procure a collection of the choicest varieties, to preserve\ntheir names and identity, and to distribute them _gratis_ to all who\nengaged to plant them in trenched ground. Some gentlemen reduced the\nrents of their lands to their tenants in proportion to the extent of\ntheir vineyards. The Society procured a collection of 400 varieties from\nMr. Busby’s vineyard, in New South Wales, but the progress in\ndistributing plants was rather slow, until a few of the settlers\nproduced wine, which gave a rapid impulse to the operations of the\nsociety, and within a few years some of them were enabled to distribute\na pint of wine daily to the men in their employ. The society also\npublished a pamphlet containing instructions for the formation and\ncultivation of vineyards and for making wine.\n\nSome time after the Lord Bishop (Dr. Short) arrived in Adelaide, a\nConference of the several Australian bishops was summoned to meet the\nMetropolitan at Sydney. A new dogma was declared at that conference to\nbe an _article of faith_, after some opposition, namely, baptismal\nregeneration. The Bishop returned, and on the day previous to the annual\nmeeting of the “Church Society” (the then governing body of the affairs\nof the Church of England in South Australia), the proceedings of the\nSydney Conference became known. The Governor, Sir Henry Young, presided,\nand after routine business being disposed of, I strongly protested\nagainst the Sydney Conference assuming authority to impose _a new\narticle of faith_ in addition to the Thirty-nine Articles.\nUnfortunately, I had not had time to give notice of my intention or\nsecure a seconder of my motion, and a pause ensued. Sir Henry Young then\nsaid that as it was not seconded he would not put it to the meeting,\nwhen Mr. G. S. Walters stood up and said he would not only second, but\nsupport it. Sir Henry immediately left the chair in anger, and\nretired—the Bishop then presiding. The meeting was greatly excited; but\nafter some discussion, His Lordship promised to call a general meeting\nof the members of the church in a fortnight, to consider the subject, on\nwhich the business of the day terminated.\n\nThe meeting referred to was held in the Pulteney-street schoolroom,\nwhich was crowded, and the subject of the new dogma was fully discussed.\nThe resolutions opposed to it were carried almost unanimously, there\nbeing only two or three persons who voted against them. These\nproceedings were afterwards commented upon with approval by the\nArchbishop of Canterbury in the House of Lords, and were similarly\nnoticed in the House of Commons.\n\nAn address of thanks on this occasion, most respectably signed, was\nafterwards presented to myself and Mr. G. S. Walters.\n\nAt this time the position of the Church of England in the colonies was\nvery unsatisfactory. The Ecclesiastical Laws of England were declared to\nhave no force, and the Church appeared to be cast adrift. A meeting of\nthe “Church Society” took place, at which a committee was\nappointed—consisting of Major Campbell, Messrs. G. W. Hawkes, R. B.\nLucas, and myself, of which I was named chairman—to consider and report\nupon “the best means they could devise for drawing the clergy and laity\ninto closer union.” The constitution of a Diocesan Synod appeared to me\nto meet the requirements of the case, and I drew up a full scheme to\naccomplish that object, which I submitted to the Committee, and\nafterwards laid before the “Church Society.” This scheme was considered\nto be extremely bold, as there was no precedent of such plan having been\nadopted previously by any branch of the Church of England, except some\napproach to it in the diocese of Toronto in Upper Canada; and the only\nguide for such a system was that of the Episcopal Church of America. The\nsubject was discussed at great length, and for several months. It was\nadjourned, however, as the Bishop proposed proceeding to England, where\nhe could consult the highest legal authorities, including the\nAttorney-General. The scheme was declared to be perfectly legal, and on\nHis Lordship’s return to the colony it was inaugurated by a _consensual\ncompact_, and has now, in the year 1871, been in operation during\nseventeen annual sessions with the happiest results, and has been also\nadopted in all the other Australian colonies and New Zealand.\nSubsequently, another subject affecting the Church of England attracted\nmuch notice. The colony was visited by a very eminent and much respected\nNon-conformist minister, the Rev. Thos. Binney. He was cordially\nreceived by all classes of society, and was for a short time a guest at\nBishop’s Court. The Governor, Sir Richard MacDonnell, was desirous that\nhe should be invited to preach in the Church of England pulpits, and\nprocured his own election as a member of Synod, for the purpose of\nproposing it, of which he gave due notice. A preliminary meeting of the\nStanding Committee of Synod was held to consider the subject, and I was\nrequested to oppose the Governor’s motion by an amendment, moving the\n“previous question,” and thus defeating it. At the subsequent meeting of\nSynod, Sir Richard MacDonnell delivered a long address strongly urging\nthe adoption of his motion, which was discussed at great length; and I\nmoved the amendment agreed upon, which was carried by a majority of\nabout two-thirds. The consideration that the Synod had only recently\nbound itself by its _consensual compact_ to abide by the laws and usages\nof the Church of England, had a powerful influence with the majority. An\naddress of thanks from the “Lincolnshire and Nottinghamshire Church\nUnion,” dated 18th August, 1859, was afterwards received by me as the\nmover of the amendment on this occasion.\n\nAbout the year 1848 a monetary pressure occurred, and the merchants were\ncalling in their advances made to the sheepowners. I felt that if this\ncourse was continued it would probably lead to a commercial crisis,\nwhich would depreciate the securities held by the Bank. I therefore paid\noff the liabilities of those whom I considered safe to the extent of\nabout £70,000, taking up their accounts, which prevented the expected\ncrisis, greatly increasing the business of the Bank, and nothing was\never lost on those accounts. The London Directors became alarmed,\nhowever, at those large transactions, and remonstrated with me. It is\ndifficult, however, for gentlemen residing at so great a distance to\nform an accurate judgment on such transactions.\n\nIn the year 1849, I received a letter from Lord Fitzroy Somerset,\nafterwards Lord Raglan, Military Secretary to the Commander-in Chief the\nDuke of York, forwarding to me a war medal and clasp. The Duke of\nRichmond had called the attention of the House of Lords to the fact that\nno medals had been granted to the army for certain distinguished battles\nand sieges, and moved an address to the Crown upon the subject, which\nwas carried. A Board of General officers was appointed to consider and\nreport upon the matter, and their recommendation was adopted.\n\nThe discoveries of gold in the Province of Victoria were so rich that a\nperfect exodus of all classes of the male population of South Australia,\nexcept the old and young, took place. It was a time of great anxiety, on\naccount of the numerous helpless families which were left slenderly\nprovided for. The Adelaide men were generally successful, and having\ncollected large quantities of gold, began returning to their families in\nabout six months, when the scenes occurring in Adelaide were quite\nmarvellous. A dozen weddings almost daily taking place; the bridal\nparties driving in carriages about town and country, and clearing the\ndrapers’ shops of silks and satins.\n\nAt the time of the exodus the notes of Banks were presented in large\nquantities for payment in specie, of which the Bank of South Australia,\nalthough wealthy, was nearly drained; but the demand was so sudden that\nthere was no time to procure supplies from abroad. The Bank of\nAustralasia held at that time about £90,000 in gold, and was prepared to\naid the other Bank for mutual protection, when fortunately the scheme of\nthe “Bullion Act” was brought into operation, and effected an immediate\nand wonderful change.\n\nThis Act was devised by Mr. G. S. Walters, a gentleman of great\nexperience in monetary affairs. It provided that the gold dust already\ndeposited in the Treasury, amounting to a large sum, should be smelted\ninto ingots of various sizes, stamped with the Queen’s head, and the\naccurate assay, and declared to be legal tenders at the rate of £3 14s.\nper ounce—gold dust then selling in Melbourne at £3 7s. This immediately\nstopped the demand for sovereigns, caused large additional quantities of\ngold dust to be introduced from Melbourne, and quieted the public mind.\nSome of the gold was so pure that it afterwards realized over £4 per\nounce in London.\n\nThere is no doubt that the Bullion Act was a direct infringement of the\nRoyal prerogative as to coinage, and demanded anxious consideration. Sir\nHenry Young was then Governor, and the Bank Managers were requested on\ndifferent occasions to meet him in Executive Council to consider the\nsubject. Mr. Tinline (Bank of South Australia) and myself (Bank of\nAustralasia) urgently supported the adoption of the Bill; the Manager of\nthe Union Bank opposed it. The responsibility was very great, but the\nExecutive Government submitted it to the Legislature, and the Bill was\npassed into an Act for two years. The Home Government approved of it,\nconsidering that it was warranted by the great emergency.\n\nAnother very useful measure was adopted about this time. A strong,\nwell-armed body of mounted police was sent periodically to the gold\ndiggings at Bendigo, in Victoria, to escort the gold found by South\nAustralian diggers to Adelaide. The service was continued for a\nconsiderable time, and the gold thus introduced exceeded two millions\nsterling.\n\nThe successful gold diggers would, in all probability, have remained in\nVictoria and removed their families from hence had it not been that many\nof them were owners of land, which tied them to the province; and they\nultimately returned with their unexpected wealth and purchased\nadditional lands.\n\nThere can be no doubt that the land system of South Australia, which\nprovided that the country should be surveyed and sold in sections of\neighty acres, was the means of saving the province from temporary ruin.\nThe facilities for acquiring land by the labouring classes were very\nconsiderable. The discovery of the Burra Copper Mine gave the first\ngreat impulse to the progress of the colony; the produce of that mine\nalone having exceeded £4,000,000 sterling up to a recent period.\n\nIt is curious to follow the career of an immigrant after that discovery.\nHe became a labourer for one or two years, when his saving of wages\nenabled him to purchase a team of oxen and a dray. He then commenced\ncarrying copper ore from the Burra Mine to Port Adelaide, taking back\nstores and provisions, and in one or two years more was in a position to\npurchase an eighty-acre section of land and become a farmer. While his\ncrops were growing, and at other spare times, he again carried ore from\nthe mine and was soon able to purchase more land, and became a man of\nsome consequence in his district. This man was the type of a\nconsiderable class of yeomen, who, having property to protect became\nConservatives, and exercised a material influence on the peace and\nprosperity of the country.\n\nThe transactions of the Burra Mine were on a great scale at that time,\nemploying upwards of 1,100 men, who, with their families, numbered over\n4,000 souls supported by that mine. At one period the shareholders\ndivided annually 800 per cent. on their £5 shares. Their Bank account,\nhowever, absorbed a large amount of capital; at one period it was\noverdrawn about £72,000, as they calculated on the value of the ore as\nsoon as it was raised to the surface at the mine, but before it could be\nshipped to England and bills drawn against it. The Bank Directors in\nLondon objected strongly to this, and even suggested more than once that\nthe accounts had better be closed. I, however, feeling how very\nprejudicial to the interests of the Bank such a course would be, and\nhaving visited the mine and satisfied myself as to its great value, took\nthe responsibility of continuing the account—the Burra Directors having\nengaged on my representation gradually to diminish the overdraft to a\nmoderate amount. I felt quite convinced of the correctness of the views\nentertained by the London Board, as no single establishment should\nabsorb so large a proportion of the capital allotted to each branch.\n\nThere were also a few mercantile accounts the advances to which the\nLondon Board objected as being too large, and they appeared to think\nthat I was not sufficiently cautious in conducting their business,\nalthough they had sustained no losses, and their business had been\nquadrupled. Some irregularity had also occurred in the office, and I was\noffered the option of removing to some other branch or receiving\ncompensation on resigning, but was requested to remain at the Bank for\nsome time in order to aid my successor until he became acquainted with\nthe customers and the nature of their transactions. I remained for some\ntime, but no other branch becoming vacant, and being also unwilling to\nleave South Australia, I accepted compensation and retired.\n\nSome time afterwards, having sold a property in Western Australia for\n£3,000, I agreed to join in a mercantile business with a gentleman\nconnected with my family. On this becoming known to Mr. John Ellis, he\nvery handsomely and spontaneously presented me with a letter of credit\nfor £5,000 on the wealthy firm of Morrisson & Co., of London; and Mr. G.\nS. Walters, in a similar manner, introduced me to his father-in-law, Mr.\nFrederick Huth, of the great firm of Frederick Huth & Co., of London,\nwho opened credits for the new firm with their several correspondents at\nMauritius, Calcutta, Bombay, Ceylon, Singapore, and China, for £2,000\neach. The business was thus commenced with a fair prospect, but not\nproving very successful after a trial of a few years, I retired from the\nfirm.\n\nIn the year 1855 the second mixed Legislative Council, of nominated and\nelected members, assembled. I had offered myself as a candidate to\nrepresent the District of Willunga, in this Council, but after a close\ncontest was defeated. The Governor, Sir Richard MacDonnell, however,\nimmediately offered to nominate me to a seat, at the same time stating\nthat I was not to consider myself bound in the slightest degree to\nsupport any Government measure which I did not approve. I accepted this\noffer and took my seat in that Council, which elected me in the\nfollowing November to the honourable position of Chairman of Committees.\n\nAt this time the citizens of Adelaide obtained their supplies of water\nfrom the River Torrens, which was subject to pollution, and the cartage\nwas inconvenient and expensive. Complaints were numerous, and the\nGovernment introduced a Bill for constructing water-works at a cost of\n£280,000. This amount was so large that the Council did not believe the\nGovernment was serious, and at the second reading the Chairman of\nCommittees read some eighty clauses _seriatim_, with scarcely a remark\nfrom any members. The Bill was finally passed, and has proved a most\nbeneficial measure.\n\nOn the dissolution of this mixed Council (elective and nominated) on\nwhich had devolved the passing of the Constitution Act in 1857, I was\nelected to represent the District of Flinders, and took my seat in the\nLegislative Assembly, under the new responsible Government, consisting\nof five members,—namely, Chief Secretary, Attorney-General, Treasurer,\nCommissioner of Crown Lands, and Commissioner of Public Works.\n\nI offered myself as a candidate for the office of Speaker of the House\nof Assembly in the year 1857, but was unsuccessful. In the following\nmonth of September I was invited to join the Ministry of Mr. (now Sir)\nR. R. Torrens, and became Commissioner of Crown Lands. This Ministry\nlasted, however, but a short time, and was succeeded by that formed by\nthe present Sir R. D. Hanson. The “Constitution Act” was passed during\nthis session of Parliament. Some of its clauses were objected to by me,\nchiefly that relating to universal suffrage, on the ground that\nintelligent votes could not be given by those who could neither read or\nwrite. I succeeded, however, in introducing a clause requiring a fixed\nresidence of six months (twelve months were proposed) to qualify for\nvoting.\n\nIn the year 1859 I was appointed as a Special Magistrate under the\n“Local Courts Act”—first, to preside in the Local Courts at Willunga and\nMorphett Vale, and afterwards at those in the Northern Districts,\nnamely, at Redruth, Clare, Auburn, and Riverton. I continued to perform\nthose duties for upwards of ten years, and on the amalgamation of two\ndistricts I retired, receiving the usual retiring allowance.\n\nOn this occasion I was much gratified by receiving two flattering\naddresses, one from the members of the bar practising in the Northern\nCourts, the other signed by all the Magistrates of the District and\nnumerous other residents. This last was beautifully illuminated and\nengrossed on vellum.\n\nHaving served over twenty-two years in His Majesty’s army; six years\nfarming in a new settlement (Western Australia); seventeen years as a\nBank manager; three years as a merchant; four years in Parliament,\nduring which I held office in the Ministry for a short time; and lastly,\nover ten years administering the laws in Local Courts—my career may be\nfairly considered as long and varied. Having arrived at an old age, I\nmay now rest from my labours, trusting to the atoning merits of a\nmerciful Redeemer, the Lord Jesus Christ, for an eternal rest hereafter.\n\n\n                                                    MARSHALL MACDERMOTT.\n\n\n\n\n                  ------------------------------------\n\n       William Kyffin Thomas, Printer, Grenfell-street, Adelaide.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n ● Transcriber’s Notes:\n    ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.\n    ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.\n    ○ Two errata were applied to the text.\n       ▪ PAGE 5, line 28.–For “Gulf of Causo” read “Gut of Causo.”\n       ▪ PAGE 16, line 2.–For “Montreal” read “Montreuil.”\n\n    ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only\n      when a predominant form was found in this book.\n    ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Brief Sketch of the Long and Varied\nCareer of Marshall MacDermott, Esq., , by Marshall MacDermott\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Stephen Hutcheson, based on scans made available\nby the Internet Archive,\nhttps://archive.org/details/christianhymnboo00campiala\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 THE\n                         CHRISTIAN HYMN BOOK:\n\n\n                           A COMPILATION OF\n                  PSALMS, HYMNS AND SPIRITUAL SONGS,\n                        ORIGINAL AND SELECTED.\n\n                                  BY\n                       A. CAMPBELL AND OTHERS.\n\n\n                 REVISED AND ENLARGED BY A COMMITTEE.\n\n\n                             CINCINNATI:\n                      H. S. BOSWORTH, PUBLISHER.\n                                1870.\n\n\n      Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by\n   R. M. Bishop, C. H. Gould, W. H. Lape, O. A. Burgess, and J. B.\n                         Bowman, _Trustees_,\n In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for\n                    the Southern District of Ohio.\n\n                       MIAMI PRINTING COMPANY,\n                 Printers, Stereotypers, and Binders,\n                     WEST EIGHTH ST., NEAR MAIN.\n\n\n\n\n                            INTRODUCTION.\n\n\nThis Hymn Book is the result of an agreement between Alexander\nCampbell--the former proprietor of the Christian Hymn Book--and the\nChristian brotherhood at large, as represented in the American\nChristian Missionary Society. At the annual meeting of the Society, in\n1864, an overture was made by Mr. Campbell, of the copy-right of the\nChristian Hymn Book, to be held by certain brethren, in trust, on two\nconditions: 1. That a committee be mutually agreed on by himself and\nthe Society, to revise and enlarge the book, so as to meet the general\nwishes of the brotherhood of Disciples; 2. That the profits arising\nfrom the sale of the book be given to the A. C. M. S. This overture was\naccepted, and the Committee of Revision was immediately appointed. That\nCommittee, having fulfilled their task, now present the fruit of their\nlabors to the public.\n\nIt will be seen that, while the former book was made the basis of this,\nthe work of revision and enlargement has been made as thorough as\npossible. Still, comparatively few hymns have been expunged. After\nmaking as complete an exploration as our time would allow, of the\nrealms of Christian Hymnology, we were more than ever convinced of the\nvalue of the labor, judgment, and taste, displayed in the compilation\nof the book we have so long used and cherished. We have met with no\nbook of equal size, that possesses equal merit. The principal changes\nwe have made, are:\n\n1.--A new classification of subjects--increasing the facility of\nreference to hymns on the various subjects of song.\n\n2.--An unbroken series of numbers to the hymns, which, while it\nnecessitates the abolition of the formal distinction between Psalms,\nHymns, and Spiritual Songs, enables us to avoid the confusion that\nconstantly grew out of the three series of numbers, which the former\nclassification required.\n\n3.--The numbering of the stanzas of every hymn, for easy reference,\nwhen any stanza is omitted in singing.\n\n4.--An arrangement of _meters_, under every heading.\n\n5.--A greatly enlarged number and variety of hymns, suited to the\ndiversified wants of personal, social, and public devotion.\n\nWe take pleasure in acknowledging our indebtedness to numerous\nbrethren, for counsel and assistance; especially to Elder William\nBaxter, whose collected material and original contributions have been\ncheerfully placed at our disposal.\n\nWhile we have admitted a few original hymns, prepared expressly for\nthis work, the additions have been made mostly from the old authors, or\nfrom the new resources furnished by the living authors of our own and\nother lands. It is believed that the work is brought fully up to the\nresources and demands of the present time.\n\nKnowing that in Christian families, the Hymn Book is generally the most\npopular book of sacred poetry, and, not seldom, the sole resource of\nthe family in that department, we have felt the importance of a large\nvariety of the choicest lyrical productions that our language affords.\nWe have done what our time and means would allow, toward this end. We\nhope that it may minister to the comfort, strength, and purity of the\nChurch of God; throw over many a hearth-stone, and many a weary\npilgrim-path, the sweet radiance of heavenly song; and give fresh\nencouragement to the cultivation of all pious sentiments and emotions,\nalike in the closet, the family, the prayer-meeting, and the public\nassembly.\n\n  ISAAC ERRETT,\n  W. K. PENDLETON,\n  W. T. MOORE,\n  T. M. ALLEN,\n  A. S. HAYDEN.\n\n  Cincinnati, O., August 7, 1865.\n\n\n\n\n                         THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.\n\n\n1                                                                L. M.\n                    The works and the word of God.\n                                    Psalm 19.\n\n  The heavens declare thy glory, Lord!\n    In every star thy wisdom shines;\n  But when our eyes behold thy word,\n    We read thy name in fairer lines.\n\n  2 The rolling sun, the changing light,\n    And nights and days, thy power confess;\n  But the blest volume thou hast writ,\n    Reveals thy justice and thy grace.\n\n  3 Sun, moon, and stars, convey thy praise\n    Round the whole earth, and never stand;\n  So when thy truth began its race,\n    It touched and glanced on every land.\n\n  4 Nor shall thy spreading gospel rest\n    Till through the world thy truth has run;\n  Till Christ has all the nations blest\n    That see the light, or feel the sun.\n\n  5 Great Sun of Righteousness! arise;\n    Bless the dark world with heavenly light:\n  Thy gospel makes the simple wise,\n    Thy laws are pure, thy judgments right.\n\n  6 Thy noblest wonders here we view,\n    In souls renewed, and sins forgiven;\n  Lord! cleanse my sins, my soul renew,\n    And make thy word my guide to heaven.\n\n\n2                                                                L. M.\n                     Divine love displayed, etc.\n\n  To thee my heart, Eternal King!\n  Would now its thankful tribute bring,\n  To thee its humble homage raise\n  In songs of ardent, grateful praise.\n\n  2 All nature shows thy boundless love,\n  In worlds below and worlds above;\n  But in thy blessed word I trace\n  The richer glories of thy grace.\n\n  3 There what delightful truths are given;\n  There Jesus shows the way to heaven;\n  His name salutes my listening ear,\n  Revives my heart and checks my fear.\n\n  4 There Jesus bids our sorrows cease,\n  And gives the laboring conscience peace;\n  Raises our grateful feelings high,\n  And points to mansions in the sky.\n\n  5 For love like this, O, may our song\n  Through endless years thy praise prolong;\n  And distant climes thy name adore,\n  Till time and nature are no more!\n\n\n3                                                                L. M.\n                        Nature and revelation.\n\n  The starry firmament on high,\n  And all the glories of the sky,\n  Yet shine not to thy praise, O Lord,\n  So brightly as thy written word.\n\n  2 The hopes that holy word supplies,\n  Its truths divine and precepts wise--\n  In each a heavenly beam I see,\n  And every beam conducts to thee.\n\n  3 Almighty Lord! the sun shall fail,\n  The moon forget her nightly tale,\n  And deepest silence hush on high\n  The radiant chorus of the sky--\n\n  4 But fixed for everlasting years,\n  Unmoved amid the wreck of spheres,\n  Thy word shall shine in cloudless day\n  When heaven and earth have passed away.\n\n\n4                                                                L. M.\n               Strength and peace from the divine word.\n\n  There is a stream whose gentle flow\n    Supplies the city of our God;\n  Life, love, and joy, still gliding through,\n    And watering our divine abode.\n\n  2 That sacred stream, thy holy word,\n    Supports our faith, our fear controls;\n  Sweet peace thy promises afford,\n    And give new strength to fainting souls.\n\n\n5                                                                L. M.\n                 The Scriptures our light and guide.\n\n  When Israel through the desert passed,\n    A fiery pillar went before,\n  To guide them through the dreary waste,\n    And lessen the fatigues they bore.\n\n  2 Such is thy glorious word, O God;\n    'Tis for our light and guidance given;\n  It sheds a luster all abroad,\n    And points the path to bliss and heaven.\n\n  3 It fills the soul with sweet delight,\n    And quickens its inactive powers;\n  It sets our wandering footsteps right,\n    Displays thy love and kindles ours.\n\n  4 Its promises rejoice our hearts;\n    Its doctrine is divinely true;\n  Knowledge and pleasure it imparts;\n    It comforts and instructs us too.\n\n  5 Ye favored lands, who have this word!\n    Ye saints, who feel its saving power!\n  Unite your tongues to praise the Lord,\n    And his distinguished grace adore.\n\n\n6                                                                L. M.\n                 Their words to the end of the world.\n                                   Psalm 19:4.\n\n  Upon the gospel's sacred page\n    The gathered beams of ages shine;\n  And, as it hastens, every age\n    But makes its brightness more divine.\n\n  2 On mightier wing, in loftier flight,\n    From year to year, does knowledge soar;\n  And, as it soars, the gospel light\n    Becomes effulgent more and more.\n\n  3 More glorious still, as centuries roll,\n    New regions blest, new powers unfurled;\n  Expanding with the expanding soul,\n    Its radiance shall o'erflow the world;\n\n  4 Flow to restore, but not destroy;\n    As when the cloudless lamp of day\n  Pours out its flood of light and joy,\n    And sweeps the lingering mist away.\n\n\n7                                                                L. M.\n                  Hold fast the form of sound words.\n                                   2 Tim. 1:13.\n\n  God's law demands one living faith,\n    Not a gaunt crowd of lifeless creeds;\n  Its warrant is a firm \"God saith;\"\n    Its claim, not words, but living deeds.\n\n  2 Yet, Lord, forgive; thy simple law\n    Grows tarnished in our earthly grasp;\n  Pure in itself, without a flaw,\n    It dims in our too-worldly clasp.\n\n  3 We handle it with unwashed hands;\n    We stain it with unhallowed breath;\n  We gloss it with device of man's,\n    And hide thine image underneath.\n\n  4 Forgive the sacrilege, and take\n    From off our souls th' unworthy stain;\n  And show us, for thy Son's dear sake\n    Thy pure and perfect law again.\n\n\n8                                                             L. P. M.\n                The entrance of thy word giveth light.\n                                  Psalm 119:130.\n\n  I love the volume of thy word;\n  What light and joy those leaves afford\n    To souls benighted and distressed!\n  Thy precepts guide my doubtful way,\n  Thy fear forbids my feet to stray,\n    Thy promise leads my heart to rest.\n\n  2 Thy threatenings wake my slumbering eyes,\n  And warn me where my danger lies;\n    But 'tis thy blessed gospel, Lord,\n  That makes my guilty conscience clean,\n  Converts my soul, subdues my sin,\n    And gives a free, but large reward.\n\n  3 Who knows the errors of his thoughts?\n  My God, forgive my secret faults,\n    And from presumptuous sins restrain;\n  Accept my poor attempts of praise,\n  That I have read thy book of grace,\n    And book of nature, not in vain.\n\n\n9                                                                C. M.\n                         Thy word is a lamp.\n                                  Psalm 119:105.\n\n  How precious is the book divine,\n    By inspiration given!\n  Bright as a lamp its precepts shine,\n    To guide our souls to heaven.\n\n  2 It sweetly cheers our drooping hearts\n    In this dark vale of tears;\n  Life, light, and joy, it still imparts,\n    And quells our rising fears.\n\n  3 This lamp, through all the tedious night\n    Of life, shall guide our way,\n  Till we behold the clearer light\n    Of an eternal day.\n\n\n10                                                               C. M.\n                   Thy testimonies are my delight.\n                                  Psalm 119:24.\n\n  Father of Mercies! in thy word\n    What endless glory shines!\n  For ever be thine name adored\n    For these celestial lines!\n\n  2 Here may the wretched sons of want\n    Exhaustless riches find;\n  Riches above what earth can grant,\n    And lasting as the mind.\n\n  3 Here the fair tree of knowledge grows,\n    And yields a rich repast:\n  Sublimer sweets than nature knows\n    Invite the longing taste.\n\n  4 Here springs of consolation rise\n    To cheer the fainting mind,\n  And thirsty souls receive supplies,\n    And sweet refreshment find.\n\n  5 Here the Redeemer's welcome voice,\n    Spreads heavenly peace around;\n  And life and everlasting joys\n    Attend the blissful sound.\n\n  6 O may these heavenly pages be\n    My ever dear delight;\n  And still new beauties may I see,\n    And still increasing light.\n\n  7 Divine Instructor! gracious Lord,\n    Be thou for ever near;\n  Teach me to love thy sacred word,\n    And view my Saviour there!\n\n\n11                                                               C. M.\n                        A light unto my path.\n                                  Psalm 119:105.\n\n  What glory gilds the sacred page,\n    Majestic like the sun!\n  It gives a light to every age--\n    It gives but borrows none.\n\n  2 The hand that gave it, still supplies\n    His gracious light and heat;\n  His truths upon the nations rise--\n    They rise, but never set.\n\n  3 Let everlasting thanks be thine\n    For such a bright display,\n  As makes the world of darkness shine\n    With beams of heavenly day.\n\n  4 My soul rejoices to pursue\n    The paths of truth and love,\n  Till glory breaks upon my view\n    In brighter worlds above.\n\n\n12                                                               C. M.\n                        Thy law is my delight.\n                                  Psalm 119:174.\n\n  Lord, I have made thy word my choice,\n    My lasting heritage;\n  There shall my noblest powers rejoice,\n    My warmest thoughts engage.\n\n  2 I'll read the histories of thy love,\n    And keep thy laws in sight;\n  While through the promises I rove,\n    With ever fresh delight.\n\n  3 'Tis a broad land, of wealth unknown,\n    Where springs of life arise,\n  Seeds of immortal bliss are sown,\n    And hidden glory lies.\n\n  4 The best relief that mourners have;\n    It makes our sorrows blest;\n  Our fairest hope beyond the grave,\n    And our eternal rest.\n\n\n13                                                               C. M.\n                         Revelation welcomed.\n\n  Hail, sacred truth! whose piercing rays\n    Dispel the shades of night,\n  Diffusing o'er a sinful world\n    The healing beams of light.\n\n  2 Thy word, O Lord, with friendly aid,\n    Restores our wandering feet,\n  Converts the sorrows of the mind\n    To joys divinely sweet.\n\n  3 O, send thy light and truth abroad,\n    In all their radiant blaze;\n  And bid the admiring world adore\n    The glories of thy grace.\n\n\n14                                                               C. M.\n                        O, how I love thy law.\n                                  Psalm 119:97.\n\n  O how I love thy holy law!\n    'Tis daily my delight;\n  And thence my meditations draw\n    Divine advice by night.\n\n  2 I wake before the dawn of day,\n    To meditate thy word;\n  My soul with longing melts away,\n    To bear thy gospel, Lord.\n\n  3 How doth thy word my heart engage,\n    How well employ my tongue;\n  And in my tiresome pilgrimage,\n    Yields me a heavenly song.\n\n  4 When nature sinks, and spirits droop,\n    Thy promises of grace\n  Are pillars to support my hope,\n    And there I write thy praise.\n\n\n15                                                               C. M.\n                 Wherewithal shall a young man, etc.\n                                   Psalm 119:9.\n\n  How shall the young secure their hearts,\n    And guard their lives from sin?\n  Thy word the choicest rules imparts\n    To keep the conscience clean.\n\n  2 'Tis like the sun, a heavenly light,\n    That guides us all the day,\n  And through the dangers of the night,\n    A lamp to lead our way.\n\n  3 Thy precepts make us truly wise;\n    We hate the sinner's road;\n  We hate our own vain thoughts that rise,\n    But love the law, O God.\n\n  4 Thy word is everlasting truth;\n    How pure is every page!\n  That holy book shall guide our youth\n    And well support our age.\n\n\n16                                                               C. M.\n                     Word of the everlasting God.\n\n  Lamp of our feet! whereby we trace\n    Our path when wont to stray;\n  Stream from the fount of heavenly grace!\n    Brook by the traveler's way!\n\n  2 Bread of our souls, whereon we feed!\n    True manna from on high!\n  Our guide and chart! wherein we read\n    Of realms beyond the sky.\n\n  3 Pillar of fire through watches dark,\n    And radiant cloud by day!\n  When waves would whelm our tossing bark,\n    Our anchor and our stay!\n\n  4 Word of the everlasting God!\n    Will of his glorious Son!\n  Without thee how could earth be trod,\n    Or heaven itself be won?\n\n\n17                                                               C. M.\n                  Quicken me according to thy word.\n                                  Psalm 119:25.\n\n  O Lord, thy precepts I survey:\n    I keep thy law in sight,\n  Through all the business of the day,\n    To form my actions right.\n\n  2 My heart in midnight silence cries,\n    \"How sweet thy comforts be!\"\n  My thoughts in holy wonder rise,\n    And bring their thanks to thee.\n\n\n18                                                               S. M.\n                   The law of the Lord is perfect.\n                                   Psalm 19:7.\n\n  O Lord, thy perfect word\n    Directs our steps aright;\n  Nor can all other books afford\n    Such profit or delight.\n\n  2 Celestial light it sheds\n    To cheer this vale below;\n  To distant lands its glory spreads,\n    And streams of mercy flow.\n\n  3 True wisdom it imparts;\n    Commands our hope and fear:\n  O may we hide it in our hearts,\n    And feel its influence there!\n\n\n19                                                               S. M.\n                  The books of nature and Scripture.\n\n  Behold! the lofty sky\n    Declares its maker, God;\n  And all his starry works, on high,\n    Proclaim his power abroad.\n\n  2 The darkness and the light\n    Still keep their course the same;\n  While night to day, and day to night,\n    Divinely teach his name.\n\n  3 In every different land,\n    Their general voice is known;\n  They show the wonders of his hand,\n    And orders of his throne.\n\n  4 Ye Christian lands! rejoice;\n    Here he reveals his word;\n  We are not left to nature's voice,\n    To bid us know the Lord.\n\n\n20                                                                 7s.\n                              My Bible.\n\n  My Bible! book divine!\n  Precious treasure! thou art mine:\n  Mine to tell me whence I came;\n  Mine to teach me what I am;\n\n  2 Mine to chide me when I rove;\n  Mine to show a Saviour's love;\n  Mine thou art to guide and guard;\n  Mine to punish or reward;\n\n  3 Mine to comfort in distress,\n  Suffering in this wilderness;\n  Mine to show, by living faith,\n  Man can triumph over death;\n\n  4 Mine to tell of joys to come,\n  And the rebel sinner's doom:\n  O thou holy book divine!\n  Precious treasure thou art mine!\n\n\n21                                                          8s, 7 & 4.\n                            Book of grace.\n\n  Book of grace, and book of glory!\n    Gift of God to age and youth;\n  Wondrous in thy sacred story,\n    Bright, bright with truth.\n\n  2 Book of love! in accents tender,\n    Speaking unto such as we;\n  May it lead us, Lord, to render\n    All, all to thee.\n\n  3 Book of hope! the spirit sighing,\n    Consolation finds in thee;\n  As it hears the Saviour crying--\n    \"Come, come to me.\"\n\n  4 Book of life! when we reposing,\n    Bid farewell to friends we love\n  Give us for the life then closing,\n    Life, life above.\n\n\n22                                                               P. M.\n                  The word more precious than gold.\n\n  Precious Bible! what a treasure\n    Does the word of God afford!\n  All I want for life or pleasure,\n    Food and med'cine, shield and sword:\n      Let the world account me poor,\n      Having this I need no more.\n\n  2 Food to which the world's a stranger,\n    Here my hungry soul enjoys;\n  Of excess there is no danger--\n    Though it fills, it never cloys:\n      On a dying Christ I feed,\n      He is meat and drink indeed!\n\n  3 When my faith is faint and sickly,\n    Or when Satan wounds my mind;\n  Cordials to revive me quickly,\n    Healing med'cines here I find:\n      To the promises I flee,\n      Each affords a remedy.\n\n  4 In the hour of dark temptation,\n    Satan can not make me yield;\n  For the word of consolation\n    Is to me a mighty shield:\n      While the scripture truths are sure,\n      From his malice I'm secure.\n\n  5 Vain his threats to overcome me,\n    When I take the Spirit's sword;\n  Then, with ease, I drive him from me;\n    Satan trembles at the word:\n      'Tis a sword for conquest made,\n      Keen the edge, and strong the blade.\n\n  6 Shall I envy, then, the miser,\n    Doating on his golden store?\n  Sure I am, or should be, wiser;\n    I am rich--'tis he is poor:\n      Jesus gives me in his word,\n      Food and med'cine, shield and sword.\n\n\n23                                                          12s & 11s.\n                          The family Bible.\n\n  How painfully pleasing the fond recollection\n    Of youthful connections and innocent joy,\n  When blessed with parental advice and affection,\n    Surrounded with mercies--with peace from on high!\n  I still view the chairs of my father and mother,\n    The seats of their offspring as ranged on each hand;\n  And that richest of books which excelled every other,\n    The family Bible that lay on the stand:\n  The old-fashioned Bible, the dear blessed Bible,\n    The family Bible that lay on the stand.\n\n  2 That Bible, the volume of God's inspiration,\n    At morn and at evening could yield us delight;\n  And the prayer of our sire was a sweet invocation\n    For mercy by day and for safety through night;\n  Our hymn of thanksgiving with harmony swelling,\n    All warm from the heart of the family band,\n  Has raised us from earth to that rapturous dwelling\n    Described in the Bible that lay on the stand:\n  The old-fashioned Bible, the dear, blessed Bible,\n    The family Bible that lay on the stand.\n\n  3 Ye scenes of tranquillity, long have we parted,\n    My hopes almost gone, and my parents no more:\n  In sorrow and sadness I live broken-hearted,\n    And wander unknown on a far distant shore;\n  Yet how can I doubt a dear Saviour's protection,\n    Forgetful of gifts from his bountiful hand!\n  O let me with patience receive his correction,\n    And think of the Bible that lay on the stand:\n  The old-fashioned Bible, the dear, blessed Bible,\n    The family Bible that lay on the stand.\n\n\n\n\n                   GOD: HIS BEING AND PERFECTIONS.\n\n\n24                                                               L. M.\n                          Great is the Lord.\n\n  Praise ye the Lord! 'tis good to raise\n  Our hearts and voices in his praise:\n  His nature and his works invite\n  To make this duty our delight.\n\n  2 Great is the Lord! and great his might,\n  And all his glories infinite:\n  His wisdom vast, and knows no bound;\n  A deep where all our thoughts are drowned.\n\n  3 He loves the meek, rewards the just,\n  Humbles the wicked in the dust,\n  Melts and subdues the stubborn soul,\n  And makes the broken spirit whole.\n\n  4 His saints are precious in his sight;\n  He views his children with delight;\n  He sees their hope, he knows their fear,\n  Approves and loves his image there.\n\n\n25                                                               L. M.\n                           Eternity of God.\n\n  Ere mountains reared their forms sublime,\n    Or heaven and earth in order stood--\n  Before the birth of ancient time,\n    From everlasting thou art God.\n\n  2 A thousand ages, in their flight,\n    With thee are as a fleeting day;\n  Past, present, future, to thy sight\n    At once their various scenes display.\n\n  3 But our brief life's a shadowy dream,\n    A passing thought, that soon is o'er,\n  That fades with morning's earliest beam,\n    And fills the musing mind no more.\n\n  4 To us, O Lord, the wisdom give\n    Each passing moment so to spend,\n  That we at length with thee may live,\n    Where life and bliss shall never end.\n\n\n26                                                               L. M.\n                \"How unsearchable are thy judgments.\"\n                                   Rom. 11:33.\n\n  Lord, my weak thought in vain would climb\n    To search the starry vault profound:\n  In vain would wing her flight sublime,\n    To find creation's outmost bound.\n\n  2 But weaker yet that thought must prove\n    To search thy great eternal plan--\n  Thy sovereign counsels, born of love\n    Long ages ere the world began.\n\n  3 When my dim reason would demand\n    Why that, or this, thou dost ordain,\n  By some vast deep I seem to stand,\n    Whose secrets I must ask in vain.\n\n  4 When doubts disturb my troubled breast,\n    And all is dark as night to me,\n  Here, as on solid rock, I rest;\n    That so it seemeth good to thee.\n\n  5 Be this my joy, that evermore\n    Thou rulest all things at thy will:\n  Thy sovereign wisdom I adore,\n    And calmly, sweetly trust thee still.\n\n\n27                                                               L. M.\n                         Omnipresence of God.\n\n  Father of spirits! nature's God,\n    Our inmost thoughts are known to thee:\n  Thou, Lord, canst hear each idle word,\n    And every private action see.\n\n  2 Could we, on morning's swiftest wings,\n    Pursue our flight through trackless air,\n  Or dive beneath deep ocean's springs,\n    Thy presence still would meet us there.\n\n  3 In vain may guilt attempt to fly,\n    Concealed beneath the pall of night:\n  One glance from thy all-piercing eye,\n    Can kindle darkness into light.\n\n  4 Search thou our hearts, and there destroy\n    Each evil thought, each secret sin,\n  And fit us for those realms of joy\n    Where naught impure shall enter in.\n\n\n28                                                               L. M.\n                          The Lord reigneth.\n                                   Psalm 96:10.\n\n  Jehovah reigns; his throne is high;\n  His robes are light and majesty;\n  His glory shines with beams so bright\n  No mortal can sustain the sight.\n\n  2 His terrors keep the world in awe;\n  His justice guards his holy law;\n  His love reveals a smiling face.\n  His truth and promise seal the grace.\n\n  3 Through all his works his wisdom shines,\n  And baffles Satan's deep designs;\n  His power is sovereign to fulfill\n  The noblest counsels of his will.\n\n  4 And will this glorious Lord descend\n  To be my father and my friend?\n  Then let my songs with angels join;\n  Heaven is secure, if God be mine.\n\n\n29                                                               L. M.\n                              Psalm 100.\n\n  With one consent let all the earth\n    To God their cheerful voices raise;\n  Glad homage pay, with awful mirth,\n    And sing before him songs of praise:\n\n  2 Convinced that he is God alone,\n    From whom both we and all proceed;\n  We, whom he chooses for his own,\n    The flock that he vouchsafes to keep.\n\n  3 O, enter, then, his temple gate,\n    Thence to his courts devoutly press;\n  And still your grateful hymns repeat,\n    And still his name with praises bless.\n\n  4 For he's the Lord supremely good,\n    His mercy is for ever sure;\n  His truth, which always firmly stood,\n    To endless ages shall endure.\n\n\n30                                                               L. M.\n                        Of him are all things.\n                                   Rom. 11:36.\n\n  O source divine, and life of all,\n    The fount of being's wondrous sea!\n  Thy depth would every heart appall,\n    That saw not love supreme in thee.\n\n  2 We shrink before thy vast abyss,\n    Where worlds on worlds eternal brood;\n  We know thee truly but in this--\n    That thou bestowest all our good.\n\n  3 And so, 'mid boundless time and space,\n    O grant us still in thee to dwell,\n  And through the ceaseless web to trace\n    Thy presence working all things well!\n\n\n31                                                               L. M.\n                       In him we live and move.\n                                   Acts 17:28.\n\n  Unchangeable, all-perfect Lord!\n    Essential life's unbounded sea!\n  What lives and moves, lives by thy word;\n    It lives, and moves, and is, from thee!\n  Whate'er in earth, or sea, or sky,\n    Or shuns, or meets, the wandering thought,\n  Escapes, or strikes, the searching eye,\n    By thee was to existence brought.\n\n  2 High is thy power above all hight;\n    Whate'er thy will decrees is done:\n  Thy wisdom, holiness and might\n    Can by no finite mind be known.\n  What our dim eyes could never see,\n    Is plain and naked in thy sight;\n  What thickest darkness vails, to thee\n    Shines clearly as the morning light.\n\n  3 Thine, Lord, is holiness, alone:\n    Justice and truth before thee stand:\n  Yet, nearer to thy sacred throne,\n    Love ever dwells at thy right hand.\n  And to thy love and ceaseless care,\n    Father! this light, this breath, we owe;\n  And all we have, and all we are,\n    From thee, great source of life! doth flow.\n\n\n32                                                               L. M.\n                         The all-seeing God.\n\n  Lord, thou hast searched and seen me thro';\n  Thine eye commands with piercing view\n  My rising and my resting hours,\n  My heart and flesh with all their powers.\n\n  2 My thoughts, before they are my own,\n  Are to my God distinctly known;\n  He knows the words I mean to speak,\n  Ere from my opening lips they break.\n\n  3 Within thy circling power I stand;\n  On every side I find thy hand:\n  Awake, asleep, at home, abroad,\n  I am surrounded still with God.\n\n  4 Amazing knowledge, vast and great!\n  What large extent! what lofty hight!\n  My soul, with all the powers I boast,\n  Is in the boundless prospect lost.\n\n\n33                                                               L. M.\n                              Psalm 139.\n\n  Lord, thou hast formed mine every part,\n    Mine inmost thought is known to thee;\n  Each word, each feeling of my heart,\n    Thine ear doth hear, thine eye doth see.\n\n  2 Though I should seek the shades of night,\n    And hide myself in guilty fear,\n  To thee the darkness seems as light,\n    The midnight as the noonday clear.\n\n  3 The heavens, the earth, the sea, the sky,\n    All own thee ever present there;\n  Where'er I turn, thou still art nigh,\n    Thy Spirit dwelling everywhere.\n\n  4 O may that Spirit, ever blest,\n    Upon my soul in radiance shine,\n  Till welcomed to eternal rest,\n    I taste thy presence, Lord, divine!\n\n\n34                                                       L. M. 6 lines\n                    God praised in all his works.\n\n  Thou art, O Lord, the boundless source,\n    Whence all our thousand blessings flow;\n  And nature, through her endless course,\n    Proclaims thy love to all below;\n      While all above join in the strain\n      Of ceaseless praises to thy name.\n\n  2 The sun on golden chariot rides,\n    And sends to earth his rays of light;\n  While darkness from his brightness hides,\n    And vanishes from human sight;\n      This sunlight, when it comes to earth,\n      Declares thy goodness gave it birth.\n\n  3 The moon and stars, that rule at night,\n    And smile upon this world of wrong,\n  Bear on each trembling chord of light\n    The notes of this sweet, sacred song;\n      \"Thou, Lord, didst make all things that move;\n      All are the creatures of thy love.\"\n\n  4 Then help my poor, unworthy heart\n    To join aloud in nature's praise;\n  And may my song, in every part,\n    Proclaim the wonders of thy ways;\n      And when I reach the heavenly plains,\n      I'll sing thy love in nobler strains.\n\n\n35                                                               C. M.\n                  Lord, thou hast searched me, etc.\n                                   Psalm 139:1.\n\n  Lord, all I am is known to thee;\n    In vain my soul would try\n  To shun thy presence, or to flee\n    The notice of thine eye.\n\n  2 Thy all-observing eye surveys\n    My rising and my rest,\n  My public walks, my private ways,\n    The secrets of my breast.\n\n  3 My thoughts lie open to thee, Lord,\n    Before they're formed within,\n  And ere my lips pronounce the word,\n    Thou knowest all I mean.\n\n  4 O let thine arms surround me still,\n    And like a bulwark prove,\n  To guard my soul from every ill,\n    Secured by sovereign love.\n\n\n36                                                               C. M.\n                        Holy, holy, holy Lord.\n\n  O God, we praise thee, and confess\n    That thou the only Lord\n  And everlasting Father art,\n    By all the earth adored.\n\n  2 To thee all angels cry aloud,\n    To thee the powers on high,\n  Both cherubim and seraphim,\n    Continually do cry--\n\n  3 O holy, holy, holy Lord,\n    When heavenly hosts obey;\n  The world is with the glory filled\n    Of thy majestic sway.\n\n  4 The apostles' glorious company,\n    The prophets crowned with light,\n  With all the martyrs' noble host,\n    Thy constant praise recite.\n\n  5 The holy Church, throughout the world,\n    O Lord, confesses thee,\n  That thou th' eternal Father art\n    Of boundless majesty.\n\n\n37                                                               C. M.\n                    His praise endureth for ever.\n                                  Psalm 111:10.\n\n  Songs of immortal praise belong\n    To my Almighty God;\n  He has my heart, and he my tongue,\n    To spread his name abroad.\n\n  2 How great the works his hand has wrought;\n    How glorious in our sight;\n  And men in every age have sought\n    His wonders with delight.\n\n  3 How most exact is nature's frame,\n    How wise the Eternal mind;\n  His counsels never change the scheme\n    That his first thoughts designed.\n\n  4 When he redeemed his chosen sons,\n    He fixed his covenant sure;\n  The orders that his lips pronounce\n    To endless years endure.\n\n\n38                                                               C. M.\n                      O God, my heart is fixed.\n                                   Psalm 57:7.\n\n  O God! my heart is fully bent\n    To magnify thy name;\n  My tongue, with cheerful songs of praise,\n    Shall celebrate thy fame.\n\n  2 Be thou, O God! exalted high\n    Above the starry frame;\n  And let the world, with one consent\n    Confess thy glorious name.\n\n\n39                                                               C. M.\n                          The Infinite One.\n\n  Great God! how infinite art thou,\n    What worthless worms are we;\n  Let the whole race of creatures bow,\n    And pay their praise to thee.\n\n  2 Thy throne eternal ages stood,\n    Ere seas or stars were made:\n  Thou art the ever-living God,\n    Were all the nations dead.\n\n  3 Our lives through various scenes are drawn,\n    And vexed with trifling cares;\n  While thine eternal thoughts move on\n    Thine undisturbed affairs.\n\n  4 Great God! how infinite art thou,\n    What worthless worms are we;\n  Let the whole race of creatures bow,\n    And pay their praise to Thee.\n\n\n40                                                               C. M.\n                         He trieth the reins.\n                                    Psalm 7:9.\n\n  Great God! thy penetrating eye\n    Pervades my inmost powers;\n  With awe profound my wondering soul\n    Falls prostrate and adores.\n\n  2 To be encompassed round with God,\n    The Holy and the Just,\n  Armed with omnipotence to save,\n    Or crush me to the dust--\n\n  3 O how tremendous is the thought!\n    Deep may it be impressed,\n  And may thy Spirit firmly 'grave\n    This truth within my breast.\n\n  4 Begirt with thee, my fearless soul\n    The gloomy vale shall tread;\n  And thou wilt bind th' immortal crown\n    Of glory on my head.\n\n\n41                                                           11s & 8s.\n                          The Lord is great.\n\n  The Lord is great! ye hosts of heaven adore him,\n    And ye who tread this earthly ball;\n  In holy songs rejoice aloud before him,\n    And shout his praise who made you all.\n\n  2 The Lord is great; his majesty how glorious!\n    Resound his praise from shore to shore;\n  O'er sin, and death, and hell, now made victorious,\n    He rules and reigns for evermore.\n\n  3 The Lord is great; his mercy how abounding!\n    Ye angels, strike your golden chords;\n  O praise our God, with voice and harp resounding,\n    The King of kings and Lord of lords.\n\n\n42                                                            C. P. M.\n                           The love of God.\n\n  My God! Thy boundless love I praise;\n  How bright on high its glories blaze!\n      How sweetly bloom below!\n  It streams from thine eternal throne;\n  Through heaven its joys for ever run,\n      And o'er the earth they flow.\n\n  2 'Tis love that paints the purple morn,\n  And bids the clouds, in air upborne,\n      Their genial drops distill;\n  In every vernal beam it glows,\n  And breathes in every gale that blows,\n      And glides in every rill.\n\n  3 But in thy word I see it shine,\n  With grace and glories more divine,\n      Proclaiming sins forgiven;\n  There, Faith, bright cherub, points the way\n  To realms of everlasting day,\n      And opens all her heaven.\n\n  4 Then let the love, that makes me blest,\n  With cheerful praise inspire my breast,\n      And ardent gratitude;\n  And all my thoughts and passions tend\n  To thee, my Father and my Friend,\n      My soul's eternal good.\n\n\n\n\n                           GOD IN CREATION.\n\n\n43                                                               L. M.\n                The heavens declare the glory of God.\n                                   Psalm 19:1.\n\n  The spacious firmament on high,\n  With all the blue ethereal sky,\n  And spangled heavens, a shining frame,\n  Their great Original proclaim.\n\n  2 Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,\n  Does his Creator's power display,\n  And publishes to every land\n  The work of an almighty hand.\n\n  3 Soon as the evening shades prevail,\n  The moon takes up the wondrous tale,\n  And nightly to the listening earth\n  Repeats the story of her birth:\n\n  4 While all the stars that round her burn,\n  And all the planets in their turn,\n  Confirm the tidings as they roll,\n  And spread the truth from pole to pole,\n\n  5 What though in solemn silence all\n  Move round this dark terrestrial ball--\n  What though no real voice nor sound\n  Amid their radiant orbs be found--\n\n  6 In reason's ear they all rejoice,\n  And utter forth a glorious voice;\n  For ever singing as they shine,\n  The hand that made us is divine!\n\n\n44                                                               L. M.\n                     He is clothed with majesty.\n                                   Psalm 93:1.\n\n  Jehovah reigns: he dwells in light,\n  Arrayed with majesty and might;\n  The world, created by his hands,\n  Still on its firm foundation stands.\n\n  2 But ere this spacious world was made,\n  Or had its first foundation laid,\n  His throne eternal ages stood,\n  Himself the ever-living God.\n\n  3 For ever shall his throne endure;\n  His promise stands for ever sure;\n  And everlasting holiness\n  Becomes the dwellings of his grace.\n\n\n45                                                               L. M.\n                      All thy works praise thee.\n                                  Psalm 145:10.\n\n  Nature, with all her powers shall sing\n  God the Creator, and the King;\n  Nor air, nor earth, nor skies, nor seas\n  Deny the tribute of their praise.\n\n  2 Begin to make his glories known,\n  Ye seraphs, who sit near his throne;\n  Tune high your harps, and spread the sound\n  To the creation's utmost bound.\n\n  3 Thus let our flaming zeal employ\n  Our loftiest thoughts, and loudest songs;\n  Nations, pronounce with warmest joy\n  Hosanna, from ten thousand tongues.\n\n  4 Yet, mighty God, our feeble frame\n  Attempts in vain to reach thy name;\n  The strongest notes that angels raise\n  Faint in the worship and the praise.\n\n\n46                                                               L. M.\n                     Thy saints shall bless thee.\n                                  Psalm 145:10.\n\n  Greatest of beings, source of life;\n    Sovereign of air, and earth, and sea!\n  All nature feels thy pow'r, and all\n    A silent homage pay to thee.\n\n  2 Waked by thy hand, the morning sun\n    Pours forth to thee its earlier rays,\n  And spreads thy glories as it climbs;\n    While raptured worlds look up and praise.\n\n  3 The moon, to the deep shades of night,\n    Speaks the mild luster of thy name;\n  While all the stars, that cheer the scene,\n    Thee, the great Lord of light, proclaim.\n\n  4 And groves and vales, and rocks and hills,\n    And every flower, and every tree,\n  Ten thousand creatures, warm with life,\n    Have each a grateful song for thee.\n\n  5 But man was formed to rise to heaven;\n    And, blest with reason's clearer light,\n  He views his Maker through his works,\n    And glows with rapture at the sight.\n\n  6 Nor can the thousand songs that rise,\n    Whether from air, or earth, or sea,\n  So well repeat Jehovah's praise,\n    Or raise such sacred harmony.\n\n\n47                                                               L. M.\n                          A hymn of praise.\n\n\n                             PART FIRST.\n\n  Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice;\n    From realm to realm the notes shall sound,\n  And heaven's exulting sons rejoice\n    To bear the full hosanna round.\n\n  2 When, starting from the shades of night,\n    Obedient, Lord, to thy behest,\n  The sun arrayed his limbs in light\n    And earth her virgin beauty drest;\n\n  3 Thy praise transported nature sung\n    In pealing chorus loud and far;\n  The echoing vault with rapture rung,\n    And shouted every morning star.\n\n  4 When bending from his native sky,\n    The Lord of life in mercy came,\n  And laid his bright effulgence by,\n    To bear on earth a human name;\n\n  5 The song, by cherub voices raised,\n    Rolled through the dark blue depths above,\n  And Israel's shepherds heard amazed\n    The seraph notes of peace and love.\n\n\n                             PART SECOND.\n\n  And shall not man the concert join,\n    For whom this bright creation rose--\n  For whom the fires of morning shine\n    And eve's still lamps, that woo repose?\n\n  2 And shall not he the chorus swell,\n    Whose form the incarnate Godhead wore,\n  Whose guilt, whose fears, whose triumph tell\n    How deep the wounds his Saviour bore?\n\n  3 Long as yon glittering arch shall bend,\n    Long as yon orbs in glory roll,\n  Long as the streams of life descend\n    To cheer with hope the fainting soul,\n\n  4 Thy praise shall fill each grateful voice,\n    Shall bid the song of rapture sound;\n  And heaven's exulting sons rejoice\n    To bear the full hosanna round.\n\n\n48                                                               L. M.\n                Praise of God peculiarly due from man.\n\n  There seems a voice in every gale,\n    A tongue in every opening flower,\n  Which tells, O Lord! the wondrous tale\n    Of thy indulgence, love, and power.\n\n  2 The birds that rise on soaring wing\n    Appear to hymn their Maker's praise,\n  And all the mingling sounds of spring\n    To thee a general paean raise.\n\n  3 And shall my voice, great God, alone\n    Be mute 'midst nature's loud acclaim?\n  No; let my heart with answering tone\n    Breathe forth in praise thy holy name.\n\n  4 And nature's debt is small to mine;\n    Thou bad'st her being bounded be,\n  But--matchless proof of love divine--\n    Thou gav'st immortal life to me.\n\n\n49                                                       L. M. 6 lines\n                   God the fountain of being, etc.\n\n  Thou art, O God, the life and light\n    Of all the wondrous world we see;\n  Its glow by day, its smile by night,\n    Are but reflections caught from thee;\n  Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,\n  And all things fair and bright are thine.\n\n  2 When day, with farewell beam, delays\n    Among the opening clouds of even,\n  And we can almost think we gaze,\n    Through opening vistas, into heaven--\n  Those hues that mark the sun's decline,\n  So soft, so radiant, Lord, are thine.\n\n  3 When night, with wings of starry gloom,\n    O'ershadows all the earth and skies,\n  Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume\n    Is sparkling with unnumbered dyes--\n  That sacred gloom, those fires divine,\n  So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine.\n\n  4 When youthful Spring around us breathes,\n    Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh;\n  And every flower that Summer wreathes\n    Is born beneath thy kindling eye;\n  Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,\n  And all things fair and bright are thine.\n\n\n50                                                               C. M.\n                      God seen in all his works.\n\n  I sing th' almighty power of God,\n    That made the mountains rise,\n  That spread the flowing seas abroad,\n    And built the lofty skies.\n\n  2 I sing the wisdom that ordained\n    The sun to rule the day;\n  The moon shines full at his command,\n    And all the stars obey.\n\n  3 I sing the goodness of the Lord,\n    That filled the earth with food;\n  He formed the creatures with his word,\n    And then pronounced them good.\n\n  4 Lord! how thy wonders are displayed,\n    Where'er I turn my eye!\n  If I survey the ground I tread,\n    Or gaze upon the sky!\n\n  5 There's not a plant or flower below\n    But makes thy glories known;\n  And clouds arise, and tempests blow,\n    By order from thy throne.\n\n  6 Creatures that borrow life from thee\n    Are subject to thy care;\n  There's not a place where we can flee\n    But God is present there.\n\n\n51                                                               C. M.\n                    Bless the Lord, all his works.\n                                  Psalm 103:22.\n\n  Praise ye the Lord, immortal choir!\n    In heavenly hights above,\n  With harp, and voice, and soul of fire,\n    Burning with perfect love.\n\n  2 Shine to his glory, worlds of light!\n    Ye million suns of space;\n  Ye moon and glittering stars of night,\n    Running your mystic race.\n\n  3 Shout to Jehovah, surging main!\n    In deep eternal roar;\n  Let wave to wave resound the strain,\n    And shore reply to shore.\n\n  4 Storm, lightning, thunder, hail and snow,\n    Wild winds that keep his word,\n  With the old mountains far below,\n    Unite to bless the Lord.\n\n  5 And round the wide world let it roll,\n    Whilst man shall lead it on;\n  Join, every ransomed human soul,\n    In glorious unison.\n\n\n52                                                               C. M.\n                        God seen in his works.\n\n  There's not a tint that paints the rose\n    Or decks the lily fair,\n  Or streaks the humblest flower that blows,\n    But God has placed it there.\n\n  2 There's not a star whose twinkling light\n    Illumes the distant earth,\n  And cheers the solemn gloom of night\n    But goodness gave it birth.\n\n  3 There's not a cloud whose dews distill\n    Upon the parching clod,\n  And clothe with verdure vale and hill,\n    That is not sent by God.\n\n  4 There's not a place in earth's vast round,\n    In ocean deep, or air,\n  Where skill and wisdom are not found;\n    For God is everywhere.\n\n  5 Around, beneath, below, above,\n    Wherever space extends,\n  There heaven displays its boundless love,\n    And power with goodness blends.\n\n\n53                                                               C. M.\n              Praise him in the firmament of his power.\n                                   Psalm 150:1.\n\n  Begin my soul the lofty strain,\n    In solemn accents sing\n  A sacred hymn of grateful praise\n    To heaven's almighty King.\n\n  2 Ye curling fountains, as ye roll\n    Your silver waves along,\n  Whisper to all your verdant shores\n    The subject of my song.\n\n  3 Retain it long, ye echoing rocks\n    The sacred sound retain,\n  And from your hollow winding caves\n    Return it oft again.\n\n  4 Bear it, ye winds, on all your wings,\n    To distant climes away,\n  And round the wide-extended world\n    The lofty theme convey.\n\n  5 Take the glad burden of his name,\n    Ye clouds, as you arise,\n  Whether to deck the golden morn\n    Or shade the evening skies.\n\n  6 Whilst we, with sacred rapture fired,\n    The great Creator sing,\n  And utter consecrated lays\n    To heaven's eternal King.\n\n\n54                                                            C. M. D.\n                       The hymn of the seasons.\n\n  The heavenly spheres to thee, O God,\n    Attune their evening hymn;\n  All-wise, all-holy, thou art praised\n    In song of seraphim.\n  Unnumbered systems, suns, and worlds,\n    Unite to worship thee,\n  While thy majestic greatness fills\n    Space, time, eternity.\n\n  2 Nature, a temple worthy thee,\n    Beams with thy light and love;\n  Whose flowers so sweetly bloom below,\n    Whose stars rejoice above;\n  Whose altars are the mountain cliffs\n    That rise along the shore;\n  Whose anthems, the sublime accord\n    Of storm and ocean roar.\n\n  3 Her song of gratitude is sung\n    By spring's awakening hours;\n  Her summer offers at thy shrine\n    Its earliest, loveliest flowers;\n  Her autumn brings its golden fruits,\n    In glorious luxury given;\n  While winter's silver hights reflect\n    Thy brightness back to heaven.\n\n\n55                                                            C. H. M.\n                     The ineffable glory of God.\n\n  Since o'er thy footstool here below\n    Such radiant gems are strewn,\n  O, what magnificence must glow,\n    Great God, about thy throne!\n  So brilliant here these drops of light--\n  There the full ocean rolls, how bright!\n\n  2 If night's blue curtain of the sky--\n    With thousand stars inwrought,\n  Hung like a royal canopy\n    With glittering diamonds fraught--\n  Be, Lord, thy temple's outer vail,\n  What splendor at the shrine must dwell!\n\n  3 The dazzling sun at noonday hour--\n    Forth from his flaming vase\n  Flinging o'er earth the golden shower\n    Till vale and mountain blaze--\n  But shows, Lord, one beam of thine;\n  What, then, the day where thou dost shine!\n\n  4 O, how shall these dim eyes endure\n    That noon of living rays!\n  Or how our spirits, so impure,\n    Upon thy glory gaze!\n  Anoint, Lord, anoint our sight,\n  And fit us for that world of light.\n\n\n56                                                               S. M.\n                       The Lord Jehovah reigns.\n\n  The Lord Jehovah reigns,\n    Let all the nations fear;\n  Let sinners tremble at his throne,\n    And saints be humble there.\n\n  2 Jesus, the Saviour, reigns;\n    Let earth adore its Lord;\n  Bright cherubs his attendants wait,\n    Swift to fulfill his word.\n\n  3 In Zion stands his throne;\n    His honors are divine;\n  His church shall make his wonders known,\n    For there his glories shine.\n\n  4 How holy is his name!\n    How fearful is his praise!\n  Justice, and truth, and judgment join\n    In all the works of grace.\n\n\n57                                                            S. P. M.\n                           Jehovah reigns.\n\n      The Lord Jehovah reigns,\n      And royal state maintains,\n  His head with awful glories crowned;\n      Arrayed in robes of light,\n      Begirt with sovereign might,\n  And rays of majesty around.\n\n      2 Upheld by thy commands,\n      The world securely stands,\n  And skies and stars obey thy word:\n      Thy throne was fixed on high\n      Before the starry sky:\n  Eternal is thy kingdom, Lord!\n\n      3 Thy promises are true;\n      Thy grace is ever new;\n  There fixed, thy church shall ne'er remove:\n      Thy saints, with holy fear,\n      Shall in thy courts appear,\n  And sing thine everlasting love.\n\n\n58                                                                 7s.\n           Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord.\n                                    Psalm 150.\n\n  Praise the Lord, his glories show,\n  Saints within his courts below,\n  Angels round his throne above,\n  All that see and share his love!\n\n  2 Earth to heaven, and heaven to earth,\n  Tell his wonders, sing his worth;\n  Age to age, and shore to shore,\n  Praise him, praise him, evermore!\n\n  3 Praise the Lord, his mercies trace;\n  Praise his providence and grace--\n  All that he for man hath done,\n  All he sends us through his Son.\n\n  4 Strings and voices, hands and hearts,\n  In the concert bear your parts:\n  All that breathe, your Lord adore;\n  Praise him, praise him, evermore!\n\n\n59                                                         7s, double.\n                  Source of being, source of light.\n\n  Source of being, source of light,\n  With unfading beauties bright;\n  Thee, when morning greets the skies,\n  Blushing sweet with humid eyes;\n  Thee, when soft declining day\n  Sinks, in purple waves away;\n  Thee, O Parent, will I sing,\n  To thy feet my tribute bring!\n\n  2 Yonder azure vault on high,\n  Yonder blue, low, liquid sky;\n  Earth, on its firm basis placed,\n  And with circling waves embraced;\n  All-creating power confess,\n  All their mighty Maker bless;\n  Shaking nature with thy nod,\n  Earth and heaven confess their God,\n\n  3 Father, King, whose heavenly face\n  Shines serene upon our race;\n  Mindful of thy guardian care,\n  Slow to punish, prone to spare;\n  We thy majesty adore,\n  We thy well-known aid implore;\n  Not in vain thy aid we call,\n  Nothing want, for thou art all!\n\n\n60                                                                 7s.\n                   All the earth doth worship thee.\n\n  God eternal, Lord of all!\n  Lowly at thy feet we fall:\n  All the earth doth worship thee,\n  We amid the throng would be.\n\n  2 All the holy angels cry,\n  Hail, thrice holy, God Most High,\n  Glorified Apostles raise,\n  Night and day, continual praise.\n\n\n61                                                        7s, 6 lines.\n                             God is love.\n                                   1 John 4:8.\n\n  Earth, with her ten thousand flowers,\n  Air, with all its beams and showers,\n  Ocean's infinite expanse,\n  Heaven's resplendent countenance;\n  All around, and all above,\n  Hath this record--God is love.\n\n  2 Sounds among the vales and hills,\n  In the woods and by the rills,\n  Of the breeze and of the bird,\n  By the gentle murmur stirred;\n  All these songs, beneath, above,\n  Have one burden--God is love.\n\n  3 All the hopes and fears that start\n  From the fountain of the heart;\n  All the quiet bliss that lies\n  In our human sympathies;\n  These are voices from above,\n  Sweetly whispering--God is love.\n\n\n\n\n                         GOD: IN PROVIDENCE.\n\n\n62                                                               L. M.\n                           Grace and glory.\n\n  The Almighty reigns exalted high\n  O'er all the earth, o'er all the sky;\n  Though clouds and darkness vail his feet,\n  His dwelling is the mercy-seat.\n\n  2 O ye that love his holy name,\n  Hate every work of sin and shame;\n  He guards the souls of all his friends,\n  And from the snares of hell defends.\n\n  3 Immortal light and joys unknown\n  Are for the saints in darkness sown;\n  Those glorious seeds shall spring and rise,\n  And the bright harvest bless our eyes.\n\n  4 Rejoice, ye righteous, and record\n  The sacred honors of the Lord;\n  None but the soul that feels his grace\n  Can triumph in his holiness.\n\n\n63                                                               L. M.\n                             God in all.\n\n  There's nothing bright, above, below,\n  From flowers that bloom to stars that glow,\n  But in its light my soul can see\n  Some features of the Deity.\n\n  2 There's nothing dark below, above,\n  But in its gloom I trace thy love,\n  And meekly wait the moment when\n  Thy touch shall make all bright again.\n\n  3 The light, the dark, where'er I look,\n  Shall be one pure and shining book,\n  Where I may read, in words of flame,\n  The glories of thy wondrous name.\n\n\n64                                                               L. M.\n                      Be thou exalted, O my God.\n\n  My God, in whom are all the springs\n    Of boundless love and grace unknown,\n  Hide me beneath thy spreading wings,\n    Till the dark cloud is overblown.\n\n  2 Up to the heavens I send my cry,\n    The Lord will my desires perform;\n  He sends his angels from the sky,\n    And saves me from the threatening storm,\n\n  3 My heart is fixed: my song shall raise\n    Immortal honors to thy name;\n  Awake, my tongue, to sound his praise,\n    My tongue, the glory of my frame.\n\n  4 High o'er earth his mercy reigns,\n    And reaches to the utmost sky;\n  His truth to endless years remains,\n    When lower worlds dissolve and die.\n\n  5 Be thou exalted, O my God!\n    Above the heavens where angels dwell;\n  Thy power on earth be known abroad,\n    And land to land thy wonders tell.\n\n\n65                                                               L. M.\n                          Unchanging trust.\n\n  No change of time shall ever shock\n    My firm affection, Lord, to thee;\n  For thou hast always been my rock,\n    A fortress and defense to me.\n\n  2 Thou my deliverer art, my God;\n    My trust is in thy mighty power;\n  Thou art my shield from foes abroad--\n    At home my safeguard and my tower.\n\n  3 To thee I will address my prayer,\n    To whom all praise I justly owe;\n  So shall I by thy watchful care,\n    Be guarded from my treacherous foe.\n\n\n66                                                               L. M.\n                            God ever near.\n\n  O love divine, that stooped to share\n    Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear,\n  On thee is cast each earth-born care,\n    We smile at pain while thou art near!\n\n  2 Though long the weary way we tread,\n    And sorrow crown each lingering year,\n  No path we shun, no darkness dread,\n    Our hearts still whispering thou art near!\n\n  3 When drooping pleasure turns to grief,\n    And trembling faith is changed to fear,\n  The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf,\n    Shall softly tell us, thou art near!\n\n  4 On thee we fling our burdening woe,\n    O love divine, for ever dear,\n  Content to suffer while we know,\n    Living and dying, thou art near!\n\n\n67                                                               L. M.\n                             Contentment.\n                                   Phil. 4:11.\n\n  O Lord, how full of sweet content\n  My years of pilgrimage are spent!\n  Where'er I dwell, I dwell with thee,\n  In heaven, in earth, or on the sea.\n\n  2 To me remains nor place nor time;\n  My country is in every clime:\n  I can be calm and free from care\n  On any shore, since God is there.\n\n  3 While place I seek, or place I shun,\n  The soul finds happiness in none;\n  But with my God to guide my way,\n  'Tis equal joy to go or stay.\n\n  4 Could I be cast where thou art not,\n  That were indeed a dreadful lot;\n  But regions none remote I call,\n  Secure of finding God in all.\n\n\n68                                                      L. M. 6 lines.\n                          Thy will be done.\n\n  He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower;\n  Alike they're needful for the flower;\n  And joys and tears alike are sent\n  To give the soul fit nourishment:\n  As comes to me or cloud or sun,\n  Father, thy will, not mine, be done!\n\n  2 Can loving children e'er reprove\n  With murmurs whom they trust and love?\n  Creator, I would ever be\n  A trusting, loving child to thee:\n  As comes to me or cloud or sun,\n  Father, thy will, not mine, be done!\n\n  3 O ne'er will I at life repine!\n  Enough that thou hast made it mine;\n  When fall the shadow cold of death,\n  I yet will sing, with parting breath--\n  As comes to me or shade or sun,\n  Father, thy will, not mine, be done!\n\n\n69                                                               L. M.\n                          The wisdom of God.\n\n  Wait, O my soul, thy Maker's will;\n  Tumultuous passions, all be still!\n  Nor let a murmuring thought arise;\n  His ways are just, his counsels wise.\n\n  2 He in the thickest darkness dwells,\n  Performs his work, the cause conceals;\n  But, though his methods are unknown,\n  Judgment and truth support his throne.\n\n  3 In heaven, and earth, and air, and seas,\n  He executes his firm decrees;\n  And by his saints it stands confest,\n  That what he does is ever best.\n\n  4 Wait then, my soul, submissive wait,\n  Prostrate before his awful seat;\n  And, 'midst the terrors of his rod,\n  Trust in a wise and gracious God.\n\n\n70                                                      L. M. 6 lines.\n                              Psalm 23.\n\n  The Lord my pasture shall prepare,\n  And feed me with a shepherd's care;\n  His presence shall my wants supply,\n  And guard me with a watchful eye:\n  My noonday walks he shall attend,\n  And all my midnight hours defend.\n\n  2 When in the sultry glebe I faint,\n  Or on the thirsty mountains pant,\n  To fertile vales and dewy meads\n  My weary, wandering steps he leads,\n  Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,\n  Amid the verdant landscape flow.\n\n  3 Though in a bare and rugged way,\n  Through devious, lonely wilds I stray,\n  His bounty shall my pains beguile;\n  The barren wilderness shall smile,\n  With lively greens and herbage crowned,\n  And streams shall murmur all around.\n\n  4 Though in the paths of death I tread,\n  With gloomy horrors overspread,\n  My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,\n  For thou, O Lord! art with me still;\n  Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,\n  And guide me through the dismal shade.\n\n\n71                                                               L. M.\n                   Who is like unto thee, O Israel?\n                                   Deut. 33:29.\n\n  With Israel's God, who can compare?\n  Or who, like Israel, happy are?\n  O, people saved by the Lord,\n  He is our shield and great reward.\n\n  2 Upheld by everlasting arms,\n  We are secure from foes and harms;\n  In vain their plots, and false their boasts--\n  Our refuge is the Lord of hosts!\n\n\n72                                                            L. P. M.\n                              Psalm 146.\n\n  I'll praise my Maker while I've breath,\n  And when my voice is lost in death,\n    Praise shall employ my nobler powers:\n  My days of praise shall ne'er be past,\n  While life and thought and being last,\n    And immortality endures.\n\n  2 Happy the man whose hopes rely\n  On Israel's God: he made the sky,\n    And earth, and seas, with all their train.\n  His truth for ever stands secure:\n  He saves th' oppressed, he feeds the poor,\n    And none shall find his promise vain.\n\n  3 The Lord pours eyesight on the blind;\n  The Lord supports the fainting mind,\n    He sends the laboring conscience peace:\n  He helps the stranger in distress,\n  The widow and the fatherless,\n    And grants the prisoner sweet release.\n\n  4 I'll praise him while he gives me breath,\n  And when my voice is lost in death,\n    Praise shall employ my nobler powers:\n  My days of praise shall ne'er be past,\n  While life, and thought, and being last,\n    And immortality endures.\n\n\n73                                                               C. M.\n                            God of Bethel.\n                                  Gen. 20:19-22.\n\n  O God of Bethel, by whose hand\n    Thy people still are fed;\n  Who through this weary pilgrimage\n    Hast all our fathers led--\n\n  2 Our vows, our prayers we now present\n    Before thy throne of grace;\n  God of our fathers, be the God\n    Of their succeeding race.\n\n  3 Through each succeeding path of life,\n    Our wandering footsteps guide;\n  Give us each day our daily bread,\n    And raiment fit provide.\n\n  4 O spread thy covering wings around,\n    Till all our wanderings cease,\n  And at our Father's loved abode\n    Our souls arrive in peace.\n\n\n74                                                               C. M.\n                     God the trust of his saints.\n\n  O thou my light, my life, my joy,\n    My glory and my all!\n  Unsent by thee, no good can come,\n    Nor evil can befall.\n\n  2 Such are thy schemes of providence,\n    And methods of thy grace,\n  That I may safely trust in thee\n    Through all this wilderness.\n\n  3 'Tis thine outstretched and powerful arm\n    Upholds me in the way;\n  And thy rich bounty well supplies\n    The wants of every day,\n\n  4 For such compassion, O my God!\n    Ten thousand thanks are due;\n  For such compassion I esteem\n    Ten thousand thanks too few.\n\n\n75                                                               C. M.\n                Our dwelling place in all generations.\n                                    Psalm 90.\n\n  Our God, our help in ages past,\n    Our hope for years to come,\n  Our shelter from the stormy blast,\n    And our eternal home!\n\n  2 Under the shadow of thy throne\n    Thy saints have dwelt secure:\n  Sufficient is thine arm alone,\n    And our defense is sure.\n\n  3 Before the hills in order stood,\n    Or earth received her frame,\n  From everlasting thou art God,\n    To endless years the same.\n\n  4 A thousand ages in thy sight\n    Are like an evening gone;\n  Short as the watch that ends the night\n    Before the rising sun.\n\n  5 Time, like an ever-rolling stream,\n    Bears all its sons away;\n  They fly forgotten as a dream\n    Dies at the opening day.\n\n  6 Our God, our help in ages past,\n    Our hope for years to come,\n  Be thou our guard while troubles last,\n    And our eternal home.\n\n\n76                                                               C. M.\n                         The goodness of God.\n\n  Sweet is the memory of thy grace,\n    My God, my heavenly King;\n  Let age to age thy righteousness\n    In songs of glory sing.\n\n  2 God reigns on high, but ne'er confines\n    His goodness to the skies:\n  Through the whole earth his bounty shines,\n    And every want supplies.\n\n  3 With longing eyes thy creatures wait\n    On thee for daily food,\n  Thy liberal hand provides their meat,\n    And fills their mouths with good.\n\n  4 How kind are thy compassions, Lord!\n    How slow thine anger moves!\n  But soon he sends his pardoning word\n    To cheer the souls he loves.\n\n  5 Creatures, with all their endless race,\n    Thy power and praise proclaim:\n  But saints that taste thy richer grace,\n    Delight to bless thy name.\n\n\n77                                                               C. M.\n                  Your heavenly Father feedeth them.\n                                  Matt. 6:25-34.\n\n  O why despond in life's dark vale?\n    Why sink to fears a prey?\n  Th' almighty power can never fail,\n    His love can ne'er decay.\n\n  2 Behold the birds that wing the air,\n    Nor sow nor reap the grain;\n  Yet God, with all a father's care,\n    Relieves when they complain.\n\n  3 Behold the lilies of the field:\n    They toil nor labor know;\n  Yet royal robes to theirs must yield,\n    In beauty's richest glow.\n\n  4 That God who hears the raven's cry,\n    Who decks the lily's form,\n  Will surely all your wants supply,\n    And shield you in the storm.\n\n  5 Seek first his kingdom's grace to share:\n    Its righteousness pursue:\n  And all that needs your earthly care\n    He will bestow on you.\n\n\n78                                                               C. M.\n                              Gratitude.\n\n  When all thy mercies, O my God,\n    My rising soul surveys,\n  Transported with the view I'm lost\n    In wonder, love, and praise.\n\n  2 Unnumbered comforts on my soul\n    Thy tender care bestowed,\n  Before my infant heart conceived\n    From whom those comforts flowed.\n\n  3 When in the slippery paths of youth\n    With heedless steps I ran,\n  Thine arm, unseen, conveyed me safe,\n    And led me up to man.\n\n  4 Ten thousand thousand precious gifts\n    My daily thanks employ,\n  Nor is the least a cheerful heart,\n    That tastes those gifts with joy.\n\n  5 Through every period of my life\n    Thy goodness I'll pursue;\n  And after death, in distant worlds,\n    The glorious theme renew.\n\n  6 Through all eternity, to thee\n    A joyful song I'll raise;\n  But O! eternity's too short\n    To utter all thy praise!\n\n\n79                                                               C. M.\n                   Thy judgments are a great deep.\n                                   Psalm 36:6.\n\n  God moves in a mysterious way\n    His wonders to perform;\n  He plants his footsteps on the sea,\n    And rides upon the storm.\n\n  2 Deep in unfathomable mines\n    Of never-failing skill,\n  He treasures up his bright designs,\n    And works his gracious will.\n\n  3 You fearful saints, fresh courage take;\n    The clouds you so much dread\n  Are big with mercy, and shall break\n    In blessings on your head.\n\n  4 Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,\n    But trust him for his grace;\n  Behind a frowning providence\n    He hides a smiling face.\n\n  5 His purposes will ripen fast,\n    Unfolding every hour;\n  The bud may have a bitter taste,\n    But sweet will be the flower.\n\n  6 Blind unbelief is sure to err,\n    And scan his work in vain:\n  God is his own interpreter,\n    And he will make it plain.\n\n\n80                                                               C. M.\n                   My God, how wonderful thou art.\n\n  My God, how wonderful thou art,\n    Thy majesty how bright!\n  How glorious is thy mercy-seat,\n    In depths of burning light!\n\n  2 Yet I may love thee too, O Lord,\n    Almighty as thou art;\n  For thou hast stooped to ask of me\n    The love of my poor heart.\n\n  3 No earthly father loves like thee,\n    No mother half so mild\n  Bears and forbears, as thou hast done\n    With me, thy sinful child.\n\n  4 My God, how wonderful thou art,\n    Thou everlasting Friend!\n  On thee I stay my trusting heart,\n    Till faith in vision end.\n\n\n81                                                               C. M.\n                         The God of my life.\n\n  Father of mercies! God of love!\n    My Father and my God!\n  I'll sing the honors of thy name,\n    And spread thy praise abroad.\n\n  2 In every period of my life\n    Thy thoughts of love appear;\n  Thy mercies gild each transient scene,\n    And crown each passing year.\n\n  3 In all thy mercies, may my soul\n    A Father's bounty see;\n  Nor let the gifts thy grace bestows\n    Estrange my heart from thee.\n\n  4 Teach me, in times of deep distress,\n    To own thy hand, O God!\n  And in submissive silence learn\n    The lessons of thy rod.\n\n  5 Then may I close my eyes in death,\n    Redeemed from anxious fear:\n  For death itself, my God, is life,\n    If thou be with me there.\n\n\n82                                                               C. M.\n                            In the winds.\n                                   Isaiah 27:8.\n\n  Great Ruler of all nature's frame,\n    We own thy power divine;\n  We hear thy breath in every storm\n    For all the winds are thine.\n\n  2 Wide as they sweep their sounding way,\n    They work thy sovereign will;\n  And, awed by the majestic voice,\n    Confusion shall be still.\n\n  3 Thy mercy tempers every blast\n    To them that seek thy face,\n  And mingles with the tempest's roar,\n    The whispers of thy grace.\n\n  4 Those gentle whispers let me hear,\n    Till all the tumult cease;\n  And gales of paradise shall lull\n    My weary soul to peace.\n\n\n83                                                               C. M.\n              His tender mercies are over all his works.\n                                   Psalm 145:9.\n\n  Thy goodness, Lord, our souls confess;\n    Thy goodness we adore:\n  A spring whose blessings never fail;\n    A sea without a shore.\n\n  2 Sun, moon, and stars thy love attest\n    In every golden ray;\n  Love draws the curtains of the night,\n    And love brings back the day.\n\n  3 Thy bounty every season crowns\n    With all the bliss it yields,\n  With joyful clusters loads the vines,\n    With strengthening grain the fields.\n\n  4 But chiefly thy compassion, Lord,\n    Is in the gospel seen;\n  There, like a sun, thy mercy shines,\n    Without a cloud between.\n\n  5 There, pardon, peace, and holy joy,\n    Through Jesus' name are given;\n  He on the cross was lifted high,\n    That we might reign in heaven.\n\n\n84                                                      C. M. 6 lines.\n                     Seeing him who is invisible.\n\n  Beyond, beyond that boundless sea,\n    Above that dome of sky,\n  Further than thought itself can flee,\n    Thy dwelling is on high:\n  Yet dear the awful thought to me,\n    That thou, my God, art nigh!\n\n  2 Art nigh, and yet my laboring mind\n    Feels after thee in vain,\n  Thee in these works of power to find,\n    Or to thy seat attain.\n  Thy messenger the stormy wind;\n    Thy path, the trackless main:\n\n  3 These speak of thee with loud acclaim;\n    They thunder forth thy praise,\n  The glorious honor of thy name,\n    The wonders of thy ways:\n  But thou art not in tempest flame\n    Nor in the noontide blaze.\n\n  4 We hear thy voice when thunders roll\n    Through the wide fields of air;\n  The waves obey thy dread control;\n    But still, thou art not there:\n  Where shall I find him, O my soul!\n    Who yet is everywhere?\n\n  5 O! not in circling depth or hight,\n    But in the conscious breast,\n  Present to faith, though vailed from sight;\n    There doth his Spirit rest:\n  O, come, thou Presence infinite!\n    And make thy creature blest.\n\n\n85                                                               C. M.\n                     Just and true are thy ways.\n                                    Rev. 15:3.\n\n  Since all the varying scenes of time\n    God's watchful eye surveys,\n  O, who so wise to choose our lot,\n    Or to appoint our ways!\n\n  2 Good when he gives--supremely good--\n    Nor less when he denies;\n  E'en crosses, from his sovereign hand,\n    Are blessings in disguise.\n\n  3 Why should we doubt a Father's love\n    So constant and so kind?\n  To his unerring, gracious will\n    Be every wish resigned.\n\n\n86                                                               C. M.\n                             God is love.\n                                   1 John 4:8.\n\n  I can not always trace the way\n    Where thou, almighty One, dost move;\n  But I can always, always say,\n        That God is love.\n\n  2 When fear her chilling mantle flings\n    O'er earth, my soul to heaven above,\n  As to her native home, upsprings;\n        For God is love.\n\n  3 When mystery clouds my darkened path,\n    I'll check my dread, my doubts reprove;\n  In this my soul sweet comfort hath,\n        That God is love.\n\n  4 O may this truth my heart employ,\n    And every gloomy thought remove;\n  It fills my soul with boundless joy,\n        That God is love!\n\n\n87                                                               C. M.\n                  Thou hast taught me from my youth.\n                                    Psalm 71.\n\n  Almighty Father of mankind!\n    On thee my hopes remain;\n  And when the day of trouble comes,\n    I shall not trust in vain.\n\n  2 In early years, thou wast my guide,\n    And of my youth the friend;\n  And, as my days began with thee,\n    With thee my days shall end.\n\n  3 I know the Power in whom I trust,\n    The arm on which I lean;\n  He will my Saviour ever be,\n    Who has my Saviour been.\n\n  4 Thou wilt not cast me off, when age\n    And evil days descend;\n  Thou wilt not leave me in despair,\n    To mourn my latter end.\n\n  5 Therefore, in life I'll trust in thee;\n    In death I will adore;\n  And after death will sing thy praise,\n    When time shall be no more.\n\n\n88                                                               C. M.\n                        All things are yours.\n                                   1 Cor. 3:21.\n\n  Since God is mine, then present things\n    And things to come are mine;\n  Yea, Christ, his word, and Spirit, too,\n    And glory all divine.\n\n  2 Since he is mine, then from his love\n    He every trouble sends;\n  All things are working for my good,\n    And bliss his rod attends.\n\n  3 Since he is mine, I need not fear\n    The rage of earth and hell;\n  He will support my feeble power,\n    Their utmost force repel.\n\n  4 Since he is mine, let friends forsake,\n    Let wealth and honors flee:\n  Sure, he who giveth me himself,\n    Is more than these to me.\n\n  5 Since he is mine, I'll boldly pass\n    Through death's dark, lonely vale:\n  He is my comfort and my stay,\n    When heart and flesh shall fail.\n\n  6 And now, O Lord, since thou art mine,\n    What can I wish beside?\n  My soul shall at the fountain live,\n    When all the streams are dried.\n\n\n89                                                               C. M.\n                             Providence.\n\n  Let the whole race of creatures lie\n    In dust before the Lord!\n  Whate'er his powerful hand has formed,\n    He governs with a word.\n\n  2 Ten thousand ages ere the skies\n    Were into motion brought,\n  All the long years and worlds to come\n    Stood present to his thought.\n\n  3 There's not a sparrow, or a worm,\n    O'erlooked in his decrees:\n  He raises monarchs to a throne,\n    Or sinks with equal ease.\n\n  4 If light attend the course I go,\n    'Tis he provides the rays;\n  And 'tis his hand that hides the sun,\n    If darkness cloud my days.\n\n  5 Trusting his wisdom and his love,\n    I would not wish to know\n  What, in the book of his decrees,\n    Awaits me here below.\n\n  6 Be this alone my fervent prayer:\n    Whate'er my lot may be,\n  Or joys, or sorrows--may they form\n    My soul for heaven and thee!\n\n\n90                                                               C. M.\n                           Majesty of God.\n                                    Psalm 18.\n\n  The Lord descended from above\n    And bowed the heavens most high,\n  And underneath his feet he cast\n    The darkness of the sky.\n\n  2 On cherubim and seraphim\n    Full royally he rode;\n  And on the wings of mighty winds,\n    Came flying all abroad.\n\n  3 He sat serene upon the floods,\n    Their fury to restrain;\n  And he, as sovereign Lord and King,\n    For evermore shall reign.\n\n\n91                                                               S. M.\n                         Now we know in part.\n                                  1 Cor. 13:12.\n\n  Thy way is in the sea;\n    Thy paths we can not trace;\n  Nor solve, O Lord, the mystery\n    Of thy unbounded grace.\n\n  2 Here the dark vails of sense\n    Our captive souls surround;\n  Mysterious deeps of providence\n    Our wandering thoughts confound.\n\n  3 As through a glass we see\n    The wonders of thy love;\n  How little do we know of thee,\n    Or of the joys above.\n\n  4 In part we know thy will,\n    And bless thee for the sight;\n  Soon will thy love the rest reveal\n    In glory's clearer light.\n\n  5 With joy shall we survey\n    Thy providence and grace;\n  And spend an everlasting day\n    In wonder, love and praise.\n\n\n92                                                               S. M.\n                          He careth for you.\n                                   1 Peter 5:7.\n\n  How gentle God's commands!\n    How kind his precepts are!\n  Come, cast your burdens on the Lord,\n    And trust his constant care.\n\n  2 His bounty will provide,\n    His saints securely dwell;\n  That hand which bears creation up,\n    Shall guard his children well.\n\n  3 Why should this anxious load\n    Press down your weary mind?\n  O, seek your heavenly Father's throne,\n    And peace and comfort find.\n\n  4 His goodness stands approved,\n    Unchanged from day to day;\n  I'll drop my burden at his feet,\n    And bear a song away.\n\n\n93                                                               S. M.\n                         Praise for mercies.\n\n  O bless the Lord, my soul!\n    Let all within me join,\n  And aid my tongue to bless his name\n    Whose favors are divine.\n\n  2 O bless the Lord, my soul!\n    Nor let his mercies lie\n  Forgotten in unthankfulness,\n    And without praises die.\n\n  3 'Tis he forgives thy sins;\n    'Tis he relieves thy pain;\n  'Tis he that heals thy sicknesses,\n    And gives thee strength again.\n\n  4 He crowns thy life with love,\n    When rescued from the grave;\n  He that redeemed our souls from death,\n    Hath boundless power to save.\n\n  5 He fills the poor with good;\n    He gives the sufferers rest:\n  The Lord hath justice for the proud,\n    And mercy for the oppressed.\n\n  6 His wondrous works and ways\n    He made by Moses known;\n  But sent the world his truth and grace\n    By his beloved Son.\n\n\n94                                                               S. M.\n                              Psalm 23.\n\n  The Lord my shepherd is;\n    I shall be well supplied:\n  Since he is mine, and I am his,\n    What can I want beside?\n\n  2 He leads me to the place\n    Where heavenly pasture grows,\n  Where living waters gently pass,\n    And full salvation flows.\n\n  3 If e'er I go astray,\n    He doth my soul reclaim,\n  And guides me in his own right way,\n    For his most holy name.\n\n  4 While he affords his aid,\n    I can not yield to fear;\n  Tho' I should walk thro' death's dark shade,\n    My shepherd's with me there.\n\n\n95                                                               S. M.\n                     His mercy endureth for ever.\n                                    Psalm 103.\n\n  My soul, repeat his praise\n    Whose mercies are so great;\n  Whose anger is so slow to rise,\n    So ready to abate.\n\n  2 High as the heavens are raised\n    Above the ground we tread,\n  So far the riches of his grace\n    Our highest thoughts exceed.\n\n  3 His power subdues our sins,\n    And his forgiving love,\n  Far as the east is from the west,\n    Doth all our guilt remove.\n\n  4 The pity of the Lord,\n    To those that fear his name,\n  Is such as tender parents feel:\n    He knows our feeble frame.\n\n  5 Our days are as the grass,\n    Or like the morning flower:\n  If one sharp blast sweeps o'er the field,\n    It withers in an hour.\n\n  6 But thy compassions, Lord,\n    To endless years endure;\n  And children's children ever find\n    Thy words of promise sure.\n\n\n96                                                               S. M.\n                            The fountain.\n\n  God is the fountain whence\n    Ten thousand blessings flow;\n  To him my life, my health, and friends,\n    And every good, I owe.\n\n  2 The comforts he affords\n    Are neither few nor small;\n  He is the source of fresh delights,\n    My portion and my all.\n\n  3 He fills my heart with joy,\n    My lips attunes for praise;\n  And to his glory I'll devote\n    The remnant of my days.\n\n\n97                                                         7s, double.\n                              Psalm 136.\n\n  Let us with a joyful mind\n  Praise the Lord, for he is kind;\n  For his mercies shall endure,\n  Ever faithful, ever sure.\n  Let us sound his name abroad,\n  For of gods he is the God\n  Who by wisdom did create\n  Heaven's expanse and all its state;\n\n  2 Did the solid earth ordain\n  How to rise above the main;\n  Who, by his commanding might,\n  Filled the new-made world with light;\n  Caused the golden-tressed sun\n  All the day his course to run;\n  And the moon to shine by night,\n  'Mid her spangled sisters bright.\n\n  3 All his creatures God doth feed,\n  His full hand supplies their need;\n  Let us therefore warble forth\n  His high majesty and worth.\n  He his mansion hath on high,\n  'Bove the reach of mortal eye;\n  And his mercies shall endure,\n  Ever faithful, ever sure.\n\n\n98                                                               P. M.\n                      Thou art my hiding place.\n                                   Psalm 32:7.\n\n  To thee, O God! to thee,\n    With lowly heart I bend;\n    Lord, to my prayer attend,\n  And haste to succor me,\n    Thou never-failing friend!\n  For seas of trouble o'er me roll,\n  And 'whelm with tears my sinking soul.\n\n  2 On thee, O God! on thee,\n    With humble hope I'll lean;\n    Thou who hast ever been\n  A hiding place to me\n    In many a troubled scene;\n  Whose heart, with love and mercy fraught,\n  Back to the fold thy wanderer brought.\n\n\n99                                                            8s & 7s.\n                          The elder brother.\n\n  Yes, for me, for me he careth\n    With a brother's tender care;\n  Yes, with me, with me he shareth\n    Every burden, every fear.\n\n  2 Yes, o'er me, o'er me he watcheth,\n    Ceaseless watcheth, night and day;\n  Yes, e'en me, e'en me he snatcheth\n    From the perils of the way.\n\n  3 Yes, for me he standeth pleading\n    At the mercy-seat above;\n  Ever for me interceding,\n    Constant in untiring love.\n\n  4 Yes, in me abroad he sheddeth\n    Joys unearthly, love and light;\n  And to cover me he spreadeth\n    His paternal wing of might.\n\n  5 Yes, in me, in me he dwelleth;\n    I in him, and he in me!\n  And my empty soul he filleth,\n    Here and through eternity.\n\n  6 Thus I wait for his returning,\n    Singing all the way to heaven:\n  Such the joyful song of morning\n    Such the tranquil song of even.\n\n\n100                                                         10s & 11s.\n                            Jehovah jireh.\n                                   Gen. 22:14.\n\n  Though troubles assail, and dangers affright,\n  Though friends should all fail, and foes all unite,\n  Yet one thing secures us, whatever betide,\n  The scripture assures us, The Lord will provide.\n\n  2 The birds without barn or storehouse are fed;\n  From them let us learn to trust for our bread:\n  His saints what is fitting shall ne'er be denied,\n  So long as 'tis written, The Lord will provide.\n\n  3 We may, like the ships, by tempests be tossed\n  On perilous deeps, but can not be lost:\n  Though Satan enrages the wind and the tide,\n  The promise engages, The Lord will provide.\n\n  4 His call we obey, like Abrah'm of old,\n  Not knowing our way, but faith makes us bold:\n  For though we are strangers, we have a good guide,\n  And trust, in all dangers, The Lord will provide.\n\n  5 No strength of our own, or goodness, we claim;\n  But since we have known the Saviour's great name,\n  In this our strong tower for safety we hide--\n  The Lord is our power--The Lord will provide.\n\n  6 When life sinks apace, and death is in view,\n  The word of his grace shall comfort us through:\n  Not fearing or doubting, with Christ on our side,\n  We hope to die shouting, The Lord will provide.\n\n\n101                                                           8s & 7s.\n                      Praise the King of heaven.\n\n  Praise, my soul, the King of heaven;\n    To his feet thy tribute bring;\n  Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven,\n    Who like me his praise should sing?\n      Praise him! praise him!\n    Praise the everlasting King!\n\n  2 Praise him for his grace and favor\n    To our fathers in distress;\n  Praise him, still the same for ever:\n    Slow to chide, and swift to bless;\n      Praise him! praise him!\n    Glorious in his faithfulness!\n\n  3 Father-like he tends and spares us;\n    Well our feeble frame he knows;\n  In his hands he gently bears us--\n    Rescues us from all our foes;\n      Praise him! praise him!\n    Widely as his mercy flows!\n\n  4 Angels, help us to adore him:\n    Ye behold him face to face;\n  Sun and moon, bow down before him;\n    Dwellers all in time and space,\n      Praise him! praise him!\n    Praise with us the God of grace!\n\n\n102                                                         10s & 11s.\n                            God glorious.\n\n  O, worship the King all-glorious above,\n  And gratefully sing his wonderful love--\n  Our shield and defender, the ancient of days,\n  Pavilioned in splendor and girded with praise.\n\n  2 O tell of his might, and sing of his grace,\n  Whose robe is the light, whose canopy space;\n  His chariots of wrath the deep thunder-clouds form,\n  And dark is his path on the wings of the storm.\n\n  3 Thy bountiful care what tongue can recite?\n  It breathes in the air, it shines in the light,\n  It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain,\n  And sweetly distills in the dew and the rain.\n\n  4 Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail,\n  In thee do we trust, nor find thee to fail,\n  Thy mercies how tender! how firm to the end,\n  Our Maker, Defender, Preserver, and Friend.\n\n  5 O Father Almighty, how faithful thy love!\n  While angels delight to hymn thee above,\n  The humbler creation, though feeble their lays,\n  With true adoration shall lisp to thy praise.\n\n\n103                                                               11s.\n                              Psalm 23.\n\n  The Lord is my Shepherd, no want shall I know;\n    I feed in green pastures, safe folded I rest;\n  He leadeth my soul where the still waters flow,\n    Restores me when wandering, redeems when opprest.\n\n  2 Through the valley and shadow of death tho' I stray,\n    Since thou art my guardian, no evil I fear;\n  Thy rod shall defend me, thy staff be my stay;\n    No harm can befall, with my comforter near.\n\n  3 In the midst of affliction my table is spread;\n    With blessings unmeasured my cup runneth o'er;\n  With perfume and oil thou anointest my head;\n    O what shall I ask of thy providence more?\n\n  4 Let goodness and mercy, my bountiful God!\n    Still follow my steps till I meet thee above;\n  I seek, by the path which my forefathers trod,\n    Through the land of their sojourn, thy kingdom of love.\n\n\n104                                                           9s & 6s.\n                       Fear not, little flock.\n                                   Luke 12:32.\n\n  Yes! our Shepherd leads with gentle hand,\n  Through the dark pilgrim-land,\n  His flock, so dearly bought,\n  So long and fondly sought.\n              Hallelujah!\n\n  2 When in clouds and mist the weak ones stray,\n  He shows again the way,\n  And points to them afar\n  A bright and guiding star.\n              Hallelujah!\n\n  3 Tenderly he watches from on high\n  With an unwearied eye;\n  He comforts and sustains,\n  In all their fears and pains.\n              Hallelujah!\n\n  4 Through the parched, dreary desert he will guide\n  To the green fountain-side:\n  Through the dark, stormy night,\n  To a calm land of light.\n              Hallelujah!\n\n  5 Yes! his \"little flock\" are ne'er forgot;\n  His mercy changes not:\n  Our home is safe above,\n  Within his arms of love.\n              Hallelujah!\n\n\n\n\n                            IN REDEMPTION.\n\n\n105                                                              L. M.\n                            God only wise.\n\n  Awake, my tongue; thy tribute bring\n  To him who gave thee power to sing;\n  Praise him who is all praise above,\n  The source of wisdom and of love.\n\n  2 How vast his knowledge! how profound!\n  A depth where all our thoughts are drowned;\n  The stars he numbers, and their names\n  He gives to all those heavenly flames.\n\n  3 Through each bright world above, behold\n  Ten thousand thousand charms unfold;\n  Earth, air, and mighty seas combine\n  To speak his wisdom all divine.\n\n  4 But in redemption, O what grace!\n  Its wonders, O, what thought can trace!\n  Here, wisdom shines for ever bright;\n  Praise him, my soul, with sweet delight.\n\n\n106                                                              L. M.\n                                Grace.\n\n  My God, how excellent thy grace!\n    Whence all our hope and comfort springs;\n  The sons of Adam in distress,\n    Fly to the shadow of thy wings.\n\n  2 Life, like a fountain rich and free,\n    Springs from the presence of my Lord,\n  And in thy light our souls shall see\n    The glories promised in thy word.\n\n\n107                                                              L. M.\n                       Creation and redemption.\n\n  Give to our God immortal praise;\n  Mercy and truth are all his ways:\n  Wonders of grace to God belong;\n  Repeat his mercies in your song.\n\n  2 Give to the Lord of lords renown,\n  The King of kings with glory crown:\n  His mercies ever shall endure,\n  When lords and kings are known no more.\n\n  3 He built the earth, he spread the sky,\n  And fixed the starry lights on high:\n  Wonders of grace to God belong;\n  Repeat his mercies in your song.\n\n  4 He fills the sun with morning light,\n  He bids the moon direct the night:\n  His mercies ever shall endure,\n  When suns and moons shall shine no more.\n\n  5 He sent his Son with power to save\n  From guilt, and darkness, and the grave:\n  Wonders of grace to God belong;\n  Repeat his mercies in your song.\n\n  6 Through this vain world he guides our feet,\n  And leads us to his heavenly seat:\n  His mercies ever shall endure,\n  When this vain world shall be no more.\n\n\n108                                                              L. M.\n                         The reconciliation.\n\n  O love, beyond conception great,\n    That formed the vast, stupendous plan,\n  Where all divine perfections meet\n    To reconcile rebellious man:\n\n  2 There wisdom shines in fullest blaze,\n    And justice all her right maintains--\n  Astonished angels stoop to gaze,\n    While mercy o'er the guilty reigns.\n\n  3 Yes, mercy reigns, and justice too;\n    In Christ they both harmonious meet;\n  He paid to justice all her due;\n    And now he fills the mercy-seat.\n\n\n109                                                              L. M.\n                             What is man?\n                                     Psalm 8.\n\n  Lord, what is man? Extremes how wide\n    In this mysterious nature join!\n  The flesh to worms and dust allied,\n    The soul immortal and divine.\n\n  2 Divine at first, a holy flame\n    Kindled by heaven's inspiring breath;\n  Till sin, with power prevailing, came;\n    Then followed darkness, shame and death.\n\n  3 But Jesus, O amazing grace!\n    Assumed our nature as his own,\n  Obeyed and suffered in our place,\n    Then took it with him to his throne.\n\n  4 Now, what is man, when grace reveals,\n    The virtue of a Saviour's blood?\n  Again a life divine he feels,\n    Despises earth and walks with God.\n\n  5 And what, in yonder realms above,\n    Is ransomed man ordained to be!\n  With honor, holiness, and love,\n    No seraph more adorned than he.\n\n  6 Nearest the throne, and first in song,\n    Man shall his hallelujahs raise;\n  While wondering angels round him throng\n    And swell the chorus of his praise.\n\n\n110                                                              L. M.\n                    Love--that passeth knowledge.\n\n  O love of God, how strong and true!\n  Eternal and yet ever new:\n  Above all price, and still unbought;\n  Beyond all knowledge and all thought.\n\n  2 O, wide-embracing, wondrous love,\n  We read thee in the sky above;\n  We read thee in the earth below,\n  In seas that swell and streams that flow.\n\n  3 We read thee best in him who came\n  To bear for us the cross of shame;\n  Sent by the Father from on high,\n  Our life to live, our death to die.\n\n  4 O love of God, our shield and stay\n  Through all the perils of the way;\n  Eternal love, in thee we rest,\n  For ever safe, for ever blest.\n\n\n111                                                              C. M.\n                          Nature and grace.\n\n  Father! how wide thy glory shines!\n    How high thy wonders rise!\n  Known through the earth by thousand signs,\n    By thousand through the skies.\n\n  2 Those mighty orbs proclaim thy power,\n    Their motions speak thy skill;\n  And on the wings of every hour,\n    We read thy patience still.\n\n  3 But when we view thy strange design\n    To save rebellious worms,\n  Where justice and compassion join\n    In their divinest forms,\n\n  4 Our thoughts are lost in reverent awe,\n    We love and we adore;\n  The brightest angel never saw\n    So much of God before.\n\n  5 Here the whole Deity is known;\n    But thought can never trace\n  Which of the glories brighter shine,\n    The justice, or the grace.\n\n  6 Now the full glories of the Lamb\n    Adorn the heavenly plains:\n  Bright seraphs learn Immanuel's name,\n    And try their choicest strains.\n\n  7 O! may I bear some humble part\n    In that immortal song;\n  Wonder and joy shall tune my heart,\n    And love command my tongue.\n\n\n112                                                              C. M.\n               Heaven and earth are full of his glory.\n\n  Eternal Wisdom, thee we praise;\n    Thee all thy creatures sing:\n  While with thy name, rocks, hills, and seas,\n    And heaven's high palace, ring.\n\n  2 Thy hand, how wide it spread the sky;\n    How glorious to behold!\n  Tinged with a blue of heavenly dye,\n    And decked with sparkling gold.\n\n  3 Almighty power, and equal skill,\n    Shine through the worlds abroad,\n  Our souls with vast amazement fill,\n    And speak the builder, God.\n\n  4 But still the wonders of thy grace\n    Our warmer passions move;\n  Here we behold our Saviour's face,\n    And here adore his love.\n\n\n113                                                              C. M.\n                             God is love.\n\n  Come, ye that know and fear the Lord,\n    And raise your souls above;\n  Let every heart and voice accord\n    To sing that--God is love.\n\n  2 This precious truth his word declares,\n    And all his mercies prove;\n  While Christ, th' atoning Lamb, appears,\n    To show that--God is love.\n\n  3 Behold his loving-kindness waits\n    For those who from him rove,\n  And calls for mercy reach their hearts,\n    To teach them--God is love.\n\n  4 O! may we all, while here below,\n    This best of blessings prove;\n  Till warmer hearts, in brighter worlds,\n    Shall shout that--God is love.\n\n\n114                                                              C. M.\n                         No joy without God.\n                                    Psalm 73.\n\n  God! my supporter and my hope,\n    My help for ever near,\n  Thine arm of mercy held me up\n    When sinking in despair.\n\n  2 Thy counsels, Lord, shall guide my feet\n    Through this dark wilderness;\n  Thy hand conduct me near thy seat,\n    To dwell before thy face.\n\n  3 Were I in heaven without my God,\n    'Twould be no joy to me;\n  And while this earth is my abode,\n    I long for none but thee.\n\n  4 What if the springs of life were broke,\n    And flesh and heart should faint?\n  God is my soul's eternal rock,\n    The strength of every saint.\n\n\n115                                                        8s, 7s & 4.\n                         Jehovah my strength.\n\n  Guide me, O thou great Jehovah,\n    Pilgrim through this barren land;\n  I am weak, but thou art mighty,\n    Hold me with thy powerful hand;\n      Bread of heaven,\n    Feed me till I want no more.\n\n  2 Open thou the crystal fountain\n    Whence the healing waters flow;\n  Let the fiery, cloudy pillar,\n    Lead me all my journey through;\n      Strong Deliverer,\n    Be thou still my strength and shield.\n\n  3 When I tread the verge of Jordan,\n    Bid the swelling stream divide;\n  Death of death, and hell's destruction,\n    Land me safe on Canaan's side!\n      Songs of praises\n    I will ever give to thee.\n\n\n116                                                           8s & 7s.\n                        God is light and love.\n\n  God is love; his mercy brightens\n    All the path in which we move!\n  Bliss he grants, and woe he lightens;\n    God is light, and God is love.\n\n  2 Chance and change are busy ever;\n    Worlds decay and ages move;\n  But his mercy waneth never;\n    God is light, and God is love.\n\n  3 E'en the hour that darkest seemeth,\n    His unchanging goodness proves;\n  From the cloud his brightness streameth;\n    God is light, and God is love.\n\n  4 He our earthly cares entwineth\n    With his comforts from above;\n  Everywhere his glory shineth;\n    God is light, and God is love.\n\n\n\n\n                        CHRIST: THE NATIVITY.\n\n\n117                                                              L. M.\n                              Luke 2:11.\n\n  When Jordan hushed his waters still,\n  And silence slept on Zion's hill,\n  When Bethlehem's shepherds, thro' the night,\n  Watched o'er their flocks by starry light--\n\n  2 Hark! from the midnight hills around,\n  A voice of more than mortal sound,\n  In distant hallelujahs stole,\n  Wild murmuring o'er the raptured soul.\n\n  3 On wheels of light, on wings of flame,\n  The glorious hosts of Zion came;\n  High heaven with songs of triumph rung,\n  While thus they struck their harps and sung:\n\n  4 \"O Zion, lift thy raptured eye;\n  The long-expected hour is nigh;\n  The joys of nature rise again;\n  The Prince of Salem comes to reign.\n\n  5 \"See, Mercy, from her golden urn,\n  Pours a rich stream to them that mourn;\n  Behold, she binds with tender care\n  The bleeding bosom of despair.\n\n  6 \"He comes to cheer the trembling heart:\n  Bids Satan and his host depart;\n  Again the day-star gilds the gloom,\n  Again the bowers of Eden bloom.\"\n\n\n118                                                              L. M.\n                            Genesis 3:15.\n\n  Behold the woman's promised seed!\n    Behold the great Messiah come!\n  Behold the prophets all agreed\n    To give him the superior room!\n\n  2 Abrah'm, the saint, rejoiced of old,\n    When visions of the Lord he saw;\n  Moses, the man of God, foretold\n    This great fulfiller of his law.\n\n  3 The types bore witness to his name,\n    Obtained their chief design, and ceased--\n  The incense and the bleeding lamb,\n    The ark, the altar, and the priest.\n\n  4 Predictions in abundance join\n    To pour their witness on his head:\n  Jesus, we bow before thy throne,\n    And own thee as the promised seed.\n\n\n\n\n                         HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS.\n\n\n119                                                           C. H. M.\n                   Glory to God--good will to men.\n\n  In hymns of praise, eternal God,\n    When thy creating hand\n  Stretched the blue arch of heaven abroad,\n    And meted sea and land,\n  The morning stars together sung,\n  And shouts of joy from angels rung.\n\n  2 Than earth's prime hour, more joyous far\n    Was the eventful morn,\n  When the bright beam of Bethlehem's star\n    Announced a Saviour born!\n  Then sweeter strains from heaven began\n  \"Glory to God--good will to man.\"\n\n  3 Babe of the manger! can it be?\n    Art thou the Son of God?\n  Shall subject nations bow the knee,\n    And kings obey thy nod?\n  Shall thrones and monarchs prostrate fall\n  Before the tenant of a stall?\n\n  4 'Tis he! the hymning seraphs cry,\n    While hovering drawn to earth;\n  'Tis he, the shepherds' songs reply;\n    Hail! hail! Immanuel's birth;\n  The rod of peace those hands shall bear,\n  That brow a crown of glory wear!\n\n  5 'Tis he! the eastern sages sing,\n    And spread their golden hoard;\n  'Tis he! the hills of Zion ring,\n    Hosanna to the Lord!\n  The Prince of long prophetic years\n  To-day in Bethlehem appears!\n\n\n120                                                      C. M. double.\n                         Song of the angels.\n\n  It came upon the midnight clear,\n    That glorious song of old,\n  From angels bending near the earth\n    To touch their harps of gold:\n  \"Peace to the earth, good will to men,\n    From heaven's all-gracious King;\"\n  The world in solemn stillness lay\n    To hear the angels sing.\n\n  2 Still through the cloven skies they come\n    With peaceful wings unfurled;\n  And still their heavenly music floats\n    O'er all the weary world:\n  Above its sad and lowly plains\n    They bend on heavenly wing,\n  And ever o'er its Babel sounds\n    The blessed angels sing.\n\n  3 Yet with the woes of sin and strife\n    The world has suffered long;\n  Beneath the angel-strain have rolled\n    Two thousand years of wrong;\n  And men, at war with men, hear not\n    The love-song which they bring:\n  O! hush the noise, ye men of strife,\n    And hear the angels sing!\n\n  4 And ye, beneath life's crushing load,\n    Whose forms are bending low,\n  Who toil along the climbing way\n    With painful steps and slow;\n  Look now! for glad and golden hours\n    Come swiftly on the wing:\n  O! rest beside the weary road,\n    And hear the angels sing!\n\n  5 For lo! the days are hastening on,\n    By prophet-bards foretold,\n  When with the ever-circling years\n    Comes round the age of gold;\n  When peace shall over all the earth\n    Its ancient splendor fling,\n  And the whole world send back the song\n    Which now the angels sing.\n\n\n121                                                              C. M.\n                           Mortals, awake.\n\n  Mortals! awake, with angels join,\n    And chant the solemn lay;\n  Love, joy, and gratitude combine\n    To hail the auspicious day.\n\n  2 In heaven the rapturous song began,\n    And sweet seraphic fire\n  Through all the shining legions ran,\n    And swept the sounding lyre.\n\n  3 The theme, the song, the joy was new\n    To each angelic tongue;\n  Swift through the realms of light it flew,\n    And loud the echo rung.\n\n  4 Down through the portals of the sky\n    The pealing anthem ran,\n  And angels flew with eager joy\n    To bear the news to man.\n\n  5 Hark! the cherubic armies shout,\n    And glory leads the song,\n  Peace and salvation swell the note\n    Of all the heavenly throng.\n\n  6 With joy the chorus we'll repeat,\n    \"Glory to God on high!\n  Good will and peace are now complete--\n    Jesus was born to die!\"\n\n  7 Hail, Prince of life! for ever hail!\n    Redeemer--brother--friend!\n  Though earth, and time, and life shall fail,\n    Thy praise shall never end.\n\n\n122                                                              C. M.\n                             Isaiah 9:6.\n\n  To us a child of hope is born,\n    To us a Son is given;\n  Him shall the tribes of earth obey,\n    Him, all the hosts of heaven.\n\n  2 His name shall be the Prince of Peace,\n    For evermore adored,\n  The Wonderful, the Counsellor,\n    The great and mighty Lord.\n\n  3 His power, increasing, still shall spread;\n    His reign no end shall know;\n  Justice shall guard his throne above,\n    And peace abound below.\n\n\n123                                                              C. M.\n                     The day-spring from on high.\n\n  Calm on the listening ear of night,\n    Come heaven's melodious strains,\n  Where wild Judea stretches far\n    Her silver-mantled plains.\n\n  2 Celestial choirs, from courts above,\n    Shed sacred glories there,\n  And angels, with their sparkling lyres,\n    Make music on the air.\n\n  3 The answering hills of Palestine\n    Send back the glad reply;\n  And greet, from all their holy hights,\n    The day-spring from on high.\n\n  4 O'er the blue depths of Galilee\n    There comes a holier calm,\n  And Sharon waves, in solemn praise,\n    Her silent groves of palm.\n\n  5 \"Glory to God!\" the sounding skies\n    Loud with their anthems ring--\n  \"Peace to the earth, good will to men,\n    From heaven's eternal King.\"\n\n  6 Light on thy hill, Jerusalem!\n    The Saviour now is born!\n  And bright on Bethlehem's joyous plains\n    Breaks the first Advent morn.\n\n\n124                                                              C. M.\n                             The Advent.\n\n  Hark, the glad sound! the Saviour comes!\n    The Saviour promised long!\n  Let every heart prepare a throne,\n    And every voice a song.\n\n  2 He comes, the prisoner to release\n    In Satan's bondage held;\n  The gates of brass before him burst,\n    The iron fetters yield.\n\n  3 He comes, from thickest films of vice\n    To clear the mental ray,\n  And on the eyeballs of the blind\n    To pour celestial day.\n\n  4 He comes, the broken heart to bind,\n    The bleeding soul to cure,\n  And with the treasures of his grace\n    To enrich the humble poor.\n\n  5 Our glad hosannas, Prince of Peace,\n    The welcome shall proclaim,\n  And heaven's eternal arches ring\n    With thy beloved name.\n\n\n125                                                              C. M.\n                          Joy to the world.\n\n  Joy to the world; the Lord is come!\n    Let earth receive her King:\n  Let every heart prepare him room,\n    And heaven and nature sing.\n\n  2 Joy to the earth, the Saviour reigns!\n    Let men their songs employ;\n  While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains,\n    Repeat the sounding joy.\n\n  3 No more let sins and sorrows grow,\n    Nor thorns infest the ground;\n  He comes to make his blessings flow\n    Far as the curse is found.\n\n  4 He rules the world with truth and grace,\n    And makes the nations prove\n  The glories of his righteousness,\n    And wonders of his love.\n\n\n126                                                                7s.\n                     Christ is born in Bethlehem.\n                                     Luke 2.\n\n  Hark! the herald angels sing,\n  \"Glory to the new-born King!\n  Peace on earth, and mercy mild;\n  God and sinners reconciled.\"\n\n  2 Joyful, all ye nations, rise;\n  Join the triumphs of the skies;\n  With th' angelic host proclaim,\n  \"Christ is born in Bethlehem.\"\n\n  3 See, he lays his glory by;\n  Born that man no more may die;\n  Born to raise the sons of earth;\n  Born to give them second birth.\n\n  4 Vailed in flesh the Godhead see!\n  Hail, th' incarnate Deity!\n  Pleased as man with man to dwell,\n  Jesus, our Immanuel!\n\n  5 Hail, the heaven-born Prince of Peace!\n  Hail, the Son of Righteousness!\n  Light and life to all he brings,\n  Risen with healing in his wings.\n\n  6 Let us then with angels sing,\n  \"Glory to the new-born King!\n  Peace on earth, and mercy mild;\n  God and sinners reconciled!\"\n\n\n127                                                                7s.\n                            The wonderful.\n\n  Bright and joyful was the morn\n  When to us a child was born;\n  From the highest realms of heaven\n  Unto us a Son was given.\n\n  2 On his shoulder he shall bear\n  Power and majesty--and wear\n  On his vesture and his thigh\n  Names most awful--names most high.\n\n  3 Wonderful in counsel he,\n  Christ th' incarnate Deity;\n  Sire of ages ne'er to cease,\n  King of kings, and Prince of Peace.\n\n  4 Come and worship at his feet,\n  Yield to him the homage meet;\n  From his manger to his throne,\n  Homage due to God alone.\n\n\n128                                                                7s.\n                     Watchman, what of the night?\n                                  Isaiah 21:11.\n\n  Watchman, tell us of the night,\n    What its signs of promise are.\n  Traveler, o'er yon mountain's hights\n    See that glory-beaming star!\n\n  2 Watchman, does its beauteous ray\n    Aught of joy or hope foretell?\n  Traveler, yes: it brings the day,\n    Promised day of Israel.\n\n  3 Watchman, tell us of the night;\n    Higher yet that star ascends.\n  Traveler, blessedness and light,\n    Peace and truth, its course portends.\n\n  4 Watchman, will its beams alone\n    Gild the spot that gave them birth?\n  Traveler, ages are its own:\n    See! it bursts o'er all the earth!\n\n  5 Watchman, tell us of the night,\n    For the morning seems to dawn.\n  Traveler, darkness takes its flight,\n    Doubt and terror are withdrawn.\n\n  6 Watchman, let thy wandering cease;\n    Hie thee to thy quiet home.\n  Traveler, lo! the Prince of Peace,\n    Lo! the Son of God is come!\n\n\n129                                                                7s.\n                          A Bethlehem hymn.\n\n  He has come! the Christ of God;\n  Left for us his glad abode;\n  Stooping from his throne of bliss,\n  To this darksome wilderness.\n\n  2 He has come--the Prince of Peace--\n  Come to bid our sorrows cease;\n  Come to scatter, with his light,\n  All the shadows of our night.\n\n  3 He, the mighty King, has come!\n  Making the poor earth his home\n  Come to bear sin's heavy load;\n  Son of David, Son of God.\n\n  4 He has come, whose name of grace\n  Speaks deliverance to our race;\n  Left for us his glad abode;\n  Son of Mary, Son of God!\n\n  5 Unto us a child is born!\n  Ne'er has earth beheld a morn\n  Numbered in the morns of time,\n  Half so glorious in its prime.\n\n  6 Unto us a Son is given!\n  He has come from God's own heaven;\n  Bringing with him from above,\n  Holy peace and holy love.\n\n\n130                                                                7s.\n                              Immanuel.\n\n  God with us! O glorious name!\n  Let it shine in endless fame;\n  God and man in Christ unite--\n  O mysterious depth and hight!\n\n  2 God with us! amazing love\n  Brought him from his courts above;\n  Now, ye saints, his grace admire,\n  Swell the song with holy fire.\n\n  3 God with us! O wondrous grace!\n  Let us see him face to face;\n  That we may Immanuel sing,\n  As we ought, our God and King.\n\n\n131                                                              P. M.\n                            Silent night.\n\n  Silent night! hallowed night!\n  Land and deep silent sleep;\n  Softly glitters bright Bethlehem's star,\n  Beckoning Israel's eye from afar\n      Where the Saviour is born.\n\n  2 Silent night! hallowed night!\n  On the plain wakes the strain,\n  Sung by heavenly harbingers bright,\n  Fraught with tidings of boundless delight:\n      Christ the Saviour has come.\n\n  3 Silent night! hallowed night!\n  Earth awake, silence break,\n  High your anthems of melody raise,\n  Heaven and earth in full chorus of praise:\n      Peace for ever shall reign.\n\n\n132                                                              H. M.\n                      Good tidings of great joy.\n                                     Luke 2.\n\n  Hark! hark! the notes of joy\n    Roll o'er the heavenly plains,\n  And seraphs find employ\n    For their sublimest strains:\n  Some new delight in heaven is known;\n  Loud sound the harps around the throne.\n\n  2 Hark! hark! the sound draws nigh--\n    The joyful host descends;\n  The Lord forsakes the sky,\n    To earth his footsteps bends:\n  He comes to bless our fallen race;\n  He comes with messages of grace.\n\n  3 Bear, bear the tidings round!\n    Let every mortal know\n  What love in God is found,\n    What pity he can show:\n  Ye winds that blow, ye waves that roll,\n  Bear the glad news from pole to pole.\n\n  4 Strike, strike the harps again,\n    To great Immanuel's name!\n  Arise, ye sons of men,\n    And all his grace proclaim:\n  Angels and men, wake every string,\n  'Tis God the Saviour's praise we sing!\n\n\n133                                                           8s & 7s.\n                Shepherds, hail the wondrous stranger.\n\n  Shepherds! hail the wondrous stranger,\n    Now to Bethlehem speed your way;\n  Lo! in yonder humble manger,\n    Christ, the Lord, is born to-day.\n\n  2 Bright the star of your salvation,\n    Pointing to his rude abode;\n  Rapturous news for every nation:\n    Now, behold the Son of God.\n\n  3 Love eternal moved the Saviour,\n    Thus to lay his radiance by;\n  Blessings on the Lamb for ever;\n    Glory be to God on high.\n\n\n134                                                           8s & 7s.\n                        Chorus of the angels.\n                                    Luke 2:14.\n\n  Hark! what joyful notes are swelling\n    On the quiet midnight air!\n  'Tis the voice of angels telling,\n    Jesus comes our sins to bear!\n  Now the music, in its gladness,\n    Breaks and swells, and glides along!\n  Now, earth, waking from her sadness,\n    Joins the chorus of the song!\n      Glory in the highest heaven!\n        Peace on earth, good-will to man!\n      Let all praise to God be given,\n        For Redemption's glorious plan!\n\n  2 See all darkness disappearing,\n    As the star begins to rise!\n  Sin and death stand trembling, fearing,\n    As the light falls on their eyes:\n  Now, again, the earth rejoices,\n    Satan's powerful kingdom shakes,\n  As, from all the heavenly voices,\n    Louder still the chorus breaks!\n      Glory in the highest heaven! etc.\n\n  3 Rise and shine, Star of Salvation!\n    Spread thy beams o'er all the earth,\n  Till each distant land and nation\n    Owns and speaks thy matchless worth!\n  Till all tongues, thy praises singing,\n    Shall thy mighty wonders tell,\n  Till all heaven with joy is ringing,\n    As our hearts the chorus swell:\n      Glory in the highest heaven! etc.\n\n  4 When our days on earth are ended,\n    And we rise to worlds above,\n  Then our songs shall all be blended\n    In one song of pardoning love!\n  Then we'll tell the wondrous story,\n    And our blessed Lord adore;\n  In our home of bliss and glory\n    We shall sing for evermore!\n      Glory in the highest heaven!\n        Sound aloud the joyful strain!\n      Glory to the Lamb be given,\n        Who for sinners once was slain!\n\n\n135                                                           8s & 7s.\n                  Hark! what mean those holy voices?\n\n  Hark! what mean those holy voices,\n    Sweetly sounding through the skies?\n  Lo! th' angelic host rejoices!\n    Heavenly hallelujahs rise.\n\n  2 Hear them tell the wondrous story,\n    Hear them chant in hymns of joy--\n  \"Glory to the highest, glory!\n    Glory be to God most high!\n\n  3 \"Peace on earth, good-will from heaven,\n    Reaching far as man is found;\n  Souls redeemed and sins forgiven!\"\n    Loud our golden harps shall sound.\n\n  4 \"Christ is born, the great anointed;\n    Heaven and earth his praises sing;\n  O receive whom God appointed,\n    For your Prophet, Priest, and King!\n\n  5 \"Haste, ye mortals, to adore him;\n    Learn his name, and taste his joy;\n  Till in heaven ye sing before him--\n    \"'Glory be to God most high!'\"\n\n\n136                                                           8s & 7s.\n                      Christ, the Saviour, born.\n\n  Hail, thou long-expected Jesus!\n    Born to set thy people free;\n  From our sins and fears release us,\n    Let us find our rest in thee.\n\n  2 Israel's strength and consolation,\n    Hope of all the saints, thou art;\n  Longdesired of every nation,\n    Joy of every waiting heart.\n\n  3 Born, thy people to deliver--\n    Born a child, yet Christ, our King--\n  Born to reign in us for ever--\n    Now thy gracious kingdom bring.\n\n  4 By thine own eternal Spirit,\n    Rule in all our hearts alone;\n  By thine all-sufficient merit,\n    Raise us to thy glorious throne.\n\n\n137                                                        8s, 7s & 4.\n                          Come and worship.\n\n  Angels, from the realms of glory,\n    Wing your flight o'er all the earth,\n  Ye who sang creation's story,\n    Now proclaim Messiah's birth:\n      Come and worship,\n    Worship Christ, the new-born King.\n\n  2 Shepherds, in the field abiding,\n    Watching o'er your flocks by night,\n  God with man is now residing,\n    Yonder shines the infant light;\n      Come and worship,\n    Worship Christ, the new-born King.\n\n  3 Sages, leave your contemplations,\n    Brighter visions beam afar;\n  Seek the great desire of nations;\n    Ye have seen his natal star!\n      Come and worship,\n    Worship Christ, the new-born King.\n\n  4 Saints, before the altar bending,\n    Watching long in hope and fear,\n  Suddenly, the Lord descending,\n    In his temple shall appear;\n      Come and worship,\n    Worship Christ, the new-born King.\n\n\n138                                                         11s & 10s.\n                         Hail the blest morn.\n\n  Hail the blest morn! when the great Mediator\n    Down from the regions of glory descends!\n  Shepherds, go worship the babe in the manger;\n    Lo! for your guide the bright angel attends!\n                               CHORUS.\n      Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,\n        Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thy aid:\n      Star of the East, the horizon adorning,\n        Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.\n\n  2 Cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shining,\n    Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall:\n  Angels adore him in slumbers reclining,\n    Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all!\n\n  3 Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion,\n    Odors of Eden, and offerings divine;\n  Gems from the mountain, and pearls from the ocean,\n    Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the mine?\n\n  4 Vainly we offer earth's richest oblation\n    Vainly with gold would his favor secure;\n  Richer, by far, is the heart's adoration,\n    Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor!\n\n\n139                                                               12s.\n                       Hallelujah to the Lamb.\n\n  From the regions of love, lo! an angel descended,\n  And told the strange news how the babe was attended;\n  Go, shepherds, and visit the wonderful stranger;\n  See yonder bright star! there's your Lord in a manger.\n                               CHORUS.\n  Hallelujah to the Lamb who has purchased our pardon,\n  We'll praise him again when we pass over Jordan!\n\n  2 Glad tidings I bring unto you and each nation!\n  Glad tidings of joy--now behold your salvation;\n  Then suddenly multitudes raise their glad voices,\n  And shout hallelujahs, while heaven rejoices!\n\n  3 Now glory to God in the highest be given,\n  All glory to God is re-echoed from heaven;\n  Around the whole earth let us tell the glad story,\n  And sing of his love, his salvation, and glory.\n\n  4 O Jesus! ride on, thy kingdom is glorious;\n  Over sin, death, and hell, thou'lt make us victorious!\n  Thy banner unfurl--let the nations surrender,\n  And own thee their Saviour, their Lord and Defender!\n\n\n140                                                              P. M.\n                     Glory to God in the highest.\n\n  Hark! from the world on high\n      Glory to God!\n  Now swells along the sky\n      Glory to God!\n  Songs, like sweet notes of praise,\n  Pour forth in rapturous lays,\n  As all the voices raise\n      Glory to God!\n\n  2 Hear how the angels sing\n      Glory to God!\n  Through all the heavens ring\n      Glory to God!\n  Now, let each heart on earth\n  Sing of the Saviour's birth,\n  Telling his matchless worth,\n      Glory to God!\n\n\n\n\n                          LIFE AND MINISTRY.\n\n\n141                                                              L. M.\n                            His teaching.\n\n  How sweetly flowed the gospel sound\n    From lips of gentleness and grace,\n  When listening thousands gathered round,\n    And joy and gladness filled the place!\n\n  2 From heaven he came, of heaven he spoke,\n    To heaven he led his followers' way;\n  Dark clouds of gloomy night he broke,\n    Unvailing an immortal day.\n\n  3 \"Come, wanderers, to my Father's home:\n    Come, all ye weary ones, and rest!\"\n  Yes, sacred Teacher, we will come,\n    Obey thee, love thee, and be blest.\n\n\n142                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                             His baptism.\n\n  In Jordan's tide the Baptist stands,\n    Immersing the repenting Jews;\n  The Son of God the rite demands,\n    Nor dares the holy man refuse:\n  Jesus descends beneath the wave,\n  The emblem of his future grave!\n\n  2 Wonder, ye heavens! your Maker lies\n    In deeps concealed from human view;\n  Ye saints, behold him sink and rise;\n    A fit example this for you:\n  The sacred record, while you read,\n  Calls you to imitate the deed.\n\n  3 But, lo! from yonder opening skies,\n    What beams of dazzling glory spread!\n  Dove-like the Holy Spirit flies,\n    And lights on the Redeemer's head:\n  Amazed they see the power divine\n  Around the Saviour's temples shine.\n\n  4 But, hark! my soul, hark, and adore!\n    What sounds are those that roll along?\n  Not loud, like Sinai's awful roar;\n    But soft and sweet as Gabriel's song:\n  \"This is my well-beloved Son,\n  I see well-pleased what he hath done.\"\n\n  5 Thus the eternal Father spoke,\n    Who shakes creation with a nod,\n  Through parting skies the accents broke,\n    And bid us hear the Son of God;\n  O hear the awful word to-day;\n  Hear, all ye nations, and obey!\n\n\n143                                                              L. M.\n                            His holy life.\n\n  And is the gospel peace and love?\n    Such let our conversation be:\n  The serpent blended with the dove--\n    Wisdom and meek simplicity.\n\n  2 Whene'er the angry passions rise,\n    And tempt our thoughts or tongues to strife\n  On Jesus let us fix our eyes,\n    Bright pattern of the Christian life.\n\n  3 O how benevolent and kind!\n    How mild! how ready to forgive!\n  Be his the temper of our mind,\n    And his the rules by which we live.\n\n  4 To do his heavenly Father's will\n    Was his employment and delight;\n  Humility, and love, and zeal,\n    Shone through his life divinely bright.\n\n  5 Dispensing good where'er he came,\n    The labors of his life were love--\n  O! if we love the Saviour's name,\n    Let his divine example move.\n\n  6 But ah! how blind, how weak we are!\n    How frail, how apt to turn aside!\n  Lord, we depend upon thy care;\n    O may thy spirit be our guide!\n\n  7 Thy fair example may we trace,\n    To teach us what we ought to be;\n  Make us, by thy transforming grace,\n    Lord Jesus, daily more like thee.\n\n\n144                                                              L. M.\n                The meekness and gentleness of Christ.\n                                   2 Cor. 10:1.\n\n  How beauteous were the marks divine,\n  That in thy meekness used to shine;\n  That lit thy lonely pathway, trod\n  In wondrous love, O Son of God!\n\n  2 O, who like thee--so calm, so bright,\n  So pure, so made to live in light?\n  O, who like thee did ever go\n  So patient through a world of woe?\n\n  3 O, who like thee so humbly bore\n  The scorn, the scoffs of men, before?\n  So meek, forgiving, godlike, high,\n  So glorious in humility?\n\n  4 The bending angels stooped to see,\n  The lisping infant clasp thy knee,\n  And smile, as in a father's eye,\n  Upon thy mild divinity.\n\n  5 And death, which sets the prisoner free,\n  Was pang, and scoff, and scorn to thee;\n  Yet love through all thy torture glowed,\n  And mercy with thy life-blood flowed.\n\n  6 O, in thy light be mine to go,\n  Illuming all my way of woe;\n  And give me ever on the road\n  To trace thy footsteps, Son of God!\n\n\n145                                                              L. M.\n                            His miracles.\n\n  Behold the blind their sight receive!\n  Behold the dead awake and live!\n  The dumb speak wonders, and the lame\n  Leap like the hart, and bless his name!\n\n  2 Thus doth the Holy Spirit own\n  And seal the mission of the Son;\n  The Father vindicates his cause,\n  While he hangs bleeding on the cross.\n\n  3 He dies: the heavens in mourning stood;\n  He rises by the power of God:\n  Behold the Lord ascending high,\n  No more to bleed, no more to die!\n\n  4 Hence and for ever from my heart\n  I bid my doubts and fears depart;\n  And to those hands my soul resign,\n  Which bear credentials so divine.\n\n\n146                                                              L. M.\n                             His example.\n\n  My dear Redeemer and my Lord,\n  I read my duty in thy word;\n  But in thy life the law appears\n  Drawn out in living characters.\n\n  2 Such was thy truth, and such thy zeal,\n  Such deference to thy Father's will,\n  Such love, and meekness so divine;\n  I would transcribe and make them mine.\n\n  3 Cold mountains and the midnight air\n  Witnessed the fervor of thy prayer;\n  The desert thy temptations knew,\n  Thy conflict and thy victory too.\n\n  4 Be thou my pattern; make me bear\n  More of thy gracious image here;\n  Then God the judge shall own my name\n  Among the followers of the Lamb.\n\n\n147                                                              L. M.\n                        He so loved the world.\n                                    John 3:16.\n\n  Not to condemn the sons of men,\n    Did Christ, the Son of God, appear;\n  No weapons in his hands are seen,\n    No flaming sword, nor thunder there.\n\n  2 Such was the pity of our God,\n    He loved the race of man so well,\n  He sent his Son to bear our load\n    Of sins, and save our souls from hell.\n\n  3 Sinners, believe the Saviour's word;\n    Trust in his mighty name, and live:\n  A thousand joys his lips afford,\n    His hands a thousand blessings give.\n\n\n148                                                           C. H. M.\n                             His poverty.\n\n  As much have I of worldly good\n    As e'er my Master had;\n  I diet on as dainty food,\n    And am as richly clad;\n  Though plain my garb, though scant my hoard,\n  As Mary's Son and nature's Lord.\n\n  2 The manger was his infant bed,\n    His home the mountain cave;\n  He had not where to lay his head--\n    He borrowed e'en his grave;\n  Earth yielded him no resting-spot;\n  Her Maker, but she knew him not.\n\n  3 As much the world's good-will I share,\n    Its favors and applause,\n  As he whose blessed name I bear,\n    Hated without a cause;\n  Despised, rejected, mocked by pride,\n  Betrayed, forsaken, crucified.\n\n  4 Why should I court my Master's foe?\n    Why should I fear its frown?\n  Why should I seek for rest below?\n    Or sigh for brief renown?\n  A pilgrim to a better land,\n  An heir of joy at God's right hand.\n\n\n149                                                              C. M.\n                      He went about doing good.\n                                   Acts 10:38.\n\n  Behold, where, in a mortal form,\n    Appears each grace divine;\n  The virtues, all in Jesus met,\n    With mildest radiance shine.\n\n  2 To spread the rays of heavenly light,\n    To give the mourner joy,\n  To preach glad tidings to the poor,\n    Was his divine employ.\n\n  3 'Midst keen reproach, and cruel scorn,\n    Patient and meek he stood;\n  His foes, ungrateful, sought his life;\n    He labored for their good.\n\n  4 In the last hour of deep distress,\n    Before his Father's throne,\n  With soul resigned, he bowed, and said,\n    \"Thy will, not mine, be done!\"\n\n  5 Be Christ our pattern and our guide;\n    His image may we bear;\n  O, may we tread his holy steps,\n    His joy and glory share!\n\n\n150                                                              C. M.\n                         The man of sorrows.\n\n  A pilgrim through this lonely world,\n    The blessed Saviour passed;\n  A mourner all his life was he,\n    A dying Lamb at last.\n\n  2 That tender heart which felt for all,\n    For us its life-blood gave;\n  It found on earth no resting-place,\n    Save only in the grave!\n\n  3 Such was our Lord: and shall we fear\n    The cross with all its scorn?\n  Or love a faithless, evil world,\n    That wreathed his brow with thorn?\n\n  4 No; facing all its frowns or smiles,\n    Like him, obedient still,\n  We homeward press, through storm or calm,\n    To Zion's blessed hill.\n\n\n151                                                              C. M.\n                           Mighty to save.\n\n  The winds were howling o'er the deep;\n    Each wave a watery hill;\n  The Saviour wakened from his sleep;\n    He spake, and all was still.\n\n  2 The madman in a tomb had made\n    His mansion of despair;\n  Woe to the traveler who strayed,\n    With heedless footsteps, there.\n\n  3 He met that glance so thrilling sweet,\n    He heard those accents mild;\n  And, melting at Messiah's feet,\n    Wept like a weaned child.\n\n  4 O, madder than the raving man!\n    O, deafer than the sea!\n  How long the time since Christ began\n    To call in vain to me!\n\n  5 Yet could I hear him once again,\n    As I have heard of old,\n  Methinks he should not call in vain\n    His wanderer to the fold.\n\n\n152                                                           C. P. M.\n                       His unsearchable riches.\n\n  O could I speak the matchless worth,\n  O could I sound the glories forth,\n      Which in my Saviour shine;\n  I'd soar, and touch the heavenly strings,\n  And vie with Gabriel, while he sings\n      In notes almost divine.\n\n  2 I'd sing the precious blood he spilt,\n  My ransom from the dreadful guilt\n      Of sin, and wrath divine;\n  I'd sing his glorious righteousness,\n  In which all-perfect, heavenly dress,\n      My soul shall ever shine.\n\n  3 I'd sing the characters he bears,\n  And all the forms of love he wears,\n      Exalted on his throne;\n  In loftiest songs of sweetest praise,\n  I would to everlasting days\n      Make all his glories known.\n\n  4 Well, the delightful day will come,\n  When my dear Lord will bring me home,\n      And I shall see his face;\n  Then, with my Saviour, Brother, Friend,\n  A blest eternity I'll spend,\n      Triumphant in his grace.\n\n\n153                                                               11s.\n                  A bruised reed he shall not break.\n                                   Matt. 12:20.\n\n  To the hall of that feast came the sinful and fair:\n  She heard in the city that Jesus was there:\n  Unheeding the splendor that blazed on the board,\n  She silently knelt at the feet of her Lord!\n\n  2 The hair on her forehead, so sad and so meek,\n  Hung dark on the blushes that glowed on her cheek;\n  And so sad and so lowly she knelt in her shame,\n  It seemed that her spirit had fled from her frame.\n\n  3 The frown and the murmur went round thro' them all,\n  That one so unhallowed should tread in the hall;\n  And some said the poor would be objects more meet\n  For the wealth of the perfume she showered on his feet.\n\n  4 She heard but her Saviour--she spoke but in sighs,\n  She dared not look up to the heaven of his eyes:\n  And the hot tears gushed forth at each heave of her breast,\n  As her lips to his sandals she throbbingly pressed.\n\n  5 In the sky, after tempest, as shineth the bow,\n  In the glance of the sunbeam as melteth the snow,\n  Ho looked on the lost one--her sins were forgiven,\n  And Mary went forth in the beauty of heaven!\n\n\n154                                               10s & 11s, peculiar.\n                            Sacred tears.\n\n  Draw near, ye weary, bowed, and broken-hearted,\n    Ye onward travelers to a peaceful bourne;\n  Ye from whose path the light hath all departed;\n    Ye who are left in solitude to mourn;\n  Though o'er your spirits hath the storm-cloud swept,\n  Sacred are sorrow's tears, since \"Jesus wept.\"\n\n  2 The bright and spotless heir of endless glory,\n    Wept o'er the woes of those he came to save;\n  And angels wondered when they heard the story\n    That he who conquered death wept o'er the grave;\n  For 'twas not when his lonely watch he kept\n  In dark Gethsemane, that \"Jesus wept.\"\n\n  3 But with the friends he loved, whose hope had perished,\n    The Saviour stood, while through his bosom rushed\n  A tide of sympathy for those he cherished,\n    And from his eyes the burning tear-drops gushed;\n  And bending o'er the tomb where Lazarus slept,\n  In agony of spirit, \"Jesus wept.\"\n\n  4 Lo! Jesus' power the sleep of death hath broken,\n    And wiped the tear from sorrow's drooping eye!\n  Look up, ye mourners, hear what he hath spoken:\n    \"He that believes on me, shall never die.\"\n  Through faith and love your spirits shall be kept;\n  Hope brighter grew on earth when \"Jesus wept.\"\n\n\n155                                                           C. M. D.\n                  He made himself of no reputation.\n                                    Phil. 2:7.\n\n  He came with his heavenly crown,\n    His scepter clad with power;\n  His coming was in feebleness,\n    The infant of an hour;\n  An humble manger cradled, first,\n    The Virgin's holy birth,\n  And lowing herds surrounded there\n    The Lord of heaven and earth.\n\n  2 He came, not in his robe of wrath,\n    With arm outstretched to slay;\n  But on the darkling paths of earth,\n    To pour celestial day;\n  To guide in peace the wandering feet,\n    The broken heart to bind,\n  And bear upon the painful cross,\n    The sins of human kind.\n\n  3 And thou hast borne them, Saviour meek!\n    And therefore unto thee,\n  In humbleness and gratitude,\n    Our hearts shall offered be;\n  Our contrite hearts, an offering, Lord,\n    Which thou wilt not despise,\n  Our souls, our bodies, all be thine,\n    A living sacrifice!\n\n\n156                                                       8s, 7s & 7s.\n                             Jesus wept.\n\n  Jesus wept! those tears are over,\n    But his heart is still the same;\n  Kinsman, Friend, and Elder Brother,\n    Is his everlasting name.\n  Saviour, who can love like thee?\n  Gracious one of Bethany!\n\n  2 When the pangs of trial seize us,\n    When the waves of sorrow roll,\n  I will lay my head on Jesus--\n    Pillow of the troubled soul.\n  Truly, none can feel like thee,\n  Weeping one of Bethany!\n\n  3 Jesus wept, and still in glory\n    He can mark each mourner's tear--\n  Living to retrace the story\n    Of the hearts he solaced here.\n  Lord, when I am called to die,\n  Let me think of Bethany!\n\n  4 Jesus wept! that tear of sorrow\n    Is a legacy of love;\n  Yesterday, to-day, to-morrow,\n    He the same shall ever prove.\n  Thou art all in all to me,\n  Living one of Bethany!\n\n\n\n\n                         CHRIST: SUFFERINGS.\n\n\n157                                                              L. M.\n                         Christ the sufferer.\n\n  O suffering Friend of human kind!\n    How, as the fatal hour drew near,\n  Came thronging on thy holy mind\n    The images of grief and fear!\n\n  2 Gethsemane's sad midnight scene,\n    The faithless friends, th' exulting foes,\n  The thorny crown, the insult keen,\n    The scourge, the cross, before thee rose.\n\n  3 Did not thy spirit shrink dismayed,\n    As the dark vision o'er it came;\n  And, though in sinless strength arrayed,\n    Turn, shuddering, from the death of shame?\n\n  4 Onward, like thee, through scorn and dread,\n    May we our Father's call obey,\n  Steadfast thy path of duty tread,\n    And rise, through death, to endless day.\n\n\n158                                                              L. M.\n                   Led as a lamb to the slaughter.\n\n  The morning dawns upon the place\n    Where Jesus spent the night in prayer;\n  Through yielding glooms behold his face!\n    Nor form, nor comeliness is there.\n\n  2 Brought forth to judgment, now he stands\n    Arraigned, condemned, at Pilate's bar;\n  Here, spurned by fierce pretorian bands;\n    There, mocked by Herod's men of war.\n\n  3 He bears their buffeting and scorn--\n    Mock-homage of the lip, the knee--\n  The purple robe, the crown of thorn--\n    The scourge, the nail, the accursed tree.\n\n  4 No guile within his mouth is found;\n    He neither threatens nor complains;\n  Meek as a lamb for slaughter bound,\n    Dumb 'mid his murderers he remains.\n\n  5 But hark, he prays; 'tis for his foes\n    And speaks: 'tis comfort to his friends;\n  Answers: and paradise bestows;\n    He bows his head: the conflict ends.\n\n\n159                                                              L. M.\n                         The midnight agony.\n\n  'Tis midnight; and on Olive's brow\n    The star is dimmed that lately shone;\n  'Tis midnight; in the garden now,\n    The suffering Saviour prays alone.\n\n  2 'Tis midnight; and, from all removed,\n    The Saviour wrestles lone, with fears;\n  E'en that disciple whom he loved\n    Heeds not his Master's grief and tears.\n\n  3 'Tis midnight; and for others' guilt\n    The man of sorrows weeps in blood;\n  Yet he that hath in anguish knelt\n    Is not forsaken by his God.\n\n  4 'Tis midnight; from the heavenly plains\n    Is borne the song that angels know;\n  Unheard by mortals are the strains\n    That sweetly soothe the Saviour's woe.\n\n\n160                                                              C. M.\n                           The bitter cup.\n\n  Dark was the night, and cold the ground\n    On which the Lord was laid:\n  His sweat like drops of blood ran down;\n    In agony he prayed.\n\n  2 \"Father, remove this bitter cup,\n    If such thy sacred will;\n  If not, content to drink it up,\n    Thy pleasure I fulfill.\"\n\n  3 Go to the garden, sinner: see\n    Those precious drops that flow;\n  The heavy load he bore for thee:\n    For thee he lies so low.\n\n  4 Then learn of him the cross to bear,\n    Thy Father's will obey;\n  And, when temptations press thee near,\n    Awake to watch and pray.\n\n\n161                                                              S. M.\n                He beheld the city, and wept over it.\n                                   Luke 19:41.\n\n  Did Christ o'er sinners weep,\n    And shall our cheeks be dry?\n  Let tears of penitential grief\n    Flow forth from every eye.\n\n  2 The Son of God in tears,\n    The wondering angels see;\n  Be thou astonished, O my soul,\n    He shed those tears for thee.\n\n  3 He wept that we might weep,\n    Each sin demands a tear,\n  In heaven alone no sin is found\n    And there's no weeping there.\n\n\n162                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                      His example in suffering.\n\n  Go to dark Gethsemane,\n    Ye that feel the tempter's power;\n  Your Redeemer's conflict see;\n    Watch with him one bitter hour:\n  Turn not from his griefs away;\n  Learn of Jesus Christ to pray.\n\n  2 Follow to the judgment hall:\n    View the Lord of life arraigned;\n  O, the wormwood and the gall!\n    O, the pangs his soul sustained!\n  Shun not suffering, shame, or loss;\n  Learn of him to bear the cross.\n\n  3 Calvary's mournful mountain climb;\n    There, admiring at his feet,\n  Mark that miracle of time,\n    God's own sacrifice complete:\n  \"It is finished,\" hear him cry;\n  Learn of Jesus Christ to die.\n\n\n163                                                           6s & 5s.\n                        Christ in the garden.\n\n  Night with ebon pinion,\n    Brooded o'er the vale;\n  All around was silent,\n    Save the night-wind's wail;\n  When Christ the man of sorrows,\n    In tears, and sweat, and blood,\n  Prostrate in the garden,\n    Raised his voice to God.\n\n  2 Smitten for offenses\n    Which were not his own,\n  He, for our transgressions,\n    Had to weep alone,\n  No friend with words to comfort,\n    Nor hand to help was there.\n  When the meek and lowly,\n    Humbly bowed in prayer.\n\n  3 Abba, Father, Father!\n    If indeed it may,\n  Let this cup of anguish,\n    Pass from me, I pray.\n  Yet, if it must be suffered,\n    By me, thine only Son,\n  Abba, Father, Father,\n    Let thy will be done.\n\n\n164                                                              P. M.\n                             Gethsemane.\n\n  Beyond where Cedron's waters flow,\n  Behold the suffering Saviour go\n    To sad Gethsemane;\n  His countenance is all divine,\n  Yet grief appears in every line.\n\n  2 He bows beneath the sins of men;\n  He cries to God, and cries again,\n    In sad Gethsemane:\n  He lifts his mournful eyes above--\n  \"My Father, can this cup remove?\"\n\n  3 With gentle resignation still,\n  He yielded to his Father's will\n    In sad Gethsemane;\n  \"Behold me here, thine only Son;\n  And, Father, let thy will be done.\"\n\n  4 The Father heard; and angels, there,\n  Sustained the Son of God in prayer,\n    In sad Gethsemane:\n  He drank the dreadful cup of pain--\n  Then rose to life and joy again.\n\n  5 When storms of sorrow round us sweep,\n  And scenes of anguish make us weep,\n    To sad Gethsemane\n  We'll look, and see the Saviour there,\n  And humbly bow, like him, in prayer.\n\n\n165                                                           C. H. M.\n                         Agony in the garden.\n\n  He knelt; the Saviour knelt and prayed,\n    When but his Father's eye\n  Looked, through the lonely garden shade,\n    On that dread agony;\n  The Lord of high and heavenly birth\n  Was bowed with sorrow unto death.\n\n  2 The sun went down in fearful hour;\n    The heavens might well grow dim,\n  When this mortality had power\n    Thus to o'ershadow him;\n  That he who came to save might know\n  The very depths of human woe.\n\n  3 He knew them all--the doubt, the strife,\n    The faint, perplexing dread;\n  The mists that hang o'er parting life\n    All darkened round his head;\n  And the Deliverer knelt to pray;\n  Yet passed it not, that cup, away.\n\n  4 It passed not, though the stormy wave\n    Had sunk beneath his tread;\n  It passed not, though to him the grave\n    Had yielded up its dead;\n  But there was sent him, from on high,\n  A gift of strength, for man to die.\n\n  5 And was his mortal hour beset\n    With anguish and dismay?\n  How may we meet our conflict yet\n    In the dark, narrow way?\n  How, but through him that path who trod:\n  \"Save, or we perish, Son of God.\"\n\n\n166                                                           S. H. M.\n                              Betrayal.\n\n  Among the mountain trees,\n    The winds were whispering low,\n  And night's ten thousand harmonies\n    Were harmonies of woe;\n  A voice of grief was on the gale,\n  It came from Cedron's gloomy vale.\n\n  2 It was the Saviour's prayer\n    That on the silence broke,\n  Imploring strength from heaven to bear\n    The sin-avenging stroke,\n  As in Gethsemane he knelt,\n  And pangs unknown his bosom felt.\n\n  3 The fitful starlight shone\n    In dim and misty gleams,\n  Deep was his agonizing groan,\n    And large the vital streams\n  That trickled to the dewy sod,\n  While Jesus raised his voice to God.\n\n  4 The chosen three that staid,\n    Their nightly watch to keep,\n  Left him through sorrows deep to wade,\n    And gave themselves to sleep:\n  Meekly and sad he prayed alone;\n  Strangely forgotten by his own.\n\n  5 Along the streamlet's bank\n    The reckless traitor came,\n  And heavy on his bosom sank\n    The load of guilt and shame;\n  Yet unto them that waited nigh\n  He gave the Lamb of God to die.\n\n  6 Among the mountain trees\n    The winds were whispering low,\n  And night's ten thousand harmonies\n    Were harmonies of woe;\n  For cruel voices filled the gale\n  That came from Cedron's gloomy vale.\n\n\n167                                                               11s.\n                      Thou sweet gliding Cedron.\n\n  Thou sweet gliding Cedron, by thy silver stream\n    Our Saviour would linger in moonlight's soft beam:\n  And by thy bright waters till midnight would stay,\n    And lose in thy murmurs the toils of the day.\n                               CHORUS.\n  Come, saints, and adore him; come bow at his feet;\n  O give him the glory, the praise that is meet;\n  Let joyful hosannas unceasing arise,\n  And join the full chorus that gladdens the skies.\n\n  2 How damp were the vapors that fell on his head,\n    How hard was his pillow, how humble his bed;\n  The angels beholding, amazed at the sight,\n    Attended their Master with solemn delight.\n\n  3 O garden of Olives! thou dear honored spot,\n    The fame of thy wonders shall ne'er be forgot;\n  The theme most transporting to seraphs above,\n    The triumph of sorrow, the triumph of love!\n\n\n\n\n                           THE CRUCIFIXION.\n\n\n168                                                              L. M.\n                           The bitter cry.\n\n  From Calvary a cry was heard--\n    A bitter and heart-rending cry:\n  My Saviour! every mournful word\n    Bespeaks thy soul's deep agony.\n\n  2 A horror of great darkness fell\n    On thee, thou spotless holy One!\n  And all the swarming hosts of hell\n    Conspired to tempt God's only Son.\n\n  3 The scourge, the thorns, the deep disgrace--\n    These thou couldst bear, nor once repine;\n  But when Jehovah vailed his face,\n    Unutterable pangs were thine.\n\n  4 Let the dumb world its silence break;\n    Let pealing anthems rend the sky;\n  Awake, my sluggish soul, awake!\n    He died, that we might never die.\n\n  5 Lord! on thy cross I fix mine eye;\n    If e'er I lose its strong control,\n  O! let that dying, piercing cry,\n    Melt and reclaim my wandering soul.\n\n\n169                                                              L. M.\n                        Looking to the cross.\n\n  O Lord! when faith with fixed eyes\n  Beholds thy wondrous sacrifice,\n  Love rises to an ardent flame,\n  And we all other hope disclaim.\n\n  2 With cold affections who can see\n  The thorns, the scourge, the nails, the tree,\n  The flowing tears and crimson sweat,\n  The bleeding hands, and head, and feet?\n\n  3 Jesus, what millions of our race\n  Have seen the triumphs of thy grace!\n  And millions more to thee shall fly,\n  And on thy sacrifice rely.\n\n  4 The sorrow, shame, and death, were thine,\n  And all the stores of wrath divine!\n  Ours are the pardon, life, and bliss;\n  What love can be compared to this!\n\n\n170                                                              L. M.\n                           Herein is love!\n                                   1 John 4:10.\n\n  Have we no tears to shed for him,\n    While soldiers scoff, and Jews deride?\n  Ah! look, how patiently he hangs--\n    Jesus, our Love, is crucified!\n\n  2 What was thy crime, my dearest Lord?\n    By earth, by heaven, thou hast been tried,\n  And guilty found of too much love;\n    Jesus, our Love, is crucified!\n\n  3 Found guilty of excess of love,\n    It was thine own sweet will that tied\n  Thee tighter far than helpless nails;\n    Jesus, our Love, is crucified!\n\n  4 O break, O break, hard heart of mine!\n    Thy weak self-love and guilty pride\n  His Pilate and his Judas were;\n    Jesus, our Love, is crucified!\n\n\n171                                                              L. M.\n                           Behold the Man!\n\n  Behold the Man! how glorious he!\n    Before his foes he stands unawed,\n  And, without wrong or blasphemy,\n    He claims equality with God.\n\n  2 Behold the Man! by all condemned,\n    Assaulted by a host of foes;\n  His person and his claims contemned:\n    A Man of suffering and of woes.\n\n  3 Behold the Man! he stands alone,\n    His foes are ready to devour;\n  Not one of all his friends will own\n    Their Master in this trying hour.\n\n  4 Behold the Man! though scorned below,\n    He bears the greatest name above;\n  The angels at his footstool bow,\n    And all his royal claims approve.\n\n\n172                                                              L. M.\n                         Darkness and light.\n\n  He dies, the friend of winners dies!\n    Lo! Salem's daughters weep around!\n  A solemn darkness vails the skies,\n    A sudden trembling shakes the ground.\n\n  2 Here's love and grief beyond degree!\n    The Lord of glory dies for men!\n  But, lo! what sudden joys we see--\n    Jesus the dead revives again!\n\n  3 The rising Lord forsakes the tomb!\n    (The tomb in vain forbids his rise!)\n  Cherubic legions guard him home,\n    And shout him welcome to the skies!\n\n  4 Break off your tears, you saints, and tell\n    How high our great Deliverer reigns;\n  Sing how he spoiled the hosts of hell,\n    And led the monster Death in chains.\n\n  5 Say, \"Live for ever, wondrous King!\n    Born to redeem, and strong to save!\"\n  Then ask the monster, \"Where's thy sting?\n    And where's thy victory, boasting grave?\"\n\n\n173                                                              C. M.\n                          His condescension.\n\n  And did the holy and the just,\n    The Sovereign of the skies,\n  Stoop down to wretchedness and dust\n    That guilty man might rise?\n\n  2 Yes, the Redeemer left his throne,\n    His radiant throne on high;\n  Surpassing mercy! love unknown!\n    To suffer, bleed, and die.\n\n  3 He took the dying rebel's place,\n    And suffered in our stead;\n  For sinful man, O wondrous grace!\n    For sinful man he bled!\n\n  4 O Lord! what heavenly wonders dwell\n    In thy most precious blood?\n  By this are sinners saved from hell,\n    And rebels brought to God.\n\n\n174                                                              C. M.\n                      He conquered when he fell.\n\n  We sing the Saviour's wondrous death--\n    He conquered when he fell:\n  'Tis finished, said his dying breath,\n    And shook the gates of hell.\n\n  2 'Tis finished, our Immanuel cries,\n    The dreadful work is done;\n  Hence shall his sovereign throne arise,\n    His kingdom is begun.\n\n  3 His cross a sure foundation laid\n    For glory and renown,\n  When through the regions of the dead\n    He passed to reach the crown.\n\n  4 Raise your devotion, mortal tongues,\n    His praises to record;\n  Sweet be the accents of your songs\n    To your victorious Lord.\n\n  5 Bright angels, strike your loudest strings,\n    Your sweetest voices raise;\n  Let heaven and all created things\n    Sound our Immanuel's praise!\n\n\n175                                                              C. M.\n                    They nailed him to the cross.\n\n  Behold the Saviour of mankind\n    Nailed to the shameful tree!\n  How vast the love that him inclined\n    To bleed and die for me!\n\n  2 Hark! how he groans, while nature shakes,\n    And earth's strong pillars bend!\n  The temple's vail asunder breaks,\n    The solid marbles rend.\n\n  3 'Tis finished! now the ransom's paid,\n    \"Receive my soul!\" he cries:\n  See--how he bows his sacred head!\n    He bows his head and dies!\n\n  4 But soon from death he'll rise again,\n    And in full glory shine;\n  O Lamb of God! was ever pain--\n    Was ever love like thine?\n\n\n176                                                              C. M.\n                         The dying penitent.\n\n  As on the cross the Saviour hung,\n    And groaned, and bled, and died,\n  He looked with pity on a wretch\n    That languished by his side.\n\n  2 The dying thief in Jesus saw\n    A majesty divine;\n  While scoffing Jews around him stood,\n    And asked him for a sign!\n\n  3 The kingdom, Lord, is thine, he said;\n    'Tis thine o'er men to reign:\n  Thy wondrous works thy lordship prove,\n    These pains thy love proclaim:\n\n  4 Honors divine await thee soon,\n    A scepter and a crown:\n  With shame thy foes shall yet behold\n    Thee seated on a throne.\n\n  5 Then, gracious Lord, remember me!\n    Is not forgiveness thine?\n  My crimes have brought me to thy side--\n    Thy love brought thee to mine!\n\n  6 His prayer the dying Jesus hears,\n    And instantly replies,\n  To-day your parting soul shall be\n    With me in paradise.\n\n\n177                                                           7s & 6s.\n                   Surely he hath borne our griefs.\n\n  O sacred head, now wounded,\n    With grief and shame weighed down--\n  O sacred brow, surrounded\n    With thorns, thine only crown:\n  Once on a throne of glory,\n    Adorned with light divine;\n  Now all despised and gory,\n    I joy to call thee mine.\n\n  2 On me, as thou art dying,\n    O, turn thy pitying eye;\n  To thee for mercy crying,\n    Before thy cross I lie.\n  Thine, thine the bitter passion;\n    Thy pain is all for me;\n  Mine, mine the deep transgression;\n    My sins are all on thee.\n\n  3 What language can I borrow\n    To praise thee, heavenly Friend,\n  For all this dying sorrow,\n    Of all my woes the end?\n  O, can I leave thee ever?\n    Then do not thou leave me;\n  Lord, let me never, never\n    Outlive my love to thee.\n\n  4 Be near when I am dying;\n    Then close beside me stand;\n  Let me, while faint and sighing,\n    Lean calmly on thy hand:\n  These eyes, new faith receiving,\n    From thee shall never move,\n  For he who dies believing,\n    Dies safely--in thy love.\n\n\n178                                                        8s, 7s & 4.\n                           It is finished.\n                                   John 19:30.\n\n  Hark! the voice of love and mercy\n    Sounds aloud from Calvary;\n  See! it rends the rocks asunder,\n    Shakes the earth and vails the sky!\n        It is finished!\n    Hear the dying Saviour cry.\n\n  2 It is finished! O what pleasure\n    Do these precious words afford!\n  Heavenly blessings without measure\n    Flow to us from Christ the Lord;\n        It is finished!\n    Saints, the dying words record.\n\n  3 Finished all the types and shadows\n    Of the ceremonial law!\n  Finished all that God had promised;\n    Death and hell no more shall awe:\n        It is finished!\n    Saints, from this your comfort draw.\n\n  4 Tune your harps anew, you seraphs,\n    Join to sing the pleasing theme;\n  All on earth and all in heaven,\n    Join to praise Immanuel's name:\n        Hallelujah!\n    Glory to the bleeding Lamb!\n\n\n179                                                           8s & 6s.\n                       Behold the Lamb of God.\n                                    John 1:20.\n\n  The Son of Man they did betray;\n  He was condemned, and led away,\n  Think, O my soul, on that dread day,\n      Look on Mount Calvary;\n  Behold him, lamb-like, led along\n  Surrounded by a wicked throng,\n  Accused by every lying tongue,\n  And then the Lamb of God they hung\n      Upon the shameful tree.\n\n  2 Now, hung between the earth and skies,\n  Behold! in agony he dies;\n  O sinners, hear his mournful cries,\n      Come, see his torturing pain!\n  The morning sun withdrew his light,\n  Blushed, and refused to view the sight,\n  The azure clothed in robes of night,\n  All nature mourned, and stood affright,\n      When Christ the Lord was slain.\n\n  3 All glory be to God on high,\n  Who reigns enthroned above the sky;\n  Who sent his Son to bleed and die;\n      Glory to him be given:\n  While heaven above his praise resounds,\n  O Zion, sing--his grace abounds;\n  I hope to shout eternal rounds,\n  In flaming love that knows no bounds,\n      When glorified in heaven.\n\n\n\n\n                       BURIAL AND RESURRECTION.\n\n\n180                                                              L. M.\n                He rose--according to the Scriptures.\n                                   1 Cor. 15:4.\n\n  When we the sacred grave survey,\n    In which the Saviour deigned to lie,\n  We see fulfilled what prophets say,\n    And all the power of death defy,\n\n  2 This empty tomb shall now proclaim\n    How weak the bands of conquered death;\n  Sure pledge that all who trust his name\n    Shall rise and draw immortal breath.\n\n  3 Our surety freed declares us free,\n    For whose offenses he was seized:\n  In his release our own we see,\n    And joy to see Jehovah pleased.\n\n  4 Jesus, once numbered with the dead,\n    Unseals his eyes to sleep no more;\n  And ever lives their cause to plead,\n    For whom the pains of death he bore.\n\n  5 Then, though in dust we lay our head,\n    Yet, gracious God, thou wilt not leave\n  Our flesh for ever with the dead,\n    Nor lose thy children in the grave!\n\n\n181                                                              L. M.\n                   The joy that was set before him.\n                                    Heb. 12:2.\n\n  Now for a song of lofty praise\n    To great Jehovah's only Son;\n  Awake, my voice, in heavenly lays,\n    And tell the wonders he hath done.\n\n  2 Sing how he left the worlds of light,\n    And those bright robes he wore above:\n  How swift and joyful was his flight,\n    On wings of everlasting love!\n\n  3 Deep in the shades of gloomy death,\n    Th' almighty Captive prisoner lay;\n  Th' almighty Captive left the earth,\n    And rose to everlasting day.\n\n  4 Among a thousand harps and songs,\n    Jesus, the Lord, exalted reigns:\n  His sacred name fills all their tongues,\n    And echoes through the heavenly plains.\n\n\n182                                                              C. M.\n                He hath begotten us to a lively hope.\n                                   1 Peter 1:3.\n\n  Blessed be the everlasting God,\n    The Father of our Lord;\n  Be his abounding mercy praised,\n    His majesty adored.\n\n  2 When from the dead he raised his Son,\n    And called him to the sky,\n  He gave our souls a lively hope\n    That they should never die.\n\n  3 What though the first man's sin requires\n    Our flesh to see the dust;\n  Yet, as the Lord our Saviour rose,\n    So all his followers must.\n\n  4 There's an inheritance divine,\n    Reserved against that day;\n  'Tis uncorrupted, undefiled,\n    And can not fade away!\n\n  5 Saints by the power of God are kept,\n    Till the salvation come;\n  We walk by faith as strangers here,\n    Till Christ shall take us home.\n\n\n183                                                              C. M.\n                  Now is Christ risen from the dead.\n                                  1 Cor. 15:20.\n\n  Blest morning! whose young dawning rays\n    Beheld our rising Lord:\n  That saw him triumph o'er the dust,\n    And leave his dark abode.\n\n  2 In the cold prison of a tomb\n    The great Redeemer lay,\n  Till the revolving skies had brought\n    The third, th' appointed day.\n\n  3 Hell and the grave unite their force\n    To hold our Lord, in vain;\n  The sleeping Conqueror arose,\n    And burst their feeble chain.\n\n  4 To thy great name, almighty Lord,\n    These sacred hours we pay;\n  And loud hosannas shall proclaim\n    The triumph of the day.\n\n  5 Salvation and immortal praise\n    To our victorious King!\n  Let heaven, and earth, and rocks, and seas,\n    With glad hosannas ring.\n\n\n184                                                              C. M.\n                       The forsaken sepulcher.\n\n  Ye humble souls that seek the Lord,\n    Chase all your fears away;\n  And bow with reverence down, to see\n    The place where Jesus lay.\n\n  2 Thus low the Lord of life was brought;\n    Such wonders love can do!\n  Thus cold in death that bosom lay,\n    Which throbbed and bled for you.\n\n  3 If ye have wept at yonder cross,\n    And still your sorrows rise,\n  Stoop down and view the vanquished grave,\n    Then wipe your weeping eyes.\n\n  4 But dry your tears, and tune your songs,\n    The Saviour lives again;\n  Not all the bolts and bars of death\n    The Conqueror could detain.\n\n  5 High o'er the angelic band he rears\n    His once dishonored head;\n  And through unnumbered years he reigns,\n    Who dwelt among the dead.\n\n\n185                                                              C. M.\n                   The Resurrection, and the Life.\n\n  Hosanna to the Prince of light,\n    That clothed himself in the clay,\n  Entered the iron gates of death,\n    And tore the bars away.\n\n  2 Death is no more the king of dread,\n    Since our Immanuel rose;\n  He took the tyrant's sting away,\n    And spoiled our hellish foes.\n\n  3 Raise your devotion, mortal tongues,\n    To reach his blest abode;\n  Sweet be the accents of your songs\n    To our incarnate God.\n\n  4 Bright angels, strike your loudest strings,\n    Your sweetest voices raise,\n  Let heaven and all created things,\n    Sound our Immanuel's praise.\n\n\n186                                                           C. H. M.\n                          The Lord is risen.\n\n  How calm and beautiful the morn\n    That gilds the sacred tomb\n  Where once the Crucified was borne,\n    And vailed in midnight gloom!\n  Oh! weep no more the Saviour slain;\n  The Lord is risen--he lives again.\n\n  2 Ye mourning saints! dry every tear\n    For your departed Lord;\n  \"Behold the place--he is not here;\"\n    The tomb is all unbarred:\n  The gates of death were closed in vain,\n  The Lord is risen--he lives again.\n\n  3 Now cheerful to the house of prayer\n    Your early footsteps bend,\n  The Saviour will himself be there,\n    Your advocate and friend:\n  Once by the law your hopes were slain,\n  But now in Christ ye live again.\n\n  4 How tranquil now the rising day!\n    'Tis Jesus still appears,\n  A risen Lord to chase away\n    Your unbelieving fears:\n  O! weep no more your comforts slain;\n  The Lord is risen--he lives again.\n\n  5 And when the shades of evening fall,\n    When life's last hour draws nigh--\n  If Jesus shine upon the soul,\n    How blissful then to die:\n  Since he has risen who once was slain,\n  Ye die in Christ to live again.\n\n\n187                                                              S. M.\n                        Redemption completed.\n\n  \"The Lord is risen indeed!\"\n    Then is his work performed;\n  The mighty captive now is freed,\n    And death, our foe, disarmed.\n\n  2 \"The Lord is risen indeed!\"\n    He lives to die no more;\n  He lives, his people's cause to plead,\n    Whose curse and shame he bore.\n\n  3 \"The Lord is risen indeed!\"\n    The grave has lost his prey:\n  With him is risen the ransomed seed,\n    To reign in endless day.\n\n  4 \"The Lord is risen indeed!\"--\n    Attending angels! hear;\n  Up to the courts of heaven with speed,\n    The joyful tidings bear.\n\n  5 Then wake your golden lyres,\n    And strike each cheerful chord;\n  Join, all ye bright, celestial choirs!\n    To sing our risen Lord.\n\n\n188                                                              H. M.\n                      Thou reigning Son of God.\n\n  Yes, the Redeemer rose:\n    The Saviour left the dead,\n  And o'er his hellish foes\n    High raised his conquering head:\n      In wild dismay,\n        The guards around\n        Fall to the ground,\n      And sink away.\n\n  2 Lo! the angelic bands\n    In full assembly meet,\n  To wait his high commands,\n    And worship at his feet:\n      Joyful they come,\n        And wing their way\n        From realms of day\n      To Jesus' tomb.\n\n  3 Then back to heaven they fly,\n    The joyful news to bear;\n  Hark! as they soar on high\n    What music fills the air:\n      Their anthems say,\n        Jesus who bled\n        Has left the dead--\n      He rose to-day!\n\n  4 You mortals, catch the sound,\n    Redeemed by him from hell,\n  And send the echo round\n    The globe on which you dwell:\n      Transported cry,\n        Jesus who bled\n        Has left the dead\n      No more to die!\n\n  5 All hail! triumphant Lord,\n    Who saved us by thy blood:\n  Wide be thy name adored,\n    Thou reigning Son of God!\n      With thee we rise,\n        With thee we reign,\n        And kingdoms gain\n      Beyond the skies.\n\n\n189                                                                7s.\n                        The stone rolled away.\n\n  Angels! roll the rock away;\n  Death! yield up thy mighty prey;\n  See! the Saviour leaves the tomb,\n  Glowing with immortal bloom.\n\n  2 Hark! the wondering angels raise\n  Louder notes of joyful praise:\n  Let the earth's remotest bound\n  Echo with the blissful sound.\n\n  3 Now, ye saints! lift up your eyes,\n  See him high in glory rise!\n  Ranks of angels, on the road,\n  Hail him--the incarnate God.\n\n  4 Heaven unfolds its portals wide,\n  See the Conqueror through them ride!\n  King of glory! mount thy throne--\n  Boundless empire is thine own.\n\n  5 Praise him, ye celestial choirs!\n  Tune, and sweep your golden lyres:\n  Raise, O earth! your noblest songs,\n  From ten thousand thousand tongues.\n\n\n190                                                                7s.\n                      Christ, the first fruits.\n\n  Christ, the Lord, is risen to-day!\n  Sons of men and angels say:\n  Raise your joys and triumphs high:\n  Sing ye heavens! thou earth reply!\n\n  2 Love's redeeming work is done,\n  Fought the fight, the battle won:\n  Lo! our Sun's eclipse is o'er;\n  Lo! he sets in blood no more.\n\n  3 Vain the stone, the watch, the seal--\n  Christ hath burst the gates of hell;\n  Death in vain forbids his rise,\n  Christ hath opened paradise.\n\n  4 Lives again our glorious King!\n  Where, O Death, is now thy sting?\n  Once he died, our souls to save:\n  Where's thy victory, boasting grave?\n\n  5 Soar we now where Christ hath led,\n  Following our exalted Head:\n  Made like him, like him we rise,\n  Ours the cross, the grave, the skies!\n\n  6 King of glory, Fount of bliss,\n  Everlasting life is this:\n  Thee to know, thy power to prove,\n  Thus to sing, and thus to love.\n\n\n191                                                                7s.\n                          The Resurrection.\n\n  Morning breaks upon the tomb,\n  Jesus scatters all its gloom;\n  Day of triumph through the skies--\n  See the glorious Saviour rise!\n\n  2 Ye who are of death afraid,\n  Triumph in the scattered shade;\n  Drive your anxious cares away;\n  See the place where Jesus lay!\n\n  3 Christian! dry your flowing tears,\n  Chase your unbelieving fears;\n  Look on his deserted grave;\n  Doubt no more his power to save.\n\n\n192                                                        7s, double.\n                          Mary at the tomb.\n\n  Mary to the Saviour's tomb\n    Hasted at the early dawn;\n  Spice she brought, and sweet perfume,\n    But the Lord she loved had gone:\n  For a while she lingering stood,\n    Filled with sorrow and surprise;\n  Trembling, while a crystal flood\n    Issued from her weeping eyes.\n\n  2 Jesus who is always near,\n    Though too often unperceived,\n  Came her drooping heart to cheer,\n    Kindly asking why she grieved:\n  Though at first she knew him not,\n    When he called her by her name,\n  She her heavy griefs forgot,\n    For she found him still the same.\n\n  3 And her sorrows, quickly fled,\n    When she heard his welcome voice;\n  Christ had risen from the dead,\n    Now he bids her heart rejoice:\n  What a change his word can make--\n    Turning darkness into day;\n  You who weep for Jesus' sake,\n    He will wipe your tears away.\n\n\n193                                                                8s.\n                       He hath abolished death.\n                                   2 Tim. 1:10.\n\n  The angels that watched round the tomb\n    Where low the Redeemer was laid,\n  When deep in mortality's gloom\n    He hid for a season his head;\n\n  2 That vailed their fair face while he slept,\n    And ceased their sweet harps to employ,\n  Have witnessed his rising, and swept\n    The chords with the triumphs of joy.\n\n  3 You saints, who once languished below,\n    But long since have entered your rest,\n  I pant to be glorified too,\n    To lean on Immanuel's breast.\n\n  4 The grave in which Jesus was laid\n    Has buried my guilt and my fears;\n  And while I contemplate its shade,\n    The light of his presence appears.\n\n  5 O sweet is the season of rest,\n    When life's weary journey is done!\n  The blush that spreads over its west,\n    The last lingering ray of its sun!\n\n  6 Though dreary the empire of night,\n    I soon shall emerge from its gloom,\n  And see immortality's light\n    Arise on the shades of the tomb.\n\n  7 Then welcome the last rending sighs,\n    When these aching heartstrings shall break,\n  When death shall extinguish these eyes,\n    And moisten with dew the pale cheek.\n\n  8 No terror the prospect begets,\n    I am not mortality's slave,\n  The sunbeam of life as it sets,\n    Paints a rainbow of peace on the grave.\n\n\n194                                                                8s.\n                     The darkness is passed, etc.\n                                   1 John 2:8.\n\n  Behold, the bright morning appears,\n    And Jesus revives from the grave;\n  His rising removes all our fears,\n    And shows him almighty to save.\n\n  2 How strong were his tears and his cries,\n    The worth of his blood, how divine!\n  How perfect was his sacrifice,\n    Who rose though he suffered for sin.\n\n  3 The man that was crowned with thorns,\n    The man that on Calvary died,\n  The man that bore scourging and scorns,\n    Whom sinners agreed to deride--\n\n  4 Now blessed for ever is made,\n    And life has rewarded his pain,\n  Now glory has crowned his head;\n    Heaven sings of the Lamb that was slain.\n\n  3 Believing, we share in his joy;\n    By faith, we partake in his rest;\n  With this we can cheerfully die,\n    For with him we hope to be blest.\n\n\n\n\n                            THE ASCENSION.\n\n\n195                                                              L. M.\n                    Lift up your heads, ye gates.\n                                   Psalm 24:7.\n\n  Our Lord is risen from the dead,\n    Our Jesus is gone up on high;\n  The powers of hell are captive led,\n    Dragged to the portals of the sky.\n\n  2 There his triumphal chariot waits,\n    And angels chant the solemn lay;\n  Lift up your heads, you heavenly gates!\n    You everlasting doors give way!\n\n  3 Loose all your bars of massy light,\n    And wide unfold the radiant scene!\n  He claims those mansions as his right--\n    Receive the King of glory in!\n\n  4 Who is the King of glory?--Who?\n    The Lord, who all his foes o'ercame;\n  The world, sin, death, and hell o'erthrew,\n    And Jesus is the conqueror's name.\n\n  5 Lo! his triumphal chariot waits,\n    And angels chant the solemn lay:\n  Lift up your heads, you heavenly gates!\n    You everlasting doors, give way!\n\n  6 Who is the King of glory?--who?\n    The Lord, of boundless might possessed,\n  The King of saints and angels too,\n    Lord over all, for ever blest.\n\n\n196                                                              L. M.\n             The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory.\n                                    Psalm 24.\n\n  Lift up your heads, ye gates! and wide\n    Your everlasting doors display;\n  Ye angel-guards, like flames divide,\n    And give the King of glory way.\n\n  2 Who is the King of glory?--he,\n    The Lord omnipotent to save;\n  Whose own right arm, in victory,\n    Led captive death, and spoiled the grave.\n\n  3 Lift up your heads, ye gates! and high\n    Your everlasting portals heave;\n  Welcome the King of glory nigh:\n    Him must the heaven of heavens receive.\n\n  4 Who is the King of glory--who?\n    The Lord of hosts; behold his name!\n  The kingdom, power, and honor due,\n    Yield him, ye saints, with glad acclaim!\n\n\n197                                                              C. M,\n                              Psalm 24.\n\n  Lift up your stately heads, ye doors,\n    With hasty reverence rise,\n  Ye everlasting doors that guard\n    The passage to the skies.\n\n  Chorus.--For see, for see\n          The King of glory comes,\n          The King of glory comes\n          Along the eternal road.\n\n  2 Swift from your golden hinges leap,\n    Your barriers roll away,\n  And throw your blazing portals wide,\n    And burst the gates of day.\n\n\n198                                                              C. M.\n                       Received up into glory.\n                                   1 Tim. 3:16.\n\n  Triumphant, Christ ascends on high,\n    The glorious work complete;\n  Sin, death, and hell, now vanquished lie\n    Beneath his awful feet.\n\n  2 There, with eternal glory crowned,\n    The Lord, the Conqueror reigns;\n  His praise the heavenly choirs resound,\n    In their immortal strains.\n\n  3 Amid the splendors of his throne,\n    Unchanging love appears;\n  The names he purchased for his own,\n    Still on his heart he bears.\n\n  4 O, the rich depths of love divine!\n    Of bliss a boundless store:\n  Dear Saviour, let me call thee mine;\n    I can not wish for more.\n\n  5 On thee alone, my hope relies;\n    Beneath thy cross I fall,\n  My Lord, my Life, my Sacrifice,\n    My Saviour, and my All.\n\n\n199                                                              C. M.\n                     God is gone up with a shout.\n                                   Psalm 47:5.\n\n  Arise, ye people, and adore,\n    Exulting strike the chord;\n  Let all the earth, from shore to shore,\n    Confess th' almighty Lord.\n\n  2 Glad shouts aloud--wide echoing round,\n    Th' ascending Lord proclaim;\n  The angelic choir respond the sound,\n    And shake creation's frame.\n\n  3 They sing of death and hell o'erthrown\n    In that triumphant hour;\n  And God exalts his conquering Son\n    To his right hand of power.\n\n  4 O shout, ye people, and adore,\n    Exulting strike the chord;\n  Let all the earth, from shore to shore,\n    Confess th' almighty Lord.\n\n\n200                                                          6s & 10s.\n                    He became obedient unto death.\n                                    Phil. 2:8.\n\n      Thou, who didst stoop below\n      To drain the cup of woe,\n  And wear the form of frail mortality,\n      Thy blessed labors done,\n      Thy crown of victory won,\n  Hast passed from earth--passed to thy home on high.\n\n      2 It was no path of flowers,\n      Through this dark world of ours,\n  Beloved of the Father! thou didst tread;\n      And shall we in dismay\n      Shrink from the narrow way,\n  When clouds and darkness are around it spread.\n\n      3 O thou who art our Life,\n      Be with us through the strife;\n  Thy own meek head with rudest storms was bowed!\n      Raise thou our eyes above\n      To see a Father's love\n  Beam, like the bow of promise, through the cloud.\n\n      4 E'en through the awful gloom\n      Which hovers o'er the tomb,\n  That light of love our guiding star shall be;\n      Our spirits shall not dread\n      The shadowy way to tread,\n  Friend, Guardian, Saviour! which doth lead to thee.\n\n\n201                                                           6s & 4s.\n              Rule thou, in the midst of thine enemies.\n                                   Psalm 110:2.\n\n  Rise, glorious Conqueror, rise\n  Into thy native skies--\n    Assume thy right;\n  And where in many a fold,\n  The clouds are backward rolled--\n  Pass through those gates of gold,\n    And reign in light!\n\n  2 Victor o'er death and hell!\n  Cherubic legions swell\n    The radiant train;\n  Praises all heaven inspire,\n  Each angel sweeps his lyre,\n  And waves his wings of fire,\n    Thou Lamb once slain!\n\n  3 Enter, incarnate God!\n  No feet but thine have trod\n    The serpent down:\n  Blow the full trumpets, blow!\n  Wider yon portals throw!\n  Saviour, triumphant, go\n    And take thy crown!\n\n  4 Lion of Judah--hail!\n  And let thy name prevail\n    From age to age:\n  Lord of the rolling years--\n  Claim for thine own the spheres,\n  For thou hast bought with tears\n    Thy heritage.\n\n\n202                                                       7s, 6s & 7s.\n                              Psalm 45.\n\n  Burst, ye emerald gates, and bring\n    To my raptured vision\n  All the ecstatic joys that spring\n    Round the bright elysian;\n  Lo! we lift our longing eyes!\n  Break, ye intervening skies!\n  Sons of righteousness, arise,\n  Ope the gates of paradise.\n\n  2 Floods of everlasting light\n    Freely flash before him;\n  Myriads, with supreme delight,\n    Instantly adore him\n  Angelic trumps resound his fame;\n  Lutes of lucid gold proclaim\n  All the music of his name;\n  Heaven resounding with the theme.\n\n  3 Hark! the thrilling symphonies\n    Seem, methinks, to seize us;\n  Join we too the holy lays--\n    Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!\n  Sweetest sound in seraph's song,\n  Sweetest note on mortal tongue,\n  Sweetest carol ever sung--\n  Jesus, Jesus, flow along.\n\n\n\n\n                           THE CORONATION.\n\n\n203                                                              C. M.\n\n  All hail the power of Jesus' name!\n    Let angels prostrate fall;\n  Bring forth the royal diadem,\n    And crown him Lord of all.\n\n  2 Crown him, you martyrs of our God,\n    Who from his altar call;\n  Extol the stem of Jesse's rod,\n    And crown him Lord of all.\n\n  3 You chosen seed of Israel's race,\n    A remnant weak and small,\n  Hail him who saves you by his grace,\n    And crown him Lord of all.\n\n  4 You gentle sinners, ne'er forget\n    The wormwood and the gall;\n  Go, spread your trophies at his feet,\n    And crown him Lord of all.\n\n  5 Babes, men, and sires, who know his love,\n    Who feel your sin and thrall,\n  Now join with all the hosts above,\n    And crown him Lord of all.\n\n  6 Let every kindred, every tribe,\n    On this terrestrial ball,\n  To him all majesty ascribe,\n    And crown him Lord of all.\n\n  7 O that with yonder sacred throng\n    We at his feet may fall!\n  We'll join the everlasting song,\n    And crown him Lord of all.\n\n\n204                                                              C. M.\n                      Sit thou at my right hand.\n                                   Psalm 110:1.\n\n  Jesus, our Lord, ascend thy throne,\n    And near thy Father sit:\n  In Zion shall thy power be known,\n    And make thy foes submit.\n\n  2 What wonders shall thy gospel do!\n    Thy converts shall surpass\n  The numerous drops of morning dew,\n    And own thy saving grace.\n\n  3 Jesus, our Priest, for ever lives\n    To plead for us above;\n  Jesus, our King, for ever gives\n    The blessings of his love.\n\n  4 God shall exalt his glorious head,\n    And his high throne maintain;\n  Shall strike the powers and princes dead,\n    Who dare oppose his reign.\n\n\n205                                                           8s & 7s.\n                           Thou art worthy.\n\n  Crown his head with endless blessing,\n    Who, in God the Father's name,\n  With compassion never ceasing,\n    Comes, salvation to proclaim.\n\n  2 Jesus, thee our Saviour hailing,\n    Thee our God in praise we own;\n  Highest honors, never failing,\n    Rise eternal round thy throne.\n\n  3 Now, ye saints, his power confessing,\n    In your grateful strains adore;\n  For his mercy, never ceasing,\n    Flows, and flows for evermore.\n\n\n206                                                              C. M.\n                           Worthy the Lamb.\n\n  Come, let us join our cheerful songs\n    With angels round the throne;\n  Ten thousand thousand are their tongues,\n    But all their joys are one.\n\n  2 Worthy the Lamb that died, they cry,\n    To be exalted thus!\n  Worthy the Lamb, our lips reply,\n    For he was slain for us!\n\n  3 Jesus is worthy to receive\n    Honor and power divine;\n  And blessings more than we can give,\n    Be, Lord, for ever thine.\n\n  4 Let all who dwell above the sky,\n    On earth, in air, and seas,\n  Conspire to lift thy glories high,\n    And speak thy endless praise.\n\n  5 The whole creation join in one,\n    To bless the sacred name\n  Of him that sits upon the throne,\n    And to adore the Lamb.\n\n\n207                                                        8s, 7s & 4.\n                         King of kings, etc.\n                                   Rev. 19:16.\n\n  Look, ye saints--the sight is glorious;\n    See the Man of Sorrows now\n  From the fight returned victorious;\n    Every knee to him shall bow.\n      Crown him! crown him!\n    Crowns become the Victor's brow.\n\n  2 Crown the Saviour! angels, crown him!\n    Rich the trophies Jesus brings;\n  In the seat of power enthrone him,\n    While the heavenly concert rings,\n      Crown him! crown him!\n    Crown the Saviour King of kings.\n\n  3 Sinners in derision crowned him,\n    Mocking thus the Saviour's claim;\n  Saints and angels! crowd around him,\n    Own his title, praise his name.\n      Crown him! crown him!\n    Spread abroad the Victor's name.\n\n  4 Hark! those bursts of acclamation!\n    Hark! those loud triumphant chords!\n  Jesus takes the highest station;\n    O, what joy the sight affords!\n      Crown him! crown him!\n    King of kings, and Lord of lords.\n\n\n\n\n                          MEDIATORIAL REIGN.\n\n\n208                                                              L. M.\n                Of his kingdom there shall be no end.\n                                    Luke 1:33.\n\n  King Jesus, reign for evermore,\n  Unrivaled in thy courts above;\n  While we, with all thy saints, adore\n  The wonders of redeeming love.\n\n  2 No other Lord but thee we'll know\n  No other power but thine confess;\n  We'll spread thine honors while below,\n  And heaven shall hear us shout thy grace.\n\n  3 We'll sing along the heavenly road\n  That leads us to thy blest abode;\n  Till with the vast unnumbered throng\n  We join in heaven's triumphant song--\n\n  4 Till with pure hands and voices sweet,\n  We cast our crowns at Jesus feet,\n  And sing of everlasting love\n  In everlasting strains above.\n\n\n209                                                              L. M.\n                     All nations shall serve him.\n                                   Psalm 72:11.\n\n  Jesus shall reign where'er the sun\n  Does his successive journeys run;\n  His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,\n  Till moons shall wax and wane no more.\n\n  2 For him shall endless prayer be made,\n  And praises throng to crown his head;\n  His name like sweet perfume shall rise\n  With every morning sacrifice.\n\n  3 People and realms of every tongue\n  Dwell on his love with sweetest song;\n  And infant voices shall proclaim\n  Their early blessings on his name.\n\n  4 Blessings abound where'er he reigns;\n  The prisoner leaps to loose his chains,\n  The weary find eternal rest,\n  And all the sons of want are blest.\n\n  5 Where he displays his healing power,\n  Death and the curse are known no more;\n  In him the tribes of Adam boast\n  More blessings than their father lost.\n\n  6 Let every creature rise, and bring\n  Peculiar honors to our King;\n  Angels descend with songs again,\n  And earth repeat the long Amen.\n\n\n210                                                              L. M.\n                     Give the King thy judgments.\n                                   Psalm 72:1.\n\n  Exalted Prince of Life, we own\n  The royal honors of thy throne;\n  'Tis fixed by God's almighty hand,\n  And seraphs bow at thy command.\n\n  2 Exalted Saviour, we confess\n  The mighty triumphs of thy grace;\n  Where beams of gentle radiance shine\n  And temper majesty divine.\n\n  3 Wide thy resistless scepter sway,\n  Till all thine enemies obey;\n  Wide let thy cross its virtues prove,\n  And conquer millions by its love!\n\n\n211                                                              L. M.\n                 My heart is inditing a good matter.\n                                   Psalm 45:1.\n\n  Now be my heart inspired to sing\n  The glories of my Saviour King;\n  He comes with blessings from above,\n  And wins the nations to his love.\n\n  2 Thy throne, O Lord, for ever stands;\n  Grace is the scepter in thy hands;\n  Thy laws and works are just and right,\n  But truth and mercy thy delight.\n\n  3 Let endless honors crown thy head;\n  Let every age thy praises spread;\n  Let all the nations know thy word,\n  And every tongue confess thee Lord.\n\n\n212                                                              L. M.\n                   I know that my Redeemer liveth.\n                                    Job 19:25.\n\n  He lives! the great Redeemer lives!\n  What joy the blest assurance gives!\n  And now, before his Father, God,\n  Pleads the full merit of his blood.\n\n  2 Repeated crimes awake our fears,\n  And justice armed with frowns appears;\n  But in the Saviour's lovely face\n  Sweet mercy smiles, and all is peace.\n\n  3 In every dark, distressful hour,\n  When sin and Satan join their power,\n  Let this dear hope repel the dart,\n  That Jesus bears us on his heart.\n\n  4 Great Advocate, almighty Friend!\n  On him our humble hopes depend;\n  Our cause can never, never fail,\n  For Jesus pleads, and must prevail.\n\n\n213                                                              L. M.\n            Let the whole earth be filled with his glory.\n                                   Psalm 72:19.\n\n  Great God! whose universal sway\n  The known and unknown worlds obey,\n  Now give the kingdom to thy Son;\n  Extend his power, exalt his throne.\n\n  2 Thy scepter well becomes his hands;\n  All heaven submits to his commands;\n  His justice shall avenge the poor,\n  And pride and rage prevail no more.\n\n  3 The heathen lands, that lie beneath\n  The shades of overspreading death,\n  Revive at his first dawning light;\n  And deserts blossom at the sight.\n\n  4 The saints shall flourish in his days,\n  Dressed in the robes of joy and praise;\n  Peace, like a river, from his throne\n  Shall flow to nations yet unknown.\n\n\n214                                                              L. M.\n                          The Lord is King.\n\n  The Lord is King! lift up thy voice,\n  O earth, and all ye heavens, rejoice!\n  From world to world the joy shall ring--\n  \"The Lord omnipotent is King!\"\n\n  2 The Lord is King! who then shall dare\n  Resist his will, distrust his care?\n  Holy and true are all his ways:\n  Let every creature speak his praise.\n\n\n215                                                              L. M.\n                         He humbled himself.\n                                    Phil. 2:8.\n\n  O Christ! our King, Creator, Lord!\n  Saviour of all who trust thy word!\n  To them who seek thee, ever near,\n  Now to our praises bend thine ear.\n\n  2 In thy dear cross a grace is found--\n  It flows from every streaming wound--\n  Whose power our inbred sin controls,\n  Breaks the firm bond and frees our souls!\n\n  3 Thou didst create the stars of night:\n  Yet thou hast vailed in flesh thy light--\n  Hast deigned a mortal form to wear,\n  A mortal's painful lot to bear.\n\n  4 When thou didst hang upon the tree,\n  The quaking earth acknowledged thee;\n  When thou didst there yield up thy breath,\n  The world grew dark as shades of death.\n\n  5 Now in the Father's glory high,\n  Great Conqueror, never more to die,\n  Us by thy mighty power defend,\n  And reign through ages without end!\n\n\n216                                                              L. M.\n                    His promises are yea and amen.\n\n  Saviour, I lift my trembling eyes,\n    To that bright seat, where, placed on high,\n  The great, the atoning sacrifice,\n    For me, for all, is ever nigh.\n\n  2 Be thou my guard on peril's brink;\n    Be thou my guide through weal or woe;\n  And teach me of thy cup to drink,\n    And make me in thy faith to go.\n\n  3 For what is earthly change or loss?\n    Thy promises are still my own:\n  The feeblest frame may bear thy cross,\n    The lowliest spirit share thy throne.\n\n\n217                                                              L. M.\n                Let all the angels of God worship him.\n                                    Heb. 1:6.\n\n  Thee we adore, O gracious Lord!\n  We praise thy name with one accord;\n  Thy saints, who here thy goodness see,\n  Through all the world do worship thee.\n\n  2 To thee aloud all angels cry,\n  And ceaseless raise their songs on high,\n  Both cherubim and seraphim,\n  The heavens and all the powers therein:\n\n  3 The apostles join the glorious throng;\n  The prophets swell the immortal song;\n  The martyrs' noble army raise\n  Eternal anthems to thy praise.\n\n  4 Thee, holy, holy, holy King!\n  Thee, O Lord God of hosts, they sing:\n  Thus earth below, and heaven above,\n  Resound thy glory and thy love.\n\n\n218                                                              L. M.\n                He hath the keys of hell and of death.\n                                    Rev. 1:18.\n\n  Hail to the Prince of Life and Peace,\n    Who holds the keys of death and hell;\n  The spacious world unseen is his,\n    The sovereign power becomes him well.\n\n  2 In shame and anguish once he died;\n    But now he lives for ever more;\n  Bow down, you saints, around his seat,\n    And all you angel bands adore.\n\n  3 Live, live for ever, glorious Lord,\n    To crush thy foes and guard thy friends,\n  While all thy chosen tribes rejoice\n    That thy dominion never ends.\n\n  4 Worthy thy hand to hold the keys,\n    Guided by wisdom and by love;\n  Worthy to rule our mortal lives,\n    O'er worlds below and worlds above.\n\n  5 For ever reign, victorious King!\n    Wide through the earth thy name be known;\n  And call our longing souls to sing\n    Sublimer anthems near thy throne.\n\n\n219                                                              L. M.\n                         My Redeemer liveth.\n                                    Job 19:25.\n\n  I know that my Redeemer lives;\n  What comfort this sweet sentence gives!\n  He lives, he lives who once was dead,\n  He lives, my ever-living Head!\n\n  2 He lives to bless me with his love,\n  He lives to plead for me above,\n  He lives my hungry soul to feed,\n  He lives to bless in time of need.\n\n  3 He lives to grant me rich supply,\n  He lives to guide me with his eye,\n  He lives to comfort me when faint,\n  He lives to hear my soul's complaint.\n\n  4 He lives, my kind, wise, heavenly friend,\n  He lives, and loves me to the end;\n  He lives, and while he lives I'll sing,\n  He lives, my Prophet, Priest, and King!\n\n  5 He lives, and grants me daily breath;\n  He lives, and I shall conquer death;\n  He lives my mansion to prepare,\n  He lives to bring me safely there.\n\n  6 He lives, all glory to his name!\n  He lives, my Jesus, still the same!\n  O the sweet joy this sentence gives--\n  I know that my Redeemer lives!\n\n\n220                                                              L. M.\n                            No other name.\n                                    Acts 4:12.\n\n  Jesus, the spring of joys divine,\n    Whence all our hopes and comforts flow:\n  Jesus, no other name but thine\n    Can save us from eternal woe.\n\n  2 In vain would boasting reason find\n    Thy way to happiness and God;\n  Her weak directions leave the mind\n    Bewildered in a dubious road.\n\n  3 No other name will heaven approve;\n    Thou art the true, the living way,\n  Ordained by everlasting love,\n    To the bright realms of endless day.\n\n  4 Here let our constant feet abide,\n    Nor from the heavenly path depart;\n  O let thy Spirit, gracious Guide!\n    Direct our steps, and cheer our heart.\n\n  5 Safe lead us through this world of night,\n    And bring us to the blissful plains--\n  The regions of unclouded light\n    Where perfect joy for ever reigns.\n\n\n221                                                              L. M.\n                Excellency of the knowledge of Christ.\n\n  Let everlasting glories crown\n    Thy head, my Saviour and my Lord;\n  Thy hands have brought salvation down,\n    And stored the blessings in thy word.\n\n  2 In vain the trembling conscience seeks\n    Some solid ground to rest upon;\n  With long despair the spirit breaks,\n    Till we apply to Christ alone.\n\n  3 How well thy blessed truths agree!\n    How wise and holy thy commands!\n  Thy promises, how firm they be!\n    How firm our hope and comfort stands!\n\n  4 Should all the forms that men devise\n    Assault my faith with treacherous art,\n  I'd call them vanity and lies,\n    And bind the gospel to my heart.\n\n\n222                                                              L. M.\n                      Lord, to whom shall we go?\n                                    John 6:68.\n\n  Thou only Sovereign of my heart,\n    My Refuge, my almighty Friend--\n  And can my soul from thee depart,\n    On whom alone my hopes depend?\n\n  2 Whither, ah! whither shall I go,\n    A wretched wanderer from my Lord?\n  Can this dark world of sin and woe\n    One glimpse of happiness afford?\n\n  3 Eternal life thy words impart;\n    On these my fainting spirit lives;\n  Here sweeter comforts cheer my heart,\n    Than all the round of nature gives.\n\n  4 Let earth's alluring joys combine;\n    While thou art near, in vain they call!\n  One smile, one blissful smile of thine,\n    My dearest Lord, outweighs them all.\n\n  5 Thy name my inmost powers adore;\n    Thou art my life, my joy, my care;\n  Depart from thee--'tis death--'tis more--\n    'Tis endless ruin, deep despair!\n\n  6 Low at thy feet my soul would lie;\n    Here safety dwells, and peace divine;\n  Still let me live beneath thine eye,\n    For life, eternal life, is thine.\n\n\n223                                                              L. M.\n               Christ the Way, the Truth, and the Life.\n\n  Thou art the way; and he who sighs,\n    Amid this starless waste of woe,\n  To find a pathway to the skies,\n    A light from heaven's eternal glow,\n  By thee must come, thou gate of love,\n    Through which the saints undoubting trod,\n  Till faith discovers, like the dove,\n    An ark, a resting-place in God.\n\n  2 Thou art the Truth, whose steady day\n    Shines on through earthly blight and bloom;\n  The pure, the everlasting Ray,\n    The Lamp that shines e'en in the tomb;\n  The light that out of darkness springs,\n    And guideth those that blindly go;\n  The Word whose precious radiance flings\n    Its luster upon all below.\n\n  3 Thou art the Life, the blessed Well\n    With living waters gushing o'er,\n  Which those that drink shall ever dwell\n    Where sin and thirst are known no more,\n  Thou art the mystic Pillar given,\n    Our Lamp by night, our Light by day;\n  Thou art the sacred Bread from heaven;\n    Thou art the Life, the Truth, the Way.\n\n\n224                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                   A very present help in trouble.\n                                   Psalm 46:1.\n\n  Still nigh me, O my Saviour, stand,\n    And guard in fierce temptation's hour;\n  Support by thy almighty hand,\n    Show forth in me thy saving power;\n  Still be thine arm my sure defense,\n  Nor earth nor hell shall pluck me thence.\n\n  2 In suffering be thy love my peace,\n    In weakness be thy love my power;\n  And when the storms of life shall cease,\n    O, Saviour, in that trying hour,\n  In death, as life, be thou my guide,\n  And save me, who for me hast died.\n\n\n225                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                        Christ all and in all.\n\n  Jesus, thou source of calm repose,\n    All fullness dwells in thee divine;\n  Our strength, to quell the proudest foes;\n    Our light, in deepest gloom to shine;\n  Thou art our fortress, strength, and tower,\n  Our trust, and portion, evermore.\n\n  2 Jesus, our Comforter, thou art\n    Our rest in toil, our ease in pain;\n  The balm to heal each broken heart:\n    In storms our peace, in loss our gain;\n  Our joy, beneath the worldling's frown;\n  In shame, our glory and our crown:\n\n  3 In want, our plentiful supply;\n    In weakness, our almighty power;\n  In bonds, our perfect liberty;\n    Our refuge in temptation's hour;\n  Our comfort, 'midst all grief and thrall;\n  Our life in death; our all in all.\n\n\n226                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                      Prophet, Priest, and King.\n\n  My Prophet thou, my heavenly Guide,\n    Thy sweet instructions I will hear;\n  The words that from thy lips proceed,\n    O how divinely sweet they are!\n  Thee, my great Prophet, I would love,\n  And imitate the blest above.\n\n  2 My great High Priest, whose precious blood\n    Did once atone upon the cross,\n  Who now dost intercede with God,\n    And plead the friendless sinner's cause:\n  In thee I trust, thee would I love,\n  And imitate the blest above.\n\n  3 My King supreme, to thee I bow\n    A willing subject at thy feet;\n  All other lords I disavow,\n    And to thy government submit;\n  My Saviour King, this heart would love,\n  And imitate the blest above.\n\n\n227                                                              L. M.\n                           He is precious.\n                                   1 Peter 2:7.\n\n  Jesus! the very thought is sweet;\n  In that dear name all heart-joys meet;\n  But sweeter than the honey far\n  The glimpses of his presence are.\n\n  2 No word is sung more sweet than this;\n  No name is heard more full of bliss;\n  No thought brings sweeter comfort nigh,\n  Than Jesus, Son of God, most high.\n\n  3 Jesus, the hope of souls forlorn!\n  How good to them for sin that mourn;\n  To them that seek thee, O how kind!\n  But what art thou to them that find?\n\n  4 No tongue of mortal can express,\n  No letters write its blessedness;\n  Alone, who hath thee in his heart,\n  Knows, love of Jesus, what thou art.\n\n\n228                                                              C. M.\n                    Christ a merciful High Priest\n\n  With joy we meditate the grace\n    Of our High Priest above:\n  His heart is full of tenderness;\n    His bosom glows with love.\n\n  2 Touched with a sympathy within,\n    He knows our feeble frame;\n  He knows what sore temptations mean,\n    For he has felt the same.\n\n  3 He in the days of feeble flesh,\n    Poured out his cries and tears;\n  And in his measure feels afresh\n    What every member bears.\n\n  4 Then let our humble faith address\n    His mercy and his power;\n  We shall obtain delivering grace\n    In each distressing hour.\n\n\n229                                                              C. M.\n                     The bright and morning star.\n                                   Rev. 22:16.\n\n  Bright was the guiding star that led,\n    With mild, benignant ray,\n  The Gentiles to the lowly shed\n    Where the Redeemer lay.\n\n  2 But, lo! a brighter, clearer light\n    Now points to his abode;\n  It shines through sin and sorrow's night\n    To guide us to our God.\n\n  3 O haste to follow where it leads;\n    The gracious call obey,\n  Be rugged wilds or flowery meads\n    The Christian's destined way.\n\n  4 O gladly tread the narrow path\n    While light and grace are given:\n  Who meekly follow Christ on earth,\n    Shall reign with him in heaven.\n\n\n230                                                              C. M.\n                 They shall speak of the glory, etc.\n                                  Psalm 145:11.\n\n  Come, you that love the Saviour's name,\n    And joy to make it known;\n  The Sovereign of your heart proclaim,\n    And bow before his throne.\n\n  2 Behold your King, your Saviour, crowned\n    With glories all divine;\n  And tell the wondering nations round\n    How bright these glories shine.\n\n  3 Infinite power and boundless grace\n    In him unite their rays;\n  You that have seen his lovely face,\n    Can you forbear his praise?\n\n  4 When in the earthly courts we view\n    The beauties of our King,\n  We long to love as angels do,\n    And wish like them to sing.\n\n  5 And shall we long and wish in vain?\n    Lord, teach our songs to rise!\n  Thy love can animate our strain,\n    And bid it reach the skies.\n\n  6 O for the day, the glorious day!\n    When heaven and earth shall raise,\n  With all their powers, the raptured lay,\n    To celebrate thy praise.\n\n\n231                                                              C. M.\n                   Thou dear Redeemer, dying Lamb.\n\n  Thou dear Redeemer, dying Lamb,\n    I love to hear of thee;\n  No music's like thy charming name,\n    Nor half so sweet can be.\n\n  2 O, may I ever hear thy voice\n    In mercy to me speak;\n  In thee, my Priest, will I rejoice,\n    And thy salvation seek.\n\n  3 My Jesus shall be still my theme,\n    While on this earth I stay;\n  I'll sing my Jesus' lovely name,\n    When all things else decay.\n\n\n232                                                              C. M.\n                          Offices of Christ.\n\n  We bless the Prophet of the Lord,\n    That comes with truth and grace;\n  Jesus, thy Spirit and thy Word,\n    Shall lead us in thy ways.\n\n  2 We reverence our High Priest above,\n    Who offered up his blood,\n  And lives to carry on his love\n    By pleading with our God.\n\n  3 We honor our exalted King;\n    How sweet are his commands!\n  He guards our souls from hell and sin\n    By his almighty hands.\n\n\n233                                                              C. M.\n                 A merciful and faithful High Priest.\n                                    Heb. 2:17.\n\n  Come, let us join in songs of praise\n    To our ascended Priest;\n  He entered heaven with all our names\n    Engraven on his breast.\n\n  2 On earth he washed our guilt away\n    By his atoning blood;\n  Now he appears before the throne,\n    And pleads our cause with God.\n\n  3 What though while here we oft must feel\n    Temptation's keenest dart;\n  Our tender High Priest feels it too,\n    And will appease the smart.\n\n  4 Clothed with our nature still, he knows\n    The weakness of our frame,\n  And how to shield us from the foes\n    Which he himself o'ercame.\n\n  5 Nor time nor distance e'er shall quench\n    The fervor of his love;\n  For us he died in kindness here,\n    For us he lives above.\n\n  6 O may we ne'er forget his grace,\n    Nor blush to wear his name!\n  Still may our hearts hold fast his faith,\n    Our lips his praise proclaim!\n\n\n234                                                              C. M.\n                           Children's Hymn.\n\n  Hosanna! raise the pealing hymn\n    To David's Son and Lord;\n  With cherubim and seraphim\n    Exalt th' incarnate Word.\n\n  2 Hosanna! Lord, our feeble tongue\n    No lofty strains can raise:\n  But thou wilt not despise the young\n    Who meekly chant thy praise.\n\n  3 Hosanna! Sovereign, Prophet, Priest,\n    How vast thy gifts, how free!\n  Thy Blood, our life; thy Word, our feast;\n    Thy Name, our only plea.\n\n  4 Hosanna! Master, lo! we bring\n    Our offerings to thy throne;\n  Not gold, nor myrrh, nor mortal thing,\n    But hearts to be thine own.\n\n  5 Hosanna! once thy gracious ear\n    Approved a lisping throng;\n  Be gracious still, and deign to hear\n    Our poor but grateful song.\n\n  6 O Saviour, if, redeemed by thee,\n    Thy temple we behold,\n  Hosannas through eternity\n    We'll sing to harps of gold.\n\n\n235                                                              C. M.\n                    Consider the High Priest, etc.\n                                    Heb. 3:1.\n\n  Now let our cheerful eyes survey\n    Our great High Priest above,\n  And celebrate his constant care\n    And sympathetic love.\n\n  2 Though raised to heaven's exalted throne\n    Where angels bow around,\n  And high o'er all the hosts of light,\n    With matchless honors crowned--\n\n  3 The names of all his saints he bears\n    Deep graven on his heart;\n  Nor shall the weakest Christian say\n    That he has lost his part.\n\n  4 Those characters shall fair abide,\n    Our everlasting trust,\n  When gems, and monuments, and crowns,\n    Have moldered down to dust.\n\n  5 So, gracious Saviour, on my breast\n    May thy loved name be worn--\n  A sacred ornament and guard,\n    To endless ages borne.\n\n\n236                                                              C. M.\n                  Worthy is the Lamb that was slain.\n                                    Rev. 5:12.\n\n  Behold the glories of the Lamb\n    Amidst his Father's throne;\n  Prepare new honors for his name,\n    And songs before unknown.\n\n  2 Let elders worship at his feet,\n    The church adore around,\n  With vials full of odors sweet,\n    And harps of sweeter sound.\n\n  3 Now to the Lamb that once was slain,\n    Be endless blessings paid;\n  Salvation, glory, joy, remain\n    For ever on thy head!\n\n  4 Thou hast redeemed our souls with blood,\n    Hast set the prisoners free,\n  Hast made us kings and priests to God,\n    And we shall reign with thee.\n\n\n237                                                              C. M.\n                         Christ--all in all.\n\n  Infinite excellence is thine,\n    Thou lovely Prince of Grace!\n  Thy uncreated beauties shine\n    With never-fading rays.\n\n  2 Sinners from earth's remotest end\n    Come bending at thy feet;\n  To thee their prayers and praise ascend,\n    In thee their wishes meet.\n\n  3 Thy name, as precious ointment shed,\n    Delights the church around;\n  Sweetly the sacred odors spread,\n    And purest joys abound.\n\n  4 Millions of happy spirits live\n    On thy exhaustless store;\n  From thee they all their bliss receive,\n    And still thou givest more.\n\n  5 Thou art their triumph and their joy;\n    They find their all in thee;\n  Thy glories will their tongues employ\n    Through all eternity.\n\n\n238                                                              C. M.\n                        He died for our sins.\n                                   1 Cor. 15:3.\n\n  Jesus, in thy transporting name\n    What blissful glories rise!\n  Jesus, the angels' sweetest theme--\n    The wonder of the skies!\n\n  2 Well might the skies with wonder view\n    A love so strange as thine!\n  No thought of angels ever knew\n    Compassion so divine!\n\n  3 Jesus, and didst thou leave the sky\n    To bear our sins and woes?\n  And didst thou bleed, and groan, and die,\n    For vile rebellious foes?\n\n  4 Victorious love! can language tell\n    The wonders of thy power,\n  Which conquered all the force of hell\n    In that tremendous hour!\n\n  5 What glad return can I impart\n    For favors so divine?\n  O take this heart, this worthless heart,\n    And make it only thine!\n\n\n239                                                              C. M.\n                      The Name above every name.\n\n  The Saviour! O what endless charms\n    Dwell in the blissful sound!\n  Its influence every fear disarms,\n    And spreads sweet peace around.\n\n  2 Here pardon, life, and joys divine,\n    In rich profusion flow;\n  For guilty rebels, lost in sin,\n    And doomed to endless woe.\n\n  3 Th' almighty Former of the skies\n    Stooped to our vile abode;\n  While angels viewed, with wondering eyes,\n    And hailed th' incarnate God.\n\n  4 O the rich depths of love divine!\n    Of bliss a boundless store!\n  Blest Saviour, let me call thee mine;\n    I can not wish for more.\n\n  5 On thee, alone, my hope relies,\n    Beneath thy cross I fall;\n  My Lord, my life, my sacrifice,\n    My Saviour and my all.\n\n\n240                                                              C. M.\n                He suffered, the Just for the unjust.\n                                   1 Pet. 3:18.\n\n  Alas! and did my Saviour bleed?\n    And did my Sovereign die?\n  Would he devote that sacred head\n    For such a worm as I?\n\n  2 Was it for crimes that I had done\n    He groaned upon the tree?\n  Amazing pity! grace unknown!\n    And love beyond degree!\n\n  3 Well might the sun in darkness hide,\n    And shut his glories in,\n  When God's own son was crucified\n    For man the creature's sin.\n\n  4 Thus might I hide my blushing face\n    While his dear cross appears,\n  Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,\n    And melt mine eyes to tears.\n\n  5 But drops of grief can ne'er repay\n    The debt of love I owe:\n  Here, Lord, I give myself away;\n    'Tis all that I can do.\n\n\n241                                                              C. M.\n                             Remember me.\n\n  Jesus, thou art the sinner's friend;\n    As such I look to thee;\n  Now, in the fullness of thy love,\n    O Lord, remember me!\n\n  2 Remember thy pure word of grace,\n    Remember Calvary;\n  Remember all thy promises,\n    And then remember me.\n\n  3 Thou mighty Advocate with God!\n    I yield myself to thee;\n  While thou art sitting on thy throne,\n    O Lord, remember me!\n\n  4 I own I'm guilty--own I'm vile;\n    Yet thy salvation's free;\n  Then, in thy all-abounding grace,\n    O Lord, remember me!\n\n  5 Howe'er forsaken or distressed,\n    Howe'er oppressed I be,\n  Howe'er afflicted here on earth,\n    Do thou remember me!\n\n  6 And when I close my eyes in death,\n    And creature helps all flee,\n  Then, O my great Redeemer, Lord,\n    I pray, remember me!\n\n\n242                                                              C. M.\n                     An unchangeable priesthood.\n                                    Heb. 7:24.\n\n  Jesus, in thee our eyes behold\n    A thousand glories more\n  Than the rich gems and polished gold\n    The sons of Aaron wore.\n\n  2 They first their own burnt-offerings brought\n    To purge themselves from sin:\n  Thy life was pure, without a spot,\n    And all thy nature clean.\n\n  3 Fresh blood, as constant as the day,\n    Was on their altar spilt;\n  But thy one offering takes away\n    For ever all our guilt.\n\n  4 Their priesthood ran through several hands,\n    For mortal was their race;\n  Thy never-changing office stands\n    Eternal as thy days.\n\n  5 Once, in the circuit of a year,\n    With blood, but not his own,\n  Aaron with the vail appeared\n    Before the golden throne;\n\n  6 But Christ, with his own precious blood,\n    Ascends above the skies,\n  And in the presence of our God\n    Shows his own sacrifice.\n\n  7 Jesus, the King of glory, reigns\n    On Zion's holy hill;\n  Looks like a lamb that had been slain,\n    And wears his priesthood still.\n\n  8 He ever lives in heaven to plead\n    The cause which cost his blood,\n  And saves unto the utmost those\n    Who by him come to God.\n\n\n243                                                              C. M.\n                          He is Lord of all.\n                                   Acts 10:36.\n\n  Hosanna to our conquering King!\n    All hail incarnate Love!\n  Ten thousand songs and glories wait\n    To crown thy head above.\n\n  2 Thy victories and thy deathless fame\n    Through all the world shall run,\n  And everlasting ages sing\n    The triumphs thou hast won.\n\n\n244                                                              C. M.\n                    Grace is poured into thy lips.\n                                   Psalm 45:2.\n\n  O Jesus! King most wonderful!\n    Thou Conqueror renowned!\n  Thou Sweetness most ineffable!\n    In whom all joys are found.\n\n  2 May every heart confess thy name,\n    And ever thee adore;\n  And seeking thee, itself inflame\n    To seek thee more and more.\n\n  3 Thee may our tongues for ever bless,\n    Thee may we love alone;\n  And ever in our lives express\n    The image of thine own.\n\n\n245                                                              C. M.\n             Rise, Lord, let thine enemies be scattered.\n                                   Num. 10:35.\n\n  Jesus, immortal King! arise,\n    Assert thy rightful sway,\n  Till earth, subdued, its tribute brings,\n    And distant lands obey.\n\n  2 Ride forth, victorious Conqueror! ride,\n    Till all thy foes submit,\n  And all the powers of hell resign\n    Their trophies at thy feet.\n\n  3 Send forth thy word, and let it fly\n    The spacious earth around,\n  Till every soul beneath the sun\n    Shall hear the joyful sound.\n\n  4 From sea to sea, from shore to shore,\n    May Jesus be adored!\n  And earth, with all her millions, shout\n    Hosannas to the Lord.\n\n\n246                                                              C. M.\n                   The shadow of a great rock, etc.\n                                   Isaiah 32:2.\n\n  He who on earth as man was known,\n    And bore our sins and pains,\n  Now seated on th' eternal throne,\n    The Lord of glory reigns.\n\n  2 His hands the wheels of nature guide\n    With sure, unerring skill,\n  And countless worlds, extended wide,\n    Obey his sovereign will.\n\n  3 While harps unnumbered sound his praise\n    In yonder worlds above,\n  His saints on earth admire his ways,\n    And glory in his love.\n\n  4 This land through which his pilgrims go,\n    Is desolate and dry;\n  But streams of grace from him o'erflow,\n    Their thirst to satisfy.\n\n  5 When troubles, like a burning sun,\n    Beat heavy on their head,\n  To this high Rock for rest they run,\n    And find a pleasing shade.\n\n  6 How glorious he, how happy they\n    In such a generous friend,\n  Whose love secures them all the way,\n    And crowns them at the end.\n\n\n247                                                              C. M.\n                       Ye are complete in him.\n                                    Col. 2:10.\n\n  How sweet the name of Jesus sounds\n    In a believer's ear;\n  It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,\n    And drives away his fear!\n\n  2 It makes the wounded spirit whole,\n    And calms the troubled breast;\n  'Tis manna to the hungry soul,\n    And to the weary rest.\n\n  3 By thee my prayers acceptance gain,\n    Although with sin defiled;\n  Satan accuses me in vain,\n    And I am owned a child.\n\n  4 Jesus, my Shepherd, Guardian, Friend,\n    My Prophet, Priest, and King,\n  My Lord, my Life, my Way, my End,\n    Accept the praise I bring.\n\n  5 Weak is the effort of my heart,\n    And cold my warmest thought;\n  But when I see thee as thou art,\n    I'll praise thee as I ought.\n\n  6 Till then, I would thy love proclaim\n    With every fleeting breath;\n  And may the music of thy name\n    Refresh my soul in death!\n\n\n248                                                              C. M.\n                       The true and living Way.\n\n  Thou art the Way--to thee alone\n    From sin and death we flee;\n  And he who would the Father seek,\n    Must seek him, Lord, by thee.\n\n  2 Thou art the Truth--thy word alone\n    True wisdom can impart;\n  Thou only canst inform the mind,\n    And purify the heart.\n\n  3 Thou art the Life--the rending tomb\n    Proclaims thy conquering arm;\n  And those who put their trust in thee,\n    Nor death nor hell shall harm.\n\n  4 Thou art the Way, the Truth, the Life;\n    Grant us that way to know,\n  That truth to keep, that life to win,\n    Whose joys eternal flow.\n\n\n249                                                              C. M.\n                      Blessed are all they, etc.\n                                   Psalm 2:12.\n\n  My Saviour! my almighty Friend!\n    When I begin thy praise,\n  Where will the growing numbers end--\n    The numbers of thy grace?\n\n  2 Thou art my everlasting trust;\n    Thy goodness I adore;\n  And since I knew thy graces first,\n    I speak thy glories more.\n\n  3 My feet shall travel all the length\n    Of the celestial road;\n  And march, with courage, in thy strength,\n    To see my Father God.\n\n  4 How will my lips rejoice to tell\n    The victories of my King!\n  My soul, redeemed from sin and hell,\n    Shall thy salvation sing.\n\n\n250                                                              C. M.\n                      Chief among ten thousand.\n\n  Majestic sweetness sits enthroned\n    Upon the Saviour's brow;\n  His head with radiant glories crowned,\n    His lips with grace o'erflow.\n\n  2 No mortal can with him compare\n    Among the sons of men;\n  Fairer is he than all the fair\n    Who fill the heavenly train.\n\n  3 He saw me plunged in deep distress,\n    And flew to my relief;\n  For me he bore the shameful cross,\n    And carried all my grief.\n\n  4 To him I owe my life and breath,\n    And all the joys I have!\n  He makes me triumph over death,\n    And saves me from the grave.\n\n  5 To heaven, the place of his abode,\n    He brings my weary feet;\n  Shows me the glories of my God,\n    And makes my joys complete.\n\n  6 Since from thy bounty I receive\n    Such proofs of love divine,\n  Had I a thousand hearts to give,\n    Lord, they should all be thine.\n\n\n251                                                              C. M.\n                          Altogether lovely.\n\n  Jesus, I love thy charming name;\n    'Tis music to my ear;\n  Fain would I sound it out so loud\n    That all the earth might hear.\n\n  2 Yes, thou art precious to my soul,\n    My transport and my trust;\n  Jewels to thee are gaudy toys,\n    And gold is sordid dust.\n\n  3 All that my ardent soul can wish\n    In thee doth richly meet;\n  Nor to my eyes is light so dear,\n    Nor friendship half so sweet.\n\n  4 Thy grace shall dwell upon my heart,\n    And shed its fragrance there;\n  The noblest balm of all its wounds,\n    The cordial of its care.\n\n  5 I'll speak the honors of thy name\n    With my last laboring breath;\n  And, dying, triumph in thy cross--\n    The antidote of death.\n\n\n252                                                              C. M.\n                I looked--and there was none to help.\n                                   Isaiah 63:5.\n\n  Plunged in a gulf of dark despair,\n    We wretched sinners lay,\n  Without one cheerful beam of hope,\n    Or spark of glimmering day.\n\n  2 With pitying eyes the Prince of grace\n    Beheld our helpless grief;\n  He saw, and--O! amazing love!\n    He ran to our relief.\n\n  3 Down from the shining seats above,\n    With joyful haste he fled,\n  Entered the grave in mortal flesh,\n    And dwelt among the dead.\n\n  4 O! for this love let rocks and hills\n    Their lasting silence break;\n  And all harmonious human tongues\n    The Saviour's praises speak.\n\n  5 Angels! assist our mighty joys;\n    Strike all your harps of gold;\n  But, when you raise your highest notes,\n    His love can ne'er be told.\n\n\n253                                                              C. M.\n                         A fountain for sin.\n                                   Zech. 13:1.\n\n  There is a fountain filled with blood\n    Drawn from Immanuel's veins;\n  And sinners plunged beneath that flood,\n    Loose all their guilty stains.\n\n  2 The dying thief rejoiced to see\n    That fountain in his day;\n  And there have I, as vile as he,\n    Washed all my sins away.\n\n  3 O Lamb of God, thy precious blood\n    Shall never lose its power,\n  Till all the ransomed Church of God\n    Be saved to sin no more.\n\n  4 E'er since by faith I saw the stream\n    Thy flowing wounds supply,\n  Redeeming love has been my theme,\n    And shall be till I die.\n\n  5 And when this lisping, stammering tongue\n    Lies silent in the grave,\n  Then, in a nobler, sweeter song,\n    I'll sing thy power to save.\n\n\n254                                                              C. M.\n              He shall save his people from their sins.\n                                   Matt. 1:21.\n\n  Salvation! O the joyful sound;\n    'Tis pleasure to our ears;\n  A sovereign balm for every wound,\n    A cordial for our fears.\n\n  2 Buried in sorrow and in sin,\n    At hell's dark door we lay;\n  But we arise by grace divine,\n    To see a heavenly day.\n\n  3 Salvation! let the echo fly\n    The spacious earth around;\n  While all the armies of the sky\n    Conspire to raise the sound.\n\n\n255                                                              C. M.\n                         The Reign of Christ.\n\n  Let earth, with every isle and sea,\n    Rejoice; the Saviour reigns:\n  His word, like fire, prepares his way,\n    And mountains melt to plains.\n\n  2 His presence sinks the proudest hills\n    And makes the valleys rise;\n  The humble soul enjoys his smiles,\n    The haughty sinner dies.\n\n  3 Adoring angels, at his birth,\n    Made our Redeemer known;\n  Thus shall he come to judge the earth,\n    And angels guard his throne.\n\n  4 His foes shall tremble at his sight,\n    And hills and seas retire;\n  His children take their upward flight,\n    And leave the world on fire.\n\n  5 The seeds of joy and glory sown\n    For saints in darkness here,\n  Shall rise and spring in worlds unknown,\n    And a rich harvest bear.\n\n\n256                                                           C. H. M.\n               Thou hast put all things under his feet.\n                                    Heb. 2:8.\n\n  O North, with all thy vales of green,\n      O South, with all thy palms,\n  From peopled towns, and fields between,\n      Uplift the voice of psalms;\n  Raise, ancient East, the anthem high,\n  And let the youthful West reply.\n\n  2 Lo! in the clouds of heaven appears\n      God's well-beloved Son;\n  He brings a train of brighter years--\n      His kingdom is begun:\n  He comes, a guilty world to bless\n  With mercy, truth and righteousness.\n\n  3 O Father, haste the promised hour\n      When at his feet shall lie\n  All rule, authority, and power,\n      Beneath the ample sky,\n  When he shall reign from pole to pole,\n  The Lord of every human soul.\n\n  4 When all shall heed the words he said,\n      Amid their daily cares,\n  And by the loving life he led\n      Shall strive to pattern theirs;\n  And he who conquered Death shall win,\n  The mighty conquest over Sin.\n\n\n257                                                           C. P. M.\n                         The only foundation.\n\n  Had I ten thousand gifts beside,\n  I'd cleave to Jesus crucified,\n      And build on him alone;\n  For no foundation is there given\n  On which to place my hopes of heaven,\n      But Christ, the corner-stone.\n\n  2 Possessing Christ I all possess,\n  Wisdom, and strength, and righteousness,\n      And holiness complete;\n  Bold in his name, I dare draw nigh\n  Before the Ruler of the sky,\n      And all his justice meet.\n\n  3 There is no path to heavenly bliss,\n  To solid joy or lasting peace,\n      But Christ, th' appointed road;\n  O may we tread the sacred way,\n  By faith rejoice, and praise, and pray,\n      Till we sit down with God!\n\n  4 The types and shadows of the word\n  Unite in Christ, the Man, the Lord,\n      The Saviour kind and true;\n  O may we still his word believe,\n  And all his promises receive,\n      And all his precepts do.\n\n  5 As he above for ever lives,\n  And life to dying mortals gives,\n      Eternal and divine;\n  O may his Spirit in me dwell!\n  Then, saved from sin, and death, and hell,\n      Eternal life is mine.\n\n\n258                                                              S. M.\n                 All we like sheep have gone astray.\n                                  Isaiah. 53:6.\n\n  Like sheep we went astray,\n    And broke the fold of God;\n  Each wandering in a different way,\n    But all the downward road.\n\n  2 How dreadful was the hour\n    When God our wanderings laid,\n  And did at once his vengeance pour\n    Upon the Shepherd's head.\n\n  3 How glorious was the grace\n    When Christ sustained the stroke!\n  His life and blood the Shepherd pays,\n    A ransom for the flock.\n\n  4 But God hath raised his head\n    O'er all the sons of men,\n  And made him see a numerous seed\n    To recompense his pain.\n\n\n259                                                              S. M.\n                           Seen of angels.\n                                   1 Tim. 3:16.\n\n  Beyond the starry skies,\n    Far as th' eternal hills,\n  Yon heaven of heavens, with living light,\n    Our great Redeemer fills.\n\n  2 Around him angels fair,\n    In countless armies shine;\n  And ever, in exalted lays,\n    They offer songs divine.\n\n  3 \"Hail, Prince of life!\" they cry,\n    \"Whose unexampled love\n  Moved thee to quit those glorious realms\n    And royalties above.\"\n\n  4 And when he stooped to earth,\n    And suffered rude disdain,\n  They cast their honors at his feet,\n    And waited in his train.\n\n  5 They saw him on the cross,\n    While darkness vailed the skies;\n  And when he burst the gates of death,\n    They saw the Conqueror rise.\n\n  6 They thronged his chariot wheels,\n    And bore him to his throne;\n  Then swept their golden harps and sung--\n    \"The glorious work is done.\"\n\n\n260                                                           8s & 5s.\n                      And they sung a new song.\n                                    Rev. 14:3.\n\n  Sing of Jesus, sing for ever\n  Of the love that changes never!\n  Who, or what, from him can sever\n      Those he makes his own?\n\n  2 With his blood the Lord hath bought them,\n  When they knew him not, he sought them,\n  And from all their wanderings brought them;\n      His the praise alone.\n\n  3 Through the desert Jesus leads them,\n  With the bread of heaven he feeds them,\n  And through all their way he speeds them\n      To their home above.\n\n  4 There they see the Lord who bought them,\n  Him who came from heaven and sought them,\n  Him who by his Spirit taught them,\n      Him they serve and love.\n\n\n261                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                      And that rock was Christ.\n                                   1 Cor. 10:4.\n\n  Rock of ages, cleft for me,\n  Let me hide myself in thee;\n  Let the water and the blood,\n  From thy riven side which flowed,\n  Be of sin the double cure;\n  Cleanse me from its guilt and power.\n\n  2 Not the labor of my hands\n  Can fulfill the law's demands;\n  Could my zeal no respite know,\n  Could my tears for ever flow,\n  All for sin could not atone;\n  Thou must save and thou alone.\n\n  3 Nothing in my hand I bring,\n  Simply to thy cross I cling;\n  Naked, come to thee for dress;\n  Helpless, look to thee for grace;\n  Foul, I to the fountain fly;\n  Wash me, Saviour, or I die.\n\n  4 While I draw this fleeting breath,\n  When my heart-strings break in death,\n  When I soar to worlds unknown,\n  See thee on thy judgment throne,\n  Rock of ages, cleft for me,\n  Let me hide myself in thee.\n\n\n262                                                        7s, double.\n                       A covert from the storm.\n                                   Isaiah 4:6.\n\n  Jesus, lover of my soul,\n    Let me to thy bosom fly,\n  While the billows near me roll,\n    While the tempest still is high;\n  Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,\n    Till the storm of life is past,\n  Safe into the haven guide,\n    O receive my soul at last.\n\n  2 Other refuge have I none,\n    Hangs my helpless soul on thee!\n  Leave, O leave me not alone,\n    Still support and comfort me:\n  All my trust on thee is stayed,\n    All my help from thee I bring,\n  Cover my defenseless head\n    With the shadow of thy wing.\n\n  3 Thou, O Christ, art all I want,\n    Boundless love in thee I find;\n  Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,\n    Heal the sick, and lead the blind.\n  Just and holy is thy name,\n    Prince of Peace and Righteousness;\n  Most unworthy, Lord, I am,\n    Thou art full of love and grace.\n\n  4 Plenteous grace with thee is found,\n    Grace to pardon all my sins;\n  Let the healing streams abound,\n    Make and keep me pure within.\n  Thou of life the fountain art,\n    Freely let me take of thee;\n  Spring thou up within my heart,\n    Rise to all eternity.\n\n\n263                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                          Friend of sinners.\n\n  One there is above all others,\n    Well deserves the name of Friend;\n  His is love beyond a brother's,\n    Costly, free, and knows no end;\n        Hallelujah!\n    Costly, free, and knows no end.\n\n  2 Which of all our friends to save us,\n    Could or would have shed his blood?\n  But this Saviour died, to have us\n    Reconciled in him to God.\n        Hallelujah!\n    Reconciled in him to God.\n\n  3 When he lived on earth abased,\n    Friend of sinners was his name;\n  Now above all glory raised,\n    He rejoices in the same;\n        Hallelujah!\n    He rejoices in the same.\n\n\n264                                                               11s.\n                   The Rock that is higher than I.\n\n  In seasons of grief to my God I'll repair,\n  When my heart is o'erwhelmed with sorrow and care:\n  From the end of the earth unto thee will I cry,\n  Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I!\n      Higher than I, higher than I,\n    Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.\n\n  2 When Satan the tempter comes in like a flood\n  To drive my poor soul from the fountain of good,\n  I'll pray to the Lord who for sinners did die--\n  Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.\n\n  3 And when I have finished my pilgrimage here,\n  Complete in Christ's righteousness I shall appear,\n  In the swellings of Jordan, all dangers defy,\n  And look to the Rock that is higher than I.\n\n  4 And when the last trumpet shall sound thro' the skies,\n  And the dead from the dust of the earth shall arise,\n  Transported I'll join with the ransomed on high,\n  To praise the great Rock that is higher than I!\n      Higher than I, higher than I,\n    To praise the great Rock that is higher than I.\n\n\n265                                                           6s & 4s.\n                        I am Alpha and Omega.\n\n  Cling to the mighty One,    Ps. lxxxix. 19.\n    Cling in thy grief;    Heb. xii. 11.\n  Cling to the Holy One,    Heb. vii. 26.\n    He gives relief;    Ps. cxvi. 8.\n  Cling to the Gracious One,    Ps. cxvi. 5.\n    Cling in thy pain,    Ps. lv. 4.\n  Cling to the Faithful One,    1 Thess. v. 24.\n    He will sustain.    Ps. xxviii. 8.\n\n  2 Cling to the Living One,    Heb. vii. 25.\n    Cling in thy woe,    Ps. lxxxvi. 7.\n  Cling to the Loving One    1 John iv. 16.\n    Through all below;    Romans viii. 38, 39.\n  Cling to the Pardoning One,    Is. lv. 7.\n    He speaketh peace;    John xiv. 27.\n  Cling to the Healing One,    Exod. xv. 26.\n    Anguish shall cease.    Ps. cxvi. 8.\n\n  3 Cling to the Bleeding One,    1 John i. 7.\n    Cling to his side;    John xx. 27.\n  Cling to the Risen One,    Rom. vi. 9.\n    In him abide;    John xv. 4.\n  Cling to the Coming One,    Rev. xxii. 20.\n    Hope shall arise;    Titus ii. 13.\n  Cling to the Reigning One,    Eph. i. 20-23.\n    Joy lights thine eyes.    Ps. xvi. 11.\n\n\n\n\n                    THE GOSPEL--THE PROCLAMATION.\n\n\n266                                                              L. M.\n                        The Christian banner.\n\n  The Christian banner! dread no loss\n    Where that broad ensign floats unrolled;\n  But let the fair and sacred cross\n    Blaze out from every radiant fold:\n  Stern foes arise, a countless throng,\n    Loud as the storms of Kara's sea,\n  But though the strife be fierce and long,\n    That cross shall wave in victory.\n\n  2 Sound the shrill trumpet, sound, and call\n    The people of the mighty King,\n  And bid them keep that standard all\n    In martial thousands gathering:\n  Let them come forth from every clime\n    That lies beneath the circling sun,\n  Various, as flowers in that sweet clime\n    Where flowers are, in heart, but one.\n\n  3 Soldiers of heaven! take sword and shield,\n    Look up to him who rules on high,\n  And forward to the glorious field,\n    Where noble martyrs bleed and die;\n  Press onward, scorning flight or fear,\n    As deep waves burst on Norway's coast,\n  And let the startled nations hear\n    The war-shout of the Christian host.\n\n  4 Lift up the banner: rest no more,\n    Nor let this righteous warfare cease,\n  Till man's last tribe shall bow before\n    The Lord of lords--the Prince of Peace:\n  Go! bear it forth, ye strong and brave;\n    Let not those bright folds once be furled,\n  Till that high sun shall see them wave\n    Above a blest but conquered world.\n\n\n267                                                              L. M.\n                     The Spirit of the Lord, etc.\n                                  Isaiah 59:19.\n\n  Fling out the banner! let it float\n    Sky-ward and sea-ward, high and wide:\n  The sun, that lights its shining folds,\n    The cross, on which the Saviour died.\n\n  2 Fling out the banner! angels bend,\n    In anxious silence, o'er the sign;\n  And vainly seek to comprehend\n    The wonder of the love divine.\n\n  3 Fling out the banner! heathen lands\n    Shall see, from far, the glorious sight,\n  And nations, crowding to be born,\n    Baptize their spirits in its light.\n\n  4 Fling out the banner! sin-sick souls,\n    That sink and perish in the strife,\n  Shall touch in faith its radiant hem,\n    And spring immortal into life.\n\n  5 Fling out the banner! let it float\n    Sky-ward and sea-ward, high and wide;\n  Our glory, only in the cross;\n    Our only hope, the Crucified.\n\n  6 Fling out the banner! wide and high,\n    Sea-ward and sky-ward, let it shine;\n  Nor skill, nor might, nor merit, ours;\n    We conquer only in that sign.\n\n\n268                                                              L. M.\n                   The power of God unto salvation.\n                                    Rom. 1:16.\n\n  God, in the gospel of his Son,\n  Makes his eternal counsels known;\n  'Tis here his richest mercy shines,\n  And truth is drawn in fairest lines.\n\n  2 Here sinners of a humble frame\n  May taste his grace and learn his name;\n  'Tis writ in characters of blood,\n  Severely just--immensely good.\n\n  3 Here Jesus, in ten thousand ways,\n  His soul-attracting charms displays;\n  Recounts his poverty and pains,\n  And tells his love in melting strains.\n\n  4 May this blest volume ever lie\n  Close to my heart, and near my eye--\n  Till life's last hour my soul engage,\n  And be my chosen heritage!\n\n\n269                                                              L. M.\n                              Pentecost.\n                                     Acts 2.\n\n  Great was the day, the joy was great,\n  When the beloved disciples met;\n  And on their heads the Spirit came,\n  And sat like tongues of cloven flame.\n\n  2 What gifts, what miracles he gave!\n  The power to kill, the power to save,\n  Furnished their tongues with wondrous words,\n  Instead of shields, and spears, and swords.\n\n  3 Thus armed, he sent the champions forth,\n  From east to west, from south to north;\n  Go, and assert your Saviour's cause--\n  Go, spread the mystery of the cross!\n\n  4 These weapons of the holy war,\n  Of what almighty force they are\n  To make our stubborn passions bow,\n  And lay the proudest rebel low!\n\n  5 The Greeks and Jews, the learned and rude,\n  Are by these heavenly arms subdued;\n  While Satan rages at his loss,\n  And hates the doctrine of the cross.\n\n\n270                                                              S. M.\n                   How beautiful are the feet, etc.\n                                   Rom. 10:15.\n\n  How beauteous are their feet\n    Who stand on Zion's hill!\n  Who bring salvation on their tongues,\n    And words of peace reveal!\n\n  2 How charming is their voice!\n    How sweet the tidings are!\n  \"Zion, behold thy Saviour King,\n    He reigns and triumphs here.\"\n\n  3 How happy are our ears\n    That hear this joyful sound,\n  Which kings and prophets waited for,\n    And sought, but never found!\n\n  4 How blessed are our eyes\n    That see this heavenly light!\n  Prophets and kings desired it long,\n    But died without the sight.\n\n  5 The watchmen join their voice,\n    And tuneful notes employ;\n  Jerusalem breaks forth in songs,\n    And deserts learn the joy.\n\n  6 The Lord makes bare his arm\n    Through all the earth abroad;\n  Let every nation now behold\n    Their Saviour and their God.\n\n\n271                                                              S. M.\n                         Power of God's word.\n\n  Behold, the morning sun\n    Begins his glorious way;\n  His beams through all the nations run,\n    And light and life convey.\n\n  2 But where the gospel comes,\n    It spreads diviner light;\n  It calls dead sinners from their tombs,\n    And gives the blind their sight.\n\n  3 How perfect is thy word!\n    And all thy judgments just!\n  For ever sure thy promise, Lord,\n    And we securely trust.\n\n  4 My gracious God, how plain\n    Are thy directions given!\n  O, may I never read in vain,\n    But find the path to heaven.\n\n\n272                                                           8s & 7s.\n                         The gospel trumpet.\n\n  Hark! how the gospel trumpet sounds!\n  Through all the world the echo bounds!\n  And Jesus, by redeeming blood,\n  Is bringing sinners back to God,\n  And guides them safely by his word\n      To endless day.\n\n  2 Hail, Jesus! all victorious Lord!\n  Be thou by all mankind adored!\n  For us didst thou the fight maintain,\n  And o'er our foes the victory gain,\n  That we with thee might ever reign\n      In endless day.\n\n  3 Fight on, ye conquering souls, fight on,\n  And when the conquest you have won,\n  Then palms of victory you shall hear,\n  And in his kingdom have a share,\n  And crowns of glory ever wear,\n      In endless day.\n\n  4 There we shall in full chorus join,\n  With saints and angels all combine\n  To sing of his redeeming love,\n  When rolling years shall cease to move,\n  And this shall be our theme above,\n      In endless day.\n\n\n273                                                              H. M.\n                         The year of jubilee.\n\n  Blow ye the trumpet, blow\n    The gladly-solemn sound;\n  Let all the nations know,\n    To earth's remotest bound,\n  The year of jubilee is come;\n  Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.\n\n  2 Exalt the Lamb of God,\n    The sin-atoning Lamb;\n  Redemption by his blood,\n    Through all the lands, proclaim:\n  The year of jubilee is come;\n  Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.\n\n  3 Ye slaves of sin and hell,\n    Your liberty receive,\n  And safe in Jesus dwell,\n    And blest in Jesus live:\n  The year of jubilee is come;\n  Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.\n\n  4 The gospel trumpet hear,\n    The news of pardoning grace:\n  Ye happy souls, draw near;\n    Behold your Saviour's face:\n  The year of jubilee is come;\n  Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.\n\n  5 Jesus, our great High Priest,\n    Has full atonement made;\n  Ye weary spirits, rest;\n    Ye mourning souls, be glad:\n  The year of jubilee is come;\n  Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.\n\n\n274                                                      8s, peculiar.\n                       The royal proclamation.\n\n  Hear the royal proclamation,\n  The glad tidings of salvation,\n  Publishing to every creature,\n  To the ruined sons of nature,\n        Jesus reigns--he reigns victorious,\n        Over heaven and earth most glorious!\n                Jesus reigns.\n\n  2 See the royal banners flying,\n  Hear the heralds loudly crying:\n  \"Rebel sinners, royal favor\n  Now is offered by the Saviour.\"\n\n  3 Here is wine, and milk, and honey,\n  Come and purchase without money,\n  Mercy like a flowing fountain\n  Streaming from the holy mountain.\n\n  4 Shout, you tongues of every nation,\n  To the bounds of the creation,\n  Shout the praise of Judah's Lion,\n  The almighty King of Zion.\n\n  5 Shout, O saints! make joyful mention,\n  Christ has purchased our redemption;\n  Angels, shout the joyful story,\n  Through the brighter worlds of glory.\n\n\n275                                                           6s & 4s.\n                   Holding forth the word of life.\n                                   Phil. 2:16.\n\n  Sound, sound the truth abroad!\n  Bear ye the word of God\n    Through the wide world;\n  Tell what our Lord has done,\n  Tell how the day is won,\n  Tell from his lofty throne\n    Satan is hurled.\n\n  2 Far over sea and land,\n  Go at your Lord's command,\n    Bear ye his name;\n  Bear it to every shore,\n  Regions unknown explore,\n  Enter at every door;\n    Silence is shame.\n\n  3 Speed on the wings of love;\n  Jesus who reigns above\n    Bids us to fly;\n  They who his message bear\n  Should neither doubt nor fear;\n  He will their friend appear,\n    He will be nigh.\n\n  4 When on the mighty deep,\n  He will their spirits keep,\n    Stayed on his word;\n  When in a foreign land,\n  No other friend at hand,\n  Jesus will by them stand,\n    Jesus their Lord.\n\n\n\n\n                             INVITATIONS.\n\n\n276                                                    L. M. peculiar.\n                     Haste thee; escape thither.\n                                   Gen. 19:22.\n\n  Haste, traveler, haste! the night comes on,\n  And many a shining hour is gone;\n  The storm is gathering in the west,\n  And thou art far from home and rest:\n      Haste, traveler, haste!\n\n  2 Awake, awake! pursue thy way\n  With steady course, while yet 'tis day;\n  While thou art sleeping on the ground,\n  Danger and darkness gather round;\n      Haste, traveler, haste!\n\n  3 The rising tempest sweeps the sky;\n  The rains descend, the winds are high;\n  The waters swell, and death and fear\n  Beset thy path; no refuge near:\n      Haste, traveler, haste!\n\n  4 Haste, while a shelter you may gain--\n  A covert from the wind and rain;\n  A hiding-place, a rest, a home--\n  A refuge from the wrath to come:\n      Haste, traveler, haste!\n\n  5 Then linger not in all the plain;\n  Flee for thy life--the mountain gain;\n  Look not behind, make no delay;\n  O, speed thee, speed thee on thy way!\n      Haste, traveler, haste!\n\n\n277                                                              L. M.\n                          The night cometh.\n                                    John 9:4.\n\n  While life prolongs its precious light,\n    Mercy is found, and peace is given;\n  But soon, ah! soon, approaching night\n    Shall blot out every hope of heaven.\n\n  2 While God invites, how blest the day!\n    How sweet the gospel's charming sound!\n  Come, sinners, haste, O haste away,\n    While yet a pardoning God is found.\n\n  3 Soon, borne on time's most rapid wing,\n    Shall death command you to the grave,\n  Before his bar your spirits bring,\n    And none be found to hear or save.\n\n  4 In that lone land of deep despair,\n    No Sabbath's heavenly light shall rise;\n  No God regard your bitter prayer,\n    Nor Saviour call you to the skies.\n\n  5 Now God invites, how blest the day!\n    How sweet the gospel's charming sound!\n  Come, sinners, haste, O haste away,\n    While yet a pardoning God is found.\n\n\n278                                                              L. M.\n                            Come unto me.\n                                   Matt. 11:28.\n\n  With tearful eyes I look around;\n    Life seems a dark and stormy sea;\n  Yet midst the gloom I hear a sound,\n    A heavenly whisper, Come to me!\n\n  2 It tells me of a place of rest;\n    It tells me where my soul may flee:\n  O! to the weary, faint, opprest,\n    How sweet the bidding, Come to me!\n\n  3 Come, for all else must fail and die;\n    Earth is no resting-place for thee;\n  To heaven direct thy weeping eye;\n    I am thy portion; Come to me!\n\n  4 O voice of mercy, voice of love!\n    In conflict, grief, and agony,\n  Support me, cheer me from above,\n    And gently whisper, Come to me!\n\n\n279                                                              L. M.\n                 To-day, if you will hear his voice.\n                                    Heb. 4:7.\n\n  To-day, if you will hear his voice,\n  Now is the time to make your choice;\n  Say will you to Mount Zion go?\n  Say, will you come to Christ or no?\n\n  2 Say, will you be for ever blest,\n  And with this glorious Jesus rest?\n  Will you be saved from guilt and pain?\n  Will you with Christ for ever reign?\n\n  3 Make now your choice, and halt no more;\n  He now is waiting for the poor:\n  Say, now, poor souls, what will you do?\n  Say, will you come to Christ or no?\n\n  4 Fathers and sons for ruin bound,\n  Amidst the gospel's joyful sound,\n  Come, go with us, and seek to prove\n  The joys of Christ's redeeming love.\n\n  5 Matrons and maids, we look to you;\n  Are you resolved to perish, too?\n  To rush in carnal pleasures on,\n  And sink in flaming ruin down?\n\n  6 Once more we ask you in his name,\n  (We know his love remains the same),\n  Say, will you to Mount Zion go?\n  Say, will you come to Christ or no?\n\n\n280                                                              L. M.\n                      An evening expostulation.\n\n  O, do not let the word depart,\n    And close thine eye against the light;\n  Poor sinner, harden not thy heart;\n    Thou wouldst be saved; why not to-night?\n\n  2 To-morrow's sun may never rise\n    To bless thy long deluded sight;\n  This is the time; O, then be wise!\n    Thou wouldst be saved; why not to-night?\n\n  3 Our God in pity lingers still;\n    And wilt thou thus his love requite?\n  Renounce at length thy stubborn will;\n    Thou wouldst be saved; why not to-night?\n\n  4 Our blessed Lord refuses none\n    Who would to him their souls unite;\n  Then be the work of grace begun:\n    Thou wouldst be saved; why not to-night?\n\n\n281                                                              L. M.\n                              Inviting.\n\n  Come, weary souls, with sin distressed,\n  Come and accept the promised rest;\n  The Saviour's gracious call obey,\n  And cast your gloomy fears away.\n\n  2 Oppressed with guilt, a heavy load,\n  O! come and bow before your God;\n  Divine compassion, mighty love,\n  Will all the painful load remove.\n\n  3 Here mercy's boundless ocean flows\n  To cleanse your guilt and heal your woes;\n  Pardon, and life, and endless peace--\n  How rich the gift, how free the grace!\n\n  4 Lord, we accept with thankful heart\n  The hope thy gracious words impart:\n  We come with trembling, yet rejoice,\n  And bless thy kind inviting voice.\n\n\n282                                                              L. M.\n                          One thing needful.\n\n  Why will ye waste on trifling cares\n  That life which God's compassion spares;\n  While, in the various range of thought,\n  The one thing needful is forgot?\n\n  2 Shall God invite you from above?\n  Shall Jesus urge his dying love?\n  Shall troubled conscience give you pain?\n  And all these pleas unite in vain?\n\n  3 Not so your eyes will always view\n  Those objects which you now pursue:\n  Not so will heaven and hell appear\n  When death's decisive hour is near.\n\n  4 Almighty God! thy power impart;\n  Fix deep conviction on each heart;\n  Nor let us waste on trifling cares\n  That life which thy compassion spares.\n\n\n283                                                              L. M.\n                    The broad and the narrow way.\n                                 Matt. 7:13, 14.\n\n  Broad is the road that leads to death;\n    And thousands walk together there;\n  But wisdom shows a narrow path,\n    With here and there a traveler.\n\n  2 \"Deny thyself, and take thy cross,\"\n    Is the Redeemer's great command;\n  Nature must count her gold but dross,\n    If she would gain this heavenly land.\n\n  3 The fearful soul that tires and faints,\n    And walks the ways of God no more,\n  Is but esteemed almost a saint,\n    And makes his own destruction sure.\n\n  4 Lord, let my hopes be not in vain,\n    Create my heart entirely new;\n  This hypocrites could ne'er attain;\n    This false apostates never knew.\n\n\n284                                                              L. M.\n                          Ecclesiastes 9:10.\n\n  Life is the time to serve the Lord,\n  The time t' insure the great reward;\n  And while the lamp holds out to burn,\n  O hasten, sinner, to return!\n\n  2 Life is the hour that God has given\n  To 'scape from hell and fly to heaven,\n  The day of grace, when mortals may\n  Secure the blessings of the day.\n\n  3 The living know that they must die,\n  Beneath the clods their dust must lie;\n  Then have no share in all that's done\n  Beneath the circle of the sun.\n\n  4 Then what my thoughts design to do,\n  My hands, with all your might pursue:\n  Since no device nor work is found,\n  Nor faith, nor hope, beneath the ground.\n\n  5 There are no acts of pardon passed\n  In the cold grave to which we haste;\n  O may we all receive thy grace,\n  And see with joy thy smiling face.\n\n\n285                                                              C. M.\n                 Come, for all things are now ready.\n                                   Luke 14:17.\n\n  Come, sinners, to the gospel feast;\n  O, do no longer stay;\n  Let every soul be Jesus' guest,\n  O, do no longer stay away!\n                               CHORUS.\n        O, do no longer stay away,\n        For now your Saviour calls,\n        And the gospel sounds the jubilee;\n        O, do no longer stay away.\n\n  2 Hark! 'tis the Saviour's gracious call,\n  The invitation is to all;\n  Come, all the world--come, sinner, thou--\n  All things in Christ are ready now.\n\n  3 Come, all you souls by sin oppressed,\n  You weary wanderers after rest;\n  You poor and maimed, and halt and blind,\n  In Christ a hearty welcome find.\n\n  4 The message, as from God, receive--\n  You all may come to Christ and live;\n  O let his love your hearts constrain,\n  Nor suffer him to call in vain.\n\n  5 This is the time--no more delay;\n  The Saviour calls you all to-day:\n  O may his call effectual prove!\n  Accept the offers of his love!\n\n\n286                                                              C. M.\n                    Hear and your soul shall live.\n                                   Isaiah 55:3.\n\n  Let every mortal ear attend,\n    And every heart rejoice;\n  The trumpet of the gospel sounds\n    With an inviting voice:\n\n  2 Ho! all you hungry, starving souls,\n    Who feed upon the wind,\n  And vainly strive with earthly toys\n    To fill an empty mind.\n\n  3 Eternal wisdom has prepared\n    A soul-reviving feast,\n  And bids your longing appetites\n    The rich provision taste.\n\n  4 Ho! you that pant for living streams,\n    And pine away and die,\n  Here may you quench your raging thirst\n    With springs that never dry.\n\n  5 Rivers of love and mercy here\n    In a rich ocean join;\n  Salvation in abundance flows,\n    Like floods of milk and wine.\n\n  6 Great God! the treasures of thy love\n    Are everlasting mines,\n  Deep as our helpless miseries are,\n    And boundless as our sins.\n\n  7 The happy gates of gospel grace\n    Stand open night and day:\n  Lord, we are come to seek supplies,\n    And drive our wants away.\n\n\n287                                                              C. M.\n                     For there is no difference.\n                                   Rom. 10:12.\n\n  How free and boundless is the grace\n    Of our redeeming God!\n  Extending to the Greek and Jew,\n    And men of every blood.\n\n  2 Come, all you wretched sinners, come,\n    He'll form your souls anew;\n  His gospel and his heart have room\n    For rebels such as you.\n\n  3 His doctrine is almighty love;\n    There's virtue in his name\n  To turn a raven to a dove,\n    A lion to a lamb.\n\n  4 Come, then, accept the offered grace,\n    And make no more delay;\n  His love will all your guilt efface,\n    And soothe your fears away.\n\n\n288                                                              C. M.\n                    Let him return unto the Lord.\n                                   Isaiah 55:7.\n\n  Return, O wanderer, now return,\n    And seek thy Father's face;\n  Those new desires which in thee burn\n    Were kindled by his grace.\n\n  2 Return, O wanderer, now return!\n    He hears thy humble sigh!\n  He sees thy softened spirit mourn,\n    When no one else is nigh.\n\n  3 Return, O wanderer, now return!\n    Thy Saviour bids thee live;\n  Go to his feet, and grateful learn\n    How freely he'll forgive.\n\n  4 Return, O wanderer, now return!\n    And wipe the falling tear;\n  Thy Father calls--no longer mourn,\n    'Tis love invites thee near.\n\n\n289                                                              C. M.\n                     Incline your ear, and come.\n                                   Isaiah 55:3.\n\n  The Saviour calls; let every ear\n    Attend the heavenly sound;\n  Ye doubting souls, dismiss your fear;\n    Hope smiles reviving round.\n\n  2 For every thirsty, longing heart,\n    Here streams of bounty flow,\n  And life, and health, and bliss impart,\n    To banish mortal woe.\n\n  3 Ye sinners, come; 'tis mercy's voice;\n    That gracious voice obey;\n  'Tis Jesus calls to heavenly joys;\n    And can you yet delay?\n\n  4 Dear Saviour, draw reluctant hearts;\n    To thee let sinners fly,\n  And take the bliss thy love imparts,\n    And drink, and never die.\n\n\n290                                                              C. M.\n                    Let him that is athirst, come.\n                                   Rev. 22:17.\n\n  O what amazing words of grace\n    Are in the gospel found,\n  Suited to every sinner's case\n    Who hears the joyful sound!\n\n  2 Come, then, with all your wants and wounds\n    Your every burden bring;\n  Here love, unchanging love, abounds--\n    A deep celestial spring.\n\n  3 This spring with living water flows,\n    And heavenly joy imparts;\n  Come, thirsty souls! your wants disclose,\n    And drink with thankful hearts.\n\n  4 Millions of sinners, vile as you,\n    Have here found life and peace;\n  Come then, and prove its virtues too,\n    And drink, adore, and bless.\n\n\n291                                                              C. M.\n                That whoso believeth might not perish.\n                                    John 3:15.\n\n  Come, humble sinner, in whose breast\n    A thousand thoughts revolve;\n  Come, with your guilt and fear oppressed,\n    And make this last resolve:\n\n  2 I'll go to Jesus, though my sin\n    Has like a mountain rose;\n  His kingdom now I'll enter in,\n    Whatever may oppose.\n\n  3 Humbly I'll bow at his command,\n    And there my guilt confess;\n  I'll own I am a wretch undone,\n    Without his sovereign grace.\n\n  4 Surely he will accept my plea,\n    For he has bid me come;\n  Forthwith I'll rise, and to him flee,\n    For yet, he says, there's room.\n\n  5 I can not perish if I go;\n    I am resolved to try:\n  For if I stay away, I know\n    I must for ever die.\n\n\n292                                                              C. M.\n                           Come to the Ark.\n                                    Gen. 7:1.\n\n  Come to the ark, come to the ark;\n    To Jesus come away;\n  The pestilence walks forth by night,\n    The arrow flies by day.\n\n  2 Come to the ark; the waters rise,\n    The seas their billows rear:\n  While darkness gathers o'er the skies,\n    Behold a refuge near!\n\n  3 Come to the ark, all, all that weep\n    Beneath the sense of sin:\n  Without, deep calleth unto deep,\n    But all is peace within.\n\n  4 Come to the ark, ere yet the flood\n    Your lingering steps oppose;\n  Come, for the door, which open stood,\n    Is now about to close.\n\n\n293                                                              C. M.\n               He that cometh to me shall never hunger.\n                                    John 6:35.\n\n  Ye wretched, hungry, starving poor,\n    Behold a royal feast,\n  Where mercy spreads her bounteous store\n    For every humble guest.\n\n  2 See, Jesus stands with open arms;\n    He calls, he bids you come;\n  Guilt holds you back, and fear alarms,\n    But see, there yet is room,\n\n  3 Room in the Saviour's bleeding heart;\n    There love and pity meet:\n  Nor will he bid the soul depart\n    That trembles at his feet.\n\n  4 O come, and with his children taste\n    The blessings of his love,\n  While hope attends the sweet repast\n    Of nobler joys above.\n\n  5 There, with united heart and voice,\n    Before th' eternal throne,\n  Ten thousand thousand souls rejoice\n    In ecstasies unknown.\n\n  6 And yet ten thousand thousand more\n    Are welcome still to come;\n  Ye longing souls, the grace adore;\n    Approach--there yet is room.\n\n\n294                                                              C. M.\n                In this mountain shall the Lord, etc.\n                                   Isaiah 25:6.\n\n  The King of heaven his table spreads,\n    And dainties crown the board;\n  Not paradise, with all its joys,\n    Could such delights afford.\n\n  2 Pardon and peace to dying men,\n    And endless life are given,\n  Through the rich blood that Jesus shed,\n    To raise our souls to heaven.\n\n  3 You hungry poor, that long have strayed\n    In sin's dark mazes, come;\n  Come from your most obscure retreat,\n    And grace shall find you room.\n\n  4 Millions of souls in glory now\n    Were fed and feasted here;\n  And millions more still on the way\n    Around the board appear.\n\n  5 Yet are his heart and house so large\n    That millions more may come:\n  Nor could the whole assembled world\n    O'erfill the spacious room.\n\n  6 All things are ready: come away,\n    Nor weak excuses frame;\n  Crowd to your places at the feast,\n    And bless the Founder's name.\n\n\n295                                                              C. M.\n                            None excluded.\n\n  Jesus, thy blessings are not few,\n    Nor is thy gospel weak;\n  Thy grace can melt the stubborn Jew,\n    And heal the dying Greek.\n\n  2 Wide as the reach of Satan's rage\n    Doth thy salvation flow;\n  'Tis not confined to sex nor age,\n    The lofty nor the low.\n\n  3 While grace is offered to the prince,\n    The poor may take his share;\n  No mortal has a just pretense\n    To perish in despair.\n\n  4 Come, all ye wretched sinners, come,\n    He'll form your souls anew;\n  His gospel and his heart have room\n    For rebels such as you.\n\n  5 His doctrine is almighty love;\n    There's virtue in his name\n  To turn the raven to a dove,\n    The lion to a lamb.\n\n\n296                                                    C. M. peculiar.\n                        Draw nigh to God, etc.\n                                    James 4:8.\n\n  Return, O wanderer, to thy home,\n    Thy Father calls for thee;\n  No longer now an exile roam,\n    In guilt and misery:\n      Return, return!\n\n  2 Return, O wanderer, to thy home,\n    'Tis Jesus calls for thee;\n  The Spirit and the Bride say--come;\n    O! now for refuge flee;\n      Return, return!\n\n  3 Return, O wanderer, to thy home,\n    'Tis madness to delay;\n  There are no pardons in the tomb,\n    And brief is mercy's day:\n      Return, return!\n\n\n297                                                              S. M.\n                      Now is the accepted time.\n                                   2 Cor. 6:2.\n\n  Now is th' accepted time,\n    Now is the day of grace;\n  Now, sinners, come, without delay,\n    And seek the Saviour's face.\n\n  2 Now is th' accepted time,\n    The Saviour calls to-day;\n  To-morrow it may be too late--\n    Then why should you delay?\n\n  3 Now is th' accepted time,\n    The gospel bids you come;\n  And every promise in his word\n    Declares there yet is room.\n\n\n298                                                              S. M.\n                     Now is the day of salvation.\n                                   2 Cor. 6:2.\n\n  Now is the day of grace;\n    Now to the Saviour come;\n  The Lord is calling, \"Seek my face,\n    And I will guide you home.\"\n\n  2 The Father bids you speed;\n    O, wherefore then delay?\n  He calls in love; he sees your need;\n    He bids you come to-day.\n\n  3 To-day the prize is won;\n    The promise is to save;\n  Then, O, be wise; to-morrow's sun\n    May shine upon your grave.\n\n\n299                                                              S. M.\n                          Give me thy heart.\n                                   Prov. 23:26.\n\n  Give to the Lord thine heart;\n    In him all pleasures meet:\n  O, come and choose the better part,\n    Low at the Saviour's feet.\n\n  2 Hear, and your soul shall live;\n    His peace shall be your stay--\n  Peace, which the world can never give,\n    Can never take away.\n\n\n300                                                              S. M.\n                    Where shall the ungodly, etc.\n                                   1 Pet. 4:18.\n\n  And will the Judge descend?\n    And must the dead arise?\n  And not a single soul escape\n    His all-discerning eyes?\n\n  2 How will my heart endure\n    The terrors of that day,\n  When earth and heaven before his face,\n    Astonished, shrink away?\n\n  3 But ere the trumpet shakes\n    The mansions of the dead;\n  Hark! from the Gospel's cheering sound,\n    What joyful tidings spread.\n\n  4 Ye sinners! seek his grace,\n    Whose wrath you can not bear;\n  Flee to the shelter of his cross,\n    And find salvation there.\n\n  5 Come! take his offers now,\n    From every sin depart,\n  Perform thy oft-repeated vow,\n    And render him thy heart.\n\n  6 Repent! return! receive\n    The grace through Jesus given;\n  Sure, if with God on earth we live,\n    We live with God in heaven.\n\n\n301                                                              S. M.\n                           The gospel call.\n\n  Ye trembling captives! hear;\n    The gospel-trumpet sounds;\n  No music more can charm the ear,\n    Or heal your heart-felt wounds.\n\n  2 'Tis not the trump of war,\n    Nor Sinai's awful roar;\n  Salvation's news it spreads afar,\n    And vengeance is no more.\n\n  3 Forgiveness, love, and peace,\n    Glad heaven aloud proclaims;\n  And earth, the jubilee's release,\n    With eager rapture claims.\n\n  4 Far, far to distant lands\n    The saving news shall spread;\n  And Jesus all his willing bands\n    In glorious triumph lead.\n\n\n302                                                              S. M.\n                   Boast not thyself of to-morrow.\n                                   Prov. 27:1.\n\n  To-morrow, Lord! is thine,\n    Lodged in thy sovereign hand;\n  And if its sun arise and shine,\n    It shines by thy command.\n\n  2 The present moment flies,\n    And bears our life away;\n  O, make thy servants truly wise,\n    That they may live to-day.\n\n  3 Since on this fleeting hour\n    Eternity is hung,\n  Awake, by thine almighty power,\n    The aged and the young.\n\n  4 One thing demands our care;\n    O, be it still pursued!\n  Lest, slighted once, the season fair\n    Should never be renewed.\n\n  5 To Jesus may we fly,\n    Swift as the morning light,\n  Lest life's young, golden beams should die\n    In sudden, endless night.\n\n\n303                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                          Come and welcome.\n\n  From the cross, uplifted high,\n  Where the Saviour deigns to die,\n  What melodious sounds we hear,\n  Bursting on the ravished ear!\n  \"Love's redeeming work is done;\n  Come and welcome, sinner, come.\n\n  2 \"Sprinkled now with blood the throne,\n  Why beneath thy burdens groan?\n  On my pierced body laid,\n  Justice owns the ransom paid;\n  Bow the knee, embrace the Son;\n  Come and welcome, sinner, come.\n\n  3 \"Spread for thee the festal board,\n  See with richest dainties stored;\n  To thy Father's bosom pressed,\n  Yet again a child confessed,\n  Never from his house to roam--\n  Come and welcome, sinner, come.\n\n  4 \"Soon the days of life shall end;\n  Lo! I come, your Saviour, Friend,\n  Safe your spirits to convey\n  To the realms of endless day,\n  Up to my eternal home;\n  Come and welcome, sinner, come.\"\n\n\n304                                                                7s.\n                    Turn ye; for why will ye die?\n                                  Ezekiel 18:31.\n\n  Sinners, turn--why will you die?\n  God, your Maker, asks you why:\n  God, who did your being give,\n  Made you with himself to live.\n\n  2 Sinners, turn--why will you die?\n  Christ, your Saviour, asks you why;\n  He, who did your souls retrieve,\n  He, who died that you might live.\n\n  3 Will you let him die in vain?\n  Crucify your Lord again?\n  Why, you ransomed sinners, why,\n  Will you slight his grace and die?\n\n  4 Will you not his grace receive?\n  Will you still refuse to live?\n  O! you dying sinners, why--\n  Why will you for ever die?\n\n\n305                                                        7s, double.\n                   What could have been done, etc.\n                                   Isaiah 5:4.\n\n  What could your Redeemer do\n  More than he has done for you?\n  To procure your peace with God,\n  Could he more than shed his blood?\n  After all this flow of love,\n  All his drawings from above,\n  Why will you your Lord deny?\n  Why will you resolve to die?\n\n  2 Turn, he cries, O sinner, turn!\n  By his life your God hath sworn\n  He would have you turn and live,\n  He would all the world receive:\n  If your death were his delight,\n  Would he thus to life invite?\n  Would he ask, beseech and cry,\n  Why will you resolve to die?\n\n  3 Sinners, turn, while God is near!\n  He has left you naught to fear;\n  Now, e'en now, your Saviour stands,\n  All day long he spreads his hands:\n  Cries, \"You will not happy be,\n  No, you will not come to me:\n  Me who life to none deny--\n  Why will you resolve to die?\"\n\n  4 Can you doubt that God is love,\n  Who thus calls you from above?\n  Will you not his word receive?\n  Will you not his oath believe?\n  See, the suffering Lord appears;\n  Jesus weeps--believe his tears!\n  Mingled with his blood, they cry,\n  \"Why will you resolve to die?\"\n\n\n306                                                                7s.\n                          Earnest entreaty.\n\n  Haste, O sinner, to be wise,\n    Stay not for the morrow's sun;\n  Wisdom warns thee from the skies,\n    All the paths of death to shun.\n\n  2 Haste, and mercy now implore;\n    Stay not for the morrow's sun;\n  Thy probation may be o'er\n    Ere this evening's work is done.\n\n  3 Haste, O sinner, now return;\n    Stay not for the morrow's sun;\n  Lest thy lamp should cease to burn\n    Ere salvation's work is done.\n\n  4 Haste, while yet thou canst be blest;\n    Stay not for the morrow's sun,\n  Death may thy poor soul arrest\n    Ere the morrow is begun.\n\n\n307                                                                7s.\n                         Fullness of Christ.\n\n  Bleeding hearts, defiled by sin,\n  Jesus Christ can make you clean;\n  Contrite souls, with guilt oppressed,\n  Jesus Christ can give you rest.\n\n  2 You that mourn o'er follies past,\n  Precious hours and years laid waste;\n  Turn to God, O turn and live,\n  Jesus Christ can still forgive.\n\n  3 You that oft have wandered far\n  From the light of Bethlehem's star,\n  Trembling, now your steps retrace,\n  Jesus Christ is full of grace.\n\n  4 Souls benighted and forlorn,\n  Grieved, afflicted, tempest-worn,\n  Now in Israel's rock confide,\n  Jesus Christ for man has died.\n\n  5 Fainting souls, in peril's hour,\n  Yield not to the tempter's power;\n  On the risen Lord rely,\n  Jesus Christ now reigns on high.\n\n\n308                                                        7s, double.\n                     Flee from the wrath to come.\n                                    Matt. 3:7.\n\n  Sinner, art thou still secure?\n    Wilt thou still refuse to pray?\n  Can thy heart or hands endure\n    In the Lord's avenging day?\n  See his mighty arm made bare!\n    Awful terrors clothe his brow!\n  For his judgment now prepare,\n    Thou must either break or bow.\n\n  2 At his presence nature shakes;\n    Earth, affrighted, hastes to flee;\n  Solid mountains melt like wax;\n    What will then become of thee?\n  Who his coming may abide?\n    You that glory in your shame,\n  Will you find a place to hide\n    When the world is wrapt in flame?\n\n  3 Then the great, the rich, the wise,\n    Trembling, guilty, self-condemned,\n  Must behold the wrathful eyes\n    Of the Judge they once blasphemed.\n  Where are now their haughty looks?\n    O! their horror and despair,\n  When they see the opened books,\n    And their dreadful sentence hear!\n\n  4 Lord, prepare us by thy grace:\n    Soon we must resign our breath,\n  And our souls be called to pass\n    Through the iron gate of death.\n  Let us now our days improve,\n    Listen to the gospel voice;\n  Seek the things that are above;\n    Scorn the world's pretended joys.\n\n\n309                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                      My peace I give unto you.\n                                   John 14:27.\n\n  Ye who in his courts are found\n  Listening to the joyful sound,\n  Lost and hopeless as ye are,\n  Sons of sorrow, sin and care,\n  Glorify the King of kings;\n  Take the peace the gospel brings.\n\n  2 Turn to Christ your longing eyes;\n  View his bleeding sacrifice;\n  See in him your sins forgiven,\n  Pardon, holiness, and heaven;\n  Glorify the King of kings;\n  Take the peace the gospel brings.\n\n\n310                                                                7s.\n                          The night is past.\n                                   1 John 2:8.\n\n  Weeping sinners, dry your tears;\n  Jesus on the throne appears;\n  Mercy comes with balmy wing,\n  Bids you his salvation sing.\n\n  2 Peace he brings you by his death,\n  Peace he speaks with every breath;\n  Can you slight such heavenly charms?\n  Flee, O flee to Jesus' arms.\n\n\n311                                                           8s & 7s.\n                      The pearl of great price.\n                                   Matt. 13:46.\n\n  Sinner, seek the priceless treasure,\n    Offered without price from God;\n  Here is mercy without measure,\n    Flowing in the Saviour's blood.\n  Come, then, to the fount of healing,\n    Come, and prove its virtues true;\n  Turn not from love's sweet appealing,\n    Jesus shed his blood for you!\n\n  2 Come, begin the race for heaven;\n    Start to-day, O do not wait;\n  Now's the time that God has given;\n    Sinner, do not be too late.\n  When the door of mercy closes,\n    You will stand and knock in vain;\n  For, when justice interposes,\n    Mercy will not call again!\n\n\n312                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                      Look unto me and be saved.\n                                  Isaiah 45:22.\n\n  Come, you sinners, poor and needy,\n    Weak and wounded, sick and sore;\n  Jesus ready stands to save you,\n    Full of pity, love and power;\n        He is able,\n    He is willing--doubt no more.\n\n  2 Let not conscience make you linger,\n    Nor of fitness fondly dream;\n  All the fitness he requireth,\n    Is to feel your need of him;\n        This he gives you,\n    'Tis the Saviour's rising beam.\n\n  3 Come, you weary, heavy laden,\n    Bruised and mangled by the fall;\n  If you tarry till you're better,\n    You will never come at all:\n        Not the righteous--\n    Sinners Jesus came to call.\n\n  4 Agonizing in the garden,\n    Lo! your Saviour prostrate lies!\n  On the bloody tree behold him!\n    Hear him cry before he dies,\n        \"It is finished!\"\n    Sinners, will not this suffice?\n\n  5 Lo! the rising Lord, ascending,\n    Pleads the virtue of his blood:\n  Venture on him, venture freely,\n    Let no other trust intrude:\n        None but Jesus\n    Can do helpless sinners good.\n\n  6 Saints and angels, joined in concert,\n    Sing the praises of the Lamb,\n  While the blissful seats of heaven\n    Sweetly echo to his name,\n        Hallelujah!\n    Sinners now his love proclaim.\n\n\n313                                                           8s & 7s.\n                     We are on the ocean sailing.\n\n  We are on the ocean sailing,\n    Homeward bound we sweetly glide;\n  We are on the ocean sailing,\n    To a home beyond the tide.\n  Chorus.--\n          All the storms will soon be over,\n            Then we'll anchor in the harbor;\n          We are out on the ocean sailing\n            To a home beyond the tide.\n\n  2 Millions now are safely landed\n    Over on the golden shore;\n  Millions more are on their journey,\n    Yet there's room for millions more;\n\n  3 Come on board, O ship for glory,\n    Be in haste, make up your mind,\n  For our vessel's weighing anchor--\n    You will soon be left behind.\n\n  4 You have kindred over yonder,\n    On that bright and happy shore;\n  By and by we'll swell the number;\n    When the toils of life are o'er.\n\n  5 Spread your sails, while heavenly breezes\n    Gently waft our vessel on;\n  All on board are sweetly singing;\n    Free salvation is the song.\n\n  6 When we all are safely landed,\n    Over on the shining shore,\n  We will walk about the city,\n    And we'll sing for evermore.\n\n          All the storms of life are over,\n            Landed in the port of glory:\n          Now no more on the ocean sailing--\n            Safe at home beyond the tide.\n\n\n314                                                        8s, 7s & 4.\n                   He that hath ears let him hear.\n                                   Matt. 13:9.\n\n  Sinners, will you scorn the message\n    Sent in mercy from above?\n  Every sentence, O how tender!\n    Every line is full of love;\n        Listen to it;\n    Every line is full of love.\n\n  2 Hear the heralds of the gospel\n    News from Zion's King proclaim;\n  \"Pardon to each rebel sinner;\n    Free forgiveness in his name:\"\n        O how gracious!\n    \"Free forgiveness in his name.\"\n\n  3 Will you not receive the message--\n    Listen to the joyful word;\n  And embrace the news of pardon\n    Offered to you by the Lord?\n        Can you slight it--\n    Offered to you by the Lord?\n\n  4 O ye angels, hovering round us,\n    Waiting spirits, speed your way,\n  Haste ye to the court of heaven;\n    Tidings bear without delay;\n        Rebel sinners\n    Glad the message will obey.\n\n\n315                                                        8s, 7s & 4.\n                        The gospel invitation.\n\n  Listen to the gospel, telling\n    How the Lord was crucified;\n  How upon the cross he suffered,\n    When he bowed his head and died,\n        All for sinners!\n    Come, then, to his bleeding side.\n\n  2 Listen to the gospel calling!\n    Hear, O sinner, and obey!\n  Come to Jesus, he will save you,\n    Now, no longer stay away;\n        He invites you;\n    Sinner, then, make no delay,\n\n  3 Listen to the gospel pleading,\n    Hasten, sinner, to arise;\n  Come and cast yourself on Jesus,\n    He to none his love denies;\n        Trust him freely,\n    Wait no longer; now be wise.\n\n  4 Listen to the gospel blessing\n    All who trust the Saviour's love;\n  And to those who now obey him,\n    Bringing pardon from above;\n        Careless sinner,\n    Will you still refuse to move?\n\n  5 Listen to the gospel warning;\n    All who stay away must die;\n  Come, then, while all things are ready,\n    Mercy calls you from on high;\n        Come and welcome,\n    Hear, O hear the Saviour cry!\n\n\n316                                                        8s, 7s & 4.\n                         The voice of mercy.\n\n  Hear, O sinner! mercy hails you,\n    Now with sweetest voice she calls;\n  Bids you haste to seek the Saviour,\n    Ere the hand of Justice falls:\n        Trust in Jesus;\n    'Tis the voice of mercy calls.\n\n  2 Haste, O sinner! to the Saviour--\n    Seek his mercy while you may;\n  Soon the day of grace is over;\n    Soon your life will pass away!\n        Haste to Jesus;\n    You must perish if you stay.\n\n\n317                                                       7s, 6s & 7s.\n                              The alarm.\n\n  Stop, poor sinner, stop and think,\n    Before you further go;\n  Will you sport upon the brink\n    Of everlasting woe!\n  On the verge of ruin stop--\n    Now the friendly warning take--\n  Stay your footsteps--ere you drop\n    Into the burning lake.\n\n  2 Say, have you an arm like God,\n    That you his will oppose?\n  Fear ye not that iron rod\n    With which he breaks his foes?\n  Can you stand in that dread day\n    Which his justice shall proclaim--\n  When the earth shall melt away\n    Like wax before the flame?\n\n  3 Ghastly death will quickly come,\n    And drag you to his bar;\n  Then, to hear your awful doom,\n    Will fill you with despair!\n  All your sins will round you crowd--\n    You shall mark their crimson dye--\n  Each for vengeance crying loud;\n    And what can you reply?\n\n  4 Though your heart were made of steel,\n    Your forehead lined with brass,\n  God at length will make you feel--\n    He will not let you pass:\n  Sinners then in vain will call--\n    Those who now despise his grace--\n  \"Rocks and mountains, on us fall,\n    And hide us from his face.\"\n\n\n318                                                           8s & 6s.\n               If any man thirst, let him come unto me.\n                                    John 7:37.\n\n  Burdened with guilt, wouldst thou be blest?\n  Trust not the world; it gives no rest:\n  I bring relief to hearts oppressed;\n    O, weary sinner, come!\n\n  2 Come, leave thy burden at the cross;\n  Count all thy gains but empty dross;\n  My grace repays all earthly loss:\n    O, needy sinner, come!\n\n  3 Come, hither bring thy boding fears,\n  Thine aching heart, thy bursting tears;\n  'Tis mercy's voice salutes thine ears:\n    O, trembling sinner, come!\n\n  4 \"The Spirit and the Bride say, Come;\"\n  Rejoicing saints re-echo, Come!\n  Who faints, who thirsts, who will, may come:\n    Thy Saviour bids thee come.\n\n\n319                                                                6s.\n                            Sinner, come.\n\n  Sinner! come, 'mid thy gloom,\n    All thy guilt confessing;\n  Trembling now, contrite bow,\n    Take the offered blessing.\n\n  2 Sinner! come, while there's room--\n    While the feast is waiting;\n  While the Lord, by his word,\n    Kindly is inviting.\n\n  3 Sinner! come, ere thy doom\n    Shall be sealed for ever;\n  Now return, grieve and mourn,\n    Flee to Christ, the Saviour.\n\n  4 Sinner! come to thy home,\n    High in heaven gleaming;\n  To the sky lift thine eye,\n    With true sorrow streaming.\n\n  5 Sinner! haste, time fleets fast,\n    And the grave is yawning;\n  Win renown, seize the crown,\n    Eternity is dawning.\n\n\n320                                                           8s & 3s.\n                             Will you go?\n\n  We're traveling home to heaven above;\n          Will you go?\n  To sing the Saviour's dying love;\n          Will you go?\n  Millions have reached that blest abode,\n  Anointed kings and priests to God,\n  And millions more are on the road;\n          Will you go?\n\n  2 We're going to see the bleeding Lamb;\n          Will you go?\n  In rapturous strains to praise his name;\n          Will you go?\n  The crown of life we there shall wear,\n  The conqueror's palms our hands shall bear,\n  And all the joys of heaven we'll share;\n          Will you go?\n\n  3 We're going to join the heavenly choir;\n          Will you go?\n  To raise our voice and tune the lyre;\n          Will you go?\n  There saints and angels gladly sing\n  Hosanna to their God and King,\n  And make the heavenly arches ring;\n          Will you go?\n\n  4 Ye weary, heavy-laden, come;\n          Will you go?\n  In the blest house there still is room;\n          Will you go?\n  The Lord is waiting to receive,\n  If thou wilt on him now believe,\n  He'll give thy troubled conscience ease;\n          Come, believe.\n\n  5 The way to heaven is straight and plain,\n          Will you go?\n  Believe, repent, be born again;\n          Will you go?\n  The Saviour cries aloud to thee\n  \"Take up thy cross, and follow me,\n  And thou shalt my salvation see;\n          Come to me.\"\n\n  6 O, could I hear some sinner say,\n          I will go,\n  I'll start this moment, clear the way,\n          Let me go!\n  My old companions, fare you well,\n  I will not go with you to hell,\n  With Jesus Christ I mean to dwell,\n          Let me go! fare you well.\n\n\n321                                                           9s & 8s.\n                  The Spirit and the Bride say come.\n                                   Rev. 22:17.\n\n  All you that are weary and sad--come!\n  And you that are cheerful and glad--come!\n  In robes of humility clad--come!\n    The Saviour invites you to-day.\n                               CHORUS.\n    Let youth in its freshness and bloom--come!\n    Let man in the pride of his noon--come!\n    Let age on the verge of the tomb--come!\n      Let none in his pride stay away.\n\n  2 Let the halt, and the maimed, and the blind--come!\n  Let all who are freely inclined--come!\n  With an humble and peaceable mind--come!\n    Away from the waters of strife.\n\n  3 The Spirit and Bride freely say--Come!\n  And let him that heareth it, say--Come!\n  And let him that thirsteth to-day--come!\n    And drink of the fountain of life.\n\n\n322                                                 6s & 4s, peculiar.\n                     The garment of praise, etc.\n                                   Isaiah 61:3.\n\n  Child of sin and sorrow, filled with dismay,\n  Wait not for to-morrow, yield thee to-day;\n        Heaven bids thee come\n        While yet there's room:\n        Child of sin and sorrow,\n          Hear and obey.\n\n  2 Child of sin and sorrow, why wilt thou die?\n  Come, while thou canst borrow help from on high:\n        Grieve not that love,\n        Which from above--\n        Child of sin and sorrow--\n          Would bring thee nigh.\n\n  3 Child of sin and sorrow, where wilt thou flee?\n  Through that long to-morrow, eternity!\n        Exiled from home,\n        Darkly to roam--\n        Child of sin and sorrow,\n          Where wilt thou flee?\n\n  4 Child of sin and sorrow, lift up thine eye!\n  Heirship thou canst borrow in worlds on high!\n        In that high home,\n        Graven thy name;\n        Child of sin and sorrow,\n          Swift homeward fly!\n\n\n323                                                           6s & 4s.\n                               To-day.\n\n  To-day the Saviour calls.\n    Ye wanderers, come:\n  O, ye benighted souls\n    Why longer roam?\n\n  2 To-day the Saviour calls;\n    O, hear him now;\n  Within these sacred walls\n    To Jesus bow.\n\n  3 To-day the Saviour calls;\n    For refuge fly;\n  The storm of vengeance falls,\n    And death is nigh.\n\n  4 The Spirit calls to-day;\n    Yield to his power;\n  O, grieve him not away;\n    'Tis mercy's hour.\n\n\n324                                                              P. M.\n                                Come.\n\n  Come--come--come to the Saviour,\n    Rich--rich mercy receive;\n  Here--here you will find pardon,\n    Jesus from sin will relieve;\n      Come--come--come--come,\n    Come to the Saviour and live.\n\n  2 Come--come laden and weary,\n    Christ Christ calls thee to come;\n  Leave--leave paths dark and dreary,\n    Cease from the Saviour to roam;\n      Come--come--come--come,\n    Jesus will guide thee safe home.\n\n  3 Come--come seek his salvation,\n    Now--now hear and obey;\n  Hark--hark the sweet invitation,\n    Angels invite you away;\n      Come--come--come--come,\n    Sinner, believe and obey.\n\n  4 Hark--hark, angels are singing,\n    Love--love--love is their theme;\n  Peace--peace joyfully bringing,\n    Mercy from God the Supreme:\n      Come--come--come--come,\n    Jesus is rich to redeem.\n\n\n325                                                           7s & 6s.\n                             Early piety.\n\n  O come in life's gay morning,\n    Ere in thy sunny way\n  The flowers of hope have withered,\n    And sorrow end thy day.\n  Come, while from joy's bright fountain\n    The streams of pleasure flow,\n  Come ere thy buoyant spirits\n    Have felt the blight of wo.\n\n  2 \"Remember thy Creator\"\n    Now in thy youthful days,\n  And he will guide thy footsteps\n    Through life's uncertain maze.\n  \"Remember thy Creator,\"\n    He calls in tones of love,\n  And offers deathless glories\n    In brighter worlds above.\n\n  3 And in the hour of sadness,\n    When earthly joys depart,\n  His love shall be thy solace,\n    And cheer thy drooping heart.\n  And when life's storm is over,\n    And thou from earth art free,\n  Thy God will be thy portion\n    Throughout eternity.\n\n\n326                                                              H. M.\n                         The year of jubilee.\n\n  Fair shines the morning star,\n    The silver trumpets sound,\n  Their notes re-echoing far,\n    While dawns the day around:\n  Joy to the slave; the slave is free;\n  It is the year of jubilee.\n\n  2 Prisoners of hope, in gloom\n    And silence left to die,\n  With Christ's unfolding tomb,\n    Your portals open fly;\n  Rise with your Lord; he sets you free;\n  It is the year of jubilee.\n\n  3 Ye, who yourselves have sold\n    For debts to justice due,\n  Ransomed, but not with gold,\n    He gave himself for you!\n  The blood of Christ hath made you free;\n  It is the year of jubilee.\n\n  4 Captives of sin and shame,\n    O'er earth and ocean, hear\n  An angel's voice proclaim\n    The Lord's accepted year;\n  Let Jacob rise, be Israel free;\n  It is the year of jubilee.\n\n\n327                                                           6s & 7s.\n                         The land of promise.\n\n  Sinner, go; will you go\n    To the highlands of heaven?\n  Where the storms never blow,\n    And the long summer's given;\n  Where the bright, blooming flowers\n    Are their odors emitting;\n  And the leaves of the bowers\n    In the breezes are flitting.\n\n  2 Where the rich golden fruit\n    Is in bright clusters pending,\n  And the deep laden boughs,\n    Of life's fair tree are bending;\n  And where life's crystal stream\n    Is unceasingly flowing,\n  And the verdure is green,\n    And eternally growing.\n\n  2 Where the saints robed in white--\n    Cleansed in life's flowing fountain--\n  Shining beauteous and bright,\n    They inhabit the mountain;\n  Where no sin, nor dismay,\n    Neither trouble nor sorrow,\n  Will be felt for a day,\n    Nor be feared for the morrow.\n\n  4 He's prepared thee a home--\n    Sinner, canst thou believe it?\n  And invites thee to come,\n    Sinner, wilt thou receive it?\n  O come, sinner, come,\n    For the tide is receding,\n  And the Saviour will soon,\n    And for ever, cease pleading.\n\n\n328                                                       9s, 8s & 6s.\n                      Awake thou that sleepest.\n\n  Hail, ransomed world! awake to glory!\n    For God, the Saviour, bids you rise;\n  Angelic hosts proclaim the story,\n    And speed the tidings from the skies:\n  Shall then the Prince of Darkness reigning,\n      Oppress the earth from pole to pole,\n      And bind in chains the immortal soul--\n  His hands all sacred things profaning?\n        Awake! O Church, awake!\n        The tyrant's fetters break!\n  In God's right arm of strength resolved\n          On glorious victory.\n\n  2 Far let the gospel-trump be sounding--\n    O'er sea, and continent, and isle;\n  While the sweet voice of grace abounding,\n    Shall make the burdened captive smile.\n  Yes! to a world in bondage lying,\n      Go teach a bleeding Saviour's name--\n      Freedom from sin and death proclaim,\n  On every breeze salvation flying--\n        And seize the gospel sword!\n        And with our mighty Lord,\n  March on, march on, all hearts resolved\n          On glorious victory.\n\n\n329                                                               11s.\n                           Repent and turn.\n                                  Ezekiel 18:30.\n\n  O turn you! O turn you, for why will you die,\n  When God in his mercy is coming so nigh?\n  Now Jesus invites you, the Spirit says Come,\n  The brethren are waiting to welcome you home.\n\n  2 How vain the delusion, that while you delay\n  Your hearts may grow better by staying away;\n  Come wretched, come starving, come just as you be,\n  Here streams of salvation are flowing most free.\n\n  3 Here Jesus is ready your souls to receive;\n  O, how can you question, since now you believe?\n  Since sin is your burden, why will you not come?\n  He now bids you welcome--he now says there's room.\n\n  4 In riches, in pleasure, what can you obtain,\n  To soothe your affliction, or banish your pain;\n  To bear up your spirit when summoned to die,\n  Or waft you to mansions of glory on high?\n\n  5 Why will you be starving and feeding on air?\n  There's mercy in Jesus, enough and to spare;\n  If still you are doubting, make trial and see,\n  And prove that his mercy is boundless and free.\n\n\n330                                                               11s.\n                              Delay not.\n\n  Delay not, delay not, O sinner, draw near,\n    The waters of life are now flowing for thee;\n  No price is demanded, the Saviour is here,\n    Redemption is purchased--salvation is free.\n\n  2 Delay not, delay not! why longer abuse\n    The love and compassion of Jesus our Lord!\n  A fountain is opened; how canst thou refuse\n    To wash and be cleansed in his pardoning blood?\n\n  3 Delay not, delay not! O sinner, to come;\n    For mercy still lingers, and calls thee to-day;\n  Her voice is not heard in the vale of the tomb;\n    Her message, unheeded, will soon pass away.\n\n  4 Delay not, delay not! the Spirit of grace,\n    Long grieved and resisted, entreats thee to come;\n  Beware, lest in darkness thou finish thy race,\n    And sink to the vale of eternity's gloom.\n\n  5 Delay not, delay not! the hour is at hand,\n    The earth shall dissolve and the heavens shall fade;\n  The dead, small and great, in the judgment shall stand:\n    What power, then, O sinner, shall lend thee its aid?\n\n\n331                                                      12s, 11s & 6.\n                           The Eden above.\n\n  We're bound for the land of the pure and the holy,\n    The home of the happy, the kingdom of love,\n  Ye wanderers from God, in the broad road of folly,\n    O say, will you go to the Eden above,\n            Will you go, will you go,\n    O say, will you go to the Eden above?\n\n  2 In that blessed land neither sighing nor anguish\n    Can breathe in the fields where the glorified move.\n  Ye heart-burdened ones, who in misery languish,\n    O say, will you go to the Eden above?\n            Will you go, etc.\n\n  3 Nor fraud, nor deceit, nor the hand of oppression,\n    Can injure the dwellers in that holy grove;\n  No wickedness there, not a shade of transgression:\n    O say, will you go to the Eden above?\n            Will you go, etc.\n\n  4 Each saint has a mansion, prepared and all furnished,\n    Ere from this clay house he is summoned to move;\n  Its gates and its towers with glory are burnished,\n    O say, will you go to the Eden above?\n            Will you go, etc.\n\n  5 March on, happy pilgrims, that land is before you,\n    And soon its ten thousand delights we shall prove;\n  Yes, soon we shall walk o'er the hills of bright glory,\n    And drink the pure joys of the Eden above.\n            We will go, we will go;\n    O yes, we will go to the Eden above.\n\n  6 And yet, guilty sinner, we would not forsake thee,\n    We halt yet a moment as onward we move;\n  O come to thy Lord, in his arms he will take thee,\n    And bear thee along to the Eden above.\n            Will you go, will you go,\n    O say, will you go to the Eden above?\n\n\n332                                                               12s.\n                       The voice of free grace.\n\n  The voice of free grace cries, \"Escape to the mountain!\"\n  For Adam's lost race Christ hath opened a fountain;\n  For sin and uncleanness, and every transgression,\n  His blood flows most freely in streams of salvation.\n                               CHORUS.\n  Hallelujah to the Lamb! he hath purchased our pardon;\n  We'll praise him again when we pass over Jordan.\n\n  2 Ye souls that are wounded! O! flee to the Saviour;\n  He calls you in mercy--'tis infinite favor;\n  Your sins are increasing--escape to the mountain--\n  His blood can remove them, it flows from the fountain.\n\n  3 O Jesus! ride onward, triumphantly glorious,\n  O'er sin, death, and hell, thou art more than victorious;\n  Thy name is the theme of the great congregation,\n  While angels and saints raise the shout of salvation.\n\n\n333                                                         11s & 10s.\n                      The wandering sinner, etc.\n\n  Restless thy spirit, poor wandering sinner,\n    Restless and roving: O, come to thy home!\n  Return to the arms, to the bosom, of mercy;\n    The Saviour of sinners invites thee to come.\n\n  2 Darkness surrounds thee, and tempests are rising,\n    Fearful and dangerous the path thou hast trod;\n  But mercy shines forth in the rainbow of promise,\n    To welcome the wanderer home to his God.\n\n  3 Peace to the storm in thy soul shall be spoken,\n    Guilt from thy bosom be banished away;\n  And heaven's sweet breezes, o'er death's rolling billows,\n    Shall waft thee at last to the regions of day.\n\n\n334                                                         12s & 11s.\n                      The harvest is past, etc.\n                                    Jer. 8:20.\n\n  Hark, sinner, while God from on high doth entreat thee,\n    And warnings with accents of mercy do blend;\n  Give ear to his voice, lest in judgment he meet thee;\n    \"The harvest is passing, the summer will end.\"\n\n  2 How oft of thy danger and guilt he hath told thee!\n    How oft still the message of mercy doth send!\n  Haste, haste, while he waits in his arms to enfold thee;\n    \"The harvest is passing, the summer will end.\"\n\n  3 Despised and rejected, at length he may leave thee:\n    What anguish and horror thy bosom will rend!\n  Then, haste thee, O sinner, while he will receive thee;\n    \"The harvest is passing, the summer will end.\"\n\n  4 Ere long, and Jehovah will come in his power;\n    Our God will arise, with his foes to contend:\n  Haste, haste thee, O sinner; prepare for that hour;\n    \"The harvest is passing, the summer will end.\"\n\n  5 The Saviour will call thee in judgment before him:\n    O, bow to his scepter, and make him thy Friend;\n  Now yield him thy heart; make haste to adore him;\n    \"The harvest is passing, the summer will end.\"\n\n\n335                                                        8s, 6s & 4.\n                              Entreaty.\n\n  Sinners, come; no longer wander;\n    Turn you from your evil way;\n  Precious time no longer squander:\n    Come, come away.\n\n  2 Christ for you his life has offered,\n    What can you excusing say,\n  If you slight the pardon proffered?\n    Come, come away.\n\n  3 Hold not back in hesitation,\n    There is danger in delay,\n  Haste, secure your soul's salvation,\n    Come, come away.\n\n  4 You may feel regret and sorrow,\n    If you fail to come to-day,\n  God may grant you no to-morrow,\n    Come, come away.\n\n\n\n\n                        FAITH AND REPENTANCE.\n\n\n336                                                              L. M.\n                           The wise choice.\n\n  Though all the world my choice deride,\n    Yet Jesus shall my portion be;\n  For I am pleased with none beside;\n    The fairest of the fair is he.\n\n  2 Sweet is the vision of thy face,\n    And kindness o'er thy lips is shed;\n  Lovely art thou, and full of grace,\n    And glory beams around thy head.\n\n  3 Thy sufferings I embrace with thee,\n    Thy poverty and shameful cross;\n  The pleasure of the world I flee,\n    And deem its treasures only dross.\n\n  4 Be daily dearer to my heart,\n    And ever let me feel thee near;\n  Then willingly with all I'd part,\n    Nor count it worthy of a tear.\n\n\n337                                                              L. M.\n                         The solace of faith.\n\n  When human hopes and joys depart,\n  I give thee, Lord, a contrite heart;\n  And on my weary spirit steal\n  The thoughts that pass all earthly weal.\n\n  2 I cast above my tearful eyes,\n  And muse upon the starry skies;\n  And think that he who governs there\n  Still keeps me in his guardian care.\n\n  3 I gaze upon the opening flower,\n  Just moistened with the evening shower;\n  And bless the love which made it bloom,\n  To chase away my transient gloom.\n\n  4 I think, whene'er this mortal frame\n  Returns again to whence it came,\n  My soul shall wing its happy flight\n  To regions of eternal light.\n\n\n338                                                              L. M.\n                      Christ the soul's portion.\n\n  Let thoughtless thousands choose the road\n  That leads the soul away from God;\n  This happiness, blest Lord, be mine,\n  To live and die entirely thine.\n\n  2 On Christ, by faith, my soul would live,\n  From him my life, my all receive;\n  To him devote my fleeting hours,\n  Serve him alone with all my powers.\n\n  3 Christ is my everlasting all;\n  To him I look, on him I call;\n  He will my every want supply\n  In time and through eternity.\n\n  4 Soon will the Lord, my life, appear;\n  Soon shall I end my trials here;\n  Leave sin and sorrow, death and pain;\n  To live is Christ, to die is gain.\n\n\n339                                                              L. M.\n                           God calling yet.\n\n  God calling yet! shall I not hear?\n  Earth's pleasures shall I still hold dear?\n  Shall life's swift passing years all fly,\n  And still my soul in slumbers lie?\n\n  2 God calling yet! shall I not rise?\n  Can I his loving voice despise,\n  And basely his kind care repay?\n  He calls me still: can I delay?\n\n  3 God calling yet! and shall he knock,\n  And I my heart the closer lock?\n  He still is waiting to receive,\n  And shall I dare his Spirit grieve?\n\n  4 God calling yet! and shall I give\n  No heed, but still in bondage live?\n  I wait, but he does not forsake;\n  He calls me still! my heart, awake!\n\n  5 God calling yet! I can not stay;\n  My heart I yield without delay;\n  Vain world, farewell! from thee I part;\n  The voice of God hath reached my heart.\n\n\n340                                                              L. M.\n                    Christ the Redeemer and Judge.\n\n  Now to the Lord, who makes us know\n    The wonders of his dying love,\n  Be humble honors paid below,\n    And strains of nobler praise above.\n\n  2 'Twas he who cleansed us from our sins,\n    And washed us in his precious blood;\n  'Tis he who makes us priests and kings,\n    And brings us, rebels, near to God.\n\n  3 To Jesus, our atoning Priest,\n    To Jesus, our eternal King,\n  Be everlasting power confessed;\n    Let every tongue his glory sing.\n\n  4 Behold, on flying clouds he comes,\n    And every eye shall see him move;\n  Though with our sins we pierced him once,\n    Now he displays his pardoning love.\n\n  5 The unbelieving world shall wail,\n    While we rejoice to see the day:\n  Come, Lord, nor let thy promise fail,\n    Nor let the chariot long delay.\n\n\n341                                                              L. M.\n                           Self-abasement.\n\n  Ah! wretched, vile, ungrateful heart!\n  That can from Jesus thus depart;\n  Thus fond of trifles, widely rove,\n  Forgetful of a Saviour's love.\n\n  2 Dear Lord! to thee I would return,\n  And at thy feet, repentant, mourn;\n  There let me view thy pardoning love,\n  And never from thy sight remove.\n\n  3 O let thy love, with sweet control,\n  Bind every passion of my soul;\n  Bid every vain desire depart,\n  And dwell for ever in my heart.\n\n\n342                                                              L. M.\n                              Returning.\n\n  Awaked from sin's delusive sleep,\n  My heavy guilt I feel, and weep;\n  Beneath a weight of woes oppressed,\n  I come to thee, my Lord, for rest.\n\n  2 Now, from thy throne of grace above,\n  Look down upon my soul in love;\n  That smile shall sweeten all my pain,\n  And make my soul rejoice again.\n\n  3 By thy divine, transforming power,\n  My ruined nature now restore;\n  And let my life and temper shine,\n  In blest resemblance, Lord! to thine.\n\n\n343                                                              L. M.\n                            Just as I am.\n\n  Just as I am--without one plea,\n  But that thy blood was shed for me,\n  And that thou bidd'st me come to thee,\n    O Lamb of God, I come.\n\n  2 Just as I am, and waiting not\n  To rid my soul of one dark blot--\n  To thee, whose blood can cleanse each spot,\n    O Lamb of God, I come.\n\n  3 Just as I am, though tossed about\n  With many a conflict, many a doubt,\n  With fears within, and foes without--\n    O Lamb of God, I come.\n\n  4 Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind;\n  Sight, riches, healing of the mind,\n  Yea, all I need, in thee to find,\n    O Lamb of God, I come.\n\n  5 Just as I am, thou wilt receive,\n  Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve,\n  Because thy promise I believe--\n    O Lamb of God, I come.\n\n  6 Just as I am--thy love unknown,\n  Has broken every barrier down;\n  Now to be thine, yea, thine alone,\n    O Lamb of God, I come.\n\n\n344                                                              L. M.\n                   God, be merciful to me a sinner.\n                                   Luke 18:13.\n\n  Hear, gracious God! a sinner's cry,\n  For I have nowhere else to fly;\n  My hope, my only hope's in thee;\n  O God, be merciful to me!\n\n  2 To thee I come, a sinner poor,\n  And wait for mercy at thy door;\n  Indeed, I've nowhere else to flee;\n  O God, be merciful to me!\n\n  3 To thee I come, a sinner weak,\n  And scarce know how to pray or speak;\n  From fear and weakness set me free;\n  O God, be merciful to me!\n\n  4 To thee I come, a sinner vile;\n  Upon me, Lord, vouchsafe to smile!\n  Mercy alone I make my plea;\n  O God, be merciful to me!\n\n  5 To thee I come, a sinner great,\n  And well thou knowest all my state;\n  Yet full forgiveness is with thee;\n  O God, be merciful to me!\n\n  6 To thee I come, a sinner lost,\n  Nor have I aught wherein to trust,\n  But where thou art, Lord, I would be,\n  O God, be merciful to me!\n\n\n345                                                              L. M.\n                   The love of Christ constraineth.\n                                   2 Cor. 5:14.\n\n  Lord, when my thoughts delighted rove\n  Amid the wonders of thy love,\n  Sweet hope revives my drooping heart,\n  And bids intruding fears depart.\n\n  2 For mortal crimes a sacrifice,\n  The Lord of life, the Saviour dies;\n  What love! what mercy! how divine!\n  Jesus, and can I call thee mine?\n\n  3 Repentant sorrows fill my heart,\n  But mingling joy allays the smart;\n  O, may my future life declare\n  This sorrow and the joy sincere.\n\n  4 Be all my heart and all my days\n  Devoted to my Saviour's praise;\n  And let my glad obedience prove\n  How much I owe, how much I love.\n\n\n346                                                              L. M.\n                         The contrite heart.\n\n  Show pity, Lord; O Lord forgive;\n  Let a repentant rebel live;\n  Are not thy mercies large and free?\n  May not a sinner trust in thee?\n\n  2 My crimes, though great, can not surpass\n  The power and glory of thy grace;\n  Great God, thy nature hath no bound;\n  So let thy pardoning love be found.\n\n  3 O, wash my soul from every sin,\n  And make my guilty conscience clean;\n  Here, on my heart, the burden lies,\n  And past offenses pain my eyes.\n\n  4 My lips, with shame, my sins confess,\n  Against thy law, against thy grace;\n  Lord, should thy judgment grow severe,\n  I am condemned, but thou art clear.\n\n  5 Should sudden vengeance seize my breath,\n  I must pronounce thee just in death;\n  And if my soul were sent to hell,\n  Thy righteous law approves it well.\n\n  6 Yet save a trembling sinner, Lord,\n  Whose hope, still hovering round thy word,\n  Would light on some sweet promise there,\n  Some sure support against despair.\n\n\n347                                                              L. M.\n             Restore unto to me the joy of thy salvation.\n                                    Psalm 51.\n\n  A broken heart, my God, my King,\n  Is all the sacrifice I bring;\n  The God of grace will ne'er despise\n  A broken heart for sacrifice.\n\n  2 My soul lies humbled in the dust,\n  And owns thy dreadful sentence just;\n  Look down, O Lord, with pitying eye,\n  And save the soul condemned to die.\n\n  3 Then will I teach the world thy ways;\n  Sinners shall learn thy sovereign grace;\n  I'll lead them to my Saviour's blood,\n  And they shall praise a pardoning God.\n\n  4 O, may thy love inspire my tongue!\n  Salvation shall be all my song;\n  And all my powers shall join to bless\n  The Lord, my Strength and Righteousness.\n\n\n348                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                          Here is my heart.\n\n  Here is my heart--I give it thee!\n    My God, I heard thee call, and say,\n  \"Not to the world, my child--to me!\"\n    I heard thy voice and will obey;\n  Here is love's offering to my King,\n  Which in glad sacrifice I bring.\n\n  2 Here is my heart! so hard before,\n    But now by thy rich grace made meet;\n  Yet bruised and sad, it can but pour\n    Its tears and anguish at thy feet:\n  It groans beneath the weight of sin,\n  It sighs salvation's joy to win.\n\n  3 Here is my heart! its longings end\n    In Christ as near his cross it draws;\n  It says, \"Thou art my rest, my Friend,\n    Thy precious blood my ransom was;\"\n  In thee, the Saviour, it has found\n  That peace and blessedness abound.\n\n\n349                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                              Bethesda.\n\n  Around Bethesda's healing wave,\n    Waiting to hear the rustling wind\n  Which spoke the angel nigh, who gave\n    Its virtue to that holy spring,\n  With patience and with hope endued,\n  Were seen the gathered multitude.\n\n  2 Bethesda's pool has lost its power!\n    No angel, by his glad descent\n  Dispenses that diviner dower\n    Which with its healing waters went;\n  But he, whose word surpassed its wave,\n  Is still omnipotent to save.\n\n  3 Saviour! thy love is still the same\n    As when that healing word was spoke;\n  Still in thine all-redeeming name\n    Dwells power to burst the strongest yoke!\n  O, be that power, that love, displayed,\n  Help those whom thou alone canst aid.\n\n\n350                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                   Come unto me, all ye that labor.\n                                   Matt. 11:28.\n\n  Peace, troubled soul, whose plaintive moan\n    Hath taught each scene the notes of woe;\n  Cease thy complaint, suppress thy groan,\n    And let thy tears forget to flow:\n  Behold, the precious balm is found\n  To lull thy pain, to heal thy wound.\n\n  2 Come, freely come, by sin oppressed;\n    On Jesus cast thy weighty load;\n  In him thy refuge find, thy rest,\n    Safe in the mercy of thy God:\n  Thy God's thy Saviour--glorious word!\n  O, hear, believe, and bless the Lord!\n\n\n351                                                              L. M.\n                        The Star of Bethlehem.\n\n  When marshaled on the nightly plain,\n    The glittering host bestud the sky,\n  One star alone, of all the train,\n    Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.\n\n  2 Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,\n    From every host, from every gem;\n  But one alone the Saviour speaks--\n    It is the Star of Bethlehem.\n\n  3 Once on the raging seas I rode;\n    The storm was loud, the night was dark,\n  The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed\n    The wind that tossed my foundering bark.\n\n  4 Deep horror then my vitals froze;\n    Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;\n  When suddenly a star arose--\n    It was the Star of Bethlehem.\n\n  5 It was my guide, my light, my all;\n    It bade my dark forebodings cease;\n  And through the storm and danger's thrall,\n    It led me to the port of peace.\n\n  6 Now safely moored, my perils o'er,\n    I'll sing, first in night's diadem,\n  For ever, and for evermore,\n    The Star--the Star of Bethlehem.\n\n\n352                                                              C. M.\n                           Power of faith.\n\n  Faith adds new charms to earthly bliss,\n    And saves us from its snares;\n  It yields support in all our toils,\n    And softens all our cares.\n\n  2 The wounded conscience knows its power\n    The healing balm to give;\n  That balm the saddest heart can cheer,\n    And make the dying live.\n\n  3 Unvailing wide the heavenly world,\n    Where endless pleasures reign,\n  It bids us seek our portion there,\n    Nor bids us seek in vain.\n\n  4 There, still unshaken, would we rest\n    Till this frail body dies;\n  And then, on faith's triumphant wing,\n    To endless glory rise.\n\n\n353                                                              C. M.\n                         Increase our faith.\n                                    Luke 17:5.\n\n  O for a faith that will not shrink,\n    Though pressed by every foe,\n  That will not tremble on the brink\n    Of any earthly woe!\n\n  2 That will not murmur nor complain\n    Beneath the chastening rod,\n  But, in the hour of grief or pain,\n    Will lean upon its God;\n\n  3 A faith that shines more bright and clear\n    When tempests rage without;\n  That, when in danger, knows no fear,\n    In darkness feels no doubt;\n\n  4 That bears, unmoved, the world's dread frown,\n    Nor heeds its scornful smile;\n  That seas of trouble can not drown,\n    Nor Satan's arts beguile.\n\n  5 A faith that keeps the narrow way\n    Till life's last hour is fled,\n  And with a pure and heavenly ray,\n    Lights up a dying bed.\n\n  6 Lord, give us such a faith as this;\n    And then, whate'er may come,\n  We'll taste, e'en here, the hallowed bliss\n    Of an eternal home.\n\n\n354                                                              C. M.\n                           A living faith.\n\n  Mistaken souls, that dream of heaven,\n    And make their empty boast\n  Of inward joys, and sins forgiven,\n    While they are slaves to lust!\n\n  2 How vain are fancy's airy flights,\n    If faith be cold and dead!\n  None but a living power unites\n    To Christ, the living Head.\n\n  3 'Tis faith that purifies the heart;\n    'Tis faith that works by love;\n  That bids all sinful joys depart,\n    And lifts the thoughts above.\n\n  4 Faith must obey our Father's will,\n    As well as trust his grace;\n  A pardoning God requires us still\n    To walk in all his ways.\n\n  5 This faith shall every fear control\n    By its celestial power,\n  With holy triumph fill the soul\n    In death's approaching hour.\n\n\n355                                                              C. M.\n                        Glorying in the cross.\n\n  Didst thou, Lord Jesus, suffer shame,\n    And bear the cross for me?\n  And shall I fear to own thy name,\n    Or thy disciple be?\n\n  2 Forbid it, Lord, that I should dread\n    To suffer shame or loss;\n  O, let me in thy footsteps tread,\n    And glory in thy cross.\n\n\n356                                                              C. M.\n                         Call to repentance.\n\n  Repent! the voice celestial cries,\n    No longer dare delay:\n  The soul that scorns the mandate dies,\n    And meets a fiery day.\n\n  2 No more the sovereign eye of God\n    O'erlooks the crimes of men;\n  His heralds now are sent abroad\n    To warn the world of sin.\n\n  3 O sinners! in his presence bow,\n    And all your guilt confess;\n  Accept the offered Saviour now\n    Nor trifle with his grace.\n\n  4 Soon will the awful trumpet sound,\n    And call you to his bar;\n  His mercy knows the appointed bound,\n    And yields to justice there.\n\n  5 Amazing love--that yet will call,\n    And yet prolong our days!\n  Our hearts, subdued by goodness, fall,\n    And weep, and love, and praise.\n\n\n357                                                              C. M.\n                   God giveth grace to the humble.\n\n  Come, let us to the Lord our God,\n    With contrite hearts return!\n  Our God is gracious, nor will leave\n    The desolate to mourn.\n\n  2 His voice commands the tempest forth,\n    And stills the stormy wave;\n  And though his arm be strong to smite,\n    'Tis also strong to save.\n\n  3 Our hearts, if God we seek to know,\n    Shall know him and rejoice;\n  His coming like the morn shall be;\n    Like morning songs his voice.\n\n  4 As dew upon the tender herb,\n    Diffusing fragrance round;\n  As showers that usher in the spring,\n    And cheer the thirsty ground:\n\n  5 So shall his presence bless our souls,\n    And shed a joyful light\n  That hallowed morn shall chase away\n    The sorrows of the night.\n\n\n358                                                              C. M.\n                  There is joy over one sinner, etc.\n                                    Luke 15:7.\n\n  O how divine, how sweet the joy,\n    When but one sinner turns,\n  And, with a humble, broken heart,\n    His sins and errors mourns!\n\n  2 Pleased with the news, the saints below,\n    In songs their tongues employ;\n  Beyond the skies the tidings go,\n    And heaven is filled with joy.\n\n  3 Well pleased the Father sees, and hears\n    The conscious sinner's moan;\n  Jesus receives him in his arms,\n    And claims him for his own.\n\n  4 Nor angels can their joy contain,\n    But kindle with new fire;\n  \"The sinner lost is found,\" they sing,\n    And strike the sounding lyre.\n\n\n359                                                              C. M.\n                        The heart's surrender.\n\n  Welcome, O Saviour! to my heart;\n    Possess thy humble throne;\n  Bid every rival hence depart,\n    And claim me for thine own.\n\n  2 The world and Satan I forsake--\n    To thee, I all resign;\n  My longing heart, O Jesus! take,\n    And fill with love divine.\n\n  3 O! may I never turn aside,\n    Nor from thy bosom flee;\n  Let nothing here my heart divide--\n    I give it all to thee.\n\n\n360                                                              C. M.\n                Whoso forsaketh not all that he hath.\n                                   Luke 14:33.\n\n  And must I part with all I have,\n    Jesus, my Lord! for thee?\n  This is my joy, since thou hast done\n    Much more than this for me.\n\n  2 Yes, let it go; one look from thee\n    Will more than make amends\n  For all the losses I sustain\n    Of credit, riches, friends.\n\n  3 Ten thousand worlds, ten thousand lives,\n    How worthless they appear,\n  Compared with thee, supremely good,\n    Divinely bright and fair.\n\n  4 Saviour of souls! while I from thee\n    A single smile obtain,\n  Though destitute of all things else,\n    I'll glory in my gain.\n\n\n361                                                              C. M.\n                          A plea for mercy.\n\n  Mercy alone can meet my case,\n    For mercy, Lord, I cry;\n  Jesus, Redeemer, show thy face\n    In mercy, or I die.\n\n  2 I perish, and my doom were just;\n    But wilt thou leave me? No!\n  I hold thee fast, my hope, my trust;\n    I will not let thee go.\n\n  3 To thee, thee only, will I cleave;\n    Thy word is all my plea;\n  That word is truth, and I believe--\n    Have mercy, Lord, on me.\n\n\n362                                                              C. M.\n                       It is I: be not afraid.\n                                   Matt. 14:27.\n\n  When I sink down in gloom or fear,\n    Hope blighted or delayed,\n  Thy whisper, Lord, my heart shall cheer,\n    \"'Tis I: be not afraid!\"\n\n  2 Or, startled at some sudden blow,\n    If fretful thoughts I feel,\n  \"Fear not, it is but I!\" shall flow\n    As balm my wound to heal.\n\n  3 Nor will I quit thy way, though foes\n    Some onward pass defend;\n  From each rough voice the watchword goes,\n    \"Be not afraid! ... a friend!\"\n\n  4 And O! when judgment's trumpet clear\n    Awakes me from the grave,\n  Still in its echo may I hear,\n    \"'Tis Christ! he comes to save.\"\n\n\n363                                                           C. P. M.\n                        Christ our only hope.\n\n  Desponding soul, O cease thy woe;\n  Dry up thy tears; to Jesus go,\n      In faith's appointed way;\n  Let not thy unbelieving fears\n  Still hold thee back--thy Saviour hears--\n      From him no longer stay.\n\n  2 No works of thine can e'er impart\n  A balm to heal thy wounded heart,\n      Or solid comfort give;\n  Turn, then, to him who freely gave\n  His precious blood thy soul to save:\n      E'en now he bids thee live.\n\n  3 Helpless and lost, to Jesus fly!\n  His power and love are ever nigh\n      To those who seek his face;\n  Thy deepest guilt on him was laid;\n  He bore thy sins, thy ransom paid;\n      O, haste to share his grace.\n\n\n364                                                              S. M.\n                 You shall find rest for your souls.\n                                   Matt. 11:29.\n\n  Ah! what avails my strife,\n    My wandering to and fro?\n  Thou hast the words of endless life;\n    Ah! whither should I go?\n\n  2 Thy condescending grace\n    To me did freely move;\n  It calls me still to seek thy face,\n    And stoops to ask my love.\n\n  3 Lord! at thy feet I fall;\n    I long to be set free;\n  I fain would now obey the call,\n    And give up all for thee.\n\n\n365                                                              S. M.\n                              Yielding.\n\n  And can I yet delay\n    My little all to give?\n  To tear my soul from earth away\n    For Jesus to receive?\n\n  2 Nay, but I yield, I yield;\n    I can hold out no more;\n  I sink, by dying love compelled,\n    And own thee conqueror.\n\n  3 Though late, I all forsake;\n    My friends, my all, resign;\n  Gracious Redeemer! take, O take,\n    And seal me ever thine.\n\n  4 Come, and possess me whole,\n    Nor hence again remove;\n  Settle and fix my wavering soul\n    With all thy weight of love.\n\n  5 My one desire be this,\n    Thy only love to know;\n  To seek and taste no other bliss,\n    No other good below.\n\n\n366                                                              S. M.\n                     God's mercy to the penitent.\n\n  Sweet is the friendly voice\n    Which speaks of life and peace;\n  Which bids the penitent rejoice,\n    And sin and sorrow cease.\n\n  2 No balm on earth like this\n    Can cheer the contrite heart;\n  No flattering dreams of earthly bliss\n    Such pure delight impart.\n\n  3 Still merciful and kind,\n    Thy mercy, Lord, reveal;\n  The broken heart thy love can bind,\n    The wounded spirit heal.\n\n  4 Thy presence shall restore\n    Peace to my anxious breast;\n  Lord, let my steps be drawn no more\n    From paths which thou hast blessed.\n\n\n367                                                                7s.\n                        Father, I have sinned.\n                                   Luke 15:18.\n\n  Love for all! and can it be?\n  Can I hope it is for me?\n  I, who strayed so long ago,\n  Strayed so far, and fell so low!\n\n  2 I, the disobedient child,\n  Wayward, passionate and wild;\n  I, who left my Father's home\n  In forbidden ways to roam!\n\n  3 I, who spurned his loving hold,\n  I, who would not be controlled;\n  I, who would not hear his call,\n  I, the willful prodigal!\n\n  4 I, who wasted and misspent\n  Every talent he had lent;\n  I, who sinned again, again,\n  Giving every passion rein!\n\n  5 To my Father can I go?\n  At his feet myself I'll throw,\n  In his house there yet may be\n  Place, a servant's place, for me.\n\n  6 See, my Father waiting stands;\n  See, he reaches out his hands;\n  God is love! I know, I see,\n  Love for me--yes, even me.\n\n\n368                                                                7s.\n                          Sighing for home.\n\n  People of the living God!\n    I have sought the world around,\n  Paths of sin and sorrow trod,\n    Peace and comfort nowhere found.\n\n  2 Now to you my spirit turns,\n    Turns, a fugitive unblessed;\n  Brethren! where your altar burns,\n    O receive me into rest.\n\n  3 Lonely I no longer roam,\n    Like the cloud, the wind, the wave:\n  Where you dwell shall be my home,\n    Where you die shall be my grave.\n\n  4 Mine the God whom you adore,\n    Your Redeemer shall be mine;\n  Earth can fill my heart no more,\n    Every idol I resign.\n\n  5 Tell me not of gain or loss,\n    Ease, enjoyment, pomp, and power;\n  Welcome! poverty and cross,\n    Shame, reproach, affliction's hour.\n\n  6 \"Follow me!\" I know thy voice,\n    Jesus, Lord! thy steps I see;\n  Now I take thy yoke by choice;\n    Light thy burden now to me.\n\n\n369                                                        7s, double.\n                          Longing for rest.\n\n  Does the gospel word proclaim\n    Rest for those that weary be?\n  Then, my soul, put in thy claim--\n    Sure that promise speaks to thee:\n  Marks of grace I can not show,\n    All polluted is my best;\n  But I weary am, I know,\n    And the weary long for rest.\n\n  2 Burdened with a load of sin,\n    Harassed with tormenting doubt,\n  Hourly conflicts from within,\n    Hourly crosses from without;\n  All my little strength is gone,\n    Sink I must without supply;\n  Sure upon the earth is none\n    Can more weary be than I.\n\n  3 In the ark the weary dove\n    Found a welcome resting-place;\n  Thus my spirit longs to prove\n    Rest in Christ, the Ark of grace;\n  Tempest-tossed I long have been,\n    And the flood increases fast;\n  Open, Lord, and take me in,\n    Till the storm be overpast!\n\n\n370                                                                7s.\n                               Forward.\n                                  Exodus 14:15.\n\n  When we can not see our way,\n  Let us trust, and still obey;\n  He who bids us forward go,\n  Can not fail the way to show.\n\n  2 Though the sea be deep and wide,\n  Though a passage seem denied;\n  Fearless let us still proceed,\n  Since the Lord vouchsafes to lead.\n\n  3 Though it seems the gloom of night,\n  Though we see no ray of light;\n  Since the Lord himself is there,\n  'Tis not meet that we should fear.\n\n  4 Night with him is never night;\n  Where he is, there all is light;\n  When he calls us, why delay?\n  They are happy who obey.\n\n  5 Be it ours, then, while we're here,\n  Him to follow without fear;\n  Where he calls us, there to go,\n  What he bids us, that to do.\n\n\n371                                                           8s & 6s.\n                          The unseen Friend.\n\n  O holy Saviour! Friend unseen,\n  Since on thine arm thou bidd'st me lean,\n  Help me, throughout life's changing scene,\n    By faith to cling to thee!\n\n  2 Blest with this fellowship divine,\n  Take what thou wilt, I'll not repine;\n  For, as the branches to the vine,\n    My soul would cling to thee.\n\n  3 Though far from home, fatigued, oppressed,\n  Here have I found a place of rest;\n  An exile still, yet not unblest,\n    Because I cling to thee.\n\n  4 What though the world deceitful prove,\n  And earthly friends and hopes remove;\n  With patient, uncomplaining love,\n    Still would I cling to thee.\n\n  5 Though oft I seem to tread alone\n  Life's dreary waste, with thorns o'ergrown,\n  Thy voice of love in gentlest tone,\n    Still whispers, \"Cling to me!\"\n\n  6 Though faith and hope are often tried,\n  I ask not, need not aught beside;\n  So safe, so calm, so satisfied,\n    The soul that clings to thee!\n\n\n372                                                                6s.\n                       Cling to the Crucified.\n\n  Cling to the Crucified!\n    His eye shall guard thee well--\n  For thee, fast from his side,\n    The crimson current fell.\n\n  2 Cling to the Crucified!\n    My weary feet in peace\n  His tender hand shall guide\n    Till all thy wanderings cease.\n\n  3 Cling to the Crucified!\n    His love the golden door\n  For thee shall open wide,\n    And bless thee evermore.\n\n\n\n\n                               BAPTISM.\n\n\n373                                                              L. M.\n                          Ashamed of Jesus.\n\n  Jesus, and shall it ever be,\n  A mortal man ashamed of thee:\n  Ashamed of thee, whom angels praise,\n  Whose glory shines through endless days.\n\n  2 Ashamed of Jesus! Sooner far\n  Let evening blush to own a star!\n  He sheds the beams of light divine\n  O'er this benighted soul of mine.\n\n  3 Ashamed of Jesus! Just as soon\n  Let morning be ashamed of noon;\n  'Tis midnight with my soul, till he,\n  Bright Morning Star, bid darkness flee.\n\n  4 Ashamed of Jesus! that dear friend,\n  On whom my hopes of heaven depend!\n  No! when I blush, be this my shame,\n  That I no more revere his name.\n\n  5 Ashamed of Jesus! Yes, I may,\n  When I've no guilt to wash away,\n  No tear to wipe, no good to crave,\n  No fears to quell, no soul to save.\n\n  6 Till then--nor is my boasting vain--\n  Till then I'll boast a Saviour slain!\n  And O! may this my glory be,\n  That Christ is not ashamed of me!\n\n  7 His institutions would I prize,\n  Take up my cross, the shame despise--\n  Dare to defend his noble cause,\n  And yield obedience to his laws.\n\n\n374                                                              L. M.\n                       The spirit of obedience.\n\n  We love thy name, we love thy laws,\n  And joyfully embrace thy cause;\n  We love thy cross, the shame, the pain,\n  O Lamb of God, for sinners slain.\n\n  2 We sink beneath the mystic flood;\n  O, bathe us in thy cleansing blood;\n  We die to sin, and seek a grave,\n  With thee, beneath the yielding wave.\n\n  3 And as we rise, with thee to live,\n  O, let the Holy Spirit give\n  The sealing unction from above,\n  The breath of life, the fire of love.\n\n\n375                                                              L. M.\n                              Following.\n\n  Jesus my all to heaven has gone,\n  He whom I fix my hopes upon;\n  His path I see, and I'll pursue\n  The narrow way, till him I view.\n\n  2 The way the holy prophets went,\n  The road that leads from banishment,\n  The King's highway of holiness--\n  I'll go, for all his paths are peace.\n\n\n376                                                              L. M.\n                          Christ's example.\n\n  Our Saviour bowed beneath the wave,\n  And meekly sought a watery grave;\n  Come see the sacred path he trod,\n  A path well-pleasing to our God.\n\n  2 His voice we hear, his footsteps trace,\n  And hither come to seek his face,\n  To do his will, to feel his love,\n  And join our songs with songs above.\n\n  3 Hosanna to the Lamb divine!\n  Let endless glories round him shine!\n  High o'er the heavens for ever reign,\n  O Lamb of God! for sinners slain!\n\n\n377                                                              L. M.\n                        The baptism of Jesus.\n\n  Come, happy souls, adore the Lamb,\n  Who loved our race ere time began,\n  Who vailed his Godhead in our clay,\n  And in an humble manger lay.\n\n  2 To Jordan's stream the Spirit led,\n  To mark the path his saints should tread;\n  With joy they trace the sacred way,\n  To see the place where Jesus lay.\n\n  3 Baptized by John in Jordan's wave,\n  The Saviour left his watery grave;\n  Heaven owned the deed, approved the way,\n  And blessed the place where Jesus lay.\n\n  4 Come, all who love his precious name;\n  Come tread his steps, and learn of him;\n  Happy beyond expression they\n  Who find the place where Jesus lay.\n\n\n378                                                              L. M.\n                          A baptismal hymn.\n\n  The great Redeemer we adore,\n    Who came the lost to seek and save--\n  Went humbly down from Jordan's shore\n    To find a tomb beneath its wave!\n\n  2 With thee into thy watery tomb,\n    Lord, 'tis our glory to descend;\n  'Tis wondrous grace that gives us room\n    To share the grave of such a friend.\n\n  3 Yet, as the yielding waves give way\n    To let us see the light again,\n  So, on the resurrection day,\n    The bands of death proved weak and vain.\n\n  4 Thus, when thou shalt again appear,\n    The gates of death shall open wide:\n  Our dust thy mighty voice shall hear,\n    And rise and triumph at thy side.\n\n\n379                                                              L. M.\n                      If any man serve me, etc.\n                                   John 12:26.\n\n  See how the willing converts trace\n    The path their great Redeemer trod:\n  And follow through his liquid grave\n    The meek, the lowly Son of God!\n\n  2 Here they renounce their former deeds,\n    And to a heavenly life aspire,\n  Their rags for glorious robes exchanged,\n    They shine in clean and bright attire.\n\n  3 O sacred rite, by thee the name\n    Of Jesus we to own begin;\n  This is our resurrection pledge,\n    Pledge of the pardon of our sin.\n\n  4 Glory to God on high be given,\n    Who shows his grace to sinful men;\n  Let saints on earth, and hosts in heaven,\n    In concert join their loud Amen.\n\n\n380                                                              C. M.\n                            Hinder me not.\n                                   Gen. 24:56.\n\n  In all my Lord's appointed ways,\n    My journey I'll pursue;\n  Hinder me not, you much-loved saints,\n    For I must go with you.\n\n  2 Through floods and flames, if Jesus lead,\n    I'll follow where he goes;\n  Hinder me not, shall be my cry,\n    Though earth and hell oppose.\n\n  3 Through trials and through sufferings too,\n    I'll go at his command;\n  Hinder me not, for I am bound\n    To my Immanuel's land.\n\n  4 And when my Saviour calls me home,\n    Still this my cry shall be--\n  Hinder me not--come, welcome death--\n    I'll gladly go with thee.\n\n\n381                                                              C. M.\n              He that is ashamed of me, and of my word.\n                                    Mark 8:38.\n\n  Ashamed of Christ! our souls disdain\n    The mean, ungenerous thought;\n  Shall we disown that friend whose blood\n    To man salvation brought?\n\n  2 With the glad news of love and peace,\n    From heaven to earth he came;\n  For us endured the painful cross,\n    For us despised the shame.\n\n  3 To his command let us submit\n    Ourselves without delay;\n  Our lives--yea, thousand lives of ours,\n    His love can ne'er repay.\n\n  4 Each faithful follower Jesus views\n    With infinite delight;\n  Their lives to him are dear--their death\n    Is precious in his sight.\n\n  5 To bear his name--his cross to bear--\n    Our highest honor this!\n  Who nobly suffers for him now,\n    Shall reign with him in bliss.\n\n\n382                                                              C. M.\n                        He left us an example.\n\n  Buried beneath the yielding wave,\n    The great Redeemer lies;\n  Faith views him in the watery grave,\n    And thence beholds him rise.\n\n  2 With joy we in his footsteps tread,\n    And would his cause maintain,\n  Like him be numbered with the dead,\n    And with him rise and reign.\n\n  3 Now, blest Redeemer, we to thee\n    Our grateful voices raise;\n  Washed in the fountain of thy blood,\n    Our lives shall be thy praise.\n\n\n383                                                              C. M.\n                       Lord, if thou wilt, etc.\n                                    Matt. 8:2.\n\n  O Lord, and will thy pardoning love\n    Embrace a wretch so vile?\n  Wilt thou my load of guilt remove,\n    And bless me with thy smile?\n\n  2 Hast thou the cross for me endured,\n    And all its shame despised?\n  And shall I be ashamed, O Lord,\n    With thee to be baptized?\n\n  3 Didst thou the great example lead,\n    In Jordan's swelling flood!\n  And shall my pride disdain the deed,\n    That's worthy of my God!\n\n  4 O Lord, the ardor of thy love\n    Reproves my cold delays;\n  And now my willing footsteps move\n    In thy delightful ways.\n\n\n384                                                              C. M.\n                   The Holy Spirit descended, etc.\n                                    Luke 3:22.\n\n  Meekly in Jordan's flowing stream\n    The great Redeemer bowed;\n  Bright was the glory's sacred beam\n    That hushed the wondering crowd.\n\n  2 Thus God descended to approve\n    The deed that Christ had done;\n  Thus came the emblematic Dove,\n    And hovered over the Son.\n\n  3 So may the Spirit come to-day\n    To our baptismal scene;\n  Let thoughts of earth be far away,\n    And every mind serene.\n\n  4 This day we give to holy joy;\n    This day to heaven belongs;\n  Raised to new life, we will employ\n    In melody our tongues.\n\n\n385                                                              C. M.\n                        I come to do thy will.\n                                    Heb. 10:7.\n\n  \"I come,\" the great Redeemer cries,\n    \"To do thy will, O Lord!\"\n  At Jordan's flood, behold! he seals\n    The sure prophetic word.\n\n  2 \"Thus it becomes us to fulfill\n    All righteousness,\" he said;\n  He spake obedient, and beneath\n    The yielding wave was laid.\n\n  3 Hark! a glad voice--the Father speaks,\n    From heaven's exalted hight;\n  \"This is my Son, my well beloved,\n    In whom I do delight.\"\n\n  4 Jesus, the Saviour, well beloved!\n    His name we will profess,\n  Like him, desirous to fulfill\n    Each law of righteousness.\n\n  5 No more we'll count ourselves our own,\n    But his in bonds of love;\n  O! may such bonds for ever draw\n    Our souls to things above.\n\n\n386                                                              S. M.\n                             Math. 3:16.\n\n  Come and behold the place\n    Where once your Saviour lay;\n  Confess that he is Lord of all,\n    And humble homage pay.\n\n  2 Laid in the watery grave,\n    He quickly rose again;\n  Buried with him, we too shall rise,\n    And endless life obtain.\n\n  3 Now may the Spirit crown,\n    With tokens of his grace,\n  The solemn service of this day,\n    And bid us go in peace.\n\n\n387                                                              S. M.\n                              The same.\n\n  Saviour, thy law we love,\n    Thy pure example bless,\n  And with a firm, unwavering zeal,\n    Would in thy footsteps press.\n\n  2 Not to the fiery pains\n    By which the martyrs bled;\n  Not to the scourge, the thorn, the cross,\n    Our favored feet are led--\n\n  3 But, at this peaceful tide,\n    Assembled in thy fear,\n  The homage of obedient hearts,\n    We humbly offer here.\n\n\n388                                                              S. M.\n                           Follow thou me.\n                                   John 21:22.\n\n  Here, Saviour, we would come,\n    In thine appointed way;\n  Obedient to thy high commands,\n    Our solemn vows we pay.\n\n  2 O, bless this sacred rite,\n    To bring us near to thee;\n  And may we find that as our day,\n    Our strength shall also be.\n\n\n389                                                              S. M.\n                         Thus it becometh us.\n                                   Matt. 3:15.\n\n  With willing hearts we tread\n    The path the Saviour trod;\n  We love th' example of our Head,\n    The glorious Lamb of God.\n\n  2 On thee, on thee alone,\n    Our hope and faith rely;\n  O thou who didst for sin atone,\n    Who didst for sinners die.\n\n  3 We trust thy sacrifice,\n    To thy dear cross we flee;\n  O, may we die to sin, and rise\n    To life and bliss in thee.\n\n\n390                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                            Lord, save me.\n                                   Matt. 14:30.\n\n  Jesus, Lamb of God, for me\n    Thou, the Lord of life, didst die;\n  Whither--whither, but to thee,\n    Can a trembling sinner fly?\n  Death's dark waters o'er me roll,\n  Save, O save, my sinking soul!\n\n  2 Never bowed a martyred head,\n    Weighed with equal sorrow down;\n  Never blood so rich was shed,\n    Never king wore such a crown!\n  To thy cross and sacrifice,\n  Faith now lifts her tearful eyes.\n\n  3 All my soul, by love subdued,\n    Melts in deep contrition there;\n  By thy mighty grace renewed,\n    New-born hope forbids despair;\n  Lord, thou canst my guilt forgive,\n  Thou hast bid me look and live.\n\n  4 While with broken heart I kneel,\n    Sinks the inward storm to rest;\n  Life--immortal life--I feel\n    Kindled in my throbbing breast;\n  Thine--for ever thine--I am,\n  Glory to the bleeding Lamb!\n\n\n391                                                                7s.\n                And hath washed us from our sins, etc.\n                                    Rev. 1:5.\n\n  Jesus, to thy wounds I fly;\n  Purge my sins of deepest dye;\n  Lamb of God, for sinners slain,\n  Wash away my crimson stain.\n\n  2 Purge me in that sacred flood,\n  In that fountain of thy blood;\n  Then thy Father's eye shall see\n  Not a spot of guilt in me.\n\n\n392                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                           He is our peace.\n                                    Eph. 2:14.\n\n  Weary souls that wander wide\n    From the central point of bliss,\n  Turn to Jesus crucified;\n    Fly to those dear wounds of his;\n  Sink into the purple flood,\n  Rise into the life of God.\n\n  2 Find in Christ the way of peace\n    Peace unspeakable, unknown;\n  By his pain he gives you ease,\n    Life, by his expiring groan;\n  Rise, exalted by his fall;\n  Find in Christ your all in all.\n\n  3 O believe the record true,\n    God to you his Son hath given!\n  You may now be happy too;\n    Find on earth the life of heaven;\n  Live the life of heaven above,\n  All the life of glorious love.\n\n\n393                                                           8s & 7s.\n                            Hear and obey.\n\n  Humble souls, who seek salvation\n    Through the Lamb's redeeming blood,\n  Hear the voice of revelation;\n    Tread the path that Jesus trod.\n\n  2 Hear the blest Redeemer call you;\n    Listen to his heavenly voice;\n  Dread no ills that can befall you,\n    While you make his way your choice.\n\n  3 Plainly here his footsteps tracing,\n    Follow him without delay,\n  Gladly his command embracing;\n    Lo! your Captain leads the way.\n\n\n394                                                        8s, 7s & 4.\n                   Calling on the name of the Lord.\n                                   Acts 22:16.\n\n  Gracious Saviour, we adore thee;\n    Purchased by thy precious blood\n  We present ourselves before thee,\n    Now to walk the narrow road:\n      Saviour guide us--\n    Guide us to our heavenly home.\n\n  2 Thou didst mark our path of duty;\n    Thou wast laid beneath the wave;\n  Thou didst rise in glorious beauty,\n    From the semblance of the grave;\n      May we follow\n    In the same delightful way.\n\n\n\n\n                          REMISSION OF SINS.\n\n\n395                                                              L. M.\n                         The joys of pardon.\n\n  Forgiveness! 'tis a joyful sound\n    To malefactors doomed to die;\n  Publish the bliss the world around;\n    You seraphs, shout it from the sky!\n\n  2 'Tis the rich gift of love divine;\n    'Tis full, outmeasuring every crime;\n  Unclouded shall its glories shine,\n    And feel no change by changing time.\n\n  3 For this stupendous love of heaven,\n    What grateful honors shall we show!\n  Where much transgression is forgiven,\n    Let love in equal ardors glow.\n\n  4 By this inspired, let all our days\n    With gospel holiness be crowned;\n  Let truth and goodness, prayer and praise\n    In all abide, in all abound.\n\n\n396                                                              L. M.\n               Blessed is the man whose sin is covered.\n                                    Rom. 4:7.\n\n  Earth has a joy unknown in heaven--\n  The new-born joy of sins forgiven!\n  Tears of such pure and deep delight,\n  O angels! never dimmed your sight.\n\n  2 You saw of old on chaos rise\n  The beauteous pillars of the skies;\n  You know where morn exulting springs,\n  And evening folds her drooping wings.\n\n  3 Bright heralds of th' Eternal Will,\n  Abroad his errands you fulfill;\n  Or, throned in floods of beamy day,\n  Symphonies in his presence play.\n\n  4 Loud is the song--the heavenly plain\n  Is shaken with the choral strain;\n  And dying echoes, floating far,\n  Draw music from each chiming star.\n\n  5 But I amid your choirs shall shine,\n  And all your knowledge shall be mine;\n  You on your harps must lean to hear\n  A secret chord that mine shall bear.\n\n\n397                                                              L. M.\n                           Self-dedication.\n\n  Lord, I am thine, entirely thine,\n  Purchased alone by blood divine;\n  With full consent I yield to thee,\n  And own thy sovereign right to me.\n\n  2 Grant me, in mercy, now a place\n  Among the children of thy grace;\n  A wretched sinner, lost to God,\n  But ransomed by Immanuel's blood.\n\n  3 Thee, my new Master, now I call,\n  And consecrate to thee my all:\n  Lord, let me live and die to thee;\n  Be thine through all eternity.\n\n\n398                                                              L. M.\n                              Happy day.\n\n  O happy day, that fixed my choice\n    On thee, my Saviour and my God!\n  Well may this glowing heart rejoice,\n    And tell its raptures all abroad.\n                               CHORUS.\n      Happy day, happy day,\n      When Jesus washed my sins away;\n      He taught me how to watch and pray,\n      And live rejoicing every day.\n\n  2 O happy bond, that seals my vows\n    To him who merits all my love!\n  Let cheerful anthems fill his house,\n    While to that sacred shrine I move.\n\n  3 'Tis done; the great transaction's done;\n    I am my Lord's, and he is mine;\n  He drew me, and I followed on,\n    Charmed to confess the voice divine.\n\n  4 Now rest, my long divided heart!\n    Fixed on this blissful center rest;\n  Here have I found a nobler part,\n    Here heavenly pleasures fill my breast.\n\n  5 High heaven, that heard the solemn vow,\n    That vow renewed shall daily hear;\n  Till in life's latest hour I bow,\n    And bless in death a bond so dear.\n\n\n399                                                              L. M.\n                    Joy of consecration to Christ.\n\n  O sweetly breathe the lyres above,\n    When angels touch the quivering string,\n  And wake, to chant Immanuel's love,\n    Such strains as angel-lips can sing!\n\n  2 And sweet, on earth, the choral swell,\n    From mortal tongues, of gladsome lays;\n  When pardoned souls their raptures tell,\n    And, grateful, hymn Immanuel's praise.\n\n  3 Jesus, thy name our souls adore;\n    We own the bond that makes us thine;\n  And carnal joys, that charmed before,\n    For thy dear sake we now resign.\n\n  4 Our hearts, by dying love subdued,\n    Accept thine offered grace to-day;\n  Beneath the cross, with blood bedewed,\n    We bow, and give ourselves away.\n\n  5 In thee we trust--on thee rely;\n    Though we are feeble, thou art strong;\n  O, keep us till our spirits fly\n    To join the bright, immortal throng!\n\n\n400                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                           The sure refuge.\n\n  Now I have found the ground wherein\n    Sure my soul's anchor may remain;\n  The wounds of Jesus, for my sin,\n    Before the world's foundation slain;\n  Whose mercy shall unshaken stay,\n  When heaven and earth are fled away.\n\n  2 O Love, thou bottomless abyss!\n    My sins are swallowed up in thee;\n  Covered is my unrighteousness;\n    From condemnation now I'm free;\n  While Jesus' blood through earth and skies,\n  Mercy, free, boundless mercy! cries.\n\n  3 With faith I plunge me in this sea,\n    Here is my hope, my joy, my rest;\n  Hither, when hell assails, I flee,\n    I look into my Saviour's breast.\n  Away, sad doubt, and anxious fear!\n  Mercy is all that's written here.\n\n  4 Tho' waves and storms go o'er my head,\n    Tho' strength, and health, and friends, be gone:\n  Tho' joys be withered all, and dead;\n    Tho' every comfort be withdrawn--\n  Steadfast on this my soul relies:\n  Father, thy mercy never dies.\n\n\n401                                                              L. M.\n                    What shall I render unto thee.\n                                  Psalm 116:12.\n\n  Redeemed from guilt, redeemed from fears,\n  My soul enlarged, and dried my tears,\n  What can I do, O Love Divine,\n  What to repay such gifts as thine?\n\n  2 What can I do, so poor, so weak,\n  But from thy hands new blessings seek,\n  A heart to feel thy mercies more,\n  A soul to know thee, and adore?\n\n  3 O teach me at thy feet to fall,\n  And yield thee up myself, my all!\n  Before thy saints my debts to own,\n  And live and die to thee alone!\n\n  4 Thy Spirit, Lord, at large impart,\n  Expand, and raise, and fill my heart!\n  So may I hope my life shall be\n  Some faint return, O Lord, to thee.\n\n\n402                                                              C. M.\n                       Not as the world giveth.\n                                   John 14:27.\n\n  How happy is the Christian's state!\n    His sins are all forgiven;\n  A cheering ray confirms the grace,\n    And lifts his hopes to heaven.\n\n  2 Though in the rugged path of life\n    He heaves the pensive sigh;\n  Yet, trusting in his God, he finds\n    Delivering grace is nigh.\n\n  3 If, to prevent his wandering steps,\n    He feels the chastening rod,\n  The gentle stroke shall bring him back\n    To his forgiving God.\n\n  4 And when the welcome message comes\n    To call his soul away,\n  His soul in raptures shall ascend\n    To everlasting day.\n\n\n403                                                              C. M.\n                     I was blind, but now I see.\n                                    John 9:25.\n\n  Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound!)\n    That saved a wretch like me!\n  I once was lost, but now am found;\n    Was blind, but now I see.\n\n  3 Through many dangers, toils, and snares,\n    I have already come;\n  'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,\n    And grace will lead me home.\n\n  3 The Lord has promised good to me,\n    His word my hope secures;\n  He will my shield and portion be\n    As long as life endures.\n\n  4 Yes, when this heart and flesh shall fail,\n    And mortal life shall cease,\n  I shall possess within the vail\n    A life of joy and peace.\n\n\n404                                                              C. M.\n                           Newness of life.\n                                    Rom. 6:4.\n\n  How happy every child of grace,\n    Who knows his sins forgiven!\n  This earth, he cries, is not my place--\n    I seek my home in heaven.\n\n  2 A country far from mortal sight,\n    Yet O, by faith I see\n  The land of rest, the saint's delight,\n    The heaven prepared for me.\n\n  3 O what a blessed hope is ours!\n    While here on earth we stay,\n  We more than taste the heavenly powers,\n    And antedate that day.\n\n  4 We feel the resurrection near,\n    Our life in Christ concealed,\n  And with his glorious presence here,\n    Our earthen vessels filled.\n\n  5 O, would he all of heaven bestow!\n    Then like our Lord we'll rise;\n  Our bodies, fully ransomed, go\n    To take the glorious prize.\n\n  6 On him with rapture then I'll gaze,\n    Who bought the bliss for me,\n  And shout and wonder at his grace,\n    Through all eternity.\n\n\n405                                                              S. M.\n                        By grace are ye saved.\n                                    Eph. 2:8.\n\n  Grace! 'tis a charming sound,\n    Harmonious to the ear;\n  Heaven with the echo shall resound,\n    And all the earth shall hear.\n\n  2 Grace first contrived the way\n    To save rebellious man;\n  And all the steps that grace display,\n    Which drew the wondrous plan.\n\n  3 Grace led our wandering feet\n    To tread the heavenly road;\n  And new supplies each hour we meet,\n    While pressing on to God.\n\n  4 Grace all the work shall crown\n    Through everlasting days;\n  It lays in heaven the topmost stone,\n    And well deserves our praise.\n\n\n406                                                              S. M.\n               Such knowledge is too wonderful for me.\n                                   Psalm 139:6.\n\n  Blest Saviour! Friend divine!\n    Thou source of boundless love!\n  The hope of all thy saints on earth,\n    The joy of all above!\n\n  2 How can I tell thy worth!\n    How make thy glories known!\n  No language can thy goodness speak,\n    No tongue thy mercies own!\n\n  3 My words can not express\n    The sweetness of thy name!\n  Nor can my feeble lips declare\n    The wonders of thy fame!\n\n  4 Then take my trusting heart,\n    I can not give thee more;\n  Make rich my soul's deep poverty,\n    From thine unwasting store!\n\n\n407                                                 8s & 7s, peculiar.\n                           A new creature.\n                                   2 Cor. 5:17.\n\n  Since first thy word awaked my heart,\n    Like light new dawning o'er me,\n  Where'er I turn my eyes, thou art\n    All light and love before me.\n\n  2 Naught else I feel, or hear, or see,\n    All bonds of earth I sever;\n  Thee, O my Lord, and only thee,\n    I live for, now, and ever.\n\n  3 Like him whose fetters dropped away\n    When light shone o'er his prison,\n  My soul now touched by mercy's ray,\n    Hath from its chains arisen.\n\n  4 And shall the soul thou bidd'st be free,\n    Return to bondage? Never;\n  Thee, O my God, and only thee,\n    I live for, now, and ever.\n\n\n408                                                              P. M.\n                  Joy unspeakable and full of glory.\n                                   1 Peter 1:8.\n\n  How happy are they who their Saviour obey,\n    And have laid up their treasures above!\n  Tongue can not express the sweet comfort and peace\n    Of a soul in its earliest love!\n\n  2 This comfort is mine, since the favor divine\n    I have found in the blood of the Lamb:\n  Since the truth I believed what a joy I've received,\n    What a heaven in Jesus' blest name!\n\n  3 'Tis a heaven below my Redeemer to know,\n    And the angels can do nothing more\n  Than to fall at his feet, and the story repeat,\n    And the lover of sinners adore!\n\n  4 Jesus all the day long is my joy and my song;\n    O that all to this refuge may fly!\n  He has loved me, I cried, he has suffered and died\n    To redeem such a rebel as I!\n\n  5 On the wings of his love I am carried above\n    All my sin, and temptation, and pain;\n  O why should I grieve, while on him I believe!\n    O why should I sorrow again!\n\n  6 O the rapturous hight of that holy delight,\n    Which I find in the life-giving blood!\n  Of my Saviour possessed, I am perfectly blessed,\n    Being filled with the fullness of God!\n\n  7 Now my remnant of days will I spend to his praise\n    Who has died me from sin to redeem;\n  Whether many or few, all my years are his due;\n    They shall all be devoted to him.\n\n  8 What a mercy is this! what a heaven of bliss!\n    How unspeakably happy am I!\n  Gathered into the fold, with believers enrolled--\n    With believers to live and to die!\n\n\n\n\n                         SPIRIT OF ADOPTION.\n\n\n409                                                              L. M.\n                        You hath he quickened.\n                                    Col. 2:13.\n\n  Like morning--when her early breeze\n  Breaks up the surface of the seas,\n  That, in their furrows, dark with night,\n  Her hand may sow the seeds of light--\n\n  2 Thy grace can send its breathings o'er\n  The spirit dark and lost before;\n  And, freshening all its depths, prepare\n  For truth divine to enter there.\n\n  3 Till David touched his sacred lyre,\n  In silence lay the unbreathing wire;\n  But when he swept its chords along,\n  Then angels stooped to hear the song.\n\n  4 So sleeps the soul, till thou, O Lord,\n  Shall deign to touch its lifeless chord;\n  Till, waked by thee, its breath shall rise,\n  In music worthy of the skies.\n\n\n410                                                              L. M.\n                     The gift of the Holy Spirit.\n                                    Acts 2:38.\n\n  O Lord! and shall thy Spirit rest\n    In such a wretched heart as mine!\n  Unworthy dwelling! glorious guest!\n    Favor astonishing, divine!\n\n  2 When sin prevails, and gloomy fear,\n    And hope almost expires in night,\n  Lord, can thy Spirit then be here,\n    Great Spring of comfort, life, and light?\n\n  3 Sure the blest Comforter is nigh!\n    'Tis he sustains my fainting heart;\n  Else would my hopes for ever die,\n    And every cheering ray depart.\n\n  4 When some kind promise glads my soul,\n    Do I not find his healing voice\n  The tempest of my fears control,\n    And bid my drooping powers rejoice!\n\n  5 Let thy kind Spirit in my heart\n    For ever dwell, O God of love!\n  And light and heavenly peace impart--\n    Sweet earnest of the joys above.\n\n\n411                                                              L. M.\n                           The beatitudes.\n\n  Blessed are the humble souls that see\n  Their emptiness and poverty;\n  Treasures of grace to them are given,\n  And crowns of joy laid up in heaven.\n\n  2 Blessed are the men of broken heart,\n  Who mourn for sin with inward smart;\n  The blood of Christ divinely flows,\n  A healing balm for all their woes.\n\n  3 Blessed are the souls who thirst for grace,\n  Hunger and thirst for righteousness;\n  They shall be well supplied, and fed\n  With living streams and living bread.\n\n  4 Blessed are the men of peaceful life,\n  Who quench the glowing coals of strife;\n  They shall be called the heirs of bliss,\n  The sons of God, the God of peace.\n\n  5 Blessed are the sufferers who partake\n  Of pain and shame for Jesus' sake;\n  Their souls shall triumph in the Lord:\n  Glory and joy are their reward.\n\n\n412                                                              L. M.\n                              In Christ.\n\n  God of my life! thy boundless grace,\n    Chose, pardoned, and adopted me;\n  My rest, my home, my dwelling-place;\n    Father! I come, I come to thee.\n\n  2 Jesus, my Hope, my Rock, my Shield!\n    Whose precious blood was shed for me,\n  Into thy hands my soul I yield;\n    Saviour! I come, I come to thee.\n\n\n413                                                              L. M.\n               He is not ashamed to call them brethren.\n                                    Heb. 2:11.\n\n  Honor and happiness unite\n    To make the Christian's name a praise;\n  How fair the scene, how clear the light,\n    That fills the remnant of his days!\n\n  2 A kingly character he bears,\n    No change his priestly office knows;\n  Unfading is the crown he wears,\n    His joys can never reach a close.\n\n  3 Adorned with glory from on high,\n    Salvation shines upon his face;\n  His robe is of the ethereal dye,\n    His steps are dignity and grace.\n\n  4 Inferior honors he disdains,\n    Nor stoops to take applause from earth,\n  The King of kings himself maintains\n    The expenses of his heavenly birth.\n\n  5 The noblest creature seen below,\n    Ordained to fill a throne above;\n  God gives him all he can bestow,\n    His kingdom of eternal love!\n\n  6 My soul is ravished at the thought!\n    Methinks from earth I see him rise!\n  Angels congratulate his lot,\n    And shout him welcome to the skies!\n\n\n414                                                              C. M.\n                         Peace in the storm.\n\n  Lord, in whose might the Saviour trod\n    The dark and stormy wave,\n  And trusted in his Father's arm,\n    Omnipotent to save;--\n\n  2 When thickly round our footsteps rise\n    The floods and storms of life,\n  Grant us thy Spirit, Lord, to still\n    The dark and fearful strife.\n\n  3 Strong in our trust, on thee reposed,\n    The ocean path we'll dare,\n  Though waves around us rage and foam,\n    Since thou art present there.\n\n\n415                                                              C. M.\n                        Crying, Abba, Father.\n                                    Gal. 4:6.\n\n  Father! I wait before thy throne;\n    Call me a child of thine;\n  And let the Spirit of thy Son,\n    Fill this poor heart of mine.\n\n  2 There shed thy promised love abroad,\n    And make my comfort strong;\n  Then shall I say, my Father, God!\n    With an unwavering tongue.\n\n\n416                                                              C. M.\n                        We have left all, etc.\n                                   Matt. 19:27.\n\n  There is a name I love to hear,\n    I love to speak its worth;\n  It sounds like music in mine ear,\n    The sweetest name on earth.\n\n  2 It tells me of a Saviour's love,\n    Who died to set me free;\n  It tells me of his precious blood,\n    The sinner's perfect plea.\n\n  3 It tells me of a Father's smile,\n    Beaming upon his child;\n  It cheers me through this \"little while,\"\n    Through desert, waste, and wild.\n\n  4 It bids my trembling heart rejoice;\n    It dries each rising tear;\n  It tells me in \"a still small voice,\"\n    To trust and never fear.\n\n  5 Jesus! the name I love so well,\n    The name I love to hear!\n  No saint on earth its worth can tell,\n    No heart conceive how dear.\n\n  6 This name shall shed its fragrance still\n    Along this thorny road,\n  Shall sweetly smooth the rugged hill\n    That leads me up to God.\n\n\n417                                                              C. M.\n                The Spirit of God dwelleth within you.\n                                   1 Cor. 3:16.\n\n  Lord, let thy Spirit penetrate\n    This heart and soul of mine;\n  And my whole being with thy grace\n    Pervade, O Life divine!\n\n  2 As this clear air surrounds the earth,\n    Thy grace around me roll;\n  As the fresh light pervades the air,\n    So pierce and fill my soul.\n\n  3 As from these clouds drops down in love\n    The precious summer rain,\n  So from thyself pour down the flood\n    That freshens all again.\n\n  4 As these fair flowers exhale their scent\n    In gladness at our feet,\n  So from thyself let fragrance breathe,\n    More heavenly and more sweet.\n\n  5 Thus life within our lifeless hearts,\n    Shall make its glad abode;\n  And we shall shine in beauteous light\n    Filled with the light of God.\n\n\n418                                                           S. M. D.\n                 I will write my law in their hearts.\n                                    Heb. 8:10.\n\n  Great source of life and light!\n    Thy heavenly grace impart,\n  Thy Holy Spirit grant, and write\n    Thy law upon my heart;\n  My soul would cleave to thee;\n    Let naught my purpose move;\n  O, let my faith more steadfast be,\n    And more intense my love!\n\n  2 Long as my trials last,\n    Long as the cross I bear,\n  O, let my soul on thee be cast\n    In confidence and prayer!\n  Conduct me to the shore\n    Of everlasting peace,\n  Where storm and tempest rise no more,\n    Where sin and sorrow cease.\n\n\n419                                                              S. M.\n                     That they may be one in us.\n                                   John 17:21.\n\n  Thy Spirit shall unite\n    Our souls to thee our Head;\n  Shall form us to thine image bright,\n    That we thy paths may tread.\n\n  2 Death may our souls divide\n    From these abodes of clay;\n  But love shall keep us near thy side\n    Through all the gloomy way.\n\n  3 Since Christ and we are one,\n    Why should we doubt or fear!\n  If he in heaven hath fixed his throne,\n    He'll fix his members there.\n\n\n420                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                     In whom we have redemption.\n                                    Col. 1:14.\n\n  Blessed are the sons of God;\n  They are bought with Jesus' blood;\n  They are ransomed from the grave\n  Life eternal they shall have;\n  With them numbered may we be,\n  Here, and in eternity.\n\n  2 They are justified by grace,\n  They enjoy the Saviour's peace;\n  All their sins are washed away;\n  They shall stand in God's great day:\n  With them numbered may we be,\n  Here, and in eternity.\n\n  3 They are lights upon the earth--\n  Children of a heavenly birth--\n  One with God, with Jesus one;\n  Glory is in them begun;\n  With them numbered may we be,\n  Here, and in eternity.\n\n\n421                                                           8s & 7s.\n                         God, our salvation.\n\n  Call Jehovah thy salvation,\n    Rest beneath th' Almighty's shade;\n  In his secret habitation\n    Dwell, and never be dismayed.\n  Guile nor violence can harm thee,\n    In eternal silence there;\n  There no tumult shall alarm thee;\n    Thou shalt dread no hidden snare.\n\n  2 Since with pure and firm affection\n    Thou on God hast set thy love,\n  With the wings of his protection\n    He will shield thee from above:\n  Thou shalt call on him in trouble;\n    He will hearken; he will save;\n  Here for grief reward thee double;\n    Crown with life beyond the grave.\n\n\n422                                                       8s, 6s & 4s.\n                    The Holy Spirit the Comforter.\n\n  Our blest Redeemer, ere he breathed\n    His tender, last farewell,\n  A Guide, a Comforter, bequeathed\n    With us to dwell.\n\n  2 He came in tongues of living flame,\n    To teach, convince, subdue;\n  All powerful as the wind he came,\n    As viewless too.\n\n  3 He came, sweet influence to impart,\n    A gracious, willing guest,\n  While he can find one humble heart\n    Wherein to rest.\n\n  4 And his that gentle voice we hear,\n    Soft as the breeze of even,\n  That checks each fault, that calms each fear,\n    And speaks of heaven.\n\n\n423                                                              P. M.\n                          The peace of God.\n                                    Phil. 4:7.\n\n  We ask for peace, O Lord!\n    Thy children ask thy peace;\n  Not what the world calls rest,\n    That toil and care should cease,\n  That through bright sunny hours\n    Calm life should fleet away,\n  And tranquil night should fade\n      In smiling day--\n  It is not for such peace that we would pray.\n\n  2 We ask for peace, O Lord!\n    Yet not to stand secure,\n  Girt round with iron pride,\n    Contented to endure:\n  Crushing the gentle strings,\n    That human hearts should know,\n  Untouched by others' joys\n      Or others' woe;\n  Thou, O dear Lord, wilt never teach us so.\n\n  3 We ask thy peace, O Lord!\n    Through storm, and fear, and strife,\n  To light and guide us on,\n    Through a long struggling life:\n  While no success or gain\n    Shall cheer the desperate fight,\n  Or nerve, what the world calls,\n      Our wasted might:\n  Yet pressing through the darkness to the light.\n\n  4 It is thine own, O Lord!\n    Who toil while others sleep,\n  Who sow with loving care\n    What other hands shall reap:\n  They lean on thee entranced\n    In calm and perfect rest:\n  Give us that peace, O Lord!\n      Divine and blest,\n  Thou keepest for those hearts who love thee best.\n\n\n424                                                              H. M.\n                  He will give the Holy Spirit, etc.\n                                   Luke 11:13.\n\n  O Thou that hearest prayer,\n    Attend our humble cry,\n  And let thy servants share\n    Thy blessings from on high:\n  We plead the promise of thy word;\n  Grant us thy Holy Spirit, Lord.\n\n  2 If earthly parents hear\n    Their children when they cry--\n  If they, with love sincere,\n    Their varied wants supply--\n  Much more wilt thou thy love display,\n  And answer when thy children pray.\n\n\n425                                                           C. H. M.\n                      The world knoweth us not.\n                                   1 John 3:1.\n\n  Let others boast their ancient line,\n    In long succession great;\n  In the proud list let heroes shine,\n    And monarchs swell the state,\n  Descended from the King of kings,\n  Each saint a nobler title sings.\n\n  2 Pronounce me, gracious God, thy son,\n    Own me an heir divine;\n  I'll pity princes on the throne,\n    When I can call thee mine:\n  Scepters and crowns unenvied rise,\n  And lose their luster in my eyes.\n\n  3 Content, obscure, I pass my days,\n    To all I meet unknown,\n  And wait till thou thy child shalt raise,\n    And seat me near thy throne:\n  No name, no honors here I crave,\n  Well pleased with those beyond the grave.\n\n  4 Jesus, my elder brother, lives;\n    With him I, too, shall reign;\n  Nor sin, nor death, while he survives,\n    Shall make the promise vain;\n  In him my title stands secure,\n  And shall while endless years endure.\n\n  5 When he, in robes divinely bright,\n    Shall once again appear,\n  Thou, too, my soul, shalt shine in light,\n    And his full image bear:\n  Enough!--I wait th' appointed day--\n  Blessed Saviour, haste, and come away!\n\n\n\n\n                      THE HOPE OF ETERNAL LIFE.\n\n\n426                                                              L. M.\n                         Our life is a vapor.\n                                   James 4:14.\n\n  How vain is all beneath the skies!\n    How transient every earthly bliss!\n  How slender all the fondest ties\n    That bind us to a world like this!\n\n  2 The evening cloud, the morning dew,\n    The withering grass, the fading flower,\n  Of earthly hopes are emblems true,\n    The glory of a passing hour.\n\n  3 But though earth's fairest blossoms die,\n    And all beneath the skies is vain,\n  There is a brighter world on high,\n    Beyond the reach of care and pain.\n\n  4 Then let the hope of joys to come\n    Dispel our cares and chase our fears;\n  If God be ours, we're traveling home,\n    Though passing through a vale of tears.\n\n\n427                                                              L. M.\n                    Fight the good fight of faith.\n                                   1 Tim. 6:12.\n\n  Stand up, my soul, shake off thy fears,\n    And gird the gospel armor on;\n  March to the gates of endless joy,\n    Where Jesus, the great Captain's gone.\n\n  2 Hell and thy sins resist thy course;\n    But hell and sin are vanquished foes;\n  Thy Saviour nailed them to the cross,\n    And sung the triumph when he rose.\n\n  3 Then let my soul march boldly on,\n    Press forward to the heavenly gate;\n  There peace and joy eternal reign,\n    And glittering robes for conquerors wait.\n\n  4 There shall I wear a starry crown,\n    And triumph in almighty grace,\n  While all the armies of the skies\n    Join in my glorious Leader's praise.\n\n\n428                                                              C. M.\n                         The land of promise.\n\n  There is a land of pure delight,\n    Where saints immortal reign,\n  Infinite day excludes the night,\n    And pleasures banish pain.\n\n  2 There everlasting spring abides,\n    And never withering flowers;\n  Death, like a narrow sea, divides\n    This heavenly land from ours.\n\n  3 Sweet fields, beyond the swelling flood,\n    Stand dressed in living green;\n  So to the Jews old Canaan stood,\n    While Jordan rolled between.\n\n  4 But timorous mortals start and shrink\n    To cross this narrow sea,\n  And linger, shivering on the brink,\n    And fear to launch away.\n\n  5 O! could we make our doubts remove,\n    Those gloomy doubts that rise,\n  And see the Canaan that we love,\n    With unbeclouded eyes;\n\n  6 Could we but climb where Moses stood,\n    And view the landscape o'er;\n  Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,\n    Should fright us from the shore.\n\n\n429                                                              C. M.\n                      The land that is afar off.\n                                  Isaiah 33:17.\n\n  Far from these narrow scenes of night,\n    Unbounded glories rise;\n  And realms of infinite delight,\n    Unknown to mortal eyes.\n\n  2 Celestial land! could our weak eyes\n    But half thy charms explore,\n  How would our spirits long to rise;\n    And dwell on earth no more:\n\n  3 There pain and sickness never come,\n    And grief no place obtains;\n  Health triumphs in immortal bloom,\n    And endless pleasure reigns!\n\n  4 No cloud these blissful regions know,\n    For ever bright and fair!\n  For sin, the source of every woe,\n    Can never enter there.\n\n  5 There no alternate night is known,\n    Nor sun's faint sickly ray;\n  But glory from the sacred throne\n    Spreads everlasting day.\n\n\n430                                                              C. M.\n                     We all shall meet in heaven.\n\n  Hail, sweetest, dearest tie, that binds\n    Our glowing hearts in one;\n  Hail, sacred hope, that tunes our minds\n    To harmony divine.\n  It is the hope, the blissful hope,\n    Which Jesus' grace has given--\n  The hope, when days and years are past,\n    We all shall meet in heaven.\n\n  2 What though the northern wintry blast\n    Shall howl around our cot;\n  What though beneath an eastern sun\n    Be cast our distant lot;\n  Yet still we share the blissful hope,\n    Which Jesus' grace has given--\n  The hope, when days and years are past,\n    We all shall meet in heaven.\n\n  3 From eastern shores, from northern lands,\n    From western hill and plain,\n  From southern climes, the brother-bands\n    May hope to meet again;\n  It is the hope, the blissful hope,\n    Which Jesus' grace has given--\n  The hope, when life and time are o'er,\n    We all shall meet in heaven.\n\n  4 From Burmah's shores, from Afric's strand,\n    From India's burning plain,\n  From Europe, from Columbia's land,\n    We hope to meet again;\n  It is the hope, the blissful hope,\n    Which Jesus' grace has given--\n  The hope, when days and years are past,\n    We all shall meet in heaven.\n\n  5 No lingering look, nor parting sigh,\n    Our future meeting knows;\n  There friendship beams from every eye,\n    And love immortal glows.\n  O sacred hope! O blissful hope!\n    Which Jesus' grace has given--\n  The hope, when days and years are past\n    We all shall meet in heaven.\n\n\n431                                                              C. M.\n                         The heavenly Canaan.\n\n  On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,\n    And cast a wishful eye\n  To Canaan's fair and happy land,\n    Where my possessions lie.\n\n  2 O the transporting, rapturous scene,\n    That rises to my sight!\n  Sweet fields arrayed in living green,\n    And rivers of delight!\n\n  3 There generous fruits that never fail\n    On trees immortal grow;\n  There rocks and hills, and brooks and vales,\n    With milk and honey flow.\n\n  4 All o'er these wide, extended plains,\n    Shines one eternal day;\n  There God, the Son, for ever reigns,\n    And scatters night away.\n\n  5 No chilling winds nor poisonous breath\n    Can reach that healthful shore;\n  Sickness and sorrow, pain and death,\n    Are felt and feared no more.\n\n  6 When shall I reach that happy place,\n    And be for ever blest!\n  When shall I see my Father's face,\n    And in his bosom rest!\n\n  7 Filled with delight, my raptured soul\n    Would here no longer stay;\n  Though Jordan's waves around me roll,\n    Fearless I'd launch away.\n\n\n432                                                              C. M.\n                           Hope in trouble.\n\n  When musing sorrow weeps the past,\n    And mourns the present pain,\n  'Tis sweet to think of peace at last,\n    And feel that death is gain.\n\n  2 'Tis not that murmuring thoughts arise,\n    And dread a Father's will;\n  'Tis not that meek submission flies,\n    And would not suffer still.\n\n  3 It is that heaven-born faith surveys\n    The path that leads to light,\n  And longs her eagle plumes to raise,\n    And lose herself in sight.\n\n  4 It is that troubled conscience feels\n    The pangs of struggling sin,\n  And sees, though far, the hand that heals,\n    And ends the strife within.\n\n  5 O, let me wing my hallowed flight\n    From earth-born woe and care,\n  And soar above these clouds of night,\n    My Saviour's bliss to share.\n\n\n433                                                              C. M.\n                          Light in darkness.\n\n  O there's a better world on high;\n    Hope on, thou pious breast;\n  Faint not, thou traveler; on the sky\n    Thy weary feet shall rest.\n\n  2 Anguish may rend each vital part;\n    Poor man, thy strength how frail!\n  Yet heaven's own strength shall shield thy heart,\n    When flesh and heart shall fail.\n\n  3 Through death's dark vale, of deepest shade,\n    Thy feet must surely go;\n  Yet there, e'en there, walk undismayed;\n    'Tis thy last scene of woe.\n\n  4 Thy God--and with the tenderest hand--\n    Shall guard the traveler through;\n  \"Hail!\" shalt thou cry: \"hail! promised land!\n    And, wilderness, adieu!\"\n\n  5 O Father, make our souls thy care,\n    And bring us safe to thee;\n  Where'er thou art--we ask not where--\n    But there 'tis heaven to be.\n\n\n434                                                              C. M.\n                           Abiding in hope.\n\n  Since I can read my title clear\n    To mansions in the skies,\n  I bid farewell to every fear,\n    And wipe my weeping eyes.\n\n  2 Should earth against my soul engage,\n    And fiery darts be hurled,\n  Then I would smile at Satan's rage,\n    And face a frowning world.\n\n  3 Let cares, like a wild deluge, come,\n    And storms of sorrow fall,\n  May I but safely reach my home,\n    My God, my heaven, my all.\n\n  4 There shall I bathe my weary soul\n    In seas of heavenly rest;\n  And not a wave of trouble roll\n    Across my peaceful breast.\n\n\n435                                                              C. M.\n                          God our only hope.\n\n  When reft of all, and hopeless care\n    Would sink us to the tomb,\n  What power shall save us from despair,\n    What dissipate the gloom?\n\n  2 No balm that earthly plants distill\n    Can soothe the mourner's smart,\n  No mortal hand, with lenient skill,\n    Bind up the broken heart.\n\n  3 But One alone, who reigns above,\n    Our woe to joy can turn,\n  And light the lamp of life and love,\n    That long has ceased to burn.\n\n  4 Then, O my soul! to that One flee,\n    To God thy woes reveal;\n  His eye alone thy wounds can see,\n    His power alone can heal.\n\n\n436                                                              C. M.\n                          Hope thou in God.\n                                   Psalm 42:5.\n\n  My soul! triumphant in the Lord,\n    Proclaim thy joys abroad,\n  And march with holy vigor on,\n    Supported by thy God.\n\n  2 Through every winding maze of life,\n    His hand has been my guide;\n  And in his long-experienced care,\n    My heart shall still confide.\n\n  3 His grace through all the desert flows,\n    An unexhausted stream;\n  That grace, on Zion's sacred mount,\n    Shall be my endless theme.\n\n  4 Beyond the choicest joys of time,\n    Thy courts on earth I love;\n  But O! I burn with strong desire\n    To view thy house above.\n\n  5 There, joined with all the shining band,\n    My soul would thee adore;\n  A pillar in thy temple fixed,\n    To be removed no more.\n\n\n437                                                           8s & 4s.\n                          Vain world, adieu.\n\n  When for eternal worlds we steer,\n  And seas are calm, and skies are clear,\n  And faith, in lively exercise,\n  Sees distant fields of Canaan rise,\n  The soul for joy then spreads her wings,\n  And loud her lovely sonnet sings,\n        Vain world, adieu.\n\n  2 With cheerful hope, her eyes explore\n  Each land-mark on the distant shore,\n  The trees of life, the pastures green,\n  The golden streets, the crystal stream;\n  Again for joy she spreads her wings,\n  And loud her lovely sonnet sings,\n        I'm going home.\n\n  3 The nearer still she draws to land,\n  More eager all her powers expand;\n  With steady helm, and free bent sail,\n  Her anchor drops within the vail;\n  And now for joy she folds her wings,\n  And her celestial sonnet sings,\n        I'm safe at home.\n\n\n438                                                              C. M.\n                       Hope maketh not ashamed.\n                                    Rom. 5:5.\n\n  The world may change from old to new,\n    From new to old again;\n  Yet hope and heaven, for ever true,\n    Within our hearts remain.\n\n  2 Hope leads the child to plant the flower,\n    The man to sow the seed;\n  Nor leaves fulfillment to her hour--\n    But prompts again to deed.\n\n  3 And ere upon the old man's dust\n    The grass is seen to wave,\n  We look through falling tears, to trust\n    Hope's sunshine on the grave.\n\n  4 O, no, it is no flattering lure,\n    No fancy weak or fond,\n  When hope would bid us rest secure\n    In better life beyond.\n\n  5 Nor love, nor shame, nor grief, nor tears,\n    Her promise may gainsay;\n  The voice divine speaks through our years,\n    To cheer us on our way.\n\n\n439                                                              P. M.\n                        The Rock of Salvation.\n\n  If life's pleasures charm you, give them not your heart,\n  Lest the gift ensnare you from your God to part;\n    His favor seek, his praises speak;\n      Fix here your hope's foundation;\n    Serve him, and he will ever be\n      The Rock of your Salvation.\n\n  2 If distress befall you, painful though it be,\n  Let not grief appall you--to your Saviour flee;\n    He ever near, your prayer will hear,\n      And calm your perturbation;\n    The waves of woe shall ne'er o'erflow\n      The Rock of your Salvation.\n\n  3 When earth's prospects fail you, let it not distress,\n  Better comforts wait you--Christ will surely bless;\n    To Jesus flee--your prop he'll be,\n      Your heavenly consolation;\n    For griefs below can not o'erthrow\n      The Rock of your Salvation.\n\n  4 Dangers may approach you; let them not alarm;\n  Christ will ever watch you, and protect from harm,\n    He near you stands, with mighty hands\n      To ward off each temptation;\n    To Jesus fly; he's ever nigh,\n      The Rock of your Salvation.\n\n  5 Let not death alarm you, shrink not from his blow;\n  For your God shall arm you, and victory bestow,\n    For death shall bring to you no sting,\n      The grave no desolation:\n    'Tis sweet to die with Jesus nigh,\n      The Rock of your Salvation.\n\n\n440                                                           6s & 4s.\n                            Jesus is mine.\n\n  Now I have found a friend,\n        Jesus is mine;\n  His love shall never end,\n        Jesus is mine.\n  Though earthly joys decrease;\n  Though human friendships cease,\n  Now I have lasting peace;\n        Jesus is mine.\n\n  2 Though I grow poor and old,\n        Jesus is mine;\n  He will my faith uphold,\n        Jesus is mine;\n  He shall my wants supply,\n  His precious blood is nigh,\n  Nought can my hope destroy,\n        Jesus is mine!\n\n  3 When earth shall pass away,\n        Jesus is mine.\n  In the great Judgment day,\n        Jesus is mine.\n  O! what a glorious thing\n  Then to behold my King,\n  On tuneful harp to sing,\n        Jesus is mine.\n\n  4 Farewell mortality!\n        Jesus is mine.\n  Welcome eternity!\n        Jesus is mine,\n  He my Redemption is,\n  Wisdom and Righteousness,\n  Life, Light and Holiness,\n        Jesus is mine.\n\n\n\n\n                   THE CHURCH--DIVINE CONSTITUTION.\n\n\n441                                                              L. M.\n                       God is the midst of her.\n                                   Psalm 46:5.\n\n  Happy the church, thou sacred place,\n  The seat of thy Creator's grace!\n  Thine holy courts are his abode,\n  Thou earthly palace of our God!\n\n  2 Thy walls are strength, and at thy gates\n  A guard of heavenly warriors waits;\n  Nor shall thy deep foundations move,\n  Fixed on his counsels and his love.\n\n  3 Thy foes in vain designs engage;\n  Against his throne in vain they rage:\n  Like rising waves, with angry roar,\n  That dash and die upon the shore.\n\n  4 God is our shield, and God our sun;\n  Swift as the fleeting moments run,\n  On us he sheds new beams of grace,\n  And we reflect his brightest praise.\n\n\n442                                                              L. M.\n                          God is our refuge.\n                                   Psalm 46:1.\n\n  God is the refuge of his saints,\n  When storms of sharp distress invade;\n  Ere we can offer our complaints,\n  Behold him present with his aid.\n\n  2 Let mountains from their seats be hurled\n  Down to the deep, and buried there;\n  Convulsions shake the solid world;\n  Our faith shall never yield to fear.\n\n  3 Zion enjoys her monarch's love,\n  Secure against a threatening hour;\n  Nor can her firm foundations move,\n  Built on his truth, and armed with power.\n\n\n443                                                              C. M.\n                  A kingdom which can not be moved.\n                                   Heb. 12:28.\n\n  Thy kingdom, Lord, for ever stands,\n    While earthly thrones decay;\n  And time submits to thy commands,\n    While ages roll away.\n\n  2 Thy sovereign bounty freely gives\n    Its unexhausted store;\n  And universal nature lives\n    On thy sustaining power.\n\n  3 Holy and just in all thy ways,\n    Thy providence divine;\n  In all thy works, immortal rays\n    Of power and mercy shine.\n\n  4 The praise of God--delightful theme!\n    Shall fill my heart and tongue;\n  Let all creation bless his name,\n    In one eternal song.\n\n\n444                                                              C. M.\n                          A sure foundation.\n                                  Isaiah 28:16.\n\n  Behold the sure foundation-stone,\n    Which God in Zion lays,\n  To build our heavenly hopes upon,\n    And his eternal praise!\n\n  2 Chosen of God, to sinners dear,\n    And saints adore the name;\n  They trust their whole salvation here,\n    Nor shall they suffer shame.\n\n  3 The foolish builders, scribe, and priest,\n    Reject it with disdain;\n  Yet on this rock the church shall rest,\n    And envy rage in vain.\n\n  4 What though the gates of hell withstood,\n    Yet must this building rise:\n  'Tis thy own work, almighty God,\n    And wondrous in our eyes.\n\n\n445                                                              C. M.\n                Let us go into the house of the Lord.\n                                   Psalm 122:1.\n\n  How did my heart rejoice to hear\n    My friends devoutly say,\n  \"In Zion let us all appear,\n    And keep the solemn day.\"\n\n  2 I love her gates, I love the road:\n    The church, adorned with grace,\n  Stands like a palace, built for God,\n    To show his milder face.\n\n  3 Up to her courts, with joys unknown,\n    The holy tribes repair;\n  The Son of David holds his throne,\n    And sits in judgment there.\n\n  4 He hears our praises and complaints;\n    And while his awful voice\n  Divides the sinners from the saints,\n    We tremble and rejoice.\n\n  5 Peace be within this sacred place,\n    And joy a constant guest!\n  With holy gifts and heavenly grace,\n    Be her attendants blest!\n\n  6 My soul shall pray for Zion still,\n    While life or breath remains;\n  There my best friends, my kindred, dwell,\n    There God, my Saviour reigns.\n\n\n446                                                              C. M.\n                     Yet will I not forget thee.\n                                  Isaiah 49:15.\n\n  A mother may forgetful be,\n    For human love is frail;\n  But thy Creator's love to thee,\n    O Zion! can not fail.\n\n  2 No! thy dear name engraven stands,\n    In characters of love,\n  On thy almighty Father's hands,\n    And never shall remove.\n\n  3 Before his ever watchful eye\n    Thy mournful state appears;\n  And every groan, and every sigh,\n    Divine compassion hears.\n\n  4 O Zion! learn to doubt no more,\n    Be every fear suppressed;\n  Unchanging truth, and love, and power,\n    Dwell in thy Saviour's breast.\n\n\n447                                                              C. M.\n                The Lord is my light and my salvation.\n                                   Psalm 27:1.\n\n  The Lord of glory is my light,\n    And my salvation too;\n  God is my strength, nor will I fear\n    What all my foes can do.\n\n  2 One blessing, Lord, my heart desires;\n    O, grant me my abode\n  Among the churches of thy saints,\n    The temples of my God.\n\n  3 There shall I offer my requests,\n    And see thy glory still;\n  Shall hear thy messages of love,\n    And learn thy holy will.\n\n  4 When troubles rise, and storms appear,\n    There may his children hide;\n  God has a strong pavilion, where\n    He makes my soul abide.\n\n  5 Now shall my head be lifted high\n    Above my foes around,\n  And songs of joy and victory\n    Within thy temple sound.\n\n\n448                                                              C. M.\n                       Fear not, little flock.\n                                   Luke 12:32.\n\n  There is a little, lonely fold,\n    Whose flock one Shepherd keeps,\n  Through summer's heat and winter's cold,\n    With eye that never sleeps.\n\n  2 By evil beast, or burning sky,\n    Or damp of midnight air,\n  Not one in all that flock shall die\n    Beneath that Shepherd's care.\n\n  3 For if, unheeding or beguiled,\n    In danger's path they roam,\n  His pity follows through the wild,\n    And guards them safely home.\n\n  4 O, gentle Shepherd, still behold\n    Thy helpless charge in me;\n  And take a wanderer to thy fold,\n    That, trembling, turns to thee.\n\n\n449                                                              C. M.\n                    You are come unto Mount Zion.\n                                   Heb. 12:22.\n\n  Not to the terrors of the Lord,\n    The tempest, fire, and smoke--\n  Not to the thunder of that word\n    Which God on Sinai spoke;--\n\n  2 But we are come to Zion hill,\n    The city of our God,\n  Where milder words declare his will,\n    And spread his love abroad.\n\n  3 Behold the great, the glorious host\n    Of angels clothed in light!\n  Behold the spirits of the just,\n    Whose faith is turned to sight!\n\n  4 Behold the blest assembly there,\n    Whose names are writ in heaven!\n  And God, the Judge, who doth declare\n    Their vilest sins forgiven!\n\n  5 Saints here, and those in Jesus dead,\n    But one communion make;\n  All join in Christ, their living head,\n    And of his grace partake.\n\n  6 In such society as this\n    My weary soul would rest;\n  The man that dwells where Jesus is\n    Must be for ever blessed.\n\n\n450                                                              C. M.\n                              Rev. 1:20.\n\n  Our Christ hath reached his heavenly seat,\n    Through sorrows and through scars;\n  The golden lamps are at his feet,\n    And in his hand the stars.\n\n  2 O God of life, and truth, and grace,\n    Ere nature was begun!\n  Make welcome to our erring race\n    Thy Spirit and thy Son.\n\n  3 We hail the Church, built high o'er all\n    The heathens' rage and scoff;\n  Thy providence its fenced wall,\n    \"The Lamb the light thereof.\"\n\n  4 O, may he walk among us here,\n    With his rebuke and love--\n  A brightness o'er this lower sphere,\n    A ray from worlds above!\n\n\n451                                                              C. M.\n                     His kingdom is everlasting.\n                                   Danl. 7:27.\n\n  O where are kings and empires now,\n    Of old that went and came?\n  But holy Church is praying yet,\n    A thousand years the same.\n\n  2 Mark ye her holy battlements,\n    And her foundations strong:\n  And hear within, the solemn voice,\n    And her unending song.\n\n  3 For not like kingdoms of the world,\n    The Holy Church of God!\n  Though earthquake shocks are rocking her,\n    And tempests are abroad;\n\n  4 Unshaken as eternal hills,\n    Unmovable she stands--\n  A mountain that shall fill the earth,\n    A fane unbuilt by hands.\n\n\n452                                                              S. M.\n                      The Lord is great in Zion.\n                                   Psalm 99:2.\n\n  Great is the Lord our God,\n    And let his praise be great;\n  He makes his churches his abode,\n    His most delightful seat.\n\n  2 These temples of his grace,\n    How beautiful they stand!\n  The honors of our native place,\n    And bulwarks of our land.\n\n  3 In Zion God is known,\n    A refuge in distress;\n  How bright has his salvation shone,\n    Through all her palaces!\n\n  4 When kings against her joined,\n    And saw the Lord was there,\n  In wild confusion of the mind,\n    They fled with hasty fear.\n\n  5 Oft have our fathers told,\n    Our eyes have often seen,\n  How well our God secures the fold\n    Where his own sheep have been.\n\n  6 In every new distress\n    We'll to his house repair;\n  We'll call to mind his wondrous grace,\n    And seek deliverance there.\n\n\n453                                                              S. M.\n                      I love thy kingdom, Lord.\n\n  I Love thy kingdom, Lord--\n    The house of thine abode,\n  The church our blest Redeemer saved\n    With his own precious blood.\n\n  2 I love thy Church, O God!\n    Her walls before thee stand,\n  Dear as the apple of thine eye,\n    And graven on thy hand.\n\n  3 For her my tears shall fall,\n    For her my prayers ascend;\n  To her my cares and toils be given,\n    Till toils and cares shall end.\n\n  4 Beyond my highest joy\n    I prize her heavenly ways,\n  Her sweet communion, solemn vows,\n    Her hymns of love and praise.\n\n  5 Jesus, thou Friend divine,\n    Our Saviour and our King,\n  Thy hand from every snare and foe\n    Shall great deliverance bring.\n\n  6 Sure as thy truth shall last,\n    To Zion shall be given\n  The brightest glories earth can yield,\n    And brighter bliss of heaven.\n\n\n454                                                              S. M.\n                   How amiable are thy tabernacles.\n                                   Psalm 84:1.\n\n  How charming is the place\n    Where my Redeemer God\n  Unvails the beauties of his face,\n    And sheds his love abroad!\n\n  2 Not the fair palaces\n    To which the great resort,\n  Are once to be compared with this,\n    Where Jesus holds his court.\n\n  3 Here on the mercy-seat,\n    With radiant glory crowned,\n  Our joyful eyes behold him sit,\n    And smile on all around.\n\n  4 To him their prayers and cries\n    Each humble soul presents;\n  He listens to their broken sighs,\n    And grants them all their wants.\n\n  5 Give me, O Lord, a place\n    Within thy blessed abode,\n  Among the children of thy grace,\n    The servants of my God.\n\n\n455                                                              S. M.\n                       It shall stand for ever.\n                                    Dan. 2:44.\n\n  Thy kingdom, gracious Lord,\n    Shall never pass away;\n  Firm as thy truth it still shall stand,\n    When earthly thrones decay.\n\n  2 Thy people here have found,\n    Through many weary years,\n  The sweet communion, joy and peace,\n    To banish all their fears.\n\n  3 And now while in thy courts,\n    Do thou our love increase;\n  Give us the food our spirits need,\n    And fill our hearts with peace.\n\n\n456                                                              S. M.\n                           The ark of God.\n\n  Like Noah's weary dove,\n    That soared the earth around,\n  But not a resting-place above\n    The cheerless waters found;\n\n  2 O cease, my wandering soul,\n    On restless wing to roam;\n  All the wide world, to either pole,\n    Has not for thee a home.\n\n  3 Behold the ark of God,\n    Behold the open door;\n  Hasten to gain that dear abode,\n    And rove, my soul, no more.\n\n  4 There safe thou shalt abide,\n    There sweet shall be thy rest,\n  And every longing satisfied,\n    With full salvation blest.\n\n  5 And when the waves of ire,\n    Again the earth shall fill,\n  The ark shall ride the sea of fire;\n    Then rest on Zion's hill.\n\n\n457                                                              S. M.\n                  The Lord loveth the gates of Zion.\n                                   Psalm 87:2.\n\n  How honored is the place,\n    Where we adoring stand!\n  Zion, the glory of the earth,\n    And beauty of the land.\n\n  2 Bulwarks of grace defend\n    The city where we dwell;\n  While walls of strong salvation made,\n    Defy th' assaults of hell.\n\n  3 Lift up th' eternal gates,\n    The doors wide open fling;\n  Enter, ye nations, that obey\n    The statutes of our King.\n\n  4 Here taste unmingled joys,\n    And live in perfect peace;\n  You that have known Jehovah's name,\n    And ventured on his grace.\n\n  5 Trust in the Lord, ye saints;\n    And banish all your fears,\n  Strength in the Lord Jehovah dwells,\n    Eternal as his years.\n\n\n458                                                              S. M.\n                     The joy of the whole earth.\n                                   Psalm 48:2.\n\n  Far as thy name is known\n    The world declares thy praise;\n  The saints, O Lord, before thy throne\n    Their songs of honor raise.\n\n  2 With joy, thy people stand\n    On Zion's chosen hill,\n  Proclaim the wonders of thy hand,\n    And counsels of thy will.\n\n  3 Let strangers walk around\n    The city where we dwell,\n  Compass and view thy holy ground,\n    And mark the building well.\n\n  4 How comely and how wise!\n    How glorious to behold!\n  Beyond the pomp that charms the eyes,\n    And rites adorned with gold.\n\n  5 The God we worship now\n    Will guide us till we die;\n  Will be our God while here below,\n    And ours above the sky.\n\n\n459                                                              S. M.\n                    The church in the wilderness.\n\n  Far down the ages now,\n    Much of her journey done,\n  The pilgrim church pursues her way,\n    Until her crown be won.\n\n  2 The story of the past\n    Comes up before her view:\n  How well it seems to suit her still--\n    Old, and yet ever new!\n\n  3 It is the oft-told tale\n    Of sin and weariness--\n  Of grace and love yet flowing down\n    To pardon and to bless.\n\n  4 No wider is the gate,\n    No broader is the way,\n  No smoother is the ancient path,\n    That leads to life and day.\n\n  5 No sweeter is the cup,\n    Nor less our lot of ill:\n  'Twas tribulation ages since,\n    'Tis tribulation still.\n\n  6 No slacker grows the fight,\n    No feebler is the foe,\n  Nor less the need of armor tried,\n    Of shield, and spear, and bow.\n\n  7 Thus onward still we press,\n    Through evil and through good--\n  Through pain, and poverty, and want,\n    Through peril and through blood.\n\n  8 Still faithful to our God,\n    And to our Captain true,\n  We follow where he leads the way,\n    The kingdom in our view.\n\n\n460                                                           8s & 7s.\n                 Glorious things are spoken of thee.\n                                   Psalm 87:3.\n\n  Glorious things of thee are spoken,\n    Zion, city of our God!\n  He, whose word can not be broken,\n    Formed thee for his own abode:\n  On the Rock of ages founded,\n    What can shake thy sure repose?\n  With salvation's wall surrounded,\n    Thou mayst smile at all thy foes.\n\n  2 See the streams of living waters,\n    Springing from Eternal Love,\n  Well supply thy sons and daughters,\n    And all fear of drought remove:\n  Who can faint while such a river\n    Ever flows their thirst t' assuage!\n  Grace, which like the Lord, the giver,\n    Never fails from age to age.\n\n  3 Round each habitation hovering,\n    See the cloud and fire appear,\n  For a glory and a covering,\n    Showing that the Lord is near:\n  Thus deriving from their banner\n    Light by night, and shade by day,\n  Safe they feed upon the manna\n    Which he gives them when they pray.\n\n  4 Blest inhabitants of Zion,\n    Washed in the Redeemer's blood,\n  Jesus, whom their souls rely on,\n    Makes them kings and priests to God:\n  'Tis his love his people raises\n    With himself to reign as kings;\n  And, as priests, his solemn praises\n    Each for a thank-offering brings.\n\n  5 Saviour, since of Zion's city,\n    I through grace a member am,\n  Let the world deride or pity,\n    I will glory in thy name:\n  Fading is the worldling's treasure,\n    All his boasted pomp and show!\n  Solid joys and lasting pleasure\n    None but Zion's children know.\n\n\n461                                                               10s.\n                When the Lord shall bring again Zion.\n                                   Isaiah 52:8.\n\n  Restore, O Father! to our times restore\n  The peace which filled thine infant Church of yore,\n  Ere lust of power had sown the seeds of strife,\n  And quenched the new-born charities of life.\n\n  2 O, never more may different judgments part\n  From kindled sympathy a brother's heart!\n  But, linked in one, believing thousands kneel,\n  And share with each the sacred joy they feel.\n\n  3 From soul to soul, quick as the sunbeam's ray,\n  Let concord spread one universal day;\n  And faith by love lead all mankind to thee,\n  Parent of peace, and Fount of harmony!\n\n\n462                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                            Living waters.\n\n  See, from Zion's sacred mountain,\n    Streams of living water flow;\n  God has opened there a fountain\n    That supplies the world below;\n      They are blessed\n    Who its sovereign virtues know.\n\n  2 Through ten thousand channels flowing,\n    Streams of mercy find their way:\n  Life, and health, and joy bestowing,\n    Waking beauty from decay.\n      O, ye nations,\n    Hail the long-expected day.\n\n  3 Gladdened by the flowing treasure,\n    All-enriching as it goes,\n  Lo! the desert smiles with pleasure,\n    Buds and blossoms as the rose;\n      Lo! the desert\n    Sings for joy where'er it flows.\n\n\n463                                                               12s.\n                        The house of the Lord.\n\n  You may sing of the beauty of mountain and dale,\n  Of the silvery streamlets and flowers of the vale;\n  But the place most delightful this earth can afford,\n  Is the place of devotion, the house of the Lord.\n\n  2 You may boast of the sweetness of day's early dawn,\n  Of the sky's softening graces when day is just gone;\n  But there's no other season or time can compare,\n  With the hour of devotion, the season of prayer.\n\n  3 You may value the friendships of youth and of age,\n  And select for your comrades the noble and sage;\n  But the friends that most cheer me on life's rugged road,\n  Are the friends of my Master, the children of God.\n\n  4 You may talk of your prospects, of fame, or of wealth,\n  And the hopes that oft flatter the favorites of health;\n  But the hope of bright glory, of heavenly bliss--\n  Take away every other, and give me but this.\n\n  5 Ever hail, blessed temple, abode of my Lord!\n  I will turn to thee often, to hear from his word;\n  I will walk to thine altar with those that I love,\n  And rejoice in the prospects revealed from above.\n\n\n464                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                           Mount Zion, etc.\n                                   Psalm 125:1.\n\n  Zion stands with hills surrounded--\n    Zion kept by power divine;\n  All her foes shall be confounded,\n    Though the world in arms combine:\n        Happy Zion,\n    What a favored lot is thine.\n\n  2 Every human tie may perish;\n    Friend to friend unfaithful prove;\n  Mothers cease their own to cherish;\n    Heaven and earth at last remove;\n        But no changes\n    Can attend Jehovah's love.\n\n  3 In the furnace God may prove thee,\n    Thence to bring thee forth more bright,\n  But can never cease to love thee;\n    Thou art precious in his sight:\n        God is with thee--\n    God, thine everlasting light.\n\n\n\n\n                              OFFICERS.\n\n\n465                                                              L. M.\n                      Go ye into all the world.\n                                   Mark 16:15.\n\n  Ye Christian heralds! go, proclaim\n  Salvation through Immanuel's name;\n  To distant climes the tidings bear,\n  And plant the rose of Sharon there.\n\n  2 He'll shield you with a wall of a fire,\n  With holy zeal your hearts inspire,\n  Bid raging winds their fury cease,\n  And hush the tempest into peace.\n\n  3 And when our labors all are o'er,\n  Then we shall meet to part no more--\n  Meet with the blood-bought throng, to fall,\n  And crown our Jesus--Lord of all!\n\n\n466                                                              L. M.\n                        Go, teach all nations.\n                                   Matt. 28:19.\n\n  Go--messenger of peace and love!\n    To nations plunged in shades of night;\n  Like angels sent from fields above,\n    Be thine to shed celestial light.\n\n  2 Go--to the hungry food impart;\n    To paths of peace the wanderer guide,\n  And lead the thirsty, panting heart,\n    Where streams of living water glide.\n\n  3 Go--bid the bright and morning-star\n    From Bethlehem's plains resplendent shine,\n  And, piercing through the gloom afar,\n    Shed heavenly light and love divine.\n\n  4 From north to south, from east to west,\n    Messiah yet shall reign supreme;\n  His name by every tongue confessed--\n    His praise--the universal theme.\n\n\n467                                                              L. M.\n                             Pray for us.\n                                  2 Thess. 3:1.\n\n  Father of mercies, bow thine ear,\n  Attentive to our earnest prayer:\n  We plead for those who plead for thee;\n  Successful pleaders may they be.\n\n  2 How great their work! how vast their charge!\n  Do thou their anxious souls enlarge:\n  Their best endowments are our gain;\n  We share the blessings they obtain.\n\n  3 O, clothe with energy divine\n  Their words; and let those words be thine;\n  To them thy sacred truth reveal;\n  Suppress their fears, inflame their zeal.\n\n  4 Teach them to sow the precious seed;\n  Teach them thy chosen flock to feed;\n  Teach them immortal souls to gain--\n  And thus reward their toil and pain.\n\n  5 Let thronging multitudes around,\n  Hear from their lips the joyful sound,\n  In humble strains thy grace implore,\n  And feel thy Spirit's living power.\n\n\n468                                                              C. M.\n                   Ordination of elders or deacons.\n\n  Vouchsafe, O Lord, thy presence now,\n    Direct us in thy fear;\n  Before thy throne we humbly bow,\n    And offer fervent prayer.\n\n  2 Give us the men whom thou shalt choose,\n    Thy house on earth to guide;\n  Those who shall ne'er their power abuse,\n    Or rule with haughty pride.\n\n  3 Inspired with wisdom from above,\n    And with discretion blessed;\n  Displaying meekness, temperance, love--\n    Of every grace possessed;\n\n  4 These are the men we seek of thee,\n    O God of righteousness:\n  Such may thy servants ever be,\n    With such thy people bless.\n\n\n469                                                              C. M.\n                             Ordination.\n\n  With joy we own thy servant, Lord,\n    Thy minister below,\n  Ordained to spread thy truth abroad,\n    That all thy name may know.\n\n  2 O may he now, and ever, keep\n    His eye intent on thee:\n  Do thou, great Shepherd of the sheep,\n    His bright example be.\n\n  3 With plenteous grace his heart prepare\n    To execute thy will;\n  And give him patience, love, and care,\n    And faithfulness and skill.\n\n  4 Inflame his mind with ardent zeal,\n    Thy flock to feed and teach;\n  And let him live, and let him feel,\n    The truths he's called to preach.\n\n  5 As showers refresh the thirsty plain,\n    So let his labors prove:\n  By him extend thy righteous reign--\n    The reign of truth and love.\n\n\n470                                                              S. M.\n                  On the departure of a missionary.\n\n  You messengers of Christ,\n    His sovereign voice obey;\n  Arise and follow where he leads--\n    And peace attend your way.\n\n  2 The master whom you serve\n    Will needful strength bestow;\n  Depending on his promised aid,\n    With sacred courage go.\n\n  3 Mountains shall sink to plains,\n    And hell in vain oppose;\n  The cause is God's, and must prevail\n    In spite of all his foes.\n\n  4 Go, spread a Saviour's fame,\n    And tell his matchless grace,\n  To the most guilty and depraved\n    Of Adam's numerous race.\n\n  5 We wish you, in his name,\n    The most divine success;\n  Assured that he who sends you forth\n    Will your endeavors bless.\n\n\n471                                                              S. M.\n                              The same.\n\n  Go with thy servant, Lord,\n    His every step attend;\n  All needful help to him afford,\n    And bless him to the end.\n\n  2 Preserve him from all wrong;\n    Stand thou at his right hand:\n  And keep him from the slanderous tongue\n    And persecuting band.\n\n  3 May he proclaim aloud\n    The wonders of thy grace;\n  And do thou, to the listening crowd,\n    His faithful labors bless.\n\n  4 Farewell, dear laborer, go;\n    We part with thee in love;\n  And if we meet no more below,\n    O may we meet above.\n\n\n472                                                              S. M.\n                     Be ye therefore ready also.\n                                   Luke 12:40.\n\n  Ye servants of the Lord,\n    Each in his office wait;\n  With joy obey his heavenly word,\n    And watch before his gate.\n\n  2 Let all your lamps be bright,\n    And trim the golden flame;\n  Gird up your loins, as in his sight;\n    For awful is his name.\n\n  3 Watch! 'tis the Lord's command;\n    And while we speak, he's near;\n  Mark the first signal of his hand,\n    And ready all appear.\n\n  4 O happy servant he,\n    In such a posture found!\n  He shall his Lord with rapture see,\n    And be with honor crowned.\n\n\n473                                                           S. M. D.\n                             Math. 9:38.\n\n  Lord of the harvest! hear\n    Thy needy servants' cry;\n  Answer our faith's effectual prayer,\n    And all our wants supply.\n  On thee we humbly wait;\n    Our wants are in thy view;\n  The harvest truly, Lord! is great,\n    The laborers are few.\n\n  2 Convert and send forth more\n    Into thy Church abroad;\n  And let them speak thy word of power,\n    As workers with their God.\n  Give the pure gospel-word,\n    The word of general grace;\n  Thee let them preach, the common Lord,\n    The Saviour of our race.\n\n  3 O, let them spread thy name;\n    Their mission fully prove;\n  Thy universal grace proclaim,\n    Thy all-redeeming love.\n  On all mankind, forgiven,\n    Empower them still to call,\n  And tell each creature under heaven,\n    That thou hast died for all.\n\n\n474                                                           5s & 6s.\n                           Preach the word.\n                                   2 Tim. 4:2.\n\n  You servants of God,\n    Your Master proclaim,\n  And publish abroad\n    His wonderful name:\n  The name all victorious\n    Of Jesus extol;\n  His kingdom is glorious,\n    And rules over all.\n\n  2 Christ ruleth on high,\n    Almighty to save:\n  And still he is nigh--\n    His presence we have:\n  The great congregation\n    His triumph shall sing,\n  Ascribing salvation\n    To Jesus our King.\n\n  3 Salvation to him,\n    Who sits on the throne--\n  Let all cry aloud,\n    And honor the Son;\n  Our Saviour's praises\n    The angels proclaim,\n  They fall on their faces\n    And worship the Lamb.\n\n  4 Him let us adore,\n    And give him his right;\n  All glory and power,\n    And wisdom and might;\n  All honor and blessing\n    With angels above,\n  And thanks never ceasing,\n    For infinite love.\n\n\n475                                                                7s.\n                         Prayer for deacons.\n\n  Son of God, our glorious Head!\n  On us now thy blessing shed;\n  From thy throne let mercy flow\n  To thy waiting flock below.\n\n  2 Taught by thee, with prayer sincere,\n  We have called thy servants here,\n  For thy needy ones to care,\n  And thy holy feast to bear.\n\n  3 May the Spirit from above\n  Fill their hearts with faith and love;\n  Make them humble, zealous, wise,\n  Strife to shun, and good devise.\n\n  4 When their earthly work is done,\n  When the crown of life is won,\n  May they, with thy favor blest,\n  Pass from labor into rest.\n\n\n476                                                           7s & 6s.\n               The fields are white already to harvest.\n                                    John 4:35.\n\n  Ho, reapers of life's harvest,\n    Why stand with rusted blade,\n  Until the night draws round thee,\n    And day begins to fade?\n  Why stand ye idle, waiting\n    For reapers more to come?\n  The golden morn is passing,\n    Why sit ye idle, dumb?\n\n  2 Thrust in your sharpened sickle,\n    And gather in the grain:\n  The night is fast approaching,\n    And soon will come again.\n  Thy Master calls for reapers;\n    And shall he call in vain?\n  Shall sheaves lie there ungathered,\n    And waste upon the plain?\n\n  3 Come down from hill and mountain,\n    In morning's ruddy glow,\n  Nor wait until the dial\n    Points to the noon below;\n  And come with the strong sinew,\n    Nor faint in heat or cold;\n  And pause not till the evening\n    Draws round its wealth of gold.\n\n  4 Mount up the hights of wisdom,\n    And crush each error low;\n  Keep back no words of knowledge\n    That human hearts should know;\n  Be faithful to thy mission\n    In service of thy Lord;\n  And then a golden chaplet\n    Shall be thy just reward.\n\n\n\n\n                     LOVE, UNITY AND FELLOWSHIP.\n\n\n477                                                              L. M.\n                        Christian fellowship.\n\n  Kindred in Christ, for his dear sake\n    A hearty welcome here receive;\n  May we together now partake\n    The joys which only he can give.\n\n  2 May he, by whose kind care we meet,\n    Send his good spirit from above;\n  Make our communications sweet,\n    And cause our hearts to burn with love.\n\n  3 Forgotten be each worldly theme,\n    When Christians meet together thus;\n  We only wish to speak of him\n    Who lived, and died, and reigns for us.\n\n  4 We'll talk of all he did, and said,\n    And suffered for us here below;\n  The path he marked for us to tread,\n    And what he's doing for us now.\n\n  5 Thus--as the moments pass away--\n    We'll love, and wonder, and adore;\n  And hasten on the glorious day\n    When we shall meet to part no more.\n\n\n478                                                              L. M.\n                  Come in, thou blessed of the Lord.\n                                   Gen. 24:31.\n\n  Come in, thou blessed of our God,\n    In Jesus' name we bid thee come;\n  No more thy feet shall roam abroad,\n    Henceforth a brother--welcome home.\n\n  2 Those joys which earth can not afford,\n    We'll seek in fellowship to prove,\n  Joined in one spirit to our Lord,\n    Together bound by mutual love.\n\n  3 And while we pass this vale of tears\n    We'll make our joys and sorrows known;\n  We'll share each other's hopes and fears,\n    And count a brother's cares our own.\n\n  4 Once more our welcome we repeat,\n    Receive assurance of our love;\n  O may we all together meet\n    Around the throne of God above.\n\n\n479                                                              L. M.\n                         Christian affection.\n\n  How blest the sacred tie that binds,\n  In sweet communion, kindred minds!\n  How swift the heavenly course they run,\n  Whose hearts, whose faith, whose hopes are one!\n\n  2 To each the soul of each how dear!\n  What tender love, what holy fear!\n  How doth the generous flame within\n  Refine from earth, and cleanse from sin!\n\n  3 Their streaming eyes together flow\n  For human guilt and mortal woe;\n  Their ardent prayers together rise\n  Like mingling flames in sacrifice.\n\n  4 Nor shall the glowing flame expire,\n  When dimly burns frail nature's fire;\n  Then shall they meet in realms above,\n  A heaven of joy, a heaven of love.\n\n\n480                                                              L. M.\n                       The more excellent way.\n                                  1 Cor. 12:31.\n\n  Had I the tongues of Greeks and Jews,\n  And nobler speech than angels use,\n  If love be absent, I am found,\n  Like tinkling brass, an empty sound.\n\n  2 Were I inspired to preach and tell\n  All that is done in heaven and hell--\n  Or could my faith the world remove--\n  Still I am nothing without love.\n\n  3 Should I distribute all my store\n  To feed the hungry, clothe the poor--\n  Or give my body to the flame,\n  To gain a martyr's glorious name--\n\n  4 If love to God and love to men\n  Be absent, all my hopes are vain;\n  Nor tongues, nor gifts, nor fiery zeal,\n  The work of love can e'er fulfill.\n\n\n481                                                              L. M.\n                          The pilgrim band.\n\n  Come, you that love the Lord indeed,\n  Who are from sin and bondage freed,\n  Submit to all the ways of God,\n  And walk the narrow, happy road.\n                               CHORUS.\n  We're all united heart and hand,\n    Joined in one band completely;\n  We're marching through Immanuel's land,\n    Where waters flow most sweetly.\n\n  2 Great tribulation you shall meet,\n  But soon shall walk the golden street;\n  Though hell may rage and vent its spite,\n  Yet Christ will save his heart's delight.\n\n  3 That happy day will soon appear\n  When Michael's trumpet you shall hear\n  Sound through the earth--yea, down to hell,\n  And call the nations, great and small.\n\n  4 Behold the righteous marching home,\n  And all the angels bid them come,\n  While Christ the Judge these words proclaims,\n  \"Here come my saints--I own their names!\"\n\n  5 \"You everlasting gates, fly wide,\n  Make ready to receive my bride;\n  You harps of heaven, now sound aloud,\n  Here come the ransomed by my blood!\"\n\n  6 In grandeur see the royal line,\n  In glittering robes the sun outshine!\n  See saints and angels join in one,\n  And march in splendor to the throne.\n\n  7 They stand, and wonder, and look on:\n  They join in one eternal song,\n  Their great Redeemer to admire,\n  While rapture sets their souls on fire.\n\n\n482                                                              L. M.\n                   Thy little flock in safety keep.\n\n  Jesus, thou Shepherd of the sheep,\n  Thy little flock in safety keep;\n  These lambs within thine arms now take,\n  Nor let them e'er thy fold forsake.\n\n  2 Secure them from the scorching beam,\n  And lead them to the living stream;\n  In verdant pastures let them lie,\n  And watch them with a shepherd's eye!\n\n  3 O, teach them to discern thy voice,\n  And in its sacred sound rejoice!\n  From strangers may they ever flee,\n  And know no other guide but thee.\n\n  4 Lord, bring thy sheep that wander yet,\n  And let their number be complete;\n  Then let the flock from earth remove,\n  And reach the heavenly fold above.\n\n\n483                                                              L. M.\n                      Organization of a church.\n\n  Lord, bless thy saints assembled here,\n    In solemn covenant now to join;\n  Unite them in thy holy fear,\n    And in thy love their hearts combine.\n\n  2 O give this church a large increase\n    Of such as thou wilt own and bless;\n  Lord, fill their hearts with joy and peace,\n    And clothe them with thy righteousness.\n\n  3 Make her a garden walled with grace,\n    A temple built for God below,\n  Where thy blest saints may see thy face;\n    And fruits of thy blessed Spirit grow.\n\n\n484                                                              L. M.\n                   You are all one in Christ Jesus.\n                                    Gal. 3:28.\n\n  Still one in life and one in death,\n    One in our hope of rest above;\n  One in our joy, our trust, our faith,\n    One in each other's faithful love,\n\n  2 Yet must we part, and, parting, weep;\n    What else has earth for us in store?\n  Our farewell pangs, how sharp and deep!\n    But soon we'll meet to part no more.\n\n\n485                                                              L. M.\n                            Parting hymn.\n\n  My Christian friends in bonds of love,\n  Whose hearts the sweetest union prove;\n  Your friendship's like the strongest band,\n  Yet we must take the parting hand.\n\n  2 Your presence sweet, our union dear,\n  What joys we feel together here!\n  And when I see that we must part,\n  You draw like chords around my heart.\n\n  3 How sweet the hours have passed away,\n  Since we have met to sing and pray;\n  How loath are we to leave the place\n  Where Jesus shows his smiling face!\n\n  4 O could I stay with friends so kind,\n  How would it cheer my fainting mind!\n  But pilgrims in a foreign land,\n  We oft must take the parting hand.\n\n  5 My Christian friends, both old and young,\n  I trust you will in Christ go on;\n  Press on, and soon you'll win the prize--\n  A crown of glory in the skies.\n\n  6 A few more days, or years at most,\n  And we shall reach fair Canaan's coast:\n  When, in that holy, happy land,\n  We'll take no more the parting hand.\n\n  7 O blessed day! O glorious hope!\n  My soul rejoices at the thought,\n  When, in that holy, happy land,\n  We'll take no more the parting hand.\n\n\n486                                                              C. M.\n                         Go on, you pilgrims.\n\n  Go on, you pilgrims, while below,\n    In the sure path of peace,\n  Determined nothing else to know\n    But Jesus and his grace.\n\n  2 Observe your leader, follow him;\n    He through this world has been\n  Often reviled; but like a lamb\n    Did ne'er revile again.\n\n  3 O! take the pattern he has given,\n    And love your enemies;\n  And learn the only way to heaven\n    Through self-denial lies.\n\n  4 Remember, you must watch and pray\n    While journeying on the road,\n  Lest you should fall out by the way,\n    And wound the cause of God.\n\n  5 Go on rejoicing night and day;\n    Your crown is yet before,\n  Defy the trials of the way,\n    The storm will soon be o'er.\n\n  6 Soon we shall reach the promised land,\n    With all the ransomed race,\n  And join with all the glorious band,\n    To sing redeeming grace.\n\n\n487                                                              C. M.\n                          Planting a church.\n\n  Planted in Christ, the living vine,\n    This day, with one accord,\n  Ourselves, with humble faith and joy,\n    We yield to thee, O Lord.\n\n  2 Joined in one body may we be;\n    One inward life partake;\n  One be our heart; one heavenly hope\n    In every bosom wake.\n\n  3 In prayer, in effort, tears, and toils,\n    One wisdom be our guide;\n  Taught by one Spirit from above,\n    In thee may we abide.\n\n  4 Around this feeble, trusting band,\n    Thy sheltering pinions spread,\n  Nor let the storms of trial beat\n    Too fiercely on our head.\n\n  5 Then, when, among the saints in light,\n    Our joyful spirits shine,\n  Shall anthems of immortal praise,\n    O Lamb of God, be thine.\n\n\n488                                                              C. M.\n                       The unity of the Spirit.\n                                    Eph. 4:3.\n\n  Blessed be the dear uniting love,\n    That will not let us part;\n  Our bodies may far off remove--\n    We still are one in heart.\n\n  2 Joined in one Spirit to our Head,\n    Where he appoints, we go;\n  And still in Jesus' footsteps tread,\n    And show his praise below.\n\n  3 Partakers of the Saviour's grace,\n    The same in mind and heart;\n  Nor joy, nor grief, nor time, nor place,\n    Nor life, nor death, can part.\n\n\n489                                                              C. M.\n                       We will serve the Lord.\n                                   Josh. 24:15.\n\n  Ye men and angels, witness now--\n    Before the Lord we speak,\n  To him we make our solemn vow--\n    A vow we dare not break:\n\n  2 That, long as life itself shall last,\n    Ourselves to Christ we yield;\n  Nor from his cause will we depart,\n    Or ever quit the field.\n\n  3 We trust not in our native strength,\n    But on his grace rely;\n  May he, with our returning wants,\n    All needful aid supply.\n\n  4 O, guide our doubtful feet aright,\n    And keep us in thy ways;\n  And, while we turn our vows to prayers,\n    Turn thou our prayers to praise.\n\n\n490                                                              C. M.\n                       Restore such a one, etc.\n                                    Gal. 6:1.\n\n  Think gently of the erring one!\n    O, let us not forget,\n  However darkly stained by sin,\n    He is our brother yet.\n\n  2 Heir of the same inheritance,\n    Child of the self-same God,\n  He hath but stumbled in the path\n    We have in weakness trod.\n\n  3 Speak gently to the erring ones!\n    We yet may lead them back,\n  With holy words and tones of love,\n    From misery's thorny track.\n\n  4 Forget not, brother, thou hast sinned,\n    And sinful yet may be;\n  Deal gently with the erring heart,\n    As God hath dealt with thee.\n\n\n491                                                              C. M.\n                     Before and behind the vail.\n\n  Happy the souls to Jesus joined,\n    And made in spirit one:\n  Walking in all his ways, they find\n    Their heaven on earth begun.\n\n  2 The church triumphant in thy love,\n    Their mighty joys we know;\n  They sing the Lamb in hymns above,\n    And we in hymns below.\n\n  3 Thee in thy glorious realm they praise,\n    And bow before thy throne;\n  We in the kingdom of thy grace;\n    The kingdoms are but one.\n\n  4 The holy to the holiest leads;\n    To heaven our spirits rise;\n  And he that in thy statutes treads,\n    Shall meet thee in the skies.\n\n\n492                                                              C. M.\n               Spiritual blessings in heavenly places.\n                                    Eph. 1:3.\n\n  O happy they who know the Lord,\n    With whom he deigns to dwell!\n  He feeds and cheers them by his word,\n    His arm supports them well.\n\n  2 To them, in each distressing hour,\n    His throne of grace is near;\n  And when they plead his love and power,\n    He stands engaged to hear.\n\n  3 His presence sweetens all our cares,\n    And makes our burdens light;\n  A word from him dispels our fears,\n    And gilds the gloom of night.\n\n  4 Lord, we expect to suffer here,\n    Nor would we dare repine;\n  But give us still to find thee near,\n    And own us still for thine.\n\n  5 Let us enjoy and highly prize\n    These tokens of thy love,\n  Till thou shalt bid our spirits rise\n    To worship thee above.\n\n\n493                                                              C. M.\n                       The bond of perfectness.\n                                    Col. 3:14.\n\n  How sweet, how heavenly is the sight,\n    When those that love the Lord,\n  In one another's peace delight,\n    And so fulfill the word.\n\n  2 When each can feel his brother's sigh,\n    And with him bear a part;\n  When sorrow flows from eye to eye,\n    And joy from heart to heart:\n\n  3 When free from envy, scorn, and pride,\n    Our wishes all above,\n  Each can his brother's failing hide,\n    And show a brother's love:\n\n  4 When love in one delightful stream\n    Through every bosom flows,\n  When union sweet and dear esteem\n    In every action glows.\n\n  5 Love is the golden chain that binds,\n    The happy souls above,\n  And he's an heir of heaven that finds\n    His bosom glow with love.\n\n\n494                                                              C. M.\n                The whole family in heaven and earth.\n                                    Eph 3:15.\n\n  Come, let us join our friends above,\n    Who have obtained the prize,\n  And on the eagle wings of love,\n    To joy celestial rise.\n\n  2 Let saints below in concert sing\n    With those to glory gone;\n  For all the servants of our King,\n    In heaven and earth are one:\n\n  3 One family--we dwell in him;\n    One church--above, beneath;\n  Though now divided by the stream--\n    The narrow stream of death.\n\n  4 One army of the living God,\n    To his command we bow;\n  Part of the host have crossed the flood,\n    And part are crossing now.\n\n  5 Even now to their eternal home\n    Some happy spirits fly;\n  And we are to the margin come,\n    Expecting soon to die!\n\n  6 Dear Saviour! be our constant guide;\n    Then, when the word is given,\n  Bid Jordan's narrow stream divide,\n    And land us safe in heaven.\n\n\n495                                                              S. M.\n                          Love as brethren.\n                                   1 Pet. 3:8.\n\n  Blest be the tie that binds\n    Our hearts in Christian love;\n  The fellowship of kindred minds\n    Is like to that above.\n\n  2 Before our Father's throne\n    We pour our ardent prayers;\n  Our fears, our hopes, our aims, are one,\n    Our comforts and our cares.\n\n  3 We share our mutual woes,\n    Our mutual burdens bear;\n  And often for each other flows\n    The sympathizing tear.\n\n  4 Though often called to part,\n    Amid these scenes of pain;\n  Yet, we shall still be joined in heart,\n    And hope to meet again.\n\n  5 This glorious hope revives\n    Our courage by the way;\n  While each in expectation lives,\n    And longs to see the day.\n\n  6 From sorrow, toil, and pain,\n    And sin, we shall be free;\n  And perfect love and friendship reign\n    Through all eternity.\n\n\n496                                                              S. M.\n                       Stand fast in the Lord.\n                                    Phil. 4:1.\n\n  All you that have confessed\n    That Jesus is the Lord,\n  And to his people joined yourselves,\n    According to his word:\n\n  2 In Zion you must dwell,\n    Her altar ne'er forsake;\n  Must come to all her solemn feasts,\n    Of all her joys partake.\n\n  3 She must employ your thoughts,\n    And your unceasing care;\n  Her welfare be your constant wish,\n    And her increase your prayer.\n\n  4 With humbleness of mind,\n    Among her sons rejoice;\n  A meek and quiet spirit is\n    With God of highest price.\n\n  5 Never offend, nor grieve\n    Your brethren by the way;\n  But shun the dark abodes of strife,\n    Like children of the day.\n\n  6 In all your Saviour's ways,\n    With willing footsteps move;\n  Be faithful unto death, and then\n    You'll reign with him above.\n\n\n497                                                              S. M.\n                 Let there be no divisions among you.\n                                   1 Cor. 1:10.\n\n  Let party names no more\n    The Christian world o'erspread,\n  Gentile and Jew, and bond and free,\n    Are one in Christ, their Head.\n\n  2 Among the saints on earth\n    Let mutual love be found;\n  Heirs of the same inheritance,\n    With mutual blessings crowned.\n\n  3 Thus will the church below\n    Resemble that above,\n  Where streams of pleasure ever flow,\n    And every heart is love.\n\n\n498                                                                7s.\n                       Strangers and pilgrims.\n                                   1 Pet. 2:11.\n\n  Children of the heavenly King,\n  As ye journey, sweetly sing;\n  Sing your Saviour's worthy praise,\n  Glorious in his works and ways.\n\n  2 Ye are traveling home to God,\n  In the way the fathers trod:\n  They are happy now--and ye\n  Soon there happiness shall see.\n\n  3 Shout, ye little flock, and blest;\n  You on Jesus' throne shall rest:\n  There your seat is now prepared--\n  There your kingdom and reward.\n\n  4 Fear not, brethren, joyful stand\n  On the borders of your land;\n  Jesus Christ, your Father's Son,\n  Bids you undismayed go on.\n\n  5 Lord, submissive make us go,\n  Gladly leaving all below;\n  Only thou our leader be,\n  And we still will follow thee.\n\n\n499                                                                7s.\n                            Bond of peace.\n                                    Eph. 4:3.\n\n  Jesus, Lord, we look to thee;\n  Let us in thy name agree;\n  Show thyself the Prince of Peace;\n  Bid our jars for ever cease.\n\n  2 By thy reconciling love,\n  Every stumbling-block remove:\n  Each to each unite, endear;\n  Come, and spread thy banner here.\n\n  3 Make us of one heart and mind--\n  Courteous, pitiful and kind;\n  Lowly, meek, in thought and word--\n  Altogether like our Lord.\n\n  4 Let us for each other care;\n  Each the other's burden bear;\n  To thy Church the pattern give;\n  Show how true believers live.\n\n  5 Free from anger and from pride,\n  Let us thus in God abide;\n  All the depths of love express--\n  All the hights of holiness.\n\n  6 Let us then with joy remove\n  To the family above;\n  On the wings of angels fly;\n  Show how true believers die.\n\n\n500                                                                8s.\n                           Love is of God.\n                                   1 John 4:7.\n\n  Say, whence does this union arise,\n    Where hatred is conquered by love?\n  It fastens our souls with such ties,\n    That distance nor time can remove.\n\n  2 It can not in Eden be found,\n    Nor yet in a Paradise lost;\n  It grows on Immanuel's ground,\n    And Jesus' life's blood it has cost.\n\n  3 My friends so endeared unto me,\n    Our souls so united in love;\n  Where Jesus is gone we shall be,\n    In yonder blest mansions above.\n\n  4 Why then so unwilling to part,\n    Since there we shall soon meet again;\n  Engraved on Immanuel's heart,\n    At distance we can not remain.\n\n  5 And then we shall see that bright day,\n    And join with the angels above,\n  Set free from our prisons of clay,\n    United in Jesus' kind love.\n\n  6 With Jesus we ever shall reign,\n    And all his bright glory shall see;\n  Then sing hallelujahs--Amen!\n    Amen! Even so let it be!\n\n\n501                                                           8s & 7s.\n                       Receive ye one another.\n                                    Rom. 15:7.\n\n  Come, dear friends, we all are brethren,\n    Bound for Canaan's happy land;\n  Come, unite and walk together,\n    Christ, our Leader, gives command.\n  Cease to boast of party merit,\n    Wound the cause of God no more,\n  Be united by his spirit;\n    Zion's peace again restore.\n\n  2 Now our hand, our heart and spirit,\n    Here in fellowship we give;\n  Let us love and peace inherit,\n    Show the world how Christians live.\n  We'll be one in Christ our Saviour,\n    Male and female, bond and free!\n  Christ is all in all for ever,\n    In him we shall blessed be.\n\n\n502                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                           Parting friends.\n\n  When shall we all meet again?\n  When shall we all meet again?\n  Oft shall glowing hope expire,\n  Oft shall wearied love retire,\n  Oft shall death and sorrow reign,\n  Ere we all shall meet again.\n\n  2 Though in distant lands we sigh,\n  Parched beneath a hostile sky;\n  Though the deep between us rolls--\n  Friendship shall unite our souls:\n  And in fancy's wide domain,\n  Oft shall we all meet again.\n\n  3 When the dreams of life are fled,\n  And its wasted lamp is dead:\n  When in cold oblivion's shade,\n  Beauty, wealth, and fame are laid;\n  Where immortal spirits reign,\n  There may we all meet again.\n\n\n503                                                              P. M.\n                    We shall meet no more to part.\n\n  We shall meet no more to part;\n  Cease thy sorrows, mourning heart!\n  Weary days will soon depart--\n    Then we may rest for ever!\n  When the work of life is done,\n  When the victor's crown is won,\n  Then, immortal life begun,\n    We no more shall sever.\n        We shall meet, no more to part;\n        Cease thy sorrows, mourning heart!\n        Weary days will soon depart--\n          Then we may rest for ever!\n\n  2 In the house of peace and bliss,\n  In the world where Jesus is,\n  When we bid adieu to this,\n    Then we may love for ever.\n  Purified from every stain,\n  Through the Lamb that once was slain,\n  Brethren, we shall meet again,\n    And be parted never!\n\n\n504                                                           6s & 5s.\n                      When shall we meet again.\n\n  When shall we meet again?\n    Meet ne'er to sever?\n  When will Peace wreathe her chain\n    Round us for ever?\n  Our hearts will ne'er repose\n  Safe from each blast that blows\n  In this dark vail of woes,\n    Never--no, never!\n\n  2 When shall love freely flow,\n    Pure as life's river?\n  When shall sweet friendship glow,\n    Changeless for ever?\n  Where joys celestial thrill,\n  Where bliss each heart shall fill,\n  And fears of parting chill,\n    Never--no, never!\n\n  3 Up to that world of light\n    Take us, dear Saviour;\n  May we all there unite,\n    Happy for ever:\n  Where kindred spirits dwell,\n  There may our music swell,\n  And time our joys dispel,\n    Never--no, never!\n\n  4 Soon shall we meet again,\n    Meet ne'er to sever:\n  Soon shall Peace wreathe her chain\n    Round us for ever:\n  Our hearts will then repose\n  Secure from worldly woes;\n  Our songs of praise shall close,\n    Never--no, never!\n\n\n505                                                           C. P. M.\n                    He that dwelleth in love, etc.\n                                   1 John 4:16.\n\n  O love divine, how sweet thou art!\n  When shall I find my wandering heart\n      All taken up in thee!\n  O may I daily live to prove\n  The sweetness of redeeming love,\n      The love of Christ to me.\n\n  2 God only knows the love of God;\n  O may it now be shed abroad\n      To cheer my fainting heart!\n  I want to feel that love divine;\n  This heavenly portion, Lord, be mine--\n      Be mine this better part.\n\n  3 O that I could for ever sit\n  With Mary at the Master's feet!\n      Be this my happy choice;\n  My only care, delight, and bliss,\n  My joy, my heaven on earth, be this,\n      To hear the Bridegroom's voice.\n\n  4 O that I might, with happy John,\n  Recline my weary head upon\n      The blessed Redeemer's breast!\n  From care, and fear, and sorrow free,\n  Give me, O Lord, to find in thee\n      My everlasting rest.\n\n\n506                                                       6s, 4s & 5s.\n                           A parting hymn.\n\n  Peacefully, tenderly,\n    Here, as we part,\n  The farewell that lingers\n    Be breathed from the heart:\n  No place more fitting,\n    O house of the Lord--\n  Here be it spoken,\n    That last prayerful word.\n\n  2 Thoughtfully, carefully,\n    Solemn and slow!\n  Tears are bedewing\n    The path that we go;\n  Perils before us\n    We know not to-day--\n  Kindly and safely,\n    O Lord, lead the way.\n\n  3 Upwardly, steadfastly,\n    Gaze on that brow:\n  Jesus, our Leader,\n    Reigns conqueror now.\n  His steps let us follow,\n    His sufferings dare,\n  Go up to glory,\n    His blessedness share.\n\n  4 Patiently, cheerfully,\n    Up, and depart\n  To labor and duty\n    With gladness of heart;\n  The ransomed, with triumph,\n    To Zion we'll bring,\n  Shouting salvation\n    To Jesus, our King.\n\n\n507                                                              L. M.\n                         Pilgrim's farewell.\n\n  Farewell, my friends, time rolls along,\n    Nor waits for mortal care or bliss;\n  I leave you here to travel on,\n    Till I arrive where Jesus is.\n      Chorus.--Farewell, farewell, farewell,\n              My Christian friends, farewell.\n\n  2 Farewell, my brethren in the Lord,\n    To you I'm bound in cords of love,\n  Yet we believe his gracious word,\n    That we ere long shall meet above.\n\n  3 Farewell, old soldiers of the cross,\n    You've struggled long and hard for heaven,\n  You've counted all things here but dross,\n    Fight on, the crown will soon be given.\n\n  4 Farewell, poor careless sinners, too,\n    It grieves my soul to leave you here.\n  Eternal sorrow waits for you,\n    O turn, and find salvation near.\n\n\n508                                                          10s & 8s.\n                           Waiting on God.\n                                  Isaiah. 40:31.\n\n  O happy children who follow Jesus\n    Into the house of prayer and praise,\n  And join in union while love increases,\n    Resolved this way to spend our days:\n  Although we're hated by the world and Satan,\n    By the flesh and such as love not God;\n  Yet happy moments and joyful seasons\n    We ofttimes find on Canaan's road.\n\n  2 Since we've been waiting on lovely Jesus,\n    We've felt some strength come from above,\n  Our hearts have burned with holy rapture,\n    We long to be absorbed in love:\n  Let us sing praises for what is given,\n    And trust in God for time to come;\n  Sure we shall find the way to heaven;\n    So farewell, brethren--we're going home.\n\n  3 And as we go let us praise our Saviour,\n    And pray for those who spurn his grace,\n  Lest they should lose love's richest treasure,\n    And ne'er enjoy his smiling face.\n  Now here's my hand and my best wishes,\n    In token of my Christian love;\n  In hopes with you to praise my Jesus:\n    So farewell, brethren,--we'll meet above.\n\n\n509                                                           C. P. M.\n                             Heavenward.\n                                    Col. 3:2.\n\n  Come on, my partners in distress,\n  My comrades in the wilderness,\n    Who feel your sorrows still;\n  A while forget your griefs and fears\n  And look beyond this vale of tears\n    To that celestial hill.\n\n  2 Beyond the bounds of time and space,\n  Look forward to that heavenly place,\n    The saint's secure abode;\n  On faith's strong eagle pinions rise,\n  And force your passage to the skies,\n    And scale the mount of God.\n\n  3 Who suffer with our Master here,\n  Shall there before his face appear,\n    And by his side sit down:\n  To patient faith the prize is sure;\n  And all that to the end endure\n    The cross, shall wear the crown.\n\n\n510                                                               11s.\n                                Home.\n                                   Phil. 3:20.\n\n  'Mid scenes of confusion and creature complaints,\n  How sweet to my soul is communion with saints;\n  To find at the banquet of mercy there's room,\n  And feel in the presence of Jesus at home.\n\n  2 Sweet bonds, that unite all the children of peace;\n  And thrice blessed Jesus, whose love can not cease;\n  Though oft from thy presence in sadness I roam,\n  I long to behold thee in glory at home.\n\n  3 While here in the valley of conflict I stray,\n  O give me submission and strength as my day;\n  In all my afflictions to thee would I come,\n  Rejoicing in hope of my glorious home.\n\n  4 I long, dearest Lord, in thy beauty to shine;\n  No more as an exile in sorrow to pine;\n  And in thy dear image arise from the tomb,\n  With glorified millions to praise thee at home.\n\n\n511                                                           S. H. M.\n                            Ephesians 4:5.\n\n  One baptism and one faith,\n    One Lord below, above,\n  The fellowship of Zion hath\n    One only watchword--Love.\n  From different temples though it rise,\n  One song ascendeth to the skies.\n\n  2 Our sacrifice is One;\n    One priest before the throne--\n  The crucified, the risen Son,\n    Redeemer, Lord alone!\n  And sighs from contrite hearts that spring,\n  Our chief, our choicest offering.\n\n  3 O why should they who love\n    One gospel to unfold,\n  Who look for one bright home above,\n    On earth be strange and cold?\n  Why, subjects of the Prince of Peace,\n  In strife abide, and bitterness?\n\n  4 O may that holy prayer--\n    His tenderest and his last,\n  The utterance of his latest care\n    Ere to the cross he passed--\n  No longer unfulfilled remain,\n  The World's offense, thy people's stain!\n\n\n\n\n                          THE LORD'S SUPPER.\n\n\n512                                                              L. M.\n                     Glorying only in the cross.\n                                    Gal. 6:14.\n\n  When I survey the wondrous cross,\n    On which the Prince of glory died,\n  My richest gain I count but loss,\n    And pour contempt on all my pride!\n\n  2 Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,\n    Save in the death of Christ, my Lord:\n  All the vain things that charm me most,\n    I sacrifice them to his blood.\n\n  3 See from his head, his hands, his feet,\n    Sorrow and love flow mingled down;\n  Did e'er such love and sorrow meet--\n    Or thorns compose so rich a crown?\n\n  4 Were the whole realm of nature mine,\n    That were a present far too small;\n  Love so amazing, so divine,\n    Demands my soul, my life, my all!\n\n\n513                                                              L. M.\n                          Delight in Christ.\n\n  Jesus, thou Joy of loving hearts!\n    Thou Fount of Life! thou Light of men!\n  From the best bliss that earth imparts,\n    We turn unfilled to thee again.\n\n  2 Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood;\n    Thou savest those that on thee call;\n  To them that seek thee, thou art good,\n    To them that find thee--All in All!\n\n  3 We taste thee, O thou Living Bread,\n    And long to feed upon thee still;\n  We drink of thee, the Fountain Head,\n    And thirst our souls from thee to fill.\n\n  4 Our restless spirits yearn for thee,\n    Where'er our changeful lot is cast;\n  Glad, when thy gracious smile we see,\n    Blest, when our faith can hold thee fast.\n\n  5 O Jesus, ever with us stay!\n    Make all our moments calm and bright,\n  Chase the dark night of sin away--\n    Shed o'er the world thy holy light!\n\n\n514                                                              L. M.\n                 Soft be the gently breathing notes.\n\n  Soft be the gently breathing notes\n    That sing the Saviour's dying love;\n  Soft as the evening zephyr floats,\n    Soft as the tuneful lyres above:\n  Soft as the morning dews descend,\n    While warbling birds exulting soar;\n  So soft to our almighty Friend\n    Be every sigh our bosoms pour.\n\n  2 Pure as the sun's enlivening ray,\n    That scatters life and joy abroad;\n  Pure as the lucid orb of day,\n    That wide proclaims its Maker, God;\n  Pure as the breath of vernal skies,\n    So pure let our contrition be;\n  And purely let our sorrows rise\n    To him who bled upon the tree.\n\n\n515                                                              L. M.\n                         Communion in Christ.\n\n  How pleasing to behold and see\n  The friends of Jesus all agree--\n  To sit around the sacred board\n  As members of one common Lord.\n\n  2 Here we behold the dawn of bliss--\n  Here we behold the Saviour's grace--\n  Here we behold his precious blood,\n  Which sweetly pleads for us with God.\n\n  3 While here we sit, we would implore\n  That love may spread from shore to shore,\n  Till all the saints, like us, combine\n  To praise the Lord in songs divine.\n\n  4 To all we freely give our hand,\n  Who love the Lord in every land;\n  For all are one in Christ our head,\n  To whom be endless honors paid.\n\n\n516                                                              L. M.\n                      Welcome to young converts.\n\n  Welcome, ye hopeful heirs of heaven,\n    To this rich feast of gospel love--\n  This pledge is but the prelude given\n    To that immortal feast above.\n\n  2 How great the blessing, thus to meet\n    According to our Saviour's word,\n  And hold by faith communion sweet,\n    With our unseen yet present Lord.\n\n  3 And if so sweet this feast below,\n    What will it be to meet above,\n  Where all we see, and feel, and know,\n    Are fruits of everlasting love!\n\n  4 Soon shall we tune the heavenly lyre,\n    While listening worlds the song approve;\n  Eternity itself expire,\n    Ere we exhaust the theme of love.\n\n\n517                                                              L. M.\n                           The last scenes.\n\n  'Twas on that night when doomed to know\n  The eager rage of every foe,\n  That night in which he was betrayed,\n  The Saviour of the world took bread;\n\n  2 And, after thanks and glory given\n  To him that rules in earth and heaven,\n  That symbol of his flesh he broke,\n  And thus to all his followers spoke:\n\n  3 My broken body thus I give\n  To you, my friends; take, eat, and live;\n  And oft the sacred feast renew,\n  That brings my wondrous love to view.\n\n  4 Then in his hands the cup he raised,\n  And God anew he thanked and praised;\n  While kindness in his bosom glowed,\n  And from his lips salvation flowed.\n\n  5 My blood I thus pour forth, he cries,\n  To cleanse the soul in sin that lies;\n  In this the covenant is sealed,\n  And heaven's eternal grace revealed.\n\n  6 This cup is fraught with love to men;\n  Let all partake who love my name;\n  Through latest ages let it pour\n  In memory of my dying hour.\n\n\n518                                                              L. M.\n                          The bread of life.\n\n  Away from earth my spirit turns--\n    Away from every transient good:\n  With strong desire my bosom burns\n    To feast on heaven's diviner food.\n\n  2 Thou, Saviour, art the living bread;\n    Thou wilt my every want supply;\n  By thee sustained, and cheered, and led,\n    I'll press through dangers to the sky.\n\n  3 What though temptations oft distress,\n    And sin assails, and breaks my peace;\n  Thou wilt uphold, and save, and bless,\n    And bid the storms of passion cease.\n\n  4 Then let me take thy gracious hand,\n    And walk beside thee onward still;\n  Till my glad feet shall safely stand\n    Forever firm on Zion's hill.\n\n\n519                                                              C. M.\n                  They came together to break bread.\n                                    Acts 20:7.\n\n  Lord, may the spirit of this feast--\n    The earnest of thy love--\n  Maintain a dwelling in our breast\n    Until we meet above.\n\n  2 The healing sense of pardoned sin,\n    The hope that never tires,\n  The strength a pilgrim's race to win,\n    The joy that heaven inspires:\n\n  3 Still may their light our duties trace\n    In lines of hallowed flame,\n  Like that upon the prophet's face,\n    When from the mount he came.\n\n  4 But if no more with kindred dear\n    The broken bread we share,\n  Nor at the banquet board appear\n    To breathe the grateful prayer;\n\n  5 Forget us not--when on the bed\n    Of dire disease we waste,\n  Or to the chambers of the dead,\n    And bar of judgment haste.\n\n  6 Forget not--thou who bore the woe\n    Of Calvary's fatal tree--\n  Those who within these courts below\n    Have thus remembered thee.\n\n\n520                                                              C. M.\n                         Remembering Christ.\n\n  If human kindness meets return,\n    And owns the grateful tie--\n  If tender thoughts within us burn\n    To feel a friend is nigh;\n\n  2 O, shall not warmer accents tell\n    The gratitude we owe\n  To him who died our fears to quell,\n    And save from endless woe?\n\n  3 While yet his anguished soul surveyed\n    Those pangs he would not flee,\n  What love his latest words displayed--\n    \"Meet and remember me.\"\n\n  4 Remember thee! thy death, thy shame,\n    The griefs which thou didst bear!\n  O memory, leave no other name\n    But His recorded there.\n\n\n521                                                              C. M.\n                        Spiritual refreshment.\n\n  O God, unseen yet ever near!\n    Reveal thy presence now,\n  While we, in love that hath no fear,\n    Before thy glory bow.\n\n  2 Here may obedient spirits find\n    The blessings of thy love--\n  The streams that through the desert wind,\n    The manna from above.\n\n  3 Awhile beside the fount we stay,\n    And eat this bread of thine,\n  Then go, rejoicing, on our way,\n    Renewed with strength divine.\n\n\n522                                                              C. M.\n                        Reception of members.\n\n  Come in, thou blessed of the Lord;\n    Stranger nor foe art thou:\n  We welcome thee with warm accord,\n    Our friend, our brother now.\n\n  2 The hand of fellowship, the heart\n    Of love, we offer thee:\n  Leaving the world, thou dost but part\n    From lies and vanity.\n\n  3 The cup of blessing which we bless,\n    The heavenly bread we break--\n  Our Saviour's blood and righteousness,\n    Freely with us partake.\n\n  4 In weal or woe, in joy or care,\n    Thy portion shall be ours;\n  Christians their mutual burdens bear;\n    They lend their mutual powers.\n\n  5 Come with us, we will do thee good,\n    As God to us hath done;\n  Stand but in him, as those have stood,\n    Whose faith the victory won.\n\n  6 And when, by turns, we pass away\n    As star by star grows dim,\n  May each, translated into day,\n    Be lost, and found in him.\n\n\n523                                                              C. M.\n                   Blessed are the poor in spirit.\n                                    Matt. 5:3.\n\n  Lord, at thy table we behold\n    The wonders of thy grace;\n  But most of all admire that we\n    Should find a welcome place.\n\n  2 What strange, surprising grace is this,\n    That we, so lost, have room!\n  Jesus our weary souls invites,\n    And freely bids us come!\n\n  3 Ye saints below, and hosts of heaven,\n    Join all your sacred powers:\n  No theme is like redeeming love;\n    No Saviour is like ours.\n\n\n524                                                              C. M.\n                        In remembrance of me.\n                                  1 Cor. 11:24.\n\n  In memory of the Saviour's love,\n    We keep the sacred feast,\n  Where every humble, contrite heart\n    Is made a welcome guest.\n\n  2 Under his banner thus we sing\n    The wonders of his love,\n  And thus anticipate by faith\n    The heavenly feast above.\n\n\n525                                                              C. M.\n                      He was known of them, etc.\n                                   Luke 24:35.\n\n  Shepherd of souls, refresh and bless\n    Thy chosen pilgrim flock,\n  With manna from the wilderness,\n    With water from the rock.\n\n  2 Hungry and thirsty, faint and weak\n    (As thou when here below),\n  Our souls the joys celestial seek,\n    That from thy sorrows flow.\n\n  3 We would not live by bread alone,\n    But by thy word of grace--\n  In strength of which we travel on\n    To our abiding place.\n\n  4 Be known to us in breaking bread,\n    But do not then depart--\n  Saviour abide with us, and spread\n    Thy table in our heart.\n\n  5 Then sup with us in love divine;\n    Thy body and thy blood,\n  That living bread and heavenly wine,\n    Be our immortal food.\n\n\n526                                                              S. M.\n                    You do show the Lord's death.\n                                  1 Cor. 11:26.\n\n  Jesus, the Friend of man,\n    Invites us to his board;\n  The welcome summons we obey,\n    And own our gracious Lord.\n\n  2 Here we show forth his love,\n    Which spake in every breath,\n  Prompted each action of his life,\n    And triumphed in his death.\n\n  3 Here let our powers unite\n    His honored name to raise;\n  Let grateful joy fill every mind,\n    And every voice be praise.\n\n  4 One faith, one hope, one Lord\n    One God alone we know;\n  Brethren we are; let every heart\n    With kind affections grow.\n\n\n527                                                              S. M.\n                          After the supper.\n\n  Now let each happy guest\n    The sacred concert raise,\n  To close the honors of the feast,\n    And sing the Master's praise.\n\n  2 His condescending love\n    First calls our wonder forth;\n  He left the blessed realms above,\n    To dwell with men on earth.\n\n  3 His precepts, how divine!\n    How suited to our state!\n  How bright his acts of mercy shine\n    His promises how great!\n\n  4 Redemption's glorious plan,\n    How wondrous in our view!\n  The salutary source to man\n    Of peace and pardon too.\n\n\n528                                                              S. M.\n            Truly our fellowship is with the Father, etc.\n                                   1 John 1:3.\n\n  Our heavenly Father calls,\n    And Christ invites us near;\n  With both, our friendship shall be sweet,\n    And our communion dear.\n\n  2 God pities all our griefs:\n    He pardons every day;\n  Almighty to protect our souls,\n    And wise to guide our way.\n\n  3 How large his bounties are!\n    What various stores of good,\n  Diffused from our Redeemer's hand,\n    And purchased with his blood!\n\n  4 Jesus, our living Head,\n    We bless thy faithful care;\n  Our Advocate before the throne,\n    And our forerunner there.\n\n  5 Here fix my roving heart!\n    Here wait my warmest love!\n  Till the communion be complete,\n    In nobler scenes above.\n\n\n529                                                              C. M.\n                           Take this, etc.\n                                   Luke 22:17.\n\n  Jesus invites his saints\n    To meet around his board;\n  Here pardoned rebels sit, and hold\n    Communion with their Lord.\n\n  2 This holy bread and wine\n    Maintain our fainting breath,\n  By union with our living Lord,\n    And interest in his death.\n\n  3 Let all our powers be joined\n    His glorious name to raise;\n  Let holy love fill every mind,\n    And every voice be praise.\n\n\n530                                                              S. M.\n                 And when they had sung a hymn, etc.\n                                   Matt. 26:30.\n\n  A parting hymn we sing,\n    Around thy table, Lord;\n  Again our grateful tribute bring,\n    Our solemn vows record.\n\n  2 Here have we seen thy face,\n    And felt thy presence here;\n  So may the savor of thy grace\n    In word and life appear.\n\n  3 The purchase of thy blood--\n    By sin no longer led--\n  The path our dear Redeemer trod\n    May we rejoicing tread.\n\n  4 In self-forgetting love\n    Be Christian union shown,\n  Until we join the Church above,\n    And know as we are known.\n\n\n531                                                              S. M.\n                       Behold the Lamb of God.\n                                    John 1:36.\n\n  Not all the blood of beasts,\n    On Jewish altars slain,\n  Could give the guilty conscience peace,\n    Or wash away its stain.\n\n  2 But Christ, the heavenly Lamb,\n    Bears all our sins away;\n  A sacrifice of nobler name\n    And richer blood than they.\n\n  3 My faith would lay her hand\n    On that dear head of thine,\n  While like a penitent I stand,\n    And there confess my sin.\n\n  4 Believing, we rejoice\n    To see the curse remove;\n  We bless the Lamb with cheerful voice,\n    And sing his dying love.\n\n\n532                                                              S. M.\n                             Foretastes.\n                                   Mark 14:25.\n\n  Blest feast of love divine!\n    'Tis grace that makes us free\n  To feed upon this bread and wine,\n    In memory, Lord, of thee!\n\n  2 That blood which flowed for sin,\n    In symbol here we see,\n  And feel the blessed pledge within,\n    That we are loved of thee.\n\n  3 O, if this glimpse of love\n    Be so divinely sweet,\n  What will it be, O Lord, above,\n    Thy gladdening smile to meet!\n\n  4 To see thee face to face--\n    Thy perfect likeness wear--\n  And all thy ways of wondrous grace\n    Through endless years declare!\n\n\n533                                                           8s & 7s.\n                     I will draw all men unto me.\n                                   John 12:32.\n\n  It is finished! Man of Sorrows!\n  From thy cross our frailty borrows\n    Strength to bear and conquer thus.\n\n  2 While extended there we view thee,\n  Mighty Sufferer! draw us to thee;\n    Sufferer victorious!\n\n  3 Not in vain for us uplifted,\n  Man of Sorrows, wonder-gifted!\n    May that sacred emblem be;\n\n  4 Lifted high amid the ages,\n  Guide of heroes, saints, and sages;\n    May it guide us still to thee!\n\n\n534                                                                7s.\n                    The body and blood of Christ.\n\n  Bread of heaven, on thee we feed,\n  For thy flesh is meat indeed;\n  Ever let our souls be fed\n  With this true and living bread.\n\n  2 Vine of heaven, thy blood supplies\n  This blest cup of sacrifice;\n  Lord, thy wounds our healing give;\n  To thy cross we look and live.\n\n  3 Day by day with strength supplied,\n  Through the life of him who died,\n  Lord of life, O let us be\n  Rooted, grafted, built on thee.\n\n\n535                                                           8s & 7s.\n                      Leaving the Lord's table.\n\n  From the table now retiring,\n    Which for us the Lord hath spread,\n  May our souls, refreshment finding,\n    Grow in all things like our Head.\n\n  2 His example by beholding,\n    May our lives his image bear;\n  Him our Lord and Master calling,\n    His commands may we revere.\n\n  3 Love to God and man displaying,\n    Walking steadfast in his way,\n  Joy attend us in believing,\n    Peace from God, through endless day.\n\n\n536                                                              P. M.\n                            It was for us.\n\n  Near the cross our station taking,\n  Earthly cares and joys forsaking,\n    Meet it is for us to mourn:\n  'Twas for us he came from heaven,\n  'Twas for us his heart was riven;\n    All his griefs for us were borne.\n\n  2 When no eye its pity gave us,\n  When there was no arm to save us,\n    He his love and power displayed:\n  By his stripes our help and healing,\n  By his death our life revealing,\n    He for us the ransom paid.\n\n  3 Jesus, may thy love constrain us,\n  That from sin we may refrain us,\n    In thy griefs may deeply grieve;\n  Thee our best affections giving,\n  To thy praise and honor living,\n    May we in thy glory live!\n\n\n537                                                              P. M.\n                      My peace I give unto you.\n\n  Lamb of God! whose bleeding love\n    We now recall to mind,\n  Send thy blessing from above,\n    And let us mercy find;\n  Think on us, who think on thee;\n    Every burdened soul release;\n  O, remember Calvary,\n    And bid us go in peace!\n\n  2 By thine agonizing pain,\n    And bloody sweat, we pray--\n  By thy dying love to man,\n    Take all our sins away:\n  By thy passion on the tree,\n    Let our griefs and troubles cease:\n  O, remember Calvary,\n    And bid us go in peace!\n\n\n538                                                           8s & 7s.\n                          Looking to Jesus.\n                                    Heb. 12:2.\n\n  Sweet the moments, rich in blessing,\n    Which before the cross I spend;\n  Life, and health, and peace possessing,\n    From the sinner's dying friend.\n\n  2 Here I'll sit, for ever viewing\n    Mercy streaming in his blood;\n  Precious drops! my soul bedewing,\n    Plead they now my peace with God.\n\n  3 Truly blessed is this station,\n    Here unfolds his wondrous grace;\n  While I see divine compassion\n    Beaming in his lovely face.\n\n  4 Here it is I find my heaven,\n    While upon the cross I gaze;\n  Here the joy of sins forgiven\n    Shall inspire my songs of praise.\n\n  5 Love and grief my heart dividing,\n    While his feet I bathe with tears;\n  Constant still in faith abiding--\n    Hope triumphant o'er my fears.\n\n  6 Lord! in ceaseless contemplation,\n    Fix my trusting heart on thee,\n  Till I know thy full salvation,\n    And thy face in glory see.\n\n\n539                                                              P. M.\n                    My meditation shall be sweet.\n                                  Psalm 104:34.\n\n  Here I sink before thee lowly,\n  Filled with gladness deep and holy,\n  As with trembling awe and wonder\n  On thy mighty work I ponder--\n  On this banquet's mystery,\n  On the depths we can not see:\n  Far beyond all mortal sight\n  Lie the secrets of thy might.\n\n  2 Sun, who all my life dost brighten!\n  Light, who dost my soul enlighten!\n  Joy, the sweetest man e'er knoweth!\n  Fount, whence all my being floweth!\n  Humbly draw I near to thee;\n  Grant that I may worthily\n  Take this blessed heavenly food,\n  To thy praise, and to my good.\n\n  3 Jesus, Bread of Life from heaven,\n  Never be thou vainly given,\n  Nor I to my hurt invited;\n  Be thy love with love requited;\n  Let me learn its depths indeed,\n  While on thee my soul doth feed;\n  Let me, here so richly blest,\n  Be hereafter, too, thy guest.\n\n\n540                                                           8s & 7s.\n                    Whom having not seen, we love.\n                                   1 Pet. 1:8.\n\n  While in sweet communion feeding\n    On this earthly bread and wine,\n  Saviour may we see thee bleeding\n    On the cross to make us thine.\n\n  2 Though unseen, now be thou near us,\n    With the still small voice of love,\n  Whispering words of peace to cheer us--\n    Every doubt and fear remove.\n\n  3 Bring before us all the story,\n    Of thy life, and death of woe!\n  And with hopes of endless glory,\n    Wean our hearts from all below.\n\n\n541                                                              P. M.\n                           To Him be glory.\n                                    Eph. 3:21.\n\n  Jesus has died for me,\n      Glory to God!\n  From sin he set me free,\n      Glory to God!\n  And, if I trust his grace,\n  I soon shall win the race;\n  Then see his lovely face,\n      Glory to God.\n\n  2 Soon, I shall sing above,\n      Glory to God!\n  Tell of his wondrous love,\n      Glory to God:\n  Free from all death and wrong,\n  Then shall my notes prolong\n  One loud, triumphant song,\n      Glory to God!\n\n\n542                                                           6s & 4s.\n                        Christ our confidence.\n\n  My faith looks up to thee,\n  Thou Lamb of Calvary:\n    Saviour divine,\n  Now hear me while I pray;\n  Take all my guilt away;\n  O, let me, from this day,\n    Be wholly thine.\n\n  2 May thy rich grace impart\n  Strength to my fainting heart;\n    My zeal inspire;\n  As thou hast died for me,\n  O may my love to thee\n  Pure, warm, and changeless be--\n    A living fire.\n\n  3 While life's dark maze I tread,\n  And griefs around me spread,\n    Be thou my guide;\n  Bid darkness turn to day,\n  Wipe sorrow's tears away,\n  Nor let me ever stray\n    From thee aside.\n\n  4 When ends life's transient dream,\n  When death's cold, sullen stream\n    Shall o'er me roll;\n  Blest Saviour, then, in love,\n  Fear and distress remove;\n  O bear me safe above--\n    A ransomed soul.\n\n\n543                                                           7s & 6s.\n                     The Cross--the power of God.\n                                   1 Cor. 1:18.\n\n  I saw the cross of Jesus\n    When burdened with my sin;\n  I sought the cross of Jesus\n    To give me peace within;\n  I brought my soul to Jesus;\n    He cleansed it in his blood;\n  And in the cross of Jesus\n    I found my peace with God.\n\n  2 I love the cross of Jesus--\n    It tells what I am;\n  A vile and guilty creature,\n    Saved only through the Lamb.\n  No righteousness, no merit,\n    No beauty can I plead;\n  Yet in the cross I glory,\n    My title there I read.\n\n  3 I clasp the cross of Jesus\n    In every trying hour,\n  My sure and certain refuge,\n    My never-failing tower.\n  In every fear and conflict,\n    I more than conqueror am;\n  Living I'm safe, or dying,\n    Through Christ the risen Lamb.\n\n  4 Sweet is the cross of Jesus!\n    There let my weary heart\n  Still rest in peace and safety\n    Till life itself depart;\n  And then in strains of glory\n    I'll sing thy wondrous power,\n  Where sin can never enter,\n    And death is known no more.\n\n\n544                                                               10s.\n              Communion of the body and blood of Christ.\n\n  Here, O my Lord, I see thee face to face;\n    Here would I touch and handle things unseen;\n  Here grasp with firmer hand the eternal grace,\n    And all my weariness upon thee lean.\n\n  2 Here would I feed upon the bread of God;\n    Here drink with thee the royal wine of heaven;\n  Here would I lay aside each earthly load,\n    Here taste afresh the calm of sin forgiven.\n\n  3 Too soon we rise; the symbols disappear;\n    The feast, though not the love, is passed and gone:\n  The bread and wine remove, but thou art here--\n    Nearer than ever--still my Shield and Sun.\n\n  4 Feast after feast thus comes and passes by;\n    Yet, passing, points to the glad feast above--\n  Giving sweet foretaste of the festal joy,\n    The Lamb's great bridal feast of bliss and love.\n\n\n545                                                              H. M.\n                        Believing, we rejoice.\n                                   1 Peter 1:8.\n\n  Ye saints, your music bring,\n    Attuned to sweetest sound,\n  Strike every trembling string,\n    Till earth and heaven resound;\n  The triumphs of the cross we sing;\n  Awake, ye saints, each joyful string.\n\n  2 The cross, the cross alone,\n    Subdued the powers of hell;\n  Like lightning from his throne\n    The prince of darkness fell,\n  The triumphs of the cross we sing,\n  Awake, ye saints, each joyful string.\n\n  3 The cross hath power to save\n    From all the foes that rise;\n  The cross hath made the grave\n    A passage to the skies;\n  The triumphs of the cross we sing;\n  Awake, ye saints, each joyful string.\n\n\n546                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                          The true Passover.\n\n  Once the angel started back,\n    When he saw the blood-stained door,\n  Pausing on his vengeful track,\n    And the dwelling passing o'er.\n  Once the sea from Israel fled,\n  Ere it rolled o'er Egypt's dead.\n\n  2 Now our Passover is come,\n    Dimly shadowed in the past,\n  And the very Paschal Lamb,\n    Christ, the Lord, is slain at last.\n  Then with hearts and hands made meet,\n  Our unleavened bread we'll eat.\n\n  3 Blessed Victim sent from heaven,\n    Whom all angel hosts obey,\n  To whose will all earth is given,\n    At whose word hell shrinks away.\n  Thou hast conquered death's dread strife,\n  Thou hast brought us light and life.\n\n\n\n\n                     PRAYER AND SOCIAL MEETINGS.\n\n\n547                                                              L. M.\n                           The Mercy Seat.\n\n  From every stormy wind that blows,\n  From every swelling tide of woes,\n  There is a calm, a sure retreat--\n  'Tis found beneath the Mercy Seat.\n\n  2 There is a place where Jesus sheds\n  The oil of gladness on our heads,\n  A place than all besides more sweet--\n  It is the blood-bought Mercy Seat.\n\n  3 There is a scene where spirits blend,\n  Where friend holds fellowship with friend;\n  Though sundered far, by faith they meet\n  Around one common Mercy Seat.\n\n  4 Ah! whither could we flee for aid,\n  When tempted, desolate, dismayed;\n  Or how the host of hell defeat,\n  Had suffering souls no Mercy Seat?\n\n  5 There! there on eagle wings we soar,\n  And sin and sense seem all no more,\n  And heaven comes down our souls to greet,\n  And glory crowns the Mercy Seat!\n\n  6 O let my hand forget her skill,\n  My tongue be silent cold and still,\n  This bounding heart forget to beat,\n  Ere I forget the Mercy Seat!\n\n\n548                                                              L. M.\n                     This is the gate of heaven.\n                                   Gen. 28:17.\n\n  How sweet to leave the world awhile\n    And seek the presence of our Lord!\n  Dear Saviour! on thy people smile,\n    And come according to thy word.\n\n  2 From busy scenes we now retreat,\n    That we may here converse with thee:\n  Ah! Lord! behold us at thy feet--\n    Let this the \"gate of heaven\" be.\n\n  3 \"Chief of ten thousand!\" now appear,\n    That we by faith may see thy face:\n  O! grant that we thy voice may hear,\n    And let thy presence fill this place.\n\n\n549                                                              L. M.\n                       For a business meeting.\n\n  Benignant God of love and power,\n  Be with us in this solemn hour;\n  Smile on our souls; our plans approve,\n  By which we seek to spread thy love.\n\n  2 Let each discordant thought be gone,\n  And love unite our hearts in one;\n  Let all we have and are combine\n  To forward objects so divine.\n\n\n550                                                              L. M.\n                           Hour of prayer.\n\n  Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer,\n  That calls me from a world of care,\n  And bids me at my Father's throne,\n  Make all my wants and wishes known!\n  In seasons of distress and grief,\n  My soul has often found relief,\n  And oft escaped the tempter's snare,\n  By thy return, sweet hour of prayer.\n\n  2 Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer!\n  The joy I feel, the bliss I share,\n  Of those whose anxious spirits burn\n  With strong desires for thy return.\n  With such I hasten to the place\n  Where God my Saviour shows his face,\n  And gladly take my station there,\n  And wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer.\n\n  3 Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer!\n  Thy wings shall my petition bear\n  To him whose truth and faithfulness\n  Engage the waiting soul to bless;\n  And since he bids me seek his face,\n  Believe his word and trust his grace,\n  I'll cast on him my every care,\n  And wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer.\n\n\n551                                                              L. M.\n                            Isaiah 57:15.\n\n  Jesus, where'er thy people meet,\n  There they behold thy mercy-seat;\n  Where'er they seek thee, thou art found;\n  And every place is hallowed ground.\n\n  2 For thou, within no walls confined,\n  Inhabitest the humble mind;\n  Such ever bring thee where they come,\n  And, going, take thee to their home.\n\n  3 Dear Shepherd of thy chosen few,\n  Thy former mercies here renew;\n  Here to our waiting hearts proclaim\n  The sweetness of thy saving name.\n\n  4 Here may we prove the power of prayer\n  To strengthen faith and banish care;\n  To teach our faint desires to rise,\n  And bring all heaven before our eyes.\n\n\n552                                                              L. M.\n                             There am I.\n                                   Matt. 18:20.\n\n  Where two or three, with sweet accord,\n  Obedient to their sovereign Lord,\n  Meet to recount his acts of grace,\n  And offer solemn prayer and praise;\n\n  2 \"There,\" says the Saviour, \"will I be,\n  Amid the little company;\n  To them unvail my smiling face,\n  And shed my glories round the place.\"\n\n  3 We meet at thy command, O Lord,\n  Relying on thy faithful word;\n  Be present in each waiting heart,\n  And strength and heavenly peace impart.\n\n\n553                                                              L. M.\n                    No other friend can I desire.\n\n  My precious Lord, for thy dear name\n  I bear the cross, despise the shame;\n  Nor do I faint while thou art near;\n  I lean on thee, how can I fear?\n\n  2 No other name but thine is given\n  To cheer my soul in earth or heaven;\n  No other wealth will I require:\n  No other friend can I desire.\n\n  3 Yea, into nothing would I fall\n  For thee alone, my All in All;\n  To feel thy love, my only joy;\n  To tell thy love, my sole employ.\n\n\n554                                                              L. M.\n                         Christ, all in all.\n                                    Col. 3:11.\n\n  O thou pure light of souls that love,\n    True joy of every human breast,\n  Sower of life's immortal seed,\n    Our Saviour and Redeemer blest!\n\n  2 Be thou our guide, be thou our goal;\n    Be thou our pathway to the skies;\n  Our joy when sorrow fills the soul;\n    In death our everlasting prize.\n\n\n555                                                              L. M.\n                          The tranquil hour.\n\n  Thou, Saviour, from thy throne on high,\n    Enrobed with light, and girt with power,\n  Dost note the thought, the prayer, the sigh,\n    Of hearts that love the tranquil hour.\n\n  2 Oft thou thyself didst steal away,\n    At eventide, from labor done,\n  In some still peaceful shade to pray,\n    Till morning watches were begun.\n\n  3 Thou hast not, dearest Lord, forgot\n    Thy wrestlings on Judea's hills;\n  And still thou lovest the quiet spot\n    Where praise the lowly spirit fills.\n\n  4 Now to our souls, withdrawn awhile\n    From earth's rude noise, thy face reveal,\n  And, as we worship, kindly smile,\n    And for thine own our spirits seal.\n\n  5 To thee we bring each grief and care,\n    To thee we fly while tempests lower;\n  Thou wilt the weary burdens bear\n    Of hearts that love the tranquil hour.\n\n\n556                                                              L. M.\n                        Exhortation to prayer.\n\n  What various hindrances we meet\n  In coming to a mercy-seat!\n  Yet who, that knows the worth of prayer,\n  But wishes to be often there?\n\n  2 Prayer makes the darkened clouds withdraw;\n  Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw,\n  Gives exercise to faith and love,\n  Brings every blessing from above.\n\n  3 Restraining prayer, we cease to fight;\n  Prayer makes the Christian's armor bright;\n  And Satan trembles, when he sees\n  The weakest saint upon his knees.\n\n  4 Have you no words? Ah, think again;\n  Words flow apace when we complain,\n  And fill a fellow-creature's ear\n  With the sad tale of all our care.\n\n  5 Were half the breath thus vainly spent,\n  To heaven in supplication sent,\n  Our cheerful song would oftener be,\n  \"Hear what the Lord has done for me!\"\n\n\n557                                                              L. M.\n                They that believe do enter into rest.\n                                    Heb. 4:3.\n\n  My only Saviour! when I feel\n    O'erwhelmed in spirit, faint, oppressed,\n  'Tis sweet to tell thee, while I kneel\n    Low at thy feet, thou art my rest.\n\n  2 I'm weary of the strife within;\n    Strong powers against my soul contest;\n  O, let me turn from self and sin,\n    To thy dear cross, for there is rest!\n\n  3 O! sweet will be the welcome day,\n    When from her toils and woes released,\n  My parting soul in death shall say,\n    \"Now, Lord! I come to thee for rest.\"\n\n\n558                                                              C. M.\n                       Prayer for contentment.\n\n  Father, whate'er of earthly bliss\n    Thy sovereign will denies,\n  Accepted at thy throne of grace,\n    Let this petition rise:\n\n  2 Give me a calm, a thankful heart,\n    From every murmur free;\n  The blessings of thy grace impart,\n    And make me live to thee.\n\n  3 Let the sweet hope that thou art mine,\n    My life, and death attend;\n  Thy presence through my journey shine,\n    And crown my journey's end.\n\n\n559                                                              C. M.\n                           Tempest-tossed.\n\n  O Jesus, Saviour of the lost,\n    My Rock and Hiding-place,\n  By storms of sin and sorrow tost,\n    I seek thy sheltering grace.\n\n  2 Guilty, forgive me, Lord! I cry;\n    Pursued by foes, I come;\n  A sinner, save me, or I die;\n    An outcast, take me home.\n\n  3 Once safe in thine almighty arms,\n    Let storms come on amain;\n  There danger never, never harms;\n    There death itself is gain.\n\n  4 And when I stand before thy throne\n    And all thy glory see,\n  Still be my righteousness alone\n    To hide myself in thee.\n\n\n560                                                              C. M.\n                          Thy will be done.\n\n  How sweet to be allowed to pray\n    To God, the Holy One;\n  With filial love and trust to say,\n    \"O God, thy will be done.\"\n\n  2 We in these sacred words can find\n    A cure for every ill;\n  They calm and soothe the troubled mind,\n    And bid all care be still.\n\n  3 O let that Will which gave me breath,\n    And an immortal soul,\n  In joy or grief, in life or death,\n    My every wish control.\n\n  4 O, could my heart thus ever pray,\n    Thus imitate thy Son!\n  Teach me, O God, with truth to say,\n    Thy will, not mine, be done.\n\n\n561                                                              C. M.\n                Sanctify the Lord God in your hearts.\n                                   1 Pet 3:15.\n\n  While thee I seek, protecting Power,\n    Be my vain wishes stilled;\n  And may this consecrated hour\n    With better hopes be filled.\n\n  2 Thy love the power of thought bestowed;\n    To thee my thoughts would soar;\n  Thy mercy o'er my life has flowed;\n    That mercy I adore.\n\n  3 In each event of life, how clear\n    Thy ruling hand I see!\n  Each blessing to my soul more dear,\n    Because conferred by thee.\n\n  4 In every joy that crowns my days,\n    In every pain I bear,\n  My heart shall find delight in praise,\n    Or seek relief in prayer.\n\n  5 When gladness wings my favored hour,\n    Thy love my thoughts shall fill;\n  Resigned, when storms of sorrow lower,\n    My soul shall meet thy will.\n\n  6 My lifted eye, without a tear,\n    The gathering storm shall see;\n  My steadfast heart shall banish fear;\n    That heart shall rest on thee.\n\n\n562                                                              C. M.\n                      Retirement and meditation.\n\n  I love to steal awhile away\n    From every cumbering care,\n  And spend the hours of setting day\n    In humble, grateful prayer.\n\n  2 I love in solitude to shed\n    The penitential tear;\n  And all his promises to plead,\n    Where none but God can hear.\n\n  3 I love to think on mercies past,\n    And future good implore,\n  And all my cares and sorrows cast\n    On him whom I adore.\n\n  4 I love, by faith, to take a view\n    Of brighter scenes in heaven;\n  The prospect doth my strength renew,\n    While here by tempests driven.\n\n  5 Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er,\n    May its departing ray\n  Be calm as this impressive hour,\n    And lead to endless day.\n\n\n563                                                              C. M.\n                       My Saviour died for me.\n\n  Thou art my hiding-place, O Lord,\n    In thee I fix my trust,\n  Encouraged by thy holy word,\n    A feeble child of dust.\n\n  2 I have no argument beside,\n    I urge no other plea,\n  And 'tis enough--the Saviour died,\n    The Saviour died for me.\n\n  3 When storms of fierce temptation beat,\n    And furious foes assail,\n  My refuge is the mercy-seat,\n    My hope within the vail.\n\n  4 From strife of tongues and bitter words,\n    My spirit flies to thee;\n  Joy to my heart the thought affords--\n    My Saviour died for me.\n\n  5 And when thy awful voice commands\n    This body to decay,\n  And life, in its last lingering sands,\n    Is ebbing fast away--\n\n  6 Then, though it be in accents weak,\n    My voice shall call on thee,\n  And ask for strength in death to speak--\n    \"My Saviour died for me.\"\n\n\n564                                                              C. M.\n                          Let us draw near.\n                                   Heb. 10:22.\n\n  Approach, my soul, the mercy-seat,\n    Where Jesus answers prayer;\n  There humbly fall before his feet,\n    For none can perish there.\n\n  2 Thy promise is my only plea,\n    With this I venture nigh;\n  Thou callest burdened souls to thee,\n    And such, O Lord, am I.\n\n  3 Bowed down beneath a load of sin,\n    By Satan sorely pressed,\n  By war without, and fear within,\n    I come to thee for rest.\n\n  4 Be thou my shield and hiding-place;\n    That, sheltered near thy side,\n  I may my fierce accuser face,\n    And tell him, \"Thou hast died.\"\n\n  5 O, wondrous love, to bleed and die,\n    To bear the cross and shame,\n  That guilty sinners, such as I,\n    Might plead thy gracious name!\n\n\n565                                                              C. M.\n                               Prayer.\n\n  Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,\n    Unuttered or expressed;\n  The motion of a hidden fire\n    That trembles in the breast.\n\n  2 Prayer is the burden of a sigh,\n    The falling of a tear;\n  The upward glancing of an eye\n    When none but God is near.\n\n  3 Prayer is the simplest form of speech\n    That infant lips can try;\n  Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach\n    The Majesty on high.\n\n  4 Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,\n    Returning from his ways,\n  While angels in their songs rejoice,\n    And say--\"Behold he prays.\"\n\n  5 Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,\n    The Christian's native air,\n  His watchword at the gate of death;\n    He enters heaven with prayer.\n\n\n566                                                              C. M.\n                 Filled with all the fullness of God.\n\n  O Lord, I would delight in thee,\n    And on thy care depend;\n  To thee in every trouble flee,\n    My best, my only Friend.\n\n  2 When all created streams are dried,\n    Thy fullness is the same;\n  May I with this be satisfied,\n    And glory in thy name!\n\n  3 No good in creatures can be found,\n    But what is found in thee:\n  I must have all things and abound\n    While God is God to me.\n\n  4 O that I had a stronger faith,\n    To look within the vail--\n  To credit what my Saviour saith,\n    Whose word can never fail.\n\n  5 He who has made my heaven secure,\n    Will here all good provide:\n  While Christ is rich, can I be poor?\n    What can I want beside?\n\n  6 O Lord, I cast my care on thee;\n    I triumph and adore:\n  Henceforth my great concern shall be\n    To love and please thee more.\n\n\n567                                                              S. M.\n                    Ask and it shall be given you.\n                                    Luke 11:9.\n\n  Jesus, my strength, my hope,\n    On thee I cast my care,\n  With humble confidence look up,\n    And know thou hearest my prayer.\n\n  2 Give me on thee to wait\n    Till I can all things do;\n  On thee, almighty to create,\n    Almighty to renew.\n\n  3 I want a sober mind,\n    A self-renouncing will,\n  That tramples down, and casts behind,\n    The baits of pleasing ill;\n\n  4 A soul inured to pain,\n    To hardships, grief, and loss;\n  Bold to take up, firm to sustain\n    The consecrated cross;\n\n  5 I want a godly fear,\n    A quick-discerning eye,\n  That looks to thee when sin is near,\n    And sees the tempter fly;\n\n  6 A spirit still prepared,\n    And armed with jealous care,\n  For ever standing on its guard,\n    And watching unto prayer.\n\n\n568                                                           S. M. D.\n                       Opening prayer meeting.\n\n  It is the hour of prayer:\n    Draw near and bend the knee,\n  And fill the calm and holy air\n    With voice of melody!\n  O'erwearied with the heat\n    And burden of the day,\n  Now let us rest our wandering feet,\n    And gather here to pray.\n\n  2 O, blessed is the hour\n    That lifts our hearts on high!\n  Like sunlight when the tempests lower,\n    Prayer to the soul is nigh;\n  Though dark may be our lot,\n    Our eyes be dim with care,\n  These saddening thoughts shall trouble not\n    This holy hour of prayer.\n\n\n569                                                           C. H. M.\n                          Come, let us pray.\n\n  Come, let us pray; 'tis sweet to feel\n    That God himself is near;\n  That while we at his footstool kneel,\n    His mercy deigns to hear:\n  Though sorrows cloud life's dreary way,\n  This is our solace--let us pray.\n\n  2 Come, let us pray: the burning brow,\n    The heart oppressed with care,\n  And all the woes that throng us now,\n    Will be relieved by prayer:\n  Jesus will smile our griefs away;\n  O, glorious thought!--come! let us pray.\n\n  3 Come, let us pray: the mercy-seat\n    Invites the fervent prayer,\n  And Jesus ready stands to greet\n    The contrite spirit there:\n  O, loiter not, nor longer stay\n  From him who loves us; let us pray.\n\n\n570                                                              S. M.\n                        Invitation to prayer.\n\n  Come to the house of prayer,\n    O thou afflicted, come;\n  The God of peace shall meet thee there;\n    He makes that house his home.\n\n  2 Come to the house of praise,\n    Ye who are happy now;\n  In sweet accord your voices raise,\n    In kindred homage bow.\n\n  3 Ye aged, hither come,\n    For you have felt his love;\n  Soon shall your trembling tongues be dumb,\n    Your lips forget to move.\n\n  4 Ye young, before his throne\n    Come, bow; your voices raise;\n  Let not your hearts his praise disown\n    Who gives the power to praise.\n\n  5 Thou, whose benignant eye\n    In mercy looks on all--\n  Who seest the tear of misery,\n    And hearest the mourner's call--\n\n  6 Up to thy dwelling-place\n    Bear our frail spirits on,\n  Till they outstrip time's tardy pace,\n    And heaven on earth be won.\n\n\n571                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                           Heavenly places.\n\n  If 'tis sweet to mingle where\n  Christians meet for social prayer;\n  If 'tis sweet with them to raise\n  Songs of holy joy and praise--\n    Passing sweet that state must be,\n    Where they meet eternally.\n\n  2 Saviour, may these meetings prove\n  Antepasts to that above;\n  While we worship in this place,\n  May we go from grace to grace,\n    Till we each, in his degree,\n    Fit for endless glory be.\n\n\n572                                                                7s.\n                        Deliver us from evil.\n\n  Heavenly Father! to whose eye\n  Future things unfolded lie;\n  Through the desert when I stray\n  Let thy counsels guide my way.\n\n  2 Lord! uphold me day by day;\n  Shed a light upon my way;\n  Guide me through perplexing snares,\n  Care for me in all my cares.\n\n  3 Should thy wisdom, Lord, decree\n  Trials long and sharp for me,\n  Pain, or sorrow, care or shame--\n  Father! glorify thy name.\n\n  4 Let me neither faint nor fear,\n  Feeling still that thou art near;\n  In the course my Saviour trod,\n  Tending home to thee, my God.\n\n\n573                                                                7s.\n                      God is present everywhere.\n\n  They who seek the throne of grace\n  Find that throne in every place;\n  If we live a life of prayer,\n  God is present everywhere.\n\n  2 In our sickness and our health,\n  In our want, or in our wealth,\n  If we look to God in prayer,\n  God is present everywhere.\n\n  3 When our earthly comforts fail,\n  When the woes of life prevail,\n  'Tis the time for earnest prayer;\n  God is present everywhere.\n\n  4 Then, my soul, in every strait,\n  To thy Father come, and wait;\n  He will answer every prayer;\n  God is present everywhere.\n\n\n574                                                                7s.\n                  Lift the heart, and bend the knee.\n\n  Child, amid the flowers at play,\n  While the red light fades away;\n  Mother, with thine earnest eye\n  Ever following silently;\n\n  2 Father, by the breeze of eve,\n  Called thy daily toil to leave;\n  Pray! ere yet the dark hours be,\n  Lift the heart, and bend the knee!\n\n  3 Traveler in the stranger's land,\n  Far from thine own household band;\n  Mourner, haunted by the tone\n  Of a voice from this world gone;\n\n  4 Captive, in whose narrow cell\n  Sunshine hath not leave to dwell;\n  Sailor, on the darkening sea,\n  Lift the heart, and bend the knee!\n\n  5 Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,\n  Kindred by one holy tie,\n  Heaven's first star alike ye see;\n  Lift the heart, and bend the knee!\n\n\n575                                                                7s.\n                           Lead me, O Lord.\n\n  Shepherd of thy little flock,\n  Lead me to the shadowing rock,\n  Where the richest pasture grows;\n  Where the living water flows;\n\n  2 By that pure and silent stream,\n  Sheltered from the scorching beam;\n  Shepherd, Saviour, Guardian, Guide,\n  Keep me ever near thy side.\n\n\n576                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                     Draw near with a true heart.\n                                   Heb. 10:22.\n\n  Holy Lord, our hearts prepare\n  For the solemn work of prayer;\n  Grant that while we bend the knee,\n  All our thoughts may turn to thee;\n  Let thy presence here be found,\n  Breathing peace and joy around.\n\n  2 Lord, when we approach thy throne,\n  Make thy power and glory known:\n  Thus may we be taught to call\n  Humbly on the Lord of all,\n  And with reverence and fear,\n  At thy footstool to appear.\n\n  3 Teach us, as we breathe our woes,\n  On thy promise to repose;\n  All thy tender love to trace\n  In the Saviour's work of grace;\n  And with confidence depend\n  On a gracious God and Friend.\n\n\n577                                                                7s.\n               The Lord make his face shine upon thee.\n                                    Num. 6:25.\n\n  Stealing from the world away,\n    We are come to seek thy face;\n  Kindly meet us, Lord, we pray,\n    Grant us thy reviving grace.\n\n  2 Yonder stars that gild the sky,\n    Shine but with a borrowed light:\n  We, unless thy light be nigh,\n    Wander, wrapt in gloomy night.\n\n  3 Sun of Righteousness! dispel\n    All our darkness, doubts and fears;\n  May thy light within us dwell,\n    Till eternal day appears.\n\n\n578                                                        7s, double.\n                     Hear us when to thee we cry.\n\n  Saviour, when in dust to thee\n  Low we bow th' adoring knee:\n  When repentant, to the skies\n  Scarce we lift our streaming eyes;\n  O, by all thy pains and woe,\n  Suffered once for man below,\n  Bending from thy throne on high,\n  Hear us when to thee we cry.\n\n  2 By thy birth and early years,\n  By thy human griefs and fears,\n  By thy fasting and distress\n  In the lonely wilderness;\n  By thy victory in the hour\n  Of the subtle tempter's power;\n  Jesus look with pitying eye,\n  Hear our humble, earnest cry.\n\n  3 By thine hour of dark despair,\n  By thine agony of prayer,\n  By thy purple robe of scorn,\n  By thy wounds, thy crown of thorn,\n  By thy cross, thy pangs and cries,\n  By thy perfect sacrifice;\n  Jesus, look with pitying eye,\n  Listen to our humble cry.\n\n  4 By thy deep expiring groan,\n  By thy sealed sepulchral stone,\n  By thy triumph o'er the grave,\n  By thy power from death to save:\n  Dying, risen, ascended, Lord,\n  To thy throne in heaven restored,\n  Bending from thy throne on high,\n  Hear us when to thee we cry.\n\n\n579                                                           7s & 6s.\n                      Evening, and morning, etc.\n                                   Psalm 55:17.\n\n  Go, when the morning shineth,\n    Go, when the moon is bright,\n  Go, when the eve declineth,\n    Go, in the hush of night;\n  Go with pure mind and feeling,\n    Put earthly thoughts away,\n  And in God's presence kneeling,\n    Do thou in secret pray.\n\n  2 Remember all who love thee,\n    All who are loved by thee;\n  Pray, too, for those who hate thee,\n    If any such there be;\n  Then for thyself, in meekness,\n    A blessing humbly claim;\n  And blend with each petition\n    Thy great Redeemer's name.\n\n  3 Or, if 'tis e'er denied thee\n    In solitude to pray,\n  Should holy thoughts come o'er thee,\n    When friends are round thy way,\n  E'en then, the silent breathing\n    Thy spirit lifts above,\n  Will reach his throne of glory,\n    Where dwells eternal love.\n\n\n580                                                           6s & 5s.\n                      After this manner pray ye.\n                                    Matt. 6:9.\n\n  Our Father in heaven,\n    We hallow thy name!\n  May thy kingdom holy\n    On earth be the same!\n  O give to us daily,\n    Our portion of bread;\n  It is from thy bounty\n    That all must be fed.\n\n  2 Forgive our transgressions,\n    And teach us to know\n  That humble compassion\n    That pardons each foe;\n  Keep us from temptation,\n    From weakness and sin,\n  And thine be the glory\n    For ever--Amen!\n\n\n581                                                           8s & 4s.\n                         The hour of prayer.\n\n  My God! is any hour so sweet,\n    From blush of morn to evening star,\n  As that which calls me to thy feet--\n    The hour of prayer?\n\n  2 Blest is the tranquil hour of morn,\n    And blest that hour of solemn eve,\n  When, on the wings of prayer up-borne,\n    The world I leave.\n\n  3 Then is my strength by thee renewed;\n    Then are my sins by thee forgiven;\n  Then dost thou cheer my solitude\n    With hopes of heaven.\n\n  4 No words can tell what sweet relief\n    There for my every want I find;\n  What strength for warfare, balm for grief,\n    What peace of mind!\n\n  5 Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear;\n    My spirit seems in heaven to stay;\n  And e'en the penitential tear\n    Is wiped away.\n\n  6 Lord! till I reach that blissful shore,\n    No privilege so dear shall be\n  As thus my inmost soul to pour\n    In prayer to thee.\n\n\n582                                                           C. P. M.\n                   Casting all your care upon him.\n                                   1 Pet. 5:7.\n\n  O Lord! how happy should we be,\n  If we could leave our cares to thee,\n    If we from self could rest,\n  And feel at heart that One above,\n  In perfect wisdom, perfect love,\n    Is working for the best.\n\n  2 For when we kneel and cast our care\n  Upon our God in humble prayer,\n    With strengthened souls we rise;\n  Sure that our Father, who is nigh\n  To hear the ravens when they cry,\n    Will hear his children's cries.\n\n  3 O! would these restless hearts of ours\n  The lesson learn from birds and flowers,\n    And learn from self to cease;\n  Leave all things to our Father's will,\n  And in his mercy trusting still,\n    Find in each trial, peace.\n\n\n583                                                               11s.\n                         Faint, yet pursuing.\n                                   Judges 8:4.\n\n  Though faint, yet pursuing, we go on our way;\n  The Lord is our Leader, his Word is our stay;\n  Though suffering, and sorrow, and trial, be near,\n  The Lord is our refuge, and whom can we fear?\n\n  2 He raiseth the fallen, he cheereth the faint;\n  The weak and oppressed, he will hear their complaint;\n  The way may be weary, and thorny the road,\n  But how can we falter? our help is in God.\n\n  3 And to his green pastures our footsteps he leads;\n  His flock in the desert, how kindly he feeds!\n  The lambs in his bosom he tenderly bears,\n  And brings back the wanderers all safe from the snares.\n\n  4 Though clouds may surround us, our God is our light;\n  Though storms rage around us, our God is our might;\n  So faint, yet pursuing, still onward we come;\n  The Lord is our Leader, and heaven is our home.\n\n\n584                                                         11s & 10s.\n                         For divine strength.\n\n  Father, in thy mysterious presence kneeling,\n    Fain would our souls feel all thy kindling love,\n  For we are weak, and need some deep revealing\n    Of trust, and strength, and calmness, from above.\n\n  2 Lord, we have wandered forth thro' doubt and sorrow,\n    And thou hast made each step an onward one;\n  And we will ever trust each unknown morrow--\n    Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done.\n\n  3 In the heart's depths, a peace serene and holy\n    Abides, and when pain seems to have her will,\n  Or we despair--O may that peace rise slowly,\n    Stronger than agony, and we be still.\n\n  4 Now, Father, now, in thy dear presence kneeling,\n    Our spirits yearn to feel thy kindling love:\n  Now make us strong, we need thy deep revealing\n    Of trust, and strength, and calmness, from above.\n\n\n585                                                               11s.\n                         The house of prayer.\n\n  How honored, how dear, is that sacred abode,\n  Where Christians draw near to their Father and God:\n  'Mid worldly commotion my wearied soul faints\n  For the house of devotion, the home of thy saints.\n\n  2 Thou hearer of prayer, O still grant me a place\n  Where Christians repair to the courts of thy grace,\n  More blest beyond measure one day so employed,\n  Than years of vain pleasure by worldlings enjoyed.\n\n  3 Me more would it please keeping post at thy gate,\n  Than lying at ease in the chambers of state;\n  The meanest condition outshines with thy smiles,\n  The pomp of ambition, the world with its wiles.\n\n  4 The Lord is a Sun, and the Lord is a Shield:\n  What grace has begun, will with glory be sealed;\n  He hears the distressed, he succors the just,\n  And they shall be blessed who make him their trust.\n\n\n586                                                         11s & 10s.\n                        Come ye disconsolate.\n\n  Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish,\n    Come, at the shrine of God fervently kneel;\n  Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish;\n    Earth has no sorrow that heaven can not heal.\n\n  2 Joy of the desolate, light of the straying,\n    Hope of the penitent, fadeless and pure!\n  Here speaks the Comforter, tenderly saying,\n    Earth has no sorrow that heaven can not cure.\n\n  3 Here see the bread of life; see waters flowing\n    Forth from the throne of God, pure from above:\n  Come to the feast of love; come, ever-knowing,\n    Earth has no sorrow but heaven can remove.\n\n\n587                                                              P. M.\n                    Hear, Father, hear our prayer.\n\n      Hear, Father, hear our prayer!\n  Thou who art pity where sorrow prevaileth,\n  Thou who art safety when mortal help faileth,\n  Strength to the feeble and hope to despair,\n      Hear, Father, hear our prayer!\n\n      2 Hear, Father, hear our prayer!\n  Wandering alone in the land of the stranger,\n  Be with all travelers in sickness or danger,\n  Guard thou their path, guide their feet from the snare:\n      Hear, Father, hear our prayer!\n\n      3 Hear thou the poor that cry!\n  Feed thou the hungry and lighten their sorrow,\n  Grant them the sunshine of hope for the morrow;\n  They are thy children, their trust is on high:\n      Hear thou the poor that cry!\n\n      4 Dry thou the mourner's tear!\n  Heal thou the wounds of time-hallowed affection;\n  Grant to the widow and orphan protection;\n  Be, in their trouble, a friend ever near;\n      Dry thou the mourner's tear!\n\n      5 Hear, Father, hear our prayer!\n  Long hath thy goodness our footsteps attended;\n  Be with the pilgrim whose journey is ended:\n  When at thy summons for death we prepare,\n      Hear, Father, hear our prayer!\n\n\n588                                                           11s & 5.\n                       Prayer of the contrite.\n\n  From the recesses of a lowly spirit,\n  Our humble prayer ascends; O Father! hear it,\n  Upsoaring on the wings of awe and meekness;\n      Forgive its weakness!\n\n  2 We see thy hand: it leads us, it supports us;\n  We hear thy voice: it counsels and it courts us:\n  And then we turn away; and still thy kindness\n      Forgives our blindness.\n\n  3 O, how long-suffering, Lord! but thou delightest\n  To win with love the wandering; thou invitest,\n  By smiles of mercy, not by frowns or terrors,\n      Man from his errors.\n\n  4 Father and Saviour! plant within each bosom\n  The seeds of holiness, and bid them blossom\n  In fragrance and in beauty bright and vernal,\n      And spring eternal.\n\n\n589                                                         11s & 10s.\n                    Strengthened with might, etc.\n                                    Eph 3:16.\n\n  Father, to us thy children, humbly kneeling,\n    Conscious of weakness, ignorance, sin and shame,\n  Give such a force of holy thought and feeling,\n    That we may live to glorify thy name;\n\n  2 That we may conquer base desire and passion,\n    That we may rise from selfish thought and will,\n  O'ercome the world's allurement, threat and fashion,\n    Walk humbly, gently, leaning on thee still.\n\n  3 Let all thy loving kindness which attends us,\n    Let all thy mercy on our souls be sealed;\n  Lord, if thou wilt, thy saving power can cleanse us;\n    O, speak the word! thy servants shall be healed.\n\n\n590                                                              P. M.\n                           Lead thou me on.\n\n  Shed kindly light amid the encircling gloom,\n      And lead me on!\n  The night is dark, and I am far from home,\n      Lead thou me on!\n  Keep thou my feet: I do not ask to see\n  The distant scene: one step enough for me.\n\n  2 I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou\n      Shouldst lead me on!\n  I loved to choose and see my path; but now,\n      Lead thou me on!\n  I loved day's dazzling light, and spite of fears\n  Pride ruled my will: remember not past years!\n\n  3 So long thy power hath blessed me, surely still\n      'Twill lead me on!\n  Through dreary doubt, through pain and sorrow, till\n      The night is gone!\n  And with the morn those angel faces smile\n  Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.\n\n\n\n\n                   ITS GROWTH AND FUTURE TRIUMPHS.\n\n\n591                                                              L. M.\n                     Put on thy strength, O Zion.\n                                   Isaiah 52:1.\n\n  Triumphant Zion! lift thy head\n  From dust, and darkness, and the dead!\n  Though humbled long--awake at length,\n  And gird thee with thy Saviour's strength.\n\n  2 Put all thy beauteous garments on,\n  And let thy excellence be known;\n  Decked in the robes of righteousness,\n  The world thy glories shall confess.\n\n  3 No more shall foes unclean invade,\n  And fill thy hallowed walls with dread:\n  No more shall hell's insulting host\n  Their victory and thy sorrows boast.\n\n  4 God, from on high, has heard thy prayer;\n  His hand thy ruins shall repair;\n  Nor will thy watchful Monarch cease\n  To guard thee in eternal peace.\n\n\n592                                                              L. M.\n                     All nations shall serve him.\n                                   Psalm 72:11.\n\n  Eternal Lord! from land to land\n    Shall echo thine all-glorious name,\n  Till kingdoms bow at thy command,\n    And every lip thy praise proclaim.\n\n  2 Exalted high, on every shore,\n    The banner of the cross unfurled,\n  Shall summon thousands to adore\n    The Saviour of a ransomed world.\n\n  3 Thousands shall join thy pilgrim band,\n    And, by that sacred standard led,\n  Press forward to Immanuel's land,\n    Nor fear the thorny path to tread.\n\n  4 Triumphant over every foe,\n    Their ransomed hosts shall move along\n  To that blest world, where sin and woe\n    Shall never mingle with their song.\n\n\n593                                                              L. M.\n                    Put on thy beautiful garments.\n                                   Isaiah 52:1.\n\n  Zion, awake! thy strength renew;\n    Put on thy robes of beauteous hue;\n  Church of our God, arise and shine,\n    Bright with the beams of truth divine.\n\n  2 Soon shall thy radiance stream afar,\n    Wide as the heathen nations are;\n  Gentiles and kings thy light shall view;\n    All shall admire and love thee too.\n\n\n594                                                              C. M.\n                          Zion's prospects.\n\n  Let Zion and her sons rejoice;\n    Behold the promised hour;\n  Her God hath heard her mourning voice,\n    And comes t' exalt his power.\n\n  2 Her dust and ruins, that remain,\n    Are precious in his eyes;\n  Those ruins shall be built again,\n    And all that dust shall rise.\n\n  3 The Lord will raise Jerusalem,\n    And stand in glory there;\n  All nations bow before his name,\n    And kings attend with fear.\n\n  4 He frees the soul condemned to death;\n    Nor, when his saints complain,\n  Shall it be said that praying breath\n    Was ever spent in vain.\n\n  5 This shall be known when we are dead,\n    And left on long record,\n  That ages yet unborn may read\n    And praise and trust the Lord.\n\n\n595                                                              C. M.\n                              Isaiah 62.\n\n  For Zion's sake I will not rest,\n    I will not hold my peace\n  Until Jerusalem be blest,\n    And Judah dwell at ease;\n\n  2 Until her righteousness return,\n    As daybreak after night--\n  The lamp of her salvation burn\n    With everlasting light.\n\n  3 The Gentiles shall her glory see,\n    And kings declare her fame;\n  Appointed unto her shall be\n    A new and holy name.\n\n  4 The watchmen on her walls appear,\n    And day and night proclaim,\n  \"Zion's Deliverer is near;\n    Make mention of his name.\"\n\n  5 Go through, go through, prepare the way,\n    The gates wide open fling;\n  With loudest voice let heralds say,\n    \"Behold thy coming King.\"\n\n\n596                                                              C. M.\n                           Christ's Church.\n                                 Canticles 6:10.\n\n  Say, who is she that looks abroad\n    Like the sweet, blushing dawn,\n  When with her living light she paints\n    The dew-drops of the lawn?\n\n  2 Fair as the moon when in the skies\n    Serene her throne she guides,\n  And o'er the twinkling stars supreme\n    In full orbed glory rides;\n\n  3 Clear as the sun, when from the east,\n    Without a cloud he springs,\n  And scatters boundless light and heat,\n    From his resplendent wings.\n\n  4 Tremendous as a host that moves\n    Majestically slow,\n  With banners wide displayed, all armed,\n    And fearless of the foe!\n\n  5 This is the church by heaven arrayed\n    With strength and grace divine;\n  Thus shall she strike her foes with dread,\n    And thus her glories shine.\n\n\n597                                                              C. M.\n                   All nations shall flow unto it.\n                                   Isaiah 2:2.\n\n  Behold the mountain of the Lord\n    In latter days shall rise,\n  On mountain tops above the hills,\n    And draw the wondering eyes.\n\n  2 To this the joyful nations round,\n    All tribes and tongues shall flow;\n  Up to the hill of God, they'll say,\n    And to his house we'll go!\n\n  3 The beam that shines from Zion hill\n    Shall lighten every land!\n  The King who reigns in Salem's towers,\n    Shall all the world command.\n\n  4 No strife shall vex Messiah's reign,\n    Or mar the peaceful years,\n  To plowshares men shall beat their swords,\n    To pruning-hooks their spears.\n\n  5 No longer hosts encountering hosts,\n    Their millions slain deplore;\n  They hang the trumpet in the hall,\n    And study war no more.\n\n  6 Come, then--O come from every land,\n    To worship at his shrine;\n  And, walking in the light of God,\n    With holy beauties shine.\n\n\n598                                                              P. M.\n                     We look for thine appearing.\n\n  Come, O thou mighty Saviour,\n    We look for thine appearing;\n      Descend, we pray,\n      Thy love display,\n  Our waiting spirits cheering.\n\n  2 Come, clothed with glorious power;\n    Let all thy saints adore thee,\n      And let thy word,\n      The Spirit's sword,\n  Subdue thy foes before thee.\n\n  3 May every heart with gladness,\n    Thine offered grace receiving,\n      Now cease from sin,\n      And pure within,\n  Have peace, in thee believing.\n\n  4 Then, when thou comest to judgment,\n    On flying clouds descending,\n      May we rejoice\n      When, at thy voice,\n  The solid earth is rending.\n\n\n599                                                                7s.\n               I, the Lord, will hasten it in his time.\n                                  Isaiah 60:22.\n\n  Hasten, Lord! the glorious time,\n    When, beneath Messiah's sway,\n  Every nation, every clime,\n    Shall the gospel call obey.\n\n  2 Mightiest kings his power shall own,\n    Heathen tribes his name adore;\n  Satan and his host, o'erthrown,\n    Bound in chains shall hurt no more.\n\n  3 Then shall wars and tumults cease,\n    Then be banished grief and pain;\n  Righteousness, and joy, and peace,\n    Undisturbed shall ever reign.\n\n  4 Bless we, then, our gracious Lord!\n    Ever praise his glorious name;\n  All his mighty acts record,\n    All his wondrous love proclaim.\n\n\n600                                                        7s, double.\n                              Rev. 19:6.\n\n  Hark! the song of Jubilee,\n    Loud as mighty thunders roar,\n  Or the fullness of the sea,\n    When it breaks upon the shore!\n  Hallelujah! for the Lord\n    God omnipotent, shall reign!\n  Hallelujah! let the word\n    Echo round the earth and main.\n\n  2 Hallelujah! hark, the sound,\n    From the depths unto the skies,\n  Wakes above, beneath, around,\n    All creation's harmonies!\n  See Jehovah's banner furled,\n    Sheathed his sword; he speaks--'tis done!\n  And the kingdoms of this world\n    Are the kingdoms of his Son!\n\n  3 He shall reign from pole to pole,\n    With illimitable sway;\n  He shall reign, when like a scroll\n    Yonder heavens have passed away.\n  Then the end: beneath his rod\n    Man's last enemy shall fall:\n  Hallelujah! Christ in God,\n    God in Christ, is all in all!\n\n\n601                                                           8s & 7s.\n                Future peace and glory of the church.\n\n  Hear what God, the Lord, hath spoken:\n    O my people, faint and few,\n  Comfortless, afflicted, broken,\n    Fair abodes I build for you;\n  Scenes of heartfelt tribulation\n    Shall no more perplex your ways;\n  You shall name your walls salvation,\n    And your gates shall all be praise.\n\n  2 There, like streams that feed the garden,\n    Pleasures without end shall flow;\n  For the Lord, your faith rewarding,\n    All his bounty shall bestow;\n  Still in undisturbed possession\n    Peace and righteousness shall reign;\n  Never shall you feel oppression,\n    Hear the voice of war again.\n\n  3 You, no more your suns descending,\n    Waning moons no more shall see;\n  But, your griefs for ever ending,\n    Find eternal noon in me;\n  God shall rise, and shining o'er you,\n    Change to day the gloom of night;\n  He, the Lord, shall be your glory,\n    God your everlasting light.\n\n\n602                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                           The day-spring.\n                                    Luke 1:78.\n\n  Christian! see! the orient morning\n    Breaks along the heathen sky;\n  Lo! the expected day is dawning--\n    Glorious day-spring from on high;\n        Hallelujah!--\n    Hail the day-spring from on high!\n\n  2 Heathens at the sight are singing;\n    Morning wakes the tuneful lays;\n  Precious offerings they are bringing--\n    First-fruits of more perfect praise;\n        Hallelujah!--\n    Hail the day-spring from on high!\n\n  3 Zion's Sun--salvation beaming--\n    Gilding now the radiant hills--\n  Rise and shine, till brighter gleaming,\n    All the world thy glory fills;\n        Hallelujah!--\n    Hail the day-spring from on high!\n\n  4 Lord of every tribe and nation!\n    Spread thy truth from pole to pole;\n  Spread the light of thy salvation\n    Till it shine on every soul;\n        Hallelujah!--\n    Hail the day-spring from on high!\n\n\n603                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                        Encouraging prospects.\n\n  Yes, we trust the day is breaking;\n    Joyful times are near at hand;\n  God, the mighty God, is speaking,\n    By his word, in every land:\n      When he chooses,\n    Darkness flies at his command.\n\n  2 While the foe becomes more daring,\n    While he enters like a flood,\n  God, the Saviour, is preparing\n    Means to spread his truth abroad:\n      Every language\n    Soon shall tell the love of God.\n\n  3 O, 'tis pleasant, 'tis reviving\n    To our hearts, to hear, each day,\n  Joyful news, from far arriving,\n    How the gospel wins its way;\n      Those enlightening\n    Who in death and darkness lay.\n\n  4 God of Jacob, high and glorious,\n    Let thy people see thy hand;\n  Let the gospel be victorious,\n    Through the world, in every land;\n      Then shall idols\n    Perish, Lord, at thy command.\n\n\n604                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                   How beautiful on the mountains.\n                                   Isaiah 52:7.\n\n  In the mountain's top appearing,\n    Lo! the sacred herald stands,\n  Welcome news to Zion is bearing--\n    Zion long in hostile lands:\n      Mourning captive,\n    God himself will loose thy bands.\n\n  2 Has thy night been long and mournful?\n    Have thy friends unfaithful proved?\n  Have thy foes been proud and scornful,\n    By thy sighs and tears unmoved?\n      Cease thy mourning;\n    Zion still is well-beloved.\n\n  3 God, thy God, will now restore thee:\n    He himself appears thy Friend;\n  All thy foes shall flee before thee;\n    Here their boasts and triumphs end:\n      Great deliverance\n    Zion's King will surely send.\n\n  4 Peace and joy shall now attend thee;\n    All thy warfare now be past;\n  God thy Saviour will defend thee;\n    Victory is thine at last;\n      All thy conflicts\n    End in everlasting rest.\n\n\n605                                                               11s.\n                        Awake, awake, O Zion.\n                                   Isaiah 52:1.\n\n  Daughter of Zion, awake from thy sadness;\n    Awake, for thy foes shall oppress thee no more:\n  Bright o'er the hills dawns the day-star of gladness,\n    Arise, for the night of thy sorrow is o'er.\n\n  2 Strong were thy foes, but the arm that subdued them,\n    And scattered their legions, was mightier far;\n  They fled, like the chaff, from the scourge that pursued them,\n    Vain were their steeds and their chariots of war.\n\n  3 Daughter of Zion, the power that hath saved thee,\n    Extolled with the harp and the timbrel should be;\n  Shout! for the foe is destroyed that enslaved thee,\n    Th' oppressor is vanquished, and Zion is free.\n\n\n606                                                     12s, 11s & 8s.\n                         In thy majesty, etc.\n                                   Psalm 45:4.\n\n  The Prince of Salvation in triumph is riding,\n    And glory attends him along his bright way;\n  The news of his grace on the breezes is gliding,\n    And nations are owning his sway.\n\n  2 And now thro' the darkness of earth's gloomy regions,\n    The wheels of his chariot are rolling sublime;\n  His banners unfolding his own true religion,\n    Dispelling the errors of time.\n\n  3 Behold a bright angel from heaven descending,\n    High lifting his trumpet, hosannas to raise:\n  \"Hail, Son of the Highest! let every knee bending,\n    Adore thee with offerings of praise.\n\n  4 \"Thy sword and thy buckler shall save and deliver\n    The poor and the needy, from foes that assail;\n  Thy bow and thy quiver shall vanquish for ever\n    The prince and the legions of hell.\n\n  5 \"Ride on in thy greatness, thou conquering Saviour;\n    Let thousands of thousands submit to thy reign,\n  Acknowledge thy goodness, entreat for thy favor,\n    And follow thy glorious train.\n\n  6 \"Ride on, till the compass of thy great dominion,\n    The globe shall encircle from pole unto pole;\n  And mankind, cemented with friendship and union,\n    Obey thee with heart and with soul.\n\n  7 \"Then loud shall ascend from each sanctified nation\n    The voice of thanksgiving, the chorus of praise;\n  And heaven shall echo the song of salvation,\n    In rich and melodious lays.\"\n\n\n607                                                               11s.\n                      Shout, inhabitant of Zion.\n                                   Isaiah 12:6.\n\n  Zion, the marvelous story be telling,\n    The Son of the Highest, how lowly his birth!\n  The brightest of angels in glory excelling,\n    He stoops to redeem thee--he reigns upon earth,\n        Shout the glad tidings! exultingly sing,\n        Jerusalem triumphs! Messiah is King!\n\n  2 Tell how he cometh from nation to nation,\n    The heart-cheering news let the earth echo round,\n  How free to the sinner he offers salvation!\n    How his people with joy everlasting are crowned!\n        Shout the glad tidings! exultingly sing,\n        Jerusalem triumphs! Messiah is King!\n\n  3 Mortals, your homage be gratefully bringing,\n    And sweet let the gladsome hosanna arise;\n  You angels, the full hallelujah be singing--\n    One chorus resound thro' the earth and the skies!\n        Shout the glad tidings! exultingly sing,\n        Jerusalem triumphs! Messiah is King!\n\n\n608                                                         11s & 10s.\n                       Hail to the brightness.\n\n  Hail, to the brightness of Zion's glad morning!\n    Joy to the lands that in darkness have lain;\n  Hushed be the accents of sorrow and mourning,\n    Zion in triumph begins her mild reign.\n\n  2 Hail to the brightness of Zion's glad morning,\n    Long by the prophets of Israel foretold;\n  Hail to the millions from bondage returning,\n    Gentiles and Jews the blest vision behold.\n\n  3 Lo! in the desert rich flowers are springing,\n    Streams ever copious are gliding along;\n  Loud from the mountain-tops echoes are ringing,\n    Wastes rise in verdure and mingle in song.\n\n  4 See, from all lands--from the isles of the ocean,\n    Praise to Jehovah ascending on high;\n  Fallen are the engines of war and commotion,\n    Shouts of salvation are rending the sky.\n\n\n609                                                              H. M.\n                  Gird on thy sword, O most mighty!\n                                   Psalm 45:3.\n\n  Gird on thy conquering sword,\n    Ascend thy shining car,\n  And march, almighty Lord!\n    To wage thy holy war.\n  Before his wheels, in glad surprise,\n  Ye valleys, rise, and sink, ye hills.\n\n  2 Fair truth and smiling love,\n    And injured righteousness,\n  Under thy banners move,\n    And seek from thee redress;\n  Thou in thy cause shall prosperous ride,\n  And far and wide dispense thy laws.\n\n  3 Before thine awful face\n    Millions of foes shall fall,\n  The captives of thy grace--\n    The grace that captures all.\n  The world shall know, great King of kings,\n  What wondrous things thine arm can do.\n\n  4 Here to my willing soul\n    Bend thy triumphant way;\n  Here every foe control,\n    And all thy power display;\n  My heart, thy throne, blest Jesus! see,\n  Bows low to thee, to thee alone.\n\n\n610                                                              P. M.\n                           Joyful tidings.\n\n  O let the joyful tidings fill the wide creation,\n    Heirs of redeeming mercy spread the news around;\n  Jesus, Immanuel, shall rule o'er every nation,\n    Far as the guilty race of man is found.\n  Now while the night of ages fills the world with sadness,\n  Now while the prince of darkness rages in his madness;\n  O, Sun of Righteousness, thy cheering beams display,\n  Dawn on the earth, and bring the glorious day!\n\n  2 O Father, let thy blessing with thy saints abounding,\n    Fill every breast with zeal, the gospel to proclaim;\n  O sing Jerusalem, thy gates with joy surrounding,\n    While distant isles rejoice in Jesus' name.\n  Watchmen of Zion, sound aloud the note of warning,\n  Till earth's benighted nations hail the glorious morning;\n  O, Sun of Righteousness, thy cheering beams display,\n  Dawn on the earth, and bring the glorious day!\n\n  3 Deep is the desolation of the race benighted\n    Fast bound in ignorance, o'erwhelmed with guilt and fear;\n  Folly and superstition every hope have blighted,\n    Save where the rays of truth divine appear.\n  Haste, haste, ye messengers, reveal the wondrous story,\n  Tell of the cross, and of the coming tide of glory:\n  Then, Sun of Righteousness, thy cheering beams display,\n  Dawn on the earth, and bring the glorious day.\n\n\n\n\n                   PUBLIC WORSHIP--THE LORD'S DAY.\n\n\n611                                                              L. M.\n               It is a good thing to give thanks, etc.\n                                   Psalm 92:1.\n\n  Sweet is the work, my God! my King!\n  To praise thy name, give thanks and sing;\n  To show thy love by morning light,\n  And talk of all thy truth at night.\n\n  2 Sweet is the day of sacred rest,\n  No mortal care shall seize my breast;\n  O! may my heart in tune be found,\n  Like David's harp of solemn sound.\n\n  3 My heart shall triumph in the Lord,\n  And bless his works, and bless his word;\n  Thy works of grace, how bright they shine!\n  How deep thy counsels! how divine.\n\n  4 Lord! I shall share a glorious part,\n  When grace hath well refined my heart,\n  And fresh supplies of joy are shed,\n  Like holy oil, to cheer my head.\n\n  5 Then shall I see, and hear, and know\n  All I desired or wished below:\n  And every power find sweet employ,\n  In that eternal world of joy.\n\n\n612                                                              L. M.\n                         As it began to dawn.\n                                    Matt 28:1.\n\n  My opening eyes with rapture see\n    The dawn of thy returning day;\n  My thoughts, O God, ascend to thee,\n    While thus my early vows I pay.\n\n  2 I yield my heart to thee alone,\n    Nor would receive another guest:\n  Eternal King, erect thy throne,\n    And reign sole monarch in my breast.\n\n  3 O, bid this trifling world retire,\n    And drive each carnal thought away;\n  Nor let me feel one vain desire,\n    One sinful thought through all the day.\n\n  4 Then, to thy courts when I repair,\n    My soul shall rise on joyful wing,\n  The wonders of thy love declare,\n    And join the strains which angels sing.\n\n\n613                                                              L. M.\n                           The Lord's day.\n\n  O sacred day of peace and joy,\n    Thy hours are ever dear to me;\n  Ne'er may a sinful thought destroy\n    The holy calm I find in thee.\n\n  2 Dear are thy peaceful hours to me,\n    For God has given them in his love,\n  To tell how calm, how blest shall be\n    The endless day of heaven above.\n\n\n614                                                              L. M.\n                           Christ is risen.\n\n  Hail! morning known among the blest!\n    Morning of hope, and joy, and love,\n  Of heavenly peace and holy rest;\n    Pledge of the endless rest above.\n\n  2 Blessed be the Father of our Lord,\n    Who from the dead has brought his Son!\n  Hope to the lost was then restored,\n    And everlasting glory won.\n\n  3 Scarce morning twilight had begun\n    To chase the shades of night away,\n  When Christ arose--unsetting Sun--\n    The dawn of joy's eternal day!\n\n  4 Mercy looked down with smiling eye\n    When our Immanuel left the dead;\n  Faith marked his bright ascent on high,\n    And Hope with gladness raised her head.\n\n  5 God's goodness let us bear in mind,\n    Who to his saints this day has given,\n  For rest and serious joy designed,\n    To fit us for the bliss of heaven.\n\n\n615                                                              L. M.\n                         Lord's-day evening.\n\n  Sweet is the fading light of eve;\n    And soft the sunbeams lingering there;\n  For these blest hours the world I leave,\n    Wafted on wings of praise and prayer.\n\n  2 The time, how lovely and how still!\n    Peace shines and smiles on all below:\n  The plain, the stream, the wood, the hill,\n    All fair with evening's setting glow.\n\n  3 Season of rest! the tranquil soul\n    Feels the sweet calm, and melts to love,\n  And while these sacred moments roll,\n    Faith sees a smiling heaven above.\n\n  4 Nor will our days of toil be long;\n    Our pilgrimage will soon be trod,\n  And we shall join the ceaseless song,\n    The endless sabbath of our God.\n\n\n616                                                              L. M.\n                   Return unto thy rest, O my soul.\n                                   Psalm 116:7.\n\n  Another six days' work is done;\n  Another day of rest begun,\n  Return, my soul, enjoy the rest,\n  Improve the day thy God hath blest.\n\n  2 O that our thoughts and thanks may rise,\n  As grateful incense to the skies;\n  And draw from heaven that sweet repose\n  Which none but he that feels it knows.\n\n  3 This heavenly calm within the breast\n  Is the dear pledge of glorious rest,\n  Which for the Church of God remains,\n  The end of cares, the end of pains.\n\n\n617                                                              L. M.\n             There remaineth a rest to the people of God.\n                                    Heb. 4:9.\n\n  Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love;\n  But there's a nobler rest above;\n  To that our laboring souls aspire,\n  With ardent pangs of strong desire.\n\n  2 No more fatigue, no more distress,\n  Nor sin nor death shall reach the place;\n  No groans to mingle with the songs\n  Which warble from immortal tongues.\n\n  3 No rude alarms of raging foes,\n  No cares to break the long repose;\n  No midnight shade, no clouded sun,\n  But sacred, high, eternal noon.\n\n  4 O long-expected day, begin,\n  Dawn on these realms of woe and sin;\n  Fain would we leave this weary road,\n  And sleep in death, to rest with God.\n\n\n618                                                              C. M.\n              This is the day which the Lord hath made.\n                                  Psalm 118:24.\n\n  Come, let us join with one accord\n    In hymns around the throne;\n  This is the day our risen Lord\n    Hath made and called his own.\n\n  2 This is the day which God has blessed,\n    The brightest of the seven,\n  Type of the everlasting rest\n    The saints enjoy in heaven.\n\n  3 Then let us in his name sing on,\n    And hasten on that day,\n  When our Redeemer shall come down,\n    And shadows pass away.\n\n  4 Not one, but all our days below,\n    Our hearts his praise employ;\n  And in our Lord rejoicing go\n    To his eternal joy.\n\n\n619                                                              C. M.\n                  We will rejoice and be glad in it.\n                                  Psalm 118:24.\n\n  This is the day the Lord hath made,\n    He calls the hours his own;\n  Let heaven rejoice, let earth be glad,\n    And praise surround the throne.\n\n  2 To-day he rose and left the dead,\n    And Satan's empire fell;\n  To-day the saints his triumphs spread,\n    And all his wonders tell.\n\n  3 Hosanna to th' anointed King,\n    To David's holy Son;\n  Help us, O Lord--descend and bring\n    Salvation from thy throne.\n\n  4 Blessed be the Lord who comes to men\n    With messages of grace;\n  Who comes in God his Father's name\n    To save our sinful race.\n\n  5 Hosanna in the highest strains\n    The church on earth can raise;\n  The highest heavens in which he reigns,\n    Shall give him nobler praise.\n\n\n620                                                              C. M.\n               I will praise thee with my whole heart.\n                                    Psalm 9:1.\n\n  O Father! though the anxious fear\n    May cloud to-morrow's way,\n  No fear nor doubt shall enter here;\n    All shall be thine to-day.\n\n  2 We will not bring divided hearts\n    To worship at thy shrine;\n  But each unworthy thought departs,\n    And leaves this temple thine.\n\n  3 Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares,\n    Of earth and folly born;\n  Ye shall not dim the light that streams\n    From this celestial morn.\n\n\n621                                                              C. M.\n                     Lev. 23:11, & 1 Cor. 15:20.\n\n  This is the day the first ripe sheaf\n    Before the Lord was waved,\n  And Christ, first-fruits of them that slept,\n    Was from the dead received.\n\n  2 He rose for them for whom he died,\n    That, like to him, they may\n  Rise when he comes, in glory great,\n    That ne'er shall fade away.\n\n  3 This is the day the Spirit came\n    With us on earth to stay--\n  A Comforter, to fill our hearts\n    With joys that ne'er decay.\n\n  4 His comforts are the earnest sure\n    Of that same heavenly rest\n  Which Jesus entered on, when he\n    Was made for ever blest.\n\n  5 This day the Christian Church began,\n    Formed by his wondrous grace;\n  This day the saints in concord meet,\n    To join in prayer and praise.\n\n\n622                                                              C. M.\n                       He hath abolished death.\n                                   2 Tim. 1:10.\n\n  The Saviour risen to-day we praise,\n    In concert with the blest;\n  For now we see his work complete,\n    And enter into rest.\n\n  2 On this first day a brighter scene\n    Of glory was displayed\n  By the Creating Word, than when\n    The universe was made.\n\n  3 He rises who mankind has bought\n    With grief and pain extreme:\n  'Twas great to speak the world from nought,\n    'Twas greater to redeem.\n\n  4 How vain the stone, the watch, the seal!\n    Nought can forbid his rise:\n  'Tis he who shuts the gates of hell,\n    And opens Paradise.\n\n\n623                                                              C. M.\n                      The type of endless rest.\n\n  The the worn spirit wants repose,\n    And sighs her God to seek,\n  How sweet to hail the evening's close,\n    That ends the weary week!\n\n  2 How sweet to hail the early dawn\n    That opens on the sight,\n  When first that soul-reviving morn\n    Sheds forth new rays of light!\n\n  3 Sweet day! thine hours too soon will cease;\n    Yet while they gently roll,\n  Breathe, gracious Lord, thou source of peace,\n    A Sabbath o'er my soul!\n\n  4 When will my pilgrimage be done,\n    The world's long week be o'er:\n  That Sabbath dawn, which needs no sun,\n    That day, which fades no more!\n\n\n624                                                              S. M.\n                      This is the Lord's doing.\n                                  Psalm 118:23.\n\n  This is the glorious day,\n    That our Redeemer made;\n  Let us rejoice, and sing, and pray,\n    Let all the church be glad.\n\n  2 The work, O Lord, is thine,\n    And wondrous in our eyes;\n  This day declares it all divine,\n    This day did Jesus rise.\n\n  3 Hosanna to the King,\n    Of David's royal blood;\n  Bless him, you saints, he comes to bring\n    Salvation from your God.\n\n  4 We bless thy Holy Word,\n    Which all this grace displays,\n  And offer on thine altar, Lord,\n    Our sacrifice of praise.\n\n\n625                                                              S. M.\n                 The righteous doth sing and rejoice.\n                                   Prov. 29:6.\n\n  Sweet is the task, O Lord,\n    Thy glorious acts to sing,\n  To praise thy name, and hear thy word,\n    And grateful offerings bring.\n\n  2 Sweet, at the dawning hour,\n    Thy boundless love to tell;\n  And when the night-wind shuts the flower,\n    Still on the theme to dwell.\n\n  3 Sweet, on this day of rest,\n    To join in heart and voice\n  With those who love and serve thee best,\n    And in thy name rejoice.\n\n  4 To songs of praise and joy,\n    May all our days be given,\n  That such may be our best employ\n    Eternally in heaven.\n\n\n626                                                              S. M.\n                     Welcome, sweet day of rest.\n\n  Welcome, sweet day of rest,\n    That saw the Lord arise;\n  Welcome to this reviving breast,\n    And these rejoicing eyes.\n\n  2 The King himself comes near,\n    And feasts his saints to-day:\n  Here may we sit and see him here,\n    And love, and praise, and pray.\n\n  3 One day, amid the place\n    Where Christ my Lord, hath been,\n  Is sweeter than ten thousand days\n    Within the tents of sin.\n\n  4 My willing soul would stay\n    In such a frame as this,\n  And sit and sing herself away\n    To everlasting bliss.\n\n\n627                                                           S. P. M.\n                             I was glad.\n                                   Psalm 122:1.\n\n  How pleased and blessed was I,\n  To hear the people cry--\n    \"Come, let us seek our God to-day!\"\n  Yes, with a cheerful zeal,\n  We haste to Zion's hill,\n    And there our vows and honors pay.\n\n  2 Zion! thrice happy place,\n  Adorned with wondrous grace\n    And walls of strength embrace thee round;\n  In thee our tribes appear,\n  To pray, and praise, and hear\n    The sacred gospel's joyful sound.\n\n  3 May peace attend thy gate,\n  And joy within thee wait,\n    To bless the soul of every guest:\n  The man who seeks thy peace,\n  And wishes thine increase--\n    A thousand blessings on him rest!\n\n\n628                                                        7s, double.\n                   Hail the day that saw him rise.\n\n  Hail the day that saw him rise,\n  Ravished from his people's eyes;\n  Christ, awhile to mortals given,\n  Re-ascends his native heaven.\n  There the glorious triumph waits--\n  \"Lift your heads, you heavenly gates;\n  Wide unfold the radiant scene,\n  Take the King of glory in.\"\n\n  2 He, whom highest heaven receives,\n  Ever loves the friends he leaves;\n  Though returning to his throne,\n  Still he calls his saints his own;\n  Still for us he intercedes,\n  Prevalent his death he pleads;\n  Near himself prepares a place,\n  Harbinger of human race.\n\n  3 Taken from our eyes to-day,\n  Master, hear us when we pray;\n  See thy needy servants, see,\n  Ever gazing up to thee:\n  Grant, though parted from our sight,\n  Far above yon azure hight,\n  Grant our hearts may thither rise,\n  Follow thee beyond the skies.\n\n  4 Ever upward let us move,\n  Wafted on the wings of love;\n  Looking when the Lord shall come,\n  Longing, reaching after home;\n  There for ever to remain,\n  Partners of thy endless reign;\n  There thy face unclouded see,\n  Find our heaven of heavens in thee.\n\n\n629                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                        Springs in the desert.\n                                  Isaiah 49:10.\n\n  Safely through another week\n    God has brought us on our way;\n  Let us each a blessing seek,\n    Waiting in his courts to-day:\n  Day of all the week the best,\n  Emblem of eternal rest.\n\n  2 While we seek supplies of grace\n    Through the blest Redeemer's name,\n  Show thy reconciling face,\n    Take away our sin and shame:\n  From our worldly care set free,\n  May we rest this day in thee.\n\n  3 Here we come thy name to praise,\n    Let us feel thy presence near;\n  May thy glory meet our eyes,\n    While we in thy house appear;\n  Here afford us, Lord, a taste\n  Of our everlasting rest.\n\n  4 May the gospel's joyful sound\n    Conquer sinners--comfort saints:\n  Make the fruits of grace abound,\n    Bring relief to all complaints:\n  Thus let all our worship prove,\n  Till we join thy courts above.\n\n  5 Glory be to God on high--\n    God, whose glory fills the sky;\n  Glory to the Lamb be given--\n    Glory in the highest heaven:\n  Wisdom, riches, praise, and power,\n  Be to God for evermore.\n\n\n630                                                              H. M.\n                     The resurrection celebrated.\n\n  Awake, ye saints, awake,\n    And hail the sacred day;\n  In loftiest songs of praise\n    Your joyful homage pay;\n  Come bless the day that God hath blest,\n  The type of heaven's eternal rest.\n\n  2 On this auspicious morn\n    The Lord of life arose,\n  And burst the bars of death,\n    And vanquished all our foes;\n  And now he pleads our cause above,\n  And reaps the fruit of all his love.\n\n  3 All hail, triumphant Lord!\n    Heaven with hosannas rings;\n  All earth, in humbler strains,\n    Thy praise responsive sings;\n  Worthy the Lamb that once was slain,\n  Through endless years to live and reign.\n\n\n631                                                              H. M.\n                      A day in thy courts, etc.\n                                   Psalm 84:10.\n\n  To spend one sacred day\n    Where God and saints abide,\n  Affords diviner joy\n    Than thousand days beside:\n      Where God resorts,\n        I love it more\n        To keep the door,\n      Than shine in courts.\n\n  2 God is our sun and shield,\n    Our light and our defense;\n  With gifts his hands are filled;\n    We draw our blessings thence:\n      He will bestow\n        On Israel's race\n        Peculiar grace,\n      And glory too.\n\n  3 The Lord his people loves;\n    His hand no good withholds\n  From those his heart approves--\n    From pure and upright souls:\n      Thrice happy he,\n        O God of hosts,\n        Whose spirit trusts\n      Alone in thee.\n\n\n632                                                              H. M.\n                      Welcome, delightful morn.\n\n  Welcome, delightful morn,\n    Thou day of sacred rest;\n  I hail thy kind return--\n    Lord, make these moments blest;\n  From the low train of mortal toys,\n  I soar to reach immortal joys.\n\n  2 Now may the King descend\n    And fill his throne with grace;\n  The scepter, Lord, extend,\n    While saints address thy face:\n  Let sinners feel thy quickening word,\n  And learn to know and fear the Lord.\n\n\n633                                                           7s & 6s.\n                      The first day of the week.\n\n  O day of rest and gladness,\n    O day of joy and light,\n  O balm of care and sadness,\n    Most beautiful, most bright,\n  On thee, the high and lowly,\n    Bending before the throne,\n  Sing holy, holy, holy,\n    To God the holy One.\n\n  2 On thee, at the creation,\n    The light first had its birth;\n  On thee for our salvation\n    Christ rose from depths of earth;\n  On thee our Lord victorious,\n    The Spirit sent from heaven,\n  And thus on thee most glorious,\n    A triple light was given.\n\n  3 Thou art a port protected\n    From storms that round us rise;\n  A garden intersected\n    With streams of Paradise;\n  Thou art a cooling fountain\n    In life's dry, dreary sand;\n  From thee, like Pisgah's mountain,\n    We view our promised land.\n\n\n\n\n                        GRATITUDE AND PRAISE.\n\n\n634                                                              L. M.\n                           Loving kindness.\n\n  Awake, my soul, to joyful lays,\n  And sing the great Redeemer's praise;\n  He justly claims a song from me,\n  His loving kindness, O how free!\n\n  2 He saw me ruined in the fall,\n  Yet loved me, notwithstanding all;\n  He saved me from my lost estate,\n  His loving kindness, O how great.\n\n  3 Though numerous hosts of mighty foes,\n  Though earth and hell, my way oppose,\n  He safely leads my soul along,\n  His loving kindness, O how strong!\n\n  4 When trouble, like a gloomy cloud,\n  Has gathered thick and thundered loud,\n  He near my soul has always stood,\n  His loving kindness, O how good!\n\n  5 Soon shall I pass the gloomy vale,\n  Soon all my mortal powers must fail;\n  O may my last expiring breath\n  His loving kindness sing in death!\n\n  6 Then let me mount and soar away\n  To the bright world of endless day,\n  And sing with rapture and surprise,\n  His loving kindness in the skies!\n\n\n635                                                              L. M.\n                     I will praise thee for ever.\n                                   Psalm 52:9.\n\n  My God, my King, thy various praise\n  Shall fill the remnant of my days;\n  Thy grace employ my humble tongue,\n  Till death and glory raise the song.\n\n  2 The wings of every hour shall bear\n  Some thankful tribute to thine ear,\n  And every setting sun shall see\n  New works of duty, done for thee.\n\n  3 Let distant times and nations raise\n  The long succession of thy praise;\n  And unborn ages make my song\n  The joy and labor of my tongue.\n\n  4 But who can speak thy wondrous deeds?\n  Thy greatness all my thoughts exceeds:\n  Vast and unsearchable thy ways,\n  Vast and immortal is thy praise.\n\n\n636                                                              L. M.\n                            Omnipresence.\n                                    Psalm 138.\n\n  Lord of all being; throned afar,\n  Thy glory flames from sun and star;\n  Center and soul of every sphere,\n  Yet to each loving heart how near!\n\n  2 Sun of our life, thy quickening ray\n  Sheds on our path the glow of day;\n  Star of our hope, thy softened light\n  Cheers the long watches of the night.\n\n  3 Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn;\n  Our noontide is thy gracious dawn;\n  Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign;\n  All, save the clouds of sin, are thine!\n\n  4 Lord of all life, below, above,\n  Whose light is truth, whose warmth is love,\n  Before thy ever-blazing throne\n  We ask no luster of our own.\n\n  5 Grant us thy truth to make us free,\n  And kindling hearts that burn for thee,\n  Till all thy living altars claim\n  One holy light, one heavenly flame!\n\n\n637                                                              L. M.\n                     His mercy endureth for ever.\n                                   Psalm 106:1.\n\n  O render thanks to God above,\n  The fountain of eternal love;\n  Whose mercy firm through ages past\n  Has stood, and shall for ever last.\n\n  2 Who can his mighty deeds express,\n  Not only vast, but numberless!\n  What mortal eloquence can raise\n  His tribute of immortal praise!\n\n\n638                                                              L. M.\n                       Condescension of Christ.\n\n  How sweet the praise, how high the theme,\n  To sing of him who rules supreme,\n  Who dwells at God's right hand on high,\n  Yet looks on us with tender eye.\n\n  2 Th' angelic host, in countless throngs,\n  Recount his glories in their songs,\n  And golden harps salute his ear;\n  Yet our weak praise he deigns to hear.\n\n  3 The planets roll their orbits round;\n  Unnumbered worlds, in space profound,\n  Are ruled by him, by him controlled;\n  Yet he's the Shepherd of our fold.\n\n  4 Exalted high upon his throne,\n  The universe is all his own:\n  Untold the honors he doth wear;\n  Yet we are objects of his care.\n\n\n639                                                           C. P. M.\n                             Matt. 1:21.\n\n  O let your mingling voices rise\n  In grateful rapture to the skies,\n    And hail a Saviour's birth;\n  Let songs of joy the day proclaim,\n  When Jesus all-triumphant came\n    To bless the sons of earth.\n\n  2 He came to bid the weary rest;\n  To heal the sinner's wounded breast;\n    To bind the broken heart;\n  To spread the light of truth around;\n  And to the world's remotest bound,\n    The heavenly gift impart.\n\n  3 He came, our trembling souls to save\n  From sin, from sorrow, and the grave,\n    And chase our fears away;\n  Victorious over death and time,\n  To lead us to a happier clime,\n    Where reigns eternal day.\n\n\n640                                                              P. M.\n                           To him be glory.\n\n  Rejoice, O earth! the Lord is King!\n  To him your humble tribute bring;\n  Let Jacob rise, and Zion sing,\n  And all the world with praises ring,\n    And give to Jesus glory!\n\n  2 O may the saints of every name\n  Unite to serve the bleeding Lamb!\n  May jars and discords cease to flame,\n  And all the Saviour's love proclaim,\n    And give to Jesus glory!\n\n  3 We long to see the Christians join\n  In union sweet and love divine,\n  And glory through the churches shine,\n  And Gentiles crowding to the sign,\n    To give to Jesus glory!\n\n  4 O may the distant lands rejoice,\n  And sinners hear the Bridegroom's voice,\n  While praise their happy tongues employs,\n  And all obtain immortal joys,\n    And give to Jesus glory!\n\n  5 Then tears shall all be wiped away,\n  And Christians never go astray;\n  When we are freed from cumbrous clay,\n  We'll praise the Lord in endless day,\n    And give to Jesus glory.\n\n\n641                                                              C. M.\n                         My sheep--follow me.\n                                   John 10:27.\n\n  To thee, my Shepherd and my Lord,\n    A grateful song I'll raise;\n  O let the humblest of thy flock\n    Attempt to speak thy praise.\n\n  2 My life, my joy, my hope, I owe\n    To thine amazing love;\n  Ten thousand thousand comforts here,\n    And nobler bliss above.\n\n  3 To thee my trembling spirit flies,\n    With sin and grief oppressed;\n  Thy gentle voice dispels my fears,\n    And lulls my cares to rest.\n\n  4 Lead on, dear Shepherd!--led by thee,\n    No evil shall I fear;\n  Soon shall I reach thy fold above,\n    And praise thee better there.\n\n\n642                                                              P. M.\n                  Worthy is the Lamb that was slain.\n                                    Rev. 5:12.\n\n  Rise, tune thy voice to sacred song,\n    Exert thy noblest powers;\n  Rise, mingle with the choral throng,\n  The Saviour's praises to prolong,\n    Amid life's fleeting hours.\n\n  2 O! hast thou felt the Saviour's love,\n    That flame of heavenly birth!\n  Then let thy strains melodious prove,\n  With raptures soaring far above\n    The trifling toys of earth.\n\n  3 Hast found the pearl of price unknown\n    That cost a Saviour's blood?\n  Heir of a bright celestial crown,\n  That sparkles near the eternal throne;\n    O sing the praise of God!\n\n  4 Sing of the Lamb that once was slain\n    That man might be forgiven;\n  Sing how he broke death's bars in twain,\n  Ascending high in bliss to reign,\n    The God of earth and heaven.\n\n\n643                                                              C. M.\n                       The Saviour died for me.\n\n  To our Redeemer's glorious name\n    Awake the sacred song;\n  O may his love (immortal flame!)\n    Tune every heart and tongue.\n\n  2 His love, what mortal thought can reach!\n    What mortal tongue display!\n  Imagination's utmost stretch\n    In wonder dies away.\n\n  3 He left his radiant throne on high,\n    Left the bright realms of bliss,\n  And came to earth to bleed and die!\n    Was ever love like this?\n\n  4 Blest Lord, while we adoring pay\n    Our humble thanks to thee,\n  May every heart with rapture say,\n    \"The Saviour died for me!\"\n\n  5 O may the sweet, the blissful theme\n    Fill every heart and tongue,\n  Till strangers love thy charming name,\n    And join the sacred song.\n\n\n644                                                              C. M.\n                           Tender mercies.\n\n  Almighty Father! gracious Lord!\n    Kind Guardian of my days!\n  Thy mercies let my heart record\n    In songs of grateful praise.\n\n  2 In life's first dawn, my tender frame\n    Was thine indulgent care,\n  Long ere I could pronounce thy name,\n    Or breathe the infant prayer.\n\n  3 Each rolling year new favors brought\n    From thine exhaustless store;\n  But, ah! in vain my laboring thought\n    Would count thy mercies o'er.\n\n  4 Still I adore thee, gracious Lord!\n    For favors more divine--\n  That I have known thy sacred word.\n    Where all thy glories shine.\n\n  5 Lord, when this mortal frame decays,\n    And every weakness dies,\n  Complete the wonders of thy grace,\n    And raise me to the skies.\n\n\n645                                                              C. M.\n               I will bless thy name for ever and ever.\n                                   Psalm 145:1.\n\n  Long as I live I'll praise thy name,\n    My King, my God of love;\n  My work and joy shall be the same\n    In the bright world above.\n\n  2 Great is the Lord, his power unknown,\n    And let his praise be great:\n  I'll sing the honors of thy throne,\n    Thy work of grace repeat.\n\n  3 Thy grace shall dwell upon my tongue;\n    And while my lips rejoice,\n  The men that hear my sacred song,\n    Shall join their cheerful voice.\n\n  4 Fathers to sons shall teach thy name,\n    And children learn thy ways;\n  Ages to come thy truth proclaim,\n    And nations sound thy praise.\n\n  5 Thy glorious deeds of ancient date\n    Shall through the world be known--\n  Thy arm of power, thy heavenly state\n    With public splendor shown.\n\n  6 The world is managed by thy hands,\n    Thy saints are ruled by love;\n  And thy eternal kingdom stands,\n    Though rocks and hills remove.\n\n\n646                                                              C. M.\n                       Unto him that loved us.\n                                    Rev. 1:5.\n\n  To him that loved the sons of men\n    And washed us in his blood,\n  To royal honors raised our heads,\n    And made us priests to God:\n\n  2 To him let every tongue be praise,\n    And every heart be love;\n  All grateful honors paid on earth,\n    And nobler songs above.\n\n  3 Behold, on flying clouds he comes!\n    His saints shall bless the day:\n  While they that pierced him sadly mourn,\n    In anguish and dismay.\n\n  4 Thou art the First and thou the Last;\n    Time centers all in thee;\n  Almighty Lord, who wast, and art,\n    And evermore shalt be.\n\n\n647                                                              C. M.\n                       Old things passed away.\n\n  Let earthly minds the world pursue;\n    It has no charms for me;\n  Once I admired its trifles too,\n    But grace has set me free.\n\n  2 As, by the light of opening day,\n    The stars are all concealed;\n  So earthly pleasures fade away,\n    When Jesus is revealed.\n\n  3 Creatures no more divide my choice--\n    I bid them all depart;\n  His name, his love, his gracious voice,\n    Have fixed my roving heart.\n\n  4 But may I hope, that thou wilt own\n    A worthless worm like me?\n  Dear Lord! I would be thine alone,\n    And wholly live to thee.\n\n\n648                                                              S. M.\n                   The song of Moses and the Lamb.\n                                    Rev. 15:3.\n\n  Awake, and sing the song\n    Of Moses and the Lamb!\n  Wake, every heart and every tongue,\n    To praise the Saviour's name!\n\n  2 Sing of his dying love!\n    Sing of his rising power!\n  Sing how he intercedes above\n    For those whose sins he bore!\n\n  3 Sing on your heavenly way,\n    You ransomed sinners, sing;\n  Sing on, rejoicing every day\n    In Christ, the glorious King.\n\n  4 Soon shall you hear him say,\n    \"You blessed children, come,\"\n  Soon will he call you hence away,\n    And take his pilgrims home.\n\n\n649                                                              S. M.\n                        Break forth into joy.\n                                   Isaiah 52:9.\n\n  Raise your triumphant songs\n    To an immortal tune;\n  Let the wide earth resound the deeds\n    Celestial grace has done.\n\n  2 Sing how Eternal Love\n    His Chief Beloved chose,\n  And bade him raise our wretched race\n    From their abyss of woes.\n\n  3 His hand no thunder bears,\n    Nor terror clothes his brow;\n  No bolts to drive our guilty souls\n    To fiercer flames below.\n\n  4 He shows his Father's love,\n    To raise our souls on high;\n  He came with pardon from above\n    To rebels doomed to die.\n\n  5 Now, sinners, dry your tears;\n    Let hopeless sorrow cease;\n  Bow to the scepter of his love,\n    And take the offered peace.\n\n  6 Lord, we obey thy call;\n    We lay an humble claim\n  To the salvation thou hast brought,\n    And love and praise thy name.\n\n\n650                                                              S. M.\n                              Psalm 103.\n\n  O bless the Lord, my soul!\n    His grace to thee proclaim;\n  And all that is within me, join,\n    To bless his holy name.\n\n  2 O bless the Lord, my soul!\n    His mercies bear in mind;\n  Forget not all his benefits;\n    The Lord to thee is kind.\n\n  3 He will not always chide;\n    He will with patience wait;\n  His wrath is ever slow to rise,\n    And ready to abate.\n\n  4 He pardons all thy sins,\n    Prolongs thy feeble breath:\n  He healeth thine infirmities,\n    And ransoms thee from death.\n\n  5 Then bless his holy name\n    Whose grace hath made thee whole,\n  Whose loving-kindness crowns thy days;\n    O bless the Lord, my soul!\n\n\n651                                                              S. M.\n                         Bless his holy name.\n                                   Psalm 103:1.\n\n  Let every heart and tongue\n    Proclaim the Saviour's praise;\n  He is the source of all my joy,\n    His mercy crowns my days.\n\n  2 He knows my feeble frame;\n    Remembers I am dust;\n  And though he should my life destroy,\n    In him I'll put my trust.\n\n  3 Each day he is my strength,\n    My hope, my life, my all;\n  And while upon his arm I lean,\n    I surely can not fall.\n\n  4 Then to my blessed Lord,\n    Let grateful songs arise,\n  While angels bear the notes above\n    And sound them through the skies.\n\n\n652                                                              S. M.\n                      His compassions fail not.\n                                    Lam. 3:22.\n\n  How various and how new\n    Are thy compassions, Lord!\n  Each morning shall thy mercies show,\n    Each night thy truth record.\n\n  2 Thy goodness, like the sun,\n    Dawned on our early days,\n  Ere infant reason had begun\n    To form our lips to praise.\n\n  3 Each object we beheld\n    Gave pleasure to our eyes;\n  And nature all our senses held\n    In bands of sweet surprise.\n\n  4 But pleasures more refined\n    Awaited that blest day,\n  When light arose upon our mind\n    And chased our sins away.\n\n  5 How new thy mercies, then!\n    How sovereign and how free!\n  Our souls, that had been dead in sin,\n    Were made alive to thee.\n\n\n653                                                                7s.\n                           Redeeming love.\n\n  Now begin the heavenly theme;\n  Sing aloud in Jesus' name;\n  Ye who his salvation prove,\n  Triumph in redeeming love.\n\n  2 Ye who see the Father's grace\n  Beaming in the Saviour's face,\n  As to Canaan on ye move,\n  Praise and bless redeeming love.\n\n  3 Mourning souls, dry up your tears;\n  Banish all your guilty fears;\n  See your guilt and curse remove,\n  Canceled by redeeming love.\n\n  4 Welcome, all by sin oppressed,\n  Welcome to his sacred rest;\n  Nothing brought him from above,\n  Nothing but redeeming love.\n\n  5 Hither, then, your music bring;\n  Strike aloud each cheerful string;\n  Mortals, join the host above--\n  Join to praise redeeming love.\n\n\n654                                                                7s.\n                 They shall come to Zion with songs.\n                                   Isaiah 35:10\n\n  Songs of praise awoke the morn\n  When the Prince of Peace was born;\n  Songs of praise arose, when he\n  Captive led captivity.\n\n  2 Heaven and earth must pass away,\n  Songs of praise shall crown the day:\n  God will make new heavens and earth,\n  Songs of praise shall hail their birth.\n\n  3 And will man alone be dumb,\n  Till that glorious kingdom come?\n  No; the church delights to raise\n  Psalms, and hymns, and songs of praise.\n\n  4 Saints below, with heart and voice,\n  Still in songs of praise rejoice;\n  Learning here, by faith and love,\n  Songs of praise to sing above.\n\n  5 Borne upon the latest breath,\n  Songs of praise shall conquer death;\n  Then amidst eternal joy,\n  Songs of praise their powers employ.\n\n\n655                                                                7s.\n                    Praise waiteth for thee, etc.\n                                   Psalm 65:1.\n\n  Praise on thee, in Zion's gates,\n  Daily, O Jehovah, waits;\n  Unto thee, who hearest prayer,\n  Shall the tribes of men repair.\n\n  2 Though with conscious guilt oppressed,\n  On thy mercy still we rest;\n  Thy forgiving love display,\n  Take, O Lord, our sins away.\n\n  3 O, how blessed their reward,\n  Chosen servants of the Lord,\n  Who within thy courts abide,\n  With thy goodness satisfied.\n\n\n656                                                              P. M.\n                             1 Pet. 1:8.\n\n  Saviour! thy gentle voice\n      Gladly we hear;\n  Author of all our joys,\n      Be ever near;\n  Our souls would cling to thee,\n  Let us thy fullness see,\n      Our life to cheer.\n\n  2 Fountain of life divine!\n      Thee we adore;\n  We would be wholly thine\n      For evermore;\n  Freely forgive our sin,\n  Grant heavenly peace within,\n      Thy light restore.\n\n  3 Though to our faith unseen,\n      While darkness reigns,\n  On thee alone we lean\n      While life remains;\n  By thy free grace restored,\n  Our souls shall bless the Lord\n      In joyful strains!\n\n\n657                                                                8s.\n                     All things loss for Christ.\n\n  My gracious Redeemer I love!\n    His praises aloud I'll proclaim,\n  And join with the armies above\n    To shout his adorable name.\n\n  2 To gaze on his glories divine\n    Shall be my eternal employ,\n  And feel them incessantly shine,\n    My boundless, ineffable joy.\n\n  3 You palaces, scepters, and crowns,\n    Your pride with disdain I survey,\n  Your pomps are but shadows and sounds,\n    And pass in a moment away.\n\n  4 The crown that my Saviour bestows,\n    Yon permanent sun shall outshine;\n  My joy everlastingly flows--\n    My God, my Redeemer, is mine.\n\n\n658                                                                8s.\n                       The first, and the last.\n                                    Rev. 1:11.\n\n  This Lord is the Lord we adore,\n    Our faithful unchangeable Friend,\n  Whose love is as large as his power,\n    And neither knows measure nor end.\n\n  2 'Tis Jesus, the First and the Last,\n    Whose Spirit shall guide us safe home;\n  We'll praise him for all that is past,\n    And trust him for all that's to come.\n\n\n659                                                                8s.\n                  The unsearchable riches of Christ.\n                                    Eph. 3:8.\n\n  How shall I my Saviour set forth?\n    How shall I his beauties declare?\n  O how shall I speak of his worth,\n    Or what his chief dignities are?\n\n  2 His angels can never express,\n    Nor saints who sit nearest his throne,\n  How rich are his treasures of grace--\n    No--this is a secret unknown.\n\n  3 In him all the fullness of God\n    For ever transcendently shines!\n  Though once like a mortal he stood\n    To finish his gracious designs.\n\n  4 Though once he was nailed to the cross,\n    Vile rebels like me to set free,\n  His glory sustained no loss,\n    Eternal his kingdom shall be.\n\n  5 O sinners! believe and adore\n    This Saviour so rich to redeem!\n  No creature can ever explore\n    The treasures of goodness in him.\n\n  6 Come, all you who see yourselves lost,\n    And feel yourselves burdened with sin,\n  Draw near, while with terror you're tossed,\n    Obey, and your peace shall begin.\n\n  7 He riches has ever in store,\n    And treasures that never can waste:\n  Here's pardon, here's grace--yea, and more,\n    Here's glory eternal at last.\n\n\n660                                                           8s & 7s.\n                   O thou Fount of every blessing.\n\n  O thou Fount of every blessing!\n    Tune my heart to sing thy grace;\n  Streams of mercy, never ceasing,\n    Call for songs of loudest praise.\n\n  2 Teach me ever to adore thee,\n    May I still thy goodness prove,\n  While the hope of endless glory\n    Fills my heart with joy and love.\n\n  3 Here I'll raise my Ebenezer,\n    Hither by thy help I've come,\n  And I hope, by thy good pleasure,\n    Safely to arrive at home.\n\n  4 Jesus sought me when a stranger,\n    Wandering from thy fold, O God!\n  He to rescue me from danger,\n    Interposed his precious blood.\n\n  5 O! to grace how great a debtor\n    Daily I'm constrained to be!\n  Let thy goodness, like a fetter,\n    Bind me closer still to thee!\n\n  6 Never let me wander from thee,\n    Never leave thee whom I love;\n  By thy Word and Spirit guide me,\n    Till I reach thy courts above.\n\n\n661                                                           8s & 7s.\n                  Brightness of the Father's glory.\n                                    Heb. 1:3.\n\n  Brightness of the Father's glory,\n    Shall thy praise unuttered lie?\n  Break, my tongue, such guilty silence;\n    Sing the Lord, who came to die.\n\n  2 Did the angels sing thy coming?\n    Did the shepherds learn their lays?\n  Shame would cover me, ungrateful,\n    Should my tongue refuse to praise.\n\n  3 From the highest throne in glory\n    To the cross of deepest woe,\n  All to ransom guilty captives!\n    Flow, my praise, for ever flow.\n\n  4 Re-ascend, immortal Saviour;\n    Leave thy footstool, take thy throne;\n  Thence return, and reign for ever;\n    Be the kingdom all thine own.\n\n\n662                                                           8s & 7s.\n                             Thrice holy.\n\n  Bright the vision that delighted\n    Once the sight of Judah's seer;\n  Sweet the countless tongues united\n    To entrance the prophet's ear.\n  Round the Lord in glory seated,\n    Cherubim and seraphim\n  Filled his temple, and repeated\n    Each to each th' alternate hymn:\n\n  2 \"Lord, thy glory fills the heaven;\n    Earth is with its fullness stored;\n  Unto thee be glory given,\n    Holy, holy, holy Lord!\"\n  Heaven is still with glory ringing;\n    Earth takes up the angel's cry,\n  \"Holy, holy, holy,\" singing,\n    \"Lord of hosts, the Lord most high!\"\n\n  3 Ever thus in God's high praises,\n    Brethren, let our tongues unite,\n  While our thoughts his greatness raises,\n    And our love his gifts recite.\n  With his seraph train before him,\n    With his holy church below,\n  Thus conspire we to adore him,\n    Bid we thus our anthem flow;\n\n  4 \"Lord, thy glory fills the heaven;\n    Earth is with its fullness stored;\n  Unto thee be glory given,\n    Holy, holy, holy Lord!\n  Thus thy glorious name confessing,\n    We adopt the angels' cry,\n  'Holy, holy, holy,' blessing\n    Thee, the Lord of hosts most high!\"\n\n\n663                                                 8s & 7s, peculiar.\n                      Hark! ten thousand harps.\n\n  Hark! ten thousand harps and voices\n    Sound the note of praise above;\n  Jesus reigns and heaven rejoices;\n    Jesus reigns, the God of love;\n  See, he sits on yonder throne;\n  Jesus rules the world alone.\n\n  2 Jesus, hail! whose glory brightens\n    All above, and gives it worth;\n  Lord of life, thy smile enlightens,\n    Cheers and charms thy saints on earth;\n  When we think of love like thine,\n  Lord, we own it love divine.\n\n  3 King of glory, reign for ever;\n    Thine an everlasting crown:\n  Nothing from thy love shall sever\n    Those whom thou hast made thine own;\n  Happy objects of thy grace,\n  Destined to behold thy face.\n\n  4 Saviour, hasten thine appearing;\n    Bring, O bring the glorious day,\n  When, the awful summons hearing,\n    Heaven and earth shall pass away:\n  Then, with golden harps, we'll sing,\n  \"Glory, glory to our King.\"\n\n\n664                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                       Worthy is the Lamb, etc.\n                                    Rev. 5:12.\n\n  Glory, glory everlasting,\n    Be to him who bore the cross,\n  Who redeemed our souls by tasting\n    Death, the death deserved by us:\n        Sound his glory\n    While our heart with transport glows.\n\n  2 Jesus' love is love unbounded,\n    Without measure, without end:\n  Human thought is here confounded;\n    'Tis too vast to comprehend;\n        Praise the Saviour;\n    Magnify the sinner's Friend.\n\n  3 While we hear the wondrous story\n    Of the Saviour's cross and shame,\n  Sing we, \"Everlasting glory\n    Be to God and to the Lamb!\"\n        Saints and angels,\n    Give ye glory to his name.\n\n\n665                                                               11s.\n                 He hath put a new song in my mouth.\n                                   Psalm 40:3.\n\n  O Jesus, the giver of all we enjoy!\n  Our lives to thy honor we wish to employ;\n  With praises unceasing we'll sing of thy name!\n  Thy goodness increasing, thy love we'll proclaim.\n\n  2 The wonderful name of our Jesus we'll sing,\n  And publish the fame of our Captain and King,\n  With sweet exultation his goodness we prove;\n  His name is salvation--his nature is Love.\n\n  3 And when to the regions of glory we rise,\n  And join the bright legions that shout through the skies,\n  We'll tell the glad story of Jesus' kind grace,\n  And give him the glory, and honor, and praise.\n\n  4 In this blest employment our spirits shall rest,\n  In sweetest enjoyment on Jesus' own breast;\n  We'll drink of the streams of Immanuel's love,\n  And bask in the beams of his glory above.\n\n\n666                                                               11s.\n                         Worthy is the Lamb.\n                                    Rev. 5:12.\n\n  Come, saints, let us join in the praise of the Lamb,\n    The theme most sublime of the angels above;\n  They dwell with delight on the sound of his name,\n    And gaze on his glories with wonder and love.\n\n  2 They worship the Lamb who for sinners was slain;\n    But their loftiest songs never equal his love:\n  The claims of his mercy will ever remain,\n    Transcending the anthems in glory above.\n\n  3 Yet even our service he will not despise,\n    When we join in his worship and tell of his name;\n  Then let us unite in the song of the skies,\n    And, trusting his mercy, sing, \"Worthy the Lamb.\"\n\n\n667                                                           6s & 4s.\n                        Let us awake our joys.\n\n  Let us awake our joys;\n  Strike up with cheerful voice,\n    Each creature sing:\n  Angels, begin the song;\n  Mortals, the strain prolong,\n  In accents sweet and strong,\n    \"Jesus is King.\"\n\n  2 Proclaim abroad his name;\n  Tell of his matchless fame!\n    What wonders done;\n  Above, beneath, around,\n  Let all the earth resound,\n  'Till heaven's high arch rebound,\n    \"Victory is won.\"\n\n  3 He vanquished sin and hell,\n  And our last foe will quell;\n    Mourners, rejoice;\n  His dying love adore;\n  Praise him now raised in power;\n  Praise him for evermore,\n    With joyful voice.\n\n  4 All hail the glorious day,\n  When through the heavenly way,\n    Lo! he shall come,\n  While they who pierced him, wail;\n  His promise shall not fail;\n  Saints, see your King prevail:\n    Great Saviour, come.\n\n\n668                                                           6s & 4s.\n                            Rev. 5:12, 13.\n\n  Glory to God on high!\n  Let heaven and earth reply;\n    Praise ye his name;\n  His love and grace adore,\n  Who all our sorrows bore,\n  And sing for evermore,\n    \"Worthy the Lamb.\"\n\n  2 Ye who surround the throne,\n  Join cheerfully in one,\n    Praising his name;\n  Ye who have felt his blood\n  Sealing your peace with God,\n  Sound his dear name abroad:\n    \"Worthy the Lamb.\"\n\n  3 Join all ye ransomed race,\n  Our Lord and God to bless;\n    Praise ye his name;\n  In him we will rejoice,\n  And make a joyful noise,\n  Shouting with heart and voice,\n    \"Worthy the Lamb.\"\n\n  4 Soon must we change our place;\n  Yet will we never cease\n    Praising his name:\n  To him our songs we'll bring,\n  Hail him our gracious King,\n  And through all ages sing,\n    \"Worthy the Lamb.\"\n\n\n669                                                           6s & 5s.\n                          God is ever good.\n\n  See the shining dew-drops\n    On the flowers strewed,\n  Proving as they sparkle--\n    God is ever good.\n\n  2 See the morning sunbeams,\n    Lighting up the wood,\n  Silently proclaiming--\n    God is ever good.\n\n  3 Hear the mountain streamlet,\n    In the solitude,\n  With its ripple saying--\n    God is ever good.\n\n  4 In the leafy tree-tops,\n    Where no fears intrude,\n  Merry birds are singing--\n    God is ever good.\n\n  5 Bring, my heart, thy tribute,\n    Songs of gratitude,\n  While all nature utters--\n    God is ever good.\n\n\n670                                                              H. M.\n                 Declare among the people his doings.\n                                   Psalm 9:11.\n\n  Come, every pious heart\n    That loves the Saviour's name,\n  Your noblest powers exert\n    To celebrate his fame:\n  Tell all above and all below\n  The debt of love to him you owe.\n\n  2 Such was his zeal for God,\n    And such his love for you,\n  He nobly undertook\n    What angels could not do;\n  His every deed of love and grace\n  All words exceed, all thoughts surpass.\n\n  3 He left his starry crown,\n    And laid his robes aside;\n  On wings of love came down,\n    And wept, and bled, and died;\n  What he endured, O who can tell,\n  To save our souls from death and hell!\n\n  4 From the dark grave he rose,\n    The mansion of the dead;\n  And thence his mighty foes\n    In glorious triumph led;\n  Up through the sky the Conqueror rode,\n  And reigns on high the Son of God.\n\n  5 From thence he'll quickly come,\n    His chariot will not stay,\n  And bear our spirits home\n    To realms of endless day:\n  There shall we see his lovely face,\n  And ever be in his embrace.\n\n\n671                                                              P. M.\n                             Glad homage.\n\n  Father of spirits! humbly bent before thee,\n  Songs of glad homage unto thee we bring:\n  Touched by thy Spirit, O teach us to adore thee;\n      Let thy light attend us,\n      Let thy love befriend us,\n  Father of our spirits, Everlasting King!\n\n  2 Send forth thy mandate, gather in the nations,\n  Through the wide universe thy name be known,\n  Millions of voices shall join in adorations,\n      Every soul invited,\n      Every voice united;\n  Joining to adore thee, Everlasting One!\n\n\n672                                                           C. P. M.\n                         The great salvation.\n                                    Heb. 2:3.\n\n  To him who did salvation bring,\n  Wake every tuneful power, and sing\n      A song of sweetest praise:\n  His grace diffuses as the rains\n  Crown nature's flowery hills and plains,\n      And spread a thousand ways.\n\n  2 Salvation is the noblest song,\n  O may it dwell on every tongue,\n      And all repeat, Amen!\n  The Lord will come from heaven to earth\n  To give his people second birth,\n      And make them one again.\n\n  3 We feel redemption drawing near;\n  We soon in glory shall appear,\n      And be for ever blessed:\n  His promise never can delay,\n  Our Jesus, on th' appointed day,\n      Will give his people rest.\n\n  4 By faith we view him coming down,\n  With angels hovering all around;\n      He smiles upon his saints:\n  He cries aloud in melting strains,\n  I come to save you from your pains,\n      And end your sore complaints.\n\n  5 The smiling millions rise and sing\n  All glory! glory to our King;\n      The Grand Assize is come!\n  You everlasting doors, fly wide;\n  The Church is glorious as a bride,\n      And Jesus takes her home.\n\n  6 In all the heavens there's not a tear,\n  Nor in the realms of bliss a fear,\n      But pleasure yet unknown:\n  From heaven to heaven we sound the bliss,\n  O what a blest abode is this,\n      For ever round the throne!\n\n  7 The joys of heaven will never end;\n  All glory to the sinner's Friend!\n      Roll on, you happy scenes!\n  You winged seraphs, help us praise\n  The Author of eternal joys!\n      Our Jesus ever reigns.\n\n\n673                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                           Praise the Lord.\n\n  Praise the Lord! ye saints adore him,\n    All unite with one accord;\n  Bring your offerings, come before him--\n    O praise the Lord.\n\n  2 Praise the Lord! who every blessing\n    On our heads hath richly poured;\n  Sing aloud, his love confessing--\n    O praise the Lord.\n\n  3 Praise the Lord! who would not praise him?\n    He hath us to grace restored:\n  To the highest honors raise him--\n    O praise the Lord.\n\n  4 Praise the Lord! your songs excelling\n    Worldly music's richest chord;\n  Sing--your Saviour's glory telling;\n    O praise the Lord.\n\n\n\n\n                            OPENING HYMNS.\n\n\n674                                                              L. M.\n                              Psalm 100.\n\n  Before Jehovah's awful throne,\n    Ye nations, bow with sacred joy;\n  Know that the Lord is God alone,\n    He can create and he destroy.\n\n  2 His sovereign power, without our aid,\n    Made us of clay, and formed us men;\n  And when like wandering sheep we strayed,\n    He brought us to his fold again.\n\n  3 We are his people--we his care--\n    Our souls, and all our mortal frame:\n  What lasting honors shall we rear,\n    Almighty Maker, to thy name?\n\n  4 We'll crowd thy gates with thankful songs,\n    High as the heavens our voices raise;\n  And earth, with her ten thousand tongues,\n    Shall fill thy courts with sounding praise.\n\n  5 Wide as the world is thy command!\n    Vast as eternity thy love!\n  Firm as a rock thy truth shall stand,\n    When rolling years shall cease to move!\n\n\n675                                                              L. M.\n                             God exalted.\n                                   Psalm 57:5.\n\n  Be thou exalted, O my God!\n    Above the heavens where angels dwell;\n  Thy power on earth be known abroad,\n    And land to land thy wonders tell.\n\n  2 My heart is fixed; my song shall raise\n    Immortal honors to thy name:\n  Awake, my tongue, to sound his praise,\n    My tongue, the glory of my frame.\n\n  3 High o'er the earth his mercy reigns,\n    And reaches to the utmost sky;\n  His truth to endless years remains,\n    When lower worlds dissolve and die.\n\n\n676                                                              L. M.\n                        Every place a temple.\n\n  O Thou, to whom, in ancient time,\n    The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung;\n  Whom kings adored in songs sublime,\n    And prophets praised with glowing tongue:\n\n  2 Not now on Zion's hight alone\n    Thy favored worshipers may dwell;\n  Nor where, at sultry noon, thy Son\n    Sat weary, by the patriarch's well.\n\n  3 From every place below the skies,\n    The grateful song, the fervent prayer--\n  The incense of the heart--may rise\n    To heaven, and find acceptance there.\n\n  4 To thee shall age, with snowy hair,\n    And strength, and beauty, bend the knee;\n  And childhood lisp, with reverent air,\n    Its praises and its prayers to thee!\n\n  5 O thou to whom, in ancient time,\n    The lyre of prophet-bards was strung,\n  To thee, at last, in every clime,\n    Shall temples rise, and praise be sung!\n\n\n677                                                              L. M.\n                Coming together in the name of Jesus.\n                                   Matt. 18:20.\n\n  Great God! the followers of thy Son,\n    We bow before thy mercy-seat,\n  To worship thee, the holy One,\n    And pour our wishes at thy feet.\n\n  2 O, grant thy blessing here to-day;\n    O, give thy people joy and peace;\n  The tokens of thy love display,\n    And favor that shall never cease.\n\n  3 We seek the truth which Jesus brought,\n    His path of light we long to tread;\n  Here be his holy doctrines taught,\n    And here their purest influence shed.\n\n  4 May faith, and hope, and love abound;\n    Our sins and errors be forgiven;\n  And we, from day to day, be found\n    The sons of God and heirs of heaven.\n\n\n678                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                           Seeking refuge.\n\n  Forth from the dark and stormy sky,\n  Lord, to thine altar's shade we fly;\n  Forth from the world, its hope and fear,\n  Father, we seek thy shelter here:\n  Weary and weak, thy grace we pray;\n  Turn not, O Lord, thy guests away.\n\n  2 Long have we roamed in want and pain;\n  Long have we sought thy rest to gain;\n  Wildered in doubt, in darkness lost,\n  Long have our souls been tempest-tost;\n  Low at thy feet our sins we lay;\n  Turn not, O Lord, thy guests away.\n\n\n679                                                              L. M.\n                         The hour of worship.\n\n  Blest hour, when mortal man retires\n    To hold communion with his God,\n  To send to heaven his warm desires,\n    And listen to the sacred word.\n\n  2 Blest hour, when earthly cares resign\n    Their empire o'er his anxious breast,\n  While, all around, the calm divine,\n    Proclaims the holy day of rest.\n\n  3 Blest hour, when God himself draws nigh,\n    Well pleased his people's voice to hear,\n  To hush the penitential sigh,\n    And wipe away the mourner's tear.\n\n  4 Blest hour! for, where the Lord resorts,\n    Foretastes of future bliss are given,\n  And mortals find his earthly courts\n    The house of God, the gate of heaven.\n\n\n680                                                              L. M.\n                   How amiable are thy tabernacles.\n                                   Psalm 84:1.\n\n  Great God, attend while Zion sings\n  The joy that from thy presence springs;\n  To spend one day with thee on earth,\n  Exceeds a thousand days of mirth.\n\n  2 Might I enjoy the meanest place\n  Within thy house, O God of grace,\n  Not tents of ease, nor thrones of power,\n  Should tempt my feet to leave thy door.\n\n  3 God is our sun, he makes our day;\n  God is our shield, he guards our way\n  From all th' assaults of hell and sin,\n  From foes without and foes within.\n\n  4 All needful grace will God bestow,\n  And crown that grace with glory too:\n  He gives us all things, and withholds\n  No real good from upright souls.\n\n  5 O God, our King, whose sovereign sway,\n  The glorious hosts of heaven obey,\n  And devils at thy presence flee;\n  Blest is the man that trusts in thee.\n\n\n681                                                              L. M.\n                    Serve the Lord with gladness.\n                                   Psalm 100:2.\n\n  Ye nations round the earth, rejoice,\n    Before the Lord, your sovereign King;\n  Serve him with cheerful heart and voice;\n    With all your tongues his glory sing.\n\n  2 The Lord is God: 'tis he alone\n    Doth life, and breath, and being give;\n  We are his work, and not our own;\n    The sheep that on his pastures live.\n\n  3 Enter his gates with songs of joy;\n    With praises to his courts repair;\n  And make it your divine employ\n    To pay your thanks and honors there.\n\n  4 The Lord is good, the Lord is kind;\n    Great is his grace, his mercy sure:\n  And the whole race of men shall find\n    His truth from age to age endure.\n\n\n682                                                              L. M.\n                     Let us worship and bow down.\n                                   Psalm 95:6.\n\n  O come, loud anthems let us sing,\n  Loud thanks to our almighty King!\n  For we our voices high should raise,\n  When our salvation's Rock we praise.\n\n  2 Into his presence let us haste,\n  To thank him for his favors past;\n  To him address in joyful songs\n  The praise that to his name belongs.\n\n  3 O, let us to his courts repair,\n  And bow with adoration there!\n  Down on our knees, devoutly, all\n  Before the Lord, our Maker, fall.\n\n\n683                                                              L. M.\n                  Speak, Lord, thy servant heareth.\n                                   1 Sam. 3:10.\n\n  While now thy throne of grace we seek,\n  O God! within our spirits speak;\n  For we will hear thy voice to-day,\n  Nor turn our hardened hearts away.\n\n  2 Speak in thy gentlest tones of love,\n  Till all our best affections move;\n  We long to hear thy gentle call,\n  And feel that thou art all in all.\n\n  3 To conscience speak thy quickening word,\n  Till all its sense of sin is stirred;\n  For we would leave no stain of guile,\n  To cloud the radiance of thy smile.\n\n  4 Speak, Father, to the anxious heart,\n  Till every fear and doubt depart;\n  For we can find no home or rest,\n  Till with thy Spirit's whispers blest.\n\n  5 Speak to convince, forgive, console:\n  Childlike we yield to thy control;\n  These hearts, too often closed before,\n  Would grieve thy patient love no more.\n\n\n684                                                              L. M.\n                             God is here.\n\n  Be still! be still! for all around,\n  On either hand, is holy ground:\n  Here in his house, the Lord to-day\n  Will listen, while his people pray.\n\n  2 Thou, tossed upon the waves of care\n  Ready to sink with deep despair,\n  Here ask relief, with heart sincere,\n  And thou shalt find that God is here.\n\n  3 Thou who hast laid within the grave\n  Those whom thou hadst no power to save,\n  Now to the mercy-seat draw near,\n  With all thy woes, for God is here.\n\n  4 Thou who hast dear ones far away,\n  In foreign lands, 'mid ocean's spray,\n  Pray for them now, and dry the tear,\n  And trust the God who listens here.\n\n  5 Thou who art mourning o'er thy sin,\n  Deploring guilt that reigns within,\n  The God of peace is ever near;\n  The troubled spirit meets him here.\n\n\n685                                                              L. M.\n                           I will come in.\n                                    Rev. 3:20.\n\n  O blest the souls, for ever blest,\n  Where God as sovereign is confest;\n  O happy hearts, the blessed homes\n  To which the King in glory comes!\n\n  2 Fling wide thy portals, O my heart!\n  Be thou a temple set apart;\n  So shall thy Sovereign enter in,\n  And new and nobler life begin.\n\n  3 Deliverer, come! we open wide\n  Our hearts to thee; here, Lord, abide!\n  Let all thy glorious presence feel;\n  Thou--King of saints! thyself reveal.\n\n\n686                                                              L. M.\n              Blessed are they that dwell in thy house.\n                                   Psalm 84:4.\n\n  How pleasant, how divinely fair,\n  Lord of hosts, thy dwellings are!\n  With long desire my spirit faints\n  To meet the assemblies of thy saints.\n\n  2 My soul would rest in thine abode,\n  My panting heart cries out for God;\n  My God! my King! why should I be\n  So far from all my joys and thee!\n\n  3 Blest are the souls who find a place\n  Within the temple of thy grace;\n  There they behold thy gentler rays,\n  And seek thy face, and learn thy praise.\n\n  4 Blest are the men whose hearts are set\n  To find the way to Zion's gate;\n  God is their strength, and through the road,\n  They lean upon their Helper, God.\n\n\n687                                                              L. M.\n                          The living temple.\n\n  O Father! with protecting care,\n  Meet us in this, our house of prayer;\n  Assembled in thy sacred name,\n  Thy promised blessing here we claim.\n\n  2 But chiefest in the cleansed breast,\n  For ever let thy Spirit rest,\n  And make the contrite heart to be\n  A temple pure and worthy thee.\n\n\n688                                                              L. M.\n             My soul longeth for the courts of the Lord.\n                                   Psalm 84:2.\n\n  Look from on high, great God, and see\n  Thy saints lamenting after thee:\n  We sigh, we languish, and complain;\n  Revive thy gracious work again.\n\n  2 To-day thy cheering grace impart,\n  Bind up and heal the broken heart;\n  Our sins subdue, our souls restore,\n  And let our foes prevail no more.\n\n  3 Thy presence in thy house afford,\n  And bless the preaching of thy word,\n  That sinners may their danger see,\n  And now begin to mourn for thee.\n\n\n689                                                              C. M.\n                         Homage and devotion.\n\n  With sacred joy we lift our eyes\n    To those bright realms above,\n  That glorious temple in the skies,\n    Where dwells eternal Love.\n\n  2 Before the gracious throne we bow\n    Of heaven's almighty King;\n  Here we present the solemn vow,\n    And hymns of praise we sing.\n\n  3 O Lord, while in thy house we kneel,\n    With trust and holy fear,\n  Thy mercy and thy truth reveal,\n    And lend a gracious ear.\n\n  4 With fervor teach our hearts to pray,\n    And tune our lips to sing;\n  Nor from thy presence cast away\n    The sacrifice we bring.\n\n\n690                                                              C. M.\n             Lift thou the light of thy countenance, etc.\n                                    Psalm 4:6\n\n  Within thy house, O Lord, our God,\n    In glory now appear;\n  Make this a place of thine abode,\n    And shed thy blessings here.\n\n  2 When we thy mercy-seat surround,\n    Thy Spirit, Lord, impart;\n  And let thy gospel's joyful sound,\n    With power, reach every heart.\n\n  3 Here let the blind their sight obtain;\n    Here give the mourners rest;\n  Let Jesus here triumphant reign,\n    Enthroned in every breast.\n\n  4 Here let the voice of sacred joy\n    And humble prayer arise,\n  Till higher strains our tongues employ\n    In realms beyond the skies.\n\n\n691                                                              C. M.\n                          The house of God.\n\n  My soul! how lovely is the place,\n    To which thy God resorts!\n  'Tis heaven to see his smiling face,\n    Though in his earthly courts.\n\n  2 There the great Monarch of the skies\n    His saving power displays,\n  And light breaks in upon our eyes,\n    With kind and quickening rays.\n\n  3 There, mighty God! thy words declare\n    The secrets of thy will;\n  And still we seek thy mercy there,\n    And sing thy praises still.\n\n\n692                                                              C. M.\n                         What shall I render.\n                                  Psalm 116:12.\n\n  What shall I render to my God\n    For all his kindness shown?\n  My feet shall visit thine abode,\n    My songs address thy throne.\n\n  2 Among the saints that fill thy house,\n    My offerings shall be paid;\n  There shall my zeal perform the vows\n    My soul in anguish made.\n\n  3 How happy all thy servants are,\n    How great thy grace to me!\n  My life, which thou hast made thy care,\n    Lord, I devote to thee.\n\n  4 Now I am thine, for ever thine,\n    Nor shall my purpose move;\n  Thy hand hath loosed my bonds of pain,\n    And bound me with thy love.\n\n  5 Here in thy courts I leave my vow,\n    And thy rich grace record;\n  Witness, ye saints, who hear me now,\n    If I forsake the Lord.\n\n\n693                                                              C. M.\n              They shall mount up with wings as eagles.\n                                  Isaiah 40:31.\n\n  Come, O thou King of all thy saints,\n    Our humble tribute own,\n  While, with our praises and complaints,\n    We bow before thy throne.\n\n  2 How should our songs, like those above,\n    With warm devotion rise!\n  How should our souls on wings of love,\n    Mount upward to the skies!\n\n  3 But, ah, the song, how faint it flows!\n    How languid our desire!\n  How dim the sacred passion glows,\n    Till thou the heart inspire!\n\n  4 Blest Saviour, let thy glory shine,\n    And fill thy dwellings here,\n  Till life, and love, and joy divine,\n    A heaven on earth appear.\n\n\n694                                                              C. M.\n                  Again the Lord of light and life.\n\n  Again the Lord of light and life\n    Awakes the kindling ray,\n  Unseals the eyelids of the morn,\n    And pours increasing day.\n\n  2 O what a night was that which wrapt\n    The heathen world in gloom!\n  O what a Sun which rose this day\n    Triumphant from the tomb!\n\n  3 This day be grateful homage paid\n    And loud hosannas sung;\n  Let gladness dwell in every heart,\n    And praise on every tongue.\n\n  4 Ten thousand different lips shall join\n    To hail this welcome morn,\n  Which scatters blessings from its wings\n    To nations yet unborn.\n\n\n695                                                              C. M.\n              With the pure thou wilt show thyself pure.\n                                  2 Sam. 22:27.\n\n  The offerings to thy throne which rise,\n    Of mingled praise and prayer,\n  Are but a worthless sacrifice\n    Unless the heart is there.\n\n  2 Upon thine all-discerning ear\n    Let no vain words intrude;\n  No tribute but the vow sincere--\n    The tribute of the good.\n\n  3 My offerings will indeed be blest,\n    If sanctified by thee--\n  If thy pure Spirit touch my breast\n    With its own purity.\n\n  4 O, may that Spirit warm my heart\n    To piety and love,\n  And to life's lowly vale impart\n    Some rays from heaven above.\n\n\n696                                                              C. M.\n                Let us go up to the house of the Lord.\n                                   Psalm 122:1.\n\n  Again our earthly cares we leave,\n    And to thy courts repair;\n  Again, with joyful feet, we come\n    To meet our Saviour here.\n\n  2 Within these walls let holy peace,\n    And love, and concord dwell;\n  Here give the troubled conscience ease,\n    The wounded spirit heal.\n\n  3 The feeling heart, the melting eye,\n    The humble mind, bestow:\n  And shine upon us from on high,\n    To make our graces grow.\n\n  4 May we in faith receive thy word,\n    In faith present our prayers,\n  And in the presence of our Lord,\n    Unbosom all our cares.\n\n  5 Show us some token of thy love,\n    Our fainting hope to raise,\n  And pour thy blessings from above,\n    That we may render praise.\n\n\n697                                                              C. M.\n              Quicken us, and we will call on thy name.\n                                   Psalm 80:18.\n\n  Come, Lord, and warm each languid heart;\n    Inspire each lifeless tongue;\n  And let the joys of heaven impart\n    Their influence to our song.\n\n  2 Then to the shining realms of bliss\n    The wings of faith shall soar,\n  And all the charms of Paradise\n    Our raptured thoughts explore.\n\n  3 There shall the followers of the Lamb\n    Join in immortal songs,\n  And endless honors to his name\n    Employ their tuneful tongues.\n\n  3 Lord, tune our hearts to praise and love;\n    Our feeble notes inspire,\n  Till, in thy blissful courts above,\n    We join the heavenly choir.\n\n\n698                                                              C. M.\n                       Early will I seek thee.\n                                   Psalm 63:1.\n\n  Early, my God, without delay,\n    I haste to seek thy face;\n  My thirsty spirit faints away\n    Without thy cheering grace.\n\n  2 So pilgrims on the scorching sand,\n    Beneath a burning sky,\n  Long for a cooling stream at hand,\n    And they must drink or die.\n\n  3 Not life itself, with all its joys,\n    Can my best passions move,\n  Or raise so high my cheerful voice,\n    As thy forgiving love.\n\n  4 Thus, till my last expiring day,\n    I'll bless my God and King;\n  Thus will I lift my hands to pray,\n    And tune my lips to sing.\n\n\n699                                                              C. M.\n                    The morrow after the Sabbath.\n                                   Lev. 23:11.\n\n  Blest day of God! most calm, most bright,\n    The first and best of days:\n  The laborer's rest, the saint's delight,\n    The day of prayer and praise.\n\n  2 My Saviour's face made thee to shine;\n    His rising thee did raise:\n  And made thee heavenly and divine\n    Beyond all other days.\n\n  3 The first-fruits oft a blessing prove\n    To all the sheaves behind:\n  And they who do the Lord's day love,\n    A happy week shall find.\n\n  4 This day I must to God appear,\n    For, Lord, the day is thine;\n  Help me to spend it in thy fear,\n    And thus to make it mine.\n\n\n700                                                              S. M.\n                     Stand up and bless the Lord.\n                                    Neh. 9:5.\n\n  Stand up and bless the Lord,\n    Ye people of his choice;\n  Stand up and bless the Lord your God,\n    With heart, and soul, and voice.\n\n  2 O for the living flame,\n    From his own altar brought,\n  To touch our lips, our minds inspire,\n    And raise to heaven our thought!\n\n  3 God is our strength and song,\n    And his salvation ours;\n  Then be his love in Christ proclaimed\n    With all our ransomed powers.\n\n  4 Stand up and bless the Lord,\n    The Lord your God adore;\n  Stand up, and bless his glorious name,\n    Henceforth for evermore.\n\n\n701                                                              S. M.\n                     Come, we that love the Lord.\n\n  Come, we that love the Lord,\n    And let our joys be known;\n  Join in a song with sweet accord,\n    And thus surround the throne.\n\n  2 The sorrows of the mind\n    Be banished from this place!\n  Religion never was designed\n    To make our pleasures less.\n\n  3 Let those refuse to sing\n    Who never knew our God;\n  But children of the heavenly King\n    May speak their joys abroad.\n\n  4 The men of grace have found\n    Glory begun below;\n  Celestial fruits on earthly ground\n    From hope and faith may grow.\n\n  5 The hill of Zion yields\n    A thousand sacred sweets,\n  Before we reach the heavenly fields,\n    Or walk the golden streets.\n\n  6 Then let our songs abound,\n    And every tear be dry;\n  We're marching o'er this hallowed ground\n    To fairer worlds on high.\n\n\n702                                                              S. M.\n                    Come, sound his praise abroad.\n\n  Come, sound his praise abroad,\n    And hymns of glory sing;\n  Jehovah is the sovereign God,\n    The universal King.\n\n  2 He formed the deeps unknown;\n    He gave the seas their bound;\n  The watery worlds are all his own,\n    And all the solid ground.\n\n  3 Come, worship at his throne;\n    Come, bow before the Lord;\n  We are his work, and not our own;\n    He formed us by his word.\n\n  4 To-day attend his voice,\n    Nor dare provoke his rod;\n  Come, like the people of his choice,\n    And own your gracious God.\n\n\n703                                                              S. M.\n                      Blessed they that hunger.\n                                    Matt. 5:6.\n\n  Hungry, and faint, and poor,\n    Behold us, Lord, again\n  Assembled at thy mercy's door,\n    Thy bounty to obtain.\n\n  2 Thy word invites us nigh,\n    Or we would starve indeed;\n  For we no money have to buy,\n    Nor righteousness to plead.\n\n  3 The food our spirits want,\n    Thy hand alone can give;\n  O! hear the prayer of faith, and grant\n    That we may eat and live!\n\n\n704                                                              S. M.\n                As I have seen thee in the sanctuary.\n                                   Psalm 63:2.\n\n  My God, permit my tongue\n    This joy, to call thee mine;\n  And let my early cries prevail,\n    To taste thy love divine.\n\n  2 Within thy churches, Lord,\n    I long to find my place;\n  Thy power and glory to behold,\n    And feel thy quickening grace.\n\n  3 Since thou hast been my help,\n    To thee my spirit flies;\n  And on thy watchful providence,\n    My cheerful hope relies.\n\n  4 The shadow of thy wings\n    My soul in safety keeps;\n  I follow where my Father leads,\n    And he supports my steps.\n\n\n705                                                              S. M.\n                               Reunion.\n\n  And are we yet alive,\n    And see each other's face?\n  Glory and praise to Jesus give,\n    For his preserving grace.\n\n  2 What troubles have we seen!\n    What conflicts have we past!\n  Fightings without, and fears within,\n    Since we assembled last.\n\n  3 But out of all, the Lord\n    Hath brought us by his love;\n  And still he doth his help afford,\n    And hides our life above.\n\n  4 Then let us make our boast\n    Of his redeeming power,\n  Which saves us to the uttermost,\n    Till we can sin no more.\n\n\n706                                                                7s.\n                        Come into his courts.\n                                   Psalm 96:8.\n\n  To thy temple we repair;\n  Lord, we love to worship there;\n  There, within the vail, we meet\n  Christ upon the mercy-seat.\n\n  2 While thy glorious name is sung,\n  Tune our lips, inspire our tongue;\n  Then our joyful souls shall bless\n  Christ, the Lord, our Righteousness.\n\n\n707                                                                7s.\n                       The unity of the Spirit.\n                                    Eph. 4:3.\n\n  Father, hear our humble claim;\n  We are met in thy great name;\n  In the midst do thou appear,\n  Manifest thy presence here.\n\n  2 Lord, our fellowship increase;\n  Knit us in the bond of peace;\n  Join our hearts, O Father! join\n  Each to each, and all to thine.\n\n  3 Build us in one spirit up,\n  Called in one high calling's hope--\n  One the spirit, one the aim,\n  One the pure baptismal flame.\n\n\n708                                                                7s.\n                        Wait on the Lord, etc.\n                                   Psalm 27:14.\n\n  Lord, we come before thee now;\n  At thy feet we humbly bow:\n  O do not our suit disdain,\n  Shall we seek thee, Lord, in vain?\n\n  2 Lord, on thee our souls depend,\n  In compassion now descend;\n  Fill our hearts with thy rich grace;\n  Tune our lips to sing thy praise.\n\n  3 In thine own appointed way,\n  Now we seek thee; here we stay;\n  Lord, from hence we would not go,\n  Till a blessing thou bestow.\n\n  4 Comfort those who weep and mourn;\n  Let the time of joy return;\n  Those that are cast down, lift up;\n  Make them strong in faith and hope.\n\n  5 Grant that all may seek and find\n  Thee a God supremely kind;\n  Heal the sick; the captive free;\n  Let us all rejoice in thee.\n\n\n709                                                           8s & 7s.\n                  Far from mortal cares retreating.\n\n  Far from mortal cares retreating,\n    Sordid hopes, and vain desires,\n  Here our willing footsteps meeting,\n    Every heart to heaven aspires.\n  From the Fount of glory beaming,\n    Light celestial cheers our eyes,\n  Mercy from above proclaiming\n    Peace and pardon from the skies.\n\n  2 Blessings all around bestowing,\n    God withholds his care from none;\n  Grace and mercy ever flowing\n    From the fountain of his throne.\n  Lord, with favor still attend us;\n    Bless us with thy wondrous love;\n  Thou, our Sun, our Shield, defend us;\n    All our hope is from above.\n\n\n710                                                           8s & 7s.\n                   Love divine, all love excelling.\n\n  Love divine, all love excelling,\n    Joy of heaven to earth come down!\n  Fix in us thy humble dwelling:\n    All thy faithful mercies crown;\n  Jesus, thou art all compassion,\n    Pure, unbounded love thou art,\n  Visit us with thy salvation,\n    Enter every trembling heart.\n\n  2 Breathe, O, breathe thy loving Spirit\n    Into every troubled breast:\n  Let us all in thee inherit,\n    Let us find thy promised rest.\n  Take away the love of sinning,\n    Take our load of guilt away;\n  End the work of thy beginning,\n    Bring us to eternal day.\n\n  3 Carry on thy new creation,\n    Pure and holy may we be;\n  Let us see our whole salvation,\n    Perfectly secured by thee;\n  Change from glory into glory,\n    Till in heaven we take our place;\n  Till we cast our crowns before thee,\n    Lost in wonder, love and praise.\n\n\n711                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                   The Lord is in his holy temple.\n                                    Heb. 2:20.\n\n  God is in his holy temple,\n    All the earth keep silence here;\n  Worship him in truth and spirit,\n    Reverence him with godly fear;\n        Holy, holy,\n    Lord of hosts, our Lord, appear.\n\n  2 God in Christ reveals his presence,\n    Throned upon the mercy-seat:\n  Saints, rejoice! and sinners, tremble!\n    Each prepare his God to meet:\n        Lowly, lowly,\n    Bow adoring at his feet.\n\n  3 Hail him here with songs of praises,\n    Him with prayers of faith surround;\n  Hearken to his glorious gospel,\n    While the preacher's lips expound;\n        Blessed, blessed,\n    They who know the joyful sound.\n\n  4 Though the heaven, and heaven of heavens,\n    O thou Great Unsearchable!\n  Are too mean to comprehend thee,\n    Thou with man art pleased to dwell;\n        Welcome, welcome,\n    God with us, Immanuel.\n\n\n712                                                           8s & 6s.\n                        At the hour of prayer.\n                                    Acts 3:1.\n\n  Blest is the hour when cares depart,\n      And earthly scenes are far--\n  When tears of woe forget to start,\n  And gently dawns upon the heart\n      Devotion's holy star.\n\n  2 Blest is the place where angels bend\n      To hear our worship rise,\n  Where kindred hearts their musings blend,\n  And all the soul's affections tend\n      Beyond the vailing skies.\n\n  3 Blest are the hallowed vows that bind\n      Man to his work of love--\n  Bind him to cheer the humble mind,\n  Console the weeping, lead the blind,\n      And guide to joys above.\n\n  4 Sweet shall the song of glory swell,\n      Saviour divine, to thee,\n  When they whose work is finished well,\n  In thy own courts of rest shall dwell,\n      Blest through eternity.\n\n\n713                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                       Rejoice with trembling.\n                                   Psalm 2:11.\n\n  In thy name, O Lord, assembling,\n    We thy people, now draw near;\n  Teach us to rejoice with trembling;\n    O that we this day may hear--\n        Hear with meekness--\n    Hear thy word with godly fear.\n\n  2 While our days on earth are lengthened,\n    May we give them, Lord, to thee!\n  Cheered by hope, and daily strengthened,\n    We would run, nor weary be,\n        Till thy glory,\n    Without clouds, in heaven we see.\n\n  3 There, in worship, purer, sweeter,\n    All thy people shall adore;\n  Tasting of enjoyment greater\n    Than they could conceive before;\n        Full enjoyment--\n    Holy bliss for evermore.\n\n\n714                                                              H. M.\n                    Longing for the house of God.\n\n  Lord of the worlds above,\n    How pleasant and how fair\n  The dwellings of thy love,\n    Thy earthly temples, are!\n  To thy abode my heart aspires,\n  With warm desires to see my God.\n\n  2 O, happy souls, who pray\n    Where God appoints to hear!\n  O, happy men, who pay\n    Their constant service there!\n  They praise thee still; and happy they\n  Who love the way to Zion's hill.\n\n  3 They go from strength to strength,\n    Through this dark vale of tears,\n  Till each arrives at length,\n    Till each in heaven appears:\n  O glorious seat, when God, our King\n  Shall thither bring our willing feet.\n\n\n\n\n                            CLOSING HYMNS.\n\n\n715                                                              L. M.\n               He shall go in and out and find pasture.\n                                    John 10:9.\n\n  Now may the Lord our Shepherd lead\n    To living streams his little flock;\n  May he in flowery pastures feed;\n    Shade us at noon beneath the rock!\n\n  2 Now may we hear our Shepherd's voice,\n    And gladly answer to his call;\n  Now may our hearts for him rejoice,\n    Who knows, and names, and loves us all.\n\n  3 When the Chief Shepherd shall appear,\n    And small and great before him stand,\n  O, be the flock assembling here\n    Found with the sheep on his right hand!\n\n\n716                                                              L. M.\n                          Walking with God.\n\n  Through all this life's eventful road,\n  Fain would I walk with thee, my God,\n  And find thy presence light around,\n  And every step on holy ground.\n\n  2 Each blessing would I trace to thee;\n  In every grief, thy mercy see;\n  And through the paths of duty move,\n  Conscious of thine encircling love.\n\n  3 And when the angel Death stands by,\n  Be this my strength, that thou art nigh;\n  And this my joy, that I shall be\n  With those who dwell in light with thee.\n\n\n717                                                              L. M.\n                 The Lord bless thee, and keep thee.\n                                    Num. 6:24.\n\n  Ere to the world again we go,\n  Its pleasures, cares, and idle show,\n  Thy grace, once more, O God, we crave,\n  From folly and from sin to save.\n\n  2 May the great truths we here have heard--\n  The lessons of thy holy Word--\n  Dwell in our inmost bosoms deep,\n  And all our souls from error keep.\n\n  3 O, may the influence of this day\n  Long as our memory with us stay,\n  And as an angel guardian prove,\n  To guide us to our home above.\n\n\n718                                                              L. M.\n                   Let all the people praise thee.\n                                   Psalm 67:5.\n\n  From all that dwell below the skies,\n  Let the Creator's praise arise:\n  Let the Redeemer's name be sung\n  Through every land, by every tongue.\n\n  2 Eternal are thy mercies, Lord;\n  Eternal truth attends thy word:\n  Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore,\n  Till suns shall rise and set no more.\n\n\n719                                                              L. M.\n                         Grapes from Eshcol.\n                                   Num. 13:24.\n\n  Happy the saints whose lot is cast\n    Where oft is heard the gospel sound;\n  The word is pleasing to their taste,\n    A healing balm for every wound.\n\n  2 With joy they hasten to the place\n    Where they their Saviour oft have met;\n  And while they feast upon his grace,\n    Their burdens and their griefs forget.\n\n  3 This favored lot, my friends, is ours;\n    May we the privilege improve,\n  And find these consecrated hours\n    Sweet earnests of the joys above.\n\n\n720                                                              L. M.\n                           A parting hymn.\n\n  Come, Christian brethren, ere we part,\n  Join every voice and every heart;\n  One solemn hymn to God we raise,\n  One final song of grateful praise.\n\n  2 Christians, we here may meet no more;\n  But there is yet a happier shore;\n  And there, released from toil and pain,\n  Dear brethren, we shall meet again.\n\n\n721                                                              L. M.\n                     Bid us all depart in peace.\n\n  Dismiss us with thy blessing, Lord;\n  Help us to feed upon thy word;\n  All that has been amiss, forgive,\n  And let thy truth within us live.\n\n  2 Though we are guilty, thou art good;\n  Cleanse all our sins in Jesus' blood;\n  Give every burdened soul release,\n  And bid us all depart in peace.\n\n\n722                                                              L. M.\n                     I will not forget thy word.\n                                  Psalm 119:16.\n\n  Lord, how delightful 'tis to see\n  A whole assembly worship thee,\n  At once they sing, at once they pray!\n  They hear of heaven, and learn the way.\n\n  2 O write upon my memory, Lord,\n  The text and doctrine of thy word;\n  That I may break thy laws no more,\n  But love thee better than before.\n\n\n723                                                           L. M. D.\n                Striving together for the faith, etc.\n                                   Phil. 1:27.\n\n  Lord, cause thy face on us to shine;\n  Give us thy peace, and seal us thine;\n  Teach us to prize the means of grace,\n  And love thine earthly dwelling-place,\n  One is our faith, and one our Lord;\n  One body, spirit, hope, reward:\n  May we in one communion be,\n  One with each other, one with thee.\n\n  2 Bless all whose voice salvation brings,\n  Who minister in holy things;\n  Our pastors, rulers, deacons, bless;\n  Clothe them with zeal and righteousness:\n  Let many in the judgment day,\n  Turned from the error of their way,\n  Their hope, their joy, their crown, appear:\n  Save those who preach, and those who hear.\n\n\n724                                                              L. M.\n                 Lord, now we part in thy blest name.\n\n  Lord, now we part in thy blest name,\n  In which we here together came;\n  Grant us our few remaining days,\n  To work thy will and spread thy praise.\n\n  2 Teach us, in life and death, to bless\n  Thee, Lord, our strength and righteousness;\n  And grant us all to meet above,\n  Where we shall better sing thy love!\n\n\n725                                                              L. M.\n                        The pillar and cloud.\n\n  O present still, though still unseen,\n    When brightly shines the prosperous day,\n  Be thoughts of thee a cloudy screen,\n    To temper the deceitful ray!\n\n  2 And, O, when gathers on our path\n    In shade and storm the frequent night,\n  Be thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath,\n    A burning and a shining light.\n\n\n726                                                              L. M.\n                 \"Up to the hills, I lift mine eyes.\"\n                                    Psalm 121.\n\n  Up to the hills I lift mine eyes,\n  Th' eternal hills beyond the skies;\n  Thence all her help my soul derives,\n  There my almighty Refuge lives.\n\n  2 He lives--the everlasting God\n  That built the world, that spread the flood;\n  The heavens with all their hosts he made,\n  And the dark regions of the dead.\n\n  3 He guides our feet, he guards our way;\n  His morning smiles bless all the day;\n  He spreads the evening vail, and keeps\n  The silent hours, while Israel sleeps.\n\n  4 Israel, a name divinely blest,\n  May rise secure, securely rest;\n  Thy holy Guardian's wakeful eyes\n  Admit no slumber, nor surprise.\n\n  5 Should earth and hell with malice burn,\n  Still thou shalt go, and still return,\n  Safe in the Lord; his heavenly care\n  Defends thy life from every snare.\n\n\n727                                                              L. M.\n                Give him the thanks his love demands.\n\n  To God the great, the ever-blest,\n  Let songs of honor be addressed!\n  His mercy firm for ever stands;\n  Give him the thanks his love demands!\n\n  2 Who knows the wonder of his ways?\n  Who can make known his boundless praise?\n  Blest are the souls that fear him still,\n  And learn submission to his will.\n\n\n728                                                              L. M.\n                              Doxology.\n\n  Praise God, ye heavenly hosts above!\n  Praise him all creatures of his love!\n  Praise him each morning, noon and night,\n  Praise him with holy sweet delight!\n\n\n729                                                              C. M.\n                Thou leadest thy people like a flock.\n                                   Psalm 77:20.\n\n  Thou art our Shepherd, glorious God!\n    Thy little flock behold,\n  And guide us by thy staff and rod,\n    The children of thy fold.\n\n  2 We praise thy name that we were brought\n    To this delightful place,\n  Where we are watched, and warned, and taught,\n    The children of thy grace.\n\n  3 May all our friends, thy servants here,\n    Meet with us all above,\n  And we and they in heaven appear,\n    The children of thy love.\n\n\n730                                                              C. M.\n                     Prayer for divine direction.\n\n  Internal Source of life and light!\n    Supremely good and wise!\n  To thee we bring our grateful vows,\n    To thee lift up our eyes.\n\n  2 Our dark and erring minds illume\n    With truth's celestial rays;\n  Inspire our hearts with sacred love,\n    And tune our lips to praise.\n\n  3 Safely conduct us, by thy grace,\n    Through life's perplexing road;\n  And place us, when that journey's o'er,\n    At thy right hand, O God!\n\n\n731                                                              C. M.\n                        The seed of the word.\n\n  O God, by whom the seed is given,\n    By whom the harvest blest;\n  Whose word, like manna showered from heaven,\n    Is planted in our breast;\n\n  2 Preserve it from the passing feet,\n    And plunderers of the air;\n  The sultry's sun's intenser heat,\n    And weeds of worldly care!\n\n  3 Though buried deep, or thinly strewn,\n    Do thou thy grace supply;\n  The hope, in earthly furrows sown,\n    Shall ripen in the sky.\n\n\n732                                                              C. M.\n                           Parting in hope.\n\n  Lord, when together here we meet,\n    And taste thy heavenly grace,\n  Thy smiles are so divinely sweet,\n    We're loath to leave the place.\n\n  2 Yet, Father, since it is thy will\n    That we must part again,\n  O let thy gracious presence still\n    With every one remain!\n\n  3 Then let us all in Christ be one,\n    Bound with the cords of love,\n  Till we, around thy glorious throne,\n    Shall joyous meet above:\n\n  4 Where sin and sorrow from each heart\n    Shall then for ever fly,\n  And not one thought that we shall part\n    Once interrupt our joy.\n\n\n733                                                              C. M.\n                            The good Seed.\n\n  Almighty God, thy word is cast\n    Like seed into the ground;\n  Now let the dew of heaven descend,\n    And righteous fruits abound.\n\n  2 Let not the foe of Christ and man\n    This holy seed remove:\n  But give it root in every heart,\n    To bring forth fruits of love.\n\n\n734                                                              C. M.\n                            Glory to God.\n\n  Glory to God! who deigns to bless\n    This consecrated day,\n  Unfolds his wondrous promises,\n    And makes it sweet to pray.\n\n  2 Glory to God! who deigns to hear\n    The humblest sigh we raise,\n  And answers every heartfelt prayer,\n    And hears our hymn of praise.\n\n\n735                                                              S. M.\n                       Peace I leave with you.\n                                   John 14:27.\n\n  Lord, at this closing hour,\n    Establish every heart\n  Upon thy word of truth and power\n    To keep us when we part.\n\n  2 Peace to our brethren give;\n    Fill all our hearts with love;\n  In faith and patience may we live,\n    And seek our rest above.\n\n  3 Through changes, bright or drear,\n    We would thy will pursue;\n  And toil to spread thy kingdom here\n    Till we its glory view.\n\n  4 To God, the Only Wise,\n    In every age adored;\n  Let glory from the church arise\n    Through Jesus Christ our Lord.\n\n\n736                                                              S. M.\n                  To the only wise God, our Saviour.\n                                   Jude 24;25.\n\n  To God, the Only Wise,\n    Our Saviour and our King;\n  Let all the saints below the skies\n    Their humble praises bring.\n\n  2 'Tis his almighty love,\n    His counsel and his care,\n  Preserve us safe from sin and death,\n    And every hurtful snare.\n\n  3 He will present our souls,\n    Unblemished and complete,\n  Before the glory of his face,\n    With joys divinely great.\n\n  4 Then all the chosen seed\n    Shall meet around the throne,\n  Shall bless the conduct of his grace,\n    And make his wonders known.\n\n  5 To our Redeemer, God,\n    Wisdom and power belong,\n  Immortal crowns of majesty,\n    And everlasting song.\n\n\n737                                                              S. M.\n                        God be merciful to us.\n                                   Psalm 67:1.\n\n  To bless thy chosen race,\n    In mercy, Lord, incline;\n  And cause the brightness of thy face\n    On all thy saints to shine;--\n\n  2 That so thy wondrous way\n    May through the world be known:\n  While distant lands their homage pay,\n    And thy salvation own.\n\n  3 Let all the nations join\n    To celebrate thy fame;\n  And all the world, Lord, combine,\n    To praise thy glorious name.\n\n\n738                                                              S. M.\n                           Waiting in hope.\n\n  Soon we shall meet again\n    When all our toils are o'er,\n  Where sin, and death, and grief, and pain,\n    And parting are no more.\n\n  2 O, happy, happy day\n    That calls thy exiles home;\n  The flaming heavens shall pass away,\n    The earth receive her doom.\n\n  3 Saviour, we wait the sound\n    That shall our souls release,\n  And labor that we may be found\n    Of thee in perfect peace.\n\n\n739                                                              S. M.\n             Absent in the flesh--present in the spirit.\n\n  And let our bodies part,\n    To different climes repair;\n  Still and for ever joined in heart\n    The friends of Jesus are.\n\n  2 O let us still proceed\n    In Jesus' work below;\n  And following our triumphant Head,\n    To further conquests go.\n\n  3 O let our heart and mind,\n    Great God, to thee ascend,\n  That haven of repose to find,\n    Where all our labors end;\n\n  4 Where all our toils are o'er,\n    Our suffering and our pain:\n  Who meet on that eternal shore\n    Shall never part again.\n\n\n740                                                              S. M.\n                         The spread of truth.\n\n  Thy name, almighty Lord,\n    Shall sound through distant lands:\n  Great is thy grace, and sure thy word;\n    Thy truth for ever stands.\n\n  2 Far be thine honor spread,\n    And long thy praise endure,\n  Till morning light and evening shade\n    Shall be exchanged no more.\n\n\n741                                                              S. M.\n                  Blessedness of the pure in heart.\n\n  Blest are the pure in heart\n    For they shall see our God;\n  The secret of the Lord is theirs;\n    Their soul is his abode.\n\n  2 Still to the lowly soul\n    He doth himself impart,\n  And for his temple and his throne\n    Selects the pure in heart.\n\n\n742                                                      7s. peculiar.\n                    Head of the Church triumphant.\n\n  Head of the Church triumphant!\n    We joyfully adore thee;\n  Till thou appear, thy members here\n    Shall sing like those in glory.\n\n  2 We lift our hearts and voices\n    In blest anticipation,\n  And cry aloud, and give to God\n    The praise of our salvation.\n\n\n743                                                                7s.\n                              Psalm 117.\n\n  All ye nations, praise the Lord;\n    All ye lands, your voices raise;\n  Heaven and earth, with loud accord\n    Praise the Lord, for ever praise.\n\n  2 For his truth and mercy stand,\n    Past, and present, and to be,\n  Like the years of his right hand,\n    Like his own eternity.\n\n\n744                                                                7s.\n                   Supplication--with thanksgiving.\n                                    Phil. 4:6.\n\n  Thanks for mercies past receive;\n    Pardon of our sins renew;\n  Teach us, henceforth, how to live\n    With eternity in view.\n\n  2 Blest thy word to old and young,\n    Grant us, Lord, thy peace and love;\n  And, when life's short race is run,\n    Take us to thy house above.\n\n\n745                                                        7s, double.\n                           Guide us, Lord.\n\n  Guide us, Lord! while, hand in hand,\n  Journing toward the better land;\n  Foes we know are to be met,\n  Snares the pilgrim's path beset;\n  Clouds upon the valley rest,\n  Rough and dark the mountain's breast;\n  And our home can not be gained,\n  Save through trials well sustained.\n\n  2 Guide us while we onward move,\n  Linked in closest bonds of love,\n  Striving for the holy mind,\n  And the soul from sense refined;\n  That when life no longer burns,\n  And the dust to dust returns,\n  With the strength which thou hast given,\n  We may rise to thee and heaven.\n\n\n746                                                                7s.\n                 The God of Peace--make you perfect.\n                                   Heb. 13:20.\n\n  Now may he, who from the dead\n    Brought the Shepherd of the sheep,\n  Jesus Christ our King and Head,\n    All our souls in safety keep!\n\n  2 May he teach us to fulfill\n    What is pleasing in his sight;\n  Perfect us in all his will,\n    And preserve us day and night.\n\n  3 Great Redeemer! thee we praise,\n    Who the covenant sealed with blood\n  While our hearts and voices raise\n    Loud thanksgiving unto God.\n\n\n747                                                                7s.\n                            Col 1:11, 12.\n\n  Glorious in thy saints appear;\n  Plant thy heavenly kingdom here;\n  Light and life to all impart;\n  Shine on each believing heart;\n\n  2 And, in every grace complete,\n  Make us, Lord, for glory meet;\n  Till we stand before thy sight,\n  Partners with the saints in light.\n\n\n748                                                                7s.\n                       I will never leave thee.\n                                    Heb. 13:5.\n\n  For a season called to part,\n    Let us now ourselves commend\n  To the gracious eye and heart\n    Of our ever-present Friend.\n\n  2 Jesus, hear our humble prayer;\n    Tender Shepherd of thy sheep,\n  Let thy mercy and thy care\n    All our souls in safety keep.\n\n  3 In thy strength may we be strong;\n    Sweeten every cross and pain;\n  Give us, if thou wilt, ere long\n    Here to meet in peace again.\n\n\n749                                                        7s. double.\n                              Doxology.\n\n  Father! glory be to thee,\n  Source of all the good we see!\n  Glory for the blessed Light\n  Rising on the ancient night!\n  Glory for the hopes that come\n  Streaming through the silent tomb!\n  Glory for thy Spirit given,\n  Guiding us in peace to heaven!\n\n\n750                                                           8s & 7s.\n                       The salutation of peace.\n\n  Peace be to this congregation!\n    Peace to every heart therein!\n  Peace, the earnest of salvation,\n    Peace, the fruit of conquered sin;\n\n  2 Peace, that speaks the heavenly Giver,\n    Peace, to worldly minds unknown,\n  Peace, that floweth, as a river,\n    From the eternal Source alone.\n\n  3 O thou God of Peace! be near us,\n    Fix within our hearts thy home;\n  With thy bright appearing cheer us,\n    In thy blessed freedom come.\n\n  4 Come, with all thy revelations,\n    Truth which we so long have sought;\n  Come with thy deep consolations,\n    Peace of God which passeth thought!\n\n\n751                                                           8s & 7s.\n                            Closing hymn.\n\n  Israel's Shepherd, guide me, feed me,\n    Through my pilgrimage below,\n  And beside the waters lead me,\n    Where thy flock rejoicing go.\n\n  2 Lord, thy guardian presence ever,\n    Meekly kneeling, I implore;\n  I have found thee, and would never,\n    Never wander from thee more.\n\n\n752                                                           8s & 7s.\n                        Apostolic benediction.\n\n  May the grace of Christ, our Saviour,\n    And the Father's boundless love,\n  With the Holy Spirit's favor,\n    Rest upon us from above.\n\n  2 Thus may we abide in union\n    With each other and the Lord;\n  And possess, in sweet communion,\n    Joys which earth can not afford.\n\n\n753                                                           8s & 7s.\n                          Praise to Christ.\n\n  Worship, honor, glory, blessing,\n    Be to him who reigns above!\n  Young and old thy Name confessing,\n    Saviour! let us share thy love!\n\n  2 As the saints in heaven adore thee,\n    We would bow before thy throne;\n  As thine angels bow before thee,\n    So on earth thy will be done!\n\n\n754                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                             Dismission.\n\n  Lord, dismiss us with thy blessing,\n    Fill our hearts with joy and peace;\n  Let us each, thy love possessing,\n    Triumph in redeeming grace;\n        O refresh us!\n    Traveling through this wilderness.\n\n  2 Thanks we give and adoration\n    For the gospel's joyful sound;\n  May the fruits of thy salvation\n    In our hearts and lives abound;\n        May thy presence\n    With us evermore be found.\n\n  3 So, whene'er the signal's given\n    Us from earth to call away;\n  Borne on angel's wings to heaven\n    Glad the summons to obey,\n        May we ready,\n    Rise and reign in endless day.\n\n\n755                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                            Keep us, Lord.\n\n  Keep us, Lord, oh, keep us ever!\n    Vain our hope, if left by thee;\n  We are thine; oh, leave us never,\n    Till thy glorious face we see!\n        Then to praise thee\n    Through a bright eternity.\n\n  2 Precious is thy word of promise,\n    Precious to thy people here;\n  Never take thy presence from us,\n    Jesus, Saviour, still be near;\n        Living, dying,\n    May thy name our spirits cheer.\n\n\n756                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                    God of our salvation, hear us.\n\n  God of our salvation, hear us;\n    Bless, O bless us, ere we go;\n  When we join the world, be near us,\n    Lest we cold and careless grow;\n        Saviour, keep us--\n    Keep us safe from every foe.\n\n  2 As our steps are drawing nearer\n    To the place we call our home,\n  May our view of heaven grow clearer,\n    Hope more bright of joys to come;\n        And when dying,\n    May thy presence cheer the gloom.\n\n\n757                                                           7s & 6s.\n                        Praise for salvation.\n\n  To thee be praise for ever,\n    Thou glorious King of kings!\n  Thy wondrous love and favor\n    Each ransomed spirit sings.\n\n  2 We'll celebrate thy glory,\n    With all thy saints above,\n  And shout the joyful story\n    Of thy redeeming love.\n\n\n758                                                              H. M.\n                  To God, and the word of his grace.\n                                   Acts 20:32.\n\n  To thee our wants are known,\n    From thee are all our powers;\n  Accept what is thine own,\n    And pardon what is ours:\n  Our praises, Lord, and prayers, receive,\n  And to thy words a blessing give.\n\n  2 O, grant that each of us\n    Now met before thee here,\n  May meet together thus,\n    When thou and thine appear:\n  To thy blest presence may we come\n  And dwell in an eternal home.\n\n\n759                                                              P. M.\n                      Show me a token for good.\n                                   Psalm 86:17.\n\n  Of thy love some gracious token\n    Grant us, Lord, before we go;\n  Bless thy word which has been spoken;\n    Life and peace on all bestow!\n  When we join the world again,\n  Let our hearts with thee remain;\n      O direct us\n      And protect us,\n  Till we gain the heavenly shore\n  Where thy people want no more!\n\n\n\n\n                     THE NEW LIFE--TRUST AND JOY.\n\n\n760                                                              L. M.\n                          The peace of God.\n                                    Phil. 4:7.\n\n  O peace of God, sweet peace of God!\n    Where broods on earth this gentle dove!\n  Where spread those pure and downy wings\n    To shelter him whom God doth love?\n\n  2 Whence comes this blessing of the soul,\n    This silent joy which can not fade?\n  This glory, tranquil, holy, bright,\n    Pervading sorrow's deepest shade?\n\n  3 The peace of God, the peace of God!\n    It shines as clear 'mid cloud and storm\n  As in the calmest summer day,\n    'Mid chill as in the sunlight warm.\n\n  4 O peace of God! earth hath no power\n    To shed thine unction o'er the heart;\n  Its smile can never bring it here--\n    Its frown ne'er bid its light depart.\n\n  5 Calm peace of God, in holy trust,\n    In love and faith, thy presence dwells--\n  In patient suffering and toil\n    Where mercy's gentle tear-drop swells.\n\n  6 Sweet peace! O let thy heavenly ray\n    Shed its calm radiance o'er my road;\n  Its kindly light shall cheer me on--\n    Guide to the endless peace of God.\n\n\n761                                                              L. M.\n                           God our Father.\n\n  Is there a lone and dreary hour,\n  When worldly pleasures lose their power?\n  My Father! let me turn to thee,\n  And set each thought of darkness free.\n\n  2 Is there a time of rushing grief,\n  Which scorns the prospect of relief?\n  My Father! break the cheerless gloom,\n  And bid my heart its calm resume.\n\n  3 Is there an hour of peace and joy\n  When hope is all my soul's employ?\n  My Father! still my hopes will roam,\n  Until they rest with thee, their home.\n\n  4 The noontide blaze, the midnight scene,\n  The dawn, or twilight's sweet serene,\n  The glow of life, the dying hour,\n  Shall own my Father's grace and power.\n\n\n762                                                           L. M. D.\n                  The secret place of the Most High.\n                                   Psalm 91:1.\n\n  O this is blessing, this is rest!\n    Into thine arms, O Lord! I flee;\n  I hide me in thy faithful breast,\n    And pour out all my soul to thee,\n  Now, hushing every adverse sound,\n  Songs of defense my soul surround,\n  As if all saints encamped about\n  One trusting heart, pursued by doubt.\n\n  2 And O, how solemn, yet how sweet,\n    Their one assured, persuasive strain!\n  \"The Lord of hosts is thy retreat,\n    Still in his hands thy times remain.\"\n  O tender word! O truth divine!\n  Lord, I am altogether thine;\n  I have bowed down, I need not flee;\n  Peace, peace is found in trusting thee.\n\n  3 And now I count supremely kind\n    The rule that once I thought severe;\n  And precious, to my altered mind,\n    At length thy kind reproofs appear.\n  I must be taught what I would know,\n  I must be led where I should go:\n  And all the rest ordained for me,\n  Is to be found in trusting thee.\n\n\n763                                                              L. M.\n                         The repose of faith.\n\n  O Father! gladly we repose\n    Our souls on thee, who dwellest above,\n  And bless thee for the peace which flows\n    From faith in thine encircling love.\n\n  2 Though every earthly trust may break,\n    Infinite might belongs to thee;\n  Though every earthly friend forsake,\n    Unchangeable thou still wilt be.\n\n  3 Though griefs may gather darkly round,\n    They can not vail us from thy sight;\n  Though vain all human aid be found,\n    Thou every grief canst turn to light.\n\n  4 All things thy wise designs fulfill,\n    In earth beneath, and heaven above,\n  And good breaks out from every ill,\n    Through faith in thine encircling love.\n\n\n764                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                  God is my light and my salvation.\n                                   Psalm 27:1.\n\n  Fountain of light, and living breath,\n    Whose mercies never fail nor fade,\n  Fill me with life that hath no death,\n    Fill me with light that hath no shade;\n  Appoint the remnant of my days\n  To see thy power, and sing thy praise.\n\n  2 O Lord, our God, before whose throne\n    Stand storms and fire, O what shall we\n  Return to heaven, that is our own,\n    When all the world belongs to thee?\n  We have no offering to impart,\n  But praises, and a broken heart.\n\n  3 O thou who sittest in heaven and seest\n    My deeds without, my thoughts within,\n  Be thou my prince, be thou my priest--\n    Command my soul, and cure my sin:\n  How bitter my afflictions be,\n  I care not, so I rise to thee.\n\n  4 What I possess, or what I crave,\n    Brings no content, great God, to me,\n  If what I would, or what I have,\n    Be not possessed and blest in thee:\n  What I enjoy, O, make it mine,\n  In making me--that have it--thine.\n\n\n765                                                              L. M.\n                 I delight to do thy will, O my God.\n                                   Psalm 40:8.\n\n  O Lord, thy heavenly grace impart,\n  And fix my frail, inconstant heart;\n  Henceforth my chief delight shall be\n  To dedicate myself to thee,\n      To thee, my God, to thee.\n\n  2 Whate'er pursuits my time employ,\n  One thought shall fill my soul with joy;\n  That silent, secret thought shall be,\n  That all my hopes are fixed on thee,\n      On thee, my God, on thee.\n\n  3 Thy glorious eye pervadeth space;\n  Thy presence, Lord, fills every place;\n  And, wheresoe'er my lot may be,\n  Still shall my spirit cleave to thee,\n      To thee, my God, to thee.\n\n  4 Renouncing every worldly thing,\n  And safe beneath thy sheltering wing,\n  My sweetest thought henceforth shall be,\n  That all I want I find in thee,\n      In thee, my God, in thee.\n\n\n766                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                      My soul trusteth in thee.\n                                   Psalm 57:1.\n\n  Do not I trust in thee, O Lord?\n    Do I not rest in thee alone?\n  Is not the comfort of thy word\n    The sweetest cordial I have known?\n  When vexed with care, bowed down with grief,\n  Where else could I obtain relief?\n\n  2 And is it not my chief desire\n    To feel as if a stranger here?\n  Do not my hopes and thoughts aspire\n    Beyond this transitory sphere?\n  And art thou not, while here I roam,\n  My hope, my hiding-place, my home?\n\n  3 O, yes! these things are ever true;\n    Thy promise is for ever sure;\n  And all I now am passing through,\n    And all that I may still endure,\n  Will but endear thy word to me,\n  And draw me nearer, Lord, to thee.\n\n  4 And now on thee I cast my soul,\n    Come life or death, come ease or pain;\n  Thy presence can each fear control,\n    Thy grace can to the end sustain:\n  Those whom thou lovest, heavenly Friend,\n  Thou lovest even to the end!\n\n\n767                                                              L. M.\n                       Repose in God's wisdom.\n\n  Whither, O whither should I fly,\n    But to my loving Father's breast!\n  Secure within thine arms to lie,\n    And safe beneath thy wings to rest!\n\n  2 In all my ways thy hand I own,\n    Thy ruling providence I see:\n  Assist me still my course to run,\n    And still direct my paths to thee.\n\n  3 I have no skill the snare to shun;\n    But thou, O God, my wisdom art;\n  I ever into ruin run;\n    But thou art greater than my heart.\n\n  4 Foolish, and impotent, and blind,\n    Lead me a way I have not known;\n  Bring me where I my heaven may find,\n    The heaven of loving thee alone.\n\n\n768                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                            He leadeth me.\n\n  \"He leadeth me!\" O! blessed thought,\n  O! words with heavenly comfort fraught,\n  Whate'er I do, whate'er I be,\n  Still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me!\n      He leadeth me! he leadeth me!\n      By his own hand he leadeth me.\n\n  2 Sometimes 'midst scenes of deepest gloom,\n  Sometimes where Eden's bowers bloom;\n  By waters still, o'er troubled sea--\n  Still 'tis his hand that leadeth me!\n      He leadeth me! he leadeth me!\n      By his own hand he leadeth me.\n\n  3 Lord, I would clasp thy hands in mine,\n  Nor ever murmur nor repine--\n  Content, whatever lot I see,\n  Since 'tis my God that leadeth me!\n      He leadeth me! he leadeth me!\n      By his own hand he leadeth me.\n\n  4 And when my task on earth is done,\n  When, by thy grace, the victory's won;\n  E'en death's cold wave I will not flee,\n  Since God through Jordan leadeth me!\n      He leadeth me! he leadeth me!\n      By his own hand he leadeth me.\n\n\n769                                                              C. M.\n               Thou art my soul's bright morning star.\n\n  My God, the spring of all my joys,\n    The life of my delights,\n  The glory of my brightest days,\n    The comfort of my nights!\n\n  2 In darkest shades, if thou appear,\n    My dawning is begun;\n  Thou art my soul's bright morning star,\n    And thou my rising sun.\n\n  3 The opening heavens around me shine\n    With beams of sacred bliss,\n  While Jesus shows his mercy mine,\n    And whispers I am his.\n\n  4 My soul would leave this heavy clay\n    At that transporting word,\n  And run with joy the shining way\n    To meet my dearest Lord.\n\n\n770                                                              C. M.\n                     Rejoice in the Lord always.\n                                    Phil. 4:4.\n\n  Rejoice, believers in the Lord,\n    Who makes your cause his own;\n  The hope that's built upon his word,\n    Can ne'er be overthrown.\n\n  2 Though many foes beset your road,\n    And feeble is your arm,\n  Your life is hid in Christ your God\n    Beyond the reach of harm.\n\n  3 Weak as you are, you shall not faint,\n    Or fainting, shall not die;\n  Jesus, the strength of every saint,\n    Will aid you from on high.\n\n  4 As surely as he overcame,\n    And triumphed once for you;\n  So surely you that love his name,\n    Shall triumph in him too.\n\n\n771                                                              C. M.\n                      Call me thy servant, Lord.\n\n  O not to fill the mouth of fame,\n    My longing soul is stirred:\n  But give me a diviner name;\n    Call me thy servant, Lord!\n\n  2 No longer would my soul be known\n    As uncontrolled and free;\n  O, not mine own! O, not mine own!\n    Lord, I belong to thee.\n\n  3 Thy servant--me thy servant choose,\n    Nought of thy claim abate!\n  The glorious name I would not lose,\n    Nor change the sweet estate.\n\n  4 In life, in death, on earth, in heaven,\n    This is the name for me;\n  And be the same dear title given\n    Through all eternity.\n\n\n772                                                              C. M.\n                               Psalm 1.\n\n  Blest is the man who shuns the place\n    Where sinners love to meet,\n  Who fears to tread their wicked ways,\n    And hates the scoffer's seat:\n\n  2 But in the statutes of the Lord,\n    Has placed his chief delight;\n  By day he reads or hears the word,\n    And meditates by night.\n\n  3 Green as the leaf, and ever fair,\n    Shall his profession shine:\n  While fruits of holiness appear\n    Like clusters on the vine.\n\n  4 Not so the impious and unjust:\n    What vain designs they form!\n  Their hopes are blown away like dust,\n    Or chaff before the storm.\n\n  5 Sinners in judgment shall not stand\n    Among the sons of grace,\n  When Christ the judge at his right hand\n    Appoints his saints a place.\n\n  6 His eyes behold the path they tread,\n    His heart approves it well;\n  But crooked ways of sinners lead\n    Down to the gates of hell.\n\n\n773                                                           C. M. D.\n                         O lead us gently on.\n\n  Father of love, our Guide and Friend,\n    O, lead us gently on,\n  Until life's trial-time shall end,\n    And heavenly peace be won!\n  We know not what the path may be\n    As yet by us untrod;\n  But we can trust our all to thee,\n    Our Father and our God.\n\n  2 If called, like Abraham's child, to climb\n    The hill of sacrifice,\n  Some angel may be there in time;\n    Deliverance shall arise:\n  Or, if some darker lot be good,\n    O, teach us to endure\n  The sorrow, pain, or solitude,\n    That make the spirit pure!\n\n\n774                                                              C. M.\n                     Thou art my portion, O Lord.\n                                  Psalm 119:57.\n\n  Thou art my portion, O my God;\n    Soon as I know thy way,\n  My heart makes haste t' obey thy word,\n    And suffers no delay.\n\n  2 I choose the path of heavenly truth,\n    And glory in my choice;\n  Not all the riches of the earth\n    Could make me so rejoice.\n\n  3 The testimonies of thy grace\n    I set before mine eyes;\n  Thence I derive my daily strength,\n    And there my comfort lies.\n\n  4 If once I wander from thy path,\n    I think upon my ways;\n  Then turn my feet to thy commands,\n    And trust thy pardoning grace.\n\n  5 Now I am thine, for ever thine;\n    O, save thy servant, Lord:\n  Thou art my shield, my hiding-place,\n    My hope is in thy word.\n\n\n775                                                     C. M. 6 lines.\n                    The spirit of a little child.\n\n  Father, I know that all my life\n    Is portioned out for me;\n  The changes that will surely come,\n    I do not fear to see:\n  I ask thee for a present mind,\n    Intent on pleasing thee.\n\n  2 I ask thee for a thoughtful love,\n    Through constant watching wise,\n  To meet the glad with joyful smiles,\n    And wipe the weeping eyes;\n  A heart at leisure from itself,\n    To soothe and sympathize.\n\n  3 I would not have the restless will\n    That hurries to and fro,\n  That seeks for some great thing to do,\n    Or secret thing to know:\n  I would be treated as a child,\n    And guided where I go.\n\n  4 Wherever in the world I am,\n    In whatsoe'er estate,\n  I have a fellowship with hearts,\n    To keep and cultivate;\n  A work of lowly love to do\n    For him on whom I wait.\n\n\n776                                                              C. M.\n                         Christ loved unseen.\n                                   1 Peter 1:8.\n\n  Jesus, these eyes have never seen\n    That radiant form of thine!\n  The vail of sense hangs dark between\n    Thy blessed face and mine!\n\n  2 I see thee not, I hear thee not,\n    Yet art thou oft with me;\n  And earth hath ne'er so dear a spot,\n    As where I meet with thee.\n\n  3 Like some bright dream that comes unsought,\n    When slumbers o'er me roll,\n  Thine image ever fills my thought,\n    And charms my ravished soul.\n\n  4 Yet though I have not seen, and still\n    Must rest in faith alone;\n  I love thee, dearest Lord! and will,\n    Unseen, but not unknown.\n\n  5 When death these mortal eyes shall seal,\n    And still this throbbing heart,\n  The rending vail shall thee reveal,\n    All glorious as thou art!\n\n\n777                                                           C. L. M.\n                              Job. 1:21.\n\n  When I can trust my all with God,\n    In trial's fearful hour--\n  Bow all resigned beneath his rod,\n    And bless his sparing power;\n  A joy springs up amid distress,\n  A fountain in the wilderness.\n\n  2 O! to be brought to Jesus' feet,\n    Though trials fix me there,\n  Is still a privilege most sweet;\n    For he will hear my prayer;\n  Though sighs and tears its language be,\n  The Lord is nigh to answer me.\n\n  3 Then, blessed be the hand that gave,\n    Still blessed when it takes;\n  Blessed be he who smites to save,\n    Who heals the heart he breaks;\n  Perfect and true are all his ways,\n  Whom heaven adores and death obeys.\n\n\n778                                                              S. M.\n                        That Rock was Christ.\n                                   1 Cor. 10:4.\n\n  Israel the desert trod,\n    Sustained by power divine,\n  While wondrous mercy marked the road\n    With many a mystic sign.\n\n  2 When Moses gave the stroke,\n    From Horeb's flinty side\n  Issued a river, and the rock\n    The Hebrew's thirst supplied.\n\n  3 But O! what nobler themes\n    Does gospel grace afford!\n  From Calvary spring superior streams--\n    There hung the smitten Lord!\n\n  4 Of every hope bereft,\n    Sinners to Jesus go;\n  Behold the Rock of Ages cleft,\n    And living currents flow.\n\n  5 Here may our spirits bathe,\n    Here may our joys abound!\n  Till (passed the wilderness and death)\n    We tread celestial ground.\n\n\n779                                                              S. M.\n                        Having all in Christ.\n\n  My spirit on thy care,\n    Blest Saviour, I recline;\n  Thou wilt not leave me to despair,\n    For thou art love divine.\n\n  2 In thee I place my trust;\n    On thee I calmly rest:\n  I know thee good, I know thee just,\n    And count thy choice the best.\n\n  3 Whate'er events betide,\n    Thy will they all perform;\n  Safe in thy breast my head I hide,\n    Nor fear the coming storm.\n\n  4 Let good or ill befall,\n    It must be good for me--\n  Secure of having thee in all\n    Of having all in thee.\n\n\n780                                                                7s.\n                     Make me like a little child.\n\n  Jesus, cast a look on me!\n  Give me true simplicity:\n  Make me poor and keep me low,\n  Seeking only thee to know.\n\n  2 All that feeds my busy pride,\n  Cast it evermore aside:\n  Bid my will to thine submit:\n  Lay me humbly at thy feet.\n\n  3 Make me like a little child,\n  Simple, teachable, and mild;\n  Seeing only in thy light;\n  Walking only in thy might!\n\n  4 Leaning on thy loving breast,\n  Where a weary soul may rest;\n  Feeling well the peace of God\n  Flowing from thy precious blood!\n\n\n781                                                              P. M.\n                Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel.\n                                   Psalm 73:24.\n\n    My Shepherd's mighty aid,\n    His dear redeeming love,\n  His all-protecting power displayed,\n        I joy to prove.\n    Led onward by my Guide,\n    I tread the beauteous scene,\n  Where tranquil waters gently glide\n        Through pastures green.\n\n    2 In error's maze my soul\n    Shall wander now no more;\n  His Spirit shall, with sweet control,\n        The lost restore.\n    My willing steps he'll lead\n    In paths of righteousness;\n  His power defend, his bounty feed,\n        His mercy bless.\n\n    3 Affliction's deepest gloom\n    Shall but his love display;\n  He will the vale of death illume\n        With living ray.\n    I lean upon his rod,\n    And thankfully adore;\n  My heart shall vindicate my God\n        For evermore.\n\n    4 His goodness ever nigh,\n    His mercy ever free,\n  Shall while I live, shall when I die\n        Still follow me.\n    For ever shall my soul\n    His boundless blessings prove,\n  And, while eternal ages roll,\n        Adore and love.\n\n\n782                                                                7s.\n                      The pearl of great price.\n\n  'Tis religion that can give\n  Sweetest pleasure while we live;\n  'Tis religion must supply\n  Solid comfort when we die.\n\n  2 After death, its joys will be\n  Lasting as eternity!\n  Be the living God my friend,\n  Then my bliss shall never end.\n\n\n783                                                           8s & 7s.\n                   Except the Lord build the house.\n                                   Psalm 127:1.\n\n  Vainly through night's weary hours,\n    Keep we watch lest foes alarm;\n  Vain our bulwarks, and our towers,\n    But for God's protecting arm.\n\n  2 Vain were all our toil and labor,\n    Did not God that labor bless;\n  Vain, without his grace and favor,\n    Every talent we possess.\n\n  3 Vainer still the hope of heaven\n    That on human strength relies;\n  But to him shall help be given\n    Who in humble faith applies.\n\n  4 Seek we, then, the Lord's Anointed;\n    He shall grant us peace and rest:\n  Ne'er was suppliant disappointed\n    Who through Christ his prayer addressed.\n\n\n784                                                                7s.\n                             1 John 4:19.\n\n  Saviour! teach me, day by day,\n  Love's sweet lessons to obey;\n  Sweeter lessons can not be,\n  Loving him who first loved me.\n\n  2 With a child-like heart of love,\n  At thy bidding may I move;\n  Prompt to serve and follow thee,\n  Loving him who first loved me.\n\n  3 Teach me all thy steps to trace,\n  Strong to follow in thy grace;\n  Learning how to love from thee,\n  Loving him who first loved me.\n\n  4 Love in loving finds employ--\n  In obedience all her joy;\n  Ever new that joy will be,\n  Loving him who first loved me.\n\n  5 Thus may I rejoice to show\n  That I feel the love I owe;\n  Singing, till thy face I see,\n  Of his love who first loved me.\n\n\n785                                                           7s & 6s.\n                         I will fear no evil.\n                                   Psalm 23:4.\n\n  In heavenly love abiding,\n    No change my heart shall fear;\n  And safe is such confiding,\n    For nothing changes here.\n  The storm may roar without me,\n    My heart may low be laid,\n  But God is round about me,\n    And can I be dismayed?\n\n  2 Wherever he may guide me,\n    No want shall turn me back:\n  My Shepherd is beside me,\n    And nothing can I lack.\n  His wisdom ever waketh,\n    His sight is never dim;\n  He knows the way he taketh,\n    And I will walk with him.\n\n  3 Green pastures are before me,\n    Which yet I have not seen;\n  Bright skies will soon be o'er me,\n    Where the dark clouds have been.\n  My hope I can not measure,\n    My path to life is free,\n  My Saviour has my treasure,\n    And he will walk with me.\n\n\n786                                                           6s & 4s.\n                       Be thou my strong Rock.\n                                   Psalm 31:2.\n\n  O strong to save and bless,\n  My Rock and Righteousness,\n    Draw near to me;\n  Blessing, and joy, and might,\n  Wisdom, and love, and light,\n    Are all with thee.\n\n  2 My Refuge and my Rest,\n  As child on mother's breast\n    I lean on thee;\n  From faintness and from fear,\n  When foes and ill are near,\n    Deliver me.\n\n  3 O, answer me, my God;\n  Thy love is deep and broad,\n    Thy grace is true;\n  Thousands this grace have shared;\n  O, let _me_ now be heard,\n    O, love _me_, too.\n\n\n787                                                              P. M.\n                             It is well.\n                                  2 Kings 4:26.\n\n  Through the love of God our Saviour,\n      All will be well:\n  Free and changeless is his favor;\n      All, all is well:\n  Precious is the blood that healed us;\n  Perfect is the grace that sealed us;\n  Strong the hand stretched out to shield us;\n      All must be well;\n\n  2 Though we pass through tribulation,\n      All will be well:\n  Ours is such a full salvation;\n      All, all is well:\n  Happy, still in God confiding,\n  Fruitful, if in Christ abiding,\n  Holy, through the Spirit's guiding,\n      All must be well.\n\n  3 We expect a bright to-morrow;\n      All will be well;\n  Faith can sing through days of sorrow,\n      All, all is well;\n  On our Father's love relying,\n  Jesus every need supplying,\n  Or in living, or in dying,\n      All must be well.\n\n\n788                                                           4s & 6s.\n                      Trust in God amid perils.\n\n  In time of fear,\n  When trouble's near,\n    I look to thine abode;\n  Though helpers fail,\n  And foes prevail,\n    I'll put my trust in God.\n\n  2 And what is life\n  But toil and strife?\n    What terror has the grave?\n  Thine arm of power,\n  In peril's hour,\n    The trembling soul will save.\n\n  3 In darkest skies,\n  Though storms arise,\n    I will not be dismayed:\n  O God of light,\n  And boundless might,\n    My soul on thee is stayed!\n\n\n789                                                               11s.\n                    Acquaint now thyself with him.\n                                   Job. 22:21.\n\n  Acquaint thee, O mortal, acquaint thee with God,\n  And joy, like the sunshine, shall beam on thy road;\n  And peace, like the dewdrop, shall fall on thy head,\n  And sleep, like an angel, shall visit thy bed.\n\n  2 Acquaint thee, O mortal, acquaint thee with God;\n  And he shall be with thee when fears are abroad;\n  Thy safeguard in danger that threatens thy path;\n  Thy joy in the valley and shadow of death.\n\n\n790                                                               11s.\n                              Heb. 12:2.\n\n  O eyes that are weary, and hearts that are sore,\n  Look off unto Jesus; now sorrow no more:\n  The light of his countenance shineth so bright,\n  That here, as in heaven, there need be no night.\n\n  2 While looking to Jesus, my heart can not fear;\n  I tremble no more when I see Jesus near;\n  I know that his presence my safeguard will be,\n  For, \"Why are you troubled?\" he saith unto me.\n\n  3 Still looking to Jesus, O, may I be found,\n  When Jordan's dark waters encompass me round:\n  They bear me away in his presence to be;\n  I see him still nearer whom always I see.\n\n  4 Then, then shall I know the full beauty and grace\n  Of Jesus, my Lord, when I stand face to face;\n  Shall know how his love went before me each day,\n  And wonder that ever my eyes turned away.\n\n\n791                                                               10s.\n                         Complete in Christ.\n\n  Long did I toil, and knew no earthly rest;\n    Far did I rove, and found no certain home;\n  At last I sought them in his sheltering breast,\n    Who opes his arms, and bids the weary come:\n  With him I found a home, a rest divine;\n  And I since then am his, and he is mine.\n\n  2 Yes! he is mine! and nought of earthly things,\n    Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth, or power,\n  The fame of heroes, or the pomp of kings,\n    Could tempt me to forego his love an hour.\n  Go, worthless world, I cry, with all that's thine!\n  Go! I my Saviour's am, and he is mine.\n\n  3 The good I have is from his stores supplied;\n    The ill is only what he deems the best;\n  He for my Friend, I'm rich with nought beside;\n    And poor without him, though of all possest:\n  Changes may come; I take, or I resign;\n  Content, while I am his, while he is mine.\n\n\n792                                                               11s.\n                          Precious promises.\n\n  How firm a foundation, you saints of the Lord,\n  Is laid for your faith in his excellent word!\n  What more can he say than to you he has said,\n  You who unto Jesus for refuge have fled?\n\n  2 In every condition, in sickness, in health,\n  In poverty's vale, or abounding in wealth;\n  At home and abroad, on the land, on the sea,\n  As your days may demand, so your succor shall be.\n\n  3 Fear not--I am with you; O be not dismayed!\n  I, I am your God, and will still give you aid;\n  I'll strengthen you, help you, and cause you to stand,\n  Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.\n\n  4 When through the deep waters I cause you to go,\n  The rivers of sorrow shall not you o'erflow;\n  For I will be with you, your troubles to bless,\n  And sanctify to you your deepest distress.\n\n  5 When through fiery trials your pathway shall lie,\n  My grace, all-sufficient, shall be your supply:\n  The flame shall not hurt you: I only design\n  Your dross to consume, and your gold to refine.\n\n  6 E'en down to old age all my people shall prove\n  My sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love;\n  And when hoary hairs shall their temples adorn,\n  Like lambs they shall still in my bosom be borne.\n\n  7 The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose,\n  I will not, I can not, desert to his foes;\n  That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,\n  I'll never--no, never--no, never forsake!\n\n\n793                                                               10s.\n                          Rejoicing in hope.\n                                   Rom. 12:12.\n\n  Joyfully, joyfully, onward I move,\n  Bound to the land of bright spirits above;\n  Angelic choristers, sing as I come--\n  Joyfully, joyfully, haste to thy home!\n  Soon, with my pilgrimage ended below,\n  Home to the land of bright spirits I go;\n  Pilgrim and stranger, no more shall I roam:\n  Joyfully, joyfully, resting at home.\n\n  2 Friends fondly cherished, but passed on before;\n  Waiting, they watch me approaching the shore;\n  Singing to cheer me through death's chilling gloom:\n  Joyfully, joyfully, haste to thy home.\n  Sounds of sweet melody full on my ear;\n  Harps of the blessed, your voices I hear!\n  Rings with the harmony heaven's high dome--\n  Joyfully, joyfully, haste to thy home.\n\n  3 Death, with thy weapons of war lay me low,\n  Strike, king of terrors! I fear not the blow;\n  Jesus hath broken the bars of the tomb!\n  Joyfully, joyfully, will I go home.\n  Bright will the morn of eternity dawn;\n  Death shall be banished, his scepter be gone;\n  Joyfully, then, shall I witness his doom,\n  Joyfully, joyfully, safely at home.\n\n\n794                                                              P. M.\n                     Behold the fowls of the air.\n                                   Matt. 6:26.\n\n  The child leans on its parent's breast,\n  Leaves there its cares, and is at rest;\n  The bird sits singing by his nest,\n            And tells aloud\n  His trust in God, and so is blest\n            'Neath every cloud.\n\n  2 He has no store, he sows no seed;\n  Yet sings aloud, and doth not heed;\n  By flowing stream or grassy mead,\n            He sings to shame\n  Men, who forget, in fear of need,\n            A Father's name.\n\n  3 The heart that trusts for ever sings,\n  And feels as light as it had wings;\n  A well of peace within it springs:\n            Come good or ill,\n  Whate'er to-day, to-morrow brings,\n            It is his will!\n\n\n795                                                           C. P. M.\n                          Matthew 14:28, 29.\n\n  He bids us come; his voice we know,\n  And boldly on the waters go,\n    To him our Christ and Lord;\n  We walk on life's tempestuous sea,\n  For he who died to set us free\n    Hath called us by his word.\n\n  2 Secure from troubled waves we tread,\n  Nor all the storms around us heed,\n    While to our Lord we look;\n  O'er every fierce temptation bound--\n  The billows yield a solid ground,\n    The wave is firm as rock.\n\n  3 But if from him we turn our eye,\n  And see the raging floods run high,\n    And feel our fears within;\n  Our foes so strong, our flesh so frail,\n  Reason and unbelief prevail,\n    And sink us into sin.\n\n  4 Lord, we our feeble faith confess;\n  That little spark of faith increase,\n    That we may doubt no more;\n  But fix on thee our steady eye,\n  And on thine outstretched arm rely,\n    Till all the storm is o'er.\n\n\n796                                                              P. M.\n                          Rest, weary heart.\n\n  Rest, weary heart,\n  From all thy silent griefs, and secret pain,\n  Thy profitless regrets, and longings vain;\n  Wisdom and love have ordered all the past,\n  All shall be blessedness and light at last;\n  Cast off the cares that have so long opprest;\n        Rest, sweetly rest!\n\n  2 Rest, weary head!\n  Lie down to slumber in the peaceful tomb;\n  Light from above has broken through its gloom;\n  Here, in the place where once thy Saviour lay,\n  Where he shall wake thee on a future day,\n  Like a tired child upon its mother's breast,\n        Rest, sweetly rest!\n\n  3 Rest, spirit free!\n  In the green pastures of the heavenly shore,\n  Where sin and sorrow can approach no more;\n  With all the flock by the Good Shepherd fed,\n  Beside the streams of life eternal led,\n  For ever with thy God and Saviour blest,\n        Rest, sweetly rest!\n\n\n797                                                              P. M.\n                     The bright and morning star.\n                                   Rev. 22:16.\n\n  Star of morn and even,\n  Sun of Heaven's heaven,\n  Saviour high and dear,\n  Toward us turn thine ear;\n  Through whate'er may come,\n  Thou canst lead us home.\n\n  2 Though the gloom be grievous,\n  Those we leant on leave us,\n  Though the coward heart\n  Quit its proper part,\n  Though the tempter come,\n  Thou wilt lead us home.\n\n  3 Saviour pure and holy,\n  Lover of the lowly,\n  Sign us with thy sign,\n  Take our hands in thine;\n  Take our hands and come,\n  Lead thy children home!\n\n  4 Star of morn and even,\n  Shine on us from heaven;\n  From thy glory-throne\n  Hear thy very own!\n  Lord and Saviour, come,\n  Lead us to our home!\n\n\n798                                                              P. M.\n                       I will not let thee go.\n\n  I will not let thee go; thou help in time of need,\n            Heap ill on ill,\n            I trust thee still,\n  E'en when it seems as thou wouldst slay indeed!\n            Do as thou wilt with me,\n            I yet will cling to thee,\n  Hide thou thy face; yet, help in time of need,\n            I will not let thee go!\n\n  2 I will not let thee go; should I forsake my bliss?\n            No, Lord, thou'rt mine,\n            And I am thine:\n  Thee will I hold when all things else I miss;\n            Though dark and sad the night,\n            Joy cometh with thy light,\n  O thou my Sun; should I forsake my bliss?\n            I will not let thee go!\n\n  3 I will not let thee go, my God, my Life, my Lord!\n            Not death can tear\n            Me from his care,\n  Who for my sake his soul in death outpoured.\n            Thou diedst for love to me,\n            I say in love to thee,\n  E'en when my heart shall break, my God, my Life, my Lord,\n            I will not let thee go!\n\n\n799                                                      7s, peculiar.\n                       They shall never perish.\n                                   John 10:28.\n\n  Now as long as here I roam,\n  On this earth have house and home,\n  Shall the light of love from thee\n  Shine through all my memory,\n    To my God I yet will cling,\n    All my life the praises sing\n    That from thankful hearts outspring.\n\n  2 Every sorrow, every smart,\n  That the Father's loving heart\n  Hath appointed me of yore,\n  Or hath yet for me in store,\n    As my life flows on I'll take\n    Calmly, gladly for his sake,\n    No more faithless murmurs make.\n\n  3 I will meet distress and pain,\n  I will greet e'en death's dark reign,\n  I will lay me in the grave,\n  With a heart still glad and brave,\n    Whom the strongest doth defend,\n    Whom the highest counts his friend,\n    Can not perish in the end.\n\n\n800                                                              P. M.\n                          The shining shore.\n\n  My days are gliding swiftly by,\n    And I a pilgrim stranger,\n  Would not detain them as they fly--\n    Those hours of toil and danger.\n                               CHORUS.\n      For O! we stand on Jordan's strand,\n        Our friends are passing over;\n      And just before, the shining shore\n        We may almost discover.\n\n  2 We'll gird our loins, my brethren dear,\n    Our distant home discerning;\n  Our absent Lord has left us word,\n    Let every lamp be burning.\n\n  3 Should coming days be cold and dark,\n    We need not cease our singing;\n  That perfect rest nought can molest,\n    Where golden harps are ringing.\n\n  4 Let sorrow's rudest tempest blow,\n    Each cord on earth to sever;\n  Our King says, \"Come,\" and there's our home,\n    For ever, O! for ever.\n\n\n801                                                              P. M.\n                         Still will we trust.\n\n  Still will we trust, tho' earth seem dark and dreary,\n    And the heart faint beneath his chastening rod;\n  Though rough and steep our pathway, worn and weary,\n            Still will we trust in God!\n\n  2 Our eyes see dimly till by faith anointed,\n    And our blind choosing brings us grief and pain;\n  Through him alone who hath our way appointed,\n            We find our peace again.\n\n  3 Choose for us, God! nor let our weak preferring\n    Cheat our poor souls of good thou hast designed;\n  Choose for us, God! thy wisdom is unerring,\n            And we are fools and blind.\n\n  4 So from our sky, the night shall furl her shadows,\n    And day pour gladness through his golden gates;\n  Our rough path leads to flower-enameled meadows\n            Where joy our coming waits.\n\n  5 Let us press on in patient self-denial,\n    Accept the hardship, shrinking not from loss--\n  Our guerdon lies beyond the hour of trial;\n            Our crown, beyond the Cross.\n\n\n802                                                              P. M.\n                     God doth not leave his own.\n\n        God doth not leave his own!\n  The night of weeping for a time may last;\n        Then, tears all past,\n  His going forth shall as the morning shine;\n  The sunrise of his favors shall be thine--\n        God doth not leave his own.\n\n        2 God doth not leave his own!\n  Though \"few and evil\" all their days appear,\n        Though grief and fear\n  Come in the train of earth and hell's dark crowd,\n  The trusting heart says, even in the cloud,\n        God doth not leave his own.\n\n        3 God doth not leave his own!\n  This sorrow in their life he doth permit,\n        Yea, useth it\n  To speed his children on their heavenward way.\n  He guides the winds--Faith, Hope and Love all say\n        God doth not leave his own.\n\n\n803                                                           8s & 4s.\n                                Trust.\n\n  I know not if or dark or bright\n        Shall be my lot;\n  If that wherein my hopes delight\n        Be best, or not.\n\n  2 It may be mine to drag for years\n        Toil's heavy chain;\n  Or day and night my meat be tears\n        On bed of pain.\n\n  3 Dear faces may surround my hearth\n        With smiles and glee;\n  Or I may dwell alone, and mirth\n        Be strange to me.\n\n  4 My bark is wafted to the strand\n        By breath divine;\n  And on the helm there rests a hand\n        Other than mine.\n\n  5 One who has known in storms to sail\n        I have on board;\n  Above the raving of the gale\n        I hear my Lord.\n\n\n804                                                              P. M.\n                               Nearer.\n\n  We are too far from thee, our Saviour,\n      Too far from thee,\n        Before our eyes\n        Dark mists arise,\n  And vail the glories from the skies:\n      We are too far from thee.\n\n  2 We are too far from thee, our Saviour,\n      Too far from thee.\n        Fierce pains oppress,\n        Dark cares distress,\n  Made darker by our loneliness:\n      We are too far from thee.\n\n  3 We are too far from thee, our Saviour,\n      Too far from thee,\n        Dark waters roll\n        Above the soul;\n  Striving to reach the heavenly goal,\n      We are too far from thee.\n\n  4 We are too far from thee, our Saviour,\n      Too far from thee,\n        Alone, afraid,\n        Our path is laid\n  In darkness; send thy heavenly aid;\n      We are too far from thee.\n\n  5 We are too far from thee, our Saviour,\n      Too far from thee,\n        E'en if thy rod\n        Bring us to God,\n  In meekness be the pathway trod,\n      If it but lead to God.\n\n  6 Draw us more close to thee, our Saviour,\n      More close to thee,\n        Let come what will\n        Of good or ill,\n  'Tis one to us, well knowing still\n      Thou drawest us to thee.\n\n\n805                                                              P. M.\n                    I have given him for a leader.\n                                   Isaiah 55:4.\n\n    Jesus! guide our way\n    To eternal day!\n  So shall we, no more delaying,\n  Follow thee, thy voice obeying;\n    Lead us by the hand\n    To our Father's land!\n\n    2 When we danger meet,\n    Steadfast make our feet!\n  Lord, preserve us uncomplaining\n  'Mid the darkness round us reigning!\n    Through adversity\n    Lies our way to thee.\n\n    3 Order all our way\n    Through this mortal day;\n  In our toil with aid be near us;\n  In our need with succor cheer us;\n    When life's course is o'er,\n    Open thou the door!\n\n\n\n\n                             ASPIRATIONS.\n\n\n806                                                              L. M.\n                     And dying is but going home.\n\n  Now let our souls, on wings sublime,\n  Rise from the vanities of time,\n  Draw back the parting vail, and see\n  The glories of eternity.\n\n  2 Born by new, celestial birth,\n  Why should we grovel here on earth?\n  Why grasp at vain and fleeting toys,\n  So near to heaven's eternal joys?\n\n  3 Shall aught beguile us on the road,\n  While we are walking back to God?\n  For strangers into life we come,\n  And dying is but going home.\n\n  4 Welcome, sweet hour of full discharge,\n  That sets our longing souls at large,\n  Unbinds our chains, breaks up our cell,\n  And gives us with our God to dwell.\n\n  5 To dwell with God, to feel his love,\n  Is the full heaven enjoyed above;\n  And the sweet expectation now\n  Is the young dawn of heaven below.\n\n\n807                                                              L. M.\n                        That I may win Christ.\n                                    Phil. 3:8.\n\n  Jesus, my love, my chief delight,\n    For thee I long, for thee I pray,\n  Amid the shadows of the night,\n    Amid the business of the day.\n\n  2 When shall I see thy smiling face,\n    That face which I have often seen?\n  Arise, thou Sun of Righteousness!\n    Scatter the clouds that intervene.\n\n  3 Thou art the glorious gift of God,\n    To sinners weary and distressed;\n  The first of all his gifts bestowed,\n    And certain pledge of all the rest.\n\n  4 Since I can say this gift is mine,\n    I'll tread the world beneath my feet,\n  No more at poverty repine,\n    Nor envy the rich sinner's state.\n\n\n808                                                              L. M.\n                             Col. 3:3, 4.\n\n  What sinners value I resign,\n  Lord! 'tis enough that thou art mine;\n  I shall behold thy blissful face,\n  And stand complete in righteousness.\n\n  2 This life's a dream, an empty show;\n  But the bright world to which I go\n  Has joys substantial and sincere:\n  When shall I wake and find me there?\n\n  3 O glorious hour! O blest abode!\n  I shall be near and like my God!\n  And flesh and sin no more control\n  The sacred pleasures of the soul.\n\n  4 My flesh shall slumber in the ground\n  Till the last trumpet's joyful sound;\n  Then burst the chains with sweet surprise,\n  And in my Saviour's image rise.\n\n\n809                                                              L. M.\n                  Search me, God, and know my heart.\n                                  Psalm 139:23.\n\n  O thou, to whose all-searching sight\n  The darkness shineth as the light,\n  Search, prove my heart, it pants for thee;\n  O, burst these bonds, and set it free.\n\n  2 Wash out its stains, refine its dross;\n  Nail my affections to the cross;\n  Hallow each thought; let all within\n  Be clean, as thou, my Lord, art clean.\n\n  3 If in this darksome wild I stray,\n  Be thou my light, be thou my way;\n  No foes, no violence I fear,\n  No fraud, while thou, my God, art near.\n\n  4 When rising floods my soul o'erflow,\n  When sinks my heart in waves of woe--\n  Jesus, thy timely aid impart,\n  And raise my head and cheer my heart.\n\n  5 Saviour, where'er thy steps I see,\n  Dauntless, untired, I follow thee;\n  O, let thy hand support me still,\n  And lead me to thy holy hill.\n\n\n810                                                              L. M.\n                   That they be with me where I am.\n                                   John 17:24.\n\n  Let me be with thee where thou art,\n    My Saviour, my eternal Rest!\n  Then only will this longing heart\n    Be fully and for ever blest!\n\n  2 Let me be with thee where thou art,\n    Where spotless saints thy name adore;\n  Then only will this sinful heart\n    Be evil and defiled no more!\n\n  3 Let me be with thee where thou art,\n    Where none can die, where none remove;\n  There neither death nor life will part\n    Me from thy presence and thy love!\n\n\n811                                                              C. M.\n                             A new heart.\n\n  O for a heart to praise my God,\n    A heart from sin set free,\n  A heart that always feels the blood\n    So freely shed for me.\n\n  2 A heart resigned, submissive, meek,\n    My great Redeemer's throne,\n  Where only Christ is heard to speak\n    Where Jesus reigns alone.\n\n  3 O for a lowly, contrite heart,\n    Confiding, true, and clean,\n  Which neither life nor death can part\n    From him that dwells within.\n\n  4 A heart in ev'ry thought renewed,\n    And full of love divine,\n  Perfect and right, and pure and good,\n    A copy, Lord, of thine.\n\n  5 Thy Spirit, gracious Lord, impart;\n    Direct me from above;\n  May thy dear name be near my heart,\n    That dear, best name is Love.\n\n\n812                                                              C. M.\n                         Longing for Heaven.\n\n  Sweet land of rest, for thee I sigh,\n    When will the moment come,\n  When I shall lay my armor by,\n    And dwell in peace at home?\n\n  Chorus.--O, this is not my home,\n          O, this is not my home:\n          This world's a wilderness of woe,\n          This world is not my home.\n\n  2 No tranquil joy on earth I know,\n    No peaceful, sheltering dome;\n  This world's a wilderness of woe,\n    This world is not my home.\n\n  3 When by affliction sharply tried,\n    I view the gaping tomb,\n  Although I dread death's chilling tide,\n    Yet still I sigh for home.\n\n  4 Weary of wandering round and round\n    This vale of sin and gloom,\n  I long to quit the unhallowed ground,\n    And dwell with Christ at home.\n\n\n813                                                              C. M.\n                           The true riches.\n\n  You glittering toys of earth, adieu,\n    A nobler choice be mine;\n  A real prize attracts my view--\n    A treasure all divine.\n\n  2 Away, unworthy of my cares,\n    You specious baits of sense;\n  Inestimable worth appears,\n    The pearl of price immense!\n\n  3 Jesus to multitudes unknown--\n    O name divinely sweet!\n  Jesus, in thee, in thee alone,\n    Wealth, honor, pleasure meet.\n\n  4 Should both the Indies, at my call,\n    Their boasted stores resign,\n  With joy I would renounce them all,\n    For leave to call thee mine.\n\n  5 Should earth's vain treasures all depart\n    Of this dear gift possessed,\n  I'd clasp it to my joyful heart,\n    And be for ever blest.\n\n  6 Blest Sovereign of my soul's desires,\n    Thy love is bliss divine;\n  Accept the praise that love inspires,\n    Since I can call thee mine!\n\n\n814                                                              C. M.\n                      Where thou art is heaven.\n\n  Jesus hath died that I might live,\n    Might live to God alone;\n  In him eternal life receive,\n    And be in spirit one,\n\n  2 My soul breaks out in strong desire\n    The perfect bliss to prove;\n  My longing heart is all on fire\n    To be dissolved in love.\n\n  3 Give me thyself. From every boast\n    From every wish, set free,\n  Let all I am in thee be lost;\n    But give thyself to me.\n\n  4 Thy gifts, alas! can not suffice,\n    Unless thyself be given;\n  Thy presence makes my Paradise,\n    And where thou art, is heaven!\n\n\n815                                                              C. M.\n                      To them that look for him.\n                                    Heb. 9:28.\n\n  Awake, you saints, and raise your eyes,\n    And raise your voices high;\n  Awake, and praise that sovereign love\n    That shows salvation nigh.\n\n  2 On all the wings of time it flies;\n    Each moment brings it near;\n  Then welcome each declining day,\n    Welcome each closing year!\n\n  3 Not many years their round shall run,\n    Not many mornings rise,\n  Ere all its glories stand revealed\n    To our admiring eyes.\n\n  4 You wheels of nature, speed your course,\n    You mortal powers, decay;\n  Fast as you bring the night of death,\n    You bring eternal day.\n\n\n816                                                              C. M.\n                       We are his workmanship.\n                                    Eph. 2:10.\n\n  I am thy workmanship, O Lord!\n    And unto thee belong;\n  Thou art my shield, my Great Reward,\n    My Glory, and my song.\n\n  2 Surround me with thy guardian might,\n    Uphold me with thy grace;\n  Unharmed, conduct me through the fight;\n    Unwearied, through the race.\n\n  3 Make me a weapon of thy power,\n    An angel of thy will;\n  To thee devoted, let each hour\n    Its happy task fulfill.\n\n  4 Yet dare not I, a child of dust\n    Thus plead my filial claim,\n  But as in him is all my trust,\n    Who bears a Saviour's name.\n\n\n817                                                              C. M.\n                    So great a cloud of witnesses.\n                                    Heb. 12:1.\n\n  Give me the wings of faith, to rise\n    Within the vail, and see\n  The saints above, how great their joys\n    How bright their glories be.\n\n  2 Once they were mourning here below,\n    And bathed their couch with tears;\n  They wrestled hard, as we do now,\n    With sins, and doubts, and fears.\n\n  3 I ask them whence their victory came;\n    They, with united breath,\n  Ascribe their conquest to the Lamb,\n    Their triumph to his death.\n\n  4 They marked the footsteps that he trod;\n    His zeal inspired their breast;\n  And, following their incarnate God,\n    Possessed the promised rest.\n\n  5 Our glorious Leader claims our praise,\n    For his own pattern given;\n  While the long cloud of witnesses\n    Shows the same path to heaven.\n\n\n818                                                              C. M.\n                   O that I had wings like a dove.\n                                   Psalm 55:6.\n\n  The dove, let loose in eastern skies,\n    Returning fondly home,\n  Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies\n    Where idle warblers roam;--\n\n  2 But high she shoots through air and light\n    Above all low delay,\n  Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,\n    Nor shadow dims her way.\n\n  3 So grant me, Lord, from every snare\n    And stain of passion free,\n  Aloft, through faith's serener air,\n    To urge my course to thee;--\n\n  4 No sin to cloud, no lure to stay,\n    My soul as home she springs;\n  Thy sunshine on her joyful way\n    Thy freedom on her wings.\n\n\n819                                                           C. M. D.\n                          Heaven is my home.\n\n  I have no resting-place on earth\n    On which to fix my love;\n  But O! my heart is yearning for\n    The promised rest above.\n  'Tis true, this earth is passing fair,\n    O'er which I sadly roam;\n  But yet it hath no charms for me,\n    For heaven is my home.\n\n  2 A pilgrim long I've wandered here;\n    But, with a steadfast eye,\n  I see a rest reserved for me,\n    At God's right hand on high,\n  Then all the joys of earth in vain\n    Shall tempt my feet to roam,\n  To seek a dwelling-place below,\n    Since heaven is my home.\n\n  3 O, were this earth as fair as when\n    Primeval Eden smiled,\n  I would not by its glowing charms\n    Be from my hope beguiled;\n  But I would seek a brighter world,\n    Where God has bid me come:\n  Then seek no more to bind me here,\n    For heaven is my home.\n\n\n820                                                              C. M.\n                          The new Jerusalem.\n\n  Jerusalem, my happy home,\n    O how I long for thee!\n  When will my sorrows have an end?\n    Thy joys when shall I see?\n\n  2 Thy walls are all of precious stones,\n    Most glorious to behold!\n  Thy gates are richly set with pearl,\n    Thy streets are paved with gold.\n\n  3 Thy gardens and thy pleasant greens\n    My study long have been;\n  Such sparkling gems by human sight\n    Have never yet been seen.\n\n  4 If heaven be thus glorious, Lord,\n    Why should I stay from thence?\n  What folly 'tis that I should dread\n    To die and go from hence!\n\n  5 Reach down, reach down thine arms of grace\n    And cause me to ascend,\n  Where congregations ne'er break up,\n    And Sabbaths never end.\n\n  6 Jesus, my love, to glory's gone;\n    Him will I go and see;\n  And all my brethren here below\n    Will soon come after me.\n\n\n821                                                              C. M.\n                    A city which hath foundations.\n                                   Heb. 11:10.\n\n  Jerusalem! my glorious home,\n    Name ever dear to me!\n  When shall my labors have an end,\n    In joy, and peace, and thee!\n\n  2 When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls\n    And pearly gates behold?\n  Thy bulwarks with salvation strong,\n    And streets of shining gold?\n\n  3 There happier bowers than Eden's bloom,\n    Nor sin nor sorrow know:\n  Blessed seats! through rude and stormy scenes\n    I onward press to you!\n\n  4 Why should I shrink at pain and woe?\n    Or feel, at death, dismay?\n  I've Canaan's goodly land in view,\n    And realms of endless day.\n\n  5 Apostles, martyrs, prophets there,\n    Around my Saviour stand;\n  And soon my friends in Christ below\n    Will join the glorious band.\n\n  6 Jerusalem! my glorious home!\n    My soul still pants for thee;\n  Then shall my labors have an end,\n    When I thy joys shall see.\n\n\n822                                                              S. M.\n                           A brighter day.\n\n  Lord, we expect a day\n    Still brighter far than this,\n  When death shall bear our souls away,\n    To realms of light and bliss.\n\n  2 There rapturous scenes of joy\n    Shall burst upon our sight;\n  And every pain, and tear, and sigh,\n    Be drowned in endless night.\n\n  3 Beneath thy balmy wing,\n    O Sun of Righteousness!\n  Our happy souls shall sit and sing\n    The wonders of thy grace.\n\n  4 Nor shall that radiant day,\n    So joyfully begun,\n  In evening shadows die away\n    Beneath the setting sun.\n\n  5 How various and how new\n    Are thy compassions, Lord!\n  Eternity thy love shall show,\n    And all thy truth record.\n\n\n823                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                      The soul panting for God.\n                                    Psalm 42.\n\n  As the hart, with eager looks,\n  Panteth for the water-brooks,\n  So my soul, athirst for thee,\n  Pants the living God to see:\n  When, O when, with filial fear,\n  Lord, shall I to thee draw near?\n\n  2 Why art thou cast down, my soul?\n  God, thy God, shall make thee whole:\n  Why art thou disquieted?\n  God shall lift thy fallen head,\n  And his countenance benign\n  Be the saving health of thine.\n\n\n824                                                                7s.\n               They that conquer shall wear the crown.\n\n  Come, my Christian brethren, come,\n  Let us onward to our home;\n  Though we many trials meet,\n  Jesus makes our trials sweet.\n                               CHORUS.\n    We with Jesus soon shall be\n    Happy in eternity:\n    By our Father's side sit down:\n    They that conquer shall wear the crown.\n\n  2 Brother Christian, doubt no more,\n  Christ your Saviour's gone before;\n  He himself has marked the way,\n  Leading to eternal day.\n            We with Jesus, etc.\n\n  3 Let us never be afraid,\n  'Tis on Christ our help is laid;\n  He will all our foes o'ercome,\n  He will take his exiles home.\n            We with Jesus, etc.\n\n  4 Though the world revile and mock,\n  We are built upon the Rock;\n  And while thus we dwell secure,\n  Christ will make our goings sure.\n            We with Jesus, etc.\n\n\n825                                                           8s & 7s.\n                          Prisoners of hope.\n                                   Zech. 9:12.\n\n  Let me go; my soul is weary\n    Of the chain which binds me here;\n  Let my spirit bend its pinion\n    To a brighter, holier sphere.\n  Earth, 'tis true hath friends that bless me\n    With their fond and faithful love;\n  But the hands of angels beckon\n    Onward to the climes above.\n\n  2 Let me go; for earth hath sorrow,\n    Sin, and pain, and bitter tears;\n  All its paths are dark and dreary,\n    All its hopes are fraught with fears;\n  Short-lived are its brightest flowers,\n    Soon its cherished joys decay:--\n  Let me go; I fain would leave it\n    For the realms of endless day.\n\n  3 Let me go; my heart hath tasted\n    Of my Saviour's wondrous grace;\n  Let me go, where I shall ever\n    See and know him face to face.\n  Let me go; the trees of heaven\n    Rise before me, waving bright,\n  And the distant, crystal waters\n    Flash upon my failing sight.\n\n  4 Let me go; for songs seraphic\n    Now seem calling from the sky--\n  'Tis the welcome of the angels,\n    Which e'en now are hovering nigh:\n  Let me go: they wait to bear me\n    To the mansions of the blest;\n  Where the spirit, worn and weary,\n    Finds at last its long sought rest.\n\n\n826                                                                8s.\n                          Longing for rest.\n                                  Psalm 55:6, 7.\n\n  O that I had wings like a dove,\n    For, then, would I soon be at rest;\n  I'd fly to the mansions above;\n    The home of the pure and the blest;\n  The place where no sorrow or tears\n    Can ever my pleasures destroy;\n  But where through eternity's years,\n    I'll drink from an ocean of Joy!\n\n  2 The clouds that now hang o'er my soul,\n    Make dark all the pathway of life;\n  While thunders unceasingly roll\n    In storms of deep anger and strife;\n  I hope for some bright ray to beam\n    From clouds where there yet may be light,\n  But only the lightning's red gleam\n    Is seen through the darkness of night.\n\n  3 I try to be humble and meek,\n    Leave all to my Saviour's own will;\n  For, He to the tempest can speak,\n    The winds will obey and be still;\n  But now my soul flutters and cries,\n    And longs to be soaring away,\n  From darkness and gloom, to the skies,\n    The regions of bright, endless day.\n\n  4 Dear Saviour, O, let me come home,\n    And rest on thy bosom in peace;\n  No more from thy presence to roam--\n    Then tempests and storms shall all cease.\n  I'll sing of thy wonderful ways,\n    With all of the glorified throng--\n  For ever and ever, thy praise,\n    Shall be the one theme of my song.\n\n\n827                                                                8s.\n                      Having a desire to depart.\n                                   Phil. 1:23.\n\n  To Jesus, the crown of my hope,\n    My soul is in haste to be gone;\n  O bear me, ye cherubim, up,\n    And waft me away to his throne.\n  My Saviour, whom absent, I love;\n    Whom, not having seen, I adore;\n  Whose name is exalted above\n    All glory, dominion, and power!\n\n  2 Dissolve thou those bands that detain\n    My soul from her portion in thee,\n  Ah! strike off this adamant chain,\n    And make me eternally free.\n  When that happy era begins,\n    When arrayed in thy glories I shine,\n  Nor grieve any more, by my sins,\n    The bosom on which I recline;\n\n  3 O then shall the vail be removed!\n    And round me thy brightness be poured;\n  I shall meet him, whom absent I loved;\n    I shall see, whom unseen I adored.\n  And then, never more shall the fears,\n    The trials, temptations, and woes,\n  Which darken this valley of tears,\n    Intrude on my blissful repose.\n\n\n828                                                           S. M. D.\n                          A pilgrim's song.\n\n  A few more years shall roll,\n    A few more seasons come;\n  And we shall be with those that rest,\n    Asleep within the tomb.\n  Then, O my Lord, prepare\n    My soul for that great day;\n  O wash me in thy precious blood,\n    And take my sins away.\n\n  2 A few more suns shall set\n    O'er these dark hills of time;\n  And we shall be where suns are not,\n    A far serener clime.\n  Then, O my Lord, prepare\n    My soul for that blest day;\n  O wash me in thy precious blood,\n    And take my sins away.\n\n  3 A few more storms shall beat\n    On this wild rocky shore;\n  And we shall be where tempests cease,\n    And surges swell no more.\n  Then, O my Lord, prepare\n    My soul for that calm day,\n  O wash me in thy precious blood,\n    And take my sins away.\n\n  4 A few more struggles here,\n    A few more partings o'er,\n  A few more toils, a few more tears,\n    And we shall weep no more.\n  Then, O my Lord, prepare\n    My soul for that blest day;\n  O wash me in thy precious blood,\n    And take my sins away.\n\n  5 A few more meetings here,\n    Shall cheer us on our way;\n  And we shall reach the endless rest,\n    The eternal Sabbath day.\n  Then, O my Lord, prepare\n    My soul for that sweet day,\n  O wash me in thy precious blood,\n    And take my sins away.\n\n\n829                                                           8s & 7s.\n                           Here and yonder.\n\n  Here, we are but straying pilgrims,\n    Here, our path is often dim,\n  But to cheer us on our journey,\n    Still we sing this way-side hymn.\n                               CHORUS.\n        Yonder, over the rolling river,\n          Where the shining mansions rise,\n        Soon will be our home for ever,\n        And the smile of the blessed Giver\n          Gladdens all our longing eyes.\n\n  2 Here, our feet are often weary,\n    On the hills that throng our way;\n  Here, the tempest darkly gathers,\n    But our hearts within us say--\n        Yonder, over the rolling river, etc.\n\n  3 Here, our souls are often fearful,\n    Of the pilgrim's lurking foe;\n  But the Lord is our defender,\n    And he tells us we may know,\n        Yonder, over the rolling river, etc.\n\n  4 Here, our shadowed homes are transient,\n    And we meet the stranger's frown;\n  So we'll sing with joy while going.\n    E'en to death's dark billow down--\n        Yonder, over the rolling river, etc.\n\n\n830                                                           7s & 6s.\n                       Song of our pilgrimage.\n\n  O when shall I see Jesus,\n    And dwell with him above,\n  To drink the flowing fountain\n    Of everlasting love?\n  When shall I be delivered\n    From this vain world of sin,\n  And with my blessed Jesus\n    Drink endless pleasures in?\n\n  2 But now I am a soldier,\n    My Captain's gone before:\n  He's given me my orders,\n    And tells me not to fear.\n  And if I hold out faithful,\n    A crown of life he'll give,\n  And all his valiant soldiers\n    Eternal life shall have.\n\n  3 Through grace I am determined\n    To conquer though I die;\n  And then away to Jesus\n    On wings of love I'll fly.\n  Farewell to sin and sorrow,\n    I bid them both adieu:\n  And you, my friends, prove faithful,\n    And on your way pursue.\n\n  4 And if you meet with troubles\n    And trials on the way,\n  Then cast your care on Jesus,\n    And don't forget to pray.\n  Gird on the heavenly armor\n    Of faith, and hope, and love,\n  And when your warfare's ended,\n    You'll reign with him above.\n\n  5 O! do not be discouraged,\n    For Jesus is your Friend,\n  And if you long for knowledge,\n    On him you may depend;\n  Neither will he upbraid you,\n    Though often you request;\n  He'll give you grace to conquer,\n    And take you home to rest.\n\n\n831                                                           7s & 6s.\n                          How long, O Lord.\n\n  How long, O Lord, our Saviour,\n    Wilt thou remain away?\n  Our hearts are growing weary\n    Of thy so long delay;\n  O when shall come the moment,\n    When brighter far than morn,\n  The sunshine of thy glory,\n    Shall on thy people dawn.\n\n  2 How long, O gracious Master,\n    Wilt thou thy household leave?\n  So long hast thou now tarried,\n    Few thy return believe.\n  Immersed in sloth and folly,\n    Thy servants, Lord, we see,\n  And few of us stand ready\n    With joy to welcome thee.\n\n  3 How long, O heavenly Bridegroom,\n    How long wilt thou delay?\n  And yet how few are grieving\n    That thou dost absent stay:\n  Thy very bride, her portion\n    And calling hath forgot,\n  And seeks for ease and glory\n    Where thou, her Lord, art not.\n\n  4 O wake thy slumbering virgins,\n    Send forth the solemn cry--\n  Let all thy saints repeat it--\n    The Bridegroom draweth nigh;\n  May all our lamps be burning,\n    Our loins well girded be,\n  Each longing heart preparing\n    With joy thy face to see.\n\n\n832                                                           7s & 6s.\n                             Aspiration.\n\n  Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings;\n    Thy better portion trace;\n  Rise, from transitory things,\n    Toward heaven, thy native place.\n  Sun, and moon, and stars decay;\n    Time shall soon this earth remove;\n  Rise, my soul, and haste away\n    To seats prepared above!\n\n  2 Rivers to the ocean run,\n    Nor stay in all their course;\n  Fire ascending seeks the sun;\n    Both speed them to their source:\n  So a soul that's born of God\n    Pants to view his glorious face,\n  Upward tends to his abode,\n    To rest in his embrace.\n\n  3 Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn;\n    Press onward to the prize;\n  Soon your Saviour will return\n    Triumphant in the skies:\n  Yet a season, and you know\n    Happy entrance will be given,\n  All your sorrows left below,\n    And earth exchanged for heaven.\n\n\n833                                                                6s.\n             Arise and depart, for this is not your rest.\n                                   Mich. 2:10.\n\n  Go up, go up, my heart,\n    Dwell with thy God above;\n  For here thou canst not rest,\n    Nor here give out thy love.\n\n  2 Go up, go up, my heart,\n    Be not a trifler here;\n  Ascend above these clouds,\n    Dwell in a higher sphere.\n\n  3 Let not thy love flow out\n    To things so soiled and dim;\n  Go up to heaven and God,\n    Take up thy love to him.\n\n  4 Waste not thy precious stores\n    On creature-love below;\n  To God that wealth belongs,\n    On him that wealth bestow.\n\n  5 Go up, reluctant heart,\n    Take up thy rest above;\n  Arise, earth-clinging thoughts;\n    Ascend, my lingering love!\n\n\n834                                                                6s.\n                      My spirit longs for thee.\n\n  My spirit longs for thee\n    Within my troubled breast,\n  Through I unworthy be\n    Of so divine a Guest.\n\n  2 Of so divine a Guest\n    Unworthy though I be,\n  Yet has my heart no rest\n    Unless it come from thee.\n\n  3 Unless it come from thee,\n    In vain I look around;\n  In all that I can see,\n    No rest is to be found.\n\n  4 No rest is to be found,\n    But in thy blessed love:\n  O let my wish be crowned,\n    And send it from above!\n\n\n835                                                           6s & 5s.\n                   I have longed for thy salvation.\n                                  Psalm 119:174.\n\n  Purer yet and purer\n    I would be in mind,\n  Dearer yet and dearer\n    Every duty find:\n\n  2 Hoping still, and trusting\n    God without a fear\n  Patiently believing\n    He will make all clear:\n\n  3 Calmer yet and calmer\n    Trial bear and pain,\n  Surer yet and surer\n    Peace at last to gain.\n\n  4 Suffering still and doing,\n    To his will resigned,\n  And to God subduing\n    Heart, and will, and mind:\n\n  5 Higher yet and higher,\n    Out of clouds and night,\n  Nearer yet and nearer\n    Rising to the light--\n\n  6 Oft these earnest longings\n    Swell within my breast,\n  Yet their inner meaning\n    Ne'er can be expressed.\n\n\n836                                                               11s.\n                       I would not live alway.\n                                    Job. 7:16.\n\n  I would not live alway: I ask not to stay\n  Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way;\n  The few cloudy mornings that dawn on us here\n  Are enough for life's woes, full enough for its cheer.\n\n  2 I would not live alway: no, welcome the tomb;\n  Since Jesus has lain there, I dread not its gloom;\n  There sweet be my rest, till he bid me arise\n  To hail him in triumph descending the skies.\n\n  3 Who, who would live alway, away from his God,\n  Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode,\n  Where the rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright plains,\n  And the noontide of glory eternally reigns;\n\n  4 Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet,\n  Their Saviour and brethren transported to greet,\n  While the anthems of rapture unceasingly roll,\n  And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul!\n\n\n837                                                               11s.\n                             I am weary.\n\n  I am weary of straying; O fain would I rest,\n  In that far distant land of the pure and the blest;\n  Where sin can no longer her blandishment spread,\n  And tears and temptations for ever are fled.\n\n  2 I am weary of hoping, where hope is untrue,\n  As fair but as fleeting, as morning's bright dew;\n  I long for the land whose blest promise alone\n  Is as changeless and sure as eternity's throne.\n\n  3 I am weary of sighing o'er sorrows of earth,\n  O'er joy's glowing visions, that fade at their birth,\n  O'er pangs of the loved, which we can not assuage,\n  O'er the blightings of youth, and the weakness of age.\n\n  4 I am weary of loving what passes away--\n  The sweetest and dearest, alas, may not stay!\n  I long for that land where those partings are o'er,\n  And death and the tomb can divide hearts no more.\n\n  5 I am weary, my Saviour, of grieving thy love;\n  O! when shall I rest in thy presence above;\n  I am weary--but O! let me never repine,\n  While thy word, and thy love, and thy promise are mine.\n\n\n838                                                               11s.\n                       Strangers and pilgrims.\n                                   1 Pet. 2:11.\n\n  My rest is in heaven--my home is not here;\n  Then why should I murmur when trials appear?\n  Be hushed, my sad spirit, the worst that may come\n  But shortens thy journey and hastens thee home.\n\n  2 A pilgrim and stranger, I seek not my bliss,\n  Nor lay up my treasures in regions like this;\n  I look for a city which hands have not piled;\n  I pant for a country by sin undefiled.\n\n  3 Afflictions may try me, but can not destroy;\n  One vision of home turns them all into joy;\n  And the bitterest tear that flows from my eyes,\n  But sweetens my hope of that home in the skies.\n\n  4 Though foes and temptations my progress oppose,\n  They only make heaven more sweet at the close;\n  Come joy or come sorrow--the worst may befall,\n  One moment in heaven will make up for all.\n\n  5 The thorn and the thistle around me may grow,\n  I would not repose upon roses below;\n  I ask not my portion, I seek not my rest,\n  Till, seated with Jesus, I lean on his breast.\n\n  6 A scrip for the way and a staff in my hand,\n  I march on in haste through the enemy's land:\n  The road may be rough, but it can not be long:\n  So I'll smooth it with hope, and I'll cheer it with song.\n\n\n839                                                         11s & 10s.\n                        I shall be satisfied.\n                                   Psalm 17:15.\n\n  Not here! not here! not where the sparkling waters\n    Fade into mocking sands as we draw near;\n  Where in the wilderness each footstep falters--\n    \"I shall be satisfied;\" but, O! not here!\n\n  2 Not here--where all the dreams of bliss deceive us,\n    Where the worn spirit never gains its goal;\n  Where, haunted ever by the thought that grieves us,\n    Across us floods of bitter memory roll.\n\n  3 There is a land where every pulse is thrilling\n    With rapture earth's sojourners may not know,\n  Where heaven's repose the weary heart is stilling,\n    And peacefully life's time-tossed currents flow.\n\n  4 Far out of sight, while yet the flesh enfolds us,\n    Lies the fair country where our hearts abide,\n  And of its bliss is nought more wondrous told us\n    Than these few words--\"I shall be satisfied.\"\n\n  5 Satisfied! satisfied! The spirit's yearning\n    For sweet companionship with kindred minds--\n  The silent love that here meets no returning--\n    The inspiration which no language finds--\n\n  6 Shall they be satisfied? The soul's vague longing--\n    The aching void which nothing earthly fills?\n  O! what desires upon my soul are thronging\n    As I look upward to the heavenly hills.\n\n  7 Thither my weak and weary steps are tending--\n    Saviour and Lord! with thy frail child abide!\n  Guide me toward home, where, all my wanderings ending,\n    I shall see thee, and \"shall be satisfied.\"\n\n\n840                                                              P. M.\n                      Lord, tarry not, but come.\n\n  Beyond the smiling and the weeping,\n      I shall be soon;\n  Beyond the waking and the sleeping,\n  Beyond the sowing and the reaping,\n      I shall be soon.\n    Love, rest, and home!\n    Sweet home!\n    Lord, tarry not, but come.\n\n  2 Beyond the blooming and the fading,\n      I shall be soon;\n  Beyond the shining and the shading,\n  Beyond the hoping and the dreading\n      I shall be soon.\n    Love, rest, and home!\n    Sweet home!\n    Lord, tarry not, but come.\n\n  3 Beyond the rising and the setting,\n      I shall be soon;\n  Beyond the calming and the fretting,\n  Beyond remembering and forgetting,\n      I shall be soon.\n    Love, rest, and home!\n    Sweet home!\n    Lord, tarry not, but come.\n\n  4 Beyond the parting and the meeting,\n      I shall be soon;\n  Beyond the farewell and the greeting,\n  Beyond the pulse's fever beating,\n      I shall be soon.\n    Love, rest, and home!\n    Sweet home!\n    Lord, tarry not, but come.\n\n  5 Beyond the frost-chain and the fever,\n      I shall be soon;\n  Beyond the rock-waste and the river,\n  Beyond the ever and the never\n      I shall be soon.\n    Love, rest, and home!\n    Sweet home!\n    Lord, tarry not, but come.\n\n\n841                                                         10s & 11s.\n                          O tell me no more.\n\n  O tell me no more of this world's vain store;\n  The time for such trifles with me now is o'er;\n  A country I've found where true joys abound,\n  To dwell I'm determined on that happy ground.\n\n  2 The souls that believe, in glory shall live,\n  And me in that number will Jesus receive;\n  My soul, don't delay, he calls thee away,\n  Rise, follow the Saviour, and bless the glad day.\n\n  3 No mortal doth know what he can bestow,\n  What light, strength and comfort--go after him, go;\n  Lo, onward I move to a city above,\n  None guesses how wondrous my journey will prove.\n\n  4 Great spoils I shall win, from death, hell, and sin,\n  'Midst outward afflictions, I feel Christ within;\n  And when I'm to die, receive me, I'll cry,\n  For Jesus has loved me--I can not tell why.\n\n  5 But this I do find, we two are so joined,\n  He'll not live in glory, and leave me behind,\n  So this is the race I'm running, through grace,\n  Henceforth, till admitted to see my Lord's face.\n\n  6 Now this is my care, that my neighbors may share\n  These blessings: to seek them will none of you dare?\n  In bondage, O why, and death, will you lie,\n  When Jesus assures you free grace is so nigh?\n\n\n842                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                  Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us.\n\n  Lead us, heavenly Father! lead us\n    O'er the world's tempestuous sea;\n  Guard us, guide us, keep us, feed us,\n    For we have no help but thee.\n        Yet possessing\n        Every blessing,\n    If our God our Father be.\n\n  2 Saviour! breathe forgiveness o'er us;\n    All our weakness thou dost know;\n  Thou didst tread this earth before us,\n    Thou didst feel its keenest woe.\n        Lone and dreary,\n        Faint and weary\n    Through the desert thou didst go.\n\n  3 Spirit of our God descending!\n    Fill our hearts with heavenly joy;\n  Love with every passion blending,\n    Pleasure that can never cloy.\n        Thus provided,\n        Pardoned, guided,\n    Nothing can our peace destroy.\n\n\n843                                                               10s.\n                         Faint yet pursuing.\n\n  My feet are worn and weary with the march\n    O'er the rough road and up the steep hill-side;\n  O city of our God! I fain would see\n    Thy pastures green, where peaceful waters glide.\n\n  2 My hands are worn and weary, toiling on,\n    Day after day, for perishable meat;\n  O city of our God! I fain would rest--\n    I sigh to gain thy glorious mercy-seat.\n\n  3 My garments, travel-worn and stained with dust,\n    Oft rent by briers and thorns that crowd my way,\n  Would fain be made, O Lord, my righteousness!\n    Spotless and white in heaven's unclouded ray.\n\n  4 My eyes are weary looking at the sin,\n    Impiety, and scorn upon the earth;\n  O city of our God! within thy walls\n    All--all are clothed again with thy new birth.\n\n  5 My heart is weary of its own deep sin--\n    Sinning, repenting, sinning still again;\n  When shall my soul thy glorious presence feel,\n    And find, dear Saviour, it is free from stain?\n\n  6 Patience, poor soul! the Saviour's feet were worn;\n    The Saviour's heart and hands were weary too;\n  His garments stained, and travel-worn, and old;\n    His vision blinded with a pitying dew.\n\n  7 Love thou the path of sorrow that he trod;\n    Toil on, and wait in patience for thy rest:\n  O city of our God! we soon shall see\n    Thy glorious walls--home of the loved and blest.\n\n\n844                                                         10s & 11s.\n                     The night is far spent, etc.\n                                   Rom. 13:12.\n\n  Soon and for ever the breaking of day\n  Shall chase all the night-clouds of sorrow away;\n  Soon and for ever we'll see as we're seen,\n  And know the deep meaning of things that have been,\n  Where fightings without and conflicts within\n  Shall weary no more in the warfare with sin--\n  Where tears, and where fears, and where death shall be never,\n  Christians with Christ shall be soon and for ever.\n\n  2 Soon and for ever--such promise our trust--\n  Though ashes to ashes, and dust be to dust,\n  Soon and for ever our union shall be\n  Made perfect, our glorious Redeemer, in thee:\n  When the cares and the sorrows of time shall be o'er,\n  Its pangs and its partings remembered no more;\n  Where life can not fail and where death can not sever,\n  Christians with Christ shall be soon and for ever.\n\n  3 Soon and for ever the work shall be done,\n  The warfare accomplished, the victory won;\n  Soon and for ever the soldier lay down\n  The sword for a harp, the cross for a crown:\n  Then droop not in sorrow, despond not in fear,\n  A glorious to-morrow is brightening and near,\n  When--blessed reward for each faithful endeavor--\n  Christians with Christ shall be soon and for ever!\n\n\n\n\n                      TEMPTATIONS AND CONFLICTS.\n\n\n845                                                              L. M.\n                When I would do good, evil is present.\n                                    Rom. 7:21.\n\n  In thee, O Lord, I put my trust,\n    Thou art my portion and my song;\n  Thy ways, with me, are always just,\n    But mine, with thee, are often wrong.\n\n  2 I can not do the things I would,\n    For sin is in my flesh concealed;\n  So evil takes the place of good,\n    And all my weakness stands revealed.\n\n  3 But thou, O Lord, canst make me clean,\n    And give me strength to do the right;\n  While on thy promises I lean,\n    All darkness changes into light.\n\n  4 O give me grace the wrong to shun,\n    The right to follow all my days,\n  And when life's victory is won,\n    Then will I give thee all the praise.\n\n\n846                                                              L. M.\n                     We are more than conquerors.\n                                    Rom. 8:37.\n\n  The Christian warrior, see him stand\n    In the whole armor of his God;\n  The Spirit's sword is in his hand,\n    His feet are with the gospel shod.\n\n  2 In panoply of truth complete,\n    Salvation's helmet on his head,\n  With righteousness, a breastplate meet;\n    And faith's broad shield before him spread.\n\n  3 With this, omnipotence he moves;\n    From this the alien armies flee;\n  Till more than conqueror he proves,\n    Through Christ, who gives him victory.\n\n  4 Thus, strong in his Redeemer's strength,\n    Sin, death, and hell he tramples down,\n  Fights the good fight, and wins at length,\n    Through mercy, an immortal crown.\n\n\n847                                                              L. M.\n                    Put on the whole armor of God.\n                                    Eph. 6:11.\n\n  Awake, my soul! lift up thine eyes;\n  See where thy foes against thee rise,\n  In long array, a numerous host;\n  Awake, my soul, or thou art lost.\n\n  2 See where rebellious passions rage,\n  And fierce desires and lust engage;\n  The meanest foe of all the train\n  Has thousands and ten thousands slain.\n\n  3 Thou treadest upon enchanted ground;\n  Perils and snares beset thee round;\n  Beware of all; guard every part;\n  But most, the traitor in thy heart.\n\n  4 Come, then, my soul! now learn to wield\n  The weight of thine immortal shield;\n  Put on the armor from above,\n  Of heavenly truth, and heavenly love.\n\n\n848                                                              L. M.\n                  Let us go forth without the camp.\n                                   Heb. 13:13.\n\n  Silent, like men in solemn haste,\n  Girded wayfarers of the waste,\n  We press along the narrow road\n  That leads to life, to bliss, to God.\n\n  2 We fling aside the weight and sin,\n  Resolved the victory to win;\n  We know the peril, but our eyes\n  Rest on the splendor of the prize.\n\n  3 No idling now, no wasteful sleep;\n  We trim our lamps, our vigils keep;\n  No shrinking from the desperate fight,\n  No thought of yielding or of flight;\n\n  4 No love of present gain nor ease,\n  No seeking man nor self to please.--\n  With the brave heart and steady eye,\n  We onward march to victory.\n\n  5 Night is far spent, and morn is near--\n  Morn of the cloudless and the clear;\n  'Tis but a little and we come\n  To our reward, our crown, our home.\n\n  6 Another year--it may be less--\n  And we have crossed the wilderness,\n  Finished the toil, the rest begun,\n  The battle fought, the triumph won.\n\n\n849                                                              L. M.\n                    A pillar of cloud by day, etc.\n                                  Exodus 13:21.\n\n  When Israel, of the Lord beloved,\n    Out from the land of bondage came,\n  Her father's God before her moved,\n    An awful Guide, in smoke and flame.\n\n  2 By day, along th' astonished lands\n    The cloudy pillar glided slow;\n  By night Arabia's crimsoned sands\n    Returned the fiery column's glow.\n\n  3 Thus present still, though now unseen,\n    O Lord, when shines the prosperous day,\n  Be thoughts of thee a cloudy screen,\n    To temper the deceitful ray.\n\n  4 And O, when gathers on our path,\n    In shade and storm, the frequent night,\n  Be thou long-suffering, slow to wrath,\n    A burning and a shining light.\n\n\n850                                                              L. M.\n                    Fight the good fight of faith.\n                                    Tim. 6:12.\n\n  O Israel, to thy tents repair:\n    Why thus secure on hostile ground?\n  Thy King commands thee to beware\n    For many foes thy camp surround.\n\n  2 The trumpet gives a martial strain:\n    O Israel, gird thee for the fight!\n  Arise, the combat to maintain,\n    And put thine enemies to flight!\n\n  3 Thou shouldst not sleep, as others do;\n    Awake; be vigilant; be brave!\n  The coward, and the sluggard too,\n    Must wear the fetters of the slave.\n\n  4 A nobler lot is cast for thee;\n    A kingdom waits thee in the skies:\n  With such a hope, shall Israel flee,\n    Or yield, through weariness, the prize?\n\n  5 No! let a careless world repose\n    And slumber on through life's short day,\n  While Israel to the conflict goes,\n    And bears the glorious prize away!\n\n\n851                                                              L. M.\n                              Psalm 3d.\n\n  The tempter to my soul hath said--\n    \"There is no help in God for thee;\"\n  Lord! lift thou up thy servant's head,\n    My glory, shield, and solace be.\n\n  2 Thus to the Lord I raised my cry,\n    He heard me from his holy hill;\n  At his command the waves rolled by;\n    He beckoned--and the winds were still.\n\n  3 I laid me down and slept--I woke--\n    Thou, Lord! my spirit didst sustain;\n  Bright from the east the morning broke--\n    Thy comforts rose on me again.\n\n  4 I will not fear, though armed throngs\n    'Compass my steps in all their wrath;\n  Salvation to the Lord belongs:\n    His presence guards his people's path.\n\n\n852                                                              L. M.\n              The Lord is nigh to all that call on him.\n                                  Psalm 145:18.\n\n  When, in the hour of lonely woe,\n  I give my sorrows leave to flow,\n  And anxious fear and dark distrust\n  Weigh down my spirit to the dust;\n\n  2 When not e'en friendship's gentle aid\n  Can heal the wounds the world has made,\n  O this shall check each rising sigh--\n  My Saviour is for ever nigh.\n\n  3 His counsels and upholding care\n  My safety and my comfort are:\n  And he shall guide me all my days,\n  Till glory crown the work of grace.\n\n\n853                                                              L. M.\n                  I have considered the days of old.\n                                   Psalm 77:5.\n\n  Lord! I have foes without, within,\n  The world, the flesh, indwelling sin,\n  Life's daily ills, temptation's power,\n  The tempted spirit's weaker hour.\n\n  2 Yet, in the gloom of silent thought,\n  I call to mind what God hath wrought--\n  Thy wonders in the days of old,\n  Thy mercies great and manifold.\n\n  3 O, then to thee I stretch my hands,\n  Like failing streams through desert sands;\n  I thirst for thee, as harvest plains,\n  Parched by the summer, thirst for rains!\n\n  4 Teach me thy will, subdue my own;\n  Thou art my God, and thou alone;\n  Release my soul from trouble, Lord!\n  Quicken and keep me by thy word.\n\n\n854                                                              L. M.\n                       Why art thou cast down.\n                                   Psalm 42:5.\n\n  When darkness long has vailed my mind,\n    And smiling day once more appears;\n  Then, my Creator! then I find\n    The folly of my doubts and fears.\n\n  2 Straight I upbraid my wandering heart,\n    And blush that I should ever be\n  Thus prone to act so base a part,\n    Or harbor one hard thought of thee.\n\n  3 O, let me then at length be taught\n    What I am still so slow to learn--\n  That God is love, and changes not,\n    Nor knows the shadow of a turn.\n\n  4 Sweet truth, and easy to repeat!\n    But, when my faith is sharply tried,\n  I find myself a learner yet,\n    Unskillful, weak, and apt to slide.\n\n  5 But, O my God! one look from thee\n    Subdues the disobedient will,\n  Drives doubt and discontent away;\n    And thy rebellious child is still.\n\n\n855                                                              L. M.\n                          We walk by faith.\n                                   2 Cor. 5:7.\n\n  By faith in Christ I walk with God,\n    With heaven, my journey's end, in view;\n  Supported by his staff and rod,\n    My road is safe and pleasant too.\n\n  2 I travel through a desert wide,\n    Where many round me blindly stray;\n  But he vouchsafes to be my Guide,\n    And keeps me in the narrow way.\n\n  3 The wilderness affords no food,\n    But God for my support prepares,\n  Provides me every needful good,\n    And frees my soul from wants and cares.\n\n  4 With him sweet converse I maintain;\n    Great as he is, I dare be free;\n  I tell him all my grief and pain,\n    And he reveals his love to me.\n\n  5 I pity all that worldlings talk\n    Of pleasures that will quickly end;\n  Be this my choice, O Lord! to walk\n    With thee, my Guide, my Guard, my Friend.\n\n\n856                                                              L. M.\n                       I press toward the mark.\n                                   Phil. 3:14.\n\n  Awake, our souls; away, our fears;\n    Let every trembling thought be gone;\n  Awake, and run the heavenly race,\n    And put a cheerful courage on.\n\n  2 True, 'tis a straight and thorny road,\n    And mortal spirits tire and faint;\n  But they forget the mighty God,\n    Who feeds the strength of every saint;\n\n  3 The mighty God, whose matchless power\n    Is ever new and ever young,\n  And firm endures, while endless years\n    Their everlasting circles run.\n\n  4 From thee, the overflowing spring,\n    Our souls shall drink a full supply;\n  While those who trust their native strength,\n    Shall melt away, and droop, and die.\n\n  5 Swift as an eagle cuts the air,\n    We'll mount aloft to thine abode;\n  On wings of love our souls shall fly,\n    Nor tire amid the heavenly road.\n\n\n857                                                              L. M.\n                      Lord, save us; we perish.\n                                   Matt. 8:25.\n\n  The billows swell, the winds are high;\n  Clouds overcast my wintry sky;\n  Out of the depths to thee I call;\n  My fears are great, my strength is small.\n\n  2 O Lord, the pilot's part perform,\n  And guide and guard me through the storm;\n  Defend me from each threatening ill:\n  Control the waves; say, \"Peace! be still.\"\n\n  3 Amid the roaring of the sea,\n  My soul still hangs her hope on thee;\n  Thy constant love, thy faithful care,\n  Is all that saves me from despair.\n\n  4 Though tempest-tossed and half a wreck,\n  My Saviour through the floods I seek:\n  Let neither winds nor stormy main\n  Force back my shattered bark again.\n\n\n858                                                              L. M.\n                Where is the blessedness ye spake of.\n                                    Gal. 4:15.\n\n  O where is now that glowing love\n    That marked our union with the Lord?\n  Our hearts were fixed on things above.\n    Nor could the world a joy afford.\n\n  2 Where is the zeal that led us then\n    To make our Saviour's glory known;\n  That freed us from the fear of men,\n    And kept our eyes on him alone?\n\n  3 Where are the happy seasons spent\n    In fellowship with him we loved?\n  The sacred joy, the sweet content,\n    The blessedness that then we proved?\n\n  4 Behold, again we turn to thee,\n    O cast us not away, though vile!\n  No peace we have, no joy we see,\n    O Lord, our God, but in thy smile.\n\n\n859                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                    Love--which passeth knowledge.\n                                    Eph. 3:19.\n\n  Thou hidden love of God, whose hight,\n    Whose depth, unfathomed, no man knows,\n  I see from far thy beauteous light:\n    Inly I sigh for thy repose;\n  My heart is pained; nor can it be\n  At rest till it find rest in thee.\n\n  2 Thy secret voice invites me still\n    The sweetness of thy yoke to prove;\n  And fain I would; but though my will\n    Seems fixed, yet wide my passions rove;\n  Yet hindrances strew all the way;\n  I aim at thee, yet from thee stray.\n\n  3 'Tis mercy all, that thou hast brought\n    My mind to seek her peace in thee;\n  Yet, while I seek, but find thee not,\n    No peace my wandering soul shall see.\n  O, when shall all my wanderings end,\n  And all my steps to thee-ward tend?\n\n  4 Is there a thing beneath the sun\n    That strives with thee my heart to share?\n  Ah, tear it thence, and reign alone,\n    The Lord of every motion there:\n  Then shall my heart from earth be free,\n  When it hath found repose in thee.\n\n\n860                                                              C. M.\n                      So run that ye may obtain.\n                                   1 Cor. 9:24.\n\n  Rise, O my soul! pursue the path\n    By ancient heroes trod;\n  Ambitious view those holy men\n    Who lived and walked with God.\n\n  2 Though dead, they speak in reason's ear;\n    And in example live;\n  Their faith, and hope, and mighty deeds,\n    Still fresh instruction give.\n\n  3 'Twas through the Lamb's most precious blood\n    They conquered every foe:\n  And to his power and matchless grace,\n    Their crowns and honor owe.\n\n  4 Lord, may we ever keep in view\n    The patterns thou hast given,\n  And ne'er forsake the blessed road\n    Which led them safe to heaven.\n\n\n861                                                           C. M. D.\n                       O! it will be glorious.\n\n  Christians, keep your armor bright,\n    Rejoice, give thanks, and sing;\n  In union strong together fight;\n    Hosanna to our King!\n  Come, laud and magnify his name,\n    Nor let his praises cease;\n  His ways are ways of pleasantness\n    And all his paths are peace.\n                               CHORUS.\n        O it will be glorious.\n        With crowns and palms victorious,\n        And Jesus reigning over us,\n        When our sad warfare's o'er.\n\n  2 We will not act the coward's part,\n    But onward all proceed:\n  Our Captain shall his grace impart\n    In every time of need.\n  Great peace have they who love his cause,\n    And on his word rely;\n  From such as keep his holy laws,\n    The enemy will fly.\n\n  3 The world and sin may grieve us sore,\n    And rouse our weakest fears;\n  Our march is but a few days more\n    Through this dark vale of tears.\n  Death may assail, and Satan too,\n    With his opposing powers;\n  But let us prove our valor true,\n    The victory is ours.\n\n\n862                                                              C. M.\n                         O Lord, remember me.\n\n  O thou, from whom all goodness flows,\n    I lift my soul to thee;\n  In all my sorrows, conflicts, woes,\n    O Lord, remember me.\n\n  2 If for thy sake, upon my name\n    Reproach and shame shall be,\n  I'll hail reproach and welcome shame;\n    O Lord remember me!\n\n  3 When worn with pain, disease, and grief,\n    This feeble body see;\n  Grant patience, rest and kind relief;\n    O Lord remember me!\n\n  4 When, in the solemn hour of death,\n    I wait thy just decree,\n  Be this the prayer of my last breath--\n    O Lord, remember me!\n\n  5 And when before thy throne I stand,\n    And lift my soul to thee,\n  Then with the saints at thy right hand,\n    O Lord, remember me!\n\n\n863                                                              C. M.\n                  Endure hardness as a good soldier.\n                                   2 Tim. 2:3.\n\n  Am I a soldier of the cross,\n    A follower of the Lamb?\n  And shall I fear to own his cause,\n    Or blush to speak his name?\n\n  2 Must I be carried to the skies\n    On flowery beds of ease,\n  While others fought to win the prize,\n    And sailed through bloody seas?\n\n  3 Are there no foes for me to face?\n    Must I not stem the flood?\n  Is this vile world a friend to grace,\n    To help me on to God?\n\n  4 Sure I must fight, if I would reign;\n    Increase my courage, Lord!\n  I'll bear the toil, endure the pain,\n    Supported by thy word.\n\n  5 Thy saints, in all this glorious war,\n    Shall conquer, though they die;\n  They see the triumph from afar,\n    With Hope's exulting eye.\n\n  6 When that illustrious day shall rise,\n    And all thine armies shine\n  In robes of victory through the skies,\n    The glory shall be thine.\n\n\n864                                                              C. M.\n                             Overcoming.\n\n  Kind Father, look with pity now\n    On one by sin defiled;\n  While at the mercy-seat I bow,\n    O bless thy erring child.\n\n  2 My struggles, Lord, to do thy will,\n    How poor and weak they are!\n  But thou art gracious to me still,\n    Then hear my humble prayer.\n\n  3 Let love upon my broken heart\n    Pour out its healing balm;\n  Bid all my trembling fears depart--\n    My troubled spirit calm.\n\n  4 And now my hope new courage takes,\n    My faith grows strong and sure;\n  The cloud from off my vision breaks,\n    Again my heart is pure.\n\n  5 My soul mounts up on wings of light\n    And soars to climes above--\n  The regions where all things are bright,\n    The home of Peace and Love.\n\n  6 There, soon I'll sing of love divine,\n    With all the ransomed throng,\n  There, Jesus shall be ever mine,\n    His love my endless song.\n\n\n865                                                              C. M.\n                          With all boldness.\n                                   Phil. 1:20.\n\n  I'm not ashamed to own my Lord,\n    Nor to defend his cause,\n  Maintain the honors of his word,\n    The glory of his cross.\n\n  2 Jesus, my Lord, I know his name,\n    His name is all my trust;\n  Nor will he put my soul to shame,\n    Nor let my hope be lost.\n\n  3 Firm as his throne his promise stands,\n    And he can well secure\n  What I've committed to his hands\n    Till the decisive hour.\n\n  4 Then will he own my worthless name\n    Before his Father's face,\n  And in the new Jerusalem\n    Appoint for me a place.\n\n\n866                                                              C. M.\n                          Run with patience.\n                                    Heb. 12:1.\n\n  Awake, my soul, stretch every nerve,\n    And press with vigor on;\n  A heavenly race demands your zeal,\n    And an immortal crown.\n\n  2 'Tis God's all-animating voice\n    That calls thee from on high:\n  'Tis his own hand presents the prize\n    To thy aspiring eye.\n\n  3 A cloud of witnesses around\n    Holds thee in full survey:\n  Forget the steps already trod,\n    And onward urge the way.\n\n  4 Blest Saviour, introduced by thee,\n    Have we our race begun!\n  And crowned with victory at thy feet\n    We'll lay our honors down.\n\n\n867                                                              C. M.\n                         Mighty through God.\n                                   2 Cor. 10:4.\n\n  Nay, tell us not of dangers dire\n    That lie in duty's path;\n  A warrior of the cross can feel\n    No fear of human wrath.\n\n  2 Where'er the prince of darkness holds\n    His earthly reign abhorred,\n  Sword of the Spirit, thee we draw,\n    And battle for the Lord.\n\n  3 We go! we go, to break the chains\n    That bind the erring mind,\n  And give the freedom that we feel\n    To all of human kind.\n\n  4 But, O, we wear no burnished steel,\n    And seek no gory field;\n  Our weapon is the word of God,\n    His promise is our shield.\n\n  5 And still serene and fixed in faith,\n    We fear no earthly harm;\n  We know it is our Father's work,\n    We rest upon his arm.\n\n\n868                                                              C. M.\n               Return to me, and I will return to you.\n                                    Mal. 3:7.\n\n  How oft, alas! this wretched heart\n    Has wandered from the Lord!\n  How oft my roving thoughts depart--\n    Forgetful of his word!\n\n  2 Yet sovereign mercy calls--\"Return!\"\n    Dear Lord! and may I come?\n  My vile ingratitude I mourn;\n    O! take the wanderer home.\n\n  3 And canst thou--wilt thou yet forgive,\n    And bid my crimes remove!\n  And shall a pardoned rebel live\n    To speak thy wondrous love?\n\n  4 Almighty grace! thy healing power,\n    How glorious--how divine!\n  That can to life and bliss restore\n    A heart so vile as mine!\n\n  5 Thy pardoning love--so free, so sweet,\n    Dear Saviour, I adore;\n  O! keep me at thy sacred feet,\n    And let me rove no more.\n\n\n869                                                           C. M. D.\n                       Help thou mine unbelief.\n                                    Mark 9:24.\n\n  Father, when o'er our trembling hearts\n    Doubt's shadows gathering brood,\n  When faith in thee almost departs,\n    And gloomiest fears intrude,\n  Forsake us not, O God of grace,\n    But send those fears relief;\n  Grant us again to see thy face;\n    Lord, help our unbelief.\n\n  2 When sorrow comes, and joys are flown,\n    And fondest hopes be dead,\n  And blessings, long esteemed our own,\n    Are now for ever fled--\n  When the bright promise of our spring\n    Is but a withering leaf--\n  Lord, to thy truth still let us cling,\n    Help thou our unbelief.\n\n  3 And when the powers of nature fail\n    Upon the couch of pain,\n  Nor love, nor friendship can avail\n    The spirit to detain;\n  Then, Father, be our closing eyes\n    Undimmed by tears of grief,\n  And if a trembling doubt arise,\n    Help thou our unbelief.\n\n\n870                                                              C. M.\n                           Watch and pray.\n                                   Mark 13:33.\n\n  The Saviour bids us watch and pray,\n    Through life's brief, fleeting hour,\n  And gives the Spirit's quickening ray\n    To those who seek his power.\n\n  2 The Saviour bids us watch and pray,\n    Maintain a warrior's strife;\n  Help, Lord, to hear thy voice to-day;\n    Obedience is our life.\n\n  3 The Saviour bids us watch and pray;\n    For soon the hour will come\n  That calls us from the earth away,\n    To our eternal home.\n\n  4 O Saviour, we would watch and pray,\n    And hear thy sacred voice,\n  And walk, as thou hast marked the way,\n    To heaven's eternal joys.\n\n\n871                                                              C. M.\n               When shall I come and appear before God.\n                                   Psalm 42:2.\n\n  As o'er the past my memory strays,\n    Why heaves the secret sigh?\n  'Tis that I mourn departed days,\n    Still unprepared to die.\n\n  2 The world and worldly things beloved,\n    My anxious thoughts employed;\n  And time, unhallowed, unimproved,\n    Presents a fearful void.\n\n  3 Yet, Holy Father, wild despair\n    Chase from my laboring breast;\n  Thy grace it is which prompts the prayer,\n    That grace can do the rest.\n\n  4 My life's brief remnant all be thine;\n    And when thy sure decree\n  Bids me this fleeting breath resign,\n    O, speed my soul to thee.\n\n\n872                                                              C. M.\n               Let me not wander from thy commandments.\n                                  Psalm 119:10.\n\n  Alas, what hourly dangers rise!\n    What snares beset my way!\n  To heaven, O, let me lift mine eyes,\n    And hourly watch and pray.\n\n  2 How oft my mournful thoughts complain,\n    And melt in flowing tears!\n  My weak resistance, ah, how vain!\n    How strong my foes and fears!\n\n  3 O gracious God! in whom I live,\n    My feeble efforts aid;\n  Help me to watch, and pray, and strive,\n    Though trembling and afraid.\n\n  4 Increase my faith, increase my hope,\n    When foes and fears prevail;\n  And bear my fainting spirit up,\n    Or soon my strength will fail.\n\n  5 O, keep me in thy heavenly way,\n    And bid the tempter flee!\n  And let me never, never stray\n    From happiness and thee.\n\n\n873                                                              S. M.\n                         Ever with the Lord.\n                                  1 Thess. 4:17.\n\n  \"For ever with the Lord,\"\n    Amen, so let it be;\n  Life from the dead is in that word,\n    'Tis immortality.\n\n  2 Here in the body pent,\n    Absent from him I roam,\n  Yet nightly pitch my moving tent\n    A day's march nearer home.\n\n  3 My Father's house on high,\n    Home of my soul, how near\n  At times, to faith's aspiring eye,\n    Thy golden gates appear!\n\n  4 Ah, then my spirit faints,\n    To reach the land I love,\n  The bright inheritance of saints,\n    Jerusalem above.\n\n  5 Yet doubts still intervene,\n    And all my comfort flies;\n  Like Noah's dove, I flit between\n    Rough seas and stormy skies.\n\n  6 Anon the clouds depart,\n    The winds and waters cease;\n  While sweetly o'er my gladdened heart\n    Expands the bow of peace.\n\n\n874                                                    C. M. peculiar.\n                   The fashion of this world, etc.\n                                   1 Cor. 7:31.\n\n  This world is poor from shore to shore,\n    And, like a baseless vision,\n  Its lofty domes and brilliant ore,\n  Its gems and crowns are vain and poor;\n    There's nothing rich but heaven.\n\n  2 Empires decay, and nations die,\n    Our hopes to winds, are given;\n  The vernal blooms in ruin lie,\n  Death reigns o'er all beneath the sky;\n    There's nothing sure but heaven.\n\n  3 Creation's mighty fabric all\n    Shall be to atoms riven--\n  The skies consume, the planets fall,\n  Convulsions rock this earthly ball;\n    There's nothing firm but heaven.\n\n  4 A stranger, lonely here I roam,\n    From place to place am driven;\n  My friends are gone, and I'm in gloom,\n  This earth is all a dismal tomb;\n    I have no home but heaven.\n\n  5 The clouds disperse--the light appears,\n    My sins are all forgiven;\n  Triumphant grace has quelled my fears:\n  Roll on, thou sun! fly swift, my years!\n    I'm on my way to heaven.\n\n\n875                                                              S. M.\n                                Watch!\n\n  My soul, be on thy guard;\n    Ten thousand foes arise;\n  The hosts of sin are pressing hard\n    To draw thee from the skies.\n\n  2 O, watch, and fight, and pray;\n    The battle ne'er give o'er;\n  Renew it boldly every day,\n    And help divine implore.\n\n  3 Ne'er think the victory won,\n    Nor lay thine armor down:\n  Thy arduous work will not be done\n    Till thou obtain thy crown.\n\n  4 Fight on, my soul, till death\n    Shall bring thee to thy God;\n  He'll take thee at thy parting breath,\n    To his divine abode.\n\n\n876                                                              S. M.\n                         Occupy till I come.\n                                   Luke 19:13.\n\n  A charge to keep I have,\n    A God to glorify,\n  A never-dying soul to save,\n    And fit it for the sky.\n\n  2 To serve the present age,\n    My calling to fulfill;\n  O, may it all my powers engage\n    To do my Master's will.\n\n  3 Arm me with jealous care\n    As in thy sight to live;\n  And O, thy servant, Lord, prepare\n    A strict account to give.\n\n  4 Help me to watch and pray,\n    And on thyself rely,\n  Assured, if I my trust betray,\n    I shall for ever die.\n\n\n877                                                              S. M.\n                       To him that overcometh.\n                                    Rev. 2:7.\n\n  Arise, ye saints, arise!\n    The Lord our Leader is;\n  The foe before his banner flies,\n    For victory is his.\n\n  2 Lead on, almighty Lord,\n    Lead on, to victory!\n  Encouraged by the bright reward:\n    With joy we'll follow thee.\n\n  3 We'll follow thee, our Guide,\n    Our Saviour and our King;\n  We'll follow thee, through grace supplied\n    From heaven's eternal spring.\n\n  4 We hope to see the day\n    When all our toils shall cease;\n  When we shall cast our arms away,\n    And dwell in endless peace.\n\n  5 This hope supports us here,\n    It makes our burdens light;\n  'Twill serve our drooping hearts to cheer,\n    Till faith shall end in sight;\n\n  6 Till, of the prize possessed,\n    We hear of war no more,\n  And O, sweet thought! for ever rest\n    On yonder peaceful shore!\n\n\n878                                                              S. M.\n                      Go forth to glorious war.\n\n  Hark, how the watchmen cry!\n    Attend the trumpet's sound;\n  Stand to your arms: the foe is nigh--\n    The powers of hell surround.\n\n  2 Who bow to Christ's command,\n    Your arms and hearts prepare;\n  The day of battle is at hand--\n    Go forth to glorious war.\n\n  3 See on the mountain top\n    The standard of your God;\n  In Jesus' name 'tis lifted up,\n    All stained with hallowed blood.\n\n  4 His standard-bearers, now\n    To all the nations call:\n  To Jesus' cross, ye nations bow;\n    He bore the cross for all.\n\n  5 Go up with Christ your Head;\n    Your Captain's footsteps see;\n  Follow your Captain, and be led\n    To certain victory.\n\n  6 All power to him is given;\n    He ever reigns the same;\n  Salvation, happiness, and heaven,\n    Are all in Jesus' name.\n\n\n879                                                              S. M.\n                        Be strong in the Lord.\n                                    Eph. 6:10.\n\n  Soldiers of Christ, arise!\n    And put your armor on,\n  Strong in the strength which God supplies\n    Through his beloved Son.\n\n  2 Strong in the Lord of Hosts,\n    And in his mighty power;\n  Who in the strength of Jesus trusts,\n    Is more than conqueror.\n\n  3 Stand, then, in his great might,\n    With all his strength endued;\n  But take, to arm you for the fight,\n    The panoply of God.\n\n  4 Leave no unguarded place,\n    No weakness of the soul;\n  Take every virtue, every grace,\n    And fortify the whole.\n\n  5 That having all things done,\n    And all your conflicts past,\n  You may o'ercome through Christ alone,\n    And stand entire at last.\n\n\n880                                                              S. M.\n                     Therefore will not we fear.\n                                   Psalm 46:2.\n\n  Give to the winds thy fears,\n    Hope, and be undismayed;\n  God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears,\n    God shall lift up thy head.\n\n  2 Through waves, through clouds and storms,\n    He gently clears thy way;\n  Wait thou his time; so shall this night\n    Soon end in joyous day.\n\n  3 Still heavy is thy heart!\n    Still sink thy spirits down!\n  Cast off the weight, let fear depart,\n    Bid every care be gone.\n\n  4 Far, far above thy thought\n    His counsel shall appear,\n  When fully he the work hath wrought,\n    That caused thy needless fear.\n\n  5 What, though thou rulest not!\n    Yet heaven, and earth, and hell\n  Proclaim, God sitteth on the throne,\n    And ruleth all things well!\n\n\n881                                                              S. M.\n                           Reaching forth.\n                                   Phil. 3:13.\n\n  My soul, it is thy God\n    Who calls thee by his grace;\n  Now loose thee from each cumbering load,\n    And bend thee to the race.\n\n  2 Make thy salvation sure;\n    All sloth and slumber shun;\n  Nor dare a moment rest secure,\n    Till thou the goal hast won.\n\n  3 Thy crown of life hold fast;\n    Thy heart with courage stay;\n  Nor let one trembling glance be cast\n    Along the backward way.\n\n  4 Thy path ascends the skies,\n    With conquering footsteps bright;\n  And thou shalt win and wear the prize\n    In everlasting light.\n\n\n882                                                                7s.\n                       If we confess our sins.\n                                   1 John 1:9.\n\n  God of mercy! God of love!\n  Hear our sad, repentant songs;\n  Listen to thy suppliant ones,\n  Thou, to whom all grace belongs!\n\n  2 Deep regret for follies past,\n  Talents wasted, time misspent;\n  Hearts debased by worldly cares,\n  Thankless for the blessings lent;\n\n  3 Foolish fears and fond desires,\n  Vain regrets for things as vain;\n  Lips too seldom taught to praise,\n  Oft to murmur and complain;\n\n  4 These, and every secret fault,\n  Filled with grief and shame we own;\n  Humbled at thy feet we bow,\n  Seeking strength from thee alone.\n\n  5 God of mercy! God of love!\n  Hear our sad repentant songs;\n  O, restore thy suppliant ones,\n  Thou to whom all grace belongs!\n\n\n883                                                                7s.\n                        That they go forward.\n                                    Ex. 14:15.\n\n  Oft in sorrow, oft in woe,\n  Onward, Christian, onward go;\n  Fight the fight, maintain the strife,\n  Strengthened with the bread of life.\n\n  2 Onward, Christian, onward go;\n  Join the war, and face the foe;\n  Will you flee in danger's hour?\n  Know you not your Captain's power?\n\n  3 Let your drooping heart be glad;\n  March, in heavenly armor clad;\n  Fight, nor think the battle long;\n  Soon shall victory tune your song.\n\n  4 Let not sorrow dim your eye;\n  Soon shall every tear be dry:\n  Let not fears your course impede;\n  Great your strength, if great your need.\n\n  5 Onward, then, to battle move;\n  More than conqueror you shall prove;\n  Though opposed by many a foe,\n  Christian soldier, onward go.\n\n\n884                                                                7s.\n                   Let us not sleep, as do others.\n                                  1 Thess. 5:6.\n\n  Sleep not, soldier of the cross!\n    Foes are lurking all around;\n  Look not here to find repose;\n    This is but thy battle-ground;\n\n  2 Up! and take thy shield and sword;\n    Up! it is the call of heaven:\n  Shrink not faithless from the Lord:\n    Nobly strive as he hath striven.\n\n  3 Break through all the force of ill;\n    Tread the might of passion down--\n  Struggling onward, onward still,\n    To the conquering Saviour's crown!\n\n  4 Through the midst of toil and pain,\n    Let this thought ne'er leave thy breast:\n  Every triumph thou dost gain\n    Makes more sweet thy coming rest.\n\n\n885                                                           8s & 7s.\n                Forgetting the things that are behind.\n                                   Phil. 3:13.\n\n  Onward, Christian, though the region\n    Where thou art be drear and lone,\n  God hath set a guardian legion\n    Very near thee--press thou on!\n\n  2 Listen, Christian, their hosanna\n    Rolleth o'er thee--\"God is love,\"\n  Write upon thy red-cross banner,\n    \"Upward ever--heaven's above.\"\n\n  3 By the thorn-road, and none other,\n    Is the mount of vision won;\n  Tread it without shrinking, brother!\n    Jesus trod it--press thou on!\n\n  4 By thy trustful, calm endeavor,\n    Guiding, cheering, like the sun,\n  Earth-bound hearts thou shalt deliver;\n    O, for their sake, press thou on!\n\n  5 Be this world the wiser, stronger,\n    For thy life of pain and peace;\n  While it needs thee, O no longer\n    Pray thou for thy quick release:\n\n  6 Pray thou, Christian, daily, rather,\n    That thou be a faithful son;\n  By the prayer of Jesus--\"Father,\n    Not my will, but thine, be done!\"\n\n\n886                                                           8s & 7s.\n                   Here we have no continuing city.\n                                   Heb. 13:14.\n\n  Whither goest thou, pilgrim stranger,\n    Passing through this darksome vale?\n  Knowest thou not 'tis full of danger,\n    And will not thy courage fail?\n                               CHORUS.\n          I am bound for the kingdom,\n          Will you go to glory with me?\n          Hallelujah! praise you the Lord.\n\n  2 Pilgrim, thou dost justly call me,\n    Wandering o'er this waste so wide;\n  Yet no harm will e'er befall me,\n    While I'm blest with such a guide.\n\n  3 Such a guide--no guide attends thee:\n    Hence for thee my fears arise;\n  If some guardian power befriend thee,\n    'Tis unseen by mortal eyes.\n\n  4 Yes, unseen--but still believe me,\n    Such a guide my steps attends;\n  He'll in every strait relieve me,\n    He from every harm defends.\n\n  5 Pilgrim! see that stream before thee!\n    Darkly winding through the vale;\n  Should its deadly waves roll o'er thee,\n    Would not then thy courage fail?\n\n  6 No, that stream has nothing frightful;\n    To its bank my steps I bend;\n  There to plunge will be delightful,\n    Then my pilgrimage will end.\n\n\n887                                                           8s & 7s.\n                   He leadeth me in the paths, etc.\n                                   Psalm 23:3.\n\n  Holy Father, thou hast taught me\n    I should live to thee alone;\n  Year by year, thy hand hath brought me\n    On through dangers oft unknown;\n  When I wandered, thou hast found me,\n    When I doubted, sent me light;\n  Still thine arm has been around me,\n    All my paths were in thy sight.\n\n  2 In the world will foes assail me,\n    Craftier, stronger far than I;\n  And the strife may never fail me,\n    Well I know, before I die.\n  Therefore, Lord, I come, believing\n    Thou canst give the power I need;\n  Through the prayer of faith receiving\n    Strength--the Spirit's strength, indeed.\n\n  3 I would trust in thy protecting,\n    Wholly rest upon thine arm;\n  Follow wholly thy directing,\n    Thou, mine only guard from harm!\n  Keep me from mine own undoing,\n    Help me turn to thee when tried,\n  Still my footsteps, Father, viewing,\n    Keep me ever at thy side.\n\n\n888                                                           8s & 7s.\n                     Beyond this vale of sorrow.\n\n  Dark and thorny is the desert\n    Through which pilgrims make their way;\n  But beyond this vale of sorrow\n    Lie the realms of endless day.\n  Dear young soldiers, do not murmur\n    At the troubles of the way;\n  Meet the tempest--fight with courage--\n    Never faint, but often pray.\n\n  2 He whose thunder shakes creation;\n    He that bids the planets roll;\n  He that rides upon the tempest,\n    And whose scepter sways the whole--\n  Jesus, Jesus, will defend you;\n    Trust in him and him alone;\n  He has shed his blood to save you,\n    And will bring you to his throne.\n\n  3 There on flowery fields of pleasure,\n    And the hills of endless rest,\n  Joy, and peace, and love, shall ever,\n    Reign and triumph in your breast.\n  There ten thousand flaming seraphs\n    Fly across the heavenly plain;\n  There they sing immortal praises!\n    Glory, glory is their theme.\n\n  4 But, methinks, a sweeter concert\n    Makes the crystal arches ring,\n  And a song is heard in Zion\n    Which the angels can not sing:\n  Who can paint those sons of glory,\n    Ransomed souls that dwell on high,\n  Who, with golden harps, for ever\n    Sound redemption through the sky.\n\n  5 See the heavenly host in rapture\n    Gazing on these shining bands;\n  Wondering at their costly garments,\n    And the laurels in their hands;\n  There upon the golden pavement,\n    See the ransomed march along!\n  While the splendid courts of glory\n    Sweetly echo with their song!\n\n  6 Here I see the under shepherds,\n    And the flocks they fed below,\n  Here with joy they dwell together,\n    Jesus is their shepherd now.\n  Hail! you happy, happy spirits!\n    Welcome to the blissful plain--\n  Glory, honor, and salvation;\n    Reign, sweet Shepherd, ever reign.\n\n\n889                                                       8s, 6s & 7s.\n                             Luke 11:27.\n\n  Must Simon bear the cross alone,\n    And all the world go free?\n  No, there's a cross for every one,\n    And there's a cross for me.\n  Yes, there's a cross on Calvary,\n  Through which by faith the crown I see;\n    To me 'tis pardon bringing;\n      O that's the cross for me!\n\n  2 How happy are the saints above,\n    Who once went mourning here!\n  But now they taste unmingled love,\n    And joy without a tear.\n  For perfect love will dry the tear,\n  And cast out all tormenting fear,\n    Which round my heart is clinging;\n      O that's the love for me.\n\n  3 We'll bear the consecrated cross,\n    Till from the cross we're free;\n  And then go home to wear the crown,\n    For there's a crown for me.\n  Yes, there's a crown in heaven above,\n  The purchase of my Saviour's love,\n    For me at his appearing;\n      O that's the crown for me!\n\n  4 The saints shall hear the midnight cry;\n    The Lord will then appear,\n  And virgins rise with burning lamps,\n    To meet him in the air;\n  For there's a home in heaven prepared,\n  A house by saints and angels shared,\n    Where Christ is interceding;\n      O that's the home for me!\n\n\n890                                                        8s, 7s & 4.\n                          Hope thou in God.\n                                    Psalm 42:5\n\n  O my soul! what means this sadness?\n    Wherefore art thou thus cast down?\n  Let thy griefs be turned to gladness;\n    Bid thy restless fears begone;\n        Look to Jesus,\n    And rejoice in his dear name.\n\n  2 What though Satan's strong temptations\n    Vex and grieve thee day by day\n  And thy sinful inclinations\n    Often fill thee with dismay;\n        Thou shalt conquer,\n    Through the Lamb's redeeming blood.\n\n  3 Though ten thousand ills beset thee,\n    From without and from within,\n  Jesus saith he'll ne'er forget thee,\n    But will save from hell and sin.\n        He is faithful\n    To perform his gracious word.\n\n  4 Though distresses now attend thee,\n    And thou treadest the thorny road;\n  His right hand shall still defend thee;\n    Soon he'll bring thee home to God,\n        Therefore praise him,\n    Praise the great Redeemer's name.\n\n  5 O that I could now adore him\n    Like the heavenly host above,\n  Who for ever bow before him,\n    And unceasing sing his love,\n        Happy songsters!\n    When shall I your chorus join?\n\n\n891                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                            Under clouds.\n\n  Here behold me, as I cast me\n    At thy throne, O glorious King!\n  Tears fast thronging, child-like longing,\n    Son of man to thee I bring.\n        Let me find thee--\n    Me, a poor and worthless thing.\n\n  2 Look upon me, Lord, I pray thee;\n    Let thy Spirit dwell in mine:\n  Thou hast sought me, thou hast bought me,\n    Only thee to know I pine:\n        Let me find thee--\n    Take my heart and grant me thine.\n\n  3 Nought I ask for, nought I strive for,\n    But thy grace, so rich and free,\n  That thou givest whom thou lovest,\n    And who truly cleave to thee;\n        Let me find thee--\n    He hath all things who hath thee.\n\n  4 Earthly treasure, mirth and pleasure,\n    Glorious name or richest hoard\n  Are but weary, void, and dreary,\n    To the heart that longs for God:\n        Let me find thee--\n    I am ready, mighty Lord.\n\n\n892                                                       7s, 6s & 8s.\n                      You are not of the world.\n                                   John 15:19.\n\n  The sun above us gleaming\n    Is not the sun for me;\n  Though joyful be his beaming,\n    And beautiful to see;\n  There is a Sun of Righteousness\n    Who cheers and saves me by his grace,\n  All copious on me streaming,\n    O that's the Sun for me.\n\n  2 The kings and lords of nations,\n    Are not the kings for me;\n  Too low their highest stations;\n    Too mean their dignity:\n  The King of kings and Lord of lords,\n    Almighty in his ways and words,\n  The word of his salvation,\n    O that's the king for me.\n\n  3 This house of death and mourning\n    Is not the house for me,\n  Where all to dust are turning,\n    In tears and agony;\n  But there's a house not made with hands,\n    It ever stood and ever stands,\n  Beyond the world's last burning;\n    O that's the house for me.\n\n  4 The wars the hero fights in,\n    Are not the wars for me;\n  The war my heart delights in,\n    Shall end in victory;\n  'Tis not a war of flesh and blood;\n    I fight for heaven, I fight for God,\n  A kingdom with my rights in,--\n    O that's the war for me.\n\n  5 This land of sin and sorrow,\n    Is not the land for me,\n  Where anguish oft I borrow\n    From dying company;\n  Th' immortal land is far away,\n    I'll enter it on some bright day,\n  That day may be to-morrow--\n    O that's the land for me.\n\n\n893                                                               11s.\n                   Whereas I was blind, now I see.\n                                   John. 9:25.\n\n  O Saviour whose mercy, severe in its kindness,\n    Hath chastened my wanderings and guided my way,\n  Adored be the power that hath pitied my blindness,\n    And weaned me from phantoms that smiled to betray.\n\n  2 Enchanted with all that was dazzling and fair,\n    I followed the rainbow--I caught at the toy;\n  And still in displeasure thy goodness was there,\n    Disappointing the hope, and defeating the joy.\n\n  3 The blossom blushed bright, but a worm was below;\n    The moonlight shone fair, there was blight in the beam;\n  Sweet whispered the breeze, but it whispered of woe;\n    And bitterness flowed in the soft, flowing stream.\n\n  4 So, cured of my folly, yet cured but in part,\n    I turned to the refuge thy pity displayed;\n  And still did this eager and credulous heart\n    Weave visions of promise, that bloomed but to fade.\n\n  5 I thought that the course of the pilgrim to heaven\n    Would be bright as the summer, and glad as the morn;\n  Thou showedst me the path, it was dark and uneven;\n    All rugged with rock, and all tangled with thorn.\n\n  6 I dreamed of celestial reward and renown,\n    I grasped at the triumph that blesses the brave;\n  I asked for the palm branch, the robe, and the crown,\n    I asked, and thou showedst me the cross and a grave!\n\n  7 Subdued and instructed, at length to thy will,\n    My hopes, and my wishes, my all I resign;\n  O give me a heart that can wait and be still,\n    Nor know of a wish or a pleasure but thine.\n\n  8 There are mansions exempted from sin and from woe,\n    But they stand in a region by mortals untrod;\n  There are rivers of joy--but they roll not below;\n    There is rest--but it dwells in the presence of God.\n\n\n894                                                         11s & 10s.\n                  He that shall endure unto the end.\n                                   Matt. 24:13.\n\n  The captive's oar may pause upon the galley,\n    The soldier sleep beneath his plumed crest,\n  And peace may fold her wing o'er hill and valley,\n    But thou, O Christian! must not take thy rest.\n\n  2 Wilt thou find rest of soul in thy returning\n    To that old path thou hast so vainly trod?\n  Hast thou forgotten all thy weary yearning\n    To walk among the children of thy God?\n\n  3 Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription--\n    Behold we count them happy which endure?\n  What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian,\n    Repass the stormy waters to secure?\n\n  4 And God will come in his own time and power,\n    To set his earnest-hearted children free;\n  Watch only through this dark and painful hour,\n    And the bright morning yet will break for thee!\n\n\n895                                                         10s & 11s.\n                     Be thou faithful unto death.\n                                    Rev. 2:10.\n\n  Breast the wave, Christian, when it is strongest;\n  Watch for day, Christian, when night is longest;\n  Onward and upward still be thine endeavor;\n  The rest that remaineth endureth for ever.\n\n  2 Fight the fight, Christian; Jesus is o'er thee;\n  Run the race, Christian; heaven is before thee;\n  He who hath promised, faltereth never;\n  O, trust in the love that endureth for ever.\n\n  3 Lift the eye, Christian, just as it closeth;\n  Raise the heart, Christian, ere it reposeth:\n  Thee from the love of Christ, nothing shall sever;\n  Mount, when the work is done--praise God for ever!\n\n\n896                                                           8s & 6s.\n                          Some great thing!\n                                  2 Kings 5:13.\n\n  Shall we grow weary in our watch,\n    And murmur at the long delay,\n  Impatient of our Father's time\n    And his appointed way?\n\n  2 O, oft a deeper test of faith\n    Than prison-cell, or martyr's stake,\n  The self-renouncing watchfulness\n    Of silent prayer may make.\n\n  3 We gird us bravely to rebuke\n    Our erring brother in the wrong;\n  And in the ear of pride and power\n    Our warning voice is strong.\n\n  4 Easier to smite with Peter's sword,\n    Than watch one hour in humbling prayer;\n  Life's great things, like the Syrian lord,\n    Our hearts can do and dare.\n\n  5 But, O, we shrink from Jordan's side,\n    From waters which alone can save;\n  And murmur for Abana's banks\n    And Pharpar's brighter wave.\n\n  6 O thou, who in the garden's shade\n    Didst wake thy weary ones again,\n  Who slumbered at that fearful hour,\n    Forgetful of thy pain--\n\n  7 Bend o'er us now, as over them,\n    And set our sleep-bound spirits free,\n  Nor leave us slumbering in the watch\n    Our souls should keep with thee!\n\n\n897                                                           6s & 5s.\n                              Psalm 91.\n\n  God of our salvation!\n    Unto thee we pray;\n  Hear our supplication,\n    Be our strength and stay.\n\n  2 Wretched and unworthy,\n    Poor, and sick, and blind,\n  Prostrate we adore thee,\n    Call thy grace to mind.\n\n  3 He that dwelleth near thee,\n    Safely shall abide;\n  Ever love and fear thee,\n    In thy strength confide.\n\n  4 Sure is thy protection,\n    Safe is thy defense,\n  While in deep affliction,\n    Woe, or pestilence.\n\n  5 God of our salvation!\n    Saviour, Prince of Peace,\n  Boundless thy compassion,\n    Infinite thy grace.\n\n  6 While with love unceasing,\n    Humbly we adore;\n  Grant us thy rich blessing,\n    And we ask no more.\n\n\n\n\n                     SUBMISSION AND DELIVERANCE.\n\n\n898                                                              L. M.\n                           Submissiveness.\n\n  Be still, my heart! these anxious cares,\n  To thee are burdens, thorns, and snares;\n  They cast dishonor on thy Lord,\n  And contradict his gracious word.\n\n  2 Brought safely by his hand thus far,\n  Why wilt thou now give place to fear?\n  How canst thou want if he provide,\n  Or lose thy way with such a guide?\n\n  3 Did ever trouble yet befall,\n  And he refuse to hear thy call?\n  And has he not his promise passed,\n  That thou shalt overcome at last?\n\n  4 He who has helped me hitherto\n  Will help me all my journey through,\n  And give me daily cause to raise\n  New trophies to his endless praise.\n\n\n899                                                              L. M.\n                   Whom have I in heaven but thee.\n                                   Psalm 73:25.\n\n  O Lord, thy counsels and thy care,\n  My safety and my comfort are;\n  And thou shalt guide me all my days,\n  Till glory crown the work of grace.\n\n  2 In whom but thee, in heaven above,\n  Can I repose my trust, my love?\n  And shall an earthly object be\n  Loved in comparison with thee?\n\n  3 My flesh is hastening to decay;\n  Soon shall the world have passed away;\n  And what can mortal friends avail,\n  When heart, and strength, and life shall fail?\n\n  4 But O! my Saviour, be thou nigh,\n  And I will triumph when I die;\n  My strength, my portion, is divine;\n  And Jesus is for ever mine!\n\n\n900                                                           8s & 4s.\n                          Thy will be done.\n\n  My God, my Father, while I stray\n  Far from my home, on life's rough way,\n  O, teach me from my heart to say,\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n  2 What though in lonely grief I sigh\n  For friends beloved no longer nigh;\n  Submissive still would I reply,\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n  3 If thou shouldst call me to resign\n  What most I prize--it ne'er was mine;\n  I only yield thee what was thine:\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n  4 If but my fainting heart be blest\n  With thy sweet Spirit for its guest,\n  My God, to thee I leave the rest:\n          \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n\n901                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                   My grace is sufficient for thee.\n                                   2 Cor. 12:9.\n\n  To weary hearts, to mourning homes,\n  God's meekest angel gently comes;\n  No power hath he to banish pain,\n  Or give us back our lost again;\n  And yet, in tenderest love, our dear\n  And heavenly Father sends him here.\n\n  2 Angel of patience! sent to calm\n  Our feverish brows with cooling balm,\n  To lay with hope the storms of fear,\n  And reconcile life's smile and tear,\n  The throbs of wounded pride to still,\n  And make our own our Father's will!\n\n  3 O thou, who mournest on thy way,\n  With longings for the close of day,\n  He walks with thee, that angel kind,\n  And gently whispers, \"Be resigned!\n  Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell,\n  The dear Lord ordereth all things well.\"\n\n\n902                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                     Thy footsteps are not known.\n                                   Psalm 77:19.\n\n  O let my trembling soul be still,\n    While darkness vails this mortal eye,\n  And wait thy wise, thy holy will,\n    Wrapped yet in fears and mystery;\n  I can not, Lord, thy purpose see;\n  Yet all is well, since ruled by thee.\n\n  2 So trusting in thy love, I tread\n    The narrow path of duty on;\n  What though some cherished joys are fled?\n    What though some flattering dreams are gone?\n  Yet purer, nobler joys remain,\n  And peace is won through conquered pain.\n\n\n903                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                             Deut. 33:25.\n\n  When adverse winds and waves arise,\n  And in my heart despondence sighs;\n  When life her throng of cares reveals,\n  And weakness o'er my spirit steals,\n  Grateful I hear the kind decree,\n  That \"as my day, my strength shall be.\"\n\n  2 When, with sad footsteps, memory roves\n  'Mid smitten joys and buried loves,\n  When sleep my tearful pillow flies,\n  And dewy morning drinks my sighs,\n  Still to thy promise, Lord! I flee,\n  That \"as my day, my strength shall be.\"\n\n  3 One trial more must yet be past:\n  One pang--the keenest and the last;\n  And when, with brow convulsed and pale,\n  My feeble, quivering heart-strings fail,\n  Redeemer! grant my soul to see,\n  That \"as my day, my strength shall be.\"\n\n\n904                                                              C. M.\n                            Not as I will.\n                                   Mark 14:36.\n\n  All as God wills! who wisely heeds\n    To give or to withhold,\n  And knoweth more of all my needs\n    Than all my prayers have told.\n\n  2 Enough that blessings undeserved\n    Have marked my erring track--\n  That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved,\n    His chastening turned me back--\n\n  3 That more and more a Providence,\n    Of love is understood,\n  Making the springs of time and sense\n    Sweet with eternal good--\n\n  4 That death seems but a covered way\n    Which opens into light,\n  Wherein no blinded child can stray\n    Beyond the Father's sight--\n\n  5 That care and trial seem at last,\n    Through memory's sunset air,\n  Like mountain ranges overpast,\n    In purple distance fair--\n\n  6 That all the jarring notes of life,\n    Seem blending in a psalm,\n  And all the angles of its strife\n    Slow rounding into calm.\n\n  7 And so the shadows fall apart\n    And so the west winds play;\n  And all the windows of my heart\n    I open to the day.\n\n\n905                                                              C. M.\n                   I waited patiently for the Lord.\n                                   Psalm 40:1.\n\n  We wait in faith, in prayer we wait,\n    Until the happy hour\n  When God shall ope the morning gate,\n    By his almighty power.\n\n  2 We wait in faith, and turn our face\n    To where the day-light springs;\n  Till he shall come, earth's gloom to chase,\n    With healing on his wings.\n\n  3 And even now, amid the gray,\n    The east is brightening fast,\n  And kindling to that perfect day\n    Which never shall be past.\n\n  4 We wait in faith, we wait in prayer,\n    Till that blest day shall shine,\n  When earth shall fruits of Eden bear,\n    And all, O God, be thine!\n\n  5 O guide us till our night is done!\n    Until from shore to shore,\n  Thou, Lord, our everlasting sun,\n    Art shining evermore!\n\n\n906                                                              C. M.\n                   The Lord gave and the Lord, etc.\n                                    Job. 1:21.\n\n  It is the Lord--enthroned in light,\n    Whose claims are all divine,\n  Who has an undisputed right\n    To govern me and mine.\n\n  2 It is the Lord--who gives me all,\n    My wealth, my friends my ease;\n  And of his bounties may recall\n    Whatever part he please.\n\n  3 It is the Lord--my covenant God--\n    Thrice blessed be his name--\n  Whose gracious promise, sealed with blood,\n    Must ever be the same.\n\n  4 Can I, with hopes so firmly built,\n    Be faithless, or repine?\n  No: gracious God! take what thou wilt;\n    To thee I all resign.\n\n\n907                                                              C. M.\n                 Our souls are in the Saviour's hand.\n\n  Our souls are in the Saviour's hand;\n    And he will keep them still,\n  And you and I shall surely stand\n    With him on Zion's hill.\n\n  2 Him eye to eye we there shall see,\n    Our face like his shall shine;\n  O! what a glorious company,\n    When saints and angels join!\n\n  3 O! what a joyful meeting there,\n    In robes of white array!\n  Palms in our hands we all shall bear,\n    And crowns that ne'er decay!\n\n  4 When we've been there ten thousand years,\n    Bright shining as the sun,\n  We've no less days to sing God's praise,\n    Than when we first begun!\n\n  5 Then let us hasten to the day\n    When all shall be brought home:\n  Come, O Redeemer! come away!\n    O Jesus! quickly come!\n\n\n908                                                              C. M.\n                          Thy will be done.\n\n  Father, I know thy ways are just,\n    Although to me unknown;\n  O, grant me grace thy love to trust,\n    And cry, \"Thy will be done.\"\n\n  2 If thou shouldst hedge with thorns my path,\n    Should wealth and friends be gone,\n  Still, with a firm and lively faith,\n    I'll cry, \"Thy will be done.\"\n\n  3 Although thy steps I can not trace;\n    Thy sovereign right I'll own;\n  And, as instructed by thy grace,\n    I'll cry, \"Thy will be done.\"\n\n\n909                                                              C. M.\n                            Rev. 7:13-17.\n\n  How bright these glorious spirits shine!\n    Whence all their bright array?\n  How came they to the blissful seats\n    Of everlasting day?\n\n  2 Lo! these are they from sufferings great\n    Who came to realms of light,\n  And in the blood of Christ have washed\n    Those robes which shine so bright.\n\n  3 Now with triumphant palms they stand\n    Before the throne on high,\n  And serve the God they love, amidst\n    The glories of the sky.\n\n  4 His presence fills each heart with joy,\n    Tunes every mouth to sing;\n  By day, by night, the sacred courts\n    With glad hosannas ring.\n\n  5 Hunger and thirst are felt no more,\n    Nor sun with scorching ray;\n  God is their sun, whose cheering beams\n    Diffuse eternal day.\n\n  6 The Lamb that sits upon the throne,\n    Shall o'er them still preside,\n  Feed them with nourishment divine,\n    And all their footsteps guide.\n\n  7 '<DW41> pastures green he'll lead his flock,\n    Where living streams appear;\n  And God the Lord from every eye\n    Shall wipe off every tear.\n\n\n910                                                              C. M.\n                It is good that I have been afflicted.\n                                  Psalm 119:71.\n\n  In trouble and in grief, O God,\n    Thy smile hath cheered my way;\n  And joy hath budded from each thorn\n    That round my footsteps lay.\n\n  2 The hours of pain have yielded good\n    Which prosperous days refused;\n  As herbs, though scentless when entire,\n    Spread fragrance when they're bruised.\n\n  3 The oak strikes deeper as its boughs\n    By furious blasts are driven;\n  So life's tempestuous storms the more\n    Have fixed my heart in heaven.\n\n  4 All-gracious Lord, whate'er my lot\n    In other times may be,\n  I'll welcome still the heaviest grief\n    That brings me near to thee.\n\n\n911                                                              C. M.\n                 I will bless the Lord at all times.\n                                   Psalm 34:1.\n\n  Through all the changing scenes of life,\n    In trouble and in joy,\n  The praises of my God shall still\n    My heart and tongue employ.\n\n  2 Of his deliverance I will boast,\n    Till all that are distressed,\n  From my example, comfort take,\n    And charm their griefs to rest.\n\n  3 O, magnify the Lord with me,\n    With me exalt his name;\n  When in distress to him I called,\n    He to my rescue came.\n\n  4 The hosts of God encamp around\n    The dwellings of the just;\n  Deliverance he affords to all,\n    Who on his succor trust.\n\n\n912                                                           C. H. M.\n                They looked to him and were lightened.\n                                   Psalm 34:5.\n\n  I look to thee in every need,\n    And never look in vain;\n  I feel thy strong and tender love,\n    And all is well again:\n  The thought of thee is mightier far\n  Than sin and pain and sorrow are.\n\n  2 Discouraged in the work of life,\n    Disheartened by its load,\n  Shamed by its failures or its fears,\n    I sink beside the road;\n  But let me only think of thee,\n  And then new heart springs up in me.\n\n  3 Thy calmness bends serene above,\n    My restlessness to still;\n  Around me flows thy quickening life,\n    To nerve my faltering will;\n  Thy presence fills my solitude;\n  Thy providence turns all to good.\n\n  4 Embosomed in thy covenant love,\n    Held in thy law, I stand;\n  Thy hand in all things I behold,\n    And all things in thy hand;\n  Thou leadest me by unsought ways,\n  And turnest my mourning into praise.\n\n\n913                                                              S. M.\n                      Thy way, not mine, O Lord.\n\n  Thy way, not mine, O Lord!\n    However dark it be;\n  O lead me by thine own right hand;\n    Choose out the path for me.\n\n  2 Smooth let it be, or rough,\n    It will be still the best;\n  Winding or straight, it matters not,\n    It leads me to thy rest.\n\n  3 I dare not choose my lot,\n    I would not if I might;\n  But choose thou for me, O my God!\n    So shall I walk aright.\n\n  4 The kingdom that I seek\n    Is thine; so let the way\n  That leads to it, O Lord! be thine,\n    Else I must surely stray.\n\n  5 My portion thou! my cup\n    With joy or sorrow fill;\n  As ever best to thee may seem,\n    Choose thou my good and ill.\n\n  6 Choose thou for me my friends,\n    My sickness or my health;\n  Choose thou my joys and cares for me,\n    My poverty or wealth.\n\n  7 Not mine, not mine the choice,\n    In things or great or small;\n  Be thou my Guide, my Guard, my Strength,\n    My Wisdom, and my All.\n\n\n914                                                              S. M.\n                      My times are in thy hand.\n                                   Psalm 31:15.\n\n  \"My times are in thy hand,\"\n    My God, I'd have them there;\n  My life, my friends, my soul I leave\n    Entirely to thy care.\n\n  2 \"My times are in thy hand,\"\n    Whatever they may be;\n  Pleasing or painful, dark or bright,\n    As best may seem to thee.\n\n  3 \"My times are in thy hand,\"\n    Why should I doubt or fear?\n  My Father's hand will never cause\n    His child a needless tear.\n\n\n915                                                           S. M. D.\n                           Spiritual wants.\n\n  My God, my Strength, my Hope,\n    On thee I cast my care,\n  With humble confidence look up,\n    And know thou hearest my prayer.\n  Give me on thee to wait,\n    Till I can all things do--\n  On thee, almighty to create,\n    Almighty to renew.\n\n  2 I want a Godly fear,\n    A quick-discerning eye,\n  That looks to thee when sin is near,\n    And bids the tempter fly;\n  A spirit still prepared,\n    And armed with jealous care,\n  For ever standing on its guard,\n    And watching unto prayer.\n\n  3 I rest upon thy word;\n    The promise is for me;\n  My succor and salvation, Lord,\n    Shall surely come from thee:\n  But let me still abide,\n    Nor from my hope remove,\n  Till thou my patient spirit guide\n    Into thy perfect love.\n\n\n916                                                              S. M.\n                            Rom. 14:7, 9.\n\n  Blest be thy love, dear Lord,\n    That taught us this sweet way,\n  Only to love thee for thyself,\n    And for that love obey.\n\n  2 O thou, our souls' chief hope!\n    We to thy mercy fly;\n  Where'er we are, thou canst protect,\n    Whate'er we need, supply.\n\n  3 Whether we sleep or wake,\n    To thee we both resign;\n  By night we see, as well as day,\n    If thy light on us shine.\n\n  4 Whether we live or die,\n    Both we submit to thee;\n  In death we live, as well as life,\n    If thine in death we be.\n\n\n917                                                              S. M.\n                          Not far from home.\n\n  Your harps, ye trembling saints!\n    Down from the willows take;\n  Loud to the praise of love divine,\n    Bid every string awake.\n\n  2 Though in a foreign land,\n    We are not far from home,\n  And, nearer to our house above,\n    We every moment come.\n\n  3 His grace will, to the end,\n    Stronger and brighter shine;\n  Nor present things, nor things to come,\n    Shall quench this spark divine.\n\n  4 When we in darkness walk,\n    Nor feel the heavenly flame\n  Then will we trust our gracious God,\n    And rest upon his name.\n\n  5 Blest is the man, O God!\n    That stays himself on thee:\n  Who waits for thy salvation, Lord!\n    Shall thy salvation see.\n\n\n918                                                                7s.\n                     Having all in having Christ.\n\n  Jesus, take me for thine own;\n    To thy will my spirit frame;\n  Thou shalt reign, and thou alone,\n    Over all I have and am.\n\n  2 Making thus the Lord my choice,\n    I have nothing more to choose,\n  But to listen to thy voice,\n    And my will in thine to lose.\n\n  3 Then, whatever may betide,\n    I shall safe and happy be;\n  Still content and satisfied:--\n    Having all in having thee.\n\n\n919                                                                7s.\n                  All things work together for good.\n                                    Psalm 31.\n\n  Sovereign Ruler of the skies,\n  Ever gracious, ever wise!\n  All my times are in thy hand;\n  All events at thy command.\n\n  2 Times of sickness, times of health,\n  Times of penury and wealth--\n  All must come, and last, and end,\n  As shall please my heavenly Friend.\n\n  3 O thou gracious, wise and just!\n  In thy hands my life I trust;\n  Have I somewhat dearer still?--\n  I resign it to thy will.\n\n  4 Thee at all times will I bless;\n  Having thee, I all possess:\n  Ne'er can I bereaved be,\n  While I do not part with thee.\n\n\n920                                                              S. M.\n                          As a weaned child.\n                                   Psalm 131:2.\n\n  Quiet, Lord, my froward heart,\n    Make me teachable and mild,\n  Upright, simple, free from art,\n    Make me as a weaned child;\n  From distrust and envy free,\n  Pleased with all that pleases thee.\n\n  2 What thou shalt to-day provide,\n    Let me as a child receive:\n  What to-morrow may betide,\n    Calmly to thy wisdom leave;\n  'Tis enough that thou wilt care--\n  Why should I the burden bear?\n\n  3 As a little child relies\n    On a care beyond his own;\n  Knows he's neither strong nor wise,\n    Fears to stir a step alone;\n  Let me thus with thee abide,\n  As my Father, Guard, and Guide.\n\n\n921                                                                6s.\n                            As thou wilt.\n                                   Matt. 26:39.\n\n  My Jesus, as thou wilt!\n    O may thy will be mine!\n  Into thy hand of love\n    I would my all resign.\n  Through sorrow, or through joy,\n    Conduct me as thine own,\n  And help me still to say,\n    My Lord, thy will be done!\n\n  2 My Jesus, as thou wilt!\n    If needy here and poor,\n  Give me thy people's bread,\n    Their portion rich and sure.\n  The manna of thy word\n    Let my soul feed upon;\n  And if all else should fail--\n    My Lord, thy will be done!\n\n  3 My Jesus, as thou wilt:\n    If among thorns I go,\n  Still sometimes here and there,\n    Let a few roses blow.\n  But thou on earth, along\n    The thorny pain hast gone;\n  Then lead me after thee;\n    My Lord, thy will be done!\n\n  4 My Jesus, as thou wilt!\n    Though seen through many a tear,\n  Let not my star of hope\n    Grow dim or disappear.\n  Since thou on earth hast wept\n    And sorrowed oft alone,\n  If I must weep with thee,\n    My Lord, thy will be done!\n\n  5 My Jesus, as thou wilt!\n    If loved ones must depart,\n  Suffer not sorrow's flood\n    To overwhelm my heart;\n  For they are blest with thee,\n    Thy race and conflict won;\n  Let me but follow them;\n    My Lord, thy will be done!\n\n  6 My Jesus, as thou wilt!\n    When death itself draws nigh,\n  To thy dear wounded side\n    I would for refuge fly.\n  Leaning on thee, to go\n    Where thou before hast gone;\n  The rest as thou shalt please,\n    My Lord, thy will be done.\n\n  7 My Jesus, as thou wilt!\n    All shall be well for me;\n  Each changing future scene,\n    I gladly trust with thee.\n  Straight to my home above\n    I travel calmly on,\n  And sing, in life or death,\n    My Lord, thy will be done!\n\n\n922                                                           8s & 7s.\n                   I have led thee in right paths.\n                                   Prov. 4:11.\n\n  O how kindly hast thou led me,\n    Heavenly Father, day by day!\n  Found my dwelling, clothed and fed me,\n    Furnished friends to cheer my way!\n  Didst thou bless me, didst thou chasten,\n    With thy smile, or with thy rod,\n  'Twas that still my step might hasten\n    Homeward, heavenward, to my God.\n\n  2 O how slowly have I often\n    Followed where thy hand would draw!\n  How thy kindness failed to soften!\n    How thy chastening failed to awe!\n  Make me for thy rest more ready,\n    As thy path is longer trod;\n  Keep me in thy friendship steady,\n    Till thou call me home, my God!\n\n\n923                                                           8s & 7s.\n                    Jesus, I my cross have taken.\n\n  Jesus, I my cross have taken,\n    All to leave and follow thee;\n  I am poor, despised, forsaken--\n    Thou henceforth my all shalt be:\n  Perish every fond ambition--\n    All I've sought, or hoped, or known;\n  Yet how rich is my condition--\n    God and heaven are still my own!\n\n  2 Let the world despise and leave me,\n    It has left my Saviour too;\n  Human hearts and looks deceive me,\n    Thou art not like them, untrue;\n  Whilst thy graces shall adorn me,\n    God of wisdom, love, and might--\n  Foes may hate, and friends may scorn me,\n    Show thy face, and all is bright.\n\n  3 Go then--earthly fame and treasure,\n    Come, disaster, scorn, and pain;\n  In thy service, pain is pleasure--\n    With thy favor, loss is gain.\n  I have called thee, Abba Father!\n    I have set my heart on thee;\n  Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,\n    All will work for good to me.\n\n  4 Man may trouble and distress me,\n    'Twill but drive me to thy breast,\n  Life with trials hard may press me,\n    Heaven will bring me sweeter rest.\n  O, 'tis not in grief to harm me\n    While thy love is left to me;\n  O, 'twere not in joy to charm me,\n    Were that joy unmixed with thee.\n\n  5 Soul--then know thy full salvation,\n    Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care,\n  Joy to find in every station,\n    Something still to do or bear;\n  Think what Spirit dwells within thee,\n    Think what Father's smiles are thine;\n  Think that Jesus died to save thee;\n    Child of heaven, canst thou repine?\n\n  6 Haste thee on from grace to glory,\n    Armed by faith, and winged by prayer,\n  Heaven's eternal day's before thee,\n    God's own hand shall guide thee there.\n  Soon shall close thy earthly mission;\n    Soon shall pass thy pilgrim's days;\n  Hope shall change to glad fruition,\n    Faith to sight, and prayer to praise!\n\n\n924                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                          Songs for sighing.\n\n  Hallelujah! best and sweetest\n    Of the hymns of praise above!\n  Hallelujah! thou repeatest,\n    Angel-host, these notes of love;\n        This ye utter,\n    While your golden harps ye move.\n\n  2 Hallelujah! Church victorious,\n    Join the concert of the sky:\n  Hallelujah! bright and glorious!\n    Lift, ye saints, this strain on high!\n        We, poor exiles,\n    Join not yet your melody.\n\n  3 Hallelujah! strains of gladness\n    Comfort not the faint and worn;\n  Hallelujah! sounds of sadness\n    Best become the heart forlorn;\n        Our offenses\n    We with bitter tears must mourn.\n\n  4 But our earnest supplication,\n    Holy God! we raise to thee;\n  Visit us with thy salvation,\n    Make us all thy peace to see!\n        Hallelujah!\n    Ours at length this strain shall be.\n\n\n925                                                              P. M.\n                       O God! be thou my stay.\n\n  Father, O hear me now!\n    Father divine!\n  Thou, only thou, canst see\n  The heart's deep agony:\n  Help me to say to thee\n    \"Thy will, not mine!\"\n\n  2 O God! be thou my stay\n    In this dark hour;\n  Kindly each sorrow hear,\n  Hush every troubled fear,\n  Thee let me still revere,\n    Still own thy power.\n\n  3 In thee alone I trust,\n    Thou Holy One!\n  Humbly to thee I pray\n  That through each troubled day\n  Of life, I still may say,\n    \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n\n926                                                                6s.\n                     Changed from glory to glory.\n                                   2 Cor. 3:18.\n\n  I did thee wrong, my God;\n    I wronged thy truth and love;\n  I fretted at the rod--\n    Against thy power I strove.\n\n  2 Come nearer, nearer still;\n    Let not thy light depart;\n  Bend, break this stubborn will;\n    Dissolve this iron heart!\n\n  3 Less wayward let me be,\n    More pliable and mild;\n  In glad simplicity\n    More like a trustful child.\n\n  4 Less, less of self each day,\n    And more, my God, of thee;\n  O, keep me in the way,\n    However rough it be.\n\n  5 Less of the flesh each day,\n    Less of the world and sin;\n  More of thy Son, I pray,\n    More of thyself within.\n\n  6 More molded to thy will,\n    Lord, let thy servant be;\n  Higher and higher still,\n    More, and still more, like thee!\n\n\n927                                                           6s & 4s.\n                           Worthy the Lamb.\n\n  Come, all ye saints of God,\n  Wide through the earth abroad,\n    Spread Jesus' fame:\n  Tell what his love hath done;\n  Trust in his name alone;\n  Shout to his lofty throne,\n    \"Worthy the Lamb!\"\n\n  2 Hence, gloomy doubts and fears!\n  Dry up your mournful tears;\n    Swell the glad theme:\n  To Christ, our gracious King,\n  Strike each melodious string;\n  Join heart and voice to sing,\n    \"Worthy the Lamb!\"\n\n  3 Hark! how the choirs above,\n  Filled with the Saviour's love,\n    Dwell on his name!\n  There, too, may we be found,\n  With light and glory crowned;\n  While all the heavens resound,\n    \"Worthy the Lamb!\"\n\n\n928                                                           6s & 4s.\n                           Nearer to thee.\n\n  Nearer, my God, to thee,\n    Nearer to thee!\n  E'en though it be a cross\n    That raiseth me;\n  Still all my song shall be,\n  Nearer, my God, to thee,\n    Nearer to thee!\n\n  2 Though like the wanderer,\n    Daylight all gone,\n  Darkness be over me,\n    My rest a stone;\n  Yet in my dreams I'd be\n  Nearer, my God, to thee--\n    Nearer to thee!\n\n  3 There let the way appear,\n    Steps unto heaven;\n  All that thou sendest me,\n    In mercy given;\n  Angels to beckon me\n  Nearer, my God, to thee!\n    Nearer to thee.\n\n  4 Then, with my waking thoughts\n    Bright with thy praise,\n  Out of my stony griefs,\n    Bethel I'll raise;\n  So by my woes to be\n  Nearer my God, to thee--\n    Nearer to thee!\n\n  5 Or, if on joyful wing,\n    Cleaving the sky,\n  Sun, moon, and stars forgot,\n    Upward I fly;\n  Still all my song shall be\n  Nearer, my God, to thee,\n    Nearer to thee.\n\n\n929                                                         12s & 11s.\n                          My God and my all.\n\n  While thou, O my God, art my help and defender,\n    No cares can o'erwhelm me, no terrors appall:\n  The wiles and the snares of this world will but render\n    More lively my hope in my God and my all.\n\n  2 Yes; thou art my refuge in sorrow and danger;\n    My strength when I suffer; my hope when I fall;\n  My comfort and joy in this land of the stranger;\n    My treasure, my glory, my God, and my all.\n\n  3 To thee, dearest Lord, will I turn without ceasing,\n    Though grief may oppress me or sorrow befall;\n  And love thee, till death, my blest spirit releasing,\n    Secures to me Jesus, my God and my all.\n\n  4 And when thou demandest the life thou hast given,\n    With joy will I answer thy merciful call;\n  And quit thee on earth, but to find thee in heaven--\n    My portion for ever, my God and my all.\n\n\n930                                                         11s & 10s.\n                           A little while.\n                                   John 14:19.\n\n  O for the peace that floweth as a river,\n    Making life's desert places bloom and smile;\n  O for that faith to grasp the glad For ever,\n    Amid the shadows of earth's Little While!\n\n  2 A little while for patient vigil keeping,\n    To face the storm, to wrestle with the strong;\n  A little while to sow the seed with weeping,\n    Then bind the sheaves and sing the harvest-song.\n\n  3 A little while to wear the vail of sadness,\n    To toil with weary step through miry ways,\n  Then to pour forth the fragrant oil of gladness,\n    And clasp the girdle round the robe of Praise!\n\n  4 A little while, 'mid shadow and illusion,\n    To strive by faith love's mysteries to spell,\n  Then read each dark enigma's bright solution,\n    Then hail sight's verdict--He doth all things well.\n\n  5 And he who is himself the Gift and Giver,\n    The future glory and the present smile,\n  With the bright promise of the glad For ever,\n    Will light the shadows of earth's Little While.\n\n\n931                                                         11s & 10s.\n                       For yet a little while.\n                                   Heb. 10:37.\n\n  A little longer still--patience beloved;\n    A little longer still, ere heaven unroll\n  The glory, and the brightness, and the wonder,\n    Eternal and divine, that waits thy soul.\n\n  2 A little longer ere life, true, immortal,\n    (Not this our shadowy life) will be thine own,\n  And thou shalt stand where winged archangels worship,\n    And trembling bow before the great white throne.\n\n  3 A little longer still, and heaven awaits thee,\n    And fills thy spirit with a great delight;\n  Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten,\n    Our sun a darkness, and our day a night.\n\n  4 A little longer, and thy heart, beloved,\n    Shall beat for ever with a love divine;\n  And joy so pure, so mighty, so eternal,\n    No mortal knows, and lives, shall then be thine.\n\n  5 A little longer yet, and angel voices\n    Shall sing in heavenly chant upon thine ear;\n  Angels and saints await thee, and God needs thee;\n    Beloved, can we bid thee linger here!\n\n\n932                                                               10s.\n                        Sufferings and glory.\n                                    Rom. 8:18.\n\n  Through cross to crown! and though thy spirit's life\n    Trials untold assail with giant strength,\n  Good cheer! good cheer! Soon ends the bitter strife,\n    And thou shalt reign in peace with Christ at length.\n\n  2 Through woe to joy! and though at morn thou weep,\n    And though the midnight finds thee weeping still,\n  Good cheer! good cheer! The shepherd loves his sheep;\n    Resign thee to the watchful Father's will.\n\n  3 Through death to life! and through this vale of tears,\n    And through this thistle-field of life, ascend\n  To the great supper in that world whose years\n    Of bliss unfading, cloudless, know no end.\n\n\n933                                                               10s.\n                           After the toil.\n\n  \"After the toil,\" when the morning breaks\n    On the bloom-crowned hills of the heavenly land;\n  \"After the toil,\" when each slumberer wakes,\n    'Neath the glorified touch of the Infinite Hand.\n\n  2 \"After the toil,\" when the dim earth sinks,\n    Like a worn-out pebble in eternity's sea;\n  \"After the toil,\" when each thirsty soul drinks\n    Of the River that flows through Immensity.\n\n  3 \"After the toil,\" O shadowing cloud\n    Of time o'er the face of the Infinite;\n  When thou shalt be dropped like a worm-eaten shroud,\n    What a morning will dawn on us after the night!\n\n  4 \"After the toil,\" and the cross that we bear\n    Way-worn and weary through life's creeping years;\n  Angels will smile on the crown we shall wear,\n    And the songs of salvation will follow our tears.\n\n  5 \"After the toil,\" O! thou who art faint,\n    Rise from the shadows that darken thy way--\n  Rise while thy faith's raptured pencil shall paint\n    All its glorified dream of the Infinite Day.\n\n\n934                                                           9s & 8s.\n                         The day is at hand.\n                                   Rom. 13:12.\n\n  Christian, the morn breaks sweetly o'er thee,\n    And all the midnight shadows flee;\n  Tinged are the distant skies with glory,\n    A beacon-light hung out for thee;\n  Arise, arise! the light breaks o'er thee,\n    Thy name is graven on the throne,\n  Thy home is in the world of glory,\n    Where thy Redeemer reigns alone.\n\n  2 Tossed on time's rude, relentless surges,\n    Calmly, composed, and dauntless stand;\n  For lo! beyond those scenes emerges\n    The hights that bound the promised land.\n  Behold! behold! the land is nearing,\n    Where the wild sea-storm's rage is o'er;\n  Hark! how the heavenly hosts are cheering;\n    See in what throngs they range the shore!\n\n  3 Cheer up! cheer up! the day breaks o'er thee,\n    Bright as the summer's noontide ray,\n  The star-gemmed crowns and realms of glory\n    Invite thy happy soul away;\n  Away! away! leave all for glory,\n    Thy name is graven on the throne;\n  Thy home is in that world of glory,\n    Where thy Redeemer reigns alone.\n\n\n935                                                              P. M.\n                  Whatever my God ordains is right.\n\n  Whate'er my God ordains is right,\n    His will is ever just;\n  Howe'er he orders now my cause,\n    I will be still and trust.\n        He is my God;\n        Though dark my road,\n  He holds me that I shall not fall;\n  Wherefore to him I leave it all.\n\n  2 Whate'er my God ordains is right;\n    He never will deceive;\n  He leads me by the proper path,\n    And so to him I cleave,\n        And take content\n        What he hath sent;\n  His hand can turn my griefs away,\n  And patiently I wait his day.\n\n  3 Whate'er my God ordains is right;\n    Though I the cup must drink\n  That bitter seems to my faint heart,\n    I will not fear or shrink;\n        Tears pass away\n        With dawn of day;\n  Sweet comfort yet shall fill my heart,\n  And pain and sorrow all depart.\n\n\n936                                                              H. M.\n                As Mount Zion, which can not be moved.\n                                   Psalm 125:1.\n\n  Their hearts shall not be moved\n    Who in the Lord confide;\n  But firm as Zion's hill,\n    They ever shall abide;\n  As mountains shield Jerusalem,\n  The Lord shall be a Shield to them.\n\n  2 His blessing on them rests,\n    Like freshening dew from heaven;\n  And succor from his throne\n    In all their need is given;\n  Omnipotence shall guard them well,\n  And peace remain on Israel.\n\n  3 One like the Son of God\n    Is walking at their side,\n  When by the fervid flame\n    And fiery furnace tried;\n  And 'tis enough that he is near,\n  To strengthen them in every fear.\n\n\n937                                                              P. M.\n                              Psalm 121.\n\n  To heaven I lift mine eye,\n    To heaven, Jehovah's throne,\n  For there my Saviour sits on high,\n  And thence shall strength and aid supply\n    To all he calls his own.\n\n  2 He will not faint nor fail,\n    Nor cause thy feet to stray;\n  For him no weary hours assail,\n  Nor evening darkness spreads her vail\n    O'er his eternal day.\n\n  3 Beneath that light divine,\n    Securely shalt thou move;\n  The sun with milder beams shall shine,\n  And eve's still queen her lamp incline\n    Benignant from above.\n\n  4 For he, thy God and Friend,\n    Shall keep thy soul from harm,\n  In each sad scene of doubt attend,\n  And guide thy life, and bless thine end,\n    With his almighty arm.\n\n\n938                                                          12s & 8s.\n                      Lord, to whom shall we go.\n                                    John 6:68.\n\n  When our purest delights are nipt in the blossom,\n    When those we love best are laid low;\n  When grief plants in secret her thorn in the bosom,\n    Deserted--\"to whom shall we go?\"\n\n  2 When, with error bewildered, our path becomes dreary,\n    And tears of despondency flow:\n  When the whole head is sick, and the whole heart is weary,\n    Despairing--\"to whom shall we go?\"\n\n  3 Where the sad, thirsty soul turns away from the springs\n    Of pleasure this world can bestow,\n  And sighs for another, and flatters its wings,\n    Impatient--\"to whom shall we go?\"\n\n  4 O blest be that light which has parted the clouds,\n    And a path to the pilgrim can show;\n  That pierces the vail which the future enshrouds,\n    And tells us to whom we shall go!\n\n\n\n\n                        RELAPSE AND RECOVERY.\n\n\n939                                                              L. M.\n                     Blot out my transgressions.\n                                    Psalm 51.\n\n  O Thou that hearest when sinners cry,\n  Though all my sins before thee lie,\n  Behold me not with angry look,\n  But blot their memory from thy book.\n\n  2 Create my nature pure within,\n  And form my soul averse to sin;\n  Let thy good Spirit ne'er depart,\n  Nor hide thy presence from my heart.\n\n  3 I can not live without thy light,\n  Cast out and banished from thy sight;\n  Thy holy joys, my God, restore,\n  And guard me that I fall no more.\n\n  4 Though I have grieved thy Spirit, Lord,\n  His help and comfort still afford;\n  And let a sinner seek thy throne,\n  To plead the merits of the Son.\n\n\n940                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                       The returning wanderer.\n\n  Weary of wandering from my God,\n    And now made willing to return,\n  I hear, and bow beneath the rod;\n    For thee, for thee alone, I mourn:\n  I have an Advocate above,\n  A Friend before the throne of love.\n\n  2 O Jesus, full of truth and grace!\n    More full of grace than I of sin;\n  Yet once again I seek thy face,\n    Open thine arms and take me in;\n  And freely my backslidings heal,\n  And love the faithless sinner still.\n\n  3 Thou knowest the way to bring me back,\n    My fallen spirit to restore;\n  O, for thy truth and mercy's sake,\n    Forgive, and bid me sin no more!\n  The ruins of my soul repair,\n  And make my heart a house of prayer.\n\n\n941                                                              L. M.\n                             Deliverance.\n\n  Before thy throne with tearful eyes,\n    My gracious Lord, I humbly fall;\n  To thee my weary spirit flies,\n    For thy forgiving love I call.\n\n  2 How free thy mercy overflows,\n    When sinners on thy grace rely!\n  Thy tender love no limit knows;\n    O, save me--justly doomed to die!\n\n  3 Yes! thou wilt save; my soul is free!\n    The gloom of sin is fled away;\n  My tongue breaks forth in praise to thee,\n    And all my powers thy word obey.\n\n  4 Hence while I wrestle with my foes--\n    The world, the flesh, the hosts of hell--\n  Sustain thou me till conflicts close,\n    Then endless songs my thanks shall tell.\n\n\n942                                                              C. M.\n                       Turn thee unto me, etc.\n                                   Psalm 25:16.\n\n  O thou, whose tender mercy hears\n    Contrition's humble sigh;\n  Whose hand indulgent wipes the tears\n    From sorrow's weeping eye;\n\n  2 See Lord, before thy throne of grace,\n    A wretched wanderer mourn:\n  Hast thou not bid me seek thy face?\n    Hast thou not said--\"Return?\"\n\n  3 And shall my guilty fears prevail\n    To drive me from thy feet?\n  O, let not this dear refuge fail,\n    This only safe retreat!\n\n  4 Absent from thee, my Guide! my Light!\n    Without one cheering ray,\n  Through dangers, fears, and gloomy night,\n    How desolate my way.\n\n  5 O, shine on this benighted heart,\n    With beams of mercy shine!\n  And let thy healing voice impart\n    A taste of joy divine.\n\n\n943                                                              C. M.\n                    O for a closer walk with God!\n\n  O for a closer walk with God!\n    A calm and heavenly frame!\n  A light to shine upon the road\n    That leads me to the Lamb!\n\n  2 Where is the blessedness I knew\n    When first I saw the Lord?\n  Where is the soul-refreshing view\n    Of Jesus and his word?\n\n  3 What peaceful hours I once enjoyed!\n    How sweet their memory still!\n  But they have left an aching void\n    The world can never fill.\n\n  4 Return, O holy Dove, return,\n    Sweet messenger of rest;\n  I hate the sins that made thee mourn,\n    And drove thee from my breast.\n\n  5 The dearest idol I have known,\n    Whate'er that idol be,\n  Help me to tear it from thy throne,\n    And worship only thee.\n\n  6 So shall my walk be close with God,\n    Calm and serene my frame;\n  So purer light shall mark the road\n    That leads me to the Lamb.\n\n\n944                                                              C. M.\n                  O, that I were as in months past.\n                                    Job. 29:2.\n\n  Sweet was the time when first I felt\n    The Saviour's pardoning blood\n  Applied to cleanse my soul from guilt,\n    And bring me home to God.\n\n  2 Soon as the morn the light revealed,\n    His praises tuned my tongue;\n  And, when the evening shade prevailed,\n    His love was all my song.\n\n  3 In prayer, my soul drew near the Lord,\n    And saw his glory shine;\n  And when I read his holy word,\n    I called each promise mine.\n\n  4 But now, when evening shade prevails,\n    My soul in darkness mourns;\n  And when the morn the light reveals,\n    No light to me returns.\n\n  5 Rise, Saviour! help me to prevail,\n    And make my soul thy care;\n  I know thy mercy can not fail;\n    Let me that mercy share.\n\n\n945                                                           8s & 6s.\n                        Grieve not the Spirit.\n                                    Eph. 4:30.\n\n  O Saviour, lend a listening ear,\n    And answer my request!\n  Forgive, and wipe the falling tear,\n  Now with thy love my spirit cheer,\n    And set my heart at rest.\n\n  2 I mourn the hidings of thy face;\n    The absence of that smile,\n  Which led me to a throne of grace,\n  And gave my soul a resting-place\n    From earthly care and toil.\n\n  3 'Tis sin that separates from thee\n    This poor benighted soul;\n  My folly and my guilt I see,\n  And now upon the bended knee,\n    I yield to thy control.\n\n  4 Up to the place of thine abode\n    I lift my waiting eye;\n  To thee, O holy Lamb of God!\n  Whose blood for me so freely flowed,\n    I raise my ardent cry.\n\n\n946                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                      He hath borne our griefs.\n\n  Weeping soul, no longer mourn,\n  Jesus all thy griefs hath borne;\n  View him bleeding on the tree,\n  Pouring out his life for thee;\n  There thy every sin he bore:\n  Weeping soul, lament no more.\n\n  2 Cast thy guilty soul on him,\n  Find him mighty to redeem;\n  At his feet thy burden lay,\n  Look thy doubts and fears away;\n  Now by faith the Son embrace,\n  Plead his promise, trust his grace.\n\n\n947                                                       7s, 6 lines.\n                       Jesus, Saviour, pity me.\n\n  Pity, Lord! this child of clay,\n  Who can only weep and pray--\n  Only on thy love depend:\n  Thou who art the sinner's Friend;\n  Thou the sinner's only plea--\n  Jesus, Saviour, pity me!\n\n  2 From thy flock, a straying Lamb,\n  Tender Shepherd, though I am;\n  Now, upon the mountain cold,\n  Lost, I long to gain the fold,\n  And within thine arms to be:\n  Jesus, Saviour, pity me!\n\n  3 O, where stillest streams are poured,\n  In green pastures lead me, Lord!\n  Bring me back, where angels sound\n  Joy to the poor wanderer found:\n  Evermore my Shepherd be:\n  Jesus, Saviour, pity me!\n\n\n948                                                                7s.\n                        The prodigal invited.\n\n  Brother, hast thou wandered far\n    From the Father's happy home,\n  With thyself and God at war?\n    Turn thee, brother--homeward come.\n\n  2 Hast thou wasted all the powers\n    God for noble uses gave?\n  Squandered life's most golden hours?\n    Turn thee, brother--God can save.\n\n  3 He can heal thy bitterest wound,\n    He thy gentlest prayer can hear;\n  Seek him, for he may be found;\n    Call upon him--he is near.\n\n\n949                                                           8s & 7s.\n                           Father, take me.\n\n  Take me, O my Father! take me--\n    Take me, save me, through thy Son;\n  That which thou wouldst have me, make me;\n    Let thy will in me be done.\n\n  2 Long from thee my footsteps straying,\n    Thorny proved the way I trod;\n  Weary come I now, and praying--\n    Take me to thy love my God!\n\n  3 Fruitless years with grief recalling,\n    Humbly I confess my sin!\n  At thy feet, O Father, falling,\n    To thy household take me in.\n\n  4 Freely now to thee I proffer\n    This relenting heart of mine;\n  Freely, life and soul I offer,\n    Gift unworthy love like thine.\n\n  5 Once the world's Redeemer, dying,\n    Bore our sins upon the tree;\n  On that sacrifice relying,\n    Now I look in hope to thee.\n\n  6 Father, take me! all forgiving,\n    Fold me to thy loving breast;\n  In thy love for ever living,\n    I must be for ever blest.\n\n\n950                                                               10s.\n                              Returning.\n\n  A weak and weary dove, with drooping wing,\n    And tired of wandering o'er this watery waste,\n  Jesus, my ark! once more a worthless thing,\n    To thee I fly, thy pardoning love to taste.\n\n  2 For since I left thy sweet, secure retreat,\n    In search of pleasures fair, though false and vain,\n  My peace--my joy have flown; no rest my feet\n    Have found; and now I turn to thee again!\n\n  3 I've sought for rest in friendship's hallowed shrine,\n    But loved ones change, and earth's endearments end;\n  No love is true and lasting, Lord, but thine;\n    Henceforth, Incarnate Love, be thou my friend.\n\n  4 I've sought to find a place to rest my feet\n    In fame's alluring temple, bright and gay;\n  In health, and competence, and pleasures sweet,\n    But short and transient as the passing day.\n\n  5 Yet all in vain: o'er all this dreary waste\n    Of sin and sorrow, toil and care, and pain,\n  No spot I've found, my weary feet to rest;\n    And now, sweet ark, I fly to thee again.\n\n\n\n\n                      SYMPATHIES AND ACTIVITIES.\n\n\n951                                                              L. M.\n                      Prayer for general peace.\n\n  Thy footsteps, Lord, with joy we trace,\n  And mark the conquests of thy grace;\n  Complete the work thou hast begun,\n  And let thy will on earth be done.\n\n  2 O, show thyself the Prince of Peace;\n  Command the din of war to cease;\n  O, bid contending nations rest,\n  And let thy love rule every breast!\n\n  3 Then peace returns with balmy wing;\n  Glad plenty laughs, the valleys sing;\n  Reviving commerce lifts her head,\n  And want, and woe, and hate, have fled.\n\n  4 Thou good and wise, and righteous Lord,\n  All move subservient to thy word;\n  O, soon let every nation prove\n  The perfect joy of Christian love!\n\n\n952                                                              L. M.\n                I pray--that thou shouldst keep, etc.\n                                   John 17:12.\n\n  While others pray for grace to die\n    O Lord, I pray for grace to live;\n  For every hour a fresh supply;\n    O see my need and freely give.\n\n  2 I do not dread the hour of death;\n    If I am thine, no fears remain;\n  I know that with my parting breath\n    I yield for ever mortal pain.\n\n  3 E'en if the darkness should appear\n    Too deep for faith as well as sight,\n  If I am thine, thou wilt be near,\n    And take me to thy heavenly light.\n\n  4 But O! my Lord, in life's highway\n    I crave the sunshine of thy face;\n  And every moment of the day\n    I need thy strong supporting grace.\n\n  5 I dare not--will not--Lord, deny\n    That heart and feet both go astray;\n  Therefore the more to thee I cry\n    To keep me in the chosen way.\n\n  6 The more my sin and unbelief\n    Keep me from walking near to thee,\n  The more, Lord Jesus, is my grief--\n    The more I long thy face to see.\n\n\n953                                                              C. M.\n                     I was a father to the poor.\n                                    Job 29:16.\n\n  Blest is the man whose softening heart\n    Feels all another's pain;\n  To whom the supplicating eye\n    Was never raised in vain;\n\n  2 Whose breast expands with generous warmth\n    A stranger's woes to feel;\n  And bleeds in pity o'er the wound\n    He wants the power to heal.\n\n  3 He spreads his kind supporting arms,\n    To every child of grief;\n  His secret bounty largely flows,\n    And brings unasked relief.\n\n  4 To gentle offices of love,\n    His feet are never slow;\n  He views, through mercy's melting eye,\n    A brother in a foe.\n\n  5 Peace from the bosom of his God,\n    The Saviour's grace shall give;\n  And when he kneels before the throne,\n    His trembling soul shall live.\n\n\n954                                                              C. M.\n               I delivered the poor and the fatherless.\n                                    Job 59:12.\n\n  Bright Source of everlasting love,\n    To thee our souls we raise;\n  And to thy sovereign bounty rear\n    A monument of praise.\n\n  2 Thy mercy gilds the path of life\n    With every cheering ray,\n  Kindly restrains the rising tear,\n    Or wipes that tear away.\n\n  3 To tents of woe, to beds of pain,\n    Our cheerful feet repair,\n  And with the gifts thy hand bestows,\n    Relieve the mourners there.\n\n  4 The widow's heart shall sing for joy;\n    The orphan shall be fed;\n  The hungering soul we'll gladly point\n    To Christ, the living Bread.\n\n\n955                                                              C. M.\n                  Ye have the poor always with you.\n                                   Matt. 26:11.\n\n  Lord, lead the way the Saviour went,\n    By lane and cell obscure,\n  And let our treasures still be spent\n    Like his, upon the poor.\n\n  2 Like him, through scenes of deep distress,\n    Who bore the world's sad weight,\n  We, in their gloomy loneliness,\n    Would seek the desolate.\n\n  3 For thou hast placed us side by side\n    In this wide world of ill;\n  And, that thy followers may be tried,\n    The poor are with us still.\n\n  4 Small are the offerings we can make;\n    Yet thou hast taught us, Lord,\n  If given for the Saviour's sake,\n    They lose not their reward.\n\n\n956                                                              C. M.\n                          A new commandment.\n\n  Beneath the shadow of the cross,\n    As earthly hopes remove,\n  His new commandment Jesus gives,\n    His blessed word of love.\n\n  2 O, bond of union, strong and deep!\n    O, bond of perfect peace!\n  Not e'en the lifted cross can harm,\n    If we but hold to this.\n\n  3 Then, Jesus, be thy Spirit ours!\n    And swift our feet shall move\n  To deeds of pure self-sacrifice,\n    And the sweet tasks of love.\n\n\n957                                                              C. M.\n                Scorn not the slightest word or deed.\n\n  Scorn not the slightest word or deed,\n    Nor deem it void of power;\n  There's fruit in each wind-wafted seed,\n    That waits its natal hour.\n\n  2 A whispered word may touch the heart,\n    And call it back to life;\n  A look of love bid sin depart,\n    And still unholy strife.\n\n  3 No act falls fruitless, none can tell\n    How vast its power may be,\n  Nor what results infolded dwell\n    Within it silently.\n\n  4 Work on, despair not, bring thy mite,\n    Nor care how small it be,\n  God is with all that serve the right,\n    The holy, true, and free.\n\n\n958                                                              C. M.\n                Make channels for the streams of love.\n\n  Make channels for the streams of love,\n    Where they may broadly run;\n  And love has overflowing streams,\n    To fill them every one.\n\n  2 But if at any time we cease\n    Such channels to provide,\n  The very founts of love for us\n    Will soon be parched and dried.\n\n  3 For we must share, if we would keep,\n    That blessing from above;\n  Ceasing to give, we cease to have:\n    Such is the law of love.\n\n\n959                                                           C. H. M.\n                    Blessed are ye that sow, etc.\n                                  Isaiah 32:20.\n\n  O be not faithless! with the morn\n    Cast thou abroad thy grain!\n  At noontide faint not thou forlorn,\n    At evening sow again!\n  Blessed are they, whate'er betide,\n  Who thus all waters sow beside.\n\n  2 Thou knowest not which seed shall grow,\n    Or which may die, or live;\n  In faith, and hope, and patience, sow!\n    The increase God shall give\n  According to his gracious will--\n  As best his purpose may fulfill.\n\n  3 O, could our inward eye but view,\n    Our hearts but feel aright,\n  What faith, and love, and hope can do,\n    By their celestial might,\n  We should not say, till these be dead,\n  The power that marvels wrought is fled.\n\n\n960                                                              C. M.\n                              John 12:3.\n\n  She loved her Saviour, and to him\n    Her costliest present brought;\n  To crown his head, or grace his name,\n    No gift too rare she thought.\n\n  2 So let the Saviour be adored,\n    And not the poor despised,\n  Give to the hungry from your hoard,\n    But all, give all to Christ.\n\n  3 Go, clothe the naked, lead the blind,\n    Give to the weary rest;\n  For sorrow's children comfort find,\n    And help for all distressed;\n\n  4 But give to Christ alone thy heart,\n    Thy faith, thy love supreme;\n  Then for his sake thine alms impart,\n    And so give all to him.\n\n\n961                                                              C. M.\n                           1 Peter 2:21-23.\n\n  What grace, O Lord, and beauty shone\n    Around thy steps below;\n  What patient love was seen in all\n    Thy life and death of woe!\n\n  2 For, ever on thy burdened heart\n    A weight of sorrow hung;\n  Yet no ungentle, murmuring word\n    Escaped thy silent tongue.\n\n  3 Thy foes might hate, despise, revile,\n    Thy friends unfaithful prove;\n  Unwearied in forgiveness still,\n    Thy heart could only love.\n\n  4 O give us hearts to love like thee!\n    Like thee, O Lord, to grieve\n  Far more for others' sins than all\n    The wrongs that we receive.\n\n  5 One with thyself, may every eye,\n    In us, thy brethren, see\n  The gentleness and grace that spring\n    From union, Lord! with thee.\n\n\n962                                                              C. M.\n                In thee the fatherless findeth mercy.\n                                    Hos. 14:3.\n\n  O gracious Lord, whose mercies rise\n    Above our utmost need,\n  Incline thine ear unto our cry,\n    And hear the orphan plead.\n\n  2 Bereft of all a mother's love,\n    And all a mother's care,\n  Lord, whither shall we flee for help?\n    To whom direct our prayer?\n\n  3 To thee we flee, to thee we pray;\n    Thou shalt our Father be:\n  More than the fondest parent's care\n    We find, O Lord, in thee.\n\n  4 Already Thou hast heard our cry,\n    And wiped away our tears:\n  Thy mercy has a refuge found\n    To guard our helpless years.\n\n  5 O, let thy love descend on those\n    Who pity to us show;\n  Nor let their children ever taste\n    The orphan's cup of woe.\n\n\n963                                                              C. M.\n                     A father of the fatherless.\n                                   Psalm 68:5.\n\n  Where shall the child of sorrow find\n    A place for calm repose?\n  Thou! Father of the fatherless,\n    Pity the orphan's woes!\n\n  2 What friend have I in heaven or earth,\n    What friend to trust but thee?\n  My father's dead, my mother's dead,\n    My God! \"remember me.\"\n\n  3 Thy gracious promise now fulfill,\n    And bid my troubles cease;\n  In thee the fatherless shall find\n    Pure mercy, grace, and peace.\n\n  4 I've not a secret care or pain\n    But he that secret knows;\n  Thou, Father of the fatherless,\n    Pity the orphan's woes.\n\n\n964                                                              C. M.\n                    Bear ye one another's burdens.\n                                    Gal. 6:2.\n\n  Help us, O Lord, thy yoke to wear,\n    Delighting in thy will;\n  Each other's burdens learn to bear,\n    The law of love fulfill.\n\n  2 He that hath pity on the poor,\n    Doth lend unto the Lord:\n  And, lo! his recompense is sure;\n    For more shall be restored.\n\n  3 To thee our all devoted be,\n    In whom we move, and live;\n  Freely we have received from thee;\n    And freely may we give.\n\n  4 And while we thus obey thy word,\n    And every want relieve,\n  O may we find it, gracious Lord!\n    More blest than to receive.\n\n\n965                                                              S. M.\n                  Not hurt in all my holy mountain.\n                                   Isaiah 11:9.\n\n  Hush the loud cannon's roar,\n    The frantic warrior's call,\n  Why should the earth be drenched with gore?\n    Are we not brothers all?\n\n  2 Want, from the wretch depart;\n    Chains, from the captive fall;\n  Sweet mercy, melt the oppressor's heart:\n    Sufferers are brothers all.\n\n  3 Churches and sects, strike down\n    Each mean partition wall;\n  Let love each harsher feeling drown:\n    Christians are brothers all.\n\n  4 Let love and truth alone\n    Hold human hearts in thrall,\n  That heaven its work at length may own,\n    And men be brothers all.\n\n\n966                                                              S. M.\n                Establish thou the work of our hands.\n                                   Psalm 90:17.\n\n  O praise our God to-day,\n    His constant mercy bless,\n  Whose love hath helped us on our way,\n    And granted us success.\n\n  2 O happiest work below,\n    Earnest of joy above,\n  To sweeten many a cup of woe,\n    By deeds of holy love!\n\n  3 Lord! may it be our choice\n    This blessed rule to keep:\n  Rejoice with them that do rejoice,\n    And weep with them that weep.\n\n\n967                                                              S. M.\n                     In the morning sow thy seed.\n                                   Eccl. 11:6.\n\n  Sow in the morn thy seed;\n    At eve hold not thy hand;\n  To doubt and fear, give thou no heed;\n    Broadcast it o'er the land.\n\n  2 Thou knowest not which shall thrive--\n    The late or early sown;\n  Grace keeps the precious germ alive,\n    When and wherever strown;\n\n  3 The good, the fruitful ground\n    Expect not here nor there;\n  On hillside and in dale 'tis found;\n    Go forth, then, everywhere!\n\n  4 And duly shall appear,\n    In verdure, beauty, strength,\n  The tender blade, the stalk, the ear,\n    And the full corn at length.\n\n  5 Thou canst not toil in vain;\n    Cold, heat, the moist and dry,\n  Shall foster and mature the grain\n    For garners in the sky.\n\n  6 Thence, when the glorious end--\n    The day of God--is come,\n  The angel-reapers shall descend,\n    And heaven cry, Harvest-home.\n\n\n968                                                              P. M.\n                         The orphan's prayer.\n\n  What though earthly friends may frown,\n    Why should I dejected be?\n  Father, let thy will be known,\n    Let me find my all in thee.\n  Never let my soul despair,\n  God will hear the orphan's prayer;\n      God will hear,\n  God will hear the orphan's prayer.\n\n  2 Sorrow's child I long have been,\n    Often for unkindness mourned;\n  Friendless orphan, poor and mean,\n    By the proud and wealthy scorned.\n  Still to God will I repair,\n  God will hear the orphan's prayer;\n      God will hear,\n  God will hear the orphan's prayer.\n\n  3 Earthly comforts fade and die,\n    Sorrows oft our joys attend;\n  But if we on God rely,\n    He will prove a constant friend.\n  On him I'll cast every care,\n  He regards the orphan's prayer;\n      He regards,\n  He regards the orphan's prayer.\n\n\n969                                                           8s & 7s.\n                             Psalm 126:6.\n\n  He that goeth forth with weeping,\n    Bearing precious seed in love,\n  Never tiring, never sleeping,\n    Findeth mercy from above.\n\n  2 Soft descend the dews of heaven;\n    Bright the rays celestial shine;\n  Precious fruits will thus be given,\n    Through the influence all divine.\n\n  3 Sow thy seed; be never weary;\n    Let no fears thy soul annoy;\n  Be the prospect ne'er so dreary,\n    Thou shalt reap the fruits of joy.\n\n  4 Lo! the scene of verdure brightening,\n    In the rising grain appear;\n  Look again; the fields are whitening,\n    For the harvest time is near.\n\n\n970                                                           8s & 7s.\n                             Life's work.\n\n  All around us, fair with flowers,\n    Fields of beauty sleeping lie;\n  All around us clarion voices\n    Call to duty stern and high.\n\n  2 Following every voice of mercy\n    With a trusting, loving heart;\n  Let us in life's earnest labor\n    Still be sure to do our part.\n\n  3 Now, to-day, and not to-morrow,\n    Let us work with all our might,\n  Lest the wretched faint and perish\n    In the coming stormy night.\n\n  4 Now, to-day, and not to-morrow,\n    Lest, before to-morrow's sun,\n  We, too, mournfully departing,\n    Shall have left our work undone.\n\n\n971                                                       8s, 7s & 4s.\n                    Freely you have received, etc.\n                                   Matt. 10:8.\n\n  With my substance I will honor\n    My Redeemer and my Lord;\n  Were ten thousand worlds my manor,\n    All were nothing to his word:\n        Hallelujah!\n    Now we offer to the Lord.\n\n  2 While the heralds of salvation\n    His abounding grace proclaim,\n  Let his saints of every station\n    Gladly join to spread his fame:\n        Hallelujah!\n    Gifts we offer to his name.\n\n  3 May his kingdom be promoted;\n    May the world the Saviour know;\n  Be to him these gifts devoted,\n    For to him my all I owe:\n        Hallelujah!\n    Run, ye heralds to and fro.\n\n  4 Praise the Saviour, all ye nations;\n    Praise him, all ye hosts above;\n  Shout with joyful acclamations\n    His divine, victorious love:\n        Hallelujah!\n    By this gift our love we'll prove.\n\n\n972                                                         11s & 10s.\n                     That he who loveth God, etc.\n                                   1 John 4:21.\n\n  One whom Jesus loved has truly spoken!\n    The holier worship which God deigns to bless,\n  Restores the lost, and heals the spirit broken,\n    And feeds the widow and the fatherless.\n\n  2 Then, brother man, fold to thy heart thy brother!\n    For where love dwells, the peace of God is there;\n  To worship rightly is to love each other;\n    Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer.\n\n  3 Follow, with reverent steps, the great example\n    Of him whose holy work was doing good;\n  So shall the wide earth seem our Father's temple,\n    Each loving life a psalm of gratitude.\n\n  4 Thus shall all shackles fall; the stormy clangor\n    Of wild war music o'er the earth shall cease;\n  Love shall tread out the baleful fires of anger,\n    And in its ashes plant the tree of peace.\n\n\n973                                                         11s & 10s.\n                   I the Lord will hasten it, etc.\n                                  Isaiah 60:22.\n\n  Down the dark future, through long generations,\n    The sounds of war grow fainter, and then cease;\n  And like a bell with solemn, sweet vibrations,\n    I hear once more the voice of Christ say, \"Peace!\"\n\n  2 Peace! and no longer, from its brazen portals,\n    The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies;\n  But beautiful as songs of the immortals,\n    The holy melodies of love arise.\n\n\n974                                                         11s & 10s.\n                           Peace on earth.\n\n  Peace, peace on earth! the heart of man for ever,\n    Through all these weary strifes, foretells the day;\n  Blessed be God, the hope forsakes him never,\n    That war shall end, and swords be sheathed for aye.\n\n  2 Peace, peace on earth! for men shall love each other;\n    Hosts shall go forth to bless, and not destroy;\n  For man shall see in every man a brother,\n    And peace on earth fulfill the angels' joy.\n\n\n975                                                               10s.\n                Restore such a one in the spirit, etc.\n                                    Gal. 6:1.\n\n  Breathe thoughts of pity o'er a brother's fall,\n    But dwell not with stern anger on his fault:\n  The grace of God alone holds thee, holds all;\n    Were that withdrawn, thou too wouldst swerve and halt.\n\n  2 Send back the wanderer to the Saviour's fold--\n    That were an action worthy of a saint;\n  But not in malice let the crime be told,\n    Nor publish to the world the evil taint.\n\n  3 The Saviour suffers when his children slide;\n    Then is his holy name by men blasphemed!\n  And he afresh is mocked and crucified,\n    Even by those his bitter death redeemed.\n\n  4 Rebuke the sin, and yet in love rebuke;\n    Feel as one member in another's pain;\n  Win back the soul that his fair path forsook,\n    And mighty and eternal is thy gain.\n\n\n976                                                           8s & 5s.\n                          Work on, hope on.\n\n  Every day hath toil and trouble,\n    Every heart hath care;\n  Meekly bear thine own full measure,\n    And thy brother's share,\n  Fear not, shrink not, though the burden\n    Heavy to thee prove;\n  God shall fill thy mouth with gladness,\n    And thy heart with love.\n\n  2 Patiently enduring, ever\n    Let thy spirit be\n  Bound, by links that can not sever,\n    To humanity.\n  Labor, wait! thy master labored\n    Till his task was done;\n  Count not lost thy fleeting moments--\n    Life hath but begun.\n\n  3 Labor! wait! though midnight shadows\n    Gather round thee here,\n  And the storm above thee lowering\n    Fill thy heart with fear--\n  Wait in hope! the morning dawneth\n    When the night is gone,\n  And a peaceful rest awaits thee\n    When thy work is done.\n\n\n\n\n                          PRIVATE DEVOTIONS.\n\n\n977                                                              L. M.\n              Far from my thoughts, vain world, begone.\n\n  Far from my thoughts, vain world! begone,\n  Let my religious hours alone:\n  Fain would mine eyes my Saviour see;\n  I wait a visit, Lord! from thee.\n\n  2 My heart grows warm with holy fire,\n  And kindles with a pure desire;\n  Come, my dear Jesus! from above,\n  And feed my soul with heavenly love.\n\n  3 Blest Saviour, what delicious fare--\n  How sweet thine entertainments are!\n  Never did angels taste above\n  Redeeming grace and dying love.\n\n  4 Hail, great Immanuel, all-divine!\n  In thee thy Father's glories shine:\n  Thou brightest, sweetest, fairest One,\n  That eyes have seen, or angels known!\n\n\n978                                                              L. M.\n               Abide with us; for it is toward evening.\n                                   Luke 24:29.\n\n  Sun of my soul! thou Saviour dear,\n  It is not night if thou be near:\n  O, may no earth-born cloud arise\n  To hide thee from thy servant's eyes!\n\n  2 When soft the dews of kindly sleep\n  My wearied eyelids gently steep,\n  Be my last thought--how sweet to rest\n  For ever on my Saviour's breast!\n\n  3 Abide with me from morn till eve,\n  For without thee I can not live;\n  Abide with me when night is nigh,\n  For without thee I dare not die.\n\n  4 Be near to bless me when I wake,\n  Ere through the world my way I take;\n  Abide with me till in thy love\n  I lose myself in heaven above.\n\n\n979                                                              L. M.\n                         The fullness of God.\n                                    Eph. 3:19.\n\n  My God, my heart with love inflame,\n  That I may in thy holy name\n  Aloud in songs of praise rejoice,\n  While I have breath to raise my voice.\n\n  2 No more let my ungrateful heart\n  One moment from thy praise depart;\n  But live and sing in sweet accord,\n  The glories of my sovereign Lord.\n\n  3 Jesus! thou hope of glory, come,\n  And make my heart thy constant home:\n  Through all the remnant of my days,\n  O let me speak and live thy praise!\n\n\n980                                                           8s & 4s.\n                        In the night watches.\n                                   Psalm 63:6.\n\n  In silence of the voiceless night,\n  When chased by dreams, the slumbers flee,\n  Whom, in the darkness, do I seek,\n      O God, but thee?\n\n  2 And if there weigh upon my breast,\n  Vague memories of the day foregone,\n  Scarce knowing why, I fly to thee,\n      And lay them down.\n\n  3 Or, if it be the gloom that comes,\n  In token of impending ill,\n  My bosom heeds not what it is,\n      Since 'tis thy will.\n\n  4 For, O! in spite of constant care,\n  Or aught beside, how joyfully\n  I pass that solitary hour,\n      My God, with thee!\n\n  5 More tranquil than the stilly night,\n  More peaceful than that voiceless hour,\n  Supremely blest, my bosom lies\n      Beneath thy power.\n\n  6 For what on earth can I desire,\n  Of all it hath to offer me?\n  Or whom in heaven do I seek,\n      O God, but thee?\n\n\n981                                                              L. M.\n                     In the world, but not of it.\n\n  O that I could for ever dwell,\n  Delighted, at the Saviour's feet;\n  Behold the form I love so well,\n  And all his tender words repeat!\n\n  2 The world shut out from all my soul,\n  And heaven brought in with all its bliss,\n  O! is there aught from pole to pole,\n  One moment to compare with this?\n\n  3 This is the hidden life I prize--\n  A life of penitential love;\n  When I my follies most despise,\n  And raise my highest thoughts above?\n\n  4 When all I am I clearly see,\n  And freely own with deepest shame;\n  When the Redeemer's love to me\n  Kindles within a deathless flame.\n\n  5 Thus would I live till nature fail,\n  And all my former sins forsake;\n  Then rise to God within the vail,\n  And of eternal joys partake.\n\n\n982                                                              L. M.\n                      Retirement and meditation.\n                                    Psalm 4:4.\n\n  Return, my roving heart, return,\n    And chase these shadowy forms no more;\n  Seek out some solitude to mourn,\n    And thy forsaken God implore.\n\n  2 O thou, great God, whose piercing eye\n    Distinctly marks each deep recess;\n  In these sequestered hours draw nigh,\n    And with thy presence fill the place.\n\n  3 Through all the windings of my heart,\n    My search let heavenly wisdom guide;\n  And still its radiant beams impart\n    Till all be searched and purified.\n\n  4 Then with the visits of thy love,\n    Vouchsafe my inmost soul to cheer;\n  Till every grace shall join to prove\n    That God has fixed his dwelling there.\n\n\n983                                                           L. M. D.\n                         The gate of heaven.\n\n  Our Father God! not face to face\n    May mortal sense commune with thee,\n  Nor lift the curtains of that place\n    Where dwells thy secret Majesty:\n  Yet wheresoe'er our spirits bend\n    In reverent faith and humble prayer,\n  Thy promised blessing will descend,\n    And we shall find thy Spirit there.\n\n  2 Lord! be the spot where now we meet\n    An open gateway into heaven;\n  Here may we sit at Jesus' feet,\n    And feel our deepest sins forgiven.\n  Here may desponding care look up;\n    And sorrow lay its burden down,\n  Or learn of him to drink the cup,\n    To bear the cross and win the crown.\n\n  3 Here may the sick and wandering soul,\n    To truth still blind, to sin a slave,\n  Find better than Bethesda's pool,\n    Or than Siloam's healing wave;\n  And may we learn, while here, apart\n    From the world's passion and its strife,\n  That thy true shrine's a loving heart,\n    And thy best praise a holy life!\n\n\n984                                                              C. M.\n                           Joy unspeakable.\n                                   1 Pet. 1:8.\n\n  Sweet is the prayer whose holy stream\n    In earnest pleading flows;\n  Devotion dwells upon the theme,\n    And warm and warmer glows.\n\n  2 Faith grasps the blessing she desires,\n    Hope points the upward gaze;\n  And love, untrembling love inspires\n    The eloquence of praise.\n\n  3 But sweeter far the still, small voice,\n    Heard by the human ear,\n  When God hath made the heart rejoice,\n    And dried the bitter tear.\n\n  4 Nor accents flow, nor words ascend;\n    All utterance faileth there;\n  But listening spirits comprehend,\n    And God accepts the prayer.\n\n\n985                                                              C. M.\n                  Communion with God in retirement.\n\n  Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,\n    From strife and tumult far;\n  From scenes where Satan wages still\n    His most successful war.\n\n  2 The calm retreat, the silent shade,\n    With prayer and praise agree;\n  And seem by thy sweet bounty made\n    For those who follow thee.\n\n  3 There, if thy Spirit touch the soul,\n    And grace her mean abode,\n  O, with what peace, and joy, and love,\n    She then communes with God!\n\n  4 There, like the nightingale she pours\n    Her solitary lays;\n  Nor asks a witness of her song,\n    Nor thirsts for human praise.\n\n  5 Author and Guardian of my life!\n    Sweet Source of light divine,\n  And all harmonious names in one--\n    My Saviour!--thou art mine!\n\n  6 What thanks I owe thee, and what love--\n    A boundless, endless store--\n  Shall echo through the realms above,\n    When time shall be no more.\n\n\n986                                                              C. M.\n                            Secret prayer.\n                                    Matt. 6:6.\n\n  Father divine, thy piercing eye\n    Sees through the darkest night,\n  In deep retirement thou art nigh,\n    With heart-discerning sight.\n\n  2 There may that piercing eye survey,\n    My duteous homage paid,\n  With every morning's dawning ray\n    And every evening's shade.\n\n  3 O let thy own celestial fire\n    The incense still inflame;\n  While my warm vows to thee aspire,\n    Through my Redeemer's name.\n\n  4 So shall the visits of thy love\n    My soul in secret bless;\n  So shalt thou deign in worlds above,\n    Thy suppliant to confess.\n\n\n987                                                              C. M.\n                Sanctify the Lord God in your hearts.\n                                   1 Pet. 3:15\n\n  O could I find, from day to day,\n    A nearness to my God,\n  Then would my hours glide sweet away\n    While leaning on his word.\n\n  2 Lord, I desire with thee to live\n    Anew from day to day,\n  In joys the world can never give,\n    Nor ever take away.\n\n  3 Blest Jesus, come and rule my heart,\n    And make me wholly thine,\n  That I may never more depart,\n    Nor grieve thy love divine.\n\n  4 Thus, till my last, expiring breath,\n    Thy goodness I'll adore;\n  And when my frame dissolves in death,\n    My soul shall love thee more.\n\n\n988                                                              S. M.\n                        I am still with thee.\n                                  Psalm 139:18.\n\n  Still with thee, O my God,\n    I would desire to be;\n  By day, by night, at home, abroad,\n    I would be still with thee;--\n\n  2 With thee, when dawn comes in,\n    And calls me back to care;\n  Each day returning to begin\n    With thee, my God, in prayer;--\n\n  3 With thee, amid the crowd\n    That throngs the busy mart,\n  To hear thy voice, 'mid clamor loud,\n    Speak softly to my heart;--\n\n  4 With thee, when day is done,\n    And evening calms the mind:\n  The setting as the rising sun,\n    With thee my heart would find.\n\n  5 With thee, when darkness brings\n    The signal of repose,\n  Calm in the shadow of thy wings,\n    Mine eyelids I would close.\n\n  6 With thee, in thee, by faith\n    Abiding I would be;\n  By day, by night, in life, in death,\n    I would be still with thee.\n\n\n989                                                                7s.\n                 Your life is hid with Christ in God.\n                                    Coll. 3:3.\n\n  Let my life be hid in thee,\n    Life of life, and Light of light!\n  Love's illimitable Sea!\n    Depth of peace, of power the Hight.\n\n  2 Let my life be hid in thee,\n    When my foes are gathering round;\n  Covered with thy panoply,\n    Safe within thy holy ground.\n\n  3 Let my life be hid in thee,\n    From vexation and annoy;\n  Calm in thy tranquillity,\n    All my mourning turned to joy.\n\n  4 Let my life be hid in thee;\n    When my strength and health shall fail,\n  Let thine immortality\n    In my dying hour prevail.\n\n\n990                                                        7s, double.\n                        That I may win Christ.\n                                    Phil. 3:8.\n\n  Jesus, Saviour all divine,\n  Hast thou made me truly thine?\n  Hast thou bought me by thy blood?\n  Reconciled my heart to God?\n  Hearken to my tender prayer,\n  Let me thine own image bear;\n  Let me love thee more and more,\n  Till I reach heaven's blissful shore.\n\n  2 Thou canst fit me by thy grace\n  For the heavenly dwelling-place;\n  All thy promises are sure,\n  Ever shall thy love endure;\n  Then what more could I desire,\n  How to greater bliss aspire?\n  All I need, in thee I see,\n  Thou art all in all to me.\n\n\n991                                                                7s.\n                          Thou God seest me.\n                                   Gen. 16:13.\n\n  God is in the loneliest spot\n  Present, though thou know it not;\n  Morning vows and evening prayer\n  Make a Bethel everywhere.\n\n  2 Go where duty guides thy feet;\n  There good angels thou shalt meet;\n  Hosts of God thou canst not see,\n  Watch thy steps and wait on thee.\n\n\n992                                                         12s & 11s.\n                     I make mention of you, etc.\n                                    Rom. 1:9.\n\n  When far from the hearts where our fondest thoughts center,\n    Denied for a time their loved presence to share;\n  In spirit we meet, when the closet we enter,\n    And hold sweet communion together in prayer!\n\n  2 O! fondly I think, as night's curtains surround them,\n    The Shepherd of Israel tenderly keeps,\n  The angels of light are encamping around them,\n    They are watched by the eye that ne'er slumbers nor sleeps,\n\n  3 When the voice of the morning once more shall awake them,\n    And summon them forth to the calls of the day,\n  I will think of that God who will never forsake them,\n    The Friend ever near though all else be away.\n\n  4 Then why should one thought of anxiety seize us,\n    Though distance divide us from those whom we love?\n  They rest in the covenant mercy of Jesus,\n    Their prayers meet with ours in the mansions above.\n\n  5 O! sweet bond of friendship, whate'er may betide us,\n    Though on life's stormy billows our barks may be driven,\n  Though distance, or trial, or death may divide us,\n    Eternal re-union awaits us in heaven.\n\n\n\n\n                             AFFLICTIONS.\n\n\n993                                                              L. M.\n               The things that are unseen are eternal.\n                                   2 Cor. 4:18.\n\n  Thy will be done! I will not fear\n    The fate provided by thy love;\n  Though clouds and darkness shroud me here,\n    I know that all is bright above.\n\n  2 The stars of heaven are shining on,\n    Though these frail eyes are dimmed with tears;\n  The hopes of earth indeed are gone,\n    But are not ours the immortal years?\n\n  3 Father! forgive the heart that clings,\n    Thus trembling, to the things of time;\n  And bid my soul, on angel wings,\n    Ascend into a purer clime.\n\n  4 There shall no doubts disturb its trust,\n    No sorrows dim celestial love;\n  But these afflictions of the dust,\n    Like shadows of the night, remove.\n\n  5 E'en now, above, there's radiant day,\n    While clouds and darkness brood below;\n  Then, Father, joyful on my way\n    To drink the bitter cup I go.\n\n\n994                                                              L. M.\n                     Blessed are they that mourn.\n                                    Matt. 5:4.\n\n  Deem not that they are blest alone\n    Whose days a peaceful tenor keep;\n  The God who loves our race has shown\n    A blessing for the eyes that weep.\n\n  2 The light of smiles shall fill again\n    The lids that overflow with tears,\n  And weary hours of woe and pain\n    Are earnests of serener years.\n\n  3 O, there are days of hope and rest\n    For every dark and troubled night!\n  And grief may bide an evening guest,\n    But joy shall come with early light.\n\n  4 And thou who o'er thy friend's low bier\n    Dost shed the bitter drops like rain,\n  Hope that a brighter, happier sphere\n    Will give him to thy arms again.\n\n  5 Nor let the good man's trust depart,\n    Though life its common gifts deny;\n  Though with a pierced and broken heart,\n    And spurned of men, he goes to die.\n\n  6 For God hath marked each anguished day,\n    And numbered every secret tear;\n  And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay\n    For all his children suffer here.\n\n\n995                                                              L. M.\n                 Let not the water-flood overflow me.\n                                   Psalm 69:15.\n\n  God of my life, to thee I call;\n  Afflicted at thy feet I fall;\n  When the great water-floods prevail,\n  Leave not my trembling heart to fail.\n\n  2 Friend of the friendless and the faint,\n  Where should I lodge my deep complaint?\n  Where, but with thee, whose open door\n  Invites the helpless and the poor?\n\n  3 He who has helped me hitherto,\n  Will help me all the journey through,\n  And give me daily cause to raise\n  New trophies to his endless praise.\n\n  4 Though rough and thorny be the road,\n  It leads thee home, apace, to God;\n  Then count thy present trials small,\n  For heaven will make amends for all.\n\n\n996                                                              L. M.\n                         God only is my rock.\n                                   Psalm 62:2.\n\n  My spirit looks to God alone;\n  My rock and refuge is his throne;\n  In all my fears, in all my straits,\n  My soul for his salvation waits.\n\n  2 Trust him, ye saints, in all your ways;\n  Pour out your hearts before his face;\n  When helpers fail, and foes invade,\n  God is our all-sufficient aid.\n\n\n997                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                              Heb. 4:15.\n\n  As oft, with worn and weary feet,\n    We tread earth's rugged valley o'er,\n  The thought--how comforting and sweet!\n    Christ took this very path before!\n  Our wants and weaknesses he knows,\n  From life's first dawning to its close.\n\n  2 Do sickness, feebleness, or pain,\n    Or sorrow, in our path appear?\n  The recollection will remain,\n    More deeply did he suffer here!\n  His life, how truly sad and brief,\n  Filled up with suffering and with grief!\n\n  3 If Satan tempt our hearts to stray,\n    And whisper evil things within,\n  So did he, in the desert way,\n    Assail our Lord with thoughts of sin;\n  When worn, and in a feeble hour,\n  The tempter came with all his power.\n\n  4 Just such as I, this earth he trod,\n    With every human ill but sin;\n  And, though indeed the Son of God,\n    As I am now, so he has been.\n  My God, my Saviour, look on me\n  With pity, love and sympathy.\n\n\n998                                                              L. M.\n                         The refiner's fire.\n                                    Mal. 3:3.\n\n  Saviour! though my rebellious will\n    Has been, by thy blest power, renewed;\n  Yet in its secret workings still\n    How much remains to be subdued!\n\n  2 Oft I recall, with grief and shame,\n    How many years their course had run\n  Ere grace my murmuring heart o'ercame,\n    Ere I could say, \"Thy will be done!\"\n\n  3 At length thy patient, wondrous love,\n    Unchanging, tender, pitying, strong,\n  Availed that stony heart to move,\n    Which had rebelled, alas! so long.\n\n  4 Then was I taught by thee to say,\n    \"Do with me what to thee seems best,\n  Give--take, whate'er thou wilt away,\n    Health, comfort, usefulness, or rest.\n\n  5 \"Be my whole life in suffering spent,\n    But let me be in suffering thine;\n  Still, O my Lord, I am content,\n    Thou now hast made thy pleasure mine.\"\n\n\n999                                                     L. M. 6 lines.\n                  Touched with the feeling of, etc.\n                                    Heb. 4:15.\n\n  When gathering clouds around I view,\n  And days are dark and friends are few;\n  On him I lean, who, not in vain,\n  Experienced every human pain.\n  He sees my wants, allays my fears,\n  And counts and treasures up my tears.\n\n  2 If aught should tempt my soul to stray\n  From heavenly wisdom's narrow way,\n  To fly the good I would pursue,\n  Or do the ill I would not do;\n  Still he who felt temptation's power,\n  Will guard me in that dangerous hour.\n\n  3 When, sorrowing, o'er some stone I bend,\n  Which covers all that was a friend;\n  And from his hand, his voice, his smile,\n  Divides me for a little while--\n  My Saviour marks the tears I shed,\n  For \"Jesus wept\" o'er Lazarus dead.\n\n  4 And, O! when I have safely passed\n  Through every conflict but the last,\n  Still, Lord, unchanging, watch beside\n  My dying bed, for thou hast died;\n  Then point to realms of cloudless day,\n  And wipe the latest tear away.\n\n\n1000                                                             L. M.\n                 I was brought low, and he helped me.\n                                   Psalm 116:6.\n\n  I will extol thee, Lord on high:\n  At thy command diseases fly;\n  Who, but a God can speak and save\n  From the dark borders of the grave?\n\n  2 Thine anger but a moment stays,\n  Thy love is life and length of days:\n  Though grief and tears the night employ,\n  The morning star restores our joy.\n\n\n1001                                                             C. M.\n                O Lord, save me, and I shall be saved.\n                                   Jer. 17:14.\n\n  Great Source of boundless power and grace!\n    Attend my mournful cry;\n  In hours of dark and deep distress,\n    To thee alone I fly.\n\n  2 Thou art my Strength, my Life, my Stay;\n    Assist my feeble trust;\n  O, drive my gloomy fears away,\n    And raise me from the dust.\n\n  3 Fain would I call thy grace to mind,\n    And trust thy glorious name:\n  Jehovah, powerful, wise, and kind,\n    For ever is the same.\n\n  4 Thy presence, Lord, can cheer my heart,\n    When earthly comforts die;\n  Thy voice can bid my pains depart,\n    And raise my pleasures high.\n\n  5 Here let me rest--on thee depend,\n    My God, my Hope, my All;\n  Be thou my everlasting Friend,\n    And I shall never fall.\n\n\n1002                                                             C. M.\n                  Thou rulest the raging of the sea.\n                                   Psalm 89:9.\n\n  To thee, my God, whose presence fills\n    The earth, and seas, and skies,\n  To thee, whose name, whose heart is Love,\n    With all my powers I rise.\n\n  2 Troubles in long succession roll;\n    Wave rushes upon wave;\n  Pity, O pity my distress!\n    Thy child, thy suppliant, save!\n\n  3 O bid the roaring tempest cease;\n    Or give me strength to bear\n  Whate'er thy holy will appoints,\n    And save me from despair!\n\n  4 To thee, my God, alone I look,\n    On thee alone confide;\n  Thou never hast deceived the soul\n    That on thy grace relied.\n\n  5 Though oft thy ways are wrapt in clouds\n    Mysterious and unknown,\n  Truth, righteousness, and mercy stand,\n    The pillars of thy throne.\n\n\n1003                                                             C. M.\n                             Acts 14:22.\n\n  Christ leads me through no darker rooms\n    Than he went through before:\n  He that into God's kingdom comes\n    Must enter by this door.\n\n  2 Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meet\n    Thy blessed face to see;\n  For if thy work on earth be sweet,\n    What must thy glory be?\n\n  3 Then I shall end my sad complaints,\n    And weary, sinful days,\n  And join with those triumphant saints\n    That sing Jehovah's praise.\n\n\n1004                                                             C. M.\n              When the waves arise, thou stillest them.\n                                   Psalm 89:9.\n\n  Affliction is a stormy deep,\n    Where wave resounds to wave;\n  Though o'er our heads the billows roll,\n    We know the Lord can save.\n\n  2 When darkness, and when sorrows rose,\n    And pressed on every side,\n  The Lord hath still sustained our steps,\n    And still hath been our guide.\n\n  3 Perhaps, before the morning dawn,\n    He will restore our peace;\n  For he who bade the tempest roar\n    Can bid the tempest cease.\n\n  4 Here will we rest, here build our hopes,\n    Nor murmur at his rod;\n  He's more to us than all the world--\n    Our Health, our Life, our God.\n\n\n1005                                                             C. M.\n                         Songs in the night.\n                                   Job. 35:10.\n\n  O thou who driest the mourner's tear,\n    How dark this world would be,\n  If, when deceived and wounded here,\n    We could not fly to thee.\n\n  2 But thou wilt heal the broken heart,\n    Which, like the plants that throw\n  Their fragrance from the wounded part,\n    Breathes sweetness out of woe.\n\n  3 When joy no longer soothes or cheers,\n    And e'en the hope that threw\n  A moment's sparkle o'er our tears\n    Is dimmed and vanished too;\n\n  4 O, who would bear life's stormy doom,\n    Did not thy wing of love\n  Come brightly wafting through the gloom,\n    Our peace-branch from above?\n\n  5 Then sorrow, touched by thee, grows bright\n    With more than rapture's ray;\n  The darkness shows us worlds of light\n    We never saw by day.\n\n\n1006                                                             C. M.\n                     God is my portion for ever.\n                                   Psalm 73:26.\n\n  My times of sorrow and of joy,\n    Great God! are in thy hand;\n  My choicest comforts come from thee,\n    And go at thy command.\n\n  2 If thou shouldst take them all away,\n    Yet would I not repine;\n  Before they were possessed by me,\n    They were entirely thine.\n\n  3 Nor would I drop a murmuring word,\n    Though all the world were gone,\n  But seek enduring happiness\n    In thee, and thee alone.\n\n\n1007                                                    C. M. 6 lines.\n                   God is the strength of my heart.\n                                   Psalm 73:26.\n\n  Happy are they who learn in thee,\n    Though patient suffering teach,\n  The secret of enduring strength,\n    And praise too deep for speech;\n  Peace that no pleasure from without,\n    Nor strife within, can reach.\n\n  2 Safe in thy sanctifying grace,\n    Almighty to restore,\n  Borne onward--sin and death behind,\n    And love and life before--\n  O let my soul abound in hope,\n    And praise thee evermore!\n\n\n1008                                                             C. M.\n                  The Lord will strengthen him, etc.\n                                   Psalm 41:3.\n\n  When languor and disease invade\n    This trembling house of clay,\n  'Tis sweet to look beyond my pains,\n    And long to fly away:\n\n  2 Sweet to look inward, and attend\n    The whispers of his love;\n  Sweet to look upward to the place\n    Where Jesus pleads above:\n\n  3 Sweet to look back, and see my name\n    In life's fair book set down;\n  Sweet to look forward, and behold\n    Eternal joys my own:\n\n  4 Sweet to rejoice in lively hope,\n    That when my change shall come,\n  Angels shall hover round my bed,\n    And waft my spirit home:\n\n  5 Sweet in his faithfulness to rest,\n    Whose love can never end;\n  Sweet on his covenant of grace\n    For all things to depend.\n\n  6 If such the sweetness of the streams,\n    What must the fountain be,\n  Where saints and angels draw their bliss\n    Immediately from thee!\n\n  7 O may the unction of these truths\n    For ever with me stay,\n  Till, from her sin-worn cage dismissed,\n    My spirit flies away.\n\n\n1009                                                             C. M.\n                  The sorrows of death compassed me.\n                                   Psalm 116:3.\n\n  My God, thy service well demands\n    The remnant of my days:\n  Why was this fleeting breath renewed,\n    But to renew thy praise?\n\n  2 Thine arms of everlasting love\n    Did this weak frame sustain;\n  When life was hovering o'er the grave,\n    And nature sunk with pain.\n\n  3 Thou, when the pains of death were felt,\n    Didst chase the fears of hell,\n  And teach my pale and quivering lips\n    Thy matchless grace to tell.\n\n  4 Calmly I bowed my fainting head\n    On thy dear, faithful breast;\n  Pleased to obey my Father's call\n    To his eternal rest.\n\n  5 Into thy hands, my Saviour God,\n    Did I my soul resign,\n  In firm dependence on that truth\n    Which made salvation mine.\n\n  6 Back from the borders of the grave,\n    At thy command I come,\n  Nor will I urge a speedier flight\n    To my celestial home.\n\n\n1010                                                             C. M.\n                          Christ our Refuge.\n                                    Heb. 6:18.\n\n  In every trouble, sharp and strong,\n    My soul to Jesus flies;\n  My anchor-hold is firm in him,\n    When swelling billows rise.\n\n  2 His comforts bear my spirits up,\n    I trust a faithful God;\n  The sure foundation of my hope\n    Is in a Saviour's blood.\n\n  3 Loud hallelujahs sing, my soul,\n    To thy Redeemer's name;\n  In joy and sorrow, life and death,\n    His love is still the same.\n\n\n1011                                                             C. M.\n                          Entire submission.\n\n  And can my heart aspire so high,\n    To say--\"My Father God!\"\n  Lord, at thy feet I long to lie,\n    And learn to kiss the rod.\n\n  2 I would submit to all thy will,\n    For thou art good and wise;\n  Let every anxious thought be still,\n    Nor one faint murmur rise.\n\n  3 Thy love can cheer the darksome gloom,\n    And bid me wait serene;\n  Till hopes and joys immortal bloom,\n    And brighten all the scene.\n\n  4 My Father! O permit my heart\n    To plead her humble claim;\n  And ask the bliss those words impart,\n    In my Redeemer's name.\n\n\n1012                                                             C. M.\n                          Out of the depths.\n                                   Psalm 130:1.\n\n  O thou! who, in the olive shade,\n    When the dark hour came on,\n  Didst, with a breath of heavenly aid,\n    Strengthen thy suffering Son;\n\n  2 O, by the anguish of that night,\n    Send us now blest relief;\n  Or to the chastened, let thy might\n    Hallow this whelming grief.\n\n  3 And thou, that, when the starry sky,\n    Saw the dread strife begun,\n  Didst teach adoring faith to cry,\n    Father! thy will be done;\n\n  4 By thy meek Spirit, thou, of all\n    That e'er have mourned the chief,\n  Blest Saviour! if the stroke must fall,\n    Hallow this whelming grief.\n\n\n1013                                                             C. M.\n                      One thing have I desired.\n                                   Psalm 27:4.\n\n  With earnest longings of the mind,\n    My God, to thee I look;\n  So pants the hunted hart to find\n    And taste the cooling brook.\n\n  2 When shall I see thy courts of grace,\n    And meet my God again?\n  So long an absence from thy face,\n    My heart endures with pain.\n\n  3 'Tis with a mournful pleasure now,\n    I think on ancient days;\n  Then to thy house did numbers go,\n    And all our work was praise.\n\n  4 But why, my soul, sunk down so far,\n    Beneath this heavy load?\n  Why do my thoughts indulge despair;\n    And sin against my God?\n\n  5 Hope in the Lord, whose mighty hand\n    Can all thy woes remove;\n  For I shall yet before him stand,\n    And sing restoring love.\n\n\n1014                                                             C. M.\n                      Thou hast loosed my bonds.\n                                  Psalm 116:16.\n\n  Now to thy heavenly Father's praise,\n    My heart, thy tribute bring;\n  That goodness which prolongs my days,\n    With grateful pleasure sing.\n\n  2 Whene'er he sends afflicting pains,\n    His mercy holds the rod;\n  His powerful word the heart sustains,\n    And speaks a faithful God.\n\n  3 A faithful God is ever nigh\n    When humble grief implores;\n  His ear attends each plaintive sigh,\n    He pities and restores.\n\n  4 Lord, I am thine, for ever thine,\n    Nor shall my purpose move;\n  Thy hand, that loosed my bonds of pain,\n    Has bound me with thy love.\n\n\n1015                                                             S. M.\n                 Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.\n                                    Heb. 12:6.\n\n  How tender is thy hand,\n    O thou most gracious Lord!\n  Afflictions come at thy command,\n    And leave us at thy word.\n\n  2 How gentle was the rod\n    That chastened us for sin!\n  How soon we found a smiling God,\n    Where deep distress had been!\n\n  3 A Father's hand we felt,\n    A Father's heart we knew;\n  'Mid tears of penitence we knelt,\n    And found his word was true.\n\n  4 Now we will bless the Lord,\n    And in his strength confide;\n  For ever be his name adored,\n    For there is none beside.\n\n\n1016                                                             S. M.\n                      Lead me to the Rock, etc.\n                                   Psalm 61:2.\n\n  When overwhelmed with grief,\n    My heart within me dies,\n  Helpless, and far from all relief,\n    To heaven I lift mine eyes.\n\n  2 O lead me to the Rock\n    That's high above my head,\n  And make the covert of thy wings\n    My shelter and my shade.\n\n  3 Within thy presence, Lord,\n    For ever I'll abide;\n  Thou art the tower of my defense,\n    The refuge where I hide.\n\n\n1017                                                             S. M.\n                        The bow in the cloud.\n\n  Out of the depths of woe,\n    To thee, O Lord! I cry;\n  Darkness surrounds thee, but I know\n    That thou art ever nigh.\n\n  2 Like them I watch and pray,\n    Who for the morning long;\n  Catch the first gleam of welcome day,\n    Then burst into a song.\n\n  3 Glory to God above!\n    The waters soon will cease;\n  For, lo! the swift returning dove\n    Brings home the sign of peace!\n\n  4 Though storms thy face obscure,\n    And dangers threaten loud,\n  Thy holy covenant is sure;\n    Thy bow is in the cloud!\n\n\n1018                                                             S. M.\n                  God dealeth with you as with sons.\n                                    Heb. 12:7.\n\n  How gracious and how wise\n    Is our chastising God;\n  And, O! how rich the blessings are\n    Which blossom from his rod!\n\n  2 He lifts it up on high\n    With pity in his heart,\n  That every stroke his children feel,\n    May grace and peace impart.\n\n  3 Instructed thus, they bow\n    And own his sovereign sway;\n  They turn their erring footsteps back\n    To his forsaken way.\n\n  4 His covenant love they seek,\n    And seek the happy bands\n  That closer still engage their hearts\n    To honor his commands.\n\n  5 Our Father, we consent\n    To discipline divine;\n  And bless the pain that makes our souls\n    Still more completely thine.\n\n  6 Supported by thy love,\n    We tend to realms of peace,\n  Where every pain shall far remove,\n    And every frailty cease.\n\n\n1019                                                             S. M.\n                   The inward man is renewed, etc.\n                                   2 Cor. 4:16.\n\n  We love this outward world,\n    Its fair sky overhead,\n  Its morning's soft, gray mist unfurled,\n    Its sunsets rich and red.\n\n  2 But there's a world within,\n    That higher glory hath;\n  A life the struggling soul must win--\n    The life of joy and faith.\n\n  3 For this the Father's love\n    Doth shade the world of sense,\n  The bounding play of health remove,\n    And dim the sparkling glance;\n\n  4 That, though the earth grows dull,\n    And earthly pleasures few,\n  The spirit gain its wisdom full\n    To suffer and to do.\n\n  5 Holy this world within,\n    Unknown to sound or sight--\n  The world of victory over sin,\n    Of faith, and love, and light.\n\n\n1020                                                             S. M.\n                       Perfect peace in Christ.\n                                   Isaiah 26:3.\n\n  Thou very present aid\n    In suffering and distress,\n  The soul which still on thee is stayed,\n    Is kept in perfect peace.\n\n  2 The soul, by faith reclined\n    On the Redeemer's breast,\n  'Mid raging storms exults to find\n    An everlasting rest.\n\n  3 Sorrow and fear are gone\n    Whene'er thy face appears:\n  It stills the sighing orphan's moan,\n    And dries the widow's tears:\n\n  4 It hallows every cross;\n    It sweetly comforts me;\n  Makes me forget my every loss,\n    And find my all in thee.\n\n  5 Jesus, to whom I fly,\n    Doth all my wishes fill:\n  What though created streams are dry,\n    I have the fountain still.\n\n  6 Stripped of my earthly friends,\n    I find them all in One;\n  And peace and joy that never ends,\n    And heaven in Christ begun.\n\n\n1021                                                               7s.\n                     One for evermore with thee.\n\n  Prince of Peace! control my will;\n  Bid this struggling heart be still;\n  Bid my fears and doubtings cease--\n  Hush my spirit into peace.\n\n  2 Thou hast bought me with thy blood,\n  Opened wide the gate to God;\n  Peace I ask--but peace must be,\n  Lord, in being one with thee.\n\n  3 May thy will, not mine, be done;\n  May thy will and mine be one:\n  Chase these doubtings from my heart;\n  Now thy perfect peace impart.\n\n  4 Saviour, at thy feet I fall;\n  Thou my Life, my God, my All,\n  Let thy happy servant be\n  One for evermore with thee.\n\n\n1022                                                               7s.\n                    Correct me, but with judgment.\n                                   Jer. 10:24.\n\n  Gently, gently lay thy rod\n  On my sinful head, O God!\n  Stay thy wrath, in mercy stay,\n  Lest I sink beneath its sway.\n\n  2 Heal me, for my flesh is weak;\n  Heal me, for thy grace I seek;\n  This my only plea I make--\n  Heal me for thy mercy's sake.\n\n  3 Who, within the silent grave,\n  Shall proclaim thy power to save?\n  Lord! my sinking soul reprieve;\n  Speak, and I shall rise and live.\n\n  4 Lo! he comes--he heeds my plea!\n  Lo! he comes--the shadows flee;\n  Glory round me dawns once more!\n  Rise, my spirit, and adore!\n\n\n1023                                                               7s.\n               Affliction cometh not forth of the dust.\n                                     Job 5:6.\n\n  'Tis my happiness below,\n    Not to live without the cross,\n  But the Saviour's power to know,\n    Sanctifying every loss.\n\n  2 Trials must and will befall;\n    But with humble faith to see\n  Love inscribed upon them all--\n    This is happiness to me.\n\n  3 Did I meet no trials here,\n    No chastisement by the way;\n  Might I not, with reason, fear\n    I should prove a castaway?\n\n  4 Trials make the promise sweet;\n    Trials give new life to prayer;\n  Trials bring me to his feet--\n    Lay me low, and keep me there.\n\n\n1024                                                          8s & 7s.\n                 All thy waves and thy billows, etc.\n                                   Psalm 42:7.\n\n  Full of trembling expectation,\n    Feeling much and fearing more,\n  Mighty God of my salvation!\n    I thy timely aid implore;\n  Suffering Son of Man, be near me,\n    All my sufferings to sustain;\n  By thy sorer griefs to cheer me,\n    By thy more than mortal pain.\n\n  2 Call to mind that unknown anguish,\n    In thy days of flesh below;\n  When thy troubled soul did languish\n    Under a whole world of woe;\n  When thou didst our curse inherit,\n    Groan beneath our guilty load,\n  Burdened with a wounded spirit,\n    Bruised by all the wrath of God.\n\n  3 By thy most severe temptation,\n    In that dark, Satanic hour;\n  By thy last, mysterious passion,\n    Screen me from the adverse power;\n  By thy fainting in the garden,\n    By thy bloody sweat I pray,\n  Write upon my heart the pardon,\n    Take my sins and fears away.\n\n  4 By the travail of thy spirit,\n    By thine outcry on the tree,\n  By thine agonizing merit,\n    In my pangs, remember me!\n  By thy pangs of crucifixion,\n    My weak, dying soul befriend;\n  Make me patient in affliction,\n    Keep me faithful to the end.\n\n\n1025                                                          8s & 7s.\n                              Afterward.\n                                   Heb. 12:11.\n\n  Why should I, in vain repining,\n    Mourn the clouds that cross my way;\n  Since my Saviour's presence, shining,\n    Turns my darkness into day?\n\n  2 Earthly honor, earthly treasure,\n    All the warmest passions win,\n  And the silken wings of pleasure\n    Only waft us on to sin.\n\n  3 But, within the vale of sorrow,\n    All with tempests overblown,\n  Purer light and joy we borrow\n    From the face of God alone.\n\n  4 Welcome, then, each darker token!\n    Mercy sent it from above!\n  So the heart, subdued, not broken,\n    Bends in fear, and melts with love.\n\n\n1026                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n               In the night his song shall be with me.\n                                   Psalm 42:8.\n\n  In the floods of tribulation,\n    While the billows o'er me roll,\n  Jesus whispers consolation,\n    And supports my sinking soul;\n        Sweet affliction!\n    Bringing Jesus to my soul.\n\n  2 In the darkest dispensations\n    Doth my faithful Lord appear,\n  With his richest consolations,\n    To reanimate and cheer.\n        Sweet affliction!\n    Thus to bring my Saviour near.\n\n  3 All I meet shall still befriend me\n    In my path to heavenly joy,\n  Where, though trials now attend me,\n    Trials never more annoy.\n        Sweet affliction!\n    Every promise gives me joy.\n\n  4 Wearing there a weight of glory,\n    Still the path I'll ne'er forget;\n  But, exulting, cry, It led me\n    To my blessed Saviour's seat.\n        Sweet affliction!\n    Which has brought me to his feet.\n\n\n1027                                                               8s.\n             Thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness.\n                                   Psalm 41:3.\n\n  How vast is the tribute I owe,\n    Of gratitude, homage and praise,\n  To the giver of all I possess,\n    The life and the length of my days!\n\n  2 When the sorrows I boded were come,\n    I poured out my sighs and my tears;\n  And to him, who alone can relieve,\n    My soul breathed her vows and her prayers.\n\n  3 When my heart throbbed with pain and alarm,\n    When paleness my cheek overspread,\n  When sickness pervaded my frame--\n    Then my soul on my Maker was stayed.\n\n  4 When death's awful image was nigh,\n    And no mortal was able to save,\n  Thou didst brighten the valley of death,\n    And illumine the gloom of the grave.\n\n  5 In mercy thy presence dispels\n    The shades of adversity's night,\n  And turns the sad scene of despair\n    To a morning of joy and delight.\n\n  6 Great source of my comforts restored,\n    Thou healer and balm of my woes!\n  Thou hope and desire of my soul!\n    On thy mercy I'll ever repose.\n\n  7 How boundless the gratitude due\n    To thee, O thou God of my praise!\n  The fountain of all I possess,\n    The life and the light of my days!\n\n\n1028                                                               8s.\n                     When he hath tried me, etc.\n                                   Job. 23:10.\n\n  O why this disconsolate frame!\n    Though earthly enjoyments decay,\n  My Jesus is ever the same--\n    My Sun in the gloomiest day.\n\n  2 Though molten awhile in the fire,\n    'Tis only the gold to refine;\n  And be this my simple desire,\n    Though suffering, not to repine.\n\n  3 O what are the pleasures to me\n    Which earth in its fullness can boast?\n  Delusive, its vanities flee--\n    A flash of enjoyment at most.\n\n  4 And if my Redeemer could part,\n    For me, with his throne in the skies,\n  O why is so dear to my heart\n    What he in his wisdom denies?\n\n  5 Then let the rude tempest assail,\n    Let blasts of adversity blow,\n  The heavens, though distant, I hail,\n    Beyond this rough ocean of woe.\n\n  6 When safe on that beautiful strand,\n    I'd smile on the billows that foam;\n  Kind angels to hail me to land,\n    And Jesus to welcome me home.\n\n\n1029                                                          7s & 6s.\n                    I was sick, and ye visited me.\n                                   Matt. 25:36.\n\n  'Tis not a lonely night watch\n    Which by the couch I spend:\n  Jesus is close beside us,\n    Our Saviour and our Friend.\n\n  2 Often I strive all vainly,\n    To ease the aching head,\n  Then, silently and gently,\n    Himself he makes thy bed.\n\n  3 Do we not hear him saying,\n    \"Your guilt on me was laid,\"\n  \"Ye are my blood-bought jewels;\"\n    \"Fear not, be not dismayed.\"\n\n  4 \"I sit beside the furnace,\"\n    \"The gold will soon be pure,\"\n  \"And blessed are those servants\n    Who to the end endure.\"\n\n  5 Amen! O blessed Saviour,\n    Dwell with us, in us, here,\n  And let us welcome trials,\n    Till we thine image bear.\n\n\n1030                                                         11s & 8s.\n                  I sought him whom my soul loveth.\n                                  Canticles 3:1.\n\n  O thou in whose presence my soul takes delight,\n    On whom in affliction I call;\n  My comfort by day and my song in the night,\n    My hope, my salvation, my all!\n\n  2 Where dost thou at noontide resort with thy sheep\n    To feed on the pastures of love?\n  For why in the valley of death should I weep,\n    Or alone in the wilderness rove?\n\n  3 O why should I wander an alien from thee,\n    And cry in the desert for bread?\n  Thy foes will rejoice when my sorrows they see,\n    And smile at the tears I have shed.\n\n  4 You daughters of Zion, declare have you seen\n    The star that on Israel shone?\n  Say if your tents my beloved has been,\n    And where with his flock he is gone?\n\n  5 This is my beloved; his form is divine,\n    His vestments shed odors around,\n  The locks on his head are as grapes on the vine\n    When autumn with plenty is crowned.\n\n  6 The roses of Sharon, the lilies that grow\n    In the vales, on the banks of the streams,\n  On his cheeks in the beauty of excellence glow,\n    And his eyes are as quivers of beams.\n\n  7 His voice, as the sound of the dulcimer sweet,\n    Is heard through the shadows of death;\n  The cedars of Lebanon bow at his feet,\n    The air is perfumed with his breath.\n\n  8 His lips as a fountain of righteousness flow\n    That water the garden of grace;\n  From which their salvation the Gentiles shall know,\n    And bask in the smiles of his face.\n\n  9 Love sits on his eyelids, and scatters delight\n    Through all the bright mansions on high;\n  Their faces the cherubim vail in his sight,\n    And tremble with fullness of joy.\n\n  10 He looks, and ten thousands of angels rejoice,\n    And myriads wait for his word;\n  He speaks, and eternity, filled with his voice,\n    Re-echoes the praise of her Lord.\n\n\n1031                                                        11s & 10s.\n                   Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing.\n                                   2 Cor. 6:10.\n\n  We will not weep, for God is standing by us,\n    And tears will blind us to the blessed sight;\n  We will not doubt, if darkness still doth try us:\n    Our souls have promise of serenest light.\n\n  2 We will not faint, if heavy burdens bend us;\n    They press no harder than our souls can bear;\n  The thorniest way is lying still behind us;\n    We shall be braver for the past despair.\n\n  3 O not in doubt shall be our journey's ending:\n    Sin with its fears, shall leave us at the last;\n  All its best hopes in glad fulfillment blending,\n    Life shall be with us more when death is past.\n\n  4 Help us, O Father! when the world is pressing\n    On our frail hearts, that faint without their Friend;\n  Help us, O Father! let thy constant blessing\n    Strengthen our weakness, till the joyful end.\n\n\n1032                                                             P. M.\n                     All my springs are in thee.\n                                   Psalm 87:7.\n\n  As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean,\n    Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,\n  So deep in my heart, the still prayer of devotion\n    Unheard by the world, rises silent to thee--\n        My God! silent to thee--\n        Pure, warm, silent to thee.\n\n  2 As still to the star of its worship, though clouded,\n    The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,\n  So, dark as I roam thro' this wintery world shrouded,\n    The hope of my spirit turns trembling to thee--\n        My God! trembling to thee--\n        True, fond, trembling to thee.\n\n\n1033                                                 4s & 6s, or C. M.\n                           Canticles 4:16.\n\n    The spring-tide hour\n    Brings leaf and flower,\n  With songs of life and love;\n    And many a lay\n    Wears out the day\n  In many a leafy grove.\n    Bird, flower, and tree,\n    Seem to agree\n  Their choicest gifts to bring;\n    But this poor heart\n    Bears not its part,\n  In it there is no spring.\n\n    2 Dews fall apace,\n    The dews of grace,\n  Upon this soul of sin;\n    And love divine\n    Delights to shine\n  Upon the waste within:\n    Yet year by year,\n    Fruits, flowers, appear,\n  And birds their praises sing;\n    But this poor heart\n    Bears not its part,\n  Its winter has no spring.\n\n    3 Lord, let thy love,\n    Fresh from above,\n  Soft as the south-wind blow!\n    Call forth its bloom,\n    Wake its perfume,\n  And bid its spices flow!\n    And when thy voice\n    Makes earth rejoice,\n  And the hills laugh and sing,\n    Lord! make this heart\n    To bear its part,\n  And join the praise of spring!\n\n\n\n\n                 PRESENT AND FUTURE: LIFE AND DEATH.\n\n\n1034                                                             L. M.\n                 Soon will the storm of life be o'er.\n\n  Gently, my Saviour, let me down,\n    To slumber in the arms of death;\n  I rest my soul on thee alone,\n    E'en till my last, expiring breath.\n\n  2 Soon will the storm of life be o'er,\n    And I shall enter endless rest;\n  There I shall live to sin no more,\n    And bless thy name, for ever blest.\n\n  3 Bid me possess sweet peace within;\n    Let childlike patience keep my heart,\n  Then shall I feel my heaven begin,\n    Before my spirit hence depart.\n\n  4 O, speed thy chariot, God of love,\n    And take me from this world of woe;\n  I long to reach those joys above,\n    And bid farewell to all below.\n\n  5 There shall my raptured spirit raise\n    Still louder notes than angels sing,\n  High glories to Immanuel's grace,\n    My God, my Saviour, and my King!\n\n\n1035                                                             L. M.\n               The glory of man is as the flower, etc.\n                                   1 Pet. 1:24.\n\n  The morning flowers display their sweets,\n    And gay their silken leaves unfold,\n  As careless of the noon-day heats\n    And fearless of the evening cold.\n\n  2 Nipt by the wind's untimely blast,\n    Parched by the sun's directer ray,\n  The momentary glories waste,\n    The short-lived beauties die away.\n\n  3 So blooms the human face divine,\n    When youth its pride and beauty shows;\n  Fairer than spring the colors shine,\n    And sweeter than the virgin rose.\n\n  4 Or worn by slowly rolling years,\n    Or broke by sickness in a day,\n  The fading glory disappears,\n    The short-lived beauties die away.\n\n  5 Yet these, new-rising from the tomb,\n    With luster brighter far shall shine;\n  Revive with ever-during bloom,\n    Safe from diseases and decline.\n\n  6 Let sickness blast, and death devour,\n    If heaven must recompense our pains;\n  Perish the grass, and fade the flower,\n    If firm the word of God remains.\n\n\n1036                                                             L. M.\n                          Death of parents.\n\n  The God of mercy will indulge\n    The flowing tear, the heaving sigh,\n  When honored parents fall around,\n    When friends beloved and kindred die.\n\n  2 Yet not one anxious murmuring thought\n    Should with our mourning passion blend;\n  Nor should our bleeding hearts forget\n    Their mighty, ever-living Friend.\n\n  3 Parent, Protector, Guardian, Guide,\n    Thou art each tender name in one;\n  On thee we cast our every care,\n    And comfort seek from thee alone.\n\n  4 To thee, our Father, would we look,\n    Our Rock, our Portion, and our Friend,\n  And on thy covenant love and truth,\n    With humble, steadfast hope depend.\n\n\n1037                                                             L. M.\n                 They are not lost, but gone before.\n\n  Dear is the spot where Christians sleep,\n    And sweet the strains their spirits pour;\n  O, why should we in anguish weep?\n    They are not lost, but gone before.\n\n  2 Secure from every mortal care,\n    By sin and sorrow vexed no more,\n  Eternal happiness they share\n    Who are not lost, but gone before.\n\n  3 To Zion's peaceful courts above\n    In faith triumphant may we soar,\n  Embracing, in the arms of love,\n    The friends not lost, but gone before.\n\n  4 To Jordan's bank whene'er we come,\n    And hear the swelling waters roar;\n  Jesus! convey us safely home,\n    To friends not lost, but gone before.\n\n\n1038                                                             L. M.\n                      Them which sleep in Jesus.\n                                  1 Thess. 4:14.\n\n  Asleep in Jesus! Blessed sleep\n  From which none ever wakes to weep;\n  A calm and undisturbed repose,\n  Unbroken by the last of foes.\n\n  2 Asleep in Jesus! O how sweet\n  To be for such a slumber meet!\n  With holy confidence to sing,\n  That death has lost its venomed sting.\n\n  3 Asleep in Jesus! peaceful rest,\n  Whose waking is supremely blest:\n  No fear, no woe, shall dim the hour\n  That manifests the Saviour's power.\n\n  4 Asleep in Jesus! O for me\n  May such a blissful refuge be:\n  Securely shall my ashes lie,\n  And wait the summons from on high.\n\n  5 Asleep in Jesus! time nor space\n  Affects this precious hiding-place:\n  On Indian plains, or Lapland snows,\n  Believers find the same repose.\n\n  6 Asleep in Jesus! far from thee\n  Thy kindred and their graves may be:\n  But thine is still a blessed sleep,\n  which none ever wake to weep.\n\n\n1039                                                             L. M.\n                Let me die the death of the righteous.\n                                   Num. 23:10.\n\n  How blest the righteous when he dies!\n    When sinks a weary soul to rest!\n  How mildly beam the closing eyes!\n    How gently heaves the expiring breast!\n\n  2 So fades a summer cloud away;\n    So sinks the gale when storms are o'er;\n  So gently shuts the eye of day;\n    So dies a wave along the shore.\n\n  3 A holy quiet reigns around,\n    A calm which life nor death destroys;\n  And nought disturbs that peace profound\n    Which his unfettered soul enjoys.\n\n  4 Life's labor done, as sinks the clay,\n    Light from its load the spirit flies,\n  While heaven and earth combine to say,\n    \"How blest the righteous when he dies!\"\n\n\n1040                                                             L. M.\n                         Death of an infant.\n\n  As the sweet flower that scents the morn,\n    But withers in the rising day--\n  Thus lovely seemed the infant's dawn;\n    Thus swiftly fled his life away!\n\n  2 Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,\n    Death timely came with friendly care;\n  The opening bud to heaven conveyed,\n    And bade it bloom for ever there.\n\n  3 He died to sin, and all its woes,\n    But for a moment felt the rod--\n  On love's triumphant wing he rose,\n    To rest for ever with his God!\n\n\n1041                                                             L. M.\n                         Death of an infant.\n\n  So fades the lovely, blooming flower,\n  Frail, smiling solace of an hour;\n  So soon our transient comforts fly,\n  And pleasure only blooms to die.\n\n  2 Is there no kind, no healing art,\n  To soothe the anguish of the heart?\n  Spirit of grace, be ever nigh;\n  Thy comforts are not made to die.\n\n  3 Let gentle patience smile on pain,\n  Till dying hope revives again;\n  Hope wipes the tear from sorrow's eye,\n  And faith points upward to the sky.\n\n\n1042                                                             L. M.\n                           The early dead.\n\n  How blest are they whose transient years\n    Pass like an evening meteor's flight;\n  Not dark with guilt, nor dim with tears:\n    Whose course is short, unclouded, bright.\n\n  2 O, cheerless were our lengthened way:\n    But heaven's own light dispels the gloom,\n  Streams downward from eternal day,\n    And casts a glory round the tomb.\n\n  3 O, stay thy tears; the blest above\n    Have hailed a spirit's heavenly birth,\n  And sung a song of joy and love;\n    Then why should anguish reign on earth?\n\n\n1043                                                             L. M.\n                  Death is the gate of endless joy.\n\n  Why should we start and fear to die?\n    What timorous worms we mortals are!\n  Death is the gate of endless joy,\n    And yet we dread to enter there.\n\n  2 The pains, the groans, and dying strife,\n    Fright our approaching souls away;\n  Still we shrink back again to life,\n    Fond of our prison and our clay.\n\n  3 O if my Lord would come and meet,\n    My soul would stretch her wings in haste,\n  Fly fearless through death's iron gate,\n    Nor feel the terrors as she passed!\n\n  4 Jesus can make a dying bed\n    Feel soft as downy pillows are,\n  While on his breast I lean my head,\n    And breathe my life out sweetly there.\n\n\n1044                                                             L. M.\n                    The small and great are there.\n                                    Job 3:19.\n\n  The glories of our birth and state\n    Are shadows, not substantial things;\n  There is no armor against fate;\n    Death lays his icy hands on kings.\n\n  2 Princes and magistrates must fall,\n    And in the dust be equal made;\n  The high and mighty with the small,\n    Scepter and crown with scythe and spade.\n\n  3 The laurel withers on our brow;\n    Then boast no more your mighty deeds;\n  Upon death's purple altar now\n    See where the victor victim bleeds!\n\n\n1045                                                             L. M.\n                   That I may know how frail I am.\n                                   Psalm 39:4.\n\n  Almighty Maker of my frame,\n    Teach me the measure of my days;\n  Teach me to know how frail I am,\n    And spend the remnant to thy praise.\n\n  2 My days are shorter than a span;\n    A little point my life appears;\n  How frail at best is dying man!\n    How vain are all his hopes and fears!\n\n  3 Vain his ambition, noise, and show,\n    Vain are the cares which rack his mind;\n  He heaps up treasures mixed with woe,\n    And dies, and leaves them all behind.\n\n  4 O be a nobler portion mine;\n    My God, I bow before thy throne;\n  Earth's fleeting treasures I resign,\n    And fix my hope on thee alone.\n\n\n1046                                                             L. M.\n                      Make me to know mine end.\n                                   Psalm 39:4.\n\n  O God, thy grace and blessing give\n    To us, who on thy name attend,\n  That we this mortal life may live\n    Regardful of our journey's end.\n\n  2 Teach us to know that Jesus died,\n    And rose again, our souls to save;\n  Teach us to take him as our Guide,\n    Our Help from childhood to the grave.\n\n  3 Then shall not death with terror come,\n    But welcome as a bidden guest--\n  The herald of a better home,\n    The messenger of peace and rest.\n\n  4 And, when the awful signs appear\n    Of judgment, and the throne above,\n  Our hearts still fixed, we shall not fear,\n    God is our trust; and God is Love.\n\n\n1047                                                             L. M.\n                         I will fear no evil.\n                                   Psalm 23:4.\n\n  Though I walk through the gloomy vale,\n    Where death and all its terrors are,\n  My heart and hope shall never fail,\n    For God my Shepherd's with me there.\n\n  2 Amid the darkness and the deeps,\n    Thou art my comfort, thou my stay;\n  Thy staff supports my feeble steps,\n    Thy rod directs my doubtful way.\n\n\n1048                                                             L. M.\n                      On the death of an infant.\n\n  O mourner! who with tender love,\n    Hast wept beside some infant grave,\n  Hast thou not sought a Friend above,\n    Who died thy little one to save?\n\n  2 Then lift thy weary, weeping eye\n    Above the waves that round thee dwell;\n  Is not thy darling safe on high?\n    Canst thou not whisper--It is well?\n\n  3 Yes, it is well--though never more\n    His infant form to earth be given;\n  He rests where sin and grief are o'er,\n    And thou shalt meet thy child in heaven.\n\n\n1049                                                             P. M.\n                   Blossom of being; seen and gone.\n\n  No bitter tears for thee be shed,\n    Blossom of being! seen and gone!\n  With flowers alone we strew thy bed,\n    O blest departed one!\n  Whose all of life, a rosy ray,\n  Blushed into dawn, and passed away.\n\n  2 Yes! thou art fled, ere guilt had power\n    To stain thy cherub-soul and form,\n  Closed is the soft ephemeral flower\n    That never felt a storm!\n  The sunbeam's smile, the zephyr's breath,\n  All that it knew from birth to death.\n\n  3 Oh! hadst thou still on earth remained,\n    Vision of beauty! fair as brief!\n  How soon thy brightness had been stained\n    With passion or with grief!\n  Now, not a sullying breath can rise,\n  To dim thy glory in the skies.\n\n\n1050                                                             L. M.\n                   Unvail thy bosom, faithful tomb.\n\n  Unvail thy bosom, faithful tomb;\n    Take this new treasure to thy trust,\n  And give these sacred relics room\n    To slumber in the silent dust.\n\n  2 Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear,\n    Invade thy bounds; no mortal woes\n  Can reach the peaceful sleeper here,\n    While angels watch the soft repose.\n\n  3 So Jesus slept; God's dying Son\n    Passed through the grave, and blessed the bed:\n  Rest here, blest saint, till from his throne\n    The morning break, and pierce the shade.\n\n  4 Break from his throne, illustrious morn;\n    Attend, O earth, his sovereign word;\n  Restore thy trust; a glorious form\n    Shall then arise to meet the Lord.\n\n\n1051                                                             L. M.\n                    I am now ready to be offered.\n                                   2 Tim. 4:6.\n\n  The hour of my departure's come;\n  I hear the voice that calls me home;\n  At last, O Lord! let troubles cease,\n  And let thy servant die in peace.\n\n  2 The race appointed I have run,\n  The combat's o'er, the prize is won;\n  And now my witness is on high,\n  And now my record's in the sky.\n\n  3 Not in mine innocence I trust;\n  I bow before thee in the dust;\n  And through my Saviour's blood alone\n  I look for mercy at thy throne.\n\n  4 I come, I come at thy command;\n  I give my spirit to thy hand;\n  Stretch forth thine everlasting arms,\n  And shield me in the last alarms.\n\n\n1052                                                             C. M.\n                       As a tale that is told.\n                                   Psalm 90:9.\n\n  How short and hasty is our life:\n    How vast our soul's affairs!\n  Yet foolish mortals vainly strive\n    To lavish out their years.\n\n  2 Our days run thoughtlessly along,\n    Without a moment's stay;\n  We, like a story, or a song,\n    Do pass our lives away.\n\n  3 God from on high invites us home;\n    But we march heedless on,\n  And, ever hastening to the tomb,\n    Stoop downward as we run.\n\n  4 Draw us, O God, with thy rich grace,\n    And lift our thoughts on high,\n  That we may end this mortal race,\n    And see salvation nigh.\n\n\n1053                                                             C. M.\n                         A desire to depart.\n                                   Phil. 1:23.\n\n  Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell,\n    With all your feeble light:\n  Farewell, thou ever-changing moon,\n    Pale empress of the night.\n\n  2 And thou, refulgent orb of day,\n    In brighter flames arrayed;\n  My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere,\n    No more demands thine aid.\n\n  3 Ye stars are but the shining dust\n    Of my divine abode,\n  The pavement of those heavenly courts\n    Where I shall reign with God.\n\n  4 The Father of eternal light\n    Shall there his beams display,\n  Nor shall one moment's darkness mix\n    With that unvaried day.\n\n  5 No more the drops of piercing grief\n    Shall swell into mine eyes;\n  Nor the meridian sun decline\n    Amid those brighter skies.\n\n  6 There all the millions of his saints\n    Shall in one song unite,\n  And each the bliss of all shall view\n    With infinite delight.\n\n\n1054                                                             C. M.\n               And Moses went up to the top of Pisgah.\n                                   Deut. 34:1.\n\n  Death can not make our souls afraid,\n    If God be with us there;\n  We may walk through its darkest shade,\n    And never yield to fear.\n\n  2 I could renounce my all below,\n    If my Redeemer bid;\n  And run, if I were called to go,\n    And die as Moses did.\n\n  3 Might I but climb to Pisgah's top,\n    And view the promised land,\n  My flesh itself would long to drop,\n    And welcome the command.\n\n  4 Clasped in my heavenly Father's arms,\n    I would forget my breath,\n  And lose my life among the charms\n    Of so divine a death.\n\n\n1055                                                             C. M.\n                          What is your life?\n\n  Life is a span--a fleeting hour;\n    How soon the vapor flies!\n  Man is a tender, transient flower,\n    That, even in blooming, dies.\n\n  2 The once-loved form, now cold and dead,\n    Each mournful thought employs;\n  And nature weeps her comforts fled,\n    And withered all her joys.\n\n  3 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,\n    When what we now deplore\n  Shall rise in full, immortal prime,\n    And bloom to fade no more.\n\n  4 Cease then, fond nature, cease thy tears,\n    Religion points on high;\n  There everlasting spring appears,\n    And joys that can not die.\n\n\n1056                                                             C. M.\n                              Weep not.\n\n  Dear as thou wast, and justly dear\n    We would not weep for thee:\n  One thought shall check the starting tear,\n    It is that thou art free.\n\n  2 And thus shall faith's consoling power\n    The tears of love restrain;\n  O, who that saw thy parting hour,\n    Could wish thee here again!\n\n  3 Gently the passing spirit fled,\n    Sustained by grace divine;\n  O, may such grace on us be shed,\n    And make our end like thine!\n\n\n1057                                                             C. M.\n                  Why do we mourn departing friends.\n\n  Why do we mourn departing friends,\n    Or shake at death's alarms?\n  'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends\n    To call them to his arms.\n\n  2 Are we not tending upward, too,\n    As fast as time can move?\n  Nor would we wish the time more slow\n    To keep us from our Love.\n\n  3 Why should we tremble to convey\n    Their bodies to the tomb?\n  'Twas there the flesh of Jesus lay,\n    Amid its silent gloom.\n\n  4 The graves of all the saints he blest,\n    And softened every bed;\n  Where should the dying members rest,\n    But with their dying Head?\n\n  5 Thence he arose, ascending high,\n    And showed our feet the way;\n  Up to the Lord our souls shall fly,\n    At the great rising day.\n\n  6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,\n    And bid our kindred rise:\n  Awake, ye nations under ground;\n    Ye saints, ascend the skies.\n\n\n1058                                                             C. M.\n               I will cause the sun to go down at noon.\n                                    Amos 8:9.\n\n  When blooming youth is snatched away\n    By death's resistless hand,\n  Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,\n    Which pity must demand.\n\n  2 While pity prompts the rising sigh,\n    O may this truth, impressed\n  With awful power, \"I too must die,\"\n    Sink deep in every breast.\n\n  3 Let this vain world engage no more;\n    Behold the opening tomb:\n  It bids us seize the present hour:\n    To-morrow death may come.\n\n  4 O let us fly--to Jesus fly,\n    Whose powerful arm can save;\n  Then shall our hopes ascend on high,\n    And triumph o'er the grave.\n\n  5 Great God thy sovereign grace impart,\n    With cleansing, healing power;\n  This only can prepare the heart\n    For death's approaching hour.\n\n\n1059                                                             C. M.\n                             Sorrow not.\n                                  1 Thess. 4:13.\n\n  Not for the pious dead we weep;\n    Their sorrows now are o'er;\n  The sea is calm, the tempest past,\n    On that eternal shore.\n\n  2 Their peace is sealed, their rest is sure,\n    Within that better home:\n  Awhile we weep and linger here,\n    Then follow to the tomb.\n\n\n1060                                                             C. M.\n                               John 14.\n\n  Let not your hearts with anxious thoughts\n    Be troubled or dismayed:\n  But trust in God your Father's care,\n    And trust my gracious aid.\n\n  2 I to my Father's house return;\n    There numerous mansions stand,\n  And glory manifold abounds\n    Through all the happy land.\n\n  3 I go your entrance to secure,\n    And your abode prepare;\n  Regions unknown are safe to you,\n    When I, your Friend, am there.\n\n  4 Thence shall I come when ages close,\n    To take you home with me;\n  There shall we meet to part no more,\n    Where sorrows ne'er shall be.\n\n  5 I am the Way, the Truth, the Life;\n    No son of human race,\n  But such as I conduct and guide,\n    Shall see my Father's face.\n\n\n1061                                                          C. P. M.\n                    They desire a better country.\n                                   Heb. 11:16.\n\n  How happy is the pilgrim's lot!\n  How free from every anxious thought,\n    From worldly hope and fear!\n  Confined to neither court nor cell,\n  His soul disdains on earth to dwell--\n    He only sojourns here.\n\n  2 This happiness in part is mine,\n  Already saved from low design,\n    From every creature-love;\n  Blest with the scorn of finite good,\n  My soul is lightened of its load,\n    And seeks the things above.\n\n  3 There is my house and portion fair;\n  My treasure and my heart are there,\n    And my abiding home;\n  For me my elder brethren stay,\n  And angels beckon me away,\n    And Jesus bids me come.\n\n  4 I come, thy servant, Lord, replies;\n  I come to meet thee in the skies,\n    And claim my heavenly rest!\n  Soon will the pilgrim's journey end;\n  Then, O my Saviour, Brother, Friend,\n    Receive me to thy breast!\n\n\n1062                                                             C. M.\n                          Death of a child.\n\n  She was the music of our home,\n    A day that knew no night,\n  The fragrance of our garden bower,\n    A thing all smiles and light.\n\n  2 Above the couch we bent and prayed\n    In the half-lighted room,\n  As the bright hues of infant life\n    Sank slowly into gloom.\n\n  3 The form remained; but there was now\n    No soul our love to share;\n  Farewell, with weeping hearts, we said,\n    Child of our love and care.\n\n  4 But years are moving quickly past,\n    And time will soon be o'er;\n  Death shall be swallowed up of life\n    On the immortal shore.\n\n\n1063                                                             C. M.\n                         Victory over death.\n                                  1 Cor. 15:55.\n\n  O for an overcoming faith\n    To cheer my dying hours,\n  To triumph o'er the monster death,\n    And all his frightful powers.\n\n  2 Joyful, with all the strength I have,\n    My quivering lips shall sing,\n  Where is thy boasted victory, grave?\n    And where the monster's sting?\n\n  3 If sin be pardoned, I'm secure--\n    Death has no sting beside;\n  The law gives sin its damning power,\n    But Christ my ransom died.\n\n  4 Now to the God of victory\n    Immortal thanks be paid,\n  Who makes us conquerors while we die,\n    Through Christ our living Head.\n\n\n1064                                                             C. M.\n                         Remember them, etc.\n                                    Heb. 13:7.\n\n  What though the arm of conquering death\n    Does God's own house invade;\n  What though our teacher and our friend\n    Is numbered with the dead;--\n\n  2 Though earthly shepherds dwell in dust,\n    The aged and the young;\n  The watchful eye in darkness closed,\n    And dumb the instructive tongue?\n\n  3 The eternal Shepherd still survives,\n    His teachings to impart:\n  Lord, be our Leader and our Guide,\n    And rule and keep our heart.\n\n  4 Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives,\n    We have a boundless store,\n  And shall be fed with what he gives,\n    Who lives for evermore.\n\n\n1065                                                             S. M.\n                          Sighing for rest.\n\n  O where shall rest be found--\n    Rest for the weary soul?\n  'Twere vain the ocean-depths to sound,\n    Or pierce to either pole.\n\n  2 The world can never give\n    The bliss for which we sigh:\n  'Tis not the whole of life to live,\n    Nor all of death to die.\n\n  3 Beyond this vale of tears\n    There is a life above,\n  Unmeasured by the flight of years;\n    And all that life is love.\n\n  4 There is a death whose pang\n    Outlasts the fleeting breath:\n  O what eternal horrors hang\n    Around the second death!\n\n  5 Lord God of truth and grace,\n    Teach us that death to shun,\n  Lest we be banished from thy face,\n    And evermore undone.\n\n\n1066                                                             S. M.\n                Whoso believeth in me shall never die.\n                                   John 11:26.\n\n  It is not death to die--\n    To leave this weary road,\n  And, 'mid the brotherhood on high,\n    To be at home with God.\n\n  2 It is not death to close\n    The eye long dimmed by tears,\n  And wake, in glorious repose,\n    To spend eternal years.\n\n  3 It is not death to bear\n    The wrench that sets us free\n  From dungeon chain--to breathe the air\n    Of boundless liberty.\n\n  4 It is not death to fling\n    Aside this sinful dust,\n  And rise, on strong, exulting wing,\n    To live among the just.\n\n  5 Jesus, thou Prince of life!\n    Thy chosen can not die;\n  Like thee, they conquer in the strife,\n    To reign with thee on high.\n\n\n1067                                                             S. M.\n                    Your fathers, where are they?\n                                    Zech. 1:5.\n\n  Our fathers! where are they,\n    With all they called their own?\n  Their joys and griefs, their hopes and cares,\n    Their wealth and honor, gone!\n\n  2 But joy or grief succeeds,\n    Beyond our mortal thought,\n  While still the remnant of their dust\n    Lies in the grave forgot.\n\n  3 God of our fathers, hear,\n    Thou everlasting Friend,\n  While we, as on life's utmost verge,\n    Our souls to thee commend.\n\n\n1068                                                             S. M.\n                      Far from my heavenly home.\n\n  Far from my heavenly home,\n    Far from my Father's breast,\n  Fainting, I cry, Blest Saviour! come,\n    And speed me to my rest.\n\n  2 My spirit homeward turns,\n    And fain would thither flee;\n  My heart, O Zion! droops and yearns,\n    When I remember thee.\n\n  3 To thee, to thee, I press,\n    A dark and toilsome road;\n  When shall I pass the wilderness\n    And reach the saints' abode.\n\n  4 God of my life! be near;\n    On thee my hopes I cast;\n  O guide me through the desert here,\n    And bring me home at last!\n\n\n1069                                                             S. M.\n                     Go to thy rest, fair child.\n\n  Go to thy rest, fair child!\n    Go to thy dreamless bed,\n  While yet so gentle, undefiled,\n    With blessings on thy head.\n\n  2 Fresh roses in thy hand,\n    Buds on thy pillow laid,\n  Haste from this dark and fearful land,\n    Where flowers so quickly fade.\n\n  3 Before thy heart had learned\n    In waywardness to stray;\n  Before thy feet had ever turned\n    The dark and downward way;\n\n  4 Ere sin had seared the breast,\n    Or sorrow woke the tear;\n  Rise to thy throne of changeless rest,\n    In yon celestial sphere!\n\n  5 Because thy smile was fair,\n    Thy lip and eye so bright,\n  Because thy loving cradle care\n    Was such a dear delight;\n\n  6 Shall love, with weak embrace,\n    Thy upward wing detain?\n  No! gentle angel, seek thy place\n    Amid the cherub train.\n\n\n1070                                                             S. M.\n                  At midnight there was a cry made.\n                                   Matt. 25:6.\n\n  Servant of God, well done!\n    Rest from thy loved employ;\n  The battle fought, the victory won,\n    Enter thy Master's joy.\n\n  2 The voice at midnight came;\n    He started up to hear;\n  A mortal arrow pierced his frame,\n    He fell, but felt no fear.\n\n  3 Tranquil amid alarms,\n    It found him on the field,\n  A veteran slumbering on his arms,\n    Beneath his red-cross shield.\n\n  4 At midnight came the cry,\n    \"To meet thy God, prepare!\"\n  He woke--and caught his Captain's eye;\n    Then, strong in faith and prayer,\n\n  5 His spirit, with a bound,\n    Left its encumbering clay;\n  His tent, at sunrise, on the ground,\n    A darkened ruin lay.\n\n  6 The pains of death are past,\n    Labor and sorrow cease;\n  And life's long warfare, closed at last,\n    His soul is found in peace.\n\n\n1071                                                       7s, double.\n                  The valley of the shadow of death.\n                                   Psalm 23:4.\n\n  Though I walk the downward shade,\n    Deepening through the vail of death,\n  Yet I will not be afraid,\n    But, with my departing breath,\n  I will glory in my God,\n    In my Saviour I will trust,\n  Strengthened by his staff and rod,\n    While this body falls to dust.\n\n  2 Soon on wings, on wings of love,\n    My transported soul shall rise,\n  Like the home-returning dove,\n    Vanishing through boundless skies:\n  Then, where death shall be no more,\n    Sin nor suffering e'er molest,\n  All my days of mourning o'er,\n    In his presence I shall rest.\n\n\n1072                                                       7s, double.\n                   The spirit shall return to, etc.\n                                   Eccl. 12:7.\n\n  Deathless spirit, now arise!\n  Soar, thou native of the skies!\n  Pearl of price, by Jesus bought,\n  To his glorious likeness wrought,\n  Go, to shine before his throne,\n  Deck his mediatorial crown;\n  Go, his triumph to adorn;\n  Made for God, to God return.\n\n  2 Lo! he beckons from on high!\n  Fearless to his presence fly;\n  Thine the merit of his blood,\n  Thine the righteousness of God!\n  Angels, joyful to attend,\n  Hovering round thy pillow bend,\n  Wait, to catch the signal given,\n  And escort thee quick to heaven.\n\n  3 Is thy earthly house distressed,\n  Willing to retain its guest?\n  'Tis not thou, but it, must die--\n  Fly, celestial tenant, fly!\n  Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay,\n  Sweetly breathe thyself away,\n  Singing, to thy crown remove,\n  Swift of wing, and fired with love.\n\n\n1073                                                          C. M. D.\n                         A soldier of renown.\n\n  Fallen--on Zion's battle-field,\n    A soldier of renown,\n  Armed in the panoply of God,\n    In conflict cloven down!\n  His helmet on his armor bright,\n    His cheek unblanched with fear--\n  While round his head there gleamed a light,\n    His dying hour to cheer.\n\n  2 Fallen--while cheering with his voice\n    The sacramental host,\n  With banners floating on the air--\n    Death found him at his post;\n  In life's high prime the warfare closed,\n    But not ingloriously;\n  He fell beyond the outer wall,\n    And shouted, victory!\n\n  [3 Fallen--a holy man of God,\n    An Israelite indeed,\n  A standard bearer of the cross,\n    Mighty in word and deed--\n  A master spirit of the age,\n    A bright and burning light,\n  Whose beams across the firmament\n    Scattered the clouds of night.]\n\n  4 Fallen--as sets the sun at eve,\n    To rise in splendor where\n  His kindred luminaries shine,\n    Their heaven of bliss to share;\n  Beyond the stormy battle-field\n    He reigns in triumph now,\n  Sweeping a harp of wondrous song,\n    With glory on his brow!\n\n\n1074                                                          8s & 7s.\n               Suffer little children to come unto me.\n                                   Matt. 19:14.\n\n  They are going--only going--\n    Jesus called them long ago;\n  All the wintery time they're passing,\n    Softly as the falling snow.\n  When the violets in the spring-time\n    Catch the azure of the sky,\n  They are carried out to slumber\n    Sweetly where the violets lie.\n\n  2 They are going--only going--\n    When with summer earth is dressed,\n  In their cold hands holding roses\n    Folded to each silent breast;\n  When the autumn hangs red banners\n    Out above the harvest sheaves,\n  They are going--ever going--\n    Thick and fast, like falling leaves.\n\n  3 All along the mighty ages,\n    All adown the solemn time,\n  They have taken up their homeward\n    March to that serener clime,\n  Where the watching, waiting angels\n    Lead them from the shadow dim,\n  To the brightness of his presence\n    Who has called them unto him.\n\n  4 They are going--only going--\n    Out of pain and into bliss--\n  Out of sad and sinful weakness\n    Into perfect holiness.\n  Snowy brows--no care shall shade them;\n    Bright eyes--tears shall never dim;\n  Rosy lips--no time shall fade them:\n    Jesus called them unto him.\n\n  5 Little hearts for ever stainless--\n    Little hands as pure as they--\n  Little feet by angels guided,\n    Never a forbidden way!\n  They are going--ever going--\n    Leaving many a lonely spot;\n  But 'tis Jesus who has called them--\n    Suffer and forbid them not.\n\n\n1075                                                          8s & 7s.\n                              Homeward.\n\n  Dropping down the troubled river\n    To the tranquil, tranquil shore,\n  Where the sweet light shineth ever,\n    And the sun goes down no more.\n\n  2 Dropping down the winding river\n    To the wide and welcome sea,\n  Where no tempest wrecketh ever,\n    Where the sky is fair and free.\n\n  3 Dropping down the rapid river,\n    To the dear and deathless land,\n  Where the living live for ever\n    At the Father's own right hand.\n\n\n1076                                                          8s & 7s.\n                  Sister, thou wast mild and lovely.\n\n  Sister, thou wast mild and lovely,\n    Gentle as the summer breeze,\n  Pleasant as the air of evening,\n    When it floats among the trees.\n\n  2 Peaceful be thy silent slumber--\n    Peaceful in the grave so low:\n  Thou no more wilt join our number;\n    Thou no more our songs shalt know.\n\n  3 Dearest sister, thou hast left us;\n    Here thy loss we deeply feel;\n  But 'tis God that hath bereft us:\n    He can all our sorrows heal.\n\n  4 Yet again we hope to meet thee,\n    When the day of life is fled,\n  Then in heaven with joy to greet thee,\n    Where no farewell tear is shed.\n\n\n1077                                                          8s & 7s.\n                      Blessed are the dead, etc.\n                                   Rev. 14:13.\n\n  Happy soul! thy days are ended,\n    All thy mourning days below;\n  Go, by angel guards attended,\n    To the sight of Jesus go!\n  Waiting to receive thy spirit,\n    Lo! the Saviour stands above;\n  Shows the purchase of his merit,\n    Reaches out the crown of love.\n\n  2 Struggling through thy latest passion\n    To thy dear Redeemer's breast,\n  To his uttermost salvation,\n    To his everlasting rest;\n  For the joy he sets before thee,\n    Bear thy transitory pain;\n  Die, to live a life of glory;\n    Suffer, with thy Lord to reign.\n\n\n1078                                                             P. M.\n                What is your life? It is even a vapor.\n                                   James 4:14.\n\n  What is life? 'tis but a vapor,\n    Soon it vanishes away:\n  Life is but a dying taper--\n    O, my soul, why wish to stay!\n  Why not spread thy wings and fly\n  Straight to yonder world of joy!\n\n  2 See that glory, how resplendent!\n    Brighter far than fancy paints;\n  There, in majesty transcendent,\n    Jesus reigns the King of saints,\n  Why not spread thy wings and fly\n  Straight to yonder world of joy!\n\n  3 Joyful crowds his throne surrounding,\n    Sing with rapture of his love;\n  Through the heavens his praise resounding,\n    Filling all the courts above.\n  Why not spread thy wings and fly\n  Straight to yonder world of joy!\n\n  4 Go, and share his people's glory,\n    'Midst the ransomed crowd appear;\n  Thine a joyful, wondrous story,\n    One that angels love to hear.\n  Why not spread thy wings and fly\n  Straight to yonder world of joy!\n\n\n1079                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                      Death of an aged pilgrim.\n\n  Tossed no more on life's rough billow,\n    All the storms of sorrow fled,\n  Death hath found a quiet pillow\n    For the aged Christian's head,\n        Peaceful slumbers\n    Guarding now his lowly bed.\n\n  2 O, may we be reunited\n    To the spirits of the just,\n  Leaving all that sin has blighted\n    With corruption, in the dust;\n        Hear us, Jesus,\n    Thou our Lord, our Life, our Trust.\n\n\n1080                                                          7s & 4s.\n                     Prayer for support in death.\n\n  When the vale of death appears,\n    Faint and cold this mortal clay,\n  Blest Redeemer, soothe my fears,\n    Light me through the gloomy way;\n        Break the shadows,\n    Usher in eternal day.\n\n  2 Upward from this dying state\n    Bid my waiting soul aspire;\n  Open thou the crystal gate;\n    To thy praise attune my lyre:\n        Then, triumphant,\n    I will join the immortal choir.\n\n\n1081                                                          7s & 6s.\n                       Time is winging us away.\n\n  Time is winging us away\n    To our eternal home;\n  Life is but a winter's day--\n    A journey to the tomb;\n  Youth and vigor soon will flee;\n    Blooming beauty lose its charms;\n  All that's mortal soon shall be\n    Inclosed in death's cold arms.\n\n  2 Time is winging us away\n    To our eternal home;\n  Life is but a winter's day--\n    A journey to the tomb!\n  But the Christian shall enjoy\n    Health and beauty soon above,\n  Far beyond the world's alloy,\n    Secure in Jesus' love.\n\n\n1082                                                              10s.\n                      His eye was not dim, etc.\n                                   Deut. 34:7.\n\n  Go to the grave in all thy glorious prime,\n    In full activity of zeal and power;\n  A Christian can not die before his time;\n    The Lord's appointment is the servant's hour.\n\n  2 Go to the grave: at noon from labor cease;\n    Rest on thy sheaves; the harvest-task is done;\n  Come from the heat of battle, and in peace,\n    Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won.\n\n  3 Go to the grave; for thee thy Saviour lay\n    In death's embrace, ere he arose on high;\n  And all the ransomed, by that narrow way,\n    Pass to eternal life beyond the sky.\n\n  4 Go to the grave--no; take thy seat above;\n    Be thy pure spirit present with the Lord,\n  Where thou for faith and hope hast perfect love,\n    And open vision for the written word.\n\n\n1083                                                          8s & 9s.\n                        Death of a missionary.\n\n  Weep not for the saint that ascends\n    To partake of the joys of the sky,\n  Weep not for the seraph that bends\n    With the worshiping chorus on high.\n\n  2 Weep not for the spirit now crowned\n    With the garland to martyrdom given,\n  O weep not for him; he has found\n    His reward and his refuge in heaven.\n\n  3 But weep for their sorrows, who stand\n    And lament o'er the dead by his grave--\n  Who sigh when they muse on the land\n    Of their home, far away o'er the wave.\n\n  4 And weep for the nations that dwell\n    Where the light of the truth never shone,\n  Where anthems of praise never swell,\n    And the love of the Lamb is unknown.\n\n  5 Weep not for the saint that ascends\n    To partake of the joys of the sky;\n  Weep not for the seraph that bends\n    With the worshiping chorus on high:\n\n  6 But weep for the mourners who stand\n    By the grave of their brother, in tears,\n  And weep for the people whose land\n    Still must wait till the day-spring appears.\n\n\n1084                                                          8s & 3s.\n                             All is well.\n\n  What's this that steals upon my frame?\n        Is it death?\n  That soon will quench this vital flame?\n        Is it death?\n  If this be death, I soon shall be\n  From every pain and sorrow free,\n  I shall my Lord in glory see--\n        All is well!\n\n  2 Weep not, my friends, weep not for me,\n        All is well!\n  My sins are pardoned, I am free;\n        All is well.\n  There's not a cloud that doth arise,\n  To hide my Saviour from my eyes;\n  I soon shall mount the upper skies--\n        All is well.\n\n  3 Tune, tune your harps, ye saints in glory,\n        All is well;\n  I will rehearse the pleasing story,\n        All is well.\n  Bright angels have from glory come,\n  They're round my bed, they're in my room,\n  They wait to waft my spirit home--\n        All is well.\n\n  4 Hark, hark, my Lord and Master calls me,\n        All is well;\n  I soon shall see his face in glory,\n        All is well.\n  Farewell, dear friends, adieu, adieu,\n  I can no longer stay with you--\n  My glittering crown appears in view;\n        All is well.\n\n  5 Hail, hail, all hail, ye blood-washed throng,\n        Saved by grace;\n  I've come to join your rapturous song,\n        Saved by grace.\n  All, all is peace and joy divine,\n  All heaven and glory now are mine;\n  O, hallelujah to the Lamb!\n        All is well.\n\n\n1085                                                             P. M.\n                        Present with the Lord.\n                                   2 Cor. 5:8.\n\n  O think that, while you're weeping here,\n    His hand a golden harp is stringing;\n  And with a voice serene and clear,\n  His ransomed soul, without a tear,\n    His Saviour's praise is singing!\n\n  2 And think that all his pains are fled,\n    His toils and sorrows closed for ever;\n  While he, whose blood for man was shed,\n  Has placed upon his servant's head\n    A crown that fadeth never!\n\n  3 For thus, while round your lowly bier\n    Surviving friends are sadly bending,\n  Your souls, like his, to Jesus dear,\n  Shall wing their flight to yonder sphere,\n    Faith lightest pinions lending.\n\n  4 And thus, when to the silent tomb,\n    Your lifeless dust like his is given,\n  Like faith shall whisper, 'midst the gloom,\n  That yet again in faithful bloom,\n    That dust shall smile in heaven!\n\n\n1086                                                          8s & 4s.\n                       There remaineth a rest.\n                                    Heb. 4:9.\n\n  There is a calm for those who weep,\n    A rest for weary pilgrims found;\n  They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,\n              Low in the ground.\n\n  2 The storm that racks the wintery sky\n    No more disturbs their deep repose,\n  Than summer evening's latest sigh,\n              That shuts the rose.\n\n  3 Thou traveler in this vale of tears,\n    To realms of everlasting light,\n  Through time's dark wilderness of years,\n              Pursue thy flight.\n\n  4 Whate'er thy lot--whate'er thou be--\n    Confess thy folly--kiss the rod;\n  And in thy chastening sorrows see\n              The hand of God.\n\n  5 Though long of winds and waves the sport,\n    Condemned in wretchedness to roam,\n  Thou soon shalt reach a sheltering port,\n              A quiet home.\n\n\n1087                                                          6s & 4s.\n                         Forsake me not, etc.\n                                   Psalm 71:9.\n\n  Lowly and solemn be\n  Thy children's cry to thee,\n    Father divine;\n  A hymn of suppliant breath,\n  Owning that life and death\n    Alike are thine.\n\n  2 O Father, in that hour,\n  When earthly help and power\n    Are all in vain,\n  When spears, and shield, and crown,\n  In faintness are cast down,\n    Do thou sustain.\n\n  3 By him who bowed to take\n  The death-cup for our sake,\n    The thorn, the rod--\n  From whom the last dismay\n  Was not to pass away--\n    Aid us, O God.\n\n  4 Trembling beside the grave,\n  We call on thee to save,\n    Father divine:\n  Hear, hear our suppliant breath;\n  Keep us, in life and death,\n    Thine, only thine.\n\n\n1088                                                          7s & 6s.\n                   All the rivers run into the sea.\n                                    Eccl. 1:7.\n\n  As flows the rapid river,\n    With channel broad and free,\n  Its waters rippling ever,\n    And hastening to the sea;\n  So life is onward flowing,\n    And days of offered peace,\n  And man is swiftly going\n    Where calls of mercy cease.\n\n  2 As moons are ever waning,\n    As hastes the sun away,\n  As stormy winds, complaining,\n    Bring on the wintery day:\n  So fast the night comes o'er us--\n    The darkness of the grave;\n  The death is just before us;\n    God takes the life he gave.\n\n  3 Say, hath thy heart its treasure\n    Laid up in worlds above?\n  And is it all thy pleasure\n    Thy God to praise and love?\n  Beware lest death's dark river\n    Its billows o'er thee roll,\n  And thou lament for ever\n    The ruin of thy soul.\n\n\n1089                                                          8s & 4s.\n                    As a dream, when one awaketh.\n                                   Psalm 73:20.\n\n  Alas! how poor and little worth\n  Are all those glittering toys of earth\n      That lure us here!\n  Dreams of a sleep that death must break:\n  Alas! before it bids us wake,\n      They disappear.\n\n  2 Where is the strength that spurned decay,\n  The step that rolled so light and gay,\n      The heart's blithe tone?\n  The strength is gone, the step is slow,\n  And joy grows weariness and woe\n      When age comes on.\n\n  3 Our birth is but a starting-place;\n  Life is the running of the race,\n      And death the goal:\n  There all those glittering toys are brought;\n  That path alone, of all unsought,\n      Is found of all.\n\n  4 O, let the soul its slumbers break,\n  Arouse its senses, and awake\n      To see how soon\n  Life, like its glories, glides away,\n  And the stern footsteps of decay\n      Come stealing on.\n\n\n1090                                                          S. H. M.\n                     Friend after friend departs.\n\n  Friend after friend departs;\n    Who hath not lost a friend?\n  There is no union here of hearts,\n    That finds not here an end?\n  Were this frail world our only rest,\n  Living or dying, none were blest.\n\n  2 Beyond the flight of time,\n    Beyond this vale of death,\n  There surely is some blessed clime,\n    Where life is not a breath,\n  Nor life's affections transient fire,\n  Whose sparks fly upward to expire,\n\n  3 There is a world above,\n    Where parting is unknown;\n  A whole eternity of love,\n    Formed for the good alone;\n  And faith beholds the dying here\n  Translated to that happier sphere.\n\n  4 Thus star by star declines,\n    Till all are passed away,\n  As morning high and higher shines\n    To pure and perfect day;\n  Nor sink those stars in empty night;\n  They hide themselves in heaven's own light.\n\n\n1091                                                          8s & 4s.\n                           Weep not for me.\n\n  When the spark of life is waning,\n          Weep not for me;\n  When the languid eye is streaming,\n          Weep not for me;\n  When the feeble pulse is ceasing,\n  Start not at its swift decreasing,\n  'Tis the fettered soul's releasing,\n          Weep not for me.\n\n  2 When the pangs of death assail me,\n          Weep not for me;\n  Christ is mine, he can not fail me,\n          Weep not for me;\n  Yes, though sin and doubt endeavor,\n  From his love my soul to sever,\n  Jesus is my strength for ever;\n          Weep not for me.\n\n\n1092                                                          7s & 6s.\n                   Mortality swallowed up of life.\n                                   2 Cor. 5:4.\n\n  No, no, it is not dying\n    To go unto our God,\n  This gloomy earth forsaking,\n  Our journey homeward taking\n    Along the starry road.\n\n  2 No, no, it is not dying\n    Heaven's citizen to be,\n  A crown immortal wearing,\n  And rest unbroken sharing,\n    From care and conflict free.\n\n  3 No, no, it is not dying\n    The Shepherd's voice to know;\n  His sheep he ever leadeth,\n  His peaceful flock he feedeth,\n    Where living pastures grow.\n\n  4 No, no, it is not dying\n    To wear a heavenly crown,\n  Among God's people dwelling,\n  The glorious triumph swelling,\n    Of him whose sway we own.\n\n  5 O no, this is not dying,\n    Thou Saviour of mankind;\n  There, streams of love are flowing,\n  No hindrance ever knowing;\n    Here, only drops we find.\n\n\n1093                                                    10s, 6s, & 4s.\n                       The burial of the dead.\n\n  Thou God of love! beneath thy sheltering wings\n        We leave our holy dead,\n  To rest in hope! From this world's sufferings\n        Their souls have fled!\n\n  2 O! when our souls are burdened with the weight\n        Of life, and all its woes,\n  Let us remember them, and calmly wait\n        For our life's close!\n\n\n1094                                                          6s & 8s.\n                       Go to thy rest in peace.\n\n  Go to thy rest in peace,\n    And soft be thy repose;\n  Thy toils are o'er, thy troubles cease;\n  From earthly cares, in sweet release,\n    Thine eyelids gently close.\n\n  2 Go to thy peaceful rest;\n    For thee we need not weep,\n  Since thou art now among the blest--\n  No more by sin and sorrow pressed,\n    But hushed in quiet sleep.\n\n  3 Go to thy rest; and while\n    Thy absence we deplore,\n  One thought our sorrow shall beguile;\n  For soon, with a celestial smile,\n    We meet to part no more.\n\n\n1095                                                              11s.\n                         He died at his post.\n\n  Away from his home and the friends of his youth,\n  He hasted, the herald of mercy and truth,\n  For the love of his Lord, and to seek for the lost:\n  Soon, alas! was his fall--but he died at his post.\n\n  2 The stranger's eye wept, that, in life's brightest bloom,\n  One gifted so highly should sink to the tomb;\n  For in ardor he led in the van of the host,\n  And he fell like a soldier--he died at his post.\n\n  3 He wept not himself that his warfare was done--\n  The battle was fought, and the victory won;\n  But he whispered of those whom his heart clung to most,\n  \"Tell my brethren, for me, that I died at my post.\"\n\n  4 He asked not a stone to be sculptured with verse;\n  He asked not that fame should his merits rehearse;\n  But he asked as a boon, when he gave up the ghost,\n  That his brethren might know that he died at his post.\n\n  5 Victorious his fall--for he rose as he fell,\n  With Jesus, his Master, in glory to dwell:\n  He has passed o'er the stream, and has reached the bright coast,\n  For he fell like a martyr--he died at his post.\n\n  6 And can we the words of his exit forget?\n  O! no; they are fresh in our memory yet:\n  An example so worthy shall never be lost,\n  We will fall in the work--we will die at our post.\n\n\n1096                                                        12s & 11s.\n                    Farewell to a friend departed.\n\n  Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not deplore thee,\n    Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb:\n  The Saviour has passed through its portals before thee,\n    And the lamp of his love is thy guide thro' the gloom.\n\n  2 Thou art gone to the grave; we no longer behold thee,\n    Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side;\n  But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee,\n    And sinners may hope, since the Saviour has died.\n\n  3 Thou art gone to the grave; and its mansion forsaking,\n    Perchance thy weak spirit in doubt lingered long;\n  But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy waking,\n    And the sound thou didst hear was the seraphim's song.\n\n  4 Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not deplore thee;\n    Since God was thy Ransom, thy Guardian, thy Guide;\n  He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee;\n    And death has no sting, since the Saviour has died.\n\n\n1097                                                    11s, peculiar.\n                          Heavenly prospect.\n\n  Christian, the vision before thee is glorious,\n  The earth shall allure thy tried spirit no more:\n  Thou wast in the day of thy trial victorious,\n  Secure now at last, thy temptations are o'er.\n\n  2 Hard was the strife, but the strong one in battle,\n  Has been thy defender, and vanquished thy foes;\n  And heaven stood by thee to help thee in trouble,\n  And joyed when the sound of thy triumph arose.\n\n  3 High was the anthem those raptures revealing,\n  Ten thousand celestials the chorus prolong;\n  But louder the strains of the ransomed are pealing,\n  And glory is swelling the conqueror's song.\n\n\n1098                                                        11s & 12s.\n                         Vanity of vanities.\n                                   Eccl. 12:8.\n\n  Far, far o'er hill and dale, on the winds stealing,\n  List to the tolling bell, mournfully pealing,\n    Hark, hark, it seems to say, as melt those sounds away,\n  So earthly joys decay, while new their feeling!\n\n  2 Now through the charmed air, on the winds stealing,\n  List to the mourner's prayer, solemnly bending:\n    Hark, hark, it seems to say, turn from those joys away,\n  To those which ne'er decay, for life is ending.\n\n  3 So when our mortal ties death shall dissever,\n  Lord, may we reach the skies where care comes never,\n    And in eternal day, joining the angels' lay,\n  To our Creator pay homage for ever.\n\n\n\n\n                            SECOND ADVENT.\n\n\n1099                                                             C. M.\n              Looking for the coming of the day of God.\n                                  2 Peter 3:12.\n\n  Hope of our hearts, O Lord, appear,\n    Thou glorious star of day!\n  Shine forth, and chase the dreary night,\n    With all our tears, away.\n\n  2 Strangers on earth, we wait for thee;\n    O leave the Father's throne;\n  Come with a shout of victory, Lord,\n    And claim us as thine own.\n\n  3 O bid the bright archangel now\n    The trump of God prepare,\n  To call thy saints--the quick, the dead,\n    To meet thee in the air.\n\n  4 No resting-place we seek on earth,\n    No loveliness we see;\n  Our eye is on the royal crown,\n    Prepared for us and thee.\n\n  5 But, dearest Lord, however bright\n    That crown of joy above,\n  What is it to the brighter hope\n    Of dwelling in thy love?\n\n  6 What to the joy, the deeper joy,\n    Unmingled, pure and free,\n  Of union with our living Head,\n    Of fellowship with thee?\n\n  7 This joy e'en now on earth is ours;\n    But only, Lord, above\n  Our heart without a pang shall know\n    The fullness of thy love.\n\n  8 There, near thy heart, upon the throne,\n    Thy ransomed Bride shall see\n  What grace was in the bleeding Lamb,\n    Who died to make her free.\n\n\n1100                                                          S. M. D.\n                          Come, Lord Jesus.\n                                   Rev. 22:20.\n\n  The Church has waited long\n    Her absent Lord to see;\n  And still in loneliness she waits,\n    A friendless stranger she.\n  Age after age has gone,\n    Sun after sun has set,\n  And still in weeds of widowhood\n    She weeps a mourner yet.\n      Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!\n\n  2 Saint after saint on earth\n    Has lived, and loved, and died;\n  And as they left us, one by one,\n    We laid them side by side;\n  We laid them down to sleep,\n    But not in hope forlorn;\n  We laid them but to ripen there,\n    Till the last glorious morn.\n      Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!\n\n  3 The whole creation groans,\n    And waits to hear that voice\n  That shall restore her comeliness,\n    And make her wastes rejoice.\n  Come, Lord, and wipe away\n    The curse, the sin, the stain,\n  And make this blighted world of ours\n    Thine own fair world again.\n      Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!\n\n\n1101                                                             P. M.\n                    When the King of kings comes.\n\n  When the King of kings comes,\n  When the Lord of lords comes;\n  We shall have a joyful day,\n      When the King of kings comes:\n  To see the nations broken down,\n  And kingdoms once of great renown,\n  And saints now suffering wear the crown,\n      When the King of kings comes.\n\n  2 When the trump of God calls,\n  When the last of foes falls;\n  We shall have a joyful day,\n      When the King of kings comes:\n  To see the saints raised from the dead,\n  And all together gathered,\n  And made like to their glorious Head,\n      When the King of kings comes.\n\n  3 When the foe's distress comes,\n  When the church's rest comes;\n  We shall have a joyful day,\n      When the King of kings comes:\n  To see the New Jerusalem,\n  Its fullness and its matchless frame,\n  Surpassing all report and fame,\n      When the King of kings comes.\n\n  4 When the world's course is run,\n  When the judgment is begun;\n  We shall have a joyful day,\n      When the King of kings comes:\n  To see the sons of God well known,\n  All spotless to their Father shown,\n  And Jesus all his brethren own,\n      When the King of kings comes.\n\n  5 When our Lord in clouds comes,\n  When he with great power comes;\n  We shall have a joyful day,\n      When the King of kings comes:\n  To see all things by him restored,\n  And God himself alone adored,\n  By all the saints with one accord,\n      When the King of kings comes.\n\n\n1102                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                           O, come quickly.\n\n  Saviour, haste: our souls are waiting\n    For the long expected day,\n  When, new heavens and earth creating,\n    Thou shalt banish grief away;\n        All the sorrow\n    Caused by sin and Satan's sway.\n\n  2 Haste, O hasten thine appearing,\n    Take thy mourning people home;\n  'Tis this hope our spirits cheering,\n    While we in the desert roam,\n        Makes thy people\n    Strangers here till thou dost come.\n\n  3 Lord, how long shall the creation\n    Groan and travail sore in pain,\n  Waiting for its sure salvation\n    When thou shalt in glory reign,\n        And like Eden\n    This sad earth shall bloom again?\n\n  4 Reign, O reign, almighty Saviour,\n    Heaven and earth in one unite;\n  Make it known, that in thy favor,\n    There alone is life and light;\n        When we see thee\n    We shall have supreme delight.\n\n\n1103                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                        The Lord cometh, etc.\n                                     Jude 14.\n\n  Lo! he cometh--countless trumpets\n    Wake to life the slumbering dead;\n  'Mid ten thousand saints and angels,\n    See their great exalted Head:\n        Hallelujah!--\n    Welcome, welcome, Son of God!\n\n  2 Full of joyful expectation,\n    Saints behold the Judge appear;\n  Truth and justice go before him--\n    Now the joyful sentence hear;\n        Hallelujah!--\n    Welcome, welcome, Judge divine!\n\n  3 \"Come, ye blessed of my Father!\n    Enter into life and joy:\n  Banish all your fears and sorrows;\n    Endless praise be your employ;\"\n        Hallelujah!--\n    Welcome, welcome, to the skies.\n\n\n1104                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                    Behold he cometh with clouds.\n                                    Rev. 1:7.\n\n  Lo! he comes, with clouds descending,\n    Once for favored sinners slain,\n  Thousand thousand saints attending,\n    Swell the triumph of his train!\n        Hallelujah!\n    Jesus now shall ever reign!\n\n  2 Every eye shall now behold him,\n    Robed in dreadful majesty;\n  Those who set at naught and sold him,\n    Pierced and nailed him to the tree,\n        Deeply wailing,\n    Shall the true Messiah see.\n\n  3 Every island, sea, and mountain,\n    Heaven and earth, shall flee away;\n  All who hate him, must, confounded,\n    Hear the trump proclaim the day,\n        Come to judgment!\n    Come to judgment! come away!\n\n  4 Now redemption, long expected,\n    See in solemn pomp appear!\n  All his saints by man rejected,\n    Now shall meet him in the air,\n        Hallelujah!\n    See the day of God appear!\n\n  5 Lord, thy Bride says by thy Spirit,\n    Hasten thou the general doom!\n  Promised glory to inherit,\n    Take thy weary pilgrims home!\n        All creation\n    Travails, groans, and bids thee come.\n\n  6 Yes--Amen! Let all adore thee,\n    High on thy exalted throne;\n  Saviour, take the power and glory,\n    Claim the kingdoms for thy own!\n        O! come quickly!\n    Hallelujah, come, Lord, come!\n\n\n1105                                                             P. M.\n                          That blessed hope.\n                                   Titus 2:13.\n\n  We wait for thee, all-glorious One;\n    We look for thine appearing;\n  We bear thy name, and on the throne,\n    We see thy presence cheering.\n      Faith even now\n      Uplifts its brow,\n    And sees the Lord descending,\n    And with him bliss unending.\n\n  2 We wait for thee, through days forlorn,\n    In patient self-denial;\n  We know that thou our grief hast borne\n    Upon thy cross of trial.\n      And well may we\n      Submit with thee\n    To bear the cross and love it,\n    Until thy hand remove it.\n\n  3 We wait for thee; already thou\n    Hast all our heart's submission;\n  And though the spirit sees thee now,\n    We long for open vision;\n      When ours shall be\n      Sweet rest with thee,\n    And pure, unfading pleasure,\n    And life in endless measure.\n\n  4 We wait for thee in certain hope--\n    The time will soon be over;\n  With child-like longing we look up,\n    The glory to discover.\n      O, bliss! to share\n      Thy triumph there,\n    When home with joy and singing,\n    The Lord his saints is bringing!\n\n\n\n\n                          THE RESURRECTION.\n\n\n1106                                                             L. M.\n                    The day of the Lord will come.\n                                  2 Peter 3:10.\n\n  The Lord will come, the earth shall quake,\n  The hills their fixed seat forsake;\n  And withering, from the vault of night,\n  The stars withdraw their feeble light.\n\n  2 The Lord will come, but not the same\n  As once in lowly form he came;\n  A silent Lamb to slaughter led,\n  The bruised, the suffering, and the dead.\n\n  3 The Lord will come--a dreadful form,\n  With wreath of flame, and robe of storm,\n  On cherub wings, and wings of wind,\n  Anointed Judge of human kind.\n\n  4 While sinners in despair shall call,\n  \"Rocks, hide us! mountains, on us fall!\"\n  The saints, ascending from the tomb,\n  Shall joyful sing--\"The Lord is come!\"\n\n\n1107                                                             L. M.\n                     The great day of his wrath.\n                                    Rev. 6:17.\n\n  That day of wrath! that dreadful day,\n  When heaven and earth shall pass away!\n  What power shall be the sinner's stay?\n  How shall he meet that dreadful day?\n\n  2 When shriveling like a parched scroll,\n  The flaming heavens together roll;\n  When, louder yet, and yet more dread,\n  Swells the high trump that wakes the dead;\n\n  3 O, on that day, that dreadful day,\n  When man to judgment wakes from clay,\n  Be thou, O God, the sinner's stay,\n  Though heaven and earth shall pass away.\n\n\n1108                                                             C. M.\n                 Because I live, you shall live also.\n                                   John 14:19.\n\n  When, downward, to the darksome tomb,\n    I thoughtful turn my eyes,\n  Frail nature trembles at the gloom,\n    And anxious fears arise.\n\n  2 Why shrinks my soul? in death's embrace\n    Once Jesus captive slept;\n  And angels hovering o'er the place,\n    His lowly pillow kept.\n\n  3 Thus shall they guard my sleeping dust,\n    And, as the Saviour rose,\n  The grave again shall yield her trust,\n    And end my deep repose.\n\n  4 My Lord, before to glory gone,\n    Shall bid me come away;\n  And calm and bright shall break the dawn\n    Of heaven's eternal day.\n\n  5 Then let my faith each fear dispel,\n    And gild with light the grave;\n  To him my loftiest praises swell,\n    Who died from death to save.\n\n\n1109                                                             S. M.\n                 And to wait for His Son from heaven.\n                                  1 Thess. 1:10.\n\n  In expectation sweet,\n    We wait, and sing, and pray,\n  Till Christ's triumphal car we meet,\n    And see an endless day.\n\n  2 He comes! the Conqueror comes!\n    Death falls beneath his sword;\n  The joyful prisoners burst their tombs,\n    And rise to meet their Lord.\n\n  3 The trumpet sounds--Awake!\n    Ye dead, to judgment come!\n  The pillars of creation shake,\n    While hell receives her doom.\n\n  4 Thrice happy morn for those\n    Who love the ways of peace;\n  No night of sorrow e'er shall close\n    Upon its perfect bliss.\n\n\n1110                                                             S. M.\n               Awake and sing, you that dwell in dust.\n                                  Isaiah 26:19.\n\n  Rest for the toiling hand,\n    Rest for the anxious brow,\n  Rest for the weary, way-worn feet,\n    Rest from all labor now;\n\n  2 Soon shall the trump of God\n    Give out the welcome sound\n  That shakes thy silent chamber-walls,\n    And breaks the turf-sealed ground.\n\n  3 Ye dwellers in the dust,\n    Awake! come forth and sing;\n  Sharp has your frost of winter been,\n    But bright shall be your spring.\n\n  4 'Twas sown in weakness here;\n    'Twill then be raised in power:\n  That which was sown an earthly seed,\n    Shall rise a heavenly flower.\n\n\n1111                                                              11s.\n                          At the last trump.\n                                  1 Cor. 15:52.\n\n  The chariot! the chariot! its wheels roll in fire,\n  As the Lord cometh down in the pomp of his ire;\n  Lo! self-moving, it drives on its pathway of cloud;\n  And the heavens with the burden of Godhead are bowed.\n\n  2 The glory! the glory! around him are poured\n  Mighty hosts of the angels that wait on the Lord;\n  And the glorified saints, and the martyrs are there,\n  And there, all who the palm-wreaths of victory wear!\n\n  3 The trumpet! the trumpet! the dead have all heard;\n  Lo! the depths of the stone-covered charnel are stirred!\n  From the sea, from the earth, from the south, from the north,\n  All the vast generations of men are come forth.\n\n  4 The judgment! the judgment! the thrones are all set,\n  Where the lamb and the bright-crowned elders are met!\n  There all flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,\n  And the doom of eternity hangs on his word.\n\n\n1112                                                             P. M.\n                 He will swallow up death in victory.\n                                   Isaiah 25:8.\n\n  Lo! the seal of death is breaking;\n  Those who slept its sleep are waking;\n    Heaven opes its portals fair!\n  Hark! the harps of God are ringing;\n  Hark! the seraph's hymn is flinging\n    Music on immortal air.\n\n  2 There, no more at eve declining,\n  Suns without a cloud are shining\n    O'er the land of life and love;\n  There the founts of life are flowing,\n  Flowers unknown to time, are blowing\n    In that radiant scene above.\n\n  3 There no sigh of memory swelleth;\n  There no tear of misery welleth;\n    Hearts will bleed or break no more;\n  Past is all the cold world's scorning,\n  Gone the night, and broke the morning,\n    Over all the golden shore.\n\n\n1113                                                          6s & 5s.\n                     For the trumpet shall sound.\n                                  1 Cor. 15:52.\n\n  The last lovely morning,\n    All blooming and fair,\n  Is fast onward fleeting,\n    And soon will appear.\n                               CHORUS.\n  While the mighty, mighty, mighty trump\n  Sounds, Come, come away,\n  O, let us be ready to hail the glad day.\n\n  2 And when that bright morning\n    In splendor shall dawn,\n  Our tears shall be ended,\n    Our sorrows all gone.\n\n  3 The Bridegroom from glory\n    To earth shall descend,\n  Ten thousand bright angels\n    Around him attend.\n\n  4 The grave shall be opened,\n    The dead shall arise,\n  And with the Redeemer\n    Mount up to the skies.\n\n  5 The saints then immortal\n    In glory shall reign,\n  The Bride with the Bridegroom\n    For ever remain.\n\n\n\n\n                           FINAL JUDGMENT.\n\n\n1114                                                          C. P. M.\n                     That he may find mercy, etc.\n                                   2 Tim. 1:18.\n\n  When thou, my righteous Judge, shalt come\n  To take thy ransomed people home,\n    Shall I among them stand?\n  Shall such a worthless worm as I,\n  Who sometimes am afraid to die,\n    Be found at thy right hand?\n\n  2 I love to meet thy people now,\n  Before thy feet with them to bow,\n    Though vilest of them all;\n  But--can I bear the piercing thought--\n  What if my name should be left out\n    When thou for them shalt call?\n\n  3 O Lord, prevent it by thy grace:\n  Be thou my only hiding-place,\n    In this, the accepted day;\n  Thy pardoning voice, O, let me hear,\n  To still my unbelieving fear,\n    Nor let me fall, I pray.\n\n  4 And when the final trump shall sound,\n  Among thy saints let me be found,\n    To bow before thy face;\n  Then in triumphant strains I'll sing,\n  While heaven's resounding mansions ring\n    With praise of sovereign grace.\n\n\n1115                                                             S. M.\n                       Behold the day is come.\n\n  Behold the day is come;\n    The righteous Judge is near;\n  And sinners, trembling at their doom,\n    Shall soon their sentence hear.\n\n  2 Angels, in bright attire,\n    Conduct him through the skies;\n  Darkness and tempest, smoke and fire,\n    Attend him as he flies.\n\n  3 How awful is the sight!\n    How loud the thunders roar!\n  The sun forbears to give his light,\n    And stars are seen no more.\n\n  4 The whole creation groans;\n    But saints arise and sing:\n  They are the ransomed of the Lord,\n    And he their God and King.\n\n\n1116                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                   The voice of the archangel, etc.\n                                  1 Thess. 4:16.\n\n  Hark, ye mortals, hear the trumpet\n    Sounding loud, the mighty roar!\n  Hark! the archangel's voice proclaiming,\n    Thou, old Time, shalt be no more.\n            Rolling ages,\n        Now your solemn close appears.\n\n\n1117                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                       Every eye shall see him.\n                                    Rev. 1:7.\n\n  Day of judgment, day of wonders!\n    Hark! the trumpet's awful sound,\n  Louder than a thousand thunders,\n    Shakes the vast creation round;\n        How the summons\n    Will the sinner's heart confound!\n\n  2 See the Judge our nature wearing,\n    Clothed in majesty divine!\n  You who long for his appearing,\n    Then shall say, \"This Lord is mine!\"\n        Gracious Saviour,\n    Own me in that day for thine!\n\n  3 At his call the dead awaken,\n    Rise to life from earth and sea:\n  All the powers of nature, shaken\n    By his looks, prepare to flee:\n        Careless sinner,\n    What will then become of thee?\n\n  4 Horrors past imagination\n    Will surprise your trembling heart,\n  When you hear your condemnation,\n    \"Hence, accursed wretch, depart!\n        Hence, with Satan\n    And his angels have your part.\"\n\n  5 But to those who have confessed,\n    Loved and served the Lord below,\n  He will say, \"Come near, you blessed,\n    See the kingdom I bestow:\n        You for ever\n    Shall my love and glory know.\"\n\n  6 Under sorrows and reproaches,\n    May this thought our courage raise!\n  Swiftly God's great day approaches,\n    Sighs shall then be changed to praise:\n        May we triumph,\n    When the world is in a blaze!\n\n\n1118                                                         11s & 5s.\n                    Where shall the ungodly, etc.\n                                  1 Peter 4:18.\n\n  Ah, guilty sinner, ruined by transgression,\n  What shall thy doom be, when, arrayed in terror,\n  God shall command thee, covered with pollution,\n                  Up to the judgement?\n\n  2 Stop, thoughtless sinner, stop awhile and ponder,\n  Ere death arrest thee, and the Judge, in vengeance\n  Hurl from his presence thy affrighted spirit,\n                  Swift to perdition.\n\n  3 Oft has he called thee, but thou wouldst not hear him,\n  Mercies and judgments have alike been slighted;\n  Yet he is gracious, and with arms unfolded,\n                  Waits to embrace thee.\n\n  4 Come, then, poor sinner, come away this moment,\n  Just as you are, come, filthy and polluted,\n  Come to the fountain open for the guilty;\n                  Jesus invites you.\n\n  5 But, if you trifle with his gracious message,\n  Cleave to the world and love its guilty pleasures,\n  Mercy, grown weary, shall, in righteous judgment,\n                  Leave you for ever.\n\n  6 O! guilty sinner, hear the voice of warning;\n  Fly to the Saviour, and embrace his pardon;\n  So shall your spirit meet with joy triumphant,\n                  Death and the judgment.\n\n\n\n\n                               HEAVEN.\n\n\n1119                                                             L. M.\n                  The former things are passed away.\n                                    Rev. 21:4.\n\n  There is a land mine eye hath seen,\n    In visions of enraptured thought,\n  So bright that all which spreads between\n    Is with its radiant glory fraught;\n\n  2 A land upon whose blissful shore\n    There rests no shadow, falls no stain;\n  There those who meet shall part no more,\n    And those long parted, meet again.\n\n  3 Its skies are not like earthly skies,\n    With varying hues of shade and light;\n  It hath no need of suns to rise\n    To dissipate the gloom of night.\n\n  4 There sweeps no desolating wind\n    Across that calm, serene abode;\n  The wanderer there a home may find,\n    Within the paradise of God.\n\n\n1120                                                             C. M.\n                             Rev. 14:1-3.\n\n  On Zion's glorious summit stood\n  A numerous host redeemed by blood;\n  They hymned their King in strains divine:\n  I heard the song, and strove to join.\n\n  2 Here all who suffered sword or flame\n  For truth, or Jesus' lovely name,\n  Shout victory now, and hail the Lamb,\n  And bow before the great I AM.\n\n  3 While everlasting ages roll,\n  Eternal love shall feast their soul,\n  And scenes of bliss for ever new\n  Rise in succession to their view.\n\n  4 O sweet employ, to sing and trace\n  The amazing hights and depths of grace;\n  And spend from sin and sorrow free,\n  A blissful, vast eternity!\n\n  5 O what a sweet, exalted song,\n  When every tribe and every tongue,\n  Redeemed by blood, with Christ appear,\n  And join in one full chorus there!\n\n  6 My soul anticipates the day--\n  Would stretch her wings and soar away,\n  To aid the song, the palm to bear,\n  And praise my great Redeemer there.\n\n\n1121                                                             L. M.\n                              Rev. 22:4.\n\n  Lo! round the throne, a glorious band,\n  The saints in countless myriads stand;\n  Of every tongue redeemed to God,\n  Arrayed in garments washed in blood.\n\n  2 Through tribulation great they came;\n  They bore the cross, despised the shame;\n  But now from all their labors rest,\n  In God's eternal' glory blest.\n\n  3 They see the Saviour face to face;\n  They sing the triumph of his grace;\n  And day and night, with ceaseless praise,\n  To him their loud hosannas raise.\n\n  4 O, may we tread the sacred road\n  That holy saints and martyrs trod;\n  Wage to the end the glorious strife,\n  And win, like them, a crown of life.\n\n\n1122                                                             L. M.\n                   Return unto thy rest, O my soul.\n                                   Psalm 116:7.\n\n  Return, my soul, and sweetly rest,\n  On thy almighty Father's breast;\n  The bounties of his grace adore,\n  And count his wondrous mercies o'er.\n\n  2 Thy mercy, Lord, preserved my breath,\n  And snatched my fainting soul from death;\n  Removed my sorrows, dried my tears,\n  And saved me from surrounding snares.\n\n  3 What shall I render to thee, Lord?\n  Or how his wondrous grace record?\n  To him my grateful voice I'll raise,\n  With just thanksgiving to his praise.\n\n  4 O Zion! in thy sacred courts,\n  Where glory dwells, and joy resorts,\n  To notes divine I'll tune the song,\n  And praise shall flow from every tongue.\n\n\n1123                                                             L. M.\n                      In my Father's house, etc.\n                                    John 14:2.\n\n  Thy Father's house! thine own bright home,\n    And thou hast there a place for me!\n  Though yet an exile here I roam,\n    That distant home by faith I see.\n\n  2 I see its domes resplendent glow,\n    Where beams of God's own glory fall;\n  And trees of life immortal grow,\n    Whose fruits o'erhang the sapphire wall.\n\n  3 I know that thou, who on the tree\n    Didst deign our mortal guilt to bear,\n  Wilt bring thine own to dwell with thee,\n    And waitest to receive me there!\n\n  4 Thy love will there array my soul\n    In thine own robe of spotless hue;\n  And I shall gaze while ages roll,\n    On thee, with raptures ever new!\n\n  5 O, welcome day! when thou my feet\n    Shalt bring the shining threshold o'er;\n  A Father's warm embrace to meet,\n    And dwell at home for evermore!\n\n\n1124                                                             L. M.\n                        The heavenly mansion.\n\n  My heavenly home is bright and fair,\n        We'll be gathered home;\n  Nor death nor sighing visit there,\n        We'll be gathered home:\n                               CHORUS.\n          We'll wait till Jesus comes,\n          We'll wait till Jesus comes,\n          We'll wait till Jesus comes,\n          And we'll be gathered home.\n\n  2 Its glittering towers the sun outshine,\n        We'll be gathered home;\n  That heavenly mansion shall be mine,\n        We'll be gathered home.\n\n  3 My Father's house is built on high,\n        We'll be gathered home;\n  Above the arched and starry sky,\n        We'll be gathered home.\n\n  4 When from this earthly prison free,\n        We'll be gathered home;\n  That heavenly mansion mine shall be,\n        We'll be gathered home.\n\n  5 While here, a stranger far from home,\n        We'll be gathered home;\n  Affliction's waves may round me foam,\n        We'll be gathered home.\n\n  6 Let others seek a home below,\n        We'll be gathered home,\n  Which flames devour or waves o'erthrow,\n        We'll be gathered home.\n\n  7 Be mine the happier lot to own,\n        We'll be gathered home;\n  A heavenly mansion near the throne,\n        We'll be gathered home.\n\n  8 Then, fail this earth, let stars decline,\n        We'll be gathered home;\n  And sun and moon refuse to shine,\n        We'll be gathered home.\n\n  9 All nature sink and cease to be,\n        We'll be gathered home;\n  That heavenly mansion stands for me,\n        We'll be gathered home.\n\n\n1125                                                             L. M.\n                             1 Pet. 1:4.\n\n  There is a region lovelier far\n    Than sages tell or poets sing--\n  Brighter than summer's beauties are,\n    And softer than the tints of spring.\n                               CHORUS.\n        I'm going home, I'm going home,\n        I'm going home to die no more,\n        To die no more, to die no more,\n        I'm going home to die no more.\n\n  2 It is all holy and serene,\n    The land of glory and repose;\n  No cloud obscures the radiant scene;\n    There not a tear of sorrow flows.\n\n\n1126                                                             C. M.\n              They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy.\n                                   Psalm 126:5.\n\n  There is an hour of hallowed peace\n    For those with care oppressed,\n  When sighs and sorrowing tears shall cease,\n    And all be hushed to rest.\n\n  2 'Tis then the soul is freed from fears\n    And doubts which here annoy;\n  Then they that oft had sown in tears,\n    Shall reap again in joy.\n\n  3 There is a home of sweet repose,\n    Where storms assail no more;\n  The stream of endless pleasure flows,\n    On that celestial shore.\n\n  4 There purity with love appears,\n    And bliss without alloy;\n  There they that oft had sown in tears\n    Shall reap again in joy.\n\n\n1127                                                          C. M. D.\n                  There's music in the upper heaven.\n\n  There's music in the upper heaven--\n    The choral notes that swell,\n  Are sweeter, fuller, richer far,\n    Than human lips can tell;\n  When rings the gush of golden harps,\n    And heavenly lutes are swept,\n  To tell the quenchless love of him\n    Who o'er a lost world wept.\n\n  2 The gliding rush of countless wings,\n    Borne on the swelling breeze,\n  That wafts the rustling music by,\n    Amid embowered trees;\n  The echo of the myriad feet,\n    That fall on pavements fair,\n  Of glittering dazzling gold that gleams\n    In untold brightness there.\n\n  3 The music of the pearly gates,\n    When back by angels flung,\n  Admitting there a ransomed soul,\n    Their sinless bands among;\n  The silvery sound that's swelling up,\n    When flows the stream of life;\n  The rustle of the emerald leaf,\n    With healing virtues rife:\n\n  4 And then the tide of melody\n    That swells and bursts, when rings\n  The new song in that far-off world,\n    That thrilling rapture brings:\n  But, awed, we may not note its power,\n    Its depths we may not sound;\n  Unfathomed, fathomless it rolls\n    In glorious might around.\n\n\n1128                                                             C. M.\n                         Earnestly desiring.\n                                   2 Cor. 5:2.\n\n  O could our thoughts and wishes fly\n    Above these gloomy shades,\n  To those bright worlds beyond the sky,\n    Which sorrow ne'er invades!\n\n  2 There joys, unseen by mortal eyes,\n    Or reason's feeble ray,\n  In ever-blooming prospect rise,\n    Unconscious of decay.\n\n  3 Lord, send a beam of light divine,\n    To guide our upward aim!\n  With one reviving touch of thine,\n    Our languid hearts inflame.\n\n  4 Then shall, on faith's sublimest wing,\n    Our ardent wishes rise\n  To those bright scenes where pleasures spring,\n    Immortal to the skies.\n\n\n1129                                                             C. M.\n                    There is a land, a happy land.\n\n  There is a land, a happy land\n    Where tears are wiped away\n  From every eye, by God's own hand,\n    And night is turned to day.\n\n  2 There is a home, a happy home,\n    Where way-worn travelers rest,\n  Where toil and languor never come,\n    And every mourner's blest.\n\n  3 There is a port, a peaceful port,\n    A safe and quiet shore,\n  Where weary mariners resort\n    And fear the storms no more.\n\n  4 There is a crown, a dazzling crown,\n    Bedecked with jewels fair;\n  And priests and kings of high renown,\n    That crown of glory wear.\n\n  5 That land be mine, that calm retreat,\n    That crown of glory bright;\n  Then I'll esteem each bitter sweet,\n    And every burden light.\n\n\n1130                                                          8s & 6s.\n                 The hope--laid up for you in heaven.\n                                    Col. 1:5.\n\n  There is an hour of peaceful rest,\n    To mourning wanderers given;\n  There is a tear for souls distressed,\n  A balm for every wounded breast--\n    'Tis found above--in heaven.\n\n  2 There is a home for weary souls,\n    By sins and sorrows driven;\n  When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals,\n  Where storms arise and ocean rolls,\n    And all is drear--but heaven.\n\n  3 There faith lifts up the tearless eye,\n    The heart with anguish riven;\n  It views the tempest passing by,\n  Sees evening shadows quickly fly,\n    And all serene--in heaven.\n\n  4 There fragrant flowers immortal bloom,\n    And joys supreme are given;\n  There rays divine disperse the gloom;\n  Beyond the dark and narrow tomb\n    Appears the dawn--of heaven.\n\n\n1131                                                             C. M.\n                            Rev. 15:2, 3.\n\n  Hark! hark! the voice of ceaseless praise,\n    Around Jehovah's throne;\n  Songs of celestial joy they raise,\n    To mortal lips unknown.\n\n  2 Upon the sea of glass they stand\n    In shining robes of light;\n  The harps of God are in their hand,\n    They rest not day or night.\n\n  3 O! for an angel's perfect love,\n    A seraph's soaring wing,\n  To sing with thousand saints above,\n    The triumphs of our King.\n\n  4 On earth our feeble voice we try,\n    In weakness and in shame,\n  We bless, we laud, we magnify,\n    We conquer in his name.\n\n  5 But, O! with pure and sinless heart,\n    His mercies to adore,\n  My God, to know thee as thou art,\n    Nor grieve thy Spirit more!\n\n  6 O! blessed hope! a \"little while,\"\n    And we, amidst that throng,\n  Shall live in our Redeemer's smile,\n    And swell the immortal song.\n\n\n1132                                                             C. M.\n                    Far up the everlasting hills.\n\n  There is a fold where none can stray,\n        And pastures ever green,\n  Where sultry sun, or stormy day,\n        Or night, is never seen.\n\n  2 Far up the everlasting hills,\n        In God's own light it lies;\n  His smile its vast dominion fills\n        With joy that never dies.\n\n  3 One narrow vale, one darksome wave,\n        Divides that land from this;\n  I have a Shepherd pledged to save,\n        And bear me home to bliss.\n\n  4 Soon at his feet my soul shall lie,\n        In life's last struggling breath;\n  But I shall only seem to die,\n        I shall not taste of death.\n\n  5 Far from this guilty world to be\n        Exempt from toil and strife;\n  To spend eternity with thee--\n        My Saviour, this is life!\n\n\n1133                                                             S. M.\n                 Inheritance of the saints in light.\n                                    Col. 1:12.\n\n  And is there, Lord, a rest\n    For weary souls designed,\n  Where not a care shall stir the breast,\n    Or sorrow entrance find?\n\n  2 Is there a blissful home,\n    Where kindred minds shall meet,\n  And live, and love, nor ever roam\n    From that serene retreat?\n\n  3 Are their bright, happy fields,\n    Where nought that blooms shall die;\n  Where each new scene fresh pleasure yields,\n    And healthful breezes sigh?\n\n  4 Are there celestial streams,\n    Where living waters glide,\n  With murmurs sweet as angel dreams,\n    And flowery banks beside?\n\n  5 For ever blessed they\n    Whose joyful feet shall stand,\n  While endless ages waste away,\n    Amid that glorious land!\n\n  6 My soul would thither tend\n    While toilsome years are given;\n  Then let me, gracious Lord, ascend\n    To sweet repose in heaven!\n\n\n1134                                                             S. M.\n                      I love to think of heaven.\n\n  I love to think of heaven,\n    Where white-robed angels are,\n  Where many a friend is gathered safe,\n    From fear, and toil, and care.\n                               CHORUS.\n      There will be no more parting there,\n      There will be no more parting there,\n      In heaven above, where all is love,\n      There will be no more parting there.\n\n  2 I love to think of heaven,\n    Where my Redeemer reigns,\n  Where rapturous songs of triumph rise,\n    In endless, joyous strains.\n\n  3 I love to think of heaven,\n    The saints' eternal home,\n  Where palms, and robes, and crowns ne'er fade,\n    And all our joys are one.\n\n  4 I love to think of heaven,\n    The greetings there we'll meet,\n  The harps--the songs for ever ours--\n    The walks--the golden streets.\n\n  5 I love to think of heaven,\n    That promised land so fair;\n  O how my raptured spirit longs\n    To be for ever there.\n\n\n1135                                                             S. M.\n                     Come, sing to me of heaven.\n\n  Come, sing to me of heaven,\n    When I'm about to die;\n  Sing songs of holy ecstasy,\n    To waft my soul on high.\n                               CHORUS.\n        There'll be no sorrow there,\n        There'll be no sorrow there,\n        In heaven above, where all is love,\n        There'll be no sorrow there.\n\n  2 When the last moment comes,\n    O, watch my dying face,\n  To catch the bright seraphic glow,\n    Which on each feature plays.\n\n  3 Then to my raptured ear\n    Let one sweet song be given;\n  Let music charm me last on earth,\n    And greet me first in heaven!\n\n\n1136                                                          6s & 4s.\n                            Hebrews 11:16.\n\n  Know ye that better land,\n        Where care's unknown?\n  Know ye that blessed band\n        Around the throne?\n  There, there is happiness,\n  There streams of purest bliss;\n  There, there are rest and peace--\n        There, there alone.\n\n  2 Yes, yes, we know that place,\n        We know it well;\n  Eye hath not seen his face,\n        Tongue can not tell;\n  There are the angels bright,\n  There saints enrobed in white,\n  All, all are clothed in light--\n        There, there they dwell.\n\n  3 O! we are weary here,\n        A little band,\n  Yet soon in glory there\n        We hope to stand;\n  Then let us haste away,\n  Speed o'er this world's dark way,\n  Unto that land of day--\n        That better land.\n\n  4 Come! hasten that sweet day,\n        Let time begone,\n  Come! Lord, make no delay,\n        On thy white throne;\n  Thy face we wish to see,\n  To dwell and reign with thee,\n  And, thine for ever be--\n        Thine, thine alone.\n\n\n1137                                                       7s, double.\n                 Who are these--and whence came they?\n                                    Rev. 7:13.\n\n  Who are these in bright array,\n    This exulting, happy throng,\n  Round the altar night and day,\n    Hymning one triumphant song?\n  \"Worthy is the Lamb, once slain,\n    Blessing, honor, glory, power,\n  Wisdom, riches, to obtain,\n    New dominion every hour.\"\n\n  2 These through fiery trials trod;\n    These from great affliction came;\n  Now, before the throne of God,\n    Sealed with his almighty name.\n  Clad in raiment pure and white,\n    Victor-palms in every hand,\n  Through their great Redeemer's might,\n    More than conquerors they stand.\n\n  3 Hunger, thirst, disease unknown,\n    On immortal fruits they feed;\n  Them the Lamb, amidst the throne,\n    Shall to living fountains lead;\n  Joy and gladness banish sighs;\n    Perfect love dispels all fears;\n  And for ever from their eyes\n    God shall wipe away their tears.\n\n\n1138                                                       7s, double.\n                     They rest from their labors.\n                                   Rev. 14:13.\n\n  High in yonder realms of light,\n    Dwell the raptured saints above;\n  Far beyond our feeble sight,\n    Happy in Immanuel's love:\n  Once they knew, like us below,\n    Pilgrims in this vale of tears,\n  Torturing pain and heavy woe,\n    Gloomy doubts, distressing fears.\n\n  2 'Mid the chorus of the skies,\n    'Mid the angelic lyres above,\n  Hark, their songs melodious rise,\n    Songs of praise to Jesus' love!\n  Happy spirits, ye are fled\n    Where no grief can entrance find;\n  Lulled to rest the aching head,\n    Soothed the anguish of the mind.\n\n  3 All is tranquil and serene,\n    Calm and undisturbed repose;\n  There no cloud can intervene,\n    There no angry tempest blows;\n  Every tear is wiped away,\n    Sighs no more shall heave the breast,\n  Night is lost in endless day,\n    Sorrow--in eternal rest.\n\n\n1139                                                      7s, 6s & 4s.\n                        Good night till then.\n\n  I journey forth rejoicing,\n    From this dark vale of tears,\n  To heavenly joy and freedom,\n    From earthly bonds and fears;\n  Where Christ our Lord shall gather\n    All his redeemed again,\n  His kingdom to inherit;--\n        Good night till then!\n\n  2 Go to thy quiet resting,\n    Poor tenement of clay!\n  From all thy pain and weakness\n    I gladly haste away;\n  But still in faith confiding\n    To find thee yet again,\n  All glorious and immortal;--\n        Good night till then!\n\n  3 Why thus so sadly weeping,\n    Beloved one of my heart?\n  The Lord is good and gracious,\n    Though now he bids us part.\n  Oft have we met in gladness,\n    And we shall meet again,\n  All sorrows left behind us;--\n        Good night till then!\n\n  4 I go to see his glory,\n    Whom we have loved below;\n  I go, the blessed angels,\n    The holy saints, to know;\n  Our lovely ones departed,\n    I go to find again,\n  And wait for you to join us;--\n        Good night till then!\n\n  5 I hear the Saviour calling;\n    The joyful hour has come:\n  The angel-guards are ready\n    To guide me to our home;\n  Where Christ our Lord shall gather\n    All his redeemed again,\n  His kingdom to inherit;--\n        Good night till then!\n\n\n1140                                                               7s.\n                            Rev. 7:13-17.\n\n  Palms of glory, raiment bright,\n    Crowns that never fade away,\n  Gird and deck the saints in light;\n    Priest, and kings, and conquerors they.\n\n  2 Yet the conquerors bring their palms\n    To the Lamb amidst the throne,\n  And proclaim in joyful psalms\n    Victory through his cross alone.\n\n  3 Kings for harps their crowns resign,\n    Crying, as they strike the chords,\n  \"Take the kingdom, it is thine,\n    King of kings, and Lord of lords!\"\n\n  4 Round the altar saints confess,\n    If their robes are white as snow,\n  'Twas the Saviour's wondrous grace,\n    And his blood, that made them so.\n\n  5 Who were these? on earth they dwelt;\n    Sinners once, of Adam's race;\n  Guilt, and fear, and suffering felt;\n    But were saved by sovereign grace.\n\n  6 They were mortal, too, like us:\n    Ah! when we, like them, must die,\n  May our souls, translated thus,\n    Triumph, reign and shine on high!\n\n\n1141                                                          7s & 6s.\n                  He hath prepared for them a city.\n                                   Heb. 11:16.\n\n  We are on our journey home,\n    Where Christ our Lord is gone;\n  We shall meet around his throne,\n    When he makes his people one\n      In the new Jerusalem.\n\n  2 We can see that distant home,\n    Though clouds rise dark between;\n  Faith views the radiant dome,\n    And a luster flashes keen\n      From the new Jerusalem.\n\n  3 O glory shining far\n    From the never-setting Sun!\n  O trembling morning star!\n    Our journey's almost done\n      To the new Jerusalem.\n\n  4 O holy! heavenly home!\n    O, rest eternal there!\n  When shall the exiles come,\n    Where they cease from earthly care,\n      In the new Jerusalem.\n\n  5 Our hearts are breaking now\n    Those mansions fair to see:\n  O Lord! thy heavens bow,\n    And raise us up with thee\n      To the new Jerusalem.\n\n\n1142                                                          8s & 7s.\n                        Arise and depart, etc.\n                                   Micah 2:16.\n\n  This is not my place of resting,\n    Mine a city yet to come;\n  Onward to it I am hasting--\n    On to my eternal home.\n\n  2 In it, all is light and glory,\n    O'er it shines a nightless day:\n  Every trace of sin's sad story,\n    All the curse has passed away.\n\n  3 There the Lamb, our Shepherd, leads us,\n    By the streams of life along;\n  On the freshest pastures feeds us,\n    Turns our sighing into song.\n\n  4 Soon we pass this desert dreary,\n    Soon we bid farewell to pain;\n  Never more be sad or weary,\n    Never, never sin again.\n\n\n1143                                                          S. M. D.\n                             Rev. 21:25.\n\n  There is no night in heaven:\n    In that blest world above\n  Work never can bring weariness,\n    For work itself is love.\n  There is no night in heaven:\n    Yet nightly round the bed\n  Of every Christian wanderer\n    Faith has an angel tread.\n\n  2 There is no grief in heaven:\n    For life is one glad day,\n  And tears are of those former things\n    Which all have passed away,\n  There is no grief in heaven:\n    Yet angels from on high,\n  On golden pinions earthward glide,\n    The Christian's tears to dry.\n\n  3 There is no want in heaven:\n    The Lamb of God supplies\n  Life's tree of twelvefold fruitage still,\n    Life's spring which never dries.\n  There is no want in heaven:\n    Yet in a desert land\n  The fainting prophet was sustained\n    And fed by angel's hand.\n\n  4 There is no sin in heaven!\n    Behold that blessed throng;\n  All holy is their spotless robes,\n    All holy is their song.\n  There is no sin in heaven:\n    Here who from sin is free?\n  Yet angels aid us in our strife\n    For Christ's true liberty.\n\n  5 There is no death in heaven:\n    For they who gain that shore\n  Have won their immortality,\n    And they can die no more.\n  There is no death in heaven;\n    But, when the Christian dies,\n  The angels wait his parting soul,\n    And waft it to the skies.\n\n\n1144                                                          7s & 6s.\n                          Reunion in heaven.\n\n  No seas again shall sever,\n    No desert intervene,\n  No deep sad-flowing river\n    Shall roll its tide between.\n\n  2 Love and unsevered union\n    Of soul with those we love,\n  Nearness and glad communion,\n    Shall be our joy above.\n\n  3 No dread of wasting sickness,\n    No thought of ache or pain,\n  No fretting hours of weakness,\n    Shall mar our peace again.\n\n  4 No death our homes o'ershading\n    Shall e'er our harps unstring\n  For all is life unfading\n    In presence of our King,\n\n\n1145                                                          7s & 6s.\n                       The beautiful of lands.\n\n  There is a land immortal,\n    The beautiful of lands;\n  Beside its ancient portal\n    A silent sentry stands;\n  He only can undo it,\n    And open wide the door;\n  And mortals who pass through it,\n    Are mortals nevermore.\n\n  2 Though dark and drear the passage\n    That leadeth to the gate,\n  Yet grace comes with the message,\n    To souls that watch and wait;\n  And at the time appointed\n    A messenger comes down,\n  And leads the Lord's anointed\n    From cross to glory's crown.\n\n  3 Their sighs are lost in singing,\n    They're blessed in their tears;\n  Their journey heavenward winging,\n    They leave on earth their fears:\n  Death like an angel seemeth;\n    \"We welcome thee,\" they cry;\n  Their face with glory beameth--\n    'Tis life for them to die!\n\n\n1146                                                          6s & 4s.\n                          Heaven is my home.\n\n  I'm but a stranger here;\n      Heaven is my home;\n  Earth is a desert drear;\n      Heaven is my home.\n  Danger and sorrow stand\n  Round me on every hand,\n  Heaven is my fatherland--\n      Heaven is my home.\n\n  2 What though the tempests rage,\n      Heaven is my home;\n  Short is my pilgrimage;\n      Heaven is my home.\n  And Time's wild wintry blast\n  Soon will be overpast,\n  I shall reach home at last;\n      Heaven is my home.\n\n  3 There at my Saviour's side,\n      Heaven is my home;\n  I shall be glorified;\n      Heaven is my home.\n  There with the good and blest,\n  Those I loved most and best,\n  I shall for ever rest:\n      Heaven is my home.\n\n  4 Therefore I'll murmur not;\n      Heaven is my home;\n  Whate'er my earthly lot,\n      Heaven is my home.\n  For I shall surely stand,\n  There at my Lord's right hand,\n  Heaven is my fatherland--\n      Heaven is my home.\n\n\n1147                                                          6s & 7s.\n                          The region above.\n\n  There's a region above,\n    Free from sin and temptation,\n  And a mansion of love,\n    For each heir of salvation.\n  Then dismiss all thy fears,\n    Weary pilgrim of sorrow;\n  Though thy sun set in tears,\n    'Twill rise brighter to-morrow.\n\n  2 There our toils will be done,\n    And free grace be our story,\n  God himself be our Sun,\n    And our unsetting glory.\n  In that world of delight\n    Spring shall never be ended,\n  Nor shall shadows nor night,\n    With its brightness be blended.\n\n  3 There shall friends no more part,\n    Nor shall farewells be spoken,\n  There'll be balm for the heart\n    That with anguish was broken.\n  From affliction set free,\n    And from God ne'er to sever,\n  We his glory shall see,\n    And enjoy him for ever.\n\n\n1148                                                          5s & 4s.\n                              Rev. 22:5.\n\n  No shadows yonder!\n  All light and song!\n  Each day I wonder,\n  And say how long\n  Shall time me sunder\n  From that dear throng?\n\n  2 No weeping yonder--\n  All fled away!\n  While here I wander\n  Each weary day,\n  And sigh as I ponder\n  My long, long stay.\n\n  3 No partings yonder--\n  Time and space never\n  Again shall sunder--\n  Hearts can not sever--\n  Dearer and fonder\n  Hands clasped for ever.\n\n  4 None wanting yonder--\n  Bought by the Lamb,\n  All gathered under\n  The evergreen palm--\n  Loud as night's thunder\n  Ascends the glad psalm.\n\n\n1149                                                          8s & 7s.\n                         Rest for the weary.\n\n  In the Christian's home in glory,\n    There remains a land of rest,\n  There my Saviour's gone before me\n    To fulfill my soul's request.\n                               CHORUS.\n        There is rest for the weary,\n        There is rest for you--\n        On the other side of Jordan,\n        In the sweet fields of Eden,\n        Where the tree of life is blooming,\n        There is rest for you.\n\n  2 He is fitting up my mansion,\n    Which eternally shall stand,\n  For my stay shall not be transient,\n    In that holy, happy land.\n\n  3 Pain nor sickness ne'er shall enter,\n    Grief nor woe my lot shall share,\n  But in that celestial center,\n    I a crown of life shall wear.\n\n  4 Death itself shall then be vanquished,\n    And his sting shall be withdrawn;\n  Shout for gladness, O ye ransomed!\n    Hail with joy the rising morn.\n\n  5 Sing, O sing, ye heirs of glory;\n    Shout your triumph as you go;\n  Zion's gates will open for you,\n    You shall find an entrance through.\n\n\n1150                                                               8s.\n                     What must it be to be there?\n\n  We speak of the realms of the blest,\n    That country so bright and so fair,\n  And oft are its glories confessed,\n    But what must it be to be there?\n\n  2 We speak of its pathways of gold,\n    Of its walls decked with jewels so rare,\n  Of its wonders and pleasures untold,\n    But what must it be to be there?\n\n  3 We speak of its freedom from sin,\n    From sorrow, temptation and care,\n  From trials without and within,\n    But what must it be to be there?\n\n  4 We speak of its service of love,\n    The robes which the glorified wear,\n  The Church of the First-born above,\n    But what must it be to be there?\n\n  5 O Lord, in this valley of woe,\n    Our spirits for heaven prepare;\n  Then shortly we also shall know\n    And feel what it is to be there.\n\n\n1151                                                          8s & 7s.\n                   Shall we know each other there?\n\n  When we hear the music ringing\n    In the bright celestial dome,\n  When sweet angel voices, singing,\n    Gladly bid us welcome home\n  To the land of ancient story,\n    Where the spirit knows no care,\n  In that land of light and glory,\n    Shall we know each other there?\n\n  2 When the holy angels meet us,\n    As we go to join their band,\n  Shall we know the friends that greet us\n    In the glorious spirit land?\n  Shall we see the same eyes shining\n    On us as in days of yore?\n  Shall we feel their dear arms twining\n    Fondly round us as before?\n\n  3 Yes, my earth-worn soul rejoices,\n    And my weary heart grows light,\n  For the sweet and cheerful voices,\n    And the forms so pure and bright,\n  That shall welcome us in heaven,\n    Are the loved of long ago;\n  And to them 'tis kindly given,\n    Thus their mortal friends to know.\n\n  4 O, ye weary, sad, and tossed ones,\n    Droop not, faint not by the way;\n  Ye shall join the loved and just ones\n    In the land of perfect day.\n  Harp-strings, touched by angel fingers,\n    Murmured in my raptured ear--\n  Evermore their sweet song lingers--\n    We shall know each other there.\n\n\n1152                                                          8s & 7s.\n                             Happy home.\n\n  In that world of ancient story,\n    Where no storms can ever come,\n  Where the Saviour dwells in glory,\n    There remains for us a home.\n                               CHORUS.\n        Happy home, happy home,\n        Jesus bids his followers come,\n        To that land of bliss and glory,\n        Our happy, happy home.\n\n  2 There within the heavenly mansions,\n    Where life's river flows so clear,\n  We shall see our blessed Saviour,\n    If we love and serve him here.\n\n  3 There with holy angels dwelling,\n    Where the ransomed wander free,\n  Jesus' praises ever telling,\n    Sing we through eternity.\n\n  4 There amid the shining numbers,\n    All our toils and labors o'er,\n  Where the Guardian never slumbers,\n    We shall dwell for evermore.\n\n\n1153                                                          6s & 4s.\n                             Almost home.\n\n  Is it a long way off?\n  O, no! a few more years,\n  A few more bitter tears--\n    We shall be there.\n  Sometimes the way seems long,\n  Our comforters all go,\n  Woe follows after woe,\n    Care after care.\n\n  2 O! brethren dear, how weak,\n  How faint and weak we are!\n  Yet Jesus leads us far\n    Through tangled ways\n  Into the very heart\n  Of this dark wilderness\n  Where dangers thickest press,\n    And Satan strays.\n\n  3 But he is strong and wise,\n  And we, his children blind,\n  Must trust his thoughtful mind\n    And tender care.\n  So gentle is his love,\n  We may be sure that sight\n  Would show us all is right,\n    And answered prayer.\n\n  4 'Tis no uncertain way\n  We tread, for Jesus still\n  Leads with unerring skill\n    Where'er we roam;\n  And from the desert wild\n  Soon shall our path emerge,\n  And land us on the verge\n    Of our dear home.\n\n\n1154                                                          6s & 4s.\n                           I'm going home.\n\n  I am a stranger here;\n    No home, no rest I see;\n  Not all earth counts most dear\n    Can win a sigh from me.\n              I'm going home.\n\n  2 Jesus, thy home is mine,\n    And I thy Father's child;\n  With hopes and joys divine,\n    The world's a dreary wild.\n              I'm going home.\n\n  3 Home! O! how soft and sweet,\n    It thrills upon the heart!\n  Home! where the brethren meet,\n    And never, never part.\n              I'm going home.\n\n  4 Home! where the Bridegroom takes\n    The purchase of his love:\n  Home! where the Father waits\n    To welcome saints above.\n              I'm going home.\n\n  5 Yes! when the world looks cold,\n    Which did my Lord revile,\n  A lamb within the fold,\n    I can look up and smile.\n              I'm going home.\n\n  6 When earth's delusive charms\n    Would snare my pilgrim feet,\n  I fly to Jesus' arms,\n    And yet again repeat,\n              I'm going home.\n\n  7 When breaks each mortal tie\n    That holds me from the goal,\n  This, this can satisfy\n    The cravings of my soul--\n              I'm going home.\n\n  8 Ah! gently, gently lead,\n    Along the painful way,\n  Bid every word and deed,\n    And every look to say,\n              I'm going home.\n\n\n1155                                                          7s & 6s.\n                       Strangers and pilgrims.\n                                   Heb. 11:13.\n\n  We have no home but heaven;\n    A pilgrim's garb we wear;\n  Our path is marked by changes,\n    And strewed with many a care;\n  Surrounded with temptation;\n    By varied ills oppressed;\n  Each day's experience warns us\n    That this is not our rest.\n\n  2 We have no home but heaven;\n    Then, wherefore seek one here?\n  Why murmur at privation,\n    Or grieve when trouble's near?\n  It is but for a season\n    That we as strangers roam,\n  And strangers must not look for\n    The comforts of a home.\n\n  3 We have no home but heaven;\n    We want no home beside;\n  O, God, our Friend and Father,\n    Our footsteps thither guide,\n  Unfold to us its glory,\n    Prepare us for its joy,\n  Its pure and perfect friendship,\n    Its angel-like employ.\n\n  4 We have a home in heaven:--\n    How cheering is the thought!\n  How bright the expectations\n    Which God's own word has taught!\n  With eager hearts we hasten\n    The promised bliss to share;\n  We have no home but heaven;--\n    O, would that we were there!\n\n\n1156                                                          8s & 7s.\n                   Shall we e'er forget the story?\n\n  When we reach a quiet dwelling,\n    On the strong eternal hills,\n  And our praise to him is swelling,\n    Who the vast creation fills;\n  When the paths of prayer and duty,\n    And affliction all are trod,\n  And we wake to see the beauty\n    Of our Saviour and our God:\n\n  2 With the light of resurrection,\n    When our changed bodies glow,\n  And we gain the full perfection\n    Of the bliss begun below;\n  When the life that flesh obscureth\n    In each radiant form shall shine,\n  And the joy that aye endureth,\n    Flashes forth in beams divine:\n\n  3 While we wave the palms of glory\n    Through the long eternal years,\n  Shall we e'er forget the story\n    Of our mortal griefs and fears?\n  Shall we e'er forget the sadness,\n    And the clouds that hung so dim,\n  When our hearts are filled with gladness,\n    And our tears are dried by him?\n\n  4 Shall the memory be banished\n    Of his kindness and his care,\n  When the wants and woes are vanished\n    Which he loved to soothe and share?\n  All the way by which he led us,\n    All the grievings which he bore,\n  All the patient love he taught us,\n    Shall we think of them no more?\n\n  5 Yes! we surely shall remember\n    How he quickened us from death--\n  How he fanned the dying ember\n    With his Spirit's glowing breath.\n  We shall read the tender meaning\n    Of the sorrows and alarms,\n  As we trod the desert, leaning\n    On his everlasting arms.\n\n  6 And his rest will be the dearer\n    When we think of weary ways,\n  And his light will seem the clearer\n    As we muse on cloudy days.\n  O 'twill be a glorious morrow\n    To a dark and stormy day!\n  We shall recollect our sorrow\n    As the streams that pass away.\n\n\n1157                                                      8s, 6 lines.\n                           Beautiful Zion.\n                                   Psalm 50:2.\n\n  Beautiful Zion, built above--\n  Beautiful city, that I love;\n  Beautiful gates of pearly white,\n  Beautiful temple--God its light!\n  He who was slain on Calvary\n  Opens those pearly gates to me.\n\n  2 Beautiful heaven, where all is light;\n  Beautiful angels, clothed in white;\n  Beautiful strains that never tire,\n  Beautiful harps through all the choir:\n  There shall I join the chorus sweet,\n  Worshiping at the Saviour's feet.\n\n  3 Beautiful crowns on every brow,\n  Beautiful palms the conquerors show,\n  Beautiful robes the ransomed wear,\n  Beautiful all who enter there!\n  Thither I press with eager feet;\n  There shall my rest be long and sweet.\n\n  4 Beautiful throne for Christ our King,\n  Beautiful songs the angels sing,\n  Beautiful rest--all wanderings cease--\n  Beautiful home of perfect peace;\n  There shall my eyes the Saviour see:\n  Haste to this heavenly home with me!\n\n\n1158                                                             P. M.\n                           The better land.\n\n  I hear thee speak of the better land,\n  Thou callest its children a happy band;\n  Mother! O where is that radiant shore,\n  Shall we not seek it, and weep no more?\n  Is it where the flower of the orange blows,\n  And the fire-flies dance in the myrtle boughs?\n      Not there! not there!\n\n  2 Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,\n  And the date grows ripe under sunny skies,\n  Or, 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,\n  Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,\n  And strange bright birds, on their starry wings,\n  Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?\n      Not there! not there!\n\n  3 Is it far away in some region old,\n  Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold,\n  And the burning rays of the rubies shine,\n  And the diamond lights up the secret mine?\n  And the pearl glows forth from the coral strand,\n  Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?\n      Not there! not there!\n\n  4 Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy,\n  Ear hath not heard its sweet song of joy!\n  Dreams can not picture a world so fair,\n  Sorrow and death may not enter there,\n  Time may not breathe on its fadeless bloom,\n  Far beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb!\n      'Tis there! 'tis there!\n\n\n1159                                                          9s & 8s.\n                           The Father-land.\n\n  There is a place where my hopes are stayed,\n    My heart and my treasure are there;\n  Where verdure and blossoms never fade,\n    And fields are eternally fair.\n                               CHORUS.\n        That blissful place is my father-land;\n          By faith its delights I explore;\n        Come, favor my flight, angelic band,\n          And waft me in peace to the shore.\n\n  2 There is a place where the angels dwell,\n    A pure and peaceful abode;\n  The joys of that place no tongue can tell;\n    For there is the palace of God!\n\n  3 There is a place where my friends are gone\n    Who suffered and worshiped with me!\n  Exalted with Christ, high on his throne,\n    The King in his beauty they see.\n\n  4 There is a place where I hope to live\n    When life and its labors are o'er,\n  A place which the Lord to me will give,\n    And then I shall sorrow no more.\n\n\n1160                                                         4s & 10s.\n                  The former things are passed away.\n                                    Rev. 21:4.\n\n          No sickness there,\n  No weary wasting of the frame away,\n    No fearful shrinking from the midnight air,\n  No dread of summer's bright and fervid ray.\n\n          2 No hidden grief,\n  No wild and cheerless vision of despair,\n    No vain petition for a swift relief,\n  No tearful eye, no broken hearts are there.\n\n          3 Care has no home\n  Within that realm of ceaseless praise and song:\n    Its tossing billows break and melt in foam,\n  Far from the mansions of the spirit-throng.\n\n          4 No parted friends\n  O'er mournful recollections have to weep!\n    No bed of death enduring love attends,\n  To watch the coming of a pulseless sleep.\n\n          5 No blasted flower\n  Or withered bud celestial gardens grow!\n    No scorching blast or fierce descending shower\n  Scatters destruction like a ruthless foe!\n\n          6 No battle-word\n  Startles the sacred host with fear and dread!\n    The song of peace, Creation's morning heard,\n  Is sung wherever angel-minstrels tread!\n\n          7 Let us depart\n  If scenes like these await the weary soul!\n    Look up, thou stricken one! Thy wounded heart,\n  Shall bleed no more at sorrow's stern control!\n\n          8 With faith our guide,\n  White-robed and innocent, to lead the way,\n    Why fear to plunge in Jordan's rolling tide,\n  And find the ocean of eternal day!\n\n\n1161                                                             P. M.\n                        That beautiful world.\n\n  We're going home, we've had visions bright\n  Of that holy land, that world of light,\n  Where the long, dark night of time is past,\n  And the morn of eternity dawns at last;\n  Where the weary saint no more shall roam,\n  But dwell in a happy, peaceful home:\n  Where the brow with sparkling gems is crowned,\n  And the waves of bliss are flowing round.\n  O, that beautiful world! O, that beautiful world!\n\n  2 We're going home, we soon shall be,\n  Where the sky is clear, and all are free:\n  Where the victor's song floats o'er the plains,\n  And the seraph's anthems blend with its strains;\n  Where the sun rolls down its brilliant flood,\n  And beams on a world that is fair and good;\n  Where stars, once dimmed at nature's doom,\n  Will ever shine o'er the new earth's bloom.\n  O, that beautiful world! O, that beautiful world!\n\n  3 'Mid the ransomed throng, 'mid the seas of bliss,\n  'Mid the holy city's gorgeousness;\n  'Mid the verdant plains, 'mid angels' cheer,\n  'Mid the saints that round the throne appear;\n  Where the conqueror's song, as it sounds afar,\n  Is wafted on the ambrosial air;\n  Through endless years we then shall prove,\n  The worth of a Saviour's matchless love.\n  O, that beautiful world! O, that beautiful world.\n\n\n1162                                                             P. M.\n                        The sun-bright clime.\n\n  Have you heard, have you heard of that sun-bright clime,\n  Undimmed by sorrow, unhurt by time;\n  Where age hath no power o'er the fadeless frame--\n  Where the eye is fire, and the heart is flame--\n    Have you heard of that sun-bright clime?\n\n  2 A river of water gushes there,\n  'Mid flowers of beauty strangely fair,\n  And a thousand wings are hovering o'er\n  The dazzling wave and the golden shore\n    That are seen in that sun-bright clime.\n\n  3 Millions of forms, all clothed in white,\n  In garments of beauty, clear and bright,\n  There dwell in their own immortal bowers,\n  'Mid fadeless hues of countless flowers\n    That bloom in that sun-bright clime.\n\n  4 Ear hath not heard, and eye hath not seen,\n  Their swelling songs, and their changeless sheen;\n  Their ensigns are waving, their banners unfurl,\n  O'er jasper walls and gates of pearl,\n    That are fixed in that sun-bright clime.\n\n  5 But far, far away is that sinless clime,\n  Undimmed by sorrow, unhurt by time;\n  Where, amid all things bright and fair, is given\n  The home of the just, and its name is heaven--\n    The name of that sun-bright clime.\n\n\n1163                                                             P. M.\n                  We'll be there in a little while.\n\n  We have heard of that bright, that holy land,\n    We have heard, and our hearts are glad,\n  For we are a lonely pilgrim band;\n    We are weary, and worn, and sad.\n  They tell us that pilgrims are dwelling there,\n    No more are they called homeless ones,\n  And they say that the goodly land is fair,\n    Where the fountain of life ever runs.\n                               CHORUS.\n  We'll be there, we'll be there in a little while,\n    And we'll join with the pure and blest,\n  We'll all have the palms, the robes, the crowns,\n    And we'll be for ever at rest.\n\n  2 We have heard of the palms, the robes, the crowns,\n    Of that silvery band in white,\n  Of the city fair with its golden gates\n    All radiant with heavenly light.\n  We have heard of the angels there, and saints\n    With their golden harps, how they sing,\n  And the mount, with the fruitful tree of life,\n    And the leaves that healing bring.\n\n  3 There are beautiful birds in the bowers green,\n    Their songs are blythe and sweet,\n  Their warbling gushing ever new,\n    The angel harpers greet.\n  We'll be there, we'll be there in a little while,\n    And we'll join with the pure and blest;\n  We'll all have the palms, the robes, the crowns,\n    And we'll be for ever at rest.\n\n\n1164                                                             P. M.\n                       Shall we sing in heaven?\n\n    Shall we sing in heaven for ever,\n          Shall we sing?\n    Shall we sing in heaven for ever,\n          In that happy land?\n  Yes! O, yes! in that land, that happy land,\n    They that meet shall sing for ever,\n    Far beyond the rolling river,\n        Meet to sing, and love for ever,\n          In that happy land.\n\n    2 Shall we know each other ever,\n          In that land?\n    Shall we know each other ever,\n          In that happy land?\n  Yes! O, yes! in that land, that happy land,\n    They that meet shall know each other,\n    Far beyond the rolling river, etc.\n\n    3 Shall we sing with holy angels\n          In that land?\n    Shall we sing with holy angels\n          In that happy land?\n  Yes! O, yes! in that land, that happy land,\n    Saints and angels sing for ever,\n    Far beyond the rolling river, etc.\n\n    4 Shall we rest from care and sorrow,\n          In that land?\n    Shall we rest from care and sorrow,\n          In that happy land?\n  Yes! O, yes! in that land, that happy land,\n    They that meet shall rest for ever,\n    Far beyond the rolling river, etc.\n\n    5 Shall me meet our dear, lost children,\n        In that land?\n    Shall me meet our dear, lost children,\n        In that happy land?\n  Yes! O, yes! in that land, that happy land,\n    Children meet and sing for ever,\n    Far beyond the rolling river, etc.\n\n    6 Shall we meet our Christian parents,\n          In that land?\n    Shall we meet our Christian parents,\n          In that happy land?\n  Yes! O, yes! in that land, that happy land,\n    Parents and children meet together,\n    Far beyond the rolling river, etc.\n\n    7 Shall we meet our faithful teachers\n          In that land?\n    Shall we meet our faithful teachers\n          In that happy land?\n  Yes! O, yes! in that land, that happy land,\n    Teachers and scholars meet together,\n    Far beyond the rolling river, etc.\n\n    8 Shall we know our blessed Saviour\n          In that land?\n    Shall we know our blessed Saviour\n          In that happy land?\n  Yes! O, yes! in that land, that happy land,\n    We shall know our blessed Saviour\n    Far beyond the rolling river,\n    Love and serve him there for ever.\n      In that happy land.\n\n\n1165                                                             P. M.\n                    Behold I make all things new.\n                                    Rev. 21:5.\n\n  That clime is not like this dull clime of ours;\n      All, all is brightness there;\n  A sweeter influence breathes around its flowers,\n      And a benigner air.\n  No calm below is like that calm above,\n  No region here is like that realm of love;\n  Earth's softest spring ne'er shed so soft a light,\n  Earth's brightest summer never shone so bright.\n\n  2 That sky is not like this sad sky of ours,\n      Tinged with earth's change and care;\n  No shadow dims it, and no rain-cloud lowers;\n      No broken sunshine there:\n  One everlasting stretch of azure pours\n  Its stainless splendor o'er those sinless shores:\n  For there Jehovah shines with heavenly ray,\n  And Jesus reigns, dispensing endless day.\n\n  3 The dwellers there are not like those of earth,\n      No mortal stain they bear;\n  And yet they seem of kindred blood and birth;\n      Whence and how came they there?\n  Earth was their native soil; from sin and shame,\n  Through tribulation, they to glory came;\n  Bond-slaves delivered from sin's crushing load,\n  Brands plucked from burning by the hand of God.\n\n  4 Yon robes of theirs are not like those below;\n      No angel's half so bright:\n  Whence came that beauty, whence that living glow,\n      And whence that radiant white?\n  Washed in the blood of the atoning Lamb,\n  Fair as the light these robes of theirs became;\n  And now, all tears wiped off from every eye,\n  They wander where the freshest pastures lie.\n\n\n1166                                                         11s & 5s.\n                        The home of the soul.\n\n  Oh where can the soul find relief from its foes?\n  A shelter of safety, a home of repose?\n  Can earth's highest summit, or deepest hid vale,\n  Give a refuge, nor sorrow, nor sin can assail?\n        No, no! there's no home!\n  There's no home on earth--the soul has no home.\n\n  2 Shall it leave the low earth, and soar to the sky,\n  And seek for a home in the mansions on high!\n  In the bright realms of bliss will a dwelling be given,\n  And the soul find a home in the glory of heaven?\n        Yes, yes! there's a home!\n  There's a home in high heaven--the soul has a home.\n\n  3 O! holy and sweet its rest shall be there!\n  Free for ever from sin, and from sorrow and care;\n  And the loud hallelujahs of angels shall rise,\n  To welcome the soul to its home in the skies!\n        Home, home! home of the soul!\n  The bosom of God is the home of the soul!\n\n\n1167                                                             P. M.\n                        Ever-green mountains.\n\n  There's a land far away, 'mid the stars, we are told,\n    Where they know not the sorrows of time,\n  Where the pure waters wander through valleys of gold,\n    And where life is a treasure sublime;\n  'Tis the land of our God--'tis the home of the soul,\n    Where the ages of splendor eternally roll:\n  Where the way-weary traveler reaches his goal,\n    On the ever-green mountains of life.\n\n  2 Here our gaze can not soar to that beautiful land,\n    But our visions have told of its bliss,\n  And our souls by the gale from its gardens are fanned,\n    When we faint in the deserts of this;\n  And we sometimes have longed for its holy repose,\n    When our spirits were torn with temptation and woes,\n  And we've drank from the tide of the river that flows\n    From the ever-green mountains of life.\n\n  3 O the stars never tread the blue heavens by night,\n    But we think where the ransomed have trod,\n  And the day never smiles from his palace of light,\n    But we feel the bright smiles of our God.\n  We are traveling homeward thro' changes and gloom,\n    To a kingdom where pleasures unchangingly bloom;\n  And our guide is the glory that shines thro' the tomb\n    From the ever-green mountains of life.\n\n\n1168                                                             P. M.\n                           Within the vail.\n                                    Heb. 6:19.\n\n  Upon the frontier of this shadowy land\n  We, pilgrims of eternal sorrow, stand:\n    What realm lies forward, with its happier store\n        Of forests green and deep,\n        Of valleys hushed in sleep,\n    And lakes most peaceful? 'Tis the land of\n            Evermore.\n\n  2 Very far off its marble cities seem--\n  Very far off--beyond our sensual dream--\n    Its woods, unruffled by the wild wind's roar:\n        Yet does the turbulent surge\n        Howl on its very verge.\n    One moment--and we breathe within the\n            Evermore.\n\n  3 They whom we loved and lost so long ago,\n  Dwell in those cities far from mortal woe--\n    Haunt those fresh woodlands, whence sweet carrollings soar.\n        Eternal peace have they:\n        God wipes their tears away:\n    They drink that river of life which flows for\n            Evermore.\n\n  4 Thither we hasten through these regions dim,\n  But, lo! the wide wings of the seraphim\n    Shine in the sunset! On that joyous shore\n        Our lightened hearts shall know\n        The life of long ago:\n    The sorrow-burdened path shall fade for\n            Evermore.\n\n\n1169                                                              10s.\n                         No night in heaven.\n\n  No night shall be in heaven! no gathering gloom\n  Shall o'er that glorious landscape ever come;\n  No tears shall fall in sadness o'er those flowers\n  That breathe their fragrance through celestial bowers.\n\n  2 No night shall be in heaven! no dreadful hour\n  Of mental darkness, of the tempter's power--\n  Across these skies no envious clouds shall roll,\n  To dim the sunlight of the raptured soul.\n\n  3 No night shall be in heaven. Forbid to sleep,\n  These eyes no more their mournful vigils keep;\n  Their fountains dried--their tears all wiped away--\n  They gaze undazzled on eternal day.\n\n  4 No night shall be in heaven--no sorrow's reign;\n  No secret anguish, no corporeal pain;\n  No shivering limbs, no burning fever there;\n  No soul's eclipse, no winter of despair.\n\n  5 No night shall be in heaven, but endless noon--\n  No fast declining sun, no waning moon:\n  But there the Lamb shall yield perpetual light,\n  'Mid pastures green, and waters ever bright.\n\n\n\n\n                          HOME--THE FAMILY.\n\n\n1170                                                             L. M.\n                 I will make there an altar unto God.\n                                    Gen. 35:3.\n\n  Thou sovereign Lord of earth and skies,\n  Supremely good, supremely wise;\n  Fix thou the place of our abode;\n  But may we still live near to God.\n\n  2 Where'er our dwelling shall be found,\n  We will thy throne of grace surround;\n  An altar to thy name will raise,\n  With sacrifice of prayer and praise.\n\n  3 With faith and with devotion, Lord!\n  Teach us each day to hear thy word:\n  Grant us thy light to learn thy will,\n  And strength our duties to fulfill.\n\n  4 Our circles with thy presence bless;\n  Keep out each root of bitterness;\n  And may, to each, the last remove\n  Be to the mansions of thy love.\n\n\n1171                                                             C. M.\n                           The happy home.\n\n  Happy the home, when God is there,\n    And love fills every breast;\n  Where one their wish, and one their prayer,\n    And one their heavenly rest.\n\n  2 Happy the home, where Jesus' name\n    Is sweet to every ear;\n  Where children early lisp his fame\n    And parents hold him dear.\n\n  3 Happy the home where prayer is heard,\n    And praise is wont to rise;\n  Where parents love the sacred word,\n    And live but for the skies.\n\n  4 Lord! let us in our homes agree,\n    This blessed peace to gain;\n  Unite our hearts in love to thee,\n    And love to all will reign.\n\n\n1172                                                          C. M. D.\n                          My mother's Bible.\n\n  This book is all that's left me now,\n    Tears will unbidden start,\n  With faltering heart and throbbing brow,\n    I press it to my heart.\n  For many generations past,\n    Here is our family tree;\n  My mother's hand this Bible clasped;\n    She dying gave it me.\n\n  2 Ah! well do I remember those\n    Whose name these records bear;\n  Who round the hearth-stone used to close,\n    After the evening prayer,\n  And tell of what those pages said,\n    In terms my heart would thrill!\n  Though they are with the silent dead,\n    Here are they living still.\n\n  3 My father read this holy book\n    To brothers, sisters dear;\n  How calm was my poor mother's look,\n    Who leaned God's word to hear.\n  Her angel face--I see it yet!\n    What thronging memories come!\n  Again that little group is met,\n    Within the walls of home.\n\n  4 Thou truest friend man ever knew,\n    Thy constancy I've tried;\n  Where all were false, I found thee true--\n    My counselor and guide.\n  The mines of earth no treasures give,\n    That could this volume buy;\n  In teaching me the way to live,\n    It taught me how to die.\n\n\n1173                                                             S. M.\n                     As for me and my house, etc.\n                                   Josh. 24:15.\n\n  In all my ways, O God!\n    I would acknowledge thee;\n  And seek to keep my heart and house\n    From all pollution free.\n\n  2 Where'er I have a tent,\n    An altar will I raise;\n  And thither my oblations bring\n    Of humble prayer and praise.\n\n  3 Could I my wish obtain,\n    My household, Lord, should be\n  Devoted to thyself alone,\n    A nursery for thee.\n\n\n1174                                                             H. M.\n                          A birth-day hymn.\n\n  God of my life, to thee\n    My cheerful soul I raise,\n  Thy goodness bade me be,\n    And still prolongs my days:\n  I see my natal hour return,\n  And bless the day that I was born.\n\n  2 Though but a child of earth,\n    I glorify thy name,\n  From whom alone my birth,\n    And all my blessing came;\n  Creating and preserving grace\n  Let all that is within me praise.\n\n  3 My soul, and all its powers,\n    Thine, wholly thine shall be;\n  All, all my happy hours\n    I consecrate to thee;\n  Whate'er I have, whate'er I am,\n  Shall magnify my Maker's name.\n\n  4 Long as I live beneath,\n    To thee O let me live,\n  To thee my every breath\n    In thanks and blessings give;\n  Me to thine image, Lord, restore,\n  And I shall praise thee evermore.\n\n\n1175                                                          8s & 7s.\n                  For thy name's sake, lead me etc.\n                                   Psalm 31:3.\n\n  Gently, Lord, O gently lead us\n    Through this gloomy vale of tears,\n  Through the changes thou'st decreed us,\n    Till our last great change appears.\n      O! refresh us with thy blessing,\n        O! refresh us with thy grace,\n      May thy mercies never ceasing,\n        Fit us for thy dwelling place.\n\n  2 When temptation's darts assail us,\n    When in devious paths we stray,\n  Let thy goodness never fail us,\n    Lead us in thy perfect way.\n        O! refresh us with thy blessing, etc.\n\n  3 In the hour of pain and anguish,\n    In the hour when death draws near,\n  Suffer not our hearts to languish,\n    Suffer not our souls to fear.\n        O! refresh us with thy blessing, etc.\n\n  4 When this mortal life is ended,\n    Bid us in thine arms to rest,\n  Till by angel bands attended,\n    We awake among the blest.\n        O! refresh us with thy blessing, etc.\n\n  5 Then, O! crown us with thy blessing,\n    Through the triumphs of thy grace;\n  Then shall praises never ceasing,\n    Echo through thy dwelling place.\n        O! refresh us with thy blessing, etc.\n\n\n\n\n                            MORNING HYMNS.\n\n\n1176                                                             L. M.\n                     They are new every morning.\n                                    Lam. 3:23.\n\n  New every morning is the love\n  Our wakening and uprising prove;\n  Through sleep and darkness safely brought,\n  Restored to life, and power, and thought.\n\n  2 New mercies, each returning day,\n  Hover around us while we pray:\n  New perils past, new sins forgiven,\n  New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.\n\n  3 Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be\n  As more of heaven in each we see;\n  Some softening gleam of love and prayer\n  Shall dawn on every cross and care.\n\n  4 Only, O Lord, in thy dear love,\n  Fit us for perfect rest above,\n  And keep us this, and every day,\n  To live more nearly as we pray.\n\n\n1177                                                             L. M.\n                   Be thou their arm every morning.\n                                   Isaiah 33:2.\n\n  Lord of eternal truth and might!\n    Ruler of nature's changing scheme!\n  Who dost bring forth the morning light,\n    And temper noon's effulgent beam:\n\n  2 Quench thou in us the flames of strife,\n    And bid the heat of passion cease;\n  From perils guard our feeble life,\n    And keep our souls in perfect peace.\n\n\n1178                                                             L. M.\n                I have set the Lord always before me.\n                                   Psalm 16:8.\n\n  Forth in thy name, O Lord! I go,\n    My daily labors to pursue;\n  Thee, only thee, resolved to know\n    In all I think, or speak, or do.\n\n  2 Thee will I set at my right hand,\n    Whose eyes mine inmost substance see,\n  And labor on at thy command,\n    And offer all my works to thee.\n\n  3 For thee delightfully employ\n    Whate'er thy bounteous grace hath given,\n  And run my course with constant joy,\n    And closely walk with thee to heaven.\n\n\n1179                                                             L. M.\n                Be thou in the fear of the Lord, etc.\n                                   Prov. 23:17.\n\n  God of the morning, at whose voice\n    The cheerful sun makes haste to rise,\n  And, like a giant, doth rejoice\n    To run his journey through the skies!\n\n  2 O, like the sun may I fulfill\n    The appointed duties of the day;\n  With ready mind, and active will,\n    March on and keep my heavenly way.\n\n\n1180                                                             L. M.\n              Burn thereon sweet incense every morning.\n                                   Exodus 30:7.\n\n  I praise thy name, O God of Light,\n  For rest and safety through the night;\n  Beneath thy wing securely kept,\n  I closed my eyes and sweetly slept.\n\n  2 Redeemed from weariness, I rise\n  To greet the light with cheerful eyes;\n  And with the birds on joyful wing,\n  My soul would rise, and sweetly sing.\n\n  3 I thank thee, Lord, for all thy care,\n  For all the blessings that I share--\n  Life, reason, health, and home, and friends,\n  And every gift thy goodness sends.\n\n  4 O let me never, never cease\n  To cherish trust and thankfulness:\n  From thee, thou Maker of my frame,\n  Each undeserved blessing came.\n\n  5 As numberless as stars of heaven,\n  Are the rich bounties thou hast given;\n  And fresh as dews, and sweet as flowers,\n  The love that smiles on all my hours.\n\n  6 O let me to thy altar bring\n  A pure and grateful offering;\n  And let my thanks, as incense, rise\n  In Christ, a pleasing sacrifice.\n\n\n1181                                                             L. M.\n                        A morning invocation.\n\n  Awake, my soul! and with the sun\n  Thy daily course of duty run;\n  Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise\n  To pay thy morning sacrifice.\n\n  2 Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart!\n  And with the angels bear thy part,\n  Who, all night long, unwearied sing\n  Glory to the eternal King.\n\n  3 Glory to thee, who safe hast kept,\n  And hast refreshed me, while I slept:\n  Grant, Lord! when I from death shall wake,\n  I may of endless life partake.\n\n  4 Lord! I my vows to thee renew;\n  Scatter my sins as morning dew;\n  Guard my first springs of thought and will,\n  And with thyself my spirit fill.\n\n\n1182                                                             C. M.\n                     He giveth his beloved sleep.\n                                   Psalm 127:2.\n\n  Lord of my life! O may thy praise\n    Employ my noblest powers,\n  Whose goodness lengthens out my days\n    And fills the circling hours.\n\n  2 While many spent the night in sighs,\n    And restless pains and woes,\n  In gentle sleep I closed my eyes,\n    And undisturbed repose.\n\n  3 O let the same Almighty care\n    My waking hours attend;\n  From every danger, every snare,\n    My heedless steps defend.\n\n  4 Smile on my minutes as they roll,\n    And guide my future days;\n  And let thy goodness fill my soul\n    With gratitude and praise.\n\n\n1183                                                             C. M.\n                         In the morning, etc.\n                                    Psalm 5:3.\n\n  To thee let my first offerings rise,\n    Whose sun creates the day;\n  Swift as his gladdening influence flies,\n    And spotless as his ray.\n\n  2 This day thy favoring hand be nigh,\n    So oft vouchsafed before:\n  Still may it lead, protect, supply,\n    And I that hand adore.\n\n  3 If bliss thy providence impart,\n    For which, resigned, I pray;\n  Give me to feel the grateful heart,\n    And thus thy love repay.\n\n  4 Afflictions should thy love intend,\n    As vice or folly's cure,\n  Patient to gain that glorious end,\n    May I the means endure!\n\n  5 Be this and every future day\n    Still wiser than the past,\n  And when I all my life survey,\n    May grace sustain at last.\n\n\n1184                                                             S. M.\n                      A morning without clouds.\n                                   2 Sam. 23:4.\n\n  See how the rising sun\n    Pursues his shining way;\n  And wide proclaims his Maker's praise,\n    With every brightening ray.\n\n  2 Thus would my rising soul\n    Its heavenly parent sing;\n  And to its great Original\n    An humble tribute bring.\n\n  3 O may I grateful use\n    The blessings I receive;\n  And ne'er in thought, in word, or deed,\n    His holy Spirit grieve.\n\n  4 May all my days and powers\n    Be sacred, Lord, to thee:\n  And in thy presence may I spend\n    A blest eternity!\n\n\n1185                                                             S. M.\n               I will sing of thy mercy in the morning.\n                                   Psalm 59:16.\n\n  The morning light returns,\n    The sun begins to shine;\n  Now let our souls in haste arise,\n    To run the race divine.\n\n  2 We praise the Father's love,\n    Who kept us through the night;\n  O may his kindness be our song,\n    His pleasure our delight.\n\n  3 While passing through this day,\n    Lord, we implore thy care,\n  To guide us on the heavenly way,\n    And guard from every snare.\n\n  4 And when our life shall close,\n    O may it be in peace;\n  May we lie down in sweet repose,\n    And wake in endless bliss.\n\n\n1186                                                               7s.\n               My voice shalt thou hear in the morning.\n                                    Psalm 5:3.\n\n  Now the shades of night are gone;\n  Now the morning light is come;\n  Lord, may I be thine to-day--\n  Drive the shades of sin away.\n\n  2 Fill my soul with heavenly light,\n  Banish doubt, and cleanse my sight;\n  In thy service, Lord, to-day,\n  Help me labor, help me pray.\n\n  3 Keep my haughty passions bound--\n  Save me from my foes around;\n  Going out and coming in,\n  Keep me safe from every sin.\n\n  4 When my work of life is past,\n  O! receive me then at last!\n  When I reach the heavenly shore,\n  Night of sin will be no more.\n\n\n1187                                                               7s.\n                              Psalm 3:5.\n\n  Thou that dost my life prolong,\n  Kindly aid my morning song;\n  Thankful let my offerings rise\n  To the God that rules the skies.\n\n  2 Gently, with the dawning ray,\n  On my soul thy beams display;\n  Sweeter than the smiling morn,\n  Let thy cheering light return.\n\n\n1188                                                          7s & 3s.\n                        The Lord God is a Sun.\n                                   Psalm 84:11.\n\n  Jesus, Sun of Righteousness,\n    Brightest beam of love divine,\n  With the early morning rays\n    Do thou on our darkness shine,\n  And dispel with purest light\n        All our night!\n\n  2 Like the sun's reviving ray,\n    May thy love, with tender glow,\n  All our coldness melt away,\n    Warm and cheer us forth to go,\n  Gladly serve thee and obey\n        All the day!\n\n  3 Thou, our only Life and Guide!\n    Never leave us nor forsake:\n  In thy light may we abide\n    Till the eternal morning break--\n  Moving on to Zion's hill\n        Homeward still!\n\n\n\n\n                            EVENING HYMNS.\n\n\n1189                                                             L. M.\n                Hide me under the shadow of thy wings.\n                                   Psalm 17:8.\n\n  Glory to thee, my God, this night,\n  For all the blessings of the light;\n  Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,\n  Beneath thine own almighty wings.\n\n  2 Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,\n  The ill which I this day have done;\n  That with the world, myself, and thee,\n  I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.\n\n  3 Teach me to live, that I may dread\n  The grave as little as my bed;\n  Teach me to die, that so I may\n  Rise glorious at thy Judgment-day.\n\n  4 O let my soul on thee repose,\n  And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close;\n  Sleep, which shall me more vigorous make,\n  To serve my God when I awake.\n\n  5 Be thou my guardian while I sleep,\n  Thy watchful station near me keep;\n  My heart with love celestial fill,\n  And guard me from the approach of ill.\n\n  6 Lord, let my soul for ever share\n  The bliss of thy paternal care:\n  'Tis heaven on earth, 'tis heaven above,\n  To see thy face and sing thy love!\n\n\n1190                                                             L. M.\n                     I will lay me down in peace.\n                                    Psalm 4:8.\n\n  Thus far the Lord has led me on;\n    Thus far his power prolongs my days;\n  And every evening shall make known,\n    Some fresh memorial of his grace.\n\n  2 Much of my time has run to waste,\n    And I, perhaps, am near my home;\n  But he forgives my follies past;\n    He gives me strength for days to come.\n\n  3 I lay my body down to sleep;\n    Peace is the pillow for my head;\n  While well-appointed angels keep\n    Their watchful stations round my bed.\n\n  4 Thus, when the night of death shall come,\n    My flesh shall rest beneath the ground,\n  And wait thy voice to rouse my tomb,\n    With sweet salvation in the sound.\n\n\n1191                                                             C. M.\n                     The angel of the Lord, etc.\n                                   Psalm 34:7.\n\n  And now another day is gone,\n    I'll sing my Maker's praise;\n  My comforts every hour make known\n    His providence and grace.\n\n  2 I lay my body down to sleep;\n    Let angels guard my head;\n  And through the hours of darkness keep\n    Their watch around my bed.\n\n  3 With cheerful heart I close my eyes,\n    Since thou wilt not remove;\n  And in the morning let me rise,\n    Rejoicing in thy love.\n\n\n1192                                                             C. M.\n                 Let my prayer come before thee, etc.\n                                   Psalm 141:2.\n\n  Blest Sovereign, let my evening song\n    Like holy incense rise;\n  Assist the offerings of my tongue\n    To reach the lofty skies.\n\n  2 Through all the dangers of the day,\n    Thy hand was still my guard;\n  And still, to drive my wants away,\n    Thy mercy stood prepared.\n\n  3 Perpetual blessings from above\n    Encompass me around;\n  But O how few returns of love\n    Hath my Creator found!\n\n  4 Lord, with this guilty heart of mine,\n    To thy dear cross I flee;\n  And to thy grace my soul resign,\n    To be renewed by thee.\n\n\n1193                                                             C. M.\n                         The day goeth away.\n                                    Jer. 6:4.\n\n  Hail, tranquil hour of closing day!\n    Begone, disturbing care;\n  And look, my soul, from earth away,\n    To him who heareth prayer.\n\n  2 How sweet the tear of penitence,\n    Before his throne of grace,\n  While, to the contrite spirit's sense,\n    He shows his smiling face.\n\n  3 How sweet, through long remembered years,\n    His mercies to recall;\n  And, pressed with wants, and griefs, and fears,\n    To trust his love for all.\n\n  4 How sweet to look, in thoughtful hope,\n    Beyond this fading sky,\n  And hear him call his children up\n    To his fair home on high.\n\n  5 Calmly the day forsakes our heaven,\n    To dawn beyond the west;\n  So let my soul, in life's last even,\n    Retire to glorious rest.\n\n\n1194                                                          C. M. D.\n                   The shadows of the evening, etc.\n                                    Jer. 6:4.\n\n  The shadows of the evening hours\n    Fall from the darkening sky;\n  Upon the fragrance of the flowers\n    The dews of evening lie:\n  Before thy throne, O Lord of heaven,\n    We kneel at close of day;\n  Look on thy children from on high,\n    And hear us while we pray.\n\n  2 The sorrows of thy servants, Lord,\n    O, do not thou despise;\n  But let the incense of our prayers\n    Before thy mercy rise;\n  The brightness of the coming night\n    Upon the darkness rolls:\n  With hopes of future glory chase\n    The shadows on our souls.\n\n  3 Slowly the rays of daylight fade;\n    So fade within our heart\n  The hopes in earthly love and joy,\n    That one by one depart;\n  Slowly the bright stars, one by one,\n    Within the heavens shine;\n  Give us, O Lord, fresh hopes in heaven\n    And trust in things divine.\n\n  4 Let peace, O Lord, thy peace, O God,\n    Upon our souls descend;\n  From midnight fears and perils, thou\n    Our trembling hearts defend;\n  Give us a respite from our toil,\n    Calm and subdue our woes;\n  Through the long day we suffer, Lord,\n    O, give us now repose!\n\n\n1195                                                             S. M.\n                  Now is our salvation nearer, etc.\n                                   Rom. 13:11.\n\n  A sweetly solemn thought,\n    Comes to me o'er and o'er;\n  To-day, I'm nearer to my home\n    Than e'er I've been before.\n\n  2 Nearer my Father's house,\n    Where many mansions be,\n  And nearer to the great white throne,\n    Nearer the crystal sea;\n\n  3 Nearer the bound of life,\n    Where falls my burden down;\n  Nearer to where I leave my cross,\n    And where I gain my crown.\n\n  4 Saviour, confirm my trust,\n    Complete my faith in thee;\n  And let me feel as if I stood\n    Close on eternity;\n\n  5 Feel as if now my feet\n    Were slipping o'er the brink;\n  For I may now be nearer home,\n    Much nearer than I think.\n\n\n1196                                                             S. M.\n               He that keepest Israel shall not sleep.\n                                   Psalm 121:4.\n\n  Another day is past,\n    The hours for ever fled;\n  And time is bearing me away,\n    To mingle with the dead.\n\n  2 My mind in perfect peace\n    My Father's care shall keep;\n  I yield to gentle slumber now,\n    For thou canst never sleep.\n\n  3 How blessed, Lord, are they,\n    On thee securely stayed!\n  Nor shall they be in life alarmed,\n    Nor be in death dismayed.\n\n\n1197                                                             S. M.\n                      The day is past and gone.\n\n  The day is past and gone,\n    The evening shades appear;\n  O may we all remember well\n    The night of death draws near.\n\n  2 We lay our garments by,\n    Upon our beds to rest;\n  So death will soon disrobe us all\n    Of what we now possess.\n\n  3 Lord, keep us safe this night,\n    Secure from every fear,\n  Beneath the pinions of thy love,\n    Till morning light appear.\n\n  4 And when we early rise,\n    To view the unwearied sun,\n  May we set out to win the prize\n    And after glory run.\n\n  5 And when our days are past,\n    And we from time remove,\n  O may we in thy bosom rest--\n    The bosom of thy love.\n\n\n1198                                                      7s, 6 lines.\n                        The evening sacrifice.\n                                   Psalm 141:2.\n\n  Now from labor and from care\n    Evening shades have set me free,\n  In the work of praise and prayer,\n    Lord, I would converse with thee;\n  O, behold me from above,\n  Fill me with a Saviour's love.\n\n  2 For the blessings of this day,\n    For the mercies of this hour,\n  For the gospel's cheering ray,\n    For the Spirit's quickening power,\n  Grateful notes to thee I raise;\n  Lord! accept my song of praise.\n\n\n1199                                                               7s.\n                    Softly, now, the light of day.\n\n  Softly, now, the light of day\n  Fades upon my sight away;\n  Free from care, from labor free,\n  Lord! I would commune with thee.\n\n  2 Soon, for me, the light of day\n  Shall for ever pass away;\n  Then, from sin and sorrow free,\n  Take me, Lord! to dwell with thee.\n\n\n1200                                                          7s & 6s.\n                              Twilight.\n\n  The mellow eve is gliding\n    Serenely down the west;\n  So, every care subsiding,\n    My soul would sink to rest.\n\n  2 The woodland hum is ringing\n    The daylight's gentle close;\n  May angels round me, singing,\n    Thus hymn my last repose.\n\n  3 The evening star has lighted\n    Her crystal lamp on high;\n  So, when in death benighted,\n    May hope illume the sky.\n\n  4 In golden splendor dawning,\n    The morrow's light shall break;\n  O, on the last bright morning\n    May I in glory wake!\n\n\n1201                                                             P. M.\n                         Evening aspiration.\n\n  God that madest earth and heaven,\n    Darkness and light!\n  Who the day for toil hast given,\n    For rest the night!\n  May thine angel guards defend us,\n  Slumber sweet thy mercy send us,\n  Holy dreams and hopes attend us,\n    This livelong night!\n\n\n1202                                                          8s & 7s.\n                Saviour! breathe an evening blessing.\n\n  Saviour! breathe an evening blessing,\n    Ere repose our eyelids seal;\n  Sin and want we come confessing;\n    Thou canst save, and thou canst heal.\n\n  2 Though destruction walk around us,\n    Though the arrows past us fly,\n  Angel-guards from thee surround us--\n    We are safe if thou art nigh.\n\n  3 Though the night be dark and dreary,\n    Darkness can not hide from thee:\n  Thou art he who, never weary,\n    Watcheth where thy people be.\n\n  4 Should swift death this night o'ertake us,\n    And our couch become our tomb,\n  May the morn in heaven awake us,\n    Clad in bright and deathless bloom.\n\n\n1203                                                          8s & 7s.\n                            Abide with us.\n\n  Tarry with me, O my Saviour,\n    For the day is passing by;\n  See the shades of evening gather,\n    And the night is drawing nigh.\n\n  2 Many friends were gathered round me\n    In the bright days of the past;\n  But the grave has closed above them,\n    And I linger here at last.\n\n  3 Deeper, deeper grow the shadows;\n    Paler now the glowing west;\n  Swift the night of death advances;\n    Shall it be the night of rest?\n\n  4 Feeble, trembling, fainting, dying,\n    Lord, I cast myself on thee;\n  Tarry with me through the darkness!\n    While I sleep, still watch by me.\n\n  5 Tarry with me, O my Saviour!\n    Lay my head upon thy breast\n  Till the morning; then awake me--\n    Morning of eternal rest!\n\n\n1204                                                          8s & 7s.\n                         While I was musing.\n                                   Psalm 39:3.\n\n  Silently the shades of evening\n    Gather round my lowly door;\n  Silently they bring before me\n    Faces I shall see no more.\n\n  2 O! the lost, the unforgotten,\n    Though the world be oft forgot;\n  O! the shrouded and the lonely--\n    In our hearts they perish not.\n\n  3 Living in the silent hours,\n    Where our spirits only blend,\n  They, unlinked with earthly trouble,\n    We, still hoping for its end.\n\n  4 How such holy memories cluster,\n    Like the stars when storms are past;\n  Pointing up to that far heaven\n    We may hope to gain at last.\n\n\n1205                                                          8s & 7s.\n                          Fleeting moments.\n\n  Faintly flow, thou falling river,\n    Like a dream that dies away;\n  Down to ocean gliding ever,\n    Keep thy calm, unruffled way:\n  Time with such a silent motion,\n    Floats along on wings of air,\n  To eternity's dark ocean,\n    Burying all its treasure there.\n\n  2 Roses bloom and then they wither;\n    Cheeks are bright, then fade and die;\n  Shapes of light are wafted hither,\n    Then, like visions, hurry by:\n  Quick as clouds at evening driven\n    O'er the many- west,\n  Years are bearing us to heaven--\n    Home of happiness and rest.\n\n\n1206                                                      8s, 7s & 7s.\n                    Sweet it is to trust in thee.\n\n  Through the day thy love hath spared us,\n    Wearied, we lie down to rest;\n  Through the silent watches guard us,\n    Let no foe our peace molest.\n      Father! thou our guardian be;\n      Sweet it is to trust in thee.\n\n  2 Wandering in the land of strangers,\n    Dwelling in the midst of foes,\n  Us and ours preserve from dangers:\n    In thy love we all repose.\n      Father! thou our guardian be;\n      Sweet it is to trust in thee.\n\n\n1207                                                          8s & 7s.\n                          A child's prayer.\n\n  Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me;\n    Bless thy little lamb to-night:\n  Through the darkness be thou near me;\n    Keep me safe till morning light.\n\n  2 All this day thy hand has led me,\n    And I thank thee for thy care;\n  Thou hast clothed me, warmed me, fed me,\n    Listen to my evening prayer!\n\n  3 May my sins be all forgiven;\n    Bless the friends I love so well;\n  Take me, when I die, to heaven,\n    Happy there with thee to dwell.\n\n\n1208                                                         10s & 6s.\n                  At peace with all the world, etc.\n\n  The day is ended. Ere I sink to sleep,\n    My weary spirit seeks repose in thine;\n  Father! forgive my trespasses, and keep\n        This little life of mine.\n\n  2 With loving kindness curtain thou my bed,\n    And cool in rest my burning pilgrim feet;\n  Thy pardon be the pillow for my head--\n        So shall my sleep be sweet.\n\n  3 At peace with all the world, dear Lord, and thee,\n    No fears my soul's unwavering faith can shake;\n  All's well, whichever side the grave for me\n        The morning light may break!\n\n\n1209                                                         10s & 4s.\n                   I will sing of the mercies, etc.\n\n  Father supreme! thou high and holy One!\n        To thee we bow;\n  Now, when the burden of the day is gone,\n        Devoutly, now.\n\n  2 From age to age unchanging, still the same\n        All-good thou art;\n  Hallowed for ever be thy reverend name\n        In every heart!\n\n  3 When the glad morn upon the hills was spread,\n        Thy smile was there;\n  Now, as the darkness gathers overhead,\n        We feel thy care.\n\n  4 Night spreads her shade upon another day\n        For ever past;\n  So, o'er our faults, thy love, we humbly pray,\n        A vail may cast.\n\n  5 Silence and calm, o'er hearts by earth distrest,\n        Now sweetly steal;\n  So every fear that struggles in the breast\n        Shall faith conceal.\n\n  6 Thou, through the dark, wilt watch above our sleep\n        With eye of love;\n  And thou wilt wake us, when the sunbeams leap\n        The hills above.\n\n  7 O, may each heart its gratitude express\n        As life expands,\n  And find the triumph of its happiness\n        In thy commands!\n\n\n1210                                                             P. M.\n                        Fading, still fading.\n\n  Fading, still fading, the last beam is shining;\n  Father in heaven! the day is declining;\n  Safety and innocence flee with the light,\n  Temptation and danger walk forth with the night;\n  From the fall of the shade till the morning bells chime,\n  Shield us from danger and keep us from crime!\n  Father! have mercy, thro' Jesus Christ our Lord! Amen!\n\n  2 Father in heaven! O, hear when we call,\n  Hear for Christ's sake, who is Saviour of all!\n  Feeble and fainting, we trust in thy might;\n  In doubting and darkness, thy love be our light!\n  Let us sleep on thy breast while the night taper burns,\n  Wake in thy arms when morning returns.\n  Father! have mercy, thro' Jesus Christ our Lord! Amen!\n\n\n\n\n                            YOUTH AND AGE.\n\n\n1211                                                             C. M.\n                     By cool Siloam's shady rill.\n\n  By cool Siloam's shady rill\n    How fair the lily grows!\n  How sweet the breath, beneath the hill,\n    Of Sharon's dewy rose!\n\n  2 Lo! such the child, whose early feet\n    The paths of peace have trod,\n  Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,\n    Is upward drawn to God.\n\n  3 By cool Siloam's shady rill\n    The lily must decay;\n  The rose that blooms beneath the hill,\n    Must shortly fade away.\n\n  4 And soon, too soon, the wintry hour\n    Of man's maturer age,\n  Will shake the soul with sorrow's power,\n    And stormy passions rage.\n\n  5 O, thou who givest life and breath,\n    We seek thy grace alone,\n  In childhood, manhood, age and death,\n    To keep us still thine own.\n\n\n1212                                                             C. M.\n                          A child' sprayer.\n\n  Dear Jesus! ever at my side,\n    How loving must thou be,\n  To leave thy home in heaven, to guard\n    A little child like me.\n\n  2 Thy beautiful and shining face\n    I see not, though so near;\n  The sweetness of thy soft low voice\n    I am too deaf to hear.\n\n  3 I can not feel thee touch my hand\n    With pressure light and mild,\n  To check me, as my mother did\n    When I was but a child.\n\n  4 But I have felt thee in my thoughts,\n    Fighting with sin for me;\n  And when my heart loves God, I know\n    The sweetness is from thee.\n\n  5 And when, dear Saviour! I kneel down,\n    Morning and night, to prayer,\n  Something there is within my heart\n    Which tells me thou art there.\n\n  6 Yes! when I pray, thou prayest too--\n    Thy prayer is all for me;\n  But when I sleep, thou sleepest not,\n    But watchest patiently.\n\n\n1213                                                             C. M.\n                      Out of the mouth of babes.\n                                    Psalm 8:2.\n\n  Come, let us join the hosts above,\n    Now in our youngest days,\n  Remember our Creator's love,\n    And lisp our Father's praise.\n\n  2 His majesty will not despise\n    The day of feeble things;\n  Grateful the songs of children rise,\n    And please the King of kings.\n\n  3 He loves to be remembered thus,\n    And honored for his grace;\n  Out of the mouth of babes likes us,\n    His wisdom perfects praise.\n\n  4 Glory to God, and praise, and power,\n    Honor and thanks be given!\n  Children and cherubim adore\n    The Lord of earth and heaven.\n\n\n1214                                                             C. M.\n                     Lead us not into temptation.\n                                   Matt. 6:13.\n\n  While in the slippery paths of youth,\n    I run secure and free!\n  O let thy blessed word of truth,\n    My guide and counsel be.\n\n  2 If near the tempter's wily snare\n    In heedlessness I tread;\n  O be thy kind protecting care,\n    To save me overspread.\n\n  3 Thus o'er my life let mercy move,\n    And guide my feet the way\n  That leads me to thy throne above--\n    To everlasting day.\n\n\n1215                                                          C. M. D.\n                      Remember thy Creator, etc.\n                                   Eccl. 12:1.\n\n  Ye joyous ones, upon whose brow\n    The light of youth is shed,\n  O'er whose glad path life's early flowers\n    In glowing beauty spread;\n  Forget not him whose love hath poured\n    Around that golden light,\n  And tinged those opening buds of hope\n    With hues so softly bright.\n\n  2 Thou tempted one, just entering\n    Upon enchanted ground,\n  Ten thousand snares are spread for thee,\n    Ten thousand foes surround:\n  A dark and a deceitful band,\n    Upon thy path they lower;\n  Trust not thine own unaided strength\n    To save thee from their power.\n\n  3 Thou whose yet bright and joyous eye\n    May soon be dimmed with tears,\n  To whom the hours of bitterness\n    Must come in coming years;\n  Teach early thy confiding eye\n    To pierce the cloudy screen,\n  To look above the storms, where all\n    Is holy and serene.\n\n\n1216                                                             C. M.\n                Happy is the man that findeth wisdom.\n                                   Prov. 3:13.\n\n  O happy is the man who hears\n    Instruction's warning voice;\n  And who celestial wisdom makes\n    His early, only choice.\n\n  2 For she has treasure greater far\n    Than east or west unfold,\n  And her reward is more secure\n    Than all the gain of gold.\n\n  3 In her right hand she holds to view\n    A length of happy years;\n  And in her left the prize of fame\n    And honor bright appears.\n\n  4 She guides our youth with innocence\n    In pleasure's path to tread;\n  A crown of glory she bestows\n    Upon the hoary head.\n\n  5 According as her labors rise,\n    So her rewards increase;\n  Her ways are ways of pleasantness,\n    And all her paths are peace.\n\n\n1217                                                             S. M.\n                           The Child Jesus.\n                                    Luke 2:27.\n\n  Hail, gracious, heavenly Prince!\n    To thee let children fly:\n  And on thy kindest providence,\n    O may we all rely.\n\n  2 Jesus will take the young\n    Beneath his special care;\n  And he will keep their youthful days\n    From every woe and snare.\n\n  3 He knows their tender frame,\n    Nor will their youth contemn;\n  For he a little child became,\n    To love and pity them.\n\n  4 Nor does he now forget\n    His youthful days on earth:\n  Nor would we ever cease our praise\n    For the Redeemer's birth.\n\n\n1218                                                          8s & 7s.\n                          From my youth up.\n                                   Matt. 19:20.\n\n  Lord, a little band, and lowly,\n    We are come to sing to thee;\n  Thou art great, and high, and holy,\n    O how solemn should we be!\n\n  2 Fill our hearts with thoughts of Jesus,\n    And of heaven, where he is gone;\n  And let nothing ever please us\n    He would grieve to look upon.\n\n  3 For we know the Lord of glory\n    Always sees what children do,\n  And is writing now the story\n    Of our thoughts and actions too.\n\n  4 Let our sins be all forgiven;\n    Make us fear whate'er is wrong;\n  Lead us on our way to heaven,\n    There to sing a nobler song.\n\n\n1219                                                          8s & 7s.\n                          Give me thy heart.\n\n  Take my heart, O Father! mold it\n    In obedience to thy will;\n  And as ripening years unfold it,\n    Keep it true and childlike still.\n\n  2 Father, keep it pure and lowly,\n    Strong and brave, yet free from strife,\n  Turning from the paths unholy\n    Of a vain or sinful life.\n\n  3 Ever let thy might surround it;\n    Strengthen it with power divine;\n  Till thy cords of love have bound it,\n    Father, wholly unto thine.\n\n\n1220                                                         11s & 8s.\n              I think when I read that sweet story, etc.\n\n  I think when I read that sweet story of old,\n    When Jesus was here among men,\n  How he called little children as lambs to his fold,\n    I should like to have been with them then.\n  I wish that his hands had been placed on my head,\n    That his arm had been thrown around me,\n  And that I might have seen his kind look when he said,\n    \"Let the little ones come unto me.\"\n\n  2 Yet still to his footstool in prayer I may go,\n    And ask for a share in his love;\n  And if I thus earnestly seek him below,\n    I shall see him and hear him above--\n  In that beautiful place he is gone to prepare\n    For all who are washed and forgiven;\n  And many dear children are gathering there--\n    \"For of such is the kingdom of heaven.\"\n\n  3 But thousands and thousands who wander and fall,\n    Never heard of that heavenly home;\n  I should like them to know there is room for them all,\n    And that Jesus has bid them to come;\n  I long for the joy of that glorious time,\n    The sweetest, and brightest, and best,\n  When the dear little children of every clime\n    Shall crowd to his arms and be blessed.\n\n\n1221                                                    L. M. 6 lines.\n                    Thy sun shall no more go down.\n                                  Isaiah 50:20.\n\n  At evening time, when day is done,\n    Life's little day is near its close,\n  And all the glare and heat are gone,\n    And gentle dews foretell repose--\n  To crown my faith before the night,\n  At evening time let there be light.\n\n  2 At evening time when labor's past,\n    Though storms and toils have marred my day,\n  Mercy has tempered every blast,\n    And love and hope have cheered the way:\n  Now let the parting hour be bright;\n  At evening time let there be light.\n\n  3 God doth send light at evening time,\n    And bid the fears, the doubtings, flee.\n  I trust his promises sublime;\n    His glory now is risen on me;\n  His full salvation is in sight;\n  At evening time there now is light.\n\n\n1222                                                          C. M. D.\n                   At evening there shall be light.\n                                   Zech. 14:7.\n\n  Our pathway oft is wet with tears,\n    Our sky with clouds o'ercast,\n  And worldly cares and worldly fears\n    Go with us to the last;--\n  Not to the last! God's word hath said,\n    Could we but read aright:\n  O pilgrim! lift in hope thy head--\n    At eve it shall be light!\n\n  2 Though earth-born shadows now may shroud\n    Our toilsome path awhile,\n  God's blessed word can part each cloud,\n    And bid the sunshine smile.\n  If we but trust in living faith,\n    His love and power divine,\n  Then, though our sun may set in death,\n    His light shall round us shine.\n\n  3 When tempest-clouds are dark on high,\n    His bow of love and peace\n  Shines beauteous in the vaulted sky--\n    A pledge that storms shall cease.\n  Then keep we on with hope unchilled,\n    By faith and not by sight,\n  And we shall own his word fulfilled--\n    At eve it shall be light.\n\n\n1223                                                             C. M.\n                    When I am old--forsake me not.\n                                   Psalm 71:18.\n\n  God of my childhood and my youth,\n    The Guide of all my days,\n  I have declared thy heavenly truth,\n    And told thy wondrous ways.\n\n  2 Wilt thou forsake my hoary hairs,\n    And leave my fainting heart?\n  Who shall sustain my sinking years,\n    If God, my strength, depart?\n\n  3 Let me thy power and truth proclaim\n    To the surviving age,\n  And leave a savor of thy name\n    When I shall quit the stage.\n\n  4 The land of silence and of death\n    Attends my next remove;\n  O, may these poor remains of breath\n    Teach the wide world thy love.\n\n\n1224                                                          C. H. M.\n                           Watch and pray.\n\n  Go watch and pray; thou canst not tell\n    How near thine hour may be;\n  Thou canst not know how soon the bell\n    May toll its notes for thee:\n  Death's countless snares beset thy way;\n  Frail child of dust, go watch and pray.\n\n  2 Fond youth, while free from blighting care,\n    Does thy firm pulse beat high?\n  Do hope's glad visions, bright and fair,\n    Dilate before thine eye?\n  Soon these must change, must pass away;\n  Frail child of dust, go watch and pray.\n\n  3 Thou aged man, life's wintry storm\n    Hath seared thy vernal bloom;\n  With trembling limbs, and wasting form,\n    Thou'rt bending o'er thy tomb;\n  And can vain hope lead thee astray?\n  Go, weary pilgrim, watch and pray.\n\n  4 Ambition, stop thy panting breath:\n    Pride, sink thy lifted eye!\n  Behold the caverns, dark with death,\n    Before you open lie:\n  The heavenly warning now obey;\n  Ye sons of pride, go watch and pray.\n\n\n1225                                                          C. P. M.\n                   Thou art my trust from my youth.\n                                   Psalm 71:5.\n\n  Thy mercy heard my infant prayer,\n  Thy love, with all a mother's care,\n    Sustained my childish days;\n  Thy goodness watched my ripening youth,\n  And formed my heart to love thy truth,\n    And filled my lips with praise.\n\n  2 Then e'en in age and grief, thy name\n  Shall still my languid heart inflame,\n    And bow my faltering knee:\n  O! yet this bosom feels the fire,\n  This trembling hand and drooping lyre\n    Have yet a strain for thee!\n\n  3 Yes! broken, tuneless, still, O Lord,\n  This voice transported shall record\n    Thy goodness, tried so long;\n  Till, sinking slow, with calm decay,\n  Its feeble murmurs melt away\n    Into a seraph's song.\n\n\n1226                                                          8s & 7s.\n                            Only waiting.\n\n  Only waiting till the shadows\n    Are a little longer grown;\n  Only waiting till the glimmer\n    Of the day's last beam is flown;\n  Till the night of earth is faded\n    From the heart once full of day;\n  Till the stars of heaven are breaking\n    Through the twilight soft and gray.\n\n  2 Only waiting till the reapers\n    Have the last sheaf gathered home;\n  For the summer time is faded,\n    And the autumn winds have come.\n  Quickly, reapers, gather quickly\n    The last ripe hours of my heart,\n  For the bloom of life is withered,\n    And I hasten to depart.\n\n  3 Only waiting till the shadows\n    Are a little longer grown;\n  Only waiting till the glimmer\n    Of the day's last beam is flown;\n  Then, from out the gathered darkness,\n    Holy, deathless stars shall rise,\n  By whose light my soul shall gladly\n    Tread its pathway to the skies.\n\n\n1227                                                              10s.\n                            Abide with me.\n\n  Abide with me! fast falls the eventide;\n  The darkness thickens; Lord! with me abide!\n  When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,\n  Help of the helpless! O abide with me!\n\n  2 Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;\n  Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away;\n  Change and decay in all around I see;\n  O thou who changest not! abide with me.\n\n  3 I need thy presence every passing hour;\n  What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power?\n  Who like thyself my guide and stay can be?\n  Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me!\n\n  4 Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes;\n  Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;\n  Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;\n  In life, in death, O Lord! abide with me.\n\n\n1228                                                        11s & 10s.\n                            Come unto me.\n\n  Come unto me, when shadows darkly gather,\n    When the sad heart is weary and distrest,\n  Seeking for comfort from your heavenly Father,\n    Come unto me, and I will give you rest!\n\n  2 Ye who have mourned when the spring flowers were taken,\n    When the ripe fruit fell richly to the ground,\n  When the loved slept, in brighter homes to waken,\n    Where their pale brows with spirit-wreaths are crowned.\n\n  3 Large are the mansions in thy Father's dwelling,\n    Glad are the homes that sorrows never dim;\n  Sweet are the harps in holy music swelling,\n    Soft are the tones which raise the heavenly hymn.\n\n  4 There, like an Eden, blossoming in gladness,\n    Bloom the fair flowers the earth too rudely pressed;\n  Come unto me, all ye who droop in sadness,\n    Come unto me, and I will give you rest.\n\n\n1229                                                          8s & 7s.\n                             For old age.\n\n  Gracious Source of every blessing!\n    Guard our breast from anxious fears;\n  Let us, each thy care possessing,\n    Sink into the vale of years.\n\n  2 All our hopes on thee reclining,\n    Peace companion of our way,\n  May our sun, in smiles declining,\n    Rise in everlasting day.\n\n\n\n\n              TIMES AND SEASONS--SEED-TIME AND HARVEST.\n\n\n1230                                                             L. M.\n                        Seed-time and harvest.\n\n  Eternal Source of every joy,\n  Well may thy praise our lips employ,\n  While in thy temple we appear,\n  Whose goodness crowns the circling year.\n\n  2 The flowery spring at thy command\n  Embalms the air and paints the land;\n  The summer rays with vigor shine,\n  To raise the corn and cheer the vine.\n\n  3 Thy hand in autumn richly pours\n  Through all our coasts redundant stores,\n  And winters, softened by thy care,\n  No more a face of horror wear.\n\n  4 Seasons and months, and weeks and days,\n  Demand successive songs of praise;\n  Still be the cheerful homage paid\n  With opening light and evening shade!\n\n  5 O! may our more harmonious tongues\n  In worlds unknown pursue the songs;\n  And in those brighter courts adore,\n  Where days and years revolve no more!\n\n\n1231                                                             C. M.\n                              Psalm 147.\n\n  With songs and honors sounding loud,\n    Address the Lord on high;\n  Over the heaven's he spreads his cloud,\n    And waters vail the sky.\n\n  2 He sends his showers of blessings down\n    To cheer the plains below;\n  He makes the grass the mountains crown,\n    And corn in valleys grow.\n\n  3 His steady counsels change the face\n    Of the declining year;\n  He bids the sun cut short his race,\n    And wintery days appear.\n\n  4 His hoary frost, his fleecy snow,\n    Descend and clothe the ground;\n  The liquid streams forbear to flow,\n    In icy fetters bound.\n\n  5 He sends his word, and melts the snow,\n    The fields no longer mourn;\n  He calls the warmer gales to blow,\n    And bids the spring return.\n\n  6 The changing wind, the flying cloud,\n    Obey his mighty word;\n  With songs and honors sounding loud,\n    Praise ye the sovereign Lord.\n\n\n1232                                                             C. M.\n              Thou crownest the year with thy goodness.\n                                   Psalm 65:3.\n\n  Fountain of life, and God of love!\n    How rich thy bounties are!\n  The rolling seasons, as they move,\n    Proclaim thy constant care.\n\n  2 When in the bosom of the earth\n    The sower hid the grain,\n  Thy goodness marked its secret birth,\n    And sent the early rain.\n\n  3 The spring's sweet influence, Lord, was thine,\n    Its mild, refreshing showers;\n  Thou gavest the ripening suns to shine,\n    And summer's golden hours.\n\n  4 Thy quickening life, for ever near,\n    Matured the swelling grain;\n  The bounteous harvest crowns the year,\n    And plenty fills the plain.\n\n  5 With thankful hearts we trace thy way\n    Through all our smiling vales;\n  Thou, by whose love, nor night nor day,\n    Seed-time nor harvest, fails!\n\n\n1233                                                             S. M.\n                             Psalm 126:6.\n\n  The harvest dawn is near,\n    The year delays not long;\n  And he who sows with many a tear,\n    Shall reap with many a song.\n\n  2 Sad to his toil he goes,\n    His seed with weeping leaves;\n  But he shall come, at twilight's close,\n    And bring his golden sheaves.\n\n\n1234                                                          6s & 4s.\n                      The God of harvest praise.\n\n  The God of harvest praise;\n  In loud thanksgiving raise\n    Hand, heart and voice;\n  The valleys smile and sing,\n  Forests and mountains ring,\n  The plains their tribute bring,\n    The streams rejoice.\n\n  2 Yea, bless his holy name,\n  And purest thanks proclaim\n    Through all the earth;\n  To glory in your lot\n  Is duty--but be not\n  God's benefits forgot,\n    Amidst your mirth.\n\n  3 The God of harvest praise;\n  Hands, hearts, and voices raise,\n    With sweet accord:\n  From field to garner throng,\n  Bearing your sheaves along,\n  And in your harvest song,\n    Bless ye the Lord.\n\n\n1235                                                      7s, 6 lines.\n               The little hills rejoice on every side.\n                                   Psalm 65:12.\n\n  Praise, and thanks, and cheerful love,\n    Rise from everything below,\n  To the mighty One above,\n    Who his wondrous love doth show:\n  Praise him, each created thing!\n  God, your Maker; God of spring!\n\n  2 Praise him, trees so lately bare;\n    Praise him, fresh and new-born flowers;\n  All ye creatures of the air,\n    All ye soft-descending showers,\n  Praise, with each awakening thing,\n  God, your Maker; God of spring!\n\n  3 Praise him, man!--thy fitful heart\n    Let this balmy season move\n  To employ its noblest part,\n    Gentlest mercy, sweetest love;\n  Blessing, with each living thing,\n  God, your Father; God of spring!\n\n\n1236                                                       7s, double.\n                            Harvest-Home.\n\n  Come, ye thankful people, come,\n  Raise the song of Harvest-home!\n  All is safely gathered in,\n  Ere the winter-storms begin;\n  God, our Maker, doth provide\n  For our wants to be supplied;\n  Come to God's own temple, come,\n  Raise the song of Harvest-home!\n\n  2 We ourselves are God's own field,\n  Fruit unto his praise to yield;\n  Wheat and tares together sown,\n  Unto joy our sorrow grown:\n  First the blade, and then the ear,\n  Then the full corn shall appear:\n  Lord of harvest, grant that we\n  Wholesome grain and pure may be!\n\n  3 For the Lord our God shall come,\n  And shall take his harvest home!\n  From his field shall purge away\n  All that doth offend, that day;\n  Give his angels charge at last\n  In the fires the tares to cast,\n  But the fruitful ears to store\n  In his garner evermore.\n\n  4 Then, thou Church triumphant, come,\n  Raise the song of Harvest-home!\n  All are safely gathered in,\n  Free from sorrow, free from sin;\n  There for ever, purified,\n  In God's garner to abide;\n  Come, ten thousand angels, come,\n  Raise the glorious Harvest-home!\n\n\n1237                                                          8s & 4s.\n                       Thy paths drop fatness.\n                                   Psalm 65:11.\n\n  Lord of the harvest! thee we hail;\n  Thine ancient promise doth not fail;\n  The varying seasons haste their round,\n  With goodness all our years are crowned;\n      Our thanks we pay\n      This holy day;\n  O let our hearts in tune be found!\n\n  2 If spring doth wake the song of mirth;\n  If summer warms the fruitful earth;\n  When winter sweeps the naked plain,\n  Or autumn yields its ripened grain;\n      Still do we sing\n      To thee, our King;\n  Through all their changes thou dost reign.\n\n  3 But chiefly when thy liberal hand\n  Scatters new plenty o'er the land,\n  When sounds of music fill the air,\n  As homeward all their treasures bear;\n      We too will raise\n      Our hymn of praise,\n  For we thy common bounties share.\n\n  4 Lord of the harvest! all is thine!\n  The rains that fall, the suns that shine,\n  The seed once hidden in the ground,\n  The skill that makes our fruits abound!\n      New, every year,\n      The gifts appear;\n  New praises from our lips shall sound!\n\n\n1238                                                        13s & 14s.\n                      All thy works praise thee.\n                                  Psalm 145:10.\n\n  When spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil,\n  When summer's balmy showers refresh the mower's toil;\n  When winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood,\n  In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his Maker good.\n\n  2 The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade;\n  The winds that sweep the mountain, or lull the drowsy glade;\n  The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way,\n  The moon and stars their Maker's name in silent pomp display.\n\n  3 Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky--\n  Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny!\n  No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be,\n  Thee, Father, must we always love--Creator! honor thee.\n\n  4 The flowers of spring may wither, the hope of summer fade,\n  The autumn droop in winter, the bird forsake the shade;\n  The winds be lulled--the sun and moon forget their old decree;\n  But we, in nature's latest hour, Lord, will cling to thee!\n\n\n\n\n                          OLD AND NEW YEAR.\n\n\n1239                                                             L. M.\n                          The opening year.\n\n  Great God, we sing that mighty hand\n  By which supported still we stand:\n  The opening year thy mercy shows;\n  Thy mercy crown it till it close!\n\n  2 By day, by night, at home, abroad,\n  Still we are guarded by our God;\n  By his incessant bounty fed,\n  By his unerring counsel led.\n\n  3 With grateful hearts the past we own;\n  The future, all to us unknown,\n  We to thy guardian care commit,\n  And peaceful leave before thy feet.\n\n  4 In scenes exalted or depressed,\n  Be thou our joy, and thou our rest:\n  Thy goodness all our hopes shall raise,\n  Adored through all our changing days.\n\n\n1240                                                             C. M.\n                             Psalm 90:12.\n\n  And now, my soul, another year\n    Of thy short life is past;\n  I can not long continue here,\n    And this may be my last.\n\n  2 Much of my hasty life is gone,\n    Nor will return again:\n  And swift my passing moments run,\n    The few that yet remain.\n\n  3 Awake, my soul; with utmost care\n    Thy true condition learn;\n  What are thy hopes? how sure? how fair?\n    What is thy great concern?\n\n  4 Behold, another year begins;\n    Set out afresh for heaven;\n  Seek pardon for thy former sins,\n    In Christ so freely given.\n\n  5 Devoutly yield thyself to God,\n    And on his grace depend;\n  With zeal pursue the heavenly road,\n    Nor doubt a happy end.\n\n\n1241                                                             S. M.\n                     Thou hast made my days, etc.\n                                   Psalm 39:5.\n\n  My few revolving years,\n    How swift they glide away!\n  How short the term of life appears,\n    When past--but as a day.\n\n  2 Lord, through another year,\n    If thou permit my stay,\n  With watchful care may I pursue\n    The true and living way.\n\n\n1242                                                         5s & 12s.\n                          Come let us anew.\n\n        Come let us anew\n        Our journey pursue--\n        Roll round with the year,\n  And never stand still till the Master appear;\n        His adorable will\n        Let us gladly fulfill,\n        And our talents improve\n  By the patience of hope, and the labor of love.\n\n        2 Our life is a dream;\n        Our time, as a stream,\n        Glides swiftly away,\n  And the fugitive moment refuses to stay:\n        The arrow is flown;\n        The moment is gone;\n        The millennial year\n  Rushes on to our view, and eternity's near.\n\n        3 O that each in the day\n        Of his coming, may say,\n        \"I have fought my way through;\n  I have finished the work thou didst give me to do;\"\n        O that each from his Lord,\n        May receive the glad word,\n        \"Well and faithfully done;\n  Enter into my joy, and sit down on my throne.\"\n\n\n1243                                                               7s.\n                      All below is but a dream.\n\n  While with ceaseless course the sun\n    Hasted through the former year,\n  Many souls their race have run,\n    Never more to meet us here.\n  Fixed in an eternal state,\n    They have done with all below,\n  We a little longer wait,\n    But how little, none can know.\n\n  2 As the winged arrow flies\n    Speedily the mark to find;\n  As the lightning from the skies\n    Darts, and leaves no trace behind--\n  Swiftly thus our fleeting days\n    Bear us down life's rapid stream;\n  Upward, Lord, our spirits raise,\n    All below is but a dream.\n\n  3 Thanks for mercies past receive,\n    Pardon of our sins renew;\n  Teach us henceforth how to live,\n    With eternity in view;\n  Bless thy word to old and young,\n    Fill us with a Saviour's love;\n  When our life's short race is run,\n    May we dwell with thee above.\n\n\n1244                                                               7s.\n                  The way of man is not in himself.\n                                   Jer. 10:23.\n\n  For thy mercy and thy grace,\n    Faithful through another year,\n  Hear our song of thankfulness,\n    Father, and Redeemer, hear!\n\n  2 In our weakness and distress,\n    Rock of strength! be thou our stay!\n  In the pathless wilderness\n    Be our true and living way!\n\n  3 Who of us death's awful road\n    In the coming year shall tread?\n  With thy rod and staff, O God!\n    Comfort thou his dying head!\n\n  4 Keep us faithful, keep us pure,\n    Keep us evermore thine own!\n  Help, O help us to endure!\n    Fit us for the promised crown!\n\n  5 So, within thy palace gate,\n    We shall praise, on golden strings,\n  Thee, the only Potentate,\n    Lord of lords, and King of kings!\n\n\n\n\n                            THANKSGIVING.\n\n\n1245                                                             L. M.\n                    Praise for national blessings.\n\n  Almighty Sovereign of the skies,\n  To thee let songs of gladness rise,\n  Each grateful heart its tribute bring,\n  And every voice thy goodness sing.\n\n  2 From thee our choicest blessings flow,\n  Life, health and strength, thy hands bestow;\n  The daily good thy creatures share,\n  Springs from thy providential care.\n\n  3 The rich profusion nature yields,\n  The harvest waving o'er the fields,\n  The cheering light, refreshing shower,\n  Are gifts from thy exhaustless store.\n\n  4 At thy command the vernal bloom\n  Revives the world from winter's gloom;\n  The summer's heat the fruit matures,\n  And autumn all her treasures pours.\n\n  5 From thee proceed domestic ties,\n  Connubial bliss, parental joys;\n  On thy support the nations stand,\n  Obedient to thy high command.\n\n  6 Let every power of heart and tongue\n  Unite to swell the grateful song;\n  While age and youth in chorus join,\n  And praise the Majesty divine.\n\n\n1246                                                             L. M.\n                     Offer unto God thanksgiving.\n                                   Psalm 50:14.\n\n  Thanks be to him who built the hills;\n  Thanks be to him the streams who fills;\n  Thanks be to him who lights each star\n  That sparkles in the blue afar.\n\n  2 Thanks be to him who makes the morn,\n  And bids it glow with beams new-born;\n  Who draws the shadows of the night,\n  Like curtains, o'er our wearied sight.\n\n  3 Thanks be to him who sheds abroad,\n  Within our hearts, the love of God--\n  The spirit of all truth and peace,\n  Fountain of joy and holiness.\n\n\n1247                                                               7s.\n                  Praise for deliverance and peace.\n\n  Peace! the welcome sound proclaim;\n  Dwell with rapture on the theme;\n  Loud, still louder swell the strain;\n  Peace on earth, good-will to men!\n\n  2 Breezes! whispering soft and low,\n  Gently murmur as ye blow,\n  Now, when war and discord cease,\n  Praises to the God of peace.\n\n  3 Ocean's billows, far and wide\n  Rolling in majestic pride!\n  Loud, still louder swell the strain;\n  Peace on earth! good-will to men.\n\n  4 Vocal songsters of the grove,\n  Sweetly chant in notes of love,\n  Now, when war and discord cease,\n  Praises to the God of peace.\n\n  5 Mortals, who these blessings feel!\n  Christians, who before him kneel!\n  Loud, still louder swell the strain;\n  Peace on earth, good-will to men!\n\n\n1248                                                             P. M.\n                    Magnify him with thanksgiving.\n                                   Psalm 69:30.\n\n  Let every heart rejoice and sing;\n    Let choral anthems rise;\n  Ye reverend men, and children, bring\n    To God your sacrifice;\n      For he is good--the Lord is good,\n        And kind are all his ways;\n      With songs and honors sounding loud,\n        The Lord Jehovah praise;\n          While the rocks and the rills,\n          While the vales and the hills,\n        A glorious anthem raise,\n      Let each prolong the grateful song,\n        And the God of our fathers praise.\n\n  2 He bids the sun to rise and set;\n    In heaven his power is known;\n  And earth, subdued to him, shall yet\n    Bow low before his throne;\n      For he is good--the Lord is good,\n        And kind are all his ways, etc.\n\n\n1249                                                               7s.\n                  The memory of thy great goodness.\n                                   Psalm 145:7.\n\n  Praise to God, immortal praise,\n  For the love that crowns our days!\n  Bounteous source of every joy,\n  Let thy praise our tongues employ.\n\n  2 For the blessings of the field,\n  For the stores the gardens yield;\n  For the vine's exalted juice,\n  For the generous olive's use:\n\n  3 Flocks that whiten all the plain;\n  Yellow sheaves of ripened grain;\n  Clouds that drop their fattening dews;\n  Suns that temperate warmth diffuse:\n\n  4 All that Spring with bounteous hand\n  Scatters o'er the smiling land;\n  All that liberal Autumn pours\n  From her rich o'erflowing stores:\n\n  5 These to thee, my God, we owe,\n  Source whence all our blessings flow;\n  And for these my soul shall raise\n  Grateful vows and solemn praise.\n\n\n1250                                                          6s & 4s.\n                   He shall bless thee in the land.\n                                   Deut. 28:8.\n\n  God bless our native land!\n  Firm may she ever stand\n    Through storm and night;\n  When the wild tempests rave,\n  Ruler of wind and wave,\n  Do thou our country save\n    By thy great might.\n\n  2 For her our prayer shall rise\n  To God, above the skies;\n    On him we wait:\n  Thou who art ever nigh,\n  Guarding with watchful eye,\n  To thee aloud we cry,\n    God save the State!\n\n\n1251                                                          6s & 4s.\n                            National hymn.\n\n  My country! 'tis of thee,\n  Sweet land of liberty,\n    Of thee I sing;\n  Land where my fathers died;\n  Land of the pilgrim's pride;\n  From every mountain-side\n    Let freedom ring.\n\n  2 My native country! thee,\n  Land of the noble free,\n    Thy name I love;\n  I love thy rocks and rills,\n  Thy woods and templed hills,\n  My heart with rapture thrills,\n    Like that above.\n\n  3 Let music swell the breeze,\n  And ring from all the trees\n    Sweet freedom's song;\n  Let mortal tongues awake,\n  Let all that breathes partake,\n  Let rocks their silence break,\n    The sound prolong.\n\n  4 Our father's God! to thee,\n  Author of liberty!\n    To thee we sing;\n  Long may our land be bright\n  With freedom's holy light;\n  Protect us by thy might,\n    Great God, our King.\n\n\n1252                                                          8s & 7s.\n                              Psalm 148.\n\n  Praise the Lord! ye heavens, adore him;\n    Praise him, angels in the hight;\n  Sun and moon, rejoice before him;\n    Praise him, all ye stars of light!\n\n  2 Praise the Lord--for he hath spoken;\n    Worlds his mighty voice obeyed;\n  Laws which never shall be broken,\n    For their guidance he hath made.\n\n  3 Praise the Lord--for he is glorious;\n    Never shall his promise fail;\n  God hath made his saints victorious,\n    Sin and death shall not prevail.\n\n  4 Praise the God of our salvation;\n    Hosts on high his power proclaim;\n  Heaven and earth, and all creation,\n    Laud and magnify his name!\n              Hallelujah, Amen.\n\n\n1253                                                          8s & 7s.\n                          Anniversary hymn.\n\n  God of mercy, do thou never\n    From our offering turn away,\n  But command a blessing ever\n    On the memory of this day.\n\n  2 Light and peace do thou ordain it;\n    O'er it be no shadow flung;\n  Let no deadly darkness stain it,\n    And no clouds be o'er it hung.\n\n  3 May the song this people raises,\n    And its vows to thee addressed,\n  Mingle with the prayers and praises\n    That thou hearest from the blest.\n\n  4 When the lips are cold that sing thee,\n    And the hearts that love thee, dust,\n  Father, then our souls shall bring thee\n    Holier love and firmer trust.\n\n\n\n\n                                FASTS.\n\n\n1254                                                             L. M.\n                    National judgments deprecated.\n\n  While o'er our guilty land, O Lord,\n  We view the terrors of thy sword;\n  O! whither shall the helpless fly;\n  To whom but thee direct their cry?\n\n  2 The helpless sinner's cries and tears\n  Are grown familiar to thy ears;\n  Oft has thy mercy sent relief,\n  When all was fear and hopeless grief.\n\n  3 On thee, our guardian God, we call;\n  Before thy throne of grace we fall;\n  And is there no deliverance there,\n  And must we perish in despair?\n\n  4 See, we repent, we weep, we mourn,\n  To our forsaken God we turn;\n  O spare our guilty country, spare\n  The church which thou hast planted here.\n\n  5 We plead thy grace, indulgent God;\n  We plead thy Son's atoning blood;\n  We plead thy gracious promises;\n  And are they unavailing pleas?\n\n  6 These pleas, presented at thy throne,\n  Have brought ten thousand blessings down\n  On guilty lands in helpless woe;\n  Let them prevail to save us too.\n\n\n1255                                                             L. M.\n                         Public humiliation.\n\n  Great Maker of unnumbered worlds,\n    And whom unnumbered worlds adore,\n  Whose goodness all thy creatures share,\n    While nature trembles at thy power,--\n\n  2 Thine is the hand that moves the spheres,\n    That wakes the wind, and lifts the sea;\n  And man who moves, the lord of earth,\n    Acts but the part assigned by thee.\n\n  3 While suppliant crowds implore thy aid,\n    To thee we raise the humble cry;\n  Thy altar is the contrite heart,\n    Thy incense, the repentant sigh.\n\n  4 O may our land, in this her hour,\n    Confess thy hand and bless the rod,\n  By penitence make thee her Friend,\n    And find in thee a guardian God.\n\n\n1256                                                             L. M.\n                        Confession and prayer.\n\n  O may the power which melts the rock,\n    Be felt by all assembled here!\n  Or else our service will but mock\n    The God whom we profess to fear.\n\n  2 Lord, while thy judgments shake the land,\n    Thy people's eyes are fixed on thee!\n  We own thy just, uplifted hand,\n    Which thousands can not, will not see.\n\n  3 How long hast thou bestowed thy care\n    On this indulged, ungrateful spot;\n  While other nations, far and near,\n    Have envied and admired our lot.\n\n  4 Here peace and liberty have dwelt,\n    The glorious gospel brightly shone;\n  And oft our enemies have felt\n    That God has made our cause his own.\n\n  5 But, ah! both heaven and earth have heard\n    Our vile requital of his love!\n  We, whom like children he has reared,\n    Against his goodness rebels prove.\n\n  6 His grace despised, his power defied,\n    And legions of the blackest crimes,\n  Profaneness, riot, lust and pride,\n    Are signs that mark the present times.\n\n  7 The Lord, displeased, hath raised his rod;\n    Ah, where are now the faithful few,\n  Who tremble for the ark of God,\n    And know what Israel ought to do?\n\n  8 Lord, hear thy people everywhere,\n    Who meet to mourn, confess and pray;\n  The nation and thy churches spare,\n    And let thy wrath be turned away.\n\n\n1257                                                          L. P. M.\n                    For all that are in authority.\n                                   1 Tim. 2:2.\n\n  Lord! thou hast bid thy people pray\n  For all who bear the sovereign sway,\n    And as thy servants rule and reign;\n  Ordained by thee, these ruling powers;\n  Behold! in faith we pray for ours;\n    Nor let us for them pray in vain.\n\n  2 Our rulers with thy favor bless;\n  'Stablish their seats in righteousness,\n    Let wisdom ever hold the helm;\n  The counsels of our senates guide;\n  Let justice in our courts preside;\n    Rule thou! and guard our widespread realm.\n\n\n1258                                                             L. M.\n                       He maketh wars to cease.\n                                   Psalm 46:9.\n\n  O God of love! O King of peace!\n  Make wars throughout the world to cease;\n  The wrath of sinful man restrain;\n  Give peace, O God! give peace again.\n\n  2 Remember, Lord! thy works of old,\n  The wonders that our father's told,\n  Remember not our sins' dark stain;\n  Give peace, O God! give peace again.\n\n  3 Whom shall we trust but thee, O Lord!\n  Where rest but on thy faithful word?\n  None ever called on thee in vain;\n  Give peace, O God! give peace again.\n\n  4 Where saints and angels dwell above,\n  All hearts are knit in holy love;\n  O bind us in that heavenly chain;\n  Give peace, O God! give peace again.\n\n\n1259                                                          L. P. M.\n                Be instructed ye judges of the earth.\n                                   Psalm 2:10.\n\n  Judges, who rule the world by laws,\n  Will ye despise the righteous cause,\n    When the oppressed before you stands?\n  Dare ye condemn the righteous poor,\n  And let rich sinners go secure,\n    While gold and greatness bribe your hands?\n\n  2 Have ye forgot, or never knew,\n  That God will judge the judges, too?\n    High in the heavens his justice reigns;\n  Yet you invade the rights of God,\n  And send your bold decrees abroad,\n    To bind the conscience in your chains!\n\n  3 The Almighty thunders from the sky--\n  Their grandeur melts, their titles die--\n    They perish like dissolving frost;\n  As empty chaff, when whirlwinds rise,\n  Before the sweeping tempest flies,\n    So shall their hopes and names be lost.\n\n  4 Thus shall the vengeance of the Lord\n  Safety and joy to saints afford;\n    And all that hear shall join and say--\n  \"Sure there's a God that rules on high,\n  A God that hears his children cry,\n    And will their sufferings well repay.\"\n\n\n1260                                                    L. M. 6 lines.\n                Let the wickedness of the wicked, etc.\n                                    Psalm 7:9.\n\n  Our earth we now lament to see\n    With floods of wickedness o'erflowed,\n  With violence, wrong, and cruelty,\n    One wide-extended field of blood,\n  Where men like fiends each other tear\n  In all the hellish rage of war.\n\n  2 O might the universal Friend\n    This havoc of his creatures see;\n  Bid our unnatural discord end,\n    Declare us reconciled in thee;\n  Write kindness on our inward parts,\n  And chase the murderer from our hearts!\n\n\n1261                                                             C. M.\n                         During a pestilence.\n\n  Let the land mourn through all its coasts!\n    And humble all its state;\n  Princes and rulers, at their posts,\n    Awhile sit desolate.\n\n  2 Let all the people, high and low,\n    Rich, poor, and great and small,\n  Invoke, in fellowship of woe,\n    The Maker of them all.\n\n  3 For God hath summoned from his place,\n    Death, in a direr form,\n  To waken, warn, and scourge our race,\n    Than earthquakes, fire, or storm.\n\n  4 Let churches weep within their pale,\n    And families apart;\n  Let each in secrecy bewail\n    The plague of his own heart.\n\n  5 So while the land bemoans its sin,\n    The pestilence may cease,\n  And mercy, tempering wrath, bring in\n    God's blessed health and peace.\n\n\n1262                                                             C. M.\n                He is a God that judgeth in the earth.\n                                   Psalm 58:11.\n\n  Lord, Lord, defend the desolate,\n    And rescue from the hands\n  Of wicked men the low estate,\n    Of him that help demands.\n\n  2 Visit the weak and fatherless,\n    Defend the poor man's cause,\n  And raise the man in deep distress\n    By just and equal laws.\n\n  3 Yea, Lord, judge thou the world in might,\n    The wrongs of earth redress;\n  For thou art he who shall by right,\n    The nations all possess.\n\n\n1263                                                             C. M.\n                    Turn us again, O God of hosts.\n                                   Psalm 80:7.\n\n  See, gracious God, before thy throne\n    Thy mourning people bend;\n  'Tis on thy sovereign grace alone\n    Our humble hopes depend.\n\n  2 Dark, frowning judgments from thy hand,\n    Thy dreadful powers display;\n  Yet mercy spares this guilty land,\n    And still we live to pray.\n\n  3 O, turn us, turn us, mighty Lord,\n    By thy convincing grace;\n  Then shall our hearts obey thy word,\n    And humbly seek thy face.\n\n\n1264                                                             C. M.\n              The Lord reigneth, let the people tremble.\n                                   Psalm 99:1.\n\n  High as the heavens above the ground,\n    Reigns the Creator, God:\n  Wide as the whole creation's bound,\n    Extends his awful rod.\n\n  2 Let princes of exalted state,\n    To him ascribe their crown,\n  Render their homage at his feet,\n    And cast their glories down.\n\n  3 Know that his kingdom is supreme,\n    Your lofty thoughts are vain;\n  He calls you gods, that awful name,\n    But ye must die like men.\n\n  4 Then let the sovereigns of the globe,\n    Not dare to vex the Just;\n  He puts on vengeance like a robe,\n    And treads the worms to dust.\n\n  5 Ye judges of the earth, be wise,\n    And think of heaven with fear;\n  The meanest saint that you despise\n    Has an avenger there.\n\n\n1265                                                             C. M.\n                              Our land.\n\n  Lord, while for all mankind we pray,\n    Of every clime and coast,\n  O hear us for our native land--\n    The land we love the most.\n\n  2 O guard our shores from every foe,\n    With peace our borders bless,\n  With prosperous times our cities crown,\n    Our fields with plenteousness.\n\n  3 Unite us in the sacred love\n    Of knowledge, truth, and thee;\n  And let our hills and valleys shout\n    The songs of liberty.\n\n  4 Lord of the nations, thus to thee\n    Our country we commend;\n  Be thou her refuge and her trust,\n    Her everlasting friend.\n\n\n1266                                                             C. M.\n                             Gen. 18:23.\n\n  Thus Abraham, full of sacred awe,\n    Before Jehovah stood,\n  And with a humble, fervent prayer,\n    For guilty Sodom sued.\n\n  2 And could a single holy soul\n    So rich a boon obtain?\n  Great God! and shall a nation pray,\n    And plead with thee in vain?\n\n  3 Still we are thine; we bear thy name;\n    Here yet is thine abode;\n  Long has thy presence blessed our land;\n    Forsake us not, O God!\n\n\n\n\n                        MISSIONARY ASSEMBLIES.\n\n\n1267                                                             L. M.\n                      All the ends of the world.\n                                   Psalm 22:27.\n\n  Come from the east, with gifts, ye kings!\n    With gold, and frankincense, and myrrh;\n  Where'er the morning spreads her wings,\n    Let man to God his vows prefer.\n\n  2 Come from the west! the bond, the free;\n    His easy service make your choice;\n  Ye isles of the Pacific sea,\n    Like halcyon nests, in God rejoice.\n\n  3 Come from the south! through the desert sands\n    A highway for the Lord prepare;\n  Let Ethiopia stretch her hands,\n    And Libya pour her soul in prayer.\n\n  4 Come from the north! let Europe raise\n    In all her languages one song;\n  Give God the glory, power, and praise,\n    That to his holy name belong.\n\n\n1268                                                             L. M.\n                             Isaiah 51:9.\n\n  Arm of the Lord, awake! awake!\n  Put on thy strength, the nations shake,\n  And let the world, adoring, see\n  Triumphs of mercy wrought by thee.\n\n  2 Say to the heathen, from thy throne,\n  \"I am Jehovah--God alone!\"\n  Thy voice their idols shall confound,\n  And cast their altars to the ground.\n\n  3 No more let human blood be spilt--\n  Vain sacrifice for human guilt!\n  But to each conscience be applied\n  The blood that flowed from Jesus' side.\n\n  4 Let Zion's time of favor come;\n  O bring the tribes of Israel home!\n  And let our wondering eyes behold\n  Gentiles and Jews in Jesus' fold.\n\n  5 Almighty God, thy grace proclaim\n  In, every land, of every name!\n  Let adverse powers before thee fall,\n  And crown the Saviour Lord of all.\n\n\n1269                                                             L. M.\n                             Rev. 11:15.\n\n  Soon may the last glad song arise\n  Through all the millions of the skies;\n  That song of triumph, which records\n  That all the earth is now the Lord's.\n\n  2 Let thrones and powers and kingdoms be\n  Obedient, mighty God! to thee;\n  And over land, and stream, and main,\n  Now wave the scepter of thy reign.\n\n  3 O let that glorious anthem swell;\n  Let host to host the triumph tell,\n  That not one rebel heart remains,\n  But over all the Saviour reigns.\n\n\n1270                                                             C. M.\n                        Go unto all the world.\n                                   Mar. 16:15.\n\n  Go, and the Saviour's grace proclaim,\n    Ye messengers of God;\n  Go, publish through Immanuel's name,\n    Salvation bought with blood.\n\n  2 What though your arduous task may lie\n    Through regions dark as death;\n  What though your faith and zeal to try,\n    Perils beset your path!\n\n  3 Yet, with determined courage, go;\n    And armed with power divine,\n  Your God will needful aid bestow,\n    And on your labors shine.\n\n  4 He who has called you to the war\n    Will recompense your pains;\n  Before Messiah's conquering car\n    Mountains shall sink to plains.\n\n  5 Shrink not though earth and hell oppose,\n    But plead your Master's cause;\n  Nor doubt that e'en your mighty foes\n    Shall bow before his cross.\n\n\n1271                                                             C. M.\n                         The morning cometh.\n                                  Isaiah 21:12.\n\n  Light of the lonely pilgrim's heart;\n    Star of the coming day!\n  Arise, and with thy morning beams\n    Chase all our griefs away!\n\n  2 Come, blessed Lord! let every shore\n    And answering island sing\n  The praises of thy royal name,\n    And own thee as their King.\n\n  3 Bid the whole earth responsive now,\n    To the bright world above,\n  Break forth in sweetest strains of joy\n    In memory of thy love.\n\n  4 Jesus! thy fair creation groans,\n    The air, the earth, the sea,\n  In unison with all our hearts,\n    And calls aloud for thee.\n\n  5 Thine was the cross, with all its fruits\n    Of grace and peace divine;\n  Be thine the crown of glory now,\n    The palm of victory thine!\n\n\n1272                                                             S. M.\n                             Matt. 13:8.\n\n  God of the prophets' power!\n    God of the gospel's sound!\n  Move glorious on--send out thy voice\n    To all the nations round.\n\n  2 With hearts and lips unfeigned,\n    We bless thee for thy word;\n  We praise thee for the joyful news,\n    Which our glad ears have heard.\n\n  3 O may we treasure well\n    The counsels that we hear,\n  Till righteousness and holy joy\n    In all our hearts appear.\n\n  4 Water the sacred seed,\n    And give it large increase;\n  May neither fowls, nor rocks, nor thorns,\n    Prevent the fruits of peace.\n\n  5 And though we sow in tears,\n    Our souls at last shall come,\n  And gather in our sheaves with joy,\n    At heaven's great harvest-home.\n\n\n1273                                                             S. M.\n                    Rise, gracious God, and shine.\n\n  Rise, gracious God, and shine\n    In all thy saving might;\n  Now prosper every good design,\n    To spread thy glorious light.\n\n  2 O bring the nations near\n    That they may sing thy praise;\n  Thy word let all the heathen hear,\n    And learn thy holy ways.\n\n  3 Send forth thy glorious power;\n    All nations then shall see,\n  And earth present her grateful store,\n    In converts born to thee.\n\n\n1274                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                   Love of God, all love excelling.\n\n  Love of God, all love excelling!\n    How can I its wonders tell!\n  Now, my troubled spirit quelling,\n    Now, it breaks the powers of hell:\n        O what mercies\n    Start beneath its magic spell!\n\n  2 Love of God, all love embracing\n    In its wide extended arms;\n  All our doubts and fears displacing,\n    Saves our souls from death's alarms:\n        O what sweetness\n    Dwells within its blissful charms!\n\n  3 Love of God, all love possessing!\n    Filling all our souls with joy;\n  Pouring on each heart a blessing,\n    Which no time can e'er destroy:\n        Now may praises\n    All our hearts and tongues employ.\n\n  4 Love of God, all love extending\n    Far o'er sea and ocean strands;\n  Thou art on the breezes sending\n    Joyful news to distant lands:\n        May thy triumphs\n    Bind the world within thy bands.\n\n\n1275                                                          8s & 7s.\n                               Onward!\n\n  Onward, onward, men of heaven!\n    Bear the gospel banner high;\n  Rest not till its light is given--\n    Star of every pagan sky;\n  Send it where the pilgrim stranger\n    Faints beneath the torrid ray;\n  Bid the hearty forest ranger\n    Hail it ere he fades away.\n\n  2 Where the Arctic ocean thunders,\n    Where the tropics fiercely glow,\n  Broadly spread its page of wonders,\n    Brightly bid its radiance flow;\n  India marks its luster stealing;\n    Shivering Greenland loves its rays,\n  Afric, 'mid her deserts kneeling,\n    Lifts the untaught strain of praise.\n\n  3 Rude in speech, or wild in feature,\n    Dark in spirit, though they be,\n  Show that light to every creature--\n    Prince or vassal, bond or free:\n  Lo! they haste to every nation;\n    Host on host the ranks supply:\n  Onward! Christ is your salvation,\n    And your death is victory.\n\n\n1276                                                          8s & 7s.\n                   Shout the tidings of salvation.\n\n  Shout the tidings of salvation,\n    To the aged and the young;\n  Till the precious invitation\n    Waken every heart and tongue.\n                               CHORUS.\n        Send the sound\n        The earth around,\n    From the rising to the setting of the sun,\n        Till each gathering crowd\n        Shall proclaim aloud,\n    The glorious work is done.\n\n  2 Shout the tidings of salvation,\n    O'er the prairies on the west;\n  Till each gathering congregation,\n    With the gospel sound is blest.\n\n  3 Shout the tidings of salvation,\n    Mingling with the ocean's roar;\n  Till the ships of every nation,\n    Bear the news from shore to shore.\n\n  4 Shout the tidings of salvation\n    O'er the islands of the sea;\n  Till, in humble adoration,\n    All to Christ shall bow the knee.\n\n\n1277                                                          8s & 7s.\n                    Quit you like men; be strong.\n                                  1 Cor. 16:13.\n\n  We are living, we are dwelling\n    In a grand and awful time,\n  In an age on ages telling;\n    To be living is sublime.\n\n  2 Hark! the onset! will ye fold your\n    Faith-clad arms in lazy lock?\n  Up! O, up! thou drowsy soldier;\n    Worlds are charging to the shock.\n\n  3 Worlds are charging, heaven beholding;\n    Thou hast but an hour to fight;\n  Now, the blazoned cross unfolding,\n    On! right onward for the right.\n\n  4 On! let all the soul within you\n    For the truth's sake go abroad:\n  Strike! let every nerve and sinew\n    Tell on ages--tell for God.\n\n\n1278                                                             P. M.\n                         God speed the right!\n\n  Now to heaven our prayer ascending,\n      God speed the right!\n  In a noble cause extending,\n      God speed the right!\n  Be their zeal in heaven recorded,\n  With success on earth rewarded,\n      God speed the right!\n\n  2 Be that prayer again repeated,\n      God speed the right!\n  Ne'er despairing, though defeated,\n      God speed the right!\n  Like the good and great in story,\n  If they fail, they fail with glory;\n      God speed the right!\n\n  3 Patient, firm, and persevering,\n      God speed the right!\n  Ne'er the event or danger fearing,\n      God speed the right!\n  Pains, nor toils, nor trials heeding,\n  And in heaven's own time succeeding,\n      God speed the right!\n\n  4 Still their onward course pursuing,\n      God speed the right!\n  Every foe at length subduing,\n      God speed the right!\n  Truth thy cause, whate'er delay it,\n  There's no power on earth can stay it,\n      God speed the right!\n\n\n1279                                                             C. M.\n                Blessed is the people that know, etc.\n                                   Psalm 89:15.\n\n  How sweet the gospel trumpet sounds!\n    Its notes are grace and love;\n  Its echo through the world resounds,\n    From Jesus' throne above.\n                               CHORUS.\n          It is the sound, the joyful sound,\n            Of mercy rich and free;\n          Pardon it offers, peace proclaims,\n            Sinner! it speaks to thee.\n\n  2 It tells the weary soul of rest,\n    The poor of heavenly wealth,\n  Of joy to heal the mourning breast;\n    It brings the sin-sick health.\n\n  3 Its words announce a heavenly feast,\n    Of water, milk, and wine,\n  And manna in the wilderness,\n    Provisions all divine.\n\n  4 It speaks of boundless grace, by which\n    The vilest are forgiven;\n  To Christians it proclaims a rich\n    Inheritance in heaven.\n\n  5 To men of high and low degree,\n    Its message is addressed;\n  The Jew and Gentile, bond and free,\n    Are with its blessings blessed.\n\n\n1280                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                   All the kindreds of the nations.\n                                   Psalm 22:27.\n\n  O'er the gloomy hills of darkness,\n    Look, my soul, be still and gaze;\n  All the promises do travail\n    With a glorious day of grace:\n        Blessed jubilee,\n    Let thy glorious morning dawn.\n\n  2 Let the Indian, let the <DW64>,\n    Let the rude barbarian see,\n  That divine and glorious conquest\n    Once obtained on Calvary:\n        Let the gospel\n    Loud resound from pole to pole.\n\n  3 Kingdoms wide that sit in darkness,\n    Grant them, Lord, the glorious light;\n  And from eastern coast to western,\n    May the morning chase the night!\n        And redemption,\n    Freely purchased, win the day.\n\n  4 Fly abroad, thou mighty gospel!\n    Win and conquer! never cease!\n  May thy lasting wide dominion\n    Multiply and still increase!\n        Sway thy scepter,\n    Saviour, all the world around.\n\n\n1281                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                      The missionary's farewell.\n\n  Yes, my native land, I love thee;\n    And all thy scenes, I love them well:\n  Home and friends, and happy country,\n    Can I bid you all farewell?\n        Can I leave you,\n    Far in heathen lands to dwell?\n\n  2 Scenes of sacred peace and pleasure,\n    Holy days and Sabbath bell,\n  Richest, brightest, sweetest treasure,\n    Can I--can I say, farewell?\n        Can I leave you,\n    Far in heathen lands to dwell.\n\n  3 Yes, I hasten from you gladly;\n    To the strangers let me tell\n  How he died--the blessed Saviour--\n    To redeem a world from hell:\n        Let me hasten,\n    Far in heathen lands to dwell.\n\n  4 Bear me on, thou restless ocean,\n    From the scenes I love so well:\n  Heaves my heart with warm emotion\n    While I go far hence to dwell:\n        Glad I bid thee,\n    Native land, farewell, farewell!\n\n\n1282                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                     My name shall be great, etc.\n                                    Mal. 1:11.\n\n  Light of them that sit in darkness,\n    Rise and shine! thy blessings bring\n  Light to lighten all the Gentiles!\n    Rise with healing on thy wing;\n        To thy brightness\n    Let all kings and nations come.\n\n  2 May the heathen now adoring\n    Idol-gods of wood and stone,\n  Come, and, worshiping before him,\n    Serve the living God alone!\n        Let thy glory\n    Fill the earth as floods the sea.\n\n  3 Thou to whom all power is given,\n    Speak the word: at thy command\n  Let thy truth and faithful heralds\n    Spread thy name from land to land:\n        Lord, be with them\n    Always to the end of time.\n\n\n1283                                                       6s, 7s & 4.\n                   Farewell hymn for missionaries.\n\n  Eternal Lord! whose power\n  Can calm the heaving ocean,\n      Exalted thou,\n      Yet gracious bow;\n  Accept our warm devotion.\n\n  2 For thee, our all we leave,\n  Nor drop a tear of sadness;\n      As on we glide,\n      Be thou our guide,\n  And fill our hearts with gladness.\n\n  3 We go 'mid pagan gloom\n  To spread the truth victorious;\n      Thy blessing send,\n      Thy word attend,\n  And make its triumph glorious.\n\n  4 And when our toils are done,\n  Smooth thou the dying pillow:\n      O, bring us blest\n      To endless rest,\n  Safe o'er death's troubled billow!\n\n\n1284                                                        11s & 10s.\n                           The day of joy.\n\n  Wake thee, O Zion! thy mourning is ended;\n    God--thine own God--hath regarded thy prayer;\n  Wake thee, and hail him in glory descended,\n    Thy darkness to scatter--thy wastes to repair.\n\n  2 Wake thee, O Zion! his spirit of power\n    To newness of life is awaking the dead;\n  Array thee in beauty, and greet the glad hour\n    That brings thee salvation, through Jesus who bled.\n\n  3 Saviour, we gladly, with voices resounding\n    Loud as the thunder, our chorus would swell:\n  Till from rock, wood and mountain, its echoes rebounding,\n    To all the wide world of salvation shall tell.\n\n\n1285                                                          7s & 6s.\n                           Missionary hymn.\n\n  From Greenland's icy mountains,\n    From India's coral strand--\n  Where Afric's sunny fountains\n    Roll down their golden sand--\n  From many an ancient river,\n    From many a palmy plain,\n  They call us to deliver\n    Their land from error's chain.\n\n  2 What though the spicy breezes\n    Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle--\n  Though every prospect pleases,\n    And only man is vile;\n  In vain with lavish kindness\n    The gifts of God are strewn;\n  The heathen, in their blindness,\n    Bow down to wood and stone.\n\n  3 Shall we whose souls are lighted\n    By wisdom from on high--\n  Shall we, to man benighted,\n    The lamp of life deny?\n  Salvation! O salvation!\n    The joyful sound proclaim,\n  Till earth's remotest nation\n    Has learned Messiah's name.\n\n  4 Waft--waft, you winds, his story,\n    And you, you waters, roll,\n  Till, like a sea of glory,\n    It spreads from pole to pole;\n  Till, o'er our ransomed nature,\n    The Lamb for sinners slain,\n  Redeemer, King, Creator,\n    In bliss returns to reign.\n\n\n1286                                                          7s & 5s.\n                              Rev. 11:6.\n\n  Onward speed thy conquering flight,\n    Angel, onward speed!\n  Cast abroad thy radiant light,\n    Bid the shades recede;\n  Tread the idols in the dust,\n    Heathen fanes destroy;\n  Spread the gospel's love and trust,\n    Spread the gospel's joy.\n\n  2 Onward speed thy conquering flight,\n    Angel, onward haste;\n  Quickly on each mountain hight\n    Be thy standard placed;\n  Let thy blissful tidings float\n    Far o'er vale and hill,\n  Till the sweetly-echoing note\n    Every bosom thrill.\n\n  3 Onward speed thy conquering flight,\n    Angel, onward fly!\n  Long has been the reign of night;\n    Bring the morning nigh:\n  Unto thee earth's sufferers lift\n    Their imploring wail;\n  Bear them heaven's holy gift,\n    Ere their courage fail.\n\n  4 Onward speed thy conquering flight,\n    Angel, onward speed!\n  Morning bursts upon our sight,\n    Lo! the time decreed:\n  Now the Lord his kingdom takes,\n    Thrones and empires fall;\n  Now the joyous song awakes,\n    \"God is All in All!\"\n\n\n1287                                                          7s & 6s.\n                     Roll on, thou mighty ocean.\n\n  Roll on, thou mighty ocean;\n    And, as thy billows flow,\n  Bear messengers of mercy\n    To every land below.\n\n  2 Arise, ye gales, and waft them\n    Safe to the destined shore,\n  That man may sit in darkness\n    And death's deep shade no more.\n\n  3 O thou eternal Ruler,\n    Who holdest in thine arm\n  The tempests of the ocean,\n    Protect them from all harm.\n\n  4 O be thy presence with them,\n    Wherever they may be;\n  Though far from us who love them,\n    O be they still with thee!\n\n\n\n\n                               THE SEA.\n\n\n1288                                                    L. M. 6 lines.\n                       They that go down, etc.\n                                  Psalm 107:23.\n\n  Eternal Father! strong to save,\n  Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,\n  Who biddest the mighty ocean deep\n  Its own appointed limits keep;\n  O hear us when we cry to thee\n  For those in peril on the sea!\n\n  2 O Christ! whose voice the waters heard,\n  And hushed their raging at thy word,\n  Who walkedst on the foaming deep,\n  And calm amidst its rage didst sleep;\n  O hear us when we cry to thee\n  For those in peril on the sea!\n\n  3 O God of boundless love and power!\n  Our brethren shield in danger's hour;\n  From rock and tempest, fire and foe,\n  Protect them wheresoe'er they go,\n  Thus evermore shall rise to thee\n  Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.\n\n\n1289                                                             L. M.\n                     He raiseth the stormy wind.\n                                  Psalm 107:25.\n\n  Glory to thee, whose powerful word\n    Bids the tempestuous wind arise;\n  Glory to thee, the sovereign Lord\n    Of air and earth, and seas and skies.\n\n  2 Let air and earth and skies obey,\n    And seas thy awful will perform;\n  From them we learn to own thy sway,\n    And shout to meet the gathering storm.\n\n  3 What though the floods lift up their voice,\n    Thou hearest, Lord, our silent cry;\n  They can not damp thy children's joys,\n    Or shake the soul, while God is nigh.\n\n  4 Roar on, ye waves! our souls defy\n    Your roaring to disturb their rest;\n  In vain to impair the calm ye try--\n    The calm in a believer's breast.\n\n\n1290                                                             L. M.\n                      The Lord is mightier, etc.\n                                   Psalm 93:4.\n\n  The floods, O Lord, lift up their voice,\n    The mighty floods lift up their roar;\n  The floods in tumult loud rejoice,\n    And climb in foam the sounding shore.\n\n  2 But mightier than the mighty sea,\n    The Lord of glory reigns on high;\n  Far o'er its waves we look to thee,\n    And see their fury break and die.\n\n  3 Thy word is true, thy promise sure,\n    That ancient promise sealed in love;\n  Here be thy temple ever pure,\n    As thy pure mansions shine above.\n\n\n1291                                                             L. M.\n                  Rocked in the cradle of the deep.\n\n  Rocked in the cradle of the deep,\n  I lay me down in peace to sleep;\n  Secure I rest upon the wave,\n  For thou, O Lord! hast power to save.\n\n  2 I know thou wilt not slight my call!\n  For thou dost mark the sparrow's fall!\n  And calm and peaceful is my sleep,\n  Rocked in the cradle of the deep.\n\n  3 And such the trust that still were mine,\n  Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine,\n  Or though the tempest's fiery breath\n  Roused me from sleep to wreck and death!\n\n  4 In ocean caves still safe with thee,\n  The germs of immortality;\n  And calm and peaceful is my sleep,\n  Rocked in the cradle of the deep.\n\n\n1292                                                             C. M.\n                   Let not the deep swallow me up.\n                                   Psalm 69:15.\n\n  How are thy servants blest, O Lord!\n    How sure is their defense!\n  Eternal Wisdom is their guide,\n    Their help, Omnipotence.\n\n  2 In foreign realms, and lands remote,\n    Supported by thy care,\n  Through burning climes they pass unhurt,\n    And breathe in tainted air.\n\n  3 When by the dreadful tempest borne\n    High on the broken wave,\n  They know thou art not slow to hear,\n    Nor impotent to save.\n\n  4 The storm is laid, the winds retire,\n    Obedient to thy will;\n  The sea, that roars at thy command,\n    At thy command is still.\n\n  5 In midst of dangers, fears and deaths,\n    Thy goodness I'll adore;\n  I'll praise thee for thy mercies past,\n    And humbly hope for more.\n\n\n1293                                                             C. M.\n                    Thy path in the great waters.\n                                   Psalm 77:19.\n\n  Thy way is in the deep, O Lord!\n    E'en there we'll go with thee;\n  We'll meet the tempest at thy word,\n    And walk upon the sea!\n\n  2 Poor tremblers at his rougher wind,\n    Why do we doubt him so?\n  Who gives the storm a path, will find\n    The way our feet shall go.\n\n  3 A moment may his hand be lost,\n    Drear moment of delay!--\n  We cry, \"Lord, help the tempest tost,\"\n    And safe we're borne away.\n\n\n1294                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                           Far, far at sea.\n\n  Star of peace, to wanderers weary,\n    Bright the beams that smile on me;\n  Cheer the pilot's vision dreary,\n      Far, far at sea.\n\n  2 Star of Hope, gleam on the billow,\n    Bless the soul that sighs for thee;\n  Bless the sailor's lonely pillow,\n      Far, far at sea.\n\n  3 Star of faith, when winds are mocking\n    All his toil, he flies to thee;\n  Save him, on the billows rocking,\n      Far, far at sea.\n\n  4 Star Divine! O, safely guide him--\n    Bring the wanderer home to thee;\n  Sore temptations long have tried him,\n      Far, far at sea.\n\n\n1295                                                               7s.\n                  Thou rulest the raging of the sea.\n                                   Psalm 89:9.\n\n  Lord! whom winds and seas obey,\n  Guide us through the watery way;\n  In the hollow of thy hand\n  Hide, and bring us safe to land.\n\n  2 Jesus! let our faithful mind\n  Rest, on thee alone reclined;\n  Every anxious thought repress;\n  Keep our souls in perfect peace.\n\n  3 Keep the souls whom now we leave;\n  Bid them to each other cleave:\n  Bid them walk on life's rough sea;\n  Bid them come by faith to thee.\n\n  4 Save, till all these tempests end,\n  All who on thy love depend;\n  Waft our happy spirits o'er,\n  Land us on the heavenly shore.\n\n\n1296                                                              12s.\n                      Lord, save, or we perish.\n\n  When through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming,\n  When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming,\n  Nor hope lends a ray, the poor seaman to cherish,\n  We fly to our Maker--Save, Lord, or we perish!\n\n  2 O Jesus, once rocked on the breast of the billow,\n  Aroused by the shriek of despair from thy pillow,\n  Now seated in glory, the mariner cherish,\n  Who cries, in his anguish--Save, Lord, or we perish!\n\n  3 And, O, when the whirlwind of passion is raging,\n  When sin in our hearts its sad warfare is waging,\n  Then send down thy grace, thy redeemed to cherish;\n  Rebuke the destroyer--Save, Lord, or we perish!\n\n\n\n\n                           MARRIAGE HYMNS.\n\n\n1297                                                             C. M.\n                              John 2:2.\n\n  Since Jesus freely did appear\n    To grace a marriage feast;\n  Lord, we ask thy presence here\n    To make a wedding guest.\n\n  2 Upon the bridal pair look down,\n    Who now have plighted hands;\n  Their union with thy favor crown,\n    And bless the nuptial bands.\n\n  3 With gifts of grace their hearts endow,\n    Of all rich dowries best;\n  Their substance bless, and peace bestow\n    To sweeten all the rest.\n\n  4 In purest love their souls unite,\n    That they, with Christian care,\n  May make domestic burdens light,\n    By taking mutual share.\n\n\n1298                                                             C. M.\n                    Not good for man to be alone.\n                                    Gen. 2:18.\n\n  Not for the summer hour alone,\n    When skies resplendent shine,\n  And youth and pleasure fill the throne,\n    Our hearts and hands we join.\n\n  2 But for those stern and wintry days\n    Of sorrow, pain, and fear,\n  When heaven's wise discipline doth make\n    Our earthly journey drear.\n\n  3 Not for this span of life alone,\n    Which like a blast doth fly;\n  And, as the transient flowers of grass,\n    Just blossom, droop, and die.\n\n  4 But for a being without end,\n    This vow of love we take;\n  Grant us, O Lord, one home at last,\n    For thy great mercy's sake.\n\n\n1299                                                               7s.\n                       They twain shall be one.\n                                   Matt. 19:5.\n\n  Father of the human race,\n  Sanction with thy heavenly grace\n  What on earth hath now been done,\n  That these twain be truly one.\n\n  2 One in sickness and in health,\n  One in poverty and wealth,\n  And as year rolls after year,\n  Each to other still more dear.\n\n  3 One in purpose, one in heart,\n  Till the mortal stroke shall part;\n  One in cheerful piety,\n  One for ever, Lord, with thee.\n\n\n\n\n                             DEDICATORY.\n\n\n1300                                                             L. M.\n                      How much less this house.\n                                  1 Kings 8:27.\n\n  The perfect world, by Adam trod,\n  Was the first temple built to God;\n  His fiat laid the corner-stone,\n  And heaved its pillars one by one.\n\n  2 He hung its starry roof on high--\n  The broad, illimitable sky;\n  He spread its pavement, green and bright,\n  And curtained it with morning light.\n\n  3 The mountains in their places stood,\n  The sea--the sky--and \"all was good;\"\n  And when its first few praises rang,\n  The \"morning stars together sang.\"\n\n  4 Lord, 'tis not ours to make the sea,\n  And earth, and sky, a house for thee;\n  But in thy sight our offering stands--\n  An humbler temple, \"made with hands.\"\n\n  5 We can not bid the morning star\n  To sing how bright thy glories are;\n  But, Lord, if thou wilt meet us here,\n  Thy praise shall be the Christian's tear.\n\n\n1301                                                             H. M.\n                      Peace be within thy walls.\n                                   Psalm 122:7.\n\n  In sweet, exalted strains,\n    The King of glory praise;\n  O'er heaven and earth he reigns,\n    Through everlasting days;\n  Beneath this roof, O deign to show\n  How God can dwell with men below.\n\n  2 Here may thine ears attend\n    Our interceding cries;\n  And grateful praise ascend,\n    All fragrant, to the skies;\n  Here may thy word melodious sound,\n  And spread the joys of heaven around.\n\n  3 Here may the attentive throng\n    Imbibe thy truth and love;\n  And converts join the song\n    Of seraphim above;\n  And willing crowds surround thy board,\n  With sacred joy and sweet accord.\n\n  4 Here may our unborn sons\n    And daughters sound thy praise,\n  And shine like polished stones\n    Through long-succeeding days;\n  Here, Lord! display thy saving power,\n  While temples stand, and men adore.\n\n\n1302                                                             L. M.\n               He called the name of that place Bethel.\n                                   Gen. 28:19.\n\n  O bow thine ear, Eternal One,\n    On thee our heart adoring calls;\n  To thee the followers of thy Son\n    Have raised, and now devote these walls.\n\n  2 Here let thy holy days be kept;\n    And be this place to worship given,\n  Like that bright spot where Jacob slept,\n    The house of God, the gate of heaven.\n\n  3 Here may thine honor dwell; and here,\n    As incense, let thy children's prayer,\n  From contrite hearts and lips sincere,\n    Rise on the still and holy air.\n\n  4 Here be thy praise devoutly sung;\n    Here let thy truth beam forth to save,\n  As when, of old, thy Spirit hung,\n    On wings of light, o'er Jordan's wave.\n\n  5 And when the lips, that with thy name\n    Are vocal now, to dust shall turn,\n  On others may devotion's flame\n    Be kindled here, and purely burn!\n\n\n1303                                                             C. M.\n                 In his temple we speak of his glory.\n                                   Psalm 29:9.\n\n  O thou whose own vast temple stands\n    Built over earth and sea,\n  Accept the walls that human hands\n    Have raised to worship thee.\n\n  2 Lord, from thine inmost glory send,\n    Within these courts to bide,\n  The peace that dwelleth, without end,\n    Serenely by thy side.\n\n  3 May erring minds, that worship here,\n    Be taught the better way;\n  And they who mourn, and they who fear,\n    Be strengthened as they pray.\n\n  4 May faith grow firm, and love grow warm,\n    And pure devotion rise,\n  While round these hallowed walls the storm\n    Of earth-born passion dies.\n\n\n1304                                                               7s.\n               Make them joyful in my house of prayer.\n                                   Isaiah 56:7.\n\n  Lord of hosts, to thee we raise\n  Here a house of prayer and praise!\n  Thou thy people's hearts prepare\n  Here to meet for praise and prayer.\n\n  2 Let the living here be fed\n  With thy word, the heavenly bread;\n  Here in hope of glory blest,\n  May the dead be laid to rest.\n\n  3 Here to thee a temple stand,\n  While the sea shall gird the land;\n  Here reveal thy mercy sure,\n  While the sun and moon endure.\n\n  4 Hallelujah!--earth and sky\n  To the joyful sound reply;\n  Hallelujah!--hence ascend\n  Prayer and praise till time shall end.\n\n\n\n\n                            MISCELLANEOUS.\n\n\n1305                                                             L. M.\n                   Here have we no continuing city.\n                                   Heb. 13:14.\n\n  \"We've no abiding city here;\"\n    Sad truth, were this to be our home;\n  But let this thought our spirits cheer,\n    \"We seek a city yet to come.\"\n\n  2 \"We've no abiding city here;\"\n    We seek a city out of sight:\n  Zion its name--the Lord is there,\n    It shines with everlasting light.\n\n  3 O sweet abode of peace and love,\n    Where pilgrims freed from toil are blest!\n  Had I the pinions of the dove,\n    I'd fly to thee, and be at rest.\n\n  4 But, hush, my soul! nor dare repine;\n    The time my God appoints is best;\n  While here, to do his will be mine,\n    And his to fix my time of rest.\n\n\n1306                                                             L. M.\n                         The mercies of God.\n                                    Rom 12:2.\n\n  My God, how endless is thy love!\n    Thy gifts are every evening new;\n  And morning mercies, from above,\n    Gently distill like early dew.\n\n  2 Thou spreadest the curtains of the night,\n    Great Guardian of my sleeping hours;\n  Thy sovereign word restores the light,\n    And quickens all my drowsy powers.\n\n  3 I yield my powers to thy command;\n    To thee I consecrate my days;\n  Perpetual blessings from thy hand\n    Demand perpetual songs of praise.\n\n\n1307                                                             L. M.\n                Lord, let thy goodness lead our land.\n\n  Lord, let thy goodness lead our land,\n  Still saved by thine almighty hand,\n  The tribute of its love to bring\n  To thee, our Saviour and our King.\n\n  2 Let every public temple raise\n  Triumphant songs of holy praise;\n  Let every peaceful, private home,\n  A temple, Lord, to thee become.\n\n  3 Still be it our supreme delight\n  To walk as in thy glorious sight;\n  Still in thy precepts and thy fear,\n  Till life's last hour to persevere.\n\n\n1308                                                             C. M.\n                             Submission.\n\n  Teach us, in time of deep distress,\n    To own thy hand, O God,\n  And in submissive silence learn\n    The lessons of thy rod.\n\n  2 In every changing scene of life,\n    Whate'er that scene may be,\n  Give us a meek and humble mind,\n    A mind at peace with thee.\n\n  3 Do thou direct our steps aright;\n    Help us thy name to fear;\n  And give us grace to watch and pray,\n    And strength to persevere.\n\n  4 Then may we close our eyes in death,\n    Without a fear or care;\n  For death is life, and labor rest,\n    If thou art with us there.\n\n\n1309                                                             C. M.\n                            Psalm. 145:18.\n\n  Dear Father, to thy mercy-seat\n    My soul for shelter flies;\n  'Tis here I find a safe retreat\n    When storms and tempests rise.\n\n  2 My cheerful hope can never die,\n    If thou my God art near;\n  Thy grace can raise my comforts high\n    And banish every fear.\n\n  3 My great Protector, and my Lord!\n    Thy constant aid impart;\n  O let thy kind, thy gracious word,\n    Sustain my trembling heart.\n\n  4 O! never let my soul remove\n    From this divine retreat;\n  Still let me trust thy power and love,\n    And dwell beneath thy feet.\n\n\n1310                                                             C. M.\n                         The hour of prayer.\n\n  Thou Lord of life! whose tender care\n    Hath led us on till now,\n  We in this quiet hour of prayer\n    Before thy presence bow.\n\n  2 Thou, blessed God! hast been our Guide;\n    Through life, our Guard and Friend;\n  O, still, on life's uncertain tide,\n    Preserve us to the end!\n\n  3 To thee our grateful praise we bring,\n    For mercies day by day:\n  Lord, teach our hearts thy love to sing,\n    Lord, teach us how to pray!\n\n\n1311                                                             C. M.\n                             Love of God.\n\n  Thou Grace divine, encircling all,\n    A soundless, shoreless sea!\n  Wherein at last, our souls shall fall,\n    O Love of God most free!\n\n  2 When over dizzy steeps we go,\n    One soft hand blinds our eyes,\n  The other leads us safe and slow,\n    O Love of God most wise!\n\n  3 And though we turn us from thy face,\n    And wander wide and long,\n  Thou holdest us still in thine embrace,\n    O Love of God most strong!\n\n  4 The saddened heart, the restless soul,\n    The toilworn frame and mind,\n  Alike confess thy sweet control,\n    O Love of God most kind!\n\n  5 But not alone thy care we claim,\n    Our wayward steps to win:\n  We know thee by a dearer name,\n    O Love of God within!\n\n  6 And filled and quickened by thy breath,\n    Our souls are strong and free\n  To rise o'er sin, and fear, and death,\n    O Love of God, to thee!\n\n\n1312                                                             C. M.\n                They that seek me early shall find me.\n                                   Prov. 8:17.\n\n  Happy the child whose tender years\n    Receive instruction well,\n  Who hates the sinner's path, and fears\n    The road that leads to hell.\n\n  2 'Twill save us from a thousand snares\n    To mind religion young,\n  Grace will preserve our following years,\n    And make our virtues strong.\n\n  3 To thee, Almighty God, to thee\n    Our childhood we resign;\n  'Twill please us to look back and see\n    That our whole lives were thine.\n\n  4 O let the work of prayer and praise\n    Employ my youngest breath;\n  Thus I'm prepared for longer days,\n    Or fit for early death.\n\n\n1313                                                    C. M. 6 lines.\n                               Vespers.\n\n  O Shadow in a sultry land,\n    We gather to thy breast,\n  Whose love, unfolding like the night,\n    Brings quietude and rest,\n  Glimpse of the fairer life to be,\n    In foretaste here possessed;\n\n  2 From aimless wanderings we come,\n    From drifting to and fro;\n  The wave of being mingles deep,\n    Amid its ebb and flow;\n  The grander sweep of tides serene\n    Our spirits yearn to know!\n\n  3 That which the garish day had lost,\n    The twilight vigil brings,\n  While softlier the vesper bell\n    Its silver cadence rings,--\n  The sense of an immortal trust,\n    The brush of angel wings!\n\n  4 Drop down behind the solemn hills,\n    O Day, with golden skies!\n  Serene above its fading glow,\n    Night, starry-crowned, arise!\n  So beautiful may heaven be,\n    When life's last sunbeam dies!\n\n\n1314                                                             S. M.\n                         Christ the Day-Star.\n\n  We lift our hearts to thee,\n    Thou Day-star from on high:\n  The sun itself is but thy shade,\n    Yet cheers both earth and sky.\n\n  2 O, let thy rising beams\n    Dispel the shades of night;\n  And let the glories of thy love,\n    Come like the morning light!\n\n  3 How beauteous nature now!\n    How dark and sad before!--\n  With joy we view the pleasing change,\n    And nature's God adore.\n\n  4 May we this life improve,\n    To mourn for errors past;\n  And live this short, revolving day,\n    As if it were our last.\n\n\n1315                                                             C. M.\n                               Evening.\n\n  O Lord! another day is flown,\n    And we, a feeble band,\n  Are met once more before thy throne,\n    To bless thy fostering hand.\n\n  2 Thy heavenly grace to each impart;\n    All evil far remove;\n  And shed abroad in every heart\n    Thine everlasting love.\n\n  3 Our souls, obedient to thy sway,\n    In Christian bonds unite;\n  Let peace and love conclude the day,\n    And hail the morning light.\n\n  4 Thus, cleansed from sin, and wholly thine,\n    A flock by Jesus led,\n  The Sun of Righteousness shall shine\n    In glory on our head.\n\n  5 O still restore our wandering feet,\n    And still direct our way,\n  Till worlds shall fail, and faith shall greet\n    The dawn of endless day.\n\n\n1316                                                             P. M.\n                           Flee as a bird.\n\n  Flee as a bird to your mountain,\n    Thou who art weary of sin;\n  Go to the clear flowing fountain,\n    Where you may wash and be clean!\n  Fly, for the avenger is near thee;\n  Call, and the Saviour will hear thee;\n  He on his bosom will bear thee,\n    Thou who art weary of sin,\n    O thou who art weary of sin.\n\n  2 He will protect thee for ever,\n    Wipe every falling tear;\n  He will forsake thee, O never,\n    Sheltered so tenderly there;\n  Haste, then, the hours are flying,\n  Spend not the moments in sighing,\n  Cease from your sorrow and crying,\n    The Saviour will wipe every tear,\n    The Saviour will wipe every tear.\n\n\n1317                                                             P. M.\n                           Evening prayer.\n\n      I come to thee to-night,\n  In my lone closet, where no eye can see,\n  And dare to crave an interview with thee,\n      Father of love and light.\n\n      2 Softly the moonbeams shine\n  On the still branches of the shadowy trees,\n  While all sweet sounds of evening on the breeze\n      Steal through the slumbering vine.\n\n      3 Thou gavest the calm repose\n  That rests on all; the air, the birds, the flower,\n  The human spirit in its weary hour,\n      Now at the bright day's close.\n\n      4 Father! my soul would be\n  Pure as the drops of eve's unsullied dew--\n  And as the stars whose nightly course is true,\n      So would I be to thee.\n\n      5 Not for myself alone\n  Would I the blessings of thy love implore;\n  But for each penitent the wide earth o'er,\n      Whom thou hast called thine own.\n\n      6 And for my heart's best friends,\n  Whose steadfast kindness o'er my painful years\n  Has watched, to soothe affliction's griefs and tears,\n      My warmest prayer ascends.\n\n      7 And now, O Father, take\n  The heart I cast with humble faith on thee,\n  And cleanse its depths from each impurity,\n      For my Redeemer's sake.\n\n\n1318                                                           6s & 4.\n                               Calvary.\n\n  Whene'er I think of thee,\n  O! sacred Calvary,\n      Love fills my breast.\n  Flow, then, the joyous tears;\n  Flee, all my guilty fears;\n  Saviour! thy cross appears,\n      And I find rest.\n\n  2 When from thy bleeding side\n  I see the crimson tide\n      Streaming for me;\n  Faith in thy flowing blood,\n  O! spotless Lamb of God,\n  Points me from earth's dark clod,\n      Upward to thee.\n\n  3 When death's unsparing dart\n  Pierces my fainting heart,\n      Sweetly I'll sing:\n  Grave! thou no terror hast;\n  All fearful gloom is past;\n  Victor through Christ at last,\n      Death has no sting!\n\n\n1319                                                          8s & 7s.\n                             Invitation.\n\n  Come to Calvary's holy mountain,\n    Sinners, ruined by the fall!\n  Here a pure and healing fountain,\n    Flows to cleanse the guilty soul;\n  In a full, perpetual tide,\n  Opened when the Saviour died.\n\n  2 Come in sorrow and contrition,\n    Wounded, impotent, and blind;\n  Here the guilty find remission,\n    Here the lost a refuge find;\n  Health this fountain will restore;\n  He that drinks shall thirst no more.\n\n  3 Come, ye dying, live for ever,\n    'Tis a soul-reviving flood;\n  God is faithful--he will never\n    Break the covenant, sealed in blood;\n  Signed, when our Redeemer died,\n  Sealed, when he was crucified.\n\n\n1320                                                      7s, 6 lines.\n                          Glory to our King.\n\n  Glory, glory to our King!\n    Crowns unfading wreathe his head;\n  Jesus is the name we sing--\n    Jesus risen from the dead;\n  Jesus, Victor of the grave;\n  Jesus, mighty now to save.\n\n  2 Now behold him high enthroned;\n    Glory beaming from his face,\n  By adoring angels owned\n    God of holiness and grace:\n  O for hearts and tongues to sing,\n  Glory, glory to our King.\n\n  3 Jesus, on thy people shine;\n    Warm our hearts and tune our tongues,\n  That with angels we may join--\n    Share their bliss, and swell their songs:\n  Glory, honor, praise, and power,\n  Lord, be thine for evermore.\n\n\n1321                                                          8s & 7s.\n                                Night.\n\n  Hear my prayer, O heavenly Father,\n    Ere I lay me down to sleep:\n  Bid thy angels pure and holy,\n    Round my bed their vigil keep.\n\n  2 Great my sins are, but thy mercy\n    Far outweighs them every one;\n  Down before thy cross I cast them,\n    Trusting in thy help alone.\n\n  3 Keep me through this night of peril,\n    Underneath its boundless shade;\n  Take me to thy rest, I pray thee,\n    When my pilgrimage is made!\n\n  4 None shall measure out thy patience\n    By the span of human thought;\n  None shall bound the tender mercies\n    Which thy holy Son hath wrought.\n\n  5 Pardon all my past transgressions;\n    Give me strength for days to come;\n  Guide and guard me with thy blessing,\n    Till thine angels bid me home!\n\n\n1322                                                          8s & 7s.\n                            Our Mediator.\n\n  Jesus, hail! enthroned in glory,\n    There for ever to abide;\n  All the heavenly host adore thee,\n    Seated at thy Father's side.\n\n  2 There for sinners thou art pleading;\n    There thou dost our place prepare;\n  Ever for us interceding,\n    Till in glory we appear.\n\n  3 Worship, honor, power, and blessing,\n    Thou art worthy to receive;\n  Loudest praises, without ceasing,\n    Meet it is for us to give.\n\n  4 Help, ye bright, angelic spirits;\n    Bring your sweetest, noblest lays;\n  Help to sing our Saviour's merits,\n    Help to chant Immanuel's praise.\n\n\n1323                                                      8s, 7s & 4s.\n                              Adoration.\n\n  Let us sing the King Messiah,\n    King of Righteousness and Peace;\n  Hail him, all his happy subjects,\n    Never let his praises cease!\n        Ever hail him,\n    Let his honors still increase!\n\n  2 How transcendent are thy glories!\n    Fairer than the sons of men,\n  While thy blessed mediation\n    Brings us back to God again!\n        Blessed Redeemer,\n    How we triumph in thy reign!\n\n  3 Gird thy sword on, Mighty Hero,\n    Make thy word of truth thy car,\n  Prosper in thy course triumphant,\n    All success attend thy war!\n        Gracious Victor,\n    Let mankind before thee bow!\n\n  4 Blessed are all that touch thy scepter,\n    Blessed are all that own thy reign!\n  Freed from sin, that worst of tyrants,\n    Rescued from his galling chain!\n        Saints and angels,\n    All who know thee bless thy name!\n\n\n1324                                                             H. M.\n                        Excellency of Christ.\n\n  O you immortal throng\n    Of angels round the throne,\n  Join with our feeble song\n    To make the Saviour known:\n  On earth you knew his wondrous grace:\n  In heaven you view his beauteous face.\n\n  2 You saw the heavenly child\n    In human flesh arrayed,\n  All innocent and mild,\n    While in a manger laid;\n  And praise to God, and peace on earth,\n  Proclaimed aloud for such a birth.\n\n  3 You in the wilderness\n    Beheld the tempter spoiled,\n  Well known in every dress,\n    In every combat foiled:\n  And joyed to crown the Victor's head,\n  Before his frown when Satan fled.\n\n  4 Around the bloody tree\n    You pressed with strong desire,\n  That wondrous sight to see--\n    The Lord of life expire!\n  And could your eyes have known a tear,\n  In sad surprise had dropped it there.\n\n  5 Around his sacred tomb\n    A willing watch you keep,\n  Till the blest moment come\n    To rouse him from his sleep:\n  Then rolled the stone, and all adored\n  With joy unknown, our rising Lord.\n\n  6 When, all arrayed in light,\n    The shining Conqueror rode,\n  You hailed his rapturous flight\n    Up to the throne of God;\n  Your golden wings you waved around,\n  And struck your strings of sweetest sound.\n\n  7 The warbling notes pursue,\n    And louder anthems raise,\n  While mortals sing with you\n    Their own Redeemer's praise.\n  And you, my heart, with equal flame,\n  Perform your part with joy the same.\n\n\n\n\n                              CONTENTS.\n\n\n  No.                                                      No. of Hymns.\n\n  I. THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.                                           1-23\n  II. GOD.\n      Being and Perfections; in Creation; in Providence;\n          in Redemption.                                          24-116\n  III. CHRIST.\n      The Nativity; Life and Ministry; Sufferings; Crucifixion;\n          Burial and Resurrection; Ascension; Coronation;\n          Mediatorial Reign.                                     117-265\n  IV. THE GOSPEL.\n      Proclamation; Invitations; Faith and Repentance; Baptism;\n          Remission of Sins; Spirit of Adoption; Hope of Eternal\n          Life.                                                  266-440\n  V. THE CHURCH.\n      Divine Constitution; Officers; Love, Unity and Fellowship;\n          Lord's Supper; Prayer and Social Meetings; Growth and\n          Future Triumphs                                        441-610\n  VI. PUBLIC WORSHIP.\n      The Lord's Day; Gratitude and Praise; Opening; Closing.    611-759\n  VII. THE NEW LIFE.\n      Trust and Joy; Aspirations; Temptations and Conflicts;\n          Submission and Deliverance; _Relapse and Recovery_;\n          Sympathies and Activities; Private Devotions;\n          Afflictions.                                          760-1032\n  VIII. THE PRESENT AND THE FUTURE.\n      Life and Death; Second Advent; Resurrection; Final Judgment;\n          Heaven.                                              1033-1169\n  IX. HOME.\n      The Family; Morning Hymns; Evening Hymns; Youth and Age. 1170-1229\n  X. TIMES AND SEASONS.\n      Seed-time and Harvest; Old and New Year; Thanksgiving; Fasts;\n          Missionary Assemblies; The Sea; Marriage;\n          Dedications.                                         1230-1304\n  XI. MISCELLANEOUS.                                           1305-1331\n\n\n\n\n                           INDEX OF SUBJECTS.\n\n\n        (==>The Figures indicate the _Numbers_ of the Hymns.)\n\n                                  A\n  Absence from the assembly of the saints, 1013.\n  Activities of Christian Life, 951-976.\n  Adoption--see Spirit of Adoption.\n  Advent, first, of Christ--see Christ.\n  Advent, second, 1099-1105.\n  Affliction, sympathy with, 1029.\n  Afflictions, 993-1032.\n    Blessings, 910, 1031.\n    Comfort in, 154, 156, 439, 509, 802, 914, 1028, 1228.\n  Age--see Youth and Age.\n  Aged, Hymns for, 1203, 1229.\n    Death of, 1079.\n  Angels--Attendants of Christ, 255, 259.\n    Song of, 119-121, 123, 126, 132, 134, 135, 137-140.\n  Anniversary Hymn, 1253.\n  Ascension--see Christ.\n  Ashamed of Jesus, 355, 373, 381.\n  Aspirations, 806-844.\n    After fellowship with God, 612, 683, 688, 697, 704, 716, 764, 823,\n          834, 839, 853, 856, 859, 862, 887, 899, 928, 943, 979, 980,\n          987-989, 1032.\n    After Love to Christ, 505, 804, 807, 811, 813, 814, 891.\n    After Heaven, 806, 810, 812, 817, 819-822, 824-833, 836, 841, 843,\n          844, 873, 888, 917, 930-933, 1068, 1099, 1121.\n    After progress in Christian experience, 816, 818, 835, 864, 881,\n          896, 915, 990.\n    After the joys of Worship, 858, 924, 1013, 1122.\n  Atonement--see Christ.\n\n                                  B\n  Backsliders--see Relapse and Recovery.\n    Gentleness toward, 490, 975.\n    Invitation to, 288, 296.\n    Returning, 868.\n  Baptism--Believers, 373-394.\n    Christ's, 142, 377, 382, 384-387, 389.\n  Benediction, 750, 752.\n  Benevolence--see Sympathies and Activities.\n  Bible--see Holy Scriptures.\n  Birth-Day Hymn, 1174.\n  Brotherly Love--see Love.\n  Burial and Resurrection of Christ, 180-197.\n  Burial Hymn, 1093.\n  Business Meeting, 549.\n\n                                  C\n  Canaan, Heavenly, 428, 429, 431.\n  Child's Prayer, 1207, 1212, 1218, 1219.\n  Christ--Advent, first, 117-140.\n    Advent, second, 1099-1105.\n    All-Sufficiency, 222-225, 237, 247, 257, 409, 791, 891, 918.\n    Ascension, 195-202.\n    Atonement, 212, 215, 216, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 252, 253, 258,\n          261, 263, 363, 390-392, 512, 533, 536, 538, 543, 546, 563,\n          564, 946\n    Baptism, 142, 377, 382, 384-387, 389.\n    Compassion, 153, 154, 156, 225, 999.\n    Condescension, 155, 638.\n    Coronation, 203-207.\n    Crucifixion, 168-179.\n    Divinity, 215, 217, 236, 239, 246, 659, 661-663.\n    Example, 143, 144, 146, 149, 150, 157, 160, 162, 164, 165, 376,\n          555, 961.\n    Intercession, 219, 940, 999.\n    King, 208-211, 213-215, 217, 218, 230, 243, 245, 246, 255, 256.\n    Life and Ministry, 141-156.\n    Mediatorial Reign, 208-265.\n    Miracles, 145, 151.\n    Mission, 124, 125, 129, 136, 639.\n    Poverty, 148.\n    Preciousness, 227, 244, 249-251, 262, 406, 412, 416, 440, 513, 518,\n          542, 634, 659, 778, 779, 787, 798, 1030.\n    Priest, 228, 233, 235, 242, 997, 999.\n    Prophet, Priest, and King, 226, 232.\n    Refuge, 261, 262, 264, 363, 400, 439, 543, 559, 678, 912, 938.\n    Resurrection, 180-194.\n    Sufferings, 157-167.\n    Way, 223, 248, 797.\n    Worthiness, 152, 656, 668, 670, 672, 927.\n  Church--441-610.\n    Afflictions, 446, 459.\n  Church--Constitution, 441-463.\n    Delight in, 447, 452, 454, 458, 460, 463, 491, 508, 585, 595, 680,\n          686, 714.\n    Deliverance of, 448.\n    Fellowship, 477-511.\n    Growth and Triumphs, 462, 591-610.\n    God's dwelling, 684, 687, 690, 691.\n    Joining, 478, 482, 516, 522.\n    Ministry, 465-476.\n    Ordinances--see Lord's Day, and Lord's Supper.\n    Organization of one, 483, 487.\n    Permanency, 455, 464.\n  Closing Hymns, 715-759.\n  Communion--see Love, Unity and fellowship.\n    In Christ, 515, 585.\n    With Christ, 544, 685, 710, 978, 981.\n    With God, 561, 562, 566, 671, 765, 766, 855, 979, 983, 985, 1032.\n  Completeness in Christ, 408, 409, 412, 413, 425.\n  Confession--of sin, 864, 868, 871, 882, 926, 945.\n    Of unbelief, 869.\n    Of weakness, 872.\n  Conflicts--see Temptations and Conflicts.\n  Consecration to Christ, 371, 374-376, 378, 380-383, 387-391, 394,\n          398-401, 489.\n  Contentment, 67, 558, 779, 785, 787.\n  Contrition, 588, 864, 868, 871, 882--see, also, Relapse and Recovery.\n  Coronation--see Christ.\n  Creation, God in, 43-61.\n  Cross--Glorying in, 355, 373, 374, 381, 390-392, 512, 543, 545, 668.\n  Crucifixion--see Christ.\n\n                                  D\n  Dangers, 847, 872.\n  Day of Judgment, 1114-1118.\n  Deacons, 468, 475.\n  Death--of the aged, 1079.\n    Of Infants, 1040-1042, 1048, 1049, 1062, 1074.\n    Of Ministers, 1070, 1073, 1064.\n    Of a Missionary, 1083, 1095.\n    Of persons in the prime of life, 1073, 1082.\n    Sudden, 1070.\n    Of the young, 1058.\n  Dedication, 1300-1304.\n  Deliverances, 114, 692, 1000, 1009, 1014--see, also, Submission and\n          Deliverance.\n  Despondency, 890, 1033.\n  Dying--Hymns for the, 1034, 1043, 1045-1047, 1051, 1053, 1054, 1061,\n          1063, 1071, 1078, 1080, 1081, 1084, 1087, 1139, 1226.\n\n                                  E\n  Elders--Ordination of, 468, 469.\n  Evening Hymns, 1189, 1210.\n  Exhortation--to Faithfulness, 486, 496, 861, 866, 877, 879, 895, 896,\n          934.\n    To Forbearance and Gentleness, 490, 972, 975.\n    To look to Jesus, 790.\n    To Mourners, 1048.\n    To Perseverance, 883, 894.\n    To Pray.\n    To Trust, 880, 890.\n    To Watch and Pray, 870, 872.\n\n                                  F\n  Faith and Repentance, 336-370.\n  Faithfulness, 876, 894-896.\n  Family, 1170-1175--see, also, _Morning and Evening_.\n  Fasts, 1254-1265.\n  Fellowship--see Communion.\n  Final Judgment--see Day of Judgment.\n  Foretastes, 532, 544, 572, 613, 616, 617, 679, 719.\n  Forgiveness--see Remission of Sins.\n  Friends--Absent, 992.\n  Funeral Hymns--see Life and Death.\n  Future--see Present.\n\n                                  G\n  Gentleness, 975.\n  Gethsemane, 157, 159, 160, 162-167.\n  Glory of God--see God.\n  Glorying in the Cross--see Cross.\n  God--Being and Perfections, 24-42.\n    Compassion, 93-95, 1005.\n    Dominion, 28, 56, 57.\n    Eternity, 25, 44, 75.\n    Glory and Majesty, 36, 49, 55, 60, 80, 91, 102, 675.\n    Goodness, 34, 48, 52, 83, 96, 583, 609, 669.\n    Greatness, 24, 31, 38, 41, 45, 46, 49, 54, 59, 62, 71.\n    Holiness, 36, 56.\n    Immutability, 853.\n    Invisibility, 84, 983.\n    Justice, 85.\n    Love, 30, 42, 46, 49, 52, 61, 66, 86, 104, 107, 110, 113, 116, 147.\n    Mercy, 106-116.\n    Omnipotence, 43, 53, 82, 89.\n    Omnipresence, 27, 33, 50, 52, 67, 573, 636.\n    Omniscience, 32, 35, 40, 89.\n    Providence, 62-104, 763.\n    Unsearchableness, 79, 84, 90.\n    Wisdom, 26, 37, 69, 105, 112.\n    Word of--see Holy Scriptures.\n    Works, 43-61.\n  Gospel--Conditions, 336-394.\n    Invitations, 273, 276-335.\n    Power of, 268, 271.\n    Proclamation, 266-275.\n    Promises--see Remission of Sins, Spirit of Adoption, and Hope of\n          Eternal Life.\n  Grace, 403, 405.\n  Gratitude, 634-673.\n\n                                  H\n  Harvest--see Seed-time.\n  Heart-Searchings, 1114.\n  Heaven, 1119-1169.\n  Holy Scriptures, 1-23.\n  Holy Spirit--see Spirit of Adoption.\n  Home, 1170-1229.\n  Hope of Eternal Life, 426-440.\n  Humiliation--see Fasts.\n  Humility, 588.\n\n                                  I\n  Immanuel--see Christ's Divinity.\n  Infants--Death of, 1040, 1042, 1048, 1049, 1062, 1069, 1074.\n  Invitations--see Gospel.\n\n                                  J\n  Jesus--see Christ.\n  Joy--In Consecration, 398-400.\n    In Divine Support, 770, 792, 794, 915.\n    In fellowship with Christians, 508.\n    In fellowship with God, 765, 766.\n    In Hope, 793.\n    In Pardon, 402, 404, 407, 408.\n    In Submission, 777, 781, 802, 1023, 1026, 1027.\n    In Tribulation, 838, 1028.\n  Joys of earth--Transitory, 1035.\n\n                                  K\n  Kindness--see Sympathies and Activities, and Love, Unity and\n          Fellowship.\n  Kingdom of Christ--see Mediatorial Reign.\n\n                                  L\n  Liberality in giving, 971.\n  Life and Death, 1034-1098.\n  Life--Brevity of, 1045, 1052, 1055, 1078, 1081.\n  Looking to Jesus, 790.\n  Longing for the courts of the Lord, 686, 688.\n  Lord's Day, 611-694, 699.\n    Evening of, 615.\n    Morning, early, 623.\n  Lord's Prayer, 580.\n  Lord's Supper, 512-546.\n  Love--for Christ--see Aspirations.\n    For Christians, 477-511.\n    For God see--Aspirations.\n    For Man, 972.\n    Of Christ--see Christ.\n    Of Christians, 477-511.\n    Of God--see God.\n  Love, Unity and Fellowship, 477-511.\n\n                                  M\n  Majesty of God--see God.\n  Man--Dignity of, redeemed, 109, 413.\n    Frailty and Mortality, 1035, 1045, 1052, 1055, 1089, 1098.\n  Marriage, 1297-1299.\n  Mediatorial Reign, 208-265.\n  Meditation, 562.\n  Mercy-Seat, 547, 551, 564.\n  Ministers--Death of, 1064, 1073.\n  Ministry--see Church.\n  Missionaries--see Church.\n    Death of, 1083, 1095.\n    Farewell of, 1281, 1283.\n  Missionary Assemblies, 1267-1287--see, also, Church, and Gospel.\n  Morning Hymns, 1176-1188.\n\n                                  N\n  National Hymns--see Thanksgiving, and Fasts.\n  Nativity--see Christ, Advent of.\n  Nature--God seen in, 43-59.\n    And Revelation--see Holy Scriptures.\n  New Life, 760-1033.\n  New Year, 1239-1244.\n  Night--see Evening Hymns.\n\n                                  O\n  Officers of the Church, 465-476.\n  Old Age, 1203, 1226, 1227, 1229.\n  Old and New Year, 1239-1244.\n  Omnipotence--see God.\n  Omnipresence--see God.\n  Omniscience--see God.\n  Opening Hymns, 674-714.\n  Oppression deprecated, 972, 1259, 1262.\n  Ordinances--see Baptism, Lord's Day, and Lord's Supper.\n  Ordination, 468, 469.\n  Orphans, 962, 963, 968.\n\n                                  P\n  Pardon--see Remission of Sins.\n  Parting, 430, 484, 485, 500, 502, 507.\n    At close of Service, 720, 721, 724, 732, 739, 754-756.\n    After Lord's Supper, 530.\n    With Missionaries, 465, 466, 470, 471.\n  Party spirit deprecated, 497, 501, 511.\n  Passover--Christ the true, 546.\n  Pastors--see Church Ministry.\n  Patience, 901, 931.\n  Peace and War, 951, 965, 973, 974, 1247, 1258, 1260.\n  Peace--among Christians, 497, 499.\n    In trouble, 414, 423, 1020.\n    Of God, 760.\n    Salutation of, 750.\n  Perseverance, 883-885, 894-896.\n  Pestilence, 1261.\n  Philanthropy, 972--see, also, Sympathies and Activities.\n  Pity for the erring, 975.\n  Poor--see Sympathies and Activities.\n  Praise--see Gratitude, and Thanksgiving.\n    Calls to, 24, 29, 58, 101, 102, 650, 654, 673, 674, 681, 682,\n          700-702, 743, 927.\n    Due from Man, 47, 48.\n    From his works, 51-55.\n    For benefits, 644, 650-652, 692, 736, 893, 922, 1225, 1230-1239,\n          1243.\n    For Deliverances, 912, 1014, 1020, 1292.\n    For Redemption, 643, 646, 648, 649, 927.\n  Prayer at night, 1209, 1210.\n  Prayer--a child's, 1207, 1212, 1218, 1219.\n    For Contentment, 558, 775.\n    For Deliverance, 857, 1001, 1016, 1017, 1022, 1024.\n    For entire conformity to the will of God, 896, 915, 952, 990.\n    For Guidance, 115, 572, 575, 587, 590, 730, 744, 773, 805, 809,\n          842, 876, 1175, 1244.\n    For God's remembrance, 862, 1024.\n    For Laborers, 473.\n    For Strength, 584, 589, 872, 877.\n    For Submissiveness, 913, 918, 920, 921.\n    For support in Death, 1080, 1087.\n    For Teachableness, 683, 780.\n  Prayer--Hour of, 550, 561, 581, 679, 712.\n    In anguish, 925, 1002, 1012, 1087.\n    In Old Age, 1229.\n    Invitation to, 569, 570, 574, 586.\n    Lord's, paraphrased, 580.\n    Secret--see Private Devotions.\n  Prayer and Social Meetings, 547-590.\n    Opening of, 568, 576.\n  Preaching--see Proclamation.\n  Present and Future, 1034-1169.\n  Private Devotions, 977-992.\n  Proclamation of the Gospel, 266-275.\n  Procrastination deprecated, 276, 277, 279, 280, 282, 284, 297, 298,\n          302, 306, 311, 322, 323, 334, 970.\n  Prodigals returning, 364, 367, 368, 868.\n  Providence--see God.\n  Public Worship, 611-759.\n  Punishment of Wicked--see Final Judgment.\n\n                                  R\n  Reception of Members--see Love, Unity and Fellowship.\n  Recovery from Sickness, 1009, 1014, 1027.\n  Redemption--God in, 105-116--see Christ.\n  Relapse and Recovery, 939-950.\n  Remission of Sins, 395-408.\n  Repentance--see Faith.\n  Resurrection--of Christ, 180-197.\n    Of the Just and Unjust, 1109, 1113--see, also, Second Advent.\n  Resignation--see Submission.\n  Retirement, 562, 577--see, also, Private Devotions.\n  Retrospection, 871, 882, 903, 943, 944, 1156, 1203, 1204.\n  Reunion, 705.\n\n                                  S\n  Scriptures see Holy Scriptures.\n  Sea, 1288-1296.\n  Seasons--see Times and Seasons.\n  Seed-time and Harvest, 1230-1238.\n  Self-dedication--see Consecration.\n  Self examination, 981.\n  Sickness, 1000, 1008, 1009, 1014, 1027, 1029.\n  Sin--see Remission.\n  Sons of God--see Spirit of Adoption.\n  Spirit of Adoption, 409-425.\n  Spiritual Blessing, 492.\n  Spiritual Life, 486.\n  Stewardship, 876.\n  Storm, 82, 87, 1289, 1292.\n  Strangers and Pilgrims, 498.\n  Strife deprecated, 499.\n  Submission, 68, 81, 560, 771, 777, 799, 803, 980, 998, 1011, 1023.\n  Submission and Deliverance, 898-938.\n  Supplication, 578, 1012, 1017, 1024.\n  Surrender to Christ, 359, 360, 364, 365, 368.\n  Sympathies and Activities, 951-976.\n\n                                  T\n  Temptations and Conflicts, 845-897.\n  Thanksgiving, 1245-1253.\n  Times and Seasons, 1230-1304.\n  Trials--see Afflictions.\n  Trust, 65, 66, 70, 74, 87-89, 100, 103, 104, 414, 582.\n  Trust and Joy, 706-805.\n\n                                  U\n  Unbelief deplored, 869.\n  Unity of Christians, 707, 723--see, also, Love, Unity and Fellowship.\n\n                                  V\n  Vanity of earthly Ambitions, 874, 893, 950, 1044, 1098.\n  Vigilance, 848, 860, 861, 863, 866, 875, 884.\n\n                                  W\n  Waiting on God, 508, 566, 567, 708, 765.\n  Waiting to go home, 931, 1226.\n  War--see Peace.\n  Warfare--Christian, 427, 557, 845-897.\n  Warnings--see Gospel Invitations.\n  Watching with the sick, 1029.\n  Watchfulness--see Vigilance.\n  Winter of the Soul, 1033.\n  Wisdom of God--see God.\n  Word of God--Abused, 8.\n    Precious, 20, 22, 23.\n    Source of Knowledge, 5, 8, 9, 11, 15, 16, 18.\n    Source of Strength and Comfort, 2, 4, 6, 10, 12, 14, 17, 21.\n    Spread of, 6.\n    Superior to Nature, 1-3, 19.\n  World Renounced, 447, 791, 808, 813, 893, 923.\n  Worship, Family, 1170-1210.\n  Worship--Private, 977-992.\n    Public, 611-759.\n    Social, 547-590.\n  Wrath of God--see Final Judgment.\n\n                                  Y\n  Year--Old and New, 1239-1244.\n  Youth and Age, 1211-1229.\n  Youth--Death of, 1058,\n    Invited, 325.\n    Warned, 1215.\n\n\n\n\n                        INDEX OF FIRST LINES.\n\n\n        ==>(The figures indicate the _Numbers_ of the Hymns.)\n\n                                  A\n  Abide with me, fast falls the eventide,              _F. Lyte._ 1227\n  A broken heart, my God, my King,                        _Watts._ 347\n  A charge to keep I have,                            _C. Wesley._ 876\n  Acquaint thee, O mortal,                                 _Knox._ 789\n  A few more years shall roll,                            _Bonar._ 828\n  Affliction is a stormy deep,                          _Cotton._ 1004\n  After the toil, when the morning breaks,                         933\n  Again our earthly cares we leave,                                696\n  Again the Lord of light and life,               _Mrs. Barbauld._ 694\n  Ah, guilty sinner, ruined by transgression,                     1118\n  Ah, what avails my strife,                          _C. Wesley._ 364\n  Ah, wretched, vile, ungrateful heart,             _Mrs. Steele._ 341\n  Alas, and did my Saviour bleed,                         _Watts._ 240\n  Alas, how poor and little worth,             _Longfellow (Tr.)_ 1089\n  Alas, what hourly dangers rise,                   _Mrs. Steele._ 872\n  A little longer still,                     _Christian Register._ 931\n  All around us, fair with flowers,                                970\n  All as God wills, who wisely heeds,                  _Whittier._ 904\n  All hail the power of Jesus' name,                   _Perronet._ 203\n  All ye nations, praise the Lord,                   _Montgomery._ 743\n  All you that are weary and sad, come,                            321\n  All you that have confessed,                                     496\n  Almighty Father, gracious Lord,                   _Mrs. Steele._ 644\n  Almighty Father of mankind,                              _Logan._ 87\n  Almighty God, thy word is cast,                                  733\n  Almighty Maker of my frame,                      _Mrs. Steele._ 1045\n  Almighty Sovereign of the skies,                                1245\n  Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,                    _Newton._ 403\n  Am I a soldier of the cross,                            _Watts._ 863\n  Among the mountain trees,                      _T. J. Edmunson._ 166\n  A mother may forgetful be,                        _Mrs. Steele._ 446\n  And are we yet alive,                               _C. Wesley._ 705\n  And can I yet delay,                                _C. Wesley._ 365\n  And can my heart aspire so high,                 _Mrs. Steele._ 1011\n  And did the holy and the just,                    _Mrs. Steele._ 173\n  And is the gospel peace and love,                 _Mrs. Steele._ 143\n  And is there, Lord, a rest,                           _Palmer._ 1133\n  And let our bodies part,                            _C. Wesley._ 739\n  And must I part with all I have,                      _Beddome._ 360\n  And now another day is gone,                                    1191\n  And now, my soul, another year,                                 1240\n  And will the judge descend,                         _Doddridge._ 300\n  Angels from the realms of glory,                   _Montgomery._ 137\n  Angels, roll the rock away,                           _Gibbons._ 189\n  Another day is past,                                            1196\n  Another six days' work is done,                      _Stennett._ 616\n  A parting hymn we sing,                               _A. R. W._ 530\n  A pilgrim through this lonely world,                    _Bonar._ 150\n  Approach, my soul, the mercy seat,                     _Newton._ 564\n  Arise, ye people, and adore,                          _F. Lyte._ 199\n  Arise, ye saints, arise,                                         877\n  Arm of the Lord, awake, awake,                     _Shrubsole._ 1268\n  Around Bethesda's healing wave,                        _Barton._ 349\n  As down in the sunless retreats,                       _Moore._ 1032\n  As flows the rapid river,                        _S. F. Smith._ 1088\n  Ashamed of Christ, our souls disdain,                            381\n  Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep!                   _Mrs. McKay._ 1038\n  As much have I of worldly good,                                  148\n  As o'er the past my memory strays,                               871\n  As oft with worn and weary feet,                  _Wilberforce._ 997\n  As on the cross the Saviour hung,                    _Stennett._ 176\n  As the hart, with eager looks,                     _Montgomery._ 823\n  As the sweet flower that scents,                  _Cunningham._ 1040\n  A sweetly solemn thought,                        _Alice Carey._ 1195\n  At evening time when day is done,                 _Montgomery._ 1221\n  Awake, and sing the song,                             _Hammond._ 648\n  Awaked from sin's delusive sleep,                       _Moore._ 342\n  Awake, my soul, and with the sun,                       _Kenn._ 1181\n  Awake, my soul, to joyful lays,                        _Medley._ 634\n  Awake, my soul, lift up thine eyes,             _Mrs. Barbauld._ 847\n  Awake, my soul, stretch every nerve,                _Doddridge._ 866\n  Awake, my tongue, thy tribute bring,                  _Needham._ 105\n  Awake, our souls, away our fears,                       _Watts._ 856\n  Awake, ye saints, awake,                            _Cotterill._ 630\n  Awake, you saints, and raise your,                  _Doddridge._ 815\n  Away from earth my spirit turns,                       _Palmer._ 518\n  Away from his home,                                _W. Hunter._ 1095\n  A weak and weary dove, with drooping wing,                       950\n\n                                  B\n  Beautiful Zion, built above,                                    1157\n  Before Jehovah's awful throne,                          _Watts._ 674\n  Before thy throne, with tearful eyes,                  _Palmer._ 941\n  Begin, my soul, the lofty strain,                    _Mrs. Rowe._ 53\n  Behold the blind their sight receive,                   _Watts._ 145\n  Behold the bright morning appears,                               194\n  Behold the day is come,                              _Beddome._ 1115\n  Behold the glories of the Lamb,                         _Watts._ 236\n  Behold the lofty sky,                                    _Watts._ 19\n  Behold the man! how glorious he,                                 171\n  Behold the morning sun,                                 _Watts._ 271\n  Behold the mountain of the Lord,                     _M. Bruce._ 597\n  Behold the Saviour of mankind,                 _S. Wesley, sen._ 175\n  Behold the sure foundation stone,                       _Watts._ 444\n  Behold the woman's promised seed,                       _Watts._ 118\n  Behold, where in a mortal form,                       _Enfield._ 149\n  Beneath the shadow of the cross,                _S. Longfellow._ 956\n  Benignant God of love and power,                                 549\n  Be still, be still, for all around,                              684\n  Be still, my heart, these anxious cares,               _Newton._ 898\n  Be thou exalted, O my God,                              _Watts._ 675\n  Beyond, beyond that boundless sea,                      _Conder._ 84\n  Beyond the smiling and the weeping,                     _Bonar._ 840\n  Beyond the starry skies,                       _Turner, varied._ 259\n  Beyond where Cedron's waters flow,                _S. F. Smith._ 164\n  Bleeding hearts, defiled by sin,                                 307\n  Blessed are the humble souls that see,                  _Watts._ 411\n  Blest are the pure in heart,                            _Keble._ 741\n  Blessed are the sons of God,                        _Humphreys._ 420\n  Blessed be the dear uniting love,                   _C. Wesley._ 488\n  Blessed be the everlasting God,                         _Watts._ 182\n  Blessed be the tie that binds,                        _Fawcett._ 495\n  Blessed be thy love, dear Lord,                   _John Austin._ 916\n  Blessed day of God, most calm, most bright,                      699\n  Blessed feast of love divine,                                    532\n  Blessed hour when mortal man retires,                 _Raffles._ 679\n  Blessed is the hour when cares depart,            _S. F. Smith._ 712\n  Blessed is the man whose,                       _Mrs. Barbauld._ 953\n  Blessed is the man who shuns the place,                 _Watts._ 772\n  Blessed morning whose young dawning,                    _Watts._ 183\n  Blessed Saviour, Friend divine,                   _W. T. Moore._ 406\n  Blessed Sovereign, let my evening song,                _Watts._ 1192\n  Blow ye the trumpet, blow,                 _Altered by Toplady._ 273\n  Book of grace and book of glory,                                  21\n  Bread of heaven, on thee we feed,                      _Conder._ 534\n  Breast the wave, Christian, when it,                _Staughton._ 895\n  Breathe thoughts of pity o'er a,                     _Edmeston._ 975\n  Bright and joyful was the morn,                                  127\n  Brightness of the Father's glory,                                661\n  Bright source of everlasting love,                      _Boden._ 954\n  Bright the vision that delighted,               _Ancient Hymns._ 662\n  Bright was the guiding star,             _Spirit of the Psalms._ 229\n  Broad is the road that leads to death,                  _Watts._ 283\n  Brother, hast thou wandered far,                                 948\n  Burdened with guilt, wouldst thou be blest,                      318\n  Buried beneath the yielding wave,                                382\n  Burst, ye emerald gates, and bring,                              202\n  By cool Siloam's shady rill,                           _Heber._ 1211\n  By faith in Christ I walk with God,                    _Newton._ 855\n\n                                  C\n  Call Jehovah thy salvation,                        _Montgomery._ 421\n  Calm on the listening ear of night,                     _Sears._ 123\n  Child amid the flowers at play,                   _Mrs. Hemans._ 574\n  Children of the heavenly King,                        _Cennick._ 498\n  Child of sin and sorrow,                          _T. Hastings._ 322\n  Christian! see the Orient morning,                               602\n  Christians, keep your armor bright,                              861\n  Christian, the morn breaks sweetly o'er thee,                    934\n  Christian, the vision before thee,              _A. S. Hayden._ 1097\n  Christ leads me through no darker,                 _R. Baxter._ 1003\n  Christ, the Lord, is risen to-day,                  _C. Wesley._ 190\n  Cling to the crucified,                                          372\n  Cling to the mighty One,                                         265\n  Come, all ye saints of God,                                      927\n  Come, and behold the place,                                      386\n  Come, Christian brethren, ere we,                 _H. K. White._ 720\n  Come, come, come to the Saviour,               _A. D. Fillmore._ 324\n  Come, dear friends, we are all brethren,                         501\n  Come, every pious heart,                             _Stennett._ 670\n  Come from the East with gifts, ye Kings,                        1267\n  Come, happy souls, adore the Lamb,                               377\n  Come humble sinner, in whose breast,                    _Jones._ 291\n  Come in, thou blessed of our God,                       _Kelly._ 478\n  Come in, thou blessed of the Lord,                 _Montgomery._ 522\n  Come let us anew,                                  _C. Wesley._ 1242\n  Come, let us join in songs of praise,                            233\n  Come, let us join our cheerful songs,                   _Watts._ 206\n  Come, let us join our friends above,                _C. Wesley._ 494\n  Come, let us join with hosts above,                _C. Wesley._ 1213\n  Come, let us join with one accord,                  _C. Wesley._ 618\n  Come, let us pray; 'tis sweet to feel,                           569\n  Come, let us to the Lord our God,                    _Morrison._ 357\n  Come, Lord, and warm each,                        _Mrs. Steele._ 697\n  Come, my Christian brethren, come,                               824\n  Come on, my partners in distress,                                509\n  Come, O thou King of all thy saints,              _Mrs. Steele._ 693\n  Come, O thou mighty Saviour,                           _Palmer._ 598\n  Come, saints, let us join in the praise,            _De Fleury._ 666\n  Come, sing to me of heaven,                                     1135\n  Come, sinners, to the gospel feast,                              285\n  Come, sound his praise abroad,                          _Watts._ 702\n  Come to Calvary's holy mountain,                  _Montgomery._ 1319\n  Come to the Ark, come to the Ark,                                292\n  Come to the house of prayer,                        _E. Taylor._ 570\n  Come unto me, when shadows darkly gather,                       1228\n  Come, weary souls, with sin,                      _Mrs. Steele._ 281\n  Come, we that love the Lord,                            _Watts._ 701\n  Come, ye thankful people, come,                 _Henry Alford._ 1236\n  Come, ye that know and fear the Lord,               _G. Burder._ 113\n  Come, ye disconsolate, where'er,                     _T. Moore._ 586\n  Come, you sinners, poor and needy,                       _Hart._ 312\n  Come, you that love the Lord indeed,                             481\n  Come, you that love the Saviour's,                _Mrs. Steele._ 230\n  Crown his head with endless blessing,                            205\n\n                                  D\n  Dark and thorny is the desert,                                   888\n  Dark was the night, and cold the ground,                         160\n  Daughter of Zion, awake from thy sadness,                        605\n  Day of judgment, day of wonders,                      _Newton._ 1117\n  Dear as thou wast, and justly dear,                     _Dale._ 1056\n  Dear Father, to thy mercy-seat,                                 1309\n  Dear is the spot where Christians sleep,                        1037\n  Dear Jesus, ever at thy side,                          _Faber._ 1212\n  Death can not make our souls afraid,                   _Watts._ 1054\n  Deathless Spirit, now arise,                         _Toplady._ 1072\n  Deem not that they are blest alone,              _W. C. Bryant._ 994\n  Delay not, delay not, O sinner,                   _T. Hastings._ 330\n  Desponding soul, O cease thy woe,               _T. U. Walters._ 363\n  Did Christ o'er sinners weep,                         _Beddome._ 161\n  Didst thou, Lord Jesus, suffer shame,                 _Kirkham._ 355\n  Dismiss us with thy blessing, Lord,                      _Hart._ 721\n  Does the gospel word proclaim,                         _Newton._ 369\n  Do not I trust in thee, O Lord,                                  766\n  Down the dark future, through long,                _Longfellow._ 973\n  Draw near, ye weary,                       _Mrs. St. Leon Loud._ 154\n  Dropping down the troubled river,                      _Bonar._ 1075\n\n                                  E\n  Early, my God, without delay,                           _Watts._ 698\n  Earth has a joy unknown in heaven,                               396\n  Earth, with her ten thousand flowers,                             61\n  Ere mountains reared their forms sublime,              _F. Lyte._ 25\n  Ere to the world again we go,                                    717\n  Eternal Father, strong to save,            _Hymns, anc. & mod._ 1288\n  Eternal Lord, from land to land,                                 592\n  Eternal Lord, whose power,                        _Ray Palmer._ 1283\n  Eternal Source of every joy,                       _Doddridge._ 1230\n  Eternal Source of life and light,                                730\n  Eternal Wisdom, thee we praise,                         _Watts._ 112\n  Every day hath toil and trouble,                       _Bailey._ 976\n  Exalted Prince of life, we own,                     _Doddridge._ 210\n\n                                  F\n  Fading, still fading, the last beam is shining,                 1210\n  Faintly flow, thou falling river,                               1205\n  Fair shines the morning star,                      _Montgomery._ 326\n  Faith adds new charms to earthly bliss,                 _Watts._ 352\n  Fallen on Zion's battle field,                 _J. N. Maffitt._ 1073\n  Far as thy name is known,                               _Watts._ 458\n  Far down the ages now,                                  _Bonar._ 459\n  Farewell, my friends, time rolls along,                          507\n  Far, far o'er hill and dale,                                    1098\n  Far from mortal cares retreating,                   _J. Taylor._ 709\n  Far from my heavenly home,                 _Hymns, anc. & mod._ 1068\n  Far from my thoughts, vain world,                       _Watts._ 977\n  Far from these narrow scenes,                     _Mrs. Steele._ 429\n  Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,                    _Cowper._ 985\n  Father divine, thy piercing eye,                    _Doddridge._ 986\n  Father, glory be to thee,                             _Gaskell._ 749\n  Father, hear our humble claim,                                   707\n  Father, how wide thy glory shines,                      _Watts._ 111\n  Father, I know that all my life,                 _A. L. Waring._ 775\n  Father, I know thy ways are just,                                908\n  Father, in thy mysterious presence,                _S. Johnson._ 584\n  Father, I wait before thy throne,                       _Watts._ 415\n  Father of love, our Guide and Friend,                            773\n  Father, O hear me now,                           _Anna W. Hall._ 925\n  Father of mercies, bow thine ear,                     _Beddome._ 467\n  Father of mercies, God of love,                        _Raffles._ 81\n  Father of mercies, in thy word,                    _Mrs. Steele._ 10\n  Father of spirits, humbly bent,                       _Bowring._ 671\n  Father of spirits, nature's God,                                  27\n  Father of the human race,                            _Collyer._ 1299\n  Father supreme, thou high and holy One,                         1209\n  Father, to us thy children, humbly,              _J. F. Clarke._ 589\n  Father, whate'er of earthly bliss,                _Mrs. Steele._ 558\n  Father, whene'er our trembling,                      _Bulfinch._ 869\n  Flee as a bird to your mountain,                                1316\n  Fling out the banner, let it float,                     _Doane._ 267\n  For a season called to part,                           _Newton._ 748\n  For ever with the Lord,                            _Montgomery._ 873\n  Forgiveness, 'tis a joyful sound,                     _Gibbons._ 395\n  Forth from the dark and stormy sky,                     _Heber._ 678\n  Forth in thy name, O Lord, I go,                   _C. Wesley._ 1178\n  For thy mercy and thy grace,                   _Henry Downton._ 1244\n  For Zion's sake I will not rest,                   _J. Quarles._ 595\n  Fountain of light and living breath,                             764\n  Fountain of life and God of love,                               1232\n  Friend after friend departs,                      _Montgomery._ 1090\n  From all that dwell below the skies,                    _Watts._ 718\n  From Calvary a cry was heard,                      _Montgomery._ 168\n  From every stormy wind that blows,                    _Stowell._ 547\n  From Greenland's icy mountains,                        _Heber._ 1285\n  From the cross uplifted high,                          _Haweis._ 303\n  From the recesses of a lowly spirit,                  _Bowring._ 588\n  From the regions of love, lo! an angel,                          139\n  From the table now retiring,                                     535\n  Full of trembling expectation,                     _C. Wesley._ 1024\n\n                                  G\n  Gently, gently lay thy rod,                          _F. Lyte._ 1022\n  Gently, Lord, O gently lead us,                     _Hastings._ 1175\n  Gently, my Saviour, let me down,                        _Hill._ 1034\n  Gird on thy conquering sword,                       _Doddridge._ 609\n  Give me the wings of faith to rise,                     _Watts._ 817\n  Give to our God immortal praise,                        _Watts._ 107\n  Give to the Lord thine heart,                                    299\n  Give to the winds thy fears,                         _Gerhardt._ 880\n  Glorious in thy saints appear,                         _Newton._ 747\n  Glorious things of thee are spoken,                    _Newton._ 460\n  Glory, glory everlasting,                                        664\n  Glory, glory to our King,                              _Kelly._ 1320\n  Glory to God on high,                                            668\n  Glory to God who deigns to bless,                                734\n  Glory to thee, my God, this night,                      _Kenn._ 1189\n  Glory to thee, whose powerful word,                _C. Wesley._ 1289\n  Go, and the Saviour's grace proclaim,                 _Morell._ 1270\n  God bless our native land,                            _Dwight._ 1250\n  God calling yet; shall I,                     _From the German._ 339\n  God doth not leave his own,                                      802\n  God eternal, Lord of all,                        _J. E. Millard._ 60\n  God in the gospel of his Son,                         _Beddome._ 268\n  God is in his holy temple,                                       711\n  God is in the loneliest spot,                          _Conder._ 991\n  God is love; his mercy brightens,                     _Bowring._ 116\n  God is the fountain whence,                                       96\n  God is the refuge of his saints,                        _Watts._ 442\n  God moves in a mysterious way,                          _Cowper._ 79\n  God! my supporter and my hope,                          _Watts._ 114\n  God of mercy, do thou never,                        _Pierpont._ 1253\n  God of mercy, God of love,                          _J. Taylor._ 882\n  God of my childhood and my youth,                      _Watts._ 1223\n  God of my life, thy boundless grace,                             412\n  God of my life, to thee,                                        1174\n  God of my life, to thee I call,                        _Cowper._ 995\n  God of our salvation,                                            897\n  God of our salvation, hear us,                          _Kelly._ 756\n  God of the morning, at whose voice,                             1179\n  God of the prophet's power,                                     1272\n  God's law demands one living faith,                      _Briggs._ 7\n  God, that madest earth and heaven,                     _Heber._ 1201\n  God with us! O glorious name,                                    130\n  Go, messenger of peace and love,                      _Balfour._ 466\n  Go on, you pilgrims, while below,                                486\n  Go to dark Gethsemane,                             _Montgomery._ 162\n  Go to the grave, in all thy,                      _Montgomery._ 1082\n  Go to thy rest, fair child,                                     1069\n  Go to thy rest in peace,                                        1094\n  Go up, go up, my heart,                                 _Bonar._ 833\n  Go watch and pray; thou canst not tell,                         1224\n  Go when the morning shineth,                                     579\n  Go with thy servant, Lord,                                       471\n  Grace! 'tis a charming sound,                       _Doddridge._ 405\n  Gracious Saviour, we adore thee,                      _Cutting._ 394\n  Gracious Source of every blessing,                              1229\n  Greatest of beings, Source of life,                      _Watts._ 46\n  Great God, attend while Zion sings,                     _Watts._ 680\n  Great God! how infinite art thou,                        _Watts._ 39\n  Great God! the followers of thy,                  _H. Ware, jr._ 677\n  Great God! thy penetrating eye,                       _E. Scott._ 40\n  Great God! we sing that mighty,                    _Doddridge._ 1239\n  Great God! whose universal sway,                        _Watts._ 213\n  Great is the Lord, our God,                             _Watts._ 452\n  Great Maker of unnumbered worlds,                               1255\n  Great Ruler of all nature's frame,                   _Doddridge._ 82\n  Great Source of boundless power,                 _Mrs. Steele._ 1001\n  Great Source of life and light,                                  418\n  Great was the day, the joy was great,                   _Watts._ 269\n  Guide me, O thou great Jehovah,                        _Oliver._ 115\n  Guide us, Lord, while hand in hand,                              745\n\n                                  H\n  Had I ten thousand gifts beside,                      _Chatham._ 257\n  Had I the tongues of Greeks and Jews,                   _Watts._ 480\n  Happy are they who learn in thee,                               1007\n  Happy soul, thy days are ended,                    _C. Wesley._ 1077\n  Happy the child whose tender years,                    _Watts._ 1312\n  Happy the Church, thou sacred place,                    _Watts._ 441\n  Happy the home when God is there,                               1171\n  Happy the saints whose lot is cast,                              719\n  Happy the souls to Jesus joined,                    _C. Wesley._ 491\n  Hail, gracious, heavenly Prince,                                1217\n  Hail, morning known among the,                        _Wardlaw._ 614\n  Hail, ransomed world, awake to glory,                            328\n  Hail, sacred truth, whose piercing rays,                          13\n  Hail, sweetest, dearest tie that binds,                _Sutton._ 430\n  Hail the blest morn, when the great Mediator,                    138\n  Hail the day that saw him rise,                     _C. Wesley._ 628\n  Hail, thou long expected Jesus,                     _C. Wesley._ 136\n  Hail to the brightness of Zion's,                 _T. Hastings._ 608\n  Hail to the Prince of life and,                     _Doddridge._ 218\n  Hail, tranquil hour of closing day,                 _L. Bacon._ 1193\n  Hallelujah! best and sweetest,                       _Breviary._ 924\n  Hark, from the world on high,                     _W. T. Moore._ 140\n  Hark, hark, the notes of joy,                                    132\n  Hark, hark, the voice of ceaseless praise,                      1131\n  Hark how the gospel trumpet sounds,                    _Medley._ 272\n  Hark how the watchmen cry,                          _C. Wesley._ 878\n  Hark, sinner, while God from,                     _J. B. Hague._ 334\n  Hark, ten thousand harps and voices,                    _Kelly._ 663\n  Hark the glad sound! the Saviour,                   _Doddridge._ 124\n  Hark, the herald angels sing,                       _C. Wesley._ 126\n  Hark, the song of jubilee,                         _Montgomery._ 600\n  Hark, the voice of love and mercy,                      _Evans._ 178\n  Hark, what joyful notes are swelling,             _W. T. Moore._ 134\n  Hark, what mean those holy voices,                     _Cawood._ 135\n  Hark, ye mortals, hear the trumpet,                             1116\n  Hasten, Lord, the glorious time,                      _F. Lyte._ 599\n  Haste, O sinner, to be wise,                         _T. Scott._ 306\n  Haste, traveler, haste, the night,                    _Collyer._ 276\n  Have you heard, have you heard of that,                         1162\n  Have we no tears to shed for him,                   _Lyra Cath._ 170\n  Head of the Church triumphant,                      _C. Wesley._ 742\n  Hear, Father, hear our prayer,                                   587\n  Hear, gracious God, a sinner's cry,                              344\n  Hear my prayer, O heavenly,                       _Thos. Park._ 1321\n  Hear, O sinner, mercy hails you,                         _Reed._ 316\n  Hear the royal proclamation,                                     274\n  Hear what God the Lord hath spoken,                    _Cowper._ 601\n  Heavenly Father, to whose eye,                         _Conder._ 572\n  He bids us come, his voice we know,                              795\n  He came not with his heavenly crown,                    _Doane._ 155\n  He dies! the Friend of sinners dies,                    _Watts._ 172\n  He has come, the Christ of God,                         _Bonar._ 129\n  He knelt! the Saviour knelt,                      _Mrs. Hemans._ 165\n  He leadeth me, O blessed thought,                                768\n  He lives, the great Redeemer lives,               _Mrs. Steele._ 212\n  Help us, O Lord, thy yoke to wear                                964\n  Here behold me as I cast,                     _Joachim Neander._ 891\n  Here I sink before thee lowly,                                   539\n  Here is my heart, I give it thee,                                348\n  Here, O my Lord, I see thee face to face,                        544\n  Here, Saviour, we would come,                                    388\n  Here we are but straying,                        _I. N. Carman._ 829\n  He sendeth sun, he sendeth,                     _Sarah F. Adams._ 68\n  He that goeth forth with weeping,                    _Hastings._ 969\n  He who on earth as man was known,                      _Newton._ 246\n  High as the heavens above the ground,                  _Watts._ 1264\n  High in yonder realms of light,                      _Raffles._ 1138\n  Holy Bible! book divine,                                          20\n  Holy Father, thou hast taught me,                                887\n  Holy Lord, our hearts prepare,                                   576\n  Honor and happiness unite,                             _Cowper._ 413\n  Hope of our hearts, O Lord, appear,                             1099\n  Ho, reapers of life's harvest,                                   476\n  Hosanna, raise the pealing hymn,                                 234\n  Hosanna to our conquering King,                         _Watts._ 243\n  Hosanna to the Prince of light,                         _Watts._ 185\n  How are thy servants blest, O Lord,                  _Addison._ 1292\n  How beauteous are their feet,                           _Watts._ 270\n  How beauteous were the marks,                      _A. C. Coxe._ 144\n  How blest are they whose transient,                   _Norton._ 1042\n  How blest the righteous when,                  _Mrs. Barbauld._ 1039\n  How blest the sacred tie that,                  _Mrs. Barbauld._ 479\n  How bright these glorious spirits shine,                         909\n  How calm and beautiful the morn,                  _T. Hastings._ 186\n  How charming is the place,                           _Stennett._ 454\n  How did my heart rejoice to hear,                       _Watts._ 445\n  How firm a foundation, ye saints of,                  _Kirkham._ 792\n  How free and boundless is the grace,                  _Beddome._ 287\n  How gentle God's commands,                           _Doddridge._ 92\n  How gracious and how wise,                         _Doddridge._ 1018\n  How happy are they who their,                       _C. Wesley._ 408\n  How happy every child of grace,                     _C. Wesley._ 404\n  How happy is the Christian's state,                              402\n  How happy is the pilgrim's lot,                    _C. Wesley._ 1061\n  How honored, how dear is that sacred,                  _Conder._ 585\n  How honored is the place,                               _Watts._ 457\n  How long, O Lord, our Saviour,                                   831\n  How oft, alas! this wretched heart,               _Mrs. Steele._ 868\n  How painfully pleasing the fond recollection,                     23\n  How pleased and blest was I,                            _Watts._ 627\n  How pleasing to behold and see,                        _Dobell._ 515\n  How pleasant, how divinely fair,                        _Watts._ 686\n  How precious is the book divine,                        _Fawcett._ 9\n  How shall I my Saviour set forth,                     _Maxwell._ 659\n  How shall the young secure their hearts,                 _Watts._ 15\n  How short and hasty is our life,                       _Watts._ 1052\n  How sweet, how heavenly is the sight,                   _Swain._ 493\n  How sweetly flowed the gospel sound,                  _Bowring._ 141\n  How sweet the gospel trumpet sounds,                            1279\n  How sweet the name of Jesus sounds,                    _Newton._ 247\n  How sweet the praise, how high,                      _B. Skene._ 638\n  How sweet to be allowed to pray,                                 560\n  How sweet to leave the world awhile,                    _Kelly._ 548\n  How tender is thy hand,                          _T. Hastings._ 1015\n  How vain is all beneath the skies,                               426\n  How various and how new,                             _Stennett._ 652\n  How vast is the tribute I owe,                                  1027\n  Humble souls, who seek salvation,                     _Fawcett._ 393\n  Hungry, and faint, and poor,                                     703\n  Hush the loud cannon's roar,                            _Johns._ 965\n\n                                  I\n  I am a stranger here,                                           1154\n  I am thy workmanship, O Lord,                          _Conder._ 816\n  I am weary of straying, O fain,                                  837\n  I can not always trace the way,              _Charlotte Elliott._ 86\n  \"I come,\" the great Redeemer cries,                              385\n  I come to thee, to-night,                                       1317\n  I did thee wrong, my God,                               _Bonar._ 926\n  If human kindness meets return,                    _R. W. Noel._ 520\n  If life's pleasures charm you,                      _F. S. Key._ 439\n  If 'tis sweet to mingle where,                                   571\n  I have no resting place on earth,                   _W. Baxter._ 819\n  I hear thee speak of the better,                 _Mrs. Hemans._ 1158\n  I journey forth,                   _Hymns from Land of Luther._ 1139\n  I know not if or dark or bright,                                 803\n  I know that my Redeemer lives,                         _Medley._ 219\n  I'll praise my Maker while I've,                         _Watts._ 72\n  I look to thee in every need,                                    912\n  I love the volume of thy word,                            _Watts._ 8\n  I love thy kingdom, Lord,                              _Dwight._ 453\n  I love to steal awhile away,                       _Mrs. Brown._ 562\n  I love to think of heaven,                                      1134\n  I'm but a stranger here,                        _T. R. Taylor._ 1146\n  I'm not ashamed to own my Lord,                         _Watts._ 865\n  In all my Lord's appointed ways,                       _Ryland._ 380\n  In all my ways, O God,                                          1173\n  In every trouble, sharp and strong,                             1010\n  In expectation sweet,                                  _Kelly._ 1109\n  Infinite excellence is thine,                         _Fawcett._ 237\n  In heavenly love abiding,                                        785\n  In hymns of praise, eternal God,                                 119\n  In Jordan's tide the Baptist,                   _Rippon's Coll._ 142\n  In memory of the Saviour's love,                                 524\n  In seasons of grief, to my God I'll,                   _Hunter._ 264\n  In silence of the voiceless night,                               980\n  In sweet, exalted strains,                           _Francis._ 1301\n  In that world of ancient story,            _Miss H. M. Bolman._ 1152\n  In the Christian's home in glory,                               1149\n  In thee, O Lord, I put my trust,                  _W. T. Moore._ 845\n  In the floods of tribulation,                         _Pearce._ 1026\n  In thy name, O Lord, assembling,                        _Kelly._ 713\n  In time of fear, when trouble's near,                _Hastings._ 788\n  In trouble and in grief, O God,                                  910\n  I praise thy name, O God of light,                              1180\n  I saw the cross of Jesus,                        _F. Whitfield._ 543\n  I sing the almighty power of God,                        _Watts._ 50\n  Is it a long way off,                                           1153\n  Israel's Shepherd, guide me, feed,                _Beckersteth._ 751\n  Israel the desert trod,                                          778\n  Is there a lone and dreary hour,                  _Mrs. Gilman._ 761\n  It came upon the midnight clear,                  _E. H. Sears._ 120\n  I think when I read that sweet story of old,                    1220\n  It is finished, man of sorrows,                   _T. H. Hedge._ 533\n  It is not death to die,                              _Bethune._ 1066\n  It is the hour of prayer,                                        568\n  It is the Lord, enthroned in light,                     _Green._ 906\n  I will extol thee, Lord on high,                                1000\n  I will not let thee go, thou help,                    _Desyler._ 798\n  I would not live alway, I ask not,                 _Muhlenberg._ 836\n\n                                  J\n  Jehovah reigns, he dwells in light,                      _Watts._ 44\n  Jehovah reigns, his throne is high,                      _Watts._ 28\n  Jerusalem, my glorious home,                                     821\n  Jerusalem, my happy home,                                        820\n  Jesus, and shall it ever be,                            _Gregg._ 373\n  Jesus, cast a look on me,                            _Berridge._ 780\n  Jesus, guide our way,                        _Count Zinzendorf._ 805\n  Jesus, hail! enthroned in glory,                    _Bakewell._ 1322\n  Jesus has died for me,                            _W. T. Moore._ 541\n  Jesus has died that I might live,                   _C. Wesley._ 814\n  Jesus, I love thy charming name,                    _Doddridge._ 251\n  Jesus, immortal King, arise,                           _Burder._ 245\n  Jesus, I my cross have,                               _F. Lyte._ 923\n  Jesus, in thee our eyes behold,                         _Watts._ 242\n  Jesus, in thy transporting name,                  _Mrs. Steele._ 238\n  Jesus invites his saints,                               _Watts._ 529\n  Jesus, Lamb of God, for me,                        _Ray Palmer._ 390\n  Jesus, Lord, we look to thee,                       _C. Wesley._ 499\n  Jesus, lover of my soul,                            _C. Wesley._ 262\n  Jesus, my all, to heaven is gone,                     _Cennick._ 375\n  Jesus, my love, my chief delight,                     _Beddome._ 807\n  Jesus, my strength, my hope,                        _C. Wesley._ 567\n  Jesus, our Lord, ascend thy throne,                     _Watts._ 204\n  Jesus, Saviour, all divine,                       _T. Hastings._ 990\n  Jesus shall reign where'er the sun,                     _Watts._ 209\n  Jesus, Sun of Righteousness,                       _Rosenmoth._ 1188\n  Jesus, take me for thine own,                                    918\n  Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear,                  _May L. Duncan._ 1207\n  Jesus, the Friend of man,                               _Watts._ 526\n  Jesus, these eyes have never seen,                 _Ray Palmer._ 776\n  Jesus, the spring of joys divine,                 _Mrs. Steele._ 220\n  Jesus, the very thought is sweet,                     _Bernard._ 227\n  Jesus, thou art the sinner's Friend,                  _Burnham._ 241\n  Jesus, thou joy of loving hearts,                     _Bernard._ 513\n  Jesus, thou Shepherd of the sheep,                    _Collyer._ 482\n  Jesus, thou Source of calm repose,                               225\n  Jesus, thy blessings are not few,                       _Watts._ 295\n  Jesus, to thy wounds I fly,                         _C. Wesley._ 391\n  Jesus wept! those tears are over,                                156\n  Jesus, where'er thy people meet,                       _Cowper._ 551\n  Joyfully, joyfully, onward I move,                               793\n  Joy to the world, the Lord is come,                     _Watts._ 125\n  Judges who rule the world by laws,                     _Watts._ 1259\n  Just as I am, without one plea,             _Charlotte Elliott._ 343\n\n                                  K\n  Keep us, Lord, O keep us ever,                                   755\n  Kind Father, look with pity now,                  _W. T. Moore._ 864\n  Kindred in Christ, for his dear sake,                  _Newton._ 477\n  King Jesus, reign for evermore,                _Wardlaw's Coll._ 208\n  Know ye that better land,                                       1136\n\n                                  L\n  Lamb of God, whose bleeding love,                   _C. Wesley._ 537\n  Lamp of our feet, whereby we trace,                     _Barton._ 16\n  Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us,                   _Edmeston._ 842\n  Let earthly minds the world pursue,                    _Newton._ 647\n  Let earth, with every isle and sea,                     _Watts._ 255\n  Let everlasting glories crown,                          _Watts._ 221\n  Let every heart and tongue,                       _W. T. Moore._ 651\n  Let every heart rejoice and sing,                  _Washburne._ 1248\n  Let every mortal ear attend,                            _Watts._ 286\n  Let me be with thee, when,                  _Charlotte Elliott._ 810\n  Let me go, my soul is weary,                        _W. Baxter._ 825\n  Let my life be hid in thee,                                      989\n  Let not your hearts with anxious,             _Wardlaw's Coll._ 1060\n  Let others boast their ancient line,               _Cruttenden._ 425\n  Let party names no more,                              _Beddome._ 497\n  Let the land mourn through all,                   _Montgomery._ 1261\n  Let the whole race of creatures lie,                     _Watts._ 89\n  Let thoughtless thousands choose,                     _Hopkins._ 338\n  Let us awake our joys,                              _Kingsbury._ 667\n  Let us sing the King Messiah,                                   1323\n  Let us with a joyful mind,                              _Milton._ 97\n  Let Zion and her sons rejoice,                          _Watts._ 594\n  Life is a span, a fleeting hour,                 _Mrs. Steele._ 1055\n  Life is the time to serve the Lord,                     _Watts._ 284\n  Lift up your heads, ye gates,                      _Montgomery._ 196\n  Lift up your stately heads, ye doors,                            197\n  Light of the lonely pilgrim's heart,                            1271\n  Light of them that sit in darkness,                             1282\n  Like morning, when her early breeze,                    _Moore._ 409\n  Like Noah's weary dove,                            _Muhlenberg._ 456\n  Like sheep, we went astray,                             _Watts._ 258\n  Listen to the gospel telling,                     _W. T. Moore._ 315\n  Lo! he comes with clouds,                            _Olivers._ 1104\n  Lo! he cometh! countless trumpets,                              1103\n  Long as I live I'll praise thy name,                    _Watts._ 645\n  Long did I toil, and knew no earthly rest,                       791\n  Look from on high, great God,                   _Rippon's Coll._ 688\n  Look, ye saints, the sight is glorious,                 _Kelly._ 207\n  Lord, a little band and lowly,                                  1218\n  Lord, all I am is known to thee,                                  35\n  Lord, at this closing hour,                       _E. T. Fitch._ 735\n  Lord, at thy table we behold,                        _Stennett._ 523\n  Lord, bless thy saints assembled here,                           483\n  Lord, cause thy face on us to shine,                             723\n  Lord, dismiss us with thy blessing,                    _Burder._ 754\n  Lord, how delightful 'tis to see,                       _Watts._ 722\n  Lord, I am thine, entirely thine,                      _Davies._ 397\n  Lord, I have foes without, within,                 _Montgomery._ 853\n  Lord, I have made thy word my choice,                    _Watts._ 12\n  Lord, in whose might the Saviour trod,               _Bulfinch._ 414\n  Lord, lead the way the Saviour went,                 _Croswell._ 955\n  Lord, let thy goodness lead our land,                           1307\n  Lord, let thy Spirit penetrate,                         _Bonar._ 417\n  Lord, Lord, defend the desolate,                      _Milton._ 1262\n  Lord, may the Spirit of this feast,            _Mrs. Sigourney._ 519\n  Lord, my weak thought in vain,                      _Ray Palmer._ 26\n  Lord, now we part in thy blest name,                    _Heber._ 724\n  Lord of all being, throned afar,                 _O. W. Holmes._ 636\n  Lord of eternal truth and might,                    _Breviary._ 1177\n  Lord of hosts, to thee we raise,                  _Montgomery._ 1304\n  Lord of my life, O may thy praise,               _Mrs. Steele._ 1182\n  Lord of the harvest, hear,                          _C. Wesley._ 473\n  Lord of the harvest, thee we hail,              _J. H. Gurney._ 1237\n  Lord of the worlds above,                               _Watts._ 714\n  Lord, thou hast bid thy people pray,               _C. Wesley._ 1257\n  Lord, thou hast formed mine every,                 _E. A. Scott._ 33\n  Lord, thou hast searched and seen me,                    _Watts._ 32\n  Lord, we come before thee now,                        _Hammond._ 708\n  Lord, we expect a day,                                           822\n  Lord, what is man? extremes how,                       _Newton._ 109\n  Lord, when my thoughts delighted,                 _Mrs. Steele._ 345\n  Lord, when together here we meet,                                732\n  Lord, while for all mankind we pray,                 _Welford._ 1265\n  Lord, whom winds and seas obey,                    _C. Wesley._ 1295\n  Lo! round the throne a glorious band,                           1121\n  Lo! the Seal of death is breaking,                              1112\n  Love divine, all love excelling,                    _C. Wesley._ 710\n  Love for all! and can it be,                    _S. Longfellow._ 367\n  Love of God! all love excelling,                 _W. T. Moore._ 1274\n  Lonely and solemn be,                            _Mrs. Hemans._ 1087\n\n                                  M\n  Majestic sweetness sits enthroned,                   _Stennett._ 250\n  Make channels for the streams of love,                 _French._ 958\n  Mary to the Saviour's tomb,                            _Newton._ 192\n  May the grace of Christ our Saviour,                   _Newton._ 752\n  Meekly in Jordan's flowing stream,                _S. F. Smith._ 384\n  Mercy alone can meet my case,                      _Montgomery._ 361\n  'Mid scenes of confusion, and creature,                _Denham._ 510\n  Mistaken souls that dream of heaven,                    _Watts._ 354\n  Morning breaks upon the tomb,                         _Collyer._ 191\n  Mortals, awake, with angels join,                      _Medley._ 121\n  Must Simon bear the cross alone,                  _G. N. Allen._ 889\n  My Christian friends in bonds of love,                           485\n  My country, 'tis of thee,                        _S. F. Smith._ 1251\n  My days are gliding swiftly by,                        _Nelson._ 800\n  My dear Redeemer and my Lord,                           _Watts._ 146\n  My faith looks up to thee,                         _Ray Palmer._ 542\n  My feet are worn and weary with the march,                       843\n  My few revolving years,                              _Beddome._ 1241\n  My God, how endless is thy love,                       _Watts._ 1306\n  My God, how excellent thy grace,                        _Watts._ 106\n  My God, how wonderful thou art,                                   80\n  My God, in whom are all the springs,                              64\n  My God, is any hour so sweet,               _Charlotte Elliott._ 581\n  My God, my Father, while I,                 _Charlotte Elliott._ 900\n  My God, my heart with love inflame,                              979\n  My God, my King, thy various praise,                    _Watts._ 635\n  My God, my strength, my hope,                       _C. Wesley._ 915\n  My God, permit my tongue,                               _Watts._ 704\n  My God, the spring of all my joys,                      _Watts._ 769\n  My God, thy boundless love I praise,                  _H. Moore._ 42\n  My God, thy service well demands,                  _Doddridge._ 1009\n  My gracious Redeemer I love,                          _Francis._ 657\n  My heavenly home is bright and fair,                            1124\n  My Jesus, as thou wilt,                            _B. Schmolk._ 921\n  My only Saviour, when I feel,                                    557\n  My opening eyes with rapture see,                                612\n  My precious Lord, for thy dear name,                             553\n  My Prophet thou, my heavenly guide,                              226\n  My rest is heaven, my home is not here,               _F. Lyte._ 838\n  My Saviour, my almighty Friend,                         _Watts._ 249\n  My Shepherd's mighty aid,                          _J. Roberts._ 781\n  My spirit longs for thee,                          _John Byrom._ 834\n  My spirit looks to God alone,                           _Watts._ 996\n  My spirit on thy care,                                _F. Lyte._ 779\n  My soul, be on thy guard,                               _Heath._ 875\n  My soul, how lovely is the place,                       _Watts._ 691\n  My soul, it is thy God,                                          881\n  My soul, repeat his praise,                              _Watts._ 95\n  My soul, triumphant in the Lord,                    _Doddridge._ 436\n  My times are in thy hand,                                        914\n  My times of sorrow and joy,                          _Beddome._ 1006\n\n                                  N\n  Nature with all her powers shall sing,                   _Watts._ 45\n  Nay, tell us not of dangers dire,                       _Lamar._ 867\n  Nearer, my God, to thee,                     _Mrs. S. F. Adams._ 928\n  Near the cross our station taking,                               536\n  New every morning is the love,                         _Keble._ 1176\n  Night with ebon pinion,                         _L. H. Jameson._ 163\n  No bitter tears for thee be shed,                _Mrs. Hemans._ 1049\n  No change of time shall ever,                     _Tate & Brady._ 65\n  No night shall be in heaven,                                    1169\n  No, no, it is not dying,                               _Malon._ 1092\n  No seas again shall sever,                             _Bonar._ 1144\n  No shadows yonder,                                     _Bonar._ 1148\n  No sickness there,                                      _Neal._ 1160\n  Not all the blood of beasts,                            _Watts._ 531\n  Not for the pious dead we weep,                _Mrs. Barbauld._ 1059\n  Not for the summer hour alone,                _Mrs. Sigourney._ 1298\n  Not here, not here! not where the sparkling,                     839\n  Not to condemn the sons of men,                         _Watts._ 147\n  Not to the terrors of the Lord,                         _Watts._ 449\n  Now, as long as here I roam,                         _Gerhardt._ 799\n  Now be my heart inspired to sing,                                211\n  Now begin the heavenly theme,                        _Langford._ 653\n  Now for a song of lofty praise,                         _Watts._ 181\n  Now from labor and from care,                    _T. Hastings._ 1198\n  Now I have found a Friend,                               _Ryle._ 440\n  Now I have found the ground,                        _C. Wesley._ 400\n  Now is the accepted time,                               _Dobel._ 297\n  Now is the day of grace,                                         298\n  Now let each happy guest,                                        527\n  Now let our cheerful eyes survey,                   _Doddridge._ 235\n  Now let our souls on wings sublime,                   _Gibbons._ 806\n  Now may he, who from the dead,                         _Newton._ 746\n  Now may the Lord, our Shepherd,                    _Montgomery._ 715\n  Now the shades of night are gone,                               1186\n  Now to heaven our prayer ascending,                             1278\n  Now to thy heavenly Father's praise,             _Mrs. Steele._ 1014\n  Now to the Lord, who makes,                                      340\n\n                                  O\n  O be not faithless with the morn,                   _B. Barton._ 959\n  O bless the Lord, my soul, let all,                      _Watts._ 93\n  O bless the Lord, my soul, his,                    _Montgomery._ 650\n  O blest the souls, for ever blest,                               685\n  O bow thine ear, eternal One,                       _Pierpont._ 1302\n  O Christ, our King, Creator, Lord,                 _Ray Palmer._ 215\n  O come in life's gay morning,                                    325\n  O come, loud anthems let us sing,                _Tate & Brady._ 682\n  O could I find from day to day,                                  987\n  O could I speak the matchless worth,                   _Medley._ 152\n  O could our thoughts and wishes fly,             _Mrs. Steele._ 1128\n  O day of rest and gladness,                        _Wordsworth._ 633\n  O do not let the world depart,                                   280\n  O'er the gloomy hills of darkness,                  _Williams._ 1280\n  O, eyes that are weary, and hearts that are sore,                790\n  O Father, gladly we repose,                        _G. Gaskell._ 763\n  O Father, though the anxious fear,                               620\n  O Father, with protecting care,                                  687\n  O for a closer walk with God,                          _Cowper._ 943\n  O for a faith that will not shrink,                 _Bath Coll._ 353\n  O for a heart to praise my God,                     _C. Wesley._ 811\n  O for an overcoming faith,                             _Watts._ 1063\n  O for the peace that floweth as a river,                _Bonar._ 930\n  Of thy love, some gracious token,                      _Kelley._ 759\n  Oft in sorrow, oft in woe,                                       883\n  O God, by whom the seed is given,                       _Heber._ 731\n  O God, my heart is fully bent,                    _Tate & Brady._ 38\n  O God of Bethel, by whose hand,                      _Doddridge._ 73\n  O God of love! O King of peace!                                 1258\n  O God, thy grace and blessing give,                             1046\n  O God, unseen, yet ever near,                                    521\n  O God, we praise thee and confess,                     _Patrick._ 36\n  O gracious Lord, whose mercies rise,                             962\n  O happy children who follow Jesus,                               508\n  O happy day that fixed my choice,                   _Doddridge._ 398\n  O happy is the man who hears,                                   1216\n  O happy they who know the Lord,                                  492\n  O, he whom Jesus loved has truly,                    _Whittier._ 972\n  O holy Saviour, Friend unseen,                                   371\n  O how divine, how sweet the joy,                      _Needham._ 358\n  O how I love thy holy law,                               _Watts._ 14\n  O how kindly hast thou led me,                      _Grinfield._ 922\n  O Israel, to thy tents repair,                          _Kelly._ 850\n  O Jesus, King most wonderful,                        _Breviary._ 244\n  O Jesus, Saviour of the lost,                     _Bickersteth._ 559\n  O let my trembling soul be still,                     _Bowring._ 902\n  O Jesus, the giver of all we enjoy,                              665\n  O let the joyful tidings fill the wide,                          610\n  O let your mingling voices rise,                                 639\n  O Lord, and shall thy spirit rest,                _Mrs. Steele._ 410\n  O Lord, and will thy pardoning love,                             383\n  O Lord, another day is flown,                    _H. K. White._ 1315\n  O Lord, how full of sweet,                        _Madame Guyon._ 67\n  O Lord, how happy should we be,                                  582\n  O Lord, I would delight in thee,                                 566\n  O Lord, thy heavenly grace impart,              _J. F. Oberlin._ 765\n  O Lord, thy perfect word,                              _Beddome._ 18\n  O Lord, thy precepts I survey,                           _Watts._ 17\n  O Lord, when faith, with fixed eyes,                             169\n  O Lord, thy counsels,                                            899\n  O love beyond conception great,                                  108\n  O love divine, how sweet thou art,                  _C. Wesley._ 505\n  O love divine, that stooped to,                   _O. W. Holmes._ 66\n  O love of God, how strong and true,                     _Bonar._ 110\n  O may the power which melts the rock,                           1256\n  O mourner, who with tender love,                                1048\n  O my soul, what means this sadness,                   _Fawcett._ 890\n  Once the angel started back,                  _Bishop Williams._ 546\n  One baptism and one faith,                        _E. Robinson._ 511\n  One there is above all others,                         _Newton._ 263\n  On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,                    _Stennett._ 431\n  Only waiting till the shadows,                                  1226\n  O North, with all thy vales of,                  _W. C. Bryant._ 256\n  O, not to fill the mouth of fame,                                771\n  On the mountain's top appearing,                        _Kelly._ 604\n  Onward, Christian, though the,                     _S. Johnson._ 885\n  Onward, onward, men of heaven,                _Mrs. Sigourney._ 1275\n  Onward speed thy conquering,                     _S. F. Smith._ 1286\n  On Zion's glorious summit stood,                        _Kent._ 1120\n  O peace of God, sweet peace of God,                              760\n  O praise our God to-day,                                         966\n  O present still, though still unseen,                _W. Scott._ 725\n  O render thanks to God above,                    _Tate & Brady._ 637\n  O sacred day of peace and joy,                                   613\n  O sacred Head, now wounded,                          _Gerhardt._ 177\n  O Saviour, lend a listening ear,                  _T. Hastings._ 945\n  O Saviour, whose mercy severe in its,                   _Grant._ 893\n  O shadow in a sultry land,                                      1313\n  O source divine and life of all,                      _Sterling._ 30\n  O strong to save and bless,                             _Bonar._ 786\n  O suffering Friend of human kind,                    _Bulfinch._ 157\n  O sweetly breathe the lyres above,                     _Palmer._ 399\n  O tell me no more of this world's,                    _Gambold._ 841\n  O that I could for ever dwell,                           _Reed._ 981\n  O that I had wings like a dove,                   _W. T. Moore._ 826\n  O there's a better world on high,                                433\n  O think that while you're weeping,                  _Dr. Huie._ 1085\n  O this is blessing, this is rest,              _Anna L. Waring._ 762\n  O thou Fount of every blessing,                      _Robinson._ 660\n  O thou from whom all goodness flows,                    _Hawes._ 862\n  O thou in whose presence my soul takes delight,                 1030\n  O thou my Light, my Life, my Joy,                                 74\n  O thou pure light of souls that love,                _Breviary._ 554\n  O thou that hearest prayer,                                      424\n  O thou that hearest when sinners cry,                   _Watts._ 939\n  O thou to whom in ancient times,                         _Ware._ 676\n  O thou to whose all searching sight,                _C. Wesley._ 809\n  O thou who driest the mourner's tear,                  _Moore._ 1005\n  O thou who in the olive shade,                   _Mrs. Hemans._ 1012\n  O thou whose own vast temple,                   _W. C. Bryant._ 1303\n  O thou whose tender mercy hears,                  _Mrs. Steele._ 942\n  O turn you, O turn you, for why will you die,                    329\n  Our blest Redeemer, ere he breathed,                             422\n  Our Christ hath reached his,                      _Frothingham._ 450\n  Our earth we now lament to see,                    _C. Wesley._ 1260\n  Our Father God, not face to face,                _E. H. Chapin._ 983\n  Our Father in heaven,                              _S. J. Hale._ 580\n  Our Fathers, where are they,                                    1067\n  Our God, our help in ages past,                          _Watts._ 75\n  Our heavenly Father calls,                          _Doddridge._ 528\n  Our Lord is risen from the dead,                    _C. Wesley._ 195\n  Our pathway oft is wet with tears,                    _Barton._ 1222\n  Our Saviour bowed beneath the wave,                              376\n  Our souls are in the Saviour's hand,                             907\n  Out of the depths of woe,                         _Montgomery._ 1017\n  O what amazing words of grace,                         _Medley._ 290\n  O when shall I see Jesus,                                        830\n  O where are kings and empires now,                 _A. C. Coxe._ 451\n  O where can the soul find relief from,                _Dutton._ 1166\n  O where is now that glowing love,                       _Kelly._ 858\n  O where shall rest be found,                      _Montgomery._ 1065\n  O why despond in life's dark vale,                                77\n  O why this disconsolate frame,                                  1028\n  O worship the King all glorious above,                  _Grant._ 102\n  O you immortal throng,                             _Doddridge._ 1324\n\n                                  P\n  Psalm of glory, raiment bright,                   _Montgomery._ 1140\n  Peace be to this congregation,                      _C. Wesley._ 750\n  Peacefully, tenderly,                                            506\n  Peace, peace on earth; the heart,                  _Longfellow._ 974\n  Peace! the welcome sound proclaim,                              1247\n  Peace, troubled soul, whose plaintive moan,                      350\n  People of the living God,                          _Montgomery._ 368\n  Pity, Lord, this child of clay,                                  947\n  Planted in Christ, the living Vine,               _S. F. Smith._ 487\n  Plunged in a gulf of dark despair,                      _Watts._ 252\n  Praise and thanks, and cheerful love,                           1235\n  Praise God, ye heavenly hosts above,              _W. T. Moore._ 728\n  Praise, my soul, the King of heaven,                  _F. Lyte._ 101\n  Praise on thee in Zion's gates,                        _Conder._ 655\n  Praise the Lord, his glories show,                     _F. Lyte._ 58\n  Praise the Lord, ye heavens adore,                 _Dub. Coll._ 1252\n  Praise the Lord, ye saints adore him,                _B. Skene._ 673\n  Praise to God, immortal praise,                   _Epis. Coll._ 1249\n  Praise ye the Lord, immortal choir,                               51\n  Praise ye the Lord, 'tis good to raise,                  _Watts._ 24\n  Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,               _Montgomery._ 565\n  Precious Bible! what a treasure,                        _Newton._ 22\n  Prince of peace! control my will,                               1021\n  Purer yet and purer,                                    _Mason._ 835\n\n                                  Q\n  Quiet, Lord, my froward heart,                         _Newton._ 920\n\n                                  R\n  Raise your triumphant songs,                            _Watts._ 649\n  Redeemed from guilt, redeemed from,                   _F. Lyte._ 401\n  Rejoice, believers in the Lord,                        _Newton._ 770\n  Rejoice, O earth, the Lord is King,                              640\n  Repent, the voice celestial cries,                  _Doddridge._ 356\n  Rest for the toiling hand,                             _Bonar._ 1110\n  Restless thy spirit, poor wandering,              _A. Broaddus._ 333\n  Restore, O Father, to our times restore,                         461\n  Rest, weary heart,                                               796\n  Return, my roving heart, return,                    _Doddridge._ 982\n  Return, my soul, and sweetly rest,                   _Latrobe._ 1122\n  Return, O wanderer, now return,                       _Collyer._ 288\n  Return, O wanderer, to thy home,                  _T. Hastings._ 296\n  Rise, glorious Conqueror, rise,                                  201\n  Rise, gracious God, and shine,                  _Pratt's Coll._ 1273\n  Rise, my soul, and stretch thy,                   _R. Seagrave._ 832\n  Rise, O my soul, pursue the path,                     _Needham._ 860\n  Rise, tune thy voice to sacred song,                             642\n  Rocked in the cradle of the deep,               _Mrs. Willard._ 1291\n  Rock of Ages, cleft for me,                           _Toplady._ 261\n  Roll on, thou mighty ocean,                      _Noel's Coll._ 1287\n\n                                  S\n  Safely through another week,                           _Newton._ 629\n  Salvation, O the joyful sound,                          _Watts._ 254\n  Saviour, breathe an evening blessing,               _Edmeston._ 1202\n  Saviour, haste, our souls are waiting,                          1102\n  Saviour, I lift my trembling eyes,                               216\n  Saviour, teach me day by day,                                    784\n  Saviour, through my rebellious,             _Charlotte Elliott._ 998\n  Saviour, thy gentle voice,                                       656\n  Saviour, thy law we love,                                        387\n  Saviour, when in dust, to thee,                         _Grant._ 578\n  Say, whence does this union arise,                    _Baldwin._ 500\n  Say, who is she that looks abroad,                               596\n  Scorn not the slightest word or deed,                            957\n  See! from Zion's sacred mountain,                       _Kelly._ 462\n  See! gracious God, before thy throne,            _Mrs. Steele._ 1263\n  See how the rising sun,                             _E. Scott._ 1184\n  See how the willing converts trace,                  _Stennett._ 379\n  See the shining dew-drops,                                       669\n  Servant of God, well done,                        _Montgomery._ 1070\n  Shall we grow weary in our watch,                    _Whittier._ 896\n  Shall we sing in heaven for ever,                               1164\n  Shed kindly light amid the encircling,                 _Newman._ 590\n  She loved her Saviour; and to him,                     _Cutter._ 960\n  Shepherd of souls, refresh and bless,                            525\n  Shepherds, hail the wondrous stranger,               _Psalmist._ 133\n  Shepherd of thy little flock,                                    575\n  She was the music of our home,                         _Bonar._ 1062\n  Shout the tidings of salvation,                                 1276\n  Show pity, Lord, O Lord, forgive,                       _Watts._ 346\n  Silent, like men in solemn haste,                       _Bonar._ 848\n  Silently the shades of evening,                                 1204\n  Silent night, hallowed night,                                    131\n  Since all the varying scenes of life,                             85\n  Since first thy word awaked my heart,                   _Moore._ 407\n  Since God is mine, then present,                       _Beddome._ 88\n  Since I can read my title clear,                        _Watts._ 434\n  Since Jesus freely did appear,                      _Berridge._ 1297\n  Since o'er thy footstool here below,                _Muhlenberg._ 55\n  Sing of Jesus, sing for ever,                           _Kelly._ 260\n  Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice,                             47\n  Sinner, art thou still secure,                         _Newton._ 308\n  Sinner, come, 'mid thy gloom,                                    319\n  Sinner, go; will you go,                                         327\n  Sinners, come; no longer wander,                     _B. Skene._ 335\n  Sinners, seek the priceless treasure,             _W. T. Moore._ 311\n  Sinners, turn; why will you die,                    _C. Wesley._ 304\n  Sinners, will you scorn the message,                    _Allen._ 314\n  Sister, thou wast mild and lovely,               _S. F. Smith._ 1076\n  Sleep not, soldier of the cross,                      _Gaskell._ 884\n  So fades the lonely, blooming flower,            _Mrs. Steele._ 1041\n  Softly now the light of day,                           _Doane._ 1199\n  Soft be the gently breathing notes,                   _Collyer._ 514\n  Soldiers of Christ, arise,                          _C. Wesley._ 879\n  Songs of immortal praise belong,                         _Watts._ 37\n  Songs of praise awake the morn,                    _Montgomery._ 654\n  Son of God, our glorious Head,                      _G. B. Ide._ 475\n  Soon and for ever the breaking of day,                           844\n  Soon may the last glad song arise,                              1269\n  Soon we shall meet again,                           _C. Wesley._ 738\n  Source of being, source of light,                    _C. Wesley._ 59\n  Sound, sound the truth abroad,                          _Kelly._ 275\n  Sovereign Ruler of the skies,                          _Ryland._ 919\n  Sow in the morn, thy seed,                         _Montgomery._ 967\n  Stand up and bless the Lord,                       _Montgomery._ 700\n  Stand up, my soul, shake off thy fears,                 _Watts._ 427\n  Star of the morn and even,                     _F. T. Palgrave._ 797\n  Star of peace to wanderers weary,                               1294\n  Stealing from the world away,                      _Ray Palmer._ 577\n  Still nigh me, O my Saviour, stand,                 _C. Wesley._ 224\n  Still one in life, and one in death,                    _Bonar._ 484\n  Still will we trust, though earth,             _W. H. Burleigh._ 801\n  Still with thee, O my God,                                       988\n  Stop, poor sinner, stop and think,                     _Newton._ 317\n  Sun of my Soul, thou Saviour dear,                      _Keble._ 978\n  Sweet hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer,                      550\n  Sweet is the fading light of eve,                 _S. F. Smith._ 615\n  Sweet is the friendly voice,                           _Jervis._ 366\n  Sweet is the morning of thy grace,                       _Watts._ 76\n  Sweet is the prayer, whose holy stream,                          984\n  Sweet is the task, O Lord,                            _F. Lyte._ 625\n  Sweet is the work, my God, my King,                     _Watts._ 611\n  Sweet land of rest, for thee I sigh,                             812\n  Sweet the moment, rich in blessing,        _Altered from Batty._ 538\n  Sweet was the time when first I felt,                  _Newton._ 944\n\n                                  T\n  Take me, my Father, take me,                                     949\n  Take my heart, O Father, mould it,                              1219\n  Tarry with me, O my Saviour,                                    1203\n  Teach us in time of deep distress,                              1308\n  Thanks be to him who built the hills,                  _Bonar._ 1246\n  Thanks for mercies past received,                                744\n  That clime is not like this dull clime of ours,                 1165\n  That day of wrath! that dreadful day,           _Sir W. Scott._ 1107\n  The Almighty reigns exalted high,                        _Watts._ 62\n  The angels that watched round the,                    _Collyer._ 193\n  The billows swell, the winds are high,                 _Cowper._ 857\n  The captive's oar may pause upon the galley,                     894\n  The chariot, the chariot, its wheels,            _I. Williams._ 1111\n  The child leans on its parent's,                  _I. Williams._ 794\n  The Christian banner, dread no loss,              _J. G. Lyons._ 266\n  The Christian warrior, see him,                    _Montgomery._ 846\n  The Church has waited long,                            _Bonar._ 1100\n  The day is ended; ere I sink to sleep,               _Kimball._ 1208\n  The day is past and gone,                              _Watts._ 1197\n  The dove, let loose in Eastern skies,                   _Moore._ 818\n  Thee we adore, O gracious Lord,                                  217\n  The floods, O Lord, lift up their,                _G. Burgess._ 1290\n  The glories of our birth and state,                  _Sherley._ 1044\n  The God of harvest praise,                        _Montgomery._ 1234\n  The God of mercy will indulge,                       _Fawcett._ 1036\n  The great Redeemer we adore,                         _Stennett._ 378\n  The harvest dawn is near,                         _G. Burgess._ 1233\n  The heavenly spheres to thee, O God,                   _Bowring._ 54\n  The heavens declare thy glory, Lord,                      _Watts._ 1\n  The hour of my departure's come,                       _Logan._ 1051\n  Their hearts shall not be moved,                                 936\n  The King of heaven his table,                       _Doddridge._ 294\n  The last lovely morning,                                        1113\n  The Lord descended from above,                       _Sternhold._ 90\n  The Lord is great; ye hosts of heaven adore,                      41\n  The Lord is King, lift up thy voice,                   _Conder._ 214\n  The Lord is my Shepherd, no,                       _Montgomery._ 103\n  The Lord is risen, indeed,                              _Kelly._ 187\n  The Lord Jehovah reigns, and royal,                      _Watts._ 57\n  The Lord Jehovah reigns, let all,                        _Watts._ 56\n  The Lord my pasture shall prepare,                     _Addison._ 70\n  The Lord my Shepherd is,                                 _Watts._ 94\n  The Lord of glory is my light,                          _Watts._ 447\n  The Lord will come, the earth shall,                   _Heber._ 1106\n  The mellow eve is gliding,                        _Sac. Songs._ 1200\n  The morning dawns upon the place,                  _Montgomery._ 158\n  The morning flowers display their,                 _C. Wesley._ 1035\n  The morning light returns,                      _A. S. Hayden._ 1185\n  The offerings to thy throne which rise,               _Bowring._ 695\n  The perfect world by Adam trod,                 _N. P. Willis._ 1300\n  The Prince of salvation in triumph,               _S. F. Smith._ 606\n  There is a calm for those who,                    _Montgomery._ 1086\n  There is a fold where none can stray,                   _East._ 1132\n  There is a fountain filled with blood,                 _Cowper._ 253\n  There is a land, a happy land,                                  1129\n  There is a land immortal,                     _Barry Cornwall._ 1145\n  There is a land mine eye hath seen,                             1119\n  There is a land of pure delight,                        _Watts._ 428\n  There is a little, lonely fold,                                  448\n  There is a name I love to hear,                                  416\n  There is an hour of hallowed,                   _W. B. Tappan._ 1126\n  There is an hour of peaceful,                   _W. B. Tappan._ 1130\n  There is a place where my hopes,                   _W. Hunter._ 1159\n  There is a region lovelier far,                         _Tuck._ 1125\n  There is a stream whose gentle flow,                      _Watts._ 4\n  There is no night in heaven,                                    1143\n  There's a region above,                                         1147\n  There's a land far away, 'mid,                  _J. F. Clarke._ 1167\n  There seems a voice in every gale,                   _Mrs. Opie._ 48\n  There's music in the upper heaven,                              1127\n  There's not a tint that paints the,                    _Wallace._ 52\n  There's nothing bright above, below,                     _Moore._ 63\n  The Saviour bids us watch and pray,                              870\n  The Saviour calls; let every ear,                 _Mrs. Steele._ 289\n  The Saviour, O what endless charms,               _Mrs. Steele._ 239\n  The Saviour risen, to-day we praise,                             622\n  The shadows of the evening,               _Miss A. A. Procter._ 1194\n  The Son of man they did betray,                                  179\n  The spacious firmament on high,                        _Addison._ 43\n  The spring tide hour,                       _J. S. B. Monsell._ 1033\n  The starry firmament on high,                             _Grant._ 3\n  The tempter to my soul hath said,                  _Montgomery._ 851\n  The sun above us gleaming,                      _A. Crithfield._ 892\n  The voice of free grace cries \"escape,                _Thornby._ 332\n  The winds were howling o'er the deep,                   _Heber._ 151\n  The world may change from,                     _Sarah F. Adams._ 438\n  They are going, only going,                                     1074\n  They who seek the throne of grace,                               573\n  Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we,                   _Doddridge._ 617\n  Think gently of the erring one,                 _Miss Fletcher._ 490\n  This book is all that's left me now,                  _Morris._ 1172\n  This is not my place of resting,                       _Bonar._ 1142\n  This is the day the first ripe sheaf,                            621\n  This is the day the Lord hath made,                     _Watts._ 619\n  This is the glorious day,                               _Watts._ 624\n  This Lord is the Lord we adore,                          _Hart._ 658\n  This world is poor from shore to shore,                _Nelson._ 874\n  Thou art gone to the grave, but we will,               _Heber._ 1096\n  Thou art my hiding place, O Lord,                     _Raffles._ 563\n  Thou art my portion, O my God,                          _Watts._ 774\n  Thou art, O God, the life and light,                     _Moore._ 49\n  Thou art, O Lord, the boundless source,            _W. T. Moore._ 34\n  Thou art our Shepherd, glorious God,                             729\n  Thou art the way, and he who sighs,                              223\n  Thou art the way, to thee alone,                        _Doane._ 248\n  Thou, dear Redeemer, dying Lamb,                      _Cennick._ 231\n  Though all the world my choice,                 _G. Terstergan._ 336\n  Though faint, yet pursuing, we go on our way,                    583\n  Though I walk through the gloomy vale,                 _Watts._ 1047\n  Though I walk the downward shade,                               1071\n  Though troubles assail, and dangers,                   _Newton._ 100\n  Thou God of love! beneath thy sheltering wings,                 1093\n  Thou grace divine, encircling all,             _Eliza Scudder._ 1311\n  Thou hidden love of God, whose,                 _G. Terstergan._ 859\n  Thou Lord of life, whose tender care,                           1310\n  Thou only Sovereign of my heart,                  _Mrs. Steele._ 222\n  Thou Saviour, from thy throne on,                  _Ray Palmer._ 555\n  Thou sovereign Lord of earth and skies,                         1170\n  Thou sweet gliding Cedron,                    _Maria De Fleury._ 167\n  Thou that dost my life prolong,                      _Enfield._ 1187\n  Thou very present aid,                             _C. Wesley._ 1020\n  Thou who didst stoop below,                  _Martineau's Coll._ 200\n  Through all the changing scenes,                 _Tate & Brady._ 911\n  Through all this life's eventful road,                           716\n  Through cross to crown! and though,                _Rosegarten._ 932\n  Through the day thy love has spared us,                _Kelly._ 1206\n  Through the love of God our Saviour,                             787\n  Thus Abraham, full of sacred awe,                   _T. Scott._ 1266\n  Thus far the Lord has led me on,                       _Watts._ 1190\n  Thy Father's house thine own,                     _Ray Palmer._ 1123\n  Thy footsteps, Lord, with joy we trace,                          951\n  Thy goodness, Lord, our souls confess,                 _Gibbons._ 83\n  Thy kingdom, gracious Lord,                       _W. T. Moore._ 455\n  Thy kingdom, Lord, for ever stands,                     _Watts._ 443\n  Thy mercy heard my infant,                   _Sir Robt. Grant._ 1225\n  Thy name, almighty Lord,                                _Watts._ 740\n  Thy Spirit shall unite,                             _Doddridge._ 419\n  Thy way is in the deep, O Lord,                                 1293\n  Thy way is in the sea,                                 _Fawcett._ 91\n  Thy way, not mine, O Lord,                              _Bonar._ 913\n  Thy will be done; I will not fear,                _Jane Roscoe._ 993\n  Time is winging us away,                              _Burton._ 1081\n  'Tis midnight; and on Olive's,                   _W. B. Tappan._ 159\n  'Tis my happiness below,                              _Cowper._ 1023\n  'Tis not a lonely night watch,                                  1029\n  'Tis religion that can give,                                     782\n  To bless thy chosen race,                        _Tate & Brady._ 737\n  To-day if you will hear his voice,                     _Miller._ 279\n  To-day the Saviour calls,                                        323\n  To God, the great, the ever blest,                      _Watts._ 727\n  To God, the only wise,                                  _Watts._ 736\n  To heaven I lift mine eyes,                      _John Bowdler._ 937\n  To him that loved the sons of men,                               646\n  To him who did salvation bring,                                  672\n  To Jesus, the crown of my hope,                        _Cowper._ 827\n  To-morrow, Lord, is thine,                          _Doddridge._ 302\n  To our Redeemer's glorious name,                  _Mrs. Steele._ 643\n  To spend one sacred day,                                _Watts._ 631\n  Tossed no more on life's rough billow,                          1079\n  To thee be praise for ever,                                      757\n  To thee let my first offerings rise,                            1183\n  To thee, my God, whose presence fills,               _Gibbons._ 1002\n  To thee my heart, eternal King,                     _Exeter Coll._ 2\n  To thee, my Shepherd and my,                     _Higginbottom._ 641\n  To thee, O God, to thee,                            _Wm. Wilson._ 98\n  To thee our wants are known,                           _Newton._ 758\n  To the hall of that feast came the sinful and fair,              153\n  To thy temple we repair,                           _Montgomery._ 706\n  To us a child of hope is born,                     _Montgomery._ 122\n  To weary hearts,                 _From the German, by Whittier._ 901\n  Triumphant, Christ ascends on,                    _Mrs. Steele._ 198\n  Triumphant Zion! lift thy head,                     _Doddridge._ 591\n  'Twas on that night, when doomed to know,                        517\n\n                                  U\n  Unchangeable, all-perfect Lord,                          _Lange._ 31\n  Unvail thy bosom, faithful tomb,                       _Watts._ 1050\n  Upon the frontier of this,                     _Dub. Uni. Mag._ 1168\n  Upon the Gospel's sacred page,                          _Bowring._ 6\n  Up to the hills I lift mine eyes,                       _Watts._ 726\n\n                                  V\n  Vainly through night's weary hours,                   _F. Lyte._ 783\n  Vouchsafe, O Lord, thy presence now,                _G. B. Ide._ 468\n\n                                  W\n  Wait, O my soul, the Maker's will,                     _Beddome._ 69\n  Wake thee, O Zion, thy mourning is,                   _Palmer._ 1284\n  Watchman, tell us of the night,                       _Bowring._ 128\n  We are living, we are dwelling,                   _A. C. Coxe._ 1277\n  We are on our journey home,                       _C. Beecher._ 1141\n  We are too far from thee, our Saviour,                           804\n  We are on the ocean sailing,                                     313\n  Weary souls that wander wide,                       _C. Wesley._ 392\n  Weary of wandering from my God,                     _C. Wesley._ 940\n  We ask for peace, O Lord,                  _Miss A. A. Procter._ 423\n  We bless the prophet of the Lord,                       _Watts._ 232\n  Weeping sinners, dry your tears,                                 310\n  Weeping souls, no longer mourn,                       _Toplady._ 946\n  Weep not for the saint that ascends,                   _Bacon._ 1083\n  We have heard of that bright, that holy land,                   1163\n  We have no home but heaven--a pilgrim's,                        1155\n  Welcome, delightful morn,                             _Hayward._ 632\n  Welcome, O Saviour, to my heart,                _Bourne's Coll._ 359\n  Welcome, sweet day of rest,                             _Watts._ 626\n  Welcome, ye hopeful heirs of heaven,                             516\n  We lift our hearts to thee,                        _J. Wesley._ 1314\n  We love this outward world,                                     1019\n  We love thy name, we love thy laws,                              374\n  We're bound for the land of the,                _R. L. Collier._ 331\n  We're going home, we've had visions bright,                     1161\n  We're traveling home to heaven above,                            320\n  We shall meet no more to part,                                   503\n  We sing the Saviour's wondrous death,                            174\n  We speak of the realms of the blest,                            1150\n  We've no abiding city here,                            _Kelly._ 1305\n  We wait for thee,                  _from the German of Hiller._ 1105\n  We wait in faith, in prayer we wait,                             905\n  We will not weep, for God,                     _W. H. Hurlbut._ 1031\n  What could your Redeemer do,                        _C. Wesley._ 305\n  Whate'er my God ordains is right,                                935\n  What glory guides the sacred page,                      _Cowper._ 11\n  What grace, O Lord, and beauty shone,                            961\n  What is life? 'tis but a vapor,                        _Kelly._ 1078\n  What shall I render to my God,                          _Watts._ 692\n  What sinners value I resign,                            _Watts._ 808\n  What's this that steals upon my,                                1084\n  What though earthly friends may frown,                           968\n  What though the arm of conquering,                 _Doddridge._ 1064\n  What various hindrances we meet,                       _Cowper._ 556\n  When adverse winds and waves,                  _Mrs. Sigourney._ 903\n  When all thy mercies, O my God,                        _Addison._ 78\n  When blooming youth is snatched,                 _Mrs. Steele._ 1058\n  When darkness long has vailed my,                      _Cowper._ 854\n  When downward to the darksome,                    _Ray Palmer._ 1108\n  When far from the hearts where our,                   _Macduff._ 992\n  When for eternal worlds we steer,                                437\n  When gathering clouds around I view,          _Sir Robt. Grant._ 999\n  When human hopes and joys depart,                      _Roscoe._ 337\n  When I can trust my all with God,                      _Conder._ 777\n  When in the hour of lonely woe,                        _Conder._ 852\n  Whene'er I think of thee,                          _W. Baxter._ 1318\n  When I sink down in gloom or fear,                               362\n  When Israel, of the Lord beloved,                _Sir W. Scott._ 849\n  When Israel through the desert,                         _Beddome._ 5\n  When I survey the wondrous cross,                       _Watts._ 512\n  When Jordan hushed his waters,                    _T. Campbell._ 117\n  When languor and disease invade,                     _Toplady._ 1008\n  When marshaled on the nightly,                    _H. K. White._ 351\n  When musing sorrow weeps the,                      _B. W. Noel._ 432\n  When our purest delights are nipt in the bud,                    938\n  When overwhelmed with grief,                           _Watts._ 1016\n  When reft of all, and hopeless care,                 _Drummond._ 435\n  When shall we all meet again,                                    502\n  When shall we meet again,                        _Select Hymns._ 504\n  When spring unlocks the flowers to,                    _Heber._ 1238\n  When the King of kings comes,                                   1101\n  When the spark of life is waning,                       _Dale._ 1091\n  When the vale of death appears,                 _Mrs. Gilbert._ 1080\n  When the worn spirit wants repose,                   _Edmeston._ 623\n  When thou, my,                    _Countess of the Huntington._ 1114\n  When through the torn sail the wild,                   _Heber._ 1296\n  When we can not see our way,                                     370\n  When we hear the music ringing,                         _W. M._ 1151\n  When we reach a quiet dwelling,                                 1156\n  When we the sacred grave survey,                                 180\n  When shall the child of sorrow find,                             963\n  Where two or three with sweet accord,                  _Newton._ 552\n  While in sweet communion feeding,                                540\n  While in the slippery paths of,                 _A. S. Hayden._ 1214\n  While life prolongs its precious light,                _Dwight._ 277\n  While now thy throne of grace we,                   _C. Robins._ 683\n  While o'er our guilty land, O God,              _Pres't Davis._ 1254\n  While others pray for grace to die,                              952\n  While thee I seek,                        _Miss H. M. Williams._ 561\n  While thou, my God, art my help,                     _W. Young._ 929\n  While with ceaseless course the sun,                  _Newton._ 1243\n  Whither goest thou, pilgrim stranger,                            886\n  Whither, O whither, should I fly,                   _C. Wesley._ 767\n  Who are these in bright array,                    _Montgomery._ 1137\n  Why do we mourn departing friends,                     _Watts._ 1057\n  Why should I in vain repining,                      _Edmeston._ 1025\n  Why should we start and fear to die,                   _Watts._ 1043\n  Why will ye waste on trifling cares,                _Doddridge._ 282\n  With earnest longings of the mind,                     _Watts._ 1013\n  Within thy house, Lord,                          _Con. Ev. Mag._ 690\n  With Israel's God who can compare,                      _Newton._ 71\n  With joy we meditate the grace,                         _Watts._ 228\n  With joy we own thy servant,                       _Montgomery._ 469\n  With my substance I will honor,                       _Francis._ 971\n  With one consent let all the earth,                  _Doddridge._ 29\n  With sacred joy we lift our eyes,                       _Watts._ 689\n  With songs and honors sounding,                   _Hugh White._ 1231\n  With tearful eyes I look around,                                 278\n  With willing hearts we tread,                                    389\n  Worship, honor, glory, blessing,                                 753\n\n                                  Y\n  Ye Christian heralds,                          _Winchell's Sel._ 465\n  Ye golden lamps of heaven,                         _Doddridge._ 1053\n  Ye humble souls that seek the,                      _Doddridge._ 184\n  Ye joyous ones, upon whose,                   _R. H. Waterson._ 1215\n  Ye men and angels, witness now,                       _Beddome._ 489\n  Ye nations round the earth, rejoice,                    _Watts._ 681\n  Ye saints, your music bring,                             _Reed._ 545\n  Ye servants of the Lord,                            _Doddridge._ 472\n  Yes, for me, for me he careth,                           _Bonar._ 99\n  Yes, my native land, I love thee,                _S. F. Smith._ 1281\n  Yes! our Shepherd leads with,                      _Krummacker._ 104\n  Yes! the Redeemer rose,                             _Doddridge._ 188\n  Yes, we trust the day is breaking,                      _Kelly._ 603\n  Ye trembling captives, hear,                     _Pratt's Coll._ 301\n  Ye who in his courts are found,                   _Hill's Coll._ 309\n  Ye wretched, hungry, starving,                    _Mrs. Steele._ 293\n  You glittering toys of earth, adieu,              _Mrs. Steele._ 813\n  You may sing of the beauty of,                      _W. Hunter._ 463\n  You messengers of Christ,                                _Voke._ 470\n  Your harps, ye trembling saints,                      _Toplady._ 917\n  You servants of God,                                _C. Wesley._ 474\n\n                                  Z\n  Zion, awake; thy strength renew,                    _Shrubsole._ 593\n  Zion stands with hills surrounded,                      _Kelly._ 464\n  Zion, the marvelous story be telling,                            607\n\n\n\n\n                         Transcriber's Notes\n\n\n--Silently corrected a number of palpable typos and\n  inconsistently-formatted items.\n\n--Generated a new cover image for free, unrestricted use with this\n  electronic edition.\n\n--Standardized author names in the index (where the original used\n  multiple forms).\n\n--Added the author information from the index at the end of each hymn.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Christian Hymn Book, by Various\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\nE-text prepared by Brian Coe, Wayne Hammond, and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made\navailable by Internet Archive/American Libraries\n(https://archive.org/details/americana)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 51551-h.htm or 51551-h.zip:\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/51551/51551-h/51551-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/51551/51551-h.zip)\n\n\n      Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive/American Libraries. See\n      https://archive.org/details/russiancampaigna00wash\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE RUSSIAN CAMPAIGN\n\nApril to August, 1915\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\nOther Books by\nSTANLEY WASHBURN.\n\n    Trails, Trappers, and Tenderfeet\n  Price 10s. 6d. net.      _Second Edition._\n\n    Nogi\n  Large crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. net.\n\n    The Cable Game\n  Price 4s. 6d. net.\n\n\n    Two in the Wilderness: A Romance of North-Western Canada\n  Price 6s.      _Fourth Edition._\n\nLondon: Andrew Melrose, Ltd.\n\n      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n[Illustration: HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY THE TSAR OF ALL THE RUSSIAS.\n\n  _Frontispiece._]      [_Photo, Record Press._]\n\n\nTHE RUSSIAN CAMPAIGN\n\nApril to August, 1915, Being the Second Volume of\n“Field Notes from the Russian Front”\n\nby\n\nSTANLEY WASHBURN\n\n(Special Correspondent of “The Times” with the Russian Armies)\n\nWith Photographs by George H. Mewes\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon: Andrew Melrose, Ltd.\n3 York Street, Covent Garden, W.C.\n\n_The illustrations in this book are from the photographs of_ MR. GEORGE\nH. MEWES, _who accompanied Mr. Washburn in all his tours. They are\nreproduced here by courtesy of the “Daily Mirror.”_\n\n\n\n\n  Dedication.\n\n\n  To\n  LORD NORTHCLIFFE and the EDITORS of “_The Times_” London\n  In Appreciation of a Year of Loyal Support\n  and Co-operation.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nMany of my friends have urged me not to publish this, the second\nvolume of Field Notes from the Russian Front, on the ground that the\nfortunes of Russia and the Russian armies were on the wane, and that\nthe optimism which I have always felt has proved itself unfounded by\nthe events of the past few months. It is for the very reason that\nconditions in Russia are momentarily unfavourable that I am glad to\npublish this book at this time, as a vindication of my faith and belief\nin the common soldiers and officers of an army with which I have been\nassociated for nearly a year.\n\nDuring the advances and successes in Galicia and Poland a year ago\nI found the Russian troops admirable, and now in the hour of their\nreverses and disappointments they are superb. I retract nothing that I\nhave said before, and resting my faith in the justice of the cause, the\nunflinching character of the people, and the matchless courage of the\nRussian soldiers, I am glad in this moment of depression to have the\nchance to vindicate my own belief in their ultimate victory in the East.\n\nThe Russians for more than a year have laboured under innumerable\ndifficulties. Without munitions, and handicapped in a hundred ways,\nthey have held themselves intact before the relentless drives of the\nmost efficient army in the world. Though they have fallen by the\nhundreds of thousands, their spirits have not been broken. The loss\nof Warsaw and numerous other positions has not shaken their _morale_.\nHistory will record this campaign as one in which character fought\nagainst efficient machinery, and was not found wanting. In the final\nissue I have never doubted that character would prevail. When the\nRussians get munitions and their other military needs, they will again\nadvance, and no one who knows the Russian army doubts that within it\nlies the capacity to go forward when the time is ripe.\n\nNothing is more fallacious than to judge the outcome of this campaign\nby pins moved backward or forward on the map of Europe. There are great\nfundamental questions that lie behind the merely military aspects of\nthe campaign; questions of morals, ethics, equity, and justice. These\nqualities, backed by men of tenacity, courage, and the capacity to\nsacrifice themselves indefinitely in their cause, are greater ultimate\nassets than battalions and 42-centimetre guns. That the Russians\npossess these assets is my belief, and with the fixed opinion that\nmy faith is well-founded, and that the reverses of this summer are\nbut temporary and ephemeral phases of this vast campaign, it is with\nequanimity and without reservation that I have authorized my publisher\nto send these pages to the printer.\n\nThe defects of hurriedly written copy are of course apparent in these\nnotes, but, as in my first volume, it has seemed wiser to publish them\nwith all their faults, than to wait until the situation has passed and\nnews from Russia has no moral value.\n\n  STANLEY WASHBURN.\n\n  PETROGRAD, RUSSIA,\n  _September 3, 1915_.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAP.                                                          PAGE\n\n      I  THE FALL OF PRZEMYSL                                       3\n\n     II  WARSAW IN APRIL, 1915                                     41\n\n    III  AN AMERICAN DOCTOR IN THE RUSSIAN ARMY                    53\n\n     IV  GENERAL RUSSKY’S SUCCESSOR                                63\n\n      V  CHECKING UP THE SITUATION IN POLAND                       75\n\n     VI  A VISIT TO THE POSITIONS                                  87\n\n    VII  A SUMMER DAY ON THE RAWKA LINE                            99\n\n   VIII  THE CHANGE OF FRONT IN POLAND AND THE BATTLE OF OPATOV   113\n\n     IX  WITH THE ARMY IN SOUTHERN POLAND                         127\n\n      X  AN AFTERNOON AT THE “POSITIONS”                          141\n\n     XI  HOW THE RUSSIANS MET THE FIRST GAS ATTACK                157\n\n    XII  SOME DETAILS REGARDING THE GAS HORROR                    169\n\n   XIII  THE BZURA FRONT IN JUNE                                  185\n\n    XIV  THE GALICIAN FRONT                                       199\n\n     XV  THE GERMAN DRIVE IN GALICIA                              209\n\n    XVI  THE FRONT OF IVANOV                                      221\n\n   XVII  HUNTING FOR THE ARMY OF THE BUKOVINA                     235\n\n  XVIII  THE RUSSIAN LEFT                                         247\n\n    XIX  WITH A RUSSIAN CAVALRY CORPS                             259\n\n     XX  ON THE ZOTA LIPA                                         273\n\n    XXI  A VISIT TO AN HISTORIC ARMY                              289\n\n   XXII  THE NEW ARMY OF THE FORMER DUNAJEC LINE                  301\n\n  XXIII  BACK TO THE WARSAW FRONT                                 311\n\n   XXIV  THE LOSS OF WARSAW                                       319\n\n    XXV  CONCLUSION                                               339\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n                                                         TO FACE\n                                                            PAGE\n\n  His Imperial Majesty the Tsar of all the Russias    _Frontis_.\n\n  Occupation of Przemysl by the Russians. Austrians\n      leaving as prisoners                                     4\n\n  Austrian prisoners leaving Przemysl}                         6\n                                     }\n  Russian occupation of Przemysl     }\n\n  Cossack patrol entering Przemysl                    }\n                                                      }\n  Russian occupation of Przemysl. Governor’s bodyguard}        8\n      entering Government House                       }\n\n  Destroyed by the Austrians before leaving Przemysl}\n                                                    }         12\n  Principal street in Przemysl                      }\n\n  Austrian and Hungarian prisoners en route to Lwow           14\n\n  Austrian prisoners resting by the roadside during their\n      march from Przemysl                                     17\n\n  Austrian prisoners leaving Przemysl                         20\n\n  Russian Governor of Przemysl                                33\n\n  Russian occupation of Przemysl. Headquarters of Staff       35\n\n  Feeding Austrian prisoners en route to Lwow                 37\n\n  General Hubert, Chief of Austrian Staff in Przemysl         38\n\n  A Russian officer inspecting eight-inch gun                 44\n\n  Russian bath train                                          48\n\n  The Emperor with his Staff                          }\n                                                      }       56\n  Russian nurses attend to the feeding of the soldiers}\n\n  Russian soldiers performing their native dance              68\n\n  The Polish Legion. Note the small boy in the ranks as\n      mascot                                                  76\n\n  The Vistula (winter)                                        80\n\n  Russian officers in an artillery observation position       92\n\n  A first-line trench in Poland                              104\n\n  Russian General inspecting his gunners                     106\n\n  Telephoning to the battery from the observation position   108\n\n  In the trenches near Opatov                                116\n\n  Second-line trenches, Opatov                               118\n\n  A second-line trench near Opatov                           122\n\n  A Russian first-line trench near Lublin}\n                                         }   _between_ 128 & 129\n  German position near Lublin            }\n\n  March-past of the Gonogoriski Regiment                     130\n\n  Men of the Gonogoriski Regiment cheering King George V     132\n\n  Men of the Gonogoriski Regiment                            134\n\n  Howitzer battery in Poland                                 142\n\n  Cossacks on the Dniester. Officers’ quarters in the woods  144\n\n  The Polish Legion                                          150\n\n  The colours of the Siberians                               164\n\n  Respirator drill in the trenches}\n                                  }                          172\n  Austrians leaving Przemysl      }\n\n  Siberians returning from the trenches                      178\n\n  General Brussilov                                          213\n\n  General Ivanov              }\n                              }                              222\n  My car in a Galician village}\n\n  G. H. Mewes                                                248\n\n  Stanley Washburn, Prince Oblensky, Count Tolstoy,\n      Count Keller                                           251\n\n  Cossacks dancing the Tartars’ native dance                 254\n\n  H.I.H. The Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovitch,\n      Commander of two divisions of Cossacks                 261\n\n  The Russian soldier at meal-time. Ten men share the\n      soup                                                   268\n\n  Cavalry taking up position                  }\n                                              }              280\n  Russian band playing the men to the trenches}\n\n  After the Russian evacuation of Lwow. The Bug\n      Lancers retreating in good order                       290\n\n  A Russian eight-inch gun going into position during the\n      fighting round Lublin                                  302\n\n  Russian artillery officers in an observation position\n      during the fighting round Lublin                       306\n\n  Retreat from Warsaw. Burning crops                     }\n                                                         }   312\n  The retreat from Warsaw. A Jewish family leaving Warsaw}\n\n  Retreat from Warsaw. A Polish Jew                          314\n\n  The evacuation of Warsaw. Copper and bells were all\n      taken away                                             316\n\n  The retreat from Warsaw                                    319\n\n  The retreat from Warsaw. Ammunition on the road            320\n\n  During the retreat from Warsaw}\n                                }                            322\n  Russian armoured motor-car.   }\n\n  The retreat from Warsaw. Wounded in a barn outside\n      Warsaw                                                 324\n\n  The retreat from Warsaw. German prisoners housed\n      in a barn                                              326\n\n  The retreat from Warsaw. Artillery on the road             328\n\n  During the retreat from Warsaw. Note wounded man in\n      foreground                                             330\n\n  The retreat from Warsaw. One of the last regiments to\n      pass through Warsaw                                    332\n\n  Siberians leaving the last trench before Warsaw            334\n\n  A batch of German prisoners captured during the retreat\n      from Warsaw                                            339\n\n  Refugees on the road to Brest-Litovsk                      340\n\n  Roll call during the retreat from Warsaw. All that was\n      left of them                                           342\n\n  Resting during the retreat from Warsaw                     344\n\n  Wounded returning to Warsaw        }\n                                     }                       346\n  On the banks of the River Dniester }\n\n\n\n\nTHE FALL OF PRZEMYSL\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE FALL OF PRZEMYSL\n\n  Dated:\n  LWOW, GALICIA,\n  _April 1, 1915_.\n\n\nI\n\nThe news of the fall of Przemysl reached Petrograd on the morning of\nMarch 23, and the announcement was given out by the War Office at\nnoon. The spring is very late in Russia this year, and so much snow\nand such intense cold have not been known so late in March for more\nthan a hundred years. On the 23rd it was snowing heavily in Petrograd\nand a biting wind was sweeping through the streets. Save for an\noccasional street car and foot passengers the Moika and even the Nevsky\nProspekt were at noon almost as empty as at midnight. And then came the\nannouncement that the great fortress in Galicia had fallen. In an hour\nthe news was all over the town and in spite of the inclement weather\nthe streets were thronged with eager Russians, from Prince to Moujik,\nanxiously asking each other if the news which had been so long promised\ncould really be true. The fall of Przemysl it must be remembered had\nbeen reported at least a dozen times in Petrograd before this.\n\nThere are people in as well as out of Russia, who like to say that the\nman in the street over here cares nothing for the war and knows less,\nbut on this particular day these people were silent. It was no wonder.\nIf ever a people genuinely rejoiced over good news it was the citizens\nof all classes of Russia’s capital when it became known that Przemysl\nwas at last in Russian hands. By three in the afternoon, crowds had\norganized themselves into bands, and with the Russian flag waving in\nfront, and a portrait of the Czar carried before, dozens of bands\nmarched through the streets chanting the deep-throated Russian National\nanthem; one of the most impressive hymns in the world.\n\nThough the snow was still falling and a nipping wind blowing, thousands\nof the crowds that now perambulated the streets stood bareheaded in the\nblast as each procession passed. Old retired generals of seventy and\nmore stood at rigid attention as the portrait of their monarch and the\nflag of their nation was borne past. Moujiks, princes, men and women,\nthe aged and the young alike, displayed the same spirit of ardour\nand enthusiasm as each demonstration came down the street. While it\nis true that there is not in Russia what we in the West call public\nopinion, yet a stranger living here during this war comes to feel that\nthere is growing up a spirit that is uniting all classes. This is the\ngreat hope for the war. It is also Russia’s hope for the future. In\nanother generation it is destined to bring forth greater progress and\nunity than the Empire of the Czar has ever known.\n\n[Illustration: Occupation of Przemysl by the Russians. Austrians\nleaving as prisoners. The Russians entering the town.]\n\nThe people of Petrograd have followed the war much more closely than\none would have believed possible. Over here there has been action from\nthe day the war started, and hardly a month when gigantic movements of\nsome sort or other have not been under weigh. Petrograd has been called\non again and again to furnish new troops, and from September until\nto-day there has not been a week that one could not see new troops\ndrilling in the streets. Russia has had great successes and great\nsetbacks, but each alike strengthens the same stubborn determination to\nkeep pressing forward.\n\nThere was great disappointment when the Russian army withdrew a few\nweeks ago from East Prussia, but it began to abate when it became known\nthat the German advance was checked. The Russians, as is their habit,\nhad pulled themselves together, and slowly but surely were pushing\nback the invader just as they did in the dreary days following the\nSamsonov disaster in the first days of the war. Then came the news of\nGalicia and the greatest single success that the war has brought to any\nof the Allies, or for that matter to any of the belligerent powers.\nWhen the details of the numbers of the captured began to leak out, the\nimportance of the success was first realized, and not without reason\ndid the Russians begin to allude to the fall of Przemysl as a second\nMetz. It was generally believed that the garrison shut up within the\nfortress did not total above 50,000 men, and none were more surprised\nthan the victors, when they learned that more than 131,000 soldiers and\nnearly 4,000 officers had fallen into their hands, not to mention a\nnumber of guns of all calibres amounting probably to above 300. These\nunfortunately have been rendered useless by the Austrians and must be\ncharged as a heavy loss to them rather than as any direct military\nasset gained by the Russians.\n\n[Illustration: Austrian prisoners leaving Przemysl.]\n\n[Illustration: Russian occupation of Przemysl. Austrian officers pay a\nlast visit to the Russian head-quarters before leaving for Lwow.]\n\nWell may the Russians take pride in what their new army has\naccomplished, for one must go back to the taking of Plevna to find\nany such landmark in the history of Russian siege operations. The\nlast great siege in Muscovite history was that of Port Arthur,\nand one cannot but contrast the state of matters in Russia ten years\nago, and now. Port Arthur fell after a long series of disasters to\nthe Russian arms, and the people all over the Empire received the\ntidings without interest and with that dumb resignation to disaster\nthat is characteristic of their fatalistic temperament. A spirit of\nhopelessness and despondency and pessimism pervaded every class of\nRussian society. Announcements of new defeats were heard without\nsurprise and almost without interest. “Of course, what do you expect?”\none would hear on all sides, “Russian troops never win.” But now there\nis quite a different point of view. Even the moujik has come to feel a\npride and confidence in his army and in its victories. Their successes\nare his successes, and their defeats are his defeats.\n\nOne who takes interest in studying the psychology of countries comes\nto realize that pride of race and confidence in one’s blood is the\ngreatest asset that any nation can possess. Throughout Russia, the\ncause in which her Armies are engaged has come to be more nearly\nunderstood than any war she has ever engaged in. It is not true of\ncourse that the peasant knows as much as does the British Tommy; nor\nis there anything like the same enlightenment that prevails in the\nWestern Armies. But in fairness to Russia she must not be judged from a\nWestern standpoint, but compared with herself ten years ago.\n\nAs has been written by a dozen writers from Russia in the last six\nmonths the new spirit was crystallized when the war began. It has had\nits ups and its downs with the varying reports from the Front, but as\neach defeat has been turned into a stepping stone for a subsequent\nadvance, public confidence has gradually mounted higher and higher,\nuntil, with the fall of Przemysl, we find Russian sentiment and\nconfidence in Russia at probably the highest point that has ever been\nreached in the history of the Empire. The dawn of the new day of which\nwe hear so much over here now, bears every indication of being the\nbeginning of the much heralded new Era in this country.\n\n\nII\n\nGalicia is still under martial law, and one cannot even enter the new\nRussian province without a permit issued by the General Staff. It is\nof course even more difficult for one to get into the actual theatre\nof war. A wire, however, from the Staff of the Generalissimo to the\npowers that be in Petrograd, made the way to Przemysl possible, and\na few days after the fortress had fallen the writer reached Lwow.\nThe Russian-gauged railroad has been pushed south of the old frontier\nline to the town of Krasne, famous as the centre of the battle-line of\nAustrian defence in the days when the armies of Russky were pushing on\ntoward Lwow.\n\n[Illustration: Cossack patrol entering Przemysl.]\n\n[Illustration: Russian occupation of Przemysl. Governor’s bodyguard\nentering Government House.]\n\nIt was originally intended to widen the Austrian tracks to take the\nRussian rolling stock, so that trains might proceed direct to the\ncapital of Galicia; but it was found that the expense of carrying\non operations which meant the widening of every bridge and the\nstrengthening of every culvert and elevated way, to take the heavier\nequipment, would involve time and expense scarcely less than building\na new line complete. The result is that one still changes carriages\nsome distance out of Lwow, a handicap that is trifling for passenger\ntraffic, but involving very real inconvenience and delays in the\nhandling of the vast amount of freight and munitions that go to supply\nthe huge armies in the field in Galicia.\n\nLwow itself is no longer the dismal place that it was in the early\nautumn when almost every public building was a hospital, and the\nstation a receiving depot for the thousands of fresh wounded that\npoured in by train-loads from the positions on the San and from the\ntrenches before Przemysl, which was just then undergoing its first\ninvestment. Where stretchers and throngs of wounded formerly filled\nevery available foot of ground in the huge terminus a few months ago,\nall is now orderly and very much as in the days before the war. The\nhotels which in October were filled to overflowing with officers and\nRed Cross nurses, are now comparatively quiet, and the city itself,\nbarring troops going through and prisoners coming from Przemysl, is not\nfar from normal. A few hours after arriving the writer was received by\nCount Brobinsky, who frankly expressed his delight and relief at the\ncapture of the Galician fortress.\n\nThere are of course a large number of Austrians in Galicia, and ever\nsince the Russian occupation in September a pro-German-Austrian\npropaganda has been kept up here. Every reverse to the Dual Alliance\nhas been minimized as much as possible, and every effort was subtly\nmade by the German-Austrian agents of the enemy to prevent the peasants\nand that portion of the population here which sympathizes with the\nRussians, from co-operating in the new régime. They were assured\nthat soon the Austrians would be coming back, and fears of reprisals\nwhen the day came have no doubt restrained a large number of Little\nRussians, Poles and others from openly supporting the efforts of\nthe new government to restore Galicia to its normal state. But with\neach month it has become increasingly difficult for the Austrian\nsympathizers to make the public believe that the Russian occupation was\nonly a temporary wave that would shortly recede. Austro-German advances\nin Bukowina, and the really serious aggressive attempts through the\nCarpathians no doubt helped to render conditions unsettled. Then\ncame the check of the Austrian advance in Bukowina and the gradual\nreclaiming by the Russians of the ground lost at the first impetus\nof the enemy’s offensive. This was followed by the failure of the\nrelieving column to make satisfactory headway toward its objective at\nPrzemysl.\n\nIn spite of all these very obvious failures to achieve any definite\nadvantage over the Russians, the spirits of the anti-Russian element\nwere kept buoyed up by the spectacle of the great fortress in Galicia\nstill holding out. “As long as Przemysl stands out there is hope,”\nseems to have been the general opinion of all who wished ill to the\nRussians. Thus the fortress, which at the outset might have been\nabandoned with small loss of prestige to the Austrians, gradually\ncame to have a political as well as military significance of the most\nfar reaching importance. In the general crash after the battle of\nthe Grodek line, the loss of a town which until then had never been\nheard of in the West, outside of military circles, would have escaped\nanything more than passing comment. Not until the Russian armies had\nactually swept past its trenches and masked its forts, did the world\nat large know that such a place was on the map; even then the greatest\ninterest manifested was in the vexed question as to how its name was\npronounced, if indeed it could be done at all, an opinion which was\nheld by not a few people. This place which could have been given up\nearlier in the war without any important sacrifice was held tenaciously\nand became one of the vital points of strategy in the whole campaign.\nAn army which turned out to be a huge one, was isolated from the field\narmies of Austria at a time when she needed every able-bodied man that\nshe could get; and Przemysl, which, as we see now, was doomed from the\nstart, was allowed to assume an importance in the campaign which made\nits fall not only a severe military loss but a blow to the hopes of the\nAustrians, both at home and in Galicia. The fall of this fortress has\ngone further towards shattering any hopes of ultimate victory that have\nbeen entertained than anything that has occurred since the war started.\n\n[Illustration: Destroyed by the Austrians before leaving Przemysl.]\n\n[Illustration: Principal street in Przemysl.]\n\nAs Count Brobinsky, who for six months now has been straggling to\nreadjust Galicia to the normal, said, his task has now been enormously\nsimplified, and there is scarcely an element left here that now\nbelieves there is any chance of Austria winning back her lost province.\nThe Austrian agents have abandoned hope, and the Russian sympathizers\nare now openly declaring their loyalty to the new régime. There is,\nhowever, a class of bureaucrats left here aggregating, I am informed,\nnearly 40,000 in number. This class is composed of Poles, Austrians\nand others who for generations have been holding the best offices at\nthe disposal of the Vienna government. These are of course, almost to\na man, out of their lucrative posts, and represent the element that\nhas most vigorously, if quietly, attempted to undermine the activities\nof the government installed here by Russia. But even these see in the\ncollapse of their great fortress the evaporation of their chief hopes.\n\nAs Galicia is still under martial law, all the motor cars have been\ntaken over by the military authorities and so, even armed with passes\nand permits, we found it all but impossible to reach Przemysl. The\nbest horses here are in the army service, and the few skinny horses\nattached to the cabs find it difficult even to stagger from the station\nto the hotel, and it was out of the question to go by carriage the\n94 kilometres to Przemysl. But when we told Count Brobinsky of our\ndifficulties, he solved them by promptly placing a huge military\ntouring car at our disposal; he further paved the way for a pleasant\ntrip to the scene of the Russian achievement by giving us a personal\nletter of introduction to General Atrimanov, the new Russian commandant\nof the captured fortress.\n\n\nIII\n\nThe spring is late here as it is throughout Russia this year, and\nit was snowing heavily as our big touring car, with a soldier as\nchauffeur, threaded its way in the early morning through the narrow\nstreets of Lwow and out into the open country which was now almost\nwhite. Before we have been twenty minutes on the road we begin to pass\noccasional groups of dismal wretches in the blue uniform which before\nthis war was wont to typify the might of the Hapsburgs, but which now\nin Galicia is the symbol of dejection and defeat. Through the falling\nsnow they plod in little parties of from three to a dozen; evidently\nthe rear guard of the column that went through yesterday, for they are\nabsolutely without guards, and are no doubt simply dragging on after\ntheir regiments.\n\n[Illustration: Austrian and Hungarian prisoners en route to Lwow.]\n\nFrom Lwow almost due west runs the line of the highway to Grodek\nwhere we get our first glimpse of prisoners in bulk. Here, at the\nscene of some of the fiercest fighting that the war has produced, is\na rest station for the columns that are making the journey to Russian\ncaptivity on foot from Przemysl to Lwow, and I know not how far beyond.\nAs we motor into the town the three battalions of the 9th Hungarian\nregiment of the 54th Landsturm brigade are just straggling into the\ntown from the west. With a few Russians who seem to be acting as guides\nand nurses rather than as guards, they file through the streets and\ninto a great square of a barracks. Here they are marshalled in columns\nof four, and marched past the door of the barracks where an official\ncounts the individual fours and makes a note of the number that have\npassed his station. Beyond in a grove the ranks are broken, and the\nweary-looking men drop down under the trees, regardless of the snow and\nmud, and shift their burdens and gnaw at the hunks of bread and other\nprovisions furnished them by the Russians.\n\nIt is hard to realize that the haggard despondent rabble that we see\nhas ever been part of an actual army in being. Most of them were\nevidently clothed for a summer campaign, and their thin and tattered\nuniform overcoats must have given but scant warmth during the winter\nthat has passed. The line is studded with civilian overcoats, and\nmany of the prisoners have only a cap or a fragment of a uniform\nwhich identifies them as ever having been soldiers at all. The women\nof the village pass up and down the line giving the weary troops\nbits of provision not in the Russian menu. All the men are wan and\nthin, with dreary hopelessness written large upon their faces, and a\nvacant stare of utter desolation in their hollow eyes. They accept\ngladly what is given and make no comment. They get up and sit down as\ndirected by their guards, apparently with no more sense of initiative\nor independence of will than the merest automatons. We pause but a few\nminutes, for the roads are bad and we are anxious to get over the muddy\nway as quickly as possible.\n\nThe western portion of Grodek was badly knocked up by shell fire during\nthe battle in September, and the barren walls of charred buildings\nremain to tell the story of the Austrian effort to stay the tide of the\nRussian advance that swept them out of position after position during\nthe first weeks of the war. Grodek was reported to have been utterly\ndestroyed at the time, but as a fact, not more than one-fifth of the\nbuildings were even damaged by the artillery fire.\n\n[Illustration: Austrian prisoners resting by the roadside during their\nmarch from Przemysl.]\n\nJust east of Sadowa Wisznia, the scene of another Austrian stand, we\ncome upon a regiment attached to the 54th Landsturm brigade. This is\nthe tenth regiment, and, with the exception of a few non-commissioned\nofficers, is composed entirely of Slovaks and Hungarians. They are\nresting as we motor up, and for nearly a mile they are sitting\ndejectedly by the side of the road, some with heads resting wearily\nagainst tree trunks, while dozens of others are lying in the snow and\nmud apparently asleep. As nearly as I could estimate, there is about\none Russian to a hundred prisoners. In any case one has to look about\nsharply to see the guards at all. It reminds one a bit of trying to\npick a queen bee out of a swarm of workers. Usually one discovers the\nguard sitting with a group of prisoners, talking genially, his rifle\nleaning against the trunk of a tree near by.\n\nWe stopped here for about half an hour while I walked about trying\nto find some prisoners who could speak German, but for the most part\nthat language was unknown to them. At last I discovered a couple of\nnon-commissioned officers, who, when they heard that I was an American,\nopened up and talked quite freely. Both took great pride in repeating\nthe statement that Przemysl could never have been taken by assault, and\nthat it had only surrendered because of lack of food.\n\nOne of the men was from Vienna and extremely pro-German in his point\nof view. He took it as a matter of course that the Austrians were\ndefeated everywhere, but seemed to feel a confidence that could not be\nshaken in the German troops. He knew nothing of the situation outside\nof his own garrison, and when told of Kitchener’s new British Army,\nlaughed sardonically. “It is a joke,” he said, “Kitchener’s army is\nonly on paper, and even if they had half a million as they claim to\nhave, they would be of no use. The English cannot fight at all.” When\ntold that over two million men had been recruited in the British Empire\nhe opened his eyes a bit, but after swallowing a few times he came\nback, “Well even if they have it does not matter. They can’t fight.”\n\nThe other man whom I questioned was mainly interested in how long the\nwar was going to last. He did not seem to feel any particular regret\nat the fall of the fortress, nor to care very much who won, as long as\nit would soon be over so that he could go home again. As for the rank\nand file I think it perfectly safe to suggest that not one in a hundred\nhas any feeling at all except that of hopeless perpetual misery. They\nhave been driven into a war for which they care little, they have\nbeen forced to endure the hardships of a winter in the trenches with\ninsufficient clothing, a winter terminating with a failure of food\nsupplies that brought them all to the verge of starvation. The fall\nof the fortress means to them three meals of some sort a day, and\ntreatment probably kinder than they ever got from their own officers.\nThey are at least freed from the burden of war and relieved of the\nconstant menace of sudden death which has been their portion since\nAugust.\n\nThe road leading west from Sadowa Wisznia is in fearful condition\nowing to the heavy traffic of the Russian transport, and in places the\nmud was a foot deep. The country here is flat with occasional patches\nof fir and spruce timber. It is questionable if there ever was much\nprosperity in this belt; and since it has been swept for six months by\ncontending armies, one cannot feel much optimism as to what the future\nhas in store for the unfortunate peasants whose homes are destroyed,\nand whose live stock is said to have been taken off by the Austrians as\nthey fell back before the Russians.\n\n\nIV\n\nOne’s preconceived idea of what a modern fortress looks like vanishes\nrapidly as one enters Przemysl. In time of peace it is probable that\na layman might pass into this town without suspecting at all that\nits power of resisting attack is nearly as great as any position in\nall Europe. Now, of course, innumerable field works, trenches, and\nimprovised defences at once attract the attention; but other than these\nthere is visible from the main road but one fortress, which, approached\nfrom the east is so extremely unpretentious in appearance that it is\ndoubtful if one would give it more than a passing glance if one were\nnot on the lookout for it.\n\nPrzemysl itself is an extremely old town which I believe was for nearly\n1,000 years a Russian city. From remote days of antiquity it has been\na fortress, and following the ancient tradition, each successive\ngeneration has kept improving its defences until to-day it is in\nreality a modern stronghold. Why the Austrians have made this city,\nwhich in itself is of no great importance, the site of their strongest\nposition, is not in the least obvious to the layman observer. The town\nitself, a mixture of quaint old buildings and comparatively modern\nstructures, lies on the east bank of the river San--which at this point\nis about the size of the Bow river at Calgary, in Canada--and perhaps\n3 kilometres above the point where the small stream of the Wiar comes\nin from the south. The little city is hardly visible until one is\nalmost upon it, so well screened is it by rolling hills that lie all\nabout it. Probably the prevailing impression in the world has been that\nthe Russian great guns have been dropping shells into the heart of\nthe town; many people even in Lwow believe it to be in a half-ruined\ncondition. As a matter of fact the nearest of the first line of forts\nis about 10 kilometres from the town itself, so that in the whole siege\nnot a shell from the Russian batteries has fallen in the town itself.\nProbably none has actually fallen within 5 kilometres of the city.\nThere was therefore no danger of the civilian population suffering\nanything from the bombardment while the outer line of forts held as\nthey did from the beginning.\n\n[Illustration: Austrian prisoners leaving Przemysl.]\n\nThe only forts or works which we were given the opportunity of seeing,\nwere those visible from the road, the authorities informing us that\nthey had reason to believe that many of the trenches and positions\nwere mined, and that no one would be permitted in them until they had\nbeen examined by the engineers of the army and pronounced safe. If the\nworks seen from the road are typical of the defences, and I believe\nthey are, one can quite well realize the impregnable nature of the\nwhole position. The road from Lwow comes over the crest of a hill and\nstretches like a broad ribbon for perhaps 5 kilometres over an open\nplain, on the western edge of which a slight rise of ground gives the\nelevation necessary for the first Austrian line. To the north of the\nroad is a fort, with the glacis so beautifully sodded that it is hardly\nnoticeable as one approaches, though the back is dug out and galleried\nfor heavy guns. Before this is a ditch with six rows of sunken barbed\nwire entanglements, and a hundred yards from this is another series of\nentanglements twelve rows deep, and so criss-crossed with barbed wire\nthat it would take a man hours to cut his way through with no other\nopposition.\n\nTo the right of the road runs a beautifully constructed line of modern\ntrenches. These are covered in and sodded and buried in earth deep\nenough to keep out anything less than a 6-inch field howitzer shell\nunless it came at a very abrupt angle. To shrapnel or any field gun\nhigh explosive shell, I should think it would have proved invulnerable.\nThe trench itself lies on a slight crest with enough elevation to\ngive loop holes command of the terrain before. The field of fire\nvisible from these trenches is at least 4 kilometres of country,\nand so perfectly cleared of shelter of all sorts that it would be\ndifficult for a rabbit to cross it unseen. The ditch and two series\nof wire entanglements extend in front of the entire position. This\nline is, I believe, typical of the whole outer line of fortifications,\nwhich is composed of a number of forts all of which are tied together\nwith the line of trenches. The outer line is above 40 kilometres\nin circumference, from which it may be judged to what great expense\nAustria has been put in fortifying this city. I was not able to get any\naccurate information as to the number of guns which the Austrians have\non their various positions, but the opinion of a conservative officer\nwas, that, excluding machine guns, there were at least 300 and possibly\na greater number. The inventory has not yet been completed by the\nRussians. These are said to range in calibre from the field piece up to\nheavy guns of 30 centimetres. I was informed that there were a few 36\nand one or two of the famous 42 centimetres here when the war started,\nbut that the Germans had borrowed them for their operations in the\nWest. In any case it is hard to see how the big guns, even of the 30\ncentimetres, would be of any great value to a defence firing out over a\ncrest of hills in the distant landscape behind which, in an irregular\nline of trenches, an enemy lay.\n\nAfter a few experiments against the works, the Russians seem to have\nreached the conclusion that it would not be worth while even to attempt\ncarrying the trenches by assault. Indeed, in the opinion of the writer\nneither the Russians nor any other troops ever could have taken them\nwith the bayonet; the only method possible would have been the slow\nand patient methods of sapping and mining which was used by the\nJapanese at Port Arthur. But methods so costly, both in time and lives,\nwould seem to have been hardly justified here because, as the Russians\nwell knew, it was merely a question of time before the encircled\ngarrison would eat itself up, and the whole position would then fall\ninto their hands without the cost of a single life.\n\nThe strategic value of Przemysl itself was in no way acutely delaying\nthe Russian campaigns elsewhere, and they could afford to let the\nAustrian General who shut himself and a huge army up in Przemysl, play\ntheir own game for them, which is exactly what happened. There was no\nsuch situation here as at Port Arthur, where the menace of a fleet in\nbeing locked up in the harbour necessitated the capture of the Far\nEastern stronghold before the Russian second fleet could appear on the\nscene and join forces with it. Nor was there even any such important\nfactor as that which confronted the Germans at Liège. To the amateur it\nseems then that the Austrians, with eyes open, isolated a force which\nat the start must have numbered nearly four army corps, in a position\nupon which their programme was not dependent, and under conditions\nwhich made its eventual capture a matter of absolute certainty\nproviding only that the siege was not relieved from without by their\nown armies from the South.\n\nThe lesson of Przemysl may be a very instructive one in future wars.\nThe friends of General Sukomlinoff, the Russian Minister of War, are\nclaiming with some reason that what has happened here is a vindication\nof the Minister’s theory, that fortresses in positions which are not\nof absolute necessity to the military situation should never be built\nat all, or should be abandoned at the inception of war rather than\ndefended unwisely and at great cost. It is claimed that if the Warsaw\nforts had not been scrapped some years ago, the Russian Army to-day\nwould be standing a siege, or at least a partial siege, within the\ncity, rather than fighting on a line of battle 40 kilometres to the\nwest of it. Port Arthur is perhaps an excellent example of the menace\nof a fortified position of great strength. So much had been done to\nmake that citadel impregnable that the Russians never dreamed of giving\nit up. The result was that a position, which was doomed to succumb\neventually, was made the centre of all the Russian strategy. For months\nthe army in the North was forced to make attempt after attempt to\nrelieve the position, with the results that they lost probably four\ntimes the number of the garrison in futile efforts to relieve it. A\nfortress which has cost large sums of money must be defended at any\ncost to justify the country that has incurred the expense. Forces\nwhich can probably be ill spared from field operations are locked up\nfor the purpose of protecting expensive works which, as in the case of\nPrzemysl, yield them little or nothing but the ultimate collapse of\ntheir defence, and the consequent demoralization of the field armies\nwhich have come to attach an importance to the fortress which, from a\nstrategic point of view, it probably never possessed.\n\n\nV\n\nThe last few kilometres of the road into Przemysl was alive with\nRussian transport plodding into the town, but the way was singularly\nfree from troops of any sort. With the exception of a few Cossack\npatrols and an occasional officer or orderly ploughing through the mud,\nthere was nothing to indicate that a large Russian army was in the\nvicinity. It is possible that it has already been moved elsewhere; in\nany case we saw nothing of it.\n\nBetween the outer line of forts and the Wiar river are a number of\nimprovised field works, all of which looked as though they could stand\na good bit of taking, but of course they were not as elaborate as the\nfirst line. The railroad crosses the little Wiar on a steel bridge,\nbut the bridge now lies a tangle of steel girders in the river. It is\nquite obvious that the Austrian commander destroyed his bridges west\nof the town because they afforded direct communications with the lines\nbeyond; but the bridge over the Wiar has no military value whatsoever,\nthe others being gone, save to give convenient _all rail_ access to\nthe heart of Przemysl itself. The town was given up the next day and,\nas the natural consequence of the Austrian commander’s conception of\nhis duty, all food supplies had to be removed from the railway trucks\nat the bridge, loaded into wagons, and make the rest of the journey\ninto the town in that way, resulting in an absolutely unnecessary delay\nin relieving the wants of the half-famished garrison within. The only\nbright spot that this action presents to the unprejudiced observer\nis that it necessitated the dainty, carefully-shod Austrian officers\nwalking three kilometres through the mud before they could embark on\nthe trains to take them to the points of detention for prisoners in\nRussia. There cannot be the slightest doubt that the rank and file of\nthe garrison were actually on the verge of starvation, and that the\ncivilian population were not far from the same fate. As near as one can\nlearn the latter consisted of about 40,000 persons. I am told that\nthe prisoners numbered 131,000 men and some 3,600 officers, and that\nperhaps 20,000 have died during the siege from wounds and disease.\nThis, then, makes a population at the beginning of nearly 200,000 in\na fortification which, as experts say, could have easily been held by\n50,000 troops. One officer even went so far as to declare that in view\nof the wonderful defensive capacity of the position 30,000 might have\nmade a desperate stand. The fortress was thus easily three times over\ngarrisoned. In other words there were perhaps at the start 150,000\nmouths to feed in the army alone, when 50,000 men would have been\nable to hold the position. This alone made the approach of starvation\nsure and swift. The fact that in this number of men there were 3,600\nofficers, nine of the rank of General, indicates pretty clearly\nthe extent to which the garrison was over officered. Kusmanek, the\ncommander of the fortress, is said to have had seventy-five officers on\nhis personal staff alone.\n\nAs far as one can learn there was no particular pinch in the town until\neverything was nearly gone, and then conditions became suddenly acute.\nIt is improbable that economy was enforced in the early dispensing of\nfood supplies, and the husbanding of such resources as were at hand.\nWhen the crisis came, it fell first upon the unfortunate soldiers, with\nwhom their officers seem to have little in common. Transport horses\nwere killed first, and then the cavalry mounts went to the slaughter\nhouse to provide for the garrison. The civilians next felt the pinch\nof hunger, and every live thing that could nourish the human body was\neaten. Cats I am told were selling at ten kr. each and fair-sized\ndogs at twenty-five kr. The extraordinary part of the story is that\naccording to evidence collected from many sources the officers never\neven changed their standards of living. While the troops were literally\nstarving in the trenches, the dilettantes from Vienna, who were in\ncommand, were taking life easily in the Café Sieber and the Café Elite.\nThree meals a day, fresh meat, wines, cigarettes and fine cigars were\nserved to them up to the last.\n\nOne of the haggard starved-looking servants in the hotel where I was\nquartered told me that several of the staff officers lived at the\nhotel. “They,” he said, “had everything as usual. Fresh meat and all\nthe luxuries were at their disposal until the last. Yet their soldier\nservant used to come to me, and one day when I gave him half of a bit\nof bread I was eating, his hands trembled as he reached to take it from\nme.” My informant paused and then concluded sardonically, “No, the\nofficers did not suffer. Not they. It was cafés, billiards, dinners and\nan easy life for them to the end. But the rest of us. Ah, yes, we have\nsuffered. Had the siege lasted another week we should all have been\nblack in the face for want of food.”\n\nAn Austrian sister who had been working in the hospital confirmed\nthe story. “Is it true that people were starving here?” I asked her.\n“Indeed it is true,” she told me, “the soldiers had almost nothing and\nthe civilians were little better off. As for us in the hospitals--well,\nwe really suffered for want of food.” “But how about the officers?” I\nasked. She looked at me sharply out of the corner of her eyes, for she\nevidently did not care to criticize her own people, but she seemed to\nrecall something and her face suddenly hardened as she snapped out:\n“The officers starve? Well, hardly. They lived like dukes always.” More\nshe would not say, but the evidence of these two was amply confirmed\nby the sight of the sleek well-groomed specimens of the “dukes” that\npromenade the streets. While the soldiers were in a desperate plight\nfor meat, the officers seemed to have retained their own thoroughbred\nriding horses until the last day. I suppose that riding was a necessity\nto them to keep in good health. The day before the surrender they gave\nthese up, and 2,000 beautiful horses were killed, not for meat for the\nstarving soldiers be it noted, but that they might not fall into the\nhands of the Russians. Perhaps I can best illustrate what happened\nby quoting the words of a Russian officer who was among the first\nto enter the town. “Everywhere,” he told me, “one saw the bodies of\nfreshly-killed saddle horses, some of them animals that must have been\nworth many thousand roubles. Around the bodies were groups of Hungarian\nsoldiers tearing at them with knives; with hands and faces dripping\nwith blood, they were gorging themselves on the raw meat. I have never\nseen in all my experience of war a more horrible and pitiable spectacle\nthan these soldiers, half crazed with hunger, tearing the carcasses\nlike famished wolves.” My friend paused and a shadow crossed his\nkindly face. “Yes,” he said, “it was horrible. Even my Cossack orderly\nwept--and he--well, he has seen much of war and is not over delicate.”\n\nI can quote the statement of the Countess Elizabeth Schouvalov, of whom\nmore anon, as further corroborative evidence of conditions existing\nin the town. The Countess, who is in charge of a distribution station\nto relieve the wants of the civil population, said to me: “It is true\nthat the people were starving. Common soldiers occasionally fell down\nin the street from sheer weakness for want of food. Some lay like the\ndead and would not move. But their officers!” A frown passed over her\nhandsome features. “Ah!” she said, “they are not like the Russians. Our\nofficers share the hardships of the men. You have seen it yourself,”\nwith a glance at me, “you know that one finds them in the trenches,\neverywhere in uniforms as dirty as their soldiers, and living on almost\nthe same rations. A Russian would never live in ease while his men\nstarved. I am proud of my people. But these officers here--they care\nnothing for their men. You have seen them in the streets. Do they look\nas though they had suffered?” and she laughed bitterly.\n\nI had not been above a few hours in Przemysl before it was quite\nclear to me, at least, that Przemysl surrendered for lack of food,\nand that while the officers were living luxuriously, their men were\nliterally starving. That they let them starve while they kept their\nown pet saddle horses seems pretty well established from the evidence\nobtainable. One wonders what public opinion would say of officers in\nEngland, France or America who in a crisis proved capable of such\nconduct?\n\nIn my comments on the Austrian officers I must of course limit my\nobservations to the types one sees, and hears about, in Przemysl.\nOut of 3,600 officers there must have been men of whom Austria can be\nproud, men who did share their men’s privations, and these, of course,\nare excepted from the general observations.\n\n[Illustration: Russian Governor of Przemysl.]\n\n\nVI\n\nImmediately on reaching the town we sought out the head-quarters of\nthe new Russian Commandant of the fortress. Over the door of the\nbuilding, in large gold letters, were words indicating that the\nplace had formerly been the head-quarters of the 10th Austrian Army\nCorps. At the entrance two stolid Russian sentries eyed gloomily the\nconstant line of dapper Austrian officers that passed in and out, and\nwho were, as we subsequently learned, assisting the Russians in their\ntask of taking over the city. General Artimonov, the new governor,\nreceived us at once in the room that had been vacated only a few days\nbefore by his Austrian predecessor General Kusmanek. On the wall\nhung a great picture of the Austrian Emperor. The General placed an\nofficer, Captain Stubatitch, at our disposal, and with him our way was\nmade comparatively easy. From him and other officers whom we met, we\ngathered that the Russians were utterly taken by surprise at the sudden\nfall of the fortress, and dumbfounded at the strength of the garrison,\nwhich none believed would exceed the numbers of the Russians investing\nthem; the general idea being that there were not over 50,000 soldiers\nat the disposal of the Austrian commander.\n\nThree days before the fall a sortie was made by some 30,000 Hungarian\ntroops. Why out of 130,000 men only 30,000 were allotted to this task\nin such a crisis does not appear. Neither has any one been able to\nexplain why, when they did start on their ill-fated excursion, they\nmade the attempt in the direction of Lwow rather than to the south,\nin which direction, not so very far away, the armies of Austria were\nstruggling to reach them. Another remarkable feature of the last\nsorties was, that the troops went to the attack in their heavy marching\nkit. Probably not even the Austrians themselves felt any surprise that\nsuch a half-hearted and badly organized undertaking failed with a loss\nof 3,500 in casualties and as many more taken prisoners. One does not\nknow how these matters are regarded in Austria, but to the laymen it\nwould seem that some one should have a lot of explaining to do as to\nthe last days of this siege. Officers who have been over the ground\nstate that in view of the vast numbers of the garrison, and the fact\nthat they were well supplied with ammunition, there would have been\ngreat chance of an important portion of the beleaguered breaking\nthrough and getting clean away to the south; but no attempt of this\nnature seems to have been made.\n\n[Illustration: Russian occupation of Przemysl. Head-quarters of Staff.]\n\nThe night before the surrender, the Austrians began destroying their\nmilitary assets, and for two hours the town was shaken with the heavy\nexplosions of bridges and war material of all sorts. Every window\nfacing the San river was broken by the overcharge of the explosives\nthat destroyed the bridges. Simultaneously the work of destroying the\nartillery was going on in all the forts with such efficiency, that it\nis doubtful if the Russians will get a single piece that can be used\nagain. The soldiers even destroyed the butts of their muskets, and the\nauthorities, who were evidently keen on this part of the work, arranged\nfor tons of munitions to be dumped into the river. Others were assigned\nto kill the saddle-horses.\n\nBy daylight the task seems to have been completed and negotiations for\nsurrender were opened by the Austrians. Our guide, Captain Stubatitch,\nwas the first Russian to enter the town as a negotiator, and through\nhim the meeting of ranking officers was arranged--a meeting that\nresulted in the unconditional surrender of the fortress. The original\nterms agreed on between Kusmanek and General Silivanov, the commander\nof the Russian forces, did not permit the Austrian officers to carry\ntheir side arms; but a telegram from the Grand Duke spared them the\nhumiliation of giving up their swords, a delicate courtesy, which it\nseems to the writer was quite wasted on the supercilious Austrian\nofficers. In the first place there has been no formal entrance of\nRussian troops, Silivanov himself not yet having inspected his\nprize. The first Russians to enter came in six military touring cars\nabsolutely without any escort, and went quietly and unostentatiously to\nthe head-quarters of the Austrian commander where the affairs of the\ntown were transferred with as little friction as the changing of the\nadministration of one defeated political party into the hands of its\nsuccessor. Following the officials, small driblets of troops came in\nto take over sentry and other military duties, and then came the long\nlines of Russian transport bringing in supplies for the half-famished\ngarrison. All told, probably there have not been above a few thousand\nRussian soldiers in Przemysl since its capitulation, and these were\ngreeted warmly by both prisoners and civilians. There has been no\nfriction whatever and everybody seems well satisfied with the end of\nthe siege. The greatest task at first was the relief of the population,\nboth soldiers and civilians. Countess Schouvalov, whom I have\nmentioned before, came the second day and immediately began feeding the\npopulation from the depôt where she organized a kitchen and service of\ndistribution which alone takes care of 3,000 people a day. The Army\nauthorities arranged for the care of the soldiers and much of the civil\npopulation as well, and in three days the situation was well in hand\nand practically all the suffering eliminated.\n\n[Illustration: Feeding Austrian prisoners en route to Lwow.]\n\nI have talked with many people in Przemysl, and civilians and prisoners\nalike speak of the great kindness of the Russians from the ranking\nofficers down to the privates, all of whom have shown every desire\nto ameliorate the distress. The difficulty of feeding so vast a\nthrong necessitated the immediate evacuation of the prisoners, and an\nevacuation office was at once organized. Batches of prisoners started\ntoward Lwow at the rate of about ten thousand a day, which is about all\nthe stations along the route can handle conveniently with supplies.\nThe officers are sent out in small blocks by rail once a day, and are,\nI believe for the most part taken directly to Kiev, where they will\nremain until the end of the war.\n\nGeneral Kusmanek himself departed the first day in a motor car to the\nhead-quarters of Silivanov and thence with the bulk of his staff to\nKiev. Those who have seen him describe him as a youngish man looking\nnot over forty, but in reality fifty-four. A man who saw him the day of\nthe surrender told me that he had accepted the situation very casually,\nand had seemed neither depressed nor mortified at the turn events had\ntaken. The ranking officer left in Przemysl is General Hubert, formerly\nChief of Staff, who is staying on to facilitate the transfer of\nadministrations; the head-quarters is filled with a mixture of officers\nand orderlies of both armies working together in apparent harmony.\n\nThe fall of Przemysl strikes one as being the rarest thing possible in\nwar--namely a defeat, which seems to please all parties interested.\nThe Russians rejoice in a fortress captured, the Austrians at a chance\nto eat and rest, and the civilians, long since sick of the quarrel, at\ntheir city once more being restored to the normal.\n\n[Illustration: General Hubert, Chief of Austrian Staff in Przemysl.]\n\n\n\n\nWARSAW IN APRIL, 1915\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nWARSAW IN APRIL, 1915\n\n\n  Dated:\n\n  WARSAW, POLAND,\n\n  _May 1, 1915_.\n\nWith the sunshine and balmy weather of the beautiful Polish spring,\nthere has come to Warsaw an optimism and hopefulness that is deeper\nrooted and certainly more widely spread than the feeling of relief that\nswept through the city in October last when the Germans, after their\nfutile effort to take it, began their retreat to their own frontier. On\nthat occasion the population had barely time to get its breath, and to\nbegin to express some optimism as to the war, when the news came that\nthe Germans were advancing for a second time on the Polish capital.\n\nWarsaw, as I have seen it in nearly a dozen visits here since the\nwar began, is a little panicky in disposition, perhaps with reason;\nand there have been such a continuous ebb and flow of rumours good\nand bad, that for months no one knew what to expect. All through\nDecember and January one heard every few days that the Germans would\ntake the town almost any time, only to be told the next day that all\nchances of Teuton success were forever gone. Tales of German raids,\naeroplanes, Zeppelins on the way to destroy the city were circulated\nso persistently, that perhaps it was not strange that genuine optimism\nfound the soil of local public opinion a difficult one in which to\ntake root. The end of the first week of February left the public here\ngreatly encouraged, for had not the stupendous German attack failed on\nthe Bzura-Rawka line?\n\nBut following close on its heels came the news of the movement in\nEast Prussia and Russian retirements, and once more confidence\nfled. Later still the enemy’s advance on Przasnys and the threat to\nthe Petrograd-Warsaw line made conditions even worse. This was the\nlow-water mark. When the terrific attacks began to weaken and at last\nthe columns of the Kaiser began to give place, conviction that the\nworst was over for Warsaw began to be felt generally, until to-day, May\n1, I find a buoyancy and hopefulness here that I have not seen in any\npart of Russia since the war started.\n\nThe reasoning of the people here is something like this. In the attacks\nof January and February the Germans were putting into the field the\nbest men and the most of them that they could lay their hands on, and\nstill not weakening their position in the West. The onslaught on the\nBzura-Rawka line is believed to have been one of the fiercest efforts\nthat the Germans up to that date had made on any Front. Six corps and,\nas it is said, 600 guns were concentrated on a short front and almost\nwithout interruption they attacked for six days. The net result was\nnothing save a few unimportant dents in the Russian line, and the\nGerman loss is placed at 100,000 men. The Russians certainly did not\nlose half that number, and some well-informed people who have been on\nthis Front for months think it may have been little more than a third.\n\nThe East Prussian attack and its corollary movement against Przasnys\nraged with the same fury. For nearly a month Poland was taking an\naccount of stock. Now it has become the opinion of practically every\none, even down to the common soldiers, that the whole German movement\nhas proved an utter failure and at a cost to the enemy of not under\n200,000, a figure from two to three times as great as was the decrease\nof the Russian forces. Even the East Prussian retirement which was so\nheralded abroad by the Germans has been gradually shrinking, until\nnow it is said that the total loss to the Russians was only 25,000\nto 30,000 against the 100,000 which the Germans claimed. “How is it\npossible,” people say here, “for the Germans to accomplish something in\nMay that they could not do in February?” Certainly they can never be\nmaterially stronger than they were when the first attack on the Bzura\nline was launched in the end of January, and the chances are that they\nare greatly weaker.\n\nThe Russians, on the other hand, are stronger now by a very great deal\nthan they were on February 1st, and are getting stronger and stronger\nwith every day that the war lasts. It is probably safe to say that\nthere are 25 per cent. more troops on this Front to-day than there\nwere when the Russians threw back the Germans two months ago, and the\nfeeling that Warsaw will never be taken has become a conviction among\nthe Poles. The rumour-mongers, and there are hundreds here who wish\nevil to the Russians, find it more and more difficult to start scares;\nand even reports of Zeppelins and air raids create little comment. So\ncommon have bombs become that the appearance of aircraft above the city\ncreates no curiosity and very little interest. I have been especially\nimpressed with the determination with which the Poles are planning to\ncombat the German influence in the future. Though Poland has suffered\nhideously through this war, there is small cry here for peace at\nany price, and the opinion voiced a few days ago by one of the leading\npapers seems to be that of all the practical and most influential men\nof the community. This view was that the war must be fought out to\na decisive issue, and though Poland must suffer longer thereby, yet\nanything short of complete success would be intolerable. While the\nPoles are still thinking a great deal about their political future,\nthey are perhaps more keenly alive as to their industrial and economic\nfuture. As one well-informed individual expressed it, “With economic\nand industrial prosperity we may later get all we want politically. But\nwithout them mere political gains will profit us little.”\n\n[Illustration: A Russian officer inspecting eight-inch gun.]\n\nWhat the Poles want most perhaps in the final peace is a boundary\nline that will give Russia the mouth of the Vistula at Danzig. With\nan absolute freedom of trade with England, America and the outside\nworld, Poland will have a prosperity which will go a very long way\ntoward helping them to recuperate from the terrible blow that their\nnation has received in the war. That this is serious no one can doubt.\nConditions within that portion of Poland occupied by the enemy are\nsaid to be deplorable beyond measure. It is difficult to know here\nexactly what the truth is, but it is probable that the suffering of\nthe unfortunate peasants, who are for the most part stripped of their\nstock and in many instances without homes, is very severe. With the war\nlasting all summer and no chance for a crop, their plight by autumn\nwill be serious. What is being done about putting in a crop for the\ncoming year is uncertain, but it is said that there is practically no\nseed for sowing, and that the harvest this year (where there is no\nfighting) will be very small. In the actual zone of operations there\nwill probably be none at all.\n\nReports are coming from a dozen different quarters of the condition of\nthe Germans. A story from a source which in many months I have found\nalways trustworthy indicates that the soldiers are surrendering to the\nRussians in small batches whenever a favourable opportunity offers.\n\nThe reported complaint is that their rations are increasingly short\nand that there is growing discouragement. There are dozens of similar\nstories circulated every day. One does not perhaps accept them at par,\nbut the great significance is that they are circulating here now for\npractically the first time. When I was last in Warsaw I questioned many\nprisoners but never found one who would criticize his own fare. This\ncondition seems to have changed materially in the past ten weeks. No\none however must dream of underestimating the stamina of the enemy on\nthis Front; for however one’s sympathy may go, they are a brave and\nstubborn foe, and months may elapse, even after they begin to weaken\nin _moral_, before the task of beating them will be an easy one. Their\nlines on this Front are reported to be extremely strong, and I am told\nby an observer that they are employing a new type of barbed wire which\nis extremely difficult to cut, and presents increased difficulty in\nbreaking through.\n\nThe condition of the Russians is infinitely better than at any time\nsince the war started. Their 1915 levies, which are just coming into\nthe field now in great blocks, are about the finest raw fighting\nmaterial that one can find in Europe. Great, strapping, healthy,\ngood-natured lads who look as though they never had a day’s sickness\nin their life. I think I do not exaggerate when I say that I have seen\nnearly 100,000 of these new levies and I have yet to see a battalion\nthat did not exhale high spirits and enthusiasm. They come swinging\nthrough Warsaw, laughing and singing with a confidence and optimism\nwhich it is hard to believe possible when one considers that we are\nin the 9th month of the war. Surely if the Germans, who are straining\nevery effort now to raise new troops, could see these men that Russia\nis pouring into the field they would have a genuine qualm as to the\nfuture. And these are but a drop in the bucket to what is available in\ngreat Russia that lies behind. Over here there will never be any lack\nof men, and the Czar can keep putting troops just like this into the\nfield for as many more years as the war may last. After nearly a year\non this Front of the war, one just begins to appreciate the enormous\nhuman resources which Russia has at her command in this great conflict.\n\nDuring the winter there was a pretty widespread apprehension of\nconditions which might result among the soldiers when the spring and\nwarm weather came. As far as one can learn, the authorities have\nmade a great effort to improve sanitary conditions at the Front, and\nthere is very little sickness in the army at present. Those who are\nin a position to know, seem to feel confident that such steps as are\nnecessary to maintain the health of the men at a high standard during\nthe summer have been taken. It is certain that there has been a pretty\ngeneral clean up, and that there is less disease now, even with the\nwarmer weather, than there was in February.\n\nIn the meantime, the Spring has come and the roads are rapidly drying\nup. The occasional rumours of the Germans reaching Warsaw are becoming\nmore and more rare, and the gossip of the town now is as to what\ndate will be selected for the Russian advance.\n\n[Illustration: Russian bath train.]\n\nThe life of the city is absolutely normal, and I am told that the\nshopkeepers are doing a bigger business than ever before. The\nrestaurants are preparing for their out-of-door cafés, and the streets\nare bright with the uniforms of the Russian soldiery. A German officer\nwho came through here the other day (as a prisoner) could not believe\nhis eyes. “Why,” he is reported to have said to his Russian captor, “we\nsupposed Warsaw was abandoned by everyone who could get away. But the\ntown seems as usual.” And the officer was right. The casual observer\nfinds it hard to realize that there is a line of battle only 30 miles\naway.\n\n\n\n\nAN AMERICAN DOCTOR IN THE RUSSIAN ARMY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nAN AMERICAN DOCTOR IN THE RUSSIAN ARMY\n\n\n  Dated:\n\n  WARSAW, POLAND,\n\n  _May 3, 1915_.\n\nIt is a far cry from the city of Seattle in the State of Washington,\nU.S.A., to the little village of Sejny in the Polish government of\nSuwalki, but this is the jump that one must make to follow the career\nof Dr. Eugene Hurd, the only American surgeon attached to the Russian\nRed Cross working in the field in this war. Inasmuch as the story of\nthe Doctor is a good one in itself, and as from him one learns not a\nlittle about the Field Hospital service of the Russians, it seems quite\nworth while to devote a chapter to this very interesting and useful\nindividual.\n\nUp to August last Dr. Hurd was a practising surgeon in Seattle, a\nmember of the State Legislature and spoken of as coming Mayor of the\ntown. When he strolled casually into my room at Warsaw in the uniform\nof a Russian Colonel, who spoke not a word of any language except\nEnglish, I was naturally somewhat surprised. “How on earth,” I asked\nhim, “do you happen to be in the Russian Army?” Unbuckling his sword\nand sprawling his six feet three of brawn and sinew in an armchair he\nbegan his story.\n\n“Well, it was this way. I’ve never had much time to follow politics in\nEurope, as my time’s been pretty much occupied cutting off legs and\narms and such, out on the Pacific Coast. But my people have always\nbeen regular Americans, and some of us have been in every war the\nU.S.A. ever pulled off. My great-grandfather fought in the revolution;\nmy grandfather in the Mexican war, and my father in the Civil and\nSpanish-American wars. Well, I was raised in an army post, and ever\nsince I was a kid I’ve heard my father talk about how Russia stuck\nwith us during the Civil war. When things looked blue and bad for the\nNorth she sent her old fleet over, and let it set right there in New\nYork Harbour until required, if needed. During the war in Manchuria we\nwere all for Russia on just this account, and when she got licked Dad\nand I both felt bad. All right. Well one day out in Seattle I read in\nthe paper that Germany had declared war on Russia. I remembered that\nbusiness, back in the ‘60’s,’ and what the Russians did for us, and I\njust said to myself, ‘Well, I’m for Russia anyhow,’ and I sat down that\nvery day and wrote to the head of the medical department at Petrograd,\nand just told them straight that we had always been for Russia ever\nsince that business of her fleet, and that if I could serve her in this\nwar I’d come over even if I had to throw up my own practice, which by\nthe way is a pretty good one.\n\n“Well, a couple of months went by and I had forgotten all about it\nwhen one day the Russian Consul blew into my office with a cable from\nPetrograd, a bunch of money in one hand and a ticket over the Siberian\nin the other. So I just locked up my office and came right over. In\nPetrograd they ran me around in an auto. for two days, and then shipped\nme down to Grodno, where I got a Colonel’s uniform and went right out\nto the ‘Front’ in charge of a Field Hospital, where I’ve been now for\nthree solid months, and you’re the first American I’ve seen and you\ncertainly look good to me,” and the Doctor smiled genially.\n\nI have got more information about the Russian wounded from Hurd than\nany man I have met since I came to Russia, and though he does not speak\nthe language he sees everything. He was at once placed in charge of an\noutfit of sixty-one men and five wagons which formed a Field Hospital.\n“I have my bunch well organized,” the doctor said. “You see I handled\nit this way. I divided all my outfit, medicine chest, instruments,\netc., so that they went into the five wagons. Each wagon was painted a\ncertain colour and every box that went into that wagon had a band of\nthe same colour around it and a number. I had a man for each box and\neach knew exactly what to do. I can halt on the march and my men are so\nwell trained now that I can commence operating in ten minutes after we\nmake a stop. I can quit work and be packed up and on the march again in\ntwenty. I like these fellows over here fine, and when I once get them\nproperly broken in, they work splendidly.” [The Field Hospital to which\nhe was attached was up in the rear of the Russian lines all during the\nrecent fighting in East Prussia.] “I never worked so hard in my life,”\nhe continued. “One day I had 375 men come to my table between sunset\nand morning and I was working steadily until the next night, making\ntwenty-three hours without intermission. It was a tough job because\nevery little while we had to pull up stakes and move off to the rear\nwith our wounded. That made it hard for us and difficult to do real\ngood work.”\n\n[Illustration: The Emperor with his Staff.]\n\n[Illustration: Russian nurses attend to the feeding of the soldiers.]\n\nThe work and experience with the Russian wounded have given this\nAmerican doctor a remarkable insight into the character of the\npeasant soldier. “These moujik chaps,” he assured me, “never make a\ncomplaint. I never saw anything like it. Sometimes they groan a little\nwhen you’re digging for a bullet, but once off the table and in the\nstraw (we are without beds as we move too fast for that) a whole\nbarnful will be as quiet as though the place was empty; one German,\non the other hand, will holler his head off and keep the whole place\nawake. The Russians never complain, and everything you do for them they\nappreciate remarkably. I do a lot of doctoring for the villagers, and\nevery day there’s a line a block long waiting to get some ‘American’\ndope, and they’re so grateful it makes you feel ashamed. Everybody\nwants to kiss your hands. I tried putting my hands behind me, but those\nthat were behind were just as bad as those in front. Now I’ve given up\nand just let them kiss.”\n\nThe vitality of the Russian soldier is amazing according to the\nevidence of this observer. With the exception of wounds in the heart,\nspine or big arteries there is nothing that must certainly prove fatal.\nMany head wounds that seem incredibly dangerous recover. “I had one\ncase,” he told me, “which I never would have believed. The soldier\nwalked into my hospital with a bullet through his head. It had come\nout just above his left ear and I had to dissect away part of the brain\nthat was lying on the ear, Well, that fellow talked all through the\ndressing and walked out of the hospital. I sent him to the rear and I\nhave no doubt that he recovered absolutely.”\n\nIn the hundreds of cases operated on not a single death occurred on\nthe operating table and not one lung wound proved fatal. Many of the\nabdominal wounds of the worst type make ultimate recoveries, and it\nwas the opinion of the surgeon that not above five to ten per cent. of\nthe patients who reached the first dressing stations died later from\nthe effects of their wounds. That the war was very popular among the\ncommon soldiers was the conclusion that my friend had reached. “The\nold men with families don’t care much for it,” he added, “but that is\nbecause they are always worrying about their families at home, but the\nyoung fellows are keen for it, anxious to get to the ‘Front’ when they\nfirst come out, and eager to get back to it even after they have been\nwounded. Some of them as a matter of fact go back several times after\nbeing in the hospital.”\n\nIn discussing the comparative merits of the Germans and Russians, it\nwas his opinion that though the Germans were better rifle shots, they\ncould not compare with the Russians when it came to the bayonet. “When\nthese moujiks,” said the doctor, “climb out of their trenches and begin\nto sing their national songs, they just go crazy and they aren’t scared\nof anything; and believe me, when the Germans see them coming across\nthe fields bellowing these songs of theirs, they just don’t wait one\nminute, but dig right out across the landscape as fast as they can\ntear. I don’t think there’s a soldier in the world that has anything\non the Russian private for bravery. They are a stubborn lot too, and\nwill sit in trenches in all weathers and be just as cheerful under one\ncondition as another. One big advantage over here, as I regard it, is\nthe good relations between the soldiers and the officers.”\n\nOne extremely significant statement as to the German losses in the East\nPrussian movement was made by this American surgeon. The church and\nconvent where his hospital is located were previously used for the same\npurposes by the Germans. According to the statement of the priest who\nwas there during their occupation, 10,500 German wounded were handled\nin that one village in a period of six weeks and one day. From this\nnumber of wounded in one village may be estimated what the loss to the\nenemy must have been during the entire campaign on the East Prussian\nFront.\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL RUSSKY’S SUCCESSOR\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nGENERAL RUSSKY’S SUCCESSOR\n\n\n  Dated:\n\n  WARSAW, RUSSIA,\n\n  _May 10, 1915_.\n\nThe two most simple personalities that I have met in this war are the\nGrand Duke Nicholas, and the Commander who has come to the Northern\nArmies to take up the post made vacant by the retirement of General\nRussky. Certain business relating to desired freedom of movement in\nthe zone of operations took the writer to the head-quarters of General\nAlexieff, which is situated in a place not very far away. Without\ngiving away any figures it is perhaps safe to say that the command of\nGeneral Alexieff is twice the size of that now under Field-Marshal Sir\nJohn French on the continent. The territory occupied by the armies\ncommanded by him covers an enormous area, and probably up to this war\nthere has been no single individual in the history of the world with\nsuch a vast military organization as that over which General Alexieff\npresides as supreme dictator, subject only to the Grand Duke himself.\nThe whole aspect of the headquarters of which he is the presiding\ngenius is, in atmosphere, the last word in the modern idea of a\ncommanding general’s place of abode. The town in which he is living is\nperhaps a model one from the point of view of the gentlemen who write\nthe textbooks and sketch the details of the programme and course which\nshould be adopted by military chiefs. The theory in the Japanese Army\nwas that the brains of the army should be so far away from the actual\nscene of operations, that the officer would be absolutely detached from\nthe atmosphere of war; and that between himself and the Front there\nshould be installed so many nervous shock absorbers that the office\nof the great chief himself should be the realm of pure reason with no\nnoise nor excitement nor hurrying aides to impair his judgment.\n\nI recall a conversation I once had with Major (now Lt.-General) Tanaka,\nOyama’s personal A.D.C. “I should have liked to have been with the\nGeneral Staff,” I remarked to him, “during the Battle of Moukden.\nIt must have been an exciting time with you.” My friend laughed and\nanswered, “You would have had a great surprise, I imagine. There was no\nexcitement at all. How do you suppose Oyama and his staff spent much\nof their time during the battle?” One naturally imagined that it was\nspent scrutinizing maps and making plans, and I said this to Tanaka.\n“Not at all,” he replied, “when the battle began, our work was largely\nfinished. It was but necessary to make an occasional change in the line\nhere and there, and this too, for only a few minutes of the time of the\nField-Marshal. Most of the time he and Kodame (Chief of General Staff)\nwere playing croquet.”\n\nMuch the same atmosphere of detachment from the activities of the\ncampaign may be seen to-day in the little Polish city where Alexieff\nhas his head-quarters, except that no one here has time for croquet.\nIt is a safe venture that outside of his own staff there are not fifty\nsoldiers in the whole town. It is in fact less military in appearance\nthan any city I have ever seen since I have have been in Russia. In\nfront of his office are a couple of soldiers, and a small Russian\nflag hangs over the door. Nothing outside would lead one to believe\nthat within is the man in the palm of whose hand lies the fate and\nmovements of hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of men, and at whose\nword a thousand guns will spread death and destruction. In trenches\nmiles away, stretching through forest and along hilltops, numberless\nregiments and brigades await the curt order from this building to\nlaunch themselves against the German lines.\n\nThe man himself is as quiet and unobtrusive as are his surroundings.\nPerhaps fifty-eight or fifty-nine in years with a very intellectual\nface and an almost shy manner, is Alexieff, the man whom current\ngossip credits with the keenest brain in the Russian field armies. As\nIvanov’s Chief of Staff, he is said to have been a great factor in the\nplanning and the execution of much of the Galician campaign, and those\nwho know him well, believe that under his direction great things will\nbe accomplished in Poland. The General is very quiet and retiring, and\nfrom a very brief observation one would say that he was primarily a\nman of strategy, more at home solving the intellectual problems of a\ncampaign than in working out tactical puzzles in the field.\n\nThe staff of the quiet unostentatious Russian who is commanding this\nenormous front consists of about seventy-five members (about the same\nnumber as Kusmanek of Przemysl fame had on his personal staff for the\ndefence of the city), and taken as a whole, they are most serious and\nhard-working men, if their looks do not belie them. “You would be\nsurprised,” an A.D.C. informed me, “to know the enormous amount of work\nthat we all get through here. There is a lull on this front now, and\nit is comparatively an easy time, but in spite of that fact we are all\nof us busy from morning until night. When there is a movement under way\nwe do not get any rest even at nights.” One comes from Warsaw where\nrumours are flying thick and fast as to German advances and Russian\nmishaps, to find everything serene and calm and the general opinion of\nthe staff one of great optimism. For the moment the Russians are in the\ntrough of the sea, as it were, and all of the late news from Galicia is\nnot particularly favourable; but if the attitude of the staff is any\ncriterion, the situation is not felt to be of a critical nature, and\nfor the first time in months one hears officers expressing the opinion\nthat the war will end this year.\n\nThere is a tendency to welcome the German impetuosity of attack, for\neach fresh irruption means a weakening of the enemy. The Russian\ntheory is that Russia can stand the losses, large as they are, almost\nindefinitely, and that she is willing to take the burden of breaking\nthe German wave again and again if need be, knowing that each assault\nof the enemy is bringing them nearer and nearer to the end of their\ntether. Since the latest irruption into Galicia we hear less talk of\na Russian advance in the near future, but certainly not a sign of\ndiscouragement in any of the high quarters. One may well believe that\nthis last outburst was not anticipated, but the Russians over on this\nside are as ready to “play” the fish now as they were when the war\nfirst started. It was hoped after the January-February attacks, that\nthe enemy was exhausted and the time was in sight when the gaff might\nbe of use. Now the fish has taken another spurt, and the Russians are\nletting out the line again and are prepared to let it have another\nfling in their waters. But they believe none the less that the enemy is\nfirmly hooked, and that it is merely a question of time when from sheer\nexhaustion he will tire and they may begin to drive home their own\nattacks.\n\nThe Russian attitude is very philosophical, and though a people who\nare temperamentally not without a vein of melancholy, they take this\nwar with much more equanimity than one could have imagined possible.\nRetreats and shifting of lines no longer create panics over here.\nPeople are sorry. They had hoped that the Germans were nearer the\npoint of exhaustion, but there is not the slightest indication of\ndiscouragement. Probably their attitude is due primarily to the fact\nthat they had never anticipated an easy victory nor a short war. They\nknew from the start that they were in for a terrific ordeal, and what\ngoes on day after day, with its ebbs and its floods, is merely a\nmatter of the day’s work with them. They have seen again and again the\nirruptions of the Germans gradually absorbed by their troops, and each\nset back now is accepted as only temporary. The movement of the Germans\nin Courland has hardly made any impression at all in Russia generally,\nif the reports one hears are true.\n\n[Illustration: Russian soldiers performing their native dance.]\n\nThe Russians had practically no troops in that province, which itself\noffered no great strategic advantage to the Germans. Taking advantage\nof this weak spot, the Germans with a number of corps--it is placed as\nhigh as three--poured into the almost unprotected country.\n\nThe Russians say that the German motive is first that they would\nbe able to announce to their people that they had occupied enemy\nterritory, and second that the rich province would give them certain\nmuch needed supplies. For a day or two the progress seems to have been\nalmost without interruption, but now we hear that it has been checked\nand that the enemy are gradually giving way before the Russians, who\nhave shifted troops to that front to prevent further advances. The\noccupation of Libau does not seem to worry any one very much. “What\ngood will it do them?” one Russian officer said to me? “No doubt they\nwill fortify it and make it as strong as possible. Probably we will\nnever try to get it back while the war lasts. Why should we? It is of\nno great value strategically, and it is not worth the price of lives\nand troops detached from other points to retake it. When we have won,\nit will naturally come back to us without our having to spend a single\nextra life in getting it.”\n\nThe situation in Galicia is still something of a puzzle, but those in\nauthority do not seem to be taking it over seriously. There is reason\nto believe that it is a repetition of what has occurred again and again\non this and other fronts. The Germans, by means of their superior\nrail facilities made a sudden concentration and hit the Russian line\nwith such energy as to force its retirement. Each mile of the Russian\nretreat has strengthened their army by the additions of reserves,\nwhile it has probably seen an increasing weakening of the enemies’.\nThe sudden advance of the enemy has forced the withdrawal of the\nRussians pushing through the Dukla, who were obviously menaced in their\ncommunications. I am told now that the German attacks have already\npassed their zenith, and that the Russians reinforced by new troops\nare confident of checking any further advance. Over here it is but a\nquestion of breaking the first fury of the attack. When that is done we\ncan count on the Russian muoujik slowly but surely to force his way\nback over the lost ground. The end of the incident sees the Russians\nstronger and the Germans weaker. It is futile for any one to attempt to\nestimate how many more of these irruptions the Germans are capable of,\nbut we are certain that be it this summer or next there is a limit to\nthem. When that limit has been reached the Russian advance will begin.\n\n\n\n\nCHECKING UP THE SITUATION IN POLAND\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nCHECKING UP THE SITUATION IN POLAND\n\n\n  Dated:\n\n  WARSAW,\n\n  _May 24, 1915_.\n\nA few weeks ago the writer expressed the opinion that a permanent\noptimism had come to Warsaw. For several weeks this impression seemed\nto have every justification in fact, but since the commencement of\nthe Galician movement in the south the confidence felt by the saner\nmembers of the community has been utterly submerged by the pessimism\nwhich in waves has swept over the town. One finds it impossible to\nknow definitely from what exact quarters all the false stories start,\nand if one tries to run them down the _trail_ speedily vanishes. The\nexplanation is that the Jews in Poland are so unfriendly to Russian\ninterests and Russian successes, that the slightest set-back, or rumour\nof bad news, is seized on by them, and in a few hours is spread all\nover the town, exaggerated grossly with every telling. It is really\nextraordinary, after ten months of war, how persistent these hostile\nfactions are in their hope of German success. There are, besides the\nJews, probably many Austrian agents, who use the slightest pretext to\nstart stories in the hope of creating a panic.\n\nWithin the last two weeks every imaginable tale has been current. Last\nweek there was so much vagueness in regard to the news coming up from\nthe south of Poland, that it seemed wise to make a quick tour in the\nrear of the Russian positions in order to get some opinion of the real\nsituation. The collection of war news falls very definitely into two\nclasses, descriptive writing and material which is merely indicative\nof the situation as a whole. The former is of course more interesting\nto the average reader, but the latter is far more important from every\nother angle. After ten months of war, the vital question now is whether\nthe Germans are advancing or retiring, and not so much how the battles\nthemselves are conducted, or what sort of a picture is presented in\nthe different actions. So my trip of yesterday, though not in the\nleast picturesque in its happenings, was extremely interesting in that\nit offered an emphatic contradiction to practically every adverse\nrumour that had gained currency in Warsaw for the week previously.\n\n[Illustration: The Polish Legion. Note the small boy in the ranks as\nmascot.]\n\nWe left Warsaw at six in the morning in our racing car, and as soon as\nwe were clear of the town and headed in the direction of Radom, on the\nfine macadam highway, we were able to develop a speed that no express\ntrain in Russia has made since the declaration of war. This highway\nhas been the artery of travel and communication over which ammunition,\ntransport and guns have moved almost without interruption for ten\nmonths. That the Russians have kept it in good condition, is apparent\nfrom the fact that we were able to make above 65 versts an hour on many\nstretches of the way. I passed over the same road many times during the\nfirst months of the war, and its condition now is infinitely better\nthan it was in those days.\n\nOn every hand are evidences of increased Russian efficiency. The war\nnow has become strictly a matter of organization, and everything goes\non now without excitement and without confusion of any sort. Road\ngangs have been organized, and these highways are maintained with as\nmuch care as the permanent way of a railway line. One sign of the\ntimes is the new departure of the Russian authorities, in building at\nintervals of about every 5 versts a boiled water station, which is\ndistinguished by a special flag. Here in a shed closed on three sides\nis a great boiler with numerous taps on it. When troops are passing in\nany quantities the water is kept hot that the soldiers may always get\nboiling water for their tea. When there is small movement on the road,\nthey can always get it cold for drinking purposes.\n\nAs it was Sunday we found the road practically free of transport.\nBarring occasional soldiers sauntering along the highway there was no\nsign of war until we were within a few miles of Radom, when, perhaps\n20 versts to the west, columns of smoke, drifting lazily off in the\nstill air, indicated where some German battery had been shelling some\nunfortunate village. Away off on the horizon a few faint puffs of white\nin the blue showed where our batteries were breaking shrapnel under a\nspeck of an aeroplane, which had evidently been on a morning tour of\ninspection. I was rather curious to see Radom, because for a week we\nhad been told in Warsaw that a terrible panic prevailed here, and that\nthe population were leaving in a frenzy of terror to avoid the sweep\nof the Germans on Warsaw, that same old story which has for so many\nmonths been circulated by the Jewish population. But Radom itself was\nas quiet and casual as a city of the same size in far off America\nmight have been on a Sunday morning. The streets were crowded with the\npopulation in their best clothes going to church, and the panic so\nwidely discussed in Warsaw was conspicuous by its absence.\n\nI talked with a number of the townspeople, and they were as surprised\nas they could be to know that they were all (according to Warsaw) in\nfull flight for the other side of the Vistula. What astonishes one most\nis the absolute lack of information in one place of what is going on in\nthe next town. Kielce is but 30 miles from Radom, yet I could find no\none, neither officer nor civilian, who could say positively whether on\nthis particular day it was in our hands or in the hands of the enemy.\nWe did learn however from an officer that the road had been badly cut\nup, and that fighting had taken place near Kielce, with destruction of\nbridges, which would make it impossible for us to get there in a car.\nAs a fact, I learned later in the day that the road for perhaps 15\nversts north of Kielce was held by German cavalry, and so was just as\nwell satisfied that we had not gone that way.\n\nRadom I found was outside the army group which I had a special permit\nto visit, and it was therefore necessary to call on the General\ncommanding the army before I could with propriety pay a visit to any\nof the corps commanders in this theatre of war. It was necessary,\ntherefore, to motor to a certain point east of the Vistula to pay our\nrespects to this gentleman. Well on in the afternoon we motored into\nthe beautiful grounds of a Polish villa and spent several hours with\none of the men who, with a number of corps, was able to contribute an\nimportant part to the defeat of the Austrians on the Grodek line in the\nfall of last year. Here we were cordially received both by the General\nand by his staff, two of whom at once ordered refreshments for us and\nremained with us until we started back for Warsaw late in the day.\n\nFrom this point we were in touch with the sources of information\nflowing in from both Southern Poland and the great battlefield in\nGalicia. All the Russian corps in Poland, with the exception of one\nthat lay next the Vistula, had been inactive during the past weeks, and\nafter shifting their position to the new line, made necessary by the\nretirement of the Galician army, had been ordered to remain strictly\non the defensive. The corps lying next the Vistula, however, was only\nacross the river from the great action going on south of them, and\nafter days of listening to the roar of their brothers’ cannon to the\nsouth, they were in anything but a placid or quiet mood. The whole\nline, in fact, was figuratively being held on the leash, but this\nlast corps had been so infected by the contagion of the action to\nthe south that it proved very difficult to keep the units in their\ntrenches. At the first feeler of the German advance, which came up on\ntheir side of the Vistula, they at once jumped at the conclusion that\nthe best defensive was a strong attack, and with this idea in mind they\nconsidered, no doubt, that they were strictly in accord with their\ndefensive orders when they attacked the Germans.\n\n[Illustration: The Vistula (winter).\n\nSoldiers are seen in the picture destroying the broken ice. This is a\ngreat danger to the bridges when carried away by the current.]\n\nThe ball was started, as far as I can learn, by a cavalry colonel who,\nwith a small command, attacked a pontoon bridge train that, in some\nincredible way, was poking along in advance with only a meagre escort.\nThe advance of this small unit of horsemen served as a spark in the\nRussian powder magazine, and within a few hours the whole corps was\nengaged in an attack on the German infantry. It is hard to get any\naccurate details of the operations, but this fighting lasted probably\ntwo to three days. The ardent Russian regiments fell on the centre of\na German formation, which was said to be the 46th Landsturm corps,\nsmashed its centre and dissipated its flanking supports of a division\neach. The Russians claim that 12,000 were left on the field and that\nthey took 6,000 prisoners. In any case there is no question that this\naction put out at least one corps from further activity as an efficient\nunit.\n\nThe German prisoners captured expressed themselves as greatly surprised\nat the Russians attacking them. They had been told that the Russians\nhad all crossed the Vistula and were in rapid retreat to the west,\nand that the probabilities were that the road to Moscow would be open\nin a few weeks. From various members of the Russian Staff I obtained\nmany details as to the fighting in Galicia, which all agreed had been\nterrific but was going extremely well for them on the line of the San\nriver. It is too soon to attempt a detailed account of this action,\nbut it will form one of the greatest stories of the whole war when the\nreturns are all in. Suffice it to say that the Russians had been aware\nof the impending attack for several weeks, and had been preparing, in\ncase of necessity, a retirement on to a position upon the San river\nwith Przemysl as the salient thereof.\n\nThis Russian retreat did not come as a surprise even to the writer.\nAs far back as a month ago he was aware of feverish activities in\nrehabilitating the Przemysl defences, and though at that time the\nobject was vague, it became clear enough when this crisis broke that\nthe Russians had foreseen the possibility of the failure to hold the\nDunajec line. The Germans carried this by a concentration of artillery\nfire, probably greater even than that of the English guns at Neuve\nChapelle. So fierce was this torrent of flying steel that the Russian\nline was eaten away in the centre, and in the Carpathian flank, and\nthere seems reason to believe that the army on the Dunajec was cut in\nthree sections when it began to retire. That it pulled itself together\nand has been able to hold itself intact on the San up to the time of\nthis writing is evidence of the resiliency of the Russian organization.\n\nThe Russians having had the alternative in view, withdrew with great\nspeed, destroying bridges and approaches in order to delay the Germans.\nIn the meantime both their reserves of men and munitions were being\npushed up to await them on the San line. When the Germans came up in\nstrength with their tongues hanging out, and their formations suffering\nfrom lack of rest and lack of ammunition, they found the Russian line\nwaiting for them. It is futile to estimate the German losses at this\ntime, but they will be in the hundreds of thousands, and a final\ncount will show them to be at least two to three times greater than\nthe Russian sacrifices. A German prisoner is said to have made the\ncomplaint that the Russians fought like barbarians. “Had they been\ncivilized people,” he is reported to have said, “they would have\nstayed on the Dunajec and fought like men. In that case we would have\nutterly destroyed their army.” Instead of that they went away and\nfought on the San. What seems to have happened is that the Germans were\nnot actually short of ammunition, but in extending their line to the\nSan they could not bring it up with the same rapidity as in the Dunajec\nand Carpathian attacks; the result was that they were unable to feed\ntheir guns according to their new artillery programme begun on the\nDunajec line, a programme no doubt borrowed from the west.\n\n\n\n\nA VISIT TO THE POSITIONS\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nA VISIT TO THE POSITIONS\n\n\n  From:\n\n  SOMEWHERE ON THE RAWKA LINE,\n\n  _May 25, 1915_.\n\nDuring the comparative lull on the Bzura-Rawka-Pilitza line I have been\ntrying to go about to certain important salients on our front and have\na look both at the terrain, and the positions which we are defending.\n\nLeaving Warsaw by motor we ran out to the head-quarters of a certain\narmy where we found the General living in the palace of a Polish\nnoble. Beautiful avenues of trees gave access to a wonderful garden\nwith a little lake before an old mansion dating back to the eighteenth\ncentury. Here in the quiet seclusion of a little forest lives the\ngeneral, who presides over the destinies of perhaps 150,000 men. We are\nreceived cordially by the Chief of Staff who, with exemplary patience,\nreads over the twelve permits of various sorts which complete the\nconstantly growing collection of authorizations for me to come and\ngo on this front. After careful scrutiny of all he sighs heavily,\nfor perhaps he is not an admirer of the press, but none the less he\ninquires cordially what we would like to do. “Heavy batteries and\nobservation points” is always my reply for reasons already explained. A\nsmart young aide is sent for who, it appears, speaks English fluently,\nhaving lived for some time in America. The staff offer us an additional\nautomobile, and while this is being brought round we sit out under the\ntrees in the garden. Just behind the house, in a bower, is another\nofficer of the staff sitting in an easy-chair behind a table before\nwhich stand a group of Austrian prisoners whom he is examining for\ninformation. After a few minutes our young aide comes back, and with\ntwo automobiles we start for the positions.\n\nWe must first go to the head-quarters of an army corps. This is distant\n25 versts, and as the roads are for the most part short cuts across the\nfields, it takes us more than an hour to reach a very unpretentious\nvillage where we meet the General commanding the -- Corps. This man is\ndistinctly of the type that war produces. He was only a minor general\nwhen the war started, but efficiency in action has given him two\npromotions. Shabby and war-worn he is living in a mere hovel, still\nwearing the uniform and shoulder straps of two grades back when he was\na somewhat humble officer in the artillery. By him we are supplied with\na soldier guide and go off to the head-quarters of an artillery brigade\nwhere we find the commander of the guns who provides us with a member\nof his staff. This officer joins our party, and directs us to the\nhead-quarters of an artillery unit composed of a number of batteries. I\nsay unit because it is all controlled from one point of observation.\n\nBy the time we pull up between a couple of ruined peasants’ homes, only\nthe walls of which are standing; it is after seven in the evening.\nFrom a kind of cave among the debris there emerged three or four\ntired-looking artillerymen who are in charge of the guns in these\npositions. The country here is flat and rolling, with a little ridge\nto the west of us, which cuts off the view into the valley beyond, in\nwhich are the lines of the Russian and German trenches. Leaving our\nautomobiles in the road, we stroll through a wheat-field toward the\nridge, distant perhaps 1,000 yards. In the corner of the field is a\nhedge, and behind the hedge is a battery of field guns. One notices\nwith each passing month the increasing cleverness of the Russians in\nmasking their batteries. Though this is no wood, we walk almost on to\nthe position before we discover the guns at all. They are well dug in,\nwith small fir trees borrowed from neighbouring bits of woodland stuck\nin the ground all about them. Each gun is separated from its brother by\na screen of green, and boughs above mask the view from an aeroplane.\nFrom the front one would never see them at all unless one were looking\nclosely. To-night the last red rays from the setting sun just catch\na twinkle of the steel in their shining throats, as their long sleek\nsnouts protrude from the foliage. The shields are painted a kind of\ngreen which helps still more to make them invisible.\n\nThis particular battery, so its Colonel tells us, has had a great laugh\non the enemy during the past few days. What happened was this. A German\nTaube flew over the line several times, and it kept coming back so\nfrequently and hovering over the battery, that the officers who were\nwatching it became suspicious that they had been spotted. When darkness\nfell the entire personnel of the battery became extremely busy, and by\nworking like bees they moved their guns perhaps 600 yards to the south\nand by daylight had them in the new positions and fairly well masked.\nShortly after sunrise back came the aeroplane, and when over the old\nposition it gave a signal to its own lines and then flew back. Almost\ninstantly hell broke loose on the abandoned spot. In walking over the\nground one is amazed at the accuracy of long range artillery fire, for\nin the ten-acre lot in which the old position was the centre there was\nhardly ten square yards without its shell hole, while the ground was a\njunk heap of steel and shrapnel fragments. Six hundred yards away the\nmen of the battery watched it all and laughed their sides out at the\nway they had fooled the Germans. This particular battery had bothered\nthe enemy a great deal and they were on the look out for it. Probably\nthere will be further competitions of wits before the week is out. From\nglancing at the field torn up with shell fire one begins to realize\nwhat observation means to the enemy. With modern methods a single\nsignal from an aeroplane may mean the wiping out in a few minutes of an\nunsuspecting battery that has been safely hidden for months.\n\nLeaving the guns, we saunter across the wheat-field toward the ridge,\nthe great red ball of the setting sun dazzling our eyes with its aspect\nof molten steel. On the very crest of the rolling ground is a grove of\nstunted firs, and through this lies a path to the observation trench\nwhich is entered by an approach growing gradually deeper until, cutting\nthrough the very ridge, it ends in the observation trench dug out of\nthe earth on the western <DW72>. For the last couple of hundred yards\nbefore we enter the approaches, we are in plain view of the German\ngunners, but we had supposed that at the distance a few men would not\nbe noticed. Evidently, however, our observers in the German line have\nhad their eyes glued on this spot, for we had barely entered the trench\nwhen a shell burst down in front of us. The writer was looking through\nthe hyperscope at the time, but imagined that it was at least half a\nmile away. An instant later came the melancholy wail of another shell\nover our heads and the report of its explosion half way between us and\nour motor-car in the road. Behind it came another and another each one\ngetting nearer our trench. The last one passed a few feet over our\nheads and burst just beyond, covering us in the trench with dust and\nfilling our nostrils with the fumes of gunpowder. Another shortening up\nof the range might have landed in our delightful retreat, but evidently\nthe Germans became discouraged, for we heard nothing more from them.\n\nThrough the hyperscopes one could look out over the beautiful sweep of\nthe valley studded with little farms, the homes of which are mostly in\nruins. This point from which we were studying the landscape was only\n100 yards from our own line of trenches, which lay just in front of\nand below us, while not more than 75 yards beyond were the line of the\nGerman trenches. So clear were they in the field of the hyperscope\nthat one could actually see the loopholes in the ridge of earth. Our\nown were, of course, open from the back, and one could see the soldiers\nmoving about in their quarters or squatting comfortably against the\nwalls of the trenches. Away to the west were ridges of earth here\nand there, where our friends of the artillery told us were reserve\ntrenches, while they pointed out groves of trees or ruined villages in\nwhich they suspected lurked the German guns.\n\n[Illustration: Russian officers in an artillery observation position.]\n\nAfter the report of the shells had died away and the dust settled there\nwas the silence of absolute peace and serenity over the whole valley.\nNot a rifle shot or a human noise broke the beautiful calm of the May\nsunset. Off to the west glimmered the silver stream of the Rawka. To\nlook out over this lovely valley in the falling twilight it seemed\nincredible that thousands of men lay concealed under our very eyes, men\nwho were waiting only a favourable opportunity to leap out of their\ntrenches and meet each other in hand-to-hand combat. On the advice\nof our guides, we waited in our secure little trench until the last\nred rays of the sun were cut off by the horizon in the west, when we\nreturned by the way we had come to the waiting automobiles.\n\nThe whole valley in this section is very flat, and the ridges such\nas the one I have described are very scarce. The Russian lines are\nextremely strong, and one gets the idea that they would require a good\ndeal of taking before the Germans could occupy them. Our artillery\nseemed to be in excellent quantities, and the ammunition situation\nsatisfactory if the officer may be believed. The rears of all these\npositions have been prepared for defence, and there are at least three\nlines or groups of trenches lying between this front and Warsaw, each\nof which would present as strong a defence as the line which now for\nmany months has defied all efforts of the enemy to get through.\n\nI was especially interested in looking over this locality, because\nin Warsaw it has been mentioned as a point where the Russians were\nin great danger, and where they were barely able to hold their own.\nThe truth is that there has been little fighting here for months\nexcepting an occasional burst of artillery, or now and then a spasm\nof inter-trench fighting between unimportant units. I told our guide\nof the dismal stories we heard, and he only laughed as he pointed out\nto me a level stretch of country on our side of the ridge. A number\nof young Russian officers were riding about on prancing horses. “See\nthere,” my friend told me, “we have laid out a race course, and the\nday after to-morrow the officers of this brigade are going to have a\nsteeplechase. You see they have built a little platform for the general\nto stand on and judge the events. We are only 1,000 yards here from the\ntrenches of the enemy. So you see we do not feel as anxious about the\nsafety of our position as they do in Warsaw.” He lighted a cigarette\nand then added seriously: “No, the Germans cannot force us here, nor\ndo I think on any of the other Warsaw fronts. Our positions have never\nbeen as strong as they are to-day.”\n\nA few minutes later we were in our motors speeding through the twilight\nto the village in our rear where the Chief of Staff of the -- Corps had\narranged quarters for us.\n\n\n\n\nA SUMMER DAY ON THE RAWKA LINE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nA SUMMER DAY ON THE RAWKA LINE\n\n\n  From:\n\n  A CERTAIN ARMY CORPS HEAD-QUARTERS NOT FAR FROM THE RAWKA.\n\n  _May 26, 1915._\n\nThe month of May in Poland, if this season is typical of the climate\nhere, is a period to dream about. When we turned out of our camp beds\nearly this morning, the sun was streaming into our little whitewashed\nroom, while the fragrance of lilacs blooming in a near-by garden\ndrifted in at the open window. In the little garden behind our house\nare a dozen colonies of bees, and already they are up and about their\ndaily tasks. The sky is without a cloud and the warmth and life of\nthe early spring morning makes one forget the terrible business that\nwe are engaged in. The little street of the town is lined with great\nhorse-chestnut trees now in full bloom with every branch laden deep\nwith the great white pendent blossoms. For a moment one stands\ndrinking in the beauty of the new day and the loveliness of the\nmorning, with one’s mind drifting far, far away to other scenes where\nflowers too are blooming at this season of the year. But as our eyes\nwander down the street, the thoughts of gentler things are suddenly\ndissipated, and with a jolt one’s mind comes back to the work-a-day\nworld whose daily task now is the destruction of an enemy in the line\nof trenches not so many miles away.\n\nWhat has broken the peaceful tremor of our thoughts is the sight of\nsome soldiers pulling into the town a half-wrecked aeroplane brought\ndown by artillery fire the day before near our lines. Its wings are\nshattered and its propellers twisted into kindling, while its slight\nbody (if one can use that expression) is torn and punctured by a score\nor more of shrapnel holes, with several gashes where bits of the shell\ncase had penetrated the thin metal frame. Here at least is one example\nof artillery practice which has been able to <DW36> the bird of ill\nomen on the wing. After a generous breakfast, provided by our kind\nhost the General, we are in our motor-cars again and in a few minutes\nare speeding down one of the roads westward to the head-quarters of\na certain artillery brigade who over the telephone have consented to\nshow us particular choice sights that they have on exhibition on their\nfront.\n\nEvery village that we pass through is full of soldiers bestirring for\nthe day, while already the main arteries of travel to the trenches\nare filling up with the activities of the morning. It is a perfectly\nstill day, and with each advancing hour it is growing hotter. There\nhas been no rain for a week or two, the dust is deep upon the roads,\nand as our cars hum along the highways we leave volumes of the thin\ncloud in our wake. Now and again we pass small columns of infantry\nmarching cheerfully along in the sunshine, each man in a cloud of dust.\nYet every face is cheerful, and almost without exception the men are\nsinging their marching songs as they swing along the highways. In the\nvillages and on the road everything suggests war, but now with quite a\ndifferent atmosphere from that of last autumn. Then it was war also,\nbut of war the novelty, the new and the untried. Then all faces were\nanxious, some apprehensive, some depressed. They were going into a\nnew experience. Now, however, it is war as a tried and experienced\nprofession that is about us.\n\nThe conduct of the campaign has become as much of a business to the\nsoldiers and to the officers as the operating of a railroad to men\nengaged in running it. The deaths and the wounds have become to these\nmen we see now simply a part of their profession, and they have seen\nso much of this side of the business that it has long since been\ndiscounted. The whole atmosphere of the front as we see it in May is\nas that of a permanent state of society. These men look as though they\nhad been fighting for ten years and expected to be fighting for the\nrest of their days. War has become the commonplace and peace seems the\nunreality.\n\nAt brigade head-quarters we halt a few minutes and are directed to\nproceed slowly along a certain road, and advised to stop in a cut just\nbefore passing over a certain crest. When we learn that the enemy’s\nguns command the road over the crest we inquire with the keenest\ninterest the exact location of the ridge mentioned, for something\nsuggests to us that this is a bit of interesting information that the\nartillery officer is handing out to us so very casually. They are all\ncasual by the way; probably they have all got so used to sudden death\nand destruction that they feel as nonchalant about their own fate as\nthey do about others. Half an hour’s run over very heavy and sandy\nroad, brought us on to a great white ribbon of a highway that ran due\nwest and dipped over the ridge.\n\nThis was our place, and stopping the cars we climbed out to meet a\nfew officers sauntering down the road. They seemed to be coming from\nnowhere in particular, but as I learned later, they lived in a kind of\ncave dug out of the side of the road, and had been advised by telephone\nthat we were coming and so were on the lookout for us. The ranking\nofficer was a colonel of artillery--one of the kind that you would turn\nabout in the street to look at and to say to yourself, “Every inch a\nsoldier.” A serious, kindly-faced man in a dirty uniform with shoulder\nstraps so faded and frayed that a second look was necessary to get his\nrank at all. For six months he had been living in just such quarters\nas the cave in the side of the road where we found him. He was glad to\nshow us his observation. One could see at a glance that his whole heart\nand soul were wrapped up in his three batteries, and he spoke of all\nhis positions and his observation points with as much pride as a mother\nspeaking about her children.\n\nThe country here is a great sweeping expanse, with just a few ridges\nhere and there like the one that we have come up behind. The country\nreminds one of the valley of the Danube or perhaps the Red River Valley\nin North Dakota, except that the latter has less timber in it. We are\nourselves quite uncertain as to where the enemy’s position is, for in\nthe sweep of the valley there is little to indicate the presence of\nany army at all, or to suggest the possibility of hostilities from any\nquarter. I asked one of the officers who strolled along with us where\nthe German lines were. “Oh, over there,” he remarked, casually waving\nhis hand in a northerly direction. “Probably they can see us then,”\nI suggested. Personally I felt a mild curiosity in the subject which\napparently my companion did not share. He stopped and offered me a\ncigarette, and as he lighted one himself, he murmured indifferently,\n“Yes, I dare say they could see us if they turned their glasses on this\nridge. But probably they won’t. Can I give you a light?”\n\nI thanked him politely and also commended the sun for shining in the\nenemy’s eyes instead of over their shoulders as happened last night\nwhen the observer in the German battery spotted us at 6,000 yards\nand sent five shells to tell us that we were receiving his highest\nconsideration. On the top of a near-by hill was a small building which\nhad formerly been the Russian observation point, but the Germans\nsuspecting this had quickly reduced it to a pile of ruins. Near by\nwe entered a trench cut in from the back of the hill, and worked our\nway up to an observation station cut out of the side of the <DW72> in\nfront of the former position.\n\n[Illustration: A first-line trench in Poland.]\n\nIt was now getting on toward noon and intensely hot. The view from\nthis position as one could sweep it with the hyperscope was perfectly\nbeautiful. Off to the west twinkled the silver ribbon of the Rawka,\nwhile the whole plain was dotted with fields of wheat and rye that\nstretched below us like a chess board. Here and there where had been\nhouses were now but piles of ruins. The lines here were quite far\napart--perhaps half a mile, and in between them were acres of land\nunder cultivation. I think that the most remarkable thing that I have\nseen in this war was the sight of peasants working between the lines\nas calmly as though no such thing as war existed. Through the glasses\nI could distinctly see one old white beard with a horse ploughing up a\nfield, and even as I was looking at him I saw a shell burst not half a\nmile beyond him near one of the German positions. I mentioned it to one\nof the officers. “Oh yes,” he said, “neither we nor the Germans fire on\nthe peasants nowadays. They must do their work and they harm neither of\nus.”\n\nOn this part of the line the war seems to have become rather a listless\naffair and perfunctory to say the least. I suppose both Germans\nand Russians have instructions just now to hold themselves on the\ndefensive. At any rate I could distinctly see movements beyond the\nGerman line, and I am sure they too must have detected the same on our\nside. One man on a white horse was clearly visible as he rode along\nbehind the German trenches, while I followed with my glasses a German\nmotor-car that sped down a road leaving in its wake a cloud of dust.\nYet no one bothered much about either of them. Now and again one of our\nbig guns behind us would thunder, and over our heads we could hear the\ndiminishing wail of a 15-centimetre shell as it sped on its journey\nto the German lines. Through the hyperscope one could clearly see the\nclouds of dirt and dust thrown up by the explosion. One of these shells\nfell squarely in one of the German trenches, and as the smoke drifted\naway I could not help wondering how many poor wretches had been torn by\nits fragments. After watching this performance for an hour or more, we\nreturned back through the trench and paid a visit to the Colonel in his\nabode in the earth by the roadside. For half an hour or more we chatted\nwith him and then bade him good-bye.\n\nA bit to the south-west of us lay a town which a few days ago was\nshelled by the Germans. This town lies in a salient of our line, and\nsince the bombardment has been abandoned by all the population. As\nit lay on the German side of the <DW72> we had three miles of exposed\nroadway to cover to get to it, and another three miles in view of the\nGerman line to get out of it.\n\n[Illustration: Russian General inspecting his gunners.]\n\nAs we sped down this three miles one felt a certain satisfaction that\none had a 95 horsepower Napier capable of doing 80 miles an hour. A\nthird of the town itself was destroyed by the German shell fire. The\nrest was like a city of the dead. Not a human being of the population\nwas to be seen in the streets, which but a week ago were swarming with\npeople. Here and there a soldier from the near-by positions lounged on\nan abandoned doorstep, or napped peacefully under one of the trees in\nthe square. The sun of noon looked down upon a deserted village, if one\ndoes not count an occasional dog prowling about, or one white kitty\nsitting calmly on a window ledge in the sunshine casually washing her\nface. As ruins have long ceased to attract us, we did not loiter long\nhere, but turned eastward along the great white road that led back in\nthe direction of Warsaw.\n\nThere is one strip of this road which I suppose is not more than 4,500\nyards from the German gun positions. Personally I am always interested\nin these matters, and being of an inquiring turn of mind I asked my\nfriend the Russian officer, who was with me in the car, if he thought\nthe enemy could see us. “Oh yes,” he replied quite cheerfully. “I am\nsure they can see us, but I don’t think they can hit us. Probably they\nwon’t try, as they are not wasting ammunition as much as they used to.\nWon’t you have a cigarette?” I accepted the smoke gladly and concluded\nthat it is the Russian custom to offer one a cigarette every time one\nasks this question about the German guns. Anyway, I got exactly the\nsame reply from this man as I did from the other in the morning.\n\nTen miles up the road we came on a bit of forest where the unfortunate\nvillagers who had been driven out by shell fire were camping. Here they\nwere in the wood living in rude lean-to’s, surrounded by all their\nworldly possessions that they had the means of getting away. Cows,\nducks, pigs, and chicken roamed about the forests, while dozens of\nchildren played about in the dust.\n\nOne picture I shall not forget. Before a hut made of straw and branches\nof trees a mother had constructed a rude oven in the earth by setting\non some stones the steel top of the kitchen stove that she had brought\nwith her. Kneeling over the fire she was preparing the primitive\nnoonday meal. Just behind was a cradle in which lay a few weeks’ old\nbaby rocked by a little sister of four. Three other little children\nstood expectantly around the fire, their little mouths watering for the\ncrude meal that was in preparation. Behind the cradle lay the family\ncow, her soft brown eyes gazing mournfully at the cradle as she chewed\nreflectively at her cud. In the door of the miserable little shelter\nstretched a great fat sow sleeping sweetly with her lips twitching\nnervously in her sleep. An old hen with a dozen chicks was clucking to\nher little brood within the open end of the hut. This was all that war\nhad left of one home.\n\n[Illustration: Telephoning to the battery from the observation\nposition.]\n\nA hundred yards away a gang of labourers was digging in the forest.\nIt is no wonder that the mother looks nervously from her fire at\ntheir work. Perhaps she wonders what they are about. We know. It is\nanother line of trenches. From what we have seen of the front line we\nbelieve they will not be needed, but it is not strange that these poor\nfugitives look on with anxious eyes with the question written large on\nevery face. Probably to them the war seems something from which they\ncannot escape. They came to this wood for safety and now again they see\nmore digging of trenches going on.\n\nAnother hour on the road brings us back to the head-quarters of the\narmy and our day in May is over.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHANGE OF FRONT IN POLAND AND THE BATTLE OF OPATOV\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE CHANGE OF FRONT IN POLAND AND THE BATTLE OF OPATOV\n\n\n  Dated:\n\n  OPATOV, POLAND,\n\n  _May 31, 1915_.\n\nFor the last three days I have been with a certain army of the Russians\nthat occupies the strip of Poland between the Pilitza river and the\nVistula on the south. I feel intense regret that the restrictions of\nthe censor proscribe the identification of military units or of their\ndefinite location. These wonderful corps, divisions and battalions\nshould, in my view, have all the honour that is their due, but the\nwriter can only abide by the wishes of the authorities by whose\nkindness and courtesy he has been able to visit these positions.\n\nLeaving Warsaw in a motor car in the evening, and running until an\nearly hour in the morning, we found ourselves the next day at the\nhead-quarters of one of the really great army commanders of Russia.\nWith him and the members of his staff we spent the chief part of the\nmorning, when every opportunity was given us to study the situation\nwithin his jurisdiction. To go to the Front, as I have often written\nbefore, means a two to three days’ trip, and the inspection of a\nsingle detail of the vast operations that have been conducted. At the\nsuggestion of the Commander we decided to visit a certain army corps\nin the south, whose success in the operations attending the change of\nfront had been so extraordinary, that everyone at the staff was filled\nwith pride and eager to have its work appreciated. Before going on to\ndescribe the work of this particular corps it is proper to mention a\nlittle more particularly the work of this one army as a whole since the\nbeginning of the war.\n\nThis army stood before Lublin during the crisis in the early days of\nthe war, and by uniting with that of Plevie, and the two joining with\nRussky to the east of them, there resulted the first great crash to the\nAustrian arms in Galicia. Later, this same army came back north and was\nengaged in the terrific fighting around Ivangorod, which resulted in\nthe defeat of the enemy and their expulsion from Poland last autumn.\n\nIn the advance after the taking back of Radom and Kielce, the army\ncame under the very walls of Cracow, and in all of its divisions and\nbrigades there was scarcely a battalion that did not distinguish\nitself in that terrific fighting. When the Germans began their second\ninvasion of Poland last autumn, this army regretfully fell back to its\npositions on the Nida river, and when the last storm broke in Galicia\nand the retirement of the army of the Dunajec rendered a change of\nthe Russian-Polish line a strategic necessity, the army with all its\nnumerous corps was again called upon to fall back in order that the\nFront as a whole might be a symmetrical one.\n\nDuring this change of front we heard a great deal in Warsaw, from\npeople who delight in circulating false stories, of Russian disasters\nin Southern Poland. I have been particularly interested, therefore,\nin checking up this movement on the ground and getting at the actual\nfacts of the case. As a fact, the Russian retirement was made amid the\nlamentations and grumbling of the whole army. The private soldiers, who\ndo not follow strategy very closely, complained bitterly that they, who\nhad never met defeat, and before whom the enemy had always fallen back\nwhen they attacked, should be called upon to retreat when they were\nsure, regiment by regiment, that they could beat twice their numbers of\nthe enemy. The Germans and Austrians advanced with great caution for\nseveral days. Knowing, however, the location of the new Russian line,\nthey imagined that their adversaries would fall back on it in a few big\nmarches and await them there. Besides this, both Germans and Austrians\nhad been carefully fed with reports of the Galician movement to the\neffect that the Russians were retiring in utter defeat, that even in\nPoland they were panic-stricken and would probably put up but a feeble\nfight even on their line.\n\nI could not in the brief time which I had for this trip visit all\nthe corps involved in this movement, and at the suggestion of the\nGeneral of the army, visited only the--corps, whose operations\nmay be regarded as typical of the whole spirit in which this front\nwas changed. Regarding the movement as a whole it is sufficient to\nsay that in the two weeks following the change of line in Poland,\nthe corps comprising this one army made the enemy suffer losses, in\nkilled, wounded and prisoners, which the General estimated at nearly\n30,000, of whom about 9,000 were prisoners. All of this was done at\na comparatively trifling loss to the Russians themselves. From which\nvery brief summary of the change of front it will be realized that\nthis particular army has neither lost its fighting spirit nor has its\n_moral_ suffered from the retirement to another line.\n\n[Illustration: In the trenches near Opatov.]\n\nThere are so many big movements in this war that it is utterly\nimpossible for one observer to describe more than a trifling fraction\nof the achievements that are made here. Since the General Staff have\ngiven me what appears to be a free range in the north-eastern armies, I\nhave had so many interesting opportunities that it is difficult to pick\nany one in preference to another. What I am writing in this story is\nmerely the narrative of a single corps during this change of front, and\nI think it a significant story, because I believe it typifies not only\nthe corps of this particular army, but practically all the corps now in\nthe field on this Front. General Ragosa, who commands this corps, and\nwho has entertained me for the best part of three days, has given me\nevery opportunity to study his whole movement and permitted one of his\nofficers to prepare sketches, illustrating his movement. The General\nhimself, like most men who deal with big affairs, is a very modest and\nsimple man. To talk with him one would not guess that the movement\nwhich has resulted so successfully for his corps and so disastrously\nfor the enemy, was the product of a programme worked out in the quiet\nof a remote head-quarters and carried successfully through under his\ndirection by means of the field wire stretched through the forest for\nthe 30 kilometres that separate his head-quarters from the fighting\nline.\n\nWhen I suggested to him that his fighting around Opatov made an\nextremely interesting story, he only shrugged his shoulders and\nreplied, “But in this war it is only a small fight. What is the\noperation of a single army, much less the work of one of its units?”\nYet one feels that the success of this war will be the sum of the work\nof the many units, and as this battle resulted in the entire breaking\nup of the symmetry of the Austro-German following movement, and is\none of the few actions during the recent months of this war which was\nfought in the open without trenches, it is extremely interesting.\nIndeed, in any other war it would have been called a good-sized action;\nfrom first to last on both sides I suppose that more than 100,000 men\nand perhaps 350 to 400 guns were engaged. Let me describe it.\n\nGeneral Ragosa’s corps was on the Nida river, and it was with great\nregret that the troops left the trenches that they had been defending\nall winter. Their new line was extremely strong, and after they had\nstarted, it was assumed by the enemy that they could leisurely follow\nthe Russians, and again sit down before their positions.\n\n[Illustration: Second-line trenches, Opatov.]\n\nBut they were not counting on this particular General when they made\ntheir advance. Instead of going back to his line, he brought his\nunits to the line running from Lubenia to and through Opatov to\nthe south, where he halted and awaited the advancing enemy who came\non in four divisions. These were the third German Landwehr division\nwho were moving eastward and a little to the north of Lubenia. Next,\ncoming from the direction of Kielce was the German division of General\nBredow supported by the 84th Austrian regiment; this unit was moving\ndirectly against the manufacturing town of Ostzowiec. Further to the\nsouth came the crack Austrian division, the 25th, which was composed\nof the 4th Deutschmeister regiment from Vienna and the 25th, 17th and\n10th Jäger units, the division itself being commanded by the Archduke\nPeter Ferdinand. The 25th division was moving on the Lagow road headed\nfor Opatov, while the 4th Austrian division (a Landwehr formation)\nsupported by the 41st Honved division (regiments 20, 31, 32 and one\nother) was making for the same objective. It is probable that the enemy\nunits, approaching the command of Ragosa, outnumbered the Russians in\nthat particular portion of the theatre of operations by at least forty\nper cent. Certainly they never expected that any action would be given\nby the supposedly demoralized Russians short of their fortified line,\nto which they were supposed by the enemy to be retiring in hot haste.\n\nGeneral Ragosa wishing to finish up the weakest portion first, as usual\npicked the Austrians for his first surprise party. But this action he\nanticipated by making a feint against the German corps, driving in\ntheir advance guards by vigorous attacks and causing the whole movement\nto halt and commence deploying for an engagement. This took place\non May 15. On the same day with all his available strength he swung\nfuriously, with Opatov as an axis from both north and south, catching\nthe 25th division on the road between Lagow and Opatov with a bayonet\ncharge delivered from the mountain over and around which his troops had\nbeen marching all night. Simultaneously another portion of his command\nswept up on the 4th division coming from Iwaniska to Opatov. In the\nmeantime a heavy force of Cossacks had ridden round the Austrian line\nand actually hit their line of communications at the exact time that\nthe infantry fell on the main column with a bayonet charge of such\nimpetuosity and fury that the entire Austrian formation crumpled up.\n\nAt the same time the 4th division was meeting a similar fate further\nsouth; the two were thrown together in a helpless mass and suffered\na loss of between three and four thousand in casualties and nearly\nthree thousand in prisoners, besides losing a large number of machine\nguns and the bulk of their baggage. The balance, supported by the\n41st Honved division, which had been hurried up, managed to wriggle\nthemselves out of their predicament by falling back on Wokacow, and the\nwhole retired to Lagow, beyond which the Russians were not permitted\nto pursue them lest they should break the symmetry of their own entire\nline. Immediately after this action against the Austrians, a large\nportion of the same troops made a forced march back over the mountain\nwhich had separated the Austrians from their German neighbours and fell\non the right of the German formation, while the frontal attacks, which\nhad formerly been feints, were now delivered in dead earnest.\n\nThe result was that Bredow’s formation was taken suddenly in front\nand on its right flank, and on May 18 began to fall back until it\nwas supported by the 4th Landwehr division, which had been hurriedly\nsnatched out of the line to the north to prevent Bredow from suffering\na fate similar to that which overtook the Austrians to the south. After\nfalling back to Bodzentin where it was joined by the supports from\nthe north, the Germans pulled themselves together to make a stand.\nBut here, as in the south, general orders prevented the Russians from\nmoving further against their defeated foe lest in their enthusiasm\nthey might advance too far and leave a hole in their own line. Thus\nRagosa’s command after four days of constant action came to a stand and\ntheir part in the movement ended.\n\nBut the trouble of the enemy was not over. Ragosa at once discovered\nthat the 4th Landwehr division that had been hurried up to support\nretreating Bredow, had been taken from the front of his neighbouring\ncorps, and this information he promptly passed on to his friend\ncommanding the -- corps who gladly passed the word on to his own front.\nThe regiments in that quarter promptly punched a hole in the German\nweakened line, and with vicious bayonet attacks killed and captured\na large number of Germans, also forcing back their line. Something\nsimilar happened in the corps to the south of Ragosa’s corps who were\nin a fever of excitement because of the big fighting on the San, which\nwas going on just to their left while Ragosa’s guns were thundering\njust to the north. The result was that out of a kind of sympathetic\ncontagion, they fixed bayonets and rushed on the enemy in their front\nwith a fury equal to that which was going on in both corps north of\nthem. Thus it came about that three quarters of this particular army\nbecame engaged in general action by the sheer initiative of Ragosa,\nand maintained it entirely by the enthusiasm of the troops engaged.\nThese corps even in retreat could not be restrained from going back and\nhaving a turn with the enemy.\n\n[Illustration: A second-line trench near Opatov.]\n\nThe change of front in Poland resulted in losses in killed, wounded and\nprisoners to the enemy, approximating in this army alone between 20,000\nand 30,000, with a loss to the Russians probably less than a third of\nthat number, besides resulting in an increase of _moral_ to the latter,\nwhich has fully offset any depression caused by their retirement.\nIn talking with their officers, and I talked with at least a score,\nI heard everywhere the same complaint, namely that it was becoming\nincreasingly difficult to keep their soldiers in the trenches. So eager\nis the whole army to be advancing, that only constant discipline and\nwatching prevent individual units from becoming excited and getting up\nand attacking, thus precipitating a general action which the Russians\nwish to avoid while the movement in Galicia is one of fluctuation and\nuncertainty.\n\nLittle definite information was available on this Front as to what was\ngoing on further south, but certainly I found not the slightest sign\nof depression among either men or officers with whom I talked. As one\nremarked, “Well, what of it? You do not understand our soldiers. They\ncan retreat every day for a month and come back as full of fight at\nthe end of that time as when they started. A few Russian ‘defeats,’ as\nthe Germans call them, will be a disaster for the Kaiser. Don’t worry.\nWe will come back all right and it cannot be too soon for the taste of\nthis army.”\n\n\n\n\nWITH THE ARMY IN SOUTHERN POLAND\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nWITH THE ARMY IN SOUTHERN POLAND\n\n\n  Dated:\n\n  A CERTAIN ARMY CORPS HEAD-QUARTERS\n  SOMEWHERE IN SOUTHERN POLAND\n\n  _June 1, 1915_.\n\nTo-day has been one of the most interesting that I have spent since I\ncame to Russia last September. The General commanding this certain army\ncorps, which, while the war lasts, must not be identified, carefully\nmapped out an ideal day for us, and made it possible of fulfilment\nby placing two motors at our disposal and permitting a member of his\npersonal staff to accompany us as guide, philosopher and friend. This\nvery charming gentleman, M. Riabonschisky, represents a type which\none sees increasingly in the Russian Army as the war grows older. M.\nRiabonschisky served his term of years in the army, and then being\nwealthy and of a distinguished Moscow family, went into the banking\nbusiness, and the beginning of the war found him one of the leading\nbusiness men of the old Russian capital. With the first call he\ninstantly abandoned his desk and sedentary habits, and became again a\nsubaltern, which was his rank twenty odd years ago; when he came to the\nFront it was as aide-de-camp of a General commanding an army corps.\n\nIn a shabby uniform and with face tanned to the colour of old leather\none now finds the Moscow millionaire working harder than a common\nsoldier. Our friend had by no means confined his activities to routine\nwork at head-quarters, but as the St. George’s Cross on his breast\nindicated, had seen a bit of active service as well. Though he talked\nfreely enough on every known subject, I found him uncommunicative on\nthe subject of his Cross denoting distinguished merit in the face of an\nenemy. A little persistent tact, however, finally got out of him that\nbefore Lublin, in a crisis on the positions, he had gone to the front\nline trenches in a motor car loaded with ammunition for the troops who\nfor lack of it were on the point of retiring. With the return trip he\nbrought out all the wounded his car could hold. This, then, was the\nformer banker who now accompanied us on a tour of inspection of the\narmy of which he was as proud as the Commanding General himself was.\n\n[Illustration: Russian first-line trench near Lublin.\n\nThe companion picture shows the German position through loop-hole.]\n\n[Illustration: German position near Lublin.\n\nPhoto taken through loop-hole in trench.]\n\nLeaving our head-quarters we drove south through a beautiful woodland\nfor nearly two hours, to the headquarters of that certain division of\nthe army which has covered itself with glory in the recent fighting\naround Opatov, where we were received cordially by the commander.\nTelegrams sent ahead had advised him of our arrival, and he had done\nhis part in arranging details that our trip might be as interesting\nas possible. After a few minutes drinking tea and smoking cigarettes\nwe again took cars and motored for another 16 versts to the town of\nOpatov, where one of the brigade head-quarters was located. This quaint\nold Polish town with a castle and a wall around it has been three times\nvisited by the tide of battle, and the hills about it (it lies in a\nhollow) are pitted with the caves made by the uneasy inhabitants, whose\nexperience of shell fire has been disturbing. One imagines from the\nnumber of dugouts one sees that the whole population might easily move\nunder ground at an hour’s notice. However, in spite of the tumult of\nbattles which have been fought around it, Opatov has not been scarred\nby shell fire.\n\nFrom here we went directly west on the road to Lagow for perhaps 5\nversts, when we turned off suddenly on to a faint road and down into\na little hollow where a tiny village nestled in which we were told\nwe should find the head-quarters of a certain regiment that we had\ncome to visit. As our cars came over the crest of the hill we noticed\nassembled on a flat field, that lay in the hollow, absolutely concealed\nfrom the outside world, a block of troops standing under arms. My first\nimpression was that this was a couple of reserve units just going back\nto the trenches to relieve their fellows. We were delighted at such a\nbit of luck. On pulling up our cars by the side of the road we found\nourselves greeted by the Colonel and staff of the regiment, to whom we\nwere introduced by our guide. After a few words in Russian my friend\nturned, his face wreathed in smiles, and said, “The Colonel is very\nkind; he has ordered a review for your inspection.”\n\nWith the staff we strolled up to the centre of the field, where on\ntwo sides we faced two of the most magnificent battalions of troops\nthat it has ever been my fortune to see, while on the third side were\nparked the machine-gun batteries of the regiment. For a few minutes we\nstood in the centre of the three-sided square while the Colonel, with\nunconcealed pride, told us something of the history of the regiment\nthat stood before us. Its name and its corps must not be mentioned,\nbut it is permissible to say that it is from Moscow and is one of the\noldest regiments in the Russian service, with traditions running\nback for 125 years. It is one of the two formations of the entire\nRussian army which is permitted to march in review with fixed bayonets,\na distinction acquired by 125 years of history marked by successful\nwork with cold steel.\n\n[Illustration: March-past of the Gonogoriski Regiment.]\n\nI have written in a previous chapter of the fighting around Opatov and\nof the wonderful work done by the troops of this army corps. Now we\nlearned from the Colonel that it was his regiment that made the march\nover the mountain, and fell with the bayonet upon the flank of the 25th\nAustrian division with such an impetus and fury that every man had\nkilled or captured a soldier of the enemy. That we might not minimize\nthe glory of his men the Colonel assured us that the Austrian 25th was\nno scrub Landwehr or reserve formation, but the very élite of the élite\nof the Austrian army, embodying the famous Deutschmeister regiment from\nVienna, which was supposed to be the finest organization of infantry\nin the Hapsburg realm. What we saw before us were two of the four\nbattalions of the Moscow regiment who were in reserve for a few days’\nrest, while their brothers in the other two battalions were 4 versts\nforward in the fighting line.\n\nSuddenly the Colonel turned about and in a voice of thunder uttered\na command, and instantly the two thousand men became as rigid as\ntwo thousand statues. Another word, and with the click of a bit of\nwell-oiled mechanism, two thousand rifles came to the present. Another\ncommand from the Colonel and the regimental band on the right flank,\nwith its thirty pieces of brass, burst forth with “Rule Britannia.” A\nmoment’s silence followed, and then came the strains of the American\nNational Anthem, followed in turn by the Russian National Anthem.\n\nAs the last strain died away there came another sharp command from the\nColonel, and once more the mechanism clicked and two thousand guns came\nto the ground as one. Then, stepping out from the little group of the\nstaff, the Colonel addressed the regiment in a deep melodious voice\nin words that carried to the furthest man. I have written much of the\nrapidly growing feeling of friendship and affection between England\nand Russia. For six months I have noticed a gradual development of\nthis sentiment, but I have never realized until this day that it was\npercolating to the very foundations of the Russian people. In Petrograd\nand Moscow one naturally expects the diplomats and politicians to\nemphasize this point to a member of the press. But out at the Front\nthese men who deal in steel and blood are not given to fine phrases,\nnor are they wont to speak for effect. For ten months their lives have\nbeen lives of danger and hardships, and in their eyes and in their\nfaces one sees sincerity and truth written large for those who study\nhuman nature to read. The speech was to me so impressive that it seems\nwell worth while to quote the officer’s stirring words, words which\nfound an echo in the heart of the writer, who is an American citizen\nand not a British subject at all. With his hand held aloft the Colonel\nsaid:--\n\n[Illustration: Men of the Gonogoriski Regiment cheering King George V.]\n\n“Attention,--Gentlemen, officers and soldiers: We have to-day the\nhonour to receive the representatives of the great English nation, our\nfaithful allies now fighting with us for the good of us all to punish\nour common treacherous enemy. They are dear to our hearts because\nthey are conducting this war with such sacrifices and such incredible\nbravery. It is a great pleasure and privilege for our regiment to see\namong us the representatives of the country where dwell the bravest\nof the brave. This regiment, beloved of Suvoroff, will always do its\nuttermost to uphold the reputation of Russian arms, that they may be\nworthy to fight this battle shoulder to shoulder with their noble\nallies in the British army. Officers and soldiers, I call for a hearty\ncheer for the great King of England. Long live George the Fifth.”\n\nThe response came from two thousand lungs and throats with the\nsuddenness of a clap of thunder. Out of the misery and chaos of this\nworld-disaster there is surely coming a new spirit and a new-found\nfeeling of respect and regard between the allied nations, a feeling\nwhich in itself is perhaps laying the foundation of a greater peace\nmovement than all the harangues and platitudes of the preachers of\npacificism. Before this war I dare say that England and the English\nmeant nothing to the peasant soldier of Russia. This is no longer true,\nand to stand as I stood in this hollow square and listen for five\nminutes to these war-stained veterans cheering themselves hoarse for\nthe ally whom they have been taught to consider the personification\nof soldierly virtues, was to feel that perhaps from this war may\ncome future relations which the next generation will look back upon\nas having in large measure justified the price. The Colonel raised\nhis hand and instantly the tumult died away. The Colonel courteously\ninvited me to address the Regiment on behalf of England, but as a\nneutral this was an impossible role.\n\n[Illustration: Men of the Gonogoriski Regiment.]\n\nAfterwards the Colonel ordered a review of the two battalions, and in\ncompany formation they passed by with their bayonets at the charge and\nwith every eye fixed on the commander, while every officer marched at\nthe salute. I have never seen a more impressive body of men. Dirty\nand shabby, with faces tanned like shoe leather, and unshaven,\nthey marched past, the picture of men of action. In each face was the\npride of regiment and country and the respect of self. As they passed,\ncompany after company, the beaming Colonel said to me, “When my men\ncome at the charge the Austrians never wait for them to come into the\ntrenches. They fire on us until we are within ten feet and then they\nfall on their knees and beg for quarter.” As the writer looked into\nthese earnest serious faces that passed by, each seamed with lines of\ngrim determination and eyes steeled with the hardness engendered by\nwar, he felt an increased respect for the Austrian who waited until\nthe enemy were within ten feet. Somehow one felt that a hundred feet\nstart would be an insufficient handicap to get away from these fellows\nwhen they came for one with their bayonets levelled and their leather\nthroats howling for the blood of the enemy.\n\nAfter the infantry we inspected the machine-gun batteries of the\nregiment, and with special pride the Colonel showed us the four\ncaptured machine-guns taken from the Austrians in the recent action,\ntogether with large quantities of ammunition. After the machine-guns\nwere examined, the heroes of the St. George’s Cross, decorated in the\nrecent battle, were brought forward to be photographed. Then the band\nplayed the air of the regiment, while the officers of the regiment\njoined in singing a rousing melody which has been the regimental song\nfor the 125 years of its existence. Then, preceded by the band, we\nwent to the Colonel’s head-quarters, where lunch was served, the band\nplaying outside while we ate.\n\nThe head-quarters of the Colonel were in a schoolhouse hurriedly\nadapted to the needs of war. Our table was the children’s blackboard\ntaken from the walls and stretched between two desks, the scholars’\nbenches serving us in lieu of chairs. The only thing in the whole\nestablishment that did not reek of the necessities of war was the food,\nwhich was excellent. The rugged Colonel, lean as a race horse and as\ntough as whipcord, may in some former life when he was in Moscow have\nbeen an epicure and something of a good liver. Anyway the cooking was\nperfection.\n\nIn conversation with a number of the men who sat at table, I heard\nthat their regiment had been in thirty-four actions since the war had\nstarted. The Colonel himself had been wounded no less than three times\nin the war. One Captain of the staff showed me a hat with a bullet\nhole in the top made in the last battle; while the Lieutenant-Colonel\nlaughingly told me that they could not kill him at all; though he\nreceived seventeen bullets through his clothes since the war started\nhe had never been scratched in any action in which he had been engaged.\nThe tactical position of a Colonel in the Russian army is in the rear,\nI am told, but in this regiment I learned from one of the officers, the\nColonel rarely was in the rear, and on more than one occasion he had\nled the charge at the very head of his men.\n\n\n\n\nAN AFTERNOON AT THE “POSITIONS”\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nAN AFTERNOON AT THE “POSITIONS”\n\n\n  Dated:\n\n  SOMEWHERE IN POLAND,\n\n  _June 2, 1915_.\n\nProvided with carriages we left our hospitable Colonel for the front\ntrenches 4 versts further on. As we were near the Front when we were at\nregimental head-quarters it was not deemed safe to take the motor-cars\nany further, on account of the clouds of dust which they leave in their\nwake.\n\nThe country here is spread out in great rolling valleys with very\nlittle timber and only occasional crests or ridges separating one\nbeautiful verdant stretch of landscape from another. It struck one as\nquite obvious in riding over this country that the men who planned\nthese roads had not taken war into consideration. Had they done so\nthey certainly would not have placed them so generally along ridges,\nwhere one’s progress can be seen from about 10 versts in every\ndirection. As I have mentioned in an earlier chapter, this particular\narmy had not fallen back on its fortified and prepared line, but was\ncamping out about 25 to 30 versts in front of it in positions which\nwere somewhat informal. In riding through this country one has the\nunpleasant sensation that every time one shows up on a ridge, an\nenemy of an observing and enterprising disposition might be tempted\nto take a shot at one just for practice. My friend the banker soldier\nexplained, however, that we should be difficult to hit, and anyway he\nrather enjoyed shell fire. “It is a sort of nice game,” he told me with\na charming smile, “one finds it very entertaining and not altogether\ndangerous.”\n\nHowever his insouciance did not prevent him taking the precaution of\nforbidding the use of motor-cars with their clouds of dust, and he was\nquite content that we should take the carriages, which made less of a\ntarget on the dry roads.\n\nFrom regimental head-quarters we went up into a little gulch where we\nagain found that we were expected, and a genial Colonel of a howitzer\nbattery was waiting to entertain us. Five of our guns were sitting\nalong the road with their muzzled noses up in the air at an angle of\nabout 35 degrees waiting, waiting for some one to give them word to\nshoot at something or other.\n\n[Illustration: Howitzer battery in Poland.]\n\nBatteries are always peculiarly fascinating to me; they always appear\nso perfect in their efficiency, and capable of getting work done when\nrequired. These five were of the 4-inch variety, with an elevation of\nforty-five degrees obtainable.\n\nAt a word from the Colonel they were cleared for action and their\nsighting apparatus inspected and explained. As usual they were equipped\nwith panorama sights, with the aiming point a group of trees to the\nright and rear of the position, and with their observation point 3\nmiles away in a trench near the infantry line. The sixth gun was\ndoing lonely duty a mile away in a little trench all by itself. This\nposition the Colonel informed us was shelled yesterday by the enemy,\nwho fired thirty-five 12-centimetre shells at them without scoring a\nsingle hit. After looking at the guns we spent an hour at tea, and\nthen in our carts pushed on up the valley, where we found a regiment\nof Cossack cavalry in reserve. The hundreds of horses were all saddled\nand wandering about, each meandering where its fancy led. Everywhere on\nthe grass and under the few clumps of brush were sitting or sleeping\nthe men, few of whom had any shelter or tents of any kind, and the\nwhole encampment was about as informal as the encampment of a herd of\ncattle. In fact the Cossacks impress one as a kind of game who have\nno more need of shelter or comforts than the deer of the forest. When\nthey settle down for the night they turn their horses loose, eat a bit\nof ration and then sit under a tree and go to sleep. It is all very\ncharming and simple. Our guide informed us that when they wanted their\nhorses they simply went out and whistled for them as a mother sheep\nbleats for its young, and that in a surprisingly short time every\nsoldier found his mount. The soldiers are devoted to their horses,\nand in a dozen different places one could see them rubbing down their\nmounts or rubbing their noses and petting them.\n\nFrom this encampment the road went up to its usual place on the crest\nof the hill. The soldier driver of our carriage did not seem to feel\nthe same amount of enthusiasm about the “nice game” of being shelled,\nand protested as much as he dared about taking the horses further; but\nbeing quietly sat upon, he subsided with a deep sigh and started up\nover the ridge in the direction of a clump of houses beyond another\nrise of ground at an astonishingly rapid speed. From the crest along\nwhich we travelled we had a beautiful view of a gently undulating\nvalley lying peaceful and serene under the warm afternoon sun. A few\ninsects buzzing about in the soft air near the carriage were the\nonly signs of life about us. We drove up at a good round pace to\nthe little clump of trees which sheltered a group of farm buildings.\nAs we were getting out of our carriage there was a sharp report to the\nroad on our right, and looking back I saw the fleecy white puff of a\nshrapnel shell breaking just over the road to the north of us. Like\nthe bloom of cotton the smoke hung for an instant in the air and then\nslowly expanding drifted off. A moment later, almost in the same place,\nanother beautiful white puff, with its heart of copper-red, appeared\nover the road, and again the sharp sound of its burst drifted across\nthe valley. The Austrian shrapnel has a bit of reddish-brown smoke\nwhich must be, I think, from the bursting charge in the shell.\n\n[Illustration: Cossacks on the Dniester. Officers’ quarters in the\nwoods.]\n\nOur guide was quite delighted and smiled and clicked his heels\ncheerfully as he ushered us into the little room of the officer\ncommanding the regiment in the trenches just ahead of us. Even as he\ngreeted us, the telephone rang in the little low-ceilinged room of the\ncottage, and he excused himself as he went to reply to it. In a few\nminutes he came back with an annoyed expression on his face. “These\nunpleasant Austrians,” he said in disgust. “They are always up to their\nsilly tricks. They have been shelling some Red Cross carts on the road.\nI have just ordered the howitzer battery in our rear to come into\naction and we shall see if we cannot give them a lesson in manners.”\n\nAfter a few pleasantries he asked what it was that we would most like,\nand I replied in my stock phrases, “Observation points and trenches, if\nyou please.” He stood for a moment studying the tip of his dusty boot;\nevidently he was not very eager about the job. However, he shrugged\nhis shoulders and went back to the telephone, and after a few minutes\nconversation came back and said to us: “It is a very bad time to go\ninto our trenches, as we have no covered ways, and in the daytime one\nis seen, and the enemy always begin firing. It is very unsafe, but if\nyou are very anxious I shall permit one of you to go forward, though it\nis not convenient. When the enemy begin to fire, our batteries reply,\nand firing starts in all the trenches. The soldiers like to fight, and\nit doesn’t take much to start them.”\n\nPut in this way none of us felt very keen about insisting. So we all\ncompromised by a visit to a secondary position, which we were told was\nnot very dangerous, as the enemy could only reach it with their shell\nfire and “of course no one minds that,” as the officer casually put it.\nWe all agreed that, of course, we did not mind that, and so trooped off\nwith the Colonel to the trenches and dug-outs where the troops who\nwere not in the firing line were in immediate reserve.\n\nThe group of dug-outs was flanked with trenches, for, as the Colonel\ninformed us, “Who knows when this position may be attacked?” And then\nhe added, “You see, though we are not in the direct view of the enemy\nhere, they know our whereabouts and usually about this time of day they\nshell the place. They can reach it very nicely and from two different\ndirections. Yesterday it became so hot in our house that we all spent a\nquiet afternoon in the dug-outs.” He paused and offered us a cigarette,\nand as he did so there came a deep boom from our rear and a howitzer\nshell wailed over our heads on its mission of protest to the Austrians\nabout firing on Red Cross wagons. A few seconds later the muffled\nreport of its explosion came back across the valley. A second later\nanother and another shell went over our heads. The Colonel smiled, “You\nsee,” he said, “my orders are being carried out. No doubt the enemy\nwill reply soon.”\n\nHis belief was justified. A moment later that extremely distressing\nsound made by an approaching shell came to our ears, followed\nimmediately by its sharp report as it burst in a field a few hundred\nyards away. I looked about at the soldiers and officers around me, but\nnot one even cast a glance in the direction of the smoke drifting away\nover the field near by. After wandering about his position for half or\nthree-quarters of an hour, we returned to the cottage. It consisted of\nbut three rooms. The telephone room, a little den where the officers\nate, and a large room filled with straw on which they slept at night,\nwhen sleeping was possible.\n\nHere we met a fine grey-haired, grizzled Colonel, who, as my banker\nfriend informed me, commanded a neighbouring regiment, the --\nGrenadiers. He is one of our finest officers and is in every way\nworthy of his regiment, the history of which stretches back over two\ncenturies. The officer himself looked tired and shabby, and his face\nwas deeply lined with furrows. We read about dreadful sacrifices in\nthe Western fighting, but I think this regiment, which again I regret\nthat I cannot name, has suffered as much in this war as any unit on any\nFront. In the two weeks of fighting around Cracow alone it has dwindled\nfrom 4,000 men to 800, and that fortnight represented but a small\nfraction of the campaigning which it has done since the war started.\nAgain and again it has been filled to its full strength, and after\nevery important action its ranks were depleted hideously. Now there are\nvery few left of the original members, but as an officer proudly said,\n“These regiments have their traditions of which their soldiers are\nproud. Put a moujik in its uniform and to-morrow he is a grenadier and\nproud of it.”\n\nThe Colonel, who sat by the little table as we talked, did not speak\nEnglish, but in response to the question of a friend who addressed him\nin Russian, he said with a tired little smile, “Well, yes, after ten\nmonths one is getting rather tired of the war. One hopes it will soon\nbe over and that one may see one’s home and children once more, but one\nwonders if----” He paused, smiled a little, and offered us a cigarette.\nIt is not strange that these men who live day and night so near the\ntrenches that they are never out of sound of firing, and never sleep\nout of the zone of bursting shells, whose every day is associated with\nfriends and soldiers among the fallen, wonder vaguely if they will ever\nget home. The trench occupied by this man’s command was so exposed that\nhe could only reach it unobserved by crawling on his stomach over the\nridge, and into the shallow ditch that served his troops for shelter.\n\nLeaving the little farm we drove back over the road above which we had\nseen the bursting shells on our arrival, but our own batteries, no\ndoubt, had diverted the enemy from practice on the road, for we made\nthe 3 versts without a single one coming our way.\n\nIt was closing twilight when we started back for the head-quarters that\nwe had left in the early morning. The sun had set and the peace and\nserenity of the evening were broken only by the distant thunder of an\noccasional shell bursting in the west. From the ridge over which our\nroad ran I could distinctly see the smoke from three different burning\nvillages fired by the German artillery. One wonders what on earth the\nenemy have in mind when they deliberately shell these pathetic little\npatches of straw-thatched peasant homes. Even in ordinary times these\npeople seem to have a hard life in making both ends meet, but now in\nthe war their lot is a most wretched one. Apparently hardly a day\npasses that some village is not burned by the long range shells of the\nenemy’s guns. That such action has any military benefit seems unlikely.\nThe mind of the enemy seems bent on destruction, and everywhere their\nfoot is placed grief follows.\n\nThe next morning for several hours I chatted with the General and\nhis Chief of Staff, and found, as always at the Front, the greatest\noptimism. “Have you seen our soldiers at the Front?” is the question\nalways asked, and when one answers in the affirmative they say, “Well,\nthen how can you have any anxiety as to the future. These men may\nretire a dozen times, but demoralized or discouraged they are never.\nWe shall win absolutely surely. Do not doubt it.”\n\n[Illustration: The Polish Legion.]\n\nOne forms the opinion that the place for the pessimist is at the Front.\nIn the crises one leaves the big cities in a cloud of gloom, and the\nenthusiasm and spirit increase steadily, until in the front trenches\none finds the officers exercising every effort to keep their men from\nclimbing out of their shelters and going across the way and bayoneting\nthe enemy. The morale of the Russian Army as I have seen it in these\nlast weeks is extraordinary.\n\nWe left head-quarters and motored over wretched roads to the little\ntown of Ilza where the quaintest village I have seen lies in a little\nhollow beneath a hill on which is perched the old ruin of a castle,\nits crumbling ramparts and decaying battlements standing silhouetted\nagainst the sky. We halted in the village to inquire the condition\nof the road to Radom, for the day we came this way the enemy had\nbeen shelling it and the remains of a horse scattered for 50 feet\nalong the highway told us that their practice was not bad at all. We\nwere informed that the artillery of the Germans commanded the first\n4 versts, but after that it was safe enough. Somehow no one feels\nmuch apprehension about artillery fire, and in our speedy car we\nfelt confident enough of doing the 4 versts in sufficient haste to\nmake the chance of a shot hitting us at 6,500 yards a very slight\none. As soon as we came out of the hollow, and along the great white\nroad which stretched across the green fields, I saw one of the great\nsausage-shaped German Zeppelins hanging menacingly in the sky to the\nwest of us. It was a perfectly still day and the vessel seemed quite\nmotionless.\n\nAt the end of the 4 versts mentioned there was a long hill, and then\nthe road dipped out of sight into another valley where the omniscient\neye of the German sausage could not follow us. It was in my own mind\nthat it would not be unpleasant when we crossed the ridge. We were just\nbeginning the climb of the hill when our own motor-car (which had been\ncoughing and protesting all day) gave three huge snorts, exploded three\ntimes in the engine, and came to a dead stop on the road, with that\nindescribable expression on its snubby inanimate nose of a car that\nhad finished for the day. The part of the road that we were on was as\nwhite as chalk against the green of the hill, with only a few skinny\ntrees (at least they certainly looked skinny to me) to hide us. Frantic\nefforts to crank the car and get it started only resulted in a few\nexplosions, and minor protests from its interior.\n\nSo there we sat in the blazing sun while our extremely competent\nchauffeur took off his coat and crawled under the car and did a\nlot of tinkering and hammering. He was such a good and cool-headed\nindividual and went about his work so conscientiously that one did\nnot feel inclined to go off in the one good car and leave him alone\nin his predicament. So we all sat under the skinny tree and smoked\nwhile we watched three shells burst on the road over which we had\njust passed. I must confess to a feeling of extreme annoyance at this\nparticular moment. One can feel a certain exaltation in hustling down\na road at seventy miles an hour and being shot at, but somehow there\nis very little interest in sitting out in the blazing sun on a white\nroad hoping that you can get your car started before the enemy gets\nyour range. About the time the third shell landed on the road, our\ncar changed its mind and its engines suddenly went into action with\na tumult like a machine gun battery. We climbed in our cars and the\ndriver threw in the clutches and our motor made at least fifty feet in\none jump and went over the crest of the hill in a cloud of dust. The\nman who sold it to me assured me that it once did 140 versts on a race\ntrack in one hour. My own impression is that it was doing about 150 an\nhour when it cleared the ridge and the Zeppelin was lost to sight.\n\nAn hour later we were in Radom, and by midnight back once more in\nWarsaw.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE RUSSIANS MET THE FIRST GAS ATTACK\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nHOW THE RUSSIANS MET THE FIRST GAS ATTACK\n\n\n  Dated:\n\n  ZYRARDOW, POLAND,\n\n  _June 5, 1915_.\n\nOne of the finest stories of fortitude and heroism that the war on this\nfront has produced is of how the Siberian troops met the first large\nscale attack upon their lines in which the enemy made use of the gas\nhorror, that latest product of the ingenuity of the Germans who boast\nso loudly and so continuously of their _kultur_ and the standards of\ncivilization and humanity which they declare it is their sacred duty to\nforce upon the world.\n\nThere has been a lull in the fighting on this immediate front for some\ntime, due to the fact that the Germans have diverted all the troops\nthat they could safely spare to strengthen their concentration in\nGalicia. Only an occasional spasm of fighting with bursts of artillery\nfiring, first in one point and then another, have created sufficient\nincident to mark one day from another. During this time the reports\nof the use of poisoned gases and shells containing deadly fumes have\ndrifted over to this side, and it has been expected that sooner or\nlater something of the same sort would be experienced on the Bzura\nfront. Many times we have had shells containing formaline fumes and\nother noxious poisons sent screaming over our trenches, but their use\nheretofore seemed rather in the nature of an experiment than of a\nserious innovation. Enough, however, has been said about them here,\nand when the effort on a wholesale scale was made, it found our troops\nprepared morally, if not yet with actual equipment in the way of\nrespirators.\n\nThe first battle of the gases occurred early on the morning of Sunday,\nthe 30th of May. The days are very long here now, and the first pale\nstreaks of grey were just tinging the western horizon, when the\nlook-outs in the Russian trenches on the Bzura discovered signs of\nactivity in the trenches of the enemy which at this point are not very\nfar away from our lines. War has become such an every-day business that\nan impending attack creates no more excitement in the trenches than a\ndoctor feels when he is called out at night to visit a patient. Word\nwas passed down the trenches to the sleeping soldiers, who at once\ncrawled out of their shelters and dug-outs, and rubbing their sleepy\neyes took their places at the loopholes and laid out, ready for use,\ntheir piles of cartridge clips. The machine gun operators uncovered\ntheir guns and looked to them to see that all was well oiled and\nworking smoothly, while the officers strolled about the trenches with\nwords of advice and encouragement to their men.\n\nBack in the reserve trenches the soldiers were turning out more\nleisurely in response to the alarm telephoned back. Regimental,\nbrigade, division and army corps head-quarters were notified, and\nwithin ten minutes of the first sign of a movement, the entire position\nthreatened was on the _qui vive_ without excitement or confusion. But\nthis was to be no ordinary attack; while preparations were still going\nforward, new symptoms never hitherto observed, were noticeable on the\nGerman line. Straw was thrown out beyond the trenches and was being\nsprinkled with a kind of white powder which the soldiers say resembled\nsalt. While the Russians were still puzzling about the meaning of\nit all, fire was put to the straw in a dozen places. Instantly from\nthe little spots of red flame spreading in both directions until the\nline of twinkling fire was continuous, huge clouds of fleecy white\nsmoke rolled up. The officers were quick to realize what was coming,\nand instantly the word was passed to the soldiers that they must be\nprepared to meet a new kind of attack. After a rapid consultation and\nadvice from head-quarters over the telephone, it was decided that\nit would be best for our men to remain absolutely quiet in their\ntrenches, holding their fire until the enemy were at their barbed wire\nentanglements, in order to beguile the Germans into the belief that\ntheir gases were effective, and that they were going to be able to\noccupy the Russian trenches without losing a man.\n\nOfficers and non-commissioned officers went through the trenches\ntelling the soldiers what they must expect, and imposing silence on\nall, and prohibiting the firing of a gun until the enemy were almost\nupon them when they were to open up with all the rapidity of fire that\nthey could command. In the meantime the wind of early morning air was\nrolling the cloud gently toward the waiting Russians.\n\nI have been able through certain channels, which I cannot at present\nmention, to secure a considerable amount of information as to the\nGerman side of this attack. When it became known in the trenches of\nthe enemy that these gases were to be used, there is reason to believe\nthat there was a protest from the soldiers against it. Many of the\nRussians are charitable enough to take the point of view that the\ncommon soldier resorts to these methods because he is forced to do so,\nand they say that the German private rebelled at the idea of using so\nhideous a method of conducting warfare. Others, while they accept the\nstory of the soldiers’ opposition, declare they only feared the effects\nof the gas upon themselves. In any event there is evidence that their\nofficers told them that the gas was a harmless one, and would simply\nresult in putting the Russians into a state of unconsciousness from\nwhich they would recover in a few hours, and by that time the Germans\nwould have been able to take their trenches without the loss of a man.\nIt was at first believed that the white powder placed on the straw was\nthe element of the poison gas, but it later appeared that this was\nmerely to produce a screen of heavy and harmless smoke behind which the\nreal operations could be conducted. The actual source of the gas was in\nthe trenches themselves.\n\nSteel cylinders or tanks measuring a metre in length by perhaps 6\ninches in width were let in end downwards into the floor of the trench,\nwith perhaps half of the tanks firmly bedded in the ground. At the head\nof the cylinder was a valve, and from this ran a lead pipe over the\ntop of the parapet and then bent downwards with the opening pointed\nto the ground. These tanks were arranged in groups of batteries the\nunit of which was ten or twelve, each tank being perhaps two feet from\nits neighbour. Between each group was a space of twenty paces. I have\nnot been able to learn the exact length of the prepared trenches, but\nit was perhaps nearly a kilometre long. As soon as their line was\nmasked by the volumes of the screening smoke, these taps were turned\non simultaneously and instantly the thick greenish yellow fumes of the\nchloral gas poured in expanding clouds upon the ground, spreading like\na mist upon the face of the earth.\n\nThere was a drift of air in the direction of the Russian trenches,\nand borne before this the poison rolled like a wave slowly away from\nthe German line toward the positions of the Russians, the gas itself\nseeking out and filling each small hollow or declivity in the ground\nas surely as water, so heavy and thick was its composition. When it\nwas fairly clear of their own line the Germans began to move, all the\nmen having first been provided with respirators that they might not\nexperience the effects of the “harmless and painless” gas prepared for\nthe enemy. Ahead of the attacking columns went groups of sappers with\nshears to cut the Russian entanglements; and behind them followed the\nmasses of the German infantry, while the rear was brought up, with\ncharacteristic foresight, by soldiers bearing tanks of oxygen to\nassist any of their own men who became unconscious from the fumes.\n\nThe advance started somewhat gingerly, for the soldiers do not seem\nto have had the same confidence in the effects of the gas as their\nofficers. But as they moved forward there was not a sound from the\nRussian trench, and the word ran up and down the German line that\nthere would be no defence, and that for once they would take a Russian\nposition without the loss of a man. One can fancy the state of mind of\nthe German troops in these few minutes. No doubt they felt that this\nnew “painless” gas was going to be a humane way of ending the war,\nthat their chemists had solved the great problem, and that in a few\ndays they would be marching into Warsaw. Then they reached the Russian\nentanglements, and without warning were swept into heaps and mounds of\ncollapsing bodies by the torrent of rifle and machine gun fire which\ncame upon them from every loophole and cranny of the Russian position.\n\nThe Russian version of the story is one that must inspire the troops\nof the Allies, as it has inspired the rest of the army over here. Some\ntime before the Germans actually approached, the green yellow cloud\nrolled into the trenches and poured itself in almost like a column\nof water; so heavy was it that it almost fell to the floor of the\ntrenches. The patient Siberians stood without a tremor as it eddied\naround their feet and swept over their faces in constantly increasing\nvolumes. Thus for some minutes they stood wrapping hand-kerchiefs about\ntheir faces, stifling their sounds, and uttering not a word while\ndozens fell suffocating into the trench. Then at last in the faint\nmorning light could be seen the shadowy figures of the Germans through\nthe mist; then at last discipline and self-control were released, and\nevery soldier opened fire pumping out his cartridges from his rifle as\nfast as he could shoot. The stories of heroism and fortitude that one\nhears from the survivors of this trench are exceptional. One Siberian\nwho was working a machine gun had asked his comrade to stand beside\nhim with wet rags and a bucket of water. The two bodies were found\ntogether, the soldier collapsed over the machine gun, whose empty\ncartridge belt told the story of the man’s last effort having gone to\nwork his gun, while sprawling over the upset bucket was the dead body\nof the friend who had stood by and made his last task possible.\n\n[Illustration: The colours of the Siberians.]\n\nOfficers in the head-quarters of regiment and divisions tell of the\noperators at the telephones clinging to their instruments until only\nthe sounds of their choking efforts to speak came over the wire, and\nthen silence. Some were found dead with the receivers in their\nhands, while others were discovered clutching muskets fallen from the\nhands of the infantry that had succumbed. In this trying ordeal not\na man, soldier or officer budged from his position. To a man they\nremained firm, some overcome, some dying, and others already dead. So\nfaithful were they to their duty, that before the reserves reached\nthem the Germans were already extricating themselves from their own\ndead and wounded, and hurriedly beating a retreat toward their own\nlines. From the rear trenches now came, leaping with hoarse shouts of\nfury, the columns of the Siberian reserves. Through the poisoned mist\nthat curled and circled at their feet, they ran, many stumbling and\nfalling from the effect of the noxious vapours. When they reached the\nfirst line trench, the enemy was already straggling back in retreat, a\nretreat that probably cost them more dearly than their attack; for the\nreserves, maddened with fury poured over their own trenches, pursued\nthe Germans, and with clubbed rifle and bayonet took heavy vengeance\nfor comrades poisoned and dying in the first line trench. So furiously\ndid the Siberians fall upon the Germans that several positions in the\nGerman line were occupied, numbers of the enemy who chose to remain\ndying under the bayonet or else falling on their knees with prayers\nfor mercy. Somewhat to the south of the main gas attack there came a\nchange in the wind, and the poisoned fumes blew back into the trenches\nof the Germans, trenches in which it is believed the occupants were\nnot equipped with respirators. The Russians in opposite lines say that\nthe cries of the Germans attacked by their own fumes were something\nhorrible to listen to, and their shrieks could have been heard half a\nmile away.\n\nThus ended the first German effort to turn the Russians out of their\npositions by the use of a method which their rulers had pledged\nthemselves in treaty never to adopt. The net results were an absolute\ndefeat of the Germans, with the loss of several of their own positions,\nand a loss in dead and wounded probably three times greater than\nwas suffered by the Russians. Even although it was unexpected and\nunprepared for, this first attempt was an absolute failure; the only\nresult being an increase of fury on the part of the Russian soldiers\nthat makes it difficult to keep them in their trenches, so eager are\nthey to go over and bayonet their enemies.\n\n\n\n\nSOME DETAILS REGARDING THE GAS HORROR\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nSOME DETAILS REGARDING THE GAS HORROR\n\n\n  WARSAW,\n  _June 8_.\n\nEver since my return from the southern armies last week I have spent\npractically my entire time in the study and investigation of the newest\nphase of frightfulness as practised by the German authorities. Ten\nmonths of war and an earlier experience in Manchuria of what misery it\nrepresents even when conducted in the most humane way have not tended\nto make me over-sensitive to the sights and sufferings which are the\ninevitable accompaniment of the conflict between modern armies; but\nwhat I have seen in the last week has impressed me more deeply than the\nsum total of all the other horrors which I have seen in this and other\ncampaigns combined. The effects of the new war methods involve hideous\nsuffering and are of no military value whatsoever (if results on this\nfront are typical); while they reduce war to a barbarity and cruelty\nwhich could not be justified from any point of view, even were the\nresults obtained for the cause of the user a thousandfold greater than\nthey have proved to be.\n\nI found on my return from the south the whole of Warsaw in a fever\nof riotous indignation against the Germans and the German people as\nthe result of the arrival of the first block of gas victims brought\nin from the Bzura front. I have already described the attack made on\nthe Russian position, its absolute failure, and the result it had of\nincreasing the morale of the Russian troops. I must now try to convey\nto the reader an idea of the effects which I have personally witnessed\nand ascertained by first hand investigation of the whole subject. The\ninvestigation has taken me from the Warsaw hospitals, down through the\nvarious army, corps, division and regimental head-quarters, to the\nadvance trenches on which the attack was actually made. I have talked\nwith every one possible, from generals to privates, and from surgeons\nto the nurses, and to the victims themselves, and feel, therefore, that\nI can write with a fair degree of authority.\n\nThe gas itself, I was told at the front, was almost pure chloral\nfumes; but in the hospitals here they informed me that there were\nindications of the presence of a small trace of bromine, though it has\nproved somewhat difficult to make an exact analysis. The effect of\nthe gas when inhaled is to cause an immediate and extremely painful\nirritation of the lungs and the bronchial tubes, which causes instantly\nacute suffering. The gas, on reaching the lungs, and coming in contact\nwith the blood, at once causes congestion, and clots begin to form\nnot only in the lungs themselves but in the blood-vessels and larger\narteries, while the blood itself becomes so thick that it is with\ngreat difficulty that the heart is able to force it through the veins.\nThe first effects, then, are those of strangulation, pains throughout\nthe body where clots are forming, and the additional misery of the\nirritation which the acid gases cause to all the mucous membranes to\nwhich it is exposed. Some of the fatal cases were examined by the\nsurgeons on the post-mortem table, and it was found that the lungs were\nso choked with coagulated blood that, as one doctor at the front told\nme, they resembled huge slabs of raw liver rather than lungs at all.\nThe heart was badly strained from the endeavour to exert its functions\nagainst such obstacles, and death had resulted from strangulation.\n\nThough the unfortunates who succumbed suffered hideously, their lot\nwas an easy one compared to the lot of the miserable wretches who\nlingered on and died later. One might almost say that even those that\nare recovering have suffered so excruciatingly as to make life dear\nat the price. Those who could be treated promptly have for the most\npart struggled back to life. Time only will show whether they recover\nentirely, but from evidence obtained, I am inclined to believe many\nof them will be restored to a moderate condition of good health after\ntheir lungs are healed. The first treatment employed by the Russians\nwhen their patients come to the hospitals, is to strip them of all\nclothing, give them a hot bath and put them into clean garments. This\nis done for the protection of the nurses as well as of the victims,\nfor it was found that many of the helpers were overcome by the residue\nof the fumes left in the clothing, so deadly was the nature of the\nchemical compound used.\n\nEven after these cases were brought to Warsaw and put into clean linen\npyjamas and immaculate beds, the gas still given out from their lungs\nas they exhaled so poisoned the air in the hospital that some of the\nwomen nurses were affected with severe headaches and with nausea. From\nthis it may be gathered that the potency of the chloral compound is\nextremely deadly. The incredible part is, that out of the thousands\naffected, hardly a thousand died in the trenches, and of the 1,300\nto 1,500 brought to Warsaw, only 2 per cent. have died to date. It\nis probably true that the Russian moujik soldier is the hardiest\nindividual in Europe; add to this the consideration that for ten months\nnone of them have been touching alcohol, which is probably one reason\nfor their astonishing vitality in fighting this deadly poison and\nstruggling back to life.\n\n[Illustration: Respirator drill in the trenches.]\n\n[Illustration: Austrians leaving Przemysl.]\n\nAfter the victims are washed, every effort is made to relieve the\ncongestion. Mustard plasters are applied to the feet, while camphor\ninjections are given hypodermically, and caffeine or, in desperate\ncases, digitalis is given to help the heart keep up its task against\nthe heavy odds. Next blood is drawn from the patient and quantities of\nsalt and water injected in the veins to take its place and to dilute\nwhat remains. In the severer cases I am told that the blood even from\nthe arteries barely flows, and comes out a deep purple and almost as\nviscous as molasses. In the far-gone cases it refuses to flow at all.\n\nThe victims that die quickly are spared the worst effects, but those\nthat linger on and finally succumb suffer a torture which the days of\nthe Inquisition can hardly parallel. Many of them have in their efforts\nto breathe swallowed quantities of the gas, and in these cases, which\nseem to be common, post-mortems disclose the fact that great patches\nin their stomachs and in their intestines have been eaten almost raw\nby the action of the acid in the gas. These men then die not only of\nstrangulation, which, in itself, is a slow torture, but in their last\nmoments their internal organs are slowly being eaten away by the acids\nwhich they have taken into their stomachs. Several of the doctors have\ntold me that in these instances the men go violently mad from sheer\nagony, and that many of them must be held in their beds by force to\nprevent them from leaping out of the windows or running amok in the\nhospitals. It is hard to still them with sufficient morphine to deaden\nthe pain without giving an overdose, with the result that many of the\npoor fellows probably suffer until their last gasp.\n\nThis then is the physical effect which is produced on the victims of\nGermany’s latest device to win the war. I have been in many of the\nhospitals, and I have never in my life been more deeply moved than by\nthe pathetic spectacle of these magnificent specimens of manhood lying\non their beds writhing in pain or gasping for breath, each struggle\nbeing a torture. The Russians endure suffering with a stoicism that is\nheartbreaking to observe, and I think it would surely touch even the\nmost cynical German chemist were he to see his victims, purple in the\nface, lips frothed with red from bleeding lungs, with head thrown back\nand teeth clenched to keep back the groans of anguish, as they struggle\nagainst the subtle poison that has been taken into their system. One\npoor fellow said to the nurse as she sat by his bed and held his hand,\n“Oh, if the German Kaiser could but suffer the pain that I do he would\nnever inflict this torture upon us. Surely there must be a horrible\nplace prepared for him in the hereafter.”\n\nThe effect upon the troops at the front who have seen the sufferings\nof their fellows or who have had a touch of it themselves, has been\nquite extraordinary. Some of the more cynical say that the German idea\ninvolved this suffering as a part of their campaign of frightfulness,\ntheir belief being that it would strike panic to the hearts of all the\nsoldiers that beheld it and result in the utter demoralization of the\nRussian Army. If this be true the German psychologists never made a\nmore stupid blunder, for in this single night’s work they have built up\nfor themselves in the heart of every Russian moujik a personal hatred\nand detestation that has spread like wildfire in all parts of the army\nand has made the Russian troops infinitely fiercer both in attack and\nin defence than at any other period in the war. Not a soldier or\nofficer with whom I have talked has shown the smallest sign of fear for\nthe future, and all are praying for an opportunity to exact a vengeance.\n\nUnfortunately in the next attacks in which this just fury will be in\nevidence, it will be the unfortunate German soldier who must pay the\nprice at the point of the bayonet, while the cold-blooded wretches\nwho worked it all out will go scot free from the retribution which\nthe Russians intend to administer with cold steel and the butt end of\ntheir muskets. In the meantime the Russians have taken steps which will\nin all probability render future attacks practically innocuous. Every\nsoldier is receiving a respirator, a small mask soaked in some chemical\npreparation and done up in an air-tight packet ready for use. The\npreparation, it is believed, will keep out the fumes for at least an\nhour. It is highly improbable that any such period will elapse before\nthe gases are dissipated by the wind; but in any event extra quantities\nof the solution will be kept in the trenches to enable the soldiers to\nfreshen their masks if the gases are not cleared up within an hour.\n\nIn addition to this, open ditches will be dug in the trenches and\nfilled with water, which will promptly suck up the gas that would\notherwise linger on indefinitely. It is also proposed to strew straw\nin front of the positions and to sprinkle it with water before an\nattack with the gases in order to take up as much of the poison as\npossible before it reaches the trenches at all. When one remembers\nthat though the first attack came without any preparations being made\nto meet it, and was an absolutely new experience to the Russians, it\nyet failed overwhelmingly, I think one need feel no anxiety as to the\nresults which will follow the next attack when every preparation has\nbeen made by the Russians to receive it.\n\nI have dwelt at some length on the subject of the poisoned gases,\nbut as there is available evidence to indicate that the Germans are\nplanning to make this an important feature of their campaign, it seems\nworth while to bring before the attention of the outside world all of\nthe consequences which the use of this practice involve. I hear now\nfrom excellent sources that the Germans are equipping a large plant at\nPlonsk for the express purpose of making poison gases on a large scale.\nIn what I have written before I have only mentioned the bearing of the\ngas on strictly military operations, but there is another consideration\nto be noticed in this new practice, and that is the effect which it\nhas, and will have increasingly, upon the unfortunate peasant and\ncivil population whose miserable fate it is to live behind the lines.\n\nI am not aware of the nature and potency of the gas used in the West,\nbut I read recently in the paper that it was so deadly that its effects\nwere observable a full mile from the line of battle. Over here they\nwere noticeable 25 miles from the line, and individuals were overcome\nas far away as 14 versts from the positions. The General commanding the\n-- Siberian Corps told me that the sentry before his gate fell to the\nground from inhaling the poisoned air, though his head-quarters is more\nthan 10 miles away from the point where the Germans turned loose their\nfiendish invention. The General commanding the --th Division of this\nsame Siberian Corps, against whom the attack was made, told me that\nthe gases reached his head-quarters exactly 1½ hours after it passed\nthe positions which he told me were between 5 and 6 versts from the\nhouse in which he lived. In the morning the fumes lay like a mist on\nthe grass, and later in the day they were felt with sufficient potency\nto cause nausea and headaches at Grodisk, 30 versts from the trenches.\nEverywhere I was told of the suffering and panic among the peasants,\nwho came staggering in from every direction to the Russian Red Cross\nstations and head-quarters. These, of course, were not as severely\nstricken as the troops in the front lines, and as far as I know none\nof them have died, but hundreds were being cared for by the Russian\nauthorities, and among these I am told were many women and children.\n\n[Illustration: Siberians returning from the trenches.]\n\nIn fact it is but logical to expect the greatest suffering in the\nfuture to be among children, for the gas hangs very low, and where a\nsix foot man might keep his nose clear of the fumes, a child of two or\nthree years old would be almost sure to perish. The live stock suffered\nmore or less, but there seems to have been a great difference in the\neffects of the gases upon different kinds of animals. Horses were\ndriven almost frantic, cows felt it much less, and pigs are said not to\nhave been bothered appreciably. In its effects on plants and flowers\none notices a great range of results among different varieties. <DW29>s\nwere slightly wilted, snapdragons absolutely, while certain little blue\nflowers whose name I do not know were scarcely affected at all. Some\nof the tips of the grasses were  brown, while leaves on some\ntrees were completely destitute of any colour at all. I cannot explain\nthe varying effects. I have in my pocket a leaf two-thirds of which is\nas white as a piece of writing paper while the remaining third is as\ngreen as grass. On the same tree some leaves were killed and others not\naffected at all. The effects also vary greatly in different parts of\nthe country. From what I could observe the gas had flowed to all the\nlow places where it hung for hours. In the woods it is said to have\ndrifted about with bad effects that lasted for several days.\n\nWhat I have described above is the first effect on the country, but if\nthe Germans are to continue this practice for the rest of the summer I\nthink there must be effects which in the end will result in far more\ninjury to the peasants who are not prepared, than to the soldiers\nwho are taught how to combat the gases. In the first place it seems\nextremely probable that this gas flowing to the low places will almost\ninvariably settle in the lakes, marshes and all bodies of still water\nwithin 20 to 30 versts of the line. I am not sufficiently well grounded\nin chemistry to speak authoritatively, but it seems not improbable that\nthe effect of this will be gradually to transform every small body of\nwater in this vicinity into a diluted solution of hydrochloric acid, a\nsolution which will become more and more concentrated with every wave\nof gas that passes over the country-side. If this be the case Poland\nmay perhaps see huge numbers of its horses, cows and other live stock\nslowly poisoned by chloral while the inhabitants may experience a\nsimilar fate. With wet weather and moist soil will come a period when\nthe chloral will go into the earth in large quantities. I do not know\nwhat effect this will have on the future of the crops, but I imagine\nthat it will not help the harvest this year, while its deleterious\neffects may extend over many to come. In other words it seems as though\nthe Germans in order to inflict a possible military damage on the\nRussians are planning a campaign, the terrible effects of which will\nfall for the most part not on the soldiers at all but on the harmless\nnon-combatants who live in the rear of the lines. This practice is as\nabsolutely unjustifiable as that of setting floating mines loose at sea\non the possible chance of sinking an enemy ship, the probability being\nten to one that the victim will prove an innocent one.\n\nWe are now facing over here, and I suppose in the West as well, a\ncampaign of poisoned air, the effect of which upon the military\nsituation will be neutralized by reprisals; but at the same time this\ncampaign is going to increase the suffering and misery of the soldiers\na hundred per cent., and in its ultimate results bring more misery to\nthe populations in the various regions near the lines than has ever\nbeen experienced in any previous war. It must be reasonably clear to\nthe Germans by now that their scheme to terrorize has failed, and\nthat their aim of inflicting vast damage has fallen to the ground.\nWhen reprisals come, as they must if Germany continues this inhuman\npolicy, she will, without having gained anything whatsoever from\nher experiment, cause needlessly the deaths of thousands of her\nown soldiers, as well as suffering and devastation among the rural\nclasses. It does seem as though, when the German policy is so clearly\nunfruitful, it should be possible through the medium of some neutral\ncountry to reach an agreement providing for the entire discontinuance\non all fronts of this horrible practice. Certainly, when there are\nso many thousands of innocents who must suffer by its continuance,\nit would be well worth the while of the authorities in the different\ncountries to consider the possibility mentioned before resorting to the\nuse of this deadly weapon, which often proves as dangerous to the users\nas to the enemy against whom it is directed.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BZURA FRONT IN JUNE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE BZURA FRONT IN JUNE\n\n\n  Dated:\n  WARSAW,\n  _June 9_.\n\nSome one has said that there is nothing more monotonous than war. After\nten months of almost continuous contact with its various phenomena,\nand week after week spent in the same atmosphere, where one is always\nsurrounded by the same types of men in the same uniforms, the same\ntransport, the same guns, the same Red Cross, and in fact everything\nthe same in general appearance, it becomes very difficult to get up\nnew interest in the surroundings, and that deadly monotony of even the\nhappenings makes it increasingly difficult to write about it. The types\nof country vary here and trenches are not after one pattern, but after\none has seen a few dozen even of these there is a good deal of sameness\nin it all. I have not been on the Bzura Front, however, since January,\nand as little has been written about it by any one else since the big\nJanuary-February attacks on the Bolimov positions, it may be worth\ndevoting a short chapter to it, describing its appearance in summer.\n\nThe last time that I was out here was in January, when the ground was\ndeep in snow and slush, and the soldiers muffled to their ears to keep\nout the biting winds that swept across the country. Now the whole army,\nthat is not fighting or otherwise occupied, is luxuriously basking in\nthe sunshine, or idling under the shade of the trees. The poisonous\ngas campaigns, of which I have already written at length, having been\nstarted on our Bzura line, seemed to justify a visit to the positions\nhere in order that I might speak with some degree of accuracy as to the\neffects of this newest German method of warfare, from the trenches,\nwhere the attacks were made, down through the varying stages to the\nlast, where one found the victims struggling for breath in the Warsaw\nhospitals.\n\nLeaving Warsaw early in the morning I went to the head-quarters of\nthe army immediately before Warsaw, and on explaining my desires,\nevery possible means of assistance was placed at my disposal including\nan extra automobile and an officer interpreter. From the army\nhead-quarters we sped over a newly-built road to the head-quarters\nof that army corps which is defending the line of the Rawka, where\nthe chief medical officer obligingly placed at my disposal all\nthe information which he possessed of the General commanding that\nparticular Siberian army corps on whom the experiment was first tried.\nThis man, an officer of high rank, was living in a small white cottage\nstanding by the side of a second rate country road, without a single\ntree to protect it from the rays of the sun which in the afternoon was\nbeating down on it with a heat that could be seen as it shimmered up\nfrom the baking earth, barren of grass or any green thing. Here was a\nman, commanding perhaps 40,000 troops, living in one of the bleakest\nspots I have seen in Poland, with nothing but a tiny head-quarters flag\nand dozens of telephone wires running in from all directions to denote\nthat he was directing a command greater than a battalion.\n\nAs the greatest indignation prevails throughout the army on the\ngas subject, I found the officers here very eager to help me in my\ninvestigations, and the General immediately telephoned to the division\nhead-quarters that we would visit them and asked that an officer might\nbe provided to take us forward to the positions where the heaviest\nlosses occurred. So once more we took to our motor car, and for\nanother 6 versts, across fields and down avenues of trees, we sped\nuntil at last we turned off sharply into the country estate of some\nlanded proprietor where were living the staff of the --th division.\nThese fortunate men were much better off than their commander, for in\na lovely villa, with a lake shimmering like a sheet of silver in the\nsunlight behind the terrace on which the officers could have their\ncoffee in the evenings, the General and his suite lived. A delightful\nlittle Captain, who seemed to be in charge of our programme, led us\nto a window and pointing to a windmill in an adjacent field remarked:\n“The German artillery reaches just to that point. From the time you\nleave there until you reach the trenches you will be continually within\nthe range of their guns and for most of the time within plain sight of\ntheir observers in their gun positions. However, if you insist we shall\nbe glad to let you go. Probably they will not fire on you, and if they\ndo I think they will not hit you. An automobile is a difficult target.”\n\nWith this doubtful assurance we started out again, this time heading\nfor regimental head-quarters, which we were told was a mile behind the\ntrenches. A few miles further, and we came on several battalions in\nreserve near a little village. A small orchard here gave them shelter\nfrom observation, and after their trying ordeal a few days before, they\nwere resting luxuriously on the grass, many of them lying flat on\ntheir backs in the shade fast asleep while everywhere were piled their\nrifles. These sturdy self-respecting Siberian troops are the cream of\nthe army and physically as fine specimens of manhood as I have ever\nseen anywhere. From this point we turned sharply west and ran at top\nspeed down an avenue of trees to a little bridge, where we left the car\neffectively concealed behind a clump of trees. At least that was the\nintention, and one in which the chauffeur and his orderly companion\ntook great interest as one could see by the careful scrutiny that they\ngave the landscape and then their cover.\n\nPersonally I think this is the meanest country to get about in during\nthe day time that I can possibly imagine. It is almost as flat as\na billiard table, and I am of the opinion that if you lay down in\nthe road you could see a black pin sticking up in it a mile away.\nEverything around you is as still as death for perhaps ten minutes. The\nsun shines, butterflies flit about and an occasional bee goes droning\npast. There is nothing whatever to suggest the possibility of war.\nYou think it is a mistake and that you are at least twenty miles from\nthe Front; then you hear a deep detonation not far away and a great\nsmoking crater in a field near by indicates where a heavy shell has\nburst. Again there is absolute silence for perhaps twenty minutes,\nwhen a sharp report not far away causes you to look quickly toward\na grove of trees in a neighbouring field where you discover one of\nthe Russian batteries. Leaving our motor we walk across a field and\napproach the site of a destroyed village, if a cluster of six or eight\nlittle cottages could ever have been dignified by that name. Now only\na chimney here, or a few walls there, indicates where once stood this\nlittle group of homes. In one of the ruins, like a dog in an ash-heap,\nlives the Colonel of the --th Siberian with his staff. Behind a wall\nleft standing is a table and a few chairs, and dug out of the corner is\na bomb proof where converge telephones from the trenches in which are\nhis troops. Here he has been living since the middle of last January.\n\nThe village was destroyed months and months ago, and clearly as it is\nin the line of German observation it seems to provide a comparatively\nsafe retreat for the officers, though as one of them remarked quite\ncasually, “They dropped thirty-five shells round us yesterday, but you\nsee nothing much came of it.” Absolute indifference to these situations\nis the keynote at the Front, and good form makes one refrain from\nasking the numerous questions as to the exact location of the enemy,\nwhether or not they can see us, and other subjects which, at the\nmoment, seem to us of first-class importance. However, we realize that\ngood taste requires that we assume the same casual attitude, and so we\nsit for half an hour, smoke cigarettes and quietly hope that the enemy\nwill choose some other target than this for their afternoon practice\nwhich, as one of the officers remarked, “Usually begins about this hour\nin the afternoon.”\n\nPersonally I hate poking around in the broad daylight in this flat\ncountry, but as I wanted to see the position where the gas was used\nand did not want to wait until night, and as the Colonel was perfectly\nagreeable, I suggested that we should proceed forthwith to the\npositions. Before starting we were told that up to a few weeks ago no\none ever used the road in the daytime, because of its exposure to rifle\nand artillery fire. “But now,” as the Colonel said, “for some reason or\nother they are not shooting at individuals. Probably they are saving\ntheir ammunition for Galicia. So if we walk apart we shall not be in\nmuch danger. Anyway a man or two would be hard to hit with rifle fire,\nand their artillery is rather poor here, and even if they fire at us I\nthink we shall not be killed.” We thanked him for his optimism and all\nstarted off down the road that led to the positions. In view of his\nsuggestion about individuals being safe, I was not particularly happy\nwhen five officers who had nothing else to do joined us. The first half\nmile of the road led down an avenue of trees which effectively screened\nus. After that the trees stopped and the great white road, elevated\nabout 5 feet above the surrounding country, impressed me as being the\nmost conspicuous topographical feature that I had seen in Poland. There\nwas not a bit of brush as big as a tooth-pick to conceal our party\nwalking serenely down the highway.\n\nAfter we had got about 200 yards on this causeway the Colonel stopped\nand pointed with his stick at a group of red brick buildings. “The\nGermans were there,” translated the interpreter. “My,” I ejaculated\nin enthusiasm at the idea that they had gone, “when did we retake the\nposition?” “Oh,” replied the interpreter officer, “not yet. They are\nstill there.” “Ah!” I said, lighting a cigarette, that my interest\nmight not seem too acute, “I should think they could see us.” The\nlinguist spoke a few words to the Colonel and then replied, “Oh, yes,\nevery move we make, but the Colonel thinks they will not shoot.” I\nlooked over at the brick buildings, behind which were the German\nartillery positions, and I could swear they were not 2,000 yards away,\nwhile a line of dirt nearer still showed the infantry trenches. For\nmyself I felt as large as an elephant, and to my eyes our party seemed\nas conspicuous as Barnum’s circus on parade. However we continued our\nafternoon stroll to the reserve trenches, where a soldier or two joined\nour group. Five or six hundred yards up the road was the barricade\nthrown across, held by the first line. An occasional crack of a rifle\nreminded us that the look-outs in our trenches were studying the\nmovements in the German trenches a few hundred yards beyond. Finally\nwe left the road and came over a field and into the rear of our own\nposition, and to the scene of the German gas attacks four or five days\nbefore.\n\nLife in the trenches has become such an everyday affair to these\nsunburned, brawny soldiers from Siberia that they seem to have no more\nfeeling of anxiety than if they were living in their own villages far,\nfar to the East. In spite of the fact that they have steadily borne the\nbrunt of terrible attacks, and even now are under the shadow of the\nopposing lines, which are thoroughly equipped with the mechanism for\ndispensing poisoned air, they are as gay and cheerful as schoolboys on\na vacation. I have never seen such healthy, high-spirited soldiers in\nmy life. The trenches have been so cleaned up that a house wife could\nfind no fault with them.\n\nThese homes of the soldiers have every appearance of being swept daily.\nThe apprehension felt in the winter of hygienic conditions when the\nspring came have no ground whatever, and I am told on the very highest\nauthority that in this army the sickness, other than that coming from\nwounds, is less than for the months that preceded the war itself. The\nColonel explained to us the use of the respirators with which every\nsoldier is provided, and for our benefit had one of the soldiers fitted\nwith one that he might be photographed to illustrate for the West what\nsort of protection is being supplied to the men on this side. After\nspending half to three-quarters of an hour wandering about in the\ntrenches and meeting the officers who live there we returned to the\nregimental head-quarters. The sun was just setting, and as we strolled\nback over the open causeway in its last red glow a great German battery\nsuddenly came into action somewhere off to the west and north of us,\nand we could hear the heavy detonations of its huge shells falling in a\nnearby wood.\n\nWhen we got back to the regimental head-quarters I could see their\ntarget, which seemed to be nothing more than a big field. Every few\nminutes an enormous shell would drop in the meadow. For an instant\nthere would be but a little dust where it hit the ground, then suddenly\na great spout of earth and dust and volumes of dirty brown smoke would\nleap into the air like the eruption of a volcano, and then the heavy\nsound of the explosion would reach our ears, while for two or three\nminutes the crater would smoke as though the earth itself were being\nconsumed by hidden fires. As it was coming late we did not linger long\nat the head-quarters but took to our car and sped up the avenue of\ntrees which lay directly parallel to the point where the shells were\nbursting. The sun had set now, and in the after glow we passed once\nmore the camps of the reserves squatting about their little twinkling\nfires built in the earth to mask them from the sight of the enemy. In\nhalf an hour we were back once more in the villa of the General of\nthe division, an enormous man of six feet three, whose cross of St.\nGeorge of the first class was given for a heroic record in Manchuria\nwhere the General, then a Colonel, was three times wounded by Japanese\nbullets. Sitting on his terrace he gave us more details in regard to\nthe usages of the gas against his troops. Though they were 6 versts\nfrom the Front, everyone in his head-quarters had been affected with\nnausea and headaches, so potent were the fumes of the chloral that\nfor hours lay like a miasmic mist in the grounds and garden of the\nestate. The General, who is a very kindly giant, shook his head sadly\nas he spoke of the Germans. I think the Russians are a very charitable\npeople and nearly all the men with whom I have talked lay the blame of\nthis outrage on civilization against the authorities and not against\nthe men, who, they understand, are bitterly opposed to its use. When I\nasked the General what he thought of the German point of view of war,\nhe sat for a few moments looking out over the lovely garden with the\nlittle lake that lay before us.\n\n“They have an extraordinary point of view,” he said at last. Then he\nrose quickly from his chair and brought from a corner of the balcony\na belt captured in some skirmish of the morning. He held it up for me\nto see the big buckle and with his finger pointed to the words: “GOTT\nMIT UNS.” Then with a smile more significant than words he tossed\nit back into the corner. Yes, truly, the German point of view is an\nextraordinary one.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GALICIAN FRONT\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE GALICIAN FRONT\n\n\n  Dated:\n  ROVNA,\n  _June 26, 1915_.\n\nIn a few weeks a year will have passed since the Imperial German\nGovernment began issuing its series of declarations of war against one\ncountry after another--declarations which as time elapses are assuming\nthe aspect of hostilities not only against individual countries, but\nagainst practically all that modern civilization had come to represent.\nDuring that time each of the Allies, and all of the world besides, have\nbeen studying the geography of Europe and the armies engaged in the\ngreat conflict. Of all these countries and of all these armies, I think\nthat the least known and the least understood are the country and the\narmy of Russia.\n\nIt has been my fortune to be with the Russians since last September,\nduring which time I have travelled thousands of versts both in\nPoland and in Galicia. I have visited eight out of their eleven\nactive armies, and been on the positions in most of them, and it is\nnot an exaggeration to say that I have met and talked with between\nfive hundred and a thousand officers. Yet I feel that I am only now\nbeginning to realize what this war means to Russia, and the temper that\nit has slowly but surely developed in her armies and in her peoples.\nNever I think have the stamina and the temper of a country been more\nfiercely tested than have those of Russia during the campaign which\nhas been going on in Galicia since May last. All the world realizes\nin a general way what the Russians had to contend with, and all the\nworld knows vaguely that Russia has a front of 1,200 versts to protect,\nand appreciates in an indefinite kind of way that such a line must\nbe difficult to hold. But though I have been here for eleven months,\nI never formed any adequate conception of how great was this problem\nuntil I undertook to cover the Front, from its far fringe in Bukovina\nto its centre on the Warsaw Front.\n\nDuring the past two months it has been all but impossible to follow\nmovements with any clear understanding of their significance. We\nhave all known that the Russians were retiring from position after\nposition before overwhelming attacks of the enemy; and with very few\nexceptions, the world has concluded, and the enemy certainly has,\nthat flying before the phalanx of the Austro-German legions with their\nthousands of massed guns, fed with clockwork regularity with munitions\nand supplies brought up by their superb railway systems, was the\nwrecked and defeated Russian Army, an organization that it would take\nmonths of rest and recuperation to lick into the shape of a virile\nfighting force once more. I have never shared this opinion myself, for\nwe who were in Manchuria ten years ago learned to know that though it\nwas quite possible to drive the Russians off the field, it was equally\nimpossible to destroy their _moral_ or break their spirits. A month\nafter Lio Yang the supposedly defeated Russians took the offensive\nat Sha Ho and came a cropper. Again in January another offensive was\ndeveloped and failed. They were ready once more at Moukden and lost\nbadly. By September had peace not intervened they would have fought\nagain. Even the Japanese were beginning to feel the discouragement of\nthe Russian persistency in refusing to accept defeat as final. The\nManchurian campaign was unpopular, not in the least understood, and yet\nthe Russian moujik hung on and on month after month. The Japanese knew\ntheir mettle and admitted it freely.\n\nFor a year now we have had the Russians again at war. But this time\nthe situation is quite different. The war touched the slow lethargic\nrather negative Russian temperament from the start, by its appeal to\ntheir race sympathies, which is the one vital chord that can always\nbe touched with a certainty of response, in the heart of every Slav.\nFrom the first month, the popularity of the war has grown steadily,\nuntil to-day it has the backing of the entire Russian people, barring\nisolated groups of intriguers and cliques controlled and influenced\nby German blood. I have talked with officers from every part of this\nEmpire, and they all tell me that it is the same in Siberia as it is\nin European Russia. The moujik in his heavy, ponderous way is behind\nthis war. No matter what pessimism one hears in Petrograd or Warsaw,\none can always find consolation as to the ultimate outcome by going to\nthe common people, those who patiently and stoically are bearing the\nburden. This is the strength of Russia and this is why Russia and the\nRussian Armies are not beaten in Galicia, are not discouraged and have\nnot the vaguest idea of a peace without a decision any more than the\nEnglishman, the Frenchman or the Belgian.\n\nIn so vast a theatre as this, it is utterly impossible to form clear\nand definite opinions as to what has taken place even in the past\nyear, and it may be imagined with what difficulty one can predict\nthe future. But there is one thing in war that is greater than an\nadvance or a retreat, greater than a dozen battles, and greater than\nthe speculations of experts, and that thing is the temper and stamina\nof the men and the people who are fighting the war. Given that and one\ncan look with comparative equanimity upon the ups and downs of the vast\ntactical and strategical problems which develop now in East Prussia,\nnow in Poland and again in Galicia. There was one great strategic aim\nof the Germans in their Galician movement, and that was to crush the\nRussian Army, hand back to Austria her lost province, and then hurry\nback to the west to attack England and France. It is true that Germany\nhas driven the Russians from position after position; it is true that\nshe has given back Lwow to the unenthusiastic Austrians, who with\ntrembling hands accepted it back as a dangerous gift, and it is true\nthat the world looks upon the recapture of Galicia as a great moral\nblow to the Russian arms. Thus far has Germany achieved her ends. But\nshe has not destroyed the army, she has not discouraged the troops,\nand with the exception of one army, now repaired, she did not even\nseriously <DW36> it.\n\nThe plain facts are, that by a preponderance of war munitions which\nRussia could not equal, supplied over lines of communication which\nRussia could not duplicate, Germany forced Russian withdrawals before\nher, for men cannot fight modern battles with their fists. The glory of\nthe German advance will be dimmed when the world really knows exactly\nwhat Russia had in men and in arms and munitions to meet this assault,\nthe greatest perhaps that has ever been made in military history.\nIndeed the surprise of the writer is not that the Germans won but that\nthey did not crush the army before them. This retreat from the Dunajec\nwill form a brilliant page in Russia’s history, and an object lesson to\nthe whole world of what a stubborn army composed of courageous hearts\ncan do by almost sheer bravery alone. The Russians have come through\ntheir trial by fire. Barring one army they have probably suffered\nfar less in personnel than the loss they have inflicted on their\nenemy. They have reached, or approximately reached, another point of\ndefence. Their spirits are good, their confidence unshaken, and their\ndetermination to fight on indefinitely, regardless of defeats, is\ngreater than it ever was before.\n\nThe Germans have failed in their greatest aim--as the case stands\nto-day. One cannot doubt that the high authorities in Berlin must\nrealize this truth as surely as the military brains do on this side\nof the line. The Germans have shot their first bolt, a bolt forged\nfrom every resource in men and munitions that they could muster after\nmonths of preparation. The Russians have recoiled before it and may\nrecoil again and again, but they always manage to prevent it from\naccomplishing its aim. At the moment of writing Germany faces the\nidentical problem that she did two months ago, excepting that she now\noccupies extra territory, for the most part in ruins. The problem\nbefore her is to repeat the Galician enterprise on an army infinitely\nbetter than the one she broke in May. If she can do this she will\nhave the identical problem to meet on some other line in another two\nmonths, and after that another and another. It is simply a question of\nhow much time, men and resources Germany has to spend on these costly\nvictories, if indeed the next proves a victory, which is doubtful. She\nmay do it once, she may do it twice, but whenever it may be there will\ncome a time when she can do it no more, and when that time comes Russia\nwill slowly, surely, inexorably come back, step by step, until she has\nregained her own, her early conquests, and has Germany on her knees in\nthe East. It is futile to speculate as to time. It may be months and it\nmay be years. But it is most surely coming eventually.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GERMAN DRIVE IN GALICIA\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE GERMAN DRIVE IN GALICIA\n\n\n  Dated:\n  ROVNA,\n  _June 26, 1915_.\n\nIt is utterly impossible at this time to give anything like an accurate\nstory of the past two months in Galicia. It will be years before the\ninformation necessary for definite history can be accumulated from the\nvarious units engaged. Even then there will be gaps and inaccuracies\nbecause hundreds of the men engaged have been killed, and so few even\nof the Generals know more than their own side of the case, that the\ndifficulties of the historian will be enormous.\n\nI shall not attempt then, in this brief chapter, anything but to trace\nthe merest outline of the causes and effects of the German drive in\nGalicia.\n\nIt has been apparent to all of us here from the start of the war\nthat Warsaw was becoming increasingly the German objective. Attempts\nfrom the north and on the centre failed absolutely, the latter both\nin October and in January-February, and the former in September\nand in March. The fall of Przemysl and the Russian advance in the\nCarpathians, with the even greater menace to the Hungarian plain by\nthe army operating in Bukovina, was threatening Austria with absolute\ncollapse. The extreme eastern army with its drives further and further\ntoward Hungary is said to have brought Hungary to the verge of openly\ndemanding a separate peace. All these causes, then, rendered it\nnecessary for Germany to do something for Austria, and by clearing out\nGalicia she hoped, not only to restore to her broken ally something\nof hope and spirit, but no doubt conceived the belief that by the\ntime she had done this, she would be sufficiently far east and south\nof Warsaw to threaten it from the south and rear, and possibly cause\nits abandonment without a real battle near Warsaw at all. Many people\nhere believe that the Germans want merely to secure and hold the line\nof the Vistula and Galicia, and then concentrate all their attention\non the west. After the echoes of the fighting north of Warsaw in\nFebruary-March were dying away, it became clear to all of us here that\nthere would soon be another blow in some other quarter. Russia, as one\nso often repeats, has this enormous line. She cannot be in strength at\nevery point, and though she saw for several weeks that the Germans\nwere concentrating on the Dunajec line in Galicia, she could not\nreinforce it sufficiently to hold it without weakening other more vital\npoints. As a fact, under the conditions which actually developed there\nshe could not have held it, nor I think could any other army.\n\nThe world’s history records nothing that has even approximated to\nthis German drive which fell on one Russian Army, the bulk of which\nremained at its post and perished. The total number of German army\ncorps sent down to do this job is uncertain. I have heard from many\nin high authority estimates differing so widely that I can supply no\nstatement as absolutely correct. Perhaps sixteen is not far from the\nactual number, though probably reinforcements and extra divisions sent\nin pretty steadily to fill losses, brought up the total to a larger\nnumber than the full strength of sixteen corps. However the details\nat this time are immaterial. The main point is that the Russians were\nentirely outnumbered in men, guns and ammunition. The statements about\nthe German massed guns also vary as widely as from 2,000 to 4,000.\nCertainly they had not less than 200 guns equal to or exceeding 8-inch\ntypes. These were concentrated on the front which was held by three or\nfour corps of the devoted Dunajec army.\n\nMen who know have told me that what followed was indescribable. I have\nnot heard that there was any panic, or attempt to retreat on the part\nof the troops. In characteristic Russian fashion they remained and took\ntheir gruelling. For whole versts behind the line, I am told that the\nterrain was a hash of earth, mangled bodies, and fragments of exploded\nshell. If the statement that the Germans fired 700,000 shells in three\nhours is true, and it is accepted in the Russian Army, one can readily\nrealize what must have been the condition of the army occupying that\nline of works. Much criticism has been brought against the General\ncommanding because he had no well-prepared second line of trenches. No\ndoubt he ought to have had it, but it would have made little difference\nbeyond delaying the advance a few days. The German machine had been\npreparing for two months, and everything was running as smooth as a\nwell-oiled engine, with troops, munitions and supplies being fed in\nwith precision and regularity.\n\nRussia is not an industrial nation, and cannot turn her resources into\nwar material overnight as the Germans have been able to do. She was\noutclassed in everything except bravery, and neither the Germans nor\nany other army can claim superiority to her in that respect. With the\ncentre literally cut away, the keystone of the Russian line had been\npulled out, and nothing remained but to retire. In this retirement five\nRussian Armies were involved. Beginning on the right was that of Evert\nlying entirely in Poland on the Nida river. His army has been usually\nsuccessful and always full of fight, and its retirement was purely that\nit might keep symmetrical with the Russian line as a whole. I have\nwritten in an earlier chapter of Evert’s retreat, of how in falling\nback on to his new line he accounted for between 20,000 and 30,000 of\nthe German and Austrian troops. Of this it is unnecessary to say more\nat present, save that his army is in a good position and stronger and\nmore spirited than ever.\n\n[Illustration: General Brussilov.]\n\nThe unfortunate army of the Dunajec, whose commander and number are\nas well known in England as here, began then to fall back with what\nthere was left of it on the San, tearing up railroads and fighting a\nrearguard action with what strength it could command. In the meantime\nthe army of Brussilov, which up to this time had never been defeated,\nwas well through the Carpathians and going strong. The crumbling of\ntheir right neighbour left them in a terrible plight, and only skilful\nand rapid manœuvring got them back out of the passes in time to get\nin touch with the fragments of the retreating centre, which by the\ntime it reached the San had got reinforcements and some ammunition.\nBrussilov’s right tried to hold Przemysl, but as the commander assured\nme, there was nothing left of the fortifications. Besides, as I gather\nfrom officers in that part of his army, further retirements of the next\narmy kept exposing their flank, and made it imperative for the whole\narmy to commence its retreat toward the Russian frontier.\n\nI have good reason for believing that the Russian plan to retire to\ntheir own frontier was decided on when they lost Przemysl, and that the\nbattles on the Grodek line, around Lwow, were merely rearguard actions.\nIn any case, I do know that while the fighting was still in progress\non the San, and just as Przemysl was taken, work was commenced on a\npermanent line of defence south of Lublin and Cholm, the line in fact\nwhich is at this moment being held by the Russians. My belief, then,\nis that everything that took place between the San and the present\nline must be considered inevitable in the higher interests of Russian\nstrategy. The interim between leaving the San and taking up what is\nnow approximately the line on which they will probably make a definite\nstand, will make a very fine page in Russian history. I cannot at this\ntime go into any details, but the Allies will open their eyes when\nthey know exactly how little the Russians had in the way of ammunition\nto hold off this mass of Germans and Austrians whose supply of shell\npoured in steadily week after week.\n\nNext to the army of Brussilov is that army which had been assaulting\nand making excellent headway in the Eastern Carpathians. They, too,\nwere attacked with terrible energy, but taken independently could\nprobably have held on indefinitely. As it was they never moved until\nthe retirement of all the other armies west of them rendered their\nposition untenable. The German and Austrian communiques have constantly\ndiscussed the defeat of this army. The world can judge whether it\nwas demoralized when it learns that in six weeks, from Stryj to the\nZota Lipa, it captured 53,000 prisoners. During this same period, the\narmy of Bukovina in the far left was actually advancing, and only\ncame back to preserve the symmetry of the whole line. The problem of\nfalling back over this extremely long front with five great armies,\nafter the centre was completely broken, was as difficult an one as\ncould well be presented. In the face of an alert enemy there were here\nand there local disasters and bags of Russian prisoners, but with all\ntheir skill, and with all their railroads, and superiority in both men\nand ammunition, the Germans and the Austrians have not been able to\ndestroy the Russian force, which stands before them to-day on a new and\nstronger line. The further the Russians have retired, the slower has\nbeen their retreat and the more difficult has it been for the enemy\nto follow up their strokes with anything like the same strength and\nenergy. In other words the Russians are pretty nearly beyond the reach\nof enemy blows which can hurt them fatally.\n\nThe Austrians have followed up the Eastern armies and claim enormous\nvictories, but it must be pretty clear now, even to the Austrians and\nGermans, that these victories, which are costing them twice what they\nare costing the Russians, are merely rearguard actions. In any case\nthe Austrian enthusiasm is rapidly ebbing away. After two months of\nfighting the Germans have finally swung their main strength back toward\nthe line of Cholm-Lublin, with the probable intent of finishing up\nthe movement by threatening Warsaw and thus closing up successfully\nthe whole Galician campaign, which as many believe, had this end in\nview. But now they find a recuperated and much stronger Russian Army\ncomplacently awaiting them on a selected position which is in every way\nthe best they have ever had.\n\nAs I write there is still much doubt as to whether the Germans will try\nand go further ahead here, for it is pretty clear that they are checked\nat this point, and that the Galician movement has reached its low-water\nmark as far as the Russians are concerned. The next blow will no\ndoubt fall either north of Warsaw or possibly on the much-battered\nBzura-Rawka Front itself, which for so many months has stood the wear\nand tear of many frantic efforts to break through.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FRONT OF IVANOV\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTHE FRONT OF IVANOV\n\n\n  Dated:\n  GALICIAN FRONTIER,\n  _June 28, 1915_.\n\nIn Russia it is not a simple matter to change one’s “front.” For many\nmonths I have been associated with the group of armies over which\nAlexieff presides, where I have been able to move about from army to\narmy with the utmost freedom. When I decided to change my base to\nthe head-quarters of Ivanov and the front of Galicia I found myself\nsurrounded by difficulties. For more than a month now, one could enter\nWarsaw without a permit or travel on the roads or pass to and from any\nof the towns in the area of war. I applied to my army friends in Warsaw\nand they, by permission of General Alexieff, kindly lent me a young\nofficer whose duty it was to deliver me into the hands of the staff of\nthe Galician Front.\n\nWe left Warsaw in my motor, not even knowing where the staff of Ivanov\nwas, for at that moment it was on its way to a new destination, the\nretirements from Galicia having thrown the commanding General too far\nwest to be conveniently in touch with his left flank armies. Stopping\nat a point about 100 versts from Warsaw, we learned our destination,\nand two days later motored into the quaint little Russian town not too\nfar from Galicia, where the presiding genius of the Eastern Campaign\nhad arrived that very morning with his whole staff. Here we found\nIvanov living on a special train with his head-quarters in a kind of\nold museum. As the staff had just arrived, everything was still in\nconfusion and nothing had been done to make the room, which was as\nlarge as a barn, comfortable. In the centre were two enormous tables\ncovered with maps, before which sat a rather tired-looking man with a\ngreat full beard. He arose as we entered, and after shaking hands bade\nus be seated.\n\n[Illustration: General Ivanov.]\n\n[Illustration: My car in a Galician village.]\n\nGeneral Ivanov is a man of about sixty, with a kindly gentle face and\na low and musical voice. It is impossible to imagine him ever becoming\nexcited or ever making a sudden movement. Everything about him suggests\ncalm, balance, poise and absolute self-control. As he speaks only\nRussian I was obliged to talk with him entirely through an interpreter.\nHe has very deep blue eyes with a kindly little twinkle in them that\none suspects might easily turn to a point of fire if he were roused.\nSince meeting him I have known many of his staff, and find that his\npersonality is just what his appearance suggests. A great-hearted,\nkindly, unselfish man, he is worshipped by all whose duty it is to work\nwith, for and under him. It is not etiquette according to the censor\nto quote anything that the General said, and I deeply regret this as I\ntalked with him for an hour, and after the first thirty minutes felt\nas much at home as though I had known him a lifetime. His work and his\narmy and the success of Russia make up his entire life. He impressed me\nas a big, earnest man, giving all the force of a powerful intellect to\na very big job and doing it with the simplicity that is characteristic\nof all big men.\n\nAfter a few commonplaces he asked me what I wanted. I told him quite\nfrankly that from a news point of view, Russia, and the Galician\ncampaign especially, was little known in the West. That the public in\nthe West were depressed over the Russian reverses in Galicia, and that\nall of the friends of Russia wanted to know as accurately as possible\nwhat the conditions were in his armies. He leaned back in his chair\nand studied me closely for fully a minute, and then smiled a little,\nand the interpreter translated to me: “The General says that you may\ndo what you like in his armies. He will detail an officer who speaks\nEnglish to go with you. You may visit any army, any trench, any\nposition or any organization that you wish, and he will give you the\nwritten permission. He will suggest a plan which he thinks advisable,\nbut if you do not care for it you can make one up for yourself and he\nwill give his consent to any programme that you care to suggest.” The\nGeneral smiled and then bent forward over his maps, and with his pencil\npointed out to me the general arrangement of his armies, and after\nsome discussion advised that I should start on his extreme left flank,\nthe last division of which was operating in Bukovina not far from the\nRoumanian frontier. We were to stop as long as we cared to, and then\nvisit each army in turn until we had covered all in his group, when the\nofficer who was to be detailed to accompany us would deliver us to the\nfirst army next to him that belonged to the Alexieff group.\n\nHe then sent for the officer who was to be our guide, and presently\nthere appeared a tall, handsome young man who was introduced to us as\nPrince Oblensky, a captain of the Chevalier Guards, now serving as\npersonal aide-de-camp to General Ivanov. From the moment that we met\nhim the Prince took charge of us completely, and for two weeks he was\nour guide, philosopher and friend. In passing I must say that I have\nnever known a man of sweeter disposition and a more charming companion\nthan this young Captain, from whom I was not separated for above an\nhour or two at a time in fourteen days. The Prince took me around and\nintroduced me to a number of the staff, and all of them talked freely\nand with very little reserve about the whole situation.\n\nThe point of view that I found at Ivanov’s staff was this. Russia with\nher long front could not be strong everywhere at once. Her railroad\nsystem and her industrial organization were in no way equal to the\nGerman. Their sudden concentration was irresistible, and almost from\nthe start the Russians realized that they would have to go back. It\nwas hoped that the Germans could not maintain their ascendancy of\nammunition and strength beyond the San. Indeed, for a few days there\nwas something of a lull in which the Russians made gains in certain\nplaces. Then the flow of ammunition was resumed, and from that time it\nwas pretty well understood that the Grodek line, and Lwow, would be\nheld only as rearguard actions to delay the German advance, and to take\nfrom them the maximum loss at the minimum sacrifice. This particular\nstaff, in whose hands rested the conduct of the whole manœuvre, had\nthen the task of withdrawing these armies over this vast front in such\norder and symmetry that as they retired no one should overlap the\nflanks of the other, and that no loopholes should occur where an enemy\ncould get through. With these numerous armies, operating in all kinds\nof countries with all sorts of lines of communications, falling back\nbefore fierce assaults from an enemy superior in guns and men, the\nperformance of getting them safely back on to a united line where they\ncould once more make a united stand, must, I think, take its place in\nhistory as one of the greatest military manœuvres that has ever been\nmade.\n\nI had just come from Petrograd where the greatest gloom prevailed\nin regard to the evacuation of Lwow, and I was surprised to find\nthat no one here attached any great importance to Lwow. One officer\nof general’s rank remarked, “We do not believe in holding untenable\nmilitary positions for moral effect. Lwow is of no great value to us\nfrom a military point of view, and the way the line developed it was\nimpossible to stay there without great risk. So we left. By and by we\nwill go back and take it again when we have more ammunition.” This was\nthe first time that I heard this statement, but since then I have heard\nit at least a hundred times made by officers of all ranks from generals\ndown to subalterns. All agreed that it was disappointing to come back\nafter having fought so many months in taking Galicia, but I did not\nfind one man who was in the least depressed; and from that day to this\nI have not heard in the army an expressed fear, or even a suggestion,\nthat there might be a possibility that Russia would not prove equal\nto her task. The Russians as a race may be a bit slow in reaching\nconclusions, but once they get their teeth set I think there are no\nmore stubborn or determined people in the world.\n\nThis retreat with all its losses and all its sacrifices has not, I\nthink, shaken the courage of a single soldier in the whole Russian\nArmy. They simply shut their teeth and pray for an opportunity to begin\nall over again. All eagerly assured me that the Germans and Austrians\nhad lost far more than the Russians, and I was told by a high authority\nthat the Germans estimated their own losses in two months at 380,000\nkilled, wounded and missing. One man significantly put the situation,\n“To judge of this movement one should see how it looks behind the\nGerman lines. In spite of their advances and bulletins of success,\nthere has been great gloom behind their front. We know absolutely that\nevery town and even every village in Eastern Silesia is filled with\nwounded, and in Breslau and Posen there is hardly a house that has\nnot been requisitioned for the accommodation of wounded. Since the\nenemy crossed the Dunajec there has been an unbroken stream of wounded\nflowing steadily back across the frontier. _This_ we do not see in the\npapers printed in Germany. The Russian game is to keep on weakening the\nGermans. We would rather advance, of course, but whether we advance or\nretreat we are weakening the enemy day after day; sometime he will be\nunable to repair his losses and then we will go on again. Do not worry.\nAll of this is but temporary. We are not in the least discouraged.”\n\nAnother statement which at first struck me as curious, but which I have\nsince come to understand, was that the morale of the Austrians has been\nsteadily decreasing since the capture of Przemysl and the fighting\non the San. Since visiting Ivanov I have been in six armies and have\ntalked in nearly all with the men who have been examining the Austrian\nprisoners. Their point of view seems to be pretty much the same. And\nwhen I say the Austrians, I mean, of course, the common soldiers and\nnot the authorities or the officers. The Austrian soldiers’ view is\nsomething like this: “We have fought now for a year, and in May we had\npractically lost Galicia. The end of the war, for which we have never\ncared, was almost in sight. We hoped that soon there would be some kind\nof peace and we could go home. We had lost Galicia, but the average\nman in the Austrian Army cares little for Galicia. Just as the end\nseemed in sight, the Germans, whom we don’t like any way, came down\nhere and dragged us along into this advance. At first we were pleased,\nbut we never expected the Russians to hold out so long. Finally the\nGermans have given us back Lwow, and now little by little they are\nbeginning to go away. It is only a question of time when they will all\nbe gone either to France or against some other Russian front. Then the\nRussians will come back. Our officers will make us defend Lwow. They\nwill make us defend the Grodek line, Przemysl and the Carpathians. The\nRussians are united. We are not. They will beat us as they did before.\nIn the end we will be just where we were in May. It is all an extra\nfight, with more losses, more suffering and more misery. We owe it all\nto the Germans. We do not like it and we are not interested.”\n\nI think this point of view is more or less typical, and it accounts in\na large measure for the fact that even though they are advancing the\nAustrians are still surrendering in enormous blocks whenever they get\nthe chance of doing so without being caught in the act by their Allies.\n\nFor the most part the men that I talked with here thought that the\narmy had retired about as far as it would for the present. But one\nfeels constant surprise at the stoicism of the Russian, who does not\napparently feel the smallest concern at withdrawals, for, as they say,\n“If they keep coming on into Russia it will be as it was with Napoleon.\nThey can never beat us in the long run, and the further they force us\nback the worse for them. Look at Moscow,” and they smile and offer you\na cigarette. I have never in my life seen people who apparently have\na more sublime confidence in their cause and in themselves than the\nRussians. Their confidence does not lie in their military technique,\nfor I think all admit that in that the Germans are their superiors.\nIt lies in their own confidence, in the stamina and character of the\nRussian people, who, when once aroused are as slow to leave off a fight\nas they are to begin it.\n\nThroughout Russia to-day the strength of the war idea is growing\ndaily. Every reverse, every withdrawal and every rumour of defeat\nonly stiffens the determination to fight harder and longer. Time is\ntheir great ally they say, for Germany cannot, they are certain, fight\nindefinitely, while they believe that they can.\n\nThese opinions are not my own but the opinions of Russians. These men\nmay be unduly enthusiastic about their countrymen, but what they say I\nhave since heard all over the army at the Front; whether they are right\nor wrong they may certainly be taken as typical of the natural view.\n\nWhen I left Petrograd I was not cheerful as to the outlook in Galicia.\nWhen I left Ivanov’s head-quarters I felt more optimistic than I had\nbeen in six weeks.\n\n\n\n\nHUNTING FOR THE ARMY OF THE BUKOVINA\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nHUNTING FOR THE ARMY OF THE BUKOVINA\n\n\n  Dated:\n  TLUST, GALICIA,\n  _June 30, 1915_.\n\nThe town where General Ivanov lives is in Russia proper, and one may\nrealize the scope of the military operations when one learns that\nthe head-quarters of the army of his left flank is nearly 200 versts\nfrom the commander, while the furthest outpost of that army itself is\nperhaps 150 or 200 versts further still, which means that the directing\ngenius is not far from 400 versts from his most distant line. After\nleaving the head-quarters we motored for 40 or 50 versts along the main\nline of communications of the whole group of armies, passing the usual\nendless train of transport and troops moving slowly forward to fill the\nranks and replenish the supplies of the vast force that lies spread out\nahead of us. For eleven months now, first in one part of Russia and\nthen in another, I have been passing on the roads these endless chains\nof transport. Truly one begins to get the idea that there is nothing\nin the world nowadays but soldiers, guns, caissons and transport. One\nwonders where on earth it has all been kept in the days before August,\na year ago, when a dozen transport carts or a battery of artillery was\na sufficient novelty on the road to cause one to turn and look at it.\n\nForty versts from the head-quarters, we turn from the main road and\nstrike off to the east and south toward Tarnopol, which though not\nthe head-quarters of an army (if it were I could not mention it) is\nnot too far away from the same. The road we follow is an excellent\none as far as Kremenetz, a wonderfully picturesque little town tucked\naway in the hills, not far from the Russian-Galician frontier. Its\nquaint streets are now filled with the inevitable paraphernalia of\nwar. From here by a road of lesser merit, we wind up a narrow road to\none of the most picturesque spots I have ever seen, called Pochaief.\nThis is the last town on the Russian side of the frontier. Here is a\nmonastery a thousand years old, a Mecca to which come thousands of\nthe devout peasantry from all over the Empire. The building itself\nis one of the greatest piles in Europe, and on its hill towers above\nthe surrounding country so that it is visible for 20 versts with its\ngolden dome shining in the summer sun. We reached the place late in\nthe afternoon and learned that all the regular roads stopped here as\nit has apparently not been considered policy by either the Russian or\nAustrian Governments to have easy highways across the frontier. At this\npoint we were perhaps 12 versts from the nearest good road in Galicia,\na very trifling distance for a car that has been doing 70 or 80 versts\nan hour. The head of the police in Pochaief kindly lent us a gendarme,\nwho assured us that we could get across the 12 intervening versts in\nan hour. So with this placid-faced guide we started about nine in the\nevening. This amiable gendarme, who had more goodwill than brains, in\nhalf an hour had led us into a country of bluffs, forests, bridle paths\nand worse that defy description. I neglected to say that General Ivanov\nhad kindly given us an extra motor to carry our baggage, and extra\nchauffeurs, etc. The moon was just rising and we were digging ourselves\nout of difficulties for the tenth time when our guide announced\nthat the road was now a perfectly clear and good one, and saluting\nrespectfully left us in the wood with our cars groaning and panting\nand staggering over bumps and ditches until one came to have the most\nintense admiration for the gentlemen that design motor-cars. It is a\nmystery to me how they ever stand the misery that they have to undergo.\n\nBy midnight we were sitting out on a ridge of hills stuck fast in a\nfield with our engines racing, and the mud flying and the whole party\npushing and sweating and swearing. No doubt our guide had foreseen this\nvery spot and had had the discretion to withdraw before we reached it.\nThis was the exact frontier, and with its rolling hills and forests\nstretching before us in the quiet moonlight it was very beautiful. Our\nPrince, who never gets discouraged or ruffled, admired the scenery and\nsmoked a cigarette, and we all wished for just one moment of our guide,\nfor whom we had sundry little pleasantries prepared. While we were\nstill panting and gasping, a figure on horseback came over the hill and\ncautiously approached us. He proved to be a policeman from the Galician\nside who had come out as the Prince told us because he had heard our\nengines and thought that a German aeroplane “had sat down on the hill”\nand he had come out to capture it. He was slightly disappointed at his\nmistake, but guided us back to the village whence he had come. Near\nhere we found a beautiful Austrian estate, where we woke up the keeper\nand made him give us “my lady’s” bed chamber for the night, which he\ndid grudgingly.\n\nOur troubles were now over, for after one breakdown in the morning we\nwere on a good highway which ran _viâ_ Potkaimen down to Tarnopol.\nAt Potkaimen we were again on the line of travel, with the line of\ncreaking transport and jangling guns and caissons. I have never passed\nthrough a more beautiful or picturesque country in my life, and wonder\nwhy tourists do not come this way. Apparently until the war these\nvillages were as much off the beaten path as though they were in the\nheart of Africa. Rolling hills, forests, with silvery lakes dotting the\nvalleys, extend for miles with wonderful little streams watering each\nsmall water-shed between the ridges. The roads are fine, and the last\n60 versts into Tarnopol we made in record time. A few miles from the\ncity we began to pass an endless line of carts bearing all sorts and\ndescriptions of copper. It was evident that many distilleries and other\nplants had been hurriedly dismantled, and everything in them containing\ncopper shipped away less it fall into the hands of the copper-hungry\nenemy.\n\nHere, too, we passed long lines of the carts of the Galician peasantry\nfleeing from the fear of the German invasion. It strikes one as\nextraordinary that these inhabitants, many of whose husbands, brothers\nand fathers are fighting in the Austrian Armies, should take refuge\nin flight at the rumour of their approach. It is a sad commentary on\nthe reputation of the Germans that even the peoples of their Allies\nflee at the report of their approach. The name of Prussian down here\nseems to carry as much terror to the Galician peasant as ever it did\nto the Belgians or the Poles in other theatres of war. The peasantry\nare moving out bag and baggage with all the pathos and misery which\nthe abandonment of their homes and lifelong treasures spells to these\nsimple folk. Even ten months’ association with similar scenes does not\nharden one to the pitifulness of it all. Little children clinging to\ntheir toys, mothers, haggard and frightened, nursing babes at their\nbreasts, and fathers and sons urging on the patient, weary, family\nhorse as he tugs despairingly at the overloaded cart weighted down with\nthe pathetic odds and ends of the former home.\n\nTarnopol itself was a great surprise to me. It is a typical Austrian\ntown with a lovely park in the centre and three hotels which are nearly\nfirst class. Paved streets, imposing public buildings and a very fine\nstation, besides hundreds of lovely dwelling houses, make a very\nbeautiful little town; and with its setting in the valley, Tarnopol\nseems an altogether desirable place. Here as elsewhere troops are\nseething. The station is a military restaurant and emergency hospital\ncombined. One of the waiting-rooms has been turned into an operating\nand dressing-room, and when there is fighting on at the front the\nwhole place is congested with stretchers and the atmosphere reeks of\ndisinfectants and ether fumes.\n\nWe stopped here only overnight, for we are bound to the furthest\nstretch of our front to the south-east. In the evening there came\nthrough battalion after battalion of troops swinging through the\nstreets, tired, dirty and battle stained, but, with it all, singing\nat the top of their lungs. These men were moving from one front to\nanother, and most of them had been fighting for weeks. The first glance\nwas sufficient to make one realize that these troops were certainly not\ndown-hearted.\n\nIn strong contrast to the Russians was the sight of the latest haul\nof prisoners which passed through the next morning--several thousand\nAustrians and two or three hundred Germans.\n\nIn spite of their being caught at the hightide of their advance\nmovement the Austrians had the same broken-hearted expression that I\nhave seen in tens of thousands of Austrian prisoners for ten months. I\nhave now seen Austrians from every quarter of their Empire, and I must\nsay I have never seen a squad of prisoners who have not had the same\nexpression of hopelessness and resignation. These were well-clothed\nand for prisoners moderately clean. The critic may say that prisoners\nalways look depressed and dejected, but to judge the Austrians, one\nmust compare them with the Germans, and it was possible to do so on\nthis occasion, for directly behind the troops of the Hapsburgs came\ntwo or three hundred Germans. I have never seen such spectacles in my\nlife. Worn, haggard, ragged and tired they were, but in contrast to the\nAustrians, they walked proudly, heads thrown back, glaring defiantly at\nthe curious crowds that watched them pass. Whether they are prisoners\nor conquerors the German soldiers always wear the same mien of\nsuperiority and arrogance. But the significance of this group was not\ntheir self-respect and defiance of their captivity but their condition.\nI have never in war seen men so nearly “all-in” as these prisoners.\nTwo in the line had no shirts, their ragged coats covering their bare,\nbrown breasts. Some had no hats, all were nearly in rags, the boots of\nmany were worn thin and many of them limped wearily. Boys of eighteen\nmarched by men who looked a hundred, though I suppose they were under\nfifty actually. One saw a giant of 6 feet 5 inches walking by a\nstripling of 5 feet 2 inches. Their faces were thin and drawn, and many\nof them looked as if one might have hung hats on their cheek-bones.\nThese men may be wrong and they may be cruel, but one must admit\nthat they are object lessons in fortitude, and whatever they are they\nare certainly soldiers. In wagons behind came wounded Germans, mostly\nprivates. Later I discovered that a number of these troops had just\ncome from the French front. As one said, “Arrived at noon, captured at\nthree.” Their explanation of their capture was that their officer lost\nthe way. Further examination brought forth the information that nearly\nall their officers had been killed; and that the bulk of the company\nofficers were now either young boys or old men who knew little of maps\nor military matters, which accounted for them getting lost and falling\ninto the Russian hands. The Austrians were captured because, as usual,\nthey wanted to be. The numbers of the prisoners seen here, that is\n2,000 Austrians and 200 Germans, is just about the proportion in which\nmorale and enthusiasm in the war exists in the two armies.\n\nNext morning having obtained the necessary permits we took our motors\nand headed south for the army lying on the Dniester with its flank in\nthe Bukovina.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RUSSIAN LEFT\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE RUSSIAN LEFT\n\n\n  GERMANIKOWKA, GALICIA,\n  _July 3, 1915_.\n\nThe army of the Bukovina, or the extreme Russian left, is probably the\nmost romantic organization operating in one of the most picturesque\ncountries in the whole theatre of this gigantic war. In the first place\nthe left is composed very largely of the type of cavalry which I think\nno other country in the world can duplicate, that is the irregular\nhorsemen brought from all parts of the East. Tribes from the Caucasus,\nTartars, Mongols, and I know not what others, are here welded together\ninto brigades and divisions, and make, all told, nearly two complete\narmy corps with only a sprinkling of infantry and regular cavalry.\nIt was this army that gained such headway in its advance toward the\nHungarian plain, and it is this very army that is credited with so\nalarming the Hungarians that they threatened independent peace unless\nsomething was done for them. That something we know now was Austria’s\nwail to Germany and the resulting Galician campaign.\n\nDuring all the first part of the great German drive, this army with\nits hordes of wild cavalry was proceeding confidently “hacking its way\nthrough” all resistance, and capturing thousands upon thousands of\nAustrians or Hungarians that came in its way. For nearly a month after\nthings were going badly in the West, it was moving victoriously forward\nuntil it became evident that unless it stopped it would find itself an\nindependent expedition headed for Buda-Pest and completely out of touch\nwith the rest of the Russian line which was withdrawing rapidly. Then\ncame a pause, and as the flanking armies continued to retreat, the army\nwas very unwillingly obliged to retire also to keep in touch with its\nneighbour. My own impression as to the spirits of this army, especially\nof the cavalry corps, is similar to the impression one forms when one\nsees a bulldog being let loose from another hound whom he has down,\nand is chewing luxuriously when his master comes along, and drags him\naway on a leash. So these troops have retired snarling and barking over\ntheir shoulders, hoping that the enemy would follow close enough to let\nthem have another brush with them.\n\n[Illustration: G. H. Mewes.]\n\nThere has been fighting of more or less acuteness, especially where\nGerman troops have been engaged, but taken on the whole this portion\nof the Russian front cannot be considered a serious one and their\nwithdrawal has been forced by the greater strategy. I found many of\nthe younger officers of the opinion that they could advance at any\ntime if they only had the permission from the powers that be. As for\nthe soldiers--a single look into those set swarthy faces was enough to\nsatisfy one that they would willingly advance in any event regardless\nof policy or orders either. I have never seen such fierce looking men\nin my life. Many of them do not speak Russian, and to them the war\nis a real joy. Heretofore they have had to be content to fight among\nthemselves for nothing in particular; now that they have a chance\nto fight for something really great they are in their element. I\nquestion how valuable troops of this character would be under different\nconditions, but here in this rough Bukovina country they are nearly\nideal for their work, as is manifest from the manner in which they have\nswept the enemy before them.\n\nOn leaving Tarnopol we came directly to the head-quarters of one of\nthese corps, where we spent three extremely interesting days. The\nposition which this army was holding is, in a rough way, from the\njunction of the Zota Lipa and the Dniester, down that river to a point\nperhaps 20 versts west of Chocin, and thence in an irregular line\n40 or 50 versts through Bukovina in the direction of the Roumanian\nfrontier. The Dniester itself is a deep-flowing river lying between\ngreat bluffs which for miles skirt the river bank on both sides. These\nbluffs are for the most part crested with heavy timber. In a general\nway the Russians are holding one bank, and the Austrians the other,\nthough here and there patches of Russians have clung to the South side,\nwhile in one or two spots Austrians backed by Germans have gained a\nfoothold on the north bank. The first afternoon I arrived, I went out\nto a 356 metre hill from where I could look over the whole country.\nI discerned easily the lines of the Austrian and Russian positions\nbetween which was the valley through which flowed the Dniester. There\nare any number of young Petrograd swells here who have left their\ncrack cavalry corps, many of which are dismounted and fighting in the\ntrenches in Poland and on other fronts, to put on the uniform of the\nCossack and lead these rough riders of the East in their romantic\nsweeps towards the Hungarian plains. I have been in some armies where I\nfound hardly any one who spoke English, but in this one corps I found\nnearly a score who spoke it, many as well as I did, which indicates\npretty clearly the type of young men that Russia has here, and is\none reason, no doubt, why the army has done so well.\n\n[Illustration: Stanley Washburn, Prince Oblensky, Count Tolstoy, Count\nKeller.]\n\nHere I met Count Tolstoi, son of the novelist; Count Keller, whose\nfather was killed by Japanese shrapnel on the Motienling Pass in\nManchuria, and many other men whose names are well known in Russia.\nCount Keller was the ranking Captain in a squadron (_sotnia_, I believe\nthey call it) of cavalry from the Caucasus, and carried us off to his\nlair in a valley not far from the Dniester. Here we met a courteous old\nPersian who commanded the regiment, and dined in a quaint old castle\nwhere they had their head-quarters. Deep in its little valley, the\ncastle was not seen by the Austrians, but had long since been spotted\nby the aeroplanes of the enemy. The result was that every afternoon\na few shells were sent over the southern ridge of hills, just to let\nthe regimental staff know that they were not forgotten. The day before\nwe arrived twelve horses were killed in the garden, and while we were\ncleaning up for dinner, a shrapnel shell whined through the yard\nbursting somewhere off in the brush.\n\nAfter dinner the dancers of the regiment came up and in the half-light\nperformed their weird evolutions. In long flowing coats, with their\noriental faces, emitting uncanny sounds from their mouths, they formed\na picture that I shall long remember. Count Keller told me that in\nspite of all their wildness they were fine troops to command, for, as\nhe said, “They have very high ideals of their profession. I may be\nkilled or wounded, but I am always sure that my men will never leave\nme. They cannot speak my tongue, but there is not a man in my command\nwho would not feel himself permanently disgraced if he left the body of\nhis officer on the field of battle. They are absolutely fearless and\nwill go anywhere, caring nothing whatever for death, wounds, hardship\nor anything else that war brings forth. I am very fond of them indeed.”\n\nThe positions at this point were about three versts distant from our\nlittle isolated valley, and as they were out on the crest of the bluff\nit was impossible to visit them until after dark. So on the great\nveranda of the castle we sat late after our dinner, until darkness fell\nand a great full moon rose slowly above the neighbouring hills flooding\nthe valley with its silver rays, bringing out the old white castle as\nclearly in the darkness as a picture emerges from a photographic plate\nwhen the developer is poured upon it. It was just after midnight when\nCount Keller and I, well mounted on Cossack ponies, rode down into the\nvalley and turned our horses on to the winding road that runs beside\nthe little stream that leaps and gurgles over the rocks on the way\nto the Dniester. For a mile or more we followed the river, and then\nturning sharply to the right, took a bridle path and climbed slowly\nup the sharp side of the bluff. For fifteen or twenty minutes we rode\nthrough the woods, now in the shadow and now out in an opening where\nthe shadows of the branches swaying softly in the moonlight made\npatterns on the road. Suddenly we came out upon a broad white road\nwhere the Count paused.\n\n“We are advised to leave the horses here,” he remarked casually, “Shall\nwe go on? Are you afraid?” Not knowing anything about the position I\nhad no ideas on the subject, so we continued down the moonlit road,\nand while I was wondering where we were, we came out abruptly on the\nbluff just above the river, where the great white road ran along\nthe crest for a mile or more. I paused for a moment to admire the\nview. Deep down below us, like a ribbon of silver in the shimmering\nmoonlight, lay the great river. Just across on the other bank was the\nAustrian line with here and there spots of flickering light where the\nAustrians had fires in their trenches. There was not a sound to mar\nthe silence of the perfect night save the gentle rustle of the wind in\nthe trees. “The Austrians can see us plainly from here,” remarked the\nCount indifferently. “Gallop!” The advice seemed sound to me, but not\nknowing the country I was obliged to reply, “Which way?” “Right,” he\nreplied laconically.\n\nIt is sufficient to say that I put spurs to my horse, and for the mile\nthat lay exposed in the moonlight my little animal almost flew while\nthe Count pounded along a close second just behind me. A mile away we\nreached the welcome shadows of a small bunch of trees, and as I rode\ninto the wood I was sharply challenged by a guttural voice, and as\nI pulled my horse up on his haunches a wild-looking Cossack took my\nbridle. Before I had time to begin an explanation, the Count came up\nand the sharp words of the challenge were softened to polite speeches\nof welcome from the officer in command.\n\nWe were in the front line trench or rather just behind it, for the road\nlay above it while the trench itself was between it and the river where\nit could command the crossing with its fire. Here as elsewhere, I found\nmen who could speak English, the one an officer and the other a man in\ncharge of a machine gun. This man had been five years in Australia and\nhad come back to “fight the Germans,” as he said. For an hour we sat up\non the crest of the trench under the shadow of a tree, and watched in\nthe sky the flare of a burning village to our right, which was behind\nthe Russian lines, and had been fired just at dark by Austrian shells.\nI found that all the Russians spoke well of the Austrians. They said\nthey were kindly and good-natured, never took an unfair advantage,\nlived up to their flags of truce, etc. Their opinion of the Germans\nwas exactly the opposite. One man said, “Sometimes the Austrians call\nacross that they won’t shoot during the night. Then we all feel easy\nand walk about in the moonlight. One of our soldiers even went down\nand had a bathe in the river, while the Austrians called across to him\njokes and remarks, which of course he could not understand. The Germans\nsay they won’t fire, and just as soon as our men expose themselves they\nbegin to shoot. They are always that way.”\n\n[Illustration: Cossacks dancing the Tartars’ native dance.]\n\nI have never known a more absolutely quiet and peaceful scene than this\nfrom the trench on the river’s bluff. As I was looking up the streak of\nsilver below us, thinking thus, there came a deep boom from the east\nand then another and another, and then on the quiet night the sharp\ncrackle of the machine guns and the rip and roar of volley firing. It\nwas one of those spasms of fighting that ripple up and down a line\nevery once in a while, but after a few minutes it died away, the last\nechoes drifting away over the hills, and silence again reigned over the\nDniester. The fire in the village was burning low, and the first grey\nstreaks of dawn were tinging the horizon in the east when we left the\ntrench, and by a safer bridle path returned to the castle and took our\nmotor-car for head-quarters which we reached just as the sun was rising.\n\nThe positions along this whole front are of natural defence and have\nreceived and required little attention. Rough shelter for the men, and\ncover for the machine guns is about all that any one seems to care\nfor here. The fighting is regarded by these wild creatures as a sort\nof movable feast, and they fight now in one place and now in another.\nOf course they have distinctive lines of trenches, though they cannot\ncompare with the substantial works that one finds in the Bzura-Rawka\nlines and the other really serious fronts in Poland and elsewhere. In\na general way it matters very little whether the army moves forward or\nbackward just here. The terrain for 100 versts is adapted to defence,\nand the army can, if it had to do so, go back so far without yielding\nto the enemy anything that would have any important bearing on the\ncampaign of the Russian Army as a whole. From the first day that I\njoined this army, I felt the conviction that it could be relied upon to\ntake care of itself, and that its retirements or changes of front could\nbe viewed with something approaching to equanimity.\n\n\n\n\nWITH A RUSSIAN CAVALRY CORPS\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nWITH A RUSSIAN CAVALRY CORPS\n\n\n  ON THE DNIESTER,\n  _July 4, 1915_.\n\nIt would not be in the least difficult for me to write a small volume\non my impressions and observations during the time that I was with\nthis particular cavalry corps on the Dniester; but one assumes that at\nthis advanced period in the war, readers are pretty well satiated with\ndescriptive material of all sorts, and there is so much news of vital\nimportance from so many different fronts, that the greatest merit of\ndescriptive writing in these days no doubt lies in its brevity. I will\ntherefore cut as short as possible the account of my stay in this very\ninteresting organization.\n\nThe General in command was a tough old cavalry officer who spoke\nexcellent English. He was of the type that one likes to meet at the\nFront, and his every word and act spoke of efficiency and of the\nsoldier who loves his profession. His head-quarters were in a little\ndirty village, and his rooms were in the second story of an equally\nunpretentious building. The room contained a camp-bed and a group of\ntables on which were spread the inevitable maps of the positions.\nThis particular General as far as I could gather spent about one half\nof each day poring over his maps, and the other half in visiting his\npositions. Certainly he seemed to know every foot of the terrain\noccupied by his command, and every by-path and crossroad seemed\nperfectly familiar to him. Without the slightest reservation (at least\nas far as I could observe) he explained to me his whole position,\npointing it out on the map. When he began to talk of his campaign he\nimmediately became engrossed in its intricacies. Together we pored over\nhis map. “You see,” he said, “I have my -- brigade here. To the left\nin the ravine I have one battery of big guns just where I can use them\nnicely. Over here you see I have a bridge and am across the river.\nNow the enemy is on this side here (and he pointed at a blue mark on\nthe map) but I do not mind; if he advances I shall give him a push\nhere (and again he pointed at another point on the map), and with my\ninfantry brigade I shall attack him just here, and as you see he will\nhave to go back”; and thus for half an hour he talked of the problems\nthat were nearest and dearest to his heart. He was fully alive to the\nbenefits that publicity might give an army, and did everything in\nhis power to make our visit as pleasant and profitable as possible.\n\n[Illustration: H.I.H. The Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovitch, Commander\nof two divisions of Cossacks.]\n\nOn the afternoon of the second day Prince Oblensky arranged for us to\nmeet the Grand Duke Michael who is commanding a division of Caucasian\ncavalry, one of whose detachments we visited in the trenches a few\nnights ago. I should say he is not much over forty years of age, and\nhe is as unaffected and democratic a person as one can well imagine.\nI talked with him for nearly an hour on the situation, not only on\nhis immediate front but in the theatre of the war as a whole. Like\neveryone in Russian uniform whom I have met, he was neither depressed\nnor discouraged, but evinced the same stubborn optimism that one finds\neverywhere in the Russian army. As one saw him in his simple uniform\nwith nothing to indicate his rank but shoulder straps of the same\nmaterial as his uniform, and barring the Cross of St. George (won by\nhis personal valour on the field of battle) without a decoration, it\nwas strange to think that this man living so simply in a dirty village\nin this far fringe of the Russian Front, might have been the Czar of\nall the Russias, living in the Winter Palace in Petrograd, but for a\nfew years in time of birth. The Western World likes to think of Russia\nas an autocracy, with its nobility living a life apart surrounded by\nform and convention, but now, at any rate, I think there is no country\nin the world where the aristocracy are more democratic than in Russia.\nIt is true that the Czar himself is inaccessible, but he is about the\nonly man in Russia who is; and even he, when one does meet him, is as\nsimple, unaffected and natural as any ordinary gentleman in England or\nin America.\n\nFrom the Grand Duke’s head-quarters I motored out to the Staff of a\nCavalry Brigade, and had tea with the General who, after entertaining\nus with a dance performed by a group of his tamed “wild men,” went\nhimself with us to his front line trench. His head-quarters were near\nthe front, so near in fact that while we were waiting for the dancers\nto appear, a big shell fell in a field just across the way, with a\nreport that sent the echoes rolling away over hill and valley. It is\nconsidered bad form to notice these interruptions however, and no\none winked an eye or took any notice of the incident. The General’s\ntrenches were not unlike those I had already before visited, except\nthat one could get into them in the daytime without risk of being shot\nat if one came up through the woods, which ran rather densely to the\nvery crest of the bluff.\n\nHere was the most curious sight that I have ever seen in war. The\nrough-and-ready cavalrymen from the Caucasus with their great caps,\neach as big as a bushel basket, all covered with wool about six inches\nlong, were lying about behind small earthworks on the fringe of the\nwoods peering along their rifle barrels which were pointed across the\nriver. On an almost similar elevation on the opposite side was the line\nof the Austrian trenches. For once the sun was over our shoulders, and\nin their eyes and not ours, so that I could safely walk to the edge of\nthe wood and study their works through my field glasses. Everything was\nvery quiet this particular afternoon, and I could see the blue-coated\nfigures of the enemy moving about behind their own trenches, as indeed\nthe Russians could with their naked eyes. The war has lasted so long\nnow, and the novelty has so worn off, that it is safe to do many things\nthat could not have been done in the early months. No one nowadays is\nanxious to start anything unnecessary, and sniping is a bore to all\nconcerned, and it hardly draws a shot if one or two men are seen moving\nabout. It is only when important groups appear that shots are fired.\n\nNot two hundred yards back in the woods were the bivouacs of the\nreserves, and the hundreds and hundreds of the little ponies tethered\nto trees. There they stood dozing in the summer sunshine, twitching\ntheir tails and nipping each other occasionally. I have never seen\ncavalry in the trenches before, much less cavalry with their horses so\nnear that they could actually wait until the enemy were almost in their\nworks and then mount and be a mile away before the trench itself was\noccupied. In this rough country where the positions lend themselves\nto this sort of semi-regular work, I dare say these peculiar types\nof horsemen are extremely effective, though I question if they would\nappear to the same advantage in other parts of the Russian operations.\nAs a matter of fact one of the regiments now here was formerly attached\nto the Warsaw Front, but was subsequently removed from that army and\nsent down to Bukovina as a place more suited to its qualities.\n\nWe had a bit of bad luck on this position with our motor-car which we\nhad left in a dip behind the line. Just as we were ready to start for\nhome, there came a sharp rainstorm which so wetted the roads that the\nhill we had come down so smoothly on dry soil proved impossible to go\nup when wet. A _sotnia_ of Cossacks pulled us out of our first mess\nwith shouts and hurrahs, but when night fell we found ourselves in\nanother just as bad a few hundreds yards further along. For an hour\nwe went through the misery of spinning wheels and racing engines\nwithout effect. We had stopped, by bad luck, in about the only place\nwhere the road was visible from the Austrian lines, but as it was dark\nthey could not see us. When the chauffeur lighted his lamps, however,\nthree shells came over from the enemy, extinguishing the lamps. About\nten in the evening we started on foot, and walked to a point where we\nborrowed a car from the brigade staff, and went on home. Our own car\nwas extricated at daylight by a band of obliging Cossacks who had been\non duty all night in the trenches, and were going into the reserve for\na day’s rest.\n\nLeaving this army corps in the afternoon we motored further east, and\npaid our respects to a brigade of the regular cavalry, composed of\nthe --th Lancers and the -- Hussars, both crack cavalry regiments of\nthe Russian army, and each commanded by officers from the Petrograd\naristocracy. The brigade had been in reserve for three days, and as\nwe saw it was just being paraded before its return to the trenches.\nThe --th Lancers I had seen before in Lwow just after the siege of\nPrzemysl, in which they took part, at that time fighting in the\ntrenches alongside of the infantry. I have never seen mounts in finer\ncondition, and I believe there is no army on any of the fronts where\nthis is more typical than in the Russian. On this trip I have been\nin at least fifteen or twenty cavalry units, and, with one exception,\nI have not seen anywhere horses in bad shape; the exception had been\nworking overtime for months without chance to rest or replace their\nmounts. The Colonel of the Lancers I had known before in Lwow, and he\njoined me in my motor and rode with me the 20 versts to the position\nthat his cavalry was going to relieve at that time. This gentleman\nwas an ardent cavalryman and had served during the greater part of\nthe Manchurian campaign. To my surprise I found that he had been in\ncommand of a squadron of Cossacks that came within an ace of capturing\nthe little town of Fakumen where was Nogi’s staff; and he was as\nmuch surprised to learn that I was attached to Nogi’s staff there as\ncorrespondent for an American paper.\n\nThe Colonel was now in charge of the Lancer regiment and was, as I\nlearned, a great believer in the lance as a weapon. “Other things being\nequal,” he told me, “I believe in giving the soldiers what they want.\nThey do want the lance, and this is proved by the fact that in this\nentire campaign not one of my troopers has lost his lance. The moral\neffect is good on our troops, for it gives them confidence, and it is\nbad on the enemy, for it strikes terror into their hearts. Before this\nwar it was supposed that cavalry could never get near infantry. My\nregiment has twice attacked infantry and broken them up both times. In\nboth cases they broke while we were still three or four hundred yards\ndistant, and of course the moment they broke they were at our mercy.”\n\nFor an hour or more we motored over the dusty roads before we dipped\nover a crest and dropped down into a little village not far from the\nDniester, where were the head-quarters of the regiment that the Lancers\nwere coming in to relieve. As we turned the corner of the village\nstreet a shrapnel shell burst just to the south of us, and I have an\nidea that someone had spotted our dust as we came over the crest.\n\nThe cavalry here was a regiment drawn from the region of the Amur\nriver, and as they were just saddling up preparatory to going back\ninto reserve for a much-needed rest, I had a good chance to note the\ncondition of both men and mounts, which were excellent. The latter were\nSiberian ponies, which make, I think, about the best possible horses\nfor war that one can find. They are tough, strong, live on almost\nanything, and can stand almost any extremes of cold or heat without\nbeing a bit the worse for it. These troops have had, I suppose, as hard\nwork as any cavalry in the Russian Army, yet the ponies were as fat as\nbutter and looked as contented as kittens. The Russians everywhere I\nhave seen them are devoted to their horses, and what I say about the\ncondition of the animals applies not only to the cavalry but even to\nthe transport, to look at which, one would never imagine that we were\nin the twelfth month of war. The Colonel of the Amur Cavalry gave us\ntea and begged us to stay on, but as it was getting late and the road\nwe had to travel was a new one to us, and at points ran not far from\nthe lines of the enemy, we deemed it wiser to be on our way. Some sort\nof fight started after dark, and to the south of us, from the crests\nof the hills that we crossed, we could see the flare of the Austrian\nrockets and the occasional jagged flash of a bursting shell; further\noff still the sky was dotted with the glow of burning villages. In fact\nfor the better part of the week I spent in this vicinity I do not think\nthat there was a single night that one could not count fires lighted by\nthe shells from the artillery fire.\n\nMidnight found us still on the road, but our Prince, who was ever\nresourceful, discovered the estate of an Austrian noble not far from\nthe main road, and we managed to knock up the keeper and get him to let\nus in for the night. The Count who owned the place was in the Austrian\nArmy, and the Countess was in Vienna.\n\n[Illustration: The Russian soldier at meal-time. Ten men share the\nsoup, which is served in a huge pan.]\n\nLeaving this place early the following morning we started back for\nTarnopol and the Headquarters of the Army that stands second in the\nRussian line of battle counting from the left flank.\n\n\n\n\nON THE ZOTA LIPA\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nON THE ZOTA LIPA\n\n\n  TARNOPOL,\n  _July 6, 1915_.\n\nWe found the General of the army now occupying the line that runs\nfrom approximately the head of the Zota Lipa to its confluence with\nthe Dniester, living in a palace south-west of ----. These wonderful\nestates come as a great surprise to strangers travelling through the\ncountry. One passes a sordid Galician village filled with dogs and\nhalf-naked children, and perhaps on the outskirts one comes to a\ngreat gate and turning in finds oneself in a veritable Versailles,\nwith beautiful avenues of trees, lakes, waterfalls and every other\nenhancement of the landscape that money and good taste can procure. I\nhave never seen more beautiful grounds or a more attractively decorated\nand beautifully furnished house than this one where our particular\nGeneral was living with his staff.\n\nDuring my visit to this army, I saw and talked with the General\ncommanding twice, and he permitted me to see his maps and gave his\nconsent to my visiting any of his line which I desired to see. He\nsent one of his staff with me, who spoke English, as a guide and\ninterpreter. Again I regret I cannot give the General’s name, but\nsuffice to say that from this head-quarters I gathered that, barring\nthe failure of their centre army, a retreat would probably have been\nunnecessary, though it is folly to disguise the fact that this army was\nhard pressed, suffered not a little, and was constantly outnumbered in\nboth men and munitions. It is probably not unfair to place its whole\nmovement under the category of a rear-guard action.\n\nDuring the retreat from Stryj to the Zota Lipa, where the army was when\nI visited it, captures of enemy prisoners were made to the number of\n53,000, as I was informed by the highest authority. The bulk of these\nwere Austrians. As I said at the time, I incline to think this must be\nconsidered one of the most remarkable retreats in history. If I was\ndisposed to doubt this statement when I first heard it, my hesitation\nvanished, when, during three days, I personally saw between 4,000 and\n5,000 Austrian prisoners that had been taken within a week, regardless\nof the fact that the army was still retiring before the enemy. I\nthink that the mere mention of the matter of prisoners is enough to\nconvince the reader that this army was not a demoralized one, and that\nthe furthest stretch of imagination could not consider it a badly\ndefeated one. A glance at the map serves to show that the country,\nfrom the beginning of this retreat to the Zota Lipa, is an ideal one\nin which to fight defensively! and as a matter of fact the country for\n100 versts further east is equally well adapted to the same purpose.\nA number of streams running almost due north and south flow into the\nDniester river, and as each of these rivulets runs between more or less\npretentious bluffs it is a very simple matter to hold them with very\nlittle fieldworks.\n\nWhat the Russians have been doing here is this. They take up one of\nthese natural lines of defence and throw up temporary works on the\nbluffs and wait for the Austrians. When the latter come up they find\nthe Russians too strong to be turned out with anything short of the\nfull enemy strength. Usually a week is taken up by the Austro-German\nforces in bringing up their full strength, getting their guns in\nposition and preparing for an attack. The Russians in the meantime sit\non their hills, taking all the losses that they can get, and repel the\nAustrian preliminary attacks as long as they can do so without risking\ntoo much. By the time that enemy operations have reached a really\nserious stage, and an attack in force is made, it is discovered that\nthe main force of the Russians has departed, and when the positions\nare finally carried, only a rearguard of cavalry is discovered holding\nthe trenches; the bulk of these usually get away on their horses,\nleaving the exhausted Austrians sitting in a hardly-won line with\nthe knowledge that the Russians are already miles away waiting for\nthem to repeat the operation all over again. The prisoners have been\ncaptured for the most part in preliminary operations on these works,\non occasions where the Russians have made counter attacks or where\nthe Austrians have advanced too far and been cut off. The youth and\ninexperience of their officers, and the fact that the rank and file\nhave no heart in the fight, have made it easy for them to go too far\nin the first place, and willing to surrender without a fight when\nthey discover their mistake. All of this I was told at head-quarters,\nand had an opportunity to verify the next day by going to one of the\nforward positions on the Zota Lipa.\n\nI have within the last few months, after poking about on the billiard\ntable terrain of the Polish Front, acquired a great liking for hills,\nprotected by woods if possible. I have therefore picked places on this\ntrip where I could get to points of observation from which I could\nsee the terrain without being, shot at, if this could be avoided with\ndignity. It was just such a place as this towards which we headed\nthe next day. My own impressions were, and still are, that this army\nmight retire further yet from its present positions. There are certain\nreasons which I cannot divulge at present, but are no doubt understood\nin England, that makes it unwise for these armies to attempt to hold\nadvance positions if they can fall quietly back without the sacrifice\nof any positions which will have a bad effect on the Russian campaign\nas a whole. This particular army with its neighbour to the south can\ndo this for more than 100 versts without materially impairing its own\n_moral_, and, as far as I can see, without giving the enemy any other\nadvantage than something to talk about.\n\nOn the way out to the positions I passed important bodies of troops\n“changing front,” for it is hardly possible to call what I witnessed,\na retreat. They came swinging down the road laughing, talking and\nthen singing at the top of their lungs. Had I not known the points of\nthe compass, I should have concluded that they had scored a decisive\nvictory and were marching on the capital of the enemy. But of such\nstuff are the moujik soldiers of the Czar.\n\nWe first visited the head-quarters of one of the Army corps, and then\nmotored through Ztoczow, a very beautiful little Austrian town lying\njust at the gateway between ridges of hills that merge together as they\ngo eastward, making the road climb to the plateau land which, indented\nby the valleys of the rivers running into the Dniester, stretches\npractically for 100 versts east of here. Turning south from the little\ntown we climbed up on to this plateau land, and motored for 15 or 20\nversts south to the head-quarters of a General commanding a division\nof Cossack cavalry from the Caucasus. With him we had tea, and as he\nspoke excellent English I was able to gather much of interest from his\npoint of view. He was not sufficiently near head-quarters nor of rank\nhigh enough to be taken into the higher councils, and therefore did\nnot know the reasons for the constant retirements. Again and again he\nassured me that the positions now held could as far as he was concerned\nbe retained indefinitely. His was the thankless job of the rear guard,\nand it apparently went against his fighting instincts to occupy these\nsplendid positions and then retire through some greater strategy, which\nhe, far off in the woods from everything, did not understand.\n\nOne is constantly impressed with the isolation of the men holding\nimportant minor commands. For days and weeks they are without outside\nnews, and many of them have even only a vague idea as to what is going\non in neighbouring corps, and almost none at all of the movements in\nadjoining armies. I was convinced from the way this General--and he\nwas a fine old type--talked, that he did not consider his men had ever\nbeen beaten at all, and that he looked upon his movements merely as the\nresult of orders given for higher strategic considerations. From him we\nwent out to the line on the Zota Lipa. The Russians at this time had\nretired from the Gnita Lipa (the great Austro-German “victory” where\nthey lost between 4,000 and 5,000 prisoners and I know not how many\ndead and wounded) and had now for four days been quietly sitting on the\nridges of the second Lipa waiting for the enemy to come up. I think\nno army can beat the Russians when it comes to forced marches, and\nafter each of these actions they have retired in two days a distance\nthat takes the enemy four or five to cover. It is because of this\nspeed of travel that there have been stragglers, and it is of such\nthat the enemy have taken the prisoners of whom they boast so much.\nThe position we visited was on a wonderful ridge crested with woods.\nThe river lay so deeply in its little valley that, though but a mile\naway, we could not see the water at all, but only the shadow wherein\nit lay. Our trenches were just on the edge of it while our guns and\nreserves were behind us. From our position we could look into the rear\nof our trenches, and across the river where the country was more open\nand where the Austrians were just beginning to develop their advance.\nThough the Russians had been here for several days, the enemy was just\ncoming up now and had not yet brought up his guns at all.\n\nOur infantry were sniping at the blue figures which dotted the wood\na verst or two away, but at such a range that its effect was not\napparent. Our guns had not yet fired a shot, and hence the Austrians\nknew nothing of our position but the fact that they were in contact\nwith snipers in some sort of a trench. In any case the Austrians in\na thin blue line which one could see with the naked eye, were busily\ndigging a trench across a field just opposite us and about 4,000 metres\ndistant, while with my glasses I could see the blue-clad figures\nslipping about on the fringe of the wood behind their trench diggers.\nOur observation point was under a big tree on an advanced spur of the\nhill, a position which I think would not be held long after the arrival\nof the Austrian guns. The battery commander had screwed his hyperscope\ninto the tree trunk, and was hopping about in impatience because his\nfield wire had not yet come up from the battery position in the rear.\nHe smacked his lips with anticipation as he saw the constantly,\nincreasing numbers of the enemy parading about opposite without any\ncover, and at frequent intervals kept sending messengers to hurry on\nthe field telegraph corps.\n\n[Illustration: Cavalry taking up position.]\n\n[Illustration: Russian band playing the men to the trenches.]\n\nIn a few minutes there came a rustle in the brush, and two soldiers\nwith a reel unwinding wire came over the crest, and dropping on their\nknees behind some bushes a few yards away, made a quick connection with\nthe telephone instrument, and then announced to the commander that\nhe was in touch with his guns. Instantly his face lit up, but before\nspeaking he turned and took a squint through his hyperscope; then with\nclenched fist held at arms length he made a quick estimate of the\nrange and snapped out an order over his shoulder. The orderly at the\n’phone mumbled something into the mouthpiece of the instrument. “All\nready,” he called to the commander. “Fire,” came the quick response.\nInstantly there came a crash from behind us. I had not realized that\nthe guns were so near until I heard the report and the shell whine over\nour heads. We stood with our glasses watching the Austrians. A few\nseconds later came the white puff in the air appearing suddenly as from\nnowhere, and then the report of the explosion drifted back to us on the\nbreeze. The shot was high and over. Another quick order, and another\nscreamed over our head, this time bursting well in front of the trench.\n\nThrough my glasses I could see that there was some agitation among the\nblue figures in the field across the river. Again the gun behind us\nsnapped out its report, and this time the shell burst right over the\ntrench and the diggers disappeared as by magic, and even the blue coats\non the edge of the wood suddenly vanished from our view. The artillery\nofficer smiled quietly, took another good look through the glass at\nhis target, called back an order, and the battery came into action\nwith shell after shell breaking directly over the trench. But as far\nas we could see there was not a living soul, only the dark brown ridge\nwhere lay the shallow ditch which the Austrians had been digging. The\nvalue of the shrapnel was gone, and the Captain sighed a little as he\ncalled for his carefully saved and precious high-explosives, of which\nas I learned he had very few to spare. The first fell directly in an\nangle of the trench, and burst with the heavy detonation of the higher\nexplosive, sending up a little volcano of dust and smoke, while for a\nminute the hole smoked as though the earth were on fire.\n\n“They are in that place right enough,” was the verdict of the director,\n“I saw them go. I’ll try another,” and a second later another shell\nburst in almost the identical spot. That it had found a living target\nthere could be no doubt, for suddenly the field was dotted with the\nblue coats scampering in all directions for the friendly shelter of\nthe wood in their rear. It was an object lesson of the difference in\neffectiveness between high explosive and shrapnel. The Captain laughed\ngleefully at his success as he watched the effect of his practice.\nNearly all the Austrians were running, but away to the right was\na group of five, old timers perhaps who declined to run, and they\nstrolled leisurely away in the manner of veterans who scorn to hurry.\nThe Commander again held out his fist, made a quick estimate of the\nrange and called a deviation of target and a slight elevation of the\ngun. Again the gun crashed behind us and I saw the shell fall squarely\nin the centre of the group. From the smoking crater three figures\ndarted at full speed. I saw nothing of the other two. No doubt their\nfragments lay quivering in the heap of earth and dust from which the\nfumes poured for fully a minute. It was excellent practice, and when I\ncongratulated the officer he smiled and clicked his heels as pleased\nas a child. We saw nothing more of the enemy while we remained. No\ndoubt they were waiting for the night to come to resume their digging\noperations.\n\nHow long the Russians will remain on this line can be merely\nspeculation. Many of these lines that are taken up temporarily prove\nunusually strong, or the enemy proves unexpectedly weak, and what was\nintended as only a halt, gradually becomes strengthened until it may\nbecome the final line. My own idea was, however, that after forcing\nthe Austrians to develop their full strength and suffer the same heavy\nlosses, the Russians would again retire to a similar position and do\nit all over again. It is this type of action which is slowly breaking\nthe hearts of the enemy. Again and again they are forced into these\nactions which make them develop their full strength and are taken only\nwhen supported by their heavy guns, only to find, when it is all over,\nthat the Russians have departed and are already complacently awaiting\nthem a few days’ marches further on. This kind of game has already told\nheavily on the Austrian spirits. How much longer they can keep it up\none can only guess. I don’t think they can do it much longer, as not\none of these advances is now yielding them any strategic benefit, and\nthe asset of a talking point to be given out by the German Press Bureau\nprobably does not impress them as a sufficiently good reason to keep\ntaking these losses and making these sacrifices.\n\nLeaving the position we returned to our base, where we spent the night\npreparatory to moving on the next day to the army that lies next in\nthe line north of us, being the third from the extreme Russian left.\nMy impressions of the condition and spirit of the army visited this\nday were very satisfactory, and I felt as I did about its southern\nneighbor--that its movements for the moment have not a vast importance.\nIt may go back now, but when the conditions which are necessary are\nfulfilled it can almost certainly advance. Probably we need expect\nnothing important for some months here and further retirements may be\nviewed with equanimity by the Allies. Not too far away there is a final\nline which they will not leave without a definite stand and from which\nI question if they can be driven at all.\n\n\n\n\nA VISIT TO AN HISTORIC ARMY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nA VISIT TO AN HISTORIC ARMY\n\n\n  BRODY, GALICIA,\n  _July 7, 1915_.\n\nFor the next three days I was with the head-quarters and army of\none of the most remarkable fighting organizations that this war has\nproduced on any Front. I am not supposed to mention its number, but I\ndare say the censor will let me say that it is that one which has been\ncommanded for nearly a year now by General Brussilov. This army, as\nthe reader who has followed the war with any closeness will remember,\nis the one that entered Galicia from the extreme east in the first\nweek of the war, and that in thirty days of continuous fighting, with\npractically no rail transport, turned the Austrian right and forced the\nevacuation of Lwow at the end of August. In spite of their losses and\nexhaustion this army marched right on the re-inforced Austrian centre\nand engaged that force with such ferocity, that when the position of\nRawa Ruska fell the Grodek line collapsed before its attacks. Still\nunexhausted and with practically no rest, the same troops, or what\nwas left of them, plus reinforcements, moved on Przemysl, and by their\nfierce assaults laid the foundation for what subsequently became the\nsiege of the Austrian stronghold. But Brussilov was no man to cool his\nheels on siege operations, and when the investment was completed, his\ncorps swept on past, and began driving the Austrians back toward the\nCarpathians.\n\nAs the New Year came, and the weeks passed by, the whole world watched\nhis devoted troops forcing back the Austrians and their newly arrived\nGerman supports back into the passes which had been considered all but\nimpregnable. He was well through the Dukla and making headway slowly\nbut surely when the great German blow fell on the Dunajec. Leaving his\nsuccessful operations in the Carpathians, he fell back rapidly in time\nto connect with the retreating army of the Dunajec and temporarily\nbrace it up for its temporary stand on the San. The defence of Przemysl\nfell to the lot of the General, but as he himself said to me, “There\nwas nothing but a heap of ruins where had been forts. How could we\ndefend it?” Still, they did defend it for as many days as it took the\nenemy to force the centre, which had not sufficient forces to stem the\nadvancing tide that was still concentrated against them. Even then,\nas I am assured by a Staff officer, they hung on until their right\nflank division was uncovered and menaced with envelopment, when once\nmore they were obliged to withdraw in the direction of the city of Lwow.\n\n[Illustration: After the Russian evacuation of Lwow. The Bug Lancers\nretreating in good order.]\n\nIn this retreat there is no denying that the devoted army was hammered\nheavily, and probably its right flank was somewhat tumbled up in the\nconfusion. Nevertheless, it was still full of fight when the Grodek\nline was reached. By this time, however, the greater strategy had\ndecided on retiring entirely from Galicia, or very nearly so, to a\npoint which had already been selected; and the battle on the Grodek\nline was a check rather than a final stand, though there is no question\nthat the Russians would have stopped had the rest of their line been\nable to hold its positions. But the shattered army of the Dunajec,\nin spite of reinforcements, was too badly shaken up, and short of\neverything, to make feasible any permanent new alignment of the\nposition. The action around Lwow was not a serious one, though it was\na hard fought and costly battle. It was made with no expectation of\nsaving the town, but only to delay the Germans while other parts of the\nline were executing what the Russians call “their manœuvres.”\n\nFrom Lwow to the position where I found the army, was a rearguard\naction and nothing more, and apparently not a very serious one at\nthat. The best authorities have told me that the Russians withdrew from\nLwow city in a perfectly orderly manner, and that there was neither\nexcitement nor confusion, a state of affairs in great contrast to that\nwhich existed when the Austrians left in September. The Austrian staff\ntook wing in such hot haste that the General’s maps, with pencils,\nmagnifying glasses and notes were found lying on the table just as he\nhad left them when he hurried from the room. The Russians may also have\npanic on occasions, but if they have I certainly have never seen any\nindication of it in any of the operations that I have witnessed.\n\nThe new line occupied runs from approximately the head of the Zota\nLipa along the Bug in the direction of Krasne, where the Austrians\nhold the village and the Russians the railroad station, and thence in\nthe general direction of Kamioka and slightly west of Sokal where the\narmy which lies between it and the former army of the Dunajec begins.\nIn going over this terrain, I was of the opinion that this line was\nnot designed originally as the permanent stand; but the removal of\nGerman troops from this Front has sufficiently weakened the Austrians,\nso it is quite possible that it may become the low water mark of the\nretreat. However, it is of very little importance, in my opinion,\nwhether the army holds on here, or continues to retreat for another 60\nor 80 versts, where prepared positions at many points give excellent\ndefensive opportunities. This army as I found it is in good shape. It\nis true that many of its corps have been depleted but these are rapidly\nfilling up again. There is reason to believe, however, that this army\nis no longer the objective of the enemy, and that for the present at\nleast it will not be the object of any serious attack. Behind it for\nmany versts there is nothing of sufficient strategic importance the\ncapture of which would justify the enemy in the expenditure which will\nbe necessary to dislodge it.\n\nI met General Brussilov several times and dined with him the first\nevening after spending almost three-quarters of an hour with him\nlooking at the maps of the position. I think it would be impossible\nfor anyone to be a pessimist after an hour with this officer. He\nis a thin-faced handsome man of about fifty-five; in every respect\nthe typical hard-fighting cavalry officer. He is just the man one\nwould expect to find in command of an army with the record that his\nhas made. I asked him if he was tired after his year of warfare. He\nlaughed derisively. “Tired! I should say not. It is my profession. I\nshall never be tired.” I cannot of course quote him on any military\nutterances, but I left him with the certainty that he at least was\nneither depressed nor discouraged. That he was disappointed at having\nto retire is certainly true; but it is with him as I have found it\nwith many others--this set-back has made them only the more ardent for\nconditions to be such that they can have another try at it and begin\nall over again. All these ranking officers have unlimited faith in the\nstaying qualities of their men, and little faith in what the Austrians\nwill do when the Germans go away. If _moral_, as Napoleon says, is\nthree times the value of physical assets we need have no fear as to the\nfuture where Brussilov is in command of an army.\n\nThe General at once agreed to let me visit some observation point\nwhere I could have a glimpse of his positions and the general nature\nof the terrain. On his large scale map we found a point that towered\nmore than 200 metres above the surrounding country, and he advised\nme to go there. So on the following day we motored to a certain army\nhead-quarters, where the General in command gave us one of his staff,\nwho spoke English, and an extra motor, and sent us on our way to\na division then holding one of the front line trenches. Here by a\ncircuitous route, to avoid shell fire, we proceeded to the observation\npoint in question. It was one of the most beautifully arranged that I\nhave ever visited, with approaches cut in through the back, and into\ntrenches and bomb-proofs on the outside of the hill where were erected\nthe hyperscopes for the artillery officers to study the terrain.\n\nI could clearly see the back of our own trenches with the soldiers\nmoving about in them. In the near foreground almost at our feet was\none of our own batteries carefully tucked away in a little dip in\nthe ground, and beautifully masked from the observing eye of the\naeroplanist. To the south lay the line of the Austrian trenches, and\nbehind that a bit of wood in which, according to the General who\naccompanied us, the Austrians had a light battery hidden away. Still\nfurther off behind some buildings was the position of the Austrian\nbig guns, and the artillery officer in command of the brigade, whose\nobservation point was here, told me that there were two 12-inch guns at\nthis point, though they had not yet come into action.\n\nDirectly east of us lay the valley of the Bug, as flat as a board,\nwith the whole floor covered with areas of growing crops, some more\nadvanced in ripeness than others, giving the appearance from our\nelevation of a gigantic chessboard. Away off to the west some big guns\nwere firing occasionally, the sound of their reports and the bursting\nshells drifting back lazily to us. At one point on the horizon a\nvillage was burning, great clouds of dense smoke rolling up against\nthe skyline. Otherwise the afternoon sunshine beat down on a valley\nthat looked like a veritable farmer’s paradise, steeped in serenity\nand peace. For an hour we remained in this lovely spot, studying every\ndetail of the landscape, and wondering when if ever it would be turned\ninto a small hell of fury by the troops that now lay hidden under our\nvery eyes. We left shortly before six and motored back in the setting\nsunlight to our head-quarters. Early the next morning I again went to\nsee General Brussilov and almost the first thing he told me was that\nthere had been a stiff fight the night before. The reader may imagine\nmy disappointment to learn that within two hours of my departure the\nAustrians had launched an attack on the very chessboard that I had\nbeen admiring so much during the afternoon in the observation station.\nFrom this point, in comparative safety, I could have watched the whole\nenterprise from start to finish with the maximum of clearness and the\nminimum of risk. I have never seen a more ideal spot from which to see\na fight, and probably will never again have such an opportunity as the\none I missed last night.\n\nI heard here, as I have been hearing now for a week, that there was\na tendency for the Germans to disappear from this Front, and it was\nbelieved that all the troops that could be safely withdrawn were being\nsent in the direction of Cholm-Lublin, where it was generally supposed\nthe next German drive against the Russians would take place. At the\nmoment this point on the Russian Front represented the serious sector\nof their line, and so we determined not to waste more time here but to\nhead directly for Cholm and from there proceed to the army defending\nthat position, the reformed army of the Dunajec. Leaving that afternoon\nwe motored back into Russia, where the roads are good, and headed for\nCholm. On the way up I called at the head-quarters of the army lying\nbetween Brussilov and the army of the Dunajec (as I shall still call\nit for identification), where I lunched with the General in command\nand talked with him about the situation. He freely offered me every\nfacility to visit his lines, but as they were far distant and the\nonly communications were over execrable roads which were practically\nimpossible for a motor, and as his Front was not then active, it did\nnot seem worth while to linger when there was prospect of a more\nserious Front just beyond. As I am now approaching the zone which\npromises to be of interest in the near future, it is necessary for\nme to speak of positions and armies with some ambiguity if I am to\nremain in the good graces of the censor. Suffice to say that the army I\nskipped holds a line running from the general direction of Sokal, along\nthe Bug to the vicinity of Grubeschow, where it bends to the west,\nhitting into a rough and rolling country, with its flank near a certain\npoint not too far south-east of Cholm.\n\nI cannot speak authoritatively of this army as I did not visit the\npositions, though I know of them from the maps. I believe from the\norganizations attached to it, some of which I know of from past\nperformances, that this army is perfectly capable of holding its own\nposition as it now stands, providing strategy in which it is not\npersonally involved does not necessitate its shifting front. If its\nneighbour on the west should be able to advance, I dare say that this\narmy also might make some sort of a move forward.\n\nIt is futile at this time to make any further speculation. Even at best\nmy judgments in view of the length of front and shortness of time at\nmy disposal must be made on extremely hurried and somewhat superficial\nobservation. It may be better, however, to get a somewhat vague idea\nof the whole front than to get exact and accurate information from one\narmy, which in the final analysis may prove to be an inactive one in\nwhich no one is interested.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEW ARMY OF THE FORMER DUNAJEC LINE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTHE NEW ARMY OF THE FORMER DUNAJEC LINE\n\n  CHOLM,\n  _July 11, 1915_.\n\nEver since I started up the line of armies from the Bukovina, I have\nbeen apprehensive about the point in the line held by this army which\nsuffered so badly on its old position when it was the object and centre\nof the great German drive in Galicia. The position which it occupies\nfrom a point perhaps forty odd versts south-east of Cholm, through a\npoint somewhat south of Krasnystav to the general direction of Bychawa,\nis at present the most serious point of German advance. It is clear\nthat the capture of Lublin with its number of railroads centring there,\nwould paralyse the position of the whole line. As I have said before,\nthis stroke doubtless represents the one that the enemy most gladly\nwould accomplish in their whole Galician movement, for the pressing\nof the Russians back here would probably spell the evacuation of\nWarsaw, an object for which the Germans have spent so many hundreds of\nthousands of lives, so far to no purpose.\n\nAs I have crossed a number of the recuperating fragments of the old\nDunajec army in quarters where they were having comparatively an easy\ntime, I was curious to see how the new one was composed. I was received\nkindly by the General in command, and soon realized that his army, save\nin number, was practically an entirely new organization built up from\ncorps that have been taken from all quarters of the Russian Front for\nthis purpose. The General himself is new to the command, and so one may\nregard this organization quite apart from the history of the one that\nbore the burden of the great Galician drive in May. As soon as I saw\nthe corps here, I came to the conclusion at once that the Russians had\nreached a point where they intended to make a serious fight. I at once\nrecognized four corps which I have known in other quarters of the war,\nand wherever they have been they have made a reputation for themselves.\nThe sight of these magnificent troops pouring in made one feel that\nwhether the battle, which every one seems to think is impending, should\nbe won or lost, it would be an action of the most important nature.\nThe new General impressed me as much as any soldier I have seen in\nRussia. Heretofore he has been in command of a corps which is said\nto be one of the finest in the whole Russian Army. I had never seen him\nuntil this visit, and as a matter of fact I had never even heard of\nhis name. When he came into the room with his old uniform blouse open\nhe was a picture of a rough-and-ready soldier. Steel blue eyes under\nheavy grey brows and a great white moustache gave an impression of\ndetermination, relieved by the gentleness that flickered in the blue of\nhis eyes as well as the suggestion of sensitiveness about the corners\nof his firm mouth. From the first sentence he spoke, I realized that he\nmeant business, and that this army, when the time came and whatever the\nresults might be, would put up a historic fight.\n\n[Illustration: A Russian eight-inch gun going into position during the\nfighting round Lublin.]\n\nAt his invitation I went with him later in the afternoon to look at\nsome new guns that had just come in. They were very interesting and\nencouraging, but cannot be discussed at present. With them had come\nnew artillerymen, and the general went about addressing each batch.\nHis talk was something like this, freely translated, “Welcome to my\ncommand, my good children. You are looking fit and well, and I am glad\nto have you with me. Now I suppose that you think you have come here to\nhelp me hold back the Germans. Well, you are mistaken. We are not here\nto hold anybody, but to lick the enemy out of his boots, and drive them\nall clean out of Russia, Poland and Galicia too, and you look to me\nlike the men that could do the job.” The Russian soldiers usually cheer\nto order, but these soldiers responded with a roar, and when dismissed\nran off to their positions cheering as long as they could be seen.\n\nThat night I dined with the General. In the midst of dinner some\nreinforcements passed up the street weary and footsore from a long\nday on the road. The General, dragging his staff with him, went out\ninto the street, and stood, napkin in hand, watching each company\nas it passed him and calling to each a word of greeting. As the men\npassed one could see that each was sizing up the chief in whose hands\nrested their lives, and the future of their army; one could read their\nthoughts plainly enough. “Here is a man to trust. He will pull us\nthrough or die in the attempt.”\n\nAfter dinner I went for a stroll with him, and he did not pass a\nsoldier without stopping to speak for a moment. Late in the evening I\nsaw him walking down the main street of the primitive little town stick\nin hand, and at every corner he stopped to talk with his men. I have\nnever seen an army where the relations between officers and men were\nas they are in Russia, and even in Russia not such as between this\nman and his own soldiers. Already he has lost his own son in the war,\nyet has accepted his loss with a stoicism that reminds one a little of\nGeneral Nogi under similar circumstances. This then is the man to whom\nRussia has entrusted what for the moment appears as her most important\nfront.\n\nThe General permitted Prince Mischersky to accompany me during my\nvisit to the positions on the following day. The Prince who is the\npersonal aide-de-camp of the Emperor, and a charming man, took me in\nhis own motor, and early we arrived at the head-quarters of a certain\narmy corps. From here we drove to the town of Krasnystav where was\nthe General of a lesser command. This point, though 14 versts from\nthe German gun positions, was under fire from heavy artillery, and\ntwo 8-inch shells fell in the town as we entered, spouting bricks and\nmortar in every direction while great columns of black smoke poured\nfrom the houses that had been struck. While we were talking with\nthe General in his rooms, another shell fell outside with a heavy\ndetonation. From here we visited the division of another corps, where\nwe borrowed horses and rode up to their reserve trenches and had a look\nat the troops, some of the most famous in Russia, whose name is well\nknown wherever the readers have followed the fortunes of the war. We\nwere perhaps 600 or 800 yards from the front line, and while we chatted\nwith the grizzled old commander of a certain regiment, the enemy began\na spasm of firing on the front line trench ahead of us, eleven shells\nbursting in a few minutes. Then they suspended entirely and once again\nquiet reigned through the woodland in which our reserves were.\n\nFrom here by a narrow path we struck off to the west and worked our way\nup into one of the new front line trenches which are laid out on an\nentirely new plan, and have been in course of preparation ever since\nthe days of the fighting on the San. They are the best trenches I have\never seen, and are considerably better in my opinion than those on the\nBlonie line in front of Warsaw which, before this, were the best that\nhad ever come under my observation. Many things that I saw during this\nday led me to the conclusion that the Russians were doing everything in\ntheir power to prevent a repetition of the drive on the Dunajec. The\nGerman line of communications here, as I am informed, runs viâ Rawa\nRuska, and owing to the difficulties of the terrain between where they\nnow stand and the Galician frontier, it will be very difficult for them\nto retire directly south. Success in an action here, then, is of\ngreat importance to them. If they attack and fail to advance, they must\ncount on the instant depression of the whole Austrian line, for the\nAustrians even when successful have not been greatly enthusiastic. If\nthey are driven back, they must retire in the direction of Rawa Ruska,\nacross the face of the army standing to the east; they must strike\nwest through Poland, crossing the front of the army lying beside the\nVistula; or they must try to negotiate the bad roads south of them,\nwhich present no simple problem. If the Russian centre can give them a\ngood decisive blow there is every reason to believe that both flanking\narmies can participate pretty vigorously in an offensive. No one\nattaches much importance to the Austrians if the Germans can be beaten.\nAs long as they continue successful, the Austrians, however, are an\nimportant and dangerous part of the Russian problem.\n\n[Illustration: Russian artillery officers in an observation position\nduring the fighting round Lublin.]\n\n\n\n\nBACK TO THE WARSAW FRONT\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nBACK TO THE WARSAW FRONT\n\n\n  Dated:\n  WARSAW,\n  _July 24, 1915_.\n\nLeaving Lublin early in the morning we motored to that certain place\nwhere the army next in line to the one I have last discussed is\nstationed. Since I have been away there have been many changes and much\nshifting about of corps, and I find that nearly half of this army is\nnow east of the Vistula, and its left joins the right of the one we\nhave just left, the two together forming the line of defence on Lublin.\nAs I have been in the army on the Vistula two or three times before, I\nfind many friends there, and learn from them of the successful movement\nof a few days before when an early Austrian advance taken in the flank\nresulted in a loss to the enemy, of prisoners alone, of 297 officers\nand a number reported to be 23,000 men, practically all of whom are\nsaid to be Austrians. Here as elsewhere great confidence is expressed\nas to the position in the south. We are even told that the bulk of the\nGermans are now being shifted to another point, and that the next blow\nwill fall directly on or north of Warsaw.\n\nOn returning to Warsaw I found that during our absence there had been\na grave panic caused by the advances in the south, and that several\nhundred thousand of the population had already left, while practically\nall the better class had departed a week ago. The hotels were almost\ndeserted, and the streets emptier than I have ever seen them. But\nfriends who are unusually well informed told me that the danger was\npast, and the general impression was that the worst was over on\nthis front. For two whole days we had a period practically without\nrumours or alarms, and then began what now looks to be one of the\ndarkest periods that any of us have yet seen here, not even excepting\nthe panicky days of October last when the Germans were all but in\nthe city itself. First came rumours of heavy fighting to the north,\naround Przasnys, Lomza, Ciechanow, and reports of Russian reverses and\nretirements on a new line of defence, and forthwith Warsaw was again\nthrown into a state of excessive nerves. One becomes so accustomed to\nthese constant alarms that they have come to make little impression on\none. The next day a friend coming in from the armies engaged announced\nwith the greatest confidence that the situation was better, and that\nthe new Russian line was in every way better than the old one and that\neverything was going well. Fighting which is reported to be serious\nis going on to the south of us, on the Lublin-Cholm line, but is not\ncausing serious anxiety here. On the whole nearly all the usually\nwell-informed persons here felt moderately easy about the situation.\n\n[Illustration: Retreat from Warsaw. Burning crops.]\n\n[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. A Jewish family leaving Warsaw.]\n\nSuddenly there came a bolt out of the blue. With no warning it was\nannounced that the evacuation of Warsaw had been ordered and that the\ncivil authorities would leave on Sunday, July 18. This announcement\nwas not made until late on Saturday, and immediately began the tumult\nof reports of disaster which we who have sat here through thick and\nthin know so well. Personally I should have felt no anxiety, for there\nseemed no immediate danger on any of the near-by fronts, nor serious\nreverses as far as was known here on the more distant fronts; but the\norder of evacuation was followed up at once by instructions to the\nConsul of Great Britain to be prepared to leave on Monday, while I\nbelieve that the Belgian and French Consuls received similar notices\nand are all departing on that day (to-morrow, July 19). The American\nConsul, Hernando Desote, who already has the German and Austrian\ninterests in charge, took over the British interests at twelve o’clock\nto-day, and will probably do the same for the interests of the other\nAllies represented here in Warsaw.\n\nIn the meantime we hear that the Russians are falling back on the\nBlonie line, and that Zuradov has already been evacuated, which may or\nmay not be true. It now seems quite obvious that something has taken\nplace of which we know nothing, and I have not seen or talked with\nan officer who thinks that what is taking place is due to the local\nmilitary situation as far as it is known. The general opinion is that\nif the Russians retire it is due purely to the fact that they have not\nthe munitions to maintain a sustained attack of the Germans who seem\nto be coming over to this front in increasingly large numbers. For\nthe observer here it is impossible to know what the Russians have in\ntheir caissons. One who gets about a good deal can make a guess at the\npositions, strength and morale of an army, but the matter of munitions\nor outside policy is something which cannot be solved by the man at\nthe front. There is undoubtedly a feeling of great discouragement\nhere at present, and many believe that the Russians have been bearing\nthe burden now ever since January, while the Allies for one cause or\nanother have not been able to start enough of an attack in the west\nto prevent the Germans from sending more and ever more troops over here.\n\n[Illustration: Retreat from Warsaw. A Polish Jew. Note his belongings\ntied round a cow’s neck.]\n\nRussia certainly has neither the industrial system nor the industrial\ntemperament to supply herself with what she needs to the same extent\nas both France and England. She has been fighting now for months,\nwith ammunition when she had it, and practically without it when it\nfailed her. Month after month she has kept up the unequal struggle, and\nthere are many here who think the greater powers that be are going to\nwithdraw to a shorter line, and await refilling of their caissons until\nthe time comes when the Allies can co-operate in the attack on the\ncommon enemy. These matters are purely speculation, however, for here\nwe know nothing except that the civil evacuation is going on apace, and\nthat there are many signs which indicate that it may be followed by the\nmilitary within a week or ten days.\n\nThe Poles are utterly discouraged, the Russians disgusted and, all\nthings considered, Warsaw at the present writing is a very poor place\nfor an optimist. We hear to-day that the fire brigade has come back\nfrom Zuradov, where buildings which might be of use to the enemy are\nsaid to have been blown up. Poles have been notified that the Russian\nGovernment would give them free transportation from here, and 14\nroubles. Factories which have copper in their equipment have been\ndismantled, and many are already in process of being loaded on to cars\nfor shipment to Russia proper. I am told that the State Bank left\nyesterday for Moscow, and that they are collecting all the brass and\ncopper utensils from the building next door to the hotel. My chauffeur\nhas just come in and lugubriously announced that benzine has risen\nto 15 roubles a pood (I do not know how that figures out in English\nequivalent except that it is prohibitory), when we usually pay three.\nIn addition the soldiers are collecting all private stocks, and there\nare few of the privately owned cars in the town that have enough in\ntheir tanks to turn a wheel with. In the meantime another man informs\nme that they are tearing down copper telephone and telegraph wires to\npoints outside of the city, and that our troops are already falling\nback on Warsaw. All of this is very annoying to one who has just\nfinished writing an optimistic story about the situation in the South.\n\nSomething like this, then, is the situation in Warsaw on Sunday night,\nJuly 18. It has never been worse so far as I can judge from my point of\nview, but I am of the opinion that things are not as bad as they look,\nand that successes in the South may yet relieve the tension.\n\n[Illustration: The evacuation of Warsaw. Copper and bells were all\ntaken away before the Russians left.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LOSS OF WARSAW\n\n[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nTHE LOSS OF WARSAW\n\n\n  Dated:\n  PETROGRAD,\n  _August 15, 1915_.\n\nThe giving up of Warsaw marks the end of a definite period in the war,\nand represents the climax of one of the most remarkable campaigns in\nthe history of the world. Military records do not present anything\neven approaching the effort which in three months has been made by\nthe enemy. From the moment they began their attack on the Dunajec\nline in early May, until their entrance into Warsaw, almost exactly\nthree months later, their campaign has represented one continuous\nattack. Every detail seems to have been arranged, and once the movement\nstarted, men and munitions were fed into the maw of war without\nintermission until their objective, Warsaw, was attained. All of this\none must in justice accord the Germans, for it is their due. The\ndetermination and bravery of their soldiers in these three months of\nghastly sacrifice have never faltered.\n\nTheir objective has been attained; but when we have said this, our\nadmiration for a purpose fulfilled stops short. Though obtaining\nWarsaw they have not secured the results that they believed Warsaw\nrepresented; and I believe it perfectly safe to say that the capture of\nWarsaw, without the inflicting of a crashing blow to the Russian Army,\nwas perhaps the greatest disappointment to the Germans which this war\nhas brought them. I know from conversations with many prisoners, that\ngenerally speaking, every soldier in the German Army on this Front felt\nthat with the capture of the great Polish capital, the war with Russia\nwas practically finished. It was because this was so earnestly believed\nthat it was possible to keep driving the soldiers on and on, regardless\nof life and of their physical exhaustion.\n\nThe German plan involved the destruction of the army. They have the\nhusk of victory, while the kernel, as has happened many times before in\nthis war, has slipped from their grasp. Everything that has happened\nsince Warsaw is in the nature of a secondary campaign, and really\nrepresents an entirely new programme and probably a new objective or\nseries of objectives. From the wider point of view, the war against\nRussia has begun all over again, and for the present it seems unwise to\ndiscuss or prophesy the outcome of the vast operations which have\ntaken place since August 5. But it is a desperate new undertaking for\nGermany to enter upon after her incomparable exertions these last three\nmonths.\n\n[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. Ammunition on the road.]\n\nIn dealing with such extended operations at this time, it is\nimpossible to write accurately, because the Front has been so great\nthat nine-tenths of the information in regard to details is not yet\navailable. The writer was for the period from July 10 to August 5 in\ndaily contact with this Front, and in that period motored thousands of\nversts, was in practically all of the armies involved in what may be\ncalled the Warsaw movement, and at the positions in innumerable places.\nYet he hesitates to attempt to write anything of an authoritative\nnature for the moment, although he believes the rough outline which\nfollows will prove approximately accurate when the history of the\nmovement is written from the broader perspective which time only can\nbring.\n\nIt was the opinion of many observers early in May, including the\nwriter, that Warsaw was the main objective of the great Galician drive.\nThe Germans intended first to strengthen the _moral_ of the Austrians\nby returning them Galicia, but probably the greatest value of the\ncapture of Galicia was the position which left the Germans on the\nflank of Warsaw. Since last Autumn it has been clear that the Germans\nregarded Warsaw as the most important strategic prize on this Front,\nand those who have followed the war will recall the constant series of\nattacks on the Polish capital. First came their direct advance which\nfrittered away the middle of December, and left them sticking in the\nmud and snow on the Bzura line in Poland, still 50 versts from their\nprize. Spasmodic fighting continued until January, when their great\nBolimov drive was undertaken. Beginning in the last days of January\nit continued for six consecutive days. We are told that ten divisions\nbacked by 600 guns attacked practically without interruption for six\ndays and six nights. I cannot accurately state what the German losses\nwere, but I know the Russians estimated them to be 100,000.\n\nIt was clear that Warsaw was not to be taken from the front, and as\nthe last gun was being fired on the Bolimov position, the new Prussian\nflanking movement was launched in East Prussia. This, though scoring\nheavily in its early days, soon dissipated as the Russians adjusted\nthemselves to the shock. That was followed instantly by another series\nof operations directed against Warsaw from the North. This too went\nup in smoke, and for several weeks there was a lull, interrupted here\nand there by preliminary punches in different parts of the line,\nintended to discover weakness which did not appear. By April it was\nclear that Warsaw was not vulnerable from the front or North. Then\nfollowed the great Galician campaign which ended with the fall of\nLemberg, and by the end of June left the Germans in their new position\nwith the southern flank of the armies in Poland prepared for their\nfinal drive for Warsaw on the South. From the light which I have on\nthis campaign I will try and give the sketch as it has appeared to me.\n\n[Illustration: During the retreat from Warsaw.]\n\n[Illustration: Russian armoured motor-car.]\n\nThere is no question that the German strategy aimed not merely at the\ncapture of Warsaw, but at the destruction or capture of the greater\npart of the army defending the Polish capital. The German programme was\ncarefully prepared, and this time they had no isolated movements, but\ntwo great movements developing simultaneously; one aimed to cut the\nWarsaw-Petrograd lines from the North, and the other aimed at Warsaw\nfrom the South. The time which has elapsed is not sufficient, nor is\nthe information available, to enable one to judge at this time whether\nthe Northern or Southern movement was the main German objective. I\nwas in the Cholm-Lublin Army head-quarters just before the heavy\nfighting began, and was then of the opinion that the most important\nGerman activity was contemplated on this sector. It is apparent by a\nglance at the map, that an overwhelming success here would have been\nof incredible importance to the enemy. Had they been able to destroy\nthis army as they did the one bearing the same number on the Dunajec in\nMay, they could have moved directly on Brest-Litowsk by Wlodava and cut\nthe Warsaw line of communications to the direct rear 180 versts away. A\nrapid success here would have certainly resulted in just the disaster\nthat the Germans were hoping would be the outcome of their programme.\n\nThe movement on the North from the direction of Mlawa toward\nPrzasnys-Ciechanow was of course a direct threat on the\nWarsaw-Petrograd line of communications. Success here would have forced\nthe evacuation of the city and a general change of the Russian line;\nbut even had it been a sweeping one, it had not the potentialities\nof the calamity which a similar success on the Cholm line would have\nhad. Perhaps the Germans estimated both to be of approximately equal\nimportance, and a double success, occurring simultaneously, would\nhave undoubtedly repeated the Moukden fiasco on an infinitely larger\nscale. It must be remembered that when this movement started, the\nRussians in the South were at the end of a gruelling campaign of nearly\ntwo months’ continuous warfare, in which, through lack of munitions,\nthey were obliged to withdraw under difficult and extremely delicate\ncircumstances. The army defending the Cholm-Lublin line was in name\nthe same that had been so very badly cut up six weeks earlier, and the\nGermans no doubt believed that every one of the Russian Armies engaged\nfrom the Bukowina to the Vistula had been so badly shaken up that any\neffective resistance would be impossible. It was because their estimate\nwas so far out that their programme was doomed to disappointment.\n\n[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. Wounded in a barn outside\nWarsaw.]\n\nMy own observation of the Russian Armies is that if they are given a\nfortnight, or even a week, in which to recuperate, they are good for\na month of continuous fighting. With almost any other army in the\nworld, after such an experience as the Russians had had for six weeks\nin Galicia, the defence on the Cholm-Lublin line would have failed,\nand the Germans might well have driven through to Brest in two or\nthree weeks, as they no doubt firmly believed that they would. But\nthe Russians on the Cholm-Lublin line had the benefit of interior\nlines of communications, and had also the brief breathing space which\nenabled them to pull themselves together. Besides this, a new General,\nGeneral Loesche, was in command, and with him were an important number\nof the best corps in the Russian Army. Excellent field works had been\nprepared, and personally, after visiting the positions I felt sure\nthat whatever the outcome of the German move against him might be, it\nwould not result in anything like the Dunajec enterprise, nor would\nthe enemy be able to drive through to Brest with sufficient rapidity\nto cut off the retreat of the Warsaw army or those lying south of\nit. The movement in the South started with such terrific impetus,\nthat for several days it seemed possible that in spite of the stamina\nand leadership of the Russians the enemy would have their way; but\nafter ten days of fighting it became clear that though the enemy were\nadvancing, their progress was going to be of so slow and arduous a\nnature that they would never be able to inflict a smashing disaster on\nthe Russian Armies.\n\nThe details of the battles that raged here for weeks would fill a\nvolume. Although I visited this army several times during this stage,\nand was in four different corps on this Front, I have still but the\nvaguest outline in my own mind of the fighting except as a whole. Every\nday there was something raging on some part of the line, first in one\nplace and then in another. The Germans used the same practice that\nwas so successful in Galicia and massed their batteries heavily. This\nmethod, backed by the Prussian Guards, enabled them to take Krasnystav.\nThe best trenches that I have ever seen in field operations were washed\naway in a day by a torrent of big shells. The Russians did not retreat.\nThey remained and died, and the Germans simply marched through the\nhole in the line, making a change of front necessary.\n\n[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. German prisoners housed in a\nbarn. Note the Russian soldiers have German rifles.]\n\nBut this time there was no disorganization of the line as a whole. The\nmoment the Germans were beyond their supporting artillery, the Russian\ninfantry were at their throats with the bayonet and drove them back.\nThe fighting from day to day for weeks was a great zig-zag, with German\nadvances and retreats before Russian counter-attacks. But each advance\nleft the enemy a little nearer their objective, and it was clear that\nslowly but surely they were, by superior forces, vastly superior\nsupplies of ammunition and a constant flow of reserves, forcing the\nRussians back toward the Lublin-Cholm-Kovel line of railroad. It became\nequally obvious however after ten days that they would never reach\nBrest in time to menace seriously the future of the Warsaw army, even\nif they could and would spare the men to turn the trick.\n\nAs a fact it became apparent here for almost the first time, that the\nGermans in spite of their anxiety to attain their objective, were\nendeavouring to spare their troops. For the first time I heard the\ngeneral comment among officers, that the artillery was now the main arm\nin modern warfare, and the infantry its support. I think this potential\nfailure of their programme dawned on the Germans even before it did on\nthe Russians; for while all eyes were still on the Southern Front,\nthe Germans were reinforcing and pushing their Northern attack which\naimed to hit through Pultusk and Wyszkow to the Petrograd-Warsaw line\nat Lochow. Perhaps after the first two weeks in the South this really\nwas their greatest aim. Personally I think their chance for inflicting\na disaster slipped when they failed to defeat definitely, or destroy\nthe army of Loesche. To him and to the left flanking corps of Evert,\nmust be accorded the credit of saving this sector with all its menaces\nto the future of the campaign and perhaps the whole European situation.\nFor the last two weeks before the abandonment of Warsaw, these two\ngreat battles, one in the North and one in the South, were raging\nsimultaneously.\n\nI left Cholm for the last time on July 22, feeling that the fate of\nWarsaw would not be decided from that quarter, and, for the balance\nof the campaign, divided my time between the South Vistula armies and\nthose defending the Narew line. It now became clear that the great\nmenace lay from the Northern blow, and here we have a very similar\nstory to that of the Southern army. With terrific drives the enemy took\nPrzasnys, Ciechanow, Makow and at last Pultusk, and finally succeeded\nin getting across the Narew with ten divisions of excellent troops. On\nthis Front, to the best of my judgment, the Germans at this time had\n131 battalions of their very best available troops and perhaps fifteen\nreserve battalions with their usual heavy artillery support. When the\ncrossing of the Narew was accomplished it seemed inevitable that Warsaw\nmust fall and immediately the civil evacuation of the city began.\n\n[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. Artillery on the road.]\n\nIt seemed then that the Germans might in a few days drive through to\nthe railroad, and to save the army in Warsaw an immediate evacuation\nin hot haste would prove imperative. But the Russian Army defending\nthis sector rallied just as their brothers did in the South. The\nGerman drive on Wyszkow took them within 4 versts of the town, while\nthe Russian counter-attack threw them back fifteen, with heavy losses\nin casualties and prisoners. Then there began here the same sort of\nslow stubborn fighting that for weeks had been progressing in the\nSouth; only here the German advances were slower, and the attainment\nof their objective less certain. About the same time (July 25-26) the\nGermans made a try on the Warsaw line itself, but failed miserably,\nand abandoned any serious effort against the new Blonie line to which\nthe Russians, in order to get the most out of their men and to shorten\ntheir line, had withdrawn. It must never be forgotten that the Russian\nFront was 1,200 miles long, and the inability to supply it with men\nand munitions had made it necessary to shorten their Front to get the\nbest results from their numbers. It is hard to say what numbers both\nbelligerents had, and even if I knew exactly our strength the censor\nwould not pass my statement. I think it safe to say however, that\nduring these days the Austro-German forces outnumbered the Russians\nby at least 50 per cent., counting effectives only. This shortening\nleft simply Warsaw itself with its Blonie line from Novo-Georgievsk to\nGorakalwara in Russian hands west of the Vistula.\n\nBy the 27th-28th of July there came a wave of hope, and those who\nhad lost all optimism picked up their courage once more. I know from\nthe very best authority that up to August 1 it was hoped that Warsaw\nmight still be saved, though every preparation was being made for its\nevacuation. The cause of this burst of optimism was due to the fact\nthat the terrific German blows both North and South were not gaining\nthe headway that had been expected. Besides, the Russians were getting\nmore and more ammunition, and it seemed more than possible that the\nGermans might fail of their objective if only they did not receive\nincreasing reinforcements. These two great battles North and South,\neach seeming equally important, had drawn everything that could be\nspared to either one point or the other. It was clear then that there\nmust be some link in the chain weaker than the others, and the\nGermans set out to find this.\n\n[Illustration: During the retreat from Warsaw. Note wounded man.]\n\nWithout weakening for a moment their attacks on their main objectives,\nthey began (with new reinforcements) to spear about for a point against\nwhich to launch still a third attack. Several attempts disclosed the\nRussians in strength, but at last the enemy discovered that the weakest\nspot was on the Vistula south of Warsaw. As this was the easiest to\ndefend on account of the river being approximately the line, the\nRussians had fewer troops and thus the Germans were able to effect a\ncrossing of the river. I am not able to state absolutely the day or the\nplace of crossing, but I am inclined to place it about July 27-28, and\nI think the first crossing was near the mouth of the Radomika, while I\nbelieve another was made about the same date somewhere near the mouth\nof the Pilica river. The enemy gained an initial advantage at first,\nbut as usual was driven back by a counter-attack, though he still held\nhis position on the East bank of the river.\n\nAt this time, as nearly as I can estimate, there were four Russian army\ncorps defending the Blonie line from Novo-Georgievsk to Gorakalwara.\nWith this strength the few sporadic attacks of the Germans were futile.\nWhen the first crossing of the Vistula developed, the corps which\nstood near Gorakalwara crossed the river and countered the northerly\ncrossing, while troops from the neighbouring army to the South, covered\nthe menace on that portion of the line, and it was believed that the\nenemy had failed here in his objective which it was thought was the\nWarsaw-Brest line at Nova Minsk. It was believed and probably rightly,\nthat even the three remaining corps on the Blonie line could hold that\nfront, and that the balance had been re-established, for the Russians\nhoped that the Germans had in their fighting line all the loose\nformations which were immediately available. About July 30-August 1,\nthe Germans developed three new divisions (believed to have come from\nFrance), and these crossed the river, giving them practically two whole\ncorps against half the strength of Russians. It is possible that even\nthese odds might have been overcome by the stubbornness of the Russian\nsoldier, but the Russians learned that three Austrian divisions, said\nto have come from the Serbian Front were available in immediate support.\n\n[Illustration: The retreat from Warsaw. One of the last regiments to\npass through Warsaw.]\n\nFrom this moment it was evident that Warsaw was doomed. To weaken the\nFront on the Blonie line meant a break there, and re-inforcements\ncould not be sent either from the Narew line or the Southern Front\nwhere actions still raged. It was then clearly a mate in a few moves,\nif the Russians waited for it. But they did not. Instantly began\ntheir military evacuation, the cleverness of which must I think\nbe credited to Alexieff and his brilliant Chief of Staff Goulevitch.\nThose of us who have been studying the Warsaw situation for ten months,\nimagined that when the evacuation came, if it ever did, it would be\nthrough the city. What happened was entirely unexpected. The corps at\nGorakalwara slipped over the river on pontoon bridges in the night,\nsupporting the first corps that was already there, effecting the double\npurpose of getting out of the Warsaw zone, and simultaneously coming\nin between the Germans and the line of retreat toward Brest. About\nthe same time the corps that lay next to the Vistula, on the Northern\nend of the Blonie line, slipped out over pontoon bridges and went to\nsupport the Narew defenders, thus making impossible the immediate\nbreaking of that line. On August 4, by noon, there was probably not\nover one corps on the West side of the Vistula. Half of that crossed\nsouth of Warsaw before six, and probably the last division left about\nmidnight, and at three a.m. the bridges were blown up. The Germans\narrived at six in the morning, which seemed to indicate that they were\nnot even in touch with the Russian rearguard at the end.\n\nWhat I have written above is to the best of my information the outline\nof the Warsaw situation, but it may be in details somewhat inaccurate,\nthough I think the main points are correct. In any case there is no\nquestion that the whole withdrawal was cleverly accomplished, and in\nperfect order, and that when the Germans finally closed in, they found\nan abandoned city. Their reports of having carried Warsaw by storm are\nundoubtedly true to the extent that they were in contact with some\nof the last troops to leave. Probably the trenches that they carried\nby storm were held by a battalion or two of soldiers protecting the\nrearguard. That the great body had gone long before the Germans know\nperfectly well, and their claims of having carried the city by assault\nwould, I dare say, bring a smile even to the stolid face of the German\nsoldier.\n\nDuring all these operations the Germans had at least five shells to\nthe Russians, one, and but for this great superiority they never would\nhave pushed back either the line of the Narew or the Cholm-Lublin line.\nRussia could not convert her resources into ammunition, and Germany,\nwho for forty years has lived for this day, could. To this fact she\nowes her capture of Warsaw. The Allies may be assured that Russia\nstayed until the last minute and the last shell, and then extricated\nherself from an extremely dangerous position, leaving the enemy to\npounce on the empty husk of a city from which had been taken every\nmovable thing of military value. The defence of and final escape from\nWarsaw is one of the most spectacular and courageous bits of warfare\nthat history presents, and undoubtedly the fair-minded German admits it\nin his own heart regardless of the published statements of the Staff.\n\n[Illustration: Siberians leaving the last trench before Warsaw.]\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION\n\n[Illustration: A batch of German prisoners captured during the retreat\nfrom Warsaw.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nCONCLUSION\n\n\n  Dated:\n  PETROGRAD,\n  _September 2, 1915_.\n\nA great deal has happened since the Fall of Warsaw which one must\nregret, but at the same time the incidents or disasters must be viewed\nin their proper perspective. The loss of Kovno, Novo-Georgievsk and\nmany other positions are all unfortunate, but must I think be taken\nas by-products of the loss of Warsaw. With these enormous extended\nfronts which modern war presents for the same time, there always\ndevelop certain points on the line which may be called keystones. In\nthe Galician campaign, the Dunajec line and Gorlice was the keystone.\nOnce this was pulled out and a number of corps eliminated, the whole\nvast line from the Vistula to the Bukovina was thrown into a state of\noscillation. Once the withdrawal of one army started, the whole line,\neven to the Warsaw Front, was affected. Armies such as the Bukovina\narmy, which was actually advancing for ten days after the first attack\nbegan hundreds of miles away, first halted and finally had to come\nback to maintain the symmetry of the whole. A great Front, changing\nover hundreds of versts, means that the whole line can stop only when\nthe weakest unit can stop. A chain is no stronger than its weakest link\nand the same is roughly true of a Front.\n\nWe saw this clearly in Galicia. It has been apparent to every one that\nWarsaw was the keystone of the campaign in Poland. Once Warsaw was\ngiven up under the conditions which then existed, everything that has\nhappened could have been foreseen. It was clear to all on this Front\nwho had followed these movements closely, that the next line would\nbe far in the rear, and that when the general change of Front came,\nmany places would have to be sacrificed. Novo-Georgievsh as a matter\nof course was doomed. Its function was to protect the flank of the\nWarsaw defences. It actually held out for two weeks after Warsaw was\nabandoned, and this delay to the Germans enabled the Russians to get\ntheir army clear of a dangerously active pursuit. Fortresses in modern\nwar must, as many believe, be regarded as checks to the mobility of an\nenemy, rather than as permanent blocks to his progress. Noro-Georgievsh\nwas this, and certainly justified the loss of the garrison and the\ncost of its construction. Liége is a still better example. Certainly\nno fortress can withstand modern big guns, and if by their sacrifice\nthey play their part in the game, they have more than served their\nends. To hold on to a fortress with a large garrison only magnifies\nits importance, creates a bad moral effect when it falls, and entails\nthe loss of a field army. Perhaps the Austrian conduct of Przemysl\nwill become the historic warning in future wars as what not to do with\nfortresses. From an extremely intimate contact of the terrain, I felt\ncertain that the next jump from Warsaw would be Brest-Litowsk. I had\nvisited that place five or six times and felt equally sure that if\nthe Germans made a definite bid for it, it would not be defended. The\nRussians knew this, and in the army there was no keen disappointment at\nits loss; for I think no one who knew conditions expected that there\nwould be a big battle there, though many believed that the enemy would\nnever try seriously to go further. That they have done so is looked\nupon by many as a mistake of the Germans. Time only can tell. The\nRussians are now on the move to another line. The enemy may continue to\nfollow, but in this district one does not see any point the capture of\nwhich can have any great benefit which they could ensure before winter\nsets in. The only result which can seriously assist them is the capture\nof Petrograd, and even this would not, I believe, insure a peace with\nRussia.\n\n[Illustration: Refugees on the road to Brest-Litovsk.]\n\nAs a matter of fact it seems to the writer pretty certain that the\nenemy will not reach half way to Petrograd before the winter sets in,\nand after that its capture is increasingly unlikely. Once one has left\nthe Front one obtains more accurate news as to the situation on this\nline of battle from the foreign papers than from any other source. In\nPetrograd, in civilian circles, there is great pessimism as to the\nmilitary situation, but this is not shared by those who are in the\nconfidence of the highest authorities. The only danger that seriously\nand immediately menaces the Russians is rapidly passing away. It was\ndangerous because it was insidious. It is certainly worth discussion.\n\nIt was of course to be expected that the moment the Russian Armies left\nWarsaw and the entire line began to retire on new positions, there\nshould be a period of great ambiguity. For several weeks the armies\nwere in constant movement, and from day to day their exact positions\nwere uncertain. As they went back, they obviously left many towns and\npositions behind them, with the result that for weeks the Germans have\nbeen having a continuous celebration over their advances. During this\nperiod very little news was available in Petrograd, which at the best\nis pessimistic and quick to jump at conclusions of disaster. There\nis here, as all the world knows, an enormous German influence, and\nwhenever the military situation is in the least ambiguous, there\nstart immediately in a thousand different quarters reports of disaster\nwhich in an hour are all over Petrograd. That these reports originate\nfrom German sympathizers is hardly questioned, and that the whole\npropaganda is well organized is equally certain.\n\n[Illustration: Roll call during the retreat from Warsaw. All that was\nleft of them.]\n\nThe past two weeks has found Petrograd in a receptive mood for gloomy\nnews, and inasmuch as nothing of a favourable nature has come from the\nRussian Army, the German propaganda of insidious and subtle rumours and\nreports has run through the city like a prairie fire after a drought.\nThree main themes have been worked up and circulated for all that they\nwould stand. It was said first that there was lack of harmony among the\nAllies, and that the Russian high authorities were not satisfied with\nthe conduct of the war in the West. The corollary of this of course was\nthat without harmony the cause was lost. Next came the assertion that\nthe army was demoralized, and had lost hope and therefore wanted peace.\nThen the shortage of ammunition was magnified until half the gullible\npopulation were almost willing to believe that the army were fighting\nwith pitchforks and shotguns. Out of all this came the assertion that\npeace was inevitable and that the Germans would take Petrograd. For\na week or more these topics circulated and grew with such alarming\nrapidity that at last the Government was obliged to take notice of the\npropaganda, which was finally squelched by a statement issued to _The\nTimes_ and the Russian Press by M. Serge Sazonov, the distinguished and\nclever minister of Foreign Affairs.\n\nIn this interview the Russian statesman, speaking for the Government,\nmade a categorical denial of the slanders against the Government\nand the Russian people. He stated without reservation that there\nwas not now, nor had there ever been, a lack of harmony between the\nmilitary or civil authorities of the Allies, and announced that the\nRussian Government not only approved of, but had implicit faith in the\nprogramme of the Allies in the West. He then discussed the munitions\nquestion, and asserted that all steps were being taken to fill\ndepletions in all branches of the army requirements, and lastly he\nstated once and for ever that there would be no independent peace with\nGermany while a single German soldier remained on Russian soil and that\nthe war would continue even if the Government were obliged to retire to\nthe heart of Russia and the contest continued for years to come. This\nstatement has had an immediate effect on the local panic-mongers here,\nand for the moment there is a lull in the German propaganda.\n\n[Illustration: Resting during the retreat from Warsaw.]\n\nIn the meantime it is becoming obvious that the Germans in spite of\ntheir following up of the retiring Russians are not likely to\nachieve any successes which can immediately affect the political\nsituation. If they take Riga and Grodno, and even Vilna, they have\ndone their worst for some months to come, and one cannot see what they\ncan accomplish further before winter sets in. If the campaign at this\nstage were in June one might feel apprehensive of Petrograd, but under\nthe most favourable conditions it is difficult to see how the Germans\ncan get even halfway here before November. By that time they will be\non the verge of the winter with the ground freezing so deeply that\nintrenching is difficult, if not impossible, and every advance must be\nmade with terrific losses. Their attempts to conduct warfare in Poland\n(a much milder climate) in winter, are too recent a memory to lead one\nto believe they will repeat it here. It will be remembered that their\nadvance on the Bzura-Rawka line froze up when winter came, and the\nsacrifice of thousands did not advance them materially at that point\nin spite of their most determined efforts. I think one may say, then,\nthat what the Germans cannot accomplish before November they will not\nattempt until Spring. The pessimism and hopelessness of Petrograd seem\nto be on the wane, and the reports from the Front now arriving do not\nindicate either demoralization or despair in the army.\n\nProbably one must expect retirements and rearguard actions for some\nweeks to come. Ultimately the Russians will settle down on some new\nline from which it is extremely unlikely that they can be driven before\nthe winter sets in. One hesitates to make any prophecies, as conditions\nchange so rapidly that it is always dangerous to do so, but perhaps it\nis safe to say that with the coming of the winter and the definite lull\nin the campaign which will follow, the Russians will have passed their\ncrisis. Given four months of rest and recuperation we shall have an\nentirely new situation in the beginning of next year which will present\nan entirely new problem. It will really mean the starting of a new war\nwith new objectives and practically with a new and re-equipped army.\n\nThere may be those who are disappointed, but history, I believe,\nwill conclude that this summer campaign of the Russians has been the\ngreatest factor so far in the war making for the ultimate victory\nof the Allies. For nearly four months Germany has been drained of\nher best. Men and resources have been poured on this Front since\nMay regardless of cost. Autumn approaches with the armies in being,\nundemoralized and preparing to do it all over again. In the meantime\nthe Allies are preparing to begin on the West, or at least it is\ngenerally so believed. When they do at last start, Germany will for\nmonths be occupied in protecting herself, and will probably be unable\nto act so vigorously here. If Russia gets over the period of the\nnext sixty days, she will be safe until Spring, and by that time she\nwill without doubt be able to take up an offensive in her turn.\n\n[Illustration: Wounded returning to Warsaw.]\n\n[Illustration: On the banks of the River Dniester. Cossack snipers in\nthe woods overlooking the river.]\n\nAfter months of observation of the Germans it is folly to speculate on\nhow long they can stand this pace. It may be for six months, and it\nmay be for two years, but with the Allies patiently wearing down the\nenemy month after month and year after year there can be but one end.\nThat Russia has played her part, and played it heroically, I think no\none, even the Germans themselves, can deny. There are some that like to\nbelieve that the enemy will try to get Moscow and Kiev before winter\nsets in. The former objective seems impossible, and the latter even\nif obtained would, I believe, in no way compensate the enemy for his\nsacrifices, for the nature of the country is such that all advances\ncould only be at terrific cost. Besides, Kiev, even if taken, would\nnot, I think, have any tangible effect on forcing Russia to make peace,\nand this end alone can justify the Germans in making further huge\nsacrifices.\n\nThere are many who maintain that Russia will find it difficult to\nreconquer Galicia and Poland. Probably she will never have to do so.\nIt is perfectly possible that when the end comes, Germany will still\nbe on the territory of France, Belgium, and Russia. Peace will bring\nback instantly all of these provinces without any fighting at all. It\nmatters not, then, whether Germany is broken while still in the heart\nof Russia or under the walls of Berlin itself. The task is to break the\nenemy and that this will be done eventually I think cannot be doubted.\nIt is the stamina, the character and the resources of the Allies that\nin the end will decide this war, and nothing is more unwise than to\njudge the situation from the study of pins moved back and forward on\nthe map of Europe.\n\n\n    Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Frome and London\n\n\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nInconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                       BULFINCH'S MYTHOLOGY\n                         THE AGE OF FABLE\n\n\n                    Revised by Rev. E. E. Hale\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nChapter I\n\nOrigin of Greeks and Romans.  The Aryan Family.  The Divinities\nof these Nations.  Character of the Romans.  Greek notion of\nthe World.  Dawn, Sun, and Moon.  Jupiter and the gods of\nOlympus.  Foreign gods.   Latin Names.-- Saturn or Kronos.\nTitans.  Juno, Vulcan, Mars, Phoebus-Apollo, Venus, Cupid,\nMinerva, Mercury, Ceres, Bacchus.  The Muses.  The Graces.\nThe Fates.  The Furies.  Pan.   The Satyrs.  Momus.  Plutus.\n  Roman gods.\n\nChapter II\n\nRoman Idea of Creation.  Golden Age.  Milky Way.  Parnassus.\nThe Deluge.  Deucalion and Pyrrha.  Pandora.  Prometheus.\nApollo and Daphne.  Pyramus and Thisbe.  Davy's Safety Lamp.\nCephalus and Procris\n\nChapter III\n\nJuno.  Syrinx, or Pandean Pipes.  Argus's Eyes.  Io.\nCallisto   Constellations of Great and Little Bear.  Pole-star.\n  Diana.  Actaeon.  Latona.  Rustics turned to Frogs.  Isle\nof Delos.  Phaeton.  Palace of the Sun.  Phoebus.  Day.\nMonth.  Year.  Hours.  Seasons.  Chariot of the sun.  People\nof Aethiopia.  Libyan Desert.  The Wells Dry.  The Sea\nShrinks.  Phaeton's Tomb.  The Heliades\n\nChapter IV\n\nSilenus.  Midas.  Bacchus's Reward to Midas.  River Pactolus.\n  Pan Challenges Apollo.  Midas's Ears.  Gordian Knot.  Baucis\nand Philemon.  Aetna.  Perpetual Spring.  Pluto carries off\nProsperine.  Cere's Search.  Prosperine's Release.  Eleusinian\nMysteries.  Glaucis changed to a Fish.  Scylla\n\nChapter V\n\nPygmalion's Statue.  Dryope and Iole.  Lotus Tree.  Venus and\nAdonis.  Anemone or Wind Flower.  Apollo and Hyacinthus.  Game\nof Quoits.  Flower Hyacinthus.  Ceyx and Halcyone.  Palace of\nthe King of Sleep.  Morpheus.  Halcyon Birds.\n\nChapter VI\n\nHamadryads.  Pomona.  Vertumnus.  Iphis.  Cupid and Psyche.\nZephyr.  Temple of Ceres.  Temple of Venus.  The Ant.  Golden\nFleece.  Pluto.  Cerberus.  Charon.  The Treasure.  Stygian\nSleep.  Cup of Ambrosia.  Birth of Pleasure.  Greek name of\nPsyche.\n\nChapter VII\n\nCadmus.  Origin of City of Thebes.  Tyrians.  Serpent.\nDragon's Teeth.  Harmonia.  Serpent Sacred to Mars.  Myrmidons.\n  Cephalus.  Aeacus.  Pestilence Sent by June.  Origin of\nMyrmidons.\n\nChapter VIII\n\nMinos, King of Crete.  Nisus, his purple hair.  Scylla's\nBetrayal.  Her Punishment.  Echo.  Juno's Sentence.\nNarcissus.  Love for his own image.  Clytie.  Hopeless Love\nfor Apollo.  Becomes a Flower.  Hero and Leander.  Hellespont\n\nChapter IX\n\nGoddess of Wisdom.  Arachne.  Her Challenge with Minerva.\nMinerva's Web.  Arachne's Web.  Transformation.  Niobe Queen\nof Thebes.  Mount Cynthus.  Death of Niobe's Children.  Changed\nto stone.  The Gray-haired Sisters.  The Gorgon Medusa.  Tower\nof brass.  Danae.  Perseus.  Net of Dicte.  Minerva.  King\nAtlas.  Andromeda.  Sea Monster.  Wedding Feast.  Enemies\nTurned to Stone.\n\nChapter X\n\nAttributes of Monsters.  Laius.  Oedipus.  The Oracle.\nSphinx.  The Riddle.  Oedipus made King.  Jocasta.  Origin of\nPegasus.  Fountain of Hippocrene.  The Chimaera.\nBellerophontic Letters.  The Centaurs.  The Pygmies.\nDescription of the Griffin.  The Native Country.  One-Eyed\nPeople\n\nChapter XI\n\nThe Ram with the Golden Fleece.  The Hellespont.  Jason's\nQuest.  Sowing the Dragon's Teeth.  Jason's Father.\nIncantations of Medea.  Ancient Name of Greece.  Great\nGatherings of the Greeks.  Wild Boar.  Atalanta's Race.  Three\nGolden Apples.  Lovers' Ingratitude.  Venus's Revenge.\nCorybantes\n\nChapter XII\n\nLabors of Hercules.-- Fight with Nemean Lion.-- Slaughter of the\nHydra.  Cleaning the Augean Stables.-- Girdle of the Queen of the\nAmazons.-- Oxen of Geryon.-- Golden Apples of Hesperides.--\nVictory over Antaeus.-- Cacus Slain.-- Hercules, Descent into\nHades.-- He Becomes the Slave of Omphale.-- Dejanira's Charm.--\nDeath of Hercules.-- Hebe, Goddess of Youth\n\nChapter XIII\n\nTheseus Moves the Fated Stone, and Proceeds to Athens.--\nProcrustes's Bedstead.-- Tribute to Minos.-- Ariadne.-- Clew of\nThread.-- Encounter with the Minotaur.-- Theseus Becomes King of\nAthens.-- Friendship of Theseus and Pirithous.  The Theseum.--\nFestival of Panathenaea.-- Elgin Marbles.-- National Greek\nGames.-- The Labyrinth.-- Daedalus' Wings.-- Invention of the\nSaw.-- Castor and Pollux.-- Argonautic Expedition.-- Orpheus's\nHarp.-- Gemini\n\nChapter XIV\n\nDestruction of Semele.-- Infancy of Bacchus.-- March of Bacchus.-\n- One of the Bacchanals taken Prisoner.-- Pentheus.-- Worship of\nBacchus Established in Greece.-- Ariadne.-- Bacchus's Marriage.--\nAriadne's Crown\n\nChapter XV\n\nPan.-- Shepherd's Pipe.-- Panic Terror.-- Signification of the\nName Pan.-- Latin Divinities.-- Wood Nymphs.-- Water Nymphs.--\nSea Nymphs.  Pleasing Traits of Old Paganism.-- Mrs. Browning's\nPoem.-- Violation of Cere's Grove.-- Erisichthon's Punishment.--\nRhoecus.-- Water Deities.-- Neptune's Symbol of Power.-- Latin\nName for the Muses, and other Deities.-- Personification of the\nWinds.  The Harpies.-- Worship of Fortuna\n\nChapter XVI\n\nTransformation of Achelous.-- Origin of the Cornucopia.-- Ancient\nMeaning of fight of Achelous with Hercules.-- Aesculapius.-- The\nCyclops.  Antigone.-- Expedition of the \"Seven against Thebes.\"-\n- Antigone's Sisterly Devotion.-- Antigone's Burial.-- Penelope.-\n- Statue to Modesty.-- Ulysses.-- Penelope's suitors.--\nPenelope's Web\n\nChapter XVII\n\nOrpheus's Lyre.-- Unhappy Prognostics at Orpheus's Marriage.--\nEurydice's Death.-- Orpheus Descends to the Stygian Realm.--\nOrpheus Loses Eurydice Forever.-- Thracian Maidens.-- Honey.--\nAristaeus's Loss and Complaint.-- Cyrene's Apartments.-- Proteus\nCaptured.-- His Directions to Orpheus.-- Swarm of Bees.--\nCelebrated Mythical Poets and Musicians.-- First Mortal Endowed\nwith Prophetic Powers\n\nChapter XVIII\n\nAdventures of Real Persons.-- Arion, Famous Musician.--\nDescription of Ancient Theatres.-- Murder of Ibycus.-- Chorus\nPersonating the Furies.-- Cranes of Ibycus.-- The Murderers\nSeized.-- Simonides.-- Scopa's Jest.  Simonides's Escape.--\nSappho.-- \"Lover's Leap\"\n\nChapter XIX\n\nEndymion.-- Mount Latmos. Gift of Perpetual Youth and Perpetual\nSleep.-- Orion.-- Kedalion.-- Orion's Girdle.-- The Fatal Shot\nThe Pleiads.-- Aurora.-- Memnon.-- statue of Memnon.-- Scylla.--\nAcis and Galatea.-- River Acis\n\nChapter XX\n\nMinerva's Competition.-- Paris's Decision.-- Helen.-- Paris's\nElopement.-- Ulysses's Pretence.-- The Apple of Discord.-- Priam,\nKing of Troy.-- Commander of Grecian Armament.-- Principal\nLeaders of the Trojans.-- Agamemnon Kills the Sacred Stag.--\nIphigenia.-- The Trojan War.-- The Iliad.-- Interest of Dods and\nGoddesses in the War.-- Achilles's Suit of Armor.-- Death of\nHector.-- Ransom Sent to Achilles.-- Achilles Grants Priam's\nRequest.-- Hector's Funeral Solemnities.\n\nChapter XXI\n\nAchilles Captivated by Polyxena.-- Achilles' Claim.-- Bestowal of\nAchilles' Armor.-- The Hyacinth.-- Arrows of Hercules.-- Death of\nParis.-- Celebrated Statue of Minerva.-- Wooden Horse.-- Greeks\nPretend to Abandon the Siege.-- Sea Serpents.-- Laocoon.-- Troy\nsubdued.-- Helen and Menelaus.-- Nepenthe.-- Agamemnon's\nMisfortunes.-- Orestes.-- Electra.-- Site of the City of Troy\n\nChapter XXII\n\nThe Odyssey.-- The Wanderings of Ulysses.-- Country of the\nCyclops.-- The Island of Aeolus.-- The Barbarous Tribe of\nLaestrygonians.-- Circe.-- The Sirens.-- Scylla and Charybdis.--\nCattle of Hyperion.-- Ulysses's Raft.-- Calypso Entertains\nUlysses.-- Telemachus and Mentor Escape from Calypso's Isle\n\nChapter XXIII\n\nUlysses Abandons the Raft.-- The Country of the Phaeacians.--\nNausicaa's Dream.-- A Game of Ball.-- Ulysses's Dilemma.--\nNausicaa's Courage.-- The Palace of Alcinous.-- Skill of the\nPhaeacian Women.-- Hospitality to Ulysses.-- Demodocus, the Blind\nBard.-- Gifts to Ulysses\n\nChapter XXV\n\nVirgil's Description of the Region of the Dead.-- Descend into\nHades.-- The Black River and Ferryman.-- Cape Palinurus.-- The\nThree-Headed Dog.-- Regions of Sadness.-- Shades of Grecian and\nTrojan Warriors.-- Judgment Hall of Rhadamanthus.-- The Elysian\nFields.-- Aeneas Meets His Father.-- Anchises Explains the Plan\nof Creation.-- Transmigration of Souls.-- Egyptian Name of\nHades.-- Location of Elysium.-- Prophetic Power of the Sibyl.--\nLegend of the Nine Books\n\n\n\n\nStories of Gods and Heroes.\n\n\n\nChapter I\n\nIntroduction\n\nThe literature of our time, as of all the centuries of\nChristendom, is full of allusions to the gods and goddesses of\nthe Greeks and Romans.  Occasionally, and, in modern days, more\noften, it contains allusions to the worship and the superstitions\nof the northern nations of Europe.  The object of this book is to\nteach readers who are not yet familiar with the writers of Greece\nand Rome, or the ballads or legends of the Scandinavians, enough\nof the stories which form what is called their mythology, to make\nthose allusions intelligible which one meets every day, even in\nthe authors of our own time.\n\nThe Greeks and Romans both belong to the same race or stock.  It\nis generally known in our time as the Aryan family of mankind;\nand so far as we know its history, the Greeks and Romans\ndescended from the tribes which emigrated from the high table-\nlands of Northern India.  Other tribes emigrated in different\ndirections from the same centre, so that traces of the Aryan\nlanguage are found in the islands of the Pacific ocean.\n\nThe people of this race, who moved westward, seem to have had a\nspecial fondness for open air nature, and a willingness to\npersonify the powers of nature.  They were glad to live in the\nopen air, and they specially encouraged the virtues which an\nopen-air people prize.  Thus no Roman was thought manly who could\nnot swim, and every Greek exercised in the athletic sports of the\npalaestra.\n\nThe Romans and Grecian and German divisions of this great race\nare those with which we have most to do in history and in\nliterature.  Our own English language is made up of the dialects\nof different tribes, many of whom agreed in their use of words\nwhich they had derived from our Aryan ancestry.  Thus our\nsubstantive verb I AM appears in the original Sanscrit of the\nAryans as ESMI, and m for ME (MOI), or the first person singular,\nis found in all the verbal inflections.  The Greek form of the\nsame verb was ESMI, which became ASMI,   and in Latin the first\nand last vowels have disappeared, the verb is SUM.  Similar\nrelationships are traced in the numerals, and throughout all the\nlanguages of these nations.\n\nThe Romans, like the Etruscans who came before them, were neither\npoetical nor imaginative in temperament.  Their activity ran in\npractical directions.  They therefore invented few, if any\nstories, of the gods whom they worshipped with fixed rites.  Mr.\nMacaulay speaks of these gods as \"the sober abstractions of the\nRoman pantheon.\"  We owe most of the stories of the ancient\nmythology to the wit and fancy of the Greeks,   more playful and\nimaginative,   who seized from Egypt and from the East such\nlegends as pleased them,   and adapted them in their own way.  It\noften happens that such stories, resembling each other in their\nfoundation, are found in the Greek and Roman authors in several\ndifferent forms.\n\nTo understand these stories, we will here first acquaint\nourselves with the ideas of the structure of the universe, which\nthe poets and others held, and which will form the scenery, so to\nspeak, of the narratives.\n\nThe Greek poets believed the earth to be flat and circular, their\nown country occupying the middle of it, the central point being\neither Mount Olympus, the abode of the gods, or Delphi, so famous\nfor its oracle.\n\nThe circular disk of the earth was crossed from west to east, and\ndivided into two equal parts by the SEA, as they called the\nMediterranean, and its continuation the Euxine.\n\nAround the earth flowed the RIVER OCEAN, its course being from\nsouth to north on the western side of the earth, and in a\ncontrary direction on the eastern side.  It flowed in a steady,\nequable current, unvexed by storm or tempest.  The sea, and all\nthe rivers on earth, received their waters from it.\n\nThe northern portion of the earth was supposed to be inhabited by\na happy race named the Hyperboreans [this word means \"who live\nbeyond the north\" from the word \"hyper,\" beyond, and boreas, the\nnorth wind], dwelling in everlasting bliss and spring beyond the\nlofty mountains whose caverns were supposed to send forth the\npiercing blasts of the north wind, which chilled the people of\nHellas (Greece).  Their country was inaccessible by land or sea.\nThey lived exempt from disease or old age, from toils and\nwarfare.  Moore has given us the \"Song of a Hyperborean,\"\nbeginning\n\n  \"I come from a land in the sun-bright deep,\n  Where golden gardens glow,\n  Where the winds of the north, becalmed in sleep,\n  Their conch-shells never blow.\"\n\nOn the south side of the earth, close to the stream of Ocean,\ndwelt a people happy and virtuous as the Hyperboreans.  They were\nnamed the AEthiopians.  The gods favored them so highly that they\nwere wont to leave at times their Olympian abodes, and go to\nshare their sacrifices and banquets.\n\nOn the western margin of the earth, by the stream of Ocean, lay a\nhappy place named the Elysian Plain, whither mortals favored by\nthe gods were transported without tasting of death, to enjoy an\nimmortality of bliss.  This happy region was also called the\n\"fortunate fields,\" and the \"Isles of the Blessed.\"\n\nWe thus see that the Greeks of the early ages knew little of any\nreal people except those to the east and south of their own\ncountry, or near the coast of the Mediterranean.  Their\nimagination meantime peopled the western portion of this sea with\ngiants, monsters, and enchantresses; while they placed around the\ndisk of the earth, which they probably regarded as of no great\nwidth, nations enjoying the peculiar favor of the gods, and\nblessed with happiness and longevity.\n\nThe Dawn, the Sun, and the Moon were supposed to rise out of the\nOcean, on the western side, and to drive through the air, giving\nlight to gods and men.  The stars also, except those forming\nCharles' Wain or Bear, and others near them, rose out of and sank\ninto the stream of Ocean.  There the sun-god embarked in a winged\nboat, which conveyed him round by the northern part of the earth,\nback to his place of rising in the east.  Milton alludes to this\nin his \"Commmus.\"\n\n  \"Now the gilded car of day\n  His golden axle doth allay\n  In the steep Atlantic stream,\n  And the <DW72> sun his upward beam\n  Shoots against the dusky pole,\n  Pacing towards the other goal\n  Of his chamber in the east.\"\n\nThe abode of the gods was on the summit of Mount Olympus, in\nThessaly.  A gate of clouds, kept by the goddesses named the\nSeasons, opened to permit the passage of the Celestials to earth,\nand to receive them on their return.  The gods had their separate\ndwellings; but all, when summoned, repaired to the palace of\nJupiter [Or Zeus.  The relation of these names to each other will\nbe explained on the next page], as did also those deities whose\nusual abode was the earth, the waters, or the underworld.  It was\nalso in the great hall of the palace of the Olympian king that\nthe gods feasted each day on ambrosia and nectar, their food and\ndrink, the latter being handed round by the lovely goddess Hebe.\nHere they conversed of the affairs of heaven and earth; and as\nthey quaffed their nectar, Apollo, the god of music, delighted\nthem with the tones of his lyre, to which the muses sang in\nresponsive strains.  When the sun was set, the gods retired to\nsleep in their respective dwellings.\n\nThe following lines from the Odyssey will show how Homer\nconceived of Olympus:--\n\n  \"So saying, Minerva, goddess azure-eyed,\n  Rose to Olympus, the reputed seat\n  Eternal of the gods, which never storms\n  Disturb, rains drench, or snow invades, but calm\n The expanse and cloudless shines with purest day.\n  T here the inhabitants divine rejoice\n  Forever.:\" Cowper\n\nSuch were the abodes of the gods as the Greeks conceived them.\nThe Romans, before they knew the Greek poetry, seem to have had\nno definite imagination of such an assembly of gods.  But the\nRoman and Etruscan races were by no means irreligious.  They\nvenerated their departed ancestors,   and in each family the\nworship of these ancestors was an important duty.  The images of\nthe ancestors were kept in a sacred place,   each family\nobserved, at fixed times, memorial rites in their honor,   and\nfor these and other religious observances the family hearth was\nconsecrated.  The earliest rites of Roman worship are supposed to\nbe connected with such family devotions.\n\nAs the Greeks and Romans became acquainted with other nations,\nthey imported their habits of worship, even in early times.  It\nwill be remembered that as late as St. Paul's time, he found an\naltar at Athens \"to an unknown god.\"  Greeks and Romans alike\nwere willing to receive from other nations the legends regarding\ntheir gods, and to incorporate them as well as they could with\ntheir own.  It is thus that in the poetical mythology of those\nnations, which we are now to study, we frequently find a Latin\nand a Greek name for one imagined divinity.  Thus Zeus, of the\nGreeks, becomes in Latin   with the addition of the word pater (a\nfather) [The reader will observe that father is one of the words\nderived from an Ayan root.  Let p and t become rough, as the\ngrammarians say,   let p become ph, and t th, and you have\nphather or father], Jupiter   Kronos of the Greeks appears as\n\"Vulcanus\" of the Latins, \"Ares\" of the Greeks is \"Mars\" or\nMavors of the Latins, \"Poseidon\" of the Greeks is \"Neptunus\" of\nthe Latins, \"Aphrodite\" of the Greeks is \"Venus\" of the Latins.\nThis variation is not to be confounded with a mere translation,\nas where \"Paulos\" of the Greek becomes \"Paulus\" in Latin, or\n\"Odysseus\" becomes \"Ulysses,\"   or as when \"Pierre\" of the French\nbecomes \"Peter\" in English.  What really happened was, that as\nthe Romans, more cultivated than their fathers, found in Greek\nliterature a god of fire and smithery,   they transferred his\nname \"Hephaistos\" to their own old god \"Vulcanus,\"   who had the\nsame duties,   and in their after literature the Latin name was\nused for the stories of Greek and Latin origin.\n\nAs the English literature came into being largely on French and\nLatin models, and as French is but a degraded Latin and retains\nLatin roots largely,   in our older English poets the Latin forms\nof these names are generally used.  In our own generation, with\nthe precision now so much courted, a fashion has come in, of\ndesignating Mars by his Greek name of \"Ares,\" Venus by her name\nof \"Aphrodite,\" and so on.  But in this book, as our object is to\nmake familiar the stores of general English literature which\nrefer to such subjects, we shall retain, in general, the Latin\nnames,   only calling the attention of the reader to the Greek\nnames, as they appear in Greek authors,   and in many writers of\nthe more recent English schools.\n\nThe real monarch of the heavens in the mythology of both Greece\nand Rome is Jupiter (Zeus-pater, father-Jove) [Jove appears to be\na word derived from the same root as Zeus, and it appears in the\nroot dev of the Sanscrit, where devas are gods of different\nforms.  Our English word devil probably comes from the French\ndiable, Italian diavolo, Latin diabolus, one who makes division,-\n- literally one who separates balls, or throws balls about,--\ninstead of throwing them frankly and truly at the batsman.  It is\nnot to be traced to the Sanscrit deva.]\n\nIn the mythological system we are tracing Zeus is himself the\nfather of many of the gods, and he is often spoken of as father\nof gods and men.  He is the father of Vulcan [In Greek\nHephaistos], of Venus [in Greek Aphrodite], of Minerva [in Greek\nPallas Athene, or either name separately], of Apollo [of\nPhoebus], Diana [in Greek Artemis], and of Mercury [in Greek\nHermes], who are ranked among the twelve superior gods, and of\nmany inferior deities.  But Jupiter himself is not the original\ndeity in these systems.  He is the son of Saturnus, as in the\nGreek Zeus is the son of Kronos.  Still the inevitable question\nwould occur where did Saturnus or Kronos come from.  And, in\nforms and statements more and more vague, the answer was that he\nwas born from Uranus or Ouranos, which is the name of the Heaven\nover all which seemed to embrace all things.  The Greek name of\nSaturn was spelled Kronos.  The Greek name of Time was spelled\nChronos.  A similarity between the two was imagined.  And the\nwhole statement, when reduced to rationalistic language, would be\nthat from Uranus, the infinite, was born Chronos, Time,-- that\nfrom Time, Zeus or Jupiter was born, and that he is the only\nchild of Time who has complete sway over mortals and immortals.\n\n  \"The will of Jove I own,\n  Who mortals and immortals rules alone.\"\n  Homer, II.xii\n\nJupiter was son of Saturn (Kronos) [The names included in\nparentheses are the Greek, the others being the Roman or Latin\nnames] and Ops (Rhea in Greek, sometimes confounded with the\nPhrygian Cybele).\n\nSaturn and Rhea were of the race of Titans, who were the children\nof Earth and Heaven, which sprang from Chaos, of which we shall\ngive a further account in our next chapter.\n\nIn allusion to the dethronement of Ouranos by Kronos, and of\nKronos or Saturnus by Zeus or Jupiter, Prometheus says in\nAEschylus's tragedy,--\n\n  \"You may deem\n  Its towers impregnable; but have I not\n  already seen two monarchs hurled from them.\"\n\nThee is another cosmogony, or account of the creation, according\nto which Earth, Erebus, and Love were the first of beings.  Love\n(Eros)_ issued from the egg of Night, which floated on Chaos.  By\nhis arrows and torch he pierced and vivified all things,\nproducing life and joy.\n\nSaturn and Rhea were not the only Titans.  There were others,\nwhose names were Oceanus, Hyperion, Iapetus, and Ophion, males;\nand Themis, Mnemosyne, Eurynome, females.  They are spoken of as\nthe elder gods, whose dominion was afterwards transferred to\nothers.  Saturn yielded to Jupiter, Oceanus to Neptune, Hyperion\nto Apollo.  Hyperion was the father of the Sun, Moon, and Dawn.\nHe is therefore the original sun-god, and is painted with the\nsplendor and beauty which were afterwards bestowed on Apollo.\n\n\"Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself.\"   Shakespeare\n\nOphion and Eurynome ruled over Olympus till they were dethroned\nby Saturn and Rhea.  Milton alludes to them in Paradise Lost.  He\nsays the heathen seem to have had some knowledge of the\ntemptation and fall of man,--\n\n  \"And fabled how the serpent, whom they called\n  Ophion, with Eurynome (the wide-\n  Encroaching Eve perhaps), had first the rule\n  Of high Olympus, thence by Saturn driven.\"\n\nThe representations given of Saturn are not very consistent, for\non the one hand his reign is said to have been the golden age of\ninnocence and purity, and on the other he is described as a\nmonster who devoured his own children [This inconsistency arises\nfrom considering the Saturn of the Romans the same with the\nGrecian deity Chronos (Time), which, as it brings an end to all\nthings which have had a beginning, may be said to devour its own\noffspring.] Jupiter, however, escaped this fate, and when grown\nup espoused Metis (Prudence), who administered a draught to\nSaturn which caused him to disgorge his children.  Jupiter, with\nhis brothers and sisters, now rebelled against their father\nSaturn, and his brothers the Titans; vanquished them, and\nimprisoned some of them in Tartarus, inflicting other penalties\non others.  Atlas was condemned to bear up the heavens on his\nshoulders.\n\nOn the dethronement of Saturn, Jupiter with his brothers Neptune\n(Poseidon) and Pluto (Dis) divided his dominions.  Jupiter's\nportion was the heavens, Neptune's the ocean, and Pluto's the\nrealms of the dead.  Earth and Olympus were common property.\nJupiter was king of gods and men.  The thunder was his weapon,\nand he bore a shield called AEgis, made for him by Vulcan.  The\neagle was his favorite bird, and bore his thunderbolts.\n\nJuno (Hera)[pronounce He-re, in two syllables] was the wife of\nJupiter, and queen of the gods.  Iris, the goddess of the\nrainbow, was her attendant and messenger.  The peacock was her\nfavorite bird.\n\nVulcan (Hephaistos), the celestial artist, was the son of Jupiter\nand Juno.  He was born lame, and his mother was so displeased at\nthe sight of him that she flung him out of heaven.  Other\naccounts say that Jupiter kicked him out for taking part with his\nmother, in a quarrel which occurred between them.  Vulcan's\nlameness, according to this account, was the consequence of his\nfall.  He was a whole day falling, and at last alighted in the\nisland of Lemnos, which was thenceforth sacred to him.  Milton\nalludes to this story in Paradise lost, Book I.\n\n  \"From morn\n  To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,\n  A summer's day; and with the setting sun\n  Dropped from the zenith, like a falling star,\n  On Lemnos, the AEgean isle.\"\n\nMars (Ares), the god of war, was the son of Jupiter and Juno.\nPhoebus Apollo [this is a Greek name of a Greek divinity, who\nseems to have had no Roman resemblance], the god of archery,\nprophecy, and music, was the son of Jupiter and Latona, and\nbrother of Diana (Artemis).  He was god of the sun, as Diana, his\nsister, was the goddess of the moon.\n\nVenus (Aphrodite), the goddess of love and beauty, was the\ndaughter of Jupiter and Dione.  Others say that Venus sprang from\nthe foam of the sea.  The zephyr wafted her along the waves to\nthe Isle of Cyprus, where she was received and attired by the\nSeasons, and then led to the assembly of the gods.  All were\ncharmed with her beauty, and each one demanded her for his wife.\nJupiter gave her to Vulcan, in gratitude for the service he had\nrendered in forging thunderbolts.  So the most beautiful of the\ngoddesses became the wife of the most ill-favored of the gods.\nVenus possessed an embroidered girdle called the Cestus, which\nhad the power of inspiring love.  Her favorite birds were swans\nand doves, and the plants sacred to her were the rose and the\nmyrtle.\n\nCupid (Eros), the god of love, was the son of Venus.  He was her\nconstant companion; and, armed with bow and arrows, he shot the\ndarts of desire into the bosoms of both gods and men.  There was\na deity named Anteros, who was sometimes represented as the\navenger of slighted love, and sometimes as the symbol of\nreciprocal affection.  The following legend is told of him:--\n\nVenus, complaining to Themis that her son Eros continued always a\nchild, was told by her that it was because he was solitary, and\nthat if he had a brother he would grow apace.  Anteros was soon\nafterwards born, and Eros immediately was seen to increase\nrapidly in size and strength.\n\nMinerva (Pallas Athene), the goddess of wisdom, was the offspring\nof Jupiter, without a mother.  She sprang from his head,\ncompletely armed.  Her favorite bird was the owl, and the plant\nsacred to her the olive.\n\nByron, in \"Childe Harold,\" alludes to the birth of Minerva thus:--\n\n  \"Can tyrants but by tyrants conquered be,\n  And freedom find no champion and no child,\n  Such as Columbia saw arise, when she\n  Sprang forth a Pallas, armed and undefiled?\n  Or must such minds be nourished in the wild,\n  Deep in the unpruned forest, 'midst the roar\n  Of Cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled\n  On infant Washington?  Has earth no more\n  Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore?\"\n\nMercury (Hermes), was the son of Jupiter and Maia.  He presided\nover commerce, wrestling and other gymnastic exercises; even over\nthieving, and everything, in short, which required skill and\ndexterity.  He was the messenger of Jupiter, and wore a winged\ncap and winged shoes.  He bore in his hand a rod entwined with\ntwo serpents, called the Caduceus.\n\nMercury is said to have invented the lyre.  Four hours after his\nbirth he found the shell of a tortoise, made holes in the\nopposite edges of it, and drew cords of linen through them, and\nthe instrument was complete [From this origin of the instrument,\nthe word \"shell\" is often used as synonymous with :\"lyre,\" and\nfiguratively for music and poetry.  Thus Gray, in his ode on the\n\"Progress of Poesy,\" says,-- \"O Sovereign of the willing soul,\nParent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell! The\nsullen Cares And Frantic Passions hear thy soft control.\"] The\ncords were nine, in honor of the nine Muses.  Mercury gave the\nlyre to Apollo, and received from him in exchange the caduceus.\n\nCeres (Demeter) was the daughter of Saturn and Rhea.  She had a\ndaughter named Proserpine (Persephone), who became the wife of\nPluto, and queen of the realms of the dead.  Ceres presided over\nagriculture.\n\nBacchus (Dionysus)_, the god of wine, was the son of Jupiter and\nSemele.  He represents not only the intoxicating power of wine,\nbut its social and beneficent influences likewise; so that he is\nviewed as the promoter of civilization, and a lawgiver and lover\nof peace.\n\nThe muses were the daughters of Jupiter and Mnemosyne (Memory).\nThey presided over song, and prompted the memory.  They were nine\nin number, to each of whom was assigned the presidency over some\nparticular department of literature, art, or science.  Calliope\nwas the muse of epic poetry, Clio of history, Euterpe of lyric\npoetry, Melpomene of tragedy, Terpischore of choral dance and\nsong, Erato of love-poetry, Polyhymnia of sacred poetry, Urania\nof astronomy, Thalia [Pronounced Tha-lei-a, with the emphasis on\nthe second syllable] of comedy.\n\nSpenser described the office of the Graces thus:--\n\n  \"These three on men all gracious gifts bestow\n  Which deck the body or adorn the mind,\n  To make them lovely or well-favored show;\n  As comely carriage, entertainment kind,\n  Sweet semblance, friendly offices that bind,\n  And all the compliments of courtesy;\n  They teach us how to each degree and kind\n  We should ourselves demean, to low, to high.\n  To friends, to foes; which skill men call Civility.\"\n\nThe Fates were also three   Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos.  Their\noffice was to spin the thread of human destiny, and they were\narmed with shears, with which they cut it off when they pleased.\nThey were the daughters of Themis (Law), who sits by Jove on his\nthrone to give him counsel.\n\nThe Erinnyes, or Furies, were three goddesses who punished crimes\nby their secret stings.  The heads of the Furies were wreathed\nwith serpents, and their whole appearance was terrific and\nappalling.  Their names were Alecto, Tisiphone, and Megaera.\nThey were also called Eumenides.\n\nNemesis was also an avenging goddess.  She represents the\nrighteous anger of the gods, particularly towards the proud and\ninsolent.\n\nPan [the name Pan means everything, and he is sometimes spoken of\nas the god of all nature] was the god of flocks and shepherds.\nHis favorite residence, as the Greeks describe him, was in\nArcadia.\n\nThe Satyrs were deities of the woods and fields.  They were\nconceived to be covered with bristly hair, their heads decorated\nwith short, sprouting horns, and their feet like goats' feet.\n\nMomus was the god of laughter, and Plutus the god of wealth.\n\nROMAN DIVINITIES\n\nThe preceding are Grecian divinities, though received also by the\nRomans.  Those which follow are peculiar to Roman mythology.\n\nSaturn was an ancient Italian deity.  The Roman poets tried to\nidentify him with the Grecian god Kronos, and fabled that after\nhis dethronement by Jupiter, he fled to Italy, where he reigned\nduring what was called the Golden Age.  In memory of his\nbeneficent dominion, the feast of Saturnalia was held every year\nin the winter season.  Then all public business was suspended,\ndeclarations of war and criminal executions were postponed,\nfriends made presents to one another, and the slaves were\nindulged with great liberties.  A feast was given them at which\nthey sat at table, while their masters served them, to show the\nnatural equality of men, and that all things belonged equally to\nall, in the reign of Saturn.\n\nFaunus [there was also a goddess called Fauna, or Bona Dea], the\ngrandson of Saturn, was worshipped as the god of fields and\nshepherds, and also as a prophetic god.  His name in the plural,\nFauns, expressed a class of gamesome deities, like the Satyrs of\nthe Greeks.\n\nQuirinus was a war god, said to be no other than Romulus the\nfounder of Rome, exalted after his death to a place among the\ngods.\n\nBellona, a war goddess.\n\nTerminus, the god of landmarks.  His statue was a rude stone or\npost, set in the ground to mark the boundaries of fields.\n\nPales, the goddess presiding over cattle and pastures.\n\nPomona presided over fruit trees.\n\nFlora, the goddess of flowers.\n\nLucina, the goddess of childbirth.\n\nVesta (the Hestia of the Greeks) was a deity presiding over the\npublic and private hearth.  A sacred fire, tended by six virgin\npriestesses called Vestals, flamed in her temple.  As the safety\nof the city was held to be connected with its conservation, the\nneglect of the virgins, if they let it go out, was severely\npunished, and the fire was rekindled from the rays of the sun.\n\nLiber is another Latin name of Bacchus; and Mulciber of Vulcan.\n\nJanus was the porter of heaven.  He opens the year, the first\nmonth being named after him.  He is the guardian deity of gates,\non which account he is commonly represented with two heads,\nbecause every door looks two ways.  His temples at Rome were\nnumerous.  In war time the gates of the principal one were always\nopen.  In peace they were closed; but they were shut only once\nbetween the reign of Numa and that of Augustus.\n\nThe Penates were the gods who were supposed to attend to the\nwelfare and prosperity of the family.  Their name is derived from\nPenus, the pantry, which was sacred to them.  Every master of a\nfamily was the priest to the Penates of his own house.\n\nThe Lares, or Lars, were also household gods, but differed from\nthe Penates in being regarded as the deified spirits of mortals.\nThe family Lars were held to be the souls of the ancestors, who\nwatched over and protected their descendants.  The words Lemur\nand Larva more nearly correspond to our word Ghost.\n\nThe Romans believed that every man had his Genius, and every\nwoman her Juno; that is, a spirit who had given them being, and\nwas regarded as a protector through life.  On birthdays men made\nofferings to their Genius, women to their Juno.\n\nMacaulay thus alludes to some of the Roman gods:--\n\n  \"Pomona loves the orchard,\n  And Liber loves the vine,\n  And Pales loves the straw-built shed\n  Warm with the breath of kine;\n  And Venus loves the whisper\n  Of plighted youth and maid\n  In April's ivory moonlight,\n  Beneath the Chestnut shade.\"\n  \"Prophecy of Capys.\"\n\nN.B.  It is to be observed that in proper names the final e and\nes are to be sounded.  Thus Cybele and Penates are words of three\nsyllables.  But Proserpine and Thebes have been so long used as\nEnglish words, that they may be regarded as exceptions, to be\npronounced as if English.  Hecate is sometimes pronounced by the\npoets as a dissylable.  In the Index at the close of the volume,\nwe shall mark the accented syllable, in all words which appear to\nrequire it.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nPrometheus and Pandora\n\nThe Roman poet Ovid gives us a connected narrative of creation.\nBefore the earth and sea and the all-covering heaven, one aspect,\nwhich we call Chaos, covered all the face of Nature,-- a rough\nheap of inert weight and discordant beginnings of things clashing\ntogether.  As yet no sun gave light to the world, nor did the\nmoon renew her slender horn month by month,-- neither did the\nearth hang in the surrounding air, poised by its own weight,--\nnor did the sea stretch its long arms around the earth.  Wherever\nthere was earth, there was also sea and air.  So the earth was\nnot solid nor was the water fluid, neither was the air\ntransparent.\n\nGod and Nature at last interposed and put an end to this discord,\nseparating earth from sea, and heaven from both.  The fiery part,\nbeing the lightest, sprang up, and formed the skies; the air was\nnext in weight and place.  The earth, being heavier, sank below,\nand the water took the lowest place and buoyed up the earth.\n\nHere some god, no man knows who, arranged and divided the land.\nHe placed the rivers and bays, raised mountains and dug out\nvalleys and distributed woods, fountains, fertile fields and\nstony plains.  Now that the air was clear the stars shone out,\nthe fishes swam the sea and birds flew in the air, while the\nfour-footed beasts roamed around the earth.  But a nobler animal\nwas needed, and man was made in the image of the gods with an\nupright stature [The two Greek words for man have the root an,\n\"up], so that while all other animals turn their faces downward\nand look to the earth, he raises his face to heaven and gazes on\nthe stars [Every reader will be interested in comparing this\nnarrative with that in the beginning of Genesis.  It seems clear\nthat so many Jews were in Rome in Ovid's days, many of whom were\npeople of consideration among those with whom he lived, that he\nmay have heard the account in the Hebrew Scriptures translated.\nCompare JUDAISM by Prof. Frederic Huidekoper.]\n\nTo Prometheus the Titan and to his brother Epimetheus was\ncommitted the task of making man and all other animals, and of\nendowing them with all needful faculties.  This Epimetheus did,\nand his brother overlooked the work.  Epimetheus then gave to the\ndifferent animals their several gifts of courage, strength,\nswiftness and sagacity.  He gave wings to one, claws to another,\na shelly covering to the third.  Man, superior to all other\nanimals, came last.  But for man Epimetheus had nothing,-- he had\nbestowed all his gifts elsewhere.  He came to his brother for\nhelp, and Prometheus, with the aid of Minerva, went up to heaven,\nlighted his torch at the chariot of the sun, and brought down\nfire to man.  With this, man was more than equal to all other\nanimals.  Fire enabled him to make weapons to subdue wild beasts,\ntools with which to till the earth.  With fire he warmed his\ndwelling and bid defiance to the cold.\n\nWoman was not yet made.  The story is, that Jupiter made her, and\nsent her to Prometheus and his brother, to punish them for their\npresumption in stealing fire from heaven; and man, for accepting\nthe gift.  The first woman was named Pandora.  She was made in\nheaven, every god contributing something to perfect her.  Venus\ngave her beauty, Mercury persuasion, Apollo music.  Thus\nequipped, she was conveyed to earth, and presented to Epimetheus,\nwho gladly accepted her, though cautioned by his brother to\nbeware of Jupiter and his gifts.  Epimetheus had in his house a\njar, in which were kept certain noxious articles, for which, in\nfitting man for his new abode, he had had no occasion.  Pandora\nwas seized with an eager curiosity to know what this jar\ncontained; and one day she slipped off the cover and looked in.\nForthwith there escaped a multitude of plagues for hapless man,--\nsuch as gout, rheumatism, and colic for his body, and envy,\nspite, and revenge for his mind,-- and scattered themselves far\nand wide.  Pandora hastened to replace the lid; but, alas! The\nwhole contents of the jar had escaped, one thing only excepted,\nwhich lay at the bottom, and that was HOPE.  So we see at this\nday, whatever evils are abroad, hope never entirely leaves us;\nand while we have THAT, no amount of other ills can make us\ncompletely wretched.\n\nAnother story is, that Pandora was sent in good faith, by\nJupiter, to bless man; that she was furnished with a box,\ncontaining her marriage presents, into which every god had put\nsome blessing.  She opened the box incautiously, and the\nblessings all escaped, HOPE only excepted.  This story seems more\nconsistent than the former; for how could HOPE, so precious a\njewel as it is, have been kept in a jar full of all manner of\nevils?\n\nThe world being thus furnished with inhabitants, the first age\nwas an age of innocence and happiness, called the GOLDEN AGE.\nTruth and right prevailed, though not enforced by law, nor was\nthere any magistrate to threaten or punish.  The forest had not\nyet been robbed of its trees to furnish timbers for vessels, nor\nhad men built fortifications round their towns.  There were no\nsuch things as swords, spears, or helmets.  The earth brought\nforth all things necessary for man, without his labor in\nploughing or sowing.  Perpetual spring reigned, flowers sprang up\nwithout seed, the rivers flowed with milk and wine, and yellow\nhoney distilled from the oaks.\n\n  \"But when good Saturn, banished from above,\n  Was driven to hell, the world was under Jove.\n  Succeeding times a Silver Age behold,\n  Excelling brass, but more excelled by gold.\n  Then summer, autumn, winter did appear,\n  And spring was but a season of the year.\n  The sun his annual course obliquely made,\n  Good days contracted and enlarged the bad,\n  Then air, with sultry heats, began to glow;\n  The wings of winds were clogged with ice and sno\n  And shivering mortals into houses driven,\n  Sought shelter from the inclemency of heaven.\n  Those houses then were caves, or homely sheds;\n  With twining osiers fenced; and moss their beds.\n  Then ploughs, for seed, the fruitful furrows broke,\n  And oxen labored first beneath the yoke.\n  To this came next in course the Brazen Age:\n  A warlike offspring, prompt to bloody rage,\n  Not impious yet! . .\n  . . . Hard Steel succeeded then;\n  And stubborn as the metal were the men.\"\n  Ovid's Metam, Book I.  Dryden's Translation.\n\nCrime burst in like a flood; modesty, truth, and honor fled.  In\ntheir places came fraud and cunning, violence, and the wicked\nlove of gain.  Then seamen spread sails to the wind, and the\ntrees were torn from the mountains to serve for keels to ships,\nand vex the face of ocean.  The earth, which till now had been\ncultivated in common, began to be divided off into possessions.\nMen were not satisfied with what the surface produced, but must\ndig into its bowels, and draw forth from thence the ores of\nmetals.  Mischievous IRON, and more mischievous GOLD, were\nproduced.  War sprang up, using both as weapons; the guest was\nnot safe in his friend's house; and sons-in-law and fathers-in-\nlaw, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, could not trust\none another.  Sons wished their fathers dead, that they might\ncome to the inheritance; family love lay prostrate.  The earth\nwas wet with slaughter, and the gods abandoned it, one by one,\ntill Astraea [the goddess of innocence and purity.  After leaving\nearth, she was placed among the stars, where she became the\nconstellation Virgo  The Virgin.  Themis (Justice) was the mother\nof Astraea.  She is represented as holding aloft a pair of\nscales, in which she weighs the claims of opposing parties.  It\nwas a favorite idea of the old poets, that these goddesses would\none day return, and bring back the Golden Age.  Even in a\nChristian Hymn, the Messiah of Pope, this idea occurs.\n\n  \"All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail,\n  Returning Justice lift aloft her scale,\n  Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,\n  And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend.\"  See, also,\n  Milton's Hymn on the nativity, stanzas xiv, and xv] alone was\n      left, and finally she also took her departure.\n\nJupiter, seeing this state of things, burned with anger.  He\nsummoned the gods to council.  They obeyed the call, and took\nThe road to the palace of heaven.  The road, which any one may\nsee in a clear night, stretches across the face of the sky, and\nis called the Milky Way.  Along the road stand the palaces of the\nillustrious gods; the common people of the skies live apart, on\neither side.  Jupiter addressed the assembly.  He set forth the\nfrightful condition of things on the earth, and closed by\nannouncing his intention to destroy the whole of its inhabitants,\nand provide a new race, unlike the first, who would be more\nworthy of life, and much better worshippers of   the gods.  So\nsaying he took a thunderbolt, and was about to launch it at the\nworld, and destroy it by burning it; but recollecting the danger\nthat such a conflagration might set heaven itself on fire, he\nchanged his plan, and resolved to drown the world.  Aquilo, the\nnorth wind, which scatters the clouds, was chained up; Notus, the\nsouth, was sent out, and soon covered all the face of heaven with\na cloak of pitchy darkness.  The clouds, driven together, resound\nwith a crash; torrents of rain fall; the crops are laid low; the\nyear's labor of the husbandman perishes in an hour.  Jupiter, not\nsatisfied with his own waters, calls on his brother Neptune to\naid him with his.  He lets loose the rivers, and pours them over\nthe land.  At the same time, he heaves the land with an\nearthquake, and brings in the reflux of the ocean over the\nshores.  Flocks, herds, men, and houses are swept away, and\ntemples, with their sacred enclosures, profaned.  If any edifice\nremained standing, it was overwhelmed, and its turrets lay hid\nbeneath the waves.  Now all was sea; sea without shore.  Here and\nthere some one remained on a projecting hill-top, and a few, in\nboats, pulled the oar where they had lately driven the plough.\nThe fishes swim among the tree-tops; the anchor is let down into\na garden.  Where the graceful lambs played but now, unwieldy sea-\ncalves gambol.  The wolf swims among the sheep; the yellow lions\nand tigers struggle in the water.  The strength of the wild boar\nserves him not, nor his swiftness the stag.  The birds fall with\nweary wing into the water, having found no land for a resting\nplace.  Those living beings whom the water spared fell a prey to\nhunger.\n\nParnassus alone, of all the mountains, overtopped the waves; and\nthere Deucalion and his wife Pyrrha, of the race of Prometheus,\nfound refuge   he a just man, and she a faithful worshipper of\nthe gods.  Jupiter, when he saw none left alive but this pair,\nand remembered their harmless lives and pious demeanor, ordered\nthe north winds to drive away the clouds, and disclose the skies\nto earth, and earth to the skies.  Neptune also directed Triton\nto blow on his shell, and sound a retreat to the waters.  The\nwaters obeyed, and the sea returned to its shores, and the rivers\nto their channels.  Then Deucalion thus addressed Pyrrha: \"O\nwife, only surviving woman, joined to me first by the ties of\nkindred and marriage, and now by a common danger, would that we\npossessed the power of our ancestor Prometheus, and could renew\nthe race as he at first made it!  But as we cannot, let us seek\nyonder temple, and inquire of the gods what remains for us to\ndo.\"  They entered the temple, deformed as it was with slime, and\napproached the altar, where no fire burned.  There they fell\nprostrate on the earth, and prayed the goddess to inform them how\nthey might retrieve their miserable affairs.  The oracle\nanswered, \"Depart from the temple with head veiled and garments\nunbound, and cast behind you the bones of your mother.\"  They\nheard the words with astonishment.  Pyrrha first broke silence:\n\"We cannot obey; we dare not profane the remains of our parents.\"\nThey sought the thickest shades of the wood, and revolved the\noracle in their minds.  At length Deucalion spoke: \"Either my\nsagacity deceives me, or the command is one we may obey without\nimpiety.  The earth is the great parent of all; the stones are\nher bones; these we may cast behind us; and I think this is what\nthe oracle means.  At least, it will do no harm to try.\"  They\nveiled their faces, unbound their garments, and picked up stones,\nand cast them behind them.  The stones (wonderful to relate)\nbegan to grow soft, and assume shape.  By degrees, they put on a\nrude resemblance to the human form, like a block half finished in\nthe hands of the sculptor.  The moisture and slime that were\nabout them became flesh; the stony part became bones; the veins\nremained veins, retaining their name, only changing their use.\nThose thrown by the hand of the man became men, and those by the\nwoman became women.  It was a hard race, and well adapted to\nlabor, as we find ourselves to be at this day, giving plain\nindications of our origin.\n\nThe comparison of Eve to Pandora is too obvious to have escaped\nMilton, who introduces it in Book IV, of Paradise Lost:--\n\n  \"More lovely than Pandora, whom the gods\n  Endowed with all their gifts; and O, too like\n  In sad event, when to the unwiser son\n  Of Jupiter, brought by Hermes, she ensnared\n  Mankind with her fair looks, to be avenged\n  On him who had stole Jove's authentic fire.\"\n\nPrometheus and Epimetheus were sons of Iapetus, which Milton\nchanges to Japhet.\n\nPrometheus, the Titan son of Iapetus and Themis, is a favorite\nsubject with the poets.  AEschylus wrote three tragedies on the\nsubjects of his confinement, his release, and his worship at\nAthens.  Of these only the first is preserved, the Prometheus\nBound.  Prometheus was the only one in the council of the gods\nwho favored man.  He alone was kind to the human race, and taught\nand protected them.\n\n  \"I formed his mind,\n  And through the cloud of barbarous ignorance\n  Diffused the beams of knowledge . . . .\n  They saw indeed, they heard, but what availed\n  Or sight or hearing, all things round them rolling,\n  Like the unreal imagery of dreams\n  In wild confusion mixed!  The lightsome wall\n  Of finer masonry, the raftered roof\n  They knew not; but like ants still buried, delved\n  Deep in the earth and scooped their sunless caves.\n  Unmarked the seasons ranged, the biting winter,\n  The flower-perfumed spring, the ripening summer\n  Fertile of fruits.  At random all their works\n  Till I instructed them to mark the stars,\n  Their rising, and, a harder science yet,\n  Their setting.  The rich train of marshalled numbers\n  I taught them, and the meet array of letters.\n  To impress these precepts on their hearts I sent\n  Memory, the active mother of all reason.\n  I taught the patient steer to bear the yoke,\n  In all his toils joint-laborer of man.\n  By me the harnessed steed was trained to whirl\n  The rapid car, and grace the pride of wealth.\n  The tall bark, lightly bounding o'er the waves,\n  I taught its course, and winged its flying sail.\n  To man I gave these arts.\"\n  Potter's Translation from the Prometheus Bound\n\nJupiter, angry at the insolence and presumption of Prometheus in\ntaking upon himself to give all these blessings to man, condemned\nthe Titan to perpetual imprisonment, bound on a rock on Mount\nCaucasus while a vulture should forever prey upon his liver.\nThis state of torment might at any time have been brought to an\nend by Prometheus if he had been willing to submit to his\noppressor.  For Prometheus knew of a fatal marriage which Jove\nmust make and by which he must come to ruin.  Had Prometheus\nrevealed this secret he would at once have been taken into favor.\nBut this he disdained to do.  He has therefore become the symbol\nof magnanimous endurance of unmerited suffering and strength of\nwill resisting oppression.\n\nByron and Shelley have both treated this theme.  The following\nare Byron's lines:--\n\n  \"Titan!  To whose immortal eyes\n  The sufferings of mortality,\n  Seen in their sad reality,\n  Were not as things that gods despise,\n  What was thy pity's recompense?\n  A silent suffering, and intense;\n  The rock, the vulture, and the chain;\n  All that the proud can feel of pain;\n  The agony they do not show;\n  The suffocating sense of woe.\n\n  \"Thy godlike crime was to be kind;\n  To render with thy precepts less\n  The sum of human wretchedness,\n  And strengthen man with his own mind.\n  And, baffled as thou wert from high,\n  Still, in thy patient energy,\n  In the endurance and repulse,\n  Of thine impenetrable spirit,\n  Which earth and heaven could not convulse,\n  A mighty lesson we inherit.\"\n\n\n\nPYTHON\n\nThe slime with which the earth was covered by the waters of the\nflood, produced an excessive fertility, which called forth every\nvariety of production, both bad and good.  Among the rest,\nPython, an enormous serpent, crept forth, the terror of the\npeople, and lurked in the caves of Mount Parnassus.  Apollo slew\nhim with his arrows   weapons which he had not before used\nagainst any but feeble animals, hares, wild goats, and such game.\nIn commemoration of this illustrious conquest he instituted the\nPythian games, in which the victor in feats of strength,\nswiftness of foot, or in the chariot race, was crowned with a\nwreath of beech leaves; for the laurel was not yet adopted by\nApollo as his own tree.  And here Apollo founded his oracle at\nDelphi, the only oracle \"that was not exclusively national, for\nit was consulted by many outside nations, and, in fact, was held\nin the highest repute all over the world.  In obedience to its\ndecrees, the laws of Lycurgus were introduced, and the earliest\nGreek colonies founded.  No cities were built without first\nconsulting the Delphic oracle, for it was believed that Apollo\ntook special delight in the founding of cities, the first stone\nof which he laid in person; nor was any enterprise ever\nundertaken without inquiry at this sacred fane as to its probable\nsuccess\" [From Beren's Myths and Legends of Greece and Rome.]\n\nThe famous statue of Apollo called the Belvedere [From the\nBelvedere of the Vatican palace where it stands] represents the\ngod after his victory over the serpent Python.  To this Byron\nalludes in his Childe Harold, iv. 161:--\n\n  \"The lord of the unerring bow,\n  The god of life, and poetry, and light,\n  The Sun, in human limbs arrayed, and brow\n  All radiant from his triumph in the fight.\n  The shaft has just been shot; the arrow bright\n  With an immortal's vengeance; in his eye\n  And nostril, beautiful disdain, and might,\n  And majesty flash their full lightnings by,\n  Developing in that one glance the Deity.\"\n\n\nAPOLLO AND DAPHNE\n\nDaphne was Apollo's first love.  It was not brought about by\naccident, but by the malice of Cupid.  Apollo saw the boy playing\nwith his bow and arrows; and being himself elated with his recent\nvictory over Python, he said to him, \"What have you to do with\nwarlike weapons, saucy boy?  Leave them for hands worthy of them.\nBehold the conquest I have won by means of them over the vast\nserpent who stretched his poisonous body over acres of the plain!\nBe content with your torch, child, and kindle up your flames, as\nyou call them, where you will, but presume not to meddle with my\nweapons.\"\n\nVenus's boy heard these words, and rejoined, \":Your arrows may\nstrike all things else, Apollo, but mine shall strike you.:\" So\nsaying, he took his stand on a rock of Parnassus, and drew from\nhis quiver two arrows of different workmanship, one to excite\nlove, the other to repel it.  The former was of gold and sharp-\npointed, the latter blunt and tipped with lead.  With the leaden\nshaft he struck the nymph Daphne, the daughter of the river god\nPeneus, and with the golden one Apollo, through the heart.\nForthwith the god was seized with love for the maiden, and she\nabhorred the thought of loving.  Her delight was in woodland\nsports and in the spoils of the chase.  Many lovers sought her,\nbut she spurned them all, ranging the woods, and taking thought\nneither of Cupid nor of Hymen.  Her father often said to her,\n\"Daughter, you owe me a son-in-law; you owe me grandchildren.\"\nShe, hating the thought of marriage as a crime, with her\nbeautiful face tinged all over with blushes, threw her arms\naround her father's neck, and said, \"Dearest father, grant me\nthis favor, that I may always remain unmarried, like Diana.\"  He\nconsented, but at the same time said, \"Your own face will forbid\nit.\"\n\nApollo loved her, and longed to obtain her; and he who gives\noracles to all in the world was not wise enough to look into his\nown fortunes.  He saw her hair flung loose over her shoulders,\nand said, \"If so charming in disorder, what would it be if\narranged?\"  He saw her eyes bright as stars; he saw her lips, and\nwas not satisfied with only seeing them.  He admired her hands\nand arms bared to the shoulder, and whatever was hidden from view\nhe imagined more beautiful still.  He followed her; she fled,\nswifter than the wind, and delayed not a moment at his\nentreaties.  \"Stay,\" said he, \"daughter of Peneus; I am not a\nfoe.  Do not fly me as a lamb flies the wolf, or a dove the hawk.\nIt is for love I pursue you.  You make me miserable, for fear you\nshould fall and hurt yourself on these stones, and I should be\nthe cause.  Pray run slower, and I will follow slower.  I am no\nclown, no rude peasant.  Jupiter is my father, and I am lord of\nDelphos and Tenedos, and know all things, present and future.  I\nam the god of song and the lyre.  My arrows fly true to the mark;\nbut alas!  An arrow more fatal than mine has pierced my heart!  I\nam the god of medicine, and know the virtues of all healing\nplants.  Alas!  I suffer a malady that no balm can cure!\"\n\nThe nymph continued her flight, and left his plea half uttered.\nAnd even as she fled she charmed him.  The wind blew her\ngarments, and her unbound hair streamed loose behind her.  The\ngod grew impatient to find his wooings thrown away, and, sped by\nCupid, gained upon her in the race.  It was like a hound pursuing\na hare, with open jaws ready to seize, while the feebler animal\ndarts forward, slipping from the very grasp.  So flew the god and\nthe virgin   he on the wings of love, and she on those of fear.\nThe pursuer is the more rapid, however, and gains upon her, and\nhis panting breath blows upon her hair.  Now her strength begins\nto fail, and, ready to sink, she calls upon her father, the river\ngod: \"Help me, Peneus!  Open the earth to enclose me, or change\nmy form, which has brought me into this danger!\"\n\nScarcely had she spoken, when a stiffness seized all her limbs;\nher bosom began to be enclosed in a tender bark; her hair became\nleaves; her arms became branches; her feet stuck fast in the\nground, as roots; her face became a tree-top, retaining nothing\nof its former self but its beauty.  Apollo stood amazed.  He\ntouched the stem, and felt the flesh tremble under the new bark.\nHe embraced the branches, and lavished kisses on the wood.  The\nbranches shrank from his lips.  \"Since you cannot be my wife,\"\nsaid he, \"you shall assuredly be my tree.  I will wear you for my\ncrown.  With you I will decorate my harp and my quiver; and when\nthe great Roman conquerors lead up the triumphal pomp to the\nCapitol, you shall be woven into wreaths for their brows.  And,\nas eternal youth is mine, you also shall be always green, and\nyour leaf know no decay.\"  The nymph, now changed into a laurel\ntree, bowed its head in grateful acknowledgment.\n\nApollo was god of music and of poetry and also of medicine.  For,\nas the poet Armstrong says, himself a physician:--\n\n  \"Music exalts each joy, allays each grief,\n  Expels disease, softens every pain;\n  And hence the wise of ancient days adored\n  One power of physic, melody, and song.\"\n\nThe story of Apollo and Daphne is often alluded to by the poets.\nWaller applies it to the case of one whose amatory verses, though\nthey did not soften the heart of his mistress, yet won for the\npoet wide-spread fame.\n\n  \"Yet what he sung in his immortal strain,\n  Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain.\n  All but the nymph that should redress his wrong,\n  Attend his passion and approve his song.\n  Like Phoebus thus, acquiring unsought praise,\n  He caught at love and filled his arms with bays.\"\n\nThe following stanza from Shelley's Adonais alludes to Byron's\nearly quarrel with the reviewers:--\n\n  \"The herded wolves, bold only to pursue;\n  The obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead;\n  The vultures, to the conqueror's banner true,\n  Who feed where Desolation first has fed.\n  And whose wings rain contagion; how they fled,\n  When like Apollo, from his golden bow,\n  The Pythian of the age one arrow sped\n  And smiled!  The spoilers tempt no second blow;\n  They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them as they go.\"\n\n\n\nPYRAMUS AND THISBE\n\nPyramus was the handsomest youth, and Thisbe the fairest maiden,\nin all Babylonia, where Semiramis reigned.  Their parents\noccupied adjoining houses; and neighborhood brought the young\npeople together, and acquaintance ripened into love.  They would\ngladly have married, but their parents forbade.  One thing,\nhowever, they could not forbid   that love should glow with equal\nardor in the bosoms of both.  They conversed by signs and\nglances, and the fire burned more intensely for being covered up.\nIn the wall that parted the two houses there was a crack, caused\nby some fault in the structure.  No one had remarked it before,\nbut the lovers discovered it.  'What will love not discover?  It\nafforded a passage to the voice; and tender messages used to pass\nbackward and forward through the gap.  As they stood, Pyramus on\nthis side, Thisbe on that, their breaths would mingle.  \"Cruel\nwall,\" they said, \"why do you keep two lovers apart?  But we will\nnot be ungrateful.  We owe you, we confess, the privilege of\ntransmitting loving words to willing ears.\"  Such words they\nuttered on different sides of the wall; and when night came and\nthey must say farewell, they pressed their lips upon the wall,\nshe on her side, he on his, as they could come no nearer.\n\nOne morning, when Aurora had put out the stars, and the sun had\nmelted the frost from the grass, they met at the accustomed spot.\nThen, after lamenting their hard fate, they agreed that next\nnight, when all was still, they would slip away from watchful\neyes, leave their dwellings and walk out into the fields; and to\ninsure a meeting, repair to a well-known edifice, standing\nwithout the city's bounds, called the tomb of Ninus, and that the\none who came first should await the other at the foot of a\ncertain tree.  It was a white mulberry tree and stood near a cool\nspring.  All was agreed on, and they waited impatiently for the\nsun to go down beneath the waters and night to rise up from them.\nThen cautiously Thisbe stole forth, unobserved by the family, her\nhead covered with a veil, made her way to the monument and sat\ndown under the tree.  As she sat alone in the dim light of the\nevening she descried a lioness, her jaws reeking with recent\nslaughter, approaching the fountain to slake her thirst.  Thisbe\nfled at the sight, and sought refuge in the hollow of a rock.  As\nshe fled she dropped her veil.  The lioness, after drinking at\nthe spring, turned to retreat to the woods, and seeing the veil\non the ground, tossed and rent it with her bloody mouth.\n\nPyramus, having been delayed, now approached the place of\nmeeting.  He saw in the sand the footsteps of the lion, and the\ncolor fled from his cheeks at the sight.  Presently he found the\nveil all rent and bloody.  \"Oh, hapless girl,\" said he, \"I have\nbeen the cause of thy death!  Thou, more worthy of life than I,\nhast fallen the first victim.  I will follow.  I am the guilty\ncause, in tempting thee forth to a place of such peril, and not\nbeing myself on the spot to guard thee.  Come forth, ye lions,\nfrom the rocks, and tear this guilty body with your teeth\" He\ntook up the veil, carried it with him to the appointed tree, and\ncovered it with kisses and with tears.  \"My blood also shall\nstain your texture,\" said he, and drawing his sword plunged it\ninto his heart.  The blood spurted from the wound, and tinged the\nwhite mulberries of the tree all red; and sinking into the earth\nreached the roots, so that the red color mounted through the\ntrunk to the fruit.\n\nBy this time, Thisbe, still trembling with fear, yet wishing not\nto disappoint her lover, stepped cautiously forth, looking\nanxiously for the youth, eager to tell him the danger she had\nescaped.  When she came to the spot and saw the changed color of\nthe mulberries she doubted whether it was the same place.  While\nshe hesitated she saw the form of one struggling in the agonies\nof death.  She started back, a shudder ran through her frame as a\nripple on the face of the still water when a sudden breeze sweeps\nover it.  But as soon as she recognized her lover, she screamed\nand beat her breast; embracing the lifeless body, pouring tears\ninto its wounds, and imprinting kisses on the cold lips.  \"Oh,\nPyramus,\" she cried, \"what has done this?  Answer me, Pyramus; it\nis your own Thisbe that speaks.  Hear me, dearest, and lift that\ndrooping head!\"  At the name of Thisbe, Pyramus opened his eyes,\nthen closed them again.  She saw her veil stained with blood and\nthe scabbard empty of its sword.  \"Thy own hand has slain thee,\nand for my sake,\" she said.  \"I too can be brave for once, and my\nlove is as strong as thine.  I will follow thee in death, for I\nhave been the cause; and death, which alone could part us, shall\nnot prevent my joining thee.  And ye, unhappy parents of us both,\ndeny us not our united request.  As love and death have joined\nus, let one tomb contain us.  And thou, tree, retain the marks of\nslaughter.  Let thy berries still serve for memorials of our\nblood.\"  So saying, she plunged the sword into her breast.  Her\nparents acceded to her wish; the gods also ratified it.  The two\nbodies were buried in one sepulchre, and the tree ever after\nbrought forth purple berries, as it does to this day.\n\nMoore, in the Sylph's Ball, speaking of Davy's Safety Lamp, is\nreminded of the wall that separated Thisbe and her lover:--\n\n  \"O for that lamp's metallic gauze,\n  That curtain of protecting wire,\n  Which Davy delicately draws\n  Around illicit, dangerous fire!\n\n  \"The wall he sets 'twixt Flame and Air,\n  (Like that which barred young Thisbe's bliss),\n  Through whose small holes this dangerous pair\n  May see each other, but not kiss.\"\n\nIn Mickle's translation of the Lusiad occurs the following\nallusion to the story of Pyramus and Thisbe, and the\nmetamorphosis of the mulberries.  The poet is describing the\nIsland of Love.\n\n  \"here each gift Pomona's hand bestows\n  In cultured garden, free uncultured flows,\n  The flavor sweeter and the hue more fair\n  Than e'er was fostered by the hand of care.\n  The cherry here in shining crimson glows,\n  And stained with lover's blood, in pendent rows,\n  The mulberries o'erload the bending boughs.\"\n\nIf any of our young readers can be so hard-hearted as to enjoy a\nlaugh at the expense of poor Pyramus and Thisbe, they may find an\nopportunity by turning to Shakespeare's play of Midsummer Night's\nDream, where it is most amusingly burlesqued.\n\nHere is the description of the play and the characters by the\nPrologue.\n\n  \"Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;\n  But wonder on, till truth makes all things plain.\n  This man is Pyramus, if you would know;\n  This lovely lady Thisby is certain.\n\n  This man with lime and roughcast, doth present\n  Wall, that vile Wall, which did these lovers sunder;\n  And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they are content\n  To whisper.  At the which let no man wonder.\n  This man, with lanthorn, dog and bush of thorn,\n  Presenteth Moonshine; for, if you will know,\n  By Moonshine did these lovers think no scorn\n  To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.\n  This grisly beast, which by name Lion hight.\n  The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,\n  Did scare away, or rather did affright;\n  And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall,\n  Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.\n\n  Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall,\n  And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain;\n  Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,\n  He bravely broached his boiling bloody breast;\n  And, Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade,\n  His dagger drew and died.\"\n  Midsummer Night's Dream, v.1,128, et seq.\n\n\nCEPHALUS AND PROCRIS\n\nCephalus was a beautiful youth and fond of manly sports.  He\nwould rise before the dawn to pursue the chase.  Aurora saw him\nwhen she first looked forth, fell in love with him, and stole him\naway.  But Cephalus was just married to a charming wife whom he\nloved devotedly.  Her name was Procris.  She was a favorite of\nDiana, the goddess of hunting, who had given her a dog which\ncould outrun every rival, and a javelin which would never fail of\nits mark; and Procris gave these presents to her husband.\nCephalus was so happy in his wife that he resisted all the\nentreaties of Aurora, and she finally dismissed him in\ndispleasure, saying, \"Go, ungrateful mortal, keep your wife,\nwhom, if I am not much mistaken, you will one day be very sorry\nyou ever saw again.\"\n\nCephalus returned, and was as happy as ever in his wife and his\nwoodland sports.  Now it happened some angry deity had sent a\nravenous fox to annoy the country; and the hunters turned out in\ngreat strength to capture it.  Their efforts were all in vain; no\ndog could run it down; and at last they came to Cephalus to\nborrow his famous dog, whose name was Lelaps.  No sooner was the\ndog let loose than he darted off, quicker than their eye could\nfollow him.  If they had not seen his footprints in the sand they\nwould have thought he flew.  Cephalus and others stood on a hill\nand saw the race.  The fox tried every art; he ran in a circle\nand turned on his track, the dog close upon him, with open jaws,\nsnapping at his heels, but biting only the air.  Cephalus was\nabout to use his javelin, when suddenly he saw both dog and game\nstop instantly.  The heavenly powers who had given both, were not\nwilling that either should conquer.  In the very attitude of life\nand action they were turned into stone.  So lifelike and natural\ndid they look, you would have thought, as you looked at them,\nthat one was going to bark, the other to leap forward.\n\nCephalus, though he had lost his dog, still continued to take\ndelight in the chase.  He would go out at early morning, ranging\nthe woods and hills unaccompanied by any one, needing no help,\nfor his javelin was a sure weapon in all cases.  Fatigued with\nhunting, when the sun got high he would seek a shady nook where a\ncool stream flowed, and, stretched on the grass with his garments\nthrown aside, would enjoy the breeze.  Sometimes he would say\naloud, \"Come, sweet breeze, come and fan my breast, come and\nallay the heat that burns me.\"  Some one passing by one day heard\nhim talking in this way to the air, and, foolishly believing that\nhe was talking to some maiden, went and told the secret to\nProcris, Cephalus's wife.  Love is credulous.  Procris, at the\nsudden shock, fainted away.  Presently recovering, she said, \"It\ncannot be true; I will not believe it unless I myself am a\nwitness to it.\"  So she waited, with anxious heart, till the next\nmorning, when Cephalus went to hunt as usual.  Then she stole out\nafter him, and concealed herself in the place where the informer\ndirected her.  Cephalus came as he was wont when tired with\nsport, and stretched himself on the green bank, saying, \"Come,\nsweet breeze, come and fan me; you know how I love you!  You make\nthe groves and my solitary rambles delightful.\"  He was running\non in this way when he heard, or thought he heard, a sound as of\na sob in the bushes.  Supposing it some wild animal, he threw hie\njavelin at the spot.  A cry from his beloved Procris told him\nthat the weapon had too surely met its mark.  He rushed to the\nplace, and found her bleeding and with sinking strength\nendeavoring to draw forth from the wound the javelin, her own\ngift.  Cephalus raised her from the earth, strove to stanch the\nblood, and called her to revive and not to leave him miserable,\nto reproach himself with her death.  She opened her feeble eyes,\nand forced herself to utter these few words: \"I implore you, if\nyou have ever loved me, if I have ever deserved kindness at your\nhands, my husband, grant me this last request; do not marry that\nodious Breeze!\"  This disclosed the whole mystery; but alas!\nWhat advantage to disclose it now?  She died; but her face wore a\ncalm expression, and she looked pityingly and forgivingly on her\nhusband when he made her understand the truth.\n\nIn Shakespeare's play just quoted, there is an allusion to\nCephalus and Procris, although rather badly spelt.\n\n  Pyramus says, \"Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.\"\n  Thisbe.  \"As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.\"\n\nMoore, in his Legendary Ballads, has one on Cephalus and Procris,\nbeginning thus:--\n\n  \"A hunter once in a grove reclined,\n  To shun the noon's bright eye,\n  And oft he wooed the wandering wind\n  To cool his brow with its sigh.\n  While mute lay even the wild bee's hum,\n  Nor breath could stir the aspen's hair,\n  His song was still, 'Sweet Air, O come!'\n  While Echo answered, 'Come, sweet Air!'\"\n\n\n\nChapter III\n\nIo and Callisto. Diana and Actaeon. The Story of Phaeton\n\nJupiter and Juno, although husband and wife, did not live\ntogether very happily.  Jupiter did not love his wife very much,\nand Juno distrusted her husband, and was always accusing him of\nunfaithfulness.  One day she perceived that it suddenly grew\ndark, and immediately suspected that her husband had raised a\ncloud to hide some of his doings that would not bear the light.\nShe brushed away the cloud, and saw her husband, on the banks of\na glassy river, with a beautiful heifer standing near him.  Juno\nsuspected that the heifer's form concealed some fair nymph of\nmortal mould.  This was indeed the case; for it was Io, the\ndaughter of the river god Inachus, whom Jupiter had been flirting\nwith, and, when he became aware of the approach of his wife, had\nchanged into that form.\n\nJuno joined her husband, and noticing the heifer, praised its\nbeauty, and asked whose it was, and of what herd.  Jupiter, to\nstop questions, replied that it was a fresh creation from the\nearth.  Juno asked to have it as a gift.  What could Jupiter do?\nHe was loth to give his mistress to his wife; yet how refuse so\ntrifling a present as a simple heifer?  He could not, without\narousing suspicion; so he consented.  The goddess was not yet\nrelieved of her suspicions; and she delivered the heifer to\nArgus, to be strictly watched.\n\nNow Argus had a hundred eyes in his head, and never went to sleep\nwith more than two at a time, so that he kept watch of Io\nconstantly.  He suffered her to feed through the day, and at\nnight tied her up with a vile rope round her neck.  She would\nhave stretched out her arms to implore freedom of Argus, but she\nhad no arms to stretch out, and her voice was a bellow that\nfrightened even herself. She saw her father and her sisters, went\nnear them, and suffered them to pat her back, and heard them\nadmire her beauty.  Her father reached her a tuft o gras, and she\nlicked the outstretched hand.  She longed to make herself known\nto him, and would have uttered her wish; but, alas!  words were\nwanting.  At length she bethought herself of writing, and\ninscribed her name   it was a short one   with her hoof on the\nsand.  Inachus recognized it, and discovering that his daughter,\nwhom he had long sought in vain, was hidden under this disguise,\nmourned over her, and, embracing her white neck, exclaimed,\n\"Alas!  My daughter, it would have been a less grief to have lost\nyou altogether!\"  While he thus lamented, Argus, observing, came\nand drove her away, and took his seat on a high bank, whence he\ncould see in every direction.\n\nJupiter was troubled at beholding the sufferings of his mistress,\nand calling Mercury, told him to go and despatch Argus.  Mercury\nmade haste, put his winged slippers on his feet, and cap on his\nhead, took his sleep-producing wand, and leaped down from the\nheavenly towers to the earth.  There he laid aside his wings, and\nkept only his wand, with which he presented himself as a shepherd\ndriving his flock.  As he strolled on he blew upon his pipes.\nThese were what are called the Syrinx or Pandean pipes.  Argus\nlistened with delight, for he had never heard the instrument\nbefore.  \"Young man,\" said he, \"come and take a seat by me on\nthis stone.  There is no better place for your flock to graze in\nthan hereabouts, and here is a pleasant shade such as shepherds\nlove.\"  Mercury sat down, talked, and told stories until it grew\nlate, and played upon his pipes his most soothing strains, hoping\nto lull the watchful eyes to sleep, but all in vain; for Argus\nstill contrived to keep some of his eyes open, though he shut the\nrest.\n\nAmong other stories, Mercury told him how the instrument on which\nhe played was invented.  \"There was a certain nymph, whose name\nwas Syrinx, who was much beloved by the satyrs and spirits of the\nwood; but she would have none of them, but was a faithful\nworshipper of Diana, and followed the chase.  You would have\nthought it was Diana herself, had you seen her in her hunting\ndress, only that her bow was of horn and Diana's of silver.  One\nday, as she was returning from the chase, Pan met her, told her\njust this, and added more of the same sort.  She ran away,\nwithout stopping to hear his compliments, and he pursued till she\ncame to the bank of the river, where he overtook her, and she had\nonly time to call for help on her friends, the water nymphs. They\nheard and consented.  Pan threw his arms around what he supposed\nto be the form of the nymph, and found he embraced only a tuft of\nreeds!  As he breathed a sigh, the air sounded through the reeds,\nand produced a plaintive melody.  The god, charmed with the\nnovelty and with the sweetness of the music, said 'Thus, then, at\nleast, you shall be mine.'  And he took some of the reeds, and\nplacing them together, of unequal lengths, side by side, made an\ninstrument which he called Syrinx, in honor of the nymph.\"\nBefore Mercury had finished his story, he saw Argus's eyes all\nasleep.  As his head nodded forward on his breast, Mercury with\none stroke cut his neck through, and tumbled his head down the\nrocks.  O hapless Argus!  The light of your hundred eyes is\nquenched at once!  Juno took them and put them as ornaments on\nthe tail of her peacock, where they remain to this day.\n\nBut the vengeance of Juno was not yet satiated.  She sent a\ngadfly to torment Io, who fled over the whole world from its\npursuit.  She swam through the Ionian Sea, which derived its name\nfrom her, then roamed over the plains of Illyria, ascended Mount\nHaemus, and crossed the Thracian strait, thence named the\nBosphorus (cow-bearer), rambled on through Scythia and the\ncountry of the Cimmerians, and arrived at last on the banks of\nthe Nile.  At length Jupiter interceded for her, and, upon his\npromising not to pay her any more attentions, Juno consented to\nrestore her to her form.  It was curious to see her gradually\nrecover her former self.  The coarse hairs fell from her body,\nher horns shrunk up, her eyes grew narrower, her mouth shorter;\nhands and fingers came instead of hoofs to her forefeet; in fine,\nthere was nothing left of the heifer except her beauty.  At first\nshe was afraid to speak for fear she should low, but gradually\nshe recovered her confidence, and was restored to her father and\nsisters.\n\nIn a poem dedicated to Leigh Hunt, by Keats, the following\nallusion to the story of Pan and Syrinx occurs:--\n\n  \"So did he feel who pulled the boughs aside,\n  That we might look into a forest wide,\n  *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *\n  Telling us how fair trembling Syrinx fled\n  Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread.\n  Poor nymph   poor Pan   how he did weep to find\n  Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind\n  Along the reedy stream; a half-heard strain,\n  Full of sweet desolation, balmy pain.\"\n\n\nCALLISTO\n\nCallisto was another maiden who excited the jealousy of Juno, and\nthe goddess changed her into a bear.  \"I will take away,\" said\nshe, :\"that beauty with which you have captivated my husband.\"\nDown fell Callisto on her hands and knees; she tried to stretch\nout her arms in supplication,-- they were already beginning to be\ncovered with black hair.  Her hands grew rounded, became armed\nwith crooked claws, and served for feet; her mouth, which Jove\nused to praise for its beauty, became a horrid pair of jaws; her\nvoice, which if unchanged would have moved the heart to pity,\nbecame a growl, more fit to inspire terror.  Yet her former\ndisposition remained, and, with continued groaning, she bemoaned\nher fate, and stood upright as well as she could, lifting up her\npaws to beg for mercy; and felt that Jove was unkind, though she\ncould not tell him so.  Ah, how often, afraid to stay in the\nwoods all night alone, she wandered about the neighborhood of her\nformer haunts; how often, frightened by the dogs, did she, so\nlately a huntress, fly in terror from the hunters!  Often she\nfled from the wild beasts, forgetting that she was now a wild\nbeast herself; and, bear as she was, was afraid of the bears.\n\nOne day a youth espied her as he was hunting.  She saw him and\nrecognized him as her own son, now grown a young man.  She\nstopped, and felt inclined to embrace him.  As she was about to\napproach, he, alarmed, raised his hunting spear, and was on the\npoint of transfixing her, when Jupiter, beholding, arrested the\ncrime, and, snatching away both of them, placed them in the\nheavens as the Great and Little Bear.\n\nJuno was in a rage to see her rival so set in honor, and hastened\nto ancient Tethys and Oceanus, the powers of ocean, and, in\nanswer to their inquiries, thus told the cause of her coming; \"Do\nyou ask why I, the queen of the gods, have left the heavenly\nplains and sought your depths.  Learn that I am supplanted in\nheaven,-- my place is given to another.  You will hardly believe\nme; but look when night darkens the world, and you shall see the\ntwo, of whom I have so much reason to complain, exalted to the\nheavens, in that part where the circle is the smallest, in the\nneighborhood of the pole.  Why should any one hereafter tremble\nat the thought of offending Juno, when such rewards are the\nconsequence of my displeasure!  See what I have been able to\neffect!  I forbade her to wear the human form,-- she is placed\namong the stars!  So do my punishments result,-- such is the\nextent of my power!  Better that she should have resumed her\nformer shape, as I permitted Io to do.  Perhaps he means to marry\nher, and put me away!  But you, my foster parents, if you feel\nfor me, and see with displeasure this unworthy treatment of me,\nshow it, I beseech you, by forbidding this guilty couple from\ncoming into your waters.\"  The powers of the ocean assented, and\nconsequently the two constellations of the Great and Little Bear\nmove round and round in heaven, but never sink, as the other\nstars do, beneath the ocean.\n\nMilton alludes to the fact that the constellation of the Bear\nnever sets, when he says,\n\n  \"Let my lamp at midnight hour\n  Be seen in some high lonely tower,\n  Where I may oft outwatch the Bear.\"\n  Il Penseroso\n\nAnd Prometheus, in James Russell Lowell's poem, says,\n\n\"One after one the stars have risen and set,\nSparkling upon the hoar-frost of my chain;\nThe Bear that prowled all night about the fold\nOf the North Star, hath shrunk into his den,\nScared by the blithsome footsteps of the dawn.\"\n\nThe last star in the tail of the Little Bear is the Pole star,\ncalled also the Cynosure.  Milton says,\n\n  \"Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures\n  While the landscape round it measures.\n  *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *\n  Towers and battlements it sees\n  Bosomed high in tufted trees,\n  Where perhaps some beauty lies\n  The Cynosure of neighboring eyes.\"\n  L'Allegro.\n\nThe reference here is both to the Pole-star as the guide of\nmariners, and to the magnetic attraction of the North.  He calls\nit also the \"Star of Aready,\" because Callisto's boy was named\nArcas, and they lived in Arcadia.  In Milton's Comus, the elder\nbrother, benighted in the woods, says,\n\n  \"Some gentle taper!\n  Through a rush candle, from\n  the wicker hole\n  Of some clay habitation,\n    visit us\n  With thy long levelled rule\n    of streaming light,\n  And thou shalt be our star of Aready,\n  Or Tyrian Chynsure.\"\n\n\nDIANA AND ACTAEON\n\nIt was midday, and the sun stood equally distant from either\ngoal, when young Actaeon, son of King Cadmus, thus addressed the\nyouths who with him were hunting the stag in the mountains:--\n\n\"Friends, our nets and our weapons are wet with the blood of our\nvictims; we have had sport enough for one day, and tomorrow we\ncan renew our labors.  Now, while Phoebus parches the earth, let\nus put by our instruments and indulge ourselves with rest.\"\n\nThere was a valley thickly enclosed with cypresses and pines,\nsacred to the huntress-queen, Diana.  In the extremity of the\nvalley was a cave, not adorned with art, but nature had\ncounterfeited art in its construction, for she had turned the\narch of its roof with stones as delicately fitted as if by the\nhand of man.  A fountain burst out from one side, whose open\nbasin was bounded by a grassy rim.  Here the goddess of the woods\nused to come when weary with hunting and lave her virgin limbs in\nthe sparkling water.\n\nOne day, having repaired thither with her nymphs, she handed her\njavelin, her quiver, and her bow to one, her robe to another,\nwhile a third unbound the sandals from her feet.  Then Crocale,\nthe most skilful of them, arranged her hair, and Nephele, Hyale,\nand the rest drew water in capacious urns.  While the goddess was\nthus employed in the labors of the toilet, behold, Actaeon,\nhaving quitted his companions, and rambling without any especial\nobject, came to the place, led thither by his destiny.  As he\npresented himself at the entrance of the cave, the nymphs, seeing\na man, screamed and rushed towards the goddess to hide her with\ntheir bodies.  But she was taller than the rest, and overtopped\nthem all by a head.  Such a color as tinges the clouds at sunset\nor at dawn came over the countenance of Diana thus taken by\nsurprise.  Surrounded as she was by her nymphs, she yet turned\nhalf away, and sought with a sudden impulse for her arrows.  As\nthey were not at hand, she dashed the water into the face of the\nintruder, adding these words: \"Now go and tell, if you can, that\nyou have seen Diana unapparelled.\"  Immediately a pair of\nbranching stag's horns grew out of his head, his neck gained in\nlength, his ears grew sharp-pointed, his hands became feet, his\narms long legs, his body was covered with a hairy spotted hide.\nFear took the place of his former boldness, and the hero fled.\nHe could not but admire his own speed; but when he saw his horns\nin the water, \"Ah, wretched me!: he would have said, but no sound\nfollowed the effort.  He groaned, and tears flowed down the face\nthat had taken the place of his own.  Yet his consciousness\nremained.  What shall he do?   Go home to seek the palace, or lie\nhid in the woods?  The latter he was afraid, the former he was\nashamed, to do.  While he hesitated the dogs saw him.  First\nMelampus, a Spartan dog, gave the signal with his bark, then\nPamphagus, Dorceus, Lelaps, Theron, Nape, Tigris, and all the\nrest, rushed after him swifter than the wind.  Over rocks and\ncliffs, through mountain gorges that seemed impracticable, he\nfled, and they followed.  Where he had often chased the stag and\ncheered on his pack, his pack now chased him, cheered on by his\nown huntsmen.  He longed to cry out, \"I am Actaeon; recognize\nyour master!\"  But the words came not at his will.  The air\nresounded with the bark of the dogs.  Presently one fastened on\nhis back, another seized his shoulder.  While they held their\nmaster, the rest of the pack came up and buried their teeth in\nhis flesh.  He groaned,   not in a human voice, yet certainly not\nin a stag's,   and, falling on his knees, raised his eyes, and\nwould have raised his arms in supplication, if he had had them.\nHis friends and fellow-huntsmen cheered on the dogs, and looked\nevery where for Actaeon, calling on him to join the sport.  At\nthe sound of his name, he turned his head, and heard them regret\nthat he should be away.  He earnestly wished he was.  He would\nhave been well pleased to see the exploits of his dogs, but to\nfeel them was too much.  They were all around him, rending and\ntearing; and it was not till they had torn his life out that the\nanger of Diana was satisfied.\n\nIn the \"Epic of Hades\" there is a description of Actaeon and his\nchange of form.  Perhaps the most beautiful lines in it are when\nActaeon, changed to a stag, first hears his own hounds and flees.\n\n  \"But as I gazed, and careless turned and passed\n  Through the thick wood, forgetting what had been,\n  And thinking thoughts no longer, swift there came\n  A mortal terror; voices that I knew.\n  My own hounds' bayings that I loved before,\n  As with them often o'er the purple hills\n  I chased the flying hart from <DW72> to <DW72>,\n  Before the slow sun climbed the eastern peaks,\n  Until the swift sun smote the western plain;\n  Whom often I had cheered by voice and glance,\n  Whom often I had checked with hand and thong;\n  Grim followers, like the passions, firing me,\n  True servants, like the strong nerves, urging me\n  On many a fruitless chase, to find and take\n  Some too swift-fleeting beauty, faithful feet\n  And tongues, obedient always: these I knew\n  Clothed with a new-born force and vaster grown,\n  And stronger than their master; and I thought,\n  What if they tore me with their jaws, nor knew\n  That once I ruled them,   brute pursuing brute,\n  And I the quarry?  Then I turned and fled\n  If it was I indeed that feared and fled\n  Down the long glades, and through the tangled brakes,\n  Where scarce the sunlight pierced; fled on and on,\n  And panted, self-pursued.  But evermore\n  The dissonant music which I knew so sweet,\n  When by the windy hills, the echoing vales\n  And whispering pines it rang; now far, now near\n  As from my rushing steed I leant and cheered\n  With voice and horn the chase; this brought to me\n  Fear of I knew not what, which bade me fly,\n  Fly always, fly; but when my heart stood still,\n  And all my limbs were stiffened as I fled,\n  Just as the white moon ghost-like climbed the sky,\n  Nearer they came and nearer, baying loud,\n  With bloodshot eyes and red jaws dripping foam;\n  And when I strove to check their savagery,\n  Speaking with words; no voice articulate came,\n  Only a dumb, low bleat.  Then all the throng\n  Leapt swift upon me and tore me as I lay,\n  And left me man again.\"\n\nIn Shelley's poem Adonais is the following allusion to the story\nof Actaeon:--\n\n  \"Midst others of less note came one frail form,\n  A phantom among men; companionless\n  As the last cloud of an expiring storm,\n  Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess,\n  Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness,\n  Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray\n  With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness;\n  And his own Thoughts, along that rugged way,\n  Pursued like raging hounds their father and their prey.\"\n  Adonais, stanza 31.\n\nThe allusion is probably to Shelley himself.\n\n\n\nLATONA AND THE RUSTICS\n\nSome thought the goddess in this instance more severe than was\njust, while others praised her conduct as strictly consistent\nwith her virgin dignity.  As usual, the recent event brought\nolder ones to mind, and one of the bystanders told this story.\n\"Some countrymen of Lycia once insulted the goddess Latona, but\nnot with impunity.  When I was young, my father, who had grown\ntoo old for active labors, sent me to Lycia to drive thence some\nchoice oxen, and there I saw the very pond and marsh where the\nwonder happened.  Near by stood an ancient altar, black with the\nsmoke of sacrifice and almost buried among the reeds.  I inquired\nwhose altar it might be, whether of Faunus or the Naiads or some\ngod of the neighboring mountain, and one of the country people\nreplied, 'No mountain or river god possesses this altar, but she\nwhom royal Juno in her jealousy drove from land to land, denying\nher any spot of earth whereon to rear her twins.  Bearing in her\narms the infant deities, Latona reached this land, weary with her\nburden and parched with thirst.  By chance she espied in the\nbottom of the valley this pond of clear water, where the country\npeople were at work gathering willows and osiers.  The goddess\napproached, and kneeling on the bank would have slaked her thirst\nin the cool stream, but the rustics forbade her.  'Why do you\nrefuse me water?' said she; 'water is free to all.  Nature allows\nno one to claim as property the sunshine, the air, or the water.\nI come to take my share of the common blessing.  Yet I ask it of\nyou as a favor.  I have no intention of washing my limbs in it,\nweary though they be, but only to quench my thirst.  My mouth is\nso dry that I can hardly speak.  A draught of water would be\nnectar to me; it would revive me, and I would own myself indebted\nto you for life itself.  Let these infants move your pity, who\nstretch out their little arms as if to plead for me'; and the\nchildren, as it happened, were stretching out their arms.\n\n\"Who would not have been moved with these gentle words of the\ngoddess?  But these clowns persisted in their rudeness; they even\nadded jeers and threats of violence if she did not leave the\nplace.  Nor was this all.  They waded into the pond and stirred\nup the mud with their feet, so as to make the water unfit to\ndrink.  Latona was so angry that she ceased to feel her thirst.\nShe no longer supplicated the clowns, but lifting her hands to\nheaven exclaimed, 'May they never quit that pool, but pass their\nlives there!'  And it came to pass accordingly.  They now live in\nthe water, sometimes totally submerged, then raising their heads\nabove the surface, or swimming upon it.  Sometimes they come out\nupon the bank, but soon leap back again into the water.  They\nstill use their base voices in railing, and though they have the\nwater all to themselves, are not ashamed to croak in the midst of\nit.  Their voices are harsh, their throats bloated, their mouths\nhave become stretched by constant railing, their necks have\nshrunk up and disappeared, and their heads are joined to their\nbodies.  Their backs are green, their disproportioned bellies\nwhite, and in short they are now frogs, and dwell in the slimy\npool.\"\n\nThis story explains the allusion in one of Milton's sonnets, \"On\nthe detraction which followed upon his writing certain\ntreatises.\"\n\n  \"I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs\n  By the known laws of ancient liberty,.\n  When straight a barbarous noise environs me\n  Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes and dogs.\n  As when those hinds that were transformed to frogs\n  Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny,\n  Which after held the sun and moon in fee.\"\n\nThe persecution which Latona experienced from Juno is alluded to\nin the story.  The tradition was that the future mother of Apollo\nand Diana, flying from the wrath of Juno, besought all the\nislands of the Aegean to afford her a place of rest, but all\nfeared too much the potent queen of heaven to assist her rival.\nDelos alone consented to become the birthplace of the future\ndeities.  Delos was then a floating island; but when Latona\narrived there, Jupiter fastened it with adamantine chains to the\nbottom of the sea, that it might be a secure resting place for\nhis beloved.  Byron alludes to Delos in his Don Juan:--\n\n  \"The isles of Greece!  The isles of Greece!\n  Where burning Sappho loved and sung,\n  Where grew the arts of war and peace,\n  Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung!\"\n\n\n\nPHAETON\n\nEpaphus was the son of Jupiter and Io.  Phaeton, child of the\nSun, was one day boasting to him of his high descent and of his\nfather Phoebus.  Epaphus could not bear it.  \"Foolish fellow,\"\nsaid he \"you believe your mother in all things, and you are\npuffed up by your pride in a false father.\"  Phaeton went in rage\nand shame and reported this to his mother, Clymene.  \"If,\" said\nhe, \"I am indeed of heavenly birth, give me, mother, some proof\nof it, and establish my claim to the honor.\"  Clymene stretched\nforth her hands towards the skies, and said, \"I call to witness\nthe Sun which looks down upon us, that I have told you the truth.\nIf I speak falsely, let this be the last time I behold his light.\nBut it needs not much labor to go and inquire for yourself; the\nland whence the sun rises lies next to ours.  Go and demand of\nhim whether he will own you as a son\" Phaeton heard with delight.\nHe travelled to India, which lies directly in the regions of\nsunrise; and, full of hope and pride, approached the goal whence\nthe Sun begins his course.\n\nThe palace of the Sun stood reared aloft on columns, glittering\nwith gold and precious stones, while polished ivory formed the\nceilings, and silver the doors.  The workmanship surpassed the\nmaterial; for upon the walls Vulcan had represented earth, sea\nand skies, with their inhabitants.  In the sea were the nymphs,\nsome sporting in the waves, some riding on the backs of fishes,\nwhile others sat upon the rocks and dried their sea-green hair.\nTheir faces were not all alike, nor yet unlike,   but such as\nsisters' ought to be.  The earth had its towns and forests and\nrivers and rustic divinities.  Over all was carved the likeness\nof the glorious heaven; and on the silver doors the twelve signs\nof the zodiac, six on each side.\n\nClymene's son advanced up the steep ascent, and entered the halls\nof his disputed father.  He approached the paternal presence, but\nstopped at a distance, for the light was more than he could bear.\nPhoebus, arrayed in a purple vesture, sat on a throne which\nglittered as with diamonds.  On his right hand and his left stood\nthe Day, the Month, and the Year, and, at regular intervals, the\nHours.  Spring stood with her head crowned with flowers, and\nSummer, with garment cast aside, and a garland formed of spears\nof ripened grain, and Autumn, with his feet stained with grape\njuice, and icy Winter, with his hair stiffened with hoar frost.\nSurrounded by these attendants, the Sun, with the eye that sees\nevery thing, beheld the youth dazzled with the novelty and\nsplendor of the scene, and inquired the purpose of his errand.\nThe youth replied, \"Oh, light of the boundless world, Phoebus, my\nfather,   if you permit me to use that name,   give me some\nproof, I beseech you, by which I may be known as yours.\"  He\nceased; and his father, laying aside the beams that shone all\naround his head, bade him approach, and embracing him, said, \"My\nson, you deserve not to be disowned, and I confirm what your\nmother has told you.  To put an end to your doubts, ask what you\nwill, the gift shall be yours.  I call to witness that dreadful\nlake, which I never saw, but which we gods swear by in our most\nsolemn engagements.\"  Phaeton immediately asked to be permitted\nfor one day to drive the chariot of the sun.  The father repented\nof his promise; thrice and four times he shook his radiant head\nin warning.  \"I have spoken rashly,\" said he; \"only this request\nI would fain deny.  I beg you to withdraw it.  It is not a safe\nboon, nor one, my Phaeton, suited to your youth and strength.\nYour lot is mortal, and you ask what is beyond a mortal's power.\nIn your ignorance you aspire to do that which not even the gods\nthemselves may do.  None but myself may drive the flaming car of\nday; not even Jupiter, whose terrible right arm hurls the thunder\nbolts.  The first part of the way is steep, and such as the\nhorses when fresh in the morning can hardly climb; the middle is\nhigh up in the heavens, whence I myself can scarcely, without\nalarm, look down and behold the earth and sea stretched beneath\nme.  The last part of the road descends rapidly, and requires\nmost careful driving.  Tethys, who is waiting to receive me,\noften trembles for me lest I should fall headlong.  Add to all\nthis, the heaven is all the time turning round and carrying the\nstars with it.  I have to be perpetually on my guard lest that\nmovement, which sweeps everything else along, should hurry me\nalso away.  Suppose I should lend you the chariot, what would you\ndo?  Could you keep your course while the sphere was revolving\nunder you?  Perhaps you think that there are forests and cities,\nthe abodes of gods, and palaces and temples on the way.  On the\ncontrary, the road is through the midst of frightful monsters.\nYou pass by the horns of the Bull, in front of the Archer, and\nnear the Lion's jaws, and where the Scorpion stretches its arms\nin one direction and the Crab in another.  Nor will you find it\neasy to guide those horses, with their breasts full of fire which\nthey breathe forth from their mouths and nostrils.  I can\nscarcely govern them myself, when they are unruly and resist the\nreins.  Beware, my son, lest I should give you a fatal gift;\nrecall your request while yet you may.  Do you ask me for proof\nthat you are sprung from my blood?  I give you a proof in my\nfears for you.  Look at my face,-- I would that you could look\ninto my breast, you would there see all a father's anxiety.\nFinally,\" he continued, \"look round the world and choose whatever\nyou will of what earth or sea contains most precious,   ask it\nand fear no refusal.  This only I pray you not to urge.  It is\nnot honor, but destruction you seek.  Why do you hang round my\nneck and still entreat me?  You shall have it if you persist,\nthe oath is sworn and must be kept,   but I beg you to choose\nmore wisely.\"\n\nHe ended; but the youth rejected all admonition, and held to his\ndemand.  So, having resisted as long as he could, Phoebus at last\nled the way to where stood the lofty chariot.\n\nIt was of gold, the gift of Vulcan; the axle was of gold, the\npole and wheels of gold, the spokes of silver.  Along the seat\nwere rows of chrysolites and diamonds, which reflected all around\nthe brightness of the sun.  While the daring youth gazed in\nadmiration, the early Dawn threw open the purple doors of the\neast, and showed the pathway strewn with roses.  The stars\nwithdrew, marshalled by the Daystar, which last of all retired\nalso.  The father, when he saw the earth beginning to glow, and\nthe Moon preparing to retire, ordered the Hours to harness up the\nhorses.  They obeyed, and led forth from the lofty stalls the\nsteeds full fed with ambrosia, and attached the reins.  Then the\nfather bathed the face of his son with a powerful unguent, and\nmade him capable of enduring the brightness of the flame.  He set\nthe rays on his head, and, with a foreboding sigh, said, \"If, my\nson, you will in this at least heed my advice, spare the whip and\nhold tight the reins.  They go fast enough of their own accord;\nthe labor is to hold them in.  You are not to take the straight\nroad directly between the five circles, but turn off to the left.\nKeep within the limit of the middle zone, and avoid the northern\nand the southern alike.  You will see the marks of the wheels,\nand they will serve to guide you.  And, that the skies and the\nearth may each receive their due share of heat, go not too high,\nor you will burn the heavenly dwellings, nor too low, or you will\nset the earth on fire; the middle course is safest and best.  And\nnow I leave you to your chance, which I hope will plan better for\nyou than you have done for yourself.  Night is passing out of the\nwestern gates and we can delay no longer.  Take the reins; but if\nat last your heart fails you, and you will benefit by my advice,\nstay where you are in safety, and suffer me to light and warm the\nearth.\"  The agile youth sprang into the chariot, stood erect and\ngrasped the reins with delight, pouring out thanks to his\nreluctant parent.\n\nMeanwhile the horses fill the air with their snortings and fiery\nbreath, and stamp the ground impatient.  Now the bars are let\ndown, and the boundless plain of the universe lies open before\nthem.  They dart forward and cleave the opposing clouds, and\noutrun the morning breezes which started from the same eastern\ngoal.  The steeds soon perceived that the load they drew was\nlighter than usual; and as a ship without ballast is tossed\nhither and thither on the sea, so the chariot, without its\naccustomed weight, was dashed about as if empty.  They rush\nheadlong and leave the travelled road.  He is alarmed, and knows\nnot how to guide them; nor, if he knew, has he the power.  Then,\nfor the first time, the Great and Little Bear were scorched with\nheat, and would fain, if it were possible, have plunged into the\nwater; and the Serpent which lies coiled up round the north pole,\ntorpid and harmless, grew warm, and with warmth felt its rage\nrevive.  Bootes, they say, fled away, though encumbered with his\nplough, and all unused to rapid motion.\n\nWhen hapless Phaeton looked down upon the earth, now spreading in\nvast extent beneath him, he grew pale and his knees shook with\nterror.  In spite of the glare all around him, the sight of his\neyes grew dim.  He wished he had never touched his father's\nhorses, never learned his parentage, never prevailed in his\nrequest.  He is borne along like a vessel that flies before a\ntempest, when the pilot can do no more and betakes himself to his\nprayers.  What shall he do?  Much of the heavenly road is left\nbehind, but more remains before.  He turns his eyes from one\ndirection to the other; now to the goal whence he began his\ncourse, now to the realms of sunset which he is not destined to\nreach.  He loses his self-command, and knows not what to do,\nwhether to draw tight the reins or throw them loose; he forgets\nthe names of the horses.  He sees with terror the monstrous forms\nscattered over the surface of heaven.  Here the Scorpion extended\nhis two great arms, with his tail and crooked claws stretching\nover two signs of the zodiac.  When the boy beheld him, reeking\nwith poison and menacing with his fangs, his courage failed, and\nthe reins fell from his hands.  The horses, feeling the reins\nloose on their backs, dashed headlong, and unrestrained went off\ninto unknown regions of the sky, in among the stars, hurling the\nchariot over pathless places, now up in high heaven, now down\nalmost to the earth.  The moon saw with astonishment her\nbrother's chariot running beneath her own.  The clouds begin to\nsmoke, and the mountain tops take fire; the fields are parched\nwith heat, the plants wither, the trees with their leafy branches\nburn, the harvest is ablaze!  But these are small things.  Great\ncities perished, with their walls and towers; whole nations with\ntheir people were consumed to ashes!  The forest-clad mountains\nburned, Athos and Taurus and Tmolus and OEte; Ida, once\ncelebrated for fountains, but now all dry; the Muses' mountain\nHelicon, and Haemus; AEtna, with fires within and without, and\nParnassus, with his two peaks, and Rhodope, forced at last to\npart with his snowy crown.  Her cold climate was no protection to\nScythia, Caucasus burned, and Ossa and Pindus, and, greater than\nboth, Olympus; the Alps high in air, and the Apennines crowned\nwith clouds.\n\nThen Phaeton beheld the world on fire, and felt the heat\nintolerable.  The air he breathed was like the air of a furnace\nand full of burning ashes, and the smoke was of a pitchy\ndarkness.  He dashed forward he knew not whither.  Then, it is\nbelieved, the people of AEthiopia became black by the blood being\nforced so suddenly to the surface, and the Libyan desert was\ndried up to the condition in which it remains to this day.  The\nNymphs of the fountains, with dishevelled hair, mourned their\nwaters, nor were the rivers safe beneath their banks; Tanais\nsmoked, and Caicus, Xanthus and Meander.  Babylonian Euphrates\nand Ganges, Tagus with golden sands, and Caijster where the swans\nresort.  Nile fled away and hid his head in the desert, and there\nit still remains concealed.  Where he used to discharge his\nwaters through seven mouths into the sea, there seven dry\nchannels alone remained.  The earth cracked open, and through the\nchinks light broke into Tartarus, and frightened the king of\nshadows and his queen.  The sea shrank up.  Where before was\nwater, it became a dry plain; and the mountains that lie beneath\nthe waves lifted up their heads and became islands.  The fishes\nsought the lowest depths, and the dolphins no longer ventured as\nusual to sport on the surface.  Even Nereus, and his wife Doris,\nwith the Nereids, their daughters, sought the deepest caves for\nrefuge.  Thrice Neptune essayed to raise his head above the\nsurface and thrice was driven back by the heat.  Earth,\nsurrounded as she was by waters, yet with head and shoulders\nbare, screening her face with her hand, looked up to heaven, and\nwith a husky voice called on Jupiter.\n\n\"O ruler of the gods, if I have deserved this treatment, and it\nis your will that I perish with fire, why withhold your\nthunderbolts?  Let me at least fall by your hand.  Is this the\nreward of my fertility, of my obedient service?  Is it for this\nthat I have supplied herbage for cattle, and fruits for men, and\nfrankincense for your altars?  But if I am unworthy of regard,\nwhat has my brother Ocean done to deserve such a fate?  If\nneither of us can excite your pity, think, I pray you, of your\nown heaven, and behold how both the poles are smoking which\nsustain your palace, which must fall if they be destroyed.  Atlas\nfaints, and scarce holds up his burden.  If sea, earth, and\nheaven perish, we fall into ancient Chaos.  Save what yet remains\nto us from the devouring flame.  Oh, take thought for our\ndeliverance in this awful moment!\"\n\nThus spoke Earth, and overcome with heat and thirst, could say no\nmore.  Then Jupiter Omnipotent, calling to witness all the gods,\nincluding him who had lent the chariot, and showing them that all\nwas lost unless some speedy remedy were applied, mounted the\nlofty tower from whence he diffuses clouds over the earth, and\nhurls the forked lightnings.  But at that time not a cloud was to\nbe found to interpose for a screen to earth, nor was a shower\nremaining unexhausted.  He thundered, and brandishing a\nlightning-bolt in his right hand launched it against the\ncharioteer, and struck him at the same moment from his seat and\nfrom existence!  Phaeton, with his hair on fire, fell headlong,\nlike a shooting star which marks the heavens with its brightness\nas it falls, and Eridanus, the great river, received him and\ncooled his burning frame.  The Italian Naiads reared a tomb for\nhim, and inscribed these words upon the stone:\n\n  \"Driver of Phoebus' chariot, Phaeton,\n  Struck by Jove's thunder, rests beneath this stone.\n  He could not rule his father's car of fire,\n  Yet was it much so nobly to aspire.\"\n\nHis sisters, the Heliades, as they lamented his fate were turned\ninto poplar trees, on the banks of the river, and their tears,\nwhich continued to flow, became amber as they dropped into the\nstream,\n\nOne of Prior's best remembered poems is that on the Female\nPhaeton, from which we quote the last verse.\n\nKitty has been imploring her mother to allow her to go out into\nthe world as her friends have done, if only for once.\n\n  \"Fondness prevailed, mamma gave way;\n  Kitty, at heart's desire,\n  Obtained the chariot for a day,\n  And set the world on fire.\"\n\nMilman, in his poem of Samor, makes the following allusion to\nPhaeton's story:--\n\n  \"As when the palsied universe aghast\n  Lay .... mute and still,\n  When drove, so poets sing, the sun-born youth\n  Devious through Heaven's affrighted signs his sire's\n  Ill-granted chariot.  Him the Thunderer hurled\n  From th'empyrean headlong to the gulf\n  Of the half-parched Eridanus, where weep\n  Even now the sister trees their amber tears\n  O 'er Phaeton untimely dead.\"\n\nIn the beautiful lines of Walter Savage Lando describing the sea-\nshell, there is an allusion to the sun's palace and chariot.  The\nwater-nymph says,\n\n  \"I have sinuous shells of pearly hue\n  Within, and things that lustre have imbibed\n  In the sun's palace porch, where when unyoked\n  His chariot-wheel stands midway in the wave.\n  Shake one and it awakens; then apply\n  Its polished lip to your attentive car,\n  And it remembers its August abodes,\n  And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.\"\n  Gebir, Book 1\n\n\n\nChapter IV\n\nMidas. Baucis and Philemon. Pluto and Proserpine.\n\nBacchus, on a certain occasion, found his old school master and\nfoster father, Silenus, missing.  The old man had been drinking,\nand in that state had wandered away, and was found by some\npeasants, who carried him to their king, Midas.  Midas recognized\nhim, and treated him hospitably, entertaining him for ten days\nand nights with an unceasing round of jollity.  On the eleventh\nday he brought Silenus back, and restored him in safety to his\npupil.  Whereupon Bacchus offered Midas his choice of whatever\nreward he might wish.  He asked that whatever he might touch\nshould be changed into GOLD.  Bacchus consented, though sorry\nthat he had not made a better choice.  Midas went his way,\nrejoicing in his newly acquired power, which he hastened to put\nto the test.  He could scarce believe his eyes when he found that\na twig of an oak, which he plucked from the branch, became gold\nin his hand.  He took up a stone   it changed to gold.  He\ntouched a sod   it did the same.  He took an apple from the tree\n  you would have thought he had robbed the garden of the\nHesperides.  His joy knew no bounds, and as soon as he got home,\nhe ordered the servants to set a splendid repast on the table.\nThen he found to his dismay that whether he touched bread, it\nhardened in his hand; or put a morsel to his lips, it defied his\nteeth.  He took a glass of wine, but it flowed down his throat\nlike melted gold.\n\nIn consternation at the unprecedented affliction, he strove to\ndivest himself of his power; he hated the gift he had lately\ncoveted.  But all in vain; starvation seemed to await him.  He\nraised his arms, all shining with gold, in prayer to Bacchus,\nbegging to be delivered from his glittering destruction.\nBacchus, merciful deity, heard and consented.  \"Go,\" said he, \"to\nthe river Pactolus, trace the stream to its fountain-head, there\nplunge in your head and body and wash away your fault and its\npunishment.\"  He did so, and scarce had he touched the waters\nbefore the gold-creating power passed into them, and the river\nsands became changed into GOLD, as they remain to this day.\n\nThenceforth Midas, hating wealth and splendor, dwelt in the\ncountry, and became a worshipper of Pan, the god of the fields.\nOn a certain occasion Pan had the temerity to compare his music\nwith that of Apollo, and to challenge the god of the lyre to a\ntrial of skill.  The challenge was accepted, and Tmolus, the\nmountain-god, was chosen umpire.  Tmolus took his seat and\ncleared away the trees from his ears to listen.  At a given\nsignal Pan blew on his pipes, and with his rustic melody gave\ngreat satisfaction to himself and his faithful follower, Midas,\nwho happened to be present.  Then Tmolus turned his head toward\nthe sun-god, and all his trees turned with him.  Apollo rose, his\nbrow wreathed with Parnassian laurel, while his robe of Tyrian\npurple swept the ground.  In his left hand he held the lyre, and\nwith his right hand struck the strings.  Ravished with the\nharmony, Tmolus at once awarded the victory to the god of the\nlyre, and all but Midas acquiesced in the judgment.  He\ndissented, and questioned the justice of the award.  Apollo would\nnot suffer such a depraved pair of ears any longer to wear the\nhuman form, but caused them to increase in length, grow hairy,\nwithin and without, and to become movable, on their roots; in\nshort, to be on the perfect pattern of those of an ass.\n\nMortified enough was King Midas at this mishap; but he consoled\nhimself with the thought that it was possible to hide his\nmisfortune, which he attempted to do by means of an ample turban\nor headdress.  But his hairdresser of course knew the secret.  He\nwas charged not to mention it, and threatened with dire\npunishment if he presumed to disobey.  But he found it too much\nfor his discretion to keep such a secret; so he went out into the\nmeadow, dug a hole in the ground, and stooping down, whispered\nthe story, and covered it up. Before long a thick bed of reeds\nsprang up in the meadow, and as soon as it had gained its growth,\nbegan whispering the story, and has continued to do so, from that\nday to this, with every breeze which passes over the place.\n\nThe story of King Midas has been told by others with some\nvariations.  Dryden, in the Wife of Bath's Tale, makes Midas'\nqueen the betrayer of the secret.\n\n  \"This Midas knew, and durst communicate\n  To none but to his wife his ears of state.\"\n\nMidas was king of Phrygia.  He was the son of Gordius, a poor\ncountryman, who was taken by the people and made king, in\nobedience to the command of the oracle, which had said that their\nfuture king should come in a wagon.  While the people were\ndeliberating, Gordius with his wife and son came driving his\nwagon into the public square.\n\nGordius, being made king, dedicated his wagon to the deity of the\noracle, and tied it up in its place with a fast knot.  This was\nthe celebrated GORDIAN KNOT, of which, in after times it was\nsaid, that whoever should untie it should become lord of all\nAsia.  Many tried to untie it, but none succeeded, till Alexander\nthe Great, in his career of conquest, came to Phrygia.  He tried\nhis skill with as ill success as the others, till growing\nimpatient he drew his sword and cut the knot.  When he afterwards\nsucceeded in subjecting all Asia to his sway, people began to\nthink that he had complied with the terms of the oracle according\nto its true meaning.\n\n\nBAUCIS AND PHILEMON\n\nOn a certain hill in Phrygia stand a linden tree and an oak,\nenclosed by a low wall.  Not far from the spot is a marsh,\nformerly good habitable land, but now indented with pools, the\nresort of fen-birds and cormorants.  Once on a time, Jupiter, in\nhuman shape, visited this country, and with him his son Mercury\n(he of the caduceus), without his wings.  They presented\nthemselves at many a door as weary travellers, seeking rest and\nshelter, but found all closed, for it was late, and the\ninhospitable inhabitants would not rouse themselves to open for\ntheir reception.  At last a humble mansion received them, a small\nthatched cottage, where Baucis, a pious old dame, and her husband\nPhilemon, united when young, had grown old together.  Not ashamed\nof their poverty, they made it endurable by moderate desires and\nkind dispositions.  One need not look there for master or for\nservant; they two were the whole household, master and servant\nalike.  When the two heavenly guests crossed the humble\nthreshold, and bowed their heads to pass under the low door, the\nold man placed a seat, on which Baucis, bustling and attentive,\nspread a cloth, and begged them to sit down.  Then she raked out\nthe coals from the ashes, kindled up a fire, and fed it with\nleaves and dry bark, and with her scanty breath blew it into a\nflame.  She brought out of a corner split sticks and dry\nbranches, broke them up, and placed them under the small kettle.\nHer husband collected some pot-herbs in the garden, and she shred\nthem from the stalks, and prepared them for the pot He reached\ndown with a forked stick a flitch of bacon hanging in the\nchimney, cut a small piece, and put it in the pot to boil with\nthe herbs, setting away the rest for another time.  A beechen\nbowl was filled with warm water that their guests might wash.\nWhile all was doing they beguiled the time with conversation.\n\nOn the bench designed for the guests was laid a cushion stuffed\nwith sea-weed; and a cloth, only produced on great occasions, but\nold and coarse enough, was spread over that.  The old woman, with\nher apron on, with trembling hand set the table.  One leg was\nshorter than the rest, but a shell put under restored the level.\nWhen fixed, she rubbed the table down with some sweet-smelling\nherbs.  Upon it she set some olives, Minerva's-fruit, some\ncornel-berries preserved in vinegar, and added radishes and\ncheese, with eggs lightly cooked in the ashes.  All were served\nin earthen dishes, and an earthenware pitcher, with wooden cups,\nstood beside them.  When all was ready, the stew, smoking hot,\nwas set on the table.  Some wine, not of the oldest, was added;\nand for dessert, apples and wild honey; and over and above all,\nfriendly faces, and simple but hearty welcome.\n\nNow while the repast proceeded, the old folks were astonished to\nsee that the wine, as fast as it was poured out, renewed itself\nin the pitcher, of its own accord.  Struck with terror, Baucis\nand Philemon recognized their heavenly guests, fell on their\nknees, and with clasped hands implored forgiveness for their poor\nentertainment.  There was an old goose, which they kept as the\nguardian of their humble cottage; and they bethought them to make\nthis a sacrifice in honor of their guests.  But the goose, too\nnimble for the old folks, eluded their pursuit with the aid of\nfeet and wings, and at last took shelter between the gods\nthemselves.  They forbade it to be slain; and spoke in these\nwords: \"We are gods.  This inhospitable village shall pay the\npenalty of its impiety; you alone shall go free from the\nchastisement.  Quit your house, and come with us to the top of\nyonder hill.\"  They hastened to obey, and staff in hand, labored\nup the steep ascent. They had come within an arrow's flight of\nthe top, when turning their eyes below, they beheld all the\ncountry sunk in a lake, only their own house left standing.\nWhile they gazed with wonder at the sight, and lamented the fate\nof their neighbors, that old house of theirs was changed into a\nTEMPLE.  Columns took the place of the corner-posts, the thatch\ngrew yellow and appeared a gilded roof, the floors became marble,\nthe doors were enriched with carving and ornaments of gold.  Then\nspoke Jupiter in benignant accents: \"Excellent old man, and woman\nworthy of such a husband, speak, tell us your wishes; what favor\nhave you to ask of us?\"  Philemon took counsel with Baucis a few\nmoments; then declared to the gods their united wish.  \"We ask to\nbe priests and guardians of this your temple; and since here we\nhave passed our lives in love and concord, we wish that one and\nthe same hour may take us both from life, that I may not live to\nsee her grave, nor be laid in my own by her.\"  Their prayer was\ngranted.  They were the keepers of the temple as long as they\nlived.  When grown very old, as they stood one day before the\nsteps of the sacred edifice, and were telling the story of the\nplace, Baucis saw Philemon begin to put forth leaves, and old\nPhilemon saw Baucis changing in like manner.  And now a leafy\ncrown had grown over their heads, while exchanging parting words,\nas long as they could speak.  \"Farewell, dear spouse,\" they said,\ntogether, and at the same moment the bark closed over their\nmouths.  The Tyanean shepherd long showed the two trees, standing\nside by side, made out of the two good old people.\n\nThe story of Baucis and Philemon has been imitated by Swift, in a\nburlesque style, the actors in the change being two wandering\nsaints and the house being changed into a church, of which\nPhilemon is made the parson The following may serve as a\nspecimen:--\n\n  \"They scarce had spoke when, fair and soft,\n  The roof began to mount aloft;\n  Aloft rose every beam and rafter;\n  The heavy wall climbed slowly after.\n  The chimney widened and grew higher,\n  Became a steeple with a spire.\n  The kettle to the top was hoist,\n  And there stood fastened to a joist,\n  But with the upside down, to show\n  Its inclination for below;\n  In vain, for a superior force,\n  Applied at bottom, stops its course;\n  Doomed ever in suspense to dwell,\n  'Tis now no kettle, but a bell.\n  A wooden jack, which had almost\n  Lost by disuse the art to roast,\n  A sudden alteration feels,\n  Increased by new intestine wheels;\n  And, what exalts the wonder more,\n  The number made the motion slower;\n  The flier, though 't had leaden feet,\n  Turned round so quick you scarce could see 't:\n  But slackened by some secret power,\n  Now hardly moves an inch an hour.\n  The jack and chimney, near allied,\n  Had never left each other's side.\n  The chimney to a steeple grown,\n  The jack would not be left alone;\n  But up against the steeple reared,\n  Became a clock, and still adhered;\n  And still its love to household cares\n  By a shrill voice at noon declares.\n  Warning the cook-maid not to burn\n  That roast meat which it cannot turn.\n  The groaning chair began to crawl,\n  Like a huge snail, along the wall;\n  There stuck aloft in public view,\n  And, with small change, a pulpit grew.\n  A bedstead of the antique mode,\n  Compact of timber many a load,\n  Such as our ancestors did use,\n  Was metamorphosed into pews,\n  Which still their ancient nature keep\n  By lodging folks disposed to sleep.\"\n\n\nPROSERPINE\n\nUnder the island of Aetna lies Typhoeus the Titan, in punishment\nfor his share in the rebellion of the giants against Jupiter.\nTwo mountains press down   the one his right and the other his\nleft hand   while Aetna lies over his head.  As Typhoeus moves,\nthe earth shakes; as he breathes, smoke and ashes come up from\nAetna.  Pluto is terrified at the rocking of the earth, and fears\nthat his kingdom will be laid open to the light of day.  He\nmounts his chariot with the four black horses and comes up to\nearth and looks around.  While he is thus engaged, Venus, sitting\non Mount Eryx playing with her boy Cupid, sees him and says: \"My\nson, take your darts with which you conquer all, even Jove\nhimself, and send one into the breast of yonder dark monarch, who\nrules the realm of Tartarus.  Why should he alone escape?  Seize\nthe opportunity to extend your empire and mine.  Do you not see\nthat even in heaven some despise our power?  Minerva the wise,\nand Diana the huntress, defy us; and there is that daughter of\nCeres, who threatens to follow their example.  Now do you, if you\nhave any regard for your own interest or mine, join these two in\none.\"  The boy unbound his quiver, and selected his sharpest and\ntruest arrow; then, straining the bow against his knee, he\nattached the string, and, having made ready, shot the arrow with\nits barbed point right into the heart of Pluto.\n\nIn the vale of Enna there is a lake embowered in woods, which\nscreen it from the fervid rays of the sun, while the moist ground\nis covered with flowers, and spring reigns perpetual.  Here\nProserpine was playing with her companions, gathering lilies and\nviolets, and filling her basket and her apron with them, when\nPluto saw her from his chariot, loved her, and carried her off.\nShe screamed for help to her mother and her companions; and when\nin her fright she dropped the corners of her apron and let the\nflowers fall, childlike, she felt the loss of them as an addition\nto her grief.  The ravisher urged on his steeds, calling them\neach by name, and throwing loose over their heads and necks his\niron- reins.  When he reached the River Cyane, and it\nopposed his passage, he struck the river bank with his trident,\nand the earth opened and gave him a passage to Tartarus.\n\nCeres sought her daughter all the world over.  Bright-haired\nAurora, when she came forth in the morning, and Hesperus, when he\nled out the stars in the evening, found her still busy in the\nsearch.  But it was all unavailing.  At length, weary and sad,\nshe sat down upon a stone and continued sitting nine days and\nnights, in the open air, under the sunlight and moonlight and\nfalling showers.  It was where now stands the city of Eleusis,\nthen the home of an old man named Celeus.  He was out in the\nfield, gathering acorns and blackberries, and sticks for his\nfire.  His little girl was driving home their two goats, and as\nshe passed the goddess, who appeared in the guise of an old\nwoman, she said to her, \"Mother,\" and the name was sweet to the\nears of Ceres, \"why do you sit here alone upon the rocks?\"  The\nold man also stopped, though his load was heavy, and begged her\nto come into his cottage, such as it was.  She declined, and he\nurged her.  \"Go in peace,\" she replied, \"and be happy in your\ndaughter; I have lost mine.\"  As she spoke, tears   or something\nlike tears, for the gods never weep   fell down her cheeks upon\nher bosom.  The compassionate old man and his child wept with\nher.  Then said he, \"Come with us, and despise not our humble\nroof; so may your daughter be restored to you in safety.\"  \"Lead\non,\" said she, \"I cannot resist that appeal!\"  So she rose from\nthe stone and went with them.  As they walked he told her that\nhis only son, a little boy, lay very sick, feverish and\nsleepless.  She stooped and gathered some poppies.  As they\nentered the cottage they found all in great distress, for the boy\nseemed past hope of recovery.  Metanira, his mother, received her\nkindly, and the goddess stooped and kissed the lips of the sick\nchild.  Instantly the paleness left his face, and healthy vigor\nreturned to his body.  The whole family were delighted   that is,\nthe father, mother, and little girl, for they were all; they had\nno servants. They spread the table, and put upon it curds and\ncream, apples, and honey in the comb.  While they ate, Ceres\nmingled poppy juice in the milk of the boy.  When night came and\nall was still, she arose, and taking the sleeping boy, moulded\nhis limbs with her hands, and uttered over him three times a\nsolemn charm, then went and laid him in the ashes.  His mother,\nwho had been watching what her guest was doing, sprang forward\nwith a cry and snatched the child from the fire.  Then Ceres\nassumed her own form, and a divine splendor shone all around.\nWhile they were overcome with astonishment, she said, \"Mother,\nyou have been cruel in your fondness to your son.  I would have\nmade him immortal, but you have frustrated my attempt.\nNevertheless, he shall be great and useful.  He shall teach men\nthe use of the plough, and the rewards which labor can win from\nthe cultivated soil.\"  So saying, she wrapped a cloud about her,\nand mounting her chariot rode away.\n\nCeres continued her search for her daughter, passing from land to\nland, and across seas and rivers, till at length she returned to\nSicily, whence she at first set out, and stood by the banks of\nthe River Cyane, where Pluto made himself a passage with his\nprize to his own dominions.\n\nThe river-nymph would have told the goddess all she had\nwitnessed, but dared not, for fear of Pluto; so she only ventured\nto take up the girdle which Proserpine had dropped in her flight,\nand waft it to the feet of the mother.  Ceres, seeing this, was\nno longer in doubt of her loss, but she did not yet know the\ncause, and laid the blame on the innocent land.  \"Ungrateful\nsoil,\" said she, \"which I have endowed with fertility and clothed\nwith herbage and nourishing grain, No more shall you enjoy my\nfavors\" Then the cattle died, the plough broke in the furrow, the\nseed failed to come up; there was too much sun, there was too\nmuch rain; the birds stole the seeds,   thistles and brambles\nwere the only growth.  Seeing this, the fountain Arethusa\ninterceded for the land.  \"Goddess,\" said she, \"blame not the\nland; it opened unwillingly to yield a passage to your daughter.\nI can tell you of her fate, for I have seen her.  This is not my\nnative country; I came hither from Elis.  I was a woodland nymph,\nand delighted in the chase.  They praised my beauty, but I cared\nnothing for it, and rather boasted of my hunting exploits.  One\nday I was returning from the wood, heated with exercise, when I\ncame to a stream silently flowing, so clear that you might count\nthe pebbles on the bottom.  The willows shaded it, and the grassy\nbank sloped down to the water's edge.  I approached, I touched\nthe water with my foot.  I stepped in knee-deep, and not content\nwith that, I laid my garments on the willows and went in.  While\nI sported in the water, I heard an indistinct murmur coming up as\nout of the depths of the stream; and made haste to escape to the\nnearest bank.  The voice said, 'Why do you fly, Arethusa?  I am\nAlpheus, the god of this stream.'  I ran, he pursued; he was not\nmore swift than I, but he was stronger, and gained upon me, as my\nstrength failed.  At last, exhausted, I cried for help to Diana.\n'Help me, goddess!  Help your votary!'  The goddess heard, and\nwrapped me suddenly in a thick cloud.  The river-god looked now\nthis way and now that, and twice came close to me, but could not\nfind me.  'Arethusa!  Arethusa!' he cried.  Oh, how I trembled,\nlike a lamb that hears the wolf growling outside the fold.  A\ncold sweat came over me, my hair flowed down in streams; where my\nfoot stood there was a pool.  In short, in less time than it\ntakes to tell it I became a fountain.  But in this form Alpheus\nknew me, and attempted to mingle his stream with mine.  Diana\ncleft the ground, and I, endeavoring to escape him, plunged into\nthe cavern, and through the bowels of the earth came out here in\nSicily.  While I passed through the lower parts of the earth, I\nsaw your Proserpine.  She was sad, but no longer showing alarm in\nher countenance.  Her look was such as became a queen,   the\nqueen of Erebus; the powerful bride of the monarch of the realms\nof the dead.\"\n\nWhen Ceres heard this, she stood for a while like one stupefied;\nthen turned her chariot towards heaven, and hastened to present\nherself before the throne of Jove.  She told the story of her\nbereavement, and implored Jupiter to interfere to procure the\nrestitution of her daughter.  Jupiter consented on one condition,\nnamely, that Proserpine should not during her stay in the lower\nworld have taken any food; otherwise, the Fates forbade her\nrelease.  Accordingly, Mercury was sent, accompanied by Spring,\nto demand Proserpine of Pluto.  The wily monarch consented; but\nalas! the maiden had taken a pomegranate which Pluto offered her,\nand had sucked the sweet pulp from a few of the seeds.  This was\nenough to prevent her complete release; but a compromise was\nmade, by which she was to pass half the time with her mother, and\nthe rest with her husband Pluto.\n\nCeres allowed herself to be pacified with this arrangement, and\nrestored the earth to her favor.  Now she remembered Celeus and\nhis family, and her promise to his infant son Triptolemus.  When\nthe boy grew up, she taught him the use of the plough, and how to\nsow the seed.  She took him in her chariot, drawn by winged\ndragons, through all the countries of the earth, imparting to\nmankind valuable grains, and the knowledge of agriculture.  After\nhis return, Triptolemus build a magnificent temple to Ceres in\nEleusis, and established the worship of the goddess, under the\nname of the Eleusinian mysteries, which, in the splendor and\nsolemnity of their observance, surpassed all other religious\ncelebrations among the Greeks.\n\nThere can be little doubt but that this story of Ceres and\nProserpine is an allegory.  Proserpine signifies the seed-corn,\nwhich, when cast into the ground, lies there concealed,   that\nis, she is carried off by the god of the underworld; it\nreappears,   that is, Proserpine is restored to her mother.\nSpring leads her back to the light of day.\n\nMilton alludes to the story of Proserpine in Paradise lost, Book\nIV.:\n\n  \"Not that fair field\n  Of Enna where Proserpine gathering flowers,\n  Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis (a name for Pluto)\n  Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain\n  To seek her through the world,\n  . . . . might with this Paradise\n  Of Eden strive.\"\n\nHood, in his Ode to Melancholy, uses the same allusion very\nbeautifully:\n\n  \"Forgive, if somewhile I forget,\n  In woe to come the present bliss;\n  As frightened Proserpine let fall\n  Her flowers at the sight of Dis.\"\n\nThe River Alpheus does in fact disappear under ground, in part of\nits course, finding its way through subterranean channels, till\nit again appears on the surface.  It was said that the Sicilian\nfountain Arethusa was the same stream, which, after passing under\nthe sea, came up again in Sicily.  Hence the story ran that a cup\nthrown into the Alpheus appeared again in Arethusa.  It is this\nfable of the underground course of Alpheus that Coleridge alludes\nto in his poem of Kubla Khan:\n\n  \"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan\n  A stately pleasure-dome decree,\n  Where Alph, the sacred river, ran\n  Through caverns measureless to man,\n  Down to a sunless sea.\"\n\nIn one of Moore's juvenile poems he alludes to the same story,\nand to the practice of throwing garlands, or other light objects\non the stream to be carried downward by it, and afterwards thrown\nout when the river comes again to light.\n\n  \"Oh, my beloved, how divinely sweet\n  Is the pure joy when kindred spirits meet!\n  Like him the river-god, whose waters flow,\n  With love their only light, through caves below,\n  Wafting in triumph all the flowery braids\n  And festal rings, with which Olympic maids\n  Have decked his current, as an offering meet\n  To lay at Arethusa's shining feet.\n  Think, when he meets at last his fountain bride,\n  What perfect love must thrill the blended tide!\n  Each lost in each, till mingling into one,\n  Their lot the same for shadow or for sun,\n  A type of true love, to the deep they run.\"\n\nThe following extract from Moore's Rhymes on the Road gives an\naccount of a celebrated picture by Albano at Milan, called a\nDance of Loves:\n\n  \"'Tis for the theft of Enna's flower from earth\n  These urchins celebrate their dance of mirth,\n  Round the green tree, like fays upon a heath,\n  Those that are nearest linked in order bright,\n  Cheek after cheek, like rosebuds in a wreath;\n  And those more distant showing from beneath\n  The others' wings their little eyes of light.\n  While see! Among the clouds, their eldest brother,\n  But just flown up, tells with a smile of bliss,\n  This prank of Pluto to his charmed mother,\n  Who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss.\"\n\n\n\nGLAUCUS AND SCYLLA\n\nGlaucus was a fisherman.  One day he had drawn his nets to land,\nand had taken a great many fishes of various kinds.  So he\nemptied his net, and proceeded to sort the fishes on the grass.\nThe place where he stood was a beautiful island in the river, a\nsolitary spot, uninhabited, and not used for pasturage of cattle,\nnor ever visited by any but himself.  On a sudden, the fishes,\nwhich had been laid on the grass, began to revive and move their\nfins as if they were in the water; and while he looked on\nastonished, they one and all moved off to the water, plunged in\nand swam away.  He did not know what to make of this, whether\nsome god had done it, or some secret power in the herbage.  \"What\nherb has such a power?\" he exclaimed; and gathering some, he\ntasted it.  Scarce had the juices of the plant reached his palate\nwhen he found himself agitated with a longing desire for the\nwater.  He could no longer restrain himself, but bidding farewell\nto earth, he plunged into the stream.  The gods of the water\nreceived him graciously, and admitted him to the honor of their\nsociety.  They obtained the consent of Oceanus and Tethys, the\nsovereigns of the sea, that all that was mortal in him should be\nwashed away.  A hundred rivers poured their waters over him .\nThen he lost all sense of his former nature and all\nconsciousness.  When he recovered, he found himself changed in\nform and mind.  His hair was sea-green, and trailed behind him on\nthe water; his shoulders grew broad, and what had been thighs and\nlegs assumed the form of a fish's tail.  The sea-gods\ncomplimented him on the change of his appearance, and he himself\nwas pleased with his looks.\n\nOne day Glaucus saw the beautiful maiden Scylla, the favorite of\nthe water-nymphs, rambling on the shore, and when she had found a\nsheltered nook, laving her limbs in the clear water.  He fell in\nlove with her, and showing himself on the surface, spoke to her,\nsaying such things as he thought most likely to win her to stay;\nfor she turned to run immediately on sight of him and ran till\nshe had gained a cliff overlooking the sea.  Here she stopped and\nturned round to see whether it was a god or a sea-animal, and\nobserved with wonder his shape and color.  Glaucus, partly\nemerging from the water, and supporting himself against a rock,\nsaid, \"Maiden, I am no monster, nor a sea-animal, but a god; and\nneither Proteus nor Triton ranks higher than I.  Once I was a\nmortal, and followed the sea for a living; but now I belong\nwholly to it.\"  Then he told the story of his metamorphosis and\nhow he had been promoted to his present dignity, and added, \"But\nwhat avails all this if it fails to move your heart?\"  He was\ngoing on in this strain, but Scylla turned and hastened away.\n\nGlaucus was in despair, but it occurred to him to consult the\nenchantress, Circe.  Accordingly he repaired to her island,   the\nsame where afterwards Ulysses landed, as we shall see in another\nstory.  After mutual salutations, he said, \"Goddess, I entreat\nyour pity; you alone can relieve the pain I suffer.  The power of\nherbs I know as well as any one, for it is to them I owe my\nchange of form I love Scylla.  I am ashamed to tell you how I\nhave sued and promised to her, and how scornfully she has treated\nme.  I beseech you to use your incantations, or potent herbs, if\nthey are more prevailing, not to cure me of my love,   for that I\ndo not wish,   but to make her share it and yield me a like\nreturn.\"  To which Circe replied, for she was not insensible to\nthe attractions of the sea-green deity, \"You had better pursue a\nwilling object; you are worthy to be sought, instead of having to\nseek in vain.  Be not diffident, know your own worth.  I protest\nto you that even I, goddess though I be, and learned in the\nvirtues of plants and spells, should not know how to refuse you\nIf she scorns you, scorn her; meet one who is ready to meet you\nhalf way, and thus make a due return to both at once.\"  To these\nwords Glaucus replied, \"Sooner shall trees grow at the bottom of\nthe ocean, and seaweed on the top of the mountains, than I will\ncease to love Scylla, and her alone.\"\n\nThe goddess was indignant, but she could not punish him, neither\ndid she wish to do so, for she liked him too well; so she turned\nall her wrath against her rival, poor Scylla.  She took plants of\npoisonous powers and mixed them together, with incantations and\ncharms.  Then she passed through the crowd of gambolling beasts,\nthe victims of her art, and proceeded to the coast of Sicily,\nwhere Scylla lived.  There was a little bay on the shore to which\nScylla used to resort, in the heat of the day, to breathe the air\nof the sea, and to bathe in its waters.  Here the goddess poured\nher poisonous mixture, and muttered over it incantations of\nmighty power.  Scylla came as usual and plunged into the water up\nto her waist.  What was her horror to perceive a brood of\nserpents and barking monsters surrounding her!  At first she\ncould not imagine they were a part of herself, and tried to run\nfrom them, and to drive them away; but as she ran she carried\nthem with her, and when she tried to touch her limbs, she found\nher hands touch only the yawning jaws of monsters.  Scylla\nremained rooted to the spot.  Her temper grew as ugly as her\nform, and she took pleasure in devouring hapless mariners who\ncame within her grasp.  Thus she destroyed six of the companions\nof Ulysses, and tried to wreck the ships of Aeneas, till at last\nshe was turned into a rock, and as such still continues to be a\nterror to mariners.\n\nThe following is Glaucus's account of his feelings after his\n\"sea-change:\"\n\n  \"I plunged for life or death.  To interknit\n  One's senses with so dense a breathing stuff\n  Might seem a work of pain; so not enough\n  Can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt,\n  And buoyant round my limbs.  At first I dwelt\n  Whole days and days in sheer astonishment;\n  Forgetful utterly of self-9ntent,\n  Moving but with the mighty ebb and flow.\n  Then like a new-fledged bird that first doth show\n  His spreaded feathers to the morrow chill,\n  I tried in fear the pinions of my well.\n  \"Twas freedom!  And at once I visited\n  The ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed.\"\n  Keats.\n\n\n\nChapter V\n\nPygmalion.  Dryope.  Venus and Adonis.  Apollo and Hyacinthus.\nCeyx and Halcyone.\n\nPygmalion saw so much to blame in women that he came at last to\nabhor the sex, and resolved to live unmarried.  He was a\nsculptor, and had made with wonderful skill a statue of ivory, so\nbeautiful that no living woman could be compared to it in beauty.\nIt was indeed the perfect semblance of a maiden that seemed to be\nalive, and only prevented from moving by modesty.  His art was so\nperfect that it concealed itself, and its product looked like the\nworkmanship of nature.  Pygmalion admired his own work, and at\nlast fell in love with the counterfeit creation.  Oftentimes he\nlaid his hand upon it, as if to assure himself whether it were\nliving or not, and could not even then believe that it was only\nivory.  He caressed it, and gave it presents such as young girls\nlove,   bright shells and polished stones, little birds and\nflowers of various hues, beads and amber.  He put raiment on its\nlimbs, and jewels on its fingers, and a necklace about its neck.\nTo the ears he hung earrings and strings of pearls upon the\nbreast.  Her dress became her, and she looked not less charming\nthan when unattired.  He laid her on a couch spread with cloths\nof Tyrian dye, and called her his wife, and put her head upon a\npillow of the softest feathers, as if she could enjoy their\nsoftness.\n\nThe festival of Venus was at hand,   a festival celebrated with\ngreat pomp at Cyprus.  Victims were offered, the altars smoked,\nand the odor of incense filled the air.  When Pygmalion had\nperformed his part in the solemnities, he stood before the altar\nand timidly said, \"Ye gods, who can do all things, give me, I\npray you, for my wife\"   he dared not say \"my ivory virgin,\" but\nsaid instead   \"one like my ivory virgin.\"  Venus, who was\npresent at the festival, heard him and knew the thought he would\nhave uttered; and, as an omen of her favor, caused the flame on\nthe altar to shoot up thrice in a fiery point into the air.  When\nhe returned home, he went to see his statue, and, leaning over\nthe couch, gave a kiss to the mouth.  It seemed to be warm.  He\npressed its lips again, he laid his hand upon the limbs; the\nivory felt soft to his touch, and yielded to his fingers like the\nwax of Hymettus.  While he stands astonished and glad, though\ndoubting, and fears he may be mistaken, again and again with a\nlover's ardor he touches the object of his hopes.  It was indeed\nalive!  The veins when pressed yielded to the finger and then\nresumed their roundness.  Then at last the votary of Venus found\nwords to thank the goddess, and pressed his lips upon lips as\nreal as his own.  The virgin felt the kisses and blushed, and,\nopening her timid eyes to the light, fixed them at the same\nmoment on her lover.  Venus blessed the nuptials she had formed,\nand from this union Paphos was born, from whom the city, sacred\nto Venus, received its name.\n\nSchiller, in his poem, the Ideals, applies this tale of Pygmalion\nto the love of nature in a youthful heart.  In Schiller's\nversion, as in William Morris's, the statue is of marble.\n\n  \"As once with prayers in passion flowing,\n  Pygmalion embraced the stone,\n  Till from the frozen marble glowing,\n  The light of feeling o'er him shone,\n  So did I clasp with young devotion\n  Bright Nature to a poet's heart;\n  Till breath and warmth and vital motion\n  Seemed through the statue form to dart.\n\n  \"And then in all my ardor sharing,\n  The silent form expression found;\n  Returned my kiss of youthful daring,\n  And understood my heart's quick sound.\n  Then lived for me the bright creation.\n  The silver rill with song was rife;\n  The trees, the roses shared sensation,\n  An echo of my boundless life.\"\n  Rev. A. G. Bulfinch (brother of the author).\n\nMorris tells the story of Pygmalion and the Image in some of the\nmost beautiful verses of the Earthly Paradise.\n\nThis is Galatea's description of her metamorphosis:\n\n  \"'My sweet,' she said, 'as yet I am not wise,\n  Or stored with words aright the tale to tell,\n  But listen: when I opened first mine eyes\n  I stood within the niche thou knowest well,\n  And from my hand a heavy thing there fell\n  Carved like these flowers, nor could I see things clear,\n  But with a strange confused noise could hear.\n\n  \"'At last mine eyes could see a woman fair,\n  But awful as this round white moon o'erhead,\n  So that I trembled when I saw her there,\n  For with my life was born some touch of dread,\n  And therewithal I heard her voice that said,\n  \"Come down and learn to love and be alive,\n  For thee, a well-prized gift, today I give.\"'\"\n\n\n\nDRYOPE\n\nDryope and Iole were sisters.  The former was the wife of\nAndraemon, beloved by her husband, and happy in the birth of her\nfirst child.  One day the sisters strolled to the bank of a\nstream that sloped gradually down to the water's edge, while the\nupland was overgrown with myrtles.  They were intending to gather\nflowers for forming garlands for the altars of the nymphs, and\nDryope carried her child at her bosom, a precious burden, and\nnursed him as she walked.  Near the water grew a lotus plant,\nfull of purple flowers.  Dryope gathered some and offered them to\nthe baby, and Iole was about to do the same, when she perceived\nblood dropping from the places where her sister had broken them\noff the stem.  The plant was no other than the Nymph Lotis, who,\nrunning from a base pursuer, had been changed into this form.\nThis they learned from the country people when it was too late.\n\nDryope, horror-struck when she perceived what she had done, would\ngladly have hastened from the spot, but found her feet rooted to\nthe ground.  She tried to pull them away, but moved nothing but\nher arms.  The woodiness crept upward, and by degrees invested\nher body.  In anguish she attempted to tear her hair, but found\nher hands filled with leaves.  The infant felt his mother's bosom\nbegin to harden, and the milk cease to flow.  Iole looked on at\nthe sad fate of her sister, and could render no assistance.  She\nembraced the growing trunk, as if she would hold back the\nadvancing wood, and would gladly have been enveloped in the same\nbark.  At this moment Andraemon, the husband of Dryope, with her\nfather, approached; and when they asked for Dryope, Iole pointed\nthem to the new-formed lotus.  They embraced the trunk of the yet\nwarm tree, and showered their kisses on its leaves.\n\nNow there was nothing left of Dryope but her face.  Her tears\nstill flowed and fell on her leaves, and while she could she\nspoke.  \"I am not guilty.  I deserve not this fate.  I have\ninjured no one.  If I speak falsely, may my foliage perish with\ndrought and my trunk be cut down and burned.  Take this infant\nand give him to a nurse.  Let him often be brought and nursed\nunder my branches, and play in my shade; and when he is old\nenough to talk, let him be taught to call me mother, and to say\nwith sadness, 'My mother lies hid under this bark' But bid him be\ncareful of river banks, and beware how he plucks flowers,\nremembering that every bush he sees may be a goddess in disguise.\nFarewell, dear husband, and sister, and father.  If you retain\nany love for me, let not the axe wound me, nor the flocks bite\nand tear my branches.  Since I cannot stoop to you, climb up\nhither and kiss me; and while my lips continue to feel, lift up\nmy child that I may kiss him.  I can speak no more, for already\nthe bark advances up my neck, and will soon shoot over me.  You\nneed not close my eyes; the bark will close them without your\naid.\"  Then the lips ceased to move, and life was extinct; but\nthe branches retained, for some time longer the vital heat.\n\nKeats, in Endymion, alludes to Dryope thus:\n\n  \"She took a lute from which there pulsing came\n  A lively prelude, fashioning the way\n  In which her voice should wander.  'Twas a lay\n  More subtle-cadenced, more forest-wild\n  Than Dryope's lone lulling of her child.\"\n\n\nVENUS AND ADONIS\n\nVenus, playing one day with her boy Cupid, wounded her bosom with\none of his arrows.  She pushed him away, but the wound was deeper\nthan she thought.  Before it healed she beheld Adonis, and was\ncaptivated with him.  She no longer took any interest in her\nfavorite resorts,   Paphos, and Cnidos, and Amathos, rich in\nmetals.  She absented herself even from Olympus, for Adonis was\ndearer to her than heaven.  Him she followed and bore him\ncompany.  She who used to love to recline in the shade, with no\ncare but to cultivate her charms, now rambled through the woods\nand over the hills, dressed like the huntress Diana.  She called\nher dogs, and chased hares and stags, or other game that it is\nsafe to hunt, but kept clear of the wolves and bears, reeking\nwith the slaughter of the herd.  She charged Adonis, too, to\nbeware of such dangerous animals.  \"Be brave towards the timid,\"\nsaid she; \"courage against the courageous is not safe.  Beware\nhow you expose yourself to danger, and put my happiness to risk.\nAttack not the beasts that Nature has armed with weapons.  I do\nnot value your glory so highly as to consent to purchase it by\nsuch exposure.  Your youth, and the beauty that charms Venus,\nwill not touch the hearts of lions and bristly boars.  Think of\ntheir terrible claws and prodigious strength!  I hate the whole\nrace of them.  Do you ask why?\"  Then she told him the story of\nAtalanta and Hippomenes, who were changed into lions for their\ningratitude to her.\n\nHaving given him this warning, she mounted her chariot drawn by\nswans, and drove away through the air.  But Adonis was too noble\nto heed such counsels.  The dogs had roused a wild boar from his\nlair, and the youth threw his spear and wounded the animal with a\nsidelong stroke.  The beast drew out the weapon with his jaws,\nand rushed after Adonis, who turned and ran; but the boar\novertook him, and buried his tusks in his side, and stretched him\ndying upon the plain.\n\nVenus, in her swan-drawn chariot, had not yet reached Cyprus,\nwhen she heard coming up through mid air the groans of her\nbeloved, and turned her white-winged coursers back to earth.  As\nshe drew near and saw from on high his lifeless body bathed in\nblood, she alighted, and bending over it beat her breast and tore\nher hair.  Reproaching the Fates, she said, \"Yet theirs shall be\nbut a partial triumph; memorials of my grief shall endure, and\nthe spectacle of your death, my Adonis, and of my lamentation\nshall be annually renewed.  Your blood shall be changed into a\nflower; that consolation none can envy me.\"  Thus speaking, she\nsprinkled nectar on the blood; and as they mingled, bubbles rose\nas in a pool on which raindrops fall, and in an hour's time there\nsprang up a flower of bloody hue like that of a pomegranate.  But\nit is short-lived.  It is said the wind blows the blossoms open,\nand afterwards blows the petals away; so it is called Anemone, or\nwind Flower, from the cause which assists equally in its\nproduction and its decay.\n\nMilton alludes to the story of Venus and Adonis in his Comus:\n\n  \"Beds of hyacinth and roses\n  Where young Adonis oft reposes,\n  Waxing well of his deep wound\n  In slumber soft, and on the ground\n  Sadly sits th'Assyrian queen.\"\n\nAnd Morris also in Atalanta's Race:\n\n  \"There by his horn the Dryads well might know\n  His thrust against the bear's heart had been true,\n  And there Adonis bane his javelin slew\"\n\n\nAPOLLO AND HYACINTHUS\n\nApollo was passionately fond of a youth named Hyacinthus.  He\naccompanied him in his sports, carried the nets when he went\nfishing, led the dogs when he went to hunt, followed him in his\nexcursions in the mountains, and neglected for him his lyre and\nhis arrows.  One day they played a game of quoits together, and\nApollo, heaving aloft the discus, with strength mingled with\nskill, sent it high and far.  Hyacinthus watched it as it flew,\nand excited with the sport ran forward to seize it, eager to make\nhis throw, when the quoit bounded from the earth and struck him\nin the forehead.  He fainted and fell.  The god, as pale as\nhimself, raised him and tried all his art to stanch the wound and\nretain the flitting life, but all in vain; the hurt was past the\npower of medicine.  As, when one has broken the stem of a lily in\nthe garden, it hangs its head and turns its flowers to the earth,\nso the head of the dying boy, as if too heavy for his neck, fell\nover on his shoulder.  \"Thou diest, Hyacinth,\" so spoke Phoebus,\n\"robbed of thy youth by me.  Thine is the suffering, mine the\ncrime.  Would that I could die for thee!  But since that may not\nbe thou shalt live with me in memory and in song.  My lyre shall\ncelebrate thee, my song shall tell thy fate, and thou shalt\nbecome a flower inscribed with my regrets.\"  While Apollo spoke,\nbehold the blood which had flowed on the ground and stained the\nherbage, ceased to be blood; but a flower of hue more beautiful\nthan the Tyrian sprang up, resembling the lily, if it were not\nthat this is purple and that silvery white (it is evidently not\nour modern hyacinth that is here described.  It is perhaps some\nspecies of iris, or perhaps of larkspur, or of <DW29>.)  And this\nwas not enough for Phoebus; but to confer still grater honor, he\nmarked the petals with his sorrow, and inscribed \"Ah!  Ah!\" upon\nthem, as we see to this day.  The flower bears the name of\nHyacinthus, and with every returning spring revives the memory of\nhis fate.\n\nIt was said that Zephyrus (the West-wind), who was also fond of\nHyacinthus and jealous of his preference of Apollo, blew the\nquoit out of its course to make it strike Hyacinthus.  Keats\nalludes to this in his Endymion, where he describes the lookers-\non at the game of quoits:\n\n  \"Or they might watch the quoit-pitchers, intent\n  On either side, pitying the sad death\n  Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath\n  Of Zephyr slew him; Zephyr penitent,\n  Who now ere Phoebus mounts the firmament,\n  Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain.\"\n\nAn allusion to Hyacinthus will also be recognized in Milton's\nLycidas:\n\n  \"Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe.\"\n\n\nCEYX AND HALCYONE: OR, THE HALCYON BIRDS\n\nCeyx was King of Thessaly, where he reigned in peace without\nviolence or wrong.  He was son of Hesperus, the Day-star, and the\nglow of his beauty reminded one of his father.  Halcyone, the\ndaughter of Aeolus, was his wife, and devotedly attached to him.\nNow Ceyx was in deep affliction for the loss of his brother, and\ndireful prodigies following his brother's death made him feel as\nif the gods were hostile to him.  He thought best therefore to\nmake a voyage to Claros in Ionia, to consult the oracle of\nApollo.  But as soon as he disclosed his intention to his wife\nHalcyone, a shudder ran through her frame, and her face grew\ndeadly pale.  \"What fault of mine, dearest husband, has turned\nyour affection from me?  Where is that love of me that used to be\nuppermost in your thoughts?  Have you learned to feel easy in the\nabsence of Halcyone?  Would you rather have me away?\"  She also\nendeavored to discourage him, by describing the violence of the\nwinds, which she had known familiarly when she lived at home in\nher father's house, Aeolus being the god of the winds, and having\nas much as he could do to restrain them.  \"They rush together,\"\nsaid she, \"with such fury that fire flashes from the conflict.\nBut if you must go,\" she added, \"dear husband, let me go with\nyou, Otherwise I shall suffer, not only the real evils which you\nmust encounter, but those also which my fears suggest.\"\n\nThese words weighed heavily on the mind of king Ceyx, and it was\nno less his own wish than hers to take her with him, but he could\nnot bear to expose her to the dangers of the sea.  He answered,\ntherefore, consoling her as well as he could, and finished with\nthese words: \"I promise, by the rays of my father the Day-star,\nthat if fate permits I will return before the moon shall have\ntwice rounded her orb.\"  When he had thus spoken he ordered the\nvessel to be drawn out of the ship-house, and the oars and sails\nto be put aboard.  When Halcyone saw these preparations she\nshuddered, as if with a presentiment of evil.  With tears and\nsobs she said farewell, and then fell senseless to the ground.\n\nCeyx would still have lingered, but now the young men grasped\ntheir oars and pulled vigorously through the waves, with long and\nmeasured strokes.  Halcyone raised her streaming eyes, and saw\nher husband standing on the deck, waving his hand to her.  She\nanswered his signal till the vessel had receded so far that she\ncould no longer distinguish his form from the rest.  When the\nvessel itself could no more be seen, she strained her eyes to\ncatch the last glimmer of the sail, till that too disappeared.\nThen, retiring to her chamber, she threw herself on her solitary\ncouch.\n\nMeanwhile they glide out of the harbor, and the breeze plays\namong the ropes.  The seamen draw in their oars, and hoist their\nsails.  When half or less of their course was passed, as night\ndrew on, the sea began to whiten with swelling waves, and the\neast wind to blow a gale.  The master gives the word to take in\nsail, but the storm forbids obedience, for such is the roar of\nthe winds and waves that his orders are unheard.  The men, of\ntheir own accord, busy themselves to secure the oars, to\nstrengthen the ship, to reef the sail.  While they thus do what\nto each one seems best, the storm increases.  The shouting of the\nmen, the rattling of the shrouds, and the dashing of the waves,\nmingle with the roar of the thunder.  The swelling sea seems\nlifted up to the heavens, to scatter its foam among the clouds;\nthen sinking away to the bottom assumes the color of the shoal,\na Stygian blackness.\n\nThe vessel obeys all these changes.  It seems like a wild beast\nthat rushes on the spears of the hunters.  Rain falls in\ntorrents, as if the skies were coming down to unite with the sea.\nWhen the lightning ceases for a moment, the night seems to add\nits own darkness to that of the storm; then comes the flash,\nrending the darkness asunder, and lighting up all with a glare.\nSkill fails, courage sinks, and death seems to come on every\nwave.  The men are stupefied with terror.  The thought of\nparents, and kindred, and pledges left at home, comes over their\nminds.  Ceyx thinks of Halcyone.  No name but hers is on his\nlips, and while he yearns for her, he yet rejoices in her\nabsence.  Presently the mast is shattered by a stroke of\nlightning, the rudder broken, and the triumphant surge curling\nover looks down upon the wreck, then falls, and crushes it to\nfragments.  Some of the seamen, stunned by the stroke, sink, and\nrise no more; others cling to fragments of the wreck.  Ceyx, with\nthe hand that used to grasp the sceptre, holds fast to a plank,\ncalling for help,   alas, in vain,   upon his father and his\nfather-in-law.  But oftenest on his lips was the name of\nHalcyone.  His thoughts cling to her.  He prays that the waves\nmay bear his body to her sight, and that it may receive burial at\nher hands.  At length the waters overwhelm him, and he sinks.\nThe Day-star looked dim that night.  Since it could not leave the\nheavens, it shrouded its face with clouds.\n\nIn the mean while Halcyone, ignorant of all these horrors,\ncounted the days till her husband's promised return.  Now she\ngets ready the garments which he shall put on, and now what she\nshall wear when he arrives.  To all the gods she offers frequent\nincense but more than all to Juno.  For her husband, who was no\nmore, she prayed incessantly; that he might be safe; that he\nmight come home; that he might not, in his absence, see any one\nthat he would love better than her.  But of all these prayers,\nthe last was the only one destined to be granted.  The goddess,\nat length, could not bear any longer to be pleaded with for one\nalready dead, and to have hands raised to her altars, that ought\nrather to be offering funeral rites.  So, calling Iris, she said,\n\"Iris, my faithful messenger, go to the drowsy dwelling of\nSomnus, and tell him to send a vision to Halcyone, in the form of\nCeyx, to make known to her the event.\"\n\nIris puts on her robe of many colors, and tingeing the sky with\nher bow, seeks the palace of the King of Sleep. Near the\nCimmerian country, a mountain cave is the abode of the dull god,\nSomnus,  Here Phoebus dares not come, either rising, or at\nmidday, or setting.  Clouds and shadows are exhaled from the\nground, and the light glimmers faintly.  The bird of dawn, with\ncrested head, never calls aloud there to Aurora, nor watchful\ndog, nor more sagacious goose disturbs the silence.  (This\ncomparison of the dog and the goose is a reference by Ovid to a\npassage in Roman history.)  No wild beast, nor cattle, nor branch\nmoved with the wind, nor sound of human conversation, breaks the\nstillness.  Silence reigns there; and from the bottom of the rock\nthe River Lethe flows, and by its murmur invites to sleep.\nPoppies grow abundantly before the door of the cave, and other\nherbs, from whose juices Night collects slumbers, which she\nscatters over the darkened earth.  There is no gate to the\nmansion, to creak on its hinges, nor any watchman; but in the\nmidst, a couch of black ebony, adorned with black plumes and\nblack curtains.  There the god reclines, his limbs relaxed with\nsleep.  Around him lie dreams, resembling all various forms, as\nmany as the harvest bears stalks, or the forest leaves, or the\nseashore grains of sand.\n\nAs soon as the goddess entered and brushed away the dreams that\nhovered around her, her brightness lit up all the cave.  The god,\nscarce opening his eyes, and ever and anon dropping his beard\nupon his breast, at last shook himself free from himself, and\nleaning on his arm, inquired her errand,   for he knew who she\nwas.  She answered, \"Somnus, gentlest of the gods, tranquillizer\nof minds and soother of careworn hearts, Juno sends you her\ncommands that you dispatch a dream to Halcyone, in the city of\nTrachinae, representing her lost husband and all the events of\nthe wreck.\"\n\nHaving delivered her message, Iris hasted away, for she could not\nlonger endure the stagnant air, and as she felt drowsiness\ncreeping over her, she made her escape, and returned by her bow\nthe way she came.  Then Somnus called one of his numerous sons,\nMorpheus,   the most expert at counterfeiting forms, and in\nimitating the walk, the countenance, and mode of speaking, even\nthe clothes and attitudes most characteristic of each.  But he\nonly imitates men, leaving it to another to personate birds,\nbeasts, and serpents.  Him they call Icelos; and Phantasos is a\nthird, who turns himself into rocks, waters, woods, and other\nthings without life.  These wait upon kings and great personages\nin their sleeping hours, while others move among the common\npeople.  Somnus chose, from all the brothers, Morpheus, to\nperform the command of Iris; then laid his head on his pillow and\nyielded himself to grateful repose.\n\nMorpheus flew, making no noise with his wings, and soon came to\nthe Haemonian city, where, laying aside his wings, he assumed the\nform of Ceyx.  Under that form, but pale like a dead man, naked,\nhe stood before the couch of the wretched wife.  His beard seemed\nsoaked with water, and water trickled from his drowned locks.\nLeaning over the bed, tears streaming from his eyes, he said, \"Do\nyou recognize your Ceyx, unhappy wife, or has death too much\nchanged my visage?  Behold me, know me, your husband's shade,\ninstead of himself.  Your prayers, Halcyone, availed me nothing.\nI am dead.  No more deceive yourself with vain hopes of my\nreturn.  The stormy winds sunk my ship in the Aegean Sea; waves\nfilled my mouth while it called aloud on you.  No uncertain\nmessenger tells you this, no vague rumor brings it to your ears.\nI come in person, a shipwrecked man, to tell you my fate.  Arise!\nGive me tears, give me lamentations, let me not go down to\nTartarus unwept.\"  To these words Morpheus added the voice which\nseemed to be that of her husband; he seemed to pour forth genuine\ntears; his hands had the gestures of Ceyx.\n\nHalcyone, weeping, groaned, and stretched out her arms in her\nsleep, striving to embrace his body, but grasping only the air.\n\"Stay!\" she cried; \"whither do you fly?  Let us go together.\"\nHer own voice awakened her.  Starting up, she gazed eagerly\naround, to see if he was still present, for the servants, alarmed\nby her cries, had brought a light.  When she found him not, she\nsmote her breast and rent her garments.  She cares not to unbind\nher hair, but tears it wildly.  Her nurse asks what is the cause\nof her grief.  \"Halcyone is no more,\" she answers; \"she perished\nwith her Ceyx.  Utter not words of comfort, he is shipwrecked and\ndead.  I have seen him.  I have recognized him.  I stretched out\nmy hands to seize him and detain him.  His shade vanished, but it\nwas the true shade of my husband.  Not with the accustomed\nfeatures, not with the beauty that was his, but pale, naked, and\nwith his hair wet with sea-water, he appeared to wretched me.\nHere, in this very spot, the sad vision stood,\"   and she looked\nto find the mark of his footsteps.  \"This it was, this that my\npresaging mind foreboded, when I implored him not to leave me to\ntrust himself to the waves.  O, how I wish, since thou wouldst\ngo, that thou hadst taken me with thee!  It would have been far\nbetter.  Then I should have had no remnant of life to spend\nwithout thee, nor a separate death to die.  If I could bear to\nlive and struggle to endure, I should be more cruel to myself\nthan the sea has been to me.  But I will not struggle.  I will\nnot be separated from thee, unhappy husband.  This time, at least\nI will keep thee company.  In death, if one tomb may not include\nus, one epitaph shall; if I may not lay my ashes with thine, my\nname, at least, shall not be separated.\"  Her grief forbade more\nwords, and these were broken with tears and sobs.\n\nIt was now morning.  She went to the sea-shore, and sought the\nspot where she last saw him, on his departure.  \"Here he lingered\nand cast off his tacklings and gave me his last kiss.\"  While she\nreviews every moment, and strives to recall every incident,\nlooking out over the sea, she descries an indistinct object\nfloating in the water.  At first she was in doubt what it was,\nbut by degrees the waves bore it nearer, and it was plainly the\nbody of a man.  Though unknowing of whom, yet, as it was of some\nshipwrecked one, she was deeply moved, and gave it her tears,\nsaying, \"Alas!  Unhappy one, and unhappy, if such there be, thy\nwife!\"  Borne by the waves, it came nearer.  As she more and more\nnearly views it, she trembles more and more.  Now, now it\napproaches the shore.  Now marks that she recognizes appear.  It\nis her husband!  Stretching out her trembling hands towards it,\nshe exclaims, \"O, dearest husband, is it thus you return to me?\"\n\nThere was built out from the shore a mole, constructed to break\nthe assaults of the sea, and stem its violent ingress.  She\nleaped upon this barrier and (it was wonderful she could do so)\nshe flew, and striking the air with wings produced on the\ninstant, skimmed along the surface of the water, an unhappy bird.\nAs she flew, her throat poured forth sounds full of grief, and\nlike the voice of one lamenting.  When she touched the mute and\nbloodless body, she enfolded its beloved limbs with her new-\nformed wings, and tried to give kisses with her horny beak.\nWhether Ceyx felt it, or whether it was only the action of the\nwaves, those who looked on doubted, but the body seemed to raise\nits head.  But indeed he did feel it, and by the pitying gods\nboth of them were changed into birds.  They mate and have their\nyoung ones.  For seven placid days, in winter time, Halcyone\nbroods over her nest, which floats upon the sea.  Then the way is\nsafe to seamen.  Aeolus guards the winds, and keeps them from\ndisturbing the deep.  The sea is given up, for the time, to his\ngrandchildren.\n\nThe following lines from Byron's Bride of Abydos might seem\nborrowed from the concluding part of this description, if it were\nnot stated that the author derived the suggestion from observing\nthe motion of a floating corpse.\n\n  \"As shaken on his restless pillow,\n  His head heaves with the heaving billow;\n  That hand, whose motion is not life,\n  Yet feebly seems to menace strife,\n  Flung by the tossing tide on high,.\n  Then levelled with the wave  \"\n\nMilton, in his Hymn for the Nativity, thus alludes to the fable\nof the Halcyon:\n\n  \"But peaceful was the night\n  Wherein the Prince of light\n  His reign of peace upon the earth began;\n  The winds with wonder whist,\n  Smoothly the waters kist,\n  Whispering new joys to the mild ocean\n  Who now hath quite forgot to rave\n  While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.\"\n\nKeats, also, in Endymion, says:\n\n  \"O magic sleep!  O comfortable bird\n  That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind\n  Till it is hushed and smooth.\"\n\n\n\nChapter VI\n\nVertumnus and Pomona.  Cupid and Psyche\n\nThe Hamadryads were Wood-nymphs.  Among them was Pomona, and no\none excelled her in love of the garden and the culture of fruit.\nShe cared not for forests and rivers, but loved the cultivated\ncountry and trees that bear delicious apples.  Her right hand\nbore for its weapon not a javelin, but a pruning knife.  Armed\nwith this, she worked at one time, to repress the too luxuriant\ngrowths, and curtail the branches that straggled out of place; at\nanother, to split the twig and insert therein a graft, making the\nbranch adopt a nursling not its own.  She took care, too, that\nher favorites should not suffer from drought, and led streams of\nwater by them that the thirsty roots might drink.  This\noccupation was her pursuit, her passion; and she was free from\nthat which Venus inspires.  She was not without fear of the\ncountry people, and kept her orchard locked, and allowed not men\nto enter.  The Fauns and Satyrs would have given all they\npossessed to win her, and so would old Sylvanus, who looks young\nfor his years, and Pan, who wears a garland of pine leaves around\nhis head.  But Vertumnus loved her best of all; yet he sped no\nbetter than the rest.  Oh, how often, in the disguise of a\nreaper, did he bring her corn in a basket, and looked the very\nimage of a reaper!  With a hay-band tied round him, one would\nthink he had just come from turning over the grass.  Sometimes he\nwould have an ox-goad in his hand, and you would have said he had\njust unyoked his weary oxen.  Now he bore a pruning-hook, and\npersonated a vine-dresser; and again with a ladder on his\nshoulder, he seemed as if he was going to gather apples.\nSometimes he trudged along as a discharged soldier, and again he\nbore a fishing-rod as if going to fish.  In this way, he gained\nadmission to her, again and again, and fed his passion with the\nsight of her.\n\nOne day he came in the guise of an old woman, her gray hair\nsurmounted with a cap, and a staff in her hand.  She entered the\ngarden and admired the fruit.  \"It does you credit, my dear,\" she\nsaid, and kissed Pomona, not exactly with an old woman's kiss.\nShe sat down on a bank, and looked up at the branches laden with\nfruit which hung over her.  Opposite was an elm entwined with a\nvine loaded with swelling grapes.  She praised the tree and its\nassociated vine, equally.  \"But,\" said Vertumnus, \"if the tree\nstood alone, and had no vine clinging to it, it would lie\nprostrate on the ground.  Why will you not take a lesson from the\ntree and the vine, and consent to unite yourself with some one?\nI wish you would.  Helen herself had not more numerous suitors,\nnor Penelope, the wife of shrewd Ulysses.  Even while you spurn\nthem, they court you  rural deities and others of every kind that\nfrequent these mountains.  But if you are prudent and want to\nmake a good alliance, and will let an old woman advise you,   who\nloves you better than you have any idea of,   dismiss all the\nrest and accept Vertumnus, on my recommendation.  I know him as\nwell as he knows himself.  He is not a wandering deity, but\nbelongs to these mountains.  Nor is he like too many of the\nlovers nowadays, who love any one they happen to see; he loves\nyou, and you only.  Add to this, he is young and handsome, and\nhas the art of assuming any shape he pleases, and can make\nhimself just what you command him.  Moreover, he loves the same\nthings that you do, delights in gardening, and handles your\napples with admiration.  But NOW he cares nothing for fruits, nor\nflowers, nor anything else, but only yourself.  Take pity on him,\nand fancy him speaking now with my mouth.  Remember that the gods\npunish cruelty, and that Venus hates a hard heart, and will visit\nsuch offenses sooner or later.  To prove this, let me tell you a\nstory, which is well known in Cyprus to be a fact; and I hope it\nwill have the effect to make you more merciful.\n\n\"Iphis was a young man of humble parentage, who saw and loved\nAnaxarete, a noble lady of the ancient family of Teucer.  He\nstruggled long with his passion, but when he found he could not\nsubdue it, he came a suppliant to her mansion.  First he told his\npassion to her nurse, and begged her as she loved her foster-\nchild to favor his suit.  And then he tried to win her domestics\nto his side.  Sometimes he committed his vows to written tablets,\nand often hung at her door garlands which he had moistened with\nhis tears.  He stretched himself on her threshold, and uttered\nhis complaints to the cruel bolts and bars.  She was deafer than\nthe surges which rise in the November gale; harder than steel\nfrom the German forges, or a rock that still clings to its native\ncliff.  She mocked and laughed at him, adding cruel words to her\nungentle treatment, and gave not the slightest gleam of hope.\n\n\"Iphis could not any longer endure the torments of hopeless love,\nand standing before her doors, he spake these last words:\n'Anaxarete, you have conquered, and shall no longer have to bear\nmy importunities.  Enjoy your triumph!  Sing songs of joy, and\nbind your forehead with laurel,   you have conquered!  I die;\nstony heart, rejoice!  This at least I can do to gratify you, and\nforce you to praise me; and thus shall I prove that the love of\nyou left me but with life.  Nor will I leave it to rumor to tell\nyou of my death.  I will come myself, and you shall see me die,\nand feast your eyes on the spectacle.  Yet, Oh, ye gods, who look\ndown on mortal woes, observe my fate!  I ask but this!  Let me be\nremembered in coming ages, and add those years to my name which\nyou have reft from my life.'  Thus he said, and, turning his pale\nface and weeping eyes towards her mansion, he fastened a rope to\nthe gate-post, on which he had hung garlands, and putting his\nhead into the noose, he murmured, 'This garland at least will\nplease you, cruel girl!'  And falling, hung suspended with his\nneck broken.  As he fell he struck against the gate, and the\nsound was as the sound of a groan.  The servants opened the door\nand found him dead, and with exclamations of pity raised him and\ncarried him home to his mother, for his father was not living.\nShe received the dead body of her son, and folded the cold form\nto her bosom; while she poured forth the sad words which bereaved\nmothers utter.  The mournful funeral passed through the town, and\nthe pale corpse was borne on a bier to the place of the funeral\npile.  By chance the home of Anaxarete was on the street where\nthe procession passed, and the lamentations of the mourners met\nthe ears of her whom the avenging deity had already marked for\npunishment.\n\n\"'Let us see this sad procession,' said she, and mounted to a\nturret, whence through an open window she looked upon the\nfuneral.  Scarce had her eyes rested upon the form of Iphis\nstretched on the bier, when they began to stiffen, and the warm\nblood in her body to become cold.  Endeavoring to step back, she\nfound she could not move her feet; trying to turn away her face,\nshe tried in vain; and by degrees all her limbs became stony like\nher heart.  That you may not doubt the fact, the statue still\nremains, and stands in the temple of Venus at Salamis, in the\nexact form of the lady.  Now think of these things, my dear, and\nlay aside your scorn and your delays, and accept a lover.  So may\nneither the vernal frosts blight your young fruits, nor furious\nwinds scatter your blossoms!\"\n\nWhen Vertumnus had spoken thus, he dropped the disguise of an old\nwoman, and stood before her in his proper person, as a comely\nyouth.  It appeared to her like the sun bursting through a cloud.\nHe would have renewed his entreaties, but there was no need; his\narguments and the sight of his true form prevailed, and the Nymph\nno longer resisted, but owned a mutual flame.\n\nPomona was the especial patroness of the apple-orchard, and as\nsuch she was invoked by Phillips, the author of a poem on Cider,\nin blank verse, in the following lines:\n\n  \"What soil the apple loves, what care is due\n  To orchats, timeliest when to press the fruits,\n  Thy gift, Pomona, in Miltonian verse\n  Adventurous I presume to sing.\"\n\nThomson, in the Seasons, alludes to Phillips:\n\n  \"Phillips, Pomona's bard, the second thou\n  Who nobly durst, in rhyme-unfettered verse,\n  With British freedom, sing the British song.\"\n\nIt will be seen that Thomson refers to the poet's reference to\nMilton, but it is not true that Phillips is only the second\nwriter of English blank verse.  Many other poets beside Milton\nhad used it long before Phillips' time.\n\nBut Pomona was also regarded as presiding over other fruits, and,\nas such, is invoked by Thomson:\n\n  \"Bear me, Pomona, to thy citron groves,\n  To where the lemon and the piercing lime,\n  With the deep orange, glowing through the green,\n  Their lighter glories blend.  Lay me reclined\n  Beneath the spreading tamarind, that shakes,\n  Fanned by the breeze, its fever-cooling fruit.\"\n\n\nCUPID AND PSYCHE\n\nA certain king had three daughters.  (This seems to be one of the\nlatest fables of the Greek mythology.  It has not been found\nearlier than the close of the second century of the Christian\nera.  It bears marks of the higher religious notions of that\ntime.)  The two elder were charming girls, but the beauty of the\nyoungest was so wonderful that language is too poor to express\nits due praise.  The fame of her beauty was so great that\nstrangers from neighboring countries came in crowds to enjoy the\nsight, and looked on her with amazement, paying her that homage\nwhich is due only to Venus herself.  In fact, Venus found her\naltars deserted, while men turned their devotion to this young\nvirgin.  As she passed along, the people sang her praises, and\nstrewed her way with chaplets and flowers.\n\nThis perversion to a mortal of the homage due only to the\nimmortal powers gave great offence to the real Venus.  Shaking\nher ambrosial locks with indignation, she exclaimed, \"Am I then\nto be eclipsed in my honors by a mortal girl?  In vain then did\nthat royal shepherd, whose judgment was approved by Jove himself,\ngive me the palm of beauty over my illustrious rivals, Pallas and\nJune.  But she shall not so quietly usurp my honors.  I will give\nher cause to repent of so unlawful a beauty.\"\n\nThereupon she calls her winged son Cupid, mischievous enough in\nhis own nature, and rouses and provokes him yet more by her\ncomplaints.  She points out Psyche to him, and says, \"My dear\nson, punish that contumacious beauty; give thy mother a revenge\nas sweet as her injuries are great; infuse into the bosom of that\nhaughty girl a passion for some low, mean, unworthy being, so\nthat she may reap a mortification as great as her present\nexultation and triumph.\"\n\nCupid prepared to obey the commands of his mother.  There are two\nfountains in Venus's garden, one of sweet waters, the other of\nbitter.  Cupid filled two amber vases, one from each fountain,\nand suspending them from the top of his quiver, hastened to the\nchamber of Psyche, whom he found asleep.  He shed a few drops\nfrom the bitter fountain over her lips, though the sight of her\nalmost moved him to pity; then touched her side with the point of\nhis arrow.  At the touch she awoke, and opened eyes upon Cupid\n(himself invisible) which so startled him that in his confusion\nhe wounded himself with his own arrow.  Heedless of his wound his\nwhole thought now was to repair the mischief he had done, and he\npoured the balmy drops of joy over all her silken ringlets.\n\nPsyche, henceforth frowned upon by Venus, derived no benefit from\nall her charms.  True, all eyes were cast eagerly upon her, and\nevery mouth spoke her praises; but neither king, royal youth, nor\nplebeian presented himself to demand her in marriage.  Her two\nelder sisters of moderate charms had now long been married to two\nroyal princes; but Psyche, in her lonely apartment, deplored her\nsolitude, sick of that beauty, which, while it procured abundance\nof flattery, had failed to awaken love.\n\nHer parents, afraid that they had unwittingly incurred the anger\nof the gods, consulted the oracle of Apollo, and received this\nanswer: \"The virgin is destined for the bride of no mortal lover.\nHer future husband awaits her on the top of the mountain.  He is\na monster whom neither gods nor men can resist.\"\n\nThis dreadful decree of the oracle filled all the people with\ndismay, and her parents abandoned themselves to grief.  But\nPsyche said, \"Why, my dear parents, do you now lament me?  You\nshould rather have grieved when the people showered upon me\nundeserved honors, and with one voice called me a Venus.  I now\nperceive that I am a victim to that name.  I submit.  Lead me to\nthat rock to which my unhappy fate has destined me.\" Accordingly,\nall things being prepared, the royal maid took her place in the\nprocession, which more resembled a funeral than a nuptial pomp,\nand with her parents, amid the lamentations of the people,\nascended the mountain, on the summit of which they left her\nalone, and with sorrowful hearts returned home.\n\nWhile Psyche stood on the ridge of the mountain, panting with\nfear and with eyes full of tears, the gentle Zephyr raised her\nfrom the earth and bore her with an easy motion into a flowery\ndale.  By degrees her mind became composed, and she laid herself\ndown on the grassy bank to sleep.  When she awoke, refreshed with\nsleep, she looked round and beheld nearby a pleasant grove of\ntall and stately trees.  She entered it, and in the midst\ndiscovered a fountain, sending forth clear and crystal waters,\nand hard by, a magnificent palace whose August front impressed\nthe spectator that it was not the work of mortal hands, but the\nhappy retreat of some god.  Drawn by admiration and wonder, she\napproached the building and ventured to enter.  Every object she\nmet filled her with pleasure and amazement.  Golden pillars\nsupported the vaulted roof, and the walls were enriched with\ncarvings and paintings representing beasts of the chase and rural\nscenes, adapted to delight the eye of the beholder.  Proceeding\nonward she perceived that besides the apartments of state there\nwere others, filled with all manner of treasures, and beautiful\nand precious productions of nature and art.\n\nWhile her eyes were thus occupied, a voice addressed her, though\nshe saw no one, uttering these words: \"Sovereign lady, all that\nyou see is yours.  We whose voices you hear are your servants,\nand shall obey all your commands with our utmost care and\ndiligence.  Retire therefore to your chamber and repose on your\nbed of down, and when you see fit repair to the bath.  Supper\nwill await you in the adjoining alcove when it pleases you to\ntake your seat there.\"\n\nPsyche gave ear to the admonitions of her vocal attendants, and\nafter repose and the refreshment of the bath, seated herself in\nthe alcove, where a table immediately presented itself, without\nany visible aid from waiters or servants, and covered with the\ngreatest delicacies of food and the most nectareous wines.  Her\nears too were feasted with music from invisible performers; of\nwhom one sang, another played on the lute, and all closed in the\nwonderful harmony of a full chorus.\n\nShe had not yet seen her destined husband.  He came only in the\nhours of darkness, and fled before the dawn of morning, but his\naccents were full of love, and inspired a like passion in her.\nShe often begged him to stay and let her behold him, but he would\nnot consent.  On the contrary, he charged her to make no attempt\nto see him, for it was his pleasure, for the best of reasons, to\nkeep concealed.  \"Why should you wish to behold me?\" he said.\n\"Have you any doubt of my love?  Have you any wish ungratified?\nIf you saw me, perhaps you would fear me, perhaps adore me, but\nall I ask of you is to love me.  I would rather you would love me\nas an equal than adore me as a god.\"\n\nThis reasoning somewhat quieted Psyche for a time, and while the\nnovelty lasted she felt quite happy.  But at length the thought\nof her parents, left in ignorance of her fate, and of her\nsisters, precluded from sharing with her the delights of her\nsituation, preyed on her mind and made her begin to feel her\npalace as but a splendid prison.  When her husband came one\nnight, she told him her distress, and at last drew from him an\nunwilling consent that her sisters should be brought to see her.\n\nSo calling Zephyr, she acquainted him with her husband's\ncommands, and he, promptly obedient, soon brought them across the\nmountain down to their sister's valley.  They embraced her and\nshe returned their caresses.  \"Come,\" said Psyche, \"enter with me\nmy house and refresh yourselves with whatever your sister has to\noffer.\"  Then taking their hands she led them into her golden\npalace, and committed them to the care of her numerous train of\nattendant voices, to refresh them in her baths and at her table,\nand to show them all her treasures.  The view of these celestial\ndelights caused envy to enter their bosoms, at seeing their young\nsister possessed of such state and splendor, so much exceeding\ntheir own.\n\nThey asked her numberless questions, among others what sort of a\nperson her husband was.  Psyche replied that he was a beautiful\nyouth, who generally spent the daytime in hunting upon the\nmountains.  The sisters, not satisfied with this reply, soon made\nher confess that she had never seen him.  Then they proceeded to\nfill her bosom with dark suspicions.  \"Call to mind,\" they said,\n\"the Pythian oracle that declared you destined to marry a direful\nand tremendous monster.  The inhabitants of this valley say that\nyour husband is a terrible and monstrous serpent, who nourishes\nyou for a while with dainties that he may by and by devour you.\nTake our advice.  Provide yourself with a lamp and a sharp knife;\nput them in concealment that your husband may not discover them,\nand when he is sound asleep, slip out of bed bring forth your\nlamp and see for yourself whether what they say is true or not.\nIf it is, hesitate not to cut off the monster's head, and thereby\nrecover your liberty.\"\n\nPsyche resisted these persuasions as well as she could, but they\ndid not fail to have their effect on her mind, and when her\nsisters were gone, their words and her own curiosity were too\nstrong for her to resist.  So she prepared her lamp and a sharp\nknife, and hid them out of sight of her husband.  When he had\nfallen into his first sleep, she silently rose and uncovering her\nlamp beheld not a hideous monster, but the most beautiful and\ncharming of the gods, with his golden ringlets wandering over his\nsnowy neck and crimson cheek, with two dewy wings on his\nshoulders, whiter than snow, and with shining feathers like the\ntender blossoms of spring.  As she leaned the lamp over to have a\nnearer view of his face a drop of burning oil fell on the\nshoulder of the god, startled with which he opened his eyes and\nfixed them full upon her; then, without saying one word, he\nspread his white wings and flew out of the window.  Psyche, in\nvain endeavoring to follow him, fell from the window to the\nground.  Cupid, beholding her as she lay in the dust, stopped his\nflight for an instant and said, \"O foolish Psyche, is it thus you\nrepay my love?  After having disobeyed my mother's commands and\nmade you my wife, will you think me a monster and cut off my\nhead?  But go; return to your sisters, whose advice you seem to\nthink preferable to mine.  I inflict no other punishment on you\nthan to leave you forever.  Love cannot dwell with suspicion.\"\nSo saying he fled away, leaving poor Psyche prostrate on the\nground, filling the place with mournful lamentations.\n\nWhen she had recovered some degree of composure she looked around\nher, but the palace and gardens had vanished, and she found\nherself in the open field not far from the city where her sisters\ndwelt.  She repaired thither and told them the whole story of her\nmisfortunes, at which, pretending to grieve, those spiteful\ncreatures inwardly rejoiced; \"for now,\" said they, \"he will\nperhaps choose one of us.\"  With this idea, without saying a word\nof her intentions, each of them rose early the next morning and\nascended the mountain, and having reached the top, called upon\nZephyr to receive her and bear her to his lord; then leaping up,\nand not being sustained by Zephyr, fell down the precipice and\nwas dashed to pieces.\n\nPsyche meanwhile wandered day and night, without food or repose,\nin search of her husband.  Casting her eyes on a lofty mountain\nhaving on its brow a magnificent temple, she sighed and said to\nherself, \"Perhaps my love, my lord, inhabits there,\" and directed\nher steps thither.\n\nShe had no sooner entered than she saw heaps of corn, some in\nloose ears and some in sheaves, with mingled ears of barley.\nScattered about lay sickles and rakes, and all the instruments of\nharvest, without order, as if thrown carelessly out of the weary\nreapers' hands in the sultry hours of the day.\n\nThis unseemly confusion the pious Psyche put an end to, by\nseparating and sorting every thing to its proper place and kind,\nbelieving that she ought to neglect none of the gods, but\nendeavor by her piety to engage them all in her behalf.  The holy\nCeres, whose temple it was, finding her so religiously employed,\nthus spoke to her: \"O Psyche, truly worthy of our pity, though I\ncannot shield you from the frowns of Venus, yet I can teach you\nhow best to allay her displeasure.  Go then, voluntarily\nsurrender yourself to your lady and sovereign, and try by modesty\nand submission to win her forgiveness; perhaps her favor will\nrestore you the husband you have lost.\"\n\nPsyche obeyed the commands of Ceres and took her way to the\ntemple of Venus, endeavoring to fortify her mind and thinking of\nwhat she should say and how she should best propitiate the angry\ngoddess, feeling that the issue was doubtful and perhaps fatal.\n\nVenus received her with angry countenance.  \"Most undutiful and\nfaithless of servants,\" said she, \"do you at last remember that\nyou really have a mistress?  Or have you rather come to see your\nsick husband, yet suffering from the wound given him by his\nloving wife?  You are so ill-favored and disagreeable that the\nonly way you can merit your lover must be by dint of industry and\ndiligence.  I will make trial of your housewifery.\"  Then she\nordered Psyche to be led to the storehouse of her temple, where\nwas laid up a great quantity of wheat, barley, millet, vetches,\nbeans, and lentils prepared for food for her doves, and said,\n\"Take and separate all these grains, putting all of the same kind\nin a parcel by themselves, and see that you get it done before\nevening.\"  Then Venus departed and left her to her task.\n\nBut Psyche, in perfect consternation at the enormous work, sat\nstupid and silent, without moving a finger to the inextricable\nheap.\n\nWhile she sat despairing, Cupid stirred up the little ant, a\nnative of the fields, to take compassion on her.  The leader of\nthe ant-hill, followed by whole hosts of his six-legged subjects,\napproached the heap, and with the utmost diligence taking grain\nby grain, they separated the pile, sorting each kind to its\nparcel; and when it was all done, they vanished out of sight in a\nmoment.\n\nVenus at the approach of twilight returned from the banquet of\nthe gods, breathing odors and crowned with roses.  Seeing the\ntask done she exclaimed, \"This is no work of yours wicked one,\nbut his, whom to your own and his misfortune you have enticed.\"\nSo saying, she threw her a piece of black bread for her supper\nand went away.\n\nNext morning Venus ordered Psyche to be called, and said to her,\n\"Behold yonder grove which stretches along the margin of the\nwater.  There you will find sheep feeding without a shepherd,\nwith golden-shining fleeces on their backs.  Go, fetch me a\nsample of that precious wool gathered from every one of their\nfleeces.\n\nPsyche obediently went to the river-side, prepared to do her best\nto execute the command.  But the river-god inspired the reeds\nwith harmonious murmurs, which seemed to say, \"O maiden, severely\ntried, tempt not the dangerous flood, nor venture among the\nformidable rams on the other side, for as long as they are under\nthe influence of the rising sun, they burn with a cruel rage to\ndestroy mortals with their sharp horns or rude teeth.  But when\nthe noontide sun has driven the flock to the shade, and the\nserene spirit of the flood has lulled them to rest, you may then\ncross in safety, and you will find the woolly gold sticking to\nthe bushes and the trunks of the trees.\"\n\nThus the compassionate river-god gave Psyche instructions how to\naccomplish her task, and by observing his directions she soon\nreturned to Venus with her arms full of the golden fleece; but\nshe received not the approbation of her implacable mistress, who\nsaid, \"I know very well it is by none of your own doings that you\nhave succeeded in this task, and I am not satisfied yet that you\nhave any capacity to make yourself useful.  But I have another\ntask for you.  Here, take this box, and go your way to the\ninfernal shades, and give this box to Proserpine, and say, 'My\nmistress Venus desires you to send her a little of your beauty,\nfor in tending her sick son she has lost come of her own.'  Be\nnot too long on your errand, for I must paint myself with it to\nappear at the circle of the gods and goddesses this evening.\"\n\nPsyche was now satisfied that her destruction was at hand, being\nobliged to go with her own feet directly down to Erebus.\nWherefore, to make no delay of what was not to be avoided, she\ngoes to the top of a high tower to precipitate herself headlong,\nthus to descend the shortest way to the shades below.  But a\nvoice from the tower said to her, \"Why, poor unlucky girl, dost\nthou design to put an end to thy days in so dreadful a manner?\nAnd what cowardice makes thee sink under this last danger, who\nhast been so miraculously supported in all thy former?\"  Then the\nvoice told her how by a certain cave she might reach the realms\nof Pluto, and how to avoid all the dangers of the road, to pass\nby Cerberus, the three-headed dog, and prevail on Charon, the\nferryman, to take her across the black river and bring her back\nagain.  But the voice added, \"When Proserpine has given you the\nbox, filled with her beauty, of all things this is chiefly to be\nobserved by you, that you never once open or look into the box\nnor allow your curiosity to pry into the treasure of the beauty\nof the goddesses.\n\nPsyche encouraged by this advice obeyed it in all things, and\ntaking heed to her ways travelled safely to the kingdom of Pluto.\nShe was admitted to the palace of Proserpine, and without\naccepting the delicate seat or delicious banquet that was offered\nher, but contented with coarse bread for her food, she delivered\nher message from Venus.  Presently the box was returned to her,\nshut and filled with the precious commodity.  Then she returned\nthe way she came, and glad was she to come out once more into the\nlight of day.\n\nBut having got so far successfully through her dangerous task a\nlonging desire seized her to examine the contents of the box.\n\"What,\" said she, \"shall I, the carrier of this divine beauty,\nnot take the least bit to put on my cheeks to appear to more\nadvantage in the eyes of my beloved husband!:\" So she carefully\nopened the box, but found nothing there of any beauty at all, but\nan infernal and truly Stygian sleep, which being thus set free\nfrom its prison, took possession of her, and she fell down in the\nmidst of the road, a sleepy corpse without sense or motion.\n\nBut Cupid being now recovered from his wound, and not able longer\nto bear the absence of his beloved Psyche, slipping through the\nsmallest crack of the window of his chamber which happened to be\nleft open, flew to the spot where Psyche lay, and gathering up\nthe sleep from her body closed it again in the box, and waked\nPsyche with a light touch of one of his arrows.  \"Again,\" said\nhe, \"hast thou almost perished by the same curiosity.  But now\nperform exactly the task imposed on you by my mother, and I will\ntake care of the rest.\"\n\nThen Cupid, as swift as lightning penetrating the heights of\nheaven, presented himself before Jupiter with his supplication.\nJupiter lent a favoring ear, and pleaded the cause of the lovers\nso earnestly with Venus that he won her consent.  On this he sent\nMercury to bring Psyche up to the heavenly assembly, and when she\narrived, handing her a cup of ambrosia, he said, \"Drink this,\nPsyche, and be immortal; nor shall Cupid ever break away from the\nknot in which he is tied, but these nuptials shall be perpetual.\"\n\nThus Psyche became at last united to Cupid, and in due time they\nhad a daughter born to them whose name was Pleasure.\n\nThe fable of Cupid and Psyche is usually considered allegorical.\nThe Greek name for a butterfly is Psyche, and the same word means\nthe soul.  There is no illustration of the immortality of the\nsoul so striking and beautiful as the butterfly, bursting on\nbrilliant wings from the tomb in which it has lain, after a dull,\ngrovelling caterpillar existence, to flutter in the blaze of day\nand feed on the most fragrant and delicate productions of the\nspring.  Psyche, then, is the human soul, which is purified by\nsufferings and misfortunes, and is thus prepared for the\nenjoyment of true and pure happiness.\n\nIn works of art Psyche is represented as a maiden with the wings\nof a butterfly, alone or with Cupid, in the different situations\ndescribed in the allegory.\n\nMilton alludes to the story of Cupid and Psyche in the conclusion\nof his Comus:--\n\n  \"Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced,\n  Holds his dear Psyche sweet entranced,\n  After her wandering labors long,\n  Till free consent the gods among\n  Make her his eternal bride;\n And from her fair unspotted side\n  T wo blissful twins are to be born,\n  Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.\"\n\nThe allegory of the story of Cupid and Psyche is well presented\nin the beautiful lines of T. K. Hervey:--\n\n  \"They wove bright fables in the days of old\n  When reason borrowed fancy's painted wings;\n  When truth's clear river flowed o'er sands of gold,\n  And told in song its high and mystic things!\n  And such the sweet and solemn tale of her\n  The pilgrim-heart, to whom a dream was given.\n  That led her through the world,   Love's worshipper,\n  To seek on earth for him whose home was heaven!\n\n  \"In the full city, by the haunted fount,\n  Through the dim grotto's tracery of spars,\n  'Mid the pine temples, on the moonlit mount,\n  Where silence sits to listen to the stars;\n  In the deep glade where dwells the brooding dove,\n  The painted valley, and the scented air,\n  She heard far echoes of the voice of Love,\n  And found his footsteps' traces everywhere.\n\n  \"But never more they met!  Since doubts and fears,\n  Those phantom-shapes that haunt and blight the earth,\n  Had come 'twixt her, a child of sin and tears,\n  And that bright spirit of immortal birth;\n  Until her pining soul and weeping eyes\n  Had learned to seek him only in the skies;\n  Till wings unto the weary heart were given,\n  And she became Love's angel bride in heaven!\"\n\nThe story of Cupid and Psyche first appears in the works of\nApuleius, a writer of the second century of our era.  It is\ntherefore of much more recent date than most of the legends of\nthe Age of Fable.  It is this that Keats alludes to in his Ode to\nPsyche.\n\n  \"O latest born and loveliest vision far\n  Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!\n  Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-regioned star\n  Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;\n  Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,\n  Nor altar heaped with flowers;\n  Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan\n  Upon the midnight hours;\n  No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet,\n  From chain-swung censer teeming;\n  No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat\n  Of Pale-mouthed prophet dreaming.\"\n\nIn Moore's Summer Fete, a fancy ball is described, in which one\nof the characters personated is Psyche.\n\n    \"not in dark disguise to-night\n  Hath our young heroine veiled her light;\n  For see, she walks the earth, Love's own.\n  His wedded bride, by holiest vow\n  Pledged in Olympus, and made known\n  To mortals by the type which now\n  Hangs glittering on her snowy brow,\n  That butterfly, mysterious trinket,\n  Which means the soul (though few would think it),\n  And sparkling thus on brow so white,\n  Tells us we've Psyche here to-night.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter VII\n\nCadmus.  The Myrmidons.\n\nJupiter, under the disguise of a bull, had carried away to the\nisland of Crete, Europa, the daughter of Agenor king of\nPhoenicia.  Agenor commanded his son Cadmus to go in search of\nhis sister, and not to return without her.  Cadmus went and\nsought long and far for his sister, but could not find her, and\nnot daring to return unsuccessful, consulted the oracle of Apollo\nto know what country he should settle in.  The oracle informed\nhim that he should find a cow in the field, and should follow her\nwherever she might wander, and where she stopped, should build a\ncity and call it Thebes.  Cadmus had hardly left the Castalian\ncave, from which the oracle was delivered, when he saw a young\ncow slowly walking before him.  He followed her close, offering\nat the same time his prayers to Phoebus.  The cow went on till\nshe passed the shallow channel of Cephisus and came out into the\nplain of Panope.  There she stood still, and raising her broad\nforehead to the sky, filled the air with her lowings.  Cadmus\ngave thanks, and stooping down kissed the foreign soil, then\nlifting his eyes, greeted the surrounding mountains. Wishing to\noffer a sacrifice to Jupiter, he sent his servants to seek pure\nwater for a libation.  Nearby there stood an ancient grove which\nhad never been profaned by the axe, in the midst of which was a\ncave, thick covered with the growth of bushes, its roof forming a\nlow arch, from beneath which burst forth a fountain of purest\nwater.  In the cave lurked a horrid serpent with a crested head\nand scales glittering like gold.  His eyes shone like fire, his\nbody was swollen with venom, he vibrated a triple tongue, and\nshowed a triple row of teeth.  No sooner had the Tyrians (Cadmus\nand his companions came from Tyre, the chief city of Phoenicia)\ndipped their pitchers in the fountain, and the ingushing waters\nmade a sound, than the glittering serpent raised his head out of\nthe cave and uttered a fearful hiss.  The vessels fell from their\nhands, the blood left their cheeks, they trembled in every limb.\nThe serpent, twisting his scaly body in a huge coil, raised his\nhead so as to overtop the tallest trees, and while the Tyrians\nfrom terror could neither fight nor fly, slew some with his\nfangs, others in his folds, and others with his poisonous breath.\n\nCadmus having waited for the return of his men till midday, went\nin search of them.  His covering was a lion's hide, and besides\nhis javelin he carried in his hand a lance, and in his breast a\nbold heart, a surer reliance than either.  When he entered the\nwood and saw the lifeless bodies of his men, and the monster with\nhis bloody jaws, he exclaimed, \"O faithful friends, I will avenge\nyou, or share your death.\"  So saying he lifted a huge stone and\nthrew it with all his force at the serpent.  Such a block would\nhave shaken the wall of a fortress, but it made no impression on\nthe monster.  Cadmus next threw his javelin, which met with\nbetter success, for it penetrated the serpent's scales, and\npierced through to his entrails.  Fierce with pain the monster\nturned back his head to view the wound, and attempted to draw out\nthe weapon with his mouth, but broke it off, leaving the iron\npoint rankling in his flesh.  His neck swelled with rage, bloody\nfoam covered his jaws, and the breath of his nostrils poisoned\nthe air around.  Now he twisted himself into a circle, then\nstretched himself out on the ground like the trunk of a fallen\ntree.  As he moved onward, Cadmus retreated before him, holding\nhis spear opposite to the monster's opened jaws.  The serpent\nsnapped at the weapon and attempted to bite its iron point.  At\nlast Cadmus, watching his chance, thrust the spear at a moment\nwhen the animal's thrown back came against the trunk of a tree,\nand so succeeded in pinning him to its side.  His weight bent the\ntree as he struggled in the agonies of death.\n\nWhile Cadmus stood over his conquered foe, contemplating its vast\nsize, a voice was heard (from whence he knew not, but he heard it\ndistinctly), commanding him to take the dragon's teeth and sow\nthem in the earth.  He obeyed.  He made a furrow in the ground,\nand planted the teeth, destined to produce a crop of men.  Scarce\nhad he done so when the clods began to move, and the points of\nspears to appear above the surface.  Next helmets, with their\nnodding plumes, came up, and next, the shoulders and breasts and\nlimbs of men with weapons, and in time a harvest of armed\nwarriors.  Cadmus, alarmed, prepared to encounter a new enemy,\nbut one of them said to him, \"Meddle not with our civil war.\"\nWith that he who had spoken smote one of his earth-born brothers\nwith a sword, and he himself fell pierced with an arrow from\nanother.  The latter fell victim to a fourth, and in like manner\nthe whole crowd dealt with each other till all fell slain with\nmutual wounds except five survivors.  One of these cast away his\nweapons and said, \"Brothers, let us live in peace!\"  These five\njoined with Cadmus in building his city, to which they gave the\nname of Thebes.\n\nCadmus obtained in marriage Harmonia, the daughter of Venus.  The\ngods left Olympus to honor the occasion with their presence, and\nVulcan presented the bride with a necklace of surpassing\nbrilliancy, his own workmanship.  But a fatality hung over the\nfamily of Cadmus in consequence of his killing the serpent sacred\nto Mars.  Semele and Ino, his daughters, and Actaeon and\nPentheius, his grandchildren, all perished unhappily; and Cadmus\nand Harmonia quitted Thebes, now grown odious to them, and\nemigrated to the country of the Enchelians, who received them\nwith honor and made Cadmus their king.  But the misfortunes of\ntheir children still weighed upon their minds; and one day Cadmus\nexclaimed, \"If a serpent's life is so dear to the gods, I would I\nwere myself a serpent.\"  No sooner had he uttered the words than\nhe began to change his form.  Harmonia beheld it, and prayed to\nthe gods to let her share his fate.  Both became serpents.  They\nlie in the woods, but mindful of their origin they neither avoid\nthe presence of man nor do they ever injure any one.\n\nThere is a tradition that Cadmus introduced into Greece the\nletters of the alphabet which were invented by the Phoenicians.\nThis is alluded to by Byron, where, addressing the modern Greeks,\nhe says:\n\n  \"You have the letters Cadmus gave,\n  Think you he meant them for a slave?\"\n\nMilton, describing the serpent which tempted Eve, is reminded of\nthe serpents of the classical stories, and says,\n\n  \"----pleasing was his shape,\n  And lovely; never since of serpent kind\n  Lovelier; not those that in Illyria changed\n  Hermione and Cadmus, nor the god\n  in Epidaurus.\"\n\nThe \"god in Epidaurus\" was AEsculapius.  Serpents were held\nsacred to him.\n\n\nTHE MYRMIDONS\n\nThe Myrmidons were the soldiers of Achilles in the Trojan war.\nFrom them all zealous and unscrupulous followers of a political\nchief are called by that name down to this day.  But the origin\nof the Myrmidons would not give one the idea of a fierce and\nbloody race, but rather of a laborious and peaceful one.\n\nCephalus, king of Athens, arrived in the island of AEgina to seek\nassistance of his old friend and ally AEacus, the king, in his\nwars with Minos, king of Crete.  Cephalus was kindly received,\nand the desired assistance readily promised.  \"I have people\nenough,\" said AEacus, \"to protect myself and spare you such a\nforce as you need.\"  \"I rejoice to see it,\" replied Cephalus,\n\"and my wonder has been raised, I confess, to find such a host of\nyouths as I see around me, all apparently of about the same age.\nYet there are many individuals whom I previously knew that I look\nfor now in vain.  What has become of them?\"  AEacus groaned, and\nreplied with a voice of sadness, \"I have been intending to tell\nyou, and will now do so without more delay, that you may see how\nfrom the saddest beginning a happy result sometimes flows.  Those\nwhom you formerly knew are now dust and ashes!  A plague sent by\nangry Juno devastated the land.  She hated it because it bore the\nname of one of her husband's female favorites.  While the disease\nappeared to spring from natural causes we resisted it as we best\nmight by natural remedies; but it soon appeared that the\npestilence was too powerful for our efforts, and we yielded.  At\nthe beginning the sky seemed to settle down upon the earth, and\nthick clouds shut in the heated air.  For four months together a\ndeadly south wind prevailed.  The disorder affected the wells and\nsprings; thousands of snakes crept over the land and shed their\npoison in the fountains.  The force of the disease was first\nspent on the lower animals; dogs, cattle, sheep, and birds.  The\nluckless ploughman wondered to see his oxen fall in the midst of\ntheir work, and lie helpless in the unfinished furrow.  The wool\nfell from the bleating sheep, and their bodies pined away.  The\nhorse, once foremost in the race, contested the palm no more, but\ngroaned at his stall, and died an inglorious death.  The wild\nboar forgot his rage, the stag his swiftness, the bears no longer\nattacked the herds.  Everything languished; dead bodies lay in\nthe roads, the fields, and the woods; the air was poisoned by\nthem.  I tell you what is hardly credible, but neither dogs nor\nbirds would touch them, nor starving wolves.  Their decay spread\nthe infection.  Next the disease attacked the country people, and\nthen the dwellers in the city.  At first the cheek was flushed,\nand the breath drawn with difficulty.  The tongue grew rough and\nswelled, and the dry mouth stood open with its veins enlarged and\ngasped for the air.  Men could not bear the heat of their clothes\nor their beds, but preferred to lie on the bare ground; and the\nground did not cool them, but on the contrary, they heated the\nspot where they lay.  Nor could the physicians help, for the\ndisease attacked them also, and the contact of the sick gave them\ninfection, so that the most faithful were the first victims.  At\nlast all hope of relief vanished and men learned to look upon\ndeath as the only deliverer from disease.  Then they gave way to\nevery inclination, and cared not to ask what was expedient, for\nnothing was expedient.  All restraint laid aside, they crowded\naround the wells and fountains, and drank till they died, without\nquenching thirst.  Many had not strength to get away from the\nwater, but died in the midst of the stream, and others would\ndrink of it notwithstanding.  Such was their weariness of their\nsick-beds that some would creep forth, and if not strong enough\nto stand, would die on the ground.  They seemed to hate their\nfriends, and got away from their homes, as if, not knowing the\ncause of their sickness, they charged it on the place of their\nabode.  Some were seen tottering along the road, as long as they\ncould stand, while others sank on the earth, and turned their\ndying eyes around to take a last look, then closed them in death.\n\n\"What heart had I left me, during all this, or what ought I to\nhave had, except to hate life and wish to be with my dead\nsubjects?  On all sides lay my people strewn like over-ripened\napples beneath the tree, or acorns under the storm-shaken oak.\nYou see yonder s temple on the height.  It is sacred to Jupiter.\nOh, how many offered prayers there; husbands for wives, fathers\nfor sons, and died in the very act of supplication!  How often,\nwhile the priest made ready for sacrifice, the victim fell,\nstruck down by disease without waiting for the blow.  At length\nall reverence for sacred things was lost.  Bodies were thrown out\nunburied, wood was wanting for funeral piles, men fought with one\nanother for the possession of them.  Finally there were none left\nto mourn; sons and husbands, old men and youths, perished alike\nunlamented.\n\n\"Standing before the altar I raised my eyes to heaven.  'Oh,\nJupiter,' I said, 'if thou art indeed my father, and art not\nashamed of thy offspring, give me back my people, or take me also\naway!'  At these words a clap of thunder was heard.  'I accept\nthe omen,' I cried; 'oh, may it be a sign of a favorable\ndisposition towards me!'  By chance there grew by the place where\nI stood an oak with wide-spreading branches, sacred to Jupiter.\nI observed a troop of ants busy with their labor, carrying minute\ngrains in their mouths and following one another in a line up the\ntrunk of the tree.  Observing their numbers with admiration, I\nsaid, 'Give me, oh father, citizens as numerous as these, and\nreplenish my empty city.'  The tree shook and gave a rustling\nsound with its branches though no wind agitated them.  I trembled\nin every limb, yet I kissed the earth and the tree.  I would not\nconfess to myself that I hoped, yet I did hope.  Night came on\nand sleep took possession of my frame oppressed with cares.  The\ntree stood before me in my dreams, with its numerous branches all\ncovered with living, moving creatures.  It seemed to shake its\nlimbs and throw down over the ground a multitude of those\nindustrious grain-gathering animals, which appeared to gain in\nsize, and grow larger, and by-and-by to stand erect, lay aside\ntheir superfluous legs and their black color, and finally to\nassume the human form.  Then I awoke, and my first impulse was to\nchide the gods who had robbed me of a sweet vision and given me\nno reality in its place.  Being still in the temple my attention\nwas caught by the sound of many voices without; a sound of late\nunusual to my ears.  While I began to think I was yet dreaming,\nTelamon, my son, throwing open the temple-gates, exclaimed,\n'Father, approach, and behold things surpassing even your hopes!'\nI went forth; I saw a multitude of men, such as I had seen in my\ndream, and they were passing in procession in the same manner.\nWhile I gazed with wonder and delight they approached, and\nkneeling, hailed me as their king.  I paid my vows to Jove, and\nproceeded to allot the vacant city to the new-born race, and to\nparcel out the fields among them.  I called them Myrmidons from\nthe ant (myrmex), from which they sprang.  You have seen these\npersons; their dispositions resemble those which they had in\ntheir former shape.  They are a diligent and industrious race,\neager to gain, and tenacious of their gains.  Among them you may\nrecruit your forces.  They will follow you to the war, young in\nyears and bold in heart.\"\n\nThis description of the plague is copied by Ovid from the account\nwhich Thucydides, the Greek historian, gives of the plague of\nAthens.  The historian drew from life, and all the poets and\nwriters of fiction since his day, when they have had occasion to\ndescribe a similar scene, have borrowed their details from him.\n\n\n\nChapter VIII\n\nNisus and Scylla.  Echo and Narcissus.  Clytie.  Hero and Leander\n\nMinos, king of Crete, made war upon Megara.  Nisus was king of\nMegara, and Scylla was his daughter.  The siege had now lasted\nsix months, and the city still held out, for it was decreed by\nfate that it should not be taken so long as a certain purple\nlock, which glittered among the hair of King Nisus, remained on\nhis head.  There was a tower on the city walls, which overlooked\nthe plain where Minos and his army were encamped.  To this tower\nScylla used to repair, and look abroad over the tents of the\nhostile army.  The siege had lasted so long that she had learned\nto distinguish the persons of the leaders.  Minos, in particular,\nexcited her admiration.  She admired his graceful deportment; if\nhe threw his javelin, skill seemed combined with force in the\ndischarge; if he drew his bow, Apollo himself could not have done\nit more gracefully.  But when he laid aside his helmet, and in\nhis purple robes bestrode his white horse with its gay\ncaparisons, and reined in its foaming mouth, the daughter of\nNisus was hardly mistress of herself; she was almost frantic with\nadmiration.  She envied the weapon that he grasped, the reins\nthat he held.  She felt as if she could, if it were possible, go\nto him through the hostile ranks; she felt an impulse to cast\nherself down from the tower into the midst of his camp, or to\nopen the gates to him, or do anything else, so only it might\ngratify Minos.  As she sat in the tower, she talked thus with\nherself: \"I know not whether to rejoice or grieve at this sad\nwar.  I grieve that Minos is our enemy; but I rejoice at any\ncause that brings him to my sight.  Perhaps he would be willing\nto grant us peace, and receive me as a hostage.  I would fly\ndown, if I could, and alight in his camp, and tell him that we\nyield ourselves to his mercy.  But, then, to betray my father!\nNo!  Rather would I never see Minos again.  And yet no doubt it\nis sometimes the best thing for a city to be conquered when the\nconqueror is clement and generous.  Minos certainly has right on\nhis side.  I think we shall be conquered; and if that must be the\nend of it, why should not love unbar the gates to him, instead of\nleaving it to be done by war?  Better spare delay and slaughter\nif we can.  And, oh, if any one should wound or kill Minos!  No\none surely would have the heart to do it; yet ignorantly, not\nknowing him, one might.  I will, I will surrender myself to him,\nwith my country as a dowry, and so put an end to the war.  But\nhow?  The gates are guarded, and my father keeps the keys; he\nonly stands in my way.  Oh, that it might please the gods to take\nhim away! But why ask the gods to do it?  Another woman, loving\nas I do, would remove with her own hands whatever stood in the\nway of her love.  And can any other woman dare more than I?  I\nwould encounter fire and sword to gain my object; but here there\nis no need of fire and sword.  I only need my father's purple\nlock.  More precious than gold to me, that will give me all I\nwish.\"\n\nWhile she thus reasoned night came on, and soon the whole palace\nwas buried in sleep.  She entered her father's bedchamber and cut\noff the fatal lock; then passed out of the city and entered the\nenemy's camp.  She demanded to be led to the king, and thus\naddressed him: \"I am Scylla, the daughter of Nisus.  I surrender\nto you my country and my father's house.  I ask no reward but\nyourself; for love of you I have done it.  See here the purple\nlock!  With this I give you my father and his kingdom.\"  She held\nout her hand with the fatal spoil.  Minos shrunk back and refused\nto touch it.  \"The gods destroy thee, infamous woman,\" he\nexclaimed; \"disgrace of our time!  May neither earth nor sea\nyield thee a resting place!  Surely, my Crete, where Jove himself\nwas cradled, shall not be polluted with such a monster!\"  Thus he\nsaid, and gave orders that equitable terms should be allowed to\nthe conquered city, and that the fleet should immediately sail\nfrom the island.\n\nScylla was frantic.  \"Ungrateful man,\" she exclaimed, \"is it thus\nyou leave me?   Me who have given you victory,   who have\nsacrificed for you parent and country!  I am guilty, I confess,\nand deserve to die, by not by your hand.\"  As the ships left the\nshore, she leaped into the water, and seizing the rudder of the\none which carried Minos, she was borne along an unwelcome\ncompanion of their course.  A sea-eagle soaring aloft,   it was\nher father who had been changed into that form,   seeing her,\npounced down upon her, and struck her with his beak and claws.\nIn terror she let go the ship, and would have fallen into the\nwater, but some pitying deity changed her into a bird.  The sea-\neagle still cherishes the old animosity; and whenever he espies\nher in his lofty flight, you may see him dart down upon her, with\nbeak and claws, to take vengeance for the ancient crime.\n\n\nECHO AND NARCISSUS\n\nEcho was a beautiful nymph, fond of the woods and hills, where\nshe devoted herself to woodland sports.  She was a favorite of\nDiana, and attended her in the chase.  But Echo had one failing;\nshe was fond of talking, and whether in chat or argument would\nhave the last word.  One day Juno was seeking her husband, who,\nshe had reason to fear, was amusing himself among the nymphs.\nEcho by her talk contrived to detain the goddess till the nymphs\nmade their escape.  When Juno discovered it, she passed sentence\nupon Echo in these words: \"You shall forfeit the use of that\ntongue with which you have cheated me, except for that one\npurpose you are so fond of   REPLY.  You shall still have the\nlast word, but no power to speak first.\"\n\nThis nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the\nchase upon the mountains.  She loved him, and followed his\nfootsteps.  Oh, how she longed to address him in the softest\naccents, and win him to converse, but it was not in her power.\nShe waited with impatience for him to speak first, and had her\nanswer ready.  One day the youth, being separated from his\ncompanions, shouted aloud, \"Who's here?\"  Echo replied, \"Here.\"\nNarcissus looked around, but seeing no one, called out, \"Come.\"\nEcho answered, \"Come.\"  As no one came, Narcissus called again,\n\"Why do you shun me?\"  Echo asked the same question.  \"Let us\njoin one another,\" said the youth.  The maid answered with all\nher heart in the same words, and hastened to the spot, ready to\nthrow her arms about his neck.  He started back, exclaiming,\n\"Hands off!  I would rather die than you should have me.\"  \"Have\nme,\" said she; but it was all in vain.  He left her, and she went\nto hide her blushes in the recesses of the woods.  From that time\nforth she lived in caves and among mountain cliffs.  Her form\nfaded with grief, till at last all her flesh shrank away.  Her\nbones were changed into rocks, and there was nothing left of her\nbut her voice.  With that she is still ready to reply to any one\nwho calls her, and keeps up her old habit of having the last\nword.\n\nNarcissus was cruel not in this case alone.  He shunned all the\nrest of the nymphs as he had done poor Echo.  One day a maiden,\nwho had in vain endeavored to attract him, uttered a prayer that\nhe might some time or other feel what it was to love and meet no\nreturn of affection.  The avenging goddess heard and granted the\nprayer.\n\nThere was a clear fountain, with water like silver, to which the\nshepherds never drove their flocks.  Nor did the mountain goats\nresort to it, nor any of the beasts of the forest; neither was it\ndefaced with fallen leaves or branches; but the grass grew fresh\naround it, and the rocks sheltered it from the sun.  Hither came\none day the youth fatigued with hunting, heated and thirsty.  He\nstooped down to drink, and saw his own image in the water; he\nthought it was some beautiful water=spirit living in the\nfountain.  He stood gazing with admiration at those bright eyes,\nthose locks curled like the locks of Bacchus or Apollo, the\nrounded cheeks, the ivory neck, the parted lips, and the glow of\nhealth and exercise over all.  He fell in love with himself.  He\nbrought his lips near to take a kiss; he plunged his arms in to\nembrace the beloved object.  It fled at the touch, but returned\nagain after a moment and renewed the fascination.  He could not\ntear himself away; he lost all thought of food or rest, while he\nhovered over the brink of the fountain gazing upon his own image.\nHe talked with the supposed spirit: \"Why, beautiful being, do you\nshun me?  Surely my face is not one to repel you.  The nymphs\nlove me, and you yourself look not indifferent upon me.  When I\nstretch forth my arms you do the same; and you smile upon me and\nanswer my beckonings with the like.\"  His tears fell into the\nwater and disturbed the image.  As he saw it depart, he\nexclaimed, \"Stay, I entreat you! Let me at least gaze upon you,\nif I may not touch you.\"   With this, and much more of the same\nkind, he cherished the flame that consumed him, so that by\ndegrees he lost his color, his vigor, and the beauty which\nformerly had so charmed the nymph Echo.  She kept near him,\nhowever, and when he exclaimed, \"Alas!  Alas!\" she answered him\nwith the same words.  He pined away and died; and when his shade\npassed the Stygian river, it leaned over the boat to catch a look\nof itself in the waters.  The nymphs mourned for him, especially\nthe water-nymphs; and when they smote their breasts, Echo smote\nhers also.  They prepared a funeral pile, and would have burned\nthe body, but it was nowhere to be found; but in its place a\nflower, purple within, and surrounded with white leaves, which\nbears the name and preserves the memory of Narcissus.\n\nMilton alludes to the story of Echo and Narcissus in the Lady's\nsong in Comus.  She is seeking her brothers in the forest, and\nsings to attract their attention.\n\n  \"Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen\n  Within thy aery shell\n  By slow Meander's margent green.\n  And in the violet-embroidered vale,\n  Where the love-lorn nightingale\n  Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well;\n  Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair\n  That likes thy Narcissus are?\n  Oh, if thou have\n  Hid them in some flowery cave,\n  Tell me but where,\n  Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the sphere,\n  So may'st thou be translated to the skies,\n  And give resounding grace to all heaven's harmonies.\"\n\nMilton has imitated the story of Narcissus in the account which\nhe makes Eve give of the first sight of herself reflected in the\nfountain:\n\n  \"That day I oft remember when from sleep\n  I first awaked, and found myself reposed\n  Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where\n  And what I was, whence thither brought, and how\n  Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound\n  Of waters issued from a cave, and spread\n  Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved\n  Pure as the expanse of heaven; I thither went\n  With unexperienced thought, and laid me down\n  On the green bank, to look into the clear\n  Smooth lake that to me seemed another sky.\n  As I bent down to look, just opposite\n  A shape within the watery gleam appeared,\n  Bending to look on me.  I started back;\n  It started back; but pleased I soon returned,\n  Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks\n  Of sympathy and love.  There had I fixed\n  Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire,\n  Had not a voice thus warned me: 'What thou seest,\n  What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself.'\"\n  Paradise Lost, Book IV\n\nThe fable of Narcissus is often alluded to by the poets.  Here\nare two epigrams which treat it in different ways.  The first is\nby Goldsmith:\n\n  \"ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING:\n\n  \"Sure 'twas by Providence designed,\n  Rather in pity than in hate,\n  That he should be like Cupid blind,\n  To save him from Narcissus' fate\"\n\nThe other is by Cowper:\n\n  \"ON AN UGLY FELLOW\n\n  \"Beware, my friend, of crystal brook\n  Or fountain, lest that hideous hook.\n  Thy nose, thou chance to see;\n  Narcissus' fate would then be thine,\n  And self-detested thou would'st pine,\n  As self-enamored he.\"\n\n\nCLYTIE\n\nClytie was a water-nymph and in love with Apollo, who made her no\nreturn.  So she pined away, sitting all day long upon the cold\nground, with her unbound tresses streaming over her shoulders.\nNine days she sat and tasted neither food nor drink, her own\ntears and the chilly dew her only food.  She gazed on the sun\nwhen he rose, and as he passed through his daily course to his\nsetting; she saw no other object, her face turned constantly on\nhim.  At last, they say, her limbs rooted in the ground, her face\nbecame a sunflower, which turns on its stem so as always to face\nthe sun throughout its daily course; for it retains to that\nextent the feeling of the nymph from whom it sprang.\n\nOne of the best known of the marble busts discovered in our own\ntime, generally bears the name of Clytie.  It has been very\nfrequently copied in plaster.  It represents the head of a young\ngirl looking down,   the neck and shoulders being supported in\nthe cup of a large flower,   which by a little effort of\nimagination can be made into a giant sunflower.  The latest\nsupposition, however, is that this bust represented not Clytie,\nbut Isis.\n\nHood in his Flowers thus alludes to Clytie:\n\n  \"I will not have the mad Clytie,\n  Whose head is turned by the sun;\n  The tulip is a courtly quean,\n  Whom therefore I will shun;\n  The cowslip is a country wench,\n  The violet is a nun;\n  But I will woo the dainty rose,\n  The queen of every one.\"\n\nThe sunflower is a favorite emblem of constancy.  Thus Moore uses\nit:\n\n  \"The heart that has truly loved never forgets,\n  But as truly loves on to the close;\n  As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets\n  The same look that she turned when he rose.\"\n\nIt is only for convenience that the modern poets translate the\nLatin word HELIOTROPIUM, by the English sunflower.  The\nsunflower, which was known to the ancients, was called in Greek,\nhelianthos, from HELIOS, the sun; and ANTHOS a flower, and in\nLatin, helianthus.  It derives its name from its resemblance to\nthe sun; but, as any one may see, at sunset, it does not \"turn to\nthe God when he sets the same look that it turned when he rose.\"\n\nThe Heliotrope of the fable of Clytie is called Turn-sole in old\nEnglish books, and such a plant is known in England.  It is not\nthe sweet heliotrope of modern gardens, which is a South American\nplant.  The true classical heliotrope is probably to be found in\nthe heliotrope of southern France,   a weed not known in America.\nThe reader who is curious may examine the careful account of it\nin Larousse's large dictionary.\n\n\nHERO AND LEANDER\n\nLeander was a youth of Abydos, a town of the Asian side of the\nstrait which separates Asia and Europe.  On the opposite shore in\nthe town of Sestos lived the maiden Hero, a priestess of Venus.\nLeander loved her, and used to swim the strait nightly to enjoy\nthe company of his mistress, guided by a torch which she reared\nupon the tower, for the purpose.  But one night a tempest arose\nand the sea was rough; his strength failed, and he was drowned.\nThe waves bore his body to the European shore, where Hero became\naware of his death, and in her despair cast herself down from the\ntower into the sea and perished.\n\nThe following sonnet is by Keats:\n\n  \"ON A PICTURE OF LEANDER\n\n  \"Come hither, all sweet maidens, soberly,\n  Down looking aye, and with a chasten'd light,\n  Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white,\n  And meekly let your fair hands joined be,\n  As if so gentle that ye could not see,\n  Untouch'd, a victim of your beauty bright,\n  Sinking away to his young spirit's night,\n  Sinking bewilder'd 'mid the dreary sea.\n  'Tis young Leander toiling to his death.\n  Nigh swooning, he doth purse his weary lips\n  For Hero's cheek, and smiles against her smile.\n  Oh, horrid dream!  See how his body dips\n  Dead-heavy; arms and shoulders gleam awhile;\n  He's gone; up bubbles all his amorous breath!\"\n\nThe story of Leander's swimming the Hellespont was looked upon as\nfabulous, and the feat considered impossible, till Lord Byron\nproved its possibility by performing it himself.  In the Bride of\nAbydos he says,\n\n  \"These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne.\"\n\nThe distance in the narrowest part is almost a mile, and there is\na constant current setting out from the Sea of Marmora into the\nArchipelago.  Since Byron's time the feat has been achieved by\nothers; but it yet remains a test of strength and skill in the\nart of swimming sufficient to give a wide and lasting celebrity\nto any one of our readers who may dare to make the attempt and\nsucceed in accomplishing it.\n\nIn the beginning of the second canto of the same poem, Byron\nalludes to this story:\n\n  \"The winds are high on Helle's wave,\n  As on that night of stormiest water,\n  When Love, who sent, forgot to save\n  The young, the beautiful, the brave,\n  The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.\n  Oh, when alone along the sky\n  The turret-torch was blazing high,\n  Though rising gale and breaking foam,\n  And shrieking sea-birds warned him home;\n  And clouds aloft and tides below,\n  With signs and sounds forbade to go,\n  He could not see, he would not hear\n  Or sound or sight foreboding fear.\n  His eye but saw that light of love,\n  The only star it hailed above;\n  His ear but rang with Hero's song,\n  'Ye waves, divide not lovers long.'\n  That tale is old, but love anew\n  May nerve young hearts to prove as true.\"\n\nThe subject has been a favorite one with sculptors.\n\nSchiller has made one of his finest ballads from the tragic fate\nof the two lovers.  The following verses are a translation from\nthe latter part of the ballad:\n\n  \"Upon Hellespont's broad currents\n  Night broods black, and rain in torrents\n  From the cloud's full bosom pours;\n  Lightnings in the sky are flashing,\n  All the storms below are dashing\n  On the crag-piled shores.\n  Awful chasms gaping widely,\n  Separate the mountain waves;\n  Ocean yawning as to open\n  Downward e'en to Pluto's caves.\"\n\nAfter the storm has arisen, Hero sees the danger, and cries,\n\n  \"Woe, ah!  Woe; great Jove have pity,\n  Listen to my sad entreaty,\n  Yet for what can Hero pray?\n  Should the gods in pity listen,\n  He, e'en now the false abyss in,\n  Struggles with the tempest's spray.\n  All the birds that skim the wave\n  In hasty flight are hieing home;\n  T the lee of safer haven\n  All the storm-tossed vessels come.\n\n  \"Ah!  I know he laughs at danger,\n  Dares again the frequent venture,\n  Lured by an almighty power;\n  For he swore it when we parted,\n  With the vow which binds true-hearted\n  Lovers to the latest hour.\n  Yes!  Even as this moment hastens\n  Battles he the wave-crests rude,\n  And to their unfathomed chasms\n  Dags him down the angry flood.\n\n  \"Pontus false!  Thy sunny smile\n  Was the lying traitor's guile,\n  Like a mirror flashing there:\n  All thy ripples gently playing\n  Til they triumphed in betraying\n  Him into thy lying snare.\n  Now in thy mid-current yonder,\n  Onward still his course he urges,\n  Thou the false, on him the fated\n  Pouring loose thy terror-surges.\n  Waxes high the tempest's danger,\n  Waves to mountains rise in anger,\n  Oceans swell, and breakers dash,\n  Foaming, over cliffs of rock\n  Where even navies, stiff with oak,\n  Could not bear the crash.\n  In the gale her torch is blasted,\n  Beacon of the hoped-for strand;\n  Horror broods above the waters,\n  Horror broods above the land.\n\n  Prays she Venus to assuage\n  The hurricane's increasing rage,\n  And to sooth the billows' scorn.\n  And as gale on gale arises,\n  Vows to each as sacrifices\n  Spotless steer with gilded horn.\n  To all the goddesses below,\n  To \"all the gods in heaven that be,\"\n  She prays that oil of peace may flow\n  Softly on the storm-tossed sea.\n\n  Blest Leucothea, befriend me!\n  From cerulean halls attend me;\n  Hear my prayer of agony.\n  In the ocean desert's raving,\n  Storm-tossed seamen, succor craving,\n  Find in thee their helper nigh.\n  Wrap him in thy charmed veil,\n  Secret spun and secret wove,\n  Certain from the deepest wave\n  To lift him to its crests above.\"\n\n  Now the tempests wild are sleeping,\n  And from the horizon creeping\n  Rays of morning streak the skies,\n  Peaceful as it lay before\n  The placid sea reflects the shore,\n  Skies kiss waves and waves the skies.\n  Little ripples, lightly plashing,\n  Break upon the rock-bound strand,\n  And they trickle, lightly playing\n  O'er a corpse upon the sand.\n\n  Yes, 'tis he!  Although he perished,\n  Still his sacred troth he cherished,\n  An instant's glance tells all to her;\n  Not a tear her eye lets slip\n  Not a murmur leaves her lip;\n  Down she looks in cold despair;\n  Gazes round the desert sea,\n  Trustless gazes round the sky,\n  Flashes then of noble fire\n  Through her pallid visage fly!\n\n  \"Yes, I know, ye mighty powers,\n  Ye have drawn the fated hours\n  Pitiless and cruel on.\n  Early full my course is over.\n  Such a course with such a lover;\n  Such a share of joy I've known.\n  Venus, queen, within thy temple,\n  Thou hast known me vowed as thine,\n  Now accept thy willing priestess\n  As an offering at thy shrine.\"\n\n  Downward then, while all in vain her\n  Fluttering robes would still sustain her,\n  Springs she into Pontus' wave;\n  Grasping him and her, the god\n  Whirls them in his deepest flood,\n  And, himself, becomes their grave.\n  With his prizes then contented,\n  Peaceful bids his waters glide,\n  From the unexhausted vessels,\n  Whence there streams an endless tide.\n\n\n\nChapter IX\n\nMinerva and Arachne.  Niobe.  The Story of Perseus\n\nMinerva, the goddess of wisdom, was the daughter of Jupiter.\nShe, they say, sprang forth from his brain full grown and clad in\ncomplete armor.  She presided over the useful and ornamental\narts, both those of men,   such as agriculture and navigation,\nand those of women,   spinning, weaving, and needle-work.  She\nwas also a warlike divinity; but a lover of defensive war only.\nShe had no sympathy with Mars's savage love of violence and\nbloodshed.  Athens was her chosen seat, her own city, awarded to\nher as the prize of a contest with Neptune, who also aspired to\nit.  The tale ran that in the reign of Cecrops, the first king of\nAthens, the two deities contended for the possession of the city.\nThe gods decreed that it should be awarded to that one who\nproduced the gift most useful to mortals.  Neptune gave the\nhorse; Minerva produced the olive.  The gods gave judgment that\nthe olive was the more useful of the two, and awarded the city to\nthe goddess; and it was named after her, Athens, her name in\nGreek being Athene.\n\nIn another contest, a mortal dared to come in competition with\nMinerva.  That mortal was Arachne, a maiden who had attained such\nskill in the arts of weaving and embroidery that the nymphs\nthemselves would leave their groves and fountains to come and\ngaze upon her work.  It was not only beautiful when it was done,\nbut beautiful also in the doing. To watch her, as she took the\nwool in its rude state and formed it into rolls, or separated it\nwith her fingers and carded it till it looked as light and soft\nas a cloud, or twirled the spindle with skilful touch, or wove\nthe web, or, when woven, adorned it with her needle, one would\nhave said that Minerva herself had taught her.  But this she\ndenied, and could not bear to be thought a pupil even of a\ngoddess.  \"Let Minerva try her skill with mine,\" said she; \"if\nbeaten, I will pay the penalty.\"  Minerva heard this and was\ndispleased.  Assuming the form of an old woman, she went and gave\nArachne some friendly advice.  \"I have had much experience,: said\nshe, \"and I hope you will not despise my counsel.  Challenge your\nfellow-mortals as you will, but do not compete with a goddess.\nOn the contrary, I advise you to ask her forgiveness for what you\nhave said, and, as she is merciful, perhaps she will pardon you.\"\nArachne stopped her spinning, and looked at the old dame with\nanger in her countenance.  \"Keep your counsel,\" said she, \"for\nyour daughters or handmaids; for my part, I know what I say, and\nI stand to it.  I am not afraid of the goddess; let her try her\nskill, if she dare venture.\"  \"She comes,\" said Minerva; and\ndropping her disguise, stood confessed.  The nymphs bent low in\nhomage, and all the bystanders paid reverence.  Arachne alone was\nunterrified.  She blushed, indeed; a sudden color dyed her cheek,\nand then she grew pale.  But she stood to her resolve, and with a\nfoolish conceit of her own skill rushed on her fate.  Minerva\nforbore no longer, nor interposed any further advice.  They\nproceed to the contest.  Each takes her station and attaches the\nweb to the beam.  Then the slender shuttle is passed in and out\namong the threads.  The reed with its fine teeth strikes up the\nwoof into its place and compacts the web.  Both work with speed;\ntheir skilful hands move rapidly, and the excitement of the\ncontest makes the labor light.  Wool of Tyrian dye is contrasted\nwith that of other colors, shaded off into one another so\nadroitly that the joining deceives the eye.  Like the bow, whose\nlong arch tinges the heavens, formed by sunbeams reflected from\nthe shower (this description of the rainbow is literally\ntranslated rom Ovid), in which, where the colors meet they seem\nas one, but at a little distance from the point of contact are\nwholly different.\n\nMinerva wrought on her web the scene of her contest with Neptune.\nTwelve of the heavenly powers are represented, Jupiter, with\nAugust gravity, sitting in the midst.  Neptune, the ruler of the\nsea, holds his trident, and appears to have just smitten the\nearth, from which a horse has leaped forth.  Minerva depicted\nherself with helmed head, her AEgis covering her breast.  Such\nwas the central circle; and in the four corners were represented\nincidents illustrating the displeasure of the gods at such\npresumptuous mortals as had dared to contend with them.  These\nwere meant as warnings to her rival to give up the contest before\nit was too late.\n\nArachne filled her web with subjects designedly chosen to exhibit\nthe failings and errors of the gods.  One scene represented Leda\ncaressing the swan, under which form Jupiter had disguised\nhimself; and another, Danae, in the brazen tower in which her\nfather had imprisoned her, but where the god effected his\nentrance in the form of a shower of gold.  Still another depicted\nEuropa deceived by Jupiter under the disguise of a bull.\nEncouraged by the tameness of the animal, Europa ventured to\nmount his back, whereupon Jupiter advanced into the sea, and swam\nwith her to Crete.  You would have thought it was a real bull so\nnaturally was it wrought, and so natural was the water in which\nit swam.  She seemed to look with longing eyes back upon the\nshore she was leaving, and to call to her companions for help.\nShe appeared to shudder with terror at the sight of the heaving\nwaves, and to draw back her feet from the water.\n\nArachne filled her canvas with these and like subjects,\nwonderfully well done, but strongly marking her presumption and\nimpiety.  Minerva could not forbear to admire, yet felt indignant\nat the insult.  She struck the web with her shuttle, and rent it\nin pieces; she then touched the forehead of Arachne, and made her\nfeel her guilt and shame.  She could not endure it, and went and\nhanged herself.  Minerva pitied her as she saw her hanging by a\nrope.  \"Live, guilty woman,\" said she; \" and that you may\npreserve the memory of this lesson, continue to hang, you and\nyour descendants, to all future times.\"  She sprinkled her with\nthe juices of aconite, and immediately her hair came off, and her\nnose and ears likewise.  Her form shrank up, and her head grew\nsmaller yet; her fingers grew to her side, and served for legs.\nAll the rest of her is body, out of which she spins her thread,\noften hanging suspended by it, in the same attitude as when\nMinerva touched her and transformed her into a spider.\n\nSpenser tells the story of Arachne in his Muiopotmos, adhering\nvery closely to his master Ovid, but improving upon him in the\nconclusion of the story.  The two stanzas which follow tell what\nwas done after the goddess had depicted her creation of the olive\ntree:\n\n  \"Amongst these leaves she made a Butterfly,\n  With excellent device and wondrous slight,\n  Fluttering among the olives wantonly,\n  That seemed to live, so like it was in sight;\n  The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,\n  The silken down with which his back is dight,\n  His broad outstretched horns, his hairy thighs,\n  His glorious colors, and his glistening eyes.\"\n\n  \"Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid\n  And mastered with workmanship so rare.\n  She stood astonished long, ne aught gainsaid;\n  And with fast-fixed eyes on her did stare,\n  And by her silence, sign of one dismayed,\n  The victory did yield her as her share;\n  Yet did she inly fret and felly burn,\n  And all her blood to poisonous rancor turn.\"\n\nAnd so the metamorphosis is caused by Arachne's own mortification\nand vexation, and not by any direct act of the goddess.\n\nThe following specimen of old-fashioned gallantry is by Garrick:\n\n\n  UPON A LADY'S EMBROIDERY\n\n  \"Arachne once, as poets tell,\n  A goddess at her art defied,\n  And soon the daring mortal fell\n  The hapless victim of her pride.\n\n  \"Oh, then, beware Arachne's fate;\n  Be prudent, Chloe, and submit,\n  For you'll most surely meet her hate,\n  Who rival both her art and wit.\"\n\nTennyson, in his Palace of Art, describing the works of art with\nwhich the palace was adorned, thus alludes to Europa:\n\n  \"---- sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasped\n  From off her shoulder, backward borne,\n  From one hand drooped a crocus, one hand grasped\n  The mild bull's golden horn.\"\n\nIn his Princess there is this allusion to Danae:\n\n  \"Now lies the earth all Danae to the stars,\n  And all thy heart lies open unto me.\"\n\n\nNIOBE\n\nThe fate of Arachne was noised abroad through all the country,\nand served as a warning to all presumptuous mortals not to\ncompare themselves with the divinities.  But one, and she a\nmatron too, failed to learn the lesson of humility.  It was\nNiobe, the queen of Thebes.  She had indeed much to be proud of;\nbut it was not her husband's fame, nor her own beauty, nor their\ngreat descent, nor the power of their kingdom that elated her.\nIt was her children; and truly the happiest of mothers would\nNiobe have been, if only she had not claimed to be so.  It was on\noccasion of the annual celebration in honor of Latona and her\noffspring,   Apollo and Diana,   when the people of Thebes were\nassembled, their brows crowned with laurel, bearing frankincense\nto the altars and paying their vows,   that Niobe appeared among\nthe crowd.  Her attire was splendid with gold and gems, and her\nface as beautiful as the face of an angry woman can be.  She\nstood and surveyed the people with haughty looks.  \"What folly,\"\nsaid she, \"is this!   to prefer beings whom you never saw to\nthose who stand before your eyes!  Why should Latona be honored\nwith worship rather than I?  My father was Tantalus, who was\nreceived as a guest at the table of the gods; my mother was a\ngoddess.  My husband built and rules this city, Thebes; and\nPhrygia is my paternal inheritance.  Wherever I turn my eyes I\nsurvey the elements of my power; nor is my form and presence\nunworthy of a goddess.  To all this let me add, I have seven sons\nand seven daughters, and look for sons-in-law and daughters-in-\nlaw of pretensions worthy of my alliance.  Have I not cause for\npride?  Will you prefer to me this Latona, the Titan's daughter,\nwith her two children?  I have seven times as many.  Fortunate\nindeed am I, and fortunate I shall remain!  Will any one deny\nthis?  My abundance is my security.  I feel myself too strong for\nFortune to subdue.  She may take from me much; I shall still have\nmuch left.  Were I to lose some of my children, I should hardly\nbe left as poor as Latona with her two only.  Away with you from\nthese solemnities,   put off the laurel from your brows,   have\ndone with this worship!\"  The people obeyed, and left the sacred\nservices uncompleted.\n\nThe goddess was indignant.  On top of Mount Cynthus where she\ndwelt, she thus addressed her son and daughter: \"My children, I\nwho have been so proud of you both, and have been used to hold\nmyself second to none of the goddesses except Juno alone, begin\nnow to doubt whether I am indeed a goddess.  I shall be deprived\nof my worship altogether unless you protect me.\"  She was\nproceeding in this strain, but Apollo interrupted her.  \"Say no\nmore,\" said he; \"speech only delays punishment.\"  So said Diana\nalso.  Darting through the air, veiled in clouds, they alighted\non the towers of the city.  Spread out before the gates was a\nbroad plain, where the youth of the city pursued their warlike\nsports.  The sons of Niobe were there among the rest,   some\nmounted on spirited horses richly caparisoned, some driving gay\nchariots.  Ismenos, the first-born, as he guided his foaming\nsteeds, struck with an arrow from above, cried out, \"Ah, me!\"\ndropped the reins and fell lifeless.  Another, hearing the sound\nof the bow,   like a boatman who sees the storm gathering and\nmakes all sail for the port,   gave the rein to his horses and\nattempted to escape.  The inevitable arrow overtook him as he\nfled.  Two others, younger boys, just from their tasks, had gone\nto the playground to have a game of wrestling.  As they stood\nbreast to breast, one arrow pierced them both.  They uttered a\ncry together, together cast a parting look around them, and\ntogether breathed their last.  Alphenor, an elder brother, seeing\nthem fall, hastened to the spot to render them assistance, and\nfell stricken in the act of brotherly duty.  One only was left,\nIlioneus.  He raised his arms to heaven to try whether prayer\nmight not avail.  \"Spare me, ye gods!\" he cried, addressing all,\nin his ignorance that all needed not his intercession; and Apollo\nwould have spared him, but the arrow had already left the string,\nand it was too late.\n\nThe terror of the people and grief of the attendants soon made\nNiobe acquainted with what had taken place.  She could hardly\nthink it possible; she was indignant that the gods had dared and\namazed that they had been able to do it.  Her husband, Amphion,\noverwhelmed with the blow, destroyed himself.  Alas!  How\ndifferent was this Niobe from her who had so lately driven away\nthe people from the sacred rites, and held her stately course\nthrough the city, the envy of her friends, now the pity even of\nher foes!  She knelt over the lifeless bodies, and kissed, now\none, now another of her dead sons.  Raising her pallid arms to\nheaven, \"Cruel Latona,\" said she, \"feed full your rage with my\nanguish!  Satiate your hard heart, while I follow to the grave my\nseven sons.  Yet where is your triumph?  Bereaved as I am, I am\nstill richer than you, my conqueror.  Scarce had she spoken when\nthe bow sounded and struck terror into all hearts except Niobe's\nalone.  She was brave from excess of grief.  The sisters stood in\ngarments of mourning over the biers of their dead brothers.  One\nfell, struck by an arrow, and died on the corpse she was\nbewailing.  Another, attempting to console her mother, suddenly\nceased to speak, and sank lifeless to the earth.  A third tried\nto escape by flight, a fourth by concealment, another stood\ntrembling, uncertain what course to take.  Six were now dead, and\nonly one remained, whom the mother held clasped in her arms, and\ncovered as it were with her whole body.\n\n\"Spare me one, and that the youngest!  Oh, spare me one of so\nmany?!\" she cried; and while she spoke, that one fell dead.\nDesolate she sat, among sons, daughters, husband, all dead, and\nseemed torpid with grief.  The breeze moved not her hair, nor\ncolor was on her cheek, her eyes glared fixed and immovable,\nthere was no sign of life about her.  Her very tongue clave to\nthe roof of her mouth, and her veins ceased to convey the tide of\nlife.  Her neck bent not, her arms made no gesture, her foot no\nstep.  She was changed to stone, within and without.  Yet tears\ncontinued to flow; and, borne on a whirlwind to her native\nmountain, she still remains, a mass of rock, from which a\ntrickling stream flows, the tribute of her never-ending grief.\n\nThe story of Niobe has furnished Byron with a fine illustration\nof the fallen condition of modern Rome:\n\n  \"The Niobe of nations!  There she stands,\n  Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe;\n  An empty urn within her withered hands,\n  Whose holy dust was scattered long ago;\n  The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;\n  The very sepulchres lie tenantless\n  Of their heroic dwellers; dost thou flow,\n  Old Tiber!  Through a marble wilderness?\n  Rise with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.\"\n  Childe Harold, IV.79\n\nThe slaughter of the children of Niobe by Apollo, alludes to the\nGreek belief that pestilence and illness were sent by Apollo, and\none dying by sickness was said to be struck by Apollo's arrow.\nIt is to this that Morris alludes in the Earthly Paradise:\n\n  \"While from the freshness of his blue abode,\n  Glad his death-bearing arrows to forget,\n  The broad sun blazed, nor scattered plagues as yet.\"\n\nOur illustration of this story is a copy of a celebrated statue\nin the imperial gallery of Florence.  It is the principal figure\nof a group supposed to have been originally arranged in the\npediment of a temple.  The figure of the mother clasped by the\narm of her terrified child, is one of the most admired of the\nancient statues.  It ranks with the Laocoon and the Apollo among\nthe masterpieces of art.  The following is a translation of a\nGreek epigram supposed to relate to this statue:\n\n  \"To stone the gods have changed her, but in vain;\n  The sculptor's art has made her breathe again.\"\n\nTragic as is the story of Niobe we cannot forbear to smile at the\nuse Moore has made of it in Rhymes on the Road:\n\n  \"'Twas in his carriage the sublime\n  Sir Richard Blackmore used to rhyme,\n  And, if the wits don't do him wrong,\n  'Twixt death and epics passed his time,\n  Scribbling and killing all day long;\n  Like Phoebus in his car at ease,\n  Now warbling forth a lofty song,\n  Now murdering the young Niobes.\"\n\nSir Richard Blackmore was a physician, and at the same time a\nvery prolific and very tasteless poet, whose works are now\nforgotten, unless when recalled to mind by some wit like Moore\nfor the sake of a joke.\n\n\nTHE GRAEAE AND GORGONS\n\nThe Graeae were three sisters who were gray-haired from their\nbirth, whence their name.  The Gorgons were monstrous females\nwith huge teeth like those of swine, brazen claws, and snaky\nhair.  They also were three in number, two of them immortal, but\nthe other, Medusa, mortal.  None of these beings make much figure\nin mythology except Medusa, the Gorgon, whose story we shall next\nadvert to.  We mention them chiefly to introduce an ingenious\ntheory of some modern writers, namely, that the Gorgons and\nGraeae were only personifications of the terrors of the sea, the\nformer denoting the STRONG billows of the wide open main, and the\nlatter the WHITE-crested waves that dash against the rocks of the\ncoast.  Their names in Greek signify the above epithets.\n\n\nPERSEUS AND MEDUSA\n\nAcrisius was the king who ruled in Argos.  To him had an oracle\ndeclared that he should be slain by the child of his daughter\nDanae.  Therefore the cruel king, thinking it better that Danae\nshould have no children than that he should be slain, ordered a\ntower of brass to be made, and in this tower he confined his\ndaughter away from all men.\n\nBut who can withstand Jupiter?  He saw Danae, loved her, and\nchanging his form to a shower of gold, he shone into the\napartment of the captive girl.\n\nPerseus was the child of Jupiter and Danae.  Acrisius, finding\nthat his precautions had come to nought, and yet hardly daring to\nkill his own daughter and her young child, placed them both in a\nchest and sent the chest floating on the sea.  It floated away\nand was finally entangled in the net of Dicte, a fisherman in the\nisland of Seriphus.  He brought them to his house and treated\nthem kindly, and in the house of Dicte, Perseus grew up.  When\nPerseus was grown up, Polydectes, king of that country, wishing\nto send Perseus to his death, bade him go in quest of the head of\nMedusa.  Medusa had once been a beautiful maiden, whose hair was\nher chief glory, but as she dared to vie in beauty with Minerva,\nthe goddess deprived her of her charms and changed her beautiful\nringlets into hissing serpents.  She became a cruel monster of so\nfrightful an aspect that no living thing could behold her without\nbeing turned into stone.  All around the cavern where she dwelt\nmight be seen the stony figures of men and beasts which had\nchanced to catch a glimpse of her and had been petrified with the\nsight.  Minerva and Mercury aided Perseus.  From Minerva, Perseus\nborrowed her shield, and from Mercury the winged shoes and the\nharpe or crooked sword.  After having flown all over the earth\nPerseus espied in the bright shield the image of Medusa and her\ntwo immortal sisters.  Flying down carefully he cut at her with\nhis harpe and severed her head.  Putting the trophy in his pouch\nhe flew away just as the two immortal sisters were awakened by\nthe hissings of their snaky locks.\n\n\nPERSEUS AND ATLAS\n\nAfter the slaughter of Medusa, Perseus, bearing with him the head\nof the Gorgon, flew far and wide, over land and sea.  As night\ncame on, he reached the western limit of the earth, where the sun\ngoes down.  Here he would gladly have rested till morning.  It\nwas the realm of King Atlas, whose bulk surpassed that of all\nother men.  He was rich in flocks and herds and had no neighbor\nor rival to dispute his state.  But his chief pride was in his\ngardens, whose fruit was of gold, hanging from golden branches,\nhalf hid with golden leaves.  Perseus said to him, \"I come as a\nguest.  If you honor illustrious descent, I claim Jupiter for my\nfather; if mighty deeds, I plead the conquest of the Gorgon.  I\nseek rest and food.\"  But Atlas remembered that an ancient\nprophecy had warned him that a son of Jove should one day rob him\nof his golden apples.  So he answered, \"Begone! Or neither your\nfalse claims of glory nor of parentage shall protect you;\" and he\nattempted to thrust him out.  Perseus, finding the giant too\nstrong for him, said, \"Since you value my friendship so little,\ndeign to accept a present;\" and turning his face away, he held up\nthe Gorgon's head.  Atlas, with all his bulk, was changed into\nstone.  His beard and hair became forests, his arms and shoulders\ncliffs, his head a summit, and his bones rocks.  Each part\nincreased in bulk till he became a mountain, and (such was the\npleasure of the gods) heaven with all its stars rests upon his\nshoulders.\n\nAnd all in vain was Atlas turned to a mountain, for the oracle\ndid not mean Perseus, but the hero Hercules, who should come long\nafterwards to get the golden apples for his cousin Eurystheus.\n\nPerseus, continuing his flight, arrived at the country of the\nAEthiopians, of which Cepheus was king.  Cassiopeia, his queen,\nproud of her beauty, had dared to compare herself to the Sea-\nNymphs, which roused their indignation to such a degree that they\nsent a prodigious sea-monster to ravage the coast.  To appease\nthe deities, Cepheus was directed hy the oracle to expose his\ndaughter Andromeda to be devoured by the monster.  As Perseus\nlooked down from his aerial height he beheld the virgin chained\nto a rock, and waiting the approach of the serpent.  She was so\npale and motionless that if it had not been for her flowing tears\nand her hair that moved in the breeze, he would have taken her\nfor a marble statue.  He was so startled at the sight that he\nalmost forgot to wave his wings.  As he hovered over her he said,\n\"O virgin, undeserving of those chains, but rather of such as\nbind fond lovers together, tell me, I beseech you, your name and\nthe name of your country, and why you are thus bound.\"  At first\nshe was silent from modesty, and, if she could, would have hid\nher face with her hands; but when he repeated his questions, for\nfear she might be thought guilty of some fault which she dared\nnot tell, she disclosed her name and that of her country, and her\nmother's pride of beauty.  Before she had done speaking, a sound\nwas heard off upon the water, and the sea-monster appeared, with\nhis head raised above the surface, cleaving the waves with his\nbroad breast.  The virgin shrieked, the father and mother who had\nnow arrived at the scene, wretched both, but the mother more\njustly so, stood by, not able to afford protection, but only to\npour forth lamentations and to embrace the victim.  Then spoke\nPerseus: \"There will be time enough for tears; this hour is all\nwe have for rescue.  My rank as the son of Jove and my renown as\nthe slayer of the Gorgon might make me acceptable as a suitor;\nbut I will try to win her by services rendered, if the gods will\nonly be propitious.  If she be rescued by my valor, I demand that\nshe be my reward.\"  The parents consent (how could they\nhesitate?) And promise a royal dowry with her.\n\nAnd now the monster was within the range of a stone thrown by a\nskilful slinger, when with a sudden bound the youth soared into\nthe air.  As an eagle, when from his lofty flight he sees a\nserpent basking in the sun, pounces upon him and seizes him by\nthe neck to prevent him from turning his head round and using his\nfangs, so the youth darted down upon the back of the monster and\nplunged his sword into its shoulder.  Irritated by the wound the\nmonster raised himself into the air, then plunged into the depth;\nthen, like a wild boar surrounded by a pack of barking dogs,\nturned swiftly from side to side, while the youth eluded its\nattacks by means of his wings.  Wherever he can find a passage\nfor his sword between the scales he makes a wound, piercing now\nthe side, now the flank, as it <DW72>s towards the tail.  The\nbrute spouts from his nostrils water mixed with blood.  The wings\nof the hero are wet with it, and he dares no longer trust to\nthem.  Alighting on a rock which rose above the waves, and\nholding on by a projecting fragment, as the monster floated near\nhe gave him a death-stroke.  The people who had gathered on the\nshore shouted so that the hills re-echoed to the sound.  The\nparents, transported with joy, embraced their future son-in-law,\ncalling him their deliverer and the savior of their house, and\nthe virgin, both cause and reward of the contest, descended from\nthe rock.\n\nCassiopeia was an Aethiopian, and consequently, in spite of her\nboasted beauty, black; at least so Milton seems to have thought,\nwho alludes to this story in his Penseroso, where he addresses\nMelancholy as the\n\n  \"---- goddess, sage and holy,\n  Whose saintly visage is too bright\n  To hit the sense of human sight,\n  And, therefore, to our weaker view\n  O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue.\n  Black, but such as in esteem\n  Prince Memnon's sister might beseem,\n  Or that starred Aethiop queen that strove\n  To set her beauty's praise above\n  The Sea-nymphs, and their powers offended.\"\n\nCassiopeia is called \"the starred Aethiop queen,\" because after\nher death she was placed among the stars, forming the\nconstellation of that name.  Though she attained this honor, yet\nthe Sea-Nymphs, her old enemies, prevailed so far as to cause her\nto be placed in that part of the heaven near the pole, where\nevery night she is half the time held with her head downward, to\ngive her a lesson of humility.\n\n\"Prince Memnon\" was the son of Aurora and Tithonus, of whom we\nshall hear later.\n\n\nTHE WEDDING FEAST\n\nThe joyful parents, with Perseus and Andromeda, repaired to the\npalace, where a banquet was spread for them, and all was joy and\nfestivity.  But suddenly a noise was heard of war-like clamor,\nand Phineus, the betrothed of the virgin, with a party of his\nadherents, burst in, demanding the maiden as his own.  It was in\nvain that Cepheus remonstrated,   \"You should have claimed her\nwhen she lay bound to the rock, the monster's victim.  The\nsentence of the gods dooming her to such a fate dissolved all\nengagements, as death itself would have done.:\" Phineus made no\nreply, but hurled his javelin at Perseus, but it missed its mark\nand fell harmless.  Perseus would have thrown his in turn, but\nthe cowardly assailant ran and took shelter behind the altar.\nBut his act was a signal for an onset by his band upon the guests\nof Cepheus.  They defended themselves and a general conflict\nensued, the old king retreating from the scene after fruitless\nexpostulations, calling the gods to witness that he was guiltless\nof this outrage on the rights of hospitality.\n\nPerseus and his friends maintained for some time the unequal\ncontest; but the numbers of the assailants were too great for\nthem, and destruction seemed inevitable, when a sudden thought\nstruck Perseus: \"I will make my enemy defend me.\"  Then, with a\nloud voice he exclaimed, :If I have any friend here let him turn\naway his eyes!\" and held aloft the Gorgon's head.  \"Seek not to\nfrighten us with your jugglery,\" said Thescelus, and raised his\njavelin in act to throw, and became stone in the very attitude.\nAmpyx was about to plunge his sword into the body of a prostrate\nfoe, but his arm stiffened and he could neither thrust forward\nnor withdraw it.  Another, in the midst of a vociferous\nchallenge, stopped, his mouth open, but no sound issuing.  One of\nPerseus's friends, Aconteus, caught sight of the Gorgon and\nstiffened like the rest.  Astyages struck him with his sword, but\ninstead of wounding, it recoiled with a ringing noise.\n\nPhineus beheld this dreadful result of his unjust aggression, and\nfelt confounded.  He called aloud to his friends, but got no\nanswer; he touched them and found them stone.  Falling on his\nknees and stretching out his hands to Perseus, but turning his\nhead away, he begged for mercy.  \"Take all,\" said he, \"give me\nbut my life.\"  \"Base coward,\" said Perseus, \"thus much I will\ngrant you; no weapon shall touch you; moreover you shall be\npreserved in my house as a memorial of these events.\" So saying,\nhe held the Gorgon's head to the side where Phineus was looking,\nand in the very form in which he knelt, with his hands\noutstretched and face averted, he became fixed immovably, a mass\nof stone!\n\nThe following allusion to Perseus is from Milman's Samor:\n\n  \"As 'mid the fabled Libyan bridal stood\n  Perseus in stern tranquillity of wrath,\n  Half stood, half floated on his ankle-plumes\n  Out-swelling, while the bright face on his shield\n  Looked into stone the raging fray; so rose,\n  But with no magic arms, wearing alone\n  Th' appalling and control of his firm look,\n  The Briton Samor; at his rising awe\n  Went abroad, and the riotous hall was mute.\"\n\nThen Perseus returned to Seriphus to King Polydectes and to his\nmother Danae and the fisherman Dicte.  He marched up the tyrant's\nhall, where Polydectes and his guests were feasting.  \"Have you\nthe head of Medusa?\" exclaimed Polydectes.  \"Here it is,\"\nanswered Perseus, and showed it to the king and to his guests.\n\nThe ancient prophecy which Acrisius had so much feared at last\ncame to pass.  For, as Perseus was passing through the country of\nLarissa, he entered into competition with the youths of the\ncountry at the game of hurling the discus.  King Acrisius was\namong the spectators.  The youths of Larissa threw first, and\nthen Perseus.  His discus went far beyond the others, and, seized\nby a breeze from the sea, fell upon the foot of Acrisius.  The\nold king swooned with pain, and was carried away from the place\nonly to die.  Perseus, who had heard the story of his birth and\nparentage from Danae, when he learned who Acrisius was, filled\nwith remorse and sorrow, went to the oracle at Delphi, and there\nwas purified from the guilt of homicide.\n\nPerseus gave the head of Medusa to Minerva, who had aided him so\nwell to obtain it.  Minerva took the head of her once beautiful\nrival and placed it in the middle of her Aegis.\n\nMilton, in his Comus, thus alludes to the Aegis:\n\n  \"What was that snaky-headed Gorgon-shield\n  That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin,\n  Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed stone,\n  But rigid looks of chaste austerity,\n  And noble grace that dashed brute violence\n  With sudden adoration and blank awe!\"\n\nArmstrong, the poet of the Art of Preserving Health, thus\ndescribes the effect of frost upon the waters:\n\n  \"Now blows the surly North and chills throughout\n  the stiffening regions, while by stronger charms\n  Than Circe e'er or fell Medea brewed,\n  Each brook that wont to prattle to its banks\n  Lies all bestilled and wedged betwixt its banks,\n  Nor moves the withered reeds. . . .\n  The surges baited by the fierce Northeast,\n  Tossing with fretful spleen their angry heads,\n  E'en in the foam of all their madness struck\n  To monumental ice.\n\n  *         *         *         *         *\n\n  Such execution,\n  So stern, so sudden, wrought the grisly aspect\n  Of terrible Medusa,\n  When wandering through the woods she turned to stone\n  Their savage tenants; just as the foaming lion\n  Sprang furious on his prey, her speedier power\n  Outran his haste,\n  And fixed in that fierce attitude he stands\n  Like Rage in marble!\"\n  Imitations of Shakespeare\n\nOf Atlas there is another story, which I like better than the one\ntold.  He was one of the Titans who warred against Jupiter like\nTyphoeus, Briareus, and others.  After their defeat by the king\nof gods and men, Atlas was condemned to stand in the far western\npart of the earth, by the Pillars of Hercules, and to hold on his\nshoulders the weight of heaven and the stars.\n\nThe story runs that Perseus, flying by, asked and obtained rest\nand food.  The next morning he asked what he could do to reward\nAtlas for his kindness.  The best that giant could think of was\nthat Perseus should show him the snaky head of Medusa, that he\nmight be turned to stone and be at rest from his heavy load.\n\n\n\nChapter X\n\nMonsters.  Giants.  Sphinx.  Pegasus and the Chimaera.\nCentaurs.  Griffin.  Pygmies\n\nMonsters, in the language of mythology, were beings of unnatural\nproportions or parts, usually regarded with terror, as possessing\nimmense strength and ferocity, which they employed for the injury\nand annoyance of men.  Some of them were supposed to combine the\nmembers of different animals; such were the Sphinx and the\nChimaera; and to these all the terrible qualities of wild beasts\nwere attributed, together with human sagacity and faculties.\nOthers, as the giants, differed from men chiefly in their size;\nand in this particular we must recognize a wide distinction among\nthem.  The human giants, if so they may be called, such as the\nCyclopes, Antaeus, Orion, and others, must be supposed not to be\naltogether disproportioned to human beings, for they mingled in\nlove and strife with them.  But the superhuman giants, who warred\nwith the gods, were of vastly larger dimensions.  Tityus, we are\ntold, when stretched on the plain, covered nine acres, and\nEnceladus required the whole of Mount AEtna to be laid upon him\nto keep him down.\n\nWe have already spoken of the war which the giants waged against\nthe gods, and of its result.  While this war lasted the giants\nproved a formidable enemy.  Some of them, like Briareus, had a\nhundred arms; others, like Typhon, breathed out fire.  At one\ntime they put the gods to such fear that they fled into Egypt,\nand hid themselves under various forms.  Jupiter took the form of\na ram, whence he was afterwards worshipped in Egypt as the god\nAmmon, with curved horns.  Apollo became a crow, Bacchus a goat,\nDiana a cat, Juno a cow, Venus a fish, Mercury a bird.  At\nanother time the giants attempted to climb up into heaven, and\nfor that purpose took up the mountain Ossa and piled it on\nPelion.  They were at last subdued by thunderbolts, which Minerva\ninvented, and taught Vulcan and his Cyclopes to make for Jupiter.\n\n\nTHE SPHINX\n\nLaius, king of Thebes, was warned by an oracle that there was\ndanger to his throne and life if his new-born son should be\nsuffered to grow up.  He therefore committed the child to the\ncare of a herdsman, with orders to destroy him; but the herdsman,\nmoved to pity, yet not daring entirely to disobey, tied up the\nchild by the feet, and left him hanging to the branch of a tree.\nHere the infant was found by a herdsman of Polybus, king of\nCorinth, who was pasturing his flock upon Mount Cithaeron.\nPolybus and Merope, his wife, adopted the child, whom they called\nOEdipus, or Swollen-foot, for they had no children themselves,\nand in Corinth OEdipus grew up.  But as OEdipus was at Delphi,\nthe oracle prophesied to him that he should kill his father and\nmarry his own mother.  Fighting against Fate, OEdipus resolved to\nleave Corinth and his parents, for he thought that Polybus and\nMerope were meant by the oracle.\n\nSoon afterwards, Laius being on his way to Delphi, accompanied\nonly by one attendant, met in a narrow road a young man also\ndriving in a chariot.  On his refusal to leave the way at their\ncommand, the attendant killed one of his horses, and the\nstranger, filled with rage, slew both Laius and his attendant.\nThe young man was OEdipus, who thus unknowingly became the slayer\nof his own father.\n\nShortly after this event the city of Thebes was afflicted with a\nmonster which infested the high-road.  It was called the Sphinx.\nIt had the body of a lion, and the upper part of a woman.  It lay\ncrouched on the top of a rock, and stopped all travellers who\ncame that way, proposing to them a riddle, with the condition\nthat those who could solve it should pass safe, but those who\nfailed should be killed.  Not one had yet succeeded in solving\nit, and all had been slain.  OEdipus was not daunted by these\nalarming accounts, but boldly advanced to the trial.  The Sphinx\nasked him, \"What animal is that which in the morning goes on four\nfeet, at noon on two, and in the evening upon three?\"  OEdipus\nreplied, \"Man, who in childhood creeps on hands and knees, in\nmanhood walks erect, and in old age with the aid of a staff.\"\nThe Sphinx was so mortified at the solving of her riddle that she\ncast herself down from the rock and perished.\n\nThe gratitude of the people for their deliverance was so great\nthat they made OEdipus their king, giving him in marriage their\nqueen Jocasta.  OEdipus, ignorant of his parentage, had already\nbecome the slayer of his father; in marrying the queen he became\nthe husband of his mother.  These horrors remained undiscovered,\ntill at length Thebes was afflicted with famine and pestilence,\nand the oracle being consulted, the double crime of OEdipus came\nto light.  Jocasta put an end to her own life, and OEdipus,\nseized with madness, tore out his eyes, and wandered away from\nThebes, dreaded and abandoned hy all except his daughters, who\nfaithfully adhered to him; till after a tedious period of\nmiserable wandering, he found the termination of his wretched\nlife.\n\n\nPEGASUS AND THE CHIMAERA\n\nWhen Perseus cut off Medusa's head, the blood sinking into the\nearth produced the winged horse Pegasus.  Minerva caught and\ntamed him, and presented him to the Muses.  The fountain\nHippocrene, on the Muses' mountain Helicon, was opened by a kick\nfrom his hoof.\n\nThe Chimaera was a fearful monster, breathing fire.  The fore\npart of its body was a compound of the lion and the goat, and the\nhind part a dragon's.  It made great havoc in Lycia, so that the\nking Iobates sought for some hero to destroy it.  At that time\nthere arrived at his court a gallant young warrior, whose name\nwas Bellerophon.  He brought letters from Proetus, the son-in-law\nof Iobates, recommending Bellerophon in the warmest terms as an\nunconquerable hero, but added at the close a request to his\nfather-in-law to put him to death.  The reason was that Proetus\nwas jealous of him, suspecting that his wife Antea looked with\ntoo much admiration on the young warrior.  From this instance of\nBellerophon being unconsciously the bearer of his own death-\nwarrant, the expression \"Bellerophontic letters\" arose, to\ndescribe any species of communication which a person is made the\nbearer of, containing matter prejudicial to himself.\n\nIobates, on perusing the letters, was puzzled what to do, not\nwilling to violate the claims of hospitality, yet wishing to\noblige his son-in-law.  A lucky thought occurred to him, to send\nBellerophon to combat with the Chimaera.  Bellerophon accepted\nthe proposal, but before proceeding to the combat consulted the\nsoothsayer Polyidus, who advised him to procure if possible the\nhorse Pegasus for the conflict.  For this purpose he directed him\nto pass the night in the temple of Minerva.  He did so, and as he\nslept Minerva came to him and gave him a golden bridle.  When he\nawoke the bridle remained in his hand.  Minerva also showed him\nPegasus drinking at the well of Pirene, and at sight of the\nbridle, the winged steed came willingly and suffered himself to\nbe taken.  Bellerophon mounting, rose with him into the air, and\nsoon found the Chimaera, and gained an easy victory over the\nmonster.\n\nAfter the conquest of the Chimaera, Bellerophon was exposed to\nfurther trials and labors by his unfriendly host, but by the aid\nof Pegasus he triumphed in them all; till at length Iobates,\nseeing that the hero was a special favorite of the gods, gave him\nhis daughter in marriage and made him his successor on the\nthrone.  At last Bellerophon by his pride and presumption drew\nupon himself the anger of the gods; it is said he even attempted\nto fly up into heaven on his winged steed; but Jupiter sent a\ngadfly which stung Pegasus and made him throw his rider, who\nbecame lame and blind in consequence.  After this Bellerophon\nwandered lonely through the Aleian field, avoiding the paths of\nmen, and died miserably.\n\nMilton alludes to Bellerophon in the beginning o the seventh book\nof Paradise Lost:\n\n  \"Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name\n  If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine\n  Following above the Olympian hill I soar,\n  Above the flight of Pegasean wing,\n  Up-led by thee,\n  Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed,\n  An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air,\n  (Thy tempering;) with like safety guided down\n  Return me to my native element;\n  Lest from this flying steed unreined, (as once\n  Bellerophon, though from a lower sphere,)\n  Dismounted on the Aleian field I fall,\n  Erroneous there to wander, and forlorn.\"\n\nYoung in his Night Thoughts, speaking of the skeptic, says,\n\n  \"He whose blind thought futurity denies,\n  Unconscious bears, Bellerophon, like thee\n  His own indictment; he condemns himself,\n  Who reads his bosom reads immortal life,\n  Or nature there, imposing on her sons,\n  Has written fables; man was made a lie.\"\n  Vol. II.1,12.\n\nPegasus, being the horse of the Muses, has always been at the\nservice of the poets.  Schiller tells a pretty story of his\nhaving been sold by a needy poet, and put to the cart and the\nplough.  He was not fit for such service, and his clownish master\ncould make nothing of him.  But a youth stepped forth and asked\nleave to try him.  As soon as he was seated on his back, the\nhorse, which had appeared at first vicious, and afterwards\nspirit-broken, rose kingly, a spirit, a god; unfolded the\nsplendor of his wings and soared towards heaven.  Our own poet\nLongfellow also records an adventure of this famous steed in his\nPegasus in Pound.\n\nShakespeare alludes to Pegasus in Henry IV, where Vernon\ndescribes Prince Henry:\n\n  \"I saw young Harry, with his beaver on,\n  His cuishes on his thighs, gallantly armed,\n  Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,\n  And vaulted with such ease into his seat,\n  As if an angel dropped down from the clouds,\n  To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,\n  And witch the world with noble horsemanship.\"\n\n\nTHE CENTAURS\n\nThe Greeks loved to people their woods and hills with strange\nwild people,   half man, half beast.  Such were the Satyrs   men\nwith goats' legs.  But nobler and better were the Centaurs,   men\nto the waist, while the rest was the form of a horse.  The\nancients were too fond of a horse to consider the union of his\nnature with man's as forming any very degraded compound, and\naccordingly the Centaur is the only one of the fancied monsters\nof antiquity to which any good traits are assigned.  The Centaurs\nwere admitted to the companionship of man, and at the marriage of\nPirithous with Hippodamia, they were among the guests.  At the\nfeast, Eurytion, one of the Centaurs, becoming intoxicated with\nthe wine, attempted to offer violence to the bride; the other\nCentaurs followed his example, and a dreadful conflict arose in\nwhich several of them were slain.  This is the celebrated battle\nof the Lapithae and Centaurs, a favorite subject with the\nsculptors and poets of antiquity.\n\nBut all the Centaurs were not like the rude guests of Pirithous.\nChiron was instructed by Apollo and Diana, and was renowned for\nhis skill in hunting, medicine, music, and the art of prophecy.\nThe most distinguished heroes of Grecian story were his pupils.\nAmong the rest the infant Aesculapius was intrusted to his\ncharge, by Apollo, his father.  When the sage returned to his\nhome bearing the infant, his daughter Ocyroe came forth to meet\nhim, and at sight of the child burst forth into a prophetic\nstrain (for she was a prophetess), foretelling the glory that he\nwas to achieve.  Aesculapius, when grown up, became a renowned\nphysician, and even in one instance succeeded in restoring the\ndead to life.  Pluto resented this, and Jupiter, at his request,\nstruck the bold physician with lightning and killed him, but\nafter his death received him into the number of the gods.\n\nChiron was the wisest and justest of all the Centaurs, and at his\ndeath Jupiter placed him among the stars as the constellation\nSagittarius.\n\n\nTHE PYGMIES\n\nThe Pygmies were a nation of dwarfs, so called from a Greek word\nwhich means the cubit (a cubit was a measure of about thirteen\ninches), which was said to be the height of these people.  They\nlived near the sources of the Nile, or according to others, in\nIndia.  Homer tells us that the cranes used to migrate every\nwinter to the Pygmies' country, and their appearance was the\nsignal of bloody warfare to the puny inhabitants, who had to take\nup arms to defend their cornfields against the rapacious\nstrangers.  The Pygmies and their enemies the cranes form the\nsubject of several works of art.\n\nLater writers tell of an army of Pygmies which finding Hercules\nasleep made preparations to attack him, as if they were about to\nattack a city.  But the hero awaking laughed at the little\nwarriors, wrapped some of them up in his lion's-skin, and carried\nthem to Eurystheus.\n\nMilton used the Pygmies for a simile, Paradise Lost, Book I:\n\n  \"----like that Pygmaean race\n  Beyond the Indian mount, or fairy elves\n  Whose midnight revels by a forest side,\n  Or fountain, some belated peasant sees,\n  (Or dreams he sees), while overhead the moon\n  Sits artibress, and nearer to the earth\n  Wheels her pale course; they on their mirth and dance\n  Intent, with jocund music charm his ear.\n  At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.\"\n\n\nTHE GRIFFIN, OR GRYPHON\n\nThe Griffin is a monster with the body of a lion, the head and\nwings of an eagle, and back covered with feathers.  Like birds it\nbuilds its nest, and instead of an egg lays an agate therein.  It\nhas long claws and talons of such a size that the people of that\ncountry make them into drinking-cups.  India was assigned as the\nnative country of the Griffins.  They found gold in the mountains\nand built their nests of it, for which reason their nests were\nvery tempting to the hunters, and they were forced to keep\nvigilant guard over them.  Their instinct led them to know where\nburied treasures lay, and they did their best to keep plunderers\nat a distance.  The Arimaspians, among whom the Griffins\nflourished, were a one-eyed people of Scythia.\n\nMilton borrows a simile from the Griffins, Paradise Lost, Book\nII.:\n\n  \"As when a Gryphon through the wilderness,\n  With winged course, o'er hill and moory dale,\n  Pursues the Arimaspian who by stealth\n  Hath from his wakeful custody purloined\n  His guarded gold.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XI\n\nThe Golden Fleece.  Medea.  The Calydonian Hunt\n\nIn very ancient times there lived in Thessaly a king and queen\nnamed Athamas and Nephele.  They had two children, a boy and a\ngirl.  After a time Athamas grew indifferent to his wife, put her\naway, and took another.  Nephele suspected danger to her children\nfrom the influence of the step-mother, and took measures to send\nthem out of her reach.  Mercury assisted her, and gave her a ram,\nwith a GOLDEN FLEECE, on which she set the two children, trusting\nthat the ram would convey them to a place of safety.  The ram\nsprung into the air with the children on his back, taking his\ncourse to the east, till when crossing the strait that divides\nEurope and Asia, the girl, whose name was Helle, fell from his\nback into the sea, which from her was called the Hellespont,\nnow the Dardanelles.  The ram continued his career till he\nreached the kingdom of Colchis, on the eastern shore of the Black\nSea, where he safely landed the boy Phyrxus, who was hospitably\nreceived by AEetes, the king of the country.  Phryxus sacrificed\nthe ram to Jupiter, and gave the golden fleece to AEetes, who\nplaced it in a consecrated grove, under the care of a sleepless\ndragon.\n\nThere was another kingdom in Thessaly near to that of Athamas,\nand ruled over by a relative of his.  The king AEson, being tired\nof the cares of government, surrendered his crown to his brother\nPelias, on condition that he should hold it only during the\nminority of Jason, the son of AEson.  When Jason was grown up and\ncame to demand the crown from his uncle, Pelias pretended to be\nwilling to yield it, but at the same time suggested to the young\nman the glorious adventure of going in quest of the golden\nfleece, which it was well known was in the kingdom of Colchis,\nand was, as Pelias pretended, the rightful property of their\nfamily.  Jason was pleased with the thought, and forthwith made\npreparations for the expedition.  At that time the only species\nof navigation known to the Greeks consisted of small boats or\ncanoes hollowed out from trunks of trees, so that when Jason\nemployed Argus to build him a vessel capable of containing fifty\nmen, it was considered a gigantic undertaking.  It was\naccomplished, however, and the vessel was named the Argo, from\nthe name of the builder.  Jason sent his invitation to all the\nadventurous young men of Greece, and soon found himself at the\nhead of a band of bold youths, many of whom afterwards were\nrenowned among the heroes and demigods of Greece.  Hercules,\nTheseus, Orpheus, and Nestor were among them.  They are called\nthe Argonauts, from the name of their vessel.\n\nThe Argo with her crew of heroes left the shores of Thessaly and\nhaving touched at the Island of Lemnos, thence crossed to Mysia\nand thence to Thrace.  Here they found the sage Phineus, and from\nhim received instruction as to their future course.  It seems the\nentrance of the Euxine Sea was impeded by two small rocky\nislands, which floated on the surface, and in their tossings and\nheavings occasionally came together, crushing and grinding to\natoms any object that might be caught between them.  They were\ncalled the Symplegades, or Clashing Islands.  Phineus instructed\nthe Argonauts how to pass this dangerous strait.  When they\nreached the islands they let go a dove, which took her way\nbetween the rocks, and passed in safety, only losing some\nfeathers of her tail.  Jason and his men seized the favorable\nmoment of the rebound, plied their oars with vigor, and passed\nsafe through, though the islands closed behind them, and actually\ngrazed their stern.  They now rowed along the shore till they\narrived at the eastern end of the sea, and landed at the kingdom\nof Colchis.\n\nJason made known his message to the Colchian king, AEetes, who\nconsented to give up the golden fleece if Jason would yoke to the\nplough two fire-breathing bulls with brazen feet, and sow the\nteeth of the dragon, which Cadmus had slain, and from which it\nwas well known that a crop of armed men would spring up, who\nwould turn their weapons against their producer.  Jason accepted\nthe conditions, and a time was set for making the experiment.\nPreviously, however, he found means to plead his cause to Medea,\ndaughter of the king.  He promised her marriage, and as they\nstood before the altar of Hecate, called the goddess to witness\nhis oath.  Medea yielded   and by her aid, for she was a potent\nsorceress, he was furnished with a charm, by which he could\nencounter safely the breath of the fire-breathing bulls and the\nweapons of the armed men.\n\nAt the time appointed, the people assembled at the grove of Mars,\nand the king assumed his royal seat, while the multitude covered\nthe hill-sides.  The brazen-footed bulls rushed in, breathing\nfire from their nostrils, that burned up the herbage as they\npassed.  The sound was like the roar of a furnace, and the smoke\nlike that of water upon quick-lime.  Jason advanced boldly to\nmeet them.  His friends, the chosen heroes of Greece, trembled to\nbehold him.  Regardless of the burning breath, he soothed their\nrage with his voice, patted their necks with fearless hands, and\nadroitly slipped over them the yoke, and compelled them to drag\nthe plough.  The Colchians were amazed; the Greeks shouted for\njoy.  Jason next proceeded to sow the dragon's teeth and plough\nthem in.  And soon the crop of armed men sprang up, and wonderful\nto relate! no sooner had they reached the surface than they began\nto brandish their weapons and rush upon Jason.  The Greeks\ntrembled for their hero, and even she who had provided him a way\nof safety and taught him how to use it, Medea herself, grew pale\nwith fear.  Jason for a time kept his assailants at bay with his\nsword and shield, till finding their numbers overwhelming, he\nresorted to the charm which Medea had taught him, seized a stone\nand threw it in the midst of his foes.  They immediately turned\ntheir arms against one another, and soon there was not one of the\ndragon's brood left alive.  The Greeks embraced their hero, and\nMedea, if she dared, would have embraced him too.\n\nThen AEetes promised the next day to give them the fleece, and\nthe Greeks went joyfully down to the Argo with the hero Jason in\ntheir midst.  But that night Medea came down to Jason, and bade\nhim make haste and follow her, for that her father proposed the\nnext morning to attack the Argonauts and to destroy their ship.\nThey went together to the grove of Mars, where the golden fleece\nhung guarded by the dreadful dragon, who glared at the hero and\nhis conductor with his great round eyes that never slept.  But\nMedea was prepared, and began her magic songs and spells, and\nsprinkled over him a sleeping potion which she had prepared by\nher art.  At the smell he relaxed his rage, stood for a moment\nmotionless, then shut those great round eyes, that had never been\nknown to shut before, and turned over on his side, fast asleep.\nJason seized the fleece, and with his friends and Medea\naccompanying, hastened to their vessel, before AEETES, the king,\ncould arrest their departure, and made the best of their way back\nto Thessaly, where they arrived safe, and Jason delivered the\nfleece to Pelias, and dedicated the Argo to Neptune.  What became\nof the fleece afterwards we do not know, but perhaps it was\nfound, after all, like many other golden prizes, not worth the\ntrouble it had cost to procure it.\n\nThis is one of those mythological tales, says a modern writer, in\nwhich there is reason to believe that a substratum of truth\nexists, though overlaid by a mass of fiction.  It probably was\nthe first important maritime expedition, and like the first\nattempts of the kind of all nations, as we know from history, was\nprobably of a half-piratical character.  If rich spoils were the\nresult, it was enough to give rise to the idea of the golden\nfleece.\n\nAnother suggestion of a learned mythologist, Bryant, is that it\nis a corrupt tradition of the story of Noah and the ark.  The\nname Argo seems to countenance this, and the incident of the dove\nis another confirmation.\n\nPope, in his Ode on St. Cecelia's Day, thus celebrates the\nlaunching of the ship Argo, and the power of the music of\nOrpheus, whom he calls the Thracian:\n\n  \"So when the first bold vessel dared the seas,\n  High on the stern the Thracian raised his strain,\n  While Argo saw her kindred trees\n  Descend from Pelion to the main.\n  Transported demigods stood round,\n  And men grew heroes at the sound.\"\n\nIn Dyer's poem of The Fleece there is an account of the ship Argo\nand her crew, which gives a good picture of this primitive\nmaritime adventure:\n\n  \"From every region of Aegea's shore\n  The brave assembled; those illustrious twins,\n  Castor and Pollux; Orpheus, tuneful bard;\n  Zetes and Calais, as the wind in speed;\n  Strong Hercules and many a chief renowned.\n  On deep Iolcos' sandy shore they thronged,\n  Gleaming in armor, ardent of exploits;\n  And soon, the laurel cord and the huge stone\n  Uplifting to the deck, unmoored the bark;\n  Whose keel of wondrous length the skilful hand\n  Of Argus fashioned for the proud attempt;\n  And in the extended keel a lofty mast\n  Upraised, and sails full swelling; to the chiefs\n  Unwonted objects.  Now first, now they learned\n  Their bolder steerage over ocean wave,\n  Led by the golden stars, as Chiron's art\n  Had marked the sphere celestial.\"\n\nHercules left the expedition at Mysia, for Hylas, a youth beloved\nby him, having gone for water, was laid hold of and kept by the\nnymphs of the spring, who were fascinated by his beauty.\nHercules went in quest of the lad, and while he was absent the\nArgo put to sea and left him.  Moore, in one of his songs, makes\na beautiful allusion to this incident:\n\n  \"When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount,\n  Through fields full of light and with heart full of play,\n  Light rambled the boy over meadow and mount,\n  And neglected his task for the flowers in the way.\n\n  \"Thus many like me, who in youth should have tasted\n  The fountain that runs by Philosophy's shrine,\n  Their time with the flowers on the margin have wasted,\n  And left their light urns all as empty as mine.\"\n\nBut Hercules, as some say, went onward to Colchis by land, and\nthere performed many mighty deeds, and wiped away the stain of\ncowardice which might have clung to him.\n\n\nMEDEA AND AESON\n\nAmid the rejoicings for the recovery of the golden Fleece, Jason\nfelt that one thing was wanting, the presence of AESON, his\nfather, who was prevented by his age and infirmities from taking\npart in them.  Jason said to Medea, \"My wife, I would that your\narts, whose power I have seen so mighty for my aid, could do me\none further service, and take some years from my life to add them\nto my father's.\"  Medea replied, \"Not at such a cost shall it be\ndone, but if my art avails me, his life shall be lengthened\nwithout abridging yours.\"  The next full moon she issued forth\nalone, while all creatures slept; not a breath stirred the\nfoliage, and all was still.  To the stars she addressed her\nincantations, and to the moon; to Hecate (Hecate was a mysterious\ndivinity sometimes identified with Diana and sometimes with\nProserpine.  As Diana represents the moonlight splendor of night,\nso Hecate represents its darkness and terrors.  She was the\ngoddess of sorcery and witchcraft, and was believed to wander by\nnight along the earth, seen only by the dogs whose barking told\nher approach.), the goddess of the underworld, and to Tellus, the\ngoddess of the earth, by whose power plants potent for\nenchantments are produced.  She invoked the gods of the woods and\ncaverns, of mountains and valleys, of lakes and rivers, of winds\nand vapors.  While she spoke the stars shone brighter, and\npresently a chariot descended through the air, drawn by flying\nserpents.  She ascended it, and, borne aloft, made her way to\ndistant regions, where potent plants grew which she knew how to\nselect for her purpose.  Nine nights she employed in her search,\nand during that time came not within the doors of her palace nor\nunder any roof, and shunned all intercourse with mortals.\n\nShe next erected two altars, the one to Hecate, the other to\nHebe, the goddess of youth, and sacrificed a black sheep, pouring\nlibations of milk and wine.  She implored Pluto and his stolen\nbride that they would not hasten to take the old man's life.\nThen she directed that AESON should be led forth, and having\nthrown him into a deep sleep by a charm, had him laid on a bed of\nherbs, like one dead.  Jason and all others were kept away from\nthe place, that no profane eyes might look upon her mysteries.\nThen, with streaming hair, she thrice moved round the altars,\ndipped flaming twigs in the blood, and laid them thereon to burn.\nMeanwhile the caldron with its contents was got ready.  In it she\nput magic herbs, with seeds and flowers of acrid juice, stones\nfrom the distant East, and sand from the shore of all-surrounding\nocean; hoar frost, gathered by moonlight, a screech-owl's head\nand wings, and the entrails of a wolf.  She added fragments of\nthe shells of tortoises, and the liver of stags,   animals\ntenacious of life,   and the head and beak of a crow, that\noutlives nine generations of men.  These, with many other things\nwithout a name, she boiled together for her purposed work,\nstirring them up with a dry olive branch; and behold, the branch\nwhen taken out instantly became green, and before long was\ncovered with leaves and a plentiful growth of young olives; and\nas the liquor boiled and bubbled, and sometimes ran over, the\ngrass, wherever the sprinklings fell, shot forth with a verdure\nlike that of spring.\n\nSeeing that all was ready, Medea cut the throat of the old man\nand let out all his blood, and poured into his mouth and into his\nwound the juices of her caldron.  As soon as he had completely\nimbibed them, his hair and beard laid by their whiteness and\nassumed the blackness of youth; his paleness and emaciation were\ngone; his veins were full of blood, his limbs of vigor and\nrobustness.  AESON is amazed at himself, and remembers that such\nas he now is he was in his youthful days, forty years before.\n\nMedea used her arts here for a good purpose, but not so in\nanother instance, where she made them the instruments of revenge.\nPelias, our readers will recollect, was the usurping uncle of\nJason, and had kept him out of his kingdom.  Yet he must have had\nsome good qualities, for his daughters loved him, and when they\nsaw what Medea had done for AESON, they wished her to do the same\nfor their father.  Medea pretended to consent, and prepared her\ncaldron as before.  At her request an old sheep was brought and\nplunged into the caldron.  Very soon a bleating was heard in the\nkettle, and, when the cover was removed, a lamb jumped forth and\nran frisking away into the meadow.  The daughters of Pelias saw\nthe experiment with delight, and appointed a time for their\nfather to undergo the same operation.  But Medea prepared her\ncaldron for him in a very different way.  She put in only water\nand a few simple herbs.  In the night she with the sisters\nentered the bed-chamber of the old king, while he and his guards\nslept soundly under the influence of a spell cast upon them by\nMedea.  The daughters stood by the bedside with their weapons\ndrawn, but hesitated to strike, till Medea chid their\nirresolution.  Then, turning away their faces and giving random\nblows, they smote him with their weapons.  He, starting from his\nsleep, cried out, \"My daughters, what are you doing?  Will you\nkill your father?:\" Their hearts failed them, and the weapons\nfell from their hands, but Medea struck him a fatal blow, and\nprevented his saying more.\n\nThen they placed him in the caldron, and Medea hastened to depart\nin her serpent-drawn chariot before they discovered her\ntreachery, for their vengeance would have been terrible.  She\nescaped, however, but had little enjoyment of the fruits of her\ncrime.  Jason, for whom she had done so much, wishing to marry\nCreusa, princess of Corinth, put away Medea.  She, enraged at his\ningratitude, called on the gods for vengeance, sent a poisoned\nrobe as a gift to the bride, and then killing her own children,\nand setting fire to the palace, mounted her serpent-drawn chariot\nand fled to Athens, where she married King AEgeus, the father of\nTheseus; and we shall meet her again when we come to the\nadventures of that hero.\n\nThe incantations of Medea will remind the reader of those of the\nwitches in Macbeth.  The following lines are those which seem\nmost strikingly to recall the ancient model:\n\n  \"Round about the caldron go;\n  In the poisoned entrails throw.\n  *    *    *    *    *    *\n  Fillet of a fenny snake\n  In the caldron boil and bake;\n  Eye of newt and toe of frog,\n  Wool of bat and tongue of dog.\n  Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,\n  Lizard's leg and howlet's wing:\n  *    *    *    *    *    *\n  Maw of ravening salt-sea shark,\n  Root of hemlock digged in the dark.\"\n  Macbeth, Act IV., Scene 1\n\nAnd again:\n\n  Macbeth.  What is't you do?\n  Witches.  A deed without a name.\n\nThere is another story of Medea almost too revolting for record\neven of a sorceress, a class of persons to whom both ancient and\nmodern poets have been accustomed to attribute every degree of\natrocity.  In her flight from Colchis she had taken her young\nbrother Absyrtus with her.  Finding the pursuing vessels of\nAEETES gaining upon the Argonauts, she caused the lad to be\nkilled and his limbs to be strewn over the sea.  AEETES on\nreaching the place found these sorrowful traces of his murdered\nson; but while he tarried to collect the scattered fragments and\nbestow upon them an honorable interment, the Argonauts escaped.\n\nIn the poems of Campbell will be found a translation of one of\nthe choruses of the tragedy of Medea, where the poet Euripides\nhas taken advantage of the occasion to pay a glowing tribute to\nAthens, his native city.  It begins thus:\n\n  \"Oh, haggard queen!  To Athens dost thou guide\n  Thy glowing chariot, steeped in kindred gore;\n  Or seek to hide thy damned parricide\n  Where Peace and Justice dwell for evermore?\"\n\n\nTHE CALYDONIAN HUNT.  MELEAGER AND ATALANTA\n\nThe search for the Golden Fleece was undertaken by Jason, aided\nby heroes from all Greece, or Hellas as it was then called.  It\nwas the first of their common undertakings which made the Greeks\nfeel that they were in truth one nation, though split up into\nmany small kingdoms.  Another of their great gatherings was for\nthe Calydonian Hunt, and another, the greatest and most famous of\nall, for the Trojan War.\n\nThe hero of the quest for the golden Fleece was Jason.  With the\nother heroes of the Greeks, he was present at the Calydonian\nHunt.  But the chief hero was Meleager, the son of OEneus, king\nof Calydon, and Althea, his queen.\n\nAlthea, when her son was born, beheld the three Destinies, who,\nas they spun their fatal thread, foretold that the life of the\nchild should last no longer than a brand then burning upon the\nhearth.  Althea seized and quenched the brand, and carefully\npreserved it for years, while Meleager grew to boyhood, youth,\nand manhood.  It chanced, then, that OEneus, as he offered\nsacrifices to the gods, omitted to pay due honors to Diana, and\nshe, indignant at the neglect, sent a wild boar of enormous size\nto lay waste the files of Calydon.  Its eyes shone with blood and\nfire, its bristles stood like threatening spears, its tusks were\nlike those of Indian elephants.  The growing corn was trampled,\nthe vines and olive trees laid waste, the flocks and herds were\ndriven in wild confusion by the slaughtering foe.  All common aid\nseemed vain; but Meleager called on the heroes of Greece to join\nin a bold hunt for the ravenous monster.  Theseus and his friend\nPirithous, Jason, Peleus afterwards the father of Achilles,\nTelamon the father of Ajax, Nestor, then a youth, but who in his\nage bore arms with Achilles and Ajax in the Trojan war,   these\nand many more joined in the enterprise.  With them came Atalanta,\nthe daughter of Iasius, king of Arcadia.  A buckle of polished\ngold confined her vest, an ivory quiver hung on her left\nshoulder, and her left hand bore the bow.  Her face blent\nfeminine beauty with the best graces of martial youth.  Meleager\nsaw and loved.\n\nBut now already they were near the monster's lair.  They\nstretched strong nets from tree to tree; they uncoupled their\ndogs, they tried to find the footprints of their quarry in the\ngrass.  From the wood was a descent to marshy ground.  Here the\nboar, as he lay among the reeds, heard the shouts of his\npursuers, and rushed forth against them.  One and another is\nthrown down and slain.  Jason throws his spear with a prayer to\nDiana for success; and the favoring goddess allows the weapon to\ntouch, but not to wound, removing the steel point of the spear\neven in its flight.  Nestor, assailed, seeks and finds safety in\nthe branches of a tree.  Telamon rushes on, but stumbling at a\nprojecting root, falls prone.  But an arrow from Atalanta at\nlength for the first time tastes the monster's blood.  It is a\nslight wound, but Meleager sees and joyfully proclaims it.\nAnceus, excited to envy by the praise given to a female, loudly\nproclaims his own valor, and defies alike the boar and the\ngoddess who had sent it; but as he rushes on, the infuriated\nbeast lays him low with a mortal wound.  Theseus throws his\nlance, but it is turned aside by a projecting bough.  The dart of\nJason misses its object, and kills instead one of their own dogs.\nBut Meleager, after one unsuccessful stroke, drives his spear\ninto the monsters side, then rushes on and despatches him with\nrepeated blows.\n\nThen rose a shout from those around; they congratulated the\nconqueror, crowding to touch his hand.  He, placing his foot upon\nthe slain boar, turned to Atalanta and bestowed on her the head\nand the rough hide which were the trophies of his success.  But\nat this, envy excited the rest to strife.  Phlexippus and Toxeus,\nthe uncles of Meleager and Althea's brothers, beyond the rest\nopposed the gift, and snatched from the maiden the trophy she had\nreceived.  Meleager, kindling with rage at the wrong done to\nhimself, and still more at the insult offered to her whom he\nloved, forgot the claims of kindred, and plunged his sword into\nthe offenders' hearts.\n\nAs Althea bore gifts of thankfulness to the temples for the\nvictory of her son, the bodies of her murdered brothers met her\nsight.  She shrieks, and beats her breast, and hastens to change\nthe garments of rejoicing for those of mourning.  But when the\nauthor of the deed is known, grief gives way to the stern desire\nof vengeance on her son.  The fatal brand, which once she rescued\nfrom the flames, the brand which the Destinies had linked with\nMeleager's life, she brings forth, and commands a fire to be\nprepared.  Then four times she essays to place the brand upon the\npile; four times draws back, shuddering at the thought of\nbringing destruction on her son.  The feelings of the mother and\nthe sister contend within her.  Now she is pale at the thought of\nthe purposed deed, now flushed again with anger at the act of her\nson.  As a vessel, driven in one direction by the wind, and in\nthe opposite by the tide, the mind of Althea hangs suspended in\nuncertainty.  But now the sister prevails above the mother, and\nshe begins as she holds the fatal wood: \"Turn, ye Furies,\ngoddesses of punishment!  Turn to behold the sacrifice I bring!\nCrime must atone for crime.  Shall OEneus rejoice in his victor\nson, while the house of Thestius (Thestius was father of Toxeus,\nPhlexippus and Althea) is desolate?  But, alas! To what deed am I\nborne along?  Brothers, forgive a mother's weakness!  My hand\nfails me.  He deserves death, but not that I should destroy him.\nBut shall he then live, and triumph, and reign over Calydon,\nwhile you, my brothers, wander unavenged among the shades?  No!\nThou has lived by my gift; die, now, for thine own crime.  Return\nthe life which twice I gave thee, first at thy birth, again when\nI snatched this brand from the flames.  O that thou hadst then\ndied!  Alas!  Evil is the conquest; but, brothers, ye have\nconquered.\"  And, turning away her face, she threw the fatal wood\nupon the burning pile.\n\nIt gave, or seemed to give, a deadly groan.  Meleager, absent and\nunknowing of the cause, felt a sudden pang.  He burns and only by\ncourageous pride conquers the pain which destroys him.  He mourns\nonly that he perishes by a bloodless and unhonored death.  With\nhis last breath he calls upon his aged father, his brother, and\nhis fond sisters, upon his beloved Atalanta, and upon his mother,\nthe unknown cause of his fate.  The flames increase, and with\nthem the pain of the hero.  Now both subside; now both are\nquenched.  The brand is ashes and the life of Meleager is\nbreathed forth to the wandering winds.\n\nAlthea, when the deed was done, laid violent hands upon herself.\nThe sisters of Meleager mourned their brother with uncontrollable\ngrief; till Diana, pitying the sorrows of the house that once had\naroused her anger, turned them into birds.\n\n\nATALANTA\n\nThe innocent cause of so much sorrow was a maiden whose face you\nmight truly say was boyish for a girl, yet too girlish for a boy.\nHer fortune had been told, and it was to this effect: \"Atalanta,\ndo not marry; marriage will be your ruin.\"  Terrified by this\noracle, she fled the society of men, and devoted herself to the\nsports of the chase.  To all suitors (for she had many) she\nimposed a condition which was generally effectual in relieving\nher of their persecutions:   \"I will be the prize of him who\nshall conquer me in the race; but death must be the penalty of\nall who try and fail.\"  In spite of this hard condition some\nwould try.  Hippomenes was to be judge of the race.  \"Can it be\npossible that any will be so rash as to risk so much for a wife?\"\nsaid he.  But when he saw her lay aside her robe for the race, he\nchanged his mind, and said, \"Pardon me, youths, I knew not the\nprize you were competing for.\" As he surveyed them he wished them\nall to be beaten, and swelled with envy of any one that seemed at\nall likely to win.  While such were his thoughts, the virgin\ndarted forward.  As she ran, she looked more beautiful than ever.\nThe breezes seemed to give wings to her feet; her hair flew over\nher shoulders, and the gay fringe of her garment fluttered behind\nher.  A ruddy hue tinged the whiteness of her skin, such as a\ncrimson curtain casts on a marble wall.  All her competitors were\ndistanced, and were put to death without mercy.  Hippomenes, not\ndaunted by this result, fixing his eyes on the virgin, said, \"Why\nboast of beating those laggards?  I offer myself for the\ncontest.\"  Atalanta looked at him with a pitying countenance, and\nhardly knew whether she would rather conquer him or not.  \"What\ngod can tempt one so young and handsome to throw himself away?  I\npity him, not for his beauty (yet he is beautiful), but for his\nyouth.  I wish he would give up the race, or if he will be so\nmad, I hope he may outrun me.\"  While she hesitates, revolving\nthese thoughts, the spectators grow impatient for the race, and\nher father prompts her to prepare.  Then Hippomenes addressed a\nprayer to Venus; \"Help me, Venus, for you have led me on\" Venus\nheard, and was propitious.\n\nIn the garden of her temple, in her own island of Cyprus, is a\ntree with yellow leaves and yellow branches, and golden fruit.\nHence Venus gathered three golden apples, and, unseen by all\nelse, gave them to Hippomenes, and told him how to use them.  The\nsignal is given; each starts from the goal, and skims over the\nsand.  So light their tread, you would almost have thought they\nmight run over the river surface or over the waving grain without\nsinking.  The cries of the spectators cheered on Hippomenes:\n\"Now, now do your best!  Haste, haste!  You gain on her!  Relax\nnot!  One more effort!\"  It was doubtful whether the youth or the\nmaiden heard these cries with the greater pleasure.  But his\nbreath began to fail him, his throat was dry, the goal yet far\noff.  At that moment he threw down one of the golden apples.  The\nvirgin was all amazement.  She stopped to pick it up.  Hippomenes\nshot ahead.  Shouts burst forth from all sides.  She redoubled\nher efforts, and soon overtook him.  Again he threw an apple.\nShe stopped again, but again came up with him.  The goal was\nnear; one chance only remained.  \"Now, goddess,\" said he,\n\"prosper your gift!\" and threw the last apple off at one side.\nShe looked at it, and hesitated; Venus impelled her to turn aside\nfor it.  She did so, and was vanquished.  The youth carried off\nhis prize.\n\nBut the lovers were so full of their own happiness that they\nforgot to pay due honor to Venus; and the goddess was provoked at\ntheir ingratitude.  She caused them to give offence to Cybele.\nThat powerful goddess was not to be insulted with impunity.  She\ntook from them their human form and turned them into animals of\ncharacters resembling their own: of the huntress-heroine,\ntriumphing in the blood of her lovers, she made a lioness, and of\nher lord and master a lion, and yoked them to her ear, there they\nare still to be seen in all representations, in statuary or\npainting, of the goddess Cybele.\n\nCybele is the Latin name of the goddess called by the Greeks Rhea\nand Ops.  She was the wife of Cronos and mother of Zeus.  In\nworks of art, she exhibits the matronly air which distinguishes\nJuno and Ceres.  Sometimes she is veiled, and seated on a throne\nwith lions at her side, at other times riding in a chariot drawn\nby lions.  She sometimes wears a mural crown, that is, a crown\nwhose rim is carved in the form of towers and battlements.  Her\npriests were called Corybantes.\n\nByron in describing the city of Venice, which is built on a low\nisland in the Adriatic Sea, borrows an illustration from Cybele:\n\n  \"She looks a sea-Cybele fresh from ocean,\n  Rising with her tiara of proud towers\n  At airy distance, with majestic motion,\n  A ruler of the waters and their powers.\"\n  Childe Harold, IV\n\nIn Moore's Rhymes on the Road, the poet, speaking of Alpine\nscenery, alludes to the story of Atalanta and Hippomenes, thus:\n\n  \"Even here, in this region of wonders, I find\n  That light-footed Fancy leaves Truth far behind,\n  Or at least, like Hippomenes, turns her astray\n  By the golden illusions he flings in her way.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XII\n\nHercules.  Hebe and Ganymede\n\nHercules (in Greek, Heracles) was the son of Jupiter and Alemena.\nAs Juno was always hostile to the offspring of her husband by\nmortal mothers, she declared war against Hercules from his birth.\nShe sent two serpents to destroy him as he lay in his cradle, but\nthe precocious infant strangled them with his own hands.  (On\nthis account the infant Hercules was made the type of infant\nAmerica, by Dr. Franklin, and the French artists whom he employed\nin the American Revolution.  Horatio Greenough has placed a bas-\nrelief of the Infant Hercules on the pedestal of his statue of\nWashington, which stands in front of the Capitol.)  He was\nhowever by the arts of Juno rendered subject to his cousin\nEurystheus and compelled to perform all his commands.  Eurystheus\nenjoined upon him a succession of desperate adventures, which are\ncalled the twelve \"Labors of Hercules.\"  The first was the fight\nwith the Nemean lion.  The valley of Nemea was infested by a\nterrible lion.  Eurystheus ordered Hercules to bring him the skin\nof this monster.  After using in vain his club and arrows against\nthe lion, Hercules strangled the animal with his hands.  He\nreturned carrying the dead lion on his shoulders; but Eurystheus\nwas so frightened at the sight of it and at this proof of the\nprodigious strength of the hero, that he ordered him to deliver\nthe account of his exploits in future outside the town.\n\nHis next labor was to slaughter the Hydra.  This monster ravaged\nthe country of Argos, and dwelt in a swamp near the well of\nAmymone, of which the story is that when the country was\nsuffering from drought, Neptune, who loved her, had permitted her\nto touch the rock with his trident, and a spring of three outlets\nburst forth.  Here the Hydra took up his position, and Hercules\nwas sent to destroy him.  The Hydra had nine heads, of which the\nmiddle one was immortal.  Hercules struck off its head with his\nclub, but in the place of the head knocked off, two new ones grew\nforth each time.  At length with the assistance of his faithful\nservant Iolaus, he burned away the heads of the Hydra, and buried\nthe ninth or immortal one under a huge rock.\n\nAnother labor was the cleaning of the Augean stables.  Augeas,\nking of Elis, had a herd of three thousand oxen, whose stalls had\nnot been cleansed for thirty years.  Hercules brought the rivers\nAlpheus and Peneus through them, and cleansed them thoroughly in\none day.\n\nHis next labor was of a more delicate kind.  Admeta, the daughter\nof Eurystheus, longed to obtain the girdle of the queen of the\nAmazons, and Eurystheus ordered Hercules to go and get it.  The\nAmazons were a nation of women.  They were very warlike and held\nseveral flourishing cities.  It was their custom to bring up only\nthe female children; the boys were either sent away to the\nneighboring nations or put to death.  Hercules was accompanied by\na number of volunteers, and after various adventures at last\nreached the country of the Amazons.  Hippolyta, the queen,\nreceived him kindly, and consented to yield him her girdle; but\nJuno, taking the form of an Amazon, went among the other Amazons\nand persuaded them that the strangers were carrying off their\nqueen.  The Amazons instantly armed and came in great numbers\ndown to the ship.  Hercules, thinking that Hippolyta had acted\ntreacherously, slew her, and taking her girdle, made sail\nhomewards.\n\nAnother task enjoined him was to bring to Eurystheus the oxen of\nGeryon, a monster with three bodies who dwelt in the island\nErytheia (the red), so called because it lay at the west, under\nthe rays of the setting sun.  This description is thought to\napply to Spain, of which Geryon was said to be king.  After\ntraversing various countries, Hercules reached at length the\nfrontiers of Libya and Europe, where he raised the two mountains\nof Calpe and Abyla, as monuments of his progress, or according to\nanother account rent one mountain into two and left half on each\nside, forming the Straits of Gibraltar, the two mountains being\ncalled the Pillars of Hercules.  The oxen were guarded by the\ngiant Eurytion and his two-headed dog, but Hercules killed the\ngiant and his dog and brought away the oxen in safety to\nEurystheus.\n\nThe most difficult labor of all was bringing the golden apples of\nthe Hesperides, for Hercules did not know where to find them.\nThese were the apples which Juno had received at her wedding from\nthe goddess of the Earth, and which she had intrusted to the\nkeeping of the daughters of Hesperis, assisted by a watchful\ndragon.  After various adventures Hercules arrived at Mount Atlas\nin Africa.  Atlas was one of the Titans who had warred against\nthe gods, and after they were subdued, Atlas was condemned to\nbear on his shoulders the weight of the heavens.  He was the\nfather of the Hesperides, and Hercules thought, might, if any one\ncould, find the apples and bring them to him.  But how to send\nAtlas away from his post, or bear up the heavens while he was\ngone?  Hercules took the burden on his own shoulders, and sent\nAtlas to seek the apples.  He returned with them, and though\nsomewhat reluctantly, took his burden upon his shoulders again,\nand let Hercules return with the apples to Eurystheus.  (Hercules\nwas a descendant of Perseus.  Perseus changed Atlas to stone.\nHow could Hercules take his place?  This is only one of the many\nanachronisms found in ancient mythology.)\n\nMilton in his Comus makes the Hesperides the daughters of\nHesperus, and nieces of Atlas:\n\n  \"---- amidst the gardens fair\n  Of Hesperus and his daughters three,\n  That sing about the golden tree.\"\n\nThe poets, led by the analogy of the lovely appearance of the\nwestern sky at sunset, viewed the west as a region of brightness\nand glory.  Hence they placed in it the Isles of the blest, the\nruddy isle Erytheia, on which the bright oxen of Geryon were\npastured, and the isle of the Hesperides.  The apples are\nsupposed by some to be the oranges of Spain, of which the Greeks\nhad heard some obscure accounts.\n\nA celebrated exploit of Hercules was his victory over Antaeus.\nAntaeus, the son of Terra (the Earth) was a mighty giant and\nwrestler, whose strength was invincible so long as he remained in\ncontact with his mother Earth.  He compelled all strangers who\ncame to his country to wrestle with him, on condition that if\nconquered (as they all were), they should be put to death.\nHercules encountered him, and finding that it was of no avail to\nthrow him, for he always rose with renewed strength from every\nfall, he lifted him up from the earth and strangled him in the\nair.\n\nCacus was a huge giant, who inhabited a cave on Mount Aventine\n(one of the seven hills of Rome), and plundered the surrounding\ncountry.  When Hercules was driving home the oxen of Geryon,\nCacus stole part of the cattle, while the hero slept.  That their\nfoot-prints might not serve to show where they had been driven,\nhe dragged them backward by their tails to his cave; so their\ntracks all seemed to show that they had gone in the opposite\ndirection.  Hercules was deceived by this stratagem, and would\nhave failed to find his oxen, if it had not happened that in\ndriving the remainder of the herd past the cave where the stolen\nones were concealed, those within began to low, and were thus\ndiscovered.  Cacus was slain by Hercules.\n\nThe last exploit we shall record was bringing Cerberus from the\nlower world.  Hercules descended into Hades, accompanied by\nMercury and Minerva.  He obtained permission from Pluto to carry\nCerberus to the upper air, provided he could do it without the\nuse of weapons; and in spite of the monster's struggling he\nseized him, held him fast, and carried him to Eurystheus, and\nafterwards brought him back again.  When he was in Hades he\nobtained the liberty of Theseus, his admirer and imitator, who\nhad been detained a prisoner there for an unsuccessful attempt to\ncarry off Proserpine.\n\nHercules in a fit of madness killed his friend Iphitus and was\ncondemned for this offence to become the slave of Queen Omphale\nfor three years.  While in this service the hero's nature seemed\nchanged.  He lived effeminately, wearing at times the dress of a\nwoman, and spinning wool with the handmaidens of Omphale, while\nthe queen wore his lion's skin.  When this service was ended he\nmarried Dejanira and lived in peace with her three years.  On one\noccasion as he was travelling with his wife, they came to a\nriver, across which the Centaur Nessus carried travellers for a\nstated fee.  Hercules himself forded the river, but gave Dejanira\nto Nessus to be carried across.  Nessus attempted to run away\nwith her, but Hercules heard her cries, and shot an arrow into\nthe heart of Nessus.  The dying Centaur told Dejanira to take a\nportion of his blood and keep it, as it might be used as a charm\nto preserve the love of her husband.\n\nDejanira did so, and before long fancied she had occasion to use\nit.  Hercules in one of his conquests had taken prisoner a fair\nmaiden, named Iole, of whom he seemed more fond than Dejanira\napproved.  When Hercules was about to offer sacrifices to the\ngods in honor of his victory, he sent to his wife for a white\nrobe to use on the occasion.  Dejanira, thinking it a good\nopportunity to try her love-spell, steeped the garment in the\nblood of Nessus.  We are to suppose she took care to wash out all\ntraces of it, but the magic power remained, and as soon as the\ngarment became warm on the body of Hercules, the poison\npenetrated into all his limbs and caused him the most intense\nagony.  In his frenzy he seized Lichas, who had brought him the\nfatal robe, and hurled him into the sea.  He wrenched off the\ngarment, but it stuck to his flesh, and with it he tore away\nwhole pieces of his body.  In this state he embarked on board a\nship and was conveyed home.  Dejanira on seeing what she had\nunwittingly done, hung herself.  Hercules, prepared to die,\nascended Mount OEta, where he built a funeral pile of trees, gave\nhis bow and arrows to Philoctetes, and laid himself down on the\npile, his head resting on his club, and his lion's skin spread\nover him.  With a countenance as serene as if he were taking his\nplace at a festal board, he commanded Philoctetes to apply the\ntorch.  The flames spread apace and soon invested the whole mass.\n\nMilton thus alludes to the frenzy of Hercules:\n\n  \"As when Alcides (Alcides, a name of Hercules; the word means\n      \"descendant of Alcaeus\"), from OEchalia crowned\n  With conquest, felt the envenomed robe, and tore,\n  Through pain, up by the roots Thessalian pines\n  And Lichas from the top of OEta threw\n  Into the Euboic Sea.\"\n\nThe gods themselves felt troubled at seeing the champion of the\nearth so brought to his end; but Jupiter with cheerful\ncountenance thus addressed them; \"I am pleased to see your\nconcern, my princes, and am gratified to perceive that I am the\nruler of a loyal people, and that my son enjoys your favor.  For\nalthough your interest in him arises from his noble deeds, yet it\nis not the less gratifying to me.  But now I say to you, Fear\nnot.  He who conquered all else is not to be conquered by those\nflames which you see blazing on Mount OEta.  Only his mother's\nshare in him can perish; what he derived from me is immortal.  I\nshall take him, dead to earth, to the heavenly shores, and I\nrequire of you all to receive him kindly.  If any of you feel\ngrieved at his attaining this honor, yet no one can deny that he\nhas deserved it.\"  The gods all gave their assent; Juno only\nheard the closing words with some displeasure that she should be\nso particularly pointed at, yet not enough to make her regret the\ndetermination of her husband.  So when the flames had consumed\nthe mother's share of Hercules, the diviner part, instead of\nbeing injured thereby, seemed to start forth with new vigor, to\nassume a more lofty port and a more awful dignity.  Jupiter\nenveloped him in a cloud, and took him up in a four-horse chariot\nto dwell among the stars.  As he took his place in heaven, Atlas\nfelt the added weight.\n\nJuno, now reconciled to him, gave him her daughter Hebe in\nmarriage.\n\nThe poet Schiller, in one of his pieces called the Ideal and\nLife, illustrates the contrast between the practical and the\nimaginative in some beautiful stanzas, of which the last two may\nbe thus translated:\n\n  \"Deep degraded to a coward's slave,\n  Endless contests bore Alcides brave,\n  Through the thorny path of suffering led;\n  Slew the Hydra, crushed the lion's might,\n  Threw himself, to bring his friend to light,\n  Living, in the skiff that bears the dead.\n  All the torments, every toil of earth\n  Juno's hatred on him could impose,\n  Well he bore them, from his fated birth\n  To life's grandly mournful close.\n  Till the god, the earthly part forsaken,\n  From the man in flames asunder taken,\n  Drank the heavenly ether's purer breath.\n  Joyous in the new unwonted lightness,\n  Soared he upwards to celestial brightness,\n  Earth's dark heavy burden lost in death.\n  High Olympus gives harmonious greeting\n  To the hall where reigns his sire adored;\n  Youth's bright goddess, with a blush at meeting,\n  Gives the nectar to her lord.\"\n  S. G. Bulfinch\n\n\nHEBE AND GANYMEDE\n\nHebe, the daughter of Juno, and goddess of youth, was cupbearer\nto the gods.  The usual story is, that she resigned her office on\nbecoming the wife of Hercules.  But there is another statement\nwhich our countryman Crawford, the sculptor, has adopted in his\ngroup of Hebe and Ganymede, now in the gallery of the Boston\nAthenaeum.  According to this, Hebe was dismissed from her office\nin consequence of a fall which she met with one day when in\nattendance on the gods.  Her successor was Ganymede, a Trojan boy\nwhom Jupiter, in the disguise of an eagle, seized and carried off\nfrom the midst of his playfellows on Mount Ida, bore up to\nheaven, and installed in the vacant place.\n\nTennyson, in his Palace of Art, describes among the decorations\non the walls, a picture representing this legend:\n\n  \"There, too, flushed Ganymede his rosy thigh\n  Half buried in the eagle's down,\n  Sole as a flying star shot through the sky\n  Above the pillared town.\"\n\nAnd in Shelley's Prometheus, Jupiter calls to his cup-bearer\nthus:\n\n  \"Pour forth heaven's wine, Idaean Ganymede,\n  And let it fill the Daedal cups like fire.\"\n\nThe beautiful legend of the Choice of Hercules may be found in\nthe Tatler, No. 97.  The same story is told in the Memorabilia of\nXenophon.\n\n\n\nChapter XIII\n\nTheseus.  Daedalus.  Castor and Pollux\n\nTheseus was the son of AEgeus, king of Athens, and of Aethra,\ndaughter of the king of Troezene.  He was brought up at Troezene,\nand, when arrived at manhood, was to proceed to Athens and\npresent himself to his father.  AEgeus, on parting from Aethra,\nbefore the birth of his son, placed his sword and shoes under a\nlarge stone, and directed her to send his son to him when he\nbecame strong enough to roll away the stone and take them from\nunder it.  When she thought the time had come, his mother led\nTheseus to the stone, and he removed it with ease, and took the\nsword and shoes.  As the roads were infested with robbers, his\ngrandfather pressed him earnestly to take the shorter and safer\nway to his father's country, by sea; but the youth, feeling in\nhimself the spirit and the soul of a hero, and eager to signalize\nhimself like Hercules, with whose fame all Greece then rang, by\ndestroying the evil-doers and monsters that oppressed the\ncountry, determined on the more perilous and adventurous journey\nby land.\n\nHis first day's journey brought him to Epidaurus, where dwelt a\nman named Periphetes, a son of Vulcan.  This ferocious savage\nalways went armed with a club of iron, and all travellers stood\nin terror of his violence.  When he saw Theseus approach, he\nassailed him, but speedily fell beneath the blows of the young\nhero, who took possession of his club, and bore it ever\nafterwards as a memorial of his first victory.\n\nSeveral similar contests with the petty tyrants and marauders of\nthe country followed, in all of which Theseus was victorious.\nOne of these evil-doers was called Procrustes, or the Stretcher.\nHe had an iron bedstead, on which he used to tie all travellers\nwho fell into his hands.  If they were shorter than the bed, he\nstretched their limbs to make them fit it; if they were longer\nthan the bed, he lopped off a portion.  Theseus served him as he\nhad served others.\n\nHaving overcome all the perils of the road, Theseus at length\nreached Athens, where new dangers awaited him.  Medea, the\nsorceress, who had fled from Corinth after her separation from\nJason, had become the wife of AEgeus, the father of Theseus.\nKnowing by her arts who he was, and fearing the loss of her\ninfluence with her husband, if Theseus should be acknowledged as\nhis son, she filled the mind of AEgeus with suspicions of the\nyoung stranger, and induced him to present him a cup of poison;\nbut at the moment when Theseus stepped forward to take it, the\nsight of the sword which he wore discovered to his father who he\nwas, and prevented the fatal draught.  Medea, detected in her\narts, fled once more from deserved punishment, and arrived in\nAsia, where the country afterwards called Media received its name\nfrom her.  Theseus was acknowledged by his father, and declared\nhis successor.\n\nThe Athenians were at that time in deep affliction, on account of\nthe tribute which they were forced to pay to Minos, king of\nCrete.  This tribute consisted of seven youths and seven maidens,\nwho were sent every year to be devoured by the Minotaur, a\nmonster with a bull's body and a human head.  It was exceedingly\nstrong and fierce, and was kept in a labyrinth constructed by\nDaedalus, so artfully contrived that whoever was enclosed in it\ncould by no means find his way out unassisted.  Here the Minotaur\nroamed, and was fed with human victims.\n\nTheseus resolved to deliver his countrymen from this calamity, or\nto die in the attempt.  Accordingly, when the time of sending off\nthe tribute came, and the youths and maidens were, according to\ncustom, drawn by lot to be sent, he offered himself as one of the\nvictims, in spite of the entreaties of his father.  The ship\ndeparted under black sails, as usual, which Theseus promised his\nfather to change for white, in case of his returning victorious.\nWhen they arrived in Crete, the youths and maidens were exhibited\nbefore Minos; and Ariadne, the daughter of the king, being\npresent, became deeply enamored of Theseus, by whom her love was\nreadily returned.  She furnished him with a sword, with which to\nencounter the Minotaur, and with a clew of thread by which he\nmight find his way out of the labyrinth.  He was successful, slew\nthe Minotaur, escaped from the labyrinth, and taking Ariadne as\nthe companion of his way, with his rescued companions sailed for\nAthens.  On their way they stopped at the island of Naxos, where\nTheseus abandoned Ariadne, leaving her asleep.  For Minerva had\nappeared to Theseus in a dream, and warned him that Ariadne was\ndestined to be the wife of Bacchus, the wine-god.  (One of the\nfinest pieces of sculpture in Italy, the recumbent Ariadne of the\nVatican, represents this incident.  A copy is in the Athenaeum\ngallery, Boston.  The celebrated statue of Ariadne, by Danneker,\nrepresents her as riding on the tiger of Bacchus, at a somewhat\nlater period of her story.)\n\nOn approaching the coast of Attica, Theseus, intent on Ariadne,\nforgot the signal appointed by his father, and neglected to raise\nthe white sails, and the old king, thinking his son had perished,\nput an end to his own life.  Theseus thus became king of Athens.\n\nOne of the most celebrated of the adventures of Theseus is his\nexpedition against the Amazons.  He assailed them before they had\nrecovered from the attack of Hercules, and carried off their\nqueen, Antiope.  The Amazons in their turn invaded the country of\nAthens and penetrated into the city itself; and the final battle\nin which Theseus overcame them was fought in the very midst of\nthe city.  This battle was one of the favorite subjects of the\nancient sculptors, and is commemorated in several works of art\nthat are still extant.\n\nThe friendship between Theseus and Pirithous was of a most\nintimate nature, yet it originated in the midst of arms.\nPirithous had made an irruption into the plain of Marathon, and\ncarried off the herds of the king of Athens.  Theseus went to\nrepel the plunderers.  The moment Pirithous beheld him, he was\nseized with admiration; he stretched out his hand as a token of\npeace, and cried, \"Be judge thyself,   what satisfaction dost\nthou require?\"  \"Thy friendship,\" replied the Athenian, and they\nswore inviolable fidelity.  Their deeds corresponded to their\nprofessions, and they ever continued true brothers in arms.  Each\nof them aspired to espouse a daughter of Jupiter.  Theseus fixed\nhis choice on Helen, then but a child, afterwards so celebrated\nas the cause of the Trojan war, and with the aid of his friend he\ncarried her off.  Pirithous aspired to the wife of the monarch of\nErebus; and Theseus, though aware of the danger, accompanied the\nambitious lover in his descent to the underworld.  But Pluto\nseized and set them on an enchanted rock at his palace gate,\nwhere they remained till Hercules arrived and liberated Theseus,\nleaving Pirithous to his fate.\n\nAfter the death of Antiope, Theseus married Phaedra, daughter of\nMinos, king of Crete.  Phaedra saw in Hippolytus, the son of\nTheseus, a youth endowed with all the graces and virtues of his\nfather, and of an age corresponding to her own.  She loved him,\nbut he repulsed her advances, and her love was changed to hate.\nShe used her influence over her infatuated husband to cause him\nto be jealous of his son, and he imprecated the vengeance of\nNeptune upon him.  As Hippolytus was one day driving his chariot\nalong the shore, a sea-monster raised himself above the waters,\nand frightened the horses so that they ran away and dashed the\nchariot to pieces.  Hippolytus was killed, but by Diana's\nassistance Aesculapius restored him to life.  Diana removed\nHippolytus from the power of his deluded father and false\nstepmother, and placed him in Italy under the protection of the\nnymph Egeria.\n\nTheseus at length lost the favor of his people, and retired to\nthe court of Lycomedes, king of Scyros, who at first received him\nkindly, but afterwards treacherously slew him.  In a later age\nthe Athenian general Cimon discovered the place where his remains\nwere laid, and caused them to be removed to Athens, where they\nwere deposited in a temple called the Theseum, erected in honor\nof the hero.\n\nThe queen of the Amazons whom Theseus espoused is by some called\nHippolyta.  That is the name she bears in Shakespeare's Midsummer\nNight's Dream,   the subject of which is the festivities\nattending the nuptials of Theseus and Hippolyta.\n\nMrs. Hemans has a poem on the ancient Greek tradition that the\n\"Shade of Theseus\" appeared strengthening his countrymen at the\nbattle of Marathon.\n\nMr. Lewis Morris has a beautiful poem on Helen, in the Epic of\nHades.  In these lines Helen describes how she was seized by\nTheseus and his friend:\n\n  ----\"There came a night\n  When I lay longing for my love, and knew\n  Sudden the clang of hoofs, the broken doors,\n  The clash of swords, the shouts, the groans, the stain\n  Of red upon the marble, the fixed gaze\n  Of dead and dying eyes,   that was the time\n  When first I looked on death,   and when I woke\n  From my deep swoon, I felt the night air cool\n  Upon my brow, and the cold stars look down,\n  As swift we galloped o'er the darkling plain\n  And saw the chill sea-glimpses slowly wake,\n  With arms unknown around me.  When the dawn\n  Broke swift, we panted on the pathless steeps,\n  And so by plain and mountain till we came\n       to Athens, ----.\"\n\nTheseus is a semi-historical personage.  It is recorded of him\nthat he united the several tribes by whom the territory of Attica\nwas then possessed into one state, of which Athens was the\ncapital.  In commemoration of this important event, he instituted\nthe festival of Panathenaea, in honor of Minerva, the patron\ndeity of Athens.  This festival differed from the other Grecian\ngames chiefly in two particulars.  It was peculiar to the\nAthenians, and its chief feature was a solemn procession in which\nthe Peplus or sacred robe of Minerva was carried to the\nParthenon, and suspended before the statue of the goddess.  The\nPeplus was covered with embroidery, worked by select virgins of\nthe noblest families in Athens.  The procession consisted of\npersons of all ages and both sexes.  The old men carried olive-\nbranches in their hands, and the young men bore arms.  The young\nwomen carried baskets on their heads, containing the sacred\nutensils, cakes, and all things necessary for the sacrifices.\nThe procession formed the subject of the bas-reliefs by Phidias\nwhich embellished the outside of the temple of the Parthenon.  A\nconsiderable portion of these sculptures is now in the British\nmuseum among those known as the \"Elgin marbles.\"\n\n\nOLYMPIC AND OTHER GAMES\n\nWe may mention here the other celebrated national games of the\nGreeks.  The first and most distinguished were the Olympic,\nfounded, it was said , by Jupiter himself.  They were celebrated\nat Olympia in Elis.  Vast numbers of spectators flocked to them\nfrom every part of Greece, and from Asia, Africa, and Sicily.\nThey were repeated every fifth year in midsummer, and continued\nfive days.  They gave rise to the custom of reckoning time and\ndating events by Olympiads.  The first Olympiad is generally\nconsidered as corresponding with the year 776 B.C.  The Pythian\ngames were celebrated in the vicinity of Delphi, the Isthmian on\nthe Corinthian isthmus, the Nemean at Nemea, a city of Argolis.\n\nThe exercises in these games were of five sorts: running,\nleaping, wrestling, throwing the quoit, and hurling the javelin,\nor boxing.  Besides these exercises of bodily strength and\nagility, there were contests in music, poetry, and eloquence.\nThus these games furnished poets, musicians, and authors the best\nopportunities to present their productions to the public, and the\nfame of the victors was diffused far and wide.\n\n\nDAEDALUS\n\nThe labyrinth from which Theseus escaped by means of the clew of\nAriadne, was built by Daedalus, a most skilful artificer.  It was\nan edifice with numberless winding passages and turnings opening\ninto one another, and seeming to have neither beginning nor end,\nlike the river Maender, which returns on itself, and flows now\nonward, now backward, in its course to the sea.  Daedalus built\nthe labyrinth for King Minos, but afterwards lost the favor of\nthe king, and was shut up in a tower.  He contrived to make his\nescape from his prison, but could not leave the island by sea, as\nthe king kept strict watch on all the vessels, and permitted none\nto sail without being carefully searched.  \"Minos may control the\nland and sea,:\" said Daedalus, \"but not the regions of the air.\nI will try that way.\"  So he set to work to fabricate wings for\nhimself and his young son Icarus.  He wrought feathers together\nbeginning with the smallest and adding larger, so as to form an\nincreasing surface.  The larger ones he secured with thread and\nthe smaller with wax, and gave the whole a gentle curvature like\nthe wings of a bird.  Icarus, the boy, stood and looked on,\nsometimes running to gather up the feathers which the wind had\nblown away, and then handling the wax and working it over with\nhis fingers, by his play impeding his father in his labors.  When\nat last the work was done, the artist, waving his wings, found\nhimself buoyed upward and hung suspended, poising himself on the\nbeaten air.  He next equipped his son in the same manner, and\ntaught him how to fly, as a bird tempts her young ones from the\nlofty nest into the air.  When all was prepared for flight, he\nsaid, \"Icarus, my son, I charge you to keep at a moderate height,\nfor if you fly too low the damp will clog your wings, and if too\nhigh the heat will melt them.  Keep near me and you will be\nsafe.\"  While he gave him these instructions and fitted the wings\nto his shoulders, the face of the father was wet with tears, and\nhis hands trembled.  He kissed the boy, not knowing that it was\nfor the last time.  Then rising on his wings he flew off,\nencouraging him to follow, and looked back from his own flight to\nsee how his son managed his wings.  As they flew the ploughman\nstopped his work to gaze, and the shepherd learned on his staff\nand watched them, astonished at the sight, and thinking they were\ngods who could thus cleave the air.\n\nThey passed Samos and Delos on the left and Lebynthos on the\nright, when the boy, exulting in his career, began to leave the\nguidance of his companion and soar upward as if to reach heaven.\nThe nearness of the blazing sun softened the wax which held the\nfeathers together, and they came off.  He fluttered with his\narms, but no feathers remained to hold the air.  While his mouth\nuttered cries to his father, it was submerged in the blue waters\nof the sea, which thenceforth was called by his name.  His father\ncried, \"Icarus, Icarus, where are you?\" At last he saw the\nfeathers floating on the water, and bitterly lamenting his own\narts, he buried the body and called the land Icaria in memory of\nhis child.  Daedalus arrived safe in Sicily, where he built a\ntemple to Apollo, and hung up his wings, an offering to the god.\n\nDaedalus was so proud of his achievements that he could not bear\nthe idea of a rival.  His sister had placed her son Perdix under\nhis charge to be taught the mechanical arts.  He was an apt\nscholar and gave striking evidences of ingenuity.  Walking\non the seashore he picked up the spine of a fish.  Imitating it,\nhe took a piece of iron and notched it on the edge, and thus\ninvented the SAW.  He put two pieces of iron together, connecting\nthem at one end with a rivet, and sharpening the other ends, and\nmade a PAIR OF COMPASSES.  Daedalus was so envious of his\nnephew's performances that he took an opportunity, when they were\ntogether one day on the top of a high tower, to push him off.\nBut Minerva, who favors ingenuity, saw him falling, and arrested\nhis fate by changing him into a bird called after his name, the\nPartridge.  This bird does not build his next in the trees, nor\ntake lofty flights, but nestles in the hedges, and mindful of his\nfall, avoids high places.\n\nThe death of Icarus is told in the following lines by Darwin:\n\n  \"---- with melting wax and loosened strings\n  Sunk hapless Icarus on unfaithful wings;\n  Headlong he rushed through the affrighted air,\n  With limbs distorted and dishevelled hair;\n  His scattered plumage danced upon the wave,\n  And sorrowing Nereids decked his watery grave;\n  O'er his pale corse their pearly sea-flowers shed,\n  And strewed with crimson moss his marble bed;\n  Struck in their coral towers the passing bell,\n  And wide in ocean tolled his echoing knell.\"\n\n\nCASTOR AND POLLUX\n\nCastor and Pollux were the offspring of Leda and the Swan, under\nwhich disguise Jupiter had concealed himself.  Leda gave birth to\nan egg, from which sprang the twins.  Helen, so famous afterwards\nas the cause of the Trojan war, was their sister.\n\nWhen Theseus and his friend Pirithous had carried off Helen from\nSparta, the youthful heroes Castor and Pollux, with their\nfollowers, hasted to her rescue.  Theseus was absent from Attica,\nand the brothers were successful in recovering their sister.\n\nCastor was famous for taming and managing horses, and Pollux for\nskill in boxing.  They were united by the warmest affection, and\ninseparable in all their enterprises.  They accompanied the\nArgonautic expedition.  During the voyage a storm arose, and\nOrpheus prayed to the Samothracian gods, and played on his harp,\nwhereupon the storm ceased and stars appeared on the heads of the\nbrothers.  From this incident, Castor and Pollux came afterwards\nto be considered the patron deities of seamen and voyagers (One\nof the ships in which St. Paul sailed was named the Castor and\nPollux.  See Acts xxviii.II.), and the lambent flames, which in\ncertain sates of the atmosphere play round the sails and masts of\nvessels, were called by their names.\n\nAfter the Argonautic expedition, we find Castor and Pollux\nengaged in a war with Idas and Lynceus.  Castor was slain, and\nPollux, inconsolable for the loss of his brother, besought\nJupiter to be permitted to give his own life as a ransom for him.\nJupiter so far consented as to allow the two brothers to enjoy\nthe boon of life alternately, passing one day under the earth and\nthe next in the heavenly abodes.  According to another form of\nthe story, Jupiter rewarded the attachment of the brothers by\nplacing them among the stars as Gemini, the Twins.\n\nThey received divine honors under the name of Dioscuri (sons of\nJove).  They were believed to have appeared occasionally in later\ntimes, taking part with one side or the other, in hard-fought\nfields, and were said on such occasions to be mounted on\nmagnificent white steeds.  Thus, in the early history of Rome,\nthey are said to have assisted the Romans at the battle of Lake\nRegillus, and after the victory a temple was erected in their\nhonor on the spot where they appeared.\n\nMacaulay, in his Lays of Ancient Rome, thus alludes to the\nlegend:\n\n  \"So like they were, no mortal\n  Might one from other know;\n  White as snow their armor was,\n  Their steeds were white as snow.\n  Never on earthly anvil\n  Did such rare armor gleam,\n  And never did such gallant steeds\n  Drink of an earthly stream.\n  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .\n\n  \"Back comes the chief in triumph\n  Who in the hour of fight\n  Hath seen the great Twin Brethren\n  In harness on his right.\n  Safe comes the ship to haven\n  Through billows and through gales,\n  If once the great Twin Brethren\n  Sit shining on the sails.\"\n\nIn the poem of Atalanta in Calydon Mr. Swinburne thus describes\nthe little Helen and Clytemnestra, the sisters of Castor and\nPollux:\n\n  MELEAGER\n\n  \"Even such I saw their sisters, one swan white,\n  The little Helen, and less fair than she,\n  Fair Clytemnestra, grave as pasturing fawns,\n  Who feed and fear the arrow; but at whiles,\n  As one smitten with love or wrung with joy,\n  She laughs and lightens with her eyes, and then\n  Weeps; whereat Helen, having laughed, weeps too,\n  And the other chides her, and she being chid speaks naught,\n  But cheeks and lips and eyelids kisses her,\n  Laughing; so fare they, as in their blameless bud,\n  And full of unblown life, the blood of gods.\"\n\n  ALTHEA\n\n  \"Sweet days before them, and good loves and lords,\n  And tender and temperate honors of the hearth;\n  Peace, and a perfect life and blameless bed\"\n\n\n\nChapter XIV\n\nBacchus.  Ariadne\n\nBacchus was the son of Jupiter and Semele.  Juno, to gratify her\nresentment against Semele, contrived a plan for her destruction.\nAssuming the form of Beroe, her aged nurse, she insinuated doubts\nwhether it was indeed Jove himself who came as a lover.  Heaving\na sigh, she said, \"I hope it will turn out so, but I can't help\nbeing afraid.  People are not always what they pretend to be.  If\nhe is indeed Jove, make him give some proof of it.  Ask him to\ncome arrayed in all his splendors, such as he wears in heaven.\nThat will put the matter beyond a doubt.\"  Semele was persuaded\nto try the experiment.  She asks a favor, without naming what it\nis.  Jove gives his promise and confirms it with the irrevocable\noath, attesting the river Styx, terrible to the gods themselves.\nThen she made know her request.  The god would have stopped her\nas she spake, but she was too quick for him.  The words escaped,\nand he could neither unsay his promise nor her request.  In deep\ndistress he left her and returned to the upper regions.  There he\nclothed himself in his splendors, not putting on all his terrors,\nas when he overthrew the giants, but what is known among the gods\nas his lesser panoply.  Arrayed in this he entered the chamber of\nSemele.  Her mortal frame could not endure the splendors of the\nimmortal radiance.  She was consumed to ashes.\n\nJove took the infant Bacchus and gave him in charge to the\nNysaean nymphs, who nourished his infancy and childhood, and for\ntheir care were rewarded by Jupiter by being placed, as the\nHyades, among the stars.  When Bacchus grew up he discovered the\nculture of the vine and the mode of extracting its precious\njuice; but Juno struck him with madness, and drove him forth a\nwanderer through various parts of the earth.  In Phrygia the\ngoddess Rhea cured him and taught him her religious rites, and he\nset out on a progress through Asia teaching the people the\ncultivation of the vine.  The most famous part of his wanderings\nis his expedition to India, which is said to have lasted several\nyears.  Returning in triumph he undertook to introduce his\nworship into Greece, but was opposed by some princes who dreaded\nits introduction on account of the disorders and madness it\nbrought with it.\n\nAs he approached his native city Thebes, Pentheus the king, who\nhad no respect for the new worship, forbade its rites to be\nperformed.  But when it was known that Bacchus was advancing, men\nand women, but chiefly the latter, young and old poured forth to\nmeet him and to join his triumphal march.\n\nMr. Longfellow in his Drinking Song thus describes the march of\nBacchus:\n\n  \"Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow;\n  Ivy crowns that brow, supernal\n  As the forehead of Apollo,\n  And possessing youth eternal.\n\n  \"Round about him fair Bacchantes,\n  Bearing cymbals, flutes and thyrses,\n  Wild from Naxian groves or Zante's\n  Vineyards, sing delirious verses.\"\n\nIt was in vain Pentheus remonstrated, commanded, and threatened.\n\"Go,\" said he to his attendants, \"seize this vagabond leader of\nthe rout and bring him to me.  I will soon make him confess his\nfalse claim of heavenly parentage and renounce his counterfeit\nworship.\"  It was in vain his nearest friends and wisest\ncounselors remonstrated and begged him not to oppose the god.\nTheir remonstrances only made him more violent.\n\nBut now the attendants returned whom he had despatched to seize\nBacchus.  They had been driven away by the Bacchanals, but had\nsucceeded in taking one of them prisoner, whom, with his hands\ntied behind him, they brought before the king.  Pentheus\nbeholding him, with wrathful countenance said, \"Fellow!  You\nshall speedily be put to death, that your fate may be a warning\nto others; but though I grudge the delay of your punishment,\nspeak, tell us who you are, and what are these new rites you\npresume to celebrate.\"\n\nThe prisoner unterrified responded, \"My name is Acetes; my\ncountry is Maeonia; my parents were poor people, who had no\nfields or flocks to leave me, but they left me their fishing rods\nand nets and their fisherman's trade.  This I followed for some\ntime, till growing weary of remaining in one place, I learned the\npilot's art and how to guide my course by the stars.  It happened\nas I was sailing for Delos, we touched at the island of Dia and\nwent ashore.  Next morning I sent the men for fresh water and\nmyself mounted the hill to observe the wind; when my men returned\nbringing with them a prize, as they thought, a boy of delicate\nappearance, whom they had found asleep.  They judged he was a\nnoble youth, perhaps a king's son, and they might get a liberal\nransom for him.  I observed his dress, his walk, his face.  There\nwas something in them which I felt sure was more than mortal.  I\nsaid to my men, 'What god there is concealed in that form I know\nnot, but some one there certainly is.  Pardon us, gentle deity,\nfor the violence we have done you, and give success to our\nundertakings.'  Dictys, one of my best hands for climbing the\nmast and coming down by the ropes, and Melanthus, my steersman,\nand Epopeus the leader of the sailors' cry, one and all\nexclaimed, 'Spare your prayers for us.'  So blind is the lust of\ngain!  When they proceeded to put him on board I resisted them.\n'This ship shall not be profaned by such impiety,' said I. 'I\nhave a greater share in her than any of you.'  But Lycabas, a\nturbulent fellow, seized me by the throat and attempted to throw\nme overboard, and I scarcely saved myself by clinging to the\nropes.  The rest approved the deed.\n\n\"Then Bacchus, for it was indeed he, as if shaking off his\ndrowsiness, exclaimed, 'What are you doing with me?  What is this\nfighting about?  Who brought me here?  Where are you going to\ncarry me?'  One of them replied, 'fear nothing; tell us where you\nwish to go and we will take you there.'  \"Naxos is my home,' said\nBacchus; 'take me there and you shall be well rewarded.'  They\npromised so to do, and told me to pilot the ship to Naxos.  Naxos\nlay to the right, and I was trimming the sails to carry us there,\nwhen some by signs and others by whispers signified to me their\nwill that I should sail in the opposite direction, and take the\nboy to Egypt to sell him for a slave.  I was confounded and said,\n'Let some one else pilot the ship;' withdrawing myself from any\nfurther agency in their wickedness.  They cursed me, and one of\nthem exclaiming, 'Don't flatter yourself that we depend on you\nfor our safety,' took my place as pilot, and bore away from\nNaxos.\n\n\"Then the god, pretending that he had just become aware of their\ntreachery, looked out over the sea and said in a voice of\nweeping, 'Sailors, these are not the shores you promised to take\nme to; yonder island is not my home.  What have I done that you\nshould treat me so?  It is small glory you will gain by cheating\na poor boy.'  I wept to hear him, but the crew laughed at both of\nus, and sped the vessel fast over the sea.  All at once   strange\nas it may seem, it is true   the vessel stopped, in the mid sea,\nas fast as if it was fixed on the ground.  The men, astonished,\npulled at their oars, and spread more sail, trying to make\nprogress by the aid of both, but all in vain.  Ivy twined round\nthe oars and hindered their motion, and clung with its heavy\nclusters of berries to the sails.  A vine, laden with grapes, ran\nup the mast, and along the sides of the vessel.  The sound of\nflutes was heard and the odor of fragrant wine spread all around.\nThe god himself had a chaplet of vine leaves, and bore in his\nhand a spear wreathed with ivy.  Tigers crouched at his feet, and\nlynxes and spotted panthers played around him.  The sailors were\nseized with terror or madness; some leaped overboard; others,\npreparing to do the same, beheld their companions in the water\nundergoing a change, their bodies becoming flattened and ending\nin a crooked tail.  One exclaimed, 'What miracle is this!' and as\nhe spoke his mouth widened, his nostrils expanded, and scales\ncovered all his body.  Another endeavoring to pull the oar felt\nhis hands shrink up, and presently to be no longer hands but\nfins; another trying to raise his arms to a rope found he had no\narms, and curving his mutilated body, jumped into the sea.  What\nhad been his legs became the two ends of a crescent-shaped tail.\nThe whole crew became dolphins and swam about the ship, now upon\nthe surface, now under it, scattering the spray, and spouting the\nwater from their broad nostrils.  Of twenty men I alone was left.\nThe god cheered me, as I trembled with fear.  'Fear not,' said\nhe; 'steer toward Naxos.'  I obeyed, and when we arrived there, I\nkindled the altars and celebrated the sacred rites of Bacchus.\"\n\nPentheus here exclaimed, \"We have wasted time enough on this\nsilly story.  Take him away and have him executed without delay.\"\nAcetes was led away by the attendants and shut up fast in prison;\nbut while they were getting ready the instruments of execution,\nthe prison doors opened of their own accord and the chains fell\nfrom his limbs, and when the guards looked for him he was no\nwhere to be found.\n\nPentheus would take no warning, but instead of sending others,\ndetermined to go himself to the scene of the solemnities.  The\nmountain Cithaeron was all alive with worshippers, and the cries\nof the Bacchanals resounded on every side.  The noise roused the\nanger of Pentheus as the sound of a trumpet does the fire of a\nwar-horse.  He penetrated the wood and reached an open space\nwhere the wildest scene of the orgies met his eyes.  At the same\nmoment the women saw him; and first among them his own mother,\nAgave, blinded by the god, cried out, \"See there the wild boar,\nthe hugest monster that prowls in these woods!  Come on, sisters!\nI will be the first to strike the wild boar.\"  The whole band\nrushed upon him, and while he now talks less arrogantly, now\nexcuses himself, and now confesses his crime and implores pardon,\nthey press upon and wound him.  In vain he cries to his aunts to\nprotect him from his mother.  Autonoe seized one arm, Ino the\nother, and between them he was torn to pieces, while his mother\nshouted, \"Victory!  Victory!  We have done it; the glory is\nours!\"\n\nSo the worship of Bacchus was established in Greece.\n\nThere is an allusion to the story of Bacchus and the mariners in\nMilton's Comus, at line 46.  The story of Circe will be found in\nChapter XXII.\n\n  \"Bacchus that first from out the purple grape\n  Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine,\n  After the Tuscan mariners transformed,\n  Coasting the Tyrrhene shore as the winds listed\n  On Circe's island fell; (who knows not Circe,\n  The daughter of the Sun?  Whose charmed cup\n  Whoever tasted lost his upright shape,\n  And downward fell into a grovelling swine.)\"\n\n\nARIADNE\n\nWe have seen in the story of Theseus how Ariadne, the daughter of\nKing Minos, after helping Theseus to escape from the labyrinth,\nwas carried by him to the island of Naxos and was left there\nasleep, while Theseus pursued his way home without her.  Ariadne,\non waking and finding herself deserted, abandoned herself to\ngrief.  But Venus took pity on her, and consoled her with the\npromise that she should have an immortal lover, instead of the\nmortal one she had lost.\n\nThe island where Ariadne was left was the favorite island of\nBacchus, the same that he wished the Tyrrhenian mariners to carry\nhim to, when they so treacherously attempted to make prize of\nhim.  As Ariadne sat lamenting her fate, Bacchus found her,\nconsoled her and made her his wife as Minerva had prophesied to\nTheseus.  As a marriage present he gave her a golden crown,\nenriched with gems, and when she died, he took her crown and\nthrew it up into the sky.  As it mounted the gems grew brighter\nand were turned into stars, and preserving its form Ariadne's\ncrown remains fixed in the heavens as a constellation, between\nthe kneeling Hercules and the man who holds the serpent.\n\nSpenser alludes to Ariadne's crown, though he has made some\nmistakes in his mythology.  It was at the wedding of Pirithous,\nand not Theseus, that the Centaurs and Lapithae quarrelled.\n\n  \"Look how the crown which Ariadne wore\n  Upon her ivory forehead that same day\n  That Theseus her unto his bridal bore,\n  When the bold Centaurs made that bloody fray\n  With the fierce Lapiths which did them dismay;\n  Being now placed in the firmament,\n  Through the bright heaven doth her beams display,\n  And is unto the stars an ornament,\n  Which round about her move in order excellent.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XV\n\nThe Rural Deities.  Erisichthon.  Rhoecus.  The Water Deities.\nCamenae.  Winds.\n\nPan, the god of woods and fields, of flocks and shepherds, dwelt\nin grottos, wandered on the mountains and in valleys, and amused\nhimself with the chase or in leading the dances of the nymphs.\nHe was fond of music, and, as we have seen, the inventor of the\nsyrinx, or shepherd's pipe, which he himself played in a masterly\nmanner.  Pan, like other gods who dwelt in forests, was dreaded\nby those whose occupations caused them to pass through the woods\nby night, for the gloom and loneliness of such scenes dispose the\nmind to superstitious fears.  Hence sudden fright without any\nvisible cause was ascribed to Pan, and called a Panic terror.\n\nAs the name of the god signifies in Greek, ALL, Pan came to be\nconsidered a symbol of the universe and personification of\nNature; and later still to be regarded as a representative of all\nthe gods, and heathenism itself.\n\nSylvanus and Faunus were Latin divinities, whose characteristics\nare so nearly the same as those of Pan that we may safely\nconsider them as the same personage under different names.\n\nThe wood-nymphs, Pan's partners in the dance, were but one of\nseveral classes of nymphs.  There were beside them the Naiads,\nwho presided over brooks and fountains, the Oreads, nymphs of\nmountains and grottos, and the Nereids, sea-nymphs.  The three\nlast named were immortal, but the wood-nymphs, called Dryads or\nHamadryads, were believed to perish with the trees which had been\ntheir abode, and with which they had come into existence.  It was\ntherefore an impious act wantonly to destroy a tree, and in some\naggravated cases was severely punished, as in the instance of\nErisichthon, which we shall soon record.\n\nMilton, in his glowing description of the early creation, thus\nalludes to Pan as the personification of Nature:\n\n  \"Universal Pan,\n  Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance,\n  Led on the eternal spring.\"\n\nAnd describing Eve's abode:\n\n  \"In shadier bower\n  More sacred or sequestered, though but feigned,\n  Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymph\n  Nor Faunus haunted.\"\n  Paradise lost, B. IV.\n\nIt was a pleasing trait in the old Paganism that it loved to\ntrace in every operation of nature the agency of deity.  The\nimagination of the Greeks peopled all the regions of earth and\nsea with divinities, to whose agency it attributed those\nphenomena which our philosophy ascribes to the operation of the\nlaws of nature.  Sometimes in our poetical moods we feel disposed\nto regret the change, and to think that the heart has lost as\nmuch as the head has gained by the substitution.  The poet\nWordsworth thus strongly expresses this sentiment:\n\n  \"Great God, I'd rather be\n  A Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn.\n  So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,\n  Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;\n  Have sight of Proteus rising from th4e sea,\n  And hear old Tritou blow his wreathed horn.\"\n\nSchiller, in his poem The Gods of Greece, expresses his regret\nfor the overthrow of the beautiful mythology of ancient times in\na way which has called forth an answer from a Christian poetess,\nMrs. Browning, in her poem called The Dead Pan.  The two\nfollowing verses are a specimen:\n\n  \"By your beauty which confesses\n  Some chief Beauty conquering you,\n  By our grand heroic guesses\n  Through your falsehood at the True,\n  We will weep NOT!  Earth shall roll\n  Heir to each god's aureole,\n  And Pan is dead.\n\n  \"Earth outgrows the mythic fancies\n  Sung beside her in her youth;\n  And those debonaire romances\n  Sound but dull beside the truth.\n  Phoebus' chariot course is run!\n  Look up poets, to the sun!\n  Pan, Pan is dead.\"\n\nThese lines are founded on an early Christian tradition that when\nthe heavenly host told the shepherds at Bethlehem of the birth of\nChrist, a deep groan, heard through all the isles of Greece, told\nthat the great Pan was dead, and that all the royalty of Olympus\nwas dethroned, and the several deities were sent wandering in\ncold and darkness.  So Milton, in his Hymn to the Nativity:\n\n  \"The lonely mountains o'er,\n  And the resounding shore,\n  A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;\n  From haunted spring and dale,\n  Edged with poplar pale,\n  The parting genius is with sighing sent;\n  With flower-enwoven tresses torn,\n  The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.\"\n\n\nERISICHTHON\n\nErisichthon was a profane person and a despiser of the gods.  On\none occasion he presumed to violate with the axe a grove sacred\nto Ceres.  There stood in this grove a venerable oak, so large\nthat it seemed a wood in itself, its ancient trunk towering\naloft, whereon votive garlands were often hung and inscriptions\ncarved expressing the gratitude of suppliants to the nymph of the\ntree.  Often had the Dryads danced round it hand in hand.  Its\ntrunk measured fifteen cubits round, and it overtopped the other\ntrees as they overtopped the shrubbery.  But for all that,\nErisichthon saw no reason why he should spare it, and he ordered\nhis servants to cut it down.  When he saw them hesitate, he\nsnatched an axe from one, and thus impiously exclaimed, :\"I care\nnot whether it be a tree beloved of the Goddess or not; were it\nthe goddess herself it should come down, if it stood in my way.\"\nSo saying, he lifted the axe, and the oak seemed to shudder and\nutter a groan.  When the first blow fell upon the trunk, blood\nflowed from the wound.  All the bystanders were horror-struck,\nand one of them ventured to remonstrate and hold back the fatal\naxe.  Erisichthon with a scornful look, said to him, \"Receive the\nreward of your piety;\" and turned against him the weapon which he\nhad held aside from the tree, gashed his body with many wounds,\nand cut off his head.  Then from the midst of the oak came a\nvoice, \"I who dwell in this tree am a nymph beloved of Ceres, and\ndying by your hands, forewarn you that punishment awaits you.\"\nHe desisted not from his crime, and at last the tree, sundered by\nrepeated blows and drawn by ropes, fell with a crash, and\nprostrated a great part of the grove in its fall.\n\nThe Dryads, in dismay at the loss of their companion, and at\nseeing the pride of the forest laid low, went in a body to Ceres,\nall clad in garments of mourning, and invoked punishment upon\nErisichthon.  She nodded her assent, and as she bowed her head\nthe grain ripe for harvest in the laden fields bowed also.  She\nplanned a punishment so dire that one would pity him, if such a\nculprit as he could be pitied   to deliver him over to Famine.\nAs Ceres herself could not approach Famine, for the Fates have\nordained that these two goddesses shall never come together, she\ncalled an Oread from her mountain and spoke to her in these\nwords: \"There is a place in the farthest part of ice-clad\nScythia, a sad and sterile region without trees and without\ncrops.  Cold dwells there, and Fear, and Shuddering, and Famine.\nGo to Famine and tell her to take possession of the bowels of\nErisichthon.  Let not abundance subdue her, nor the power of my\ngifts drive her away.  Be not alarmed at the distance,\" (for\nFamine dwells very far from Ceres,) \"but take my chariot.  The\ndragons are fleet and obey the rein, and will take you through\nthe air in a short time.\"  So she gave her the reins, and she\ndrove away and soon reached Scythia.  On arriving at Mount\nCaucasus she stopped the dragons and found Famine in a stony\nfield, pulling up with teeth and claws the scanty herbage.  Her\nhair was rough, her eyes sunk, her face pale, her lips blanched,\nher jaws covered with dust, and her skin drawn tight, so as to\nshow all her bones.  As the Oread saw her afar off (for she did\nnot dare to come near) she delivered the commands of Ceres; and\nthough she stopped as short a time as possible, and kept her\ndistance as well as she could, yet she began to feel hungry, and\nturned the dragons' heads and drove back to Thessaly.\n\nIn obedience to the commands of Ceres, Famine sped through the\nair to the dwelling of Erisichthon, entered the bed-chamber of\nthe guilty man, and found him asleep.  She enfolded him with her\nwings and breathed herself into him, infusing her poison into his\nveins.  Having discharged her task, she hastened to leave the\nland of plenty and returned to her accustomed haunts.\nErisichthon still slept, and in his dreams craved food, and moved\nhis jaws as if eating.  When he awoke his hunger was raging.\nWithout a moment's delay he would have food set before him, of\nwhatever kind earth, sea, or air produces; and complained of\nhunger even while he ate.  What would have sufficed for a city or\na nation was not enough for him.  The more he ate, the move he\ncraved.  His hunger was like the sea, which receives all the\nrivers, yet is never filled; or like fire that burns all the fuel\nthat is heaped upon it, yet is still voracious for more.\n\nHis property rapidly diminished under the unceasing demands of\nhis appetite, but his hunger continued unabated.  At length he\nhad spent all, and had only his daughter left, a daughter worthy\nof a better parent.  HER TOO HE SOLD.  She scorned to be the\nslave of a purchaser, and as she stood by the seaside, raised her\nhands in prayer to Neptune.  He heard her prayer, and, though her\nnew master was not far off, and had his eye upon her a moment\nbefore, Neptune changed her form, and made her assume that of a\nfisherman busy at his occupation.  Her master, looking for her\nand seeing her in her altered form, addressed her and said, \"Good\nfisherman, whither went the maiden whom I saw just now, with hair\ndishevelled and in humble garb, standing about where you stand?\nTell me truly; so may your luck be good, and not a fish nibble at\nyour hook and get away.\"   She perceived that her prayer was\nanswered, and rejoiced inwardly at hearing the question asked her\nof herself.  She replied, \"Pardon me, stranger, but I have been\nso intent upon my line, that I have seen nothing else; but I wish\nI may never catch another fish if I believe any woman or other\nperson except myself to have been hereabouts for some time.\"  He\nwas deceived and went his way, thinking his slave had escaped.\nThen she resumed her own form.  Her father was well pleased to\nfind her still with him, and the money too that he got by the\nsale of her; so he sold her again.  But she was changed by the\nfavor of Neptune as often as she was sold, now into a horse, now\na bird, now an ox, and now a stag,   got away from her purchasers\nand came home.  By this base method the starving father procured\nfood; but not enough for his wants, and at last hunger compelled\nhim to devour his limbs, and he strove to nourish his body by\neating his body, till death relieved him from the vengeance of\nCeres.\n\n\nRHOECUS\n\nThe Hamadryads could appreciate services as well as punish\ninjuries.  The story of Rhoecus proves this.  Rhoecus, happening\nto see an oak just ready to fall, ordered his servants to prop it\nup.  The nymph, who had been on the point of perishing with the\ntree, came and expressed her gratitude to him for having saved\nher life, and bade him ask what reward he would have for it.\nRhoecus boldly asked her love, and the nymph yielded to his\ndesire.  She at the same time charged him to be constant, and\ntold him that a bee should be her messenger, and let him know\nwhen she would admit his society.  One time the bee came to\nRhoecus when he was playing at draughts, and he carelessly\nbrushed it away.  This so incensed the nymph that she deprived\nhim of sight.\n\nOur countryman, James Russell Lowell, has taken this story for\nthe subject of one of his shorter poems.  He introduces it thus:\n\n  \"Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece,\n  As full of freedom, youth and beauty still,\n  As the immortal freshness of that grace\n  Carved for all ages on some Attic frieze.\"\n\n\nTHE WATER DEITIES\n\nOceanus and Tethys were the Titans who ruled over the Sea.  When\nJove and his brothers overthrew the Titans and assumed their\npower, Neptune and Amphitrite succeeded to the dominion of the\nwaters in place of Oceanus and Tethys.\n\n\nNEPTUNE\n\nNeptune was the chief of the water deities.  The symbol of his\npower was the trident, or spear with three points, with which he\nused to shatter rocks, to call forth or subdue storms, to shake\nthe shores, and the like.  He created the horse, and was the\npatron of horse races.  His own horses had brazen hoofs and\ngolden manes.  They drew his chariot over the sea, which became\nsmooth before him, while the monsters of the deep gambolled about\nhis path.\n\n\nAMPHITRITE\n\nAmphitrite was the wife of Neptune.  She was the daughter of\nNereus and Doris, and the mother of Triton.  Neptune, to pay his\ncourt to Amphitrite, came riding on the dolphin.  Having won her,\nhe rewarded the dolphin by placing him among the stars.\n\n\nNEREUS AND DORIS\n\nNereus and Doris were the parents of the Nereids, the most\ncelebrated of whom were Amphitrite, Thetis, the mother of\nAchilles, and Galatea, who was loved by the Cyclops Polyphemus.\nNereus was distinguished for his knowledge, and his love of truth\nand justice, and is described as the wise and unerring Old Man of\nthe Sea.  The gift of prophecy was also ascribed to him.\n\n\nTRITON AND PROTEUS\n\nTriton was the son of Neptune and Amphitrite, and the poets make\nhim his father's trumpeter.  Proteus was also a son of Neptune.\nHe, like Nereus, is styled a sea-elder for his wisdom and\nknowledge of future events.   His peculiar power was that of\nchanging his shape at will.\n\n\nTHETIS\n\nThetis, the daughter of Nereus and Doris, was so beautiful that\nJupiter himself sought her in marriage; but having learned from\nPrometheus the Titan, that Thetis should bear a son who should be\ngreater than his father, Jupiter desisted from his suit and\ndecreed that Thetis should be the wife of a mortal.  By the aid\nof Chiron the Centaur, Peleus succeeded in winning the goddess\nfor his bride, and their son was the renowned Achilles.  In our\nchapter on the Trojan war it will appear that Thetis was a\nfaithful mother to him, aiding him in all difficulties, and\nwatching over his interests from the first to the last.\n\n\nLEUCOTHEA AND PALAEMON\n\nIno, the daughter of Cadmus and wife of Athamas, flying from her\nfrantic husband, with her little son Melicertes in her arms,\nsprang from a cliff into the sea.  The gods, out of compassion,\nmade her a goddess of the sea, under the name of Leucothea, and\nhim a god under that of Palaemon.  Both were held powerful to\nsave from shipwreck, and were invoked by sailors.  Palaemon was\nusually represented riding on a dolphin.  The Isthmian games were\ncelebrated in his honor.  He was called Portumnus by the Romans,\nand believed to have jurisdiction of the ports and shores.\n\nMilton alludes to all these deities in the song at the conclusion\nof Comus.\n\n  \"Sabrina fair,\n  Listen and appear to us,\n  In name of great Oceanus;\n  By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace,\n  And Tethys' grave, majestic pace,\n  By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,\n  And the Carpathian wizard's hook (Proteus)\n  By scaly Triton's winding shell,\n  And old soothsaying Glaucus; spell,\n  By Leucothea's lovely hands,\n  And her son who rules the strands,\n  By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet,\n  And the songs of Sirens sweet.\"\n\nArmstrong, the poet of the Art of preserving Health, under the\ninspiration of Hygeia, the goddess of health, thus celebrates the\nNaiads.  Paeon is a name both of Apollo and Aesculapius.\n\n  \"Come, ye Naiads!  To the fountains lead!\n  Propitious maids!  The task remains to sing\n  Your gifts (so Paeon, so the powers of health\n  Command), to praise your crystal element.\n  Oh, comfortable streams!  With eager lips\n  And trembling hands the languid thirsty quaff\n  New life in you; fresh vigor fills their veins.\n  No warmer cups the rural ages knew,\n  None warmer sought the sires of humankind;\n  Happy in temperate peace their equal days\n  Felt not the alternate fits of feverish mirth\n  And sick dejection; still serene and pleased,\n  Blessed with divine immunity from ills,\n  Long centuries they lived; their only fate\n  Was ripe old age, and rather sleep than death.\"\n\n\nTHE CAMENAE\n\nBy this name the Latins designated the Muses, but included under\nit also some other deities, principally nymphs of fountains.\nEgeria was one of them, whose fountain and grotto are still\nshown.  It was said that Numa, the second king of Rome, was\nfavored by this nymph with secret interviews, in which she taught\nhim those lessons of wisdom and of law which he embodied in the\ninstitutions of his rising nation.  After the death of Numa the\nnymph pined away and was changed into a fountain.\n\nByron, in Childe Harold, Canto IV., thus alludes to Egeria and\nher grotto:\n\n  \"Here didst thou dwell in this enchanted cover,\n  Egeria!  All thy heavenly bosom beating\n  For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover;\n  The purple midnight veiled that mystic meeting\n  With her most starry canopy.\"\n\nTennyson, also, in his Palace of Art, gives us a glimpse of the\nroyal lover expecting the interview.\n\n  \"Holding one hand against his ear,\n  To list a footfall ere he saw\n  The wood-nymph, stayed the Tuscan king to hear\n  Of wisdom and of law.\"\n\n\nTHE WINDS\n\nWhen so many less active agencies were personified, it is not to\nbe supposed that the winds failed to be so.  They were Boreas or\nAquilo, the north wind, Zephyrus or Favonius, the west, Notus or\nAuster, the south, and Eurus, the east.  The first two have been\nchiefly celebrated by the poets, the former as the type of\nrudeness, the latter of gentleness.  Boreas loved the nymph\nOrithyia, and tried to play the lover's part, but met with poor\nsuccess.  It was hard for him to breathe gently, and sighing was\nout of the question.  Weary at last of fruitless endeavors, he\nacted out his true character, seized the maiden and carried her\noff.  Their children were Zetes and Calais, winged warriors, who\naccompanied the Argonautic expedition, and did good service in an\nencounter with those monstrous birds the Harpies.\n\nZephyrus was the lover of Flora.  Milton alludes to them in\nParadise Lost, where he describes Adam waking and contemplating\nEve still asleep:\n\n  \"He on his side\n  Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love\n  Hung over her enamored, and beheld\n  Beauty which, whether waking or asleep,\n  Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice,\n  Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,\n  Her hand soft touching, whispered thus, 'Awake!\n  My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,\n  Heaven's last, best gift, my ever-new delight.'\"\n\nDr. Young, the poet of the Night Thoughts, addressing the idle\nand luxurious, says:\n\n  \"Ye delicate!  Who nothing can support\n  (Yourselves most insupportable), for whom\n  The winter rose must blow, . .\n  . . . .  And silky soft\n  Favonious breathe still softer or be chid!\"\n\nFortuna is the Latin name for Tyche, the goddess of Fortune.  The\nworship of Fortuna held a position of much higher importance at\nRome than did the worship of Tyche among the Greeks.  She was\nregarded at Rome as the goddess of good fortune only, and was\nusually represented holding the cornucopia.\n\nVictoria, the Latin form for the goddess Nike, was highly honored\namong the conquest-loving Romans, and many temples were dedicated\nto her at Rome.  There was a celebrated temple at Athens to the\nGreek goddess Nike Apteros, or Wingless Victory, of which remains\nstill exist.\n\n\n\nChapter XVI\n\nAchelous and Hercules.  Admetus and Alcestis.  Antigone.\nPenelope\n\nThe river-god Achelous told the story of Erisichthon to Theseus\nand his companions, whom he was entertaining at his hospitable\nboard, while they were delayed on their journey by the overflow\nof his waters.  Having finished his story, he added, \"But why\nshould I tell of other persons' transformations, when I myself am\nan instance of the possession of this power.  Sometimes I become\na serpent, and sometimes a bull, with horns on my head.  Or I\nshould say, I once could do so; but now I have but one horn,\nhaving lost one.\"  And here he groaned and was silent.\n\nTheseus asked him the cause of his grief, and how he lost his\nhorn.  To which question the river-god replied as follows: \"Who\nlikes to tell of his defeats?  Yet I will not hesitate to relate\nmine, comforting myself with the thought of the greatness of my\nconqueror, for it was Hercules.  Perhaps you have heard of the\nfame of Dejanira, the fairest of maidens, whom a host of suitors\nstrove to win.  Hercules and myself were of the number, and the\nrest yielded to us two.  He urged in his behalf his descent from\nJove, and his labors by which he had exceeded the exactions of\nJuno, his step-mother.  I, on the other hand, said to the father\nof the maiden, 'Behold me, the king of the waters that flow\nthrough your land.  I am no stranger from a foreign shore, but\nbelong to the country, a part of your realm.  Let it not stand in\nmy way that royal Juno owes me no enmity, nor punishes me with\nheavy tasks.  As for this man, who boasts himself the son of\nJove, it is either a false pretence, or disgraceful to him if\ntrue, for it cannot be true except by his mother's shame.'  As I\nsaid this Hercules scowled upon me, and with difficulty\nrestrained his rage.  'My hand will answer better than my\ntongue,' said he.  'I yield you the victory in words, but trust\nmy cause to the strife of deeds.  With that he advanced towards\nme, and I was ashamed, after what I had said, to yield.  I threw\noff my green vesture, and presented myself for the struggle.  He\ntried to throw me, now attacking my head, now my body.  My bulk\nwas my protection, and he assailed me in vain.  For a time we\nstopped, then returned to the conflict.  We each kept our\nposition, determined not to yield, foot to foot, I bending over\nhim, clinching his hands in mine, with my forehead almost\ntouching his.  Thrice Hercules tried to throw me off, and the\nfourth time he succeeded, brought me to the ground and himself\nupon my back.  I tell you the truth, it was as if a mountain had\nfallen on me.  I struggled to get my arms at liberty, panting and\nreeking with perspiration.  He gave me no chance to recover, but\nseized my throat.  My knees were on the earth and my mouth in the\ndust.\n\n\"Finding that I was no match for him in the warrior's art, I\nresorted to others, and glided away in the form of a serpent.  I\ncurled my body in a coil, and hissed at him with my forked\ntongue.  He smiled scornfully at this, and said, 'It was the\nlabor of my infancy to conquer snakes.'  So saying he clasped my\nneck with his hands.  I was almost choked, and struggled to get\nmy neck out of his grasp.  Vanquished in this form, I tried what\nalone remained to me, and assumed the form of a bull.  He grasped\nmy neck with his arm, and, dragging my head down to the ground,\noverthrew me on the sand.  Nor was this enough.  His ruthless\nhand rent my horn from my head.  The Naiades took it, consecrated\nit, and filled it with fragrant flowers.  Plenty adopted my horn,\nand made it her own, and called it Cornucopia.\n\nThe ancients were fond of finding a hidden meaning in their\nmythological tales.  They explain this fight of Achelous with\nHercules by saying Achelous was a river that in seasons of rain\noverflowed its banks.  When the fable says that Achelous loved\nDejanira, and sought a union with her, the meaning is, that the\nriver in its windings flowed through part of Dejanira's kingdom.\nIt was said to take the form of a snake because of its winding,\nand of a bull because it made a brawling or roaring in its\ncourse.  When the river swelled, it made itself another channel.\nThus its head was horned.  Hercules prevented the return of these\nperiodical overflows, by embankments and canals; and therefore he\nwas said to have vanquished the river-god and cut off his horn.\nFinally, the lands formerly subject to overflow, but now\nredeemed, became very fertile, and this is meant by the horn of\nplenty.\n\nThere is another account of the origin of the Cornucopia.\nJupiter at his birth was committed by his mother Rhea to the care\nof the daughters of Melisseus, a Cretan king.  They fed the\ninfant deity with the milk of the goat Amalthea.  Jupiter broke\noff one of the horns of the goat and gave it to his nurses, and\nendowed it with the wonderful power of becoming filled with\nwhatever the possessor might wish.\n\nThe name of Amalthea is also given by some writers to the mother\nof Bacchus.  It is thus used by Milton, Paradise Lost, Book IV.:\n\n  \"That Nyseian isle,\n  Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham,\n  Whom Gentiles Ammon call, and Libyan Jove,\n  Hid Amalthea and her florid son,\n  Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye.\"\n\n\nADMETUS AND ALCESTIS\n\nAesculapius, the son of Apollo, was endowed by his father with\nsuch skill in the healing art that he even restored the dead to\nlife.  At this Pluto took alarm, and prevailed on Jupiter to\nlaunch a thunderbolt at Aesculapius.  Apollo was indignant at the\ndestruction of his son, and wreaked his vengeance on the innocent\nworkmen who had made the thunderbolt.  These were the Cyclopes,\nwho have their workshop under Mount Aetna, from which the smoke\nand flames of their furnaces are constantly issuing.  Apollo shot\nhis arrows at the Cyclopes, which so incensed Jupiter that he\ncondemned him as a punishment to become he servant of a mortal\nfor the space of one year.  Accordingly Apollo went into the\nservice of Admetus, king of Thessaly, and pastured his flocks for\nhim on the verdant banks of the river Amphrysus.\n\nAdmetus was a suitor, with others, for the hand of Alcestis, the\ndaughter of Pelias, who promised her to him who should come for\nher in a chariot drawn by lions and boars.  This task Admetus\nperformed by the assistance of his divine herdsman, and was made\nhappy in the possession of Alcestis.  But Admetus fell ill, and\nbeing near to death, Apollo prevailed on the Fates to spare him\non condition that some one would consent to die in his stead.\nAdmetus, in his joy at this reprieve, thought little of the\nransom, and perhaps remembering the declarations of attachment\nwhich he had often heard from his courtiers and dependents,\nfancied that it would be easy to find a substitute.  But it was\nnot so.  Brave warriors, who would willingly have perilled their\nlives for their prince, shrunk from the thought of dying for him\non the bed of sickness; and old servants who had experienced his\nbounty and that of his house from their childhood up, were not\nwilling to lay down the scanty remnant of their days to show\ntheir gratitude.  Men asked,   \"Why does not one of his parents\ndo it?  They cannot in the course of nature live much longer, and\nwho can feel like them the call to rescue the life they gave from\nan untimely end?\"  But the parents, distressed though they were\nat the thought of losing him, shrunk from the call.  Then\nAlcestis, with a generous self-devotion, proffered herself as the\nsubstitute.  Admetus, fond as he was of life, would not have\nsubmitted to receive it at such a cost; but there was no remedy.\nThe condition imposed by the Fates had been met, and the decree\nwas irrevocable.  Alcestis sickened as Admetus revived, and she\nwas rapidly sinking to the grave.\n\nJust at this time Hercules arrived at the palace of Admetus, and\nfound all the inmates in great distress for the impending loss of\nthe devoted wife and beloved mistress.  Hercules, to whom no\nlabor was too arduous, resolved to attempt her rescue.  He went\nand lay in wait at the door of the chamber of the dying queen,\nand when Death came for his prey, he seized him and forced him to\nresign his victim.  Alcestis recovered, and was restored to her\nhusband.\n\nMilton alludes to the story of Alcestis in his Sonnet on his\ndeceased wife.\n\n  \"Methought I saw my late espoused saint,\n  Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,\n  Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave,\n  Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.\"\n\nJames Russell Lowell has chosen the \"Shepherd of King Admetus\"\nfor the subject of a short poem.  He makes that event the first\nintroduction of poetry to men.\n\n  \"Men called him but a shiftless youth,\n  In whom no good they saw,\n  And yet unwittingly, in truth,\n  They made his careless words their law.\n  And day by day more holy grew\n  Each spot where he had trod,\n  Till after poets only knew\n  Their first-born brother was a god.\"\n\nIn The Love of Alcestis, one of the poems in The Earthly\nParadise, Mr. Morris thus tells the story of the taming of the\nlions:\n\n  \"---- Rising up no more delay he made,\n  But took the staff and gained the palace-door\n  Where stood the beasts, whose mingled whine and roar\n  Had wrought his dream; there two and two they stood,\n  Thinking, it might be, of the tangled wood,\n  And all the joys of the food-hiding trees.\n  But harmless as their painted images\n  'Neath some dread spell; then, leaping up, he took\n  The reins in hand and the bossed leather shook,\n  And no delay the conquered beasts durst make,\n  But drew, not silent; and folk just awake,\n  When he went by as though a god they saw,\n  Fell on their knees, and maidens come to draw\n  Fresh water from the fount, sank trembling down,\n  And silence held the babbling, wakened town.\"\n\n\nANTIGONE\n\nThe poems and histories of legendary Greece often relate, as has\nbeen seen, to women and their lives.  Antigone was as bright an\nexample of filial and sisterly fidelity as was Alcestis of\nconnubial devotion.  She was the daughter of OEdipus and Jocasta,\nwho, with all their descendants, were the victims of an\nunrelenting fate, dooming them to destruction.  OEdipus in his\nmadness had torn out his eyes, and was driven forth from his\nkingdom Thebes, dreaded and abandoned by all men, as an object of\ndivine vengeance.  Antigone, his daughter, alone shared his\nwanderings, and remained with him till he died, and then returned\nto Thebes.\n\nHer brothers, Eteocles and Polynices, had agreed to share the\nkingdom between them, and reign alternately year by year.  The\nfirst year fell to the lot of Eteocles, who, when his time\nexpired, refused to surrender the kingdom to his brother.\nPolynices fled to Adrastus, king of Argos, who gave him his\ndaughter in marriage, and aided him with an army to enforce his\nclaim to the kingdom.  This led to the celebrated expedition of\nthe \"Seven against Thebes,\" which furnished ample materials for\nthe epic and tragic poets of Greece.\n\nAmphiaraus, the brother-in-law of Adrastus, opposed the\nenterprise, for he was a soothsayer, and knew by his art that no\none of the leaders except Adrastus would live to return.  But\nAmphiaraus, on his marriage to Eriphyle, the king's sister, had\nagreed that whenever he and Adrastus should differ in opinion,\nthe decision should be left to Eriphyle.  Polynices, knowing\nthis, gave Eriphyle the collar of Harmonia, and thereby gained\nher to his interest.  This collar or necklace was a present which\nVulcan had given to Harmonia on her marriage with Cadmus, and\nPolynices had taken it with him on his flight from Thebes.\nEriphyle could not resist so tempting a bribe, and by her\ndecision the war was resolved on, and Amphiaraus went to his\ncertain fate.  He bore his part bravely in the contest, but could\nnot avert his destiny.  Pursued by the enemy he fled along the\nriver, when a thunderbolt launched by Jupiter opened the ground,\nand he, his chariot, and his charioteer, were swallowed up.\n\nIt would not be in place here to detail all the acts of heroism\nor atrocity which marked the contest; but we must not omit to\nrecord the fidelity of Evadne as an offset to the weakness of\nEriphyle.  Capaneus, the husband of Evadne, in the ardor of the\nfight, declared that he would force his way into the city in\nspite of Jove himself.  Placing a ladder against the wall, he\nmounted, but Jupiter, offended at his impious language, struck\nhim with a thunderbolt.  When his obsequies were celebrated,\nEvadne cast herself on his funeral pile and perished.\n\nEarly in the contest Eteocles consulted the soothsayer Tiresias\nas to the issue.  Tiresias, in his youth, had by chance seen\nMinerva bathing.  The goddess in her wrath deprived him of his\nsight, but afterwards relenting gave him in compensation the\nknowledge of future events.  When consulted by Eteocles, he\ndeclared that victory should fall to Thebes if Menoeceus, the son\nof Creon, gave himself a voluntary victim.  The heroic youth,\nlearning the response, threw away his life in the first\nencounter.\n\nThe siege continued long, with various success.  At length both\nhosts agreed that the brothers should decide their quarrel by\nsingle combat.  They fought and fell by each other's hands.  The\narmies then renewed the fight, and at last the invaders were\nforced to yield, and fled, leaving their dead unburied.  Creon,\nthe uncle of the fallen princes, now become king, caused Eteocles\nto be buried with distinguished honor, but suffered the body of\nPolynices to lie where it fell, forbidding every one, on pain of\ndeath, to give it burial.\n\nAntigone, the sister of Polynices, heard with indignation the\nrevolting edict which consigned her brother's body to the dogs\nand vultures, depriving it of those rites which were considered\nessential to the repose of the dead.  Unmoved by the dissuading\ncounsel of an affectionate but timid sister, and unable to\nprocure assistance, she determined to brave the hazard and to\nbury the body with her own hands.  She was detected in the act,\nand Creon gave orders that she should be buried alive, as having\ndeliberately set at nought the solemn edict of the city.  Her\nlove, Haemon, the son of Creon, unable to avert her fate, would\nnot survive her, and fell by his own hand.\n\nAntigone forms the subject of two fine tragedies of the Grecian\npoet Sophocles.  Mrs. Jameson, in her Characteristics of Women,\nhas compared her character with that of Cordelia, in\nShakespeare's King Lear.  The perusal of her remarks cannot fail\nto gratify our readers.\n\nThe following is the lamentation of Antigone over OEdipus, when\ndeath has at last relieved him from his sufferings:\n\n  \"Alas!  I only wished I might have died\n  With my poor father; wherefore should I ask\n  For longer life?\n  Oh, I was fond of misery with him;\n  E'en what was most unlovely grew beloved\n  When he was with me.  Oh, my dearest father,\n  Beneath the earth now in deep darkness hid,\n  Worn as thou wert with age, to me thou still\n  Wast dear, and shalt be ever.\"\n  Francklin's Sophocles\n\n\nPENELOPE\n\nPenelope is another of those mythic heroines whose beauties were\nrather those of character and conduct than of person.  She was\nthe daughter of Icarius, a Spartan prince.  Ulysses, king of\nIthaca, sought her in marriage, and won her over all competitors.\nWhen the moment came for the bride to leave her father's house,\nIcarius, unable to bear the thoughts of parting with his\ndaughter, tried to persuade her to remain with him, and not\naccompany her husband to Ithaca.  Ulysses gave Penelope her\nchoice, to stay or go with him.  Penelope made no reply, but\ndropped her veil over her face.  Icarius urged her no further,\nbut when she was gone erected a statue to Modesty on the spot\nwhere they parted.\n\nUlysses and Penelope had not enjoyed their union more than a year\nwhen it was interrupted by the events which called Ulysses to the\nTrojan war.  During his long absence, and when it was doubtful\nwhether he still lived, and highly improbable that he would ever\nreturn, Penelope was importuned by numerous suitors, from whom\nthere seemed no refuge but in choosing one of them for her\nhusband.  Penelope, however, employed every art to gain time,\nstill hopping for Ulysses' return.  One of her arts of delay was\nengaging in the preparation of a robe for the funeral canopy of\nLaertes, her husband's father.  She pledged herself to make her\nchoice among the suitors when the robe was finished.  During the\nday she worked at the robe, but in the night she undid the work\nof the day.  This is the famous Penelope's web, which is used as\na proverbial expression for anything which is perpetually doing\nbut never done.  The rest of Penelope's history will be told when\nwe give an account of her husband's adventures.\n\n\n\nChapter XVII\n\nOrpheus and Eurydice.  Artistaeus.  Amphion.  Linus.\nThamyris.  Marsyas.  Melampus.  Musaeus\n\nOrpheus was the son of Apollo and the muse Calliope.  He was\npresented by his father with a lyre and taught to play upon it,\nand he played to such perfection that nothing could withstand the\ncharm of his music.  Not only his fellow mortals, but wild beasts\nwere softened by his strains, and gathering round him laid by\ntheir fierceness, and stood entranced with his lay.  Nay, the\nvery trees and rocks were sensible to the charm.  The former\ncrowded round him and the latter relaxed somewhat of their\nhardness, softened by his notes.\n\nHymen had been called to bless with his presence the nuptials of\nOrpheus with Eurydice; but though he attended, he brought no\nhappy omens with him.  His very torch smoked and brought tears\ninto their eyes.  In coincidence with such prognostics Eurydice,\nshortly after her marriage, while wandering with the nymphs, her\ncompanions, was seen by the shepherd Aristaeus, who was struck\nwith her beauty, and made advances to her.  She fled, and in\nflying trod upon a snake in the grass, was bitten in the foot and\ndied.  Orpheus sang his grief to all who breathed the upper air,\nboth gods and men, and finding it all unavailing resolved to seek\nhis wife in the regions of the dead.  He descended by a cave\nsituated on the side of the promontory of Taenarus and arrived at\nthe Stygian realm.  He passed through crowds of ghosts, and\npresented himself before the throne of Pluto and Proserpine.\nAccompanying the words with the lyre, he sung, \"O deities of the\nunderworld, to whom all we who live must come, hear my words, for\nthey are true!  I come not to spy out the secrets of Tartarus,\nnor to try my strength against the three-headed dog with snaky\nhair who guards the entrance.  I come to seek my wife, whose\nopening years the poisonous viper's fang has brought to an\nuntimely end.  Love had led me here, Love, a god all powerful\nwith us who dwell on the earth, and, if old traditions say true,\nnot less so here.  I implore you by these abodes full of terror,\nthese realms of silence and uncreated things, unite again the\nthread of Eurydice's life.  We all are destined to you, and\nsooner or later must pass to your domain.  She too, when she\nshall have filled her term of life, will rightly be yours. But\ntill then grant her to me, I beseech you.  If you deny me, I\ncannot return alone; you shall triumph in the death of us both.\"\n\nAs he sang these tender strains, the very ghosts shed tears.\nTantalus, in spite of his thirst, stopped for a moment his\nefforts for water, Ixion's wheel stood still, the vulture ceased\nto tear the giant's liver, the daughters of Danaus rested from\ntheir task of drawing water in a sieve, and Sisyphus sat on his\nrock to listen.  Then for the first time, it is said, the cheeks\nof the Furies were wet with tears.  Proserpine could not resist,\nand Pluto himself gave way.  Eurydice was called.  She came from\namong the new-arrived ghosts, limping with her wounded foot.\nOrpheus was permitted to take her away with him on one condition,\nthat he should not turn round to look at her till they should\nhave reached the upper air.  Under this condition they proceeded\non their way, he leading, she following, through passages dark\nand steep, in total silence, till they had nearly reached the\noutlet into the cheerful upper world, when Orpheus, in a moment\nof forgetfulness, to assure himself that she was still following,\ncast a glance behind him, when instantly she was borne away.\nStretching out their arms to embrace one another they grasped\nonly the air.  Dying now a second time she yet cannot reproach\nher husband, for how can she blame his impatience to behold her?\n\"Farewell,\" she said, \"a last farewell,\"   and was hurried away,\nso fast that the sound hardly reached his ears.\n\nOrpheus endeavored to follow her, and besought permission to\nreturn and try once more for her release but the stern ferryman\nrepulsed him and refused passage.  Seven days he lingered about\nthe brink, without food or sleep; then bitterly accusing of\ncruelty the powers of Erebus, he sang his complaints to the rocks\nand mountains, melting the hearts of tigers and moving the oaks\nfrom their stations.  He held himself aloof from womankind,\ndwelling constantly on the recollection of his sad mischance.\nThe Thracian maidens tried their best to captivate him, but he\nrepulsed their advances.  They bore with him as long as they\ncould; but finding him insensible, one day, one of them, excited\nby the rites of Bacchus, exclaimed, \"See yonder our despiser!\"\nand threw at him her javelin.  The weapon, as soon as it came\nwithin the sound of his lyre, fell harmless at his feet.  So did\nalso the stones that they threw at him.  But the women raised a\nscream and drowned the voice of the music, and then the missiles\nreached him and soon were stained with his blood.  The maniacs\ntore him limb from limb, and threw his head and his lyre into the\nriver Hebrus, down which they floated, murmuring sad music, to\nwhich the shores responded a plaintive symphony.  The Muses\ngathered up the fragments of his body and buried them at\nLibethra, where the nightingale is said to sing over his grave\nmore sweetly than in any other part of Greece.  His lyre was\nplaced by Jupiter among the stars.  His shade passed a second\ntime to Tartarus, where he sought out his Eurydice and embraced\nher, with eager arms.  They roam through those happy fields\ntogether now, sometimes he leads, sometimes she; and Orpheus\ngazes as much as he will upon her, no longer incurring a penalty\nfor a thoughtless glance.\n\nThe story of Orpheus has furnished Pope with an illustration of\nthe power of music, for his Ode for St. Cecelia's Day.  The\nfollowing stanza relates the conclusion of the story:\n\n  \"But soon, too soon the lover turns his eyes;\n  Again she falls, again she dies, she dies!\n  How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move?\n  No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.\n  Now under hanging mountains,\n  Beside the falls of fountains,\n  Or where Hebrus wanders,\n  Rolling in meanders,\n  All alone,\n  He makes his moan,\n  And calls her ghost,\n  Forever, ever, ever lost!\n  Now with furies surrounded,\n  Despairing, confounded,\n  He trembles, he glows,\n  Amidst Rhodope's snows.\n  See, wild as the winds o'er the desert he flies;\n  Hark!  Haemus resounds with the Bacchanals' cries.\n  Ah, see, he dies!\n  Yet even in death Eurydice he sung,\n  Eurydice still trembled on his tongue;\n  Eurydice the woods,\n  Eurydice the floods,\n  Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung.\"\n\nThe superior melody of the nightingale's song over the grave of\nOrpheus, is alluded to by Southey in his Thalaba:\n\n  \"Then on his ear what sounds\n  Of harmony arose!\n  Far music and the distance-mellowed song\n  From bowers of merriment;\n  The waterfall remote;\n  The murmuring of the leafy groves;\n  The single nightingale\n  Perched in the rosier by, so richly toned,\n  That never from that most melodious bird\n  Singing a love-song to his brooding mate,\n  Did Thracian shepherd by the grave\n  Of Orpheus hear a sweeter melody,\n  Though there the spirit of the sepulchre\n  All his own power infuse, to swell\n  The incense that he loves.\"\n\n\nARISTAEUS, THE BEE-KEEPER\n\nMan avails himself of the instincts of the inferior animals for\nhis own advantage.  Hence sprang the art of keeping bees.  Honey\nmust first have been known as a wild product, the bees building\ntheir structures in hollow trees or holes in the rocks, or any\nsimilar cavity that chance offered.  Thus occasionally the\ncarcass of a dead animal would be occupied by the bees for that\npurpose.  It was no doubt from some such incident that the\nsuperstition arose that the bees were engendered by the decaying\nflesh of the animal; and Virgil, in the following story (From the\nGeorgies, Book IV.1.317), shows how this supposed fact may be\nturned to account for renewing the swarm when it has been lost by\ndisease or accident.\n\nThe shepherd Aristaeus, who first taught the management of bees,\nwas the son of the water-nymph Cyrene.  His bees had perished,\nand he resorted for aid to his mother.  He stood at the river\nside and thus addressed her: \"Oh, mother, the pride of my life is\ntaken from me!  I have lost my precious bees.  My care and skill\nhave availed me nothing, and you, my mother, have not warded off\nfrom me the blow of misfortune.\"  His mother heard these\ncomplaints as she sat in her palace at the bottom of the river\nwith her attendant nymphs around her.  They were engaged in\nfemale occupations, spinning and weaving, while one told stories\nto amuse the rest.  The sad voice of Aristaeus interrupting their\noccupation, one of them put her head above the water and seeing\nhim, returned and gave information to his mother, who ordered\nthat he should be brought into her presence.  The river at her\ncommand opened itself and let him pass in, while it stood curled\nlike a mountain on either side.  He descended to the region where\nthe fountains of the great rivers lie; he saw the enormous\nreceptacles of waters and was almost deafened with the roar,\nwhile he surveyed them hurrying off in various directions to\nwater the face of the earth.  Arriving at his mother's apartment\nhe was hospitably received by Cyrene and her nymphs, who spread\ntheir table with the richest dainties.  They first poured out\nlibations to Neptune, then regaled themselves with the feast, and\nafter that Cyrene thus addressed him: \"There is an old prophet\nnamed Proteus, who dwells in the sea and is a favorite of\nNeptune, whose herd of sea-calves he pastures.  We nymphs hold\nhim in great respect, for he is a learned sage, and knows all\nthings, past, present, and to come.  He can tell you, my son, the\ncause of the mortality among your bees, and how you may remedy\nit.  But he will not do it voluntarily, however you may entreat\nhim.  You must compel him by force.  If you seize him and chain\nhim, he will answer your questions in order to get released, for\nhe cannot, by all his arts, get away if you hold fast the chains.\nI will carry you to his cave, where he comes at noon to take his\nmidday repose.  Then you may easily secure him.  But when he\nfinds himself captured, his resort is to a power he possesses of\nchanging himself into various forms.  He will become a wild boar\nor a fierce tiger, a scaly dragon, or lion with yellow mane.  Or\nhe will make a noise like the crackling of flames or the rush of\nwater, so as to tempt you to let go the chain, when he will make\nhis escape.  But you have only to keep him fast bound, and at\nlast when he finds all his arts unavailing, he will return to his\nown figure and obey your commands.\"  So saying she sprinkled her\nson with fragrant nectar, the beverage of the gods, and\nimmediately an unusual vigor filled his frame and courage his\nheart, while perfume breathed all around him.\n\nThe nymph led her son to the prophet's cave, and concealed him\namong the recesses of the rocks, while she herself took her place\nbehind the clouds.  Then noon came and the hour when men and\nherds retreat from the glaring sun to indulge in quiet slumber,\nProteus issued from the water, followed hy his herd of sea-\ncalves, which spread themselves along the shore.  He sat on the\nrock and counted his herd; then stretched himself on the floor of\nthe cave and went to sleep.  Aristaeus hardly allowed him to get\nfairly asleep before he fixed the fetters on him and shouted\naloud.  Proteus, waking and finding himself captured, immediately\nresorted to his arts, becoming first a fire, then a flood, then a\nhorrible wild beast, in rapid succession.  But trying all in\nvain, he at last resumed his own form and addressed the youth in\nangry accents: \"Who are you, bold youth, who thus invade my\nabode, and what do you want with me?\"  Aristaeus replied,\n\"Proteus, you know already, for it is needless for any one to\nattempt to deceive you.  And do you also cease your efforts to\nelude me.  I am led hither by divine assistance, to know from you\nthe cause of my misfortune and how to remedy it.\"  At these words\nthe prophet, fixing on him his gray eyes with a piercing look,\nthus spoke: \"You received the merited reward of your deeds, by\nwhich Eurydice met her death, for in flying from you she trod\nupon a serpent, of whose bite she died.  To avenge her death the\nnymphs, her companions, have sent this destruction bo your bees.\nYou have to appease their anger, and thus it must be done: Select\nfour bulls of perfect form and size, and four cows of equal\nbeauty, build four altars to the nymphs, and sacrifice the\nanimals, leaving their carcasses in the leafy grove.  To Orpheus\nand Eurydice you shall pay such funeral honors as may allay their\nresentment.  Returning after nine days you will examine the\nbodies of the cattle slain and see what will befall.\"  Aristaeus\nfaithfully obeyed these directions.  He sacrificed the cattle, he\nleft their bodies in the grove, he offered funeral honors to the\nshades of Orpheus and Eurydice; then returning on the ninth day\nhe examined the bodies of the animals, and, wonderful to relate!\nA swarm of bees had taken possession of one of the carcasses, and\nwere pursuing their labors there as in a hive.\n\nIn the Task, Cowper alludes to the story of Aristaeus, when\nspeaking of the ice-palace built by the Empress Anne of Russia.\nHe has been describing the fantastic forms which ice assumes in\nconnection with waterfalls, etc.\"\n\n  \"Less worthy of applause though more admired,\n  Because a novelty, the work of man,\n  Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ,\n  Thy most magnificent and mighty freak,\n  The wonder of the north.  No forest fell\n  When thou wouldst build, no quarry sent its stores\n  T'enrich thy walls; but thou didst hew the floods\n  And make thy marble of the glassy wave.\n  In such a palace Aristaeus found\n  Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale\n  Of his lost bees to her maternal ear.\"\n\nMilton also appears to have had Cyrene and her domestic scene in\nhis mind when he describes to us Sabrina, the nymph of the river\nSevern, in the Guardian-spirit's Song in Comus:\n\n  \"Sabrina fair!\n  Listen when thou art sitting\n  Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave\n  In twisted braids of lilies knitting\n  The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;\n  Listen for dear honor's sake,\n  Goddess of the silver lake!\n  Listen and save.\"\n\nThe following are other celebrated mythical poets and musicians,\nsome of whom were hardly inferior to Orpheus himself:\n\n\nAMPHION\n\nAmphion was the son of Jupiter and Antiope, queen of Thebes.\nWith his twin brother Zethus he was exposed at birth on Mount\nCithaeron, where they grew up among the shepherds, not knowing\ntheir parentage.  Mercury gave Amphion a lyre, and taught him to\nplay upon it, and his brother occupied himself in hunting and\ntending the flocks.  Meanwhile Antiope, their mother, who had\nbeen treated with great cruelty by Lycus, the usurping king of\nThebes, and by Dirce, his wife, found means to inform her\nchildren of their rights, and to summon them to her assistance.\nWith a band of their fellow-herdsmen they attacked and slew\nLycus, and tying Dirce by the hair of her head to a bull, let him\ndrag her till she was dead (the punishment of Dirce is the\nsubject of a celebrated group of statuary now in the Museum at\nNaples).  Amphion, having become king of Thebes fortified the\ncity with a wall.  It is said that when he played on his lyre the\nstones moved of their own accord and took their places in the\nwall.\n\nIn Tennyson's poem of Amphion is an amusing use of this story:\n\n  \"Oh, had I lived when song was great,\n  In days of old Amphion,\n  And ta'en my fiddle to the gate\n  Nor feared for reed or scion!\n\n  And had I lived when song was great,\n  And legs of trees were limber,\n  And ta'en my fiddle to the gate,\n  And fiddled to the timber!\n\n  \"'Tis said he had a tuneful tongue,\n  Such happy intonation,\n  Wherever he sat down and sung\n  He left a small plantation;\n  Whenever in a lonely grove\n  He set up his forlorn pipes,\n  The gouty oak began to move\n  And flounder into hornpipes.\"\n\n\nLINUS\n\nLinus was the instructor of Hercules in music, but having one day\nreproved his pupil rather harshly, he roused the anger of\nHercules, who struck him with his lyre and killed him.\n\n\nTHAMYRIS\n\nAn ancient Thracian bard, who in his presumption challenged the\nMuses to a trial of skill, and being overcome in the contest was\ndeprived by them of his sight.  Milton alludes to him with other\nblind bards, when speaking of his own blindness (Paradise Lost,\nBook III.35).\n\n\nMARSYAS\n\nMinerva invented the flute, and played upon it to the delight of\nall the celestial auditors; but the mischievous urchin Cupid\nhaving dared to laugh at the queer face which the goddess made\nwhile playing, Minerva threw the instrument indignantly away, and\nit fell down to earth, and was found by Marsyas.  He blew upon\nit, and drew from it such ravishing sounds that he was tempted to\nchallenge Apollo himself to a musical contest.  The god of course\ntriumphed, and punished Marsyas by flaying him alive.\n\n\nMELAMPUS\n\nMelampus was the first mortal endowed with prophetic powers.\nBefore his house there stood an oak tree containing a serpent's\nnest.  The old serpents were killed by the servants, but Melampus\ntook care of the young ones and fed them carefully.  One day when\nhe was asleep under the oak, the serpents licked his ears with\ntheir tongues.  On awaking he was astonished to find that he now\nunderstood the language of birds and creeping things.  This\nknowledge enabled him to foretell future events, and he became a\nrenowned soothsayer.  At one time his enemies took him captive\nand kept him strictly imprisoned.  Melampus in the silence of\nnight heard the wood-worms in the timbers talking together, and\nfound out by what they said that the timbers were nearly eaten\nthrough, and the roof would soon fall in.  He told his captors\nand demanded to be let out, warning them also.  They took his\nwarning, and thus escaped destruction, and rewarded Malampus and\nheld him in high honor.\n\n\nMUSAEUS\n\nA semi-mythological personage who was represented by one\ntradition to be the son of Orpheus.  He is said to have written\nsacred poems and oracles.  Milton couples his name with that of\nOrpheus in his Il Penseroso:\n\n  \"But, oh, sad virgin, that thy power\n  Might raise Musaeus from his bower,\n  Or bed the soul of Orpheus sing\n  Such notes as warbled to the string,\n  Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,\n  And made Hell grant what love did seek.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XVIII\n\nArion.  Ibycus.  Simonides.  Sappho\n\nThe poets whose adventures compose this chapter were real\npersons, some of whose works yet remain, and their influence on\npoets who succeeded them is yet more important than their\npoetical remains. The adventures recorded of them in the\nfollowing stories rest on the same authority as other narratives\nof the Age of Fable, that is, that of the poets who have told\nthem.  In their present form, the first two are translated from\nthe German, the story of Arion from Schlegel, and that of Ibycus\nfrom Schiller.\n\n\nARION\n\nArion was a famous musician, and dwelt at the court of Periander,\nking of Corinth, with whom he was a great favorite.  There was to\nbe a musical contest in Sicily, and Arion longed to compete for\nthe prize.  He told his wish to Periander, who besought him like\na brother to give up the thought.  \"Pray stay with me,\" he said,\n\"and be contented.  He who strives to win may lose.\"  Arion\nanswered, \"A wandering life best suits the free heart of a poet.\nThe talent which a god bestowed on me, I would fain make a source\nof pleasure to others.  And if I win the prize, how will the\nenjoyment of it be increased by the consciousness of my wide-\nspread fame!\"  He went, won the prize, and embarked with his\nwealth in a Corinthian ship for home.  On the second morning\nafter setting sail, the wind breathed mild and fair.  \"Oh,\nPeriander,\" he exclaimed, \"dismiss your fears!  Soon shall you\nforget them in my embrace.  With what lavish offerings will we\ndisplay our gratitude to the gods, and how merry will we be at\nthe festal board!\"  The wind and sea continued propitious.  Not a\ncloud dimmed the firmament.  He had not trusted too much to the\nocean,   but he had to man.  He overheard the seamen exchanging\nhints with one another, and found they were plotting to possess\nthemselves of his treasure.  Presently they surrounded him loud\nand mutinous, and said, \"Arion, you must die!  If you would have\na grave on shore, yield yourself to die on this spot; but if\notherwise, cast yourself into the sea.\"  \"Will nothing satisfy\nyou but my life?\" said he.  \"Take my gold, and welcome.  I\nwillingly buy my life at that price.\"  \"No, no; we cannot spare\nyou.  Your life will be too dangerous to us.  Where could we go\nto escape from Periander, if he should know that you had been\nrobbed by us?  Your gold would be of little use to us, if, on\nreturning home, we could never more be free from fear.\" \"Grant\nme, then,\" said he, \"a last request, since nought will avail to\nsave my life, that I may die as I have lived, as becomes a bard.\nWhen I shall have sung my death-song, and my harp-strings shall\ncease to vibrate, then I will bid farewell to life, and yield\nuncomplaining to my fate.\"  This prayer, like the others, would\nhave been unheeded,   they thought only of their booty,   but to\nhear so famous a musician, that moved their rude hearts.  \"Suffer\nme,\" he added, \"to arrange my dress.  Apollo will not favor me\nunless I be clad in my minstrel garb.\"\n\nHe clothed his well-proportioned limbs in gold and purple fair to\nsee, his tunic fell around him in graceful folds, jewels adorned\nhis arms, his brow was crowned with a golden wreath, and over his\nneck and shoulders flowed his hair perfumed with odors.  His left\nhand held the lyre, his right the ivory wand with which he struck\nits chords.  Like one inspired, he seemed to drink the morning\nair and glitter in the morning ray.  The seamen gazed with\nadmiration.  He strode forward to the vessel's side and looked\ndown into the blue sea.  Addressing his lyre, he sang, \"Companion\nof my voice, come with me to the realm of shades.  Though\nCerberus may growl, we know the power of song can tame his rage.\nYe heroes of Elysium, who have passed the darkling flood,   ye\nhappy souls, soon shall I join your band.  Yet can ye relieve my\ngrief?  Alas, I leave my friend behind me.  Thou, who didst find\nthy Eurydice, and lose her again as soon as found; when she had\nvanished like a dream, how didst thou hate the cheerful light!  I\nmust away, but I will not fear.  The gods look down upon us.  Ye\nwho slay me unoffending, when I am no more, your time of\ntrembling shall come.  Ye Nereids, receive your guest, who throws\nhimself upon your mercy!\"  So saying, he sprang into the deep\nsea.  The waves covered him, and the seamen held on their way,\nfancying themselves safe from all danger of detection.\n\nBut the strains of his music had drawn round him the inhabitants\nof the deep to listen, and dolphins followed the ship as if\nchained by a spell.  While he struggled in the waves, a dolphin\noffered him his back, and carried him mounted thereon safe to\nshore.  At the spot where he landed, a monument of brass was\nafterwards erected upon the rocky shore, to preserve the memory\nof the event.\n\nWhen Arion and the dolphin parted, each to his own element, Arion\nthus poured forth his thanks.  \"Farewell, thou faithful, friendly\nfish!  Would that I could reward thee; but thou canst not wend\nwith me, nor I with thee.  Companionship we may not have.  May\nGalatea, queen of the deep, accord thee her favor, and thou,\nproud of the burden, draw her chariot over the smooth mirror of\nthe deep.\"\n\nArion hastened from the shore, and soon saw before him the towers\nof Corinth.  He journeyed on, harp in hand, singing as he went,\nfull of love and happiness, forgetting his losses, and mindful\nonly of what remained, his friend and his lyre.  He entered the\nhospitable halls, and was soon clasped in the embrace of\nPeriander.  \"I come back to thee, my friend,\" he said.  \"The\ntalent which a god bestowed has been the delight of thousands,\nbut false knaves have stripped me of my well-earned treasure; yet\nI retain the consciousness of wide-spread fame.\"  Then he told\nPeriander all the wonderful events that had befallen him, who\nheard him with amazement.  \"Shall such wickedness triumph?\" said\nhe.  \"Then in vain is power lodged in my hands.  That we may\ndiscover the criminals, you must remain here in concealment, and\nso they will approach without suspicion.\"  When the ship arrived\nin the harbor, he summoned the mariners before him.  \"Have you\nheard anything of Arion?\" he inquired.  \"I anxiously look for his\nreturn.\" They replied, \"We left him well and prosperous in\nTarentum.\"  As they said these words, Arion stepped forth and\nfaced them.  His well proportioned limbs were arrayed in gold and\npurple fair to see, his tunic fell around him in graceful folds,\njewels adorned his arms, his brow was crowned with a golden\nwreath, and over his neck and shoulders flowed his hair perfumed\nwith odors; his left hand held the lyre, his right the ivory wand\nwith which he struck its chords.  They fell prostrate at his\nfeet, as if a lightning bolt had struck them.  \"We meant to\nmurder him, and he has become a god.  O Earth, open and receive\nus!\"  Then Periander spoke.  \"He lives, the master of the lay!\nKind Heaven protects the poet's life.  As for you, I invoke not\nthe spirit of vengeance; Arion wishes not your blood.  Ye slaves\nof avarice, begone!  Seek some barbarous land, and never may\naught beautiful delight your souls!\"\n\nSpencer represents Arion, mounted on his dolphin, accompanying\nthe train of Neptune and Amphitrite:\n\n  \"Then was there heard a most celestial sound\n  Of dainty music which did next ensue,\n  And, on the floating waters as enthroned,\n  Arion with his harp unto him drew\n  The ears and hearts of all that goodly crew;\n  Even when as yet the dolphin which him bore\n  Through the Aegean Seas from pirates' view,\n  Stood still, by him astonished at his love,\n  And all the raging seas for joy forgot to roar.\"\n\nByron, in his Childe Harold, Canto II., alludes to the story of\nArion, when, describing his voyage, he represents one of the\nseamen making music to entertain the rest:\n\n  \"The moon is up; by Heaven, a lovely eve!\n  Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand;\n  Now lads on shore may sigh and maids believe;\n  Such be our fate when we return to land!\n  Meantime some rude Arion's restless hand\n  Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love;\n  A circle there of merry listeners stand,\n  Or to some well-known measure featly move\n  Thoughtless as if on shore they still were free to rove.\"\n\n\nIBYCUS\n\nIn order to understand the story of Ibycus which follows, it is\nnecessary to remember, first, that the theatres of the ancients\nwere immense buildings providing seats for from ten to thirty\nthousand spectators, and as they were used only on festal\noccasions, and admission was free to all, they were usually\nfilled.  They were without roofs and open to the sky, and the\nperformances were in the daytime.  Secondly, the appalling\nrepresentation of the Furies is not exaggerated in the story.  It\nis recorded that AEschylus, the tragic poet, having on one\noccasion represented the Furies in a chorus of fifty performers,\nthe terror of the spectators was such that many fainted and were\nthrown into convulsions, and the magistrates forbade a like\nrepresentation for the future.\n\nIbycus, the pious poet, was on his way to the chariot races and\nmusical competitions held at the Isthmus of Corinth, which\nattracted all of Grecian lineage.  Apollo had bestowed on him the\ngift of song, the honeyed lips of the poet, and he pursued his\nway with lightsome step, full of the god.  Already the towers of\nCorinth crowning the height appeared in view, and he had entered\nwith pious awe the sacred grove of Neptune.  No living object was\nin sight, only a flock of cranes flew overhead, taking the same\ncourse as himself in their migration to a southern clime.  \"Good\nluck to you, ye friendly squadrons,\" he exclaimed, \"my companions\nfrom across the sea.  I take your company for a good omen.  We\ncome from far, and fly in search of hospitality.  May both of us\nmeet that kind reception which shields the stranger guest from\nharm!\"\n\nHe paced briskly on, and soon was in the middle of the wood.\nThere suddenly, at a narrow pass, two robbers stepped forth and\nbarred his way.  He must yield or fight.  But his hand,\naccustomed to the lyre and not to the strife of arms, sank\npowerless.  He called for help on men and gods, but his cry\nreached no defender's ear.  \"Then here must I die,\" said he, \"in\na strange land, unlamented, cut off by the hand of outlaws, and\nsee none to avenge my cause.\"  Sore wounded he sank to the earth,\nwhen hoarse screamed the cranes overhead.  \"Take up my cause, ye\ncranes,\" he said, \"since no voice but yours answers to my cry.\"\nSo saying, he closed his eyes in death.\n\nThe body, despoiled and mangled, was found, and though disfigured\nwith wounds, was recognized by the friend in Corinth who had\nexpected him as a guest.  \"Is it thus I find you restored to me?\"\nhe exclaimed; \"I who hoped to entwine your temples with the\nwreath of triumph in the strife of song!\"\n\nThe guests assembled at the festival heard the tidings with\ndismay.  All Greece felt the wound, every heart owned its loss.\nThey crowded round the tribunal of the magistrates, and demanded\nvengeance on the murderers and expiation with their blood.\n\nBut what trace or mark shall point out the perpetrator from\namidst the vast multitude attracted by the splendor of the feat?\nDid he fall by the hands of robbers, or did some private enemy\nslay him?  The all-discerning sun alone can tell, for no other\neye beheld it.  Yet not improbably the murderer even now walks in\nthe midst of the throng, and enjoys the fruits of his crime,\nwhile vengeance seeks for him in vain.  Perhaps in their own\ntemple's enclosure he defies the gods, mingling freely in this\nthrong of men that now presses into the ampitheatre.\n\nFor now crowded together, row on row, the multitude fill the\nseats till it seems as if the very fabric would give way.  The\nmurmur of voices sounds like the roar of the sea, while the\ncircles widening in their ascent rise, tier on tier, as if they\nwould reach the sky.\n\nAnd now the vast assemblage listens to the awful voice of the\nchorus personating the Furies, which in solemn guise advances\nwith measured step, and moves around the circuit of the theatre.\nCan they be mortal women who compose that awful group, and can\nthat vast concourse of silent forms be living beings!\n\nThe choristers, clad in black, bore in their fleshless hands\ntorches blazing with a pitchy flame.  Their cheeks were\nbloodless, and in place of hair, writing and swelling serpents\ncurled around their brows.  Forming a circle, these awful beings\nsang their hymn, rending the hearts of the guilty, and enchaining\nall their faculties.  It rose and swelled, overpowering the sound\nof the instruments, stealing the judgment, palsying the heart,\ncurdling the blood.\n\n\"Happy the man who keeps his heart pure from guilt and crime!\nHim we avengers touch not; he treads the path of life secure from\nus.  But woe!  Woe!  To him who has done the deed of secret\nmurder.  We, the fearful family of Night, fasten ourselves upon\nhis whole being.  Thinks he by flight to escape us?  We fly still\nfaster in pursuit, twine our snakes around his feet and bring him\nto the ground.  Unwearied we pursue; no pity checks our course;\nstill on and on to the end of life, we give him no peace nor\nrest.\"  Thus the Eumenides sang, and moved in solemn cadence,\nwhile stillness like the stillness of death sat over the whole\nassembly as if in the presence of superhuman beings; and then in\nsolemn march completing the circuit of the theatre, they passed\nout at the back of the stage.\n\nEvery heart fluttered between illusion and reality, and every\nbreast panted with undefined terror, quailing before the awful\npower that watches secret crimes and winds unseen the skein of\ndestiny.  At that moment a cry burst forth from one of the\nuppermost benches   \"Look!  Look!  Comrade, yonder are the cranes\nof Ibycus!\"  And suddenly there appeared sailing across the sky a\ndark object which a moment's inspection showed to be a flock of\ncranes flying directly over the theatre.  \"Of Ibycus! did he\nsay?\"  The beloved name revived the sorrow in every breast.  As\nwave follows wave over the face of the sea, so ran from mouth to\nmouth the words, \"Of Ibycus!  Him whom we all lament, with some\nmurderer's hand laid low!  What have the cranes to do with him?\"\nAnd louder grew the swell of voices, while like a lightning's\nflash the thought sped through every heart, \"Observe the power of\nthe Eumenides!  The pious poet shall be avenged!  The murderer\nhas informed against himself.  Seize the man who uttered that cry\nand the other to whom he spoke!\"\n\nThe culprit would gladly have recalled his words, but it was too\nlate.  The faces of the murderers pale with terror betrayed their\nguilt.  The people took them before the judge, they confessed\ntheir crime and suffered the punishment they deserved.\n\n\nSIMONIDES\n\nSimonides was one of the most prolific of the early poets of\nGreece, but only a few fragments of his compositions have\ndescended to us.  He wrote hymns, triumphal odes, and elegies.\nIn the last species of composition he particularly excelled.  His\ngenius was inclined to the pathetic, and none could touch with\ntruer effect the chords of human sympathy.  The Lamentation of\nDanae, the most important of the fragments which remain of his\npoetry is based upon the tradition that Danae and her infant son\nwere confined by order of her father Acrisius in a chest and set\nadrift on the sea.  The chest floated towards the island of\nSeriphus, where both were rescued by Dictys, a fisherman, and\ncarried to Polydectes, king of the country, who received and\nprotected them.  The child Perseus when grown up became a famous\nhero, whose adventures have been recorded in a previous chapter.\n\nSimonides passed much of his life at the courts of princes, and\noften employed his talents in panegyric and festal odes,\nreceiving his reward from the munificence of those whose exploits\nhe celebrated.  This employment was not derogatory, but closely\nresembles that of the earliest bards, such as Demodocus,\ndescribed by Homer, or of Homer himself as recorded by tradition.\n\nOn one occasion when residing at the court of Scopas, king of\nThessaly, the prince desired him to prepare a poem in celebration\nof his exploits, to be recited at a banquet.  In order to\ndiversify his theme, Simonides, who was celebrated for his piety,\nintroduced into his poem the exploits of Castor and Pollux.  Such\ndigressions were not unusual with the poets on similar occasions,\nand one might suppose an ordinary mortal might have been content\nto share the praises of the sons of Leda.  But vanity is\nexacting; and as Scopas sat at his festal board among his\ncourtiers and sycophants, he grudged every verse that did not\nrehearse his own praises.  When Simonides approached to receive\nthe promised reward Scopas bestowed but half the expected sum,\nsaying, \"Here is payment for my portion of the performance,\nCastor and Pollux will doubtless compensate thee for so much as\nrelates to them.\"  The disconcerted poet returned to his seat\namidst the laughter which followed the great man's jest.  In a\nlittle time he received a message that two young men on horseback\nwere waiting without and anxious to see him.  Simonides hastened\nto the door, but looked in vain for the visitors.  Scarcely\nhowever had he left the banqueting-hall when the roof fell in\nwith a loud crash, burying Scopas and all his guests beneath the\nruins.  On inquiring as to the appearance of the young men who\nhad sent for him, Simonides was satisfied that they were no other\nthan Castor and Pollux themselves.\n\n\nSappho\n\nSappho was a poetess who flourished in a very early age of Greek\nliterature.  Of her works few fragments remain, but they are\nenough to establish her claim to eminent poetical genius.  The\nstory of Sappho commonly alluded to is that she was passionately\nin love with a beautiful youth named Phaon, and failing to obtain\na return of affection she threw herself from the promontory of\nLeucadia into the sea, under a superstition that those who should\ntake that \"Lover's-leap,\" would, if not destroyed, be cured of\ntheir love.\n\nByron alludes to the story of Sappho in Childe Harold, Canto II.:\n\n\nThose who wish to know more of Sappho and her leap, are referred\nto the Spectator, Nos. 223 and 229, and also to Moore's Evenings\nin Greece.\n\n\n\nChapter XIX\n\nEndymion.  Orion.  Aurora and Tithonus.  Acis and Galatea\n\nEndymion was a beautiful youth who fed his flock on Mount Latmos.\nOne calm, clear night, Diana, the Moon, looked down and saw him\nsleeping.  The cold heart of the virgin goddess was warmed by his\nsurpassing beauty, and she came down to him, kissed him, and\nwatched over him while he slept.\n\nAnother story was that Jupiter bestowed on him the gift of\nperpetual youth united with perpetual sleep.  Of one so gifted we\ncan have but few adventures to record.  Diana, it was said, took\ncare that his fortunes should not suffer by his inactive life,\nfor she made his flock increase, and guarded his sheep and lambs\nfrom the wild beasts.\n\nThe story of Endymion has a peculiar charm from the human meaning\nwhich it so thinly veils.  We see in Endymion the young poet, his\nfancy and his heart seeking in vain for that which can satisfy\nthem, finding his favorite hour in the quiet moonlight, and\nnursing there beneath the beams of the bright and silent witness\nthe melancholy and the ardor which consumes him.  The story\nsuggests aspiring and poetic love, a life spent more in dreams\nthan in reality, and an early and welcome death.\nS. G. Bulfinch\n\nThe Endymion of Keats is a wild and fanciful poem, containing\nsome exquisite poetry, as this, to the moon:\n\n  \"The sleeping kine\n  Couched in thy brightness dream of fields divine.\n  Innumerable mountains rise, and rise,\n  Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes,\n  And yet thy benediction passeth not\n  One obscure hiding place, one little spot\n  Where pleasure may be sent; the nested wren\n  Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken.\"\n\nDr. Young in the Night Thoughts alludes to Endymion thus:\n\n  \"These thoughts, O Night, are thine;\n  From thee they came like lovers' secret sighs,\n  While others slept.  So Cynthia, poets feign,\n  In shadows veiled, soft, sliding from her sphere,\n  Her shepherd cheered, of her enamored less\n  Than I of thee.\"\n\nFletcher, in the Faithful Shepherdess, tells,\n\n  \"How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove,\n  First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes\n  She took eternal fire that never dies;\n  How she conveyed him softly in a sleep,\n  His temples bound with poppy, to the steep\n  Head of Old Latmos, where she stoops each night,\n  Gilding the mountain with her brother's light,\n  To kiss her sweetest.\"\n\n\nORION\n\nOrion was the son of Neptune.  He was a handsome giant and a\nmighty hunter.  His father gave him the power of wading through\nthe depths of the sea, or as others say, of walking on its\nsurface.\n\nOrion loved Merope, the daughter of Oenopion, king of Chios, and\nsought her in marriage.  He cleared the island of wild beasts,\nand brought the spoils of the chase as presents to his beloved;\nbut as Oenopion constantly deferred his consent, Orion attempted\nto gain possession of the maiden by violence.  Her father,\nincensed at this conduct, having made Orion drunk, deprived him\nof his sight, and cast him out on the sea shore.  The blinded\nhero followed the sound of the Cyclops' hammer till he reached\nLemnos, and came to the forge of Vulcan, who, taking pity on him,\ngave him Kedalion, one of his men, to be his guide to the abode\nof the sun.  Placing Kedalion on his shoulders, Orion proceeded\nto the east, and there meeting the sun-god, was restored to sight\nby his beam.\n\nAfter this he dwelt as a hunter with Diana, with whom he was a\nfavorite, and it is even said she was about to marry him.  Her\nbrother was highly displeased and often chid her, but to no\npurpose.  One day, observing Orion wading though the sea with his\nhead just above the water, Apollo pointed it out to his sister\nand maintained that she could not hit that black thing on the\nsea.  The archer-goddess discharged a shaft with fatal aim.  The\nwaves rolled the dead body of Orion to the land, and bewailing\nher fatal error with many tears, Diana placed him among the\nstars, where he appears as a giant, with a girdle, sword, lion's\nskin, and club.  Sirius, his dog, follows him, and the Pleiads\nfly before him.\n\nThe Pleiads were daughters of Atlas, and nymphs of Diana's train.\nOne day Orion saw them, and became enamored, and pursued them.\nIn their distress they prayed to the gods to change their form,\nand Jupiter in pity turned them into pigeons, and then made them\na constellation in the sky.  Though their numbers was seven, only\nsix stars are visible, for Electra, one of them, it is said, left\nher place that she might not behold the ruin of Troy, for that\ncity was founded by her son Dardanus.  The sight had such an\neffect on her sisters that they have looked pale ever since.\n\nMr. Longfellow has a poem on the \"Occultation of Orion.\"  The\nfollowing lines are those in which he alludes to the mythic\nstory.  We must premise that on the celestial globe Orion is\nrepresented as robed in a lion's skin and wielding a club.  At\nthe moment the stars of the constellation one by one were\nquenched in the light of the moon, the poet tells us,\n\n  \"Down fell the red skin of the lion\n  Into the river at his feet.\n  His mighty club no longer beat\n  The forehead of the bull; but he\n  Reeled as of yore beside the sea,\n  When blinded by Oenopion\n  He sought the blacksmith at his forge,\n  And climbing up the narrow gorge,\n  Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun.\"\n\nTennyson has a different theory of the Pleiads:\n\n  \"Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising through the mellow shade,\n  Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.\"\n  Locksley Hall\n\nByron alludes to the lost Pleiad:\n\n  \"Like the lost Pleiad seen no more below.\"\n\nSee also Mrs. Heman's verses on the same subject.\n\n\nAURORA AND TITHONUS.\n\nAurora, the goddess of the Dawn, like her sister the Moon, was at\ntimes inspired with the love of mortals.  Her greatest favorite\nwas Tithonus, son of Laomedon, king of Troy.  She stole him away,\nand prevailed on Jupiter to grant him immortality; but forgetting\nto have youth joined in the gift, after some time she began to\ndiscern, to her great mortification, that he was growing old.\nWhen his hair was quite white she left his society; but he still\nhad the range of her palace, lived on ambrosial food, and was\nclad in celestial raiment.  At length he lost the power of using\nhis limbs, and then she shut him up in his chamber, whence his\nfeeble voice might at times be heard.  Finally she turned him\ninto a grasshopper.\n\nMemnon was the son of aurora and Tithonus.  He was king of the\nAEthiopians, and dwelt in the extreme east, on the shore of\nOcean.  He came with his warriors to assist the kindred of his\nfather in the war of Troy.  King Priam received him with great\nhonors, and listened with admiration to his narrative of the\nwonders of the ocean shore.\n\nThe very day after his arrival, Memnon, impatient of repose, led\nhis troops to the field.  Antilochus, the brave son of Nestor,\nfell by his hand, and the Greeks were put to flight, when\nAchilles appeared and restored the battle.  A long and doubtful\ncontest ensued between him and the son of Aurora; at length\nvictor declared for Achilles, Memnon fell, and the Trojans fled\nin dismay.\n\nAurora, who, from her station in the sky, had viewed with\napprehension the danger of her son, when she saw him fall\ndirected his brothers, the Winds, to convey his body to the banks\nof the river Esepus in Paphlagonia.  In the evening Aurora came,\naccompanied by the Hours and the Pleiads, and wept and lamented\nover her son.  Night, in sympathy with her grief, spread the\nheaven with clouds; all nature mourned for the offspring of the\nDawn.  The Aethiopians raised his tomb on the banks of the stream\nin the grove of the nymphs, and Jupiter caused the sparks and\ncinders of his funeral-pile to be turned into birds, which,\ndividing into two flocks, fought over the pile till they fell\ninto the flame.  Every year, at the anniversary of his death,\nthey return and celebrate his obsequies in like manner.  Aurora\nremains inconsolable for the loss of her son.  Her tears still\nflow, and may be seen at early morning in the form of dew-drops\non the grass.\n\nUnlike most of the marvels of ancient mythology, there will exist\nsome memorials of this.  On the banks of the river Nile, in\nEgypt, are two colossal statues, one of which is said to be the\nstatue of Memnon.  Ancient writers record that when the first\nrays of the rising sun fall upon this statue, a sound is heard to\nissue from it which they compare to the snapping of a harp-\nstring.  There is some doubt about the identification of the\nexisting statue with the one described by the ancients, and the\nmysterious sounds are still more doubtful.  Yet there are not\nwanting some modern testimonies to their being still audible.  It\nhas been suggested that sounds produced by confined air making\nits escape from crevices or caverns in the rocks may have given\nsome ground for the story.  Sir Gardner Wilkinson, a late\ntraveller, of the highest authority, examined the statue itself,\nand discovered that it was hollow, and that \"in the lap of the\nstatue is a stone, which, on being struck, emits a metallic\nsound, that might still be made use of to deceive a visitor who\nwas predisposed to believe its powers.\"\n\nThe vocal statue of Memnon is a favorite subject of allusion with\nthe poets.  Darwin, in his Botanic Garden, says,\n\n  \"So to the sacred Sun in Memnon's fane\n  Spontaneous concords choired the matin strain;\n  Touched by his orient beam responsive rings\n  The living lyre and vibrates all its strings;\n  Accordant aisles the tender tones prolong,\n  And holy echoes swell the adoring song.\"\n\n\nACIS AND GALATEA\n\nScylla was a fair virgin of Sicily, a favorite of the Sea-Nymphs.\nShe had many suitors, but repelled them all, and would go to the\ngrotto of Galatea, and tell her how she was persecuted.  One day\nthe goddess, while Scylla dressed her hair, listened to the\nstory, and then replied, \"Yet, maiden, your persecutors are of\nthe not ungentle race of men, whom if you will you can repel; but\nI, the daughter of Nereus, and protected by such a band of\nsisters, found no escape from the passion of the Cyclops but in\nthe depths of the sea;\" and tears stopped her utterance, which\nwhen the pitying maiden had wiped away with her delicate finger,\nand soothed the goddess, \"Tell me, dearest,\" said she, \"the cause\nof your grief.\"  Galatea then said, \"Acis was the son of Faunus\nand a Naiad.  His father and mother loved him dearly, but their\nlove was not equal to mine.  For the beautiful youth attached\nhimself to me alone, and he was just sixteen years old, the down\njust beginning to darken his cheeks.  As much as I sought his\nsociety, so much did the cyclops seek mine; and if you ask me\nwhether my love for Acis or my hatred for Polyphemus was the\nstronger, I cannot tell you; they were in equal measure.  Oh,\nVenus, how great is thy power!  This fierce giant, the terror of\nthe woods, whom no hapless stranger escaped unharmed, who defied\neven Jove himself, learned to feel what love was, and touched\nwith a passion for me, forgot his flocks and his well-stored\ncaverns.  Then, for the first time, he began to take some care of\nhis appearance, and to try to make himself agreeable; he harrowed\nthose coarse locks of his with a comb, and mowed his beard with a\nsickle, looked at his harsh features in the water, and composed\nhis countenance.  His love of slaughter, his fierceness and\nthirst of blood prevailed no more, and ships that touched at his\nisland went away in safety.  He paced up and down the sea-shore,\nimprinting huge tracks with his heavy tread, and, when weary, lay\ntranquilly in his cave.\n\n\"There is a cliff which projects into the sea, which washes it on\neither side.  Thither one day the huge Cyclops ascended, and sat\ndown while his flocks spread themselves around.  Laying down his\nstaff which would have served for a mast to hold a vessel's sail,\nand taking his instrument, compacted of numerous pipes, he made\nthe hills and the waters echo the music of his song.  I lay hid\nunder a rock, by the side of my beloved Acis, and listened to the\ndistant strain.  It was full of extravagant praises of my beauty,\nmingled with passionate reproaches of my coldness and cruelty.\n\n\"When he had finished he rose up, and like a raging bull, that\ncannot stand still, wandered off into the woods.  Acis and I\nthought no more of him, till on a sudden he came to a spot which\ngave him a view of us as we sat.  'I see you,' he exclaimed, 'and\nI will make this the last of your love-meetings.'  His voice was\na roar such as an angry Cyclops alone could utter.  AEtna\ntrembled at the sound.  I, overcome with terror, plunged into the\nwater.  Acis turned and fled, crying, 'Save me, Galatea, save me,\nmy parents!\"  The Cyclops pursued him, and tearing a rock from\nthe side of the mountain hurled it at him.  Though only a corner\nof it touched him it overwhelmed him.\n\n\"All that fate left in my power I did for Acis.  I endowed him\nwith the honors of his grandfather the river-god.  The purple\nblood flowed out from under the rock, but by degrees grew paler\nand looked like the stream of a river rendered turbid by rains,\nand in time it became clear.  The rock cleaved open, and the\nwater, as it gushed from the chasm, uttered a pleasing murmur.\"\n\nThus Acis was changed into a river, and the river retains the\nname of Acis.\n\n\n\nChapter XX\n\nThe Trojan War\n\nMinerva was the goddess of wisdom, but on one occasion she did a\nvery foolish thing; she entered into competition with Juno and\nVenus for the prize of beauty.  It happened thus.  At the\nnuptials of Peleus and Thetis all the gods were invited with the\nexception of Eris, or Discord.  Enraged at her exclusion, the\ngoddess threw a golden apple among the guests with the\ninscription, \"For the most beautiful.\"  Thereupon Juno, Venus,\nand Minerva, each claimed the apple.  Jupiter not willing to\ndecide in so delicate a matter, sent the goddesses to Mount Ida,\nwhere the beautiful shepherd Paris was tending his flocks, and to\nhim was committed the decision.  The goddesses accordingly\nappeared before him.  Juno promised him power and riches, Minerva\nglory and renown in war, and Venus the fairest of women for his\nwife, each attempting to bias his decision in her own favor.\nParis decided in favor of Venus and gave her the golden apple,\nthus making the two other goddesses his enemies.  Under the\nprotection of Venus, Paris sailed to Greece, and was hospitably\nreceived by Menelaus, king of Sparta.  Now Helen, the wife of\nMenelaus, was the very woman whom Venus had destined for Paris,\nthe fairest of her sex.  She had been sought as a bride by\nnumerous suitors, and before her decision was made known, they\nall, at the suggestion of Ulysses, one of their number, took an\noath that they would defend her from all injury and avenge her\ncause if necessary.  She chose Menelaus, and was living with him\nhappily when Paris became their guest.  Paris, aided by Venus,\npersuaded her to elope with him, and carried her to Troy, whence\narose the famous Trojan war, the theme of the greatest poems of\nantiquity, those of Homer and Virgil.\n\nMenelaus called upon his brother chieftains of Greece to fulfil\ntheir pledge, and join him in his efforts to recover his wife.\nThey generally came forward, but Ulysses, who had married\nPenelope and was very happy in his wife and child, had no\ndisposition to embark in such a troublesome affair.  He therefore\nhung back and Palamedes was sent to urge him.  When Palamedes\narrived at Ithaca, Ulysses pretended to be mad.  He yoked an ass\nand an ox together to the plough and began to sow salt.\nPalamedes, to try him, placed the infant Telemachus before the\nplough, whereupon the father turned the plough aside, showing\nplainly that he was no madman, and after that could no longer\nrefuse to fulfil his promise.  Being now himself gained for the\nundertaking, he lent his aid to bring in other reluctant chiefs,\nespecially Achilles.  This hero was the son of that Thetis at\nwhose marriage the apple of Discord had been thrown among the\ngoddesses.  Thetis was herself one of the immortals, a sea-nymph,\nand knowing that her son was fated to perish before Troy if he\nwent on the expedition, she endeavored to prevent his going.  She\nsent him away to the court of king Lycomedes, and induced him to\nconceal himself in the disguise of a maiden among the daughters\nof the king.  Ulysses, hearing he was there, went disguised as a\nmerchant to the palace and offered for sale female ornaments,\namong which he had placed some arms.  While the king's daughters\nwere engrossed with the other contents of the merchant's pack,\nAchilles handled the weapons and thereby betrayed himself to the\nkeen eye of Ulysses, who found no great difficulty in persuading\nhim to disregard his mother's prudent counsels and join his\ncountrymen in the war.\n\nPriam was king of Troy, and Paris, the shepherd and seducer of\nHelen, was his son.  Paris had been brought up in obscurity,\nbecause there were certain ominous forebodings connected with him\nfrom his infancy that he would be the ruin of the state.  These\nforebodings seemed at length likely to be realized, for the\nGrecian armament now in preparation was the greatest that had\never been fitted out.  Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, and brother of\nthe injured Menelaus, was chosen commander-in-chief.  Achilles\nwas their most illustrious warrior.  After him ranked Ajax,\ngigantic in size and of great courage, but dull of intellect,\nDiomedes, second only to Achilles in all the qualities of a hero,\nUlysses, famous for his sagacity, and Nestor, the oldest of the\nGrecian chiefs, and one to whom they all looked up for counsel.\nBut Troy was no feeble enemy.  Priam, the king, was now old, but\nhe had been a wise prince and had strengthened his state by good\ngovernment at home and numerous alliances with his neighbors.\nBut the principal stay and support of his throne was his son\nHector, one of the noblest characters painted by heathen\nantiquity.  Hector felt, from the first, a presentiment of the\nfall of his country, but still persevered in his heroic\nresistance, yet by no means justified the wrong which brought\nthis danger upon her.  He was united in marriage with Andromache,\nand as a husband and father his character was not less admirable\nthan as a warrior.  The principal leaders on the side of the\nTrojans, besides Hector, were Aeneas and Deiphobus, Glaucus and\nSarpedon.\n\nAfter two years of preparation the Greek fleet and army assembled\nin the port of Aulis in Boeotia.  Here Agamemnon in hunting\nkilled a stag which was sacred to Diana, and the goddess in\nreturn visited the army with pestilence, and produced a calm\nwhich prevented the ships from leaving the port.  Calchas the\nsoothsayer thereupon announced that the wrath of the virgin\ngoddess could only be appeased by the sacrifice of a virgin on\nher altar, and that none other but the daughter of the offender\nwould be acceptable.  Agamemnon, however reluctant, yielded his\nconsent, and the maiden Iphigenia was sent for under the pretence\nthat she was to be married to Achilles.  When she was about to be\nsacrificed the goddess relented and snatched her away, leaving a\nhind in her place, and Iphigenia enveloped in a cloud was carried\nto Tauris, where Diana made her priestess of her temple.\n\nTennyson, in his Dream of Fair women, makes Iphigenia thus\ndescribe her feelings at the moment of sacrifice, the moment\nrepresented in our engraving:\n\n  \"I was cut off from hope in that sad place,\n  Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears;\n  My father held his hand upon his face;\n  I, blinded by my tears,\n\n  \"Still strove to speak; my voice was thick with sighs,\n  As in a dream.  Dimly I could descry\n  The stern black-bearded kings, with wolfish eyes,\n  Waiting to see me die.\n\n  \"The tall masts quivered as they lay afloat,\n  The temples and the people and the shore;\n  One drew a sharp knife through my tender throat\n  Slowly, and nothing more.\"\n\nThe wind now proving fair the fleet made sail and brought the\nforces to the coast of Troy.  The Trojans came to oppose their\nlanding, and at the first onset Protesilaus fell by the hand of\nHector.  Protesilaus had left at home his wife Laodamia, who was\nmost tenderly attached to him.  When the news of his death\nreached her she implored the gods to be allowed to converse with\nhim only three hours.  The request was granted.  Mercury led\nProtesilaus back to the upper world, and when he died a second\ntime Laodamia died with him.  There was a story that the nymphs\npanted elm trees round his grave which grew very well till they\nwere high enough to command a view of Troy, and then withered\naway, while fresh branches sprang from the roots.\n\nWordsworth has taken the story of Protesilaus and Laodamia for\nthe subject of a poem.  It seems the oracle had declared that\nvictory should be the lot of that party from which should fall\nthe first victim to the war.  The poet represents Protesilaus, on\nhis brief return to earth, as relating to Laodamia the story of\nhis fate:\n\n  \"The wished-for wind was given; I then revolved\n  The oracle, upon the silent sea;\n  And if no worthier led the way, resolved\n  That of a thousand vessels mine should be\n  The foremost prow impressing to the strand,\n  Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.\n\n  \"Yet bitter, ofttimes bitter was the pang\n  When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife!\n  On thee too fondly did my memory hang,\n  And on the joys we shared in mortal life,\n  The paths which we had trod,   these fountains, flowers;\n  My new planned cities and unfinished towers.\n\n  \"But should suspense permit the foe to cry,\n  'Behold they tremble!  Haughty their array,\n  Yet of their number no one dares to die!'\"\n  In soul I swept the indignity away;\n  Old frailties then recurred; but lofty thought\n  In act embodied my deliverance wrought.\n  . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .\n  Upon the side\n  Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained)\n  A knot of spiry trees for ages grew\n  From out the tomb of him for whom she died;\n  And ever when such stature they had gained\n  That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,\n  The trees' tall summits withered at the sight,\n  A constant interchange of growth and blight!\"\n\n\nTHE ILIAD\n\nThe war continued without decisive results for nine years.  Then\nan event occurred which seemed likely to be fatal to the cause of\nthe Greeks, and that was a quarrel between Achilles and\nAgamemnon.  It is at this point that the great poem of Homer, the\nIliad, begins.  The Greeks, though unsuccessful against Troy, had\ntaken the neighboring and allied cities, and in the division of\nthe spoil a female captive, by name Chryseis, daughter of\nChryses, priest of Apollo, had fallen to the share of Agamemnon.\nChryses came bearing the sacred emblems of his office, and begged\nthe release of his daughter.  Agamemnon refused.  Thereupon\nChryses implored Apollo to afflict the Greeks till they should be\nforced to yield their prey.  Apollo granted the prayer of his\npriest, and sent pestilence into the Grecian camp.  Then a\ncouncil was called to deliberate how to allay the wrath of the\ngods and avert the plague.  Achilles boldly charged their\nmisfortunes upon Agamemnon as caused by his withholding Chryseis.\nAgamemnon enraged, consented to relinquish his captive, but\ndemanded that Achilles should yield to him in her stead Briseis,\na maiden who had fallen to Achilles' share in the division of the\nspoil.  Achilles submitted, but forthwith declared that he would\ntake no further part in the war.  He withdrew his forces from the\ngeneral camp and openly avowed his intention of returning home to\nGreece.\n\nThe gods and goddesses interested themselves as much in this\nfamous war as the parties themselves.  It was well known to them\nthat fate had decreed that Troy should fall, at last, if her\nenemies should persevere and not voluntarily abandon the\nenterprise.  Yet there was room enough left for chance to excite\nby turns the hopes and fears of the powers above who took part\nwith either side.  Juno and Minerva, in consequence of the slight\nput upon their charms by Paris, were hostile to the Trojans;\nVenus for the opposite cause favored them.  Venus enlisted her\nadmirer Mars on the same side, but Neptune favored the Greeks.\nApollo was neutral, sometimes taking one side, sometimes the\nother, and Jove himself, though he loved the good King Priam, yet\nexercised a degree of impartiality; not however without\nexceptions.\n\nThetis, the mother of Achilles, warmly resented the injury done\nto her son.  She repaired immediately to Jove's palace, and\nbesought him to make the Greeks repent of their injustice to\nAchilles by granting success to the Trojan arms.  Jupiter\nconsented; and in the battle which ensued the Trojans were\ncompletely successful.  The Greeks were driven from the field,\nand took refuge in their ships.  Then Agamemnon called a council\nof his wisest and bravest chiefs.  Nestor advised that an embassy\nshould be sent to Achilles to persuade him to return to the\nfield; that Agamemnon should yield the maiden, the cause of the\ndispute, with ample gifts to atone for the wrong he had done.\nAgamemnon consented, and Ulysses, Ajax, and Phoenix were sent to\ncarry to Achilles the penitent message.  They performed that\nduty, but Achilles was deaf to their entreaties.  He positively\nrefused to return to the field, and persisted in his resolution\nto embark for Greece without delay.  The Greeks had constructed a\nrampart around their ships, and now, instead of besieging Troy,\nthey were in a manner besieged themselves within their rampart.\nThe next day after the unsuccessful embassy to Achilles, a battle\nwas fought, and the Trojans, favored by Jove, were successful,\nand succeeded in forcing a passage through the Grecian rampart,\nand were about to set fire to the ships.  Neptune, seeing the\nGreeks so pressed, came to their rescue.  He appeared in the form\nof Calchas the prophet, encouraged the warriors with his shouts,\nand appealed to each individually till he raised their ardor to\nsuch a pitch that they forced the Trojans to give way.  Ajax\nperformed prodigies of valor, and at length encountered Hector.\nAjax shouted defiance, to which Hector replied, and hurled his\nlance at the huge warrior.  It was well aimed, and struck Ajax\nwhere the belts that bore his sword and shield crossed each other\non the breast.  The double guard prevented its penetrating, and\nit fell harmless.  Then Ajax, seeing a huge stone, one of those\nthat served to prop the ships, hurled it at Hector.  It struck\nhim in the neck and stretched him on the plain.  His followers\ninstantly seized him, and bore him off stunned and wounded.\n\nWhile Neptune was thus aiding the Greeks and driving back the\nTrojans, Jupiter saw nothing of what was going on, for his\nattention had been drawn from the field by the wiles of Juno.\nThat goddess had arrayed herself in all her charms, and, to crown\nall, had borrowed of Venus her girdle called Cestus, which had\nthe effect to heighten the wearer's charms to such a degree that\nthey were quite irresistible.  So prepared, Juno went to join her\nhusband, who sat on Olympus watching the battle.  When he beheld\nher she looked so charming that the fondness of his early love\nrevived, and, forgetting the contending armies and all other\naffairs of state, he thought only of her and let the battle go as\nit would.\n\nBut this absorption did not continue long, and when, upon turning\nhis eyes downward, he beheld Hector stretched on the plain almost\nlifeless from pain and bruises, he dismissed Juno in a rage,\ncommanding her to send Iris and Apollo to him.  When Iris came he\nsent her with a stern message to Neptune, ordering him instantly\nto quit the field.  Apollo was dispatched to heal Hector's\nbruises and to inspirit his heart.  These orders were obeyed with\nsuch speed that while the battle still raged, Hector returned to\nthe field and Neptune betook himself to his own dominions.\n\nAn arrow from Paris's bow wounded Machaon, son of Aesculapius,\nwho inherited his father's art of healing, and was therefore of\ngreat value to the Greeks as their surgeon, besides being one of\ntheir bravest warriors.  Nestor took Machaon in his chariot and\nconveyed him from the field.  As they passed the ships of\nAchilles, that hero, looking out over the field, saw the chariot\nof Nestor and recognized the old chief, but could not discern who\nthe wounded chief was.  So calling Patroclus, his companion and\ndearest friend, he sent him to Nestor's tent to inquire.\n\nPatroclus, arriving at Nestor's tent, saw Machaon wounded, and\nhaving told the cause of his coming would have hastened away, but\nNestor detained him, to tell him the extent of the Grecian\ncalamities.  He reminded him also how, at the time of departing\nfor Troy, Achilles and himself had been charged by their\nrespective fathers with different advice; Achilles to aspire to\nthe highest pitch of glory, Patroclus, as the elder, to keep\nwatch over his friend, and to guide his inexperience.  \"Now,\"\nsaid Nestor, \"is the time for such influence.  If the gods so\nplease, thou mayest win him back to the common cause; but if not\nlet hm at least send his soldiers to the field, and come thou,\nPatroclus, clad in his armor, and perhaps the very sight of it\nmay drive back the Trojans.\"\n\nPatroclus was strongly moved with this address, and hastened back\nto Achilles, revolving in his mind all he had seen and heard.  He\ntold the prince the sad condition of affairs at the camp of their\nlate associates; Diomedes, Ulysses, Agamemnon, Machaon, all\nwounded, the rampart broken down, the enemy among the ships\npreparing to burn them, and thus to cut off all means of return\nto Greece.  While they spoke the flames burst forth from one of\nthe ships.  Achilles, at the sight, relented so far as to grant\nPatroclus his request to lead the Myrmidons (for so were\nAchilles' soldiers called) to the field, and to lend him his\narmor that he might thereby strike more terror into the minds of\nthe Trojans.  Without delay the soldiers were marshalled,\nPatroclus put on the radiant armor and mounted the chariot of\nAchilles, and led forth the men ardent for battle.  But before he\nwent, Achilles strictly charged him that he should be content\nwith repelling the foe.  \"Seek not,\" said he, \"to press the\nTrojans without me, lest thou add still more to the disgrace\nalready mine.\"  Then exhorting the troops to do their best he\ndismissed them full of ardor to the fight.\n\nPatroclus and his Myrmidons at once plunged into the contest\nwhere it raged hottest; at the sight of which the joyful Grecians\nshouted and the ships reechoed the acclaim.  The Trojans, at the\nsight of the well-known armor, struck with terror, looked every\nwhere for refuge.  First those who had got possession of the ship\nand set it on fire left and allowed the Grecians to retake it and\nextinguish the flames.  Then the rest of the Trojans fled in\ndismay.  Ajax, Menelaus, and the two sons of Nestor performed\nprodigies of valor.  Hector was forced to turn his horses' heads\nand retire from the enclosure, leaving his men entangled in the\nfosse to escape as they could.  Patroclus drove them before him,\nslaying many, none daring to make a stand against him.\n\nAt last Sarpedon, son of Jove, ventured to oppose himself in\nfight to Patroclus.  Jupiter looked down upon him and would have\nsnatched him from the fate which awaited him, but Juno hinted\nthat if he did so it would induce all others of the inhabitants\nof heaven to interpose in like manner whenever any of their\noffspring were endangered; to which reason Jove yielded.\nSarpedon threw his spear but missed Patroclus, but Patroclus\nthrew his with better success.  It pierced Sarpedon's breast and\nhe fell, and, calling to his friends to save his body from the\nfoe, expired.  Then a furious contest arose for the possession of\nthe corpse.  The Greeks succeeded and stripped Sarpedon of his\narmor; but Jove would not allow the remains of his son to be\ndishonored, and by his command Apollo snatched from the midst of\nthe combatants the body of Sarpedon and committed it to the care\nof the twin brothers Death and Sleep, by whom it was transported\nto Lycia, the native land of Sarpedon, where it received due\nfuneral rites.\n\nThus far Patroclus had succeeded to his utmost wish in repelling\nthe Trojans and relieving his countrymen, but now came a change\nof fortune.  Hector, borne in his chariot, confronted him.\nPatroclus threw a vast stone at Hector, which missed its aim, but\nsmote Cebriones, the charioteer, and knocked him from the car.\nHector leaped from the chariot to rescue his friend, and\nPatroclus also decended to complete his victory.  Thus the two\nheroes met face to face.  At this decisive moment the poet, as if\nreluctant to give Hector the glory, records that Phoebus took\npart against Patroclus.  He struck the helmet from his head and\nthe lance from his hand.  At the same moment an obscure Trojan\nwounded him in the back, and Hector pressing forward pierced him\nwith his spear.  He fell mortally wounded.\n\nThen arose a tremendous conflict for the body of Patroclus, but\nhis armor was at once taken possession of by Hector, who,\nretiring a short distance, divested himself of his own armor and\nput on that of Achilles, then returned to the fight.  Ajax and\nMenelaus defended the body, and Hector and his bravest warriors\nstruggled to capture it.  The battle raged with equal fortune,\nwhen Jove enveloped the whole face of heaven with a dark cloud.\nThe lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and Ajax, looking\nround for some one whom he might dispatch to Achilles to tell him\nof the death of his friend and of the imminent danger that his\nremains would fall into the hands of the enemy, could see no\nsuitable messenger.  It was then that he exclaimed in those\nfamous lines so often quoted,\n\n  \"Father of heaven and earth!  Deliver thou\n  Achaia's host from darkness; clear the skies;\n  Give day; and, since thy sovereign will is such,\n  Destruction with it; but, oh, give us day.\"\n  Cowper.\n\nOr, as rendered by Pope,\n\n  \"Lord of earth and air!\n  Oh, king!  Oh, father!  Hear my humble prayer!\n  Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore;\n  Give me to see and Ajax asks no more;\n  If Greece must perish we thy will obey\n  But let us perish in the face of day.\"\n\nJupiter heard the prayer and dispersed the clouds.  Then Ajax\nsent Antilochus to Achilles with the intelligence of Patroclus's\ndeath, and of the conflict raging for his remains.  The Greeks at\nlast succeeded in bearing off the body to the ships, closely\npursued by Hector and Aeneas and rest of the Trojans.\n\nAchilles heard the fate of his friend with such distress that\nAntilochus feared for a while that he would destroy himself.  His\ngroans reached the ears of his mother, Thetis, far down in the\ndeeps of ocean where she abode, and she hastened to him to\ninquire the cause.  She found him overwhelmed with self-reproach\nthat he had indulged his resentment so far, and suffered his\nfriend to fall a victim to it.  But his only consolation was the\nhope of revenge.  He would fly instantly in search of Hector.\nBut his mother reminded him that he was now without armor, and\npromised him, if he would but wait till the morrow, she would\nprocure for him a suit of armor from Vulcan more than equal to\nthat he had lost.  He consented, and Thetis immediately repaired\nto Vulcan's palace.  She found him busy at his forge making\ntripods for his own use, so artfully constructed that they moved\nforward of their own accord when wanted, and retired again when\ndismissed.  On hearing the request of Thetis, Vulcan immediately\nlaid aside his work and hastened to comply with her wishes.  He\nfabricated a splendid suit of armor for Achilles, first a shield\nadorned with elaborate devices, then a helmet crested with gold,\nthen a corslet and greaves of impenetrable temper, all perfectly\nadapted to his form, and of consummate workmanship.  It was all\ndone in one night, and Thetis, receiving it, descended with it to\nearth and laid it down at Achilles' feet at the dawn of day.\n\nThe first glow of pleasure that Achilles had felt since the death\nof Petroclus was at the sight of this splendid armor.  And now\narrayed in it, he went forth into the camp, calling all the\nchiefs to council.  When they were all assembled he addressed\nthem.  Renouncing his displeasure against Agamemnon and bitterly\nlamenting the miseries that had resulted from it, he called on\nthem to proceed at once to the field.  Agamemnon made a suitable\nreply, laying all the blame on Ate, the goddess of discord, and\nthereupon complete reconcilement took place between the heroes.\n\nThen Achilles went forth to battle, inspired with a rage and\nthirst for vengeance that made him irresistible.  The bravest\nwarriors fled before him or fell by his lance.  Hector, cautioned\nby Apollo, kept aloof, but the god, assuming the form of one of\nPriam's sons, Lycaon, urged AEneas to encounter the terrible\nwarrior.  AEneas, though he felt himself unequal, did not decline\nthe combat.  He hurled his spear with all his force against the\nshield, the work of Vulcan.  It was formed of five metal plates;\ntwo were of brass, two of tin, and one of gold.  The spear\npierced two thicknesses, but was stopped in the third.  Achilles\nthrew his with better success.  It pierced through the shield of\nAeneas, but glanced near his shoulder and made no wound.  Then\nAEneas seized a stone, such as two men of modern times could\nhardly lift, and was about to throw it, and Achilles, with sword\ndrawn, was about to rush upon him, when Neptune, who looked out\nupon the contest, moved with pity for AEneas, who he saw would\nsurely fall a victim if not speedily rescued, spread a cloud\nbetween the combatants, and lifting AEneas from the ground, bore\nhim over the heads of warriors and steeds to the rear of the\nbattle.  Achilles, when the mist cleared away, looked round in\nvain for his adversary, and acknowledging the prodigy, turned his\narms against other champions.  But none dared stand before him,\nand Priam looking down from his city walls beheld his whole army\nin full flight towards the city.  He gave command to open wide\nthe gates to receive the fugitives, and to shut them as soon as\nthe Trojans should have passed, lest the enemy should enter\nlikewise.  But Achilles was so close in pursuit that that would\nhave been impossible if Apollo had not, in the form of Agenor,\nPriam's son, encountered Achilles for a while, then turned to\nfly, and taken the way apart from the city.  Achilles pursued and\nhad chased his supposed victim far from the walls, when Apollo\ndisclosed himself, and Achilles, perceiving how he had been\ndeluded, gave up the chase.\n\nBut when the rest had escaped into the town Hector stood without,\ndetermined to await the combat.  His old father called to him\nfrom the walls and begged him to retire nor tempt the encounter.\nHis mother, Hecuba, also besought him to the same effect, but all\nin vain.  \"How can I,\" said he to himself, \"by whose command the\npeople went to this day's contest, where so many have fallen,\nseek safety for myself against a single foe?  But what if I offer\nhim to yield up Helen and all her treasures and ample of our own\nbeside?  Ah no!  It is too late.  He would not even hear me\nthrough, but slay me while I spoke.\"   While he thus ruminated,\nAchilles approached, terrible as Mars, his armor flashing\nlighting as he moved.  At that sight Hector's heart failed him\nand he fled.  Achilles swiftly pursued.  They ran, still keeping\nnear the walls, till they had thrice encircled the city.  As\noften as Hector approached the walls Achilles intercepted him and\nforced him to keep out in a wider circle.  But Apollo sustained\nHector's strength, and would not let him sink in weariness.  Then\nPallas, assuming the form of Deiphobus, Hector's bravest brother,\nappeared suddenly at his side.  Hector saw him with delight, and,\nthus strengthened, stopped his flight and turned to meet\nAchilles.  Hector threw his spear, which struck the shield of\nAchilles and bounded back.  He turned to receive another from the\nhand of Deiphobus, but Deiphobus was gone.  Then Hector\nunderstood his doom and said, \"Alas!  It is plain this is my hour\nto die!  I thought Deiphobus at hand, but Pallas deceived me, and\nhe is still in Troy.  But I will not fall inglorious.\"  So\nsaying, he drew his falchion from his side and rushed at once to\ncombat.  Achilles, secured behind his shield, waited the approach\nof Hector.  When he came within reach of his spear, Achilles,\nchoosing with his eye a vulnerable part where the armor leaves\nthe neck uncovered, aimed his spear at that part, and Hector\nfell, death-wounded, and feebly said, \"Spare my body!  Let my\nparents ransom it, and let me receive funeral rites from the sons\nand daughters of Troy.\"  To which Achilles replied, \"Dog, name\nnot ransom nor pity to me, on whom you have brought such dire\ndistress.  No!  Trust me, nought shall save thy carcass from the\ndogs.  Though twenty ransoms and thy weight in gold were offered,\nI would refuse it all.\"\n\nSo saying, he stripped the body of its armor, and fastening cords\nto the feet, tied them behind his chariot, leaving the body to\ntrail along the ground.  Then mounting the chariot he lashed the\nsteeds, and so dragged the body to and fro before the city.  What\nwords can tell the grief of King Priam and Queen Hecuba at this\nsight!  His people could scarce restrain the old king from\nrushing forth.  He threw himself in the dust, and besought them\neach by name to give him way.  Hecuba's distress was not less\nviolent.  The citizens stood round them weeping.  The sound of\nthe mourning reached the ears of Andromache, the wife of Hector,\nas she sat among her maidens at work, and anticipating evil she\nwent forth to the wall.  When she saw the sight there presented,\nshe would have thrown herself headlong from the wall, but fainted\nand fell into the arms of her maidens.  Recovering, she bewailed\nher fate, picturing to herself her country ruined, herself a\ncaptive, and her son dependent for his bread on the charity of\nstrangers.\n\nWhen Achilles and the Greeks had taken their revenge on the\nkiller of Patroclus they busied themselves in paying due funeral\nrites to their friend.  A pile was erected, and the body burned\nwith due solemnity; and then ensued games of strength and skill,\nchariot races, wrestling, boxing, and archery.  Then the chiefs\nsat down to the funeral banquet and after that retired to rest.\nBut Achilles neither partook of the feast nor of sleep.  The\nrecollection of his lost friend kept him awake, remembering their\ncompanionship in toil and dangers, in battle or on the perilous\ndeep.  Before the earliest dawn he left his tent, and joining to\nhis chariot his swift steeds, he fastened Hector's body to be\ndragged behind.  Twice he dragged him round the tomb of\nPatroclus, leaving him at length stretched in the dust.  But\nApollo would not permit the body to be torn or disfigured with\nall this abuse, but preserved it free from all taint or\ndefilement.\n\nWhen Achilles indulged his wrath in thus disgracing brave Hector,\nJupiter in pity summoned Thetis to his presence.  He told her to\ngo to her son and prevail on him to restore the body of Hector to\nhis friends.  Then Jupiter sent Iris to King Priam to encourage\nhim to go to Achilles and beg the body of his son.  Iris\ndelivered her message, and Priam immediately prepared to obey.\nHe opened his treasures and took out rich garments and cloths,\nwith ten talents in gold and two splendid tripods and a golden\ncup of matchless workmanship.  Then he called to his sons and\nbade them draw forth his litter and place in it the various\narticles designed for a ransom to Achilles.\n\nWhen all was ready, the old king with a single companion, as aged\nas himself, the herald Idaeus, drove forth from the gates,\nparting there with Hecuba his queen, and all his friends, who\nlamented him as going to certain death.\n\nBut Jupiter, beholding with compassion the venerable king, sent\nMercury to be his guide and protector.  Mercury, assuming the\nform of a young warrior, presented himself to the aged couple,\nand while at the sight of him they hesitated whether to fly or\nyield, the god approached, and grasping Priam's hand, offered to\nbe their guide to Achilles' tent.  Priam gladly accepted his\noffered service, and he, mounting the carriage, assumed the reins\nand soon conveyed them to the tent of Achilles.  Mercury's wand\nput to sleep all the guards, and without hindrance he introduced\nPriam into the tent where Achilles sat, attended hy two of his\nwarriors.  The old king threw himself at the feet of Achilles and\nkissed those terrible hands which had destroyed so many of his\nsons.  \"Think, O Achilles,\" he said, \"of thy own father, full of\ndays like me, and trembling on the gloomy verge of life.  Perhaps\neven now some neighbor chief oppresses him, and there is none at\nhand to succor him in his distress.  Yet doubtless knowing that\nAchilles lives he still rejoices, hoping that one day he shall\nsee thy face again.  But no comfort cheers me, whose bravest\nsons, so late the flower of Ilium, all have fallen.  Yet one I\nhad, one more than all the rest the strength of my age, whom\nfighting for his country, thou hast slain.  I come to redeem his\nbody, bringing inestimable ransom with me. Achilles, reverence\nthe gods!  Recollect thy father!  For his sake show compassion to\nme!\"  These words moved Achilles and he wept; remembering by\nturns his absent father and his lost friend.  Moved with pity of\nPriam's silver locks and beard, he raised him from the earth and\nthus spake: \"Priam, I know that thou has reached this place\nconducted by some god, for without divine aid no mortal even in\nthe prime of youth had dared the attempt.  I grant thy request;\nmoved thereto by the evident will of Jove.\"  So saying he arose,\nand went forth with his two friends, and unloaded of its charge\nthe litter, leaving two mantles and a robe for the covering of\nthe body, which they placed on the litter, and spread the\ngarments over it, that not unveiled it should be borne back to\nTroy.  Then Achilles dismissed the old king with his attendants,\nhaving first pledged himself to allow a truce of twelve days for\nthe funeral solemnities.\n\nAs the litter approached the city and was descried from the\nwalls, the people poured forth to gaze once more on the face of\ntheir hero.  Foremost of all, the mother and the wife of Hector\ncame, and at the sight of the lifeless body renewed their\nlamentations.  The people all wept with them, and to the going\ndown of the sun there was no pause or abatement of their grief.\n\nThe next day preparations were made for the funeral solemnities.\nFor nine days the people brought wood and built the pile, and on\nthe tenth they placed the body on the summit and applied the\ntorch; while all Troy, thronging forth, encompassed the pile.\nWhen it had completely burned, they quenched the cinders with\nwine, collected the bones and placed them in a golden urn, which\nthey buried in the earth, and reared a pile of stones over the\nspot.\n\n  \"Such honors Ilium to her hero paid,\n  And peaceful slept the mighty Hector's shade.\"\n  Pope's Homer\n\n\n\nChapter XXI\n\nThe Fall of Troy.  Return of the Greeks.  Orestes and Electra\n\nThe story of the Iliad ends with the death of Hector, and it is\nfrom the Odyssey and later poems that we learn the fate of the\nother heroes.  After the death of Hector, Troy did not\nimmediately fall, but receiving aid from new allies still\ncontinued its resistance.  One of these allies was Memnon, the\nAETHIOPIAN prince, whose story we have already told.  Another was\nPenthesilea, queen of the Amazons, who came with a band of female\nwarriors.  All the authorities attest their valor and the fearful\neffect of their war-cry.  Penthesilea slew many of the bravest\nwarriors, but was at last slain by Achilles.  But when the hero\nbent over his fallen foe, and contemplated her beauty, youth and\nvalor, he bitterly regretted his victory.  Thersites, an insolent\nbrawler and demagogue, ridiculed his grief, and was in\nconsequence slain by the hero.\n\nAchilles by chance had seen Polyxena, daughter of King Priam,\nperhaps on occasion of the truce which was allowed the Trojans\nfor the burial of Hector.  He was captivated with her charms, and\nto win her in marriage agreed to use his influence with the\nGreeks to grant peace to Troy.  While in the temple of Apollo,\nnegotiating the marriage, Paris discharged at him a poisoned\narrow, which guided by Apollo, wounded Achilles in the heel, the\nonly vulnerable part about him.  For Thetis, his mother, had\ndipped him when an infant in the river Styx, which made every\npart of him invulnerable except the heel by which she held him.\n(The story of the invulnerability of Achilles is not found in\nHomer, and is inconsistent with his account.  For how could\nAchilles require the aid of celestial armor if he were\ninvulnerable?)\n\nThe body of Achilles, so treacherously slain, was rescued by Ajax\nand Ulysses.  Thetis directed the Greeks to bestow her son's\narmor on the hero who, of all survivors, should be judged most\ndeserving of it.  Ajax and Ulysses were the only claimants; a\nselect number of the other chiefs were appointed to award the\nprize.  It was awarded to Ulysses, thus placing wisdom before\nvalor; whereupon Ajax slew himself.  On the spot where his blood\nsank into the earth a flower sprang up, called the hyacinth,\nbearing on its leaves the first two letters of the name of Ajax,\nAi, the Greek for \"woe.\"  Thus Ajax is a claimant with the boy\nHyacinthus for the honor of giving birth to this flower.  There\nis a species of Larkspur which represents the hyacinth of the\npoets in preserving the memory of this event, the Delphinium\nAjacis   Ajax's Larkspur.\n\nIt was now discovered that Troy could not be taken but by the\narrows of Hercules.  They were in possession of Philoctetes, the\nfriend who had been with Hercules at the last, and lighted his\nfuneral pyre.  Philoctetes had joined the Grecian expedition\nagainst Troy, but had accidentally wounded his foot with one of\nthe poisoned arrows, and the smell from his wound proved so\noffensive that his companions carried him to the Isle of Lemnos\nand left him there.  Diomedes was now sent to induce him to\nrejoin the army.  He succeeded.  Philoctetes was cured of his\nwound by Machaon, and Paris was the first victim of the fatal\narrows.  In his distress Paris bethought him of one whom in his\nprosperity he had forgotten.  This was the nymph OEnone, whom he\nhad married when a youth, and had abandoned for the fatal beauty\nHelen.  OEnone, remembering the wrongs she had suffered, refused\nto heal the wound, and Paris went back to Troy and died.  OEnone\nquickly repented, and hastened after him with remedies, but came\ntoo late, and in her grief hung herself.\n\nTennyson has chosen OEnone as the subject of a short poem; but he\nhas omitted the concluding part of the story, the return of Paris\nwounded, her cruelty and subsequent repentance.\n\n  \"---- Hither came at noon\n  Mournful OENONE, wandering forlorn\n  Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills.\n  Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck\n  Floated her hair, or seemed to float in rest.\n  She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine,\n  Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade\n  Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff.\n  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .\n  \"'O Mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,\n  Dear Mother Ida, hearken ere I die.\n  I waited underneath the dawning hills,\n  Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark,\n  And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine:\n  Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris,\n  Leading a jet-black goat, white-horned, white-hooved,\n  Come up from reedy Simois, all alone.\n\n  \"'O Mother Ida, hearken ere I die.\n  Far off the torrent called me from the cliff:\n  Far up the solitary morning smote\n  The streaks of virgin snow.  With downdropt eyes\n  I sat alone: white-breasted like a star\n  Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard-skin\n  Drooped from his shoulder, but his sunny hair\n  Clustered about his temples like a God's,\n  And his cheek brightened as the foambow brightens\n  When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart\n  Went forth to embrace him coming, ere he came.\n\n  \"'Dear Mother Ida, hearken ere I die.\n  He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm\n  Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold,\n  That smelt ambrosially, and while I looked\n  And listened, the full-flowing river of speech\n  Came down upon my heart.\n\n  \"My own OENONE,\n  Beautiful-browed OENONE, my own soul,\n  Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingraven\n  'For the most fair,' would seem award it thine\n  As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt\n  The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace\n  Of movement, and the charm of married brows.\"\n\n  \"'Dear Mother Ida, hearken ere I die.\n  He prest the blossom of his lips to mine,\n  And added, \"This was cast upon the board,\n  When all the full-faced presence of the gods\n  Hanged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon\n  Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twas due;\n  But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve\n  Delivering, that to me, by common voice\n  Elected umpire, Her, comes to-day,\n  Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each\n  This meed of fairest.  Thou within the cave\n  Beyond yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,\n  May'st well behold them unbeheld, unheard\n  Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of gods.\"'\"\n\nThere was in Troy a celebrated statue of Minerva called the\nPalladium.  It was said to have fallen from heaven, and the\nbelief was that the city could not be taken so long as this\nstatue remained within it.  Ulysses and Diomedes entered the city\nin disguise, and succeeded in obtaining the Palladium, which they\ncarried off to the Grecian camp.\n\nBut Troy still held out, and the Greeks began to despair of ever\nsubduing it by force, and by advice of Ulysses resolved to resort\nto stratagem.  They pretended to be making preparations to\nabandon the siege, and a portion of the ships were withdrawn, and\nlay hid behind a neighboring island.  The Greeks then constructed\nan immense WOODEN HORSE, which they gave out was intended as a\npropitiatory offering to Minerva, but in fact was filled with\narmed men.  The remaining Greeks then betook themselves to their\nships and sailed away, as if for a final departure.  The Trojans,\nseeing the encampment broken up and the fleet gone, concluded the\nenemy to have abandoned the siege.  The gates were thrown open,\nand the whole population issued forth rejoicing at the long-\nprohibited liberty of passing freely over the scene of the late\nencampment.  The great horse was the chief object of curiosity.\nAll wondered what it could be for.  Some recommended to take it\ninto the city as a trophy; others felt afraid of it.\n\nWhile they hesitate, Laocoon, the priest of Neptune, exclaims,\n\"What madness, citizens, is this!  Have you not learned enough of\nGrecian fraud to be on your guard against it?  For my part I fear\nthe Greeks even when they offer gifts.\"  So saying he threw his\nlance at the horse's side.  It struck, and a hollow sound\nreverberated like a groan.  Then perhaps the people might have\ntaken his advice and destroyed the fatal horse and all its\ncontents; but just at that moment a group of people appeared\ndragging forward one who seemed a prisoner and a Greek.\nStupefied with terror he was brought before the chiefs, who\nreassured him, promising that his life should be spared on\ncondition of his returning true answers to the questions asked\nhim.  He informed them that he was a Greek, Sinon by name, and\nthat in consequence of the malice of Ulysses he had been left\nbehind by his countrymen at their departure.  With regard to the\nwooden horse, he told them that it was a propitiatory offering to\nMinerva, and made so huge for the express purpose of preventing\nits being carried within the city; for Calchas the prophet had\ntold them that if the Trojans took possession of it, they would\nassuredly triumph over the Greeks.  This language turned the tide\nof the people's feelings, and they began to think how they might\nbest secure the monstrous horse and the favorable auguries\nconnected with it, when suddenly a prodigy occurred which left no\nroom to doubt.  There appeared advancing over the sea two immense\nserpents.  They came upon the land, and the crowd fled in all\ndirections.  The serpents advanced directly to the spot where\nLaocoon stood with his two sons.  They first attacked the\nchildren, winding round their bodies and breathing their\npestilential breath in their faces.  The father, attempting to\nrescue them, is next seized and involved in the serpents' coils.\nHe struggles to tear them away, but they overpower all his\nefforts and strangle him and the children in their poisonous\nfolds.  This event was regarded as a clear indication of the\ndispleasure of the gods at Laocoon's irreverent treatment of the\nwooden horse, which they no longer hesitated to regard as a\nsacred object and prepared to introduce with due solemnity into\nthe city.  This was done with songs and triumphal acclamations,\nand the day closed with festivity.  In the night the armed men\nwho were enclosed in the body of the horse, being led out by the\ntraitor Sinon, opened the gates of the city to their friends who\nhad returned under cover of the night.  The city was set on fire;\nthe people, overcome with feasting and sleep, put to the sword,\nand Troy completely subdued.\n\nOne of the most celebrated groups of statuary in existence is\nthat of Laocoon and his children in the embrace of the serpents.\n\"There is a cast of it in the Boston Athenaeum; the original is\nin the Vatican at Rome.  The following lines are from the Childe\nHarold of Byron:\n\n  \"Now turning to the Vatican go see\n  Laocoon's torture dignifying pain;\n  A father's love and mortal's agony\n  With as immortal's patience blending; vain\n  The struggle!  Vain against the coiling strain\n  And gripe and deepening of the dragon's grasp\n  The old man's clinch; the long envenomed chain\n  Rivets the living links; the enormous asp\n  Enforces pang on pang and stifles gasp on gasp.\"\n\nThe comic poets will also occasionally borrow a classical\nallusion.  The following is from Swift's description of a City\nShower:\n\n  \"Boxed in a chair the beau impatient sits,\n  While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits,\n  And over and anon with frightful din\n  The leather sounds; he trembles from within.\n  So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed\n  Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed,\n  (Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do,\n  Instead of paying chairmen, run them through;)\n  Laocoon struck the outside with a spear,\n  And each imprisoned champion quaked with fear.\"\n\nKing Priam lived to see the downfall of his kingdom, and was\nslain at last on the fatal night when the Greeks took the city.\nHe had armed himself and was about to mingle with the combatants,\nbut was prevailed on by Hecuba, his aged queen, to take refuge\nwith herself and his daughters as a suppliant at the altar of\nJupiter.  While there, his youngest son Polites, pursued by\nPyrrhus (Pyrrhus's exclamation, \"Not such aid nor such defenders\ndoes the time require,\" has become proverbial.), the son of\nAchilles, rushed in wounded, and expired at the feet of his\nfather; whereupon Priam, overcome with indignation, hurled his\nspear with feeble hand against Pyrrhus, and was forthwith slain\nby him.\n\nQueen Hecuba and her daughter Cassandra were carried captives to\nGreece.  Cassandra had been loved by Apollo, and he gave her the\ngift of prophecy; but afterwards offended with her, he rendered\nthe gift unavailing by ordaining that her predictions should\nnever be believed.  Polyxena, another daughter, who had been\nloved by Achilles, was demanded by the ghost of this warrior, and\nwas sacrificed by the Greeks upon his tomb.\n\nFrom Schiller's poem \"Cassandra\":\n\n  \"And men my prophet wail deride!\n  The solemn sorrow dies in scorn;\n  And lonely in the waste, I hide\n  The tortured heart that would forewarn.\n  Amid the happy, unregarded,\n  Mock'd by their fearful joy, I trod;\n  Oh, dark to me the lot awarded,\n  Thou evil Pythian God!\n\n  \"Thine oracle, in vain to be,\n  Oh, wherefore am I thus consigned,\n  With eyes that every truth must see,\n  Lone in the city of the blind?\n  Cursed with the anguish of a power\n  To view the fates I may not thrall,\n  The hovering tempest still must lower,\n  The horror must befall!\n\n  Boots it th veil to lift, and give\n  To sight the frowning fates beneath?\n  For error is the life we live,\n  And, oh, our knowledge is but death!\n  Take back the clear and awful mirror,\n  Shut from my eyes the blood-red glare;\n  Thy truth is but the gift of terror,\n  When mortal lips declare.\n\n  \"My blindness give to me once more,\n  They gay dim senses that rejoice;\n  The past's delighted songs are o'er\n  For lips that speak a prophet's voice.\n  To me the future thou hast granted;\n  I miss the moment from the chain\n  The happy present hour enchanted!\n  Take back thy gift again!\"\n  Sir Edw. L. Bulwer's translation\n\n\nMENELAUS AND HELEN\n\nOur readers will be anxious to know the fate of Helen, the fair\nbut guilty occasion of so much slaughter.  On the fall of Troy\nMenelaus recovered possession of his wife, who had not ceased to\nlove him, though she had yielded to the might of Venus and\ndeserted him for another.  After the death of Paris she aided the\nGreeks secretly on several occasions, and in particular when\nUlysses and Diomedes entered the city in disguise to carry off\nthe Palladium.  She saw and recognized Ulysses, but kept the\nsecret, and even assisted them in obtaining the image.  Thus she\nbecame reconciled to her husband, and they were among the first\nto leave the shores of Troy for their native land.  But having\nincurred the displeasure of the gods they were driven by storms\nfrom shore to shore of the Mediterranean, visiting Cyprus,\nPhoenicia and Egypt.  In Egypt they were kindly treated and\npresented with rich gifts, of which Helen's share was a golden\nspindle and a basket on wheels.  The basket was to hold the wool\nand spools for the queen's work.\n\nDyer, in his poem of The Fleece, thus alludes to the incident:\n\n  \"----many yet adhere\n  To the ancient distaff at the bosom fixed.\n  Casting the whirling spindle as they walk.\n  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .\n  This was of old, in no inglorious days,\n  The mode of spinning, when the Egyptian prince\n  A golden distaff gave that beauteous nymph,\n  Too beauteous Helen; no uncourtly gift.\"\n\nMilton also alludes to a famous recipe for an invigorating\ndraught, called Nepenthe, which the Egyptian queen gave to Helen:\n\n  \"Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone\n  In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena,\n  Is of such power to stir up joy as this,\n  To life so friendly or so cool to thirst.\"\n  Comus\n\nMenelaus and Helen at length arrived in safety at Sparta, resumed\ntheir royal dignity, and lived and reigned in splendor; and when\nTelemachus, the son of Ulysses, in search of his father, arrived\nat Sparta, he found Menelaus and Helen celebrating the marriage\nof their daughter Hermione to Neoptolemus, son of Achilles.\n\nIn \"the Victory Feast,\" Schiller thus reviews the return of the\nGreek heroes.\n\n  \"The son of Atreus, king of men,\n  The muster of the hosts surveyed,\n  How dwindled from the thousands, when\n  Along Scamander first arrayed!\n  With sorrow and the cloudy thought,\n  The great king's stately look grew dim,\n  Of all the hosts to Ilion brought,\n  How few to Greece return with him!\n  Still let the song to gladness call,\n  For those who yet their home shall greet!\n  For them the blooming life is sweet;\n  Return is not for all!\n\n  \"Nor all who reach their native land\n  May long the joy of welcome feel;\n  Beside the household gods may stand\n  Grim Murder, with awaiting steel\n  And they who 'scape the foe, may die\n  Beneath the foul, familiar glaive.\n  Thus he to whom prophetic eye\n  Her light the wise Minerva gave;\n  'Ah!  Bless'd, whose hearth, to memory true\n  The goddess keeps unstained and pure;\n  For woman's guile is deep and sure,\n  And falsehood loves the new!'\n\n  \"The Spartan eyes his Helen's charms,\n  By the best blood of Greece recaptured;\n  Round that fair form his glowing arms\n  (A second bridal) wreath, enraptured.\n  Woe waits the work of evil birth,\n  Revenge to deeds unblessed is given!\n  For watchful o'er the things of earth,\n  The eternal council-halls of heaven.\n  Yes, ill shall never ill repay;\n  Jove to the impious hands that stain\n  The altar of man's heart,\n  Again the doomer's doom shall weigh!\"\n  Sir Edw. L. Bulwer's translation\n\n\nAGAMEMNON, ORESTES, AND ELECTRA\n\nAgamemnon, the general-in-chief of the Greeks, the brother of\nMenelaus, who had been drawn into the quarrel to avenge another's\nwrongs, was not so fortunate in the issue as his brother.  During\nhis absence his wife Clytemnestra had been false to him, and when\nhis return was expected, she, with her paramour, AEgisthus, laid\na plan for his destruction, and at the banquet given to celebrate\nhis return, murdered him.\n\nThe conspirators intended also to slay his son Orestes, a lad not\nyet old enough to be an object of apprehension, but from whom, if\nhe should be suffered to grow up, there might be danger.\nElectra, the sister of Orestes, saved her brother's life by\nsending him secretly away to his uncle Strophius, king of Phocis.\nIn the palace of Strophius, Orestes grew up with the king's son,\nPylades, and formed with him that ardent friendship which has\nbecome proverbial.  Electra frequently reminded her brother hy\nmessengers of the duty of avenging his father's death, and when\ngrown up he consulted the oracle of Delphi, which confirmed him\nin his design.  He therefore repaired in disguise to Argos,\npretending to he a messenger from Strophius, who had come to\nannounce the death of Orestes, and brought the ashes of the\ndeceased in a funeral urn.  After visiting his father's tomb and\nsacrificing upon it, according to the rites of the ancients, he\nmade himself known to his sister Electra, and soon after slew\nboth AEgisthus and Clytemnestra.\n\nThis revolting act, the slaughter of a mother by her son, though\nalleviated by the guilt of the victim and the express command of\nthe gods, did not fail to awaken in the breasts of the ancients\nthe same abhorrence that it does in ours.  The Eumenides,\navenging deities, seized upon Orestes, and drove him frantic from\nland to land.  Pylades accompanied him in his wanderings, and\nwatched over him.  At length in answer to a second appeal to the\noracle, he was directed to go to Tauris in Scythia, and to bring\nthence a statue of Diana which was believed to have fallen from\nheaven.  Accordingly Orestes and Pylades went to Tauris, where\nthe barbarous people were accustomed to sacrifice to the goddess\nall strangers who fell into their hands.  The two friends were\nseized and carried bound to the temple to be made victims.  But\nthe priestess of Diana was no other than Iphigenia, the sister of\nOrestes, who, our readers will remember, was snatched away by\nDiana, at the moment when she was about to be sacrificed.\nAscertaining from the prisoners who they were, Iphigenia\ndisclosed herself to them, and the three made their escape with\nthe statue of the goddess, and returned to Mycenae.\n\nBut Orestes was not yet relieved from the vengeance of the\nErinnyes.  At length he took refuge with Minerva at Athens.  The\ngoddess afforded him protection, and appointed the court of\nAreopagus to decide his fate.  The Erinnyes brought forward their\naccusation, and Orestes made the command of the Delphic oracle\nhis excuse.  When the court voted and the voices were equally\ndivided, Orestes was acquitted by the command of Minerva.\n\nByron, in Childe Harold, Canto IV, alludes to the story of\nOrestes:\n\n  \"O thou who never yet of human wrong\n  Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis!\n  Thou who didst call the Furies from the abyss,\n  And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss,\n  For that unnatural retribution,   just,\n  Had it but been from hands less near,   in this,\n  Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust!\"\n\nOne of the most pathetic scenes in the ancient drama is that in\nwhich Sophocles represents the meeting of Orestes and Electra, on\nhis return from Phocis.  Orestes, mistaking Electra for one of\nthe domestics, and desirous of keeping his arrival a secret till\nthe hour of vengeance should arrive, produces the urn in which\nhis ashes are supposed to rest.  Electra, believing him to be\nreally dead, takes the urn, and embracing it, pours forth her\ngrief in language full of tenderness and despair.\n\nMilton, in one of his sonnets, says:\n\n  \"The repeated air\n  Of sad Electra's poet had the power\n  To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.\"\n\nThis alludes to the story that when, on one occasion, the city of\nAthens was at the mercy of her Spartan foes, and it was proposed\nto destroy it, the thought was rejected upon the accidental\nquotation, by some one, of a chorus of Euripides.\n\n\nTROY\n\nAfter hearing so much about the city of Troy and its heroes, the\nreader will perhaps be surprised to learn that the exact site of\nthat famous city is still a matter of dispute.  There are some\nvestiges of tombs on the plain which most nearly answers to the\ndescription given by Homer and the ancient geographers, but no\nother evidence of the former existence of a great city.  Byron\nthus describes the present appearance of the scene:\n\n  \"The winds are high, and Helle's tide\n  Rolls darkly heaving to the main;\n  And night's descending shadows hide\n  That field with blood bedewed in vain,\n  The desert of old Priam's pride,\n  The tombs, sole relics of his reign,\n  All save immortal dreams that could beguile\n  The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle.\"\n  Bride of Abydos.\n\n\n\nChapter XXII\n\nAdventures of Ulysses.  The Lotus-Eaters.  Cyclopes.  Circe.\nSirens.  Scylla and Charybdis.  Calypso\n\nThe romantic poem of the Odyssey is now to engage our attention.\nIt narrates the wanderings of Ulysses (Odysseus in the Greek\nlanguage) in his return from Troy to his own kingdom of Ithaca.\n\nFrom Troy the vessels first made land at Ismarus, a city of the\nCiconians, where, in a skirmish with the inhabitants, Ulysses\nlost six men from each ship.  Sailing thence they were overtaken\nby a storm which drove them for nine days along the sea till they\nreached the country of the Lotus-eaters.  Here, after watering,\nUlysses sent three of his men to discover who the inhabitants\nwere.  These men on coming among the Lotus-eaters were kindly\nentertained by them, and were given some of their own food, the\nlotus-plant to eat.  The effect of this food was such that those\nwho partook of it lost all thoughts of home and wished to remain\nin that country.  It was by main force that Ulysses dragged these\nmen away, and he was even obliged to tie them under the benches\nof his ship.  (Tennyson in the Lotus-eaters has charmingly\nexpressed the dreamy languid feeling which the lotus-food is said\nto have produced:\n\n  \"How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream\n  With half-shut eyes ever to seem\n  Falling asleep in a half-dream!\n  To dream and dream, like yonder amber light\n  Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height;\n  To hear each other's whispered speech;\n  Eating the lotus, day by day,\n  To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,\n  And tender curving lines of creamy spray;\n  To lend our hearts and spirits wholly\n  To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;\n  To muse and brood and live again in memory,\n  With those old faces of our infancy\n  Heaped over with a mound of grass,\n  Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass.\")\n\nThey next arrived at the country of the Cyclopes.  The Cyclopes\nwere giants, who inhabited an island of which they were the only\npossessors.  The name means \"round eye,\" and these giants were so\ncalled because they had but one eye, and that placed in the\nmiddle of the forehead.  They dwelt in caves and fed on the wild\nproductions of the island and on what their flocks yielded, for\nthey were shepherds.  Ulysses left the main body of his ships at\nanchor, and with one vessel went to the Cyclopes' island to\nexplore for supplies.  He landed with his companions, carrying\nwith them a jar of wine for a present, and coming to a large cave\nthey entered it, and finding no one within examined its contents.\nThey found it stored with the riches of the flock, quantities of\ncheese, pails and bowls of milk, lambs and kids in their pens,\nall in nice order.  Presently arrived the master of the cave,\nPolyphemus, bearing an immense bundle of firewood, which he threw\ndown before the cavern's mouth.  He then drove into the cave the\nsheep and goats to be milked, and, entering, rolled to the cave's\nmouth an enormous rock, that twenty oxen could not draw.  Next he\nsat down and milked his ewes, preparing a part for cheese, and\nsetting the rest aside for his customary drink.  Then turning\nround his great eye he discerned the strangers, and growled out\nto them, demanding who they were, and where from.  Ulysses\nreplied most humbly, stating that they were Greeks, from the\ngreat expedition that had lately won so much glory in the\nconquest of Troy; that they were now on their way home, and\nfinished by imploring his hospitality in the name of the gods.\nPolyphemus deigned no answer, but reaching out his hand, seized\ntwo of the Greeks, whom he hurled against the side of the cave,\nand dashed out their brains.  He proceeded to devour them with\ngreat relish, and having made a hearty meal, stretched himself\nout on the floor to sleep.  Ulysses was tempted to seize the\nopportunity and plunge his sword into him as he slept, but\nrecollected that it would only expose them all to certain\ndestruction, as the rock with which the giant had closed up the\ndoor was far beyond their power to remove, and they would\ntherefore be in hopeless imprisonment.  Next morning the giant\nseized two more of the Greeks, and dispatched them in the same\nmanner as their companions, feasting on their flesh till no\nfragment was left.  He then moved away the rock from the door,\ndrove out his flocks, and went out, carefully replacing the\nbarrier after him.  When he was gone Ulysses planned how he might\ntake vengeance for his murdered friends, and effect his escape\nwith his surviving companions.  He made his men prepare a massive\nbar of wood cut by the Cyclops for a staff, which they found in\nthe cave.  They sharpened the end of it and seasoned it in the\nfire, and hid it under the straw on the cavern floor.  Then four\nof the boldest were selected, with whom Ulysses joined himself as\na fifth.  The Cyclops came home at evening, rolled away the stone\nand drove in his flock as usual.  After milking them and making\nhis arrangements as before, he seized two more of Ulysses'\ncompanions and dashed their brains out, and made his evening meal\nupon them as he had on the others.  After he had supped, Ulysses,\napproaching him, handed him a bowl of wine, saying, \"Cyclops,\nthis is wine; taste and drink after thy meal of man's flesh.\"  He\ntook and drank it, and was hugely delighted with it, and called\nfor more.  Ulysses supplied him once and again, which pleased the\ngiant so much that he promised him as a favor that he should be\nthe last of the party devoured.  He asked his name, to which\nUlysses replied, \"My name is Noman.\"\n\nAfter his supper the giant lay down to repose, and was soon sound\nasleep.  Then Ulysses with his four select friends thrust the end\nof the stake into the fire till it was all one burning coal, then\npoising it exactly above the giant's only eye, they buried it\ndeeply into the socket, twirling it round and round as a\ncarpenter does his auger.  The howling monster filled the cavern\nwith his outcry, and Ulysses with his aids nimbly got out of his\nway and concealed themselves in the cave.  The Cyclops,\nbellowing, called aloud on all the Cyclopes dwelling in the caves\naround him, far and near.  They on his cry flocked around the\nden, and inquired what grievous hurt had caused him to sound such\nan alarm and break their slumbers.  He replied, \"O friends, I\ndie, and Noman gives the blow.\"  They answered, \"If no man hurts\nthee it is the stroke of Jove, and thou must bear it.\"  So\nsaying, they left him groaning.\n\nNext morning the Cyclops rolled away the stone to let his flock\nout to pasture, but planted himself in the door of the cave to\nfeel of all as they went out, that Ulysses and his men should not\nescape with them.  But Ulysses had made his men harness the rams\nof the flock three abreast, with osiers which they found on the\nfloor of the cave.  To the middle ram of the three one of the\nGreeks suspended himself, so protected by the exterior rams on\neither side.  As they passed, the giant felt of the animals'\nbacks and sides, but never thought of their bellies; so the men\nall passed safe, Ulysses himself being on the last one that\npassed.  When they had got a few paces from the cavern, Ulysses\nand his friends released themselves from their rams, and drove a\ngood part of the flock down to the shore to their boat.  They put\nthem aboard with all haste, then pushed off from the shore, and\nwhen at a safe distance Ulysses shouted, \"Cyclops, the gods have\nwell requited thee for thy atrocious deeds.  Know it is Ulysses\nto whom thou owest thy shameful loss of sight.\"  The Cyclops,\nhearing this, seized a rock that projected from the side of the\nmountain, and rending it from its bed he lifted it high in the\nair, then exerting all his force, hurled it in the direction of\nthe voice.  Down came the mass, just clearing the vessel's stern.\nThe ocean, at the plunge of the huge rock, heaved the ship\ntowards the land, so that it barely escaped being swamped by the\nwaves.  When they had with the utmost difficulty pulled off\nshore, Ulysses was about to hail the giant again, but his friends\nbesought him not to do so.  He could not forbear, however,\nletting the giant know that they had escaped his missile, but\nwaited till they had reached a safer distance than before,   The\ngiant answered them with curses, but Ulysses and his friends\nplied their oars vigorously, and soon regained their companions.\n\nUlysses next arrived at the island of AEolus.  To this monarch\nJupiter had intrusted the government of the winds, to send them\nforth or retain them at his will.  He treated Ulysses hospitably,\nand at his departure gave him, tied up in a leathern bag with a\nsilver string, such winds as might be hurtful and dangerous,\ncommanding fair winds to blow the barks towards their country.\nNine days they sped before the wind, and all that time Ulysses\nhad stood at the helm, without sleep.  At last quite exhausted he\nlay down to sleep.  While he slept, the crew conferred together\nabout the mysterious bag, and concluded it must contain treasures\ngiven by the hospitable King AEolus to their commander.  Tempted\nto secure some portion for themselves they loosed the string,\nwhen immediately the winds rushed forth.  The ships were driven\nfar from their course, and back again to the island they had just\nleft.  AEolus was so indignant at their folly that he refused to\nassist them further, and they were obliged to labor over their\ncourse once more by means of their oars.\n\n\nTHE LAESTRYGONIANS\n\nThe next adventure was with the barbarous tribe of\nLaestrygonians.  The vessels pushed into the harbor, tempted by\nthe secure appearance of the cove, completely land-locked;\nUlysses alone moored his vessel without.  As soon as the\nLaestrygonians found the ships completely in their power they\nattacked them, having huge stones which broke and overturned\nthem, and with their spears dispatched the seamen as they\nstruggled in the water.  All the vessels with their crews were\ndestroyed, except Ulysses' own ship which had remained outside,\nand finding no safety but in flight, he exhorted his men to ply\ntheir oars vigorously, and they escaped.\n\nWith grief for their slain companions mixed with joy at their own\nescape, they pursued their way till they arrived at the Aeaean\nisle, where dwelt Circe, the daughter of the sun.  Landing here\nUlysses climbed a hill, and gazing round saw no signs of\nhabitation except in one spot at the centre of the island, where\nhe perceived a palace embowered with trees.  He sent forward one-\nhalf of his crew, under the command of Eurylochus, to see what\nprospect of hospitality they might find.  As they approached the\npalace, they found themselves surrounded by lions, tigers and\nwolves, not fierce, but tamed by Circe's art, for she was a\npowerful magician.  All these animals had once been men, but had\nbeen changed by Circe's enchantments into the forms of beasts.\nThe sounds of soft music were heard from within, and a sweet\nfemale voice singing.  Eurylochus called aloud and the goddess\ncame forth and invited them in.  They all gladly entered except\nEurylochus, who suspected danger.  The goddess conducted her\nguests to a seat, and had them served with wine and other\ndelicacies.  When they had feasted heartily, she touched them one\nby one with her wand, and they became immediately changed into\nSWINE, in \"head, body, voice and bristles,\" yet with their\nintellects as before.  She shut them in her sties, and supplied\nthem with acorns and such other things as swine love.\n\nEurylochus hurried back to the ship and told the tale.  Ulysses\nthereupon determined to go himself, and try if by any means he\nmight deliver his companions.  As he strode onward alone, he met\na youth who addressed him familiarly, appearing to be acquainted\nwith his adventures.  He announced himself as Mercury, and\ninformed Ulysses of the arts of Circe, and of the danger of\napproaching her.  As Ulysses was not to be dissuaded from his\nattempts, Mercury provided him with a sprig of the plant Moly, of\nwonderful power to resist sorceries, and instructed him how to\nact.  Ulysses proceeded, and reaching the palace was courteously\nreceived by Circe, who entertained him as she had done his\ncompanions, and after he had eaten and drank, touched him with\nher wand, saying, \"Hence seek the sty and wallow with thy\nfriends.\"  But he, instead of obeying, drew his sword and rushed\nupon her with fury in his countenance.  She fell on her knees\nand begged for mercy.  He dictated a solemn oath that she would\nrelease his companions and practise no further against him or\nthem; and she repeated it, at the same time promising to dismiss\nthem all in safety after hospitably entertaining them.  She was\nas good as her word.  The men were restored to their shapes, the\nrest of the crew summoned from the shore, and the whole\nmagnificently entertained day after day, till Ulysses seemed to\nhave forgotten his native land, and to have reconciled himself to\nan inglorious life of ease and pleasure.\n\nAt length his companions recalled him to nobler sentiments, and\nhe received their admonition gratefully.  Circe aided their\ndeparture, and instructed them how to pas safely by the coast of\nthe Sirens.  The Sirens were Sea-nymphs who had the power of\ncharming by their song all who had heard them, so that the\nunhappy mariners were irresistibly impelled to cast themselves\ninto the sea to their destruction.  Circe directed Ulysses to\nfill the ears of his seamen with wax, so that they should not\nhear the strain; and to cause himself to be bound to the mast,\nand his people to be strictly enjoined, whatever he might say or\ndo, by no means to release him till they should have passed the\nSirens' island.  Ulysses obeyed these directions.  He filled the\nears of his people with wax, and suffered them to bind him with\ncords firmly to the mast.  As they approached the Sirens' island,\nthe sea was calm, and over the waters came the notes of music so\nravishing and attractive, that Ulysses struggled to get loose,\nand by cries and signs to his people, begged to be released; but\nthey, obedient to his previous orders, sprang forward and bound\nhim still faster.  They held on their course, and the music grew\nfainter till it ceased to be heard, when with joy Ulysses gave\nhis companions the signal to unseal their ears, and they relieved\nhim from his bonds.\n\nThe imagination of a modern poet, Keats, has discovered for us\nthe thoughts that passed through the brains of the victims of\nCirce, after their transformation.  In his Endymion he represents\none of them, a monarch in the guise of an elephant, addressing\nthe sorceress in human language thus:\n\n  \"I sue not for my happy crown again;\n  I sue not for my phalanx on the plain;\n  I sue not for my lone, my widowed wife;\n  I sue not for my ruddy drops of life,\n  My children fair, my lovely girls and boys;\n  I will forget them; I will pass these joys,\n  Ask nought so heavenward; so too   too high;\n  Only I pray, as fairest boon, to die;\n  To be delivered from this cumbrous flesh,\n  From this gross, detestable, filthy mesh,\n  And merely given to the cold, bleak air.\n  Have mercy, goddess!  Circe, feel my prayer!\"\n\n\nSCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS\n\nUlysses had been warned by Circe of the two monsters Scylla and\nCharybdis.  We have already met with Scylla in the story of\nGlaucus, and remember that she was once a beautiful maiden and\nwas changed into a snaky monster by Circe.  She dwelt in a cave\nhigh up on the cliff, from whence she was accustomed to thrust\nforth her long necks for she had six heads, and in each of her\nmouths to seize one of the crew of every vessel passing within\nreach.  The other terror, Charybdis, was a gulf, nearly on a\nlevel with the water.  Thrice each day the water rushed into a\nfrightful chasm, and thrice was disgorged.  Any vessel coming\nnear the whirlpool when the tide was rushing in must inevitably\nby ingulfed; not Neptune himself could save it.\n\nOn approaching the haunt of the dread monsters, Ulysses kept\nstrict watch to discover them.  The roar of the waters as\nCharybdis ingulfed them, gave warning at a distance, but Scylla\ncould nowhere be discerned.  While Ulysses and his men watched\nwith anxious eyes the dreadful whirlpool, they were not equally\non their guard from the attack of Scylla, and the monster darting\nforth her snaky heads, caught six of his men, and bore them away\nshrieking to her den.  It was the saddest sight Ulysses had yet\nseen; to behold his friends thus sacrificed and hear their cries,\nunable to afford them any assistance.\n\nCirce had warned him of another danger.  After passing Scylla and\nCharybdis, the next land he would make was Trinakria, an island\nwhereon were pastured the cattle of Hyperion, the Sun, tended by\nhis daughters Lampetia and Phaethusa.  These flocks must not be\nviolated, whatever the wants of the voyagers might be.  If this\ninjunction were transgressed, destruction was sure to fall on the\noffenders.\n\nUlysses would willingly have passed the island of the Sun without\nstopping, but his companions so urgently pleaded for the rest and\nrefreshment that would be derived from anchoring and passing the\nnight on shore, that Ulysses yielded.  He bound them, however,\nwith an oath that they would not touch one of the animals of the\nsacred flocks and herds, but content themselves with what\nprovision they yet had left of the supply which Circe had put on\nboard.  So long as this supply lasted the people kept their oath,\nbut contrary winds detained them at the island for a month, and\nafter consuming all their stock of provisions, they were forced\nto rely upon the birds and fishes they could catch.  Famine\npressed them, and at length one day, in the absence of Ulysses,\nthey slew some of the cattle, vainly attempting to make amends\nfor the deed by offering from them a portion to the offended\npowers.  Ulysses, on his return to the shore, was horror-struck\nat perceiving what they had done, and the more so on account of\nthe portentous signs which followed.  The skins crept on the\nground, and the joints of meat lowed on the spits while roasting.\n\nThe wind becoming fair they sailed from the island.  They had not\ngone far when the weather changed, and a storm of thunder and\nlightning ensued.  A stroke of lightning shattered their mast,\nwhich in its fall killed the pilot.  At last the vessel itself\ncame to pieces.  The keel and mast floating side by side, Ulysses\nformed of them a raft, to which he clung, and, the wind changing,\nthe waves bore him to Calypso's island.  All the rest of the crew\nperished.\n\nThe following allusion to the stories we have just been relating\nis from Milton's Comus, line 252:\n\n  \"I have often heard\n  My mother Circe and the Sirens three,\n  Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades,\n  Culling their potent herbs and baneful drugs,\n  Who as they sung would take the prisoned soul\n  And lap it in Elysium.  Scylla wept,\n  And chid her barking waves into attention.\n  And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause.\"\n\nScylla and Charybdis have become proverbial, to denote opposite\ndangers which beset one's course.\n\n\nCALYPSO\n\nCalypso was a sea-nymph. One of that numerous class of female\ndivinities of lower rank than the gods, yet sharing many of their\nattributes.  Calypso received Ulysses hospitably, entertained him\nmagnificently, became enamored of him, and wished to retain him\nforever, conferring on him immortality.  But he persisted in his\nresolution to return to his country and his wife and son.\nCalypso at last received a command from Jove to dismiss him.\nMercury brought the message to her, and found her in her grotto,\nwhich is thus described by Homer:\n\n  \"A garden vine, luxuriant on all sides,\n  Mantled the spacious cavern, cluster-hung\n  Profuse; four fountains of serenest lymph,\n  Their sinuous course pursuing side by side,\n  Strayed all around, and every where appeared\n  Meadows of softest verdure purpled o'er\n  With violets; it was a scene to fill\n  A god from heaven with wonder and delight.\"\n\n\n\nCalypso with much reluctance proceeded to obey the commands of\nJupiter. She supplied Ulysses with the means of constructing a\nraft, provisioned it well for him, and gave him a favoring gale.\nHe sped on his course prosperously for many days, till at length,\nwhen in sight of land, a storm arose that broke his mast, and\nthreatened to rend the raft asunder.  In this crisis he was seen\nby a compassionate sea-nymph, who in the form of a cormorant\nalighted on the raft, and presented him a girdle, directing him\nto bind it beneath his breast, and if he should be compelled to\ntrust himself to the waves, it would buoy him up and enable him\nby swimming to reach the land.\n\nFenelon, in his romance of Telemachus, has given us the\nadventures of the son of Ulysses in search of his father.  Among\nother places at which he arrived, following on his father's\nfootsteps, was Calypso's isle, and, as in the former case, the\ngoddess tried every art to keep him with her, and offered to\nshare her immortality with him.  But Minerva, who, in the shape\nof Mentor, accompanied him and governed all his movements, made\nhim repel her allurements, and when no other means of escape\ncould be found, the two friends leaped from a cliff into the sea,\nand swam to a vessel which lay becalmed off shore.  Byron alludes\nto this leap of Telemachus and Mentor in the following stanza:\n\n  \"But not in silence pass Calypso's isles,\n  The sister tenants of the middle deep;\n  There for the weary still a haven smiles,\n  Though the fair goddess long has ceased to weep,\n  And o'er her cliffs a fruitless watch to keep\n  For him who dared prefer a mortal bride.\n  Here too his boy essayed the dreadful leap,\n  Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide;\n  While thus of both bereft the nymph-queen doubly sighed.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXIII\n\nThe Odyssey (continued)\n\nTHE PHAEACIANS.  FATE OF THE SUITORS\n\nUlysses clung to the raft while any of its timbers kept together,\nand when it no longer yielded him support, binding the girdle\naround him, he swam.  Minerva smoothed the billows before him and\nsent him a wind that rolled the waves towards the shore.  The\nsurf beat high on the rocks and seemed to forbid approach; but at\nlength finding calm water at the mouth of a gentle stream, he\nlanded, spent with toil, breathless and speechless and almost\ndead.  After some time reviving, he kissed the soil, rejoicing,\nyet at a loss what course to take.  At a short distance he\nperceived a wood, to which he turned his steps.  There finding a\ncovert sheltered by intermingling branches alike from the sun and\nthe rain, he collected a pile of leaves and formed a bed, on\nwhich he stretched himself, and heaping the leaves over him, fell\nasleep.\n\nThe land where he was thrown was Scheria, the country of the\nPhaecians.  These people dwelt originally near the Cyclopes; but\nbeing oppressed by that savage race, they migrated to the isle of\nScheria, under the conduct of Nausithous their king.  They were,\nthe poet tells us, a people akin to the gods, who appeared\nmanifestly and feasted among them when they offered sacrifices,\nand did not conceal themselves from solitary wayfarers when they\nmet them.  They had abundance of wealth and lived in the\nenjoyment of it undisturbed by the alarms of war, for as they\ndwelt remote from gain-seeking man, no enemy ever approached\ntheir shores, and they did not even require to make use of bows\nand quivers.  Their chief employment was navigation.  Their\nships, which went with the velocity of birds, were endued with\nintelligence; they knew every port and needed no pilot.\nAlcinous, the son of Nausithous, was now their king, a wise and\njust sovereign, beloved by his people.\n\nNow it happened that the very night on which Ulysses was cast\nashore on the Phaeacian island, and while he lay sleeping on his\nbed of leaves, Nausicaa, the daughter of the king, had a dream\nsent by Minerva, reminding her that her wedding-day was not far\ndistant, and that it would be but a prudent preparation for that\nevent to have a general washing of the clothes of the family.\nThis was no slight affair, for the fountains were at some\ndistance and the garments must be carried thither.  On awaking,\nthe princess hastened to her parents to tell them what was on her\nmind; not alluding to her wedding-day, but finding other reasons\nequally good.  Her father readily assented and ordered the grooms\nto furnish forth a wagon for the purpose.  The clothes were put\ntherein, and the queen mother placed in the wagon, likewise an\nabundant supply of food and wine.  The princess took her seat and\nplied the lash, her attendant virgins following her on foot.\nArrived at the river side they turned out the mules to graze, and\nunloading the carriage, bore the garments down to the water, and\nworking with cheerfulness and alacrity soon dispatched their\nlabor.  Then having spread the garments on the shore to dry, and\nhaving themselves bathed, they sat down to enjoy their meal;\nafter which they rose and amused themselves with a game of ball,\nthe princess singing to them while they played.  But when they\nhad refolded the apparel and were about to resume their way to\nthe town, Minerva caused the ball thrown by the princess to fall\ninto the water, whereat they all screamed, and Ulysses awaked at\nthe sound.\n\nNow we must picture to ourselves Ulysses, a shipwrecked mariner,\nbut just escaped from the waves, and utterly destitute of\nclothing, awaking and discovering that only a few bushes were\ninterposed between him and a group of young maidens, whom, by\ntheir deportment and attire, he discovered to be not mere peasant\ngirls, but of a higher class.  Sadly needing help, how could he\nyet venture, naked as he was, to discover himself and make his\nwants known?  It certainly was a case worthy of the interposition\nof his patron goddess Minerva, who never failed him at a crisis.\nBreaking off a leafy branch from a tree, he held it before him\nand stepped out from the thicket.  The virgins, at sight of him,\nfled in all directions, Nausicaa alone excepted, for Minerva\naided and endowed her with courage and discernment.  Ulysses,\nstanding respectfully aloof, told his sad case, and besought the\nfair object (whether queen or goddess he professed he knew not)\nfor food and clothing.  The princess replied courteously,\npromising present relief and her father's hospitality when he\nshould become acquainted with the facts.  She called back her\nscattered maidens, chiding their alarm, and reminding them that\nthe Phaeacians had no enemies to fear.  This man, she told them,\nwas an unhappy wanderer, whom it was a duty to cherish, for the\npoor and stranger are from Jove.  She bade them bring food and\nclothing, for some of her brothers' garments were among the\ncontents of the wagon.  When this was done, and Ulysses, retiring\nto a sheltered place, had washed his body free from the sea-foam,\nclothed and refreshed himself with food, Pallas dilated his form\nand diffused grace over his ample chest and manly brows.\n\nThe princess, seeing him, was filled with admiration, and\nscrupled not to say to her damsels that she wished the gods would\nsend her such a husband.  To Ulysses she recommended that he\nshould repair to the city, following herself and train so far as\nthe way lay through the fields; but when they should approach the\ncity she desired that he would no longer be seen in her company,\nfor she feared the remarks which rude and vulgar people might\nmake on seeing her return accompanied by such a gallant stranger;\nto avoid which she directed him to stop at a grove adjoining the\ncity, in which were a farm and garden belonging to the king.\nAfter allowing time for the princess and her companions to reach\nthe city, he was then to pursue his way thither, and would be\neasily guided by any he might meet to the royal abode.\n\nUlysses obeyed the directions, and in due time proceeded to the\ncity, on approaching which he met a young woman bearing a pitcher\nforth for water.  It was Minerva, who had assumed that form.\nUlysses accosted her, and desired to be directed to the palace of\nAlcinous the king.  The maiden replied respectfully, offering to\nbe his guide; for the palace, she informed him, stood near her\nfather's dwelling.  Under the guidance of the goddess, and by her\npower enveloped in a cloud which shielded him from observation,\nUlysses passed among the busy crowd, and with wonder observed\ntheir harbor, their ships, their forum (the resort of heroes),\nand their battlements, till they came to the palace, where the\ngoddess, having first given him some information of the country,\nking, and people he was about to meet, left him.  Ulysses, before\nentering the courtyard of the palace, stood and surveyed the\nscene.  Its splendor astonished him.  Brazen walls stretched from\nthe entrance to the interior house, of which the doors were gold,\nthe door-posts silver, the lintels silver ornamented with gold.\nOn either side were figures of mastiffs wrought in gold and\nsilver, standing in rows as if to guard the approach.  Along the\nwalls were seats spread through all their length with mantles of\nfinest texture, the work of Phaeacian maidens.  On these seats\nthe princes sat and feasted, while golden statues of graceful\nyouths held in their hands lighted torches, which shed radiance\nover the scene.  Full fifty female menials served in household\noffices, some employed to grind the corn, others to wind off the\npurple wool or ply the loom.  For the Phaeacian women as far\nexceeded all other women in household arts as the mariners of\nthat country did the rest of mankind in the management of ships.\nWithout the court a spacious garden lay, in which grew many a\nlofty tree, pomegranate, pear, apple, fig, and olive.  Neither\nwinter's cold nor summer's drought arrested their growth, but\nthey flourished in constant succession, some budding while others\nwere maturing.  The vineyard was equally prolific.  In one\nquarter you might see the vines, some in blossom, some loaded\nwith ripe grapes, and in another observe the vintagers treading\nthe wine-press.  On the garden's borders flowers of every hue\nbloomed all the year round, arranged with neatest art.  In the\nmidst two fountains poured forth their waters, one flowing by\nartificial channels over all the garden, the other conducted\nthrough the courtyard of the palace, whence every citizen might\ndraw his supplies.\n\nUlysses stood gazing in admiration, unobserved himself, for the\ncloud which Minerva spread around him still shielded him.  At\nlength, having sufficiently observed the scene, he advanced with\nrapid step into the hall where the chiefs and senators were\nassembled, pouring libation to Mercury, whose worship followed\nthe evening meal.  Just then Minerva dissolved the cloud and\ndisclosed him to the assembled chiefs.  Advancing toward the\nqueen, he knelt at her feet and implored her favor and assistance\nto enable him to return to his native country.  Then withdrawing,\nhe seated himself in the manner of suppliants, at the hearth-\nside.\n\nFor a time none spoke.  At last an aged statesman, addressing the\nking, said, \"It is not fit that a stranger who asks our\nhospitality should be kept waiting in suppliant guise, none\nwelcoming him.  Let him therefore be led to a seat among us and\nsupplied with food and wine.\"  At these words the king rising\ngave his hand to Ulysses and led him to a seat, displacing thence\nhis own son to make room for the stranger.  Food and wine were\nset before him and he ate and refreshed himself.\n\nThe king then dismissed his guests, notifying them that the next\nday he would call them to council to consider what had best be\ndone for the stranger.\n\nWhen the guests had departed and Ulysses was left alone with the\nking and queen, the queen asked him who he was and whence he\ncame, and (recognizing the clothes which he wore as those which\nher maidens and herself had made) from whom he received his\ngarments.  He told them of his residence in Calypso's isle and\nhis departure thence; of the wreck of his raft, his escape by\nswimming, and of the relief afforded by the princess.  The\nparents heard approvingly, and the king promised to furnish him a\nship in which he might return to his own land.\n\nThe next day the assembled chiefs confirmed the promise of the\nking.  A bark was prepared and a crew of stout rowers selected,\nand all betook themselves to the palace, where a bounteous repast\nwas provided.  After the feast the king proposed that the young\nmen should show their guest their proficiency in manly sports,\nand all went forth to the arena for games of running, wrestling,\nand other exercises.  After all had done their best, Ulysses\nbeing challenged to show what he could do, at first declined, but\nbeing taunted by one of the youths, seized a quoit of weight far\nheavier than any the Phaeacians had thrown, and sent it farther\nthan the utmost throw of theirs.  All were astonished, and viewed\ntheir guest with greatly increased respect.\n\nAfter the games they returned to the hall, and the herald led in\nDemodocus, the blind bard,\n\n  \"Dear to the Muse,\n  Who yet appointed him both good and ill,\n  Took from him sight, but gave him strains divine.\"\n\nHe took for his theme the wooden horse, by means of which the\nGreeks found entrance into Troy.  Apollo inspired him, and he\nsang so feelingly of the terrors and the exploits of that\neventful time that all were delighted, but Ulysses was moved to\ntears.  Observing which, Alcinous, when the song was done,\ndemanded of him why at the mention of troy his sorrows awaked.\nHad he lost there a father or brother, or any dear friend?\nUlysses in reply announced himself by his true name, and at their\nrequest, recounted the adventures which had befallen him since\nhis departure from Troy.  This narrative raised the sympathy and\nadmiration of the Phaeacians for their guest to the highest\npitch.  The king proposed that each chief should present him with\na gift, himself setting the example.  They obeyed, and vied with\none another in loading the illustrious stranger with costly\ngifts.\n\nThe next day Ulysses set sail in the Phaeacian vessel, and in a\nshort time arrived safe at Ithaca, his own island.  When the\nvessel touched the strand he was asleep.  The mariners, without\nwaking him, carried him on shore, and landed with him the chest\ncontaining his presents, and then sailed away.\n\nBut Neptune was displeased at the conduct of the Phaeacians in\nthus rescuing Ulysses from his hands.  In revenge, on the return\nof the vessel to port, he transformed it into a rock, right\nopposite the mouth of the harbor.\n\nHomer's description of the ships of the Phaeacians has been\nthought to look like an anticipation of the wonders of modern\nsteam navigation.  Alcinous says to Ulysses,\n\n  \"Say from what city, from what regions tossed,\n  And what inhabitants those regions boast?\n  So shalt thou quickly reach the realm assigned,\n  In wondrous ships, self-moved, instinct with mind;\n  No helm secures their course, no pilot guides;\n  Like man intelligent they plough the tides,\n  Conscious of every coast and every bay\n  That lies beneath the sun's all-seeing ray.\"\n  Odyssey, Book VIII\n\nLord Carlisle, in his Diary in the Turkish and Greek Waters, thus\nspeaks of Corfu, which he considers to be the ancient Phaeacian\nisland:\n\n\"The sites explain the Odyssey.  The temple of the sea-god could\nnot have been more fitly placed, upon a grassy platform of the\nmost elastic turf, on the brow of a crag commanding harbor, and\nchannel, and ocean.  Just at the entrance of the inner harbor\nthere is a picturesque rock with a small convent perched atop it,\nwhich by one legend is the transformed pinnace of Ulysses.\n\n\"Almost the only river in the island is just at the proper\ndistance from the probable site of the city and palace of the\nking, to justify the princess Nausicaa having had resort to her\nchariot and to luncheon when she went with the maidens of the\ncourt to wash their garments.\"\n\n\nFATE OF THE SUITORS\n\nIt was now twenty years that Ulysses had been away from Ithaca,\nand when he awoke he did not recognize his native land.  But\nMinerva, appearing to him in the form of a young shepherd,\ninformed him where he was, and told him the state of things at\nhis palace.  More than a hundred nobles of Ithaca and of the\nneighboring islands had been for years suing for the hand of\nPenelope, his wife, imagining him dead, and lording it over his\npalace and people, as if they were owners of both.  That he might\nbe able to take vengeance upon them, it was important that he\nshould not be recognized.  Minerva accordingly metamorphosed him\ninto an unsightly beggar, and as such he was kindly received by\nEumaeus, the swine-herd, a faithful servant of his house.\n\nTelemachus, his son, was absent in quest of his father.  He had\ngone to the courts of the other kings, who had returned from the\nTrojan expedition.  While on the search, he received counsel from\nMinerva to return home.  Arriving at Ithaca, he sought Eumaeus to\nlearn something of the state of affairs at the palace before\npresenting himself among the suitors.  Finding a stranger with\nEumaeus, he treated him courteously, though in the garb of a\nbeggar, and promised him assistance.  Eumaeus was sent to the\npalace to inform Penelope privately of her son's arrival, for\ncaution was necessary with regard to the suitors, who, as\nTelemachus had learned, were plotting to intercept and kill him.\nWhen Eumaeus was gone, Minerva presented herself to Ulysses, and\ndirected him to make himself known to his son.  At the same time\nshe touched him, removed at once from him the appearance of age\nand penury, and gave him the aspect of vigorous manhood that\nbelonged to him.  Telemachus viewed him with astonishment, and at\nfirst thought he must be more than mortal.  But Ulysses announced\nhimself as his father, and accounted for the change of appearance\nby explaining that it was Minerva's doing.\n\n  \"Then threw Telemachus\n  His arms around his father's neck and wept,\n  Desire intense of lamentation seized\n  On both; soft murmurs uttering, each indulged\n  His grief.\"\n\nThe father and son took counsel together how they should get the\nbetter of the suitors and punish them for their outrages.  It was\narranged that Telemachus should proceed to the palace and mingle\nwith the suitors as formerly; that Ulysses should go also, as a\nbeggar, a character which in the rude old times had different\nprivileges from those we concede to it now.  As traveller and\nstory-teller, the beggar was admitted in the halls of chieftains,\nand often treated like a guest; though sometimes, also, no doubt,\nwith contumely.  Ulysses charged his son not to betray, by any\ndisplay of unusual interest in him, that he knew him to be other\nthan he seemed, and even if he saw him insulted, or beaten, not\nto interpose otherwise than he might do for any stranger.\n\nAt the palace they found the usual scene of feasting and riot\ngoing on.  The suitors pretended to receive Telemachus with joy\nat his return, though secretly mortified at the failure of their\nplots to take his life.  The old beggar was permitted to enter,\nand provided with a portion from the table.  A touching incident\noccurred as Ulysses entered the court-yard of the palace.  An old\ndog lay in the yard almost dead with age, and seeing a stranger\nenter, raised his head, with ears erect.  It was Argus, Ulysses'\nown dog, that he had in other days often led to the chase.\n\n  \"Soon he perceived\n  Long-lost Ulysses nigh, down fell his ears\n  Clapped close, and with his tail glad signs he gave\n  Of gratulation, impotent to rise,\n  And to approach his master as of old.\n  Ulysses, noting him, wiped off a tear\n  Unmarked.\n  . . .  Then his destiny released\n  Old Argus, soon as he had lived to see\n  Ulysses in the twentieth year restored.\"\n\nAs Ulysses sat eating his portion in the hall, the suitors soon\nbegan to exhibit their insolence to him.  When he mildly\nremonstrated, one of them raised a stool and with it gave him a\nblow.  Telemachus had hard work to restrain his indignation at\nseeing his father so treated in his own hall, but remembering his\nfather's injunctions, said no more than what became him as master\nof the house and protector of his guests.\n\nPenelope had protracted her decision in favor of any one of her\nsuitors so long, that there seemed to be no further pretence for\ndelay.  The continued absence of her husband seemed to prove that\nhis return was no longer to be expected.  Meanwhile her son had\ngrown up, and was able to manage his own affairs.  She therefore\nconsented to submit the question of her choice to a trial of\nskill among the suitors.  The test selected was shooting with the\nbow.  Twelve rings were arranged in a line, and he whose arrow\nwas sent through the whole twelve, was to have the queen for his\nprize.  A bow that one of his brother heroes had given to Ulysses\nin former times, was brought from the armory, and with its quiver\nfull of arrows was laid in the hall.  Telemachus had taken care\nthat all other weapons should be removed, under pretence that in\nthe heat of competition, there was danger, in some rash moment,\nof putting them to an improper use.\n\nAll things being prepared for the trial, the first thing to be\ndone was to bend the bow in order to attach the string.\nTelemachus endeavored to do it, but found all his efforts\nfruitless; and modestly confessing that he had attempted a task\nbeyond his strength, he yielded the bow to another.  HE tried it\nwith no better success, and, amidst the laughter and jeers of his\ncompanions, gave it up.  Another tried it and another; they\nrubbed the bow with tallow, but all to no purpose; it would not\nbend.  Then spoke Ulysses, humbly suggesting that he should be\npermitted to try; for, said he, \"beggar as I am, I was once a\nsoldier, and there is still some strength in these old limbs of\nmine.\"  The suitors hooted with derision, and commanded to turn\nhim out of the hall for his insolence.  But Telemachus spoke up\nfor him, and merely to gratify the old man, bade him try.\nUlysses took the bow, and handled it with the hand of a master.\nWith ease he adjusted the cord to its notch, then fitting an\narrow to the bow he drew the string and sped the arrow unerring\nthrough the rings.\n\nWithout allowing them time to express their astonishment, he\nsaid, \"Now for another mark!\" and aimed direct at the most\ninsolent one of the suitors. The arrow pierced through his throat\nand he fell dead.  Telemachus, Eumaeus, and another faithful\nfollower, well armed, now sprang to the side of Ulysses.  The\nsuitors, in amazement, looked round for arms but found none,\nneither was there any way of escape, for Eumaeus had secured the\ndoor.  Ulysses left them not long in uncertainty; he announced\nhimself as the long-lost chief, whose house they had invaded,\nwhose substance they had squandered, whose wife and son they had\npersecuted for ten long years; and told them he meant to have\nample vengeance.  All the suitors were slain, except Phemius the\nbard and Medon the herald, and Ulysses was left master of his own\npalace and possessor of his kingdom and his wife.\n\nAmong Schiller's works is the following epigram on Ulysses:\n\n  \"To gain his home all oceans he explored;\n  Here Scylla frowned, and there Charybdis roared;\n  Horror on sea, and horror on the land,\n  In hell's dark boat he sought the spectre land,\n  Till borne a slumberer to his native spot,\n  He woke, and sorrowing, knew his country not.\"\n  Sir Edward Bulwer\"s translation\n\nTennyson's poem of Ulysses represents the old hero, after his\ndangers past and nothing left but to stay at home and be happy,\ngrowing tired of inaction and resolving to set forth again in\nquest of new adventures.\n\n  \"Come my friends,\n  'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.\n  Push off, and sitting well in order smite\n  The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds\n  To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths\n  Of all the western stars, until I die.\n  It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;\n  It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,\n  And see the great Achilles whom we knew,\n  Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'\n  We are not now that strength which in old days\n  Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;\n  One equal temper of heroic hearts,\n  Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will\n  To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXIV\n\nAdventures of AEneas   The Harpies   Dido   Palinurus\n\nWe have followed one of the Grecian heroes, Ulysses, in his\nwanderings, on his return home from Troy, and now we propose to\nshare the fortunes of the remnant of the conquered people, under\ntheir chief AEneas, in their search for a new home, after the\nruin of their native city.  On that fatal night when the wooden\nhorse disgorged its contents of armed men, and the capture and\nconflagration of the city were the result, Aeneas made his escape\nfrom the scene of destruction with his father, and his wife, and\nyoung son.  The father, Anchises, was woo old to walk with the\nspeed required, and AEneas took him upon his shoulders.  Thus\nburdened, leading his son and followed by his wife, he made the\nbest of his way out of the burning city; but in the confusion,\nhis wife was swept away and lost.\n\nOn arriving at the place of rendezvous, numerous fugitives, of\nboth sexes, were found, who put themselves under the guidance of\nAeneas.  Some months were spent in preparation and at length they\nembarked.  They first landed on the neighboring shores of Thrace,\nand were preparing to build a city, but AEneas was deterred by a\nprodigy.  Preparing to offer sacrifice, he tore some twigs from\none of the bushes.  To his dismay the wounded part dropped blood.\nWhen he repeated the act, a voice from the ground cried out to\nhim, \"Spare me, AEneas; I am your kinsman, Polydore, here\nmurdered with many arrows, from which a bush has grown, nourished\nwith my blood.\"  These words recalled to the recollection of\nAEneas that Polydore was a young prince of Troy, whom his father\nhad sent with ample treasures to the neighboring land of Thrace,\nto be there brought up, at a distance from the horrors of war.\nThe king to whom he was sent had murdered him, and seized his\ntreasures.  AEneas and his companions hastened away, considering\nthe land to be accursed by the stain of such a crime.\n\nThey next landed on the island of Delos, which was once a\nfloating island, till Jupiter fastened it by adamantine chains to\nthe bottom of the sea.  Apollo and Diana were born there, and the\nisland was sacred to Apollo.  Here AEneas consulted the oracle of\nApollo, and received an answer, as ambiguous as usual   \"Seek\nyour ancient mother; there the race of AEneas shall dwell, and\nreduce all other nations to their sway.\"  The Trojans heard with\njoy, and immediately began to ask one another, \"Where is the spot\nintended by the oracle?\"  Anchises remembered that there was a\ntradition that their forefathers came from Crete, and thither\nthey resolved to steer.  They arrived at Crete, and began to\nbuild their city, but sickness broke out among them, and the\nfields that they had planted failed to yield a crop.  In this\ngloomy aspect of affairs, AEneas was warned in a dream to leave\nthe country, and seek a western land, called Hesperia, whence\nDardanus, the true founder of the Trojan race, had originally\nmigrated.  To Hesperia, now called Italy, therefore, they\ndirected their future course, and not till after many adventures\nand the lapse of time sufficient to carry a modern navigator\nseveral times round the world, did they arrive there.\n\nTheir first landing was at the island of the Harpies:\n\n  \"----The daughters of the earth and sea,\n  The dreadful snatchers, who like women were\n  Down to the breast, with scanty coarse black hair\n  About their heads, and dim eyes ringed with red,\n  And bestial mouths set round with lips of lead,\n  But from their gnarled necks there began to spring\n  Half hair, half feathers, and a sweeping wing\n  Grew out instead of arm on either side,\n  And thick plumes underneath the breast did hide\n  The place where joined the fearful natures twain.\n  Gray-feathered were they else, with many a stain\n  Of blood thereon, and on birds' claws they went.\n  Morris: Life and Death of Jason\n\nThe Harpies had been sent by the gods to torment a certain\nPhineus, whom Jupiter had deprived of his sight in punishment of\nhis cruelty; and whenever a meal was placed before him, the\nHarpies darted down from the air and carried it off.  They were\ndriven away from Phineus by the heroes of the Argonautic\nexpedition, and took refuge in the island where AEneas now found\nthem.\n\nWhen they entered the port the Trojans saw herds of cattle\nroaming over the plain.  They slew as many as they wished, and\nprepared for a feast.  But no sooner had they seated themselves\nat the table, than a horrible clamor was heard in the air, and a\nflock of odious Harpies came rushing down upon them, seizing in\ntheir talons the meat from the dishes, and flying away with it.\nAEneas and his companions drew their swords and dealt vigorous\nblows among the monsters, but to no purpose, for they were so\nnimble it was almost impossible to hit them, and their feathers\nwere like armor impenetrable to steel.  One of them, perched on a\nneighboring cliff, screamed out, \"Is it thus, Trojans, you treat\nus innocent birds, first slaughter our cattle, and then make war\non ourselves?\"  She then predicted dire sufferings to them in\ntheir future course, and having vented her wrath flew away.  The\nTrojans made haste to leave the country, and next found\nthemselves coasting along the shore of Epirus.  Here they landed,\nand to their astonishment learned that certain Trojan exiles, who\nhad been carried there as prisoners, had become rulers of the\ncountry.  Andromache, the widow of Hector, became the wife of one\nof the victorious Grecian chiefs, to whom she bore a son.  Her\nhusband dying, she was left regent of the country, as guardian of\nher son, and had married a fellow-captive, Helenus, of the royal\nrace of Troy.  Helenus and Andromache treated the exiles with the\nutmost hospitality, and dismissed them loaded with gifts.\n\nFrom hence AEneas coasted along the shore of Sicily, and passed\nthe country of Cyclopes.  Here they were hailed from the shore by\na miserable object, whom by his garments, tattered as they were,\nthey perceived to be a Greek.  He told them he was one of\nUlysses' companions, left behind by that chief in his hurried\ndeparture.  He related the story of Ulysses' adventure with\nPolyphemus, and besought them to take him off with them, as he\nhad no means of sustaining his existence where he was, but wild\nberries and roots, and lived in constant fear of the Cyclopes.\nWhile he spoke Polyphemus made his appearance; a terrible\nmonster, shapeless, vast, whose only eye had been put out.  He\nwalked with cautious steps, feeling his way with a staff, down to\nthe sea-side, to wash his eye-socket in the waves.  When he\nreached the water, he waded out towards them, and his immense\nheight enabled him to advance far into the sea, so that the\nTrojans, in terror, took to their oars to get out of his way.\nHearing the oars, Polyphemus shouted after them, so that the\nshores resounded, and at the noise the other Cyclopes came forth\nfrom their caves and woods, and lined the shore, like a row of\nlofty pine trees.  The Trojans plied their oars, and soon left\nthem out of sight.\n\nAEneas had been cautioned by Helenus to avoid the strait guarded\nby the monsters Scylla and Charybdis.  There Ulysses, the reader\nwill remember, had lost six of his men, seized by Scylla, while\nthe navigators were wholly intent upon avoiding Charybdis.\nAEneas, following the advice of Helenus, shunned the dangerous\npass and coasted along the island of Sicily.\n\nJuno, seeing the Trojans speeding their way prosperously towards\ntheir destined shore, felt her old grudge against them revive,\nfor she could not forget the slight that Paris had put upon her,\nin awarding the prize of beauty to another.  In heavenly minds\ncan such resentments dwell!  Accordingly she hastened to AEolus,\nthe ruler of the winds,   the same who supplied Ulysses with\nfavoring gales, giving him the contrary ones tied up in a bag.\nAEolus obeyed the goddess and sent forth his sons, Boreas, Typhon\nand the other winds, to toss the ocean.  A terrible storm ensued,\nand the Trojan ships were driven out of their course towards the\ncoast of Africa.  They were in imminent danger of being wrecked,\nand were separated, so that AEneas thought that all were lost\nexcept his own.\n\nAt this crisis, Neptune, hearing the storm raging, and knowing\nthat he had given no orders for one, raised his head above the\nwaves, and saw the fleet of AEneas driving before the gale.\nKnowing the hostility of Juno, he was at no loss to account for\nit, but his anger was not the less at this interference in his\nprovince.  He called the winds, and dismissed them with a severe\nreprimand.  He then soothed the waves, and brushed away the\nclouds from before the face of the sun.  Some of the ships which\nhad got on the rocks he pried off with his own trident, while\nTriton and a sea-nymph, putting their shoulders under others, set\nthem afloat again.  The Trojans, when the sea became calm, sought\nthe nearest shore, which was the coast of Carthage, where AEneas\nwas so happy as to find that one by one the ships all arrived\nsafe, though badly shaken.\n\nWaller, in his Panegyric to the Lord Protector (Cromwell),\nalludes to this stilling of the storm by Neptune:\n\n  \"Above the waves, as Neptune showed his face,\n  To chide the winds and save the Trojan race,\n  So has your Highness, raised above the rest,\n  Storms of ambition tossing us repressed..\"\n\n\nDIDO\n\nCarthage, where the exiles had now arrived, was a spot on the\ncoast of Africa opposite Sicily, where at that time a Tyrian\ncolony under Dido their queen, were laying the foundations of a\nstate destined in later ages to be the rival of Rome itself.\nDido was the daughter of Belus, king of Tyre, and sister of\nPygmalion who succeeded his father on the throne.  Her husband\nwas Sichaeus, a man of immense wealth, but Pygmalion, who coveted\nhis treasures, caused him to be put to death.  Dido, with a\nnumerous body of followers, both men and women, succeeded in\neffecting their escape from Tyre in several vessels, carrying\nwith them the treasures of Sichaeus.  On arriving at the spot\nwhich they selected as the seat of their future home, they asked\nof the natives only so much land as they could enclose with a\nbull's hide.  When this was readily granted, she caused the hide\nto be cut into strips, and with them enclosed a spot on which she\nbuilt a citadel, and called it Byrsa (a hide).  Around this fort\nthe city of Carthage rose, and soon became a powerful and\nflourishing place.\n\nSuch was the state of affairs when AEneas with his Trojans\narrived there.  Dido received the illustrious exiles with\nfriendliness and hospitality.  \"Not unacquainted with distress,\"\nshe said, \"I have learned to succor the unfortunate.\"  The\nqueen's hospitality displayed itself in festivities at which\ngames of strength and skill were exhibited.  The strangers\ncontended for the palm with her own subjects on equal terms, the\nqueen declaring that whether the victor were \"Trojan or Tyrian\nshould make no difference to her.\"  At the feast which followed\nthe games, AEneas gave at her request a recital of the closing\nevents of the Trojan history and his own adventures after the\nfall of the city.  Dido was charmed with his discourse and filled\nwith admiration of his exploits.  She conceived an ardent passion\nfor him, and he for his part seemed well content to accept the\nfortunate chance which appeared to offer him at once a happy\ntermination of his wanderings, a home, a kingdom, and a bride.\nMonths rolled away in the enjoyment of pleasant intercourse, and\nit seemed as if Italy and the empire destined to be founded on\nits shores were alike forgotten.  Seeing which, Jupiter\ndispatched Mercury with a message to AEneas recalling him to a\nsense of his high destiny, and commanding him to resume his\nvoyage.\n\nAEneas, under this divine command, parted from Dido, though she\ntried every allurement and persuasion to detain him.  The blow to\nher affection and her pride was too much for her to endure, and\nwhen she found that he was gone, she mounted a funeral-pile which\nshe had caused to be prepared, and, having stabbed herself, was\nconsumed with the pile.  The flames rising over the city were\nseen by the departing Trojans, and, though the cause was unknown,\ngave to AEneas some intimation of the fatal event.\n\nWe find in \"Elegant Extracts\" the following epigram:\n\n  From the Latin\n\n  \"Unhappy, Dido, was thy fate\n  In first and second married state!\n  One husband caused thy flight by dying,\n  Thy death the other caused by flying.\"\n\nDr. Johnson was once challenged to make an epigram on the\nsyllables di,do,dum.  He immediately replied in these lines:\n\n  \"When Dido found Aeneas would not come,\n  She wept in silence, and was Dido dumb.\n\n\nPALINURUS\n\nAfter touching at the island of Sicily, where Acestes, a prince\nof Trojan lineage, bore sway, who gave them a hospitable\nreception, the Trojans re-embarked, and held on their course for\nItaly.  Venus now interceded with Neptune to allow her son at\nlast to attain the wished-for goal, and find an end of his perils\non the deep.  Neptune consented, stipulating only for one life as\na ransom for the rest.  The victim was Palinurus, the pilot.  As\nhe sat watching the stars, with his hand on the helm, Somnus,\nsent by Neptune, approached in the guise of Phorbas and said,\n\"Palinurus, the breeze is fair, the water smooth, and the ship\nsails steadily on her course.  Lie down a while and take needful\nrest.  I will stand at the helm in your place.\"  Palinurus\nreplied, \"Tell me not of smooth seas or favoring winds,   me who\nhave seen so much of their treachery.  Shall I trust AEneas to\nthe chances of the weather and winds?\"  And he continued to grasp\nthe helm and to keep his eyes fixed on the stars.  But Somnus\nwaved over him a branch moistened with Lethaean dew, and his eyes\nclosed in spite of all his efforts.  Then Somnus pushed him\noverboard and he fell; but keeping his hold upon the helm it came\naway with him.  Neptune was mindful of his promise, and kept the\nship on her track without helm or pilot, till Aeneas discovered\nhis loss, and, sorrowing deeply for his faithful steersman, took\ncharge of the ship himself.\n\nThere is a beautiful allusion to the story of Palinurus in\nScott's Marmion, Introduction to Canto I., where the poet,\nspeaking of the recent death of William Pitt, says:\n\n  \"Oh, think how, to his latest day,\n  When death just hovering claimed his prey,\n  With Palinure's unaltered mood,\n  Firm at his dangerous post he stood;\n  Each call for needful rest repelled,\n  With dying hand the rudder held,\n  Till in his fall, with fateful sway,\n  The steerage of the realm gave way.\"\n\nThe ships at last reached the shores of Italy, and joyfully did\nthe adventurers leap to land.  While his people were employed in\nmaking their encampment AEneas sought the abode of the Sibyl.  It\nwas a cave connected with a temple and grove, sacred to Apollo\nand Diana.  While Aeneas contemplated the scene, the Sibyl\naccosted him.  She seemed to know his errand, and under the\ninfluence of the deity of the place burst forth in a prophetic\nstrain, giving dark intimations of labors and perils through\nwhich he was destined to make his way to final success.  She\nclosed with the encouraging words which have become proverbial:\n\"Yield not to disasters, but press onward the more bravely.\"\nAEneas replied that he had prepared himself for whatever might\nawait him.  He had but one request to make.  Having been directed\nin a dream to seek the abode of the dead in order to confer with\nhis father Anchises to receive from him a revelation of his\nfuture fortunes and those of his race, he asked her assistance to\nenable him to accomplish the task.  The Sibyl replied, \"The\ndescent to Avernus is easy; the gate of Pluto stands open night\nand day; but to retrace one's steps and return to the upper air,\nthat is the toil, that the difficulty.  She instructed him to\nseek in the forest a tree on which grew a golden branch.  This\nbranch was to be plucked off, to be borne as a gift to\nProserpine, and if fate was propitious, it would yield to the\nhand and quit its parent trunk, but otherwise no force could rend\nit away.  If torn away, another would succeed.\n\nAEneas followed the directions of the Sibyl.  His mother Venus\nsent two of her doves to fly before him and show him the way, and\nby their assistance he found the tree, plucked the branch, and\nhastened back with it to the Sibyl.\n\n\n\nChapter XXV\n\nThe Infernal Regions   The Sibyl\n\nAt the commencement of our series we have given the pagan account\nof the creation of the world, so as we approach its conclusion,\nwe present a view of the regions of the dead, depicted by one of\ntheir most enlightened poets, who drew his doctrines from their\nmost esteemed philosophers.  The region where Virgil places the\nentrance into this abode, is perhaps the most strikingly adapted\nto excite ideas of the terrific and preternatural of any on the\nface of the earth.  It is the volcanic region near Vesuvius,\nwhere the whole country is cleft with chasms from which\nsulphurous flames arise, while the ground is shaken with pent-up\nvapors, and mysterious sounds issue from the bowels of the earth.\nThe lake Avernus is supposed to fill the crater of an extinct\nvolcano.  It is circular, half a mile wide, and very deep,\nsurrounded by high banks, which in Virgil's time were covered\nwith a gloomy forest.  Mephitic vapors rise from its waters, so\nthat no life is found on its banks, and no birds fly over it.\nHere, according to the poet, was the cave which afforded access\nto the infernal regions, and here AEneas offered sacrifices to\nthe infernal deities, Proserpine, Hecate, and the Furies.  Then a\nroaring was heard in the earth, the woods on the hill-tops were\nshaken, and the howling of dogs announced the approach of the\ndeities.  \"Now,\" said the Sibyl, \"summon up your courage, for you\nwill need it.\"  She descended into the cave, and AEneas followed.\nBefore the threshold of Hades they passed through a group of\nbeings who are Griefs and avenging Cares, pale Diseases and\nmelancholy Age, Fear and Hunger that tempt to crime, Toil,\nPoverty, and Death, forms horrible to view.  The Furies spread\ntheir couches there, and Discord, whose hair was of vipers tied\nup with a bloody fillet.  Here also were the monsters, Briareus\nwith his hundred arms, Hydras hissing, and Chimaeras breathing\nfire.  AEneas shuddered at the sight, drew his sword and would\nhave struck, had not the Sibyl restrained him.  They then came to\nthe black river Cocytus, where they found the ferryman, Charon,\nold and squalid, but strong and vigorous, who was receiving\npassengers of all kinds into his boat, high-souled heroes, boys\nand unmarried girls as numerous as the leaves that fall at\nautumn, or the flocks that fly southward at the approach of\nwinter.  They stood pressing for a passage, and longing to touch\nthe opposite shore.  But the stern ferryman took in only such as\nhe chose, driving the rest back.  AEneas, wondering at the sight,\nasked the Sibyl, \"Why this discrimination?: She answered, \"Those\nwho are taken on board the bark are the souls of those who have\nreceived due burial rites; the host of others who have remained\nunburied, are not permitted to pass the flood, but wander a\nhundred years, and flit to and fro about the shore, till at last\nthey are taken over.\"  AEneas grieved at recollecting some of his\nown companions who had perished in the storm.  At that moment he\nbeheld Palinurus, his pilot, who fell overboard and was drowned.\nHe addressed him and asked him the cause of his misfortune.\nPalinurus replied that the rudder was carried away, and he,\nclinging to it, was swept away with it.  He besought Aeneas most\nurgently to extend to him his hand and take him in company to the\nopposite shore.  But the Sibyl rebuked him for the wish thus to\ntransgress the laws of Pluto, but consoled him by informing him\nthat the people of the shore where his body had been wafted by\nthe waves, should be stirred up by the prodigies to give it the\nburial, and that the promontory should bear the name of Cape\nPalinurus, which it does to this day.  Leaving Palinurus consoled\nby these words, they approached the boat.  Charon, fixing his\neyes sternly upon the advancing warrior, demanded by what right\nhe, living and armed, approached the shore.  To which the Sibyl\nreplied that they would commit no violence, that AEneas's only\nobject was to see his father, and finally exhibited the golden\nbranch, at sight of which Charon's wrath relaxed, and he made\nhaste to turn his back to the shore, and receive them on board.\nThe boat, adapted only to the light freight of bodiless spirits,\ngroaned under the weight of the hero.  They were soon conveyed to\nthe opposite shore.  There they were encountered by the three-\nheaded dog Cerberus, with his necks bristling with snakes.  He\nbarked with all his three throats till the Sibyl threw him a\nmedicated cake, which he eagerly devoured, and then stretched\nhimself out in his den and fell asleep.  AEneas and the Sibyl\nsprang to land.  The first sound that struck their ears was the\nwailing of young children, who had died on the threshold of life,\nand near to these were they who had perished under false charges.\nMinos presides over them as judge, and examines the deeds of\neach.  The next class was of those who had died by their own\nhand, hating life and seeking refuge in death.  Oh, how willingly\nwould they now endure poverty, labor, and any other infliction,\nif they might but return to life!  Next were situated the regions\nof sadness, divided off into retired paths, leading through\ngroves of myrtle.  Here roamed those who had fallen victims to\nunrequited love, not freed from pain even by death itself.  Among\nthese, AEneas thought he descried the form of Dido, with a wound\nstill recent.  In the dim light he was for a moment uncertain,\nbut approaching perceived it was indeed herself.  Tears fell from\nhis eyes, and he addressed her in the  accents of love.  \"Unhappy\nDido!  Was then the rumor true that you had perished?  And was I,\nalas! the cause!  I call the gods to witness that my departure\nfrom you was reluctant, and in obedience to the commands of Jove;\nnor could I believe that my absence would have cost you so dear.\nStop, I beseech you, and refuse me not a last farewell.\"  She\nstood for a moment with averted countenance, and eyes fixed on\nthe ground, and then silently passed on, as insensible to his\npleadings as a rock.  AEneas followed for some distance; then,\nwith a heavy heart, rejoined his companion and resumed his route.\n\nThey next entered the fields where roam the heroes who have\nfallen in battle.  Here they saw many shades of Grecian and\nTrojan warriors.  The Trojans thronged around him, and could not\nbe satisfied with the sight.  They asked the cause of his coming,\nand plied him with innumerable questions.  But the Greeks, at the\nsight of his armor glittering through the murky atmosphere,\nrecognized the hero, and filled with terror turned their backs\nand fled, as they used to flee on the plains of Troy.\n\nAEneas would have lingered long with his Trojan friends but the\nSibyl hurried him away.  They next came to a place where the road\ndivided, the one leading to Elysium, the other to the regions of\nthe condemned.  AEneas beheld on one side the walls of a mighty\ncity, around which Phlegethon rolled its fiery waters.  Before\nhim was the gate of adamant that neither gods nor men can break\nthrough.  An iron tower stood by the gate, on which Tisiphone,\nthe avenging Fury, kept guard.  From the city were heard groans,\nand the sound of the scourge, the creaking of iron, and the\nclanking of chains.  AEneas, horror-struck, inquired of his guide\nwhat crimes were those whose punishments produced the sounds he\nhear?   The Sibyl answered, \"Here is the judgment-hall of\nRhadamanthus, who brings to light crimes done in life, which the\nperpetrator vainly thought impenetrably hid.  Tisiphone applies\nher whip of scorpions, and delivers the offender over to her\nsister Furies.  At this moment with horrid clang the brazen gates\nunfolded, and AEneas saw within, a Hydra with fifty heads,\nguarding the entrance.  The Sibyl told him that the Gulf of\nTartarus descended deep, so that its recesses were as far beneath\ntheir feet as heaven was high above their heads.  In the bottom\nof this pit, the Titan race, who warred against the gods, lie\nprostrate; Salmoneus, also, who presumed to vie with Jupiter, and\nbuilt a bridge of brass over which he drove his chariot that the\nsound might resemble thunder, launching flaming brands at his\npeople in imitation of lightning, till Jupiter struck him with a\nreal thunderbolt, and taught him the difference between mortal\nweapons and divine.  Here, also, is Tityus, the giant, whose form\nis so immense that as he lies, he stretches over nine acres,\nwhile a vulture preys upon his liver, which as fast as it is\ndevoured grows again, so that his punishment will have no end.\n\nAEneas saw groups seated at tables loaded with dainties, while\nnear by stood a Fury who snatched away the viands from their\nlips, as fast as they prepared to taste them.  Others beheld\nsuspended over their heads huge rocks, threatening to fall,\nkeeping them in a state of constant alarm.  These were they who\nhad hated their brothers, or struck their parents, or defrauded\nthe friends who trusted them, or who having grown rich, kept\ntheir money to themselves, and gave no share to others; the last\nbeing the most numerous class.  Here also were those who had\nviolated the marriage vow, or fought in a bad cause, or failed in\nfidelity to their employers.  Here was one who had sold his\ncountry for gold, another who perverted the laws, making them say\none thing today and another tomorrow.\n\nIxion was there fastened to the circumference of a wheel\nceaselessly revolving; and Sisyphus, whose task was to roll a\nhuge stone up to a hill-top, but when the steep was well-nigh\ngained, the rock, repulsed by some sudden force, rushed again\nheadlong down to the plain.  Again he toiled at it, while the\nsweat bathed all his weary limbs, but all to no effect.  There\nwas Tantalus, who stood in a pool, his chin level with the water,\nyet he was parched with thirst, and found nothing to assuage it;\nfor when he bowed his hoary head, eager to quaff, the water fled\naway, leaving the ground at his feet all dry.  Tall trees laden\nwith fruit stooped their heads to him, pears, pomegranates,\napples and luscious figs; but when with a sudden grasp he tried\nto seize them, winds whirled them high above his reach.\n\nThe Sibyl now warned AEneas that it was time to turn from these\nmelancholy regions and seek the city of the blessed. They passed\nthrough a middle tract of darkness, and came upon the Elysian\nfields, the groves where the happy reside.  They breathed a freer\nair, and saw all objects clothed in a purple light.  The region\nhas a sun and stars of its own.  The inhabitants were enjoying\nthemselves in various ways, some in sports on the grassy turf, in\ngames of strength or skill, others dancing or singing.  Orpheus\nstruck the chords of his lyre, and called forth ravishing sounds.\nHere AEneas saw the founders of the Trojan state, high-souled\nheroes who lived in happier times.  He gazed with admiration on\nthe war-chariots and glittering arms now reposing in disuse.\nSpears stood fixed in the ground, and the horses, unharnessed,\nroamed over the plain.  The same pride in splendid armor and\ngenerous steeds which the old heroes felt in life, accompanied\nthem here.  He saw another group feasting, and listening to the\nstrains of music.  They were in a laurel grove, whence the great\nriver Po has its origin, and flows out among men.  Here dwelt\nthose who fell by wounds received in their country's cause, holy\npriests, also, and poets who have uttered thoughts worthy of\nApollo, and others who have contributed to cheer and adorn life\nby their discoveries in the useful arts, and have made their\nmemory blessed by rendering service to mankind.  They wore snow-\nwhite fillets about their brows.  The Sibyl addressed a group of\nthese, and inquired where Anchises was to be found.  They were\ndirected where to seek him, and soon found him in a verdant\nvalley, where he was contemplating the ranks of his posterity,\ntheir destinies and worthy deeds to be achieved in coming times.\nWhen he recognized AEneas approaching, he stretched out both\nhands to him, while tears flowed freely.  \"Have you come at\nlast,\" said he, \"long expected and do I behold you after such\nperils past?  O my son, how have I trembled for you as I have\nwatched your career!\"  To which AEneas replied, O father!  Your\nimage was always before me to guide and guard me.  Then he\nendeavored to enfold his father in his embrace, but his arms\nenclosed only an unsubstantial image.\n\nAEneas perceived before him a spacious valley, with trees gently\nwaving to the wind, a tranquil landscape, through which the river\nLethe flowed.  Along the banks of the stream wandered a countless\nmultitude, numerous as insects in the summer air.  AEneas, with\nsurprise, inquired who were these.  Anchises answered, \"They are\nsouls to which bodies are to be given in due time.  Meanwhile\nthey dwell on Lethe's bank, and drink oblivion of their former\nlives.\"  \"Oh, father!\" said AEneas, \"is it possible that any can\nbe so in love with life, as to wish to leave these tranquil seats\nfor the upper world?\"  Anchises replied by explaining the plan of\ncreation.  The Creator, he told him, originally made the material\nof which souls are composed, of the four elements, fire, air,\nearth, and water, all which, when united, took the form of the\nmost excellent part, fire, and became FLAME.  This material was\nscattered like seed among the heavenly bodies, the sun, moon, and\nstars.  Of this seed the inferior gods created man and all other\nanimals, mingling it with various proportions of earth, by which\nits purity was alloyed and reduced.  Thus the more earth\npredominates in the composition, the less pure is the individual;\nand we see men and women with their full-grown bodies have not\nthe purity of childhood.  So in proportion to the time which the\nunion of body and soul has lasted, is the impurity contracted by\nthe spiritual part.  This impurity must be purged away after\ndeath, which is done by ventilating the souls in the current of\nwinds, or merging them in water, or burning out their impurities\nby fire.  Some few, of whom Anchises intimates that he is one,\nare admitted at once to Elysium, there to remain.  But the rest,\nafter the impurities of earth are purged away, are sent back to\nlife endowed with new bodies, having had the remembrance of their\nformer lives effectually washed away by the waters of Lethe.\nSome, however, there still are, so thoroughly corrupted, that\nthey are not fit to be entrusted with human bodies, and these are\nmade into brute animals, lions, tigers, cats, dogs, monkeys, etc.\nThis is what the ancients called Metempsychosis, or the\ntransmigration of souls; a doctrine which is still held by the\nnatives of India, who scruple to destroy the life, even of the\nmost insignificant animal, not knowing but it may be one of their\nrelations in an altered form.\n\nAnchises, having explained so much, proceeded to point out to\nAEneas individuals of his race, who were hereafter to be born,\nand to relate to him the exploits they should perform in the\nworld.  After this he reverted to the present, and told his son\nof the events that remained to him to be accomplished before the\ncomplete establishment of himself and his followers in Italy.\nWars were to be waged, battles fought, a bride to be won, and in\nthe result a Trojan state founded, from which should rise the\nRoman power, to be in time the sovereign of the world.\n\nAEneas and the Sybil then took leave of Anchises, and returned by\nsome short cut, which the poet does not explain, to the upper\nworld.\n\nThe Egyptian name of Hades was Amenti.  In the Revision of the\nScriptures the Revising Commission has substituted the word Hades\nwhere \"hell\" was used in the version of King James.\n\n\nELYSIUM\n\nVirgil, we have seen, places his Elysium under the earth, and\nassigns it for a residence to the spirits of the blessed.  But in\nHomer Elysium forms no part of the realms of the dead.  He places\nit on the west of the earth, near Ocean, and described it as a\nhappy land, where there is neither snow, nor cold, nor rain, and\nalways fanned by the delightful breezes of Zephyrus.  Hither\nfavored heroes pass without dying, and live happy under the rule\nof Rhadamanthus.  The Elysium of Hesiod and Pindar is in the\nIsles of the Blessed, or Fortunate Islands, in the Western Ocean.\nFrom these sprang the legend of the happy island Atlantis.  This\nblissful region may have been wholly imaginary, but possibly may\nhave sprung from the reports of some storm-driven mariners who\nhad caught a glimpse of the coast of America.\n\nJames Russell Lowell, in one of his shorter poems, claims for the\npresent age some of the privileges of that happy realm.\nAddressing the Past, he says,\n\n  \"Whatever of true life there was in thee,\n  Leaps in our age's veins.\n  .   .   .   .   .   .\n  \"Here, 'mid the bleak waves of our strife and care,\n  Float the green 'Fortunate Isles,'\n  Where all thy hero-spirits dwell and share\n  Our martyrdoms and toils.\n  The present moves attended\n  With all of brave and excellent and fair\n  That made the old time splendid.\"\n\nMilton alludes to the same fable in Paradise Lost, Book III.,\n1.568.\n\n  \"Like those Hesperian gardens famed of old,\n  Fortunate fields and groves and flowery vales,\n  Thrice happy isles.\"\n\nAnd in Book II. he characterizes the rivers of Erebus according\nto the meaning of their names in the Greek language:\n\n  \"Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate,\n  Sad Acheron of sorrow black and deep;\n  Cocytus named of lamentation loud\n  Heard on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegethon\n  Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.\n  Far off from these a slow and silent stream.\n  Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls\n  Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks\n  Forthwith his former state and being forgets,\n  Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.\"\n\n\nTHE SIBYL\n\nAs AEneas and the Sibyl pursued their way back to earth, he said\nto her, \"Whether thou be a goddess or a mortal beloved by the\ngods, by me thou shalt always be held in reverence.  When I reach\nthe upper air, I will cause a temple to be built to thy honor,\nand will myself bring offerings.\"  \"I am no goddess,\" said the\nSibyl; \"I have no claim to sacrifice or offering.  I am mortal;\nyet if I could have accepted the love of Apollo, I might have\nbeen immortal.  He promised me the fulfilment of my wish, if I\nwould consent to be his.  I took a handful of sand, and holding\nit forth, said, 'Grant me to see as many birthdays as there are\nsand-grains in my hand.'  Unluckily I forgot to ask for enduring\nyouth.  This also he would have granted, could I have accepted\nhis love, but offended at my refusal, he allowed me to grow old.\nMy youth and youthful strength fled long ago.  I have lived seven\nhundred years, and to equal the number of the sand-grains, I have\nstill to see three hundred springs and three hundred harvests.\nMy body shrinks up as years increase, and in time, I shall be\nlost to sight, but my voice will remain, and future ages will\nrespect my sayings.\"\n\nThese concluding words of the Sibyl alluded to her prophetic\npower.  In her cave she was accustomed to inscribe on leaves\ngathered from the trees the names and fates of individuals.  The\nleaves thus inscribed were arranged in order within the cave, and\nmight be consulted by her votaries.  But if perchance at the\nopening of the door the wind rushed in and dispersed the leaves,\nthe Sibyl gave no aid to restoring them again, and the oracle was\nirreparably lost.\n\nThe following legend of the Sibyl is fixed at a later date.  In\nthe reign of one of the Tarquins there appeared before the king a\nwoman who offered him nine books for sale.  The king refused to\npurchase them, whereupon the woman went away and burned three of\nthe books, and returning offered the remaining books for the same\nprice she had asked for the nine.  The king again rejected them;\nbut when the woman, after burning three books more, returned and\nasked for the three remaining the same price which she had before\nasked for the nine, his curiosity was excited, and he purchased\nthe books.  They were found to contain the destinies of the Roman\nstate.  They were kept in the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus,\npreserved in a stone chest, and allowed to be inspected only by\nespecial officers appointed for that duty, who on great occasions\nconsulted them and interpreted their oracles to the people.\n\nThere were various Sibyls; but the Cumaean Sibyl, of whom Ovid\nand Virgil write, is the most celebrated of them.  Ovid's story\nof her life protracted to one thousand years may be intended to\nrepresent the various Sibyls as being only reappearances of one\nand the same individual.\n\nIt is now believed that some of the most distinguished Sibyls\ntook the inspiration of their oracles from the Jewish scripture.\nReaders interested in this subject will consult, \"Judaism,\" by\nProf. F. Huidekoper.\n\nYoung, in the Night Thoughts, alludes to the Sibyl.  Speaking of\nworldly Wisdom, he says:\n\n  \"If future fate she plans 'tis all in leaves,\n  Like Sibyl, unsubstantial, fleeting bliss;\n  At the first blast it vanishes in air.\n       .   .   .   .   .\n  As worldly schemes resemble Sibyl's leaves,\n  The good man's days to Sibyl's books compare,\n  The price still rising as in number less.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXVI\n\nCamilla   Evander   Nisus and Euryalus   Mezentius   Turnus\n\nAEneas, having parted from the Sibyl and rejoined his fleet,\ncoasted along the shores of Italy and cast anchor in the mouth of\nthe Tiber.  The poet Virgil, having brought his hero to this\nspot, the destined termination of his wanderings, invokes his\nMuse to tell him the situation of things at that eventful moment.\nLatinus, third in descent from Saturn, ruled the country.  He was\nnow old and had no male descendant, but had one charming\ndaughter, Lavinia, who was sought in marriage by many neighboring\nchiefs, one of whom, Turnus, king of the Rutulians, was favored\nby the wishes of her parents.  But Latinus had been warned in a\ndream by his father Faunus, that the destined husband of Lavinia\nshould come from a foreign land.  From that union should spring a\nrace destined to subdue the world.\n\nOur readers will remember that in the conflict with the Harpies,\none of those half-human birds had threatened the Trojans with\ndire sufferings.  In particular she predicted that before their\nwanderings ceased they should be pressed by hunger to devour\ntheir tables.  This portent now came true; for as they took their\nscanty meal, seated on the grass, the men placed their hard\nbiscuit on their laps, and put thereon whatever their gleanings\nin the woods supplied.  Having dispatched the latter they\nfinished by eating the crusts.  Seeing which, the boy Iulus said\nplayfully, \"See, we are eating our tables.\"  AEneas caught the\nwords and accepted the omen.  \"All hail, promised land!\" he\nexclaimed, \"this is our home, this our country!\"  He then took\nmeasures to find out who were the present inhabitants of the\nland, and who their rulers.  A hundred chosen men were sent to\nthe village of Latinus, bearing presents and a request for\nfriendship and alliance.  They went and were favorably received.\nLatinus immediately concluded that the Trojan hero was no other\nthan the promised son-in-law announced by the oracle.  He\ncheerfully granted his alliance and sent back the messengers\nmounted on steeds from his stables, and loaded with gifts and\nfriendly messages.\n\nJuno, seeing things go thus prosperously for the Trojans, felt\nher old animosity revive, summoned the Fury Alecto from Erebus,\nand sent her to stir up discord.  The Fury first took possession\nof the queen, Amata, and roused her to oppose in every way the\nnew alliance.  Alecto then sped to the city of Turnus, and\nassuming the form of an old priestess, informed him of the\narrival of the foreigners and of the attempts of their prince to\nrob him of his bride.  Next she turned her attention to the camp\nof the Trojans.  There she saw the boy Iulus and his companions\namusing themselves with hunting.  She sharpened the scent of the\ndogs, and led them to rouse up from the thicket a tame stag, the\nfavorite of Silvia, the daughter of Tyrrheus, the king's\nherdsman.  A javelin from the hand of Iulus wounded the animal,\nand he had only strength left to run homewards, and died at his\nmistress' feet.  Her cries and tears roused her brothers and the\nherdsmen, and they, seizing whatever weapons came to hand,\nfuriously assaulted the hunting party.  These were protected by\ntheir friends, and the herdsmen were finally driven back with the\nloss of two of their number.\n\nThese things were enough to rouse the storm of war, and the\nqueen, Turnus, and the peasants, all urged the old king to drive\nthe strangers from the country.  He resisted as long as he could,\nbut finding his opposition unavailing, finally gave way and\nretreated to his retirement.\n\n\nOPENING THE GATES OF JANUS\n\nIt was the custom of the country, when war was to be undertaken,\nfor the chief magistrate, clad in his robes of office, with\nsolemn pomp to open the gates of the temple of Janus, which were\nkept shut as long as peace endured.  His people now urged the old\nking to perform that solemn office, but he refused to do so.\nWhile they contested, Juno herself, descending from the skies,\nsmote the doors with irresistible force and burst them open.\nImmediately the whole country was in a flame.  The people rushed\nfrom every side breathing nothing but war.\n\nTurnus was recognized by all as leader; others joined as allies,\nchief of whom was Mezentius, a brave and able soldier, but of\ndetestable cruelty.  He had been the chief of one of the\nneighboring cities, but his people drove him out.  With him was\njoined his son Lausus, a generous youth worthy of a better sire.\n\n\nCAMILLA\n\nCamilla, the favorite of Diana, a huntress and warrior, after the\nfashion of the Amazons, came with her band of mounted followers,\nincluding a select number of her own sex, and ranged herself on\nthe side of Turnus.  This maiden had never accustomed her fingers\nto the distaff or the loom, but had learned to endure the toils\nof war, and in speed to outstrip the wind.  It seemed as if she\nmight run over the standing corn without crushing it, or over the\nsurface of the water without dipping her feet.  Camilla's history\nhad been singular from the beginning.  Her father, Metabus,\ndriven from his city by civil discord, carried with him in his\nflight his infant daughter.  As he fled through the woods, his\nenemies in hot pursuit, he reached the bank of the river\nAmazenus, which, swelled by rains, seemed to debar a passage.  He\npaused for a moment, then decided what to do.  He tied the infant\nto his lance with wrappers of bark, and, poising the weapon in\nhis upraised hand, thus addressed Diana: \"Goddess of the woods!\nI consecrate this maid to you;\" then hurled the weapon with its\nburden to the opposite bank.  The spear flew across the roaring\nwater.  His pursuers were already upon him, but he plunged into\nthe river and swam across, and found the spear with the infant\nsafe on the other side.  Thenceforth he lived among the\nshepherds, and brought up his daughter in woodland arts.  While a\nchild she was taught to use the bow and throw the javelin.  With\nher sling she could bring down the crane or the wild swan.  Her\ndress was a tiger's skin.  Many mothers sought her for a\ndaughter-in-law, but she continued faithful to Diana,  and\nrepelled the thought of marriage.\n\nThere is an allusion to Camilla in those well-known lines of\nPope, in which, illustrating the rule that \"the sound should be\nan echo to the sense,\" he says,\n\n  \"When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,\n  The line too labors and the words move slow.\n  Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,\n  Flies o'er th'unbendng corn or skims along the main.\"\n  Essay on Criticism\n\n\nEVANDER\n\nSuch were the formidable allies that ranged themselves against\nAEneas.  It was night, and he lay stretched in sleep on the bank\nof the river, under the open heavens.  The god of the stream,\nFather Tiber, seemed to raise his head above the willows, and to\nsay, \"O goddess-born, destined possessor of the Latin realms,\nthis is the promised land, here is to be your home, here shall\nterminate the hostility of the heavenly powers, if only you\nfaithfully persevere.  There are friends not far distant.\nPrepare your boats and row up my stream; I will lead you to\nEvander the Arcadian chief.  He has long been at strife with\nTurnus and the Rutulians, and is prepared to become an ally of\nyours.  Rise!  Offer your vows to Juno, and deprecate her anger.\nWhen you have achieved your victory then think of me.\"  AEneas\nwoke and paid immediate obedience to the friendly vision.  He\nsacrificed to Juno, and invoked the god of the river and all its\ntributary fountains to lend their aid.  Then, for the first time,\na vessel filled with armed warriors floated on the stream of the\nTiber.  The river smoothed its waves and bade its current flow\ngently, while, impelled by the vigorous strokes of the rowers,\nthe vessel shot rapidly up the stream.\n\nAbout the middle of the day they came in sight of the scattered\nbuildings of the infant town where in after times the proud city\nof Rome grew, whose glory reached the skies.  By chance the old\nking, Evander, was that day celebrating annual solemnities in\nhonor of Hercules and all the gods.  Pallas, his son, and all the\nchiefs of the little commonwealth stood by.  When they saw the\ntall ship gliding onward through the wood, they were alarmed at\nthe sight, and rose from the tables.  But Pallas forbade the\nsolemnities to be interrupted, and seizing a weapon, stepped\nforward to the river's bank.  He called aloud, demanding who they\nwere and what was their object.  AEneas, holding forth an olive-\nbranch, replied, \"We are Trojans, friends to you and enemies to\nthe Rutulians.  We seek Evander, and offer to join our arms with\nyours.\"  Pallas, in amazement at the sound of so great a name,\ninvited them to land, and when AEneas touched the shore he seized\nhis hand and held it long in friendly grasp.  Proceeding through\nthe wood they joined the king and his party, and were most\nfavorably received.  Seats were provided for them at the tables,\nand the repast proceeded.\n\nWhen the solemnities were ended all moved towards the city.  The\nking, bending with age, walked between his son and AEneas, taking\nthe arm of one or the other of them, and with much variety of\npleasing talk shortening the way.  AEneas looked and listened\nwith delight, observing all the beauties of the scene, and\nlearning much of heroes renowned in ancient times.  Evander said,\n\"These extensive groves were once inhabited by fauns and nymphs,\nand a rude race of men who sprang from the trees themselves, and\nhad neither laws nor social culture.  They knew not how to yoke\nthe cattle nor raise a harvest, nor provide from present\nabundance for future want; but browsed like beasts upon the leafy\nboughs, or fed voraciously on their hunted prey.  Such were they\nwhen Saturn, expelled from Olympus by his sons, came among them\nand drew together the fierce savages, formed them into society,\nand gave them laws.  Such peace and plenty ensued that men ever\nsince have called his reign the golden age; but by degrees far\nother times succeeded, and the thirst of gold and the thirst of\nblood prevailed.  The land was a prey to successive tyrants, till\nfortune and resistless destiny brought me hither, an exile from\nmy native land, Arcadia.\"\n\nHaving thus said, he showed him the Tarpeian rock, and the rude\nspot then overgrown with bushes where in after times the Capitol\nrose in all its magnificence.  He next pointed to some dismantled\nwalls, and said, \"Here stood Janiculum, built by Janus, and there\nSaturnia, the town of Saturn.\"  Such discourse brought them to\nthe cottage of poor Evander, whence they saw the lowing herds\nroaming over the plain where now the proud and stately Forum\nstands.  They entered, and a couch was spread for AEneas, well\nstuffed with leaves and covered with the skin of the Libyan bear.\n\nNext morning, awakened by the dawn and the shrill song of birds\nbeneath the eaves of his low mansion, old Evander rose.  Clad in\na tunic, and a panther's skin thrown over his shoulders, with\nsandals on his feet, and his good sword girded to his side, he\nwent forth to seek his guest.  Two mastiffs followed him, his\nwhole retinue and body-guard.  He round the hero attended by his\nfaithful Achates, and, Pallas soon joining them, the old king\nspoke thus:\n\n\"Illustrious Trojan, it is but little we can do in so great a\ncause.  Our state is feeble, hemmed in on one side by the river,\non the other by the Rutulians.  But I propose to ally you with a\npeople numerous and rich, to whom fate has brought you at the\npropitious moment.  The Etruscans hold the country beyond the\nriver.  Mezentius was their king, a monster of cruelty, who\ninvented unheard-of torments to gratify his vengeance.  He would\nfasten the dead to the living, hand to hand and face to face, and\nleave the wretched victims to die in that dreadful embrace.  At\nlength the people cast him out, him and his house.  They burned\nhis palace and slew his friends.  He escaped and took refuge with\nTurnus, who protects him with arms.  The Etruscans' demand that\nhe shall be given up to deserved punishment, and would ere now\nhave attempted to enforce their demand; but their priests\nrestrain then, telling them that it is the will of heaven that no\nnative of the land shall guide them to victory, and that their\ndestined leader must come from across the sea.  They have offered\nthe crown to me, but I am too old to undertake such great\naffairs, and my son is native-born, which precludes him from the\nchoice.  You, equally by birth and time of life, and fame in\narms, pointed out by the gods, have but to appear to be hailed as\ntheir leader.  With you I will join Pallas, my son, my only hope\nand comfort.  Under you he shall learn the art of war, and strive\nto emulate your great exploits.\"\n\nThen the king ordered horses to be furnished for the Trojan\nchiefs, and AEneas, with a chosen band of followers and Pallas\naccompanying, mounted and took the way to the Etruscan city,\nhaving sent back the rest of his party in the ships.  AEneas and\nhis band safely arrived at the Etruscan camp and were received\nwith open arms by Tarchon, the Etruscan leader, and his\ncountrymen.\n\n\nNISUS AND EURYALUS\n\nIn the meanwhile Turnus had collected his bands and made all\nnecessary preparations for the war.  Juno sent Iris to him with a\nmessage inciting him to take advantage of the absence of AEneas\nand surprise the Trojan camp.  Accordingly the attempt was made,\nbut the Trojans were found on their guard, and having received\nstrict orders from AEneas not to fight in his absence, they lay\nstill in their intrenchments, and resisted all the efforts of the\nRutulians to draw them in to the field.  Night coming on, the\narmy of Turnus in high spirits at their fancied superiority,\nfeasted and enjoyed themselves, and finally stretched themselves\non the field and slept secure.\n\nIn the camp of the Trojans things were far otherwise.  There all\nwas watchfulness and anxiety, and impatience for AEneas's return.\nNisus stood guard at the entrance of the camp, and Euryalus, a\nyouth distinguished above all in the army for graces of person\nand fine qualities, was with him.  These two were friends and\nbrothers in arms.  Nisus said to his friend, \"Do you perceive\nwhat confidence and carelessness the enemy display?  Their lights\nare few and dim, and the men seem all oppressed with wine or\nsleep.  You know how anxiously our chiefs wish to send to AEneas,\nand to get intelligence from him.  Now I am strongly moved to\nmake my way through the enemy's camp and to go in search of our\nchief.  If I succeed, the glory of the deed will be enough reward\nfor me, and if they judge the service deserves anything more, let\nthem pay it to you.\"\n\nEuryalus, all on fire with the love of adventure, replied, \"Would\nyou then, Nisus, refuse to share your enterprise with me?  And\nshall I let you go into such danger alone?  Not so my brave\nfather brought me up, nor so have I planned for myself when I\njoined the standard of AEneas, and resolved to hold my life cheap\nin comparison with honor.\"  Nisus replied, \"I doubt it not, my\nfriend; but you know the uncertain event of such an undertaking,\nand whatever may happen to me, I wish you to be safe.  You are\nyounger than I and have more of life in prospect.  Nor can I be\nthe cause of such grief to your mother, who has chosen to be here\nin the camp with you rather than stay and live in peace with the\nother matrons in Acestes' city.\"  Euryalus replied, \"Say no more.\nIn vain you seek arguments to dissuade me.  I am fixed in the\nresolution to go with you.  Let us lose no time.\"  They called\nthe guard, and committing the watch to them, sought the general's\ntent.  They found the chief officers in consultation,\ndeliberating how they should send notice to AEneas of their\nsituation.  The offer of the two friends was gladly accepted,\nthey themselves were loaded with praises and promised the most\nliberal rewards in case of success.  Iulus especially addressed\nEuryalus, assuring him of his lasting friendship.  Euryalus\nreplied, \"I have but one boon to ask.  My aged mother is with me\nin the camp.   For me she left the Trojan soil, and would not\nstay behind with the other matrons at the city of Acestes.  I go\nnow without taking leave of her.  I could not bear her tears nor\nset at   nought he entreaties.  But do thou, I beseech thee,\ncomfort her in her distress.  Promise me that, and I shall go\nmore boldly into whatever dangers may present themselves.\"  Iulus\nand the other chiefs were moved to tears, and promised to do all\nhis request.  \"Your mother shall be mine,\" said Iulus, \"and all\nthat I have promised to you shall be made good to her, if you do\nnot return to receive it.\"\n\nThe two friends left the camp and plunged at once into the midst\nof the enemy.  They found no watch, no sentinels posted, but all\nabout, the sleeping soldiers strewn on the grass and among the\nwagons.  The laws of war at that early day did not forbid a brave\nman to slay a sleeping foe, and the two Trojans slew, as they\npassed, such of the enemy as they could without exciting alarm.\nIn one tent Euryalus made prize of a helmet brilliant with gold\nand plumes.  They had passed through the enemy's ranks without\nbeing discovered, but now suddenly appeared a troop directly in\nfront of them, which, under Volscens, their leader, were\napproaching the camp.  The glittering helmet of Euryalus caught\ntheir attention, and Volscens hailed the two, and demanded who\nand whence they were.  They made no answer, but plunged into the\nwood.  The horsemen scattered in all directions to intercept\ntheir flight.  Nisus had eluded pursuit and was out of danger,\nbut Euryalus being missing he turned back to seek him.  He again\nentered the wood and soon came within sound of voices.  Looking\nthrough the thicket he saw the whole band surrounding Euryalus\nwith noisy questions.  What should he do?  How extricate the\nyouth?  Or would it be better to die with him?\n\nRaising his eyes to the moon which now shone clear, he said,\n\"Goddess!  Favor my effort!\"  And aiming his javelin at one of\nthe leaders of the troop, struck him in the back and stretched\nhim on the plain with a death-blow.  In the midst of their\namazement another weapon flew, and another of the party fell\ndead.  Volscens, the leader, ignorant whence the darts came,\nrushed sword in hand upon Euryalus.  \"You shall pay the penalty\nof both,\" he said, and would have plunged the sword into his\nbosom, when Nisus, who from his concealment saw the peril of his\nfriend, rushed forward, exclaiming, \"'Twas I, 'twas I; turn your\nswords against me, Rutulians; I did it; he only followed me as a\nfriend.\"  While he spoke the sword fell, and pierced the comely\nbosom of Euryalus.  His head fell over on his shoulder, like a\nflower cut down by the plough.  Nisus rushed upon Volscens and\nplunged his sword into his body, and was himself slain on the\ninstant by numberless blows.\n\n\nMEZENTIUS\n\nAEneas, with his Etrurian allies, arrived on the scene of action\nin time to rescue his beleaguered camp; and now the two armies\nbeing nearly equal in strength, the war began in good earnest.\nWe cannot find space for all the details, but must simply record\nthe fate of the principal characters whom we have introduced to\nour readers.  The tyrant Mezentius, finding himself engaged\nagainst his revolted subjects, raged like a wild beast.  He slew\nall who dared to withstand him, and put the multitude to flight\nwherever he appeared.  At last he encountered AEneas, and the\narmies stood still to see the issue.  Mezentius threw his spear,\nwhich striking AEneas's shield glanced off and hit Anthor.  He\nwas a Grecian by birth, who had left Argos, his native city, and\nfollowed Evander into Italy.  The poet says of him, with simple\npathos which has made the words proverbial, \"He fell, unhappy, by\na wound intended for another, looked up to the skies, and dying\nremembered sweet Argos.\"  AEneas now in turn hurled his lance.\nIt pierced the shield of Mezentius, and wounded him in the thigh.\nLausus, his son, could not bear the sight, but rushed forward and\ninterposed himself, while the followers pressed round Mezentius\nand bore him away.  AEneas held his sword suspended over Lausus\nand delayed to strike, but the furious youth pressed on and he\nwas compelled to deal the fatal blow.  Lausus fell, and AEneas\nbent over him in pity.  \"Hapless youth,\" he said, \"what can I do\nfor you worthy of your praise?  Keep those arms in which you\nglory, and fear not but that your body shall be restored to your\nfriends, and have due funeral honors.\"  So saying, he called the\ntimid followers, and delivered the body into their hands.\n\nMezentius meanwhile had been borne to the river-side, and washed\nhis wound.  Soon the news reached him of Lausus's death, and rage\nand despair supplied the place of strength.  He mounted his horse\nand dashed into the thickest of the fight, seeking AEneas.\nHaving found him, he rode round him in a circle, throwing one\njavelin after another, while Aeneas stood fenced with his shield,\nturning every way to meet them.  At last, after Mezentius had\nthree times made the circuit, AEneas threw his lance directly at\nthe horse's head.  It pierced his temples and he fell, while a\nshout from both armies rent the skies.  Mezentius asked no mercy,\nbut only that his body might be spared the insults of his\nrevolted subjects, and be buried in the same grave with his son.\nHe received the fatal stroke not unprepared, and poured out his\nlife and his blood together.\n\nWhile these things were doing in one part of the field, in\nanother Turnus encountered the youthful Pallas.  The contest\nbetween champions so unequally matched could not be doubtful.\nPallas bore himself bravely, but fell by the lance of Turnus.\nThe victor almost relented when he saw the brave youth lying dead\nat his feet, and spared to use the privilege of a conqueror in\ndespoiling him of his arms.  The belt only, adorned with studs\nand carvings of gold, he took and clasped round his own body.\nThe rest he remitted to the friends of the slain.\n\nAfter the battle there was a cessation of arms for some days to\nallow both armies to bury their dead.  In this interval AEneas\nchallenged Turnus to decide the contest by single combat, but\nTurnus evaded the challenge.  Another battle ensued, in which\nCamilla, the virgin warrior, was chiefly conspicuous.  Her deeds\nof valor surpassed those of the bravest warriors, and many\nTrojans and Etruscans fell pierced with her darts or struck down\nby her battle-axe.  At last an Etruscan named Aruns, who had\nwatched her long, seeking for some advantage, observed her\npursuing a flying enemy whose splendid armor offered a tempting\nprize.  Intent on the chase she observed not her danger, and the\njavelin of Aruns struck her and inflicted a fatal wound.  She\nfell and breathed her last in the arms of her attendant maidens.\nBut Diana, who beheld her fate, suffered not her slaughter to be\nunavenged.  Aruns, as he stole away, glad but frightened, was\nstruck by a secret arrow, launched by one of the nymphs of\nDiana's train, and died ignobly and unknown.\n\nAt length the final conflict took place between AEneas and\nTurnus.  Turnus had avoided the contest as long as he could, but\nat last impelled by the ill success of his arms, and by the\nmurmurs of his followers, he braced himself to the conflict.  It\ncould not be doubtful.  On the side of AEneas were the expressed\ndecree of destiny, the aid of his goddess-mother at every\nemergency, and impenetrable armor fabricated by Vulcan, at Venus'\nrequest, for her son.  Turnus, on the other hand, was deserted by\nhis celestial allies, Juno having been expressly forbidden by\nJupiter to assist him any longer.  Turnus threw his lance, but it\nrecoiled harmless from the shield of AEneas.  The Trojan hero\nthen threw his, which penetrated the shield of Turnus, and\npierced his thigh.  Then Turnus' fortitude forsook him and he\nbegged for mercy; and AEneas would have given him his life, but\nat the instant his eye fell on the belt of Pallas, which Turnus\nhad taken from the slaughtered youth.  Instantly his rage\nrevived, and exclaiming, \"Pallas immolates thee with this blow,\"\nhe thrust him through with his sword.\n\nHere the AEneid closes, but the story goes that AEneas, having\ntriumphed over his foes, obtained Lavinia as his bride.  His son\nIulus founded the city of Alba Longa.  He, and his descendants\nafter him, reigned over the town for many years.  At length\nNumitor and Amulius, two brothers, quarrelled about the kingdom.\nAmulius seized the crown by force, cast out Numitor, and made his\ndaughter, Rhea Silvia, a Vestal Virgin.  The Vestal Virgins, the\npriestesses of the goddess Vesta, were sworn to celibacy.  But\nRhea Silvia broke her vow, and gave birth, by the god Mars, to\nthe twins, Romulus and Remus.  For this offence she was buried\nalive, the usual punishment accorded to unfaithful Vestals, while\nthe children were exposed on the river Tiber.  Romulus and Remus,\nhowever, were rescued by a herdsman, and were educated among the\nshepherds in ignorance of their parentage.  But chance revealed\nit to them.  They collected a band of friends, and took revenge\non their granduncle for the murder of their mother.  Afterwards\nthey founded, by the side of the river Tiber, where they had been\nexposed in infancy, the city of Rome.\n\n\n\nChapter XXVII\n\nPythagoras.  Egyptian Deities.  Oracles\n\nThe teachings of Anchises to AEneas, respecting the nature of the\nhuman soul, were in conformity with the doctrines of the\nPythagoreans.  Pythagoras (born, perhaps, about five hundred and\nforty years B.C.) was a native of the island of Samos, but passed\nthe chief portion of his life at Crotona in Italy.  He is\ntherefore sometimes called \"the Samian,\" and sometimes \"the\nphilosopher of Crotona.\"  When young he travelled extensively and\nis said to have visited Egypt, where he was instructed by the\npriests in all their learning, and afterwards journeyed to the\nEast, and visited the Persian and Chaldean Magi, and the Brahmins\nof India.\n\nBut Pythagoras left no writings which have been preserved.  His\nimmediate disciples were under a pledge of secrecy.  Though he is\nreferred to by many writers, at times not far distant from his\nown, we have no biography of him written earlier than the end of\nthe second century of our era.  In the interval between his life\nand this time, every sort of fable collected around what was\nreally known of his life and teaching.\n\nAt Crotona, where he finally established himself, it is said that\nhis extraordinary qualities collected round him a great number of\ndisciples.  The inhabitants were notorious for luxury and\nlicentiousness, but the good effects of his influence were soon\nvisible.  Sobriety and temperance succeeded.  Six hundred of the\ninhabitants became his disciples and enrolled themselves in a\nsociety to aid each other in the pursuit of wisdom; uniting their\nproperty in one common stock, for the benefit of the whole.  They\nwere required to practise the greatest purity and simplicity of\nmanners.  The first lesson they learned was SILENCE; for a time\nthey were required to be only hearers.  \"He (Pythagoras) said\nso,\" (Ipse dixit,) was to be held by them as sufficient, without\nany proof.  It was only the advanced pupils, after years of\npatient submission, who were allowed to ask questions and to\nstate objections.\n\nPythagoras is said to have considered NUMBERS as the essence and\nprinciple of all things, and attributed to them a real and\ndistinct existence; so that, in his view, they were the elements\nout of which the universe was constructed.  How he conceived this\nprocess has never been satisfactorily explained.  He traced the\nvarious forms and phenomena of the world to numbers as their\nbasis and essence.  The \"Monad,\" or UNIT, he regarded as the\nsource of all numbers.  The number TWO was imperfect, and the\ncause of increase and division.  THREE was called the number of\nthe whole, because it had a beginning, middle, and end; FOUR,\nrepresenting the square, is in the highest degree perfect; and\nTEN, as it contains the sum of the first three prime numbers\n(2+3+5=10.  ONE is not counted, as being rather the source of\nnumber than a number itself) comprehends all musical and\narithmetical proportions, and denotes the system of the world.\n\nAs the numbers proceed frm the Monad, so he regarded the pure and\nsimple essence of the Deity as the source of all the forms of\nnature.  Gods, demons, and heroes are emanations of the Supreme;\nand there is a fourth emanation, the human soul.  This is\nimmortal, and when freed from the fetters of the body, passes to\nthe habitation of the dead, where it remains till it returns to\nthe world to dwell in some other human or animal body, and at\nlast, when sufficiently purified, it returns to the source from\nwhich it proceeded.  This doctrine of the transmigration of souls\n(metempsychosis), which was first Indian and Egyptian, and\nconnected with the doctrine of reward and punishment of human\nactions, was the chief cause why the Pythagoreans killed no\nanimals.  Ovid represents Pythagoras addressing his disciples in\nthese words: \"Souls never die, but always on quitting one abode\npass to another.  I myself can remember that in the time of the\nTrojan was I was Euphorbus, the son of Panthus, and fell by the\nspear of Menelaus.  Lately, being in the temple of Juno, at\nArgos, I recognized my shield hung up there among the trophies.\nAll things change, nothing perishes.  The soul passes hither and\nthither, occupying now this body, now that, passing from the body\nof a beast into that of a man, and thence to a beast's again.  As\nwax is stamped with certain figures, then melted, then stamped\nanew with others, yet is always the same wax, so the soul, being\nalways the same, yet wears at different times different forms.\nTherefore, if the love of kindred is not extinct in your bosoms,\nforbear, I entreat you, to violate the life of those who may\nhaply be your own relatives.\"\n\nShakespeare, in the Merchant of Venice, makes Gratiano allude to\nthe metempsychosis, where he says to Shylock:\n\n  \"Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith,\n  To hold opinion with Pythagoras,\n  That souls of animals infuse themselves\n  Into the trunks of men; thy currish spirit\n  Governed a wolf; who hanged for human slaughter\n  Infused his soul in thee; for thy desires\n  Are wolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous.\"\n\nThe relation of the notes of the musical scale to numbers,\nwhereby harmony results from vibrations in equal times, and\ndiscord from the reverse, led Pythagoras to apply the word\n\"harmony\" to the visible creation, meaning by it the just\nadaptation of parts to each other.  This is the idea which Dryden\nexpresses in the beginning of his song for St. Cecilia's Day:\n\n  \"From harmony, from heavenly harmony\n  This everlasting frame began;\n  From harmony to harmony\n  Through all the compass of the notes it ran,\n  The Diapason closing full in Man.\"\n\nIn the centre of the universe (as Pythagoras taught) there was a\ncentral fire, the principle of life.  The central fire was\nsurrounded by the earth, the moon, the sun, and the five planets.\nThe distances of the various heavenly bodies from one another\nwere conceived to correspond to the proportions of the musical\nscale.  The heavenly bodies, with the gods who inhabited them,\nwere supposed to perform a choral dance round the central fire,\n\"not without song.\"  It is this doctrine which Shakespeare\nalludes to when he makes Lorenzo teach astronomy to Jessica in\nthis fashion:\n\n  \"Sit, Jessica, look how the floor of heaven\n  Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold!\n  There's not the smallest orb that thou behold'st\n  But in this motion like an angel sings,\n  Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim;\n  Such harmony is in immortal souls!\n  But whilst this muddy vesture of decay\n  Doth grossly close it in we cannot hear it.\"\n  Merchant of Venice\n\nThe spheres were conceived to be crystalline or glassy fabrics\narranged over one another like a nest of bowls reversed.  In the\nsubstance of each sphere one or more of the heavenly bodies was\nsupposed to be fixed, so as to move with it.  As the spheres are\ntransparent, we look through them, and see the heavenly bodies\nwhich they contain and carry round with them.  But as these\nspheres cannot move on one another without friction, a sound is\nthereby produced which is of exquisite harmony, too fine for\nmortal ears to recognize.  Milton, in his Hymn to the Nativity,\nthus alludes to the music of the spheres:\n\n  \"Ring out, ye crystal spheres!\n  Once bless our human ears;\n  (If ye have power to charm our senses so);\n  And let your silver chime\n  Move in melodious time,\n  And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow:\n  And with your nine-fold harmony\n  Make up full concert with the angelic symphony.\"\n\nPythagoras is said to have invented the lyre, of which other\nfables give the invention to Mercury.  Our own poet, Longfellow,\nin Verses to a Child, thus relates the story:\n\n  \"As great Pythagoras of yore,\n  Standing beside the blacksmith's door,\n  And hearing the hammers as they smote\n  The Anvils with a different note,\n  Stole from the varying tones that hung\n  Vibrant on every iron tongue,\n The secret of the sounding wire,\n  A nd formed the seven-chorded lyre.\"\n\nSee also the same poet's Occultation of Orion:\n\n  \"The Samian's great AEolian lyre.\"\n\n\nSYBARIS AND CROTONA\n\nSybaris, a neighboring city to Crotona, was as celebrated for\nluxury and effeminacy as Crotona for the reverse.  The name has\nbecome proverbial.  Lowell uses it in this sense in his charming\nlittle poem To the Dandelion:\n\n  \"Not in mild June the golden-cuirassed bee\n  Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment\n  In the white lily's breezy tent,\n  (His conquered Sybaris) than I when first\n  From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.\"\n\nA war arose between the two cities, and Sybaris was conquered and\ndestroyed.  Milo, the celebrated athlete, led the army of\nCrotona.  Many stories are told of Milo's vast strength, such as\nhis carrying a heifer of four years old upon his shoulders, and\nafterwards eating the whole of it in a single day.  The mode of\nhis death is thus related: As he was passing through a forest he\nsaw the trunk of a tree which had been partially split open by\nwood-cutters, and attempted to rend it further; but the wood\nclosed upon his hands and held him fast, in which state he was\nattacked and devoured by wolves.\n\nByron, in his Ode to Napoleon Bonaparte, alludes to the story of\nMilo:\n\n  \"He who of old would rend the oak\n  Deemed not of the rebound;\n  Chained by the trunk he vainly broke,\n  Alone, how looked he round!\"\n\n\nEGYPTIAN DEITIES\n\nThe remarkable discovery by which Champollion the younger (so\ncalled to distinguish him from his older brother, Champollion\nFigeac, who also studied the hieroglyphics)) first opened to\nmodern times the secret of the Egyptian hieroglyphics, has been\nfollowed up by laborious studies, which tell us more of Egyptian\nworship and mythology, with more precision, than we know of any\nother ancient religion but that of the Hebrews.  We have even\ngreat numbers of copies of the liturgies, or handbooks of\nworship, of funeral solemnities, and other rituals, which have\nbeen diligently translated.  And we have a sufficient body of the\nliterature written and used by the priesthood.\n\nThese discoveries give to writers of this generation a much\nfuller knowledge of the Egyptian religion, of its forms, and of\nthe names of its gods, than they had before.  It is impossible,\nand probably always will be, to state with precision the theology\non which it rested.  It is impossible, because that theology was\ndifferent in one time and with one school from what it was at\nother times.  Mr. S. Birch, of the British Museum, says, \"The\nreligion of the Egyptians consisted of an extended polytheism\nrepresented by a system of local groups.\"  But Mr. Pierret says,\n\"The polytheism of the monuments is but an outward show.  The\ninnumerable gods of the Pantheon are but manifestations of the\nOne Being in his various capacities.  Mariette Bey says, \"The one\nresult is that according to the Egyptians, the universe was God\nhimself, and that Pantheism formed the foundation of their\nreligion.\"\n\nIn this book it is not necessary to reconcile views so diverse,\nnor indeed to enter on studies so profound as those which should\ndecide between them.  For our purpose here it is enough to know\nthat the Sun was the older object of worship, and in his various\nforms   rising, midday, or setting   was adored under different\nnames.  Frequently his being and these names were united to the\ntypes of other deities.  Mr. Birch believes that the worship of\nOsiris prevailed largely beside the worship of the Sun, and is\nnot to be confounded with it.  To Osiris, Set, the Egyptian\ndevil, was opposed.\n\nThe original God, the origin of all things, manifests himself to\nmen, in lesser forms, according to this mythology, more and more\nhuman and less and less intangible.  These forms are generally\ntriads, and resolve themselves into a male deity, a female deity,\nand their child.  Triad after triad brings the original Divinity\ninto forms more and more earthly, till at last we find \"that we\nhave no longer to do with the infinite and intangible God of the\nearliest days, but rather with a God of flesh and blood, who\nlives upon earth, and has so abased himself as to be no more than\na human king.  It is no longer the God of whom no man knew either\nthe form or the substance: it is Kneph at Esneh,   Hathor at\nDurderah,   Horus, king of the divine dynasty at Edfoo.\"  These\nwords are M. Maspero's.\n\nThe Greek and Latin poets and philosophers, as they made some\nvery slight acquaintance with Egyptian worship, give Greek or\nLatin names to the divinities worshipped.  Thus we sometimes hear\nOsiris spoken of as the Egyptian Hermes.  But such changes of\nnames are confusing, and are at best but fanciful (In the same\nway Plutarch, a Greek writer, says of the Jews' Feast of\nTabernacles, \"I know that their God is our Bacchus.\"  This was\nmerely from the vines, vine leaves and wine used in the\nceremonies.)  It would happen sometimes, in later times, that a\nfashion of religion would carry the worship of one God or Goddess\nto a distance.  Thus the worship of Isis became fashionable in\nRome in the time of Nero and Paul, as readers of Bulwer's Last\nDays of Pompeii will remember.\n\nThe latest modern literature occasionally uses the Egyptian\nnames, as the last two centuries have disinterred them from the\ninscriptions on the monuments, and from the manuscripts in the\ntombs.  Earlier English writers generally use the names like\nOsiris, Anubis, and others found in Latin and Greek writers.\n\nThe following statement as to these deities and their names is\nfrom Mr. Birch:\n\n\"The deities of ancient Egypt consist of celestial, terrestrial,\nand infernal gods, and of many inferior personages, either\nrepresentatives of the greater gods or attendants on them.  Most\nof the gods were connected with the sun, and represented that\nluminary through the upper hemisphere or Heaven and the lower\nhemisphere or Hades.  To the deities of the solar cycle belonged\nthe great gods of Thebes and Heliopolis.  In the local worship of\nEgypt the deities were arranged in local triads; thus at Memphis,\nPtah, his wife Merienptah, and their son Nefer Atum, formed a\ntriad, to which was sometimes added the goddess Bast or Bubastis.\nAt Abydos the local triad was Osiris, Isis, and Horus, with\nNephthys; at Thebes, Amen Ra or Ammon, Mut and Chons, with Neith;\nat Elephantine, Kneph, Anuka, Sati, and Hak.  In most instances\nthe names of the gods are Egyptian; thus, Ptah meant 'the\nopener'; Amen, 'the concealed'; Ra, 'the sun or day'; Athor, 'the\nhouse of Horus';' but some few, especially of later times, were\nintroduced from Semitic sources, as Bal or Baal, Astaruta or\nAstarte, Khen or Kiun, Respu or Reseph.  Besides the principal\ngods, several inferior or parhedral gods, sometimes\npersonifications of the faculties, senses, and other objects, are\nintroduced into the religious system, and genii, spirits or\npersonified souls of deities formed part of the same.  At a\nperiod subsequent to their first introduction the gods were\ndivided into three orders.  The first or highest comprised eight\ndeities, who were different in the Memphian and Theban systems.\nThey were supposed to have reigned over Egypt before the time of\nmortals.  The eight gods of the first order at Memphis were   1.\nPtah; 2. Shu; 3. Tefnu; 4. Seb; 5. Nut; 6. Osiris; 7. Isis and\nHorus; 8. Athor.  Those of Thebes were   1. Amen Ra; 2. Mentu; 3.\nAtum; 4. Shu and Tefnu; 5. Seb; 6. Osiris; 7. Set and Nepthys; 8.\nHorus and Athor.  The gods of the second order were twelve in\nnumber, but the name of one only, an Egyptian Hercules, has been\npreserved.  The third order is stated to have comprised Osiris,\nwho, it will be seen, belonged to the first order.\"  GUIDE TO THE\nFIRST AND SECOND EGYPTIAN ROOMS, BRITISH MUSEUM.  S. Birch\n\nMiss Edwards gives the following convenient register of the names\nmost familiar among the Egyptian gods (in her very interesting\nbook, \"A Thousand Miles up the Nile\").\n\nPHTAH or PTAH: In form a mummy, holding the emblem called by some\nthe Nilometer, by others the emblem of Stability, called \"the\nfather of the Beginning, the Creator of the Egg of the Sun and\nMoon,\" Chief Deity of Memphis.\n\nKNEPH, KNOUM or KNOUPHIS: Ram-headed, called the Maker of gods\nand men, the Soul of the gods.  Chief Deity of Elephantine and\nthe Cataracts.\n\nRA: Hawk-headed, and crowned with the sun-disc, encircled by an\nasp.  The divine disposer and organizer of the world; adored\nthroughout Egypt.\n\nAMEN RA: Of human form, crowned with a flat-topped cap and two\nlong, straight plumes; clothed in the schenti; his flesh\nsometimes painted blue.  There are various forms of this god\n(there were almost as many varieties of Ammon in Egypt as there\nare varieties of the Madonna in Italy or Spain), but he is most\ngenerally described as King of the Gods, chief deity of Thebes.\n\nKHEM: Of human form, mummified; wears head-dress of Amen Ra; his\nright hand uplifted, holding a flail.  The god of productiveness\nand generation.  Chief deity of Khemmis, or Ekhmeem.\n\nOSIRIS: Of human form, mummified, crowned with a mitre, and\nholding the flail and crook.  Called the Good; the Lord above\nall; the one lord.  Was the god of the lower world; judge of the\ndead; and representative of the sun below the horizon.  Adored\nthrough Egypt.  Local deity of Abydos.\n\nNEFER ATUM: Human-headed, and crowned with the pschent.  This god\nrepresented the nocturnal sun, or the sun lighting the lower\nworld.  Local deity of Heliopolis.\n\nTHOTH: In form a man, ibis-headed, generally depicted with the\npen and palette of a scribe.  Was the god of the moon, and of\nletters.  Local deity of Sesoon, or Hermopolit.\n\nSEB: The \"Father of the Gods,\" and deity of terrestrial\nvegetation.  In form like a man with a goose upon his head.\n\nSET: Represented by a symbolic animal, with a muzzle and ears\nlike a jackal, the body of an ass, and an upright tail, like the\ntail of a lion.  Was originally a warlike god, and became in\nlater times the symbol of evil and the enemy of Osiris.\n\nKHONS: Hawk-headed, crowned with the sun-disc and horns.  Is\nsometimes represented as a youth with the side-lock, standing on\na crocodile.\n\nHORUS: Horus appears variously as Horus, Horus Aroeris, and Horus\nHarpakhrat (Hippocrates), or Horus the child.  Is represented\nunder the first two forms as a man, hawk-headed, wearing the\ndouble crown of Egypt; in the latter as a child with the side-\nlock.  Local deity of Edfoo (Apollinopolis Magna).\n\nMAUT: A woman draped, and crowned with the pschent (the pschent\nwas a double crown, worn by the king at his coronation),\nrepresenting a vulture.  Adored at Thebes.\n\nNEITH: A woman draped, holding sometimes a bow and arrows,\ncrowned with the crown of Lower Egypt.  She presided over war,\nand the loom.  Worshipped at Thebes.\n\nISIS: A woman crowned with the sun-disc surmounted by a throne,\nand sometimes enclosed between horns.  Adored at Abydos.  Her\nsoul resided in Sothis on the Dog-star.\n\nNUT: A woman so bent that her hands touched the earth.  She\nrepresents the vault of heaven, and is the mother of the gods.\n\nHATHOR: Cow-headed, and crowned with the disc and plumes.  Deity\nof Amenti, or the Egyptian Hades.  Worshipped at Denderah.\n\nPASHT: Pasht and Bast appear to be two forms of the same goddess.\nAs Bast she is represented as a woman, lion-headed, with the disc\nand uroeus; as Pasht she is cat-headed, and holds a sistrum.\nAdored at Bubastis.  Observe the syllable BAST.\n\nThe highest visible deity of the Egyptians was Amun Ra, or Amen\nRa, the concealed sun; the word Ra signifying the sun.  This name\nappears in the Greek and Latin writers as Zeus Ammon and Jupiter\nAmmon.  When Amun manifests himself by his word, will or spirit,\nhe is known as Nu, Num, Noub, Nef, Neph, or Kneph,   and this\nword Kneph through the form Cnuphis is, perhaps, the Anubis of\nthe Greek and Latin authors. That word has not been found earlier\nthan the time of Augustus.  Anubis was then worshipped as the\nguardian god, and represented with a dog's head.\n\nThe soul of Osiris was supposed to exist in some way in the\nsacred bull Apis, of which Serapis or Sarapis is probably another\nname.  \"Apis,\" says Herodotus, \"is a young bull,   whose hair is\nblack, on his forehead a white triangle, -- on his back an eagle,\n  with a beetle under his tongue and with the hair of his tail\ndouble.\"  Ovid says he is of various colors.  Plutarch says he\nhas a crescent on his right side.  These superstitions varied\nfrom age to age.  Apis was worshipped in Memphis.\n\nIt must be observed, in general, that the names in the Latin\nclassics belong to a much later period of the Egyptian religion\nthan the names found on most of the monuments.  It will be found,\nthat, as in the change from Nu to Anubis, it is difficult to\ntrace the progress of a name from one to the other.  In the cases\nwhere an ox, a ram, or a dog is worshipped with, or as a symbol\nof, a god, we probably have the survival of a very early local\nidolatry.\n\nHorus or Harpocrates, named above, was the son of Osiris.  He is\nsometimes represented, seated on a Lotus-flower, with his finger\non his lips, as the god of silence.\n\nIn one of Moore's Irish Melodies is an allusion to Harpocrates: -\n\n  \"Thyself shall, under some rosy bower,\n  Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip:\n  Like him, the boy, who born among\n  The flowers that on the Nile-stream blush,\n  Sits over thus, his only song\n  To Earth and Heaven, \"Hush, all, hush!\"\n\n\nMYTH OF OSIRIS AND ISIS\n\nOsiris and Isis were at one time induced to descend to the earth\nto bestow gifts and blessings on its inhabitants.  Isis showed\nthem first the use of wheat and barley, and Osiris made the\ninstruments of agriculture and taught men the use of them, as\nwell as how to harness the ox to the plough.  He then gave men\nlaws, the institution of marriage, a civil organization, and\ntaught them how to worship the gods.  After he had thus made the\nvalley of the Nile a happy country, he assembled a host with\nwhich he went to bestow his blessings upon the rest of the world.\nHe conquered the nations everywhere, but not with weapons, only\nwith music and eloquence.  His brother Typhon (Typhon is supposed\nto be the Seth of the monuments) saw this, and filled with envy\nand malice sought, during his absence, to usurp his throne.  But\nIsis, who held the reins of government, frustrated his plans.\nStill more embittered, he now resolved to kill his brother.  This\nhe did in the following manner: Having organized a conspiracy of\nseventy-two members, he went with them to the feast which was\ncelebrated in honor of the king's return.  He then caused a box\nor chest to be brought in, which had been made to fit exactly the\nsize of Osiris, and declared that he would give that chest of\nprecious wood to whosoever could get into it.  The rest tried in\nvain, but no sooner was Osiris in it than Typhon and his\ncompanions closed the lid and flung the chest into the Nile.\nWhen Isis heard of the cruel murder she wept and mourned, and\nthen with her hair shorn, clothed in black and beating her\nbreast, she sought diligently for the body of her husband.  In\nthis search she was assisted by Anubis, the son of Osiris and\nNephthys.  They sought in vain for some time; for when the chest,\ncarried by the waves to the shores of Byblos, had become\nentangled in the reeds that grew at the edge of the water, the\ndivine power that dwelt in the body of Osiris imparted such\nstrength to the shrub that it grew into a mighty tree, enclosing\nin its trunk the coffin of the god.  This tree, with its sacred\ndeposit, was shortly afterward felled, and erected as a column in\nthe palace of the king of Phoenicia.  But at length, by the aid\nof Anubis and the sacred birds, Isis ascertained these facts, and\nthen went to the royal city.  There she offered herself at the\npalace as a servant, and being admitted, threw off her disguise\nand appeared as the goddess, surrounded with thunder and\nlightning.  Striking the column with her wand, she caused it to\nsplit open and give up the sacred coffin.  This she seized and\nreturned with it, and concealed it in the depth of a forest, but\nTyphon discovered it, and cutting the body into fourteen pieces,\nscattered them hither and thither.  After a tedious search, Isis\nfound thirteen pieces, the fishes of the Nile having eaten the\nother.  This she replaced by an imitation of sycamore wood, and\nburied the body at Philoe, which became ever after the great\nburying place of the nation, and the spot to which pilgrimages\nwere made from all parts of the country.  A temple of surpassing\nmagnificence was also erected there in honor of the god, and at\nevery place where one of his limbs had been found, minor temples\nand tombs were built to commemorate the event.  Osiris became\nafter that the tutelar deity of the Egyptians.  His soul was\nsupposed always to inhabit the body of the bull Apis, and at his\ndeath to transfer itself to his successor.\n\nApis, the Bull of Memphis, was worshipped with the greatest\nreverence by the Egyptians.  As soon as a bull marked with the\nmarks which have been described, was found by those sent in\nsearch of him, he was placed in a building facing the east, and\nwas fed with milk for four months.  At the expiration of this\nterm the priests repaired at new moon with great pomp, to his\nhabitation, and saluted him Apis.  He was placed in a vessel\nmagnificently decorated and conveyed down the Nile to Memphis,\nwhere a temple, with two chapels and a court for exercise, was\nassigned to him.  Sacrifices were made to him, and once every\nyear, about the time when the Nile began to rise, a golden cup\nwas thrown into the river, and a grand festival was held to\ncelebrate his birthday.  The people believed that during this\nfestival the crocodiles forgot their natural ferocity and became\nharmless.  There was however one drawback to his happy lot; he\nwas not permitted to live beyond a certain period; and if when he\nhad attained the age of twenty-five years, he still survived, the\npriests drowned him in the sacred cistern, and then buried him in\nthe temple of Serapis.  On the death of this bull, whether it\noccurred in the course of nature or by violence, the whole land\nwas filled with sorrow and lamentations, which lasted until his\nsuccessor was found.\n\nA new Apis was found as late as the reign of Hadrian.  A mummy\nmade from one of the Sacred Bulls may be seen in the Egyptian\ncollection of the Historical Society, New York.\n\nMilton, in his Hymn of the Nativity, alludes to the Egyptian\ndeities, not as imaginary beings, but as real demons put to\nflight by the coming of Christ:\n\n  \"The brutish gods of Nile as fast,\n  Isis and Horus and the dog Anubis haste.\n  Nor is Osiris seen\n  In Memphian grove or green\n  Trampling the unshowered* grass with lowings loud;\n  Nor can he be at rest\n  Within his sacred chest;\n  Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud.\n  In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark\n  The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark.\"\n\n*(There being no rain in Egypt, the grass is \"unshowered,\" and\nthe country depends for its fertility upon the overflowings of\nthe Nile.  The ark alluded to in the last line is shown by\npictures still remaining on the walls of the Egyptian temples to\nhave been borne by the priests in their religious processions.\nIt probably represented the chest in which Osiris was placed.)\n\nIsis was represented in statuary with the head veiled, a symbol\nof mystery.  It is this which Tennyson alludes to in Maud, 0V.8\n\n  \"For the drift of te Maker is dark, an Isis hid by the veil.\"\n\n\nORACLES\n\nOracle was the name used to denote the place where answers were\nsupposed to be given by any of the divinities to those who\nconsulted them respecting the future. The word was also used to\nsignify the response which was given.\n\nThe most ancient Grecian oracle was that of Jupiter at Dodona.\nAccording to one account it was established in the following\nmanner.  Two black doves took their flight from Thebes in Egypt.\nOne flew to Dodona in Epirus and alighting in a grove of oaks, it\nproclaimed in human language to the inhabitants of the district\nthat they must establish there an oracle of Jupiter.  The other\ndove flew to the temple of Jupiter Ammon in the Libyan oasis, and\ndelivered a similar command there.  Another account is, that\nthey were not doves, but priestesses, who were carried off from\nThebes in Egypt by the Phoenicians, and set up oracles at Oasis\nand Dodona.  The responses of the oracle were given from the\ntrees, by the branches rustling in the wind, the sounds being\ninterpreted by the priests.\n\nBut the most celebrated of the Grecian oracles was that of Apollo\nat Delphi, a city built on the <DW72>s of Parnassus in Phocis.\n\nIt had been observed at a very early period that the goats\nfeeding on Parnassus were thrown into convulsions when they\napproached a certain long deep cleft in the side of the mountain.\nThis was owing to a peculiar vapor arising out of the cavern, and\none of the goatherds was induced to try its effects upon himself.\nInhaling the intoxicating air he was affected in the same manner\nas the cattle had been, and the inhabitants of the surrounding\ncountry, unable to explain the circumstance, imputed the\nconvulsive ravings to which he gave utterance while under the\npower of the exhalations, to a divine inspiration.  The fact was\nspeedily circulated widely, and a temple was erected on the spot.\nThe prophetic influence was at first variously attributed to the\ngoddess Earth, to Neptune, Themis, and others, but it was at\nlength assigned to Apollo, and to him alone.  A priestess was\nappointed whose office it was to inhale the hallowed air, and who\nwas named the Pythia.  She was prepared for this duty by previous\nablution at the fountain of Castalia, and being crowned with\nlaurel was seated upon a tripod similarly adorned, which was\nplaced over the chasm whence the divine afflatus proceeded.  Her\ninspired words while thus situated were interpreted by the\npriests.\n\n\nORACLE OF TROPHONIUS\n\nBesides the oracles of Jupiter and Apollo, at Dodona and Delphi,\nthat of Trophonius in Boeotia was held in high estimation.\nTrophonius and Agamedes were brothers.  They were distinguished\narchitechts, and built the temple of Apollo at Delphi, and a\ntreasury for King Hyrieus.  In the wall of the treasury they\nplaced a stone, in such a manner that it could be taken out; and\nby this means from time to time purloined the treasure.  This\namazed Hyrieus, for his locks and seals were untouched, and yet\nhis wealth, continually diminished.  At length he set a trap for\nthe thief and Agamedes was caught.  Trophonius unable to\nextricate him, and fearing that when found he would be compelled\nby torture to discover his accomplice, cut off his head.\nTrophonius himself is said to have been shortly afterwards\nswallowed up by the earth.\n\nThe oracle of Trophonius was at Lebadea in Boeotia.  During a\ngreat drought the Boeotians, it is said, were directed by the god\nat Delphi to seek aid of Trophonius at Lebadea.  They came\nthither, but could find no oracle.  One of them, however,\nhappening to see a swarm of bees, followed them to a chasm in the\nearth, which proved to be the place sought.\n\nPeculiar ceremonies were to be performed by the person who came\nto consult the oracle.  After these preliminaries, he descended\ninto the cave by a narrow passage.  This place could be entered\nonly in the night.  The person returned from the cave by the same\nnarrow passage, but walking backwards.  He appeared melancholy\nand dejected; and hence the proverb which was applied to a person\nlow-spirited and gloomy, \"He has been consulting the oracle of\nTrophonius.\"\n\n\nORACLE OF AESCULAPIUS\n\nThere were numerous oracles of Aesculapius, but the most\ncelebrated one was at Epidaurus.  Here the sick sought responses\nand the recovry of their health by sleeping in the temple.  It\nhas been inferred from the accounts that have come down to us,\nthat the treatment of the sick resembled what is now called\nAnimal Magnetism or Mesmerism.\n\nSerpents were sacred to Aesculapius, probably because of a\nsuperstition that those animals have a faculty of renewing their\nyouth by a change of skin.  The worship of Aesculapius was\nintroduced into Rome in a time of great sickness, and an embassy\nsent to the temple of Epidaurus to entreat the aid of the god.\nAesculapius was propitious, and on the return of the ship\naccompanied it in the form of a serpent.  Arriving in the river\nTiber, the serpent glided from the vessel and took possession of\nan island in the river, and a temple was there erected to his\nhonor.\n\n\nORACLE OF APIS\n\nAt Memphis the sacred bull Apis gave answer to those who\nconsulted him, by the manner in which he received or rejected\nwhat was presented to him.  If the bull refused food from the\nhand of the inquirer it was considered an unfavorable sign, and\nthe contrary when he received it.\n\nIt has been a question whether oracular responses ought to be\nascribed to mere human contrivance or to the agency of evil\nspirits.  The latter opinion has been most general in past ages.\nA third theory has been advanced since the phenomena of Mesmerism\nhave attracted attention, that something like the mesmeric trance\nwas induced in the Pythoness, and the faculty of clairvoyance\nreally called into action.\n\nAnother question is as to the time when the Pagan oracles ceased\nto give responses.  Ancient Christian writers assert that they\nbecame silent at the birth of Christ, and were heard no more\nafter that date.  Milton adopts this view in his Hymn of the\nNativity, and in lines of solemn and elevated beauty pictures the\nconsternation of the heathen idols at the advent of the Saviour.\n\n  \"The oracles are dumb;\n  No voice or hideous hum\n  Rings through the arched roof in words deceiving.\n  Apollo from his shrine\n  Can no more divine,\n  With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.\n  No nightly trance or breathed spell\n  Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.\"\n\nIn Cowper's poem of Yardley Oak there are some beautiful\nmythological allusions.  The former of the two following is to\nthe fable of Castor and Pollux; the latter is more appropriate to\nour present subject.  Addressing the acorn he says,\n\n  \"Thou fell'st mature; and in the loamy clod,\n  Swelling with vegetative force instinct,\n  Didst burst thine egg, as theirs the fabled Twins\n  Now stars; two lobes protruding, paired exact;\n  A leaf succeeded and another leaf,\n  And, all the elements thy puny growth\n  Fostering propitious, thou becam'st a twig.\n  Who lived when thou was such?  Oh, couldst thou speak\n  As in Dodona once thy kindred trees\n  Oracular, I would not curious ask\n  The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth\n  Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past.\"\n\nTennyson in his Talking Oak alludes to the oaks of Dodona in\nthese lines:\n\n  \"And I will work in prose and rhyme,\n  And praise thee more in both\n  Than bard has honored beech or lime,\n  Or that Thessalian growth\n  In which the swarthy ring-dove sat\n  And mystic sentence spoke.\"\n\nByron alludes to the oracle of Delphi where, speaking of\nRousseau, whose writings he conceives did much to bring on the\nFrench revolution, he says,\n\n  \"For then he was inspired, and from him came,\n  As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore,\n  Those oracles which set the world in flame,\n  Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXVIII\n\nOrigin of Mythology   Statues of Gods and Goddesses   Poets of\nMythology\n\nHaving reached the close of our series of stories of Pagan\nmythology, an inquiry suggests itself.  \"Whence came these\nstories?  Have they a foundation in truth, or are they simply\ndreams of the imagination?\"  Philosophers have suggested various\ntheories on the subject of which we shall give three or four.\n\n1.  The Scriptural theory; according to which all mythological\nlegends are derived from the narratives of Scripture, though the\nreal facts have been disguised and altered.  Thus Deucalion is\nonly another name for Noah, Hercules for Samson, Arion for Jonah,\netc.  Sir Walter Raleigh, in his History of the World, says,\n\"Jubal, Tubal, and Tubal-Cain were Mercury, Vulcan, and Apollo,\ninventors of Pasturage, Smithing, and Music.  The Dragon which\nkept the golden apples was the serpent that beguiled Eve.\nNimrod's tower was the attempt of the Giants against Heaven.\nThere are doubtless many curious coincidences like these, but the\ntheory cannot without extravagance be pushed so far as to account\nfor any great proportion of the stories.\n\n2.  The Historical theory; according to which all the persons\nmentioned in mythology were once real human beings, and the\nlegends and fabulous traditions relating to them are merely the\nadditions and embellishments of later times.  Thus the story of\nAEolus, the king and god of the winds, is supposed to have risen\nfrom the fact that AEolus was the ruler of some islands in the\nTyrrhenian Sea, where he reigned as a just and pious king, and\ntaught the natives the use of sails for ships, and how to tell\nfrom the signs of the atmosphere the changes of the weather and\nthe winds.  Cadmus, who, the legend says, sowed the earth with\ndragon's teeth, from which sprang a crop of armed men, was in\nfact an emigrant from Phoenicia, and brought with him into Greece\nthe knowledge of the letters of the alphabet, which he taught to\nthe natives.  From these rudiments of learning sprung\ncivilization, which the poets have always been prone to describe\nas a deterioration of man's first estate, the Golden Age of\ninnocence and simplicity.\n\n3.  The Allegorical theory supposes that all the myths of the\nancients were allegorical and symbolical, and contained some\nmoral, religious, or philosophical truth or historical fact,\nunder the form of an allegory, but came in process of time to be\nunderstood literally.  Thus Saturn, who devours his own children,\nis the same power whom the Greeks called Kronos (Time), which may\ntruly be said to destroy whatever it has brought into existence.\nThe story of Io is interpreted in a similar manner.  Io is the\nmoon, and Argus the starry sky, which, as it were, keeps\nsleepless watch over her.  The fabulous wanderings of Io\nrepresent the continual revolutions of the moon, which also\nsuggested to Milton the same idea.\n\n  \"To behold the wandering moon\n  Riding near her highest noon,\n  Like one that had been led astray\n  In the heaven's wide, pathless way.\"\n  Il Penseroso\n\n4.  The Astronomical theory supposes that the different stories\nare corrupted versions of astronomical statements, of which the\ntrue meaning was forgotten.  This theory is pushed to its extreme\nby Dupuis, in his treatise \"Sur tous les cultes.\"\n\n5.  The Physical theory, according to which the elements of air,\nfire, and water, were originally the objects of religious\nadoration, and the principal deities were personifications of the\npowers of nature.  The transition was easy from a personification\nof the elements to the notion of supernatural beings presiding\nover and governing the different objects of nature.  The Greeks,\nwhose imagination was lively, peopled all nature with invisible\nbeings, and supposed that every object, from the sun and sea to\nthe smallest fountain and rivulet, was under the care of some\nparticular divinity.  Wordsworth, in his Excursion, has\nbeautifully developed this view of Grecian mythology.\n\n  \"In that fair clime the lonely herdsman, stretched\n  On the soft grass through half a summer's day,\n  With music lulled his indolent repose;\n  And, in some fit of weariness, if he,\n  When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear\n  A distant strain far sweeter than the sounds\n  Which his poor skill could make, his fancy fetched\n  Even from the blazing chariot of the sun\n  A beardless youth who touched a golden lute,\n  And filled the illumined groves with ravishment.\n  The mighty hunter, lifting up his eyes\n  Toward the crescent Moon, with grateful heart\n  Called on the lovely Wanderer who bestowed\n  That timely light to share his joyous sport;\n  And hence a beaming goddess with her nymphs\n  Across the lawn and through the darksome grove\n  (Not unaccompanied with tuneful notes\n  By echo multiplied from rock or cave)\n  Swept in the storm of chase, as moon and stars\n  Glance rapidly along the clouded heaven\n  When winds are blowing strong.  The traveller slaked\n  His thirst from rill or gushing fount, and thanked\n  The Naiad.  Sunbeams upon distant hills\n  Gliding apace with shadows in their train,\n  Might with small help from fancy, be transformed\n  Into fleet Oreads sporting visibly.\n  The Zephyrs, fanning, as they passed, their wings,\n  Lacked not for love fair objects whom they wooed\n  With gentle whisper.  Withered boughs grotesque,\n  Stripped of their leaves and twigs by hoary age,\n  From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth\n  In the low vale, or on steep mountain side;\n  And sometimes intermixed with stirring horns\n  Of the live deer, or goat's depending beard;\n  These were the lurking Satyrs, a wild brood\n  Of gamesome deities; or Pan himself,\n  The simple shepherd's awe-inspiring god.\"\n\nAll the theories which have bene mentioned are true to a certain\nextent.  It would therefore be more correct to say that the\nmythology of a nation has sprung from all these sources combined\nthan from any one in particular.  We may add also that there are\nmany myths which have risen from the desire of man to account for\nthose natural phenomena which he cannot understand; and not a few\nhave had their rise from a similar desire of giving a reason for\nthe names of places and persons.\n\n\nSTATUES OF THE GODS\n\nAdequately to represent to the eye the ideas intended to be\nconveyed to the mind under the several names of deities, was a\ntask which called into exercise the highest powers of genius and\nart.  Of the many attempts FOUR have been most celebrated, the\nfirst two known to us only by the descriptions of the ancients,\nand by copies on gems, which are still preserved; the other two\nstill extant and the acknowledged masterpieces of the sculptor's\nart.\n\n\nTHE OLYMPIAN JUPITER\n\nThe statue of the Olympian Jupiter by Phidias was considered the\nhighest achievement of this department of Grecian art.  It was of\ncolossal dimensions, and was what the ancients called\n\"chryselephantine;\" that is, composed of ivory and gold; the\nparts representing flesh being of ivory laid on a core of wood or\nstone, while the drapery and other ornaments were of gold.  The\nheight of the figure was forty feet, on a pedestal twelve feet\nhigh.  The god was represented seated on this throne.  His brows\nwere crowned with a wreath of olive, and he held in his right\nhand a sceptre, and in his left a statue of Victory.  The throne\nwas of cedar, adorned with gold and precious stones.\n\nThe idea which the artist essayed to embody was that of the\nsupreme deity of the Hellenic (Grecian) nation, enthroned as a\nconqueror, in perfect majesty and repose, and ruling with a nod\nthe subject world.  Phidias avowed that he took his idea from the\nrepresentation which Homer gives in the first book of the Iliad,\nin the passage thus translated by Pope:\n\n  \"He spoke and awful bends his sable brows,\n  Shakes his ambrosial curls and gives the nod,\n  The stamp of fate and sanction of the god.\n  High heaven with reverence the dread signal took,\n  A nd all Olympus to the centre shook.\"\n\n(Cowper's version is less elegant, but truer to the original.\n\n  \"He ceased, and under his dark brows the nod\n  Vouchsafed of confirmation.  All around\n  The sovereign's everlasting head his curls\n  Ambrosial shook, and the huge mountain reeled.\"\n\nIt may interest our readers to see how this passage appears in\nanother famous version, that which was issued under the name of\nTickell, contemporaneously with Pope's, and which, being by many\nattributed to Addison, led to the quarrel which ensued between\nAddison and Pope.\n\n  \"This said, his kingly brow the sire inclined;\n  The large black curls fell awful from behind,\n  Thick shadowing the stern forehead of the god;\n  Olympus trembled at the almighty nod.\")\n\n\nTHE MINERVA OF THE PARTHENON\n\nThis was also the work of Phidias.  It stood in the Parthenon, or\ntemple of Minera at Athens.  The goddess was represented\nstanding.  In one hand she held a spear, in the other a statue of\nVictory.  Her helmet, highly decorated, was surmounted by a\nSphinx.  The statue was forty feet in height, and, like the\nJupiter, composed of ivory and gold.  The eyes were of marble,\nand probably painted to represent the iris and pupil.  The\nParthenon in which this statue stood was also constructed under\nthe direction and superintendence of Phidias.  Its exterior was\nenriched with sculptures, many of them from the hand of Phidias.\nThe Elgin marbles now in the British Museum are a part of them.\n\nBoth the Jupiter and Minerva of Phidias are lost, but there is\ngood ground to believe that we have, in several extant statues\nand busts, the artist's conceptions of the countenances of both.\nThey are characterized by grave and dignified beauty, and freedom\nfrom any transient expression, which in the language of art is\ncalled REPOSE.\n\n\nTHE VENUS DE' MEDICI\n\nThe Venus of the Medici is so called from its having been in the\npossession of the princes of that name in Rome when it first\nattracted attention, about two hundred years ago.  An inscription\non the base records it to be the work of Cleomenes, an Athenian\nsculptor of 200 B.C., but the authenticity of the inscription is\ndoubtful.  There is a story that the artist was employed by\npublic authority to make a statue exhibiting the perfection of\nfemale beauty, and to aid him in his task, the most perfect forms\nthe city could supply were furnished him for models.  It is this\nwhich Thomson alludes to in his Summer.\n\n  \"So stands the statue that enchants the world;\n  So bending tries to veil the matchless boast,\n  The mingled beauties of exulting Greece.\"\n\nByron also alludes to this statue.  Speaking of the Florence\nMuseum, he says:\n\n  \"There too the goddess loves in stone, and fills\n  The air around with beauty;\"\n\nAnd in the next stanza,\n\n  \"Blood, pulse, and breast confirm the Dardan shepherd's prize.\"\n\nThis last allusion is explained in Chapter XX.\n\n\nTHE APOLLO BELVEDERE\n\nThe most highly esteemed of all the remains of ancient sculpture\nis the statue of Apollo, called the Belvedere, from the name of\nthe apartment of the Pope's palace at Rome, in which it is\nplaced.  The artist is unknown.  It is supposed to be a work of\nRoman art, of about the first century of our era.  It is a\nstanding figure, in marble, more than seven feet high, naked\nexcept for the cloak which is fastened around the neck and hangs\nover the extended left arm.  It is supposed to represent the god\nin the moment when he has shot the arrow to destroy the monster\nPython (See Chapter II).  The victorious divinity is in the act\nof stepping forward.  The left arm which seems to have held the\nbow is outstretched, and the head is turned in the same\ndirection.  In attitude and proportion the graceful majesty of\nthe figure is unsurpassed.  The effect is completed by the\ncountenance, where, on the perfection of youthful godlike beauty\nthere dwells the consciousness of triumphant power.\n\n\nTHE DIANA A LA BICHE\n\nThe Diana of the hind, in the palace of the Louvre, may be\nconsidered the counterpart to the Apollo Belvedere.  The attitude\nmuch resembles that of the Apollo, the sizes correspond and also\nthe style of execution.  It is a work of the highest order,\nthough by no means equal to the Apollo.  The attitude is that of\nhurried and eager motion, the face that of a huntress in the\nexcitement of the chase.  The left hand is extended over the\nforehead of the Hind which runs by her side, the right arm\nreaches backward over the shoulder to draw an arrow from the\nquiver.\n\n\nTHE VENUS OF MELOS\n\nOf the Venus of Melos, perhaps the most famous of our statues of\nmythology, very little is known.  There are many indeed who\nbelieve that it is not a statue of Venus at all.\n\nIt was found in the year 1820 in the Island of Melos by a\npeasant, who sold it to the French consul at the place.  The\nstatue was standing in the theatre, which had been filled up with\nrubbish in the course of centuries, and when discovered was\nbroken in several places, and some of the pieces were gone.\nThese missing pieces, notably the two arms, have been restored in\nvarious ways by modern artists.  As has been said above, there is\na controversy as to whether the statue represents Venus or some\nother goddess.  Much has been written on each side, but the\nquestion still remains unsettled.  The general opinion of those\nwho contend that it is not Venus is that it is a statue or Nike\nor Victory.\n\n\nTHE POETS OF MYTHOLOGY\n\nHomer, from whose poems of the Iliad and Odyssey we have taken\nthe chief part of our chapters of the Trojan war and the return\nof the Grecians, is almost as mythical a personage as the heroes\nhe celebrates.  The traditionary story is that he was a wandering\nminstrel, blind and old, who travelled from place to place\nsinging his lays to the music of his harp, in the courts of\nprinces or the cottages of peasants, and dependent upon the\nvoluntary offerings of his hearers for support.  Byron calls him\n\"The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle,\" and a well-known\nepigram, alluding to the uncertainty of the fact of his\nbirthplace, says,\n\n  \"Seven wealthy towns contend for Homer dead,\n  Through which the living Homer begged his bread.\"\n\nAn older version is,\n\n  \"Seven cities warred for Homer being dead,\n  Who living had no roof to shroud his head.\"\n\nThese lines are by Thomas Heywood; the others are ascribed to\nThomas Seward.\n\nThese seven cities were Smyrna, Scio, Rhodes, Colophon, Salamis,\nArgos, and Athens.\n\nModern scholars have doubted whether the Homeric poems are the\nwork of any single mind.  This arises from the difficulty of\nbelieving that poems of such length could have been committed to\nwriting at so early an age as that usually assigned to these, an\nage earlier than the date of any remaining inscriptions or coins,\nand when no materials, capable of containing such long\nproductions were yet introduced into use.  On the other hand it\nis asked how poems of such length could have been handed down\nfrom age to age by means of the memory alone.  This is answered\nby the statement that there was a professional body of men,\ncalled Rhapsodists, who recited the poems of others, and whose\nbusiness it was to commit to memory and rehearse for pay the\nnational and patriotic legends.\n\nThe prevailing opinion of the learned, at this time, seems to be\nthat the framework and much of the structure of the poems belong\nto Homer, but that there are numerous interpolations and\nadditions by other hands.\n\nThe date assigned to Homer, on the authority of Herodotus, is 850\nB.C., but a range of two or three centuries must be given for the\nvarious conjectures of critics.\n\n\nVIRGIL\n\nVirgil, called also by his surname, Maro, from whose poem of the\nAEneid we have taken the story of AEneas, was one of the great\npoets who made the reign of the Roman emperor, Augustus, so\ncelebrated, under the name of the Augustan age.  Virgil was born\nin Mantua in the year 70 B.C.  His great poem is ranked next to\nthose of Homer, in the highest class of poetical composition, the\nEpic.  Virgil is far inferior to Homer in originality and\ninvention, but superior to him in correctness and elegance.  To\ncritics of English lineage Milton alone of modern poets seems\nworthy to be classed with these illustrious ancients.  His poem\nof Paradise Lost, from which we have borrowed so many\nillustrations, is in many respects equal, in some superior, to\neither of the great works of antiquity.  The following epigram of\nDryden characterizes the three poets with as much truth as it is\nusual to find in such pointed criticism:\n\n  ON MILTON\n\n  \"Three poets in three different ages born.\n  Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.\n  The first in loftiness of soul surpassed,\n  The next in majesty, in both the last.\n  The force of nature could no further go;\n  To make a third she joined the other two.\"\n\nFrom Cowper's Table Talk:\n\n  \"Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appeared,\n  And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard.\n  To carry nature lengths unknown before,\n  To give a Milton birth, asked ages more.\n  Thus genius rose and set at ordered times,\n  And shot a dayspring into distant climes,\n  Ennobling every region that he chose;\n  He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose,\n  And, tedious years of Gothic darkness past,\n  Emerged all splendor in our isle at last.\n  Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main,\n  Then show far off their shining plumes again.\"\n\n\nOVID\n\nOften alluded to in poetry by his other name of Naso, was born in\nthe year 43 B.C.  He was educated for public life and held some\noffices of considerable dignity, but poetry was his delight, and\nhe early resolved to devote himself to it.  He accordingly sought\nthe society of the contemporary poets, and was acquainted with\nHorace and saw Virgil, though the latter died when Ovid was yet\ntoo young and undistinguished to have formed his acquaintance.\nOvid spent an easy life at Rome in the enjoyment of a competent\nincome.  He was intimate with the family of Augustus, the\nemperor, and it is supposed that some serious offence given to\nsome member of that family was the cause of an event which\nreversed the poet's happy circumstances and clouded all the\nlatter portion of his life.  At the age of fifty he was banished\nfrom Rome, and ordered to betake himself to Tomi, on the borders\nof the Black Sea.  Here, among the barbarous people and in a\nsevere climate, the poet, who had been accustomed to all the\npleasures of a luxurious capital and the society of his most\ndistinguished contemporaries, spent the last ten years of his\nlife, worn out with grief and anxiety.  His only consolation in\nexile was to address his wife and absent friends, and his letters\nwere all poetical.  Though these poems (The Tristia and Letters\nfrom Pontus) have no other topic than the poet's sorrows, his\nexquisite taste and fruitful invention have redeemed them from\nthe charge of being tedious, and they are read with pleasure and\neven with sympathy.\n\nThe two great works of Ovid are his Metamorphoses and his Fasti.\nThey are both mythological poems, and from the former we have\ntaken most of our stories of Grecian and Roman mythology.  A late\nwriter thus characterizes these poems:\n\n\"The rich mythology of Greece furnished Ovid, as it may\nstill furnish the poet, the painter, and the sculptor, with\nmaterials for his art.  With exquisite taste, simplicity, and\npathos he has narrated the fabulous traditions of early ages, and\ngiven to them that appearance of reality which only a master-hand\ncould impart.  His pictures of nature are striking and true; he\nselects with care that which is appropriate; he rejects the\nsuperfluous; and when he has completed his work, it is neither\ndefective nor redundant.  The Metamorphoses are read with\npleasure by youth, and are re-read in more advanced age with\nstill greater delight.  The poet ventured to predict that his\npoem would survive him, and be read wherever the Roman name was\nknown.\"\n\nThe prediction above alluded to is contained in the closing lines\nof the Metamorphoses, of which we give a literal translation\nbelow:\n\n  \"And now I close my work, which not the ire\n  Of Jove, nor tooth of time, nor sword, nor fire\n  Shall bring to nought.  Come when it will that day\n  Which o'er the body, not the mind, has sway,\n  A nd snatch the remnant of my life away,\n  My better part above the stars shall soar,\n  And my renown endure for evermore.\n  Where'er the Roman arms and arts shall spread,\n  There by the people shall my book be read;\n  And, if aught true in poet's visions be,\n  My name and fame have immortality.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXIX\n\nModern Monsters:   The Phoenix   Basilisk   Unicorn   Salamander\n\nThere is a set of imaginary beings which seem to have been the\nsuccessors of the \"Gorgons, Hydras, and Chimeras dire\" of the old\nsuperstitions, and, having no connection with the false gods of\nPaganism, to have continued to enjoy an existence in the popular\nbelief after Paganism was superseded by Christianity.  They are\nmentioned perhaps by the classical writers, but their chief\npopularity and currency seem to have been in more modern times.\nWe seek our accounts of them not so much in the poetry of the\nancients, as in the old natural history books and narrations of\ntravellers.  The accounts which we are about to give are taken\nchiefly from the Penny Cyclopedia.\n\n\nTHE PHOENIX\n\nOvid tells the story of the Phoenix as follows: \"Most beings\nspring from other individuals; but there is a certain kind which\nreproduces itself.  The Assyrians call it the Phoenix.  It does\nnot live on fruit or flowers, but on frankincense and odoriferous\ngums.  When it has lived five hundred years, it builds itself a\nnest in the branches of an oak, or on the top of a palm-tree.  In\nthis it collects cinnamon, and spikenard, and myrrh, and of these\nmaterials builds a pile on which it deposits itself, and dying,\nbreathes out its last breath amidst odors.  From the body of the\nparent bird a young Phoenix issues forth, destined to live as\nlong a life as its predecessor.  When this has grown up and\ngained sufficient strength, it lifts its nest from the tree (its\nown cradle and its parent's sepulchre) and carries it to the city\nof Heliopolis in Egypt, and deposits it in the temple of the\nSun.\"\n\nSuch is the account given by a poet.  Now let us see that of a\nphilosophic historian.  Tacitus says, \"In the consulship of\nPaulus Fabius (A.D. 34), the miraculous bird known to the world\nby the name of Phoenix, after disappearing for a series of ages,\nrevisited Egypt.  It was attended in its flight by a group of\nvarious birds, all attracted by the novelty, and gazing with\nwonder at so beautiful an appearance.\"  He then gives an account\nof the bird, not varying materially from the preceding, but\nadding some details.  \"The first care of the young bird as soon\nas fledged and able to trust to his wings is to perform the\nobsequies of his father.  But this duty is not undertaken rashly.\nHe collects a quantity of myrrh, and to try his strength makes\nfrequent excursions with a load on his back.  When he has gained\nsufficient confidence in his own vigor, he takes up the body of\nhis father and flies with it to the altar of the Sun, where he\nleaves it to be consumed in flames of fragrance.\"  Other writers\nadd a few particulars.  The myrrh is compacted in the form of an\negg, in which the dead Phoenix is enclosed.  From the mouldering\nflesh of the dead bird a worm springs, and this worm, when grown\nlarge, is transformed into a bird.  Herodotus DESCRIBES the bird,\nthough he says, \"I have not seen it myself, except in a picture.\nPart of his plumage is gold-, and part crimson; and he is\nfor the most part very much like an eagle in outline and bulk.\"\n\nThe first writer who disclaimed a belief in the existence of the\nPhoenix was Sir Thomas Browne, in his Vulgar Errors, published in\n1646.  He was replied to a few years later by Alexander Ross, who\nsays, in answer to the objection of the Phoenix so seldom making\nhis appearance, \"His instinct teaches him to keep out of the way\nof the tyrant of the creation, MAN, for if he were to be got at\nsome wealthy glutton would surely devour him, though there were\nno more in the world.\"\n\nDryden, in one of his early poems, has this allusion to the\nPhoenix:\n\n  \"So when the new-born Phoenix first is seen,\n  Her feathered subjects all adore their queen,\n  And while she makes her progress through the East,\n  From every grove her numerous train's increased;\n  Each poet of the air her glory sings,\n  And round him the pleased audience clap their wings.\"\n\nMilton, in Paradise lost, Book V, compares the angel Raphael\ndescending to earth to a Phoenix:\n\n  \"Down thither, prone in flight\n  He speeds, and through the vast ethereal sky\n  Sails between worlds and worlds, with steady wing,\n  Now on the polar winds, then with quick fan\n  Winnows the buxom air; till within soar\n  Of towering eagles, to all the fowls he seems\n  A Phoenix, gazed by all; as that sole bird\n  When, to enshrine his relics in the Sun's\n  Bright temple, to Egyptian Thebes he flies.\"\n\n\nTHE COCKATRICE, OR BASILISK\n\nThis animal was called the king of the serpents.  In confirmation\nof his royalty, he was said to be endowed with a crest or comb\nupon the head, constituting a crown.  He was supposed to be\nproduced from the egg of a cock hatched under toads or serpents.\nThere were several species of this animal.  One species burned up\nwhatever they approached; a second were a kind of wandering\nMedusa's heads, and their look caused an instant horror, which\nwas immediately followed by death.  In Shakespeare's play of\nRichard the Third, Lady Anne, in answer to Richard's compliment\non her eyes, says, \"Would they were basilisk's, to strike thee\ndead!\"\n\nThe basilisks were called kings of serpents because all other\nserpents and snakes, behaving like good subjects, and wisely not\nwishing to be burned up or struck dead, fled the moment they\nheard the distant hiss of their king, although they might be in\nfull feed upon the most delicious prey, leaving the sole\nenjoyment of the banquet to the royal monster.\n\nThe Roman naturalist Pliny thus describes him: \"He does not impel\nhis body like other serpents, by a multiplied flexion, but\nadvances lofty and upright.  He kills the shrubs, not only by\ncontact but by breathing on them, and splits the rocks, such\npower of evil is there in him. It was formally believed that if\nkilled by a spear from on horseback the power of the poison\nconducted through the weapon killed not only the rider but the\nhorse also.  To this Lucan alludes in these lines:\n\n  \"What though the Moor the basilisk hath slain,\n  And pinned him lifeless to the sandy plain,\n  Up through the spear the subtle venom flies,\n  The hand imbibes it, and the victor dies.\"\n\nSuch a prodigy was not likely to be passed over in the legends of\nthe saints.  Accordingly we find it recorded that a certain holy\nman going to a fountain in the desert suddenly beheld a basilisk.\nHe immediately raised his eyes to heaven, and with a pious appeal\nto the Deity, laid the monster dead at his feet.\n\nThese wonderful powers of the basilisk are attested by a host of\nlearned persons, such as Galen, Avicenna, Scaliger, and others.\nOccasionally one would demur to some part of the tale while he\nadmitted the rest.  Jonston, a learned physician, sagely remarks,\n\"I would scarcely believe that it kills with its look, for who\ncould have seen it and lived to tell the story?\"  The worthy sage\nwas not aware that those who went to hunt the basilisk of this\nsort, took with them a mirror, which reflected back the deadly\nglare upon its author, and by a kind of poetical justice slew the\nbasilisk with his own weapon.\n\nBut what was to attack this terrible and unapproachable monster?\nThere is an old saying that \"everything has its enemy,\" and the\ncockatrice quailed before the weasel.  The basilisk might look\ndaggers, the weasel cared not, but advanced boldly to the\nconflict.  When bitten, the weasel retired for a moment to eat\nsome rue, which was the only plant the basilisks could not\nwither, returned with renewed strength and soundness to the\ncharge, and never left the enemy till he was stretched dead on\nthe plain.  The monster, too, as if conscious of the irregular\nway in which he came into the world, was supposed to have a great\nantipathy to a cock; and well he might, for as soon as he heard\nthe cock crow he expired.\n\nThe basilisk was of some use after death.  Thus we read that its\ncarcass was suspended in the temple of Apollo, and in private\nhouses, as a sovereign remedy against spiders, and that it was\nalso hung up in the temple of Diana, for which reason no swallow\never dared enter the sacred place.\n\nThe reader will, we apprehend, by this time have had enough of\nabsurdities, but still he may be interested to know that these\ndetails come from the work of one who was considered in his time\nan able and valuable writer on Natural History.  Ulysses\nAldrovandus was a celebrated naturalist of the sixteenth century,\nand his work on natural history, in thirteen folio volumes,\ncontains with much that is valuable a large proportion of fables\nand inutilities.  In particular he is so ample on the subject of\nthe cock and the bull, that from his practice all rambling,\ngossiping tales of doubtful credibility are called COCK AND BULL\nSTORIES.  Still he is to be remembered with respect as the\nfounder of a botanic garden, and one of the leaders in the modern\nhabit of making scientific collections for research and inquiry.\n\nShelley, in his Ode to Naples, full of the enthusiasm excited by\nthe intelligence of the proclamation of a Constitutional\nGovernment at Naples, in 1820, thus uses an allusion to the\nbasilisk:\n\n  \"What though Cimmerian anarchs dare blaspheme\n  Freedom and thee?  A new Actaeon's error\n  Shall theirs have been,   devoured by their own bounds!\n  Be thou like the imperial basilisk,\n  Killing thy foe with unapparent wounds!\n  Gaze on oppression, till at that dread risk,\n  Aghast she pass from the earth's disk.\n  Fear not, but gaze,   for freemen mightier grow,\n  And slaves more feeble, gazing on their foe.\"\n\n\nTHE UNICORN\n\nPliny, the Roman naturalist, out of whose account of the unicorn\nmost of the modern unicorns have been described and figured,\nrecords it as \"a very ferocious beast, similar in the rest of its\nbody to a horse, with the head of a deer, the feet of an\nelephant, the tail of a boar, a deep bellowing voice, and a\nsingle black horn, two cubits in length, standing out in the\nmiddle of its forehead.\"  He adds that \"it cannot be taken\nalive;\" and some such excuse may have been necessary in those\ndays for not producing the living animal upon the arena of the\namphitheatre.\n\nThe unicorn seems to have been a sad puzzle to the hunters, who\nhardly knew how to come at so valuable a piece of game.  Some\ndescribed the horn as moveable at the will of the animal, a kind\nof small sword in short, with which ho hunter who was not\nexceedingly cunning in fence could have a chance.  Others\nmaintained that all the animal's strength lay in its horn, and\nthat when hard pressed in pursuit, it would throw itself from the\npinnacle of the highest rocks horn foremost, so as to pitch upon\nit, and then quietly march off not a whit the worse for its fall.\n\nBut it seems they found out how to circumvent the poor unicorn at\nlast.  They discovered that it was a great lover of purity and\ninnocence, so they took the field with a young VIRGIN, who was\nplaced in the unsuspecting admirer's way.  When the unicorn spied\nher, he approached with all reverence, couched beside her, and\nlaying his head in her lap, fell asleep.  The treacherous virgin\nthen gave a signal, and the hunters made in and captured the\nsimple beast.\n\nModern zoologists, disgusted as they well may be with such fables\nas these, disbelieve generally the existence of the unicorn.  Yet\nthere are animals bearing on their heads a bony protuberance more\nor less like a horn, which may have given rise to the story.  The\nrhinoceros horn, as it is called, is such a protuberance, though\nit does not exceed a few inches in height, and is far from\nagreeing with the descriptions of the horn of the unicorn.  The\nnearest approach to a horn in the middle of the forehead is\nexhibited in the bony protuberance on the forehead of the\ngiraffe; but this also is short and blunt, and is not the only\nhorn of the animal, but a third horn standing in front of the two\nothers.  In fine, though it would be presumptuous to deny the\nexistence of a one-horned quadruped other than the rhinoceros, it\nmay be safely stated that the insertion of a long and solid horn\nin the living forehead of a horse-like or deer-like animal, is as\nnear an impossibility as any thing can be.\n\n\nTHE SALAMANDER\n\nThe following is from the Life of Benvenuto Cellini, an Italian\nartist of the sixteenth century, written by himself, \"When I was\nabout five years of age, my father happening to be in a little\nroom in which they had been washing, and where there was a good\nfire of oak burning, looked into the flames and saw a little\nanimal resembling a lizard, which could live in the hottest part\nof that element.  Instantly perceiving what it was he called for\nmy sister and me, and after he had shown us the creature, he gave\nme a box on the ear.  I fell a crying, while he, soothing me with\ncaresses, spoke these words: 'My dear child, I do not give you\nthat blow for any fault you have committed, but that you may\nrecollect that the little creature you see in the fire is a\nsalamander; such a one as never was beheld before to my\nknowledge.'  So saying he embraced me, and gave me some money.\"\n\nIt seems unreasonable to doubt a story of which signor Cellini\nwas both an eye and ear witness.  Add to which the authority of\nnumerous sage philosophers, at the head of whom are Aristotle and\nPliny, affirms this power of the salamander.  According to them,\nthe animal not only resists fire, but extinguishes it, and when\nhe sees the flame, charges it as an enemy which he well knows how\nto vanquish.\n\nThat the skin of an animal which could resist the action of fire\nshould be considered proof against that element, is not to be\nwondered at.  We accordingly find that a cloth made of the skins\nof salamanders (for there really is such an animal, a kind of\nlizard) was incombustible, and very valuable for wrapping up such\narticles as were too precious to be intrusted to any other\nenvelopes.  These fire-proof cloths were actually produced, said\nto be made of salamander's wool, though the knowing ones detected\nthat the substance of which they were composed was Asbestos, a\nmineral, which is in fine filaments capable of being woven into a\nflexible cloth.\n\nThe foundation of the above fables is supposed to be the fact\nthat the salamander really does secrete from the pores of his\nbody a milky juice, which, when he is irritated, is produced in\nconsiderable quantity, and would doubtless, for a few moments,\ndefend the body from fire.  Then it is a hibernating animal, and\nin winter retires to some hollow tree or other cavity, where it\ncoils itself up and remains in a torpid state till the spring\nagain calls it forth.  It may therefore sometimes be carried with\nthe fuel to the fire, and wake up only time enough to put forth\nall its faculties for its defence.  Its viscous juice would do\ngood service, and all who profess to have seen it acknowledge\nthat it got out of the fire as fast as its legs could carry it;\nindeed too fast for them ever to make prize of one, except in one\ninstance, and in that one, the animal's feet and some parts of\nits body were badly burned.\n\nDr. Young, in the Night Thoughts, with more quaintness than good\ntaste, compares the sceptic who can remain unmoved in the\ncontemplation of the starry heavens, to a salamander unwarmed in\nthe fire:\n\n  \"An undevout astronomer is mad!\n  *    *    *    *    *    *\n  Oh, what a genius must inform the skies!\n  And is Lorenzo's salamander-heart\n  Cold and untouched amid these sacred fires?\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXX\n\nEastern Mythology   Zoroaster   Hindu Mythology   Castes   Buddha\nGrand Lama\n\nDuring the last fifty years new attention has been paid to the\nsystems of religion of the Eastern world, especially to that of\nZoroaster among the Persians, and that which is called Brahmanism\nand the rival system known as Buddhism in the nations farther\neast.  Especial interest belongs to these inquiries for us,\nbecause these religions are religions of the great Aryan race to\nwhich we belong.  The people among whom they were introduced all\nused some dialect of the family of language to which our own\nbelongs.  Even young readers will take an interest in such books\nas Clarke's Great Religions and Johnson's Oriental Religions,\nwhich are devoted to careful studies of them.\n\nOur knowledge of the religion of the ancient Persians is\nprincipally derived from the Zendavesta, or sacred books of that\npeople.  Zoroaster was the founder of their religion, or rather\nthe reformer of the religion which preceded him. The time when he\nlived is doubtful, but it is certain that his system became the\ndominant religion of Western Asia from the time of Cyrus (550\nB.C.) to the conquest of Persia by Alexander the Great.  Under\nthe Macedonian monarchy the doctrines of Zoroaster appear to have\nbeen considerably corrupted by the introduction of foreign\nopinions, but they afterwards recovered their ascendancy.\n\nZoroaster taught the existence of a supreme being, who created\ntwo other mighty beings, and imparted to them so much of his own\nnature as seemed good to him.  Of these, Ormuzd (called by the\nGreeks Oromasdes) remained faithful to his creator, and was\nregarded as the source of all good, while Ahriman (Arimanes)\nrebelled, and became the author of all evil upon the earth.\nOrmuzd created man, and supplied him with all the materials of\nhappiness; but Ahriman marred this happiness by introducing evil\ninto the world, and creating savage beasts and poisonous reptiles\nand plants.  In consequence of this, evil and good are now\nmingled together in every part of the world, and the followers of\ngood and evil   the adherents of Ormuzd and Ahriman   carry on\nincessant war.  But this state of things will not last forever.\nThe time will come when the adherents of Ormuzd shall everywhere\nbe victorious, and Ahriman and his followers be consigned to\ndarkness forever.\n\nThe religious rites of the ancient Persians were exceedingly\nsimple.  They used neither temples, altars, nor statues, and\nperformed their sacrifices on the tops of mountains.  They adored\nfire, light, and the sun, as emblems of Ormuzd, the source of all\nlight and purity, but did not regard them as independent deities.\nThe religious rites and ceremonies were regulated by the priests,\nwho were called Magi.  The learning of the Magi was connected\nwith astrology and enchantment, in which they were so celebrated\nthat their name was applied to all orders of magicians and\nenchanters.\n\n\"As to the age of the books of the Zendavesta, and the period at\nwhich Zoroaster lived, there is the greatest difference of\nopinion.  He is mentioned by Plato, who speaks of 'the magic (or\nreligious doctrines) of Zoroaster the Ormazdian.'  As Plato\nspeaks of his religion as something established in the form of\nMagism, or the system of the Medes in West Iran, which the Avesta\nappears to have originated in Bactria, or East Iran, this already\ncarries the age of Zoroaster back to at least the sixth or\nseventh century before Christ.\n\n     *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *\n\n\"Professor Whitney of New Haven places the epoch of Zoroaster at\n'least B.C. 1000,' and adds that all attempts to reconstruct\nPersian chronology or history prior to the reign of the first\nSassanid have been relinquished as futile.  Dollinger thinks he\nmay have been 'somewhat later than Moses, perhaps about B.C.\n1300,' but says 'it is impossible to fix precisely' when he\nlived.  Rawlinson merely remarks that Berosus places him anterior\nto B.C. 2234.  Haug is inclined to date the Gathas, the oldest\nsongs of the Avesta, as early as the time of Moses.  Rapp, after\na thorough comparison of ancient writers, concludes that\nZoroaster lived B.C. 1200 or 1300.  In this he agrees with\nDuncker, who, as we have seen, decided upon the same date.  It is\nnot far from the period given by the oldest Greek writer who\nspeaks of Zoroaster,   Xanthus of Sardis, a contemporary of\nDarius.  It is the period given by Cephalion, a writer of the\nsecond century, who takes it from three independent sources.  We\nhave no sources now open to us which enable us to come nearer\nthan this to the time in which he lived.\n\n\"Nor is anything known with certainty of the place where he\nlived, or the events of his life.  Most modern writers suppose\nthat he resided in Bactria.  Haug maintains that the language of\nthe Zend books is Bactrian.  A highly mythological and fabulous\nlife of Zoroaster, translated by Anquetil du Perron, called the\nZartrisht-Namah, describes him as going to Iran in his thirtieth\nyear, spending twenty years in the desert, working miracles\nduring ten years, and giving lessons of philosophy in Babylon,\nwith Pythagoras as his pupil.  All this is based on the theory\n(now proved to be false) of his living in the time of Darius.\n'The language of the Avesta,' says Max Muller, 'is so much more\nprimitive than the inscriptions of Darius, that many centuries\nmust have passed between the two periods represented by these two\nstrata of language.  These inscriptions are in the Achaemenian\ndialect, which is the Zend in a later stage of linguistic\ngrowth.;\"\n\nJ. Freeman Clarke - Ten Great Religions\n\nWordsworth thus alludes to the worship of the Persians:\n\n  \"the Persian, zealous to reject\n  Altar and Image, and the inclusive walls\n  And roofs of temples built by human hands,\n  The loftiest heights ascending from their tops,\n  With myrtle-wreathed Tiara on his brows,\n  Presented sacrifice to Moon and Stars\n  And to the Winds and mother Elements,\n  And the whole circle of the Heavens, for him\n  A sensitive existence and a God.\"\n       Excursion, Book IV\n\nIn Childe Harold, Byron speaks thus of the Persian worship:\n\n  \"Not gainly did the early Persian make\n  His altar the high places and the peak\n  Of earth o'ergazing mountains, and thus take\n  A fit and unwalled temple, there to seek\n  The Spirit, in whose honor shrines are weak,\n  Upreared of human hands.  Come and compare\n  Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek,\n  With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air,\n  Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer.\"\n  III., 91.\n\nThe religion of Zoroaster continued to flourish even after the\nintroduction of Christianity, and in the third century was the\ndominant faith of the East, till the rise of the Mahometan power\nand the conquest of Persia by the Arabs in the seventh century,\nwho compelled the greater number of the Persians to renounce\ntheir ancient faith.  Those who refused to abandon the religion\nof their ancestors fled to the deserts of Kerman and to\nHindustan, where they still exist under the name of Parsees, a\nname derived from Pars, the ancient name of Persia.  The Arabs\ncall them Guebers, from an Arabic word signifying unbelievers.\nAt Bombay the Parsees are at this day a very active, intelligent,\nand wealthy class.  For purity of life, honesty, and conciliatory\nmanners, they are favorably distinguished.  They have numerous\ntemples to Fire, which they adore as the symbol of the divinity.\n\nThe Persian religion makes the subject of the finest tale in\nMoore's Lalla Rookh, the Fire Worshippers.  The Gueber chief\nsays:\n\n  \"Yes!  I am of that impious race,\n  Those slaves of Fire, that moan and even\n  Hail their creator's dwelling place\n  Among the living lights of heaven;\n  Yes!  I am of that outcast crew\n  To lean and to vengeance true,\n  Who curse the hour your Arabs came\n  To desecrate our shrines of flame,\n  And swear before God's burning eye,\n  To break our country's chains or die.\"\n\n\nHINDU MYTHOLOGY\n\nThe religion of the Hindus is professedly founded on the Vedas.\nTo these books of their scripture they attach the greatest\nsanctity, and state that Brahma himself composed them at the\ncreation.  But the present arrangement of the Vedas is attributed\nto the sage Vyasa, about five thousand years ago.\n\nThe Vedas undoubtedly teach the belief of one supreme God.  The\nname of this deity is Brahma.  His attributes are represented by\nthe three personified powers of CREATION, PRESERVATION, and\nDESTRUCTION, which, under the respective names of Brahma, Vishnu,\nand Siva, form the TRIMURTI or triad of principal Hindu gods.  Of\nthe inferior gods the most important are, 1. Indra, the god of\nheaven, of thunder, lightning, storm, and rain; 2. Agni, the god\nof fire; 3. Yana, the god of the infernal regions; 4. Surya, the\ngod of the sun.\n\nBrahma is the creator of the universe, and the source from which\nall the individual deities have sprung, and into which all will\nultimately be absorbed.  \"As milk changes to curd, and water to\nice, so is Brahma variously transformed and diversified, without\naid of exterior means of any sort.  The human soul, according to\nthe Vedas, is a portion of the supreme ruler, as a spark is of\nthe fire.\n\n\"BRAHMA, at first a word meaning prayer and devotion, becomes in\nthe laws of Manu the primal God, first-born of the creation, from\nthe self-existent being, in the form of a golden egg.  He became\nthe creator of all things by the power of prayer.  In the\nstruggle for ascendancy, which took place between the priests and\nthe warriors, Brahma naturally became the deity of the former.\nBut, meantime, as we have seen, the worship or Vishnu had been\nextending itself in one region, and that of Siva in another.\nThen took place those mysterious wars between the kings of the\nSolar and Lunar races, of which the great epics contain all that\nwe know.  And at the close of these wars a compromise was\napparently accepted, by which Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva were\nunited in one supreme God, as creator, preserver, and destroyer,\nall in one.\n\nIt is almost certain that this Hindoo Triad was the result of an\ningenious and successful attempt, on the part of the Brahmans, to\nunite all classes of worshippers in India against the Buddhists.\nIn this sense the Brahmans edited anew the Mahabharata, inserting\nin that epic passages extolling Vishnu in the form of Krishna.\nThe Greek accounts of India which followed the invasion of\nAlexander speak of the worship of Hercules as prevalent in the\nEast, and by Hercules they apparently mean the god Krishna.  The\nstruggle between the Brahmans and Buddhists lasted during nine\ncenturies (from A.D. 500 to A.D. 1400), ending with the total\nexpulsion of Buddhism and the triumphant establishment of the\nTriad as the worship of India.\n\n\"Before this Triad or Trimurti (of Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva)\nthere seems to have been another, consisting of Agni, Indra, and\nSurya.  This may have given the hint of the second Triad, which\ndistributed among the three gods the attributes or Creation,\nDestruction, and Renovation.  Of these Brahma, the creator,\nceased soon to be popular, and the worship of Siva and Vishnu as\nKrishna remain as the popular religion of India. . . ..\n\n\"But all the efforts of Brahmanism could not arrest the natural\ndevelopment of the system.  It passed on into polytheism and\nidolatry.  The worship of India for many centuries has been\ndivided into a multitude of sects.  While the majority of the\nBrahmans still profess to recognize the equal divinity of Brahma,\nVishnu, and Siva, the mass of the people worship Krishna, Rama,\nthe Singam, and many other gods and idols.  There are Hindoo\nAtheists, who revile the Vedas; there are the Kabirs, who are a\nsort of Hindoo Quakers, and oppose all worship; the RAMANUJAS, an\nancient sect of Vishnu worshippers; the RAMAVATS, living in\nmonasteries; the PANTHIS, who oppose all austerities; the\nMAHARAJAS, whose religion consists with great licentiousness.\nMost of these are worshippers of Vishnu or of Siva, for Brahma-\nworship has wholly disappeared.\"  J. Freeman Clarke.  TEN GREAT\nRELIGIONS.\n\n\nVISHNU\n\nVishnu occupies the second place in the triad of the Hindus, and\nis the personification of the preserving principle.  To protect\nthe world in various epochs of danger, Vishnu descended to the\nearth in different incarnations, or bodily forms, which descents\nare called Avatars.  They are very numerous, but ten are more\nparticularly specified.  The first Avatar was as Matsya, the\nFish, under which form Vishnu preserved Manu, the ancestor of the\nhuman race, during a universal deluge.  The second Avatar was in\nthe form of a Tortoise, which form he assumed to support the\nearth when the gods were churning the sea for the beverage of\nimmortality, Amrita.\n\nWe may omit the other Avatars, which were of the same general\ncharacter, that is, interpositions to protect the right or to\npunish wrong-doers, and come to the ninth, which is the most\ncelebrated of the Avatars of Vishnu, in which he appeared in the\nhuman form of Krishna, an invincible warrior, who by his exploits\nrelieved the earth from the tyrants who oppressed it.\n\nBuddha is by the followers of the Brahmanical religion regarded\nas a delusive incarnation of Vishnu, assumed by him in order to\ninduce the Asuras, opponents of the gods, to abandon the sacred\nordinances of the Vedas, by which means they lost their strength\nand supremacy.\n\nKalki is the name of the TENTH Avatar, in which Vishnu will\nappear at the end of the present age of the world to destroy all\nvice and wickedness, and to restore mankind to virtue and purity.\n\n\nSIVA\n\nSiva is the third person of the Hindu triad.  He is the\npersonification of the destroying principle.  Though the third\nnamed, he is, in respect to the number of his worshippers and the\nextension of his worship, before either of the others.  In the\nPuranas (the scriptures of the modern Hindu religion) no allusion\nis made to the original power of this god as a destroyer; as that\npower is not to be called into exercise till after the expiration\nof twelve millions of years, or when the universe will come to an\nend; and Mahadeva (another name for Siva) is rather the\nrepresentative of regeneration than of destruction.\n\nThe worshippers of Vishnu and Siva form two sects, each of which\nproclaims the superiority of its favorite deity, denying the\nclaims of the other, and Brahma, the creator, having finished his\nwork, seems to be regarded as no longer active, and has now only\none temple in India, while Mahadeva and Vishnu have many.  The\nworshippers of Vishnu are generally distinguished by a greater\ntenderness for life and consequent abstinence from animal food,\nand a worship less cruel than that of the followers of Siva.\n\n\nJUGGERNAUT\n\nWhether the worshippers of Juggernaut are to be reckoned among\nthe followers of Vishnu or Siva, our authorities differ.  The\ntemple stands near the shore, about three hundred miles southwest\nof Calcutta.  The idol is a carved block of wood, with a hideous\nface, painted black, and a distended blood-red mouth.  On\nfestival days the throne of the image is placed on a tower sixty\nfeet high, moving on wheels.  Six long ropes are attached to the\ntower, by which the people draw it along.  The priests and their\nattendants stand round the throne on the tower, and occasionally\nturn to the worshippers with songs and gestures.  While the tower\nmoves along numbers of the devout worshippers throw themselves on\nthe ground, in order to be crushed by the wheels, and the\nmultitude shout in approbation of the act, as a pleasing\nsacrifice to the idol.  Every year, particularly at two great\nfestivals in March and July, pilgrims flock in crowds to the\ntemple.  Not less than seventy or eighty thousand people are said\nto visit the place on these occasions, when all castes eat\ntogether.\n\n\nCASTES\n\nThe division of the Hindus into classes or castes, with fixed\noccupations, existed from the earliest times.  It is supposed by\nsome to have been founded upon conquest, the first three castes\nbeing composed of a foreign race, who subdued the natives of the\ncountry and reduced them to an inferior caste.  Others trace it\nto the fondness of perpetuating, by descent from father to son,\ncertain offices or occupations.\n\nThe Hindu tradition gives the following account of the origin of\nthe various castes.  At the creation Brahma resolved to give the\nearth inhabitants who should be direct emanations from his own\nbody.  Accordingly from his mouth came forth the eldest born,\nBrahma (the priest), to whom he confided the four Vedas; from his\nright arm issued Shatriya (the warrior), and from his left, the\nwarrior's wife.  His thighs produced Vaissyas, male and female\n(agriculturists and traders), and lastly from his feet sprang\nSudras (mechanics and laborers).\n\nThe four sons of Brahma, so significantly brought into the world,\nbecame the fathers of the human race, and heads of their\nrespective castes.  They were commanded to regard the four Vedas\nas containing all the rules of their faith, and all that was\nnecessary to guide them in their religious ceremonies.  They were\nalso commanded to take rank in the order of their birth, the\nBrahmans uppermost, as having sprung from the head of Brahma.\n\nA strong line of demarcation is drawn between the first three\ncastes and the Sudras.  The former are allowed to receive\ninstruction from the Vedas, which is not permitted to the Sudras.\nThe Brahmans possess the privilege of teaching the Vedas, and\nwere in former times in exclusive possession of all knowledge.\nThough the sovereign of the country was chosen from the Shatriya\nclass, also called Rajputs, the Brahmans possessed the real\npower, and were the royal counsellors, the judges and magistrates\nof the country; their persons and property were inviolable; and\nthough they committed the greatest crimes, they could only be\nbanished from the kingdom.  They were to be treated by sovereigns\nwith the greatest respect, for \"a Brahman, whether learned or\nignorant, is a powerful divinity.\"\n\nWhen the Brahman arrives at years of maturity it becomes his duty\nto marry.  He ought to be supported by the contributions of the\nrich, and not to be obliged to gain his subsistence by any\nlaborious or productive occupation.  But as all the Brahmans\ncould not he maintained by the working classes of the community,\nit was found necessary to allow them to engage in productive\nemployments.\n\nWe need say little of the two intermediate classes, whose rank\nand privileges may be readily inferred from their occupations.\nThe Sudras or fourth class are bound to servile attendance on the\nhigher classes, especially the Brahmans, but they may follow\nmechanical occupations and practical arts, as painting and\nwriting, or become traders or husbandmen.  Consequently they\nsometimes grow rich, and it will also sometimes happen that\nBrahmans become poor.  That fact works its usual consequence, and\nrich Sudras sometimes employ poor Brahmans in menial occupations.\n\nThere is another class lower even than the Sudras, for it is not\none of the original pure classes, but springs from an\nunauthorized union of individuals of different castes.  These are\nthe Pariahs, who are employed in the lowest services and treated\nwith the utmost severity.  They are compelled to do what no one\nelse can do without pollution.  They are not only considered\nunclean themselves, but they render unclean every thing they\ntouch.  They are deprived of all civil rights, and stigmatized by\nparticular laws, regulating their mode of life, their houses and\ntheir furniture.  They are not allowed to visit the pagodas or\ntemples of the other castes, but have their own pagodas and\nreligious exercises.  They are not suffered to enter the houses\nof the other castes; if it is done incautiously or from\nnecessity, the place must be purified by religious ceremonies.\nThey must not appear at public markets, and are confined to the\nuse of particular wells, which they are obliged to surround with\nbones of animals, to warn others against using them.  They dwell\nin miserable hovels, distant from cities and villages, and are\nunder no restrictions in regard to food, which last is not a\nprivilege, but a mark of ignominy, as if they were so degraded\nthat nothing could pollute them.  The three higher castes are\nprohibited entirely the use of flesh.  The fourth is allowed to\neat all kinds except beef, but only the lowest caste is allowed\nevery kind of food without restrictions.\n\n\nBUDDHA\n\nBuddha, whom the Vedas represent as a delusive incarnation of\nVishnu, is said by his followers to have been a mortal sage,\nwhose name was Gautama, called also by the complimentary epithets\nof Sakyasinha, the Lion, and Buddha, the Sage.\n\nBy a comparison of the various epochs assigned to his birth, it\nis inferred that he lived about one thousand years before Christ.\n\nHe was the son of a king; and when in conformity to the usage of\nthe country he was, a few days after his birth, presented before\nthe altar of a deity, the image is said to have inclined its\nhead, as a presage of the future greatness of the new-born\nprophet.  The child soon developed faculties of the first order,\nand became equally distinguished by the uncommon beauty of his\nperson.  No sooner had he grown to years of maturity than he\nbegan to reflect deeply on the depravity and misery of mankind,\nand he conceived the idea of retiring from society and devoting\nhimself to meditation.  His father in vain opposed this design.\nBuddha escaped the vigilance of his guards, and having found a\nsecure retreat, lived for six years undisturbed in his devout\ncontemplations.  At the expiration of that period he came forward\nat Benares as a religious teacher.  At first some who heard him\ndoubted of the soundness of his mind; but his doctrines soon\ngained credit, and were propagated so rapidly that Buddha himself\nlived to see them spread all over India.\n\nThe young prince distinguished himself by his personal and\nintellectual qualities, but still more by his early piety.  It\nappears from the laws of Manu that it was not unusual, in the\nearliest periods of Brahmanism, for those seeking a superior\npiety to turn hermits, and to live alone in the forest, engaged\nin acts of prayer, meditation, abstinence, and the study of the\nVedas.  This practice, however, seems to have been confined to\nthe Brahmans.  It was, therefore, a grief to the king, when his\nson, in the flower of his youth and highly accomplished in every\nkingly faculty of body and mind, began to turn his thoughts\ntoward the life of an anchorite.\n\n     *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *\n\nHe first visited the Brahmans, and listened to their doctrines,\nbut found no satisfaction therein.  The wisest among them could\nnot teach him true peace,   that profound inward rest, which was\nalready called Nirvana.  He was twenty-nine years old.  Although\ndisapproving of the Brahmanic austerities as an end, he practised\nthem during six years, in order to subdue the senses.  He then\nbecame satisfied that the path to perfection did not lie that\nway.  He therefore resumed his former diet and a more comfortable\nmode of life, and so lost many disciples who had been attracted\nby his amazing austerity.  Alone in his hermitage, he came at\nlast to that solid conviction, that KNOWLEDGE never to be shaken,\nof the laws of things, which had seemed to him the only\nfoundation of a truly free life.  The spot where, after a week of\nconstant meditation, he at last arrived at this beatific vision,\nbecame one of the most sacred places in India.  He was seated\nunder a tree, his face to the east, not having moved for a day\nand night, when he attained the triple science, which was to\nrescue mankind from its woes.  Twelve hundred years after the\ndeath of the Buddha, a Chinese pilgrim was shown what then passed\nfor the sacred tree.\n\n     *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *\n\nHaving attained this inward certainty of vision, he decided to\nteach the world his truth.  He knew well what it would bring him,\nwhat opposition, insult, neglect, scorn.  But he thought of\nthree classes of men: those who were already on the way to the\ntruth and did not need him; those who were fixed in error and\nwhom he could not help; and the poor doubters, uncertain of their\nway.  It was to help these last, the doubters, that the Buddha\nwent forth to preach.  On his way to the holy city of India,\nBenares, a serious difficulty arrested him at the Ganges, namely,\nhis having no money to pay the boatman for his passage.  At\nBenares he made his first converts, \"turning the wheel of the\nlaw\" for the first time.  His discourses are contained in the\nsacred books of the Buddhists.  He converted great numbers, his\nfather among the rest, but met with fierce opposition from the\nHindu Scribes and Pharisees, the leading Brahmans.  So he lived\nand taught, and died at the age of eighty years.\n\nThe Buddhists reject entirely the authority of the Vedas, and the\nreligious observances prescribed in them and kept by the Hindus.\nThey also reject the distinction of castes, and prohibit all\nbloody sacrifices, and allow animal food.  Their priests are\nchosen from all classes; they are expected to procure their\nmaintenance by perambulation and begging, and, among other\nthings, it is their duty to endeavor to turn to some use things\nthrown aside as useless by others, and to discover the medicinal\npower of plants.  But in Ceylon three orders of priests are\nrecognized; those of the highest order are usually men of high\nbirth and learning, and are supported at the principal temples,\nmost of which have been richly endowed by the former monarchs of\nthe country.\n\nFor several centuries after the appearance of Buddha, his sect\nseems to have been tolerated by the Brahmans, and Buddhism\nappears to have penetrated the peninsula of Hindustan in every\ndirection, and to have been carried to Ceylon, and to the eastern\npeninsula.  But afterwards it had to endure in India a long\ncontinued persecution, which ultimately had the effect of\nentirely abolishing it in the country where it had originated,\nbut to scatter it widely over adjacent countries.  Buddhism\nappears to have been introduced into China about the year 65 of\nour era.  From China it was subsequently extended to Corea,\nJapan, and Java.\n\nThe charming poem called the Light of Asia, by Mr. Edwin Arnold,\nhas lately called general attention to Buddhism.  The following\nis an extract from it:\n\n  \"Fondly Siddatha drew the proud head down\n  Patted the shining neck, and said 'Be still,\n  White Kantaka!  Be still, and bear me now\n  The farthest journey ever rider rode;\n  For this night take I horse to find the truth,\n  And where my quest will end yet know I not.\n  Save that it shall not end until I find.\n  Therefore to-night, good steed, be fierce and bold!\n  Let nothing stay thee, though a thousand blades\n  Deny the road!  Let neither wall nor moat\n  Forbid our flight!  Look!  If I touch thy flank\n  And cry, \"On, Kantaka!\" let whirlwinds lag\n  Behind thy course!  Be fire and air, my horse!\n  To stead thy lord, so shalt thou share with him\n  The greatness of this deed which helps the world;\n  For therefore ride I, not for men alone,\n  But for all things which, speechless, share our pain,\n  And have no hope, nor wit to ask for hope.\n  Now, therefore, hear thy master valorously!'\"\n\n\nTHE GRAND LAMA\n\nIt is a doctrine alike of the Brahminical Hindus and of the\nBuddhist sect that the confinement of the human soul, an\nemanation of the divine spirit, in a human body, is a state of\nmisery, and the consequence of frailties and sins committed\nduring former existences.  But they hold that some few\nindividuals have appeared on this earth from time to time, not\nunder the necessity of terrestrial existence, but who voluntarily\ndescend to the earth to promote the welfare of mankind.  These\nindividuals have gradually assumed the character of reappearances\nof Buddha himself, in which capacity the line is continued till\nthe present day in the several Lamas of Thibet, China, and other\ncountries where Buddhism prevails.  In consequence of the\nvictories of Gengis Khan and his successors, the Lama residing in\nThibet was raised to the dignity of chief pontiff of the sect.  A\nseparate province was assigned to him as his own territory, and\nbesides his spiritual dignity, he became to a limited extent a\ntemporal monarch.  He is styled the Dalai Lama.\n\nThe first Christian missionaries who proceeded to Thibet were\nsurprised to find there in the heart of Asia a pontifical court\nand several other ecclesiastical institutions resembling those of\nthe Roman Catholic church.  They found convents for priests and\nnuns; also, processions and forms of religious worship, attended\nwith much pomp and splendor; and many were induced by these\nsimilarities to consider Lamaism as a sort of degenerated\nChristianity.  It is not improbable that the Lamas derived some\nof these practices from the Nestorial Christians, who were\nsettled in Tartary when Buddhism was introduced into Thibet.\n\n\nPRESTER JOHN\n\nAn early account, communicated probably by travelling merchants,\nof a Lama or spiritual chief among the Tartars, seems to have\noccasioned in Europe the report of a Presbyter or Prester John, a\nChristian pontiff, resident in Upper Asia.  The Pope sent a\nmission in search of him, as did also Louis IX of France, some\nyears later, but both missions were unsuccessful, though the\nsmall communities of Nestorial Christians, which they did find,\nserved to keep up the belief in Europe that such a personage did\nexist somewhere in the East.  At last in the fifteenth century, a\nPortuguese traveller, Pedro Covilham, happening to hear that\nthere was a Christian prince in the country of the Abessines\n(Abyssinia), not far from the Red Sea, concluded that this must\nbe the true Prester John.  He accordingly went thither, and\npenetrated to the court of the king, whom he calls Negus.  Milton\nalludes to him in Paradise Lost, Book XI, where, describing\nAdam's vision of his descendants in their various nations and\ncities, scattered over the face of the earth, he says,\n\n  \"---- Nor did his eyes not ken\n  The empire of Negus, to his utmost port\n  Ercoco, and the less maritime kings,\n  Mombaza and Quiloa and Melind.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXXI\n\nNorthern Mythology   Valhalla   The Valkyrior\n\nThe stories which have engaged our attention thus far relate to\nthe mythology of southern regions.  But there is another branch\nof ancient superstitions which ought not to be entirely\noverlooked, especially as it belongs to the nations from which\nwe, through our English ancestors, derive our origin.  It is that\nof the northern nations called Scandinavians, who inhabited the\ncountries now known as Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and Iceland.\nThese mythological records are contained in two collections\ncalled the Eddas, of which the oldest is in poetry and dates back\nto the year 1056, the more modern, or prose Edda, being of the\ndate of 1640.\n\nAccording to the Eddas there was once no heaven above nor earth\nbeneath, but only a bottomless deep, and a world of mist in which\nflowed a fountain.  Twelve rivers issued from this fountain, and\nwhen they had flowed far from their source, they froze into ice,\nand one layer accumulating above another, the great deep was\nfilled up.\n\nSouthward from the world of mist was the world of light.  From\nthis flowed a warm wind upon the ice and melted it.  The vapors\nrose in the air and formed clouds, from which sprang Ymir, the\nFrost giant and his progeny, and the cow Audhumbla, whose milk\nafforded nourishment and food to the giant.  The cow got\nnourishment by licking the hoar frost and salt from the ice.\nWhile she was one day licking the salt stones there appeared at\nfirst the hair of a man, on the second day the whole head, and on\nthe third the entire form endowed with beauty, agility, and\npower.  This new being was a god, from whom and his wife, a\ndaughter of the giant race, sprang the three brothers Odin, Vili,\nand Ve.  They slew the giant Ymir, and out of his body formed the\nearth, of his blood the seas, of his bones the mountains, of his\nhair the trees, of his skull the heavens, and of his brain\nclouds, charged with hail and snow.  Of Ymir's eyebrows the gods\nformed Midgard (mid earth), destined to become the abode of man.\n\nOdin then regulated the periods of day and night and the seasons\nby placing in the heavens the sun and moon, and appointing to\nthem their respective courses.  As soon as the sun began to shed\nits rays upon the earth, it caused the vegetable world to bud and\nsprout.  Shortly after the gods had created the world they walked\nby the side of the sea, pleased with their new work, but found\nthat it was still incomplete, for it was without human beings.\nThey therefore took an ash-tree and made a man out of it, and\nthey made a woman out of an alder, and called the man Aske and\nthe woman Embla.  Odin then gave them life and soul, Vili reason\nand motion, and Ve bestowed upon them the senses, expressive\nfeatures, and speech.  Midgard was then given them as their\nresidence, and they became the progenitors of the human race.\n\nThe mighty ash-tree Ygdrasil was supposed to support the whole\nuniverse.  It sprang from the body of Ymir, and had three immense\nroots, extending one into Asgard (the dwelling of the gods), the\nother into Jotunheim (the abode of the giants), and the third to\nNiffleheim (the regions of darkness and cold).  By the side of\neach of these roots is a spring, from which it is watered.  The\nroot that extends into Asgard is carefully tended by the three\nNorns, goddesses who are regarded as the dispensers of fate.\nThey are Urdur (the past), Verdandi (the present), Skuld (the\nfuture).  The spring at the Jotunheim side is Ymir's well, in\nwhich wisdom and wit lie hidden, but that of Niffleheim feeds the\nadder, Nidhogge (darkness), which perpetually gnaws at the root.\nFour harts run across the branches of the tree and bite the buds;\nthey represent the four winds.  Under the tree lies Ymir, and\nwhen he tries to shake off its weight the earth quakes.\n\nAsgard is the name of the abode of the gods, access to which is\nonly gained by crossing the bridge, Bifrost (the rainbow).\nAsgard consists of golden and silver palaces, the dwellings of\nthe gods, but the most beautiful of these is Valhalla, the\nresidence of Odin.  When seated on his throne he overlooks all\nheaven and earth.  Upon his shoulders are the ravens Hugin and\nMunin, who fly every day over the whole world, and on their\nreturn report to him all they have seen and heard.  At his feet\nlie his two wolves, Geri, and Freki, to whom Odin gives all the\nmeat that is set before him, for he himself stands in no need of\nfood.  Mead is for him both food and drink.  He invented the\nRunic characters, and it is the business of the Norns to engrave\nthe runes of fate upon a metal shield.  From Odin's name, spelt\nWodin, as it sometimes is, came Wednesday, the name of the fourth\nday of the week.\n\nOdin is frequently called Alfadur (All-father), but this name is\nsometimes used in a way that shows that the Scandinavians had an\nidea of a deity superior to Odin, uncreated and eternal.\n\n\nOF THE JOYS OF VALHALLA\n\nValhalla is the great hall of Odin, wherein he feasts with his\nchosen heroes, all those who have fallen bravely in battle, for\nall who die a peaceful death are excluded.  The flesh of the boar\nSchrimnir is served up to them, and is abundant for all.  For\nalthough this boar is cooked every morning, he becomes whole\nagain every night.  For drink the heroes are supplied abundantly\nwith mead from the she-goat Heidrun.  When the heroes are not\nfeasting they amuse themselves with fighting.  Every day they\nride out into the court or field and fight until they cut each\nother in pieces.  This is their pastime; but when meal-time\ncomes, they recover from their wounds and return to feast in\nValhalla.\n\n\nTHE VALKYRIOR\n\nThe Valkyrior are warlike virgins, mounted upon horses and armed\nwith helmets, shields, and spears.  Odin, who is desirous to\ncollect a great many heroes in Valhalla, to be able to meet the\ngiants in a day when the final contest must come, sends down to\nevery battle-field to make choice of those who shall be slain.\nThe Valkyrior are his messengers, and their name means \"Choosers\nof the slain.\"  When they ride forth on their errand their armor\nshed a strange flickering light, which flashes up over the\nnorthern skies, making what men call the \"Aurora Borealis,\" or\n\"Northern Lights.\"  (Gray's ode, The Fatal Sisters, is founded on\nthis superstition.)\n\nThe following is by Matthew Arnold:\n\n  \"----He crew at dawn a cheerful note,\n  To wake the gods and heroes to their tasks\n  And all the gods and all the heroes woke.\n  And from their beds the heroes rose and donned\n  Their arms, and led their horses from the stall,\n  And mounted them, and in Valhalla's court\n  Were ranged; and then the daily fray began,\n  And all day long they there are hacked and hewn\n  'Mid dust and groans, and limbs lopped off, and blood;\n  But all at night return to Odin's hall\n  Woundless and fresh; such lot is theirs in heaven.\n  And the Valkyries on their steeds went forth\n  Toward earth and fights of men; and at their side\n  Skulda, the youngest of the Nornies, rode;\n  And over Bifrost, where is Heimdall's watch,\n  Past Midgard Fortress, down to Earth they came;\n  There through some battle-field, where men fall fast,\n  Their horses fetlock-deep in blood, they ride,\n  And pick the bravest warriors out for death,\n  Whom they bring back with them at night to heaven,\n  To glad the gods, and feast in Odin's hall.\"\n  BALDER DEAD\n\nThis description of The Funeral of Balder is by William Morris:\n\n  \"----Guest\n  Gazed through the cool dusk, till his eyes did rest\n  Upon the noble stories, painted fair\n  On the high panelling and roof-boards there;\n  For over the high sea, in his ship, there lay\n  The gold-haired Balder, god of the dead day,\n  The spring-flowers round his high pile, waiting there\n  Until the gods there to the torch should bear;\n  And they were wrought on this side and on that,\n  Drawing on towards him.  There was Frey, and sat\n  On the gold-bristled boar, who first they say\n  Ploughed the brown earth, and made it green for Frey;\n  Then came dark-bearded Niod; and after him\n  Freyia, thin-robed, about her ankles slim\n  The grey cats playing.  In another place\n  Thor's hammer gleamed o'er Thor's red-bearded face;\n  And Heimdal, with the old horn slung behind,\n  That in the god's dusk he shall surely wind,\n  Sickening all hearts with fear; and last of all,\n  Was Odin's sorrow wrought upon the wall.\n  As slow-paced, weary faced, he went along,\n  Anxious with all the tales of woe and wrong\n  His ravens, Thought and Memory, bring to him.\"\n  THE EARTHLY PARADISE: THE LOVERS OF GODRUN\n\n\nTHOR\n\nOF THOR AND THE OTHER GODS\n\nThor, the thunderer, Odin's eldest son, is the strongest of gods\nand men, and possesses three very precious things.  The first is\nhis hammer, Miolnir, which both the Frost and the Mountain giants\nknow to their cost, when they see it hurled against them in the\nair, for it has split many a skull of their fathers and kindred.\nWhen thrown, it returns to his hand of its own accord.  The\nsecond rare thing he possesses is called the belt of strength.\nWhen he girds it about him his divine might is doubled.  The\nthird, also very precious, is his iron gloves, which he puts on\nwhenever he would use his mallet efficiently.  From Thor's name\nis derived our word Thursday.\n\nThis description of Thor is by Longfellow:\n\n  \"I am the God Thor,\n  I am the War God,\n  I am the Thunderer!\n  Here in my Northland,\n  My fastness and fortress,\n  Reign I forever!\n\n  \"Here amid icebergs\n  Rule I the nations;\n  This is my hammer,\n  Miolner the mighty;\n  Giants and sorcerers\n  Cannot withstand it!\n\n  \"These are the gauntlets\n  Wherewith I wield it,\n  And hurl it afar off;\n  This is my girdle;\n  Whenever I brace it\n  Strength is redoubled!\n\n  \"The light thou beholdest\n  Stream through the heavens,\n  In flashes of crimson,\n  Is but my red beard\n  Blown by the night wind,\n  Affrighting the nations!\n\n  \"Jove is my brother;\n  Mine eyes are the lightning;\n  The wheels of my chariot\n  Roll in the thunder,\n  The blows of my hammer\n  Ring in the thunder.\"\n  TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN\n\nFrey is one of the most celebrated of the gods.  He presides over\nrain and sunshine and all the fruits of the earth.  His sister\nFreya is the most propitious of the goddesses.  She loves music,\nspring, and flowers, and is particularly fond of the Elves\n(fairies).  She is very fond of love-ditties, and all lovers\nwould do well to invoke her.\n\nBragi is the god of poetry, and his song records the deeds of\nwarriors.  His wife, Iduna, keeps in a box the apples which the\ngods, when they feel old age approaching, have only to taste of\nto become young again.\n\nHeimdall is the watchman of the gods, and is therefore placed on\nthe borders of heaven to prevent the giants from forcing their\nway over the bridge Bifrost (the rainbow.)  He requires less\nsleep than a bird, and sees by night as well as by day a hundred\nmiles all around him.  So acute is his ear that no sound escapes\nhim, for he can even hear the grass grow and the wool on a\nsheep's back.\n\n\nOF LOKI AND HIS PROGENY\n\nThere is another deity who is described as the calumniator of the\ngods and the contriver of all fraud and mischief.  His name is\nLoki.  He is handsome and well made, but of a very fickle mood\nand  most evil disposition.  He is of the giant race, but forced\nhimself into the company of the gods, and seems to take pleasure\nin bringing them into difficulties, and in extricating them out\nof the danger by his cunning, wit, and skill.  Loki has three\nchildren.  The first is the wolf Fenris, the second the Midgard\nserpent, the third Hela (Death).  The gods were not ignorant that\nthese monsters were growing up, and that they would one day bring\nmuch evil upon gods and men.  So Odin deemed it advisable to send\none to bring them to him.  When they came he threw the serpent\ninto that deep ocean by which the earth is surrounded.  But the\nmonster has grown to such an enormous size that holding his tail\nin his mouth he encircles the whole earth.  Hela he cast into\nNiffleheim, and gave her power over nine worlds or regions, into\nwhich she distributes those who are sent to her; that is, all who\ndie of sickness or old age.  Her hall is called Elvidnia.  Hunger\nis her table, Starvation her knife, Delay her man, Slowness her\nmaid, Precipice her threshold, Care her bed, and Burning-anguish\nforms the hangings of her apartments.  She may easily be\nrecognized for her body is half flesh-color and half blue, and\nshe has a dreadfully stern and forbidding countenance.\n\nThe wolf Fenris gave the gods a great deal of trouble before they\nsucceeded in chaining him.  He broke the strongest fetters as if\nthey were made of cobwebs.  Finally the gods sent a messenger to\nthe mountain spirits, who made for them the chain called\nGleipnir.  It is fashioned of six things, viz., th noise made by\nthe footfall of a cat, the beards of women, the roots of stones,\nthe breath of fishes, the nerves (sensibilities) of bears, and\nthe spittle of birds.  When finished it was as smooth and soft as\na silken string.  But when the gods asked the wolf to suffer\nhimself to be bound with this apparently slight ribbon, he\nsuspected their design, fearing that it was made by enchantment.\nBut Tyr (the sword god), to quiet his suspicions, placed his hand\nin Fenris' mouth.  Then the other gods bound the wolf with\nGleipnir.  But when the wolf found that he could not break his\nfetters, and that the gods would not release him, he bit off\nTyr's hand, and he has ever since remained one-handed.\n\n\nHOW THOR PAID THE MOUNTAIN GIANT HIS WAGES\n\nOnce on a time, when the gods were constructing their abodes and\nhad already finished Midgard and Valhalla, a certain artificer\ncame and offered to build them a residence so well fortified that\nthey should be perfectly safe from the incursions of the Frost\ngiants and the giants of the mountains.  But he demanded for his\nreward the goddess Freya, together with the sun and moon.  The\ngods yielded to his terms provided he would finish the whole work\nhimself without any one's assistance, and all within the space of\none winter.  But if anything remained unfinished on the first day\nof summer he should forfeit the recompense agreed on.  On being\ntold these terms the artificer stipulated that he should be\nallowed the use of his horse Svadilfari, and this by the advice\nof Loki was granted to him.  He accordingly set to work on the\nfirst day of winter, and during the night let his horse draw\nstone for the building.  The enormous size of the stones struck\nthe gods with astonishment, and they saw clearly that the horse\ndid one half more of the toilsome work than his mater.  Their\nbargain, however, had been concluded, and confirmed by solemn\noaths, for without these precautions a giant would not have\nthought himself safe among the gods, especially when Thor should\nreturn from an expedition he had then undertaken against the evil\ndemons.\n\nAs the winter drew to a close, the building was far advanced, and\nthe bulwarks were sufficiently high and massive to render the\nplace impregnable.  In short, when it wanted but three days to\nsummer the only part that remained to be finished was the\ngateway.  Then sat the gods on their seats of justice and entered\ninto consultation, inquiring of one another who among them could\nhave advised to give Freya away, or to plunge the heavens in\ndarkness by permitting the giant to carry away the sun and the\nmoon.\n\nThey all agreed that no one but Loki, the author of so many evil\ndeeds, could have given such bad counsel, and that he should be\nput to a cruel death if he did not contrive some way to prevent\nthe artificer from completing his task and obtaining the\nstipulated recompense.  They proceeded to lay hands on Loki, who\nin his fright promised upon oath that, let it cost what it would,\nhe would so manage matters that the man should lose his reward.\nThat very night when the man went with Svadilfari for building-\nstone, a mare suddenly ran out of a forest and began to neigh.\nThe horse thereat broke loose and ran after the mare into the\nforest, which obliged the man also to run after his horse, and\nthus between one and another the whole night was lost, so that at\ndawn the work had not made the usual progress.  The man, seeing\nthat he must fail of completing his task, resumed his own\ngigantic stature, and the gods now clearly perceived that it was\nin reality a mountain giant who had come amongst them.  Feeling\nno longer bound by their oaths, they called on Thor, who\nimmediately ran to their assistance, and lifting up his mallet,\npaid the workman his wages, not with the sun and moon, and not\neven by sending him back to Jotunheim, for with the first blow he\nshattered the giant's skull to pieces and hurled him headlong\ninto Niffleheim.\n\n\nTHE RECOVERY OF THE HAMMER\n\nOnce upon a time it happened that Thor's hammer fell into the\npossession of the giant Thrym, who buried it eight fathoms deep\nunder the rocks of Jotunheim.  Thor sent Loki to negotiate with\nThrym, but he could only prevail so far as to get the giant's\npromise to restore the weapon if Freya would consent to be his\nbride.  Loki returned and reported the result of his mission, but\nthe goddess of love was quite horrified at the idea of bestowing\nher charms on the king of the Frost giants.  In this emergency\nLoki persuaded Thor to dress himself in Freya's clothes and\naccompany him to Jotunheim.  Thrym received his veiled bride with\ndue courtesy, but was greatly surprised at seeing her eat for her\nsupper eight salmon and a full-grown ox, besides other\ndelicacies, washing the whole down with three tuns of mead.\nLoki, however, assured him that she had not tasted anything for\neight long nights, so great was her desire to see her lover, the\nrenowned ruler or Jotunheim.  Thrym had at length the curiosity\nto peep under his bride's veil, but started back in affright, and\ndemanded why Freya's eyeballs glistened with fire.  Loki repeated\nthe same excuse and the giant was satisfied.  He ordered the\nhammer to be brought in and laid on the maiden's lap.  Thereupon\nThor threw off his disguise, grasped his redoubted weapon and\nslaughtered Thrum and all his followers.\n\nFrey also possessed a wonderful weapon, a sword which would of\nitself spread a field with carnage whenever the owner desired it.\nFrey parted with this sword, but was less fortunate than Thor and\nnever recovered it.  It happened in this way: Frey once mounted\nOdin's throne, from whence one can see over the whole universe,\nand looking round saw far off in the giant's kingdom a beautiful\nmaid, at the sight of whom he was struck with sudden sadness,\ninsomuch that from that moment he could neither sleep, nor drink,\nnor speak.  At last Skirnir, his messenger, drew his secret from\nhim, and undertook to get him the maiden for his bride, if he\nwould give him his sword as a reward.  Frey consented and gave\nhim the sword, and Skirnir set off on his journey and obtained\nthe maiden's promise that within nine nights she would come to a\ncertain place and there wed Frey.  Skirnir having reported the\nsuccess of his errand, Frey exclaimed,\n\n  \"Long is one night,\n  Long are two nights,\n  But how shall I hold out three?\n  Shorter hath seemed\n  A month to me oft\n  Than of this longing time the half.\"\n\nSo Frey obtained Gerda, the most beautiful of all women, for his\nwife, but he lost his sword.\n\nThis story, entitled Skirnir For, and the one immediately\npreceding it, Thrym's Quida, will be found poetically told in\nLongfellow's Poets and Poetry of Europe.\n\n\n\nChapter XXXII\n\nThor's Visit to Jotunheim\n\nOne day the god Thor, accompanied by his servant Thialfi, and\nalso by Loki, set out on a journey to the giant's country.\nThialfi was of all men the swiftest of foot.  He bore Thor's\nwallet, containing their provisions.  When night came on they\nfound themselves in an immense forest, and searched on all sides\nfor a place where they might pass the night, and at last came to\na very large hall, with an entrance that took the whole breadth\nof one end of the building.  Here they lay down to sleep, but\ntowards midnight were alarmed by an earthquake which shook the\nwhole edifice.  Thor rising up called on his companion to seek\nwith him a place of safety.  On the right they found an adjoining\nchamber, into which the others entered, but Thor remained at the\ndoorway with his mallet in his hand, prepared to defend himself,\nwhatever might happen.  A terrible groaning was heard during the\nnight, and at dawn of day Thor went out and found lying near him\na huge giant, who slept and snored in the way that had alarmed\nthem so.  It is said that for once Thor was afraid to use his\nmallet, and as the giant soon waked up, Thor contented himself\nwith simply asking his name.\n\n\"My name is Skrymir,\" said the giant, \"but I need not ask thy\nname, for I know that thou art the god Tor.  But what has become\nof my glove?\"  Thor then perceived that what they had taken\novernight for a hall was the giant's glove and the chamber where\nhis two companions had sought refuge was the thumb.  Skrymir then\nproposed that they should travel in company, and Thor consenting,\nthey sat down to eat their breakfast, and when they had done,\nSkrymir packed all the provisions into one wallet, threw it over\nhis shoulder, and strode on before them, taking such tremendous\nstrides that they were hard put to it to keep up with him.  So\nthey travelled the whole day, and at dusk, Skrymir close a place\nfor them to pass the night in under a large oak-tree.  Skrymir\nthen told them he would lie down to sleep.  \"But take ye the\nwallet,\" he added, \"and prepare your supper.\"Skrymir soon fell\nasleep and began to snore strongly, but when Thor tried to open\nthe wallet, he found the giant had tied it up so tight he could\nnot untie a single knot.  At last Thor became wroth, and grasping\nhis mallet with both hands he struck a furious blow on the\ngiant's head.  Skrymir awakening merely asked whether a leaf had\nnot fallen on his head, and whether they had supped and were\nready to go to sleep.  Thor answered that they were just going to\nsleep, and so saying went and laid himself down under another\ntree.  But sleep came not that night to Thor, and when Skrymir\nsnored again so loud that the forest re-echoed with the noise, he\narose, and grasping his mallet launched it with such force at the\ngiant's skull that it made a deep dint in it.  Skrymir awakening\ncried out, \"What's the matter?  Are there any birds perched on\nthis tree?  I felt some moss from the branches fall on my head.\nHow fares it with thee, Thor?\"  But Thor went away hastily,\nsaying that he had just then awoke, and that as it was only\nmidnight, there was still time for sleep.  He however resolved\nthat if he had an opportunity of striking a third blow, it should\nsettle all matters between them.  A little before daybreak he\nperceived that Skrymir was again fast asleep, and again grasping\nhis mallet, he dashed it with such violence that it forced its\nway into the giant's skull up to the handle.  But Skrymir sat\nup, and stroking his cheek, said, \"An acorn fell on my head.\nWhat!  Art thou awake, Thor?  Methinks it is time for us to get\nup and dress ourselves; but you have not now a long way before\nyou to the city called Utgard.  I have heard you whispering to\none another that I am not a man of small dimensions; but if you\ncome to Utgard you will see there many men much taller than I.\nWherefore I advise you, when you come there, not to make too much\nof yourselves, for the followers of Utgard-Loki will not brook\nthe boasting of such little fellows as you are.  You must take\nthe road that leads eastward, mine lies northward, so we must\npart here.\"\n\nHereupon he threw his wallet over his shoulders, and turned away\nfrom them into the forest, and Thor had no wish to stop him or to\nask for any more of his company.\n\nThor and his companions proceeded on their way, and towards noon\ndescried a city standing in the middle of a plain.  It was so\nlofty that they were obliged to bend their necks quite back on\ntheir shoulders in order to see to the top of it.  On arriving\nthey entered the city, and seeing a large palace before them with\nthe door wide open, they went in, and found a number of men of\nprodigious stature, sitting on benches in the hall. Going\nfurther, they came before the king Utgard-Loki, whom they saluted\nwith great respect.  The king, regarding them with a scornful\nsmile, said, \"If I do not mistake me, that stripling yonder must\nbe the god Thor.\"  Then addressing himself to Thor, he said,\n\"Perhaps thou mayst be more than thou appearest to be.  What are\nthe feats that thou and thy fellows deem yourselves skilled in,\nfor no one is permitted to remain here who does not, in some feat\nor other, excel all other men?\"\n\n\"The feat that I know,\" said Loki, \"is to eat quicker than any\none else, and in this I am ready to give a proof against any one\nhere who may choose to compete with me.\"\n\n\"That will indeed be a feat,\" said Utgard-Loki, \"if thou\nperformest what thou promisest, and it shall be tried forthwith.\"\n\nHe then ordered one of his men who was sitting at the farther end\nof the bench, and whose name was Logi, to come forward and try\nhis skill with Loki.  A trough filled with meat having been set\non the hall floor, Loki placed himself at one end, and Logi at\nthe other, and each of them began to eat as fast as he could,\nuntil they met in the middle of the trough.  But it was found\nthat Loki had only eaten the flesh, while his adversary had\ndevoured both flesh and bone, and the trough to boot.  All the\ncompany therefore adjudged that Loki was vanquished.\n\nUtgard-Loki then asked what feat the young man who accompanied\nThor could perform.  Thialfi answered that he would run a race\nwith any one who might be matched against him.  The king observed\nthat skill in running was something to boast of, but if the youth\nwould win the match he must display great agility.  He then arose\nand went with all who were present to a plain where there was\ngood ground for running on, and calling a young man named Hugi,\nbade him run a match with Thialfi.  In the first course Hugi so\nmuch outstripped his competitor that he turned back and met him\nnot far from the starting-place.  Then they ran a second and a\nthird time, but Thialfi met with no better success.  Utgard-Loki\nthen asked Thor in what feats he would choose to give proofs of\nthat prowess for which he was so famous.  Thor answered that he\nwould try a drinking-match with any one.  Utgard-Loki bade his\ncupbearer bring the large horn which his followers were obliged\nto empty when they had trespassed in any way against the law of\nthe feast.  The cupbearer having presented it to Thor, Utgard-\nLoki said, \"Whoever is a good drinker will empty that horn at a\nsingle draught, though most men make two of it, but the most puny\ndrinker can do it in three.\"\n\nThor looked at the horn, which seemed of no extraordinary size\nthough somewhat long; however, as he was very thirsty, he set it\nto his lips, and without drawing breath, pulled as long and as\ndeeply as he could, that he might not be obliged to make a second\ndraught of it; but when he set the horn down and looked in, he\ncould scarcely perceive that the liquor was diminished.\n\nAfter taking breath, Thor went to it again with all his might,\nbut when he took the horn from his mouth, it seemed to him that\nhe had drunk rather less than before, although the horn could now\nbe carried without spilling.\n\n\"How now, Thor,\" said Utgard-Loki, \"thou must not spare thyself;\nif thou meanest to drain the horn at the third draught thou must\npull deeply; and I must needs say that thou wilt not be called so\nmighty a man here as thou art at home if thou showest no greater\nprowess in other feats than methinks will be shown in this.\"\n\nThor, full of wrath, again set the horn to his lips, and did his\nbest to empty it; but on looking in found the liquor was only a\nlittle lower, so he resolved to make no further attempt, but gave\nback the horn to the cupbearer.\n\n\"I now see plainly,\" said Utgard-Loki, \"that thou art not quite\nso stout as we thought thee; but wilt thou try any other feat,\nthough methinks thou art not likely to bear any prize away with\nthee hence.\"\n\n\"What new trial hast thou to propose?\" said Thor.\n\n\"We have a very trifling game here,\" answered Utgard-Loki, \"in\nwhich we exercise none but children.  It consists in merely\nlifting my cat from the ground; nor should I have dared to\nmention such a feat to the great Thor if I had not already\nobserved that thou art by no means what we took thee for.\"\n\nAs he finished speaking, a large gray cat sprang on the hall\nfloor.  Thor put his hand under the cat's belly and did his\nutmost to raise him from the floor, but the cat, bending his\nback, had, notwithstanding all Thor's efforts, only one of his\nfeet lifted up, seeing which Thor made no further attempt.\n\n\"This trial has turned out,\" said Utgard-Loki, \"just as I\nimagined it would.  The cat is large, but Thor is little in\ncomparison to our men.\"\n\n\"Little as ye call me,\" answered Thor, \"let me see who among you\nwill come hither now I am in wrath and wrestle with me.\"\n\n\"I see no one here,\" said Utgard-Loki, looking at the men sitting\non the benches, \"who would not think it beneath him to wrestle\nwith thee; let somebody, however, call hither that old crone, my\nnurse Elli, and let Thor wrestle with her if he will.  She has\nthrown to the ground many a man not less strong than this Thor\nis.\"\n\nA toothless old woman then entered the hall, and was told by\nUtgard-Loki to take hold of Thor.  The tale is shortly told.  The\nmore Thor tightened his hold on the crone the firmer she stood.\nAt length, after a very violent struggle, Thor began to lose his\nfooting, and was finally brought down upon one knee.  Utgard-Loki\nthen told them to desist, adding that Thor had now no occasion to\nask any one else in the hall to wrestle with him, and it was also\ngetting late; so he showed Thor and his companions to their\nseats, and they passed the night there in good cheer.\n\nThe next morning at break of day, Thor and his companions dressed\nthemselves and prepared for their departure.  Utgard-Loki ordered\na table to be set for them, on which there was no lack of\nvictuals or drink.  After the repast Utgard-Loki led them to the\ngate of the city, and on parting asked Thor how he thought his\njourney had turned out, and whether he had met with any men\nstronger than himself.  Thor told him that he could not deny but\nthat he had brought great shame on himself.  \"And what grieves me\nmost,\" he added, is that ye will call me a person of little\nworth.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Utgard-Loki, \"it behooves me to tell thee the truth,\nnow thou art out of the city, which so long as I live and have my\nway thou shalt never enter again.  And, by my troth, had I known\nbeforehand that thou hadst so much strength in thee, and wouldst\nhave brought me so near to a great mishap, I would not have\nsuffered thee to enter this time.  Know then that I have all\nalong deceived thee by my illusions; first in the forest where I\ntied up the wallet with iron wire so that thou couldst not untie\nit.  After this thou gavest me three blows with the mallet; the\nfirst, though the least, would have ended my days had it fallen\non me, but I slipped aside and thy blows fell on the mountain\nwhere thou wilt find three glens, one of them remarkably deep.\nThese are the dints made by thy mallet.  I have made use of\nsimilar illusions in the contests you have had with my followers.\nIn the first, Loki, like hunger itself, devoured all that was set\nbefore him, but Logi was in reality nothing else than Fire, and\ntherefore consumed not only the meat, but the trough which held\nit.  Hugi, with whom Thialfi contended in running, was Thought,\nand it was impossible for Thialfi to keep pace with that.  When\nthou in thy turn didst attempt to empty the horn, thou didst\nperform, by my troth, a deed so marvellous, that had I not seen\nit myself, I should never have believed it.  For one end of that\nhorn reached the sea, which thou was not aware of, but when thou\ncomest to the shore thou wilt perceive how much the sea has sunk\nby thy draughts.  Thou didst perform a feat no less wonderful by\nlifting up the cat, and to tell thee the truth, when we saw that\none of his paws was off the floor, we were all of us terror-\nstricken, for what thou tookest for a cat was in reality the\nMidgard serpent that encompasseth the earth, and he was so\nstretched by thee, that he was barely long enough to enclose it\nbetween his head and tail.  Thy wrestling with Elli was also a\nmost astonishing feat, for there was never yet a man, nor ever\nwill be, whom Old Age, for such in fact was Elli, will not sooner\nor later lay low.  But now, as we are going to part, let me tell\nthee that it will be better for both of us if thou never come\nnear me again, for shouldst thou do so, I shall again defend\nmyself by other illusions, so that thou wilt only lose thy labor\nand get no fame from the contest with me.\"\n\n\nOn hearing these words Thor in a rage laid hold of his mallet and\nwould have launched it at him, but Utgard-Loki had disappeared,\nand when Thor would have returned to the city to destroy it, he\nfound nothing around him but a verdant plain.\n\nOn another occasion Thor was more successful in an encounter with\nthe giants.  It happened that Thor met with a giant, Hrungnir by\nname, who was disputing with Odin as to the merits of their\nrespective horses, Gullfaxi and Sleipnir, the eight-legged.  Thor\nand the giant made an agreement to fight together on a certain\nday.  But as the day approached, the giant, becoming frightened\nat the thought of encountering Thor alone, manufactured, with the\nassistance of his fellow-giants, a great giant of clay.  He was\nnine miles high and three miles about the chest, and in his heart\nhe had the heart of a mare.  Accompanied by the clay giant,\nHrungnir awaited Thor on the appointed day.  Thor approached\npreceded by Thialfi, his servant, who, running ahead, shouted out\nto Hrungnir that it was useless to hold his shield before him,\nfor the god Thor would attack him out of the ground.  Hrungnir at\nthis flung his shield on the ground, and, standing upon it, made\nready.  As Thor approached Hrungnir flung at him an immense club\nof stone.  Thor flung his hammer.  Miolnir met the club half way,\nbroke it in pieces, and burying itself in the stone skull of\nHrungnir, felled him to the ground.  Meanwhile Thialfi had\ndespatched the clay giant with a spade.  Thor himself received\nbut a slight wound from a fragment of the giant's hammer.\n\n\n\nChapter XXXIII\n\nThe Death of Baldur   The Elves -- Runic Letters -- Scalds --\nIceland\n\nBaldur, the Good, having been tormented with terrible dreams\nindicating that his life was in peril, told them to the assembled\ngods, who resolved to conjure all things to avert from him the\nthreatened danger.  Then Frigga, the wife of Odin, exacted an\noath from fire and water, from iron and all other metals, from\nstones, trees, diseases, beasts, birds, poisons, and creeping\nthings, that none of them would do any harm to Baldur.  Odin, not\nsatisfied with all this, and feeling alarmed for the fate of his\nson, determined to consult the prophetess Angerbode, a giantess,\nmother of Fenris, Hela, and the Midgard serpent.  She was dead,\nand Odin was forced to seek her in Hela's dominions.  This\ndescent of Odin forms the subject of Gray's fine ode beginning,\n\n  \"Up rose the king of men with speed\n  And saddled straight his coal-black steed.\"\n\nBut the other gods, feeling that what Frigga had done was quite\nsufficient, amused themselves with using Baldur as a mark, some\nhurling darts at him, some stones, while others hewed at him with\ntheir swords and battle-axes, for do what they would none of them\ncould harm him.  And this became a favorite pastime with them and\nwas regarded as an honor shown to Baldur.  But when Loki beheld\nthe scene he was sorely vexed that Baldur was not hurt.\nAssuming, therefore, the shape of a woman, he went to Fensalir,\nthe mansion of Frigga.  That goddess, when she saw the pretended\nwoman, inquired of her if she knew what the gods were doing at\ntheir meetings.  She replied that they were throwing darts and\nstones at Baldur, without being able to hurt him.  \"Ay,\" said\nFrigga, \"neither stones, nor sticks, nor anything else can hurt\nBaldur, for I have exacted an oath from all of them.  \" \"What,\"\nexclaimed the woman, \"have all things sworn to spare Baldur?\"\n\"All things,\" replied Frigga, \"except one little shrub that grows\non the eastern side of Valhalla, and is called Mistletoe, and\nwhich I thought too young and feeble to crave an oath from.\"\n\nAs soon as Loki heard this he went away, and resuming his natural\nshape, cut off the mistletoe, and repaired to the place where the\ngods were assembled.  There he found Hodur standing apart,\nwithout partaking of the sports, on account of his blindness, and\ngoing up to him, said, \"Why dost thou not also throw something at\nBaldur?\"\n\n\"Because I am blind,\" answered Hodur, \"and see not where Baldur\nis, and have moreover nothing to throw.\"\n\n\"Come, then,\" said Loki, \"do like the rest and show honor to\nBaldur by throwing this twig at him, and I will direct thy arm\ntowards the place where he stands.\"\n\nHodur then took the mistletoe, and under the guidance of Loki,\ndarted it at Baldur, who, pierced through and through, fell down\nlifeless.  Surely never was there witnessed, either among gods or\nmen, a more atrocious deed than this.  When Baldur fell, the gods\nwere struck speechless with horror, and then they looked at each\nother, and all were of one mind to lay hands on him who had done\nthe deed, but they were obliged to delay their vengeance out of\nrespect for the sacred place where they were assembled.  They\ngave vent to their grief by loud lamentations.  When the gods\ncame to themselves, Frigga asked who among them wished to gain\nall her love and good will.  \"For this,\" said she, \"shall he have\nwho will ride to Hel and offer Hela a ransom if she will let\nBaldur return to Asgard.\"  Whereupon Hermod, surnamed the Nimble,\nthe son of Odin, offered to undertake the journey.  Odin's horse,\nSleipnir, which has eight legs, and can outrun the wind, was then\nled forth, on which Hermod mounted and galloped away on his\nmission.  For the space of nine days and as many nights he rode\nthrough deep glens so dark that he could not discern anything\nuntil he arrived at the river Gyoll, which he passed over on a\nbridge covered with glittering gold.  The maiden who kept the\nbridge asked him his name and lineage, telling him that the day\nbefore five bands of dead persons had ridden over the bridge, and\ndid not shake it as much as he alone.  \"But,\" she added, \"thou\nhast not death's hue on thee; why then ridest thou here on the\nway to Hel?\"\n\n\"I ride to Hel,\" answered Hermod, \"to seek Baldur.  Hast thou\nperchance seen him pass this way?\"\n\nShe replied, \"Baldur hath ridden over Gyoll's bridge, and yonder\nlieth the way he took to the abodes of death.\"\n\nHermod pursued his journey until he came to the barred gates of\nHel.  Here he alighted, girthed his saddle tighter, and\nremounting clapped both spurs to his horse, who cleared the gate\nby a tremendous leap without touching it.  Hermod then rode on to\nthe palace where he found his brother Baldur occupying the most\ndistinguished seat in the hall, and passed the night in his\ncompany.  The next morning he besought Hela to let Baldur ride\nhome with him, assuring her that nothing but lamentations were to\nbe heard among the gods.  Hela answered that it should now be\ntried whether Baldur was so beloved as he was said to be.  \"If,\ntherefore,\" she added, \"all things in the world, both living and\nlifeless, weep for him, then shall he return to life; but if any\none thing speak against him or refuse to weep, he shall be kept\nin Hel.\"\n\nHermod then rode back to Asgard and gave an account of all he had\nheard and witnessed.\n\nThe gods upon this despatched messengers throughout the world to\nbeg every thing to weep in order that Baldur might be delivered\nfrom Hel.  All things very willingly complied with this request,\nboth men and every other living being, as well as earths, and\nstones, and trees, and metals, just as we have all seen these\nthings weep when they are brought from a cold place into a hot\none.  As the messengers were returning, they found an old hag\nnamed Thaukt sitting in a cavern, and begged her to weep Baldur\nout of Hel.  But she answered,\n\n  \"Thaukt will wail\n  With dry tears\n  Baldur's bale-fire.\n  Let Hela keep her own.\"\n\nIt was strongly suspected that this hag was no other than Loki\nhimself, who never ceased to work evil among gods and men.  So\nBaldur was prevented from coming back to Asgard.  (In\nLongfellow's Poems, vol. 1, page 379, will be found a poem\nentitled Tegner's Drapa, upon the subject of Baldur's death.)\n\nAmong Matthew Arnold's Poems is one called \"Balder Death\"\nbeginning thus:\n\n  \"So on the floor lay Balder dead; and round\n  Lay thickly strewn swords, axes, darts and spears,\n  Which all the Gods in sport had idly thrown\n  At Balder, whom no weapon pierced or clave;\n  But in his breast stood fixt the fatal bough\n  Of mistletoe, which Lok the Accuser gave\n  To Hoder, and unwitting Hoder threw;\n  \"Gainst that alone had Balder's life no charm.\n  And all the Gods and all the heroes came\n  And stood round Balder on the bloody floor\n  Weeping and wailing; and Valhalla rang\n  Up to its golden roof with sobs and cries;\n  And on the table stood the untasted meats,\n  And in the horns and gold-rimmed skulls the wine;\n  And now would night have fallen and found them yet\n  Wailing; but otherwise was Odin's will.\"\n\n\nTHE FUNERAL OF BALDUR\n\nThe gods took up the dead body and bore it to the sea-shore where\nstood Baldur's ship Hringham, which passed for the largest in the\nworld.  Baldur's dead body was put on the funeral pile, on board\nthe ship, and his wife Nanna was so struck with grief at the\nsight that she broke her heart, and her body was burned on the\nsame pile with her husband's.  There was a vast concourse of\nvarious kinds of people at Baldur's obsequies.  First came Odin\naccompanied by Frigga, the Valkyrior, and his ravens; then Frey\nin his car drawn by Gullinbursti, the boar; Heimdall rode his\nhorse Gulltopp, and Freya drove in her chariot drawn by cats.\nThere were also a great many Frost giants and giants of the\nmountain present.  Baldur's horse was led to the pile fully\ncaparisoned and consumed in the same flames with his master.\n\nBut Loki did not escape his deserved punishment.  When he saw how\nangry the gods were, he fled to the mountain, and there built\nhimself a hut with four doors, so that he could see every\napproaching danger.  He invented a net to catch the fishes, such\nas fishermen have used since his time.  But Odin found out his\nhiding-place and the gods assembled to take him.  He, seeing\nthis, changed himself into a salmon, and lay hid among the stones\nof the brook.  But the gods took his net and dragged the brook,\nand Loki finding he must be caught, tried to leap over the net;\nbut Thor caught him by the tail and compressed it so, that\nsalmons every since have had that part remarkably fine and thin.\nThey bound him with chains and suspended a serpent over his head,\nwhose venom falls upon his face drop by drop.  His wife Siguna\nsits by his side and catches the drops as they fall, in a cup;\nbut when she carries it away to empty it, the venom falls upon\nLoki, which makes him howl with horror, and twist his body about\nso violently that the whole earth shakes, and this produces what\nmen call earthquakes.\n\n\nTHE ELVES\n\nThe Edda mentions another class of beings, inferior to the gods,\nbut still possessed of great power; these were called Elves.  The\nwhite spirits, or Elves of Light, were exceedingly fair, more\nbrilliant than the sun, and clad in garments of delicate and\ntransparent texture.  They loved the light, were kindly disposed\nto mankind, and generally appeared as fair and lovely children.\nTheir country was called Alfheim, and was the domain of Freyr,\nthe god of the sun, in whose light they were always sporting.\n\nThe black of Night Elves were a different kind of creatures.\nUgly, long-nosed dwarfs, of a dirty brown color, they appeared\nonly at night, for they avoided the sun as their most deadly\nenemy, because whenever his beams fell upon any of them they\nchanged them immediately into stones.  Their language was the\necho of solitudes, and their dwelling-places subterranean caves\nand clefts.  They were supposed to have come into existence as\nmaggots, produced by the decaying flesh of Ymir's body, and were\nafterwards endowed by the gods with a human form and great\nunderstanding.  They were particularly distinguished for a\nknowledge of the mysterious powers of nature, and for the runes\nwhich they carved and explained.  They were the most skilful\nartificers of all created beings, and worked in metals and in\nwood.  Among their most noted works were Thor's hammer, and the\nship Skidbladnir, which they gave to Freyr, and which was so\nlarge that it could contain all the deities with their war and\nhousehold implements, but so skilfully was it wrought that when\nfolded together it could be put into a side pocket.\n\n\nRAGNABOK, THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS\n\nIt was a firm belief of the northern nations that a time would\ncome when all the visible creation, the gods of Valhalla and\nNiffleheim, the inhabitants of Jotunheim, Alfheim, and Midgard,\ntogether with their habitations, would be destroyed.  The fearful\nday of destruction will not, however, be without its forerunners.\nFirst will come a triple winter, during which snow will fall from\nthe four corners of the heavens, the frost be very severe, the\nwind piercing, the weather tempestuous, and the sun impart no\ngladness.  Three such winters will pass away without being\ntempered by a single summer.  Three other similar winters will\nthen follow, during which war and discord will spread over the\nuniverse.  The earth itself will be frightened and begin to\ntremble, the sea leave its basin, the heavens tear asunder, and\nmen perish in great numbers, and the eagles of the air feast upon\ntheir still quivering bodies.  The wolf Fenris will now break his\nbands, the Midgard serpent rise out of her bed in the sea, and\nLoki, released from his bonds, will join the enemies of the gods.\nAmidst the general devastation the sons of Muspelheim will rush\nforth under their leader Surtur, before and behind whom are\nflames and burning fire.  Onward they ride over Bifrost, the\nrainbow bridge, which breaks under the horses' hoofs.  But they,\ndisregarding its fall, direct their course to the battle-field\ncalled Vigrid.  Thither also repair the wolf Fenris, the Midgard\nserpent, Loki with all the followers of Hela, and the Frost\ngiants.\n\nHeimdall now stands up and sounds the Giallar horn to assemble\nthe gods and heroes for the contest.  The gods advance, led on by\nOdin, who engages the wolf Fenris, but falls a victim to the\nmonster, who is, however, slain by Vidar, Odin's son.  Thor gains\ngreat renown by killing the Midgard serpent, but recoils and\nfalls dead, suffocated with the venom which the dying monster\nvomits over him.  Loki and Heimdall meet and fight till they are\nboth slain.  The Gods and their enemies having fallen in battle,\nSurtur, who has killed Dreyr, darts fire and flames over the\nworld, and the whole universe is burned up.  The sun becomes dim,\nthe earth sinks into the ocean, the stars fall from heaven, and\ntime is no more.\n\nAfter this Alfadur (the almighty) will cause a new heaven and a\nnew earth to arise out of the sea.  The new earth, filled with\nabundant supplies, will spontaneously produce its fruits without\nlabor or care. Wickedness and misery will no more be known, but\nthe gods and men will live happily together.\n\n\nRUNIC LETTERS\n\nOne cannot travel far in Denmark, Norway, or Sweden, without\nmeeting with great stones, of different forms, engraven with\ncharacters called Runic, which appear at first sight very\ndifferent from all we know.  The letters consist almost\ninvariably of straight lines, in the shape of little sticks\neither singly or put together.  Such sticks were in early times\nused by the northern nations for the purpose of ascertaining\nfuture events.  The sticks were shaken up, and from the figures\nthat they formed a kind of divination was derived.\n\nThe Runic characters were of various kinds.  They were chiefly\nused for magical purposes.  The noxious, or, as they called them,\nthe BITTER runes, were employed to bring various evils on their\nenemies; the favorable averted misfortune.  Some were medicinal,\nothers employed to win love, etc.  In later times they were\nfrequently used for inscriptions, of which more than a thousand\nhave been found.  The language is a dialect of the Gothic, called\nNorse, still in use in Iceland.  The inscriptions may therefore\nbe read with certainty, but hitherto very few have been found\nwhich throw the least light on history.  They are mostly epitaphs\non tombstones.\n\nGray's ode on the Descent of Odin contains an allusion to the use\nof Runic letters for incantation:\n\n  \"Facing to the northern clime,\n  Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme;\n  Thrice pronounced, in accents dread,\n  The thrilling verse that wakes the dead,\n  Till from out the hollow ground\n  Slowly breathed a sullen sound.\"\n\n\nTHE SKALDS\n\nThe Skalds were the bards and poets of the nation, a very\nimportant class of men in all communities in an early stage of\ncivilization.  They are the depositaries of whatever historic\nlore there is, and it is their office to mingle something of\nintellectual gratification with the rude feasts of the warriors,\nby rehearsing, with such accompaniments of poetry and music as\ntheir skill can afford, the exploits of their heroes living or\ndead.  The compositions of the Skalds were called Sagas, many of\nwhich have come down to us, and contain valuable materials of\nhistory, and a faithful picture of the state of society at the\ntime to which they relate.\n\n\nICELAND\n\nThe Eddas and Sagas have come to us from Iceland.  The following\nextract from Carlyle's Lectures on Heroes and Hero worship gives\nan animated account of the region where the strange stories we\nhave been reading had their origin.  Let the reader contrast it\nfor a moment with Greece, the parent of classical mythology.\n\n\"In that strange island, Iceland,   burst up, the geologists say,\nby fire from the bottom of the sea, a wild land of barrenness and\nlava, swallowed many months of every year in black tempests, yet\nwith a wild, gleaming beauty in summer time, towering up there\nstern and grim in the North Ocean, with its snow yokuls\n(mountains), roaring geysers (boiling springs), sulphur pools,\nand horrid volcanic chasms, like the vast, chaotic battle-field\nof Frost and Fire,   where, of all places, we least looked for\nliterature or written memorials,   the record of these things was\nwritten down.  On the seaboard of this wild land is a rim of\ngrassy country, where cattle can subsist, and men by means of\nthem and of what the sea yields; and it seems they were poetic\nmen these, men who had deep thoughts in them and uttered\nmusically their thoughts.  Much would be lost had Iceland not\nbeen burst up from the sea, not been discovered by the Northmen!\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXXIV\n\nThe Druids   Iona\n\nThe Druids were the priests or ministers of religion among the\nancient Celtic nations in Gaul, Britain, and Germany.  Our\ninformation respecting them is borrowed from notices in the Greek\nand Roman writers, compared with the remains of Welsh and Gaelic\npoetry still extant.\n\nThe Druids combined the functions of the priest, the magistrate,\nthe scholar, and the physician.  They stood to the people of the\nCeltic tribes in a relation closely analogous to that in which\nthe Brahmans of India, the Magi of Persia, and the priests of the\nEgyptians stood to the people respectively by whom they were\nrevered.\n\nThe Druids taught the existence of one God, to whom they gave a\nname \"Be'al,\" which Celtic antiquaries tell us means \"the life of\neverything,\" or \"the source of all beings,:\" and which seems to\nhave affinity with the Phoenician Baal.  What renders this\naffinity more striking is that the Druids as well as the\nPhoenicians identified this, their supreme deity, with the Sun.\nFire was regarded as a symbol of the divinity.  The Latin writers\nassert that the Druids also worshipped numerous inferior Gods.\nThey used no images to represent the object of their worship, nor\ndid they meet in temples or buildings of any kind for the\nperformance of their sacred rites.  A circle of stones (each\nstone generally of vast size) enclosing an area of from twenty\nfeet to thirty yards in diameter, constituted their sacred place.\nThe most celebrated of these now remaining is Stonehenge, on\nSalisbury Plain, England.\n\nThese sacred circles were generally situated near some stream, or\nunder the shadow of a grove or wide-spreading oak.  In the centre\nof the circle stood the Cromlech or altar, which was a large\nstone, placed in the manner of a table upon other stones set up\non end.  The Druids had also their high places, which were large\nstones or piles of stones on the summits of hills.  These were\ncalled Cairns, and were used in the worship of the deity under\nthe symbol of the sun.\n\nThat the Druids offered sacrifices to their deity there can be no\ndoubt.  But there is some uncertainty as to what they offered,\nand of the ceremonies connected with their religious services we\nknow almost nothing.  The classical (Roman) writers affirm that\nthey offered on great occasions human sacrifices; as for success\nin war or for relief from dangerous diseases.  Caesar has given a\ndetailed account of the manner in which this was done.  \"They\nhave images of immense size, the limbs of which are framed with\ntwisted twigs and filled with living persons.  These being set on\nfire, those within are encompassed by the flames.\"  Many attempts\nhave been made by Celtic writers to shake the testimony of the\nRoman historians to this fact, but without success.\n\nThe Druids observed two festivals in each year.  The former took\nplace in the beginning of May, and was called Beltane or \"fire of\nGod.\"  On this occasion a large fire was kindled on some elevated\nspot, in honor of the sun, whose returning beneficence they thus\nwelcomed after the gloom and desolation of winter.  Of this\ncustom a trace remains in the name given to Whitsunday in parts\nof Scotland to this day.  Sir Walter Scott uses the word in the\nBoat Song in the Lady of the Lake:\n\n  \"Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,\n  Blooming at Beltane in winter to fade.\"\n\nThe other great festival of the Druids was called \"Samh'in,\" or\n\"fire of peace,\" and was held on Hallow-eve (first of November),\nwhich still retains this designation in the Highlands of\nScotland.  On this occasion the Druids assembled in solemn\nconclave, in the most central part of the district, to discharge\nthe judicial functions of their order.  All questions, whether\npublic or private, all crimes against person or property, were at\nthis time brought before them for adjudication.  With these\njudicial acts were combined certain superstitious usages,\nespecially the kindling of the sacred fire, from which all the\nfires in the district which had been beforehand scrupulously\nextinguished, might be relighted.  This usage of kindling fires\non Hallow-eve lingered in the British Islands long after the\nestablishment of Christianity.\n\nBesides these two great annual festivals, the Druids were in the\nhabit of observing the full moon, and especially the sixth day of\nthe moon.  On the latter they sought the mistletoe, which grew on\ntheir favorite oaks, and to which, as well as to the oak itself,\nthey ascribed a peculiar virtue and sacredness.  The discovery of\nit was an occasion of rejoicing and solemn worship.  \"They call\nit,\" says Pliny, \"by a word in their language which means 'heal-\nall,' and having made solemn preparation for feasting and\nsacrifice under the tree, they drive thither two milk-white\nbulls, whose horns are then for the first time bound.  The priest\nthen, robed in white, ascends the tree, and cuts off the\nmistletoe with a golden sickle.  It is caught in a white mantle,\nafter which they proceed to slay the victims, at the same time\npraying that god would render his gift prosperous to those to\nwhom he had given it.  They drink the water in which it has been\ninfused, and think it a remedy for all diseases.  The mistletoe\nis a parasitic plant, and is not always nor often found on the\noak, so that when it is found it is the more precious.\"\n\nThe Druids were the teachers of morality as well as of religion.\nOf their ethical teaching a valuable specimen is preserved in the\nTriads of the Welsh Bards, and from this we may gather that their\nviews of moral rectitude were on the whole just, and that they\nheld and inculcated many very noble and valuable principles of\nconduct.  They were also the men of science and learning of their\nage and people.  Whether they were acquainted with letters or not\nhas been disputed, though the probability is strong that they\nwere, to some extent.  But it is certain that they committed\nnothing of their doctrine, their history, or their poetry to\nwriting.  Their teaching was oral, and their literature (if such\na word may be used in such a case) was preserved solely by\ntradition.  But the Roman writers admit that \"they paid much\nattention to the order and laws of nature, and investigated and\ntaught to the youth under their charge many things concerning the\nstars and their motions, the size of the world and the lands ,\nand concerning the might and power of the immortal gods.\"\n\nTheir history consisted in traditional tales, in which the heroic\ndeeds of their forefathers were celebrated.  These were\napparently in verse, and thus constituted part of the poetry as\nwell as the history of the Druids.  In the poems of Ossian we\nhave, if not the actual productions of Druidical times, what may\nbe considered faithful representations of the songs of the Bards.\n\nThe Bards were an essential part of the Druidical hierarchy.  One\nauthor, Pennant, says, \"The bards were supposed to be endowed\nwith powers equal to inspiration.  They were the oral historians\nof all past transactions, public and private.  They were also\naccomplished genealogists.\"\n\nPennant gives a minute account of the Eisteddfods or sessions of\nthe bards and minstrels, which were held in Wales for many\ncenturies, long after the Druidical priesthood in its other\ndepartments became extinct.  At these meetings none but bards of\nmerit were suffered to rehearse their pieces, and minstrels of\nskill to perform.  Judges were appointed to decide on their\nrespective abilities, and suitable degrees were conferred.  In\nthe earlier period the judges were appointed by the Welsh\nprinces, and after the conquest of Wales, by commission from the\nkings of England.  Yet the tradition is that Edward I., in\nrevenge for the influence of the bards, in animating the\nresistance of the people to his sway, persecuted them with great\ncruelty.  This tradition has furnished the poet Gray with the\nsubject of his celebrated ode, the Bard.\n\nThere are still occasional meetings of the lovers of Welsh poetry\nand music, held under the ancient name.  Among Mrs. Heman's poems\nis one written for an Eisteddfod, or meeting of Welsh Bards, held\nin London May 22, 1822.  It begins with a description of the\nancient meeting, of which the following lines are a part:\n\n  \"---- midst the eternal cliffs, whose strength defied\n  The crested Roman in his hour of pride;\n  And where the Druid's ancient cromlech frowned,\n  And the oaks breathed mysterious murmurs round,\n  There thronged the inspired of yore! On plain or height,\n  In the sun's face, beneath the eye of light,\n  And baring unto heaven each noble head,\n  Stood in the circle, where none else might tread.\"\n\nThe Druidical system was at its height at the time of the Roman\ninvasion under Julius Caesar.  Against the Druids, as their chief\nenemies, these conquerors of the world directed their unsparing\nfury.  The Druids, harassed at all points on the main-land,\nretreated to Anglesey and Iona, where for a season they found\nshelter, and continued their now-dishonored rites.\n\nThe Druids retained their predominance in Iona and over the\nadjacent islands and main-land until they were supplanted and\ntheir superstitions overturned by the arrival of St. Columba, the\napostle of the Highlands, by whom the inhabitants of that\ndistrict were first led to profess Christianity.\n\n\nIONA\n\nOne of the smallest of the British Isles, situated near a ragged\nand barren coast, surrounded by dangerous seas, and possessing no\nsources of internal wealth, Iona has obtained an imperishable\nplace in history as the seat of civilization and religion at a\ntime when the darkness of heathenism hung over almost the whole\nof Northern Europe.  Iona or Icolmkill is situated at the\nextremity of the island of Mull, from which it is separated by a\nstrait of half a mile in breadth, its distance from the main-land\nof Scotland being thirty-six miles.\n\nColumba was a native of Ireland, and connected by birth with the\nprinces of the land.  Ireland was at that time a land of gospel\nlight, while the western and northern parts of Scotland were\nstill immersed in the darkness of heathenism.  Columba, with\ntwelve friends landed on the island of Iona in the year of our\nLord 563, having made the passage in a wicker boat covered with\nhides.  The Druids who occupied the island endeavored to prevent\nhis settling there, and the savage nations on the adjoining\nshores incommoded him with their hostility, and on several\noccasions endangered his life by their attacks.  Yet by his\nperseverance and zeal he surmounted all opposition, procured from\nthe king a gift of the island, and established there a monastery\nof which he was the abbot.  He was unwearied in his labors to\ndisseminate a knowledge of the Scriptures throughout the\nHighlands and Islands of Scotland, and such was the reverence\npaid him that though not a bishop, but merely a presbyter and\nmonk, the entire province with its bishops was subject to him and\nhis successors.  The Pictish monarch was so impressed with a\nsense of his wisdom and worth that he held him in the highest\nhonor, and the neighboring chiefs and princes sought his counsel\nand availed themselves of his judgment in settling their\ndisputes.\n\nWhen Columba landed on Iona he was attended by twelve followers\nwhom he had formed into a religious body, of which he was the\nhead.  To these, as occasion required, others were from time to\ntime added, so that the original number was always kept up.\nTheir institution was called a monastery, and the superior an\nabbot, but the system had little in common with the monastic\ninstitutions of later times.  The name by which those who\nsubmitted to the rule were known was that of Culdees, probably\nfrom the Latin \"cultores Dei\"   worshippers of God.  They were a\nbody of religious persons associated together for the purpose of\naiding each other in the common work of preaching the gospel and\nteaching youth, as well as maintaining in themselves the fervor\nof devotion by united exercises of worship.  On entering the\norder certain vows were taken by the members, but they were not\nthose which were usually imposed by monastic orders, for of\nthese, which are three, celibacy, poverty, and obedience, the\nCuldees were bound to none except the third.  To poverty they did\nnot bind themselves; on the contrary, they seem to have labored\ndiligently to procure for themselves and those dependent on them\nthe comforts of life.  Marriage also was allowed them, and most\nof them seem to have entered into that state.  True, their wives\nwere not permitted to reside with them at the institution, but\nthey had a residence assigned to them in an adjacent locality.\nNear Iona there is an island which still bears the name of \"Eilen\nnam ban,\" women's island, where their husbands seem to have\nresided with them, except when duty required their presence in\nthe school or the sanctuary.\n\nCampbell, in his poem of Reullura, alludes to the married monks\nof Iona:\n\n  \"----The pure Culdees\n  Were Albyn's earliest priests of God,\n  Ere yet an island of her seas\n  By foot of Saxon monk was trod,\n  Long ere her churchmen by bigotry\n  Were barred from holy wedlock's tie.\n  'Twas then that Aodh, famed afar,\n  In Iona preached the word with power.\n  And Reullura, beauty's star,\n  Was the partner of his bower.\"\n\nIn one of his Irish Melodies, Moore gives the legend of St.\nSenanus and the lady who sought shelter on the island, but was\nrepulsed:\n\n  \"Oh, haste and leave this sacred isle,\n  Unholy bark, ere morning smile;\n  For on thy deck, though dark it be,\n  A female form I see;\n  And I have sworn this sainted sod\n  Shall ne'er by woman's foot be trod.\n\nIn these respects and in others the Culdees departed from the\nestablished rules of the Romish Church, and consequently were\ndeemed heretical.  The consequence was that as the power of the\nlatter advanced, that of the Culdees was enfeebled.  It was not,\nhowever, till the thirteenth century that the communities of the\nCuldees were suppressed and the members dispersed.  They still\ncontinued to labor as individuals, and resisted the inroads of\nPapa usurpation as they best might till the light of the\nReformation dawned on the world.\n\nIonia, from its position in the western seas, was exposed to the\nassaults of the Norwegian and Danish rovers by whom those seas\nwere infested, and by them it was repeatedly pillaged, its\ndwellings burned, and its peaceful inhabitants put to the sword.\nThese unfavorable circumstances led to its gradual decline, which\nwas expedited by the supervision of the Culdees throughout\nScotland.  Under the reign of Popery the island became the seat\nof a nunnery, the ruins of which are still seen.  At the\nReformation, the nuns were allowed to remain, living in\ncommunity, when the abbey was dismantled.\n\nIonia is now chiefly resorted to by travellers on account of the\nnumerous ecclesiastical and sepulchral remains which are found\nupon it.  The principal of these are the Cathedral or Abbey\nChurch, and the Chapel of the Nunnery.  Besides these remains of\necclesiastical antiquity, there are some of an earlier date, and\npointing to the existence on the island of forms of worship and\nbelief different from those of Christianity.  These are the\ncircular Cairns which are found in various parts, and which seem\nto have been of Druidical origin.  It is in reference to all\nthese remains of ancient religion that Johnson exclaims, \"That\nman is little to be envied whose patriotism would not gain force\nupon the plains of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer\namid the ruins of Iona.\"\n\nIn the Lord of the Isles, Scott beautifully contrasts the church\non Iona with the Cave of Staffa, opposite:\n\n  \"Nature herself, it seemed, would raise\n  A minister to her Maker's praise!\n  Not for a meaner use ascend\n  Her columns or her arches bend;\n  Nor of a theme less solemn tells\n  The mighty surge that ebbs and swells,\n  And still between each awful pause,\n  From the high vault an answer draws,\n  In varied tone, prolonged and high,\n  That mocks the organ's melody;\n  Nor doth its entrance front in vain\n  To old Iona's holy fane,\n  That Nature's voice might seem to say,\n  Well hast thou done, frail child of clay,\n  Thy humble powers that stately shrine\n  Tasked high and hard but witness mine.\"\n\n\nSKETCH OF THE HISTORY OF GREEK SCULPTURE\n\nWe have seen throughout the course of this book how the Greek and\nNorse myths have furnished material for the poets, not only of\nGreece and Scandinavia, but also of modern times.  In the same\nway these stories have been found capable of artistic treatment\nby painters, sculptors, and even by musicians.  The story of\nCupid and Psyche has not only been retold by poets from Apuleius\nto William Morris, but also drawn out in a series of frescoes by\nRaphael, and sculptured in marble by Canova.  Even to enumerate\nthe works of art of the modern and ancient world which depend for\ntheir subject-matter upon mythology would be a task for a book by\nitself.  As we have been able to give only a few illustrations of\nthe poetic treatment of some of the principal myths, so we shall\nhave to content ourselves with a similarly limited view of the\npart played by them in other fields of art.\n\nOf the statues made by the ancients themselves to represent their\ngreater deities, a few have been already commented on.  But it\nmust not be thought that these splendid examples of plastic art,\nthe Olympian Jupiter and the Athene of the Parthenon, represent\nthe earliest attempts of the Greeks to give form to their myths\nin sculpture.  Our most primitive sources of knowledge of much of\nGreek mythology are the Homeric poems, where the stories of\nAchilles and Ulysses have already taken on a poetic form, almost\nthe highest conceivable.  But in the other arts, Greek genius\nlagged behind.  At the time when the Homeric poems were written,\nwe find no traces of columned temples or magnificent statues.\nScarcely were the domestic arts sufficiently advanced to allow\nthe poet to describe dwellings glorious enough for his heroes to\nlive in, or articles of common utility fit for their use.  Of the\ntwo most famous works of art mentioned in the Iliad we must think\nof the statue of Athene at Troy (the Palladium) as a rude carving\nperhaps of wood, the arms of the goddess separated from the body\nonly enough to allow her to hold the lance and spindle, which\nwere the signs of her divinity.  The splendor of the shield of\nAchilles must be attributed largely to the rich imagination of\nthe poet.\n\nOther works of art of this primitive age we know from\ndescriptions in later classical writers.  They attributed the\nrude statues which had come down to them to Daedalus and his\npupils, and beheld them with wonder at their uncouth ugliness.\nIt was long thought that these beginnings of Greek sculpture were\nto be traced to Egypt, but now-a-days scholars are inclined to\ntake a different view.  Egyptian sculpture was closely allied to\narchitecture; the statues were frequently used for the columns of\ntemples.  Thus sculpture was subordinated to purely mechanical\nprinciples, and human figures were represented altogether in\naccordance with established conventions.  Greek sculpture, on the\ncontrary, even in its primitive forms was eminently natural,\ncapable of developing a high degree of realism.  From the first\nit was decorative in character, and this left the artist free to\nexecute in his own way, provided only that the result should be\nin accordance with the highest type of beauty which he could\nconceive.  An example of this early decorative art was the chest\nof Kypselos, on which stories from Homer were depicted in\nsuccessive bands, the reliefs being partly inlaid with gold and\nivory.\n\nFrom the sixth century before Christ date three processes of\ngreat importance in the development of sculpture; the art of\ncasting in bronze, the chiselling of marble, and the inlaying of\ngold and ivory on wood (chryselephantine work).  As early Greek\nliterature developed first among the island Greeks, so the\ninvention of these three methods of art must br attributed to the\ncolonists away from the original Hellas.  To the Samians is\nprobably due the invention of bronze casting, to the Chians the\nbeginning of sculpture in marble.  This latter development opened\nto Greek sculpture its great future.  Marble work was carried on\nby a race of artists beginning with Melas in the seventh century\nand coming down to Boupalos and Athenis, the sons of Achermos,\nwhose works survived to the time of Augustus.  Chryselephantine\nsculpture began in Crete.\n\nAmong the earliest of the Greek sculptors whose names have come\ndown to us was Canachos, the Sicyonian.  His masterpiece was the\nApollo Philesios, in bronze, made for the temple of Didymas.  The\nstatue no longer exists, but there are a number of ancient\nmonuments which may be taken as fairly close copies of it, or at\nleast as strongly suggestive of the style of Canachos, among\nwhich are the Payne-Knight Apollo at the British Museum, and the\nPiombino Apollo at the Louvre.  In this latter statue the god\nstands erect with the left foot slightly advanced, and the hands\noutstretched.  The socket of the eye is hollow and was probably\nfilled with some bright substance.  Canachos was undoubtedly an\ninnovator, and in the stronger modelling of the head and neck,\nthe more vigorous posture of the body of his statue, he shows an\nadvance on the more conventional and limited art of his\ngeneration.\n\nAs Greek sculpture progressed, schools of artists arose in\nvarious cities, dependent usually for their fame on the ability\nof some individual sculptor.  \"Among these schools, those of\nAegina and Athens are the most important.  Of the former school\nthe works of Onatus are by far the most notable.\n\nOnatus was a contemporary of Canachos, and reached the height of\nhis fame in the middle of the fifth century before Christ.  His\nmost famous work was the scene where the Greek heroes draw lots\nfor an opponent to Hector.  It is not certain whether Onatus\nsculptured the groups which adorned the pediments of the temple\nof Athena at Aegina, groups now in the Glyptothek at Munich, but\ncertainly these famous statues are decidedly in his style.  Both\npediments represent the battle over the body of Patroclus.  The\neast pediment shows the struggle between Heracles and Laomedon.\nIn each group a fallen warrior lies at the feet of the goddess,\nover whom she extends her protection.  The Aeginetan marbles show\nthe traces of dying archaism.  The figures of the warriors are\nstrongly moulded, muscular, but without grace.  The same type is\nreproduced again and again among them.  Even the wounded scarcely\ndepart from it.  The statues of the eastern pediment are probably\nlater in date than those of the western, and in the former the\ndying warrior exhibits actual weakness and pain.  In the western\npediment the statue of the goddess is thoroughly archaic, stiff,\nuncompromisingly harsh, the features frozen into a conventional\nsmile.  In the eastern group the goddess, though still\nungraceful, is more distinctly in action, and seems about to take\npart in the struggle.  The Heracles of the eastern pediment, a\nwarrior supported on one knee and drawing his bow, is, for the\ntime, wonderfully vivid and strong.  All of these statues are\nevidence of the rapid progress which Greek sculpture was making\nin the fifth century against the demands of hieratic\nconventionality.\n\nThe contemporary Athenian school boasted the names of Hegias,\nCritios, and Nesiotes. Their works have all perished, but a copy\nof one of the most famous works of Critios and Nesiotes, the\nstatue of the Tyrannicides, is to be found in the Museum of\nNaples.  Harmodius and Aristogeiton killed, in 514 B.C., the\ntyrant-ruler of Athens, Hipparchus.  In consequence of this\nAthens soon became a republic, and the names of the first rebels\nwere held in great honor.  Their statues were set up on the\nAcropolis, first a group by Antenor, then the group in question\nby Critios and Nesiotes after the first had been carried away by\nXerxes.  The heroes, as we learn from the copies in Naples, were\nrepresented as rushing forward, one with a naked sword flashing\nabove his head, the other with a mantle for defence thrown over\nhis left arm.  They differ in every detail of action and pose,\nyet they exemplify the same emotion, a common impulse to perform\nthe same deed.\n\nAt Argus, contemporary with these early schools of Athens and\nAegina, was a school of artists depending on the fame of the\ngreat sculptor Ageladas.  He was distinguished for his statues in\nbronze of Zeus and Heracles, but his great distinction is not\nthrough works of his own, but is due to the fact that he was the\nteacher of Myron, Polycleitos, and Pheidias.  These names with\nthose of Pythagoras and Calamis bring us to the glorious\nflowering time of Greek sculpture.\n\nCalamis, somewhat older than the others, was an Athenian, at\nleast by residence.  He carried on the measure of perfection\nwhich Athenian sculpture had already attained, and added grace\nand charm to the already powerful model which earlier workers had\nleft him.  None of his works survive, but from notices of critics\nwe know that he excelled especially in modelling horses and other\nanimals.  His two race-horses in memory of the victory of Hiero\nof Syracuse at Olympia in 468 were considered unsurpassable.\nHowever, it is related that Praxiteles removed the charioteer\nfrom one of the groups of Calamis and replaced it by one of his\nown statues \"that the men of Calamis might not be inferior to his\nhorses.\"  Thus it would appear that Calamis was less successful\nin dealing with the human body, though a statue of Aphrodite from\nhis hand was proverbial, under the name Sosandra, for its grace\nand grave beauty.\n\nPythagoras of Rhegium carried on the realism, truth to nature,\nwhich was beginning to appear as an ideal of artistic\nrepresentation.  He is said to have been the first sculptor to\nmark the veins and sinews on the body.\n\nIn this vivid naturalness Pythagoras was himself far surpassed by\nMyron.  Pythagoras had seen the importance of showing the effect\nof action in every portion of the body.  Myron carried the\nminuteness of representation so far that his Statue of Ladas, the\nrunner, was spoken of not as a runner, but as a BREATHER.  This\nstatue represented the victor of the foot-race falling,\noverstrained and dying, at the goal, the last breath from the\ntired lungs yet hovering upon the lips.  More famous than the\nLadas is the Discobolos , or disc-thrower, of which copies exist\nat Rome, one being at the Vatican, the other at the Palazzo\nMassimi alle Colonne.  These, though doubtless far behind the\noriginal, serve to show the marvellous power of portraying\nintense action which the sculptor possessed.  The athlete is\nrepresented at the precise instant when he has brought the\ngreatest possible bodily strength into play in order to give to\nthe disc its highest force.  The body is bent forward, the toes\nof one foot cling to the ground, the muscles of the torso are\nstrained, the whole body is in an attitude of violent tension\nwhich can endure only for an instant.  Yet the face is free from\ncontortion, free from any trace of effort, calm and beautiful.\nThis shows that Myron, intent as he was upon reproducing nature,\ncould yet depart from his realistic formulae when the\nrequirements of beautiful art demanded it.\n\nThe same delight in rapid momentary action which characterized\nthe two statues of Myron already mentioned appears in a third,\nthe statue of Marsyas astonished at the flute which Athene had\nthrown away, and which was to lead its finder into his fatal\ncontest with Apollo.  A copy of this work at the Lateran Museum\nrepresents the satyr starting back in a rapid mingling of desire\nand fear, which is stamped on his heavy face, as well as\nindicated in the movement of his body.\n\nMyron's realism again found expression in the bronze cow,\ncelebrated by the epigrams of contemporary poets for its striking\nnaturalness.  \"Shepherd, pasture thy flock at a little distance,\nlest thinking thou seest the cow of Myron breathe, thou shouldst\nwish to lead it away with thine oxen,\" was one of them.\n\nThe value and originality of Myron's contributions to the\nprogress of Greek sculpture were so great that he left behind him\na considerable number of artists devoted to his methods.  His son\nLykios followed his father closely.  In statues on the Acropolis\nrepresenting two boys, one bearing a basin, one blowing the coals\nin a censer into a flame, he reminds one of the Ladas, especially\nin the second, where the action of breathing is exemplified in\nevery movement of the body.  Another famous work by a follower of\nMyron was the boy plucking a thorn from his foot, a copy of which\nis in the Rothschild collection.\n\nThe frieze of the Temple of Apollo at Phigales has also been\nattributed to the school of Myron.  The remnants of this frieze,\nnow in the British Museum, show the battle of the Centaurs and\nAmazons.  The figures have not the calm stateliness of bearing\nwhich characterizes those of the Parthenon frieze, but instead\nexhibit a wild vehemence of action which is, perhaps, directly\ndue to the influence of Myron.\n\nAnother pupil of Ageladas, a somewhat younger contemporary of\nPheidias, was Polycleitos.  He excelled in representations of\nhuman, bodily beauty.  Perfection of form was his aim, and so\nnearly did he seem to the ancients to have attained this object\nthat his Doryphoros was taken by them as a model of the human\nfigure.  A copy of this statue exists in the Museum of Naples\nand represents a youth in the attitude of bearing a lance, quiet\nand reserved.  The figure is rather heavily built, firm,\npowerful, and yet graceful, though hardly light enough to justify\nthe praise of perfection which has been lavished upon it.\n\nA companion statue to the Doryphorus of Polycleitos was his\nstatue of the Diadumenos, or boy binding his head with a fillet.\nA supposed copy of this exists in the British Museum.  It\npresents the same general characteristics as the Doryphorus, a\nwell-modelled but thick-set figure standing in an attitude of\nrepose.\n\nWhat Polycleitos did for the male form in these two statues he\ndid for the female form in his Amazon, which, according to a\ndoubtful story, was adjudged in competition superior to a work by\nPheidias.  A statue supposed to be a copy of this masterpiece of\nPolycleitos is now in the Berlin Museum.  It represents a woman\nstanding in a graceful attitude beside a pillar, her left arm\nthrown above her head to free her wounded breast.  The sculptor\nhas succeeded admirably in catching the muscular force and firm\nhard flesh beneath the graceful curves of the woman warrior.\n\nPolycleitos won his chief successes in portraying human figures.\nHis statues of divinities are not numerous: a Zeus at Argos, an\nAphrodite at Amyclae, and, more famous than either, the\nchryselephantine Hera for a temple between Argos and Mycenae.\nThe goddess was represented as seated on a throne of gold, with\nbare head and arms.  In her right hand was the sceptre crowned\nwith the cuckoo, symbol of conjugal fidelity; in her left, the\npomegranate.  There exists no certain copy of the Hera of\nPolycleitos.  The head of Hera in Naples may, perhaps, give us\nsome idea of the type of divine beauty preferred by the sculptor\nwho was preeminent for his devotion to human beauty.\n\nPolycleitos was much praised by the Romans Quintilian and Cicero,\nwho nevertheless, held that though he surpassed the beauty of man\nin nature, yet he did not approach the beauty of the gods.  It\nwas reserved for Pheidias to portray the highest conceptions of\ndivinity of which the Greek mind was capable in his statues of\nAthene in the Parthenon at Athens, and the Zeus of Olympus.\n\nPheidias lived in the golden age of Athenian art.  The victory of\nGreece against Persia had been due in large measure to Athens,\nand the results of the political success fell largely to her.  It\nis true the Persians had held the ground of Athens for weeks, and\nwhen, after the victory of Salamis, the people returned to their\ncity, they found it in ruins.  But the spirit of the Athenians\nhad been stirred, and in spite of the hostility of Persia, the\njealousy of neighboring states, and the ruin of the city, the\npeople felt new confidence in themselves and their divinity, and\nwere more than ever ready to strive for the leadership of Greece.\nReligious feeling, gratitude to the gods who had preserved them,\nand civic pride in the glory of their own victorious city, all\ninspired the Athenians.  After the winter in which the Persians\nwere finally beaten at Plataea, the Athenians began to rebuild.\nFor a while their efforts were confined to rendering the city\nhabitable and defensible, since the activity of the little state\nwas largely political.  But when th leadership of Athens in\nGreece had become firmly established under Theistocles and Cimon,\nthe third president of the democracy, Pericles, found leisure to\nturn to the artistic development of the city.  The time was ripe,\nfor the artistic progress of the people had been no less marked\nthan their political.  The same long training in valor and\ntemperance which gave Athens her statesmen, Aristides and\nPericles, gave her her artists and poets also.  Pericles became\npresident of the city in 444 B.C., just at the time when the\ndecorative arts were approaching perfection under Pheidias.\n\nPheidias was an Athenian by birth, the son of Charmides.  He\nstudied first under Hegias, then under Ageladas the Argive.  He\nbecame the most famous sculptor of his time, and when Pericles\nwanted a director for his great monumental works at Athens, he\nsummoned Pheidias.  Artists from all over Hellas put themselves\nat his disposal, and under his direction the Parthenon was built\nand adorned with the most splendid statuary the world has ever\nknown.\n\nThe Parthenon was fashioned in honor of Athene or Minerva, the\nguardian deity of Athens, the preserver of Hellas, whom the\nAthenians in their gratitude sought to make the sovereign goddess\nof the land which she had saved.  The eastern gable of the temple\nwas adorned with a group representing the appearance of Minerva\nbefore the gods of Olympus.  In the left angle of the gable\nappeared Helios, the dawn, rising from the sea.  In the right\nangle Selene, evening, sank from sight.  Next to Helios was a\nfigure representing either Dionysus or Olympus, and beside were\nseated two figures, perhaps Persephone and Demeter, perhaps two\nHorae.  Approaching these as a messenger was Iris.  Balancing\nthese figures on the side next Selene were two figures,\nrepresenting Aphrodite in the arms of Peitho, or perhaps\nThalassa, goddess of the sea, leaning against Gaia, the earth.\nNearer the centre on this side was Hestia, to whom Hermes brought\nthe tidings.  The central group is totally lost, but must have\nbeen made up of Zeus, Athene, and Vulcan, with, perhaps, others\nof the greater divinities.\n\nThe group of the western pediment represented Athene and\nPoseidon, contesting for the supremacy of Athens.  Athene's\nchariot is driven by Victory, Poseidon's by Amphitrite.  Although\nthe greater part of the attendant deities have disappeared, we\nknow the gods of the rivers of Athens, Eridanas and Ilissos, in\nreclining postures filled the corners of the pediment.  One of\nthese has survived, and remains in its perfection of grace and\nimmortal beauty to attest the wonderful skill that directed the\nchiselling of the whole group.\n\nAlthough the gable groups have suffered terribly in the historic\nvicissitudes of the Parthenon, still enough remains of them to\nshow the dignity of their conception, the rhythm of composition,\nand the splendid freedom of their workmanship.  The fragments\nwere purchased by Lord Elgin early in this century and are now in\nthe British Museum.\n\nThe frieze of the Parthenon, executed under the supervision of\nPheidias, represented one of the most glorious religious\nceremonies of the Greek, the Pan-Athenaic procession.  The\ndeities surround Zeus as spectators of the scene, and toward them\nwinds the long line of virgins bearing incense, herds of animals\nfor sacrifice, players upon the lute and lyre, chariots and\nriders.  On the western front the movement has not yet begun, and\nthe youths and men stand in disorder, some binding their mantles,\nsome mounting their horses.  The frieze is noteworthy for its\nexpression of physical and intellectual beauty which marked the\nhighest conceptions of Greek art, and for the studied mingling of\nforcible action and gracious repose.  The larger part of this\nfrieze has been preserved and is to be seen at the British\nMuseum.\n\nThe third group of Parthenon sculptures, the ornaments of the\nmetope, represents the contest between centaurs and the Lapithae\nwith some scenes interspersed of which the subjects cannot now be\ndetermined.  The frieze is in low relief, the figures scarcely\nstarting from the background.  The sculptures of the metope, on\nthe contrary, are in high relief, frequently giving the\nimpression of marbles detached from the background altogether.\nThey were, moreover, .  Or course, Pheidias himself cannot\nhave had more than the share of general director in the\nsculptures of the metope; many of them are manifestly executed by\ninferior hands.  Nevertheless, the mind of a great designer is\nevident in the wonderful variety of posture and action which the\nfigures show.  Indeed, when we consider the immense number of\nfigures employed, it becomes evident that not even all the\nsculptures of the pediments can have been executed entirely by\nPheidias, who was already probably well advanced in life when he\nbegan the Parthenon decorations; yet all the sculptures were the\nwork of Pheidias or of pupils working under him, and although\ntraces may be found of the influence of other artists,   of\nMyron, for example, in the freedom and naturalness of the action\nin the figures of the frieze,   yet all the decorations of the\nParthenon may fairly be said to belong to the Pheidian school of\nsculpture.\n\nThe fame of Pheidias himself, however, rested very largely on\nthree great pieces of art work: The Athene Promachos, the Athene\nParthenos, and the Olympian Zeus.  The first of these was a work\nof Pheidias's youth.  It represented the goddess standing gazing\ntoward Athens lovingly and protectingly.  She held a spear in one\nhand, the other supported a buckler.  The statue was nine feet\nhigh.  It was dignified and noble, but at the time of its\nconception Pheidias had not freed himself from the convention and\ntraditions of the earlier school, and the stiff folds of the\ntunic, the cold demeanor of the goddess, recall the masters whom\nPheidias was destined to supersede.  No copy of this statue\nsurvives, and hence a description of it must be largely\nconjectural, made up from hints gleaned from Athenian coins.\n\nPheidias sculptured other statues of Athene, but none so\nwonderful as the Athene Parthenos, which, with the Olympian Zeus,\nwas the wonder and admiration of the Greek world.  The Athene\nParthenos was designed to stand as an outward symbol of the\ndivinity in whose protecting might the city had conquered and\ngrown strong, in whose honor the temple had been built in which\nthis statue was to shine as queen.  The Olympian Zeus was the\nrepresentative of that greater divinity which all Hellas united\nin honoring.  We may gain from the words of Pausanias some idea\nof the magnificence of this statue, but of its unutterable\nmajesty we can only form faint images in the mind, remembering\nthe strength and grace of the figures of the pediments of the\ntemple at Athens.  \"Zeus,\" says Pausanias, \"is seated on a throne\nof ivory and gold; upon his head is laced a garland made in\nimitation of olive leaves.  He bears a Victory in his right hand,\nalso crowned and made in gold and ivory, and holding in her right\nhand a little fillet.  In his left hand the god holds a sceptre,\nmade of all kinds of metals; the bird perched on the tip of the\nsceptre is an eagle.  The shoes of Zeus are also of gold, and of\ngold his mantle, and underneath this mantle are figures and\nlilies inlaid.\"\n\nBoth the Olympian Zeus and the Athene were of chryselephantine\nwork offering enormous technical difficulties, but in spite of\nthis both showed almost absolute perfection of form united with\nbeauty of intellectual character to represent the godhead\nincarnate in human substance.  These two statues may be taken as\nthe noblest creations of the Greek imagination when directed to\nthe highest objects of its contemplation.  The beauty of the\nOlympian Zeus, according to Quintilian, \"added a new element to\nreligion.\"\n\nIn the works of art just mentioned the creative force of the\nGreeks attained its highest success.  After the death of Pheidias\nhis methods were carried on in a way by the sculptors who had\nworked under him and become subject to his influence; but as\nyears went on, with less and less to remind us of the supreme\nperfection of the master.  Among these pupils of Pheidias were\nAgoracritos and Colotes in Athens, Paionios, and Alcamenes.  Of\nPaionios fortunately one statue survives in regard to which there\ncan be no doubt.  The Victory erected to the Olympian Zeus shows\na tall goddess, strongly yet gracefully carved, posed forward\nwith her drapery flattened closely against her body in front as\nif by the wind, and streaming freely behind.  The masterpiece of\nAlcamenes, an Aphrodite, is known only by descriptions.  The\npediments of the temple at Olympia have been assigned, by\ntradition, one to Alcamenes, one to Paionios.  They are, however,\nso thoroughly archaic in style that it seems impossible to\nreconcile them with what we know of the work of the men to whom\nthey are attributed.  The group of the eastern front represented\nthe chariot races of Oinomaos and Pelops; that of the western,\nthe struggle of the Centaurs and Lapithae.  In the latter the\naction is extremely violent, only the Apollo in the midst is calm\nand commanding.  In both pediments there are decided approaches\nto realism.\n\nIn Athens, after Pheidias, the greatest sculptures were those\nused to adorn the Erechtheion.  The group of Caryatids, maidens\nwho stand erect and firm, bearing upon their heads the weight of\nthe porch, is justly celebrated as an architectural device.  At\nthe same time, the maidens, though thus performing the work of\ncolumns, do not lose the grace and charm which naturally belongs\nto them.\n\nAnother post-Pheidian work at Athens was the temple of Nike\nApteros, the wingless Victory.  The bas-reliefs from this temple,\nnow in the Acropolis Museum at Athens, one representing the\nVictory stooping to tie her sandal, another, the Victory crowning\na trophy, recall the consummate grace of the art of Pheidias, the\ngreatest Greek art.\n\nAgoracritos left behind him works at Athens which in their\nperfection could scarcely be distinguished from the works of\nPheidias himself, none of which have come down to us.  But from\nthe time of the Peloponnesian war, the seeds of decay were in the\nart of Hellas, and they ripened fast.  In one direction\nCallimachus carried refined delicacy and formal perfection to\nexcess; and in the other Demetrios, the portrait sculptor, put by\nideal beauty for the striking characteristics of realism.  Thus\nthe strict reserve, the earnest simplicity of Pheidias and his\ncontemporaries, were sacrificed   sacrificed partly, it is true,\nto the requirements of a fuller spiritual life, partly to the\ndemands of a wider knowledge and deeper passion.  The legitimate\neffects of sculpture are strictly limited.  Sculpture is fitted\nto express not temporary, accidental feeling, but permanent\ncharacter; not violent action, but repose.  In the great work of\nthe golden age the thought of the artist was happily limited so\nthat the form was adequate to its expression.  One single motive\nwas all that he tried to express   a motive uncomplicated by\ndetails of specific situation, a type of general beauty unmixed\nwith the peculiar suggestions of special and individual emotion.\nWhen the onward impulse led the artist to pass over the severe\nlimits which bounded the thought of the earlier school, he found\nhis medium becoming less adequate to the demands of his more\ndetailed and circumstantial mental conception.  The later\nsculpture, therefore, lacks in some measure the repose and entire\nassurance of the earlier.  The earlier sculpture confines itself\nto broad, central lines of heroic and divine character, as in the\ntwo masterpieces of Pheidias.  The latter dealt in great\nelaboration with the details and elements of the stories and\ncharacters that formed its subjects, as in the Niobe group, or\nthe Laocoon, to be mentioned later.\n\nThese modern tendencies produced as the greatest artists of the\nlater Greek type Scopas and Praxiteles.\n\nBetween these, however, and the earlier school which they\nsuperseded came the Athenian Kephisodotos, the father, it may be\nsupposed of Praxiteles.  His fame rests upon a single work, a\ncopy of which has been discovered, the Eirene and Ploutos.  In\nthis, while the simplicity and strictness of the Pheidian ideal\nhave been largely preserved, it has been used as the vehicle of\ndeeper feeling and more spiritual life.\n\nScopas was born at Paros, and lived during the fist half of the\nfourth century.  He did much decorative work including the\npediments of the temple of Athena at Tegea.  He participated also\nin the decoration of the Mausoleum erected by Artemisia to the\nmemory of her husband.  In this latter, the battle of the\nAmazons, though probably not the work of Scopas himself, shows in\nthe violence of its attitudes and the pathos of its action the\nnew elements of interest in Greek art with the introduction of\nwhich Scopas is connected.  The fame of Scopas rests principally\non the Niobe group which is attributed to him.  The sculpture\nrepresents the wife of Amphion at the moment when the curse of\nApollo and Diana falls upon her, and her children are slain\nbefore her eyes.  The children, already feeling the arrows of the\ngods, are flying to her for protection.  She tries in vain to\nshield her youngest born beneath her mantle, and turns as if to\nhide her face with its motherly pride just giving place to\ndespair and agony.  The whole group is free from contortion and\ngrandly tragic.  The original exists no longer, but copies of\nparts of the group are found in the Uffizi Gallery at Florence.\n\nThe Niobe group shows the distinction between Scopas and\nPraxiteles and the earlier artists in choice of subject and mode\nof treatment.  The same distinction is shown by the Raging\nBacchante of Scopas.  The head is thrown back, the hair loosened,\nthe garments floating in the wind,   an ecstacy of wild, torrent-\nlike action.\n\nOf the work of Praxiteles we know more directly than of the work\nof any other Greek sculptor of the same remoteness, for one\nstatue has come down to us actually from the master's own hand,\nand we possess good copies of several others.  His statues of\nAphrodite, of which there were at least five, are known to us by\nthe figures on coins and by two works in the same style, the\nAphrodite in the Glyptothek, and that of the Vatican.  The most\nfamous of all was the Aphrodite of Cnidos, which was ranked with\nthe Olympian Zeus and was called one of the wonders of te world.\nKing Nicomedes of Bithynia offered vainly to the people of Cnidos\nthe entire amount of their state debt for its possession.  Lucian\ndescribed the goddess as having a smile somewhat proud and\ndisdainful; yet the eyes, moist and kindly, glowed with\ntenderness and passion, and the graceful lines of the shoulders,\nthe voluptuous curves of the thighs, are full of sensuous\nfeeling.  The goddess, as represented in coins, stood beside a\nvase, over which her drapery is falling, while with her right\nhand she shields herself modestly.  The head of Aphrodite in the\nBritish Museum, with its pure brows, its delicate, voluptuous\nlips, and sweet, soft skin, is, perhaps, the nearest approach\nwhich we possess to the glorious beauty of the original.\n\nOther Aphrodites, the draped statue of Cos among them, and\nseveral statues of Eros, representing tender, effeminate youths,\nillustrate further the departure which Praxiteles marks from the\nrestraint of Pheidias.  Another of his masculine figures is the\ngraceful Apollo with the Lizard.  The god, strong in his youthful\nsuppleness, is leaning against a tree threatening with his darts\na small lizard which is seeking to climb up.  Still another type\nof masculine grace left us by Praxiteles is his statue of the\nSatyr, of which a copy exists in the Capitoline Museum.  The\nSatyr, in the hands of Praxiteles, lost all his ancient\nuncouthness, and became a strong, graceful youth, with soft, full\nform.  In the Capitoline representation the boy is leaning easily\nagainst a tree, throwing his body into the most indolent posture,\nwhich brings out the soft, feminine curves of hips and legs.  In\nfact, so thoroughly is the feminine principle worked into the\nstatues of the Apollo, the Eros, and the Satyr, that this\ncharacteristic became considered typical of Praxiteles, and when,\nin 1877, was discovered the one authentic work which we possess\nof this artist, the great Hermes of Olympia, critics were at a\nloss to reconcile this figure with what was already known of the\nsculptor's work, some holding that it must be a work of his\nyouth, when, through his father, Kephisodotos, he felt the force\nof the Pheidian tradition, others that there must have been two\nsculptors bearing the great name of Praxiteles.\n\nThe Hermes was found lacking the right arm and both legs below\nthe knees, but the marvellous head and torso are perfectly\npreserved.  The god is without the traditional symbols of his\ndivinity.  He is merely a beautiful man.  He stands leaning\neasily against a tree, supporting on one arm the child Dionysus,\nto whom he turns his gracious head with the devotion and love of\na protector.  The face, in its expression of sweet majesty, is\ndistinctly a personal conception.  The low forehead, the eyes far\napart, the small, playful mouth, the round, dimpled chin, all\nbear evidence to the individual quality which Praxiteles infused\ninto the ideal thought of the god.  The body, though at rest, is\ninstinct with life and activity, in spite of its grace.  In\nshort, the form of the god has the superb perfection, as the face\nhas the dignity, which was attributed to Pheidias.  Nevertheless,\nthe Hermes illustrates sensual loveliness of the later school.\nThe freedom with which the god is conceived belongs to an age\nwhen the chains of religious belief sat lightly upon the artist.\nThe gds of Praxiteles are the gods of human experience, and in\nhis treatment of them he does not always escape the tendency of\nthe age of decline to put pathos and passion in the place of\neternal majesty.\n\nThe influence of Scopas and Praxiteles continued to be felt\nthrough a number of artists who worked in sufficient harmony with\nthem to be properly called of their school.  To one of these\nfollowers of Praxiteles, some say as a copy of a work of the\nmaster himself, we must attribute the Demeter now in the British\nMuseum.  This is  a pathetic illustration of suffering\nmotherhood.  There is no exaggeration in the grief, only the calm\ndignity of a sorrow which in spite of hope refuses to be\ncomforted.\n\nAnother work of an unknown artist, probably a follower of Scopas,\nis the splendid Victory of Samothrace, now in the Louvre.  The\ngoddess, with her great wings outspread behind her, is being\ncarried forward, her firm rounded limbs striking through the\ndraperies which flutter behind her, and fall about her in soft\nfolds.  Vigorous and stately, the goddess poises herself on the\nprow of the ship, swaying with the impulse of conquering daring\nand strength.\n\nAnother statue which belongs, so far as artistic reasoning may\ncarry us, to the period and school of Praxiteles, is the so-\ncalled Venus of Milo.  The proper title to be given to this\nstatue is doubtful, for the drapery corresponds to that of the\nRoman type of Victory, and if we could be sure that the goddess\nonce held the shield of conquest in her now broken arms we should\nbe forced to call the figure a Victory and place its date no\nearlier than the second century B.C.  However this may be, the\nstatue is justly one of the most famous in the world.  It\nrepresents an ideal of purity and sweetness.  There is not a\ntrace of coarseness or immodesty in the half-naked woman who\nstands perfect in the maidenly dignity of her own conquering\nfairness.  Her serious yet smiling face, her graceful form, the\ndelicacy of feeling in attitude and gaze, the tender moulding of\nbreast and limbs, make it a worthy companion of the Hermes or\nPraxiteles.  It seems scarcely possible that it should not have\nsprung from the inspiration of his example.\n\nThe last of the great sculptors of Greece was Lysippos of Sikyou.\nHe differed from Pheidias on the one hand and from Polycleitos on\nthe other.  Pheidias strove to make his gods all god-like;\nLysippos was content to represent them merely as exaggerated\nhuman beings; but therein he differed also from Polycleitos, who\naimed to model the human body with the beauty only which actually\nexisted in it.  Lysippos felt that he must set the standard of\nhuman perfection higher than it appears in the average of human\nexamples.  Hence we have from him the statues of Heracles, in\nwhich the ideal of manly strength was carried far beyond the\nrange of human possibility.  A reminiscence of this conception of\nLysippos may be found in the Farnese Heracles of Glycon, now in\nthe Museum of Naples.  Lysippos also sculptured four statues of\nZeus, which depended for their interest largely on their heroic\nsize.\n\nLysippos won much fame by his statues of Alexander the Great, but\nhe is chiefly known to us by his statue of the athlete scraping\nhimself with a strigil, of which an authentic copy is in the\nVatican.  The figure differs decidedly from the thick-set, rather\nheavy figures of Polycleitos, being tall, and slender in spite of\nits robustness.  The head is small, the torso is small at the\nwaist, but strong, and the whole body is splendidly active.\n\nThe changes in the models of earlier sculptors made by Lysippos\nwere of sufficient importance to give rise to a school which was\ncarried on by his sons and others, producing among many famous\nworks the Barberini Faun, now at the Glyptothek, Munich.  The\nenormous Colossus of Rhodes was also the work of a disciple of\nLysippos.\n\nBut from this time the downward tendency in Greek art is only too\napparent, and very rapid.  The spread of Greek influence over\nAsia, and later, in consequence of the conquest of Greece by\nRome, over Europe, had the effect of widening the market for\nGreek production, but of drying up the sources of what was vital\nin that production.  Athens and Sikyou became mere provincial\ncities, and were shorn thenceforth of all artistic significance;\nand Greek art, thus deprived of the roots of its life, continued\nto grow for a while with a rank luxuriance of production, but\nsoon became normal and conventional.  The artists who followed\nLysippos contented themselves chiefly with seeking a merely\ntechnical perfection in reproducing the creations of the earlier\nand more original age.\n\nAt Pergamon under Attalus, in the last years of the third\ncentury, there was something of an artistic revival.  This\nAttalus successfully defended his country against an overwhelming\nattack of the Gauls from the north.  To celebrate this victory,\nan altar was erected to Zeus on the Acropolis of Pergamon, of\nwhich the frieze represented the contest between Zeus and the\ngiants.  These sculptures are now to be found in Berlin.  They\nare carved in high relief; the giants with muscles strained and\ndistended, their bodies writhing in the contortions of effort and\nsuffering; the gods, no longer calm and restrained, but\nthemselves overcome with the ardor of battle.  Zeus stretches his\narms over the battle-field hurling destruction everywhere.\nAthene turns from the field, dragging at her heels a young giant\nwhom she has conquered, and reaches forward to the crown of\nvictory.  The wild, passionate action of the whole work remove it\nfar from the firm, orderly work of Pheidias, and carry it almost\nto the extreme of pathetic representation in sculpture shown by\nthe Laocoon.\n\nThe contests with the Gauls, the fear inspired by the huge forms\nof the barbarians, seem to have influenced powerfully the\nimaginative conceptions of the sculptors of the school of\nPergamon.  One of the most famous works which they have left is\nthe figure long known as the Dying Gladiator, of which a copy\nexists in the Capitoline Museum.  This represents a Gaul sinking\nwounded to the ground, supporting himself on his right arm.  It\nis remarkable for its stern realism.  The pain and sense of\ndefeat comes out in every feature.  Moreover, the nationality of\nthe fallen warrior is clearly expressed in the deep indentation\nbetween the heavy brow and the prominent nose, in the face,\nshaven, except the upper lip, in the uncouth, fleshy body, in the\nrough hands and feet.  Usually the artist preferred to hint at\nthe race by some peculiarities of costume.  Here nothing but\nuncompromising realism of feature will satisfy the sculptor.  A\ncompanion piece to the Wounded Gaul, though less famous, is the\ngroup of the Villa Ludovisi, which represents a Gaul, who has\nslain his wife, in the act of stabbing himself in the neck.\n\nIn addition to inspiring the sculptures at Pergamon, Attalus\ndedicated to the gods of Athens a votive offering in return for\nthe help which they had given him.  This was placed on the\nAcropolis at Athens.  It consisted of four groups, representing\nthe gigantomachia or giant combat, the battle of the Amazons, the\nbattle of Marathon, and the victory of Attalus.  Figures from\nthese survive, a dead Amazon at Naples and a kneeling Persian at\nthe Vatican being the best known.\n\nAnother state which became famous in the declining days of Greek\nart was the republic of Rhodes.  The Rhodian sculptors learned\ntheir anatomy from Lysippos, and caught their dramatic instinct\nfrom the artists of Pergamon.  Two of the most famous sculpture\ngroups in the world were produced at Rhodes,   the Laocoon, now\nat the Vatican, and the Farnese Bull, now at Naples.  The former\nwas the work of three artists, given by Pliny as Agesandros,\nAthanodorus, and Polydorus.  It has been accepted as one of the\nmasterpieces of the world, but as we shall see, it is manifestly\na work of a time of decadence.\n\nThe Laocoon illustrates excellently the extreme results of the\npathetic tendency.  The priest Laocoon is represented at the\nmoment when the serpents of Apollo surround him and his two sons,\nborn through their father's sin, and bear them all three down to\ndestruction.  The younger son, fatally bitten, falls back in\ndeath agony.  The father yields slowly, his desperation giving\nway before the merciless strength of the serpents.  The elder son\nshrinks away in horror though bound fast by the inevitable coils.\n\nThe Laocoon shows the pathetic tendency at its utmost.  The\ntechnical difficulties have been overcome with astonishing\nsuccess, and though the combination of figures is impossible in\nlife, it is marvellously effective in art.  But the group\ndepends for its interest purely on the accidental horror of the\nsituation.  There is no hint in the sculpture of the motive of\nthe tragedy, no suggestion of ethical significance in the\nsuffering portrayed.  It does not connect itself with any\nprinciple of life.  In this way the work became a superb piece of\ndisplay, a TOUR DE FORCE of surprising composition but with\nlittle serious meaning.\n\nThe same judgment may be extended to the Farnese Bull, the work\nof Apollonius and Tauriscos, artists from Tralles who lived at\nRhodes.  This group represents the punishment of the cruel Dirke\nat the hands of the sons of Antiope.  The beautiful queen clasps\nthe knee of one of the sons praying for grace, while the other\nboy is about to throw over her the noose which is to bind her to\nthe bull.  Antiope stands in the background, a mere lay figure,\nand scattered about are numerous small symbolical figures.  Like\nthe Laocoon the Farnese Bull exhibits surprising mastery of\ntechnical obstacles, but, like the Laocoon, it falls short of\ntrue tragic grandeur.  In a greater degree than the Laocoon it\ntrenches upon the province of painting.  It is more complicated\nin its subject-matter; and the appearance in the group of many\nsmall subsidiary figures, which in a painting might have been\ngiven their proper value, being in the marble of the same relief\nand distinction as the major characters, give a somewhat absurd\neffect.  The little goddess who sits in the foreground, for\ninstance, is smaller than the dog.  Again, there is less of the\nmotive shown than in the Laocoon.  The group is seized at the\nmoment preceding the frightful catastrophe, but that moment is as\nfull of agony as the succeeding ones, and in addition there is\nthe feeling of suspense and oppression that comes from the\nunfinished tragedy.  Altogether, the group, in spite of the\nmarvellous technical skill shown in details, is a failure when\njudged on general lines.  Its interest lies in momentary and\napparently ummotived suffering, not in any truly serious\nconception of life.\n\nWith the conquest of Greece by Rome, the final stage of Greek art\nbegins.  But the vigor and originality had departed.  The\nsculptors aimed at and attained technical correctness, academic\nbeauty of form, sensuous feeling, perfection of details, but they\nlost all imaginative power.  A good example of the work of this\nperiod is found in the Apollo Belvidere now in the Vatican.  This\nfamous statue is an early Roman copy of a Greek original.  It\nrepresents the god advancing easily, full of vigor and grace.  It\nis marvellously correct in drawing, but quite without feeling of\nany kind.\n\nAnother work of this period is the sleeping Ariadne of the\nVatican.  This represents a woman reclining in a studied\nsentimental attitude, her arms thrown about her head, her body\nswathed in its protecting drapery.  To the same period also\nbelongs almost the last notable work of Greek art, the degenerate\nand sensuous conception of the Venus de Medici.  In this statue\nthe goddess stands as if rising from the sea, her attitude\nreserved, yet coquettish and self-conscious.  The form is\ntechnically perfect, graceful, and soft in its refinement, but\ncompared with the earlier Aphrodites it is an unworthy successor.\n\nStill another famous statue is the Borghese Gladiator, of Agasius\nof Ephesus, now in the Louvre.  The statue is merely a bit of\ndisplay, an effort to parade technical skill and anatomical\nknowledge.  The gladiator throws his weight strongly on his right\nleg, and holds one arm high above his head, giving to his whole\nbody an effect of straining.  The figure is strong and wiry.\nAgasius was distinctly an imitator, as were most of the artists\nof this age, among whom must be reckoned the skilful sculptor of\nthe crouching Venus, also in the Louvre.  The goddess is shown as\nbending down in graceful curves until her body is supported on\nthe right leg, which is bent double.  The form is strong and\nhealthy, graceful and easy in its somewhat constrained posture.\n\nDuring all of this final period Greek art was very largely\ninfluenced by the relations which existed between Greece and\nRome.  About the year 200 B.C. the Roman conquest of Greece led\nto an important traffic in works of art between Rome and the\nGreek cities.  For a time, indeed, statues formed a recognized\npart of the booty which graced every Roman triumph.  M. Fulvius\nNobilior carried away not less than five hundred and fifteen.\nAfter the period of conquest the importation of Greek statues\ncontinued at Rome, and in time Greek artists also began to remove\nthither, so that Rome became not only the centre for the\ncollection of Greek works of art, but the chief seat of their\nproduction.  At this time the Roman religious conceptions were\nidentified with those of Greece, and the Greek gods received the\nLatin names by which we now know them.  The influence of the\nGreeks upon Rome was very marked, but the reflex influence of the\nmaterial civilization of Italy upon Greek art was altogether bad,\nand thus the splendor of classical art went out in\ndilletantism and weakness.\n\nThe destruction of the Roman Empire by the barbarians makes a\nbreak in the artistic history of the world.  Not for many\ncenturies was there a vestige of artistic production.  Even when\nin Italy and France the monks began to make crude attempts to\nreach out for and represent in painting and sculpture imaginative\nconceptions of things beautiful, they took their material\nexclusively from Christian sources.  The tradition of classical\nstories had nearly vanished from the mind of Europe.  Not until\nthe Renaissance restored the knowledge of classical culture to\nEurope do we find artists making any use of the wealth of\nimaginative material stored up in the myths of Greece.  Then,\nindeed, by the discovery and circulation of the poets of\nmythology, the Greek stories and conceptions of characters,\ndivine and human, became known once more and were used freely,\nremaining until the present day one chief source of material and\nsubject-matter for the use of the painter and sculptor.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bulfinch's Mythology: The Age of Fable, by\nThomas Bulfinch\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Roger Frank, Brian Wilcox and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nbook was produced from images made available by the\nHathiTrust Digital Library.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber’s Note:-\n\nThe original spelling, hyphenation, accentuation and punctuation has\nbeen retained, with the exception of apparent typographical errors\nwhich have been corrected.\n\nItalic text is denoted _thus_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RAPIN\n\n\nBY\n\nHENRY DE VERE STACPOOLE\n\nAUTHOR OF “PIERROT”\n\n\n[Illustration: colophon]\n\n\nNEW YORK\n\nHENRY HOLT AND COMPANY\n\n1899\n\n\n\n\n_This book is not for sale outside of the United States and Canada._\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1899,\n\nBY\n\nHENRY HOLT & CO.\n\n\n  THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,\n  RAHWAY, N. J.\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD.\n\n\nIn the rooms of my friend Otto Struve there hangs a parrot cage\ncontaining a somewhat dejected-looking lark. It was given to him by\nGustave Garnier, the man who took the Prix de Rome last year—or was\nit the year before?—and whose picture of a girl was bought by the\nstate for I do not know how many thousand francs before it had hung a\nfortnight in the Salon. A story connects the painter and the picture\nand the bird—a story whose name ought to have been “Célestin” but for\nthat eternal unfitness of things which makes the comedy of real life an\ninverted image of the comedy of romance and demands for the story of\nCélestin the title of “Toto,” or, if it please you better, “The Rapin.”\n\n  H. de V. S.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nPART I.\n\n  CHAPTER                                          PAGE\n\n  I.   TOTO                                            1\n\n  II.  THE GOOD ADVICE OF M. DE NANI                  20\n\n  III. THE FAG END OF A NIGHT AND THE BEGINNING OF\n         A MORNING                                    35\n\n  IV.  THE POETRY OF HATS                             45\n\n  V.   GAILLARD THE COMFORTER                         62\n\n  VI.  FANFOULLARD, MIRMILLARD, AND PAPILLARD         76\n\n\n  PART II.\n\n  I.   IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY                           88\n\n  II.  FÊTE CHAMPÊTRE                                103\n\n  III. THE GENESIS OF “PANTIN”                       117\n\n  IV.  RECEIPT FOR STUFFING A MARQUIS                130\n\n  V.   ANGÉLIQUE                                     141\n\n  VI.  THE DEPARTURE                                 146\n\n\n  PART III.\n\n  I.   GARNIER                                       153\n\n  II.  THE SORROWS OF GAILLARD                       165\n\n  III. THE SORROWS OF ART                            185\n\n  IV.  BOURGEOIS—BANKER—PRINCE                       192\n\n  V.   THE SHOWER                                    218\n\n\n  PART IV.\n\n  I.   ADAM FROISSART                               227\n\n  II.  THE STORY OF FANTOFF AND BASTICHE            253\n\n  III. THE REVENGE OF M. DE NANI                    262\n\n  IV.  ENVOY                                        290\n\n\n\n\nTHE RAPIN.\n\n\n\n\nPart I.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTOTO.\n\n\nThe room was filled with an odor of Nice violets, fur, and the faint\nscent of caravan tea. A number of candles burning under rose-colored\nshades lit the place subduedly, whilst through the great windows the\nbroad white expanse of the Boulevard Haussmann reflected the cold light\nof the April evening with a suggestion of snow.\n\nThe Princesse de Cammora’s “Five-o’clock” was exhausting itself,\nMadeline Frémont of the Comédie Française having just departed, also\nthe Duchesse M—— de M——, the wheels of whose barouche had a moment ago\nrumbled away round the corner of the Rue de Courcelles.\n\nNothing was left now but for the remaining few to take their departure.\nThere was nothing to keep them, yet they clung after the fashion of\ngrounds to the bottom of a coffee-cup.\n\nThere were three ancient dames and an old Marquis, all relics of the\nEmpire, all boring each other to death, and lingering on in the dim\nhope of being asked to dinner. A pretty girl in furs and picture hat\nstood at one of the windows, her furs thrown open, and her eyes fixed\nmeditatively upon the street. M. le Marquis Sobrahon de Nani was\nexplaining to two old Empire women the difference between the Comédie\nFrançaise now and “then,” whilst the Princesse de Cammora sat near\nthe tea-table with its little cups and dishes of _petits fours_ and\nwhat-nots, conversing volubly with another Princesse, painted, after\nthe fashion of her hostess, with the roses of eighteen on the parchment\nof fifty.\n\n“I should never have called him Toto,” wailed the Princesse de Cammora,\nwhilst the girl at the window pricked her ears beneath her picture hat,\nand seemed more than ever absorbed by the Boulevard Haussmann. “It\nwas the wretched _Nounou’s_ fault; she came from Tarbes. Really, if\nI had known the worry of nurses, I would never have had a child. She\nstole everything she could lay her hands upon—my bracelets, my rings,\nthe drops off the grand chandelier; everything was found in her box;\nit was like the nest of a magpie. She spoke as if she held pins in her\nmouth, and she could never pronounce the name Désiré, so she called him\nToto. Her husband was an Italian from Ventimiglia, and he was called\nToto, and so it pleased the good God that my child should receive this\noutrageous nickname. Everyone calls him Toto now, and the wretched boy,\nwhen I accuse him of his wildnesses, throws the name in my teeth, and\nasks me how he can live seriously with such a pug-dog name attached to\nhim. I assure you, my dear Mathilde, the amounts I have paid during the\nlast month would horrify you—_bills_ that he has run up! Oh, no, never\ngive a child a thoughtless name! I assure you, in this world _things\noften begin in jest which end very much in earnest_. If you could only\nguess one-half of this mad boy’s wickedness and absurd”—here the other\nPrincesse made a grimace at Helen Powers, the American millionairess\nin the picture hat, as if to say, “She is listening”—“and absurd\ngood-nature!” resumed the mother of Toto, snapping her scent-bottle\nlid—“wickednesses without a particle of real wickedness in them, but\nnone the less annoying to a mother for that. Only the other night he\ncame home without any money. It seems he had met a poor old woman near\nthe Madeleine, and for a freak upset the basket of apples she was\ncarrying; then, to pay her for her apples, what must he do but empty\nall the money in his pocket—some seventeen napoleons, as I afterwards\nlearnt—into her lap! That is the sort of wickedness my Toto indulges\nin.”\n\n“Ah!” moaned the other, shaking a crumb off her muff, “such\nwickednesses are enough to open the gates of heaven. And this poor old\nwoman?”\n\n“She has retired into the country to live on this bounty. Toto, I\nbelieve, went to-day to see her and carry her some more assistance.\n_Mon Dieu!_”\n\nSomeone who had slipped into the room, and who had been standing\nunobserved behind the heavy curtains of the door listening to the lies\nin the air, slipped out now like a hound freed from the leash, and\nembraced the Princesse de Cammora, nearly dislocating her neck, and\nbrushing the bloom off her right cheek. It was Toto.\n\nNever was created a more debonair or devil-may-care-looking person\nthan Toto; the name fitted him like a glove, at least now, as he stood\nhelping himself to sweets from the table and laughing at his mother. He\nlooked about eighteen; his real age, however, was twenty-two, and he\npossessed that brightness of eye and vivacity of manner which sometimes\nindicates genius, and sometimes excellent health, combined with a\nhighly strung nervous temperament. Affecting Longchamps and art, the\nsociety of pugilists and men of letters, shining here as a _flâneur_,\nthere as the patron of little poets, and lately—somewhat in secret—as\na painter of pictures painted all by himself, he presented a queer\nvariety of that always amusing insect, the “child of the age.”\n\n“Where the devil can Toto have come from?” asked Otto Struve, the art\ncritic, one day, tilting his hat back in momentary astonishment. “His\nfather, on his own showing, was a miser; his mother never laughed.\nThey marry, and live for ten years unproductive as a pair of icebergs,\nand then produce Toto, who only stops smiling when he laughs or yawns,\nand spending money when he sleeps; whose head produces the most\nextraordinary ideas in Paris; whom God constructed with one eye on\nthe gingerbread fair, and whom the devil made a prince of—a prince of\ntwenty, with the ideas of ten and the vices of sixty!”\n\n“I am a changeling,” had replied Toto, bonneting Otto Struve’s hat in\nsuch a manner that it had to be cut off with scissors.\n\nNow he saluted everyone at once—Helen Powers, and his mother, and the\nold Princesse de Harnac. The Empire decadents came out of their corner\nlike lizards towards sunshine, and he promptly invited them to stay to\ndinner, knowing that his mother hated them, and that he would be dining\nout himself.\n\n“I have been to a cock-fight at Chantilly,” he explained, glancing\ndown at the suit of tweed in which he was dressed. “The police broke it\nup, and we had to run; but they wired, and the police stopped me at the\nNord. They let me go when I gave my address; then I took a cab from the\nNord, and coming downhill we ran over a dog—nothing but accidents.”\n\nThe old Marquis de Nani lifted up his hands in pretended horror to\nplease his hostess, and lowered them again and took a pinch of snuff\nwhen that lady frowned slightly.\n\n“I do not see any particular harm in cock-fighting,” said Toto’s\nmother, appealing to the company generally, and Helen Powers in\nparticular. “I know it sounds cruel, but, then, they say the cocks\nenjoy it.”\n\n“That must be so,” said the Marquis, replacing his snuff-box in his\npocket, “or else they would not fight.”\n\n“But——” said Miss Powers, and stopped. Her eyes had met Toto’s eyes.\nHe was standing almost behind his mother and making grimaces, as if\nto say, “For goodness’ sake don’t begin an argument, or we shall\nnever get away.” “But,” said Miss Powers, shamelessly turning the\nconversation in the wished-for direction, “you promised me, M. le\nPrince, to show me those pictures on which you were engaged.”\n\n“That is why I came back in such a hurry,” replied Toto. “And if you\nwill accompany me now to my studio, come on, and M. le Marquis also,\nfor he is a connoisseur. No one else; my bashfulness will not hold more\nthan two comfortably.”\n\nHe led the way, laughing, out of the room and up the great staircase,\nHelen Powers following and the old Marquis de Nani toiling after,\nhis Empire legs unaccustomed to such unstately swiftness. On the top\nlanding Prince Toto opened a door and switched on the electric light,\nexposing to view a large square studio.\n\nOne could see at a glance that this was the atelier of no dilettante.\nWork was written on the place from the top light to the boarded\nfloor. Several massive easels stood about with the air of willing\nlaborers awaiting their jobs; there was a throne and some drapery; a\npainting-jacket hung suspended from a nail in the wall, along which\na number of canvases stood with their backs to the room like children\nundergoing punishment.\n\nHelen Powers felt utterly astonished. She had known Toto some time,\nand she liked him more, perhaps, than she had ever liked another man;\nbut she was alive to his faults, his irresponsibility, his childish\nwildnesses. Here, then, was a revelation of honest hard work more\namazing than a jewel in a toad’s head.\n\n“I know the place is rather bare,” said Toto apologetically, “but it’s\ngood enough to work in. It’s a bit cold now, but I light a fire when I\nam working at the nude, and then it is like a furnace. Here’s a thing.”\n\nHe took one of the canvases in Coventry and placed it upon an easel.\n\n“Oh, my God, how beautiful!” said the old Marquis de Nani,\nputting on his pince-nez as the electric light fell full upon the\nindifferent-looking daub exposed so ruthlessly to view.\n\n“Everyone says that,” said Toto, so innocently and so frankly that the\ntears almost rose to Helen Powers’ eyes.\n\n“I have never seen a picture quite like that,” continued the Marquis.\n“There is an air about it, a something indefinable about it. Those\nbulrushes”—it was a naked nymph trying to screen herself behind\nbulrushes—“those bulrushes seem to quiver in the wind.”\n\n“Otto Struve said Ingres might have painted it,” said Toto, with a\nsmile that made him look like an angel by Raphael. He had several\nsmiles at his command, and most of them made him look like a\ngood-humored devil. “But they turned it away from the Salon, though I’d\nhad half of the hanging committee to dinner the night before and made\nthem jolly. Otto said the other half were jealous. I’ll have the whole\nlot next time if I can get them. Here’s a John the Baptist. What do you\nthink of that?”\n\nJohn the Baptist was brought forth, and a Sisera and Jael, all treated\nin the old original manner, with a difference due to want of skill. A\nlamentable Holofernes appeared and vanished.\n\n“Those are all classical,” said the author after De Nani had almost\nbleated himself hoarse in their praise, revolving in his own mind the\nwhile a project which had for aim the borrowing of five hundred francs\nfrom this illustrious artist. “But this is original, or, at least, I\nthink so.”\n\nHe exposed a blind beggar and his daughter, filled with a mawkish\nsentimentality strangely at variance with the known character of the\nPrince.\n\nHelen Powers looked on. Her liking for Toto had rapidly altered. This\nart show had supplied the crystallizing thread for her feelings to\nseize upon. She was now mournfully in love with him. It was as if he\nhad suddenly become maimed and needful of her pity. Her mind became\nfilled with anger against Otto Struve and old De Nani and all the other\nsycophants or sneerers who had belauded this poor boy and his works.\nShe felt a kindness for cock-fighting as she gazed upon the blind\nbeggar and his whining yellow-ocher daughter, a strange emotion in the\nbreast of a delicately nurtured girl, and, so to speak, one of the\nminor miracles wrought by art.\n\nToto, as anxious for praise as a baby for milk, looked at her with dark\nexpectant eyes.\n\n“I don’t know what to say,” said the poor girl. “I know nothing about\nart, but I think I like Jael the best; but don’t take my opinion,\nplease, for I am an utter ignoramus. What a time it must have taken you\nto paint all these!”\n\n“That’s just what it didn’t,” replied the artist joyously, as if he had\noutwitted art by some clever trick. “I paint like lightning. You see, I\nhaven’t much time to spare; but I love it, and give all the time I can.\nI have often thought of throwing everything else over and giving all my\ntime to art.”\n\n“Oh, do!” said Helen earnestly.\n\n“Do what?” asked the lightning artist.\n\n“Give up all your time to it, be in earnest over it. Nothing is done in\nthis world without earnestness of purpose. I am sure you would be—would\nbe—a great artist if you worked. Give up cock-fighting and all that,\nand take seriously to art.”\n\n“Do you know,” said Prince Toto, putting the blind beggar away, “I\nhave often thought of kicking the world over. I’ve seen everything and\ndone everything worth doing, and I feel as old as the hills.”\n\n“He, he, he!” bleated the Marquis de Nani.\n\n“Then why not begin at once?” said Helen. “If you are only in earnest\nand have purpose, you will succeed, for I am sure you have genius.”\n\nThe unlucky little word had escaped unweighed by the speaker. Toto\nnodded reflectively, as if to some thought that had just left the\nshelter of his curly head to take visible form.\n\n“I am sure that M. le Prince has more genius in that head of his than\nresides in all those palette-scrapers one sees in the Louvre,” declared\nthe Marquis de Nani, taking a pinch of snuff and making a little\nold-fashioned bow, as if to the observation that had just escaped from\nhim. He held out his box, and the amateur genius took a pinch and\nsneezed frightfully.\n\n“And genius,” continued the old gentleman reflectively, adding on\ntwo hundred and fifty francs to the intended loan, “it seems to me,\nnever has a more charming home than with a man of birth; birth comes\nout even in a picture. That blind beggar and his little daughter.\nAh, my God! cannot one see the sympathy of the well-born for the\npoor illuminating it? I never praise—old age has made a wreck of my\nenthusiasm; but my heart rekindles when I see art thus wrested from the\nhands of the hateful _canaille_ by one of _us_.”\n\n“Indeed!” said Helen Powers, whose father had been a pig-slaughterer.\n\n“Indeed yes, mademoiselle!” replied the old man, winking and blinking\nlike a delirious goat, whilst Toto looked on with a grin. “I have left\nall my ambition behind me, buried beneath the ruins of the Empire, else\nwould I wish to be young like M. le Prince, and gifted like the painter\nof these treasures.”\n\n“Now I must be going,” said Helen Powers.\n\n“And I,” said Toto; “I have a dinner on at the Grand Café.”\n\n“Why,” cried the Marquis, seeing his seven hundred and fifty francs\nvanishing, “I thought you were going to dine here, at home!”\n\n“Not I indeed!” said Toto; “I am giving a little dinner of my own.”\n\n“Alas!” moaned the old man, “I had counted upon your pleasant company.\nI am desolated.”\n\n“Well, bring your desolation to my feast.”\n\n“But——” said M. le Marquis, glancing down at his frock-coat.\n\n“Oh, that’s nothing,” replied Toto; “I am going to dine in these.”\n\n“Then,” said the other, “I will go down and make my excuses to the\nPrincesse. Pardon me, mademoiselle.”\n\n“With pleasure,” answered Helen Powers, and he tripped away like a boy.\n\n“Toto,” said the girl,—she called him Toto sometimes when no one was\nby,—“beware of that old man and all these people who praise you;\nthere’s nothing so bad for an artist as praise. Art,” she continued,\ngazing at him and speaking as if she knew all about it, “is always\ncapable of improvement. I mean the artist is. Don’t mind what he says\nabout the _canaille_—remember Millet; go and get a blouse like a\ncommon man, work like a common man. All people are common in art till\nthey have made princes of themselves like Raphael and Michael Angelo.”\n\n“That is what I have been thinking lately,” said the unhappy Toto,\nimbibing this lesson greedily because it fitted in with his whim, and\nwhims with Toto sometimes lasted for months—Mlle. Dumaresque lasted\nfor three, and cost him sixty thousand francs. “Just what I have been\nthinking: what is the use of all this life? I’m sick of it. If one\ncould invent a new way of spending money or something new to eat—but\nit’s just the same old round. I’ve thought of committing suicide,\nsometimes.”\n\n“Oh, don’t, Toto—don’t speak like that!”\n\n“I won’t; besides, I didn’t think of it seriously.”\n\n“Tell me, Toto,” said Helen, in the voice of a mother speaking to a\nchild, “do you ever think seriously of anything?”\n\n“I think I do,” said Toto, rubbing his cheek against a corner of her\nsealskin jacket, because it was soft and gratified his sensual nature.\n“I have thought seriously of running away from here, and living by my\npainting—seriously.”\n\nA look came into his face that astonished her, a look of iron\ndetermination or leaden obstinacy, she could not tell which; but it\nmade her feel sure that if he ever did commit such a folly he would\nadhere to it till he was famous or, a more probable eventuality, dead.\n\n“For” said Toto, “I have got a queer sort of feeling lately: it’s\nmoney-hate. It’s awfully funny, for it’s not exactly money-hate, but\nit’s a want to make money and not spend it. It’s like a man that wants\nto dig.”\n\nHelen looked at him proudly.\n\n“Here,” thought she, “is the _man_ breaking out; the boy is dying away.\nToto will be a great man yet.” Alas for Helen’s thoughts! What woman\ncan ever understand a man? what woman could ever have understood Toto?\nOtto Struve alone got him in a true focus, but of that anon.\n\n“Besides,” said Toto, still rubbing his cheek softly against the\nfur, a caress which Helen took to herself, “I feel that I—I want to\nprotect someone, to feed them and work for them, and I haven’t anyone\nto—protect, for everyone I know is so rich.”\n\nHelen’s eyes became dim. She was just about to say something hopeful in\nreply, when the old Marquis entered the room, jubilant like a schoolboy\ngoing to a treat.\n\n“Now good-by,” said Helen, pressing Toto’s hand. “No, don’t come with\nme; I’ll find my way. Good-by, M. le Marquis;” and she vanished to say\ngood-by to her hostess and find her coachman, who for the last two\nhours had been outside shivering in the cold April evening.\n\nAs Toto and his companion passed the drawing-room door, the Princesse\nappeared for a moment and drew the old fellow aside.\n\n“Be sure and take care of my boy, Marquis, and give him good advice.”\n\n“Princesse, be assured,” replied the gentleman of the old school,\nplacing his hand upon his heart, “_I_ will give him good advice; and,”\nhe whispered, “it is all right in that quarter. She called him a\ngenius, and that tickles a young man’s vanity, and I am almost sure\nkisses passed between them during my absence from the room. I am not a\nbad judge of these affairs, and I predict——”\n\nHe nodded mysteriously, and the Princesse de Cammora smiled under her\npaint and powder the smile of the happy mother.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE GOOD ADVICE OF M. DE NANI.\n\n\n“Tell me, my dear boy,” bleated old De Nani, who wanted to get the\naffair over and done with before dinner, “could you till the end\nof next month, when my rents from Normandy will be due—could you\naccommodate me with a little loan?”\n\n“Yes, rather,” said Toto. “How much?”\n\n“Seven hundred and fifty francs would save me the necessity of\napproaching a money-lender,” said the old fellow, trembling in his\nshoes at the amount for which he was asking. “But——”\n\nToto stopped under the lamp at the corner of the Rue de Courcelles\nwhere it cuts the Boulevard Haussmann. He took a note-case from his\npocket.\n\n“Here’s a note for a thousand. You can let me have it some time. I\nhaven’t anything smaller.”\n\n“A million million thanks!” cried De Nani, grabbing the note and\ngritting his false teeth to think that he might have asked for two\nthousand and obtained it just as easily—“a million thanks! Why, my dear\nboy, what a doleful yawn! One might fancy you bored.”\n\n“I am, to death.”\n\n“May I make you a little prescription?” inquired the old man, in whom\nthe prospect of the coming dinner operated like an elixir of youth.\n\n“A prescription for ennui? Yes.”\n\n“Get married.”\n\n“I have been thinking that myself.”\n\n“She is a very charming girl.”\n\n“Who?”\n\n“Mlle.—what do you call her?—Powhair?”\n\n“Bah!” said Toto. “I’d as soon think of marrying the Bank of France.”\n\n“_Parbleu!_” murmured De Nani. “What an extraordinary remark! But\neverything that comes from Prince Toto is extraordinary, even his\npictures.”\n\nHe had the bank-note safe in his pocket, and could allow himself the\nluxury of a little irony in the guise of praise.\n\n“Firstly,” said Toto, “she’s too rich; and secondly, my mother wants me\nto marry her.”\n\n“True,” said De Nani. “She is also _gauche_, and speaks through her\nbeautiful nose like a trumpet.”\n\n“She is good enough as a girl,” said the Prince with a frightful yawn\nas they turned down the Rue Tronchet.\n\n“Well, then,” said De Nani, “try a mistress.”\n\n“I have four,” replied Toto dolorously.\n\n“Dismiss them.”\n\n“I have, but they cling on.”\n\n“Get drunk.”\n\n“Can’t. I was born drunk, and am beginning to get sober. That is what’s\nthe matter with me, I think.”\n\n“Try opium.”\n\n“Makes me sick.”\n\n“Ether capsules.”\n\n“Worse.”\n\n“Go into the country and make love to a milkmaid.”\n\n“Never done that,” said Toto reflectively.\n\n“I did once when I was young. _Mon Dieu!_ she followed me to Paris. No,\nI would advise you to leave that alone; nothing clings like a milkmaid.\nTry, try, try a glass of absinthe.”\n\nThey stopped at a café and had a glass of absinthe, for which Toto paid.\n\n“I would like to get drunk on absinthe and die in my cups,” said De\nNani, who was a man of original sins, frost-bound by poverty, but\nblossoming now under the warm influence of Toto.\n\n“Let’s,” said the Prince, beginning to laugh.\n\n“Now I have made you laugh!” cried the old fellow triumphantly. “And\nhere we are at the Grand Café. No, my Toto, we will not die just\nyet, while there are Grand Cafés, and good dinners, and pretty girls\nadorning the world. Tu, tu, tu! how the lights flare!”\n\nThey entered, the old man following Toto and pursing out his hideous\nold lips. One could see his stomach working through his face as they\npassed first to the lavatory with the frescoed ceilings, where Toto\nwashed himself vehemently with his coat off, and De Nani looked on.\nThen, led by the assistant head-waiter, they ascended to the private\nroom where the Prince’s friends were waiting.\n\nThree men only—Pelisson, of the _Journal des Débats_; Gaillard, a\nmystical poet, pantheistic, melancholic, with no very fixed belief in\nanything, save, perhaps, the works of Gaillard; and Otto Struve, the\nart critic.\n\nPelisson, a powerfully built fellow, singularly like De Blowitz, even\nto the pointed whiskers, was of the type of man who pushes the world\naside with his shoulders, whilst he pushes it forward with his head.\nGaillard, who was remarkable for his high collars, pointed beard, and\nthe childish interest he took in little things unconnected with his\nprofound art, sat astride a chair watching Pierre Pelisson juggling\nwith a wine-glass, a fish-knife, and a serviette. By the fireplace\nstood Otto Struve, a man with a hatchet-shaped face, who seemed in the\nlast stages of consumption, and weighed down by the cares of the whole\nworld, which he bore with suppressed irritation.\n\nToto’s entrance was the entrance of money. Everyone forgot everyone\nelse for a moment; the electric lamps seemed to blaze more brightly;\nwaiters suddenly appeared, mutes shod with velvet and bearing the _hors\nd’œuvre_.\n\n“M. le Marquis de Nani,” said Toto, introducing his friend; and they\ntook their seats.\n\nOld De Nani ate his oysters, glancing sideways, this way and that\nway, at the triumvirate of talent, as if to say, “Who the devil are\nyou?” and “Who the devil are you?” Pelisson groaned and grunted; he\nwas writing the beginning of a leading article in that wonderful head\nof his, where a clerk always sat taking notes in indelible ink, an\nartist beside him taking sketch-portraits of everyone and pictures\nof everything. Toto looked bored and the dinner unpromising, till\nsuddenly Struve broke the ice by choking over his soup. With the\nlaughter, conversation broke out and babbled. The fish was served, and\none might have fancied twenty people were talking, Toto’s voice raised\nshrill against Gaillard’s periods, and the trumpet tones of Pelisson\ndominating all like the notes of a sax-horn.\n\n“I don’t believe in God, you say?” said Gaillard, savagely attacking a\nfillet of sole. “Well, perhaps not, according to your ideas; according\nto mine, I have the pleasure of worshiping a god. He has fifty-three\nnames. The Chinese call him Fot; benighted Asiatic tribes, Buddha;\nKempfer, by the way, wrote it——”\n\n“No, no, no!” cried Toto. “No theology, or I’ll turn M. le Marquis de\nNani upon you, and he’ll eat you up, for he’s an atheist.”\n\n“An atheist!” cried Pelisson, turning his broad face on De Nani. “I\nthought they were all dead. M. de Nani, beware! They’ll kill you and\nstuff you for the Musée Carnavalet.”\n\n“I’ll stuff him,” shouted Toto, imagining himself a wit. “What shall it\nbe, Marquis—bran, sawdust?”\n\n“Ortolans,” answered De Nani, too busily engaged in stuffing himself to\nfind passage for more than one word.\n\n“By my soul, the Marquis is right!” cried the great newspaper man.\n“An atheist stuffed with ortolans is all they want to complete\ntheir collection now they have crowned their idiocy by buying ——’s\ncollection of bronzes.”\n\n“Talking of crowns,” came the insidious lisp of Struve, “have you heard\nthe news? Willy Hohenzollern has—guess what.”\n\n“Written a farce?”\n\n“Painted his face?”\n\n“Become a telegraph clerk?”\n\n“Gone mad,” replied Struve.\n\n“What’s his madness?” roared Pelisson, glaring at this opposition\nnewsman.\n\n“They say he fancies himself an Emperor.”\n\n“Throw flowers over him to cool him,” cried Toto, snatching a rose out\nof a dish and flinging it in Struve’s face as the _entrée_ was brought\nin.\n\nDe Nani listened to the random conversation as he ate, or at least\nseemed to; a dull flush was apparent under the paint on his face.\nEach guest had his own attendant, and the service was conducted with\nthe precision of mechanism. The glass of the Marquis was always full,\nyet he was continually emptying it; like the old gentleman at M. de\nRichelieu’s feast, he felt his teeth growing again, and for a little\nwhile, under the influence of the powerful Rhone wines, his youth\nseemed to return.\n\n“Talking of art,” said Gaillard, fingering the stem of his wineglass\ndelicately and turning to Toto, “a rumor reached me to-day through De\nBrie, the editor of the _Boulevard_—you know De Brie? It was to the\neffect that our host——”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“That our host,” continued Gaillard, turning to the others, “wearied by\nthe incapacity of the two salons to appreciate genius——”\n\n“To appreciate genius,” echoed Struve.\n\n“Is about to found an art school.”\n\nDe Nani leaned back in his chair and slipped a button of his waistcoat,\nas if to give room for the sycophant to ramp.\n\n“And who,” said he, “would be fitter to found an art school than our\nhost—ahu!—who, may I ask, M. Veillard?”\n\n“Gaillard.”\n\n“Maillard—than our illustrious host, ahu! I have seen his works,\n_ventre St. Gris_! Ahu! I am not a man of yesterday, M. Baillard; my\nmemory carries me back to the time before women wore hoops.”\n\n“Indeed,” murmured Struve, who had placed the rose flung at him by Toto\nwith its stalk in his glass of champagne, and was staring at it with\nthe rapt air of a poet.\n\n“Indeed yes, monsieur, I was born on the edge of the First Empire. I\nsaw the new Napoleon rise—you, sir, have only seen him vanish.”\n\n“I have seen many a napoleon vanish,” mourned Struve; “but go on—your\ntale charms me. Pelisson, listen.”\n\n“Go to the devil!” said Pelisson, who was now writing with the speed of\nfire and a stylographic pen on a long strip of paper, using the table\nfor a desk.\n\n“I have seen the art galleries of Europe,” continued De Nani, now three\nparts drunk, and unconscious that he was making a fool of himself\nbefore the first art critic in Europe, “and I unhesitatingly proclaim\nM. le Prince’s work to be on a level—allowing of course for youth—on a\nlevel with the best I have seen.”\n\n“Oh, rot! oh, rubbish!” cried Toto, blushing furiously and flinging\nflowers at the great bent head of Pelisson, whilst that journalist,\nwallowing in his journalese, only grunted and growled in a far-away\nmanner and wrote the more quickly. “_I_ can’t paint, _I_ can’t\ndraw—might if I took to it really. Pelisson, you pig! wake up and eat\nyour pudding.”\n\n“I have said what I have said,” concluded De Nani, attacking his\nice-pudding with all the youthful nonchalance of your man who wears\nfalse teeth.\n\n“And my rose is drunk,” said Struve, as the rose tumbled out of the\nglass.\n\n“_I_ can’t paint,” murmured Toto again with the air of a spoilt child.\n\n“Toto!” demanded Struve, placing the rose languidly in his coat, “how\nmuch wine have you drunk?”\n\n“Why?”\n\n“Because a lot of truth is escaping from you.”\n\nToto laughed; he always believed Struve to be jesting when in earnest,\nand in earnest when jesting. Then he sat watching De Nani, and\nwondering at his capacity for champagne.\n\n“Cigars, cigars!” cried Pelisson, finishing his article with a dash,\nflinging down his pen and bursting out like a sun. “What’s this?\npudding!” He devoured it like a pig, and then roared again for cigars.\nThree boxes were swiftly passed in from the outside.\n\nHe placed one before him, sent his article off to the _Journal des\nDébats_ office, which lies near by, and, leaning back in his chair with\nthumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, blew clouds of smoke at the\ngilded ceiling, and cried: “Let’s make a noise.”\n\n“What’s up now?” inquired Toto.\n\n“The Ministry will be down to-morrow!” cried Pelisson, flapping the\nsides of his chest with his turtle-fin hands. “You’ll hear the tumble\nof portfolios—flip, flap, flop; and I’ve helped to pull them, ehu! Let\nus make a noise; it’s the only thing worth living for. I’d die in a\nworld where I couldn’t make a noise; you couldn’t make me a worse hell\nthan a padded room. You, Toto—how do you live without making a noise?\nGaillard squeaks in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, Struve grumbles in the\n_Temps_, I roar in the _Débats_; you, wretched child! are silent: take\nup a pen or a paint-brush and make a noise.”\n\n“I would if I could,” mourned Toto.\n\n“You mean you could if you would!” retorted Pelisson. “Write a little\nbook of poems, and I’ll abuse them; I’ll make your name rattle\nlike a pea in a bottle. Write an ode to the Pope or paint a modest\npicture—there’s two ideas for you gratis, each a fortune. Give me some\ncoffee.”\n\n“I wouldn’t give a pin for fame unless I earned it,” said Toto, handing\nthe coffee. “I’d just as soon swing a rattle as have a work of art of\nmine”—Struve groaned—“made famous by my friends or my position.”\n\n“Why,” cried Pelisson, “he’s talking sense, this boy is!”\n\n“He’s talking nonsense,” said Struve.\n\n“He’s talking divinity—I mean (hic) divinely,” said Gaillard, who\nwas finishing his second bottle of champagne, and writing poetry on\nhis cuffs with the stylographic pen that had just helped in the\ndestruction of a Ministry.\n\nDe Nani was dumbly digesting; he had filled his pockets with cigars,\nand was wishing he had brought a sack. He was also drunk—in fact, to\nput it plainly, very drunk.\n\n“I’m talking _sense_,” cried Toto with flashing eyes.\n\n“_He_ can’t paint,” suddenly broke out De Nani, the drunkenness lifting\nlike a veil and disclosing his true thoughts. “He’s only pretending.\nDoesn’t want to paint—’sgot four mistresses.”\n\nHe slipped away from his chair as if sucked down by a whirlpool. A roar\nof laughter went up that shook the ceiling, and then, to everyone’s\nhorror, Toto the debonair, the hero of cock-fights and what not, broke\ninto tears.\n\nAt this extraordinary sight Gaillard first gazed with a grin, and then\nburst out like a firework touched off, wringing his hands and calling\nupon God.\n\n“Devil take that old scoundrel!” cried Pelisson, kicking at the body of\nDe Nani, which seemed quite flaccid now that the truth had got out of\nit. “Where did you pick him up?—he’s a scamp, he’s a scamp!”\n\n“Toto, my dear Toto,” lisped Struve, “paint a picture to-morrow, and\nI’ll make it famouth for you. So help me God! I will, or my name’s not\nStruve.”\n\n“Alas!” cried Gaillard, drinking off a glass of brandy, “I am touched\nat the soul. Toto, my Toto, our Toto, _do_ not grieve. I, too, will\nwrite a little poem, and it will make your picture famous. Where is\nthat wretch? Kick him, Pelisson!”\n\n“Don’t let the waiters in,” choked Toto. “It’s only stupidity”—sniff,\nsniff—“the old fellow is drunk; don’t kick him, P-P-Pelisson, he’s an\nold man. I p-picked him up at my mother’s; he’s only stupid. There, I’m\nall right.”\n\n“Oh, dear me!” sighed Struve; “we are all right now, let us play\nbaccarat.”\n\n“I am desolated,” mourned Gaillard, who had now to be comforted. “And\nmy little poem is spoiled.” He looked at his shirt cuffs and broke into\ntears.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE FAG END OF A NIGHT AND THE BEGINNING OF A MORNING.\n\n\nWhen Gaillard was at last comforted and set writing poems in a corner,\nthe waiters were admitted, the table was cleared, and cards produced.\n\n“Shall we go to the club?” asked Toto.\n\n“No, play here,” answered Struve.\n\nThey played loo, and Pelisson kicked the senseless body of De Nani,\nwhich had been pushed right under the table for propriety’s sake, when\nluck went against him.\n\nToto played furiously, partly to drown the remembrance of his unmanly\ntears, partly to be successful. His eyes burned, his cheeks were\nlike carnations, and his luck was frightful; but he played with the\ndogged determination peculiar to him in little things, the pig-headed\nobstinacy which, had it been allied with talent and poverty, might have\nlanded him in the Ministry or Academy.\n\nA few men dropped in now and then, glanced at the play, saw that the\nstakes were small,—for Pelisson kept them down,—and yawned out again.\n\n“Toto,” said Struve, as the clock struck twelve, “you’ll be ruined at\nthis rate; better stop.”\n\n“Go on! go on!” cried Toto, like a man pursued by wolves. “The luck\nwill turn.”\n\nIt turned a bit, but not for long, and the play went on till a voice\nunder the table asked “Where am I?” and then began moaning for a\ngrilled bone.\n\n“It’s four o’clock!” cried Pelisson, glancing at the timepiece on the\nmantel, as Gaillard, waking in his corner, rubbed his eyes. “It’s four\no’clock, and here comes M. le Marquis de Nani from under the table.\n_Bon jour_, Marquis; I thought there was a dog under the table, and I\nhave been kicking at him for the last hour.”\n\n“I dreamt I was being kicked by a mule,” said the Marquis, rising erect\nand buttoning his waistcoat. “Who will dispute the truth of dreams\nafter this?” and he looked at his false teeth in the mirror upon the\nwall.\n\nThe _garçon de nuit_ entered with the bill—a yard long.\n\n“I have only a five-franc piece,” said Toto. “Let it stand, and bring\nus up some supper, some coffee and some champagne; also cigarettes—I\nwant a cigarette. _Ai de mi!_ what a duffer I am! I cannot even win at\ncards.”\n\n“He who is unfortunate at cards is fortunate in love,” said De\nNani, fumbling to feel if the thousand-franc note was safe in his\npocket, whilst the waiter respread the table with all sorts of cold\nthings—oysters, mayonnaise, and galantine.\n\n“I,” said Gaillard, “am unfortunate at both.”\n\nHe attacked some oysters like a wolf, whilst Struve, with the withered\nrose in his coat, whistled a mournful air of Berlioz’ whilst he cut a\nsardine in three and put a pinch of pepper on it.\n\nDe Nani was at the champagne again like a leech, whilst he feasted like\na man off a wreck. He looked a horribly wicked old man in the dawn,\nwhich mixed with the electric light; the paint from his cheeks was on\nhis nose and chin, and his wig was awry. It was a cheerless party;\nPelisson was half asleep, and Toto as white as a ghost. Gaillard, his\ncuff scribbled over with lunatic poetry, cast his mournful eyes at the\ndawn peeping in white over the silent Boulevard des Capucines.\n\n“I was once a youth,” said Gaillard. “That is what the world says to us\nin the dawn. The dawn ever fills me with despair—a delicious despair.\nI do not know why, but it seems forever linked to that divine forlorn\nhope, love. This is the light from which we rebuild old castles and\nrecall vanished faces. In the faint wind that moves we hear the whisper\nof voices. Fair women walk in vanished gardens, and the sound of the\ndew recalls their tears.”\n\n“Ah!” cried De Nani, “is this a harp I hear, or the voice of a mortal\nman?”\n\n“Have you read my little poem,” continued Gaillard, “commencing,\n\n  “O Love, whose every golden tress\n  The sunshine holds of loveliness,\n  What tragedy in what dark dawn\n  Hath lent thine eyes such mournfulness?\n  O——”\n\n“Oh, stop!” said Toto. “Your poetry makes me want to commit suicide.”\n\n“That,” said Gaillard, “shows but the beauty of it. My ambition is to\nwrite a quatrain that will be as poisonous to hope as strychnine. Hope,\nthat accursed allurement born of the——Heaven! I am going to be ill; I\nhave swallowed a bad oyster.” “Run to the window,” commanded Toto.\n\n“Brandy,” suggested Pelisson.\n\n“I am better,” declared the poet. “The taste has passed. The question\nis, Will it prove poisonous? _Mon Dieu!_ and the proofs of my ‘Fall of\nthe Damned’ are not corrected.”\n\n“Never mind,” said Toto gloomily. “You can correct them as you are\nfalling. Oh, what a wretched world this is! I’m going to drown myself\nin the Seine.” He rose, yawning, from his chair. “Who will follow me?”\n\n“I will as far as the door,” said Struve, rising also. “Pelisson, where\nare you for?”\n\n“Home and go to bed,” said Pelisson, rising also. “M. de Nani—why, he’s\ndrunk again!”\n\nM. le Marquis de Nani had risen from his seat, and seemed trying to\nwalk upstairs through the air. It was the back blow of the night.\n\n“I never saw a man slip into drink, like a girl into her shift, so\nswiftly and with such divine simplicity,” lisped Struve. “Do wash his\nface, someone; he is painted like a _demi-mondaine_, and the paint has\nbroken loose over his nose. Can’t possibly take him into the street\nsuch a disgraceful figure.”\n\nThey washed De Nani’s face with white wine and Toto’s handkerchief,\nwhilst the old man struggled and resisted like a child. It was a\nmournful spectacle, and Toto did not laugh as the others did.\n\n“That’s what’s the end of all,” he thought. “Eugh! what a beastly thing\nlife is!”\n\n“Now put on his hat,” commanded Pelisson, who acted as master of the\nceremonies, “and jam it down—that’s right. I will carry his cane. Drive\nhim before you, and call a cab,” he cried to the _garçon_, handing him\na napoleon for _pourboire_.\n\nThey got the old man into a fiacre, weeping and protesting and\nfighting like a lunatic with his keepers.\n\n“Where shall we send him to?” asked Pelisson.\n\n“I don’t know where he lives; send him to the Morgue, send him to the\nPrefecture, send him anywhere you like,” said Toto.\n\n“I know,” said Struve. “I have an enemy—he’s a Legitimist; I’ll send\nhim a drunken Marquis for a present.” And he gave the name and address\nof his enemy to the driver, with half a napoleon to pay the fare. “Get\nhim into the house at any price,” commanded Struve; “he’s the father of\nthe gentleman who lives there. There goes the old nobility.”\n\nHe finished as the cab drove away, leaving a thin stream of curses on\nthe morning air. And little did Toto dream where those curses would\ncome to roost.\n\n“What a jolly night we have had!” said Gaillard, as they parted at the\ncorner of the Rue de la Paix.\n\n“And we have all done something,” said Pelisson. “You have written a\npoem,—don’t have that shirt washed, they’ll sell it in strips after\nyou are dead,—and I have written my article, and Struve has made a\npresent to his enemy of De Nani, who has made a beast of himself.”\n\n“And I,” said Toto, “have made a fool of myself.”\n\n“That’s what you were born for,” said Pelisson. “But never mind, Toto,\nyou make a most charming fool.”\n\nThen Toto found himself alone at the corner of the Rue de la Paix.\n\nSome she-asses were passing, and he stopped the _auvergnat_ driving\nthem, and had a glass of milk, because that was _chic_, and when he\nhad drunk the milk he wished he had not, because there was no one to\nlook; and, besides, he was tired of being _chic_. Then, with the asses’\nmilk still upon his lips, he came along down the Rue de la Paix in the\ndirection of the river.\n\nThe change of his five-franc piece the _auvergnat_ had given him mostly\nin copper; it bulged out his trousers-pocket, and made a clanking sound\nas he walked. Paris was waking up, the lidlike shutters of the shops\nwere rising through a thousand streets; and as he passed through the\nPlace Vendôme several early morning cabs laden with luggage from the\nNord Station tore by.\n\nIn the Rue Castiglione he stopped. What should he do? It was too early\nto go home, too late for the club; the world he knew had gone to bed,\nthe world he dimly knew of was waking up. A world in its shirt-sleeves,\nclean, bright, busy, and apparently happy. The dinner, the supper,\nthe Marquis de Nani, Pelisson’s roaring voice, Struve’s lisp, and\nGaillard’s melancholic poetry, all pursued him like Eumenides of a low\nsort, impotent, yet able to tease.\n\nOn the Pont de Solferino he stood to look at the river, and might have\nthrown himself in had not the water looked so cold, and had he not\nremembered that he was unable to swim.\n\nThen, turning back, he came along the arcade of the Rue de Rivoli,\nwalking leisurely and listening to the birds singing in the trees of\nthe gardens of the Tuileries.\n\nThe Place de la Concorde seemed horribly immense, and the far-away\nEiffel Tower looked like a filmy giant straddling his legs, his hands\nin his pockets, and wearily waiting for something to do. Crossing the\nPlace de la Concorde came a solitary girl carrying something in her\nhand; following the girl came a man.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE POETRY OF HATS.\n\n\nToto saw that the man was begging from the girl, and the girl was\nwalking quickly. The man was a horrible-looking scoundrel.\n\n“And here,” said Toto, “is something to do.”\n\nHe advanced rapidly and obliquely upon the pursued and pursuer, who,\nwhen he saw that the game was up, called out a vile word and turned to\nrun. But he had reckoned without Toto.\n\nIt was all over in a minute, and from a distance it looked like a\nsparrow-fight, Toto in his brown tweeds, and the Barrier bully in his\nantique, rusty, long-tailed coat. The next our bully was running for\nhis life towards the Pont de la Concorde, bawling and holding his nose,\nand the Prince, with his hat on the back of his head, was talking to\nthe girl.\n\n“Look!” cried Toto, screaming with laughter. “Three gendarmes are after\nhim.”\n\n“Oh, monsieur!” murmured the girl,—she had blue eyes and the air of a\nfluttered dove,—“how can I thank you for having saved me?”\n\n“Let us hurry away,” said the Prince. “I see a gendarme shading his\neyes at us over there. Let’s dodge away down the arcade. Look! he’s\ncoming towards us. Run!”\n\nThey ran down the arcade hand in hand, to the wonder of the boys who\nwere taking down the shop shutters. There was no earthly occasion for\nthis flight. But Toto always embroidered upon a position; he could not\nbehold a cat-fight without mentally suggesting betterments; besides, it\nwas _outré_.\n\n“Now we are safe,” said he, as they turned up a by-street. “Oh, what\nfun! Tell me, mademoiselle, may I not carry your little parcel? No? May\nI not accompany you, then, to your journey’s end?”\n\n“Oh, yes!” said the girl. “My parcel is but a hat I am taking to M.\nVerral in the Rue St. Honoré. I do not live there, monsieur; I work\nfor him at home. I live all alone in a little room near the Rue de\nBabylone—I and Dodor;” and she cast up her April-blue eyes as if\nthrough the rim of her hat she saw Dodor in the blue April skies,\ntogether with a vision of angels.\n\n“Who is Dodor?” inquired Toto in a gruff and almost jealous voice.\n\n“He is my lark,” said the girl; and Toto brightened.\n\n“You have a lark?”\n\n“Oh, yes, monsieur; and if you could hear him sing! He brings the green\nfields to Paris in his voice.”\n\n“You keep him in a cage?” asked Toto, searching for conversation to fit\na lark of this description, and not finding much.\n\n“I keep him in a very big cage, monsieur. Ah! his cage ought to be the\nblue heavens; but, then, how could I hear him sing? I bought him in a\nlittle cage—not so big; but the parrot of Mme. Liard, our concierge,\ndying, I bought its cage—one, oh, so big;” and she measured the width\nof a wine-tun with hands that fluttered out like white butterflies, for\nToto had wrested from her the parcel; also, she wore no gloves.\n\n“Dear me! how funny! And you call him Dodor. This is Verral’s, is it\nnot? Now, may I—please don’t think me rude—may I wait for you? I have\nnothing to do—I mean, I want to hear more about Dodor. I cannot say\n‘mademoiselle’; it sounds so stiff. _My_ name is To—Désiré Cammora.”\n\n“And mine, monsieur, is Célestin Sabatier. I will run in with the hat.\nIf I can see the forewoman, Mme. Hümmel, I will not detain you long.”\n\n“Don’t call me ‘monsieur,’” said Toto; but she had vanished.\n\nIt was an extraordinary find, this—a real live Henri Murger grisette.\nShe might have stepped out of “The Mysteries of Paris,” without her\ncap, of course, but even more charming in a hat. She was “all there,”\neven to the lark in the parrot cage. The parrot cage made him certain\nthat the lark was no trumped-up tale; she would never have thought of\ninventing a parrot cage. He remembered with a sort of satisfaction the\npoverty and neatness of her dress.\n\nTen minutes passed, and then she came out again, like April after a\ncloud has passed, smiling, and with an air of triumph.\n\n“Mme. Hümmel is so pleased, and I am so happy!” cried Célestin, as they\nwalked away down the Rue St. Honoré, all beautiful with the morning.\n“She has given me an extra franc. Just think!” And she held out three\nin the pink shell of her palm.\n\n“How much do you get for making a hat?” asked Toto.\n\n“Two francs, and I find my own thread; but for this hat I have received\nthree. It was an inspiration. Do you know, monsieur, that hats come to\none? Sometimes I am perplexed. There lie all the materials,—the tulle,\nribbons, flowers, what-not,—and there sit I, so like a stupid girl it\nseems impossible that I should make the hat—impossible as building the\nEiffel Tower. And then, suddenly, something comes to me. I see the hat,\nand it is made. That is when I am stupid. At other times they come to\nme in hundreds—hats more beautiful than a dream; and, oh! if I had\na hundred hands I could find work for them all. Yesterday it was a\ngloomy morning. Dodor drooped in his cage, and I felt very dull. Then\nthe sun broke out—you remember how beautifully—and Dodor sang, and the\nblue sky looked in through the window and brought me this hat like a\ngift from the good God. Mme. Hümmel said it was April itself. And is\nit not strange, monsieur, that the seasons should help one so? For\nSpring helps me in her way, and Summer and Autumn in their way, even\nWinter a little,—and he helps few,—but of all of them I like Spring the\nbest,” sighed Célestin, casting her eyes up once more at the sky of her\nimagination and the angels she seemed always to see there.\n\n“I suppose people wear more hats in the spring,” was the reply of Toto\nto this revelation of an artist’s work, and for that reply he deserved\ndamning as an artist.\n\n“Oh, yes,” said Célestin. “The spring is the time of all others; one\nmakes more money in the spring.”\n\nToto had steered the way into the Rue du Mont Thabor, a little street\nthat lies parallel to the Rue St. Honoré, and just behind the Hôtel\nLille et Albion.\n\nHere there was a _crémerie_, into which he invited her to enter. They\ntook their seats at a little marble-topped table, which was soon spread\nwith coffee, white bread, and butter.\n\nCélestin quite cast away her reserve; she never had much, and what she\nhad was that of a timid child. This creature, gentle as a bird, and\nthriving by her own quaint and lovely art in the midst of the great,\nwhite, cruel, beautiful city, was in herself a revelation—God, one\nmight almost fancy, supporting her with his fingers as he supports the\nsnowdrops above the snow; Art, one might almost fancy, turning from the\nLouvre and all its treasures, and smiling towards the Rue de Babylone\nand this humble slave interpreting her dreams by ribbon and tulle.\n\n“I?” said Toto with his mouth full of bread and butter, and speaking in\nanswer to a question of his companion. “I am an artist—a painter, you\nknow.”\n\nCélestin lowered the cup she was raising to her lips. He had won her\nadmiration forever by beating the bully, and now he was an artist.\n\n“I have never met one before,” murmured Célestin. “How great that\nmust be, to be an artist! I have seen them at the Louvre. I sometimes\ngo to the Louvre; the rooms are so beautiful, and the ceilings,”—the\nchild evidently had her limitations,—“and one sees such strange\npeople—English women in such strange hats. And do you paint in the\nLouvre?”\n\n“No, Célestin; I work in an atelier of my own.”\n\nNever before in the course of his brief artistic career had praise\nthrilled him like this, the frank and artless homage of a girl of\neighteen who found herself for the first time in her life in the\npresence of a real artist; there were no ateliers in the street off the\nRue de Babylone, only workshops.\n\n“At the Porte St. Martin,” said Célestin, “where sometimes Mme. Liard\ntakes me,—she is a friend of the doorkeeper, and sometimes he gives\nher permits,—I have seen a very sad play. It was about an artist: he\nwas very poor—that is to say, not so very poor at first, but he got\npoorer as the play went on, and thinner, till at last his cheeks were\nlike this.” She sucked her cheeks in. “Then in the last act he tied a\nrope to a beam in the ceiling, and made a noose in the rope and put his\nhead through it; I clung to Mme. Liard, I was so frightened. You cannot\nthink how terrible it was till the door broke open and his father\nrushed in,—he was the son of a duke in disguise,—and the concierge came\nafter, and a lot of people, and they cut him down. Everyone wept. There\nwas a villain in the piece, and, oh! such a pretty girl,” finished\nCélestin. “But I liked the artist best. Are all artists very poor, M.\nDésiré?”\n\n“Oh, we manage to scrape along,” said Toto, “when we can sell our\npictures; we can’t always do that—we can’t always get them exhibited,\neven. I sent one last year to the Salon.”\n\n“The Salon—where is that?” asked Célestin.\n\n“It’s a picture show; they give prizes for the best pictures.”\n\n“And did your picture get a prize?”\n\n“No,” said Toto mournfully. “They would not even hang it on the\nwalls—it was too classical, some people said; and one man, a man who\nought to know, told me it was jealousy.”\n\n“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ how terrible! It was so with the artist in the play:\nhe was betrayed by a man who was jealous of him—oh, poor M. Désiré!”\n\n“Célestin,” said Toto, “do not call me monsieur; call me Désiré.”\n\n“Désiré,” said Célestin, like an obedient child.\n\n“That’s right; and now tell me, Célestin, how comes it that you live\nall alone with this lark of yours.”\n\n“My mother died when I was so high,” said Célestin, holding one hand\nthree feet from the floor. “And I bought Dodor at the Halles Centrales;\nhe cost three francs.”\n\nThis was the history of her life as given by Célestin, with a mournful\nlittle gesture of the hands, as if to say “That’s all.”\n\n“But,” said Toto, “you must have found it very dull—I mean, you must\nhave had to work for yourself; you have no brothers or sisters, have\nyou? or cousins, or people of that sort?”\n\n“Oh, no! I have always been alone; but people are very good to me; I\nlove the world—it is very good, and it is so beautiful. On Sundays,\nsometimes, I go with Mme. Liard to the Buttes Chaumont; I think heaven\nmust be like that.”\n\n“Is that as far as you have been?”\n\n“I have been to Champrosay once when I was very little. I can remember\nit still, but it is like a dream.”\n\nToto was producing his coppers to pay the bill, and thinking how\nfortunate it was that the _auvergnat_ had given him change in coppers,\nalso how fortunate it was that he had bought the asses’ milk, for these\ncoppers were eminently in keeping with the struggling artist. He also\nkept his coat buttoned to hide his watch-chain, for Toto was now being\ndriven by an idea half formed, yet fully potent, just as the asses had\nbeen driven up the Rue de la Paix by the man in sabots, armed with a\nstick.\n\nCélestin drew out her little purse as if to help in the settlement of\nthe account, and then put it back with a sigh of contentment at Toto’s\ngesture. One could see her satisfaction at not having to part with her\ncentimes, for she did not in the least try to hide it. She crossed\nherself and moved her lips as if giving thanks to the good God for the\nbreakfast he had sent her, and then she cried, “Oh, how wicked I have\nbeen!”\n\n“Why?” cried Toto, turning from a dispute about fifty centimes with the\nwaiter.\n\n“I have forgotten Dodor, and he has been waiting for his breakfast, and\nI—I have been thinking of other things.”\n\nShe rose with the rapidity and grace only given to us when the knees\nare young. She seemed as if she must spread out a pair of wings and\nfly at once to Dodor. So Toto relinquished his fifty centimes and\naccompanied her. He proposed that they should take a cab.\n\n“Oh, no!” cried Célestin, “that would be far too extravagant. I think\nyou are very extravagant, mons—Désiré; as for me, I have never been in\na cab.”\n\n“Never what?” said Toto.\n\n“Never been in a cab. I always walk—sometimes I take the omnibus;\nbut that is when it is wet, omnibuses are so expensive; but they\nare delightful. It is such fun seeing the people, and they are so\nfriendly; I would like to spend all my life driving in omnibuses. Old\ngentlemen have often helped me out and walked home with me to see me\nsafe.”\n\n“Good gracious! what do they say to you?”\n\n“Three old gentlemen have seen me home,” said Célestin. “And——”\n\n“Three all together?”\n\n“Oh, no! at different times; and one had a red rosette in his\nbuttonhole.”\n\n“And what did they say to you?”\n\n“That’s the funny thing: they all wanted me to go to the theater,\nand of course I was delighted,—just imagine!—and we were to meet at\ndifferent places; and then we talked of other things, and they all\ntook such an interest in Dodor and asked so many questions all about\nhow I lived; and one, the one with the red rosette, gave me a great\nfive-franc piece—he said it was a present for Dodor. But the funny\nthing was, when we reached home they had forgotten about the theater,\nand said they had other engagements, and that they would come some\nother evening. The old gentleman with the rosette gave me another\nfive-franc piece for myself, only this one was in gold, a very small\none, and he told me to remember and always be a good girl, for the\nangels were watching me; and I said I would, and he kissed my hand and\nwent away. But I never saw them again, for one never meets the same\nperson twice in an omnibus, you know.”\n\nToto assented. He was thinking of this lark that flew so mysteriously\nbetween Célestin and sin, and lived in a parrot cage.\n\nThey had crossed the Place de la Concorde by this, crossed the Pont de\nla Concorde, and were heading for the Eiffel Tower. They were walking\nquickly, too, for was it not to the relief of Dodor, pining for his\ngroundsel, or whatever larks are fed upon?\n\nThe exercise began to tell upon Célestin. She coughed a little, and put\nher hand to her chest high up near the collar-bone.\n\n“You are not strong?”\n\n“Oh, yes, I am very strong, only my chest pains me at times, and I\ncough at nights sometimes—a little, not much.”\n\n“Célestin,” said Toto, in a very serious voice, “I want you to meet me\nagain. Will you?”\n\n“Oh, dear!” sighed Célestin; “I forgot that we had to part.”\n\n“But we shall meet again.”\n\n“When?”\n\n“Could you meet me to-morrow morning?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“At eight?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“At the corner just where the Champs Élysées joins the Place de la\nConcorde?”\n\n“Yes—oh, yes! And you will be there?”\n\n“I will. And, Célestin, look here: we are not rich, you know, and we\nought to help each other. Look here.” He took out a handful of coppers\nand some silver pieces, all that he had remaining from the five-franc\npiece. “We will divide, and take half each.”\n\n“No—oh, no!”\n\n“Yes,” said Toto, “you must.”\n\n“But you will want it.”\n\n“No, I shan’t. You want it more than I do. Besides,” continued the\nPrince, “I have not a lark to keep up.”\n\nThey divided, squabbling over an odd sou, and when the accounts were\nsettled they walked on.\n\n“How good you are!” said Célestin, almost in tears at the manifold\nbounties God was heaping upon her this fine April morning. “I will put\nit in the money-box for Dodor. Oh, dear! why did I think of dying just\nthen? It must have been the thought of Dodor. I often lie awake and\nthink what would become of him if I died. I have a money-box for him\nto give to someone to be kind to him in case I got ill and died. The\nfive-franc piece is in it, and other money as well. I will put yours,\ntoo. See, this is where I live.”\n\nThey had reached a gloomy street sprinkled with a few shops, and filled\nwith the boom of an adjacent factory. A gloomy house of four stories\nwas the house where Célestin lived.\n\n“Now I shall know where to find you in case you fail to meet me\nto-morrow,” said Toto, as they shook hands.\n\n“I will not fail,” she replied. “I have never broken a promise in my\nlife—only once.”\n\n“When was that?”\n\n“This morning, when I promised Dodor to be back in half an hour.”\n\nThen he kissed her hand just as the old gentleman with the red rosette\nhad done, and wandered away, his head filled with thoughts of her. For\nit was a peculiarity of Célestin’s that, whilst she must have appealed\nto the angels in heaven, she also appealed strongly to Porte St. Martin\nminds.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nGAILLARD THE COMFORTER.\n\n\nThen he went home, and bathed and dressed and said “The club” when his\nmother, in _peignoir_ and morning paint, asked him where he had spent\nhis night with that good, dear Marquis de Nani. Later in the day he\nwandered into Struve’s rooms.\n\n“Go away, Toto,” said Struve, who was busy writing at his table. He\nsupplied seven journals with his ideas, from the _Fremdenblatt_ to the\n_Figaro_, and he seemed now engaged in writing for the whole seven at\nonce. One could see nothing of the lisping, melancholy Struve of the\nnight before in this lightning scribe. “Go away. I have no time for\nTotos. Come in three hours’ time.”\n\n“What are you at?” inquired Toto, sinking into a chair and lighting a\ncigarette.\n\n“Praising a man I hate.”\n\n“See here: stop writing your gibberish for five minutes; I want to\nspeak to you.”\n\nStruve took out his watch and laid it on the table.\n\n“I am listening.”\n\n“You once said that if a man of talent were to start in Paris with\nthree thousand francs and his ten fingers,—those were your words,—that\nif he did not get on he deserved to fail.”\n\n“So he does; what more?”\n\n“I have been thinking of having a try, working like a devil, and\nkicking over all this absurdity.”\n\n“Do; it won’t do you any harm. What at—politics?”\n\n“Oh, you owl!” cried Toto. “Politics—what do I care for politics! Art,\nthat’s the only thing I care a button for. I’m going to dress in a\nblouse, and work like a common man—make my name off my own bat, as they\nsay in England. I’m utterly sick of doing nothing; I must move—I must.”\nAnd Toto moved his arms. “And I am tied; no one takes me seriously.\nLook at old De Nani, praising me one moment, and then the next——Faugh!\nI’m a Prince; I am worth ten million francs when my mother dies. I play\nwith art, that’s enough for people; they don’t see my work, they see\nme.”\n\n“You are always so much in evidence,” said Struve. “That’s where the\nmischief is; you cut such antics that people have no time to observe\nyour serious attempts. You have got a frightful lot of energy, and\nyou are a Prince—that’s what is wrong with you; you must be doing,\nyou are tired of the club, the Bois, cock-fighting at Chantilly. By\nthe way, I see your name in the _Figaro_ this morning under a thin\ndisguise—Longchamps and all the rest of it. Your volcano is bunged up\nby ennui; you want a new opening for the lava to escape. Well, take my\nadvice: move in the plane of least resistance; buy a coffee mill and\ngrind it.”\n\n“Do be serious,” said Toto; “I come to you as a friend.”\n\n“Toto,” said the critic, “I am very serious, else I would not advise\nyou to leave art alone. What’s the use? This, great, beautiful Moloch\nwants a whole life to eat, or nothing. There are a thousand men in\nParis who have flung their all into this furnace. What will come out\nof all this forlorn thousand? Half a dozen, and they will be filled\nwith despair. The walls of the Musée de Louvre are painted with the\nblood of men, and that’s success. What of the failures? Their story\nwould shock creation. Art lives on failures; they keep the paint shops\ngoing, and serve as a background to three or four stars. Now go away.\nGod in heaven! it’s four, and the post for Germany goes out at six.”\n\n“You are never so stupid as when you are serious,” blurted out Toto, as\nhe rose and flung his cigarette-end into the grate.\n\nBut Struve did not even answer; he was writing away.\n\nToto then met the young Prince de Harnac, who invited him to dine at\nthe Mirlitons; he refused, alleging a headache. Then he called on\nPelisson, and found him out. He was wearily entering the Place de\nl’Opéra, when the devil flung him into the arms of Gaillard.\n\nGaillard’s collar seemed higher than ever, and he had a distracted air.\n\n“I am running about looking for my dinner,” said Gaillard. “That\ninfernal De Brie has gone off to his country house, and forgotten my\ncheck and left me to starve. I will turn an editor, and write no more\npoetry nor little articles for his journal. Dear Toto, come and give me\nmy dinner, and lend me a thousand francs, and comfort me. Sit here with\nme, and have an absinthe, and look at Paris as it passes; and then we\nwill go to the Maison Dorée and dine.”\n\n“You are just the man I want,” said Toto, as they took their seats at\na café, where the marble-topped tables had ventured out now that the\nweather was fine, and even a bit warm. “I want your help and advice.\nI’ve been with that villain Struve, and he has depressed me, and flung\ncold water on me.”\n\n“Struve is a critic,” said Gaillard in a vicious voice; “he is one of\nthe sorrows of art. I do not know what criticism is coming to. Have you\nseen that article in the _Tribune_ on Mallarmé?—Mallarmé, that divine\nshadow moving in the twilight of the gods, even he is not safe from\ntheir mud. But what is this, Toto, you say about help and advice? Are\nyou being worried by some woman? Is your mother tormenting? Unfold\nyourself to me.”\n\n“Look here, Gaillard: you are a man of sense, you have sympathy. I am\nsick of life, living like a cabbage, and I want to live really, I want\nto be famous without the assistance of anyone; I have a talent.”\n\n“You have an undoubted genius.”\n\n“And I want to use it. I go to Struve, and he sneers at me, tells me to\ngrind a coffee mill.”\n\n“Oh, that Struve!” mourned Gaillard. “What led you to a critic for\nadvice or sympathy? He told you to grind a coffee mill? Give me a\ncigarette, Toto; my case is empty; I will take three. He told you that!\nThey fancy their cheap wit kills, these critics do; but you are not\nalone, Toto. Did you see the critique on my little poem ‘Satanitie’\nin the _Écho de Paris_? Well, that is what they fling nowadays at an\nartist, and call it wit. But Pelisson is replying by a counterblast\nin the _Débats_. Dear old Pelisson! He knows no more of poetry than\na rhinoceros; but he roars, and he has reduced the art of slaying a\ncritic to a fine edge.”\n\n“Yes, yes,” said Toto, trying to lead Gaillard from himself for a\nmoment; “but what do you think of my plan? I am going to take an attic\nand work in a blouse—I _am_; and, besides, do you know, Gaillard, I\nhave met the most charming girl. She lives in an attic on three sous\na day with a lark; she trims hats, and she has eyes just the color of\nNeapolitan violets. I have never loved a woman before.”\n\n“You love her?” cried Gaillard, “and you would leave the world for her\nto live in an attic? Oh, _mon Dieu_! what a romance you might make of\nlife! And is that idea all your own? _Mon Dieu!_ you, a Prince, rich\nand young and charming, beloved by all the women of Paris—the very\nentry of such an idea into your brain proclaims you an artist. It is\nlike the Prince in my little forest tale who renounced the world for a\nwood-nymph—my little tale called ‘Nymphomanie.’ You have read it.”\n\n“No, I haven’t.”\n\n“But I gave you a copy.”\n\n“Oh, yes, I remember now—the nymph who turned into a sow. It was a\nbeautiful story; but never mind it for a moment. Tell me, Gaillard: you\nare not saying that just to please me?”\n\n“I,” said Gaillard; “I am charmed with the idea, the originality of it,\nthe color of it. It has a perfume of violets—those violets that come in\nautumn as if to increase the sadness of the withered leaves. De Musset\nmight have written a play upon it. I, ha! I will—I will write a poem on\nit.”\n\n“For goodness’ sake, don’t!” said Toto in alarm. “I want no one to\nknow. With my blouse I become a man like other men; I give myself a\nyear, and then—we will see what Otto Struve and De Nani say.”\n\n“But you are not serious, Toto?” cried Gaillard, who was now the man\nalarmed, for Toto was a little income to him, a cigarette mine, and a\nmost joyous companion. “You would die, my child, under the hardships\nof such a life; you were not born to the blouse, you were born to the\npurple.”\n\n“I am serious!” cried the Prince, greatly exasperated; “you are as bad\nas the rest of them. You are——”\n\n“I am not; _mon Dieu!_ do not freeze me, Toto, with that face. I was\nbut thinking of your health; you have cast frost upon me, and I was\nfeeling so happy; besides, a garret may be made most comfortable—it\nmay indeed: you can have a little charcoal-fire when the weather is\ncold, and a garret need not be ugly. I saw an old oak chest in the\nRue Normandie to-day; it cried out to me to buy it, but I had not the\nmoney; we will buy it to-morrow. We will not have the walls papered;\nmost have, but we need not be vulgar though we are poor. Oh, Toto,\npoverty is a romance if it is taken in the right way; we will teach\nthe poor how to endure their poverty romantically. No, we will not\nhave paper—plain plaster and an etching or two of Albrecht Dürer’s, a\nlittle library confined to one bookshelf. Loti, Baudelaire, and a few\nmystics; a lark to sing to one whilst one paints or writes; a girl with\nblue eyes to love; a pipe to smoke—what more does one want? In the name\nof Heaven, what more does one want? I call upon Heaven to witness. I\nthink the problem of modernity solved in the one word ’simplicity.’ We\nare too be-scented, embroidered, and diffuse; we eat too much and love\ntoo broadly; we want concentration. Genius is like a burning-glass;\nit must be focused so that the rays come together in a narrow point,\nelse the rays will not burn. I saw a stove in bronze of Henri Quatre;\nwe will get that—it’s in the same place, Rue de Normandie. Did you see\nthat girl pass by? She pulled up her dress to show me her ankles; they\nwere like cow heels. Some people have no discretion; they show what\nthey ought to hide, and hide what they ought to show. I have noticed\nit in everything, even conversation. Well, we will get the stove and\nsome other things—it will be like making a nest; and when all is ready\nyou will spread out your wings and sing, and the female bird will come.\nHeavens! I know just the place you want, in the Rue de Perpignan.\nI have a friend there, a genius, but very weird; they call him\nFanfoullard, no one knows his real name. He is one of the mysteries of\nParis; he subsists by painting fans, and will not get out of bed till\ndusk; he says inspirations come to him only when he is in bed. That\nnecessarily imposes limitations on his art, but his fans are poems; he\nspreads them with autumn and spring, and sends them fluttering over the\nworld; he dreams of the beautiful women who will use them as he lies\nthere unknown in his bed. Life is full of poetry; we find it in the\nmost unexpected places. Well, the room below that of Fanfoullard is\nunlet—it was so, at least, a week ago; we will take it; it has a little\nroom adjoining that will do for a bedroom. We will go hunting for the\nfurniture, you and I, to-morrow.”\n\n“But, see here, Gaillard: I am not playing at this, and I must be\neconomical. I’m going to start on three or four thousand francs, and\nmake that do. I’m deadly in earnest.”\n\n“You are right,” said the poet. “It would be absurd to live in an attic\nwith a bank-book; besides, you can always apply to your mother, Mme. la\nPrincesse, should the wolf scrape too loudly at the door.”\n\n“Oh, good gracious, you will drive me mad! If I don’t succeed I will\nhang myself; I would never have the face to come back; and what I mean\nby success is, success without help. I am stiff with sitting still and\nbeing waited upon; I want to _be_.”\n\nAnd Toto’s eyes gleamed madly in the gaslight, whilst Gaillard felt a\ndecided shiver. Then he remembered Toto’s general eccentricities, and\nrubbed his chin, making his thin beard crackle. “It will last a month,”\nthought he; “and then we shall all drive home in a cab very hungry,\nand the Princesse will kill the fatted calf, and the girl will be\npensioned.”\n\n“Gaillard, what are you thinking of?” demanded Toto.\n\n“I was thinking that I should like to be young again like you,” burst\nout Gaillard, a lot of lunatic ideas waking up and dancing like\nBacchantes around the lie. “And be loved by a beautiful girl, and work\nfor her, and fail, and die in her arms; those are the happiest lives,\nafter all, failure ending in death with one’s beloved. Success ruins\none’s life. I have never been happy since I met it, when I was young;\nbut I was never young, I sucked nepenthe with my mother’s milk. I do\nnot believe I was ever born; I was found in some field of poppies, and\nthey hid the fact. When I have written my last song I shall drop in\nsome field of poppies. Ah, me, wretched body of mine! Toto, let us go\nand dine and forget ourselves; let us become beasts for an hour, and\nthen you will come to my rooms. Fanfoullard may be there; he always\ncrawls out at dark and rides to the Rue de Rivoli in an omnibus with\nhis eyes shut, for fear of seeing the terrible people who make use of\nthose vehicles. They put him out in the Rue de Rivoli, and he opens his\neyes. Should he have any fans finished, he takes them to Nadar, who\nmonopolizes his work; then he always comes to my rooms and smokes—I\nleave tobacco for him on the mantel. He is my familiar. For days\nsometimes we do not meet, when I happen to be out, but I always know\nthat he has been; he leaves a smell of withered flowers behind him. All\nmy greatest poems are due to Fanfoullard. You remember, Schiller could\nnever compose without rotten apples in his desk. Fanfoullard is my\nrotten apple. Come, let us go to the Maison Dorée.”\n\nThey rose from their seats and made languidly for the Boulevard des\nItaliens, Gaillard pausing at several toy shops to look in and admire\nthe wares. In the Avenue de l’Opéra, at Brentano’s window, a little\nvolume of poems by Verlaine called to him to buy it, and as he had no\nmoney Toto bought it for him. He carried the book tight clasped to his\nchest as they wandered along to the Maison Dorée, where they entered\nand dined.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nFANFOULLARD, MIRMILLARD, AND PAPILLARD.\n\n\nTwo hours later they came out, each smoking a big cigar; Gaillard’s\nheld delicately between finger and thumb and whiffed at occasionally,\nToto’s stuck in the corner of his mouth.\n\n“Let us to the Moulin Rouge,” said Gaillard. “I have dined; I want to\nlaugh.”\n\n“But how about this Fanfoullard?”\n\nThe poet had quite forgotten Fanfoullard, the attic, the Henri Quatre\nstove, and all the rest of it.\n\n“Oh, he will wait; Fanfoullard is eternal, like a tortoise. A hundred\nyears hence you will find him painting his fans and crawling out at\ndark to sell them.”\n\n“But I don’t want him in a hundred years; I want him now, to arrange\nabout that room.”\n\n“What room?”\n\n“The room you spoke of.”\n\nGaillard groaned. He thought his companion had forgotten all that,\nwhich showed that he only knew Toto by his surface.\n\n“You will not find Fanfoullard interesting.”\n\n“Don’t want to; but he will find me interesting, for I will pay him to\nsee about the place and have it cleaned up.”\n\n“But Fanfoullard——” said the poet, stopping to scratch his head, for\nthere was no Fanfoullard; he was a mythical creature that had escaped\nthrough one of the cracks in Gaillard’s skull; he had never lived in\nthe Rue de Perpignan, nor journeyed forth to sell fans in the dark with\nhis eyes shut for fear of the frightful people one sees in omnibuses.\nIt seemed almost a pity. “But Fanfoullard——” said his creator. “Ah,\nwell; yes, let us go to my rooms and see if he has arrived.”\n\nThey made for the Rue de Turbigo, for Gaillard condescended to live in\nthe Rue de Turbigo. Here he kept his Muse, or, to speak more correctly,\nshe kept him, assisted by Toto, Pelisson, Struve, De Brie the editor,\nand a host of others.\n\n“Tell me about this Fanfoullard,” asked Toto. “Is he a respectable sort\nof person?”\n\n“Oh, eminently. My dear Toto, why walk so fast? I shall have\nindigestion.”\n\n“He doesn’t practice on the violin or come in drunk, does he?”\n\n“Never. Toto, tell me about this charming girl who has taken your\nheart; tell me her name?”\n\n“Célestin.”\n\n“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ Célestin! What a name!—full of light.”\n\n“Would you like to see her? Well, come to-morrow morning. I am going\nto meet her in the Champs Élysées at eight, and I’ll tell you what: we\nwill all go and breakfast together, and then we will take a trip into\nthe country. You will do for a chaperon; you can watch about and meet\nus as if by accident—will you?”\n\n“Why, yes,” chirruped Gaillard, a vista of pleasure in the country,\nchampagne, pretty girls, and April skies springing up before him,\npainted upon the night. “I shall be charmed. The country now is like\na picture—the skies by Fantin, the blossoms by Diaz. I will come in a\nstraw hat. Tell me, Toto: shall I bring a girl?”\n\n“Confound it, no!” said the Prince. “Célestin is not that sort.”\n\nGaillard sighed.\n\nThey had reached the house in the Rue de Turbigo where he lived, and\npassed through the entresol and up, up, up a great many stairs, for the\npoet lived at the top of his tree.\n\n“Fanfoullard has not come, then,” he cried in a voice of disappointment\nas he opened his door and revealed a big room lit by the remains of a\nfire. “Light a candle, Toto, whilst I build up the fire.”\n\n“There are no candles,” said Toto, hunting about match in hand.\n\n“True—I forgot,” cried the poet, running into the little bedroom\nadjoining and returning with a night-light in a soap-dish; “I used them\nall to-day.”\n\n“Why, you don’t burn candles in the daylight?”\n\n“Indeed,” said Gaillard, “I do. When I am working I always close the\nshutters and work by candlelight. My ideas are like moths; daylight\ndispels them, candlelight attracts them. They are like gray moths,\nthe color of decay; could you look in when I am at work, you would\nperhaps see them flitting about my head—reveling around their maker.\n_Bon Dieu!_ this bellows is broken. Toto, hand me that bundle of\nwood. I have written by a night light. ‘Satanitie’ was written by a\nnight-light, finished in the first rays of the dawn; that book was\nwritten at a single sitting in one night of sheer madness.”\n\n“I know; you told me so the other day,” replied Toto, whilst Gaillard,\nhis hat still on his head, and his frock-coat hanging round him like\na skirt, squatted on his hams before the fire, putting pieces of\nstick upon it with finger and thumb, whilst the flames leaped up and,\nassisting the feeble flame of the night-light, illuminated the room.\n\nThe carpet was blue, the tablecloth red, the curtains maroon rep.\nSundry German engravings adorned the walls. One represented an angel in\na long chemise, saying, evidently, “Coosh!” to a lion in a den, whilst\nDaniel, with a head four sizes too large, stood by with an air of\nattention. Another, Tobias being haled along by an angry-looking seraph\nto the music of cherubs playing upon wooden harps and seated upon\nwoolen clouds. Another, Ananias dying apparently of strychnine. There\nwere three photographs on the mantel: one of a boy in plaid trousers\nclasping to his breast a wooden horse; another of a young man, wild\nof eye, and dressed in the uniform of the 101st of the line; a third,\nof a poet holding a little book in his hand. All three portraits were\nof Gaillard—Gaillard at ten, Gaillard at twenty-five, and Gaillard at\nthirty, as we know him.\n\nIn a bookshelf close to the mantel stood a volume of Schopenhauer,\nBaudelaire’s “Fleurs du Mal,” and ten volumes by Gaillard—that is to\nsay, two volumes of each of his works; twinlets delicately bound, some\ngay as grisettes, but “Satanitie” ash-colored, with a black devil\ndancing on its back.\n\n“Why,” said Toto, glancing at Daniel, “do you keep those odious prints\nin your room?”\n\n“I don’t keep them,” said Gaillard, rising with a distracted air, and\nwiping his fingers on his coat. “My poverty keeps them; they are part\nof the furniture. Look at the carpet, look at the curtains—what a\nbackground! I am like a butterfly pinned to an outrageous tapestry,\nan indecent arras; they are my cross. I took them up with the rooms.\nWhy do I remain in the rooms? They are haunted, Toto, by a man called\nMirmillard. He was an opium-eater, and lived by writing for the\n_Quartier Latin_. You know the _Quartier Latin_? It is a _farouche_\nlittle journal of sixteen pages or so, and appears monthly, or is it\nquarterly? He blew his brains out just where you are sitting now;\nthe hole was extant in the wall a month ago, but I had it stopped\nup with plaster. Have I seen his ghost? many times; it is one of my\ninspirations, and that is why I endure those terrible curtains, that\nterrible carpet, and, ah, _mon Dieu!_ those terrible pictures. Toto,\nlend me your cigarette case; I will take three, and make you some\ncoffee—I have all the _implementa_ in this cupboard. Fanfoullard is not\ncoming, it seems. No matter; I will seek him to-morrow myself. To-night\nperhaps, if we are lucky, we may see Mirmillard. He appeared to me only\nthree nights ago, and the gash in his throat gaped.”\n\n“I thought you said he blew his brains out?”\n\n“He completed the work with a razor,” said Gaillard, putting the little\nkettle on to boil. “But enough of Mirmillard. These cigarettes are very\ngood. Let us talk of flowers.”\n\n“Oh, bother flowers!” said the Prince, lying luxuriously back on the\nold sofa, whose springs were bursting out below. “Tell me, Gaillard;\nhave you ever been in love with a woman?”\n\nGaillard, squatting before the fire, looked at the kettle with an\nexpression as though he were regarding the gash in Mirmillard’s throat.\nHe had never seen that gash, simply because there was no Mirmillard,\nnot even the ghost of one. He, like Fanfoullard, was one of Gaillard’s\ncreatures, born to bedizen conversation.\n\nHe made no response to Toto’s question.\n\n“For I am,” said Toto, without waiting for one. “I never thought I\nshould be; but that girl’s eyes are quite different from other women’s.\nBut you will see her yourself to-morrow. Deuce! what is this?”\n\nA little bundle of papers was disturbing his rest on the sofa. He\npicked them out. They were newspaper cuttings, paragraphs about an\nindividual called Papillard. For the last few months a series of little\nstories had been attracting the attention of Paris to the pages of\n_Gil Blas_. They were naughty, but screamingly funny, and just long\nenough to read whilst smoking a couple of cigarettes or sipping a glass\nof absinthe. They were signed “Papillard.” Everyone was asking who\nPapillard was. Nobody knew but the editor, and editors never speak when\nthey are told not.\n\n“Why, hello!” cried Toto. “Do you know Papillard?”\n\n“No,” said Gaillard, removing the kettle from the fire in a hurry.\n\n“But see here: here are things about him, addressed to him and opened.”\n\n“Oh,” said Gaillard, “I know. He’s a friend of Fanfoullard’s. He must\nhave been yesterday, and no doubt left them. My dear Toto, do you like\nyour coffee strong?”\n\nGaillard’s hand was shaking. He dared not admit that Papillard was\nhimself. No one had ever guessed it, for Gaillard, though a source\nof great humor, was believed to be utterly destitute of that quality,\nand so, in fact, he was. Papillard was a sprite that lived in the\nbrain of his unwilling host. He was a creature like Fanfoullard and\nMirmillard, only much more highly organized, for he was able to cling\nto his tenement and to exercise his abilities in literature. The\nstories of Papillard horrified his master when in print. There was\nsomething so abominably low about them. Servant girls giggled over\nthem on back-stairs. Gaillard admitted to himself in secret that he\nwrote them, and enjoyed writing them, but he would sooner almost have\ndied than admitted the authorship. One of the stories in question had\nfor motive a cold leg of mutton. There is nothing particularly funny\nabout a cold leg of mutton, but the story was killing. And it had been\nwritten by the author of “Satanitie”! Gaillard, when he remembered\nthis fact, felt dizzy, and pinched himself to see if he was there.\nHe was jealous, too, of Papillard’s fame. Wind of these trifles had\neven reached England, or, at least, the _Daily Telegraph_. “Satanitie”\nhad never gone so far. When people cried “What a droll fellow this\nPapillard is!” Gaillard’s tongue had to lie mute at the bottom of his\nmouth—a cruel torture. You cannot be two people at once. You cannot be\na mystical poet, and a buffoon—at least, before the eyes of the world.\nHe had discovered his genius by accident, and too late. His self-love\nhad crystallized round poetry, and, in fact, the poet was the true\n_him_. Papillard was a clove of garlic in a bonbon box, placed there by\naccident or freak, smelt by everyone, but never localized.\n\nHe would have burnt Papillard’s stories, but they brought him\nmoney—much more money than “Satanitie” or “Nymphomanie” or “The\nPoisoned Tulip” or “The World Gone Gray” had ever brought him; and\nGaillard was a sieve for gold—at the mercy of every woman he met,\nwho robbed him of the money that ought to have gone to his tailors,\nbootmakers, hatters, and hosiers. Lately, indeed, he would have gone\nvery much to pieces only for the fantastic labors of Papillard, and for\nthese benefits he was ungrateful. You know the maxim of Rochefoucauld.\n\nHe handed Toto his coffee, and, to turn the conversation, reminded him\nof the loan of a thousand francs which he had requested on their first\nmeeting that evening.\n\n“It is indispensable to me,” said Gaillard.\n\n“I will let you have it,” replied the Prince, “but not now. If you had\nmoney now, you would be off to the Moulin Rouge, and I should not see\nyou in the morning. I will let you have it to-morrow evening when we\ncome back.”\n\n“But I have not a centime!” cried Gaillard, turning out his waistcoat\npockets in despair. “And how can I meet you, how can I get to the\nrendezvous, in this condition?”\n\n“It’s better for you to come like that than come, perhaps, tipsy.\nBesides, I will pay all expenses, and I will give you five francs now;\nthat will pay your cab to the Champs Élysées in the morning. Stay at\nhome and write poetry just for to-night, and think of all the fun you\nwill have to-morrow night.”\n\n“_Mon Dieu!_” said Gaillard, as the vision of the Moulin Rouge vanished\nbefore him into thin air.\n\n\n\n\nPart II.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nIT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY.\n\n\nThe next morning broke fair. The sky over Paris held the blue of\nforget-me-nots, and the wind from the west, lazy and warm, ruffled the\nlilac of the Seine with streaks of sismondine. It was the summer end\nof April; she had still five days’ tenancy, and here May had arrived\nbefore her time, flushed and warm from her journey, but seemingly\nunspeakably happy.\n\n“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ ’tis like an old Italian picture!” cried Gaillard as\nhe opened his lattice in the Rue de Turbigo.\n\n“Oh, _ciel_!” cried Célestin far away near the Rue de Babylone, as she\nstood by her open window and clasped her hands before all this beauty,\nwhilst Dodor gave praise from the parrot cage till the brown sparrows,\ngrubbing in the street below, cocked their impudent heads on one side,\nas if to say “What’s that? Who is making that noise?”\n\nCélestin had been dreaming of Toto, and praying before she slept that\nthe morrow might be fine and that he would not forget. What a day had\ncome in answer to her prayers! She fully believed that her prayers had\nbrought this angelic morning, tripping with blue parasol outspread\nacross the fields of light, across the hills of dreams and the country\nof impossible primroses. Then the artist turned from the window and\nfrom heaven, and flung herself into a hat.\n\nIt had got the better of her yesterday. She had stared vainly at the\nfoundation. Nothing came, only the vision of Toto beating the beggar\nman, Toto drinking his coffee, Toto declaring himself an artist, Toto’s\neyes, Toto’s nose, the coat he had worn, his beautiful hands, his hair\nso well groomed, his white teeth, and his angelic smile. You cannot put\nthese things into a hat—that is to say, immediately; but now, after\ntwenty-four hours nearly had elapsed, the miracle was accomplished.\n\nThe result was a confection that made Princesse Klein look ten years\nyounger at the Countess Prim’s garden party. She did not know that she\nwas wearing Toto upon her head, Toto idealized and converted into a hat\nby the joint endeavors of love and April, assisted by the fingers of\nCélestin Sabatier.\n\nThe doing of it took but an hour, and then she held it out on the point\nof her finger and smiled; Dodor broke into a song of triumph, and the\nlittle American clock on the shelf struck seven.\n\nSo she breakfasted—a cup of milk and a Vienna roll eaten in haste—and\ngave Dodor his morning fly round the room. Then she started, closing\nthe door carefully for fear of Mme. Liard’s cat, and all the way down\nthe steep and dusty stairs Dodor’s voice pursued her, seeming to cry\n“Come back! come back!”\n\nToto had dressed himself in his oldest suit of tweed; he wore also a\nrevolutionary-looking felt hat. A Prince cannot break into a blouse\nin one morning any more than a tree can cast its leaves in one night,\nbut he was advancing. He had also been waiting since ten minutes to\neight—that is to say, exactly five minutes—for at five minutes to\neight Célestin appeared beneath the trees of the Avenue Champs Élysées,\nand Toto, who had been standing close to one of the little kiosks, came\nto meet her.\n\nShe wore a bunch of blue violets in her bosom, an artless adornment\nbought for a sou at the corner of the Rue de Varennes. She was in\nexactly the same dress as that she had worn on the previous morning,\nbut her hands were gloved in honor of Toto.\n\nThey shook hands and laughed a little, and inquired after each other’s\nhealth. Then Toto led her to some chairs placed close to one of the\nlittle kiosks.\n\n“Don’t let us sit on those,” said Célestin; “they charge for them. I\nonce sat on a little chair just here, and a man came out and asked me\nfor a sou; there was nothing to be done but pay him.”\n\n“Never mind,” said the Prince; “let us be extravagant for once in our\nlives. Célestin, I have a treat for you—guess what it is.”\n\nCélestin thought vaguely of what it could be; she could imagine\nnothing but a breakfast, hot rolls and butter and coffee, but somehow\nshe did not care to tell of this imagining. She shook her head.\n\n“I am going to take you for a day in the country and show you the\nflowers and things—that is, if you will come. Will you come, Célestin?”\n\n“Oh, Désiré!” cried the girl. She could say no more; she held out\nboth hands to Toto; her soul was in a tumult, and her eyes filled\nwith tears of pure delight. The country, the mysterious country, the\nlong-dreamt-of country, that land of her dreams compounded of old\nvisions of Champrosay and the shrill sweetness of Dodor’s song! Had\nIsrafel appeared before her offering a trip to the fields of heaven, I\ndoubt if his offer would have been received with such delight.\n\nToto felt an extraordinary little thrill run through him as he took\nher hands. No one had ever called him Désiré before in a voice like\nthat; women, when they knew him well enough, always called him Toto,\ngenerally with a little laugh—men too. Here was a being, lovely\nand lovable, who called him by his right name, and, oh, with what\nsweetness! It was a new revelation of himself; it was as if, glancing\nin a mirror, he saw, reflected in a new way, a face very much more\nhandsome and manly than his own, and yet the true reflection of his\nface. He would have loved that mirror and disliked the false mirrors\nhe had been accustomed to, just as he was beginning to love Désiré—I\nmean Célestin. He kissed each little hand and put them back in her lap,\nwhere they rested as if satisfied.\n\n“But where shall we go?” asked Toto, glancing round to see if he could\nmake out any sign of Gaillard, and almost hoping that he had overslept\nhimself.\n\n“Oh, anywhere,” said she. “What matter where, so that it is the\ncountry, where the trees are and the flowers? There is nothing so\nbeautiful in the whole world as the trees; I dream of them sometimes,\nand they are lovely. Oh, see that white butterfly, white as an angel of\nheaven! he seems so glad, and he seems to know.”\n\n“Bother!” said Toto.\n\n“What?” asked Célestin, coming back from heaven.\n\nIt was Gaillard in the distance. The poet had dressed himself for\npastoral pleasures; he wore a gray frockcoat, a white waistcoat, and\na straw hat—one of those straw hats they manage better in France: it\nwas soft, and the brim curled. He had also a green necktie, to be in\nkeeping with the grass, a rose in his buttonhole, and a large stick\nwith a crook handle.\n\n“Ah, my dear Désiré!” screamed the poet when in speaking distance. He\nhad been schooled overnight to forget the odious little name Toto. “I\ndespaired of seeing you; you were not to be seen, and now I find you\nsitting on a seat.” He removed his hat and bowed low to Célestin.\n\n“This is my friend M. Gaillard, the famous poet,” said Toto, putting in\n“the famous poet” as a sort of excuse for the gayety and _bizarrerie_\nof his friend’s dress, which he felt might frighten Célestin. But\nCélestin was not in the least frightened, though somewhat awed by the\ngrandeur and white waistcoat of Gaillard. She had heard Mme. Liard\nspeak of poets, wonderful and fabulous beings who lived in the country.\nThe country seemed coming to her in bounds, the gods descending in\nshowers, the birds singing louder in the trees of the Champs Élysées as\nif to welcome God Gaillard. She felt very happy.\n\n“I am char-r-r-med,” said Gaillard, bowing again and sinking into a\nchair. “Charmed to make Mlle. Célestin’s acquaintance. I have not been\nto bed. To—Désiré, I have passed the night pen in hand; the dawn came\nin upon me as I worked; then it was too late.”\n\nHe told this frightful lie with unction, for he had been, not only\nin bed, but snoring, when Mme. Plon, the concierge, tipped overnight\nby Toto, had actually come into his room and threatened to strip the\nclothes off him if he did not get up to go and meet Prince Cammora.\n\n“_Mon Dieu_, monsieur!” had cried Mme. Plon. “Where will you get that\nhundred and ten francs you promised me for the rent but yesterday,\nshould you fail to meet M. le Prince, and put His Highness in a bad\ntemper?”\n\n“How wonderful that is,” said Célestin timidly, “to be a poet!”\n\nGaillard swelled a bit under his white waistcoat; then he laughed a\ndreary little laugh.\n\n“Ah, mademoiselle, on a morning like this, yes, it is a wonderful thing\nto be a poet; but the world is not always May, the world is not always\nMay. Mademoiselle has, perhaps, never read my——”\n\n“No, of course she hasn’t,” cut in Toto. “At least—but that’s not the\nquestion; tell me, where shall we go? We want a pleasant day. Now, what\ndo you suggest?”\n\n“But, mademoiselle——”\n\n“She has already suggested anywhere; she is indifferent.”\n\n“Well,” said Gaillard, who had the day’s festivity already sketched out\nin his head, “I would propose a _petit déjeuner_ now, then drop in to\nthe Louvre and look at the Primitives, then I would propose _déjeuner_.\nAfter that, why not let us go to Montlhéry; we can take the train from\nthe Gare d’Orléans. There is an old tower at Montlhéry that I love. We\nwill dine at the Chat Noir; they have some very fine carp in a pond\nthere, we will get the landlord to kill one and cook it for us. He\nknows me, and he manufactures a most delicious white wine sauce for\ncarp. Well, then we will have a carriage back and supper at Foyot’s, in\nthe Rue de Tournon.”\n\n“That might do for M. Rothschild, but it is not simple enough for us,”\nsaid Toto, making suppressed grimaces at the poet. “If I had sold a\npicture even lately, but I haven’t.” A blank look began to overspread\nGaillard’s face; he had not reckoned on this. “So we must be very\neconomical. How much money have you?”\n\n“I have nothing!” cried the unfortunate Gaillard, and he began, as was\nhis wont, to turn his pockets inside out; then he remembered Célestin.\n“My publisher was out when I called upon him. My dear To—Désiré, how\nmuch have you?”\n\n“Nineteen francs,” said Toto with a diabolical grin as he produced his\nmoney, “and a sou.” Célestin laughed and felt in her pocket for her\nlittle shabby purse, but Toto said “No.”\n\n“We are rich. Poets and painters, you know, Célestin, have a way\nof getting along on air, like the birds—haven’t we, Gaillard?” But\nGaillard only made a noise like a groan. “I know what we’ll do. But\nfirst come, and we will have our _petit déjeuner_ at the little\n_crémerie_ in the Rue du Mont Thabor. You remember the _crémerie_ where\nwe breakfasted yesterday, Célestin?”\n\n“That delicious little _crémerie_!” murmured Célestin, and they started.\n\nThey crossed the Place de la Concorde, Célestin laughing, Toto talking,\nand Gaillard walking silent like a froward child. He would have\nreturned to the Rue de Turbigo had he not been absolutely penniless,\nfor the five francs had all vanished, devoured by a rose, a cigar, and\na cab.\n\n“I will be silent,” thought Gaillard, “and spoil this wretched Toto’s\npleasure; I will turn his feast into a funeral. Nineteen francs, _mon\nDieu!_ and three people, and a day in the country! The mind revolts!”\n\nBut ten minutes later he was calling for honey, declaring that he\ncould not eat his roll and butter without it, and joining in the\nconversation. He could no longer endure the agony of holding his\ntongue; besides, he remembered the thousand francs Toto had promised\nhim if he conducted himself decorously and with discretion.\n\n“I know where we will go!” cried the Prince.\n\n“Barbizon?” queried Gaillard, putting six lumps of sugar in his coffee.\n\n“No, Montmorency; the chestnut trees will look splendid to-day. They\nare not in flower yet; but no matter—one cannot have everything.”\n\n“True,” said Gaillard, trying to ogle Célestin and failing, for she was\nentirely engrossed with Toto and the bread and butter; “one cannot have\neverything. We will go to Montmorency, and sit beneath the chestnut\ntrees and tell each other fairy tales.”\n\n“Oh, how delightful!” murmured Célestin.\n\n“I will tell you the tale of the giant and the dwarf,” resumed\nGaillard. “It is my own—one of a series of _fin-de-siècle_ fairy tales\nI am writing for Lévy. There is a terrible battle in it, and the\ngiant beats the dwarf. In the olden tales the dwarf beats the giant\ninvariably, but I have changed all that. The giant in my story is the\ntype of sin; he pelts the dwarf with roses, nothing more; the dwarf\nreplies with mud; he is Virtue, and has a hump, and is hairy. Rousseau\nhad a châlet at Montmorency; it is there still. I will leave you two\namongst the primroses whilst I go and cast a stone at it—wretched\nman, murderer of his own children, destroyer of the _haute noblesse_,\nprogenitor of the bourgeoisie!”\n\n“Oh, bother Rousseau!” cried the Prince, helping Célestin to more\nhoney. “We don’t want to think of him; we want to be happy.”\n\n“True,” said Gaillard; “you are young—we are all young; May is coming\nin. Désiré, a great idea has struck me: we will have a picnic. The\ninn at Montmorency may not be a good inn; I have my doubts about it.\nMy children, listen to me: we will dine on the grass beneath those\nchestnut trees.”\n\n“But——” objected Toto.\n\n“Hear me out. I have a friend; we will call her Églantine. Do not\nlaugh, Désiré. My friend lives close by; she is, in fact, very\nwell-to-do, and owns a café. I will go to her, and she will pack me a\nluncheon basket, and so we will be at the mercy of no landlord.”\n\n“Well, go,” said Toto, “but do not be long.”\n\n“Half an hour is all I ask,” replied the poet, rising in a great hurry\nand departing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nFÊTE CHAMPÊTRE.\n\n\nHe passed almost at a run down the Rue St. Honoré. A friend tried to\nstop him.\n\n“I am busy,” cried Gaillard; “do not detain me! _Mon Dieu!_ I will pay\nyou to-night! Meet me at eight at the Café de la Paix.” Then, at a run,\nround the corner of the Rue Royale and into a large café just waking\nup: “Du Pont! Du Pont! Where is M. Du Pont?”\n\nThe proprietor, a large black-whiskered man in shirt-sleeves, appeared\nfrom the back premises, wiping his mouth with a serviette. This was\nÉglantine.\n\n“My dear Du Pont,” cried Gaillard, “here am I nearly mad! M. le Prince\nhas arranged a little picnic, and Sarony has forgotten to send the\nluncheon basket.”\n\nDu Pont flung up his hands as if the world had fallen in.\n\n“Can you arrange a basket for three—cold fowl, tongue, and some _pâté\nde foie gras_, also champagne?”\n\n“How many for—three?” cried M. du Pont, holding up three fingers.\n“_Tenez!_” and away he rushed.\n\nIn ten minutes the basket arrived, borne by a waiter; it was a\ncapable-looking basket, and seemed heavy.\n\n“At least, we shall not starve,” murmured Gaillard. “Charge it to M.\nle Prince, Du Pont. Adieu!” And he drove away in an open fly with the\nbasket beside him, remembering, when it was too late, that he ought\nalso to have ordered a box of cigars.\n\nHe met his companions in the Rue Mont Thabor; they had left the\n_crémerie_, and were walking up and down in the sun.\n\nThen the trio, with the luncheon basket in their midst, drove off,\nand were deposited at the Gare du Nord, that dreary station with its\nmultitudinous platforms and engines that do not whistle healthily, but\ntoot mournfully with a suggestion of phantom horns.\n\nHere in the hurry and hubbub the poet could express his ideas on the\nthird-class tickets which Toto insisted on buying, without fear of\nCélestin overhearing his plaints.\n\n“My dear Toto, do not do this disgraceful thing. Consider my position\nin the world, if you forget your own. Should anyone see me, _mon Dieu!_\nit will be all over Paris, and they will say my books are not selling.\nAlready they are saying that the editions are being faked. I will go\nback, I will commit suicide——”\n\n“Oh, rubbish! I’m going third. Stay behind if you like. _Ma foi!_ see\nover there standing beside that woman with the plum-colored face! It’s\nold De Nani, and he has seen us. Wait—wait for me, Célestin; I wish to\nspeak to a friend. My dear Marquis,” cried Toto, dragging the old man\naside, “I am going on a little private business into the country. In\nfact, I am going with a lady and my friend Gaillard, but I do not want\nher to know my identity—you understand.”\n\n“_Parfaitement_,” replied the old beast, grinning under his paint and\nglancing at Célestin, and vowing in his own mind to do Toto an evil\nturn, if such a thing were possible.\n\nFor by a strange chance Struve’s enemy, to whose house he had been\ndriven drunk on the previous morning, was also his most deadly enemy.\nThe Comte de la Fosse was this gentleman’s name, and on descending in a\nflowered dressing gown on the previous morning to see what the hubbub\nwas about, he had found M. le Marquis de Nani seated without his wig\nin the middle of the hall and singing ribald songs as he attempted to\nremove his boots. The Comte de la Fosse had ordered his enemy to be\nput to bed, and later in the day read him a pious lecture on the evils\nof drink and the disgrace he had brought on the old nobility. Toto was\nindirectly the cause of all this—directly, for all that old De Nani\nknew. Needless to say, he felt very bitter.\n\n“And above all things,” said Toto, “I don’t want my mother to know.”\n\n“I understand,” said De Nani. “I, too, am going into the country—to\nChantilly.”\n\n“Good-by.”\n\n“_Au revoir._ But stay. Where shall I meet you again? Could I see you\nto-night?”\n\n“Be at the Café de la Paix,” said Gaillard, who had come up to see\nwhat was going on, and what this old blood-sucker was saying to his\nToto, “and ask for M. Théodore Wolf. Anyone will show you him. He is a\njournalist with a black beard. I have made a rendezvous for eight with\nhim. We will be there.”\n\n“Yes,” said Toto, “be there at eight.”\n\nAnd De Nani left them, not for Chantilly, indeed, but to take a cab and\ndrive to the Boulevard Haussmann and say to the Princesse de Cammora:\n\n“Madame, something very strange is going on. Alas! it is not the fact\nof the young lady that alarms me, but, madame, he desired me not to\nmention her existence to you. Young men will be young men, but why\nthis excessive secrecy? I have an intimate knowledge of the world,\nand I fear——I do not like this M. Gaillard, either; he indulges most\nintemperately.”\n\n“Oh, Gaillard the poet,” said the Princesse; “there is not much harm in\nhim.”\n\nStill, she felt uneasy, and determined in her own mind to have an\ninterview with Gaillard, and implore him to protect her precious Toto\nfrom the machinations of strange girls, and lead him into the right\npath—the path that led to Helen Powers.\n\n“Why did you give that old fool a rendezvous at the Café de la Paix?”\nasked the Prince as the train whirled them along past green fields, on\nwhich Célestin’s eyes were fixed with pathetic rapture.\n\n“I did not give him a rendezvous,” replied the poet, who had obtained\nCélestin’s assent to his smoking one of Toto’s cigarettes. “I shall\nnot be there. Wolf will be there, and they will bore each other. Wolf\nis a dun, M. de Nani is a bore. I always appoint my duns and bores to\nmeet each other at the Café de la Paix, the Café Américain, or the\nGrand Café. They dine together and speak ill of me whilst I am dining\nat Foyot’s, or the Café Anglais, or the Maison Dorée. I have made the\nfortune of three cafés by the people I have sent there to wait for me.\nThey all ask for each other, and sit at the same table and wait for\nme; then they dine, and as a rule drink too much champagne to assuage\nthemselves——”\n\n“_Mon Dieu_, Célestin!” cried Toto, seizing both her hands; “what is\nthis? You are crying!”\n\n“I have just remembered Dodor,” sobbed Célestin. “I have left him shut\nup in my room, and, oh! should anyone open the door and leave it so,\nMme. Liard’s cat may kill him. _What_ shall I do?”\n\n“Why, the girl has a baby!” thought Gaillard in astonishment.\n\n“Well, this is a nuisance!” said Toto in a voice of tribulation.\n\n“How old is Dodor, mademoiselle?” asked the poet.\n\n“He is two years and a little bit,” wept Célestin.\n\n“Ah, then be assured, mademoiselle, he is safe; cats never attack\nchildren of that age.”\n\nToto made horrible faces at his companion.\n\n“He is not a child, monsieur,” murmured Dodor’s mistress—“I often wish\nthat he were; he is my lark, and Mme. Liard’s cat may kill him.”\n\nGaillard’s eyes became filled with tears; a moment more, and he might\nhave allowed himself the pleasure of weeping.\n\n“Did you lock your door?” asked Toto.\n\n“Why, yes, I did!” cried Célestin, brightening through her tears and\nputting her hand into the back pocket of her dress; “and the key—I have\nit. Oh, how relieved I feel! Still, I ought not to have forgotten him;\nhe was a treasure given me by the good God to keep. Ah, monsieur,” she\nsaid, turning to Gaillard, “you do not know how I love Dodor.”\n\nGaillard’s lachrymal works again began to threaten.\n\n“Here we are,” said Toto, and the train drew up at Montmorency, with\nthe trees waving in the wind.\n\nThey came along the white road leading to the little town, a boy hired\nfor half a franc carrying the basket, Gaillard threatening him with\nuntold terrors if he dropped it and herding him with his crook-handled\nstick.\n\nThe blue sky was dotted here and there with little white clouds, like a\nsparse flock of white lambs tended by some invisible shepherd who had\ngone to sleep in the azure fields and left them to graze at their own\nsweet will. Beneath the sky and far away stretched the country, green\nas only April makes it, spread with apple blossom, the air filled with\na sound one never hears in Paris—the hum of the wind in a million trees.\n\nCélestin seemed tipsy. One can fancy a newly arrived angel in the\nfields of Paradise drunk with color and light. She dashed into\nhedgerows after wild flowers, and clapped her hands at butterflies,\nand cried out with happiness when she saw a lamb just like one of the\nlambs one sees in the Magazin du Louvre at Christmas time, but this one\ndancing round its mother in the middle of a field pied with daisies.\n\n“She has gone mad,” said Toto, delighted with the delight of his\n_protégée_.\n\n“’Tis the primitive woman breaking out,” said Gaillard. “Proceed,\nAlphonse, and if you drop that basket I will flay you! Believe me,\nDésiré, every woman is a nymph at heart. I know several women who are\ndevotees when in Paris, but in the country they become hamadryadic;\n’tis the influence of the trees—they remember Pan. Have you read\nmy little brochure ‘Pan in Paris’? It appeared as a feuilleton in\n_Lucifer_, the journal of the Satanists. I am not a Satanist; I despise\nthe sect. I went to their church once; Satan in person was to appear.\nHe did; the lights were lowered, but he did not frighten me, for I had\nheard him bleating in the vestry before he was brought on—it was a\ngoat. Besides it was very dull; I left in the middle of the sermon, and\nSatan smelt dreadfully. I had to burn pastilles in my room for three\ndays to help me to forget him.”\n\nThey skirted the happy little town, and made for a part of the chestnut\nforest declared by Alphonse to be suitable for picnics. Here, beneath\nthe trees on the edge of the sunlight, the basket was deposited on the\ngreensward, and Gaillard flung himself down to rest.\n\n“I will leave you here,” said Toto, “to get the things ready, and I\nwill take Célestin to the hill-top to see the view.”\n\n“Leave me, then, your cigarette case,” murmured Gaillard, his hat over\nhis eyes, and his arms flung out on either side; “and do not be long,\nDésiré, for I am famished.”\n\nFrom the hill of Montmorency the whole world of April lay before\nthem, in its midst Paris, the city of light, sixteen miles away,\ncream-colored and drab; Paris the noisy, silent amidst all that silent\ncountry stretching away in billows of tender green to the sky of pale\nand wonderful blue.\n\n“Oh, _ciel_!” sighed Célestin, removing her gloves as she sat by Toto,\nand folding them carefully inside out and putting them in her pocket.\n“Can that be Paris, that little place? my thumb covers it when I hold\nit so. And, oh, the sky!—it seems to stretch to heaven. How happy the\nworld is!”\n\n“Do you find it happy?” asked Toto, tearing up wild violets and\nflinging them away to keep his hands employed.\n\n“Yes,” said Célestin, breathing the word out in a manner that made it a\nprayer of praise.\n\n“But you are not rich—you are like me; and they say the rich see more\nof the pleasure of the world than we do. Tell me, would you like to be\na great lady, one of those one sees in the Bois?”\n\n“Oh, no!” said Célestin; “I would much rather be myself.”\n\n“But!” said Toto, tearing a daisy’s head off, “imagine having money to\nspend, as much as one wanted.”\n\n“I have.”\n\n“Imagine having a carriage and horses.”\n\n“That would be nice; at least, I would sooner, I think, go in\nomnibuses—one would be very desolate all alone in a carriage. It is the\npeople who make omnibuses so delightful; one wonders where they are\ngoing to and what they have in their baskets; and some read books, and\none tries to imagine what they read of. And then the hats one sees!\nthey make one want to laugh and weep. Sometimes they are not so bad,\nbut sometimes they are frightful; often have I wished to say, ‘Madame,\nlet me retrim your hat; I will do it for love, and use my own thread,’\nbut I have never dared.”\n\n“Well, imagine being able to ride in omnibuses all day long.”\n\nCélestin smiled, and looked away into the blue distance, as if she were\nwatching an ethereal omnibus filled with her familiar angels.\n\n“Well, you could do that all day if you were rich.”\n\n“I could not take Dodor.”\n\nToto, the tempter, felt that she had him there, but he was not tempting\nher in the ordinary acceptation of the word.\n\n“You love Dodor very much?” Her eyes swept round to him, and rested\nfull upon his. “Tell me, Célestin: could you not love me a little too?”\n\nWhen they got back to the picnic they found the cloth spread, the\nplaces laid, and the Perigord pie eaten; they had, in fact, been away\nover two hours, and the poet had not waited.\n\nThere was cold tongue, and part of a fowl and rolls and butter left,\nall of which Gaillard offered with effusion; he had expected a scolding\nfor beginning without them, but he did not get it. Toto did not\ncare, Célestin did not know; cold tongue or Perigord pie, it did not\nmatter—they were in love. The poet smiled upon them like a father, and\npiled their plates, and gave them what was left of the champagne.\n\n“Here’s to Églantine!” said Toto, toasting the provider of the feast in\na glass of Mumm, from which Célestin had taken a sip. “Has she brown\neyes or blue?”\n\n“Blue,” said Gaillard. “Blue as the skies above Pentelicus.”\n\n“Well, tell her what I say, and give me a cigarette.”\n\n“There is only one left,” replied the poet, as he hastily lit it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE GENESIS OF “PANTIN.”\n\n\nThey returned to Paris at five, leaving the luncheon basket at the\nMontmorency Station.\n\n“Églantine will send for it,” said Gaillard.\n\nAt the Nord they took an open carriage driven by a cabman in a white\nbeaver, and drawn by two white ponies. In this conveyance they tore\ndown the Rue de Faubourg St. Denis, along the Boulevard Nouvelle, and\ndown the Rue Richelieu. Toto sat beside Célestin; Gaillard on the front\nseat, his stick between his legs, chattered like a magpie, so delighted\nwas he to find himself back in his dear Paris.\n\n“Gaillard,” cried Toto, when Célestin had been deposited at her own\ndoor, with a whispered word in her ear and a promise on her lips for a\nrendezvous on the morrow, “I am in love.”\n\n“_Ma foi!_ I know.”\n\n“You don’t; you know nothing of love, neither you nor any of us. I\ndon’t know how many women have sworn that they love me; they do because\nI am a Prince, because I am jewelry, good dinners, and what not.\n(Boulevard Haussmann, you fool! I have told you twice; and make those\npigs of horses travel faster—we are not a dung cart.) Yes, I am all\nthat, and they love me. De Nani, for instance, is a pattern of truth\nand friendship, as we know it. I have never seen our world before;\nCélestin has lit it for me. My mother paints; good God! my father\npainted; he wore stays.”\n\n“I, too, have worn stays,” declared Gaillard—“three years ago, when I\nwas very young and foolish. I was then twenty-two. I discarded them\nbecause they were such a trouble to lace. I have even painted. What\nwill you have? Youth must expend itself; but believe me, Toto, our\nworld is not a bad world beneath the paint.”\n\n“I tell you it is a vile world.”\n\n“Well, perhaps it is, in parts. De Nani, for instance; beware of that\nold man, Toto. He is the type of excess. An old man drunk and a drunken\nold man are two different people. De Nani is a habitual drunkard; I\ncan read it in his eye. He is more dangerous than a cartful of women.\nStill, despite the fact of De Nani and a thousand like him, I have a\nchildish faith in the world. I believe in humanity, or what I can see\nof it through the misery and mystery of life. I believe in flowers, I\nbelieve in trees. Have you read my ‘Rose Worship’? _Mon Dieu!_ what was\nthat? Only a dog we have run over. Animals, too, are part of my creed.\nI am thinking of having a book of my belief published, with colored\nplates. It would be the bible of childhood. Flowers, beasts, birds,\nand insects would be as the four Apostles. I was saved from atheism\nby a butterfly. It flew into my rooms in the Rue de Turbigo one day\nlast August. Everyone was at the seaside; I was alone in Paris. De\nBrie had refused to advance me the money for a trip to Normandy. You,\nToto, were at Trouville. The day was sultry, and, to add to my pain,\na barrel-organ played in the street outside. Mme. Plon brought me a\nletter. It was a draft from my sister for five hundred francs. As I\ncast my eyes over it, a white butterfly flew in through my window,\nthrice around the room, and out again. It was the voice of the Unseen,\nsaying ‘I am here.’ Yes, I believe—I believe in your Célestin. She is\nall nature, and to be loved by such a woman is a benediction.”\n\nLa Princesse de Cammora’s carriage was at the door. She had just\nreturned from shopping, and tea was being served to her in the drawing\nroom.\n\nGaillard loved tea and Princesses,—even Princesses of fifty,—so he left\nToto to go upstairs and change, whilst he found his way to the drawing\nroom.\n\nThe Princesse was not alone—Pelisson was with her. He had come to find\nToto. His head looked larger than ever; it seemed bursting with some\ngreat idea, and, true to his nature, he was making a noise. He was also\nmaking the Princesse laugh. The tears were in her eyes as Gaillard\nentered.\n\nGaillard sipped his tea whilst the journalist finished his story. It\nwas about an actress. Then the Princesse drew Gaillard into a corner,\nleaving Pelisson to look over a bundle of engravings till the coming\nof Toto.\n\n“Oh, M. Gaillard,” said the great lady in a motherly yet playful voice,\n“how naughty it is of you to lead my Toto astray! No, no, do not speak;\nit is not you I fear; but I have heard—no matter: a little bird told\nme. Now, this journey to the country. Who is she, M. Gaillard?”\n\n“Madame, I swear to you——”\n\n“Nay, nay, I do not want you to tell tales out of school; but you have\nbeen seen—the three of you—this morning at the Nord. Tell me, now—her\nname!”\n\n“Madame, be assured, it was a most innocent freak. She is a most\ncharming and innocent girl.”\n\n“Oh, this is dreadful!” murmured the Princesse. “M. Gaillard, I\nspeak to you as a mother to a son. I do not mind Toto’s Mimis and\nLolottes,—one cannot keep a young man in a cage,—but I dread these\ninnocent girls. I have seen, alas! so much of life. They come to the\nhouse and make disturbances; they have relations, old men from the\ncountry, who come and sit in one’s hall till a _sergent-de-ville_ is\ncalled. One need not be straitlaced, but one need not beat a tin pan\nover one’s indiscretions. Besides, Toto is at a very critical age. I\nhave a match at heart for him, a girl pure and beautiful as an angel.\nBut she is an American, and they do not understand the little ways of\nyoung men. She is also a good match, even for Toto. So you see it is a\nmother’s heart that speaks. I pray you tell me her name.”\n\n“Her name is Lu-lu,” said Gaillard, Papillard coming to his aid.\n\n“Lu-lu. Ah, that sets my heart at rest, M. Gaillard. There was never an\ninnocent girl in Paris with that name.”\n\n“Madame,” said the poet, “I think your perception is very clear. I\nwould not disparage Mlle. Lu-lu’s innocence; still, she has a habit of\ncasting her eyes about, and speaks of ‘larks.’”\n\n“And tries to persuade poor Toto that she is an innocent. M. Gaillard,\nI have read your beautiful poems, and I know your mind, for I have seen\nit in your works. I have no fear of Toto whilst you are by; stay near\nhim, M. Gaillard, watch over him.”\n\n“I will.”\n\n“And let me know how things go on. Hush! here he is.”\n\nToto entered in evening dress, covered with a light overcoat.\n\n“Hello, Pelisson!”\n\n“M. Pelisson has called to take you to dine with him,” said the\nPrincesse. “He has some great journalistic feat to perform, and he\nwants your aid. Go, all of you, and be happy.”\n\n“I am bursting!” cried Pelisson, when they were in the street.\n“Toto, take my arm; Gaillard, give me yours. Cab! No, I must work my\nelectricity off by walking. We will dine at the Café de la Paix. I met\nWolf an hour ago; he told me he would be there.”\n\n“Stop,” said Gaillard. “I do not want to go to the Café de la Paix.”\n\n“Why, Wolf told me you had a rendezvous with him.”\n\n“It was a _rendezvous de convenance_,” said the poet. “He is bothering\nme. Never knew a man to bother so over a paltry hundred francs.”\n\n“I will pay it,” said Pelisson. “Come along. What’s that you say: Old\nDe Nani will be there—the Marquis? He’ll do; I am in want of a cheap\nMarquis. Really, the gods are working. Hearken to Paris—it hums; I will\nmake it roar. The Ministry is down. Have you not heard? Oafs! where\nhave you been? Well, then, the time is coming; it only wants the men to\nbring it.”\n\n“The time has come for what?” asked Gaillard.\n\n“For a general rooting out, all the rotten sticks into the fire. What\nwill be the end of it?—who knows? The restoration of the Bourbons, I\nbelieve. The republic is a rotten hoarding, papered with Panama scrip.\nWhat’s behind the hoarding? ah, ah, my children! wait and see. I am\ngoing to bring out a paper; everything is ready down to the printer’s\nink. I want from you a hundred thousand francs, Toto. I want your\nbrains, Gaillard. Struve we will pull into it also. I have four other\nmen; all the talent in Paris will be with me. It is to be a dull paper\nfull of ideas. It will lick the boots of the bourgeoisie, and wink\nbehind it at the throne. It will slaver, and stink, and shuffle along,\nbut it will build barricades in the world of thought. Gaillard, can you\nwrite an ode to a yard-stick?”\n\n“I can write an ode to anything beautiful.”\n\n“What is more beautiful than a bourgeois? He is the emblem of commerce.”\n\n“Looking at him in that light, he has his dim sort of beauty; besides,\nI would do anything to vex De Brie. He pays one for one’s work as if\none were a butcher selling legs of mutton. He reduces literature to the\nlevel of a trade. He would be mad if he thought I were on the staff of\nanother journal.”\n\n“He’ll be madder when he sees my paper break out like the smallpox; but\nyou must be dull.”\n\n“I would endeavor even to be dull,” said Gaillard, “to vex De Brie.”\n\n“But see here,” said Toto. “What is the use of another paper? There are\nhundreds of papers.”\n\n“There is no paper like mine,” said Pelisson. “Wait till you see it!\nit will begin with a grunt and end in a yell. _Ma foi!_ yes. There are\na hundred dull papers pretending to be clever, but there is no clever\npaper pretending to be dull. I am going to be respectable, and wear a\nscorpion’s tail. I am going to give more business news than any other\npaper. M. Prudhomme will read me after dinner; and I will tickle him\nunder the ribs, and then some day I will bite him behind, and make him\njump from his easy-chair and pull things down. You will hear Paris\ncrack. Here we are!”\n\nThey had reached the Café de la Paix; De Nani and Wolf were there\nalready.\n\n“For goodness’ sake, Pelisson,” said Gaillard, “give this wretched Wolf\nhis hundred francs, or he will be making innuendoes all dinner-time! It\nis a way he has; he is most spiteful and has no reserve.”\n\nWolf was a journalist, with a long black beard, a high forehead, and\nspectacles. His forte was interviewing. He entered one’s house like a\nwolf, and swallowed one—house, wife, furniture, and all; the backyard\nand the front garden were not beneath him. Then he vomited the remains\ninto the columns of fifty papers, and went and devoured someone else.\nBut he was a good-natured wolf, ready to lend to a friend in distress,\nbut a terrible creditor, for, to use Gaillard’s expression, he tortured\none so.\n\nPelisson drew him aside and promised him payment, and then they dined,\nthe journalist sketching out his plan between the courses to the\ndelight of his listeners, excepting Toto.\n\nThe wretched Toto had no part in the scheme; they asked him for money\nto help them, but they did not invoke his brains. He felt the slight,\nbut not severely; literature was not his path. He had no hankering\nafter distinction as a journalist, so he agreed to supply the hundred\nthousand francs, if he could get them.\n\n“I will give you bills at three months, and leave you to discount them.\nI am going to Corsica to shoot moufflon.” And he touched Gaillard’s\nfoot under the table to remind him of Célestin and the attic in\nBohemia.\n\n“But,” said De Nani, who had remained sober, for the gout was\nthreatening, and, besides, there seemed to be a chance of money in all\nthis, “what is the name of this journal to be?”\n\n“_Pantin_,” replied Pelisson. “I have sifted a hundred thousand names\nin my head during the last three days, and _Pantin_ is the only one\nthat stuck. It fits my idea like a glove; it has several meanings. It\nis like a stroke on a gong.”\n\n_Pantin’s_ health was drunk, then the conversation ran on, everyone\ntalking except Toto, who was drinking.\n\nToto, to do him credit, rarely drank much; he drank to-night because\nthe joy of the others depressed him. He could not share their\nexcitement; he felt himself to be the drone in this hive; they were all\nfamous in their way, these men, except De Nani. He and De Nani, the\nrepresentatives of birth—what a pair! He drank double on account of De\nNani.\n\nThey all rose from the table and trooped out, Pelisson’s hand on\neverybody’s shoulder, Wolf with his spectacles glittering in the\ngaslight, Gaillard gesticulating, De Nani sniggering, Toto smoking.\nThey were going to Pelisson’s rooms to formulate their plans on paper.\nUnhappy Toto, had he known the nasty trick _Pantin_ was destined to\nplay him!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nRECEIPT FOR STUFFING A MARQUIS.\n\n\nSome days later Gaillard was lying in bed. It was noon, and the blinds\nof his room were down. Toto burst in.\n\n“Go away, Toto,” said the poet in a feeble voice. “I am dying.”\n\n“What are you dying of?”\n\n“Misery,” murmured Gaillard, turning his face to the wall.\n\nToto pulled up the blind.\n\n“Never mind the misery. Get up and come out; I want you. What’s the\nmatter?”\n\n“The world; it comes upon me like this sometimes, the horror of the\nwhole thing. Besides, someone stole all my money last night. Where is\nGod? I do not know. Go away, and leave me to myself.”\n\n“You haven’t taken poison or anything, have you?”\n\n“No—not yet.”\n\n“Well, get up, and I will give you some money, and we will go and have\n_déjeuner_.”\n\nGaillard moved uneasily.\n\n“Do be quick, or I will go without you.”\n\nThe poet rose rapidly, and began to dress.\n\n“I have seen Célestin,” said Toto, standing by the window, and looking\nout on the street.\n\n“Ah, that charming Célestin!” sighed Gaillard, putting on his trousers\nwith a weary air.\n\n“And I have taken an atelier in the Rue de Perpignan. I spent the whole\nafternoon yesterday hunting for that fool Fanfoullard; no one knew of\nsuch a person, but I found very nice rooms.”\n\n“Fanfoullard has left Paris—gone to Nîmes. But, Toto, what is this\nyou tell me? Are you really going to start on this crusade—become a\npainter?”\n\n“I am a painter.”\n\n“I mean, live in this dreadful way? Toto, I predict that there will be\ngreat trouble. Your mother is very anxious; she is anxious for you to\nmake a good match.”\n\n“That’s all right.”\n\n“How all right?” asked Gaillard, scratching his head.\n\n“I saw the American girl yesterday, and told her what I was going to\ndo. She is going to keep my mother quiet; she fell in with the idea at\nonce. She is the only person who understands me.”\n\n“Did you tell her of Célestin?”\n\n“No, of course I did not; I am not that sort of person. I never talk of\none woman before another. Go on dressing.”\n\n“And I suppose you will end by marrying the beautiful American, when\nyou are famous?”\n\n“I will never marry anyone but Célestin. She is the only woman I have\never loved.”\n\n“But, _mon Dieu_! you are not going to marry her?”\n\n“No; I would if she wanted to, but she doesn’t. A priest mumbling\nover us will not make us love each other any more. Don’t put on that\nawful green necktie, for goodness’ sake; take that plaid one, it looks\nbetter.”\n\n“And you are going to start your _ménage_ to-morrow?” asked Gaillard,\nputting on the desired necktie carefully before the glass.\n\n“Yes, and that is what I am going to start on.”\n\nHe held out three bank-notes for a thousand francs each.\n\n“It won’t last you a month.”\n\n“It will have to last me a year.”\n\n“Toto, are you serious?”\n\n“What the deuce!” blazed out Toto. “Everyone asks me that when I want\nto do anything that is not foolish. When I took to painting first, that\nfool De Harnac raised his stupid eyebrows and said: ‘Toto, are you\nserious?’ When I told Helen Powers yesterday, the first thing she said\nwas, ‘Toto, are you serious?’ And now you. Am I a buffoon? And stop\ncalling me by that odious name: I am Toto no longer—I am Désiré. Are\nyou dressed? Let us go, then.”\n\n“But I do not know what will become of me,” said Gaillard, as they\ndescended the stairs. “What will become of me, all alone in Paris,\nwithout you? I shall be bored; I shall die of yawning.”\n\n“You can come over every day and see us.”\n\n“It is so far.”\n\n“You can take an omnibus.”\n\n“A what? An omnibus! I!”\n\n“They are good enough for Célestin; they are good enough for me; but\nsee here, Gaillard: above all things, you must not tell anyone what I\nam going to do or where I am going. I am going to amuse myself. Well,\nwhat does it matter to people whether I am amusing myself by shooting\nin Corsica or by painting in the Rue de Perpignan?”\n\n“I will be mute as a fish.”\n\n“I have joined a studio—Melmenotte’s. I want to do a lot at the nude. I\nwill sell my studies as I go on. A student there told me it was quite\neasy to live by pot-boiling, but I am going to have a great work in\nhand. How can a man work leading the life we lead? The other morning,\njust as I was settling down to a picture, Valfray came and dragged me\noff to that cock-fight at Chantilly. I got a blouse yesterday for six\nfrancs. Come in here, I want to see Pelisson; he is sure to be here at\nthis hour.”\n\nThey entered a café on the Boulevard des Capucines, and there sure\nenough sat Pelisson; he had finished his _déjeuner_ and was reading\nletters.\n\n“How’s _Pantin_?” asked Gaillard.\n\n“Blooming, or going to bloom. I am besieged with firms who want to\nadvertise.”\n\n“Have you fixed on your editor?”\n\n“De Nani”\n\n“What!” asked Gaillard in a horrified voice. “That drunken old wretch!”\n\n“Pah! he is only the figurehead. I am the editor; no one knows him,\nthat is the charm. He has been lying _perdu_ at Auteuil for half a\ncentury, and now I have got him, he is only a skin; I am going to\nstuff him—stuff him with Pelisson. Already people are asking who is\nthis Marquis de Nani, and people are answering he is the editor of the\nnew journal that is going to be, _Pantin_, the wittiest man in Paris,\nand discovered by Pelisson. I am circulating _bonmots_ of De Nani’s;\nthey are mine, but nobody knows that. In a week’s time everyone will\nbe talking of De Nani, this Marquis who is a genius; everyone will be\ncraving to see him. You know Paris. The old fool is wise enough to\ndodge round comers, for he knows his own stupidity; should anyone find\nit out, they will put it down to his cleverness. Wolf is publishing an\ninterview with him written by me. Oh, yes! _Pantin_ will be a success,\nand you will have your hundred thousand francs back, Toto, and a\nhundred thousand on top of it.”\n\n“You got the bills discounted?”\n\n“Oh, yes.”\n\n“What is this I hear about a new journal?” asked Struve, who had come\nin unobserved, slipping into a chair beside Pelisson.\n\nThe newspaper man explained whilst Toto and Gaillard breakfasted.\n\n“And Toto pays for all this?”\n\n“He has good security; besides, he only pays a third. I have two\nhundred thousand francs from a little syndicate, and the promise of\nfive hundred thousand if the thing takes. Toto has a lien on the\nadvertisements; he is perfectly safe.”\n\n“What’s De Nani’s salary?”\n\n“I give him a dinner every day and ten francs.”\n\n“Have you a cash-box?”\n\n“Why?”\n\n“Keep it locked. Pelisson, you are a fool.”\n\n“Why?”\n\n“To have let that old goat into your affair.”\n\n“You wait and see.”\n\n“I will.”\n\n“You are not going?”\n\n“I am.”\n\n“But see here: I want a man to do the art criticism.”\n\n“You’ll find lots.” And Struve vanished.\n\n“He always throws cold water on everything,” said Toto, remembering the\nadvice about the coffee mill.\n\n“He’s a critic,” said Gaillard.\n\n“He’s a clever man,” said Pelisson, knitting his brows an instant; “but\nhe’s wrong here.”\n\n“Oh, the middle of the day!” cried Toto in a voice of tragedy as he\ntook the poet’s arm half an hour later and lounged out of the café.\n“What a frightful institution it is! I would like to be born into a\nworld where the days had no middles.”\n\n“You are right; it is a most inartistic flaw in the scheme of things.\nThe night has no such blunder; that is why I love it. The night always\nreminds me of the exquisite masterpiece of some forgotten painter in\nthe gallery of some bourgeois millionaire. Every twelve hours we slip\ninto the exquisite poem of darkness, and then out again into this\nvillainous prose. Pah! if I had the key of the meter that feeds our\ngreat chandelier, men would have a three-hours’ day; it is quite long\nenough.”\n\n“Quite. I am going to look at my new rooms; will you come? We will take\na cab.”\n\nThey drove to the Rue de Perpignan; it was a long street situated in\nwhat remains of the Latin Quarter. Gaillard shivered at the everyday\nappearance of the place. He had never been in it before; the name,\nfloating loose in his head, had attached itself to the name of\nFanfoullard; he wished now that he had never imagined the fan-painter.\n\n“It is a great way from everywhere, do you not think, Désiré? Why put\nthe Seine between one’s self and civilization? One can hide one’s self\njust as easily a hundred yards from the Rue St. Honoré as a hundred\nmiles.”\n\nToto made no answer, but led the way upstairs.\n\nThe atelier was certainly large enough; men were at work settling the\nstove; another man was mending the top light. The place was almost\nstudiously bare; a tulip in the bud in a red-tile pot stood on a table;\nan old guitar hung on the wall; there was a throne and drapery, an\neasel, or, at least, three. Some of these things had belonged to the\nlast tenant. The tulip in the pot had, however, only just arrived. It\nsuited the surroundings, which were those of an ordinary atelier; yet\nthere was something about the place suggestive of a scene in a theater.\nPerhaps it was the guitar. But one felt the hand of Henri Murger over\nit all.\n\n“This,” said Toto, touching a nail in the wall, “is for Dodor’s cage.”\n\nGaillard’s heel struck against the handle of a little frying-pan that\nprotruded from a bundle.\n\n“We will have our meals sent in, but it is useful sometimes to be able\nto cook at home—sausages and things. You must come and teach us how to\nmake coffee.”\n\nGaillard poked his nose into an adjoining room; it was a bedroom. He\nobserved that the washing-jug was cracked.\n\n“Well,” said Toto, “what do you think of it all?”\n\n“I envy you.”\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nANGÉLIQUE.\n\n\n“I envy you,” said Gaillard as they returned to civilization; “I envy\nyou because you are young, rich, and a Prince. I do not envy you for\nthese things, but rather for the enjoyment they can give you. To\nbe twenty-two, poor, and in love—what can be better than that? You\nare twenty-two, and in love, and you are so rich that you can allow\nyourself the luxury of being poor. What a change for you, and how\nyou will taste it all! Poverty falls to the poor; they have it every\nday, but they do not enjoy it. It is like the old women who sell\nsugar-plums; they do not eat their own wares. But with you it will be\ndifferent; you will bring an unsated palate. Your present, contrasted\nwith your past, will be as a naked man standing against a background of\nold-gold brocade. Extraordinary being to have found out a new pleasure\nin this jaded age, and that pleasure lying unnoticed before the eyes\nof all men. Look at that beggar man—are not his clothes the color\nof withered leaves? I have seen greens in old coats that no painter\nhas ever seized. You would never guess my deep acquaintance with the\nways of the poor, but I have been thrown in their way. Toto, I have a\ngirlfriend.”\n\n“Better say a dozen.”\n\n“I know girls pursue me, but I cast them off. Angélique is not of the\ncommon order.”\n\n“Who is Angélique, for goodness’ sake?”\n\n“She is the only woman I love.”\n\n“I have heard you say that a dozen times about a dozen women.”\n\n“I was only pretending; in this world one hides one’s pearls and wears\none’s glass beads. Angélique is very poor; she is a _pompon_ maker.”\n\n“What’s a _pompon_?”\n\n“A _pompon_ is a thing women wear in their hats—a little fluffy\nfeather, an absurdity, but it supports Angélique. In this world,\nToto, some fate ordains that men live on each other’s absurdities.\nAbsurdity is to men as grass to cattle, air to life. Could you place\na great cupping-glass over Paris, and, with an air-pump, remove all\nits absurdity, the place would fall to pieces; ten thousand men would\nstarve; the journals would wither like autumn leaves; Struve, Pelisson,\nDe Brie, and a thousand others would vanish; women would no longer\nwear _pompons_ in their hats, and poor little Angélique would die\nfrom want of folly in others. Angélique has a lame brother who lives\nat Villers Cotterets; he is a great trial to us—an incessant drain.\nYou often laugh at me for my expenses; the fact is, Toto, I am always\nbeing tapped, like a person with the dropsy. The affection between this\nbrother and sister is a poem; I weep my money away over it. Now you are\ncasting in your lot with art, Angélique rises up in my mind, and I hear\nher say “What will become of me?” I will not hide it from you that you\nhave, through me, been the mainstay of an unfortunate man. Angélique\nknows it. Well, I want you to leave in my hands a certain provision for\nthese people before you cut yourself off from your resources.”\n\n“I’ll give you some money to-morrow; I want you to come and see me\nstarted.”\n\n“Where shall I call for you?”\n\n“At the Boulevard Haussmann.”\n\n“In the morning?”\n\n“Yes, and be sure that you say nothing of all this; I want no one to\nknow what I am doing.”\n\n“But your mother?”\n\n“She does not care so long as the American does not know.”\n\n“Do not yawn so, Toto.”\n\n“I can’t help it; it’s the thought of my mother, and old De Nani,\nand all the lot. Do you know, some day or another I would have\ncut my throat if I had not met Célestin; she was like a breath of\nair—she understands me because she loves me. Oh, I’m so sick of women\n_grinning_ at me; Célestin is the only woman I have ever seen smile.\nMlle. Powers is a nice girl; she means what she says, but she always\ntalks to me as if I were her grandchild, and she calls me Toto. Won’t\nit be a joke when my mother finds out that I have given old Pelisson\na hundred thousand francs! I am fond of Pelisson, he’s the best of the\nlot; I’d do anything for him.”\n\n“Pelisson has his limitations,” said Gaillard, and Toto yawned again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE DEPARTURE.\n\n\nGaillard, who was somewhat of a philosopher, had once divided sorrow\nunder two heads—the sorrows of life and the sorrows of art. He reckoned\nthe necessity of getting up early chief amidst the mundane sorrows, and\naccepted it in a grumbling spirit; but this morning he did not grumble.\nHe dressed rapidly and sadly, and departed for the Boulevard Haussmann,\nrefusing the coffee and roll and butter offered to him by Mme. Plon.\n\n“I cannot eat,” said Gaillard. “I am deeply disturbed.”\n\nHe found Toto dressed and in his atelier. He was looking at Sisera and\nJael. Jael had the air and aspect of a stout housemaid nailing carpets\ndown with energy.\n\n“How could I have painted that beast?” asked Toto. “She is all flesh,\nshe is an animal, she is like a bull-fighter in a skirt. Imagine a\nwoman like that, and then imagine Célestin.”\n\n“Are you going to remove these canvases to your new atelier?”\n\n“_Mon Dieu_, no! I will remove nothing that reminds me of this place. I\ntell you what: I will make you a present of this picture. You can have\nthe water-nymph too.”\n\n“Thanks,” said Gaillard in an unenthusiastic voice. “I will not remove\nthem at present; they would remind me too much of all the pleasant\ntimes that are gone. I feel very depressed this morning, Toto—I mean\nDésiré; one cannot get out of old habits in a hurry without shivering.”\n\nHe looked out of a side window and away over the roofs of Paris. The\nmorning was sitting on the roofs pelting the city with roses; the city\ngrumbled, Gaillard sighed.\n\n“Oh, the good times, how they pass! Do you remember, Désiré, the night\nyou won a thousand napoleons at the Grand Club? It is only a month ago,\nyet it seems a year.”\n\n“The night we tied the two cats by the tail and hung them from a\nlamp-post? Where did De Mirecourt get those cats? He suddenly appeared\nwith them. Do you remember the _sergent-de-ville_ who tried to get them\ndown?”\n\n“I had forgotten the incident of the cats. I remember it dimly now—one\nwas a tortoise-shell. Yes, those were pleasant times. Désiré, it is not\ntoo late to go back to them; consider your position well before you\ntake this step.”\n\n“Come,” said Toto, “I am going.”\n\n“But have you said good-by to Mme. la Princesse?”\n\n“She would never forgive me for waking her at this hour.”\n\n“_Mon Dieu!_ but you have no luggage.”\n\n“I have a bag in the hall below.”\n\n“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ I hope this is all for the best. So you are going with\nonly a bag? Désiré, have you forgotten Angélique?”\n\n“I have three thousand francs in an envelope—it will keep you going.\nDo try and make it do for six months. Look at me; I have only three\nthousand for a year.”\n\n“I will try. Ah, _mon Dieu!_ I wish I had never seen this day; my heart\nis heavy. Thanks, I will not open the envelope till I meet Angélique;\nwe will open it together. We are like two children sitting at a feast\nand pulling crackers; each day is like a cracker tied with dawn-colored\nribbon. Sometimes Angélique weeps at the contents of these crackers,\nsometimes she laughs and claps her hands; she will clap her hands\nto-day. Come, let us go and follow our fates.”\n\n“This is my luggage,” said Toto, picking up a huge Gladstone bag in the\nhall.\n\nGaillard opened the hall door, and they passed out into the bright\nmorning. The clock of St. Augustin was striking eight; the sparrows\nwere fighting in the sunshine; the earth seemed teeming with life and\nlight and happiness.\n\n“How good it all is!” said Toto, as they drove over the Seine. He was\nechoing Célestin’s eternal sentiment without knowing it. “What a lovely\nworld it is, and how little we see of it! We snore in our beds during\nthe best part of the day, and live the rest of our time by lamplight.”\n\n“The world,” said Gaillard, “always reminds me of a poem written by a\nshopkeeper to advertise his stale wares, unpunctuated and filled with\nprinter’s errors; that is why we read it by a dim light. It ought to\nhave been burnt; it was unfortunately published and given to us to\nread. No one can make out what it is driving at; we have been spelling\nat it now a million years; we began when we were apes, and we will end,\nperhaps, when we are donkeys. I am sick of it; I would jump into the\nSeine, only that such an act would delight De Brie.”\n\nThe cab stopped at the doorway of Célestin’s house, and the concierge,\nMme. Liard, greeted Toto effusively. Her heart was touched by the youth\nof the lovers and the fact of Toto being an artist; that he should take\nCélestin under his protection seemed to her as natural as the mating of\nsparrows, and a piece of very good fortune for Célestin.\n\nHer trunk stood in the passage, and on the trunk the parrot cage,\ncovered with green baize. From the cage came the occasional flirting\nsound of wings, the occasional tinkle of the swinging ring—sounds that\nbespoke uneasiness in the mind of Dodor.\n\nThen Célestin came down the steep stairs, blushing, and Gaillard had\nto admit that, even if the world were an ill-written poem, it had at\nleast some very beautiful passages; for Célestin had made for herself a\nhat which was an amorous dream, and a girl friend, some lower Célestin\nof the Rue St. Honoré, had, in a fit of sentiment, confected for her\na gown such as an angel in half-mourning need not have been ashamed\nof. Toto had bought her a new pair of shoes, and she wore openwork\nstockings. Toto kissed her before everyone; this was their only\nmarriage service.\n\n“It makes me feel young again!” cried Mme. Liard as she carried the\nparrot cage out, whilst the driver carried the trunk. “And I will come\nand see you in your new home; and oh, monsieur,”—to Gaillard,—“she\nought to be careful, for her chest is not what it should be; it was\nwhat killed her mother.”\n\n“I will see that she wears a muffler,” replied Gaillard, whilst\nCélestin got into the carriage, weeping from grief and happiness, and\nkissing her hand to Mme. Liard.\n\nThen the vehicle drove away, Gaillard on the front seat, the lovers\nfacing him, and Dodor’s cage beside the coachman.\n\n\n\n\nPart III.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nGARNIER.\n\n\nThe _rapin_ of Paris is the sparrow of the artistic temple, but he is\nmuch more besides. For one thing, he is sometimes an eagle in disguise.\nHe laughs as he paints, and plays dominoes with fantastic gravity. He\nis generally ugly, but he loves Beauty, and draws her in all postures,\neven immodest ones. Sometimes he becomes literary, and publishes a\njournal the size of a prayer-book, in which he has written nonsense and\nwhich lives for three months. In this way, I suppose, he takes a vague\nsort of revenge for all the nonsense that has been written about him.\n\nI do not think you will find in Europe a more foul-minded person than\nthe _rapin_, or a more joyous, or a more lovable, or a more pitiable.\nAnd though he is certainly the most consequential creature in the\nworld, he is the greatest knocker-down of pedestals. Delacroix declared\nhe could smell corruption in the air of Paris. I think he must have\nsmelt the _rapin_. Yet out of this dung spring the fairest flowers of\nart.\n\nToto, forsaking his world for a space, had cast in his lot with this\ncreation, and Célestin, like an angel made blind by love, followed him.\nDodor had no voice in the matter, yet he endeavored to put it in as he\nswung in his cage from the nail in the wall.\n\n“Oh!” sighed Célestin next morning as she sat beside Toto on the couch\nopposite the stove. “Am I on earth still, or can it be that we are in\nheaven?”\n\nIn one day she had become a woman without ceasing to be an angel, and\nDodor sang as if to assure her of the fact, whilst Toto kissed her, and\na beam of sun through the top light touched the tulip.\n\nThat was their morning, spent amidst the great flowers of the\nchintz-covered couch, whilst time passed over them like a butterfly\nwith blue wings, and Paris grumbled through the top light like a\njealous monster.\n\nIn the afternoon Toto, in his blouse, settled his painting things and\nrearranged drapery, whilst his companion, whose fingers could not be\nstill, turned the morning, gone now forever, into a hat. She murmured\nto the hat as she made it, telling it of her happiness—a most adorable\nsoliloquy lost to the world forever, for Toto was too busy to note it\ndown. Then, when the structure was finished, she held it out on her\nfinger-tip for admiration. It blushed there as if ashamed of its beauty\nand happiness. And Toto said “It is beautiful,” in an abstracted voice,\nfor he was hunting for a palette-knife.\n\nThey dined at a little restaurant near the Palais Bourbon, and spent\ntheir evening at the Porte St. Martin Theater, where a bloody drama was\nenacted, which caused Célestin to weep deliciously and shiver.\n\nThis was their honeymoon, for next day work began in earnest, and\nToto started for Melmenotte’s studio, a large bleak room filled with\ncanvases and diligent students, a naked woman, large and solid and\nsitting on a throne, in their midst.\n\nThey hazed him at first, but he did not lose his temper, so they left\nhim alone; besides, he showed no talent, therefore created no envy,\nhatred, or malice.\n\nBut Garnier, the man who worked on his right, took an interest in him\njust, perhaps, because the others voted him uninteresting and his work\nhopeless. It was Garnier’s way; he was a friend of failures, and took\nan interest in the forlorn. Sparrows, stray cats, or people like Toto\nappealed to him strangely.\n\nHe was an immense fellow, with Southern blood in his veins and hopes\nof humanity, and his secret ambition in life was to be a politician\nand set the world to rights. Nature, however, the sworn foe of secret\nambitions, had placed all his talents in his eyes and fingers,\ninsisting that this wayward child should be no politician, but a divine\nartist.\n\nHe had a great reputation as a scamp. He swore terrifically, and could\nout-talk a washerwoman. He was always borrowing, and spending, and\nlending, and giving, and he boasted that he kept a mistress. No one\never saw her; he kept her jealously hid, for she was eighty. He had,\nin fact, met her one day on one of the bridges crossing the Seine, and\npensioned her forthwith because she reminded him of his mother, whom he\nhad never beheld.\n\nHe was a love-child, it seems, and certainly a most terrible mixture\nas far as mind and morals were concerned, for his ideals were always\nvery high, and his ideas often very low, and his language very often\npornographic. To complete himself, he always stank of garlic, and his\npockets were generally stuffed with cheap cigarettes and sweets, which\nhe dispensed open-handed to his friends.\n\n“Thanks,” said Toto, taking a cigarette from a dozen held out by\nGarnier.\n\nIt was the third morning of his attendance at the studio, and he was\nfeeling depressed; he was also putting away his things, for it was\nSaturday, and work stopped at twelve.\n\n“I,” said Garnier, “am going to enjoy myself, but the question is, How?\nShall I go home and go to bed and read Eugène Sue, or shall I go to\nthe Tobacco-Pot and play dominoes? Jolly, have you any money?”\n\n“None,” answered a lank-haired and evil-faced youth, darting out of the\nroom, and clattering away down the stairs after the others.\n\n“I have,” said Toto.\n\n“How much?” inquired Garnier, with the air of a judge.\n\n“Ten francs.”\n\n“That settles it. We will go to the Tobacco-Pot. Ten francs, and this\nis Saturday! _Mon Dieu_, what a Rothschild you must be! Where did you\nget your money from?”\n\n“My father.”\n\n“What is he?”\n\n“He keeps a shop.”\n\n“Happy for you. You can paint away, and the old bird feeds you. Oh,\nI should like a shop—a little shop, where I would sell sweets and\ncigarettes, and live in my shirt-sleeves, and read the _Ami du Peuple_\nand kick my heels.”\n\n“What do you think of my work?” asked Toto, glancing at the mediocre\ndrawing upon his canvas.\n\n“It’s capital,” said Garnier, his mind running on his little shop,\nwhere children would toddle in with their sou for sugar-sticks, and old\nwomen totter in for hap’orths of snuff: for, though Garnier loved all\nhumanity, he perhaps loved the two extremes, childhood and old age,\nmost.\n\n“What made Melmenotte turn up his nose at it the way he did this\nmorning when he came round?”\n\n“He never praises anyone—he’s a fossil. Come, let us be off to the\nTobacco-Pot. Annette will be here in a moment to clear up.”\n\n“Come home with me and have some _déjeuner_; that will be better than\nthe Tobacco Pot,” said Toto, as they went down the stairs.\n\n“To your father’s place?”\n\n“Oh, no; my atelier—Rue de Perpignan. I will introduce you to my—wife.”\n\n“_You_ married!” cried Garnier, stopping in astonishment, and clutching\nToto’s arm. “Why, you are scarcely out of the egg!”\n\n“I am twenty-two.”\n\n“_Mon Dieu!_ well, why not? it is the happiest life. Oh, I should like\nto have a wife and twelve little children all three years old. That is\nthe age of all others; they talk like birds, and sentences from heaven\nslip into their conversation; and tumble on their noses, and pull one’s\nbeard. I have always seen myself as I ought to be some day, with a big\nstomach, sitting in an armchair, the children pulling my watch-chain,\nand mamma plying her needle, whilst the cat purred on the hearth: and\nhere are you, three years younger than I am, and you have it all. What\nan eye the Germans have for children! how they draw them! _Mon Dieu!_\nI can almost forgive them Sédan for the sake of those adorable little\nFritzes and Gretchens one sees in their funny little books.”\n\nThey reached the Rue de Perpignan at last, and found _déjeuner_\nwaiting. There was a little salad, some stewed beef, and a bottle of\nwhite wine, also some fruit on a plate.\n\nAs Toto and Célestin embraced, Garnier looked around him with a sigh.\nHis room was an attic, yet I doubt if he would have exchanged his\nattic, where he lay abed on Sunday reading the “Mysteries of Paris”\nand imagining himself Prince Rudolph, and of a week-day night reading\nthe _Intransigèant_ by the light of a tallow candle and imagining\nhimself Henri Rochefort, for this atelier, even were Célestin thrown\nin—at least, at present.\n\nNot that he undervalued Célestin, even at the first glance; far from\nit. The great, noisy Garnier was silent and quelled for quite ten\nminutes. He had never met Célestin before amidst all the women he had\nmet, and he seemed undecided for a while as to whether an angel or a\nchild was dispensing the cold stewed beef and the salad. Then he made\nup his mind, evidently, that it was a child, and began to play with\nher. He told stories, really droll little stories, that a child or a\nman might laugh over, and stainless as the white roads of Provence. And\nhe mimicked old men and women without malice, and in such a way that\nCélestin wept from laughing.\n\nAfter _déjeuner_ he taught his hostess how to make cat’s cradles, and\nDodor’s history was told to him whilst he sat on the couch and nursed\nhis knee and smoked his villainous cigarettes of Caporal.\n\nThe guitar was taken down from the wall, and he played _café-chantant_\nsongs, things with the ghost of an air moving in a whirl of sound,\nand sang the “Girls of Avignon” with tears in his eyes, that seemed\nto behold the whirl of the farandole, the white road to Arles, the\nmoonlight, the fireflies, and the orange trees shivering in the mistral.\n\nAltogether it was a most enjoyable afternoon, and the excitement and\nlaughter left Célestin quite spent. A fit of coughing seized her when\nthe time came for them to go out to dinner, and she declared that she\nmust lie down. So she lay down on her bed, and Toto covered her up with\na shawl, and gave her one of the lozenges Mme. Liard had placed in her\ntrunk to suck.\n\nThen he went out with Garnier, and they dined at a little café for two\nfrancs each, wine included.\n\n“I found this little café only three months ago,” said Garnier. “It is\na wizard café. I dine here as often as I can, for some day I expect to\nfind it vanished. Those whom the gods love die young, and I am sure the\ngods must love this little café. I cannot tell how they give one such\na dinner for two francs, including a bottle of Maconolais. That hare\nsoup was a miracle. I suspect the miracle to be cats. But no matter;\nthe taste was right. I save up on week-days, and dine here on Sundays.”\n\n“How long have you been working at art?”\n\n“Five years.”\n\nToto felt rather aghast.\n\n“Have you been working at Melmenotte’s atelier all that time?”\n\n“Oh, no; for the last two years I have been in his private studio; it\nis being altered just now, so I just come to herd with the rest to keep\nmy hand in. I must be doing something.”\n\n“Have you exhibited yet?”\n\n“No; Melmenotte will not let me. I am to next year; I shall have a\npicture in the Salon next year.”\n\n“How sure he is of himself!” thought Toto. “And how dull he must be to\nhave worked five years without exhibiting!” Then to Garnier: “One of\nthe fellows told me one could live by selling pot-boilers.”\n\n“Yes; one could live by house-painting, for the matter of that. Who was\nit told you?”\n\n“That young fellow with the long hair—Jolly you called him, I think.”\n\n“He is an awful wretch, that man, but a fine artist. Beware of him;\ndo not ask him to your home. I never speak bad of people; but Jolly\nis not a person: he is a genius who will die in a jail or a lunatic\nasylum. I’ve told him so often. It would not do for him to make the\nacquaintance of Mlle. Célestin.”\n\nGarnier gave a little sigh as he ate a lark on toast, which he declared\nhe suspected of being a rat. He seemed thinking a great deal of\nCélestin. The talk wandered over a number of topics, but somehow always\nback to or near Célestin.\n\nThen Toto paid the score, and produced so much money that Garnier\nborrowed a napoleon in as natural a manner as that of a bee taking a\nsuck at a flower. He then, as they walked away smoking Trabucos, bought\na copy of the _Intransigèant_, and wandered home to read it, reminding\nToto as they parted to give his regards to Célestin.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE SORROWS OF GAILLARD.\n\n\nA week passed, making in all ten days of the new life, and still the\nnovelty of it had not palled; but five hundred francs of the three\nthousand were gone. Where were they gone to? Toto scratched his head.\nCélestin helped him in his accounts, casting her beautiful eyes up as\nif for her angels to help her; but they were very bad mathematicians,\nthese angels, though perfect milliners.\n\nGarnier, in his big way, had declared to the studio that Toto was the\nbest of good fellows when one got to know him. Jolly had pricked his\nears at this, and instantly borrowed twenty-five francs from the new\nman, to send to his brother in the country; several others had done\nlikewise, but this only accounted for eighty francs or so. True, they\nhad paid the restaurateur and the washwoman; and they had gone the\nSunday before to the Buttes Chaumont, so they finished making up their\naccounts with a kiss, and declared they must be more careful in the\nfuture.\n\n“I will sell some hats,” said Célestin, “and, oh, I know: we will get\na money-box. It is wonderful, a money-box. Dodor has quite a fortune\nsince I started his. Money seems to grow in a money-box. Kiss me again,\nDésiré.”\n\nSometimes Toto thought of the world he had left. What were they all\ndoing? Sometimes he felt slightly uneasy at the great absence of\nGaillard. The poet had promised to call in three or four days, and, lo!\nten had passed. His friends thought him in Corsica, but what was his\nmother doing? He had entered into a compromise with her not to bother\nhim, and Helen Powers had promised to use her influence that he might\nbe left alone to follow his art. Still, he felt nervous that some day\nMme. la Princesse might break her word and arrive on the scene. She did\nnot know his address, it is true; but, still, she had a way of finding\nthings out.\n\nHe had worked fairly hard during these ten days, all things considered,\nand Garnier had dropped in to visit them now and then, bringing\npresents of sweets for Célestin.\n\nToto in the eyes of Garnier seemed a very enviable person. His\nfather had a shop, and all shopkeepers, in the eyes of Garnier, were\ndesperately rich; besides, the little _ménage_ in the Rue de Perpignan\ndid his heart good. The lovers seemed so young and innocent, their\nway of life so ideal, and their conversation so charming, especially\nCélestin’s.\n\nIt was on the twelfth day that Gaillard burst in upon them. Célestin\nwas out marketing, Toto was at home smoking cigarettes, for it was the\nday Melmenotte came round,—that is to say, Saturday,—and Toto had taken\na dislike to the great painter: he was not a gentleman.\n\nGaillard had a debauched air, and three books under his arm; and Toto,\nwho had somehow been very much in the blues, felt an unholy joy at the\nsight of the poet.\n\n“_Pantin_ is out,” said Gaillard, collapsing into a chair and flinging\nall his books on the floor. He produced a heavy and respectable-looking\njournal from his back pocket and cast it to the painter.\n\nToto scarcely glanced at it.\n\n“Where have you been all this time?”\n\n“Ah, my God! you may well ask me that. I have been at the beck and\ncall of Pelisson. It is cruel; I have done all the work, and De Nani\nis getting all the praise; everyone is talking of De Nani—his jokes,\nhis witticisms, his women, his wealth. And the old fool has not three\nideas in his head, nor three sous in his pocket; no woman would look at\nhim twice, and he never made a _bonmot_ in his life. My ‘Fall of the\nDamned’ came out the day before yesterday; no one is speaking of it,\neveryone is talking of De Nani. He has killed my little book, he and\n_Pantin_. It is all Pelisson’s fault. He is only using De Nani as an\nadvertisement. Struve was right: this old man is a goat; he smells like\none, faugh! and he paints his face. Struve is the only man of sense of\nthe lot. I always said so. Give me an absinthe, Toto; my nerves are\ngone.”\n\n“But how did Pelisson get his paper out so quickly?” asked Toto,\nhelping the poet to a glass of vermouth, and feeling a dim sort of\npleasure at his trouble.\n\n“He has been working like a mole for months. You know the _Trumpet_;\nit came to grief last month; he has bought the plant and offices for\na song. They are situated near the offices of the _Figaro_ in the Rue\nDrouot. Oh, you should see that villain of a De Nani; he has bought a\nwhite hat, or got it on credit. He dines every day with Pelisson in a\n_cabinet particulier_ at the Anglaise. No one is admitted, for fear\nthey would find out the fraud, and the fact that he has no brains.\nPelisson makes him drunk and sends him off in a cab to Auteuil, and\nthen goes about telling people all the quaint things he has said. He is\nabsorbing all Pelisson’s money. Pierre has never a sou now to lend to a\nfriend, and one can’t dine with him, for he dines alone with De Nani.\nConceive my feelings: this old beast has killed my book, cut off my\nsupplies, and to crown all, wherever I go I hear nothing but De Nani,\nDe Nani, De Nani! My God, I will go mad! Give me another vermouth.”\n\n“What are those books?” asked Toto, handing the glass.\n\n“Those? They are insult added to an injury—books for review, and such\nbooks! See here Fourrier’s ‘Social Economy’; I am to write a trenchant\nquarter-column review of it, and abuse it, for that will please the\nbourgeoisie. I know nothing of social economy, so how can I abuse it?\nI could praise it, for then Fourrier, whoever he is, would not reply;\nbesides, one can praise a book with one’s eyes shut—bah! See here, a\nbrochure on the American sugar trust. _Mon Dieu!_ does Pelisson take\nme for a grocer? And here, again, a drama called ‘Henri Quatre,’ by\nsome silly beast called Chauveau; all the lines limp, it is written in\nfive-footed hexameters; and I am to praise it with discretion. With\ndiscretion, mind you! I wrote him a little poem for his abominable\n_Pantin_; it was called ‘Carmine-Rouge.’ You know I scarcely ever touch\ncolor in poetry; but I made an exception for once. He would not publish\nit; it was indecent, forsooth, and would bring the blush to the cheek\nof the bourgeoisie. Between the bourgeoisie on one hand and De Nani on\nthe other, I feel as if I were in a terrible nightmare.”\n\n“Have you heard anyone speak of me?”\n\n“No one; they think you are in Corsica. But I have seen Mme. la\nPrincesse; she sent for me to inquire after your health, and how you\nwere progressing.”\n\n“And you said——”\n\n“Oh, I said ‘Admirably’; it was the best thing to say. I promised to\ncall again and inform her of your progress; she entreated me to implore\nyou not to discard your woolen vests. There was also a message about an\novercoat, which I have forgotten; it was either to wear one or not wear\none, but I cannot tell which: you know a mother’s ways. Toto, I feel\nhungry; have you anything to eat in this atelier of yours?”\n\nToto got together some bread and butter, half a cold tongue, and a\nbottle of wine. Gaillard turned up his nose at the feast provided for\nhim, but began to eat.\n\n“Toto, how much longer are you going to remain in this wretched Rue de\nPerpignan? Everywhere I go the cry is ‘Where is Toto?’ or ‘When will\nToto be back?’”\n\n“Why, you said a moment ago nobody asked for me.”\n\n“Neither do they, but they speak of you, nevertheless; they do not\nask for you because they imagine you in Corsica, but they mourn your\nabsence.”\n\n“Oh, bother them—let them mourn!” said Toto in a gruff voice, chewing\nhis cigarette in an irritable manner.\n\n“And how is Art going on?” asked Gaillard, casting his eyes about as if\nhe were looking for her.\n\n“All right; don’t bother me. I’m sick of talking art; tell me, How is\nStruve?”\n\n“Struve is very well, though he declares that De Nani makes him sick.”\n\nHe finished the wine in the bottle, and proceeded to the question of a\nloan.\n\n“But,” said Toto in horror, “you surely have not spent all that three\nthousand francs I gave you?”\n\nGaillard laughed harshly.\n\n“Do I ever spend money? I spend my life paying it out, it seems to me;\nbut how much do I spend on myself, how much have I for pleasure? Not a\ndenier. I assure you, Toto, if I have three francs in my pocket people\nseem to smell it. No sooner had I got home the other day than Mme. Plon\nappeared with a bill, which I had imagined paid. Then Brevoart attached\nme for seven hundred and fifty. It was my fault for dealing with a\nGerman tailor; he got an order against me, and would have attached my\nroyalties had I not paid. People think you are in Corsica, and so they\nmake raids on me—then there is Angélique.”\n\n“But, see here: I am very hard up myself. You know I determined to do\non three thousand; well, I have spent over five hundred in a fortnight.”\n\n“Only five hundred!”\n\n“But think what that means; if I go on at this rate, in a couple of\nmonths I shall have nothing.”\n\n“Toto,” said Gaillard earnestly, “I speak to you as a friend: Why\npursue this course? Were I an enemy of yours I would urge you on, and\nthen, when you came to grief, laugh at your sufferings. I am your\nfriend, and I say stop. You are a fine artist, and for that very reason\nyou must fail in this course. Genius was never intended to buffet with\nthe world, to pay rent and fight with tradespeople; it is always allied\nto a fine nature, and I predict the most horrible sufferings for you\nshould you continue this fictitious and insane battle with the world.\nIt is only the duffers and the dullards who succeed in this game;\nthey have blunt noses, and they do not feel blows. Look at De Nani, a\nmiserable wreck without an idea, of whom all Paris is talking. Look\nat me. Could I tell you one-half the hardships I have undergone in my\nstruggle for art, you would stop your ears. Well, then, I say desist;\nyou can only live once: why make a hell of life? Come back to us; you\nhave made an experiment in life. It is like a curious philosophical\nexperiment that dirties one’s hands; well, then, let us wash our hands,\nand turn down our cuffs again.”\n\n“Even if I wanted to stop this life, which I do not,” said Toto,\nplaying with Gaillard’s bait, “I couldn’t—sooner do anything than that.”\n\n“Nobody knows; it’s a matter between you and your conscience; _I_ will\nnever speak. You come back from Corsica in a hurry; well, what of that?\nit is a whim, and admirably in keeping with your character. Do, for\nHeaven’s sake, Toto, consider your position; and mine, for I feel that\nI am in some sort responsible for this act of yours, but I have been at\nleast discreet, and, as I said before, nobody knows.”\n\n“My mother knows.”\n\n“What is a mother, if not a confidante of our little eccentricities?”\n\n“And the American girl knows.”\n\n“What! that American girl—would you give her a second thought?\n_Mon Dieu!_ this is very funny. Oh, _mon Dieu!_ this will kill me.\nAn American pork butcheress; you told me yourself she was a pork\nbutcheress. You are afraid of the jeers of this tripe-seller’s\ndaughter. I passed to-day three American women in green veils; they\nwere promenading the Rue St. Honoré, and screaming through their noses;\nthey had alpenstocks, or at least little sticks, adorned with horn\nhandles and branded ‘Rigi Kulm,’ ‘Rigi Scheideck.’ They had ascended\nthe Rigi, and were announcing the fact to the Rue St. Honoré; that is\nyour American woman. They had faces like dollars, and for people like\nthese you would inconvenience yourself.”\n\n“I tell you I don’t want to go back. I am perfectly happy, perfectly\ncontented. Don’t talk any more about it. And I wish you would not call\nme Toto.”\n\nGaillard turned the conversation to his own immediate wants, and the\nprocess of extraction was resumed till he had salved five hundred\nfrancs from this derelict, promising upon his honor to pay it back in\nthree weeks. And scarcely had the money changed hands than Célestin\nentered, her arms full of parcels, and accompanied by Garnier. He had\nmet her shopping, and accompanied her home, it being Saturday.\n\nThen the poet took his departure, chuckling to himself about Garnier\nand the obvious worship of the big Provençal for the pretty Célestin;\nbut for all that, he felt desperately uneasy about Toto. This\nfoolishness might linger on for months like typhoid, and the best part\nof the year was coming on. At Christmas Toto had talked of hiring a\nsteam yacht for the summer, and now this wretched Célestin and this\nvile art craze had spoiled it all. He could have wept as he walked\nhurriedly down the Rue de Perpignan looking for a cab to bear him to\ncivilization, and after an absinthe, which acted on his trouble as\nstimulants on an abscess, heightening the inflammation and bringing it\nto a head, he sought Struve out in his rooms.\n\nStruve was working in his shirt-sleeves at that book of his which made\nsuch a sensation a year later, “The Saint in Art.”\n\n“I am very uneasy about Toto.”\n\n“What’s wrong with him? Has he been butted by a moufflon?”\n\n“Toto is not in Corsica; Toto is in Paris.”\n\n“Oh, he’s come back, is he?”\n\n“Do attend to me, Struve. Toto is in an attic.”\n\n“What is he doing in an attic?”\n\n“He is painting pictures.”\n\n“Has he gone mad?”\n\n“No, he is not mad; but I fear he will make a very great fool of\nhimself.”\n\n“I always said he would do that,” granted Struve, examining attentively\na tiny colored picture of St. Cecilia that was destined to adorn “The\nSaint in Art.”\n\n“I fear, if he is not stopped, he will make a very great mess of\nhimself. He has taken only three thousand francs of his patrimony, and\nhe swears that if he does not succeed on it he will cut his throat.”\n\n“You don’t mean to say he has gone on with that foolishness?” asked\nStruve, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands in his pockets.\n\n“I do indeed. It is a great piece of madness; but what is to be done?”\n\n“Leave him alone.”\n\n“But he will starve to death.”\n\n“A little starvation will do him a lot of good; he has too much kick in\nhim. The man is tired of playing the devil. He has tried everything,\nand now he is trying work. He will be back in a fortnight, a greater\ndevil than ever. I like Toto. He is such a fool; but it’s rather a\npity. You see, he is a moon, and he wants to be a sun. He is tired of\nshining by the reflected glory of his fortune, and he wants to shine by\nhis own light. He hasn’t any to shine by, and there you are.”\n\n“He has certainly no genius, but he is a very facile painter.”\n\n“Facile rubbish! He can’t paint.”\n\n“Do you not think, Otto, if you were to call upon him, and speak to\nhim, and explain——”\n\n“_Gott im Himmel!_ what do you think my time is made for? Here am I\nbehindhand with my book, and Flammarion like a caged tiger waiting for\nit. Go and tell his mother, go and tell his aunt, go to the devil, go\nanywhere, but don’t bother me about it. I have no time to be running\nafter Totos; I am not a wet-nurse. Go and get a perambulator and wheel\nhim home. How is _Pantin_?”\n\n“_Pantin_ is very well. Has not Pelisson offered you the art\ncriticisms?”\n\n“Yes; but I am too busy to be bothered by _Pantins_.”\n\n“You are right. Pelisson makes a rotten editor; he gives out books for\nreview as if they were clothes for wash. And De Nani——”\n\n“I know; he is an old fool. But do leave me now, like a good fellow,”\nlisped Struve. “My head is so full of saints, it has no room for De\nNanis.”\n\nGaillard went off in a huff, but at the entresol returned to borrow a\nfew cigarettes, for Struve’s cigarettes were a dream.\n\n“I forgot to tell you,” said Gaillard as he lighted one, “not to say a\nword to anyone about Toto and his attic; he made me swear to tell no\none.”\n\n“Then why did you tell me, you infernal idiot!” cried Struve, half\nlaughing, yet nearly weeping at all these interruptions to his work.\n\n“I quite forgot,” said Gaillard, running off to confide his troubles to\nsomeone else, whilst the critic locked his door and bolted it.\n\nThe poet turned into the offices of _Pantin_ in the Rue Drouot.\n\nSince the birth of the new journal Pelisson had been pestered with a\nrain of old friends whom he had not seen for years, and some of whom he\nhad never seen before. They all wanted employment, or, failing that, a\nloan. Gaillard’s long-suffering creditors, hearing that he was on the\nstaff, all appeared seeking for their money—a procession as infinite as\nthe Leonids, and on a business as apparently futile. The unfortunate\nPelisson had also to supervise his leader writers, write leaders\nhimself, and, worst of all, select the subjects. For this purpose he\nhad to keep one eye fixed steadily upon the whole world—that is to say,\nParis. The other eye was fully occupied by De Nani, who had caught on\nmost amazingly. Everyone was craving to see De Nani. They saw glimpses\nonly of him, and that made them crave to see more. De Nani’s white hat\nloomed mysteriously above _Pantin_; his caustic and cutting witticisms\ncirculated in salon and club. Quite a number of old gentlemen took to\nwearing white hats and making cutting remarks about their wives, and\nin the Rue St. Honoré one might see De Nani waistcoats by the score.\nKuhn’s window in the Rue de Rivoli exposed his portrait, the white hat\ntilted to one side above the fiendish old face. It was bought by the\nhundred, and Gaillard, like a periodic comet, turned up at this window\ndaily to grit his teeth with anguish and envy and walk on with rage in\nhis heart.\n\nPelisson was right. He had caught an old wether and belled it, and\nthe crowd followed like the proverbial sheep. But the bell-wether\nrequired incessant watching; besides, De Nani during the last forty\nyears had improved borrowing into one of the fine arts, and he was\ntaking a thousand francs a day out of _Pantin_ in various legitimate\nand illegitimate ways. He tapped Pelisson, he tapped the staff, he had\nestablished a credit at three cafés, he tapped the proprietors. He came\neast every morning from Auteuil as an American farmer comes to his\nmaple trees, or a physician to a hospital for dropsy. He patronized\nthree tailors, and bundles of clothes were constantly being left at\nthe offices of _Pantin_; in fact, he seemed to be laying in a store of\nclothes, not only for this life, but for the next.\n\n“I wonder he does not get a coffin as well to complete the outfit,”\nsaid Gaillard once, viciously.\n\nNo doubt he would if he could have got a silver one to melt. He made\nup for his abstinence, however, in this respect by jewelry, scent,\ncosmetics, cigars, knickknacks. China mandarins, and varnished boots.\nIt was not altogether his fault, for the tradesmen rushed upon him.\n\nPelisson did not much care what he got on credit, for he was editor\nonly in name. If he lasted over the season it would be quite enough,\nfor _Pantin_ would then be well rooted, and any fiasco of bankruptcy\nwould only make _Pantin_ bloom the more. One might fancy that the\nbankruptcy of the editor would shake the paper in the eyes of the\nbourgeoisie, but the wise Pelisson knew better. “There is nothing,”\nsaid he, “that a tradesman enjoys more than seeing another tradesman\nlet in.”\n\n_Pantin_, be it observed, was now read, not only by the shopkeepers,\nbut by the _beau monde_. Through its starch people observed a secret\nspirit at work. Its heavy sledge-hammer articles were supposed to be\nmolding a crown. The journal was evidently a hit at the existing state\nof things; it was also strangely well informed, and the Ministry felt\nsomewhat as a master might feel who suspected his butler of being a\nrogue, but could not prove the fact.\n\nAmidst De Nani’s other vagaries, affairs with women figured chief,\nso you may imagine Pierre Pelisson had his hands full, and no ears\nfor Gaillard’s tale of tribulation about Toto. But De Nani had; he\nwas sitting in a room adjoining the inner office, and heard the whole\nstory—everything, in fact, but Toto’s address.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE SORROWS OF ART.\n\n\nLike Pelisson, the atelier in the Rue de Perpignan had its limitations;\nlike Pelisson, it was also at times noisy. From the Gare de Sceaux at\nnight and in the early morning came the sounds of shunting and the\nplaintive “toot-toot” of locomotives, whilst the top light seemed the\nchosen rendezvous of all the cats of the neighborhood who were in love.\n\n“Those frightful cats!” would murmur Célestin, trembling beside Toto\nlest his sleep should be broken.\n\nThere were also draughts not specified in the lease, and the sink had\na habit of getting stopped up at least once a day; then there was\nsometimes a smell of cooking from the rooms below.\n\nToto grumbled a little sometimes, but not much at first. The new life\nwas so entirely different from the life he had led heretofore, so free,\nand withal so joyous, that for a little while he did not trouble\nhimself as to the morrow. The only rose leaf that disturbed his rest\nduring the first fortnight was the atelier of Melmenotte—art, in short.\n\nMelmenotte had the air and aspect of a _vieux sabreur_. He inspected\na picture as an infantry colonel inspects a regiment of the line,\ngenerally with a frown, sometimes with a few cutting words, sometimes\nwith dead silence. He had inspected Toto’s attempts with a damnatory\nsniff and passed on.\n\nFor this reason Toto avoided the atelier on the days when Melmenotte\nwent round; for this reason, though he had dwelt now with art only a\nfortnight, he had, when Gaillard made his proposition of return, almost\nnibbled at it. Melmenotte and his crew had somewhat disillusioned him.\nThey were such a coarse lot. Their conversation was generally silly,\nsometimes absolutely vile; they pelted him with bits of bread when\nGarnier was not looking, and even the little loans he made to them did\nnot buy him much esteem. It leaked out that his father had a shop; not\nthat that fact would have influenced the students much one way or the\nother had he possessed talent, but, lacking talent, they saw in him an\ninevitable counter-jumper, and as a result would have made his life a\nmisery to him but for Garnier, whose word was law, both on questions of\nart and conduct.\n\nBut Célestin knew nothing of these worries. She knew nothing and cared\nnothing about anything except Toto; she did not even know his surname,\nfor, though he had told it to her once, she had forgotten it.\n\nNeither did she inquire about his past. She knew in a vague sort of\nway that he had always lived in Paris, studying art, and being without\nguile, as a flower, she never made that hackneyed old inquiry, “Tell\nme, have you ever loved a woman before?”—to be answered by that\nhackneyed old lie, “Never.” Then, with that instinct which orders\nwhat we might call the good manners of love, she never loved him to\nweariness; she knew the psychological moment for a kiss, the right\ntime for silence, and when to get upon his knee and cheer him up, and\ntalk to him in the language she used to Dodor. Always pretty, she had\nalmost in a night become beautiful. Toto had presented her with this\nadded charm, but he did not perceive it; this extra beauty made up for\nthe amount she had lost by surrendering herself to him.\n\nOne day Mme. Liard called to see how they were getting on, and brought\na box of Choiseul’s cough lozenges for Célestin as a sort of wedding\ngift. The good woman was greatly taken with the atelier, the couch\nwhich she sat on to sample and declared to be a marvel, and the great\nempty canvas on one of the easels.\n\n“That is for his great picture,” said Célestin proudly. “Isn’t it\nbeautiful? and will it not be large? And see our tulip”—pointing to the\nflower in the pot, which had burst into bloom. “Is it not beautiful?\nBut Dodor is so jealous of it.”\n\n“Tulips die so soon,” said Mme. Liard, who was a bit of a pessimist.\n“Give me a double geranium. But flowers—bless you! I cannot keep them,\nfor no sooner do I get a flower than Mimi scratches it up.”\n\n“Ah, Mimi!” said Célestin; “tell me how she is.”\n\nAnd Mme. Liard plunged into the inexhaustible subject of her cat.\n\nGaillard came down on them now and then like the wolf on the fold, and\nate up a great deal of provisions. In return, he taught them how to\nmake coffee and told them fairy tales. He also borrowed little sums\nat parting, but that goes without saying. He also acted as a sort of\nintermediary between Toto and his mamma, and one day he brought them\na ham from that lady, omitting to mention from whence it had come,\npresenting it as a gift of his own, in fact, and borrowing an extra\nfive francs on the strength of it. He also brought to the Rue de\nPerpignan all his troubles, including the books for review doled out by\nPelisson, and horrible stories about De Nani. The “Fall of the Damned”\nhad been furiously attacked by a friend in the columns of the _Libre\nParole_, yet it was far from flourishing. He brought a copy dressed in\na fawn-colored wrapper, and adorned with red devils tumbling head over\nheels, and presumably into the pit.\n\n“The cover,” said Gaillard, “has spoiled the sale a good deal. You\nhave no idea of the influence of a cover on a book: devils have gone\nout of fashion in the last month. It’s all owing to that exposure of\nthe Satanists—silly fools!—and of course it is just my luck, for I\nhave a little brochure in proof called ‘Bon Jour, Satan.’ Well, then,\nI must change the title, and what does that mean? Why, rewriting the\nbook. People are turning religious, it seems; that is where art hits\none. The silly public takes a whim into its head; the artist must meet\nit or starve. I had a meeting with Chauvin, my publisher, to-day. You\nshould have seen his face. He declares the market for poetry is dead,\nand the silly fool wants me to write him something manly and religious.\nWe nearly came to words, but we made it up. I am actually like a rat in\na horrible trap. Do, Toto, act as a friend in this matter, and till the\nend of the month, when my royalties are due——”\n\n“It is absolutely disgusting,” Gaillard would murmur to himself as he\nmade for home after these expeditions. “It is like asking a loan from a\nlaborer. He takes out a few francs and looks at them as if they were\nhis last, and that little Célestin, I believe she puts him up to resist\nlending; I believe she puts all his spare money into the money-box of\nthat wretched lark. I believe she is in love with that great fat beast\nwho smells of garlic, and who always runs away when I come, as if he\nfeared the presence of a gentleman; that is the lark she is saving up\nfor. Yes, some day Toto will wake up to find nothing but a smell of\ngarlic and Célestin flown. It will serve him right.”\n\nYet, were Toto out when he called at the atelier, he would lay his\ntroubles on the back of Célestin, always sure of attention and\ncommiseration. And smoking his eternal cigarettes, he would pour into\nher ear the horrors of life, the futility of Pelisson, the detestable\nnature of De Brie, and the villainy of De Nani. Sometimes Toto,\nreturning after one of these séances had lasted an hour or so, would\nfind Célestin looking almost old, and with tears in her heavenly eyes.\n\n“I have been telling her a society fairy tale,” would say Gaillard.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nBOURGEOIS—BANKER—PRINCE.\n\n\nIt was now June, and lately Toto had become subject to moods, or, to\nspeak more correctly, fits of moodiness. He had now for a month or more\nbeen living face to face with Art, and the prolonged interview with\nthat lady was bearing fruit in his manners and customs.\n\nThree weeks ago he would not have cared very much had Paris known of\nhis mode of life and ridiculed him for it. Cocksure, and blinded by the\n_fata Morgana_ of success, he would have shaken his palette in the face\nof Paris; but Art had changed all that.\n\n“Art is not a wanton, to be hired for a night,” said Garnier one day in\nanswer to a remark of Toto’s. “_Mon Dieu!_ no; she is like that woman\nin the Bible whose courting took seven years, and then again seven\nyears, and seven years again. Work, and don’t think, work and don’t\nthink.”\n\nEasy advice to give. Toto was now continually thinking. He was in a\nworse Bastille than that from which Latude made his escape, for he had\ndevised his own bondhouse, and the prison a man makes for himself is of\nall prisons, perhaps, the most difficult to leave.\n\nHe dreaded now meeting anyone that he knew, and in the street going to\nand from the studio glanced about him with the eyes of a frightened\nhare. As yet no one knew of his folly but Gaillard, Helen Powers, and\nhis mother, but, indeed, that audience, together with his self-respect,\nwere quite enough to keep him performing a little while longer.\n\nThen there was Célestin. The unutterable contentment and bliss of\nCélestin with her new life filled the heart of Toto sometimes now with\na vague sort of terror. She seemed to think that this sort of thing was\nto go on forever. Her love for him, expressed in a thousand different\nways, seemed to spring from infinity itself, and love like this is to\nthe beloved either a blessing beyond all blessings or a curse. To Toto\njust now it was not a blessing.\n\nOf course, by a cab to the Nord, or the L’Ouest, or the Orleans\nrailway, and a ticket to anywhere, and a few months’ absence, he could\nhave put everything to rights. Paris, like a cold gray sea, would\nhave washed over Célestin and Dodor, washed away the furniture of the\natelier, washed away his memory from the _rapins_ at Melmenotte’s, and\nobliterated all traces. Paris, whose motto is “I have forgotten,” would\nnot trouble even to repeat those funereal and final words over this\nsmall escapade.\n\nBut Toto was not the person to leave Célestin and Dodor to the mercies\nof Paris. In some unaccountable way Célestin had drawn the better parts\nof his nature to herself; to wound her would be to wound himself. If\nhe thought Célestin were weeping alone in some attic, it would have\ntaken the pleasure from life, and spoiled his digestion, and filled his\nnights with nightmares, for his better parts would have been weeping\nwith her. In short, though capable of a foolish action, he was as yet\nincapable of a ruffianly, and as a result he was unhappy. A perfectly\nhappy fool must always, I think, be a ruffian.\n\nOne day Garnier, who called frequently now as a friend of the family,\nfound Célestin on the verge of tears. The tulip in the red-tile pot had\ndied, and she was inconsolable. She declared that she would never keep\nanother when Garnier offered to replace it.\n\n“Never mind,” said the painter; “I will procure you a flower that will\nnot die.”\n\nA juggler who had lodged once in the same house had instructed him\nin the manufacture of roses that never die, immortal tulips, and\ndecay-defying camellias. They were made from turnips cunningly carved\nand dyed in cochineal. Camellias were the easiest to make, roses more\ndifficult, whilst tulips, strange to say, were the most difficult of\nall. The tulip had first to be blocked out roughly from the succulent\nroot; then the exterior had to be carved, and lastly, the whole thing\nhollowed neatly.\n\nSo Garnier took a day off, and procured a turnip and a knife, some\ncochineal, and all the other necessary paraphernalia, and, with his\nwork cut out before him, locked his door. This room of Garnier’s was\nclose to the roof, and from its window one could see the spires of\nNotre Dame by standing on a chair. A desperate-looking cat lived here,\nwhose life had been saved by the artist one morning as he was starting\nto work. It had repaid him lately by kittening under his bed. In one\ncorner of the room lay a pile of newspapers, on the chimney-piece some\nbooks—Rousseau’s “Nouvelle Héloïse” in paper covers; a little book of\nGerman fairy tales, which he could not read, but which he treasured\nbecause of the delightful pictures; “The Mysteries of Paris,” which he\nhad read four times; and a few others.\n\nOn this floor also there was a large atelier kept up by three young men\nfrom the South, who did their own cooking, so that the place was always\nfilled with the sound of frying and the smell of garlic. They did their\nown washing, too, and so defied the laundress; they also at times\ndefied the landlord when he threatened to turn them out. They had got\nan old banjo from somewhere, and, needless to say, they played on it.\nGarnier worked in this atelier when he was not working elsewhere. He\nloved its discords, and never painted better than when Castanet was\nplaying the banjo, Lorillard accompanying him on a comb, and Floquet\nfrying things over the stove, for then he imagined himself back in\nProvence, and the atelier became flooded with the light that never was\nin Paris except on the canvas of a Diaz or a Garnier.\n\nFloquet had a sweetheart, who sat to him for love, and of course also\nto his friends. She darned Castanet’s stockings, for he wore them out\nin some miraculous way quicker than anyone else. As for Lorillard, he\nnever wore stockings—at least, in summer—and laughed at people who did.\n\nAltogether they were as disreputable a colony as one could find in the\nwhole quarter, but as good-hearted as they were jolly. Castanet, be it\nobserved, was a law student; he lived with the others just as the owl\nlives with the prairie-dogs, because he liked them.\n\nAll these people noticed a change that had come over Garnier during the\nlast fortnight. He was abstracted, he sighed, he laughed at nothing,\nburst out laughing sometimes as he painted, in a happy manner, as if\na child had performed some antic for his amusement, and then a few\nminutes later he would give a little groan. He no longer cast his\nbrushes joyously aside when Floquet turned the shrieking and fizzing\npan of fish stewed in garlic onto a dish; his appetite had diminished.\n\nThe fact was, the great Garnier was miraculously in love. When an\nelephant falls into a pit he does it in a whole-hearted manner; so fell\nGarnier into this passion. Célestin had been for him that dangerous\nthing—a revelation. She had eclipsed the _Intransigèant_, and robbed\nHenri Rochefort of his power; she had touched Prince Rudolph, and he\nhad slunk back into his impossible mysteries; she had taken the charm\nfrom garlic, and even the wizard café lost its fascination.\n\nYet for all this he was not in love with Célestin in the ordinary\nacceptation of the term. He never dreamt of marriage with her, simply\nbecause during the last twelve days he had become miraculously married\nto her. She dwelt with him always now in that atelier he called his\nhead. There she made her hats, trimming them with sunbeams, and turning\nto him for admiration with her celestial smile.\n\nShe was the wife of his soul. Never was there a purer passion begotten\nof man and woman; yet, strangely enough, it did not purify him. He\ntalked of women in the same old free-and-easy way, and the jokes of\nCastanet, Lorillard, Floquet & Co. did not shock him.\n\nHad Célestin lived in a romance, she would doubtless have cast her\nlight on womanhood. She would have elevated Garnier, and he certainly\nwould have been none the worse for that. In reality, however, her\neffulgence showed him nothing but herself.\n\nShe had such pretty ways. Her slightest movement had a deeply artistic\nmeaning. She interpreted unspoken sentences with a motion of her hands.\nA poppy swaying in the wind had not the grace of Célestin crossing the\nfloor to put the little kettle on the stove. Her talk seemed a strange\nsister of Dodor’s song. And then the way she had of casting her eyes up\nto heaven! Her gaze always seemed to return bluer from that journey,\nand filled with light gathered from the ghostly distance.\n\nShe was all those twelve children he had longed for rolled into one,\nand much more besides. She was one of those delightful little cherubs\nover the fonts in the Church of St. Germain l’Auxerrois; she was the\nwind that waved the trees at Barbizon, the flowers that blew to the\nwind, and the sparrows that flew in the street; she was Mistigris, the\ncat who lived under his bed, and each of Mistigris’s six kittens. For\nall of these things that he loved when he thought of, beheld, or felt\nthem, reminded him of Célestin.\n\nHe labored away over his tulip, carving at it with infinite care.\nCastanet came and kicked at his door, and asked him what he was doing,\nand then he felt the eye of Castanet peering through the key-hole, and\nheard his voice informing Floquet that Garnier was writing a letter to\nhis sweetheart. Then the banjo struck up, and the doleful sound of\nthe comb laboring out “Partant pour la Syrie” mixed with the sound of\nLorillard washing his shirt and beating it between his hands as a sort\nof accompaniment to the music.\n\nThen the flower was at last accomplished—a bit too thick in the petal,\nperhaps, but still a fairly accurate representation. He dyed it with\nthe cochineal, and mounted it on a little green stick he had prepared\nto do duty for a stalk. It was a poor child for so great an artist to\nproduce, yet he smiled at it in a satisfied manner, for it reminded him\nof Célestin.\n\nHe then went to the atelier of Castanet & Co. to see if he could get a\npiece of fish for Mistigris, who had come out from under the bed with a\nkitten in her mouth, as if to remind him that she was the mother of a\nfamily and required sustaining. And when he had fed her, he darted off\nwith the tulip in his hand, making for the Rue de Perpignan, regardless\nof the ribaldry of his compatriots, who were watching him from their\nwindow away up near the roof. He hurried along like a man pursuing\nfortune, or as if fearful that the tulip would wither. Toto was out,\nbut Célestin was at home mending a glove.\n\n“Ah, _ciel_!” cried Célestin, as she held the tulip out between finger\nand thumb. “What a marvelous thing! You made it, and from a turnip! It\nis a miracle!”\n\n“We will plant it!” cried Garnier, running about with the red-tile pot\nin his hand, and looking for some place in which to throw the dead\nflower. There was a sink outside the door; he cast it there.\n\nThen they planted the new tulip, pressing the mold tightly around the\nbase of the stick, and hardly was the thing accomplished when Toto\nentered, looking worried, and as if he had been walking in a hurry.\n\n“Yes, it is very nice,” said Toto in the manner of an absent-minded\nparent as they called upon him to admire their handiwork.\n\nHe kissed Célestin without fervor, and then, pulling Garnier aside by\nthe arm, invited him to come outside for a moment and have a glass of\nbeer, and give his advice about a picture.\n\n“I have had a row at the studio,” said Toto, when they were in the\nstreet.\n\n“Eh! what? with Melmenotte?”\n\n“No, that fool Jolly. I knocked him down.”\n\n“What! you did that? _Boufre!_ but it will do him a lot of good, that\nsame Jolly. I have often wished to do so myself, but I am too big, and\nhe is too small. You are more of his size. And why did you knock him\ndown?”\n\n“He told me I wasn’t able to paint, that any _demi-mondaine_ had more\nart in painting her face than I had in painting a picture.”\n\n“But that is nothing; we all tell each other things like that.”\n\n“Yes, but he meant it; and, he said it in such an insulting manner,\nand, besides, he only said it because I had refused to lend him more\nmoney.”\n\n“So you knocked him down!” cried Garnier, breaking into a roar of\nlaughter. “_Mon Dieu!_ and I missed it! I would have given five francs\nto have been there.”\n\nThey entered a little café, and Toto called for two bocks.\n\n“I am very unhappy,” said Toto as he sipped his beer.\n\n“What! about that rascal Jolly?”\n\n“Oh, no; it is not that. I am unhappy about a lot of things. I wish I\nhad never come to the Rue de Perpignan.”\n\n“Oh!”\n\n“Yes, tell me something seriously. How long do you think it will be\nbefore I am able to exhibit?”\n\nGarnier shifted about in his seat. He did not know exactly what to\nsay; he had never considered Toto’s art seriously. His father had a\nshop, and the son, after dabbling a while with art, would doubtless end\nhappily behind the counter. He was having his _Wanderjahr_ now. Even at\nthe worst he might become a great artist. Who could tell? And who was\nGarnier that he should throw water on another man’s aspirations?\n\n“Five years,” said Garnier. “You see, you are only beginning. The\ngreat thing in art is time; nothing is done without time and patience.\nAnother thing: one must not think. Work away and don’t think. Don’t\nask ‘How am I getting on?’ or, at least, only on New Year’s Day. Then,\nenjoy yourself, and keep your eyes open. Paris is a big atelier. An\nartist wants to study movement as well as the nude. I never walk down\nthe street but I pick up something; it all comes in handy. If you want\nto paint life, you must dip your brush in everything, even mud. Those\nold men who spent their lives painting pots and pans and saints leave\nme cold. I would like to clap the Rue St. Honoré into a canvas—will,\ntoo, some day. I don’t think there is anything more fine in nature than\na fire-engine going full speed to a fire, except, maybe, a dragon-fly.”\n\nGarnier buried his nose in his glass, and Toto put his chin on his\npalm, his elbow on the table, and stared before him, as if gazing at a\ncheerless view.\n\n“Or a girl flinging up her arms to yawn,” continued Garnier. “Girls are\nall art—that is why they make such rotten artists; but they are natural\nwhen they are flinging up their arms to yawn, or stooping to tie their\ngarters, because then they think no one is looking at them, or they\ndon’t care.”\n\nHe held out a handful of cigarettes, and Toto took one.\n\n“I have never seen Célestin yawn,” said Toto in a meditative voice, as\nhe lit the cigarette.\n\n“Heavens! no,” said Garnier.\n\n“Why not?”\n\n“The gift of weariness is not given to her. Have you ever seen a\nbutterfly yawn, or a happy child?”\n\n“She _is_ happy!” said Toto in a half-regretful voice.\n\n“She is happiness, you mean. _Mon Dieu!_ yes, she is happiness; as\nfor me, when I see her I always feel ten years younger, twenty years\nyounger when she speaks, thirty years younger when she smiles.”\n\n“You are only twenty-five.”\n\n“Oh, yes; so you see, Mlle. Célestin’s smile puts me back to five years\nbefore my birth. I was then an angel, a fat little angel in the cherub\ncage; there I would have been still had not the Father Eternal put in\nhis hand and taken me out, and flung me to the blue, crying ‘Try your\nwings.’ That is how the business is managed: the world is pursued by a\nflock of cherubs in search of a roost; when they overtake the world,\nthey take it by storm, people want to marry, and that makes spring;\nwhen the world outstrips them that makes winter. I have never begotten\na child, so I have never given a perch to one of those sparrow angels,\nworse luck!” and Garnier sighed and called for more beer.\n\n“Shall I tell you something?” asked Toto, who had been slowly making up\nhis mind as the painter prattled.\n\n“Why, yes!”\n\n“Well, you remember, when I met you first, you asked me what my father\nwas. I said he had a shop. Well, I told you a lie.”\n\n“_Ma foi!_ why not? What do I care what your father is?—you are a good\nfellow. That is enough for me. We all boast a bit, we artists.”\n\n“I was not exactly boasting,” said Toto, knocking the ash off his\ncigarette in a nervous manner. “My father made all his money out of a\nbank.”\n\n“You don’t mean to say he is a banker!” said Garnier, opening his eyes\nin astonishment, for a banker to Garnier was a much more extraordinary\nperson than even one of those cherubs he talked about.\n\n“No; not exactly a banker: he was a partner in a great bank. He was\nalways awfully ashamed of the bank. He is dead, you know.”\n\n“Ashamed of being a banker!” gasped Garnier. “What sort of man was he?”\n\n“He was an awfully funny old fellow. I can just remember him. He\nscarcely ever spoke to me; he was very stiff and straight, and he used\nto paint his face and wear stays.”\n\n“He was mad, then?” said Garnier.\n\n“Not he; he was as sane as I am—saner; for I believe I am cracked. No\nmatter, it’s not my fault; I did not make myself.”\n\n“Paint his face and wear stays and ashamed of being a banker,” murmured\nGarnier. “You are not making an April fish of me? No, you can’t be, for\nit is the second of June.”\n\n“No, I wish I was; but I have a lot more to tell. You know I came down\nhere to paint and live in the Rue de Perpignan a little more than a\nmonth ago. Well, I thought I was going to be a great artist. No, worse\nthan that: I thought I was a great artist.”\n\n“So do we all, till we find out the right side of our palettes,” said\nGarnier.\n\n“Well, I am only a dauber; don’t say no—I have been finding it out in\nthe last week. I didn’t want that fellow Jolly to tell me; that’s what\nmade me so angry, I suppose, for I knew he was telling me the truth.\nWell, I am sick of it all; the pleasure is all gone from my life. I\nhave a lot of anxieties; it is like being in prison. When I go out on\nthe street, even here in this quarter, where I am not likely to come\nacross anyone, I have to be always on the watch for fear of meeting\nanyone I know; I always look down a street before I walk down it.”\n\n“Ah, yes! I know that feeling. There are three streets forbidden to me\njust at present; they are barricaded by creditors.”\n\n“Oh, it is not creditors I fear.”\n\n“What then?”\n\n“Friends.”\n\n“_Mon Dieu!_ what a funny man you are! What is there pleasanter to meet\nthan a friend?”\n\n“Yes; but don’t you understand? I don’t want my friends to know that I\nam an artist.”\n\n“And, for Heaven’s sake, why not?”\n\n“Well, for one thing, they would laugh at me.”\n\n“Laugh at you for being an artist! Sacred Heaven! what a funny man you\nare, and what funny friends you must have! And why should they laugh at\nyou for being an artist?”\n\n“Well, you see, they don’t know anything about art, for one thing.”\n\n“Ah, I can see those friends of yours!” said Garnier, with an inspired\nair. “Old religious ladies, aunts, and what not,—they drive in\ncarriages with pug dogs,—and old gentlemen with the Legion of Honor.”\n\n“Not at all; my friends are quite young.”\n\n“Who are they, then?”\n\n“Well, there is Eugène Valfray, son of the railway man.”\n\n“Never heard of him.”\n\n“Then there is the Prince de Harnac—Gustave.”\n\n“What, you know a Prince!”\n\n“Why, man, I am a Prince.”\n\n“You are a what?”\n\n“I am a Prince,” said Toto shamefacedly.\n\n“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ what a droll you are!” cried Garnier, breaking into a\nlaugh. “First you are a bourgeois, then you are a banker, then you are\na Prince.”\n\n“I am not joking; I am what I say.”\n\n“But,” cried Garnier, sobered by the serious face of Toto, “you a\nPrince, sitting here at the Trois Frères with me! Come now! a joke is\nall very well up to a certain point; beyond that it makes one feel\ngiddy. Besides, you are not like a Prince.”\n\n“For Heaven’s sake, what _is_ a Prince like?” asked Toto, half\nlaughing, half vexed. “I have never seen a Prince that was different\nfrom anyone else; they are generally more stupid, perhaps, but that is\nall.”\n\n“But what are you Prince of?” cried the painter, belief and disbelief\nbattling in his mind.\n\n“My father was a prince of the Roman Empire. I am the same, of course,\nnow that he is dead.”\n\n“But, my dear child!” cried the Provençal, to whom a Prince was a\nPrince, no matter what empire he belonged to, “what made you come\namongst us at Melmenotte’s? it is like what one reads in a romance,\nall this. I could not have believed it. And what made you come to live\nin the Rue de Perpignan? And Célestin! Ah, _ciel!_ I see it all now:\nshe is a Princess; that is what makes her different from other people.\nA Princess! she has made me coffee, whilst I have talked to her as to\na child. I have carved for her a tulip out of a turnip, and I never\nguessed who she was, when it was plain before me written all over her——”\n\n“You are wrong,” said Toto in a troubled voice. “She is not a Princess;\nI wish she were. Listen, my friend, and I will tell you all. I want\nyour advice.”\n\nHe told the little story of his meeting with Célestin, everything; he\nsketched rapidly a portrait of his mother; then he paused to let the\ntale sink in, and Garnier rubbed his chin.\n\n“But what made you do all this?” asked the painter at last. “You could\nhave painted at home.”\n\n“I don’t know; I was so sick of it all. I wanted a change, I wanted to\ndo for myself; it seemed so jolly to have an atelier, and live in a\nblouse and work; then, besides—I can’t explain exactly, but I felt as\nif I wanted to grow: a lot of people had deceived me. They did not mean\nit, I suppose, but they praised my work; besides, I felt that they were\nlaughing at me behind my back.”\n\nHe told the story of De Nani, and the truth that had escaped from him\nin drink; he felt no shame in confiding his troubles to Garnier. All\ngreat-minded people have this in common. They resemble priests; we\nconfess to them openly what we would not whisper to little minds.\n\n“Ah, well,” said Garnier, “there are rogues in every trade, and that\nold man is a rogue. _Mon Dieu!_ I am not straitlaced; but there are\ntwo things I cannot stand by and see: an old man drunk, and an old man\nfollowing a woman. Do not think of him, but tell me now, what does it\nfeel like to be a Prince? Oh, I should like to be a Prince just for an\nhour! I would dress myself in ermine and walk down the Rue de Rivoli.\nAh! you are laughing, but I would. I would call my servants and give\nthem orders, just to hear them call me M. le Prince. I would call at\nMelmenotte’s, and walk about the atelier trailing my skirts. _Mon\nDieu!_ yes, I should like to be a Prince just for an hour.”\n\n“And then?”\n\n“Oh, I would kick off my togs and come back and be an artist. Just as\nyou will kick off your togs and go back to be a Prince; one always\nreturns to one’s trade.”\n\n“You think I will go back to be a Prince?”\n\n“Why, of course.”\n\n“Would you advise me to?”\n\n“Why, of course, when you are tired of your atelier you will put on\nyour crown.”\n\n“I have no crown,” said Toto; “but I will no doubt return and put on a\ntall hat. What troubles me is Célestin.”\n\n“Ah! Célestin!”\n\n“She does not know who I am.”\n\nGarnier frowned slightly.\n\n“She would not have loved me, I think, if I had told her, poor child!\nShe has a great awe of titled people; she makes hats for them. She will\nnever do that again, anyhow.”\n\n“Still,” said Garnier, “you ought to have told her.”\n\n“Why? I don’t see why.”\n\n“You have told me, yet you would hide what I know from that angel of\nlight. That is not as it should be. Take it as a man. How would you\nlike Mlle. Célestin to deceive you? The thing is impossible, but,\nstill——”\n\n“Perhaps you are right; and I wish I had never met her.”\n\nGarnier frowned again.\n\n“You do not love her, then?”\n\n“Oh, yes; I do. It is not that, but my mother, and all the people I\nknow. Not that I care a button—not a button; let them all go to the\ndevil.”\n\n“Ah, now you speak like a man! And will you tell Célestin all that you\nhave told to me?”\n\n“I will. I will tell her this evening.”\n\nBut when evening came, and he sat alone with Célestin on the couch in\nthe lamplight, and when he took her hand saying “I want to tell you\nsomething; I ought to have told it to you before,” the words dried up;\nhe could not tell her of his position in the world; besides, he knew\nher inevitable answer, “What matter, so long as we love each other?” It\nalways came when difficulties arose—if the beef was understewed or the\nwine sour, if the cats kept them awake or if the door of Dodor’s cage\ngot jammed.\n\n“Célestin, I ought to have told you before; but do you know that,\nthough we live here in this atelier and are happy enough, God knows—do\nyou know that I am—awfully poor?”\n\n“What matter? What does anything matter, so long as we love each\nother?” sighed Célestin.\n\n“I will tell you all about myself some day,” said Toto. “I have not\ntold you I have a mother.”\n\n“Ah, how I would love to see her! How happy, that is, to have a mother!\nAs for me, I never had a mother.”\n\n“Perhaps it is just as well you had not.”\n\n“I will tell you,” said Célestin: “we will share your mother. I will\ntake one-half of her heart, and you will have the other, like those\nogres in that fairy tale of dear M. Gaillard’s.”\n\n“Thanks,” said Toto; “you may have it all.”\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE SHOWER.\n\n\n“Dodor, we are very poor,” said Célestin next morning. She had taken\nthe lark from its cage, and was holding the little warm, brown body to\nher breast.\n\nToto had gone out to slink about the streets in a miserable state of\nmind. He was deadly tired of his atelier—Art had pulled his ears; yet\nhe was ashamed to go home. Besides, how about Célestin?\n\nHe felt like a child who had stolen a fiddle, unable to play on it,\ntired of it, afraid to return it, and wavering for a moment ere he\nthrows it into the nearest ditch. It was ten o’clock in the morning.\n\n“So,” continued Célestin, putting the lark back in its cage, “I am\ngoing to make some money.”\n\nHer head was full of echoes begotten of Toto’s words last night, “I am\nvery poor,” and plans begotten of the echoes. She had all her life\nbeen well-to-do; by some special provision of God’s, instead of her\nseeking work, work had always stolen to seek her fingers; the winds\nhad blown tulle and artificial roses across her path; Mme. Hümmel had\nsupplied her with foundations, and art had done the rest.\n\nSo it was a new sensation to hear the wolf scratch at the door, rather\nfearful, yet almost pleasurable: for was not Toto with her, and so long\nas they loved each other what did anything matter?\n\nShe had three hats finished—four, in fact, but only three for sale. For\nthe fourth was the one she had made that morning,—the morning of the\nhoneymoon,—and it was not for sale. She could not think of allowing\nanother woman to wear it, so she put it on her head, determining to\nwear it herself.\n\nShe had on a dress of lilac-colored nun’s cloth. She made the three\nhats up in a parcel, and then drew on a pair of lilac-colored gloves.\n\n“How grand Mme. Hümmel will think I have become!” said Célestin, as she\ndeparted.\n\nEven the old Rue de Perpignan looked young this morning. It was a\nblissful and dreamy day; heavy showers had fallen in the early morning,\nleaving a perfume in the air, faint, as if from the gardens of Paradise.\n\nShe reached Verral’s in the Rue St. Honoré without any surprising\nadventure, and entered by the side door that leads to the workrooms.\nThese lay behind the showrooms, the buzz and murmur of which penetrated\nthe thin partitions dividing the one from the other. The atmosphere was\nwarm and filled with that oppressive smell which comes from millinery\nin a mass. Size, varnish, and glue contributed their odors, whilst the\nair vibrated with the whir of sewing machines from the rooms above.\n\n“Ah, the little Célestin!” cried Mme. Hümmel, a stout Alsatian in black\nsilk, and with a good-natured face.\n\n“I sent a girl to the Rue de Babylone only last week to see if you were\ndead, and they said you were married. Bad child not to have told me! I\nwas frightened. I could not sleep at night, saying to myself, ‘Where\nis that Célestin?’ So you have brought me some hats?”\n\nShe led the way to her private room, and looked at the hats, and\npraised them a little: for it does not do to lavish praise on\nemployees; they are apt to wax fat on it and kick for higher prices, as\nMme. Hümmel had learnt in the course of her experience.\n\nThen she ran away to get some money, and Célestin stood by the table,\non which lay feathers, patterns of silk, and those _pompons_ which,\naccording to Gaillard, were the mainstay and support of the mysterious\nAngélique.\n\n“This is for the work,” said Mme. Hümmel, paying the stipulated amount,\n“and this is for yourself. It is a wedding gift. Poor child! are you\nhappy?”\n\n“Oh, very happy!” said Célestin, putting the napoleon just given to her\nfor a wedding gift into her glove, and the six francs into her purse.\n“Happier than I can tell. How good it is of you! A whole napoleon! I\nnever thought—I——”\n\n“No, do not thank me. You are a good child, and I am sure you will make\nhim happy. You must bring him to see me some Saturday. I will lecture\nhim for you. And is he dark or fair? and what is his name?”\n\n“He is dark, and his name is Désiré.”\n\n“And his other name?”\n\n“I don’t know,” said Célestin. “He told me once, and I have forgotten.\nHow stupid it is of me!”\n\nMme. Hümmel smothered a little laugh.\n\n“So you do not know his surname? _Mon Dieu!_ what a droll child you\nare!”\n\n“I don’t remember it. My head will not hold names; it is like a sieve.\nI am very silly.” And Célestin, blushing and shaking the good woman by\nthe hand, departed, whilst Madame cried after her, “Be sure and bring\nhim some Saturday for me to lecture him,” little thinking that this\nyoung man with the forgettable surname was Toto, son of Verral’s best\ncustomer, Mme. la Princesse de Cammora.\n\nCélestin walked away, so lost in her napoleon that she did not notice\nthe clouds hurrying up from the southwest. Like everything fortunate,\nthe napoleon was a gift from the good God. Toto was one of these\ngifts, or, rather, the chief of them; and as she made her way along the\nbusy street, she cast her eyes up several times as if returning thanks\nthrough the brim of her hat to those favored angels, her guardians.\n\nA thought had crossed her mind. She would get a money-box for Toto and\nsave up for him, for what would happen if she were to die, and he were\nleft like the artist in that terrible play at the Porte St. Martin?\nAlready, in fancy, she was supporting him by her hats whilst he pursued\nhis beautiful art to fame.\n\nBut if she were to die? Her lips trembled. Those two children of\nhers, Toto and Dodor! They crossed her imagination together, feckless\ncreatures, one so like the other in character, either jumping about\non their perches, or moping, irresponsible, and terribly in need of\nsomeone to tidy their cages, talk to them, and love them.\n\nShe was passing a frightful criticism on Toto, but she did not know it.\nPerhaps the only people who criticise us justly are the people who love\nus, for our perfections and imperfections are to them all one country,\nand of that country perhaps our imperfections are the fairest part.\n\nJust as she reached the middle of the Place de la Concorde the clouds\nburst. It was like a huge shower bath, of which the string had suddenly\nbeen pulled. In a second the Madeleine and Rue Royale on one hand, and\nthe big letters announcing the Chamber of Deputies on the other, were\nveiled by sheets of rain.\n\nCélestin awoke suddenly from her painful, half-pleasurable reverie,\nto find herself drenched. She had no umbrella, and her friends the\nomnibuses were not near, so she ran through sheets of rain, till her\nhat was ruined, and then she hid in a doorway, panting, and with her\nhand to her breast. The shower spent itself in ten minutes, and the\nday smiled out again brighter than ever. So she pursued her way to\nthe Rue de Perpignan, wet to the skin, and rejecting the idea of an\nomnibus because of the expense for one thing, and, besides, she was wet\nalready, and it was safer to walk and keep warm.\n\nWhen she reached the atelier she found Toto carefully drying himself at\nthe stove. He, too, had been caught by the rain, but not so badly.\n\nShe insisted upon his taking off his coat, and whilst it was drying she\ntalked to him and laughed to cheer him up. Then she spread the cloth\non the table, for it was time for _déjeuner_, and lastly she went to\nthe bedroom, like a prudent person, and changed her things. But the\nbeautiful hat was ruined beyond redemption, and as she gazed at it she\ngave a little shiver.\n\nThat evening, when the lamp was lit, she told Toto all about Mme.\nHümmel, the selling of the hats, the gift of the napoleon, and the\ndesire of the forewoman to see him and lecture him.\n\nToto listened half unconsciously. He was already revolving in his mind\nplans of escape from his cage. He had fixed upon Gaillard as the man of\nall others to help him, but he had not seen Gaillard now for four days.\n\nAs Célestin finished her story—she was sitting upon the floor, her head\nresting against Toto’s knee—a shudder ran through her, and her teeth\nchattered.\n\n“Why,” cried Toto, “what is this? What makes you shiver so?”\n\n“I don’t know,” said Célestin, half laughing. “I did not do it on\npurpose;” and again the rigor seized her, as if someone were shaking\nher by the shoulder. “I will go to bed,” she said, rising to her feet.\n“My head swims.”\n\n“I hope she is not going to be ill,” thought the Prince to himself.\n“And I do wish Gaillard would come. What can have happened to him?”\n\n\n\n\nPart IV.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nADAM FROISSART.\n\n\nNothing in particular had happened to Gaillard, yet the poet was in\ntribulation. To begin with, all his friends were too busy to attend\nto or amuse themselves with him. Struve was writing his book, or,\nrather, correcting the proof sheets, an employment that kept him short\nof temper and time; Pelisson had only one idea—_Pantin_; Toto was\ncrabbedly finding out his own stupidity in the Rue de Perpignan; whilst\nDe Brie had turned very acid over his connection with the new journal,\nand flung him commissions for little articles or volumes for review as\nif they were bones to a dog.\n\nThen his publisher had informed him, with a very long face, that only\nthree hundred copies of “The Fall of the Damned” had sold in three\nweeks, whereas three thousand of “Satanitie” had gone off in the same\ntime.\n\nTo make matters worse, Papillard had stopped working; De Nani had\nfrozen him. De Nani he felt to be the cause of all his misfortunes, and\nhe only continued to exist—so he told himself—that he might witness De\nNani’s downfall.\n\nYou may imagine, then, how pleased he felt when, on the morning after\nthe same showery day that drenched Célestin, Pelisson appeared in his\nrooms before eight o’clock, and pulled up his blinds.\n\n“Wake up! I want Adam Froissart’s address,” cried Pelisson, standing\nover the poet, and poking him with his stick to rouse him.\n\n“Froissart!” cried Gaillard, rubbing his eyes. “He is not in Paris.”\n\n“Where is he, then?”\n\n“He is in—Amiens,” said Gaillard.\n\nFroissart was a spiteful genius who possessed the unsavory humor\nof Papillard. No one had ever seen him, and his sole title to\nconsideration lay in three malevolent articles leveled against De Brie\nand his political tendencies. They had been submitted to Pelisson by\nGaillard, and so had found their way into the _Débats_. Pelisson,\nwho noted down everything, had made a memorandum of this gentleman’s\nabilities. De Brie had done likewise, and though he hated this unknown\njournalist, he would have given a good deal to secure him as a member\nof his staff. He had expressed the desire in the hearing of Gaillard,\nand he might have obtained his wish, only that Froissart’s genius for\nmalevolence was useless when expended against anyone else than De Brie.\n\nNeedless to say, there was no Froissart. He belonged to the shadowy\nband that included Fanfoullard, Mirmillard, Papillard, Églantine, and\nAngélique.\n\n“This is a great nuisance,” grumbled Pelisson, rubbing his chin.\n\n“What do you want of Froissart?”\n\n“I am going to sack De Nani, and I want a man to take his place.”\n\nGaillard’s countenance became glorified.\n\n“But, my dear Pierre, why seek for Froissart? Are there not plenty of\nmen of ability in Paris to take the place of this silly old villain of\na De Nani?”\n\n“Hundreds, but no use to me. I don’t want one of your bright diamonds—I\nwant a man in the rough; I don’t want an editor—I want a creature,\na clever one, too, now: for, upon my soul, I am becoming exhausted\nbetween keeping _Pantin_ and De Nani going at the same time. You said\nthis Froissart was poor.”\n\n“Frightfully.”\n\n“That’s just what I want.”\n\n“But I believe he has an aunt who is very rich, and I heard she was\ndying some little time ago. I would not seek Froissart, Pierre; believe\nme, he is a very acid man, and quite unfit for an editor. If you want\nthe sort of person you say you want, why not try me? I will do whatever\nyou wish, and write whatever you wish.”\n\n“No, no!” cried Pelisson hastily; “it would not do. You are a\npoet—stick to your last. Besides, I have been bombarded with your\ncreditors; I’ve had enough of that. That is one of the reasons I am\nsacking De Nani. The old fool has burst the bladder. Someone went to\nAuteuil to make inquiries, and found he was living in three rooms,\nand owed money to his laundress. You can fancy how the news has flown\namongst his creditors. Next thing someone will find out that he is a\nfool.”\n\n“But why not edit the thing yourself?”\n\n“So I do; but I want a shield. _Pantin_ will begin to bellow soon.\nWell, no matter; I am off for Amiens. I won’t be back till to-morrow.\nWhat’s this man’s address?”\n\n“He lives in a cottage near the railway station; you will easily find\nit—there are roses on the porch. But, see here; who’s taking charge\ntill you return?”\n\n“De Nani, nominally; he cannot do any harm in one day. Besides, I have\nleft everything cut and dried.”\n\n“Does he know he is getting the sack?”\n\n“I should think so. He and I have been at the office all night talking\nthings over. He is quite resigned—going to cut and run. I left him\nasleep on the sofa. Now good-by. The cottage near the railway station,\nyou say. _Mon Dieu!_ I will scarcely have time to catch the train.”\n\nHe darted off, and Gaillard sank down again in bed filled with the\nbliss of satisfied hatred. De Nani was down at last; the little world\nof æsthetic people who required “Satanities” and “Falls of the Damned”\nwould now, perhaps, give their Gaillard undivided attention. He never\nonce thought of Pelisson gone off on a wild-goose chase to Amiens,\nand soon he forgot even De Nani, immersed in visions of an impossible\nGaillard worshiped by an impossible world.\n\nMme. Plon came in and placed _Pantin_ on the foot of his bed, and a\nletter in a blue envelope. The letter looked like a bill, so he left\nit whilst he glanced at the journal with languid interest. Then he\npicked up the letter, which had been left by a messenger, and, to his\nsurprise, found that it was from De Nani.\n\n  “My Dear M. Gaillard [said De Nani]: May I ask you to call upon me\n  immediately on receipt of this? It is of the utmost importance that\n  I should see you without a moment’s delay.”\n\nIt was written upon the office paper, bearing the stamp “_Pantin_, No.\n——, Rue Drouot. Rédacteur, M. le Marquis de Nani. Cable and telegraphic\naddress: ‘Pouf.’ Telephone: No. 1654320.” Over all, the motto and\nwatchword of the journal: “_Qui vive?_”\n\n“Now, what can he want?” murmured Gaillard. “It is like his\nimpertinence to send for me as if I were his footboy. I shall not go.”\n\nAnd he turned over on his side. But no mongoose was ever of a more\ninquisitive nature than our friend Gaillard. What could De Nani want,\nand without a moment’s delay? He tried to imagine and failed, and then\narose and dressed.\n\nM. le Marquis de Nani was in the inner office. Since the night of\nToto’s dinner-party at the Grand Café he had grown fat, or, at least,\ndecidedly fatter. His raiment was superb; he had adorned his stomach\nwith a gold and platinum watch-chain. He wore a shawl waistcoat, and\nhis cuff-links, of dull gold, were enameled with pictures of tiny\nchampagne bottles and opera dancers.\n\nHe was standing before the indifferent looking-glass that adorned the\nmantel, examining his face and informing Scribe, the cashier, that\n_Pantin_ had given him ten new wrinkles. A café near by had just sent\nin _déjeuner_ for two and a bottle of Pommery.\n\n“I am expecting M. Gaillard to breakfast,” explained De Nani. “A most\npromising young man, whose interests I have at heart.”\n\nScribe bowed and left the room. He was a shock-headed man, with musical\ninstincts and a genius for figures; he held the Marquis in great\nreverence, and had an implicit faith in him that somewhat troubled\nPelisson. Yet what could Pelisson do? You cannot tell the cashier to\nbeware of the editor? This implicit faith of Scribe’s was perhaps one\nfactor in the sacking of De Nani, although goodness knows there were\nothers enough.\n\n“You sent for me, I believe,” said Gaillard rather stiffly, as he\nentered the inner office and made a little bow to his editor, whilst\nhe glanced at the nice little _déjeuner_ on the table.\n\n“_Ma foi_, yes; I trust you will excuse the _brusquerie_ of my note,\nmy dear M. Gaillard. Will you not join me at breakfast? That is right.\nI will explain myself as we eat; we shall not be interrupted, for\nPelisson has gone off somewhere for the day.”\n\n“Pelisson will not be back till to-morrow,” said Gaillard, thawing\nvisibly as he flung a bundle of papers off a chair and took his seat at\nthe table. “He has gone to Amiens.”\n\nDe Nani hid his satisfaction at this remark, as he unwired the\nchampagne. Then the two, hobnobbing across the table, shared a Perigord\npie, and conversation became general; it swiftly became indelicate, and\nthen confidential.\n\n“You are right,” said the Marquis, in answer to a remark dropped by his\n_vis-à-vis_. “Pelisson has his limitations—ahu!”\n\n“Pelisson is a journalist, a recorder of this ill-written tragedy which\nwe are condemned to act in, and which we call, for want of a better\nname, ‘life.’ Oh, this life that they are always prating about! A\nscoundrel only the other day accused me of insincerity to life. Could\nhe have paid me a higher compliment?”\n\n“No, egad. Ha! the infernal scamp said that, did he? What will you\nhave?—they must have ‘copy’; that is the watchword of this villainous\nworld, that stinks of printer’s ink. ‘Copy, copy’—I will give them some\ncopy. A word in your ear, M. Gaillard.”\n\n“I am all attention.”\n\n“I feel safe in admitting you into my little secret, for you are a man\nof honor. I feel safe in admitting you into the secret of my little\nsurprise, inasmuch as it concerns Pelisson, who is not your friend, M.\nGaillard.”\n\n“Have you heard him saying things about me?” asked Gaillard, who was\nunder the fixed belief that one half of the world spent its existence\nin slandering his works to the other half.”\n\n“I have heard him say——”\n\n“Yes?”\n\n“No matter; what is the use of repeating the words of a man like\nPelisson—ahu! They are like the crackling of thorns under a pot, as\nthat delightfully humorous book, the Bible, has it. I should not have\nmentioned the chattering of this magpie. Fill your glass, M. Gaillard.”\n\n“But, my dear Marquis, I implore you to tell me what this Pelisson has\nbeen uttering about me; it is always well to know one’s friends.”\n\n“Well, egad, he said so much I have forgotten half of it. One day—it\nwas last week—he said, ‘This Gaillard thinks himself a poet.’ Harmless\nwords, but it was the tone of his voice that set all the office\nlaughing. I did not laugh, it was bad form; but there is no form\nin this journalistic world. I am leaving it, I have had words with\nPelisson; and before I take my departure it is my humble ambition to\nmake Pierre Pelisson dance.”\n\n“He ought to be dancing on an organ,” said Gaillard in a bitter voice.\n“It is all he is fit for.”\n\n“He ought to be dancing on an organ, as you very truly remark; but I\nwill endeavor to find a broader platform from whence to amuse Paris.\nAnd he will not dance a waltz, M. Gaillard, nor yet will he indulge\nhis limbs in the graceful movements of the mazurka. He will dance the\ncan-can, will Pierre Pelisson—ahu!”\n\n“You are going to play a practical joke on him?”\n\n“Oh, no! I am only going to make him dance for my amusement; but to do\nso, I want Prince Toto’s address. He is in Paris?”\n\n“He is living at No. 10, Rue de Perpignan,” said Gaillard, finishing\nthe champagne. “But I doubt if he will help you.”\n\n“I don’t want him to,” said De Nani, entering the address in his\ntablets. “I only want the number of the house and the name of the\nstreet.”\n\n“I ought not to have told you!” cried Gaillard, suddenly remembering\nhis promise to Toto.\n\n“Why not?”\n\n“He made me promise to tell no one where he is living, nor about\nCélestin.”\n\n“Ah, have no fear!” said De Nani, making another entry in his tablets.\n“Toto will not object to my knowing his address; he knows that I am a\nsafe man, a man to be trusted—ahu, _ventre St. Gris_! Could I tell you,\nM. Maillard——”\n\n“Gaillard.”\n\n“Paillard,” continued De Nani, who, now that he had obtained all or\nnearly all the information he wanted, began to put on frills and forget\nnames. “Could I tell you, M. Paillard, how I love this dear Toto, you\nmight with your genius make from it a little poem; it transcends the\nlove of David for Jonathan, this affection of mine for Toto. He is so\njoyous, he is so young, he is such a charming host. You remember that\ndelightful dinner where we first made acquaintance; I feel I can never\nrepay Toto for that piece of hospitality. But I will try, as far as in\nme lies—I will try.”\n\n“I tell you what,” said Gaillard, putting on his hat and lighting a\ncigarette: “you would do Toto a great service if you could induce him\nto leave that wretched hole he is in, and give up art and all that\nnonsense.”\n\n“And Célestin?”\n\n“Yes; she is worse than art. Between you and me, I don’t know how he\ncan stand it, living with an illiterate woman like that; she has not\ntwo ideas in her head. I don’t believe she can read, and, what is\nworse, I don’t believe she wants to. They do their own cooking. Imagine\na man of Toto’s position in the world—faugh! it makes me ill.”\n\nThis was an untruth—cooking was rarely done in the atelier of Toto, for\nCélestin was the worst cook in the world, excepting perhaps Toto; but\nit was true enough for De Nani.\n\n“And this Célestin—what was she before Toto took her from the mud?”\n\n“She was a hat-maker—she is still. Trims hats and that sort of thing.”\n\n“Whilst Toto paints those delightful pictures of his?”\n\n“Yes. But the worst is, he cannot sell them,—I know by his face,—and he\nis frightfully hard up.”\n\n“Soon,” said De Nani, with a horrid leer, “our friend Toto will cast\nhis brushes aside, and live upon the diligence of this pretty Célestin.\nIt is what all these artists do when unsuccessful. We must save him\nfrom this.”\n\n“I wish you would.”\n\n“Before to-morrow evening,” said De Nani, “I hope to cure this charming\nToto of his fever for fame and his hunger for art. Who is this? Why, it\nis M. Wolf. I must bid you now good-day, M. Gaillard, as I have some\nmatters of importance to transact with M. Wolf.”\n\nWolf came in, hat in hand and spectacles gleaming, as Gaillard went\nout. De Nani removed the remains of the _déjeuner_ from the table onto\nthe floor, and greeted the newcomer.\n\n“You are just the man I want,” said the Marquis. “I have an interview\nto write, and I want you to assist me. I have all the facts. That is\nright, take a seat and a pen.”\n\nGaillard went off feeling rather huffed at the summary manner in\nwhich De Nani had dismissed him. His hatred of the old man, which\nhad vanished before the champagne and the knowledge of his downfall,\nreturned somewhat. He determined, having nothing better to do, to\nbetake himself to Toto’s atelier, and spend the afternoon smoking\ncigarettes and talking to Célestin about his poems. Célestin made\nan admirable audience for a minor poet, even although she was an\nilliterate woman and scarcely knew how to read. She had the power\nof sympathy, and she listened to Gaillard just as she listened to\nDodor and Toto. When Gaillard would spout a sonnet, and then abuse\nit, declaring that it was too full of color, or too sharp in sound,\nor destitute of perfume, and that he wished he had never written it,\nCélestin, raising her eyes from her work, would cry, “Oh, but I am sure\nit is beautiful. It could not be more beautiful. I seem to see those\nroses you speak of. And how sad, the roses were unhappy! That seems so\ndreadful, does it not, Désiré?” And then Toto, if he were busy, would\ngive a grunt, and Gaillard would repeat again the sonnet, and declare\nthat the roses were glad now because Célestin had pitied them.\n\nBut she would gladden no roses to-day.\n\n“She has a cold,” said Toto, pointing to the closed bedroom door. “She\ngot her feet wet yesterday. How glad I am that you have come!”\n\nHe was sitting near the stove, and he rose and put on his hat. Someone\nhad a fit of coughing in the bedroom, and Gaillard stood staring at the\ntulip manufactured by Gamier as though it were a dragon.\n\n“Surely, my dear Désiré, you have not descended to things like these!”\nHe touched the pot warily with the point of his stick, as if fearful of\ninfection.\n\n“Oh, that!” said Toto carelessly. “It is not mine; it is Célestin’s. Do\nnot touch it; she is awfully proud of it. Come out with me; I want to\ntalk to you.” In the street Toto took Gaillard’s arm. “I am so glad you\nhave come. I am in need of a friend. I am in a state of misery. What\nshall I do with that girl?”\n\n“Why, has she been troubling you? _Mon Dieu!_ Désiré, tell me, what is\nthis?”\n\n“No,” said Toto, “she has not been troubling me. I only wish she had, I\nonly wish she had. That woman—pah! she is not a woman, she is an angel.”\n\n“So are all women till you find them out. But go on, Désiré. Why all\nthis terrible excitement?”\n\n“Why? My God! it is very easy for you to talk. She loves me. Well,\nthen, what am I to do? I have been nearly mad these last few days, and\nnot a soul to speak to. You don’t care. You have been off to the Moulin\nRouge and Heaven knows where every night!”\n\n“I swear, Désiré,” cried Gaillard, “I have been in a worse condition\nthan you. I have been on the edge of suicide. Moulin Rouge! I have\nnot been to the Moulin Rouge. I took to my bed three days ago to read\n‘Aucassin and Nicolete’ and try to forget that I was alive. I have not\neaten—morphia and cigarettes alone have passed my lips during the last\nforty-eight hours. Then I thought of you; then I came, and for reward I\nam accused like this! No matter.”\n\n“If she were an ordinary girl,” said Toto, disregarding Gaillard’s\nfantasies, “I would give her five thousand francs and set her up in\nbusiness, and there would be an end of it.”\n\n“Ah, Désiré! ah, Désiré!” gasped Gaillard, like a man trying to speak\nin a shower bath. “Can it be that at last you are going to return to\nus? Can——”\n\n“Call me Toto,” cried the Prince. “I hate that vile name Désiré. I put\nit on with this foolishness—this rotten art business. Don’t mind me,\nmy dear fellow; let me rave. I have had no one to talk to for days but\nGarnier and Célestin. They do not understand me.”\n\n“Go on, go on,” said Gaillard, as if Toto had swallowed poison and he\nwas urging him to vomit. “Speak away, it will do you good; relieve your\nmind—it will save you perhaps from madness. Ah, I can understand—I\ncan understand what you must have suffered, my poor Toto! I have been\nthrough it all myself.”\n\n“Come in here,” said Toto, stopping at a small café; “we can sit down\nand talk.”\n\n“Yes, let us enter,” said Gaillard. “No, do not touch absinthe in a\nplace like this; if you wish to die, choose an easier poison. Beer?\nYes, let us have some beer. And now, Toto, continue your troubles.”\n\n“I have only one trouble,” said Toto, “and that is Célestin.”\n\n“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ that is a trouble easily got rid of.”\n\n“How?”\n\n“Leave Célestin to me.”\n\n“What would you do with her?”\n\n“I?—nothing. I would simply say, ‘Mlle. Célestin, M. Désiré has been\ncalled away to the death-bed of an aunt in the country. She will leave\nhim her entire fortune if he marries at once and according to her\ndesires.’ Then I would say, ‘The girl upon whom his aunt has fixed——’”\n\n“Oh, rubbish! I could do that myself. Do you think if I wanted to I\ncould not kick Célestin over in half an hour? You do not understand.\nShe is like no one else. She is like a child. I cannot hurt her. She\nwould haunt me forever, she and that lark. Oh, why did I ever meet her?\nBut for her I would have been back days ago out of this abominable Rue\nde Perpignan. If it had not been for her, I would never have come here\nat all. She drove me on to this stupidity, I don’t know why.”\n\n“If,” said Gaillard rather stiffly, “you still love this girl so much——”\n\n“But I don’t. I mean this: I thought I was in love with her, and,\nsomehow, now everything seems to have gone to pieces all at once; the\npleasure went out of my life all at once. I am lingering on in this\ninfernal part of the town like a thing with a broken back. I don’t know\nwhat I am to do.”\n\n“I know,” said Gaillard.\n\n“What?”\n\n“Take a little cottage in the country and put your Célestin there with\nher lark.”\n\n“Yes, I might do that; only I will have to go there every day or live\nthere.”\n\n“In the name of Heaven, why?”\n\n“Because it will break her heart if I leave her. I tell you you do not\nknow her. She has wound herself round me.”\n\n“Well, unwind her.”\n\n“She lives for me—I can see it. I did not know that there were such\nwomen in the world, and, of course, it is my luck to meet one of them\nand get myself in this tangle with her. It is very easy for you to sip\nyour beer and say ‘Unwind her.’ Suppose a child were to run up to you\nand put its arms round you, could you box its ears? And, besides, I\nhave wound myself a bit round her. I have an affection for her, though\nI am weary of this love business. I do love her as a child, but then\none does not want to spend one’s life in the nursery.”\n\n“Take a little cottage,” reiterated Gaillard; “place her in it. We\nwill go down together, you and I, each day for a fortnight. Then we\nwill drop a day by degrees, and wean her, so to speak. It will take\nyou the whole summer. Well, it is an idealistic way of spending the\nwarm weather. We will have a cottage with clematis on the porch, and a\ngarden filled with old-fashioned flowers. There she will, so to speak,\ngain her legs, and when she is able to run alone, trust her, she will\nfind a playmate.”\n\n“The first thing to be done,” said Toto thoughtfully, “is to get away\nfrom this part of the town before anyone finds out I am here. I do not\nwant this affair advertised all over Paris. You are certain that no one\nknows about it. You have hinted it to no one?”\n\n“Absolutely certain—no one. You are in Corsica; that is enough.”\n\n“Have you seen my mother lately?”\n\n“I dined with her only yesterday.”\n\n“Why, I thought you said you had been in bed for the last four days.”\n\n“So I have; but I got up yesterday evening and called upon Mme. la\nPrincesse in reply to a summons. She detained me to dinner.”\n\n“What did she want?”\n\n“Only to make inquiries as to you.”\n\n“And you said?”\n\n“Oh, I said you were progressing charmingly.”\n\n“I hope no one else was there?”\n\n“No, we dined _tête-à-tête_.”\n\n“Well, I think it is the best thing I can do.”\n\n“What?”\n\n“That idea of yours about the country. I could take rooms for a while\nsomewhere. The only thing is, Célestin cannot be moved till this cold\nis better. Isn’t it vile luck? It will mean several days before I can\nget away from this place.”\n\n“Could you not move her in a cab?”\n\n“No, she is not strong, and if she got another cold on top of this one\nit might kill her.”\n\n“Have you given her any medicine?”\n\n“I gave her some lozenges, and Garnier brought her some sugar-candy.”\n\n“Who is Garnier?”\n\n“He is a painter.”\n\n“Oh, one of these wretched _rapins_. Take my advice, Toto, and have a\ndoctor in; he will cure her more quickly than if she were left alone.”\n\n“I wanted to, but she implored me not. She has a horror of doctors and\nmedicine.”\n\n“Have you put poultices on her chest?”\n\n“Mercy, no!”\n\n“You ought to poultice her. I frequently suffer from colds in the early\nspring, and Mme. Plon declares that I would not be alive but for her\npoultices. It will cut it short. Have you a bronchitis kettle?”\n\n“No; she hasn’t got bronchitis; she has only got a cough and a pain in\nthe side.”\n\n“No matter; it would stop her from getting bronchitis. You ought also\nto give her sweet spirits of niter. I assure you, Toto, you never can\ntell what a cold turns to; and this girl, should she get really ill,\nmay keep her bed for a month, and then where would you be? In cases\nlike this, we ought to act on the principle of the firemen, who play on\nunconsumed buildings in order to prevent them from catching fire. If I\nwere you, I would insist on a doctor. Well, well, I do not press the\npoint—she is not mine. Let us talk on other things. Have you heard that\nPelisson has cut De Nani adrift? No, of course you have not.”\n\n“How can I know what is going on in this place?”\n\n“True; but, even so, it only occurred last night. De Nani seems quite\nresigned, but I would not wonder if he played some trick upon our\nfriend Pelisson. He wanted your address.”\n\n“Pelisson?”\n\n“No, De Nani,” said Gaillard, who almost bit his tongue for letting\nthis cat out of its bag.\n\n“I hope you did not give it to him.”\n\nGaillard shrugged his shoulders.\n\n“For that old man is my evil star. I do not believe I would have been\nhere now but for his insult that night. You remember? Well, I am going\nback to the atelier.”\n\n“How much money have you left, Toto?”\n\n“I have only five hundred francs.”\n\n“You had better let me bring you some more. Give me a check. You have\nnot your check-book? Well, write one out for five hundred francs on a\npiece of paper, and I will take it and cash it for you, and bring you\nthe money to-morrow.”\n\n“You will not turn up again if I let you have all that.”\n\n“Toto!”\n\n“I know you so well. See here, what time will you promise to turn up,\nif I give you my check?”\n\nGaillard debated with himself.\n\n“I will be at your atelier at one o’clock, punctually.”\n\n“You promise?”\n\n“I promise.”\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE STORY OF FANTOFF AND BASTICHE.\n\n\nThey went back to the atelier, and Toto, who had not breakfasted, got\ntogether some wine and bread and cold stewed beef. Gaillard sat down\nto table also, to keep him company. Then the poet ventured into the\nbedroom to talk to the sick girl and cheer her up.\n\nCélestin was lying on her side, facing the door, with very bright eyes\nand flushed cheeks. On the wall over the bed hung a colored print\nof our Lord Jesus carrying a lamb; she had brought it with her from\nher room near the Rue de Babylone. An orange lay on the quilt, one\nof six brought by Garnier that morning; she had eaten the other five\nand swallowed the pulp, an act which would have caused a physician to\nshudder. On a rush-bottomed chair near by lay the lozenges given to her\nby Mme. Liard,—redoubtable lozenges, according to the label on the\nbox,—also the sugar candy of Garnier.\n\nGaillard sat down beside the bed; he took the sick girl’s hand, and,\nstroking it like a mother, called her his _pauvre petite_ Célestin. She\nquite touched his heart—her sickness, her pitiable air of helplessness;\nthe orange on the quilt, and the picture of the Lord Jesus watching\nover her.\n\nShe had been in great pain all the morning,—a cruel pain, like a\nhot-iron, in her right lung,—but she was better of the pain now and the\ncough; she told him so in a mutter, and then asked for a fairy tale.\n\nToto looked in, munching a biscuit; he nodded his head as if satisfied\nand withdrew, whilst Gaillard in a fit of genius improvised a fairy\ntale. It was about a green giant called Fantoff. He was quite green,\nhis hair was grass, and his feet were like roots uprooted in some\nterrible upheaval; his fingers were like carrots, and he turned brown\nevery autumn with the leaves, the larks in spring mistaking his head\nfor a field built on it; so that in this happy season of the year\nwherever he walked larks sang above him, and whenever he scratched\nhis head a dozen nests were destroyed. At this Célestin, with Dodor in\nher mind, said “No, no.” So the poet passed on to the cat Mizar and\nthe dwarf Blizzard, whom the giant had, one day in a fit of idleness,\ncarved from a forked carrot; and Célestin, remembering Garnier’s tulip,\nbelieved that this might possibly be true.\n\nBlizzard, forgetful of the debt of creation, dared to fall in love\nwith the lady beloved by Fantoff, whose name was Primavera, and whose\nabode was the Castle of Flowers. A hundred thousand tulips defended\nthis castle from behind a holly hedge. They were divided into five\narmies—red, white, yellow, chocolate, and striped; and Célestin in a\nhalf-dream beheld the valiant host whilst Gaillard rambled on.\n\nThe gardener generalissimo of this army was blind,—he had been blinded\nby the beauty of Primavera,—and one day as he was wheeling back to the\ncastle a barrow full of roses, who had gone out to fight the camellias\nand had been badly beaten. Blizzard the dwarf slipped into it under\nthe roses, intent on gaining an entrance to the castle at all hazards,\nthere to declare his love. What happened? Simply this: Algebar, the\nbird of Paradise, flapped its sapphire wings and shrieked out, “Beware!\nA carrot is trying to enter the Castle of Flowers. Beware, beware!” and\nbefore the faithful bird could call it thrice the door opened, and out\ncame Bastiche, the porter.\n\nBastiche was a giant, who had once been a clothes basket; he was seven\nhundred feet high, and creaked as he walked. Primavera in a fit of\nfoolishness had endowed him with life, and as he stood on the castle\nsteps he opened his lid and shut it again. He also quite forgot the\nwarning of Algebar, for at that moment rose up from behind the holly\nhedge the great green head of Fantoff, the larks singing above it\nmerrily.\n\nFantoff, be it observed, was quite unconscious of the scheme of\nBlizzard. He had determined to raid the castle that day on his own\naccount, just as Blizzard had determined to sneak in. Well, listen.\nThere stood Fantoff in all his glory. The tulips shuddered at the\nsight, and the blind gardener put down his barrow, for he felt in some\nmanner that something was about to happen; and there stood Bastiche,\ncreaking with anger, whilst little Blizzard in the barrow shook the\ndead roses with laughter. Fantoff and Bastiche stared at each other,\nFantoff with derision, Bastiche with envy and hate, whilst Algebar flew\nthrough the garden and screamed.\n\nBastiche, then, as if oblivious of the presence of a foe, gazed up at\nthe clouds and sniffed, and asked the sky where could the smell of\nmanure be coming from; whilst Fantoff inquired of the tulips whether\nthis was the washing-day at the castle? This allusion to his birth\nquite upset the calm of Bastiche, who descended the steps, opened the\ngarden gate, and like a fool left the protection of the tulip army and\nholly hedge.\n\nThen, on the plain before the Castle of Flowers, ensued a battle such\nas never before was witnessed in Fairyland. The mushrooms formed a\nring seven miles in diameter, and in this ring the heroes struggled;\nthe sound filled the air for many miles, mixed with the sounds of many\nthings hastening to see the fight. At the end of an hour the plain was\nstrewn with unwashed clothes, and the battle was with Fantoff. He tore\nthe lid off Bastiche, and, not content with this, what must he do but\ninsert his great green head into the yawning opening, to tear the heart\nof his enemy out with his teeth. But Bastiche had no heart, and here\nlies one of the morals of the story. For Fantoff had no knowledge of\nanatomy and he did not know the impossibility of slaying a man without\na heart—a critic for instance, or a Bastiche. What did he do? Burrowing\ndeeper and deeper to find his heart, he got his shoulders implicated\nin the creaking body of Bastiche, and burrowing deeper still he was\nimplicated to the loins.\n\n“He creaks,” cried Fantoff, “so he is still alive!” and went deeper\ntill he was in to the knees. Then he found that he could not get out,\nfor Bastiche had in death taken upon him the revenge of a clothes\nbasket. The fairies tried to pull him out, and also the cat Mizar,\nbut it was of no avail; so they wheeled him away, and the cat Mizar\nfollowed to the grave.\n\nIn the Castle of Flowers the Lady Primavera turned from watching the\nfight and its miserable conclusion; she saw an object at her feet. It\nwas Blizzard the dwarf; he had left the barrow during the fight, and,\nentering the castle by the scullery door, sneaked upstairs, and now\nupon one knee was declaring his love; and she returned his passion, it\nseems. But their bliss was of short duration. For one day, chancing to\nfall asleep in the kitchen, the cook, who was short of vegetables, cut\nhim up and put him in the pot, and the Lady Primavera ate him in her\nsoup, and so there was an end of Blizzard.\n\nFor Fantoff read genius; Primavera, fame; Bastiche, the spiteful\ncritics; Blizzard, the popular author, whose books sell by the ton;\nMizar, the faithful few. The story also as told by Gaillard had several\nimmoral meanings quite Greek to Célestin. It was, in fact, the work of\nPapillard, for the downfall of De Nani had thawed that humorist in his\ncell.\n\n“That is all,” said Gaillard. “To-morrow, if you are better, I will\ntell you of the adventures of the cat Mizar, and of all that happened\nwhen he saw his reflection in the looking-glass of the wizard Fantoum.\nFantoum had a blue face; he was half-brother to Fantoff, and his enemy\nwas the giant Boum-Boum, whose children under the spell of the wizard\nwere turned into drums before the age of twenty; that is to say, the\nboys—the girls turned into drumsticks. I will tell you a story each\nday, my little Célestin, and then we will print them all in a pretty\nvolume bound in butterfly-blue vellum, and call them ‘Tales Told to\nCélestin.’ With the money from its sale we will buy a cottage at\nMontmorency and keep bees; we will support ourselves on bees and fairy\ntales. And now I must say adieu, and run away until to-morrow.”\n\n“Ah, Montmorency!” murmured Célestin, as Gaillard’s high collar and\nfrock-coat vanished and the door closed on them, leaving her alone.\n\nToto gave the poet his check, imploring him to wait a little longer and\nkeep him company.\n\nBut Gaillard had now the check in his pocket, and the vision of\nPleasure was kicking her skirts before his eyes, a box of cigars in one\nhand, a bottle of champagne in the other. So he took the opportunity\nof Garnier’s entrance to make his exit, swearing to return on the\nmorrow at noon, and ran down the Rue de Perpignan, making for the right\nside of the Seine just as a thirsty animal makes for water.\n\nThen Garnier, like the poet, came in to see the patient; his pockets\nwere bulging with things, and he held in his hands a square paper\nparcel; it was a little picture he had painted for Célestin—a droll\nlittle picture of a Cupid with a cold, an ominous little picture,\nperhaps, for, as Gaillard truly said, who can tell what a cold may turn\nto?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE REVENGE OF M. DE NANI.\n\n\nThat night Célestin, it would seem, grew worse. Toto, who had made his\nbed on the couch in the atelier, slept so soundly that he did not hear\nher delirious and rambling conversation.\n\nGaillard’s fairy people visited her, and Bastiche and Fantoff commanded\nher terrified attention as they did battle once more on the greensward\nin front of the Castle of Flowers, whilst Fantoum watched them across\nthe holly hedge. Then the battle scene vanished, and Mizar the cat\ncame and took his seat upon her chest. His eyes were pale blue, and\nflickered like spirit lamps in a draught; she implored of him to give\nher water to drink, and for answer he changed into Gaillard.\n\nThrough all these fancies ran the form of an old man. It was De Nani,\nwhom she had seen once for a moment as he talked to Toto at the Gare\ndu Nord: his lascivious and painted face peeped at her here and there\nfrom behind hedges and trees in this phantom land, whilst over all flew\nAlgebar, the paradisiacal bird, rending the attenuated air with the\nconstant mournful cry, “Beware! beware! A carrot is trying to enter the\nCastle of Flowers.”\n\nWith daylight all these strange fancies vanished, and at seven o’clock,\nwhen Toto entered her room to inquire how she felt, she answered that\nshe was quite well, but had been dreaming terrible things. She implored\nhim in her husky whisper to bring in Dodor, and having placed the cage\nclose to the bed and removed the green cover, he made some coffee and\nbrought her some with half a buttered roll.\n\nShe drank the coffee, and when he was gone she hid the buttered roll\nso that he might think she had eaten it. At all hazards she must keep\nup the appearance of not being “very bad,” for if Toto were alarmed he\nwould, without doubt, send for a doctor, and that meant spending money.\nFully five hundred times had Mme. Liard recounted to her the frightful\nexpense M. Liard had put her to in his last illness; she always spoke\nof the doctor’s bill with hands outstretched a yard wide.\n\n“Pills—a little box not bigger than a thimble, three francs—three\nfrancs, as I am an honest woman! and plasters a yard wide that did\nnothing, as far as I could see, but put the good man in pain; and not\nonly plasters, but bottles of stuff, sometimes twice a day, red and\nbrown and yellow, and always changing till one grew giddy; and then\nwhen he had killed him wanted to cut him open to see what he died of.\nMay I never reach heaven if I tell a lie! That is what doctors are!”\n\nNo wonder Célestin dreaded the craft, and much preferred Choiseul’s\nlozenges and Garnier’s sugar candy to the ruinous bottles and the pills\nat three francs a thimbleful, and the chance of being cut open “to see\nwhat she died of.”\n\nCough lozenges and sugar candy are not perhaps the most effective\nremedies for acute pneumonia, especially when the patient has only one\nlung; but perhaps, taking that fact into consideration, they were as\nserviceable as any others.\n\nAt nine o’clock the concierge, a stolid woman, deaf as a stone,\ncame up to settle the bedroom and see to the patient. She brought up\nwith her a newspaper that had just been left in by a little boy. The\nwrapper was addressed in a crabbed hand to “M. Cammora, No. 10, Rue de\nPerpignan,” and Toto wondered whose the handwriting could be, for he\nhad never seen the scrawl of M. le Marquis de Nani.\n\nIt was a copy of that morning’s _Pantin_. The first page was occupied\nwith foreign news and a heavy leading article by Pelisson on the\nprospects of beet sugar turning foreign sugars out of the market, and\nending with a regret that the Minister of Agriculture had let several\nchances slip for the betterment of the prospects of France.\n\nToto turned to the second page and came upon a long article marked\nwith pencil. He thought at the first glance that it was the review of\na novel, for it was headed “Painter and Prince.” Then after six lines\nhe discovered it was an interview, after twelve lines that it was an\ninterview with himself.\n\nThe interviewer, it seems, had discovered that a certain illustrious\nyoung Prince whom the whole world had imagined to be in Corsica\nstalking the nimble moufflon, was in fact in Paris, stalking\nart—working, in fact, like any child of the people in an attic, Rue de\nPerpignan, No. 10. And as Toto saw his address thus publicly proclaimed\nthe hair of his head stood on end.\n\nThe interview was written in Wolf’s chatty manner. Wolf had three\nmanners: the worshipful manner, which he applied to geniuses, great\nstatesmen, and successful tradesmen, when those gentry fell into his\nhands; the cut-and-dried, for strike leaders, members of the chamber,\npeople whose houses had caught fire suspiciously; and the chatty, for\nactresses, successful clowns, prominent divorcees, etc. The chatty\ninterview generally began on the stairs, with a short description of\nfirst impressions.\n\nThe stairs of Toto’s house, it seems, gave one the impression of abject\npoverty.\n\n“When we reached the first floor,” said this mouthpiece of De Nani,\n“we inquired of a charwoman for the young Prince ——. She declared her\nignorance of such a person, no Prince to her knowledge having ever\ninhabited the house.\n\n“The interviewer, thus left to his own resources, pursued his quest\nthrough this frightful house, which recalled nothing so much as the\nMaison Corbeau of Victor Hugo. On the fourth floor, a hissing sound\nrewarded his ear, and knocking at a door, a well-known voice desired\nhim to enter. Here he found a picture that would have gladdened the\nheart of Jean Jacques Rousseau.\n\n“By the window of a poverty-stricken room sat a girl trimming hats—a\ngirl of the people, exquisitely pretty, and possessing that innate\nrefinement common to all Parisiennes, no matter how humble their\norigin. By the little stove stood a handsome young man, preparing the\nmodest meal they were evidently to share together.\n\n“It was the Prince, who laughed joyously, and placed the little pan\nupon the floor, whilst he shook the interviewer warmly by the hand.”\n\nThe whole thing had a most horribly actual air. The teeming brain of\nWolf had supplied little details impossible, one would say, to be\nfalse. The foolish lovers who had renounced, one her home, the other\nhis world, for the sake of art and love in an attic, stood before one\nin the flesh. Wolf, inspired by champagne and the dictation of his\neditor, had worked with the fervor and insight of a poet; and one\nalmost wept over the struggling pair, till one remembered that the\nPrince was worth half a million of money, and then one laughed till\none’s sides ached.\n\n“We are very happy,” said the Prince, at the conclusion of this weird\ninterview. “Tell all my friends to come and see me, now that you have\nfound me out. Tell them also that there is only one true happiness—to\nbe young and poor, and mated to the woman one loves.”\n\n“That last line,” had murmured De Nani to himself, “will, I have no\ndoubt, vastly amuse Mme. la Princesse and Mlle. Powhair.”\n\nToto let _Pantin_ drop, and turned his white face to the window, as\nif he expected to see all Paris looking in and laughing. He knew,\nas indeed was the fact, that men were tumbling out of bed bursting\nwith laughter, and running into their wives’ bedrooms _Pantin_ in\nhand; that starch-faced valets were shaking under their starch, as\nthey handed _Pantin_ to their masters on silver salvers with cups of\nchocolate; that young De Harnac, who was more English than his own\nbulldog, was crying “My Gawd!” and kicking his legs about in bed with\ndelight as he read _Pantin_; that Mme. la Princesse was prostrated,\nand Mlle. Powhair—he could not imagine what Helen Powers was saying or\nthinking. The thought of her was somehow the worst part of all this\ntrouble.\n\nHis lips were dry, and they felt as if they never could become moist\nagain. He was quite calm, but this calmness of Toto’s would have\nfrightened his mother to behold. He neither shrieked nor tore his\nhair; but, indeed, the latter feat would have been impossible, for a\nfortnight ago he had had it cropped to the bone in imitation of Garnier.\n\nThe hilt of this dagger was the ingratitude of Pelisson, Gaillard &\nCo.—the men who had been his guests, to whom he had lent money, and\nwho had now stabbed him in this cruel manner before all Paris. Little\ndid he know of the raving Pelisson, who, having sought vainly for\nFroissart, had returned by the night mail, which stops at Amiens and\narrives in Paris at seven in the morning, only to find this horrible\nsnake curled in _Pantin_. Pelisson at this moment was dragging the\nterrified Gaillard out of bed, who was protesting that he knew nothing\nof the matter, just as Scribe ten minutes ago had protested that\neighteen thousand francs were missing from the safe, he could not tell\nhow; and as Saxe, the German foreman, had declared that the usual big\nedition of _Pantin_ was out, and could not be got back, not if God came\nout of Himmel, and that it was not Saxe’s fault that this _schweinhund_\narticle had crawled into print—whilst Struve, whose practical joke\nhad long ago laid the seeds of all this mischief, was the only man\nunconcerned by it as he lay asleep after a hard night’s work, and\ndreaming of stained-glass windows and saints who had strayed into art.\n\nBut Toto knew nothing of all this: he thought this cruel and spiteful\ntrick the work of his friends. He had always liked Pelisson, and he had\nliked Gaillard. Gaillard had been, in fact, a kind of necessity to\nhim—a sort of dry-nurse, who wiped his nose and said “There, there!”\nwhen he was fretful, and listened to his secrets, and told him tales,\nand put him up to resist his mother.\n\nA man of the world would have seen at once that some trick had been\nplayed on _Pantin_. Pelisson, of all men in the world, was the last to\nlet such an article appear in his paper; especially as it was leveled\nagainst a man who was virtually part proprietor. Gaillard, too, was\nentirely out of court. But Toto was not a man of the world, and the\nbitterest thing to him in this severe humiliation was the supposed\nauthorship.\n\nHe took up _Pantin_, folded it, and hid it under one of the cushions of\nthe couch. The act, performed on the impulse of a moment, revealed to\nhim in a dramatic manner his position. Of what use was the hiding of\none copy of _Pantin_ under a cushion when fifty thousand _Pantins_ were\nbellowing his shame all over Paris? So he snatched it out and flung\nit open on the table as if for everyone to read—a useless act, for\neveryone was reading it.\n\nThen he smoked a cigarette. In an hour of semi-delirium he smoked\nten. The thing was so immensely vile, so wanton, such bad form, that\nthe very enormity of it calmed him. A man who learns that the bank\nhas smashed, that his wife has eloped, and that his house is burnt to\nthe ground all at the same moment, ten to one receives the news with\ncalmness—the blow stuns him. He feels that Fate and Death and other\nheroic personages have condescended to turn their undivided attention\nfor a moment to his affairs—he is almost a hero, in fact.\n\nSo Toto turned from blank horror to the heroic mood. The whole world\nwas against him; well, he would stick to his guns. He almost felt glad\nthat all this had happened, and lit another cigarette just as Garnier\nentered, bearing in his hand a huge bunch of black grapes for Célestin.\nThey were muscatels, and must have cost him a little fortune, unless he\nstole them, or, what is more probable, obtained them on credit.\n\n“Garnier,” said Toto, his cheeks flushing slightly, “see here,” and he\npointed his cigarette with a wave at _Pantin_ lying open on the table.\n\n“And she?” asked Garnier, as he made a sign towards the closed door of\nCélestin’s room, laying his grapes down on the table and taking up the\npaper all at the same time.\n\n“She is better.”\n\n“Ah, this which is marked with crosses?”\n\n“Yes, read it.”\n\nGarnier began to read, standing under the top-light and holding the\npaper at full length before him. In a moment he folded the sheet in\na more comfortable manner and continued reading calmly and without\nany sign of astonishment. At one place he frowned slightly, where\nCélestin’s name appeared, then when he had finished he laid _Pantin_\nback on the table beside the grapes.\n\n“Well?” inquired Toto.\n\n“I do not think that is in very good taste,” said Garnier dryly.\n\n“What! is that all you have to say—not in very good taste?”\n\n“My friend,” said Garnier, “it is no affair of mine; but it makes my\nfingers tingle none the less. Were it an affair of mine, I would make\nyou eat that journal and all it contains—_vé_! I have spoken.”\n\n“Ah, stupid!” cried Toto, uncrossing his legs and moving his arms\nabout. “You think _I_ have written that!” and the corners of his mouth\nwent up in a very mirthless rictus.\n\n“But surely——”\n\n“I? Why, cannot you see that it is a hoax? No one came here to see me—I\nwas not frying things over the stove. Do you think for a moment I would\nexpose myself like that, and give my address? It was done to make fun\nof me—everyone will be laughing at me. Can’t you see?”\n\n“Oh, my friend,” said Garnier, “forgive me, forgive me! How could I\nhave been so stupid and so blind? Ah, owl that you are!” and he gave\nhis great chest a thump with his great fist, and then came to the\ncouch and sat by Toto, and rested his hand on his knee, and poured out\nconsolation in the language of Arles, punctuated with explosive oaths.\n\n“Oh, it does not matter. Do you think that I care? I do in a way, for\nit shows me the villainy of the world.”\n\n“Ah, you are right; this villain of a world—it is a beast! But _tenez_!\nmy dear friend, I hear the little Célestin coughing. I will give her a\ngrape.”\n\nHe ran into Célestin’s room with the bunch of grapes, and Toto heard\nhis voice murmuring to her, mixed with Dodor’s voice trying over a few\nbars of a song in a despondent sort of manner; for Célestin’s illness\nseemed to have put him out of heart during the last couple of days.\nThen Garnier came back, closing the door softly behind him, and raising\nup his hands at Célestin’s weakness.\n\n“Say, my dear friend,” said Garnier, “do you not think a doctor ought\nto see her? As for me, I do not believe in them, but still—but still——”\n\nHe stopped speaking, and followed the direction of Toto’s frozen stare.\n\nAt the door of the atelier, just pushed open, appeared the\nsemi-hysterical figure of Gaillard, his hat tilted back, his long\nfrock-coat hanging loose, and his necktie hastily put on. He had\nevidently dressed in a hurry, for he wore odd boots—one patent leather\nand the other plain kid.\n\n“Do you see that man?” said Toto, clutching Garnier’s arm. “Do you see\nthat man?”\n\n“_Mais oui._”\n\n“Then you see the biggest scoundrel in Paris,” said Toto, and he struck\na match and lit a cigarette to show his coolness, averting his eyes at\nthe same time from the apparition at the door.\n\nGaillard raised up his two hands like one of Struve’s stained-glass\nsaints, and then dropped them with a flop. He did not cross the\nthreshold, for he was perhaps afraid of being kicked out.\n\n“Do not be afraid to come in,” said Toto; “I will not assault you. I\nam too utterly lost in admiration of your charming insolence—it is a\nmasterpiece.”\n\n“Afraid!” said Gaillard, coming in very slowly. “Afraid—afraid of\nwhat? I have no fear left; Toto, Désiré, my friend, we are all ruined.\nPelisson is in despair; Wolf is committing suicide—I saw him myself\nbeing held down by four men. That villain—that villain—that villain of\na De Nani, the cause of it all, has vanished. All the money is gone\nfrom the safe; Scribe is in a state of dementia. I escape from this\ninferno and rush to you for sympathy, and I am greeted as a scoundrel!”\n\n“What do I care about De Nani?” inquired Toto. “Look at that.”\n\n“Yes,” said Gaillard, “look at that; but I have no need to look at\nthat—it is burnt into my brain. I could have slain Wolf with my two\nhands when he confessed an hour ago, but, _ma foi!_ he was too much\nslain already; besides, it was not his fault. Whose fault? Why, De\nNani’s. Pelisson left him in charge; did I not tell you so yesterday?”\n\n“De Nani?”\n\n“Yes. Wolf has confessed he wrote the article under the inspiration of\nthat scoundrel. The old man dictated it word for word; it was a parting\nshot at Pelisson. My back feels broken. Why, who is this?”\n\nA sound of cackling laughter came from outside, and the foolish and\nfoppish form of young De Harnac appeared at the door, followed by the\nfigure of Valfray, his little black mustache twisted up at the ends\nand his eyeglass in his eye.\n\nThey saw Toto seated on the chintz-covered couch beside Gaillard, a\nmomentary vision ere they found themselves being led like two naughty\nchildren across the dusty landing towards the stairs by a huge man with\na Provençal accent.\n\n“It is not good to laugh at one’s friends when they are in trouble,”\nsaid Garnier in his large way, and with a perfume of garlic. “You\nwill go, please, immediately, and call another day. These are the\nstairs—yes, _if_ you please.”\n\n“Oh, what have you done?” said Toto, when he came back. “Those two\nfools will run all over Paris telling lies about me now—no matter!\nGaillard, my dear friend, come with me into the street; I must speak to\nyou alone. Garnier, my friend, you will see to Célestin till I return,\nwill you not?”\n\nHe ran into her room for a moment. She tried to hold up her arms to\nhim, and he kissed her, but he did not see her face; her sunken eyes,\nthe blueness of her lips, all those signs which spoke of that terrible\npneumonia which kills like the dagger of an unskillful assassin—with\ngreat pain, but none the less surely. He saw only the smooth head of De\nHarnac, the black mustache and glittering monocle of Valfray, and the\nbroad back of Garnier interposing.\n\n“I am going out for a little; I will not be long, and Garnier will see\nthat you want nothing till my return.”\n\n“Oh, Désiré, do not leave me! I am very ill—not so very ill, but\nstill—— Oh, what will become of you should I die—and Dodor? Is he in\nthe cage? I have not heard him move.”\n\n“I will be back soon,” said Toto, “and Dodor is all right.”\n\n“But I have not heard him move.”\n\nHe lifted the parrot cage, and held it up to show that the bird was\nsafe, and Dodor spread his wings like a little eagle, as if indignant\nthat anyone should touch his house but Célestin. She glanced at him as\nif satisfied.\n\n“Does it rain?”\n\n“No.”\n\n“I hear the sound of rain—do not get wet. You will return?”\n\n“Very soon.”\n\nHe did not know what he was saying; it was like a conversation in a\ndream. Then he left her and took his hat, and left the atelier leaning\non Gaillard’s arm, whilst Garnier sat on the couch and mused.\n\n“I must leave Paris at once—I must leave Paris at once!” burst out\nToto when they were in the Rue de Perpignan. “I must leave it forever;\nnothing like this ever happened to anyone before. My God! I am going\nmad. It is like one of those dreams when we seem to be walking about\nthe streets naked. Did you see that fool De Harnac’s face, and Valfray\nlooking all round with his eyeglass?”\n\n“It is all dreadful,” said Gaillard. “Let us, for Heaven’s sake, sit\ndown somewhere and think—let us, in the name of Heaven, get some brandy\nsomewhere. I was drunk last night,—I confess it without shame,—and my\nnerves are in pieces. Look at my hand—is that the hand of a person\nwho ought to be troubled? Suppose a fit were to overtake me? Well,\nthen—yes, let us leave Paris. Oh, my God, I have odd boots on! Did you\nsee that woman?—she laughed at them. I must have been absolutely insane\nall this morning not to have noticed them before. I have been walking\nabout all the morning like this.”\n\n“Yes, I must leave Paris at once. Come in here and sit down. _Garçon_,\nbrandy, a decanter, and some Apollinaris water.”\n\n“It is the first warning—I knew it was coming; ataxia always begins\nlike this. My dear Toto, you know nothing about it; I have read\nthe whole subject up in the Bibliothèque Nationale. It begins with\nforgetfulness in little things; one finds one’s self walking down the\nstreet in slippers, or forgetting how to spell one’s name, and one dies\nlike a raving maniac. Then, one has tremor of the hand—look at my hand.”\n\n“Drink some brandy,” said Toto, rousing up a bit from his own misery.\n“You will be all right; I have often been like that myself.”\n\n“No matter; if I die, Pelisson will have killed me. He burst into\nmy room absolutely like a tiger; you can fancy the shock to one in\nmy condition. I was absolutely dragged from my bed—threatened with\nviolence if I did not divulge all that I knew about this infamous\narticle.”\n\n“Don’t _speak_ of it!” cried Toto, “don’t, don’t! I want to get to some\nquiet place where I know no one. Come, I am going to Struve’s rooms; I\nmust see him and ask him to take some money to this girl. I will write\nyou a check at his rooms and you can go and cash it; then I will go to\nsome country place. You will come with me, will you not? You are the\nonly friend I have.”\n\n“To the ends of the earth,” answered Gaillard. “This brandy has saved\nmy reason if not my life; I will finish what is in the little decanter\nif you will not.”\n\nHe finished the brandy, and then, rising, took Toto’s arm.\n\nIt was half-past eleven now, and the day promised to be very warm—a\nperfect summer’s day with scarcely a breeze or cloud. The narrow street\nwas black in the shadow, gold in the sunshine, and a barrel-organ was\nplaying “Santa Lucia.”\n\n“Yes, I am better now; the world is not so distinctly horrible as it\nwas a moment ago. But, Toto, if you are intent on going to Struve’s\nrooms, how are we to get there? We are sure to meet people we know.”\n\n“We must take a carriage. Curse it! I wish it were winter; there are no\nclosed carriages. You can get a brougham to take me to the station when\nwe reach Struve’s, but how are we to get there? I can’t parade myself\nbefore Paris. I know,—it is the only thing we can do,—we will take an\nomnibus from the Boul’ Miche. We shall meet no one that we know in an\nomnibus.”\n\nIn the Boul’ Miche they were fortunate enough to find an omnibus just\nstopped and disgorging some passengers—one, moreover, that would drop\nthem actually at Struve’s door; but they had to wait whilst three other\npassengers got in before them. There was a girl in a summer hat that\nwould have brought tears to Célestin’s eyes, a priest, and a fat lady\nbearing a lobster tied to a string; then they found that there was\nonly one inside place left.\n\n“You must go outside,” said Toto.\n\n“But, Désiré, think for a moment. I cannot possibly do this; everyone\nwill see me. Let us wait and take the next.”\n\n“Struve may be out if we delay,” said Toto, getting into the vehicle\nwearily, and, as it was starting, Gaillard was forced to mount on the\noutside, where he sat with his handkerchief to his face as if his nose\nwere bleeding and his hat tilted over his eyes. Fortunately, no one saw\nhim, though he imagined in his agony that all Paris was watching him\nfrom the sky, the housetops, the windows, and the street.\n\nStruve was at breakfast. He had evidently been reading _Pantin_, for\nit was open before him, and he put a dish of kidneys over the damnable\narticle in a pathetic attempt to hide it as the poet and the painter\nentered his room, with all the dejection of a couple of cats that have\njust been washed.\n\n“We are going away,” said Gaillard.\n\n“Sit down,” lisped Struve, jumping up. “Toto, I am very glad to see\nyou—have a cigar, have a cigarette? Now what is all this nonsense I\nhave heard? Gaillard, for goodness’ sake put your head straight; you\nare not a lily. Pelisson has been here—I know all this cursed nonsense;\nhe has been let in by old De Nani. I always told him he would; everyone\nis cursing poor old Pelisson for a fool. Well, then, what matter? it\nwill soon blow over.”\n\n“We are going away,” said Toto, taking up Gaillard’s whine; “at least,\nI am—forever!”\n\n“So,” said Struve, lighting a cigarette, “you are going away forever;\nand when are you coming back? Toto, for goodness’ sake, don’t think\nthat I am joking. I know what Paris is, and for Heaven’s sake don’t go\nabout with that long face! Laugh, laugh, and you are clad in triple\nbrass; no one ever laughs at a man who is laughing—they always laugh\nwith him. Laugh at Pelisson, laugh at De Nani, do as they do at the\ncarnival ball; a jester strikes me with his bauble, I strike Jules,\nJules Alphonse, and so it goes on. Don’t take this thing seriously.”\n\n“I cannot laugh,” said Toto, looking at his boots with the air of a\nmartyr.\n\n“Well, then, smoke.”\n\n“Thanks, yes, I will take a cigarette. I want to speak to you; but\nfirst I want Auguste to do something for me.”\n\nHe sat down at the writing table and made out a holograph check for ten\nthousand francs, and dispatched Gaillard with it to the bank.\n\n“Go to Porcheron’s and get a brougham, and come back in it, my dear\nfellow.”\n\n“But your luggage?”\n\n“Oh, I will buy things wherever I go.”\n\nGaillard departed, and Toto resumed his seat.\n\n“I want to tell you all,” he said. “There is a girl; she brought this\nmischief upon me, though it was not entirely her fault.”\n\n“Oh, these girls!” murmured Struve.\n\n“I know they are frightful, but, still, I must do something for this\ngirl.”\n\n“Pah! Give her five hundred francs—I know what girls are—and forget\nher.”\n\n“Oh, for the matter of that, she is not—she loves me, I think, in her\nway—of course she does not know all the mischief she has done: how\ncould she? No matter. I want you to call this afternoon and explain\nthat I am gone away for a while.”\n\n“I say, you know,” said Struve, who did not relish the idea of acting\nas ambassador between Toto and some hussy, who would probably pull his\nhair for his pains, “would it not be better for you to write? There is\nsomething much more final about a letter left in by a postman than a\nmessage taken by a friend.”\n\n“I could not write to her, and I want you to give her some money.\nGaillard is bringing ten thousand francs back; I will give her three.\nOf course I will provide for her afterwards. Do, my dear fellow, help\nme in this, and I will be forever grateful; besides, you will never see\nme again.”\n\n“All right,” said Struve; “I will do as you ask.”\n\nThe three thousand francs decided him. There were few women of this\nkind who would pull the hair of a messenger armed with the consolation\nof a three-thousand-franc note; besides, he felt a sympathy for the\nunfortunate Toto, this sparrow who had built too high. They sat for\nhalf an hour smoking.\n\n“Of course,” said Toto, “the affair does not end here between De Nani\nand me. When I have time to breathe I will find him out.”\n\n“What for?”\n\n“To make him fight.”\n\nThe idea of a duel between Toto and De Nani was almost too much for\nStruve’s gravity. However, he did not laugh.\n\n“You will not find De Nani; he has vanished. Pelisson says the safe\nhas been cleaned out. It was that fool Scribe, the cashier; he lent De\nNani the keys for a moment the day before yesterday, and the old fellow\nmust have taken an impression of them in wax. The worst of it is,\nPelisson cannot prosecute—the old fellow knows too much about the inner\nworkings of _Pantin_. And yet Pelisson always thought him a fool. No,\nyou will not find De Nani; and if you did, he would not fight. It is my\nimpression that he is a very deep card, this Marquis. You see, Pelisson\nthought him only a drunken old man who would be wax in his hands. Who\nis this?”\n\nGaillard appeared.\n\n“I have a brougham at the door,” said Gaillard in a mournful voice,\n“and here is the money, dear Toto, partly in notes, partly in gold.”\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nENVOY.\n\n\nMeanwhile, Garnier, left alone in the atelier, sat musing on the\nstrangeness of things, and waiting for Toto’s return. Ten minutes\npassed by, and half an hour. Through the top-light, which was pulled\na bit open, he could hear the sparrows bickering on the roof, and the\nvoice of a hawker in the Rue de Perpignan crying “Strawberries!” whilst\na broad dash of sunlight, falling upon the lower part of the wall\nopposite to him, lit the place with an effulgence of its own, like a\ngreat lamp radiating sunbeams.\n\nIt seemed such a pity that Célestin should be ill this glorious\nweather. Presently he heard her voice calling for Désiré in a muffled\nmanner.\n\n“He will be back very soon, my little Célestin,” said Garnier, as he\nstood beside the bed, smiling down upon the patient. “_Mon Dieu!_ my\npoor child, how blue your lips have become, even within so short a\ntime. Say to me, Célestin, how you feel.”\n\n“I feel choking,” murmured Célestin, with a terrible look of appeal,\nas though she had but that moment recognized the extent of her illness\nwith the fact that Toto had gone out.\n\nGarnier made a little dramatic back-step, which he corrected by folding\nhis hands loosely in front of him and rubbing them slightly one upon\nthe other as if nothing was the matter. The frightful truth suddenly\nbroke upon him that Célestin, his little Célestin, was terribly ill.\n\n“I feel choking—it is terrible—my friend.”\n\n“Oh, yes,” said Garnier, dropping beside her on his knees. “What is it?\nYou frighten me. Have you pain? Speak, Célestin, and tell me.”\n\n“Oh, no pain, but I cannot breathe. Stay, I am better now—the weight\nhas gone a bit; but it will come back. I am afraid to die; what will\nhe do? I would have worked for him; but it is no use—I cannot if I am\ndead. And he was in trouble; I could see it on his face. We are so\npoor, you know.”\n\nGarnier felt horrified, paralyzed in the knees and unable to move.\n\n“What is this you say? what is this you say?” he murmured.\n\n“Is it raining?”\n\n“Oh, no, it is very fine. What is this I hear you say, Célestin? Are\nyou very ill? It is bright sunshine outside; there is no rain.”\n\n“I hear the sound of rain.”\n\n“It does not rain,” said Garnier in a heart-broken voice as he watched\nher eyes wandering about the room as if pursuing some fugitive vision.\n“Can you not see the sun shining at the window?”\n\nCélestin sighed.\n\n“Désiré has gone out. When did he go? Ah, yes, I remember now; he would\nnot be a moment, he said.”\n\n“He will not be a moment,” said Garnier, stumbling to his feet. “I will\nrun and see if I can fetch him. I will not be absent one little moment.”\n\nHe stole out of the bedroom, through the atelier, and rushed down the\nstairs, hatless and as if the top of the house were on fire. There was,\nfortunately, a doctor in the street; he lived but a few doors away,\nand by good luck had just returned from his round of morning visits.\n\nHe was a depressed-looking young man with a pointed beard, somewhat\nlike Gaillard in face, but not nearly so well dressed. He came at once\nwith Garnier, and as he took his seat beside Célestin he laid his\npolished silk hat, crown downwards, upon the floor.\n\nGarnier stood at the end of the bed looking on. He suddenly felt a\nstrong belief in doctors. Dr. Fénélon seemed to him a god; his manner\nwas so assured, and he had the air of one who knew, coupled with the\ngravity of a judge. He noticed that the doctor wore a bone stud in\nhis white shirt front, and every little detail of his dress, to the\npatent-leather toecaps of his dull kid boots.\n\nThe doctor spoke to Célestin, just a few words by way of introducing\nhimself, and then drew out a watch to assist him in feeling her\npulse. The watch had a large spider hand which went hopping along,\nmaking sixty hops to the minute. This spider hand deepened Garnier’s\nconfidence, as did the binaural stethoscope which the doctor drew out\nof his breast pocket and swung about his neck.\n\nGarnier turned his face away whilst the physician unbuttoned Célestin’s\nnightdress at the neck. A moment he paused, as if undecided as to\nstripping her to the waist, Hôtel Dieu fashion, then shook his head,\nand, slipping the ear-pieces in his ears, began his auscultation.\n\nGarnier, standing with his face averted, heard the sparrows on the roof\nand an occasional pr-rt, pr-rt from Dodor’s cage, as the lark changed\nhis perch, also a piano-organ, the thinnest of sounds fluctuating on\nthe faint breeze blowing from the direction of the Seine.\n\nSometimes Dr. Fénélon cleared his throat, or said “Pardon.” Then he\nbegan to percuss, and the little blows sounded as if against something\nsolid.\n\nGarnier turned; the examination was over, and the doctor, the\nstethoscope swinging still from his neck, was buttoning the top button\nof the nightdress. This accomplished, he stood just for a second with\nhands folded, overlooking the patient from head to feet; one might\nalmost have imagined him measuring her with his eye.\n\nCélestin, whose eyes had been half closed, suddenly opened them, and\nmuttered something in an alarmed manner.\n\n“What is it?”\n\n“Fantoum,” she muttered, shrinking slightly as if from some vision in\nthe air.\n\nThe doctor led Garnier into the atelier, and by the way he closed the\nbedroom door Garnier knew that it was all up.\n\n“Your wife?” asked the doctor, removing the instrument from his neck\nand placing it folded in his breast-pocket.\n\n“Oh, no, the wife of a friend—simply that. Ah, my God! I fear she is\nworse than we thought.”\n\n“So then I can speak: she is moribund. I can absolutely do nothing.\nYou understand? What can I do? One lung is gone. Well, then, the other\nis greatly touched at the apex—absolutely solid with pneumonia at the\nbase. She is living by a piece of lung not so large as my hand. We\ncannot change all that.”\n\n“Can nothing be done?”\n\n“My dear friend, she is to all intents and purposes dead. She has been\ndying some time—probably since yesterday.”\n\n“Ah, I hear you say all that; you say she is dead. I have never heard\na thing like that before so frightful. I have heard of doctors keeping\npeople alive. Well, then, look: it is not the question of payment; it\nis not a question of one, two, three napoleons, but thousands! You are\nnot speaking to a fool; I am a great painter. I have only to close my\nhands on the money, and half of what I earn is yours. I am Gustave\nGarnier; I never told a lie. Ask Melmenotte what I can do.”\n\n“My dear friend,” sighed Dr. Fénélon, “I would save her for nothing,\nbut I am not God.”\n\n“Nothing can be done?”\n\n“Nothing.”\n\n“Brandy?”\n\n“I would not trouble her with brandy—it might even put the flame out;\nshe is just trembling;” and he held out his hand, imitating the motion\nof a butterfly poised.\n\n“How long?”\n\n“Perhaps not for hours, possibly a day; perhaps in half an hour—a few\nminutes. Were she to sit up in bed, she would expire as if shot.”\n\n“Ah, well, we must face it. You will come in again? Oh, my God!”\n\n“I will come in this evening. My dear child,” continued the doctor,\ntaking the great arm of Garnier in his thin hand, “I would stay if I\ncould be of use; I can only leave her to you. No, I would not trouble\nher with a priest; she is, I am afraid, delirious.”\n\nGarnier returned to the bedroom, a look of terrible perplexity on his\nface. He could not grasp the facts. Full of life and strength, he had\nnever troubled to think of death, it was all so remote; and here it was\ngrasping Célestin.\n\nShe was semi-conscious again, and the one word kept repeating itself on\nher lips, “Désiré, Désiré!” It was like a person crying for water.\n\n“Oh, why does he not come?” murmured Garnier, remembering again of a\nsudden the existence of Toto and his long absence.\n\n“He is coming,” he murmured, holding her hand; “he will be here in a\nlittle while. Oh, my dear little Célestin, what can I give you—what can\nI do for you?”\n\nHe saw the bunch of grapes, and plucked one off and held it to her\nlips. She sucked it feebly, and then cast her eyes up to heaven in the\nold familiar way, an action that tore Garnier’s heart as if a knife had\nripped it up. Then she seemed to forget Toto, for she lay still, and\nthe man beside her prayed God to send him quickly, for nothing could be\nmore frightful than her reiterated request for this man who had gone\naway.\n\nHe did not feel jealous; it was all one now. She wanted Toto. It was as\nif she had wanted water to drink; he would not have felt jealous of the\nwater, so why should he feel jealous of Toto? He would have given his\nwhole prospects in life for the return of the Prince.\n\nAs if in answer to his prayer came the sounds of footsteps in the\natelier, and Dodor moved restlessly in his cage as the door was\ncautiously opened. It was a priest whom the deaf concierge had sent\nfor after inquiring of Dr. Fénélon the state of his patient.\n\nHe was an elderly man with a large stomach and a kind, sweet face.\nGarnier glanced at him, and threw up his eyes, as if to say “No use,”\nbut he felt glad of the presence of the holy man.\n\nThe priest took a chair on the opposite side of the bed, as if to rest\nhis stomach for a moment, and breathed hard and pursed out his lips;\nthen he knelt by the chair to pray. Garnier, kneeling by his side of\nthe bed, was as still as the effigy of the Lord Jesus which hung above.\nAnd so the time went on, Célestin rousing herself occasionally to call\nfor Toto, and relapsing into stupor. Once she cast her eyes at the bird\nmoping in its cage, and moved her lips at it, as if trying to tell it\nof her trouble.\n\nIt was now late in the afternoon. To Garnier it seemed a very long\ntime since, stopping near the Panthéon, he had bought the grapes for\nhis little Célestin, and brought them so joyously to the atelier.\nHis hearing, strained to the utmost for the footsteps of Toto, was\nrewarded by all sorts of futile sounds, far away and near.\n\nAt five Dr. Fénélon looked in again, and found his patient unconscious.\nHe shook his head and vanished, for Garnier did not attempt to detain\nhim; he had lost all faith in doctors.\n\n“But who is this Désiré she has been calling for?” whispered the good\npriest, leaning towards Garnier. “Could we not send for him?”\n\nGarnier shook his head. He had gone out with Gaillard—where he could\nnot tell.\n\nTowards six, Célestin, still unconscious, gave a little shiver, as if\nat the coldness of her lover, and Dodor in the cage fluttered his wings\nas if in fear.\n\nThe priest, who had been standing patiently, fell upon his knees, and\nprayed with fervor for the passing soul.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nStruve told me most of this story as we sat one day before a café on\nthe boulevards.\n\n“That is the man,” he said, indicating a good-looking young fellow on a\ncoal-black horse, who was riding by, accompanied by a girl with auburn\nhair, mounted on a magnificent gray; “that is Toto.”\n\n“But the girl?”\n\n“His wife, the Princesse; she was Helen Powers.”\n\n“But surely—is she married to him?”\n\n“Very much so. He confessed all his sins, and she gave him absolution.\nNo woman, you see, can withstand a confession of folly; you see, it is\na far more genuine thing than a confession of love—with ordinary men.”\n\n“You do not think Toto an ordinary man?”\n\n“I have never thought of him as a man. Come, it is five o’clock; I am\ntired of sitting still.”\n\n“A moment. Where has old De Nani gone to?”\n\n“He is living at Monte Carlo. He lost a hundred thousand francs there,\nand they have pensioned him; they give him sixty francs a week, I\nbelieve.”\n\n“Pelisson did not prosecute him?”\n\n“Oh, no! all that did _Pantin_ a lot of good.”\n\n“If I had been Toto, I would have made him fight.”\n\n“Thank goodness we were saved from that! A duel between Toto and De\nNani was the only thing wanted to cap the business and kill everyone\noutright.”\n\n“Kill them?”\n\n“With laughter.”\n\n“And about Garnier?”\n\n“Ah, Garnier—he only wanted one thing before he met Célestin.”\n\n“What was that?”\n\n“Célestin—she has made him. Célestin is not dead; she will never die\nso long as men have eyes and Garnier’s pictures exist. She might have\nlived with Toto and produced little Totos; she lives instead with\nGarnier, and through him will live forever.”\n\n“A moment. What of Gaillard?”\n\n“He has grown very fat. You know, Toto shook him off when he married,\nPelisson forsook him, De Brie gave him the cold shoulder; and what did\nhe do? He sat down and wrote ‘Poum-Poum,’ and turned all the minor\npoets into ridicule, and sold a hundred thousand copies in a month, and\n‘slew art,’ to use his own expression, because it tried to slay him. He\nis making eighty thousand francs a year, if he is making a sou. I am\nglad of it; he is not a bad sort—Gaillard.”\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rapin, by Henry De Vere Stacpoole\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Molly Wolfe and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTALBOT'S ANGLES\n\n[Illustration: \"I AM AS PROUD AS CAN BE OF YOU.\"\n                                           FRONTISPIECE (_Page 147_).]\n\n\n\n\n               _TALBOT'S ANGLES_\n\n                      _BY\n               AMY E. BLANCHARD_\n\n  _Author of \"A Journey of Joy,\" \"Wits' End,\"\n            \"The Glad Lady,\" etc._\n\n                [Illustration]\n\n                   _BOSTON\n             DANA ESTES & COMPANY\n                 PUBLISHERS_\n\n\n\n\n              _Copyright, 1911_,\n           BY DANA ESTES & COMPANY\n\n            _All rights reserved_\n\n\n                  Printed by\n             THE COLONIAL PRESS:\n      C.H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER                              PAGE\n\n      I. AT END OF DAY                    9\n\n     II. A CLINGING VINE                 21\n\n    III. LEAVING THE NEST                35\n\n     IV. DEPARTED DAYS                   48\n\n      V. THE ALARM                       61\n\n     VI. AN INQUISITIVE NEIGHBOR         75\n\n    VII. WAS IT CURIOSITY?               89\n\n   VIII. A DISCLOSURE                   105\n\n     IX. THE LETTERS ON THE TRUNK       118\n\n      X. PURSUING CLUES                 132\n\n     XI. A NEWSPAPER                    145\n\n    XII. A BRACE OF DUCKS               157\n\n   XIII. AN ANCESTRAL PILGRIMAGE        170\n\n    XIV. TWO BUGGIES                    185\n\n     XV. A DISTINCT SENSATION           199\n\n    XVI. BEGONE, DULL CARE              213\n\n   XVII. AS WATER UNTO WINE             228\n\n  XVIII. THE DELIBERATE CONSCIENCE      245\n\n    XIX. OF WHAT AVAIL?                 262\n\n     XX. \"THE SPRING HAS COME\"          277\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n                                                                    PAGE\n\n  \"I AM AS PROUD AS CAN BE OF YOU.\" (_Page 147_)          _Frontispiece_\n\n  SCOLDING AWAY \"JES LAK AN OLE BLUE JAY,\" DECLARED JAKE.             38\n\n  \"DON'T SHOOT!\"                                                      71\n\n  \"BUT YOU MUST NOT CALL ME COUSIN!\"                                 115\n\n  \"YOU DON'T IMAGINE HE HAS FALLEN IN LOVE WITH GRACE, DO YOU?\"      164\n\n  \"HE HAS GIVEN ME THE DEAREST RING.\"                                225\n\n  \"HER GAZE FELL ON THE TWO.\"                                        289\n\n\n\n\nTALBOT'S ANGLES\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE END OF A DAY\n\n\nThe sun was very low in the west and the evening colors were staining\nthe creek whose quiet waters ran between flat lands to be carried out\nto the river further on, which, in its turn, found the broader bay. The\narms of one or two ancient windmills, which had been moving lazily in\nthe breeze, made a few rotations and then stopped, showing themselves\ndark objects against a glowing sky. An old church, embowered by tall\ntrees, caught some of the evening glow upon its ancient brick walls,\nand in the dank long grass gray headstones glimmered out discovering\nthe graveyard. Beyond the church the sparkling creek murmured gently. A\nfew turkey-buzzards cast weird shadows as they circled slowly overhead\nor dropped with slanting wing to perch upon the chimneys of a long low\nhouse which stood not many rods from the weather-stained church. One\nreached the church by way of a green lane, and along this lane was now\ncoming Linda Talbot, a girl above medium height whose dark hair made\nher fine fair skin look the fairer by contrast. Her eyes were downcast\nso that one could not discern their depth of violet blue, but one could\nnote the long black lashes, the well-shaped brows and the rounded chin.\nJust now her lips were compressed so the lines of her mouth could not\nbe determined upon. She walked slowly, never once raising her eyes\ntoward the sparkling creek and the sunset sky. But once beyond the gate\nopening from the lane, she stood and looked around, taking in the view\nwhich included the windmills raising protesting arms, the fields where\nlately, corn had been stacked, the long low brown house. Upon this last\nher eyes lingered long and lovingly, observing the quaint lines, the\nlow sloping roof, the small-paned windows, the chimneys at each end,\nthe porch running the length of the building, each detail so familiar,\nso dearly loved, and now passing from her.\n\nShe gave her head a little quick shake as if to scatter the thoughts\nassailing her, then she moved more quickly toward the house, but\npassing around to the kitchen rather than entering by way of the porch.\nAn old <DW52> woman was picking crabs at a table near the window.\n\"Gwine give yuh some crab cakes fo' suppah, Miss Lindy,\" she announced,\nlooking up. \"Dark ketch me fo' I git 'em done I specs, dat no 'count\nJake so long gittin' 'em hyar. He de no countines' niggah evah I did\nsee. Thinks he ain't got nothin' to do but set 'roun' rollin' his eyes\nat de gals.\"\n\n\"Get me an apron, Mammy,\" said Linda, \"and I'll help you.\"\n\n\"Go 'long, Miss Lindy. 'Tain't no need o' dat.\"\n\n\"But I'd like to,\" persisted the girl feeling relief at not immediately\nbeing obliged to seek other society than that of the old <DW52> woman\nto whom she had brought her troubles from babyhood.\n\nEnveloped in a huge gingham apron, she sat down to her task, but was\nso much more silent than was her wont that the old woman from time to\ntime, raised her eyes to watch her furtively.\n\nPresently she could stand it no longer. \"Wha' de matter, honey?\" she\nasked solicitously. \"Yuh got sumpin mo' on yo' min' dat honin' fo' Mars\nMartin.\"\n\nLinda dropped crab and fork into the dish of crab meat, rested her arms\non the table and hid her face in them that Phebe should not see the\ntears she could no longer keep back.\n\n\"Dere, honey, dere baby,\" crooned Phebe. \"Tell yo' ole Mammy all about\nit. Wha' she been a doin' to Mammy's honey chile?\"\n\nLinda lifted her tearful eyes. \"Oh, Mammy, I can't stand it. I must\ngo.\"\n\nPhebe's hands shook. \"What yuh mean, chile?\" she asked with a tremor in\nher voice.\n\n\"I mean I must earn my own living. Phebe, I shall have to. Oh, Mammy,\nyou know I cannot blame my brother, but if he had only left a little,\njust a little for my very own. If he had not made the conditions so\nhard.\"\n\n\"Tell Mammy agin jes' how yuh stan's, honey,\" said Phebe soberly.\n\n\"It's this way, Mammy. The place is left to Grace and me. As long as\nshe chooses to make it her home I am to live here. If Grace marries\nshe forfeits her right to it, but while she remains a widow she has a\nclaim to the whole farm, the crops, everything. I am permitted only a\nplace to sleep and enough to eat, and if she elects not to stay here,\nwhat am I to do? I cannot keep up an establishment on nothing, can I?\nOh, Mammy, I did try, you know I did, while Martin lived, I tried to be\npatient and good. It hurt more than anyone knew when he brought home\na silly pretty girl to take my place, to show a petty jealousy of me.\nYou know how I used to delight in saving that I might buy something\nfor Christmas or birthdays that he particularly wanted. Every little\npossession meant some sacrifice, and when, one by one, all the little\ntreasured things that I had scrimped and saved to get for him, when\nthey were shoved out of sight and something took their place that she\nhad bought, I never said a word though it did hurt. We were such\ncomrades, Mart and I, and I was only a school girl when I began to keep\nhouse for him and he came to me with all his confidences. We used to\ntalk over the crops, the investments, this, that, the other thing, and\nit seemed as if it must always be so until--\"\n\n\"Yas, honey, yas, I knows.\" Phebe spoke soothingly.\n\n\"She was jealous of every little thing,\" Linda went on. \"She was very\nsweet and appealing, always calling me 'dear little sister' to Mart\nand gradually weaning him from me and my interests, subtly poisoning\nhis mind--No, not that exactly, but making him believe he was such a\nwonderful brother to give me a home, to support me. She never ceased to\npraise him for what she told him was his great unselfishness. She never\nceased to put me in the light of a dependent who had no real right to\nwhat he gave. It used to be share and share alike, Mammy, and Mart used\nto be the one to praise me for making a cheerful home. He used to say\nthat he would work day and night rather than have me go out into the\nworld to make my living, but, Mammy--to-day--Grace said I ought to do\nit, and I must, for she is going to the city for the winter.\"\n\n\"Law, honey! Law, honey! Mah li'l baby!\" groaned Mammy. \"Yo' ma an'\npa'll riz up in dere grabes ef yuh does dat. Ain't it yo' home 'fore\nit hers? Ain't yo' gran'daddy an' you gre't-gran'-daddy live hyar?\nAin't yuh de one dat has de mostes' right?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mammy, dear, in the ordinary order of things it would be so, but\nyou know the place was mortgaged up to the last dollar and it was Mart\nwho lifted the mortgage and made the farm all his before father died.\nAccording to the law I have no part nor parcel in it except what he\nchose to leave me. Poor dear Mart, he was so blind, he thought never\nwas such a wife as Grace; he couldn't see that she worked steadily,\ncleverly, cunningly all the time to build a barrier between us, to\nchain him fast, to make him see through her eyes, to make me appear a\npoor, weak incapable creature who ought to be left in her guardianship.\nWell, she succeeded; my darling brother, whose thought was always for\nme, made his will in such a way as to render me homeless.\"\n\n\"Lord, have mercy,\" groaned Mammy, rocking back and forth, the crabs\nunheeded in their pan.\n\n\"Oh, he was innocent enough, poor dear,\" Linda went on quickly. \"He\ncouldn't see anything but that it would be a fine thing for us two to\nlive together like loving sisters always. I would be Grace's right\nhand; she would be my kind elder sister. That is the way it looked to\nhim. He couldn't see through her little deceits. How could he know\nthat her smiles covered a jealous, grasping nature? How could he\nknow that six months after he left us she would practically turn me\nout-of-doors, that she would tell me I could not expect anything more\nthan food and shelter for part of the year, and that she intended to\nspend her winters with her family and only her summers here?\"\n\n\"Ain't it de troof?\" ejaculated Mammy.\n\nHaving for the first time poured forth her grievances to a sympathetic\near, Linda was not disposed to stop the torrent which gave her relief.\n\"She told me that it was for my sake as well as her own, and that she\nthought I would be much happier if I were to make myself entirely\nindependent, all with that solicitous manner as if she lay awake nights\nthinking of my welfare. Oh, no one but you, Mammy, who have seen it,\ncould realize the thousand little pin pricks that I have endured.\"\n\n\"Yas, honey, I knows; Mammy knows,\" responded the old woman gravely.\n\"But lemme tell yuh right now, ef yuh leaves de ole place, I leaves it.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, Mammy,\" Linda spoke in alarm, \"Master Mart wouldn't like you\nto do that.\"\n\n\"I ain't thinkin' so much about Marster Mart as I is o' my baby, an'\nhuccome she goes away. I ain't thinkin' so much o' him as I am o' mah\nole mistis, yo' grandma. Yuh reckon she think I 'bleedged to stay? No,\nma'am, dat she don't. 'Sides, honey, I reckons by dis time de angels\ndone cl'ar yo' brudder's eyes o' de wool what been pull over dem dese\ntwo ye'rs pas', an' I reckons he a-sayin' to his own daddy an' ma', de\nole place ain't de same nohow, an' po' li'l sis she need her ole Mammy\nPhebe, wharever she go!\"\n\nAt these words, Linda quite broke down again, but this time she hid her\nface on Phebe's shoulder and was patted gently with many soothing words\nof, \"Dere, honey, dere now, baby, don' cry; de good Lord gwine look\narfter yuh.\"\n\nAfter a few minutes Linda raised her head to say, \"Grace's sister is\ncoming down to help her close the house. They mean to leave before\nChristmas and Phillips will manage the place. I haven't told you yet\nwhat I mean to do. I had a letter to-day from Mr. Willis and he thinks\nI can have a position in one of the schools, for one of the teachers is\ngoing to be married and he will do all he can to get me her place.\"\n\n\"Dat up in town?\"\n\n\"Yes, it will be in the primary department, and I shall have a class of\nlittle boys.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" Mammy expressed her disdain. \"Whar yuh gwine live?\"\n\n\"I shall have to board somewhere, of course.\"\n\nThe old woman's face fell. \"I hopes I ain't live to see mah ole mistis'\ngran'child bo'din' in a common bo'din' house, 'thout no lady to give\nher countenance an' make it proper fo' her beaux to come an' see her.\nNo, ma'am, I hopes I ain't live to see dat.\"\n\n\"But, Mammy, what can I do? I haven't any very near relatives down\nhere, you know, and none nearly related anywhere, certainly not near\nenough for me to invite myself to their homes. I can't afford a\nchaperone, and besides I am sure I am well enough known in town to be\ntreated with respect wherever I may happen to live.\"\n\n\"I ain't say yuh isn't, but what I do say is dat it ain't fittin' an'\nproper fo' one of de fambly to go off to bo'd thes anywhar lak common\nfolks.\"\n\n\"Then please to tell me what I am to do. Pshaw! Mammy, it's nonsense to\ntalk as if I were a princess. We've got to face facts--plain, every-day\nfacts. I must make my living, and I am lucky to be able to do it in a\nnice, ladylike way, in my own town and among my own friends.\"\n\nMammy began to pick at the crabs again, working away sullenly. She knew\nthese were facts, but she rebelled against the existence of them. She\nthought seriously over the situation for some minutes. \"If yuh goes, I\ngoes,\" at last she reiterated. \"Miss Ri Hill she tell me laughin' like,\nmo' times dan one, 'When yuh wants a place, Phebe, mah kitchen ready\nfo' yuh.' She ain't think I uvver leave yuh-alls, but I knows she tek\nme ef she kin git me.\"\n\n\"Miss Ri Hill! Why, Mammy, that is an inspiration. She is the very one.\nPerhaps she will take me in, too,\" cried Linda.\n\n\"Praise de Lord! Ain't it de troof now? Co'se she tek yuh. 'Tain'\nnobody think mo' o' yuh dan Miss Ri. She yo' ma's bridesmaid, an' yuh\nalways gre't fav'ite o' hers. Dat mek it cl'ar as day. She yuh-alls\nkin' an' she stan' fo' yuh lak home folks. When yuh gwine, Miss Lindy?\"\n\n\"Oh, pretty soon, I think.\"\n\nJust here the door opened and a high-pitched, rather sweet, but\nsentimentally pathetic voice said, \"Phebe, have you forgotten that it\nis nearly supper time? Linda, dear, is that you? I wouldn't hinder\nPhebe just now. I was wondering where you were. I saw you walking\nabout so energetically and am so glad you can take pleasure in\noutside things, for of course I couldn't expect you to appreciate my\nloneliness, a young girl like you is always so buoyant.\" A plaintive\nsigh followed, as Grace Talbot turned to go. She was a fair, plump\nyoung woman with an appealing expression, a baby mouth and wide-open\neyes in which it was her effort to maintain a look of childish\ninnocence. \"Do try to have supper promptly, Phebe,\" she said as she\nreached the door. \"Of course, I don't care for myself, as I eat very\nlittle, but Miss Linda must be hungry after her walk.\"\n\nPhebe gave a suggestive shrug and muttered something under her breath\nabout \"snakes in the grass,\" while Linda, with a sad little smile of\ndeprecation, followed her sister-in-law through the irregular rooms,\nup a step here, down there, till the parlor was reached. Here an open\nfire was burning dully, for, though it was early fall, the evenings\nwere chill even in this latitude, and Grace was a person who loved\nwarmth. Creature comforts meant much to her, a certain chair, a special\nseat at table, a footstool, a cushion at her back, these she had\nmade necessities, and had demanded them in the way which would most\nappeal to her husband, while later, for the sake of harmony, Linda had\nfollowed his precedent.\n\nGrace now sank into her chair by the fire, put her head back against\nthe cushion and closed her eyes. \"Linda, dear,\" she said, \"would you\nmind seeing if there is more wood? One gets so chilly when one's\nvitality is low, and I am actually shivering.\"\n\nSilently Linda went to the wood box, brought a log, stirred the fire\nand started a cheerful blaze, then sat down in a dim corner, resting\nelbows on knees, chin in hands.\n\n\"Where were you walking?\" asked Grace presently, stretching herself\nlike some sleek animal in the warmth of the fire.\n\n\"I went to the graveyard,\" replied Linda slowly.\n\nGrace shivered slightly. \"What strong nerves you have. I simply\ncannot bear to do such things; I am so sensitive. I cannot endure\nthose reminders of my loss. You are so different, but, of course, all\nnatures are not the same. I saw you talking to Phillips. I am glad to\nknow that you can still take an interest in the place, but as for me\nit is too sad to talk over those things which were always a concern of\nmy dear husband's. I cannot face details yet. My sorrow consumes all\nmy thoughts and outside matters have no place in them. I suppose,\" she\nadded in a weary voice, \"everything is going on all right or you would\ntell me.\"\n\n\"Everything is right so far as I can judge,\" returned Linda; \"but I\nwould advise you to rouse yourself to take an interest soon, Grace, for\nI shall not be here.\"\n\n\"Are you really going soon?\" asked Grace, opening her eyes.\n\nIt was Linda's impulse to say, \"I hope so,\" but she refrained. \"I think\nso,\" she answered. \"I will tell you just when after I have definite\ninformation.\"\n\n\"Please don't be so secretive,\" said Grace a little sharply. \"You must\nconsider that I have my own arrangements to make and that it is due me\nto know your plans as soon as they are made.\"\n\n\"I will tell you as soon as they are settled,\" returned Linda stoutly.\nHere Phebe came in to announce supper and the conversation ended.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE CLINGING VINE\n\n\nWhen, two years earlier, Martin Talbot brought his wife to the old\nfamily homestead of Talbot's Angles, Linda determined to make the best\nof the situation. If it was for Martin's happiness to marry the pretty,\nrather underbred, wholly self-centered Grace Johnson, his sister would\nnot be the one to offer disillusionment. Grace was from the city,\ndressed well, had dependent little ways which appealed to just such a\nmanly person as Martin. She made much of him, demanded his presence\ncontinually, cooed to him persuasively when he would be gone, pouted if\nhe stayed too long, wept if he chided her for being a baby, but under\nher apparent softness there was obstinacy, and the set purpose of a\njealous nature.\n\nBetween Linda and her brother there had always been good comradeship,\nbut not much over-demonstration of affection. Each felt that the other\nwas to be depended upon, that in moments of stress, or in emergency\nthere would be no holding back, and consequently Martin expected\nnothing less than that Linda should accept a new sister-in-law\nserenely, should make no protests. In fact, he was so deeply in\nlove that, as is the way of mankind, he could not conceive that\nanyone should not be charmed to become the housemate of such a\nlovable creature as he assumed Grace to be, one so warm-hearted, so\nenchantingly solicitous, so sweetly womanish, and, though he did not\nexactly underrate Linda, he grew to smile at Grace's little whispers\nof disparagement. Linda was so cold, so undemonstrative; Linda was so\nthoughtless of dear Martin. Why, she had never remarked that he was\nlate for dinner. Wasn't it just like Linda to go off by herself to\nchurch instead of walking with them? How unappreciative sisters could\nbe of a brother's sacrifices. Not every brother would have supported\nhis sister so uncomplainingly all these years, but dear Martin was such\nan unselfish darling, he never once thought of its being a sacrifice,\nand that a less unselfish man would expect his sister to take care of\nherself. Martin was so chivalrous, and so on.\n\nTherefore, Linda's days of devotion, her constant proofs of affection\ntold in acts rather than in reiterated words, her hours of poring over\naccounts that she might economize as closely as possible in order\nthat the mortgage might the sooner be paid, her long consultations\nwith Mammy, and her continual mending, patching, turning, contriving,\nall were forgotten or taken for granted as a just return for her\nsupport. That she had driven to town and back again, seven miles each\nway, during the last years of her school life, that she might still be\ncompanion and housekeeper for her brother, seemed no great matter from\nGrace's point of view, though in those days themselves there had been\nmany a protest against the necessitated late hours that were the result\nof her many tasks, and \"What should I do without my little sister?\" was\nthe daily question.\n\nThere was no lack of employment for Linda's hands, even after Grace\ncame, for though very tenacious of her prerogative as mistress of the\nhouse, Grace did nothing but assume a great air of being the busy\nhousekeeper, and such work as was not done by Phebe, fell to Linda's\nshare. Martin saw nothing of this, for Grace would bustle in with a\nshow of having been much occupied, would throw herself into a chair\nwith a pretence of fatigue, cast her eyes innocently at Martin, and\nsay, \"Oh, I am so tired. Housekeeping in the country is so difficult,\nbut I love doing it for you, dear. Can't you stay home with your\nlittle Gracie this afternoon?\" And Martin would stay nine times out\nof ten, with not the slightest perception of the fact that a surface\nsentimentality which stands in the way of the advancement or profit\nof another is worth nothing by the side of the year in, year out\nthought and activity in those little things which, in the end, show a\nfar deeper affection than any clamor for a person's presence or any\nfoolish and unmeaning words of praise.\n\nLinda's pride constrained her to keep all these things to herself, and\nnot even from her old Mammy would she allow criticism of her brother\nand his wife. Mammy, be it said, was ready enough to grumble at the\nnew order of things to Linda herself, but it was not till the burden\nwas too heavy to bear longer in silence that Linda poured forth the\ngrievances to which no one could listen so sympathetically as Mammy.\nIndeed, no one could have been a safer listener, for Mammy's pride in\nthe family was as great as Linda's own, and she would have died rather\nthan have noised its trouble abroad.\n\nBefore the next Sunday, Linda had made her arrangements to leave her\nold home, and Grace's eldest sister, Lauretta, had arrived. Lauretta\nwas a colorless, well-meaning person, a little shaky in her English,\ninclined to overdress, with no pretension to good looks, and admiring\nher younger sister the more because of her own lack of beauty. Being\nless of the spoiled darling, she was less vain and selfish, less\nwilful and obstinate, but was ready to reflect Grace's opinions, as\nborn of a superior mind, so she quite approved of Linda's departure\nand prepared to fit into her place as soon as might be, assuming the\nresponsibilities of housekeeping with perfect good will. Of Phebe's\ndeparture nothing more had been said, and when Linda questioned the\nold woman the only answer she received was: \"Ain't a-sayin' nuffin.\"\n\nHowever, when Linda went into the kitchen one morning and remarked,\n\"I'm going up to town to see Miss Ri Hill, Phebe,\" she was answered by,\n\"I was thes a-thinkin' I'd go up mahse'f, Miss Lindy.\"\n\n\"How were you going?\"\n\n\"Well, honey, I kin walk, I reckon.\"\n\n\"You will do no such thing. I intended to go up in the buggy, but I\nthink I can get Jake to drive, and you can go along in the surrey. Have\nyou said anything to Miss Grace about going?\"\n\n\"No, I ain't, an I ain't a-gwineter. I been hyar befo' she was bo'n,\nan' she nuvver hire me nohow. I ain't got no call to say nuffin. When I\ngoes, I goes.\"\n\nLinda was silent for a moment. \"But, Mammy,\" she said presently, \"I\ndon't feel that it is exactly right for you to do that way. If you go\nto town with me to see about a place, I am responsible in a measure.\"\n\n\"No, yuh ain't. Who say I cain't go see Miss Ri? I ain't a-gwine bag\nan' baggage. Ef I doesn't go with yuh, I goes on Shanks's mare.\"\n\n\"But who will get dinner to-day?\"\n\n\"I reckon I kin git Popsy to come in an' git it.\"\n\n\"Well, go along and find out, for I want to get off pretty soon.\"\n\nMammy put a discarded felt hat of Martin Talbot's upon her head, and an\nold table-cover over her shoulders, then sallied forth down the road in\nsearch of the woman whose little cabin was one of a number belonging to\na <DW64> settlement not far off. Trips to town were so infrequent upon\nPhebe's part, and she demanded so few afternoons out, that what she\nwanted was generally conceded her, and though Grace pouted and said she\ndidn't see why both Linda and Phebe should be away at the same time,\nLauretta smoothed her down by saying: \"Oh, never mind, Gracie dear, I\nhave no doubt the other servant will do very well, and we'll have a\nnice cosey day together. I can see to everything, and it will give me\na good chance to poke around. Old Phebe is such a martinet, she won't\nallow me inside the kitchen when she is here.\"\n\n\"She certainly is a regular tyrant,\" admitted Grace, \"but no one can\ncook better, and I am glad to keep her, for down here it is hard to get\ncompetent servants; they are all more or less independent.\"\n\n\"Her being away to-day won't make much difference to you and I,\"\nreplied Lauretta, with careful attention to her pronoun. She was always\nvery particular never to say you and me. \"I'm not a bad cook myself,\nand we can try some of our own home recipes. For my part, I should\nthink you would get rather tired of oysters and Maryland biscuits.\"\n\n\"I do,\" returned Grace plaintively. \"Linda doesn't always consider me\nin ordering. Dear Martin didn't seem to notice that until I called his\nattention to it.\"\n\n\"I don't see why you didn't take up all the housekeeping at the very\nfirst,\" responded Lauretta.\n\n\"Oh, I was so unused to it, and these Eastern Shore ways were so\nunfamiliar. Linda understood them much better than I. Besides, it would\nhave taken up so much of the time I might want to be with Martin.\"\nShe sighed deeply and wiped a furtive tear before going on: \"Then,\ntoo,\" she continued, \"I didn't want to neglect my friends, and it does\ntake time to write letters. Everyone always said I was such a good\ncorrespondent, and when anyone is in trouble, that my letters are so\nsympathetic.\"\n\nLauretta changed the subject. Even in her sisterly eyes Grace was\nalmost too eager a correspondent. \"Why has Linda gone to town?\" she\nasked. \"To do some shopping? I suppose she will need some additions to\nher wardrobe now she is in mourning and is going to town to live.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear no; she is not going to do any shopping for herself. She has\nall she needs for the present. I gave her some things, and she will\nsoon be earning money for herself. No; she has gone to see about a\nboarding place, she told me, and she has some errands for me. I think\nit so much better to give her occupation just now. She is rather\na restless person, and she will be much happier than she could be\nbrooding by herself. You know, Lauretta dear, Linda is not so very\ncompanionable. She hasn't the nice, confidential way with me that I\nhave with my sisters.\"\n\n\"But she isn't your sister,\" returned Lauretta bluntly.\n\n\"Alas, no. Dear Martin hoped we would be congenial, but you can see\nit is impossible. I wouldn't acknowledge this to everyone, Lauretta;\nbut I always feel that she holds herself superior. I have seen a look\nsometimes that made me want to box her ears.\"\n\nLauretta kept silence a moment before she said: \"The Talbots are of\nexcellent family, Grace.\"\n\n\"And we are not, you mean. That is between ourselves. I am sure I try\nto impress everyone with the belief that we are,\" which was too true,\n\"and though our grandparents may have been plain people, Lauretta,\nin the beginning, they did have plenty of means at the last; we have\nenough of their solid silver to prove that fact,\" and indeed Grace's\ndisplay of solid silver on the sideboard at Talbot's Angles was not\nallowed to go unnoticed and was her most cherished possession, one of\nwhich she made much capital.\n\n\"There they go,\" said Lauretta, looking from the small-paned windows to\nsee the carriage turn from the driveway into the road. \"I may be wrong,\nbut it does seem to me rather like turning Linda out of house and home,\nGrace, doesn't it?\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, no; you are quite mistaken. I haven't a doubt but she would\nmuch rather live in town. I don't credit her with any real sentiment.\nShe was as calm and self-possessed as possible when Martin died, while\nI went from one fit of hysterics into another. She can do things which\nwould upset me completely. Oh, you needn't waste your sympathies upon\nLinda; it is I who am the real sufferer.\"\n\n\"You poor dear,\" murmured Lauretta. \"I am glad you have decided not to\nspend your winters in this lonely place; it would be too much for one\nof your sensitive nature.\"\n\nThis was balm to Grace, and she cast a pathetic look at the sister,\nmurmuring: \"It is so sweet to be understood.\"\n\nMeanwhile over the flat, shell road Mammy and Linda were travelling\ntoward the town. Once in a while a thread of blue creek appeared in the\ndistance beyond fields of farmlands, or a white house glimmered out\nfrom its setting of tall trees, the masts of a sailing vessel behind\nit giving one the feeling that he was looking at a floating farm, or\nthat in some mysterious way a vessel had been tossed up far inland, so\nintersected was the land with little creeks and inlets.\n\nLinda knew every step of the way; to Phebe it was less familiar, and\nthe excitement of going up to town was an unusual one. She hugged\nherself in her ample shawl and directed, criticised and advised Jake\nthe entire distance. Up through the shaded streets of the town they\ncontinued until they stopped before a gate leading to an old red house\nwhich faced the sapphire river. Here lived Miss Maria Hill.\n\nHer cheery self came out on the porch to meet them. \"Of all things,\nVerlinda Talbot!\" she cried. \"And Phebe, too. Well, this is a surprise.\nCome right in. You are going to stay to dinner and we will have a good\nold-fashioned talk.\" She never failed to call Linda by the quaint name\nwhich had been given to various daughters of the Talbot family for many\ngenerations. \"Go right out into the kitchen, Phebe,\" continued Miss Ri,\n\"and if you can put any energy into that lazy Randy's heels, I'll be\nthankful. When are you going to make up your mind to come and live with\nme, Phebe?\" she asked, laughing at the never-failing joke.\n\nBut this time Phebe's answer, instead of being: \"When de dead ducks eat\nup all de mud, Miss Ri,\" was: \"Whenever yuh likes to have me, Miss Ri.\"\n\nMiss Maria stopped short in surprise. She looked from one to another.\n\"You don't mean it!\" she cried.\n\n\"Yas'm, I means it; dat is, ef acco'din' to de ques', yu teks Miss\nLindy, too.\"\n\nMiss Ri turned her gaze on Linda. \"What does all this mean?\" she\nasked. \"Come on in, Phebe--no, you mustn't go into the kitchen just\nyet; we must thrash this out first.\" She led the way into a cheerful\nliving-room, against whose ancient walls stood solid pieces of shining\nmahogany. Time-stained pictures, one or two portraits, old engravings,\na couple of silhouettes looked down at the group. \"Sit right down\nhere, Verlinda dear. There's a chair for you, Phebe. Now let us hear\nall about it.\" Miss Ri drew up a chair and enfolded one of Linda's\nblack-gloved hands in hers. \"What does it all mean?\"\n\n\"It means just this, Miss Ri,\" said Linda; \"Grace is preparing to leave\nTalbot's Angles and is going to the city for the winter. I cannot stay\nthere alone, even if I had the means to keep up the house, and as it\nis to be closed, I am thrown on my own resources. Mr. Willis has been\ngood enough to interest himself in getting me a position in one of the\nschools, and I have come up to town to find a boarding place. I have\npassed my examinations and am to have Miss Patterson's position, for\nyou know she is going to be married this fall. And now, Miss Ri, Phebe\nthinks that maybe you would be so good as to take me in.\"\n\n\"Ef yuh teks her, yuh gits me,\" broke in Phebe with an air of finality.\n\n\"It's a bargain,\" cried Miss Maria. \"Have I been speaking for Phebe all\nthese years to be deprived of her now on account of so slight a thing\nas Verlinda Talbot? No, indeed. I shall be delighted to have you as my\nguest, my dear. While as for you, Phebe, go right into the kitchen and\nstir up that lazy Randy with a poker, or anything else you can find.\nThank goodness, I shall not have to keep her long. Go along, Phebe.\"\nThus adjured, Phebe departed, ducking her head and chuckling; she\ndearly liked the errand.\n\n\"It must be as a paying guest, you understand,\" said Linda, when Phebe\nhad left them.\n\n\"Paying nonsense! Isn't my house big enough for plump me, skinny you,\nand fat Phebe? You see how I discriminate between my size and Phebe's?\"\n\n\"Then if I am not to be a real boarder, I can't come,\" said Linda\nfirmly.\n\n\"And I shall lose Phebe! Verlinda Talbot, you are right-down mean. All\nright, then, come any way you like, and the sooner, the better. We'll\nfix it somehow; just make yourself easy on that score. My! I never\nlooked for such luck; a young companion and a good cook at one and the\nsame time. I'll get your room ready right away. I don't suppose you\ncould stay now?\"\n\nLinda smiled. \"Not to-day. I haven't a very extensive wardrobe, but\nsuch as it is, I must get it together; but I shall come within the next\nten days. It is so very good of you to take me in, Miss Ri. Joking\naside, I am most grateful. It makes the giving up of my own home less\nof a dread.\"\n\n\"Bless your heart, you dear child; I will try to make you comfortable.\nI have always wanted someone to mother, but I never expected the Lord\nwould send me Verlinda Talbot. I am not going to ask any questions now,\nbut some day we'll get at the root of the matter. Meantime let it rest.\nHow is Grace bearing up?\"\n\nLinda hesitated. \"Of course, she misses Martin terribly, but I think\nshe is well; she has a good appetite.\"\n\nMiss Ri smiled. \"I don't doubt it. Has her sister come?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"A nice sort of somebody, is she?\"\n\n\"Yes, quite harmless, really good-hearted, I think, but rather dull.\nHowever, though she may bore one, she has no affectations. She is\ndevoted to Grace, and I think will be of great use to her.\"\n\nMiss Ri nodded understandingly. \"Take off your things, dear,\" she said\ngently. \"You are going to stay to dinner, you know, and then we will\nchoose a room for you.\" She missed the color from the girl's face and\nnoted the heavy shadows under the violet eyes, when Linda removed her\nhat. \"Poor darling,\" she said to herself, \"only time can help her.\nGrief sits heavily on her heart.\" She turned to a curious old cupboard\nin one corner of the room. \"You must have some of my home-made wine,\"\nshe said, \"and then we will pick out the room. Would you like one\nlooking out on the river or on the road?\"\n\n\"Oh, a river room, if I may,\" replied Linda eagerly.\n\n\"Very well; so be it. I'll show you both and you can take your choice;\nor no, better still, I will fix up the one I am sure you will prefer,\nfor it will look cosier than it does now, and you will have a better\nimpression of it.\" She poured out some amber-hued wine from an old\ndecanter. \"Here, drink this,\" she said, \"and I will join you in a\nhealth. Here's to many happy days under my roof, Verlinda, and may you\nnever regret coming to your old friend, Maria Hill.\"\n\nJust then Phebe's black face appeared at the door. \"Miss Ri,\" she said,\n\"I cain't stan' pokin' 'roun' arfter that fool <DW65>. I is gwine to\nset de table, ef yuh'll show me whar de things is, please, ma'am.\"\n\nMiss Ri finished her glass with a \"Here's to Phebe!\" and Linda followed\nher to the dining-room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nLEAVING THE NEST\n\n\nIn this quiet little corner of Maryland's eastern shore, if life\nlacked the bustle and stir of more widely-known localities, it did not\nlack interest for its residents, while at the same time it provided a\ncertain easy content which is missed in places more densely populated,\nor of more stirring affairs.... To Linda Talbot the days had come and\ngone in careless fashion up to the time of her brother's death, for\neven his marriage did not rob her of friendships, and of concern in\nthe small neighborhood doings, especially in matters relating to the\nlittle church, which, because it stood upon Talbot ground, had always\nbeen considered the special care of those dwelling at Talbot's Angles.\nThe church was very old and it had required many bazars, many efforts\nat subscription, many appeals to keep it in repair, and now it showed\nits antiquity in moss-grown walls, mouldy woodwork, falling plaster and\nweather-stained casements.\n\nOn this last Sunday, when she should perform her weekly duty of\nplacing flowers upon the altar, Linda clipped her choicest white\nchrysanthemums from the bushes and early in the day took them to\nthe church, making her way through dankly green paths overgrown with\nwoodbine, that she might reach the enclosure where dead and gone\nTalbots of many generations were buried. Upon a newly-sodded grave she\nlaid her fairest blossoms, and stood for a moment with heaving breast\nand quivering lips, then she went on to the church, pushing open the\ncreaking door which led into the still, dimly-lighted, musty-smelling\nplace.\n\n\"There must be more air and sun,\" she said, setting wide the door and\nforcing open a window that the sunlight might pour in. Then she busied\nherself with placing the flowers in their vases. This done, she sat\ndown in the old family pew, her thoughts travelling back to the days\nwhen it had been scarce large enough for them all, father, mother,\ngrandmother, two brothers, three sisters, and now all resting in the\nquiet churchyard, herself the youngest of them all, the only one left.\nShe ran her hand lovingly along the corner of the pew where her mother\nhad been wont to sit; she touched with her lips the spot where Martin's\nforehead had so often rested as he knelt by her side. Next she knelt,\nherself, for a few minutes; then, without looking back, she left the\nchurch, to return later to the one service of the day, letting Grace\nand Lauretta follow.\n\nEven sorrow possessed certain elements of satisfaction to Grace when\nshe was made a conspicuous object of sympathy. She could not have\nmourned in silence, if she had tried, and the gratification of hearing\nsomeone say as she passed: \"Poor, dear Mrs. Talbot, how pathetic she\nlooks,\" was true balm to her grief. She always went regularly to\nchurch, swept in late in all her swathing of crape, to take her place\nin the Talbot pew, and as certain suggestive looks were cast her, she\nreturned them with a plaintive droop of the eye, and a mournful turn of\nthe head, as if she would say: \"Yes, here I am in all my woe. Pity me\nwho will, and I shall be grateful.\" Linda, on the contrary, stole into\na back seat just before the service began and stole out again as soon\nas it was over. She could not yet face sympathy and commiseration.\n\nEspecially on this last Sunday did she feel uncertain of herself and\nwished heartily that the day were over, for Grace could not and would\nnot be set aside for any matter of packing, and reproached the girl\nfor her coldness and indifference toward her \"own brother's wife,\"\nfrom whom she was about to be parted, so that Linda must fain sit and\nlisten to commonplaces till Grace settled herself for a nap, and then\nshe escaped to her room. There had promised to be a stormy time over\nPhebe's leave-taking, but as both Linda and Lauretta brought arguments\nto bear upon the matter, Grace was at last made to admit that, after\ngiving a week's notice, Phebe could not be expected to lose the\nopportunity of taking a good place when Grace herself should so soon\ncease to need her. At first there was an effort at temporizing, and\nthen Grace tried to exact a promise that Phebe would return in the\nsummer, but the old woman would give her no satisfaction, and she was\nobliged to make the best of it.\n\nThere was a great bustle and stir the next morning, more because of\nPhebe's departure than because of Linda's, for Phebe was here, there,\neverywhere giving orders and scolding away \"Jes' lak a ole bluejay,\"\ndeclared Jake. She was so importantly funny that Popsy, who was to\nfill her place, and Jake, who had long known her ways, grinned and\nsnickered so continually, that after all, Linda's departure was not the\nheart-breaking thing she had fancied it would be, and even the drive to\ntown was deprived of melancholy on account of the lively chatter which\nJake and Phebe kept up and which was too droll not to bring a smile\nfrom one listening.\n\n\"Of course, you will come back for the summer holidays,\" Grace had said\nat parting, with the air of one who knows her duty and intends to do\nit. \"Of course, you remember that it was dear Martin's wish that you\nwould make the place your home whenever I might be here.\"\n\n[Illustration: SCOLDING AWAY \"JES LAK AN OLE BLUE JAY.\" DECLARED\nJAKE.]\n\nBut Linda had made no reply except a faint \"I don't know what I shall\ndo next summer.\" That season was too far off to be making plans for it\nnow when the winter must be gone through, a winter whose unknown ways\nshe would be compelled to learn.\n\nBut Miss Ri's welcome was so warm that there was little room left for\nthe sadness of parting after the cheery greeting. \"Welcome home, dear\nchild. Come right upstairs. Your room is all ready. That's it, Phebe.\nFetch along the bags. I've fixed you up a place over the kitchen. It\nis a new experience for me to have a cook who doesn't want to go home\nnights. Right through the kitchen and up the back stairs. You'll find\nyour way. Come, Verlinda, let me have your umbrella or something. I can\ntake that bag.\"\n\n\"Indeed, no. I'm not going to have you waiting on me, Miss Ri.\"\n\n\"Just this once. I'm so proud of having a young lass to look after\nthat you'll have to let me have my way for this first day. There, how\ndo you like it?\" She threw open the door of the spotless room, whose\nwindows, though small, were many, and revealed a view of the sparkling\nblue river, the harbor near by and, on the opposite shores, stretches\nof green farmlands. The room itself was long and low. It held an\nold-fashioned four-poster bed with snowy valance, a handsomely-carved\nmahogany bureau, a spindle-legged table with leaf set up against the\nwall, a desk which was opened to show many pigeon-holes and small\ndrawers. A low, soft couch, chairs of an antique pattern, and a wood\nstove completed the furniture. White curtains were at the windows, and\non the high mantel were one or two quaint ornaments.\n\n\"Now, my dear,\" said Miss Ri, \"this is your sanctum. You can switch the\nfurniture around any way that you prefer, tack up pictures, put your\nown belongings where you choose, and if there is anything you don't\nlike, it shall be removed.\"\n\n\"It is a darling room,\" returned Linda gratefully. \"I can't imagine how\none could want to change a single thing.\"\n\n\"Then we'll have your trunk up; there will be room for one at least\nin this closet,\" Miss Ri told her, flinging open a door to disclose\nfurther accommodations. \"Here's your washstand, you see, and there will\nbe room for some of your frocks on these hooks; the rest can go in the\nclothes-press on the other side of the room and you can have another\nbureau, if you like. The trunks could go up in the attic, if that would\nsuit better; but we will let that work out as it will later. Now, make\nyourself comfortable, and I'll go look after Phebe. Come down when you\nare ready.\"\n\nLeft to herself, Linda sank down in a chair by the window, for a moment\novercome by the thought that she had cut loose from all the ties which\nbound her to the dear old home. But in a moment her courage returned.\n\"What nonsense,\" she murmured. \"Was ever a girl so lucky? Here I am\nwith my living assured and with dear Miss Ri to coddle me; with this\ndarling room; and, last of all, with my own old Mammy at hand. I am a\nperfect ingrate to want more.\" She turned her eyes from a survey of the\nroom to a survey of the outside. Along the river's brink stood some\nlittle houses, where the oystermen lived; nearer, was a long building,\nwhere the oyster-packing went on. Every now and then, through the\nopen window, came a sound of cheerful singing from the shuckers at\nwork. Tall-masted sail-boats dipped and curtseyed upon the sapphire\nwaters. Across the river a line of shore was misty-green in the autumn\nlight; closer at hand a grassy <DW72>, over which tall trees cast their\nshadows, stretched down to the river. One or two little row-boats\ntethered to a stake, near a small boat-house, rocked gently as the\ntiny wavelets leaped up on the sandy brink. Vines clambered to the\nvery windows of her room, amongst their leaves birds were twittering.\nThe trees about the place were many, and from one of them a scarlet\ntanager was shrilling out his inviting call. \"It is next best to being\nat home,\" Linda told herself, \"and to get next best is a rare thing.\nI will unpack at my leisure, for perhaps I'd better see how Mammy is\nfaring.\"\n\nShe found Miss Ri in the sitting-room and Phebe already busy in the\nkitchen. Miss Ri was looking over some photograph prints. She handed\none to Linda. \"Tell me what you think of it,\" she said.\n\n\"Fine!\" exclaimed Linda. \"I didn't know you were an expert\nphotographer, Miss Ri.\"\n\n\"I'm not. Don't give me credit for them. Sit down and I'll tell you\nhow I happen to have them. One day, not long ago, I was potting some\nof my plants for the winter, when a young man came in the gate. I had\nnever seen him before and thought he must be a book-agent or some sort\nof trader in dustless dusters or patent flat-irons, though he was much\ntoo nice-looking for that kind of business. Well, he walked up to me\nand said, 'Don't you want me to take some photographs of your house and\ngrounds? This is certainly the most picturesque place I have seen about\nhere.'\"\n\n\"Of course, that pleased you, and so--\"\n\n\"Yes, that is it exactly, and so he took a lot of views, interiors and\nexteriors, and I think they are pretty good. He didn't overcharge, and\nif he had done it, I should be disposed to forgive him. He stayed all\nthe morning--\"\n\n\"And I'll venture to say you asked him to dinner.\"\n\nMiss Ri laughed. \"Well, yes, I did; for who wouldn't have almost anyone\nrather than eat alone? He did stay and told me his story, which was a\nmost interesting one.\"\n\n\"I hope he didn't go off with his pockets full of your old silver.\"\n\n\"My dear, he is a gentleman.\"\n\n\"Oh, is he? And goes around taking photographs? This is interesting,\nMiss Ri. Tell me some more.\"\n\n\"Well, it seems that he has come down here to look up some property\nthat belonged to his great-grandfather and which he should have\ninherited by all rights; but, unfortunately, his trunk, with all the\npapers he needs, has gone astray, and, what is more, he was robbed of\nhis pocketbook; so now, while he is waiting to find the trunk and until\nhis next quarter's money comes in, he finds himself, as they express\nit, 'momentarily embarrassed'; but, having his camera with him and\nbeing a good amateur photographer, he is turning his gifts to account,\nthat he may at least pay his board.\"\n\n\"It seems to me it would have been more to the purpose, if he had been\nrobbed of the camera instead of the pocket-book. He strikes me as a\nvery careless young man to lose both his trunk and his purse.\"\n\n\"He didn't lose the pocket-book; it was stolen; he is sure of that; and\nas for the trunk, it was sent by a local expressman to the steamboat,\nand so far has not been traced.\"\n\n\"A very clever story,\" Linda went on. \"I am only surprised that you\ndidn't offer to take him in here until the missing articles are found.\"\n\n\"I did think of it,\" returned Miss Ri with a twinkle in her eye, \"and\nif you hadn't been coming, I might have done it; but I was afraid he\nmight prove too susceptible or that--\"\n\n\"I might,\" returned Linda, laughing. \"You certainly are considerate,\nMiss Ri. Where is our paragon, now?\"\n\n\"Oh, I sent him to Parthy Turner's, and they are both having a mighty\nnice time of it. She has turned him over to Berk Matthews, and he is\ndoing what he can for him.\"\n\n\"And do you believe there really was a great-grandfather?\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, yes; I am convinced of it. The young man has shown us his\ncredentials, and I have no doubt but that in time he can find enough\nproof to substantiate what he has told us about his claim. If only the\ntrunk could be found, he says he thinks it would be a very simple thing\nto establish his rights.\"\n\n\"And am I not to see this mysterious stranger? I suppose he comes here\nsometimes to report.\"\n\n\"If you are very good, I may let you see him through the crack of the\ndoor; but he is not for you. I have picked out someone else.\"\n\n\"Oh, you have? So you are a confessed matchmaker, Miss Ri? May I know\nthe name of my knight?\"\n\n\"No, you may not; that would be enough to make you turn your back on\nhim at once. It is entirely my secret.\"\n\n\"And the picked out person doesn't know he is picked out?\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it; he hasn't the faintest suspicion. How good that\ndinner does smell. Phebe is the only thing I wanted that I didn't have,\nand now I have her.\"\n\n\"Do you really mean, Miss Ri, that you get everything you want in this\nworld?\"\n\n\"Why, yes; at least of late years it has been so. I found out the\nsecret from Thoreau some ten or more years ago.\"\n\n\"A precious secret, I should say.\"\n\n\"A very simple one. It is easy enough to get what one wants, when one\nmakes it a rule to want only what he can get. If you think you haven't\nenough for your wants, all you have to do is to reduce your wants.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid my philosophy isn't sufficient for such a state of things,\"\nsaid Linda with a sigh.\n\n\"Why isn't it? Now, let's face the question. What do you want that you\ncan't get?\"\n\nLinda was silent before she said tremulously, \"My brother.\"\n\n\"Ah, my dear, that is all wrong. Don't you believe that you have your\nbrother still? If he were in Europe, in China, in India, wouldn't you\nstill have him? Even if he were in some unreachable place like the\nSouth Pole, he would still be your brother, and now because he has gone\na little further away, is he not yours just the same?\"\n\n\"Oh, Miss Ri, sometimes I am afraid I doubt it.\"\n\n\"But I know it, for there was One who said, 'If it were _not_ so, I\nwould have told you.' Even the greatest scoffer among us must admit\nthat our Lord was one who did speak the truth; that is what comforts.\"\n\nLinda laid her cheek against the other woman's hand. \"That does\ncomfort,\" she said. \"I never saw it that way before. Is it that, Miss\nRi, that keeps you almost always so bright and happy? You who have lost\nall your nearest and dearest, too? You so seldom get worried or blue.\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose it is that and another reason,\" returned Miss Ri,\nunwilling to continue so serious a talk.\n\n\"And what is the other?\"\n\n\"I try to make it a rule never to get mad with fools,\" replied Miss Ri\nwith a laugh. \"Of course, I don't always succeed, but the trying helps\na lot.\"\n\nJust here Phebe's head appeared at the door. \"Miss Ri, I cain't find no\ntater-masher. What I gwine do?\"\n\n\"Oh, dear me; let me see. Oh, yes, I remember; Randy threw it at black\nWally the other day when he was pestering her. She didn't hit him and\nI reckon she never troubled herself to pick up the potato-masher;\nyou'll find it somewhere about the back yard. Randy certainly has a\ntemper, for all she is so slow in other ways. Come along, Verlinda; I\npromised to show you that old wine-cooler we were talking about the\nother day. I found it down cellar, when the men were clearing out the\ntrash; I've had it done over, and it isn't bad.\" She led the way to the\nliving-room, which, rich in old mahogany, displayed an added treasure\nin the quaint wine-cooler, in which the bottles could lie slanting,\naround the central receptacle for ice.\n\n\"It is a beautiful piece of wood,\" commented Linda, \"and it is\ncertainly curious enough. I do love this room, with all this beautiful\nold furniture. How do you manage to keep it so beautifully polished?\"\n\n\"Give it a rub up once in a while; and, you see, between whiles there\nis no one to abuse the things, so they keep bright. Let us see about\nthe potato-masher; Phebe's found it, I declare. I venture to say it\nwon't lie out of doors for a week, while she's here.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\"DEPARTED DAYS\"\n\n\nMiss Parthy Turner's back garden was separated from Miss Maria Hill's\nby a fence in which a gate was cut that the two might sociably jog\nback and forth without going around the block. One of Linda's windows\noverlooked these gardens, where apple-trees disputed right of way with\nlilac bushes and grape-vines, and where, just now, late roses were\ncast in the shade by the more brilliant chrysanthemums. Miss Parthy,\nit may be said, was of a more practical turn than her neighbor in that\nshe gave over to vegetables a larger part of her garden space, so\nthat there were still discernible rows of cabbages, slowly-ripening\npumpkins, high-poled beans, and a few late tomatoes.\n\nThe morning after her arrival, Linda noticed in the garden, beyond the\ndividing line, a young man walking about with an evident eye to the\nquality of the apples shining redly above his head. She regarded this\nperson with some curiosity, conjecturing that he was the mysterious\nstranger who had taken the photographs for Miss Ri. \"He doesn't look\nlike a fake,\" she told herself. \"I suppose his story may be true. By\nthe way, Miss Ri didn't tell me his name nor where he hails from.\"\nHowever, her thoughts did not long dwell upon the stranger, for this\nwas to be her initial morning at school, and she was looking forward to\nit with dismay and dread. She scarce tasted her breakfast and looked so\npale and anxious, that Miss Ri's heart ached for her. Mammy, too, was\nmost solicitous, but knew no better way to express her sympathy than by\nurging hot cakes upon the girl with such persistence that at last, to\nplease her, Linda managed to eat one.\n\nIn spite of fears, the morning went more smoothly than she had\nanticipated, for Miss Patterson remained to coach her and she became\nfamiliarized with the routine, at least. Her pupils were little boys,\nnone too docile, and naturally a new teacher was a target for tricks,\nif so she did not show her mettle. Under Miss Patterson's watchful eye\nthere was no chance for mutiny, and Linda went home with some of her\nqualms allayed. She had passed her examinations creditably enough and\nfelt that she could cope with the mere matters of teaching, but the\ndisciplining of a room full of mischievous urchins was quite another\nquestion, and the next morning her heart misgave her when she met the\nrows of upturned faces, some expressing mock meekness, some defiant\nbravado, some open mirth. Courageously as she met the situation, it\nwas a trying morning. If her back was turned for but an instant, there\nwere subdued snickers; if she made a statement, it was questioned;\nif she censured, there were black looks and whispers of disapproval.\nAt last one offender, sneaking on his hands and knees to the desk of\nanother boy, was captured and marched off to the principal, a last\nresort, as poor Linda's nerves could stand no more. She was near to\ncrying, her voice trembled and her heart beat fast. She scarcely knew\nhow she went through the rest of the morning, for, though her summary\nact had quelled open rebellion, she was not at ease and keenly felt\nthe undercurrent of criticism. She did not realize that the boys were\ntrying her spirit, and she went home discouraged and exhausted, a sense\nof defeat overcoming her.\n\nAs she was entering the gate, she met someone coming out, a young man,\nrather heavily built, with a keen, clever face, rather than a handsome\none. \"Ah, Miss Linda,\" he exclaimed, holding out his hand, \"I've just\nbeen hearing about you.\"\n\n\"From Miss Ri, of course. Well, what has she been telling you?\"\n\n\"It wouldn't do to say. How is the school going?\"\n\n\"The school in general seems to be going very well; as to my part of\nit, the least said, the better.\"\n\n\"Really? What's the trouble?\"\n\n\"I don't know exactly. I suppose that I am the trouble, perhaps; Miss\nPatterson seemed to get along well enough.\"\n\n\"Boys or girls do you have?\"\n\n\"Boys; little wretches from eight to ten, such sinners, not a saint\namong them.\"\n\n\"Would you have even one saint? I wouldn't, for he couldn't be a truly\nnormal, healthy boy. But I am keeping you standing and I know you are\nready for your dinner. I'll walk back to the house with you, and you\ncan tell me the particular kinds of sin that have annoyed you. I was a\nboy myself once, you know.\"\n\nHe walked by her side to the house. Miss Ri, seeing them coming, was at\nthe door to meet them. \"I thought I sent you home once, Berk Matthews,\"\nshe said.\n\n\"So you did, but I took this way of going. Don't imagine for a moment\nthat my return involves an invitation to dinner, Miss Ri.\"\n\n\"That is an excellent thing, for I don't intend to extend one.\"\n\n\"Could you believe that she would so fail in hospitality?\" said the\nyoung man, turning to Linda. \"I am mortified, Miss Ri, not because of\nthe dinner, but that you should go back on the reputation of an Eastern\nShore hostess. Isn't it a world-wide theory that we of the Eastern\nShore never turn a guest from the door when there is the faintest\npossibility of his accepting a bid to a meal? Alas, that you should be\nthe first to establish a precedent that will change the world's opinion\nof us.\"\n\nMiss Ri laughed. \"You would think I was a client for the other side and\nthat he was using his wiles to get me fined, at least. Come along in,\nif you must; I can guarantee you better fare than you will get at the\nJackson House, I am bound to say.\"\n\n\"That sounds alluring, but my feelings are hurt because I had to hint\nfor an invitation.\"\n\n\"Could anything so obvious be dignified by the name of a hint? Very\nwell, go along and cut off your nose to spite your face, if you like;\nyou will be the loser.\"\n\n\"Not very complimentary, is she?\" said Mr. Matthews, laughing. \"I\nbelieve I will come now, just to show you that I am not to be badgered.\"\n\n\"Then don't stand there keeping us from our dinner. It is all ready,\nand I don't want it spoiled.\" Thus adjured, the young man followed the\nothers into the dining-room, where Phebe was just setting forth the\nmeal.\n\n\"Well, and how did it go to-day, Verlinda?\" asked Miss Ri, when they\nhad seated themselves.\n\n\"Don't ask her anything till after dinner,\" put in Mr. Matthews.\n\"Things will assume an entirely different aspect when she has had\nsomething to eat. Just now the shooting of the young idea is not a\npleasant process to contemplate, in the eyes of Miss Linda. We'll talk\nabout something else. Where did you get these oysters, Miss Ri? I never\ntasted such a pie.\"\n\n\"Of course you didn't, for you never ate one made by such a cook. The\noysters came from the usual place, but I'm in high feather, Berk, for I\nhave the best cook in town. I have Linda's Phebe.\"\n\n\"You don't want another boarder?\"\n\n\"Not I. Linda is adopted; she is not to be classed with common\nboarders, and I certainly don't want to spoil my ideal household by\ntaking in a--\"\n\n\"Mere man,\" interrupted Berkley. \"Very well, I will find an excuse\nto come in every day about meal time. What are you going to have for\nsupper?\"\n\n\"Cold cornbread, dried apples and chipped beef,\" replied Miss Ri with\ngravity.\n\n\"That's mean. Well, I'll come around with the papers to-morrow.\"\n\n\"We're going to have the remains of the chipped beef and dried apples\nfor dinner.\"\n\n\"Then I'll come about supper time; they can't last over three meals.\"\n\n\"You don't know the surviving qualities of those articles of diet; they\nmay last a week with proper care.\"\n\n\"I'll come and find out. I can go in the back way and ask Phebe, or\nI might bribe her to throw the stuff over the fence to Miss Parthy's\nchickens.\"\n\n\"Don't you be up to any of your lawyer's tricks, Berk Matthews. I\nwarn you, not a meal in my house shall you eat, if I hear of any\nshenannyging on your part.\"\n\n\"I'll be good then, but I'd like a piece of that pie, a nice big piece.\"\n\nWhile all this nonsense was going on, Linda kept silence. She was\nreally hungry and the light foolish talk was a relief, as the others\nintended it should be. In consequence, she went back to school in\nbetter spirits and the afternoon passed more satisfactorily.\n\nTrue to his threat, Berkley Matthews did appear with some papers just\nbefore supper time, but refused to stay, telling Miss Ri with great\nglee that Miss Parthy had invited him to her house and that she was\ngoing to cook the supper herself, while he and her other guest, Wyatt\nJeffreys, were going to help.\n\n\"Wyatt Jeffreys, Wyatt Jeffreys,\" repeated Linda. \"That name sounds\nvery familiar. I wonder where I have heard it. Where is he from, Miss\nRi?\"\n\n\"From Connecticut, I believe. Any more light on the case, Berk?\"\n\n\"No. Nothing can be done till he shows up his papers, and they seem\nto be lost irrevocably. It's pretty hard on the poor chap, if there is\nreally anything in the claim. Good-by, Miss Linda. I must be going,\nMiss Ri; you can't wheedle me into staying this time.\"\n\n\"Wheedle you!\" cried Miss Ri in pretended indignation. \"I can scarcely\nget rid of such a persistent beggar. Go along and don't come back.\"\n\n\"I'll have to,\" cried he. \"You must sign those papers at once, this\nvery evening.\"\n\n\"I'll bring them to your office to-morrow morning,\" Miss Ri called\nafter him, but he only waved his hand with a parting \"Shan't be there,\"\nand Miss Ri turned to Linda, laughing. \"We always have it back and\nforth this way. He attends to my business, you know, and runs in often.\nNow that his mother and sister have left town, he boards at the hotel,\nand likes the home feeling of coming here to a meal. Nice boy, Berk is.\"\n\nLinda had known Berkley Matthews all her life. As a little stocky\nboy he had come to play with her in Miss Ri's garden on some of the\noccasions when she was brought from Talbot's Angles to spend the day.\nLater he had gone to boarding-school, then to college, and she had seen\nlittle of him during late years.\n\n\"He'll be back,\" said Miss Ri nodding, \"just to get the better of me.\nBut to tell you the truth, Verlinda, he certainly is a comfort, for he\nlooks out for my interest every time. I wouldn't have a house nor a\nfield left by this time, if it had depended upon my kin folks. Don't be\nan old maid, Verlinda. When their very nearest and dearest are gone,\nold maids seem to be regarded, by the world in general, as things so\ndetached as to have no rights whatever; their possessions appear to be\nregarded as so many threads hanging from them; whoever comes along in\nneed of a needleful, makes a grab, possesses himself of such a length\nand makes off with it, never stopping to see that it leaves a gaping\nrent behind.\"\n\nLinda laughed. Miss Ri's grievances were not many, but were generally\nthose caused by her stepbrother's family, who lived not far away and\nmade raids upon her whenever they came to town.\n\n\"Oh, well, you may laugh,\" Miss Ri went on, \"but it is quite true. Why,\nonly the last time Becky was here she carried off a little mirror that\nhad belonged to my great-grandmother.\"\n\n\"Why did you let her have it? Your great-grandmother was no relation of\nhers.\"\n\n\"I know that; but she talked so much, I had to let her take it to get\nrid of the incessant buzzing. You know what a talker Becky is.\"\n\n\"But you like Mrs. Becky; I've often heard you say so.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I like her well enough. She is entertaining when she is\ntalking about other people's affairs and not mine,\" remarked Miss Ri\nwith a droll smile. \"That is the way it generally is, I suppose. Well,\nanyhow, Berk Matthews keeps my business together, and I'm sure I am\nsatisfied to have him run in when he chooses, if only to keep me in a\ngood humor.\"\n\n\"I thought you were always so, and that you never got mad with fools.\"\n\n\"I don't; but Becky is no fool, my dear.\"\n\nThey turned into the big drawing-room, a room charming enough in\nitself, without the addition of the fine old Chippendale chairs and\ntables, the carved davenport, the big inlaid piano, and the portraits\nrepresenting beauties of a departed time. Linda knew them all. The\nbeautiful girl in white, holding a rose, was Miss Ri's grandmother, for\nwhom she was named and who was a famous belle in her day. The gentleman\nin red hunting-coat was a great-grandfather and his wife the lady with\npowdered hair and robed in blue satin. The man with the sword was\nanother great-grandfather, and so on. One must go up a step to reach\nthe embrasured windows which looked riverward, but at the others, which\nfaced the lawn, hung heavy damask curtains. Linda had always liked the\nsmaller windows, and when she was a little child had preferred to play\non the platform before them to going anywhere else. There was such a\nsense of security in being thus raised above the floor. She liked, too,\nthe little writing-room and the tiny boudoir which led from the larger\nroom, though these were closed, except in summer, as so large a house\nwas hard to heat comfortably.\n\nA freshly-burning fire in the fireplace sent glancing lights over\nthe tall candlesticks and sought out the brightest spots on the old\npicture-frames. It picked out the brass beading on the yellow-keyed\npiano, and flickered across Chinese curios on the spindle-legged\ntables. Miss Ri's grandfather had been an admiral in the navy and many\nwere the treasures which were tucked away here, out of sight there, or\nmore happily, brought forth to take the place of some more modern gift\nwhich had come to grief in the hands of careless servants.\n\n\"It is a dear old room,\" said Linda, sitting down at the piano and\ntouching softly the yellowed keys, which gave forth a tinkling response.\n\n\"I ought to have a new piano,\" said Miss Ri, \"and now you have come, it\nwill be an excuse to get one. I'll see what I can do next time I go to\ntown. I remember that you have a nice voice.\"\n\n\"Nothing to boast of.\"\n\n\"Not very powerful, perhaps, but sweet and true. I wish you'd sing for\nme, Verlinda, if you are not too tired.\"\n\n\"I will, if you will first play for me some of those things I used to\nlove when I was a child. You would play till I grew drowsy, and then\nyou would carry me off to bed.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear, I don't play nowadays, and on that old tinkling piano.\"\n\n\"But it is just because it is the old piano that I want the old tunes.\"\n\n\"Then pick out what you like, and I will try.\"\n\nLinda turned over a pile of music to find such obsolete titles as\n\"Twilight Dews,\" \"Departed Days,\" \"Showers of Pearl,\" and the like. She\nselected one and set it on the rack. \"Here is one I used to like the\nbest,\" she said. \"It suggested all sorts of things to my childish mind;\ndeep woods, fairy calls, growling giants; I don't know what all.\"\n\n\"'Departed Days.' Very fitly named, isn't it? for it is at least\nfifteen years ago, and it was an old thing then. Well, I will try; but\nyou mustn't criticise when I stumble.\" She sat down to the piano, a\nstout, fresh-, grey-haired woman with a large mouth, whose sweet\nexpression betokened the kindly nature better than did the humorous\ntwinkling eyes. She played with little style, but sympathetically,\nthough the thin tinkling notes might have jarred upon the ears of one\nwho had no tender associations with the commonplace melody. To Linda it\nwas a voice from out of her long-ago, and she listened with a wistful\nsmile till suddenly the door opened and the music ended with a false\nchord. Miss Ri shut the piano with a bang, and turned to greet the\nyoung man who entered.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE ALARM\n\n\n\"Have I interrupted a musicale?\" asked Berkley jauntily.\n\n\"You are just in time to hear Verlinda sing,\" responded Miss Ri with\nready tact and in order to cover her own confusion.\n\n\"Ah, that's good,\" cried he, though \"Oh, Miss Ri,\" came in protest from\nLinda.\n\n\"Didn't you promise to sing for me, if I played for you?\" queried Miss\nRi.\n\n\"Yes,--but--only for you.\"\n\n\"Now, Miss Linda,\" Berkley expostulated, \"haven't I known you as long\nas Miss Ri has?\"\n\n\"Not quite,\" Linda answered.\n\n\"But does the matter of a few months or even years, when you were yet\nin a state of infantile bewilderment, make any difference?\"\n\n\"It makes all the difference,\" Linda was positive.\n\n\"Oh, come, come,\" spoke up Miss Ri, \"that is all nonsense. You don't\nmake any bones of singing in the church choir, Verlinda.\"\n\n\"Oh, but then I have the support of other voices.\"\n\n\"Well, you can have the support of Berk's voice; I am sure it is big\nenough.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I don't sing anything but college songs,\" the young man\ndeclared.\n\n\"Such a very modest pair,\" laughed Miss Ri.\n\n\"Well, who was blushing like a sixteen-older when I came in? Tell\nme that,\" said Berkley triumphantly. And Miss Ri was perforce to\nacknowledge that she was as bad as the rest, but the controversy was\nfinally ended by Linda's consenting to sing one song if Berkley would\ndo the same. She chose a quaint old English ballad as being in keeping\nwith the clinking piano, and then Berkley sang a rollicking college\nsong to a monotonous accompaniment which, however, was nearly drowned\nby his big baritone.\n\nBy the time this was ended the ice was broken and they warmed up to\nthe occasion. They dragged forth some of Miss Ri's old music-books to\nfind such sentimental songs of a former day as pleased their fancy.\nOver some of these they made merry; over others they paused. \"My mother\nused to sing that,\" Berkley would say. \"So did my mother,\" Linda would\nanswer, and then would follow: \"She Wore a Wreath of Roses,\" \"Flow\nGently, Sweet Afton,\" \"Cast That Shadow from Thy Brow,\" or some other\nforgotten ballad.\n\n\"Oh, here is 'The Knight of the Raven Black Plume,'\" cried Linda, as\nshe turned the discolored pages of one of the old books. \"How I used\nto love that; it is so romantic. Listen,\" and she began, \"A lady looked\nforth from her lattice.\"\n\nSo they went from one thing to another till Berkley, looking at his\nwatch exclaimed, \"I'm keeping you all up, and Miss Ri, we haven't seen\nto those papers. That music is a treasure-trove, Miss Linda. We must\nget at the other books sometime, but we'll take some Friday night when\nyou can sleep late the next morning.\"\n\nLinda's face shadowed. \"Why remind me of such things? I had nearly\nforgotten that there were matters like school-rooms and abandoned\nlittle wretches of boys.\"\n\n\"Don't be so hard on the little chaps. I was one once, as I reminded\nyou, and I have some sympathy with them caged up in a school-room. Just\nget the point of contact and you will be all right.\"\n\n\"Ah, but there's the rub,\" returned Linda ruefully. \"I am not used to\nboys, and any sort of contact, pointed or otherwise, doesn't appeal to\nme.\"\n\n\"You must just bully them into good behavior,\" put in Miss Ri. \"Here,\nBerk, you be the little boy and I'll be the school-marm. Verlinda needs\nan object lesson.\" Then followed a scene so funny that Linda laughed\ntill she cried.\n\n\"Where are those papers?\" inquired Miss Ri suddenly putting an end to\nthe nonsense. \"Bring them into the sitting-room, Berk, and we will get\nthem done with. I'm going up to town to-morrow, and we may as well\nfinish up this business before I go.\"\n\n\"One of your mysterious errands, Miss Ri?\" said Berkley smiling.\n\n\"Never mind what it is; that is none of your concern. You don't suppose\nbecause you collect my rents, and look after my leases that you must\nknow every time I buy a paper of hairpins.\"\n\n\"You don't have to go up to the city for those, you see. It is my\nprivate opinion, Miss Linda, that she makes a semi-annual visit to\na fortune-teller or some one of that ilk. I notice she is more than\nordinarily keen when she gets back after one of these trips.\"\n\n\"Come along, come along,\" interrupted Miss Ri. \"You'll stand here\ntalking all night. I declare you are as bad as Becky Hill.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I'm coming, Miss Ri. Do you know Mrs. Hill, Miss Linda? and\ndid you ever hear what her sister, Mrs. Phil Reed says of her?\"\n\n\"I know Mrs. Hill, yes, indeed, but I never heard the speech. What was\nit?\"\n\n\"You know what a talker Mrs. Becky is. Mrs. Reed refers to it in this\nway. 'Becky, dear child, is so sympathetic, so interested in others\nthat she exhausts herself by giving out so much to her friends.'\"\n\n\"I should say it was the friends who were exhausted,\" returned Linda.\nBut here Miss Ri suddenly turned out the lights leaving them to grope\ntheir way to the sitting-room where the papers were signed and then\nBerkley was, as Miss Ri termed it, driven out.\n\nThe steamboat which left at six o'clock every evening bore Miss Ri away\non its next trip. It was an all night journey down the river and up the\nbay, and therefore, Miss Ri would not return till the morning of the\nsecond day when the boat arrived on its voyage from the city.\n\n\"If you are afraid to sleep in the house with no one but Phebe, get\nsome one to come and stay with you,\" charged Miss Ri. \"Bertie Bryan\nwill come, I am sure.\"\n\n\"I shall not be in the least afraid,\" declared Linda. \"Phebe and I have\noften stayed in the house alone at Talbot's Angles.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, I would rather you did have someone. I'll send Phebe\nover to the Bryans with a note.\" This she did in spite of Linda's\nprotest that it was not necessary, and after Linda had returned from\nseeing Miss Ri on her way, Bertie arrived. She was a nice wholesome\ngirl who had been a schoolmate of Linda's and had spent many a day with\nher at Talbot's Angles. She was not exactly a beauty, but a lovely\ncomplexion and sweet innocent eyes helped out the charm of frank good\nnature and unaffected geniality.\n\n\"It certainly is good to see you in town, Linda,\" she said as she\ngreeted her friend. \"Why didn't you send me word you were here? I would\nhave been over long ago.\"\n\n\"I wanted to gather my wits together first. I am experimenting, you\nsee, and I didn't know how my experiment might turn out. I was afraid I\nmight have to slink off again ignominiously after the first week.\"\n\n\"But, as this is the second week and you are not slinking, I surmise it\nis all right.\"\n\n\"Not exactly all right, but I manage to keep from having hysterics, and\nam getting my youngsters in hand better.\"\n\n\"I heard Miss Adams say this morning that you were getting on very well\nfor one who had never had any experience.\"\n\n\"That is the most encouraging thing I have heard yet. I have been\nwondering what my principal really did think, and to have that much\npraise is worth a great deal,\" said Linda gratefully. \"Now don't let us\ntalk shop. Tell me what is going on in town.\"\n\n\"Don't you hear every bit of town news from Miss Ri? What she can't\ntell you Miss Parthy can.\"\n\n\"I haven't seen much of Miss Parthy. The hobnobbing between those two\ngenerally goes on while I am at school. Have you met the mysterious\nstranger, Bertie?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, and he is quite an acquisition, or would be if he could\nfind his trunk. Have you met him?\"\n\nLinda smiled. \"No, Miss Ri is afraid I shall fall in love with him, I\nthink, and has stipulated that he is only to call at such hours as I am\nat school.\"\n\n\"What nonsense. Is she making a recluse of you?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. Berk Matthews is allowed, or rather he comes without being\nallowed, being a favorite and liable to take his own way. Tell me more\nof the man without a trunk.\"\n\n\"Sounds rather ghastly, doesn't it? Well, he is like almost any other\nnice young man, has good manners, speaks correctly, makes himself\nagreeable when the opportunity is afforded. It is rumored that his\naffairs are in better shape, and that money orders and checks and\nthings have come in, so he is no longer a mere travelling photographer.\"\n\n\"I wonder he stays here now that he has the means to get away.\"\n\n\"Oh, but he came prepared to stay. At least his object was to look up\nthis property. He has been up to the city once or twice and is still\nhoping to recover the trunk which he thinks must be in Baltimore\nstill. In the meantime he is very reticent about his case, won't talk\nof it to anyone, so nobody seems to know exactly what he does claim.\"\n\n\"The name is very familiar,\" remarked Linda thoughtfully. \"I can't\nthink where I have heard it.\"\n\n\"There is some sort of romantic tale about him, Miss Parthy says. She\nseems to know more than anyone.\"\n\n\"He can't be a duke or a prince in disguise,\" said Linda.\n\n\"He might be, for he was educated abroad, I have heard.\"\n\n\"Wyatt Jeffreys--Jeffreys--I can't get the name located. I suppose it\nwill come to me sometime.\"\n\nThe girls had a quiet chatty evening alone, and started upstairs\nbetimes. To Bertie was given a room opening out of Linda's, and with\nmany a good-night they at last settled down to sleep.\n\nFrom her first nap Linda, after a while, was awakened by the low murmur\nof voices beneath her window. She listened with beating heart. No,\nthere was no mistake. Should she arouse Bertie? She listened for a few\nmoments and then heard a sound as of someone trying a shutter. Next\na door-knob rattled slightly. Though frightened enough Linda was no\ncoward, and as she sat up in bed listening, her brain worked rapidly.\nIt would be better to arouse Bertie than to go prowling around alone,\nand have her friend doubly alarmed. Together they would go down stairs\nand perhaps could scare off the would-be burglars. Slipping on some\nclothing she cautiously went to Bertie's door, candle in hand. Flashing\nthe light before her friend's closed eyes she succeeded in awaking\nwithout alarming her.\n\n\"What's the matter, Linda?\" asked Bertie sitting up and rubbing her\neyes. \"Are you ill? It isn't morning, is it?\"\n\n\"No, I'm not ill. Don't be scared, Bertie, but get up and put on some\nclothes quickly. I am sure I heard someone trying to get into the\nhouse.\"\n\n\"But what can we do?\" asked Bertie in a shaking voice. \"We mustn't go\ndown, Linda; we mustn't. Let's lock the doors and let them take what\nthey want.\"\n\n\"I don't believe they have really broken in yet, and I am going to try\nto scare them away. I wish I had a pistol; I left mine in the country,\nnot supposing I should need it here.\"\n\n\"I'm sure we left everything safely locked and barred; you know we\ntried every door and window.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know. It wouldn't be any sneak thief, of course. I have a plan.\nCome into my room and let's peep out the window.\" They extinguished\nthe candle and crept to Linda's window, already raised. There was no\none in sight.\n\n\"Now we'll go to Miss Ri's room,\" whispered Linda. Tiptoeing across\nthe hall they went into this room at the front of the house and gently\nraised a window here.\n\n\"I believe I hear someone on the porch,\" whispered Linda, drawing in\nher head. \"Someone is at the front door. Come on down. They are not\ninside yet; that is a comfort.\"\n\n\"Oh, but do you think we ought to go?\" asked Bertie in trepidation.\n\"Suppose they should get in and shoot us.\"\n\n\"No, they are still outside, I am sure.\"\n\nThe rooms below were dark and silent, windows and shutters tightly\nclosed. The girls listened at the front door. Yes, surely there was a\nvery low murmur of voices. Linda crept into the dining-room, Bertie\nholding tightly to her sleeve.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" asked Bertie fearfully.\n\n\"I'll show you. Don't be scared, and don't hold on to me.\"\n\n\"But what are you going to do?\"\n\n\"I'm going to blow up some paper bags. You take this one and blow into\nit while I open the window. As soon as it is up burst your bag, and\nI'll get mine ready. Say when you are ready.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"DON'T SHOOT!\"]\n\n\"Ready!\" whispered Bertie and up went the window, back shot the\nbolt and upon the silence of the night sounded a loud report quickly\nfollowed by a second.\n\n\"Hallo!\" cried a surprised voice. \"Here, Miss Linda, don't shoot.\"\n\nThe girls who had drawn back from the window clutched one another, but\nfelt an immense relief.\n\nThere were footsteps on the porch and presently two figures appeared\nbefore the open window. \"Hallo, in there,\" called someone. \"It's only\nI, Berk Matthews, Miss Linda.\"\n\nThe two girls approached the window. \"What in the world are you doing\nprowling around here at this time of night, trying our bolts and bars?\"\nasked Linda, indignantly. \"You scared us nearly to death.\"\n\n\"And don't you reckon you gave us a good scare. It is lucky you don't\nsee one of us weltering in gore, Linda Talbot. Just like a girl to be\nreckless with fire-arms.\"\n\nBertie stifled a giggle and pinched Linda's arm.\n\n\"It would serve you right to welter,\" Linda replied severely. \"What\nright had you to try to frighten us, I demand?\"\n\n\"We didn't intend to, but I promised Miss Ri faithfully that I would\nmake a point of coming around here after you had gone to bed to see if\nby any chance some door or window had been left insecure.\"\n\n\"Well, you might have told us what you were going to do,\" returned\nLinda somewhat mollified.\n\n\"I couldn't,\" returned Berkley meekly, \"for I haven't seen you since,\nand--Do you happen to know Mr. Jeffreys? Here, Jeffreys, I want to\npresent you to Miss Talbot and--who is with you, Linda?\"\n\n\"Bertie Bryan.\"\n\n\"And Miss Bryan. It is rather dark to tell which from t'other, but I\nwould like especially to warn you against Miss Talbot. She carries a\npistol and in her hot rage against us may still yearn for prey.\"\n\n\"It was Bertie who fired the first shot,\" declared Linda with a gravity\nwhich brought a giggle from Bertie. \"Don't tell what it was,\" whispered\nLinda to her.\n\n\"Oh,\" said Mr. Jeffreys, \"I have met Miss Bryan, so it will not be\ndifficult to identify her when she is brought up with intent to kill.\"\n\n\"Well, whatever happens to-morrow, we mustn't keep these ladies from\ntheir slumbers now,\" said Berkley. \"I'm awfully sorry, girls, really I\nam, that we frightened you. We tried not to make any noise. Let's be\nfriends. We will forgive you for the shooting if you will forgive us\nfor the scare.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Linda, \"the laugh is entirely on our side, for--it wasn't\na pistol. Please shut in the shutters, Berk, and I'll fasten them\ninside.\"\n\n\"It wasn't a pistol? Then what in the world was it?\" Berkley paused in\nthe act of closing the shutters.\n\n\"Paper bags!\" returned Linda pulling the shutters together with a bang\nand closing the window, while upon the quiet of the night rang out a\nhearty peal of laughter from the two outside.\n\n\"It's lucky I didn't use a bottle of ammonia to throw in their faces,\"\nremarked Linda as the girls climbed the stairs. \"That was my first\nthought, but the bags were handy in my washstand drawer.\"\n\n\"It was an awfully good joke,\" replied Bertie, \"and I wouldn't have\nmissed it, scared as I was at first. I was dreadfully afraid of\nburglars getting in and chloroforming us.\"\n\n\"Did you ever hear of the girl who slept with her head at the foot of\nher bed and who was roused by feeling something cold on her toes? A\nburglar was chloroforming them, and she let him do it, then when he was\nout of the room she jumped up, locked her door and gave the alarm.\"\n\nBertie laughed. \"There is no fear of burglars now, I think, when we\nhave two self-appointed watchmen.\"\n\n\"It does give us a safer feeling,\" acknowledged Linda.\n\n\"So we can rest in peace,\" returned Bertie going to her room.\n\nThere was no disturbing of slumbers the next night, for the young men\nmade noise enough to arouse the girls, who, in fact, had not gone to\nbed when stentorian voices called to them, \"Here we are. Get out your\nammunition. We're ready to stand fire.\"\n\nThe girls looked down from above. \"Anyone who is scared at a bag of\nwind would be sure to run from a flash in the pan,\" called Bertie. \"We\nwon't test your courage to-night, Berk.\"\n\n\"Did you find everything all right?\" asked Linda.\n\n\"All's well,\" answered Berkley.\n\n\"Thank you, watchmen,\" returned Linda, and then the window was closed\nand the young men tramped off softly singing: \"Good-night, ladies.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nAN INQUISITIVE NEIGHBOR\n\n\nMiss Ri returned in due time. The girls were at breakfast when she came\nin bearing a small package which she laid on the table, a merry twinkle\nin her eye. \"Well, girls,\" she exclaimed, \"so nobody has carried you\noff, I see.\"\n\nThe girls laughed. \"No one has, although--\" began Linda.\n\n\"Don't tell me anything has happened,\" exclaimed Miss Ri. \"Now isn't\nthat just the way? I might stay at home a thousand years and nothing\nwould happen. Tell me about it. I'm glad it's Saturday, Verlinda, so\nyou don't have to hurry. Just touch the bell for Phebe to bring in some\nhot coffee. I don't take meals on the boat when I know what I can get\nat home. Those rolls look delicious.\"\n\n\"Did you have a good trip, Miss Ri?\" asked Bertie.\n\n\"Never had such a stupid one. I didn't get a good state-room going up,\nand what with the men talking in the cabin outside my door all night,\nand the calves bleating in their stalls below, I did not get a wink of\nsleep, and there never was such a stupid sale.\"\n\n\"Sale? Oh, you went to a sale? Of what?\" Bertie was interested.\n\n\"Oh, just things--all kinds of things,\" returned Miss Ri vaguely. Then,\nturning her attention to her breakfast she said, \"Go on now, and tell\nme all that has been going on.\"\n\nThe girls delivered themselves of the news of their adventure with\nsupposed burglars to the great entertainment of Miss Ri, and then a\nmessage coming to Bertie from her mother, she departed while Miss Ri\nfinished her breakfast.\n\n\"I've almost as good a tale to tell myself,\" remarked that lady as she\nfolded her napkin. \"I think I shall have to tell you, Linda, but you\nmust promise not to repeat it. I couldn't have told it to Bertie for\nshe would never rest till she had passed it on. However, I can trust\nyou, and you mustn't hint of it to Bertie of all people.\"\n\nLinda gave the required promise, Miss Ri picked up her wraps and the\nsmall bundle, and proposed they should go into the sitting-room where\nthe sun was shining brightly. They settled themselves comfortably and\nMiss Ri proceeded to unfold her secret. \"Berk was entirely too keen\nwhen he said I had a special purpose in going to town periodically,\"\nshe began. \"I have a harmless little fad, Verlinda; it is nothing more\nnor less than the buying of \"old horse\" if you know what that is.\"\n\n\"I'm sure I don't,\" Linda confessed.\n\n\"It's the stuff that collects at the express office; it may have been\nsent to a wrong address, or in some way has failed of being delivered.\nWhen it has accumulated for so many months they sell it at auction to\nthe highest bidder. I have had some rare fun over it for it is much\non the principle of a grab-bag at a fair. Of course I never venture a\nlarge sum and I generally go early enough to look around and make up my\nmind just what I will bid on. Once I had a whole barrel of glass ware\nknocked down to me; another time I was fortunate enough to get a whole\ncase of canned goods of all sorts. This time--\" she shook her head as\ndenying her good luck. \"I saw this neat little package which looked as\nif it might contain something very nice; it had such a compact orderly\nappearance, so I bid on it, only up to fifty cents, Verlinda, and\nwhen I came out of the place to take the car I couldn't forbear from\ntearing the paper in order to peep in. I saw a nice wooden box, and I\nsaid to myself, 'Here is something worth while.' I had some errands\nto do before boat time so didn't examine further until I was in my\nstate-room, then I opened the box and what do you think I found?\"\n\n\"I can't imagine.\" Linda's curiosity was aroused. She looked\ninterestedly at the small parcel.\n\n\"I found a bottle,\" Miss Ri chuckled, \"a bottle of what is evidently\nnice, home-made cough syrup, sent by some well-meaning mother to her\nson who had left the address to which it was sent. As I haven't an\nidea of the ingredients I don't dare pass it along to anyone else. I\nwas tempted to chuck it in the river, but I thought I would bring it\nhome to you.\" She made great form of presenting it to Linda who took it\nlaughing.\n\n\"I'll give it to Phebe,\" declared the girl. \"She'd love to take it when\nshe has a 'mis'ry in her chist.'\"\n\n\"Don't you do it,\" cried Miss Ri in alarm. \"It might make her really\nill, and then who would cook for us? Give it right back to me.\" She\npossessed herself of the bottle, trotted back to the dining-room\nwhere she emptied the contents into the slop-bowl, returning to the\nsitting-room with the empty bottle in her hand. \"You can have the\nbottle,\" she said, \"and the nice wooden box. I don't want to keep any\nreminder of my folly.\"\n\n\"And you have sworn off?\"\n\nMiss Ri laughed. \"Not exactly. At least I've sworn off before, but I\nam always seized with the craze as soon as I see the advertisement\nin the paper. Once I was cheated out of a dollar by getting a box of\ndecayed fruit, and another time I got a parcel of old clothes that I\ngave to Randy after making her boil them to get rid of any lingering\nmicrobes. This is the third time I have been bamboozled, but very\nlikely next time I will draw a prize. Goodness, Verlinda, if here\ndoesn't come Grace and her sister. Do you suppose they are off for the\ncity to-night?\"\n\n\"I think it is very probable,\" returned Linda as she followed Miss Ri\nto the door.\n\nEven though she did not admire Grace Talbot, Miss Ri could not be\nanything but graciously hospitable, and was ready to greet the visitors\nheartily as they came up on the porch. \"Well, Mrs. Talbot,\" she\nexclaimed, \"come right in. This is your sister, isn't it? How are you,\nMiss Johnson. It is lucky you chose Saturday when Linda is at home.\nYou'll stay to dinner, of course. Here, let me take those bags. Are you\non your way to the city?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" returned Grace, \"we're leaving for the winter. Howdy, Linda.\"\nShe viewed her sister-in-law critically, finding her paler and thinner,\nbut keeping the discovery to herself. Lauretta, however, spoke her\nthought. \"I don't believe town agrees with you as well as country,\nLinda. You look a little peaked.\"\n\n\"That comes from being shut up in a school-room,\" Miss Ri hastened to\nsay; \"it is trying work.\"\n\n\"She will get used to it in time,\" Grace replied. \"Why, there is\nMiss Sally Price about as sturdy and rosy as anyone I know, and she's\nbeen teaching twenty-five years. What lovely old tables you have,\nMiss Ri. They remind me of grandmother's, don't they you, Lauretta?\nDear grandmother, she was such a very particular old dame and would\nhave her mahogany and silver always shining. I remember how she would\nsay to her butler, 'James, that service is not as bright as it should\nbe.'\" Grace's imitation of her various forbears always conveyed the\nidea that they were most haughty and severe personages who never spoke\nexcept with military peremptoriness. She was constantly referring to\ngrandmother Johnson, or great-uncle Blair or someone utterly irrelevant\nto the topic of the moment, and as entirely uninteresting to her\naudience.\n\n\"Did you leave everything all right at the farm?\" asked Linda,\nhastening to change the subject. She knew that great-uncle Blair would\nbe paraded next, if the slightest opportunity was allowed.\n\n\"Everything is as it should be,\" returned Grace high-and-mightily.\n\"You didn't suppose for an instant, Linda, that I would leave anything\nat loose ends. Of course, it has been most arduous work for Lauretta\nand I, but we have the satisfaction of knowing that we have not\nneglected anything. I am completely fagged out, and feel that a rest is\nessential.\"\n\nMiss Ri's eye travelled from Grace's plump proportions to Linda's\nslight figure. \"Well,\" she said bluntly, \"work evidently agrees with\nyou, for I never saw you looking better.\"\n\nGrace bit her lip and searched her mind for a fitting retort but could\nonly say piously, \"One must bear up for the sake of others. The world\ncannot see behind the scenes, my dear Miss Hill, and that a smile may\nhide a breaking heart.\"\n\n\"Come up and see my room,\" proposed Linda, anxious to prevent what\npromised to be a passage at arms between Miss Ri and Grace. \"Come,\nLauretta, I want you to see the view from my windows.\" And so she\nmanaged to get them away before there were any hurt feelings.\n\nAfter this matters passed off well enough, although great-uncle Blair\nwas dragged in more than once at the dinner table, and grandmother\nJohnson's haughty attitude toward underlings was again reproduced for\nthe benefit of all. Miss Ri chafed under the affectations, but was too\npolite to show it, though when the door at last closed upon her guests\nshe turned to Linda.\n\n\"I'm glad enough they are not your blood kin, Verlinda Talbot. I hope\nHeaven will give me patience always to behave with politeness when\nGrace Talbot is around. A daily dose of her would be too much for my\nChristian forbearance. I wonder you stood her so long, and what Martin\nwas thinking of to be blinded by a superficial, shallow, underbred\ncreature like that is beyond me.\"\n\n\"Grace has her good points,\" said Linda with an effort to be loyal. \"I\nthink she was genuinely fond of Martin.\"\n\n\"You mean she was fond of his fondness for her. There is a lot of\ndifference, my dear. The idea of her trying to parade her ancestors\nbefore me. Why, old John Blair was the plainest of the plain, a decent,\nhumble sort of man who accumulated a tidy little sum which his sister\nEliza Johnson inherited; the Johnsons hadn't a picayune; I know all\nabout them. I have heard my grandfather speak of John Blair and his\nsister a dozen times. They lived down in East Baltimore and he had a\nlittle carpenter shop. Grandfather used to tell a funny story of how\nBlair brought him in a bill in which he had spelled tacks, t-a-x. 'That\nisn't the way to spell tacks, John,' said grandfather. John scratched\nhis head and looked at the bill. 'Well, Mr. Hill,' he said; 'if t-a-x\ndon't spell tacks, what do it spell?' He was a good honest man enough,\nand afterward became a builder, but he never put on any airs, as why\nshould he? You may talk a great deal about your grandfather, and make\nmuch display of your family silver, my dear, but if you don't speak\ncorrect English the ancestors don't count for much. Evidently Grace\nthinks solid silver is vastly more important than correct speech.\"\n\n\"You certainly are put out of humor this time, Miss Ri.\"\n\n\"Oh, such people exasperate me beyond words. 'Major Forbes sent tickets\nto Lauretta and I.' To I, forsooth. 'Mrs. General So-and-So invited\nGrace and I to tea.' Invited I, did she?\"\n\n\"It seems there is a necessity for a schoolmarm in the family,\"\nremarked Linda.\n\n\"Yes, but the unfortunate part of it is that they haven't a ghost of an\nidea that they do need one. Well, let them go up to the city, to their\nMajor Forbes and their Mrs. Generals, I say, and I hope to goodness\nGrace will marry her major and good luck to him.\"\n\n\"Oh, Miss Ri.\"\n\n\"I can't help it. Let me rave for awhile. I shall feel better\nafterward. Did you ever know such a talker as she is? She is as bad as\nBecky, and did you hear Lauretta? 'Poor dear Grace does so draw upon\nher vitality.' Oh, dear me, what fools we mortals be.\"\n\n\"And you are the one who never gets mad with fools.\"\n\n\"I don't, as a rule, but when a person is as many kinds of a fool as\nGrace is I can't grapple with all the varieties at one sitting. There\nnow, I have finished my tirade. I won't abuse your in-laws any more.\nLet us hope they have passed out of our lives. Now let us talk about\nsomething pleasant. How do you like Mr. Jeffreys?\"\n\n\"Is he something pleasant? I really haven't had a chance to decide. We\nmet in the dark and we didn't exchange a dozen words. Bertie likes him.\"\n\nMiss Ri sat looking out of the window, drumming on the arms of her\nchair with her strong capable fingers. \"I wish I knew,\" she murmured;\n\"I wish I knew. Has Berk been here?\" she asked presently.\n\n\"If you call his nocturnal prowlings visits, he has.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't mean those, but, of course, he wouldn't come. I must see\nhim. I think I'd better call him up, although he is pretty sure to look\nin upon us this evening.\"\n\nAfter the strain consequent upon Grace's visit, Linda felt that even\nMiss Ri's cheerful chatter was more than she could stand, so she sought\nan opportune moment to escape to the lawn and from there to wander down\nthe box-bordered walks to the foot of the garden. The chickens in Miss\nParthy's premises on the other side of the fence, were discoursing in\ntheir accustomed manner before going to roost, making contented little\nsounds as someone threw them handfuls of grain. Once in a while would\ncome a discordant \"Caw! Caw!\" as an over-greedy rooster would set upon\none less aggressive. It all sounded very homelike and Linda wondered\nhow matters were going with the familiar flocks she had left at home.\nGrace's coming, her talk of affairs at the farm had made a great wave\nof homesickness come over the girl as she approached the fence to look\nat Miss Parthy's chickens. These, she discovered, were being fed with\ncareful hand by some other than Miss Parthy. A young man with crisp\nauburn hair, which was cropped close. He had a good figure, and rather\na serious expression. His eyes, much the color of his hair, were turned\nquickly upon Linda as her face appeared above the fence. \"Good-evening,\nMiss Talbot,\" he said.\n\n\"Good-evening, Mr. Jeffreys,\" she returned. \"How is it you are taking\nMiss Parthy's tasks upon yourself?\"\n\n\"Oh, I begged leave to do it. I like it. Don't you think chickens are\nvery amusing? They are as different in character as people, and give me\nas much amusement as a crowd of human beings. Look at that ridiculous\nlittle hen; she reminds me of a girl scared by a mouse the way she\njumps every time I throw down a handful of food.\"\n\n\"Don't you think,\" said Linda mockingly, \"that it is more reasonable to\nbe afraid of creepy things like mice than to be frightened out of your\nwits by a paper bag?\"\n\n\"You have me there,\" returned the young man. \"That was certainly one on\nus. I hope you have not been disturbed since.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, and now my natural protector has returned, I shall feel\nperfectly safe. You know Miss Ri, I believe.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. She is a most interesting character. She doesn't run from\nmice, I fancy.\"\n\n\"No, and neither do I.\"\n\n\"Really? Then you are a rarity whom I am fortunate in meeting. I\nunderstand, Miss Talbot, that your home is some distance from this\ntown.\"\n\n\"My home was some distance, about seven miles away.\"\n\n\"On Broad Creek? Do the Talbots come from that neighborhood?\"\n\n\"Yes, they are old settlers. We hold the original land grant from Lord\nBaltimore.\"\n\n\"That is interesting. Did you ever happen to know of a Madison Talbot\nwho lived--let me see--about 1812 or thereabouts?\"\n\n\"Why, yes. That was the name of my great-grandfather.\"\n\n\"It was?\"\n\n\"Why do you ask?\" inquired Linda curiously.\n\n\"Oh, because I have heard the name. My grandfather has mentioned him. I\nbelieve he knew him, and coming down to this unexplored region, I am\nnaturally reminded of anyone who might have been connected with what I\nhave heard of it.\"\n\n\"Unexplored? Do you mean by yourself?\"\n\n\"Well, yes, and by some others. I doubt if the majority of those one\nmeets could locate this special town, for instance.\"\n\n\"Anyone who knows anything must have heard of it,\" said Linda with\ninnocent conviction.\n\n\"Oh, I am not disparaging it. In some respects it is the nicest place I\never saw. Tell me something about your home there on Broad Creek.\"\n\nLinda's eyes grew wistful. \"It is the dearest spot on earth. The house\nis old and low and queer, with rambling rooms that go up a step here,\ndown one there. The water is always in sight, and through the trees you\ncan see the old church; it is on our ground, you know, and there is\nan old windmill on the place. I should hate to have that old windmill\ntaken away. I used to watch its long arms go around and around when I\nwas a child, and I made up all sorts of tales about it.\"\n\n\"How many acres are there?\" Mr. Jeffreys asked the practical question\nsuddenly.\n\n\"About two or three hundred. There was another farm. It all belonged to\nthe same estate originally, or at least there were two farms, and ours\nis the older. My brother brought it up wonderfully, and it is in very\ngood condition now. My father was in ill health for years and when he\ndied his affairs were in a sad state; the farm was not making anything\ntill my brother took hold of it.\"\n\n\"And it is yours?\"\n\nLinda wondered at the question. She  with both indignation\nand confusion. \"It is my home,\" she replied with dignity, \"and it is\nthe dearest spot on earth to me.\" Having made this answer she turned\nfrom the fence and resumed her walk while Mr. Jeffreys gave one wide\nflourish with his pan of screenings and then walked thoughtfully back\nto the house where Miss Parthy waited supper.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nWAS IT CURIOSITY?\n\n\n\"Don't talk to me about the curiosity of women,\" said Linda coming upon\nMiss Ri after her return walk. \"The new importation at Miss Parthy's is\ncertainly the most inquisitive person it has ever been my lot to meet.\nI was prepared to like him from what Bertie told me, but I never met a\nman who could ask such personal questions upon such short acquaintance.\"\n\n\"Why, Linda, I never thought he could be called exactly rude. Perhaps\nhe doesn't pay one those little courteous attentions that we are used\nto down here, though he is polite enough as I remember. Parthy and I\nhave wondered whether he could be an adventurer, or whether he were a\nvisionary sort of person or what, but we have come to the conclusion\nthat he is neither.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't be at all surprised if he were an adventurer and that he\nhas come down here to hunt up some unsuspecting damsel with property of\nher own whom he could beguile into marrying him.\"\n\n\"Why, my child, did he ask you to marry him?\"\n\n\"Oh, dear no, I hope not, since my first real conversation with him\nhas just taken place, but he wanted to know all about Talbot's Angles,\nhow much land there was and all that, and he wound up by inquiring if\nit belonged to me.\"\n\n\"That does look somewhat suspicious, though it does not show much tact,\nif his object is really what you surmise. A real adventurer would make\nhis inquiries of someone else. I wouldn't judge him too severely. He\nsays he is looking up an old claim, you know, and it may lie near your\nplace. I would wait and see what happens.\"\n\n\"Tell me, Miss Ri, did he bring any sort of credentials with him?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think so, at least he gave Berk a business card and said he was\nwell known by the insurance company by whom he had been employed in\nHartford, and that he had friends there who could vouch for him, and he\nsaid he had a number of letters in his trunk.\"\n\n\"Oh, says, says; it's easy enough to say. I don't believe he ever had a\ntrunk, and I believe his story is made out of whole cloth.\"\n\n\"Why, Verlinda, dear, I never knew you so bitter. Do give the lad a\nchance to prove himself.\"\n\n\"I thought you didn't want me to know him. You know you said you\nweren't going to have him come when I was at home.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, I didn't mean that exactly; I only wanted to provide against\nyour flying off into a sentimental attitude, but now you have gone to\nthe other extreme; I don't want that either. Parthy says there never\nwas a more considerate man, and that he is not any trouble at all. Of\ncourse, he hasn't the little thoughtful ways that Berk has; he doesn't\nalways stand with his hat off when he is talking to me in the street,\nand he doesn't rise to his feet every time I leave my chair, and stand\ntill I am seated. He has allowed my handkerchief to lie till I chose\nto pick it up myself, and doesn't always spring to open the door for\nme; in those things he differs from Berk, but he is certainly quiet and\ndignified. There comes Berk now, Verlinda; I knew he'd be along about\nsupper time.\"\n\nBerkley's broad shoulders were seen over the rows of chrysanthemums and\nscarlet salvia as he took a leisurely passage up the gravelled walk. He\nwaved a hand in greeting. \"I knew I wasn't too late because I saw you\nboth from the street.\"\n\n\"And of course you hurried before that?\" questioned Miss Ri.\n\n\"Yes, I always make it a point to hurry if there is a chance of being\nlate to supper, but I never hurry when there is no need to. I don't\nwish to squander my vital energies, you see. What's for supper, Miss\nRi?\"\n\n\"You haven't been invited to take it with us, yet.\"\n\n\"I don't have to be. Once, many a year ago, you said, 'Berk, drop in\nwhenever you feel like it,' and I have piously enshrined that saying\nupon the tablets of my memory. Once invited, always invited, you see,\nso I repeat my anxious query: what's for supper?\"\n\n\"I am sure I don't know. Linda did the ordering this morning for I\nwasn't here.\"\n\n\"Tell me, Linda.\" Berkley had dropped formalities since the evening of\nsong.\n\nLinda shook her head. \"As if I could be expected to remember things\nthat occurred this morning before breakfast; so many things have\nhappened since then.\"\n\n\"Things have happened in this blessed sleepy old place? That is news. I\ndidn't know anything could happen in Sandbridge.\"\n\n\"Oh, they might not be important to you, but they are to me.\"\n\n\"Then, of course, they are important to me.\"\n\n\"A very nice speech, sir. Well, in the first place, Miss Ri has\nreturned, as you see. Then Grace and Lauretta were here and have just\ndeparted for the city.\"\n\n\"For good?\"\n\n\"Let us hope it is for good only,\" put in Miss Ri.\n\n\"Sh! Sh!\" warned Linda. \"That wasn't pretty, Miss Ri. Then I have been\ntalking over the fence to your friend, Mr. Jeffreys, and he has aroused\nmy antagonism to a degree.\"\n\n\"He has?\" Berkley looked surprised. \"I don't see why or how he could do\nthat.\"\n\n\"Wait till she tells you, Berk,\" Miss Ri spoke up. \"I am going in to\ntell Phebe to set another place at table. If I am to have guests thrust\nupon me whether I invite them or not, I must be decent enough to see\nthat they have plates to eat from.\" She left the two to saunter on to\nthe house while she entered the path which led to the kitchen.\n\nLinda recounted her tale to which Berk listened attentively. \"What do\nyou think of a man who would put such questions to a perfect stranger?\"\nqueried Linda.\n\nBerkley knit his brows. \"Looks like one of two things; either\nunqualified curiosity or a deeper purpose, that of finding out all\nabout the farm on account of personal interest in it.\"\n\n\"But what nonsense. You don't mean he thinks _that's_ the place to\nwhich he lays claim? Why, we've held the grant for hundreds of years.\"\n\n\"We don't know what he thinks; I am not saying what are the facts; I am\nonly trying to account for his interest.\"\n\n\"Miss Ri thought he might be interested because his claim may perhaps\ntouch our property somewhere, and that there may be some question of\nthe dividing line.\"\n\n\"That could very well be. At all events, I don't believe it was idle\ncuriosity. I'll sound him a little if I can, but he is a reticent sort\nof fellow, and as dumb as an oyster about that matter, though there\nis really no use in his talking till he gets his papers, which, poor\nfellow, it's mighty unlikely he'll ever find.\"\n\n\"I'd hate a prying neighbor,\" remarked Linda.\n\n\"You're not liable to have one from present indications. If I had time\nI'd really like to look into some of the old titles, and see just how\nthe property in the vicinity of Talbot's Angles has come down to the\npresent owners. I know about a good many, as it is. Your brother sold\noff Talbot's Addition, didn't he?\"\n\n\"Yes. You know my father had mortgaged it up to the hilt, and then\nMart sold it in order to get rid of the interest and to have something\nto put into the home place. He thought he would rather hold one\nunencumbered place and have some money to improve it than to struggle\nalong with two places.\"\n\n\"Good judgment, too. If I am not mistaken there was still more property\nbelonging to the Talbot family originally. Wasn't Timber Neck theirs at\none time?\"\n\n\"I believe so, though it was so long ago that I don't remember hearing\nmuch about it.\"\n\n\"I see. Well, here we are, and I think there must be crab cakes from\nthe odor.\"\n\n\"So there are; I remember now. I knew Miss Ri was fond of them and no\none can make them as well as Phebe.\"\n\nThe supper set forth on the big round table displayed the crab cakes,\nbrown and toothsome, the inevitable beaten biscuits on one side, and\nwhat Phebe called \"a pone of bread\" on the other. There were, too,\nsome thin slices of cold ham, fried potatoes and a salad, while the\nside table held some delectable cakes, and a creamy dessert in the\npreparation of which Phebe was famous. No one had ever been able to get\nher exact recipe, for \"A little pinch\" of this, \"a sprinkling\" of that,\nand \"what I thinks is right\" of the other was too indefinite for most\nhousekeepers. Many had, indeed, ventured after hearing the ingredients\nbut all had failed.\n\n\"This is a supper fit for a king,\" said Berkley, sitting down after a\nsatisfied survey of the table.\n\n\"You might have just such every day,\" returned Miss Ri.\n\n\"Please to tell me how. Do you mean I could induce Phebe to accept the\nplace of head cook at the hotel?\"\n\n\"Heaven forbid. No, bat, of course not.\"\n\n\"Why bat?\"\n\n\"You are so blind, just like most conceited young men who might have\nhomes of their own if they chose.\"\n\n\"Please, Miss Ri, don't be severe. You haven't the right idea at all.\nDon't you know it is my lack of conceit which prevents my harboring\nthe belief that I could induce anyone to help me to make a home?\"\n\n\"I don't know anything of the kind. I know it is your selfish love of\nease and your desire to shirk responsibility.\"\n\n\"Listen to her, Linda. She will drive me to asking the first girl I\nmeet if she will marry me. You might do it, by the way, and then we\nmight take our revenge by luring Phebe away from her. Of course, Phebe\nwould follow you. I wonder I never thought of that before.\"\n\n\"You are a flippant, senseless trifler,\" cried Miss Ri with more heat\nthan would appear necessary. \"I won't have you talking so of serious\nsubjects.\"\n\n\"So it is a serious subject to your mind?\" Berkley laughed gleefully.\n\nBut Miss Ri maintained a dignified silence during which Berkley made\nlittle asides to Linda till finally Miss Ri said placidly, \"I told\nLinda not long ago that I never got mad with fools, and,\" she added\nwith a gleam of fun in her eyes, \"I'm not going to begin to do it now.\"\n\n\"You have the best of me as usual, Miss Ri,\" laughed Berkley, \"although\nI might get back at you, if one good turn deserves another. By the way,\nLinda, did you ever hear the way old Aaron Hopkins interprets that?\"\n\n\"No, I believe not.\"\n\n\"Someone sent him a barrel of apples last year, and he told me the\nother day that he expected the same person would send another this\nyear. 'He sent 'em last year,' said the old fellow, 'and you know 'one\ngood turn deserves another.' He is a rare old bird, is Aaron.\"\n\n\"He certainly is,\" returned Linda. \"I think it is too funny that he\nnamed his boat the _Mary haha_. He told me he thought that _Minnehaha_\nwas a nice name for young folks to use, 'but for an old fellow like me\nit ain't dignified,' he said.\"\n\n\"Tell Berk what he said to your brother when he came back from\ncollege,\" urged Miss Ri.\n\n\"Oh, yes, that was funny, too. You know Mart had been away for three\nyears, and he met old Aaron down by the creek one day. I doubt if Aaron\nhas ever been further than Sandbridge in his life. He greeted Mart like\none long lost. 'Well, well,' he said, 'so you've got back. Been away\na right smart of a time, haven't you?' 'Three years,' Mart told him.\n'Where ye been?' 'To New Jersey.' 'That's right fur, ain't it?' 'Some\ndistance.' 'Beyand Pennsylvany, I reckon. Well, well, how on airth\ncould you stand it?' 'Why, it's a pretty good place, why shouldn't I\nstand it, Aaron?' said Mart. 'But it's so durned fur from the creek,'\nreplied Aaron.\"\n\n\"Pretty good,\" cried Berkley. \"A true Eastern shoreman is Aaron, wants\nnothing better than his boat and the creek. Good for him.\"\n\nThey lingered at table talking of this and that till presently\nthere came a ring at the door. Phebe lumbered out to open. She was\nunsurpassed as a cook, but only her extreme politeness excused the\nawkwardness of her manner as waitress. \"It's dat Mr. Jeffs,\" she said\nin a stage whisper when she returned. \"He ask fo' de ladies.\"\n\n\"Then you will have to come, Linda,\" said Miss Ri, \"and you, too, Berk.\"\n\n\"Of course, I'll come,\" replied the young man.\n\n\"You don't imagine I am going to stay here by myself while you two make\neyes at an interloper.\" And he followed the two to the drawing-room\ninto which Phebe had ushered the visitor.\n\nThe young man sitting there arose and came forward, and after shaking\nhands with Miss Ri he said, \"I believe you have not formally presented\nme to your niece, Miss Hill, though I was so unceremonious as to talk\nto her over the fence this evening.\"\n\n\"You mean Linda. She is not my niece; I wish she were. How would it do\nfor me to adopt you as one, Verlinda? I'd love to have you call me Aunt\nRi.\"\n\n\"Then I'll do it,\" returned the girl with enthusiasm.\n\n\"Then, Mr. Jeffreys, allow me to present you to my adopted niece, Miss\nVerlinda Talbot, and beware how you talk to her over the fence. I am a\nvery fierce duenna.\"\n\nThe young man smiled a little deprecatingly, not quite understanding\nwhether this was meant seriously or not, and wondering if he were being\ncensured for his lack of ceremony.\n\n\"I presented Mr. Jeffreys quite properly myself,\" spoke up Berkley. \"To\nbe sure, it was in the dark and he wasn't within gun-shot. I haven't\nrecovered from my scare yet, have you, Jeffreys? Next time you go to\ntown, Miss Ri, I am going with you, for I don't mean to be left behind\nto the tender mercies of anyone as bloodthirsty as Linda.\"\n\nThey all laughed, and the visitor looked at the two young people\ninterestedly. Evidently they were on excellent terms. He wondered if by\nany chance an engagement existed between them, but when later Bertie\nBryan came in, and he saw that Berk treated her with the same air of\ngood comradeship, he concluded that it was simply the informality of\nold acquaintance, though he wondered a little at it. In his part of the\ncountry not even the excuse of lifelong association could set a young\nman so at his ease with one of the opposite sex, and he was quite sure\nthat he could not play openly at making love to two girls at once.\nHowever, they spent a merry time, Linda, under the genial influence of\nher friends, was livelier than usual, and however much she may have\nresented Mr. Jeffreys' inquisitiveness earlier in the day, on further\nacquaintance she lost sight of anything but his charm of manner and his\nart of making himself agreeable.\n\nAfter the young men had seen Bertie to her home, they walked down the\nshadowy street together. \"Haven't heard anything of those papers yet, I\nsuppose,\" Berkley said to his companion.\n\n\"Nothing at all.\"\n\n\"Too bad. Are you going to give it up?\"\n\n\"Not quite yet. I thought I'd allow myself six months. I have a bit of\nan income which comes in regularly, and one doesn't have to spend much\nin a place like this. Once my papers are found, I think my chances are\ngood.\" Then abruptly, \"You've known Miss Talbot a long time, I suppose,\nMatthews.\"\n\n\"Nearly all my life. At least we were youngsters together; but I was at\ncollege for some years, and I didn't see her between whiles. She was\ngrown up when I came back.\"\n\n\"Then you probably know all about her home, Talbot's Angles, do they\ncall it?\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly. Everyone about here knows it, for it is one of the few\nplaces that has remained in the family since its first occupation.\"\nThen suddenly, \"Good heavens, man, you don't mean that's the place you\nare thinking to claim? I can tell you it's not worth your while. The\nTalbots have the original land grant and always have had it, and--why,\nit's an impossibility.\"\n\nHis companion was silent for a moment. \"You know, I am not talking yet.\nIf I find the papers are lost irrevocably, I shall go away with only a\nvery pleasant memory of the kindness and hospitality of Sandbridge.\"\n\nBerkley in turn was silenced, but after parting from his companion at\nMiss Parthy's door, he went down the street saying to himself, \"I'll\nsearch that title the very first chance I get. I am as sure as anyone\ncould be that it is all right. Let me see, Miss Ri would know about the\nforbears; I'll ask her.\" He stopped under a street lamp and looked at\nhis watch. \"It isn't so very late, and she is a regular owl. I'll try\nit.\"\n\nInstead of continuing his way to the hotel, he turned the corner which\nled to Miss Ri's home. Stopping at the gate, he peered in. Yes, there\nwas a light in the sitting-room, and from some unseen window above was\nreflected a beam upon the surface of the gently-flowing river. \"She\nis up and Linda has gone to her room,\" he told himself. \"Just as I\nthought.\"\n\nHe stepped quickly inside the ground and went toward the house. One\nwindow of the sitting-room was partly open, for the night was mild. He\ncould see Miss Ri sitting by her lamp, a book in her hand. \"Miss Ri,\"\nhe called softly.\n\nShe came to the window. \"Of all prowling tomcats,\" she began. \"What are\nyou back here for?\"\n\n\"I forgot something. May I come in?\"\n\n\"Linda has gone to bed.\"\n\n\"I didn't come to see Linda.\"\n\n\"Oh, you didn't. Well, I'll let you in, but you ought to know better\nthan to come sneaking around a body's garden at this time of night.\"\n\n\"You see, I've gotten into the habit of it,\" Berkley told her. \"I've\ndone it for two nights running and I can't sleep till I've made the\nrounds.\"\n\n\"Silly!\" exclaimed Miss Ri. But she came around to open the door for\nhim. \"Now, what is it you want?\" she asked. \"I've no midnight suppers\nsecreted anywhere.\"\n\n\"Is thy servant a dog, that he comes merely to be fed?\"\n\n\"I've had my suspicions at times,\" returned Miss Ri. \"Come in, but\ndon't talk loud, so as to waken Linda; the child needs all the sleep\nshe can get. Now, go on; tell me what you want.\"\n\n\"I want you to tell me exactly who Linda's forbears were; that is, on\nthe Talbot side. Her father was James, I know.\"\n\n\"Yes, and his father was Martin. He had a brother, but he died early;\nthere were only the two sons, but there was a daughter, I believe.\"\n\n\"And their father was?\"\n\n\"Let me see--Monroe? No, Madison; that's it, Madison Talbot, and his\nfather was James again. I can't give you the collaterals so far back.\"\n\n\"Humph! Well, I reckon that will do.\"\n\n\"What in the world are you up to? Are you making a family tree for\nLinda?\"\n\n\"No; but I have some curiosity upon the subject of old titles, and as\nit may come in my way, I thought I would look up Talbot's Angles.\"\n\n\"There's no use in doing that. Linda has the original land grant in her\npossession. Poor child, she clings to that, and I am glad she can. I\nwish to goodness you'd marry Grace, Berk Matthews, so Verlinda could\nget her rights.\"\n\n\"I'd do a good deal for a pretty girl, but I couldn't bring myself up\nto the scratch of marrying Grace Talbot. Now, if it were Linda herself,\nthat might be a different matter.\"\n\n\"You'd get a treasure,\" avowed Miss Ri, shaking her head wisely. \"She\ndoesn't have to air her family silver in order to make people forget\nher mistakes in English.\"\n\n\"True, O wisest of women.\"\n\n\"There's another way out of it, Berk; the place reverts to Verlinda in\nthe event of Grace's death.\"\n\n\"Do you mean I shall poison her or use a dagger, Lady Macbeth?\"\n\n\"You great goose, of course I don't mean either such horrible thing. I\nwas only letting my thoughts run on the possibilities of the case. I'm\nnot quite so degenerate as to wish for anyone's death, but I haven't\nfound out yet why you were looking into the family procession of names.\"\n\n\"Oh, just a mere matter of legal curiosity, as I said. I come across\nthem once in a while, and I wanted to get them straight in my mind.\nJames, son of Martin, son of Madison, son of James; that's it, isn't\nit?\" He checked them off on his fingers.\n\n\"That's it.\"\n\n\"Well, good-night, Miss Ri. I won't keep you any longer from that\nfascinating book at which you've been casting stealthy glances ever\nsince I came in. Don't get up; I can let myself out.\"\n\nMiss Ri did not immediately return to the book. \"Now, what is he\ndriving at?\" she said to herself. \"It's all poppycock about his\ninterest in the names because he wants to get them straight in his\nmind. He's not so interested in Verlinda as all that, worse luck. I\nwish he were.\" She gave a little sigh and, adjusting her glasses,\nreturned to the page before her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nA DISCLOSURE\n\n\n\"The old horse is neighing again,\" said Miss Ri, whimsically, one\nmorning a little later. \"I must go to town, Verlinda.\"\n\nThe girl looked up from some papers over which she was working. The\ntwo were sitting at the big table before an open fire, for it had\nsuddenly turned colder. The room was very cosey, with warm touches of\ncolor found in the table-cover of red, in the yellow chrysanthemums\nby the window, and in the deep tones of the furniture. Linda looked\nfrailer and thinner than when her life at the farm admitted of more\nopen-air employment and less indoor. She did her work conscientiously,\neven thankfully, but hardly lovingly, and in consequence it was a\nconstant strain upon her vitality. \"What were you saying, Aunt Ri?\" she\nasked, her thoughts vaguely lingering with her work, while yet she was\nconscious of Miss Ri's remark.\n\n\"I said the old horse was neighing again. There is another sale this\nweek, a different express company this time, and I feel the call of the\nunknown. I think I'll go up by train, and then you will be alone but\none night. Bertie enjoyed herself so much last time, that I am sure she\nwill like to come again, if you want her. Bertie is a nice child, not\nan overstock of brains in some directions, but plenty of hard sense in\nothers.\"\n\n\"Do you suppose it will be cough medicine this time?\" asked Linda,\nmaking little spirals on the edge of her paper with her pencil.\n\n\"Heaven forfend! No, I'm going to bid on the biggest thing there, if\nit be a hogshead. I saw one man get a stuffed double-headed calf, and\nanother the parts of some machine whose other belonging had evidently\ngone elsewhere. I shall try to avoid such things. I wish you could go\nwith me, Verlinda; it is such fun.\" Miss Ri's eyes twinkled, as her\nhands busied themselves with some knitting she had taken up.\n\n\"I'd like to go,\" admitted Linda wistfully, \"but it isn't a holiday,\nand I mustn't play truant. Good luck to you, Aunt Ri.\" She returned to\nher work, while Miss Ri knitted on for a while.\n\n\"Shall you be working long?\" asked the latter presently. \"I must make\nsuch an early start, that I think I'll go up, if you will put out the\nlights and see to the fire.\"\n\n\"I have considerably more to do,\" Linda answered, turning over her\npapers. \"I'll put out the lights, Aunt Ri.\"\n\n\"Don't sit up too late,\" charged the other, stuffing her knitting into\na gay, flowery bag. \"Good-night, child. I'll be off before you are up.\nJust order anything you like, and don't bother about anything.\" She\ndropped a kiss upon the shining dark hair, and went her way, stopping\nto try the front door.\n\nFor half an hour Linda worked steadily, then she stacked her papers\nwith a sigh, arose and drew a chair before the fire, whose charred logs\nwere burning dully. She gave a poke to the smouldering ends, which\nsent up a spurt of sparks and caused the flame to burn brightly. With\nchin in hands, the girl sat for some time gazing into the fire which,\nafter this final effort, was fast reducing itself to gray ashes and red\nembers. The old clock in the hall struck eleven slowly and solemnly.\nMiss Ri's quick tread on the floor above had ceased long before. The\ntick-tock of the clock and the crackle of the consuming wood were the\nonly sounds. Linda returned to the table, picked up a bit of paper\nand began to write, at first rapidly, then with pauses for thought,\nfrequent re-readings and many erasures. She occupied herself thus till\nthe clock again struck deliberately but insistently. Linda lifted\nher head and counted. \"Midnight,\" she exclaimed, \"and I am still up.\nI wonder if it is worth it.\" She stopped to read once more the page\nshe had finally written, then, tucking the paper into her blouse, she\ngathered up the rest, found a candle in one of the dignified old\ncandlesticks, put out the lamp and tip-toed to her room.\n\nThe sun was shining brightly on the river when she awakened next\nmorning. Miss Ri had gone long before. Linda had been dimly conscious\nof her stirring about, but had slept on, realizing vaguely that it was\nearly. Her first movement was to sit up in bed, abstract a paper from\nunder her pillow, and read it over. \"I wondered how it would sound by\ndaylight,\" she said to herself. \"I think it isn't so bad, and it was\nsuch a joy to do it after those stupid papers. I wonder, I wonder if it\nis worth while.\" She tucked the paper away in her desk, feeling more\nblithe and content than for many a day. How blue the river was, how\npicturesque the tall-masted ships, how good the tang of the autumn air,\nladen with the odor of leaf-wine. Even the turkey-buzzards, sailing\nover the chimney-tops, gave individuality to the scene. It was a\nbeautiful world, even though she must be shut up in a school-room all\nday with a parcel of restless urchins.\n\nShe went down-stairs humming a tune, to the delight of Phebe, who\nwaited below. \"Dat soun' lak ole times, honey chile,\" she said. \"I\nain't hyar dem little hummy tunes dis long while. I always use say to\nmahse'f, 'Dar come mah honey chile. I knows her by dat little song\no' hers, same as I knows de bees by dere hummin' an' de robin by he\nwhistle.' Come along, chile, fo' yo' breakfus spile.\" She bustled back\nto the kitchen, and Linda entered the dining-room, warm from the fire\nin the wood stove and cheery by reason of the scarlet flowers with\nwhich Phebe had adorned the table. There was an odor of freshly-baked\nbread, of bacon, of coffee.\n\n\"I believe I'm hungry,\" said Linda.\n\nPhebe's face beamed. \"Dat soun' lak sumpin,\" she declared. \"Jes' wait\ntill I fetches in dem hot rolls. Dey pipin' hot right out o' de oben.\nI say hongry,\" she murmured to herself, as she went clumsily on her\nerrand.\n\nThe day went well enough. On her way home from school, Linda stopped\nto ask Bertie to spend the night with her. But Bertie was off to a\nbirthday dance in the country, which meant she would not be back till\nthe next morning. She was \"so sorry.\" If she had \"only known,\" and all\nthat. \"But, of course, you can get someone else,\" she concluded by\nsaying.\n\n\"Oh, I don't mind staying alone, if it comes to that,\" Linda told her.\n\n\"You stay too much alone, Linda.\"\n\n\"And I, who am surrounded all day by such a regiment of boys.\"\n\n\"Oh, they don't count; I mean girls of your own age. How are you\ngetting along, Linda, by the way?\"\n\n\"Oh, well enough,\" responded Linda doubtfully. \"The more successful\nI am, the more it takes it out of me, however, and I am afraid I\nshall really never love teaching. Even though you may succeed in an\nundertaking, if you don't really love it, you tire more easily than if\nyou did something much harder, but which you really loved.\"\n\n\"I suppose that may be true. Well, Linda, I hope you will not always be\na teacher.\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" responded Linda frankly.\n\n\"I wish you would come over oftener, and would go around more with the\ngirls. They would all love to have you.\"\n\nLinda shook her head gravely. \"That is very nice for you to say, but I\ncouldn't do it--yet.\"\n\n\"Well, be sure you don't stay by yourself to-night,\" Bertie charged her.\n\nLinda promised, and started off to fulfil the intention. Miss Parthy,\nfrom her porch, called to her as she went by. \"When's Ri coming back?\"\nshe asked, over the heads of her three dogs, who occupied the porch\nwith her.\n\n\"Not till to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"You'd better come over here and sleep,\" Miss Parthy advised her. \"I\nhave an extra room, you know.\"\n\n\"And leave dear old Mammy to her lonesome? No, I think I'd better not,\nMiss Parthy; thank you. I'll get someone to stay.\"\n\n\"You can have one of the dogs,\" offered Miss Parthy quite seriously.\n\"They are better than any watchman.\"\n\nLinda thanked her, but the thought of Brownie's tail thumping on\nthe floor outside her door, or of Pickett's sharp bark, or Flora's\nplaintive whine, decided her. \"I think I'd rather have a human girl,\nthank you, Miss Parthy, and even if I find no one, it will be all\nright; I have stayed with only Mammy in the house dozens of times.\"\n\nShe continued her way, stopping at the house of this or that friend,\nbut all were bound for the birthday party, and after two or three\nattempts she gave it up. Rather than put any more of the good-hearted\ngirls to the pain of refusing, she would stay alone. More than one had\noffered to give up the dance, and this she could not allow another to\npropose. After all, it would not be bad, though Mammy should drop to\nsleep early, for there would be the cheerful fire and another bit of\npaper to cover with the lines which had been haunting her all day.\nShe turned toward home again, with thoughtful tread, traversing the\nlong street between rows of flaming maples or golden gum trees, whose\nofferings of scarlet and yellow fluttered to her feet at every step.\nThere was the first hint of winter in the air, but the grass was green\nin the gardens and in the still unfrosted vines birds chattered and\nscolded, disputing right of way.\n\nAt the corner she met Mr. Jeffreys, who joined her. \"Bound for a walk?\"\nhe asked. \"May I go with you?\"\n\nAs a girl will, who does not despise the society of a companionable\nman, she tacitly accepted his escort, and they went on down the street\ntoward the river, where the red and yellow of trees appeared to have\ndrifted to the sky, to be reflected in the waters below.\n\n\"Miss Talbot,\" said the young man, when they had wandered to where\nhouses were few and scattered, \"I have a confession to make.\"\n\nLinda looked at him in surprise. He was rather a reticent person,\nthough courteous and not altogether diffident. \"To me?\" she exclaimed.\n\n\"To you first, because--well, I will tell you that I, too, can claim\nkinship with the Talbot family. My great-grandfather and yours were\nbrothers. Did you ever hear of Lovina Talbot?\"\n\n\"Why, yes. Let me see; what have I heard? It will come back to me after\na while. That branch of the Talbots left here years ago.\"\n\n\"Yes, just after the War of 1812. My great-grandfather, Cyrus, went to\nWestern Pennsylvania. His only daughter, Lovina, was my grandmother.\nShe married against his wishes, and then he married a second time--a\nScotch-Irish girl of his neighborhood--and the families seem to have\nknown little of one another after that. My father, Charles Jeffreys,\nwas Lovina's son. He settled in Hartford, Connecticut. And now you have\nmy pedigree.\"\n\n\"Why, then we are really blood relations. No wonder you were interested\nin the old Talbot place. Why--\" she paused, hesitated, flushed\nup--\"then it must be some of the Talbot property you are looking up.\"\n\n\"That is it; but I don't exactly know which it is, and without proof I\ncan make no claim, as I have often said.\"\n\nLinda ran over in her mind the various pieces of property which she\nwas aware of having belonged to the original grants. \"There was a good\ndeal of it,\" she said. \"Some of it was sold before my father's time,\nand he parted with more, so now all we have is the old homestead farm.\nI should like to know,\" she continued musingly, \"which place you think\nit really is. I suppose it must be Timber Neck, for that was the first\nwhich passed out of our hands.\"\n\n\"I cannot tell, for I don't know exactly.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you make yourself known before? Didn't you know it would\nhave made a difference to me--to us all, if you belonged, even\nremotely, to one of the old families?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did, I suppose; but for that very reason I was slow to confess\nit. I came here under rather awkward circumstances. For a time I was in\na position to be looked upon with suspicion, to be considered a mere\nadventurer. I may be yet,\" he continued, with a smile and a side glance\nat the girl, \"even if I do pay my board bills and my laundress.\"\n\n\"Oh, we don't think that of you; we are quite sure you are genuine,\"\nLinda hastened to assure him.\n\n\"You have only my word. You don't know who my father was.\"\n\n\"You just told me he was Charles Jeffreys.\"\n\n\"Yes, but--\" He did not finish the sentence. \"I thought it was due you\nto know something of myself and my errand.\"\n\n\"I am glad to know it.\"\n\n\"Thank you. That is very good of you. Do you mind if I ask that you do\nnot repeat what I have been telling you?\"\n\n\"Not even to Miss Ri?\"\n\nMr. Jeffreys considered the question. \"I think Miss Hill should\ncertainly know, for she was my first friend; and Mr. Matthews, too,\nperhaps. I will tell them and ask them to respect my secret for the\npresent. When I can come among you as one who has a right to claim\nancestry with one of your Eastern Shore families, that will be a\ndifferent thing.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"BUT YOU MUST NOT CALL ME COUSIN,\" SAID LINDA.]\n\nLinda would like to have asked for more of his personal history\nand, as if reading her thought, he went on: \"I have not had a\nwildly-adventurous life; it has been respectably commonplace. I\nhad a fair education, partly in Europe; but I am not college-bred. My\nfather was a gentleman, but not over-successful in business. He left\nonly a life insurance for my mother, enough for her needs, if used with\ncare. My mother died two years ago, and I have neither brother nor\nsister.\"\n\nLinda's sympathy went out. \"Neither have I brother nor sister,\" she\nreturned softly. \"I can understand just how lonely you must be. But\nyou know you have discovered a cousin, and you may consider it a real\nrelationship.\"\n\nThe young man cast her a grateful look. \"That makes me feel much\nless of an alien. I am afraid an outsider would not meet with such\ngraciousness up our way.\"\n\n\"But you must not call me cousin,\" said Linda, \"or we shall have your\nsecret public property, and that will never do.\" Her sweet eyes were\nvery tenderly bright, and the gentle curve of her lips suggested a\nsmile.\n\n\"She is much prettier than I thought,\" the young man told himself.\n\"She has always looked so pale and unresponsive, I thought she lacked\nanimation; but when one sees--I beg your pardon,\" he was roused by\nLinda's speaking. \"Oh, yes; it is getting on to supper time, I am\nafraid. Perhaps we'd better turn back.\"\n\nThey returned by the river walk, parting at Miss Ri's gate.\n\"Good-night, cousin,\" said Linda, \"and good luck to you.\"\n\nThe walk had stirred her blood, the talk had roused a new and romantic\ninterest in her companion, and the same song which Phebe had heard in\nthe morning was on her lips as she entered the house.\n\nPhebe was on the watch for her. \"Ain't nobody comin' to eat suppah with\nyuh?\" she inquired.\n\n\"No; the girls are all off to a dance in the country. I don't need\nanyone, Mammy. You and I have been alone many a time before this, and\nit will seem like old times.\"\n\nMammy looked at her critically. \"Yuh sholy is beginnin' to git some\nroses in yo' cheeks,\" she said. \"Whar yuh been?\"\n\n\"Just around town a little, and then I took a walk by the river.\"\n\n\"By yose'f? Who dat come to de gate wi' yuh?\"\n\n\"You prying old Mammy. I believe you could see even around the corner.\nThat was Mr. Jeffreys.\"\n\n\"Dat bo'ds wi' Miss Parthy an' feeds de chickens?\"\n\n\"That is the one.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" Mammy's tones expressed contempt. Who was he to be gallanting\nher young lady around town? But she knew better than to follow up her\nexpressive ejaculation with any spoken comment, and went in without\nanother word.\n\nIt was a quiet, cosey evening that Linda spent. It being Friday, there\nwere no lessons to be considered for the morrow, and so she smiled\nover her own scribbling or smiled into the fire when pleasant thoughts\npossessed her. At the end of the evening, there was a carefully-copied\ncontribution, which was ready to go to a weekly paper; but so precious\nwas it, that it must not be trusted to remain on the sitting-room\ntable, but must be carried upstairs until, with her own hand, she could\ntake it to the postoffice.\n\nAs she went to her window to draw down the shades, a handful of pebbles\nclicked against the pane. She raised the sash and looked out. \"I'm\nmaking the rounds,\" said a voice from below. \"Good-night.\" And through\nthe dimness she saw Wyatt Jeffreys' tall figure tramping around the\ncorner of the house.\n\n\"That is nice of him,\" she said to herself. \"Poor fellow, I hope he\ndoes recognize that I don't mean to be offish. I am sure he is proving\nhis own cousinly consideration.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE LETTERS ON THE TRUNK\n\n\nMiss Ri arrived betimes that Saturday morning. She was in high glee\nand declared she had made the luckiest bid yet, for her \"old horse\"\nproved to be a box of books. \"Not bad ones, either,\" she declared, \"and\nthose I have duplicates of, I can give away at Christmas. The box was\ncertainly well worth the two dollars I paid for it.\"\n\n\"New books, are they?\" Linda inquired.\n\n\"Quite new, and it looks as if they had been selected for someone's\nlibrary. We'll have a good time looking them over when they get here.\nHere's something else for your consideration, Linda: Berk Matthews went\nwith me. He is the greatest one to tease. I met him on the street and\ncouldn't get rid of him. I didn't want him to go to the sale, but the\nmore I tried to shake him off, the more determined he was to stay with\nme, and finally I had to let him go along. Well, he became interested,\ntoo. Oh, I have a joke on him. He bought a trunk.\"\n\n\"A trunk?\"\n\n\"Yes, a nice little compact trunk, which he says will be just the\nthing for him to take when he goes off with Judge Baker. It has the\nletters J. S. D. on it, which Berk declares mean 'Judge Some Day,' and\nhe doesn't mean to change them. He is a nonsensical creature.\"\n\n\"What is in the trunk?\"\n\n\"Oh, he hadn't opened it; for, of course, he had no key. He was in a\nhurry to see his mother and sister, and didn't want to bother with the\ntrunk then. He is going to stay over till Sunday. That is a good son,\nVerlinda. I wish you could see the beautiful little desk he bought for\nhis mother's birthday. I went with him to pick it out. It is on account\nof the birthday that he went up to the city. I am firmly convinced that\nhe will not marry until he can give his mother just as much as he gives\nhis wife.\"\n\n\"That would be expecting a little too much, wouldn't it?\"\n\n\"Not from Berk's present point of view. Nothing is too good for that\nmother of his, and when Margaret was married, well, no girl in town\ncould have had a better outfit. I don't believe Berk has had even a new\nnecktie since.\"\n\n\"Then I'll crochet him one for a Christmas gift,\" said Linda smiling.\n\"What color would you suggest?\"\n\n\"A dull blue would be becoming to his style of beauty.\"\n\n\"Not much beauty there.\"\n\n\"Not exactly beauty, maybe, but Berk looks every inch a man.\"\n\n\"And not any superfluous inches, unless you measure his shoulders and\ntake him in square measure.\"\n\n\"Well, Verlinda, you must admit he has a fine, honest face.\"\n\n\"So has Brownie, Miss Parthy's setter.\"\n\n\"That is just like a foolish girl. I'll venture to say you think Mr.\nJeffreys much better looking.\"\n\n\"Far handsomer. By the way--no, I'll not tell you; I'll let him do\nthat.\"\n\n\"You rouse my curiosity. Tell me.\"\n\n\"I don't need to, for here comes the young man himself.\"\n\nMr. Jeffreys was seen coming up between the borders of box which led\nfrom Miss Parthy's back fence to Miss Ri's back door. He skirted the\nchrysanthemum beds, and came around to the front door, Miss Ri watching\nhim the while. \"Berk would have bolted in through the kitchen,\" she\ncommented. \"I don't suppose anything would induce Mr. Jeffreys to be\nseen coming in the back door. I am surprised that he did as much as to\ncome in through the garden.\" She went to the door to meet him.\n\nConscious of his lack of ceremony, Mr. Jeffreys began to apologize at\nonce. \"I hope you will pardon my taking the short cut, Miss Hill; but\nI promised Miss Turner that I would deliver this note into your hands\nbefore the ink had time to dry.\"\n\n\"I should be much less inclined to forgive you, if you had taken the\nlong way around,\" replied Miss Ri. \"Come in, Mr. Jeffreys, and let us\nsee what this weighty matter is.\"\n\nHe followed her into the sitting-room, where Linda was watering some\nhouse-plants lately brought in. \"Here, Verlinda, you entertain Mr.\nJeffreys while I answer this note,\" said Miss Ri. \"It's about a church\nmeeting, and Parthy thinks I don't know, or haven't made up my mind to\ngo, or something. I shall have to relieve her mind.\"\n\nMr. Jeffreys drew near to Linda at the window. \"I hope you slept\nwithout fear of robbers,\" he said.\n\nShe looked up smiling. \"Oh, yes. I felt very safe after your\nexamination of bolts and bars.\" She went on with her task, nipping off\na dead leaf here, straightening a bent twig there. \"They don't look\nvery well, yet,\" she said. \"It takes plants some time to become used to\na change of habitation.\"\n\n\"Like some people,\" he returned.\n\nShe gave him an understanding nod. \"Yes, but just as surely they will\nthrive under proper treatment.\"\n\nMiss Ri left her desk and came toward them. \"I'm not going to ask you\nto deliver this, Mr. Jeffreys, for I want to send Parthy a lemon pie\nthat Phebe has just baked, and I'd never trust a man to carry a lemon\npie. Just sit down and I'll be back in a moment.\"\n\n\"Are you going to tell her?\" asked Linda, when the door had closed\nafter Miss Ri.\n\n\"Maybe. It will depend. I won't force the information.\"\n\n\"Get her to tell you about her trip to town; she is so funny about it.\"\n\n\"Miss Hill, you are to tell me about your trip to town,\" began Mr.\nJeffreys when Miss Ri returned.\n\n\"I shall not do it,\" she declared. \"What do you mean, Verlinda Talbot,\nby trying to get me to tell my secrets?\"\n\n\"Maybe if you do, Mr. Jeffreys will tell you one of his.\"\n\n\"In that case, we must make a compact. Can you keep a secret, Mr.\nJeffreys?\"\n\n\"I have kept my own, so far.\"\n\n\"But another's is quite a different matter.\"\n\n\"I will keep yours, if you will keep mine.\"\n\n\"Then it is a bargain. Well, then, I have a fad for buying 'old\nhorse.' You don't know what 'old horse' is? It's the stuff the express\ncompanies collect in the course of some months. If persons refuse to\npay expressage, if the address is wrong, if it has been torn off, you\nsee how it would be, they have a sale, an auction. I enjoy the fun of\nbuying 'a pig in a poke.' Sometimes it turns out a nice fat pig and\nsometimes it doesn't.\"\n\n\"And this time?\"\n\n\"It was a nice fat one. I became the possessor of a box of really good\nand desirable books. Perhaps I shouldn't be so ready to tell, if Berk\nMatthews hadn't been along; but I'm quite sure he will think it too\ngood a story on me not to tell it. But I have one on him, too. He bid\nfor a trunk, and it was knocked down to him.\"\n\n\"A trunk? You know I am interested in stray trunks. If mine had been\nsent by express, I'd be very keen about it.\"\n\n\"How was yours sent?\"\n\n\"A local expressman was to take it to the steamer and I was unable to\nidentify him when the trunk didn't turn up. I had his claim check, but\nthat was in the pocket-book of which I was robbed--so you see--There\nwas a tag on the trunk, but that might have been torn off. Well, let's\nhear about Mr. Matthew's trunk. It's rather interesting, this, and may\ngive me a clue to mine.\"\n\n\"My dear young man, I fear a dishonest driver is what is wrong in your\ndirection, or your trunk may have been stolen from the wagon, or have\nfallen off. However, that is an old subject, isn't it? Mr. Matthews' is\na neat little steamer trunk, of rather an old fashion. Of course, he\nhas no key, and had no time to get a locksmith, so we don't know the\ncontents.\"\n\n\"Mine was a small steamer trunk, not of a new fashion. It had been my\nmother's; but, being small and in good condition, I used it for myself,\nold as it was. It had her initials on it, for she had it before she was\nmarried.\"\n\nMiss Ri leaned forward and asked earnestly: \"What were they?\"\n\n\"J. S. D. Julia Somers Darby was her maiden name.\"\n\nMiss Ri looked at him excitedly. \"J. S. D.? My dear man, those are the\nvery initials on Berk's trunk.\"\n\nIt was Mr. Jeffreys' turn to look agitated. \"Miss Hill, are you sure?\nDo you think--?\" he began. \"Miss Hill, could it be possible that it is\nmy trunk? Will you tell me all the details? Where is this place that\nyou found it? Perhaps, though, I'd best see Matthews.\"\n\n\"But he has not yet come back.\"\n\n\"True; I had forgotten that.\"\n\n\"I can tell you where the place is,\" continued Miss Ri, \"if it will do\nany good,\" and she proceeded to describe the locality, Mr. Jeffreys\nlistening intently.\n\n\"It is well worth looking into,\" he decided. \"I don't suppose there is\nany chance of my catching Mr. Matthews in town before he leaves?\"\n\n\"There is no boat up to-night, you know.\"\n\n\"That is so. I did not remember that this was Saturday.\"\n\n\"Moreover, if you were to take the train, very likely he would have\nleft by the time you could reach the city. Better possess your soul in\npatience, Mr. Jeffreys, and wait till he gets back.\"\n\n\"I have been patient for some time,\" he responded quietly.\n\n\"To be sure, you have; so that twenty-four hours longer will not seem\nimpossible. It certainly is a curious coincidence, though doubtless\nthere are other steamer trunks bearing the initials J. S. D.\"\n\n\"Yes, I admit that; and how mine could have found its way to the\nexpress office is another puzzle.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't bother much about the how, if you discover that it really\ndid reach there.\"\n\nThere was a pause for a moment, then Linda said: \"You haven't told Aunt\nRi your secret yet, cousin.\"\n\nMiss Ri wheeled around in her chair. \"Cousin! What are you talking\nabout, Verlinda Talbot?\"\n\n\"Our great-grandfathers were brothers, Miss Hill,\" said Mr. Jeffreys.\n\"It doesn't give a very near relationship, I admit, but there it is and\nwe are of the same blood.\"\n\n\"Well, I am astonished. Tell me all about it, right away. Your\ngreat-grandfather on the Talbot side, is it, Verlinda? Yours was\nMadison, and who was yours, Mr. Jeffreys?\"\n\n\"Cyrus, whose daughter Lovina married Wyatt Jeffreys, after whom I am\nnamed. My grandfather that was, you see.\"\n\n\"And that is why the name always sounded so familiar,\" exclaimed\nLinda. \"I am sure I have heard my grandmother speak of him, for you\nsee, Lovina would be her husband's first cousin. Go on, please, Mr.\nJeffreys.\"\n\n\"Very well. After the War of 1812, Cyrus Talbot removed to Western\nPennsylvania. I believe his house was burned during that war, and he,\nlike many others, was seized with the spirit of emigration to the West.\"\n\n\"The old house at Talbot's Addition was burned, you remember,\" cried\nLinda, turning to Miss Ri, \"though I don't know just when.\" She turned\nagain to Mr. Jeffreys.\n\n\"Lovina married a young Englishman,\" he continued. \"In those days the\nfeeling was very bitter against the English, and her father refused\nto see her; but after his death an old box of papers came into her\npossession, and they were found to be his. He had married a second\ntime, but there were no children by this marriage. By his will, Cyrus\nTalbot left most of his property in Western Pennsylvania to his wife,\nbut a clause of the will read: 'The remainder of my property to my\ndaughter Lovina.' A little farm in that part of the country to which\nhe emigrated was supposed to be all that came to Lovina, but the old\npapers show, we believe, that he still had a claim to estates here in\nMaryland. Lovina went to England after her marriage, and the papers\nwere left with some of the neighbors, though she seems to have had\npossession of them afterward, for there was a memorandum giving the\nname and address of the persons in whose care it was eventually left.\nThis memorandum my father found after her death, and when he came to\nthis country later on, he hunted up the box and told me several times\nthat there might be something in those papers if one had time or would\ntake the trouble to look them over. He settled in Hartford and died\nthere. My father left a life insurance which was sufficient for my\nmother's needs and which has descended to me now that she is gone.\nI have not studied a profession, but had a clerkship, which seemed\nto promise little future, and after thinking over the situation, I\ndetermined to make a break, come down here and see if there were really\nanything to be done about that property.\"\n\nHe concluded his story. Miss Ri sat drumming on the arms of her chair,\nas was her habit when thinking deeply. Linda, no less preoccupied, sat\nwith eyes fixed upon the plants in the window. It was she who broke the\nsilence. \"It must be Talbot's Addition,\" she decided; \"but, oh, what a\nsnarl for the lawyers.\"\n\n\"It certainly will be,\" agreed Miss Ri, with a little laugh. \"My dear\nman, I am thinking the game will not be worth the candle. However,\nwe shall see. If Berk takes up your case, you may be sure of honest\ndealing, at least. He little knows what his purchase has brought about.\"\n\nYet it was not at the end of twenty-four hours that Wyatt Jeffreys\nreceived the assurance he hoped for, though he sought the Jackson House\nimmediately upon the arrival of the morning boat. Mr. Matthews was\nnot there. Had he arrived? Oh, yes; he came in on the train the night\nbefore, but went off again with Judge Baker first thing in the morning.\nWhen would he be back? Not for some time. He took a trunk with him, and\nwould be making the circuit with the judge.\n\nTherefore Wyatt Jeffreys turned disappointedly away. He went directly\nto Miss Ri, who observed him walking so dejectedly up the gravelled\npath, that she went out on the porch to meet him.\n\n\"Wasn't it your trunk?\" she began. \"I had worked myself quite into the\nbelief that it must be, so I am not ready for a disappointment.\"\n\n\"It is not exactly disappointment, but only hope deferred,\" was the\nreply. \"Mr. Matthews came last night, but went off early this morning\nwith Judge Baker.\"\n\n\"Pshaw! that is trying, isn't it? However, we must make the best of it.\nPerhaps he didn't take the trunk.\"\n\n\"He took _a_ trunk.\"\n\n\"I wonder if he started from the Jackson House or his office? We might\nmake a tour of investigation. Just wait till I look to one or two\nthings, and then we'll see what can be done.\"\n\nShe did not keep him waiting long, and together they went first to the\nsquare brick building, with its white columns, which was designated\nthe Jackson House. Its porch was occupied by various persons who, with\nchairs tipped back, were smoking sociably. In the lobby were gathered\nothers who, less inclined for outdoor air, were taking a morning cigar\nthere. Miss Ri interviewed the clerk, porter, and chambermaid to gather\nthe information that Mr. Matthews had come in on the train with a\ntrunk, which came up on the bus with him and which the porter afterward\ncarried to his office; the same trunk it was which he took with him\nthat morning.\n\n\"Now we'll go to his office,\" decided Miss Ri as they left the hotel.\n\"I am wondering what he did with the papers. There is probably a\nyoungster in charge of the office, who can tell us something.\"\n\nThe office was just across the street. Here they learned that Mr.\nMatthews had come in that morning in a great rush to gather up what he\nshould need for the trip. \"He was here last night, too, Miss Ri,\" said\nthe lad, a fresh-faced youngster of seventeen or so. \"He told me he had\nto do some work, and he came to my house and got the key.\"\n\n\"Do you know if he took any papers from his trunk to leave behind?\"\ninquired Miss Ri.\n\n\"I don't know; but if he did, they would be in the little room\nupstairs. I can see. Were there some papers of yours, Miss Ri? Perhaps\nI could find them, if you will tell me what they are.\"\n\n\"There were some papers belonging to a particular case which I wanted\nto get at,\" she explained.\n\nThe lad hesitated when she asked, \"Could we go up to the little room?\"\n\n\"It's not in very good order,\" he told her. \"It's where Mr. Matthews\nkeeps odds and ends.\"\n\n\"We shall not mind the disorder,\" Miss Ri told him. So he led the way\nup a narrow stairway to a little attic room with a small dusty-paned\nwindow at each end. The room held a motley collection of things:\nsaddles and bridles, a shooting outfit, two or three old hats hung on\nthe wall, one or two boxes of books and pamphlets were shoved under\nsome rough shelves. The boy dragged out a large valise stuffed so full\nthat its sides gaped. It was locked, but from one end hung a cravat,\nwhich Mr. Jeffreys drew out, slowly examining it, Miss Ri regarding him\nquestioningly.\n\n\"It looks very like one of mine,\" he said; \"but I don't lay claim to\na particular brand of tie.\" He turned over the heavy valise, shaking\nit from side to side. From the bulging crevice fell a card upon which\nwas printed, \"Wyatt B. Jeffreys, Hartford Fire Insurance Co.\" The young\nman held it out silently to Miss Ri, who gasped, \"Of all things! That\nsettles it.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nPURSUING CLUES\n\n\n\"When do you expect Mr. Matthews?\" Miss Ri asked the boy, who was\nwatching them curiously.\n\n\"Oh, not for a week or more. He told me to hold down the office till he\ncame, so I'm keeping the lid on the best I know how. I don't see any\npapers marked for you, Miss Ri.\" He looked around on the shelves at\nsome dusty collections.\n\n\"No? Well, never mind; we can see about it later. Suppose we slip that\ncard and necktie back, Mr. Jeffreys? Thank you, Billy, for letting us\ncome up.\" Everyone in town was known to Miss Ri, as she was known to\neveryone.\n\nOnce out in the street, Miss Ri gave voice to her conjectures. \"Of\ncourse, Mr. Jeffreys, we can be positive now, don't you think?\"\n\n\"One might suppose so, only that I have been thinking I may have given\nMatthews one of my cards which I chanced to have with me, and he has\nstuffed it into his valise along with other things which may have\nno connection with me whatever. I can't exactly believe it is proof\npositive.\"\n\n\"But the cravat?\"\n\n\"Almost anyone might have a blue spotted tie like that. No, Miss Hill;\nI can't say I think it wise to jump at the conclusion.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear me, the masculine mind does work more deliberately than ours,\ndoesn't it? At all events, I think it is something to go on, if not\nabsolute proof. Let me see; first the trunk with the same initials,\nnext the cravat, then the card. One doesn't expect to meet three such\ncoincidences and gain no result, does one? Eliminate two, and you\nstill have one pretty good proof, I should say. What are you going to\ndo next, pending Berk's return? You surely don't mean to sit down and\ntwiddle your thumbs?\"\n\n\"No, hardly. I think I will go up to the city and interview the express\npeople. If this is really my trunk, it may be superfluous to make the\ntrip, but it will give me something to do, and may bring about some\nsatisfactory conclusion.\"\n\n\"It isn't a bad move,\" returned Miss Ri. \"You know the date, I suppose,\nand no doubt they have some record.\"\n\n\"That is what I am hoping for. If I only knew the number, which they\nmust have marked on the trunk, it would help.\"\n\n\"How would it do to follow up Berk? You could probably find out where\nthe judge is going; it may be his family can tell. Suppose we stop by\nand see what Mrs. Baker can tell us?\"\n\nBut the Baker family were all in the city and that clue was dropped.\nThen the two returned to Miss Ri's and bethought themselves of getting\nBerkley on the telephone, but this, too, failed. He had been to\nthe hotel, in a certain little town, which they called up, but had\ndeparted. Where was he going next? \"Couldn't say.\"\n\n\"That clips off one thread,\" said Miss Ri, putting down the receiver.\n\"You'd better go to town, after all. It will keep you occupied, and it\nis always a relief to be doing something, when one must wait. You'd get\nthere quicker by taking the train, but the boat is cheaper, and I don't\nknow that you would gain anything by starting earlier, for it would be\ntoo late to accomplish anything if you did get in this evening. You'll\nreport progress, of course, when you get back?\"\n\n\"Surely.\"\n\nMiss Ri watched him depart, and then sat for a long time pondering\nover the situation. Why should she interest herself in a stranger? And\nsupposing it were so that he found his papers and proved his claim,\nmightn't that mean loss to Linda; or if not to her, to someone they all\nhad known as a neighbor? It might possibly be Talbot's Angles. No, that\ncouldn't be, thought Miss Ri, for everyone knows it belonged to Jim\nTalbot and his father before him. Well, it is all very puzzling, and\nLinda may yet have her chance. Grace is just the silly kind of pretty\nwoman to attract some blind bat of a man. There comes my girlie; I must\ntell her all the news. \"It's the greatest comfort in the world to have\nsomeone in the house I can gossip to,\" she said as Linda entered. \"I\ndon't know what I did before you came.\"\n\n\"Stepped out the back way to Miss Parthy.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is just what I did; but fond as I am of Parthy Turner, there\nare subjects I would rather not discuss with her, to say nothing of the\nplague of finding a man in the way whenever I go over there nowadays.\nTired, are you?\"\n\n\"Not so very. If I am half the comfort to you that you are to me, Aunt\nRi, I am very glad.\"\n\n\"So we are mutually satisfied; that is good. Lie down there on the sofa\ntill dinner is ready, and I'll tell you what I've been doing.\"\n\nLinda obeyed, and Miss Ri gave an account of the pursuit of clues,\nending up with, \"Now, what do you think of it?\"\n\n\"I think it is very remarkable, to say the least, and I am inclined to\nbelieve with you that the trunk Berk bought is really Mr. Jeffreys'.\nAunt Ri, do you suppose Berk could have found that out? I don't see why\nhe shouldn't have made the discovery as soon as he opened it, in which\ncase I think he ought to have notified Mr. Jeffreys at once.\"\n\n\"My dear, I don't for a moment think that of Berk. He is too honest and\nstraightforward, and besides, what would be his object?\"\n\n\"I don't know; yet, if he removed the papers, how could he help seeing\nwhose they were? They must have been marked in some way to identify\nthem.\"\n\n\"I don't believe he noticed them at all.\"\n\n\"Wouldn't you have done so?\"\n\n\"I am a woman, and a woman always notices details more quickly than a\nman. Don't be suspicious, Verlinda.\"\n\n\"I'm not; but I can't help conjecturing.\"\n\n\"It isn't worth while to do even that till the two come back. We will\nnab Berk as soon as he gets here and have it settled. I don't know\nwhen anything so exciting has occurred in this town, and to think it\nconcerns you, too. We mustn't let it get out, or the whole place will\nbe agog. That young man is right to keep his affairs to himself.\"\n\nBut in spite of Miss Ri's intention to nab Berkley Matthews as soon\nas he returned, that opportunity was not accorded her, for though she\ncalled up his office daily, he arrived one evening and was off again\nthe next day, unfortunately making his call at Miss Ri's when neither\nshe nor Linda was at home. Mrs. Becky Hill had come to town and had\ncarried off Miss Ri, willy-nilly, to look at a horse which Mrs. Becky\nthought of buying. When Miss Ri returned from the five-mile drive,\nPhebe met her at the door, saying, \"Mr. Matthews done been hyar whilst\nyuh away, Miss Ri. He lef' a note on de table in de settin'-room.\"\n\nMiss Ri was reading the note when Linda came in. \"Now isn't this hard\nluck?\" exclaimed the older woman. \"Becky came in this afternoon and\nnothing would do but I must be dragged off to Hillside to see about a\nhorse she has an idea of buying. She wanted my advice, as if I were a\nhorse-dealer and spent my time looking in horses' mouths to count their\nteeth.\"\n\n\"Didn't you have a pleasant drive? It is a lovely day,\" returned Linda.\n\n\"Oh, it was pleasant enough; I really enjoyed it, but it made me miss\nBerk Matthews. Here's a note from him saying he was sorry not to find\nus at home and that he is going off duck-shooting down the bay. Isn't\nthat provoking?\"\n\n\"It surely is. Does he say anything about the trunk?\"\n\n\"Not a syllable.\"\n\n\"Nor when he will be back?\"\n\n\"Not a word. Here read for yourself.\"\n\nLinda took the hastily-scribbled note, written in the rather cramped,\nlawyer-like handwriting which she had come to know as Berkley's:\n\n \"Sorry not to see you. Am off for some duck-shooting. I will bring a\n brace to you and we'll eat them together, allowing Linda the bones to\n pick.\n\n                                \"In haste,\n                                                        \"BERK.\"\n\nThat was all.\n\n\"It sounds very like Berk,\" said Linda, \"and it doesn't seem possible\nthat he could be keeping away on purpose. Mr. Jeffreys will be very\nmuch disappointed, I am afraid.\"\n\n\"Of course, it is not on purpose. What an idea, Verlinda! All the men\ngo duck-shooting this time of year; it's about all the amusement they\nget in this part of the world. You wouldn't deprive him of it?\"\n\n\"Yes, I would; for I don't like even ducks to be killed. However, I\nsuppose it is inevitable.\"\n\n\"Of course it is inevitable while ducks fly over the waters of the bay.\nFor my part, I like to see the lads go off in their shooting clothes,\nwith their dogs and their guns. Ducks can't live forever, and if we\ndon't eat them, something else will.\"\n\n\"If they were all killed outright, I shouldn't care so much; for, of\ncourse, they are intended for food, but I can't bear to think of their\nonly being wounded and of their suffering, perhaps, for days.\"\n\n\"You have too tender a heart, Verlinda, for a girl who has been brought\nup in a hunting community.\"\n\n\"Perhaps that is the very reason; because I have seen something of what\nit means to the poor ducks. Have you seen Mr. Jeffreys? He was to have\nreturned this morning.\"\n\n\"No, I haven't seen him. I'll call up Parthy and find out if he has\nreturned. If he has, I'll ask her to send him over.\"\n\n\"Do you want to do that?\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\nLinda did not give any reason, and Miss Ri went to the 'phone. Mr.\nJeffreys himself answered it, and promised to come over immediately.\n\nHe was met by the question: \"What report?\"\n\n\"Not much of any account. I went to see the express people,\" he told\nthem, \"and they admitted that there were such things as drunken drivers\nwho might hand over orders to others who, in turn, would maybe deliver\na trunk to the wrong place; that had sometimes happened. And if the\ntrunk were not marked, or if the tag were torn, there would be little\nchance of its reaching the proper owner, unless he held the express\ncompany's receipt. So I came away with nothing more than a warning not\nto trust any but the regular expressmen, and that is about all the\nsatisfaction I could get.\"\n\n\"Too bad!\" declared Miss Ri. \"And now, I suppose you know Berk is off\nduck-shooting, and that is another delay for you.\"\n\n\"Yes, I heard about that. I went to the hotel, but couldn't very well\nask to be allowed to break into his room, where the trunk probably is;\nand Billy would think me a most suspicious character, if I asked for\na second view of the valise. I am beginning to think that, after all,\nwe have made a mistake, and that he has not my property at all, or he\nsurely would have notified me.\"\n\n\"It does look that way, and it is very provoking to be kept in\nsuspense. I will tell you what I will do. If you can't get into Berk's\nroom, I can. I know the proprietor of the Jackson House, and his\nwife, as well; so I am sure I can manage. I'll make an effort this\nvery afternoon. Berk won't mind when I tell him and he learns it was\nin a good cause. I will bring away a pile of stockings to mend, and\nthat will be an excellent excuse. I can make a strict examination of\nthe trunk and bring you an accurate description, so if there are any\nidentifying marks, I can tell you. How will that do?\"\n\n\"Miss Hill, you are a miracle of ingenuity. That is a great scheme.\"\n\nMiss Ri looked up at the clock. \"It isn't so late. I believe I will go\nnow. No time like the present. You can stay here with Linda till I get\nback. I won't be long.\"\n\n\"Isn't she wonderful?\" said Mr. Jeffreys, looking after the stout\nfigure admiringly. \"She is so direct, and so initiative. A woman like\nthat is a friend worth having. I liked her from the moment I saw her\nout in this old garden.\"\n\nLinda warmed to the praise of her friend. She was somewhat annoyed at\nBerkley's readiness to allow other matters to interfere with his visits\nto the house, and with his attention to Mr. Jeffreys' affairs. She felt\nsorry for the young man who, like herself, was lonely and bereft. She\nwas too tender-hearted not to show sympathy for anyone so unfortunate,\nand she was very gentle in her manner toward him, so the two sat\nthere talking of those personal things which draw those with similar\ninterests together, and Miss Ri's absence seemed a very short one.\n\nShe came in flushed and panting from a rapid walk, a bundle of\nstockings, done up in newspaper, under her arm, and in her hand a bit\nof paper which she laid triumphantly on the table. It was getting\ndark, and she called for lights, as she threw aside her wraps. \"Find\nthe matches, Verlinda, and get Mr. Jeffreys to light the gas. I really\nthink I have found something worth while.\"\n\nWhile Linda was searching for the matches, Mr. Jeffreys had taken the\nbit of paper to the window and was examining it by the waning light. He\ncame back to take the matches from Linda's hand and to say, \"Miss Hill,\nI really think you have brought me proof positive.\"\n\n\"Wait till we get a light,\" she returned.\n\nAnother moment furnished this, and then, under the lighted chandelier,\nhe showed them the paper, a piece of a tag from which more than half\nhad been torn. That remaining showed but four letters, though they were\nenough. \"You see here,\" said Mr. Jeffreys, \"on this first line was W.\nB. Jeffreys. The W. B., in my handwriting, remains. On the second line\nwas Sandbridge, of which the S alone is left. The third line showed\nMd., and you see not quite all of the M. I would swear to it in any\ncourt.\"\n\n\"Which will not be necessary, as no doubt you have the trunk key and\ncan describe the contents.\"\n\n\"Tell us how you managed, Aunt Ri,\" urged Linda.\n\n\"Well, first I hunted up Mrs. Beall, told her I wanted to get some\nof Berk's socks to mend in order to surprise him; so she told the\nchambermaid to open his room for me. I hunted out the holey socks and\nthen I turned my attention to the trunk. There it sat with its J. S. D.\nas plain as day. It was locked and, of course, I couldn't get at the\ninside; but on one of the handles I saw this piece of tag hanging, so I\ntook it off and brought it away. Of course, I examined it and came to\nmy own conclusions, which were the same as yours, Mr. Jeffreys. So now,\nlet me congratulate you. Since there seems no doubt but that you have\nfound your trunk, the waiting for Berk will not be so trying.\"\n\n\"I congratulate you, too,\" added Linda, holding out her hand.\n\n\"Thank you,\" replied the young man, taking Miss Ri's proffered hand\nrather than Linda's, and then turning somewhat confusedly to examine\nagain the piece of paper.\n\nBut, as if to make up for this seeming rudeness, for the next few days\nhe was rarely absent from the house when Linda was there. He was at the\ngate when she started forth to school; he was at the corner to join her\nwhen she came home. Supper was scarcely over before his step was heard\nupon the porch, and if there was no open love-making, there was at\nleast a sufficient show of interest to make the girl feel that no word\nof hers passed unnoticed.\n\n\"I believe the man is falling in love with you,\" averred Miss Ri\nbluntly, when he left them one evening; \"if he is not already there.\"\n\nLinda flushed, but replied steadily: \"You must remember that I am a\nrelative, and naturally he turns to me for sympathy and advice. The\npoor fellow has neither mother nor sister, and, of course--\"\n\n\"Take care, Verlinda. That 'poor fellow' sounds very dangerous. You\nknow what pity is akin to.\"\n\nBut Linda did not reply. She turned out the light by the piano,\nbusied herself in straightening the room, and then, kissing Miss Ri\ngood-night, went directly upstairs. She stood a long time before her\nmirror, thoughtfully gazing at the reflection she saw there, and after\nshe had turned out her light, she went to the window which opened upon\nthe back garden, looking across to where a twinkling beam shone out\nfrom Miss Parthy's house. \"It is rather nice to have a new cousin,\" she\nsaid to herself, as she drew down the shade again and turned to open a\nwindow further away from her bed.\n\nOn the other side of the entry, Miss Ri, in her room, was frowning and\nsaying savagely to herself: \"Maria Hill, you are an idiot. It is just\nlike you to be carried away by some new excitement, never looking far\nenough ahead to discover what it is all leading to. I say you are an\nidiot, and you are not the only one, if the truth were known.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nA NEWSPAPER\n\n\nLinda, though spontaneous enough in ordinary matters like most Southern\ngirls, was reticent when it came to those things which touched her\nmost nearly. She was but fifteen when her mother died; her sisters,\nolder than herself, had passed out of her life before she had really\nknown them well. The elder had married and had died within a year, the\nyounger, Linda remembered only as a delicate girl, who was too frail to\ngo so far as town to school, and who one day was covered with flowers\nand was borne to the little churchyard. So at the very time Linda had\nneeded someone to whom to give her confidences she had only her older\nbrother, Martin, a busy man, and one who could hardly sympathize with\nher youthful fancies, her flights of imagination, however kind he\nmight be. Therefore because she must have some outlet for her fanciful\nthoughts she began to scribble, for her own pleasure at first, later\nwith the hope that she might one day write something worth publishing.\nIt was not till she had taken up her abode with Miss Ri that she did\ntimidly send forth some little verses, very doubtful of their finding\na place in the columns of the newspaper to which she sent them.\n\nTime went on and she had heard nothing of her small venture, but one\nSaturday morning, having gone to the school-house for some book she\nneeded, she stopped at the postoffice for the mail, forestalling the\npostman who could deliver it later.\n\nOn the threshold she met Berk Matthews. \"Why, hallo, Linda,\" he\nexclaimed. \"Haven't seen you for a month of Sundays.\"\n\n\"And whose fault is that, I'd like to know,\" she answered.\n\n\"Whose fault? Why, the ducks, of course. I didn't have any luck and am\ngoing out again. By the way when did you turn poet?\"\n\nLinda paled, flushed, looked down nervously, shuffled the letters and\npapers she held. \"What do you mean?\" she asked at last.\n\n\"There's only one Verlinda Talbot, isn't there? Unless someone has\nborrowed your very pretty and unusual name. Look at this.\" He thrust\nhis hand into his coat pocket and drew forth a paper, opened the sheet\nand pointed out the following:\n\nTHE MARCHING PINES\n\n  Up from the hill-<DW72> and over the ridge\n  An army is coming of marching pines.\n  The cloud-shadows lurking, lie low on the bridge\n  Wrought out by the moonbeams in delicate lines.\n\n  They march from the meadow land over the snow\n  With bayonets pointed, a solid phalanx,\n  Save where, on their outlying edges, they show\n  A few timid stragglers who've broken the ranks.\n\n  And down in the field, set in orderly rows\n  Are wigwams, one sees by the light of the moon.\n  Hark! Hark! Does a war-whoop discover the foes?\n  From out of the marsh comes the laugh of a loon.\n\n                                Verlinda Talbot.\n\n\"Here, let me take your things,\" said the young man gently as he\nperceived by her shaking hands and changing color that she was\nagitated. He watched her read the lines through and as she raised sweet\nquestioning eyes, he bit his lip and drew in his breath quickly and\nsharply. \"I like it, Linda,\" he said as she folded the paper and handed\nit back to him. \"How did you manage to do it? I am as proud as can be\nof you.\"\n\n\"Are you really, Berk? That is very nice of you. To think you saw it\nbefore I did. Why I didn't even know they were going to print it.\"\n\n\"You didn't? Then I'm the discoverer. I'm proud of that, too. Very\nlikely you will find a copy of the paper in your mail. Are they paying\nyou well for it?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, I don't think they pay at all. I don't expect that. I am paid\nsufficiently by seeing it in print this time. Perhaps--some day--if I\nkeep on--\"\n\n\"You will be a great writer.\"\n\n\"Oh, never that, but I may be able to write something worth while. I\nlong to.\"\n\n\"And give up teaching? You don't like teaching.\"\n\n\"I don't believe I do very much.\"\n\n\"Yet I hear good accounts of you.\"\n\n\"Really, Berk?\"\n\n\"Certainly I do. Mr. Willis told me you were very satisfactory, and had\nbroken in your class so they trotted along without a break.\"\n\n\"I think we do get along better,\" Linda acknowledged a little\ndubiously, \"and I believe the small boys do begin to like me more than\nthey did, at least some of them do.\"\n\n\"All of them will in time, I am sure.\"\n\n\"You're a nice encouraging friend, Berk. Is this where we part?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have an appointment with Judge Morris this morning. Good-by.\nTell Miss Ri I'll be around soon.\"\n\nHe gave the budget into her hands, raised his hat and entered the\nlittle one-storied building at the side of whose door were signs\ndenoting the calling of those whose offices were within, lawyers all,\ntwo judges among them.\n\nThe trees over-arching the long street had lost most of their leaves,\nbut the river was as blue as ever, and the gardens still held late\nblooms. A tall cosmos peeped over the fence of one, chrysanthemums\nmade a brave showing in another. A few courageous nasturtiums started\nbrilliantly from amid their yellowing leaves, scarlet salvia shot\nout myriads of little tongues of flame before almost every house.\nThe streets were quite full of people this Saturday morning. Country\nvehicles, mud-stained, and in many cases rickety and drawn by shabby\nmules, jostled more pretentious teams. Lolling <DW54>s singing some\nmonotonous camp-meeting hymn, drove their brick carts to a new building\nwhich was going up near by. Dogs were seen everywhere, some at the\nheels of the young men who, in hunting attire, were making ready to\nstart out for a day's shooting, some lying on the porches ready to\nbark at any passer-by, some sportively chasing one another up and down\nthe street, playfully catching at the long silky ear of a companion,\nor rolling him over and over, then off again in hot chase. One or two\nthrust their cold noses into Linda's hand as she passed them, and with\nwagging tail received her caress and \"Nice doggie\" as something not\nonly expected but deserved. The air was soft, sweet and languorous,\nfor Indian summer was here and the days still held suggestions of the\nearlier season.\n\nLinda turned in at the gate leading to Miss Ri's house, and pushing\nher feet through the drift of crisp leaves which covered the gravelled\nwalk, enjoyed the exhilaration of the hour. She was buoyant, hopeful,\nreally happy. Life was opening up wonderful possibilities. The music\nof the spheres was hers. She read the spirit of the universe in each\ndancing leaf, in each scarlet flower-flame.\n\nSeeing Phebe at the back of the house she ran around to her. The old\nwoman raised herself ponderously from where she was spreading her\ndish-towels on the grass. \"Do you like it here? Are you happy, Mammy?\"\nasked Linda.\n\n\"Jes listen to de chile,\" exclaimed Mammy. \"Is I happy? I done got\n'ligion long ago, honey, and I ain't back-slid fo' many a ye'r. Co'se I\nis happy. I ain't shoutin' but I ain't mo'nin', an' I hopes I ain't lak\ndese young things dat hollers hallelujah at nights and steals from de\nmadam in de mawnin'. Co'se I is happy long as mah baby ain't down in de\nmouf. Yuh sutt'nly looks peart, honey, an' bless mah Lord an' Marster\ndat I kin say it. Whar all yo' beaux, honey chile?\"\n\nLinda laughed. \"Oh, they'll be around after a while.\"\n\nMammy chuckled and Linda entering by the back door, after some\nsearching, at last found Miss Ri upstairs looking over the house linen.\n\n\"Well, Verlinda, you have a fine color,\" said the lady looking up. \"It\ndoes you good to get out into the fresh air. Any news up town?\"\n\n\"I met Berk.\"\n\n\"You did? What did he say about the trunk?\"\n\nLinda stopped in the act of tearing the wrapper from a newspaper she\nheld. \"Aunt Ri, I declare I never said a word to him about it. Never\nonce did it enter my mind.\"\n\n\"Verlinda Talbot! I can scarce believe that. What were you talking\nabout to make you forget it?\"\n\nLinda finished freeing the paper from its wrapper. Her eyes were\ndowncast, and the flush lingered in her cheeks; a smile played around\nher lips. \"This,\" she answered holding out the paper on which her\nverses were printed.\n\nMiss Ri adjusted her spectacles, read the lines, laid the paper aside\nand took the girl's hands in hers. \"You dear, sentimental child,\" she\nsaid, \"I am proud of you.\"\n\n\"That is what Berk said,\" returned Linda with a little pleased smile.\n\n\"Did he? Well, he may be. Why, my dear, we shall all be proud of you,\nthe whole town. We must have you in the club; you will be an ornament\nto it.\"\n\nLinda fairly laughed at this. \"One meagre little set of verses will not\ngive more than a rushlight's beam,\" she answered, \"even in Sandbridge,\nAunt Ri. But maybe I shall be a real shining light some day. Anyhow it\nis great fun.\"\n\n\"Of course it is to those who can do it. I couldn't to save me.\"\n\n\"And, you see, in the excitement of the discovery, the reason of my\nforgetting the trunk. Please don't tell Mr. Jeffreys that I have seen\nBerk; he will think me a very indifferent cousin if he knows.\"\n\n\"What did Berk have to say besides mentioning that he was proud of you?\"\n\n\"He said he had no luck shooting and that he was going out again. I\nimagine he has been pretty busy, but he said I was to tell you he'd be\naround soon.\"\n\n\"Ducks or no ducks?\"\n\n\"The ducks weren't mentioned.\"\n\n\"Well, he'd better come if he knows what is good for him. Here is your\nother swain heading this way. Go down and see him and keep the trunk\nout of the conversation when I am around or I might forget myself and\ntell on you. I think you'd better take him off somewhere if you want to\nbe quite safe. It's a fine day to be out of doors.\"\n\n\"We can sit on the porch or go out on the river,\" responded Linda as\nshe left the room.\n\nShe felt a little diffident about showing her newspaper to her visitor,\nbut, reflecting that Miss Ri would be sure to speak of it, she decided\nto have the matter over with, and at once displayed her verses. If\nMr. Jeffreys did not openly express the same appreciation that Berkley\nhad done he was at least as effusive as Linda expected, being at no\ntime a person who showed ardent enthusiasm. His call was not a long\none, for Linda felt a little ill at ease, condemning herself for having\nforgotten a thing so important to him, and in consequence she was not\nable to talk of his affairs with the same show of interest, a fact\nwhich he, however, attributed to her excitement over the printing of\nher verses.\n\nAs the two walked to the gate together they saw Berkley drive by with a\nfriend. Both men were equipped for hunting, and from between Berkley's\nknees looked out the intelligent face of a fine brown setter who was\nall a-quiver with the prospect in view.\n\nMr. Jeffreys gave a sudden call after the buggy, but checked himself\ndirectly, turning to Linda with an air of apology. \"I should not\nhave done that, but I was carried away by my interest in seeing Mr.\nMatthews. I didn't know he was in town.\"\n\n\"He is going off with Elmer Dawson, evidently,\" rejoined Linda, looking\nafter the buggy.\n\n\"And there is no telling when he will return. The fates are against me,\nMiss Linda.\"\n\n\"You certainly are having a lesson in patience,\" Linda admitted. \"Never\nmind, Mr. Jeffreys, the case won't suffer by reason of delay. Why\ndon't you write a note to Mr. Matthews?\" she asked suddenly catching at\nthe idea. \"Tell him you think he has happened upon your trunk, describe\nit, and ask him to let you see it. You must remember his attention has\nnot been called to it yet, and he hasn't a notion that you are in a\nstate of suspense.\"\n\n\"Unless he has examined the contents.\"\n\n\"Which he may or may not have done. At all events, you will have the\nsatisfaction of knowing that you have brought the subject to his\nnotice. He seems such a difficult person to get at these days that it\nmight be as well to write.\"\n\n\"Thank you for the suggestion; it might not be a bad idea. I will\ngo home and think it over.\" He lifted his hat and Linda watched him\nthoughtfully walking down the street. \"If Berk does know it is pretty\nmean of him,\" she said to herself, and she voiced the opinion to Miss\nRi when she went indoors.\n\n\"It is mighty mean if he really knows it, and it almost seems as if\nhe must,\" agreed Miss Ri. \"One might almost think he was doing it on\npurpose, if it were not really a serious matter. Berk is something of a\ntease, you know. I'll call him up to-night and tell him to come and get\nhis socks. He doesn't deserve to have me mend them, the rascal.\"\n\nBut Mr. Matthews was not at the hotel, came the news over the 'phone\nthat evening. Neither did he appear on Sunday. On Monday it was learned\nthat he had returned but was at Court when Mr. Jeffreys tried to see\nhim. The day went by and there was no response to the note Mr. Jeffreys\nmentioned having written.\n\n\"It begins to look very queer,\" said Miss Ri soberly when Monday\nhad passed and no Berkley appeared. \"I'm beginning to lose faith,\nLinda, and that is something I have never done before where Berk was\nconcerned. He can't want to steal such a paltry thing as a trunk.\"\n\n\"Perhaps to his legal mind it is his own property since he bought it,\"\nremarked Linda in excuse.\n\n\"But there are the papers.\"\n\n\"True, there are the papers. He has no right to them. Dear me, my head\nfairly buzzes with trying to account for it. I wish we had never heard\nof Wyatt Jeffreys and his old trunk. Why did he come here to disturb\nour peace?\"\n\n\"It certainly is queer for Berk to act so,\" continued Miss Ri, \"and the\nqueerest part of the whole business to me is that he has not been near\nus for two weeks.\"\n\n\"He did come, you remember, that day you went to the country with Mrs.\nBecky.\"\n\n\"Yes, I had forgotten that.\"\n\n\"And he was as nice and friendly as could be the day I met him at the\npostoffice.\"\n\n\"But he hasn't sent us those ducks,\" contended Miss Ri.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nA BRACE OF DUCKS\n\n\nThe very next morning after this talk Wyatt Jeffreys met Berkley\nMatthews on the street just outside the Jackson House. \"Hallo,\" cried\nthe latter. \"Just have your note. I've been staying with John Emory,\nand we've been off ducking so I didn't get my mail till this morning.\nIt certainly would be a good joke if I had captured your trunk. Suppose\nyou come and have a look at it, and if you identify it, of course you\nshall have it without delay. Come up to my room.\"\n\nAs Mr. Jeffreys followed the springing step all suspicion fled. Once\nin the room the trunk was easily recognized. \"There were some papers,\"\nsaid Mr. Jeffreys.\n\n\"Oh, yes, they are over at my office. I had to get a locksmith to open\nthe trunk for me, and he had to put on a new lock, as you see. I took\nout the clothing over here, sent the trunk across the way, dumped out\nthe papers in a valise without looking at them, and there they are. You\ncan get them any time.\"\n\n\"I'd like you to go over them with me when you have time, Matthews.\"\n\n\"Very well. Just now I am a little rushed, but we can take it up later\nwhen I get this case through I am now at work upon. In the meantime I\nwill see that you get the trunk and the rest of the things. I'll try\nto get them off this afternoon. I am certainly glad I happened to take\na fancy to your trunk, but what a queer coincidence it is. I never\nassociated it with you at all. Those initials, J. S. D. would have\nmisled me in any event. I told Miss Ri they stood for Judge Some Day,\nand I think they are about the only part of the trunk I feel loth to\ngive up.\"\n\nMr. Jeffreys smiled. It was like a sentimental Southerner, he thought.\nThen, after some discussion about cost of transportation and all that,\nthe matter was settled to the satisfaction of both.\n\nWith the delivery of the trunk came the ducks, not inside the trunk,\nof course, for that contained everything which was in it at the time\nof Berkley's first possession, everything except the papers. The trunk\nwas brought to Miss Parthy's by an old <DW52> man picturesquely\nantique both as regarded his costume and himself. Uncle Moke everyone\ncalled him, his real name of Moses having fallen into disuse so long\nbefore that no one remembered it. He was general factotum around\ntown and a trusty messenger. He had delivered his first charge at\nMiss Parthy's door, and then was ready for Miss Ri. Nothing pleased\nhim more than such an errand. \"Evenin' Miss Ri,\" said the old fellow\nwith many a bow and scrape, his ragged hat in his hand. \"Mr. Berk\nMatthews' compliments, Miss Ri, an' dese yer ducks, Miss. He say he\nhopes yuh-alls have 'em fo' suppah, an' he be 'long 'bout seben fo' to\nhe'p yuh-alls eat 'em,\" the last with a little chuckle of pleasure at\ndelivering such a message.\n\n\"Very well, Uncle Moke,\" returned Miss Ri, taking the ducks. \"Whether I\nhave them for supper or not is my look out, you tell Mr. Berk.\"\n\n\"Dey nice fat ducks,\" remarked Uncle Moke with the privilege of an old\nacquaintance.\n\n\"I see they are.\"\n\n\"Yuh got some cu'ant jelly, is yuh, Miss Ri? Ef yuh ain't mah ole woman\ngot a little she kin spare yuh.\"\n\n\"I know Aunt Welcome's jelly is good, Uncle Moke, but I reckon I have\nenough for some time to come. How is your wife?\"\n\n\"She thes tollable, Miss Ri.\"\n\n\"And you?\"\n\n\"I thes tollable. I has mis'ry in mah j'ints f'om de rheumatiz dese\ncol' days. I kin skeerce tote de rale heavy trunks. Dat one I thes now\ntaken to Miss Parthy's fo' de strange young man wa'n't de heavy kin'.\"\n\n\"Did you take a trunk to Miss Parthy's for Mr. Jeffreys?\"\n\n\"Yas'm. Mr. Berk he done sont it f'om de hotel. Little weenchy trunk,\nkinder old-fashion.\"\n\n\"Um-hm,\" said Miss Ri, nodding her head. \"So that's done. Have you good\nwarm flannels, Uncle Moke?\" Miss Ri looked him over, perceiving the\nshabbiness of his attire, ragged shirt, threadbare trousers.\n\n\"I ain't had time to buy no winter flannins yet, Miss Ri,\" responded\nthe old man with a pride that forbade giving the real reason.\n\n\"Well, you stop by to-morrow,\" said Miss Ri. \"I shouldn't in the least\nwonder if there were some things in the house that you could wear, and\nthere is no use to buy anything when I'd be glad to get rid of some\nunderwear that I have on hand.\"\n\n\"Thanky, ma'am, thanky.\" The bowing and scraping were continued to a\ndegree. \"I sholy is obleedged to yuh, Miss Ri. It save me a lot o'\nbother. I nuvver was no han' at buyin' flannins, and Welky she don' git\nabout much.\"\n\nMiss Ri watched him stiffly mount his creaking wagon drawn by a scrubby\nmule, then she went in with the ducks. \"Well,\" she announced, \"here\nthey are at last. Don't let me forget, Verlinda, to hunt up some things\nfor Uncle Moke, and if I haven't anything I must buy some. The poor old\nsoul hasn't enough to keep him warm. I don't suppose he makes a great\ndeal these days, for the younger and stronger men are employed where\nhe used to be. He is not able to carry heavy burdens. By the way, the\ntrunk seems to have been delivered, too. Aren't you curious to hear the\nreport. Berk, the impudent boy, sent word he was coming over to help\neat the ducks, and wouldn't we please to have them for supper to-night.\nIsn't that just like him? He does not deserve to be treated decently\nafter the way he has neglected us, but I suppose we shall have to be\nnice to him as long as he has sent us the ducks.\" She went on to the\nkitchen to see Phebe about supper of which she was ready enough to make\na true feast.\n\nTrue to his promise, Berkley arrived promptly for supper. \"You\nrenegade,\" cried Miss Ri. \"We were beginning to think all manner of\nevil about you.\"\n\n\"You were? I didn't expect that of you. What have I done?\"\n\n\"You have neglected us abominably.\"\n\n\"It does look that way, but I really couldn't help it. I had a tough\nweek of it off with Judge Baker, and then to limber up my brain I took\na little outing with some of the boys. We all went down to John Emory's\nlittle shack. Didn't I send you the first fruits of my chase? I hope\nUnc' Moke understood he was to leave the ducks here, and that he didn't\ntake them to Miss Parthy's.\"\n\n\"They came safely enough, and our thanks are ready. We accept your\nexcuses since they seem moderately reasonable, don't we, Verlinda?\"\n\nShe smiled her response and came forward to greet the young man.\n\n\"And how goes the school? Does the verse-making continue?\" he asked\nlooking down with interest showing in his eyes.\n\n\"The school hasn't finished me yet, and the verses,\" she blushed a\nlittle, \"go spasmodically. I haven't sent out any more effusions.\"\n\n\"You must do it. Aren't we proud of her, Miss Ri? Oh, did you hear\nthat the trunk had been found, and that mine was the great mind that\nhappened to realize its value?\"\n\n\"It was accident, pure accident,\" cried Miss Ri. \"Your great mind had\nnothing to do with it. You have sent it back to the owner?\"\n\n\"Yes, worse luck. I wanted to keep it on account of the letters upon\nit. Now I have nothing to cheer me in my despondent moments. It was\nquite a fillip to my ambitions to see those letters. I don't know where\nI shall get another mascot.\"\n\n\"What of the papers?\" asked Linda.\n\n\"Oh, we haven't come to those yet; they are at my office, and there\nthey will stay till Jeffreys and I can look them over. Ducks ready?\nGood! May I escort you, Miss Ri. Will you take my other arm, Linda?\"\nThey marched solemnly to the dining-room. For some reason Berkley\nwas suddenly subdued and was so long in taking the initiative in the\ncarving of the ducks that Miss Ri spoke up. \"Where are your thoughts,\nBerk?\" Then he picked up the wrong knife and fork in confusion and\nlaughed a little nervously.\n\nBut though the ducks were done to a turn, and everything was as it\nshould be, Berkley was distrait and ill at ease all the evening, though\nhe stayed quite as late as usual and went off with a jest.\n\nThe door had no sooner closed behind him than Miss Ri turned to Linda\nto say. \"I can't think what is the matter with Berk. Did it strike you\nthat he was embarrassed and unlike himself.\"\n\n\"I did think so, but put away the thought as coming from my own vain\nimaginings. What do you suppose is the matter?\"\n\n\"I should say it was one of two things; either he is in love or there\nis something in those papers that is bothering him. I wonder if, after\nall, it was his mother whom he was so eager to see in the city. I'm\nbeginning to get suspicious.\"\n\n\"But about the papers; what could be in them?\"\n\n\"That is just what I don't know, but I'm going to find out. I have a\ndeal of thinking to do, Verlinda, my dear. Go to bed and let me puzzle\nout a few things. Berk said he had seen Grace Talbot, didn't he?\" Linda\npaused, her foot on the stair. \"Yes, he spoke of her, said she was\nlooking unusually well.\" Then a little laugh rippled out. \"You don't\nimagine he has fallen in love with Grace, do you?\"\n\n\"Some men are fools enough to do anything,\" returned Miss Ri crossly.\n\n\"Then, of course, you don't get mad with such,\" vouchsafed Linda. Then\nshe turned, a slim graceful figure in trailing black, and came swiftly\nup to Miss Ri. \"You dear old thing,\" she said, \"you mustn't get notions\nin your head like that; it doesn't make any difference; nothing makes\nvery much difference. Suppose he should marry Grace, then I'd have\nTalbot's Angles.\"\n\n\"And I'd lose you,\" returned Miss Ri ruefully. \"Are you sleepy? No?\nCome in then, and let's talk over people and things.\"\n\n\"Let's leave out Berkley and Grace.\"\n\n\"Very well, we'll talk of your new cousin. By the way, if Berk has\nexamined those papers he must know the relationship. Possibly that is\njust what is the matter.\"\n\n\"I don't think so, besides, I had the impression that he had not looked\nat them. But we weren't going to talk of Berk, you know. Tell me\nplainly, what do you think of my new cousin?\"\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU DON'T IMAGINE HE HAS FALLEN IN LOVE WITH GRACE, DO\nYOU?\"]\n\n\"I think he is an out and out Yankee. Clever enough in some directions,\nrather whimsical, deadly afraid you will find out what he is thinking\nabout, frightfully cautious of showing his feelings, with a\nconscience which worries him because his inclination isn't always\nto follow it exactly, wherein he differs from another who follows\nhis impulses, and whose impulses are always generous ones. Your Mr.\nJeffreys sits down and pros and cons for hours. Someone, whose name we\ndon't mention, plunges out, impelled by an unselfish motive, and does\nthe thing that the other deliberates over. Yet I won't say the cousin\ndoesn't do fine honorable things once he makes up his mind it is right.\nVery likely he rises to his heights by a different process, and doesn't\never make the mistake of over zeal, of going at too brisk a pace like\nthe unmentioned sometimes does. What the latter does is with his whole\nheart. I think he might almost perjure himself for one he loved; I know\nhe would cheerfully die in the same cause.\"\n\nLinda, leaning with elbows on table, thoughtfully tapped one hand with\nan ivory paper-cutter. \"You are analytical, Aunt Ri, but probably you\nare right. Yet, after all if a man, through evolutions of reasoning,\nreaches a point where his conscience bids him do a noble deed, isn't\nhe just as much to be approved as he who rushes out, never asking for\nreasons, and does a like noble thing? And isn't he more to be approved\nthan the man who sacrifices his integrity, or does a wrong thing for\nlove's sake?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I don't doubt it though it depends largely upon one's view of\nthe case. For my part I admire the spontaneous, intrepid man more than\nthe deliberate one, but that is a matter of preference.\"\n\n\"Which do you think would be the easier to live with?\" Linda balanced\nthe paper-cutter on the tips of her fingers. \"Wouldn't the impetuous\nman be more difficult, more trying, for the very reason of his\nimpetuosity?\"\n\n\"Yes, but he'd be vastly more entertaining, to my mind, because of his\nuncertainty.\"\n\n\"In perjuring himself, for example?\"\n\n\"Oh, we needn't go so far as that, Verlinda. A really good man would\nnever go so far unless--\"\n\n\"Unless?\"\n\n\"He felt the cause for which he criminated himself was a greater thing\nthan his own state of well-being. I can imagine certain men who would\nsacrifice their immortal welfare for the sake of a sacred cause.\"\n\n\"And you think Berkley Matthews is like that?\"\n\n\"No, I don't say so? I won't go so far in my estimate of him, though I\ndo say there are few things he wouldn't do for one he loved. But you\nremember we were not to mention him.\"\n\n\"We don't appear to be doing much else. We are comparing him all the\ntime with Mr. Jeffreys whether we mention his name or not. I agree\nwith you in thinking Berk is capable of fine things, but so I believe\nis Mr. Jeffreys.\"\n\n\"Berk has the tenderest of hearts,\" continued Miss Ri, \"and he has\nthoughtful little ways that please an elderly woman like myself. I\ncould but notice the difference when I was walking with Mr. Jeffreys.\nDid he help me over a gutter, or up a steep curb? Not he. Not that I\nwanted help, but it was the outward and visible sign of an inward and\nspiritual grace that I missed. Berk watches out for your every step,\nmakes way for you, as it were. If he wore a Sir Walter Raleigh cloak\nit would be mud from end to end so readily would he spread it for a\nwoman's feet to tread on. He may not have the tall and graceful figure\nof your cousin, but he can bow like a courtier, and will stand with\nhis head uncovered in any weather rather than wear his hat in a lady's\npresence.\"\n\n\"I have noticed all those things,\" admitted Linda. \"So far, in your\nopinion, his side of the scales tip far, far below my cousin's, but\nthen one must make allowances for your partiality. You've known Berk\nsince he was born. Perhaps Mr. Jeffreys' mother may have had just so\ngood an opinion of him.\"\n\n\"Being his mother she probably had. What have you to put in his side of\nthe scales?\"\n\n\"Oh, good looks, a very dignified bearing, and a perfectly\nwell-trained conscience which wouldn't run away with him.\"\n\n\"You know I don't call that so desirable a quality as the impulsive\ngenerosity.\"\n\n\"But I do, so if you leave your impulsive generosity in the scales, I\nmust have the well-trained conscience.\"\n\n\"Very well. Go on.\"\n\n\"Then, there's your mud-spattered cloak which I will balance with--let\nme see--\"\n\n\"You can't find anything to equal that,\" cried Miss Ri triumphantly.\n\n\"Oh, yes, I can. There is a certain beautiful dignity and a certain\nindescribable charm; I don't know exactly wherein it lies, but it is\nthere. Bertie Bryan has discovered it, too, and very probably it has\nnot escaped you.\"\n\n\"I don't see it at all.\"\n\n\"There we are again, so you will have to take the courtesy and I'll\nhave the dignity and charm. I haven't a doubt but if we knew Mr.\nJeffreys better we should find a host of other things.\"\n\n\"He is not sympathetic in the way Berk is.\"\n\nThe paper-cutter was at work again. \"No-o,\" Linda admitted, \"he doesn't\nseem to be, but perhaps he really is, inside.\"\n\n\"Then I don't see what use it is to anyone. Berk shows that quality in\nhis eyes. He has dear eyes, I think.\"\n\nLinda neither affirmed nor denied though she suddenly remembered the\neager, tender look bestowed upon her that day in the postoffice when\nshe gave back the newspaper after reading her little poem in it. \"We\ncertainly have discussed those two long enough,\" she said lightly. \"How\ntheir ears must burn. What next, Aunt Ri?\"\n\n\"I've been thinking I'd like to get some facts for you from some other\nsource than Wyatt Jeffreys. There's our old family lawyer, Judge\nGoldsborough, who was your family's lawyer as well. He retired from\nactive life long ago, and is a very old man now, but I believe he could\ntell us things. He knew your grandfather and all that. Some day we will\ngo to see him. We'll make it an ancestral pilgrimage. He lives up in\nthe next county where his son has a fine estate. On the way we can take\nin that old church where my grandparents were married; they were Roman\nCatholics, you see, and I have always wanted to see that old church.\nHow do you like the idea of such a trip?\"\n\n\"Immensely. You are very clever to have thought of it, Aunt Ri.\"\n\n\"Then some Saturday we will go. The judge will be delighted to see you,\nand me, too, I am not too modest to say. He is a dear old man and,\nthough his memory is not what it was, the way back things are those\nhe remembers the best. Now go to bed. We've talked long enough. Go to\nbed.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nAN ANCESTRAL PILGRIMAGE\n\n\nMiss Ri was not one to be dilatory when an idea once took possession of\nher, and she therefore began planning at once for the trip to \"Mary's\nDelight,\" where Judge Goldsborough lived. It was a roundabout journey\ninvolving several changes, if one went all the way by rail to the\nnearest station, but was not nearly so far if one drove from Sandbridge\nto the point where a train could be had which would go direct to the\nlittle village of Mackenzie. Miss Ri finally decided upon the latter\ncourse, naturally choosing a Saturday as being the day when Linda could\nmost easily leave. It was not a matter to be made secret, and Berkley\nwas consulted as to the best method of getting to the desired point.\n\n\"You'd better take the train from Boxford to Mackenzie,\" he told them.\n\"Of course you must drive from here to Boxford, and you would better\nsend word ahead to Mackenzie to have some sort of vehicle ready for you\nthere to take you to 'Mary's Delight,' unless you prefer to let the\nGoldsboroughs know you are coming.\"\n\nMiss Ri shook her head. \"I think I'll let that go, and trust to luck,\nfor it might be a bad day which would prevent our going, and I don't\nwant them to make preparations, as they might do; besides we want to\nstop at the old church, and I should prefer a hired team if we are to\ndo that.\"\n\n\"Very well, then, suppose I drop a line to Mackenzie, to the postmaster\nthere, he knows me, and I'll tell him two ladies are coming from\nSandbridge. He will do all he can for you. You can go right to the\npostoffice, and then it will be plain sailing.\"\n\n\"You are a good thoughtful boy, Berk, to smooth our way so nicely,\"\nMiss Ri told him. \"By the way,\" she added, \"aren't you feeling well\nthese days? You seem so serious. Anything wrong?\"\n\nThe young man flushed up and turned over some papers on his desk. They\nwere in his office where Miss Ri had stopped to consult him. \"I'm all\nright,\" he replied in reply. \"Working a little hard, maybe. I must, you\nknow, if I want to get ahead.\"\n\n\"And that is why you don't drop in so often,\" returned Miss Ri. Then\nafter waiting a moment for the answer which did not come, she went on.\n\"Well, you know you are always welcome, Berk. I may bamboozle you, but\nyou know it is all talk. Come when you can and thank you very much for\nstraightening out this route. I did not want to go around the other\nway and be all day getting there, spending half the time waiting at\nstations to make connections.\"\n\n\"I find the most direct way is generally the best,\" he told her. \"When\nyou want to go across country you'd better drive instead of depending\nupon trains. Good luck to you, Miss Ri.\" And he turned to his desk as\nshe went out.\n\nSaturday furnished all that anyone could ask in the way of weather.\nIt was almost too warm for the season, and a few clouds piled up in\nthe west, but it could not be a finer day, as everyone declared with\nsatisfaction, and the two travellers sat down to their morning meal in\nhappy anticipation of what was before them.\n\n\"We're going to have a lovely time, Verlinda,\" remarked Miss Ri. \"The\njudge will have some good tales for us, I know. I am sure he will\nbe interested to know you are a great-niece of the Verlinda Talbot\nhe used to know, and, if report speaks the truth, with whom he was\nmuch in love, but like the gallant gentleman he was, when she married\nsomeone else he made no sign though he was hard hit, and he was always\na devoted friend to her and to your grandfather. His son Dick isn't\nunlike him. He has a nice wife and half a dozen children, some of\nwhom are grown up by now.\" She was silent for a little while and then\nshe said, with half a laugh and half a sigh, \"I didn't expect to be\nvisiting Dick Goldsborough's house in my old age.\"\n\nLinda looked up from the coffee she was sipping. \"That sounds very much\nas if there were a story, a romance hidden in your remark.\"\n\nMiss Ri gave a little comfortable laugh. \"Well, there was something\nlike it once.\"\n\n\"Oh, Aunt Ri, and you never told me. Were you--were you engaged to Mr.\nDick Goldsborough?\"\n\n\"No-o. You see there were two of us, Julia Emory and I, and it seemed\nhard for him to make up his mind which he liked best--but finally--he\ndid.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear Aunt Ri! And he married the other girl? Did it--were you--\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I was dreadfully cut up for a time, I can frankly say. The\nfirst year I thought I'd die and wanted to; the second I was not averse\nto living, though in a sort of twilight world; the third I was quite\nglad to live; the fourth I wondered how I could ever have been such a\nsentimental goose, and the fifth I thanked the Lord that I had escaped.\"\n\n\"Oh, Aunt Ri, Aunt Ri, you are dreadful.\"\n\n\"It is a fact, I can assure you, and I have been thankful ever since,\nnot that Dick isn't a fine man, for he is, but, dear me, he would never\nhave suited me, as I came to find out, and he suits Julia to a T. They\nare as happy as two clams at high tide.\"\n\n\"Then that is why you never married.\"\n\n\"It probably had something to do with it, for during the two or three\nyears when I was wearing the willow came other chances which I didn't\ntake, and when I had reached the stage of thanking the Lord for my\nescape my patient suitors had become impatient and had danced off to\nthose who, in their opinions, had better taste. But, Verlinda, bear\nthis truth in mind; I am still thanking the Lord. Come, if you have\nfinished we'll be off. I see Nichols has sent around the man with the\nsurrey; he is waiting outside.\"\n\nThe ride to Boxford over level shell roads would have been pleasant\nenough with a less companionable person than Miss Ri, but she who knew\nevery house along the way had innumerable stories to tell, humorous,\npathetic, romantic, and the time seemed very short before they reached\nthe station from which they were to start on the second and more\ncommonplace stage of their journey which ended at Mackenzie. This was\na small settlement which appeared to consist of the station, a country\nstore, and a few houses straggling along an unpaved street which\nstretched out into the country road, leading on and on indefinitely.\nThere were few people in sight; a half dozen <DW54>s lounged around\nthe station, inside which the telegraph operator clicked away at his\ntransmitter industriously, some children played in the street further\nup, but no one else was to be seen.\n\n\"Where do you suppose the postoffice is?\" asked Miss Ri, looking\naround.\n\n\"At the store in all probability,\" replied Linda.\n\n\"We'll go over and see.\"\n\nBut, contrary to their expectation, they found the postoffice was not\nthere but at the second house up the street. They could read the sign\noutside, they were told.\n\nIts location known, the place was easy enough to find; a small white\nhouse, like any other of its type. The door was ajar and the travellers\nentered to find themselves in a square enclosure, a door to their left,\nand in front of them a box-like structure with a sort of window cut in\nit. Before the window hung a calico curtain. From behind this curtain\npresently appeared the head of a man.\n\n\"Good morning, ladies,\" the voice came with pleasant eagerness; \"you're\nthe ladies from Sandbridge? Mr. Matthews wrote to me about you. Will\nyou just walk into the front room there, and take seats while I am\nsorting the mail. I'll be with you as soon as it is distributed.\"\n\nLinda opened the only door in sight, and the two entered a plainly\nfurnished room, which, however, provided two comfortable chairs, and in\nthese they seated themselves to wait the postmaster's leisure.\n\nThey were mistaken if they thought their arrival was the unimportant\nmatter it would seem to be, for, as the villagers began to come in,\neach made some excuse to enter the room, the first leaving the door\najar so the visitors could distinctly hear the postmaster, as he\nhanded out the mail, importantly informing his friends: \"The ladies\nfrom Sandbridge have come.\" So one after another made some pretext for\nseeing the strangers. \"Where can I get a match?\" one would inquire.\n\"Oh, I've opened the wrong door,\" the next would say, while the third\nshowed his ardent curiosity simply and honestly by merely standing in\nthe doorway and beaming on the two ladies. Once or twice a salutation\nwas offered, though more often it was not.\n\nThe finale occurred when two little girls, with hair slicked tightly\nback and braided in flaxen pigtails, appeared, each holding the hand\nof a little boy with as shining a face as her own. Each little girl\ngrasped a large red apple, in one hand, taking frequent succulent\nbites as she stared with round china-blue eyes at the strangers. The\nlittle roly-poly boy stared quite as fixedly, but at the first question\naddressed, the three fled, though Miss Ri and Linda could hear them\nshrilly reporting their experiences to someone in the next room.\n\nIn due time the postmaster appeared. \"You wanted a fix, ladies, I\nbelieve. I meant to have gotten Jo Wilson's, but he's gone to his\nwife's brother's funeral. Maybe I can get Tom Skinner's; I'll see. I\nreckon a buggy will do, and you can drive yourselves. Going to the old\nchurch, I hear.\"\n\n\"I don't think we can drive,\" spoke up Miss Ri. \"We don't know the\nroad, in the first place, and in the second I don't care to drive a\nstrange horse.\"\n\nThe man looked quite taken aback; he had not counted on these\ncomplications. \"Now, that's too bad,\" he said. \"I just depended on\nJo, you see, but funerals won't wait. I'll look around and find out\nwhat we can do.\" He departed, leaving the two to be peeped at over the\nwindow-sill by three pairs of china-blue eyes. Evidently the children's\ncuriosity was not yet satisfied.\n\n\"I feel as if I belonged to a menagerie,\" laughed Linda, \"and as if\nthey'd be feeding me peanuts next.\"\n\nMiss Ri laughed and beckoned to the children who incontinently took to\ntheir heels.\n\nAfter some time the postmaster returned saying he had been able to\nget a buggy and a boy to drive it. He hoped the ladies wouldn't mind\nsitting three on a seat; the boy wasn't so very big. It was the best he\ncould do; he hoped they would be comfortable and if it hadn't been for\nJo Wilson's wife's brother all would have been well.\n\nIf Linda had been of Miss Ri's proportions they would have found it a\ntight squeeze, but the boy, as reported, was not very big, and they\nassured the postmaster that they could manage. The lad evidently had\nbeen gathered in hastily from the fields to don his Sunday best, and to\nmake such ablutions as consisted in clearing a circular expanse in the\ncenter of his face, and then wiping his wet hands on his hair which was\nstill moist from the application. With many charges to the boy and with\nmany anxious queries as to the comfort of the strangers, the postmaster\nat last sped them on their way, and before many miles were covered the\nold church appeared dully through the trees. It had a decayed, unkempt\naspect even at a distance, and a nearer view showed it set amidst riots\nof thorny bushes, and old trees, which had never been trimmed.\n\nIn what probably had been the priest's quarters in bygone days, they\nfound an old woman who lived there as care-taker. She hobbled to the\ndoor to open to their knock, showing one foot swathed in bandages.\nShe was as unkempt as the rest of it, but was both surprised and\npleased to see visitors, and was ready to display to them remnants\nof tawdry hangings, shrines from which the paint was scaling, and\nin the dingy church, a company of dusty saints who looked out dimly\nfrom altar and niche, bedecked with once garish but now faded and\ndiscolored artificial flowers. Miss Ri gazed around with an expression\nhalf contemptuous, half pitying. \"And this is where my grandparents\nworshipped. Poor dears, I hope it was better in their day.\"\n\n\"Oh, it was a fine church once,\" spoke up their guide, \"but very few\ncomes to it now, and there's a service only once a month.\"\n\nThey were glad to escape out into the sunlight. The old woman led\nthe way back to her own quarters, discoursing all the time upon her\nailments and asking for remedies. Being thirsty after the drive Linda\nbegged for a glass of water, but when a brass thimble was fished out of\na murky tumbler before it was filled, she concluded that nothing would\ninduce her to drink it, and finally she made the excuse of speaking to\nthe boy outside, when she found an opportunity of emptying the glass\nupon the grass.\n\nThis turning aside to visit the church had occupied some time, and it\nwas noon when they reached \"Mary's Delight,\" a beautiful old place\nbordering upon one of the many salt rivers which pierce Maryland's\neastern shore. A tall, grey-haired man met them at the gate to open to\nthem. \"Howdy, Dick Goldsborough,\" cried Miss Ri.\n\n\"Of all things, Maria Hill,\" he responded. \"Get right out. Well, this\nis a surprise. This your niece?\"\n\n\"An adopted one. This is Betty Dorsey's daughter, Verlinda Talbot.\"\n\n\"Is that so? You are doubly welcome, Miss Talbot, for your father's as\nwell as your mother's sake. I declare, Maria, this does take me back to\nold times. Come right in and I'll see about your horse. Where did you\ndrive from?\"\n\n\"We came up from Mackenzie. I wanted to see the old church, and the\nlittle boy has been our driver.\"\n\n\"Well, we can send him back and you shall return in a more comfortable\nway when you are ready to go. The boy must have some dinner. Just drive\naround to the stable, my boy, and one of the men will fix you up.\nYou are going to make us a good visit, I hope, Maria. Father will be\nperfectly charmed to see you, and so will Julia.\"\n\nThey were ushered into a fine hall with a noble staircase rising on\neither side to the floor above. On one side the hall was a large room\nwith a great fireplace now filled with crackling logs, in spite of the\nmildness of the day. Before the fire sat an old white-haired man who\nrose at the entrance of visitors.\n\n\"Here's a surprise for you, Father,\" said the younger man, raising his\nvoice slightly. \"Here is an old friend and the daughter of another.\nMiss Ri Hill and Jim Talbot's daughter have come to see us.\"\n\nThe old gentleman's fine face brightened as he held out a slender frail\nhand. \"My dears, I am delighted, pleased beyond measure to see you.\nWon't you come to the fire after your drive?\"\n\n\"It is very mild out, Judge; we won't come too near,\" Miss Ri told him.\n\nHe waited till they were seated and then took his old place, looking\nat first one then the other. Linda thought him charming with a nobly\nintellectual head, hair white and fine as floss, waving thickly around\na face full of strength and sweetness, eyes both wise and kind, still\nshowing brilliancy. The rather high and prominent nose was saved from\ncoarseness by delicate nostrils, the mouth had not lost its shapeliness\nnor the chin its firmness.\n\nBefore Linda had time for many words with the judge Mrs. Goldsborough\nentered to welcome them warmly and to carry them upstairs to lay\naside their wraps. A white-curtained room exhibiting the beauty lent\nby handsome old furniture and exquisite neatness was placed at their\ndisposal. The windows on one side looked out on the river, on the other\nwas obtained a view of fields and garden. A little <DW64> boy chasing\nchickens was the liveliest object in sight. It was quite necessary that\nchickens be caught for a company dinner, as Linda well knew.\n\nThe children were all at school, Mrs. Goldsborough told them, all but\nthe eldest daughter who was in Baltimore where an aunt would chaperon\nher in this her debutante season. The younger children had a governess\nat home, the two older boys were at St. John's in Annapolis. Mrs.\nGoldsborough, a very neat, still rather pretty woman, was graciousness\nitself, and would fain have carried Miss Ri off for a long talk,\nbut that she must be down-stairs to oversee the rather inefficient\nservants which the country supplied. So the visitors were handed over\nto the judge and his son.\n\nMiss Ri was not long in bringing the conversation around to where she\nwanted it, and began her queries on the subject of the Talbot estates,\ngiving the judge her reasons for asking. With the intricacies of a\nconjectural case in view the judge threw up his head like an old war\nhorse and declared his opinion. \"Any flaw in the title to Jim Talbot's\nproperty? Of course not. He was the eldest son as his father and\ngrandfather were before him. The home plantation was always left to\nthe eldest son. Madison Talbot bought Addition from his brother Cyrus\nwhen he went west, I am sure of that. Talbot's Addition was what Cyrus\ninherited from his father, while Madison had the Angles. Oh, I can't\nmake any mistake there. Anyone who claims the Angles can't have a shred\nof proof. I've a lot of papers somewhere; I'll get them out, Maria, and\nyou shall hear from me. Dick, don't let me forget that. I think the\npapers are in the old secretary in my office, but I am not sure; they\nmay have been moved. Who is this young man, Maria, who says he is the\ngreat grandson of Cyrus Talbot? Let me see. Hm!\" He put the tips of his\ndelicate fingers together and bent his gaze on the fire. \"Cyrus had a\nson who was killed in the War of 1812, I remember that, but this son\nwas unmarried. There was a daughter who went away with him.\"\n\n\"Lovina, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes, that was the name. I remember all that. You can't get me confused\nwhen it comes to those old matters, Maria; it is what happened\nyesterday that I forget. I'll look up those papers, however, and we\nwill see if there is any sort of complication. Dinner, did you say,\nJulia? Maria, allow me. Dick, will you take out Miss Talbot?\" And in\nthis stately and formal manner they were conducted to the dining-room\nwhere was spread such a meal as one rarely sees except in just such\na house in just such a locality. A great platter of fried chicken\nstood at one end of the table, a home-cured ham at the other, oysters,\nnumerous vegetables smothered in rich cream, homemade jellies, pickles\nand sauces, the ever-present beaten biscuits, corn bread, wheat bread,\nall were there, and at the last a dainty dessert served with thick\ncream and pound cake.\n\nThe judge entertained them with many a tale of the days when he was\nyoung, when Martin Talbot, Senior, and he were chums, when old Admiral\nHill used to sail over to Sandbridge from Annapolis to spend a holiday\nin his old home and to stir the boys' young blood with his sea stories.\n\nIt was after dinner that Miss Ri had a chance to talk to the old man\nin confidence and to tell him of Linda's misfortunes while he frowned\nand shook his head and spoke of men who disgraced themselves and their\nfamilies by marrying beneath them, and at last he became so scornful\nof \"John Blair's people,\" that Miss Ri was glad Linda was not at hand\nto hear. She was with the children and their pretty young governess out\nin the little school-house where the day's lessons were had, and it was\nonly when she was sent for that she realized how happy a time she was\nhaving.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTWO BUGGIES\n\n\nIt was with difficulty that the two visitors were able to take their\nleave that afternoon, and only the promise to come again and stay\nlonger gave them liberty to go without hurting the feelings of these\nold friends. The little lad from Mackenzie had been dismissed long\nbefore, and it was Mr. Dick Goldsborough himself who insisted upon\nsetting them upon their way. The dear old judge stood on the porch to\nwave a last farewell and to repeat his promise to look into the matter\nof Talbot plantations.\n\nLinda wondered how it must seem to Miss Ri to be driving behind the\nhorses of her former lover, himself holding the reins. She tried to\nplace herself in a like position but when she attempted to replace Mr.\nGoldsborough in her mind with some other, two quite different persons\nwould appear, and she could decide on neither.\n\nInstead of going around by the old church they took the shorter way to\nthe village which brought them to the borders of a stream where Mr.\nGoldsborough left them to be ferried across, thus saving some miles\nof travel. It was a very usual way of getting about in that part of\nthe country where waterways were so numerous. From the old church at\nTalbot's Angles one could watch many of the congregation approaching\nin boats from the opposite shore of the creek, and when, before an\napproaching gale the tide would rise to cover the road, the little\nboats would be rowed in through the gateway half way up the path that\nthey might land their passengers. It was therefore no novelty to be\ntransported to the upper end of the village by means of the little\nboat, though it involved a walk down the long street to the lower end.\n\nMiss Ri looked at her watch as they started on this walk. \"It is\nearlier than I thought,\" she remarked. \"The days are getting so short\none cannot realize the time. The train doesn't leave till seven, and we\nhave over an hour to spare. What shall we do with ourselves?\"\n\n\"We don't want to go to the postoffice to be stared at,\" returned\nLinda, \"so perhaps we'd better entertain one another as best we can at\nthe station; it seemed rather a horrid little place, but what better\ncan we do?\"\n\nHowever, this experiment was spared them, for they had not gone more\nthan half way to their destination when they were pleasantly accosted\nby a man who was coming from the other direction. \"I believe you\nare the ladies who came from Sandbridge on the train this morning,\"\nhe began. \"I am Mr. Brown, the agent of the railroad, and as such I\nfeel that I must extend you such hospitality as we have to offer. Our\naccommodations at the station are rather poor, and you have a long wait\nbefore you, for I suppose you take the seven o'clock train.\"\n\n\"Yes, we intended to,\" Miss Ri told him.\n\n\"Then I beg that you will make yourselves comfortable at my house. It\nis only a step away. I am sure you will find it a better place to wait\nthan the station.\" He was so evidently anxious for the good repute of\nthe village, and was so earnestly sincere in his invitation that there\nwas but one thing to do, and that to accept.\n\nMr. Brown conducted them up on the porch of a neat little house, opened\nthe door and ushered them into an orderly sitting-room where he saw\nthat they were provided with the most comfortable of the chairs and\nthen he settled himself to entertain them. But a very few remarks had\nbeen exchanged before he sprang to his feet with a shocked expression\non his face. \"Ladies,\" he exclaimed, \"I am entirely forgetting that\nyou will not be able to get any supper before you reach home, and that\nit will be then very late. What was I thinking of? We have only just\nfinished our own meal, and--Excuse me, but I must speak to Mrs. Brown,\"\nand before they could utter a word of protest he rushed from the room.\n\n\"Do you suppose he has gone to fetch the keys of the city?\" whispered\nLinda. \"What are we to do, Aunt Ri? We can't run, for there is nowhere\nthat we can escape, and--\"\n\nShe was interrupted by the entrance of their host with his wife, who,\nthough somewhat less importunate, was nevertheless quite determined\nthat the strangers should not leave the town without being properly\nfed, and this in spite of Miss Ri's protest that they had brought some\nfruit and biscuits with them, and that they really needed nothing more.\n\nMr. Brown waved all such suggestions aside. Therefore, seeing that it\nwould be less rude to accept the proffered hospitality they followed\nMrs. Brown to the small dining-room where a dainty little meal was soon\nspread for them, served by Mrs. Brown and her sister, Miss Weedon.\n\nThe rain, which the gathering clouds in the west had threatened that\nmorning, and which had begun to drop before they entered the house,\nwas coming down in torrents by the time the meal was over, and was\naccompanied by heavy rolls of thunder and vivid lightning. At each\nresounding peal and sharp flash the hostess and her sister would\ndisappear within the recesses of a darkened room somewhere beyond,\nissuing only when there was a lull in the storm.\n\n\"It is rather unusual to have so heavy a thunderstorm this late in the\nseason,\" Miss Ri was remarking when from the station someone came in\nhaste to say that lightning had struck the building and would Mr. Brown\ncome at once. He hurried off, though not without the parting assurance\nthat he would soon return, leaving his wife and Miss Weedon divided\nbetween the responsibility of remaining with their guests and their\ndesire to escape to the darkened room.\n\nThe storm, however, seemed to have spent its fury in hurling a final\nbolt at the station, and the timid women had the hardihood to remain\nin the outer room while only sullen mutterings once in a while reached\nthem. Miss Ri and Linda did their best to reassure them, but in the\nface of the fact that lightning had struck so near, this was not easy\nto do.\n\nIt was getting on toward train time, and though the station was but a\nshort walk the two visitors wondered how they were to reach it without\numbrellas, but in spite of the confusion occasioned by the lightning\nshock, they were not forgotten by good Mr. Brown, who, true to his\nfeeling of responsibility as agent, appeared with umbrellas at the\nproper moment, and bore them off with the manner of one who would\nfurnish a band of music if he could. He was faithful to the last,\npiloting them to seats in the car, telling the conductor to look after\nthem, and at the last expressing regret at the coming of the storm as\nif he were in some way accountable for it. He came to the car window\nto urge them to come again when it should be made more agreeable for\nthem, then as the train began to move off, he stood, hat in hand till\ndarkness hid him from sight.\n\n\"That is what I call a true Maryland gentleman,\" said Miss Ri. \"Did you\never meet such beautiful hospitality, and isn't it worth while to find\nout that it has not entirely disappeared from the land?\"\n\n\"I wouldn't have missed it for anything,\" declared Linda. \"It has been\na wonderful trip, Aunt Ri, from beginning to end.\"\n\n\"And the end is not yet,\" responded Miss Ri with prophetic vision.\n\n\"I don't see what more could happen,\" rejoined Linda.\n\nWhat could happen was made very obvious as they stepped from the train\nat Boxford, for they had hardly alighted before Berkley Matthews\nrushed up to them. \"Here you are,\" he cried, as if it were quite to be\nexpected that he would meet them. \"It has been a pretty bad storm and I\ndidn't know whether you would venture or not, but I thought I'd be on\nthe safe side. Now--\"\n\nBut he had not finished his sentence when another figure loomed up in\nthe doorway of the dimly lighted waiting-room, and who should come\nforward but Wyatt Jeffreys. The two men looked at one another and\neach gave a little embarrassed laugh. \"I didn't know you were here,\nJeffreys,\" said Berkley.\n\n\"Nor did I know you were,\" was the reply. \"How long since you came?\"\n\n\"Oh, half an hour or so. When did you get in?\"\n\n\"Just at this moment. I suppose I don't know the road quite as well as\nyou do.\"\n\n\"Linda, will you give me the pleasure of taking you to Sandbridge in my\nbuggy,\" broke in Berkley with visible haste.\n\nMiss Ri chuckled. \"Go with him, Linda, and I'll give Mr. Jeffreys the\ninestimable privilege of taking me, that is, if he intends going back\nto-night. Perhaps you were going on by train, Mr. Jeffreys?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, I came up--I came up,\" he was not so ready to announce his\npurpose as Berkley. \"I thought you ladies might not be provided against\nthe storm,\" he continued, \"and it seemed to me that I might perhaps be\nof use in some way.\"\n\n\"And you were quite right,\" Miss Ri returned. \"It saves me the bother\nof hunting up a team from the stables, or of deciding upon the other\nalternative of spending the night in Boxford, something I would much\nprefer not to do. Where is your buggy? I know the road perfectly.\" So\nMr. Jeffreys was forced to hide whatever disappointment he might feel\nwhile Berkley bore off Linda to where his buggy, well provided with\nrain-proof covers, stood under shelter of the station's shed.\n\nWell protected from the weather Linda and her escort drove off hidden\nbehind the oilcloth curtains on which the rain pattered steadily. The\nlights of the buggy sent long beams over the wet shell road, the air\nhad a mingled odor of salt marsh and moist, fallen autumn leaves. From\nthe clouds rolling off overhead, once in a while rumbled muffled peals\nof thunder. Berk's horse responded to his master's slightest word,\nand on a worse night and over worse roads could be depended upon, so\nBerkley assured his companion.\n\n\"So you've been to see the old judge,\" said the young man by way of\nbeginning conversation. \"Isn't he a fine old fellow?\"\n\n\"He is the dearest old man I ever saw,\" returned Linda\nenthusiastically. \"He has such a beautiful head, and if one wanted to\nmeet the very pattern of an old time courtly gentleman he would have to\ngo no further than Judge Goldsborough.\"\n\n\"I quite agree with you, and I wish I could ever hope to become\nanything like him, but nature has not endowed me with his fine presence\nnor with his brains.\"\n\n\"But you can hope to be J. S. D., you know.\"\n\n\"I don't know. The some day seems a very far cry, just now.\" He was\nsilent a moment before he asked: \"What did the judge have to say to\nyou, Linda?\"\n\n\"Miss Ri asked him about the Talbot estates and he appeared quite sure\nthat there could be no complications as regards Talbot's Angles, at\nleast. He said he had some old papers which might give him some points\nabout the other places.\"\n\n\"He ought to know if anyone does,\" returned Berkley. \"Suppose there\nshould be complications, Linda, and suppose it should be Talbot's\nAngles that Jeffreys lays claim to, and that he proved a legitimate\nclaim, what then?\"\n\n\"I'd not be much worse off than I am now.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, you would. There is the chance of your sister-in-law marrying\nagain.\"\n\n\"Which I don't think she is liable to do. I don't know that I would\nmind Mr. Jeffreys' having it any more than I do that Grace should. He,\nat least, is of the Talbot blood.\"\n\n\"There is something in that. I wish it were all yours; I can't bear the\nidea of your wearing yourself out teaching, Linda.\" The words came with\ncaressing concern.\n\n\"I am more fortunate than most. Think of my having a home with Miss Ri,\nand among my own people. I suppose it actually isn't so much that the\nteaching is difficult as that I am so constituted that I can't really\nlove it. It is a great thing to make one's living in the way one likes\nbest; that seems to me to be half the battle.\"\n\n\"And what is it you like best?\"\n\n\"To scribble.\"\n\n\"Have you sent out any more of your work?\"\n\n\"No, but I intend to.\"\n\n\"And I hope you will finally meet such success that you can give\nyourself up to that kind of work. I agree with you that one ought to\ndiscover what are his best powers and make the best use of them he\npossibly can; if he would be happy.\"\n\n\"You are happy in your work, Berk, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, I love it, thank fortune, and I am beginning to see glimpses of a\nfuture.\"\n\n\"That is good,\" returned Linda with satisfaction. \"You deserve success,\nBerk.\"\n\n\"No more than others.\"\n\n\"Much more than most others. Was ever a better son, or brother, if it\ncomes to that?\"\n\n\"Oh, nonsense, it is no sacrifice to do things for those you love; in\nfact, I've been rather selfish in pleasing myself, indulging my love of\nbestowing. It is really no credit to give because one enjoys it.\"\n\n\"Then there is no such thing as unselfishness in the world.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, there is; when one does a thing he doesn't like, or gives up\nsomething he really wants very much; that is my idea of unselfishness.\"\n\n\"Then am I or am I not to consider that you have performed a selfish\nact in coming all the way to Boxford for me in all this rain?\" asked\nLinda laughing. There may have been a little coquetry in the question,\nbut she was hardly prepared for the seriousness of the reply.\n\n\"It was purely and entirely selfish on my part. It was the one thing I\nwanted most to do, and I would go much further and through a thousand\ngreater difficulties for you. In fact, there is nothing I wouldn't do\nto make you happy, Linda Talbot.\"\n\n\"There's chivalry for you,\" returned Linda, determined to take the\nanswer as lightly as possible.\n\nThe warmth but not the earnestness had gone out of his tones when he\nmade the next remark: \"I wish I could make it possible for you to stop\nteaching, Linda.\"\n\n\"Marry Grace off and get back Talbot's Angles for me, and I will stop,\"\nshe replied in a matter-of-fact tone.\n\n\"Then would you go down there to live?\"\n\n\"No, I'd still let Phillips have the place, but I would go down there\noften, and it would bring me enough to live on. I could persuade Miss\nRi to spend part of the year there, maybe, and--oh, wouldn't it be\nlovely?\"\n\nBerkley did not reply, but spoke to his horse, \"Go on there, Jerry.\"\nThey had been driving so slowly that the other buggy had passed them\nthough Berkley's was the fleeter horse. But now they sped along over\nthe hard wet road, silence between them. Linda's imagination was busy\npicturing the delights of having the old homestead for her very own,\nand was fancying days spent there with Miss Ri and Mammy, for of course\nMammy would go.\n\nShe was roused by hearing Berkley say in a hard dispassionate voice,\n\"Then your dearest wish on earth is to possess Talbot's Angles.\"\n\n\"I really think it is. I don't suppose it is very nice of me to feel so\nabout what belongs to another, but I confess to you, Berk, that I can't\nhelp counting a little on Grace's marrying again.\"\n\n\"That is perfectly natural, and it isn't half so bad as wishing her\ndead, though some might think so,\" he added. Then after a moment's\nsilence: \"Linda, I was selfish to carry you off this way without giving\nyou any choice in the matter. Perhaps you would rather have gone with\nJeffreys. It isn't too late to change now, if you say so. We can easily\novertake his buggy.\"\n\n\"At the eleventh hour? No, I thank you, not after I am comfortably\nsettled and safe from the rain. You have tucked me in so well, Berk.\nI don't believe Mr. Jeffreys could have done it half so well, but\nprobably he has not had the experience you have. I might enjoy variety\nof companionship, but my bodily comfort is worth more to me.\" Linda\nwas very skilful in giving non-committal replies it seemed.\n\nBerkley drew a little sigh; whether of relief or disappointment Linda\ncould not determine.\n\nThey had nearly overtaken the other two by now and soon had passed\nthem, reaching home before the others. Berkley refused to come in;\nspite of inducements in the shape of hot coffee and sandwiches. Mr.\nJeffreys, however, was not averse to joining in a late supper, and\ntaking his horse around to shelter, he returned to the house while\nBerkley bade all good-night and drove off in the rain.\n\nAnyone noticing the little office opposite the Jackson House would have\nseen a light there burning nearly all night, and could he have looked\nin he would have observed a young man whose earnest eyes were bent upon\npages of yellow manuscript. These absorbed him so closely that the\nclock in the church tower struck three before he aroused himself. Even\nthen he did not leave the place, but sat with elbows on desk and head\nin hands for another hour. Then, turning out the light and locking the\ndoor he crossed the street to the hotel where the watchman, snoring in\nhis chair, paid no heed to the quiet entrance of this late guest.\n\nLong before this Linda had said good-night to her departing relative,\nbut the words which haunted her before she dropped asleep were not\nhis unemotional and polite phrases, but the words spoken softly,\ncaressingly yet with subdued fire: \"There is nothing I would not do\nto make you happy, Linda Talbot.\" Was there a confession? Dared she\nunderstand it so?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nA DISTINCT SENSATION\n\n\nFor two days the storm continued, increasing to a gale which whipped\nthe waters of the placid river to a yellow angry flood, and beat the\nfew remaining leaves from their clasp on the trees. During this time\nLinda and Miss Ri kept indoors as closely as they could, their chief\nvisitor being Mr. Jeffreys. Miss Parthy, to be sure, paddled up the\nwalk to the back door in all the rain, and Bertie Bryan's rosy face\npeeped in at them one afternoon, but Berkley did not come near, and no\none guessed his reason for staying away.\n\nHow great a struggle had been going on in the young man's mind none\nassociated with him imagined. Since that night when it was disclosed\nto him through the papers which Mr. Jeffreys had left in his care,\nthat there was a possibility of Linda's losing her chance to inherit\nTalbot's Angles, he had fought his giants; one his love for the girl,\nthe other the temptation to withhold the more important papers. He\nneed not destroy them; he would only set them aside, and tell Jeffreys\nthere was not sufficient evidence to warrant a legal claim. At last,\nhowever, when he must really face the issue, he laughed at such an\nidea, and realized that there was but one thing for him to do. He\nwould give up Linda to his rival. Why should Jeffreys not possess\nthe property as well as Grace? So, perhaps, would Linda be given her\ndearest wish. That day at the postoffice it had been revealed to him\nwhat his feeling for the girl really meant, and from that moment his\nlove had grown stronger, deeper, fuller. On that rainy night he had\nnearly spoken of his feeling for her. Had she spoken less lightly he\nmight have done so, even though at that time his cursory glance at the\npapers had given him some belief in the justice of Jeffreys' claim.\nBut he had recognized that the girl herself was still heart free, and\ntherefore, though there might be a chance for him he must keep away,\nmust make excuses not to see her. He must assume a great air of one too\nabsorbed in business to spare time for visiting his friends. He could\nmanage all that. But first he must pave the way. He would go and tell\nthem all that to Jeffreys would probably fall the old homestead, and\nhe would say: \"Better into the hands of an honest and honorable man,\nthe descendant of the old stock, than to Grace Talbot.\" He would praise\nthis future owner, and would plant the seeds which should blossom into\nregard and affection. Jeffreys was a good fellow, a little stiff,\nmaybe, but a man of strict morality and--the fight was bitter--he\nwould make her a good husband.\n\nHe shrank from making the revelation which should first suggest to\nLinda that it was really Talbot's Angles to which the papers referred.\nHe could see her startled look, her fluttering hands, the color coming\nand going in her cheeks. He bit his lip fiercely and tramped up and\ndown his small office savagely. Why should this ordeal be his to meet?\nHe would turn it over to some other, Miss Ri, perhaps.\n\n\"I can't do it,\" he cried aloud. \"I'll fling the whole dog-goned pack\nof papers into the river first.\" Her dearest wish! He stopped short.\nCould he supply it? Was he able to buy Talbot's Angles supposing it\nwere for sale? What nonsense. He laughed mirthlessly. \"I am a pretty\nsort of duffer,\" he exclaimed. \"What am I thinking of?\"\n\nHe jammed his hat upon his head, slammed the door behind him and strode\ndown the street, passing Uncle Moke without a word and with such a set\nlook on his face as caused the old man to mumble, \"Mr. Berk sholy is\nriled. Look lak he gwine 'res' some o' dese bank robbers, or sumpin.\"\n\nBerkley's step never faltered as he marched on with head up, as one\ngoing to battle. His savage peal of the door-bell brought Miss Ri in\nhaste. Her face cleared when she saw who it was. \"Well, Berk,\" she\nexclaimed, \"what a mighty pull you did give, to be sure. Come in, come\nin and help us celebrate. We've a great piece of news for you.\"\n\nHe entered the room, where Linda sat, her face all alight, and some\ndistance away, Mr. Jeffreys, with a queer strained expression in his\neyes, but a forced smile upon his lips. On the table stood a tray with\nglasses filled with some of Miss Ri's famous homemade wine. \"Here comes\nanother to help us celebrate,\" cried Miss Ri. \"Get another glass,\nVerlinda.\" She filled it, when brought, from the heavy old decanter\nand, holding her own glass aloft, she exclaimed: \"Here's to the next\nowner of Talbot's Angles!\"\n\nBerkley's hand shook so that his glass overflowed and a few drops were\nspilled. His eyes met those of the other man. Neither spoke, nor did\neither touch the wine.\n\n\"You don't understand my toast,\" cried Miss Ri, looking from one to the\nother. \"Grace Talbot is going to marry Major Forbes, and Linda will\nhave her heart's desire.\"\n\n\"Of course, I'll drink to Linda, if that is what you mean,\" said\nBerkley, recovering himself and tossing off the contents of the glass,\nwhile Mr. Jeffreys echoed: \"Of course, we'll drink to Miss Linda.\"\n\nBerkley sat down, his head in a whirl. This put an entirely different\nface on the matter. He would have to think it over. This was no time\nto force conclusions. He scarcely heard Linda's eager account of the\nletter she had that day received from her sister-in-law. \"It was so\nlike Grace,\" she told him. \"Major Forbes was such an old friend--\"\n\n\"Quite old,\" put in Miss Ri. \"He must be sixty, if he's a day.\"\n\n\"And she was such a dependent creature,\" Linda went on. \"It seemed only\nproper that these two starved hearts should be united. She hoped Linda\nwould not think she had been precipitate, but it had been eight months\nsince poor Martin--not darling Martin any more--\" Linda commented\nsadly, \"and she would, of course, wait for the full year to pass. She\nfelt that dear Linda would be pleased, not only because of Grace's\nhappiness, but because it would benefit her. She must not think that\nlittle Grace was unmindful of that part of it. She had it in mind to\ndo what she could for Martin's sister and, though it was a sacrifice\nto give up her home to Linda, it was done cheerfully. Linda must feel\nassured of that.\"\n\n\"Now, isn't it like that woman to take such an attitude,\" sneered Miss\nRi. \"Give it up? She can't help herself, as I see it.\"\n\n\"Major Forbes is abundantly able to keep me in the style to which I\nhave been accustomed,\" Linda read--another sneer from Miss Ri--\"and I\nam sure I shall be happier than living a lonely and forlorn widowhood,\"\nand so on and so on.\n\nAs Linda's soft slow tones ceased, Berkley roused himself to say, \"I\nonly dropped in for a minute. I am terribly busy these days. I must run\nright back to the office.\" He did not look at Mr. Jeffreys, but shook\nhands with Miss Ri. \"Sorry I can't stay,\" he said nervously. \"I'll come\nagain as soon as I get time, Miss Ri.\"\n\nLinda followed him to the door. \"Aren't you glad, Berk?\" she asked\nwistfully.\n\nHe looked past her down the street. \"Glad? Of course, I'm glad,\" he\nsaid, then he ran down the steps, Linda looking after him with a\nquivering lip.\n\nShe returned to find that Mr. Jeffreys, too, had gone. \"By the side\ndoor,\" explained Miss Ri.\n\nLinda went over to the fireplace and put her foot on the fender,\nher back to Miss Ri, that the latter might not see the tears which\nfilled her eyes. \"They weren't a bit glad, either of them,\" she said\npresently. \"I thought Berk would be, anyhow. Don't you think he acted\nqueerly, Aunt Ri?\"\n\n\"I think they both did; but it may have been that they were completely\nbowled over with surprise. You know we could scarcely believe it at\nfirst, ourselves, and men are much slower to grasp things than women.\nThey were dumbfounded, that was all and, no doubt, Berk is busy. I hope\nhe is. So much the better for him, my dear.\"\n\nLinda made no response. She was not aware that Berkley had gone back\nto his office to wage another battle. What a turn of fate, to be\nsure, and now what was to be done? It would be Linda, Linda who was\nto be deprived of her own, and his must be the hand to deal the blow.\nThose papers! He struck them with his clenched fist, as he stood over\nhis desk, and if a smothered oath escaped him, it is to be hoped the\nrecording angel failed to register it against him. \"There is one thing\ncertain,\" he told himself; \"if the thing is to be carried on, I'll\nthrow up the case. I'll be hanged if I have anything to do with it.\"\n\nHe picked up a letter which he had laid aside, sat down, and began to\nread it over. It was from Cyrus Talbot to his brother Madison, and it\nread:\n\n \"You say that your property Addition has not suffered as much as some\n others, but that on account of hard times, you do not feel it possible\n at this time to rebuild the house burnt some months ago; therefore,\n since evil times have befallen you by reason of the ravages of war,\n I am quite willing that you should continue to occupy the house at\n Talbot's Angles; but as soon as peace visits our land, I would esteem\n it a favor, if you would find someone to take the plantation itself,\n paying me a yearly rental, which shall be fixed as circumstances\n allow. My own affairs here continue to prosper, and I do not think I\n shall return to Maryland, having found me a wife whose relatives live\n in close proximity and are a God-fearing and industrious people. I\n shall be glad to hear from you as occasion permits, and subscribe\n myself\n\n                      \"Your aff. brother,\n                                          \"CYRUS.\"\n\nThis letter appeared never to have been sent, but there were others\nbearing upon the subject from Madison to his brother. It seemed from\nthem that Madison was able to find a tenant for the Angles, but in\ntime he proved unsatisfactory, as there were many reports of his\nthriftlessness, and at the time of Cyrus's death the place lay idle.\n\nThat this place was Talbot's Angles appeared evident from references\nto certain fields lying next the old church, and in an account of some\ndisaster befalling the old windmill in a heavy storm. There were,\ntoo, old receipts and bills which identified the property and proved\nthat, at least during the life of Cyrus Talbot, it had been in his\npossession, whatever may have happened afterward. Owing to the fact\nthat many deeds and records had been destroyed during the War of 1812\nand later during the Civil War, when neglect and indifference caused\nmany legal papers to be lost, it promised to be a difficult thing to\ntrace the ownership through succeeding years, unless further proof\ncould be found.\n\nAt last Berkley happened upon a letter dated much later, a letter from\nLinda's own father to Charles Jeffreys. It said: \"I have looked into\nthe matter you bring to my notice, and I find that you are right in\nmost of your surmises; but, as the place lay idle and neglected for a\nnumber of years, tenantless and abandoned, it was in no condition to\nbring in any return when I took it in hand. I have spent a good deal on\nit, and if you are willing to consider this outlay as rental for the\ntime being, I shall be glad to be considered as your tenant, otherwise\nI must give up the place. Since the slaves were freed, labor is\ndifficult to get, and I cannot afford to bring up so neglected a place\nat my own expense and pay rent besides. We have continued to live in\nthe old house, which has been kept in good repair. Later on, we may be\nable to come to a different arrangement; but at present it seems to me\nit would be to your better advantage if you allow matters to remain as\nthey are. If you take the property into your own hands, much money will\nhave to be spent on it before it can bring you any appreciable return.\"\n\n\"Twenty-five years ago,\" mused Berkley. \"I wonder if Martin knew, or\nwhether a different arrangement was at last made. I imagine not and\nthat the place was allowed to remain in James Talbot's hands in return\nfor what he might do for it. That is the latest information to be had,\nthat I can see, and there is really nothing more to be found out from\nthese papers.\"\n\nHe rested his head on his hand and remained lost in deep thought. For\nall Miss Ri's decided announcement that he might even perjure himself\nfor one he loved, that was something Berkley Matthews would never do.\nNo, there was no help for it; facts were facts, and he must let them be\nknown. Could he ever expect to win Linda's love and respect, if he had\nwon her by such unworthy means? Would he not always be playing a false\npart, and would not the result fail of good to him and to her? No, a\ndishonorable transaction, no matter what its motive, would never do to\nbase true love upon. Let things take their course, and let the best\nman win. It might be, after all, that she would not marry Jeffreys, in\nspite of his prospects. But this hope he dared not cherish. He pressed\nhis hand over his eyes, as if he would shut out too bright a vision,\nand just then the door of his office opened and in walked Mr. Jeffreys.\n\nBerkley turned sharply at the sudden entrance. \"Ah,\" he exclaimed, \"you\nare just the man I was thinking of. I've been going over these papers\nagain, Jeffreys, and so far as I can judge, it looks like a pretty good\ncase. Sit down and we'll talk it over.\"\n\nJeffreys drew up a chair. Berkley wheeled around and the two sat\nfacing one another. \"Of course,\" Berkley began, \"you realize that the\nproperty referred to is Miss Talbot's old home, Talbot's Angles.\"\n\nMr. Jeffreys looked down. \"Yes, I inferred so, although at first I was\nuncertain, not knowing as much as I do now.\"\n\n\"The records will have to be searched, of course, and we can find out\nwho has been paying taxes and all that, you understand. I don't know\nthat I shall have time to attend to it myself; I am pretty busy just\nnow.\"\n\n\"That is too bad; I depended on you, Matthews.\"\n\n\"I know you did, but--\"\n\nWyatt Jeffreys leaned forward. \"Is it only because you are busy? Is\nthat the only reason?\"\n\nBerkley did not answer at once; then he parried the question.\n\n\"What other reason could there be?\"\n\n\"Your interest in Miss Talbot. I realize, Matthews, that I have come\ndown here a perfect stranger to deprive a very lovely young woman of\nher property, and that you should in all reason feel antagonistic is\nnot to be wondered at. I think you have known for some time that it was\nher property that I claimed.\"\n\n\"I have known it only since I made a closer examination of these\npapers.\"\n\n\"Very well; that does not alter the fact that you have been uniformly\nkind and considerate so far as I was concerned, and therefore I feel\nthat I can speak as man to man.\" He paused. \"Unless you have a prior\nclaim, there is no need of Miss Talbot's losing her property if--\"\n\n\"She will take you with it,\" Berkley filled the pause. \"I understand.\"\nThe crucial moment had come. Berkley suddenly swung his chair around,\nhis face, turned from the other, was white and set, but he said\nsteadily, \"That would certainly be the best way out of the difficulty.\nI have no prior claim, Jeffreys, and I wish you success.\" He swung\nhimself back again and held out his hand.\n\nThe other took it in a firm grip. \"That is good of you, Matthews. I\nappreciate your kindness more than I can say.\" There was silence,\nbroken by Mr. Jeffreys, who went on: \"If it is only the matter of delay\nthen, Matthews, I can wait your good pleasure, if you will take up my\ncase.\"\n\nBerkley gave himself time before he answered. Why shouldn't he take\nthe case? What odds, now, what Linda thought? He had relinquished\nall rights to her consideration. If he did not hunt up the evidence,\nsomeone else would, and she be no better off. If he must disregard her,\nhe could at least be true to Jeffreys. \"I'll not go back on my word.\nI'll take it,\" he said shortly.\n\n\"I've kept a busy man too long,\" said Jeffreys rising, \"but I hope some\nday I can show my appreciation of what you are doing for me, in more\nways than one,\" he added with a smile. He held out his hand. Berkley\ntook it mechanically, saying, \"Good-night.\"\n\n\"Good-evening,\" returned Mr. Jeffreys, and he went out.\n\nIt was not late, though growing dark, but to Berkley it had become\ndarkest night. Never, till that moment, had he realized how strong a\nhold upon him his affection for Linda had taken. She was so sweet,\nso gentle, one whose presence always brought calm and peace, yet she\ncould be very droll and merry, very bright and entertaining, with\na blessed grace of humor. With all her poetic fancy there was the\ndomestic side, too, which had made her the successful housekeeper when\nyet but a school girl. And how dainty she always was, how womanly her\nlittle frills and simple ornaments. Even the way her dark hair grew\naround her pretty low forehead, and was worn parted above it, made her\ndistinctive from other girls, whose monstrous puffs and braids gave\nthem a top-heavy look. What a woman for a man to come home to after a\nday of stress. She, who had striven for her daily bread, how well she\nwould understand what a man's battle of life meant. His first impulse\nwas to throw everything to the winds, to snatch up his hat and rush off\nto her, beg her to listen to him, tell her he would work for her, live\nfor her, die for her. He stood for a moment, trembling with intensity\nof feeling, then he sat heavily down again. \"I can't do it,\" he\nwhispered. \"I must think of her, of what is best for her.\"\n\nMoments passed. The street lamps shone out, footsteps echoed and\nreechoed. Some boys went by singing. In the darkness Berkley sat very\nquietly, only once in a while he whispered, \"Oh, God! oh, God!\" as one\nwho has found his Gethsemane. The hours wore on, the street grew very\nquiet, the rumbling of wagons, the tread of passers-by ceased. Lights\nin the lower stories of the houses began to be extinguished, while\nthose above showed in first one room and then another. Berkley finally\narose, stumbled uncertainly across the street and up to his room, where\nhe threw himself across his bed, face down, and lay there all night\nwrestling with himself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\n\"BEGONE, DULL CARE\"\n\n\nThe days slipped by till the Christmas holidays were at hand. Linda\nwas busy with her school. Miss Ri occupied herself with the hundred\nthings which kept her interests alive. Her clubs, church meetings,\nvisits to sick neighbors, public and private charities, all filled her\ndays to overflowing. Mr. Jeffreys called regularly, so it came to be\nan understood thing that he would appear either afternoon or evening.\nBerkley visited the house seldom, and rarely when Linda was at home.\nHe would run in once in a while, asserting that he was too busy to\nstay and had only dropped in to say \"Howdy.\" He would question Miss\nRi about her affairs, but before she could turn her queries upon him,\nhe would be off. After that one bitter fight, he had himself well in\nhand, and the fact that he worked far into the night and was fast\ngaining a reputation for industry and exactness, not only bore out his\nstatements, but caused him to stand well with the older lawyers.\n\n\"That's a young man who will make his mark,\" said Judge Baker to Miss\nRi one morning when he met her on the street--Berkley had just passed\nthem with a swift bow--\"though I am afraid he is working too hard.\"\n\n\"I'll have to haul him over the coals,\" returned Miss Ri. \"You know he\nis a great favorite of mine, Judge.\"\n\n\"So I have observed. Give him a little motherly advice, Miss Ri.\nHe needs it. He mustn't be burning the candle at both ends; but I\nprophecy, that if he continues to exhibit the keenness and skill he is\ndeveloping, he will be judge some day.\"\n\nThe words returned to Miss Ri as she walked down street, and her\nthoughts went back to the trunk and then to the papers. There had been\nno news from Judge Goldsborough, and there appeared to be an absolute\nlull. Mr. Jeffreys had announced that Berkley was going to take up the\ncase as soon as he had time, and so it stood.\n\nIf Linda missed Berkley, she did not say so, and never commented upon\nhis sins of omission. She accepted Mr. Jeffreys' constant attention\nas a matter of course, was chagrined only when he refused to tell her\nabout his claim, for he always set aside the question with, \"We cannot\ntell definitely as yet.\"\n\n\"He is such a cautious, deliberate person,\" complained the girl one day\nto Miss Ri. \"I wish he would show a little more spontaneity.\"\n\n\"I thought you admired his beautiful dignity and reserve.\"\n\n\"Oh, I do; except when I want my curiosity satisfied,\" laughed Linda.\n\"I don't doubt but that he says what he really means, which is more\nthan can be believed of some persons I know.\"\n\nMiss Ri gave her a sharp, quick look, but made no comment. Her crochet\nneedle moved swiftly in and out the meshes of white wool she held.\n\"Verlinda,\" she said presently, \"how would you like to go up to the\ncity for your holiday? I invite you as my guest. We can get someone to\nstay here in the house to keep Phebe satisfied, and we'll have a real\nrollicking time going to the theatre, shopping, seeing our friends, and\ngiddy-gadding generally. What do you say to it?\"\n\n\"Oh, Aunt Ri, it would be perfectly delightful, but--\"\n\n\"But what?\"\n\n\"Won't it be very expensive?\"\n\n\"It won't be too expensive. I've just had a dividend I didn't expect,\nand I can't think of a pleasanter way of spending it. I hate to go\npoking around by myself, and I don't know anyone whom it would be more\nreal joy to have with me.\"\n\n\"Not Miss Parthy?\"\n\n\"Oh, Parthy's an old stick when it comes to the city. She isn't young\nenough,\" Miss Ri laughed comfortably.\n\nLinda sat bending over an embroidered piece she was doing for Grace's\nChristmas. There was a reminiscent look on her face. This would be her\nfirst Christmas since Martin died. It would be hard not to spend the\nday as usual in the old home, and harder still not to hear the voice of\nhim who had always made Christmas a happy day for her. Yet, after all,\nit would be less lonely with Miss Ri, for had not the dear woman made\nthis a true home for her? It was like her to plan this outing, that the\ngirl might not yearn too deeply for past joys. There would not be the\nold church to decorate, as in the years gone by, but on Christmas Eve\nshe could take wreaths to the churchyard. Her thoughts were far away\nwhen Miss Ri's voice roused her.\n\n\"Well, shall we go?\"\n\n\"If you really think you would enjoy having me,\" answered Linda, coming\nback to the present. \"I think you are a darling to ask me.\"\n\n\"Of course I'd enjoy having you. We can have our Christmas here--Phebe\nwould be broken-hearted if we didn't allow her to cook our Christmas\ndinner--and then we'll pack up our duds and go. I don't know that I can\ntake you to any big functions, but we can have a mighty good time, I\ntruly believe. We ought to have someone to dine with us on Christmas\nDay to make it more festive. I'd ask Berk, but he wouldn't miss\nspending the day with his mother for worlds. We might have Parthy and\nMr. Jeffreys. Parthy hasn't any too good a woman in the kitchen, and\nit would suit all around; give her a rest and please the cook.\"\n\nSo it was arranged, and Linda looked forward quite joyously to the\nten days in the city. Never before had such a treat been hers; a few\ndays at a time had been the utmost of her stay. She had gone to her\nbrother's wedding, a showy affair in which she had little heart, and\nhad several times remained with a friend over Sunday, but this was a\nvery different affair.\n\nPhebe, on being consulted as to whom she would prefer to look after\nwhile the two were absent, gave an unqualified vote for Mr. Berk. \"He\nso jokey, Miss Ri,\" she said, \"an' he do look at my wittles lak he\ncan't wait. Den he a gem'man. I laks to wait on a rale gem'man, one o'\nde ole fambly kin'. Mr. Jeffs he a gem'man, too, I specs, but he don'\nknow nuffin how to talk to us <DW65>s. He so solemn, lak ole owl, or\nfo' all de worl' lak a preacher. He tas'es dis an' he tas'es dat lak he\ndunno whe'r he gwine lak it or no. Mr. Berk he shake he haid an' say,\n'Um-um, dat sholy look good.' Mr. Jeffs ack lak he feard somebody think\nhe enjyin' hisse'f, but Mr. Berk thes pitch in an enjy hisse'f 'thout\ncarin' what anybody think.\"\n\nMiss Ri laughed and, upon the occasion of her next walk down town,\nstopped at Berk's office to ask if he would take possession and sleep\nnights at her house during the holidays. He responded with alacrity,\npromising to behave himself, but begging that he might be allowed to\ntake his meals at the hotel.\n\n\"And disappoint Phebe? Never!\" cried Miss Ri. \"She is counting upon\nfeeding you up. I told her you were getting thin and pale because they\ndidn't give you enough to eat at the Jackson House, and she is fairly\naching to provide for you. She will have to cook for herself, and why\nnot for you? Besides, you are her choice of the whole townful, so you\nshould feel flattered.\"\n\n\"I do,\" returned Berkley, \"and very grateful to both you and her. I'll\ncome, Miss Ri. When do you start?\"\n\n\"The day after Christmas. You'll be back by then?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I'll be back. I shall go to town only for the day, and must\nbe here for various reasons as soon as practicable.\"\n\n\"Then that is settled. Merry Christmas, Berk. I wish you could dine\nwith us, but I know your mother's mind, and I wouldn't even suggest\nsuch a thing.\"\n\nMiss Ri's box of books provided several gifts for outsiders, but for\nLinda was a special gift obtained, a fine soft evening cloak, something\nshe did not possess, and which she would need during her holiday visit.\nFrom the new cousin came a handsome set of books and a box of flowers,\nthe latter for both ladies. A very ornate, wholly impossible scarf of\ncoarse texture arrived from Grace for her sister-in-law.\n\n\"It just looks like her,\" commented Miss Ri. \"You can always tell\nunderbred people by the presents they give. No lady would look twice at\na thing like that. Why didn't she send you one plain fine handkerchief,\nif she didn't want to spend her money for something handsome? It would\nat least have shown some refined taste.\"\n\n\"I don't believe she knows any better,\" returned Linda, by way of\nexcuse.\n\n\"Exactly,\" replied Miss Ri.\n\nFrom Berk came merely an unostentatious little card for Linda, though\nfor Miss Ri arrived a fine potted plant. \"I'll allow you to look at\nit,\" remarked the recipient with a little laugh.\n\nNot even a card found its way from Linda to Berkley, though in her\nupper drawer lay a half-finished blue silk tie. She had stopped working\non it long before.\n\nMr. Jeffreys saw them off on a cold twenty-sixth of December. That\nsame evening Berkley arrived to take possession of the room Miss Ri\nhad told Phebe to make ready for him. Phebe, with her head tied up in\na new kerchief, and with an immaculate expanse of white apron, was\nready to receive him, to show him upstairs and to wait upon him hand\nand foot. She adored Linda, had great respect for Miss Ri, but \"a rale\nyoung gem'man\" awakened all the love of service within her, and if he\nhad done the justice she expected to the meal she served, he would\nprobably have died of indigestion that very night, and the close of\nthis chapter would mark the end of this tale. However, whether from\nlack of appetite or for other reasons, he ate with discretion, and then\nretired to the sitting-room, where he worked over a budget of papers\ntill near midnight. With candle in hand, he then went upstairs. As he\npassed through the upper hall he perceived the door of a room open. He\ntip-toed up to it, stood for a moment on the sill, then entered softly\nand with the expression of one approaching a sanctuary. Phebe had\nremoved all suggestion of disorder, but she could not remove the subtle\nreminders of a girlish presence, which were suggested by the pictures\non the wall, the books on the table, by the little slippers peeping\nfrom under the foot of the lounge. An end of ribbon fluttered out from\nbehind the door of the small wash-closet, which stood partly open.\nBerkley gently lifted the satiny end and laid it against his cheek,\nthen to his lips. After this, he tip-toed out again, closing the door\nsoftly behind him. He had this once entered a holy of holies, but he\nmust not be tempted again.\n\nMeanwhile Miss Ri and Linda were settled at their hotel and were\nmaking plans for the next day.\n\n\"I suppose I must go to see Grace,\" remarked Linda.\n\n\"Oh, not right away,\" was Miss Ri's reply. \"Wait till the memory of\nthat scarf becomes a little more vague, then you will be able to thank\nher for it with some similitude of warmth. In the case of that gift, it\nis one of the instances when 'absence makes the heart grow fonder.' No,\nI have planned what we are to do to-morrow. In the morning we will go\nshopping; in the afternoon we will stay at home and receive calls; in\nthe evening we will go to the theatre.\"\n\n\"Oh, but, Aunt Ri, I haven't been going anywhere.\"\n\n\"High time you did. I don't want you to do anything that might distress\nyou, Verlinda, but I think a good play or two will do you a world of\ngood. We will look at the paper and see what is going on. We must hear\nsome good music. Perhaps there are to be some good concerts at the\nPeabody; we will find out. I don't believe in persons making a selfish\nindulgence of a sorrow. I am sure no one more than Martin would like\nyou to have a pleasant, cheerful time. You need it, and we ought to do\nwhat is best for us.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" Linda acquiesced. \"I am in your hands, Aunt Ri. I will do\nas you say.\"\n\nMiss Ri looked pleased. \"That is what I do like about you, Verlinda;\nyou are always so sweetly reasonable. Come, let's go down to supper.\"\n\nIt was rather a pleasant sensation to be one of the company which\noccupied the dining-room, and Linda enjoyed looking about her quite\nas much as she did the partaking of the excellent meal. They had just\nfinished, when suddenly she caught sight of a party at one of the\ntables across the room. \"Aunt Ri, Aunt Ri,\" she said, turning toward\nher companion. \"Who do you think is over there, just across from us, a\nlittle to your rear? You'll have to turn your head--the Goldsboroughs.\nMrs. Goldsborough, the governess, the two little girls, and an older\none. She must be the debutante.\"\n\nMiss Ri turned her head, but by this time the little girls had caught\nsight of them and were smiling and nodding. \"They've evidently come up\nfor the holidays,\" said Miss Ri. \"That Miss Carroll is quite a pretty\ngirl, isn't she?\"\n\n\"Yes, I thought so when we met her the other day at 'Mary's Delight,'\nIt was nice of them to bring her, wasn't it? She told me that she was\nvery happy with the Goldsboroughs, that the children were dears, and\nthat she was quite like a daughter in the house.\"\n\n\"Julia would make her feel so. She is one of the kindest-hearted women\nin the world, and not the least of a snob. They are coming over to\nspeak to us.\"\n\nThe two groups met half way, and walked to the reception room together.\nFreddy, the eldest daughter, was bound for a theatre party and must\nhurry away. \"She was named Fredericka, for her grandfather,\" Mrs.\nGoldsborough explained. The other little girls, Julia and Mary, sat one\neach side of Linda, on the sofa; Miss Carroll drew up a stool opposite,\nwhile Mrs. Goldsborough and Miss Ri settled themselves further away for\na good talk.\n\nThere were ever so many things going on in the city, the girls told\nLinda. One of their cousins was to have a tea, another had asked them\nto a box party, a third to a small dance. \"We won't be out for two or\nthree years yet,\" said Mary; \"but we shall have just as good a time\nas Fred, if she is a debutante.\" Then there was much talk of this and\nthat one who had come out that season; of Fred's engagements and the\nattention she was having, the twittering chat which young girls like.\nMiss Carroll smiled indulgently at the little chatterers, but once or\ntwice gave Linda a look, as much as to say, \"We know what it is worth.\"\nHowever, Linda enjoyed this glimpse into a frivolous world and went\nupstairs with Miss Ri without a thought to sadden her.\n\nThere was a morning's shopping, luncheon at a quaint little place on\nCharles Street, a return to the hotel, an afternoon with the friends\nwho had been notified of their arrival and who called promptly, then\nthe theatre, and Linda's first day in the city was so full that she\ndropped to sleep with never a thought of Sandbridge and the friends\nthere who might be missing her.\n\nThe next day Miss Ri reluctantly consented to a call on Grace. The\nhouse where the Johnsons lived was in a new, rather than a fashionable\npart of the city. The room into which the maid showed them was\npretentiously furnished, crowded with ornaments, ugly though expensive,\nthe walls lined with poor pictures in gaudy frames. Money value, rather\nthan good taste, was the keynote of the establishment, it was easily\nseen.\n\nAfter keeping them waiting for some time, Grace swept in wearing a\nnew gown tinkling with jets and redolent with sachet. She made many\napologies for having kept them waiting. \"Such a surprise. So sorry I\ncouldn't have known.\" She had been up so late the night before, and the\nrest of it. Were they up for a shopping expedition? There were so many\ngood bargains after the holidays.\n\n[Illustration: \"HE HAS GIVEN ME THE DEAREST RING.\"]\n\nShe lifted her eyebrows and viewed Linda with surprise when told why\nthey had come, where they were staying, and how long they intended to\nremain. She could not quite understand why Miss Ri should have invited\nanyone so uninteresting as she conceived her sister-in-law to be. Yet\nshe did not voice her opinion, but only said gushingly, \"Oh, then\nyou'll be able to meet the dear Major. I do so want you to know him,\nMiss Hill, and you, too, Linda. Of course, the engagement cannot be\nannounced except to the family, but he has given me the dearest ring,\nwhich I do not wear in public, naturally.\" She stretched out her plump\nhand and displayed the solitaire with much satisfaction.\n\nThere was some talk upon trifling matters, then Grace, turning to\nLinda, said, \"Oh, by the way, what about that Mr. Jeffreys? I had a\nnote from Mr. Matthews a few days ago, and he tells me there is a\nclaimant for Talbot's Angles, and that he is going to law about it.\nMr. Matthews asked me if I knew of any old papers which might be in\nthe house down there. I told him Mr. Phillips had the key and he would\ngo with him to see what could be found. It would be sad, would it not,\nMiss Hill, if, after my effort to do what would seem best for Linda,\nthe property should pass into other hands?\"\n\n\"Talbot's Angles? Are you sure it is Talbot's Angles?\" asked Linda. \"We\nhave always thought it must be Addition, or even Timber Neck.\"\n\n\"No, I am quite sure it is the Angles. Of course, that is the most\nvaluable of the three places now, though the Major says none of them\nare worth so very much; but then he has such large ideas. The amount at\nwhich we value the place would be a mere bagatelle to him.\"\n\nThe call was short. Miss Ri could not stand much of Grace, but they\nwere urged to come soon again and to come in the evening, when the\ndear Major would be there. Grace was invited to have tea with the two\nat their hotel, an invitation which she accepted eagerly, and then the\ncallers left.\n\n\"Aunt Ri,\" began Linda as soon as they had turned from the house, \"did\nyou dream it was Talbot's Angles?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, dear; I half suspected it all the time.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"From the way those two, Berk and Mr. Jeffreys, acted.\"\n\n\"And that is why you wanted to consult Judge Goldsborough?\"\n\n\"Yes, that was why.\"\n\n\"But he says there is not a shred of proof.\"\n\n\"He said so at first. Later, he was not so sure but there might be\ncomplications.\"\n\n\"I understand.\" Linda was silent for some time; then she spoke again,\nfollowing out her thoughts: \"Aunt Ri, do you think that is why Berk has\navoided me? Do you think he has known all this time?\"\n\nMiss Ri hesitated before she made answer. \"It may be that, Verlinda.\"\n\nLinda gave a little sigh. \"I am sorry he had to feel that way about\nit. I wouldn't have blamed him, for he was not to blame, was he? He\ncouldn't help it.\"\n\n\"Not unless he chose to be disloyal to Mr. Jeffreys and dishonorable\naltogether.\"\n\n\"And that he could never be. We know that, don't we, Aunt Ri? Shall we\nsee his sister and mother, do you think?\"\n\n\"I am sure we shall. I wrote to Mrs. Matthews that we were coming.\"\n\nNo more was said on the subject just then; but, in thinking it over in\nthe seclusion of her room, it dawned upon Miss Ri that Linda was much\nmore concerned for Berkley's part in the transaction than in her own\nloss of the property. \"Well,\" she exclaimed, sitting down to face the\nsituation, \"this is a revelation. How on earth is it going to end now,\nI'd like to know.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nAS WATER UNTO WINE\n\n\nThe time passed as gaily as Miss Ri meant it should: in receiving and\nreturning calls, in a little sight-seeing, in shopping, lunching,\ndining, a moderate amount of theatre-going. There was a visit to the\nold low-roofed, grey-shingled market one Saturday evening, when the\nGoldsborough girls, with their governess, begged Miss Ri and Linda to\njoin them in a frolic.\n\n\"We want to buy taffy,\" they said, \"and see the funny people. Do go\nwith us; it will be so jolly.\" The expedition was quite to Miss Ri's\ntaste and, that Linda might have the experience, she urged the going.\nA merry time they all had of it, pushing their way from one end of the\nlong market-house to the other, and then parading up and down outside,\nwhere the country people, with their wagons, exhibited their wares on\ntables improvised from a couple of barrels with boards laid across. A\nlittle of anything that might be salable was offered, from bunches of\ndried herbs to fat turkeys.\n\n\"It hasn't changed a particle since I was a little girl,\" declared Miss\nRi. \"My uncle used to take me to market with him before breakfast on\nsummer mornings, and would buy me a glass of ice cream from that very\nstand,\" she designated one with a bee-hive on its sign. \"I wonder how I\ncould eat such a thing so early in the morning, though then I thought\nit a great treat. On Saturday evenings in winter he always brought home\na parcel of taffy, which tasted exactly as this does which we have\nbought to-night. And my aunt, I can see her now with a <DW52> boy\nwalking behind her carrying a huge basket, while she had a tiny one in\nwhich to bring home special dainties.\"\n\n\"That custom isn't altogether done away with yet,\" Miss Carroll told\nher. \"Some of the good old housekeepers still cling to their little\nbaskets.\"\n\n\"And a good thing, too,\" asserted Miss Ri.\n\nOne afternoon, Grace brought her Major to call, and they found him to\nbe a stout, elderly man, rather florid, a little consequential, but\nquite genial and polite, and evidently very proud of his young fiancee.\n\n\"He's not so bad,\" commented Miss Ri, \"although he is not of our\nstripe. I was sure he could not be a West Point man, and he isn't. He\nserved in the Spanish War for a short time, he told me. However, I\ndon't doubt that it is going to be a perfectly satisfactory marriage.\nHe likes flattery, and Grace is an adept in bestowing it.\"\n\nMrs. Matthews and her daughter, Margaret Edmondson, were among the\nvery first to call and to offer an invitation to luncheon. \"We shall\nnot make a stranger of you any more than of Maria,\" said Mrs. Matthews,\ntaking Linda's hands in hers. \"I remember you so well as a little\nbit of a girl, of whom Berkley was always ready to make a playmate\nwhen you came to town. My first recollection of you is when I brought\nBerkie over at Miss Ri's request. You were no more than three and he\nwas perhaps six or seven. You looked at him for a long time with those\nbig blue eyes of yours, and then you said, 'Boy, take me to see the\nchickens.' You liked to peep through the fence at Miss Parthy's fowls,\nbut were not allowed to go that far alone, you were such a little\nthing. From that day Berkie was always asking when Miss Ri's little\ngirl was coming back, for you left that same evening.\"\n\nMiss Ri looked at Linda. Her face was flushed and her eyes downcast.\n\n\"I shouldn't be surprised,\" put in Margaret, \"if Berk were wishing now\nthat Miss Ri's little girl would come back.\"\n\nLinda withdrew her hand from Mrs. Matthews' clasp and turned from the\ngentle face, whose eyes were searching hers. \"Oh, you are mistaken,\nMrs. Edmondson,\" she said hurriedly. \"Berk and I very seldom see one\nanother; in fact, I have not laid eyes on him for weeks.\"\n\n\"He's working too hard,\" said Mrs. Matthews, turning to Miss Ri. \"I\nthought he looked thin and careworn when he was last here. I wish\nyou all would advise him not to overwork. He values your advice very\nhighly, Maria.\"\n\n\"We all think he is working too hard,\" returned Miss Ri, \"but if he\nlistens to anyone, it will be his mother. I never knew a more devoted\nson.\"\n\n\"He is indeed,\" replied Mrs. Matthews. \"Maria, I hate to have him in\nthat comfortless hotel; he was always such a home boy.\"\n\n\"Come, Mother, come,\" broke in Mrs. Edmondson. \"Miss Ri, if you get\nmother started on the subject of Berk, she will stand and talk all day.\nWe shall expect you both on Thursday. Take the car to Cold Spring Lane\nand you will not have far to walk.\"\n\nThe callers departed and though Linda said little of them, Miss Ri\nnoticed that she made no protest against the trip to the pretty suburb\nwhere they lived. She had not been so ready on other occasions.\n\nMrs. Edmondson, proud of her pretty new house, was ready to show off\nits conveniences and comforts, and to discourse upon the delights of\nliving in a place which was not city and yet was accessible to all\nthat one desired, for it was not half an hour by trolley to the center\nof the town. Her husband, a young business man, was making his way\nrapidly, Mrs. Matthews told Miss Ri with pride. \"And he is a good son\nto me,\" she added, \"so I shall never want for a home while I have three\nchildren. Margie insists that I shall never leave her; but, unless\nBerkley marries, I think I should make a home for him. I can't have him\nliving in a hotel all his life.\" Then followed anecdotes of Berkley,\nof this act of self-denial, that evidence of devotion. \"You know,\nMaria, that he is exactly like his father. The Doctor always thought of\nhimself last.\"\n\n\"Mother, dear,\" interrupted Margaret, \"they didn't come to hear Berk\neulogized, but to see your pretty room. Come, Linda, let us leave them.\nMiss Ri is almost as bad as she is when it comes to Berk.\" She put her\narm around Linda and drew her away, whispering, \"Mother thinks I am\njealous, but I am not a bit; I only don't want her to get the notion\nthat she must leave me and go back to Sandbridge. After all Berk has\ndone for us, I think he ought to have his chance to get ahead, and\nthe very least I can do is to try to make mother happy here with me.\nHerbert agrees with me. I wish Berk had a home of his own, and then\nmother would be satisfied.\"\n\nThe two younger women went off to view other parts of the house, while\ntheir elders talked of those things nearest their hearts. They were old\nfriends and had much in common. Margaret was a sweet womanly person,\nnot a beauty, but fresh and fair and good to look upon, with the same\nhonest grey eyes as her brother's, and the same sturdy frankness of\nmanner. Linda thought her a trifle expansive, till she realized that\nherself was anything but a stranger, in spite of the fact that she had\nnot met these two since she was a little girl.\n\n\"I am glad I wasn't brought up within hail of the monument,\" said\nMargaret as she exhibited her spick and span kitchen. \"I should hate\nto be deprived of the privileges of my own kitchen, and I shouldn't\nlike to believe I must live on certain streets or be a Pariah. There\nis too much of that feeling in this blessed old city, and I must say\nour Cavalier ancestors did give us pleasure-loving natures as an\ninheritance. Half the girls I know are pretty and sweet and amiable,\nbut they never read anything but trash, think of nothing but wearing\npretty clothes and of having a good time. However, I think they do\nmake good wives and mothers when it comes to settling down. Someone\nsaid to me the other day, that Southern girls married only for love\nand that poverty came in at the door to mock them for being so silly\nas to think any marriage was better than none; that they didn't mind\nlove flying out of the window half so much as they did going to their\ngraves unmarried. There may be some truth in that, but I think they are\ngenerally pretty contented and are satisfied to take life as it comes.\"\n\nMargaret was a great chatterer, and was delighted to get Linda to\nherself, to air her own views and to learn of Linda's. \"Aren't you\nglad, Linda,\" she went on, \"that you are making a place for yourself in\nthe world? Berk has often said that you were quite different from most\nof the girls he knew, and that he wished we could be good friends. He\nsays you can talk of other things than dress and gossip, and that you\nare quite domestic. Are you domestic?\"\n\n\"Why\"--Linda paused to consider--\"yes, I think I am. I like to keep\nhouse. I did for my brother, you know; yet I like a good time and\npretty clothes as much as anyone.\"\n\n\"Of course. So do I. But you care for other things, too. Berk thinks\nyou are so wonderful to write so well, and to get along so successfully\nwith your teaching.\"\n\nLinda made a little grimace. \"Berk is very kind to say so, but that is\nsomething for which I do not feel myself fitted and which I really do\nnot enjoy.\"\n\n\"So much the more credit for doing it well. Linda, you must come to the\nClub while you are here. I know you would enjoy it. Mother and I both\nbelong. There is another and more fashionable literary club, but we\nlike ours much the best. The real workers are members of it, not the\nmake-believes. It meets every Tuesday afternoon. We must arrange for\nyou to go with us, and Miss Ri must come, too.\" Here the elder women\nentered, and Miss Ri reminded Linda that they were to go to a tea on\ntheir way home, so they departed, Linda and Margaret parting like old\nfriends.\n\nThe tea was a quiet little affair which Linda had promised Miss Ri\nto attend, as it was at the house of one of the latter's particular\nfriends, and here they lingered till dinner time. As they were going\nto their rooms a card was handed them. Miss Ri raised her lorgnette to\nread the name. \"Mr. Jeffreys has been here,\" she exclaimed.\n\n\"The gen'l'man say he be back this evenin',\" the elevator boy told them.\n\n\"Humph!\" Miss Ri looked at Linda. \"Were we going anywhere to-night?\"\n\n\"No. You remember that we said we would be going all day and that we'd\nbetter stay in and rest.\"\n\n\"Then rest shall I, and you can see the young man. Now, no protests;\nI am not going down one step. I can trust you to go unchaperoned this\nonce, I should think. I don't feel like talking to him. I have been\ntalking all day.\"\n\nTherefore Linda went down alone when the young man was announced, to\nfind him sitting in a little alcove, waiting for her. He was in correct\nevening dress and looked well. Linda had never seen him so carefully\nattired and could but acknowledge that there was a certain elegance in\nthe tall, dignified figure, and that he looked quite as distinguished\nas any man she had met. She, herself, was all in white, Miss Ri having\npersuaded her that such a dress was as appropriate as her frocks of\nblack. She looked very charming, thought the young man, who rose to\nmeet her, and his manner was slightly more genial than usual.\n\n\"It seems a very long time since I saw you, Miss Linda,\" he said.\n\n\"Only a week,\" returned Linda, seating herself on a low divan, her\nskirts making soft billows around her.\n\n\"You have enjoyed yourself and the time has passed very quickly, I\npresume.\"\n\n\"Very quickly. We have had a delightful week. And you?\"\n\n\"There have been festivities in Sandbridge from which you were missed.\"\n\n\"And to which, probably, I should not have gone. No piece of news of\nany importance?\"\n\n\"One which will interest you and which I came to tell you of.\"\n\nHe hesitated so long that Linda, to help him out, began, \"And the news\nis--\"\n\n\"About my claim.\" He hesitated, as if finding it very hard to go on.\n\n\"Oh, I think I can anticipate what you have to say,\" rejoined Linda\neasily. \"My sister-in-law has told me that it is Talbot's Angles to\nwhich your papers refer. Is that true?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"And have you established your facts?\" Linda asked the question\nsteadily.\n\n\"Not perfectly; although the past week has given us some extra proof in\nthe papers found at the house itself. Among them we found some receipts\ngiven by Cyrus Talbot to the tenant for rent. They read: 'Received from\nJohn Briggs one quarter's rent for Talbot's Angles,' so much, and are\nsigned by Cyrus Talbot.\"\n\n\"By 'us' you mean Mr. Matthews and yourself?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is through his efforts that we are able to get so much\nevidence as we have.\"\n\n\"I see.\" There was silence for a moment. Linda sat perfectly still and,\nexcept that she nervously played with a ring on her finger, appeared\nunmoved.\n\nMr. Jeffreys watched her for a moment, then he leaned forward. \"Miss\nLinda,\" he began, \"I know how you must feel, and it pains me beyond\nexpression to bring you news that must be disappointing to you, but--\"\nhe halted in his precise speech, \"but you need not lose your old home,\nif you will take the claimant with it.\"\n\nLinda lifted startled eyes.\n\nThe young man went on: \"I have thought the matter over and while I\ncould not consider it expedient to live on the place, I would not sell\nit unless you wished, and would always, under any circumstances,\nreserve the house, that you might still consider it your home.\"\n\nLinda laughed a little wildly. \"It seems that is always the way of it.\nI am merely to consider it my home in every case.\"\n\nHe drew nearer and took her hand. \"Then, will you accept it as I offer\nit? With myself? I would try to make you happy. I think if I had the\nstimulus of your companionship, I could succeed. We could make our home\nin Hartford, and you could return to Maryland when it pleased you each\nyear. I have just received an offer from an insurance company. They\nwish to send me to England on business, and on my return they give me\nthe promise of such a position as will insure me a future.\"\n\n\"It is in Hartford?\"\n\n\"Yes; and it is a lovely city, you know.\"\n\n\"Where, as in Sandbridge, they are always ready to welcome strangers\ncordially? I think I have heard how very spontaneous they are up there,\nquite expansive and eager to make newcomers feel at home.\" She spoke\nwith sarcastic emphasis.\n\n\"Of course, my friends would welcome you,\" returned Mr. Jeffreys a\nlittle stiffly. \"Dear Miss Linda,\" he continued more fervently, \"don't\nget the idea that there are no warm hearts in the North because you\nhave heard of some cold ones. Once you know the people, none could be\nbetter friends. I would try to make you happy. Will you believe me\nwhen I say that you are the first woman I have ever wished to make my\nwife?\"\n\n\"Yes, I believe you.\" She smiled a little.\n\n\"Please think it over. I would rather not have my answer now. I know\nthere is much to bewilder you, and I would rather you did not give\nme an impulsive reply. I will not pursue the subject. I will come\nto-morrow. I would much rather wait.\"\n\n\"Thank you for your consideration,\" returned Linda. \"I will think it\nover, Mr. Jeffreys. It is only right that I should. Must you go?\"\n\n\"I think so. May I come to-morrow afternoon? At what hour?\"\n\n\"About five. We have an engagement in the evening.\"\n\nHe arose, took her hand, pressed it gently and said earnestly, \"I beg\nthat you will remember that it would be my dearest wish to make you my\nwife under any circumstances.\"\n\n\"I will remember,\" returned Linda.\n\n\"Please give my regards to Miss Hill,\" continued Mr. Jeffreys, taking\nup his hat. \"I owe her a debt of thanks for giving me this opportunity\nof seeing you alone.\" And he bowed himself out.\n\nThere were but few persons in the large drawing-room, and they had\nbeen quite sequestered in their little alcove. Linda returned to her\nseat, and lingered there, thinking, thinking. Presently she smiled\nand whispered to herself, \"He never once said he loved, never once.\n'As moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine,'\" she murmured\nmusingly. So he would marry her and take her to his city, where there\nwould be no Aunt Ri, no warm-hearted neighbors to welcome her with\ncordial emphasis, as there would be when she went back to Sandbridge.\nNevermore the flat, level roads, the little salt rivers, the simple\nevery-day intercourse of friend with friend, the easy-going unambitious\nway of living, the smiling content. Instead, the eager struggle for\ngreater ostentation and luxury, which she saw even in the city where\nshe now was; the cold, calculating stares from utter strangers, when\nshe went among them, interest lacking, affection wanting. But on the\nother hand, she would come back to her old home every year, and it\nwould be truly hers. But how hard it would be to go from it again!\nAnd after a while she would be coming less and less frequently. She\nwould grow reticent and unapproachable. Repression would silently work\nthe change in her. She would have the opportunity of pouring out her\nthoughts on paper, to be sure, but--so she would at home. \"No, no, no,\"\nshe cried; \"I'd rather a thousand times teach my restless boys for\nthe remainder of my life. I don't love him, and that is exactly what\nis wrong. Where he lives has nothing to do with it. Goodbye, Talbot's\nAngles. You were never mine, and you never will be now.\"\n\nShe went to her room, tip-toeing gently that Miss Ri might not hear her\nin the adjoining one. She slipped quietly into a chair near the window\nand gave herself up to her thoughts. She must not let Miss Ri think her\ncaller had remained so short a time, and the dear woman must not be\ntold of what had occurred. When she heard a stirring around in the next\nroom, she knocked on the door, which was quickly opened to her.\n\n\"Well, child, has your young man gone?\" came the query. \"What did he\nhave to say?\"\n\n\"He told me the same thing Grace did about Talbot's Angles.\"\n\n\"He did? The wretch!... Linda, why did we ever treat him so well? He\ndoesn't deserve it.\"\n\n\"Why, Aunt Ri, he can't help being the great-grandson of Cyrus Talbot.\"\n\n\"He could help coming down here and stirring up all this fuss.\"\n\n\"He sent his regards to you.\"\n\n\"I don't want them. What else did he say?\"\n\n\"It appears that they have some new evidence, found in the paper which\nGrace directed them to. Some old receipts which seem to establish the\nfact that Cyrus Talbot really did have the right to rent the place\nto a certain John Briggs. I don't know how these receipts came into\nthe possession of our branch of the family, but probably Briggs gave\nthem to our great-grandfather to keep safely. At all events, Berkley\nMatthews and Mr. Jeffreys have worked it all out.\"\n\n\"I don't see how Berkley could have the conscience. It is outrageous\nfor him to be party to a scheme for defrauding an orphan girl.\"\n\n\"Oh, Aunt Ri, you mustn't say it is defrauding; it is just legal\nrights. We may have been defrauding them.\"\n\n\"We'll see whether it is so or not. Judge Goldsborough was so sure; but\nthen I suppose all these things were not known to him. I wish we could\nhear from him and learn what he has discovered in the papers he holds.\"\n\n\"We shall, in good time. Meanwhile, what difference does it make? I\nam used to having the place belong to someone else, and I am growing\ncontent to spend my days in teaching. I shall even be glad to get back\nto my boys.\"\n\nMiss Ri swung around sharply and took the girl's face between her\nhands. \"Verlinda, Verlinda,\" she said, \"I wish I could turn a\nsearch-light on that heart of yours?\"\n\n\"Why, Aunt Ri?\"\n\n\"Oh, because, because, a woman's reason.\" Then she put her arms around\nthe girl and hugged her close to her ample night-dress. \"You are a\ndarling child. Teach as long as you like; it will be so much the better\nfor me than seeing you go off to Hartford.\"\n\nLinda felt the color rise to her face. \"How do you know that\nopportunity will ever be afforded me?\" she asked lightly.\n\n\"If it hasn't been, it will. How did that miserable usurper look?\"\n\n\"Very handsome; in quite correct evening dress, which suited him\nperfectly. Aunt Ri, it would be a privilege to sit opposite such a\nfine-looking man three times a day for the rest of my life.\"\n\n\"It would, would it? and have to use a knife to dissect him before you\ncould find out what he really felt about anything? And even then you\nwouldn't discover a thing in his veins but ice-water.\"\n\nLinda laughed. \"You can be the most vehement person for one who\npretends to be so mild and serene. I notice that where those you love\nare concerned, you are anything but mild, bless your dear heart. Don't\nbe scared, Aunt Ri; I'll never leave Sandbridge, never. I'll never\nleave the dear old Eastern Shore for anyone. No, indeed.\"\n\n\"Who is vehement now, Verlinda Talbot? I verily believe that man has\nproposed to you. I am convinced of it. Oh, my dear, maybe after all you\nought to consider him, for that would settle it all. You could live in\nthe old home and be happy ever after, only, Verlinda, Verlinda, what\nwould become of Berk?\"\n\nLinda gave a little smothered cry and Miss Ri felt the slender figure\nquivering, though quite steadily came the words, \"We can't take Berk\ninto consideration, Aunt Ri; he is fighting with all his might for\nMr. Jeffreys, and so far as I am concerned, he doesn't think of me at\nall--in any direction.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it,\" returned Miss Ri. \"I admit he is an enigma, but\nI don't believe a word of his not thinking of you. I've talked to his\nmother,\" she added triumphantly.\n\nAfter that not a word would she say on the subject, but sent Linda off\nto bed, and if the girl needed anything to fix her decision regarding\nMr. Jeffreys, it is possible that Miss Ri's last words helped to the\nconclusion.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE DELIBERATE CONSCIENCE\n\n\nIn spite of having already made up her mind when she left Miss Ri,\nLinda conscientiously devoted an hour's serious thought to the subject\nof Wyatt Jeffreys; for she told herself that it was only fair to him.\nShe took down her hair, wrapped herself in a dressing-gown, and gave\nherself up to contemplation. \"It wouldn't be so hard,\" she thought,\ndrawing her brows together, \"if he had determined to live at Talbot's\nAngles, for I should at least have my old home.\"\n\n\"And see Berkley Matthews whenever you went to town,\" something\nwhispered.\n\n\"Oh, well,\" the argument came as if in reply, \"would that be any worse\nthan it will be now when I have to stay in town and run the risk of\nmeeting him at any time?\"\n\n\"But now there is a little hope,\" again came the inward voice.\n\n\"There isn't! there isn't!\" Linda contradicted. \"I can't believe there\nis. Look how he has acted: avoiding me openly, sending me only a little\ntrifling card at Christmas, taking up this case which defies my\nrights. Tell me such a thing? It is not so.\"\n\n\"But Miss Ri has talked to his mother. Margaret herself told you that\nBerk never wearied of sounding your praises.\"\n\n\"That is all a blind. He doesn't care; he couldn't, and act as he is\ndoing.\" She resolutely shut her ears to the voice of the charmer and\nturned her attention to the other claimant to regard. He had many fine\nqualities, but comparisons would crop up. Mr. Jeffreys had praised her\nwork and had congratulated her upon appearing in print; but it was more\non account of the recognition, than because of what she wrote. Berk, on\nthe other hand, perceived the spirit rather than the commercial value.\nShe had shown both men other little writings; Berk had commented upon\nthe thought, the originality of some fancy; Mr. Jeffreys had praised\nthe metre, or the quality which would make it marketable. \"There is the\ndifference,\" thought Linda; \"Mr. Jeffreys does not lack intellectual\nperception but Berk has a spiritual one. I saw deep into that one day\nwhen I was talking to him about Martin. He may be flippant and boyish\non the surface, but back of it all there is that in his soul which\ncan penetrate behind the stars. If he loved anyone he would not care\nfor her looks, her position, her wealth, or for anything but just her\nindividual self. Mr. Jeffreys would weigh the qualities which go to\nmake a satisfactory wife. It was his dearest wish. I was the first, he\nwould try to make me happy; all that, and not a word of his feelings\ntoward me. His heart did not speak, his deliberate conscience did, for\nI don't doubt he has one, and it makes him uncomfortable when he thinks\nof wresting Talbot's Angles from me. Well, my good man, keep your\nconscience. You have done your duty and there is an end of it. Go back\nto where you belong.\"\n\nShe pondered awhile longer and then took out her writing-materials.\n\"I'll have this ready when he comes,\" she said to herself. \"In\ncase Aunt Ri is at hand and I do not have a chance to speak to him\nprivately.\" She wrote the note, addressed the envelope and sealed it\nwith an emphasis which had an air of finality about it, and then she\nwent to bed. What her dreams were she did not tell, but no doubt Queen\nMab galloped through her brain.\n\nPrompt to the minute, Mr. Jeffreys arrived. Miss Ri and Linda, hurrying\nback from a call, found him there, and as fate would have it Miss Ri\nsat down for a chat. She would like to have the gossip of the town from\nMr. Jeffreys. How was Parthy and how were the dogs, and what was going\non? Had he seen Berk? and all the rest of it. The young man, whatever\nmay have been his impatience, answered quietly and politely, giving at\nlength certain little details which he knew would interest Miss Ri,\nand for this he deserved more credit than he received.\n\nAfter half an hour he asked if Linda would take a walk with him, but\nMiss Ri objected, saying that Linda was tired and that she was going\nout to dinner and must not be late, which hint started the young man\noff, though not before he had given the girl a deprecating, inquiring\nlook. She responded by handing him the little note she had written the\nnight before.\n\n\"Here is what you asked me for,\" she said, the color rising to her\ncheeks and a little regret to her heart when she realized that she was\ndealing him a blow.\n\nHe looked at her searchingly, but she dropped her eyes, and he was\nobliged to go without receiving a spark of satisfaction.\n\nAs girls will be, in such cases, Linda was a little hard on the man\nwhom she had just refused. She gave him less credit than he deserved,\nfor he was honestly and fervently in love with her, though having lived\nin an atmosphere of repression, and where it was considered almost a\ncrime to show a redundance of affection, he had betrayed little of what\nhe really felt, but it is a comment upon his eagerness to state that he\nwasted no time in finding out the contents of the note she gave him. It\nwas brief, but to the point, and was enough to send the young man back\nto Sandbridge on the evening boat which he had barely time to catch.\nHe felt rather badly treated, for in her sweet sympathetic manner he\nhad read a deeper concern than existed. Now he realized that it was\nnothing more than she would show anyone thrown upon her generosity,\nor at the most, presenting a claim to kinship of blood. He credited\nher with magnanimity in yielding up Talbot's Angles without showing\nresentment, and he valued her invariable attention to his confidences,\nas he reported the various ups and downs of his affairs, but in his\nheart of hearts he charged her with a little coquetry, failing to\nunderstand her spontaneous sympathy as a man of her own locality would\nhave done.\n\nHe had the wisdom to believe that her decision was final, yet he\nlingered in Sandbridge till her return, giving himself up to brooding\nover his troubles more pessimistically, if less passionately than a\nmore impulsive man would have done, and his cheerful little remarks to\nMiss Parthy, clipped off with the usual polite intonation, gave her no\nevidence that he was most unhappy.\n\nBut one day he walked into Berkley's office. Berkley looked up from the\nlitter of legal documents crowding his desk. \"Well, Jeffreys, old man,\nhow goes it? Been up to town, I hear. When did you get back?\"\n\n\"Several days ago,\" was the answer. \"I did not stay long.\"\n\n\"Sit down and tell me about it.\"\n\nMr. Jeffreys took the vacant chair, but ignored the invitation to\n\"tell about it.\" \"I came in to say that I am thinking of returning to\nHartford,\" he began. \"I suppose you can continue to push my business\nwithout my presence.\"\n\n\"Why, yes, I imagine so. You could run down if necessary. I don't\nsuppose you mean to stay away very long in any event.\"\n\n\"I should probably not return except in case of necessity.\" He paused,\nthen said with an effort, \"You were good enough, Matthews, to encourage\nme in my addresses to Miss Talbot so I think it is due you to say that\nshe has refused me.\"\n\n\"My dear man!\" Berk leaned forward and laid his hand on the other's\nknee. \"You mustn't give up so easily. You know a woman's No isn't\nalways final.\"\n\n\"I believe this to be. You wouldn't accuse Miss Linda of being an\nundecided character.\n\n\"No, I must confess I wouldn't. She is very gentle but she generally\nknows her own mind pretty thoroughly. Jeffreys, my dear fellow, I am\nsorry. I don't wonder you are cut up and are thinking of leaving us.\nIt would be a desperately hard fight to stay and be obliged to see\nher every now and then. For a man to lose a girl like Linda Talbot is\npretty tough lines. I shouldn't want my worst enemy to go through such\na purgatory.\"\n\n\"You speak feelingly,\" returned Mr. Jeffreys with a little bitter\nsmile. Then his better manhood asserting itself, \"Matthews, you know\nyou love her yourself.\"\n\nBerkley tossed up his head proudly. \"What if I do? I am not ashamed of\nit.\"\n\n\"And you deliberately gave me the chance of winning her if I could.\nWhy?\"\n\nBerkley made savage dabs with his pen upon the blotting pad before him,\nthereby injuring the pen hopelessly and doing the blotter no good.\nHe suddenly threw the pen aside. \"What sort of chump would I be if I\nhadn't done it? Her happiness was the first thing to be considered,\nnot mine. I knew she wanted Talbot's Angles more than anything in the\nworld, and that ought to have made it dead easy for a man who really\nloved a girl in the right way.\"\n\n\"And you have been doing everything in your power to win the property\nfor me. You have been loyal to both of us. Shake hands, Berkley\nMatthews, you are far and away a better man than I am, but I will not\nbe outdone. Do you think I have no pride? I may have a deliberate\nconscience, as Miss Talbot herself once told me, but I hope it is as\nwell developed as yours. I'll fight it out and then we shall see. What\nright had I to expect that I could throw a sop to my conscience by\nasking her to marry me? I see it all now. You love her; so do I, and I\nwill prove it to you both.\"\n\n\"Do you suppose I doubted the truth of your feeling for her?\" cried\nBerkley. \"That would be a poor compliment to her. I think you are too\neasily downed, Jeffreys. Cheer up. Take another chance. Wait awhile.\nDo your best to better your chances. Unbend a little. Be more free and\neasy. Make her dependent upon you for encouragement and sympathy. Oh,\nthere are a thousand ways.\"\n\nJeffreys regarded him with a half smile. \"You mean I must substitute a\nSouthern temperament for a Northern one. That is easier said than done.\nThe day of miracles is past.\"\n\n\"You've not known her so very long,\" Berkley persisted in his argument.\n\n\"I've seen her almost every day, sometimes twice a day for three\nmonths. I have known young ladies for years whom I seem to know less\nwell. Certainly there has been no bar to our becoming well acquainted.\"\n\n\"Well, I wouldn't give up this early in the game,\" Berk continued his\npleading.\n\n\"You think there is a chance for me, do you? I can tell you there is\nnot,\" replied Mr. Jeffreys with emphasis.\n\nBerkley accompanied him to the street where they stood talking a few\nminutes longer. A horse and buggy were there in waiting for Berkley.\n\"I promised John Emory to go with him to sign a deed,\" he said, \"and\nhe left his buggy. I am to pick him up further along. Can I take you\nanywhere, first, Jeffreys?\"\n\n\"No, thank you. I have no special errand. I'm not a man of business\njust now, you remember.\"\n\nBerkley took his place in the vehicle, was about to gather up the reins\nwhen around the corner dashed an automobile. The horse threw up his\nhead, gave a sudden plunge, and in another second would have swung the\nbuggy directly in the path of the rushing car, but that Jeffreys sprang\nforward and seized the horse's head to jerk him to one side, but this\nwas not done before the car grazed him sufficiently to send him to the\nground, close to the horse's hoofs. Without stopping the car sped on.\nBy this time Berkley had grabbed the reins and had spoken commandingly\nto the horse which fortunately, stood still. Several by-standers sprang\nto Jeffreys' aid and dragged him from his precarious position.\n\nBerkley threw the reins to Billy, who had run out at the sound of this\ncommotion, and leaped to where Jeffreys now stood. \"Are you hurt, old\nman?\" he asked as Jeffreys limped to the sidewalk. \"Come right into the\noffice.\" He dismissed the little crowd which had gathered and assisted\nJeffreys inside.\n\nThe latter shook himself. \"I'm not actually hurt,\" he answered \"only a\nlittle bruised, I think, and slightly shaken up.\"\n\n\"You were within an ace of being killed, man,\" said Berkley gravely.\n\"And you risked your life for me. I am not going to forget that,\nJeffreys.\"\n\nThe young man smiled. \"It evens up matters a little,\" he returned,\n\"though we are not quits yet. I haven't lost sight of that fact.\"\n\n\"Doesn't saving a man's life come about as near settling any existing\nscore as a thing could?\" asked Berkley.\n\n\"Oh, we won't strain a point so far as to say it was saving your life.\nYou might not have been hurt at all, and it merely happened that I was\nthe first to grab the bridle. There were others ready to do it if I had\nnot.\"\n\n\"Bah!\" cried Berkley. \"That's all wrong argument; if the horse had not\nbeen there; if the car had not come along; we could go on indefinitely\nwith conjecturing, but what we face is a visible truth. You risked your\nlife and limbs for me, and that is the exact statement of the case.\nThank you, is a very feeble way to say what I feel.\"\n\n\"I'm quite all right now,\" returned the other, setting aside further\ndiscussion. \"If you will let me have a brush or something to get rid of\nthis dust on my clothes, I'll be as good as ever. That's it, thanks,\"\nfor Berkley was vigorously applying a whisk broom to his dusty coat\nand trousers. He refused further aid, insisting that there was no need\nof any assistance in getting home. He would rather walk; it would be\ngood for him. So Berkley was perforce to see him leave, and himself\nreentered the buggy, and drove off to keep his appointment.\n\nHe was very grateful to and infinitely sorry for his rival, but there\nwas an undercurrent of joy singing through his heart. She had refused\nhim, bless her, and she would return home that very day. He took out\na note received from Miss Ri the day before, saying that they would\narrive by the morning's boat. He reread the lines. \"It isn't decent of\nme; it really isn't,\" he exclaimed, stuffing the note back into his\npocket. \"It's like dancing on another man's grave, and after what he\nhas just done for me, too. What right have I to be glad anyway? It is\nlosing her the comfort of living again in her old home, and, dickens\ntake it, how do I know that I am any better off? Simmer down, Berkley\nMatthews; it won't do for you to go galloping off with an idea before\nyou have all the facts in the case. At least you will have the grace to\nkeep quiet while the other fellow is around.\" And he altered his train\nof thought with the determination of one who has learned the art of\nconcentration under difficulties.\n\nHe had restrained himself from rushing off to the boat to meet the\nreturning travellers, but, after his return to his office, Miss Ri\ncalled him up and imperiously demanded his presence to dinner, and he\naccepted without a word of protest.\n\n\"You're looking better,\" remarked Miss Ri, after they had shaken hands.\n\"I knew Phebe would be as good for you as untold bottles of tonic. Come\nright in. Linda is waiting in the dining-room.\"\n\nAnd there Linda was. Berkley wondered if she could hear the thumping\nof his heart. Here was her hand in his. What a wonderful fact! She\nwas there before him,--free--as possible for him as for any other. He\nlonged to ask if she were the least little bit glad to see him, but he\ndidn't; all he said was: \"Glad to see you back, Linda. I hear you have\nbeen having a great time.\"\n\n\"Who told you?\" she asked with a sudden bright smile.\n\n\"Mother wrote me a long letter. I'll tell you about it another time. I\nsuppose you were sorry to come away.\"\n\n\"No, not at all, though we had a lovely time. If you want a thoroughly\nskilled designer of good times you must employ Aunt Ri.\n\n\"I think the trip did much for me in many ways. One must get off from\nthings to acquire a really true perspective, you know, and now I am so\nhappy to be here again, to see the dear blue river, and this blessedly\nstupid town and all that. There is no place like it, Berk.\"\n\nWhat pure joy to hear her speak like that. Berkley wished she would\ngo on forever, but she was waiting for some response, he suddenly\nrealized. \"That is the way I like to hear you talk,\" he said quite\nhonestly. \"I've noticed myself, that when I have been away for any\nlength of time I am always glad to get back to the simple life.\"\n\n\"Very simple with such a dinner,\" laughed Linda. \"Phebe has prepared\nall this in honor of our home-coming.\"\n\n\"It seemed a pity that you should not be here to share it,\" spoke up\nMiss Ri. \"There was no need to send you back to husks this very first\nday.\"\n\n\"I came near not being here at all,\" he answered. Then he recounted the\nepisode of the morning, sparing no praise of Mr. Jeffreys, but looking\nat Miss Ri rather than at Linda as he told the tale over which his\nhearers were much excited.\n\nFain as he was to linger after dinner, he would not allow himself such\na luxury, but rushed off almost immediately, saying he must get back\nto work. Miss Ri watched him with tender eyes as he hurried down the\npath. \"It is good to get him back,\" she said turning from the window.\n\"I don't know what I should have done if anything serious had happened\nto him. He is looking very well, I think. That troubled, anxious\nexpression has left his face. I think the poor boy must have been under\nsome great strain. If you go off with that waxen image to Hartford\nI'll adopt Berk as sure as you live.\"\n\n\"Oh, Aunt Ri,\" expostulated Linda, \"you know he is no tailor's dummy,\nbut a very fine-looking man, and just think of what a heroic thing he\nhas just done. There was no deliberation then, but the quick sacrifice\nof himself at the critical moment. Berk might have been killed but for\nhim. I don't see how you can talk so about my brave cousin.\"\n\n\"Cousin is it? Well, so long as he remains only that I have no\ncomplaint to make of him. I suppose now we shall have to have more\nrespect for him than ever.\"\n\nLinda had to laugh at the aggrieved tone. \"_I_ certainly have,\" she\nanswered emphatically. \"I think he was perfectly splendid.\"\n\n\"Berk, or any other half way decent man would have done the same thing\nunder like circumstances,\" argued Miss Ri. \"I don't see that it was\nanything for him to crow over.\"\n\n\"I think it was decidedly.\" Linda stood her ground.\n\n\"Well, we won't quarrel over it,\" continued Miss Ri. \"Let's change the\nsubject. I was just thinking, Linda, that I have discovered something\nsince I have had you here with me, though, by the way, one does that\nall through life; some truth, some moral of living is suddenly revealed\nat a given stage. Life is nothing more than a series of revelations.\"\n\n\"And what has been revealed to you, wisest of Aunt Ris.\" Linda came\nover and took her friend's face between her hands.\n\n\"That one must have somebody to work for in order to get the best out\nof existence.\"\n\nLinda's hands dropped; her face grew wistful. \"And I have no one but\nmyself to work for,\" she shook her head sadly.\n\n\"You have me, in a certain sense, and it is too early yet for you to\ndespair of having someone else.\" Miss Ri laughed wickedly.\n\nLinda pretended to box her ears. \"You are a naughty old thing. I am\ngoing out to talk to Mammy, and leave you to meditate upon your sins,\"\nshe said.\n\nMammy was sitting at the table lingering over her dinner. She never\nliked to cut short this happy hour of the day, and was fond of picking\nhere and picking there, though she would not remain at the table if\nanyone entered. It would never do to have \"white folkes\" see you eat.\n\n\"I thes gwine to cl'ar away,\" she said with a beaming smile as she\nswept bones and potato skins into her empty plate.\n\n\"Oh, Mammy, you haven't finished your dinner,\" exclaimed Linda.\n\n\"Yas, I done et all I wants. I thes res'in' up a little 'fo' I does\nmah dishes. Set down, honey, an' tell yo' Mammy what yuh-all been\na-doin' whilst yuh was up in de city. Mighty fine doin's, I reckon. Yuh\nstay at de big hotel?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"An' w'ar dat nice floppity white frock?\"\n\n\"Yes, I wore it several times.\"\n\n\"An' yuh has uver so many nice young gem'mans come to see yuh?\"\n\n\"Not very many. You see I don't know a great many people, and I am not\ngoing to dances this winter, of course. Mr. Jeffreys came up while I\nwas there, and he is a nice young gentleman, I am sure.\"\n\nMammy began delicately to wipe her tumblers. \"Miss Lindy, yuh ain't\ngwine ma'y dat man, is yuh?\"\n\n\"No, Mammy.\" Linda spoke quite decidedly, \"but you know he is a kind of\ncousin, and I must be as nice to him as possible, besides I like him\nvery much.\"\n\n\"He kain't hol' a can'le to Mr. Berk; he de likenes' young man I uvver\nsee.\"\n\n\"You'll make me jealous if you talk that way,\" said Linda fondly and to\nplease her Mammy.\n\nMammy ducked her head and laughed, shaking her head from side to side.\n\n\"I'll not go away again if you are going to get so fond of someone\nelse while I am gone,\" Linda went on with a pretence of pouting.\n\nMammy fairly doubled up at this. \"Ain' it de troof?\" she cried. \"Law,\nchile,\" she continued appeasingly, \"I ain't so t'arin' fond o' him; he\nain't tall enough.\"\n\nIt was Linda's turn to laugh, and she went back to Miss Ri to repeat\nMammy's criticism.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nOF WHAT AVAIL?\n\n\nBerkley's words did have the effect of encouraging Mr. Jeffreys to take\nheart anew, and, as it would be another month before his presence would\nbe required in Hartford, he concluded not to neglect his opportunities.\nTherefore again Berkley retired to the background to watch his rival\npass by with Linda, walk to church with her, while he heard of his\nvisiting her daily. It seemed, then, that he did not intend to give her\nup lightly.\n\n\"I don't know what to do about it,\" Linda confided to Miss Ri ruefully.\n\"I can't tell him to go home when he comes, and I can't disappear like\nthe Cheshire cat when he joins me on the street. He will be such a\nshort time here that it doesn't seem worth while to do more than let\nmatters drift.\"\n\n\"I rather like his persistence,\" declared Miss Ri. \"He'll win you yet,\nVerlinda.\"\n\nLinda neither affirmed nor denied. Another little poem had found its\nway into print and there was hope ahead, even though Talbot's Angles\nshould be lost to her.\n\n\"It isn't such a tremendously valuable piece of property after all,\"\nMiss Ri continued her remarks, showing the trend of her thought, \"and\nif you weren't so sentimentally fond of it, Verlinda, I don't know that\nit would be such a great loss. I wish you'd let me adopt you; then I'd\nleave you this place.\"\n\n\"You'd have me give up my independence, Aunt Ri? Oh, no. We've\ncanvassed that question too often. If you had taken me before I had\nknown what it was to hoe my own row, it might have done, but now, oh,\nno. You're the dearest of dears to tempt me, but we shall both be\nhappier with no faster bond than that which self-elected friends must\nalways feel. I love no one so well as you, and you don't dislike me,\nthough I admit I don't consider myself first in your regard.\"\n\n\"And who do you think is? Not Becky Hill's brood, I'm sure. They will\nhave enough, and I am not one of those who think everything should go\nto those of the name, unless there's love, too. Who do you mean? If\nyou're not first, who is?\"\n\n\"Berkley Matthews.\"\n\n\"Better say he used to be. He hasn't the sense he was born with. If I\nwere his mother I'd spank him.\"\n\n\"Now, Aunt Ri, what for?\"\n\n\"On general principles, just because he is such a notional piece of\nhumanity. I admire him, too; I can't help it; all the same he tries me.\nWhen you desert me to turn Yankee, Verlinda, I'll make my will and\nleave this place as a home for indigent females or something of that\nkind.\"\n\n\"How nice,\" returned Linda comfortably; \"then when I grow decrepit I\ncan come back here and have my old room.\"\n\nThe little creases appearing around Miss Ri's eyes, showed that she\nappreciated this retort. \"There comes Bertie,\" she announced a moment\nafter.\n\n\"Then I'll ask her to walk with me,\" returned Linda, rising with\nalacrity.\n\n\"Doesn't Mr. Jeffreys make his appearance about this time?\"\n\n\"Generally, but I can skip him to-day. I'd rather go with Bertie. Just\ntell him, Aunt Ri.\"\n\n\"That you'd rather go with Bertie?\"\n\n\"Of course not, but that we have gone out for a walk.\"\n\n\"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"There's no need of your knowing, is there?\"\n\nMiss Ri looked up with a smile. \"I understand. Go along. I reckon\nyou're right to suggest the unattainable once in a while; it adds to\nthe zest later.\" And with this Parthian shot following her, Linda left\nthe room to join Bertie.\n\nIn another moment Miss Ri saw the two girls going out the gate. \"I'll\nnot even watch to see which way they turn,\" she said to herself,\nletting her gaze fall on her work rather than on the outside world.\nThe dear lady made a good conspirator.\n\n\"When are you going to announce your engagement?\" was one of the first\nquestions Bertie put to her companion, as they set their faces toward\nthe main street.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Linda.\n\n\"Oh, now Linda Talbot, everyone knows you are engaged to Mr. Jeffreys.\nYou wouldn't be together so continually if you were not.\"\n\n\"I think I could mention several young persons in this town who have\nset a worthy precedent,\" replied Linda.\n\n\"Oh, well, of course, but in this case--He isn't the flirty kind, we\nall know.\"\n\n\"He is my cousin,\" argued Linda in self-defence.\n\nBertie laughed. \"We all know that kind of cousin. The Irish maids have\nflaunted them before our eyes for generations. That won't do, Linda.\nOwn up.\"\n\n\"Positively there are none but friendly relations between Wyatt\nJeffreys and myself.\"\n\n\"Truly? I can scarcely believe it, but there is not a doubt but that\nthere will be different ones, and everyone is thinking it such an ideal\narrangement, for of course it is known that he is the claimant for\nTalbot's Angles.\"\n\n\"I am sorry to disappoint my neighbors.\"\n\n\"I, for one, don't expect to be disappointed. If I did I would set my\ncap for the young man myself. I've heard girls talk that way before,\nand the first thing you knew their wedding cards were out. I don't see\nhow you can possibly give up the joy of owning that dear old home of\nyours. He'd better not offer himself to me, I'd accept him for Talbot's\nAngles if for nothing else.\"\n\nLinda winced. It might come to that, perhaps. For the moment she felt\nannoyed at Bertie who might have been more tactful, she thought.\n\n\"Do you know,\" continued Bertie, \"whether Mr. Jeffreys intends to\nlive there? We are all dying to know, and if you don't become the\nmistress of the dear old place it will not want for one for the lack of\nappreciative damsels. The girls are ready, even now to reckon on their\nchances. We don't have so many eligible young men come to town that we\ncan afford to let such a desirable one go away unappropriated.\"\n\n\"It seems to me that he is not the only one,\" responded Linda.\n\n\"There are not more than half a dozen, not near enough to go around. I\nknow perfectly well, for at the last dance I had to dance twice with\na girl, and I do hate that. Let me see, there are Elmer Dawson, John\nEmory, Todd Bryan, Billy Tucker, Tom Willis, and Berk Matthews, though\nBerk doesn't count. Nobody sees him nowadays. He has turned into a\nregular greasy grind, so that he is no good at all. He has a girl up in\nthe city, you know. I charged him with it, and he the same as admitted\nit. I think he might have looked nearer home. Berk used to be great\nfun, too; it is rather a shame. So you see, Linda, even counting him\nthere are not more than six who are really worth while; the rest are\nmere boys. Now, if you really don't want your cousin yourself, you\nmight speak a good word for me, and I'll be mighty thankful.\"\n\n\"Bertie, you are a silly child. You know you don't mean a word of all\nthis. Why do you rattle on in such a brainless way?\"\n\n\"I'm in dead earnest, I assure you. I'll take him in a minute, now that\nI can't get Berk who is as good as gone. We are wild to know who the\ngirl is, what she looks like and all that. I suppose you didn't happen\nto meet her when you were in the city. Miss Ri ought to know, if anyone\ndoes.\"\n\n\"We didn't meet any such person,\" replied Linda a little defiantly. \"We\nsaw Mrs. Matthews and Margaret, but, of course, they did not mention\nher.\"\n\n\"Very likely they would be the last ones to know. At all events he is\nnot the lad he was, as anyone with half an eye can see. Even if he\nhadn't told me there would be but one conclusion to gather from his\nabsolute indifference to us all. Every one of the girls agree to that.\"\n\nLinda smiled mechanically. Suppose it were true. There had been but the\none meeting, that which took place upon the day of her arrival from\nthe city, then it had seemed as if they were about to return to the\nold pleasant relations, but since then not another sign. Yet--\"There\nisn't anything I wouldn't do to make you happy, Linda Talbot.\" What was\nthe meaning of that saying? Only the gentle concern of a chivalrous,\ntender-hearted man, probably. She gave a little sigh which drew\nBertie's attention.\n\n\"Tired, Linda? We're going too far, perhaps. I forget that you are a\nbusy bee all the morning. We'd better turn back.\"\n\nLinda agreed. She felt singularly heavy-spirited and would be glad to\nreach home, she realized. Bertie left her with a laughing challenge to\n\"hurry up or she would try to cut her out,\" and then Linda went in.\n\nMiss Ri was just stirring the fire, for she loved the dancing lights at\na twilight hour. \"Draw up, draw up,\" she cried, \"and tell me the news.\nWhat did you learn from Bertie?\"\n\n\"First that I was engaged to Mr. Jeffreys, and if not that I ought to\nbe. Second; it is reported that Berkley Matthews has a sweetheart in\nthe city.\"\n\n\"The wretch!\" cried Miss Ri. \"I'd like to see him bring a strange girl\nhere for me to conciliate and defer to.\"\n\n\"He has a perfect right, hasn't he, Aunt Ri?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know, I'm sure. I hate to think of it. So the report is\nthat you are certainly engaged.\"\n\n\"Yes, they have arranged it all, and are quite pleased. I am to live\nat Talbot's Angles, it seems, and it is considered a delightful way to\nsettle matters for me. Bertie was quite enthusiastic. Did Mr. Jeffreys\ncome?\"\n\n\"Yes, and was sorry to have missed you. He'll be back this evening. He\ntells me he is going to leave for Hartford next week. Are you going\nwith him, Verlinda?\"\n\nThe girl thoughtfully prodded a long stick which needed pushing further\nback. \"I haven't decided,\" she replied presently.\n\n\"You had decided there in Baltimore, if I remember correctly.\"\n\n\"Yes, so I had. Oh, I don't know. I don't know. I don't see how I could\nstand it to keep on living here.\" She put down the tongs and clasped\nher hands tightly.\n\n\"Why, Verlinda, my dear child, what do you mean? You--\" Miss Ri paused\nand laid her hand gently on the girl's. \"The wretch,\" she murmured,\n\"the wretch.\"\n\nLinda turned to kiss her cheek. \"Never mind, Aunt Ri,\" she rejoined;\n\"no doubt I'll be thanking the Lord yet.\"\n\nMiss Ri laughed shortly, then the words came pleadingly, \"Don't leave\nme, Verlinda, and don't think you will be any happier if you go away.\nYou can't run from yourself, you know. Stay where you are and fight it\nout as I did. I'll do my best for you.\"\n\n\"Dear Aunt Ri! As if I didn't know that. After all, I believe you are\nright. I'd be happier here with you than among strangers under any\ncircumstances, even with my old home calling me and a good man to share\nit. I suppose it is cowardly to want to take refuge in a love you can't\nreturn.\"\n\n\"It isn't only cowardly,\" affirmed Miss Ri with decision, \"but it is\nunfair to the one who gives all and receives no return. I think you are\ntoo proud as well as too honest to allow that, Verlinda.\"\n\n\"Do you think I've been unkind, unfair to Mr. Jeffreys? I haven't meant\nto be. I've been trying my best to care for him, to learn to know\nhim better and to appreciate his good qualities so they would seem\nsufficient for me. I haven't meant to encourage him unduly. I meant to\ndo the very fairest thing I could, but I am afraid I haven't, after\nall, or the town wouldn't take things so for granted.\"\n\n\"The town takes things for granted upon slighter evidence than that.\nDon't struggle any more, dear child. What is that old quotation? 'To\nthine own self be true and it must follow as the night the day, thou\ncan'st not then be false to any man.' Don't forget that. Now, let's\nlight up and be as cheery as we can. Don't believe all the gossip you\nhear; there's not one tenth of it true.\"\n\nMr. Jeffreys came again that evening. Miss Ri, with a wisdom born of\nexperience, went around to Miss Parthy's and with the opportunity\nafforded him Mr. Jeffreys made a final throw--and lost. Miss Ri\nreturned to find Linda, with her head in the cushions of the sofa,\nshaking with sobs.\n\n\"You poor darling child,\" said Miss Ri, bending over her, \"was it so\nhard?\"\n\n\"Oh, I hated to do it. I hated to, Aunt Ri. He was so quiet and\ndignified, and so kind. He tried to make me feel that it wasn't my\nfault and he--cares much more than I believed. He didn't say so before.\"\n\n\"Before? There was a first time, then, and this was the second.\"\n\n\"Yes, as you suspected, there in Baltimore, but I wasn't half so\ndistressed then. Oh, dear, why should we have such contrary hearts?\"\nDown went her head again.\n\n\"There, dear, there,\" Miss Ri soothed her. \"Don't cry about it.\nThere never was a man living worth so many tears. He will get over\nit beautifully; I never knew one who didn't. You will probably get\ncards for his wedding while you are still grieving over this night's\nbusiness. Mark my words.\"\n\nLinda sat up at this. \"I suppose I am silly,\" she said steadily. \"I\nhaven't a doubt but I was overwrought and nervous. You see it is the\nfirst time I ever refused a man to his face; I gave him a note before.\nVery likely if I had refused a dozen men as some girls do, I should get\nto rather enjoying it.\" She smiled ruefully.\n\nMiss Ri sat down and snuggled her up close. \"Dear, good little lass,\nyou'd never be one to glory in scalps. I am sorry for you both, but it\ncan't be helped, and you have done exactly right. Now don't lie awake\nall night thinking about it.\" A wise piece of advice but one which\nprofited Linda little.\n\nWith more than his usual gravity Wyatt Jeffreys presented himself\nat Berkley's office the next morning. \"Can I see you privately?\" he\nasked, for Billy was rattling papers in the next room where a couple\nof countrymen were waiting, beguiling the time by a plentiful use of\nchewing tobacco.\n\nBerkley glanced at his clients. \"Can you wait a few minutes? I shall\nbe through with these men before very long. Suppose you go over to the\nhotel and tell them that you are to meet me there. Ask them to show\nyou to my room. I'll be over as soon as I can.\"\n\nJeffreys nodded approvingly. \"Very well. I will meet you there. Thank\nyou for suggesting it.\"\n\nHe was admitted to the room without question. He remembered it from\nhaving first visited Berkley there to identify the little trunk. Better\nit had never been found and that he had left the place then and there.\nHe sat down in the one easy chair, and looked around. On the bureau\nstood a row of photographs, the first of a gentle looking woman whose\neyes were like Berkley's; that must be his mother, and the next his\nsister. A third, evidently taken some years before, showed a man with\nthoughtful brow and a strong, though not handsome face; this was Dr.\nMatthews of whom Jeffreys had heard much from those who still missed\ntheir beloved physician. There was another photograph standing by\nitself, the thin white outer covering dropped like a veil over it, but\nthrough this Jeffreys could see that it was a head of Linda. He did not\nlift the veil, but stood thoughtfully looking at the dim outline. He\nhad put his own camera to use often enough to secure several snap-shots\nof the girl in Miss Ri's old garden, but this picture he had not seen.\nHe wondered if she had given it to Berkley, and when. There were no\nother pictures about except those three of the family standing side by\nside.\n\nThe man sat down again and presently Berkley hurried in. \"Sorry I had\nto keep you waiting,\" he said, \"but these country fellows are slow.\nWell, anything new?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" responded Jeffreys dully. \"I only wanted to tell you that I\nam leaving next week, and that I wish to stop proceedings in the matter\nof Talbot's Angles.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, man?\" Berkley turned in surprise.\n\n\"Just that. Do you think you're the only man who can do a brave thing?\nDo you suppose you can flaunt your heroics without making me feel that\nI am a small specimen who has no right to be smirking around as a\ncomplacent recipient of others' property? I will not have it. I am as\ncapable as you of making sacrifices. I will not be outdone by you.\"\n\n\"Please explain yourself.\" Berkley spoke quietly, eyeing the other\nman's tense face.\n\n\"I mean this: I wish Miss Talbot to retain her property. I have taken\nyour advice, but, as I told you before, it was not worth while. Not\neven for the sake of having her own again would she take me with the\nproperty.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't expect one of her caliber to do it for the sake of that\nonly,\" said Berkley a little proudly. Then more gently, \"I am no end\nof sorry. Believe me or not, I had hoped for a better report from you.\"\n\n\"Is that honestly said?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\nThe man's face softened. \"I believe you, Matthews. If ever a man\nhas shown himself loyal, you are he. I see it all, and I bow to the\ninevitable. I never have had much of what I wanted in this world, and\nI suppose I shall never have. As yet I cannot be as generous as you,\nbut some day I hope to reach your heights. I have the promise of a good\nfuture before me, and I can do without Cyrus Talbot's inheritance. What\nI came to say I have said. Stop proceedings. I relinquish all claim to\nTalbot's Angles.\"\n\nWhat could Berkley answer? He realized that these were sorry days for\nJeffreys, and the least said now the better. \"Very well,\" he agreed;\n\"it shall be as you wish. I consider it most generous of you. Of course\nnothing of any account has been done, and we will drop the whole thing\nfor the present. Perhaps you will wish to reconsider it some day. If\nyou do, I am at your service. Shall I hand you back your papers?\"\n\n\"No. Throw them into the fire. I don't care what you do with them. I\nshall never want them.\"\n\nHe rose to go. Berkley followed him to the street where they parted,\nthe one to return to his room, the other to his office where he tied\nup the papers and thrust them into his desk. That was done. What a\nstorm of feeling those yellow sheets had raised, and now--\"Poor devil,\"\nsaid Berkley to himself. \"It was pretty hard lines and he has shown\nhimself of good stuff. Confound it all, why did it have to happen so?\nAt least I must have the delicacy to keep out of the way while the\nman is in town.\" The color rushed to his face, but receded almost as\nquickly. \"I'm a conceited ass,\" he cried inwardly. \"If she couldn't\ncare for such a man as Jeffreys why should I expect her to care for me?\nGo to, Berkley Matthews. Crawl down from your pinnacle, and don't lay\nany such flattering unction to your soul.\" He set to work at one of his\nbriefs, determined not to encourage himself in any illusions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\n\"THE SPRING HAS COME\"\n\n\nDuring the remainder of Mr. Jeffreys' stay in the town Berkley\nreligiously kept away from Miss Ri's brown house on the point, and even\ncarried his determination so far that once seeing Linda in the distance\nas he was coming out of his office he bolted back again and waited till\nshe was well out of sight before he came out. \"What did I do that for?\"\nhe said to himself, smiling a little. He did not see Mr. Jeffreys again\nuntil one afternoon a week later when he came into the office.\n\n\"I am going around making my farewell calls, Matthews,\" he said. \"I\ntake the boat for Baltimore this evening. My unfortunate old trunk and\nI will soon be out of your way. Again let me thank you for all your\nkindness.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry to see you go,\" replied Berkley, \"but I hope you will carry\naway some pleasant memories of our old 'eastern shore.'\"\n\n\"I shall carry away many. I can never forget the hospitality and\nkindness shown me here.\"\n\n\"And about those papers; if ever you want to renew the case I am ready\nto help you, remember.\" He held out his hand.\n\n\"That matter is disposed of,\" returned Jeffreys with a little frown.\n\"We will dispense with the subject if you please. I am going to Miss\nTalbot from here, and shall tell her that she need fear no more\ninterference from me. To-day our paths separate. Have you seen her,\nMatthews?\" he asked after a slight pause.\n\n\"No, I have not.\" Berkley looked straight into the other's eyes.\n\nJeffreys gave the hand he held a closer grip. \"You are a good friend,\nMatthews. Let me echo your offer; if there is anything I can ever do\nfor you, command me. Good-by.\"\n\nBerkley laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. \"Thank you,\nJeffreys. I will remember. Good luck to you and good-by.\"\n\nSo they parted and the boat slipping through the darkness over the\nquiet waters of the river that night, bore away him whose coming and\ngoing both seemed made under unpropitious stars.\n\nIt was a warm afternoon in February, one of those days when Spring\nseems close at hand by reason of a bluebird's early note, and the\nappearance of some venturesome crocus in the grass. February brings\nsuch days in this part of Maryland. The morning's mail had given Linda\nthe happiness of receiving a magazine in which were some of her\nverses, accepted and paid for. This step, which carried her beyond the\nsatisfaction of seeing herself in print, merely by compliment, was one\nwhich well agreed with the springlike day. She was sitting at the piano\njoyously singing:\n\n  \"The spring has come, the flowers in bloom\n        The happy birds--\"\n\nShe broke off suddenly, for in through the window open to the floor\ncame Berkley.\n\n\"Don't stop,\" he begged. \"I love to hear you.\"\n\nThey stood smiling at one another, before either spoke again, then\nLinda turned back to the piano to finish the song while Berkley leaned\nabove her to watch her slim fingers moving over the keys. \"It just\nsuits the day, doesn't it?\" she said when she had finished. \"Did you\nsee that there was a crocus by the side of the walk? And this morning I\nheard a bluebird.\"\n\n\"And that is what makes you look so happy?\"\n\n\"Not altogether. Sit down over there by the little window, and if you\nwill be very good I will show you something.\"\n\nHe obediently took the place assigned him, where the window seat ran\nalong the small raised platform, and Linda produced the magazine.\n\"There,\" she said, opening to a certain page. \"And it is paid for,\" she\nadded triumphantly.\n\nBerkley read the lines through. \"You have climbed into fame, haven't\nyou?\" he said. \"Are you feeling very high and mighty? Would you like\nme to sit on the floor at your feet. It would be very easy on this\nplatform.\"\n\nShe laughed. It was good to hear the old foolish manner of speech\nagain. \"No, I won't insist upon that, though I can't tell what I may\nrequire if this continues. Do you like my verses, Berk?\"\n\n\"Yes, very much. I suppose they are really better than these. He took\nfrom his pocket-book a little clipping, 'The Marching Pines,' but I\nshall always care more for these. I shall never be quite so fond of any\nothers, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nBerkley did not answer, but instead asked, \"Did Jeffreys tell you of\nhis determination not to follow up his claim?\"\n\n\"Yes, he told me.\" Linda looked grave.\n\n\"It was generous of him, don't you think?\"\n\nA half smile played around Linda's lips. \"Yes, I suppose it was. He\nmeant to do me a great kindness and I appreciate it.\"\n\n\"But you could not agree to share it with him. He is a good fellow,\nLinda, and I am very sorry for him. He was greatly cut up.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"He told me.\"\n\n\"That--\"\n\n\"That he had asked you to marry him? Yes, he told me that. Poor old\nchap. I grew quite fond of him. Why didn't you, Linda?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I didn't; that's all; I didn't, though I tried very\nhard.\"\n\n\"Don't you think he was actually heroic to give up the claim?\"\n\n\"I am sure he meant to be, but of course you understand that I could\nnot accept such a sacrifice from him and that if the law were to give\nhim a right to Talbot's Angles, I couldn't think of doing anything but\ngiving it up to him.\"\n\n\"But he refuses to allow me to go on. I have the papers and I am to\nburn them if I choose.\"\n\nLinda smiled, a little mysterious, exultant smile. \"That doesn't alter\nmy point of view.\"\n\n\"And so you refuse to allow him to be a hero.\"\n\n\"He isn't the only hero in the world. He himself told me of another.\"\nThere was a wise, kind expression in her eyes.\n\nBerkley slipped down from the window seat to a cushion at her feet.\nShe bent over him as a mother over her child. \"Linda,\" he said\nwhisperingly. \"Linda.\" He took her soft hand in his strong lithe\nfingers, and she let it lie there. He pressed the cool little hand\nagainst his hot brow, then he looked up. \"Linda,\" he repeated, \"here\nI am at your feet. I love you so! Oh, how I love you! I know I don't\ndeserve it, but do you think you could ever learn to care a little for\nme? I am not rich, but some day maybe I could buy back Talbot's Angles.\nThere is nothing I would not do to make you happy.\"\n\n\"You said that once before, Berk.\"\n\n\"Did I?\"\n\n\"Yes,--that night in the rain.\"\n\n\"I meant it.\"\n\n\"As much as you do now?\"\n\n\"Every bit.\"\n\n\"And yet you avoided me, passed me by, allowed another to step in.\"\n\n\"It was for you, for you. I wanted you to be happy,\" he murmured.\n\n\"I see that now, but I missed my friend.\"\n\n\"Your friend? Am I never to be anything more, Linda? I love you with my\nwhole heart. You are the one woman in the world to me. Don't you think\nthat some day you might learn to love me a little?\"\n\nLinda's face was aglow with a tender light; her eyes were like stars.\n\"No, Berk,\" she said slowly, lingeringly, \"I could never learn to love\nyou a little.\"\n\nHe dropped her hand and looked down, all the hope gone from his face.\n\n\"Because,\" Linda went on, bending a little nearer that he could hear\nher whisper, \"I already love you so much.\"\n\nHe gave a little joyous cry and sprang to his feet, all his divine\nright suddenly recognized. He held out his arms. \"Come,\" he said.\n\nLinda arose with shining face, stepped down from the platform and went\nto him.\n\nThe dim portraits on the walls smiled down at them. It was the old\nstory to which each passing generation had listened. The ancient house\ncould tell many a like tale.\n\n\"Berk,\" said Linda when they had gone back to the seat by the window,\n\"they told me you had a sweetheart in the city. Bertie Bryan vowed you\nacknowledged it to her.\"\n\nHe took her hands and kissed them. \"So I may have done, my queen, but\nit was when you were there.\"\n\nLinda sighed, a happy satisfied sigh. \"Berk, dear, were you very\nunhappy, then? You didn't have to be, you see.\"\n\n\"I thought it was necessary, and perhaps I needed the discipline.\"\n\n\"Just as I have needed the discipline of teaching. I am realizing by\ndegrees what a wonderful life work it might become.\"\n\n\"But you shall not teach long, though, Linda darling, I haven't told\nyou that we shall have to begin life rather simply, for you know I must\nalways think of my mother.\"\n\n\"Berk, dear, I couldn't be happy if I thought you ever would do less\nthan you do now for her.\"\n\n\"You are so wonderful, so wonderful,\" he murmured. \"I hope to do better\nand better in my profession, for I am much encouraged, and some day,\nremember I shall buy back Talbot's Angles for you.\"\n\n\"You will never do that, Berk,\" returned Linda, trying to look very\ngrave.\n\n\"Why, sweet?\"\n\n\"Because when Grace marries it will be mine without any question. We\nhave had a letter from Judge Goldsborough.\"\n\n\"And he said--\"\n\n\"That he had discovered papers which prove that Cyrus Talbot had only a\nlease on the place; it was for ninety-nine years, and it expired more\nthan ten years ago.\"\n\n\"Of all things!\" ejaculated Berkley. \"That was the last explanation\nthat would have occurred to me. Did Jeffreys know before he left?\"\n\n\"Yes, we told him that afternoon he called to say good-by. Aunt Ri\nthought it was best to tell him, and to show him the judge's letter.\"\n\n\"Poor old chap! And he had to go without even the recompense of having\nmade a sacrifice for you.\"\n\nLinda's face clouded. \"Yes, he said that everything had failed, even\nhis attempted good deeds. I hope he will find happiness some day.\"\n\n\"And you are very glad that you can feel an undisputed ownership of the\nold home?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course I am glad. Aren't you?\"\n\n\"What is your happiness is mine, beloved Verlinda.\"\n\n\"The only drop of bitterness comes from the thought of Wyatt Jeffreys,\nbut even there Aunt Ri insists his unhappiness will not last and that\ncomforts me.\"\n\n\"Who is talking about Aunt Ri?\" asked that lady coming in and throwing\naside her hat. \"Parthy has a brood of thirteen young chickens just out,\nand I have been down to see them. What were you two saying about me?\nHallo, Berk, what has brought you here, I'd like to know? I thought you\nwere so busy you could scarcely breathe.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm taking an afternoon off,\" he responded. \"A man can't be a mere\nmachine such weather as this.\"\n\n\"I've been telling him about the judge's letter,\" put in Linda.\n\n\"And I reckon that was a mighty big surprise; it certainly was to us.\nIt took a better lawyer than you, Berk Matthews, to unravel that snarl.\nEven the judge himself didn't remember the facts.\"\n\n\"Which were?\"\n\n\"That to Cyrus Talbot belonged Addition and a part of Timber Neck,\nwhile to Madison belonged the Angles and the other part of Timber Neck;\nthat was in the first place when they had their inheritance from their\nfather, you see. They sold Timber Neck, and then Madison retained the\nAngles, while Cyrus kept Addition. Well, it seems the Angles, being the\nhome plantation, had always gone to the eldest son. Madison's first\nchild was a daughter, and after her birth Madison's wife died. Cyrus'\nfirst child was a son, and he wanted the Angles for him but Madison\nwouldn't give it up, but at last he consented to lease the place to\nhis brother. Later on Cyrus' son died, and he left for the West,\nselling out Addition to his brother Madison who had married a second\ntime. Madison went to Addition to live while Cyrus still clung to his\nlease of the Angles. However, when the house at Addition was burned\nhe allowed his brother to go back to the homestead place to live. The\nrest you know; how Cyrus rented the lands to this and that tenant, and\nhow the place went to the dogs at one time, and how it was finally\ndiscovered by Charles Jeffreys to belong to his mother's family. He\nwrote the letter you remember, the answer to which you have shown us.\nThere is no use going over all that, for you will see just how the\nmatter stands, and Verlinda will come to her own.\"\n\nLinda looked at Berk who smiled back at her understandingly. \"Aunt Ri,\"\nsaid the girl, going over and laying her cheek against the gray head,\n\"Verlinda has come to her own in more than one sense.\" She held out her\nhand to Berkley who took it and drew it against his heart.\n\n\"What?\" almost screamed Miss Ri. \"You haven't a sweetheart in the city,\nBerk Matthews? What did I tell you, Verlinda? I knew that Bertie Bryan\nwas making that all up.\"\n\n\"Not exactly, Miss Ri,\" said Berkley, \"for I did give her reason to\nthink so.\"\n\n\"And why did you do it? Just to make Verlinda unhappy?\"\n\n\"Oh, Aunt Ri,\" Linda put her hand over the dear lady's lips.\n\n\"I did have a sweetheart there, when you were in the city,\" replied\nBerk, \"and here she is, the only sweetheart for me.\"\n\nMiss Ri pulled out her handkerchief and began to mop her eyes.\n\n\"I'm as glad as I can be,\" she wept, \"but I am tremendously sorry for\nmyself. You will leave me, Verlinda, and you will take Phebe, too. What\nam I to do?\"\n\n\"Oh, it will not be for a long, long time from now,\" said Linda\nconsolingly.\n\n\"Yes, it will.\" Miss Ri was decided. \"Of course it must be. Why in the\nworld should you wait? You will stop teaching after this year, anyway,\nfor then you will have the farm to depend upon, while as for Berk, he\nis out of the woods, I know that; his mother told me so. By the way,\nBerk, how glad your mother will be. She fell in love with Linda at\nfirst sight. Oh, she told me a thing or two, and that's why I knew\nBertie Bryan was--\"\n\n\"But she wasn't, you remember,\" interposed Linda. \"She thought so.\"\n\n\"It amounts to the same thing. Well, I shall have to adopt somebody.\nNever shall I be happy alone again, now that I know what it is to have\na young thing about. I believe I will send for Jeffreys, he is mighty\nforlorn, and he needs coddling.\"\n\n\"He wouldn't come,\" said Berkley triumphantly.\n\n\"You mean you don't want him to; you look much better when he isn't\nhere to give the contrast,\" retorted Miss Ri. \"I don't want him myself,\nto tell the truth. See here, children, why can't you both come here\nand live with me till I can find an orphan who wants an Aunt Ri? I'm\nspeaking for myself, for how I am to endure anyone's cooking after\nPhebe's is more than I can tell, and think of me rattling around in\nthis big house like a dried pea in a pod. I should think you would be\nsorry enough for me to be ready to do anything.\"\n\nMiss Ri was so very unlike a dried pea that the two laughed. \"We'll\ntalk about it some day,\" said Berkley, \"but just now--\"\n\n[Illustration: \"HER GAZE FELL ON THE TWO.\"]\n\n\"All you want is to be happy. Well,\" Miss Ri sighed, but immediately\nbrightened. \"Go along,\" she cried, \"I never get mad with fools, you\nremember, and, as I have frequently told Verlinda, I am still thanking\nthe Lord that I have escaped. Go along with you. My brain has about\nas much as it can stand.\"\n\nThe two stepped out upon the porch, but Miss Ri bustled after them.\n\"Here, take this shawl, Verlinda; it is growing damp. Don't stay out\ntoo late. You'll stay to supper, Berk, of course.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Miss Ri. I'll be glad to come, but I must go to the office\nfor a few moments. I'll be back, though.\"\n\nThe sun was dropping in the west. Day was almost done for the workers\nin the packing house near by, from which presently arose a burst of\nsong. Phebe, at her kitchen door, joined in, crooning softly:\n\n  \"I'se gwine away some o' dese days\n  'Cross de riber o' Jordan\n      My Lord, my Lord.\"\n\nAs she sang her gaze fell on the two walking slowly toward the river's\nbrim, the man leaning over the girl, her eyes lifted to his. Suddenly\nMammy clapped her hand over her mouth, then she seized her knees,\nbending double as she chuckled gleefully. \"Ain't it de troof, now,\" she\nmurmured. \"She nuvver look dat away at Mr. Jeffs, I say she nuvver.\nBless my honey baby.\" Then she lifted up her voice fairly drowning the\nrival singers further away as she chanted:\n\n  \"Dis is de way I long has sought--\n    Oh, glory hallelujah!\n  And mo'ned because I found it not--\n    Oh, glory hallelujah!\"\n\n\"Phebe,\" said Miss Ri, suddenly interrupting the singing, \"we have got\nto have the best supper you ever cooked.\"\n\n\"Ain't it de troof, now, Miss Ri,\" Phebe responded with alacrity.\n\"Dat's thes what I say, dat's thes what I say.\"\n\nThe shadows fell softly, the singers ceased their weird chant. Phebe,\ntoo busy conferring with Miss Ri to think of singing, bustled about the\nkitchen. Berkley and Linda walked slowly to the gate.\n\n\"Berk,\" said the girl, \"I wouldn't live anywhere but on this blessed\nold Eastern Sho' for the world, would you?\"\n\n\"If you were in the anywhere else, yes,\" he answered.\n\nShe stood at the gate watching his sturdy figure and springing step as\nhe went off down the street. So would she stand to watch him in the\nyears to come. It was all like a wonderful dream. The old home and the\nlove of Berkley, what more could heaven bestow upon her!\n\nThe sun had disappeared, but a golden gleam rose and fell upon the\nwater's surface with each pulsation of the river's heart. The\nventuresome crocus had shut its yellow eye, the harbinger bird had\ntucked its head under its wing. The world, life, love, all made a poem\nfor Linda.\n\nPresently Mammy came waddling down the path in breathless haste. \"Miss\nLindy, Miss Lindy,\" she panted, \"Miss Ri say yuh jes' got time to come\nin an' put on that purty floppity white frock. She puttin' flowers on\nde table, an' we sho' gwine hab a fesibal dis night.\"\n\nLinda turned her laughing face toward the old house, lightly ran up the\npath, and disappeared within the fan-topped doorway. Presently Miss Ri\nheard her upstairs singing:\n\n                        \"The spring has come.\"\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPage 172, changed \"or\" to \"of\" (some of whom are grown)\n\nPage 219, changed \"a\" to \"an\" (merely an unostentatious)\n\nPage 226, changed \"Jefreys\" to \"Jeffreys\" (and Mr. Jeffreys, acted)\n\nBoth homemade and home-made are used.\n\nBoth pocketbook and pocket-book are used.\n\nBoth schoolmarm and school-marm are used.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Talbot's Angles, by Amy E. Blanchard\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Chris Curnow, readbueno and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                       _THE BOAT-BUILDER SERIES._\n\n\n                                  _I._\n\n                   ALL ADRIFT; or, The Goldwing Club.\n\n\n                                 _II._\n\n               SNUG HARBOR; or, The Champlain Mechanics.\n\n\n                                 _III._\n\n                 SQUARE AND COMPASSES; or, Building the\n                                 House.\n\n\n                                 _IV._\n\n                 STEM TO STERN; or, Building the Boat.\n\n\n                                  _V._\n\n                    ALL TAUT; or, Rigging the Boat.\n\n\n                                 _VI._\n\n                   READY ABOUT; or, Sailing the Boat.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n[Illustration: \"THE THUNDERER HAD FOUNDERED.\"—PAGE 35.]\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n[Illustration: Decorative title page]\n\n                             OLIVER OPTIC'S\n                              BOAT-BUILDER\n                                SERIES.\n\n                               ALL TAUT.\n\n\n                                BOSTON,\n                            LEE AND SHEPARD\n                              PUBLISHERS.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                ALL TAUT\n\n                                   OR\n\n                            RIGGING THE BOAT\n\n                                   BY\n\n                              OLIVER OPTIC\n\n      AUTHOR OF \"YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD\" \"THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES\"\n         \"THE ARMY AND NAVY SERIES\" \"THE WOODVILLE SERIES\" \"THE\n            STARRY-FLAG SERIES\" \"THE BOAT-CLUB STORIES\" \"THE\n               ONWARD AND UPWARD SERIES\" \"THE YACHT-CLUB\n                  SERIES\" \"THE LAKE-SHORE SERIES\" \"THE\n                     RIVERDALE SERIES\" \"ALL ADRIFT\"\n                       \"SNUG HARBOR\" \"SQUARE AND\n                          COMPASSES\" \"STEM TO\n                            STERN\" ETC. ETC.\n\n\n                          _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_\n\n\n                                 BOSTON\n                      LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS\n                                NEW YORK\n                         CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM\n                                  1887\n\n\n\n\n                            COPYRIGHT, 1886,\n                          BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS.\n\n\n                         _All rights reserved._\n\n\n                               ALL TAUT.\n\n\n\n\n                                   TO\n\n                            My Young Friend,\n\n                          FRED G. BERGER, JR.,\n\n                        OF GRAND RAPIDS, MICH.,\n\n                              _THIS BOOK_\n\n                      IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.\n\n\n\n\n                                PREFACE.\n\n\n\"All Taut\" is the fifth volume of \"THE BOAT-BUILDER SERIES,\" which will\nbe finished in the next book. Nearly all the characters presented, and\nall who take prominent parts in the story, have been introduced in the\npreceding volumes. The principal of the Beech Hill Industrial School\nentertains some doubts in regard to the principle upon which he has been\nconducting the institution, and brings about a partial change in its\ncharacter. He is a firm believer in the utility of the school as he has\norganized it; and, apart from its industrial mission, he believes it may\naccomplish another purpose that will render it still more valuable to\nthe community in which he resides.\n\nThe founder of the school has demonstrated to his own satisfaction, to\nsay the least, that the institution is a practicable cure for some of\nthe evils of American society; and he adds to it the feature of making\nit partly reformatory. The subjects of his new experiment in this\ndirection are the Topovers, who have been the bad characters of the\nstory. He finds them more tractable than he had anticipated, and the\nstory will show with what results he applied the naval discipline of the\nschool to them.\n\nIn spite of the rather formidable reformatory plan of Captain Gildrock,\nthe book contains about the same amount of incident and adventure as its\npredecessors in the series; but they are events which forward the action\nof the principal, and illustrate his method of reforming bad boys. The\nLily is rigged, and makes a very good record as a fast sailer on the\nlake.\n\nThe principal, though the actual work to be done by the students is only\nto rig a fore-and-aft schooner, explains to them the different kinds of\nvessels, classed by their rig, and fully illustrates the system by which\nthe spars, rigging, and sails of a ship are named, so that he makes\nquite an easy matter of it for the boys.\n\nThe next and last volume of the series will be devoted to the sailing of\nboats; though, as in the other books, the subject will be amplified so\nas to include nautical manœuvres of larger vessels.\n\nDORCHESTER, MASS., May 31, 1886.\n\n\n\n\n                               CONTENTS.\n\n                                                         PAGE\n\n                              CHAPTER I.\n\n          TOM TOPOVER AND HIS RECRUITS                     13\n\n\n                              CHAPTER II.\n\n          THE VOYAGE OF THE THUNDERER                      24\n\n\n                             CHAPTER III.\n\n          A QUESTION DEBATED AND SETTLED                   35\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IV.\n\n          A MUTINY, AND A NEW SKIPPER                      46\n\n\n                              CHAPTER V.\n\n          A QUESTION OF AUTHORITY                          57\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VI.\n\n          A ROW ON BOARD THE GOLDWING                      67\n\n\n                             CHAPTER VII.\n\n          AN UNEXPECTED APPEARANCE                         78\n\n\n                             CHAPTER VIII.\n\n          A STARTLING EVENT ON THE ROAD                    89\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IX.\n\n          LOOKING FOR A SETTLEMENT                        100\n\n\n                              CHAPTER X.\n\n          TWO CONFLICTING STORIES                         111\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XI.\n\n          COMPLIMENTARY TO THE PICNIC-PARTY               121\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XII.\n\n          A NEW MISSION FOR THE BEECH-HILL SCHOOL         132\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XIII.\n\n          THE BEGINNING OF THE TROUBLE                    143\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XIV.\n\n          THE PRISONERS IN THE DORMITORY                  154\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XV.\n\n          FIRST LESSONS IN DISCIPLINE                     164\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XVI.\n\n          THE PUPILS FOR THE NEXT YEAR                    175\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XVII.\n\n          TOM TOPOVER FINDS HIMSELF IGNORED               186\n\n\n                            CHAPTER XVIII.\n\n          NAUTICAL INSTRUCTION ON THE WHARF               197\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XIX.\n\n          THE DIFFERENT RIGS OF VESSELS                   207\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XX.\n\n          THE SPARS, SAILS, AND RIGGING OF A SHIP         217\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXI.\n\n          THE RIGGING AND SAILS OF A SCHOONER             230\n\n                             CHAPTER XXII.\n\n          ORGANIZING THE SHIP'S COMPANY                   241\n\n\n                            CHAPTER XXIII.\n\n          THE TRIAL TRIP OF THE LILY                      251\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXIV.\n\n          A LIVELY BREEZE ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN               262\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXV.\n\n          TOM TOPOVER IN THE ASCENDANT AGAIN              273\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXVI.\n\n          AN INDEPENDENT LEADER                           284\n\n\n                            CHAPTER XXVII.\n\n          A SLEEPY SHIP'S COMPANY                         295\n\n\n                            CHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n          STEALING A MARCH UPON THE LEADER                306\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXIX.\n\n          TOM TOPOVER'S RECEPTION                         317\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXX.\n\n          THE REFORMED TOPOVERS AT BEECH HILL             327\n\n\n\n\n                               ALL TAUT;\n\n                                  OR,\n\n                           RIGGING THE BOAT.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I.\n\n                     TOM TOPOVER AND HIS RECRUITS.\n\n\n\"What's the use of rigging the boat, Tom Topover?\" demanded Ash Burton,\nwith no little disgust apparent in his tones and looks.\n\n\"How can you sail the boat if she isn't rigged, Ash?\" retorted Tom, who\nhad always been the leader of the \"dangerous class\" of boys in\nGenverres.\n\n\"We don't want to sail her; we can't sail her in this creek,\" replied\nAsh Burton, who seemed to be inclined to dispute the authority and\nreject the leadership of the Topover.\n\n\"What's the reason we can't?\" asked Tom, suspending his labors upon an\nold stick which was to serve as a mast for the craft they were getting\nready for service.\n\n\"Because there is no room up here to sail a boat. This creek is not more\nthan ten feet wide, and the wind is blowing directly up stream. It is\nhalf a mile to Beechwater, as the fellows in the Industrial School call\nit. The current will carry us down with only a little steering.\"\n\n\"What are we going to do when we get to the little lake? We have nothing\nbut a couple of pieces of boards for oars, and we can't do nothing\nrowing,\" argued Tom Topover.\n\n\"All we want to do in this tub is to get down to the grove, and then we\nshall be all right,\" added Ash Burton warmly.\n\n\"We are going to sail down,\" persisted Tom; not that he cared how the\ncraft was propelled through the water, but because he always wanted his\nown way, and that his word should be law to his companions.\n\n\"You don't know how to sail her after you get her rigged,\" said Ash,\nwith no little contempt in his tone.\n\n\"You do, and that's enough. When we get her into the water, your work\nwill begin, and mine will end.\"\n\nAsh Burton had recently moved to Genverres from Westport, where he had\nsailed in a boat a few times, and claimed to know something about the\nmanagement of one. Half a dozen boys had gathered on the bank of the\ncreek; and they were all the associates, more or less, of Tom Topover,\nNim Splugger, Kidd Digfield, and boys of that stamp.\n\nThey had heard a great deal about the building of the Lily, the schooner\nwhich had been launched by the students of the Beech Hill Industrial\nSchool just before the end of the term. The people of the town had\ntalked a great deal about it, and most of them were interested to see\nher rigged and sailing in the waters of the river and lake. It was well\nunderstood that the rigging of the boat was the first thing in order\nafter the school was re-organized in the month of September.\n\nThe young ladies in Genverres, and others who had attended the launch,\nwhich had been one of the great occasions of the year, had talked with\nthe students; and \"rigging the boat\" was still the subject of\nconversation among them. Of course the boys did more talking on this\nsubject than all others. Tom Topover had seen the launch, and heard the\nsubject of rigging the new craft discussed. He was inspired to do\nsomething of the same kind, and this explained his persistency in part.\n\nIt was the last week in August, and in two weeks the industrial school\nwould be open again; but the students who went to their homes had not\nyet returned, and every thing was very quiet about the grounds and\nbuildings. A few boys who had no homes, or had them in the immediate\nvicinity, spent a good deal of their time in the Sylph, the steam-yacht\nof the principal, Captain Gildrock.\n\nDory Dornwood had preferred to remain at home with his mother and\nsister, at the mansion of his uncle the captain. He made a call as often\nas it was decent for him to do so, at the cottage of Mr. Bristol on the\nbank of the creek. Miss Lily Bristol, the daughter of the engineer who\nlived there, was acknowledged everywhere to be a remarkably pretty girl,\nabout Dory's own age.\n\nDory was a great character at the school, and he was now the captain of\nthe Sylph when the institution was in session. He was by no means a\nfighting character, though he had been in some hard battles with\nstudents and others, and his prowess possibly had something to do with\nhis popularity in school and out.\n\nDuring the vacation, the Sylph was in service a great part of the time.\nAs she went somewhere nearly every day except Sunday, Dory had frequent\noccasion to go to the cottage to give the engineer his orders for the\nnext day. His message to the father was generally coupled with an\ninvitation to Lily and her mother to join the party.\n\nBesides, Lily had a brother who had won distinction among the students\nfor certain battles he had fought with Major Billcord and his son Walk.\nUnder Dory's direction, the students had moved the cottage in which the\nBristols lived, from Sandy Point to its present location; and this\nevent, in one way and another, had led to a very close intimacy between\nthe young captain of the Sylph and Paul Bristol, Lily's brother.\n\nPerhaps Dory wished to see his friend very often; at any rate, he went\nto the cottage about every day in the week. Some of the students, and\neven his sister Marian, were disposed to laugh at him for his frequent\nvisits; but Dory never admitted, even to himself, that he went to see\nLily. Being quite young, it is probable that he did not understand the\nmatter very well, and was ignorant of what it was that attracted him to\nthe cottage.\n\nTom Topover and his followers had been hearing all the talk in the\ntown,—at school, at the taverns, and in the shops,—about the doings at\nthe Industrial School. They had been inclined to imitate, in their own\nway, the operations of the students on the water. They had endeavored to\nget into various quarrels with them, sometimes for the simple fun of\nbothering and annoying them, and sometimes for the purpose of getting\npossession of their boats.\n\nTwice they had stolen the long barges; and once, when they were assisted\nby the students of the Chesterfield Collegiate Institute, they had given\nthe owners a great deal of trouble in recovering the property of the\nschool. It is not strange that the frequent view of so many elegant\nboats on the river and lake inspired them to imitate their more\nfortunate neighbors in the sports of the water.\n\nTom and his companions believed that the students and their principal\nwere especially mean and selfish, in keeping all these elegant boats\nexclusively for their own use. He had done his best in trying to be\ncivil, and even polite, in making his request, for himself and his\nassociates, for the use of some of the boats for an hour or two. He had\nalways been refused; for they were not competent to manage such craft,\nin the first place, and the principal had no fancy for indulging bad\nboys.\n\nBeing unable to obtain the use even of the four-oar rowboats of the\ninstitution, though it was vacation, they had constructed a\nflat-bottomed affair, which they called a boat, but to which no one else\nwould have had courtesy enough to apply the term. It had been\nconstructed under the direction of Ash Burton, who was certainly a\nhigher grade of boy than the original Topovers; but it may be doubted if\nhis standard of morals was any more elevated. He had been well educated\nso far, and was now in the high school.\n\nThe Topovers were enterprising and daring; and this fact, rather than\ntheir coarse manners and disregard of the laws of God and man, had drawn\nhim to them. With him in tone and manners were half a dozen other boys\nlike him, who had joined the Topovers. The old leader had been in some\nbad scrapes, and the people were generally sorry that he had not been\nconvicted for his assault upon Paul Bristol, on the other side of the\nlake. They believed, that, in their own State, he would have been sent\nto a correctional institution.\n\nThe addition of boys like Ash Burton and Sam Spottwood had greatly\nchanged the character of the original band. Hearing some of their number\nspeak good English, had led them to improve their own language. But\nmorally, they probably dragged down the recruits quite as much as the\nlatter elevated them. On the whole, however, the tone of the crowd was\nimproved.\n\nThe thing they called a boat had been built, and launched with some of\nthe show which had attended the advent of the Lily into her destined\nelement. The next thing in order, according to Tom's idea, was to rig\nher. It would not be proper to make an excursion in her, if she would\nfloat with half a dozen of them in her,—which had yet to be\ndemonstrated,—until she had been rigged. The leader and some of the\nothers had brought such bits of line as they could lay their hands upon,\nnot always with a strict regard to the rights of property.\n\nAsh Burton and Sam Spottwood did not believe in this folly, and they\nwere disposed to rebel against the chief of the Topovers. The old sheet\nwhich Tom had brought for a sail would be as useless as a steam-engine\nwithout a propeller, in going down Beech Creek.\n\n\"If you want to rig her, go ahead, Tom,\" said Ash, when he had exhausted\nhis arguments against the plan. \"Sam and I will wait until you do the\njob.\"\n\n\"But I don't know how,\" added Tom. \"I never had any thing to do with\nsailboats.\"\n\n\"Let him have his own way, Ash,\" suggested Sam Spottwood, in a low\nvoice. \"Help him out, and we shall get off all the sooner.\"\n\nThe new boat was not only to be rigged that day, but she was to convey\nher builders down the stream to the lake. Tom had hacked out a boom and\ngaff, and had set up the crooked stick which was to serve as a mast. One\nof the boys had to devote himself all the time to the work of baling out\nthe leaky craft, while another was punching cotton-wool into the gaping\nseams, and plastering them over with putty.\n\nThe mast-hole was so large that the spar would not stand up; and Ash\nrigged a pair of shrouds to support it in place. The sail had already\nbeen bent on the boom and gaff in a very unnautical manner, and a few\nminutes served to attach it to the mast. The master rigger on this\noccasion was not disposed to waste any time on the rigging; and the gaff\nwas not made to hoist and lower, but was simply tied to the top of the\nmast. A piece of bed-cord was fastened to the boom, to serve as the main\nsheet, and the craft was ready for sea.\n\nBut the calker had not yet finished his labors, and Sam Spottwood\nassisted him. The cotton had but a light hold on the wood, in the\nwideness of the seams, but the putty kept it in place. In another\nhalf-hour, the workmen declared that the boat was tight, and would keep\ndry, even in a heavy sea, out in the great lake. Ash Burton had some\ndoubts on this point, but he said nothing. If they all got overboard, it\nwould be easy enough to get out of the creek, it was so narrow.\n\n\"Is every thing all right now?\" asked Tom Topover, in a tone of\nauthority, when the calker announced that his job was finished.\n\n\"Every thing is all right,\" replied Kidd Digfield, who had used the\ncotton and putty. \"The boat is all ready.\"\n\nTom proceeded to take his place at the stern.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER II.\n\n                      THE VOYAGE OF THE THUNDERER.\n\n\n\"Who is to be the captain of this craft, Tom?\" asked Ash Burton, when\nthe leader of the gang had taken his place at the post of honor.\n\n\"I am, of course,\" replied Tom, opening his mouth from ear to ear in a\ngrin which was intended to express his astonishment that any one should\nput such a question to him.\n\n\"All right,\" added Ash, with a nod of his head in addition to emphasize\nhis consent; \"we will all obey your orders.\"\n\n\"Of course you will. In a boat there can be only one head, and others\nmust do as the captain says,\" continued the self-appointed skipper.\n\n\"You are exactly right there, Tom. On board of the Sylph a fellow is not\nallowed to say his soul is his own; and if he disobeys the orders of his\nsuperior officer, he is shut up in the dark, or something of that sort.\"\n\n\"That's the right way to do it,\" argued Tom. \"If a fellow won't mind the\ncaptain, he ought to be shut up, and kept there till he is willing to\nmind.\"\n\n\"We shall all mind,\" said Ash; but some of his companions could not help\nnoticing a sort of chuckle as he spoke.\n\nAs no one said any thing more on the subject, and all seemed to agree\nthat he should be the captain, Tom proceeded to station his ship's\ncompany in the boat. He ordered Ash to take a place beside him in the\nstern. There was no more than room enough for the six boys, and\ncertainly none for as many more who had taken part in the building of\nthe boat, but were not present at the rigging of the craft.\n\nThe Thunderer—for that was the name Tom had given her in spite of the\nprotest of Ash and Sam, who wanted to call her the Boxer, perhaps as a\ncompliment to the leader of the party, but more probably because she was\nmore like a box than a boat—had her bow on the sand at the bank of the\ncreek. Tom directed Sam Spottwood, who was in the forward part of the\nboat, to shove her off.\n\nThe boy addressed had a piece of board in his hand, and he obeyed the\norder. The clumsy craft slid off the sandbank into the water. The six\nstout boys in her settled her down so, that Tom began to manifest some\nsigns of timidity; but when she had reached her bearings she did very\nwell, and rested like a log on the water. The hills and trees on each\nside sheltered the creek in this place from the breeze that was blowing,\nand the sail hung idly from the gaff.\n\nThe boat was provided with a rudder moved by a tiller thrust into a\nhalf-inch auger-hole. It was sufficient to move the rudder, and that was\nall that was expected of it. Tom thought that the boat was a decided\nsuccess, as she had not yet spilled them out into the creek. The current\nof the stream was strong enough to set the craft in motion, and she\nbegan her maiden voyage down to the little lake.\n\nBut she did not pay proper allegiance to her helm, in spite of all the\ntwisting and jerking that Tom bestowed upon the innocent tiller, which\nwas not at all responsible for the erratic course of the Thunderer. She\nbunted on the sandbars, and even poked her blunt nose into the banks as\nif she were hunting for muskrats.\n\n\"There is some mistake about this boat,\" said Tom, when he had exhausted\nhis strength and his patience in vain attempts to bring the craft to\nsome definite course.\n\n\"What is it, Captain Topover?\" asked Ash, winking slyly to Sam in the\nbow.\n\n\"That's more than I know, for every thing seems to be all right about\nher. The rudder moves when I shift the tiller, but she don't mind it no\nmore than a naughty boy minds his mother,\" replied Tom, looking over the\nboat in his efforts to ascertain what the matter was.\n\nJust at that moment, the obdurate Thunderer was whirled by an eddy in\nthe current, and thrown against a log of wood projecting from the bank.\nShe canted over, and Kidd Digfield sprang to his feet. It looked as\nthough the boat were going to spill them all out, but she did not: on\nthe contrary, she rebounded from the obstacle, and went whirling on her\nway down the stream.\n\n\"Sit down, Kidd Digfield!\" shouted Tom imperatively. \"You have been in a\nboat enough to know better than to stand up in that fashion. No fellow\nis to get on his feet, whatever happens.\"\n\nThe skipper had learned this from the discipline of the students, with\nsome of whom he had conversed; and he had often been near enough to\ntheir boats to learn something of the way in which they managed them.\n\n\"That's right, Captain Topover,\" said Ash approvingly. \"A fellow that\nstands up without orders in such a craft as this ought to be thrown\noverboard.\"\n\n\"No matter what happens, no fellow must get on his feet,\" repeated Tom\nsternly. \"It won't do.\"\n\n\"Suppose the thing upsets or sinks, are we to keep our seats?\" asked\nKidd, more to bother his commanding officer than for any other reason.\n\n\"When it comes to that, it is another thing,\" replied Tom, with all the\ndignity he could manage to muster. \"Obey the orders of your captain; and\nwhen he gets on his feet, it will be time enough for you to do so.\"\n\nThe Thunderer continued to wander and whirl in the current and the\neddies, in spite of the best skill of the skipper to prevent it. Ash\nBurton knew very well what the matter was, but he did not think it\nproper for a simple sailor to give advice or instruction to the high and\nmighty captain. Tom was the captain, and it devolved upon him to manage\nthe Thunderer as he thought best.\n\nThe boat whirled entirely around sometimes, rudder or no rudder; and Tom\ndid not know what to make of it. He had never seen a boat act so before,\nand he was sure that none of the school navy behaved in such an\nunaccountable manner. The progress of the expedition was very slow; and\nthe skipper declared that it would take all day to get to Beechwater at\nthis rate, to say nothing of Lake Champlain, upon whose waves they\ndesired to navigate the Thunderer.\n\n\"I say, Sam Spottwood, just use that board of yours a little, and keep\nthe boat from twisting about like a ram's horn,\" said Tom, when he could\ndevise no other expedient for keeping the boat in a direct course.\n\n\"What am I to do with it?\" asked Sam, who had some idea of what had been\npassing in the mind of Ash.\n\n\"When you see her whirling about, just stick the board on the bottom, or\nagainst the bank, and push her round,\" added Tom.\n\nSam obeyed the order when the bow came near enough to the bank for him\nto touch it. But when he attempted to reach the bottom of the creek, the\nwater was too deep for the length of his stick. The boat whirled again,\nand Tom reproved the hand forward for not preventing it.\n\n\"I can't touch bottom with this oar,\" replied Sam. \"I can only use it\nwhen she runs into the bank.\"\n\nThe Thunderer was approaching the stone-quarries, and the creek was\nwider and deeper than where they had embarked. Tom could give no further\norders to remedy the difficulty, and the craft continued to waltz on her\ncourse. When they had gone a short distance farther, a slight breeze\nfrom behind Beech Hill filled the sail. In that turn of the stream it\nhappened to be fair, and the boat began to move more rapidly through the\nwater.\n\nThere was no more trouble about the steering at that moment; for, as\nsoon as she had steerage-way, there was something for the rudder to act\nagainst.\n\n\"That's the talk!\" exclaimed Tom, when he saw the Thunderer behaving\nlike a proper and obedient Thunderer. \"She has got over that bad trick,\nand she steers like a lady now.\"\n\nThe craft reached the hill, and again she was left in a calm. Not a\nparticle of breeze came to fill the sail, and she began to gyrate as she\nhad done before. Tom was vexed; and he tried in vain to solve the\nmystery, while Ash chuckled at the ignorance and stupidity of the\ncaptain of the Thunderer.\n\nPassing the Bristol cottage, which seemed to be closed up, they came\ninto Beechwater. There was a little breeze on the lake, and the sail\nfilled again. But the wind did not come from the same direction as\nbefore; and after the sheet—not the main sheet, but the bed-sheet doing\nduty as a mainsail—had filled once, it refused to fill again. It had\nbeen trimmed at random, and was not in position to profit by the light\nair that came to it.\n\nAsh Burton laughed in his sleeve, and winked at Sam Spottwood. As the\nThunderer had passed out of the current, or where the force of it was\ndiffused through the whole breadth of the lake, she ceased to move at\nall, so far as her gallant skipper could discern.\n\n\"Are we going to stop for dinner here?\" asked Ash, with another wink at\nSam.\n\n\"That sail keeps flapping, and there is wind enough; but the boat don't\nseem to go at all,\" replied the perplexed commander of the Thunderer. \"I\nwonder what's the matter with her?\"\n\n\"The captain of the vessel ought to know what ails her,\" added Ash.\n\n\"Well, I don't know; and she won't move at all,\" added the skipper. \"Do\nyou know what ails her, Ash Burton?\"\n\n\"I don't pretend to know any thing at all about it, and I only obey the\ncaptain's orders,\" answered Ash, winking again at his crony forward.\n\n\"If you want to tell me any thing about the matter, I am ready to hear\nyou,\" continued the captain, nonplussed at the situation.\n\n\"I don't want to tell you a single word. I know my place better than to\ndo such a thing. It would be nothing less than mutiny for me to presume\nto tell the commander of the vessel what to do.\"\n\n\"We will let up a little on that,\" added Tom, with a grin, which was his\napology for receding from his position. \"Can you tell me what the matter\nis?\"\n\n\"I cannot, but I am ready to obey orders,\" replied Ash.\n\nTom Topover took hold of the main sheet,—not the bed-sheet this time,\nbut the rope,—and pulled the boom towards him. He had done so in the\nprocess of his investigation, rather than to accomplish any movement.\nBut the effect was the same as though he had done it on purpose.\n\nThe moment he hauled in the sail, the wind filled it, and the boat began\nto go ahead again. Tom was not a fool in all branches of human action,\nand he could not help seeing how he should keep the sail full. He made\nfast the sheet; and the boat continued to go ahead, till she was within\na short distance of the Goldwing, Dory Dornwood's sloop-yacht.\n\n\"Run for the shore, Tom!\" suddenly shouted Nim Splugger, who was seated\nin the middle of the craft.\n\n\"What's the matter with you, Nim?\" demanded the skipper.\n\n\"The putty and cotton is coming out of the cracks, and the boat will be\nfull of water in about two minutes,\" added Nim.\n\n\"That's so!\" yelled Kidd. \"The water is pouring in like a mill-stream,\nand we shall be in the lake in a couple of minutes.\"\n\nThe two minutes had not elapsed when the boat was half full, and she\nrolled over as gently as though she had been a log.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER III.\n\n                    A QUESTION DEBATED AND SETTLED.\n\n\nThe Thunderer had foundered; but not being provided with ballast she did\nnot go to the bottom, as it is set down in poetry and prose that she\nshould do when she fills with water. All the Topovers of the present\nparty had been educated in the manly sports of the locality, and they\ncould all swim. The disaster was not, therefore, a very appalling\ncatastrophe. But they were not required to swim any great distance, and\nthe useful art they had acquired was of more service in enabling them to\nretain their self-possession than for the purpose of reaching the shore.\n\nThe clumsy craft went out from under them, for it was no longer able to\nhold them up. As she rolled over, she filled with water to the gunwales,\nand emptied her living freight into the lake. But the event occurred not\nten feet from the Goldwing's moorings; and while one half of the crew\nswam to the sloop, the other half clung to the wreck. Among the latter\nwas Captain Topover, who possibly believed that the master should be the\nlast to leave the ill-fated bark.\n\nThose in the forward part of the Thunderer had gone to the yacht, as\nthey were the nearest to it; while those in the stern did not \"give up\nthe ship,\"—not just then, though they did so a few moments later when\nthey discovered that the wreck was floating towards the outlet. Ash\nBurton was the first to take this step, and the other two immediately\nfollowed him. There was plenty of room on board of the Goldwing for a\ndozen, and the shipwrecked party were not crowded.\n\n\"That's the end of the Thunderer!\" exclaimed Sam Spottwood, as he shook\nthe water from his garments, and tried to make himself as comfortable as\npossible. \"It is lucky that she left us to shift for ourselves just\nhere, instead of out in the middle of Lake Champlain.\"\n\n\"Can't we save her?\" asked Tom Topover, who had been reduced by the\ndisaster to the level of his companions.\n\n\"She isn't worth saving,\" replied Sam contemptuously. \"She can never be\nmade to stay on the top of the water, and I wouldn't give two cents for\na boat that wants to burrow in the mud at the bottom.\"\n\n\"I don't think the Thunderer was a success,\" added Ash Burton, as he\nwrung out the sack coat he wore. \"I shall not go into the shipbuilding\nbusiness at present.\"\n\n\"But she was a good boat, and worked very well,\" insisted the late\ncaptain of the craft. \"She sailed very well when she got the hang of\nit.\"\n\n\"Or when her skipper got the hang of it,\" suggested Ash.\n\nTom took no notice of this bit of sarcasm, and perhaps did not\nunderstand it. All the party proceeded to do what they could to get the\nburden of water out of their clothes. But it was a warm day in August,\nand they were not likely to suffer from their involuntary bath. The hot\nsun was rapidly restoring the garments to their former condition; and\nthe rough crowd made light of the affair, for they were in the water\nhalf the time during the long vacation.\n\n\"We have lost our sail,\" said Sam Spottwood, who had no interest in the\ncraft which was now half-way to the outlet of Beechwater.\n\n\"That's so, and we have lost all the work we put into that craft.\nHowever, I did not expect much of such a tub, and I am not much\ndisappointed in the result of the first cruise. But here we are, and\nhere we are likely to remain until some one from the school comes and\ntakes us off.\"\n\n\"You will have to wait a long while if you expect to be taken off,\"\nadded Sam; \"for all the people belonging to the place went off this\nmorning in the Sylph, and they won't be back till night.\"\n\n\"It isn't ten o'clock in the forenoon yet, and they will not be back\ntill dark, for they take their suppers on board,\" said Ash Burton,\nshrugging his shoulders at the prospect. \"We shall get no dinner, and no\nsupper, and it looks like a starving time ahead.\"\n\n\"You can bet I don't stay here without any dinner and without any\nsupper,\" interposed Tom Topover. \"If I don't get my dinner to home\nto-day, it will be because I get it somewhere else.\"\n\n\"I don't see how you are going to manage it. Do you mean to swim\nashore?\" asked Ash.\n\n\"I could do that if I wanted to, and so could the rest on us; but there\nis a better way,\" replied Tom, with a significant grin.\n\n\"A better way? What is it?\" asked Sam.\n\n\"We ain't in the water, be we?\" asked the late captain, with an\nexpressive look at his companions, as though he desired to take the\nmeasure of them for a new enterprise.\n\n\"We be not,\" answered Ash, who had taken the job of correcting the\nleader's English, and had succeeded to a considerable extent. \"We are\nnot in the water: on the contrary, we are on board of the able and\nswift-sailing Goldwing; and we should be driven from her like cows from\nthe corn if there were any of the officers of the school at home.\"\n\n\"Just so, but they are not at home. Most likely they are up to Whitehall\nor some other place at that end of the lake. Do you think I am going to\nstay here all day without any dinner and supper, when we might just as\nwell use this boat as leave her alone?\" demanded Tom Topover earnestly.\n\n\"It will be the safest way to let her alone,\" replied Ash, shaking his\nhead. \"You came very near being doomed to look through the bars of a\ngridiron for the next three or six months, over on the other side of the\nlake; and it will be well for you to keep a sharp lookout to windward,\nTom.\"\n\n\"That was because I licked Paul Bristol,\" added Tom, with a grin.\n\n\"Or because you got licked by him,\" suggested Ash. \"According to all\naccounts, you got the worst of it.\"\n\n\"I can lick Paul Bristol or Dory Dornwood out of their boots, every\ntime,\" bragged Tom, who was never able to remember his defeats in the\npast; and both of the worthies mentioned had been too much for him. \"But\nthat ain't any thing to do with us now.\"\n\n\"If you should take this boat, and sail her away from her moorings, what\nshould you call the act?\" asked Ash, pinning his leader down to a point.\n\n\"I should call it taking the boat.\"\n\n\"Captain Gildrock would call it stealing her; and the court on this side\nof the lake might send you to the house of correction, or some such\nplace, for a year or two,\" continued Ash Burton, carrying the point to\nits issue.\n\n\"We didn't come out here to steal her,\" protested Tom. \"The captain\nwould say we had no right to come on board of her; but you was the first\none to get on board of her.\"\n\n\"I don't think the principal would find any fault with us for coming on\nboard of her, after we were wrecked in the Thunderer,\" answered Ash.\n\n\"Of course he couldn't. That's one thing. The next is, shall we leave in\nthe boat, or stay on board of her? We might as well drown as starve to\ndeath,\" argued Tom.\n\nThe high-school boy scratched his head, for there seemed to be some\nforce in the late captain's argument. He was opposed to going without\nhis dinner and supper, and he did not believe that a man as reasonable\nas Captain Gildrock would ask such a sacrifice of him. It occurred to\nhim, that the gardener of the estate, or some of the stable-men, might\nbe at home, and might be called to their assistance, if they shouted\npersistently for help. He proposed this to Tom, but it was received with\na sneer.\n\n\"The boats are locked up in the new boat-house, and the gardener don't\nkeep the keys,\" replied Tom. \"You might as well holler for the captain\nhimself, at Whitehall, as to try to find any one on the place when he is\naway.\"\n\n\"It couldn't do any great harm if we should sail the Goldwing up to the\nwharf,\" said Ash, as much to himself as to his companions. He did not\nlike the idea of taking the boat, for Captain Gildrock was a Tartar to\ndeal with in such matters.\n\n\"Of course it won't!\" exclaimed Tom. \"We can't do any other way. We\nshould be fools to stay here and starve to death, within a quarter of a\nmile of the land.\"\n\nTom had made up his mind some time before, and had looked the boat over\nto ascertain whether or not she was available. During the summer the\nGoldwing had been supplied with a horizontal wheel, and the tiller could\nnot be locked up in the cabin. But even if it had been, the cabin-doors\nwere not locked as usual, for the reason that one of the crew had\ndropped the key overboard, and another had not been fitted. Tom found\nthat there was nothing to prevent his party from getting the sloop under\nway.\n\nAsh Burton and Sam Spottwood had always been law-abiding young men, as\nmost of the others on board were not. If the proposition had been made\non shore, to go off and take the Goldwing for a sail, in the absence of\nthe owner, they would not have consented to take part in such an affair.\nBut they had been put on her deck almost in spite of themselves; they\nhad saved themselves from possible drowning by getting on board of her,\nfor they did not believe they could swim to the shore.\n\nTom Topover's argument had its influence upon them; and they finally\nconsented to assist in taking the boat, for the purpose of reaching the\nshore. The moorings were cast off, and the mainsail hoisted rather by\ntacit consent than by actual agreement. Ash assisted in the work, or it\nmight never have been done, for the want of knowledge how to do it on\nthe part of the others.\n\n\"Who is to be captain of this craft?\" asked Ash, when the matter came to\nhis mind.\n\n\"I am, of course,\" replied Tom confidently.\n\n\"All right,\" added Ash, who had thought he might not feel confident to\nhandle the sloop. \"I will obey orders, and do just what you tell me.\"\n\nTom went to the wheel. He had not noticed it particularly before, and he\nhad no more idea of its use than he had of handling a quadrant or a\nlog-line.\n\n\"What's this thing? and where is the tiller?\" asked Tom, as he gave the\nwheel a twirl.\n\nAsh Burton, who was the only one who was competent to answer the\nquestion, made no reply. The boat had been got under way in the most\nunseamanlike manner, and she was now drifting towards the outlet. There\nwas wind enough to make the sail bang about above the heads of the\nparty, for it had not been trimmed to any course. Tom studied the\nworking of the wheel for a time, for he had come to the conclusion that\nit was to be used instead of a tiller. He turned it as far as he could,\none way, and then looked over the stern, to note the position of the\nrudder. Then he reversed the wheel, and looked again. He had solved the\nmystery, and partially got the hang of the thing.\n\nThe wind was west; and Tom pulled away at the main sheet, until, guided\nby his experience in the Thunderer, he filled the sail. The sloop\nstarted off at a speed that startled the skipper. She heeled over, and\nfrightened some of the party, who were not used to the movements of a\nsailboat. By feeling his way, the skipper had brought the sloop on the\nstarboard tack, headed for the outlet. The direction was not Tom's\nchoice; but, trimmed as she was, she would not go any other way.\n\nAsh Burton wanted to protest against being carried away from the wharf,\nbut he would not interfere with the skipper.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IV.\n\n                      A MUTINY, AND A NEW SKIPPER.\n\n\nAsh Burton did not believe that Tom Topover could handle the Goldwing;\nand he was anxious to have him appeal to him for assistance, which,\nhowever, he had decided not to render while the present incumbent\nremained as captain. Tom was sailing the boat away from the wharf, and\ntwo of the party at least were strongly opposed to doing so. The wind\nwas fair for the wharf, but Tom had not the most remote idea of the way\nto bring the sloop about. His nautical education had been confined to\nrowboats.\n\nAsh walked forward to the forecastle, where Sam Spottwood had seated\nhimself. He was fully resolved to give the skipper rope enough so that\nhe could hang himself, and prove his own incompetency. There was hardly\nwind enough in Beechwater to upset the boat, and the emergency was to be\nsomething else that would call him to command.\n\n\"We are going away from the wharf,\" said Sam, when his friend seated\nhimself by his side.\n\n\"Of course we are; I am not exactly blind. Tom don't know enough to\nbring the boat about, and that's what's the matter,\" replied Ash.\n\n\"I believe the fellow means to go off on the lake,\" added Sam.\n\n\"Not a bit of it! He couldn't get her down the river if he tried a week.\nNo; he couldn't even get her through the outlet, for at the turn he will\nhave the wind dead ahead,\" chuckled Ash.\n\nTom Topover at the helm looked as though he were supremely contented\nwith his position. He had got the hang of the wheel so far as to be able\nto steer the sloop when there were no complications. By trial he found\nthat when he pulled the spokes towards him, sitting on the weather side,\nit caused the bow to swing in the same direction. If he turned the wheel\ntoo much, it felt as though the boat would tip over. Turning it too much\nthe other way, made the wind shake the sail as it was \"spilled.\" This\nwas the extent of the skipper's present skill in sailing a boat.\n\nThe Goldwing moved rapidly even in a light wind, and she was soon near\nthe outlet. It looked as though Tom meant to go through, for he made no\nattempt to check the further progress of the sloop in this direction.\nSam protested that he must not go any farther: the navigation of the\noutlet was difficult, and it required all Dory Dornwood's skill to carry\nher through with a west wind.\n\n\"Why don't you say something to him, Ash?\" asked Sam, beginning to be\nanxious about the result of the venture.\n\n\"He is the skipper, and I don't want to interfere with him,\" replied Ash\nvery decidedly.\n\n\"But he means to run away with the boat, and we don't agree to that,\"\nremonstrated Sam. \"He don't know what to do, even if he don't intend to\ntake a cruise on the lake; and you ought to tell him, for you are the\nonly fellow on board that knows any thing about a sailboat. He will get\nus all into a scrape that we did not bargain for.\"\n\n\"I tell you he can't get through the outlet,\" replied Ash impatiently.\n\"When he gets her aground, as you may be sure he will, all we have to do\nis to jump ashore and go home.\"\n\n\"We had no business to come down here in the boat, and I want to get out\nof the muddle before it gets any hotter,\" persisted Sam.\n\n\"You have a tongue in your head, and you know how to use it. Why don't\nyou talk to Tom yourself?\" inquired Ash.\n\n\"I don't know any thing more about a sailboat than I do about making\nturtle-soup,\" added Sam.\n\n\"That won't prevent you from telling Tom to come about and go to the\nwharf by the boat-house.\"\n\nSam Spottwood had not thought of this before. If he told the skipper to\ngo back, he thought he must explain how it was to be done.\n\n\"This won't do, Tom Topover!\" said he vigorously, as he walked aft\nthrough the standing-room. \"We are going away from the wharf all the\ntime, and we shall never get there at this rate.\"\n\n\"I suppose you don't know much about a boat, but you have to sail as the\nwind will let you,\" replied Tom in an airy manner, as though he\ncomprehended the subject perfectly.\n\n\"I don't know any thing about a sailboat, but I think it is high time we\nwere getting near the wharf,\" added Sam.\n\n\"I was just thinking so myself, and I will turn her about now,\" said\nTom, as he cast his eyes about him like a prudent sailor before he\nchanges the position of his vessel.\n\nIn this part of the lake the country was more open than farther up the\ncreek, and the wind from the great lake came fresh over the lowlands at\nthe mouth of Beaver River. As Sam spoke, the breeze freshened; and, as\nthe boat happened to have a \"good full,\" she heeled over till her\ngunwale was very near the surface of the water. This sudden jerk\nfrightened all in the boat except Ash Burton; and the captain more than\nany one else, for he felt the responsibility of his position.\n\nTom Topover was bound to do something to counteract the pressure of the\nwind against the sail; and he put the helm hard up, instead of hard down\nas he should have done. He neglected to cast off the main sheet, which\nhe had made fast to the cleat. The result was that the boat came as near\ngoing over as she could in that amount of wind. The skipper was so mixed\nup that he did not know what to do next, and he moved the wheel over the\nother way as soon as the boat had gybed. A moment later the Goldwing\nrepeated the operation, for she was not used to being handled in this\nclumsy manner.\n\nTom whirled the wheel from one side to the other, for he did not know\nwhat he was about; and finally she was again headed into the outlet,\nwith her sail drawing on the starboard tack. He could make her go as she\nhad gone before, and that was all he could do.\n\nAsh Burton was used to the movements of a boat, even when badly managed;\nand he was not at all alarmed, for they were close to the shore. He\nlaughed at the struggles of the skipper to set things to rights.\n\n\"I thought you were going to the wharf,\" said Sam, as soon as he had\nrecovered in some measure from his fright. \"You are headed the wrong\nway.\"\n\n\"She won't go the other way,\" protested Tom.\n\n\"The wind is west, and it ought to take us the other way as well as\nthis,\" Sam objected.\n\n\"But it won't take us that way,\" replied Tom sharply. \"Haven't I just\ntried it?\"\n\n\"But you don't know how to manage the boat,\" protested Sam, disgusted\nwith the conduct of the captain.\n\n\"Who says I don't know how?\" demanded Tom, who never admitted his\ninability to accomplish any thing he undertook to do.\n\n\"I say so, and you have proved it. I believe you mean to take us out on\nthe lake.\"\n\n\"Well, what if I do? I don't believe the fellows will object to a trip\non the lake in this boat,\" replied Tom, willing to take the clew the\nmutinous hand had given him.\n\n\"I object to it, and for one I won't go on any trip on the lake. You\ndon't know how to manage the boat, and you will drown the whole of us.\"\n\n\"I guess I know what I am about; and if you don't dry up, Sam Spottwood,\nI'll bat you over the head. I am the captain of this ship, and I ain't\ngoin' to have any feller stick his nose into my baked beans,\" returned\nthe skipper angrily.\n\nSam was not a coward; but he had never measured his skill with Tom, and\nhe did not care to quarrel in the boat. He went forward again, and he\nand Ash agreed to jump ashore as soon as they got a chance.\n\nThe boat was now fairly in the outlet of Beechwater. The course for a\nshort distance was the same as before. The current could be felt as the\nlake narrowed into a stream of less than a twentieth part of its width,\nand the Goldwing increased her pace. The turn in the stream would bring\nthe wind dead ahead in a moment. Tom Topover kept his eyes wide open;\nbut he might as well have shut them tight, for he did not know where the\nchannel was, and he could not have kept the boat in it if he had known.\n\nIt was necessary to change the course of the sloop to prevent her from\nrunning into the bank, and Tom shifted the helm to send her in the\ndirection of the most water. The sail shook, and the boat began to swing\nabout, as it was quite proper for her to do; but he met her with the\nhelm too soon, not knowing any thing about his business, and the sloop\nlost her headway, so that she missed stays. The next moment she drifted\ninto the shallow water, and was aground close to the bank, which was a\nlittle higher than the forecastle of the craft.\n\nAsh Burton saw his opportunity at once, and without a word to any one he\nleaped upon the land. Sam Spottwood followed him without a moment's\ndelay. The sail hung loosely from the gaff, and was slapping and banging\nin a manner that was trying to the nerves of the inexperienced skipper.\nThe noise seemed to be an element of danger to him, though it was\nentirely harmless. He saw the two members of his crew leap ashore, and\nthis step on their part contributed to complete his demoralization.\n\n\"What are you about, Ash Burton?\" demanded Tom, as he saw his late\ncompanions seat themselves on the grass.\n\n\"About to quit that trip,\" replied Ash. \"I have had enough of it if you\nare not going to the wharf as we agreed in the beginning.\"\n\n\"I am ready to go to the wharf, but the boat would not sail that way,\"\nthe skipper explained.\n\n\"She would sail that way as well as the other; but you don't know how to\nhandle her, and you have made a mess of the whole thing,\" continued the\nmutineer.\n\n\"Perhaps you think you can sail her up to the wharf?\" added Tom, with a\nwithering sneer.\n\n\"I know I could before she got aground.\"\n\n\"No, you couldn't! What's the use of talking? You couldn't do it, for no\nboat will go where the wind won't take 'em. I'll bet two cents against a\nleather cabbage you can't do it!\" continued Tom, who seemed suddenly to\nhave recovered his usual tone.\n\n\"Of course I can't now that the boat is aground, with her bottom buried\nin the mud.\"\n\n\"We can shove her out of this in two minutes, and then I will give you a\nchance to see what you can do,\" added Tom, who thought this was a good\nway of getting out of the scrape without confessing his own\nincompetency.\n\n\"All right; we will help you,\" replied Ash, who felt that he was gaining\nhis point. \"I will sail the boat to the wharf if you will make me\ncaptain, for I can't handle the sloop unless I have full power.\"\n\n\"All right; you shall be captain till we get to the wharf,\" replied Tom.\n\n\"Throw the painter ashore, and perhaps we can pull her off,\" continued\nAsh.\n\nSam and he manned the line; and while those on board pushed with the\noars and boat-hook, they dragged the Goldwing into deep water, for only\nher bow was in the mud. Ash and Sam returned to the boat.\n\nWith an oar the new skipper swung the boat about, and filled the sail on\nthe port tack. Greatly to the surprise of Tom, the Goldwing started off\non her new course at a lively rate, and a moment later was in the lake,\nand headed for the wharf.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER V.\n\n                        A QUESTION OF AUTHORITY.\n\n\nThere was no difficulty in sailing the Goldwing up the lake, any more\nthan there had been down the lake. Though Ash Burton had never steered\nwith a wheel before, he had observed Tom Topover while he was at the\nhelm, and he was soon familiar with its management. The late captain was\ngreatly annoyed to see the sloop going along so well in the direction in\nwhich she would not go before; but Ash was too much delighted with his\noccupation to think of indulging in any triumphant expressions, and he\nsaid nothing. Like most boys who live near the water, he was ambitious\nto become a boatman, though his experience had been very limited.\n\n\"The wind is better now than it was when I had her,\" said Tom, after he\nhad watched the motion of the sloop for a time. \"She goes along very\nwell now.\"\n\n\"The wind is exactly the same now as it was before,\" added Sam\nSpottwood, when he saw that the new skipper made no reply to this\nremark. \"You can see the vane on Captain Gildrock's stable, and it\npoints exactly to the west as it has all day.\"\n\n\"I don't care nothin' about the vane, I say the wind is better than it\nwas when I was steering her,\" returned Tom rather sharply. \"You could\nsee for yourself that she wouldn't go this way when I had her.\"\n\n\"That was only because you did not know how to handle her, and Ash\ndoes,\" added Sam; and one of the original Topovers would hardly have\nventured to make such a remark.\n\n\"If you say that again, I will bat you over the head, Sam Spottwood,\"\nretorted Tom, shaking his head.\n\n\"I have said it once, and that is enough,\" continued Sam, who had not\nyet been subdued by a thrashing.\n\n\"We are almost over to the wharf,\" interposed Ash, who wished to prevent\na quarrel. \"The only way to get to the grounds from the pier is through\nthe boat-house, and the doors are all locked. I did not think of it\nbefore, but we can't land there.\"\n\n\"We don't want to land there or anywhere else yet a while,\" growled Tom,\nfor the success of Ash in handling the sloop had reduced him to a very\nbad humor.\n\n\"You don't mean to use this boat any longer, do you?\" asked the new\nskipper.\n\n\"If you can make her go, I can,\" answered the Topover sourly; \"and I'm\ngoing to do it.\"\n\n\"We can land at the old wharf,\" continued Ash, as he looked about him\nwithout heeding the remark of the leader of the gang.\n\n\"We don't land at the old wharf or any other,\" added Tom. \"I'm going to\nsail this boat for an hour or two before I go on shore.\"\n\n\"You can't sail her: you don't know any more about a boat than a goose!\"\nexclaimed Sam imprudently, though he spoke the literal truth.\n\n\"Say that again, Sam Spottwood!\" blustered Tom, doubling his right fist,\nand looking very savagely at the speaker.\n\n\"You are not deaf, and you heard what I said. It's no use for me to say\nit again,\" replied Sam.\n\n\"You dassent say it again!\"\n\n\"We took this boat to get ashore in after we had been cast away, and I\ndon't believe in using her any more than is necessary,\" said Sam,\ndeeming it wise to change the subject.\n\n\"I don't let any fellow tell me that I can't handle a boat,\" replied\nTom.\n\n\"I said it, and I shall not take it back, for it is true; and you proved\nit, Tom Topover,\" returned Sam boldly, for neither he nor Ash had ever\nsubmitted to the bullying of the bravo, though they had thus far escaped\na fight.\n\nBut Tom had a feeling that either of them would fight, and he had always\nbeen obliging enough to stop short of a blow.\n\nAsh Burton was delighted with the occupation of steering the boat, she\nworked so prettily; and he was sorry when she approached the landing. He\nhad been on the point of proposing another turn around the lake, when\nhis predecessor in office announced his determination to sail the boat\nhimself. This put a new aspect upon the business of using a boat\nborrowed without leave. All his manly virtue came back to him, and he\nresolved not to remain any longer in the boat if Tom was to sail her.\n\nBy this time the Goldwing was not more than a hundred feet from the\nwharf, and it was time to decide what should be done. If he went to the\nwharf, the party would be no better off than on board of the sloop, for\nthey could not get away from it without climbing over the boat-house. On\nthe other hand, if the present skipper came about, Tom Topover would\ninsist upon taking the helm. But the course of the yacht must be changed\nat once, or she would run into the wharf.\n\nAsh Burton put the helm hard down at a venture, and without waiting to\ndecide the main question. Things looked stormy ahead to him. The sloop\npromptly came up to the wind, and the boom went over in readiness for\nthe other tack. It would not take more than a minute or two for the\nlively craft to reach the old wharf. Ash realized that he was still the\ncaptain, and by the consent of Tom. He headed for the landing-place he\nhad chosen.\n\nThe wind was blowing squarely upon the old wharf, which made it very\ndifficult for an inexperienced skipper to bring the boat alongside of\nit. The structure was low enough to allow the boom to swing out over it,\nand thus spill the sail as the craft came up to it; but the manœuvre\nrequires skill, and the new skipper was not confident enough in his own\npowers to undertake it. He chose a safer way; and when he came up with\nthe wharf, he threw the sloop up into the wind, intending to lower the\nsail and let her fall off till she came to the landing-place.\n\nHe called Sam Spottwood, and pointed out to him the halyards. Tom was\nbusy about something else just then, and did not notice what the skipper\nwas saying. At the right moment, Ash put the helm down, and when the\nsail began to shake, he shouted to Sam, who had returned to the\nforecastle.\n\n\"Let go!\" was his order, and the hand addressed understood him.\n\nThe halyards were both cast off; and the sail came down, aided by Sam,\nwith a rush.\n\n\"What are you about, Ash Burton?\" demanded Tom Topover, as the canvas\ncame down on his head, and filled him with consternation, for he thought\nsomething had broken. \"What's the matter now?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all,\" replied the skipper pleasantly. \"Stand by with the\nboat-hook, Sam.\"\n\n\"What do you want with a boat-hook?\" asked Tom, who had been studying\nthe situation with a view to sailing the boat himself again.\n\n\"Fend off, Sam,\" added the captain. \"We don't want to strike the wharf\ntoo hard: it might injure the boat.\"\n\n\"We don't want to strike it at all!\" blustered Tom, springing to his\nfeet, and taking in the new order of things at a glance. \"Is the sail\nbroke, that made it come down?\"\n\n\"Nothing is the matter with it, so far as I know,\" replied Ash.\n\n\"What made it come down, then?\"\n\n\"Because I ordered Sam to let go the halyards, and he did as I told\nhim.\"\n\n\"You told him to let down the sail?\" demanded Tom.\n\n\"Of course I did: if I hadn't, the boat might have been smashed against\nthe wharf,\" Ash explained.\n\n\"What did you come near the wharf for?\" growled Tom.\n\n\"Fend off, Sam,\" added the skipper.\n\nBy this time the Goldwing was so near that the wharf could be reached\nwith the boat-hook, and Sam fastened to it. He eased off the boat so\nthat she came alongside without any crash. The sail was in the\nstanding-room, and there was no pressure on her, so that she behaved\nlike a lamb. Ash Burton, seeing that his mission on board was completed,\nwent forward to join his friend and crony.\n\n\"You did this on purpose!\" stormed Tom, when he realized the situation.\n\n\"Of course I did,\" replied Ash, with abundant good-nature, as he had\ncarried his point.\n\n\"What did you bring us in here for? Who told you to do it?\" demanded\nTom.\n\n\"As I was the captain of this craft, I did not take any orders from any\none. Wasn't I the skipper, with your consent, till we came to the\nwharf?\" asked Ash.\n\n\"Didn't I say I wanted to sail her myself?\"\n\n\"I don't care what you said: I was the captain, and I have brought the\nboat to the wharf.\"\n\nIt looked as though there were going to be a storm, and Ash, without\nhurrying himself, stepped on the wharf. He was followed by Sam, the four\noriginal Topovers remaining in the standing-room. Their leader, though\nno process of reason could convince him against his inclination, was\nnonplussed at the argument of the retiring skipper.\n\nJust at that moment the sound of a sharp whistle came across the little\nlake. It was followed by a succession of shouts, and all the party\nlooked in the direction from which the sounds came. On the opposite\nshore stood half a dozen boys, who proved to be the rest of the Topover\ngang. Some of them were among the new recruits to the group who ran\ntogether, and were inclined to think more of Ash and Sam than of the\nveritable leader. Others were original associates of those in the boat,\nthough of a milder type of rascality.\n\n\"There's the rest of our fellows!\" exclaimed Tom, willing to dodge the\nquestion of authority which had just come up.\n\n\"Come over here, and give us a sail!\" yelled one of the party over in\nthe grove, loud enough to be understood.\n\n\"Where are you going now, Ash?\" asked Tom, in the mildest tone he could\ncommand.\n\n\"The fun for to-day is all over, and we may as well go home,\" replied\nthe last skipper.\n\n\"We are going to take a little sail in this boat now that we have her,\nand there is plenty of fun ahead,\" continued Tom. \"Won't you go with\nus?\"\n\n\"You don't know how to handle the boat, and I won't go in her with you\nfor skipper,\" interposed Sam Spottwood, before Ash had time to reply.\n\"You came very near upsetting us once or twice, and I don't risk my head\nwith you.\"\n\n\"I can handle the boat as well as Ash can,\" answered Tom, but his manner\nwas now adapted to carrying his point. \"We might as well have a sail as\ngo home without one. Captain Gildrock is away in the Sylph, and he won't\nbe back till dark. Before that time we will put the boat back where we\nfound her, and no one will be the wiser for the fun we have had.\"\n\n\"You are more likely to leave her on the bottom of the lake than you are\nto put her back at her moorings,\" returned Sam.\n\nNim Splugger and Kidd Digfield then began to talk in a low tone to their\nleader. They had sense enough to see that Tom could not handle the boat,\nand very likely they feared that the prediction of Sam Spottwood would\nbe verified.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VI.\n\n                      A ROW ON BOARD THE GOLDWING.\n\n\n\"I don't care who is captain of the boat,\" said Tom Topover, after his\ncompanions had talked him into something. \"Come on board again, Ash\nBurton, and you shall be captain.\"\n\n\"That's so; come back, we want you to be captain,\" added Kidd Digfield,\nwho knew more than his companions about a boat, though that was saying\nvery little.\n\n\"What do you say, Sam?\" added Ash, turning to his crony.\n\n\"I don't believe in it,\" replied the other decidedly. \"You can't depend\nupon Tom Topover. If you are the skipper, he will insist upon your\nobeying his orders as he did a little while ago.\"\n\n\"I will give it all up to Ash Burton,\" interposed Tom, who had heard a\npart of Sam's remarks.\n\nAsh was strongly tempted; for if there was any one thing in the world\nthat he liked better than any thing else, it was boating. At Westport he\nhad sometimes sailed in the Silver Moon, and had learned a little about\nthe management of such a craft, though he was very far from being a\nskilful boatman.\n\n\"Tom will get the helm, and then the boat will go to the bottom if they\ngo out on the lake,\" argued Sam.\n\n\"I don't believe in using the boat, myself,\" replied Ash faintly; for he\nwas sighing for the delight of holding the wheel of the Goldwing while\nshe dashed at her lively pace over the water. He could hardly refuse the\ninvitation of the Topovers.\n\n\"Tom don't know any thing at all about the boat, and that fact makes him\nreckless. In my opinion, he will sink the boat, and there will be an\nawful row in Genverres about this evening when the Sylph returns,\"\ncontinued Sam, seeing that his friend was inclined to yield.\n\n\"Ash Burton shall have the full command, and I won't interfere with\nhim,\" said Tom; but the two boys on the wharf did not see the wink he\ngave to Nim Splugger when he uttered the gracious words.\n\n\"Some of them will be drowned,\" reasoned Sam.\n\n\"Then I think I ought to go with them!\" exclaimed Ash, suddenly crushing\nhis scruples. \"I don't know much about a boat, but I know more than any\nof the rest of the fellows; and I can keep the Goldwing on the top of\nthe water, if nothing more.\"\n\n\"We had better keep out of the scrape,\" added Sam, but more weakly than\nbefore, for he was almost as fond of sailing as his friend.\n\n\"The rest of the fellows are on the other side of the water, and we\nshall have to take them in. If things don't work right when we get\nacross the lake, we can jump out of the boat again; and we shall be\nnearer home there than we are here,\" said Ash, almost vanquished by his\nown logic.\n\nHe wanted to go so much, that it was easy for him to persuade himself\nthat it was his duty to do so in order to prevent Tom from drowning\nhimself and his companions. The conflict in his mind ended by his going\non board of the sloop, followed, more reluctantly, by his crony.\n\n\"I want this thing understood before I go,\" said Ash, as he walked aft\nto the standing-room. \"The wind has breezed up a good deal while we have\nbeen talking about it, and it would be as easy as putting your fingers\nin the fire to tip the sloop over.\"\n\n\"We understand it well enough: you are to be captain, and all the rest\nof us will obey your orders—as long as we like,\" replied Tom\nimpatiently, and uttering the last words so that they were heard only by\nNim Splugger.\n\n\"But I want it made as clear as day that I am to handle the boat. I know\nenough about a sailboat to keep her right side up, and I don't want to\nbe spilled into the lake by any fellow that don't know as much about the\nbusiness as I do.\"\n\n\"We all agree to it,\" interposed Kidd Digfield. \"It's no use to talk all\nday about it.\"\n\nThe last speaker knew the halyards from the boat-hook; and he proceeded\nto hoist the sail, assisted by Pell Sankland. Ash considered it\nunderstood that he was to be skipper till the end of the cruise, which\nhe did not intend should last for more than an hour or two. He took his\nplace at the wheel, and gave the necessary orders for getting the sloop\nunder way. The fresh breeze took the sail, and in a couple of minutes\nshe was across the lake. With the wind off the shore, he had no\ndifficulty in making a landing at the little stage which served as a\nlanding-place for boats from the other side.\n\n\"Where is the Thunderer, Tom?\" asked Chick Penny, as he stepped on\nboard.\n\n\"She came to grief,\" replied Tom. \"She dropped to pieces, and tipped us\nall into the lake.\"\n\n\"That's just what I supposed she would do,\" replied Chick. \"I wouldn't\ntrust my old boots in her, to say nothing of my precious carcass.\"\n\nHop Cabright wanted to know how they had got hold of the Goldwing, and\nthe story of the morning's adventures had to be told. But Ash did not\nwait for it to be finished. He got under way again, and stood towards\nthe outlet. More than half of the recruits, making the whole party a\ndozen, were fellows like Sam and himself; and he felt more at home in\nthe Goldwing than he had before. But five of them were original\nTopovers; which meant that they did not scruple to steal a boat when\nthey got a chance, or to rob an orchard, or to break all the windows in\nthe side of a building for simple fun.\n\nThe other seven of the party were very fond of fun, and could be easily\nled into mischief, though they had a better idea of the rights of\nproperty. In the dozen who filled the standing-room of the sloop were\nall shades of moral obliquity, from Tom Topover, who respected no\nperson's rights except his own, up to Sam Spottwood, whose greatest\nfailing was the weakness which did not always induce him to do what he\nknew was right.\n\nThe narrow limits of Beechwater did not satisfy the desire of the\nskipper for a sail, and he stood boldly into the outlet. Possibly, if\nthe sloop had not been aground a little before at the first sharp turn\nin the stream, he would have sailed her into the mud which the current\ndeposited there. But he was forewarned by the former accident, and he\ntacked before the keel touched bottom.\n\nMore by good chance than by the possession of any skill in navigating\nthis difficult stream, Ash got the boat through the bend, and it was\nthen plain sailing to the river. It was wide enough here to beat, and in\nhalf an hour more the Goldwing was in the great lake. Ash enjoyed his\noccupation more than ever before, and he was in a state of exuberant\ndelight.\n\n\"I guess I'll take that wheel now, Ash Burton,\" said Tom Topover, with a\nbroad grin on his ugly face, when the boat was fairly out of the river.\n\n\"That wasn't the trade,\" replied Ash.\n\n\"I don't care whether it was the trade or not: I am going to steer now,\"\nadded Tom very decidedly.\n\n\"Didn't you agree that I should be captain on this cruise?\" demanded\nAsh, keeping down his indignation as well as he could.\n\n\"That was only to get you to come along,\" replied Tom, with the most\nbarefaced effrontery. \"I had a point to carry, and I carried it. Get out\nof my way, Ash Burton, and I will take the thing.\"\n\n\"You don't know how to handle the boat, and I object,\" interposed Sam\nSpottwood.\n\n\"Shut up, Sam!\" said Tom, turning a savage glance at the last speaker.\n\n\"I shall not shut up! You made a fair agreement that Ash should be\ncaptain, or I would not have come,\" retorted Sam boldly.\n\n\"I should not either,\" added Ash.\n\n\"It's no use of jawing about it. I am going to steer this boat the rest\nof the cruise, and\"—\n\n\"No, you are not! You have tried to cheat us, and we will stick to the\ntrade we made fairly!\" insisted Sam.\n\n\"Shut up, Sam Spottwood, or I'll bat you over the head!\" said Tom\nfiercely, and he turned towards Sam with his fists in fighting\ncondition.\n\n\"You don't know how to handle a boat, and I for one won't submit to have\nthe bargain broken,\" protested Sam, his blood heated up to fever\ntemperature.\n\n\"Don't hit him, Tom!\" interposed Kidd Digfield.\n\n\"Ash is captain, and he ought to steer,\" shouted Chick Penny from the\nforecastle.\n\n\"Ash must keep the wheel,\" added Hop Cabright; and so said several of\nthe others.\n\nTom Topover looked at them, and then he was mad in good earnest. He\ndeclared that he was going to take the wheel, and he wanted any fellow\nthat objected to step out into the standing-room, and he would \"polish\nhim off\" in the twinkling of an eye.\n\n\"I object, and I shall stick to it. A trade's a trade, and I don't think\nany fellow has a right to back out of it,\" Sam responded.\n\nTom was furious at this remark; and he made a pass at Sam, who was\nseated by the side of the skipper, with his fist.\n\n\"None of that, Tom!\" interposed Ash, stepping between the bully and his\nintended victim.\n\n\"What are you going to do about it, Ash Burton?\" yelled Tom, and he\naimed a blow at the skipper, which was intended to annihilate him.\n\nAsh warded off the blow; but when another was aimed at him, he struck\nback. The original Topovers attempted to interfere, but the fury of Tom\ncould brook no opposition from friend or foe. The result was a general\nrow. The recruits to the gang took sides with Ash and Sam, and they did\ntheir best to support him; but before the affair could be decided either\nway, about a hogs-head of water rolled into the standing-room over the\nwashboard.\n\nThe cooling effects of this inundation were immediately perceptible. Tom\nhad been thrown down by the skipper, and the wave had nearly drowned\nhim. All the others were wet through, and the sloop was rolling as\nthough she intended to do the same thing again. Ash was boatman enough\nto understand the situation. He had put the helm up when he was\nattacked, for the boat had a tendency to broach to; and she had fallen\noff till she presented the broad side of her mainsail to the stiff\nbreeze.\n\nThe boat had come up headed the other way. With the water splashing\nabout in the standing-room, the skipper came about again, and headed the\nsloop on her former course. The cold water had cooled off Tom, and just\nnow he was wringing out his coat. He appeared to submit to the situation\nfor the present. Sam desired to return, but Ash wanted to fight the\nbattle out if it was renewed again.\n\nThe Goldwing had dipped up the water when she was off the mouth of\nPorter's Bay. Ash set his companions to baling out the standing-room,\nand with all the vessels on board, the work was soon finished. Before\nshe was up with the point beyond the bay, the sun had dried the floor\nand seats, and she was the cleaner for her bath.\n\n\"Boat ahoy!\" shouted some one from the point, which was covered with\ntrees.\n\nA glance in the direction from which the hail came informed the boys\nthat there was a picnic on the point.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VII.\n\n                       AN UNEXPECTED APPEARANCE.\n\n\n\"On shore!\" replied Ash Burton, to the hail.\n\n\"We should like to hire your boat for a while: can we do it if we pay\nwell for her?\" continued the speaker on the point.\n\n\"She is not to let,\" replied the skipper.\n\n\"We will give you two dollars an hour for her, with the person to manage\nher,\" continued the gentleman on the shore.\n\n\"We have to go home to dinner pretty soon,\" added Ash.\n\n\"We will give you all a dinner into the bargain,\" persisted the\nstranger.\n\n\"Take him up!\" said Tom Topover very decidedly.\n\n\"Take him up!\" repeated several others. \"We shall get home too late for\ndinner.\"\n\n\"We have no business to let her,\" added Sam Spottwood earnestly.\n\n\"We have just as much right to let her as we have to use her at all,\"\nadded Ash. \"Two dollars an hour is a big price.\"\n\nThe last speaker became less earnest when he saw that his friend was\ninclined to favor the proposition. Doubtless the promise of the dinner\nwas quite as tempting as the money that was offered, though not one of\nthe crew of the Goldwing did not think himself rich when he had a dime.\n\n\"Will you all stay on shore while I take the party out?\" asked Ash\nBurton, turning to his companions, when his crony weakened.\n\nThe party replied in the affirmative to the question, not even Tom\nTopover making any objection to the plan. Ash ran for a small staging\nwhich answered for a wharf, and the Topovers all went on shore\npeaceably. The picnickers were having a grand time; for they had music\nand dancing, and there seemed to be at least a hundred of them. Farther\nback from the lake were half a dozen long furniture-wagons and other\nvehicles, while a great number of horses were picketed near them. It was\nevident that the party had come from some distance back in the country,\nand were not likely to know any thing about the ownership of the\nGoldwing.\n\nAbout a dozen ladies and only two gentlemen were embarked in the boat,\nand Ash got under way. There was just breeze enough to make it lively\nand pleasant sailing. The sea was regular and moderate, so that there\nwas nothing to call for any extra skill on the part of the skipper. The\nwind being west, he ran down the lake as far as Split Rock, and then\nreturned. He did not get her best speed out of the sloop, and by the\ntime he reached the wharf the hour had expired.\n\nThe party were landed; and Ash supposed the contract had been completed,\nespecially as the gentleman in charge handed him four half-dollars, of\nwhich he seemed to have an abundant supply. But the excursionists were\nhardly on shore before another gentleman appeared, followed by a dozen\nmore ladies, and took the boat for another trip.\n\nAsh did not object, and he was gone the same time with the second party.\nOn his return to the wharf he found another party ready for him, with\nthe Topovers assembled on the wharf. The gentleman who had paid him\nbefore gave him four more half-dollars, and he spoke for the boat for\nthe third trip.\n\nAsh mildly suggested that he had had no dinner. Though he had for the\nlast two hours been the undisputed skipper of the Goldwing, he had not\nyet become so ethereal as to lose his boyish tendency to be hungry. The\ngentleman said they were in no hurry, and they would wait for the\nskipper to take his dinner.\n\n\"I'll take this party out, Ash Burton,\" interposed Tom Topover, with\ncheek enough to fit out a lightning-rod agent. \"You can get your dinner\nwhile I am gone.\"\n\n\"That won't do,\" replied Ash, in the mildest of tones.\n\n\"What's the reason it won't do?\" demanded Tom, beginning to bluster. \"I\ncan handle the boat as well as you can.\"\n\n\"You don't know any thing at all about a sailboat,\" added Sam Spottwood,\nmore for the benefit of the gentleman in charge of the party than to\nirritate Tom.\n\n\"Say that again, and I'll knock you into the middle of last week,\"\nbullied Tom. \"I am going with this party, and Ash can get his dinner.\"\n\n\"We prefer the one who has managed the boat before,\" interposed the\ngentleman, who measured Tom at a glance.\n\n\"I didn't nearly tip the boat over, and fill her half full of water, as\nAsh Burton did,\" added Tom.\n\n\"It was you that made the row, so that the captain had to leave the\nwheel,\" retorted Sam, who did not seem to scare at all at the bluster of\nthe leader.\n\n\"I am going to sail this party, or the boat don't go again,\" said Tom\ndecidedly.\n\n\"No, you are not, for Ash is the skipper, and we all agreed to obey his\norders,\" added Sam, retiring from the wharf in order to make room for\nthe ladies.\n\nThe rest of the party, with the exception of Tom, had done this before;\nand he followed Sam. The gentleman began to assist the ladies to their\nseats in the standing-room, for he thought the skipper could settle the\ndispute.\n\n\"What's the reason I'm not going to sail that party if I want to?\"\ndemanded Tom, following up Sam Spottwood.\n\n\"Because you don't know how to manage the boat, and I don't believe they\nwould go with you,\" replied Sam fearlessly.\n\nThis was too much for Tom; and he made a pass at Sam with his fist,\nwhich the latter parried, and saved himself from harm.\n\n\"None of that here!\" shouted several of the Topovers.\n\n\"Sam Spottwood thinks he is my boss, and I will show him what he is and\nwhat I am,\" continued Tom, rushing upon the plain-spoken boy.\n\nSam did not run: he hit back, and after a brief struggle the bruiser\nwent over on his back. He jumped up, and began to declare that Sam did\nnot fight fair; when the other Topovers crowded around him, and\nprevented him from renewing the battle if he was disposed to do so,\nthough it generally was the case with him, that he did not follow up a\ncontest when the other party \"meant business.\" The others talked to him\nof the impropriety of getting up a quarrel in the presence of the\nladies.\n\n\"I don't care nothing about that,\" replied Tom; and he rushed back to\nthe wharf, where the gentleman was just going on board of the sloop.\n\"Stop, Ash Burton! I tell you I'm going to sail the boat this time.\"\n\n\"Stop where you are, young man,\" interposed the gentleman, as he took\nTom by the collar. \"You want to make a row; if you don't get out of the\nway, I will duck you in the lake.\"\n\n\"Let me alone!\" howled Tom, as the man hurled him away.\n\nAsh shoved off the bow of the Goldwing, and the gentleman stepped on\nboard as the stern swung in. Ash was disgusted with the conduct of the\nleader of the Topovers, and he decided then and there to have nothing to\ndo with him after that time. He sailed the party for the hour, though he\ndid it on a growling stomach. On his return, he received four more\nhalf-dollars, making twelve in all which his pocket now contained. His\nemployer conducted him to the tables, and he proceeded to partake of the\ncollation.\n\nWhile he was thus pleasantly occupied, the rest of the Topovers, seeing\nthe return of the sloop, hastened to the wharf. No other party wished to\nsail, and Tom proposed that they should start on their way back to\nBeechwater. The others were ready, and most of them seated themselves in\nthe standing-room.\n\n\"Ash Burton is the captain, and he is at his dinner,\" said Sam\nSpottwood.\n\n\"We can get along without him,\" replied Tom with a coarse grin. \"I am\ngoing to sail the boat back.\"\n\nAt these words Chick Penny and Hop Cabright jumped on the wharf again,\ndeclaring they would not go in the boat if Tom was to be the skipper.\nThe bruiser insisted on his point, and that the boat should leave at\nonce. Then Con Binker and Syl Peckman followed the example of Chick and\nHop. Even Kidd Digfield and Nim Splugger had some doubts about trusting\nthemselves with Tom, and they began to reason with him. There was no\nreason in him, and in spite of them he shoved off the boat. Taking the\nwind on the starboard tack, the usurping skipper headed the sloop to the\nsouthward. Tom had his own way this time.\n\n\"Hold on, Tom!\" shouted Pell Sankland. \"Ash Burton has all the money he\nhas taken for the boat. Is he to have the whole of it?\"\n\n\"Six dollars,\" added Nim Splugger. \"He ought to make a divvy.\"\n\n\"He is not going to keep the whole of it anyhow,\" said Kidd Digfield.\n\n\"There he is, coming down to the wharf,\" continued Pell. \"We have as\nmuch right to some of the money as he has. The boat don't belong to\nhim.\"\n\n\"We can get it out of him the next time we see him,\" said Tom, who did\nnot like the idea of returning to the shore, for he was afraid of losing\nhis position at the wheel.\n\n\"He will spend it all, and I won't trust him,\" replied Pell.\n\nThe original Topovers were in a majority of the present crew, and\nperhaps Tom was tempted by the prospect of putting some money in his\npocket. At any rate, he attempted to put the boat about. The sloop was\nfar enough out from behind the point to feel the force of the wind. If\nthere was any wrong way to take, Tom Topover always took it; and he put\nthe helm up instead of down. The effect was to gybe the boat, and nearly\nupset her. However, she did not ship any water this time, but Tom was\nbewildered by the behavior of the boat. She was about two hundred feet\nfrom the shore.\n\n\"There comes the Sylph!\" shouted Nim Splugger, as the sharp bow of the\nsteam-yacht appeared beyond Porter's Bay.\n\nThis cry filled the Topovers with consternation. They realized that Tom\nat the wheel was utterly powerless to get them out of the scrape, and it\nlooked as though he would tip them over before he got the boat under way\nagain. The Sylph seldom if ever returned from her excursions in the\nsummer till night, and she was not expected at three o'clock in the\nafternoon.\n\n\"Start her up, Tom!\" yelled Kidd, almost frantic at the idea of being\ncaught in possession of the Goldwing by the yacht's people.\n\n\"She don't behave right,\" replied Tom, who had made several attempts to\nget the boat under way.\n\n\"Run her ashore, and let us get out of the way.\"\n\n\"I tell you she won't start for me,\" added Tom, as the boom banged over\nfrom one side to the other as it had done half a dozen times before.\n\nIt was clear enough to the culprits, that the captain of the Sylph, who\nwas also the owner of the Goldwing, had recognized the craft; for the\nsteamer was headed directly for the point. If she were going down the\nlake, she would have headed for the other side of Diamond Island.\n\nAt last, by some accident, Tom got the sail filled, and the boat under\nway; but she had caught the wind on the starboard tack, upon which it\nwas not possible to reach the nearest land. The Topovers growled and\nyelled to Tom that he was going the wrong way. The bungling skipper put\nthe helm down; but he met her too soon, and she missed stays. The Sylph\nwas close aboard of her, and placed herself between the yacht and the\nshore.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER VIII.\n\n                     A STARTLING EVENT ON THE ROAD.\n\n\nWhen the Sylph had secured a position between the Goldwing and the\nshore, so that the party on board of the latter could not escape, she\nstopped her screw, and backed until she rested motionless on the water.\nThe appearance of the steamer so near the point created a sensation in\nthe picnic-party, and the whole crowd on the shore hastened to the\nwater-side.\n\nBefore the steamer lost her headway, her starboard quarter-boat was\ndropping into the water. The yacht was not heavily manned, as she was\nwhen the school was in session, and there were not hands enough on board\nfor any brilliant manœuvres. Captain Gildrock, Bates, the old\nquartermaster, Paul Bristol, and Oscar Chester got into the boat, and\npulled to the Goldwing. Dory Dornwood and Mr. Bristol, the acting\nengineer, remained on board with the ladies to take charge of the\nsteamer.\n\nWhen Tom Topover and his companions saw the boat approaching them, they\nabandoned all hope of escape, and gave up in despair. They wished they\nwere ashore, with those who had been left.\n\n\"What are you doing with this sloop?\" demanded Captain Gildrock sternly,\nwhen the quarter-boat came alongside of the Goldwing.\n\n\"I can't do any thing with her,\" replied Tom.\n\n\"You have stolen her, as you have tried to do before,\" added the\nprincipal; \"and we will make short work with you.\"\n\nPaul Bristol was directed to take the painter of the sloop on board, and\nthe Goldwing was towed to the Sylph. The six culprits on board of her\nwere ordered to the deck, and they knew Captain Gildrock well enough not\nto disobey him. The quarter-boat was hoisted up to the davits; and the\nyacht came about and stood away from the shore without communicating\nwith the picnic-party. She headed up the lake, and in a few minutes\ndisappeared in the river.\n\nAsh Burton and his companions observed the proceedings of the people of\nthe yacht with almost as much consternation as though they had been\ncaptured with their late associates. They could hardly hope to escape\nthe consequences of their conduct, for Tom and the rest of the Topovers\nwould be sure to betray them. They looked upon it as a bad scrape; for\nthe principal of the Beech Hill Industrial School was one who obeyed the\nlaws, and went to them for redress when he was injured instead of\nadministering justice on his own account.\n\nSam Spottwood was sorry he had not followed his own impulse to do right,\ninstead of allowing himself to be led into error by his friend. But he\ndid not reproach Ash, for he felt that he was the victim of his own\nweakness. The whole six of them were quite as repentant as the\nhalf-dozen who had been captured in the sloop. No doubt they made big\nresolutions, which are good things to make if they are only remembered\nin the hour of temptation.\n\nThe picnic-party seemed to be very much astonished at the proceedings of\nthe people on board of the yacht, which was now approaching the river\nwith the sloop in tow. Ash saw that they wanted some explanation; and\nwhen he saw the gentleman who had paid him the dozen half-dollars, he\nfelt that he had business elsewhere. He beat a hasty retreat, followed\nby his companions. He did not care to appear before his late passengers\nas a culprit, and he was not inclined to tell any lies about the matter.\n\n\"We are in for it now,\" said Hop Cabright, as they walked with hasty\nsteps away from the point, in the direction of the road to Genverres.\n\n\"No doubt of that,\" replied Sam Spottwood. \"It is a bad scrape, and the\nworst of it is being associated with such fellows as Tom Topover.\"\n\n\"As Captain Gildrock did not catch us in the boat, perhaps he will not\nmeddle with us,\" suggested Syl Peckman.\n\n\"Those fellows will blow on us, after all that happened this afternoon,\"\nadded Chick Penny.\n\n\"Of course they will, and we are just as guilty as they are,\" added Sam\nSpottwood. \"You don't catch me having any thing to do with Tom Topover,\nand the fellows like him again: they are a hard crowd.\"\n\n\"We never did any thing very bad with them before,\" said Ash Burton. \"I\nam sure we have done something towards making them better fellows, for\nwe have tried to improve their manners and their morals.\"\n\n\"I don't think they are much better, though I know of three or four\ninstances where we have prevented them from stealing. But we ought to\nhave prevented them from using the Goldwing, instead of taking part with\nthem in the wrong,\" said Sam.\n\n\"You know how it happened, and how we were led into it,\" pleaded Ash.\n\"We were wrecked, and out in the middle of Beechwater, without any way\nto get ashore except in the sloop.\"\n\n\"I understand all about that; but we were weak to get into the boat\nagain after we got ashore,\" argued Sam.\n\n\"I don't believe I should have done so if it had not been to convince\nTom Topover that the boat could be sailed either way. It is all up with\nus now, and we must take the consequences, whatever they may be.\"\n\n\"Do you suppose the captain will prosecute us?\" asked Sam.\n\n\"Probably he will, though he may let up on us when he finds that we did\nnot go out to the sloop with the intention of taking her. The Topovers\nhave tried to steal the boats before, and he may think it is necessary\nin order to protect himself from them,\" replied Ash.\n\n\"I hope he won't; for the penalty will be a fine, I suppose, and my\nfather will have to pay it,\" added Sam very gloomily. \"He is not able to\npay it, for he has not had work half the time this summer. He would have\ntaken me out of school if he could have found any thing for me to do\nthat would pay for my board and clothes.\"\n\n\"My father is no better off, for he had been out of work so long over at\nWestport that he came over here, hoping to do better; but he has not,\nand he finds it hard work to get enough to live on. But what am I to do\nwith this money? I have six dollars in my pocket, which I intended to\ndivide among the fellows.\"\n\n\"That would be half a dollar apiece; but the fellows that went off in\nthe boat without us don't deserve any of it,\" said Hop Cabright.\n\n\"I shall not use any of that money, or touch it,\" interposed Sam\nSpottwood. \"It belongs to Dory Dornwood if it belongs to anybody, for he\nis the owner of the Goldwing.\"\n\n\"I should like some of the money well enough to give to my father, but I\nfeel just as though I had stolen it,\" continued Ash.\n\n\"I don't think it belongs to us, at any rate,\" repeated Sam.\n\n\"But I don't want to keep it. I don't like the feeling of it in my\npocket.\"\n\nBy this time they had reached the road; and they were a sorry set, for\nall of them had consciences, and such boys always feel worse when they\nhave done wrong than when they have been without their dinner and\nsupper. They continued to talk over the subject, trying to agree upon\nwhat they should do. Sam insisted that they should call upon Captain\nGildrock, confess their error, and throw themselves upon his mercy, with\nthe statement that their fathers were too poor to pay any fines. They\nwould tender the money to him for Dory Dornwood, and promise never to\ntake anybody's boat again, and to withdraw entirely from the association\nwith such boys as Tom Topover.\n\nThere was scarcely a house in this part of the town; but they soon came\nin sight of a small cottage, which deserved no better name than a hovel.\nThey had been eating cold ham and sweet cake, and they were quite\nthirsty after their long walk; for it was all of two miles from the\npoint to the town. They could get a drink there, for they saw the\nwell-curb between the hovel and the road.\n\nBefore they could reach it, they heard a succession of screams so shrill\nthat they seemed to pierce through the drums of their ears. They were\nnot sounds made by adult persons, but by children, and they were most\nagonizing. Ash Burton, without making any remark, broke into a run for\nthe house, from which the cries appeared to come.\n\n\"Pell Sankland lives in that house,\" said Chick Penny, when they\nstarted. \"His mother goes out washing when she can get any work in that\nline.\"\n\nBut Ash did not care who lived there, and he continued to run without\nmaking any reply. As they came a little nearer, they saw smoke coming\nout of one of the front windows, and it was apparent that the hovel was\non fire. Ash struggled to increase his speed, and was the first to reach\nthe front door of the house. He attempted to open it and found that it\nwas locked or otherwise fastened so that he could not get in. Before he\nhad done trying to effect an entrance, his companions came up.\n\n\"The door is locked! Run for the back door! There are children in the\nhouse, and they will be smothered in the smoke if we don't do something\nquick,\" gasped Ash, out of breath with his efforts.\n\nThey reached the back door, and that also was fastened. The woodpile,\nwhat there was of it, was close to this entrance. Of the half-dozen\nsticks that remained, there was one at least six inches in diameter. Ash\nand Sam seized this, and butted with it a few times against the back\ndoor. It was an ill-fitting and poorly constructed affair, like all the\nrest of the house, and it readily yielded to the vigorous blows of the\nassailants.\n\nAsh rushed into the house, and made his way to the front room, where he\nhad seen the smoke issuing from the window. There he found a child of\nseven, with another not more than four. The older was a girl, and her\ndress was on fire, as was the side of the room nearest to the fireplace,\nfor there was no stove. Sam and the others were close behind him, and\ndiscovered the terrible peril of the child almost as soon as he did.\n\n\"Lay her down on the floor!\" shouted Ash, as he sprang to the bed in the\nroom.\n\nHe took the comforter from it, for he found no blanket, and rushed to\nthe child. He was wrapping the girl in it when he saw that the flames\nhad caught in the cotton which projected from the ragged holes in it. It\nbegan to blaze, and he cast it aside. A piece of old carpet was spread\nbefore the fire, and he hastened to wrap the child in that. It was too\nsmall to cover the sufferer; but Ash and Sam fought the fire with their\nhands, and in a moment had extinguished the flame.\n\nHop Cabright brought a bucket of water he found in the back room, and\nthe contents were poured over the child. The smaller child's clothes had\nnot taken fire, and she was not injured. But both of them continued to\nscream even after the fire on the older was extinguished.\n\n\"Don't cry any more, little girl,\" said Ash, in a tender tone, as he\nproceeded to look at her and see how much she was burned.\n\n\"The house is on fire, Ash, and we must put it out!\" cried Sam, as he\ntook the smaller child, and rushed out doors with it.\n\n[Illustration: \"'LAY HER DOWN ON THE FLOOR!' SHOUTED ASH.\"—PAGE 98.]\n\nAsh followed him, with the girl still screaming from pain and terror\nboth. The well was on the front of the house, and they found no more\nwater drawn. Each of the six boys seized whatever vessel he could find,\nand rushed to the well. They returned to the room where the fire was,\nwith all the water they could carry. But the whole side of the room was\nin a blaze, and the case looked hopeless.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IX.\n\n                       LOOKING FOR A SETTLEMENT.\n\n\nLying on the floor near the fireplace was a kerosene-lamp, the glass\nshade of which was broken. The fire had started at this part of the\nroom; and it was evident that the little girl had lighted the lamp, and\ndropped it upon the hearth. Doubtless she had tried to put out the fire,\nand the flame had communicated with her dress.\n\nThe ceiling of the room was plastered, but the walls were cased with\npine. With this combustible material to supply it, the fire had rapidly\ncrept to the ceiling, and penetrated the attic above. Ash Burton saw\nthat it was useless to pour water on the flame below while the fire was\nrapidly ascending to the roof. With a bucket of water he led the way\nup-stairs, and found the fire just coming through the floor.\n\nHe turned the water very carefully into the hole which the fire had\nmade, though he was very nearly suffocated by the smoke that filled the\nattic. The effect was immediately visible: the flame was checked, though\nthe smoke continued to pour out of the opening. Taking the water brought\nby his companions, he used it to the best advantage. Their work appeared\nto be accomplished in this part of the house, and Ash sent part of the\nboys down to dash water on the burning boards in the room where they had\nfound the children.\n\nFor some time the boys watched and worked, pouring on water whenever\nthey found any signs of fire.\n\nThe flames had destroyed the wall by the side of the fireplace, and made\na considerable opening into the attic. The smoke had been very trying to\nthe young firemen, for the rooms were filled with it. When Syl Peckman\nopened one of the windows, Ash instantly closed it; for he knew that the\ndraught of air would feed the flame with the element it needed to\nincrease its force. They worked as long as they could find any vestige\nof fire.\n\nThey had broken in the front door so that they could the more readily\nget the water where it was needed; but after he went up stairs, Ash did\nnot come down till the fire was out. The others had a little relief from\nthe smoke when they went out for water; but he remained in the attic to\npour on the water, and he suffered much more than his companions. His\neyes rained tears, and they were red and swollen. All of them attended\nto these important organs as soon as they found the time, and washed\nthem thoroughly. The fresh air and the water soon relieved them in a\ngreat measure.\n\nThere had been smoke enough to be seen in the distance; and when the\nfire was fully extinguished, people began to arrive. The smoke had been\nseen by some men at work in the field, and they had given the alarm.\nThey were too late to be of any service in putting out the fire; but\nthey took the two children, and conveyed them to the next house.\n\nThe older girl was not so badly burned as the boys feared in the\nbeginning. She and the little one had evidently begun to scream before\nher dress took fire, probably terrified when they saw the flames running\nup the wooden wall. It takes longer to tell the story than it did for\nthe fire to get under way. The boys were not far from the house when\nthey heard the screams; and the child's clothes could not have been\nburning more than a moment when they came to her relief.\n\nThe girl's hands, and her limbs near the knees, were considerably\nburned, and she had received injury enough to cause her great pain. The\nfarmer and his two men were the first to arrive; but the fire was out,\nand the good man gave all his attention to the sufferer. His house was\nbut a short distance from the cottage; and he carried her there,\nassisted by one of his men. On his arrival he sent his companion for the\ndoctor.\n\nBefore he could reach his home, an engine from the town, which was not\nhalf a mile distant, rushed to the scene of the fire. The foreman\nexamined the premises, but he could not find any fire. He bustled about\nfor a time while he made his examination, but there was nothing else for\nhim to do.\n\n\"It came very near burning the house,\" said he to Ash Burton, who showed\nhim over the premises, and explained the situation. \"How did it take\nfire?\"\n\n\"The girl was in so much pain that I did not ask her any questions,\"\nreplied Ash, as he led the fireman into the front room, in which the\nfamily lived. \"There is a kerosene-lamp on the floor, and the fire began\nthere. The shade is broken, and perhaps the girl dropped the lamp on the\nfloor after she had lighted it.\"\n\n\"What was she doing with a lamp in the middle of the afternoon?\" asked\nthe foreman.\n\n\"That is more than I know; but it looks as though the fire was caused by\ndropping the lamp on the floor,\" replied Ash.\n\n\"It was lucky for the owner that you happened to be near,\" continued the\nfireman. \"Where were you when you saw the fire?\"\n\n\"We were just coming around that bend in the road when we heard the\nscreams of the children. We did not see the fire at first. When we got\nhere the doors were all fastened, and we had to beat in the back one\nwith a stick of wood. We put out the fire in the girl's clothes first,\nand then we poured water on the flames.\"\n\nAs the man asked more questions, Ash explained fully the manner in which\nthey had treated the girl, and then put out the fire.\n\n\"You have saved the house; and if you had been a minute later, the\nlittle girl might have lost her life. You boys have done remarkably\nwell. You have been brave and resolute, and you have managed the fire\nwith excellent judgment,\" said the foreman, when he had learned all the\nfacts. \"Most boys would have continued to throw water on the fire in the\nroom below; but you went up-stairs, where alone the fire could be\nchecked. You have done well; and the whole fire-department of Genverres,\nif it had been here, could not have accomplished any more, or done it\nmore neatly.\"\n\n\"Ash Burton was the leader of the party, and he found all the brains,\"\nsaid Chick Penny magnanimously.\n\n\"That's so; we followed his lead,\" added Sam Spottwood; and the others\nexpressed their assent.\n\n\"I thank you, sir, for what you have said. I tried to do the best I\ncould, and I am glad we succeeded; for I am sure I could not have done\nany thing if the other fellows had not worked like firemen. They all\nbehaved first-rate, and did not give up when the smoke had strained\ntheir eyes nearly out of their heads,\" returned Ash, giving his\ncompanions the credit they deserved.\n\n\"There is nothing for us to do here, and we may as well return to our\nquarters. I am afraid that child is badly burned, and we will stop at\nthe house where she is,\" continued the foreman, giving his men the order\nto return.\n\nThe rope of the engine was not very heavily manned, and the six boys\nwere permitted to take part in dragging the machine back to town; and\nthis, to the average boy, is supposed to be fun, however it may be with\nfull-grown men. They were all well rested after the work they had done,\nand they had even forgotten for the time the unpleasant results of the\ncruise of the Goldwing. The engine stopped at the next house, where the\nfarmer lived. Ash Burton and the foreman went in to inquire about the\nsufferer.\n\n\"I am keeping her quite comfortable by putting cold water on the burns\nabout once a minute,\" said the farmer's wife. \"I don't know as the\ndoctor will approve of it when he comes, and I should not apply my\nremedy if the burns were on the head or body. For burns in any other\nplaces, cold water is my remedy, because it deadens the pain at once.\"\n\n\"How does the girl seem?\" asked the foreman.\n\n\"She is pretty badly burned, but she will get over it without any\ntrouble. I always told Mrs. Sankland that she ought not to lock up the\nchildren when she went out to work; but the poor woman has a terrible\nhard time of it, and I suppose she could not help it, for she has to\nearn enough to get food for her family,\" replied the good woman.\n\n\"But she has a son,\" suggested the fireman.\n\n\"It would be a good deal better for her if she had no son, for he is a\ngood-for-nothing fellow. He won't work to earn any thing, or even take\ncare of the children while his mother is at work. She has to feed him,\nand it would be a good thing if she had one less mouth to fill.\"\n\n\"He is a bad boy, and runs with Tom Topover, which is enough to condemn\nany boy,\" added the fireman.\n\nAsh Burton and his companions winced under this remark, and they were\nglad they had gone so far as to resolve to avoid him in the future.\n\n\"My husband would give the boy work all summer, and pay him all he could\nearn; but he will not do a thing, and he is worrying the life out of his\nmother,\" continued the farmer's wife. \"I think something ought to be\ndone with him; and it would be a good thing if he could be sent to the\nhouse of correction, or some other institution, where he could be made\nto work.\"\n\nThe foreman of the engine quite agreed with her, and promised to inquire\ninto the matter on his return to the town. The march, for it was not a\nrun on the return, was resumed with the machine, which soon reached its\ndestination. Several persons who kept horses had ridden out to see where\nthe fire was, and the report of what had happened was already in\ncirculation through the place.\n\nIt was not more than four o'clock, and the reformed Topovers—as they\nregarded themselves—were not inclined to go home until they had done\nsomething about the cruise of the Goldwing. As they came out of the\nengine-house, they saw Captain Gildrock in his buggy. He had stopped in\nthe street, and was talking to a fireman who had just left the engine.\n\nThe reformers halted, and decided to hail the principal as soon as he\nfinished his conversation with the man. The latter seemed to be talking\nto him very earnestly, and pointed down the street. Suddenly the captain\nturned his horse in the direction the man had pointed, and drove off so\nrapidly that the boys could not hail him. He turned the next corner, and\nthe boys followed him.\n\nThey had gone to another corner when they saw the captain's team\nstanding at the door of a mechanic's shop. He had left the vehicle, and\nsecured the horse by a weight. Sam suggested that he was getting out a\nwarrant for the arrest of those who had stolen the sloop; but Ash was\nconfident that no magistrate lived on that street, which was occupied\nmainly by mechanics' shops and small factories.\n\n\"I don't want to miss him next time,\" said Ash. \"I should like to have\nthis business settled, or at least to know what is going to be done\nabout it, before I go home. Captain Gildrock goes off like a rifle-shot\nwhen he starts, and seems to be thinking of something all the time.\"\n\n\"That's so,\" Sam replied. \"We don't want to disturb him while he is busy\nabout something. I will go around to the main street, and stop him if he\ncomes out that way.\"\n\nThis suggestion was approved and adopted. Sam and two of the party went\naround, and soon appeared at the other end of the street, for they did\nnot want to be seen till the principal had time to attend to them.\n\nIt was all of half an hour before Captain Gildrock appeared.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER X.\n\n                        TWO CONFLICTING STORIES.\n\n\nCaptain Gildrock turned his horse, and started on his return by the way\nhe had come. As Ash Burton and the others saw, he was engaged in deep\nthought, and had his eyes fixed on the floor of the buggy. He seemed to\nbe engaged in some important business; but Ash decided, at once, that\nthe circumstances were enough to warrant him in disturbing his\nreflections.\n\n\"Captain Gildrock!\" called the leader of the party, stepping into the\nstreet where he was about to pass.\n\nThe principal reined in his horse, and seemed to come out of the reverie\nin which he had been buried.\n\n\"We should like to speak to you, sir, when you are ready to hear us,\"\ncontinued Ash.\n\n\"I am ready to hear you now, if you have a short story to tell; but I am\nin a hurry,\" replied the captain, rather briskly.\n\n\"Then we will wait till you have more time, sir; we will call at your\nhouse when you are not busy,\" added Ash, who did not think it wise to\nask the principal to sit in judgment upon their case when he was in a\nflurry of excitement.\n\n\"Very well; come to my house this evening at any time after half-past\nsix,\" said the captain, as he started his horse. But he suddenly reined\nhim in, and took a piece of paper from his pocket. \"Do you know a young\nman by the name of Ashley Burton, and another by the name of Samuel\nSpottwood?\" he asked.\n\n\"My name is Ashley Burton, sir; and I wanted to see you about the wrong\nwe have done in taking the boat on Beechwater,\" replied Ash, rather\nsheepishly.\n\n\"About the wrong you did!\" exclaimed the principal, opening his eyes as\nthough a new revelation had just been made to him.\n\n\"Yes, sir; and I have six dollars in my pocket, the earnings of the\nGoldwing, which belongs to you, or to Dory Dornwood,\" continued Ash,\ncarrying out the good resolution of himself and his penitent companions.\n\n\"I have been looking for you and the others who were with you,\" replied\nthe captain, biting his lip as though things had not happened just as he\nexpected.\n\n\"We are all here, sir,\" answered Ash, as he looked up the street, and\nsaw Sam and his party running towards them. \"We are very sorry for what\nwe have done, and we will promise never again to touch one of your boats\nwithout permission.\"\n\n\"But I hear very bad stories about you. You were going to take the boat,\nand, with the money you had earned with her, were going to Burlington to\n'have a time' as Tom Topover called it.\"\n\nAsh looked at his companion, and there was something like a smile on his\nface. As he might have supposed, Tom had told his own story, and cast\nall the blame upon the members of the party he had left at the point.\n\n\"Not a word has been said in my hearing about going to Burlington, or\nany other place,\" replied Ash; and his companions said the same thing.\n\n\"I have been led to believe that Ashley Burton and Samuel Spottwood were\nthe ringleaders of the enterprise, and that Topover, Digfield, Sankland,\nand the others we found on board of the Goldwing, had been cheated into\ngoing into the boat by you. Then, when they found you meant to leave\nthem at the point, and go to Burlington, they had taken possession of\nthe sloop, and were going to return her to her moorings,\" said the\ncaptain, smiling while he repeated the substance of Tom Topover's\nexplanation.\n\n\"I suppose you can believe either story you please, sir. I am willing to\ntell the truth; and we all confess that we were very much to blame,\nthough there was some excuse for our going on board of the Goldwing in\nthe first place; and I am sure we did not go to her with the intention\nof sailing in her,\" answered Ash, frankly and openly.\n\nCaptain Gildrock seemed to be moved by the narrative of the speaker. He\nglanced from one to another of the penitents till he had examined all\ntheir faces. He did not say that he was impressed in their favor; but\ntheir bearing certainly compared very favorably with that of the\noriginal gang, who were in the majority in the party captured by the\nSylph.\n\n\"I have been so much annoyed by these attempts to steal the boats of the\ninstitution, that I have decided to put a stop to them,\" continued the\nprincipal, after he had looked over the Burton party. \"I intended to\nprosecute all the offenders engaged in stealing the Goldwing, if I found\nI could make out a good case; and I am now investigating the matter.\"\n\n\"I hope you will not prosecute us, sir,\" interposed Ash, very humbly,\n\"for my father cannot very well afford to pay my fine.\"\n\n\"While I was inquiring about you, I heard about the fire which burned\nthe house in which the mother of one of the boys I have on board the\nSylph lived; and I was told at first that a little girl, this boy's\nsister, had been burned to death.\"\n\n\"Not so bad as that, sir,\" replied Ash.\n\n\"I have just been to see the foreman of the engine that went to the\nfire, and I have obtained all the facts from him,\" continued Captain\nGildrock. \"But I can't investigate the case here. If you can come on\nboard of the Sylph, where the six boys I found in the Goldwing are, I\nthink we can soon settle the matter so that I shall know what to do.\"\n\n\"We will go there at once, sir,\" replied Ash; and all the others\nassented. \"But here is the six dollars paid me for taking out the\nparties at the picnic.\"\n\n\"No matter about that now,\" added the principal, as he drove off.\n\n\"He did not say a word about what we did at the fire,\" said Hop\nCabright.\n\n\"He has just been to see the foreman of the engine, too,\" said Syl\nPeckman.\n\n\"I don't know that it had any thing to do with the Goldwing or the\nTopovers,\" said Sam Spottwood.\n\n\"Perhaps not, but we did a good piece of work; and, if we had not come\nalong just as we did, the little girl would have been burned to death,\nand the house destroyed,\" argued Hop, who seemed to think that the two\nevents of the day had some connection.\n\n\"Do you expect that putting out the fire at the Widow Sankland's will\natone for the wrong we did in taking the Goldwing for a sail?\" asked\nAsh, turning to Hop.\n\n\"Well, I think it will prove that we are not the worst fellows in the\nworld,\" replied Hop.\n\n\"Do you think if a fireman should kill a man, it would save him from\npunishment because he had saved a woman from being burned to death?\"\n\n\"I don't know that I think that, but I think he ought to have the credit\nof his good deed,\" answered Hop, stoutly.\n\n\"I don't believe it would save his neck from being stretched,\" persisted\nAsh, who was assuredly a very good fellow—when he was not led away by\nsome temptation like the desire to sail a boat. \"I don't believe that it\nwill make a particle of difference to Captain Gildrock that we put out\nthat fire, and saved the little girl. He is not a milk-and-water man.\"\n\nThis conversation was continued till they reached the grounds of the\nIndustrial School. The boys had been assured of the intention of the\nprincipal to prosecute if he could make out a good case. It appeared\nthat Tom Topover had invented some story which failed to explain the\nmanner in which they had first gone on board of the sloop.\n\nThey found the entire party which had been away in the yacht still on\nher deck. The ladies looked with interest upon the additional culprits,\nas they walked forward where the principal held court. Lily Bristol was\ntalking to Dory; and they were generally together on board, which caused\nher to spend the greater portion of her time in the pilot-house. She\nseemed to have a good deal of pity in her looks as she gazed at them.\n\nPaul Bristol received them when they came on board, as he had been\ninstructed to do, and conducted them to the forecastle, where they found\ntheir six companions in the cruise of the Goldwing, under the charge of\nthe relentless quartermaster, who figured so largely in the extreme\ndiscipline of the institution. Captain Gildrock had just returned from\nhis visit to the town, and had seated himself near the gangway.\n\nHe received the party from the point more kindly than they had expected,\nand immediately proceeded with the examination of the case. He called\nout Tom Topover, and said he wished him to repeat the explanation he had\nmade before, in the presence of those whom he charged with being the\nringleaders in the adventure. Tom grinned as though he was as innocent\nas a lamb on the hills, and went into his narrative without any\nhesitation.\n\nAccording to Tom's version, Ash Burton and the other five who had just\ncome on board had taken the boat, and were going out upon the lake in\nher. He and the rest of the party captured had been in the grove, when\nAsh brought the boat up to the wharf, and said they had permission from\nthe principal to use her, and finally persuaded them to join the\nexcursion.\n\n\"Persuaded you, did they? If they had permission to use the boat, how\ndid it happen that you needed any persuasion?\" asked the captain.\n\n\"We did not believe they got leave to take the boat. They coaxed us to\ngo with them, and were willing to take their oath that it was straight\nabout the boat. We gave in then,\" replied Tom. \"When we got to the\npoint, and found a picnic there, Ash Burton went ashore, and offered to\nlet the boat for two dollars an hour. The folks there took him up, and\nhe carried out three loads, and got six dollars for it.\"\n\n\"Then it was Ashley Burton who first proposed to take out the parties?\"\n\n\"Of course it was. He made all of us go on shore, and stay there three\nhours. Then we overheard one of them telling another, that they would\nleave us at the point, and go to Burlington, and spend the money. But I\ngot ahead of them,\" chuckled Tom. \"When Ash Burton went to dinner, I got\nmy fellows into the boat, and we started for home, to carry the boat\nback to you. That's the whole of it.\"\n\n\"I am glad it is,\" replied the captain, turning to the six from the\nshore. \"Now we will hear the other side of the story.\"\n\nAsh Burton related it, and the others were called upon to indorse the\nstatement if it was the truth; and they did so without any\nqualification. Their leader had related the simple truth, and had not\nput in any excuses for himself or his friends.\n\n\"That's all a lie!\" exclaimed Tom, looking as though he was shocked to\nhear so many falsehoods crowded into a short story.\n\n\"You say it was Ashley that first proposed to take out the parties,\nTopover?\" added the principal.\n\nTom persisted that it was, and the others backed him. Captain Gildrock\ncalled Paul Bristol, and by him sent an order to Dory to get the yacht\nunder way again. In a few minutes she was standing down Beechwater to\nthe outlet.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XI.\n\n                   COMPLIMENTARY TO THE PICNIC-PARTY.\n\n\nThe penitents had never been on board of the Sylph before; and, even in\nthe midst of the examination which was to decide what was to be done\nwith them for the misdemeanor of the forenoon, they enjoyed the motion\nof the yacht. Tom and his companions were prisoners on the forecastle;\nand, though nothing had been said to the penitents, they considered\nthemselves in the same condition. They had heard of Bates, who was the\nogre of the institution to bad boys; and there he was, acting as a\ndeck-hand.\n\nPaul Bristol attended to the stern-line, against which the steamer\nbacked to throw her head out from the wharf. Sometimes he had served as\nfireman; but a man was now employed for that service, and the engineer's\nson was a man-of-all-work. He had learned something about the engine, so\nthat he could attend to it for a short time; and Dory had instructed him\nin piloting, so that he could take the wheel when it was plain sailing.\n\nLily Bristol went to the pilot-house with the captain when he was\nordered to get under way. She wondered where they were going, but she\nhad taken little interest in the examination on the forecastle. Captain\nDornwood told her, with a pleasant smile, that it was not customary for\nofficers and seamen to ask questions in regard to the movements of the\nvessel: all they had to do was to obey the orders of their superior\nofficers. A soldier or a sailor who asked questions before he did what\nhe was directed to do, was good for nothing.\n\n\"But you are the captain of the steamer, Dory,\" said she, as the young\ngentleman politely ushered her into the pilot-house.\n\n\"When we have the ship's company on board, I am the captain; though even\nthen it is only a position in name, for I have to obey the orders of the\nowner,\" replied Dory. \"But, now that we are not in commission, not much\nattention is paid to rank; and sometimes when my uncle is at the wheel I\nact as deck-hand.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by being in commission, Dory? Have you any\ncommission?\" asked Lily.\n\n\"That's what my uncle calls it when we have the regular ship's company\non board. A ship in the navy, or a yacht, is said to be in commission\nwhen she has her officers and men on board, and is in condition for\ngoing to sea, or doing what is required of her.\"\n\n\"You don't go to sea; but you go to lake, just the same now as when you\nhave thirty or forty on duty,\" laughed Lily.\n\n\"But Captain Gildrock don't call us in commission when we use the\nsteamer with our present crew: that's all the difference there is. Three\npersons can handle the Sylph very well; and four is enough to work her\ncomfortably, though not when there are any meals to be served.\"\n\nJust then, as the steamer was standing across the little lake towards\nthe outlet, Paul Bristol appeared at the door of the pilot-house, with\nthe order of the principal to run to the point where the picnic was, and\nmake a landing at the wharf.\n\n\"To the point where the picnic is, and make a landing at the wharf,\"\nrepeated Captain Dornwood; and Paul touched his hat and retired,\npossibly thinking that his company was not wanted there.\n\n\"Didn't you hear him? What makes you say it over after him?\" asked Lily,\nas her brother was leaving.\n\n\"My uncle requires us to repeat all orders, so as to be sure that they\nare understood, as they do in the navy, where he served several years\nwhen he was a young man. We do every thing in navy fashion when we are\nin commission, and we keep up some of the forms even now,\" replied the\ncaptain.\n\n\"What are we going to the picnic for, I wonder,\" added Lily.\n\n\"I haven't the least idea. I have learned to conquer my curiosity, or at\nleast not to let it get the better of me,\" laughed Dory.\n\n\"But Captain Gildrock has all the boys now that were out in the\nGoldwing. What do you suppose he is going to do with them?\"\n\n\"I haven't the least idea. I should as soon think of asking the minister\nwhat he is going to preach about next Sunday, as of asking my uncle what\nhe is going to do.\"\n\n\"I should think he would tell you without asking.\"\n\n\"Sometimes he does, but not often; and when we are going to do any thing\non shore, or on board of the boats, the orders come as a surprise to\nus.\"\n\nAs the steamer approached the mouth of the river, Captain Gildrock came\non the hurricane deck, but he did not even look into the pilot-house. He\nbegan to walk up and down, and Lily watched him for a few minutes with\ninterest.\n\n\"He looks as though he had something in his head now,\" said Dory, as he\nobserved the thoughtful expression of his uncle.\n\n\"He must be thinking about those boys,\" suggested Lily.\n\n\"Very likely: they have been a great nuisance to us, for they have\nstolen the boats a great many times before (that is, the row-boats),\nwhen they have been left on shore.\"\n\n\"Do you know those boys?\"\n\n\"Some of them: we have had some dealings with the Topovers when they ran\naway with the barges. But there is a lot of new fellows among them now\nthat I hardly know by sight. Within a week I have heard my uncle drop\nsome few remarks about the bad boys of Genverres, as though he was\nthinking about them. This affair with the Goldwing is perhaps the text\nof his thoughts. But it will all come out, if there is any thing, very\nsoon.\"\n\nThe Sylph stood across the mouth of the bay, and made her landing at the\nrude wharf (and it was so rude, that Dory had to be very careful in\nhandling the yacht, or she would have stove it all to pieces). When it\nwas evident that she was going to stop there, the picknickers hurried to\nthe wharf to see her, for she was a great curiosity to people who did\nnot live near the lake. The present party were from twelve miles inland,\nand intended to drive back to their home by moonlight.\n\n\"Can we be permitted to go on board, and look at this steamer?\" asked\nthe gentleman who had employed Ash Burton to sail the party in the\nforenoon, as he hailed Captain Gildrock on the hurricane deck. \"Our\npeople have never seen such a steamer as this appears to be, and their\ncuriosity is excited.\"\n\n\"How many people have you?\" asked the principal.\n\n\"About eighty-five.\"\n\n\"We have room enough for the whole of them, then; and I shall be happy\nto have them take a little trip in her,\" added the captain.\n\n\"You are very kind, sir; and your invitation is very unexpected. We are\nvery glad to accept, especially as we do not start for home till eight\no'clock,\" replied Mr. Murdock, the manager of the party.\n\n\"I have a little business with you, sir; and, after your party are on\nboard, I should like to see you in the pilot-house.\"\n\n\"Business with me?\" exclaimed Mr. Murdock, greatly surprised.\n\n\"In regard to the boys who took some of your party out to sail,\" Captain\nGildrock explained.\n\nThe picnickers were delighted with the invitation, and accepted it with\nenthusiasm. They crowded on board so eagerly, that the principal\ninterfered to prevent them from breaking the wharf down with their\nweight. They were soon on board, and the order was given to Captain\nDornwood to back out from the pier.\n\nThe picnic-party had a band of music with them, and they enlivened the\noccasion with their music. The passengers satisfied their curiosity\nfirst, and the principal conducted Mr. Murdock all over the vessel. The\nexamination ended at the pilot-house, which both of them entered. To the\ninquiries made by Captain Gildrock, the gentleman gave him all the\ninformation he required. He had hailed the Goldwing as she was passing\nthe point; and the young man who was steering the boat objected, at\nfirst, to taking any passengers.\n\nAs the captain suspected, Tom's story was a tissue of lies, and that of\nAsh Burton and his companions seemed to be the simple truth. The\nprincipal explained that the sloop was used without permission of the\nowner, upon which Mr. Murdock assured him that he would not have\nemployed her if he had known the fact.\n\n\"The fellow they called Tom Topover is an unmitigated young scoundrel,\"\nhe added; \"while the one who sailed our parties behaved like a\ngentleman, and seemed to understand his business very well.\"\n\n\"I think I comprehend the case very well now, but I am very much\nembarrassed about it,\" added Captain Gildrock, whose brow was contracted\nwith the thought that he was giving to the subject. \"If Tom Topover and\nhis gang, who have robbed my fruit-trees till I built fences so high\nthat they could not get over them, were all of the culprits, I should\nprosecute them at once, though it would only compel their parents, who\nare poor people, to pay their fines. Ashley Burton and the rest of the\nboys who were left on shore at the picnic are better boys; and I cannot\nthink of taking them to the court, now that I have got at the facts.\"\n\n\"It is a difficult matter to manage,\" added Mr. Murdock.\n\n\"I cannot prosecute half the culprits, and let the other half escape;\nfor they are all equally guilty of the offence against the law. But\nBurton and his companions came to me, very penitent, with the money the\nboat had earned; while Tom and his companions lied till they were black\nin the face. As you say, it is a difficult case to manage. I shall have\nto find some other remedy for my grievances besides a court of justice.\"\n\nThe principal had learned all the facts he wished to know. Tom had lied\nto him; while Ash and his party had voluntarily told the whole truth,\nand manifested a genuine penitence. He was sure the latter would give\nhim no further trouble. The business settled, Captain Gildrock devoted\nhimself to the party on board, and made them as happy as he could. He\npointed out all the objects of interest on the lake, including Split\nRock, which finds a place in the guide-books. When he landed them at the\nwharf, they were profuse in their expressions of gratitude for the\npleasant trip he had given them.\n\nAt the wharf, Tom Topover and his companions attempted to escape by\ngetting into the crowd of picnickers as they were going on shore; but\nBates had been directed to take charge of them, and he had his eyes on\nthem. Tom found himself taken by the collar, and hurled to the deck. The\nothers retreated to the bow, where they had been ordered to remain. Tom\nTopover was as mad as a March hare when he rose to his feet. He began to\nindulge in some foul talk, when Bates collared him again and pitched him\ninto the bow. He showed some signs of resistance.\n\n\"Shut up!\" said Bates, in a low tone.\n\nTom looked at him. The old quartermaster was not the kind of person he\nliked to deal with, and he concluded to obey him. In fact, the bully did\nmost of his fighting with his tongue, and generally found a way to back\nout when it came to hard blows.\n\nThe party on shore gave three cheers for the steamer and her polite\nowner, the band played a parting strain, and the steamer whistled a\nreturn of the compliments paid to her as she departed for her wharf.\n\nCaptain Gildrock was still in deep thought. In fact, he had done a great\ndeal of heavy thinking over the very problem which now occupied his\nmind, during the entire summer. But he said nothing to any one, and Lily\nand Captain Dornwood chatted as merrily as ever in the pilot-house. When\nhe landed, the principal went to his library, attended by Ash and his\npenitent companions.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XII.\n\n                A NEW MISSION FOR THE BEECH-HILL SCHOOL.\n\n\nIt was within two weeks of the time for the opening of the Beech-Hill\nIndustrial School. Only one-half of the students for the coming year had\nbeen engaged, and this was the circumstance which had given the\nprincipal so much thought during the summer. It was not that there was a\nlack of applicants; for, while he could accept only sixteen in addition\nto the number which remained over, he had more than a hundred\napplications for admission.\n\nThe subject had almost elevated itself to a question of political\neconomy in the mind of the old shipmaster. He found that more than\none-half of his pupils in the past had been the sons of wealthy or\nwell-to-do people, who were abundantly able to pay for the tuition of\ntheir sons, including all the branches pursued in his school. He had\ncome to the conclusion that he could make a better use of his money than\nin educating the children of those who were able to pay for it. The\ninstitution was no longer an experiment, and the most important question\nwas in regard to those who should be selected to receive its benefits.\n\nCaptain Gildrock had come to feel that he ought to provide for those who\nwere not able to provide for themselves. He could render a greater\nservice to the community in which he lived, by fitting for usefulness\nthose who were neglected by their parents, or who could not be\ncontrolled by them, than by instructing those who needed no assistance.\nHe had demonstrated the problem he had undertaken to solve, and now he\nfelt that he ought to make the school as serviceable as possible to the\nState.\n\nWith this question in his mind he had looked over the list of\napplicants, with the description of each. Against nearly the whole of\nthe questions in the printed form of application, which related to the\nfinancial ability of the parents, it was written that they were wealthy,\nor that they were well off. With his new views of duty, he had been able\nto select only four whom he was willing to accept. He would not take\npupils at a price, and those who were able to pay for the education they\ndesired for their sons could establish such a school as that at Beech\nHill.\n\nThe taking of the Goldwing, and the capture of Tom Topover and his gang,\nintensified his reflections over the problem. If he could reform and\nreconstruct such bruisers, and make them capable of taking care of\nthemselves, as well as become useful members of society, he would render\na more acceptable service to the community than he could by instructing\nboys whose parents were able to pay their tuition-bills.\n\nThe event narrated in this story enabled him to come to a conclusion. He\nknew all about the Topovers. They had been a nuisance in the town for\nyears, and their parents could do nothing with them. They would not\nwork, though their parents needed the little they could earn. They were\nvery irregular at school when they pretended to go, and they had no\ncorrect views in regard to the rights of property. So far as he could\ninform himself, they had average ability, and were capable of being made\ninto decent men, to say the least.\n\nOf the original Topovers there were only four, though they had been\nrecruited by two more as rough as themselves. These were the six who had\nbeen captured in the Goldwing; and they were now on the forecastle, in\ncharge of Bates, while the six who had put out the fire were with the\ncaptain in his library. The principal had considered what effect the\nadmission to the school of such fellows as Tom Topover, Kidd Digfield,\nand the others would have upon the _morale_ and the discipline of the\ninstitution. If he could not reform them, he could keep them under a\nsharp discipline, and they would have little power to contaminate\nothers.\n\n\"Ashley Burton, I have finished my examination of this case; and I shall\nnot prosecute you, as I intended at first,\" said the principal, opening\nthe subject of the interview.\n\n\"Thank you, sir!\" exclaimed Sam Spottwood.\n\nThe others said as much as this, and they were certainly very grateful\nto the captain for his indulgence.\n\n\"I took out the picnic-party for the purpose of ascertaining the facts.\nThe gentleman in charge of the party spoke very well of you, and fully\nconfirmed the statement you made to me. I think you are sincerely\npenitent for the wrong you have done. If you had left the Goldwing at\nthe wharf when you went ashore first, I should have found no fault with\nyou for taking her, I should say that you had done just right; though it\nwas constructively and technically wrong for you to unmoor the boat,\neven if you had lost your dinner and your supper. I am not a close\nconstructionist.\"\n\n\"You are very kind, sir,\" added Sam, who was more demonstrative than the\nothers.\n\n\"I had started in my buggy to intercept you as you came home from the\npicnic. On my way, there was an alarm of fire; and I soon heard that the\nhouse of the Widow Sankland had been burned, and one of the children had\nlost its life. This was a mistake, for I met the engine returning from\nthe fire. I went to see Captain Linder, who is the foreman of the\ncompany; and he spoke in the highest terms of your conduct, and the good\njudgment you used in managing the fire. No doubt you saved the life of\nthe child, and the house from total destruction.\"\n\n\"Ash Burton was the leader, and told us what to do,\" interposed Sam\nSpottwood.\n\n\"You all did well, and you are worthy of praise. What you did at the\nfire is not an offset for the wrong you did on the lake; for a good deed\nwill not balance an evil one, though it may modify our judgment of the\nevil-doer. I have nothing more to say to you now, and I am confident you\nwill not again meddle with any property of the institution.\"\n\n\"We will not, sir,\" replied Ash, as he took the dozen half-dollars from\nhis pocket, and tendered them to the principal. \"These do not belong to\nme, or to any of us. They were earned with Dory's boat.\"\n\n\"The money certainly does not belong to you; and, obtained as it was, I\nam not willing that you should retain and enjoy it,\" replied the\nprincipal. \"We do not let the boats under any circumstances, and we do\nnot need any money they might earn. I have spoken to Dory about the\nmatter, and he left it entirely to me. I have decided what shall be done\nwith it. It shall be given to the Widow Sankland, who needs it more than\nyou or your parents, though they may not be very well off. You may carry\nthe money to her to-night, Ashley, if you are willing to do so.\"\n\n\"Perfectly willing, sir; and I will go as soon as I have had my supper,\"\nreplied Ash; and the party left the house with lighter hearts than they\nhad entered it, for the terrible fear of prosecution no longer\nconfronted them.\n\nCaptain Gildrock did not say a word in regard to the other culprits in\ntaking the sloop, and the Burton party wondered if the principal\nintended to bring them up before the court. Hop Cabright was sure that\nhe would not do so, for he would have served them all alike. Syl Peckman\nwas confident that he did not mean to let them off as he had their\nparty, for they had been captured on board of the sloop. Ash and Sam had\nno opinion, and said it was impossible to say what such a man as Captain\nGildrock would do, for he was different from all the other men in\nGenverres.\n\nThey went to their suppers; and all the questions asked them by their\nparents related to the fire, and the child they had saved. Nothing was\nsaid about the Goldwing, and probably nothing was known about the scrape\nfrom which they had so happily escaped.\n\nThey met after supper, and walked over to the house they had saved from\ndestruction. They found the Widow Sankland there with her two children.\nThe one who had been burned was on the bed; but she was quite\ncomfortable, for the doctor had prescribed the continuance of the cold\nwater, which was renewed every few minutes. The farmer and his wife had\nbeen there, and done what they could to make the house habitable after\nthe fire and water had done so much mischief.\n\nThe widow received the money which Ash presented to her, with many\nthanks. She had no money, for she had not received the pay for her day's\nwork. She said she was very poor indeed, and it was only with the\nhardest struggle that she earned enough to feed her children, to say\nnothing of clothing them.\n\nMrs. Sankland explained that her daughter had lighted the lamp to go\ndown cellar for some milk for the little one. She had dropped it on the\nfloor, and the fluid had taken fire, from which her dress had caught\nwhen she tried to put it out.\n\n\"Have you seen any thing of Pelham to-day?\" asked the widow. \"He must\nhave heard of the fire, and he ought to have come home. He could help a\ngood deal if he only would. He could take care of the children while I\nam at work, but he won't even do that.\"\n\nSam Spottwood told her that Pell had been captured with the other\nTopovers; and Ash added the rest of the story, that they had been in the\nscrape.\n\n\"Something must be done with him, for I cannot do any thing with him. He\nwon't mind me any more than if I wasn't his mother,\" said the widow,\nwiping the tears from her thin face.\n\n\"He will be at home soon, I should think,\" added Ash.\n\n\"It does not make much difference whether he comes or not: he does me no\ngood, and I have to feed him. I wish something might be done with him,\nfor he is a bad boy.\"\n\nThe boys departed much impressed by the confessions of the poor woman;\nand they wished they were rich, like Captain Gildrock, that they might\nhelp her. But Ash Burton was willing to go a point beyond wishing that\nhe was rich, and he decided to apply to some of the wealthy people of\nthe town for assistance in clothing and food for her. But the boys had\nnot gone ten rods from the house before they met the carriage of the\nrich man of the Beech-Hill estate. Dory and his mother were with the\ncaptain; and, as he stopped his horses in front of the cottage, Dory\ntook a large basket from the carriage. He carried it into the house, and\nthen returned to take care of the horses while his uncle and his mother\nwent in. They never heard of a case of distress within ten miles of\ntheir home without doing all they could to relieve it.\n\nMr. Sankland had been a laborer who worked on the farms in the vicinity.\nHe was not a thrifty man, and he drank too much whiskey for his\nreliability. He had died less than a year before, leaving nothing at\nall; though his wife had saved enough from her own earnings to bury him.\nWhen she could get work, she did tolerably well, especially washing that\nshe could take home with her. In summer there were people boarding in\nthe town, and at the farmhouses in the vicinity, who gave her their\nwork; but in winter it had been almost a starving time with her. In the\nspring an agency for a laundry had been established in the place, and\nMrs. Sankland lost most of her customers.\n\nMrs. Dornwood presented her with the contents of the basket, which\nconsisted mainly of meats and vegetables brought from the provision\nstore, and groceries from another establishment. The poor woman was glad\nto get these things, and she soon told the history of her miseries. She\nrepeated what she had said to the young firemen about her son, and it\nended in the captain's asking her if she was willing to put the boy in\nhis care. She was willing and glad to do so.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XIII.\n\n                     THE BEGINNING OF THE TROUBLE.\n\n\nCaptain Gildrock drew from his pocket a paper he had drawn up for the\nwidow to sign. He read it to her, explaining its meaning as he\nproceeded. It was a contract by which, in consideration of her son's\nboard, clothing, and tuition, she surrendered to the principal the\nentire charge of the boy for three years. Mrs. Sankland was entirely\nsatisfied with the document, and signed it without any hesitation.\n\n\"He shall be as well treated as the rest of the boys in the institution,\nbut he must obey orders; and he will have no time to roam about the\nstreets and fields,\" said the principal. \"It is necessary that he should\nbe subjected to strict discipline; and no violence will be used unless\nhe shows fight, or refuses to obey an order.\"\n\n\"He needs a good whipping more than any thing else,\" added his mother,\nas she wiped the tears from her eyes. \"He has done nothing for me; and I\ncannot afford to support a great fellow like him in idleness, when he\nwill not even take care of the children while I am at my work.\"\n\n\"I shall try to make a man of him, Mrs. Sankland; and, if no one\ninterferes with me, I think I shall succeed,\" added Captain Gildrock, as\nhe moved towards the door.\n\n\"There is no one on earth to interfere with you, sir, except me; and I\nam too glad to have him taken care of to meddle with any one who is so\nkind as to take care of him,\" replied the poor widow.\n\nThe principal and his sister returned to the carriage, and the captain\ndrove to the house of Tom Topover's father. He was a laboring man, who\nworked very hard to support a large family; and Tom was the oldest of\nthe children. But they lived in comfort and plenty compared with the\nWidow Sankland. Neither the father nor the mother was a person of much\nforce, though they got along very well in the world.\n\n\"I called to see you, Mr. Topover, in regard to your son Thomas,\" the\ncaptain began, when the introduction had been disposed of.\n\n\"He is a bad boy, Captain Gildrock; and I know that he has given you a\ndeal of trouble at one time and another,\" said the father, who felt that\nhe was very unfortunate in having such a son; though he closed his eyes\nto the fact that he had spoiled the boy by indulgence years before.\n\n\"I am afraid you are not far from right, Mr. Topover,\" replied the\ncaptain.\n\n\"What has he been doing now, sir? I am sorry he was not sent to the\nhouse of correction when he was taken up on the other side of the lake.\nHas he been troubling you again?\" asked the man.\n\nThe principal explained what Tom had been doing, relating the events of\nthe day in connection with the Goldwing.\n\n\"I am sorry for it, sir; but I can't do any thing with the boy. I have\ntalked with him, and I have thrashed him till I am tired of it. What can\nI do with him?\" asked the poor father, puzzled by the situation.\n\n\"I intended to prosecute the boys the next time they stole any of the\nboats,\" continued the principal.\n\n\"Do it, sir. I shall not object to any thing you do with my boy, for he\ndeserves the worst he is likely to get for his bad behavior,\" replied\nthe father.\n\n\"He will be condemned to a fine, and you will have to pay it,\" suggested\nCaptain Gildrock.\n\n\"I will not pay it! I have done that twice, and I shall not do it\nagain,\" protested Mr. Topover.\n\n\"Then he will stand committed till the fine is paid.\"\n\n\"So much the better!\" exclaimed the desperate parent. \"I have no money\nto waste on a boy who treats me as Tom does. He won't do a thing about\nthe house; and, when he is out late, he makes his mother get his supper\nfor him when he comes in. He is a bad boy, sir; and, if they keep him in\njail for six months, I will not say a word.\"\n\n\"He needs a little sharp discipline.\"\n\n\"That he does! He hasn't been near the house since morning, and we may\nnot see him to-night till nine or ten o'clock. Then he will want his\nsupper, and a piece of bread and butter and some pie will not be enough\nfor him. He makes such a row, that his mother has to cook something for\nhim, even if the fires are all out.\"\n\n\"He seems to be a perfect tyrant in the house,\" added the principal with\na smile, as he realized that the boy had been spoiled by his parents.\n\n\"That's just what he is. If he don't get what he wants, he makes such a\nrow that he wakes all the children, and we have trouble half the night.\"\n\n\"He will not come home to-night, unless you wish to have him do so,\"\nsaid Captain Gildrock, coming nearer to his point.\n\n\"I don't care if he never comes into the house again,\" protested Mr.\nTopover.\n\n\"You don't mean that, Richard,\" mildly interposed his wife. \"I wish the\nboy could be taken care of, but I don't want him to come to any harm.\"\n\nThe principal took a paper like that he had read at the Widow\nSankland's, adapted to the case of Tom Topover. He read it, after he had\nproposed that the vagrant boy should be admitted to the Beech-Hill\nIndustrial School. He explained its meaning fully.\n\n\"We shall make him obey orders, but we shall use him as well as he will\nallow us to do,\" continued Captain Gildrock. \"If both of you will sign\nthis paper, I will keep him at the institution until the term begins. He\nwill be fed, clothed, and instructed, and taught to work at some trade.\nI think we should make a machinist of him, for he seems to have a taste\nfor working with tools upon iron.\"\n\n\"But Tom won't agree to it,\" replied Mr. Topover.\n\n\"I haven't asked him to agree to it, and I don't intend to do any thing\nof the sort. You are his father, and his legal guardian: you can do any\nthing you please with him, so long as you don't abuse him,\" continued\nCaptain Gildrock, sharply; for he did not like the disposition to\ntemporize with a serious case.\n\n\"I should be very glad to have him go to your school, Captain Gildrock,\"\nadded the father.\n\n\"So should I, and I should be easy about him all the time if he were\nonly there,\" said Mrs. Topover.\n\n\"Then all you have to do is to sign this paper. His father's name would\nbe enough to stand the law, but I prefer to have his mother's also.\"\n\n\"When he comes home he will make a terrible row, and\"—\n\n\"He won't come home till he is in a frame of mind to be decent and\nrespectful to both of you,\" interposed the captain.\n\n\"I will sign the paper,\" said Mr. Topover, after some hesitation. \"I\ncan't do any thing with him; and, to tell the truth, Captain Gildrock, I\ndon't believe you can.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I can't: I don't know. I am willing to try; and I believe the\nboy can be saved, though he will need sharp discipline.\"\n\nBoth the father and the mother seemed to be afraid of the tyrant son,\nand this was the trouble with them. But they signed the paper after a\ngood deal of delay; though the principal did not urge them to do so, and\ntook no means to conceal the fact that the boy would be subjected to\nsevere discipline.\n\nThe captain left the house, promising to report to the parents upon the\nconduct of the son. In the same manner he visited the homes of Kidd\nDigfield and Nim Splugger. The father of the former was a blacksmith:\nand he had done his best to get his son into his shop to blow and strike\nfor him, but he had utterly failed. The boy would promise any thing, but\nhe did not keep his promises. He was much pleased with the idea of\nhaving his son admitted to the school, and signed the paper presented to\nhim, as did his wife, without any objection or hesitation.\n\nThe father of Nimrod Splugger was a German shoemaker, who had married a\nVermont woman. Both the father and mother seemed to be totally\nindifferent in regard to the welfare of the boy, and they were willing\nto sign any thing that relieved them from the burden of feeding and\nclothing him. The principal's business at the home of the German was\nsoon finished; and he drove back to the mansion, leaving two more cases\nto be disposed of in the morning.\n\nThe six captured young rascals had been left on board of the Sylph, in\ncharge of Mr. Bristol and Bates. After the party on board had taken\nsupper in the forward cabin, the young ruffians were marched in, and\nthey had satisfied their appetites with the good things set before them;\nand their imprisonment did not seem to impair their ability to eat and\ndrink.\n\nAfter the meal they had been taken back to the forecastle. Tom and the\nbolder of the vagrants growled, and threatened evil things to those who\ndetained them; but they made no attempt to escape, for they saw that it\nwould be useless. When the captain appeared, at about nine o'clock in\nthe evening, he called out Raglan Spinner and Benjamin Sinker, whose\nparents he had not been able to see for the want of time, and dismissed\nthem. They were not quite as enterprising as Tom and Kidd; but they were\nnot a whit better, and no more disposed to obey their parents.\n\nCaptain Gildrock made no explanations to the two he discharged, and the\nyoung ruffians concluded that they had fully atoned for their offence by\nthe imprisonment they had suffered. They were to take a different view\nof the matter the next day.\n\nThe principal went to the forecastle, where the four ruffians were to be\nseen under the awning, by the light of a lantern which hung over their\nheads. Neither of their custodians had said any thing to them, and did\nnot encourage any talk on their part. They asked questions about what\nwas to be done with them; but Bates did not know, and would not have\nanswered if he had known. When they saw the captain, they had worked\nthemselves up to the height of discontent. They were accustomed to have\ntheir own way; and any restraint was a burden to them, even if it\nsubjected them to no discomfort.\n\n\"I want to go home,\" growled Tom Topover as soon as he saw the\nprincipal. \"I'm not going to stay here all night.\"\n\n\"You will not stay here all night,\" answered Captain Gildrock, in his\nmild tones. \"Bates, you will take them to the dormitory, and give them\nfour rooms at the farther end on the left.\"\n\n\"On the left, sir; I understand,\" replied the old quartermaster.\n\nOn the outside of the windows of these rooms was an iron grating like\nthat used in banks to cover the operations of the cashier or teller.\nThey had been fitted up for those who were disposed to run away. Besides\nthe locks on the doors, there were crossbars across each of them,\nsecured by padlocks, so that they could not be removed.\n\n\"Mr. Bristol and I will assist you,\" added the captain, when he saw that\nfour of the young ruffians might be more than a handful for the old man,\nthough he was still strong and active.\n\n\"I want to go home,\" growled Tom again, when he found that no notice had\nbeen taken of his complaint.\n\n\"You will not go home, and you will come with me,\" continued the\nprincipal.\n\nThe trouble began then.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XIV.\n\n                    THE PRISONERS IN THE DORMITORY.\n\n\nCaptain Gildrock had already directed Dory and Paul to prepare the four\nrooms indicated for the reception of the new pupils. They were furnished\nwith good beds, and were far more luxurious than the rooms the ruffians\noccupied at home.\n\n\"I'm not going with you!\" yelled Tom angrily. \"I am going home, and you\nhaven't any right to keep me here!\"\n\nCaptain Gildrock did not wait to hear any more. He took Tom by the\ncollar with his right hand, while he grasped Nim Splugger with the\nother. Tom lay down upon the deck, and refused to move; but this made no\ndifference to the stalwart principal, who dragged him along as though he\nhad been nothing but a small parcel.\n\nNim Splugger always followed his leader, and he lay down also; but both\nof them were dragged to the forward gangway, where the principal dropped\nthem. Dory and Paul, having put the rooms in order, had come to the\nwharf. But the captain would not employ any pupil to assist in managing\nanother. Tom lay upon the deck, too obstinate to get up; and Nim pursued\nthe same policy.\n\nThe principal took a rope, and tied the hands of Tom behind him, and\nthen made him fast to a stanchion. Taking Nim by the collar, he led or\ndragged him to the dormitory, where he locked him into his room. The\nengineer and the deckhand did as much for Pell Sankland and Kidd\nDigfield. Each was crowded into a room by himself, and left to his own\nreflections.\n\nThey returned to the steamer to dispose of Tom. In spite of his\nstruggles, he was taken to his room. He fought, kicked, and tried to lie\ndown; but, in the hands of two men, he was utterly powerless. As soon as\nhe was in the apartment assigned to him, the principal removed the cord\nthat bound his hands behind him.\n\n\"This will be your room for the future,\" said Captain Gildrock, without\na particle of anger or indignation in his tones or his looks.\n\n\"I'm not going to stay here! I want to go home!\" protested Tom, so mad\nthat he could not help crying like a great baby.\n\n\"This is your home, and you will stay here,\" added the principal gently.\n\n\"I tell you I won't stay here! I don't belong to your school, and you\nhave no right to keep me here!\" howled the chief ruffian.\n\n\"Perhaps I have. I advise you to cool off, and take things calmly,\"\ncontinued the captain, as he took the papers which had been signed that\nevening from his pocket. \"I might prosecute you, and you would be\ncondemned to pay a heavy fine.\"\n\n\"My father would pay it: I would make him pay it.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, he will pay no more fines on your account.\"\n\n\"Yes, he will!\"\n\n\"More than that, he will not be called upon to pay any,\" replied Captain\nGildrock, selecting the agreement with Mr. Topover from the bundle. \"You\nare now a member of the Beech-Hill Industrial School, and you will be as\nwell used as your conduct will allow; but you will learn to obey\norders.\"\n\n\"I am not a member of the school, and I would not be!\" replied Tom. \"I\nnever joined, and I shall not join!\"\n\n\"Perhaps you would like to read this paper,\" added the captain, handing\nit to him.\n\nThe ruffian was scholar enough to make out the meaning of the document\nat once. He had cooled off to some extent, and the contents of the paper\nseemed to be a great surprise to him. He read it a second time, before\nhe raised his eyes from the writing.\n\n\"Did my father and mother sign that paper?\" asked he, as the principal\ntook the document from his hand before he had thought of tearing it up.\n\n\"You can see for yourself that they did,\" replied Captain Gildrock. \"You\nwon't obey them, and you are of no use to them, and have made them no\nend of trouble.\"\n\n\"I don't believe they signed it. They had no right to sign it without\nsaying any thing to me,\" blustered Tom.\n\n\"I think they had a perfect right to do so, and they have done it. The\npaper gives me entire control of you for the next three years, and you\nhave no power to escape it.\"\n\n\"But I won't stay here!\"\n\n\"I will see to that part of the agreement,\" added the captain, with a\nsmile.\n\n\"My father and mother will catch fits the next time I see them,\" moaned\nTom, beginning to realize the situation.\n\n\"I shall take care that you don't see them until you are in a proper\nframe of mind to do so.\"\n\n\"They have put me into this school for three years without saying a word\nto me!\" blubbered Tom, rising from his chair, and beginning to walk\nabout the room.\n\n\"It was not necessary to consult you. Your parents have the right to\ndispose of you as they think best, as long as they do not subject you to\nany abuse. They have placed you at this school; and you may depend upon\nit, that you will stay here, and that you will obey orders. If you\nbehave yourself like a reasonable being, you will enjoy yourself, and we\nshall make a man of you before we are done with you. You can go to bed\nwhen you are ready to do so.\"\n\nThe principal retired from the room, and Bates secured the door. It had\nhardly been closed before Tom began to kick against the wall of the\nadjoining room. Then he set up a hideous series of yells, that would\nhave done credit to the lungs of wild Indians. He upset the table, and\nthen began to smash the furniture. Crash after crash followed, until it\nwas evident that all the furniture was in process of destruction.\n\n\"Bates,\" called the principal, \"take all the furniture out of the brig.\"\n\nIn less than five minutes the old salt reported that he had obeyed the\norder, and he was directed to unfasten the door of Tom's room. The\noccupant was still smashing the furniture, and was engaged in tearing\nthe bedstead to pieces.\n\n\"Remove him to the brig, Bates,\" continued the principal, as mildly as\nthough Tom had been a mile from the dormitory.\n\nWhen the door opened, Tom was stupid enough to suppose that he had\ncarried his point by the racket he had made. He suspended his operations\non the bed, from which he had removed the mattress, and was taking out\nthe slats.\n\n\"Have you got enough of it?\" demanded he, furiously, as Bates entered\nthe room.\n\nThe quartermaster made no reply, but took the prisoner by the collar.\nTom pitched into him, and struck at him with his fists. Bates bore him\nto the floor, and then tied his hands behind him. Taking him by the arm,\nhe walked him to the other end of the hall. Tom had heard of the brig,\nin some of his talks with the boys of the school. It was lighted from\nthe outside, and its walls were as black as a cloudy night.\n\nThe old salt made no remark of any kind, but thrust his prisoner into\nthe apartment. He removed the cord with which he had bound him, and then\nclosed and fastened the door. The principal visited the rooms of each of\nthe ruffians, and gave them the same information he had imparted to\ntheir leader. If they were disposed to resist, they were more prudent\nthan Tom; and they appeared to accept the situation.\n\nThe brig to which Tom had been consigned was a strong room. The walls\nand ceiling were covered with spruce plank, and these were sheathed with\nsheet iron. The furniture was of iron, but this had been removed. The\ninterior had been painted black, and it was gloomy enough to answer for\na state-prison in the days of feudalism. The windows were strongly\nbarred with iron, and so was the aperture through which the room was\nlighted at night.\n\nTom Topover looked about him. There was no furniture to smash. He began\nto kick against the walls. He followed this with the most unearthly\nyells. Outside, no attention was paid these sounds, and the prisoner was\npermitted to wear himself out with his fruitless exertions.\n\nWhen the principal had informed the other three that they were members\nof the school, and that they would be well treated if they behaved well,\nhe went to his house. Bates was to sleep in the dormitory, where he had\na room for occasional use. Mr. Bristol went to his cottage. Tom\ncontinued to kick and pound upon the walls of his prison, till the\npatience of Bates was somewhat tried, for he wanted to go to sleep. Then\nthe old salt went up-stairs to his room; and, on the way, he\nextinguished the lamp which lighted the brig, and Tom was in total\ndarkness. Bates went to bed, and in spite of the racket went to sleep.\n\nFor a full hour longer, Tom kept up his demonstrations, until he had\ntired himself out; and then he ceased. He began to be sleepy, but there\nwas no bed in the room. He seemed to think, that, when he wanted any\nthing, some one would come to supply him with what he desired. He\nshouted with all his might, that he wanted to go to bed. But the\nquartermaster slept on till the sun rose the next morning. Tom slept a\nlittle on the hard iron floor, and he was but little rested in the\nmorning.\n\nBates turned out with the sun, and walked through the hall. He heard\nnothing, and he went about his customary duties. At seven o'clock,\nbreakfast was carried to the prisoners by the old sailor, who simply put\nthe trays on the tables, and retired without saying a word, refusing to\nanswer any questions. Tom was supplied through an opening in the wall,\nwhich was provided with an iron door. Tom wanted to know how long he was\nto stay in this hole, but Bates did not answer him.\n\nAfter breakfast, Captain Gildrock visited the homes of Ben Sinker and\nRag Spinner. Neither of them had been home that night, and their parents\nwere not a little worried about them. The principal informed them in\nregard to the events of the day before, and then proposed to admit them\nto his school. Both fathers and mothers were glad to have them admitted,\nand signed the papers without any hesitation.\n\n\"But I don't know where they are,\" said Mr. Sinker, who was a journeyman\ncarpenter. \"I will find my boy if I can, and bring him over to you.\"\n\nCaptain Gildrock had hardly reached his home, after transacting some\nbusiness in the town, before both the fathers of the truant ruffians\ncalled upon him. A man who had been fishing near the mouth of the river\nhad seen the boys come down in a boat with a man. On the lake the boat\nhad set her sail, and gone to the northward. They thought the boat\nbelonged in Burlington, and that the boys had gone there.\n\n\"You can go to your work, and I will find them,\" replied the principal.\n\n\"We have no work,\" said Mr. Sinker, speaking for himself and Mr.\nSpinner, who was also a journeyman carpenter.\n\n\"I am going to Burlington in the Sylph this forenoon; and, if you\nchoose, you can go in her.\"\n\nAbout ten o'clock, Captain Gildrock visited the dormitory. Bates\nreported that three of the boys had given him no trouble, and that Tom\nwas quiet since morning. The prisoners were taken from their rooms, and\nmarched to the steamer.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XV.\n\n                      FIRST LESSONS IN DISCIPLINE.\n\n\nCaptain Gildrock had business in Burlington; and it was more convenient\nfor him to go by the Sylph than by rail, as then he could return when he\npleased. Besides, the cool air of the lake was very enjoyable in the hot\nweather. It required at least three persons to manage her, which took\nthe greater part of the home force; and the principal did not care to\nleave the prisoners in the dormitory when so many of them were absent.\n\nHe expected to have a great deal of trouble with them; and he thought\nthat the sooner he brought them into a state of subjection, the better\nit would be for the new pupils, and the better for the school. When the\nfamily went with him, the cook, and one or two of the domestics, who\nenjoyed these excursions, were taken, and housekeeping was carried on\naboard the yacht.\n\nTom Topover had passed a very uncomfortable night in the brig, with\nnothing but a sheet-iron floor to sleep upon. When he was brought out of\nhis dungeon by Bates, who was the turnkey on such occasions, he looked a\ngood deal the worse for the wear. The other three had been more\nsensible, and had slept very well. The uniform of the steamer had been\ncarried into their rooms, and three of them had put it on; but Tom\nrefused to do so. They had all been supplied with a good breakfast; and,\ntaken separately, all but Tom were disposed to submit. They walked\nquietly to the yacht when Bates told them what they were to do. Tom did\nnot make any forcible resistance, but he was still stubborn and sullen.\n\nThe principal was on the forecastle when they arrived. He looked at\nthem, and saw that three of them had put on the uniform, which indicated\nthat they were in a better frame of mind. He spoke to these three, and\ntold them they were to be part of the ship's company, and would do duty\nas deck-hands. If they were willing and tractable, they would be treated\nas well as any students of the school. They said nothing, and the\nprincipal did not ask them to make any promises. He preferred to judge\nthem by what they did, rather than by what they said.\n\n\"I see that you have not yet put on the new uniform, Thomas Topover,\"\nsaid the principal, approaching the chief of the ruffians.\n\n\"I ain't going to put on any uniform!\" growled Tom in reply. \"I don't\nbelong to the school, and I ain't going to join it.\"\n\n\"If you want to knock your head against solid walls of stone and iron,\nyou will have the privilege of doing so until you are tired of it; for\nyou will not hurt the walls, and you will hurt your head—Bates,\" called\nthe captain.\n\nThe old salt presented himself; and the principal directed him to tie\nthe hands of Tom behind him, and confine him to a stanchion.\n\n\"I ain't going to be tied up any more!\" protested Tom.\n\nBut Bates proceeded to obey the order just as though he had said\nnothing. The prisoner had lost a great deal of the pluck he exhibited\nthe night before, and his opposition was very feeble. His three\ncompanions looked on while he was secured: they did not say he was a\nfool to kick when it did no good, but they thought so.\n\n\"When you are ready to put on your uniform, and act like a reasonable\nbeing, you will be released, and be allowed to join your companions,\"\nsaid the principal curtly.\n\n\"You haven't any right to tie me up in this way, and I won't stand it,\"\ngrumbled Tom.\n\n\"I will take care of that part of the business, and will settle the\nquestion of my right with any one who disputes it,\" added Captain\nGildrock. \"As long as you choose to be obstinate, and refuse to put on\nyour uniform, you will remain in your present condition. When you want\nto put on your uniform and do your duty, you have only to say so, and\nyou will be set at liberty, as your companions are.\"\n\nPerhaps these last words were said quite as much for the benefit of\nSpinner and Sinker, the fathers of the two missing boys, who had just\ncome on board. They saw three of the four prisoners on duty, for they\nwere sweeping up the deck. They hardly knew them in their new uniform.\n\n\"That's the right way to serve them,\" said Spinner to the principal. \"I\nhope you will make my boy mind, for I don't have time to look out for\nhim when I have work.\"\n\n\"The one thing required of the boys, above all others, is, that they\nshall obey orders,\" replied Captain Gildrock. \"If they do that, and try\nto discharge their duty, they will be all right here; for I give them\nplenty of recreation, and provide them with the means to be happy and\ncontented.\"\n\nThe steamer backed away from the wharf, and commenced her trip down\nBeechwater. Bates remained on the forecastle; and when he found that the\nthree boys were willing to obey, or that they did obey, whether they\nwere willing or not, he did not give them any hard work to do. He\nlimbered up his tongue, and began to explain their duties to them. In\nspite of themselves, they were interested.\n\nHe took them to all parts of the steamer, and pointed out the lines they\nwere to handle in making fast to a wharf. He showed them how the boats\nwere lowered into the water, and manned, and gave them all the\ninstruction they could digest. Kidd Digfield was not willing to confess\nit, but he found that he rather liked life on board of a steamer.\n\nWhen he had finished his lesson, the quartermaster went on deck to\nreport to Captain Gildrock, that the three boys were as tame as kittens,\nand he did not think there would be any trouble with them. The captain\nwas not at all confident that this would be the case, and asked Bates if\nhe had left them alone; suggesting that they might release Tom, and take\nto one of the boats, which he had instructed them how to put into the\nwater.\n\n\"I want Kidd Digfield and Nim Splugger to say a word or two to Tom, and\nI have given them a chance to do so,\" replied Bates. \"They will tell him\nthat he is a fool to resist.\"\n\n\"Perhaps they will,\" added the principal, with a smile.\n\n\"I know they will, and Tom will ask to put on the uniform in less than\nhalf an hour,\" persisted Bates.\n\nAnd he was right. The old man had had a great deal of experience, and\ncould form some idea of what the young ruffians were thinking about. He\nwent to the ladder, and looked down to the forecastle, without allowing\nthem to see him. As he supposed they would, they went to Tom as soon as\nthey saw that they were alone. But Tom had been the first to speak.\n\n\"You are the three biggest fools I ever saw!\" he muttered, as they\nwalked towards him. \"What did you cave in for? You are acting like so\nmany spring chickens.\"\n\n\"What would you have us do?\" asked Kidd, with a broad grin; for he felt\nthat he ought to apologize for his submission, when his chief had\nresisted to the utmost.\n\n\"If you would do as I do, they would soon get sick of it, and let us\ngo,\" replied Tom.\n\n\"It's no use to buck your head against a stone wall. You don't hurt the\nwall any, as the captain says; and you do hurt your head,\" replied Nim\nSplugger. \"We are going to take things easy till we have a good chance\nto do something, and then we are going to do it.\"\n\n\"That's the best way,\" added Kidd. \"They think we have given in, and\ntreat us very well.\"\n\n\"We had a good bed last night, and every thing was nice. If we had done\nas you did, we should have had to sleep on the floor,\" argued Nim.\n\n\"But I won't stand it.\"\n\n\"You can't help yourself, Tom.\"\n\nThe chief had begun to weaken. Even if he wanted to escape, the best way\nwas to do as his companions had done. When Bates had allowed them time\nenough to consider the matter, he came below. Tom at once asked him for\nthe uniform. He was released, and taken to a stateroom, from which he\nsoon came out dressed like his companions. His duties were explained to\nhim, and he listened in sullen silence.\n\nThe day was very pleasant, with scarcely any wind; and, when the Sylph\nhad passed Split Rock, Dory discovered a sailboat trying to get ahead in\nthe light breeze. With the glass, he discovered that it contained a man\nand two boys. Paul Bristol was doing duty as wheelman, and he was sent\nto the principal to report the fact.\n\nThe boat had scarcely a particle of wind, and had not yet made half the\ndistance to Burlington. The two boys, Rag Spinner and Ben Sinker, had\nbeen broiling in the hot sun all the forenoon; and they were willing\nenough to accept the invitation to go on board of the steamer, though\nwithout understanding the reason for the request. The man in the boat\nasked to be taken in tow; but Captain Gildrock ordered the Sylph to go\nahead, without heeding the request.\n\nRaglan Spinner was not a little astonished to find his father on board\nof the steamer, and Ben Sinker was hardly less surprised. At the next\nglance they saw their companions of the day before dressed in the\nuniform of the Industrial School, and this was a still greater surprise.\nThey began to see why they had been invited to go on board of the Sylph.\n\n\"So you were going to run away, Raglan, were you?\" said Mr. Spinner\nsternly, as he confronted his son. \"Why didn't you come home last\nnight?\"\n\n\"I didn't like to after the scrape we got into yesterday,\" pleaded Rag,\nwith a laugh; and it was apparent that he did not stand in awe of his\nfather.\n\n\"I have put you where I can find you when I want you,\" continued the\ncarpenter. \"You will spend the next three years in the care of Captain\nGildrock.\"\n\n\"All right: we shall have plenty of boating,\" replied the boy.\n\nThe two boys were immediately supplied with a uniform, and took their\nplaces with the other Topovers on the forecastle. Bates proceeded to go\nover his instructions for deck-hands again, for the benefit of the\nnew-comers.\n\nBefore they reached Burlington the principal shot a duck on the wing,\nand the bird dropped into the water. The steamer was stopped, and the\ncaptain gave the order for the port-quarter boat to be put into the\nwater, and the bird secured. Under the direction of Bates, the\ndeck-hands had an opportunity to apply the knowledge they had gained.\nThe original Topovers were ordered to the thwarts, and Bates acted as\ncoxswain. The bird was dead, and not likely to escape; so that the\nofficer in charge of the boat did not hurry himself. He took time to\ninstruct his pupils in pulling a man-of-war stroke; and, before they\nreached the duck, they did tolerably well, for they had learned to row\nbefore.\n\nWhen the steamer reached her destination, she did not go up to a wharf\nas usual; but the order was given to let go the anchor just outside of\nthe breakwater. The principal, with a smile, said it would be cooler\nhere than at the wharf, while those on board were waiting for him. The\nboat was dropped into the water again, and the same crew pulled the\ncaptain to the shore. While he was attending to the business of the\nbank, of which he was a director, Bates gave his pupils a lesson in\nmanaging the boat, and handling the oars. In an hour the principal was\nready to go on board, and the steamer returned to Genverres.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XVI.\n\n                     THE PUPILS FOR THE NEXT YEAR.\n\n\nAs soon as the fathers of the last two recruits to the school had been\nlanded, the Sylph went out to the lake again, and started on a long\ncruise, from which she did not return till after dark. The principal\nwent ashore at Plattsburgh, and the boys took some more lessons in\nrowing.\n\nAt dinner and supper on this day, the Topovers were seated with the\nfamily, and were not required to sit at a second table. On the return,\nKidd Digfield was sent to the pilot-house to take a lesson in steering,\nfor any of the deck-hands were liable to be called upon to act as\nwheelmen. The reprobate was not willing to confess that he was delighted\nwith this occupation, even though he had to act under the orders of Dory\nDornwood.\n\nHe soon got the hang of the wheel; and because he was interested in his\noccupation, in spite of his efforts to appear otherwise, he was an apt\nscholar. It was not a difficult thing to learn, as long as a course was\ngiven to him; and he soon felt quite at home at the wheel.\n\n\"I rather like this thing,\" said Kidd, when he joined his associates on\nthe lower deck. \"I have steered the steamer nearly all the way since we\nleft Plattsburgh.\"\n\n\"You are a traitor, Kidd Digfield!\" was the reply with which the chief\nTopover received this manifestation of pride on the part of one of his\nband. \"You will give us all away.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by traitor, Tom Topover?\" demanded Kidd.\n\n\"Do you think I would let Dory Dornwood boss me?\" growled Tom.\n\n\"He is the captain of the steamer; and I would rather have him boss me\nin the steamer, than have you do it in a sailboat, for he knows what he\nis about every time.\"\n\n\"All right! You have gone over to the enemy.\"\n\n\"What's the use to talk about bossing, Tom?\" interposed Nim Splugger.\n\"You want to be boss all the time; and, in a boat, you are ten times as\nrough with a fellow as Dory Dornwood. He is as polite as a\ndancing-master.\"\n\n\"Then you are going to leave me to fight this thing out alone?\" demanded\nTom, disgusted with the admissions of his friends. \"You don't catch me\nbending my knee to Dory Dornwood.\"\n\n\"He don't ask any fellow to bend his knee to him. He shows you how to do\na thing, and don't bully, like you do, Tom,\" added Kidd.\n\n\"If you think more of him than you do of me, you can throw me over,\"\nadded Tom, with a show of meekness. \"But I thought you were going to\nmake the best of it till we had a good chance to make a strike.\"\n\n\"I am making the best of it, and I am getting along first-rate,\" added\nKidd, as he turned upon his heel and walked away.\n\n\"When there is a chance to do any thing, you will find us there,\" added\nNim Splugger. \"But I think you are making a fool of yourself, by setting\nyour teeth even against things you like. I have had a first-rate time\nto-day, and we are living as well as we should at the hotel.\"\n\n\"And when you go on shore you will be locked into a room with iron bars\non the windows,\" sneered Tom.\n\n\"The room has a good bed, and every thing a fellow wants in it. The lock\nand the bars don't hurt me, but they will not be kept up a great while.\nI didn't expect to like it; but I do like it, and we are having plenty\nof fun every hour in the day.\"\n\n\"I don't want to cave in, but I like this thing as well as Kidd and\nNim,\" added Pell Sankland.\n\n\"It is vacation now, and we are doing nothing but play with this\nsteamer. What will you do when you are set down to your books, or made\nto shove a foreplane all the afternoon?\" asked Tom, with the curl of\ndisgust hanging about his lips still.\n\n\"What did we build the Thunderer for?\" demanded Nim sharply.\n\n\"For fun, of course. We shouldn't have done it if it had been hard\nwork.\"\n\n\"All the tools we had were a shingling-hatchet, a bucksaw, and a\nhalf-inch auger; and we worked for a week for the fun of it!\" exclaimed\nNim warmly. \"Do you think there will be any less fun in working three or\nfour hours in the afternoon with good tools, and machinery to help us?\"\n\n\"It's no use to talk with you, Nim Splugger. You have sold out,\" replied\nTom. \"You want to be under Dory Dornwood's thumb; and you may do it if\nyou like, I shall not.\"\n\n\"You will be under his thumb just as much as I am, whether you like it\nor not; and if you want to get licked into doing what you are told, like\na contrary horse, you can do it if you like,\" answered Nim, as he turned\non his heel, as his companion had done, and left the impracticable\nleader.\n\n\"Those fellows don't like to study their lessons any better than I do,\nand I guess they will have enough of it here,\" added Tom.\n\n\"We can all read, write, and cipher; and we don't have to study such\nthings as we did at the town-school,\" replied Pell Sankland.\n\n\"I am not going to stay in this school any longer than I can help. As\nsoon as I get a chance, I shall be among the missing, though all the\nrest of the fellows have deserted me,\" added Tom.\n\n\"I don't believe in kicking at nothing, Tom,\" argued Pell. \"It only\nwrenches a fellow's foot. We have all had a good time since we were\nraked in, and I don't believe in making a row as long as things go well\nwith us. You don't get such roast beef as we had for dinner to-day when\nyou are at home, nor such puddings and pies.\"\n\n\"The grub is good enough, but I would rather be free than to be well\nfed. I must have my liberty.\"\n\n\"We have liberty enough for me on board of this steamer,\" said Pell, as\nin turn he, too, turned on his heel, and left the chief to his own\nreflections.\n\nTom Topover was restored to the room in which he had first been placed;\nand he had a good bed, though he was locked in, and the iron bars\nconfronted him at the windows. As the recruits were not outwardly\nrefractory, they were taken to the table in the house, with the others\nof the principal's family; for he regarded his students as a part of his\nfamily, and treated them as such.\n\nEvery day during the week the Sylph was moving about the lake. In\nconformity with his new idea, the principal was notifying the parents of\nthe new pupils he had decided to accept for the term of the coming year.\nThey were all the sons of poor people, and some of them were quite as\nhard boys as Tom Topover. In fact, he had selected them because they\nwere not controllable by their parents and teachers. The Beech-Hill\nSchool was to assume the character, in part, of a reformatory\ninstitution.\n\nThe half of the school that remained over were in excellent discipline,\nand would give the principal no trouble. Three days before the term was\nto begin, there were still six vacancies in the roll, and the principal\nwas in doubt. Just at this time he received a visit from the six young\nfiremen, as he called them to distinguish them from the rest of the\nTopovers, with whom they had been associated. The principal was rather\nsurprised to see them. He had learned from his sister, that they had\nbeen actively employed in rendering assistance to the Widow Sankland\nsince the fire, not only in soliciting articles of clothing and food for\nthem, but in sawing and splitting her wood, and doing other chores about\nthe house. Two of them had even spent three days in taking care of the\nchildren when she was at work; for the fire, and the \"advertising\" it\nhad given her, had brought her a considerable increase of customers.\n\n\"Well, boys, what can I do for you this time?\" asked the principal, with\na pleasant smile; for he was very kindly disposed towards them since he\nhad heard of their good deeds.\n\n\"We are almost sorry that we were not captured with the rest of the\nTopovers, in the Goldwing,\" said Ash Burton, with a smile, to indicate\nthat he did not quite mean what he said.\n\n\"If you had been, perhaps I should have prosecuted the whole of you,\"\nreplied the captain, pleasantly. \"But I don't quite understand the force\nof your remark.\"\n\n\"Tom Topover and the rest of them have been rewarded for their part in\nthe affair by being admitted as pupils of the Beech-Hill Industrial\nSchool,\" continued Ash. \"If we had been caught in the boat, and stuck to\nthe lies Tom told, we might have been admitted also.\"\n\n\"Rewarded?\" exclaimed Captain Gildrock. \"They have been close prisoners\nsince they were admitted. They are locked into their rooms at night, and\nthe windows are protected with iron bars. Do you call that rewarding\nthem?\"\n\n\"I shouldn't care any thing about the barred windows if I could only be\nadmitted,\" said Sam Spottwood. \"I don't say that if stealing a boat is\nthe way to get in, we shall try to get in that way; but some other\nfellows might say so.\"\n\n\"But all four of the original Topovers fought with all their might\nagainst the discipline, till we brought them to terms; and I am sure\nthey do not consider their admission as a reward, but as a severe\npunishment, even worse than being brought up before a court.\"\n\n\"They have been in the school over a week, sir: do they still keep up\nthe fight?\" asked Ash.\n\n\"No: they have had enough of it, and are behaving very well,\" replied\nthe principal thoughtfully.\n\n\"We have talked the matter over among ourselves, and with our parents.\nWe all agree that the Topovers were lucky to get into the school, and we\nall wish we were in their shoes.\"\n\n\"Then I will admit you all,\" replied Captain Gildrock.\n\n\"Will you indeed, sir? We will not give you any trouble, and we won't\nrun away if you don't lock us up nights!\" exclaimed Sam.\n\nThe boys went home to inform their parents of the good news. They were\nall the children of parents who could not afford to pay their tuition in\nany school, whatever they might learn there; and, in this respect, they\nwere within the rule the principal had laid down for his guidance. He\nhad been thinking over this question of admission that day. He had\nalready decided to receive ten refractory boys, and he thought this\nwould be enough to enable him to try the question of reform.\n\nHe was not pleased with the statement that he had rewarded the Topovers\nby receiving them, and he was willing to do something to remove such a\nmistaken impression in the community. The ranks of both classes were\nfull now, and he had only to think of the actual work of the first term.\nBefore the end of the last week, the instructors arrived; and they were\nnot especially pleased when they learned the character of some of the\nnew scholars.\n\nThe principal explained his new idea to them, and they were willing to\nco-operate with him in carrying out his purpose. Mr. Brookbine, the\nmaster carpenter, was a disciplinarian himself; and he did not object to\nthe original Topovers, or to the hard boys from Whitehall, Plattsburgh,\nand Burlington. He was confident that he could make them work. If they\ndid not take kindly to the use of tools, he would set them to lugging\nlumber, or something of that sort, till they got over their sulkiness.\n\n\"As we used to say in the navy, we must keep every thing 'all taut,' and\nwe shall get along very well,\" said the principal.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XVII.\n\n                   TOM TOPOVER FINDS HIMSELF IGNORED.\n\n\nOn the first day of the new term, Captain Gildrock made his usual speech\nof welcome and explanation. Just one-half of the school were new\nscholars, and it took a week to get them properly classified. Nearly\none-third of the number were \"hard boys;\" though six of them had been\ndisciplined for two weeks, on board of the steamer. But the new pupils\nhad not learned their duties in the schoolroom.\n\nTom Topover had come to that part of the programme of the institution,\nwhere he expected to recover his lost prestige as a leader of his gang.\nStudy had always been an abomination to him; and he supposed it was to\nhis companions, the original Topovers. For himself, he refused to make\nany effort to apply himself; and, when called upon for a recitation, he\nwas entirely unprepared. He thought he could get the better of his\nteachers and the principal in this department.\n\nMr. Darlingby sent him to his room to learn his lesson when he failed.\nTom laughed in his sleeve, at this sort of discipline. He stretched\nhimself on the bed, and went to sleep. At dinner-time his meal consisted\nof nothing but bread and butter, and cold water. Tom did not touch it;\nfor he was disgusted with such food, after the good living he had so\ngreatly enjoyed since he came to the school.\n\nKidd Digfield and the others did the best they could with their lessons,\nand were subjected to no discipline on account of them. They had been to\nthe grammar school, and were fair scholars in the ordinary branches. No\ndifficult tasks were assigned to them, and they passed the forenoon with\ninfinitely better satisfaction to themselves than they had expected.\n\nIn the afternoon, when the students were assembled in the shops, they\nall felt more at home. They were provided with tools, all in good order,\nand required to make a box two feet long, a foot wide, and eight inches\ndeep. This was the work of all the new boys; and the use of the tools\nwas explained to them, precisely as it had been to all the classes who\nhad preceded them.\n\nAll of them, wherever they came from, took kindly to this lesson. It was\na new thing to most of them, even to those who had some little skill in\ntinkering. Kidd Digfield declared at night, when the shopwork was\nfinished, that he had had a first-rate time. In fact, he and his\ncompanions, with the exception of Tom, were fairly reconstructed. It was\nnothing but fun to make a box, with such excellent tools as they were\nprovided with; and they laughed when they thought of the bungling work\nthey had done on the Thunderer.\n\nAfter supper, there was still an hour and a half of daylight, and the\nbarges were manned with their new crews. One of them was assigned to the\nnew pupils for the first lessons, and Dory Dornwood was to act as\ncoxswain. But Captain Gildrock was in the Marian, with a crew of five of\nthe old boys; and he kept near enough to quell a rebellion if one should\nbreak out. But this was fun for the boys; and they were instructed\naccording to the man-of-war rules, rather than those of the sporting\nfraternity.\n\nTom Topover, from the grated window of his chamber, saw his companions\nin the boats, and wished he were with them. It had not occurred to him\nthat he was to be deprived of his air and exercise, and be kept in his\nroom after the closing of the study-hours. He realized now, that he was\nto be kept a prisoner in his room, on bread and water, until he learned\nhis lesson.\n\nHe had some mechanical taste; and he had looked forward, with something\nlike pleasure, to the time when he should be required to handle the\ntools in the shop. Enough had been said among the boys in regard to this\npart of their daily duties to inspire his ambition, and he expected to\ndistinguish himself in this department. On Saturday the ship's company\nof the Sylph was to be organized, as it had been in the two preceding\nyears; but the lessons came first.\n\nThe supper of the prisoner was the same as his dinner had been. He was\nso faint, that he ate his allowance, and drank the glass of water that\ncame with the food; but he did it with a rebellious soul. In the evening\nhe heard the voices of his companions about the dormitory. The excited\nspeech and the noisy laugh in the adjoining rooms, as his late\nassociates talked over the experiences of the day, indicated that they\nwere all happy. But no one went near him after he had eaten his supper.\nAs he listened to the sounds which came to him, he heard his friends say\nthat the bars had been removed from the windows of their rooms sometime\nduring the day.\n\nIn fact, Tom's three cronies were on precisely the same footing now as\neven the older pupils of the school. They were not locked into their\nrooms that night; for they had accepted the situation, and were doing\nall that was required of them in a cheerful spirit. In the boat, Dory\nDornwood had instructed them in the use of the oars; but he had done it\nso pleasantly and politely, that they could not find a word of fault\nwith him.\n\nIt was plain to Tom, that his friends had surrendered without\nconditions; though they still said they were acting only from motives of\npolicy. It was no use, they continued to say, to buck their heads\nagainst a stone wall. It was easier to do their duty than it was to\nrebel, and take the consequences.\n\nAt about dark the rebellious chief heard the voices of his cronies in\nthe next room, which was Kidd Digfield's. The discipline had been\nrelaxed in their favor, for they had not before been allowed to visit\none another's rooms. They did not talk about him: he had not heard his\nname mentioned by them. He felt very lonely, and very much hurt by the\nwant of loyalty to him on their part. He rapped several times on the\nwall. It was more to see if they would notice his signal than for any\nother reason.\n\nKidd knocked on the wall, in reply to the call. Tom asked him to come to\nthe door, and speak to him through the keyhole. Kidd replied that he\ncould not do it, they were forbidden to have any communication with him.\nThis he said loud enough to be heard by the prisoner. He did not care\nwho else heard him, though he suspected that Bates could not be far off.\n\nThe answer roused the anger of the bully, and he began to use some\nstrong language. Nim Splugger advised Kidd not to make any reply. This\nincreased Tom's wrath; and he called them traitors, so that his voice\ncould be heard half the length of the hall. Then, in his anger, he\nresorted to kicking against the wall again. This soon brought Bates. The\ndoor was unlocked; and, without a word of any kind, the old salt\ncollared him, and marched him to the brig. The furniture had not been\nrestored to its place, and he was left alone in the iron-bound cell.\n\nTo Tom Topover, the most galling feature of the discipline was in the\nfact that no notice had been taken of him. Even his companions would\nhave no intercourse with him. He was shut up in the brig, and as fully\nignored as though he had been dead and buried. But he had decided not to\nstudy his lessons, and he could not give up. He spent a miserable night\nin the gloom of the dark prison. His breakfast was brought to him in the\nmorning, but it was the same as his dinner and his supper the day\nbefore. Without a word of explanation, he was conducted back to his\nchamber, and locked into it. The book he had brought from the schoolroom\nwas there.\n\nAll he had to do in order to end his term of imprisonment, was to learn\nthe lesson assigned to him. The book was a simple treatise on natural\nphilosophy. He was not required to commit any thing to memory, only to\nread over the first half-dozen pages. It was simply a question of will.\nHe had refused even to look into the book. No one came near him during\nthe forenoon, and he hardly heard a sound. His slices of bread and\nbutter, and his glass of water, came to him at noon.\n\n\"How long have I got to stand this thing?\" asked Tom, in a tone of utter\ndisgust, when Bates put his dinner on the table.\n\nThe old man made no reply to him, and would not even look at him. He\nwould not come again till supper-time; and Tom saw that he must back\ndown then, or there would be no chance to do so before night. But he had\nnot the moral courage to say he would learn his lesson. When the door\nwas locked upon him, he picked up the book; but, before he had looked\ninto it, he began to cry, though he was a great fellow of fifteen. It\ntook him an hour to get over this feeling of depression, and then he\nlooked into the book. He began to read the lesson which had been\nassigned to him.\n\nIt was simple reading, and about matters within his comprehension.\nBefore he realized that he was actually engaged in learning the lesson\nassigned to him, he was interested in the subject. It had been chosen\nfor this reason,—that he could hardly help enjoying what he read. He\nfound a solace in the book during the afternoon; and, when his supper\nwas brought to him, he informed Bates that he had learned his lesson.\nThe old man did not say a word, even to hint that he heard him; but, in\na few minutes, Mr. Darlingby appeared. He had nothing to say on the\nquestion of discipline, but took the book at once, and proceeded to\nexamine Tom on the first pages. The rebellious pupil was well posted in\nevery thing he had read, and had studied far beyond the task assigned to\nhim.\n\nAll the instructor did when he had finished the recitation, was to\ninform him that he was at liberty to leave his room. He made no remarks,\ndid not preach to him, or even point a moral from the events of his\nimprisonment. Tom went out of the room, and descended the stairs. The\nstudents were just coming out of the mansion after their supper, and\nthey were hurrying to the boat-house. Tom showed himself among them; but\nnot one of them manifested any surprise at seeing him, or said a word to\nhim about his conduct.\n\nAll this was very strange. He hastened to Kidd Digfield when he saw him\ncoming, and was thinking how he should explain to his crony the fact\nthat he had given in. He had yielded, and that was a thing he was not in\nthe habit of doing; and he felt that some apology was necessary to atone\nfor his wickedness.\n\n\"We are going to row in the Gildrock,\" said Kidd, as soon as he saw his\ndefeated chief. \"There is a place for you in the boat, Tom.\"\n\n\"All right: I shouldn't mind taking a turn at the oars,\" replied Tom, as\nthey were joined by Nim and Pell.\n\n\"You are No. 11, next to the stroke oar,\" added Nim.\n\n\"I am No. 2,\" added Pell, as if he was simply recalling the locality of\nhis place in the barge.\n\nNot a word about his imprisonment, not a hint in relation to their\nopinion of his conduct. Tom thought it was very strange. He was allowed\nto take his place in the ranks of the students, and no one seemed to\nknow that he had been standing out against orders. The same state of\nthings had bothered delinquents in years before, and they could not\nexplain it. Others could, if they had been disposed to do so.\n\nThe principal had requested all the pupils not to allude to any matters\nof discipline to offenders. If one had been punished, they were not to\ntalk about the matter, and not to inform the delinquent that they even\nknew of the fact. To the reformed Topovers, it seemed more like a good\njoke on Tom not to notice what had happened; and they took pleasure in\ncomplying with the principal's request. He had made quite a speech in\nregard to this matter. Tom's vanity had no standing-room. Nobody seemed\nto care whether he had been punished or not.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XVIII.\n\n                   NAUTICAL INSTRUCTION ON THE WHARF.\n\n\nThe first two weeks of the term were devoted to giving the new students\na proper start in their studies, and in the work of the shop. At the\nsame time they learned to pull an oar, and to handle a rowboat. At the\nend of that time the crew of the Winooski could pull a very fair stroke,\nand were tolerably obedient to the orders of the coxswain. A Whitehall\nfellow undertook to have his own way at one time, and the boat went to\nthe shore at once. In five minutes more he was locked up in his room.\n\nThe next day, after he had backed down, and resumed his place in the\nschoolroom, he took his oar again. No one appeared to know that he had\ndisobeyed orders; no one said anything; he received no sympathy, and was\nsubjected to no condemnation, among his associates. He had a good chance\nto turn over a new leaf if he was disposed to do so. The very fact that\nhe was ignored, proved that his fellow-students were in full sympathy\nwith the principal.\n\nThe students were simply requested to ignore any offender, and they\ncould disregard the request if they were desirous of doing so. If there\nwas any real or fancied grievance among the pupils, of course they would\ndisregard it; but just now all was serene, and even the bad boys were\ndelighted with the routine of the institution. The early lessons were\ngiven out with a view to interest them. In the shop, they were set to\nmaking something,—a box at first,—which could not help amusing them.\n\nOn the first Saturday of the term the ship's company of the Sylph were\norganized. Dory Dornwood was captain again; though only for the first\nmonth, while the new scholars were broken in. It was understood that\nOscar Chester was to take his place from the first of October. The\nprincipal offices were filled by the old students, who were qualified to\ninstruct their subordinates. The recruits were scattered about: some\nwere firemen, some were stewards, and most of them were deck-hands.\n\nThe day was devoted to exercising the students in their new duties. Of\ncourse, there was considerable friction in places, but not so much as\nthe principal had expected. As long as the boys tried to do their duty,\ntheir short-comings and their failures were overlooked. If one refused\nto obey an order, he was shut up in a storeroom; and excellent\ndiscipline prevailed on the second Saturday, when the practice was\nrepeated.\n\nOn the following Monday afternoon, all hands were ordered to the\nboat-house after dinner, in place of going to the shops. The Lily, which\nthe students had built in the earlier part of the year, had been brought\nalongside of the wharf by Bates and Mr. Bristol. The work of rigging the\nboat was to be begun at this time. On the wharf lay the two masts of the\nschooner, which had been made in Burlington, and brought down a few days\nbefore. There were several other sticks on the wharf, whose use most of\nthe students did not understand. Lying on the top of the masts were a\ngreat number of small pieces of rope; and old Bates was as busy as a\nbee, with a lot of things which were incomprehensible to even the old\nstudents.\n\nThe principal was the instructor on the present occasion; for, of the\nsubjects to be treated, the other teachers were as ignorant as the\npupils. The boys were requested to seat themselves on the spars and\ntimbers. Captain Gildrock picked out one of the pieces of rope about\nthree feet long, from the pile, and then mounted a box where he could be\nseen by all hands; and several of the teachers were present.\n\n\"The next business in order is to rig the boat we have built,\" he began.\n\"It is not a very complicated matter to rig a fore-and-aft schooner.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\" asked Sax Coburg, one of the hard fellows from\nBurlington, though he was interested in rigging the boat.\n\n\"I will tell you in a moment, when I have spoken of the general plan of\nproceeding while we are rigging the boat,\" replied the principal, who\nencouraged the pupils in asking sensible questions. \"It is a\ncomparatively simple matter to rig a schooner; but, in connection with\nit, I shall endeavor to have you learn something of the rig of other\nkinds of vessels. Those of you who live on Lake Champlain never see any\nsailing craft on its waters, except schooners and sloops. Now, may I ask\nsome student to tell me what a ship is, as he understands it?\"\n\nMost of the boys thought they knew all about it, and raised their hands\nto indicate that they wished to speak, as they had been instructed to\ndo.\n\n\"Bark Duxbury,\" said the principal, calling upon one of the old boys of\nthe school.\n\n\"A vessel with three masts,\" replied the student called.\n\n\"Is that the entire definition?\"\n\n\"It is all the definition I know,\" replied Bark.\n\n\"What do you say, Leo Pownall?\"\n\n\"A vessel with three masts and square-rigged,\" answered Leo.\n\n\"What's square-rigged?\" interposed Jack Dumper.\n\n\"Raise your hand if you wish to ask a question; but no question should\nbe put in the midst of one subject, which relates to another, till a fit\ntime comes to do so,\" said the principal. \"Leo Pownall is nearer right\nthan Bark was, but the definition is not accurate. I dare say you could\nall give an opinion, and I should like to hear you all on the subject if\nI had more time. A ship is a vessel with three masts, square-rigged on\nthe fore, main, and mizzen masts. You cannot correctly define a ship in\nless words.\"\n\nAt this point Jack Dumper raised his hand again, and the principal\nindicated that he would hear him. He said he did not know what a ship\nwas, for the reason that he did not know what square-rigged meant. This\ntime Captain Gildrock approved the question, and nodded to Mr. Jepson,\nwho planted a large easel on a box near the one on which the principal\nstood. He placed on it a great pile of large papers; and, of course, the\nattention of the pupils was strongly attracted to what was coming.\n\n\"The eye must help the ear in this lesson,\" said the principal, as he\nturned over the paper on the top of the pile. It was a picture of a ship\nunder full sail. \"This is a full-rigged ship,\" said he.\n\nWhen the students had looked at it a minute or two, he selected another\npaper, and placed it on the easel so that it could be seen by all.\n\n\"This is a fore-and-aft schooner. What difference do you notice between\nthe two vessels?\" he asked.\n\n\"The ship is square-rigged, and the schooner is not,\" replied Fred\nGrafton, when the captain pointed to him.\n\n\"Right: one has yards, and the other has not;\" and half a dozen hands\nwere raised, before the words were fairly out of his mouth. \"What are\nyards? is the question you wish to ask,\" continued the principal, as he\nexhibited the picture of the ship again. \"The sticks across the masts\nare yards; and the sails are hung down from them, like the banner of the\nengine-company on parade. A schooner of this kind,\" added the principal,\nas he presented the schooner again, \"has no yards on her masts.\"\n\n\"I see it!\" exclaimed Jack Dumper, with enthusiasm.\n\n\"I am glad you do; but you need not take the trouble to mention it,\"\nadded Captain Gildrock, with a smile. \"Now, your eye has taught you the\ndifference between a full-rigged ship and a fore-and-aft schooner. One\nhas yards, and the other has no yards. Here is another vessel with three\nmasts.\"\n\nThe picture was displayed on the easel, and a few of the boys put up\ntheir hands to indicate that they knew what to call her.\n\n\"What is it, Pinkler?\"\n\n\"A bark.\"\n\n\"Why a bark?\"\n\n\"Because she is not square-rigged on her hind-mast,\" replied Archie\nPinkler.\n\n\"Hind-mast is rather rough to a nautical ear,\" said the principal, \"but\nyou are right. Fore, main, and mizzen mast are the proper names; and you\nhad better begin now to use these terms. I heard a young lady singing\nthe other day, 'My bark is on the wave!' Did she mean this kind of a\nvessel?\"\n\nSome of the older students laughed, and some were puzzled. The question\nlooked as though there was a catch under it, and they were shy about\nanswering it.\n\n\"We read in the Good Book, about those 'who go down to the sea in\nships.' Does it mean square-rigged on the fore, main, and mizzen masts?\nWe find in the New Testament frequent allusions to the ships on the Lake\nof Galilee. Were these square-rigged vessels?\"\n\n\"They were nothing but boats,\" replied Tucker Prince, when his name was\ncalled. \"The word ship and bark are used, in a general sense, to mean\nany kind of a vessel.\"\n\n\"That is entirely correct, Prince.—How many fingers have you, Kidder\nDigfield?\" asked the principal.\n\n\"Eight, sir,\" replied the ex-Topover, with a grin.\n\n\"I have ten, and I am apparently more fortunate than you are; but I use\nthe word fingers in a general sense. When you come down to particulars,\nyou say, very properly, that you have eight fingers.\"\n\n\"I don't think thumbs are fingers,\" added Kidd, when the principal\nnodded to him.\n\n\"All right: you have a perfect right to your own opinion. How many toes\nhave you?\"\n\n\"Ten.\"\n\n\"But two of them are big toes. Why not say that you have eight toes and\ntwo big toes?\" added the captain. \"Now you know what a ship is, and that\nthe word is used, in a general sense, to mean any kind of vessel. We\nspeak of the ship's company, in general terms, on board of a craft of\nany size. The ocean and coast steamers are called ships, and some of the\nformer have four masts. A few sailing-ships, like the Great Republic,\nhave been rigged with four masts.\"\n\n\"What do they call the after-mast when there are four?\" asked Dick\nShort.\n\n\"The usage differs somewhat: some call it the jigger-mast, and those of\nmore dignity call it the after-mizzen-mast. In a vessel with two masts,\nthe terms are main and mizzen mast. I have shown you a ship and a bark;\nwhat is this?\" asked the captain, as he displayed another picture.\n\n\"A brig,\" replied Con Bunker; though none spoke unless they were called\nupon.\n\n\"Right; and what is a brig, properly defined?\"\n\n\"A vessel with two masts, square-rigged on both,\" replied Hop Cabright.\n\n\"What is this?\" and the principal showed another drawing.\n\nSuch a craft had never been seen on the lake; and only Matt Randolph,\nand a few others from New York and Boston, could answer.\n\n\"It is a three-masted schooner,\" answered Tucker Prince. \"Her masts have\nthe same names as those of a ship.\"\n\n\"And she is a fore-and-after,\" added Captain Gildrock.\n\nThe next picture was a puzzle to all except Matt Randolph.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XIX.\n\n                     THE DIFFERENT RIGS OF VESSELS.\n\n\n\"Well, Randolph, you seem to be the only one who can give the name of a\nvessel with this rig,\" said Captain Gildrock, calling upon the\nNew-Yorker.\n\n\"She is a barkentine,\" replied Matt. \"The rig is new, and the name has\nnot yet got into the dictionary.\"\n\n\"And I hope it will not get there as you pronounce it, and as the\nnewspapers usually spell it,\" added the principal. \"The word\n'brigantine' is spelled with an a; and there is no reason why it should\nnot be a bark_a_ntine, rather than a bark_e_ntine.\"\n\n\"But 'bark' was formerly 'barque,'\" suggested Matt.\n\n\"If she were a barquentine, that would be another thing. Some people\nstill insist upon writing a bank 'cheque;' but there are a score of\nwords that might as well be spelled the same way, if the fashion had not\nchanged.—I suppose you have seen four-masted schooners, Matt?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, a few of them; though they are not very common,\" replied the\nNew-Yorker.\n\n\"Many of these three-masted schooners are three times as big as a\nfull-rigged ship used to be in old times; and I mean within my\nrecollection. They were first used as coalers, vessels which had to work\nup Delaware Bay and River; and these schooners could be kept closer to\nthe wind in beating.—What is this?\" asked the captain, as he changed the\npicture.\n\n\"A brigantine,\" replied Lon Dorset when called.\n\n\"I think not,\" added the principal.\n\n\"I have heard of a vessel like that, rigged like a ship forward, and\nlike a schooner aft, called a brigantine,\" persisted Lon.\n\n\"So have I; but this is an hermaphrodite brig, though she is sometimes\ncalled a brig simply, for short,\" added Captain Gildrock.\n\n\"What is a brigantine, then?\" asked Lon.\n\n\"It is a rig you seldom, if ever, see in a sailing vessel in these days;\nthough it is sometimes applied to steamers.\"\n\n\"It is called a small brig, in the dictionary,\" said Lon.\n\n\"Some of the dictionaries are not correct on nautical matters. I should\nsay that a brigantine was a fore-and-main-topsail schooner; that is, a\nvessel with two masts, fore and aft sails below, and with a topsail and\ntopgallant-sail on each mast. A full-rigged vessel carries a royal above\nthese, and may have a skysail also.\"\n\n\"What is a moon-raker?\" asked Thad Glovering with a laugh.\n\n\"That is a fancy sail, a term applied to a sail set above the skysail.\nThere is another distinction between a full-rigged mast and that of a\nschooner. The former is provided with a top, which is wanting in the\nlatter. A brig has a top on each mast, while a schooner or a brigantine\nhas none. A top is a kind of platform, on which several men may stand,\nin large vessels, over which the futtock shrouds pass,\" continued the\nprincipal, as he pointed it out on the foremast of the vessel in the\npicture.—\"What is this?\" he asked, displaying another drawing.\n\n\"A topsail schooner,\" answered Bent Fillwing.\n\n\"She is sometimes called a fore-topsail schooner, but the expression is\nredundant, since there is no such craft as a main-topsail schooner. She\ncarries a topsail and topgallant-sail on her foremast.\"\n\n\"She would be a brigantine if she had the same rig on her mainmast,\nwithout any tops,\" added Matt Randolph.\n\n\"There is only one other craft which we shall notice,\" continued the\nprincipal, changing the drawing. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"A sloop,\" replied Nat Long. \"We have plenty of them on Lake Champlain.\"\n\n\"This is the simplest rig of all. But sloops, especially in yachts, vary\na great deal. This is the rig of the English cutter, in the main; though\nsome of them have a couple of yards on the mast, as you never see it in\nan ordinary sloop. As I have said before, there are many variations in\nall these rigs. Some vessels are provided with sails which others of the\nsame rig do not have. The fashions change also. A ship now is quite a\ndifferent thing from what it was forty years ago. The study is to work a\nvessel with the fewest men that can handle her; for, the less the\nnumber, the smaller the expense, and the more profitable the vessel is\nto her owners.\n\n\"For example, mercantile ships, as distinguished from naval vessels,\nhave a different rig from what they had twenty-five years ago. Instead\nof one large topsail, they have two sails, called the upper and lower\ntopsails, with an extra yard. It saves handling the larger sail, and\navoids much of the difficult and dangerous work of reefing in heavy\nweather. But you do not see this rig in the navy. Men-of-war are always\nheavily manned, and they have force enough to handle any sail. Now we\nwill turn to the business of rigging this schooner. It is better for you\nto learn the names and the uses of things as you proceed with the work,\nrather than attempt to get at them in a lesson.\n\n\"Nautical terms look very formidable to shore-people; and so they are,\nin fact, though not so much so as people generally imagine. There is a\ncertain system about naming the various spars and pieces of rigging,\nwhich simplifies the whole subject. In a ship, the three words 'fore,'\n'main,' and 'mizzen' distinguish the fore and aft position of every\nthing. For the elevation we have the word simply; then with the addition\nof top, topgallant, and royal, we fix the position above the deck.\n\n\"To indicate the side to which a part belongs, we say weather and lee if\nthe vessel is under way, or starboard and port if she is at rest. The\nweather-maintop-gallantbrace covers the whole matter. If you know what a\nbrace is, you can describe any similar piece of rigging in the ship.\nTo-morrow afternoon, when some drawings I am having made are done, I\nshall explain the rigging of a ship.\n\n\"I might talk all the afternoon about the rigging of even a fore-and-aft\nschooner, but I am afraid it would only perplex you. There are at least\nthirty different kinds of blocks, each with its proper name, indicating\nits position or use.\"\n\n\"What is a block?\" asked Sax Coburg.\n\n\"It is a kind of pulley,\" replied the principal, picking one up from the\npile on the wharf. \"It consists of a shell, which is the wooden frame,\nthe sheave or wheel, the pin, or axis on which the wheel turns, and the\nstrap, which is the rope or iron by which it is secured to some other\nbody. The sides of a shell, which usually round outward, are called the\ncheeks. That's all we need say about blocks till we come to use them in\nsetting up the rigging.\"\n\n\"The two round sticks, squared at the top, are the masts. Are they of\nthe same length?\"\n\n\"These seem to be,\" replied Luke Bennington, \"but the mainmast is\ngenerally longer than the foremast.\"\n\n\"These are of the same length. This afternoon we will put them in their\nplaces. The first thing to do is to rig the shears. Do you know what\nthey are?\"\n\n\"Something to cut with—a pair of scissors,\" replied a shore-boy.\n\n\"Not exactly, though it is rigged something like a pair of shears. It is\na kind of derrick, used for hoisting heavy weights.\"\n\nBates had been at work for some time on a couple of the long round\nsticks on the wharf, and had lashed them together at a point about three\nfeet from the smaller ends. The students were required to carry this\nmachine to the deck of the Lily; and, after guy-lines had been attached\nto it, it was raised in the forward part of the deck. A purchase-block\nhad been attached to the lashing, and a single block to one of the arms\nof the shears above.\n\nA noose was then slipped on the mast just above the centre of gravity,\nto which the purchase-block was hooked. A couple of lines were fastened\nto the top of the spar, so that it could be swayed in any direction\ndesired.\n\n\"Now we need a snatch-block,\" said the principal; and Bates immediately\nbrought one from the pile on the wharf. \"What is a block for?\"\n\n\"To increase the effect of the power applied,\" answered Leo Pownall, who\nhad been called upon as one who would be likely to know.\n\n\"Is that so?\" asked the principal, looking around among the students.\n\n\"No, sir,\" replied one indicated. \"The power is gained only with movable\nblocks.\"\n\n\"It takes ten pounds to balance the same weight by a line passed over a\nsingle fixed pulley, or through a block,\" continued the principal. \"You\ngain nothing except at the expense of time. If you pull one rope down a\nfoot, the other is raised only a foot. With a movable pulley, you have\nto pull down two feet to raise the weight one foot. With one pound of\npower, you raise two pounds of weight. Now, if there are two pounds of\nweight, and you exert only one pound of power, what becomes of the other\npound?\"\n\n\"It is supported by the fixed end of the line.\"\n\n\"In the purchase-block attached to the mast, we must exert a power equal\nto one-half of the weight of the mast, the other half being supported by\nthe shears. Bates has made fast the snatch-block in the deck, but we\ngain nothing in power by its use. What is it for then?\"\n\nA dozen hands were raised, but most of the boys were studying the\nproblem. The principal waited until one of these appeared to have made\nup his mind.\n\n\"Without the snatch-block we could only pull on the up-and-down rope,\nand not more than three or four of us could get hold of it for the want\nof room to stand near it,\" replied the student indicated.\n\n\"That's the idea exactly,\" replied the principal.\n\n\"Forty of us could get hold of the rope while it is run out from the\nsnatch-block, parallel with the deck,\" added the thoughtful boy.\n\n\"Precisely so; well answered. Then the snatch-block only enables us to\nchange the direction in which the power may be applied. In unloading\nvessels, they often use a horse to hoist the cargo. The animal could not\npull straight down on the rope, but the snatch-block enables him to draw\nthe rope parallel with the top of the wharf. I think you will remember\nwhat a snatch-block is, and what it is for. Now man the line.\"\n\nThe students took hold of the line, and walked away with it. The mast\nrose in the air, and hands were then placed at the guy-lines to keep it\nin place. When the lower end of the mast was above the deck, Bates took\nthe girt-line attached to the shear-head, and drew the mast into\nposition. Two of the students were sent into the hold to direct the\ntenon into its step, which is the mortice above the keelson.\n\nThe mast was lowered slowly into its place, the square tenon adjusting\nitself in its place as it belonged, so that there was nothing more to be\ndone, except to wedge it in at the mast-hold in the deck.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XX.\n\n                THE SPARS, SAILS, AND RIGGING OF A SHIP.\n\n\nBefore night the two masts of the Lily were in their places, and wedged\nup so that they would stand alone. After supper there was another lesson\nin rowing given to the new scholars, and they crossed the lake for the\nfirst time.\n\nAfter the recitations the next day, the students were called to the\nschoolroom after dinner; and they found on the wall several nautical\ndrawings. The first was a full-rigged ship, \"The Queen of the West,\" a\nlarge merchant-vessel. It was drawn in outline, and was so plain that\nall its parts could be easily seen. The principal stepped upon the\nplatform in front of this drawing, with the pointer in his hand.\n\n\"I am going to give you a general idea of the rigging of a ship,\" said\nhe, when the attention of the school was directed to him. \"To obtain all\nthe details, nothing but practice will suffice. Only a small portion of\nthe rigging of a ship is delineated in this drawing. A sailor has to be\nso familiar with every part, that he can find any rope in the darkest\nnight, when he cannot see his hand before him.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nA FULL-RIGGED SHIP.\n\n1. Bowsprit.\n\n2. Jib-boom.\n\n3. Flying Jib-boom.\n\n4. Flying Jib.\n\n5. Jib.\n\n6. Fore-topmast-stays.\n\n7. Fore-stays.\n\n8. Jib Martingales.\n\n9. Flying-jib Martingales.\n\n10. Martingale.\n\n11. Foremast.\n\n12. Fore Yard and Sail.\n\n13. Fore-topmast.\n\n14. Fore-topsail Yard and Sail.\n\n15. Fore-topgallant-mast.\n\n16. Fore-topgallant Yard and Sail.\n\n17. Fore-royal-mast.\n\n18. Fore-royal Yard and Sail.\n\n19. Fore-lift.\n\n20. Fore-braces.\n\n21. Fore-topsail-braces.\n\n22. Fore-topgallant-braces.\n\n23. Fore-royal-braces.\n\n24. Fore-topgallant-stay.\n\n25. Main-skysail-stay.\n\n26. Main-royal-stay.\n\n27. Main-topgallant-stay.\n\n28. Main-topmast-stays.\n\n29. Main-stays.\n\n30. Fore-spencer-gaff.\n\n31. Fore-topmast-backstays.\n\n32. Fore-topgallant-backstays.\n\n33. Fore-royalmast-backstays.\n\n34. Fore-rigging.\n\n35. Fore-topmast-rigging.\n\n36. Fore-topgallant-rigging.\n\n37. Bobstays.\n\n38. Bowsprit Shrouds.\n\n39. Slings Foreyard.\n\n40. Fore-skysail-stay.\n\n41. Main Yard and Sail.\n\n42. Main-topsail Yard and Sail.\n\n43. Main-topgallant Yard and Sail.\n\n44. Main-royal Yard and Sail.\n\n45. Main-skysail-mast.\n\n46. Burgee, or Private Signal.\n\n47. Main-royal-mast.\n\n48. Main-royal-brace.\n\n49. Main-topgallant-mast.\n\n50. Main-topgallant-brace.\n\n51. Main-topmast.\n\n52. Main-topsail-brace.\n\n53. Main-lifts.\n\n54. Main-brace.\n\n55. Main-rigging.\n\n56. Main-topmast-backstays.\n\n57. Main-topgallant-backstays.\n\n58. Main-royal-backstays.\n\n59. Main-spencer-gaff.\n\n60. Mizzen-stay.\n\n61. Mizzen-topmast-stay.\n\n62. Mizzen-topgallant-braces.\n\n63. Mizzen-royal-stay.\n\n64. Mizzen Yard and Sail.\n\n65. Mizzen-topsail Yard and Sail.\n\n66. Mizzen-topgallant Yard and Sail.\n\n67. Mizzen-royal and Sail.\n\n68. Mizzen-skysail-mast.\n\n69. Mizzen-royal-mast.\n\n70. Mizzen-topgallant-mast.\n\n71. Mizzen-topsail.\n\n72. Mizzen-lifts.\n\n73. Mizzen-topsail-braces.\n\n74. Mizzen-topgallant-stay.\n\n75. Spanker-gaff.\n\n76. Spanker-boom.\n\n77. Spanker-sheets.\n\n78. American Ensign.\n\n\"You have already learned the names of the three masts, and you can\nrecognize them at a glance. The bowsprit was built into the Lily, and\nyou know it in this ship (1).\"\n\n\"But there are three sticks in the bowsprit of this ship, when the Lily\nhas only one,\" suggested Benton Fillwing.\n\n\"We could add two more to the Lily if it were advisable. If we added\none, it would be the jib-boom (2), which is the middle piece in the\npicture. The third spar is the flying jib-boom (3). The vertical piece\nof wood on the end of the bowsprit, through which the jib-boom passes,\nis called the cap. The stick which points down from the cap (10) is the\nmartingale, or dolphin-striker.\"\n\n\"The sails on the bowsprit are the jibs, are they not?\" asked a student\nwho wanted to make a point.\n\n\"There are two of them; but we will let the sails rest until we have\ndisposed of the spars,\" replied the principal. \"Now we will return to\nthe masts. You perceive that there are three of them; but they are not\nalways separate sticks, the two upper ones generally being in one piece.\nThe three lower ones are called simply the masts, and sometimes the\nlower masts when it is necessary to distinguish them more particularly.\nThe three names I have given you—fore, main, and mizzen—are applied to\nthem, as to all the other masts above them.\n\n\"The next mast above is the topmast (13); then comes the topgallant-mast\n(15); above which is the royal-mast (17). The mast above this is the\nskysail-mast (45), when there is one. Now I shall point to the different\nmasts, and you will give me the names of them,\" continued Captain\nGildrock, as he placed his pointer on one of them.\n\n\"Main-topmast,\" promptly replied the scholar indicated (51).\n\nThe principal moved his pointer.\n\n\"Mizzen-royal-mast\" (69).\n\nAnother was pointed out.\n\n\"Fore-topmast\" (13).\n\nThe principal continued this exercise some time longer, until every\nstudent could name any mast of the fifteen in the picture. They were\nwilling, then, to agree with the principal, that the system removed all\ncomplications and difficulty; and some of them were quite proud to know\nso much about a ship.\n\n\"There are a few other spars to be remembered,\" continued the captain,\nas he fixed his pointer again. \"This is the aftermost sail of the ship;\nand it is called the spanker, though it occupies the place of the\nmainsail in a schooner or sloop. The stick at the bottom of it is the\nspanker-boom (76); the one at the top of it is the spanker-gaff (75).\nThere is also a gaff on the mainmast (59), and another on the foremast\n(30), called spencer-gaffs, with the keywords 'fore' and 'main.'\n\n\"At the point where the lower masts join with the topmasts are tops, to\nthe outer edges of which the topmast rigging is set up. At the head of\nthe topmasts are the cross-trees, to which the topgallant rigging is\nsecured. The round piece of wood at the tip of each royal or skysail\nmast is the truck, in which holes are made for the passage of signal\nhalyards, used in hoisting the burgee or other signal-flags.\"\n\nThe principal proceeded to review the students by pointing out the spars\nexplained. There was hardly one of them who made a mistake, for they had\nall got hold of the system.\n\n\"Now we will examine some of the rigging of this ship. The same\nprinciple is applied to the ropes as to the spars,\" continued the\nprincipal, pointing to the fore-rigging of the vessel. \"Here are six\nvery large ropes leading from the top down to the side of the ship. In\ndetail, these are the shrouds; but the whole is called the fore-rigging,\nwhich may be designated by its side also, as the starboard or the\nweather fore-rigging (34). Across these ropes are drawn smaller ones,\nwhich land-people call rope ladders, but which sailors call ratlines.\nBut they don't say they go up the ratlines, any more than that they go\nup the rope ladders. They ascend the fore-rigging. You see a couple of\nround things at the lower end of each rope. They are dead-eyes; each\nhaving three holes in it by which the shroud is hauled taut, or\ntightened when it gets loose. Under these are broad pieces of plank,\nbolted edgewise to the side of the ship, to sway out the shrouds. The\nlower dead-eyes are attached to iron bands, running down to the side,\nand bolted through the timbers, called chains. The planks, or platforms,\nare channels. The men who sound are sent out on the channels, and are\nsaid to stand in the chains.\n\n\"The three shrouds extending from the tops to the cross-trees are\nthe topmast rigging, with the keyword before it (35). Above, you\nhave the topgallant rigging. Behind each mast are ropes leading down\nto the channels, all of which are called backstays, as the\nfore-topmast-backstay (31), the topgallant-backstay, (32). Of\ncourse, these stays may have the name of the side, weather or lee,\nport or starboard.\n\n\"Beginning at the bowsprit, you see a multitude of ropes leading to the\nforemast, and from one mast to another. These are all called by the\ngeneral name of stays. The lower one on the bowsprit (7) is the\nforestay, and leads to the top of the foremast. The next one goes to the\nfore-topmast-head, and is therefore called the fore-topmast-stay (6).\nThe next two, on which the jibs run, are simply jibstays. From near the\nend of the flying jib-boom are the fore-topgallant-stay (24), and the\nfore-royal-stay, (40).\n\n\"The stays between the masts take the names of spars _from_ which they\nlead forward. The mainstay (29) comes from the head of the mainmast.\nThere are a great many of these ropes; but, by observing the rule, you\ncan readily call them by name.\"\n\nThe principal used his pointer for a time, in testing the knowledge of\nthe students; and only through carelessness could they make any mistake.\n\n\"Now we come to the sails, but I think you must already know them by\napplying what you have learned. Only two jibs are set in this drawing,\nthe jib (5) and the flying jib (4). There is one furled, which runs on\nthe fore-topmast-stay (6), which is the same as the jib in shape, and is\ncalled the fore-topmast-staysail. Outside of these three head-sails,—a\nfourth called the outer jib, and even a fifth the jib o' jib,—these\nnames are differently used.\n\n\"The three lower square-sails are called from the names of the mast, the\nfore, main, and mizzen sails. Together, they are called the courses; and\nsometimes any one of them may be called the fore-course or the\nmain-course, but not often. Formerly, and now among old sailors, the\nlower yard of the mizzen-mast did not follow the system, but was called\nthe cross-jack-yard, and they pronounced it _crogic_. No sail was bent\nto this yard in old times.—Now, what is this?\" asked the captain,\npointing to the next sail on the foremast.\n\n\"The fore-topsail\" (14).\n\n\"This?\"\n\n\"The main-topgallant-sail (43),\" replied Matt Randolph, clipping the\nwords in sailor fashion.\n\nThe captain pointed again.\n\n\"The mizzen-royal\" (67).\n\nThis exercise was continued until the students were entirely at home\nwith the sails. Then the principal pointed to the end of the\nspanker-gaff.\n\n\"This corner of the spanker is called the peak, as it is in any\nfore-and-aft square-sail. The flag is called the ensign, and the lines\nby which it is set are the signal halyards. The rope with a block in the\nmiddle of it is the weather-spanker vang, the lee-vang is on the other\nside, and they are used to hold the gaff in place. You observe a rope\nleading from the mizzen-cross-trees to the spanker-gaff, and from that\nto the mizzen-mast-head, and back and forth again. This is the\nspanker-halyards, by which this sail is hoisted. This word applies to\nall ropes by which sails are hoisted, whether attached to a spar, or to\nthe canvas direct. Now, with what would you hoist the flying jib?\"\n\n\"With the flying-jib halyards,\" replied Dick Short.\n\n\"When the topsails are set, the yards are hoisted up by halyards. Now, I\nthink we are done with this drawing, and we will take another,\"\ncontinued the principal; and he removed it, and pointed to a new one.\n\"This is a picture of the fore-topsail of a ship, with all the rigging\nthat belongs to it, as well as the two yards by means of which it is\nset. What is the upper yard called?\"\n\n\"The fore-topsail-yard,\" answered Fred Grafton.\n\n\"On this yard are the jackstays, which was a rope hauled taut, in old\ntimes, and secured to the wood. But in modern times the jackstays are\nmade of wood or iron. However they are made, the sail is secured to the\nyard by them. You perceive that the yard is held to the fore-topmast by\na band of iron over the mast, so that the cross-spar may slip easily up\nand down. The halyards are forward of the mast, and pass over a sheave\nin the head of a topmast. The yard is hoisted by men standing on the\ndeck. The two ropes which run from the mast to the ends of the yard are\nthe lifts by which one end may be raised and the other lowered, which is\ntermed cock-billing the yard. The lines that run down to the middle of\nthe sail are the bunt-lines, and are used to haul up to the yard the\nbunt, or body, of the sail, when it is clewed up. The double lines that\nextend from the middle of the yard down to the corners of the sail are\nthe clew-lines, and are employed in hauling up the corners, or clews, of\nthe topsail. The ropes or chains, as may be, which lead from the corners\nof the topsail to the end of the topsail-yard below are the sheets.\n\n\"Nautical language is very exacting on some of these points. For\nexample, we clew up a topsail, but we haul up a course. The clew-lines\nof a topsail become clew-garnets when applied to a course.\n\n\"The blocks at the end of the topsail-yard are for the braces to pass\nthrough. These are the ropes by which the yards are set at the proper\nangle to take the wind. They lead to different parts of the vessel, as\nconvenience requires. At the extreme end of the yard is the jewel-block,\nthrough which the halyard of the studding-sail passes. Across the sail\nare three pieces of canvas, called reef-bands, to strengthen the sail\nwhere the reef-points are placed. By the reef-tackle the leech of the\nsail is drawn up to the yard, and the points tied over the top of the\nsail. But that will do for to-day.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXI.\n\n                  THE RIGGING AND SAILS OF A SCHOONER.\n\n\n\"You did not tell us what studding-sails are,\" said Ash Burton, who had\nbeen deeply interested in the explanations given. \"You said the halyard\nof the studding-sail passed through the jewel-block, and that was all.\"\n\n\"I have nothing to illustrate the subject with,\" replied the principal.\n\"On some of the yards there are extra spars, which can be run out, thus\nincreasing the length of the yard. On these are set the studding-sails.\nThe extra spars are called studding-sail booms.\"\n\nCaptain Gildrock took the chalk, and made a rough drawing of the sails\ndescribed, so that the pupils could get an idea of them. The students\nwere then dismissed, and after supper pulled the barges over to Sandy\nPoint, where some of them wanted to hear about the removal of Mr.\nBristol's cottage from this place to its present location. After the\nlessons of the forenoon the next day, the work of rigging the boat was\ncontinued.\n\nBut, before the students went to the wharf, they were assembled in the\nschoolroom, where a diagram of a schooner was presented to them. The rig\nwas very simple; for she was not to be fitted out as a racing craft,\nthough some of the \"kites\" used were described.\n\n\"The rope, which is sometimes of wire, which passes from the end of the\nbowsprit to the mast-head is the jibstay, which, in our craft, does duty\nas the forestay. The bobstay leads from the end of the bowsprit on the\nunder side, to the cutwater, to assist in bearing the strain of the\njibstay. In a craft of this size it is not necessary to have\nbowsprit-shrouds and other headgear used in a large vessel. The bobstay\nis enough.\n\n\"We shall put two shrouds on each side of each mast. They have to be set\nup taut, and they will keep the jibstay tight. The rope passing from the\nhead of the foremast to the head of the mainmast is the spring-stay,\nwhich ties the two masts together, and equalizes the strain upon all the\nrigging.\"\n\n\"A schooner has no tops; but we use a short stick placed across the\nmast to stay the topmast, sometimes two of them, like the cross-trees\nof a ship. A single backstay on each side of the topmast is enough to\nsustain it. From the topmast-head we have a stay, which is the\nfore-topmast-stay. This is really all the standing-rigging there will\nbe on board the Lily.\"\n\n\"We have not had that term before,\" suggested Sam Spottwood.\n\n\"The two terms 'standing' and 'running' rigging explain themselves,\"\nreplied the principal. \"The former is that which is immovable, except\nwith the vessel: the latter is that by which the sails are set and\ntrimmed, and the various movements of all kinds are effected.\n\n\"The other spars of the schooner will be the gaffs and booms, two of\neach kind, which take their names from the masts to which they are\nattached. Sometimes there is no boom to the foresail, in which case it\nis called the lug-foresail. The rope from the mainmast-head to the end\nof the boom, to support its weight when the sail is not set, is called\nthe topping-lift.\n\n\"Now we are ready to look at the sails, and the rigging necessary to\nwork them,\" continued the principal, as he pointed to the outlines of\nthe sails on the drawing. \"The jib is a three-cornered sail, while the\nfore and main sails are more nearly square. There are certain names of\nthe parts of the sails which you must learn. The head of the sails is\nthe part attached to the gaffs, while the foot is fastened to the boom.\nThe leach, as a general term, is the outside of the sail. The outer, or\nafter, leach of the mainsail is therefore that part of the sail which\nreaches from the after end of the gaff to the same part of the boom. The\ninner leach is next to the mast. This is also called the luff.\n\n\"The corners of the sails are called the clews; and you remember that\nthe clewlines of a topsail were to hoist up the corners of the sail. The\nafter corner of the sail at the foot, is also called the tack. On the\ncorners of the courses of a ship, there are ropes for holding the sail\nin position, which change their names. When the ship is on the wind, the\nforward one is the tack, and the after one the sheet. When the ship goes\nabout, these ropes change their names, to conform to the general system;\nwhich is, that a sheet is the after rope by which the sail is held when\nfull.\n\n\"The jib has the same parts as the other sails, though of course it has\nonly three clews; and the same is true of a gaff-topsail. Now, what do\nyou call the line by which we hoist the jib?\"\n\n\"The jib-halyards,\" replied Chick Penny, who had got the idea of the\nsystem very clearly in his mind.\n\n\"The word 'halyards' applies to all sails. What is the rope with which\nthe foresail is hoisted?\"\n\n\"The fore-halyards,\" answered Con Bunker.\n\n\"And so on. Coming back to the jib, what is the rope attached to the\nlower corner?\"\n\n\"The jib-sheet,\" said Syl Peckman.\n\n\"Sometimes, especially in small craft where the sheet leads aft to the\nstanding-room, there are two of them, which are distinguished as weather\nand lee jib-sheets. Sometimes the sheet works on a traveller, which is\nan iron bar extending across the forecastle, on which the ring holding\nthe sheet-block may slip from side to side as the vessel tacks. There\nmust be two flying-jib sheets, so that the sail may be drawn down on\neach side of the jib-stay, as occasion requires.\n\n\"Inside of the hanks or hoops of the jib, where they run on the stay, is\na rope leading to the head of the sail, used for hauling it down, and\ncalled a downhaul. I have mentioned all the running-rigging of the jibs;\nthough some vessels are provided with additional gear, as the brails, by\nwhich the sail is gathered up as it comes down. Now we will pass to the\nafter sails, the jibs taking the general name of head-sails.\n\n\"There are two sets of halyards belonging to the fore and main sails.\nThe inner end of the gaff, where it is hollowed out to fit the mast, is\ncalled the throat. From this part, the inner halyard gets its name of\nthroat-halyards. They consist of a double purchase, with a rope leading\ndown to the deck on the port side. The peak-halyards are sometimes\nworked with a double block, and sometimes with several single blocks,\nfixed at some distance apart on the gaff, so as to divide the pressure.\nThey lead down on the starboard side.\"\n\n\"Which is the larboard-watch?\" asked a Vermont boy, who had probably\nheard the song with this name.\n\n\"Larboard and port mean the same thing; but the former word has gone out\nof use, because it is so liable to be mistaken for the opposite term,\nstarboard. The two words sounded so nearly alike that mistakes were\nsometimes made. Some time within a few years, an effort was made in\nFrance to adopt the English terms, 'starboard' and 'port,' instead of\n_stribord_, or _tribord_, as it is now written, and _babord_; though\nthey are not so nearly alike as starboard and larboard.\"\n\n\"Do sailors have to learn the names of terms in foreign languages?\"\nasked Tucker Prince, who seemed to be surprised that the principal knew\nthem.\n\n\"Not unless they are to serve in foreign vessels. The Spanish name for\nstarboard is like the French, for it is _estribor_; while port, _babord_\nin French, is _babor_. In Italian the words are _dritta_ and _sinistra_.\nBut if you learn the terms in English, it will be sufficient. The\nlarboard-watch is now called the port-watch. The ship's company are\ndivided into the two watches, called the starboard and port watches.\n\n\"Both the fore and the main sail have sheets, each taking the systematic\nname. Of course, you can all tell where the fore and the main sheet are\nto be found. Some vessels have brails for gathering up the mainsail when\nit is lowered, but they are not very common.\"\n\n\"Where is the main-brace?\" asked a new student. \"I heard a man talking\nabout splicing the main-brace.\"\n\n\"You will not find the main-brace in a schooner, and you will not find\nthe particular one that man meant anywhere, I hope. The main-brace in a\nship is one of the two by which the main-yard is trimmed. Vulgarly, to\nsplice the main-brace, means to take a dram.\n\n\"On the mainsail of the Lily, we shall have three rows of reef-points,\nby which we reduce the sail to as many different sizes as the force of\nthe wind may require. At the outer leach, in line with the reef-points,\nis a cringle. This is simply a hole, through which a line, called the\nreef-pendant, is passed, and by which it may be lashed down to the boom.\nAnother is used at the luff; and when the sail is hauled down with the\nreef-pendants, the points are tied in square knots, so that they can be\neasily cast loose. In the foresail, we shall have but two reefs; often,\nthere is only one.\"\n\n\"What is a balance-reef?\" asked Dick Short, who had never seen any thing\nof the kind on the lake.\n\n\"A row of reef-points is sometimes, but very rarely, extended from the\nthroat of the gaff to the cringle of the upper line of reef-points in\nthe outer leach. When this reef is put in, only the peak of the sail is\nhoisted. It is used in very heavy weather, when the other reefs are not\nsufficient.\n\n\"On the jib, laced to the lower leach, is a piece of canvas called a\nbonnet, which makes the jib so much larger. The Lily has a bonnet on her\njib, which she will wear except when the wind is so strong as to render\nit necessary to remove it.\n\n\"Through the end of the main gaff is a hole, sometimes fitted with a\nsheave, through which the ensign-halyards are passed. This is the place\nto display the American flag, which is the ensign in the navy. On\nyachts, under certain circumstances, it is carried as a challenge to\nanother yacht to sail with the one carrying it.\n\n\"The Lily is to be provided with gaff-topsails, not so much to increase\nthe amount of canvas, as because, among the hills that surround the lake\nin places, there is often a breeze aloft, when there is none, or next to\nnone, below. These sails are triangular in form, and are usually bent on\na pole to which the halyards are attached. Sometimes the sail is shaped\nlike the mainsail, and then the pole becomes a sort of yard. Besides the\nhalyard by which the pole is hoisted, there are two other ropes by which\nthe sail is worked from the deck. The tack passes through a block at the\nmast-head, so that the inner corner of the sail can be drawn down by it.\nThe sheet, sometimes called the clew, is rigged in a block at the outer\nend of the gaff, so as to correspond with the other sheets, and passes\ndown to the deck. It is not necessary to go aloft to set the sail,\nunless something gets foul.\n\n\"I have disposed of the ordinary sails of the Lily. She may be provided\nwith several others. On the fore-topmast-stay, we may set a jib-topsail\nor a balloon-jib. The former is a comparatively small sail; while the\nlatter extends to the topmast-head, and reaches aft to the fore-rigging.\nIt is made of light duck, and is bent to the stay with spring hanks, so\nthat it may be readily taken off and stowed below. This same sail may be\nused as a spinnaker, in which case, the tack is rigged at the end of a\nsort of studding-sail-boom carried out from the fore-chains. It is used\nin either way only when the wind is free; that is, abaft the beam. We\nmight also set a staysail, which is square; the upper clews being\nhoisted to the topmast-heads, and the tack and sheet secured near the\ndeck. This may be used on the wind.\"\n\nThe students then went to the wharf.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXII.\n\n                     ORGANIZING THE SHIP'S COMPANY.\n\n\nFor the next week, Bates was the principal instructor of the students on\nboard the Lily while they were employed in putting on the rigging. The\nshort lines which had been on the wharf for a week were in demand, and\nthe old man showed the boys how to make a few of the most useful knots.\nThey were required to repeat the operations till they could make the\nknots without stopping to dream over them.\n\nThe old quartermaster was patient with them while they were attentive to\ntheir duty; and in a few days they could make a bowline hitch, tie a\nsquare knot, put a clove hitch on a stick, and some others. Then came a\nlesson in short and long splices, and then in parcelling and serving.\nThus trained, the work of setting up the rigging proceeded rapidly; and\nin a couple of weeks the schooner was rigged and her sails bent.\n\nIt was a day of triumph at the school when she was completed, and ready\nto go forth on the lake. So great was the interest in her, that the\nSylph was neglected on Saturdays and holidays. The Lily was large enough\nto accommodate the entire school of thirty-two; and immediately after\nbreakfast, on the Saturday after she was finished, all hands were\nrequired to be on board of her.\n\nAmong the older pupils were two from New-York City, who had received a\nvery fair nautical education on the yacht of the father of one of them.\nMatt Randolph knew all about a schooner; for such was the rig of his\nfather's yacht, and he had sailed in her for several years. He had\ncrossed the Atlantic one summer in her, and, from choice, had done duty\nas a foremast hand. Luke Bennington, his friend, had been with him\nenough to be very well informed on nautical subjects.\n\nThe students were expecting something unusual when they went on board of\nthe schooner that morning. The first thing they were required to do was\nto tow the Lily out into the middle of Beechwater, which was done with\nthe small boats.\n\nWhen her anchor went down, Captain Gildrock opened the business of the\nday with a speech. As all hands wanted to sail in her, he proposed to\norganize a ship's company to man her.\n\n\"As on board of the Sylph, we shall do every thing by rule,\" said the\nprincipal. \"We will divide the ship's company into two watches, and do\nevery thing in nautical style. In the first place we want a captain and\ntwo mates. I shall appoint these. For captain, I name Matthew Randolph;\nfor he has had more experience with schooners than any other student.\"\n\nNot a few of the boys looked at Dory, as though they thought he ought to\nhave been assigned to this position; but he looked serene, and there was\nno appearance of disappointment visible in his open face.\n\n\"For first officer, or mate, I appoint Luke Bennington, who has also had\nconsiderable experience in schooners. For second mate, or second\nofficer, Oscar Chester. In merchant vessels, the first officer is called\nsimply the mate. We shall need but two of these officers, one for each\nwatch. Generally, the captain keeps no watch; and, by a certain nautical\nusage, the second mate is said to keep the captain's watch, which is the\nstarboard.\"\n\nOscar Chester, the second mate, wanted to decline the position assigned\nto him; for he felt that Dory Dornwood, who was considered the most\ncapable student in the school, had been strangely ignored. The principal\nsmilingly declined to permit him to do so. In fact, he had talked this\nmatter over with Dory, who felt that he had received all the honors that\nbelonged to him, and wished to be ignored for the benefit of others.\n\nCaptain Gildrock then appointed a cook, who was experienced in his line\non board of the steamer, and three stewards. In the forward cabin, there\nwas a cook-stove; and there was a pantry in the cabin, which extended\nnearly to the foremast.\n\n\"I need not say to you, for you have all sailed enough in the Sylph to\nknow it, that all hands must obey their superior officers. Now we will\nproceed to divide the ship's company into watches. The captain will take\nthe first choice, and the mate the second, and so on until all are\nstationed.\"\n\n\"Dory Dornwood,\" said Captain Randolph.\n\n\"Thad Glovering,\" added the mate.\n\nThe captain's watch were required to go over to the starboard side, and\nthe mate's to the port side. The principal gave each student a star,\nwith a pin to it, so that it could be stuck on the coat-sleeve. The\nstarboard-watch wore it on the right arm, and the port on the left.\n\n\"It is now eight o'clock,\" said the principal, consulting his watch, and\nlooking at the new captain.\n\n\"Quartermaster, strike eight bells,\" said Randolph, nodding to Dory.\n\nDory obeyed the order, and struck the required number on a bell, which\nMr. Jepson had put up on the bowsprit bitts. He made the sounds by twos,\nas is the custom on board ship, so that the number may be easily\ncounted.\n\n\"The captain has appointed Dory Dornwood and Corny Minkfield\nquartermasters,\" said Captain Gildrock. \"In the navy, it is the duty of\nthese officers to con the wheel.\"\n\n\"Con the wheel!\" exclaimed a student.\n\n\"Not a familiar expression on shore, I grant; but that is the word on a\nnaval vessel. It means to watch the wheel, or to oversee the steering,\"\nthe principal explained. \"The sailor who has the trick at the wheel may\nbe careless, and the quartermaster is responsible for the steering.\nSometimes two, and even four, men are required to handle the wheel in\nheavy weather.\"\n\nThe boys were beginning to be impatient; for they were anxious to get\nunder way, to see how the vessel they had built would work, and whether\nthere was any speed in her. But there was not a breath of air stirring,\nand it would have been useless to hoist the sails. When one asked if\nthey were going to set the sails, the principal explained that it would\nbe worse than folly to do so, for the schooner would certainly drift to\nthe shore, and get aground.\n\n\"While we are waiting for a breeze, and we shall soon have one, I will\nexplain something more about the watches,\" continued the principal. \"In\ngetting under way, all hands are on duty, and the first business is to\narrange the watches as we have done. The first watch, which is always\nthe starboard, goes on duty at eight on the evening of the first day. It\nis in charge of the second mate, though the captain may keep it if he\nchooses.\n\n\"This watch serves till twelve o'clock at night; and then the port-watch\nis called, and the mate takes the deck. At four, the starboard-watch\nserves the next four hours. The watch from midnight till four in the\nmorning is called the mid-watch, that from four in the morning till\neight is the morning-watch. From eight till twelve is the\nforenoon-watch, which comes in at the present time. From twelve till\nfour in the afternoon is the afternoon-watch.\n\n\"At this time we come to the dog-watches, which are two hours in length,\ninstead of four, as the others are. Without them the starboard-watch,\nwhich was on duty from eight till twelve, and then from four till eight\nin the morning, would have to take the same place the next night. They\nwere on watch eight hours in the night, while the port-watch served only\nfour.\n\n\"During the first dog-watch, from four till six in the afternoon, the\nport-watch is called. At six, to serve till eight, the starboard-watch\nhas the deck; so that the port will come on at eight, and have eight\nhours of duty during the second night. The dog-watches therefore\nequalize the night work. But, in very heavy weather, all hands are\nliable to be called, and to remain on duty all night.\n\n\"When a ship leaves a foreign or domestic port for home, the rule is\nreversed, and the port-watch goes on duty at eight in the evening. As\nthe sailors say, the captain takes the ship out, and the mate brings her\nhome. But it looks as though we should have a breeze soon, and we are\nnot quite ready for it.\"\n\nLike the proceedings of a political caucus, every thing seemed to be cut\nand dried, even to the wind that did not blow; for the principal now\nproduced a bundle of cards, which he called the station-bills. He gave\none to each student; and the boy found his own name written upon it,\nwith his duty in all the operations of working the vessel. His place in\nweighing the anchor, in setting the sails, in coming to anchor, in\nmaking a landing at a wharf, and in tacking, were written upon the card.\n\nThe principal explained that a short drill was next in order, and\ndirected Captain Randolph to proceed with it. He put the crew through\nthe routine of every manœuvre, and practised it till each student knew\nhis station. The schooner was very heavily manned, and it had required\nno little skill to divide the work among them. Before the drill was\nfinished, there was quite a ripple on Beechwater, indicating that there\nwas wind enough to give the vessel steerage-way.\n\n\"Stations for hoisting the fore and main sails!\" called the captain, at\na signal from the principal. There was no nonsense about the work this\ntime, for the schooner was to get under way. The boys were very active,\nand even Tom Topover moved as though he delighted to obey orders.\n\nCertain hands stationed themselves at the halyards, and others stood\nready to loose the sails. Orders had been sufficiently established by\nthe drill, to prevent the boys from touching a rope till the command to\ndo so was given.\n\n\"Loose sails!\" shouted the captain.\n\n\"Loose sails,\" repeated the mate, who was in the waist, and was required\nto repeat every order when all hands were on duty.\n\nThe sail-loosers cast off the stops, which secured the sails to the\nbooms; while a couple of others at each of the masts cast off the\nhalyards, overhauled them, and saw that they were in order for instant\nuse.\n\n\"Hoist fore and main sail!\" said the captain; and the order was repeated\nby the mate, while the second mate was required to see that the work was\nproperly done at the foremast, as the first officer did at the mainmast.\n\nThe sails went up as if by magic, so vigorous were the hands at the\nhalyards. They were swigged up, and the slack taken in, as prescribed in\nthe drill.\n\n\"Man the capstan!\" called Captain Randolph, when the sails were properly\nset. \"Heave up the anchor to a short stay, Mr. Bennington!\"\n\nThe mate superintended this operation, and the anchor was soon reported\naweigh.\n\n\"Man the jib-halyards! Stand by the jib-downhaul!\" continued the\ncaptain, when the report had been made to him. \"The wind is a little\nsouth of west, and we will cast on the port-tack.\"\n\n\"On the port-tack, sir,\" replied the mate, as he went forward to see the\norder executed.\n\nEnough hands remained at the capstan to trip the anchor; and, as the jib\nwent up the stay, the anchor was lifted from the bottom. Two hands were\nat the jib-sheets, and, as the sail began to draw, they trimmed it down;\nand, for the first time in her brief existence, the Lily began to move\nunder sail through the water.\n\n\"Three cheers!\" shouted Dory Dornwood; and they were given.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXIII.\n\n                      THE TRIAL TRIP OF THE LILY.\n\n\nDory Dornwood had been sent to the wheel; and, as the sails of the\nschooner filled, he met her with the helm. She heeled over a little, and\nbut a little, for the wind was very light in Beechwater. On the shore,\neverybody connected with the institution in any capacity had assembled\nto observe the movements of the new vessel. The three cheers in which\nDory had led off drew from them a lively response.\n\nIn a few minutes the Lily was near the outlet; but the principal\ndirected the captain to make a turn around the lake, so that all could\nget a good view of her.\n\n\"Ready, about!\" shouted the commander to the officers, who repeated the\norder, and all hands took their stations for tacking.\n\nDory saw that the Lily had a good full. The sails fitted extremely well;\nfor they had been made by the firm recommended by Matt Randolph, who had\nfurnished his father's yacht, as well as many others of the highest\nclass.\n\n\"Hard a-lee!\" continued the captain, when the vessel was in the right\nplace for coming about.\n\nDory put the helm down, and all the sails shook for a moment; then they\nbegan to fill on the other side. As instructed, the hands in charge of\nthe jib-sheets held the sail over till it was filled; and, in this\nposition, it caught the wind sooner than the other sails, and assisted\nin carrying the head around.\n\n\"Draw jib!\" said the captain; and the order was repeated by the second\nmate on the forecastle.\n\n\"Slack off the weather-sheet!\" added Oscar Chester, who knew his part\nwell, though this was the first time he had ever sailed in a schooner.\n\"Haul on the lee-sheet! Too much! Ease off a little! That will do; belay\nthe lee-sheet!\"\n\nThe schooner had come about, and was now standing towards the old wharf,\nwhere the people of the institution were assembled, including the ladies\nfrom the house and the cottage. The instructors and others cheered\nlustily, and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs vigorously. Doubtless,\nthe latter wished they were on board; but the principal would not allow\nany extra persons on board until the ship's company had been well\ndrilled in handling the vessel.\n\nWith so many hands, there was very little for them to do; but the\ncaptain gave them as much as possible to work off their enthusiasm. He\nkept those at the sheets tolerable busy hauling in and easing off\nfrequently, to enable him to get the \"points\" of the craft, as he\ndescribed it. He let her go free for a moment, and then braced her up to\nthe wind, making all the change he could without tacking.\n\nAs the Lily approached the old wharf where the spectators were\nassembled, he got a course parallel with the shore, and, with the wind a\nlittle abaft the beam, allowed her to do her best in a light wind. Her\nbow was quite sharp, and she was the best model the principal could\nobtain of the most celebrated modeller in New York. She had been built\nin strict conformity to the plans and specifications, both in respect to\nthe spars and sails as well as the hull.\n\nIt had been unanimously agreed that she ought to be a fast sailer, by\nall who had seen her, including some experts who had visited Captain\nGildrock. It remained still to be proved whether or not she was all that\nhad been hoped and expected of her. Though she did not wear\nracing-sails, she was liberally supplied with canvas. But the wind in\nBeechwater was too light to give her a fair test, and it came in light\npuffs and squalls.\n\nFor the amount of breeze she had, she did very well; and there was quite\na bone in her teeth as she approached the wharf. The cheers and signals\nof the ladies were promptly answered; for Captain Gildrock was a naval\nofficer of the old school, and insisted that every compliment paid to\nthe craft should receive a proper response. There was no steam-whistle,\nas on board of the steamer; and the only way, except with cheers, to\nreply, was by dipping the ensign. This was done several times by\nQuartermaster Minkfield.\n\nOff the old wharf it was necessary to brace her up, and she was headed\nfor the mouth of the creek; but there was no one at the cottage to\nsalute the new craft, its occupants having joined the other spectators.\nThe water was deep at the entrance of the stream; and the captain ran\nthe schooner a short distance into it, as far as he could and have room\nto come about.\n\n\"Ready, about!\" he called to the mate rather sharply, when she had gone\nas far as he deemed it prudent to proceed up the creek.\n\nShe did not tack as handsomely as she had at the other end of the little\nlake, for the wind was baffling behind the woods on the shore; but she\ngot about with a little humoring. Captain Gildrock smiled, and shook his\nhead, as he looked at Captain Randolph.\n\n\"Didn't I do it right, sir?\" asked Matt, when he saw that what he had\ndone was not approved, though it was not condemned.\n\n\"Perfectly right, so far as handling the schooner is concerned. But you\nmade it possible that we might require the services of the Sylph to\nassist in getting her off a mud bank,\" replied the principal, tempering\nhis remark with a smile again.\n\n\"I thought I had room enough to go in stays,\" pleaded the captain of the\nLily.\n\n\"So you had, so far as the schooner is concerned; but you had to humor\nher in stays, for the wind was unsteady and puffy.\"\n\n\"Of course it was! What could you expect in such a place in the woods?\nThere is little wind enough anywhere on Beechwater, but there is less\namong the trees than in the open water. The principal trouble with boys\nis that they will run risks. They want to cut a hair off at every\ncorner. They think a young fellow can't be a good boatman unless he\ntakes risks; and, the greater the risk, the better the boatman, in his\nestimation,\" continued the principal, in a low tone, so that none of the\nother students could hear him.\n\n\"I didn't think I was taking any risk,\" added Matt.\n\n\"You took the risk of getting aground between two puffs, and nothing but\nthe current of the stream saved you from it,\" replied Captain Gildrock.\n\"I believe in taking a risk when there is need of it, but never for mere\nsport, or to show that one is a skilful boatman.\"\n\n\"I am much obliged to you, sir, for speaking to me about it,\" replied\nMatt, who did not regard himself as censured; for the principal had a\nway of condemning an act without hurting the self-respect of the actor.\n\n\"I have said it a great many times in school, and in the various craft,\nthat we should take no unnecessary risks. I believe that nearly the\nwhole of the boating accidents result from carelessness. There is no\nreason why a good boat should not stay on the top of the water, even in\na gale of wind. If the boat is a good one,—and it is a risk to go on the\nwater in any other,—she will float on any sea.\"\n\n\"She may be caught in a squall,\" suggested Matt.\n\n\"Squalls are always to be expected, and it is necessary to understand\nhow to deal with them. At sea, out of sight of land, we have to take\nwhatever comes. You have sailed a yacht enough to know what to do in a\nsquall.\"\n\n\"Something may break,\" suggested Matt.\n\n\"Sails and rigging should be frequently overhauled, to make it\nreasonably sure that they will not give out at a critical moment. It is\ntaking a needless risk to neglect to do this.\"\n\n\"Then you don't believe that any disasters ought to occur?\"\n\n\"I will not go quite so far as that: nine-tenths of them could be\navoided by taking no needless risk. But we are all human; and while\nboatmen will take risks, and be careless, there must be accidents. I\nadvise you to let the pilot take the vessel through the outlet.\"\n\nDory Dornwood was the pilot; and he had had more experience in taking\nsailing craft through the bend of the stream than any other person on\nboard,—or in the town, for that matter. The principal wanted to add,\nthat this same pilot was the most reliable young skipper he had ever\nknown, and for the simple reason that he took no needless risks, though\nhe was ready to incur those which occasion required; but the remark\nmight hurt the feelings of the new captain, and it was not uttered.\n\nThe Lily was handed over to Dory, and the ship's company were directed\nto obey his orders. This was no sacrifice of dignity or authority, for\nevery pilot in charge of a vessel has the absolute command of her for\nthe time. The current of the outlet had piled up banks of sand and mud\nin places; and it was necessary, in such a comparatively narrow channel,\nto know where they were.\n\nDory gave his orders to the mate, and they were executed in the same\nmanner as though they had come from the captain. The wind was better at\nthe V-Point than it had been in the creek, and the pilot had no\ndifficulty in taking the Lily through. She was not as long, by forty\nfeet, as the Sylph; but at one place she had to make a short tack of not\nmuch more than twice her length, and it required no little skill to make\nevery thing work so as to avoid a miss-stay.\n\nThe schooner came out all right on the river. Captain Randolph resumed\nthe command. The students watched the motion of the Lily with the most\nintense interest, especially those who had taken a hand in building her\nhull. The wind freshened as she came nearer to Lake Champlain: she\nheeled over more, and the bone in her teeth increased in size.\n\nIn a little while she passed out of the river into the lake. The wind\nwas now about south-west, and this is always a rather unsteady breeze.\nAs she came to the point at the mouth of the river, the sheets were\nstarted, and the schooner went off with the wind on the port-quarter. As\nthe day advanced, the breeze had freshened, till the students had all\nthey wanted. It came over miles of open lake, and there was nothing to\nobstruct it. The Lily seemed to fly on her course, and the boys were\nexcited to a degree which made them quite noisy. After the sails had\nbeen trimmed, there was nothing for them to do except to watch the\nmotion of the vessel.\n\nCaptain Gildrock carried his watch in his hand, and had noted the second\nwhen the schooner passed the point at the mouth of the river. It was\nexactly three miles to the headland just beyond the light at Split Rock\nPoint. Dory told his fellow-quartermaster, that the speed of the Lily\ncould not be much less than that of the Sylph when she had a good\nbreeze. She was up with the point ahead before any one had had time to\ndo much thinking over the matter.\n\n\"Fifteen minutes from the mouth of the river to Split Rock Point!\"\nexclaimed the principal, looking at his watch.\n\n\"Twelve knots an hour!\" exclaimed Captain Randolph.\n\n\"Not quite,\" added the principal. \"The distances on the lake are given\nin statute miles. It is only about two and half nautical miles from\npoint to point, and that is only ten knots an hour, which I call very\nfast sailing.\"\n\nThe principal gave the speed to the rest of the students, and then\nexplained the difference between nautical and statute miles.\n\n\"The Lily will do better than that yet,\" said Captain Randolph, \"for we\nhave not hurried her; and, with the gaff-topsails, I think she will be\ngood for twelve knots an hour.\"\n\nThe principal assented to the proposition.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXIV.\n\n                   A LIVELY BREEZE ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN.\n\n\nThe trial trip of the Lily was certainly a success so far, but her\ncaptain was not quite satisfied. She had made ten knots an hour; and he\nwanted to know if she was not equal to twelve, which was the ordinary\nspeed of the Sylph. Above Split Rock the lake begins to widen, and the\nschooner had plenty of searoom. The sea had become tolerably smart, and\nthe Lily pitched in a very oceanic style. The boys liked this sort of\nthing, though some of the new hands began to be seasick.\n\nAt the request of Captain Randolph, the principal consented to the\nsetting of the gaff-topsails. It was blowing very fresh now; and it was\nnot a very easy thing to get these sails aloft, especially with a crew\nnot a half a dozen of whom had ever seen a gaff-topsail set. Even Dory\nhad never seen this sail set, except at a distance; but he was perfectly\nfamiliar with theory.\n\nThe lake was now covered with white caps, and the sea seemed to be\nincreasing. The principal was rather sorry that he had consented to the\nsetting of the gaff-topsails. He was the only adult on board, for even\nBates had been left on shore. He finally modified his consent, after the\nsails had been brought up from below, so as to require that the Lily\nshould be anchored under the lee of Cannon's Point when the\ngaff-topsails were set.\n\nThe captain gave the order to brace her up, and run for the point\nindicated. The crew were astonished when the order came for them to take\ntheir stations to anchor the schooner. When she luffed up, the jib was\nhauled down; and, at the right time, the anchor was let go.\n\n\"Stations for setting the gaff-topsails!\" called the mate, who had\nreceived the order for the work from the captain.\n\nBy this time the boys had studied their station-bills enough to know\ntheir duty, and they had been drilled in doing it. While waiting for a\nbreeze, they had set both gaff-topsails at the same time; and off\nCannon's Point it was done as well as it had been in the quiet of\nBeechwater.\n\n\"Stations for weighing anchor!\" called the captain.\n\nThe students were happy again, and even happier than before; for the\nextra sails had been set, and they were to be under way again. In a few\nminutes more—for, with so many hands, very quick work was made of all\nthe manœuvres,—the Lily was standing down the lake again. The\ngaff-topsails made a wonderful difference in the action of the schooner,\nfor they took the wind from above the bluffs.\n\nWith the wind on the port-quarter, the schooner seemed to leap like a\ngreyhound on her course. It was evident that she was an able sea-boat;\nfor she lifted handsomely on the waves, and did not bury her bows in the\nwater. She carried a strong weather-helm; though the power gained by the\nhorizontal wheel made it easy to steer her, much easier than it would\nhave been even with a long tiller.\n\nCaptain Gildrock measured the distance from Cannon's Point to\nBurlington, where he had directed the captain to put in, and found it\nwas six miles to a certain spot near the breakwater. He was sorry he had\nforgotten to bring a log-line with him. He took the time of the\ndeparture, after the schooner was fairly under way.\n\n\"I shall ask you for a boat off Burlington when you get under the lee of\nthe breakwater, for I have to go to the bank,\" said the principal to the\ncaptain. \"I shall be busy there for two hours; and, while I am on shore,\nyou may run over to Au Sable Point, which is about far enough to use up\nthe time. Do you think you can get along without me?\"\n\n\"I should be glad to have you with us all the time; but I am sure I can\nhandle the schooner, for I have navigated the Sea Sprite for a whole day\nin the absence of the sailing-master,\" replied Captain Randolph\nconfidently.\n\n\"The wind is blowing rather fresh, but the Lily proves herself to be an\nable sea-boat. The only thing to fear is, that some of your crew may\ngive you trouble.\"\n\n\"I don't think they will be likely to do so on the first trip; but, if\nany do, I think we can manage them, for I am sure all the old scholars\nwill stick by me.\"\n\n\"I don't believe you will have any trouble, and you will be likely to be\nback in less than two hours. I will get through as soon as I can.\"\n\nThere was nothing about the crew that indicated a mutiny, or even any\ntrouble; for all of them obeyed orders with the nicest care. It was a\nnew thing; and the boys were not likely to make trouble, if ever, until\nthe schooner had become an old story. Hardly any of them had ever seen\nany livelier sailing on the lake, and half of them had hardly ever been\nin a sailboat. Half a dozen of them were too seasick to hold up their\nheads. Among them was Pell Sankland, and even Kidd Digfield was able\nonly with a struggle to keep his place in the ranks.\n\nThe government charts of Lake Champlain have a scale on each sheet, in\nstatute miles, nautical miles, and kilometres. The principal had taken\noff the distance to the point in Burlington Harbor, from the scale of\nsea-miles. In exactly thirty minutes from the departure from Cannon's\nPoint, the Lily was abreast of the mark; and the distance was six knots.\nThe yacht had therefore made her twelve knots an hour; and the fact was\nannounced to the ship's company, whereat they gave three rousing cheers.\n\nAs he had been directed to do, the captain ran the schooner behind the\nbreakwater. The order had been given for the port-quarter boat to be\nmade ready, and her crew of five were called away. The hands had learned\nhow to lower a boat, on board of the steamer; and the work was done\nproperly, and to the admiration of a crowd of spectators on the\nsteamboat wharf, who had run to see the new craft.\n\nThe principal was landed, and the boat returned. The captain ordered it\nto be hoisted up at the davits; though Tom Topover, who was one of the\ncrew, grumbled. It would have to be lowered again in a few minutes, and\nwhat was the use of hoisting it up, he reasoned.\n\nBut he was hardly on deck before the order was given to get up the\nanchor; and the Lily was soon standing to the northward, inside of the\nbreakwater. At the lower beacon, she hauled in her sheets, and a course\nto the north-north-west was given out. The sea was breaking over the top\nof the breakwater, and outside of it the lake was decidedly rough. At\nthis point the lake is twelve miles wide, so that there was room enough\nto stir up big waves for an inland sheet of water.\n\n\"We are going off without Captain Gildrock,\" said Tom Topover, after the\nsheets had been properly coiled up.\n\n\"Why shouldn't we?\" asked Nim Splugger, to whom the remark had been\naddressed; for he was the only one of the remaining original Topovers\nwho could hold his head up, Kidd Digfield having just succumbed to the\nmalady, after holding out as long as he could.\n\nNearly one-half of the ship's company were seasick, and Captain Randolph\nhad begun to fear that he might be short-handed before he returned to\nBurlington. Even some of the old students were sick.\n\n\"I think I could manage this thing as well as Matt Randolph,\" continued\nTom Topover, looking into Nim's face with interest. \"I know all about\nsailing a boat now. I have been out twice with Dory in the Goldwing, and\nhe showed me how to steer her.\"\n\n\"I think I should rather have Matt than you in command,\" added Nim. \"I\ncan steer, but I shouldn't want to have to manage a boat of this size.\"\n\n\"I should like the fun of it; and, if our fellows were as good as they\nused to be, I would get hold of her, and have a cruise on our own hook,\"\nsaid Tom. (And it appeared that he had lost none of his former\nenterprise, however it might be with his late cronies.) \"But they have\nall joined the church, and there is no more fun ahead for us.\"\n\n\"Joined the church!\" exclaimed Nim.\n\n\"I mean old Gildrock's church. They are all as proper as lambs; and the\nfun has all gone out of them, you among the others, Nim Splugger.\"\n\n\"I think there is as much fun in me as there ever was,\" added Nim.\n\n\"Why don't you show your colors then? You are as meek as Moses.\"\n\n\"So are you!\"\n\n\"I couldn't do any thing all alone. The fellows caved in, and did not\ntake any more notice of me than they did of any other fellow,\" growled\nTom, who evidently believed that he was born to be a great leader among\nmen.\n\n\"It was no use for a fellow to bite his own nose off,\" Nim explained, as\nhe and the others had done twenty times before to Tom, who had always\nbeen ready to remove his nasal appendage in the manner indicated. \"If\nyou want to do any thing that is reasonable, just let the fellows know,\nand you will see where they stand. They have not joined Captain\nGildrock's church any more than you have.\"\n\n\"I have had a pretty good time since I was raked into the Industrial\nSchool, and I have not thought much about studying up any thing in the\nway of fun; but it is getting to be a little heavy on my hands to be\ntied to a bell-rope, and keep step with some little lamb like Dory\nDornwood.\"\n\nThe conversation was interrupted just as Tom Topover had delivered\nhimself of these sentiments. The first officer had discovered that all\nthe hands stationed at the jib-sheets were seasick, which was a very\nhumiliating state of things to the captain, and some changes had become\nnecessary in the station-bills. Four hands were transferred from the\nfore and main sheets to the jib.\n\nThe Lily had the wind on the beam; and there was nothing to be done,\ntill the order, \"Ready, about!\" was given off Point Au Sable. The\nschooner came about in the liveliest manner, and stood for Burlington on\nthe opposite tack. She was soon inside of the breakwater, and came to\nanchor there. The other quarter-boat was sent to the shore; and, after\nwaiting a short time, it brought off the principal.\n\nThe deck had the appearance of a hospital-ship when the principal came\non board, and he directed the captain to beat up Shelburne Bay. Under\nthe lee of the point, where the water was smooth, the Lily came to\nanchor, to give the seasick ones a rest. The cook and stewards had been\nat work getting dinner, and at twelve it was served in the cabin. But\nnot many more than half of the students wanted any dinner, and some of\nthem said they did not want any more sailing on the lake.\n\nThe dinner was creditable to the cook, and was heartily enjoyed under\nthe novel circumstances. The seasick ones rapidly recovered, and soon\nwanted something to eat. But the sea continued heavy all the rest of the\nday, and the principal changed his plan; for he had intended to make a\ntrip to Isle La Motte, and return after dark, in order to give the\nstudents a practical exemplification of the use of the signal-lights, as\nwell as of navigating by course and compass. It happened that this had\nto be deferred till the following week; for an event occurred at the\nschool, a little later, which caused the principal some trouble.\n\nThe Lily returned to her moorings early in the afternoon.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXV.\n\n                  TOM TOPOVER IN THE ASCENDANT AGAIN.\n\n\nThe Lily was to make another excursion on the following Saturday; and\nMarian Dornwood and Lily Bristol were to be passengers, as well as their\nmothers. The principal had predicted the strong breeze which had\nprevailed during the first trip, but it was just what was desired for a\ntrial trip. The schooner had proved herself to be a very able sea-boat,\nand had exceeded all expectations in regard to her speed. She was easily\nmanaged, and \"filled the bill\" in every respect.\n\nShe was entirely finished now; and, on the following Monday, all hands\nwent to work in the shops again, in the afternoon. Some of the new\nscholars, who had shown more taste for work in iron and brass than in\nwood, were set to work with a file; for this was the first lesson given\nto the machinist. Among these was Tom Topover; and it was found, in a\nfew days, that, after some experience, he was the best filer of the\nnew-comers. His eye proved to be good, and the principal was much\nencouraged in regard to him.\n\nSince the first vain efforts to get up a rebellion, he had behaved very\nwell; and as he was not allowed to go beyond his depth, either in the\nschoolroom or the shop, he had appeared to be quite satisfied with his\ncondition. Mr. Bentnick insisted that he was reformed and entirely\nreconstructed. Mr. Brookbine was of the same mind. But Captain Gildrock\nshook his head, and did not believe it, though he saw that the fellow\nwas wonderfully improved.\n\n\"He gives us no trouble at all,\" said Mr. Jepson; \"and he handles a file\nbetter than any new boy I have had.\"\n\n\"Intellectually, he is not much of a scholar, and he never will be\nbrilliant in his studies; but he learns his lessons a good deal better\nthan some of the brighter boys,\" added Mr. Bentnick; \"I have great hopes\nof him.\"\n\n\"So have I,\" added the principal: \"but he is one of the students who is\nalmost sure to make a slip sooner or later, and it will not surprise me\nat any time, to find him getting up a conspiracy. The trouble is, that\nhe has no high aim,—in fact, no aim at all. He is not yet trying to be\nany thing or any body. He is doing very well just now, simply because he\nis interested. He learns his lessons because he don't like to be a\nprisoner in his room. It will take but a little thing to throw him off\nhis balance.\"\n\n\"I think he wants to be a machinist, and I reckon he has a fancy for\nrunning an engine,\" said Mr. Jepson.\n\n\"If you believe it, encourage him by all means. The first thing to be\naccomplished in his case, is to plant some kind of an ambition in his\nbeing. If he wants to be an engineer, the desire is capable of making a\ndecent man of him; though I am afraid he will always be, to a greater or\nless degree, uncertain and unreliable.\"\n\nHardly a week passed without the appearance at the school of one or more\nvisitors, for it was a rather novel institution. It had been written up\nin the newspapers, and been the subject of a discussion in an\neducational meeting. About the middle of the week after the trial trip\nof the Lily, half a dozen gentlemen came to Beech Hill, in the\nafternoon, but not particularly to see the workings of the institution.\nThey were capitalists who desired to interest Captain Gildrock in an\nenterprise in which they were engaged. But when they got there, they\nwere invited to inspect the workshops, and look over the grounds. They\nwere pulled off to the Lily, which was exhibited as a specimen of the\nworkmanship of the students.\n\nThey had been so much interested in what they saw, and so much absorbed\nin the business that had brought them to Beech Hill, that they remained\ntill the supper-bell rang. They were invited to remain to tea, and\naccepted the invitation. Afterwards they went out to Beechwater to see\nthe students in the barges, who still practised with the oars every\nevening. By this time the rowing was almost perfect, even among the new\npupils.\n\nIt was getting dark when the crew of the Winooski came from the\nboat-house. In the walk, Tom Topover was observed to pick up something;\nbut, as he did not say he had found any thing, no further notice was\ntaken of the fact. He went to the dormitory with the others, and a keen\nobserver might have seen that he was a good deal elated about something.\nBut Tom was as cunning now as he had ever been, though that is not\nsaying much. It was a low cunning, and Tom believed he was at least ten\ntimes as smart as anybody considered him to be.\n\nKidd Digfield and Pell Sankland went to work upon their examples in\narithmetic, which related to a practical subject; and they were\ninterested in them. While they were at work, Tom and Nim Splugger paid\nthem a visit. Although the bond which bound them together was not as\nstrong as it had been, it still existed; and they associated more with\neach other than with the other students, though they were quite intimate\nwith Bent Fillwing and Jack Dumper, who were regarded as two of the\nhardest characters among the recruits.\n\n\"I am spoiling for a good time,\" said Tom Topover, as he seated himself\non the bed in Kidd's room.\n\n\"What kind of a time are you spoiling for?—such a one as we had last\nSaturday?\" asked Kidd, who had been so seasick, that he did not remember\nthe trial trip with much satisfaction.\n\n\"I didn't get seasick, and I had a good time,\" replied Tom. \"But the\nthing was a little too stiff for me. There was too much officer about\nthe whole thing to suit me. But I should like to take a trip in the\nLily, and have it on our own hook.\"\n\n\"Do you believe you could handle her?\" asked Pell.\n\n\"I know I could. I have learned to steer, for I had one trick at the\nwheel, and I have stood at the helm on board of the Sylph.\"\n\n\"But the steering is only a small part of handling a boat,\" suggested\nKidd. \"A fellow has to know what is under water as well as above it.\"\n\n\"I could take that schooner up to Rouse's Point—and that is as far as I\never went—as well as Captain Randolph,\" persisted Tom, with a good deal\nmore spring in his manner than he had displayed of late.\n\n\"I don't know but you could,\" added Kidd, turning to his slate.\n\n\"There isn't any fun in you, Kidd Digfield, since you got into this\nschool. I believe you like it as well as Ash Burton and Sam Spottwood,\"\nadded Tom, with no little disgust in his manner. \"I tell you I am\nspoiling for a time, such a time as we used to have.\"\n\n\"What sort of a time?\" asked Kidd, looking up at him.\n\n\"A regular out-and-out <DW12>,\" chuckled Tom, showing more of his\nmysterious spring than before.\n\n\"I don't know what you want yet,\" replied Kidd. \"Do you mean to get into\nsome scrape?\"\n\n\"I don't believe that if I got three miles from this concern, I should\never get back again,\" added Tom significantly.\n\n\"Do you want to run away?\" asked Kidd, dropping his voice.\n\n\"That's about the color of it,\" answered the ex-chief, with a wink.\n\n\"I don't think I want to get away,\" replied Kidd, turning to his slate\nagain.\n\n\"I don't say I shall run away, but I do say I am going on a time,\"\ncontinued Tom, in a whisper, as though the walls might have ears. \"I\nmust have some fun, even if I have to spend a week in the brig for it.\"\n\n\"What kind of a time? Why don't you say what you mean, and not beat\nabout the bush all night,\" demanded Kidd, who was certainly filled with\ncuriosity, even if the memory of past exploits with the Topovers did not\ninfluence him.\n\n\"And you will go to old Gildrock, and tell him all about it!\" exclaimed\nTom.\n\n\"That's too bad, Tom!\" said Kidd, springing to his feet in his\nexcitement. \"Did you ever know me to do such a thing?\"\n\n\"I never did; but you have become a little lamb, and the shepherd leads\nyou with a silk thread. There is no knowing what you will do,\" muttered\nTom.\n\n\"You ought to know that I won't do a mean thing,\" returned Kidd\nindignantly. \"I don't believe in bucking against a stone wall as you do,\nbut I am no more of a lamb than you are.\"\n\nKidd certainly was not very thoroughly reformed, or he would not have so\nindignantly repelled the charge of being a good boy. To be able to bear\nsuch scoffs and taunts was the next lesson he had to learn, and it was a\ngreat pity that he had not learned it sooner. But he could not bear to\nbe reproached because he had behaved himself. This is the misfortune of\nany boy who has earned a bad reputation,—that he feels obliged to\nsustain his bad name.\n\n\"You never used to do mean things, but since you became a little lamb\"—\n\n\"I am not a little lamb!\" protested Kidd, more angry than he would have\nbeen if he had been called a thief. \"I mean to get along as easy as I\ncan, and I don't care about living on bread and butter and cold water.\nThis is a free country, and every fellow that wants to do so can put his\nfingers into the fire.\"\n\n\"Do you want to have a little fun, Kidd Digfield? That's the question\nbefore the house just now, as the nobs say,\" continued Tom Topover,\ndropping his voice down to a confidential tone.\n\n\"It depends upon what sort of fun it is,\" replied Kidd. \"If you mean the\nfun of being locked into your room for a week, and be fed on short\nrations, I don't want any fun.\"\n\n\"I don't mean that, or any thing of that kind,\" said the ex-chief, going\nto the door, and looking out into the hall to see if any listeners were\nnear. \"I mean some real out-and-out fun, like a sail by ourselves, a day\nor two at a hotel, spending the nights at the theatre, or some such\nplace.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't object to something of that sort,\" replied Kidd; and Pell\nSankland began to look as though he felt an interest in the subject of\nthe conversation, for he put his slate on the table, and gave his\nattention to the conversation.\n\n\"Now you begin to act like yourself,\" added Tom approvingly.\n\n\"But what's the use of talking about such a time?\" Kidd objected.\n\n\"It takes money, and a lot of it, to go to a hotel and the theatre.\nBesides, there are no theatres within twenty miles of Beech Hill.\"\n\n\"There is one in Burlington, another in Plattsburgh,\" returned Tom. \"As\nto money, there will be enough of that.\"\n\n\"Enough of that? Do you mean that you have got any money?\" demanded\nKidd.\n\n\"I don't mean to say any thing about it,\" added the ex-chief, who seemed\nto be regaining his old sway over his companions. \"All I've got to say\nis, that if you want to have some fun of the sort I have spoken of, just\nsay the word, and don't ask any questions.\"\n\nKidd raised some objections, and so did Pell; but Nim Splugger appeared\nto have been taken into the confidence of the Topover in the beginning,\nfor he treated all that was said as a matter of course. Tom called Kidd\nand Pell \"little lambs\" a few times; and this seemed to have more effect\nthan any other arguments, albeit it was no argument at all. Kidd and\nPell did not want to yield, but they were driven into submission by the\nraillery of Tom and Nim. At nine o'clock they had crept out of the\ndormitory, and found Bent Fillwing and Jack Dumper at the old wharf.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXVI.\n\n                         AN INDEPENDENT LEADER.\n\n\nSince the Topovers and the other hard boys had behaved themselves so\nwell, all precautions were relaxed; for the principal knew that barred\nwindows were a standing temptation for them to escape. The students were\nallowed all the liberty it was practicable to give them. The bars had\nbeen removed from the windows of the restless spirits, as soon as they\nshowed a spirit of subordination.\n\nAll the students retired at whatever time they pleased, provided that it\nwas before ten o'clock. All lights were to be put out at that hour, and\none of the instructors always passed through the halls of the dormitory\nat this time. The boys were required to lock their doors; and, when it\nwas found that the door was locked and the light put out, that was\nsufficient evidence that the occupant of the room had gone to bed.\n\nTom Topover had instructed his gang to lock their doors, and put the\nkeys in their pockets. If they succeeded in reaching the old wharf,\nwhich was the place appointed, without being seen, they would be safe.\nThey passed out of the dormitory one at a time, and crept very\ncautiously to the meeting-place.\n\nIt was evident that Tom had opened the subject to Bent Fillwing and Jack\nDumper before he said any thing to his former comrades. But he was\ncareful not to say a word of the details of his plan to any one. He had\ncaught this idea from the principal, and the officers of the steamer.\nThey never said what they were going to do, and always insisted on blind\nobedience. He had followed their example, as well for the sake of\nprudence as in order to preserve his power over his companions. He\nbelieved in \"sealed orders,\" and he kept his own counsel.\n\nNim Splugger had entered readily into the spirit of the enterprise,\nwhatever it might prove to be; but Kidd and Pell were sorry a dozen\ntimes before they reached the old wharf. They would have turned back, if\nthey had learned to bear the ridicule of Tom and Nim.\n\n\"Now what is all this about, Tom?\" asked Bent Fillwing, who had been the\nterror of the town in which he lived before he came to Beech Hill.\n\n\"You will find out all about it in due time,\" replied Tom.\n\n\"But I want to find out now,\" Bent insisted.\n\n\"I can't tell you a thing now. All you have to do is to obey orders,\"\nreplied Tom serenely, as though he believed it was all right.\n\n\"Obey orders? Whose orders?\" asked Bent, with an obvious sneer.\n\n\"Mine, of course. I got this thing up; and I am going to see it through,\nwhatever it costs.\"\n\n\"Oh, you are!\" snuffed Bent. \"But I prefer to know something more about\nit before I go any farther.\"\n\n\"Not a thing!\" exclaimed Tom. \"If you don't want to join, you can go\nback to your room and study your lessons. I have had lessons enough for\na while, and I don't believe old Gildrock will see me again very soon. I\nam a free man!\" blustered Tom.\n\n\"Do you expect us to follow your lead without knowing where we are\ngoing, or what we are to do?\" demanded Bent, rather sharply.\n\n\"I have said enough to let you know that we are to take a sail, that we\nare going to a hotel, and that we shall go to the theatre or the circus,\nif we can find one. I saw some big bills, with  pictures, on the\nfences near the wharf in Burlington; and I guess there is a circus\nsomewhere in these parts.\"\n\n\"That's all very well, but we don't know that you can do all you say you\ncan,\" replied Bent, moved by the bill of fare which their leader held\nout to them.\n\n\"I can do all that, and a great deal more,\" answered Tom, chuckling, and\nwith an air of confidence which seemed to have its influence upon his\ncompanions.\n\n\"It takes money to go to a hotel, or to get into a theatre or a circus,\"\ncontinued Bent; and not one of the party had ever been any nearer to an\nequestrian performance than the outside of the canvas.\n\n\"I know that as well as you do,\" replied Tom, as he put one of his hands\ninto his trousers-pocket, as if to emphasize his remark.\n\n\"If you have got any money, say so, and tell us how much you have,\" said\nJack Dumper. \"What's the use of being so secret? It don't do any good.\"\n\n\"Do you suppose I am going to have any one of you fellows that gets mad,\nrunning back to old Gildrock, and telling him what I have got in my\ntrousers-pocket, where we are going, and what we are going to do? Not if\nI know myself. And Tom Topover thinks he knows himself better than any\nother fellow knows him. That's the whole of it. I won't trust you any\nfarther than I have said; and you can all go back if you like, and I\nwill carry out the plan myself, without any help from any of you. I can\nget along well enough alone, and I know where to go and what to do.\"\n\nThis independence was too much for the rest of them; and, though Bent\ngrowled, he submitted. They were all sure by this time that the chief\nhad plenty of money, and they wondered with all their might where he had\nobtained it. There was no report of any theft about Beech Hill, and most\nof the boys never left the grounds except in the boats.\n\n\"I don't like this way of doing it, but I hate to back out,\" said Bent,\nwhen Tom had delivered himself, in full, of his opinions and intentions.\n\"The fairest thing would be to tell what you are going to do, Tom; and\nthen the fellows can't find any fault if things go wrong.\"\n\n\"The fellows may find fault if they like: what do I care for that? If I\nfind the money and the brains for the scrape, I ought to have the\nmanagement of the thing.\"\n\n\"Nobody objects to your managing it,\" said Jack Dumper. \"But we should\nlike to know what you are going to do.\"\n\n\"You won't know from me,\" replied Tom doggedly. \"If any fellow wants to\nback out, now is the time for him to make tracks.\"\n\nKidd and Pell were tempted to accept the invitation.\n\n\"I don't want any little lambs with me,\" added Tom; and this remark\nupset the two penitents, and they had not the pluck to retire from the\nenterprise.\n\nTom Topover continued to talk for some time longer in a low tone, so\nthat no one who happened to be out could hear him. He was waiting for\nthe timid ones to withdraw, but no one did so. The good time promised\ninfluenced Bent and Jack, while the fear of ridicule upset the good\nintentions of Kidd and Pell. It was evident enough that Tom intended to\ntake one of the boats; and it must be one of the sailboats, for all the\nbarges and rowboats were locked up in the boat-house.\n\nBut at the old wharf there was a skiff, which was used when the Goldwing\nwas to be brought in for a party. It was not large enough to accommodate\nmore than three with safety, and Tom divided his forces for the trip. It\nwas not till after ten that he did this, and the lights were all put out\nin the dormitory. Even the mansion was shrouded in darkness; for all the\npeople in it were early risers, and had retired before this time. It was\nclear that the absent ones had not been missed at the dormitory.\n\nTom sent Nim back for the three who had been left on shore; for he would\nnot trust either Kidd or Pell, lest they should back out and give the\nalarm. He could control them while they were in his presence, but he was\nafraid of them if they were out of sight. The messenger could bring only\ntwo of them, and he went a second time for the last one, who happened to\nbe Bent Fillwing. To the surprise of this worthy, he found that the\nleader had taken possession of the Lily, instead of the Goldwing, which\nhe supposed would be the one selected. He objected with all his might to\nthe selection.\n\n\"This is the stupidest thing you ever did in your life, Tom Topover!\" he\nexclaimed, when he met the commander of the expedition on the forward\ndeck of the schooner.\n\n\"What is?\" asked Tom coolly.\n\n\"To take the Lily when there are only six of us,\" repeated Bent,\nrounding up fully the expression of his wonder at the folly of the\nleader. \"What are you going to do in this big boat?\"\n\n\"The fun of sailing her is half what the trip is for,\" added Tom. \"If\nyou don't want to go in the Lily, there is the skiff, and you know the\nway to the shore. I don't want you, if you won't take things as they\ncome and quit grumbling. I am going to do all the grumbling myself.\"\n\n\"You always do it all, and it is not fair to give the other fellows no\nchance at all,\" replied Bent, struggling to be as facetious as the\nchief. \"It took thirty-two of us to handle her last Saturday; and six of\nus have no show, and in the night too. How are you going to get through\nthe outlet with her? You are no pilot, and Dory Dornwood is fast asleep\nby this time.\"\n\n\"I can take her through as well as Dory. I don't want any more growling.\nIf you are not satisfied, Bent, go ashore, wrap yourselves up in your\nwool and go to sleep. I am the captain of this ship.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you are!\"\n\n\"I know I am. Did you hear any fellow growling to Matt Randolph last\nSaturday?\"\n\n\"He had the principal behind him. Besides, some of the fellows will get\nseasick, and then who will handle this big schooner. I move you put it\nto vote, whether we go in the Goldwing or the Lily,\" continued Bent,\nsuddenly assuming a pleasant tone.\n\n\"I don't care how you vote, or what you want to do. I am going in the\nLily, and any fellow who don't want to go with me can go on shore, and\ngo to bed,\" said Tom decisively.\n\nThat settled the question. Tom did not hear the remarks the principal\nmade to the captain of the schooner, in regard to taking risks; but he\ndetermined to run no needless risk on the present occasion. Though\neverybody appeared to be asleep at Beech Hill, Captain Gildrock might be\nwandering about the estate; for he was a man who was very likely to turn\nup unexpectedly when any mischief was in progress. Tom waited till he\nheard the town-clocks strike eleven. It was safe then, in his opinion,\nto proceed.\n\nThe leader of the Topovers had certainly learned a great deal since he\nhad been a pupil at Beech Hill. The principal, to encourage him when he\nappeared to be doing well, had humored him a good deal. He had steered\nthe steamer and the Goldwing, and could handle a sailboat about as well\nas the average boy who did not pretend to be a boatman.\n\nThe moorings of the Lily were so near the dormitory and the stables,\nthat Tom was afraid to hoist the fore and main sail of the schooner,\nlest any noise should be heard on shore. The old quartermaster had a\nroom over the carriage-house, and he slept with one eye open. The\nmoorings were cast off into the skiff, and the Lily was allowed to float\non the current. It took her a long time to get to the outlet. With all\nhis boasted skill, Tom was afraid to sail the schooner through the\noutlet in the darkness.\n\nHe rigged a pair of large oars in the fore-rigging, and put his crew on\nthe handles. They obtained headway enough to give her steerage-way, and\nthe pilot had no trouble in keeping the Lily in the middle of the\nstream. With no little difficulty, and a great deal of jaw, the sails\nwere set, and the schooner stood down the river.\n\nThe wind was light; but in half an hour she passed into the lake, and\nTom headed her to the north.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXVII.\n\n                        A SLEEPY SHIP'S COMPANY.\n\n\nThe wind was from the west, and there was but little of it. Tom knew a\ngreat deal more about sailing a boat than when he tried to handle the\nGoldwing; and he trimmed the sails on the port-tack so that the schooner\nwent along very well, though she was making not more than two knots an\nhour. It was very dark, and the gloom of the night was rather trying to\nthe new skipper. But he could see the light on Split Rock Point, and\nsteered for that.\n\nIt was very quiet on the lake at midnight, for there was nothing to\ncreate a particle of excitement. There was nothing to be done to the\nsails; for Tom could hardly see them, and he was not skilful enough to\nknow their condition from the feeling. He had sent Kidd Digfield and\nPell Sankland to the forecastle to keep a lookout, while the other four\nremained in the standing-room with the chief.\n\nTom had hardly laid a course before his companions began to gape and\nyawn. Not one of them was accustomed to being up at so late an hour; and\nall of them had done a day's work in the shop, and pulled the Winooski\nfor an hour after supper. They were tired; and, when the first\nexcitement of Tom's scheme had died out, they began to wish they were in\nbed in their rooms.\n\nThe lookout on the forecastle were troubled in the same way. There was\nnothing to do, and little to think about. The leader's sealed orders did\nnot permit any play of the imagination; and what the day would bring\nforth they could not imagine, even if every thing worked as Tom\nexpected. Kidd gaped, and Pell gaped. They found the softest places on\ndeck, and stretched themselves out. In a few minutes they were both fast\nasleep.\n\nWith the wheel in his hands, Tom had enough to keep him awake for a\ntime. Bent Fillwing had not a great deal of confidence in the seamanship\nof the skipper, and he kept watch of the course of the boat. But, with\nthe light ahead, it was not easy for him to go wrong; for there were no\nislands or dangerous places in the course.\n\n\"Are we all to sit up all night, Tom?\" asked Bent, when he had nearly\ndislocated his jaws with gaping. \"Some of us might as well go to bed,\nand sleep till morning.\"\n\n\"I guess not,\" replied Tom. \"Do you want to leave me alone on deck?\"\n\n\"Why can't we have watches, just as we had on the trial trip?\" asked\nBent, gaping again.\n\n\"All right. In that case we shall want a mate, and I appoint Nim\nSplugger. I will keep the other watch myself.\"\n\nIf Bent had not been rather more than half asleep, he might have\nrebelled at this selection; for Nim was generally regarded as one of the\npoorest sailors in the crew. But he made no objection; though Nim,\nconscious of his lack of ability, declined the position. He did not feel\ncompetent to take charge of the vessel in the absence of the skipper. He\nwhispered his thought to Tom, and suggested that he should appoint Bent\nto the position.\n\n\"I won't do it!\" exclaimed Tom decidedly.\n\n\"Won't do what?\" demanded Bent, who heard this answer, though he had not\nheard Nim's suggestion.\n\nThe skipper made no reply, but he insisted that Nim would do very well,\nand must be mate, whether he were willing or not. Bent Fillwing had a\nmind of his own, and he was disposed to resist the authority of the\nleader sometimes. Tom was afraid to make him his second in command. He\nfeared that Kidd and Pell might be weak when he needed their support,\nand he could not depend upon them. Jack Dumper was about the same sort\nof a cipher as Nim.\n\n\"If Nim is to be mate, let us have the crew divided into watches,\" said\nBent impatiently, and with a succession of yawns.\n\n\"I choose Jack Dumper,\" added Tom.\n\n\"I take Bent Fillwing,\" continued Nim, submitting to the greatness\nthrust upon him.\n\n\"Pell Sankland,\" said the captain.\n\n\"Kidd Diggfield,\" followed the mate, taking the last.\n\n\"According to rule, the captain's watch has the deck, and the port-watch\ncan turn in,\" continued Bent, rising from his seat. \"We are to sleep for\nthe next four hours. You will call us at four in the morning, Tom.\"\n\n\"I shall call you when I want you,\" said Tom sharply; for Bent talked as\nthough he were the skipper, and he damaged the dignity of the captain.\n\n\"By that time you can hear the church-clocks at Burlington, and you will\nknow when it is four o'clock. Now, Nim, go forward, and call Kidd\nDigfield.\"\n\n\"Go yourself, Bent,\" interposed Tom, who thought the speaker was giving\noff orders as though he thought he was the captain.\n\nBut Nim was not injured by the words of his subordinate, and he went\nforward. He roused the sleepers, and informed them that they were\ndivided into watches, and Kidd could turn in. He was glad enough to do\nso, and he followed the mate to the cabin. This apartment was a\ngood-sized room, and contained four berths. They were all furnished; and\nevery thing on board was in place, as though she had been prepared for a\nlong voyage. There was a lantern hanging to a beam, which Bent lighted.\nWithout a moment's delay they turned in, and were soon asleep.\n\nPell Sankland wished he had been in the starboard-watch, but it was all\nthe same to him. He turned over and went to sleep again, as soon as Kidd\nhad gone below. Jack Dumper had reclined on the cushioned seats of the\nstanding-room, and he was asleep almost as soon as the lookout on the\nforecastle.\n\nTom Topover had an imagination, coarse and low as it was; and its wings\nwere not clipped by the secrecy which limited the thoughts of his\ncompanions. The Lily passed Split Rock Light, and the lake was wider\nthan below this point. The wind freshened a little, and the schooner\nincreased her speed.\n\nTom did not feel quite as much at home as he had before. The gloom of\nthe night vexed him, and the water looked black. He had never been a\nclose observer of the lake; but he knew that there were islands between\nthe mouth of Beaver River and Burlington, and it would not be a\ndifficult matter to run over them. He had never sailed at night before,\nand knew nothing of the position of the lights, except the one on Split\nRock Point. He could see another ahead, just as far as he could see at\nall; but he had forgotten where it was, if he had ever known.\n\nThe skipper was troubled, and spoke to Jack Dumper; but the fellow was\nfast asleep. He stood up, and looked ahead to see if there were any\nobstructions in his course. He could see nothing, but he lacked\nconfidence. He thought of calling Bent, for he knew more about the lake\nthan any other fellow on board; but he could not ask for help from one\nwho aspired to power. In spite of himself and the perplexity of his\nposition, he began to gape and yawn. He was so sleepy he could hardly\nkeep his eyes open, and something must be done.\n\nTaking Jack Dumper by the collar, he dragged him off the cushions before\nhe could get a word out of him. His watch-mate knew less than the\nskipper about the lake. He could not tell any thing about the islands.\nHe sent him forward to ask Pell. The lookout was roused with difficulty;\nand, when he was awake, he was so heavy that he could not remember that\nthere was a single island in the lake. Tom rated both of his watch-mates\nfor going to sleep; and, putting the helm down, he directed them to haul\nin the sheets. They knew how to do this, and it was done.\n\nThe skipper could keep his eyes open no longer, and he dropped asleep\nonce at the wheel. But the shaking of the sails waked him in a minute.\nHe had headed the Lily for Cannon's Point, where she had anchored on\nSaturday. He called on his watch to haul down the jib and let go the\nanchor. The wind was light, and he did not lower the other sails. He\ndismissed the watch, and they all went below. Tom took the remaining\nberth, and his two companions laid down on a divan. They were asleep as\nsoon as they had stretched themselves out.\n\nWhen the sun rose, it brought up a breeze with it from the south-west.\nThe sails which had been left in a very unseamanlike condition, began to\nrattle and bang. They filled, and the schooner forged ahead until she\nwas brought up by her anchor. Then the sails went over, and filled on\nthe other tack; and the racket was repeated. As the wind increased in\nforce, the noise and shaking increased, until even the heavy sleepers in\nthe cabin were disturbed. Bent Fillwing was the first to wake. He rushed\nto the companion-way, and took a look at things on deck.\n\nThe schooner was at anchor, and the jib was hauled down. He returned to\nthe cabin, and saw Tom fast asleep in his berth. The rest of the\nstarboard-watch were snoring on the divan. At this moment the wind\nfilled the fore and main sails, and the yacht heeled over till Bent\ncould hardly stand up.\n\n\"Tom Topover!\" he shouted at the top of his lungs. \"You are a pretty\ncaptain!\"\n\n\"What's the matter, Bent?\" asked Tom, straightening himself up in his\nberth.\n\n\"Nothing yet, but something will soon be the matter. Is this the way you\nsail the schooner? You are a pretty captain, to turn in and leave the\nLily to take care of herself!\" raved Bent, indignant at the conduct of\nthe captain.\n\n\"Hold your jaw, Bent Fillwing, or I will bat you over the head!\"\nreturned Tom, as soon as he came to the consciousness that he was the\ncaptain of the schooner, and that one of the crew was scolding at him.\n\"Go on deck, and lower the sails!\"\n\n\"Lower the sails! Are you going to stay here all day? It is sunrise now,\nand we ought to be down to Plattsburgh by this time,\" replied Bent.\n\n\"I am captain of this craft, and you will obey orders,\" added Tom, as he\nturned over in his berth, as if he intended to go to sleep again.\n\nThe racket on board had aroused Pell Sankland and Kidd Digfield. Bent\ntold them to follow him, and he went on deck. They were surprised, as\nBent had been, to find the schooner at anchor under the lee of Cannon's\nPoint. Without losing any time, and without regard to the orders of the\nsleepy captain, they got up the anchor, hoisted the jib, and the Lily\nstood away from her anchorage.\n\nBent put Kidd Digfield at the wheel, and then went into the cabin to\n\"have it out\" with the captain. Though he had learned all about nautical\nobedience on board of the Sylph, he was not inclined to practise it on\nthe present occasion. In fact, he was disposed to be a rebel, and to\nbring the captain to a sense of duty. He went to Tom's berth. The chief\nTopover was fast asleep.\n\nThe skipper had settled on his back, with his arms spread out. Bent was\non the point of taking him by the collar, to bring him to a sense of\nduty,—for he had lost all his respect for the dignity of the office,\nsince the incumbent had abandoned his post,—when he saw something\nprotruding from the vest-pocket of the sleeper.\n\nIt looked like a roll of bank-bills. Without disturbing the unconscious\nskipper, he laid hands upon it, and adroitly secured possession of it.\nHe did not wait to have it out with Tom. As he had supposed when he\nfirst saw it, the object was a roll of bills. With his prize, Bent went\non deck again.\n\n\n\n\n                            CHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n                   STEALING A MARCH UPON THE LEADER.\n\n\nBent Fillwing took the roll of bills from his pocket as he halted on the\nforecastle. He had possessed himself of the principal secret of Tom\nTopover, and he felt that he was in condition to dictate to his superior\nif he was disposed to do so. He realized that Tom was not competent to\nmanage the schooner, and he had his doubts about his own ability.\n\nHe opened the roll of bills. The first one he saw was a ten. So was the\nnext one, and it soon appeared that the roll of bills were all of this\ndenomination. There were six of them, and the amount was sixty dollars.\nIt was a large sum of money for a boy to have, and he wondered where Tom\nhad obtained it. But it did not much matter to him, so far as the moral\nquestion was concerned. The Topover must have stolen the money, for he\nhad no way to obtain it honestly.\n\nBut Tom had not been off the estate except in the boats; and, so far as\nBent had seen, there was no money left there so that it could be stolen.\n\nIt was possible that he had robbed the room of some teacher or other\nperson. When the loss was discovered, there would be a tremendous\ntempest at Beech Hill. The absence of the Lily would be discovered about\nthe same time, and the roll would be called. They were sure to be\ncaught. There was no end of circus and theatre in the sum of sixty\ndollars, to say nothing of what might be bought at the stores, or\nobtained at the hotels.\n\nBut the risk was tremendous. Captain Gildrock would be up by this time.\nIt would be natural enough for him to discover the loss of the Lily,\nwhen he took his first look at Beechwater. Taking the boat was one\nthing, but stealing the sixty dollars was another thing, and the\nprincipal might resort to a court to settle the matter. The schooner was\nwithin four miles of Beech Hill, and many hours of the night had been\nwasted.\n\nBent was full of doubts, and he cast anxious glances up and down the\nlake to see if the Sylph or the Goldwing was not in pursuit of them. The\nwind was fresh, but not as strong as it had been on Saturday. He could\nnot expect to escape the steamer, and hardly the Goldwing, with her\nskilful skipper at the helm. He wished he was out of the scrape, not on\nmoral considerations, but because the risk was so great. Putting the\nmoney in his pocket, he went aft, and seated himself in the\nstanding-room.\n\nHe looked at Kidd and Pell. They did not appear at all as though they\nwere having a good time. When he thought of the promised fun ahead, the\ntheatre and the circus, he could not help seeing that any enjoyment, if\nthere was any ahead, was to be purchased at the price of submission to\nTom Topover. He was carrying it with a lordly sway, and sailed under\n\"sealed orders.\"\n\n\"Do you think there is any fun ahead for us, Kidd?\" he asked, after he\nhad thought of the situation for a while.\n\n\"I don't see any. I supposed we should be off Plattsburgh, or a good way\nfarther north than we are; and it looks more as though we should be\ncaught than that we should have a time,\" replied Kidd.\n\n\"We have nothing to eat on board,\" added Pell. \"There may be some\ncrackers, or something of that sort; but we shall get no breakfast\nunless we land at Burlington.\"\n\n\"How do you know Tom will let us land at Burlington?\" asked Kidd. \"I\nknow he didn't mean to stop there, for we are all too well known in the\ncity.\"\n\n\"If we want to land there, we can do so; for we are half of the party,\nand we are as good as the other half,\" replied Bent.\n\n\"We haven't any money to get a breakfast, if we should land while Tom is\nasleep,\" added Pell. \"It will be a starving time, and I am sick of it. I\ndidn't want to come, and I am sorry now that Tom beat me into it.\"\n\n\"I have been sorry I came, ever since I got into the skiff. Tom never\nused to be so topping, and now he treats us as though we were his\nslaves.\"\n\n\"Precisely so; and, as you say, I have had about enough of it,\" said\nBent. \"I expect to see the Sylph or the Goldwing after us before we can\nget to Burlington, if we are going there;\" and Bent looked up the lake\nagain.\n\n\"We can't get any thing to eat short of Burlington, and, after that,\nnothing till we can get to Plattsburgh,\" continued Pell. \"I know Tom\nwon't let us go ashore at Burlington; so that we are not likely to get\nany thing to eat till noon, if we are not caught before that time. Tom\nhas the money, and he can starve us if we don't mind him.\"\n\nBent Fillwing pulled the roll of bills from his pocket, and held it up\nbefore his companions. He explained how he had obtained it; and, for\nsome little time, they wondered where Tom got the money.\n\n\"Now, fellows, there are only two things that we can do,\" said Bent, who\nhad evidently come to a conclusion. \"We have money enough to buy a\nbreakfast in Burlington; but we wear a uniform, and everybody will know\nus as soon as we show our coats and caps. Captain Gildrock has found out\nbefore this time that the Lily is gone. It is about six o'clock now, and\nhe can ascertain who have taken her by looking out for the absent\nstudents. It would be like him to telegraph to Burlington to have us\narrested, or to have the boat captured if we don't go on shore. It will\nbe hot water ahead, whatever we do.\"\n\n\"I am in favor of going back to Beech Hill,\" said Kidd Digfield. \"If I\nhad known the Lily was at anchor, I should have taken one of the boats\nand gone ashore, or pulled back to the school.\"\n\n\"I was ready to go with him,\" added Pell Sankland. \"We have been well\nused at the school; and there is ten times as much fun there as there is\ngoing off on a time as the slaves of Tom Topover.\"\n\n\"Shall we put about, and go to Beech Hill?\" asked Bent.\n\n\"I am in favor of it,\" replied Kidd, and Pell agreed with him.\n\nKidd was the best sailor of the three; and he was allowed to retain the\nwheel, and direct the movements of the others. Without any difficulty,\nhe brought the Lily on her course to the southward. The wind was\nfreshening all the time, and the sea was beginning to look very rough in\nthe broad lake ahead of them.\n\n\"We shall have a sweet row as soon as Tom Topover wakes up,\" said Bent,\nwhen they had all resumed their places in the standing-room. \"But I\ndon't care for that. Don't say a word about the money; and, as soon as\nwe get to Beech Hill, I will hand it over to Captain Gildrock.\"\n\n\"Not a word,\" replied Kidd. \"Tom is sure to pitch into us as soon as he\nfinds that we are headed for Beech Hill.\"\n\n\"He will take the schooner away from us, and head her the other way,\"\nadded Pell.\n\n\"I don't believe he will,\" replied Bent, shaking his head as though he\nmeant business. \"There are three of us; and I will agree to take care of\nTom, if you will take care of the others. One of us ought to take the\nlead; and you may as well do so, Kidd.\"\n\n\"I would rather have you do that; though I will handle the schooner as\nwell as I can, if you will prevent Tom from interfering with me,\"\nanswered Kidd.\n\n\"I will do that,\" Bent assented; and he did not seem to think he had\ntaken a large contract.\n\n\"Tom Topover could lick any fellow in Genverres, and all of us used to\nbe afraid of him,\" said Pell.\n\n\"Since Dory Dornwood knocked him out, and Paul Bristol gave him more\nthan he could stomach, the fellows have not been afraid of him. Ash\nBurton and Sam Spottwood were ready to stand up before him.\"\n\n\"I am not afraid of him,\" added Bent, who had been another such fellow\nas Tom, in the town where he lived.\n\nAll these boys had been greatly influenced, and their characters\nmodified, by their residence at Beech Hill. Now that the three on deck\nhad taken the first step towards putting themselves right, they found a\ncertain strength which had not belonged to them before. They had taken\ntheir position, and they were ready to carry it out in spite of the\nblows and the ridicule of Tom. The two original Topovers were beginning\nto understand why they had yielded to their old leader, but the fear of\nhis sharp sarcasm had been overcome.\n\nThe Lily sailed like a bird, having the wind nearly on the beam. It was\nonly four miles to the mouth of the river, with a leading wind all the\nway up to the moorings. While they were talking, they heard a distant\nchurch-clock strike six. They had got under way before five, and now\nthey were close to the mouth of the river.\n\nTom still slept; for he had been very tired, and he had been up till a\nvery late hour for him. The motion of the schooner was very easy, and\nBent had closed the doors of the cabin so that the conversation could\nnot be heard if any one waked below. After the Lily had come about, she\nhad held a straight course to the river. Not a sheet had been disturbed,\nand not much change would be required until she reached the bend in the\noutlet of Beechwater. Kidd had advised that no noise should be made, for\nhe wished to postpone as long as possible the row with Tom Topover.\n\nThe result of his cautionary measures resulted much better than he could\nhave anticipated. The Lily went into the river, and the increasing\nbreeze went with her. With a south-west wind, there was no difficulty at\nthe bend; though it was necessary to gybe her there. The wind was not\nstrong enough yet to make this a very dangerous manœuvre; and she came\nabout handsomely, and the mainsail was eased off so that it made but\nlittle noise.\n\n\"Here we are!\" exclaimed Bent in a low tone, when the schooner shot into\nBeechwater. \"There will be no row after all; or, if there is, the\nprincipal can settle it. I hope we shall be able to get ashore before\nTom wakes.\"\n\n\"Then, if you will get the anchor ready, we will ease it into the water,\nand haul the jib down without noise,\" added Kidd.\n\n\"We have stolen a march upon Tom, and I hope we shall get ashore without\nwaking him,\" said Pell, as he went forward with Bent.\n\nAt the right time Kidd luffed her up, and went forward to assist in the\nwork there. He hauled down the jib while his companions were easing the\nanchor into the water. In a moment she was fast to the bottom. Tom had\nnot yet put in an appearance, and the rebels had succeeded beyond their\nexpectations.\n\n\"Don't go aft again,\" said Kidd, as he hauled the skiff up to the bow of\nthe schooner. He had preferred to anchor, lest the noise of mooring\nshould disturb the sleepers.\n\nBent got into the skiff, and was followed by the others. They paddled to\nthe shore, and left the Lily with her fore and main sail set. They\nlanded at the old wharf. As they had supposed, the principal was wide\nawake, and had discovered the loss of the Lily. He had called the\nstudents together, and had only just taken the names of the absent ones.\nWhen he saw the Lily come into Beechwater, he walked at once to the old\nwharf.\n\n\"Good-morning, Digfield! Good-morning, Fillwing! You have been taking an\nearly sail,\" said the principal in his usual tones.\n\nBent replied to the salutation, and then handed the roll of bills to\nCaptain Gildrock, who received them with astonishment, not to say\nwonder.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXIX.\n\n                        TOM TOPOVER'S RECEPTION.\n\n\n\"Sixty dollars!\" exclaimed Captain Gildrock, when he had looked over the\nroll of bills handed him by Bent Fillwing. \"Why do you give this money\nto me?\"\n\n\"Doesn't it belong to you, sir?\" asked Bent, who had put on the meekest\nexpression he could find among his resources.\n\n\"I am not aware that it does. I have not lost any money,\" added the\nprincipal.\n\n\"Has any one about the school lost any, sir?\" inquired Bent, who began\nto think he had proceeded too rapidly.\n\n\"I have not heard of any one who has lost any money. Perhaps you had\nbetter explain where you got it, as you seem to be anxious to get rid of\nit,\" suggested the captain.\n\n\"We went on a little lark in the Lily, but some of us concluded to bring\nher back,\" replied Bent, fixing his gaze upon the ground, which is the\nproper thing for a penitent to do.\n\n\"Where is Tom Topover, who went with you?\" asked the principal, as he\nlooked at the three excursionists who had presented themselves before\nhim. \"Where are Splugger and Dumper?\"\n\n\"We left them asleep on board of the Lily,\" replied Bent, with a smile,\nas he watched the expression of the principal. \"As they don't show\nthemselves, I suppose they are still asleep.\"\n\nBent Fillwing chuckled when he thought of the trick he had played on Tom\nTopover. He had expected a fight with him, and he had even been ready\nfor that; for he did not believe so much in the pugilistic prowess of\nthe bully as most of the students, and he was at home in that sort of\nbusiness. He thought he knew how to manage the principal: and he was\nacting all the time, as much as though he had been the leading card in a\nshow.\n\nThe story of Ash Burton and Sam Spottwood, who had escaped the\nconsequences of the stealing of the Goldwing, was well known; and the\nprincipal seemed to have a weakness in the direction of penitents, if he\nhad one in any direction. It was evident that he knew all about the\nscrape as far as it could be ascertained at Beech Hill, for he had\nmentioned all the names of the party not before him.\n\n\"You seem to be amused at something, Fillwing,\" continued Captain\nGildrock, smiling himself.\n\n\"We have concluded to tell the whole truth, and keep nothing back, not\neven the money,\" said Bent; though he had a sort of suspicion that he\nhad been a little premature in disposing so suddenly of the sixty\ndollars.\n\n\"That is a wise plan. It seems that you have voluntarily returned, in\nspite of Tom Topover, Splugger, and Dumper,\" replied the principal\nencouragingly.\n\n\"Yes, sir, we were sure we should be captured; and, while Tom was\nasleep, we brought him back to Beech Hill, and we are very sorry we took\nany part in the enterprise,\" added Bent, acting his part very well;\nthough the principal understood him as well as though he had said he was\nplaying the penitent.\n\n\"Perhaps it is fortunate for you that he was asleep, if you decided to\nretrace your steps.\"\n\n\"I think we should have come back all the same if he had been awake,\nthough it might have cost us a fight in that case; and we had agreed to\ntake things as they came,\" replied Bent, with a modest display of\nvirtue.\n\n\"That is, you had resolved to fight for the privilege of doing your\nduty,\" added Captain Gildrock. \"Don't be over modest about it. Duty\npresented herself before you; and, though peril and suffering lay\nbetween you and her, you were determined to follow her at all hazards.\"\n\nThis raillery took all the starch out of Bent Fillwing. The principal\nsaw through his parade of confession, and took no stock in his\npenitence.\n\n\"I said we came back because we were sure we should be caught, though we\nall agreed that the scrape was a bad egg,\" replied Bent, switching off\nto a new track.\n\n\"What was the scrape?\" asked the captain, looking from one to another of\nthe delinquents.\n\n\"That is more than we know. Tom Topover sailed under sealed orders; and\nhe would not tell us what we were going to do, or where we were going.\nHe promised us that we should go to the theatre, and live at the hotels;\nand he did not mean to come back to Beech Hill. We couldn't get any\nthing out of him in regard to his plan. He said he would pay the bills,\nbut he would not tell us any thing,\" Bent explained.\n\n\"And you went with him on these terms?\"\n\n\"I was willing enough to go, until he put on as many airs as though he\nhad been the principal of the Beech-Hill Industrial School. He was\nalways under sealed orders, and gave off his commands as though he\nexpected them to be obeyed, and no questions asked.\"\n\n\"That is the proper way to obey orders,\" added the principal, with a\nsmile.\n\n\"Kidd and Pell did not want to go, but Tom blackguarded them into\njoining; and they were ready enough to come back as soon as the way was\nopen. I don't know but they would have had a fight in order to follow\nthat lady you spoke of,\" continued Bent, who was himself now.\n\n\"What lady? I have spoken of no lady.\"\n\n\"Duty—Miss Duty; but she was not as good-looking as Miss Lily Bristol.\nIn our case she seemed to be pointing to the door of the brig.\"\n\nThe principal thought he might get the truth out of Kidd Digfield and\nPell Sankland, who had not yet spoken a word. He questioned them; and\nthey told him without any attempt at concealment or palliation, and with\nno mock humility, all that had occurred since they went to their rooms\nthe night before. They were genuine penitents, and there was no fraud\nabout them.\n\n\"You were weak to allow the blackguard talk of a fellow like Tom Topover\nto turn you aside, but you will know better next time,\" added Captain\nGildrock very mildly. \"Do you know any thing about this money?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all, sir: I did not know Tom had it, except from what he\nsaid,\" replied Kidd.\n\n\"You don't know where he got it?\"\n\nNot one of them had the remotest idea.\n\n\"I came to the conclusion that he had robbed some teacher's room, or had\nbeen exploring your strong-box, sir,\" interposed Bent. \"At any rate, I\nwas sure that he had not come honestly by it; and, when I saw it\nsticking out of his pocket, I took possession of it, for it was the\nsinews of war.\"\n\n\"And, when you got it, you decided to return?\" asked the principal, with\na smile.\n\nBent winced under the glance bestowed upon him; for he realized that the\nprincipal understood him, and that any more humility or pretence of duty\nwould do him no good.\n\n\"I did not decide to return because I had got the money, but because Tom\nhad deserted his post, and instead of being up at Plattsburgh, or some\npoint miles nearer the foot of the lake, we were not four miles from the\nmouth of Beaver River.\"\n\n\"That sounds quite reasonable. Tom had spoiled the enterprise he had\nundertaken to manage,\" added the captain.\n\n\"That was exactly it. He was sleepy, and then he anchored the schooner\nand turned in. I knew we couldn't get away after he had lost three or\nfour hours. There was no chance for us, and I gave it up as soon as I\nhad looked over the ground. The moment I said a word, Kidd and Pell were\neager to come back.\"\n\n\"You may come over to the boat-house with me,\" continued the principal,\nleading the way.\n\nThe boat-house was open, and they found all the students assembled\nthere. The smoke was pouring out of the smoke-stack of the Sylph, and\nthe runaways concluded that they were getting her ready to go in search\nof the Lily. No one seemed to be stirring yet on board of the schooner;\nand it was evident that Tom Topover and his two companions had not yet\nfinished their nap. It was only seven o'clock, and they had not turned\nin till one; so that they had not yet made up the eight hours of sleep\nto which they were accustomed.\n\nDory Dornwood and Paul Bristol were called by Captain Gildrock, and\ndirected to go out to the Lily, buoy the cable without waiting to get up\nthe anchor, and to bring her to the wharf without waking those in the\ncabin.\n\nDory laughed heartily when he had learned enough of the absence of the\nschooner to comprehend the situation; and he and Paul executed the order\nwith which they were charged, to the letter. The Lily was brought\nalongside of the wharf, and made fast. The sleepers in the cabin were\nentering on their seventh hour of slumber, and the movements of the boat\nhad not disturbed them.\n\n\"Now, boys, form a line,\" said the principal. \"Keep step; and, when I\ngive the word, I want you to put your feet down in earnest.\"\n\nThe students formed the line; and, when Bent and his two associates held\nback, they were required to take their places in the line. The boys had\nbeen trained a little in a few military movements for marching purposes,\nand they knew how to place themselves. Dory was directed to lead them to\nthe deck of the Lily; and the students were required to step lightly,\nuntil the word was given for a change.\n\nThe students filed upon the deck of the schooner, in good order, and\nwithout making any noise. When the last one was on the deck, and Dory\nhad marched the head of the column around the standing-room, Captain\nGildrock gave the word, \"Attention! march!\" The file was closed up, so\nthat the students stood touching each other. All as one, they began to\nput their feet down on the planks in a very heavy step. All hands were\nintensely amused, for they had been told the situation of things on\nboard, and were laughing as though they enjoyed the affair in which they\nwere engaged. Tom and his fellow-rebels would have no reason to suppose\nthey were not at anchor off Cannon's Point.\n\nThe tramp of their feet could be heard half a mile from the wharf, for\nMrs. Bristol and Lily soon came to the scene to ascertain what the\nmatter was. The boys kept up the step with all the vigor of those\ninterested in the business. The cabin-doors were closed; but, if the\nrunaways were still alive, they could not help waking, with such a\ntremendous noise over their heads.\n\n\"On deck there! what are you doing?\" shouted Tom Topover, at the top of\nhis lungs. \"What's all that noise for?\"\n\nThe principal, who still stood on the wharf, where he could overlook the\noperations, raised his hand; and all the students became as statues at\nonce. Silence reigned supreme. In a low tone, he told Dory to be ready\nto give three cheers; and the word was passed along the line.\n\n\"Why don't you answer me, Bent Fillwing?\" shouted Tom again, when no\nattention was paid to his first call.\n\nThe silence was not broken, and Tom was evidently getting mad. A moment\nlater he pushed open the cabin-doors, and tumbled out into the\nstanding-room.\n\n\"Three cheers!\" exclaimed Dory, prompted by his uncle.\n\nThe cheers were lustily given, and Tom opened his eyes very wide.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  \"THE PRINCIPAL STOOD ON THE WHARF, WHERE HE COULD\n  OVERLOOK THE OPERATIONS.\"—PAGE 326.\n]\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXX.\n\n                  THE REFORMED TOPOVERS AT BEECH HILL.\n\n\nWhen Tom Topover heard the cheers, he had made his way into the\nstanding-room. He had evidently expected to find his turbulent\nsubordinate, Bent Fillwing, there; and he had opened his mouth to give\nhim a severe rating. But when he saw the students of the school gathered\naround in solid phalanx, he started back, and looked as though he had\nseen the world suddenly come to an end.\n\nHe had slept like a log; and he had not the remotest suspicion that the\nLily was not at anchor off Cannon's Point, where he had left her the\nnight before. A remarkable change had taken place in the situation, and\nhe could not account for it. He saw that the Lily was at the wharf; and\nthere was the boat-house; and on the edge of the wharf stood the\nprincipal, looking as smiling as though no case of discipline ever\ntroubled him.\n\nNim Splugger and Jack Dumper had been awakened by the tramp of the boys\non deck, and were at the heels of the chief when he went up the\ncompanion-way to the standing-room. They were quite as much astonished\nas Tom. In fact, all three of them were utterly confounded by the\nsituation. If they had been dreaming, in their heavy slumber, of the\ntheatre and circus,—visits to which had been confidently promised to\nthem,—they awoke to a terrible certainty that the fun was all over.\n\nThe principal said nothing for a couple of minutes, in order to allow\nTom and his companions to take it all in, and gather up their ideas.\nThen he stepped down from the wharf, and took a stand on the rail of the\nschooner.\n\n\"Good-morning, Captain Topover; for I understand that you are the\ncommander of this schooner,\" the principal began, with mock solemnity.\n\"We learned that you had arrived this morning, in your fine craft; and\nwe have turned out to give you a fitting reception. When great men come\nto Beech Hill, we do our best to receive them with suitable honors.\n\n\"On your return from your cruise in the Lily, it gives us great pleasure\nto welcome you. We hardly expected to see you so soon; and your arrival\nat this early hour deprives the students of the pleasure of meeting you\non the lake in the Sylph, in which they were preparing to receive you\nsome time in the course of the day.\n\n\"We congratulate you on the happy circumstance that you have brought the\nLily back in good condition, and we have no doubt you have enjoyed your\nexcursion very much. We understand that you have enforced discipline on\nboard of the schooner; and, as you were sailing under sealed orders, you\nhave kept your own counsel. For myself, I may say that I have received\nthe sixty dollars which was the sinews of the trip.\"\n\n\"I didn't steal that money,\" blubbered Tom, as he looked at the\nprincipal, and realized that all the students, even to Bent, Kidd, and\nPell, who were seen among them, were laughing at him, and enjoying the\nscene to their hearts' content.\n\n\"My dear Captain Topover, no one has accused you of stealing it!\"\nexclaimed the principal. \"You sailed under sealed orders, and you did\nnot even tell your companions in the enterprise where you got that\nmoney. This was all very proper, for it takes away from the dignity of a\ncommander to be too familiar with his subordinates. We look upon you as\na mighty man, and we hardly expect you to be more communicative to us.\"\n\nTom seemed to be a little bothered at the allusion to the money, and he\nbegan to feel in his vest-pocket for the bills. He had not shown them to\nhis companions; and they could not have known any thing about the money,\nexcept the hint he had given them that he was provided with funds. The\nroll of bills had been in his pocket when he went to sleep: it was not\nthere now. And the principal was talking about the amount, which he had\nnot mentioned, to the whole school. It looked very strange to him now\nthat he had time to collect his thoughts. He could not explain it.\n\nAt this point of the interview, the breakfast-bell rang at the door of\nthe mansion.\n\n\"It is a happy circumstance that you arrived just in time for our\nmorning meal, and we shall take great pleasure in escorting you to the\nbanquet hall. You must have an appetite after the labors of the night,\nmost of which you have spent in your berth,\" continued Captain Gildrock.\n\"March to the house by twos, and open ranks in the middle to receive our\ndistinguished guests on this occasion.\"\n\nThe students doubled up, and marched ashore. In the middle of the\ncolumn, in single file, the three rebels were placed. Tom did not know\nwhat to make of it. If the principal or Bates had taken him by the\ncollar, and pitched him on the deck, he could have comprehended it. If\nhe was disposed to rebel, he could not do so in the face of the ridicule\nthat was in process of being heaped upon him. He took his place in the\nline, and the column marched to the house.\n\nThe teachers and others had collected on the lawn, aware that something\nunusual had transpired; and they could not help joining in the general\nlaugh, when they saw in the procession the three runaways marching to\nthe mansion. At the table all took their usual places, and the lake\nvoyagers were hungry enough to do excellent justice to the meal set\nbefore them.\n\nWhile they were at breakfast, Bates moved the Lily back to her moorings,\nfished up the anchor, and put the craft in her usual neat trim. Nothing\nwas said at the table about the escapade of the Topover party; and,\nthough the students kept an eye on the chief, the principal hardly\nglanced at him. While he was still at the head of the table, a servant\nbrought in the morning mail. As the party rose from their seats, the\ncaptain handed the letters to those to whom they were directed. Among\nseveral belonging to himself, he opened one. He read for a moment, and\nthen rapped on the table.\n\n\"Here is a letter from a gentleman who was here to see me yesterday;\nand, as it explains a great mystery, I will read a portion of it to you,\nas it relates to the sinews of the late cruise of the Lily. 'On my\nreturn from Beech Hill last evening, I went to the office of the Van\nNess House to pay my bill, for I intended to go home by the evening\ntrain; but I found I had not a dollar in my pocket. I had a roll of\nbills in my vest-pocket, which, to the best of my remembrance, contained\nsixty dollars. I have not the least idea where I lost it. Possibly, I\ndropped it in your grounds. If so, and you happen to find it, please\ngive me credit for the amount, or send a check to me at my residence;\nfor I borrowed enough to get home with.'\n\n\"Now, thanks to the honesty of Captain Topover, late commander of the\nLily in her cruise to, but not from, Cannon's Point, I am enabled, to\nreturn this money to its rightful owner,\" continued the principal. \"It\nhas been placed in my hands for safe keeping, and I did not expect to\nfind the owner of it so soon.\"\n\n\"Who placed it in your hands for safe keeping?\" asked Tom, rather\nimpudently.\n\n\"I think we will follow your example,—sail under sealed orders, and keep\nour own counsel,\" replied Captain Gildrock. \"At any rate, none of the\nmoney will be spent for theatre and circus, and none for hotel-bills on\nour account.\"\n\nThe students laughed heartily at the discomfiture of Tom Topover.\nCaptain Gildrock had told the three penitents not to mention the manner\nin which the money had been obtained, or that they had handed it to him.\nHe did not care to have Tom pick a quarrel with Bent on account of it.\nThis part of the adventure remained concealed from all, and Tom could\nnot explain it; though he suspected that his three renegade companions\nhad done some things which they did not explain.\n\nThe students went to their studies, and the rebels were surprised that\nnothing more was said to them. The only penalty to which they were\nsubjected was that the windows were covered with bars again, in the\nrooms of Tom, Nim, and Jack Dumper. The others were truly sorry for the\npart they had played in the scrape, and no punishment awaited them. But\nthe ridicule to which the three guilty ones were subjected, proved to be\na very salutary medicine for their complaint.\n\n\"You went back on me, Bent Fillwing,\" said Tom Topover, in the evening,\nwhen they were alone on the lawn.\n\n\"And you went back on the whole of us,\" retorted Bent.\n\n\"I did? Not a bit of it! If you hadn't deserted me, I would have done\nall I promised. What do you mean by saying that I went back on you? Tom\nTopover never went back on any fellow in his life.\"\n\n\"Bosh!\" sneered Bent. \"When you got sleepy, you anchored the schooner\nand went to sleep. I call that going back on us in the worst possible\nmanner. You haven't brains enough to manage any affair, Tom Topover. You\nare as vain as a bantam rooster, and you put on airs enough to fit out a\nsergeant at a country muster.\"\n\n\"None of your lip, Bent Fillwing. If you talk like that, I'll bat you\nover the head. I don't let any fellow talk to me like that,\" said Tom,\ndoubling up his fists.\n\n\"You will let me tell you the truth; or I will tell you, whether you let\nme or not. If you want to bat me over the head, I will show you, in one\nsecond after you have done it, how long you are when you are spread out\non the ground. I repeat, that you are a vain pup, and no fellow can\ntrust you. When Kidd and Pell and I had the watch below, what did you do\non deck? You gave up the battle, and went to sleep. In the morning, when\nwe ought to have been below Burlington, and out of sight of people who\nknow us, we were fast to the anchor, only four miles from the mouth of\nthe river. I had no confidence in you, and I gave it up. I wouldn't\ntrust you to lead a farrow hen to water.\"\n\n\"You and I will have to settle this business, Bent Fillwing,\" muttered\nTom.\n\n\"Why don't you settle it now, if you want to. If you wish to know how\nlong you are, I can make a plan of you on the ground in the twinkling of\nan eye. Then you acted as though you were the commander of a big\nman-of-war, when you were nothing but a sick puppy. No fellow could\nstand it when you began to lord it over him. If we had not brought the\nschooner back, the Sylph would have captured us; and then the fun would\nhave been all over. It was no use to think of doing any thing, after you\nhad lost four hours of the time we ought to have used in getting to a\nsafe part of the lake.\"\n\n\"How did old Gildrock get that sixty dollars?\" asked Tom, finding it was\nuseless to bully Bent. He was too ready to be hit, and to return the\ncompliment.\n\n\"Don't you suppose he went down to your berth after you came into\nBeechwater, and took it from your pocket?\" asked Bent, laughing.\n\nTom did not believe he had done so. But he could get nothing out of him\nor the other penitents, and he had to give it up. Perhaps he will know\nsome day, but it is still a great mystery to him.\n\nCaptain Gildrock said it was a great misfortune to Tom, that he had\nfound that roll of bills. The money had, no doubt, tempted him to plan\nthe excursion in the Lily, on the spur of the moment. He would not have\nthought of such a thing, if the \"sinews\" had not been obtained by\naccident.\n\nUp to this time, Tom had been doing very well. He observed all the\nrules, and learned his lessons. In the shop he was particularly\nattentive to his work. For some time before the long vacation the\nstudents had been engaged in building the engine for the proposed\nsteamer, which was to be about half the size of the Sylph. Tom was\nemployed on this work, and his lessons related to the natural forces\nemployed to obtain steam-power. He was interested in this subject, and\nhe read with attention all his text-book contained in relation to it.\n\nIn a few weeks, when it was seen that Tom and his associates in the\ncruise of the Lily were doing as well as they knew how, the bars were\nremoved from their windows, and the doors were not locked at night. All\nof them were allowed to visit their parents, and to spend Sunday with\nthem; but they did not value the privilege very highly, and preferred to\nspend most of the time at Beech Hill.\n\nTom became a skilful machinist in time, though he never entirely\nrecovered from the faults of his disposition. He was kept busy at the\nschool during his three years; and he gave but little trouble, on the\nwhole, though he sometimes had an outbreak which worked off the bad\nblood for the time. The people of Genverres were astonished at the fact,\nwhen they realized it, that the Topovers had been reformed, and were\ndoing their duty in the institution. It was a merciful thing to them as\nwell as to the boys, for they had suffered a great deal from their\npranks and depredations.\n\nMrs. Sankland had occasion to look back to the fire in her house as a\ngodsend; for it had called the attention of the people to her wants, and\nshe was supplied with all the work she could do.\n\nAbout the time Tom Topover graduated, and took a place to run a\nstationary engine, his father died; and he did his full share in\nsupporting the family. The school had made a new man of him, as a school\nof no other kind could have done.\n\nA little later in the season, the keel of the steam-yacht was laid down\nin the sheds built for the accommodation of the Lily. The wood-workers\namong the students labored on her all winter, and had enough to do;\nwhile those in the metalshops finished the engine.\n\nIn the following spring, as soon as the weather was suitable for going\nout on the lake, classes in boat-sailing were organized, under the\ninstruction of Matt Randolph and Dory Dornwood, who continued in service\nas captains of the Lily and the Goldwing; and all hands made a practical\nuse of the phrase they had so often heard, \"Ready, about!\" as they\nlearned the art of \"sailing the boat.\"\n\n\n\n\n_OLIVER OPTIC'S BOOKS._\n\n\n                        THE BOAT-BUILDER SERIES.\n\n              To be completed in Six Volumes. Illustrated.\n                            Per Vol., $1.25.\n\n1. =ALL ADRIFT;=\n\nOr, The Goldwing Club.\n\n2. =SNUG HARBOR;=\n\nOr, The Champlain Mechanics.\n\n3. =SQUARE AND COMPASS;=\n\nOr, Building the House.\n\n4. =STEM TO STERN;=\n\nOr, Building the Boat.\n\n5. =ALL TAUT;=\n\nOr, Rigging the Boat.\n\n6. =READY ABOUT;=\n\nOr, Sailing the Boat.\n\nThe series will include in successive volumes the whole art of\nboat-building, boat-rigging, boat-managing, and probably how to make the\nownership of a boat pay. A great deal of useful information will be\ngiven in this Boat-Building series, and in each book a very interesting\nstory is sure to be interwoven with the information. Every reader will\nbe interested at once in \"Dory,\" the hero of \"All Adrift,\" and one of\nthe characters to be retained in the future volumes of the series; at\nleast there are already several of his recently made friends who do not\nwant to lose sight of him, and this will be the case of pretty much\nevery boy who makes his acquaintance in \"All Adrift.\"\n\n\n\n\n                           WOODVILLE STORIES.\n\n  Uniform with Library for Young People. Six vols. 16mo. Illustrated.\n\n                            Per vol., $1.25.\n\n1. =RICH AND HUMBLE;=\n\nOr, The Mission of Bertha Grant.\n\n2. =IN SCHOOL AND OUT;=\n\nOr, The Conquest of Richard Grant.\n\n3. =WATCH AND WAIT;=\n\nOr, The Young Fugitives.\n\n4.= WORK AND WIN;=\n\nOr, Noddy Newman on a Cruise.\n\n5. =HOPE AND HAVE;=\n\nOr, Fanny Grant among the Indians.\n\n6. =HASTE AND WASTE;=\n\nOr, The Young Pilot of Lake Champlain.\n\nThough we are not so young as we once were, we relished these stories\nalmost as much as the boys and girls for whom they were written. They\nwere really refreshing even to us. There is much in them which is\ncalculated to inspire a generous, healthy ambition, and to make\ndistasteful all reading tending to stimulate base desires.—_Fitchburg\nReveille._\n\n\n\n\n                         THE LAKE SHORE SERIES.\n\n        Six volumes. Illustrated. In neat box. Per vol., $1.25.\n\n1. =THROUGH BY DAYLIGHT;=\n\nOr, The Young Engineer of the Lake Shore Railroad.\n\n2. =LIGHTNING EXPRESS;=\n\nOr, The Rival Academies.\n\n3. =ON TIME;=\n\nOr, The Young Captain of the Ucayga Steamer.\n\n4. =SWITCH OFF;=\n\nOr, The War of the Students.\n\n5. =BRAKE-UP;=\n\nOr, The Young Peacemakers.\n\n6. =BEAR AND FORBEAR;=\n\nOr, The Young Skipper of Lake Ucayga.\n\n\"Oliver Optic\" is one of the most fascinating writers for youth, and\nwithal one of the best to be found in this or any past age. Troops of\nyoung people hang over his vivid pages, and not one of them ever learned\nto be mean, ignoble, cowardly, selfish, or to yield to any vice from\nanything they ever read from his pen.—_Providence Press._\n\n\n\n\n                           YACHT CLUB SERIES.\n\n      Uniform with the ever popular \"Boat Club,\" Series, Completed\n            in six vols. 16mo. Illustrated. Per vol., $1.50.\n\n1. =LITTLE BOBTAIL;=\n\nOr, The Wreck of the Penobscot.\n\n2. =THE YACHT CLUB;=\n\nOr, The Young Boat-Builders.\n\n3. =MONEY-MAKER;=\n\nOr, The Victory of the Basilisk.\n\n4. =THE COMING WAVE;=\n\nOr, The Treasure of High Rock.\n\n6. =THE DORCAS CLUB;=\n\nOr, Our Girls Afloat.\n\n6. =OCEAN BORN;=\n\nOr, The Cruise of the Clubs.\n\nThe series has this peculiarity, that all of its constituent volumes are\nindependent of one another, and therefore each story is complete in\nitself. \"Oliver Optic\" is perhaps the favorite author of the boys and\ngirls of this country, and he seems destined to enjoy an endless\npopularity. He deserves his success, for he makes very interesting\nstories, and inculcates none but the best sentiments; and the \"Yacht\nClub\" is no exception to this rule.—_New Haven Jour. and Courier._\n\n\n\n\n                       THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES.\n\n               Six Volumes. Illustrated. Per vol., $1.50.\n\n1. =GOING WEST;=\n\nOr, The Perils of a Poor Boy.\n\n2. =OUT WEST;=\n\nOr, Roughing it on the Great Lakes.\n\n3. =LAKE BREEZES;=\n\nOr, The Cruise of the Sylvania.\n\n4. =GOING SOUTH;=\n\nOr, Yachting on the Atlantic Coast.\n\n5. =DOWN SOUTH;=\n\nOr, Yacht Adventures in Florida. (In Press.)\n\n6. =UP THE RIVER;=\n\nOr, Yachting on the Mississippi. (In Press.)\n\nThis is the latest series of books issued by this popular writer, and\ndeals with Life on the Great Lakes, for which a careful study was made\nby the author in a summer tour of the immense water sources of America.\nThe story, which carries the same hero through the six books of the\nseries, is always entertaining, novel scenes and varied incidents giving\na constantly changing, yet always attractive aspect to the narrative.\n\"Oliver Optic\" has written nothing better.\n\n\n\n\n                       FAMOUS \"BOAT-CLUB\" SERIES.\n\n     Library for Young People. Six volumes, handsomely illustrated.\n                           Per volume, $1.25.\n\n1. =THE BOAT CLUB;=\n\nOr, The Bunkers of Rippleton.\n\n2. =ALL ABOARD;=\n\nOr, Life on the Lake.\n\n3. =NOW OR NEVER;=\n\nOr, The Adventures of Bobby Bright.\n\n4. =TRY AGAIN;=\n\nOr, The Trials and Triumphs of Harry West.\n\n5. =POOR AND PROUD;=\n\nOr, The Fortunes of Katy Redburn.\n\n6. =LITTLE BY LITTLE;=\n\nOr, The Cruise of the Flyaway.\n\nThis is the first series of books written for the young by \"Oliver\nOptic.\" It laid the foundation for his fame as the first of authors in\nwhich the young delight, and gained for him the title of the Prince of\nStory-Tellers. The six books are varied in incident and plot, but all\nare entertaining and original.\n\n\n\n\n                     THE ONWARD AND UPWARD SERIES.\n\n           Complete in six volumes. Illustrated. In neat box.\n                           Per volume, $1.25.\n\n1. =FIELD AND FOREST;=\n\nOr, The Fortunes of a Farmer.\n\n2. =PLANE AND PLANK;=\n\nOr, The Mishaps of a Mechanic.\n\n3. =DESK AND DEBIT;=\n\nOr, The Catastrophes of a Clerk.\n\n4. =CRINGLE AND CROSS-TREE;=\n\nOr, The Sea Swashes of a Sailor.\n\n5. =BIVOUAC AND BATTLE;=\n\nOr, The Struggles of a Soldier.\n\n6. =SEA AND SHORE;=\n\nOr, The Tramps of a Traveller.\n\nPaul Farringford, the hero of these tales, is, like most of this\nauthor's heroes, a young man of high spirit, and of high aims and\ncorrect principles, appearing in the different volumes as a farmer, a\ncaptain, a bookkeeper, a soldier, a sailor, and a traveller. In all of\nthem the hero meets with very exciting adventures, told in the graphic\nstyle for which the author is famous.—_Native._\n\n\n\n\n                        THE STARRY FLAG SERIES.\n\n               Six volumes. Illustrated. Per vol., $1.25.\n\n1. =THE STARRY FLAG;=\n\nOr, The Young Fisherman of Cape Ann.\n\n2. =BREAKING AWAY;=\n\nOr, The Fortunes of a Student.\n\n3. =SEEK AND FIND;=\n\nOr, The Adventures of a Smart Boy.\n\n4. =FREAKS OF FORTUNE;=\n\nOr, Half Round the World.\n\n5. =MAKE OR BREAK;=\n\nOr, The Rich Man's Daughter.\n\n6. =DOWN THE RIVER;=\n\nOr, Buck Bradford and the Tyrants.\n\nMr. Adams, the celebrated and popular writer, familiarly known as\n\"Oliver Optic,\" seems to have inexhaustible funds for weaving together\nthe virtues of life; and notwithstanding he has written scores of books,\nthe same freshness and novelty runs through them all. Some people think\nthe sensational element predominates. Perhaps it does. But a book for\nyoung people needs this; and so long as good sentiments are inculcated\nsuch books ought to be read.—_Pittsburg Gazette._\n\n\n\n\n                         YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD.\n\n                             SECOND SERIES.\n\n       A Library of Travel and Adventure in Foreign Lands. 16mo.\n           Illustrated by Nast, Stevens, Perkins, and others.\n                           Per volume, $1.50.\n\n1. =UP THE BALTIC;=\n\nOr, Young America in Norway, Sweden, and Denmark.\n\n2. =NORTHERN LANDS;=\n\nOr, Young America in Russia and Prussia.\n\n3. =CROSS AND CRESCENT;=\n\nOr, Young America in Turkey and Greece.\n\n4. =SUNNY SHORES;=\n\nOr, Young America in Italy and Austria.\n\n5. =VINE AND OLIVE;=\n\nOr, Young America in Spain and Portugal.\n\n6. =ISLES OF THE SEA;=\n\nOr, Young America Homeward Bound.\n\n\"Oliver Optic\" is a _nom de plume_ that is known and loved by almost\nevery boy of intelligence in the land. We have seen a highly\nintellectual and world-weary man, a cynic whose heart was somewhat\nimbittered by its large experience of human nature, take up one of\nOliver Optic's books and read it at a sitting, neglecting his work in\nyielding to the fascination of the pages. When a mature and exceedingly\nwell-informed mind, long despoiled of all its freshness, can thus find\npleasure in a book for boys, no additional words of recommendation are\nneeded.—_Sunday Times._\n\n\n\n\n                         YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD.\n\n                             FIRST SERIES.\n\n       A Library of Travel and Adventure in Foreign Lands. 16mo.\n           Illustrated by Nast, Stevens, Perkins, and others.\n                           Per volume, $1.50.\n\n1. =OUTWARD BOUND;=\n\nOr, Young America Afloat.\n\n2. =SHAMROCK AND THISTLE;=\n\nOr, Young America in Ireland and Scotland.\n\n3. =RED CROSS;=\n\nOr, Young America in England and Wales.\n\n4. =DIKES AND DITCHES;=\n\nOr, Young America in Holland and Belgium.\n\n5. =PALACE AND COTTAGE;=\n\nOr, Young America in France and Switzerland.\n\n6. =DOWN THE RHINE;=\n\nOr, Young America in Germany.\n\nThe story from its inception and through the twelve volumes (see _Second\nSeries_), is a bewitching one, while the information imparted,\nconcerning the countries of Europe and the isles of the sea, is not only\ncorrect in every particular, but is told in a captivating style. \"Oliver\nOptic\" will continue to be the boy's friend, and his pleasant books will\ncontinue to be read by thousands of American boys. What a fine holiday\npresent either or both series of \"Young America Abroad\" would be for a\nyoung friend! It would make a little library highly prized by the\nrecipient, and would not be an expensive one.—_Providence Press._\n\n\n\n\n                         ARMY AND NAVY STORIES.\n\n               Six Volumes. Illustrated. Per vol., $1.50.\n\n1. =THE SOLDIER BOY;=\n\nOr, Tom Somers in the Army.\n\n2. =THE SAILOR BOY;=\n\nOr, Jack Somers in the Navy.\n\n3. =THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT;=\n\nOr, Adventures of an Army Officer.\n\n4. =THE YANKEE MIDDY;=\n\nOr, Adventures of a Navy Officer.\n\n5. =FIGHTING JOE;=\n\nOr, The Fortunes of a Staff Officer.\n\n6. =BRAVE OLD SALT;=\n\nOr, Life on the Quarter-Deck.\n\nThis series of six volumes recounts the adventures of two brothers, Tom\nand Jack Somers, one in the army, the other in the navy, in the great\ncivil war. The romantic narratives of the fortunes and exploits of the\nbrothers are thrilling in the extreme. Historical accuracy in the\nrecital of the great events of that period is strictly followed, and the\nresult is not only a library of entertaining volumes, but also the best\nhistory of the civil war for young people ever written.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                           Transcriber's Note\n\nCorrections have been made for missing punctuation and obvious printer's\nerrors.\n\nVariations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.\n\nItalicized words and phrases in the text version are presented by\nsurrounding the text with underscores.\n\nBold words and phrases in the text version are presented by surrounding\nthe text with equals signs.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of All Taut, by Oliver Optic\n\n*** "}
{"text": "CHURCH OF ST. PAUL***\n\n\nE-text prepared by Jeannie Howse, Jonathan Ingram, and the Project\nGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 25266-h.htm or 25266-h.zip:\n      (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/2/6/25266/25266-h/25266-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/2/6/25266/25266-h.zip)\n\n\n      +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n      | Transcriber's Note:                                       |\n      |                                                           |\n      | Bold-faced text is enclosed by equal signs (=bold text=)  |\n      | in this document.                                         |\n      |                                                           |\n      | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For     |\n      | a complete list, please see the end of this document.     |\n      |                                                           |\n      +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATHEDRAL CHURCH OF SAINT PAUL\n\nAn Account of the Old and\nNew Buildings with a\nShort Historical Sketch\n\nby\n\nTHE REV. ARTHUR DIMOCK, M.A.\n\nRector of Wetherden, Suffolk\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n   [Illustration: _Photochrom Co. Ltd. Photo._\n   ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, FROM THE SOUTH BANK OF THE THAMES.]\n\n   [Illustration: (Arms of the See)]\n\nWith XXXIX Illustrations\n\n\nLondon George Bell & Sons 1900\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe MSS. relating to St. Paul's are deficient in regard to the earlier\nperiods, but become gradually more complete as time progresses. They\nhave been published or quoted, probably, more extensively than those\nbelonging to any other religious foundation in this country, unless it\nbe such communities as St. Alban's, which have attracted the continued\nattention of the editors working under the Master of the Rolls. In\nconsequence, although our knowledge, not only of the Romano-British\nperiod but of many succeeding centuries, is defective or altogether\nwanting, yet as time advances after the Norman Conquest the merely\nprinted material at our disposal becomes gradually almost\nembarrassing. When we come to the present Cathedral, we know not only\nexactly _when_ it was built, but to a great extent _how_ and _why_.\n\nIn the _Parentalia_ Wren's grandson, Stephen, partly in his own words,\npartly in those of his famous grandfather, lifting the curtain,\ndiscloses the personal history and inner self of the architect at his\nwork.\n\nAmong the leading authorities are the following, giving the place of\nhonour to the--\n\n_Parentalia or Memoirs. Completed by his_ [Sir Christopher's] _son,\nChristopher. Now published by his grandson, Stephen Wren, Esq._\n(London, 1858).\n\n_The History of St. Paul's_, by Sir William Dugdale (Ellis' edition,\n1818).\n\n_Repertorium_, by Richard Newcourt (London, 1708).\n\n_Radulfi de Diceto, Decani, Lundoniensis Opera Historica_ (vols. i.\nand ii., edited for the Master of the Rolls by the Bishop of Oxford).\n\nI have to thank the Dean for permission to consult the Chapter copy of\nthe _Registrum Statutorum_, edited for private circulation (1873) by\nthat enthusiastic and accurate St. Paul's scholar, the late Dr.\nSparrow-Simpson, one of the last of the Minor Canons on the old\nfoundation, Librarian and Sub-dean. There is a supplement (1897).\n\nDr. Sparrow-Simpson also wrote or edited the following--\n\n_Documents Illustrating the History of St. Paul's Cathedral_ (Camden\nSociety, 1880).\n\n_Chapters in the History of Old St. Paul's_ (1881).\n\n_Visitation of Churches_ (Camden Society, 1885).\n\n_Gleanings from Old St. Paul's_ (1889).\n\n_St. Paul's and Old City Life_ (1894).\n\nHis remaining work, the Catalogue of the Library, I have not\nconsulted.\n\n_Annals of St. Paul's_, by Dean Milman (1868).\n\nThe learned and talented historian did not live to see this his last\nwork through the press. In consequence there are printer's errors as\nto dates, &c., which I have not thought it necessary to point out.\n\n_Domesday of St. Paul's_, by Archdeacon Hale (Camden Society, 1858).\n\n_The Three Cathedrals dedicated to St. Paul_, by William Longman\n(Longmans, 1873).\n\nAmongst other sources of information are the lectures delivered in St.\nPaul's by Bishop Browne when a residentiary, and published by the\nS.P.C.K. The value of these to the students of early Church History is\nin an inverse ratio to their size. The origin of our secular colleges\nyet remains to be written; but I am again indebted to Mr. Arthur\nFrancis Leach for the Introduction to the _Visitations of Southwell_\n(Camden Society, 1891), for valuable information on this subject.\n\nIn regard to the efforts to complete Wren's designs by mosaic\ndecorations, I have carefully observed all that has been done, and\nhave attentively followed much that has been said and written. In\nparticular I have been interested by a statement that has gone the\nround of the press. Certain young ladies and gentlemen of the Slade\nSchool of Art and elsewhere are reported to have protested that even\ngood and appropriate decoration would be contrary to the wishes of Sir\nChristopher Wren.\n\nMy thanks are due to the Dean for his courtesy and trouble in\nrendering me all the assistance I asked for; to the Bishop of Oxford\n(like the Bishop of Bristol, a former residentiary) for providing me\nwith a list of authorities at the commencement of my task; to the\nlibrarians of All Souls' College, Oxford, and their committee, and\nparticularly to Mr. George Holden, assistant librarian, for permission\nto use their invaluable collection of Wren's designs and drawings; to\nthe Archdeacon of Middlesex for information concerning the\ninscriptions on the stalls; to Canon Milford, successor to Wren's\nfather as Rector of Bishop-Knoyle, for communicating to me the\nirregularity about the registration of Wren's baptism, and for the\nloan of Mrs. Lucy Phillimore's _Life and Times of Wren_, a work out of\nprint and not to be procured at the London Library; to Mr. Peter\nCazalet for kind assistance in drawing one of the arches and also in\ndescribing the monuments; and if last, certainly not least, to the\never courteous officials of the Cathedral, who have rendered me every\nfacility in my study of Wren's building.\n\n                                              ARTHUR DIMOCK.\n\n  WETHERDEN RECTORY,\n    HAUGHLEY, SUFFOLK,\n      _January 3, 1900._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nCHAPTER                                                           PAGE\n\n  I. Foundation and History to the Accession of Dean Colet\n       (61-1505)                                                     3\n\n II. From the Accession of Dean Colet to the Great Fire\n       (1505-1666)                                                  19\n\nIII. Old St. Paul's. Exterior                                       36\n        Interior                                                    40\n        Precincts                                                   48\n        Dimensions                                                  54\n\n IV. From the Fire to the Completion of New St. Paul's\n       (1666-1710)                                                  55\n\n  V. New St. Paul's. Exterior                                       77\n        North and South Fronts                                      84\n        East End                                                    86\n        West Front                                                  86\n        The Dome                                                    89\n        The Lantern                                                 93\n\n VI. New St. Paul's. Interior                                       94\n        The Nave                                                    95\n        The Main Arcade                                             97\n        The Triforium Belt                                          98\n        The Clerestory                                              98\n        The Vaulting                                                98\n        The Nave Aisles                                            100\n        The West Chapels                                           100\n        The Geometrical Staircase                                  102\n        The Dome--The Arcading                                     103\n        The Whispering Gallery                                     104\n        The Drum                                                   104\n        The Cupola                                                 106\n        The Pulpit                                                 107\n        The Mosaics                                                107\n        The Transepts                                              111\n        The Choir--The Stalls                                      112\n        The Organ                                                  114\n        The Reredos                                                115\n        The Apse                                                   116\n        The Mosaics                                                116\n        The Reredos Arch                                           120\n        The Monuments                                              121\n        The Crypt                                                  132\n        The Galleries and Library                                  136\n\nVII. Conclusion                                                    138\n\nAPPENDIX A. Bishops and Deans                                      143\nAPPENDIX B. Comparative Size                                       147\n            Dimensions                                             148\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n                                                            PAGE\nSt. Paul's, from the South Side of the Thames           _Frontispiece_\n\nArms of the See                                                _Title_\n\nSouth View of Old St. Paul's in 1658, after Hollar                   2\n\nMonument of John of Gaunt                                           12\n\nThe Shrine and Altar of St. Erkenwald                               17\n\nDean Colet, from Holland's \"Heroologia\"                             20\n\nTomb of Dean Colet, after Hollar                                    21\n\nInigo Jones' Portico, after Hollar                                  29\n\nSt. Paul's in Flames, after Hollar                                  33\n\nThe Nave of Old St. Paul's, after Hollar                            41\n\nThe Choir of Old St. Paul's--looking East, after Hollar             43\n\nSt. Paul's Cross, from an old picture of 1620                       49\n\nThe Chapter House and Cloister, after Hollar                        51\n\nPlan of Old St. Paul's in 1666, from Dugdale                        53\n\nElevation and Section of Wren's rejected design, from his own\n  drawings                                                          57\n\nSir Christopher Wren, after a portrait by Kneller                   60\n\nRelative Position and Area of Old and New St. Paul's                64\n\nModel of Wren's First Design                                        66\n\nInterior of the Model, from a sketch by Rev. J.L. Petit             67\n\nThe \"Warrant Design,\" from Wren's drawing                           69\n\nA Later Design, as reproduced in Dugdale's \"St. Paul's\"             71\n\nThe West Front of St. Paul's Cathedral, from a photograph           76\n\nNorth-East View                                                     85\n\nSection of the Dome                                                 90\n\nThe Lantern, from the Clock Tower                                   92\n\nThe Choir and Nave, from the East End                               96\n\nThe Order of the Interior, drawn by Peter Cazalet                   97\n\nThe Geometrical Staircase                                          101\n\nInterior of the Dome, from an engraving by G. Coney                105\n\nThe South Choir Aisle                                              110\n\nBishop's Throne and Stalls on the South Side                       111\n\nThe Choir, Altar, and Reredos                                      117\n\nThe Wellington Monument                                            123\n\nNelson's Monument                                                  128\n\nMonuments of Dr. Donne and Bishop Blomfield                        131\n\nNelson's Tomb                                                      133\n\nChurch of St. Faith in the Crypt                                   135\n\nThe Library                                                        136\n\nPLAN OF THE CATHEDRAL                                         _At end_\n\n\n   [Illustration: SOUTH VIEW OF OLD ST. PAUL'S IN 1658.\n   _After the Etching by Hollar, in Dugdale's \"History of St. Paul's\n   Cathedral.\"_]\n\n\n\n\nST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nITS FOUNDATION AND HISTORY TO THE ACCESSION OF DEAN COLET (61-1505).\n\n\n=Romano-British.=--Tacitus, in his characteristically concise style,\nintroduces London into authentic history during the apostolic era and\nthe reign of Nero.[1] Suetonius Paulinus, governor of Britain, came in\nhot haste from Mona, suspending the slaughter of the Druid leaders in\nthis their last fastness, to restore the Roman arms. For Boadicea,\nQueen of the Iceni, outraged at the treatment of herself and her two\ndaughters, had, like a second Deborah, raised a popular uprising\nagainst the foreign invaders. Colchester fallen, the ninth legion\nannihilated, nothing remained but to abandon the thriving mart of\nLondon itself for a time to the fury of the natives, before the Roman\nsway could be restored.\n\nThe ground rising both from the northern bank of the Thames, some\nthree hundred yards distant, and from the eastern bank of the Fleet\nbeck, forms an eminence. Here, to protect the riverside mart below, on\nor about the site of the present churchyard the Romans formed a camp;\nand looking down what is now Ludgate Hill, the soldiers could see the\nFleet ebbing and flowing with each receding and advancing tide.\nNorthwards the country afforded a hunting ground, and a temple to\nDiana Venatrix would naturally be erected. During the excavations for\nNew St. Paul's, Roman urns were found as well as British graves; and\nin 1830, a stone altar with an image of Diana was likewise found while\ndigging for the foundations of Goldsmith's Hall in Foster Lane. On\nsuch incomplete evidence rests the accuracy of the story or tradition\nthat a temple of Diana occupied part of the site of the present\nCathedral.\n\nSuetonius himself restored order in London; and in spite of\ninsurrections, she progressed during the next three centuries to\nbecome a centre of such importance, Roman highways spreading in\ndifferent directions, that the accurate and impartial Ammianus\nMarcellinus concedes to her (_circa_ 380) the style and title of\nAugusta. And it was during these three centuries of progress that\nChristianity obtained a firm footing, but when and how we know not.\nThe picturesque story, which deceived even Bede, how that Lucius,\n\"king of the Britons,\" sent letters to Eleutherus, a holy man, Bishop\nof Rome, entreating Eleutherus to convert him and his, must now be put\ndown as a pious forgery.[2] Tertullian (_circa_ 208) says that the\nkingdom and name of Christ were then acknowledged even in those parts\ninaccessible to the Romans; and we are probably on the safe side in\nasserting that missions had been successfully introduced into London\nby the end of the second century. Neither are we in much doubt or\ndifficulty as to whence they came. Gaul, visited by missionaries from\nEphesus, in turn sent others on; and the Church in London, as\nthroughout these Isles, in Romano-British times can be safely\ndescribed as a daughter of Gaul, and a granddaughter of the Ephesus of\nSt. Timothy. Beyond we know little, if anything at all, more than that\na Bishop of London, known by the Latinised name of RESTITUTUS, was one\nof three British prelates at the Council of Aries (314). And while\nthere is no reason to suppose otherwise than that the bishops, of whom\nRestitutus could not have been anything like the first, had their\nprincipal church erected in the neighbourhood, at least, of St. Paul's\nchurchyard and dedicated to that saint, neither site nor name can ever\nbe authenticated. When the Roman troops retired, so thoroughly did the\ninvading savages destroy all records, that our knowledge of the\nBritish Church in London may be compared, not inaptly, to our\nknowledge of Thornhill's paintings in the concave sphere of the dome.\nWe know that they exist; but even on a bright May day they are\ninvisible from below.\n\n=Saxon, Angle, and Dane.=--In the early years of the fifth century the\nRomans are stated to have finally abandoned this country. If certain\nlists are to be credited, Bishops of London of the original British\nseries continued until the flight of Theorus in 586. These lists have\nnow been rejected,[3] although as the taking of London by the East\nSaxons was not prior to the date above, there is reason in the\nsuggestion that church and bishop were still in existence. In the\npages of Bede, writing about a century later, we come across something\nmore definite, which readers interested in St. Paul's may care to\nhave.\n\n\"In the year of our Lord 604, Augustine, Archbishop of Britain,\nconsecrated two bishops, viz., Mellitus and Justus; Mellitus to preach\nto the province of the East Saxons, who are divided from Kent by the\nriver Thames, and border on the eastern sea. Their metropolis is the\ncity of London, situated on the bank of the aforesaid river, and is\nthe mart of many nations resorting to it by sea and land. At that time\nSabert, nephew to Ethelbert [Augustine's King of Kent] by his sister\nRicula, reigned over the nation, though under subjection to Ethelbert,\nwho had command over all the nations of the English as far as the\nriver Humber. But when this province [East Saxons] also received the\nword of truth by the preaching of Mellitus, King Ethelbert built the\nchurch of St. Paul in the city of London, where he and his successors\nshould have their episcopal seat.\"[4]\n\nBede, in one sense most interesting, becomes in a second sense most\nirritating. We would give much to know how long an interval had\nelapsed since the last bishop, whether this rude East Saxon building\nwas erected on the ruins of another or on a different site, whether\nthe name ST. PAUL'S was a continuation or no. Bede is silent,\nignoring the distressed and defeated Britons as an inferior race.\n\nEthelbert may have given the endowment of Tillingham in Essex. \"And if\nany one should be tempted to take away this gift, let him be anathema\nand excommunicated from all Christian society.\" Whether the deed with\nthese lines originated with him or with some unknown and later donor,\nit is certain that the language has been respected; for when the\nvaluable estates were alienated, this particular donation was reserved\nfor the fabric fund; and in consequence the Dean and Chapter are by\nfar the oldest county family in Essex.[5]\n\nSabert and Ethelbert were gathered to their fathers; and both were\nsucceeded by pagan sons. London and the East Saxon province or\nkingdom--let us say Middlesex and Essex, with perhaps Herts--seem to\nhave been ruled by the three sons of Sabert in commission, who,\ndisregarding whatever thin veneer of Christianity they had found it\nconvenient to adopt during their father's lifetime, boldly\napostatised, and the East Saxons readily followed. Entering St.\nPaul's, as the bishop was celebrating, the three scoffed and mocked,\n\"We will not enter into that laver, because we do not know we stand in\nneed of it; but eat of that bread we will.\" Giving the bishop the\nalternative of compliance or expulsion, he withdrew after an\nepiscopate of twelve years and retired across the Channel. Returning\nin answer to the entreaties of Laurentius, \"the Londoners would not\nreceive Bishop Mellitus, choosing rather to be under their idolatrous\nhigh priests.\" Eventually he succeeded Laurentius at Canterbury. And\nfor a second time London relapsed into paganism.\n\nThus the good fruits of the mission of Augustine were completely lost.\nAn interval occurs, and then Sigebert the Good, on a visit to King\nOswy of Northumbria, was converted by the reasoning of his host, and\nbaptised by Bishop Finan of Lindisfarne. Finan had no connection with\nRome, but belonged to that remarkable body who traced their origin to\nIreland and Iona. Sigebert took south with him two brothers, English\nby race, recommended by Finan, of whom one was CEDD; a third\nbrother was the more famous Chad. The work of re-planting was at once\nset about with the help of Sigebert's example and protection. Up and\ndown the province they went, and gained so many converts that Finan\nfelt justified in consecrating Cedd bishop of the East Saxons. The new\nbishop now employed much of his time in training converts, natives of\nthe province, for the priesthood, both at Ythancester, near\nTillingham, and at Tilbury.[6] He acted as interpreter at the Whitby\nConference, where he was won over to the continental method of\nreckoning Easter, and died shortly after of the plague (664). A later\nvisitation of the pestilence is assigned as a cause of half of the\ndiocese relapsing, while the other half, governed by Sebbe, remained\nfaithful. King Wulfhere of Mercia--the then overlord--sent his own\nbishop Jaruman with a number of clergy, who effected a complete\nrestoration. Mellitus, Cedd, Sabert, Sigebert, and Sebbe (said to have\nbeen buried at St. Paul's) now appear in the transept windows as\nfounders of English Christianity.\n\nThus we find, after various vicissitudes and relapses, the Christian\nreligion planted in the East Saxon province before the end of the\nseventh century. The succeeding centuries must be rapidly passed over.\nA staff of clergy was formed who came to be called canons; other\nendowments by degrees added; the services at St. Paul's maintained as\na model for the diocese; parish churches and monasteries built. We\nmust even pass over Bishop Erkenwald, the hero of so many stories, and\nwhose shrine was the most popular in Old St. Paul's. In 962, just\nafter Dunstan had left the bishopric for Canterbury, St. Paul's was\nburnt, and the same year rebuilt. Both before and after this London\nsuffered from the ravages of the Danes.\n\nThe Primate Elfege, the victim of a drunken rabble, was buried at St.\nPaul's (1014), as was Ethelred the Unready (1017), and nearly fifty\nyears later Edward the outlaw, the representative of the house of\nCerdic and of Alfred.\n\nWilliam the Norman, bishop (1051-1075) in spite of the Confessor and\nhis nominee the Sparrowhawk, occupied the see long enough to greet his\ncountrymen on taking possession; and just before his death would be\npresent at the great council held in his cathedral presided over by\nLanfranc. Norman though he was, he was in touch with the citizens\naround his church, and earned their enduring gratitude and friendship\nby obtaining a fresh grant of their privileges, as he did for the\ncathedral. \"I will,\" said the Conqueror, \"the said church to be free\nin all respects, as I trust my own soul to be at the Judgment Day.\"\n\n=The Normans.=--Maurice, of course a Norman, had been only recently\nelected bishop in the room of Huge de Orivalle, when the tenth century\nchurch of Bishop Elfstan was destroyed in a fire that consumed the\ngreater part of the City (1086 or 1087).\n\nHe set to work to build another on a larger scale and after the\napproved Anglo-Norman method. Fresh ground was procured, and houses\npulled down for the enlargement of church and churchyard. \"Barges,\"\nsays Mr. J.R. Green, \"came up the river with stone from Caen for the\ngreat arches that moved the popular wonder, while street and lane were\nbeing levelled to make space for the famous churchyard of St. Paul's.\"\nMaurice died before the work was anything like finished, but Richard\nde Belmeis, a most munificent prelate, devoted his episcopal revenues\nfor the purpose.\n\nAn earthquake in the second year of Rufus, followed two years later by\na destructive November storm, impeded the progress, but in spite of\nall drawbacks and hindrances, builders and workmen toiled on, Henry I.\nexempting the stone from toll. \"Such is the stateliness of its\nbeauty,\" said William of Malmesbury, \"that it is worthy of being\nnumbered amongst the most famous of buildings; such the extent of the\ncrypt, of such capacity the upper structure, that it seems sufficient\nto contain a multitude of people.\" It was the variation of an inch or\ntwo in the regularity of the arching of Maurice's new nave that\nafterwards sorely vexed Wren.\n\nWe have now come to a time when Domesday gives us some interesting\ninformation. A commencement had been made of endowing separate stalls.\nCertain of the estates were parcelled out in this way, partly because\nthey may have been safer from alienation, partly that the canons might\nbe responsible, if necessary, for the services of religion in the\nmanors and townships in which their endowments, technically known\nafterwards as _corpses_, were situated. In Domesday, St. Pancras,\nRugmere (in St. Pancras), and Twyford, in Willesden, appear, and may\nfairly be set down as the three original _prebends_, although the term\n\"prebend\" does not yet appear, neither do the distinctive names of the\nstalls. To these three some would add Consumpta-per-Mare in the Essex\nWalton, so called because the glebe was _consumed_ by the\nencroachments of the sea. We will dismiss this obscure subject by\nanticipating a little, and stating that, what with parts of the old\nendowments and what with additions, by the end of the twelfth century\nthe thirty prebends were complete. The names and inscriptions will be\nfound in the account of the interior of the present Choir.\n\nThe two Caddingtons were a gift in Bedfordshire in the diocese of\nLincoln; the remaining twenty-eight were in Middlesex and Essex. The\ncorporate property of the Chapter by the same date must have reached\n24,000 acres.[7]\n\nThe Conquest brought other changes in its train. Originally the bishop\nwas head of the Chapter, and the canons his assistants. But, beginning\nnot later than with Maurice, who held high office under the Crown, the\nbishops became more and more immersed in politics, and found no time\nto preside, while the Chapter would naturally raise no objection to\ngreater independence. What our French neighbours now call a _doyen_, a\nsenior from among the canons, took the bishop's vacant place, and\nbecame dean.\n\nJohn de Appleby, so late as 1364, dean by virtue of papal proviso, was\nonly allowed to summon the Chapter, and could not preside until he had\nobtained a prebend by exchange. A hundred and fifty years later Colet\nwas a prebendary. I find no traces of archdeacons--London, Essex,\nMiddlesex, or Colchester--prior to the Conquest, but these eyes of the\nbishop soon appear afterwards; and the Chanter becomes Precentor; the\nSacrist, or keeper of the plate, vestments, and other valuables,\nbecomes Treasurer; and the Master of the Schools, Chancellor. For the\nsake of convenience looking forward a little, these changes, begun in\nNorman times, were completed not long after.\n\n=The Plantagenets.=--As in the tenth century and as in the eleventh,\nthat evil demon Fire for a third time, \"three days before the\nChristmas of 1136,\" partially destroyed, or at least seriously\ninjured, St. Paul's, during a conflagration which reached from London\nBridge to beyond the Fleet. In rebuilding, the then method was to\nthrow a coating of the more refined Romanesque of the day over the\nolder work;[8] and this is how I explain an obscure passage in\nPepys--\"It is pretty here to see how the late church was but a case\nwrought over the old church; for you may see the very old pillars\nstanding whole within the wall of this.\"[9] The old pillars of the\nnave were restored, and furnished with graceful engaged columns, and\nvaulting shafts rising from the ground. As the choir was afterwards\nsuperseded by another, we cannot tell what was done to it.\n\nWe have now come to a time when it is impossible even to catalogue the\nnumerous stirring events which the cathedral witnessed. William\nFitzosbert the Longbeard, for thundering forth at PAUL'S\nCROSS--where the citizens' folk-mote was wont to be held--against\ntyranny and corruption in high quarters, suffered the extreme penalty.\nBut people in a higher position were soon to do the same. When John\nand Innocent formed their strange alliance against the national\nliberties, it was at St. Paul's that Stephen Langton produced the\nCharter of Henry I. Here John publicly handed over his kingdom to the\nPope, and received it back as a vassal. Here came the counterblast,\nwhen Louis, son of King Philip II. of France, received the kingdom\nfrom the assembled magnates. After the death of John and Innocent the\npapal claims were upheld; and at a council in 1232, at which the papal\nlegate presided, he took for his text, \"In the midst of the throne and\nround about the throne were four beasts.\"[10] The four beasts were not\nthe four Evangelists, but four opposition prelates, including the two\nprimates and the Bishop of London, Roger the Black. It was the great\nbell of St. Paul's which in the days of Simon de Montfort summoned the\ncitizens to rise against their king.\n\n=Old St. Paul's completed.=--Whilst the nave was constantly witnessing\nscenes like this, and whilst clergy and people were protesting against\nencroachments on their liberties from abroad or at home, a new and\nmore magnificent choir, and a new or restored north aisle to either\ntransept were in course of construction, the ways and means being\nfound with the help of indulgences issued by various bishops, Scotch\nand Irish included, over a lengthy period.[11] In 1240 the king and\nthe Cardinal Legate Otho attended the consecration of so much of the\nnew work as was then completed; and Bishop Roger was supported by the\nPrimate, Edmund Rich, and other prelates.\n\nEast of the cathedral was St. Faith's, one of those parish churches in\nwhich cathedral cities are notoriously prolific--churches with\nparishes of the size of an average meadow, or less.[12] Whether it be\nowing to greater wealth, or to greater subdivision of property, or to\nenthusiasm kindled at a religious centre, nowhere do donors and\nbenefactors appear to have been more numerous than in these ancient\ncities, like London, Norwich, and Exeter. St. Faith's was pulled down,\nand the rights of the parishioners made good by allotting to them the\nnew crypt underneath the site of their old church. About this time\nalso the vaulting was renewed throughout, and various adornments added\nfrom time to time. In 1312 the choir was paved with marble at a cost\nof fivepence per foot; and three years later the old and ruinous\nsteeple was superseded by a new one of wood covered with lead, rising,\naccording to the lowest estimate--that of Wren--to a height of 460\nfeet, without the cross. The cross had a \"pomel well guilt\" set on the\ntop, and contained relics of different saints, put there by Bishop\nGilbert de Selgrave with all due solemnity, accompanied by an\nindulgence, for protection. Thus was finished Old St. Paul's, the most\nmagnificent church in England, meet to be the cathedral of the\ncapital, which London had now become.\n\n   [Illustration: MONUMENT OF JOHN OF GAUNT, DUKE OF LANCASTER.\n   _After Hollar._]\n\n=Wycliffe and Gaunt.=--The Primate Sudbury and Bishop Courtenay tried\nJohn Wycliffe at the cathedral on a charge of heresy (February 13,\n1377). This was in the days of rival popes at Rome and Avignon, and\none or other or both had been described by the accused as \"Antichrist,\nthe proud, worldly priest of Rome, and the most cursed of clippers\nand purse-kervers.\"[13] By an alliance almost as strange as that\nbetween John and Innocent, Wycliffe found himself supported by John of\nGaunt, with whom was the Earl Marshal, Percy, Earl of Northumberland.\nWycliffe and the Duke of Lancaster had this much in common, they both\nwished to confine the clergy to their strictly clerical duties, the\nlatter through jealousy, the former for higher reasons. An immense\nconcourse filled the cathedral. Courtenay was popular with the\ncitizens, Gaunt was not; and Percy was strongly suspected of a wish to\nabolish the mayoralty, and as Earl Marshal to appoint a captain of his\nown instead. During an angry altercation Gaunt whispered loudly to a\nneighbour, \"Rather than I will take those words at his [Courtenay's]\nhands, I would pluck the bishop by the hair out of the church.\" In the\ntumult that followed this insult Gaunt and Percy with difficulty\nescaped; the former fled across the river to Kennington, and his\npalace at the Savoy was sacked. Yet, in spite of all this, Gaunt was\nthe only royal prince after the Conquest buried at St. Paul's. His\ntomb under the arch on the north side of the high altar, enriched by a\nnoble canopy to which his spear, shield, and insignia were attached,\ncontained effigies of himself and of his second wife, Constance of\nCastile. He had also a chantry.\n\n=Bishop Robert de Braybroke.=--On Courtenay's translation to\nCanterbury, Braybroke became bishop (1382-1404). A thoroughly\npractical reformer, he held out the threat of the greater\nexcommunication because \"in our Cathedral not only men but women also,\nnot on common days alone but especially on Festivals, expose their\nwares as it were in a public market, and buy and sell without\nreverence for the holy place.... Others play at ball or other unseemly\ngames, both within and without the church, breaking the beautiful and\ncostly painted windows, to the amazement of the spectators.\" He also\nattempted to regulate residence. Owing to the increased value of the\ncorporate or common property divided amongst the residentiaries or\n_stagiarii_, residence was no longer reckoned a burden, but sought\nafter. To keep the number down to two the canons in residence would\nadmit no fresh colleague unless he spent during his first year from\nsix hundred to a thousand merks in feasting and other useless\nexpenditure. Braybroke put a check to this abuse, and by the\narbitration of the king the practice of Salisbury was taken as a\nmodel.[14] It was after his death (October 15, 1414) that the Use of\nSt. Paul in the religious services was superseded by the Use of Sarum.\n\nThe Petty or Minor Canons now received their charter of corporation\nimmediately after the death of Anne of Bohemia, wife of Richard II.\nApparently when Becket's representative ventured on his dangerous\nerrand, deed of excommunication in hand, the canons' vicars or vicars\nchoral sang the services. In Braybroke's time we find a body\nintermediate between the canons and their vicars. They were twelve in\nnumber, were required to have good voices, and to understand the art\nof singing, and by their charter were to pray for their royal\nbenefactor, as well as for the repose of the souls of his wife and\nancestors. The first ranked as Sub-dean, taking for many purposes the\ndean's place in his absence, and the two next were the Cardinals. The\nSacrist, the Almoners, and the Divinity Lecturers endowed by Bishop\nRichard de Gravesend and Thomas White were appointed from among them.\nThey enjoyed their own common hall, and elected their own warder and\nsteward; and two years after incorporation, drawing up their own\nStatutes, provided that they were to be read in Hall every quarter,\nand that no one was to shuffle his feet during the reading.[15]\n\nThe vicars choral either now or later had dwindled down to six, and\nseem to have been only in minor orders. The Petty Canons had their own\nendowments; but if the canons had to pay their own vicars, we need not\nbe surprised at this diminution.\n\n=The Wars of the Roses.=--With this period St. Paul's is closely\nassociated. At St. Paul's the Yorkist leaders pledged their allegiance\nto the unhappy Henry VI. on the Sacrament--only to break it. After\nBarnet the dead bodies of the king-maker and his brothers were\nexposed, and after Tewkesbury the murdered corpse of Henry received\nsimilar treatment. Most striking of all is the grim figure of Richard\nof Gloucester. He it was who caused Jane Shore to be put to open\npenance on the ground that she had bewitched him, she \"going before\nthe Cross on a Sunday with a taper in her hand,\" says Stow, \"out of\nall aray saue her kirtle only.\" Hastings, the successor of Edward in\nher affections, was implicated with her, and his offence read from\nPaul's Cross. At Paul's Cross, newly restored by the bishop, the\nyounger Kempe, and while the boy king was a prisoner in the palace\nhard by, that worthless sycophant, Dr. Ralph Shaw, the preacher (May\n19, 1483), took for his text, \"The multiplying brood of the ungodly\nshall not thrive, nor take deep rooting from bastard slips, nor lay\nany fast foundations\" (Wisdom, iv. 3). His sermon went to prove to the\ncitizens that Richard was the only, or at least the senior, legitimate\nmember of the royal family. Richard was present to hear his own mother\ndishonoured; and the preacher, pointing dramatically to him, argued\nthat, unlike his three elder brothers, he resembled the late Duke of\nYork. But the people showed no sympathy, would not cry \"Long live King\nRichard,\" and dispersed, fearing the worst for the poor lad immured in\nthe bishop's palace.\n\n=The Clergy and Services.=--We may now conveniently glance at these\nimportant subjects. The Bishop, who appointed all the dignitaries\nexcept the dean, was Visitor. At the great festivals he was usually\npresent, and the bells were rung in his honour. How the DEAN always,\nor nearly so, held another stall has been already stated; how he came\nto be presented by the Crown instead of elected by his brethren is\nuncertain; but the Chapter somehow practically lost their right of\nelecting both bishop and dean, for either pope or king in effect\nappointed their diocesan. The dean was visitor of the homes of the\nclergy and of the chapter estates. To the four ARCHDEACONRIES of\nLondon, Essex, Middlesex, and Colchester was afterwards added the\nsmall one of St. Alban's on the dissolution of that important abbey,\nbut without a stall in the choir.[16] The office of PRECENTOR is\nexplained by the name. The TREASURER was responsible for the very\nvaluable treasures--jewels, vestments, relics, and the like--as\ndistinct from the moneys. Lower in rank, but in reality of greater\nimportance, came the CHANCELLOR. He had jurisdiction over the old\nschool of St. Paul's, and any others in the City with the exception of\nthose of St. Mary-le-Bow and St. Martin's-le-Grand, and was secretary\nand keeper of the seals, receiving a pound of pepper for each deed\nsealed. The thirty PREBENDARIES (or rather twenty-nine when the dean\nwas one) could only hold one stall each at St. Paul's, but any number\nof benefices elsewhere like the higher dignitaries; and it is by no\nmeans certain that in the thirteenth century John Mansell did not hold\nthree stalls at St. Paul's simultaneously among his innumerable\nbenefices which together, according to Matthew Paris, amounted to\n4,000 merks per annum.[17] Of the prebendaries a varying minority in\nresidence, stagiaries (_stagiarii_, perhaps a corruption of the more\nclassical _stationarii_),[18] not only divided amongst themselves the\nbalance of the common fund, but were not above partaking of a share of\nthe capitular bakehouse and brewhouse. The dean, the three higher\ndignitaries, and the prebendaries constituted the Chapter, in certain\nmatters the non-residentiaries having no jurisdiction, and, as\nrecorded in their Visitations, exercised a very great authority over\ntheir various manors. Below the Chapter came the twelve PETTY CANONS,\nofficers peculiar to St. Paul's and Hereford;[19] and there were over\nfifty CHANTRY PRIESTS when suppressed. Besides their appointed daily\nmasses they would divide amongst them the annual masses called\n_obits_, which amounted to about a hundred, and were expected to\nassist the Petty Canons. They spent their extensive leisure after the\nproverbial manner of idle and ignorant men. The VICARS CHORAL had\ndwindled down to six by Colet's time, were no longer in priests'\norders, and eventually became laymen pure and simple. Space would fail\nus to enumerate the remaining official and semi-official officers.\nAmong the latter were the twelve scribes, who sat in the nave for the\nservice of the illiterate public, and were sworn to do nothing\ndetrimental to the interests of the Chapter.\n\nThe Apostle's mass was sung the first thing in the morning, in earlier\ndays by a Vicar Choral, and subsequently by a Petty Canon; and next\ncame the two masses named after the Virgin and the Chapter, the\nCardinals taking the latter. The other daily services were the usual\nNocturns or Matins and the rest, ending with a combined evensong of\nVespers and Compline. We do not know how the old Use of St. Paul's\ndiffered from that of Sarum. Besides the Conversion and Commemoration\nof St. Paul, the Deposition (April 30th) and the Translation (November\n14th) of St. Erkenwald were red-letter days when, before the peal was\nsounded, the bells were rung two and two. On the eve of St. Nicholas\n(December 5th), patron saint of children, the choristers elected\ntheir boy bishop and his clerks. On St. John the Evangelist's Day\n(December 27th) at evensong the newly elected boy bishop in pontifical\nvestments, with his boy clerks in copes, walked in procession, and\nafter censing the altar of the Blessed Trinity returned and occupied\ndignitaries' stalls, and any evicted dignitary had to take the boy's\nplace as thurifer or acolyte, the boy bishop giving the benediction.\nThe next day (Holy Innocents) this youth preached and took the earlier\npart of the mass. These choir lads were trained to act mysteries and,\nlater on, stage plays.[20]\n\n   [Illustration: THE SHRINE AND ALTAR OF ST. ERKENWALD BEHIND THE\n   HIGH ALTAR.\n   _After Hollar._]\n\nEach new Lord Mayor, accompanied by the Council, went in procession to\nSt. Thomas Acon, and from thence to the cathedral. He paid his\ndevotions at the tomb of Bishop William the Norman, in the nave, in\ngratitude for privileges obtained from the Conqueror, and then at the\ntomb of his predecessor, the Portreeve Gilbert Becket, father of\nThomas, in a little chapel in the churchyard. On Whitsunday and the\nfollowing Tuesday were great processions in which the Corporation\njoined, as they did on seven other festivals. At Whitsuntide,\naccording to a sixteenth century account, a huge suspended censer was\nswung along the nave, and the descent of the Holy Spirit illustrated\nby the letting loose of a white pigeon. Those who are curious about\nthe shrines, and particularly of St. Erkenwald's, the scene of so many\nreputed miracles of healing, and of the relics, which included a vase\nbelieved to contain some hair, milk, and a garment of the Virgin, are\nreferred to Dugdale and other like works. Passing over _Te Deums_ for\nvictories like Agincourt and Obsequies for the dead--this latter a\nsource of income to the officers--we will close this chapter with the\nwedding of Arthur, Prince of Wales, a lad of fifteen, to Catherine of\nAragon, in November, 1501. The next spring Arthur died, and the king\neffected the betrothal of the widow of eighteen to his younger son\nHenry, aged eleven. Seven years later Henry VII. died, and lay in\nstate at the cathedral.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Tacitus, \"Annals,\" xiv. 33.\n\n[2] Bishop Browne (\"The Christian Church in these Islands before the\nComing of St. Augustine,\" 1897, pp. 59-62; S.P.C.K.) in a learned note\ndisposes of this, as he does of the veteran claim of St. Peter's,\nCornhill, to take rank as the elder sister of St. Paul's.\n\n[3] The list in the south nave transept, compiled with the assistance\nof Bishops Stubbs and Browne, leaves this period doubtful and\nuncertain (_vide_ Appendix A).\n\n[4] \"Eccles. Hist.,\" book ii., chap. iii.\n\n[5] The grant is in Dugdale, p. 288; in Domesday it runs \"tenet\n_semper_ Paulus.\"\n\n[6] Bishop Browne's \"Conversion of the Heptarchy,\" p. 154 (S.P.C.K.).\n\n[7] Dugdale, p. 299 _et seq._, quotes the Exchequer Domesday. Also,\nHale's \"Domesday of St. Paul's\" and Leach's \"Southwell\" (the\nIntroduction); Freeman's \"Cathedral Church of Wells,\" p. 50 _et seq._;\nand Newcourt's \"Repertorium.\" Hereford is the only other cathedral in\nDomesday where canons held in this way. Southwell (now a cathedral,\nthough the prebendaries are gone), Bedford, Twyneham, and Stafford\nwere collegiate churches of a like kind.\n\n[8] Freeman's \"Wells,\" p. 69.\n\n[9] \"Diary,\" Sept. 16, 1666. So far as the pillars are concerned I\nknow of no other time when this \"casing\" could have been done; and the\narchitecture in Hollar's prints, as reproduced in Dugdale, agrees.\n\n[10] Dean Milman says the text was from Ezekiel, i. 5; was it not from\nRevelation, iv. 6?\n\n[11] \"Documents Illustrative,\" p. 175.\n\n[12] St. Faith's parish reaches westward to 62, St. Paul's Churchyard,\nnorth side.\n\n[13] \"Chapters in the History,\" p. 97.\n\n[14] Perhaps the residentiaries were increased to eleven.\n\n[15] \"Gleanings,\" chap. i. It is disappointing to find that it was\nthought necessary to provide in the Statutes against gross immorality,\nand that a fine of 3s. 4d. was deemed a sufficient punishment for the\nfirst offence, to be doubled on repetition.\n\n[16] Were they ever members of the chapter _ex officio_?\n\n[17] If he had to read his share of the Psalter every day for each,\nhis time for affairs of State must have been encroached upon.\n\n[18] So says Dr. Sparrow-Simpson. In the Gallican Church the _stage_\nwas the time of qualifying for residence. In modern French a\n_stagiaire_ = a licentiate in law going through his stage.\n\n[19] In former days. The Vicars Choral of other foundations are now\ncalled Minor Canons.\n\n[20] \"Chapters in the History,\" p. 53.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nFROM THE ACCESSION OF DEAN COLET TO THE FIRE\n\n(1505-1666).\n\n\nWith the Florentine studies of John Colet, remarks J.R. Green, a purer\nChristianity awoke throughout Teutonic Europe. Born in 1466, a son of\na distinguished citizen who was twice Lord Mayor, after seven years at\nOxford he travelled with sufficient means to France and Italy, and\nwhether at home or abroad studied in particular Greek. \"The knowledge\nof Greek seems to have had one almost exclusive end for him,\"[21]\ncontinues Green; \"Greek was the key by which he could unlock the\nGospels and the New Testament.\" Discarding the traditional\nmediaevalisms, his faith rested simply on a vivid realisation of the\nPerson of Christ; and whilst his active and lucid intellect exhibit\nhim in many lights, everything else was subordinate to his faith.\nReturning to England, he lectured gratuitously at Oxford on St. Paul's\nEpistles, and formed a friendship with Erasmus. So Erasmus became the\nearnest pupil of an earnest master. Taking priests' orders, he was\nappointed Dean of St. Paul's and Prebendary of Mora (1505), and\nestablished a reputation as a preacher. In those days, and until\nWolsey as legate gave the preference to Westminster, the two Houses\nheld their sessions in the Chapter House and Nave of Old St. Paul's,\nas the opening ceremony still reminds us. Preaching at the opening in\n1512, he startled Convocation by declaring, \"All that is in the Church\nis either the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, or the pride of\nlife.\" In vain his bishop, Richard Fitz-James, endeavoured to\nestablish a charge of heresy: the Primate Warham and young Henry\nVIII. both admired and supported the Dean; and the Dean continued to\nshow his preference for the New Testament in the original Greek rather\nthan for the prevalent nonsense of the mediaeval schoolmen.\n\n   [Illustration: DEAN COLET.\n   _After the portrait in Holland's \"Heroologia,\" 1620._[22]]\n\nWhere the consent of his Chapter was necessary, Colet's efforts at\nreform were obstructed. The profanation of the sacred building he\ncould not stop: buying, selling, and promenading in the nave continued\nthe order of the day. The Chapter would have nothing to do with his\nnew statutes, but elsewhere he was more successful. The Chancellor's\nSchool was not in accordance with his views; and in spite of Bishop,\nChancellor, and Chapter, out of his own means he built ST. PAUL'S\nSCHOOL, towards the east end of the churchyard, and endowed it;\nand leaving his colleagues out in the cold, left the management to the\nMercers' Company. His theology was manifest in the image over the\ngate. It was neither Erkenwald nor Uncumber: it was not the Virgin or\neven St. Paul himself, but the Child Jesus with the simple and\npregnant inscription, \"Hear ye Him.\" The severity of his discipline,\nalthough a Pauline parent or pupil would now resent it, was adapted to\nthose rough and hardy times, when people rose early and worked hard,\nand when corporal punishment was general and often, and irrespective\nof sex or age. William Lyly, an Oxford student who had studied in the\nEast, was his first high master. As the original St. Paul's School\nbecame eventually absorbed in Colet's, this latter--now removed from\nits old home to stately buildings on the Hammersmith Road, and\npossessing (1899), as a high master, a worthy successor of\nLyly[23]--is in one sense a new foundation of Colet's, yet in another\nis also a continuation of that venerable foundation under the charge\nof the Chancellor. Looked at in this latter aspect, it may assert an\nantiquity almost as great as St. Peter's, York, which claims--and not\nwithout reason--to be the senior boys' school in the country. Colet so\nlooked forward to the different requirements of different ages that\nhis statutes did not tie his school down to any cut and dried course\nof study; but let us hope place will always be found for the Greek\nTestament. What are we to think of the preacher who, while denouncing\nwar, so pricked the conscience of Henry VIII. that the king sent to\nconsult him? What of the Bible student who thought that the story of\nCreation was an allegory, and intended to teach the ignorant\nIsraelites that the one God had created everybody and everything? What\nof the reformer who went beyond Erasmus in denouncing the profane\nexcesses perpetrated in the name of religion at the shrine of Becket\nat Canterbury? Colet died of the \"sweating sickness\" at the early age\nof fifty-three, in 1519; and it is idle to speculate on his action had\nhe lived until the breach with Rome. His monument in the south aisle\nof the choir perished in the Fire; and in the new Renaissance\ncathedral a second might well be erected to the memory of this great\nleader of the Renaissance in theology and learning, the greatest among\nmany great occupants of the Dean's stall.\n\n   [Illustration: TOMB OF JOHN COLET, D.D., DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S.\n   _After Hollar._]\n\n=Reformation Principles Opposed.=--The still smouldering doctrines of\nWycliffe were now fanned into a flame; and Wolsey endeavoured to\nextinguish them without having resort to the stake Tyndal's New\nTestament, translated into English in 1526 at Worms, must have been\nspeedily smuggled across the Channel. On the Shrove Tuesday of 1527\nWolsey attended St. Paul's, accompanied by some six-and-thirty\nprelates, mitred abbots, and other high dignitaries. Barnes of\nCambridge, formerly a friar, and five others, \"Stillyard men,\" were\nbrought from the Fleet prison in penitential array, Barnes carrying a\nheavy taper, the rest <DW19>s. Testaments and other forbidden books\nwere in baskets by a fire in the nave. On their knees the penitents\nrecanted; while Barnes declared that he deserved to be burnt. Fisher\nagain preached; and the six pardoned offenders were taken inside the\nrails and made to walk round the fire, after which the books were\nburnt--by no means a solitary literary conflagration.\n\n=Reformation Principles Advanced.=--In order to raise money, Henry\ndeclared that as the clergy had acquiesced in the authority of Wolsey\nas legate, and as such acquiescence was contrary to the Statute of\nProvisors, all these benefices were forfeit to the Crown, and a heavy\nsubsidy must be paid as ransom. The clergy of the diocese of London,\nconsidering that the arch-offender against this Statute was Henry\nhimself, and next to him the prelates and great mitred abbots,\nattended a meeting at the Chapter House, and were assisted by a number\nof their parishioners. John Stokesley, Bishop designate,[24] who\npresided, and who had to see the assessment made, could neither keep\norder nor gain his point: \"We never meddled, let the bishops and\nabbots pay.\" Fifteen priests and four parishioners were imprisoned,\nand, of course, Henry gained his point.\n\nThroughout 1534 the deanery was vacant. The Bishop was directed to see\nthat the appointed preachers at Paul's Cross taught that the Pope had\nno spiritual authority of divine right. Here as elsewhere it is\nremarkable with what ease and unanimity the papal jurisdiction based\non the Petrine claims was done away with. No dignitary--and Bonner\nthat year became Prebendary of Chiswick--no priest of humbler rank\nconnected with the cathedral, either resigned or got into trouble on\nthis important doctrinal question; although the execution of those two\nearnest men, John Fisher and Thomas More, who opposed the divorce and\nthe abrogation of the papal claims, was followed by a pronouncement of\nexcommunication, deposition, and an interdict on the part of Paul III.\nYet at St. Paul's, nineteen Anabaptists--a sect whom no one\npitied--were sentenced to be burnt, and of these a man and a woman\nsuffered at Smithfield, and the remainder in the provinces. The next\nyear (1536) Hugh Latimer, as earnest and good a bishop as Fisher and\nhis exact opposite, preaching before Convocation, denounced abuses in\nthe spirit of an age which did not hesitate to call a spade a spade.\n\"Lift up your heads, brethren, and look about with your eyes; spy what\nthings are to be reformed in the Church of England.\"\n\nBut more dramatic and more effective than the sonorous ring of honest\nHugh's eloquence, was the sermon at the Cross (February 14, 1538) of\nBishop John Hisley, Fisher's successor at Rochester, and formerly\nPrior of the Dominicans in London. His subject was an ingenious piece\nof mechanism, called the Rood of Grace, from Boxley in his diocese, a\nsource of revenue from devotees. Now, this product of the mechanic's\nart does not seem to have had any resemblance to a Rood--_i.e._, a\nlarge cross or crucifix--but rather was shaped like a big doll; and\nHisley demonstrated to his intelligent congregation of citizens how no\ninherent power, but a man standing inside, with the aid of wires,\ncaused the rood to bow, and move its eyes and mouth.[25]\n\nThe exposure was followed next St. Bartholomew's eve by the removal of\nthe Great Rood at the north door, and those of our Lady of Grace and\nof St. Uncumber. This last saint is supposed to be a foreign princess\nof early times, styled also in England St. Wilgeforte. A peck of oats\nwas a favourite offering at her shrine in St. Paul's by those who\nwished for favours; and according to Sir Thomas More she owed her\npopular name because wives unhappy in their union so offered in the\nhope that she would _uncumber_ (_i.e._, disencumber) them of their\nhusbands. The disgrace of Thomas Cromwell put a temporary stop to\nactions of this nature; and we find Gardiner at the Cross denouncing\nboth Rome and Luther. We further find Barnes, our quondam penitent,\namongst those who replied from the same famous pulpit, and likening\nhimself and Gardiner to two fighting cocks, only that the _garden_\ncock lacked good spurs. The result was that Barnes ended his chequered\ncareer at the stake, as did others.\n\n=Edward VI.=--So long as Henry lived it was dangerous to uphold either\nthe Petrine claims or the doctrine of justification by faith alone, and\nit was equally dangerous to oppose the doctrine of transubstantiation;\nbut the Council of the child king would not have this latter doctrine,\nand was distinctly Protestant. The endowments of the chantries had been\ntransferred to the Court of Augmentations in the autumn of 1545 (37\nHenry VIII. c. 4) for the benefit of the king; but when at the\nbeginning of 1547 Edward succeeded his father, St. Paul's still\nenjoyed her own. Somerset and his Protestant council not only wanted\nthe property, but objected to masses for the dead, and a renewing Act\nwas quickly passed, Edward's name taking his father's place. So went\nchantries and _obits_ into the royal coffers, the list in Dugdale, as\nreturned to the Court, filling ten folio pages; while but little\ncommiseration was felt for the hard lot of these illiterate chaplains\ndeprived of their livelihood. And this was not all. Besides any\nremaining roods and crucifixes, altars were demolished, tombs wrecked,\nplate, jewels, vestments and frontals sold. Elaborate gold and silver\nembroidered work found its way to Spanish cathedrals, and up to a short\ntime ago was reported to be still there.[26] Pardon Haugh Chapel was\ndesecrated, and the bones carted away to Finsbury; the Chapter House\ncloisters went to build Somerset House. The dean, William May, was an\nadvanced Protestant; but so was not his bishop, Bonner. Bonner preached\nat the Cross upholding transubstantiation, and was deprived and\nimprisoned. It is to the credit of his successor, Ridley, that he\nsupported Bonner's mother and sister at Fulham; \"Our mother Bonner\"--he\nwas unmarried--taking the head of his table. Yet Ridley was one of the\njudges at St. Paul's who sent the Anabaptist woman Joan Bucher to the\nstake for heresy. During the first year or two of this reign, complains\nDean Milman, \"Sunday after Sunday the Cathedral was thronged, not with\ndecent and respectable citizens, but with a noisy rabble, many of them\nboys, to hear unseemly harangues on that solemn rite\" [the Sacrament].\nRidley, after his translation (1550) restored comparative order, and\nremained bishop long enough to witness the introduction of the Second\nPrayer Book.\n\n=Mary Tudor.=--When poor Edward came to his untimely end, Ridley sided\nwith the faction of Jane, and preached at the Cross, declaring both\nMary and Elizabeth illegitimate. For this he has been much censured;\nbut so far as the two princesses went--of course this would not make\nJane next of kin--he was but upholding the decisions of Ecclesiastical\nCourts. In spite of any weakness in her title--and we have seen how\nher mother had been married to Arthur at St. Paul's--Mary was\nproclaimed, the bells rung, the Lords went in procession to hear _Te\nDeum_ chanted; Bonner went back, and Dean May was replaced by John\nFeckenham. Yet Mary's party by no means had everything their own way.\nGilbert Bourne, Prebendary of Wedland, who had retained his benefice\nthroughout the late reign and was now Chaplain to the Queen, preaching\nat the Cross, was rudely interrupted with cries and throwing up of\ncaps; and had it not been for two of his brother canons, John Rogers\nof St. Pancras and John Bradford of Cantlers, and others, who\nconducted him in safety to the adjacent schoolroom, matters might have\ngone ill with Mary's champion. Gardiner recanted his former heterodoxy\nconcerning the papal supremacy in a sermon; and Pole appeared as\nLegate. Ridley, Rogers, and Bradford were amongst those who suffered\nat the stake, while May escaped.\n\nOf course the old services were reintroduced; and we turn from grave to\ngay in a record of one of these revived functions. A doe was offered on\nthe Conversion and a buck on the Commemoration of St. Paul, both in\nconnection with some quaint old-world land tenure. Our records tell us\nthat Bonner wore his mitre, and the Chapter their copes, with garlands\nof roses on their heads. The buck--it was the Commemoration--was\nbrought to the high altar, and at some time and place not exactly\ndefined but within the choir, was slain; and the head, severed and\nraised on a pole, was borne before the processional cross to the west\ndoor. Here a horn was blown, and other horns in different parts of the\nCity answered.[27]\n\n=Elizabeth.=--After the death of Mary, as the diocese of London had\nbeen the chief sufferer from the persecutions, and as the excitement\nin the City ran very high, the sermons at the Cross were for a time\nwisely discontinued. The Primate Pole, the last Romanist at Canterbury\nand the last Legate openly accredited to an English sovereign, and\nmany of his suffragans likewise, died about the same time; and it was\nleft for Bonner to preside over a thin Upper House.\n\nWhat was to be done with the bishop? To allow him to continue in his\nhigh office was tantamount to a grave scandal to religion, and his\nperson was not safe from the fury of the populace. He was replaced by\nEdmund Grindal, and spent the remaining ten years of his life chiefly\nin the security of the Marshalsea, without any undue vigour or\nharshness. Mary's first dean, Feckenham, had been made abbot of the\nresuscitated regular foundation of Westminster, and his successor was\nquietly ejected in favour of the restored May, whilst a few of the\nother dignitaries lost their stalls. The Epistle and Gospel were first\nread in English, and eventually the Prayer Book was resumed; but the\nchanges were made gradually; and, considering the provocation, no\nvindictive spirit was displayed.\n\nIn June, 1561, the beautiful spire was destroyed by fire caused by\nlightning or by a plumber's neglect, and the Chapter House seriously\ninjured. We have no trustworthy plates prior to this fire, and the\nvarious estimates about the height of the spire and other matters are\nanything but infallible. Service was held at St. Gregory's, and the\nroof and other parts restored at a cost of L6,700, but the\narchitecture was never the same afterwards. Of course the disappointed\nRomanists attributed the disaster to the Divine anger, and Bishop\nPilkington, of Durham, preaching next Sunday at the Cross, to the\nstill continued desecration.\n\nIt is difficult for us to understand why this desecration was allowed\nto go on. A pillory was indeed set up outside near the bishop's\npalace, and a man convicted of fighting nailed there by his ears,\nwhich were afterwards cut off; but this must have been an offence\nexceptionally outrageous. \"What swearing is there,\" says Dekker, \"what\nshouldering, what jostling, what jeering, what biting of thumbs to\nbeget quarrels.\" At Bishop Bancroft's Visitation a verger complained\nthat colliers with coal-sacks, butchers' men with meat, and others\nmade the interior a short cut. Bishop Corbet, of Norwich, wrote:\n\n    \"When I past Paules, and travelled in that Walke\n      Where all our Brittaine-sinners sweare and talke,\n    Ould Harry-ruffians, bankrupts, suthe-sayers,\n      And youth, whose cousenage is as ould as theirs.\"\n\nThe choir boys even during service time were on the alert for \"spur\nmoney,\" a fine due for the wearing of spurs. \"Paul's Walk\" (the\ncentral aisle of the nave), said Bishop Earle, of Salisbury, \"is the\nland's epitome.... It is the general mart of all famous lies.\"\nShakespeare was thinking of his own time, as well as of the time of\nHenry IV. (2 Henry IV., act 1, scene 2) when he makes Falstaff engage\nBardolph, out of place and standing at the servant-men's pillow to be\nhired. John Evelyn called the cathedral a den of thieves. Before, we\nhave mentioned that this abuse existed in mediaeval times; the above\nauthorities show that it still went on right up to the Fire. Doctrine\nmight be purified, and rites reformed; Paul's Walk was neither\npurified nor reformed.\n\nJohn Felton nailed the Bull of Pius V. excommunicating and deposing\nElizabeth (_Regnans in Excelsis_) to the bishop's gate at night (May\n15, 1570), and was hung on a gallows hard by. We pass on from this,\nand from Elizabeth's \"tuning of the pulpit\" and various other matters,\nto the Armada. By September some of the captured flags were displayed\non high outside, and waved over the preacher at the Cross. The last\nSunday in November was appointed for the State Thanksgiving, Aylmer\nbeing bishop and Nowell dean. The Queen was driven in a chariot drawn\nby four white horses. Bishop John Piers, of Salisbury, the Almoner,\nwas the preacher. His sermon has not come down, but the Form of Prayer\nhas--\"Turning the destruction they intended against us upon their own\nhead.\" At the conclusion, the Queen remained in the City to dine with\nthe bishop.\n\nAfter the death of the great Queen, the leading conspirators in the\nGunpowder Plot[28] were executed outside the West Front. John King,\nDean of Christ Church, styled by James \"the _king_ of preachers,\" was\nconsecrated bishop in 1611; and the next year Bartholomew Leggatt was\ncondemned as a heretic in the Consistory Court, and burnt at\nSmithfield; and a month later Edward Wightman suffered a like fate at\nLichfield. But the Marian persecutions had made all good citizens sick\nof such sights, and henceforth, says Fuller, the king yielding to\npublic opinion, \"politically preferred that heretics, though\ncondemned, should silently and privately waste themselves away in\nprison.\"\n\n=Inigo Jones.=--A certain Master John Farley agitated in favour of the\ndecaying and neglected fabric, and King James attended service in\nstate to hear his favourite preacher, the bishop, plead for\nrestoration from an appropriate text chosen by the king himself (March\n26, 1620). After the service came a banquet at the bishop's palace,\nand after the banquet a meeting; and a Royal Commission was appointed\nbefore the end of the year on which the Lord Mayor was the first\nperson named. Amongst other commissioners was Inigo Jones, Surveyor of\nthe Royal Works. He had studied in Italy and was an enthusiastic\nstudent of the Italian Renaissance. Unfortunately the public was\nanything but enthusiastic, and only a small sum was contributed, which\nwent in the purchase of stone. Matters came to a complete standstill;\nand shortly prior to his assassination the elder Villiers is reported\nto have stolen part of the stone for a watergate for his new town\nhouse.\n\n   [Illustration: INIGO JONES' PORTICO.\n   _After Hollar._]\n\nThe Commission died with the king, and Laud, becoming bishop,\npersuaded Charles to issue a new one. This time a handsome sum was\ncollected, and work was commenced. As regards the exterior, the nave\nand west sides of the two transepts were cased throughout, and some\nrepairs made to the east end.[29] The chief alteration in the interior\nwas the adornment and restoration of the choir screen, at the expense\nof Sir Paul Pindar, and with the laudable object of putting an end to\ndesecration. Inigo Jones added a noble classical portico to the West\nEnd as a successor to Paul's Walk. We forgive the lack of harmony with\nthe Norman nave, when we recall the truly religious motive.\n\nBut evil days for the cathedral were approaching. In the House of\nCommons (February 11, 1629), Oliver Cromwell, Member for Huntingdon\ntown, made his maiden speech in a Grand Committee on Religion. He\ncomplained that Dr. Alablaster had preached flat Popery at Paul's\nCross, and that the Doctor's bishop, Neile of Winchester, would not\nhave it otherwise.[30] Alablaster was High Church, and the Third\nParliament of Charles was not.\n\n=The Civil War.=--The outbreak of the Civil War put an end to the\nCommission, and the moneys were confiscated.[31] The Long Parliament\nacquired the supremacy in the City, and from 1643 Inigo Jones ceased\nto act as surveyor, dying before the Restoration. The whole staff was\nexpelled, and their revenues sequestrated; and Dr. Cornelius Burgess\nwas appointed preacher, some of the more eastern bays of the choir\nbeing walled in by a brick partition as his chapel or conventicle. The\nchief fault to be found with Burgess is that he was out of place in a\ncathedral, otherwise there is much to be said in his favour. Even in\nthose times, when religious fanaticism went mad, he behaved with\ndiscretion, and courageously headed the petition of London ministers\nagainst the execution of the king. Hugh Peters figures in the crypt,\nand other parts were assigned as meeting-houses. It is better to pass\nover as quickly as may be the behaviour of the soldiery and populace.\n\"Paul's Cathedral,\" says Carlyle, \"is now a Horseguard; horses stamp\nin the Canons' stalls there [but the choir was mainly reserved for\nBurgess and his sermons], and Paul's Cross itself, as smacking of\nPopery ... was swept altogether away, and its leaden roof melted into\nbullets, or mixed with tin for culinary pewter.\"[32] Its very name,\nthe Cross, was against it; and thus fell, never to be restored, the\nmost famous pulpit in England, which through successive generations\nhad been part and parcel of English history. Carlyle also tell us that\nTrooper Lockyer, of Whalley's Horse, \"of excellent parts and much\nbeloved,\" was shot in the churchyard for mutiny, \"amid the tears of\nmen and women.\"[33]\n\nMonuments which had escaped earlier vandals were now defaced and\ndestroyed; the scaffolding was seized; part of the roof on the south\nside fell in, and the lead was used for water-pipes. The new portico\nwas hacked about and turned into stalls for wares, and, in a word,\nInigo Jones' work more than undone. Other doings of the soldiery are\nunfit for publication.[34]\n\n=The Restoration.=--Juxon was translated to Canterbury, and the\nmunificent and much-abused Gilbert Sheldon received London, only in\nturn to succeed Juxon again three years later. At the beginning of the\nCivil War the deanery had become vacant, and Richard Steward\ndesignated for the vacancy. It was an empty appointment, and was\nafterwards changed for another of a like kind, and Matthew Nicolas\nbecame nominally dean. This preferment took actual effect from the\nsummer of 1660, when Nicolas was installed dean and prebendary of\nCaddington Major, such of the other dignitaries as survived resuming\ntheir stalls, and vacancies were filled up. Another bay was added to\nthe Burgess conventicle, and the cathedral services were resumed. But\nthe sad condition of the fabric called for action, and in 1663 another\nCommission was appointed, and CHRISTOPHER WREN appointed\nsurveyor. Taking example from his uncle's cathedral at Ely, he\nsuggested an enlargement of the area at the junction of the four\nmembers of the cross, and subscriptions were raised.\n\n=The Plague.=--There is a gap in the subscription list after March,\n1665: the pestilence was already at work. As the summer advanced its\nravages were intensified; and the City, fortunate in escaping earlier\nattacks, suffered so severely that the pest-houses proved\ninsufficient; and Harrison Ainsworth is responsible for a story which\nmay probably be depended on in its main outlines. The Lord Mayor and\nCity authorities, in conjunction with the College of Physicians,\nobtained the consent of Dean Sancroft (the second from Nicolas) and\nhis chapter for the conversion of the cathedral into a lazar-house;\nand a meeting was held in the Chapter House, at which the Primate\nSheldon was present. Sheldon employed himself, co-operating with the\nLord Mayor, in making provision for the victims. \"Chapels and\nshrines,\" says Ainsworth, \"formerly adorned with rich sculptures and\ncostly ornaments, but stripped of them at times when they were looked\nupon as idolatrous and profane, were now occupied by nurses,\nchirurgeons and their attendants; while every niche and corner was\nfilled with surgical instruments, phials, drugs, poultices, foul rags\nand linen.\"[35] After its chequered career, Old St. Paul's was\ndestined to be used last of all as a hospital.\n\n=The Fire.=--The house and Navy office of Samuel Pepys were in\nSeething Lane, Crutched Friars, near where Fenchurch Street Station\nnow is. About three in the morning of Sunday, September 2, 1666,\nSamuel and his wife were called by their servant Jane, who told them\nof a fire visible in the south-west towards London Bridge. After\nlooking out, not thinking it a great matter, the couple returned to\nbed; but getting up at seven Pepys heard a far worse account, and\ninstead of attending morning service went to the Tower, and called on\nhis neighbour Sir John Robinson, the Lieutenant. Robinson told him\nthat the house of Faryner, baker to the king, in Pudding Lane had just\ncaught fire, that Fish Street was in flames, and the church of St.\nMagnus destroyed. These were near the north end of London Bridge, as\nthe Monument and St. Magnus both remind us.\n\nThe origin of the Fire Pepys learnt later (February 24, 1667).\nFaryner's people had occasion to light a candle at midnight; they went\nas usual into their bakehouse to light it, but as the fire had gone\nout, had to seek elsewhere. This striking a light in an unusual place\nby Faryner, his son and daughter, is asserted to have been, somehow\nand all unknown to them, the origin of the Fire. \"Which is,\" says\nPepys, \"a strange thing, that so horrid an effect should have so mean\nand uncertain a beginning.\" About two in the morning, when the family\nwere upstairs and asleep again, the choking sensation of smoke woke\nthem up, just in time to escape and tell the tale.\n\n   [Illustration: ST. PAUL'S IN FLAMES.\n   _Originally engraved by Hollar for the title of Dean (afterwards\n   Archbishop) Sancroft's sermon on the Great Fire._]\n\nThere was a drought, and the flames spread on their mission of\ndevastation, assisted by a breeze. St. Paul's and most of the hundred\nCity churches were not likely to be used for worship that morning. \"To\nsee the churches all filling with goods by people who themselves\nshould have been quietly there at the time.\" But service was held as\nusual at the Abbey; and just about sermon time, a newly elected king's\nscholar, Taswell, noticing a stir and commotion--he was standing by\nthe pulpit steps--ascertained the cause. The news had spread that the\nCity was in flames. Like most boys the prospect of something exciting\ncoincided with his desire to escape a long sermon, so he hastened\noutside in time to see four boats on the river, the occupants of which\nhad escaped in blankets. Let us hope that as he was not fully\nadmitted, he escaped Busby's birch. All through the Sunday St. Paul's\nwas safe--the distance from Pudding Lane was a little over half a\nmile--and even the east end of Lombard Street was intact. The\nparishioners of St. Gregory and St. Faith, lulled into a false sense\nof security, remained confident that even though the conflagration\nspread westward, and the surrounding houses caught fire, the flames\nwould not leap across the vacant space of churchyard; and the\nbooksellers accordingly began to store their goods in St. Faith's as\nthough the crypt were a fireproof safe.[36] So it might possibly have\nbeen, and in spite of sparks, had the distracted Lord Mayor been firm\nenough to prevent the storing of books in the churchyard, and had the\ncathedral roof been in good repair. The flames gradually encircled the\nchurchyard; the goods there took fire, and the flames caught the end\nof a board placed on the roof to keep out the wet. The Nemesis of\nneglect!\n\nOur young friend Taswell first saw the flame at eight o'clock on the\nTuesday evening at Westminster. It broke out at the top of St. Paul's\nChurch, almost scorched up by the violent heat of the air and\nlightning too, and before nine blazed so conspicuous \"as to enable me\nto read very clearly a 16mo. edition of Terence, which I carried in my\npocket.\"\n\nPepys corroborates as to the day \"Paul's is burned and all Cheapside,\"\nwriting of Tuesday, September 4th; and under the same date, Evelyn\nadds: \"The stones of St. Paul's flew like grenades, the melting lead\nrunning down the streets in a stream, and the very pavements glowing\nwith a fiery redness, so as no horse or man was able to tread on them,\n_and the demolition had stopped all the passages, so that no help\ncould be applied_, the eastern wind still more impetuously driving the\nflames forward.\" By Wednesday night the central section of the City\nwas so burnt out that Pepys walked through Cheapside and Newgate\nmarket. \"It is a strange thing,\" he remarks, \"to see how long the time\ndid look since Sunday.\" \"Sad sight,\" he adds next day, \"to see how the\nriver looks: no houses nor church near it.\" Friday, the 7th, early: \"A\nmiserable sight of Paul's Church with all the roofs fallen in, and the\nbody of the quire fallen into St. Fayth's; Paul's School also, Ludgate\nand Fleet Street.\"\n\nWe will conclude this with some more extracts from the evidence of\nPepys. On the next Sunday, when it is interesting to observe the\ndrought came to an end, he attended service twice, probably at St.\nOlave's, Hart Street, Mark Lane, in the neighbourhood of Crutched\nFriars. In the morning \"Our parson made a melancholy but good sermon;\nand many and most in the church cried, specially the women. The\nchurch mighty full; but few of fashion, and most strangers. To church\nagain, and there preached Dean Harding [Nicolas Hardy, of Rochester];\nbut methinks a bad, poor sermon, though proper for the time; nor\neloquent in saying at this time that the City is reduced from a large\nfolio to a decimo-tertio.\" The phrase \"most strangers\" is not\nsurprising, as besides St. Paul's, some eighty-five parish churches\nwere in ashes, including two without the walls but inside the\nLiberties. Our last extract is under date 12th November following, and\nillustrates how such remains as had hitherto escaped desecration were\ntreated in the general disorder. Bishop Braybroke's efforts at reform\nhave been already acknowledged: his tomb was behind the high altar\ntowards the east. \"In the Convocation House Yard [apparently the space\nwithin the Chapter House Cloisters] did there see the body of Robert\nBraybroke, Bishop of London, that died in 1404. He fell down in the\ntomb out of the great church into St. Fayth's this late fire, and is\nhere seen his skeleton with the flesh on; but all tough and dry like a\nspongy dry leather or touchwood, all upon his bones. His head turned\naside. A great man in his time, and Lord Chancellor. And now exposed\nto be handled and derided by some, though admired for its duration by\nothers. Many flocking to see it.\"\n\nOld St. Paul's, then, suffered the fate of its predecessors in the\nfirst week of September, 1666. By the Friday the conflagration had so\nfar exhausted itself that Pepys was able to walk from Paul's Wharf to\nthe churchyard. The City within the Walls was well-nigh burnt out, and\nof the eighty-three parish churches consumed only forty-eight were\nrebuilt; and these with the thirteen untouched left accommodation more\nthan sufficient for the surrounding population. Our regret for the\ncathedral would have been greater, had this magnificent monument of\nmediaeval genius--probably of its kind as fine as any in the\nworld--been capable of a conservative restoration: it is to be feared\nthat neglect, the destroyer, and the restorer had amongst them\nrendered this task well-nigh impossible.\n\nSo far as existing authorities guide us, it remains to describe the\narchitecture.[37]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[21] \"Short History,\" pp. 298, 299. Green says, \"The awakening of a\nrational Christianity.\"\n\n[22] See Dr. Lupton's \"Life of Colet,\" 1887.\n\n[23] When I was living in the parish of Kensington, St. Paul's School\nwas, as I believe it still is, _facile princeps_.\n\n[24] Assuming that the date of the meeting from Hall's _Chronicle_ is\ncorrectly printed in Milman, November 7, 1530.\n\n[25] \"Chapters in the History,\" p. 169. Milman (p. 202) adds that the\nhearers pulled the doll to pieces. The dean is made to say \"Ridley,\nnow bishop of Rochester\"; but Ridley was bishop 1547-1550, as Milman\nelsewhere implies (p. 211).\n\n[26] Milman, p. 216.\n\n[27] My authorities for this well-nigh incredible story are in \"St.\nPaul's and Old City Life,\" p. 234.\n\n[28] \"Plot\" I must continue to call it, with all due deference to\ncertain modern apologists.\n\n[29] Horace Walpole (quoted in Longman, p. 69) says that Inigo Jones\nrenewed the sides with \"very bad Gothic.\" Assuming the accuracy of the\nprints in Dugdale, it is difficult to see where the Gothic comes in.\n\n[30] Carlyle's \"Cromwell,\" vol i., chap. iv.\n\n[31] There is some confusion as to receipts and expenditure. I take\nDugdale to mean that under the Charles commission L101,000 was raised,\nand L35,000 spent; but it seems uncertain whether we are to include\nSir Paul Pindar's liberality in this sum. Dean Milman estimates that\nonly L17,000 was confiscated. The enormous cost of the army caused a\nchronic deficit.\n\n[32] \"Cromwell,\" vol ii., part v.: The Levellers.\n\n[33] Ibid. Friday, April 27, 1649.\n\n[34] \"Gleanings,\" p. 283.\n\n[35] \"Old St. Paul's,\" chap. v. I have found no corroboration for this\ninteresting incident related by Ainsworth in detail.\n\n[36] Yet the vacant space was in many places very narrow, and the\nbishop's palace was actually connected with the south-east end of the\ncathedral.\n\n[37] My quotations from Taswell and Evelyn are taken from Milman,\nchap. xv. I cannot explain Taswell's mention of lightning. Some assert\nthat St. Paul's caught fire on the Monday.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nOLD ST. PAUL'S--EXTERIOR.\n\n\nThe church was cruciform, with aisles to every arm; and we will give\nthe external dimensions before the fire of 1561, which include the\nlofty spire and exclude the portico. The figures must in all cases be\nconsidered approximate.\n\nThe extreme length east and west is difficult to ascertain:\nauthorities do not agree; neither do their different estimates with\ntheir scales. Mr. William Longman, upon the authority of Mr. E.B.\nFerrey, estimates it at 596 feet, and his accompanying scale even\nmore. If the accuracy of the comparative ground-plan in \"St. Paul's\nand Old City Life\" can be depended upon, we must put it at a little\nover 580 feet; but Mr. F.C. Penrose's invaluable excavations do not\nappear to have fixed the precise termination of the west front. Mr.\nLongman also gives a comparative ground-plan of the two cathedrals\nfrom a drawing of Wren's (see below, p. 64); and this, though on a\nsmall scale, is perhaps our safest guide, and we shall probably not be\nfar wrong if we say 580 feet or a little over, and divide our length\nas follows: nave, 252 feet; across transept, 104 feet; choir, 224\nfeet. To this must be added the portico of 40 feet, making a total\nlength of at least 620 feet. The old west end was some 70 feet nearer\nLudgate Hill, and with the portico 110 feet nearer. Length of\ntransepts, 293 feet, the two arms being equal; breadth of both nave\nand transepts, 104 feet, Dugdale's scale making them exactly 100 feet:\nbreadth of choir a trifle less. Height of nave from ground to apex of\nroof, about 130 feet, and of choir, 143 feet. Height of central tower\nby Wren's estimate, the lowest, 260 feet, and of spire about 200\nfeet; altogether according to Wren, 460 feet, and according to others\nstill higher. Height of western towers with the spires I take the\nliberty of adding, unknown. I have calculated the area at about 81,000\nto 82,000 square feet; and in this have excluded St. Gregory's (say 93\nX 23 feet plus the apse) and the Chapter House, with the surrounding\ncloister; a square of 90 feet and more than half covered in. These two\nmembers were structurally part and parcel of the building.\n\nThus we see that Old St. Paul's was by far the largest cathedral\nchurch in England. Its area exceeded York and Durham: its length\nWinchester: the height of its graceful lead-covered spire exceeded\nSalisbury; and this, taking Wren's safe and low estimate, and not\ncounting ball, cross and eagle weathercock of some thirty feet more.\nIf we allow St. Gregory and the covered part of the Chapter House\narea, as we should, it equalled in area or slightly exceeded alike its\nsuccessor and Cologne and Florence, and was surpassed only by the new\nSt. Peter's, Milan, and Seville. \"See the bigness,\" said Bishop Corbet\nof Norwich, \"and your eye never yet beheld such a goodly object.\"\n\nThe difficulties which present themselves in any attempt to describe\nthe architecture still continue to beset us; such earlier drawings as\nwe have are contradictory and rude to a degree.[38] The NAVE\nwas Norman, rebuilt to a great extent after the fire of 1137. The\naisles had the usual round-headed windows, with the unusual (for\nEngland) circular windows above. There were flat buttresses; but I\nmust reject the flying-buttresses of some restorers. The clerestory\nwindows are a puzzle. Everybody maintains they were Pointed, and, if\nso, they would have been inserted at the same time as the new roof;\nbut there seems to be no trustworthy authority for this. In Finden's\nengravings after Hollar they are taken at a peculiar angle which is\napt to mislead. Hollar and his engravers give two windows on the south\nside in the interior, _i.e._, of the nave and clerestory. Both seem\nalike; and Inigo Jones' patched-up north and south fronts represent\nthem both as round, so that the balance of evidence appears to be in\nfavour of round.[39]\n\nAnother difficulty is the question of the existence or nonexistence\nof the western towers. Mr. William Longman and Mr. E.B. Ferrey give\nnone in their south-west view, because \"no drawings or plates are\nknown to exist which would settle the question.\" But it is our\nmisfortune that we have to reconstruct Old St. Paul's practically\nwithout the help of drawings, until we come to Inigo Jones' finished\nwork. In Dugdale's ground-plan they cover almost exactly the same area\nas one of the severies of the neighbouring aisles, and are flush with\nthe west front; in both respects resembling those of Wells and other\ncathedrals. Besides, they are constantly mentioned, and at various\ndates, as Mr. Longman duly acknowledges. The southern tower was the\noriginal LOLLARDS' TOWER from which the Lambeth tower has\nborrowed its name, and was utilised for a prison by the Bishops of\nLondon for ecclesiastical offences. It was both bell and clock tower,\nand abutted on to both the cathedral proper and St. Gregory's. So late\nas 1573, Peter Burchet of the Middle Temple, shortly afterwards\nexecuted for murdering his gaoler in the tower, was imprisoned here\nfor heresy, and would then have been sentenced to death but for\nrecanting.\n\nThe north-west tower was likewise used at times as a prison, and was\nconnected with the bishop's palace. In the days of Bonner, an upper\nfloor almost as high as the parapet of the nave contained a room eight\nfeet by thirteen; and the two towers were connected by a passage in the\nthickness of the west wall. Hollar's views show us that Inigo Jones\noverlaid these towers with a new coating, and finished them off with\nturrets. The original towers were probably crowned with spires of wood\nand lead, and both projected some thirty feet from the aisles. The high\nroof of the nave[40] of the middle of the thirteenth century had an\nangle of about forty-five, and replaced an older one during the\nrebuilding of the choir. The CENTRAL TOWER had double flying-buttresses\nwith pinnacles springing from the clerestory; and, assuming that the\nwest towers had also spires, the grouping must have been nearly\nperfect.\n\nYet another puzzle is the architecture of the TRANSEPTS. The\nnorth and south windows at the ends are sometimes represented as of a\nlate date, but not by Hollar. They were probably Norman in their three\nstages. In his report[41] Wren says, \"The North and South Wings have\nAisles only on the West side, the others being originally shut up for\nthe 'Consistory.'\" What he meant was that the two east aisles were\nshut off from the rest of the transepts. Their architecture (of the\nsame dimensions as their western counterparts) was Geometrical as\nregards windows, buttresses, and pinnacles. The rest of the transepts\nresembled the nave; and this part of the south front was very much\nbroken. The cloister and chapter house occupied almost the whole of\nthe west side of the south transept, and four bays of the nave; St.\nGregory's Church occupied four more bays at the west of the nave,\nleaving only three aisle windows of the nave on the south side.\n\nTaking the CHOIR next, we will at once dismiss as\nuntrustworthy the view taken in 1610 in Speed, as reproduced in \"St.\nPaul's Cathedral and Old City Life.\" Here the windows are represented\nas Norman; but this is not the first time I have found Speed at fault.\nWe have records of the consecration of the western part in 1240, and\nof the pulling down of St. Faith's and of the completion of the\neastern part by the end of the century, or, counting certain\nadditions, a little later. The western and earlier part extended to\nthe fourth window, which is broader than the rest; and the mouldings\nwere somewhat different in this part; but still the matter is not\nwithout difficulty. The engravings represent the whole of the tracery\nof the twelve windows on either side as Geometrical. We should have\nexpected the four western windows to be lancets; and there is no\nexplanation for the uniformity. The East End contained a great window\nsome thirty-seven feet in height, of seven lights and trefoiled at the\nhead; and above this the circular rose window, the four angles of the\nsquare stage filled in with an arrangement of smaller circles. There\nwere eastern aisle windows on either side of the main window, and four\ncrypt lights below.\n\nWhen we add that the buttresses were crowned with pinnacles to\nstrengthen them in their resistance to the flying-buttresses of the\nclerestory and to the aisle walls beneath, and that these pinnacles\ncontained niches for statues and were terminated with crockets and\nfinials, so far as we can judge the exterior of the choir was in every\nrespect a fitting completion of the exterior of Old St. Paul's.\n\nWe have already said sufficient of Inigo Jones, how he flagged [_i.e._\ncased] the outside of the nave and transept, says Wren, \"with new\nstone of larger size than before.\"[42] Owing to this, the plates are\nsilent as to the window mouldings and other details. Let us pass on to\nthe\n\n\nINTERIOR.\n\n=The Nave= was of eleven bays (not twelve), with triforium and\nclerestory, and aisles in addition. The outer coating only of the\npillars was of good stone. Wren says, \"They are only cased without,\nand that with small stones, not one greater than a Man's Burden, but\nwithin is nothing but a Core of small Rubbishstone, and much Mortar,\nwhich easily crushes and yields to the Weight.\" Even the outer casing,\nhe adds, \"is much torn with age, and the Neglect of the Roof.\"[43]\nDouble engaged shafts reached to the clerestory, and supported the\nspringers. The actual arcading sprang from these shorter engaged\nshafts, which had cushioned capitals; and the arcading of the\ntriforium was similar. The mouldings of the arches of arcading and\ntriforium look like the lozenge. The vaulting, too heavy for its\nsupports, was quadripartite, with cross springers intervening, and the\nlongitudinal rib unbroken. The =Transepts= were each of four bays, and\nin their details similar to the nave. Their north aisles were shut off\nby blank walls which displayed here and there the architecture of the\nrest; and each aisle of four bays was further divided into two equal\nparts of two bays each, making four compartments altogether. In one or\nother of these four the Consistory Court, according to Wren, was held.\nTo the arcading of nave and transepts, Wren says that in later years\nfour new and stronger piers were added in the common centre under the\ntower for the purpose of strengthening it. As these are not shown in\nDugdale's plates, we can only conjecture their date to have been after\nthe fire of 1445. By the plan they were far more massive than the\nothers, and we can well understand Wren's complaint that they broke in\nupon the perspective.\n\n   [Illustration: THE NAVE OF OLD ST. PAUL'S.\n   _After Hollar._]\n\nThe dates of the nave and transepts have already been suggested. After\nthe fire of 1087, Bishop Maurice and his successor built everything\nafresh on a larger scale. The fire of 1136 did great damage, and\nrestoration on a considerable scale was effected. Mr. E.A. Freeman, by\na happy coincidence, touches on restorations at Wells of this time,\nand contrasts our two dates.[44] After the fire of 1136 the\nrestoration would be in a style \"somewhat less massive, somewhat more\nhighly enriched.\" I have already pointed out Freeman's statement that\nthe custom towards the middle of the eleventh century was to throw a\ncoating of the more refined Romanesque of the day over earlier Norman\nwork, and this agrees with the statements both of Wren and Pepys.\n\nWe may, then, assume that while the former ground-plan and general\noutline remained the same, after 1136 the pillars were encased and\nmore elaborate mouldings added. By another statement of the same\nauthority[45] it would seem that \"the vaulting shafts run up from the\nground\" belong to the second restoration, when the vaulting itself was\ncompleted, and the date of this is indicated in Bishop Basset's letter\nof 1255.\n\nHence the nave and transepts were restored after the transitional\nNorman style, and vaulting shafts added in the fully developed Early\nEnglish style, while the window tracery and other details of the\nisolated north aisles of the transepts were Geometrical. The four\npiers supporting the central tower were of a later date; but surely\nthere must have been others, though less massive, before, otherwise it\nis difficult to understand how the tower and spire were supported.\n\nDugdale gives only two monuments in the nave. Thomas Kemp, who died\nbishop, reposed under the penultimate arch in the north side, in a\nchapel enclosed by a screen and railings. The second was that of Sir\nJohn Beauchamp, who died in 1358, and whose monument was under the\neastern arch on the south side. Somehow the populace entertained the\nidea that this latter was the burial place of Duke Humphrey of\nGloucester, uncle to Henry VI., who was murdered in 1447 and buried at\nSt. Alban's. The adjacent part of the south aisle was called Duke\nHumphrey's Walk: and the tomb seems to have been a sanctuary. At\ndinner-time, needy people who lacked both the means to purchase a meal\nand friends to provide them with one, and who chanced to loiter about\nthis sanctuary, were said _to dine with Duke Humphrey_, and the phrase\nwas equivalent to having no dinner at all.\n\n   [Illustration: THE CHOIR, LOOKING EAST.\n   _After Hollar._]\n\n=The Choir.=--As our ancestors looked eastward from under the central\ntower, both aisles of the choir were completely hidden from view by\nthe height of the blank wall. The choir screen in the centre was of\nless altitude, had four niches for statues on either side, and a fine\nPointed doorway in the centre of three orders of arches. The plates\nare of a date too late to show any rood. Entering through this door\nwas the choir of twelve bays. Stephen Wren implies that the whole of\nthis magnificent member was completed by 1240;[46] but much of the\narchitecture belonged to a somewhat later date, and the prints are\ncorroborated by numerous documents.[47] The extension eastward on the\nsite of Old St. Faith's must have almost amounted to a rebuilding.\nWhere did this extension begin, and where did the choir of 1240 end?\nWren noticed that the intercolumnar spacing was less irregular to the\neast. Mr. Longman points out that the clustered pillars towards the\nwest differed from the others, as did their capitals and the triforium\narcading, while the fifth arch-space was greater than all the rest.\nHere we have the original east end.\n\nWestward, the square fronts of the pillars were left bare; eastward\nthey were covered with clustered shafts, and the springers which\nsupported the vaulting were continued to the ground. Westward,\nmoreover, the triforium arcading differed from that to the east, and\nwas occasionally even left blank.\n\nThere remains, however, this peculiarity, that according to the prints\nthe main aisle windows were uniform throughout, and with Geometrical\ntracery. The vaulting differed from the nave in this, that the\ndiagonals, where they met the longitudinal rib, had bosses, and three\nsingle cross ribs alternated instead of one. The longitudinal rib was\nagain unbroken throughout.\n\nThat part of the Choir devoted to public worship was limited to the\nfirst seven bays, of which the three to the east were on a higher\nlevel. The stalls of the dignitaries extended four bays, and shut out\nthe aisles. On the north side the organ occupied the third bay, and on\nthe south the bishop's cathedral throne, as now, was at the end. The\nChapel of St. Mary, or Lady Chapel, was east of the presbytery at the\nextreme end, with St. George's to the north and St. Dunstan's south;\nand the whole of the space outside the presbytery--north, south,\neast--was taken up by some of those monuments which contributed so\nmuch to the beauty and interest of the interior, and they even\nencroached inside. Dugdale gives some seventy to eighty. Between the\naltar and the Lady Chapel was St. Erkenwald's noted and richly\ndecorated shrine, and the tombs of Bishop Braybroke and Dean Nowell.\nHard by in the north aisle slept John of Gaunt under his magnificent\ncanopy; and supporter of Wycliffe though he was, his tomb was rifled\nand defiled during the Commonwealth. Near at hand was the monument of\nSebba, King of the East Saxons--a convert of Erkenwald, from whom he\nreceived the cowl. In the disgraceful chaos after the Fire, the body\nof Sebba, says Dugdale \"was found curiously enbalmed in sweet odours\nand clothed in rich robes.\" Here also could be read the unflattering\nepitaph over the monument of Ethelred the Unready; and hard by the\ntomb of John of Gaunt, in December, 1641, the corpse of another\nFleming by birth was interred. Sir Anthony Van Dyck had spent the last\nnine years of his life in England at the invitation of Charles, and\nthis great pupil of Rubens was probably the last buried in the choir\nbefore the Civil War. The Lady Chapel contained a wooden tablet to Sir\nPhilip Sidney, with the inscription:\n\n    \"England, Netherlands, the Heavens and the Arts,\n    The Souldiers and the World, have made six parts\n    Of noble Sidney; for none will suppose\n    That a small heap of stones can Sidney enclose.\n\n    His body hath England, for she it bred;\n    Netherlands his blood, in her defence shed;\n    The Heavens have his soule, the Arts his fame,\n    All Souldiers the grief, the World his good name.\"\n\nAnother wooden tablet in the north aisle was to the memory of his\nfather-in-law, the statesman Walsingham; and numerous other statesmen,\nnobles, divines, and lawyers were buried, or at least remembered. We\ncan but regret that these are now things of the past, and gone, with\nthe exception of the effigy of Dean Donne--as remarkable as the man\nhimself--and a few mutilated remains. Even Colet's is gone.\n\nBefore descending to the Crypt we may remark that the Interior must\nhave fully emphasised the sense of majestic beauty produced by the\nExterior. The long perspective eastward from the West Door, flanked on\neither side by the arcading and terminating with a glimpse of the rose\nwindow over the choir screen, as depicted in Dugdale, leaves nothing\nto be desired.\n\n=The Crypt or Shrouds.=--The crypt was underneath the eight eastern\nbays of the choir, and was about 170 feet in length.[48] The entrance\nwas from the churchyard on the north side, and the gloom was lit up by\nbasement windows both at the sides and east end. An additional row of\npiers down the centre supported the choir pavement above; and the\nwhole undercroft may best be described as of eight arches in length\nand four in breadth, the arches springing from engaged columns and the\nvaulting quadripartite.\n\nThe mouldings of the clustered columns were plain rounds and hollows,\nand everything throughout appears to have been uniform and of the same\ndate. The four western bays, rather more than half, formed the parish\nchurch of St. Faith; the eastern part the Jesus Chapel, which, after\nthe suppression of the Guild, was added to St. Faith's. These two\nparts were separated by a wooden screen, and over the door was an\nimage of Jesus, and underneath the inscription:\n\n    \"Jesus our God and Saviour\n    To us and ours be Gouernour.\"\n\nThese remarks about the Jesus Chapel, be it noted, date only from the\nreign of Henry VI., by whom the Guild was incorporated, and the\nmembers of which held high festival on the days of the Transfiguration\nand of the Name of Jesus.\n\nAt the south-west corner of St. Faith's, but outside, was the Chapel\nof St. John the Baptist, and near this were the three Chapels of St.\nAnne, St. Sebastian, and St. Radegund. Dugdale gives a list of sixteen\nof the more noted tombs. They include that of William Lyly, the first\nmaster of Colet's famous foundation. Had his bones not been disturbed\nby Wren's workmen, they could still have been found underneath the\narcading due south-west from Dean Milman's tomb.[49] To Lyly's memory\nhis son George, Prebendary of Cantlers, also placed a tablet in the\nnave above.\n\nHaving mentioned our last chapel and altar, it may here be added that\nthe records enumerate not less than twenty chapels and three dozen\naltars altogether. Besides the Guild of Jesus there were four\nothers--All Souls', the Annunciation, St. Catherine's, and the\nMinstrels--and these do not seem to include the oldest of all, that\nfounded by Ralph de Diceto in 1197, which met four times a year to\ncelebrate the mass of the Holy Ghost. We now go on to the surrounding\nbuildings.\n\n\nTHE PRECINCTS.\n\n=St. Gregory's=, in reality part of the cathedral with the Lollards'\nTower common to both, is mentioned as a parish church in early\ndocuments. Pulled down and rebuilt, in the plates of Hollar it appears\nas an uninteresting building, hiding from view the four west bays of\nthe south aisle of the nave. After the Fire the parish was united for\necclesiastical purposes to St. Mary Magdalen, Old Fish Street, and\nboth have since been by a further union annexed to St. Martin, Ludgate\nHill. The Petty Canons were parsons or rectors--that is to say, the\nincome of the benefice was devoted to their support, and so continued\nuntil their suppression as a corporation. =The Bishop's Palace= was to\nthe north-west, and joined the tower. We know nothing of its\narchitecture, and it is last mentioned in Inigo Jones' Report of 1631.\n\n=Pardon Church Haugh=, or Pardonchirche Haw, on the north side and\neast of the palace, was not a church at all, and was situated probably\nin St. Gregory's parish. How the \"Haw,\" or small enclosure, received\nits name is doubtful: there may have been some unrecorded connection\nwith pardons or indulgences. Here Thomas a Becket's father, who was\nPortreeve, built his chapel, rebuilt by Dean Thomas Moore, whose\nexecutors added three chantries. The Haugh was environed by a\ncloister, and the tombs in this part traditionally exceeded, both in\nnumber and workmanship, those in the cathedral, but this is all we\nknow about them. In the cloister was the picture of the Dance of\nDeath. Death, represented by a skeleton, leading away all sorts and\nconditions of mankind, beginning with Pope and Emperor. The\naccompanying verse of Dean John Lydgate, monk of Bury (or his\ntranslation from the French), was as gruesome as the picture.\nSomewhere here the Petty Canons had their common hall. Near the\ncloister, and on the east side, was Walter Sheryngton's Library; and\nadjacent to the north-west corner of the neighbouring transept, his\nchapel with its two chantries. East of the Haugh and about opposite\nthe north point of the transept, was the =Charnel=, a chapel with a\nwarden and three chantries. Underneath was a crypt or vault for the\ndecent reception of any bones that might be disinterred, and hence the\nname.\n\n   [Illustration: ST. PAUL'S CROSS.\n   _From an Engraving in Wilkinson's \"Londina Illustrata,\" after the\n   picture in the possession of the Society of Antiquaries,\n   London._]\n\nWe have now arrived at the north side of the transept, and inside the\nangle formed by chancel and transept stood =Paul's Cross=, in St.\nFaith's parish. It was an octagon of some thirty-seven feet, and stood\nabout twelve feet from the old cathedral. Mr. Penrose excavated for\nthe site, and found it just at the north-east angle of the present\nchoir. The last structure--of wood on a stone foundation, and with an\nopen roof--was the gift of Thomas Kemp; but a pulpit cover existed in\n1241. Above the roof rose the cross from which the name was derived;\nand from 1595 the whole was surrounded by a low brick wall, at the\ngate of which a verger was stationed. Against the choir wall was a\ngallery of two tiers: in the upper was the projecting royal box or\ncloset, below the Lord Mayor's; and the parishioners of St. Faith had\na right to seats. In very bad weather an adjournment was made to the\ncrypt; but our sturdy forefathers endured alike stress of weather,\nlength of discourse, and undiluted frankness of speech, after a manner\nthat altogether puts us, their degenerate descendants, to shame.\n\nFrom a rude picture, painted in 1620 at the instance of Henry Farley,\nwe can see the preacher for the day with a sand-glass at his right\nhand. King James, in his state box, has his Queen on his right, and\nhis unhappy son on his left, with the Lord Mayor below. These are to\nthe left of the preacher, who faces the transept. The congregation,\npartly composed of parishioners of St. Faith, is seated on forms; and\nthe men wear their steeple-crowned hats. A dog-whipper is vigorously\nbelabouring a poor animal with a cat-o'-nine-tails; but the cries of\nthe victim do not in the least disturb either preacher or audience;\nand two led horses are behind the preacher. A well-dressed youth, a\nlate arrival, bows and accosts a grave-looking citizen with \"I pray,\nsir, what is the text?\" and the citizen answers, \"The 2nd of Chron.\nxxiv.\" A second citizen is dropping a coin into a large money-box by\nthe transept door. The subject of the sermon, judging from the text,\nwas the much-needed restoration; and perchance the preacher was none\nother than the diocesan, James' \"king of preachers.\"[50]\n\nIn 1633 the preaching was removed into the choir \"for the repaire of\nthe Church,\" though we cannot quite see in what way this could help\nthe repairing. Those who shortly afterwards obtained control of the\nCity could tolerate neither the name nor the actual cross, and were\nafraid of disturbances as well. The structure came down, and although\nit was said at the time only to make way for another \"fairer and\nbigger,\" was never restored again. The endowments out of which the\npreachers were paid went to the Sunday morning preachers, and these\nlatter are the legitimate successors of the old-time divines.\n\n   [Illustration: THE CHAPTER HOUSE AND CLOISTER.\n   _After Hollar._]\n\n=The Clochier=, or =Bell Tower=, with its lead-covered spire crowned\nwith a statue of St. Paul, stood at the east end of the churchyard.\nThere must have been a tower here from a very early period if this was\nthe bell that summoned the folk-mote. The Guild of Jesus owned the\nfour bells of later times; and when that body was dissolved they\nreverted to the Crown, and were lost at dice to a Sir Miles Partridge,\nsubsequently executed for sharing in the fortunes of the Protector\nSomerset. The cloister of the =Chapter House=, or =Convocation House=,\nshut off almost entirely the west wall of the south transept and four\nbays of the south wall of the nave. This was of the unusual\narrangement of two stories, and formed a square of some ninety feet on\nthe plan, with seven windows in either story. This was called the\n\"Lesser Cloisters,\" apparently to distinguish it from the cloister of\nPardon Church Haugh. In the centre of the square, and approached\nthrough a vestibule from the east, was the Chapter House, an octagon\nwith a diameter of nearly forty feet, supported by massive buttresses.\nIn Dugdale's engraving the lofty roof has gone; and the tracery of\nChapter House and Cloisters alike are Perpendicular. It will be seen\nthere were two places for the two Houses of Convocation, one near the\nwest door of the nave, and this.\n\nThere was St. Peter's College, where the Petty Canons lived, Holmes\nCollege, and the Lancaster College. Thomas Plantagenet, Earl of\nLancaster, executed for high treason against his cousin, Edward II.,\nwho was canonised by the people, though not by the Pope, had a tablet\nsomewhere in the church at which miracles were believed to be wrought,\nand two offices to himself. But whether the Lancaster College referred\nto him or to John of Gaunt, or where it was situated, is uncertain.\n\nOf all these various buildings which surrounded the cathedral and\nadded to its interest, the curious, by going to the south side of the\nnave, may discern some traces of the old Lesser Cloisters and Chapter\nHouse. Everything else has gone so completely that it would be\ndifficult to fix even the exact site.\n\n   [Illustration: PLAN OF OLD ST. PAUL'S IN 1666.]\n\n\nDIMENSIONS.\n\nOLD ST. PAUL'S.\n\n\n  LENGTH of Nave                252 feet\n  LENGTH across Transept        104 feet\n  LENGTH of Choir               224 feet\n                               ---------\n                                580 feet\n  LENGTH across Portico          40 feet\n                               ---------\n                 Total length   620 feet\n\n  LENGTH of Transept            293 feet\n\n  BREADTH of Nave               104 feet\n\n  HEIGHT of Central Tower       260 feet\n\n  HEIGHT Spire                  200 feet\n                               ---------\n                 Total height   460[51] feet\n\n  HEIGHT of Nave roof           130 feet\n  HEIGHT Choir                  143 feet\n\n  Area                       about 80,000 sq. ft.\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[38] Particularly so in the \"Gleanings.\"\n\n[39] _I.e._, assuming that Inigo Jones did not convert pointed into\nround.\n\n[40] Bishop Fulk Basset sent out in 1255 letters hortatory for the\ncontributions of the faithful. \"Quod Ecclesia St. Pauli, in retroactis\ntemporibus, tantis turbinibus fuit quassata, &c. _ut totum ejus\ntectum_, jam quasi in ruinam gravissimam declinare videtur\" (Dugdale,\np. 9).\n\n[41] \"Parentalia,\" p. 276.\n\n[42] \"Parentalia,\" p. 275.\n\n[43] Ibid.\n\n[44] \"Wells,\" p. 69. His exact dates are shortly after 1088 and 1136.\n\n[45] \"Wells,\" p. 132.\n\n[46] \"Parentalia,\" p. 273.\n\n[47] Particularly the 68 Indulgences between 1228-1316 cited in\n\"Documents Illustrating,\" p. 174.\n\n[48] This crypt, under the extension of the thirteenth century choir,\ncannot be that mentioned by William of Malmesbury. According to the\nplan in Dugdale, there was no crypt underneath the Norman cathedral.\n\n[49] \"Chapters on the History\" (pp. 91-93) gives more details about\nthe crypt. Dean Milman calls Lyly John; and Chambers' \"Book of Days\"\nburies him in the churchyard.\n\n[50] \"Chapters in the History,\" with plate, pp. 159, 222, etc.\n\n[51] This is Wren's estimate; others are higher.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nFROM THE FIRE TO THE COMPLETION OF NEW ST. PAUL'S (1666-1710).\n\n\nChristopher Wren was the most distinguished member of a distinguished\nfamily. His father's elder brother, Matthew, was fellow and senior\ntreasurer of Pembroke College, Cambridge, when James I. visited that\nuniversity in 1611, and won the favour of his sovereign by the ability\nwith which he acquitted himself in the \"Philosophy Act.\" After serving\nas chaplain to Charles in the journey to Spain, he received, amongst\nother preferments, the Mastership of Pembroke and the Deaneries of\nWindsor and Wolverhampton, and then was made, in quick succession,\nBishop of Hereford, Norwich, and Ely. We shall see that the Cathedral\nof Ely exercised an influence over his nephew in designing the Dome of\nSt. Paul's. Matthew survived the Commonwealth after a lengthy\nimprisonment without trial, and returned to Ely after the Restoration.\nHis younger brother Christopher was chaplain to Lancelot Andrewes,\nBishop of Winchester, who preferred him to the Rectory of East Knoyle,\nWilts.[52] Charles I. made him chaplain in ordinary; and when Matthew\nwas preferred to Norwich, his brother succeeded him in his two\ndeaneries. The Dean, like his brother, was a learned scholar, and to\nhim posterity is indebted for the preservation of many valuable\nrecords at Windsor during the troubled times. He married Mary,\nheiress of Robert Cox, of Founthill, in Wiltshire, and died in poverty\nand deprived of his benefices before the Restoration. The only\nsurviving son of the marriage, Christopher, was born at East Knoyle,\nOctober 20, 1632. Like others who have eventually lived to an extreme\nold age, he was delicate during childhood, and, instead of being sent\nearly to school, received his primary instruction privately. Like his\nfather before him, he displayed great aptitude for mathematics, both\npure and applied, and was fortunate enough to have a capable teacher\nin Dr. William Holder, the husband of a sister, in whose house his\nfather took refuge and died after his ejection from Windsor. At the\nage of thirteen he was sent for a short period to Westminster, and\nabout the same time invented a new astronomical instrument. The next\nyear he was admitted as a gentleman commoner at Wadham College,\nOxford. Both the Warden, Dr. John Wilkins, and the Savilian Professor\nof Astronomy, Dr. Seth Ward, observed his early promise, and gave him\nevery encouragement in the pursuit of his favourite studies, and he\ncontinued to design ingenious instruments and models, Dr. Charles\nScarborough, a surgeon of note, making use of his talents in preparing\npasteboard models for his anatomical lectures.[53] His intellectual\nprecocity can only be compared to that of John Stuart Mill, and with\nthis difference, that whereas Mill was forced by his father like a\nplant under glass, Wren's studies were spontaneous and voluntary.\n\nGraduating in 1650, he was elected three years later, after taking his\nMaster's degree, to a Fellowship of All Souls, the next year began his\nfriendship with John Evelyn, and he was subsequently chosen Professor\nof Astronomy at Gresham College[54] and Savilian Professor at Oxford.\nIsaac Newton in the \"Principia\" cites him as an authority on\nmathematics, and, had he never turned his attention to architecture,\nhe would still have taken high rank in other ways. By 1663, as appears\nby a letter of Thomas Sprat, afterwards Bishop of Rochester, he was\nlooked upon as the fittest man to restore the dilapidated St.\nPaul's, and was about the same time asked to go to Tangiers to direct\nthe extensive fortifications and harbour projected there. He refused\nthe offer of Tangiers on the plea of health, \"and humbly prayed his\nMajesty to allow of his Excuse, and to command his duty in England.\"\nAlthough this post was to be accompanied by a reversionary grant of\nthe Surveyor Generalship of the Royal Works, one may well ask the\nquestion, who, had he accepted it, would have rebuilt St. Paul's?[55]\n\n   [Illustration: ELEVATION AND SECTION OF WREN'S REJECTED DESIGN\n   FOR ST. PAUL'S.\n   _From his drawings in All Souls' College, Oxford, as reproduced\n   in facsimile in Blomfield's \"Renaissance Architecture in\n   England.\"_]\n\nWe now begin to find him devoting what Sprat most truly called \"that\ngreat genius of yours\" to architecture. He examined carefully the\nleading churches of England and of some parts of the Continent.[56] He\nwent to Paris the year of the Plague, and it is characteristic of the\ntaste of his time that no mediaeval cathedral passed on the way is\nmentioned. At Paris, under the auspices of Mazarin, many architects\nand artists were assembled. \"I hope I shall give you a very good\nAccount of all the best Artists in France,\" he wrote to a friend. \"My\nbusiness now is to pry into Trades and Arts. I put myself into all\nshapes to humour them; 'tis a comedy to me, and tho' sometimes\nexpenceful, I am loth yet to leave it.\" He mentions not only leading\nmen like Colbert, but more than twenty architects, painters, and\ndesigners he met, and above all Bernini, the architect of the Louvre.\n\"Bernini's designs of the Louvre I would have given my skin for; but\nthe old reserved Italian gave me but a five Minutes View; it was five\nlittle designs on Paper, for which he had received as many thousand\nPistoles: I had only time to copy it in my Fancy and Memory.\" In after\nyears, when his enthusiasm had been tempered by a more mature\njudgment, this eulogium would have been materially qualified. We may\nadd here that he was in course of time knighted, and became President\nof the Royal Society.\n\n   [Illustration: SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN.\n   _From the engraving in Elmes' Memoirs of Sir C. Wren, after the\n   portrait by Kneller at the Royal Society's rooms._]\n\nSuch was the man to whom not merely the king and his advisers, but\npublic opinion, turned to repair the ravages of the Fire, and in\nparticular to rebuild St. Paul's. It was the Surveyor General, Sir\nJohn Denham, who recommended Wren as his successor, and the death of\nDenham in March, 1668, gave this recommendation full effect. One of\nWren's many disappointments was that the opportunity was missed of\nlaying out afresh the whole City from Temple Bar to Tower Hill, and\nfrom Moorfields to the river. His inventive genius projected broad\nstreets, generally rectangular, with piazzas, each the meeting-point\nof eight thoroughfares, and quays and terraces along the river bank.\nHe calculated that by obliterating the numerous churchyards and laying\nout healthier cemeteries in the suburbs, no owner would lose a square\nfoot of ground, and that, although they would not find their property\nexactly on the same site, every building would be replaced, with the\nimmense compensation of an excellent situation in the finest and\nhealthiest city in the whole world. By this plan St. Paul's would have\ndirectly faced a long and broad street running west and passing\nthrough the present Law Courts, with St. Dunstan's Church in the\ncentre beyond the Fleet, and the narrow Strand joining from the west\nat Temple Bar. At Ludgate, three hundred yards west of the cathedral,\nthis avenue of a width of some thirty yards began to open out until,\nopposite the west front, it had increased to a breadth of a hundred\nyards, leaving ample room for a piazza. Here an acute bifurcation was\nformed, the northern street leading to the Exchange; the southern, a\nbroader and a nobler Cannon Street, with St. Paul's between. This\nscheme, as laid before the King and Parliament, Wren declared to be\nthoroughly practicable. Certainly it would have prevented congestion\nof traffic unto this day, and given St. Paul's (although somewhat\nhemmed in on the east) a position unique amongst churches.[57] \"The\nonly and as it happened unsurmountable Difficulty remaining was the\nobstinate Averseness of great Part of the Citizens to alter their old\nProperties, and to secede from building their Houses again on the old\nGround and Foundations\"; and as rebuilding began almost as soon as the\nsmoke of the Fire had ceased, and long before anything definite could\nbe decided upon, a great opportunity was lost. The estimated\nthree-quarters of a million of souls and the vehicles innumerable now\ncrossing the boundaries every weekday are compelled, too often, to\ntraverse choked and narrow streets, and not without danger to life and\nlimb; while St. Paul's itself, cribbed, cabined, confined, becomes in\neach successive generation more hemmed in as the surrounding emporiums\nand magazines grow taller and taller.\n\nAt first the idea was entertained of restoring the ruins, but this was\nfinally abandoned by royal warrant to the Commissioners in 1668, and\nclearing and excavations began. The workmen with pickaxes stood on the\ntop of the walls some eighty feet high, and others below cleared away\nthe dislodged stones--a dangerous task in which lives were lost. Of\nthe Central Tower some two hundred feet remained, and a more\nexpeditious plan was adopted. A deal box, containing eighteen pounds\nof gunpowder, was exploded level with the foundations at the centre of\nthe north-west pillar, and the adjacent arches were lifted some nine\ninches, while these ruins \"suddenly jumping down, made a great Heap of\nRuin in the Place without scattering.\" Wren estimated the whole weight\nlifted at three thousand tons, and the labour saved equal to that of a\nbattalion of a thousand men. When the alarmed inhabitants of the\nneighbourhood heard and felt the concussion, they naturally took it\nfor an earthquake. In the surveyor's absence a subordinate used too\nmuch powder in attempting a second mine, and neither burying it low\nenough nor building up the mouth, a stone was projected through an\nopen window into a room where some women were sitting at work.\nAlthough no one was hit, the neighbours took alarm, and successfully\nagitated against all further blasting. Delay was caused, and finally a\nbattering-ram some forty feet in length, worked by thirty men,\ncompleted the demolition. The stones and rubbish were cleared away,\nand used in different buildings and in repairing the streets.\nAfterwards some houses on the north side which encroached on the\nbuilding, and may have been those that assisted the passage of the\nFire, were levelled, and their site included in the churchyard.\n\nWhen at length the ruins of Old St. Paul's had come down and the huge\nmass of wreckage been cleared away, working from the west the\nexcavations for the new foundations were begun. The old cathedral had\nrested on a layer of loam, or \"pot earth\" or \"brick earth,\" near the\nsurface; and wells being sunk at various points to ascertain the depth\nof this, it was found that the loam, owing to the ground sloping\ntowards the south, gradually diminished from a depth of six feet to\nfour. Sinking further, they found sand so loose as to run through the\nfingers; next, freshwater shells and more sand, and continuing through\nhard beach or gravel, they reached at last the London clay.[58] At one\npoint of the north-east corner, where the loam had been dug out, Wren\nwas compelled to rest the foundations on the clay; and it seems almost\na pity that this was not universally adopted, at whatever additional\ncost of time and labour, in preference to the loam. The building had\nnot long been completed ere the great weight of the dome caused some\nof the piers to sink from an inch to more than two inches, and Edward\nStrong the younger had to repair cracks and fissures.[59] Dean Milman\ntells us that in his time the City authorities once contemplated a\nsewer on the south side; but the surveyor, Mr. R. Cockerell,\nremembering that the sand and shells underneath the loam would be in\ndanger of oozing out, went in great haste to him, and on their joint\nrepresentation the project was abandoned.\n\nThe old cathedral was not due east and west, neither did it directly\nface Ludgate Hill. Owing to the lie of the land cleared away, both of\nthese peculiarities were increased by the surveyor, and the axis of\nthe New St. Paul's was swung some seven degrees further north than the\nOld. He thereby made the best of his somewhat cramped site, and\navoided the foundations of the old walls. The excavations were not\ncompleted nor the site fully cleared and made ready until 1674.\n\n   [Illustration: RELATIVE POSITION AND AREA OF THE GROUND-PLANS OF\n   OLD AND NEW ST. PAUL'S.\n   _Reproduced from Longman's \"Three Cathedrals of St. Paul's.\"_]\n\nIt has been the lament of many that the Pointed arch had by the time\nof the Fire died out, and that the Renaissance style, borrowed from\nItaly, had taken the place in England of Gothic architecture. \"About\ntwo hundred years ago,\" we are told in the \"Parentalia,\" \"when\ningenious Men began to reform the _Roman_ Language to the Purity which\nthey assigned and fixed to the Time of _Augustus_ and of that Century,\nthe Architects also, ashamed of the modern Barbarity of Building,\nbegan to examine carefully the Ruins of _Old Rome_ and _Italy_; to\nsearch into the Orders and Proportions, and to establish them by\ninviolable Rules: so to their Labour and Industry we owe in a great\nDegree the Restoration of Architecture.\" Here we have the Renaissance\nstyle defined. Wren would naturally have fallen in with the fashion of\nhis own time; and the faults he found in his elaborate surveys at Old\nSt. Paul's, Salisbury, and elsewhere confirmed him in his adherence.\nHe found \"a Discernment of no contemptible Art, Ingenuity and\ngeometrical Skill in the Design and Execution of some few\"; but this\nwas more than counterbalanced by grave faults: \"An affectation of\nHeight and Grandeur, tho' without Regularity and good Proportion, in\nmost of them.\" They are loaded with too much carving and tracery, and\nin other ways offend his taste, but chiefly in the neglect of a due\nregard to stability. \"There is scarce any _Gothick_ Cathedral, that I\nhave seen, at home or abroad, wherein I have not observed the Pillars\nto yield and bend inwards from the Weight of the Vault of the Aile....\nFor this Reason this Form of Churches has been rejected by modern\nArchitects abroad who use the better and _Roman_ Art of\nArchitecture.... Almost all the Cathedrals of the _Gothick_ Form are\nweak and defective in the Poise of the Vault of the Aile.\"[60] On the\nother hand, he reckoned the dome \"a form of church-building unknown in\nEngland, but of wonderful Grace,\" and, moreover, the dome wasted a\nminimum of space, whilst a mediaeval cathedral could accommodate only a\nsmall auditory in proportion to its large area, so that every one\ncould both see and hear. Any place of worship was in his eyes badly or\nimperfectly constructed in which the preacher's voice could not travel\nso as to be distinctly heard. There is much to be said on both sides\nin regard to the comparative merits of Gothic and Renaissance; and\ninstead of echoing complaints, it is surely better to be thankful we\nhave one cathedral, situated in the greatest centre of population, in\nthe latter style.[61]\n\n   [Illustration: MODEL OF WREN'S FIRST DESIGN\n   _Reproduced from Longman's \"Three Cathedrals,\" &c._\n   [The western cupola is an addition to the design shown on p. 57]]\n\nIn 1668 a small committee of eight, in addition to the Dean and\nChapter, was appointed, and about the same time Wren set seriously to\nwork and soon after produced his first design (see p. 57). In addition\nto the reasons already mentioned, he had at first to take into\nconsideration the all-important question of finance, for when he began\nthere were only voluntary contributions to fall back upon; but in 1670\na share of the import duties on coal was granted, and soon constituted\nthe greater part of the rebuilding fund. In 1673 an enlarged\ncommission of over a hundred members was nominated by royal warrant,\nwith the Lord Mayor at its head, who took precedence over the Primate\nand the Bishop; and Wren laid his first design before them, of which a\nmodel was made. This was a kind of Greek cross; the external order was\nthe Corinthian, with Attic above. It bore a general resemblance to a\nrotunda, and was crowned with a dome taken from the Pantheon at Rome.\nThis dome was of about the same diameter as the present, but less\nlofty, and was likewise supported by eight pillars. West of the\nrotunda part was the foot of the cross, and a secondary dome was\nafterwards added. When Wren began to design this we have seen that\namongst other considerations was that of finance[62]; but even had the\ncoal dues been then granted, it is certain that he would have adhered\nto it, for it was always a great favourite. In designing it he took\ntwo facts into consideration: (1) that the outdoor sermons, formerly\npreached at the Cross, were for the future to be preached inside, and\nthat a large auditorium would be required for this purpose (2) that\nreligious processions inside were now discouraged, and that a nave and\naisles were in consequence a useless waste of space and means.[63]\nForgetting these two important items, a vast amount of adverse\ncriticism has been bestowed upon Wren's favourite. Its main drawback\nwas the absence of a proper Sacrarium; and yet so obvious were its\nadvantages, that when a cathedral was lately proposed for Liverpool,\nno less an authority on architecture than the late Canon Venables\nadvocated its adoption.\n\n   [Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE MODEL.\n   _A sketch by the Rev J.L. Petit._]\n\nThe clergy and others wanted something with more resemblance to the\nold cathedrals; and first of all the surveyor tried to humour them by\nadding another secondary dome to the west. He next set to work making\na great number of sketches, merely, as his grandson says, for\n\"Discource sake\"; and one of these was so much approved of that a\nmodel was again made. But the demand for a building with choir, nave,\nand aisles complete continued, and required to be satisfied; and at\nlength one design met with the approval of the king; and on the 14th\nof May, 1675, Charles issued his warrant to the commissioners\naccordingly, stating that he approved of this particular design\nbecause it was \"very artificial, proper, and useful,\" and could be\nbuilt by parts, and that his commissioners were to begin at once with\n\"the East-end or Quire.\"\n\nWren had already become disgusted with the impediments and delays\ncaused by incompetent judges, and had determined to discontinue making\nhis drawings and plans public.[64]\n\nWe shall never know all that took place during the building so as to\nbe able to account for the deviations from this design. The king gave\nthe surveyor permission to make alterations \"rather ornamental than\nessential,\" and left the whole to his management, so that the royal\ncommission was chiefly employed as treasurers. But even this scarcely\nexplains the great alterations made. The drum and dome of the design,\nof comparatively modest dimensions, are crowned with a minaret-like\nspire. The west front has but one order of columns, and the towers are\ninsignificant to a degree. These are amongst the features which were\naltered, and they were \"essential\" as distinct from \"ornamental.\" We\nknow that Wren developed as his experience was enlarged; and we know\nalso that certain alterations were made contrary to his wish. Beyond\nthis we are lost in conjecture at the poverty of his design. Perhaps,\ndespising the taste of the commissioners, he never seriously intended\nto adhere to it, anticipating he would be his own master.\n\n   [Illustration: THE \"WARRANT\" DESIGN.\n   _From a drawing in All Souls' College, Oxford. Reproduced from\n   Blomfield's \"Renaissance Architecture.\"_]\n\nQuickly following on the royal warrant, the first stone was laid June\n21, 1675, at the south east corner of the choir.[65] By 1685 the walls\nof the choir were finished, with the north and south porticoes, and\nthe dome piers raised to a like height. When fixing the centre of his\ndome, Wren directed a labourer to place a stone as a mark. The man\ntook a broken fragment of an old gravestone on which was inscribed the\nword _Resurgam_; and by many this was naturally taken as a favourable\naugury. In 1686 the old west end, hitherto left undisturbed in its\nruins, was cleared away, and two years later the choir was ready for\nits roof; but shortly after, a fire at the west of the north choir\naisle, in a room allotted to the organ-builder, caused a slight delay.\nNot until 1697 was the choir ready for divine service.\n\nAfter long years of war, during which the country had suffered from\nthe heavy burden of taxation, and her commerce had been impaired, the\ntreaty of Ryswick was at length signed, sealed, and ratified; and\nLouis XIV. acknowledged William and Mary as the lawful sovereigns of\nthese isles. The king returned from the Continent in November, 1697,\nand was received with the greatest enthusiasm. Stock almost rose, and\ngold almost fell, to par; and every prospect of a returning prosperity\nput the public, whatever their politics, in a good humour. A council\nat which William presided, resolved that the second day of December\nshould be kept as a day of Thanksgiving; and the Chapter decided that\nthe day of Thanksgiving should be the day for the consecration of the\nchoir. William wished to attend himself; but it was represented that\nif he went in procession from Whitehall, the whole population would\nturn out, and the parish churches be empty; and he had to rest content\nwith a service in his palace. At St. Paul's the civic representatives\nattended in full state, and Bishop Compton, Dean Sherlock, and the\ncathedral staff, occupied the new stalls of Grinling Gibbons. The\ntemporary organ accompanied the chanting, and a special prayer\nincorporated into the Communion office ran: \"We offer our devout\npraises and thanksgivings to Thee for this Thy mercy, humbly\nbeseeching Thee to perfect and establish Thy good work. Thou, O Lord,\ndwellest not in houses made with hands; heaven and the heaven of\nheavens cannot contain Thee; but though Thy throne is in heaven, earth\nis Thy footstool; vouchsafe, therefore, we beseech Thee, Thy gracious\npresence in this Thy house to hear our prayers, and accept our\nsacrifices of praise and thanksgiving.\" Bishop Compton, who preached,\ntook for his text, \"I was glad when they said unto me, let us go into\nthe House of the Lord.\" His sermon has not come down to us, but no\ndoubt he reminded the clergy and congregation that the day of\nThanksgiving had been selected because it was the dedication of their\nmetropolitan temple to the public worship of the religion of the\nPrince of Peace; that after a lapse of thirty years, and in spite of\nthe hardship and distress engendered by plague, fire, and war, London\nwas raising another building on the spot consecrated by centuries of\nprayer and praise; and that as the result of the treaty of peace,\ntheir national religion was assured, while the metropolis might\ncontinue to extend her commerce without fear of disaster and\nbankruptcy.[66]\n\n   [Illustration: A LATER DESIGN.\n   _From Sir C. Wren's drawings at All Souls' College._\n   [This is approximately the design finally adopted.]]\n\nEarly in 1699, although the nave was not completed, the north-west\nchapel was opened for daily morning service, at six in the summer, and\nseven in the winter. Queen Anne attended in state for the victories of\nMarlborough on land, and of Ormond and Rook at sea (Nov. 12, 1702).\nTwo years later came Blenheim; and she went again in her state coach\ndrawn by eight bays. From the west door to the choir, under the\nunfinished vaulting and dome, the way was lined by a detachment of\nFoot Guards; and as the long procession advanced, the hautboys played\nand the drums beat until the Queen and her husband had reached their\nthrone in the centre of the choir towards the west, when, after a\npause, service began. Dean Sherlock preached from the text, \"Doubtless\nthere is a God that judgeth the earth\"; and the service, which began\nat one, lasted some three hours. On four other occasions Anne repeated\nthese visits--thrice for victories, and once for the union of England\nand Scotland.[67]\n\nAlthough the commissioners decided that the dome was to be covered\nwith copper, lead was used instead, and the work steadily progressed\nuntil two years after the last royal visit, when the fabric was\ncompleted. Wren was now seventy-eight years of age, and his son\nChristopher represented him when, in company with the master-mason,\nEdward Strong, and other free and accepted masons, the last stone was\nlaid on the summit of the lantern, a great crowd looking on from\nbelow. Stephen was able to reflect with satisfaction that the\ncathedral had been begun and finished by his grandfather, and\npractically during the time of one bishop, for Henchman had died a few\nmonths after the laying of the first stone; and he contrasted this\nwith St. Peter's at Rome, where, with an unlimited supply of marble\nand other costly building materials ready at hand, one hundred and\nfifty-three years had been required under nineteen popes from Julius\nII. to Innocent X., and under twelve architects from Bramante to\nBerninus. Stephen forgot, however, that St. Peter's is more than twice\nthe size of St. Paul's, and that only the bare fabric of the latter\nwas ready, and that it still wanted its mosaics and other adornments.\n\nUnder Wren as Surveyor-General we have already mentioned the\nmaster-mason Edward Strong and his son Edward. John Oliver was\nAssistant-Surveyor and Purveyor, with a salary of L100; Lawrence\nSpencer was Clerk of the Works and Pay-master at a like salary; Thomas\nRussell was Clerk of the Cheque at a salary of L50, and called over\nthe roll of workmen at six in the morning, one in the afternoon, and\nsix in the evening.[68] It has to be added that Wren and the royal\ncommissioners did not agree; and that about the time of the\nconsecration of the choir, an Act was passed with a clause suspending\n\"_a moiety of the Surveyor's Salary until the said Church should be\nfinished, thereby the better to encourage him to finish the same with\nthe utmost Diligence and Expedition_.\" His salary of L200 was thus\nreduced temporarily to L100, and the arrears, in accordance with the\nterms of this Act, were not made good until the completion. And worse\nthan this was the charge brought against him that he deliberately\ndelayed the building so that his pittance of two hundred a year might\nbe continued. The commissioners knew nothing of building, and, like\nmany people of to-day, may have thought that the old cathedrals were\nfinished in a few years. Fortunately, Wren was an enthusiast in his\ngreat work, and the happy possessor of an equable temperament that\nnothing could seriously disturb. Otherwise this disgraceful treatment\nof so old a man might well have been fatal.\n\nIt is better to turn away from this as quickly as may be, and\ncontemplate with a laudable pride the great achievement of our\nancestors. The Plague, and still more the Fire, must have seriously\nimpoverished the City; and in 1703 the great storm did immense damage.\nOf the five-and-thirty years the cathedral was in building, one half\nwere years of war; and the public confidence and security were further\ndisturbed by a revolution, by civil war in Ireland, and by plots and\nintrigues without number, following in the wake of a disputed\nsuccession. Yet the City raised, and almost without complaint, a sum\nenormous in those days, and which would, even in our own time, be\nreckoned as serious.\n\nI have calculated the expense as follows. My figures lay no claim to\ninfallibility--I doubt whether a chartered accountant could make a\nquite accurate balance-sheet--but they may be taken as fairly\napproximate:--\n\n  RECEIPTS.\n                                            L     s.  d.\n  Coal Dues                              810,181  18  2\n  Subscriptions and Miscellaneous         68,341  14  1\n                                        ---------------\n              Total                     L878,523  12  3\n\n\n  EXPENDITURE.\n                                            L     s.  d.\n  Preliminary                             10,909  7   8\n  Purchase of Houses                      14,808  3  10\n  Cost as in \"Parentalia\"                736,752  2   3\n  Interest on Loans                       83,744 18   9\n                                       ----------------\n                Total                   L846,214 12   6\n\n  BALANCE in 1723                        L32,308 19   9\n\nMy balance does not tally with Mr. Longman's. He tells us that the\ncoal duty, which was on sea-borne coal, was 1s. 6d. per chaldron,\nwhereof four-fifths went to St. Paul's. The age of Indulgences was\nover, and, unlike the cathedrals of the Middle Ages, the cost of\nbuilding St. Paul's was chiefly defrayed by a public impost; and this\ncost may be estimated in round numbers at about three-quarters of a\nmillion for the actual building, with an additional hundred thousand\nfor incidental expenses.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[52] This village, near Salisbury, is called East Knoyle, Knoyle\nMagna, and Bishop-Knoyle. The entry of baptism runs: \"Christopher (2nd\nsic.) sonne of Christopher Wren Doctor in Divinitie and Rector now.\"\nThe rector placed this entry, dated only \"10th,\" before March, 1632/31\nin a vacant place. Hence the statement that the surveyor was born in\n1631, but both the rector and Christopher himself dated the birth\nOctober 20, 1632. My thanks are due to the Rev. Canon Milford, Rector\nof East Knoyle, for the above, and also to his copy of Miss Lucy\nPhillimore's \"Life.\"\n\n[53] \"Parentalia,\" p. 227 and elsewhere, gives details of his\nextensive knowledge of anatomy in its various branches.\n\n[54] His inaugural address at Gresham College, in Latin, when he was\ntwenty-five (1657) fills eight folios in the \"Parentalia,\" and is\ngiven in facsimile of his handwriting.\n\n[55] The humorous letter of Sprat to Wren says: \"I endeavoured to\npersuade him [the Vice-Chancellor of Oxford] that the drawing of Lines\nin Sir Harry Savill's School was not altogether of so great a\nConcernment for the Benefit of Christendom, as the rebuilding of St.\nPaul's or the fortifying of Tangier: (for I understood those were the\ngreat Works in which that extraordinary genius of yours was judg'd\nnecessary to be employed)\" (\"Parentalia,\" p. 260).\n\n[56] As it seems to have been ignored how carefully Wren studied\ncathedrals and other buildings, the following may be of interest:\n\"These Surveys [of Salisbury with elaborate report for the Bishop,\nSeth Ward] and other occasional Inspections of the most noted\ncathedral Churches and Chapels in _England_ and foreign Parts\"\n(\"Parentalia,\" p. 306). He never saw, we may assume, his three\nfavourite buildings at Rome--the Pantheon, the Basilica of Maxentius,\nand St. Peter's.\n\n[57] Ground-plan in \"Parentalia,\" p. 268; and Blomfield's \"Renaissance\nArchitecture in England.\"\n\n[58] Milman, p. 407, with geological diagram. The archaeological\nremains disinterred have been already mentioned, pp. 3 and 4.\n\n[59] Mr. Longman seems to think that the cathedral rests on the loam.\nThe following shows that the strata are irregular, and that in some\nplaces the loam is very thin. Edward Strong the younger \"also repaired\nall the blemishes and fractures in the several legs and arches of the\ndome, occasioned by the great weight of the said dome pressing upon\nthe foundation; the earth under the same being of an unequal temper\nthe loamy part thereof gave more way to the great weights than that\nwhich was of gravel; so that the south-west quarter of the dome, and\nthe six smaller legs of the other quarters of the dome, having less\nsuperficies, sunk into the thinner part of the loamy ground, an inch\nin some places, in others two inches, and in other places something\nmore; and the other quarters of the dome, being on the thicker part of\nthe loamy ground and gravel, it did not give so much way to the great\nweights as the other did, which occasioned the fractures and blemishes\nin the several arches and legs of the dome.\" (Clutterbuck, \"History of\nHertfordshire,\" vol. i., pp. 167-168; quoted in Dugdale, note, p. 173)\nClutterbuck has a great deal to say about the Strongs, father and son,\nand their family.\n\n[60] \"Parentalia,\" pp. 298, 304, _et seq._ Wren did not approve of,\nthough he used, the term \"Gothic.\" \"The Goths were rather destroyers\nthan builders; I think it [the Gothic] should with more reason be\ncalled the _Saracen_ style\" (Ibid., p. 297). \"The Saracenick\nArchitecture refined by the Christians\" (Ibid., p. 306). _Cf._\nFreeman, _Fortnightly Review_, October, 1872.\n\n[61] Wren estimated that a preacher of average voice might be heard\nfifty feet in front, twenty behind, and thirty on either side,\nprovided he did not drop his voice at the end of the sentence. He\ncontended that the French preachers were heard further than the\nEnglish, because they raised their voices at the end of the sentence,\njust where the words often required particular emphasis to express the\nmeaning. The omission of this was a fault even of capable preachers,\nwas \"insufferable,\" and ought to be corrected at school. After two\ncenturies his criticism still holds good (\"Parentalia,\" p. 320). His\nremarks upon architecture ought to be reprinted from the \"Parentalia,\"\nand made compulsory for every student and candidate.\n\n[62] \"Parentalia,\" pp. 281-282, shows how questions of finance entered\ninto Wren's conception of his famous First Design.\n\n[63] \"Parentalia,\" p. 282.\n\n[64] Wren's numerous designs and drawings are undated, and the\n\"Parentalia\" is anything but clear. In consequence there has been a\ncertain amount of confusion as to the identity both of the First\nDesign and of the approved Warrant Design.\n\n[65] Some say by the Bishop Humphrey Henchman, who died in the October\nfollowing; some by the surveyor, and others by the master-mason,\nStrong. There seems to have been no religious service or great\nceremony.\n\n[66] Macaulay, followed by others, speaks merely of the \"opening\"; the\nprayer I have quoted from Dugdale shows that the opening was a\nconsecration service. I am unaware that the rest of the cathedral has\never been consecrated; and if not, it resembles Lincoln and many\nanother mediaeval church (Freeman's \"Wells,\" p. 77).\n\n[67] June 27, 1706; December 31, 1706; May 1, 1707 (for the Union);\nAugust 19, 1708.\n\n[68] Harleian MS. 4941, quoted in Dugdale, p. 140, note. This was at\nthe beginning.\n\n\n\n\n_NEW ST. PAUL'S._\n\n   [Illustration: ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, FROM THE WEST.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nNEW ST. PAUL'S.\n\n\nEXTERIOR.\n\n\"It would be difficult to find two works of Art designed more\nessentially on the same principle than Milton's 'Paradise Lost' and\nWren's St. Paul's Cathedral. The Bible narrative transposed into the\nforms of a Greek epic, required the genius of a Milton to make it\ntolerable; but the splendour of even his powers does not make us less\nregret that he had not poured forth the poetry with which his heart\nwas swelling in some form that would have freed him from the trammels\nwhich the pedantry of his age imposed upon him. What the Iliad and the\nAEneid were to Milton, the Pantheon and the Temple of Peace were to\nWren. It was necessary he should try to conceal his Christian Church\nin the guise of a Roman Temple. Still the idea of the Christian\ncathedral is always present, and reappears in every form, but so, too,\ndoes that of the Heathen temple--two conflicting elements in\ncontact--neither subduing the other, but making their discord so\napparent as to destroy to a very considerable extent the beauty either\nwould possess if separate.\"[69]\n\nI give this quotation at length, not because I by any means agree with\none half of the fault-finding, but because it helps to explain the\narchitecture. St. Paul's is often called \"Classical,\" or \"Roman,\" or\n\"Italian\"; it is not one of these three: it is English Renaissance. It\nwas, too, a distinctly happy thought of Fergusson to suggest that the\nCathedral takes a like place in English architecture to that which the\nimmortal \"Paradise Lost\" does in English literature. The ground-plan\nsuggests the Gothic; the pilasters and entablature the Greek and\nRoman; the round arch is found in both Roman and Romanesque, and that\ncommanding feature, the Dome, is the common property of many styles\nand many ages. The general plan resembles the long or Latin Cross,\nwith transepts of greater breadth than length; and the uniformity is\nbroken by an apse at the east, and the two chapels at the west end.\n\nThe best views are, perhaps, the two oblique ones approaching from\nLudgate Hill and from Cannon Street. The upward view from the\nchurchyard on the south side by the angle of nave and transept gives\nthe proportions of the lower stages of the dome effectively; and those\nwho care to make the weary ascent of one of the Crystal Palace towers,\nwill be rewarded by the aspect of the dome emerging above the pall of\nsurrounding smoke, and appearing to preside like a watchful and\nprotecting deity over the destinies of the city at its feet.\n\nThe dimensions are as follows, in feet:--Length, 513, which may thus\nbe divided: nave and portico, 223; breadth of transept, 122; length of\nchoir, 168. Length of transepts, 248 feet. Breadth of nave, 123; of\ntransept and choir a trifle less; of west front with chapels, 179.\nHeight, to summit of balustrade, 108; to apex of roof, 120; to stone\ngallery, 182; to base of sphere, 220; to upper gallery at the summit\nof the dome, 281; to the summit of the cross, 363 feet.\n\nThe material is from the quarries of Portland, chosen because of its\ndurability in regard to both weather and smoke, the facilities for\ntransport, and the size of the blocks. Had Roche Abbey stone from\nSouth Yorkshire been more easily obtainable, these quarries might have\nbeen used as well. The size of the blocks contributes an important\nfeature to the architecture, where so much depends upon the breadth of\nfour feet; and even the procuring of this, as time went on, and the\nstonecutters had to work at a greater distance from the sea, became a\nmatter of delay and difficulty, and the masons might have to wait\nmonths for their blocks.\n\nThe combination of the stability with such lightness and gracefulness\nas were procurable, can in a measure be estimated by the comparative\narea taken up by the walls, pillars, and other points of support. This\narea amounts to seventeen per cent., and compares favourably with St.\nPeter's at Rome, which is more than half as much again, as well as\nwith St. Sophia and the Duomo at Florence. On the other hand many of\nour Gothic cathedrals require only ten per cent.[70] Wren would have\nsaid that they lack stability, and that he had calculated accurately\non the minimum of massiveness requisite for security; and besides\nthis, they have no heavy dome to be poised. Throughout there are two\nstages or stories. The lower has the Corinthian Order, which was\nalways Wren's favourite, as he held that it was at once more graceful\nand bore a greater weight of entablature than the earlier Doric and\nIonic. Wren's first design of a Greek Cross followed St. Peter's in\nconsisting of one main order plus an attic.[71] While Bramante at St.\nPeter's found stones of nine feet in diameter in the quarries of\nTivoli, Wren, after making inquiries all over, could not procure\nsufficient stone for his columns and pilasters of a greater diameter\nthan four feet, and he would not depart, at least to any degree, from\nwhat he held to be the correct Corinthian height of nine diameters.\nHad a sufficient quantity of larger blocks been obtainable, we should\nhave had the Corinthian order plus the attic, instead of the two\nregular orders of Corinthian and Composite.[72] And this, it seems,\nwas his reason for departing in this respect from the First Design;\nas also partially from the Approved Design. The pilasters are grouped\nin pairs throughout, not only for stability, but also for sufficient\nspace for the circular-headed windows ornamented with festoons. Above\nthe entablature rises the second stage or story, or order. Here the\ncoupled pilasters have that slight difference in base and more\nparticularly in capital which constitutes the Composite order. The\ncapitals have the larger scrolls or volutes of the Ionic above the\nacanthus leaves of the Corinthian proper. In reality the difference\nis, here, but slight; and the best authorities maintain that there is\nless difference between the Corinthian and the Composite than between\ndifferent examples of the Corinthian itself. The reason for the\ndressed niches, with pediments instead of windows, like those in the\nlower stage, will come later on. A main architrave and cornice run\nround the entire building like an unbroken string course, and above\nthis, excepting at the different fronts, a balustrade, to which a\nhistory is attached.\n\nA new commission had been nominated after the death of Queen Anne[73]\n(which by the way included Sir Isaac Newton), and this commission\ninsisted upon a balustrade unless the surveyor \"do in writing under\nhis hand set forth that it is contrary to the principles of\narchitecture, and give his opinion in a fortnight's time.\" Wren\nanswered, \"_Persons of little skill did expect, I believe, something\nthey had been used to in Gothic structures, and ladies think nothing\nwell without an edging._\" He urged that he had already terminated the\nbuilding, and that his design of pairs of pedestals in continuation of\nthe pilasters would better resist the wind. As in other matters, he\nhad to give way; and the difference in the effect cannot be judged\nfrom mere illustrations.[74] The four angles, where the transepts\njoin, are filled up with the huge supporting bastion-like piers of the\ndome; and internally are left, so to speak, hollow; that at the\nsouth-west being utilised as a staircase, and the others on the ground\nfloor as vestries.\n\nNo roof is visible from below. The actual roof of oak and lead was so\nflattened as to be invisible in accordance with the ideas of the\narchitect. \"_No Roofs almost but Spherick raised to be visible._\"\n\"_The Ancients affected Flatness._\" \"_No Roofs can have Dignity enough\nto appear above a Cornice, but the Circular._\"[75]\n\nWe now come to that peculiarity upon which so much adverse criticism\nhas been bestowed. The usual observer will wonder why there are niches\ninstead of windows in the upper stage, as light is so much needed. On\nentering the interior he will notice that the height of the aisles\ndoes not correspond with the exterior; and on ascending to the Stone\nGallery will ascertain that this upper stage of the exterior is not\npart of the actual wall of the church, which stands back some thirty\nfeet. It is, in fact, a screen or curtain wall; the lower stage alone\nis the wall of the aisles, and the disfiguring square openings with\nwhich the pedestals below the niches are pierced, give light to the\npassages and galleries between the aisles and the roof. Externally one\nis supposed to see the wall of the cathedral; in reality one sees the\nlower story forming the wall, and an upper story in continuation made\nto look as though the church were immediately behind, but in reality\nquite disengaged from it. The following is an able specimen of the\nadverse criticisms that have been directed against this curtain: \"It\nis a mere empty show with nothing behind it, and when once this is\nknown it is impossible to forget it, or to have the same feeling\ntowards the building which a spectator might have, despite its defects\nof detail, who believed its external mass to represent its interior\narrangements.\"[76] Yet an attentive study of the \"Parentalia\" enables\nus to plead a great deal in mitigation. The spectator will notice that\nthere are no substantial buttresses; and the reason is the simple one\nthat Wren held them to be disfigurements. \"_The Romans always\nconcealed their Butments._\"[77] \"_Oblique Positions are Discord to the\nEye unless answered in Pairs, as in the Sides of an equicrural\nTriangle.... Gothick Buttresses are all ill-favoured, and were avoided\nby the Ancients._\"[78] Such were the opinions of Wren; but how was he\nto procure stability? The answer is, by the curtain wall. By its dead\nweight pressing on the walls of the aisles it renders them stable and\nimmobile, free from all danger of thrust, while it conceals the\nbuttresses which render secure the clerestory stage of the building\nproper. To paraphrase his own words: \"_I do not add buttresses, but I\nbuild up the wall so high as by the addition of this extra weight, I\nestablish it as firmly as if I had added buttresses._\"[79] Thus this\nwall performs a double function: it is a substitute for buttresses in\nrespect to the aisle walls, and a screen for the actual buttresses of\nthe clerestory stage.\n\nSuch is the purpose of the upper story. An ingenious critic who did\nnot seem to know this vindicates it on the plea that \"uninterrupted\naltitude of the bulk in the same plane, is absolutely necessary to the\nsubstructure of the mighty dome.\"[80] No doubt the size of the dome\nrequires a proportionate rise in the lower elevations; but the fact\nremains that the exterior and interior do not correspond. A greater\nauthority than this critic has thus defined good architecture: \"The\nessence of good architecture of any kind is that its constructive\nsystem should be put boldly forward, that its decorative system should\nbe such as in no way conceals or masks the construction, but makes the\nconstructive features themselves ornamental.\"[81] And at his uncle's\ncathedral of Ely, Wren might have borrowed and worked out an idea\nwhich would have silenced all accusation of fraud and deceit. There,\nin the central part of the choir on the south side, the roof was\nremoved and placed lower down centuries ago, the better to light up\ncertain shrines below. This roof was never restored to its original\nposition; and the upper stage of the wall is pierced with empty\nwindows through which flying-buttresses can now be seen. The effect,\nthough altogether unusual, is far from displeasing; and the spectator\nwho remembers that Wren was perfectly familiar with this building, is\nled to wonder why he did not by piercing the niches, imitate Ely at\nSt. Paul's.\n\nThe Windows, round-headed and without tracery, contrast unfavourably\nwith the Lancet and Decorated. Wren recognised the value of tracery,\nas is evident from his remarks on Salisbury Cathedral, although he\nobjected to the Perpendicular mullions and transoms.[82] Yet it is\ndifficult to see how he could have devised anything more elaborate or\ngraceful to harmonise. The carving above and below, in the\nconventional festoons of the day, is almost universally voted as\nrespectable and nothing more. Mr. Ruskin is very severe on these\nfestoons, on the ground that they are tied heavily into a long bunch\nthickest in the middle, and pinned up by both ends against a dead\nwall, and contends that the architecture has no business with rich\nornament in any place. Yet he admits that the sculpture is as careful\nand rich as may be; and let any one study, for instance, the window\nimmediately east of the south portico, and particularly below, where\nthe details can be better observed. In spite of a heavy top-coat of\nsmoke, the combination of cherubs, birds, grapes, and foliage is as\ngraceful and artistic as possible; and the work beneath the east end\nand north transept windows will also well repay careful study. These\ndetails are apt to be neglected, possibly because they seem dwarfed by\nthe immense proportions of the building.[83]\n\nThe North and South Chapels, as we hear on probably trustworthy\nauthority, were added at the instance of James, Duke of York, who\nlooked forward to the day when the Roman Catholic services would be\nsubstituted for the Anglican. Although Stephen is silent as to his\ngrandfather's intentions, there is evidence given by Mr. Longman and\nMiss Lucy Phillimore to show that Wren tried his best to finish the\nbuilding without them. Whether seen from the north-east or south-west\nthey interfere with the perspective, and the independence of the\nlowest stage of the West Towers is completely lost; and curiously\nenough in this last respect the South-West or Consistory Chapel does\nvery much what St. Gregory's did to the Lollards' Tower in Old St.\nPaul's.\n\nWe now turn to the different parts and members.\n\n=North and South Fronts.=--These are similar, each part corresponding\nto each, excepting a slight difference in the steps of the porticoes\ncaused by the ground on the south side sloping towards the Thames; and\nthis uniformity or symmetry is invariably carried out in the different\nparts wherever feasible. Take the three main windows of the choir\naisles on either side, and compare them with the three of the nave\naisles on either side between the transepts and the chapels. The\nwindows themselves and their pilasters exactly agree, as do their\ndistances.\n\nWhere the uniformity of the fronts is broken by the projecting\ntransepts and chapels, it is broken after one manner, so that when you\nhave seen the north side you have seen the south, excepting for the\nabove-mentioned difference caused by the <DW72>.\n\nThe North and South Fronts are approached by flights of steps of black\nmarble. The steps on the north side are twelve in number, and are\nreached from the whole semi-circle; on the south side they are\ntwenty-five in number, and are reached from the ends, the front having\na low wall. Here, the flanking urns on either side afford another\ninstance of the disregard of Wren's wishes. The difference in the\nnumber of the steps is caused by the <DW72> towards the Thames, and is\ninteresting as affording an instance of a difference between the two\nfronts. The Corinthian pillars, of the full diameter of four feet,\ncleverly support the semi-circular entablature above, which is part of\nthe general entablature continued all round. These porticoes have\nsemi-dome shaped roofs, and are flanked on either side by the windows\nof the transept aisles. The central windows above the porticoes are\nslightly larger than the others, and have niches on either side. Above\nthese are triangular pediments, and above these again, and in\nalignment along the balustrade, are statues of ten of the\nApostles--five to each front. The sculpture on the northern pediment\ndepicts the royal arms, with angels bearing palm branches for\nsupporters, and on the southern is a Phoenix with the motto\n\"Resurgam.\"\n\n   [Illustration: NORTH-EAST VIEW OF ST. PAUL'S.]\n\nBy universal consent these facades are admirable in the justness of\ntheir proportions, and the harmonious way in which they blend both\nwith the west front and the entire building. Caius Gabriel Cibber\nreceived six pounds for modelling and a hundred pounds for carving the\nPhoenix.\n\n=The East End.=--The Apse was intended for the reception of the altar.\nIt has three windows in either stage. Underneath the lower central\nwindow is a crown, with cypher of William and Mary, surrounded by the\ngarter. This device was intended to show in whose reign the choir was\nbuilt. It was probably correct when put up; but poor Mary died before\nthe completion. The apse is of the breadth of the centre, and on\neither side are the windows of the aisles, while the central one in\nthe basement belongs to the Crypt Chapel. There is nothing very\nstriking or remarkable in this part, the details being similar to the\nrest of the church. Very different is the case with our next feature\nof interest.\n\n=The West Front.=--The best view is that from the direct front; but by\nlooking from the north or south-west the conjunction of the chapels\ncomes in sight, and the spectator can judge for himself whether or no,\nso far as the exterior is concerned, they are any improvement. A few\nadditional dimensions are necessary. The summits of the towers are 222\nfeet high; the statue of St. Paul above the apex of the pediment is\n135 feet. I have already given prominence to the cause of the defeat\nof Wren's original conception of one main order and an attic, namely,\nthat he could not get blocks of stone of a sufficient size. The\nApproved Design, so far as the colonnade is concerned, seems to have\nbeen borrowed from the portico of Inigo Jones. The dimensions of the\nblocks had been discovered, yet there was only one order of columns,\nwith a second story of three windows, and supported by Inigo Jones'\nharp-shaped buttresses; the only buttresses that Wren even wished to\nhave visible. Now, the old portico was not cleared away until 1686;\nand the west front was built after Wren's taste and judgment had been\ngiven time to ripen. In consequence we have a complete revolution, so\nfar as the Approved Design is concerned, and something infinitely more\nnoble and dignified; and we may congratulate ourselves that his blocks\nof stone were no larger, so that he produced two orders of columns. At\nSt. Peter's, where marble of 9 feet (8-1/4 only according to more\nrecent accounts) was used, the pillars have a shaft of 74 feet, not\nincluding capital or base, and the highest statue is 175 feet from the\nbase, as compared with the 135 feet of St. Paul's.[84] Yet Wren, by\nresorting to two orders of columns, has so increased his apparent\nheight, that those who have compared the two, assert that the west\nfront of St. Paul's _appears_ to be as high as St. Peter's.\n\nIn the lower order the columns are twelve in number, fluted and in\npairs. Claude Perrault had recently adopted this method of coupling in\nthe eastern facade of the Louvre, as is duly acknowledged in the\n\"Parentalia.\" According to Stephen Wren, it \"_is not according to the\nusual Mode of the_ Ancients _in their ordinary Temples, which for the\ngenerality were small; but was followed in their Coloss or greater\nWorks; for instance, in the Portico of the_ Temple of Peace, _the most\nmagnificent in old_ Rome, _the Columns were very properly and\nnecessarily doubled to make wider openings._\" Italian buildings are\nlikewise cited. The columns project slightly in advance of the Front;\nand as the central part with the great doorway is recessed some twenty\nfeet, a depth of shadow is produced in the Pronaos.\n\nAs the great doorway for \"Solemnities\" requires a wider opening in\nfront than the two side ones in daily use, the two central pairs are\nplaced _Eustyle_--_i.e._, with a supposed space between of two and a\nhalf diameters--while the rest are placed _Pycnostyle_--one and a half\ndiameters.[85] In the second story, owing to the towers above, the\noutside couples are displaced by pilasters; and the eight remaining\ncolumns support the architrave and cornice, and the great triangular\npediment above of seventy-four feet in breadth and eighteen in height.\nOn this is represented in bas-relief the Conversion of St. Paul. Saul\nof Tarsus still seated on his horse, which is crouching on the ground,\nlooks up at the rays of light; and the alarmed escort are trying to\ncontrol their frightened steeds. In the distance is Damascus. The\nsculpture is the work of Francis Bird, and he was paid for it the\nhandsome sum of L650. The statue on the apex is that of the patronal\nsaint; the two near him are those of St. Peter and St. James, while\nthe four more remote are those of the Evangelists, with their emblems\ntaken from Rev. iv. 7.\n\nThe Towers, with their Italian details, complete the Facade. They\nconsist of five stages besides the domes, of which the two lower\ncorrespond with the rest of the front. The third is pierced with\ncircular openings, which in the southern are filled up with the faces\nof the clock. The fourth is transitional between the square and the\noctagon; from each angle of the square below spring two pairs of\nCorinthian columns, half-concealing, half-revealing the supports of\nthe small domes. The fifth is an octagon, with two orders of open\narches in each face, and an exterior arcading, urn-shaped pedestals\nbeing freely adopted as in the stage below. The domes, the pine of\nwhich was modelled by Francis Bird, is designed with curves of\ncontrary flexure for the purpose of adding to the height. Mr. Longman\nlikens these towers to Alpine aiguilles, and points out how\npicturesquely they form outposts to the great mass of the dome.\n\nBoth towers are used as campaniles. The north contains the \"five\nminutes\" bell, and the new peal, numbering twelve. The southern\ncontains the three bells on which the clock is struck; and the largest\nof these, weighing 5 tons 4 cwt., is the passing bell on great\noccasions. On June 3, 1882, the citizens heard for the first time\ntheir new Great Paul. This monster, weighing nearly seventeen tons,\ncame from the foundry of Messrs. Taylor, at Loughborough, and its\nprogress by road was duly chronicled like that of some great\npersonage. It was placed in the south tower, and is reckoned amongst\nthe largest bells in the world. Part of the magnificent railings, cast\nwithout the use of coal, at Lamberhurst on the Kent and Sussex border,\nhave been removed, and, after suffering shipwreck, now enclose a\nmonument at Toronto. We can but regret that some second home was not\nfound in London for such a specimen of an extinct industry: but the\nthrowing open of the area, so that justice might be done to the view\nof the cathedral, is in strict accordance with Wren's views. So is the\npresent arrangement of the steps. In the landing the red marble is\nfrom Laconia, in Southern Greece, the dark grey from Porto Venere,\nnear La Spezia, in Italy, and the granite from Shap, in Westmoreland.\n\nPosterity may be thankful that Wren was allowed a free hand in\ndeparting from the Accepted Design, and in carrying out his more fully\ndeveloped conceptions. The well worked out designs of the different\nparts and details, and the combination of these into one harmonious\nwhole with the dome for a background, leave nothing to be desired.[86]\n\nBefore leaving, the visitor may stand by Queen Anne's statue and\nreflect that near that very spot was erected the scaffold on which\nsuffered Sir Everard Digby, Robert Wynter, John Grant, and Thomas\nBates, for their share in the Gunpowder Plot. Digby was said to have\nbeen the handsomest man of his day. He died \"penitent and sorrowful\nfor his vile treason,\" as did all save Grant.\n\n=The Dome.=--To the end, Wren's wish seems to have been to have made\nthe external height no greater than was required by the formation of\nthe internal cupola. \"_The old Church having had before a very lofty\nSpire of Timber and Lead, the World expected that the new Work should\nnot in this Respect fall short of the old (tho' that was but a Spit\nand this a Mountain). He was therefore obliged to comply with the\nHumour of the Age, (though not with ancient Example, as neither did\nBramante) and to raise another Structure over the first Cupola._\"\nStephen might have said _two_ other structures. Not only did Wren wish\nthe interior height to be somewhat less, so as to make it more perfect\nfor the purpose of an auditorium, but he thought any greater exterior\nheight unnecessary, and would have finished off the exterior elevation\nin some other way.\n\nAs matters eventuated, he raised the internal sphere so that the\ndisproportion with the external might be reduced. The whole dome has\nthree shells. (_a_) The majestic exterior visible to the eye, an\noutward roof of wood covered with lead and ribbed for the sake of\nornament. (_b_) The intermediate brick cone which supports the lantern\nand its accessories of 700 tons weight. This springs from the level of\nthe stone gallery, and rises in straight lines which converge at the\ncircular opening beneath the lantern. This, although seen neither from\nthe outside or from within, constitutes the most solid and substantial\npart. Between this and the outside visible shell is an ingenious\nnetwork of beams supporting the latter, and at the base of this\nnetwork a strengthening of which the account had better be given in\nStephen's own words: \"_Altho' the Dome wants not Butment, yet for\ngreater Caution, it is hooped with Iron in this Manner; a Chanel is\ncut in the Bandage of Portland-Stone, in which is laid a double Chain\nof Iron strongly linked together at every ten Feet, and the whole\nChanel filled up with Lead._\"[87] (_c_) The interior dome, also of\nbrick. The height of this third and smallest shell reaches only to the\nlevel of the curved lines of the fluted patterns of the exterior\nshell, a difference of from fifty to sixty feet.\n\n   [Illustration: SECTION OF THE DOME.]\n\nSince the outside cupola does not bear the heavy weight of the lantern\nit has been denounced as a sham, but this is an exaggeration. It is\nevident, as we look at it, that it is incapable of bearing any such\nweight. Much more practical is the objection of Gwilt that the\nelaborate framework of beams supporting this outside cover is certain\nto decay in course of time. A third objection is that of\ndeception--the exterior and interior are presumed to be one and the\nsame. This is not correct. Neither roof nor steeple is assumed to have\nsuch correspondence, and Wren might surely be allowed a like liberty\nwith his dome. As Mr. Wightwick very properly says, it will be time\nenough to find fault when the roofs of churches are the same outside\nas within.\n\nThe Romans are credited with first applying the Dome to larger\nbuildings. It travelled eastward to Constantinople, and was in use in\nItaly during mediaeval times. The word \"Dome\" is derived from the\n_Duomo_ of Florence, where Brunelleschi covered in the octagon with\nhis famous cupola in the earlier part of the fifteenth century.[88]\nBut Wren's particular study was the Pantheon, which we have no\nevidence whatever that he saw; and, indeed, he erected his dome\nwithout having ever seen, so far as we know, anything like it.\n\nA few words will suffice for the main features. The first stage of the\nsuperstructure is the Stylobate, of 25 feet in height and some 140 to\n145 feet in diameter. The next, the Peristyle or Colonnade which\nlights up the interior. It has thirty-two Composite columns of a\nheight of 38 feet, including the pedestals. Every fourth\nintercolumnation is filled up with an ornamental niche (if the term be\nallowable for a recess of the size) to hide the supports behind. This\nalternation, while it agreeably affects the play of light and shade,\nyet allows a partial glimpse of the supports. Why could not Wren have\ndone as much with his curtain wall? Above the peristyle comes the\nStone Gallery with its balustrade--a great attraction for\nvisitors--just about half-way up to the summit of the cross. Here the\ndiameter decreases by the breadth of the gallery to 108 feet, and the\nTholobate[89] rises. It has pilasters, with lights between, in the\nupper parts. Above is the outer dome proper--the spherical part--with\na further contraction to 102 feet. Wren had the advantage of St.\nPeter's to profit by, and abstained from inserting the \"luthern\"\nlights of the larger edifice. The absence of these and the ribbing of\nthe lead coating was, in his opinion, \"less Gothic.\" The lights,\nagain, could not easily have been reached for repairs; and if left\nunrepaired would have been the means of causing injury to the\nsupporting timbers underneath. The effect, no doubt, is better, and\nthe lighting above and below sufficient for the stairs leading to the\nlantern.\n\n   [Illustration: _Photo. S.B. Bolas & Co._\n   THE LANTERN, FROM THE CLOCK TOWER.]\n\n=The Lantern.=--The Golden Gallery is almost exactly a hundred feet\nabove the Stone Gallery. The Lantern is an elegant and graceful piece\nof design and workmanship, and consists of three square stages, each\nof them with lights and with recesses (or chamfered, so to speak) at\nthe angles. The second has Corinthian columns, which must be fifteen\nfeet in height, and a plain entablature, and some more urn-shaped\npedestals. The third is completed with a miniature dome, and has upper\nand lower lights in each face. Standing immediately underneath, or by\nNelson's tomb in the Crypt, these lights produce a striking and almost\nunique effect. The present gilt ball and cross, which crown the\nedifice, replaced the originals of Francis Bird, being put up by\nCockerell--the then Clerk to the Works--in 1821. The extreme height is\nfrom 363 to 365 feet, and in 1848 the Ordnance Survey placed a \"crow's\nnest\" against the cross for the purpose of observations from the\nhighest attainable point.\n\nMiss Lucy Phillimore has published a paper of Wren's in which the\nSurveyor remarks that for the architect it is necessary \"_in a\nconspicuous Work to preserve His Undertaking from general censure, and\nso for him to accommodate his Designs to the Geist of the Age he lives\nin, though it appear to him less rational_.\" As regards the height of\nthe dome, we are the gainers because he was compelled to do this. It\nis not, indeed, the whole of St. Paul's or its only important feature;\nfor St. Paul's is not a Byzantine church in which the dome is\npractically not a part, but the whole. It is the most magnificent\nmember of a magnificent building, and with its graceful equipoise and\nconscious evidence of stability stands alone and in a class by itself\namongst the cathedral superstructures of the land.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[69] Fergusson's \"History on the Modern Styles of Architecture,\" p.\n243. The Pantheon at Rome as restored A.D. 202 was, or rather is, a\nrotunda with a portico. The rotunda, according to Fergusson\n(\"Handbook,\" p. 311), is about 125 feet in internal diameter, and an\nexternal elevation of about 150 feet. The Basilica of Maxentius, or\nTemple of Peace, may have been finished in the reign of Constantine\n(Maxentius, A.D. 311-312; Constantine the Great, 325-337). The ruins\nshow an oblong of 265 feet by 195 feet in internal measurement,\nincluding aisles. The whole length is divided into only three bays\n(\"Handbook,\" p. 319). Fergusson should have added St. Peter's at Rome,\nwhich exercised such an influence over Wren. This immense building\nhas, in the exterior, only one Order and an Attic. All three have the\nround arch.\n\n[70] Fergusson, \"Modern Architecture,\" p. 390.\n\n[71] An _Attic_ is a small story above the cornice, or principal\nelevation of a building. [The same would read better by substituting\n\"story\" for \"elevation\".] An _Attic order_ is an inferior order of\narchitecture, used over the principal order of a building. It never\nhas columns, but, sometimes, small pilasters. (Longman, note, p. 164.)\nVery common in Roman and Italian, but unknown in Greek.\n\n[72] \"At St. Paul's the Surveyor was cautious not to exceed Columns of\nfour Feet, which had been tried by _Inigo Jones_ in his Portico; the\nQuarries of the Isle of _Portland_ would just afford for that\nproportion, but not readily for the Artificers were forced sometimes to\nstay some Months for one necessary Stone to be raised for their\nPurpose, and the farther the Quarry-men pierced into the Rock, the\nQuarry produced less Stone than near the Sea. All the most eminent\nMasons were of Opinion, that Stones of the largest Scantlings were\nthere to be found, or nowhere. An Enquiry was made after all the good\nStone that England afforded. Next to _Portland_, _Rock-abbey_ Stone,\nand some others in Yorkshire seemed the best and most durable; but\nlarge Stone for the _Paul's_ Works was not easily to be had even there.\nFor these Reasons the _Surveyor_ concluded upon _Portland-stone_, and\nalso to use two Orders, and by that Means to keep the just Proportions\nof his Cornices; otherwise he must have fallen short of the Height of\nthe Fabrick.... At the _Vatican Church_ [St. Peter's], Bramante was\nambitious to exceed the ancient _Greek_ and _Roman_ Temples ... and\nalthough by Necessity he failed in the due Proportions of the proper\nMembers of his Cornice, because the _Tivoli_ stone would not hold out\nfor the Purpose; yet (as far as we can find) he succeeded in the\nDiameter of his Columns, viz., nine Feet.\"--_Parentalia_, p. 288.\n\n[73] The Royal Commissions expired with the sovereign.\n\n[74] Mr. Longman gives the two together, p. 143.\n\n[75] Tracts in \"Parentalia,\" pp. 352-353. Stephen Wren (p. 269)\nexplains how his grandfather departed from the conventional\narrangement of architrave, frieze, and cornice in his entablatures,\nomitting one or other of these whenever he thought good. Here, above\nthe pilasters and windows of the lower order he seems to have merged\nthe three, and in the corresponding part of the upper order to have\nomitted anything like a frieze.\n\n[76] _Builder_, January 2, 1892.\n\n[77] \"Parentalia,\" p. 298.\n\n[78] Ibid., p. 352.\n\n[79] Ibid., p. 301, with diagram, showing how a wall does the same as\nbuttresses.\n\n[80] Mr. Wightwick, quoted in Longman, p. 188.\n\n[81] E.A. Freeman, _Fortnightly Review_, October, 1872, p. 380.\n\n[82] Yet he preferred the Early English windows of Salisbury to any\nlater.\n\n[83] \"Who among the crowds that gaze upon the building ever pause to\nadmire the flowerwork of St. Paul's?... It is no part of it. It is an\nugly excrescence. We always conceive the building without it, and\nshould be happier if our conception were not disturbed by its\npresence. It makes the rest of the architecture look poverty-stricken,\ninstead of sublime; and yet it is never enjoyed itself\" (\"Seven\nLamps,\" iv. 13). All I can say is I have enjoyed studying it. Mr.\nEdward Bell also sends me the following: \"We have a familiar instance\nin the flower-work of St. Paul's, which is probably, in the abstract,\nas perfect flower sculpture as could be produced at the time; and\nwhich is just as rational an ornament of the building as so many\nvaluable Van Huysums, framed and glazed, and hung up over each window\"\n(\"Stones of Venice,\" I., xxi. 3). In my humble opinion this criticism\nis overdrawn; and, after all, Mr. Ruskin commends the sculpture.\n\n[84] Dugdale, p. 191; but some authorities give double that of St.\nPaul's.\n\n[85] Fortunately for effect the technical distances are slightly\nexceeded. The \"Parentalia\" says \"alternately,\" but the central is\nwider than the remaining four, which are similar.\n\n[86] The objection that the exterior of the West Front does not\ncorrespond with the interior is not accurate. The west end inside\ncontains (_a_) the lower stage, with the great arch and doorway, and\n(_b_) the upper, with the window.\n\n[87] \"Parentalia,\" p. 292.\n\n[88] A curious instance of how words change their meaning, (_a_) A\nbuilding--domus; (_b_) the most important building; (_c_) the most\nimportant and striking feature of the building. As everybody now\nspeaks of the \"Dome\" of St. Paul's, I have adopted the word instead of\n\"Cupola.\"\n\n[89] \"Tholobate\" means what its derivation implies, \"the base of a\ncupola.\" Why should this part be called the attic? How can an attic,\nproperly speaking, have a gigantic hemisphere above it?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nINTERIOR.\n\n\nThe measurements show a marked diminution from the exterior--viz., 460\nfeet in length, a little under a hundred feet in breadth without\nreckoning the recesses underneath the windows, and 240 feet across the\ntransepts.\n\nIn the Surveyor's favourite the Dome was almost everything; the four\nshort arms being so constructed as to afford picturesque and varied\nvistas. Probably the acoustic properties would have been superior, and\nfor the ordinary purposes of congregational worship there would have\nbeen less unused space. Hence it need take no one by surprise that\nsome, although they recognise the superiority of the present exterior,\ngive the preference to the originally designed interior. The short\narms were expanded into choir, transepts, and nave; the elaborate\nvestibule has gone, but the west chapels have appeared. Finally, the\ncurved lines at the angles of the arms, designed to aid the interior\nvistas, have given way to the orthodox right angles. It is impossible\nto say how far Wren would have altered his opinions had he ever seen\nthe present building filled from door to door, as it now occasionally\nis.[90]\n\nDisappointed at the rejection of his pet scheme, Wren turned his\nattention to the Basilica of Constantine, with its three aisles of\nthree arches apiece. \"_This Temple of Peace being an Example of a\nThree Aisle Fabric is certainly the best and most authentic pattern of\na cathedral Church, which must have three Aisles according to Custom,\nand be vaulted._\"[91] Piers were used in this building, the columns\nbeing merely ornamental; but the interior of St. Paul's is in many\nrespects essentially different from its Roman model. In the Temple of\nPeace three arches cover the enormous length of over 250 feet, and\nseriously diminish the apparent size; in St. Paul's their span is less\nthan half of this. Indeed, in this respect Wren adopted a _via media_\nbetween the Roman and the Anglo-Norman and Pointed. Old St. Paul's,\nfor instance, contained twice as many arches in the same length as its\nsuccessor, and Rochester still more. This use of larger arches renders\nthe perspective less effective, as any one can see by comparing the\nviews of Old and New St. Paul's. A second alteration from the Temple\nof Peace to be mentioned is the massiveness of the piers. Wren's\nregard for stability caused him to make his vast square supports of a\nsolidity exceeding those of Mainz and Speier. From the Romans the\nSurveyor adopted the round arch, with its borrowed Grecian\narchitecture partly cut away; and this, next to the dome, is the most\nstriking feature of the interior.\n\nBefore proceeding to the different members, the symmetry and\ncorrespondence of parts and details require to be mentioned. They\nstrike the eye everywhere. Those who claim that in this respect Exeter\nis the most perfect cathedral, not only in England but throughout the\nworld, must limit their comparison to the older buildings. Here, when\nwe have described the details of the architecture of the nave, we have\nlittle or nothing that requires to be said of the architecture of the\nchoir and transepts. The dome, of course, has features peculiar to\nitself.\n\n\nTHE NAVE.\n\nAs we pass under the western portico we notice the bas-reliefs of\nFrancis Bird above the doors, and on either side of the main door.\nThey are respectable and nothing more. Over the central door St. Paul\nis preaching at Berea. The original pavement of Purbeck, Welsh, and\nTorbay marble remains throughout the building, excepting where the new\nreredos has necessitated certain alterations. The length to the dome\narea is a little over 200 feet, the width as above, and the height of\nthe central vaulting 89 feet.\n\nThe main west doorway has the round arch resting upon coupled\npilasters, the keystone is adorned with the head and arms of a winged\nfigure. On either side are likewise coupled pilasters of the largest\nsize. The doors of the small rooms or closets on either side reveal\nthe enormous size of the end piers projecting from the west wall.\nAbove the entablature of the main arch is a gallery, and the window\nhas lately been filled in with designs in Munich glass in memory of\nMr. Thomas Brown, of the firm of Longmans and Co. The subjects are\nappropriately taken from the life of St. Paul--the Conversion, and the\nsubsequent visit of Ananias at Damascus. The kneeling figures below\nare those of Mr. Brown and his wife.\n\n   [Illustration: THE CHOIR AND NAVE, FROM THE EAST END.]\n\nThe general ground-plan is of five compartments. Four are formed by\nthe arcading, and the fifth by the great transverse archway connecting\nthe nave and dome. The western bay or severy has a greater extension\neast and west than the three to the east, and corresponds to the\nadjacent chapels. It is square in the plan, and the others oblong; an\nimportant difference, as we shall see when we come to the Vaulting.\n\nThere are throughout in reality three stages in the elevation--The\nMain Arcade, Triforium Belt, or \"Attic,\" and Clerestory. The pedantic\nobjection to the use of this simple and familiar terminology and\nsystem of classification seems to have arisen from the idea that St.\nPaul's must be treated as though it were a purely Classical building.\nUpon their fronts the piers have great Corinthian pilasters. These are\ncontinued above the capitals, and the great transverse arches of the\nvaulting spring from the continuations on a level with the top of the\ntriforium. These great pilasters form the divisions east and west into\nseveries.\n\n   [Illustration: THE ORDER OF THE INTERIOR.\n   _Drawn by Peter Cazalet._]\n\n=The Main Arcade.=--The sides of the piers (east and west) have\nsmaller pilasters, coupled and with narrow panels between, and above\nthese is a plain entablature from which the broad arches rise. This\nmethod of making the arches spring from an entablature instead of\nletting them rest naturally upon the capitals, was an idea borrowed\nfrom the Romans, who in turn borrowed it from the Greeks. With the\nGreeks the entablature was useful, as they had no round arch; and the\nRomans, just as they borrowed Greek forms and Greek metres for their\nnative Italian literature, in a like spirit borrowed their\nentablature. It is not necessary, and Freeman calls it a mere\n_stilt_.[92] The earliest instance we know of its disuse is in the\ncolonnade of the great hall of Diocletian's palace at Spalatro. The\ngreater space of the west severy is diminished by the introduction of\ndetached columns, so that the arches may all be of a like span. These\ncolumns, coupled and placed in front of the lesser pilasters, are of\nwhite veined marble, and exceedingly graceful. As the arches more\nimmediately rest upon them than upon the pilasters, the Roman use of\nthe entablature as a stilt can be here more clearly seen. I may add\nthat in the church of St. Apollinare Nuovo, at Ravenna, the pillars\nhave only blocks above their capitals, instead of the old entablature\nreaching from column to column; and this church, built about 500\nA.D., accordingly represents the Transition stage between the\nRoman proper and the Romanesque.\n\nTurning next from underneath the arches, and taking our stand in the\ncentral aisle, we are in a position to notice the details of the main\nentablature above the arches. The keystones are ornamented with heads\nand other pieces of sculpture. As Wren employed so few arches they\nrise to a great height, and of the different members of the\nentablature which rests upon the Corinthian capitals of the greater\npilasters, part had to be cut away. The crowns of the arches take a\ngreat piece out of the architrave, and their keystones reach well\nwithin the plain and narrow frieze. Only the cornice of the first\nstage remains intact, and this runs round the four limbs of the church\nlike a string course in any Romanesque or Gothic building.\n\n=The Triforium Belt.=--This used to be called the \"Attic,\" in\nimitation of the Classical nomenclature; but surely this term is\nincorrect, since there is a clerestory above, and the vaulting springs\nfrom it as well. On the other hand, \"Triforium\" pure and simple\nimplies arcading, and the above term is adopted from Fergusson as less\nopen to exception.[93] In continuation of the greater pilasters are\nabutment piers, from the summits of which spring the great arches\nspanning the nave, the window arches of the clerestory, and the\npendentives which connect these with the vaulting. The blank fronts\nbetween the piers are relieved by panels, but otherwise destitute of\nadornment. Openings connect the nave with the galleries behind.\n\n=The Clerestory.=--This stage again calls for little or no comment.\nThe windows, hidden from the exterior by the curtain wall, are\nslightly rounded. Above and on either side are sections of spheres,\nornamented with festoons. These are the ends of elliptic cylinders in\nconnection with the vaulting.\n\n=The Vaulting.=--The great arches overhead divide the vault as the\ngreater pilasters and their continuations do the walls. Between these\narches are the small saucer-shaped domes, 26 feet in diameter. The\nreason for these and their accessories, the pendentives, may best be\nunderstood from Wren's own words. He says that his method of vaulting\nis the most geometrical, and \"_is composed of Hemispheres, and their\nSections only; and whereas a Sphere may be cut all Manner of Ways, and\nthat still into Circles ... I have for just Reasons followed this way\nin the Vaulting of the Church of St. Paul's.... It is the lightest\nManner, and requires less Butment than the Cross-vaulting, as well\nthat it is of an agreeable View.... Vaulting by Parts of Hemispheres I\nhave therefore followed in the Vaultings of St. Paul's, and with good\nreason preferred it above any other way used by Architects._\"[94] The\nsaucer-shaped domes are sections of spheres, as are both the\npendentives and the sides of the clerestory windows. He set to work\nsomething in this way. After satisfying himself that he had hit on a\nbetter plan than the plain cylindrical or the cross-vaulting of the\nRomans, or the other forms of intersecting vaults, he seems to have\ntaken a hemisphere as a plan to work upon, and fixed his imaginary\ncentre about the level of the top of the triforium. In the great\nsquare western severy of the nave this was easier, but the other\nseveries are oblong. Here he stretched his sections out, so as to\ninclude the clerestory windows and their much-needed light. The usual\nway of expressing this is to say that the vault is intersected across\nby an elliptic cylinder. The wreaths, garlands, and festoons, and the\nvarious conventional patterns with which the edges and surfaces of the\nvarious parts of the vaulting is adorned cannot be estimated from the\npavement. We may add here that the pendentives were purposely\nconstructed of \"_sound Brick invested with Stucco of Cockle-shell\nlime_,\" and not of Portland stone, for further ornament if\nrequired.[95] So are the circular sections.\n\nThe nave is connected with the dome by the space between the great\npiers or walls of more than 30 feet in length. These piers are also\nbroader at their ends than those which support the arcading, the\nlatter covering a square of about 10 feet. The greater massiveness is\nowing to their assistance being required in supporting the dome. They\nhave large pilasters at the angles, and their coffered wagon\nvaulting, adorned with geometrical patterns, is very striking.\n\n=The Nave Aisles.=--We will first point out an unnoticed feature in\nthe great piers at either end. Their inner faces as seen from the\naisles have recesses or niches for the reception of monuments, and\nother recesses are generally found in the wall opposite. At the west\nof the aisles there are eight of these altogether, just behind the\ncoupled columns. They are repeated in all the great piers leading to\nthe dome, but although of sufficient height to permit of the\nintroduction of life-sized effigies, still remain unoccupied. The\ncoupled columns are repeated at the entrances to the chapels. At both\nends the perspective is narrowed; at the west by the chapels, at the\neast by the breadth of the great piers. The windows stand in recesses\nwhich are segments of circles. Their sides are made to represent piers\nwith concave surfaces. These latter carry an entablature from which\nspring the round window arches. Festoons run below the actual windows,\nthe concave side piers have panels, and the round arches above\ndiamond-shaped patterns. There are only three windows on either\nside--the chapels taking the place of a fourth--and the depth of their\nrecesses points out the thickness of the walls. Between each recess\nare Composite pilasters in couples, with others opposite against the\npiers. These correspond with the lesser pilasters of the arcading, and\nfrom them spring transverse arches, as in the great central aisle. The\nvaulting, owing to the severies being nearly square, is regular; in\nother respects similar to that already described. The height is much\nless than that of the greater aisle, reaching only to the first stage\nof the latter.\n\n=The West Chapels.=--They may best be described as squares of 26 feet,\nwith apses or tribunes at either end which increase the length to 55\nfeet. They suffer sadly from want of light, the one window in each\nbeing altogether insufficient; but Wren had to do what he could. He\npanelled them with oak, and made them of the same height as the\naisles, with vaulting of his favourite kind, drawn out to meet the\nwindows.\n\nThe North Chapel is called the Morning Chapel, from its original use\nfor morning prayer on weekdays. The mosaic above the altar is in\nimitation of a fresco by Raphael. That at the west end, by Salviati,\nis in memory of William Hale Hale, a voluminous writer and editor of\nthe \"Domesday of St. Paul's,\" who was a Residentiary, Archdeacon of\nLondon and Master of the Charterhouse. He died in 1870. The\nstained-glass window is in memory of the metaphysician, Henry\nLongueville Mansell, Dean of the Cathedral, who died suddenly, after a\nrule of three years, in 1871. It is by Hardman, and represents the\nRisen Christ and St. Thomas.\n\n   [Illustration: THE GEOMETRICAL STAIRCASE.]\n\nThe South Chapel is called the Consistory Chapel, because the\nConsistory Court has been held here excepting during the time that it\nsheltered the Wellington monument. The reliefs in white marble at the\nends--the east by Calder Marshall, and the west by Woodington--have to\ndo with this monument. Certainly the most appropriate of the six\nsubjects is that on the west wall which illustrates the Baptist\nadmonishing the soldiers. \"Do violence to no man ... and be content\nwith your wages.\" Wellington earned his name of the Iron Duke for the\nfirmness and sternness with which he punished pillaging and\noutrage.[96] The stained-glass window by Mr. Kempe has been lately put\nin to the memory of James Augustus Hessey, Archdeacon of Middlesex\n(1875-93), whose Bampton Lectures, \"Sunday,\" still remain for\ntheologians the standard treatise upon the Day of Rest. The Font of\nveined Carrara marble, another work of Bird, rather resembles the\nround basins resting on stands of the ancient Greek baths than any of\nour usual models. As St. Paul's is one of those cathedrals with no\nparish annexed, only those connected with it have any claim for\nbaptisms.\n\n=The Geometrical Staircase.=--This is in the South Tower, and leads\nfrom the Crypt to the Library. It is circular, of a diameter of\ntwenty-five feet, and so constructed that eighteen steps, each nearly\nsix feet broad at the outside, lead from the outside entrance to the\ninterior. The ironwork is worthy of the choir.\n\nThe three remaining limbs differ only on the plan; in the other\nfeatures of their architecture they are essentially similar to the\nnave. While the Pointed architecture suggests upward lines, and the\nGreek entablature horizontal lines, the round arch suggests a neutral\nposition between the two. The great span of the arches and the general\nlargeness of the different parts diminish the apparent size. The\nuniformity in the details produces that symmetry which is a\npeculiarity of the Renaissance.\n\n\nTHE DOME.\n\nThe Dome rises from its foundation in the Crypt of a square of 190\nfeet, and of this the solid parts are more than equal to the vacant\nspaces, and are of a thickness of 20 feet.[97]\n\nComing to the level of the church, these solid parts are represented\nby twelve supports. The chief of them are the bastion-like piers at\nthe angles of the transepts. They are hollow at the pavement level;\nand the south-west is used as a staircase, the north-west as the\nLord's Mayor's vestry, the north-east the Minor Canons', and the\nsouth-east the Dean's. It gives some idea of their massiveness to\nreflect that these rooms inside them are nearly twenty feet across.\nThe eight other supports are the huge wall-like piers, thirty-five\nfeet by ten, at the entrances from the four limbs.\n\n=The Arcading.=--When Wren planned his dome interior he had the\ndifficulty caused by the four limbs and their side aisles to overcome.\nIt was easy enough for the architect of such a church as St. Genevieve\n(or the Pantheon) at Paris to construct one, as he had neither this\ncomplicated arcading nor so heavy a superincumbent mass to consider.\n\nWren's path, then, was beset with difficulties, and he must have\nturned to his uncle's cathedral at Ely for enlightenment. In the\nearlier years of the fourteenth century the central tower at Ely\ncollapsed: and the Sacrist, Alan de Walsingham, who acted as\narchitect, seeing that the breadth of his nave, choir, and transepts\nhappened to agree, took for his base this common breadth, and cutting\noff the angles, obtained a spacious octagon. The four sides\nterminating the main aisles are longer than the four alternate sides\nat the angles of the side aisles; but at Ely this presents no\ndifficulty, owing to the use of the pointed arch. As you stand in the\ncentre of the octagon under the lantern you see eight spacious arches\nof two different widths, all springing from the same level and rising\nto the same height of eighty-five feet, the terminal arch of the\nNorman nave pointed like its opposite neighbour of the choir. Amongst\nGothic churches the interior of Ely reigns unique and supreme,\ncertainly in England, if not in Europe.[98] Wren was familiar with\nthis cathedral, and even designed some restorations for it; and he\nadopted the eight arches in preference to any possible scheme of four\ngreat arches of sixty feet: but the use of the round arch, as distinct\nfrom the pointed, deprived him of Sacrist Alan's liberty, who without\nincongruity made his intermediate arches of the shorter sides,\nspringing from the same level, rise to the same height as the others.\nWren was compelled to make use of some expedient to reconcile his two\ndifferent spaces between piers of forty feet and twenty-six feet, and\naccordingly arched these four smaller intermediate spaces as follows.\nA smaller arch, rising from the architrave of the great pier, spans\neach shorter side of the octagon, and has a ceiling or quarter dome in\nthe background, coming down to the terminal arches of the side aisles.\nA blank wall space above is relieved by a section of an ornamental\narch of larger span, resting on the centre of the cornice; and above\nthis a third arch, rising from the level of the triforium cornice,\nrests more upon the _outer_ side of the great supporting pier, and\nthereby obtains the required equal span of forty feet, and equal\nheight of eighty-nine feet from the ground. This also has a quarter\ndome; and the platform beneath on a level with the clerestory is\nrailed.\n\nThe reduction of the octagon to the circle is facilitated by giving\nthe spandrels between the arches the necessary concave surface; and\nthis stage is finished off with a cantilever cornice, the work (at\nleast in part) of one Jonathan Maine. The eight great keystones of the\narches by Caius Gabriel Cibber are seven feet by five, and eighteen\ninches in relief.\n\n=The Whispering Gallery= is almost exactly a hundred feet from the\npavement, and curiously enough about the same distance across. We are\nstill, be it understood, below the level of the apex of the exterior\nroof, and the Cross is quite two hundred and sixty feet above us. The\ngallery projects so that the lectern steps and the pulpit are\nunderneath. The attendant whispering across the whole area can be\ndistinctly heard, an acoustic property seemingly caused by the\nnearness of the concave hemisphere above.\n\n   [Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE DOME.\n   _From an engraving by G. Coney in Sir H. Ellis' edition of\n   Dugdale's St. Paul's._]\n\n=The Drum.=--The actual bend inwards now begins, but for this part\nonly in straight lines.[99] First comes the plain band or\nPODIUM, panelled and of a height of twenty feet. On this\nstand thirty-two composite pilasters, in reality, as well as in\nappearance, out of the horizontal. Three out of each four intervening\nspaces are pierced with square-headed windows; and from them such\nlight as the dome possesses, streams down through the windows of the\nexterior colonnade. The alternate fourth recesses, apparently nothing\nmore than ornamental niches, conceal the supports which bear the\nweight above. In the recent scheme of decoration they have been filled\nwith statues of Early Fathers--the four eastern, SS. Chrysostom,\nGregory Nazianzen, Basil, and Athanasius; and the four western, SS.\nAmbrose, Augustine of Hippo, Jerome, and Gregory. If the light allows,\nthe Podium, at present bare, is a suitable place for mosaics.\n\n=The Cupola.=--So, for want of a better name, we will call the topmost\nsection or inner roof of brick, two bricks thick. Here the straight\nlines bearing inwards give way to the sphere; and here, too, the three\nseparate coverings, which constitute the dome, begin. The circular\nopening below the lantern coincides with the lower edge of the fluting\nof the exterior shell, and is about two hundred and fifteen feet from\nthe pavement.[100]\n\nThese upper regions, hidden in an almost perpetual gloom, were\ndecorated in monochrome by Sir James Thornhill; but his work has\nfailed to resist the chemical action of the surcharged atmosphere. Yet\na word or two about it may interest. Concentric circles surround the\nopening; and the remaining surface is ingeniously divided into eight\ncompartments by designs of piers and round arches; the piers\ncoinciding with the eight recesses below. In these compartments are\nscenes from the life of the patronal saint: (1) The Conversion, (2)\nElymas, (3) <DW36> at Lystra, (4) Jailer at Philippi, (5) Mars Hill,\n(6) Burning Books at Ephesus, (7) Before Agrippa, (8) Shipwreck. We\nhave all of us heard from the days of our boyhood or girlhood the\nstory of the painter, on a platform at a great height, who stepped\nback to get a better view of his work. As he did so, an assistant,\nstanding by, brush in hand, observed with alarm that the slightest\nfurther backward step would entail his falling headlong and being\ndashed to pieces. He deliberately daubed the painting; and the artist,\nstepping instinctively forward to prevent this, saved his life. The\npainter is said to be Thornhill: the scene, the giddy height under the\ndome.\n\nThe interior height of two diameters will always be a disputed\nquestion. Stephen Wren[101] seemed to think that his grandfather hit\nthe happy medium of a diameter and a half; but this only reaches to\nthe windows and Early Fathers. He probably gives us the Surveyor's\n_intention_. Afterwards, when Wren was compelled to raise the height\nof the exterior, he increased the interior. St. Sophia and the\nInvalides are both less than two diameters, and give the idea of\ngreater area. While it is difficult to see what aesthetic advantage is\ngained by a roof and upper regions immersed in perpetual gloom, the\nacoustic properties and the light might both have been improved by a\nmore modest elevation. Yet the advocates of a smaller ratio injure\ntheir case by writing about \"a great disproportioned hole in the\n'roof.'\"\n\n=The Pulpit= was one of the additions suggested in Dean Milman's time,\nwhen the dome area was used for service. It is a memorial to Captain\nRobert Fitzgerald, designed by Mr. Penrose; and the marbles come from\nvarious places. It stands on columns, of which the gray are from\nPlymouth, the \"dark purplish\" from Anglesea, and the red from Cork. In\nthe panels and elsewhere the green is from Tenos, and the yellow\nchiefly from Siena, with a little of the ancient Giallo Antico from\nRome.[102] Alike in the design, and in the combination of these\ndifferent marbles, the pulpit is a fitting and judicious adornment.\n=The Lectern= takes the familiar form of an eagle, and is of bronze.\nThis fine piece of work was finished in 1720 by Jacob Sutton, at a\ncost of L241 15s.\n\n=The Mosaics.=--Stephen Wren tells us that his grandfather intended\nhis great building to be adorned with mosaic work, and that one of his\nnumerous disappointments was his inability, thanks to the ignorant\nopposition of the Commission, to carry out this intention. The\ncategorical statement of the grandson is corroborated by (_a_) the\ntext of various Acts of Parliaments, (_b_) other Renaissance Churches\nand notably St. Peter's, (_c_) the use of material softer than\nPortland stone for various surfaces.[103] Bishop Newton, who was Dean\na hundred and twenty years ago, roundly accused the authorities of\nfilching the decoration funds for William's wars. Queen Anne's wars\nwould have sounded more probable. It was not until our own day that in\nthis respect, as in others, the Surveyor's ideas have been carried\nout.\n\nThe eight spandrels of soft and suitable stone have designs of the\nfour Greater Prophets, and the four Evangelists, executed by Dr.\nSalviati of Venice. For the designs of St. Matthew and St. John the\nauthorities were fortunate enough to secure the services of that\nwonderful Academician, Mr. G.F. Watts. He thoroughly understood and\novercame the difficulty of the great distance of the spectator on the\npavement below. These designs are in every way worthy of the painter\nof the Rider on the White Horse, and its fellows. The other\nEvangelists were designed by Mr. Brittan, and the Prophets by Mr. A.\nStevens. The smoke should never be allowed to mar the colouring, and\nso injure the good effect, of this part of the scheme of decoration.\n\nSubsequently the authorities and their committee turned to Mr. (now\nSir William) Richmond, R.A., whose veneration for St. Paul's dates\nfrom childhood. His interest in mosaic work caused him to study\ncarefully the principles of design which obtained in Italy, Greece,\nand Asia Minor, during the best times of the Byzantine Empire.[104]\nSir William has adopted the old plan of glass tesserae or cubes, and of\nfour shapes--the cube, double cube, equilateral triangle, and a longer\nform with sharp points. They are of eight to ten tones of colour, and\nare put into position on the spot, being joined together by a mastic\ncement which resembles that used by Andrea Tafi in restoring the\nmosaics in the Baptistery at Florence. This cement in time becomes\nquite hard. The cubes with their complex facets are not joined close\ntogether, but separated by one-sixteenth to one-fourth of an inch, the\nbetter to reflect the light, so as to give a rich and soft texture.\nThey are made at Messrs. Powell's workshops. Sir William has done a\ngreat deal more than design. He has, so far as this country is\nconcerned, caused us to acquire a new art, while he has restored an\nold one. The workmen, who are all natives, have been trained by him.\nAccustomed only to the smooth, pictorial mosaics of thin plates of\nglass put together in the workshop, he had to teach the Messrs. Powell\nand their staff both how to make the glass cubes, and how to put each\none separately into its place in the cement on the wall or roof. As\nour cathedrals are sermons in stone, so these adornments are intended\nto be illustrated sermons in glass. Beginning with the Creation, and\nincluding those, Pagans as well as Israelites, who prepared the way\nand led up to the Fulness of the Time, we are here taught the leading\nfeatures of that progressive truth which has been revealed.\n\nThe difficulty in dealing with the lofty blank spaces of the dome will\nbe not to go too high up, and not to come too far down. At the time of\nrevising these lines (August, 1899) the decoration of this part of the\ncathedral has advanced no further than the quarter domes of those\nalternate arches which tested so severely the genius of the Surveyor.\nIn the four, taken as a whole, the general subject illustrated will be\nSt. Paul's Gospel of the Resurrection from the early verses of 1\nCorinthians, XV.\n\n_North-East_, the Crucifixion. Christ stands on the Tree of Life,\nbranches on either side and the cross behind. The water of life issues\nfrom below the tree, making a silver flood; these silver tones, the\nresult of many experiments, when flashing, expand and give more light\nthan gold. The holy women are on either side, and Adam and Eve\nkneeling in the two corners. The world is represented as a\nharvest-field. The inscription below runs, \"The Lord hath laid on Him\nthe iniquity of us all.\" _South-East_, the Resurrection. The Risen\nChrist is standing at the entrance of the open sepulchre, and is\nsupported on either side by an angel in blue and white. He wears a\nlong mantle of white, shaded to red, probably to prevent the white\nrays spreading too much. On either side in the corners are placed the\nsleeping soldiers: and above is a canopy of clouds, lifting on the\nhorizon. A scroll-work, which looks like pomegranates, takes the place\nof the silver flood of the companion across the choir arch.\nInscription, \"Behold! I am alive for evermore.\" _South-West_ the\nEntombment. A winged angel, sitting, holds the reclining Body. On the\nright, standing figures of women, and on the left two angels.\nContinuing round are two other figures on either side; and these, as I\nam instructed, are symbolical of our four nationalities. Trees and\nfoliage are above the figures. This section is still incomplete, and\nthe text wanting; but the scroll-work looks like leaves and acorns.\nYears hence, when the dome as a whole is finished, we shall be in a\nposition to judge. So far everything is rich and promises well.[105]\n\n   [Illustration: _Photo. S.B. Bolas & Co._\n   THE SOUTH CHOIR AISLE, SHOWING THE BACK OF THE STALLS AND THE\n   IRON GATES.]\n\n\nTHE TRANSEPTS.\n\nThese short limbs consist of only one arch beyond the great dome\npiers. There is no arch at the ends like that by the west door.\nInstead, the wall space shows four single pilasters with their\nentablature supporting the gallery. The gilded copy of the well-known\ninscription on Wren's tomb is over the north doorway. The great\nwindows, the gift of the late Duke of Westminster, and designed by Sir\nWilliam Richmond, illustrate early Church history. The North\nrepresents twelve primary bishops who introduced, or restored after\nlapse, Christianity, after the coming of the English, and include\nAugustine, Mellitus, Cedd, Birinus, Theodore of Tarsus (the originator\nof the parochial system), and Erkenwald. The South represents twelve\nkings who co-operated and supported the prelates, including Ethelbert,\nCynegils, Coinwalch, Sabert, Sigebert, and Sebbe. In the south\ntransept aisles the Thanksgiving service in 1872 for the recovery of\nthe Prince of Wales is commemorated by a window, the subject being the\nRaising of the Son of the Widow of Nain, and a tablet performs the\nlike service.\n\n   [Illustration: BISHOP'S THRONE AND STALLS ON THE SOUTH SIDE.]\n\n\nTHE CHOIR.\n\nThe plan consists of the great piers and chancel arch, three arches,\nother great piers which support the triumphal or reredos arch and are\npierced for doorways, and finally the apse. The side aisles do not\nextend beyond the reredos arch. The main aisle, formerly isolated from\nthe dome by the organ and organ-screen, is now separated only by a low\nrailing, and the space underneath the chancel arch has been included.\nBy uniting choir and dome for the purposes of congregational worship\nthe intention of the architect has been carried into effect. The\nironwork of the gates, both at the west end of the aisles and in the\ndoorways of the reredos arch, is part of Tijou's work, restored and\nreplaced as occasion arose.\n\n=The Stalls.=--They all now face uniformly on opposite sides. They are\nthe work of Grinling Gibbons, and originally cost over L1,300. The\nbest plan is to see them both from the choir and the aisles, as their\ngeneral conception and details are alike creditable to the\nwood-workers of their day. The canopies have galleries above; and\nthose in the centre on either side, as also over the throne at the end\nof the south side, have turrets. But it is not only their artistic\nmerits. More than anything else they carry us back to the days of Old\nSt. Paul's, since they reproduce the seats of the dignitaries for ages\npast. Numbering thirty-one on either side, the Latin inscriptions over\nfifteen on either side call for notice. These are the headings of the\nPsalter divided into thirty parts.\n\nIn the days of Bishop Maurice and Dean Ulstan, according to Newcourt,\na division was first made, so that each prebendary should say the\nPsalter through in a month, while the whole Psalter should be said\neach day. Under Ralph de Baldock, in succession Archdeacon of\nMiddlesex, Dean, and finally Bishop (1276-1313), the present and more\nequal division was made.[106] The Archdeaconries of Essex and\nColchester are now in the Diocese of St. Alban's, and the Archdeaconry\nof St. Alban's, consisting of a few parishes in Herts and Bucks,\ncreated after the dissolution of the abbey, though for a time in the\ndiocese, never had a stall. The stalls and seats have been added to\nfrom the designs of Mr. Penrose. For the sake of convenience I have\nnumbered the thirty-one stalls on either side: the other numbers, in\nbrackets, to the right, represent the traditional positions in Old St.\nPaul's. Each dignitary's stall has the name inscribed. Neither from\nthe position of the stalls, nor from the order of the allotment of the\nPsalter is it possible to discover any priority. Perhaps both were\narranged according to the then seniority of the canons.\n\nNORTH SIDE.\n\n30 and 31. [Not assigned.]\n27-29. Minor Canons.\n26. Archdeacon of Middlesex (19)\n25. Chiswick                (18) _Nonne Deo subjecta._\n24. Caddington Major        (17) _Omnes gentes plaudite._\n23. Newington               (16) _Confitemini Domino quoniam bonus._\n22. Neasden                 (15) _Domine ne in furore._\n21. Brondesbury             (14) _Beatus vir, qui timet Dominum._\n20. (Not assigned.)\n19. Lord Mayor, with Mace-Bearer below.\n18. (Not assigned.)\n17. Consumpta per Mare     (13) _Confitemini Domino [107-111]._\n16. Willesden              (12) _Noli aemulari._\n15. Islington              (11) _In convertendo Dominus._\n14. Ealdland               (10) _Deus stetit in synagoga._\n13. Hoxton                  (9) _Defer in salutare anima._\n12. Wedland                 (8) _Exandi, Domine, justitiam._\n11. Reculverland            (7) _Beati quorum remissio._\n10. St. Pancras             (6) _Voce mea._\n9. Caddington Minor         (5) _Miserere mei Deus._\n8. Tottenhall (Tottenham)   (4) _Beatus vir qui non abiit._\n7. (Not assigned.)\n6 and 5. Minor Canons.\n4. Chancellor.              (3)\n3. Precentor.               (2)\n2. Residentiary.\n1. Archdeacon of London.    (1)\n\n\nSOUTH SIDE.\n\nThe Bishop's Throne or official _Cathedra_.\n\n30 and 31. (Not assigned.)\n27-29. Minor Canons.\n26. Archdeacon of Colchester,\nnow a Minor Canon           (19)\n25. Ealdstreet              (18) _Dominus regnavit, exultet terra._\n24. Rugmere                 (17) _Ad Dominum cum tribularer._\n23. Brownswood              (16) _Deus judicium tuum._\n22. Wenlocksbarn            (15) _Quemadmodum desiderat._\n21. Sneating                (14) _Dominus Deus meus, respice._\n20. (Not assigned.)\n19. The Bishop.\n18. (Not assigned.)\n17. Oxgate                  (13) _Domine exandi [102-106]._\n16. Mapesbury               (12) _Memento Domine David._\n15. Twyford                 (11) _Deus misercatur mei._\n14. Cantlers (Kentish Town) (10) _Dominus illuminatio mea._\n13. Mora                     (9) _Confitebor tibi in toto corde._\n12. Portpool                 (8) _Quid gloriaris in malitia._\n11. Harleston in Willesden   (7) _Fundamenta ejus, &c._\n10. Holborn                  (6) _Salvum me fac Domine, &c._\n9. Chamberlainewood          (5) _Bonum est confiteri, &c._\n8. Finsbury or Halliwell     (4) _Benedictus Dominus Deu, &c._\n7. (Not assigned.)\n5 and 6. Minor Canons.\n4. Treasurer                 (3)\n3. Residentiary\n2. Archdeacon of Essex, now\n   a Residentiary            (2)\n1. The Dean                  (1)\n\nDr. Sparrow-Simpson assigned the psalms to Consumpta and Oxgate as I\nhave put them in brackets.[107]\n\n=The Organ.=--In Old St. Paul's the organ was considered to have but\ntwo peers, Canterbury and York; and the present instrument is worthy\nof its predecessor. Grinling Gibbons executed the older part of the\ncase, with its foliage, figures, and imitations of the architecture.\nBernard Schmidt, a German, was the builder; and in 1802 \"a most\nindustrious Swede and his partner\" took it to pieces, cleaned it, and\nimproved the tone of many of the notes. When the choir was opened out,\nat the suggestion of Dr. Sparrow-Simpson the instrument was enlarged\nby Mr. Willis, divided between the two sides, and placed above the\nstalls at the west end, the old carved work being chiefly on the north\nside. Whether Jeremiah Clark (1695-1707) lived long enough to preside\nis uncertain; but if not, Richard Brind (1707-1718) was the first to\nplay the present instrument. Neither Sir John Stainer nor Sir George\nMartin need any mention. The organist is seated on the north side, and\ncommunicates by electricity.\n\n=The Reredos.=--Advantage has been taken of the space between the\ngreat eastern piers to bring forward the altar and crown it with a\nlofty reredos. Would Wren have approved of the breaking of the vista\nby shutting out the windows of the apse? As he himself designed an\nunexecuted Baldachino \"of rich marble columns writhed\" somewhat after\nthe style of his favourite St. Peter's,[108] and as this was not so\nhigh, and was to stand against the east wall, the answer to this\nquestion is doubtful. The impression left is that for the present\naltar-piece he would have designed his east front somewhat\ndifferently. Be this as it may, upon this magnificent specimen of\nmodern art it is waste of time to lavish praise, and the names of the\ndesigners, Messrs. Bodley and Garner, will always be associated with\nit. The symbolism is expressed in the frieze above the Crucifixion,\n\"Sic Deus dilexit mundum\" (\"God so loved the world\"). The lower part\nis pierced with doors on either side: and \"Via Electionis\" (\"A chosen\nvessel\") over the north door refers to St. Paul, and \"Pasce oves meos\"\n(\"Feed my sheep\") over the other to St. Peter; and here the crossed\nswords are the arms of the diocese. The section above has the\nEntombment in the centre, and the Nativity and Resurrection on either\nside. A Crucifixion occupies the central position. The framework is of\nRoman design, with pilasters and a round arch; and remembering Wren's\nconception, it is interesting that the columns of Brescia marble,\nsupporting the entablature above, are twisted. This is flanked with a\ncolonnade; the figure on the north being the Angel Gabriel, and to the\nsouth the Virgin. Above the pediment is a canopy with the Virgin and\nChild, and St. Peter and St. Paul to the north and south; and above\nall, and nearly seventy feet from the ground, the Risen Christ\ncompletes this most reverent design.\n\nThe altar cross is adorned with precious stones and lapis lazuli; and\nthe massive copper candlesticks are imitations of those, four in\nnumber, sold during the Protectorate, and now, with the arms of\nEngland, in Ghent Cathedral.\n\n=The Apse.=--Although the side aisles require no particular mention,\nunless it be of certain relics from Jerusalem in the south aisle, the\niron gates leading to the reredos are well worthy of attention. When\nthe choir was opened out, the ironwork was brought here; but there was\nnot sufficient. Recourse was had in vain to modern coal-smelted metal:\nit split, and proved useless for the finer work. Searching the\nrecords, it was discovered that Tijou used only charcoal-smelted iron;\nand a supply was procured from Norway. Comment is needless. The\nvaulting comes down to the upper tier of windows. The windows in the\nlower tier, by Mr. C.E. Kempe, in harmony with the mosaics, have for\ntheir general subject the Last Judgment.\n\nIsolated by the great Reredos behind from the rest of the church, the\napse now forms a separate chapel, and is called the Jesus Chapel. Why\nborrow the name from the east end of the crypt below? The Liddon\nChapel would be a suitable name. Here, against the south wall is his\nmonument; and the altar-piece, in its marble framework, forms part of\nhis memorial. It is a copy of a painting by Giovanni Battista da\nConegliano, otherwise Cima. The original, now in the National Gallery,\nwas painted for the Fraternity of the Battuti at Portogruaro. The\nsubject is the incredulity of St. Thomas.\n\n   [Illustration: THE CHOIR, ALTAR AND REREDOS.]\n\n=The Mosaics.=--Excepting, perhaps, certain minor alterations which\ntime and experience may suggest, the decoration and adornment of the\nChoir may now be reckoned as finished. The scheme was begun from the\neast, and continued westward; but there is no good reason for altering\nour plan, and we will continue to work from the west eastward. Of the\nfive divisions of the main aisle, the chancel arch may be dismissed;\nthe subject being a continuation of the western bay. There remain,\nthen, the three bays, the reredos arch, and the apse; and we will take\nthese in their order. The spandrels of the arcading treat of the Fall\nand Redemption; the triforium belt has the same subject as the\n\"inverted saucers\" of the vaulting; the clerestory windows on the\nnorth, Creation awaiting, or anticipating, or in any sense preparing\nthe way for the Kingdom of Christ,--on the south, those who prepared\nplaces of worship; the pendentives, Angels, and inscriptions from the\nPsalms and Isaiah; the vaulting, the Story of Creation, continued in\nthe triforium belt. Thus it will be seen that the arrangement of the\ninterior, with its three stages, is fully recognised. Underneath the\nclerestory windows the inscriptions are from the Advent antiphons to\nthe _Magnificat_; and these selections have most carefully omitted\nanything savouring of the invocation of saints. Below the angels with\ntheir outstretched arms in the pendentives the western sides of the\ngreat transverse arches have inscriptions from the _Benedicite_, and\non their eastern from Romans i. 20. All of these texts or inscriptions\nare in Latin. The glass in the clerestory windows has been put in to\ngive the best effect to the mosaics. A tabular statement will best\npresent a general idea of Sir William Richmond's system taken as a\nwhole.\n\nWESTERN BAY (with Chancel Arch).\n\n               { Creation of Beasts, with the inscription, \"Producat\n               { terra animam viventem\" (Gen. i. 24). The four\n_Roof_         { heraldic shields on the borders have the arms of the\n               { four London Companies who are donors to the decorations.\n               { N.: Merchant Taylors. S.: Mercers. E.: Fishmongers.\n               { W.: Goldsmiths. Date, 1895.\n\n_Pendentives_: Angels, with inscriptions above from Psalm civ.\n\n                         N.                               S.\n               { W.: Job.                     W.: Jacob's Ladder.\n               { E.: Abraham at his tent      E.: Moses receiving the\n_Clerestory_   { door at Mamre.               Tables of the Law and the\n               { The Three Heavenly           \"Pattern of the\n               { Visitors and Sarah.          Tabernacle\" (Exodus\n               {                              xxv. 9).\n\n_Inscription   { \"O Adonai, qui Moysi         \"O Adonai, et dux, et\nbeneath        { apparuisti, veni ad          dominus Israel, veni ad\nwindow_        { redimendum nos.\"             redimendum nos.\"\n\n_Triforium     { Adam, with arm round         Eve, with tigers, birds\ncontinued in   { lion: a lioness licking      of paradise, and other\nchancel arch_  { his feet.                    animals.\n\n               { Creation of Firmament.       Expulsion from Paradise.\n               { Two Angels in red, as the    Adam and Eve walking\n               { ministers of Creation. In    sorrowfully in the\n_Spandrels_    { centre, bright sun with      direction of the Dome,\n               { inscription, \"Fiat lux,      which represents the\n               { et facta est lux.\"           outer world. Paradise\n               {                              has a rampart.\n\nCENTRE BAY\n\n               { Creation of Fish. Sea monsters spouting out water,\n_Roof_         { fish swimming, and blue water. Inscription, \"Creavit\n               { Deus cete grandia\" (Gen. i. 21).\n               { This is the gift of the Fishmongers' Company.\n\n_Pendentives_: Angels, with inscriptions from Psalm cxlviii.\n\n                         N.                               S.\n               { W.: Cyrus (who figures        W. }\n               { in Isaiah xliv. as a             }\n               { predestined Temple-builder)      }\n_Clerestory_   { points over his shoulder to      } Bezaleel and\n               { returning Jewish captives.       } Aholiab,\n               {                                  } artificers of the\n               { E.: Alexander (who            E. } Tabernacle (Exodus\n               { indirectly prepared for the      } xxxvi. I).\n               { First Advent by spreading\n               { the Greek language and\n               { opening out the Far East)\n               { leaning on his sword, with\n               { Greeks bearing olives.\n\n\n_Inscription   { \"O Rex gentium desideratus   \"O Emmanuel, Rex et\nbeneath_       { earum, veni, salva           Legifer, veni ad\n               { hominem.\"                    salvandum nos.\"\n\n_Triforium_    { Sea Leviathans and Fish.     Sea Leviathans and Fish.\n\n               { The Annunciation.            The Temptation. Adam,\n               { W.: Gabriel.                 with warning angel\n               { E.: The Virgin at            above. The nude\n_Spandrels_    { the door of her house.       figure of Eve, with\n               { Nazareth in background.      Satan, as a fallen\n               { The Holy Dove between.       angel, pointing to\n               {                              the forbidden fruit.\n\n\nEAST BAY.\n\n              { Creation of Birds. First of these circular sections of\n              { spheres to be taken in hand. Details more minute than\n_Roof_        { the two others. Yet the effect, even at so great a\n              { height, is not wholly lost, as a play of colour and a\n              { certain sense of mystery, are afforded. It is better\n              { to overdo than to underdo detail. Many of the birds\n              { are outlined with silver. The leaves have veins of\n              { silver, and the edges are touched with gold. As with\n              { the two others, a successful attempt is made to\n              { increase the real elevation, which is only three feet\n              { at the apex. Inscription: \"Et volatile sub firmamento\"\n              { (Gen. i. 20). Date, 1892.\n\n_Pendentives_: Angels, with inscriptions above from Isaiah ix.\n\n\n                         N.                               S.\n              { W., Persian, and E.,          W.: Solomon as a young\n              { Delphic Sibyl. A somewhat     man. E.: David as an old\n              { far-fetched design            man with an air of\n              { borrowed from mediaeval       melancholy, thinking\n              { art. Angels from above        of the Temple of which\n_Clerestory_  { delivering their message.     he may only get ready\n              { Architectural background,     the materials and\n              { Persian and Doric             plans. Meditating about\n              { respectively.                 his preparations under a\n              {                               tree; court of palace\n              {                               in the background.\n\n              { \"O Sapientia, veniad          \"O Radix Jesse, veni ad\n_Inscription  { docendum nos. O,              liberandum nos. O Clavis\nunderneath_   { Oriens Splendor, veni         David, veni et educe\n              { et illumina nos.\"             vinctum.\"\n\n_Triforium_   { Peacocks of the bird          Peacocks.\n              { creation.\n\n                         N.                               S.\n              { Two mail-clad Angels of       Two Angels of the\n              { the Crucifixion, one with     Passion, one with the\n              { the spear and the other       pillar at which Christ\n_Spandrels_   { with the nails. Blue          was scourged; the other\n              { background in centre,         with the cup of\n              { \"Gloria in excelsis.\"         suffering. Much later\n              { First put into position.      than the opposite, and\n              { Work done on slabs in         the cubes put into\n              { studio, and slabs fixed       position one by one.\n              { with bronze nails in lead\n              { sockets.\n\nThe great transverse arches are inscribed on their western sides from\nthe _Benedicite_: \"Omnes volucres coeli.\" \"Omnia quae moventur in\naquis.\" \"Omnes bestiae et pecora.\" \"Benedicite, omnia opera Domini,\nDomino.\" Looking from the east, the other faces have the Latin of\nRomans i. 20: \"Invisibilia ejus a creatura mundi.\" \"Per ea quae facta,\nsunt intellecta.\" \"Conspiciuntur.\" \"Sempiterna ejus virtus et\ndivinitas.\"\n\n=The Reredos Arch.=--In the triforium stage over the entrances has\nMelchizedek on the north and Noah on the south. The High Priest, in a\nlong robe, blesses Abraham, in armour and with sword at side. Eight\nfigures of servants are behind; and so minute is the treatment that\nthe loaves of bread in the basket are depicted. The original design of\nthis is at South Kensington. Noah, with a rainbow offering as he came\nout of the Ark, faces; and both are suggested by the neighbouring\naltar. Above, the subject is the Sea giving up its Dead, and the words\n\"Alleluia,\" \"Sanctus.\"\n\nThe work in the =Apse= is difficult to describe. Above all, in the\ncrown of the vault, is a sun with golden rays. The chief figure is\nChrist seated in judgment. The expression is of mingled firmness and\npity; and the crown has thorns bursting into flower. The upper robe,\nfastened round the breast by a jewelled buckle, has red lining; and\nthe long robe beneath is white. To the right are two angels with the\nBook of Life; and behind, two more holding crowns and inviting to\ncome. On the left, two more hold the scroll of the rejected, and the\nangel of wrath, supported by weeping figures, holds out both hands to\nrepudiate. The pilasters by the windows have representations of Hope,\nFortitude, Charity, Truth, Chastity, and Justice.\n\nBut we have already exceeded our limit in describing this effort to\ncarry out Wren's conception on a large and well-organised scale.\nNothing approaching to it has ever been attempted in this country\nbefore; it is \"a new art acquired, a new craft learnt.\" Had not the\nartist been constantly on the spot to see that his own thoughts were\nreproduced, the work must have suffered. Sir William Richmond may\nsafely leave posterity to thank him. We notice with satisfaction that\nbefore his labours on the choir were quite finished, the Royal Academy\nco-opted him a full Academician, and the Crown bestowed a Knight\nCommandership of the Bath.[109]\n\n\nTHE MONUMENTS.\n\nFor the sake of simplicity these are taken together. Not till some\neighty years after the completion of the building was any monument\nplaced in it: another instance of how the intentions of the architect\nwere ignored. In 1795, John Bacon, R.A. (1740-1799), finished the\nHoward and Johnson statues, and that of Sir William Jones four years\nlater. The Reynolds statue, by John Flaxman, R.A. (1755-1826), was\nadded about the same time; and these four memorials occupy what Milman\ncalls the four posts of honour in front of the great supports. Then\ncame the wars not only with France, but in all parts of the world; and\nwhile some of these heroes by land and sea to whom monuments were\nerected are immortal, others are now so forgotten that even the date\nof their birth is difficult to obtain. Yet their general claim is that\nthey were killed in the service of their country; and no one need\ngrudge them this honour. I cannot but think that a certain amount of\nindiscriminate amateur criticism has been expended on the earlier\nworks. Johnson is represented partially draped in a toga; and there is\na sequence of nude or semi-nude Victories and Fames with or without\nwings. The taste of to-day has changed, and but few people approve of\nthe typical design of the reign of George III. Yet it is necessary to\nstate that besides four by Flaxman, six bear the imprints of the\ngenius of Sir Francis Chantrey, R.A. (1782-1831), not to mention five\nby E.H. Bailey, R.A. (1788-1847), and six by Rossi. Not only were\nFlaxman and Chantrey artists and not mere masons, but examples of both\nBacon and Bailey are among the very few sculptures in the National\nGallery. The asterisk affixed to the number indicates that the remains\nslumber in the Crypt.\n\n\nNORTH AISLE OF NAVE.\n\n1. Officers and men of the Cavalry and 57th and 77th Foot (now 1st and\n2nd battalions of the Middlesex Regiment) who died or were killed in\nthe Crimea, with old colours of Middlesex Regiment carried in the\nCrimea. (Marochetti.)\n\n*2. =Wellington= (1769-1852). Sarcophagus of white marble with\nornaments in bronze. The recumbent effigy in bronze rests upon this.\nThe canopy supported by Corinthian columns of white marble, which are\ncarved with foliated diaper pattern. The bronze groups represent\nValour, with Cowardice at her feet, and Truth plucking out the tongue\nof Falsehood. The canopy arch supports a great pediment intended for\nan equestrian statue, and the faces have the Duke's arms and the\nGarter. The chief battles are inscribed at the base. (Alfred Stevens.)\n\n3. =Gordon= (Major-Gen. Chas. Geo., C.B., 1833-1885). Admirers of this\nChristian hero constantly bring fresh flowers, which the attendants\nremove when withered. Gordon's head was exhibited by the Mahdi, and\nhis trunk thrown into the Nile at Khartoum. A recumbent figure on a\nsarcophagus, the features beautifully chiselled. One of two by that\ngreat sculptor, Sir Joshua Edgar Boehm, R.A. (1834-1890).\n\n4. Mural tablet to the officers and men of the Royal Fusiliers (7th\nFoot) who perished in Afghan Campaign, 1879-1880.\n\n5. =Stewart= (Major-Gen. Sir Herbert, K.C.B., 1844-1885). Killed in\nthe abortive attempt to relieve Gordon. A mural tablet behind Gordon's\nmonument. (Boehm.)\n\n6. =Torrens= (Major-Gen. Sir A. Wellesley). Died in the Crimea.\n(Marochetti.)\n\n   [Illustration: THE WELLINGTON MONUMENT.]\n\n7. Mural tablets in brass on either side of the Melbourne monument to\nthe crew of H.M.S. _Captain_. Constructed in the early days of\nironclads, this vessel foundered in 1870 through a mistaken\ncalculation about the metacentre, with the designer, Captain Cooper\nColes, and a son of the First Lord on board.\n\n8. =Melbourne= (William Lamb, Viscount, 1779-1848), with his brother\nFrederick, a diplomatist (d. 1853). Prime Minister at the accession of\nQueen Victoria. Black marble representation of \"the gate of death,\"\nwith angels of white marble. The complete darkness with nothing beyond\nis more appropriate to the Premier's religious views as stated in the\n_Greville Memoirs_, than to the inscription from the Collect for\nEaster Eve. (Marochetti.)\n\n\nSOUTH AISLE OF NAVE.\n\n9. Officers of Coldstream Guards killed at Inkerman, with old colours\nof regiment above. Vesey Dawson, Granville Elliott, Lionel Mackinnon,\nMurray Cowell, Henry M. Bouverie, Frederick Ramsden, Edward Disbrowe,\nC. Hubert Greville, with inscription, \"Brothers in arms, in glory and\nin death, they were buried in one grave.\" (Marochetti.)\n\n10. =Burgiss= (Captain Richard Rundle, R.N., 1755-1797). Killed at\nCamperdown in command of the _Ardent_. Almost undraped, and out of\nproportion about the shoulders and bust, as is also the figure of\nVictory giving him the sword. Group in lower part of sarcophagus\ndifficult to interpret. (J. Banks, R.A.)\n\n11. =Middleton= (T.F., d. 1822). First Bishop of Calcutta. (Lough.)\n\n12. =Lyons= (Captain, R.N., d. 1855). (Noble.)\n\n13. =Westcott= (Captain Geo. Blagdon, R.N., 1743-1798). Killed in\ncommand of the _Majestic_ at the Nile. Expression of the face too\nyoung. The bas-relief has the Sphynx, the Nile, and the _Orient_ blown\nup. (Banks.)\n\n14. =Loch= (Captain, R.N., d. 1853). (Marochetti.)\n\n\nNORTH TRANSEPT.\n\n15. =Faulknor= (Captain Robert, R.N., 1763-1795). He was called the\n\"Undaunted\" by Jervis; killed off Dominica in command of the\n_Blanche_, and while lashing his bowsprit to the _Pique_, a French\nfrigate of superior size. Falling into the arms of Neptune, with\nVictory about to crown him. (C. Rossi, R.A.)\n\n16. =Mackenzie= (Major-Gen. J.R.), =Langwerth= (Brig.-Gen. E.). Both\nkilled at Talavera, July 28, 1809. Above Faulknor's. Two sons of\nEngland bear trophies. The figure of Victory not remarkable for good\nproportions. (C. Manning.)\n\n*17. =Reynolds= (Sir Joshua, P.R.A., 1723-1792). Draped in the robes\nof a Doctor of Laws; in right hand the Discourses to the Royal\nAcademy; beneath the left hand is a medallion of his master, Michael\nAngelo. A pity that Bacon and others did not follow a like natural\nstyle of design. The special preachers are advised to preach at him,\nso that their voices may travel across the dome. (Flaxman.)\n\n*18. =Cockerell= (Chas. Robert, d. 1863). An accomplished successor of\nWren as surveyor. (F.P. Cockerell.)\n\n19. =Hoghton= (Major-Gen. Dan., d. 1811). Killed at Albuera. A tabular\nmonument; the embroidery on the uniform, the line of bayonets, and the\ncolours excellent. (Chantrey.)\n\n20. =Elphinstone= (Hon. Mountstuart, d. 1859). Lieut. Gov. of Bombay,\nand thrice refused the Governor-Generalship. (Noble.)\n\n21. =Myers= (Lieut.-Col. Sir Wm., 1784-1811). Killed at Albuera. A\nbust supported by Hercules for Valour and Minerva for Wisdom.\nInscription, extract from a letter from Wellington. (J. Kendrick.)\n\n22. =Malcolm= (Admiral Sir Pulteney, d. 1838.) (Bailey.)\n\n23. =St. Vincent= (Admiral of the Fleet John Jervis, Earl of,\n1735-1832). Defeated the Spanish Fleet off Cape St. Vincent, Feb. 14,\n1797. A colossal statue, with Victory and the Muse of History.\n(Bailey.)\n\n24. =Rodney= (Admiral Geo. Brydges, Baron, K.B., 1718-1790). Defeated\nFrench Fleet off Martinique under De Grasse, April 12, 1782.\nAccidentally disregarding the code of Fighting Instructions, he\nadopted the manoeuvre of \"breaking the line\" instead of the old\n\"line a-head,\" and later admirals followed. Marble, in uniform and the\nBath. Fame, a winged female figure with only the lower limbs draped,\ninstructs the Muse of History. Parliament voted L6,000 for this\nmonument, which is very good. (Rossi.)\n\n*25. =Picton= (Sir Thomas, d. 1815). After a chequered career, in\nwhich he figured at the Old Bailey, killed at Waterloo, \"gloriously\nleading his division,\" said Wellington, \"to a charge of bayonets.\" (S.\nGahagan.)\n\n26. =Napier= (Gen. Sir William F.P., 1785-1860). Soldier and man of\nletters. Son of Lady Sarah Lennox, whom George III. wished to marry,\nand brother to Charles James (No. 29). Commanded 43rd in Peninsula,\nand wrote the History of the War, still a standard authority, and\nother works. (Bailey.)\n\n27. =Hay= (Major-Gen. Andrew, d. 1814). Killed at Bayonne. Falling\ninto the arms of Valour; soldier mourning and a file of troops in the\nbackground, all in correct uniform. (H. Hopper.)\n\n28. =Gore= and =Skerrett=. Two Major-Generals killed at\nBergen-op-Zoom, March 10, 1814. Chantrey is betrayed into a\npseudo-classical style, most elegant of its kind and beautifully\nexecuted, by the designer Tallemache. Fame, without wings and undraped\nto the waist, consoles Britannia, at whose feet reposes the British\nLion. (Designed by Tallemache, executed by Chantrey.)\n\n29. =Napier= (Gen. Sir Chas. James, 1782-1853). Brother to William\n(No. 26) and conqueror of Scinde. (G. Adams.)\n\n30. =Ponsonby= (Major-Gen. Hon. Sir William, d. 1815). Killed in\ncommand of the Union Brigade of Cavalry (Royals, Scots Greys,\nInniskillings) at Waterloo. There is good reason for Theed\nrepresenting him undraped, as his body was stripped by some of those\ncamp followers mentioned by Victor Hugo in _Les Miserables_. The horse\nfalling, as represented, was the cause of his death. \"I have to add\nthe expression of my grief,\" wrote Wellington, \"for the fate of an\nofficer who had already rendered very brilliant and important\nservices, and was an ornament to his profession.\" (Designed by William\nTheed, R.A., and, after his death, executed by Bailey.)\n\n31. =Riou= and =Mosse= (Captain Edward Riou, 1762-1801, and Captain\nJames Robert Mosse, 1746-1801). The \"gallant good Riou,\" of Campbell's\nsong, fell in command of the _Amazon_, and Mosse of the _Monarch_, at\nCopenhagen. Victory and Fame hold medallions. (Rossi.)\n\n32. =Napier= (Admiral Sir Chas., 1786-1860). Second in command at\nbombardment of Acre, and commanded English part of the allied fleet in\nthe Baltic, 1854. A tablet. (G. Adams.)\n\n33. =Le Marchant= (Major-Gen. John Gaspard, d. 1812). Killed at\nSalamanca. To the left is Spain placing the trophies in the tomb; to\nthe right Britannia instructing a cadet. (Designed by C.H. Smith and\nexecuted by Rossi.)\n\n34. =Hallam= (Henry, 1777-1859). Historian, and father of the \"Arthur\"\nof \"In Memoriam.\" (Theed.)\n\n35. =Johnson= (Samuel, 1709-1784). More fault has been found with this\ndesign than with any other. Instead of partially draping the colossal\nstatue of the great man of letters in a toga, Bacon might have adopted\nthe more correct taste of Flaxman with Reynolds (No. 17) and\nrepresented him in his Oxford D.C.L. robes. This criticism does not\napply to the execution. (Bacon.)\n\n36. =Bowes= (Major-Gen., d. 1812). Indiscriminate fault-finders may\nwell study this piece of work with fifteen figures. Bowes, storming a\nwall at Salamanca, falls back into the arms of his men. (Chantrey.)\n\n37. =Duncan= (Admiral Adam Viscount Duncan, 1731-1804). Defeated the\nDutch Fleet off Camperdown October 11, 1797. A simple statue, with a\nseaman and wife and child on the pedestal. (R. Westmacott.)\n\n38. =Dundas= (Major-Gen. Thomas, 1750-1794). The inscription sets\nforth that Parliament voted this monument with especial reference to\nservices in the West Indies. Britannia, attended by Sensibility and\nthe Genius of Britain, crowns the bust with a laurel wreath. (John\nBacon, jun.)\n\n39. =Crauford= and =Mackinnon=. Above No. 38. Two Major Generals who\nfell at Ciudad Rodrigo, 1812. The partially draped figure with musket\nand target is that of a Highland soldier, mourning; the other is the\nstereotyped Victory placing a wreath. (J. Bacon, jun.)\n\n\nSOUTH TRANSEPT.\n\n*40. =Nelson= (Vice-Admiral Horatio Viscount Nelson, K.B., and Duke of\nBronte in the Neapolitan peerage, &c., 1758-1805). Completed about\n1818, and placed just east of where the dean's stall now is (then\noutside the choir rails); placed in present position 1870. The actual\nstatue in uniform and with left hand resting on anchor and cable is 7\nfeet 8 inches in height, and the whole monument about 18 feet. Flaxman\nthus described his design:--\"Britannia is directing the young seamen's\nattention to their great example, Lord Nelson. On the die of the\npedestal which supports the hero's statue are figures in\nbasso-relievo, representing the Frozen Ocean, the German Ocean, the\nNile, and the Mediterranean. On the cornice and in the frieze of\nlaurel wreaths are the words, Copenhagen, Nile, Trafalgar. The British\nLion sits on the plinth, guarding the pedestal.\" The life-like\nexpression of the face was probably taken from the portrait by\nLeonardo Guzzardi, in the possession of the family. The cloak conceals\nthe empty sleeve, and the right eye is wanting. (Flaxman.)\n\n   [Illustration: NELSON'S MONUMENT.]\n\n41. =Hardinge= (Captain Geo. N., R.N., 1779-1808). Above Nelson.\nKilled in command of the _San Fiorenzo_ when it captured the much\nlarger _Piemontaise_ after a three days running fight, March 3, 1808,\noff Ceylon. The somewhat indifferently modelled male figure represents\nan East Indian Chief with the British colours. (C. Manning.)\n\n42. =Brock= (Major-Gen. Sir Isaac, d. 1812). Killed at Queenstown,\nUpper Canada. (Westmacott.)\n\n43. =Babington= (William, d. 1833). One of the few medical men.\n(Behnes.)\n\n44. =Hoste= (Captain Sir William, R.N., d. 1831). Statue with simple\nepitaph. (Campbell.)\n\n45. =Jones= (Sir William). A great Orientalist. One of the original\nFour, and of similar design to the Johnson across the dome. The open\nbook on the smaller pedestal has a picture of Noah's Ark. On the\nlarger pedestal, Study and Genius unveil Oriental knowledge. (Bacon.)\n\n46. =Lyons= (Vice-Admiral Edmund Lord Lyons, 1790-1858). Commanded the\nFleet before Sevastapool; also Minister at Athens. (Noble.)\n\n47. =Abercromby= (Sir Ralph, 1736-1801). Defeated the French under\nMenou at Alexandria, mortally wounded, and died on board ship. He is\nfalling from his horse, and a Highland soldier supports him. Large\nsphinxes on plinth. (Westmacott.)\n\n48. =Moore= (Sir John, 1761-1809). Killed at Corunna, and Soult\nerected a humble monument over his grave. A Spanish soldier (why not\nin uniform?) and Victory are laying him in his grave. A child--the\nGenius of Spain--holds a trophy, the arms of Spain behind. Gracefully\nmodelled and well executed. (J. Bacon, jun.)\n\n48A. Tablet commemorating Queen's visit, 1872, for Prince of Wales'\nrecovery.\n\n49. =Cooper= (Sir Astley Paston, 1768-1841). A skilful operator before\nthe days of chloroform. (Bailey.)\n\n50. =Gillespie= (Major-General Robert Rollo, d. 1814). Mortally\nwounded in attempting to storm the fort of Nalapanee, in Nepaul.\n\n51. =Pakenham= and =Gibbs=. The former commanded and the latter was a\nGeneral under him of the force defeated by Jackson at N. Orleans,\n1815. Treaty of peace had been already signed at Ghent. In full\nuniform. (Westmacott.)\n\n*52. =Turner=, Joseph M.W., R.A. (1775-1851). The greatest of English\nlandscape painters, if not of every school. (Macdowell.)\n\n*53. =Collingwood= (Vice-Admiral Cuthbert, Lord, 1750-1810). In\ncommand at Trafalgar after Nelson's death. Died in command of the\nMediterranean Fleet, and the corpse is represented arriving home:\nsupporters Fame and the Thames; alto-relievo on the ship's side\nillustrates the progress of navigation. A fine group. (Westmacott.)\n\n54. =Howe= (Admiral of the Fleet, Richard, Earl Howe, K.G.,\n1726-1799). Defeated the French off Ushant, June 1, 1794. Colossal\nfigure in the correct uniform with garter, collar, and ribbon (over\nright shoulder, should have been left). Boat cloak over left shoulder,\nand telescope in right hand. The female figure with the pen is\nHistory. (Flaxman.)\n\n55. =Jones= (Major-Gen. Sir John, Bart., K.C.B., R.E., 1797-1843).\n(Behnes.)\n\n56. =Ross= (Major-Gen. Robert, d. 1814). Over entrance to crypt.\nDefeated a superior force at Washington, and under orders from home\ndestroyed the public buildings; defeated and killed at Baltimore.\nUndraped male figure is Valour. (J. Kendrick.)\n\n57. =Howard= (John, 1726-1790). Although a Quaker, the first admitted.\nDied at Kherson from the plague he was investigating. In toga, and the\nface expressing benevolence. \"Plan for improvement of prisons\" and\n\"hospitals\" on papers in left hand; \"regulations\" on another at his\nfeet. Trampling on chains and fetters, and the bas-relief on the\npedestal represents him relieving prisoners. Inscription by his\nneighbour--Samuel Whitehead, of Bedford. Liddon's last sermon from the\nadjacent pulpit, April 27, 1890, on the occasion of the Centenary,\nreferred to him. (Bacon.)\n\n58. =Cadogan= (Colonel Henry, d. 1813). Historical design. Mortally\nwounded at Vittoria, he orders his men to place him where he can see\nhis regiment engaged in a successful bayonet charge. (Chantrey.)\n\n59. =Lawrence= (Major-Gen. Sir Henry Montgomery, K.C.B., 1806-1857).\nOne of two famous brothers. Predicted the Mutiny fourteen years before\nit broke out, and died in the defence of Lucknow. (Lough.)\n\n60. =Heathfield= (Gen. Geo. Eliott, Baron, d. 1790). Defender of\nGibraltar, 1779-1783, against the united fleets and armies of France\nand Spain.\n\n61. =Cornwallis= (Gen. Chas., Marquis, K.G., 1739-1805). American\nvisitors, associating him only with the surrender of Yorktown, may\nwonder at this monument. It is fully merited, not so much for the\ndefeat of Tippoo Sahib and conquest of Mysore, as for continuing the\npolicy of Clive and sternly preventing the natives of India from being\nground down by the greed and cruelty of English residents. Twice\nViceroy of India, and died there in harness. Napoleon met him during\nthe negotiations at Amiens, and styled him \"_un bien brave homme_.\" A\npyramidal group. In Garter mantle with insignia (ribbon again over\nwrong shoulder). The male figure represents the river Bagareth (_sic_)\nand holds an emblem of the Ganges. The female figure standing by is\nour Eastern Empire. Perhaps the best of this sculptor. (Rossi.)\n\n   [Illustration: _Photo S.B. Bolas & Co._\n   MONUMENTS OF DR. JOHN DONNE AND BISHOP BLOMFIELD.]\n\n\nCHOIR SOUTH AISLE.\n\nFour are recumbent figures of bishops and dignitaries, and call for no\ncomment beyond the success in giving a life-like expression to the\nfeatures.\n\n*62. =Milman= (Henry Hart, 1791-1868). Dean for nineteen years.\nPastor, poet, historian, and divine. (Williamson.)\n\n*63. =Donne= (John, 1572-1631). A versatile and somewhat eccentric\ndean, 1621-1631. The only monument at all intact that escaped the\nFire. Upright in shroud, and on classical urn. In old church in like\nposition, but on opposite side. Sat for his portrait in his shroud.\n\n64. =Blomfield= (Chas. Jas., 1786-1857). Bishop, 1828-1856. (Geo.\nRichmond.)\n\n65. =Jackson= (John, 1810-1885). Bishop, 1868-1885. (Thos. Woolner.)\n\n66. =Heber= (Reginald, 1783-1826). Second Bishop of Calcutta; died at\nTrichinopoly. Thackeray's \"Good divine, charming poet, beloved parish\npriest.\" Milman's \"Early friend, by the foot of whose statue I pass so\noften, not without emotion, to our services.... None was ever marked\nso strongly for a missionary bishop in the fabled and romantic East.\"\nA kneeling figure, and the best in this aisle. Formerly under the east\nwindow, but now facing the sanctuary. (Chantrey.)\n\n*67. =Liddon= (Henry Parry, 1829-1890). South side of the Apse. We\nfitly close this catalogue with this famous preacher, with the\npossible exception of Henry Melvill the greatest connected with the\ncathedral in modern time. Residentiary for twenty years, and\nChancellor. (Bodley and Garner.)\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAmongst the great sculptors, John Gibson is not represented by any\nwork. Amongst the great men, Wren, his epitaph notwithstanding, might\nwell have a monument with a list of his buildings on the pedestal.\nMarlborough should have one opposite to Wellington; and Colet, surely,\nmight be again remembered, and with him Dean Church.\n\n\nTHE CRYPT.\n\nThe entrance to the staircase is in the ambulatory on the north side\nof the south transept. This basement story, for the whole length and\nbreadth of the building, of which more than one half is taken up by\npiers and pillars, dimly lighted in aisles and transepts from above,\nthough it strikes the spectator most impressively, has an aspect weird\nand sombre to a degree. We feel we are in the company of the dead. The\npavement of the dome area is supported by eight larger and four\nsmaller piers, forming externally a square and internally an octagon;\nand within the octagon eight columns describe a circle of sufficient\ndiameter for Nelson's tomb. The central aisles throughout are likewise\nsupported by double rows of square pillars. At the west end of the\nchoir the piers underneath the chancel arch are exceptionally massive,\nand east of them the introduction of two extra rows of pillars\ntogether with an irregularity in the vaulting indicates, not only\nwhere choir screen and organ were placed, but also that Wren never\nwanted them there to isolate the chancel.\n\n   [Illustration: NELSON'S TOMB.]\n\nThe parish of St. Faith in 1878 consented to the removal of the high\nrailings which marked off their part, and tiles now record the south\nand west boundaries. This reminds us that the crypt has been a burial\nplace for ages past. Many completely unknown lie around us, and sleep\nin the company of more than one great maker of history; but we are\nconcerned only with the few, and with certain monuments of others\nburied elsewhere. At the west is placed Wellington's funeral car, made\nof captured guns, and with his chief victories inscribed in gold, and\nthe candelabra used for the lying in state. Near, and further east,\nare buried Cruikshank, Lord Mayor Nottage (who died during his\nmayoralty in 1886), Bartle Frere and his wife (Lady Frere died 1899,\nand is the last interred at the time of writing this), and Lord Napier\nof Magdala. In the very centre the corpse of NELSON, enclosed\nin wood from a mast of the _Orient_, reposes within the circle of\ncolumns in a plain tomb, and underneath a magnificent black and white\nsarcophagus of the sixteenth century. Let us pause to reflect that\nthis fine work of art, on which Benedetto da Rovanza and his masons\nspent much labour, was intended by Wolsey for his own monument, but\nwas confiscated with the rest of his goods. To this day no one knows\nthe exact spot where the Abbot of Leicester and his monks buried the\ngreat Tudor statesman; and nearly three centuries later the marble\ncovered the coffin of the great admiral. On the top a viscount's\ncoronet takes the place of the disgraced and broken-hearted cardinal's\nhat. Nelson's nephew, Lord Merton of Trafalgar, lies in a vault\nunderneath, and at the sides are Collingwood and the Earl of Northesk,\ntwo companions in arms. A grating here, underneath the centre of the\ndome, allows the light from the lantern to be dimly seen. Further east\nand near the south side were placed in April, 1883, the remains of the\nill-fated Professor Palmer and his two companions, Captain Gill and\nLieutenant Charrington, who were killed by Arabs while on a Government\nmission in the Desert of Sinai. Underneath the chancel arch is the\nsepulchre of Wellington, of Cornish porphyry, plain and unadorned. As\nwith the monument, so here, no attempt is made to enumerate those\ntitles, commands, orders and posts and offices of honour, proclaimed\nby Garter King at Arms, after Dean Milman had committed his body to\nthe ground. The simple inscription, \"Arthur, Duke of Wellington,\" upon\nthe severely simple tomb, depicts, not incorrectly, the life and\ncharacter of the Iron Duke. A neighbouring tomb is that of Picton.\nSome little distance to the east, and in the end recess of the south\nchoir aisle is the grave of WREN. The plain black marble\nslab, which tells who lies below, is only raised some sixteen inches;\nand on the wall of the recess is the original of the famous\ninscription, \"_Lector, si monumentum requiris, circumspice._\" Other\nmembers of the family are close at hand in what we may call Wren's\ncorner. His daughter Jane, his daughter-in-law Maria with her parents\nPhilip and Constantia Masard, and tablets commemorate Dame Jane his\nwife, a daughter of Sir Thomas Coghill, and her great granddaughter\nwho, living to the age of ninety-three, well-nigh connects his time\nwith ours. One of the deans--Newton, Bishop of Bristol, whose monument\nwas not allowed above, slumbers near the great architect; as in\n=Painters' Corner= do Reynolds, West, Lawrence, Leighton (whose fine\ngravestone contrasts so oddly with Wren's), and Millais, all\nPresidents of the Royal Academy, with James Barry, Opie, Dance,\nFuseli, Turner, Landseer, and Boehm. Near here are Mylne and\nCockerell, successors of Wren: Milman lies directly under the altar,\nand Liddon underneath his monument.\n\n   [Illustration: _Photo. S.B. Bolas & Co._\n   CHURCH OF ST. FAITH IN THE CRYPT.]\n\nThe monuments include two removed from the choir to make room for the\norgan. John Cooke, killed in command of the _Bellerophon_\n(Westmacott), and George Duff, killed in command of the _Mars_\n(Bacon), both at Trafalgar. Tablets, busts, or brasses, are in honour\nof Lord Mayo, the Canadian statesman Macdonald, the Australian\nstatesman Dally, the Press correspondents who fell in the Soudan, the\nsoldiers who fell in the Transvaal, Goss, the organist and composer,\nand Bishop Piers Claughton, a residentiary. At the east end, where\nservice is held on a weekday morning at eight, are a few fragments of\nthe old monuments--Nicholas Bacon (in armour and legs missing),\nChristopher Hatton, John Wolley, and others. Some slight carvings of\nthe old buildings are also left.\n\n\nTHE GALLERIES AND LIBRARY.\n\n   [Illustration: _Photo. S.B. Bolas & Co._\n   THE LIBRARY.]\n\nAbove the aisles are long and spacious galleries, and after mounting\nthe staircase to the south-west of the dome, we pass through one of\nthese--that over the south aisle--to the Library over the South-West\nChapel. A gallery is supported by brackets carved by Jonathan Maine,\nand the flooring is of 2,300 pieces of oak, inlaid and without pegs or\nnails. There is a portrait of Bishop Compton, who may be considered the\nfounder; and later donations and bequests include those of Bishop\nSumner of Winchester, Archdeacon Hale, and notably Dr. Sparrow-Simpson.\nAltogether many thousands of MSS. and books. A beautiful \"Avicenna\nCanon Medicinae,\" a psalter supposed to have been used in the old Latin\nservices, and another bought by Dr. Simpson at a second-hand\nbook-stall, are of the fourteenth century. A subscription book for the\nrebuilding contains the following: \"_I will give one thousand pounds a\nyeare whitehall 20 March 1677/8 Charles R._\" These subscriptions never\nfound their way into the fund; and forgetful how readily the Merry\nMonarch's money might have been intercepted _en route_, it has been\nassumed that he never parted with it. In the same book James also\npromises \"_two hundred pounds a yeare to begin from Midsommer day last\npast._\" The printed books include Tyndale's Pentateuch and his New\nTestament; and the Sumner and Hale bequests include large numbers of\ncurious tracts and pamphlets. Richard Jennings' model of the centre of\nthe west front is preserved. In the eighteenth century St. Paul's was a\nfavourite place for weddings, and the registers, with many interesting\nnames, are being edited for the Harleian Society. The Trophy Room above\nthe North-West Chapel contains Wren's model, which was restored when\nSydney Smith was a Canon.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe are quite content to follow Fergusson, and let the architectural\nvalue of New St. Paul's stand or fall with the literary value of\n\"Paradise Lost.\" Just as Addison says of the latter: \"In poetry as in\narchitecture, not only the whole, but the principal members and every\npart of them should be great\"; \"there is an unquestionable\nmagnificence in every part\"; \"a work which does an honour to the\nEnglish nation\": just as Macaulay corroborates by eulogising it as\n\"that extraordinary production which the general suffrage of critics\nhas placed in the highest class of human compositions\"--even so we may\nend here, and describe this unique and marvellous conception of a man\nwho was not a trained architect, who was never known to have travelled\nfurther than Paris and who was incessantly hampered and hindered, as a\nconception, not indeed architecturally faultless, but for all that and\nleaving out the much greater St. Peter's, as the finest church of the\nRenaissance style and epoch, more stable and better adapted for public\nworship than any earlier cathedral in England. To the Renaissance, the\ngenius of Milton contributed an epic in blank verse, the genius of\nWren a second in stone.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[90] Ground-plan of Interior of First Design in Fergusson's \"Modern\nArchitecture,\" p. 260; and in Longman, p. 110, where the scale, though\nnot given, is 1-1/2 inches to the 100 feet.\n\n[91] \"Parentalia,\" p. 290. The Temple of Peace is now known as the\nBasilica of Constantine or Maxentius.\n\n[92] _Fortnightly Review_, October, 1872.\n\n[93] \"Handbook,\" p. 495.\n\n[94] Tract II. in \"Parentalia,\" p. 357. His mathematical\ndemonstrations with their diagrams, wherein he works out the centre of\ngravity, are too technical for insertion. The Tract is incomplete.\n\n[95] \"Parentalia,\" p. 291.\n\n[96] The two others on the west wall represent Melchisedek blessing\nAbraham, and David as a man of war praising God. On the eastern wall\nthe central piece illustrates the texts, \"Righteousness and peace have\nkissed each other\"; \"Young men and maidens, old men and children,\npraise the name of the Lord.\" At the sides the words of Job, \"Unto me\nmen gave ear, and waited, and kept silence at my counsel\"; and of the\nCenturion, \"I also am a man set under authority, having under myself\nsoldiers.\"\n\n[97] Gwilt's \"Edifices of London,\" vol. i., p. 33, quoted by Longman,\np. 178.\n\n[98] Nevertheless it is not correct to say that the massive pillars of\nthe octagon leave the vista along the side aisles unimpaired. I have\nsatisfied myself that there is an interruption similar to St. Paul's.\n\n[99] See the half-section, half elevation, in Fergusson, p. 271, or\nsection p. 90 above.\n\n[100] So far as I can calculate. St. Peter's, according to Fergusson,\nis 333 feet high internally, and the diameter 130 feet, giving a ratio\nof five to two: St. Paul's gives a ratio of two to one. Stephen Wren\ngives the ratios differently in the \"Parentalia.\"\n\n[101] \"Parentalia,\" p. 291.\n\n[102] \"St. Paul's and Old City Life,\" p. 279.\n\n[103] I think it needless to repeat the evidence I gave _in extenso_\nin the _Times_, May 22, 1899. But see the \"Parentalia,\" p. 292, note\n(_a_), and Mr. William Longman's remarks.\n\n[104] I presume that this gave rise to the idea that this particular\nkind of mosaic is only suited for churches of the Byzantine style of\narchitecture, like St. Sophia. Yet these old mosaics are found in\nchurches which are not of this style, although situated at one time in\nthe Eastern Empire.\n\n[105] My sister, Mrs. Curry, saw these mosaics on August 30, 1899, and\nhelped me to bring the account up to date.\n\n[106] I am indebted to Ralph's successor, Archdeacon Thornton, for\nthis information. These \"Psalmi Ascripti\" are found in the\n_Consuetudines_ of Ralph de Baldock. I am ignorant of Newcourt's\nsources of information.\n\n[107] _Registrum Statutorum_, Appendix i.\n\n[108] Longman, p. 112.\n\n[109] Further information may be found in _The Journal of the Society\nof Arts_, June 21, 1895 (Sir W. Richmond); _Magazine of Art_, Nov.,\n1897 (Alfred Lys Baldry); _Sunday Magazine_, Jan. and Feb., 1898\n(Canon Newbolt, who mentions \"A Small Lecture on Mosaic,\" by Sir W.\nRichmond, given at the \"Arts and Crafts\").\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nCONCLUSION (1710-1897)\n\n\nWren's great friend and supporter on the Commission, John Evelyn, was\nlong since dead; and in 1718, thanks to an intrigue, the Surveyor was\ndismissed in favour of an incompetent successor, chiefly famous for\nfiguring in the Dunciad. Fortunately, says his grandson, \"He was\nhappily endued with such an Evenness of Temper, a steady Tranquillity\nof Mind, and Christian Fortitude, that no injurious Incidents or\nInquietudes of human life, could ever ruffle or discompose.\" He\ncontinued for a time superintending at the Abbey, but soon took a\nhouse from the Crown at Hampton, where he could look upon another of\nhis innumerable designs, and from time to time came up to see his\ncathedral, and, as the story goes, was wont to sit under the dome.\nThanks to the regularity and temperance of his habits, for he profited\nby his medical studies, and his happy disposition, he lived five years\nlonger, occupying his leisure with a variety of mathematical and\nscientific studies, and above all \"in the Consolation of the Holy\nScriptures: cheerful in Solitude, and as well pleased to die in the\nShade as in the Light.\" A visit to London brought on a cold he failed\nto shake off. He was accustomed to take a nap after dinner; and on\nFebruary 25, 1723, his servant, thinking he had slept long enough,\nentered the room. The good old man had passed quietly to his\nwell-earned rest. His wife had long pre-deceased him. Steele declared\nthat Wren was absolutely incapable of trumpeting his own fame, \"which\nhas as fatal an effect upon men's reputations as poverty; for as it\nwas said--'the poor man saved the city, and the poor man's labour was\nforgot'; so here we find the modest man built the city, and the\nmodest man's skill was unknown.\"[110] But Wren did not build only for\nthe Commission who dismissed him, but for posterity; and posterity\nmore impartial will yet pronounce that he belongs to the great men of\ntwo centuries ago, and accord him a place beside Marlborough and\nAddison and Newton.\n\nAbout this time Parliament vested the fabric in three trustees--the\nPrimate, the Bishop, and the Lord Mayor. With them rests the\nappointment of the surveyor, the examination and audit of his\naccounts, and in general the charge and maintenance of the\ncathedral.[111] This trust is unique, and has its origin in the large\nsums provided from taxation, whereas the other cathedrals were raised\nby voluntary offerings. The eighteenth century does not call for more\nthan a passing notice. Wren's intentions continued to be delayed or\nfrustrated in at least four important respects. The high railings shut\nout any complete view of the exterior: the dome area, isolated from\nthe choir by the organ, was not used for the very purpose it was\ndesigned: the interior lacked mosaics: no monuments to the great dead\nfilled the recesses ready for them. Reynolds headed a body of artists\nanxious to execute a scheme of adornment not in accordance with the\narchitect's views, and was defeated by Bishop Terrick on grounds other\nthan aesthetic. George III. gave thanks in 1789 for his recovery, and\nagain eight years later for naval victories. On this latter occasion\nNelson attended as one of the representatives of the Fleet; and as his\none remaining eye rested on the Howard monument, did he think that the\ntime was near at hand when he would be brought there, and when another\nmonument would be erected to himself? For at last the cathedral was\nbeing put to its intended use; and the first memorial was accorded to\na self-sacrificing philanthropist, who was not even a member of the\nAnglican communion. Another eight years, and amidst all that was high\nand distinguished, under the very centre of the dome, Dean\nPretyman-Tomline, Bishop of Lincoln, committed to the ground the\nmaimed body of the greatest of our sea captains. \"As a youth,\" says\nDean Milman, \"I was present, and remember the solemn effect of the\nsinking of the coffin. I heard, or fancied that I heard, the low wail\nof the sailors who bore and encircled the remains of their\nadmiral.\"[112] During the short peace before the return from Elba\nWellington carried the sword of state before the Regent at the\nThanksgiving service (July 9, 1814), and Dean Milman was called upon\nto officiate at the funeral of Wellington (November 18, 1852), which\nthe Prince Consort attended, when the length of the procession may be\nestimated from Henry Greville's statement that it took one and\nthree-quarter hours to pass Devonshire House.\n\nThe earlier Parliaments returned by the first Reform Bill brought\nabout sweeping and ill-considered changes, both diocesan and\ncapitular. Essex and the small archdeaconry of St. Alban's were\nseparated from the diocese, and instead of being formed into a new\none, were annexed to Rochester.[113] The capitular changes were\nchiefly the work of one sweeping Act which applied to the Chapters as\na body (3 and 4 Vict. c. 113). The obligation of residence was removed\nfrom the prebends; four new resident canonries were created, and the\nrevenues of the prebends alienated. By this scheme the greater part of\nthe authority was entrusted to the dean and the residentiaries, and\nthe thirty prebends became almost honorary, excepting that the old\nfees had still to be paid on installation. Thirty benefices--sinecures\nmost of them in the modern sense and of large and increasing\nvalue--had become an anomaly and out of date; but were residents,\nofficially non-resident for three-fourths of the year, the happiest\nmethod of reform? What Sydney Smith, one of the last of the old\nresident prebendaries, thought of these changes may be read in his\nlife. A more competent authority on matters capitular than Sydney\nSmith, and like him in other respects an admirer of the first\nVictorian ministry, roundly declared, \"The three months system is a\nmockery and worse\";[114] and as a matter of fact the residentiaries\nprefer to discharge their duties by a more regular attendance. The\npatronage of three of these coveted stalls was reserved to the Crown;\nthe fourth was left to the Bishop; but although the Archdeaconry of\nLondon was annexed to this fourth, one-third of the revenue was\ndeducted for the remaining Archdeaconry of Middlesex. Since then the\nincome of this fourth stall has been raised to the level of the\nothers, and the prebendal stall of Cantlers re-endowed, the occupant\nbeing the diocesan inspector in religious knowledge. The one\nsatisfactory feature in these changes is that the alienated revenues,\nestimated at L150,000, have been put to a good and practical use. By\nyet another change the mediaeval college of the petty canons has been\ndissolved, and the minor canons reduced from twelve to six.\n\nThe best vindication of the new order of things is to look at results.\nIt was left to Dean Milman and his Chapter, originally at the\nsuggestion of Bishop Tait, to endeavour to carry out Wren's designs\nand Wren's ideas. The high exterior railings are gone: the organ\nremoved to its proper position and the organ screen taken away, so\nthat dome and choir are connected for congregational purposes: the\nsystem of decoration by mosaics well advanced. The absolute necessity\nof using the dome was emphasised, not only by the Sunday evening\nservices, but by the appointment of HENRY PARRY LIDDON to a\nresident's stall. Competent judges have asserted that Henry Melvill,\nthough not the greater thinker, was the greater preacher of the two;\nbut Melvill was almost past his best on his appointment in 1856, and\nhe is rather associated with the choir than the dome. Be this as it\nmay, Wren would have been gratified indeed to have seen the favourite\noffspring of his genius filled from arch to arch, and to have listened\nto the clear and melodious high-pitched voice of the great preacher,\nalways articulate, and with an articulation after Wren's own heart\nthat did not drop the last words of the sentences. Wren would have\nbeen further gratified to have seen his dome used, in addition to\nweekday services, three times each Sunday, as he would have been to\nhave worked under those successive Deans--Milman, Mansel, Church,\nGregory--who, in conjunction with their Chapters, have loyally\nendeavoured to put the cathedral to the use he wished from the day he\nfirst began to design his short Greek cross; and finally, he would\nhave been gratified at Gounod's statement that the services are\nrendered to the finest music in the world, and to have seen the free\nfacilities offered to the public for studying his architecture, and\nwould have contrasted the orderly behaviour of the visitors from every\nquarter of the globe with the old-time swashbucklers and rowdies of\nPaul's Walk; and any objection to the lengthening westward would have\nbeen removed, had he lived to have seen his great cathedral filled\nfrom door to door with a congregation of from ten to twelve thousand\nat the special musical services.\n\nThis all too short summary must close by recording that the Queen\nattended the Thanksgiving service in February, 1872 for the recovery\nof the Prince of Wales; and on Queen Victoria's Day, Tuesday, June 22,\n1897, again proceeded in state from Buckingham Palace to St. Paul's,\nwhere a Thanksgiving service was held at the West Front on occasion of\nthe Diamond Jubilee, her Majesty returning by way of London and\nWestminster Bridges.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[110] _Tatler_, No. 52.\n\n[111] Milman, p. 449.\n\n[112] The account in Dugdale (p. 455) from the _London Gazette_ of\nJanuary 18, 1806, fills more than eight folio pages of small print.\n\n[113] A small part of the Surrey side was also in the diocese.\n\n[114] Freeman's \"Wells,\" p. 95.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX A.\n\nBISHOPS AND DEANS.\n\n  * _Archbishop of Canterbury._     # _Archbishop of York._\n\n\nBISHOPS BEFORE THE CONQUEST.\n\n     * * * *\n314. Restitutus\n     * * * *\n604. Mellitus*\n     * * * *\n654. Cedd\n666. Wine\n675. Erkenwald or Ercourvald\n693. Waldhere\n706. Ingwald\n745. Eggwulf\n772. Sighaeh\n774. Eadbert\n789. Eadgar\n791. Coenwalh\n794. Eadbald\n794. Heathobert\n802. Osmund\n811. Aethilnoth\n824. Coelberht\n860. Deorwulf\n860. Swithwulf\n898. Heahstan\n898. Wulfsize\n926. Theodred\n953. Byrrthelm\n959. Dunstan*\n961. Aelstan\n996. Wulfstan\n1004. Aelihun\n1014. Aelfwig\n1035. Aelfward\n1044. Robert\n1051. William the Norman\n\n\nBISHOPS AND DEANS AFTER THE CONQUEST.\n\n--------+-----------------------------+-----------------------------\n        |  BISHOPS.                   |  DEANS.\n--------+-----------------------------+-----------------------------\n1075    | Hugh de Orivalle            |\n1085    | Maurice                     |\n?       |                             | Ulstan\n1108    | Richard de Belmeis Primus   |\n1111    |                             | William\n1128    | Gilbert the Universal       |\n1138    |                             | Ralph de Langford\n1141    | Robert de Sigillo           |\n1152    | Richard de Belmeis Secundus | Hugo de Marny\n1163    | Gilbert Foliot              |\n1181    |                             | Ralph de Diceto\n1189    | Richard de Ely or Fitzneal  |\n1198    | William de S. Maria         |\n1210    |                             | Alardus de Burnham\n1216    |                             | Gervase de Hobrogg\n1218    |                             | Robert de Watford\n1221    | Eustace de Fauconberge      |\n1228    |                             | Martin de Pateshull\n1229    | Roger Niger                 |\n1231    |                             | Galfry de Lucy\n1241    |                             | William de S. Maria\n1242    | Fulk Basset                 |\n1244    |                             | Henry de Cornhill\n1254    |                             | William de Salerne\n1256    |                             | Richard de Barton\n?       |                             | Peter de Newport\n?       |                             | Richard Talbot\n1259    | Henry de Wingham            |\n1263    | Henry de Sandwich           | Galfry de Feringes\n1268    |                             | John de Chishul\n1274    | John de Chishul             | Hervey de Borham\n1276    |                             | Thomas de Inglethorp\n1280    | Richard de Gravesend        |\n1283    |                             | Roger de la Leye\n1285    |                             | William de Montford\n1294    |                             | Ralph de Baldock\n1306    | Ralph de Baldock            | Raymond de la Goth\n1307    |                             | Arnold de Cantilupe\n1313    | Gilbert de Segrave          | John de Sandale\n1314    |                             | Richard de Newport\n1317    | Richard de Newport          | Vitalis Gasco\n1319    | Stephen de Gravesend        |\n1323    |                             | John de Everden\n1336    |                             | Gilbert de Bruera\n1338    | Richard de Bentworth        |\n1340    | Ralph de Stratford          |\n1353    |                             | Richard de Kilmyngton\n1354    | Michael de Northburg        |\n1362    | Simon de Sudbury*           | Walter de Alderbury\n1363    |                             | Thomas Trilleck\n1364    |                             | John de Appleby\n1375    | William Courtenay*          |\n1381    | Robert Braybrooke           |\n1389    |                             | Thomas de Evere\n1400    |                             | Thomas Stow\n1405    | Roger Walden                |\n1406    | Nicholas Bubbewich          | Thomas Moor\n1407    | Richard Clifford            |\n1421    |                             | Reginald Kentwoode\n1422    | John Kempe*#                |\n1426    | William Grey                |\n1431    | Robert Fitz-Hugh            |\n1436    | Robert Gilbert              |\n1441    |                             | Thomas Lisieux\n1450    | Thomas Kempe                |\n1456    |                             | Laurence Booth#\n1457    |                             | William Say\n1468    |                             | Roger Radclyff\n1471    |                             | Thomas Wynterbourne\n1479    |                             | William Worseley\n1489    | Richard Hill                |\n1496    | Thomas Savage#              |\n1499    |                             | Robert Sherbon\n1501    | William Wareham*            |\n1504    | William Barnes              |\n1505    |                             | John Colet\n1506    | Richard Fitz-James          |\n1505-32 |                             | Richard Pace\n1522    | Cuthbert Tunstall           |\n1530    | John Stokesley              |\n1536    |                             | Richard Sampson\n1539    | Edmund Bonner               |\n1540    |                             | John Incent\n1545    |                             | William May\n1550    | Nicholas Ridley             |\n1553    | Edmund Bonner               |\n1554    |                             | John Howman de Feckenham\n1556    |                             | Henry Cole\n1559    | Edmund Grindal*#            | William May\n1560    |                             | Alexander Nowell\n1570    | Edwin Sandys#               |\n1577    | John Aylmer                 |\n1595    | Richard Fletcher            |\n1597    | Richard Bancroft*           |\n1602    |                             | John Overall\n1604    | Richard Vaughan             |\n1607    | Thomas Ravis                |\n1610    | George Abbot*               |\n1611    | John King                   |\n1614    |                             | Valentine Carey\n1621    | George Monteigne#           | John Donne\n1628    | William Laud*               |\n1631-41 |                             | Thomas Winniff\n1633    | William Juxon*              |\n1660    | Gilbert Sheldon*            | Matthew Nicolas\n1661    |                             | John Barwick\n1663    | Humfrey Henchman            |\n1664    |                             | William Sancroft*\n1675    | Henry Compton               |\n1677    |                             | Edward Stillingfleet\n1689    |                             | John Tillotson*\n1691    |                             | William Sherlock\n1707    |                             | Henry Godolphin\n1714    | John Robinson               |\n1723    | Edmund Gibson               |\n1726    |                             | Francis Hare\n1740    |                             | Joseph Butler\n1748    | Thomas Sherlock             |\n1750    |                             | Thomas Secker*\n1758    |                             | John Hume\n1761    | Thomas Hayter               |\n1762    | Richard Osbaldeston         |\n1764    | Richard Terrick             |\n1766    |                             | Frederick Cornwallis*\n1768    |                             | Thomas Newton\n1777    | Robert Lowth                |\n1782    |                             | Thomas Thurlow\n1787    | Beilby Porteous             | George Pretyman-Tomline\n1809    | John Randolph               |\n1813    | William Howley*             |\n1820    |                             | William Van Mildert\n1826    |                             | Charles Richard Sumner\n1827    |                             | Edward Coplestone\n1828    | Chas. Jas. Blomfield        |\n1849    |                             | Henry Hart Milman\n1856    | Archibald Campbell Tait*    |\n1868    |                             | Henry Longueville Mansel\n1869    | John Jackson                |\n1871    |                             | Richard William Church\n1885    | Frederick Temple*           |\n1891    |                             | ROBERT GREGORY\n1896    | MANDELL CREIGHTON           |\n--------+-----------------------------+-----------------------------\n\nAs regards the earlier periods, some of the dates are only\napproximate, and certain names are inserted and others omitted with\nhesitation.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX B.\n\nCOMPARATIVE SIZE OF ST. PAUL'S.\n\n\nAREA IN SQUARE FEET OF SOME OF THE LARGEST CHURCHES.\n\n                      Square Feet\nS. Peter's, Rome         227,000\nMilan                    108,277\nSeville                  100,000(?)\nFlorence                  84,802\n_St. Paul's_              84,311\nCologne                   81,464\nYork                      72,860\nAmiens                    71,208\nAntwerp                   70,000(?)\nSt. Isaac's               68,845\nChartres                  68,261\nRheims                    67,475\nLincoln                   66,900\nWinchester                64,200\nParis, Notre Dame         64,108\nWestminster               61,729\nCanterbury                56,280\n\nThe Basilica of Constantine was 68,000 square feet.\n\nSt. Paul's is not so long as Winchester, Ely, York, and Canterbury.\n\nOld St. Paul's was a trifle less in area than its successor, but\ncounting St. Gregory's and the Chapter House, my estimate from\nDugdale's plan is that it exceeded it. In length it exceeded every\nchurch the dimensions of which I have been able to ascertain, with the\nsolitary exception of the 680 feet of St. Peter's.\n\n\nDIMENSIONS.\n\n                     EXTERIOR.\n\nLENGTH:\n   Nave with Portico                   223 feet.\n   Dome area                           122 feet.\n   Choir                               168 feet.\n                                      ---------\n      Total length                     513 feet.\n\nLength of Transepts                    248 feet.\nBreadth of Nave                        123 feet.\nBreadth of West Front with Chapels     179 feet.\n\nHEIGHT:\n   Summit of balustrade                108 feet.\n   Statue of St. Paul, west front      135 feet.\n   Base of hemisphere                  220 feet.\n   Golden Gallery                      281 feet.\n   Cross (top)                         363 feet.\n   Western Towers                      222 feet.\n\n\n                     INTERIOR.\n\nLength, 460 feet, of which the Nave is a little over 200.\nBreadth (excluding recesses underneath the windows), about 100 feet.\nLength of Transepts, 240 feet.\nHeight of Central Vaulting, 89 feet.\nHeight of Whispering Gallery about 100 feet, and same diameter.\nOpening at apex of Dome, about 215 feet.\nArea, 59,700 square feet.\n\n\n\nCHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.\nTOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.\n\n   [Illustration: GROUND PLAN of ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL showing the\n   position of the Monuments.]\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n    | Typographical error corrected in text:                    |\n    |                                                           |\n    | Page 86: colonade replaced with colonnade                 |\n    |                                                           |\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\n\n                               The Life Of\n\n                         William Ewart Gladstone\n\n                                    By\n\n                               John Morley\n\n                        In Three Volumes--Vol. III.\n\n                               (1890-1898)\n\n                                 Toronto\n\n                   George N. Morang & Company, Limited\n\n                             Copyright, 1903\n\n                         By The Macmillan Company\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nBook VIII. 1880-1885\n   Chapter I. Opening Days Of The New Parliament. (1880)\n   Chapter II. An Episode In Toleration. (1880-1883)\n   Chapter III. Majuba. (1880-1881)\n   Chapter IV. New Phases Of The Irish Revolution. (1880-1882)\n   Chapter V. Egypt. (1881-1882)\n   Chapter VI. Political Jubilee. (1882-1883)\n   Chapter VII. Colleagues--Northern Cruise--Egypt. (1883)\n   Chapter VIII. Reform. (1884)\n   Chapter IX. The Soudan. (1884-1885)\n   Chapter X. Interior Of The Cabinet. (1895)\n   Chapter XI. Defeat Of Ministers. (May-June 1885)\n   Chapter XII. Accession Of Lord Salisbury. (1885)\nBook IX. 1885-1886\n   Chapter I. Leadership And The General Election. (1885)\n   Chapter II. The Polls In 1885. (1885)\n   Chapter III. A Critical Month (December 1885)\n   Chapter IV. Fall Of The First Salisbury Government. (January 1886)\n   Chapter  V. The New Policy. (1886)\n   Chapter VI. Introduction Of The Bill. (1886)\n   Chapter VII. The Political Atmosphere. Defeat Of The Bill. (1886)\nBook X. 1886-1892\n   Chapter I. The Morrow Of Defeat. (1886-1887)\n   Chapter II. The Alternative Policy In Act. (1886-1888)\n   Chapter III. The Special Commission. (1887-1890)\n   Chapter IV. An Interim. (1889-1891)\n   Chapter V. Breach With Mr. Parnell. (1890-1891)\n   Chapter VI. Biarritz. (1891-1892)\n   Chapter VII. The Fourth Administration. (1892-1894)\n   Chapter VIII. Retirement From Public Life. (1894)\n   Chapter IX. The Close. (1894-1898)\n   Chapter X. Final.\nAppendix\n   Irish Local Government, 1883. (Page 103)\n   General Gordon's Instructions. (Page 153)\n   The Military Position In The Soudan, April 1885. (Page 179)\n   Home Rule Bill, 1886. (Page 308)\n   On The Place Of Italy. (Page 415)\n   The Naval Estimates Of 1894.\n   Mr. Gladstone's Cabinet Colleagues. (Page 525)\nChronology\nFootnotes\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VIII. 1880-1885\n\n\n\n\nChapter I. Opening Days Of The New Parliament. (1880)\n\n\n    Il y a bien du factice dans le classement politique des hommes.\n                                                    --GUIZOT.\n\n    There is plenty of what is purely artificial in the political\n    classification of men.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nOn May 20, after eight-and-forty years of strenuous public life, Mr.\nGladstone met his twelfth parliament, and the second in which he had been\nchief minister of the crown. \"At 4.15,\" he records, \"I went down to the\nHouse with Herbert. There was a great and fervent crowd in Palace Yard,\nand much feeling in the House. It almost overpowered me, as I thought by\nwhat deep and hidden agencies I have been brought back into the midst of\nthe vortex of political action and contention. It has not been in my power\nduring these last six months to have made notes, as I would have wished,\nof my own thoughts and observations from time to time; of the new access\nof strength which in some important respects has been administered to me\nin my old age; and of the remarkable manner in which Holy Scripture has\nbeen applied to me for admonition and for comfort. Looking calmly on this\ncourse of experience, I do believe that the Almighty has employed me for\nHis purposes in a manner larger or more special than before, and has\nstrengthened me and led me on accordingly, though I must not forget the\nadmirable saying of Hooker, that even ministers of good things are like\ntorches, a light to others, waste and destruction to themselves.\"\n\nOne who approached his task in such a spirit as this was at least\nimpregnable to ordinary mortifications, and it was well; for before many\ndays were over it became perceptible that the new parliament and the new\nmajority would be no docile instrument of ministerial will. An acute chill\nfollowed the discovery that there was to be no recall of Frere or Layard.\nVery early in its history Speaker Brand, surveying his flock from the\naugust altitude of the Chair with an acute, experienced, and friendly eye,\nmade up his mind that the liberal party were \"not only strong, but\ndetermined to have their own way in spite of Mr. Gladstone. He has a\ndifficult team to drive.\" Two men of striking character on the benches\nopposite quickly became formidable. Lord Randolph Churchill headed a\nlittle group of four tories, and Mr. Parnell a resolute band of five and\nthirty Irishmen, with momentous results both for ministers and for the\nHouse of Commons.\n\nNo more capable set of ruling men were ever got together than the cabinet\nof 1880; no men who better represented the leading elements in the\ncountry, in all their variety and strength. The great possessors of land\nwere there, and the heirs of long governing tradition were there; the\nindustrious and the sedate of the middle classes found their men seated at\nthe council board, by the side of others whose keen-sighted ambition\nsought sources of power in the ranks of manual toil; the church saw one of\nthe most ardent of her sons upon the woolsack, and the most illustrious of\nthem in the highest place of all; the people of the chapel beheld with\ncomplacency the rising man of the future in one who publicly boasted an\nunbroken line of nonconformist descent. They were all men well trained in\nthe habits of business, of large affairs, and in experience of English\nlife; they were all in spite of difference of shade genuinely liberal; and\nthey all professed a devoted loyalty to their chief. The incident of the\nresolutions on the eastern question(1) was effaced from all (M1) memories,\nand men who in those days had assured themselves that there was no return\nfrom Elba, became faithful marshals of the conquering hero. Mediocrity in\na long-lived cabinet in the earlier part of the century was the object of\nDisraeli's keenest mockery. Still a slight ballast of mediocrity in a\ngovernment steadies the ship and makes for unity--a truth, by the way, that\nMr. Disraeli himself, in forming governments, sometimes conspicuously put\nin practice.\n\nIn fact Mr. Gladstone found that the ministry of which he stood at the\nhead was a coalition, and what was more, a coalition of that vexatious\nkind, where those who happened not to agree sometimes seemed to be almost\nas well pleased with contention as with harmony. The two sections were not\nalways divided by differences of class or station, for some of the peers\nin the cabinet often showed as bold a liberalism as any of the commoners.\nThis notwithstanding, it happened on more than one critical occasion, that\nall the peers _plus_ Lord Hartington were on one side, and all the\ncommoners on the other. Lord Hartington was in many respects the lineal\nsuccessor of Palmerston in his coolness on parliamentary reform, in his\ninclination to stand in the old ways, in his extreme suspicion of what\nsavoured of sentiment or idealism or high-flown profession. But he was a\nPalmerston who respected Mr. Gladstone, and desired to work faithfully\nunder him, instead of being a Palmerston who always intended to keep the\nupper hand of him. Confronting Lord Hartington was Mr. Chamberlain, eager,\nintrepid, self-reliant, alert, daring, with notions about property,\ntaxation, land, schools, popular rights, that he expressed with a\nplainness and pungency of speech that had never been heard from a privy\ncouncillor and cabinet minister before, that exasperated opponents,\nstartled the whigs, and brought him hosts of adherents among radicals out\nof doors. It was at a very early stage in the existence of the government,\nthat this important man said to an ally in the cabinet, \"I don't see how\nwe are to get on, if Mr. Gladstone goes.\" And here was the key to many\nleading incidents, both during the life of this administration and for the\neventful year in Mr. Gladstone's career that followed its demise.\n\nThe Duke of Argyll, who resigned very early, wrote to Mr. Gladstone after\nthe government was overthrown (Dec. 18, 1885), urging him in effect to\nside definitely with the whigs against the radicals:--\n\n\n    From the moment our government was fairly under way, I saw and\n    felt that speeches _outside_ were allowed to affect opinion, and\n    politically to commit the cabinet in a direction which was not\n    determined by you deliberately, or by the government as a whole,\n    but by the audacity ... of our new associates. Month by month I\n    became more and more uncomfortable, feeling that there was no\n    paramount direction--nothing but _slip_ and _slide_, what the\n    Scotch call \"slithering.\" The outside world, knowing your great\n    gifts and powers, assume that you are dictator in your own\n    cabinet. And in one sense you are so, that is to say, that when\n    you choose to put your foot down, others will give way. But your\n    amiability to colleagues, your even extreme gentleness towards\n    them, whilst it has always endeared you to them personally, has\n    enabled men playing their own game ... to take out of your hands\n    the _formation_ of opinion.\n\n\nOn a connected aspect of the same thing, Mr. Gladstone wrote to Lord\nRosebery (Sept. 16, 1880):--\n\n\n    ... All this is too long to bore people with--and yet it is not so\n    long, nor so interesting, as one at least of the subjects which we\n    just touched in conversation at Mentmore; the future of politics,\n    and the food they offer to the mind. What is outside parliament\n    seems to me to be fast mounting, nay to have already mounted, to\n    an importance much exceeding what is inside. Parliament deals with\n    laws, and branches of the social tree, not with the root. I always\n    admired Mrs. Grote's saying that politics and theology were the\n    only two really great subjects; it was wonderful considering the\n    atmosphere in which she had lived. I do not doubt which of the two\n    she would have put in the first place; and to theology I have no\n    doubt she would have given a wide sense, as including everything\n    that touches the relation between the seen and the unseen.\n\n\nWhat is curious to note is that, though Mr. Gladstone in making his\ncabinet had thrown the main weight against (M2) the radicals, yet when\nthey got to work, it was with them he found himself more often than not in\nenergetic agreement. In common talk and in partisan speeches, the prime\nminister was regarded as dictatorial and imperious. The complaint of some\nat least among his colleagues in the cabinet of 1880 was rather that he\nwas not imperious enough. Almost from the first he too frequently allowed\nhimself to be over-ruled; often in secondary matters, it is true, but\nsometimes also in matters on the uncertain frontier between secondary and\nprimary. Then he adopted a practice of taking votes and counting numbers,\nof which more than one old hand complained as an innovation. Lord\nGranville said to him in 1886, \"I think you too often counted noses in\nyour last cabinet.\"\n\nWhat Mr. Gladstone described as the severest fight that he had ever known\nin any cabinet occurred in 1883, upon the removal of the Duke of\nWellington's statue from Hyde Park Corner. A vote took place, and three\ntimes over he took down the names. He was against removal, but was unable\nto have his own way over the majority. Members of the government thought\nthemselves curiously free to walk out from divisions. On a Transvaal\ndivision two members of the cabinet abstained, and so did two other\nministers out of the cabinet. In other cases, the same thing happened, not\nonly breaking discipline, but breeding much trouble with the Queen. Then\nan unusual number of men of ability and of a degree of self-esteem not\nbelow their ability, had been left out of the inner circle; and they and\ntheir backers were sometimes apt to bring their pretensions rather\nfretfully forward. These were the things that to Mr. Gladstone's\ntemperament proved more harassing than graver concerns.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nAll through the first two months of its business, the House showed signs\nof independence that almost broke the spirit of the ministerial whips. A\nbill about hares and rabbits produced lively excitement, ministerialists\nmoved amendments upon the measure of their own leaders, and the minister\nin charge boldly taxed the mutineers with insincerity. A motion for local\noption was carried by 229 to 203, both Mr. Gladstone and Lord Hartington\nin the minority. On a motion about clerical restrictions, only a strong\nand conciliatory appeal from the prime minister averted defeat. A more\nremarkable demonstration soon followed. The Prince Imperial, unfortunate\nson of unfortunate sire, who had undergone his famous baptism of fire in\nthe first reverses among the Vosges in the Franco-German war of 1870, was\nkilled in our war in Zululand. Parliament was asked to sanction a vote of\nmoney for a memorial of him in the Abbey. A radical member brought forward\na motion against it. Both Mr. Gladstone and Sir Stafford Northcote\nresisted him, yet by a considerable majority the radical carried his\npoint. The feeling was so strong among the ministerialists, that\nnotwithstanding Mr. Gladstone's earnest exhortation, they voted almost to\na man against him, and he only carried into the lobby ten official votes\non the treasury bench.\n\nThe great case in which the government were taken to have missed the\nimport of the election was the failure to recall Sir Bartle Frere from\nSouth Africa. Of this I shall have enough to say by and by. Meanwhile it\ngave an undoubted shock to the confidence of the party, and their\nenergetic remonstrance on this head strained Mr. Gladstone's authority to\nthe uttermost. The Queen complained of the tendency of the House of\nCommons to trench upon the business of the executive. Mr. Gladstone said\nin reply generally, that no doubt within the half century \"there had been\nconsiderable invasion by the House of Commons of the province assigned by\nthe constitution to the executive,\" but he perceived no increase in recent\ntimes or in the present House. Then he proceeded (June 8, 1880):--\n\n\n    ... Your Majesty may possibly have in view the pressure which has\n    been exercised on the present government in the case of Sir Bartle\n    Frere. But apart from the fact that this pressure represents a\n    feeling which extends far beyond the walls of parliament, your\n    Majesty may probably remember that, in the early part of 1835, the\n    House of Commons addressed the crown against the appointment of\n    Lord Londonderry to be ambassador at St. Petersburg, on (M3)\n    account, if Mr. Gladstone remembers rightly, of a general\n    antecedent disapproval. This was an exercise of power going far\n    beyond what has happened now; nor does it seem easy in principle\n    to place the conduct of Sir B. Frere beyond that general right of\n    challenge and censure which is unquestionably within the function\n    of parliament and especially of the House of Commons.\n\n\nIn the field where mastery had never failed him, Mr. Gladstone achieved an\nearly success, and he lost no time in justifying his assumption of the\nexchequer. The budget (June 10) was marked by the boldness of former days,\nand was explained and defended in one of those statements of which he\nalone possessed the secret. Even unfriendly witnesses agreed that it was\nmany years since the House of Commons had the opportunity of enjoying so\nextraordinary an intellectual treat, where \"novelties assumed the air of\nindisputable truths, and complicated figures were woven into the thread of\nintelligible and animated narrative.\" He converted the malt tax into a\nbeer duty, reduced the duties on light foreign wines, added a penny to the\nincome tax, and adjusted the licence duties for the sale of alcoholic\nliquors. Everybody said that \"none but a _cordon bleu_ could have made\nsuch a sauce with so few materials.\" The dish was excellently received,\nand the ministerial party were in high spirits. The conservatives stood\nangry and amazed that their own leaders had found no device for the repeal\nof the malt duty. The farmer's friends, they cried, had been in office for\nsix years and had done nothing; no sooner is Gladstone at the exchequer\nthan with magic wand he effects a transformation, and the long-suffering\nagriculturist has justice and relief.\n\nIn the course of an effort that seemed to show full vigour of body and\nmind, Mr. Gladstone incidentally mentioned that when a new member he\nrecollected hearing a speech upon the malt tax in the old House of Commons\nin the year 1833. Yet the lapse of nearly half a century of life in that\ngreat arena had not relaxed his stringent sense of parliamentary duty.\nDuring most of the course of this first session, he was always early in\nhis place and always left late. In every discussion he came to the front,\nand though an under-secretary made the official reply, it was the prime\nminister who wound up. One night he made no fewer than six speeches,\ntouching all the questions raised in a miscellaneous night's sitting.\n\nIn the middle of the summer Mr. Gladstone fell ill. Consternation reigned\nin London. It even exceeded the dismay caused by the defeat at Maiwand. A\nfriend went to see him as he lay in bed. \"He talked most of the time, not\non politics, but on Shakespeare's Henry viii., and the decay of\ntheological study at Oxford. He never intended his reform measure to\nproduce this result.\" After his recovery, he went for a cruise in the\n_Grantully Castle_, not returning to parliament until September 4, three\ndays before the session ended, when he spoke with all his force on the\neastern question.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nIn the electoral campaign Mr. Gladstone had used expressions about Austria\nthat gave some offence at Vienna. On coming into power he volunteered an\nassurance to the Austrian ambassador that he would willingly withdraw his\nlanguage if he understood that he had misapprehended the circumstances.\nThe ambassador said that Austria meant strictly to observe the treaty of\nBerlin. Mr. Gladstone then expressed his regret for the words \"of a\npainful and wounding character\" that had fallen from him. At the time, he\nexplained, he was \"in a position of greater freedom and less\nresponsibility.\"\n\nAt the close of the session of 1880, ministers went to work upon the\nunfulfilled portions of the Berlin treaty relating to Greece and\nMontenegro. Those stipulations were positive in the case of Montenegro; as\nto Greece they were less definite, but they absolutely implied a cession\nof more or less territory by Turkey. They formed the basis of Lord\nSalisbury's correspondence, but his arguments and representations were\nwithout effect.\n\nMr. Gladstone and his colleagues went further. They proposed and obtained\na demonstration off the Albanian coast on behalf of Montenegro. Each great\nPower sent a man-of-war, but the concert of Europe instantly became what\n(M4) Mr. Gladstone called a farce, for Austria and Germany made known that\nunder no circumstances would they fire a shot. France rather less\nprominently took the same course. This defection, which was almost\nboastful on the part of Austria and Germany, convinced the British cabinet\nthat Turkish obduracy would only be overcome by force, and the question\nwas how to apply force effectually with the least risk to peace. As it\nhappened, the port of Smyrna received an amount of customs' duties too\nconsiderable for the Porte to spare it. The idea was that the united fleet\nat Cattaro should straightway sail to Smyrna and lay hold upon it. The\ncabinet, with experts from the two fighting departments, weighed carefully\nall the military responsibilities, and considered the sequestration of the\ncustoms' dues at Smyrna to be practicable. Russia and Italy were friendly.\nFrance had in a certain way assumed special cognisance of the Greek case,\nbut did nothing particular. From Austria and Germany nothing was to be\nhoped. On October 4, the Sultan refused the joint European request for the\nfulfilment of the engagements entered into at Berlin. This refusal was\ndespatched in ignorance of the intention to coerce. The British government\nhad only resolved upon coercion in concert with Europe. Full concert was\nnow out of the question. But on the morning of Sunday, the 10th, Mr.\nGladstone and Lord Granville learned with as much surprise as delight from\nMr. Goschen, then ambassador extraordinary at Constantinople, that the\nSultan had heard of the British proposal of force, and apparently had not\nheard of the two refusals. On learning how far England had gone, he\ndetermined to give way on both the territorial questions. As Mr. Gladstone\nenters in his diary, \"a faint tinge of doubt remained.\" That is to say,\nthe Sultan might find out the rift in the concert and retract. Russia,\nhowever, had actually agreed to force. On Tuesday, the 12th, Mr.\nGladstone, meeting Lord Granville and another colleague, was \"under the\ncircumstances prepared to proceed _en trois_.\" The other two \"rather\ndiffered.\" Of course it would have been for the whole cabinet to decide.\nBut between eleven and twelve Lord Granville came in with the news that\nthe note had arrived and all was well. \"The whole of this extraordinary\nvolte-face,\" as Mr. Gladstone said with some complacency, \"had been\neffected within six days; and it was entirely due not to a threat of\ncoercion from Europe, but to the knowledge that Great Britain had asked\nEurope to coerce.\" Dulcigno was ceded by the Porte to Montenegro. On the\nGreek side of the case, the minister for once was less ardent than for the\ncomplete triumph of his heroic Montenegrins, but after tedious\nnegotiations Mr. Gladstone had the satisfaction of seeing an important\nrectification of the Greek frontier, almost restoring his Homeric Greece.\nThe eastern question looked as if it might fall into one of its fitful\nslumbers once more, but we shall soon see that this was illusory. Mr.\nGoschen left Constantinople in May, and the prime minister said to him\n(June 3, 1881):--\n\n\n    I write principally for the purpose of offering you my hearty\n    congratulations on the place you have taken in diplomacy by force\n    of mind and character, and on the services which, in thus far\n    serving the most honourable aims a man can have, you have rendered\n    to liberty and humanity.\n\n\nOnly in Afghanistan was there a direct reversal of the policy of the\nfallen government. The new cabinet were not long in deciding on a return\nto the older policy in respect of the north-west frontier of India. All\nthat had happened since it had been abandoned, strengthened the case\nagainst the new departure. The policy that had been pursued amid so many\nlamentable and untoward circumstances, including the destruction of a very\ngallant agent of England at Cabul, had involved the incorporation of\nCandahar within the sphere of the Indian system. Mr. Gladstone and his\ncabinet determined on the evacuation of Candahar. The decision was made\npublic in the royal speech of the following January (1881). Lord\nHartington stated the case of the government with masterly and crushing\nforce, in a speech,(2) which is no less than a strong text-book of the\nwhole argument, if any reader should now desire to comprehend it. The\nevacuation was censured in the Lords by 165 against 79; in the Commons\nministers carried the day by a majority of 120.\n\n\n\n\nChapter II. An Episode In Toleration. (1880-1883)\n\n\n    The state, in choosing men to serve it, takes no notice of their\n    opinions; if they be willing faithfully to serve it, that\n    satisfies. ... Take heed of being sharp, or too easily sharpened\n    by others, against those to whom you can object little but that\n    they square not with you in every opinion concerning matters of\n    religion.\n\n    --OLIVER CROMWELL.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nOne discordant refrain rang hoarsely throughout the five years of this\nadministration, and its first notes were heard even before Mr. Gladstone\nhad taken his seat. It drew him into a controversy that was probably more\ndistasteful to him than any other of the myriad contentions, small and\ngreat, with which his life was encumbered. Whether or not he threaded his\nway with his usual skill through a labyrinth of parliamentary tactics\nincomparably intricate, experts may dispute, but in an ordeal beyond the\nregion of tactics he never swerved from the path alike of liberty and\ncommon-sense. It was a question of exacting the oath of allegiance before\na member could take his seat.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh, the new member for Northampton, who now forced the question\nforward, as O'Connell had forced forward the civil equality of catholics,\nand Rothschild and others the civil equality of Jews, was a free-thinker\nof a daring and defiant type. Blank negation could go no further. He had\nabundant and genuine public spirit, and a strong love of truth according\nto his own lights, and he was both a brave and a disinterested man. This\nhard-grit secularism of his was not the worst of his offences in the view\nof the new majority and their constituents. He had published an\nimpeachment of the House of Brunswick, which few members of parliament had\never heard of or looked at. But even abstract republicanism was not the\nworst. What placed him at extreme disadvantage in fighting the battle in\nwhich he was now engaged, was his republication of a pamphlet by an\nAmerican doctor on that impracticable question of population, which though\ntoo rigorously excluded from public discussion, confessedly lies among the\nroots of most other social questions. For this he had some years before\nbeen indicted in the courts, and had only escaped conviction and\npunishment by a technicality. It was Mr. Bradlaugh's refusal to take the\noath in a court of justice that led to the law of 1869, enabling a witness\nto affirm instead of swearing. He now carried the principle a step\nfurther.\n\nWhen the time came, the Speaker (April 29) received a letter from the\niconoclast, claiming to make an affirmation, instead of taking the oath of\nallegiance.(3) He consulted his legal advisers, and they gave an opinion\nstrongly adverse to the claim. On this the Speaker wrote to Mr. Gladstone\nand to Sir Stafford Northcote, stating his concurrence in the opinion of\nthe lawyers, and telling them that he should leave the question to the\nHouse. His practical suggestion was that on his statement being made, a\nmotion should be proposed for a select committee. The committee was duly\nappointed, and it reported by a majority of one, against a minority that\ncontained names so weighty as Sir Henry James, Herschell, Whitbread, and\nBright, that the claim to affirm was not a good claim. So opened a series\nof incidents that went on as long as the parliament, clouded the radiance\nof the party triumph, threw the new government at once into a minority,\ndimmed the ascendency of the great minister, and what was more, showed\nhuman nature at its worst. The incidents themselves are in detail not\nworth recalling here, but they are a striking episode in the history of\ntoleration, as well as a landmark in Mr. Gladstone's journey from the day\nfive-and-forty years before when, in (M5) reference to Molesworth as\ncandidate for Leeds, he had told his friends at Newark that men who had no\nbelief in divine revelation were not the men to govern this nation whether\nthey be whigs or radicals.(4)\n\nHis claim to affirm having been rejected, Bradlaugh next desired to swear.\nThe ministerial whip reported that the feeling against him in the House\nwas uncontrollable. The Speaker held a council in his library with Mr.\nGladstone, the law officers, the whip, and two or three other persons of\nauthority and sense. He told them that if Bradlaugh had in the first\ninstance come to take the oath, he should have allowed no intervention,\nbut that the case was altered by the claimant's open declaration that an\noath was not binding on his conscience. A hostile motion was expected when\nBradlaugh came to the table to be sworn, and the Speaker suggested that it\nshould be met by the previous question, to be moved by Mr. Gladstone. Then\nthe whip broke in with the assurance that the usual supporters of the\ngovernment could not be relied upon. The Speaker went upstairs to dress,\nand on his return found that they had agreed on moving another select\ncommittee. He told them that he thought this a weak course, but if the\nprevious question would be defeated, perhaps a committee could not be\nhelped. Bradlaugh came to the table, and the hostile motion was made. Mr.\nGladstone proposed his committee, and carried it by a good majority\nagainst the motion that Bradlaugh, being without religious belief, could\nnot take an oath. The debate was warm, and the attacks on Bradlaugh were\noften gross. The Speaker honourably pointed out that such attacks on an\nelected member whose absence was enforced by their own order, were unfair\nand unbecoming, but the feelings of the House were too strong for him and\ntoo strong for chivalry. The opposition turned affairs to ignoble party\naccount, and were not ashamed in their prints and elsewhere to level the\ncharge of \"open patronage of unbelief and Malthusianism, Bradlaugh and\nBlasphemy,\" against a government that contained Gladstone, Bright, and\nSelborne, three of the most conspicuously devout men to be found in all\nEngland. One expression of faith used by a leader in the attack on\nBradlaugh lived in Mr. Gladstone's memory to the end of his days. \"You\nknow, Mr. Speaker,\" cried the champion of orthodox creeds, \"we all of us\nbelieve in a God of some sort or another.\" That a man should consent to\nclothe the naked human soul in this truly singular and scanty remnant of\nspiritual apparel, was held to be the unalterable condition of fitness for\na seat in parliament and the company of decent people. Well might Mr.\nGladstone point out how vast a disparagement of Christianity, and of\northodox theism also, was here involved:--\n\n\n    They say this, that you may go any length you please in the denial\n    of religion, provided only you do not reject the name of the\n    Deity. They tear religion into shreds, so to speak, and say that\n    there is one particular shred with which nothing will ever induce\n    them to part. They divide religion into the dispensable and the\n    indispensable, and among that kind which can be dispensed with--I\n    am not now speaking of those who declare, or are admitted, under a\n    special law, I am not speaking of Jews or those who make a\n    declaration, I am speaking solely of those for whom no provision\n    is made except the provision of oath--they divide, I say, religion\n    into what can and what cannot be dispensed with. There is\n    something, however, that cannot be dispensed with. I am not\n    willing, Sir, that Christianity, if the appeal is made to us as a\n    Christian legislature, shall stand in any rank lower than that\n    which is indispensable. I may illustrate what I mean. Suppose a\n    commander has to despatch a small body of men on an expedition on\n    which it is necessary for them to carry on their backs all that\n    they can take with them; the men will part with everything that is\n    unnecessary, and take only that which is essential. That is the\n    course you ask us to take in drawing us upon theological ground;\n    you require us to distinguish between superfluities and\n    necessaries, and you tell us that Christianity is one of the\n    superfluities, one of the excrescences, and has nothing to do with\n    the vital substance, the name of the Deity, which is\n    indispensable. I say that the adoption of such a proposition as\n    that, which is in reality at the very root of your contention, is\n    disparaging in the very highest degree to the Christian\n    faith....(5)\n\n\n(M6) Even viewed as a theistic test, he contended, this oath embraced no\nacknowledgment of Providence, of divine government, of responsibility, or\nretribution; it involved nothing but a bare and abstract admission, a form\nvoid of all practical meaning and concern.\n\nThe House, however, speedily showed how inaccessible were most of its\nmembers to reason and argument of this kind or any kind. On June 21, Mr.\nGladstone thus described the proceedings to the Queen. \"With the renewal\nof the discussion,\" he wrote, \"the temper of the House does not improve,\nboth excitement and suspicion appearing to prevail in different quarters.\"\nA motion made by Mr. Bradlaugh's colleague that he should be permitted to\naffirm, was met by a motion that he should not be allowed either to affirm\nor to swear.\n\n\n    _To the Queen._\n\n    Many warm speeches were made by the opposition in the name of\n    religion; to those Mr. Bright has warmly replied in the name of\n    religious liberty. The contention on the other side really is that\n    as to a certain ill-defined fragment of truth the House is still,\n    under the Oaths Act, the guardian of religion. The primary\n    question, whether the House has jurisdiction under the statute, is\n    almost hopelessly mixed with the question whether an atheist, who\n    has declared himself an atheist, ought to sit in parliament. Mr.\n    Gladstone's own view is that the House has no jurisdiction for the\n    purpose of excluding any one willing to qualify when he has been\n    duly elected; but he is very uncertain how the House will vote or\n    what will be the end of the business, if the House undertakes the\n    business of exclusion.\n\n    _June 22._--The House of Commons has been occupied from the\n    commencement of the evening until a late hour with the adjourned\n    debate on the case of Mr. Bradlaugh. The divided state of opinion\n    in the House made itself manifest throughout the evening. Mr.\n    Newdegate made a speech which turned almost wholly upon the\n    respective merits of theism and atheism. Mr. Gladstone thought it\n    his duty to advise the House to beware of entangling itself in\n    difficulties possibly of a serious character, by assuming a\n    jurisdiction in cases of this class.\n\n    At one o'clock in the morning, the first great division was taken,\n    and the House resolved by 275 votes against 230 that Mr. Bradlaugh\n    should neither affirm nor swear. The excitement at this result was\n    tremendous. Some minutes elapsed before the Speaker could declare\n    the numbers. \"Indeed,\" wrote Mr. Gladstone to the Queen, \"it was\n    an ecstatic transport, and exceeded anything which Mr. Gladstone\n    remembers to have witnessed. He read in it only a witness to the\n    dangers of the course on which the House has entered, and to its\n    unfitness for the office which it has rashly chosen to assume.\" He\n    might also have read in it, if he had liked, the exquisite delight\n    of the first stroke of revenge for Midlothian.\n\n\nThe next day (June 23) the matter entered on a more violent phase.\n\n\n    _To the Queen._\n\n    This day, when the Speaker took the chair at a quarter past\n    twelve, Mr. Bradlaugh came to the table and claimed to take the\n    oath. The Speaker read to him the resolution of the House which\n    forbids it. Mr. Bradlaugh asked to be heard, and no objection was\n    taken. He then addressed the House from the bar. His address was\n    that of a consummate speaker. But it was an address which could\n    not have any effect unless the House had undergone a complete\n    revolution of mind. He challenged the legality of the act of the\n    House, expressing hereby an opinion in which Mr. Gladstone\n    himself, going beyond some other members of the minority, has the\n    misfortune to lean towards agreeing with him.... The Speaker now\n    again announced to Mr. Bradlaugh the resolution of the House. Only\n    a small minority voted against enforcing it. Mr. Bradlaugh\n    declining to withdraw, was removed by the serjeant-at-arms. Having\n    suffered this removal, he again came beyond the bar, and entered\n    into what was almost a corporal struggle with the serjeant.\n    Hereupon Sir S. Northcote moved that Mr. Bradlaugh be committed\n    for his offence. Mr. Gladstone said that while he thought it did\n    not belong to him, under the circumstances of the case, to advise\n    the House, he could take no objection to the advice thus given.\n\n\nThe Speaker, it may be said, thought this view of (M7) Mr. Gladstone's a\nmistake, and that when Bradlaugh refused to withdraw, the leader of the\nHouse ought, as a matter of policy, to have been the person to move first\nthe order to withdraw, next the committal to the custody of the\nserjeant-at-arms. \"I was placed in a false position,\" says the Speaker,\n\"and so was the House, in having to follow the lead of the leader of the\nopposition, while the leader of the House and the great majority were\npassive spectators.\"(6) As Mr. Gladstone and other members of the\ngovernment voted for Bradlaugh's committal, on the ground that his\nresistance to the serjeant had nothing to do with the establishment of his\nrights before either a court or his constituency, it would seem that the\nSpeaker's complaint is not unjust. To this position, however, Mr.\nGladstone adhered, in entire conformity apparently to the wishes of the\nkeenest members of his cabinet and the leading men of his party.\n\nThe Speaker wrote to Sir Stafford Northcote urging on him the propriety of\nallowing Bradlaugh to take the oath without question. But Northcote was\nforced on against his better judgment by his more ardent supporters. It\nwas a strange and painful situation, and the party system assuredly did\nnot work at its best--one leading man forced on to mischief by the least\nresponsible of his sections, the other held back from providing a cure by\nthe narrowest of the other sections. In the April of 1881 Mr. Gladstone\ngave notice of a bill providing for affirmation, but it was immediately\napparent that the opposition would make the most of every obstacle to a\nsettlement, and the proposal fell through. In August of this year the\nSpeaker notes, \"The difficulties in the way of settling this question\nsatisfactorily are great, and in the present temper of the House almost\ninsuperable.\"\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nIt is not necessary to recount all the stages of this protracted struggle:\nwhat devices and expedients and motions, how many odious scenes of\nphysical violence, how many hard-fought actions in the lawcourts, how many\nconflicts between the House of Commons and the constituency, what glee and\nrubbing of hands in the camp of the opposition at having thrust their\nrivals deep into a quagmire so unpleasant. The scandal was intolerable,\nbut ministers were helpless, as a marked incident now demonstrated. It was\nnot until 1883 that a serious attempt was made to change the law. The\nAffirmation bill of that year has a biographic place, because it marks in\na definite way how far Mr. Gladstone's mind--perhaps not, as I have said\nbefore, by nature or by instinct peculiarly tolerant--had travelled along\none of the grand highroads of human progress. The occasion was for many\nreasons one of great anxiety. Here are one or two short entries, the\nreader remembering that by this time the question was two years old:--\n\n\n    _April 24, Tuesday._--On Sunday night a gap of three hours in my\n    sleep was rather ominous; but it was not repeated.... Saw the\n    Archbishop of Canterbury, with whom I had a very long conversation\n    on the Affirmation bill and on _Church and State_. Policy\n    generally as well as on special subjects.... Globe Theatre in the\n    evening; excellent acting.... 25.... Worked on Oaths question....\n    26.... Made a long and _begeistert_(7) speech on the Affirmation\n    bill, taking the bull by the horns.\n\n\nHis speech upon this measure was a noble effort. It was delivered under\ncircumstances of unsurpassed difficulty, for there was revolt in the\nparty, the client was repugnant, the opinions brought into issue were to\nMr. Gladstone hateful. Yet the speech proved one of his greatest.\nImposing, lofty, persuasive, sage it would have been, from whatever lips\nit might have fallen; it was signal indeed as coming from one so fervid,\nso definite, so unfaltering in a faith of his own, one who had started\nfrom the opposite pole to that great civil principle of which he now\ndisplayed a grasp invincible. If it be true of a writer that the best\nstyle is that which most directly flows from living qualities in the\nwriter's own mind and is a pattern of their actual working, so is the same\nthing to be said of oratory. These high themes of Faith, on the one hand,\nand Freedom on the (M8) other, exactly fitted the range of the thoughts in\nwhich Mr. Gladstone habitually lived. \"I have no fear of Atheism in this\nHouse,\" he said; \"Truth is the expression of the Divine mind, and however\nlittle our feeble vision may be able to discern the means by which God may\nprovide for its preservation, we may leave the matter in His hands, and we\nmay be sure that a firm and courageous application of every principle of\nequity and of justice is the best method we can adopt for the preservation\nand influence of Truth.\" This was Mr. Gladstone at his sincerest and his\nhighest. I wonder, too, if there has been a leader in parliament since the\nseventeenth century, who could venture to address it in the strain of the\nmemorable passage now to be transcribed:--\n\n\n    You draw your line at the point where the abstract denial of God\n    is severed from the abstract admission of the Deity. My\n    proposition is that the line thus drawn is worthless, and that\n    much on your side of the line is as objectionable as the atheism\n    on the other. If you call upon us to make distinctions, let them\n    at least be rational; I do not say let them be Christian\n    distinctions, but let them be rational. I can understand one\n    rational distinction, that you should frame the oath in such a way\n    as to recognise not only the existence of the Deity, but the\n    providence of the Deity, and man's responsibility to the Deity;\n    and in such a way as to indicate the knowledge in a man's own mind\n    that he must answer to the Deity for what he does, and is able to\n    do. But is that your present rule? No, Sir, you know very well\n    that from ancient times there have been sects and schools that\n    have admitted in the abstract as freely as Christians the\n    existence of a Deity, but have held that of practical relations\n    between Him and man there can be none. Many of the members of this\n    House will recollect the majestic and noble lines--\n\n    Omnis enim per se divom natura necesse est\n    Immortali aevo summa cum pace fruatur,\n    Semota a nostris rebus sejunctaque longe.\n    Nam privata dolore omni, privata periclis,\n    Ipsa suis pollens opibus, nihil indiga nostri,\n    Nec bene promeritis capitur, nec tangitur ira.(8)\n\n    \"Divinity exists\"--according to these, I must say, magnificent\n    lines--\"in remote and inaccessible recesses; but with, us it has no\n    dealing, of us it has no need, with us it has no relation.\" I do\n    not hesitate to say that the specific evil, the specific form of\n    irreligion, with which in the educated society of this country you\n    have to contend, and with respect to which you ought to be on your\n    guard, is not blank atheism. That is a rare opinion very seldom\n    met with; but what is frequently met with is that form of opinion\n    which would teach us that, whatever may be beyond the visible\n    things of this world, whatever there may be beyond this short span\n    of life, you know and you can know nothing of it, and that it is a\n    bootless undertaking to attempt to establish relations with it.\n    That is the mischief of the age, and that mischief you do not\n    attempt to touch.\n\n\nThe House, though but few perhaps recollected their Lucretius or had ever\neven read him, sat, as I well remember, with reverential stillness,\nhearkening from this born master of moving cadence and high sustained\nmodulation to \"the rise and long roll of the hexameter,\"--to the plangent\nlines that have come down across the night of time to us from great Rome.\nBut all these impressions of sublime feeling and strong reasoning were\nsoon effaced by honest bigotry, by narrow and selfish calculation, by flat\ncowardice. The relieving bill was cast out by a majority of three. The\ncatholics in the main voted against it, and many nonconformists,\nhereditary champions of all the rights of private judgment, either voted\nagainst it or did not vote at all. So soon in these affairs, as the world\nhas long ago found out, do bodies of men forget in a day of power the\nmaxims that they held sacred and inviolable in days when they were weak.\n\nThe drama did not end here. In that parliament Bradlaugh was never allowed\nto discharge his duty as a member, but when after the general election of\n1885, being once more chosen by Northampton, he went to the table to take\nthe oath, as in former days Mill and others of like non-theologic\ncomplexion had taken it, the Speaker would suffer no intervention against\nhim. Then in 1888, though the majority was conservative, Bradlaugh himself\nsecured the passing of an affirmation (M9) law. Finally, in the beginning\nof 1891, upon the motion of a Scotch member, supported by Mr. Gladstone,\nthe House formally struck out from its records the resolution of June 22,\n1881, that had been passed, as we have seen, amid \"ecstatic transports.\"\nBradlaugh then lay upon his deathbed, and was unconscious of what had been\ndone. Mr. Gladstone a few days later, in moving a bill of his own to\ndiscard a lingering case of civil disability attached to religious\nprofession, made a last reference to Mr. Bradlaugh:--\n\n\n    A distinguished man, he said, and admirable member of this House,\n    was laid yesterday in his mother-earth. He was the subject of a\n    long controversy in this House--a controversy the beginning of\n    which we recollect, and the ending of which we recollect. We\n    remember with what zeal it was prosecuted; we remember how\n    summarily it was dropped; we remember also what reparation has\n    been done within the last few days to the distinguished man who\n    was the immediate object of that controversy. But does anybody who\n    hears me believe that that controversy, so prosecuted and so\n    abandoned, was beneficial to the Christian religion?(9)\n\n\n\n\nChapter III. Majuba. (1880-1881)\n\n\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}  {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~}\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER CHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK KORONIS~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH DASIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK KORONIS~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~}.\n\n    --AEsch. _Prom._ 1078.\n\n    In a boundless coil of mischief pure senselessness will entangle\n    you.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nIt would almost need the pen of Tacitus or Dante to tell the story of\nEuropean power in South Africa. For forty years, said Mr. Gladstone in\n1881, \"I have always regarded the South African question as the one great\nunsolved and perhaps insoluble problem of our colonial system.\" Among the\nother legacies of the forward policy that the constituencies had\ndecisively condemned in 1880, this insoluble problem rapidly became acute\nand formidable.\n\nOne of the great heads of impeachment in Midlothian had been a war\nundertaken in 1878-9 against a fierce tribe on the borders of the colony\nof Natal. The author and instrument of the Zulu war was Sir Bartle Frere,\na man of tenacious character and grave and lofty if ill-calculated aims.\nThe conservative government, as I have already said,(10) without\nenthusiasm assented, and at one stage they even formally censured him.\nWhen Mr. Gladstone acceded to office, the expectation was universal that\nSir Bartle would be at once recalled. At the first meeting of the new\ncabinet (May 3) it was decided to retain him. The prime minister at first\nwas his marked protector. The substantial reason against recall was that\nhis presence was needed to carry out the policy of confederation, and\ntowards confederation it was hoped that the Cape parliament was\nimmediately about to take (M10) a long preliminary step. \"Confederation,\"\nMr. Gladstone said, \"is the pole-star of the present action of our\ngovernment.\" In a few weeks, for a reason that will be mentioned in\ntreating the second episode of this chapter, confederation broke down. A\nless substantial but still not wholly inoperative reason was the strong\nfeeling of the Queen for the high commissioner. The royal prepossessions\nnotwithstanding, and in spite of the former leanings of Mr. Gladstone, the\ncabinet determined, at the end of July, that Sir Bartle should be\nrecalled. The whole state of the case is made sufficiently clear in the\ntwo following communications from the prime minister to the Queen:--\n\n\n    _To the Queen._\n\n    _May 28, 1880._--Mr. Gladstone presents his humble duty, and has\n    had the honour to receive your Majesty's telegram respecting Sir\n    B. Frere. Mr. Gladstone used on Saturday his best efforts to avert\n    a movement for his dismissal, which it was intended by a powerful\n    body of members on the liberal side to promote by a memorial to\n    Mr. Gladstone, and by a motion in the House. He hopes that he has\n    in some degree succeeded, and he understands that it is to be\n    decided on Monday whether they will at present desist or\n    persevere. Of course no sign will be given by your Majesty's\n    advisers which could tend to promote perseverance, at the same\n    time Mr. Gladstone does not conceal from himself two things: the\n    first, that the only chance of Sir B. Frere's remaining seems to\n    depend upon his ability to make progress in the matter of\n    confederation; the second, that if the agitation respecting him in\n    the House, the press, and the country should continue, confidence\n    in him may be so paralysed as to render his situation intolerable\n    to a high-minded man and to weaken his hands fatally for any\n    purpose of good.\n\n    _July 29, 1880._--It was not without some differences of opinion\n    among themselves that, upon their accession to office, the cabinet\n    arrived at the conclusion that, if there was a prospect of\n    progress in the great matter of confederation, this might afford a\n    ground of co-operation between them and Sir B. Frere,\n    notwithstanding the strong censures which many of them in\n    opposition had pronounced upon his policy. This conclusion gave\n    the liveliest satisfaction to a large portion, perhaps to the\n    majority, of the House of Commons; but they embraced it with the\n    more satisfaction because of your Majesty's warm regard for Sir B.\n    Frere, a sentiment which some among them personally share.\n\n    It was evident, however, and it was perhaps in the nature of the\n    case, that a confidence thus restricted was far from agreeable to\n    Sir B. Frere, who, in the opinion of Mr. Gladstone, has only been\n    held back by a commendable self-restraint and sense of duty, from\n    declaring himself aggrieved. Thus, though the cabinet have done\n    the best they could, his standing ground was not firm, nor could\n    they make it so. But the total failure of the effort made to\n    induce the Cape parliament to move, has put confederation wholly\n    out of view, for a time quite indefinite, and almost certainly\n    considerable. Mr. Gladstone has therefore the painful duty of\n    submitting to your Majesty, on behalf of the Cabinet, the enclosed\n    copy of a ciphered telegram of recall.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThe breaking of the military power of the Zulus was destined to prove much\nless important than another proceeding closely related to it, though not\ndrawing the same attention at the moment. I advise the reader not to\ngrudge a rather strict regard to the main details of transactions that,\nowing to unhappy events of later date, have to this day held a conspicuous\nplace in the general controversy as to the great minister's statesmanship.\n\nFor some time past, powerful native tribes had been slowly but steadily\npushing the Boers of the Transvaal back, and the inability to resist was\nnow dangerously plain. In 1876 the Boers had been worsted in one of their\nincessant struggles with the native races, and this time they had barely\nbeen able to hold their own against an insignificant tribe of one of the\nleast warlike branches. It was thought certain by English officials on the\nground, that the example would not be lost on fiercer warriors, and that a\nnative conflagration might any day burst into blaze in other regions of\nthe immense territory. The British government despatched an agent of great\nlocal experience; he found the Boer (M11) government, which was loosely\norganised even at its best, now completely paralysed, without money,\nwithout internal authority, without defensive power against external foes.\nIn alarm at the possible result of such a situation on the peace of the\nEuropean domain in South Africa, he proclaimed the sovereignty of the\nQueen, and set up an administration. This he was empowered by secret\ninstructions to do, if he should think fit. Here was the initial error.\nThe secretary of state in Downing Street approved (June 21, 1877), on the\nexpress assumption that a sufficient number of the inhabitants desired to\nbecome the Queen's subjects. Some have thought that if he had waited the\nBoers would have sought annexation, but this seems to be highly\nimprobable. In the annexation proclamation promises were made to the Boers\nof 'the fullest legislative privileges compatible with the circumstances\nof the country and the intelligence of the people.' An assembly was also\npromised.\n\nThe soundness of the assumption was immediately disputed. The Boer\ngovernment protested against annexation. Two delegates--one of them Mr.\nKruger--repaired to England, assured Lord Carnarvon that their fellow-Boers\nwere vehemently opposed to annexation, and earnestly besought its\nreversal. The minister insisted that he was right and they were wrong.\nThey went back, and in order to convince the government of the true\nstrength of feeling for independence, petitions were prepared seeking the\nrestoration of independence. The signatures were those of qualified\nelectors of the old republic. The government were informed by Sir Garnet\nWolseley that there were about 8000 persons of the age to be electors, of\nwhom rather fewer than 7000 were Boers. To the petitions were appended\nalmost exactly 7000 names. The colonial office recognised that the\nopposition of the Boers to annexation was practically unanimous. The\ncomparatively insignificant addresses on the other side came from the town\nand digging population, which was as strong in favour of the suppression\nof the old republic, as the rural population was strong against it.\n\nFor many months the Boers persevered. They again sent Kruger and Joubert\nto England; they held huge mass meetings; they poured out prayers to the\nhigh commissioner to give back their independence; they sent memorial\nafter memorial to the secretary of state. In the autumn of 1879 Sir Garnet\nWolseley assumed the administration of the Transvaal, and issued a\nproclamation setting forth the will and determination of the government of\nthe Queen that this Transvaal territory should be, and should continue to\nbe for ever, an integral part of her dominions in South Africa. In the\nclosing days of 1879 the secretary of state, Sir Michael Hicks Beach, who\nhad succeeded Carnarvon (Jan. 1878), received from the same eminent\nsoldier a comprehensive despatch, warning him that the meetings of protest\nagainst annexation, attended by thousands of armed men in angry mood,\nwould be likely to end in a serious explosion. While putting all sides of\nthe question before his government, Sir Garnet inserted one paragraph of\nmomentous import. \"The Transvaal,\" he said, \"is rich in minerals; gold has\nalready been found in quantities, and there can be little doubt that\nlarger and still more valuable goldfields will sooner or later be\ndiscovered. Any such discovery would soon bring a large British population\nhere. The time must eventually arrive when the Boers will be in a small\nminority, as the country is very sparsely peopled, and would it not\ntherefore be a very near-sighted policy to recede now from the position we\nhave taken up here, simply because for some years to come, the retention\nof 2000 or 3000 troops may be necessary to reconsolidate our power?\"(11)\nThis pregnant and far-sighted warning seems to have been little considered\nby English statesmen of either party at this critical time or afterwards,\nthough it proved a vital element in any far-sighted decision.\n\nOn March 9--the day, as it happened, on which the intention to dissolve\nparliament was made public--Sir Garnet telegraphed for a renewed expression\nof the determination of the government to retain the country, and he\nreceived the assurance that he sought. The Vaal river, he told the Boers,\nwould flow backwards through the Drakensberg sooner than the British would\nbe withdrawn from the Transvaal. The picturesque figure did not soften the\nBoer heart. (M12) This was the final share of the conservative cabinet in\nthe unfortunate enterprise on which they had allowed the country to be\nlaunched.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nWhen the question of annexation had originally come before parliament, Mr.\nGladstone was silent. He was averse to it; he believed that it would\ninvolve us in unmixed mischief; but he felt that to make this judgment\nknown at that period would not have had any effect towards reversing what\nhad been done, while it might impede the chances of a good issue, slender\nas these might be.(12) In the discussion at the opening of the final\nsession of the old parliament, Lord Hartington as leader of the\nopposition, enforcing the general doctrine that it behoved us to\nconcentrate our resources, and to limit instead of extending the empire,\ntook the Transvaal for an illustration. It was now conclusively proved, he\nsaid, that a large majority of the Boers were bitterly against annexation.\nThat being so, it ought not to be considered a settled question merely\nbecause annexation had taken place; and if we should find that the balance\nof advantage was in favour of the restoration of independence, no false\nsense of dignity should stand in the way. Mr. Gladstone in Midlothian had\nbeen more reserved. In that indictment, there are only two or three\nreferences, and those comparatively fugitive and secondary, to this\narticle of charge. There is a sentence in one of the Midlothian speeches\nabout bringing a territory inhabited by a free European Christian republic\nwithin the limits of a monarchy, though out of 8000 persons qualified to\nvote, 6500 voted against it. In another sentence he speaks of the\nTransvaal as a country \"where we have chosen most unwisely, I am tempted\nto say insanely, to place ourselves in the strange predicament of the free\nsubjects of a monarchy going to coerce the free subjects of a republic,\nand to compel them to accept a citizenship which they decline and refuse;\nbut if that is to be done, it must be done by force.\"(13) A third sentence\ncompletes the tale: \"If Cyprus and the Transvaal were as valuable as they\nare valueless, I would repudiate them because they are obtained by means\ndishonourable to the character of the country.\" These utterances of the\nmighty unofficial chief and the responsible official leader of the\nopposition were all. The Boer republicans thought that they were enough.\n\nOn coming into power, the Gladstone government found the official evidence\nall to the effect that the political aspect of the Transvaal was decidedly\nimproving. The commissioners, the administrators, the agents, were\nunanimous. Even those among them who insisted on the rooted dislike of the\nmain body of the Boers to British authority, still thought that they were\nacquiescing, exactly as the Boers in the Cape Colony had acquiesced. Could\nministers justify abandonment, without far stronger evidence than they\nthen possessed that they could not govern the Transvaal peaceably? Among\nother things, they were assured that abandonment would be fatal to the\nprospects of confederation, and might besides entail a civil war. On May\n7, Sir Bartle Frere pressed the new ministers for an early announcement of\ntheir policy, in order to prevent the mischiefs of agitation. The cabinet\ndecided the question on May 12, and agreed upon the terms of a\ntelegram(14) by which Lord Kimberley was to inform Frere that the\nsovereignty of the Queen over the Transvaal could not be relinquished, but\nthat he hoped the speedy accomplishment of confederation would enable free\ninstitutions to be conferred with promptitude. In other words, in spite of\nall that had been defiantly said by Lord Hartington, and more cautiously\nimplied by Mr. Gladstone, the new government at once placed themselves\nexactly in the position of the old one.(15)\n\nThe case was stated in his usual nervous language by Mr. Chamberlain a few\nmonths later.(16) \"When we came into office,\" (M13) he said, \"we were all\nagreed that the original annexation was a mistake, that it ought never to\nhave been made; and there arose the question could it then be undone? We\nwere in possession of information to the effect that the great majority of\nthe people of the Transvaal were reconciled to annexation; we were told\nthat if we reversed the decision of the late government, there would be a\ngreat probability of civil war and anarchy; and acting upon these\nrepresentations, we decided that we could not recommend the Queen to\nrelinquish her sovereignty. But we assured the Boers that we would take\nthe earliest opportunity of granting to them the freest and most complete\nlocal institutions compatible with the welfare of South Africa. It is easy\nto be wise after the event. It is easy to see now that we were wrong in so\ndeciding. I frankly admit we made a mistake. Whatever the risk was, and I\nbelieve it was a great risk, of civil war and anarchy in the Transvaal, it\nwas not so great a danger as that we actually incurred by maintaining the\nwrong of our predecessors.\" Such was the language used by Mr. Chamberlain\nafter special consultation with Lord Kimberley. With characteristic\ntenacity and that aversion ever to yield even the smallest point, which\ncomes to a man saturated with the habit of a lifetime of debate, Mr.\nGladstone wrote to Mr. Chamberlain (June 8, 1881): \"I have read with\npleasure what you say of the Transvaal. Yet I am not prepared, for myself,\nto concede that we made a mistake in not advising a revocation of the\nannexation when we came in.\"\n\nAt this instant a letter reached Mr. Gladstone from Kruger and Joubert\n(May 10, 1880), telling him that there was a firm belief among their\npeople that truth prevailed. \"They were confident that one day or another,\nby the mercy of the Lord, the reins of the imperial government would be\nentrusted again to men who look out for the honour and glory of England,\nnot by acts of injustice and crushing force, but by the way of justice and\ngood faith. And, indeed, this belief has proven to be a good belief.\" It\nwould have been well for the Boers and well for us, if that had indeed\nbeen so. Unluckily the reply sent in Mr. Gladstone's name (June 15),\ninformed them that obligations had now been contracted, especially towards\nthe natives, that could not be set aside, but that consistently with the\nmaintenance of the Queen's sovereignty over the Transvaal, ministers\ndesired that the white inhabitants should enjoy the fullest liberty to\nmanage their local affairs. \"We believe that this liberty may be most\neasily and promptly conceded to the Transvaal, as a member of a South\nAfrican confederation.\" Solemn and deliberate as this sounds, no step\nwhatever was effectively taken towards conferring this full liberty, or\nany liberty at all.\n\nIt is worth while, on this material point, to look back. The original\nproclamation had promised the people the fullest legislative privileges\ncompatible with the circumstances of the country and the intelligence of\nthe people. Then, at a later date (April 1877), Sir Bartle Frere met a\ngreat assemblage of Boers, and told them that they should receive, as soon\nas circumstances rendered it practicable, as large a measure of\nself-government as was enjoyed by any colony in South Africa.(17) The\nsecretary of state had also spoken to the same effect. During the short\nperiod in which Sir Bartle Frere was connected with the administration of\nthe Transvaal, he earnestly pressed upon the government the necessity for\nredeeming the promises made at the time of annexation, \"of the same\nmeasure of perfect self-government now enjoyed by Cape Colony,\" always, of\ncourse, under the authority of the crown.(18) As the months went on, no\nattempt was made to fulfil all these solemn pledges, and the Boers\nnaturally began to look on them as so much mockery. Their anger in turn\nincreased the timidity of government, and it was argued that the first use\nthat the Boers would make of a free constitution would be to stop the\nsupplies. So a thing called an Assembly was set up (November 9, 1879),\ncomposed partly of British officers and partly of nominated members. This\nwas a complete falsification of a whole set of our national promises.\nStill annexation might conceivably have been (M14) accepted, even the\nsting might have been partially taken out of the delay of the promised\nfree institutions, if only the administration had been considerate,\njudicious, and adapted to the ways and habits of the people. Instead of\nbeing all these things it was stiff, headstrong, and intensely stupid.(19)\n\nThe value of the official assurances from agents on the spot that\nrestoration of independence would destroy the chances of confederation,\nand would give fuel to the fires of agitation, was speedily tested. It was\nprecisely these results that flowed from the denial of independence. The\nincensed Boer leaders worked so successfully on the Cape parliament\nagainst confederation, that this favourite panacea was indefinitely hung\nup. Here, again, it is puzzling to know why ministers did not retrace\ntheir steps. Here, again, their blind guides in the Transvaal persisted\nthat they knew the road; persisted that with the exception of a turbulent\nhandful, the Boers of the Transvaal only sighed for the enjoyment of the\n_pax britannica_, or, if even that should happen to be not quite true, at\nany rate they were incapable of united action, were mortal cowards, and\ncould never make a stand in the field. While folly of this kind was\nfinding its way by every mail to Downing Street, violent disturbances\nbroke out in the collection of taxes. Still Sir Owen Lanyon--who had been\nplaced in control in the Transvaal in March 1879--assured Lord Kimberley\nthat no serious trouble would arise (November 14). At the end of the month\nhe still denies that there is much or any cause for anxiety. In December\nseveral thousands of Boers assembled at Paardekraal, declared for the\nrestoration of their republic, and a general rising followed. Colley, who\nhad succeeded General Wolseley as governor of Natal and high commissioner\nfor south-east Africa, had been so little prepared for this, that at the\nend of August he had recommended a reduction of the Transvaal\ngarrisons,(20) and even now he thought the case so little serious that he\ncontented himself (December 4) with ordering four companies to march for\nthe Transvaal. Then he and Lanyon began to get alarmed, and with good\nreason. The whole country, except three or four beleaguered British posts,\nfell into the hands of the Boers.\n\nThe pleas for failure to take measures to conciliate the Boers in the\ninterval between Frere's recall and the outbreak, were that Sir Hercules\nRobinson had not arrived;(21) that confederation was not yet wholly given\nup; that resistance to annexation was said to be abating; that time was in\nour favour; that the one thing indispensable to conciliate the Boers was a\nrailway to Delagoa Bay; that this needed a treaty, and we hoped soon to\nget Portugal to ratify a treaty, and then we might tell the Boers that we\nshould soon make a survey, with a view at some early date to proceed with\nthe project, and thus all would in the end come right. So a fresh page was\nturned in the story of loitering unwisdom.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nOn December 6, Mr. Brand, the sagacious president of the Orange Free\nState, sent a message of anxious warning to the acting governor at Cape\nTown, urging that means should be devised to avert an imminent collision.\nThat message, which might possibly have wakened up the colonial office to\nthe real state of the case, did not reach London until December 30.\nExcuses for this fatal delay were abundant: a wire was broken; the\ngovernor did not think himself concerned with Transvaal affairs; he sent\nthe message on to the general, supposing that the general would send it on\nhome; and so forth. For a whole string of the very best reasons in the\nworld the message that (M15) might have prevented the outbreak, arrived\nthrough the slow post at Whitehall just eleven days after the outbreak had\nbegun. Members of the legislature at the Cape urged the British government\nto send a special commissioner to inquire and report. The policy of giving\nconsideration to the counsels of the Cape legislature had usually been\npursued by the wiser heads concerned in South African affairs, and when\nthe counsels of the chief of the Free State were urgent in the same\ndirection, their weight should perhaps have been decisive. Lord Kimberley,\nhowever, did not think the moment opportune (Dec. 30).(22) Before many\nweeks, as it happened, a commission was indeed sent, but unfortunately not\nuntil after the mischief had been done. Meanwhile in the Queen's speech a\nweek later an emphatic paragraph announced that the duty of vindicating\nher Majesty's authority had set aside for the time any plan for securing\nto European settlers in the Transvaal full control over their own local\naffairs. Seldom has the sovereign been made the mouthpiece of an utterance\nmore shortsighted.\n\nAgain the curtain rose upon a new and memorable act. Four days after the\nQueen's speech, President Brand a second time appeared upon the scene\n(Jan. 10, 1881), with a message hoping that an effort would be made\nwithout the least delay to prevent further bloodshed. Lord Kimberley\nreplied that provided the Boers would desist from their armed opposition,\nthe government did not despair of making a satisfactory settlement. Two\ndays later (Jan. 12) the president told the government that not a moment\nshould be lost, and some one (say Chief Justice de Villiers) should be\nsent to the Transvaal burghers by the government, to stop further\ncollision and with a clear and definite proposal for a settlement.\n\"Moments,\" he said, \"are precious.\" For twelve days these precious moments\npassed. On Jan. 26 the secretary of state informed the high commissioner\nat Cape Town, now Sir Hercules Robinson, that President Brand pressed for\nthe offer of terms and conditions to the Boers through Robinson, \"provided\nthey cease from armed opposition, making it clear to them how this is to\nbe understood.\" On this suggestion he instructed Robinson to inform Brand\nthat if armed opposition should at once cease, the government \"would\nthereupon endeavour to frame such a scheme as in their belief would\nsatisfy all friends of the Transvaal community.\" Brand promptly advised\nthat the Boers should be told of this forthwith, before the satisfactory\narrangements proposed had been made more difficult by further collision.\nThis was on Jan. 29. Unhappily on the very day before, the British force\nhad been repulsed at Laing's Nek. Colley, on Jan. 23, had written to\nJoubert, calling on the Boer leaders to disperse, informing them that\nlarge forces were already arriving from England and India, and assuring\nthem that if they would dismiss their followers, he would forward to\nLondon any statement of their grievances. It would have been a great deal\nmore sensible to wait for an answer. Instead of waiting for an answer\nColley attacked (Jan. 28) and was beaten back--the whole proceeding a\nrehearsal of a still more disastrous error a month later.\n\nBrand was now more importunate than ever, earnestly urging on General\nColley that the nature of the scheme should be made known to the Boers,\nand a guarantee undertaken that if they submitted they would not be\ntreated as rebels. \"I have replied,\" Colley tells Lord Kimberley, \"that I\ncan give no such assurance, and can add nothing to your words.\" In other\ncorrespondence he uses grim language about the deserts of some of the\nleaders. On this Mr. Gladstone, writing to Lord Kimberley (Feb. 5), says\ntruly enough, \"Colley with a vengeance counts his chickens before they are\nhatched, and his curious letter throws some light backward on the\nproceedings in India. His line is singularly wide of ours.\" The secretary\nof state, finding barrack-room rigidity out of place, directs Colley (Feb.\n8) to inform Brand (M16) that the government would be ready to give all\nreasonable guarantees as to treatment of Boers after submission, if they\nceased from armed opposition, and a scheme would be framed for permanent\nfriendly settlement. As it happened, on the day on which this was\ndespatched from Downing Street, Colley suffered a second check at the\nIngogo River (Feb. 8). Let us note that he was always eager in his\nrecognition of the readiness and promptitude of the military support from\nthe government at home.(23)\n\nThen an important move took place from the other quarter. The Boers made\ntheir first overture. It came in a letter from Kruger to Colley (Feb. 12).\nIts purport was fairly summarised by Colley in a telegram to the colonial\nsecretary, and the pith of it was that Kruger and his Boers were so\ncertain of the English government being on their side if the truth only\nreached them, that they would not fear the result of inquiry by a royal\ncommission, and were ready, if troops were ordered to withdraw from the\nTransvaal, to retire from their position, and give such a commission a\nfree passage. This telegram reached London on Feb. 13th, and on the 15th\nit was brought before the cabinet.\n\nMr. Gladstone immediately informed the Queen (Feb. 15) that viewing the\nlikelihood of early and sanguinary actions, Lord Kimberley thought that\nthe receipt of such an overture at such a juncture, although its terms\nwere inadmissible, made it a duty to examine whether it afforded any hope\nof settlement. The cabinet were still more strongly inclined towards\ncoming to terms. Any other decision would have broken up the government,\nfor on at least one division in the House on Transvaal affairs Mr. Bright\nand Mr. Chamberlain, along with three other ministers not in the cabinet,\nhad abstained from voting. Colley was directed (Feb. 16) to inform the\nBoers that on their desisting from armed opposition, the government would\nbe ready to send commissioners to develop a scheme of settlement, and that\nmeanwhile if this proposal were accepted, the English general was\nauthorised to agree to the suspension of hostilities. This was in\nsubstance a conditional acceptance of the Boer overture.(24) On the same\nday the general was told from the war office that, as respected the\ninterval before receiving a reply from Mr. Kruger, the government did not\nbind his discretion, but \"we are anxious for your making arrangements to\navoid effusion of blood.\" The spirit of these instructions was clear. A\nweek later (Feb. 23) the general showed that he understood this, for he\nwrote to Mr. Childers that \"he would not without strong reason undertake\nany operation likely to bring on another engagement, until Kruger's reply\nwas received.\"(25) If he had only stood firm to this, a tragedy would have\nbeen averted.\n\nOn receiving the telegram of Feb. 16, Colley was puzzled to know what was\nthe meaning of suspending hostilities if armed opposition were abandoned\nby the Boers, and he asked the plain question (Feb. 19) whether he was to\nleave Laing's Nek (which was in Natal territory) in Boer occupation, and\nour garrisons isolated and short of provisions, or was he to occupy\nLaing's Nek and relieve the garrisons. Colley's inquiries were instantly\nconsidered by the cabinet, and the reply settled. The garrisons were to be\nfree to provision themselves and peaceful intercourse allowed; \"but,\"\nKimberley tells Colley, \"we do not mean that you should march to the\nrelief of garrisons or occupy Laing's Nek, if the arrangement proceeds.\n_Fix reasonable time within which answer must be sent by Boers._\"\n\nOn Feb. 21 Colley despatched a letter to Kruger, stating that on the Boers\nceasing from armed opposition, the Queen would appoint a commission. He\nadded that \"upon this proposal being accepted _within forty-eight hours\nfrom the receipt of this letter_,\" he was authorised to agree to a\nsuspension of hostilities on the part of the British.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\n(M17) In this interval a calamity, destined to be historic, occurred,\ntrivial in a military sense, but formidable for many years to come in the\nissues moral and political that it raised, and in the passions for which\nit became a burning watchword. On the night of Feb. 26, Colley with a\nforce of 359 men all told, made up of three different corps, marched out\nof his camp and occupied Majuba Hill. The general's motives for this\nprecipitancy are obscure. The best explanation seems to be that he\nobserved the Boers to be pushing gradually forward on to advanced ground,\nand thought it well, without waiting for Kruger's reply, to seize a height\nlying between the Nek and his own little camp, the possession of which\nwould make Laing's Nek untenable. He probably did not expect that his move\nwould necessarily lead to fighting, and in fact when they saw the height\noccupied, the Boers did at first for a little time actually begin to\nretire from the Nek, though they soon changed their minds.(26) The British\noperation is held by military experts to have been rash; proper steps were\nnot taken by the general to protect himself upon Majuba, the men were not\nwell handled, and the Boers showed determined intrepidity as they climbed\nsteadily up the hill from platform to platform, taking from seven in the\nmorning (Feb. 27) up to half-past eleven to advance some three thousand\nyards and not losing a man, until at last they scaled the crest and poured\na deadly fire upon the small British force, driving them headlong from the\nsummit, seasoned soldiers though most of them were. The general who was\nresponsible for the disaster paid the penalty with his life. Some ninety\nothers fell and sixty were taken prisoners.\n\nAt home the sensation was profound. The hysterical complaints about our\nmen and officers, General Wood wrote to Childers, \"are more like French\ncharacter than English used to be.\" Mr. Gladstone and his colleagues had a\npolitical question to consider. Colley could not be technically accused of\nwant of good faith in moving forward on the 26th, as the time that he had\nappointed had expired. But though Majuba is just inside Natal--some four\nmiles over the border--his advance was, under the circumstances of the\nmoment, essentially an aggressive movement. Could his defeat justify us in\nwithdrawing our previous proposals to the Boers? Was a military\nmiscarriage, of no magnitude in itself, to be turned into a plea for\nabandoning a policy deliberately adopted for what were thought powerful\nand decisive reasons? \"Suppose, for argument's sake,\" Mr. Gladstone wrote\nto Lord Kimberley when the sinister news arrived (Mar. 2), \"that at the\nmoment when Colley made the unhappy attack on Majuba Hill, there shall\nturn out to have been decided on, and possibly on its way, a satisfactory\nor friendly reply from the Boer government to your telegram? I fear the\nchances may be against this; but if it prove to be the case, we could not\nbecause we had failed on Sunday last, insist on shedding more blood.\" As\nit happened, the Boer answer was decided on before the attack at Majuba,\nand was sent to Colley by Kruger at Heidelberg in ignorance of the event,\nthe day after the ill-fated general's death. The members of the Transvaal\ngovernment set out their gratitude for the declaration that under certain\nconditions the government of the Queen was inclined to cease hostilities;\nand expressed their opinion that a meeting of representatives from both\nsides would probably lead with all speed to a satisfactory result. This\nreply was despatched by Kruger on the day on which Colley's letter of the\n21st came into his hands (Feb. 28), and it reached Colley's successor on\nMarch 7.\n\nSir Evelyn Wood, now after the death of Colley in chief command,\nthroughout recommended military action. Considering the disasters we had\nsustained, he thought the happiest result would be that after a successful\nbattle, which he hoped to fight in about a fortnight, the Boers would\ndisperse without any guarantee, and many now in the field against their\nwill would readily settle down. He explained that by happy result, he did\nnot mean that a series of actions fought by any six companies could affect\nour military prestige, but that a British victory would enable the Boer\n(M18) leaders to quench a fire that had got beyond their control. The next\nday after this recommendation to fight (March 6), he, of his own motion,\naccepted a proposal telegraphed from Joubert at the instigation of the\nindefatigable Brand, for a suspension of hostilities for eight days, for\nthe purpose of receiving Kruger's reply. There was a military reason\nbehind. General Wood knew that the garrison in Potchefstrom must surrender\nunless the place were revictualled, and three other beleaguered garrisons\nwere in almost equal danger. The government at once told him that his\narmistice was approved. This armistice, though Wood's reasons were\nmilitary rather than diplomatic, virtually put a stop to suggestions for\nfurther fighting, for it implied, and could in truth mean nothing else,\nthat if Kruger's reply were promising, the next step would not be a fight,\nbut the continuance of negotiation. Sir Evelyn Wood had not advised a\nfight for the sake of restoring military prestige, but to make it easier\nfor the Boer leaders to break up bands that were getting beyond their\ncontrol. There was also present in his mind the intention, if the\ngovernment would sanction it, of driving the Boers out of Natal, as soon\nas ever he had got his men up across the swollen river. So far from\nsanctioning it, the government expressly forbade him to take offensive\naction. On March 8, General Wood telegraphed home: \"Do not imagine I wish\nto fight. I know the attending misery too well. But now you have so many\ntroops coming, I recommend decisive though lenient action; and I can,\nhumanly speaking, promise victory. Sir G. Colley never engaged more than\nsix companies. I shall use twenty and two regiments of cavalry in\ndirection known to myself only, and undertake to enforce dispersion.\" This\nthen was General Wood's view. On the day before he sent this telegram, the\ngeneral already had received Kruger's reply to the effect that they were\nanxious to negotiate, and it would be best for commissioners from the two\nsides to meet. It is important to add that the government were at the same\ntime receiving urgent warnings from President Brand that Dutch sympathy,\nboth in the Cape Colony and in the Orange Free State, with the Dutch in\nthe Transvaal was growing dangerous, and that the prolongation of\nhostilities would end in a formidable extension of their area.(27) Even in\nJanuary Lanyon had told Colley that men from the Free State were in the\nfield against him. Three days before Majuba, Lord Kimberley had written to\nColley (February 24), \"My great fear has been lest the Free State should\ntake part against us, or even some movement take place in the Cape Colony.\nIf our willingness to come to terms has avoided such a calamity, I shall\nconsider it will have been a most important point gained.\"(28)\n\nTwo memoranda for the Queen show the views of the cabinet on the new\nposition of affairs:--\n\n\n    _To the Queen._\n\n    _March 8, 1881._--The cabinet considered with much care the terms\n    of the reply to Sir Evelyn Wood's telegram reporting (not\n    textually) the answer of the Boer leaders to the proposals which\n    Sir George Colley had sent to them. They felt justified in\n    construing the Boer answer as leaving the way open to the\n    appointment of commissioners, according to the telegram previously\n    seen and approved by your Majesty. They were anxious to keep the\n    question moving in this direction, and under the extreme urgency\n    of the circumstances as to time, they have despatched a telegram\n    to Sir Evelyn Wood accordingly. Mr. Gladstone has always urged,\n    and still feels, that the proposal of the Boers for the\n    appointment of commissioners was fortunate on this among other\n    grounds, that it involved a recognition of your Majesty's _de\n    facto_ authority in the Transvaal.\n\n    _March 12._--The cabinet determined, in order to obviate\n    misapprehension or suspicion, to desire Sir E. Wood to inform the\n    government from what quarter the suggestion of an armistice\n    actually proceeded. They agreed that the proper persons to be\n    appointed as commissioners were Sir H. Robinson, Sir E. Wood, and\n    Mr. De Villiers, chief justice of the Cape; together with Mr.\n    Brand of the Free State as _amicus curiae_, should he be willing to\n    lend his good offices in the spirit in which he has hitherto\n    acted. The cabinet then considered fully the terms of the\n    communication to be made to the Boers by Sir E. Wood. In this,\n    which is matter of extreme urgency, they prescribe a time for the\n    reply of the Boers not later than the 18th; renew the promise of\n    amnesty; require the dispersion of the Boers to their own homes;\n    and state the general outlines of the permanent arrangement which\n    they would propose for the territory.... The cabinet believe that\n    in requiring the dispersion of the Boers to their homes, they will\n    have made the necessary provision for the vindication of your\n    Majesty's authority, so as to open the way for considering terms\n    of pacific settlement.\n\n\nOn March 22, under instructions from home, the general concluded an\nagreement for peace. The Boers made some preliminary requests to which the\ngovernment declined to assent. Their proposal that the commission should\nbe joint was rejected; its members were named exclusively by the crown.\nThey agreed to withdraw from the Nek and disperse to their homes; we\nagreed not to occupy the Nek, and not to follow them up with troops,\nthough General Roberts with a large force had sailed for the Cape on March\n6. Then the political negotiation went forward. Would it have been wise,\nas the question was well put by the Duke of Argyll (not then a member of\nthe government), \"to stop the negotiation for the sake of defeating a body\nof farmers who had succeeded under accidental circumstances and by great\nrashness on the part of our commanders, in gaining a victory over us?\"\nThis was the true point.\n\nThe parliamentary attack was severe. The galling argument was that\ngovernment had conceded to three defeats what they had refused to ten\ntimes as many petitions, memorials, remonstrances; and we had given to men\nwith arms in their hands what we refused to their peaceful prayers. A\ngreat lawyer in the House of Lords made the speech that is expected from a\ngreat lawyer who is also a conspicuous party leader; and ministers\nundoubtedly exposed an extent of surface that was not easy to defend, not\nbecause they had made a peace, but because they had failed to prevent the\nrising. High military authorities found a curious plea for going on, in\nthe fact that this was our first contest with Europeans since the\nbreech-loader came in, and it was desirable to give our troops confidence\nin the new-fashioned weapon. Reasons of a very different sort from this\nwere needed to overthrow the case for peace. How could the miscarriage at\nMajuba, brought on by our own action, warrant us in drawing back from an\nengagement already deliberately proffered? Would not such a proceeding,\nasked Lord Kimberley, have been little short of an act of bad faith? Or\nwere we, in Mr. Gladstone's language, to say to the Boers, \"Although we\nmight have treated with you before these military miscarriages, we cannot\ndo so now, until we offer up a certain number of victims in expiation of\nthe blood that has been shed. Until that has been done, the very things\nwhich we believed before to be reasonable, which we were ready to discuss\nwith you, we refuse to discuss now, and we must wait until Moloch has been\nappeased\"? We had opened a door for negotiation; were we to close it\nagain, because a handful of our forces had rashly seized a post they could\nnot hold? The action of the Boers had been defensive of the _status quo_,\nfor if we had established ourselves on Majuba, their camp at Laing's Nek\nwould have been untenable. The minister protested in the face of the House\nof Commons that \"it would have been most unjust and cruel, it would have\nbeen cowardly and mean, if on account of these defensive operations we had\nrefused to go forward with the negotiations which, before the first of\nthese miscarriages had occurred, we had already declared that we were\nwilling to promote and undertake.\"(29)\n\nThe policy of the reversal of annexation is likely to remain a topic of\nendless dispute.(30) As Sir Hercules Robinson put (M19) it in a letter to\nLord Kimberley, written a week before Majuba (Feb. 21), no possible course\nwas free from grave objection. If you determine, he said, to hold by the\nannexation of the Transvaal, the country would have to be conquered and\nheld in subjection for many years by a large force. Free institutions and\nself-government under British rule would be an impossibility. The only\npalliative would be to dilute Dutch feeling by extensive English\nimmigration, like that of 1820 to the Eastern Province. But that would\ntake time, and need careful watching; and in the meantime the result of\nholding the Transvaal as a conquered colony would undoubtedly be to excite\nbitter hatred between the English and Dutch throughout the Free State and\nthis colony, which would be a constant source of discomfort and danger. On\nthe other hand, he believed that if they were, after a series of reverses\nand before any success, to yield all the Boers asked for, they would be so\noverbearing and quarrelsome that we should soon be at war with them again.\nOn the whole, Sir Hercules was disposed to think--extraordinary as such a\nview must appear--that the best plan would be to re-establish the supremacy\nof our arms, and then let the malcontents go. He thought no middle course\nany longer practicable. Yet surely this course was open to all the\nobjections. To hold on to annexation at any cost was intelligible. But to\nface all the cost and all the risks of a prolonged and a widely extended\nconflict, with the deliberate intention of allowing the enemy to have his\nown way after the conflict had been brought to an end, was not\nintelligible and was not defensible.\n\nSome have argued that we ought to have brought up an overwhelming force,\nto demonstrate that we were able to beat them, before we made peace.\nUnfortunately demonstrations of this species easily turn into\nprovocations, and talk of this kind mostly comes from those who believe,\nnot that peace was made in the wrong way, but that a peace giving their\ncountry back to the Boers ought never to have been made at all, on any\nterms or in any way. This was not the point from which either cabinet or\nparliament started. The government had decided that annexation had been an\nerror. The Boers had proposed inquiry. The government assented on\ncondition that the Boers dispersed. Without waiting a reasonable time for\na reply, our general was worsted in a rash and trivial attack. Did this\ncancel our proffered bargain? The point was simple and unmistakable,\nthough party heat at home, race passion in the colony, and our everlasting\nhuman proneness to mix up different questions, and to answer one point by\narguments that belong to another, all combined to produce a confusion of\nmind that a certain school of partisans have traded upon ever since.\nStrange in mighty nations is moral cowardice, disguised as a Roman pride.\nAll the more may we admire the moral courage of the minister. For moral\ncourage may be needed even where aversion to bloodshed fortunately happens\nto coincide with high prudence and sound policy of state.\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nThe negotiations proceeded, if negotiation be the right word. The Boers\ndisbanded, a powerful British force was encamped on the frontier, no Boer\nrepresentative sat on the commission, and the terms of final agreement\nwere in fact, as the Boers afterwards alleged, dictated and imposed. Mr.\nGladstone watched with a closeness that, considering the tremendous load\nof Ireland, parliamentary procedure, and the incessant general business of\na prime minister, is amazing. When the Boers were over-pressing, he warned\nthem that it was only \"the unshorn strength\" of the administration that\nenabled the English cabinet, rather to the surprise of the world, to spare\nthem the sufferings of a war. \"We could not,\" he said to Lord Kimberley,\n\"have carried our Transvaal policy, unless we had here a strong\ngovernment, and we spent some, if not much, of our strength in carrying\nit.\" A convention was concluded at Pretoria in (M20) August, recognising\nthe quasi-independence of the Transvaal, subject to the suzerainty of the\nQueen, and with certain specified reservations. The Pretoria convention of\n1881 did not work smoothly. Transvaal affairs were discussed from time to\ntime in the cabinet, and Mr. Chamberlain became the spokesman of the\ngovernment on a business where he was destined many years after to make so\nconspicuous and irreparable a mark. The Boers again sent Kruger to London,\nand he made out a good enough case in the opinion of Lord Derby, then\nsecretary of state, to justify a fresh arrangement. By the London\nconvention of 1884, the Transvaal state was restored to its old title of\nthe South African Republic; the assertion of suzerainty in the preamble of\nthe old convention did not appear in the new one;(31) and various other\nmodifications were introduced--the most important of them, in the light of\nlater events, being a provision for white men to have full liberty to\nreside in any part of the republic, to trade in it, and to be liable to\nthe same taxes only as those exacted from citizens of the republic.\n\nWhether we look at the Sand River Convention in 1852, which conferred\nindependence; or at Shepstone's proclamation in 1877, which took\nindependence away; or at the convention of Pretoria in 1881, which in a\nqualified shape gave it back; or at the convention of London in 1884,\nwhich qualified the qualification over again, till independence, subject\nto two or three specified conditions, was restored,--we can but recall the\ncaustic apologue of sage Selden in his table-talk on contracts. \"Lady\nKent,\" he says, \"articled with Sir Edward Herbert that he should come to\nher when she sent for him, and stay with her as long as she would have\nhim; to which he set his hand. Then he articled with her that he should go\naway when he pleased, and stay away as long as he pleased; to which she\nset her hand. This is the epitome of all the contracts in the world,\nbetwixt man and man, betwixt prince and subject.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter IV. New Phases Of The Irish Revolution. (1880-1882)\n\n\n    The agitation of the Irish land league strikes at the roots of all\n    contract, and therefore at the very foundations of modern society;\n    but if we would effectually withstand it, we must cease to insist\n    on maintaining the forms of free contract where the reality is\n    impossible.--T. H. GREEN.(32)\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nOn the day in 1880 when Lord Beaconsfield was finally quitting the\nofficial house in Downing Street, one who had been the ablest and most\nzealous supporter of his policy in the press, called to bid him good-bye.\nThe visitor talked gloomily of the national prospect; of difficulties with\nAustria, with Russia, with the Turk; of the confusions to come upon Europe\nfrom the doctrines of Midlothian. The fallen minister listened. Then\nlooking at his friend, he uttered in deep tones a single word.\n\"_Ireland!_\" he said.\n\nIn a speech made in 1882 Mr. Gladstone put the case to the House of\nCommons:--\n\n\n    The government had to deal with a state of things in Ireland\n    entirely different from any that had been known there for fifty\n    years.... With a political revolution we have ample strength to\n    cope. There is no reason why our cheeks should grow pale, or why\n    our hearts should sink, at the idea of grappling with a political\n    revolution. The strength of this country is tenfold what is\n    required for such a purpose. But a social revolution is a very\n    different matter.... The seat and source of the movement was not\n    to be found during the time the government was in power. It is to\n    be looked for in the foundation of the land league.(33)\n\n\nTwo years later he said at Edinburgh:--\n\n\n    I frankly admit I had had much upon my hands connected with the\n    doings of the Beaconsfield government in almost every quarter of\n    the world, and I did not know, no one knew, the severity of the\n    crisis that was already swelling upon the horizon, and that\n    shortly after rushed upon us like a flood.(34)\n\n\nSo came upon them by degrees the predominance of Irish affairs and Irish\nactivity in the parliament of 1880, which had been chosen without much\nreference to Ireland.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nA social revolution with the land league for its organ in Ireland, and Mr.\nParnell and his party for its organ in parliament, now, in Mr. Gladstone's\nwords, rushed upon him and his government like a flood. The mind of the\ncountry was violently drawn from Dulcigno and Thessaly, from Batoum and\nErzeroum, from the wild squalor of Macedonia and Armenia to squalor not\nless wild in Connaught and Munster, in Mayo, Galway, Sligo, Kerry.\nAgrarian agitation on the one hand, parliamentary violence on the other,\nwere the two potent weapons by which the Irish revolutionary leader\nassailed the misrule of the British garrison as the agents of the British\nparliament in his country. This formidable movement slowly unmasked\nitself. The Irish government, represented by Mr. Forster in the cabinet,\nbegan by allowing the law conferring exceptional powers upon the executive\nto lapse. The main reason was want of time to pass a fresh Act. In view of\nthe undoubted distress in some parts of Ireland, and of the harshness of\ncertain evictions, the government further persuaded the House of Commons\nto pass a bill for compensating an evicted tenant on certain conditions,\nif the landlord turned him out of his holding. The bill was no easy dose\neither for the cabinet or its friends. Lord Lansdowne stirred much\ncommotion by retiring from the government, and landowners and capitalists\nwere full of consternation. At least one member of the cabinet was\nprofoundly uneasy. It is impossible to read the letters of the Duke of\nArgyll to Mr. Gladstone on land, church establishment, the Zulu war,\nwithout wondering on what theory a cabinet was formed that included him,\nable and (M21) upright as he was, along with radicals like Mr.\nChamberlain. Before the cabinet was six months old the duke was plucking\nMr. Gladstone's sleeve with some vivacity at the Birmingham language on\nIrish land. Mr. Parnell in the committee stage abstained from supporting\nthe measure, sixteen liberals voted against the third reading, and the\nHouse of Lords, in which nationalist Ireland had not a single\nrepresentative, threw out the bill by a majority of 282 against 51. It was\nsaid that if all the opposition peers had stayed away, still ministers\nwould have been beaten by their own supporters.\n\nLooking back upon these events, Mr. Gladstone set out in a memorandum of\nlater years, that during the session of 1880 the details of the budget\ngave him a good deal to do, while the absorbing nature of foreign\nquestions before and after his accession to office had withdrawn his\nattention from his own Land Act of 1870:(35)--\n\n\n    Late in the session came the decisive and disastrous rejection by\n    the House of Lords of the bill by means of which the government\n    had hoped to arrest the progress of disorder, and avert the\n    necessity for measures in the direction of coercion. The rapid and\n    vast extension of agrarian disturbance followed, as was to be\n    expected, this wild excess of landlordism, and the Irish\n    government proceeded to warn the cabinet that coercive legislation\n    would be necessary.\n\n    Forster allowed himself to be persuaded by the governmental agents\n    in Ireland that the root of the evil lay within small compass;\n    that there were in the several parishes a certain limited number\n    of unreasonable and mischievous men, that these men were known to\n    the police, and that if summary powers were confided to the Irish\n    government, by the exercise of which these objectionable persons\n    might be removed, the evil would die out of itself. I must say I\n    never fell into this extraordinary illusion of Forster's about his\n    'village ruffian.' But he was a very impracticable man placed in a\n    position of great responsibility. He was set upon a method of\n    legislation adapted to the erroneous belief that the mischief lay\n    only with a very limited number of well-known individuals, that is\n    to say, the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act.... Two points of\n    difference arose: first, as to the nature of the coercion to be\n    used; secondly, as to its time. I insisted that we were bound to\n    try what we could do against Parnell under the existing law,\n    before asking for extraordinary powers. Both Bright and\n    Chamberlain, if I remember right, did very good service in\n    protesting against haste, and resisting Forster's desire to\n    anticipate the ordinary session for the purpose of obtaining\n    coercive powers. When, however, the argument of time was exhausted\n    by the Parnell trial(36) and otherwise, I obtained no support from\n    them in regard to the kind of coercion we were to ask. I\n    considered it should be done by giving stringency to the existing\n    law, but not by abolishing the right to be tried before being\n    imprisoned. I felt the pulse of various members of the cabinet,\n    among whom I seem to recollect Kimberley and Carlingford, but I\n    could obtain no sympathy, and to my dismay both Chamberlain and\n    Bright arrived at the conclusion that if there was to be coercion\n    at all, which they lamented, there was something simple and\n    effective in the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act which made\n    such a method preferable to others.(37) I finally acquiesced. It\n    may be asked why? My resistance would have broken up the\n    government or involved my own retirement. My reason for\n    acquiescence was that I bore in mind the special commission under\n    which the government had taken office. It related to the foreign\n    policy of the country, the whole spirit and effect of which we\n    were to reconstruct. This work had not yet been fully\n    accomplished, and it seemed to me that the effective prosecution\n    of it was our first and highest duty. I therefore submitted.\n\n\nBy the end of November Mr. Gladstone explained to the Queen that the state\nof Ireland was menacing; its distinctive character was not so much that of\ngeneral insecurity of life, as that of a widespread conspiracy against\nproperty. The worst of it was, he said, that the leaders, unlike\nO'Connell, failed to denounce crime. The outbreak was not comparable to\nthat of 1832. In 1879 homicides were 64 against 242 for the earlier year\nof disturbance. But things were bad enough. (M22) In Galway they had a\npoliceman for every forty-seven adult males, and a soldier for every\nninety-seven. Yet dangerous terrorism was rampant. \"During more than\nthirty-seven years since I first entered a cabinet,\" Mr. Gladstone told\nthe Speaker (November 25), \"I have hardly known so difficult a question of\nadministration, as that of the immediate duty of the government in the\npresent state of Ireland. The multitude of circumstances to be taken into\naccount must strike every observer. Among these stand the novelty of the\nsuspension of Habeas Corpus in a case of agrarian crime stimulated by a\npublic society, and the rather serious difficulty of obtaining it; but\nmore important than these is the grave doubt whether it would really reach\nthe great characteristic evil of the time, namely, the paralysis of most\nimportant civil and proprietary rights, and whether the immediate proposal\nof a remedy, probably ineffective and even in a coercive sense partial,\nwould not seriously damage the prospects of that arduous and comprehensive\ntask which without doubt we must undertake when parliament is summoned.\"\nIn view of considerations of this kind, the awkwardness of directing an\nAct of parliament virtually against leaders who were at the moment the\nobject of indictment in the Irish law courts; difficulties of time; doubts\nas to the case being really made out; doubts as to the efficacy of the\nproposed remedy, Mr. Forster did not carry the cabinet, but agreed to\ncontinue the experiment of the ordinary law. The experiment was no\nsuccess, and coercion accompanied by land reform became the urgent policy.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nThe opening of the session of 1881 at once brought obstruction into full\nview. The Irish took up their position as a party of action. They spoke\nincessantly; as Mr. Gladstone put it, \"sometimes rising to the level of\nmediocrity, and more often grovelling amidst mere trash in unbounded\nprofusion.\" Obstruction is obstruction all the world over. It was not\nquite new at Westminster, but it was new on this scale. Closure proposals\nsprang up like mushrooms. Liberal members with a historical bent ran\nprivately to the Speaker with ancient precedents of dictatorial powers\nasserted by his official ancestors, and they exhorted him to revive them.\n\nMr. Forster brought in his bill. Its scope may be described in a sentence.\nIt practically enabled the viceroy to lock up anybody he pleased, and to\ndetain him as long as he pleased, while the Act remained in force.(38) The\ndebate for leave to introduce the bill lasted several days, without any\nsign of coming to an end. Here is the Speaker's account of his own\nmemorable act in forcing a close:--\n\n\n    _Monday, Jan. 31._--The House was boiling over with indignation at\n    the apparent triumph of obstruction, and Mr. _G_., yielding to the\n    pressure of his friends, committed himself unwisely, as I thought,\n    to a continuous sitting on this day in order to force the bill\n    through its first stage.\n\n    On Tuesday, after a sitting of twenty-four hours, I saw plainly\n    that this attempt to carry the bill by continuous sitting would\n    fail, the Parnell party being strong in numbers, discipline, and\n    organisation, and with great gifts of speech. I reflected on the\n    situation, and came to the conclusion that it was my duty to\n    extricate the House from the difficulty by closing the debate of\n    my own authority, and so asserting the undoubted will of the House\n    against a rebellious minority. I sent for Mr. G. on Tuesday (Feb.\n    1), about noon, and told him that I should be prepared to put the\n    question in spite of obstruction on the following conditions: 1.\n    That the debate should be carried on until the following morning,\n    my object in this delay being to mark distinctly to the outside\n    world the extreme gravity of the situation, and the necessity of\n    the step which I was about to take. 2. That he should reconsider\n    the regulation of business, either by giving more authority to the\n    House, or by conferring authority on the Speaker.\n\n    He agreed to these conditions, and summoned a meeting of the\n    cabinet, which assembled in my library at four P.M. on Tuesday\n    while the House was sitting, and I was in the chair. At that\n    meeting the resolution as to business assumed the shape in which\n    it finally appeared on the following Thursday, it having been\n    previously considered at former meetings of the cabinet. I\n    arranged with Playfair to take the chair on Tuesday night about\n    midnight, engaging to resume it on Wednesday morning at nine.\n    Accordingly at nine I took the chair, Biggar being in possession\n    of the House. I rose, and he resumed his seat. I proceeded with my\n    address as concerted with May, and when I had concluded I put the\n    question. The scene was most dramatic; but all passed off without\n    disturbance, the Irish party on the second division retiring under\n    protest.\n\n    I had communicated, with Mr. G.'s approval, my intention to close\n    the debate to Northcote, but to no one else, except May, from whom\n    I received much assistance. Northcote was startled, but expressed\n    no disapproval of the course proposed.\n\n\nSo ended the memorable sitting of January 31. At noon, on February 2, the\nHouse assembled in much excitement. The question was put challenging the\nSpeaker's conduct. \"I answered,\" he says, \"on the spur of the moment that\nI had acted on my own responsibility, and from a sense of duty to the\nHouse. I never heard such loud and protracted cheering, none cheering more\nloudly than Gladstone.\" \"The Speaker's firmness in mind,\" Mr. Gladstone\nreported to the Queen, \"his suavity in manner, his unwearied patience, his\nincomparable temper, under a thousand provocations, have rendered possible\na really important result.\"\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nAfter coercion came a land bill, and here Mr. Gladstone once more\ndisplayed his unequalled mastery of legislative skill and power. He had to\nexplain and be ready to explain again and again, what he told Lord\nSelborne was \"the most difficult measure he had ever known to come under\nthe detailed consideration of a cabinet.\" It was no affair this time of\nspeeches out of a railway carriage, or addressed to excited multitudes in\nvast halls. That might be, if you so pleased, \"the empty verbosity of\nexuberant rhetoric\"; but nobody could say that of the contest over the\ncomplexities of Irish tenure, against the clever and indomitable Irish\nexperts who fought under the banner of Mr. Parnell. Northcote was not far\nwrong when he said that though the bill was carried by two to one, there\nwas hardly a man in the House beyond the Irish ranks who cared a straw\nabout it. Another critic said that if the prime minister had asked the\nHouse to pass the _Koran_ or the _Nautical Almanac_ as a land bill, he\nwould have met no difficulty.\n\nThe history of the session was described as the carriage of a single\nmeasure by a single man. Few British members understood it, none mastered\nit. The whigs were disaffected about it, the radicals doubted it, the\ntories thought that property as a principle was ruined by it, the\nIrishmen, when the humour seized them, bade him send the bill to line\ntrunks. Mr. Gladstone, as one observer truly says, \"faced difficulties\nsuch as no other bill of this country has ever encountered, difficulties\nof politics and difficulties of law, difficulties of principle and\ndifficulties of detail, difficulties of party and difficulties of\npersonnel, difficulties of race and difficulties of class, and he has\nnever once failed, or even seemed to fail, in his clear command of the\nquestion, in his dignity and authority of demeanour, in his impartiality\nin accepting amending suggestions, in his firmness in resisting\ndestructive suggestions, in his clear perception of his aim, and his\nstrong grasp of the fitting means. And yet it is hardly possible to\nappreciate adequately the embarrassments of the situation.\"\n\nEnough has already been said of the legislation of 1870, and its\nestablishment of the principle that Irish land is not the subject of an\nundivided ownership, but a partnership.(39) The act of 1870 failed because\nit had too many exceptions and limitations; because in administration the\ncompensation to the tenant for disturbance was inadequate; and because it\ndid not fix the cultivator in his holding. Things had now ripened. The\nRichmond Commission shortly before had pointed to a court for fixing\nrents; that is, for settling the terms of the partnership. A commission\nnominated by Mr. Gladstone and presided over by Lord Bessborough had\nreported early in 1881 in favour not only of fair rents to be settled by a\ntribunal, but of fixity of tenure or the right of (M23) the tenant to\nremain in his holding if he paid his rent, and of free sale; that is, his\nright to part with his interest. These \"three F's\" were the substance of\nthe legislation of 1881.\n\nRents could not be paid, and landlords either would not or could not\nreduce them. In the deepest interests of social order, and in confirmation\nof the tenant's equitable and customary ownership, the only course open to\nthe imperial legislature was to erect machinery for fixing fair rents. The\nalternative to what became matter of much objurgation as dual ownership,\nwas a single ownership that was only a short name for allowing the\nlandlord to deal as he liked with the equitable interest of the tenant.\nWithout the machinery set up by Mr. Gladstone, there could be no security\nfor the protection of the cultivator's interest. What is more, even in\nview of a wide and general extension of the policy of buying out the\nlandlord and turning the tenant into single owner, still a process of\nvaluation for purposes of fair price would have been just as\nindispensable, as under the existing system was the tiresome and costly\nprocess of valuation for purposes of fair rent. It is true that if the\npolicy of purchase had been adopted, this process would have been\nperformed once for all. But opinion was not nearly ready either in England\nor Ireland for general purchase. And as Mr. Gladstone had put it to Bright\nin 1870, to turn a little handful of occupiers into owners would not have\ntouched the fringe of the case of the bulk of the Irish cultivators, then\nundergoing acute mischief and urgently crying for prompt relief. Mr.\nBright's idea of purchase, moreover, assumed that the buyer would come\nwith at least a quarter of the price in his hand,--an assumption not\nconsistent with the practical possibilities of the case.\n\nThe legislation of 1881 no doubt encountered angry criticism from the\nEnglish conservative, and little more than frigid approval from the Irish\nnationalist. It offended the fundamental principle of the landlords; its\nadministration and the construction of some of its leading provisions by\nthe courts disappointed and irritated the tenant party. Nevertheless any\nattempt in later times to impair the authority of the Land Act of 1881\nbrought the fact instantly to light, that the tenant knew it to be the\nfundamental charter of his redemption from worse than Egyptian bondage. In\nmeasuring this great agrarian law, not only by parliamentary force and\nlegislative skill and power, but by the vast and abiding depth of its\nsocial results, both direct and still more indirect, many will be disposed\nto give it the highest place among Mr. Gladstone's achievements as\nlawmaker.\n\nFault has sometimes been found with Mr. Gladstone for not introducing his\nbill in the session of 1880. If this had been done, it is argued, Ireland\nwould have been appeased, no coercion would have been necessary, and we\nshould have been spared disastrous parliamentary exasperations and all the\nother mischiefs and perils of the quarrel between England and Ireland that\nfollowed. Criticism of this kind overlooks three facts. Neither Mr.\nGladstone nor Forster nor the new House of Commons was at all ready in\n1880 to accept the Three F's. Second, the Bessborough commission had not\ntaken its evidence, and made its momentous report. Third, this argument\nassumes motives in Mr. Parnell, that probably do not at all cover the\nwhole ground of his policy. As it happened, I called on Mr. Gladstone one\nmorning early in 1881. \"You have heard,\" I asked, \"that the Bessborough\ncommission are to report for the Three F's?\" \"I have not heard,\" he said;\n\"it is incredible!\" As so often comes to pass in politics, it was only a\nstep from the incredible to the indispensable. But in 1880 the\nindispensable was also the impossible. It was the cruel winter of 1880-1\nthat made much difference.\n\nIn point of endurance the session was one of the most remarkable on\nrecord. The House of Commons sat 154 days and for 1400 hours; some 240 of\nthese hours were after midnight. Only three times since the Reform bill\nhad the House sat for more days; only once, in 1847, had the total number\nof hours been exceeded and that only by seven, and never before had the\nHouse sat so many hours after midnight. On the Coercion bill the House sat\ncontinuously once for 22 hours, and once for 41. The debates on the Land\nbill took up 58 sittings, and the Coercion bill 22. No such length of\ndiscussion, Mr. Gladstone told the Queen, (M24) was recorded on any\nmeasure since the committee on the first Reform bill. The Reform bill of\n1867 was the only measure since 1843 that took as many as 35 days of\ndebate. The Irish Church bill took 21 days and the Land bill of 1870 took\n25. Of the 14,836 speeches delivered, 6315 were made by Irish members. The\nSpeaker and chairman of committees interposed on points of order nearly\n2000 times during the session. Mr. Parnell, the Speaker notes, \"with his\nminority of 24 dominates the House. When will the House take courage and\nreform its procedure?\" After all, the suspension of _habeas corpus_ is a\nthing that men may well think it worth while to fight about, and a\nrevolution in a country's land-system might be expected to take up a good\ndeal of time.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nIt soon appeared that no miracle had been wrought by either Coercion Act\nor Land Act. Mr. Parnell drew up test cases for submission to the new land\ncourt. His advice to the army of tenants would depend, he said, on the\nfate of these cases. In September Mr. Forster visited Hawarden, and gave a\nbad account of the real meaning of Mr. Parnell's plausible propositions\nfor sending test cases to the newly established land commission, as well\nas of other ugly circumstances. \"It is quite clear as you said,\" wrote Mr.\nGladstone to Forster in Ireland, \"that Parnell means to present cases\nwhich the commission must refuse, and then to treat their refusal as\nshowing that they cannot be trusted, and that the bill has failed.\" As he\ninterpreted it afterwards, there was no doubt that in one sense the Land\nAct tended to accelerate a crisis in Ireland, for it brought to a head the\naffairs of the party connected with the land league. It made it almost a\nnecessity for that party either to advance or to recede. They chose the\ndesperate course. At the same date, he wrote in a letter to Lord\nGranville:--\n\n\n    With respect to Parnellism, I should not propose to do more than a\n    severe and strong denunciation of it by severing him altogether\n    from the Irish people and the mass of the Irish members, and by\n    saying that home rule has for one of its aims local government--an\n    excellent thing to which I would affix no limits except the\n    supremacy of the imperial parliament, and the rights of all parts\n    of the country to claim whatever might be accorded to Ireland.\n    This is only a repetition of what I have often said before, and I\n    have nothing to add or enlarge. But I have the fear that when the\n    occasion for action comes, which will not be in my time, many\n    liberals may perhaps hang back and may cause further trouble.\n\n\nIn view of what was to come four years later, one of his letters to\nForster is interesting (April 12, 1882), among other reasons as\nillustrating the depth to which the essence of political liberalism had\nnow penetrated Mr. Gladstone's mind:--\n\n\n    1. About local government for Ireland, the ideas which more and\n    more establish themselves in my mind are such as these.\n\n    (1.) Until we have seriously responsible bodies to deal with us in\n    Ireland, every plan we frame comes to Irishmen, say what we may,\n    as an English plan. As such it is probably condemned. At best it\n    is a one-sided bargain, which binds us, not them.\n\n    (2.) If your excellent plans for obtaining local aid towards the\n    execution of the law break down, it will be on account of this\n    miserable and almost total want of the sense of responsibility for\n    the public good and public peace in Ireland; and this\n    responsibility we cannot create except through local\n    self-government.\n\n    (3.) If we say we must postpone the question till the state of the\n    country is more fit for it, I should answer that the least danger\n    is in going forward at once. It is liberty alone which fits men\n    for liberty. This proposition, like every other in politics, has\n    its bounds; but it is far safer than the counter doctrine, wait\n    till they are fit.\n\n    (4.) In truth I should say (differing perhaps from many), that for\n    the Ireland of to-day, the first question is the rectification of\n    the relations between landlord and tenant, which happily is going\n    on; the next is to relieve Great Britain from the enormous weight\n    of the government of Ireland unaided by the people, and from the\n    hopeless contradiction in which we stand while we give a\n    parliamentary representation, hardly effective for anything but\n    mischief without the local institutions of self-government which\n    it presupposes, and on which alone it can have a sound and healthy\n    basis.\n\n\nWe have before us in administration, he wrote to Forster in September--\n\n\n    a problem not less delicate and arduous than the problem of\n    legislation with which we have lately had to deal in parliament.\n    Of the leaders, the officials, the skeleton of the land league I\n    have no hope whatever. The better the prospects of the Land Act\n    with their adherents outside the circle of wire-pullers, and with\n    the Irish people, the more bitter will be their hatred, and the\n    more sure they will be to go as far as fear of the people will\n    allow them in keeping up the agitation, which they cannot afford\n    to part with on account of their ulterior ends. All we can do is\n    to turn more and more the masses of their followers, to fine them\n    down by good laws and good government, and it is in this view that\n    the question of judicious releases from prison, should improving\n    statistics of crime encourage it, may become one of early\n    importance.\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nIt was in the autumn of 1881 that Mr. Gladstone visited Leeds, in payment\nof the debt of gratitude due for his triumphant return in the general\nelection of the year before. This progress extended over four days, and\nalmost surpassed in magnitude and fervour any of his experiences in other\nparts of the kingdom. We have an interesting glimpse of the physical\neffort of such experiences in a couple of his letters written to Mr.\nKitson, who with immense labour and spirit had organized this severe if\nglorious enterprise:--\n\n\n    _Hawarden Castle, Sept. 28, 1881._--I thank you for the very clear\n    and careful account of the proposed proceedings at Leeds. It lacks\n    as yet that _rough_ statement of numbers at each meeting, which is\n    requisite to enable me to understand what I shall have to do. This\n    will be fixed by the scale of the meeting. I see no difficulty but\n    one--a procession through the principal thoroughfares is one of the\n    most exhausting processes I know as a _preliminary_ to addressing\n    a mass meeting. A mass meeting requires the physical powers to be\n    in their best and freshest state, as far as anything can be fresh\n    in a man near seventy-two; and I have on one or more former\n    occasions felt them wofully contracted. In Midlothian I never had\n    anything of the kind before a great physical effort in speaking;\n    and the lapse even of a couple of years is something. It would\n    certainly be most desirable to have the mass meeting first, and\n    then I have not any fear at all of the procession through whatever\n    thoroughfares you think fit.\n\n    _Oct. 2, 1881._--I should be very sorry to put aside any of the\n    opportunities of vision at Leeds which the public may care to use;\n    but what I had hoped was that these might come _after_ any\n    speeches of considerable effort and not _before_ them. To\n    understand what a physical drain, and what a reaction from tension\n    of the senses is caused by a \"progress\" before addressing a great\n    audience, a person must probably have gone through it, and gone\n    through it at my time of life. When I went to Midlothian, I begged\n    that this might never happen; and it was avoided throughout. Since\n    that time I have myself been sensible for the first time of a\n    diminished power of voice in the House of Commons, and others also\n    for the first time have remarked it.\n\n\nVast torchlight processions, addresses from the corporation, four score\naddresses from political bodies, a giant banquet in the Cloth Hall Yard\ncovered in for the purpose, on one day; on another, more addresses, a\npublic luncheon followed by a mass meeting of over five-and-twenty\nthousand persons, then a long journey through dense throngs vociferous\nwith an exultation that knew no limits, a large dinner party, and at the\nend of all a night train. The only concessions that the veteran asked to\nweakness of the flesh, were that at the banquet he should not appear until\nthe eating and drinking were over, and that at the mass meeting some\npreliminary speakers should intervene to give him time to take breath\nafter his long and serious exercises of the morning. When the time came\nhis voice was heard like the note of a clear and deep-toned bell. So much\nhad vital energy, hardly less rare than his mental power, to do with the\nvaried exploits of this spacious career.\n\nThe topics of his Leeds speeches I need not travel over. (M25) What\nattracted most attention and perhaps drew most applause was his warning to\nMr. Parnell. \"He desires,\" said the minister, \"to arrest the operation of\nthe Land Act; to stand as Moses stood between the living and the dead; to\nstand there not as Moses stood, to arrest, but to spread the plague.\" The\nmenace that followed became a catchword of the day: \"If it shall appear\nthat there is still to be fought a final conflict in Ireland between law\non the one side and sheer lawlessness upon the other, if the law purged\nfrom defect and from any taint of injustice is still to be repelled and\nrefused, and the first conditions of political society to remain\nunfulfilled, then I say, gentlemen, without hesitation, the resources of\ncivilisation against its enemies are not yet exhausted.\"(40)\n\nNor was the pageant all excitement. The long speech, which by way of\nprelusion to the great mass meeting he addressed to the chamber of\ncommerce, was devoted to the destruction of the economic sophisters who\ntried to persuade us that \"the vampire of free-trade was insidiously\nsucking the life-blood of the country.\" In large survey of broad social\nfacts, exposition of diligently assorted figures, power of scientific\nanalysis, sustained chain of reasoning, he was never better. The\nconsummate mastery of this argumentative performance did not slay a heresy\nthat has nine lives, but it drove the thing out of sight in Yorkshire for\nsome time to come.(41)\n\n\n\nVII\n\n\nOn Wednesday October 12, the cabinet met, and after five hours of\ndeliberation decided that Mr. Parnell should be sent to prison under the\nCoercion Act. The Irish leader was arrested at his hotel the next morning,\nand carried off to Kilmainham, where he remained for some six months. The\nsame day Mr. Gladstone was presented with an address from the Common\nCouncil of London, and in his speech at the Guildhall gave them the news:--\n\n\n    Our determination has been that to the best of our power, our\n    words should be carried into acts [referring to what he had said\n    at Leeds], and even within these few moments I have been informed\n    that towards the vindication of law and order, of the rights of\n    property, of the freedom of the land, of the first elements of\n    political life and civilisation, the first step has been taken in\n    the arrest of the man who unhappily from motives which I do not\n    challenge, which I cannot examine and with which I have nothing to\n    do, has made himself beyond all others prominent in the attempt to\n    destroy the authority of the law, and to substitute what would end\n    in being nothing more or less than anarchical oppression exercised\n    upon the people of Ireland.\n\n\nThe arrest of Mr. Parnell was no doubt a pretty considerable strain upon\npowers conferred by parliament to put down village ruffians; but times\nwere revolutionary, and though the Act of parliament was not a wise one,\nbut altogether the reverse of wise, it was no wonder that having got the\ninstrument, ministers thought they might as well use it. Still executive\nviolence did not seem to work, and Mr. Gladstone looked in a natural\ndirection for help in the milder way of persuasion. He wrote (December\n17th) to Cardinal Newman:--\n\n\n    I will begin with defining strictly the limits of this appeal. I\n    ask you to read the inclosed papers; and to consider whether you\n    will write anything to Rome upon them. I do not ask you to write,\n    nor to tell me whether you write, nor to make any reply to this\n    letter, beyond returning the inclosures in an envelope to me in\n    Downing Street. I will state briefly the grounds of my request,\n    thus limited. In 1844, when I was young as a cabinet minister, and\n    the government of Sir R. Peel was troubled with the O'Connell\n    manifestations, they made what I think was an appeal to Pope\n    Gregory XVI. for his intervention to discourage agitation in\n    Ireland. I should be very loath now to tender such a request at\n    Rome. But now a different case arises. Some members of the Roman\n    catholic priesthood in Ireland deliver certain sermons and\n    otherwise express themselves in the way which my inclosures\n    exhibit. I doubt whether if they were laymen we should not have\n    settled their cases by putting them into gaol. I need not describe\n    the sentiments uttered. Your eminence will feel them and judge\n    them as strongly as I do. But now as to the Supreme Pontiff. You\n    will hardly be surprised when I say that I regard him, if apprised\n    of the facts, as responsible for the conduct of these priests. For\n    I know perfectly well that he has the means of silencing them; and\n    that, if any one of them were in public to dispute the decrees of\n    the council of 1870 as plainly as he has denounced law and order,\n    he would be silenced.\n\n    Mr. Errington, who is at Rome, will I believe have seen these\n    papers, and will I hope have brought the facts as far as he is\n    able to the knowledge of his holiness. But I do not know how far\n    he is able; nor how he may use his discretion. He is not our\n    official servant, but an independent Roman catholic gentleman and\n    a volunteer.\n\n    My wish is as regards Ireland, in this hour of her peril and her\n    hope, to leave nothing undone by which to give heart and strength\n    to the hope and to abate the peril. But my wish as regards the\n    Pope is that he should have the means of bringing those for whom\n    he is responsible to fulfil the elementary duties of citizenship.\n    I say of citizenship; of Christianity, of priesthood, it is not\n    for me to speak.\n\n\nThe cardinal replied that he would gladly find himself able to be of\nservice, however slight it might be, in a political crisis which must be\nfelt as of grave anxiety by all who understand the blessing of national\nunity and peace. He thought Mr. Gladstone overrated the pope's power in\npolitical and social matters. Absolute in questions of theology, it was\nnot so in political matters. If the contest in Ireland were whether\n\"rebellion\" or whether \"robbery\" was a sin, we might expect him to\nanathematise its denial. But his action in concrete matters, as whether a\npolitical party is censurable or not, was not direct, and only in the long\nrun effective. Local power and influence was often a match for Roman\nright. The pope's right keeps things together, it checks extravagances,\nand at length prevails, but not without a fight. Its exercise is a matter\nof great prudence, and depends upon times and circumstances. As for the\nintemperate dangerous words of priests and curates, surely such persons\nbelonged to their respective bishops, and scarcely required the\nintroduction of the Supreme Authority.\n\n\n\nVIII\n\n\nWe have now arrived at April 1882. The reports brought to the cabinet by\nMr. Forster were of the gloomiest. The Land Act had brought no\nimprovement. In the south-west and many of the midland counties\nlawlessness and intimidation were worse than ever. Returns of agrarian\ncrime were presented in every shape, and comparisons framed by weeks, by\nmonths, by quarters; do what the statisticians would, and in spite of\nfluctuations, murders and other serious outrages had increased. The policy\nof arbitrary arrest had completely failed, and the officials and crown\nlawyers at the Castle were at their wits' end.\n\nWhile the cabinet was face to face with this ugly prospect, Mr. Gladstone\nreceived a communication volunteered by an Irish member, as to the new\nattitude of Mr. Parnell and the possibility of turning it to good account.\nMr. Gladstone sent this letter on to Forster, replying meanwhile \"in the\nsense of not shutting the door.\" When the thing came before the cabinet,\nMr. Chamberlain--who had previously told Mr. Gladstone that he thought the\ntime opportune for something like a reconciliation with the Irish\nparty--with characteristic courage took his life in his hands, as he put\nit, and set to work to ascertain through the emissary what use for the\npublic good could be made of Mr. Parnell's changed frame of mind. On April\n25th, the cabinet heard what Mr. Chamberlain had to tell them, and it came\nto this, that Mr. Parnell was desirous to use his influence on behalf of\npeace, but his influence for good depended on the settlement of the\nquestion of arrears. Ministers decided that they could enter into no\nagreement and would give no pledge. They would act on their own\nresponsibility in the light of the knowledge they had gained of Mr.\nParnell's views. Mr. Gladstone was always impatient of any reference to\n\"reciprocal assurances\" or \"tacit understanding\" in respect of the\ndealings with the prisoner in Kilmainham. Still the nature of the\nproceedings was plain enough. The object of the communications to which\nthe government were invited by Mr. Parnell through his emissary, was,\nsupposing him to be anxious to do what (M26) he could for law and order,\nto find out what action on the part of the government would enable him to\nadopt this line.\n\nEvents then moved rapidly. Rumours that something was going on got abroad,\nand questions began to be put in parliament. A stout tory gave notice of a\nmotion aiming at the release of the suspects. As Mr. Gladstone informed\nthe Queen, there was no doubt that the general opinion of the public was\nmoving in a direction adverse to arbitrary imprisonment, though the\nquestion was a nice one for consideration whether the recent surrender by\nthe no-rent party of its extreme and most subversive contentions, amounted\nto anything like a guarantee for their future conduct in respect of peace\nand order. The rising excitement was swelled by the retirement of Lord\nCowper from the viceroyalty, and the appointment as his successor of Lord\nSpencer, who had filled that post in Mr. Gladstone's first government. On\nMay 2nd, Mr. Gladstone read a memorandum to the cabinet to which they\nagreed:--\n\n\n    The cabinet are of opinion that the time has now arrived when with\n    a view to the interests of law and order in Ireland, the three\n    members of parliament who have been imprisoned on suspicion since\n    last October, should be immediately released; and that the list of\n    suspects should be examined with a view to the release of all\n    persons not believed to be associated with crimes. They propose at\n    once to announce to parliament their intention to propose, as soon\n    as necessary business will permit, a bill to strengthen the\n    ordinary law in Ireland for the security of life and property,\n    while reserving their discretion with regard to the Life and\n    Property Protection Act [of 1881], which however they do not at\n    present think it will be possible to renew, if a favourable state\n    of affairs shall prevail in Ireland.\n\n\nFrom this proceeding Mr. Forster dissented, and he resigned his office.\nHis point seems to have been that no suspect should be released until the\nnew Coercion Act had been fashioned, whereas the rest of the cabinet held\nthat there was no excuse for the continued detention under arbitrary\nwarrant of men as to whom the ground for the \"reasonable suspicion\"\nrequired by the law had now disappeared. He probably felt that the\nappointment of a viceroy of cabinet rank and with successful Irish\nexperience was in fact his own supersession. \"I have received your\nletter,\" Mr. Gladstone wrote to him (May 2), \"with much grief, but on this\nit would be selfish to expatiate. I have no choice; followed or not\nfollowed I must go on. There are portions of the subject which touch you\npersonally, and which seem to me to deserve _much_ attention. But I have\nsuch an interest in the main issue, that I could not be deemed impartial;\nso I had better not enter on them. One thing, however, I wish to say. You\nwish to minimise in any further statement the cause of your retreat. In my\nopinion--_and I speak from experience_--viewing the nature of that course,\nyou will find this hardly possible. For a justification you, I fear, will\nhave to found upon the doctrine of 'a new departure.' We must protest\nagainst it, and deny it with heart and soul.\"\n\nThe way in which Mr. Gladstone chose to put things was stated in a letter\nto the Queen (May 3): \"In his judgment there had been two, and only two,\nvital powers of commanding efficacy in Ireland, the Land Act, and the land\nleague; they had been locked in a combat of life and death; and the\ncardinal question was which of the two would win. From the serious effort\nto amend the Land Act by the Arrears bill of the nationalists,(42) from\nthe speeches made in support of it, and from information voluntarily\ntendered to the government as to the views of the leaders of the league,\nthe cabinet believed that those who governed the land league were now\nconscious of having been defeated by the Land Act on the main question,\nthat of paying rent.\"\n\nFor the office of Irish secretary Mr. Gladstone selected Lord Frederick\nCavendish, who was the husband of a niece of Mrs. Gladstone's, and one of\nthe most devoted of his friends and adherents. The special reason for the\nchoice of this capable and high-minded man, was that Lord Frederick had\nframed a plan of finance at the treasury for a new scheme of land\npurchase. The two freshly appointed Irish ministers at once crossed over\nto a country seething in disorder. The (M27) afternoon of the fatal sixth\nof May was passed by the new viceroy and Lord Frederick in that grim\napartment in Dublin Castle, where successive secretaries spend unshining\nhours in saying No to impossible demands, and hunting for plausible\nanswers to insoluble riddles. Never did so dreadful a shadow overhang it\nas on that day. The task on which the two ministers were engaged was the\nconsideration of the new provisions for coping with disorder, which had\nbeen prepared in London. The under-secretary, Mr. Burke, and one of the\nlawyers, were present. Lord Spencer rode out to the park about five\no'clock, and Lord Frederick followed him an hour later. He was overtaken\nby the under-secretary walking homewards, and as the two strolled on\ntogether, they were both brutally murdered in front of the vice-regal\nresidence. The assassins did not know who Lord Frederick was. Well has it\nbeen said that Ireland seems the sport of a destiny that is aimless.(43)\n\nThe official world of London was on that Saturday night in the full round\nof its pleasures. The Gladstones were dining at the Austrian embassy. So,\ntoo, was Sir William Harcourt, and to him as home secretary the black\ntidings were sent from Dublin late in the evening. Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone\nhad already left, she for a party at the admiralty, he walking home to\nDowning Street. At the admiralty they told her of bad news from Ireland\nand hurried her away. Mr. Gladstone arrived at home a few minutes after\nher. When his secretary in the hall told him of the horrible thing that\nhad been done, it was as if he had been felled to the ground. Then they\nhastened to bear what solace they could, to the anguish-stricken home\nwhere solace would be so sorely needed.\n\nThe effect of this blind and hideous crime was at once to arrest the\nspirit and the policy of conciliation. While the Irish leaders were locked\nup, a secret murder club had taken matters in hand in their own way, and\nripened plots within a stone's throw of the Castle. No worse blow could\nhave been struck at Mr. Parnell's policy. It has been said that the\nnineteenth century had seen the course of its history twenty-five times\ndiverted by actual or attempted crime. In that sinister list the murders\nin the Phoenix Park have a tragic place.\n\nThe voice of party was for the moment hushed. Sir Stafford Northcote wrote\na letter of admirable feeling, saying that if there was any way in which\nMr. Gladstone thought they could serve the government, he would of course\nlet them know. The Prince of Wales wrote of his own horror and indignation\nat the crime, and of his sympathy with Mr. Gladstone in the loss of one\nwho was not only a colleague of many merits, but a near connection and\ndevoted friend. With one or two scandalous exceptions, the tone of the\nEnglish press was sober, sensible, and self-possessed. \"If a nation,\" said\na leading journal in Paris, \"should be judged by the way in which it acts\non grave occasions, the spectacle offered by England is calculated to\nproduce a high opinion of the political character and spirit of the\nBritish people.\" Things of the baser sort were not quite absent, but they\ndid not matter. An appeal confronted the electors of the North-West Riding\nas they went to the poll at a bye-election a few days later, to \"Vote for\n----, and avenge the death of Lord Frederick Cavendish!\" They responded by\nplacing ----'s opponent at the head of the poll by a majority of two\nthousand.\n\nThe scene in the House had all the air of tragedy, and Mr. Gladstone\nsummoned courage enough to do his part with impressive composure. A\ncolleague was doing some business with him in his room before the\nsolemnity began. When it was over, they resumed it, Mr. Gladstone making\nno word of reference to the sombre interlude, before or after. \"Went\nreluctantly to the House,\" he says in his diary, \"and by the help of God\nforced out what was needful on the question of the adjournment.\" His words\nwere not many, when after commemorating the marked qualities of Mr. Burke,\nhe went on in laboured tones and slow speech and hardly repressed\nemotion:--\n\n\n    The hand of the assassin has come nearer home; and though I feel\n    it difficult to say a word, yet I must say that one of the very\n    noblest hearts in England has ceased to beat, and has ceased at\n    the very moment when it was just devoted to the service of\n    Ireland, full of love for that country, full of hope for her\n    future, full of capacity to render her service.\n\n\nWriting to Lady Frederick on a later day, he mentions a public reference\nto some pathetic words of hers (May 19):--\n\n\n    Sexton just now returned to the subject, with much approval from\n    the House. You will find it near the middle of a long speech.\n    Nothing could be better either in feeling or in grace (the man is\n    little short of a master), and I think it will warm your heart.\n    You have made a mark deeper than any wound.\n\n\nTo Lord Ripon in India, he wrote (June 1):--\n\n\n    The black act brought indeed a great personal grief to my wife and\n    me; but we are bound to merge our own sorrow in the larger and\n    deeper affliction of the widow and the father, in the sense of the\n    public loss of a life so valuable to the nation, and in the\n    consideration of the great and varied effects it may have on\n    immediate and vital interests. Since the death of this dearly\n    loved son, we have heard much good of the Duke, whom indeed we saw\n    at Chatsworth after the funeral, and we have seen much of Lady\n    Frederick, who has been good even beyond what we could have hoped.\n    I have no doubt you have heard in India the echo of words spoken\n    by Spencer from a letter of hers, in which she said she could give\n    up even him if his death were to work good to his fellow-men,\n    which indeed was the whole object of his life. These words have\n    had a tender effect, as remarkable as the horror excited by the\n    slaughter. Spencer wrote to me that a priest in Connemara read\n    them from the altar; when the whole congregation spontaneously\n    fell down upon their knees. In England, the national attitude has\n    been admirable. The general strain of language has been, \"Do not\n    let this terrible and flagitious crime deter you from persevering\n    with the work of justice.\"\n\n\nWell did Dean Church say that no Roman or Florentine lady ever uttered a\nmore heroic thing than was said by this English lady when on first seeing\nMr. Gladstone that terrible midnight she said, \"You did right to send him\nto Ireland.\"(44) \"The loss of F. Cavendish,\" Mr. Gladstone wrote to his\neldest son, \"will ever be to us all as an unhealed wound.\"\n\nOn the day after the murders Mr. Gladstone received a note through the\nsame channel by which Mr. Chamberlain had carried on his communications:\n\"I am authorised by Mr. Parnell to state that if Mr. Gladstone considers\nit necessary for the maintenance of his [Mr. G.'s] position and for\ncarrying out his views, that Mr. Parnell should resign his seat, Mr.\nParnell is prepared to do so immediately.\" To this Mr. Gladstone replied\n(May 7):--\n\n\n    My duty does not permit me for a moment to entertain Mr. Parnell's\n    proposal, just conveyed to me by you, that he should if I think it\n    needful resign his seat; but I am deeply sensible of the\n    honourable motives by which it has been prompted.\n\n\n\"My opinion is,\" said Mr. Gladstone to Lord Granville, \"that if Parnell\ngoes, no restraining influence will remain; the scale of outrages will be\nagain enlarged; and no repressive bill can avail to put it down.\" Those of\nthe cabinet who had the best chance of knowing, were convinced that Mr.\nParnell was \"sincerely anxious for the pacification of Ireland.\"\n\nThe reaction produced by the murders in the Park made perseverance in a\nmilder policy impossible in face of English opinion, and parliament\neagerly passed the Coercion Act of 1882. I once asked an Irishman of\nconsummate experience and equitable mind, with no leanings that I know of\nto political nationalism, whether the task of any later ruler of Ireland\nwas comparable to Lord Spencer's. \"Assuredly not,\" he replied: \"in 1882\nIreland seemed to be literally a society on the eve of dissolution. The\nInvincibles still roved with knives about the streets of Dublin.\nDiscontent had been stirred in the ranks of the Royal Irish Constabulary,\nand a dangerous mutiny broke out in the metropolitan force. Over half of\nthe country the demoralisation of every class, the terror, the fierce\nhatred, the universal distrust, had grown to an incredible pitch. The\nmoral cowardice of what ought to have been the governing class was\nastounding. The landlords would hold meetings and agree not to go beyond a\ncertain abatement, and then they would go individually and privately offer\nto the tenant a greater abatement. Even the agents of the law and the\ncourts were shaken in their duty. The power of random arrest and detention\nunder the Coercion Act of 1881 had not improved the _moral_ of magistrates\nand police. The sheriff would let the word get out that he was coming to\nmake a seizure, and profess surprise that the cattle had vanished. The\nwhole country-side turned out in thousands in half the counties in Ireland\nto attend flaming meetings, and if a man did not attend, angry neighbours\ntrooped up to know the reason why. The clergy hardly stirred a finger to\nrestrain the wildness of the storm; some did their best to raise it. All\nthat was what Lord Spencer had to deal with; the very foundations of the\nsocial fabric rocking.\"\n\nThe new viceroy attacked the formidable task before him with resolution,\nminute assiduity, and an inexhaustible store of that steady-eyed patience\nwhich is the sovereign requisite of any man who, whether with coercion or\nwithout, takes in hand the government of Ireland. He was seconded with\nhigh ability and courage by Mr. Trevelyan, the new Irish secretary, whose\nfortitude was subjected to a far severer trial than has ever fallen to the\nlot of any Irish secretary before or since. The coercion that Lord Spencer\nhad to administer was at least law. The coercion with which parliament\nentrusted Mr. Forster the year before was the negation of the spirit of\nlaw, and the substitution for it of naked and arbitrary control over the\nliberty of the subject by executive power--a system as unconstitutional in\ntheory as it was infatuated in policy and calamitous in result. Even\nbefore the end of the parliament, Mr. Bright frankly told the House of\nCommons of this Coercion Act: \"I think that the legislation of 1881 was\nunfortunately a great mistake, though I was myself a member of the\ngovernment concerned in it.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter V. Egypt. (1881-1882)\n\n\n    I find many very ready to say what I ought to have done when a\n    battle is over; but I wish some of these persons would come and\n    tell me what to do before the battle.--WELLINGTON.\n\n\nIn 1877 Mr. Gladstone penned words to which later events gave an only too\nstriking verification. \"Territorial questions,\" he said, \"are not to be\ndisposed of by arbitrary limits; we cannot enjoy the luxury of taking\nEgyptian soil by pinches. We may seize an Aden and a Perim, where is no\nalready formed community of inhabitants, and circumscribe a tract at will.\nBut our first site in Egypt, be it by larceny or be it by emption, will be\nthe almost certain egg of a North African empire, that will grow and grow\nuntil another Victoria and another Albert, titles of the lake-sources of\nthe White Nile, come within our borders; and till we finally join hands\nacross the equator with Natal and Cape Town, to say nothing of the\nTransvaal and the Orange River on the south, or of Abyssinia or Zanzibar\nto be swallowed by way of viaticum on our journey.\"(45) It was one of the\nironies in which every active statesman's life abounds, that the author of\nthat forecast should have been fated to take his country over its first\nmarches towards this uncoveted destination.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nFor many months after Mr. Gladstone formed his second ministry, there was\nno reason to suppose that the Egyptian branch of the eastern question,\nwhich for ever casts its (M28) perplexing shadow over Europe, was likely\nto give trouble. The new Khedive held a regularly defined position, alike\ntowards his titular sovereign at Constantinople, towards reforming\nministers at Cairo, towards the creditors of his state, and towards the\ntwo strong European Powers who for different reasons had the supervision\nof Egyptian affairs in charge. The oppression common to oriental\ngovernments seemed to be yielding before western standards. The load of\ninterest on a profligate debt was heavy, but it was not unskilfully\nadjusted. The rate of village usury was falling, and the value of land was\nrising. Unluckily the Khedive and his ministers neglected the grievances\nof the army, and in January 1881 its leaders broke out in revolt. The\nKhedive, without an armed force on whose fidelity he could rely, gave way\nto the mutineers, and a situation was created, familiar enough in all\noriental states, and not unlike that in our own country between Charles\nI., or in later days the parliament, and the roundhead troopers: anger and\nrevenge in the breast of the affronted civil ruler, distrust and dread of\npunishment in the mind of the soldiery. During the autumn (1881) the\ncrisis grew more alarming. The Khedive showed neither energy nor tact; he\nneither calmed the terror of the mutineers nor crushed them.\nInsubordination in the army began to affect the civil population, and a\nnational party came into open existence in the chamber of notables. The\nsoldiers found a head in Arabi, a native Egyptian, sprung of fellah\norigin. Want either of stern resolution or of politic vision in the\nKhedive and his minister had transferred the reality of power to the\ninsurgents. The Sultan of Turkey here saw his chance; he made a series of\ndiplomatic endeavours to reestablish a shattered sovereignty over his\nnominal feudatory on the Nile. This pretension, and the spreading tide of\ndisorder, brought England and France actively upon the scene. We can see\nnow, what expert observers on the spot saw then, that the two Powers\nmistook the nature of the Arabist movement. They perceived in it no more\nthan a military rising. It was in truth national as well as military; it\nwas anti-European, and above all, it was in its objects anti-Turk.\n\nIn 1879 the two governments had insisted on imposing over Egypt two\ncontrollers, with limited functions but irremovable. This, as Mr.\nGladstone argued later, was to bring foreign intervention into the heart\nof the country, and to establish in the strictest sense a political\ncontrol.(46) As a matter of fact, not then well known, in September 1879\nLord Salisbury had come to a definite understanding with the French\nambassador in London, that the two governments would not tolerate the\nestablishment in Egypt of political influence by any competing European\nPower; and what was more important, that they were prepared to take action\nto any extent that might be found necessary to give effect to their views\nin this respect. The notable acquisition by Lord Beaconsfield of an\ninterest in the Suez Canal, always regarded by Mr. Gladstone as a\npolitically ill-advised and hazardous transaction, had tied the English\nknot in Egypt still tighter.\n\nThe policy of the Gladstone cabinet was defined in general words in a\ndespatch from the foreign minister to the British agent at Cairo. Lord\nGranville (November 1881) disclaimed any self-aggrandising designs on the\npart of either England or France. He proclaimed the desire of the cabinet\nto uphold in Egypt the administrative independence secured to her by the\ndecrees of the sovereign power on the Bosphorus. Finally he set forth that\nthe only circumstances likely to force the government of the Queen to\ndepart from this course of conduct, would be the occurrence in Egypt of a\nstate of anarchy.(47)\n\nJustly averse to a joint occupation of Egypt by England and France, as the\nmost perilous of all possible courses, the London cabinet looked to the\nSultan as the best instrument for restoring order. Here they were\nconfronted by two insurmountable obstacles: first, the steadfast hostility\nof France to any form of Turkish intervention, and second, that strong\ncurrent of antipathy to the Sultan which had been set flowing over British\nopinion in the days of Midlothian.(48)\n\n(M29) In December (1881) the puissant genius of Gambetta acquired\nsupremacy for a season, and he without delay pressed upon the British\ncabinet the necessity of preparing for joint and immediate action.\nGambetta prevailed. The Turk was ruled out, and the two Powers of the west\ndetermined on action of their own. The particular mode of common action,\nhowever, in case action should become necessary, was left entirely open.\n\nMeanwhile the British cabinet was induced to agree to Gambetta's proposal\nto send instructions to Cairo, assuring the Khedive that England and\nFrance were closely associated in the resolve to guard by their united\nefforts against all causes of complaint, internal or external, which might\nmenace the existing order of things in Egypt. This was a memorable\nstarting-point in what proved an amazing journey. This Joint Note (January\n6, 1881) was the first link in a chain of proceedings that brought each of\nthe two governments who were its authors, into the very position that they\nwere most strenuously bent on averting; France eventually ousted herself\nfrom Egypt, and England was eventually landed in plenary and permanent\noccupation. So extraordinary a result only shows how impenetrable were the\nwindings of the labyrinth. The foremost statesmen of England and France\nwere in their conning towers, and England at any rate employed some of the\nablest of her agents. Yet each was driven out of an appointed course to an\nunforeseen and an unwelcome termination. Circumstances like these might\nteach moderation both to the French partisans who curse the vacillations\nof M. de Freycinet, and to the English partisans who, while rejoicing in\nthe ultimate result, curse the vacillations of the cabinet of Mr.\nGladstone, in wisely striving to unravel a knot instead of at all risks\ncutting it.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThe present writer described the effect of the Joint Note in the following\nwords written at the time(49): \"At Cairo the Note fell like a bombshell.\nNobody there had expected any such declaration, and nobody was aware of\nany reason why it should have been launched. What was felt was that so\nserious a step on such delicate ground could not have been adopted without\ndeliberate calculation, nor without some grave intention. The Note was,\ntherefore, taken to mean that the Sultan was to be thrust still further in\nthe background; that the Khedive was to become more plainly the puppet of\nEngland and France; and that Egypt would sooner or later in some shape or\nother be made to share the fate of Tunis. The general effect was,\ntherefore, mischievous in the highest degree. The Khedive was encouraged\nin his opposition to the sentiments of his Chamber. The military,\nnational, or popular party was alarmed. The Sultan was irritated. The\nother European Powers were made uneasy. Every element of disturbance was\nroused into activity.\"\n\nIt is true that even if no Joint Note had ever been despatched, the\nprospects of order were unpromising. The most careful analysis of the\nvarious elements of society in Egypt by those best acquainted at first\nhand with all those elements, whether internal or external, whether\nEgyptian or European, and with all the roots of antagonism thriving among\nthem, exhibited no promise of stability. If Egypt had been a simple case\nof an oriental government in revolutionary commotion, the ferment might\nhave been left to work itself out. Unfortunately Egypt, in spite of the\nmaps, lies in Europe. So far from being a simple case, it was\nindescribably entangled, and even the desperate questions that rise in our\nminds at the mention of the Balkan peninsula, of Armenia, of\nConstantinople, offer no such complex of difficulties as the Egyptian\nriddle in 1881-2. The law of liquidation(50)--whatever else we may think of\nit--at least made the policy of Egypt for the Egyptians unworkable. Yet the\nBritish cabinet were not wrong in thinking that this was no reason for\nsliding into the competing policy of Egypt for the English _and_ the\nFrench, which would have been more unworkable still.\n\nEngland strove manfully to hold the ground that she (M30) had taken in\nNovember. Lord Granville told the British ambassador in Paris that his\ngovernment disliked intervention either by themselves or anybody else as\nmuch as ever; that they looked upon the experiment of the Chamber with\nfavourable eyes; that they wished to keep the connection of the Porte with\nEgypt so far as it was compatible with Egyptian liberties; and that the\nobject of the Joint Note was to strengthen the existing government of\nEgypt. Gambetta, on the other hand, was convinced that all explanations of\nthis sort would only serve further to inflate the enemies of France and\nEngland in the Egyptian community, and would encourage their designs upon\nthe law of liquidation. Lord Granville was honourably and consistently\nanxious to confine himself within the letter of international right, while\nGambetta was equally anxious to intervene in Egyptian administration,\nwithin right or without it, and to force forward that Anglo-French\noccupation in which Lord Granville so justly saw nothing but danger and\nmischief. Once more Lord Granville, at the end of the month which had\nopened with the Joint Note, in a despatch to the ambassador at Paris\n(January 30), defined the position of the British cabinet. What measures\nshould be taken to meet Egyptian disorders? The Queen's government had \"a\nstrong objection to the occupation of Egypt by themselves.\" Egypt and\nTurkey would oppose; it would arouse the jealousy of other Powers, who\nwould, as there was even already good reason to believe, make counter\ndemonstrations; and, finally, such an occupation would be as distasteful\nto the French nation as the sole occupation of Egypt by the French would\nbe to ourselves. Joint occupation by England and France, in short, might\nlessen some difficulties, but it would seriously aggravate others. Turkish\noccupation would be a great evil, but it would not entail political\ndangers as great as those attending the other two courses. As for the\nFrench objections to the farther admission of the other European Powers to\nintervene in Egyptian affairs, the cabinet agreed that England and France\nhad an exceptional position in Egypt, but might it not be desirable to\nenter into some communication with the other Powers, as to the best way of\ndealing with a state of things that appeared likely to interfere both with\nthe Sultan's firmans and with Egypt's international engagements?\n\nAt this critical moment Gambetta fell from power. The mark that he had set\nupon western policy in Egypt remained. Good observers on the spot, trained\nin the great school of India, thought that even if there were no more than\na chance of working with the national party, the chance was well worth\ntrying. As the case was put at the time, \"It is impossible to conceive a\nsituation that more imperatively called for caution, circumspection, and\ndeference to the knowledge of observers on the scene, or one that was\nactually handled with greater rashness and hurry. Gambetta had made up his\nmind that the military movement was leading to the abyss, and that it must\nbe peremptorily arrested. It may be that he was right in supposing that\nthe army, which had first found its power in the time of Ismail, would go\nfrom bad to worse. But everything turned upon the possibility of pulling\nup the army, without arousing other elements more dangerous still. M.\nGambetta's impatient policy was worked out in his own head without\nreference to the conditions on the scene, and the result was what might\nhave been expected.\"(51)\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nThe dual control, the system of carrying on the Egyptian government under\nthe advice of an English and a French agent, came to an end. The rude\nadministration in the provinces fell to pieces. The Khedive was helplessly\ninvolved in struggle after struggle with the military insurgents. The army\nbecame as undisputed masters of the government, as the Cromwellian army at\nsome moments in our civil war. Meanwhile the British government, true to\nMr. Gladstone's constant principle, endeavoured to turn the question from\nbeing purely Anglo-French, into an international question. The Powers were\nnot unfavourable, but nothing came of it. Both from Paris and from London\nsomewhat bewildered suggestions proceeded by way of evading the central\nenigma, whether the intervention should be Turkish (M31) or Anglo-French.\nIt was decided at any rate to send powerful Anglo-French fleets to\nAlexandria, and Mr. Gladstone only regretted that the other Powers\n(including Turkey) had not been invited to have their flags represented.\nTo this the French objected, with the evil result that the other Powers\nwere displeased, and the good effect that the appearance of the Sultan in\nthe field might have had upon the revolutionary parties in Egypt was lost.\nOn May 21, 1882, M. de Freycinet went so far as to say that, though he was\nstill opposed to Turkish intervention, he would not regard as intervention\na case in which Turkish forces were summoned by England and France to\noperate under Anglo-French control, upon conditions specified by the two\nPowers. If it became advisable to land troops, recourse should be had on\nthese terms to Turkish troops and them only. Lord Granville acceded. He\nproposed (May 24) to address the Powers, to procure international sanction\nfor the possible despatch of Turkish troops to Egypt. M. Freycinet\ninsisted that no such step was necessary. At the same time (June 1), M. de\nFreycinet told the Chamber that there were various courses to which they\nmight be led, but he excluded one, and this was a French military\nintervention. That declaration narrowed the case to a choice between\nEnglish intervention, or Turkish, or Anglo-Turkish, all of them known to\nbe profoundly unpalatable to French sentiment. Such was the end of Lord\nGranville's prudent and loyal endeavour to move in step with France.\n\nThe next proposal from M. de Freycinet was a European conference, as\nPrince Bismarck presumed, to cover the admissibility of Turkish\nintervention. A conference was too much in accord with the ideas of the\nBritish cabinet, not to be welcomed by them. The Turk, however, who now\nmight have had the game in his own hands, after a curious exhibition of\nduplicity and folly, declined to join, and the conference at first met\nwithout him (June 23). Then, pursuing tactics well known at all times at\nConstantinople, the Sultan made one of his attempts to divide the Powers,\nby sending a telegram to London (June 25), conferring upon England rights\nof exclusive control in the administration of Egypt.\n\nThis Mr. Gladstone and Lord Granville declined without even consulting the\ncabinet, as too violent an infraction, I suppose, of the cardinal\nprinciple of European concert. The Queen, anxious for an undivided English\ncontrol at any price, complained that the question was settled without\nreference to the cabinet, and here the Queen was clearly not wrong, on\ndoctrines of cabinet authority and cabinet responsibility that were\nusually held by nobody more strongly than by the prime minister himself.\n\nMr. Gladstone and his cabinet fought as hard as they could, and for good\nreasons, against single-handed intervention by Great Britain. When they\nsaw that order could not be re-established without the exercise of force\nfrom without, they insisted that this force should be applied by the\nSultan as sovereign of Egypt. They proposed this solution to the\nconference, and Lord Dufferin urged it upon the Sultan. With curious\ninfatuation (repeated a few years later) the Sultan stood aside. When it\nbecame necessary to make immediate provision for the safety of the Suez\nCanal, England proposed to undertake this duty conjointly with France, and\nsolicited the co-operation of any other Power. Italy was specially invited\nto join. Then when the progress of the rebellion had broken the Khedive's\nauthority and brought Egypt to anarchy, England invited France and Italy\nto act with her in putting the rebellion down. France and Italy declined.\nEngland still urged the Porte to send troops, insisting only on such\nconditions as were indispensable to secure united action. The Porte again\nheld back, and before it carried out an agreement to sign a military\nconvention, events had moved too fast.(52) Thus, by the Sultan's\nperversities and the fluctuations of purpose and temper in France,\nsingle-handed intervention was inexorably forced upon the one Power that\nhad most consistently striven to avoid it. Bismarck, it is true, judged\nthat Arabi was now a power to be reckoned with; the Austrian\nrepresentatives used language of like purport; and Freycinet also inclined\nto coming to terms with Arabi. The British cabinet had persuaded\nthemselves that the overthrow of the military (M32) party was an\nindispensable precedent to any return of decently stable order.\n\nThe situation in Egypt can hardly be adequately understood without a\nmultiplicity of details for which this is no place, and in such cases\ndetails are everything. Diplomacy in which the Sultan of Turkey plays a\npart is always complicated, and at the Conference of Constantinople the\ncobwebs were spun and brushed away and spun again with diligence\nunexampled. The proceedings were without any effect upon the course of\nevents. The Egyptian revolution ran its course. The moral support of\nTurkish commissioners sent by the Sultan to Cairo came to nothing, and the\nmoral influence of the Anglo-French squadron at Alexandria came to\nnothing, and in truth it did more harm than good. The Khedive's throne and\nlife were alike in danger. The Christians flocked down from the interior.\nThe residents in Alexandria were trembling for their lives. At the end of\nMay our agent at Cairo informed his government that a collision between\nMoslems and Christians might occur at any moment. On June 11 some fifty\nEuropeans were massacred by a riotous mob at Alexandria. The British\nconsul was severely wounded, and some sailors of the French fleet were\namong the killed. Greeks and Jews were murdered in other places. At last a\ndecisive blow was struck. For several weeks the Egyptians had been at work\nupon the fortifications of Alexandria, and upon batteries commanding the\nBritish fleet. The British admiral was instructed (July 3) that if this\noperation were continued, he should immediately destroy the earthworks and\nsilence the batteries. After due formalities he (July 11) opened fire at\nseven in the morning, and by half-past five in the evening the Alexandria\nguns were silenced. Incendiaries set the town on fire, the mob pillaged\nit, and some murders were committed. The French ships had sailed away,\ntheir government having previously informed the British ambassador in\nParis that the proposed operation would be an act of war against Egypt,\nand such an act of war without the express consent of the Chamber would\nviolate the constitution.\n\nThe new situation in which England, now found herself was quickly\ndescribed by the prime minister to the House of Commons. On July 22, he\nsaid: \"We should not fully discharge our duty, if we did not endeavour to\nconvert the present interior state of Egypt from anarchy and conflict to\npeace and order. We shall look during the time that remains to us to the\nco-operation of the Powers of civilised Europe, if it be in any case open\nto us. But if every chance of obtaining co-operation is exhausted, the\nwork will be undertaken by the single power of England.\" As for the\nposition of the Powers it may be described in this way. Germany and\nAustria were cordial and respectful; France anxious to retain a completely\nfriendly understanding, but wanting some equivalent for the inevitable\ndecline of her power in Egypt; Italy jealous of our renewing close\nrelations with France; Russia still sore, and on the lookout for some\nplausible excuse for getting the Berlin arrangement of 1878 revised in her\nfavour, without getting into difficulties with Berlin itself.\n\nFrance was not unwilling to take joint action with England for the defence\nof the canal, but would not join England in intervention beyond that\nobject. At the same time Freycinet wished it to be understood that France\nhad no objection to our advance, if we decided to make an advance. This\nwas more than once repeated. Gambetta in vehement wrath declared his dread\nlest the refusal to co-operate with England should shake an alliance of\npriceless value; and lest besides that immense catastrophe, it should hand\nover to the possession of England for ever, territories, rivers, and ports\nwhere the French right to live and trade was as good as hers. The mighty\norator declaimed in vain. Suspicion of the craft of Bismarck was in France\nmore lively than suspicion of aggressive designs in the cabinet of Mr.\nGladstone, and the Chamber was reminded how extremely well it would suit\nGermany that France should lock up her military force in Tunis yesterday,\nin Egypt to-day. Ingenious speakers, pointing to Europe covered with camps\nof armed men; pointing to the artful statesmanship that had pushed Austria\ninto Bosnia and (M33) Herzegovina, and encouraged France herself to occupy\nTunis; pointing to the expectant nations reserving their liberty for\nfuture occasions--all urgently exhorted France now to reserve her own\nliberty of action too. Under the influence of such ideas as these, and by\nthe working of rival personalities and parties, the Chamber by an immense\nmajority turned the Freycinet government out of office (July 29) rather\nthan sanction even such a degree of intervention as concerned the\nprotection of the Suez Canal.\n\nNine days after the bombardment of Alexandria, the British cabinet decided\non the despatch of what was mildly called an expeditionary force to the\nMediterranean, under the command of Sir Garnet Wolseley. The general's\nalertness, energy, and prescient calculation brought him up to Arabi at\nTel-el-Kebir (Sept. 13), and there at one rapid and decisive blow he\ncrushed the military insurrection.(53)\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nThe bombardment of Alexandria cost Mr. Gladstone the British colleague who\nin fundamentals stood closest to him of them all. In the opening days of\nJuly, amid differences of opinion that revealed themselves in frequent and\nprotracted meetings of the cabinet, it was thought probable that Mr.\nGladstone and Bright would resign rather than be parties to despatching\ntroops to the Mediterranean; and the two representative radicals were\nexpected to join them. Then came the bombardment, but only Bright went--not\nuntil after earnest protestations from the prime minister. As Mr.\nGladstone described things later to the Queen, Bright's letters and\nconversation consisted very much more of references to his past career and\nstrong statements of feeling, than of attempts to reason on the existing\nfacts of the case, with the obligations that they appeared to entail. Not\nsatisfied with his own efforts, Mr. Gladstone turned to Lord Granville,\nwho had been a stout friend in old days when Bright's was a name of\nreproach and obloquy:--\n\n\n    _July 12._--Here is the apprehended letter from dear old John\n    Bright, which turns a white day into a black one. It would not be\n    fair in me to beg an interview. His kindness would make him\n    reluctant to decline; but he would come laden with an\n    apprehension, that I by impetuosity and tenacity should endeavour\n    to overbear him. But pray consider whether you could do it. He\n    would not have the same fear of your dealings with him. I do not\n    think you could get a _reversal_, but perhaps he would give you\n    another short delay, and at the end of this the sky might be\n    further settled.\n\n\nTwo days later Mr. Gladstone and Bright had a long, and we may be sure\nthat it was an earnest, conversation. The former of them the same day put\nhis remarks into the shape of a letter, which the reader may care to have,\nas a statement of the case for the first act of armed intervention, which\nled up by a direct line to the English occupation of Egypt, Soudan wars,\nand to some other events from which the veil is not even yet lifted:--\n\n\n    The act of Tuesday [the bombardment of Alexandria] was a solemn\n    and painful one, for which I feel myself to be highly responsible,\n    and it is my earnest desire that we should all view it now, as we\n    shall wish at the last that we had viewed it. Subject to this\n    testing rule, I address you as one whom I suppose not to believe\n    all use whatever of military force to be unlawful; as one who\n    detests war in general and believes most wars to have been sad\n    errors (in which I greatly agree with you), but who in regard to\n    any particular use of force would look upon it for a justifying\n    cause, and after it would endeavour to appreciate its actual\n    effect.\n\n    The general situation in Egypt had latterly become one in which\n    everything was governed by sheer military violence. Every\n    legitimate authority--the Khedive, the Sultan, the notables, and\n    the best men of the country, such as Cherif and Sultan pashas--had\n    been put down, and a situation, of _force_ had been created, which\n    could only be met by force. This being so, we had laboured to the\n    uttermost, almost alone but not without success, to secure that if\n    force were employed against the violence of Arabi, it should be\n    force armed with the highest sanction of law; that it should be\n    the force of the sovereign, authorised and restrained by the\n    united Powers of Europe, who in such a case represent the\n    civilised world.\n\n    While this is going on, a by-question arises. The British fleet,\n    lawfully present in the waters of Alexandria, had the right and\n    duty of self-defence. It demanded the discontinuance of attempts\n    made to strengthen the armament of the fortifications.... Met by\n    fraud and falsehood in its demand, it required surrender with a\n    view to immediate dismantling, and this being refused, it\n    proceeded to destroy.... The conflagration which followed, the\n    pillage and any other outrages effected by the released convicts,\n    these are not due to us, but to the seemingly wanton wickedness of\n    Arabi....\n\n    Such being the amount of our act, what has been its reception and\n    its effect? As to its reception, we have not received nor heard of\n    a word of disapproval from any Power great or small, or from any\n    source having the slightest authority. As to its effect, it has\n    taught many lessons, struck a heavy, perhaps a deadly, blow at the\n    reign of violence, brought again into light the beginnings of\n    legitimate rule, shown the fanaticism of the East that massacre of\n    Europeans is not likely to be perpetrated with impunity, and\n    greatly advanced the Egyptian question towards a permanent and\n    peaceable solution. I feel that in being party to this work I have\n    been a labourer in the cause of peace. Your co-operation in that\n    cause, with reference to preceding and collateral points, has been\n    of the utmost value, and has enabled me to hold my ground, when\n    without you it might have been difficult.\n\n\nThe correspondence closed with a wish from Mr. Gladstone: \"Believe in the\nsore sense of practical loss, and the (I trust) unalterable friendship and\nregard with which I remain, etc.\" When Bright came to explain his\nresignation in parliament, he said something about the moral law, which\nled to a sharp retort from the prime minister, but still their friendship\ndid appear to remain unalterable, as Mr. Gladstone trusted that it would.\n\nWhen the question by and by arose whether Arabi should be put to death,\nBright wrote to the prime minister on behalf of clemency. Mr. Gladstone in\nreplying took a severe line: \"I am sorry to say the inquiry is too likely\nto show that Arabi is very much more than a rebel. Crimes of the gravest\nkind have been committed; and with most of them he stands, I fear, in\n_presumptive_ (that is, unproved) connection. In truth I must say that,\nhaving begun with no prejudice against him, and with the strong desire\nthat he should be saved, I am almost driven to the conclusion that he is a\nbad man, and that it will not be an injustice if he goes the road which\nthousands of his innocent countrymen through him have trodden.\" It is a\ngreat mistake to suppose that Mr. Gladstone was all leniency, or that when\nhe thought ill of men, he stayed either at palliating words or at\nhalf-measures.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VI. Political Jubilee. (1882-1883)\n\n\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ZETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH DASIA AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER BETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH DASIA AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~},\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER CHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}.--PLUTARCH, _Moralia_, c. 18.\n\n    He strives like an athlete all his life long, and then when he\n    comes to the end of his striving, he has what is meet.\n\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}: {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~}; {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK KORONIS~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PSILI AND OXIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~}; {~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~}. {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK KORONIS~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH DASIA AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH YPOGEGRAMMENI~},\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}.\n    --PINDAR, _Pyth._ viii. 135.\n\n    Things of a day! What is a man? What, when he is not? A dream of\n    shadow is mankind. Yet when there comes down glory imparted from\n    God, radiant light shines among men and genial days.\n\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK KORONIS~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH DASIA AND PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH YPOGEGRAMMENI~}\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PSI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~};--_Ol._ i. 131.\n\n    Die since we must, wherefore should a man sit idle and nurse in\n    the gloom days of long life without aim, without name?\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nThe words from \"antique books\" that I have just translated and\ntranscribed, were written out by Mr. Gladstone inside the cover of the\nlittle diary for 1882-3. To what the old world had to say, he added\nDante's majestic commonplace: \"You were not to live like brutes, but to\npursue virtue and knowledge.\"(54) These meditations on the human lot, on\nthe mingling of our great hopes with the implacable realities, made the\nvital air in which all through his life he drew deep breath. Adjusted to\nhis ever vivid religious creed, amid all the turbid business of the\nworldly elements, they were the sedative and the restorer. Yet here and\nalways the last word was Effort. The moods that in less strenuous natures\nended in melancholy, philosophic or poetic, to him were fresh incentives\nto redeem the time.\n\nThe middle of December 1882 marked his political jubilee. It was now half\na century since he had entered public life, and the youthful graduate from\nOxford had grown to be the foremost man in his country. Yet these fifty\ncourses of the sun and all the pageant of the world had in some ways made\nbut little difference in him. In some ways, it seemed as if time had\nrolled over him in vain. He had learned many lessons. He had changed his\nparty, his horizons were far wider, new social truths had made their way\ninto his impressionable mind, he recognised new social forces. His aims\nfor the church, that he loved as ardently as he gloried in a powerful and\nbeneficent state, had undergone a revolution. Since 1866 he had come into\ncontact with democracy at close quarters; the Bulgarian campaign and\nMidlothian lighting up his early faith in liberty, had inflamed him with\nnew feeling for the voice of the people. As much as in the early time when\nhe had prayed to be allowed to go into orders, he was moved by a\ndominating sense of the common claims and interests of mankind. 'The\ncontagion of the world's slow stain' had not infected him; the lustre and\nlong continuity of his public performances still left all his innermost\nideals constant and undimmed.\n\nHis fifty years of public life had wrought his early habits of severe\ntoil, method, exactness, concentration, into cast-iron. Whether they had\nsharpened what is called knowledge of the world, or taught him insight\ninto men and skill in discrimination among men, it is hard to say. He\nalways talked as if he found the world pretty much what he had expected.\nMan, he used often to say, is the least comprehensible of creatures, and\nof men the most incomprehensible are the politicians. Yet nobody was less\nof the cynic. As for Weltschmerz, world-weariness, ennui, tedium (M34)\nvitae--that enervating family were no acquaintances of his, now nor at any\ntime. None of the vicissitudes of long experience ever tempted him either\ninto the shallow satire on life that is so often the solace of the little\nand the weak; or on the other hand into the _saeva indignatio_, the sombre\nbrooding reprobation, that has haunted some strong souls from Tacitus and\nDante to Pascal, Butler, Swift, Turgot. We may, indeed, be sure that\nneither of these two moods can ever hold a place in the breast of a\ncommanding orator.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nI have spoken of his new feeling for democracy. At the point of time at\nwhich we have arrived, it was heartily reciprocated. The many difficulties\nin the course of public affairs that confronted parliament and the nation\nfor two years or more after Mr. Gladstone's second accession to power, did\nlittle to weaken either his personal popularity or his hold upon the\nconfidence of the constituencies. For many years he and Mr. Disraeli had\nstood out above the level of their adherents; they were the centre of\nevery political storm. Disraeli was gone (April 19, 1881), commemorated by\nMr. Gladstone in a parliamentary tribute that cost him much searching of\nheart beforehand, and was a masterpiece of grace and good feeling. Mr.\nGladstone stood alone, concentrating upon himself by his personal\nascendency and public history the bitter antagonism of his opponents, only\nmatched by the enthusiasm and devotion of his followers. The rage of\nfaction had seldom been more unbridled. The Irish and the young fourth\nparty were rivals in malicious vituperation; of the two, the Irish on the\nwhole observed the better manners. Once Mr. Gladstone was wounded to the\nquick, as letters show, when a member of the fourth party denounced as \"a\ngovernment of infamy\" the ministry with whose head he had long been on\nterms of more than friendship alike as host and guest. He could not fell\nhis trees, he could not read the lessons in Hawarden church, without\nfinding these innocent habits turned into material for platform mockery.\n\"In the eyes of the opposition, as indeed of the country,\" said a great\nprint that was never much his friend, \"he is the government and he is the\nliberal party,\" and the writer went on to scold Lord Salisbury for wasting\nhis time in the concoction of angry epigrams and pungent phrases that were\nneither new nor instructive.(55) They pierced no joint in the mail of the\nwarrior at whom they were levelled. The nation at large knew nothing of\ndifficulties at Windsor, nothing of awkward passages in the cabinet,\nnothing of the trying egotisms of gentlemen out of the cabinet who\ninsisted that they ought to be in. Nor would such things have made any\ndifference except in his favour, if the public had known all about them.\nThe Duke of Argyll and Lord Lansdowne had left him; his Irish policy had\ncost him his Irish secretary, and his Egyptian policy had cost him Mr.\nBright. They had got into a war, they had been baffled in legislation,\nthey had to raise the most unpopular of taxes, there had been the\nfrightful tragedy in Ireland. Yet all seemed to have been completely\novercome in the public mind by the power of Mr. Gladstone in uniting his\nfriends and frustrating his foes, and the more bitterly he was hated by\nsociety, the more warmly attached were the mass of the people. Anybody who\nhad foreseen all this would have concluded that the government must be in\nextremity, but he went to the Guildhall on the 9th of November 1882, and\nhad the best possible reception on that famous stage. One tory newspaper\nfelt bound to admit that Mr. Gladstone and his colleagues had\nrehabilitated themselves in the public judgment with astounding rapidity,\nand were now almost as strong in popular and parliamentary support as when\nthey first took office.(56) Another tory print declared Mr. Gladstone to\nbe stronger, more popular, more despotic, than at any time since the\npolicy to carry out which he was placed in office was disclosed.(57) The\nsession of 1882 had only been exceeded in duration by two sessions for\nfifty years.\n\nThe reader has had pictures enough from friendly hands, so here is one\nfrom a persistent foe, one of the most brilliant journalists of that time,\nwho listened to him from (M35) the gallery for years. The words are from\nan imaginary dialogue, and are put into the mouth of a well-known whig in\nparliament:--\n\n\n    Sir, I can only tell you that, profoundly as I distrusted him, and\n    lightly as on the whole I valued the external qualities of his\n    eloquence, I have never listened to him even for a few minutes\n    without ceasing to marvel at his influence over men. That\n    white-hot face, stern as a Covenanter's yet mobile as a\n    comedian's; those restless, flashing eyes; that wondrous voice,\n    whose richness its northern burr enriched as the tang of the wood\n    brings out the mellowness of a rare old wine; the masterly cadence\n    of his elocution; the vivid energy of his attitudes; the fine\n    animation of his gestures;--sir, when I am assailed through eye and\n    ear by this compacted phalanx of assailants, what wonder that the\n    stormed outposts of the senses should spread the contagion of\n    their own surrender through the main encampment of the mind, and\n    that against my judgment, in contempt of my conscience, nay, in\n    defiance of my very will, I should exclaim, \"This is indeed the\n    voice of truth and wisdom. This man is honest and sagacious beyond\n    his fellows. He must be believed, he must be obeyed!\"(58)\n\n\nOn the day of his political jubilee (Dec. 13), the event was celebrated in\nmany parts of the country, and he received congratulatory telegrams from\nall parts of the world; for it was not only two hundred and forty liberal\nassociations who sent him joyful addresses. The Roumelians poured out\naloud their gratitude to him for the interest he constantly manifested in\ntheir cause, and for his powerful and persistent efforts for their\nemancipation. From Athens came the news that they had subscribed for the\nerection of his statue, and from the Greeks also came a splendid casket.\nIn his letter of thanks,(59) after remonstrating against its too great\nmaterial value, he said:--\n\n\n    I know not well how to accept it, yet I am still less able to\n    decline it, when I read the touching lines of the accompanying\n    address, in itself an ample token, in which you have so closely\n    associated my name with the history and destinies of your country.\n    I am not vain enough to think that I have deserved any of the\n    numerous acknowledgments which I have received, especially from\n    Greeks, on completing half a century of parliamentary life. Your\n    over-estimate of my deeds ought rather to humble than to inflate\n    me. But to have laboured within the measure of justice for the\n    Greece of the future, is one of my happiest political\n    recollections, and to have been trained in a partial knowledge of\n    the Greece of the past has largely contributed to whatever slender\n    faculties I possess for serving my own country or my kind. I\n    earnestly thank you for your indulgent judgment and for your too\n    costly gifts, and I have the honour to remain, etc.\n\n\nWhat was deeper to him than statues or caskets was found in letters from\ncomparative newcomers into the political arena thanking him not only for\nhis long roll of public service, but much more for the example and\nencouragement that his life gave to younger men endeavouring to do\nsomething for the public good. To one of these he wrote (Dec. 15):--\n\n\n    I thank you most sincerely for your kind and friendly letter. As\n    regards the prospective part of it, I can assure you that I should\n    be slow to plead the mere title to retirement which long labour is\n    supposed to earn. But I have always watched, and worked according\n    to what I felt to be the measure of my own mental force. A monitor\n    from within tells me that though I may still be equal to some\n    portions of my duties, or as little unequal as heretofore, there\n    are others which I cannot face. I fear therefore I must keep in\n    view an issue which cannot be evaded.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nAs it happened, this volume of testimony to the affection, gratitude, and\nadmiration thus ready to go out to him from so many quarters coincided in\npoint of time with one or two extreme vexations in the conduct of his\ndaily business as head of the government. Some of them were aggravated by\nthe loss of a man whom he regarded as one of his two or three most\nimportant friends. In September 1882 the Dean of Windsor died, and in his\ndeath Mr. Gladstone (M36) suffered a heavy blow. To the end he always\nspoke of Dr. Wellesley's friendship, and the value of his sagacity and\nhonest service, with a warmth by this time given to few.\n\n\n    _Death of the Dean of Windsor._\n\n    _To Lord Granville, Sept. 18, 1882._--My belief is that he has been\n    cognizant of every crown appointment in the church for nearly a\n    quarter of a century, and that the whole of his influence has been\n    exercised with a deep insight and a large heart for the best\n    interests of the crown and the church. If their character during\n    this period has been in the main more satisfactory to the general\n    mind of the country than at some former periods, it has been in no\n    small degree owing to him.\n\n    It has been my duty to recommend I think for fully forty of the\n    higher appointments, including twelve which were episcopal. I\n    rejoice to say that every one of them has had his approval. But I\n    do not scruple to own that he has been in no small degree a help\n    and guide to me; and as to the Queen, whose heart I am sure is at\n    this moment bleeding, I do not believe she can possibly fill his\n    place as a friendly adviser either in ecclesiastical or other\n    matters.\n\n    _To the Duchess of Wellington, Sept. 24._--He might, if he had\n    chosen, have been on his way to the Archbishopric of Canterbury.\n    Ten or eleven years ago, when the present primate was not expected\n    to recover, the question of the succession was considered, and I\n    had her Majesty's consent to the idea I have now mentioned. But,\n    governed I think by his great modesty, he at once refused.\n\n    _To Mrs. Wellesley, Nov. 19, 1882._--I have remained silent, at\n    least to you, on a subject which for no day has been absent from\n    my thoughts, because I felt that I could add nothing to your\n    consolations and could take away nothing from your grief under\n    your great calamity. But the time has perhaps come when I may\n    record my sense of a loss of which even a small share is so large.\n    The recollections of nearly sixty years are upon my mind, and\n    through all that period I have felt more and more the force and\n    value of your husband's simple and noble character. No less have I\n    entertained an ever-growing sense of his great sagacity and the\n    singularly true and just balance of his mind. We owe much indeed\n    to you both for your constantly renewed kindness, but I have\n    another debt to acknowledge in the invaluable assistance which he\n    afforded me in the discharge of one among the most important and\n    most delicate of my duties. This void never can be filled, and it\n    helps me in some degree to feel what must be the void to you.\n    Certainly he was happy in the enjoyment of love and honour from\n    all who knew him; yet these were few in comparison with those whom\n    he so wisely and so warmly served without their knowing it; and\n    the love and honour paid him, great as they were, could not be as\n    great as he deserved. His memory is blessed--may his rest be deep\n    and sweet, and may the memory and example of him ever help you in\n    your onward pilgrimage.\n\n\nThe same week Dr. Pusey died--a name that filled so large a space in the\nreligious history of England for some thirty years of the century. Between\nMr. Gladstone and him the old relations of affectionate friendship\nsubsisted unbroken, notwithstanding the emancipation, as we may call it,\nof the statesman from maxims and principles, though not, so far as I know,\nfrom any of the leading dogmatic beliefs cherished by the divine. \"I\nhope,\" he wrote to Phillimore (Sept. 20, 1882), \"to attend Dr. Pusey's\nfuneral to-morrow at Oxford.... I shall have another mournful office to\ndischarge in attending the funeral of the Dean of Windsor, more mournful\nthan the first. Dr. Pusey's death is the ingathering of a ripe shock, and\nI go to his obsequies in token of deep respect and in memory of much\nkindness from him early in my life. But the death of Dean Wellesley is to\nmy wife and me an unexpected and very heavy blow, also to me an\nirreparable loss. I had honoured and loved him from Eton days.\"\n\nThe loss of Dean Wellesley's counsels was especially felt in\necclesiastical appointments, and the greatest of these was made necessary\nby the death of the Archbishop of Canterbury at the beginning of December.\nThat the prime minister should regard so sage, conciliatory, and\nlarge-minded a steersman as Dr. Tait with esteem was certain, and their\nrelations were easy and manly. Still, Tait had been an active liberal when\nMr. Gladstone was a tory, and (M37) from the distant days of the _Tracts\nfor the Times_, when Tait had stood amongst the foremost in open dislike\nof the new tenets, their paths in the region of theology lay wide apart.\n\"I well remember,\" says Dean Lake, \"a conversation with Mr. Gladstone on\nTait's appointment to London in 1856, when he was much annoyed at Tait's\nbeing preferred to Bishop Wilberforce, and of which he reminded me nearly\nthirty years afterwards, at the time of the archbishop's death, by saying,\n'Ah! I remember you maintaining to me at that time that his {~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} and\nhis judgment would make him a great bishop.' \"(60) And so, from the point\nof ecclesiastical statesmanship, he unquestionably was.\n\nThe recommendation of a successor in the historic see of Canterbury, we\nmay be very certain, was no common event to Mr. Gladstone. Tait on his\ndeathbed had given his opinion that Dr. Harold Browne, the Bishop of\nWinchester, would do more than any other man to keep the peace of the\nchurch. The Queen was strong in the same sense, thinking that the bishop\nmight resign in a year or two, if he could not do the work. He was now\nseventy-one years old, and Mr. Gladstone judged this to be too advanced an\nage for the metropolitan throne. He was himself now seventy-three, and\nthough his sense of humour was not always of the protective kind, he felt\nthe necessity of some explanatory reason, and with him to seek a plea was\nto find one. He wrote to the Bishop of Winchester:--\n\n\n    ... It may seem strange that I, who in my own person exhibit so\n    conspicuously the anomaly of a disparate conjunction between years\n    and duties, should be thus forward in interpreting the\n    circumstances of another case certainly more mitigated in many\n    respects, yet differing from my own case in one vital point, the\n    newness of the duties of the English, or rather anglican or\n    British, primacy to a diocesan bishop, however able and\n    experienced, and the newness of mental attitude and action, which\n    they would require. Among the materials of judgment in such an\n    instance, it seems right to reckon precedents for what they are\n    worth; and I cannot find that from the time of Archbishop Sheldon\n    any one has assumed the primacy at so great an age as seventy.\n    Juxon, the predecessor of Sheldon, was much older; but his case\n    was altogether peculiar. I cannot say how pleasant it would have\n    been to me personally, but for the barrier I have named, to mark\n    my respect and affection for your lordship by making to you such a\n    proposal. What is more important is, that I am directly authorised\n    by her Majesty to state that this has been the single impediment\n    to her conferring the honour, and imposing the burden, upon you of\n    such an offer.(61)\n\n\nThe world made free with the honoured name of Church, the Dean of Saint\nPaul's, and it has constantly been said that he declined the august\npreferment to Canterbury on this occasion. In that story there is no\ntruth. \"Formal offer,\" the Dean himself wrote to a friend, \"there was\nnone, and could not be, for I had already on another occasion told my mind\nto Gladstone, and said that reasons of health, apart from other reasons,\nmade it impossible for me to think of anything, except a retirement\naltogether from office.\"(62)\n\nWhen it was rumoured that Mr. Gladstone intended to recommend Dr. Benson,\nthen Bishop of Truro, to the archbishopric, a political supporter came to\nremonstrate with him. \"The Bishop of Truro is a strong tory,\" he said,\n\"but that is not all. He has joined Mr. Raikes's election committee at\nCambridge; and it was only last week that Raikes made a violent personal\nattack on yourself.\" \"Do you know,\" replied Mr. Gladstone, \"you have just\nsupplied me with a strong argument in Dr. Benson's favour? For if he had\nbeen a worldly man or self-seeker, he would not have done anything so\nimprudent.\" Perhaps we cannot wonder that whips and wirepullers deemed\nthis to be somewhat over-ingenious, a Christianity out of season. Even\nliberals who took another point of view, still asked themselves how it was\n(M38) that when church preferment came his way, the prime minister so\noften found the best clergymen in the worst politicians. They should have\nremembered that he was of those who believed \"no more glorious church in\nChristendom to exist than the church of England\"; and its official\nordering was in his eyes not any less, even if it was not infinitely more,\nimportant in the highest interests of the nation than the construction of\na cabinet or the appointment of permanent heads of departments. The church\nwas at this moment, moreover, in one of those angry and perilous crises\nthat came of the Elizabethan settlement and the Act of Uniformity, and the\nanglican revival forty years ago, and all the other things that mark the\narrested progress of the Reformation in England. The anti-ritualist hunt\nwas up. Civil courts were busy with the conscience and conduct of the\nclergy. Harmless but contumacious priests were under lock and key. It\nseemed as if more might follow them, or else as if the shock of the great\ntractarian catastrophe of the forties might in some new shape recur. To\nrecommend an archbishop in times like these could to a churchman be no\nlight responsibility.\n\nWith such thoughts in his mind, however we may judge them, it is not\naltogether surprising that in seeking an ecclesiastical governor for an\ninstitution to him the most sacred and beloved of all forms of human\nassociation, Mr. Gladstone should have cared very little whether the\npersonage best fitted in spirituals was quite of the right shade as to\nstate temporals. The labour that he now expended on finding the best man\nis attested by voluminous correspondence. Dean Church, who was perhaps the\nmost freely consulted by the prime minister, says, \"Of one thing I am\nquite certain, that never for hundreds of years has so much honest\ndisinterested pains been taken to fill the primacy--such inquiry and\ntrouble resolutely followed out to find the really fittest man, apart from\nevery personal and political consideration, as in this case.\"(63)\n\nAnother ecclesiastical vacancy that led to volumes of correspondence was\nthe deanery of Westminster the year before. In the summer of 1881 Dean\nStanley died, and it is interesting to note how easy Mr. Gladstone found\nit to do full justice to one for whom as erastian and latitudinarian he\ncould in opinion have such moderate approval. In offering to the Queen his\n\"cordial sympathy\" for the friend whom she had lost, he told her how early\nin his own life and earlier still in the dean's he had opportunities of\nwatching the development of his powers, for they had both been educated at\na small school near the home of Mr. Gladstone's boyhood.(64) He went on to\nspeak of Stanley's boundless generosity and brilliant gifts, his genial\nand attaching disposition. \"There may be,\" he said, \"and must be much\ndiversity as to parts of the opinions of Dean Stanley, but he will be long\nremembered as one who was capable of the deepest and widest love, and who\nreceived it in return.\"\n\nFar away from these regions of what he irreverently called the shovel hat,\nabout this time Carlyle died (Feb. 4, 1881), a firm sympathiser with Mr.\nGladstone in his views of the unspeakable Turk, but in all else the rather\nboisterous preacher of a gospel directly antipathetic. \"Carlyle is at\nleast a great fact in the literature of his time; and has contributed\nlargely, in some respects too largely, towards forming its characteristic\nhabits of thought.\" So Mr. Gladstone wrote in 1876, in a highly\ninteresting parallel between Carlyle and Macaulay--both of them honest, he\nsaid, both notwithstanding their honesty partisans; both of them, though\nvariously, poets using the vehicle of prose; both having the power of\npainting portraits extraordinary for vividness and strength; each of them\nvastly though diversely powerful in expression, each more powerful in\nexpression than in thought; neither of them to be resorted to for\ncomprehensive disquisition, nor for balanced and impartial judgments.(65)\nPerhaps it was too early in 1876 to speak of Carlyle as forming the\ncharacteristic habits of thought of his time, but undoubtedly now when he\ndied, his influence was beginning to tell heavily against the speculative\nliberalism that had reigned in England for two generations, with enormous\nadvantage to the peace, prosperity and power of (M39) the country and the\ntwo generations concerned. Half lights and half truths are, as Mr.\nGladstone implies, the utmost that Carlyle's works were found to yield in\nphilosophy and history, but his half lights pointed in the direction in\nwhich men for more material reasons thought that they desired to go.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nA reconstruction of the ministry had become necessary by his own\nabandonment of the exchequer. For one moment it was thought that Lord\nHartington might become chancellor, leaving room for Lord Derby at the\nIndia office, but Lord Derby was not yet ready to join. In inviting Mr.\nChilders to take his place as chancellor of the exchequer, Mr. Gladstone\ntold him (Dec. 1, 1882): \"The basis of my action is not so much a desire\nto be relieved from labour, as an anxiety to give the country a much\nbetter finance minister than myself,--one whose eyes will be always ranging\nfreely and vigilantly over the whole area of the great establishments, the\npublic service and the laws connected with his office, for the purposes of\nimprovement and of good husbandry.\"\n\nThe claim of Sir Charles Dilke to a seat in the cabinet had become\nirresistible alike by his good service as undersecretary at the foreign\noffice, and by his position out of doors; and as the admission of a\nradical must be balanced by a whig--so at least it was judged--Mr. Gladstone\nsucceeded in inducing Lord Derby to join, though he had failed with him\nnot long before.(66)\n\nApart from general objections at court, difficulties arose about the\ndistribution of office. Mr. Chamberlain, who has always had his full share\nof the virtues of staunch friendship, agreed to give up to Sir C. Dilke\nhis own office, which he much liked, and take the duchy, which he did not\nlike at all. In acknowledging Mr. Chamberlain's letter (Dec. 14) Mr.\nGladstone wrote to him, \"I shall be glad, if I can, to avoid acting upon\nit. But I cannot refrain from at once writing a hearty line to acknowledge\nthe self-sacrificing spirit in which it is written; and which, I am sure,\nyou will never see cause to repent or change.\" This, however, was found to\nbe no improvement, for Mr. Chamberlain's language about ransoms to be paid\nby possessors of property, the offence of not toiling and spinning, and\nthe services rendered by courtiers to kings, was not much less repugnant\nthan rash assertions about the monarch evading the income-tax. All\ncontention on personal points was a severe trial to Mr. Gladstone, and any\nconflict with the wishes of the Queen tried him most of all. One of his\naudiences upon these affairs Mr. Gladstone mentions in his diary: \"Dec.\n11.--Off at 12.45 to Windsor in the frost and fog. Audience of her Majesty\nat 3. Most difficult ground, but aided by her beautiful manners, we got\nover it better than might have been expected.\" The dispute was stubborn,\nbut like all else it came to an end; colleagues were obliging, holes and\npegs were accommodated, and Lord Derby went to the colonial office, and\nSir C. Dilke to the local government board. An officer of the court, who\nwas in all the secrets and had foreseen all the difficulties, wrote that\nthe actual result was due \"to the judicious manner in which Mr. Gladstone\nmanaged everything. He argued in a friendly way, urging his views with\nmoderation, and appealed to the Queen's sense of courtesy.\"\n\nIn the course of his correspondence with the Queen, the prime minister\ndrew her attention (Dec. 18) to the fact that when the cabinet was formed\nit included three ministers reputed to belong to the radical section, Mr.\nBright, Mr. Forster, and Mr. Chamberlain, and of these only the last\nremained. The addition of Lord Derby was an addition drawn from the other\nwing of the party. Another point presented itself. The cabinet originally\ncontained eight commoners and six peers. There were now seven peers and\nsix commoners. This made it requisite to add a commoner. As for Mr.\nChamberlain, the minister assured the Queen that though he had not yet,\nlike Mr. Bright, undergone the mollifying influence of age and experience,\nhis leanings on foreign policy would be far more acceptable to her Majesty\nthan those of Mr. Bright, while his views were not known to be any more\ndemocratic in principle. He further expressed his firm opinion (Dec. 22)\n(M40) that though Lord Derby might on questions of peace and war be some\nshades nearer to the views of Mr. Bright than the other members of the\ncabinet, yet he would never go anything like the length of Mr. Bright in\nsuch matters. In fact, said Mr. Gladstone, the cabinet must be deemed a\nlittle less pacific now than it was at its first formation. This at least\nwas a consolatory reflection.\n\nMinisterial reconstruction is a trying moment for the politician who\nthinks himself \"not a favourite with his stars,\" and is in a hurry for a\nbox seat before his time has come. Mr. Gladstone was now harassed with\nsome importunities of this kind.(67) Personal collision with any who stood\nin the place of friends was always terrible to him. His gift of sleep\ndeserted him. \"It is disagreeable to talk of oneself,\" he wrote to Lord\nGranville (Jan. 2, 1883), \"when there is so much of more importance to\nthink and speak about, but I am sorry to say that the incessant strain and\npressure of work, and especially the multiplication of these personal\nquestions, is overdoing me, and for the first time my power of sleep is\nseriously giving way. I dare say it would soon right itself if I could\noffer it any other medicine than the medicine in Hood's 'Song of the\nShirt.' \" And the next day he wrote: \"Last night I improved, 3-1/2-hours to\n4-1/2, but this is different from 7 and 8, my uniform standard through\nlife.\" And two days later: \"The matter of sleep is with me a very grave\none. I am afraid I may have to go up and consult Clark. My habit has\nalways been to reckon my hours rather exultingly, and say how little I am\nawake. It is not impossible that I may have to ask you to meet me in\nLondon, but I will not do this except in necessity. I think that, to\nconvey a clear idea, I should say I attach no importance to the broken\nsleep itself; it is the state of the brain, tested by my own sensations,\nwhen I begin my work in the morning, which may make me need higher\nassurance.\" Sir Andrew Clark, \"overflowing with kindness, as always,\" went\ndown to Hawarden (Jan. 7), examined, and listened to the tale of heavy\nwakeful nights. While treating the case as one of temporary and accidental\nderangement, he instantly forbade a projected expedition to Midlothian,\nand urged change of air and scene.\n\nThis prohibition eased some of the difficulties at Windsor, where\nMidlothian was a name of dubious association, and in announcing to the\nQueen the abandonment by Dr. Clark's orders of the intended journey to the\nnorth, Mr. Gladstone wrote (Jan. 8, 1883):--\n\n\n    In your Majesty's very kind reference on the 5th to his former\n    visits to Midlothian, and to his own observations on the 24th\n    April 1880, your Majesty remarked that he had said he did not then\n    think himself a responsible person. He prays leave to fill up the\n    outline which these words convey by saying he at that time (to the\n    best of his recollection) humbly submitted to your Majesty his\n    admission that he must personally bear the consequences of all\n    that he had said, and that he thought some things suitable to be\n    said by a person out of office which could not suitably be said by\n    a person in office; also that, as is intimated by your Majesty's\n    words, the responsibilities of the two positions severally were\n    different. With respect to the political changes named by your\n    Majesty, Mr. Gladstone considers that the very safe measure of\n    extending to the counties the franchise enjoyed by the boroughs\n    stands in all likelihood for early consideration; but he doubts\n    whether there can be any serious dealing of a general character\n    with the land laws by the present parliament, and so far as\n    Scottish disestablishment is concerned he does not conceive that\n    that question has made progress during recent years; and he may\n    state that in making arrangements recently for his expected visit\n    to Midlothian, he had received various overtures for deputations\n    on this subject, which he had been able to put aside.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nOn January 17, along with Mrs. Gladstone, at Charing Cross he said\ngood-bye to many friends, and at Dover to Lord Granville, and the\nfollowing afternoon he found himself at Cannes, the guest of the\nWolvertons at the Chateau (M41) Scott, \"nobly situated, admirably planned,\nand the kindness exceeded even the beauty and the comfort.\" \"Here,\" he\nsays, \"we fell in with the foreign hours, the snack early, dejeuner at\nnoon, dinner at seven, break-up at ten.... I am stunned by this wonderful\nplace, and so vast a change at a moment's notice in the conditions of\nlife.\" He read steadily through the _Odyssey_, Dixon's _History of the\nChurch of England_, Scherer's _Miscellanies_, and _The Life of\nClerk-Maxwell_, and every day he had long talks and walks with Lord Acton\non themes personal, political and religious--and we may believe what a\nrestorative he found in communion with that deep and well-filled mind--that\n\"most satisfactory mind,\" as Mr. Gladstone here one day calls it. He took\ndrives to gardens that struck him as fairyland. The Prince of Wales paid\nhim kindly attentions as always. He had long conversations with the Comte\nde Paris, and with M. Clemenceau, and with the Duke of Argyll, the oldest\nof his surviving friends. In the evening he played whist. Home affairs he\nkept at bay pretty successfully, though a speech of Lord Hartington's\nabout local government in Ireland drew from him a longish letter to Lord\nGranville that the reader, if he likes, will find elsewhere.(68) His\nconversation with M. Clemenceau (whom he found \"decidedly pleasing\") was\nthought indiscreet, but though the most circumspect of men, the buckram of\na spurious discretion was no favourite wear with Mr. Gladstone. As for the\nreport of his conversation with the French radical, he wrote to Lord\nGranville, \"It includes much which Clemenceau did not say to me, and omits\nmuch which he did, for our principal conversation was on Egypt, about\nwhich he spoke in a most temperate and reasonable manner.\" He read the\n\"harrowing details\" of the terrible scene in the court-house at\nKilmainham, where the murderous Invincibles were found out. \"About Carey,\"\nhe said to Lord Granville, \"the spectacle is indeed loathsome, but I\ncannot doubt that the Irish government are distinctly _right_. In\naccepting an approver you do not incite him to do what is in itself wrong;\nonly his own bad mind can make it wrong to him. The government looks for\nthe truth. Approvers are, I suppose, for the most part base, but I do not\nsee how you could act on a distinction of degree between them. Still, one\nwould have heard the hiss from the dock with sympathy.\"\n\nLord Granville wrote to him (Jan. 31, 1883) that the Queen insisted much\nupon his diminishing the amount of labour thrown upon him, and expressed\nher opinion that his acceptance of a peerage would relieve him of the\nheavy strain. Lord Granville told her that personally he should be\ndelighted to see him in the Lords, but that he had great doubts whether\nMr. Gladstone would be willing. From Cannes Mr. Gladstone replied (Feb.\n3):--\n\n\n    As to removal into the House of Lords, I think the reasons against\n    it of general application are conclusive. At least I cannot see my\n    way in regard to them. But at any rate it is obvious that such a\n    step is quite inapplicable to the circumstances created by the\n    present difficulty. It is really most kind of the Queen to testify\n    such an interest, and the question is how to answer her. You would\n    do this better and perhaps more easily than I.\n\n\nPerhaps he remembered the case of Pulteney and of the Great Commoner.\n\nHe was not without remorse at the thought of his colleagues in harness\nwhile he was lotus-eating. On the day before the opening of the session he\nwrites, \"I feel dual: I am at Cannes, and in Downing Street eating my\nparliamentary dinner.\" By February 21 he was able to write to Lord\nGranville:--\n\n\n    As regards my health there is no excuse. It has got better and\n    better as I have stayed on, and is now, I think, on a higher level\n    than for a long time past. My sleep, for example, is now about as\n    good as it can be, and far better than it was during the autumn\n    sittings, _after_ which it got so bad. The pleasure I have had in\n    staying does not make an argument at all; it is a mere expression\n    or anticipation of my desire to be turned out to grass for\n    good....\n\n\nAt last the end of the holiday came. \"I part from Cannes with a heavy\nheart,\" he records on Feb. 26:--\n\n\n    Read the _Iliad_, copiously. Off by the 12.30 train. We exchanged\n    bright sun, splendid views, and a little dust at the beginning of\n    our journey, for frost and fog, which however hid no scenery, at\n    the end. _27th, Tuesday._--Reached Paris at 8, and drove to the\n    Embassy, where we had a most kind reception [from Lord Lyons].\n    Wrote to Lord Granville, Lord Spencer, Sir W. Harcourt. Went with\n    Lord L. to see M. Grevy; also Challemel-Lacour in his most\n    palatial abode. Looked about among the shops; and at the sad face\n    of the Tuileries. An embassy party to dinner; excellent company.\n\n    _To Lord Granville._\n\n    _Feb. 27th._--I have been with Lord Lyons to see Grevy and\n    Challemel-Lacour. Grevy's conversation consisted of civilities and\n    a mournful lecture on the political history of France, with many\n    compliments to the superiority of England. Challemel thought the\n    burdens of public life intolerable and greater here than in\n    England, which is rather strong. Neither made the smallest\n    allusion to present questions, and it was none of my business to\n    introduce them....\n\n\nAfter three days of bookstalls, ivory-hunting, and conversation, by the\nevening of March 2 the travellers were once more after a bright day and\nrapid passage safe in Downing Street.\n\nShortly after their return from the south of France the Gladstones paid a\nvisit to the Prince and Princess of Wales:--\n\n\n    _March 30, 1883._--Off at 11.30 to Sandringham. Reception kinder if\n    possible even than heretofore. Wrote.... Read and worked on London\n    municipality. _31, Saturday_.--Wrote. Root-cut a small tree in the\n    forenoon; then measured oaks in the park; one of 30 feet. In the\n    afternoon we drove to Houghton, a stately house and place, but\n    woe-begone. Conversation with Archbishop of Canterbury, Prince of\n    Wales and others. Read ... _Life of Hatherley_, Law's account of\n    Craig. _April 1._--Sandringham church, morning. West Newton,\n    evening. Good services and sermons from the archbishop. The Prince\n    bade me read the lessons. Much conversation with the archbishop,\n    also Duke of Cambridge. Read _Nineteenth Century_ on Revised\n    Version; Manning on Education; _Life of Hatherley_; Craig's\n    _Catechism_. Wrote, etc. 2.--Off at 11. D. Street 3.15. Wrote to\n    the Queen. Long conversation with the archbishop in the train.\n\n\nHere a short letter or two may find a place:--\n\n\n    _To Lady Jessel on her husband's death._\n\n    _March 30._--Though I am reluctant to intrude upon your sorrow\n    still so fresh, and while I beg of you on no account to\n    acknowledge this note, I cannot refrain from writing to assure you\n    not only of my sympathy with your grief, but of my profound sense\n    of the loss which the country and its judiciary have sustained by\n    the death of your distinguished husband. From the time of his\n    first entrance into parliament I followed his legal expositions\n    with an ignorant but fervid admiration, and could not help placing\n    him in the first rank, a rank held by few, of the many able and\n    powerful lawyers whom during half a century I have known and heard\n    in parliament. When I came to know him as a colleague, I found\n    reason to admire no less sincerely his superiority to\n    considerations of pecuniary interest, his strong and tenacious\n    sense of the dignity of his office, and his thoroughly frank,\n    resolute, and manly character. These few words, if they be a\n    feeble, yet I assure you are also a genuine, tribute to a memory\n    which I trust will long be cherished. Earnestly anxious that you\n    may have every consolation in your heavy bereavement.\n\n    _To Cardinal Manning._\n\n    _April 19._--I thank you much for your kind note, though I am sorry\n    to have given you the trouble of writing it. Both of us have much\n    to be thankful for in the way of health, but I should have, hoped\n    that your extremely spare living would have saved you from the\n    action of anything like gouty tendencies. As for myself, I can in\n    no way understand how it is that for a full half century I have\n    been permitted and enabled to resist a pressure of special\n    liabilities attaching to my path of life, to which so many have\n    given way. I am left as a solitary, surviving all his compeers.\n    But I trust it may not be long ere I escape into some position\n    better suited to declining years.\n\n    _To Sir W. V. Harcourt._\n\n    _April 27._--A separate line to thank you for your more than kind\n    words about my rather Alexandrine speech last night; as to which I\n    can only admit that it contained one fine passage--six lines in\n    length.(69) Your \"instincts\" of kindliness in all personal matters\n    are known to all the world. I should be glad, on selfish grounds,\n    if I could feel sure that they had not a little warped your\n    judicial faculty for the moment. But this misgiving abates nothing\n    from my grateful acknowledgment.\n\n\nAn application was made to him on behalf of a member of the opposite party\nfor a political pension, and here is his reply, to which it may be added\nthat ten years later he had come rather strongly to the view that\npolitical pensions should be abolished, and he was only deterred from\ntrying to carry out his view by the reminder from younger ministers, not\nthemselves applicants nor ever likely to be, that it would hardly be a\ngracious thing to cut off benefactions at a time when the bestowal of them\nwas passing away from him, though he had used them freely while that\nbestowal was within his reach.\n\n\n    _Political Pensions._\n\n    _July 4, 1883._--You are probably aware that during the fifty years\n    which have passed since the system of political and civil pensions\n    was essentially remodelled, no political pension has been granted\n    by any minister except to one of those with whom he stood on terms\n    of general confidence and co-operation. It is needless to refer to\n    older practice.\n\n    This is not to be accounted for by the fact that after meeting the\n    just claims of political adherents, there has been nothing left to\n    bestow. For, although it has happened that the list of pensions of\n    the first class has usually been full, it has not been so with\n    political pensions of the other classes, which have, I think,\n    rarely if ever been granted to the fullest extent that the Acts\n    have allowed. At the present time, out of twelve pensions which\n    may legally be conferred, only seven have been actually given, if\n    I reckon rightly. I do not think that this state of facts can have\n    been due to the absence of cases entitled to consideration, and I\n    am quite certain that it is not to be accounted for by what are\n    commonly termed party motives. It was obvious to me that I could\n    not create a precedent of deviation from a course undeviatingly\n    pursued by my predecessors of all parties, without satisfying\n    myself that a new form of proceeding would be reasonable and safe.\n    The examination of private circumstances, such as I consider the\n    Act to require, is from its own nature difficult and invidious:\n    but the examination of competing cases in the ex-official corps is\n    a function that could not, I think, be discharged with the\n    necessary combination of free responsible action, and of exemption\n    from offence and suspicion. Such cases plainly may occur.(70)\n\n    _To H.R.H. the Prince of Wales._\n\n    _August 14th._--I am much shocked at an omission which I made last\n    night in failing to ask your royal Highness's leave to be the\n    first to quit Lord Alcester's agreeable party, in order that I\n    might attend to my duties in the House of Commons. In my early\n    days not only did the whole company remain united, if a member of\n    the royal family were present, until the exalted personage had\n    departed; but I well recollect the application of the same rule in\n    the case of the Archbishop (Howley) of Canterbury. I am sorry to\n    say that I reached the House of Commons in time to hear some\n    outrageous speeches from the ultra Irish members. I will not say\n    that they were meant to encourage crime, but they tended directly\n    to teach the Irish people to withhold their confidence from the\n    law and its administrators; and they seemed to exhibit Lord\n    Spencer as the enemy to the mass of the community--a sad and\n    disgraceful fact, though I need not qualify what I told your royal\n    Highness, that they had for some time past not been guilty of\n    obstruction.\n\n\nEven in pieces that were in their nature more or less official, he touched\nthe occasions of life by a note that was not merely official, or was\nofficial in its best form. To Mrs. Garfield he wrote (July 21, 1881):--\n\n\n    You will, I am sure, excuse me, though a personal stranger, for\n    addressing you by letter, to convey to you the assurance of my own\n    feelings and those of my countrymen on the occasion of the late\n    horrible attempt to murder the President of the United States, in\n    a form more palpable at least than that of messages conveyed by\n    telegraph. Those feelings have been feelings in the first instance\n    of sympathy, and afterwards of joy and thankfulness, almost\n    comparable, and I venture to say only second to the strong\n    emotions of the great nation, of which he is the appointed head.\n    Individually I have, let me beg you to believe, had my full share\n    in the sentiments which have possessed the British nation. They\n    have been prompted and quickened largely by what I venture to\n    think is the ever-growing sense of harmony and mutual respect and\n    affection between the two countries, and of a relationship which\n    from year to year becomes more and more a practical bond of union\n    between us. But they have also drawn much of their strength from a\n    cordial admiration of the simple heroism which has marked the\n    personal conduct of the President, for we have not yet wholly lost\n    the capacity of appreciating such an example of Christian faith\n    and manly fortitude. This exemplary picture has been made complete\n    by your own contribution to its noble and touching features, on\n    which I only forbear to dwell because I am directly addressing\n    you.\n\n\nUnder all the conventional solemnities in Mr. Gladstone on such occasions,\nwe are conscious of a sincere feeling that they were in real relation to\nhuman life and all its chances and changes.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VII. Colleagues--Northern Cruise--Egypt. (1883)\n\n\n    Parran faville della sua virtute\n    In non curar d'argento ne d'affanni.\n\n    --_Paradiso_, xvii. 83.\n\n    Sparks of his worth shall show in the little heed he gives either\n    to riches or to heavy toils.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nThe session of 1883 was marked by one legislative performance of the first\norder, the bill devised against corrupt practices at elections. This\ninvaluable measure was worked through the House of Commons mainly by Sir\nHenry James, the attorney general, whose skill and temper in a business\nthat was made none the easier by the fact of every man in the House\nsupposing himself to understand the subject, excited Mr. Gladstone's\ncordial admiration; it strengthened that peculiarly warm regard in which\nhe held Sir Henry, not only now but even when the evil days of political\nseverance came. The prime minister, though assiduous, as he always was, in\nthe discharge of those routine and secondary duties which can never be\nneglected without damage to the House, had, for the first session in his\ncareer as head of a government, no burden in the shaping of a great bill.\nHe insisted, in spite of some opposition in the cabinet, on accepting a\nmotion pledging parliament to economy (April 3). In a debate on the Congo,\nhe was taken by some to have gone near to giving up the treaty-making\npower of the crown. He had to face more than one of those emergencies that\nwere naturally common for the leader of a party with a zealous radical\nwing represented in his cabinet, and in some measure these occasions beset\nMr. Gladstone from 1869 (M42) onwards. His loyalty and kindness to\ncolleagues who got themselves and him into scrapes by imprudent speeches,\nand his activity and resource in inventing ways out of scrapes, were\nalways unfailing. Often the difficulty was with the Queen, sometimes with\nthe House of Lords, occasionally with the Irish members. Birmingham, for\ninstance, held a grand celebration (June 13) on the twenty-fifth\nanniversary of Mr. Bright's connection as its representative. Mr. Bright\nused strong language about \"Irish rebels,\" and then learned that he would\nbe called to account. He consulted Mr. Gladstone, and from him received a\nreply that exhibits the use of logic as applied to inconvenient displays\nof the sister art of rhetoric:--\n\n\n    _To Mr. Bright._\n\n    _June 15, 1883._--I have received your note, and I am extremely\n    sorry either that you should have personal trouble after your\n    great exertions, or that anything should occur to cloud the\n    brilliancy or mar the satisfaction of your recent celebration in\n    Birmingham. I have looked at the extract from your speech, which\n    is to be alleged as the _corpus delicti_, with a jealous eye. It\n    seems well to be prepared for the worst. The points are, I think,\n    _three_:--1. \"Not a few\" tories are guilty of determined\n    obstruction. I cannot conceive it possible that this can be deemed\n    a breach of privilege. 2. These members are found 'in alliance'\n    with the Irish party. Alliance is often predicated by those who\n    disapprove, upon the ground that certain persons have been voting\n    together. This I think can hardly be a breach of privilege even in\n    cases where it may be disputable or untrue.\n\n    But then: 3. This Irish party are \"rebels\" whose oath of\n    allegiance is broken by association with the enemies of the\n    country. Whether these allegations are true or not, the following\n    questions arise:--(a) Can they be proved; (b) Are they allegations\n    which would be allowed in debate? I suppose you would agree with\n    me that they cannot be proved; and I doubt whether they would be\n    allowed in debate. The question whether they are a breach of\n    privilege is for the House; but the Speaker would have to say, if\n    called upon, whether they were allowable in debate. My impression\n    is that he would say no; and I think you would not wish to use\n    elsewhere expressions that you could not repeat in the House of\n    Commons.\n\n\nThe Speaker has a jotting in his diary which may end this case of a great\nman's excess:--\n\n\n    _June 18._--Exciting sitting. Bright's language about Irish rebels.\n    Certainly his language was very strong and quite inadmissible if\n    spoken within the House. In conversation with Northcote I\n    deprecated the taking notice of language outside the House, though\n    I could not deny that the House, if it thought fit, might regard\n    the words as a breach of privilege. But Northcote was no doubt\n    urged by his friends.\n\n\nMr. Chamberlain's was a heavier business, and led to much correspondence\nand difficult conversation in high places. A little of it, containing\ngeneral principles, will probably suffice here:--\n\n\n    _To Sir Henry Ponsonby._\n\n    _June 22.--Re_ Chamberlain's speech. I am sorry to say I had not\n    read the report until I was warned by your letters to Granville\n    and to Hamilton, for my sight does not allow me to read largely\n    the small type of newspapers. I have now read it, and I must at\n    once say with deep regret. We had done our best to keep the Bright\n    celebration in harmony with the general tone of opinion by the\n    mission which Granville kindly undertook. I am the more sorry\n    about this speech, because Chamberlain has this year in parliament\n    shown both tact and talent in the management of questions not\n    polemical, such as the bankruptcy bill. The speech is open to\n    exception from three points of view, as I think--first in relation\n    to Bright, secondly in relation to the cabinet, thirdly and most\n    especially in relation to the crown, to which the speech did not\n    indicate the consciousness of his holding any special relation.\n\n    _June. 26._--It appeared to me in considering the case of Mr.\n    Chamberlain's speech that by far the best correction would be\n    found, if a natural opportunity should offer, in a speech\n    differently  from himself. I found also that he was\n    engaged to preside on Saturday next at the dinner of the Cobden\n    Club. I addressed myself therefore to this point, and Mr.\n    Chamberlain will revert, on that occasion, to the same line of\n    thought.... But, like Granville, I consider that the offence does\n    not consist in holding certain opinions, of which in my judgment\n    the political force and effect are greatly exaggerated, but in the\n    attitude assumed, and the tone and colour given to the speech.\n\n    _To Lord Granville._\n\n    _July 1, 1883._--I have read with care Chamberlain's speech of last\n    night [at the Cobden Club dinner].... Am I right or wrong in\n    understanding the speech as follows? He admits without stint that\n    in a cabinet concessions may be made as to action, but he seems to\n    claim an unlimited liberty of speech. Now I should be as far as\n    possible from asserting that under all circumstances speech must\n    be confined within the exact limits to which action is tied down.\n    But I think the dignity and authority, not to say the honour and\n    integrity, of government require that the liberty of speaking\n    beyond those limits should be exercised sparingly, reluctantly,\n    and with much modesty and reserve. Whereas Chamberlain's\n    Birmingham speech exceeded it largely, gratuitously, and with a\n    total absence of recognition of the fact that he was not an\n    individual but a member of a body. And the claim made last night\n    to liberty of speech must be read with the practical illustration\n    afforded by the Birmingham discourse, which evidently now stands\n    as an instance, a sort of moral instance, of the mode in which\n    liberty of speech is to be reconciled with limitation of\n    action.(71)\n\n    In order to test the question, must we not bear in mind that the\n    liberty claimed in one wing of a cabinet may also be claimed in\n    another, and that while one minister says I support this measure,\n    though it does not go far enough, another may just as lawfully say\n    I support this measure, though it goes too far? For example,\n    Argyll agreed to the Disturbance Compensation bill in 1880, mainly\n    out of regard to his colleagues and their authority. What if he\n    had used in the House of Lords language like that I have just\n    supposed? Every extravagance of this kind puts weapons into the\n    hands of opponents, and weakens the authority of government, which\n    is hardly ever too strong, and is often too weak already.\n\n\nIn a letter written some years before when he was leader of the House, Mr.\nGladstone on the subject of the internal discipline of a ministerial corps\ntold one, who was at that time and now his colleague, a little story:--\n\n\n    As the subject is one of interest, perhaps you will let me mention\n    the incident which first obliged me to reflect upon it. Nearly\n    thirty years ago, my leader, Sir R. Peel, agreed in the Irish\n    Tithes bills to give 25 per cent. of the tithe to the landlord in\n    return for that \"Commutation.\" Thinking this too much (you see\n    that twist was then already in me), I happened to say so in a\n    private letter to an Irish clergyman. Very shortly after I had a\n    note from Peel, which inclosed one from Shaw, his head man in\n    Ireland, complaining of my letter as making his work impossible if\n    such things were allowed to go on. Sir R. Peel indorsed the\n    remonstrance, and I had to sing small. The discipline was very\n    tight in those days (and we were in opposition, not in\n    government). But it worked well on the whole, and I must say it\n    was accompanied on Sir R. Peel's part with a most rigid regard to\n    rights of all kinds within the official or quasi-official corps,\n    which has somewhat declined in more recent times.\n\n\nA minister had made some reference in a public speech, to what happened in\nthe cabinet of which he was a member. \"I am sure it cannot have occurred\nto you,\" Mr. Gladstone wrote, \"that the cabinet is the operative part of\nthe privy council, that the privy councillor's oath is applicable to its\nproceedings, that this is a very high obligation, and that no one can\ndispense with it except the Queen. I may add that I believe no one is\nentitled even to make a note of the proceedings except the prime minister,\nwho has to report its proceedings on every occasion of its meeting to the\nQueen, and who must by a few scraps assist his memory.\"\n\nBy the end of the session, although its labours had not (M43) been on the\nlevel of either 1881 or 1882, Mr. Gladstone was somewhat strained. On Aug.\n22 he writes to Mrs. Gladstone at Hawarden: \"Yesterday at 41/2 I entered the\nHouse hoping to get out soon and write you a letter, when the Speaker told\nme Northcote was going to raise a debate on the Appropriation bill, and I\nhad to wait, listen, and then to speak for more than an hour, which tired\nme a good deal, finding me weak after sitting till 2.30 the night before,\nand a long cabinet in the interval. Rough work for 73!\"\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nIn September he took a holiday in a shape that, though he was no hearty\nsailor, was always a pleasure and a relief to him. Three letters to the\nQueen tell the story, and give a glimpse of court punctilio:--\n\n\n    _On the North Sea, Sept. 15. Posted at Copenhagen, Sept. 16,\n    1883._--Mr. Gladstone presents his humble duty to your Majesty, and\n    has to offer his humble apology for not having sought from your\n    Majesty the usual gracious permission before setting foot on a\n    foreign shore. He embarked on the 8th in a steamer of the Castles\n    Company under the auspices of Sir Donald Currie, with no more\n    ambitious expectation than that of a cruise among the Western\n    Isles. But the extraordinary solidity, so to call it, of a very\n    fine ship (the _Pembroke Castle_, 4000 tons, 410 feet long) on the\n    water, rendering her in no small degree independent of weather,\n    encouraged his fellow-voyagers, and even himself, though a most\n    indifferent sailor, to extend their views, and the vessel is now\n    on the North Sea running over to Christiansand in Norway, from\n    whence it is proposed to go to Copenhagen, with the expectation,\n    however, of again touching British soil in the middle of next\n    week. Mr. Gladstone humbly trusts that, under these circumstances,\n    his omission may be excused.\n\n    Mr. Tennyson, who is one of the party, is an excellent sailor, and\n    seems to enjoy himself much in the floating castle, as it may be\n    termed in a wider sense than that of its appellation on the\n    register. The weather has been variable with a heavy roll from the\n    Atlantic at the points not sheltered; but the stormy North Sea has\n    on the whole behaved extremely well as regards its two besetting\n    liabilities to storm and fog.\n\n    _Ship __\"__Pembroke Castle,__\"__ Mouth of the Thames. Sept. 20,\n    1883._--Mr. Gladstone with his humble duty reports to your Majesty\n    his return this evening from Copenhagen to London. The passage was\n    very rapid, and the weather favourable. He had the honour, with\n    his wife and daughter and other companions of his voyage, to\n    receive an invitation to dine at Fredensborg on Monday. He found\n    there the entire circle of illustrious personages who have been\n    gathered for some time in a family party, with a very few\n    exceptions. The singularly domestic character of this remarkable\n    assemblage, and the affectionate intimacy which appeared to\n    pervade it, made an impression upon him not less deep than the\n    demeanour of all its members, which was so kindly and so simple,\n    that even the word condescending could hardly be applied to it.\n    Nor must Mr. Gladstone allow himself to omit another striking\n    feature of the remarkable picture, in the unrestrained and\n    unbounded happiness of the royal children, nineteen in number, who\n    appeared like a single family reared under a single roof.\n\n    [_The royal party, forty in number, visit the ship._]\n\n    The Emperor of Russia proposed the health of your Majesty. Mr.\n    Gladstone by arrangement with your Majesty's minister at this\n    court, Mr. Vivian, proposed the health of the King and Queen of\n    Denmark, and the Emperor and Empress of Russia, and the King and\n    Queen of the Hellenes. The King of Denmark did Mr. Gladstone the\n    honour to propose his health; and Mr. Gladstone in acknowledging\n    this toast, thought he could not do otherwise, though no speeches\n    had been made, than express the friendly feeling of Great Britain\n    towards Denmark, and the satisfaction with which the British\n    people recognised the tie of race which unites them with the\n    inhabitants of the Scandinavian countries. Perhaps the most\n    vigorous and remarkable portion of the British nation had, Mr.\n    Gladstone said, been drawn from these countries. After luncheon,\n    the senior imperial and royal personages crowded together into a\n    small cabin on the deck to hear Mr. Tennyson read two of his\n    poems, several of the younger branches clustering round the doors.\n    Between 2 and 3, the illustrious party left the _Pembroke Castle_,\n    and in the midst of an animated scene, went on board the King of\n    Denmark's yacht, which steamed towards Elsinore.\n\n    Mr. Gladstone was much pleased to observe that the Emperor of\n    Russia appeared to be entirely released from the immediate\n    pressure of his anxieties supposed to weigh much upon his mind.\n    The Empress of Russia has the genial and gracious manners which on\n    this, and on every occasion, mark H.R.H. the Princess of Wales.\n\n                  -------------------------------------\n\n    _Sept. 22, 1883._--Mr. Gladstone presents his humble duty to your\n    Majesty, and has to acknowledge your Majesty's letter of the 20th\n    \"giving him full credit for not having reflected at the time\" when\n    he decided, as your Majesty believes, to extend his recent cruise\n    to Norway and Denmark.\n\n    He may humbly state that he had no desire or idea beyond a glance,\n    if only for a few hours, at a little of the fine and peculiar\n    scenery of Norway. But he is also responsible for having\n    acquiesced in the proposal (which originated with Mr. Tennyson) to\n    spend a day at Copenhagen, where he happens to have some\n    associations of literary interest; for having accepted an\n    unexpected invitation to dine with the king some thirty miles off;\n    and for having promoted the execution of a wish, again\n    unexpectedly communicated to him, that a visit of the illustrious\n    party to the _Pembroke Castle_ should be arranged. Mr. Gladstone\n    ought probably to have foreseen all these things. With respect to\n    the construction put upon his act abroad, Mr. Gladstone ought\n    again, perhaps, to have foreseen that, in countries habituated to\n    more important personal meetings, which are uniformly declared to\n    be held in the interests of general peace, his momentary and\n    unpremeditated contact with the sovereigns at Fredensborg would be\n    denounced, or suspected of a mischievous design. He has, however,\n    some consolation in finding that, in England at least, such a\n    suspicion appears to have been confined to two secondary journals,\n    neither of which has ever found (so far as he is aware) in any act\n    of his anything but guilt and folly.\n\n    Thus adopting, to a great extent, your Majesty's view, Mr.\n    Gladstone can confirm your Majesty's belief that (with the\n    exception of a sentence addressed by him to the King of the\n    Hellenes singly respecting Bulgaria), there was on all hands an\n    absolute silence in regard to public affairs....\n\n\nIn proposing at Kirkwall the health of the poet who was his fellow-guest\non the cruise, Mr. Gladstone let fall a hint--a significant and perhaps a\njust one--on the comparative place of politics and letters, the difference\nbetween the statesman and orator and the poet. \"Mr. Tennyson's life and\nlabour,\" he said, \"correspond in point of time as nearly as possible to my\nown; but he has worked in a higher field, and his work will be more\ndurable. We public men play a part which places us much in view of our\ncountrymen, but the words which we speak have wings and fly away and\ndisappear.... But the Poet Laureate has written his own song on the hearts\nof his countrymen that can never die.\"\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nIt was said in 1884 that the organisation of Egypt was a subject, whether\nregarded from the English or the European point of view, that was probably\nmore complicated and more fraught with possible dangers in the future,\nthan any question of foreign policy with which England had had to deal for\nthe last fifty years or more.\n\nThe arguments against prolonged English occupation were tolerably clear.\nIt would freeze all cordiality between ourselves and the French. It would\nmake us a Mediterranean military power. In case of war, the necessity of\nholding Egypt would weaken us. In diplomacy it would expose fresh surface\nto new and hostile combinations. Yet, giving their full weight to every\none of these considerations, a British statesman was confronted by one of\nthose intractable dilemmas that make up the material of a good half of\nhuman history. The Khedive could not stand by himself. The Turk would not,\nand ought not to be endured for his protector. Some other European power\nwould step in and block the English road. Would common prudence in such a\ncase suffer England to acquiesce and stand aside? Did not subsisting\nobligations also confirm the precepts of policy and self-interest? In many\nminds this reasoning was clenched and clamped by the sacrifices that\nEngland had made when she took, and took alone, the initial military step.\n\nEgyptian affairs were one of the heaviest loads that (M44) weighed upon\nMr. Gladstone during the whole of 1884. One day in the autumn of this\nyear, towards the end of the business before the cabinet, a minister asked\nif there was anything else. \"No,\" said Mr. Gladstone with sombre irony as\nhe gathered up his papers, \"we have done our Egyptian business, and we are\nan Egyptian government.\" His general position was sketched in a letter to\nLord Granville (Mar. 22, 1884): \"In regard to the Egyptian question\nproper, I am conscious of being moved by three powerful considerations.\n(1) Respect for European law, and for the peace of eastern Europe,\nessentially connected with its observance. (2) The just claims of the\nKhedive, who has given us no case against him, and his people as connected\nwith him. (3) Indisposition to extend the responsibilities of this\ncountry. On the first two I feel very stiff. On the third I should have\ndue regard to my personal condition as a vanishing quantity.\"\n\nThe question of the continuance of the old dual control by England and\nFrance was raised almost immediately after the English occupation began,\nbut English opinion supported or stimulated the cabinet in refusing to\nrestore a form of co-operation that had worked well originally in the\nhands of Baring and de Blignieres, but had subsequently betrayed its\ninherent weakness. France resumed what is diplomatically styled liberty of\naction in Egypt; and many months were passed in negotiations, the most\nentangled in which a British government was ever engaged. Why did not\nEngland, impatient critics of Mr. Gladstone and his cabinet inquire, at\nonce formally proclaim a protectorate? Because it would have been a direct\nbreach of her moral obligations of good faith to Europe. These were\nundisputed and indisputable. It would have brought her within instant\nreach of a possible war with France, for which the sinister and interested\napproval of Germany would have been small compensation.\n\nThe issue lay between annexation and withdrawal,--annexation to be veiled\nand indirect, withdrawal to be cautious and conditional. No member of the\ncabinet at this time seems to have listened with any favour whatever to\nthe mention of annexation. Apart from other objections, it would\nundeniably have been a flagrant breach of solemn international\nengagements. The cabinet was pledged up to the lips to withdrawal, and\nwhen Lord Hartington talked to the House of Commons of the last British\nsoldier quitting Egypt in a few months, nobody ever doubted then or since\nthat he was declaring the sincere intention of the cabinet. Nor was any\ndoubt possible that the intention of the cabinet entirely coincided at\nthat time with the opinion and wishes of the general public. The\noperations in Egypt had not been popular,(72) and the national temper was\nstill as hostile to all expansion as when it cast out Lord Beaconsfield.\nWithdrawal, however, was beset with inextricable difficulties. Either\nwithdrawal or annexation would have simplified the position and brought\nits own advantages. Neither was possible. The British government after\nTel-el-Kebir vainly strove to steer a course that would combine the\nadvantages of both. Say what they would, military occupation was taken to\nmake them responsible for everything that happened in Egypt. This\nencouraged the view that they should give orders to Egypt, and make Egypt\nobey. But then direct and continuous interference with the Egyptian\nadministration was advance in a path that could only end in annexation. To\ngovern Egypt from London through a native ministry, was in fact nothing\nbut annexation, and annexation in its clumsiest and most troublesome\nshape. Such a policy was least of all to be reconciled with the avowed\npolicy of withdrawal. To treat native ministers as mere ciphers and\npuppets, and then to hope to leave them at the end with authority enough\nto govern the country by themselves, was pure delusion.\n\nSo much for our relations with Egypt internally. Then came Europe and the\nPowers, and the regulation of a financial situation of indescribable\ncomplexity. \"I sometimes fear,\" Mr. Gladstone wrote to Lord Granville\n(Dec. 8, (M45) 1884), \"that some of the foreign governments have the same\nnotion of me that Nicholas was supposed to have of Lord Aberdeen. But\nthere is no one in the cabinet less disposed than I am to knuckle down to\nthem in this Egyptian matter, about which they, except Italy, behave so\nill, some of them without excuse.\" \"As to Bismarck,\" he said, \"it is a\ncase of sheer audacity, of which he has an unbounded stock.\" Two months\nbefore he had complained to Lord Granville of the same powerful personage:\n\"Ought not some notice to be taken of Bismarck's impudent reference to the\nEnglish exchequer? Ought you to have such a remark in your possession\nwithout protest? He coolly assumes in effect that we are responsible for\nall the financial wants and occasions of Egypt.\"\n\nThe sensible reader would resist any attempt to drag him into the\nSerbonian bog of Egyptian finance. Nor need I describe either the\nprotracted conference of the European Powers, or the mission of Lord\nNorthbrook. To this able colleague, Mr. Gladstone wrote on the eve of his\ndeparture (Aug. 29, 1884):--\n\n\n    I cannot let you quit our shores without a word of valediction.\n    Your colleagues are too deeply interested to be impartial judges\n    of your mission. But they certainly cannot be mistaken in their\n    appreciation of the generosity and courage which could alone have\n    induced you to undertake it. Our task in Egypt generally may not\n    unfairly be called an impossible task, and with the impossible no\n    man can successfully contend. But we are well satisfied that\n    whatever is possible, you will achieve; whatever judgment,\n    experience, firmness, gentleness can do, will be done. Our\n    expectations from the nature of the case must be moderate; but be\n    assured, they will not be the measure of our gratitude. All good\n    go with you.\n\n\nLord Northbrook's report when in due time it came, engaged the prime\nminister's anxious consideration, but it could not be carried further.\nWhat the Powers might agree to, parliament would not look at. The\nsituation was one of the utmost delicacy and danger, as anybody who is\naware of the diplomatic embarrassments of it knows. An agreement with\nFrance about the Suez Canal came to nothing. A conference upon finance\ncame to nothing. Bismarck was out of humour with England, partly from his\ndislike of certain exalted English personages and influences at his own\ncourt, partly because it suited him that France and England should be bad\nfriends, partly because, as he complained, whenever he tried to found a\ncolony, we closed in upon him. He preached a sermon on _do ut des_, and\nwhile scouting the idea of any real differences with this country, he\nhinted that if we could not accommodate him in colonial questions, he\nmight not find it in his power to accommodate us in European questions.\nMr. Gladstone declared for treating every German claim in an equitable\nspirit, but said we had our own colonial communities to consider.\n\nIn March 1885, after negotiations that threatened to be endless, the\nLondon Convention was signed and the riddle of the financial sphinx was\nsolved. This made possible the coming years of beneficent reform. The\nwonder is, says a competent observer, how in view of the indifference of\nmost of the Powers to the welfare of Egypt and the bitter annoyance of\nFrance at our position in that country, the English government ever\nsucceeded in inducing all the parties concerned to agree to so reasonable\nan arrangement.(73)\n\nMeanwhile, as we shall see all too soon, the question of Egypt proper, as\nit was then called, had brought up the question of the Soudan, and with it\nan incident that made what Mr. Gladstone called \"the blackest day since\nthe Phoenix Park.\" In 1884 the government still seemed prosperous. The\nordinary human tendency to croak never dies, especially in the politics of\nparty. Men talked of humiliation abroad, ruin at home, agricultural\ninterests doomed, trade at a standstill--calamities all obviously due to a\ngovernment without spirit, and a majority with no independence. But then\nhumiliation, to be sure, only meant jealousy in other countries because we\ndeclined to put ourselves in the wrong, and to be hoodwinked into unwise\nalliances. Ruin only meant reform without revolution. Doom meant an\ninappreciable falling off in the vast volume of our trade.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VIII. Reform. (1884)\n\n\n    Decision by majorities is as much an expedient as lighting by gas.\n    In adopting it as a rule, we are not realising perfection, but\n    bowing to an imperfection. It has the great merit of avoiding, and\n    that by a test perfectly definite, the last resort to violence;\n    and of making force itself the servant instead of the master of\n    authority. But our country rejoices in the belief that she does\n    not decide all things by majorities.--GLADSTONE (1858).\n\n\n\nI\n\n\n\"The word procedure,\" said Mr. Gladstone to a club of young political\nmissionaries in 1884, \"has in it something homely, and it is difficult for\nany one, except those who pass their lives within the walls of parliament,\nto understand how vital and urgent a truth it is, that there is no more\nurgent demand, there is no aim or purpose more absolutely essential to the\nfuture victories and the future efficiency of the House of Commons, than\nthat it should effect, with the support of the nation--for it can be\neffected in no other way--some great reform in the matter of its\nprocedure.\" He spoke further of the \"absolute and daily-growing necessity\nof what I will describe as a great internal reform of the House of\nCommons, quite distinct from that reform beyond its doors on which our\nhearts are at present especially set.\" Reform from within and reform from\nwithout were the two tasks, neither of them other than difficult in\nthemselves and both made supremely difficult by the extraordinary spirit\nof faction at that time animating the minority. The internal reform had\nbeen made necessary, as Mr. Gladstone expressed it, by systematised\nobstruction, based upon the abuse of ancient and generous rules, under\nwhich system the House of Commons \"becomes more and more the slave of some\nof the poorest and most insignificant among its members.\" Forty years\nbefore he told the provost of Oriel, \"The forms of parliament are little\nmore than a mature expression of the principles of justice in their\napplication to the proceedings of deliberative bodies, having it for their\nobject to secure freedom and reflection, and well fitted to attain that\nobject.\" These high ideals had been gradually lowered, for Mr. Parnell had\nfound out that the rules which had for their object the security of\nfreedom and reflection, could be still more effectually wrested to objects\nthe very opposite.\n\nIn Mr. Gladstone's first session (1833) 395 members (the speaker excluded)\nspoke, and the total number of speeches was 5765. Fifty years later, in\nthe session of 1883, the total number of speeches had risen to 21,160. The\nremedies proposed from time to time in this parliament by Mr. Gladstone\nwere various, and were the occasion of many fierce and stubborn conflicts.\nBut the subject is in the highest degree technical, and only intelligible\nto those who, as Mr. Gladstone said, \"pass their lives within the walls of\nparliament\"--perhaps not by any means to all even of them. His papers\ncontain nothing of interest or novelty upon the question either of\ndevolution or of the compulsory stoppage of debate. We may as well,\ntherefore, leave it alone, only observing that the necessity for the\nclosure was probably the most unpalatable of all the changes forced on Mr.\nGladstone by change in social and political circumstance. To leave the\nsubject alone is not to ignore its extreme importance, either in the\neffect of revolution in procedure upon the character of the House, and its\npower of despatching and controlling national business; or as an\nindication that the old order was yielding in the political sphere as\neverywhere else to the conditions of a new time.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThe question of extending to householders in the country the franchise\nthat in 1867 had been conferred on householders in boroughs, had been\nfirst pressed with eloquence and resolution by Mr. Trevelyan. In 1876 he\nintroduced two resolutions, one for extended franchise, the other for a\nnew (M46) arrangement of seats, made necessary by the creation of the new\nvoters. In a tory parliament he had, of course, no chance. Mr. Gladstone,\nnot naturally any more ardent for change in political machinery than Burke\nor Canning had been, was in no hurry about it, but was well aware that the\ntriumphant parliament of 1880 could not be allowed to expire without the\neffective adoption by the government of proposals in principle such as\nthose made by Mr. Trevelyan in 1876. One wing of the cabinet hung back.\nMr. Gladstone himself, reading the signs in the political skies, felt that\nthe hour had struck; the cabinet followed, and the bill was framed. Never,\nsaid Mr. Gladstone, was a bill so large in respect of the numbers to have\nvotes; so innocent in point of principle, for it raised no new questions\nand sprang from no new principles. It went, he contended and most truly\ncontended, to the extreme of consideration for opponents, and avoided\nseveral points that had especial attractions for friends. So likewise, the\ngeneral principles on which redistribution of seats would be governed,\nwere admittedly framed in a conservative spirit.\n\nThe comparative magnitude of the operation was thus described by Mr.\nGladstone (Feb. 28, 1884):--\n\n\n    In 1832 there was passed what was considered a Magna Charta of\n    British liberties; but that Magna Charta of British liberties\n    added, according to the previous estimate of Lord John Russell,\n    500,000, while according to the results considerably less than\n    500,000 were added to the entire constituency of the three\n    countries. After 1832 we come to 1866. At that time the total\n    constituency of the United Kingdom reached 1,364,000. By the bills\n    which were passed between 1867 and 1869 that number was raised to\n    2,448,000. Under the action of the present law the constituency\n    has reached in round numbers what I would call 3,000,000. This\n    bill, if it passes as presented, will add to the English\n    constituency over 1,300,000 persons. It will add to the Scotch\n    constituency, Scotland being at present rather better provided in\n    this respect than either of the other countries, over 200,000, and\n    to the Irish constituency over 400,000; or in the main, to the\n    present aggregate constituency of the United Kingdom taken at\n    3,000,000 it will add 2,000,000 more, nearly twice as much as was\n    added since 1867, and more than four times as much as was added in\n    1832.\n\n\nThe bill was read a second time (April 7) by the overwhelming majority of\n340 against 210. Even those who most disliked the measure admitted that a\nmajority of this size could not be made light of, though they went on in\ncharity to say that it did not represent the honest opinion of those who\ncomposed it. It was in fact, as such persons argued, the strongest proof\nof the degradation brought into our politics by the Act of 1867. \"All the\nbribes of Danby or of Walpole or of Pelham,\" cried one excited critic,\n\"all the bullying of the Tudors, all the lobbying of George III., would\nhave been powerless to secure it in the most corrupt or the most servile\ndays of the ancient House of Commons.\"(74)\n\nOn the third reading the opposition disappeared from the House, and on Mr.\nGladstone's prompt initiative it was placed on record in the journals that\nthe bill had been carried by a unanimous verdict. It went to the Lords,\nand by a majority, first of 59 and then of 50, they put what Mr. Gladstone\nmildly called \"an effectual stoppage on the bill, or in other words did\npractically reject it.\" The plain issue, if we can call it plain, was\nthis. What the tories, with different degrees of sincerity, professed to\ndread was that the election might take place on the new franchise, but\nwith an unaltered disposition of parliamentary seats. At heart the bulk of\nthem were as little friendly to a lowered franchise in the counties, as\nthey had been in the case of the towns before Mr. Disraeli educated them.\nBut this was a secret dangerous to let out, for the enfranchised workers\nin the towns would never understand why workers in the villages should not\nhave a vote. Apart from this, the tory leaders believed that unless the\nallotment of seats went with the addition of a couple of million new\nvoters, the prospect would be ruinously unfavourable to their party, and\nthey offered determined resistance to the chance of a jockeying operation\nof this (M47) kind. At least one very eminent man among them had privately\nmade up his mind that the proceeding supposed to be designed by their\nopponents--their distinct professions notwithstanding--would efface the tory\nparty for thirty years to come. Mr. Gladstone and his government on the\nother hand agreed, on grounds of their own and for reasons of their own,\nthat the two changes should come into operation together. What they\ncontended was, that to tack redistribution on to franchise, was to scotch\nor kill franchise. \"I do not hesitate to say,\" Mr. Gladstone told his\nelectors, \"that those who are opposing us, and making use of this topic of\nredistribution of seats as a means for defeating the franchise bill, know\nas well as we do that, had we been such idiots and such dolts as to\npresent to parliament a bill for the combined purpose, or to bring in two\nbills for the two purposes as one measure--I say, they know as well as we\ndo, that a disgraceful failure would have been the result of our folly,\nand that we should have been traitors to you, and to the cause we had in\nhand.\"(75) Disinterested onlookers thought there ought to be no great\ndifficulty in securing the result that both sides desired. As the Duke of\nArgyll put it to Mr. Gladstone, if in private business two men were to\ncome to a breach, when standing so near to one another in aim and\nprofession, they would be shut up in bedlam. This is just what the\njudicious reader will think to-day.\n\nThe controversy was transported from parliament to the platform, and a\nvigorous agitation marked the autumn recess. It was a double agitation.\nWhat began as a campaign on behalf of the rural householder, threatened to\nend as one against hereditary legislators. It is a well-known advantage in\nmovements of this sort to be not only for, but also against, somebody or\nsomething; against a minister, by preference, or if not an individual,\nthen against a body. A hereditary legislature in a community that has\nreached the self-governing stage is an anachronism that makes the easiest\nof all marks for mockery and attack, so long as it lasts. Nobody can doubt\nthat if Mr. Gladstone had been the frantic demagogue or fretful\nrevolutionist that his opponents thought, he now had an excellent chance\nof bringing the question of the House of Lords irresistibly to the front.\nAs it was, in the midst of the storm raised by his lieutenants and\nsupporters all over the country, he was the moderating force, elaborately\nappealing, as he said, to the reason rather than the fears of his\nopponents.\n\nOne reproachful passage in his speeches this autumn acquires a rather\npeculiar significance in the light of the events that were in the coming\nyears to follow. He is dealing with the argument that the hereditary House\nprotects the nation against fleeting opinions:--\n\n\n    How is it with regard to the solid and permanent opinion of the\n    nation? We have had twelve parliaments since the Reform Act,--I\n    have a right to say so, as I have sat in every one of them,--and\n    the opinion, the national opinion, has been exhibited in the\n    following manner. Ten of those parliaments have had a liberal\n    majority. The eleventh parliament was the one that sat from 1841\n    to 1847. It was elected as a tory parliament; but in 1846 it put\n    out the conservative government of Sir Robert Peel, and put in and\n    supported till its dissolution, the liberal government of Lord\n    John Russell. That is the eleventh parliament. But then there is\n    the twelfth parliament, and that is one that you and I know a good\n    deal about [Lord Beaconsfield's parliament], for we talked largely\n    on the subject of its merits and demerits, whichever they may be,\n    at the time of the last election. That parliament was, I admit, a\n    tory parliament from the beginning to the end. But I want to know,\n    looking back for a period of more than fifty years, which\n    represented the solid permanent conviction of the nation?--the ten\n    parliaments that were elected upon ten out of the twelve\n    dissolutions, or the one parliament that chanced to be elected\n    from the disorganized state of the liberal party in the early part\n    of the year 1874? Well, here are ten parliaments on the one side;\n    here is one parliament on the other side.... The House of Lords\n    was in sympathy with the one parliament, and was in opposition ...\n    to the ten parliaments. And yet you are told, when--we will say for\n    forty-five years out of fifty--practically the nation has\n    manifested its liberal tendencies by the election of liberal\n    parliaments, and once only has chanced to elect a thoroughly tory\n    parliament, you are told that it is the thoroughly tory parliament\n    that represents the solid and permanent opinion of the\n    country.(76)\n\n\nIn time a curious thing, not yet adequately explained, fell out, for the\nextension of the franchise in 1867 and now in 1884 resulted in a reversal\nof the apparent law of things that had ruled our political parties through\nthe epoch that Mr. Gladstone has just sketched. The five parliaments since\n1884 have not followed the line of the ten parliaments preceding,\nnotwithstanding the enlargement of direct popular power.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nIn August Mr. Gladstone submitted to the Queen a memorandum on the\npolitical situation. It was much more elaborate than the ordinary official\nsubmissions. Lord Granville was the only colleague who had seen it, and\nMr. Gladstone was alone responsible for laying it before the sovereign. It\nis a masterly statement of the case, starting from the assumption for the\nsake of argument that the tories were right and the liberals wrong as to\nthe two bills; then proceeding on the basis of a strongly expressed desire\nto keep back a movement for organic change; next urging the signs that\nsuch a movement would go forward with irresistible force if the bill were\nagain rejected; and concluding thus:--\n\n\n    I may say in conclusion that there is no personal act if it be\n    compatible with personal honour and likely to contribute to an end\n    which I hold very dear, that I would not gladly do for the purpose\n    of helping to close the present controversy, and in closing it to\n    prevent the growth of one probably more complex and more\n    formidable.\n\n\nThis document, tempered, unrhetorical, almost dispassionate, was the\nstarting-point of proceedings that, after enormous difficulties had been\nsurmounted by patience and perseverance, working through his power in\nparliament and his authority in the country, ended in final pacification\nand a sound political settlement. It was Mr. Gladstone's statesmanship\nthat brought this pacification into sight and within reach.\n\nThe Queen was deeply struck both by the force of his arguments and the\nearnest tone in which they were pressed. Though doubting whether there was\nany strong desire for a change in the position of the House of Lords,\nstill she \"did not shut her eyes to the possible gravity of the situation\"\n(Aug. 31). She seemed inclined to take some steps for ascertaining the\nopinion of the leaders of opposition, with a view to inducing them to\nmodify their programme. The Duke of Richmond visited Balmoral (Sept. 13),\nbut when Mr. Gladstone, then himself on Deeside, heard what had passed in\nthe direction of compromise, he could only say, \"Waste of breath!\" To all\nsuggestions of a dissolution on the case in issue, Mr. Gladstone said to a\nconfidential emissary from Balmoral:--\n\n\n    Never will I be a party to dissolving in order to determine\n    whether the Lords or the Commons were right upon the Franchise\n    bill. If I have anything to do with dissolution, it will be a\n    dissolution upon organic change in the House of Lords. Should this\n    bill be again rejected in a definite manner, there will be only\n    two courses open to me, one to cut out of public life, which I\n    shall infinitely prefer; the other to become a supporter of\n    organic change in the House of Lords, which I hate and which I am\n    making all this fuss in order to avoid. We have a few weeks before\n    us to try and avert the mischief. After a second rejection it will\n    be too late. There is perhaps the alternative of advising a large\n    creation of peers; but to this there are great objections, even if\n    the Queen were willing. I am not at present sure that I could\n    bring myself to be a party to the adoption of a plan like that of\n    1832.\n\n\nWhen people talked to him of dissolution as a means of bringing the Lords\nto account, he replied in scorn: \"A marvellous conception! On such a\ndissolution, if the country disapproved of the conduct of its\nrepresentatives, it would cashier them; but, if it disapproved of the\nconduct of the peers, it would simply have to see them resume their place\nof power, to employ it to the best of their ability as opportunity might\nserve, in thwarting the desires of the country expressed through its\nrepresentatives.\"\n\nIt was reported to Mr. Gladstone that his speeches in (M48) Scotland\n(though they were marked by much restraint) created some displeasure at\nBalmoral. He wrote to Lord Granville (Sept. 26):--\n\n\n    The Queen does not know the facts. If she did, she would have\n    known that while I have been compelled to deviate from the\n    intention, of speaking only to constituents which (with much\n    difficulty) I kept until Aberdeen, I have thereby (and again with\n    much difficulty in handling the audiences, every one of which\n    would have wished a different course of proceeding) been enabled\n    to do much in the way of keeping the question of organic change in\n    the House of Lords out of the present stage of the controversy.\n\n\nSir Henry Ponsonby, of course at the Queen's instigation, was\nindefatigable and infinitely ingenious in inventing devices of possible\ncompromise between Lords and Commons, or between Lords and ministers, such\nas might secure the passing of franchise and yet at the same time secure\nthe creation of new electoral areas before the extended franchise should\nbecome operative. The Queen repeated to some members of the opposition--she\ndid not at this stage communicate directly with Lord Salisbury--the essence\nof Mr. Gladstone's memorandum of August, and no doubt conveyed the\nimpression that it had made upon her own mind. Later correspondence\nbetween her secretary and the Duke of Richmond set up a salutary ferment\nin what had not been at first a very promising quarter.\n\nMeanwhile Mr. Gladstone was hard at work in other directions. He was\nurgent (Oct. 2) that Lord Granville should make every effort to bring more\npeers into the fold to save the bill when it reappeared in the autumn\nsession. He had himself \"garnered in a rich harvest\" of bishops in July.\nOn previous occasions he had plied the episcopal bench with political\nappeals, and this time he wrote to the Archbishop of Canterbury:--\n\n\n    _July 2, 1884._--I should have felt repugnance and scruple about\n    addressing your Grace at any time on any subject of a political\n    nature, if it were confined within the ordinary limits of such\n    subjects. But it seems impossible to refuse credit to the\n    accounts, which assure us that the peers of the opposition, under\n    Lord Salisbury and his coadjutors, are determined to use all their\n    strength and influence for the purpose of throwing out the\n    Franchise bill in the House of Lords; and thus of entering upon a\n    conflict with the House of Commons, from which at each step in the\n    proceeding it may probably become more difficult to retire, and\n    which, if left to its natural course, will probably develop itself\n    into a constitutional crisis of such an order, as has not occurred\n    since 1832....\n\n\nTo Tennyson, the possessor of a spiritual power even more than\narchiepiscopal, who had now a place among peers temporal, he addressed a\nremonstrance (July 6):--\n\n\n    ... Upon consideration I cannot help writing a line, for I must\n    hope you will reconsider your intention. The best mode in which I\n    can support a suggestion seemingly so audacious is by informing\n    you, that all sober-minded conservative peers are in great dismay\n    at this wild proceeding of Lord Salisbury; that the ultra-radicals\n    and Parnellites, on the other hand, are in a state of glee, as\n    they believe, and with good reason, that the battle once begun\n    will end in some great humiliation to the House of Lords, or some\n    important change in its composition. That (to my knowledge)\n    various bishops of conservative leanings are, on this account,\n    going to vote with the government--as may be the case with lay\n    peers also. That you are the _only_ peer, so far as I know,\n    associated with liberal ideas or the liberal party, who hesitates\n    to vote against Lord Salisbury.\n\n\nIn the later stage of this controversy, Tennyson shot the well-known lines\nat him--\n\n\n    Steersman, be not precipitate in thine act\n    Of steering, for the river here, my friend,\n    Parts in two channels, moving to one end--\n    This goes straight forward to the cataract:\n    That streams about the bend.\n    But tho' the cataract seems the nearer way,\n    Whate'er the crowd on either bank may say,\n    Take thou \"the bend,\" 'twill save thee many a day.\n\n\nTo a poet who made to his generation such exquisite gifts of beauty and\npleasure, the hardest of party-men may pardon unseasonable fears about\nfranchise and one-horse constituencies. As matter of fact and in plain\nprose, this (M49) taking of the bend was exactly what the steersman had\nbeen doing, so as to keep other people out of cataracts.\n\n\"Then why should not Lord Granville try his hand on ambassadors, pressing\nthem to save their order from a tempest that must strain and might wreck\nit?\" To Mr. Chamberlain, who was in his element, or in one of his\nelements, Mr. Gladstone wrote (Oct. 8):--\n\n\n    I see that Salisbury by his declaration in the _Times_ of\n    Saturday, that the Lords are to contend for the simultaneous\n    passing of the two bills, has given you an excellent subject for\n    denunciation, and you may safely denounce him to your heart's\n    content. But I earnestly hope that you will leave us all elbow\n    room on other questions which _may_ arise. If you have seen my\n    letters (virtually) to the Queen, I do not think you will have\n    found reason for alarm in them. I am sorry that Hartington the\n    other day used the word compromise, a word which has never passed\n    my lips, though I believe he meant nothing wrong. If we could find\n    anything which, though surrendering nothing substantial, would\n    build a bridge for honourable and moderate men to retreat by, I am\n    sure you would not object to it. But I have a much stronger plea\n    for your reserve than any request of my own. It is this, that the\n    cabinet has postponed discussing the matter until Wednesday simply\n    in order that you may be present and take your share. They meet at\n    twelve. I shall venture to count on your doing nothing to narrow\n    the ground left open to us, which is indeed but a stinted one.\n\n\nThree days later (Oct. 11) the Queen writing to the prime minister was\nable to mark a further stage:--\n\n\n    Although the strong expressions used by ministers in their recent\n    speeches have made the task of conciliation undertaken by the\n    Queen a most difficult one, she is so much impressed with the\n    importance of the issue at stake, that she has persevered in her\n    endeavours, and has obtained from the leaders of the opposition an\n    expression of their readiness to negotiate on the basis of Lord\n    Hartington's speech at Hanley. In the hope that this _may_ lead to\n    a compromise, the Queen has suggested that Lord Hartington may\n    enter into communication with Lord Salisbury, and she trusts, from\n    Mr. Gladstone's telegram received this morning, that he will\n    empower Lord Hartington to discuss the possibility of an agreement\n    with Lord Salisbury.\n\n\nIn acknowledgment, Mr. Gladstone offered his thanks for all her Majesty's\n\"well-timed efforts to bring about an accommodation.\" He could not,\nhowever, he proceeded, feel sanguine as to obtaining any concession from\nthe leaders, but he is very glad that Lord Hartington should try.\n\nHappily, and as might have been expected by anybody who remembered the\naction of the sensible peers who saved the Reform bill in 1832, the rash\nand headstrong men in high places in the tory party were not allowed to\nhave their own way. Before the autumn was over, prudent members of the\nopposition became uneasy. They knew that in substance the conclusion was\nforegone, but they knew also that just as in their own body there was a\ndivision between hothead and moderate, so in the cabinet they could count\nupon a whig section, and probably upon the prime minister as well. They\nnoted his words spoken in July, \"It is not our desire to see the bill\ncarried by storm and tempest. It is our desire to see it win its way by\npersuasion and calm discussion to the rational minds of men.\"(77)\n\nMeanwhile Sir Michael Hicks Beach had already, with the knowledge and\nwithout the disapproval of other leading men on the tory side, suggested\nan exchange of views to Lord Hartington, who was warmly encouraged by the\ncabinet to carry on communications, as being a person peculiarly fitted\nfor the task, \"enjoying full confidence on one side,\" as Mr. Gladstone\nsaid to the Queen, \"and probably more on the other side than any other\nminister could enjoy.\" These two cool and able men took the extension of\ncounty franchise for granted, and their conferences turned pretty\nexclusively on redistribution. Sir Michael pressed the separation of urban\nfrom rural areas, and what was more specifically important was his\nadvocacy of single-member or one-horse constituencies. His own long\nexperience of a scattered agricultural division had convinced him that\nsuch areas with household suffrage would be unworkable. Lord Hartington\nknew the advantage of two-member constituencies (M50) for his party,\nbecause they made an opening for one whig candidate and one radical. But\nhe did not make this a question of life or death, and the ground was\nthoroughly well hoed and raked. Lord Salisbury, to whom the nature of\nthese communications had been made known by the colleague concerned, told\nhim of the suggestion from the Queen, and said that he and Sir Stafford\nNorthcote had unreservedly accepted it. So far the cabinet had found the\nseveral views in favour with their opponents as to electoral areas, rather\nmore sweeping and radical than their own had been, and they hoped that on\nthe basis thus informally laid, they might proceed to the more developed\nconversation with the two official leaders. Then the tory ultras\ninterposed.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nOn the last day of October the Queen wrote to Mr. Gladstone from\nBalmoral:--\n\n\n    The Queen thinks that it would be a means of arriving at some\n    understanding if the leaders of the parties in both Houses could\n    exchange their views personally. The Duke of Argyll or any other\n    person unconnected for the present with the government or the\n    opposition might be employed in bringing about a meeting, and in\n    assisting to solve difficulties. The Queen thinks the government\n    should in any project forming the basis of resolutions on\n    redistribution to be proposed to the House, distinctly define\n    their plans at such a personal conference. The Queen believes that\n    were assurance given that the redistribution would not be wholly\n    inimical to the prospects of the conservative party, their\n    concurrence might be obtained. The Queen feels most strongly that\n    it is of the utmost importance that in this serious crisis such\n    means, even if unusual, should be tried, and knowing how fully Mr.\n    Gladstone recognises the great danger that might arise by\n    prolonging the conflict, the Queen _earnestly_ trusts that he will\n    avail himself of such means to obviate it.\n\n\nThe Queen then wrote to Lord Salisbury in the same sense in which she had\nwritten to the prime minister. Lord Salisbury replied that it would give\nhim great pleasure to consult with anybody the Queen might desire, and\nthat in obedience to her commands he would do all that lay in him to bring\nthe controversy finally to a just and honourable issue. He went on however\nto say, in the caustic vein that was one of his ruling traits, that while\ncheerfully complying with the Queen's wishes, he thought it right to add\nthat, so far as his information went, no danger attached to the\nprolongation of the controversy for a considerable time, nor did he\nbelieve that there was any real excitement in the country about it. The\nQueen in replying (Nov. 5) said that she would at once acquaint Mr.\nGladstone with what he had said.\n\nThe autumn session began, and the Franchise bill was introduced again.\nThree days later, in consequence of a communication from the other camp,\nthe debate on the second reading was conciliatory, but the tories won a\nbye-election, and the proceedings in committee became menacing and\nclouded. Discrepancies abounded in the views of the opposition upon\nredistribution. When the third reading came (Nov. 11), important men on\nthe tory side insisted on the production of a Seats bill, and declared\nthere must be no communication with the enemy. Mr. Gladstone was\nelaborately pacific. If he could not get peace, he said, at least let it\nbe recorded that he desired peace. The parleys of Lord Hartington and Sir\nMichael Hicks Beach came to an end.\n\nMr. Gladstone, late one night soon after this (Nov. 14), had a long\nconversation with Sir Stafford Northcote at the house of a friend. He had\nthe authority of the cabinet (not given for this special interview) to\npromise the introduction of a Seats bill before the committee stage of the\nFranchise bill in the Lords, provided he was assured that it could be done\nwithout endangering or retarding franchise. Northcote and Mr. Gladstone\nmade good progress on the principles of redistribution. Then came an\nawkward message from Lord Salisbury that the Lords could not let the\nFranchise bill through, until they got the Seats bill from the Commons. So\nnegotiations were again broken off.\n\nThe only hope now was that a sufficient number of Lord Salisbury's\nadherents would leave him in the lurch, if he (M51) did not close with\nwhat was understood to be Mr. Gladstone's engagement, to procure and press\na Seats bill as soon as ever franchise was out of danger. So it happened,\nand the door that had thus been shut, speedily opened. Indirect\ncommunication reached the treasury bench that seemed to show the leaders\nof opposition to be again alive. There were many surmises, everybody was\nexcited, and two great tory leaders in the Lords called on Lord Granville\none day, anxious for a _modus vivendi_. Mr. Gladstone in the Commons, in\nconformity with a previous decision of the cabinet, declared the\nwillingness of the government to produce a bill or explain its provisions,\non receiving a reasonable guarantee that the Franchise bill would be\npassed before the end of the sittings. The ultras of the opposition still\ninsisted on making bets all round that the Franchise bill would not become\nlaw; besides betting, they declared they would die on the floor of the\nHouse in resisting an accommodation. A meeting of the party was summoned\nat the Carlton club for the purpose of declaring war to the knife, and\nLord Salisbury was reported to hold to his determination. This resolve,\nhowever, proved to have been shaken by Mr. Gladstone's language on a\nprevious day. The general principles of redistribution had been\nsufficiently sifted, tested, and compared to show that there was no\ninsuperable discrepancy of view. It was made clear to Lord Salisbury\ncircuitously, that though the government required adequate assurances of\nthe safety of franchise before presenting their scheme upon seats, this\ndid not preclude private and confidential illumination. So the bill was\nread a second time.\n\nAll went prosperously forward. On November 19, Lord Salisbury and Sir S.\nNorthcote came to Downing Street in the afternoon, took tea with the prime\nminister, and had a friendly conversation for an hour in which much ground\nwas covered. The heads of the government scheme were discussed and handed\nto the opposition leaders. Mr. Gladstone was well satisfied. He was much\nstruck, he said after, with the quickness of the tory leader, and found it\na pleasure to deal with so acute a man. Lord Salisbury, for his part, was\ninterested in the novelty of the proceeding, for no precedent could be\nfound in our political or party history for the discussion of a measure\nbefore its introduction between the leaders of the two sides. This novelty\nstirred his curiosity, while he also kept a sharp eye on the main party\nchance. He proved to be entirely devoid of respect for tradition, and Mr.\nGladstone declared himself to be a strong conservative in comparison. The\nmeetings went on for several days through the various parts of the\nquestions, Lord Hartington, Lord Granville, and Sir Charles Dilke being\nalso taken into council--the last of the three being unrivalled master of\nthe intricate details.\n\nThe operation was watched with jealous eyes by the radicals, though they\nhad their guardians in the cabinet. To Mr. Bright who, having been all his\nlife denounced as a violent republican, was now in the view of the new\nschool hardly even so much as a sound radical, Mr. Gladstone thought it\nwell to write (Nov. 25) words of comfort, if comfort were needed:--\n\n\n    I wish to give you the assurance that in the private\n    communications which are now going on, liberal principles such as\n    we should conceive and term them, are in no danger. Those with\n    whom we confer are thinking without doubt of party interests, as\n    affected by this or that arrangement, but these are a distinct\n    matter, and I am not so good at them as some others; but the\n    general proposition which I have stated is I think one which I can\n    pronounce with some confidence.... The whole operation is\n    essentially delicate and slippery, and I can hardly conceive any\n    other circumstance in which it would be justified, but in the\n    present very peculiar case I think it is not only warranted, but\n    called for.\n\n\nOn November 27 all was well over; and Mr. Gladstone was able to inform the\nQueen that \"the delicate and novel communications\" between the two sets of\nleaders had been brought to a happy termination. \"His first duty,\" he\nsaid, \"was to tender his grateful thanks to your Majesty for the wise,\ngracious, and steady influence on your Majesty's part, which has so\npowerfully contributed to bring about this accommodation, and to avert a\nserious crisis of affairs.\" He (M52) adds that \"his cordial\nacknowledgments are due to Lord Salisbury and Sir Stafford Northcote for\nthe manner in which they have conducted their difficult communications.\"\nThe Queen promptly replied: \"I gladly and thankfully return your\ntelegrams. To be able to be of use is all I care to live for now.\" By way\nof winding up negotiations so remarkable, Mr. Gladstone wrote to Lord\nSalisbury to thank him for his kindness, and to say that he could have\ndesired nothing better in candour and equity. Their conversation on the\nSeats bill would leave him none but the most agreeable recollections.\n\nThe Queen was in high good humour, as she had a right to be. She gave Mr.\nGladstone ample credit for his conciliatory spirit. The last two months\nhad been very trying to her, she said, but she confessed herself repaid by\nthe thought that she had assisted in a settlement. Mr. Gladstone's\nseverest critics on the tory side confessed that \"they did not think he\nhad it in him.\" Some friends of his in high places even suggested that\nthis would be a good moment for giving him the garter. He wrote to Sir\nArthur Gordon (Dec. 5): \"The time of this government has been on the whole\nthe most stormy and difficult that I have known in office, and the last\nsix weeks have been perhaps the most anxious and difficult of the\ngovernment.\"\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nOne further episode deserves a section, if the reader will turn back for a\nmoment or two. The question whether the extension of the parliamentary\nfranchise to rural householders should be limited to Great Britain or\nshould apply to the whole kingdom, had been finally discussed in a couple\nof morning sittings in the month of May. Nobody who heard it can forget\nthe speech made against Irish inclusion by Mr. Plunket, the eloquent\ngrandson of the most eloquent of all the orators whom Ireland has sent to\nthe imperial senate. He warned the House that to talk of assimilating the\nfranchise in Ireland to the franchise in England, was to use language\nwithout meaning; that out of seven hundred and sixty thousand inhabited\nhouses in Ireland, no fewer than four hundred and thirty-five thousand\nwere rated at one pound and under; that those whom the bill would\nenfranchise would be taken from a class of whom more than forty per cent.\ncould neither read nor write; that the measure would strengthen the hands\nof that disloyal party who boasted of their entire indifference to English\nopinion, and their undivided obligation to influences which Englishmen\nwere wholly unable to realise. Then in a lofty strain Mr. Plunket foretold\nthat the measure which they were asked to pass would lead up to, and would\nprecipitate, the establishment of a separate Irish nationality. He\nreminded his hearers that the empire had been reared not more by the\nendurance of its soldiers and sailors than by the sagacity and firmness,\nthe common sense and patriotism, of that ancient parliament; and he ended\nwith a fervid prayer that the historian of the future might not have to\ntell that the union of these three kingdoms on which rested all its honour\nand all its power--a union that could never be broken by the force of\ndomestic traitor or foreign foe--yielded at last under the pressure of the\npolitical ambitions and party exigencies of British statesmen.\n\nThe orator's stately diction, his solemn tone, the depth of his\nconviction, made a profound impression. Newer parliamentary hands below\nthe government gangway, as he went on, asked one another by what arts of\nparliamentary defence the veteran minister could possibly deal with this\nsearching appeal. Only a quarter of an hour remained. In two or three\nminutes Mr. Gladstone had swept the solemn impression entirely away.\nContrary to his wont, he began at once upon the top note. With high\npassion in his voice, and mastering gesture in his uplifted arm, he dashed\nimpetuously upon the foe. What weighs upon my mind is this, he said, that\nwhen the future historian speaks of the greatness of this empire, and\ntraces the manner in which it has grown through successive generations, he\nwill say that in that history there was one chapter of disgrace, and that\nchapter of disgrace was the treatment of Ireland. It is the scale of\njustice that will determine the issue of the conflict with Ireland, if\nconflict there is to be. There is nothing we can do, cried the orator,\n(M53) turning to the Irish members, except the imprudence of placing in\nyour hands evidence that will show that we are not acting on principles of\njustice towards you, that can render you for a moment formidable in our\neyes, should the day unfortunately arise when you endeavour to lay hands\non this great structure of the British empire. Let us be as strong in\nright as we are in population, in wealth, and in historic traditions, and\nthen we shall not fear to do justice to Ireland. There is but one mode of\nmaking England weak in the face of Ireland--that is by applying to her\nprinciples of inequality and principles of injustice.\n\nAs members sallied forth from the House to dine, they felt that this\nvehement improvisation had put the true answer. Mr. Plunket's fine appeal\nto those who had been comrades of the Irish loyalists in guarding the\nunion was well enough, yet who but the Irish loyalists had held Ireland in\nthe hollow of their hands for generation upon generation, and who but they\nwere answerable for the odious and dishonouring failure, so patent before\nall the world, to effect a true incorporation of their country in a united\nrealm? And if it should happen that Irish loyalists should suffer from\nextension of equal civil rights to Irishmen, what sort of reason was that\nwhy the principle of exclusion and ascendency which had worked such\nmischief in the past, should be persisted in for a long and indefinite\nfuture? These views, it is important to observe, were shared, not only by\nthe minister's own party, but by a powerful body among his opponents. Some\nof the gentlemen who had been most furious against the government for not\nstopping Irish meetings in the autumn of 1883, were now most indignant at\nthe bare idea of refusing or delaying a proposal for strengthening the\nhands of the very people who promoted and attended such meetings. It is\ntrue also that only two or three months before, Lord Hartington had\ndeclared that it would be most unwise to deal with the Irish franchise.\nStill more recently, Mr. W. H. Smith had declared that any extension of\nthe suffrage in Ireland would draw after it \"confiscation of property,\nruin of industry, withdrawal of capital,--misery, wretchedness, and war.\"\nThe valour of the platform, however, often expires in the keener air of\ncabinet and parliament. It became Lord Hartington's duty now to move the\nsecond reading of provisions which, he had just described as most unwise\nprovisions, and Mr. Smith found himself the object of brilliant mockery\nfrom the daring leader below the gangway on his own side.\n\nLord Randolph produced a more serious, though events soon showed it to be\nnot any more solid an argument, when he said that the man who lives in a\nmud cabin very often has a decent holding, and has money in the savings'\nbank besides, and more than that, he is often more fit to take an interest\nin politics, and to form a sound view about them, than the English\nagricultural labourer. The same speaker proceeded to argue that the Fenian\nproclivities of the towns would be more than counterbalanced by the\nincreased power given to the peasantry. The incidents of agricultural\nlife, he observed, are unfavourable to revolutionary movements, and the\npeasant is much more under the proper and legitimate influence of the\nRoman catholic priesthood than the lower classes of the towns. On the\nwhole, the extension of the franchise to the peasantry of Ireland would\nnot be unfavourable to the landlord interest. Yet Lord Randolph, who\nregaled the House with these chimerical speculations, had had far better\nopportunities than almost any other Englishman then in parliament of\nknowing something about Ireland.\n\nWhat is certain is that English and Scotch members acted with their eyes\nopen. Irish tories and Irish nationalists agreed in menacing predictions.\nThe vast masses of Irish people, said the former, had no sense of loyalty\nand no love of order to which a government could appeal. In many districts\nthe only person who was unsafe was the peace officer or the relatives of a\nmurdered man. The effect of the change would be the utter annihilation of\nthe political power of the most orderly, the most loyal, the most educated\nclasses of Ireland, and the swamping of one-fourth of the community,\nrepresenting two-thirds of its property. A representative of the great\nhouse of Hamilton in the Commons, amid a little cloud of the dishevelled\nprophecies (M54) too common in his class, assured the House that everybody\nknew that if the franchise in Ireland were extended, the days of home rule\ncould not be far distant. The representative of the great house of\nBeresford in the Lords, the resident possessor of a noble domain, an able\nand determined man, with large knowledge of his country, so far as large\nknowledge can be acquired from a single point of view, expressed his\nstrong conviction that after the passage of this bill the Irish outlook\nwould be blacker than it had ever been before.(78)\n\nAnother person, far more powerful than any Hamilton or Beresford, was\nequally explicit. With characteristic frigidity, precision, and\nconfidence, the Irish leader had defined his policy and his expectations.\n\"Beyond a shadow of doubt,\" he had said to a meeting in the Rotunda at\nDublin, \"it will be for the Irish people in England--separated, isolated as\nthey are--and for your independent Irish members, to determine at the next\ngeneral election whether a tory or a liberal English ministry shall rule\nEngland. This is a great force and a great power. If we cannot rule\nourselves, we can at least cause them to be ruled as we choose. This force\nhas already gained for Ireland inclusion in the coming Franchise bill. We\nhave reason to be proud, hopeful, and energetic.\"(79) In any case, he\ninformed the House of Commons, even if Ireland were not included in the\nbill, the national party would come back seventy-five strong. If household\nsuffrage were conceded to Ireland, they would come back ninety strong.(80)\nThat was the only difference. Therefore, though he naturally supported\ninclusion,(81) it was not at all indispensable to the success of his\npolicy, and he watched the proceedings in the committee as calmly as he\nmight have watched a battle of frogs and mice.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IX. The Soudan. (1884-1885)\n\n\n    You can only govern men by imagination: without imagination they\n    are brutes.... 'Tis by speaking to the soul that you electrify\n    men.--NAPOLEON.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nIn the late summer of 1881 a certain native of Dongola, proclaiming\nhimself a heaven-inspired Mahdi, began to rally to his banner the wild\ntribes of the southern Soudan. His mission was to confound the wicked, the\nhypocrite, the unbeliever, and to convert the world to the true faith in\nthe one God and his prophet. The fame of the Mahdi's eloquence, his piety,\nhis zeal, rapidly spread. At his ear he found a counsellor, so well known\nto us after as the khalifa, and this man soon taught the prophet politics.\nThe misrule of the Soudan by Egypt had been atrocious, and the combination\nof a religious revival with the destruction of that hated yoke swelled a\ncry that was irresistible. The rising rapidly extended, for fanaticism in\nsuch regions soon takes fire, and the Egyptian pashas had been sore\noppressors, even judged by the rude standards of oriental states. Never\nwas insurrection more amply justified. From the first, Mr. Gladstone's\ncurious instinct for liberty disclosed to him that here was a case of \"a\npeople rightly struggling to be free.\" The phrase was mocked and derided\nthen and down to the end of the chapter. Yet it was the simple truth.\n\"During all my political life,\" he said at a later stage of Soudanese\naffairs, \"I am thankful to say that I have never opened my lips in favour\nof a domination such as that which has been exercised upon certain\ncountries by certain other countries, and I am not going now to begin.\"\n(M55) \"I look upon the possession of the Soudan,\" he proceeded, \"as the\ncalamity of Egypt. It has been a drain on her treasury, it has been a\ndrain on her men. It is estimated that 100,000 Egyptians have laid down\ntheir lives in endeavouring to maintain that barren conquest.\" Still\nstronger was the Soudanese side of the case. The rule of the Mahdi was\nitself a tyranny, and tribe fought with tribe, but that was deemed an\neasier yoke than the sway of the pashas from Cairo. Every vice of eastern\nrule flourished freely under Egyptian hands. At Khartoum whole families of\nCoptic clerks kept the accounts of plundering raids supported by Egyptian\nsoldiers, and \"this was a government collecting its taxes.\" The function\nof the Egyptian soldiers \"was that of honest countrymen sharing in the\nvillainy of the brigands from the Levant and Asia Minor, who wrung money,\nwomen, and drink from a miserable population.\"(82) Yet the railing against\nMr. Gladstone for saying that the \"rebels\" were rightly struggling to be\nfree could not have been more furious if the Mahdi had been for dethroning\nMarcus Aurelius or Saint Louis of France.\n\nThe ministers at Cairo, however, naturally could not find in their hearts\nto withdraw from territory that had been theirs for over sixty years,(83)\nalthough in the winter of 1882-3 Colonel Stewart, an able British officer,\nhad reported that the Egyptian government was wholly unfit to rule the\nSoudan; it had not money enough, nor fighting men enough, nor\nadministrative skill enough, and abandonment at least of large portions of\nit was the only reasonable course. Such counsels found no favour with the\nkhedive's advisers and agents, and General Hicks, an Indian officer,\nappointed on the staff of the Egyptian army in the spring of 1883, was now\ndespatched by the government of the khedive from Khartoum, for the\nrecovery of distant and formidable regions. If his operations had been\nlimited to the original intention of clearing Sennaar of rebels and\nprotecting Khartoum, all might have been well. Unluckily some trivial\nsuccesses over the Mahdi encouraged the Cairo government to design an\nadvance into Kordofan, and the reconquest of all the vast wildernesses of\nthe Soudan. Lord Dufferin, Sir E. Malet, Colonel Stewart, were all of them\nclear that to attempt any such task with an empty chest and a worthless\narmy was madness, and they all argued for the abandonment of Kordofan and\nDarfur. The cabinet in London, fixed in their resolve not to accept\nresponsibility for a Soudan war, and not to enter upon that responsibility\nby giving advice for or against the advance of Hicks, stood aloof.(84) In\nview of all that followed later, and of their subsequent adoption of the\npolicy of abandoning the Soudan, British ministers would evidently have\nbeen wiser if they had now forbidden an advance so pregnant with disaster.\nEvents showed this to have been the capital miscalculation whence all else\nof misfortune followed. The sounder the policy of abandonment, the\nstronger the reasons for insisting that the Egyptian government should not\nundertake operations inconsistent with that policy. The Soudan was not\nwithin the sphere of our responsibility, but Egypt was; and just because\nthe separation of Egypt from the Soudan was wise and necessary, it might\nhave been expected that England would peremptorily interpose to prevent a\ndeparture from the path of separation. What Hicks himself, a capable and\ndauntless man, thought of the chances we do not positively know, but he\nwas certainly alive to the risks of such a march with such material. On\nNovember 5 (1883) the whole force was cut to pieces, the victorious\ndervishes were free to advance northwards, and the loose fabric of\nEgyptian authority was shattered to the ground.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\n(M56) The three British military officers in Cairo all agreed that the\nEgyptian government could not hold Khartoum if the Mahdi should draw down\nupon it; and unless a British, an Indian, or a Turkish force came to the\nrescue, abandonment of the Soudan was the only possible alternative. The\nLondon cabinet decided that they would not employ British or Indian troops\nin the Soudan, and though they had no objection to the resort to the Turks\nby Egypt, if the Turks would pay their own expenses (a condition fatal to\nany such resort), they strongly recommended the khedive to abandon all\nterritory south of Assouan or Wady-Halfa. Sir Evelyn Baring, who had now\nassumed his post upon a theatre where he was for long years to come to\nplay the commanding part, concurred in thinking that the policy of\ncomplete abandonment was the best admitted by the circumstances. It is the\nway of the world to suppose that because a given course is best, it must\ntherefore be possible and ought to be simple. Baring and his colleagues at\nCairo were under no such illusion, but it was the foundation of most of\nthe criticism that now broke forth in the English press.\n\nThe unparalleled difficulties that ultimately attended the evacuation of\nthe Soudan naturally led inconsiderate critics,--and such must ever be the\nmajority,--to condemn the policy and the cabinet who ordered it. So apt are\nmen in their rough judgments on great disputable things, to mistake a mere\nimpression for a real opinion; and we must patiently admit that the\nResult--success or failure in the Event--is the most that they have time\nfor, and all that they can go by. Yet two remarks are to be made upon this\nfacile censure. The first is that those who knew the Soudan best, approved\nmost. On January 22, 1884, Gordon wrote to Lord Granville that the Soudan\never was and ever would be a useless possession, and that he thought the\nQueen's ministers \"fully justified in recommending evacuation, inasmuch as\nthe sacrifices necessary towards securing good government would be far too\nonerous to admit of such an attempt being made.\" Colonel Stewart quite\nagreed, and added the exclamation that nobody who had ever visited the\nSoudan could escape the reflection, \"What a useless possession and what a\nhuge encumbrance on Egypt!\" As we shall see, the time soon came when\nGordon accepted the policy of evacuation, even with an emphasis of his\nown. The second remark is that the reconquest of the Soudan and the\nholding of Khartoum were for the Egyptian government, if left to its own\nresources, neither more nor less than impossible; these objects, whether\nthey were good objects or bad, not only meant recourse to British troops\nfor the first immense operations, but the retention of them in a huge and\nmost inhospitable region for an indefinite time. A third consideration\nwill certainly not be overlooked by anybody who thinks on the course of\nthe years of Egyptian reform that have since elapsed, and constitute so\nremarkable a chapter of British administration,--namely, that this\nbeneficent achievement would have been fatally clogged, if those who\nconducted it had also had the Soudan on their hands. The renovation or\nreconstruction of what is called Egypt proper, its finances, its army, its\ncivil rule, would have been absolutely out of reach, if at the same time\nits guiding statesmen had been charged with the responsibilities\nrecovering and holding that vaster tract which had been so rashly acquired\nand so mercilessly misgoverned. This is fully admitted by those who have\nhad most to do with the result.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nThe policy of evacuation was taken as carrying with it the task of\nextricating the Egyptian garrisons. This aim induced Mr. Gladstone's\ncabinet once more to play an active military part, though Britain had no\nshare in planting these garrisons where they were. Wise men in Egypt were\nof the same mind as General Gordon, that in the eastern Soudan it would\nhave been better for the British government to keep quiet, and \"let events\nwork themselves out.\" Unfortunately the ready clamour of headlong\nphilanthropists, political party men, and the men who think England\nhumiliated if she ever lets slip an excuse for drawing her sword, drove\nthe cabinet on to the rocks. When the decision of the cabinet was (M57)\ntaken (Feb. 12, 1883) to send troops to Suakin, Mr. Gladstone stood alone\nin objecting. Many thousands of savages were slaughtered under\nhumanitarian pressure, not a few English lives were sacrificed, much\ntreasure flowed, and yet Sinkat fell, and Tokar fell, and our labours in\nthe eastern Soudan were practically fruitless.(85) The operations had no\neffect upon the roll of the fierce mahdi wave over the Soudan.\n\nIn England, excitement of the unsound sort that is independent of\nknowledge, consideration, or deliberation; independent of any weighing of\nthe actual facts and any forecast of latent possibilities, grew more and\nmore vociferous. Ministers quailed. Twice they inquired of their agent in\nEgypt(86) whether General Gordon might not be of use, and twice they\nreceived an adverse reply, mainly on the ground that the presence in\nauthority of a Christian officer was a dubious mode of confronting a\nsweeping outbreak of moslem fanaticism, and would inevitably alienate\ntribes that were still not caught by the Mahdi.(87) Unhappily a third\napplication from London at last prevailed, and Sir E. Baring, supported by\nNubar, by Sir Evelyn Wood, by Colonel Watson, who had served with Gordon\nand knew him well, all agreed that Gordon would be the best man if he\nwould pledge himself to carry out the policy of withdrawing from the\nSoudan as quickly as possible. \"Whoever goes,\" said Sir E. Baring in\npregnant words to Lord Granville, will \"undertake a service of great\ndifficulty and danger.\" This was on January 16th. Two days later the die\nwas cast. Mr. Gladstone was at Hawarden. Lord Granville submitted the\nquestion (Jan. 14, 1884) to him in this form: \"If Gordon says he believes\nhe could by his personal influence excite the tribes to escort the\nKhartoum garrison and inhabitants to Suakin, a little pressure on Baring\nmight be advisable. The destruction of these poor people will be a great\ndisaster.\" Mr. Gladstone telegraphed that to this and other parts of the\nsame letter, he agreed. Granville then sent him a copy of the telegram\nputting \"a little pressure on Baring.\" To this Mr. Gladstone replied (Jan.\n16) in words that, if they had only been taken to heart, would have made\nall the difference:--\n\n\n    I can find no fault with your telegram to Baring _re_ Chinese\n    Gordon, and the main point that strikes me is this: While his\n    opinion on the Soudan may be of great value, must we not be very\n    careful in any instruction we give, that he does not shift the\n    centre of gravity as to political and military responsibility for\n    that country? In brief, if he reports what should be done, he\n    should not be the judge _who_ should do it, nor ought he to commit\n    us on that point by advice officially given. It would be extremely\n    difficult after sending him to reject such advice, and it should\n    therefore, I think, be made clear that he is not our agent for the\n    purpose of advising on that point.\n\n\nOn January 18, Lord Hartington (then secretary of state for war), Lord\nGranville, Lord Northbrook, and Sir Charles Dilke met at the war office in\nPall Mall. The summons was sudden. Lord Wolseley brought Gordon and left\nhim in the ante-room. After a conversation with the ministers, he came out\nand said to Gordon, \"Government are determined to evacuate the Soudan, for\nthey will not guarantee the future government. Will you go and do it?\" \"_I\nsaid_, 'Yes.' _He said_, 'Go in.' _I went in and saw them. They said_,\n'Did Wolseley tell you our orders?' _I said_, 'Yes.' _I said_, 'You will\nnot guarantee future government of the Soudan, and you wish me to go up\nand evacuate now.' _They said_, 'Yes,' _and it was over, and I left at 8\np.m. for Calais_.\"(88) This graphic story does not pretend to be a full\nversion of all that passed, though it puts the essential point\nunmistakably enough. Lord Granville seems to have drawn Gordon's (M58)\nspecial attention to the measures to be taken for the security of the\nEgyptian garrisons (plural) still holding positions in the Soudan and to\nthe best mode of evacuating the interior.(89) On the other hand, according\nto a very authentic account that I have seen, Gordon on this occasion\nstated that the danger at Khartoum was exaggerated, and that he would be\nable to bring away the garrisons without difficulty.\n\nThus in that conclave of sober statesmen a tragedy began. The next day one\nof the four ministers met another; \"We were proud of ourselves\nyesterday--are you sure we did not commit a gigantic folly?\" The prime\nminister had agreed at once on receiving the news of what was done at the\nwar office, and telegraphed assent the same night.(90) The whole cabinet\nmet four days later, Mr. Gladstone among them, and the decision was\napproved. There was hardly a choice, for by that time Gordon was at\nBrindisi. Gordon, as Mr. Gladstone said, was a hero of heroes. He was a\nsoldier of infinite personal courage and daring; of striking military\nenergy, initiative, and resource; a high, pure, and single character,\ndwelling much in the region of the unseen. But as all who knew him admit,\nand as his own records testify, notwithstanding an under-current of shrewd\ncommon-sense, he was the creature, almost the sport, of impulse; his\nimpressions and purposes changed with the speed of lightning; anger often\nmastered him; he went very often by intuitions and inspirations rather\nthan by cool inference from carefully surveyed fact: with many variations\nof mood he mixed, as we often see in people less famous, an invincible\nfaith in his own rapid prepossessions while they lasted. Everybody now\ndiscerns that to despatch a soldier of this temperament on a piece of\nbusiness that was not only difficult and dangerous, as Sir E. Baring said,\nbut profoundly obscure, and needing vigilant sanity and self-control, was\nlittle better than to call in a wizard with his magic. Mr. Gladstone\nalways professed perplexity in understanding why the violent end of the\ngallant Cavagnari in Afghanistan, stirred the world so little in\ncomparison with the fate of Gordon. The answer is that Gordon seized the\nimagination of England, and seized it on its higher side. His religion was\neccentric, but it was religion; the Bible was the rock on which he founded\nhimself, both old dispensation and new; he was known to hate forms,\nceremonies, and all the \"solemn plausibilities\"; his speech was sharp,\npithy, rapid, and ironic; above all, he knew the ways of war and would not\nbear the sword for nought. All this was material enough to make a popular\nideal, and this is what Gordon in an ever-increasing degree became, to the\nimmense inconvenience of the statesmen, otherwise so sensible and wary,\nwho had now improvidently let the genie forth from the jar.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nIt has been sometimes contended that all the mischief that followed was\ncaused by the diversion of Gordon from Suakin, his original destination.\nIf he had gone to the Red Sea, as originally intended, there to report on\nthe state and look of things in the Soudan, instead of being waylaid and\nbrought to Cairo, and thence despatched to Khartoum, they say, no\ncatastrophe would have happened. This is not certain, for the dervishes in\nthe eastern Soudan were in the flush of open revolt, and Gordon might\neither have been killed or taken prisoner, or else he would have come back\nwithout performing any part of his mission. In fact, on his way from\nLondon to Port Said, Gordon had suggested that with a view to carrying out\nevacuation, the khedive should make him governor-general of the Soudan.\nLord Granville authorised Baring to procure the nomination, and this Sir\nEvelyn did, \"for the time necessary to accomplish the evacuation.\" The\ninstructions were thus changed, in an important sense, but the change was\nsuggested by Gordon and sanctioned by Lord Granville.(91)\n\n(M59) When Gordon left London his instructions, drafted in fact by\nhimself, were that he should \"consider and report upon the best mode of\neffecting the evacuation of the interior of the Soudan.\" He was also to\nperform such duties as the Egyptian government might wish to entrust to\nhim, and as might be communicated to him by Sir E. Baring.(92) At Cairo,\nBaring and Nubar, after discussion with Gordon, altered the mission from\none of advice and report to an executive mission--a change that was\ndoubtless authorised and covered by the original reference to duties to be\nentrusted to him by Egypt. But there was no change in the policy either at\nDowning Street or Cairo. Whether advisory or executive, the only policy\ncharged upon the mission was abandonment. When the draft of the new\ninstructions was read to Gordon at Cairo, Sir E. Baring expressly asked\nhim whether he entirely concurred in \"the policy of abandoning the\nSoudan,\" and Gordon not only concurred, but suggested the strengthening\nwords, that he thought \"it should on no account be changed.\"(93) This\ndespatch, along with the instructions to Gordon making this vast\nalteration, was not received in London until Feb. 7. By this time Gordon\nwas crossing the desert, and out of reach of the English foreign office.\n\nOn his way from Brindisi, Gordon had prepared a memorandum for Sir E.\nBaring, in which he set out his opinion that the Soudan had better be\nrestored to the different petty sultans in existence before the Egyptian\nconquest, and an attempt should be made to form them into some sort of\nconfederation. These petty rulers might be left to accept the Mahdi for\ntheir sovereign or not, just as they pleased. But in the same document he\nemphasised the policy of abandonment. \"I understand,\" he says, \"that\nH.M.'s government have come to the irrevocable decision not to incur the\nvery onerous duty of granting to the peoples of the Soudan a just future\ngovernment.\" Left to their independence, the sultans \"would doubtless\nfight among themselves.\" As for future good government, it was evident\nthat \"this we could not secure them without an inordinate expenditure of\nmen and money. The Soudan is a useless possession; ever was so, and ever\nwill be so. No one who has ever lived in the Soudan, can escape the\nreflection, What a useless possession is this land.\" Therefore--so he winds\nup--\"I think H.M.'s government are fully justified in recommending the\nevacuation, inasmuch as the sacrifices necessary towards securing a good\ngovernment would be far too onerous to admit of any such attempt being\nmade. Indeed, one may say it is impracticable at any cost. _H.M.'s\ngovernment will now leave them as God has placed them._\"(94)\n\nIt was, therefore, and it is, pure sophistry to contend that Gordon's\npolicy in undertaking his disastrous mission was evacuation but not\nabandonment. To say that the Soudanese should be left in the state in\nwhich God had placed them, to fight it out among themselves, if they were\nso minded, is as good a definition of abandonment as can be invented, and\nthis was the whole spirit of the instructions imposed by the government of\nthe Queen and accepted by Gordon.\n\nGordon took with him instruments from the khedive into which, along with\ndefinite and specific statements that evacuation was the object of his\nmission, two or three loose sentences are slipped about \"establishing\norganised government in the different provinces of the Soudan,\"\nmaintaining order, and the like. It is true also that the British cabinet\nsanctioned the extension of the area of evacuation from Khartoum to the\nwhole Soudan.(95) Strictly construed, the whole body of instructions,\nincluding firmans and khedive's proclamations, is not technically compact\nnor coherent. But this is only another way of saying that Gordon was to\nhave the widest discretionary powers as to the manner of carrying out the\npolicy, and the best time and mode of announcing it. The policy itself, as\nwell understood by Gordon as by everybody else, was untouched, and it was:\nto leave the Soudanese in the state in which God had placed them.\n\nThe hot controversy on this point is idle and without substance--the idlest\ncontroversies are always the hottest--for (M60) not only was Gordon the\nlast man in all the world to hold himself bound by official instructions,\nbut the actual conditions of the case were too little known, too shifting,\ntoo unstable, to permit of hard and fast directions beforehand how to\nsolve so desperate a problem. Two things at any rate were clear--one, that\nGordon should faithfully adhere to the policy of evacuation and\nabandonment which he had formally accepted; the other, that the British\ngovernment should leave him a free hand. Unhappily neither of these two\nclear things was accepted by either of the parties.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nGordon's policies were many and very mutable. Viewing the frightful\nembarrassments that enveloped him, we cannot wonder. Still the same\nconsiderateness that is always so bounteously and so justly extended to\nthe soldier in the field, is no less due in its measure to the councillor\nin the cabinet. This is a bit of equity often much neglected both by\ncontemporaries and by history.\n\nHe had undertaken his mission without any serious and measured forecast,\nsuch as his comrade, Colonel Stewart, was well fitted to supply. His first\nnotion was that he could restore the representatives of the old rulers,\nbut when he got into the country, he found that there were none; with one\nby no means happy exception, they had all disappeared. When he reached\nBerber, he learned more clearly how the question of evacuation was\ninterlaced with other questions. Once at Khartoum, at first he thought\nhimself welcome as a deliverer, and then when new light as to the real\nfeelings of the Soudanese broke upon him, he flung the policy of his\nmission overboard. Before the end of February, instead of the suzerainty\nof Egypt, the British government should control Soudanese administration,\nwith Zobeir as their governor-general. \"When Gordon left this country,\"\nsaid Mr. Gladstone, \"and when he arrived in Egypt, he declared it to be,\nand I have not the smallest doubt that it was--a fixed portion of his\npolicy, that no British force should be employed in aid of his\nmission.\"(96) When March came, he flung himself with ardour into the\npolicy of \"smashing up\" the Mahdi, with resort to British and Indian\ntroops. This was a violent reversal of all that had been either settled or\ndreamed of, whether in London or at Cairo. A still more vehement stride\ncame next. He declared that to leave outlying garrisons to their fate\nwould be an \"indelible disgrace.\" Yet, as Lord Hartington said, the\ngovernment \"were under no moral obligation to use the military resources\nof this empire for the relief of those garrisons.\" As for Gordon's opinion\nthat \"indelible disgrace\" would attach to the British government if they\nwere not relieved, \"I do not admit,\" said the minister very sensibly,\n\"that General Gordon is on this point a better authority than anybody\nelse.\"(97) All this illustrates the energy of Gordon's mental movements,\nand also, what is more important, the distracting difficulties of the case\nbefore him. In one view and one demand he strenuously persevered, as we\nshall now see.\n\nMr. Gladstone at first, when Gordon set all instructions at defiance, was\nfor recalling him. A colleague also was for recalling him on the first\ninstant when he changed his policy. Another important member of the\ncabinet was, on the contrary, for an expedition. \"I cannot admit,\" wrote a\nfourth leading minister, \"that either generals or statesmen who have\naccepted the offer of a man to lead a forlorn hope, are in the least bound\nto risk the lives of thousands for the uncertain chance of saving the\nforlorn hope.\" Some think that this was stern common sense, others call it\nignoble. The nation, at any rate, was in one of its high idealising\nhumours, though Gordon had roused some feeling against himself in this\ncountry (unjustly enough) by his decree formally sanctioning the holding\nof slaves.\n\nThe general had not been many hours in Khartoum (February 18) before he\nsent a telegram to Sir E. Baring, proposing that on his withdrawal from\nKhartoum, Zobeir Pasha should be named his successor as governor-general\nof the Soudan: he should be made a K.C.M.G., and have presents given to\nhim. This request was strenuously pressed by Gordon. Zobeir had been a\nprime actor in the (M61) devastations of the slave trade; it was he who\nhad acquired Darfur for Egypt; he was a first-rate fighting man, and the\nablest leader in the Soudan. He is described by the English officer who\nknows the Soudan best, as a far-seeing, thoughtful man of iron will--a born\nruler of men.(98) The Egyptian government had desired to send him down to\naid in the operations at Suakin in 1883, but the government in London\nvetoed him, as they were now to veto him a second time. The Egyptian\ngovernment was to act on its own responsibility, but not to do what it\nthought best. So now with Gordon.\n\nGordon in other days had caused Zobeir's son to be shot, and this was\nsupposed to have set up an unquenchable blood-feud between them. Before\nreaching Cairo, he had suggested that Zobeir should be sent to Cyprus, and\nthere kept out of the way. This was not done. On Gordon's way through\nCairo, the two men met in what those present describe as a highly dramatic\ninterview. Zobeir bitterly upbraided Gordon: \"You killed my son, whom I\nentrusted to you. He was as your son. You brought my wives and women and\nchildren in chains to Khartoum.\" Still even after that incident, Gordon\ndeclared that he had \"a mystical feeling\" that Zobeir and he were all\nright.(99) What inspired his reiterated demand for the immediate despatch\nof Zobeir is surmised to have been the conviction forced upon him during\nhis journey to Khartoum, that his first idea of leaving the various petty\nsultans to fight it out with the Mahdi, would not work; that the Mahdi had\ngot so strong a hold that he could only be met by a man of Zobeir's\npolitical capacity, military skill, and old authority. Sir E. Baring,\nafter a brief interval of hesitation, now supported Gordon's request. So\ndid the shrewd and expert Colonel Stewart. Nubar too favoured the idea.\nThe cabinet could not at once assent; they were startled by the change of\nfront as to total withdrawal from the Soudan--the very object of Gordon's\nmission, and accepted by him as such. On February 21 Mr. Gladstone\nreported to the Queen that the cabinet were of opinion that there would be\nthe gravest objection to nominating by an assumption of British authority\na successor to General Gordon in the Soudan, nor did they as yet see\nsufficient reasons for going beyond Gordon's memorandum of January 25, by\nmaking special provision for the government of that country. But at first\nit looked as if ministers might yield, if Baring, Gordon, and Nubar\npersisted.\n\nAs ill-fortune had it, the Zobeir plan leaked out at home by Gordon's\nindiscretion before the government decided. The omnipotent though not\nomniscient divinity called public opinion intervened. The very men who had\nmost loudly clamoured for the extrication of the Egyptian garrisons, who\nhad pressed with most importunity for the despatch of Gordon, who had been\nmost urgent for the necessity of giving him a free hand, now declared that\nit would be a national degradation and a European scandal to listen to\nGordon's very first request. He had himself unluckily given them a capital\ntext, having once said that Zobeir was alone responsible for the slave\ntrade of the previous ten years. Gordon's idea was, as he explained, to\nput Zobeir into a position like that of the Ameer of Afghanistan, as a\nbuffer between Egypt and the Mahdi, with a subsidy, moral support, and all\nthe rest of a buffer arrangement. The idea may or may not have been a good\none; nobody else had a better.\n\nIt was not at all surprising that the cabinet should ask what new reason\nhad come to light why Zobeir should be trusted; why he should oppose the\nMahdi whom at first he was believed to have supported; why he should turn\nthe friend of Egypt; why he should be relied upon as the faithful ally of\nEngland. To these and other doubts Gordon had excellent answers (March 8).\nZobeir would run straight, because it was his interest. If he would be\ndangerous, was not the Mahdi dangerous, and whom save Zobeir could you set\nup against the Mahdi? You talked of slave-holding and slave-hunting, but\nwould slave-holding and slave-hunting (M62) stop with your own policy of\nevacuation? Slave-holding you cannot interfere with, and as for\nslave-hunting, that depended on the equatorial provinces, where Zobeir\ncould be prevented from going, and besides he would have his hands full in\nconsolidating his power elsewhere. As for good faith towards Egypt,\nZobeir's stay in Cairo had taught him our power, and being a great trader,\nhe would rather seek Egypt's close alliance. Anyhow, said Gordon, \"if you\ndo not send Zobeir, you have no chance of getting the garrisons away.\"\n\nThe matter was considered at two meetings of the cabinet, but the prime\nminister was prevented by his physician from attending.(100) A difference\nof opinion showed itself upon the despatch of Zobeir; viewed as an\nabstract question, three of the Commons members inclined to favour it, but\non the practical question, the Commons members were unanimous that no\ngovernment from either side of the House could venture to sanction Zobeir.\nMr. Gladstone had become a strong convert to the plan of sending Zobeir.\n\"I am better in chest and generally,\" he wrote to Lord Granville, \"but\nunfortunately not in throat and voice, and Clark interdicts my appearance\nat cabinet; but I am available for any necessary communication, say with\nyou, or you and Hartington.\" One of the ministers went to see him in his\nbed, and they conversed for two hours. The minister, on his return,\nreported with some ironic amusement that Mr. Gladstone considered it very\nlikely that they could not bring parliament to swallow Zobeir, but\nbelieved that he himself could. Whether his confidence in this was right\nor wrong, he was unable to turn his cabinet. The Queen telegraphed her\nagreement with the prime minister. But this made no difference. \"On\nSaturday 15,\" Mr. Gladstone notes, \"it seemed as if by my casting vote\nZobier was to be sent to Gordon. But on Sunday ---- and ---- receded from\ntheir ground, and I gave way. The nature of the evidence on which\njudgments are formed in this most strange of all cases, precludes (in\nreason) pressing all conclusions, which are but preferences, to extremes.\"\n\"It is well known,\" said Mr. Gladstone in the following year when the\ncurtain had fallen on the catastrophe, \"that if, when the recommendation\nto send Zobeir was made, we had complied with it, an address from this\nHouse to the crown would have paralysed our action; and though it was\nperfectly true that the decision arrived at was the judgment of the\ncabinet, it was also no less the judgment of parliament and the people.\"\nSo Gordon's request was refused.\n\nIt is true that, as a minister put it at the time, to send Zobeir would\nhave been a gambler's throw. But then what was it but a gambler's throw to\nsend Gordon himself? The Soudanese chieftain might possibly have done all\nthat Gordon and Stewart, who knew the ground and were watching the quick\nfluctuation of events with elastic minds, now positively declared that he\nwould have the strongest motives not to do. Even then, could the issue\nhave been worse? To run all the risks involved in the despatch of Gordon,\nand then immediately to refuse the request that he persistently\nrepresented as furnishing him his only chance, was an incoherence that the\nparliament and people of England have not often surpassed.(101) All\nthrough this critical month, from the 10th until the 30th, Mr. Gladstone\nwas suffering more or less from indisposition which he found it difficult\nto throw off.\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nThe chance, whatever it may have been, passed like a flash. Just as the\nproposal inflamed many in England, so it did mischief in Cairo. Zobeir\nlike other people got wind of it; enemies of England at Cairo set to work\nwith him; Sir E. Baring might have found him hard to deal with. It was\nGordon's rashness that had made the design public. Gordon, too, as it\nhappened, had made a dire mistake on his way up. At Berber he had shown\nthe khedive's secret firman, (M63) announcing the intended abandonment of\nthe Soudan. The news spread; it soon reached the Mahdi himself, and the\nMahdi made politic use of it. He issued a proclamation of his own, asking\nall the sheikhs who stood aloof from him or against him, what they had to\ngain by supporting a pasha who was the next day going to give the Soudan\nup. Gordon's argument for this unhappy proceeding was that, the object of\nhis mission being to get out of the country and leave them to their\nindependence, he could have put no sharper spur into them to make them\norganise their own government. But he spoke of it after as the fatal\nproclamation, and so it was.(102)\n\nWhat happened was that the tribes round Khartoum almost at once began to\nwaver. From the middle of March, says a good observer, one searches in\nvain for a single circumstance hopeful for Gordon. \"When the eye wanders\nover the huge and hostile Soudan, notes the little pin-point garrisons,\neach smothered in a cloud of Arab spears, and remembers that Gordon and\nStewart proceeded to rule this vast empire, already given away to others,\none feels that the Soudanese view was marked by common sense.\"(103)\nGordon's too sanguine prediction that the men who had beaten Hicks, and\nthe men who afterwards beat Baker, would never fight beyond their tribal\nlimits, did not come true. Wild forces gathered round the Mahdi as he\nadvanced northwards. The tribes that had wavered joined them. Berber fell\non May 26. The pacific mission had failed, and Gordon and his comrade\nStewart--a more careful and clear-sighted man than himself--were shut up in\nKhartoum.\n\nDistractions grew thicker upon the cabinet, and a just reader, now far\naway from the region of votes of censure, will bear them in mind. The\nQueen, like many of her subjects, grew impatient, but Mr. Gladstone was\njustified in reminding her of the imperfect knowledge, and he might have\ncalled it blank ignorance, with which the government was required on the\nshortest notice to form conclusions on a remote and more than\nhalf-barbarous region.\n\nGordon had told them that he wanted to take his steam vessels to Equatoria\nand serve the king of the Belgians. This Sir Evelyn Baring refused to\nallow, not believing Gordon to be in immediate danger (March 26). From\nGordon himself came a telegram (March 28), \"I think we are now safe, and\nthat, as the Nile rises, we shall account for the rebels.\" Mr. Gladstone\nwas still unwell and absent. Through Lord Granville he told the cabinet\n(March 15) that, with a view to speedy departure from Khartoum, he would\nnot even refuse absolutely to send cavalry to Berber, much as he disliked\nit, provided the military authorities thought it could be done, and\nprovided also that it was declared necessary for Gordon's safety, and was\nstrictly confined to that object. The cabinet decided against an immediate\nexpedition, one important member vowing that he would resign if an\nexpedition were not sent in the autumn, another vowing that he would\nresign if it were. On April 7, the question of an autumn expedition again\ncame up. Six were favourable, five the other way, including the prime\nminister.\n\nAlmost by the end of March it was too probable that no road of retreat was\nany longer open. If they could cut no way out, either by land or water,\nwhat form of relief was possible? A diversion from Suakin to Berber--one of\nGordon's own suggestions? But the soldiers differed. Fierce summer heat\nand little water; an Indian force might stand it; even they would find it\ntough. A dash by a thousand cavalry across two hundred miles of desert--one\nhundred of them without water; without communication with its base, and\nwith the certainty that whatever might befall, no reinforcements could\nreach it for months? What would be your feelings, and your language, asked\nLord (M64) Hartington, if besides having Gordon and Stewart beleaguered in\nKhartoum, we also knew that a small force of British cavalry unable to\ntake the offensive was shut up in the town of Berber?(104) Then the\ngovernment wondered whether a move on Dongola might not be advantageous.\nHere again the soldiers thought the torrid climate a fatal objection, and\nthe benefits doubtful. Could not Gordon, some have asked, have made his\nretreat at an early date after reaching Khartoum, by way of Berber?\nAnswer--the Nile was too low. All this it was that at a later day, when the\ntime had come to call his government to its account, justified Mr.\nGladstone in saying that in such enterprises as these in the Soudan,\nmistakes and miscarriages were inevitable, for they were the proper and\ncertain consequences of undertakings that lie beyond the scope of human\nmeans and of rational and prudent human action, and are a war against\nnature.(105) If anybody now points to the victorious expedition to\nKhartoum thirteen years later, as falsifying such language as this, that\nexperience so far from falsifying entirely justifies. A war against nature\ndemands years of study, observation, preparation, and those who are best\nacquainted with the conditions at first hand all agree that neither the\ntribes nor the river nor the desert were well known enough in 1885, to\nguarantee that overthrow in the case of the Mahdi, which long afterwards\ndestroyed his successor.\n\nOn April 14 Sir E. Baring, while as keenly averse as anybody in the world\nto an expedition for the relief of Khartoum if such an expedition could be\navoided, still watching events with a clear and concentrated gaze, assured\nthe government that it was very likely to be unavoidable; it would be well\ntherefore, without loss of time, to prepare for a move as soon as ever the\nNile should rise. Six days before, Lord Wolseley also had written to Lord\nHartington at the war office, recommending immediate and active\npreparations for an exclusively British expedition to Khartoum. Time, he\nsaid, is the most important element in this question; and in truth it was,\nfor time was flying, and so were events. The cabinet were reported as\nfeeling that Gordon, \"who was despatched on a mission essentially pacific,\nhad found himself, from whatever cause, unable to prosecute it\neffectually, and now proposed the use of military means, which might fail,\nand which, even if they should succeed, might be found to mean a new\nsubjugation of the Soudan--the very consummation which it was the object of\nGordon's mission to avert.\" On June 27 it was known in London that Berber\nhad fallen a month before.\n\n\n\nVII\n\n\nLord Hartington, as head of the war department, had a stronger leaning\ntowards the despatch of troops than some of his colleagues, but, says Mr.\nGladstone to Lord Granville in a letter of 1888, \"I don't think he ever\ncame to any sharp issue (like mine about Zobeir); rather that in the main\nhe got what he wanted.\" Wherever the fault lay, the issue was unfortunate.\nThe generals in London fought the battle of the routes with unabated\ntenacity for month after month. One was for the approach to Khartoum by\nthe Nile; another by Suakin and Berber; a third by the Korosko desert. A\ndepartmental committee reported in favour of the Nile as the easiest,\nsafest, and cheapest, but they did not report until July 29. It was not\nuntil the beginning of August that the House of Commons was asked for a\nvote of credit, and Lord Hartington authorised General Stephenson at Cairo\nto take measures for moving troops southward. In his despatch of August 8,\nLord Hartington still only speaks of operations for the relief of Gordon,\n\"should they become necessary\"; he says the government were still\nunconvinced that Gordon could not secure the withdrawal of the garrison\nfrom Khartoum; but \"they are of opinion that the time had arrived for\nobtaining accurate information as to his position,\" and, \"if necessary,\nfor rendering him assistance.\"(106) As soon as the decision was taken,\npreparations were carried out with rapidity and skill. In the same month\nLord Wolseley was (M65) appointed to command the expedition, and on\nSeptember 9 he reached Cairo. The difficulties of a military decision had\nbeen great, said Lord Hartington, and there was besides, he added, a\ndifference of opinion among the military authorities.(107) It was October\n5 before Lord Wolseley reached Wady-Halfa, and the Nile campaign began.\n\nWhatever decision military critics may ultimately form upon the choice of\nthe Nile route, or upon the question whether the enterprise would have\nbeen any more successful if the route had been by Suakin or Korosko, it is\nat least certain that no position, whether strategically false or no, has\never evoked more splendid qualities in face of almost preterhuman\ndifficulties, hardship, and labour. The treacherous and unknown river, for\nit was then unknown, with its rapids, its shifting sandbanks and tortuous\nchannels and rocky barriers and heart-breaking cataracts; the Bayuda\ndesert, haunted by fierce and stealthy enemies; the trying climate, the\nheat, the thirst, all the wearisome embarrassments of transport on camels\nemaciated by lack of food and water--such scenes exacted toil, patience,\nand courage as worthy of remark and admiration as if the advance had\nsuccessfully achieved its object. Nobody lost heart. \"Everything goes on\nswimmingly,\" wrote Sir Herbert Stewart to Lord Wolseley, \"_except as to\ntime_.\" This was on January 14, 1885. Five days later, he was mortally\nwounded.\n\nThe end of it all, in spite of the gallantry of Abu Klea and Kirbekan, of\ndesert column and river column, is only too well known. Four of Gordon's\nsmall steamers coming down from Khartoum met the British desert column at\nGubat on January 21. The general in command at once determined to proceed\nto Khartoum, but delayed his start until the morning of the 24th. The\nsteamers needed repairs, and Sir Charles Wilson deemed it necessary for\nthe safety of his troops to make a reconnaissance down the river towards\nBerber before starting up to Khartoum. He took with him on two of Gordon's\nsteamers--described as of the dimensions of the penny boats upon the\nThames, but bullet proof--a force of twenty-six British, and two hundred\nand forty Soudanese. He had also in tow a nugger laden with dhura. This\nwas what, when Khartoum came in sight (Jan. 28) the \"relief force\"\nactually amounted to. As the two steamers ran slowly on, a solitary voice\nfrom the river-bank now and again called out to them that Khartoum was\ntaken, and Gordon slain. Eagerly searching with their glasses, the\nofficers perceived that the government-house was a wreck, and that no flag\nwas flying. Gordon, in fact, had met his death two days before.\n\nMr. Gladstone afterwards always spoke of the betrayal of Khartoum. But\nMajor Kitchener, who prepared the official report, says that the\naccusations of treachery were all vague, and to his mind, the outcome of\nmere supposition. \"In my opinion,\" he says, \"Khartoum fell from sudden\nassault, when the garrison were too exhausted by privations to make proper\nresistance.\"(108) The idea that the relieving force was only two days late\nis misleading. A nugger's load of dhura would not have put an end to the\nprivations of the fourteen thousand people still in Khartoum; and even\nsupposing that the handful of troops at Gubat could have effected their\nadvance upon Khartoum many days earlier, it is hard to believe that they\nwere strong enough either to drive off the Mahdi, or to hold him at bay\nuntil the river column had come up.\n\n\n\nVIII\n\n\nThe prime minister was on a visit to the Duke of Devonshire at Holker,\nwhere he had many long conversations with Lord Hartington, and had to deal\nwith heavy post-bags. On Thursday, Feb. 5, after writing to the Queen and\nothers, he heard what had happened on the Nile ten days before. \"After 11\nA.M.,\" he records, \"I learned the sad news of the fall or betrayal of\nKhartoum. H[artington] and I, with C [his wife], went off by the first\ntrain, and reached Downing Street soon after 8.15. The circumstances are\nsad and trying. It is one of the least points about them that they may put\nan end to this government.\"(109) The next day the cabinet met; (M66)\ndiscussions \"difficult but harmonious.\" The Queen sent to him and to Lord\nHartington at Holker an angry telegram--blaming her ministers for what had\nhappened--a telegram not in cipher as usual, but open. Mr. Gladstone\naddressed to the Queen in reply (Feb. 5, 1885) a vindication of the course\ntaken by the cabinet; and it may be left to close an unedifying and a\ntragic chapter:--\n\n\n    _To the Queen._\n\n    Mr. Gladstone has had the honour this day to receive your\n    Majesty's telegram _en clair_, relating to the deplorable\n    intelligence received this day from Lord Wolseley, and stating\n    that it is too fearful to consider that the fall of Khartoum might\n    have been, prevented and many precious lives saved by earlier\n    action. Mr. Gladstone does not presume to estimate the means of\n    judgment possessed by your Majesty, but so far as his information\n    and recollection at the moment go, he is not altogether able to\n    follow the conclusion which your Majesty has been pleased thus to\n    announce. Mr. Gladstone is under the impression that Lord\n    Wolseley's force might have been sufficiently advanced to save\n    Khartoum, had not a large portion of it been detached by a\n    circuitous route along the river, upon the express application of\n    General Gordon, to occupy Berber on the way to the final\n    destination. He speaks, however, with submission on a point of\n    this kind. There is indeed in some quarters a belief that the\n    river route ought to have been chosen at an earlier period, and\n    had the navigation of the Nile in its upper region been as well\n    known as that of the Thames, this might have been a just ground of\n    reproach. But when, on the first symptoms that the position of\n    General Gordon in Khartoum was not secure, your Majesty's advisers\n    at once sought from the most competent persons the best\n    information they could obtain respecting the Nile route, the\n    balance of testimony and authority was decidedly against it, and\n    the idea of the Suakin and Berber route, with all its formidable\n    difficulties, was entertained in preference; nor was it until a\n    much later period that the weight of opinion and information\n    warranted the definitive choice of the Nile route. Your Majesty's\n    ministers were well aware that climate and distance were far more\n    formidable than the sword of the enemy, and they deemed it right,\n    while providing adequate military means, never to lose from view\n    what might have proved to be the destruction of the gallant army\n    in the Soudan. It is probable that abundant wrath and indignation\n    will on this occasion be poured out upon them. Nor will they\n    complain if so it should be; but a partial consolation may be\n    found on reflecting that neither aggressive policy, nor military\n    disaster, nor any gross error in the application of means to ends,\n    has marked this series of difficult proceedings, which, indeed,\n    have greatly redounded to the honour of your Majesty's forces of\n    all ranks and arms. In these remarks which Mr. Gladstone submits\n    with his humble devotion, he has taken it for granted that\n    Khartoum has fallen through the exhaustion of its means of\n    defence. But your Majesty may observe from the telegram that this\n    is uncertain. Both the correspondent's account and that of Major\n    Wortley refer to the delivery of the town by treachery, a\n    contingency which on some previous occasions General Gordon has\n    treated as far from improbable; and which, if the notice existed,\n    was likely to operate quite independently of the particular time\n    at which a relieving force might arrive. The presence of the enemy\n    in force would naturally suggest the occasion, or perhaps even the\n    apprehension of the approach of the British army. In pointing to\n    these considerations, Mr. Gladstone is far from assuming that they\n    are conclusive upon the whole case; in dealing with which the\n    government has hardly ever at any of its stages been furnished\n    sufficiently with those means of judgment which rational men\n    usually require. It may be that, on a retrospect, many errors will\n    appear to have been committed. There are many reproaches, from the\n    most opposite quarters, to which it might be difficult to supply a\n    conclusive answer. Among them, and perhaps among the most\n    difficult, as far as Mr. Gladstone can judge, would be the\n    reproach of those who might argue that our proper business was the\n    protection of Egypt, that it never was in military danger from the\n    Mahdi, and that the most prudent course would have been to provide\n    it with adequate frontier defences, and to assume no\n    responsibility for the lands beyond the desert.\n\n\nOne word more. Writing to one of his former colleagues long after Mr.\nGladstone says:--\n\n\n    _Jan. 10, '90._--In the Gordon case we all, and I rather\n    prominently, must continue to suffer in silence. Gordon was a\n    hero, and a hero of heroes; but we ought to have known that a hero\n    of heroes is not the proper person to give effect at a distant\n    point, and in most difficult circumstances, to the views of\n    ordinary men. It was unfortunate that he should claim the hero's\n    privilege by turning upside down and inside out every idea and\n    intention with which he had left England, and for which he had\n    obtained our approval. Had my views about Zobeir prevailed, it\n    would not have removed our difficulties, as Forster would\n    certainly have moved, and with the tories and the Irish have\n    carried, a condemnatory address. My own opinion is that it is\n    harder to justify our doing so much to rescue him, than our not\n    doing more. Had the party reached Khartoum in time, he would not\n    have come away (as I suppose), and the dilemma would have arisen\n    in another form.\n\n\nIn 1890 an application was made to Mr. Gladstone by a certain foreign\nwriter who had undertaken an article on Gordon and his mission. Mr.\nGladstone's reply (Jan. 11, '90) runs to this effect:--\n\n\n    I am much obliged by your kind letter and enclosure. I hope you\n    will not think it belies this expression when I say that I feel\n    myself precluded from supplying any material or entering upon any\n    communications for the purpose of self-defence against the charges\n    which are freely made and I believe widely accepted against myself\n    and against the cabinet of 1880-5 in connection with General\n    Gordon. It would be felt in this country, by friends I think in\n    many cases as well as adversaries, that General Gordon's\n    much-lamented death ought to secure him, so far as we are\n    concerned, against the counter-argument which we should have to\n    present on his language and proceedings. On this account you will,\n    I hope, excuse me from entering into the matter. I do not doubt\n    that a true and equitable judgment will eventually prevail.(110)\n\n\n\n\nChapter X. Interior Of The Cabinet. (1895)\n\n\n    I am aware that the age is not what we all wish, but I am sure\n    that the only means to check its degeneracy is heartily to concur\n    in whatever is best in our time.--BURKE.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nThe year 1885 must be counted as in some respects the severest epoch of\nMr. Gladstone's life. The previous twelve months had not ended cheerfully.\nSleep, the indispensable restorer, and usually his constant friend, was\nplaying him false. The last entry in his diary was this:--\n\n\n    The year closed with a bad night, only one hour and a half of\n    sleep, which will hardly do to work upon. There is much that I\n    should like to have recorded.... But the pressure on me is too\n    great for the requisite recollection. It is indeed a time of\n    _Sturm und Drang_. What with the confusion of affairs, and the\n    disturbance of my daily life by the altered character of my\n    nights, I cannot think in calm, but can only trust and pray.\n\n\nHe was unable to be present at the dinner of the tenants, and his eldest\nson in his absence dwelt once more on his father's wish to retire,\nwhenever occasion should come, from the public service, or at least from\nthat kind of service to the public which imposed on him such arduous\nefforts.\n\nOne great element of confusion was the sphinx's riddle of Egyptian\nfinance. On his birthday, among a dozen occupations, he says: \"A little\nwoodcraft for helping sleep; wrote mem. on Egyptian finance which I hope\nmay help to clear my brain and nerves.\" And this was a characteristic way\nof seeking a cure; for now and at every time, any task that demanded close\nthought and firm expression was his surest (M67) sedative. More perplexing\neven than the successive problems of the hour, was the threatened\ndisorganisation, not only of his cabinet, but of the party and its future.\nOn January 20 he was forced to London for two Egyptian cabinets, but he\nspeedily returned to Hawarden, whence he immediately wrote a letter to\nLord Granville:--\n\n\n    _January 22, 1885._--Here I am after a journey of 5-1/2 hours from\n    door to door, through the unsought and ill-deserved kindness of\n    the London and North-Western railway, which entirely spoils me by\n    special service.\n\n    There was one part of my conversation of to-day with Hartington\n    which I should like not to leave in any case without record. He\n    referred to the difficulties he had had, and he \"gratefully\"\n    acknowledged the considerateness of the cabinet. He said the point\n    always urged upon him was, not to break up the liberal party. But,\n    he said, can we avoid its breaking up, within a very short time\n    after you retire, and ought this consideration therefore to be\n    regarded as of such very great force? I said, my reply is in two\n    sentences. First, I admit that from various symptoms it is not\n    improbable there may be a plan or intention to break up the party.\n    But if a rupture of that kind comes,--this is my second sentence--it\n    will come upon matters of principle, known and understood by the\n    whole country, and your duty will probably be clear and your\n    position unembarrassed. But I entreat you to use your utmost\n    endeavour to avoid bringing about the rupture on one of the points\n    of this Egyptian question, which lies outside the proper business\n    of a government and is beyond its powers, which does not turn upon\n    clear principles of politics, and about which the country\n    understands almost nothing, and cares, for the most part, very\n    little. All this he took without rejoinder.\n\n    _P.S._--We are going to Holker next week, and Hartington said he\n    would try to come and see me there.\n\n\nAs we have already seen,(111) Mr. Gladstone paid his visit to Holker\n(January 30), where he found the Duke of Devonshire \"wonderfully well, and\nkind as ever,\" where he was joined by Lord Hartington, and where they\ntogether spelled out the cipher telegram (on February 5) bringing the evil\nnews of the fall of Khartoum.\n\nIt is not uninteresting to see how the notion of Mr. Gladstone's\nretirement, now much talked of in his family, affected a friendly,\nphilosophic, and most observant onlooker. Lord Acton wrote to him\n(February 2):--\n\n\n    You mean that the new parliament, the first of our democratic\n    constitution, shall begin its difficult and perilous course\n    without the services of a leader who has greater experience and\n    authority than any other man. You design to withdraw your\n    assistance when most urgently needed, at the moment of most\n    conservative apprehension and most popular excitement. By the\n    choice of this particular moment for retirement you increase the\n    danger of the critical transition, because nobody stands as you do\n    between the old order of things and the new, or inspires general\n    confidence; and the lieutenants of Alexander are not at their\n    best. Next year's change will appear vast and formidable to the\n    suspicious foreigner, who will be tempted to doubt our identity.\n    It is in the national interest to reduce the outer signs of\n    change, to bridge the apparent chasm, to maintain the traditional\n    character of the state. The unavoidable elements of weakness will\n    be largely and voluntarily aggravated by their untimely\n    coincidence with an event which must, at any time, be a blow to\n    the position of England among the Powers. Your absence just then\n    must grievously diminish our credit.... You alone inspire\n    confidence that what is done for the great masses shall be done\n    with a full sense of economic responsibility.... A divided liberal\n    party and a weak conservative party mean the supremacy of the\n    revolutionary Irish....\n\n\nTo this Mr. Gladstone replied:--\n\n\n    _10 Downing Street, Feb. 11, 1885._ Your argument against letting\n    the outworn hack go to grass, depends wholly on a certain\n    proposition, namely this, that there is about to be a crisis in\n    the history of the constitution, growing out of the extension of\n    the franchise, and that it is my duty to do what I can in aiding\n    to steer the ship through the boiling waters of this crisis. My\n    answer is simple. There is no crisis at all in view. There is a\n    process of slow modification and development mainly in directions\n    which I view with misgiving. \"Tory democracy,\" the favourite idea\n    on that side, is no more like the conservative party in which I\n    was bred, than it is like liberalism. In fact less. It is\n    demagogism, only a demagogism not ennobled by love and\n    appreciation of liberty, but applied in the worst way, to put down\n    the pacific, law-respecting, economic elements which ennobled the\n    old conservatism, living upon the fomentation of angry passions,\n    and still in secret as obstinately attached as ever to the evil\n    principle of class interests. The liberalism of to-day is better\n    in what I have described as ennobling the old conservatism; nay,\n    much better, yet far from being good. Its pet idea is what they\n    call construction,--that is to say, taking into the hands of the\n    state the business of the individual man. Both the one and the\n    other have much to estrange me, and have had for many, many years.\n    But, with all this, there is no crisis. I have even the hope that\n    while the coming change may give undue encouragement to\n    \"construction,\" it will be favourable to the economic, pacific,\n    law-regarding elements; and the sense of justice which abides\n    tenaciously in the masses will never knowingly join hands with the\n    fiend of Jingoism. On the whole, I do not abandon the hope that it\n    may mitigate the chronic distemper, and have not the smallest fear\n    of its bringing about an acute or convulsive action. You leave me\n    therefore rooted in my evil mind....\n\n\nThe activity of the left wing, acute, perhaps, but not convulsive, became\nmuch more embarrassing than the desire of the right wing to be inactive.\nMr. Chamberlain had been rapidly advancing in public prominence, and he\nnow showed that the agitation against the House of Lords was to be only\nthe beginning and not the end. At Ipswich (January 14), he said this\ncountry had been called the paradise of the rich, and warned his audience\nno longer to allow it to remain the purgatory of the poor. He told them\nthat reform of local government must be almost the first reform of the\nnext parliament, and spoke in favour of allotments, the creation of small\nproprietors, the placing of a small tax on the total property of the\ntaxpayer, and of free education. Mr. Gladstone's attention was drawn from\nWindsor to these utterances, and he replied (January 22) that though he\nthought some of them were \"on various grounds open to grave objection,\"\nyet they seemed to raise no \"definite point on which, in his capacity of\nprime minister, he was entitled to interfere and lecture the speaker.\" A\nfew days later, more terrible things were said by Mr. Chamberlain at\nBirmingham. He pronounced for the abolition of plural voting, and in\nfavour of payment of members, and manhood suffrage. He also advocated a\nbill for enabling local communities to acquire land, a graduated\nincome-tax, and the breaking up of the great estates as the first step in\nland reform. This deliverance was described by not unfriendly critics as\n\"a little too much the speech of the agitator of the future, rather than\nof the minister of the present.\" Mr. Gladstone made a lenient\ncommunication to the orator, to the effect that \"there had better be some\nexplanations among them when they met.\" To Lord Granville he wrote\n(January 31):--\n\n\n    Upon the whole, weak-kneed liberals have caused us more trouble in\n    the present parliament than radicals. But I think these\n    declarations by Chamberlain upon matters which cannot, humanly\n    speaking, become practical before the next parliament, can hardly\n    be construed otherwise than as having a remote and (in that sense)\n    far-sighted purpose which is ominous enough. The opposition can\n    hardly fail in their opportunity, I must add in their duty, to\n    make them matter of attack. Such things will happen casually from\n    time to time, and always with inconvenience--but there is here a\n    degree of method and system which seem to give the matter a new\n    character.\n\n\nIt will be seen from his tone that Mr. Gladstone, in all the\nembarrassments arising from this source, showed complete freedom from\npersonal irritation. Like the lofty-minded man he was, he imputed no low\nmotives to a colleague because the colleague gave him trouble. He\nrecognised by now that in his cabinet the battle was being fought between\nold time and new. He did not allow his dislike of some of the new methods\nof forming public opinion, to prevent him from doing full justice to the\nenergetic and sincere public spirit behind them. He had, moreover, quite\nenough to do with (M68) the demands of the present, apart from signs that\nwere ominous for the future. A year before, in a letter to Lord Granville\n(March 24, 1884), he had attempted a definition that will, perhaps, be of\ngeneral interest to politicians of either party complexion. It is, at any\nrate, characteristic of his subtlety, if that be the right word, in\ndrawing distinctions:--\n\n\n    What are divisions in a cabinet? In my opinion, differences of\n    views stated, and if need be argued, and then advisedly\n    surrendered with a view to a common conclusion are not \"divisions\n    in a cabinet.\" By that phrase I understand unaccommodated\n    differences on matters standing for immediate action.\n\n\nIt was unaccommodated differences of this kind that cost Mr. Disraeli\nsecessions on the Reform bill, and secessions no less serious on his\neastern policy, and it is one of the wonders of his history that Mr.\nGladstone prevented secession on the matters now standing for immediate\naction before his own cabinet. During the four months between the meeting\nof parliament and the fall of the government, the two great difficulties\nof the government--Egypt and Ireland--reached their climax.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThe news of the fall of Khartoum reached England on February 5. One of the\nleast points, as Mr. Gladstone wrote on the day, was that the grievous\nnews would put an end to the government, and so it very nearly did. As was\nto be expected, Sir Stafford Northcote moved a vote of censure. Mr.\nGladstone informed the Queen, on the day before the division, that the\naspect of the House was \"dubious and equivocal.\" If there was a chance of\noverthrowing the ministry, he said, the nationalists were pretty sure to\nact and vote as a body with Sir Stafford. Mr. Forster, Mr. Goschen, and\nsome members of the whig section of the liberal party, were likely either\nto do the same, or else to abstain. These circumstances looked towards an\nunfavourable issue, if not in the shape of an adverse majority, yet in the\nform of a majority too small to enable the government to carry on with\nadequate authority and efficiency. In the debate, said Mr. Gladstone, Lord\nHartington re-stated with measured force the position of the government,\nand overthrew the contention that had taken a very forward place in the\nindictment against ministers, that their great offence was the failure to\nsend forward General Graham's force to relieve General Gordon. In the\ncourse of this debate Mr. Goschen warned the government that if they\nflinched from the policy of smashing the Mahdi at Khartoum, he should vote\nagainst them. A radical below the gangway upon this went to the party whip\nand declared, with equal resolution, that if the government insisted on\nthe policy, then it would be for him and others to vote against them. Sir\nWilliam Harcourt, in a speech of great power, satisfied the gentlemen\nbelow the gangway, and only a small handful of the party went into the\nlobby with the opposition and the Irish. The division was taken at four in\nthe morning (February 28), and the result was that the government which\nhad come in with morning radiance five years ago, was worn down to an\nattenuated majority of fourteen.(112)\n\nWhen the numbers were declared, Mr. Gladstone said to a colleague on the\nbench, \"_That will do._\" Whether this delphic utterance meant that the\nsize of the majority would justify resignation or retention, the colleague\nwas not sure. When the cabinet met at a more mellowed hour in the day, the\nquestion between going out of office and staying in, was fully discussed.\nMere considerations of ease all pointed one way, for, if they held on,\nthey would seem to be dependent on tory support; trouble was brewing with\nRussia, and the Seats bill would not be through in a hurry. On the other\nhand, fourteen was majority enough to swear by, the party would be\nsurprised by resignation and discouraged, and retirement would wear the\nlook of a false position. In fact Mr. Gladstone, in spite of his incessant\nsighs for a hermit's calm, was always for fighting out every position to\nthe last trench. I can think of no exception, and even when the time came\nten years later, he thought his successors pusillanimous for (M69)\nretiring on a small scratch defeat on cordite.(113) So now he acted on the\nprinciple that with courage cabinets may weather almost any storm. No\nactual vote was taken, but the numbers for and against retirement were\nequal, until Mr. Gladstone spoke. He thought that they should try to go\non, at least until the Seats bill was through. This was the final\ndecision.\n\nAll this brought once more into his mind the general consideration that\nnow naturally much haunted him. He wrote to the Queen (February 27):--\n\n\n    Mr. Gladstone believes that circumstances independent of his own\n    will enable him to estimate, with some impartiality, future\n    political changes, and he is certainly under the impression that,\n    partly from the present composition and temper of the liberal\n    party, and still more, and even much more, from the changes which\n    the conservative party has been undergoing during the last forty\n    years (especially the last ten or fifteen of them), the next\n    change of government may possibly form the introduction to a\n    period presenting some new features, and may mean more than what\n    is usually implied in the transfer of power from one party to\n    another.\n\n\nMr. Bright has left a note of a meeting with him at this time:--\n\n\n    _March 2, 1885._--Dined with Mrs. Gladstone. After dinner, sat for\n    half an hour or more with Mr. Gladstone, who is ill with cold and\n    hoarseness. Long talk on Egypt. He said he had suffered torment\n    during the continuance of the difficulty in that country. The\n    sending Gordon out a great mistake,--a man totally unsuited for the\n    work he undertook. Mr. Gladstone never saw Gordon. He was\n    appointed by ministers in town, and Gladstone concurred, but had\n    never seen him.\n\n\nAt this moment clouds began to darken the remote horizon on the north-west\nboundary of our great Indian possessions. The entanglement in the deserts\nof the Soudan was an obvious temptation to any other Power with policies\nof its own, to disregard the susceptibilities or even the solid interests\nof Great Britain. As we shall see, Mr. Gladstone was as little disposed as\nChatham or Palmerston to shrink from the defence of the legitimate rights\nor obligations of his country. But the action of Russia in Afghanistan\nbecame an added and rather poignant anxiety.\n\nAs early as March 12 the cabinet found it necessary to consider the\nmenacing look of things on the Afghan frontier. Military necessities in\nIndia, as Mr. Gladstone described to the Queen what was in the mind of her\nministers, \"might conceivably at this juncture come to overrule the\npresent intentions as to the Soudan as part of them, and it would\nconsequently be imprudent to do anything which could practically extend\nour obligations in that quarter; as it is the entanglement of the British\nforces in Soudanese operations, which would most powerfully tempt Russia\nto adopt aggressive measures.\" Three or four weeks later these\nconsiderations came to a head. The question put by Mr. Gladstone to his\ncolleagues was this: \"Apart from the defence of Egypt, which no one would\npropose to abandon, does there appear to be any obligation of honour or\nany inducement of policy (for myself I should add, is there any moral\nwarrant?) that should lead us in the present state of the demands on the\nempire, to waste a large portion of our army in fighting against nature,\nand I fear also fighting against liberty (such liberty as the case admits)\nin the Soudan?\" The assumptions on which the policy had been founded had\nall broken down. Osman Digna, instead of being readily crushed, had\nbetaken himself to the mountains and could not be got at. The railway from\nSuakin to Berber, instead of serving the advance on Khartoum in the\nautumn, could not possibly be ready in time. Berber, instead of being\ntaken before the hot season, could not be touched. Lord Wolseley, instead\nof being able to proceed with his present forces or a moderate addition,\nwas already asking for twelve more battalions of infantry, with a\nproportion of other arms.\n\nMr. Gladstone's own view of this crisis is to be found in a memorandum\ndated April 9, circulated to the cabinet three or four days before the\nquestion came up for final settlement. (M70) It is long, but then the case\nwas intricate and the stages various. The reader may at least be satisfied\nto know that he will have little more of it.(114)\n\nThree cabinets were held on three successive days (April 13-15). On the\nevening of the first day Mr. Gladstone sent a telegram to the Queen, then\nabroad, informing her that in the existing state of foreign affairs, her\nministers felt bound to examine the question of the abandonment of\noffensive operations in the Soudan and the evacuation of the territory.\nThe Queen, in reply, was rather vehement against withdrawal, partly on the\nground that it would seriously affect our position in India. The Queen had\nthroughout made a great point that the fullest powers should be granted to\nthose on the spot, both Wolseley and Baring having been selected by the\ngovernment for the offices they held. No question cuts deeper in the art\nof administering a vast system like that of Great Britain, than the\ninfluence of the agent at a distant place; nowhere is the balance of peril\nbetween too slack a rein from home and a rein too tight, more delicate.\nMr. Gladstone, perhaps taught by the experience of the Crimean war, always\nstrongly inclined to the school of the tight rein, though I never heard of\nany representative abroad with a right to complain of insufficient support\nfrom a Gladstone cabinet.(115) On this aspect of matters, so raised by the\nQueen, Mr. Gladstone had (March 15) expressed his view to Sir Henry\nPonsonby:--\n\n\n    Sir Evelyn Baring was appointed to carry onwards a declared and\n    understood policy in Egypt, when all share in the management of\n    the Soudan was beyond our province. To Lord Wolseley as general of\n    the forces in Egypt, and on account of the arduous character of\n    the work before him, we are bound to render in all military\n    matters a firm and ungrudging support. We have accordingly not\n    scrupled to counsel, on his recommendation, very heavy charges on\n    the country, and military operations of the highest importance.\n    But we have no right to cast on him any responsibility beyond what\n    is strictly military. It is not surely possible that he should\n    decide policy, and that we should adopt and answer for it, even\n    where it is in conflict with the announcements we have made in\n    parliament.\n\n\nBy the time of these critical cabinets in April Sir Evelyn Baring had\nspontaneously expressed his views, and with a full discussion recommended\nabandonment of the expedition to Khartoum.\n\nOn the second day the matter was again probed and sifted and weighed.\n\nAt the third cabinet the decision was taken to retire from the Soudan, and\nto fix the southern frontier of Egypt at the line where it was left for\ntwelve years, until apprehension of designs of another European power on\nthe upper waters of the Nile was held to demand a new policy. Meanwhile,\nthe policy of Mr. Gladstone's cabinet was adopted and followed by Lord\nSalisbury when he came into office. He was sometimes pressed to reverse\nit, and to overthrow the dervish power at Khartoum. To any importunity of\nthis kind, Lord Salisbury's answer was until 1896 unwavering.(116)\n\nIt may be worth noting that, in the course of his correspondence with the\nQueen on the change of policy in the Soudan, Mr. Gladstone casually\nindulged in the luxury of a historical parallel. \"He must assure your\nMajesty,\" he wrote in a closing sentence (April 20), \"that at least he has\nnever in any cabinet known any question more laboriously or more\nconscientiously discussed; and he is confident that the basis of action\nhas not been the mere change in the public view (which, however, is in\nsome cases imperative, as it was with King George III. in the case of the\nAmerican war), but a deep conviction of what the honour and interest of\nthe empire require them as faithful servants of your Majesty to advise.\"\n(M71) The most harmless parallel is apt to be a challenge to discussion,\nand the parenthesis seems to have provoked some rejoinder from the Queen,\nfor on April 28 Mr. Gladstone wrote to her secretary a letter which takes\nhim away from Khartoum to a famous piece of the world's history:--\n\n\n    _To Sir Henry Ponsonby._\n\n    In further prosecution of my reply to your letter of the 25th, I\n    advert to your remarks upon Lord North. I made no reference to his\n    conduct, I believe, in writing to her Majesty. What I endeavoured\n    to show was that King George III., without changing his opinion of\n    the justice of his war against the colonies, was obliged to give\n    it up on account of a change of public opinion, and was not open\n    to blame for so doing.\n\n    You state to me that Lord North never flinched from his task till\n    it became hopeless, that he then resigned office, but did not\n    change his opinions to suit the popular cry. The implied contrast\n    to be drawn with the present is obvious. I admit none of your\n    three propositions. Lord North did not, as I read history, require\n    to change his opinions to suit the popular cry. They were already\n    in accordance with the popular cry; and it is a serious reproach\n    against him that without sharing his master's belief in the\n    propriety of the war, he long persisted in carrying it on, through\n    subserviency to that master.\n\n    Lord North did not resign office for any reason but because he\n    could not help it, being driven from it by some adverse votes of\n    the House of Commons, to which he submitted with great good\n    humour, and probably with satisfaction.\n\n    Lord North did not, so far as I know, state the cause to be\n    hopeless. Nor did those who were opposed to him. The movers of the\n    resolution that drove him out of office did not proceed upon that\n    ground. General Conway in his speech advised the retention of the\n    ground we held in the colonies, and the resolution, which\n    expressed the sense of the House as a body, bears a singular\n    resemblance to the announcement we have lately made, as it\n    declares, in its first clause, that the further prosecution of\n    offensive war (on the continent of America) \"will be the means of\n    weakening the efforts of this country against her European\n    enemies,\" February 27, 1782. This was followed, on March 4, by an\n    address on the same basis; and by a resolution declaring that any\n    ministers who should advise or attempt to frustrate it should be\n    considered \"as enemies to his Majesty and to this country.\" I\n    ought, perhaps, to add that I have never stated, and I do not\n    conceive, that a change in the public opinion of the country is\n    the ground on which the cabinet have founded the change in their\n    advice concerning the Soudan.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nThe reader has by this time perhaps forgotten how Mr. Gladstone\ngood-humouredly remonstrated with Lord Palmerston for associating him as\none of the same school as Cobden and Bright.(117) The twenty intervening\nyears had brought him more and more into sympathy with those two eminent\ncomrades in good causes, but he was not any less alive to the\ninconvenience of the label. Speaking in Midlothian after the dissolution\nin 1880, he denied the cant allegation that to instal the liberals in\npower would be to hand over the destinies of the country to the Manchester\nschool.(118) \"Abhorring all selfishness of policy,\" he said, \"friendly to\nfreedom in every country of the earth attached, to the modes of reason,\ndetesting the ways of force, this Manchester school, this peace-party, has\nsprung prematurely to the conclusion that wars may be considered as having\nclosed their melancholy and miserable history, and that the affairs of the\nworld may henceforth be conducted by methods more adapted to the dignity\nof man, more suited both to his strength and to his weakness, less likely\nto lead him out of the ways of duty, to stimulate his evil passions, to\nmake him guilty before God for inflicting misery on his fellow-creatures.\"\nSuch a view, he said, was a serious error, though it was not only a\nrespectable, it was even a noble error. Then he went on, \"However much you\nmay detest war--and you cannot detest it too much--there is no war--except\none, the war for liberty--that does not contain in it elements of\ncorruption, as well as of misery, that are deplorable to recollect and to\nconsider; but however deplorable wars may be, they are among the\nnecessities of our condition; and there are times when justice, when\nfaith, when the welfare of mankind, require a man not to shrink from the\nresponsibility of undertaking them. And if you undertake war, so also you\nare often obliged to undertake measures that may lead to war.\"(119)\n\nIt is also, if not one of the necessities, at least one of the natural\nprobabilities of our imperfect condition, that when a nation has its\nforces engaged in war, that is the moment when other nations may press\ninconvenient questions of their own. Accordingly, as I have already\nmentioned, when Egyptian distractions were at their height, a dangerous\ncontroversy arose with Russia in regard to the frontier of Afghanistan.\nThe question had been first raised a dozen years before without effect,\nbut it was now sharpened into actuality by recent advances of Russia in\nCentral Asia, bringing her into close proximity to the territory of the\nAmeer. The British and Russian governments appointed a commission to lay\ndown the precise line of division between the Turcoman territory recently\nannexed by Russia and Afghanistan. The question of instructions to the\ncommission led to infinite discussion, of which no sane man not a\nbiographer is now likely to read one word. While the diplomatists were\nthus teasing one another, Russian posts and Afghan pickets came closer\ntogether, and one day (March 30, 1885) the Russians broke in upon the\nAfghans at Penjdeh. The Afghans fought gallantly, their losses were heavy,\nand Penjdeh was occupied by the Russians. \"Whose was the provocation,\" as\nMr. Gladstone said later, \"is a matter of the utmost consequence. We only\nknow that the attack was a Russian attack. We know that the Afghans\nsuffered in life, in spirit, and in repute. We know that a blow was struck\nat the credit and the authority of a sovereign--our protected ally--who had\ncommitted no offence. All I say is, we cannot in that state of things\nclose this book and say, 'We will look into it no more.' We must do our\nbest to have right done in the matter.\"\n\nHere those who were most adverse to the Soudan policy stood firmly with\ntheir leader, and when Mr. Gladstone proposed a vote of credit for eleven\nmillions, of which six and a half were demanded to meet \"the case for\npreparation,\" raised by the collision at Penjdeh, he was supported with\nmuch more than a mechanical loyalty, alike by the regular opposition and\nby independent adherents below his own gangway. The speech in which he\nmoved this vote of a war supply (April 27) was an admirable example both\nof sustained force and lucidity in exposition, and of a combined firmness,\ndignity, reserve, and right human feeling, worthy of a great minister\ndealing with an international situation of extreme delicacy and peril.\nMany anxious moments followed; for the scene of quarrel was far off,\ndetails were hard to clear up, diplomacy was sometimes ambiguous, popular\nexcitement was heated, and the language of faction was unmeasured in its\nviolence. The preliminary resolution on the vote of credit had been\nreceived with acclamation, but a hostile motion was made from the front\nopposition bench (May 11), though discord on a high imperial matter was\nobviously inconvenient enough for the public interest. The mover declared\nthe government to have murdered so many thousand men and to have arranged\na sham arbitration, and this was the prelude to other speeches in the same\nkey. Sir S. Northcote supported the motion--one to displace the ministers\non a bill that it was the declared intention not to oppose. The division\nwas taken at half-past two in the morning, after a vigorous speech from\nthe prime minister, and the government only counted 290 against 260. In\nthe minority were 42 followers of Mr. Parnell. This premature debate\ncleared the air. Worked with patience and with vigorous preparations at\nthe back of conciliatory negotiation, the question was prosecuted to a\nhappy issue, and those who had done their (M72) best to denounce Mr.\nGladstone and Lord Granville for trampling the interests and honour of\ntheir country underfoot thought themselves very lucky, when the time came\nfor them to take up the threads, in being able to complete the business by\nadopting and continuing the selfsame line. With justifiable triumph Mr.\nGladstone asked how they would have confronted Russia if \"that insane\npolicy--for so I still must call it\"--of Afghan occupation which he had\nbrought to an end in 1880, had been persevered in. In such a case, when\nRussia came to advance her claim so to adjust boundaries as to make her\nimmediate neighbour to Afghanistan, she would have found the country full\nof friends and allies, ready to join her in opposing the foreigner and the\ninvader; and she would have been recognised as the liberator.(120)\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nIn some respects Mr. Gladstone was never more wonderful than in the few\nweeks that preceded the fall of his second administration. Between the\nmiddle of April and the middle of May, he jots down with half-rueful\nhumour the names of no fewer than nine members of the cabinet who within\nthat period, for one reason or another and at one moment or another,\nappeared to contemplate resignation; that is to say a majority. Of one\nmeeting he said playfully to a colleague, \"A very fair cabinet to-day--only\nthree resignations.\" The large packets of copious letters of this date,\nwritten and received, show him a minister of unalterable patience,\nunruffled self-command; inexhaustible in resource, catching at every straw\nfrom the resource of others, indefatigable in bringing men of divergent\nopinions within friendly reach of one another; of tireless ingenuity in\nminimising differences and convincing recalcitrants that what they took\nfor a yawning gulf was in fact no more than a narrow trench that any\ndecent political gymnast ought to be ashamed not to be able to vault over.\nThough he takes it all as being in the day's work, in the confidence of\nthe old jingle, that be the day short or never so long, at length it\nringeth to evensong, he does not conceal the burden. To Mrs. Gladstone he\nwrites from Downing Street on May-day:--\n\n\n    Rather oppressed and tired with the magnitude and the complication\n    of subjects on my mind, I did not think of writing by the first\n    post, but I will now supply the omission by making use of the\n    second. As to all the later history of this ministry, which is now\n    entering on its sixth year, it has been a wild romance of\n    politics, with a continual succession of hairbreadth escapes and\n    strange accidents pressing upon one another, and it is only from\n    the number of dangers we have passed through already, that one can\n    be bold enough to hope we may pass also through what yet remain.\n    Some time ago I told you that dark as the sky was with many a\n    thunder-cloud, there were the possibilities of an admirable\n    situation and result, and _for me_ a wind-up better than at any\n    time I could have hoped. Russia and Ireland are the two _great_\n    dangers remaining. The \"ray\" I mentioned yesterday for the first\n    is by no means extinct to-day, but there is nothing new of a\n    serious character; what there is, is good. So also upon the Irish\n    complications there is more hope than there was yesterday,\n    although the odds may still be heavily against our getting forward\n    unitedly in a satisfactory manner.\n\n\nOn May 2, as he was looking at the pictures in the Academy, Lord Granville\nbrought him tidings of the Russian answer, which meant peace. His short\nentries tell a brave story:--\n\n\n    _May 3, Sunday._--Dined at Marlborough House. They were most kind\n    and pleasant. But it is so unsundaylike and unrestful. I am much\n    fatigued in mind and body. Yet very happy. _May 4._--Wrote to Lord\n    Spencer, Mr. Chamberlain, Sir C. Dilke, Lord Granville. Conclave.\n    H. of C., 4-3/4-8-1/2 and 9-1/2-2-1/2. Spoke on Russian question. A heavy\n    day. Much knocked up. _May 5._--... Another anxious, very anxious\n    day, and no clearing of the sky as yet. But after all that has\n    come, what may not come? _May 14, Ascension Day._--Most of the day\n    was spent in anxious interviews, and endeavours to bring and keep\n    the members of the cabinet together. _May 15._--Cabinet 2-4-1/2.\n    Again stiff. But I must not lose heart.\n\n\n(M73) Difference of opinion upon the budget at one time wore a threatening\nlook, for the radicals disliked the proposed increase of the duty on beer;\nbut Mr. Gladstone pointed out in compensation that on the other hand the\nequalisation of the death duties struck at the very height of class\npreference. Mr. Childers was, as always, willing to accommodate\ndifficulties; and in the cabinet the rising storm blew over. Ireland never\nblows over.\n\nThe struggle had gone on for three years. Many murderers had been hanged,\nthough more remained undetected; conspirators had fled; confidence was\nrestored to public officers; society in all its various grades returned\nexternally to the paths of comparative order; and the dire emergency of\nthree years before had been brought to an apparent close. The gratitude in\nthis country to the viceroy who had achieved this seeming triumph over the\nforces of disorder was such as is felt to a military commander after a\nhazardous and successful campaign. The country was once more\nhalf-conquered, but nothing was advanced, and the other half of the\nconquest was not any nearer. The scene was not hopeful. There lay\nIreland,--squalid, dismal, sullen, dull, expectant, sunk deep in hostile\nintent. A minority with these misgivings and more felt that the minister's\npregnant phrase about the government \"having no moral force behind them\"\ntoo exactly described a fatal truth.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XI. Defeat Of Ministers. (May-June 1885)\n\n\n    {~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH DASIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER XI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER BETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}.\n\n    --AESCH. _Prom._ V. 548.\n\n    Never do counsels of mortal men thwart the ordered purpose of\n    Zeus.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nWhat was to be the Irish policy? The Crimes Act would expire in August,\nand the state of parties in parliament and of sections within the cabinet,\ntogether with the approach of the general election, made the question\nwhether that Act should be renewed, and if so on what terms, an issue of\ncrucial importance. There were good grounds for suspecting that tories\nwere even then intimating to the Irish that if Lord Salisbury should come\ninto office, they would drop coercion, just as the liberals had dropped it\nwhen they came into office in 1880, and like them would rely upon the\nordinary law. On May 15 Mr. Gladstone announced in terms necessarily\nvague, because the new bill was not settled, that they proposed to\ncontinue what he described as certain clauses of a valuable and equitable\ndescription in the existing Coercion Act.\n\nNo parliamentary situation could be more tempting to an astute opposition.\nThe signs that the cabinet was not united were unmistakable. The leader of\nthe little group of four clever men below the gangway on the tory side\ngave signs that he espied an opportunity. This was one of the occasions\nthat disclosed the intrepidity of Lord Randolph Churchill. He made a\nspeech after Mr. Gladstone's announcement of a (M74) renewal of portions\nof the Crimes Act, not in his place but at a tory club. He declared\nhimself profoundly shocked that so grave an announcement should have been\ntaken as a matter of course. It was really a terrible piece of news.\nIreland must be in an awful state, or else the radical members of the\ncabinet would never have assented to such unanswerable evidence that the\nliberal party could not govern Ireland without resort to that arbitrary\nforce which their greatest orators had so often declared to be no remedy.\nIt did not much matter whether the demand was for large powers or for\nsmall. Why not put some kind thoughts towards England in Irish minds, by\nusing the last days of this unlucky parliament to abrogate all that harsh\nlegislation which is so odious to England, and which undoubtedly abridges\nthe freedom and insults the dignity of a sensitive and imaginative race?\nThe tory party should be careful beyond measure not to be committed to any\nact or policy which should unnecessarily wound or injure the feelings of\nour brothers on the other side of the channel of St. George.(121)\n\nThe key to an operation that should at once, with the aid of the\ndisaffected liberals and the Irish, turn out Mr. Gladstone and secure the\nEnglish elections, was an understanding with Mr. Parnell. The price of\nsuch an understanding was to drop coercion, and that price the tory\nleaders resolved to pay. The manoeuvre was delicate. If too plainly\ndisclosed, it might outrage some of the tory rank and file who would\nloathe an Irish alliance, and it was likely, moreover, to deter some of\nthe disaffected liberals from joining in any motion for Mr. Gladstone's\noverthrow. Lord Salisbury and his friends considered the subject with\n\"immense deliberation some weeks before the fall of the government.\" They\ncame to the conclusion that in the absence of official information, they\ncould see nothing to warrant a government in applying for a renewal of\nexceptional powers. That conclusion they profess to have kept sacredly in\ntheir own bosoms. Why they should give immense deliberation to a decision\nthat in their view must be worthless without official information, and\nthat was to remain for an indefinite time in mysterious darkness, was\nnever explained when this secret decision some months later was revealed\nto the public.(122) If there was no intention of making the decision known\nto the Irishmen, the purpose of so unusual a proceeding would be\ninscrutable. Was it made known to them? Mr. McCarthy, at the time acting\nfor his leader, has described circumstantially how the Irish were\nendeavouring to obtain a pledge against coercion; how two members of the\ntory party, one of them its recognised whip, came to him in succession\ndeclaring that they came straight from Lord Salisbury with certain\npropositions; how he found the assurance unsatisfactory, and asked each of\nthese gentlemen in turn on different nights to go back to Lord Salisbury,\nand put further questions to him; and how each of them professed to have\ngone back to Lord Salisbury, to have conferred with him, and to have\nbrought back his personal assurance.(123) On the other hand, it has been\nuniformly denied by the tory leaders that there was ever any compact\nwhatever with the Irishmen at this moment. We are not called upon here to\ndecide in a conflict of testimony which turns, after all, upon words so\nnotoriously slippery as pledge, compact, or understanding. It is enough to\nmark what is not denied, that Lord Salisbury and his confidential friends\nhad resolved, subject to official information, to drop coercion, and that\nthe only visible reason why they should form the resolution at that\nparticular moment was its probable effect upon Mr. Parnell.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nLet us now return to the ministerial camp. There the whig wing of the\ncabinet, adhering to Lord Spencer, were for a modified renewal of the\nCoercion Act, with the balm of a land purchase bill and a limited\nextension of self-government in local areas. The radical wing were averse\nto coercion, and averse to a purchase bill, but they were willing to yield\na milder form of coercion, on condition that the cabinet would agree not\nmerely to small measures of self-government in local areas, but to the\nerection of a (M75) central board clothed with important administrative\nfunctions for the whole of Ireland. In the House of Commons it was certain\nthat a fairly strong radical contingent would resist coercion in any\ndegree, and a liberal below the gangway, who had not been long in\nparliament but who had been in the press a strong opponent of the coercion\npolicy of 1881, at once gave notice that if proposals were made for the\nrenewal of exceptional law, he should move their rejection. Mr. Gladstone\nhad also to inform the Queen that in what is considered the whig or\nmoderate section of the House there had been recent indications of great\ndislike to special legislation, even of a mild character, for Ireland.\nThese proceedings are all of capital importance in an eventful year, and\nbear pretty directly upon the better known crisis of the year following.\n\nA memorandum by Mr. Gladstone of a conversation between himself and Lord\nGranville (May 6) will best show his own attitude at this opening of a\nmomentous controversy:--\n\n\n    ... I told him [Granville] I had given no pledge or indication of\n    my future conduct to Mr. Chamberlain, who, however, knew my\n    opinions to be strong in favour of some plan for a Central Board\n    of Local Government in Ireland on something of an elective\n    basis.... Under the circumstances, while the duty of the hour\n    evidently was to study the means of possible accommodation, the\n    present aspect of affairs was that of a probable split,\n    _independently_ of the question what course I might individually\n    pursue. My opinions, I said, were very strong and inveterate. I\n    did not calculate upon Parnell and his friends, nor upon Manning\n    and his bishops. Nor was I under any obligation to follow or act\n    with Chamberlain. But independently of all questions of party, of\n    support, and of success, I looked upon the extension of a strong\n    measure of local government like this to Ireland, now that the\n    question is effectually revived by the Crimes Act, as invaluable\n    itself, and as the only hopeful means of securing crown and state\n    from an ignominious surrender in the next parliament after a\n    mischievous and painful struggle. (I did not advert to the\n    difficulties which will in this session be experienced in carrying\n    on a great battle for the Crimes Act.) My difficulty would lie not\n    in my pledges or declarations (though these, of a public\n    character, are serious), but in my opinions.\n\n    Under these circumstances, I said, I take into view the freedom of\n    my own position. My engagements to my colleagues are fulfilled;\n    the great Russian question is probably settled; if we stand firm\n    on the Soudan, we are now released from that embarrassment; and\n    the Egyptian question, if the financial convention be safe, no\n    longer presents any very serious difficulties. I am entitled to\n    lay down my office as having done my work.\n\n    Consequently the very last thing I should contemplate is opening\n    the Irish difficulty in connection with my resignation, should I\n    resign. It would come antecedently to any parliamentary treatment\n    of that problem. If thereafter the secession of some members\n    should break up the cabinet, it would leave behind it an excellent\n    record at home and abroad. Lord Granville, while ready to resign\n    his office, was not much consoled by this presentation of the\n    case.\n\n\nLate in the month (May 23) Mr. Gladstone wrote a long letter to the Queen,\ngiving her \"some idea of the shades of opinion existing in the cabinet\nwith reference to legislation for Ireland.\" He thought it desirable to\nsupply an outline of this kind, because the subject was sure to recur\nafter a short time, and was \"likely to exercise a most important influence\nin the coming parliament on the course of affairs.\" The two points on\nwhich there was considerable divergence of view were the expiry of the\nCrimes Act, and the concession of local government. The Irish viceroy was\nready to drop a large portion of what Mr. Gladstone called coercive\nprovisions, while retaining provisions special to Ireland, but favouring\nthe efficiency of the law. Other ministers were doubtful whether any\nspecial legislation was needed for Irish criminal law. Then on the point\nwhether the new bill should be for two years or one, some, including Mr.\nGladstone and Lord Spencer, were for the longer term, others, including\nMr. Chamberlain and Sir Charles Dilke, for the shorter. At last the whole\ncabinet agreed to two years. Next for local government,--some held that a\nliberal move in this region (M76) would possibly obviate all need for\nspecial criminal legislation, and would at any rate take the sting out of\nit. To this \"vastly important subject\" the prime minister presumed to draw\nthe Queen's special attention, as involving great and far-reaching\nquestions. He did not, he said, regard the differences of leaning in the\ncabinet upon these matters with either surprise or dismay. Such\ndifficulties were due to inherent difficulties in the matters themselves,\nand were to be expected from the action of independent and energetic minds\nin affairs so complex.\n\nThere were two main opinions. One favoured the erection of a system of\nrepresentative county government in Ireland. The other view was that\nbesides the county boards, there should be in addition a central board for\nall Ireland, essentially municipal and not political; in the main\nexecutive and administrative, but also with a power to make bye-laws,\nraise funds, and pledge public credit in such modes as parliament should\nprovide. The central board would take over education, primary, in part\nintermediate, and perhaps even higher; poor law and sanitary\nadministration; and public works. The whole charge of justice, police, and\nprisons would remain with the executive. This board would not be directly\nelective by the whole Irish people; it would be chosen by the\nrepresentative county boards. Property, moreover, should have a\nrepresentation upon it distinct from numbers. This plan, \"first made known\nto Mr. Gladstone by Mr. Chamberlain,\" would, he believed, be supported by\nsix out of the eight Commons ministers. But a larger number of ministers\nwere not prepared to agree to any plan involving the principle of an\nelective central board as the policy of the cabinet. On account of this\npreliminary bar, the particular provisions of the policy of a central\nboard were not discussed.\n\nAll this, however, was for the moment retrospective and historic, because\na fortnight before the letter was written, the policy of the central\nboard, of which Mr. Gladstone so decisively approved, had been killed. A\ncommittee of the cabinet was appointed to consider it; some remained\nstubbornly opposed; as the discussion went on, some changed their minds\nand, having resisted, at last inclined to acquiesce. Ministers were aware\nfrom the correspondence of one of them with an eminent third person, that\nMr. Parnell approved the scheme, and in consideration of it would even not\noppose a very limited Crimes bill. This, however, was no temptation to all\nof them; perhaps it had the contrary effect. When it came to the full\ncabinet, it could not be carried. All the peers except Lord Granville were\nagainst it. All the Commoners except Lord Hartington were for it. As the\ncabinet broke up (May 9), the prime minister said to one colleague, \"Ah,\nthey will rue this day\"; and to another, \"Within six years, if it please\nGod to spare their lives, they will be repenting in sackcloth and ashes.\"\nLater in the day he wrote to one of them, \"The division of opinion in the\ncabinet on the subject of local government with a central board for\nIreland was so marked, and if I may use the expression, so diametrical,\nthat I dismissed the subject from my mind, and sorrowfully accepted the\nnegative of what was either a majority, or a moiety of the entire\ncabinet.\"\n\nThis decision, more profoundly critical than anybody excepting Mr.\nGladstone and perhaps Mr. Chamberlain seemed to be aware, left all\nexisting difficulties as acute as ever. In the middle of May things looked\nvery black. The scheme for a central board was dead, though, wrote Mr.\nGladstone to the viceroy, \"for the present only. _It will quickly rise\nagain, as I think, perhaps in larger dimensions._\" Some members of the\ncabinet, he knew not how many, would resign rather than demand from\nparliament, without a Central Board bill, the new Coercion Act. If such\nresignations took place, how was a Coercion bill to be fought through the\nHouse, when some liberals had already declared that they would resist it?\n\nOn May 15 drafts not only of a Coercion bill, but of a bill for land\npurchase, came before the cabinet. Much objection was taken to land\npurchase, especially by the two radical leaders, and it was agreed to\nforego such a bill for the present session. The viceroy gravely lamented\nthis decision, and Mr. Gladstone entered into communication with Mr. (M77)\nChamberlain and Sir C. Dilke. From them he understood that their main\nanxiety sprang from a fear lest the future handling of local government\nshould be prejudiced by premature disposal of the question of land\npurchase, but that in the main they thought the question of local\ngovernment would not be prejudiced if the purchase bill only provided\nfunds for a year. Under this impression and with a full belief that he was\ngiving effect to the real desire of his colleagues in general to meet the\nviews of Lord Spencer, and finding the prospects of such a bill\nfavourable, Mr. Gladstone proceeded (May 20) to give notice of its\nintroduction. Mr. Chamberlain and Sir C. Dilke took this to be a reversal\nof the position to which they had agreed, and would not assent to land\npurchase unless definitely coupled with assurances as to local government.\nThey immediately resigned. The misapprehension was explained, and though\nthe resignations were not formally withdrawn, they were suspended. But the\ntwo radical leaders did not conceal their view of the general state of the\ncase, and in very direct terms told Mr. Gladstone that they differed so\ncompletely on the questions that were to occupy parliament for the rest of\nthe session, as to feel the continuance of the government of doubtful\nadvantage to the country. In Mr. Chamberlain's words, written to the prime\nminister at the time of the misunderstanding (May 21)--\n\n\n    I feel there has been a serious misapprehension on both sides with\n    respect to the Land Purchase bill, and I take blame to myself if I\n    did not express myself with sufficient clearness.... I doubt very\n    much if it is wise or was right to cover over the serious\n    differences of principle that have lately disclosed themselves in\n    the cabinet. I think it is now certain that they will cause a\n    split in the new parliament, and it seems hardly fair to the\n    constituencies that this should only be admitted, after they have\n    discharged their function and are unable to influence the result.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nStill the prime minister altogether declined, in his own phrase, to lose\nheart, and new compromises were invented. Meanwhile he cheerfully went for\nthe Whitsuntide recess to Hawarden, and dived into Lechler's _Wycliffe_,\nWalpole's _George III._, Conrad on German Union, Cooper on the Atonement,\nand so forth. Among other guests at Hawarden came Lord Wolverton, \"with\nmuch conversation; we opened rather a new view as to my retirement.\" What\nthe new view was we do not know, but the conversation was resumed and\nagain resumed, until the unwelcome day (June 4) for return to Downing\nStreet. Before returning, however, Mr. Gladstone set forth his view of the\ninternal crisis in a letter to Lord Hartington:--\n\n\n    _To Lord Hartington._\n\n    _May 30, 1885._--I am sorry but not surprised that your rather\n    remarkable strength should have given way under the pressure of\n    labour or anxiety or both. Almost the whole period of this\n    ministry, particularly the year and a half since the defeat of\n    Hicks, and most particularly of all, the four months since the\n    morning when you deciphered the Khartoum telegram at Holker, have\n    been without example in my experience, as to the gravity and\n    diversity of difficulties which they have presented. What I hope\n    is that they will not discourage you, or any of our colleagues, in\n    your anticipations of the future. It appears to me that there is\n    not one of them, viewed in the gross, which has been due to our\n    own action. By viewing in the gross, I mean taking the Egyptian\n    question as one. When we subdivide between Egypt proper and the\n    Soudan, I find what seem to me two grave errors in our management\n    of the Soudan business: the first our _landing_ at Suakin, the\n    second the mission of Gordon, or rather the choice of Gordon for\n    that mission. But it sometimes happens that the errors gravest in\n    their consequences are also the most pardonable. And these errors\n    were surely pardonable enough in themselves, without relying on\n    the fact that they were approved by the public opinion of the day\n    and by the opposition. Plenty of other and worse errors have been\n    urged upon us which we have refused or avoided. I do not remember\n    a single good measure recommended by opponents, which we have\n    declined to adopt (or indeed any good measure which they have\n    recommended at all). We certainly have worked hard. I believe that\n    according to the measure of human infirmity, we have done fairly\n    well, but the duties we have had to discharge have been duties, I\n    mean in Egypt and the Soudan, which it was impossible to discharge\n    with the ordinary measure of credit and satisfaction, which were\n    beyond human strength, and which it was very unwise of our\n    predecessors to saddle upon the country.\n\n    At this moment we have but two great _desiderata_: the Egyptian\n    Convention and the Afghan settlement (the evacuation of the Soudan\n    being in principle a thing done). Were these accomplished, we\n    should have attained for the empire at home and abroad a position\n    in most respects unusually satisfactory, and both of them _ought_\n    to be near accomplishment. With the Egyptian Convention fairly at\n    work, I should consider the Egyptian question as within a few\n    comparatively easy stages of satisfactory solution.\n\n    Now as regards the immediate subject. What if Chamberlain and\n    Dilke, as you seem to anticipate, raise the question of a\n    prospective declaration about local government in Ireland as a\n    condition of their remaining in the cabinet? I consider that\n    question as disposed of for the present (much against my will),\n    and I do not see that any of us, having accepted the decision, can\n    attempt to disturb it. Moreover, their ground will be very weak\n    and narrow; for their actual reason of going, if they go, will be\n    the really small question arising upon the Land Purchase bill.\n\n    I think they will commit a great error if they take this course.\n    It will be straining at the gnat. No doubt it will weaken the\n    party at the election, but I entertain no fear of the immediate\n    effect. Their error will, however, in my view go beyond this.\n    Forgive me if I now speak with great frankness on a matter, one of\n    few, in which I agree with them, and not with you. I am firmly\n    convinced that on local government for Ireland they hold a winning\n    position; which by resignation now they will greatly compromise.\n    You will all, I am convinced, have to give what they recommend; at\n    the least what they recommend.\n\n    There are two differences between them and me on this subject.\n    First as to the matter; I go rather further than they do; for I\n    would undoubtedly make a _beginning_ with the Irish police.\n    Secondly as to the _ground_; here I differ seriously. I do not\n    reckon with any confidence upon Manning or Parnell; I have never\n    looked much in Irish matters at negotiation or the conciliation of\n    leaders. I look at the question in itself, and I am deeply\n    convinced that the measure in itself will (especially if\n    accompanied with similar measures elsewhere, _e.g._ in Scotland)\n    be good for the country and the empire; I do not say unmixedly\n    good, but with advantages enormously outweighing any drawbacks.\n\n    Apart from these differences, and taking their point of view, I\n    think they ought to endeavour to fight the election with you; and\n    in the _new state of affairs_ which will be presented after the\n    dissolution, try and see what effect may be produced upon your\n    mind, and on other minds, when you have to look at the matter\n    _cominus_ and not _eminus_, as actual, and not as hypothetical. I\n    gave Chamberlain a brief hint of these speculations when\n    endeavouring to work upon him; otherwise I have not mentioned them\n    to any one.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nOn the day of his return to London from Hawarden Mr. Gladstone had an\ninterview with the two ministers with whom on the merits he was most\ndisposed to agree, though he differed strongly from them as to tactics.\nResignations were still only suspended, yet the prospects of compromise\nwere hopeful. At a cabinet held on the following day (June 5) it was\nagreed that he should in the course of a week give notice of a bill to\ntake the place of the expiring Crimes Act. The point left open was whether\nthe operative provisions of such an Act--agreed on some time before--should\nnot be brought into operation without some special act of the executive\ngovernment, by proclamation, order in council, or otherwise. Local\ngovernment was still left open. Lord Spencer crossed over from Ireland on\nthe night of June 7, and the cabinet met next day. All differences were\nnarrowed down to the point whether the enactments against intimidation\nshould be inoperative unless and until the lord lieutenant should waken\nthem into life by proclamation. As it happened, intimidation had been for\na considerable time upon the increase--from which it might be inferred\neither, on the one side, that coercion failed in its object, or, on the\nother, that more coercion was still indispensable. The precise state in\nwhich matters were left at the eleventh hour before the crisis, now\nswiftly advancing, (M78) was set out by Mr. Gladstone in a letter written\nby him to the Queen in the autumn (October 5), when he was no longer her\nMajesty's minister:--\n\n\n    _To the Queen._\n\n    ... He has perceived that in various quarters misapprehension\n    prevails as to the point at which the deliberations of the late\n    cabinet on the question of any renewal of, or substitution for,\n    the Crimes Act in Ireland had arrived when their financial defeat\n    on the 8th of June caused the tender of their resignation.\n\n    Mr. Gladstone prays your Majesty's gracious permission to remove\n    this misapprehension by simply stating that which occurred in the\n    cabinet at its latest meetings, with reference to this particular\n    question. Substantially it would be a repetition, or little more\n    (and without any mention of names), of his latest reports to your\n    Majesty, to the effect--\n\n    1. That the cabinet had long before arrived at the conclusion that\n    the coercion clauses of the Act, properly so called, might be\n    safely abandoned.\n\n    2. With regard to the other clauses, which might be generally\n    described as procedure clauses, they intended as a rule to advise,\n    not their absolute re-enactment, but that the viceroy should be\n    empowered to bring them into action, together or separately, as\n    and when he might see cause.\n\n    3. But that, with respect to the intimidation or boycotting\n    provisions, it still remained for consideration whether they\n    should thus be left subject to executive discretion, or whether,\n    as the offence had not ceased, they should, as an effective\n    instrument of repression, remain in direct and full operation.\n\n\nIt is worth noticing here as a signal instance of Mr. Gladstone's\ntenacious and indomitable will after his defeat, that in a communication\nto the Queen four days later (June 12), he stated that the single\noutstanding point of difference on the Crimes bill was probably in a fair\nway of settlement, but that even if the dissent of the radical members of\nthe cabinet had become operative, it was his firm intention to make new\narrangements for filling the vacant offices and carrying on the\ngovernment. The overthrow came in a different way. The deliberations thus\nsummarised had been held under the shadow of a possibility, mentioned to\nthe Queen in the report of this last cabinet, of a coalition between the\ntories and the Irish nationalists, in order to put an end to the existence\nof the government on their budget. This cloud at last burst, though Mr.\nGladstone at any rate with his usual invincible adherence to the salutary\nrule never to bid good morrow to the devil until you meet him, did not\nstrongly believe in the risk. The diary sheds no light on the state of his\nexpectations:--\n\n\n    _June 6._... Read Amiel's _Journal Intime_. Queen's birthday\n    dinner, 39; went very well. Much conversation with the Prince of\n    Wales, who was handy and pleasant even beyond his wont. Also had\n    some speech of his son, who was on my left. _June 7, Trinity\n    Sunday._--Chapel Royal at noon and 5.30. Wrote.... Saw Lord\n    Granville; ditto _cum_ Kimberley. Read Amiel. Edersheim on Old\n    Testament. _June 8._--Wrote, etc.... Pitiless rain. Cabinet,\n    2-3-3/4.... Spoke on budget. Beaten by 264:252. Adjourned the House.\n    This is a considerable event.\n\n\nThe amendment that led to this \"considerable event\" was moved by Sir\nMichael Hicks Beach. The two points raised by the fatal motion were,\nfirst, the increased duty on beer and spirits without a corresponding\nincrease on wine; and, second, the increase of the duty on real property\nwhile no relief was given to rates. The fiscal issue is not material. What\nwas ominous was the alliance that brought about the result.\n\nThe defeat of the Gladstone government was the first success of a\ncombination between tories and Irish, that proved of cardinal importance\nto policies and parties for several critical months to come. By a\ncoincidence that cut too deep to be mere accident, divisions in the\nGladstone cabinet found their counterpart in insurrection among the tory\nopposition. The same general forces of the hour, working through the\nenergy, ambition, and initiative of individuals, produced the same effect\nin each of the two parties; the radical programme of Mr. Chamberlain was\nmatched by the (M79) tory democracy of Lord Randolph Churchill; each saw\nthat the final transfer of power from the ten-pound householder to\nartisans and labourers would rouse new social demands; each was aware that\nIreland was the electoral pivot of the day, and while one of them was\nwrestling with those whom he stigmatised as whigs, the other by dexterity\nand resolution overthrew his leaders as \"the old gang.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter XII. Accession Of Lord Salisbury. (1885)\n\n\n    Politics are not a drama where scenes follow one another according\n    to a methodical plan, where the actors exchange forms of speech,\n    settled beforehand: politics are a conflict of which chance is\n    incessantly modifying the whole course.--SOREL.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nIn tendering his resignation to the Queen on the day following his\nparliamentary defeat (June 9), and regretting that he had been unable to\nprepare her for the result, Mr. Gladstone explained that though the\ngovernment had always been able to cope with the combined tory and\nnationalist oppositions, what had happened on this occasion was the silent\nwithdrawal, under the pressure of powerful trades, from the government\nranks of liberals who abstained from voting, while six or seven actually\nvoted with the majority. \"There was no previous notice,\" he said, \"and it\nwas immediately before the division that Mr. Gladstone was apprised for\nthe first time of the likelihood of a defeat.\" The suspicions hinted that\nministers, or at least some of them, unobtrusively contrived their own\nfall. Their supporters, it was afterwards remarked, received none of those\nimperative adjurations to return after dinner that are usual on solemn\noccasions; else there could never have been seventy-six absentees. The\nmajority was composed of members of the tory party, six liberals, and\nthirty-nine nationalists. Loud was the exultation of the latter contingent\nat the prostration of the coercion system. What was natural exultation in\nthem, may have taken the form of modest satisfaction among many liberals,\nthat they could go to the country without the obnoxious label of coercion\ntied round their necks. As for ministers, it was observed that if in the\nstreets you saw a man coming along with a particularly elastic step and a\njoyful frame of (M80) countenance, ten to one on coming closer you would\nfind that it was a member of the late cabinet.(124)\n\nThe ministerial crisis of 1885 was unusually prolonged, and it was\ncurious. The victory had been won by a coalition with the Irish; its\nfruits could only be reaped with Irish support; and Irish support was to\nthe tory victors both dangerous and compromising. The normal process of a\ndissolution was thought to be legally impossible, because by the\nredistribution bill the existing constituencies were for the most part\nradically changed; and a new parliament chosen on the old system of seats\nand franchise, even if it were legally possible, would still be empty of\nall semblance of moral authority. Under these circumstances, some in the\ntory party argued that instead of taking office, it would be far better\nfor them to force Mr. Gladstone and his cabinet to come back, and leave\nthem to get rid of their internal differences and their Irish\nembarrassments as they best could. Events were soon to demonstrate the\nprudence of these wary counsels. On the other hand, the bulk of the tory\nparty like the bulk of any other party was keen for power, because power\nis the visible symbol of triumph over opponents, and to shrink from office\nwould discourage their friends in the country in the electoral conflict\nnow rapidly approaching.\n\nThe Queen meanwhile was surprised (June 10) that Mr. Gladstone should make\nhis defeat a vital question, and asked whether, in case Lord Salisbury\nshould be unwilling to form a government, the cabinet would remain. To\nthis Mr. Gladstone replied that to treat otherwise an attack on the\nbudget, made by an ex-cabinet minister with such breadth of front and\nafter all the previous occurrences of the session, would be contrary to\nevery precedent,--for instance, the notable case of December 1852,--and it\nwould undoubtedly tend to weaken and lower parliamentary government.(125)\nIf an opposition defeated a government, they must be prepared to accept\nthe responsibility of their action. As to the second question, he answered\nthat a refusal by Lord Salisbury would obviously change the situation. On\nthis, the Queen accepted the resignations (June 11), and summoned Lord\nSalisbury to Balmoral. The resignations were announced to parliament the\nnext day. Remarks were made at the time, indeed by the Queen herself, at\nthe failure of Mr. Gladstone to seek the royal presence. Mr. Gladstone's\nexplanation was that, viewing \"the probably long reach of Lord\nHartington's life into the future,\" he thought that he would be more\nuseful in conversation with her Majesty than \"one whose ideas might be\nunconsciously  by the limited range of the prospect before him,\"\nand Lord Hartington prepared to comply with the request that he should\nrepair to Balmoral. The visit was eventually not thought necessary by the\nQueen.\n\nIn his first audience Lord Salisbury stated that though he and his friends\nwere not desirous of taking office, he was ready to form a government; but\nin view of the difficulties in which a government formed by him would\nstand, confronted by a hostile majority and unable to dissolve, he\nrecommended that Mr. Gladstone should be invited to reconsider his\nresignation. Mr. Gladstone, however (June 13), regarded the situation and\nthe chain of facts that had led up to it, as being so definite, when\ncoupled with the readiness of Lord Salisbury to undertake an\nadministration, that it would be a mere waste of valuable time for him to\nconsult his colleagues as to the resumption of office. Then Lord Salisbury\nsought assurances of Mr. Gladstone's support, as to finance, parliamentary\ntime, and other points in the working of executive government. These\nassurances neither Mr. Gladstone's own temperament, nor the humour of his\nfriends and his party--for the embers of the quarrel with the Lords upon\nthe franchise bill were still hot--allowed him to give, and he founded\nhimself on the precedent of the communications of December 1845 between\nPeel and Russell. In this default of assurances, Lord Salisbury thought\nthat he should render the Queen no useful service by taking office. So\nconcluded the first stage.\n\n(M81) Though declining specific pledges, Mr. Gladstone now wrote to the\nQueen (June 17) that in the conduct of the necessary business of the\ncountry, he believed there would be no disposition to embarrass her\nministers. Lord Salisbury, however, and his colleagues were unanimous in\nthinking this general language insufficient. The interregnum continued. On\nthe day following (June 18), Mr. Gladstone had an audience at Windsor,\nwhither the Queen had now returned. It lasted over three-quarters of an\nhour. \"The Queen was most gracious and I thought most reasonable.\"\n(_Diary._) He put down in her presence some heads of a memorandum to\nassist her recollection, and the one to which she rightly attached most\nvalue was this: \"In my opinion,\" Mr. Gladstone wrote, \"the whole value of\nany such declaration as at the present circumstances permit, really\ndepends upon the spirit in which it is given and taken. For myself and any\nfriend of mine, I can only say that the spirit in which we should\nendeavour to interpret and apply the declaration I have made, would be the\nsame spirit in which we entered upon the recent conferences concerning the\nSeats bill.\" To this declaration his colleagues on his return to London\ngave their entire and marked approval, but they would not compromise the\nliberty of the House of Commons by further and particular pledges.\n\nIt was sometimes charged against Mr. Gladstone that he neglected his duty\nto the crown, and abandoned the Queen in a difficulty. This is wholly\nuntrue. On June 20, Sir Henry Ponsonby called and opened one or two\naspects of the position, among them these:--\n\n\n    1. Can the Queen do anything more?\n\n    I answered, As you ask me, it occurs to me that it might help Lord\n    Salisbury's going on, were she to make reference to No. 2 of my\n    memorandum [the paragraph just quoted], and to say that in her\n    judgment he would be safe in receiving it in a spirit of trust.\n\n    2. If Lord Salisbury fails, may the Queen rely on you?\n\n    I answered that on a previous day I had said that if S. failed,\n    the situation would be altered. I hoped, and on the whole thought,\n    he would go on. But if he did not? I could not promise or expect\n    smooth water. The movement of questions such as the Crimes Act and\n    Irish Local Government might be accelerated. But my desire would\n    be to do my best to prevent the Queen being left without a\n    government.(126)\n\n\nMr. Gladstone's view of the position is lucidly stated in the following\nmemorandum, like the others, in his own hand, (June 21):--\n\n\n    1. I have endeavoured in my letters (_a_) to avoid all\n    controversial matter; (_b_) to consider not what the incoming\n    ministers had a right to ask, but what it was possible for us in a\n    spirit of conciliation to give.\n\n    2. In our opinion there was no right to demand from us anything\n    whatever. The declarations we have made represent an extreme of\n    concession. The conditions required, _e.g._ the first of them\n    [control of time], place in abeyance the liberties of parliament,\n    by leaving it solely and absolutely in the power of the ministers\n    to determine on what legislative or other questions (except\n    supply) it shall be permitted to give a judgment. The House of\n    Commons may and ought to be disposed to facilitate the progress of\n    all necessary business by all reasonable means as to supply and\n    otherwise, but would deeply resent any act of ours by which we\n    agreed beforehand to the extinction of its discretion.\n\n    The difficulties pleaded by Lord Salisbury were all in view when\n    his political friend, Sir M. H. Beach, made the motion which, as\n    we apprised him, would if carried eject us from office, and are\n    simply the direct consequences of their own action. If it be true\n    that Lord Salisbury loses the legal power to advise and the crown\n    to grant a dissolution, that cannot be a reason for leaving in the\n    hands of the executive an absolute power to stop the action\n    (except as to supply) of the legislative and corrective power of\n    the House of Commons. At the same time these conditions do not\n    appear to me to attain the end proposed by Lord Salisbury, for it\n    would still be left in the power of the House to refuse supplies,\n    and thereby to bring about in its worst form the difficulty which\n    he apprehends.\n\n\nIt looked for a couple of days as if he would be compelled (M82) to\nreturn, even though it would almost certainly lead to disruption of the\nliberal cabinet and party.(127) The Queen, acting apparently on Mr.\nGladstone's suggestion of June 20, was ready to express her confidence in\nMr. Gladstone's assurance that there would be no disposition on the part\nof himself or his friends to embarrass new ministers. By this expression\nof confidence, the Queen would thus make herself in some degree\nresponsible as it were for the action of the members of the defeated\nGladstone government in the two Houses. Still Lord Salisbury's\ndifficulties--and some difficulties are believed to have arisen pretty\nacutely within the interior conclaves of his own party--remained for\nforty-eight hours insuperable. His retreat to Hatfield was taken to mark a\nsecond stage in the interregnum.\n\nJune 22 is set down in the diary as \"a day of much stir and vicissitude.\"\nMr. Gladstone received no fewer than six visits during the day from Sir\nHenry Ponsonby, whose activity, judgment, and tact in these duties of\ninfinite delicacy were afterwards commemorated by Lord Granville in the\nHouse of Lords.(128) He brought up from Windsor the draft of a letter that\nmight be written by the Queen to Lord Salisbury, testifying to her belief\nin the sincerity and loyalty of Mr. Gladstone's words. Sir Henry showed\nthe draft to Mr. Gladstone, who said that he could not be party to certain\npassages in it, though willing to agree to the rest. The draft so altered\nwas submitted to Lord Salisbury; he demanded modification, placing a more\ndefinite interpretation on the words of Mr. Gladstone's previous letters\nto the Queen. Mr. Gladstone was immovable throughout the day in declining\nto admit any modifications in the sense desired; nor would he consent to\nbe privy to any construction or interpretation placed upon his words which\nLord Salisbury, with no less tenacity than his own, desired to extend.\n\n\n    At 5.40 [June 22] Sir H. Ponsonby returned for a fifth interview,\n    his infinite patience not yet exhausted.... He said the Queen\n    believed the late government did not wish to come back. I simply\n    reminded him of my previous replies, which, he remembered, nearly\n    as follows:--That if Lord Salisbury failed, the situation would be\n    altered. That I could not in such a case promise her Majesty\n    smooth water. That, however, a great duty in such circumstances\n    lay upon any one holding my situation, to use his best efforts so\n    as, _quoad_ what depended upon him, not to leave the Queen without\n    a government. I think he will now go to Windsor.--_June 22, '85_, 6\n    P.M.\n\n\nThe next day (June 23), the Queen sent on to Lord Salisbury the letter\nwritten by Mr. Gladstone on June 21, containing his opinion that\nfacilities of supply might reasonably be provided, without placing the\nliberties of the House of Commons in abeyance, and further, his\ndeclaration that he felt sure there was no idea of withholding ways and\nmeans, and that there was no danger to be apprehended on that score. In\nforwarding this letter, the Queen expressed to Lord Salisbury her earnest\ndesire to bring to a close a crisis calculated to endanger the best\ninterests of the state; and she felt no hesitation in further\ncommunicating to Lord Salisbury her opinion that he might reasonably\naccept Mr. Gladstone's assurances. In deference to these representations\nfrom the Queen, Lord Salisbury felt it his duty to take office, the crisis\nended, and the tory party entered on the first portion of a term of power\nthat was destined, with two rather brief interruptions, to be prolonged\nfor many years.(129) In reviewing this interesting episode in the annals\nof the party system, it is impossible not to observe the dignity in form,\nthe patriotism in substance, the common-sense in result, that marked the\nproceedings alike of the sovereign and of her two ministers.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nAfter accepting Mr. Gladstone's resignation the Queen, on June 13,\nproffered him a peerage:--\n\n\n    _The Queen to Mr. Gladstone._\n\n    Mr. Gladstone mentioned in his last letter but one, his intention\n    of proposing some honours. But before she considers these, she\n    wishes to offer him an Earldom, as a mark of her recognition of\n    his long and distinguished services, and she believes and thinks\n    he will thereby be enabled still to render great service to his\n    sovereign and country--which if he retired, as he has repeatedly\n    told her of late he intended to do shortly,--he could not. The\n    country would doubtless be pleased at any signal mark of\n    recognition of Mr. Gladstone's long and eminent services, and the\n    Queen believes that it would be beneficial to his health,--no\n    longer exposing him to the pressure from without, for more active\n    work than he ought to undertake. Only the other day--without\n    reference to the present events--the Queen mentioned to Mrs.\n    Gladstone at Windsor the advantage to Mr. Gladstone's health of a\n    removal from one House to the other, in which she seemed to agree.\n    The Queen trusts, therefore, that Mr. Gladstone will accept the\n    offer of an earldom, which would be very gratifying to her.\n\n\nThe outgoing minister replied on the following day:--\n\n\n    Mr. Gladstone offers his humble apology to your Majesty. It would\n    not be easy for him to describe the feelings with which he has\n    read your Majesty's generous, most generous letter. He prizes\n    every word of it, for he is fully alive to all the circumstances\n    which give it value. It will be a precious possession to him and\n    to his children after him. All that could recommend an earldom to\n    him, it already has given him. He remains, however, of the belief\n    that he ought not to avail himself of this most gracious offer.\n    Any service that he can render, if small, will, however, be\n    greater in the House of Commons than in the House of Lords; and it\n    has never formed part of his views to enter that historic chamber,\n    although he does not share the feeling which led Sir R. Peel to\n    put upon record what seemed a perpetual or almost a perpetual\n    self-denying ordinance for his family.\n\n    When the circumstances of the state cease, as he hopes they may\n    ere long, to impose on him any special duty, he will greatly covet\n    that interval between an active career and death, which the\n    profession of politics has always appeared to him especially to\n    require. There are circumstances connected with the position of\n    his family, which he will not obtrude upon your Majesty, but\n    which, as he conceives, recommend in point of prudence the\n    personal intention from which he has never swerved. He might\n    hesitate to act upon the motives to which he has last adverted,\n    grave as they are, did he not feel rooted in the persuasion that\n    the small good he may hope hereafter to effect, can best be\n    prosecuted without the change in his position. He must beg your\n    Majesty to supply all that is lacking in his expression from the\n    heart of profound and lasting gratitude.\n\n\nTo Lord Granville, the nearest of his friends, he wrote on the same day:--\n\n\n    I send you herewith a letter from the Queen which moves and almost\n    upsets me. It must have cost her much to write, and it is really a\n    pearl of great price. Such a letter makes the subject of it\n    secondary--but though it would take me long to set out my reasons,\n    I remain firm in the intention to accept nothing for myself.\n\n\nLord Granville replied that he was not surprised at the decision. \"I\nshould have greatly welcomed you,\" he said, \"and under some circumstances\nit might be desirable, but I think you are right now.\"\n\nHere is Mr. Gladstone's letter to an invaluable occupant of the\nall-important office of private secretary:--\n\n\n    _To Mr. E. W. Hamilton._\n\n    _June 30, 1885._--Since you have in substance (and in form?)\n    received the appointment [at the Treasury], I am unmuzzled, and\n    may now express the unbounded pleasure which it gives me, together\n    with my strong sense (not disparaging any one else) of your\n    desert. The modesty of your letter is as remarkable as its other\n    qualities, and does you the highest honour. I can accept no\n    tribute from you, or from any one, with regard to the office of\n    private secretary under me except this, that it has always been\n    made by me a strict and severe office, and that this is really the\n    only favour I have ever done you, or any of your colleagues to\n    whom in their several places and measures I am similarly obliged.\n\n    As to your services to me they have been simply indescribable. No\n    one I think could dream, until by experience he knew, to what an\n    extent in these close personal relations devolution can be\n    carried, and how it strengthens the feeble knees and thus also\n    sustains the fainting heart.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nThe declaration of the Irish policy of the new government was made to\nparliament by no less a personage than the lord-lieutenant.(130) The prime\nminister had discoursed on frontiers in Asia and frontiers in Africa, but\non Ireland he was silent. Lord Carnarvon, on the contrary, came forward\nvoluntarily with a statement of policy, and he opened it on the broadest\ngeneral lines. His speech deserves as close attention as any deliverance\nof this memorable period. It laid down the principles of that alternative\nsystem of government, with which the new ministers formally challenged\ntheir predecessors. Ought the Crimes Act to be re-enacted as it stood; or\nin part; or ought it to be allowed to lapse? These were the three courses.\nNobody, he thought, would be for the first, because some provisions had\nnever been put in force; others had been put in force but found useless;\nand others again did nothing that might not be done just as well under the\nordinary law. The re-enactment of the whole statute, therefore, was\ndismissed. But the powers for changing venue at the discretion of the\nexecutive; for securing special juries at the same discretion; for holding\nsecret inquiry without an accused person; for dealing summarily with\ncharges of intimidation--might they not be continued? They were not\nunconstitutional, and they were not opposed to legal instincts. No, all\nquite true; but then the Lords should not conceal from themselves that\ntheir re-enactment would be in the nature of special or exceptional\nlegislation. He had been looking through coercion Acts, he continued, and\nhad been astonished to find that ever since 1847, with some very short\nintervals hardly worth mentioning, Ireland had lived under exceptional and\ncoercive legislation. What sane man could admit this to be a satisfactory\nor a wholesome state of things? Why should not they try to extricate\nthemselves from this miserable habit, and aim at some better solution?\n\"Just as I have seen in English colonies across the sea a combination of\nEnglish, Irish, and Scotch settlers bound together in loyal obedience to\nthe law and the crown, and contributing to the general prosperity of the\ncountry, so I cannot conceive that there is any irreconcilable bar here in\ntheir native home and in England to the unity and the amity of the two\nnations.\" He went to his task individually with a perfectly free, open,\nand unprejudiced mind, to hear, to question, and, as far as might be, to\nunderstand. \"My Lords, I do not believe that with honesty and\nsingle-mindedness of purpose on the one side, and with the willingness of\nthe Irish people on the other, it is hopeless to look for some\nsatisfactory solution of this terrible question. My Lords, these I believe\nto be the opinions and the views of my colleagues.\"(131)\n\nThis remarkable announcement, made in the presence of the prime minister,\nin the name of the cabinet as a whole, and by a man of known purity and\nsincerity of character, was taken to be an express renunciation, not\nmerely of the policy of which notice had been given by the outgoing\nadministration, but of coercion as a final instrument of imperial rule. It\nwas an elaborate repudiation in advance of that panacea of firm and\nresolute government, which became so famous before twelve months were\nover. It was the suggestion, almost in terms, that a solution should be\nsought in that policy which had brought union both within our colonies,\nand between the colonies and the mother country, and men did not forget\nthat this suggestion was being made by a statesman who had carried\nfederation in Canada, and tried to carry it in South Africa. We cannot\nwonder that upon leading members of the late government, and especially\nupon the statesman who had been specially responsible for Ireland, the\nimpression was startling and profound. Important members of the tory party\nhurried (M83) from Ireland to Arlington Street, and earnestly warned their\nleader that he would never be able to carry on with the ordinary law. They\nwere coldly informed that Lord Salisbury had received quite different\ncounsel from persons well acquainted with the country.\n\nThe new government were not content with renouncing coercion for the\npresent. They cast off all responsibility for its practice in the past.\nOstentatiously they threw overboard the viceroy with whom the only fault\nthat they had hitherto found, was that his sword was not sharp enough. A\nmotion was made by the Irish leader calling attention to the\nmaladministration of the criminal law by Lord Spencer. Forty men had been\ncondemned to death, and in twenty-one of these cases the capital sentence\nhad been carried out. Of the twenty-one executions six were savagely\nimpugned, and Mr. Parnell's motion called for a strict inquiry into these\nand some other convictions, with a view to the full discovery of truth and\nthe relief of innocent persons. The debate soon became famous from the\nprincipal case adduced, as the Maamtrasna debate. The topic had been so\ncopiously discussed as to occupy three full sittings of the House in the\nprevious October. The lawyer who had just been made Irish chancellor, at\nthat time pronounced against the demand. In substance the new government\nmade no fresh concession. They said that if memorials or statements were\nlaid before him, the viceroy would carefully attend to them. No minister\ncould say less. But incidental remarks fell from the government that\ncreated lively alarm in tories and deep disgust in liberals. Sir Michael\nHicks Beach, then leader of the House, told them that while believing Lord\nSpencer to be a man of perfect honour and sense of duty, \"he must say very\nfrankly that there was much in the Irish policy of the late government\nwhich, though in the absence of complete information he did not condemn,\nhe should be very sorry to make himself responsible for.\"(132) An even\nmore important minister emphasised the severance of the new policy from\nthe old. \"I will tell you,\" cried Lord Randolph Churchill, \"how the\npresent government is foredoomed to failure. They will be foredoomed to\nfailure if they go out of their way unnecessarily to assume one jot or\ntittle of the responsibility for the acts of the late administration. It\nis only by divesting ourselves of all responsibility for the acts of the\nlate government, that we can hope to arrive at a successful issue.\"(133)\n\nTory members got up in angry fright, to denounce this practical\nacquiescence by the heads of their party in what was a violent Irish\nattack not only upon the late viceroy, but upon Irish judges, juries, and\nlaw officers. They remonstrated against \"the pusillanimous way\" in which\ntheir two leaders had thrown over Lord Spencer. \"During the last three\nyears,\" said one of these protesting tories, \"Lord Spencer has upheld\nrespect for law at the risk of his life from day to day, with the\nsanction, with the approval, and with the acknowledgment inside and\noutside of this House, of the country, and especially of the conservative\nparty. Therefore I for one will not consent to be dragged into any\nimplied, however slight, condemnation of Lord Spencer, because it happens\nto suit the exigencies of party warfare.\"(134) This whole transaction\ndisgusted plain men, tory and liberal alike; it puzzled calculating men;\nand it had much to do with the silent conversion of important and leading\nmen.\n\nThe general sentiment about the outgoing viceroy took the form of a\nbanquet in his honour (July 24), and some three hundred members of the two\nHouses attended, including Lord Hartington, who presided, and Mr. Bright.\nThe two younger leaders of the radical wing who had been in the late\ncabinet neither signed the invitation nor were present. But on the same\nevening in another place, Mr. Chamberlain recognised the high qualities\nand great services of Lord Spencer, though they had not always agreed upon\ndetails. He expressed, however, his approval both of the policy and of the\narguments which had led the new government to drop the Crimes Act. At the\nsame time he denounced the \"astounding tergiversation\" of ministers, and\nenergetically declared that \"a strategic movement of that kind, executed\nin opposition to the notorious convictions of the men who effected it,\ncarried out for party purposes and party purposes alone, is the most\nflagrant instance of political dishonesty this country has ever known.\"\n(M84) Lord Hartington a few weeks later told his constituents that the\nconduct of the government, in regard to Ireland, had dealt a heavy blow\n\"both at political morality, and at the cause of order in Ireland.\" The\nseverity of such judgments from these two weighty statesmen testifies to\nthe grave importance of the new departure.\n\nThe enormous change arising from the line adopted by the government was\nvisible enough even to men of less keen vision than Mr. Gladstone, and it\nwas promptly indicated by him in a few sentences in a letter to Lord Derby\non the very day of the Maamtrasna debate:--\n\n\n    Within the last two or three weeks, he wrote, the situation has\n    undergone important changes. I am not fully informed, but what I\n    know looks as if the Irish party so-called in parliament, excited\n    by the high biddings of Lord Randolph, had changed what was\n    undoubtedly Parnell's ground until within a very short time back.\n    It is now said that a central board will not suffice, and that\n    there must be a parliament. This I suppose may mean the repeal of\n    the Act of Union, or may mean an Austro-Hungarian scheme, or may\n    mean that Ireland is to be like a great colony such as Canada. Of\n    all or any of these schemes I will now only say that, of course,\n    they constitute an entirely new point of departure and raise\n    questions of an order totally different to any that are involved\n    in a central board appointed for local purposes.\n\n\nLord Derby recording his first impressions in reply (July 19) took the\nrather conventional objection made to most schemes on all subjects, that\nit either went too far or did not go far enough. Local government he\nunderstood, and home rule he understood, but a quasi-parliament in Dublin,\nnot calling itself such though invested with most of the authority of a\nparliament, seemed to him to lead to the demand for fuller recognition. If\nwe were forced, he said, to move beyond local government as commonly\nunderstood, he would rather have Ireland treated like Canada. \"But the\ndifficulties every way are enormous.\" On this Mr. Gladstone wrote a little\nlater to Lord Granville (Aug. 6):--\n\n\n    As far as I can learn, both you and Derby are on the same lines as\n    Parnell, in rejecting the smaller and repudiating the larger\n    scheme. It would not surprise me if he were to formulate something\n    on the subject. For my own part I have seen my way pretty well as\n    to the particulars of the minor and rejected plan, but the idea of\n    the wider one puzzles me much. At the same time, _if_ the election\n    gives a return of a decisive character, the sooner the subject is\n    dealt with the better.\n\n\nSo little true is it to say that Mr. Gladstone only thought of the\npossibility of Irish autonomy after the election.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nApart from public and party cares, the bodily machinery gave trouble, and\nthe fine organ that had served him so nobly for so long showed serious\nsigns of disorder.\n\n\n    _To Lord Richard Grosvenor._\n\n    _July 14._--After two partial examinations, a thorough examination\n    of my throat (larynx _versus_ pharynx) has been made to-day by Dr.\n    Semon in the presence of Sir A. Clark, and the result is rather\n    bigger than I had expected. It is, that I have a fair chance of\n    real recovery provided I keep silent almost like a Trappist, but\n    all treatment would be nugatory without this rest; that the other\n    alternative is nothing dangerous, but merely the constant passage\n    of the organ from bad to worse. He asked what demands the H. of C.\n    would make on me. I answered about three speeches of about five\n    minutes each, but he was not satisfied and wished me to get rid of\n    it altogether, which I must do, perhaps saying instead a word by\n    letter to some friend. Much time has almost of necessity been\n    lost, but I must be rigid for the future, and even then I shall be\n    well satisfied if I get back before winter to a natural use of the\n    voice in conversation. This imports a considerable change in the\n    course of my daily life. Here it is difficult to organise it\n    afresh. At Hawarden I can easily do it, but there I am at a\n    distance from the best aid. I am disposed to \"_top up_,\" with a\n    sea voyage, but this is No. 3--Nos. 1 and 2 being rest and then\n    treatment.\n\n\nThe sea voyage that was to \"top up\" the rest of the treatment began on\nAugust 8, when the Gladstones became the guests of Sir Thomas and Lady\nBrassey on the _Sunbeam_. They sailed from Greenhithe to Norway, and after\na three weeks' cruise, were set ashore at Fort George on September 1. Mr.\nGladstone made an excellent tourist; was full of interest in all he saw;\nand, I dare say, drew some pleasure from the demonstrations of curiosity\nand admiration that attended his presence from the simple population\nwherever he moved. Long expeditions with much climbing and scrambling were\nhis delight, and he let nothing beat him. One of these excursions, the\nascent to the Voeringfos, seems to deserve a word of commemoration, in the\ninterest either of physiology or of philosophic musings after Cicero's\nmanner upon old age. \"I am not sure,\" says Lady Brassey in her most\nagreeable diary of the cruise,(135) \"that the descent did not seem rougher\nand longer than our journey up had been, although, as a matter of fact, we\ngot over the ground much more quickly. As we crossed the green pastures on\nthe level ground near the village of Saeboe we met several people taking\ntheir evening stroll, and also a tourist apparently on his way up to spend\nthe night near the Voeringfos. The wind had gone down since the morning,\nand we crossed the little lake with fair rapidity, admiring as we went the\nglorious effects of the setting sun upon the tops of the precipitous\nmountains, and the wonderful echo which was aroused for our benefit by the\nboatmen. An extremely jolty drive, in springless country carts, soon\nbrought us to the little inn at Vik, and by half-past eight we were once\nmore on board the _Sunbeam_, exactly ten hours after setting out upon our\nexpedition, which had included a ride or walk, as the case might be, of\neighteen miles, independently of the journey by boat and cart--a hardish\nday's work for any one, but really a wonderful undertaking for a man of\nseventy-five, who disdained all proffered help, and insisted on walking\nthe whole distance. No one who saw Mr. Gladstone that evening at dinner in\nthe highest spirits, and discussing subjects both grave and gay with the\ngreatest animation, could fail to admire his marvellous pluck and energy,\nor, knowing what he had shown himself capable of doing in the way of\nphysical exertion, could feel much anxiety on the score of the failure of\nhis strength.\"\n\nHe was touched by a visit from the son of an old farmer, who brought him\nas an offering from his father to Mr. Gladstone a curiously carved\nNorwegian bowl three hundred years old, with two horse-head handles.\nStrolling about Aalesund, he was astonished to find in the bookshop of the\nplace a Norse translation of Mill's _Logic_. He was closely observant of\nall religious services whenever he had the chance, and noticed that at\nLaurvig all the tombstones had prayers for the dead. He read perhaps a\nlittle less voraciously than usual, and on one or two days, being unable\nto read, he \"meditated and reviewed\"--always, I think, from the same point\nof view--the point of view of Bunyan's _Grace Abounding_, or his own\nletters to his father half a century before. Not seldom a vision of the\ncoming elections flitted before the mind's eye, and he made notes for what\nhe calls an _abbozzo_ or sketch of his address to Midlothian.\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IX. 1885-1886\n\n\n\n\nChapter I. Leadership And The General Election. (1885)\n\n\n    Our understanding of history is spoiled by our knowledge of the\n    event.--HELPS.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nMr. Gladstone came back from his cruise in the _Sunbeam_ at the beginning\nof September; leaving the yacht at Fort George and proceeding to Fasque to\ncelebrate his elder brother's golden wedding. From Fasque he wrote to Lord\nHartington (Sept. 3): \"I have returned to terra firma extremely well in\ngeneral health, and with a better throat; in full expectation of having to\nconsider anxious and doubtful matters, and now finding them rather more\nanxious and doubtful than I had anticipated. As yet I am free to take a\nshare or not in the coming political issues, and I must weigh many things\nbefore finally surrendering this freedom.\" His first business, he wrote to\nSir W. Harcourt (Sept. 12), was to throw his thoughts into order for an\naddress to his constituents, framed only for the dissolution, and \"written\nwith my best care to avoid treading on the toes of either the right or the\nleft wing.\" He had communicated, he said, with Granville, Hartington, and\nChamberlain; by both of the two latter he had been a good deal buffeted;\nand having explained the general idea with which he proposed to write, he\nasked each of the pair whether upon the whole their wish was that he\nshould go on or cut out. \"To this question I have not yet got a clear\naffirmative answer from either of them.\"\n\n\"The subject of Ireland,\" he told Lord Hartington, \"has perplexed me much\neven on the North Sea,\" and he expressed some regret that in a recent\nspeech his correspondent had felt it necessary at this early period to\njoin issue in so pointed a manner with Mr. Parnell and his party.\nParnell's speech was, no doubt, he said, \"as bad as bad could be, and\nadmitted of only one answer. But the whole question of the position which\nIreland will assume after the general election is so new, so difficult,\nand as yet, I think, so little understood, that it seems most important to\nreserve until the proper time all possible liberty of examining it.\"\n\nThe address to his electors, of which he had begun to think on board the\n_Sunbeam_, was given to the public on September 17. It was, as he said, as\nlong as a pamphlet, and a considerable number of politicians doubtless\npassed judgment upon it without reading it through. The whigs, we are\ntold, found it vague, the radicals cautious, the tories crafty; but\neverybody admitted that it tended to heal feuds. Mr. Goschen praised it,\nand Mr. Chamberlain, though raising his own flag, was respectful to his\nleader's manifesto.(136)\n\nThe surface was thus stilled for the moment, yet the waters ran very deep.\nWhat were \"the anxious and doubtful matters,\" what \"the coming political\nissues,\" of which Mr. Gladstone had written to Lord Hartington? They were,\nin a word, twofold: to prevent the right wing from breaking with the left;\nand second, to make ready for an Irish crisis, which as he knew could not\nbe averted. These were the two keys to all his thoughts, words, and deeds\nduring the important autumn of 1885--an Irish crisis, a solid party. He was\nnot the first great parliamentary leader whose course lay between two\nimpossibilities.\n\nAll his letters during the interval between his return from the cruise in\nthe _Sunbeam_ and the close of the general election disclose with perfect\nclearness the channels in which events and his judgment upon them were\nmoving. Whigs and radicals alike looked to him, and across him fought\ntheir battle. The Duke of Argyll, for example, (M85) taking advantage of a\nlifelong friendship to deal faithfully with him, warned him that the long\nfight with \"Beaconsfieldism\" had thrown him into antagonism with many\npolitical conceptions and sympathies that once had a steady hold upon him.\nYet they had certainly no less value and truth than they ever had, and\nperhaps were more needed than ever in face of the present chaos of\nopinion. To this Mr. Gladstone replied at length:--\n\n\n    _To the Duke of Argyll._\n\n    _Sept. 30, 1885._--I am very sensible of your kind and sympathetic\n    tone, and of your indulgent verdict upon my address. It was\n    written with a view to the election, and as a practical document,\n    aiming at the union of all, it propounds for immediate action what\n    all are supposed to be agreed on. This is necessarily somewhat\n    favourable to the moderate section of the liberal party. You will\n    feel that it would not have been quite fair to the advanced men to\n    add some special reproof to them. And reproof, if I had presumed\n    upon it, would have been two-sided. Now as to your suggestion that\n    I should say something in public to indicate that I am not too\n    sanguine as to the future. If I am unable to go in this\n    direction--and something I may do--it is not from want of sympathy\n    with much that you say. But my first and great cause of anxiety\n    is, believe me, the condition of the tory party. As at present\n    constituted, or at any rate moved, it is destitute of all the\n    effective qualities of a respectable conservatism.... For their\n    administrative spirit I point to the Beaconsfield finance. For\n    their foreign policy they have invented Jingoism, and at the same\n    time by their conduct _re_ Lord Spencer and the Irish\n    nationalists, they have thrown over--and they formed their\n    government only by means of throwing over--those principles of\n    executive order and caution which have hitherto been common to all\n    governments....\n\n    There are other chapters which I have not time to open. I deeply\n    deplore the oblivion into which public economy has fallen; the\n    prevailing disposition to make a luxury of panics, which\n    multitudes seem to enjoy as they would a sensational novel or a\n    highly seasoned cookery; and the leaning of both parties to\n    socialism, which I radically disapprove. I must lastly mention\n    among my causes of dissatisfaction the conduct of the timid or\n    reactionary whigs. They make it day by day more difficult to\n    maintain that most valuable characteristic of our history, which\n    has always exhibited a good proportion of our great houses at the\n    head of the liberal movement. If you have ever noted of late years\n    a too sanguine and high- anticipation of our future, I\n    should like to be reminded of it. I remain, and I hope always to\n    be, your affectionate friend.\n\n\nThe correspondence with Lord Granville sets out more clearly than anything\nelse could do Mr. Gladstone's general view of the situation of the party\nand his own relation to it, and the operative words in this\ncorrespondence, in view of the maelstrom to which they were all drawing\nnearer, will be accurately noted by any reader who cares to understand one\nof the most interesting situations in the history of party. To Lord\nGranville he says (September 9, 1885), \"The problem for me is to make if\npossible a statement which will hold through the election and not to go\ninto conflict with either the right wing of the party for whom Hartington\nhas spoken, or the left wing for whom Chamberlain, I suppose, spoke last\nnight. I do not say they are to be treated as on a footing, but I must do\nno act disparaging to Chamberlain's wing.\" And again to Lord Granville a\nmonth later (Oct. 5):--\n\n\n    You hold a position of great impartiality in relation to any\n    divergent opinions among members of the late cabinet. No other\n    person occupies ground so thoroughly favourable. I turn to myself\n    for one moment. I remain at present in the leadership of the\n    party, first with a view to the election, and secondly with a view\n    to being, by a bare possibility, of use afterwards in the Irish\n    question if it should take a favourable turn; but as you know,\n    with the intention of taking no part in any schism of the party\n    should it arise, and of avoiding any and all official\n    responsibility, should the question be merely one of liberal _v._\n    conservative and not one of commanding imperial necessity, such as\n    that of Irish government may come to be after the dissolution.\n\n\nHe goes on to say that the ground had now been sufficiently laid for going\nto the election with a united front, that ground being the common\nprofession of a limited creed (M86) or programme in the liberal sense,\nwith an entire freedom for those so inclined, to travel beyond it, but not\nto impose their own sense upon all other people. No one, he thought, was\nbound to determine at that moment on what conditions he would join a\nliberal government. If the party and its leaders were agreed as to\nimmediate measures on local government, land, and registration, were not\nthese enough to find a liberal administration plenty of work, especially\nwith procedure, for several years? If so, did they not supply a ground\nbroad enough to start a government, that would hold over, until the proper\ntime should come, all the questions on which its members might not be\nagreed, just as the government of Lord Grey held over, from 1830 to 1834,\nthe question whether Irish church property might or might not be applied\nto secular uses?\n\nAs for himself, in the event of such a government being formed (of which I\nsuppose Lord Granville was to be the head), \"My desire would be,\" he says,\n\"to place myself in your hands for all purposes, except that of taking\noffice; to be present or absent from the House, and to be absent for a\ntime or for good, as you might on consultation and reflection think best.\"\nIn other words Mr. Gladstone would take office to try to settle the Irish\nquestion, but for nothing else. Lord Granville held to the view that this\nwas fatal to the chances of a liberal government. No liberal cabinet could\nbe constructed unless Mr. Gladstone were at its head. The indispensable\nchief, however, remained obdurate.\n\nAn advance was made at this moment in the development of a peculiar\nsituation by important conversations with Mr. Chamberlain. Two days later\nthe redoubtable leader of the left wing came to Hawarden for a couple of\ndays, and Mr. Gladstone wrote an extremely interesting account of what\npassed to Lord Granville:(137)--\n\n\n    _To Lord Granville._\n\n    _Hawarden, Oct. 8, 1885._--Chamberlain came here yesterday and I\n    have had a great deal of conversation with him. He is a good man\n    to talk to, not only from his force and clearness, but because he\n    speaks with reflection, does not misapprehend or (I think)\n    suspect, or make unnecessary difficulties, or endeavour to\n    maintain pedantically the uniformity and consistency of his\n    argument throughout.\n\n    As to the three points of which he was understood to say that they\n    were indispensable to the starting of a liberal government, I\n    gather that they stand as follows:--\n\n    1. As to the authority of local authorities for compulsory\n    expropriation.(138) To this he adheres; though I have said I could\n    not see the justification for withholding countenance from the\n    formation of a government with considerable and intelligible plans\n    in view, because it would not at the first moment bind all its\n    members to this doctrine. He intimates, however, that the form\n    would be simple, the application of the principle mild; that he\n    does not expect wide results from it, and that Hartington, he\n    conceives, is not disposed wholly to object to everything of the\n    kind.\n\n    2. As regards readjustment of taxation, he is contented with the\n    terms of my address, and indisposed to make any new terms.\n\n    3. As regards free education, he does not ask that its principle\n    be adopted as part of the creed of a new cabinet. He said it would\n    be necessary to reserve his right individually to vote for it. I\n    urged that he and the new school of advanced liberals were not\n    sufficiently alive to the necessity of refraining when in\n    government from declaring by _vote_ all their individual opinions;\n    that a vote founded upon time, and the engagements of the House at\n    the moment with other indispensable business, would imply no\n    disparagement to the principle, which might even be expressly\n    saved (\"without prejudice\") by an amending resolution; that he\n    could hardly carry this point to the rank of a _sine qua non_. He\n    said,--That the sense of the country might bind the liberal\n    majority (presuming it to exist) to declare its opinion, even\n    though unable to give effect to it at the moment; that he looked\n    to a single declaration, not to the sustained support of a\n    measure; and he seemed to allow that if the liberal sense were so\n    far divided as not to show a unanimous front, in that case it\n    might be a question whether some plan other than, and short of, a\n    direct vote might be pursued.(139)\n\n    The question of the House of Lords and disestablishment he regards\n    as still lying in the remoter distance.\n\n    All these subjects I separated entirely from the question of\n    Ireland, on which I may add that he and I are pretty well agreed;\n    unless upon a secondary point, namely, whether Parnell would be\n    satisfied to acquiesce in a County Government bill, good so far as\n    it went, maintaining on other matters his present general\n    attitude.(140) We agreed, I think, that a prolongation of the\n    present relations of the Irish party would be a national disgrace,\n    and the civilised world would scoff at the political genius of\n    countries which could not contrive so far to understand one\n    another as to bring their differences to an accommodation.\n\n    All through Chamberlain spoke of reducing to an absolute minimum\n    his idea of necessary conditions, and this conversation so far\n    left untouched the question of men, he apparently assuming\n    (wrongly) that I was ready for another three or four years'\n    engagement.\n\n    _Hawarden, Oct. 8, 1885._--In another \"private,\" but less private\n    letter, I have touched on measures, and I have now to say what\n    passed in relation to men.\n\n    He said the outline he had given depended on the supposition of my\n    being at the head of the government. He did not say he could\n    adhere to it on no other terms, but appeared to stipulate for a\n    new point of departure.\n\n    I told him the question of my time of life had become such, that\n    in any case prudence bound him, and all who have a future, to\n    think of what is to follow me. That if a big Irish question should\n    arise, and arise in such a form as to promise a possibility of\n    settlement, that would be a crisis with a beginning and an end,\n    and perhaps one in which from age and circumstances I might be\n    able to supply aid and service such as could not be exactly had\n    without me.(141) Apart from an imperious demand of this kind the\n    question would be that of dealing with land laws, with local\n    government, and other matters, on which I could render _no_\n    special service, and which would require me to enter into a new\n    contest for several years, a demand that ought not to be made, and\n    one to which I could not accede. I did not think the adjustment of\n    personal relations, or the ordinary exigencies of party,\n    constituted a call upon me to continue my long life in a course of\n    constant pressure and constant contention with half my\n    fellow-countrymen, until nothing remained but to step into the\n    grave.\n\n    He agreed that the House of Lords was not an available resort. He\n    thought I might continue at the head of the government, and leave\n    the work of legislation to others.(142) I told him that all my\n    life long I had had an essential and considerable share in the\n    legislative work of government, and to abandon it would be an\n    essential change, which the situation would not bear.\n\n    He spoke of the constant conflicts of opinion with Hartington in\n    the late cabinet, but I reverted to the time when Hartington used\n    to summon and lead meetings of the leading commoners, in which he\n    was really the least antagonistic of men.\n\n    He said Hartington might lead a whig government aided by the\n    tories, or might lead a radical government.... I recommended his\n    considering carefully the personal composition of the group of\n    leading men, apart from a single personality on which reliance\n    could hardly be placed, except in the single contingency to which\n    I have referred as one of a character probably brief.\n\n    He said it might be right for him to look as a friend on the\n    formation of a liberal government, having (as I understood)\n    moderate but intelligible plans, without forming part of it. I\n    think this was the substance of what passed.\n\n\nInteresting as was this interview, it did not materially alter Mr.\nGladstone's disposition. After it had taken place he wrote to Lord\nGranville (Nov. 10):--\n\n\n    _To Lord Granville._\n\n    I quite understand how natural it is that at the present juncture\n    pressure, and even the whole pressure, should from both quarters\n    be brought to bear upon me. Well, if a special call of imperial\n    interest, such as I have described, should arise, I am ready for\n    the service it may entail, so far as my will is concerned. But a\n    very different question is raised. Let us see how matters stand.\n\n    A course of action for the liberals, moderate but substantial, has\n    been sketched. The party in general have accepted it. After the\n    late conversations, there is no reason to anticipate a breach upon\n    any of the conditions laid down anywhere for immediate adoption,\n    between the less advanced and the more advanced among the leaders.\n    It must occupy several years, and it may occupy the whole\n    parliament. According to your view they will, unless on a single\n    condition [_i.e._ Mr. Gladstone's leadership], refuse to combine\n    in a cabinet, and to act, with a majority at their back; and will\n    make over the business voluntarily to the tories in a minority, at\n    the commencement of a parliament. Why? They agree on the subjects\n    before them. Other subjects, unknown as yet, may arise to split\n    them. But this is what may happen to any government, and _it_ can\n    form no reason.\n\n    But what _is_ the condition demanded? It is that a man of\n    seventy-five,(143) after fifty-three years' service, with _no_\n    particular qualification for the questions in view should enter\n    into a fresh contract of service in the House of Commons, reaching\n    according to all likelihood over three, four, or five years, and\n    without the smallest reasonable prospect of a break. And this is\n    not to solve a political difficulty, but to soothe and conjure\n    down personal misgivings and apprehensions. I have not said\n    jealousies, because I do _not_ believe them to be the operative\n    cause; perhaps they do not exist at all.\n\n    I firmly say this is not a reasonable condition, or a tenable\n    demand, in the circumstances supposed. Indeed no one has\n    endeavoured to show that it is. Further, abated action in the\n    House of Commons is out of the question. We cannot have, in these\n    times, a figurehead prime minister. I have gone a very long way in\n    what I have said, and I really cannot go further.\n\n    Lord Aberdeen, taking office at barely seventy in the House of\n    Lords, apologised in his opening speech for doing this at a time\n    when his mind ought rather to be given to \"other thoughts.\" Lord\n    Palmerston in 1859 did not speak thus. But he was bound to no plan\n    of any kind; and he was seventy-four, _i.e._ in his seventy-fifth\n    year.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nIt is high time to turn to the other deciding issue in the case. Though\nthus stubborn against resuming the burden of leadership merely to compose\ndiscords between Chatsworth and Birmingham, Mr. Gladstone was ready to be\nof use in the Irish question, \"if it should take a favourable turn.\" As if\nthe Irish question ever took a favourable turn. We have seen in the\nopening of the present chapter, how he spoke to Lord Hartington of a\ncertain speech of Mr. Parnell's in September, \"as bad as bad could be.\"\nThe secret of that speech was a certain fact that must be counted a\ncentral hinge of these far-reaching transactions. In July, a singular\nincident had occurred, nothing less strange than an interview between the\nnew lord-lieutenant and the leader of the Irish party. To realise its full\nsignificance, we have to recall the profound odium that at this time\nenveloped Mr. Parnell's name in the minds of nearly all Englishmen. For\nseveral years and at that moment he figured in the public imagination for\nall that is sinister, treasonable, dark, mysterious, and unholy. He had\nstood his trial for a criminal conspiracy, and was supposed only to have\nbeen acquitted by the corrupt connivance of a Dublin jury. He had been\nflung into prison and kept there for many months without trial, as a\nperson reasonably suspected of lawless practices. High treason was the\nleast dishonourable of the offences imputed to him and commonly credited\nabout him. He had been elaborately accused before the House of Commons by\none of the most important men in it, of direct personal responsibility for\noutrages and murders, and he left the accusation with scant reply. He was\nconstantly denounced as the apostle of rapine and rebellion. That the\nviceroy of the Queen should (M87) without duress enter into friendly\ncommunication with such a man, would have seemed to most people at that\nday incredible and abhorrent. Yet the incredible thing happened, and it\nwas in its purpose one of the most sensible things that any viceroy ever\ndid.(144)\n\nThe interview took place in a London drawing-room. Lord Carnarvon opened\nthe conversation by informing Mr. Parnell, first, that he was acting of\nhimself and by himself, on his own exclusive responsibility; second, that,\nhe sought information only, and that he had not come for the purpose of\narriving at any agreement or understanding however shadowy; third, that he\nwas there as the Queen's servant, and would neither hear nor say one word\nthat was inconsistent with the union of the two countries. Exactly what\nMr. Parnell said, and what was said in reply, the public were never\nauthentically told. Mr. Parnell afterwards spoke(145) as if Lord Carnarvon\nhad given him to understand that it was the intention of the government to\noffer Ireland a statutory legislature, with full control over taxation,\nand that a scheme of land purchase was to be coupled with it. On this, the\nviceroy denied that he had communicated any such intention. Mr. Parnell's\nstory was this:--\n\n\n    Lord Carnarvon proceeded to say that he had sought the interview\n    for the purpose of ascertaining my views regarding--should he call\n    it?--a constitution for Ireland. But I soon found out that he had\n    brought me there in order that he might communicate his own views\n    upon the matter, as well as ascertain mine.... In reply to an\n    inquiry as to a proposal which had been made to build up a central\n    legislative body upon the foundation of county boards, I told him\n    I thought this would be working in the wrong direction, and would\n    not be accepted by Ireland; that the central legislative body\n    should be a parliament in name and in fact.... Lord Carnarvon\n    assured me that this was his own view also, and he strongly\n    appreciated the importance of giving due weight to the sentiment\n    of the Irish in this matter.... He had certain suggestions to this\n    end, taking the colonial model as a basis, which struck me as\n    being the result of much thought and knowledge of the subject....\n    At the conclusion of the conversation, which lasted for more than\n    an hour, and to which Lord Carnarvon was very much the larger\n    contributor, I left him, believing that I was in complete accord\n    with him regarding the main outlines of a settlement conferring a\n    legislature upon Ireland.(146)\n\n\nIt is certainly not for me to contend that Mr. Parnell was always an\ninfallible reporter, but if closely scrutinised the discrepancy in the two\nstories as then told was less material than is commonly supposed. To the\npassage just quoted, Lord Carnarvon never at any time in public offered\nany real contradiction. What he contradicted was something different. He\ndenied that he had ever stated to Mr. Parnell that it was the intention of\nthe government, if they were successful at the polls, to establish the\nIrish legislature, with limited powers and not independent of imperial\ncontrol, which he himself favoured. He did not deny, any more than he\nadmitted, that he had told Mr. Parnell that on opinion and policy they\nwere very much at one. How could he deny it, after his speech when he\nfirst took office? Though the cabinet was not cognisant of the nature of\nthese proceedings, the prime minister was. To take so remarkable a step\nwithout the knowledge and assent of the head of the government, would have\nbeen against the whole practice and principles of our ministerial system.\nLord Carnarvon informed Lord Salisbury of his intention of meeting Mr.\n(M88) Parnell, and within twenty-four hours after the meeting, both in\nwriting and orally, he gave Lord Salisbury as careful and accurate a\nstatement as possible of what had passed. We can well imagine the close\nattention with which the prime minister followed so profoundly interesting\na report, and at the end of it he told the viceroy that \"he had conducted\nthe conversation with Mr. Parnell with perfect discretion.\" The knowledge\nthat the minister responsible for the government of Ireland was looking in\nthe direction of home rule, and exchanging home rule views with the great\nhome rule leader, did not shake Lord Salisbury's confidence in his fitness\nto be viceroy.\n\nThis is no mere case of barren wrangle and verbal recrimination. The\ntransaction had consequences, and the Carnarvon episode was a pivot. The\neffect upon the mind of Mr. Parnell was easy to foresee. Was I not\njustified, he asked long afterwards, in supposing that Lord Carnarvon,\nholding the views that he now indicated, would not have been made viceroy\nunless there was a considerable feeling in the cabinet that his views were\nright?(147) Could he imagine that the viceroy would be allowed to talk\nhome rule to him--however shadowy and vague the words--unless the prime\nminister considered such a solution to be at any rate well worth\ndiscussing? Why should he not believe that the alliance formed in June to\nturn Mr. Gladstone out of office and eject Lord Spencer from Ireland, had\nreally blossomed from being a mere lobby manoeuvre and election expedient,\ninto a serious policy adopted by serious statesmen? Was it not certain\nthat in such remarkable circumstances Mr. Parnell would throughout the\nelection confidently state the national demand at its very highest?\n\nIn 1882 and onwards up to the Reform Act of 1885, Mr. Parnell had been\nready to advocate the creation of a central council at Dublin for\nadministrative purposes merely. This he thought would be a suitable\nachievement for a party that numbered only thirty-five members. But the\nassured increase of his strength at the coming election made all the\ndifference. When semi-official soundings were taken from more than one\nliberal quarter after the fall of the Gladstone government, it was found\nthat Mr. Parnell no longer countenanced provisional reforms. After the\ninterview with Lord Carnarvon, the mercury rose rapidly to the top of the\ntube. Larger powers of administration were not enough. The claim for\nlegislative power must now be brought boldly to the front. In unmistakable\nterms, the Irish leader stated the Irish demand, and posed both problem\nand solution. He now declared his conviction that the great and sole work\nof himself and his friends in the new parliament would be the restoration\nof a national parliament of their own, to do the things which they had\nbeen vainly asking the imperial parliament to do for them.(148)\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nWhen politicians ruminate upon the disastrous schism that followed Mr.\nGladstone's attempt to deal with the Irish question in 1886, they ought\nclosely to study the general election of 1885. In that election, though\nleading men foresaw the approach of a marked Irish crisis, and awaited the\noutcome of events with an overshadowing sense of pregnant issues, there\nwas nothing like general concentration on the Irish prospect. The strife\nof programmes and the rivalries of leaders were what engrossed the popular\nattention. The main body of the British electors were thinking mainly of\npromised agrarian booms, fair trade, the church in danger, or some other\nof their own domestic affairs.\n\nFew forms of literature or history are so dull as the narrative of\npolitical debates. With a few exceptions, a political speech like the\nmanna in the wilderness loses its savour on the second day. Three or four\nmarked utterances of this critical autumn, following all that has been set\nforth already, will enable the reader to understand the division of\ncounsel that prevailed immediately before the great change of policy in\n1886, and the various strategic evolutions, masked movements, and play of\nmine, sap, and countermine, that led to it. As has just been described,\nand with good reason, (M89) for he believed that he had the Irish viceroy\non his side, Mr. Parnell stood inflexible. In his speech of August 24\nalready mentioned, he had thrown down his gauntlet.\n\nMuch the most important answer to the challenge, if we regard the effect\nupon subsequent events, was that of Lord Salisbury two months later. To\nthis I shall have to return. The two liberal statesmen, Lord Hartington\nand Mr. Chamberlain, who were most active in this campaign, and whose\nactivity was well spiced and salted by a lively political antagonism,\nagreed in a tolerably stiff negative to the Irish demand. The whig leader\nwith a slow mind, and the radical leader with a quick mind, on this single\nissue of the campaign spoke with one voice. The whig leader(149) thought\nMr. Parnell had made a mistake and ensured his own defeat: he\noverestimated his power in Ireland and his power in parliament; the Irish\nwould not for the sake of this impossible and impracticable undertaking,\nforego without duress all the other objects which parliament was ready to\ngrant them; and it remained to be seen whether he could enforce his iron\ndiscipline upon his eighty or ninety adherents, even if Ireland gave him\nso many.\n\nThe radical leader was hardly less emphatic, and his utterance was the\nmore interesting of the two, because until this time Mr. Chamberlain had\nbeen generally taken throughout his parliamentary career as leaning\nstrongly in the nationalist direction. He had taken a bold and energetic\npart in the proceedings that ended in the release of Mr. Parnell from\nKilmainham. He had with much difficulty been persuaded to acquiesce in the\nrenewal of any part of the Coercion Act, and had absented himself from the\nbanquet in honour of Lord Spencer. Together with his most intimate ally in\nthe late government, he had projected a political tour in Ireland with Mr.\nParnell's approval and under his auspices. Above all, he had actually\nopened his electoral campaign with that famous declaration which was so\nlong remembered: \"The pacification of Ireland at this moment depends, I\nbelieve, on the concession to Ireland of the right to govern itself in the\nmatter of its purely domestic business. Is it not discreditable to us that\neven now it is only by unconstitutional means that we are able to secure\npeace and order in one portion of her Majesty's dominions? It is a system\nas completely centralised and bureaucratic as that with which Russia\ngoverns Poland, or as that which prevailed in Venice under the Austrian\nrule. An Irishman at this moment cannot move a step--he cannot lift a\nfinger in any parochial, municipal, or educational work, without being\nconfronted with, interfered with, controlled by, an English official,\nappointed by a foreign government, and without a shade or shadow of\nrepresentative authority. I say the time has come to reform altogether the\nabsurd and irritating anachronism which is known as Dublin Castle. That is\nthe work to which the new parliament will be called.\"(150) Masters of\nincisive speech must pay the price of their gifts, and the sentence about\nPoland and Venice was long a favourite in many a debate. But when the\nIrish leader now made his proposal for removing the Russian yoke and the\nAustrian yoke from Ireland, the English leader drew back. \"If these,\" he\nsaid, \"are the terms on which Mr. Parnell's support is to be obtained, I\nwill not enter into the compact.\" This was Mr. Chamberlain's\nresponse.(151)\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nThe language used by Mr. Gladstone during this eventful time was that of a\nstatesman conscious of the magnitude of the issue, impressed by the\nobscurity of the path along which parties and leaders were travelling, and\nkeenly alive to the perils of a premature or unwary step. Nothing was\neasier for the moment either for quick minds or slow minds, than to face\nthe Irish demand beforehand with a bare, blank, wooden _non possumus_. Mr.\nGladstone had pondered the matter more deeply. His gift of political\nimagination, his wider experience, and his personal share in some chapters\nof the modern history of Europe and its changes, planted him on a height\nwhence he commanded a view of possibilities (M90) and necessities, of\nhopes and of risks, that were unseen by politicians of the beaten track.\nLike a pilot amid wandering icebergs, or in waters where familiar buoys\nhad been taken up and immemorial beacons put out, he scanned the scene\nwith keen eyes and a glass sweeping the horizon in every direction. No\nwonder that his words seemed vague, and vague they undoubtedly were.\nSuppose that Cavour had been obliged to issue an election address on the\neve of the interview at Plombieres, or Bismarck while he was on his visit\nto Biarritz. Their language would hardly have been pellucid. This was no\nmoment for ultimatums. There were too many unascertained elements. Yet\nsome of those, for instance, who most ardently admired President Lincoln\nfor the caution with which he advanced step by step to the abolition\nproclamation, have most freely censured the English statesman because he\ndid not in the autumn of 1885 come out with either a downright Yes or a\npoint-blank No. The point-blank is not for all occasions, and only a\nsimpleton can think otherwise.\n\nIn September Mr. Childers--a most capable administrator, a zealous\ncolleague, wise in what the world regards as the secondary sort of wisdom,\nand the last man to whom one would have looked for a plunge--wrote to Mr.\nGladstone to seek his approval of a projected announcement to his\nconstituents at Pontefract, which amounted to a tolerably full-fledged\nscheme of home rule.(152) In view of the charitable allegation that Mr.\nGladstone picked up home rule after the elections had placed it in the\npower of the Irish either to put him into office or to keep him out of\noffice, his reply to Mr. Childers deserves attention:--\n\n\n    _To Mr. Childers._\n\n    _Sept. 28, 1885._--I have a decided sympathy with the general scope\n    and spirit of your proposed declaration about Ireland. If I offer\n    any observations, they are meant to be simply in furtherance of\n    your purpose.\n\n    1. I would disclaim giving any exhaustive list of Imperial\n    subjects, and would not \"put my foot down\" as to revenue, but\n    would keep plenty of elbow-room to keep all customs and excise,\n    which would probably be found necessary.\n\n    2. A general disclaimer of particulars as to the form of any local\n    legislature might suffice, without giving the Irish expressly to\n    know it might be decided mainly by their wish.\n\n    3. I think there is no doubt Ulster would be able to take care of\n    itself in respect to education, but a question arises and forms, I\n    think, the most difficult part of the whole subject, whether some\n    defensive provisions for the owners of land and property should\n    not be considered.\n\n    4. It is evident you have given the subject much thought, and my\n    sympathy goes largely to your details as well as your principle.\n    But considering the danger of placing confidence in the leaders of\n    the national party at the present moment, and the decided\n    disposition they have shown to raise their terms on any favourable\n    indication, I would beg you to consider further whether you should\n    _bind_ yourself at present to any details, or go beyond general\n    indications. If you say in terms (and this I do not dissuade) that\n    you are ready to consider the question whether they can have a\n    legislature for all questions not Imperial, this will be a great\n    step in advance; and anything you may say beyond it, I should like\n    to see veiled in language not such as to commit you.\n\n\nThe reader who is now acquainted with Mr. Gladstone's strong support of\nthe Chamberlain plan in 1885, and with the bias already disclosed, knows\nin what direction the main current of his thought must have been setting.\nThe position taken in 1885 was in entire harmony with all these\npremonitory notes. Subject, said Mr. Gladstone, to the supremacy of the\ncrown, the unity of the empire, and all the authority of parliament\nnecessary for the conservation of that unity, every grant to portions of\nthe country of enlarged powers for the management of their own affairs,\nwas not a source of danger, but a means of averting it. \"As to the\nlegislative union, I believe history and posterity will consign to\ndisgrace the name and memory of every man, be he who he may, and on\nwhichever side of the Channel he may dwell, that having the power to aid\nin an equitable settlement between Ireland and Great Britain, shall use\nthat power not to aid, but to prevent or <DW44> it.\"(153) These and all\nthe other large and profuse sentences of the Midlothian address were\nundoubtedly open to more than one construction, and they either admitted\nor excluded home rule, as might happen. The fact that, though it was\nrunning so freely in his own mind, he did not put Irish autonomy into the\nforefront of his address, has been made a common article of charge against\nhim. As if the view of Irish autonomy now running in his mind were not\ndependent on a string of hypotheses. And who can imagine a party leader's\nelection address that should have run thus?--\" If Mr. Parnell returns with\na great majority of members, and if the minority is not weighty enough,\nand if the demand is constitutionally framed, and if the Parnellites are\nunanimous, then we will try home rule. And this possibility of a\nhypothetical experiment is to be the liberal cry with which to go into\nbattle against Lord Salisbury, who, so far as I can see, is nursing the\nidea of the same experiment.\"\n\nSome weeks later, in speaking to his electors in Midlothian, Mr. Gladstone\ninstead of minimising magnified the Irish case, pushed it into the very\nforefront, not in one speech, but in nearly all; warned his hearers of the\ngravity of the questions soon to be raised by it, and assured them that it\nwould probably throw into the shade the other measures that he had\ndescribed as ripe for action. He elaborated a declaration, of which much\nwas heard for many months and years afterwards. What Ireland, he said, may\ndeliberately and constitutionally demand, unless it infringes the\nprinciples connected with the honourable maintenance of the unity of the\nempire, will be a demand that we are bound at any rate to treat with\ncareful attention. To stint Ireland in power which might be necessary or\ndesirable for the management of matters purely Irish, would be a great\nerror; and if she was so stinted, the end that any such measure might\ncontemplate could not be attained. Then came the memorable appeal: \"Apart\nfrom the term of whig and tory, there is one thing I will say and will\nendeavour to impress upon you, and it is this. It will be a vital danger\nto the country and to the empire, if at a time when a demand from Ireland\nfor larger powers of self-government is to be dealt with, there is not in\nparliament a party totally independent of the Irish vote.\"(154) Loud and\nlong sustained have been the reverberations of this clanging sentence. It\nwas no mere passing dictum. Mr. Gladstone himself insisted upon the same\nposition again and again, that \"for a government in a minority to deal\nwith the Irish question would not be safe.\" This view, propounded in his\nfirst speech, was expanded in his second. There he deliberately set out\nthat the urgent expediency of a liberal majority independent of Ireland\ndid not foreshadow the advent of a liberal government to power. He\nreferred to the settlement of household suffrage in 1867. How was the tory\ngovernment enabled to effect that settlement? Because there was in the\nHouse a liberal majority which did not care to eject the existing\nministry.(155) He had already reminded his electors that tory governments\nwere sometimes able to carry important measures, when once they had made\nup their minds to it, with greater facility than liberal governments\ncould. For instance, if Peel had not been the person to propose the repeal\nof the corn laws, Lord John would not have had fair consideration from the\ntories; and no liberal government could have carried the Maynooth\nAct.(156)\n\nThe plain English of the abundant references to Ireland in the Midlothian\nspeeches of this election is, that Mr. Gladstone foresaw beyond all shadow\nof doubt that the Irish question in its largest extent would at once\ndemand the instant attention of the new parliament; that the best hope of\nsettling it would be that the liberals should have a majority of their\nown; that the second best hope lay in its settlement by the tory\ngovernment with the aid of the liberals; but that, in any case, the worst\nof all conditions under which a settlement could be attempted--an attempt\nthat could not be avoided--would be a situation in which Mr. Parnell should\nhold the balance between parliamentary parties.\n\nThe precise state of Mr. Gladstone's mind at this moment is best shown in\na very remarkable letter written by him to Lord Rosebery, under whose roof\nat Talmeny he was staying at the time:--\n\n\n    _To Lord Rosebery._\n\n    _Dalmeny Park, 13th Nov. 1885._--You have called my attention to\n    the recent speech of Mr. Parnell, in which he expresses the desire\n    that I should frame a plan for giving to Ireland, without\n    prejudice to imperial unity and interests, the management of her\n    own affairs. The subject is so important that, though we are\n    together, I will put on paper my view of this proposal. For the\n    moment I assume that such a plan can be framed. Indeed, if I had\n    considered this to be hopeless, I should have been guilty of great\n    rashness in speaking of it as a contingency that should be kept in\n    view at the present election. I will first give reasons, which I\n    deem to be of great weight, against my producing a scheme,\n    reserving to the close one reason, which would be conclusive in\n    the absence of every other reason.\n\n    1. It is not the province of the person leading the party in\n    opposition, to frame and produce before the public detailed\n    schemes of such a class.\n\n    2. There are reasons of great weight, which make it desirable that\n    the party now in power should, if prepared to adopt the principle,\n    and if supported by an adequate proportion of the coming House of\n    Commons, undertake the construction and proposal of the measure.\n\n    3. The unfriendly relations between the party of nationalists and\n    the late government in the expiring parliament, have of necessity\n    left me and those with whom I act in great ignorance of the\n    interior mind of the party, which has in parliament systematically\n    confined itself to very general declarations.\n\n    4. That the principle and basis of an admissible measure have been\n    clearly declared by myself, if not by others, before the country;\n    more clearly, I think, than was done in the case of the Irish\n    disestablishment; and that the particulars of such plans in all\n    cases have been, and probably must be, left to the discretion of\n    the legislature acting under the usual checks.\n\n    But my final and paramount reason is, that the production at this\n    time of a plan by me would not only be injurious, but would\n    destroy all reasonable hope of its adoption. Such a plan, proposed\n    by the heads of the liberal party, is so certain to have the\n    opposition of the tories _en bloc_, that every computation must be\n    founded on this anticipation. This opposition, and the appeals\n    with which it will be accompanied, will render the carrying of the\n    measure difficult even by a united liberal party; hopeless or most\n    difficult, should there be serious defection.\n\n    Mr. Parnell is apprehensive of the opposition of the House of\n    Lords. That idea weighs little with me. I have to think of\n    something nearer, and more formidable. The idea of constituting a\n    legislature for Ireland, whenever seriously and responsibly\n    proposed, will cause a mighty heave in the body politic. It will\n    be as difficult to carry the liberal party and the two British\n    nations in favour of a legislature for Ireland, as it was easy to\n    carry them in the case of Irish disestablishment. I think that it\n    may possibly be done; but only by the full use of a great\n    leverage. That leverage can only be found in their equitable and\n    mature consideration of what is due to the fixed desire of a\n    nation, clearly and constitutionally expressed. Their\n    prepossessions will not be altogether favourable; and they cannot\n    in this matter be bullied.\n\n    I have therefore endeavoured to lay the ground by stating largely\n    the possibility and the gravity, even the solemnity, of that\n    demand. I am convinced that this is the only path which can lead\n    to success. With such a weapon, one might go hopefully into\n    action. But I well know, from a thousand indications past and\n    present, that a new project of mine launched into the air, would\n    have no _momentum_ which could carry it to its aim. So, in my\n    mind, stands the case....\n\n\nThree days before this letter, Mr. Gladstone had replied to one from Lord\nHartington:--\n\n\n    _To Lord Hartington._\n\n    _Dalmeny, Nov. 10, 1885._--I made a beginning yesterday in one of\n    my conversation speeches, so to call them, on the way, by laying\n    it down that I was particularly bound to prevent, if I could, the\n    domination of sectional opinion over the body and action of the\n    party.\n\n    I wish to say something about the modern radicalism. But I must\n    include this, that if it is rampant and ambitious, the two most\n    prominent causes of its forwardness have been: 1. Tory democracy.\n    2. The gradual disintegration of the liberal aristocracy. On both\n    these subjects my opinions are strong. I think the conduct of the\n    Duke of Bedford and others has been as unjustifiable as it was\n    foolish, especially after what we did to save the House of Lords\n    from itself in the business of the franchise.\n\n    Nor can I deny that the question of the House of Lords, of the\n    church, or both, will probably split the liberal party. But let it\n    split decently, honourably, and for cause. That it should split\n    now would, so far as I see, be ludicrous.\n\n    So far I have been writing in great sympathy with you, but now I\n    touch a point where our lines have not been the same. You have, I\n    think, courted the hostility of Parnell. Salisbury has carefully\n    avoided doing this, and last night he simply confined himself to\n    two conditions, which you and I both think vital; namely, the\n    unity of the empire and an honourable regard to the position of\n    the \"minority,\" _i.e._ the landlords. You will see in the\n    newspapers what Parnell, _making_ for himself an opportunity, is\n    reported to have said about the elections in Ulster now at hand.\n    You have opened a vista which appears to terminate in a possible\n    concession to Ireland of full power to manage her own local\n    affairs. But I own my leaning to the opinion that, if that\n    consummation is in any way to be contemplated, action at a stroke\n    will be more honourable, less unsafe, less uneasy, than the\n    jolting process of a series of partial measures. This is my\n    opinion, but I have no intention, as at present advised, of\n    signifying it. I have all along in public declarations avoided\n    offering anything to the nationalists, beyond describing the\n    limiting rule which must govern the question. It is for them to\n    ask, and for us, as I think, to leave the space so defined as open\n    and unencumbered as possible. I am much struck by the increased\n    breadth of Salisbury's declaration last night; he dropped the \"I\n    do not see how.\"\n\n    We shall see how these great and difficult matters develop\n    themselves. Meantime be assured that, with a good deal of\n    misgiving as to the future, I shall do what little I can towards\n    enabling all liberals at present to hold together with credit and\n    good conscience.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nMr. Gladstone's cardinal deliverance in November had been preceded by an\nimportant event. On October 7, 1885, Lord Salisbury made that speech at\nNewport, which is one of the tallest and most striking landmarks in the\nshifting sands of this controversy. It must be taken in relation to Lord\nCarnarvon's declaration of policy on taking office, and to his exchange of\nviews with Mr. Parnell at the end of July. Their first principle, said\nLord Salisbury, was to extend to Ireland, so far as they could, all the\ninstitutions of this country. But one must remember that in Ireland the\npopulation is on several subjects deeply divided, and a government is\nbound 'on all matters of essential justice' to protect a minority against\na majority. Then came remarkable sentences: \"Local authorities are more\nexposed to the temptation of enabling the majority to be unjust to the\nminority when they obtain jurisdiction over a small area, than is the case\nwhen the authority derives its sanction and extends its jurisdiction over\na wider area. In a large central authority, the wisdom of several parts of\nthe country will correct the folly and mistakes of one. In a local\nauthority, that correction is to a much greater extent wanting, and it\nwould be impossible to leave that out of sight, in any extension of any\nsuch local authority in Ireland.\" This principle was often used in the\nlater controversy as a recognition by Lord Salisbury that the creation of\na great central body would be a safer policy than the mere extension of\nself-government in Irish counties. In another part of the speech, it is\ntrue, the finger-post or weather-vane pointed in the opposite direction.\n\"With respect to the larger organic questions connected with Ireland,\"\nsaid Lord Salisbury, \"I cannot say much, though I can speak emphatically.\nI have nothing to say but that the traditions of the party to which we\nbelong, are on this point clear and distinct, and you may rely upon it our\nparty will not depart from them.\" Yet this emphatic refusal to depart from\nthe traditions of the tory party did not prevent Lord Salisbury from\nretaining at that moment in his cabinet an Irish viceroy, with whom he\n(M91) was in close personal relations, and whose active Irish policy he\nmust have known to be as wide a breach in tory tradition as the mind of\nman can imagine. So hard is it in distracted times, the reader may\nreflect, even for men of honourable and lofty motive to be perfectly\ningenuous.\n\nThe speaker next referred to the marked way in which Mr. Parnell, a day or\ntwo before, had mentioned the position of Austro-Hungary. \"I gathered that\nsome notion of imperial federation was floating in his mind. With respect\nto Ireland, I am bound to say that I have never seen any plan or any\nsuggestion which gives me at present the slightest ground for anticipating\nthat it is in that direction that we shall find any substantial solution\nof the difficulties of the problem.\" In an electric state of the political\natmosphere, a statesman who said that at present he did not think federal\nhome rule possible, was taken to imply that he might think it possible,\nby-and-by. No door was closed.\n\nIt was, however, Lord Salisbury's language upon social order that gave\nmost scandal to simple consciences in his own ranks. You ask us, he said,\nwhy we did not renew the Crimes Act. There are two answers: we could not,\nand it would have done no good if we could. To follow the extension of the\nfranchise by coercion, would have been a gross inconsistency. To show\nconfidence by one act, and the absence of confidence by a simultaneous\nact, would be to stultify parliament. Your inconsistency would have\nprovoked such intense exasperation, that it would have led to ten times\nmore evil, ten times more resistance to the law, than your Crimes Act\ncould possibly have availed to check. Then the audience was favoured with\na philosophic view of boycotting. This, said the minister, is an offence\nwhich legislation has very great difficulty in reaching. The provisions of\nthe Crimes Act against it had a very small effect. It grew up under that\nAct. And, after all, look at boycotting. An unpopular man or his family go\nto mass. The congregation with one accord get up and walk out. Are you\ngoing to indict people for leaving church? The plain fact is that\nboycotting \"is more like the excommunication or interdict of the middle\nages, than anything that we know now.\" \"The truth about boycotting is that\nit depends on the passing humour of the population.\"\n\nIt is important to remember that in the month immediately preceding this\npolished apologetic, there were delivered some of the most violent\nboycotting speeches ever made in Ireland.(157) These speeches must have\nbeen known to the Irish government, and their occurrence and the purport\nof them must presumably have been known therefore to the prime minister.\nHere was indeed a removal of the ancient buoys and beacons that had\nhitherto guided English navigation in Irish waters. There was even less of\na solid ultimatum at Newport, than in those utterances in Midlothian which\nwere at that time and long afterwards found so culpably vague, blind, and\nelusive. Some of the more astute of the minister's own colleagues were\ndelighted with his speech, as keeping the Irishmen steady to the tory\nparty. They began to hope that they might even come within five-and-twenty\nof the liberals when the polling began.\n\nThe question on which side the Irish vote in Great Britain should be\nthrown seems not to have been decided until after Mr. Gladstone's speech.\nIt was then speedily settled. On Nov. 21 a manifesto was issued, handing\nover the Irish vote in Great Britain solid to the orator of the Newport\nspeech. The tactics were obvious. It was Mr. Parnell's interest to bring\nthe two contending British parties as near as might be to a level, and\nthis he could only hope to do by throwing his strength upon the weaker\nside. It was from the weaker side, if they could be retained in office,\nthat he would get the best terms.(158) The document was composed with\nvigour and astuteness. But the phrases of the manifesto were the least\nimportant part of it. It was enough that the hard word was passed. Some\nestimated the loss to the liberal party in this island at twenty seats,\nothers at forty. Whether twenty or forty, these lost seats made a fatal\ndifference in the division on the Irish bill a few months later, and when\n(M92) that day had come and gone, Mr. Parnell sometimes ruefully asked\nhimself whether the tactics of the electoral manifesto were not on the\nwhole a mistake. But this was not all and was not the worst of it. The\nIrish manifesto became a fiery element in a sharp electioneering war, and\nthrew the liberals in all constituencies where there was an Irish vote\ninto a direct and angry antagonism to the Irish cause and its leaders;\npassions were roused, and things were said about Irishmen that could not\nat once be forgotten; and the great task of conversion in 1886, difficult\nin any case, was made a thousand times more difficult still by the\narguments and antipathies of the electoral battle of 1885. Meanwhile it\nwas for the moment, and for the purposes of the moment, a striking\nsuccess.\n\n\n\n\nChapter II. The Polls In 1885. (1885)\n\n\n    I would say that civil liberty can have no security without\n    political power.--C. J. FOX.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nThe election ran a chequered course (Nov. 23-Dec. 19). It was the first\ntrial of the whole body of male householders, and it was the first trial\nof the system of single-member districts. This is not the place for a\ndiscussion of the change of electoral area. As a scheme for securing\nrepresentation of minorities it proved of little efficacy, and many\nbelieve that the substitution of a smaller constituency for a larger one\nhas tended to slacken political interest, and to narrow political\njudgment. Meanwhile some of those who were most deeply concerned in\nestablishing the new plan, were confident that an overwhelming liberal\ntriumph would be the result. Many of their opponents took the same view,\nand were in despair. A liberal met a tory minister on the steps of a club\nin Pall Mall, as they were both going to the country for their elections.\n\"I suppose,\" said the tory, \"we are out for twenty years to come.\" _O\npectora caeca!_ He has been in office for nearly fifteen of the eighteen\nyears since. In September one of the most authoritative liberal experts\ndid not see how the tories were to have more than 210 out of the 670\nseats, including the tory contingent from Ireland. Two months later the\nexpert admitted that the tory chances were improving, mainly owing to what\nin electioneering slang was called the church scare. Fair trade, too, had\nmade many converts in Lancashire. On the very eve of the polls the\nestimate at liberal headquarters was a majority of forty over tories and\nIrishmen combined.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\n(M93) As I should have told the reader on an earlier page, Mr. Gladstone\nhad proceeded to his own constituency on November 9. The previous month\nhad found, as usual, endless other interests to occupy him, quite apart\nfrom politics. These are the ordinary entries. \"Worked, say, five hours on\nbooks. Three more hours reduced my books and rooms to apparent order, but\nmuch detail remains. Worked mildly on books.\" In this region he would have\nsaid of disorder and disarray what Carlyle said to dirt, \"Thou shalt not\nabide with me.\" As to the insides of books, his reading was miscellaneous:\nMadame d'Arblay, Bodley's _Remains_, Bachaumont's _Anecdotes_, Cuvier's\n_Theory of the Earth_, Whewell on _Astronomy_, the _Life of B. Gilpin_,\nHennell's _Inquiry_, Schmidt's _Social Effects of Christianity_, Miss\nMartineau's _Autobiography_, Anderson on _Glory of the Bible,_ Barrow's\n_Towards the Truth_, and so on--many of the books now stone-dead. Besides\nsuch reading as this, he \"made a beginning of a paper on Hermes, and read\nfor it,\" and worked hard at a controversial article, in reply to M.\nReville, upon the Dawn of Creation and Worship. When he corrected the\nproof, he found it ill-written, and in truth we may rather marvel at, than\nadmire, the hardihood that handled such themes amid such\ndistractions.(159) Much company arrived. \"Count Muenster came to luncheon;\nlong walk and talk with him. The Derby-Bedford party came and went. I had\nan hour's good conversation with Lord D. Tea in the open air. _Oct.\n7._--Mr. Chamberlain came. Well, and much conversation. _Oct. 8._--Mr.\nChamberlain. Three hours of conversation.\"\n\nBefore the end of the month the doctors reported excellently of the\ncondition of his vocal cords, and when he started for Dalmeny and the\nscene of the exploits of 1880 once more, he was in spirits to enjoy \"an\nanimated journey,\" and the vast enthusiasm with which Edinburgh again\nreceived him. His speeches were marked by undiminished fire. He boldly\nchallenged a verdict on policy in the Soudan, while freely admitting that\nin some points, not immaterial, his cabinet had fallen into error, though\nin every case the error was fostered by the party opposite; and he pointed\nto the vital fact that though the party opposite were in good time, they\nnever dreamed of altering the policy. He asked triumphantly how they would\nhave fared in the Afghan dispute, if the policy anterior to 1880 had not\nbeen repudiated. In his address he took the same valiant line about South\nAfrica. \"In the Transvaal,\" he said, \"we averted a war of European and\nChristian races throughout South African states, which would have been\nalike menacing to our power, and scandalous in the face of civilisation\nand of Christendom. As this has been with our opponents a favourite\nsubject of unmeasured denunciation, so I for one hail and reciprocate\ntheir challenge, and I hope the nation will give a clear judgment on our\nrefusal to put down liberty by force, and on the measures that have\nbrought about the present tranquillity of South Africa.\" His first speech\nwas on Ireland, and Ireland figured, as we have seen, largely and\nemphatically to the last. Disestablishment was his thorniest topic, for\nthe scare of the church in danger was working considerable havoc in\nEngland, and every word on Scottish establishment was sure to be\ntranslated to establishment elsewhere. On the day on which he was to\nhandle it, his entry is: \"Much rumination, and made notes which in\nspeaking I could not manage to see. Off to Edinburgh at 2.30. Back at 6.\nSpoke seventy minutes in Free Kirk Hall: a difficult subject. The present\nagitation does not strengthen in my mind the principle of establishment.\"\nHis leading text was a favourite and a salutary maxim of his, that \"it is\na very serious responsibility to take political questions out of their\nproper time and their proper order,\" and the summary of his speech was\nthat the party was agreed upon certain large and complicated questions,\nsuch as were enough for one parliament to settle, and that it would be an\nerror to attempt to thrust those questions aside, to cast them into the\nshade and the darkness, \"for the sake of a subject of which I will not\nundervalue the importance, but of which I utterly deny the maturity at the\npresent moment.\"(160)\n\nOn Nov. 27 the poll was taken; 11,241 electors out of 12,924, or 87 per\ncent., recorded their votes, and of these 7879 voted for Mr. Gladstone,\nand 3248 for Mr. Dalrymple, or a majority of 4631. So little impression\nhad been made (M94) in Midlothian by Kilmainham, Majuba, Khartoum,\nPenjdeh, and the other party cries of a later period.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nLet us turn to the general result, and the final composition of Mr.\nGladstone's thirteenth parliament. The polls of the first three or four\ndays were startling. It looked, in the phrases of the time, as if there\nwere conservative reaction all round, as if the pendulum had swung back to\nthe point of tory triumph in 1874, and as if early reverses would wind up\nin final rout. Where the tories did not capture the seat, their numbers\nrose and the liberal majorities fell. At the end of four days the liberals\nin England and Wales had scored 86 against 109 for their adversaries. When\ntwo-thirds of the House had been elected, the liberals counted 196, the\ntories 179, and the Irish nationalists 37. In spite of the early panic or\nexultation, it was found that in boroughs of over 100,000 the liberals had\nafter all carried seventeen, against eight for their opponents. But the\ntories were victorious in a solid Liverpool, save one Irish seat; they won\nall the seats in Manchester save one; and in London, where liberals had\nbeen told by those who were believed to know, that they would make a clean\nsweep, there were thirty-six tories against twenty-six liberals. Two\nmembers of the late liberal cabinet and three subordinate ministers were\nthrown out. \"The verdict of the English borough constituencies,\" cried the\n_Times_, \"will be recorded more emphatically than was even the case in\n1874 in favour of the conservatives. The opposition have to thank Mr.\nChamberlain not only for their defeat at the polls, but for the\nirremediable disruption and hopeless disorganisation of the liberal party\nwith its high historic past and its high claims to national gratitude. His\nachievement may give him such immortality as was won by the man who burned\ndown the temple of Diana at Ephesus.\"(161) The same writers have ever\nsince ascribed the irremediable disruption to Mr. Gladstone and the Irish\nquestion.\n\nNow came the counties with their newly enfranchised hosts. Here the tide\nflowed strong and steady. Squire and parson were amazed to see the\nlabourer, of whose stagnant indifference to politics they had been so\nconfident, trudging four or five miles to a political meeting, listening\nwithout asking for a glass of beer to political speeches, following point\nupon-point, and then trudging back again dumbly chewing the cud.\nPoliticians with gifts of rhetoric began to talk of the grand revolt of\nthe peasants, and declared that it was the most remarkable transformation\nsince the conversion of the Franks. Turned into prose, this meant that the\nliberals had extended their area into large rural provinces where hitherto\ntory supremacy had never been disputed. Whether or no Mr. Chamberlain had\nbroken the party in the boroughs, his agrarian policy together with the\nnatural uprising of the labourer against the party of squire and farmer,\nhad saved it in the counties. The nominees of such territorial magnates as\nthe Northumberlands, the Pembrokes, the Baths, the Bradfords, the Watkin\nWynns, were all routed, and the shock to territorial influence was felt to\nbe profound. An ardent agrarian reformer, who later became a conspicuous\nunionist, writing to Mr. Gladstone in July a description of a number of\ngreat rural gatherings, told him, \"One universal feature of these meetings\nis the joy, affection, and unbounded applause with which your name is\nreceived by these earnest men. Never in all your history had you so strong\na place in the hearts of the common people, as you have to-day. It\nrequires to be seen to be realised.\"\n\nAll was at last over. It then appeared that so far from there being a\nsecond version of the great tory reaction of 1874, the liberals had now in\nthe new parliament a majority over tories of 82, or thirty under the\ncorresponding majority in the year of marvel, 1880. In great Britain they\nhad a majority of 100, being 333 against 233.(162) But (M95) they had no\nmajority over tories and Irishmen combined. That hopeful dream had glided\naway through the ivory gate.\n\nShots between right wing and left of the liberal party were exchanged to\nthe very last moment. When the borough elections were over, the Birmingham\nleader cried that so far from the loss in the boroughs being all the fault\nof the extreme liberals, it was just because the election had not been\nfought on their programme, but was fought instead on a manifesto that did\nnot include one of the points to which the extreme liberals attached the\ngreatest importance. For the sake of unity, they had put aside their most\ncherished principles, disestablishment for instance, and this, forsooth,\nwas the result.(163) The retort came as quickly as thunder after the\nflash. Lord Hartington promptly protested from Matlock, that the very\ncrisis of the electoral conflict was an ill-chosen moment for the public\nexpression of doubt by a prominent liberal as to the wisdom of a policy\naccepted by the party, and announced by the acknowledged leader of the\nwhole party. When the party had found some more tried, more trusted, more\nworthy leader, then might perhaps be the time to impugn the policy. These\nreproachful ironies of Lord Hartington boded ill for any prospect of the\nheroes of this fratricidal war of the platform smoothing their wrinkled\nfronts in a liberal cabinet.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nIn Ireland the result shed a strong light on the debating prophecies that\nthe extension of the county franchise would not be unfavourable to the\nlandlord interest; that it would enable the deep conservative interest of\nthe peasantry to vindicate itself against the nationalism of the towns;\nthat it would prove beyond all doubt that the Irish leader did not really\nspeak the mind of a decided majority of the people of Ireland. Relying on\nthe accuracy of these abstract predictions, the Irish tories started\ncandidates all over the country. Even some of them who passed for shrewd\nand candid actually persuaded themselves that they were making an\nimpression on the constituencies. The effect of their ingenuous operations\nwas to furnish such a measure of nationalist strength, as would otherwise\nhave seemed incredible almost to the nationalists themselves. An instance\nor two will suffice. In two divisions of Cork, the tories polled 300 votes\nagainst nearly 10,000 for the nationalists. In two divisions of Mayo, the\ntories polled 200 votes against nearly 10,000 for the nationalists. In one\ndivision of Kilkenny there were 4000 nationalist votes against 170 for the\ntory, and in another division 4000 against 220. In a division of Kerry the\nnationalist had over 3000 votes against 30 for the tory,--a hundred to one.\nIn prosperous counties with resident landlords and a good class of gentry\nsuch as Carlow and Kildare, in one case the popular vote was 4800 against\n750, and in the other 3169 against 467. In some fifty constituencies the\npopular majorities ranged in round numbers from 6500 the highest, to 2400\nthe lowest. Besides these constituencies where a contest was so futile,\nwere those others in which no contest was even attempted.\n\nIn Ulster a remarkable thing happened. This favoured province had in the\nlast parliament returned nine liberals. Lord Hartington attended a banquet\nat Belfast (Nov. 5) just before the election. It was as unlucky an affair\nas the feast of Belshazzar. His mission was compared by Orange wits to\nthat of the Greek hero who went forth to wrestle with Death for the body\nof an old woman. The whole of the liberal candidates in Ulster fell down\nas dead men. Orangemen and catholics, the men who cried damnation to King\nWilliam and the men who cried \"To hell with the Pope,\" joined hands\nagainst them. In Belfast itself, nationalists were (M96) seen walking to\nthe booths with orange cards in their hats to vote for orangemen against\nliberals.(164) It is true that the paradox did not last, and that the Pope\nand King William were speedily on their old terms again. Within six\nmonths, the two parties atoned for this temporary backsliding into\nbrotherly love, by one of the most furious and protracted conflagrations\nthat ever raged even in the holy places of Belfast. Meanwhile nationalism\nhad made its way in the south of the province, partly by hopes of reduced\nrents, partly by the energy of the catholic population, who had not tasted\npolitical power for two centuries. The adhesion of their bishops to the\nnational movement in the Monaghan election had given them the signal three\nyears before. Fermanagh, hitherto invariably Orange, now sent two\nnationalists. Antrim was the single county out of the thirty-two counties\nof Ireland that was solid against home rule, and even in Antrim in one\ncontest the nationalist was beaten only by 35 votes.\n\nNot a single liberal was returned in the whole of Ireland. To the last\nparliament she had sent fourteen. They were all out bag and baggage.\nUlster now sent eighteen nationalists and seventeen tories. Out of the\neighty-nine contests in Ireland, Mr. Parnell's men won no fewer than\neighty-five, and in most of them they won by such overwhelming majorities\nas I have described. It was noticed that twenty-two of the persons\nelected, or more than one-fourth of the triumphant party, had been put in\nprison under the Act of 1881. A species of purge, moreover, had been\nperformed. All half-hearted nationalists, the doubters and the faithless,\nwere dismissed, and their places taken by men pledged either to obey or\nelse go.\n\nThe British public now found out on what illusions they had for the last\nfour years been fed. Those of them who had memories, could recollect how\nthe Irish secretary of the day, on the third reading of the first Coercion\nbill in 1881, had boldly appealed from the Irish members to the People of\nIreland. \"He was sure that he could appeal with confidence from gentlemen\nsitting below the gangway opposite to their constituents.\"(165) They\nremembered all the talk about Mr. Parnell and his followers being a mere\nhandful of men and not a political party at all, and the rest of it. They\nhad now a revelation what a fool's paradise it had been.\n\nAs a supreme electoral demonstration, the Irish elections of 1885 have\nnever been surpassed in any country. They showed that neither remedial\nmeasures nor repressive measures had made even the fleeting shadow of an\nimpression on the tenacious sentiment of Ireland, or on the powerful\norganisation that embodied and directed it. The Land Act had made no\nimpression. The two Coercion Acts had made none. The imperial parliament\nhad done its best for five years. Some of the ablest of its ministers had\nset zealous and intrepid hands to the task, and this was the end. Whether\nyou counted seats or counted votes, the result could not be twisted into\nanything but what it was--the vehement protest of one of the three kingdoms\nagainst the whole system of its government, and a strenuous demand for its\nreconstruction on new foundations.\n\nEndeavours were made to discredit so startling and unwelcome a result. It\nwas called \"the carefully prepared verdict of a shamefully packed jury.\"\nMuch was made of the number of voters who declared themselves illiterate,\nsaid to be compelled so to do in order that the priest or other\nintimidatory person might see that they voted right. As a matter of fact\nthe percentage of illiterate voters answered closely to the percentage of\nmales over twenty-one in the census returns, who could neither read nor\nwrite. Only two petitions followed the general election, one at Belfast\nagainst a nationalist, and the other at Derry against a tory, and in\nneither of the two was undue influence or intimidation alleged. The routed\ncandidates in Ireland, like the same unlucky species elsewhere, raised the\nusual chorus of dolorous explanation. The register, they cried, was in a\nshameful condition; the polling stations were too few or too remote; the\nloyalists were afraid, and the poll did not represent their real numbers;\npeople did not believe that the ballot was really secret; the percentage\nof illiterates was monstrous; promises and pledges went for nothing. Such\nare ever the too familiar voices of mortified electioneering.\n\n(M97) There was also the best known of all the conclusive topics from tory\nIreland. It was all done, vowed the tories, by the bishops and clergy;\nthey were indefatigable; they canvassed at the houses and presided at\nmeetings; they exhorted their flocks from the altar, and they drilled them\nat the polling-booths. The spiritual screw of the priest and the temporal\nscrew of the league--there was the whole secret. Such was the story, and it\nwas not wholly devoid of truth; but then what balm, what comfort, had even\nthe truth of it for British rulers?\n\nSome thousands of voters stayed away from the polls. It was ingeniously\nexplained that their confidence in British rule had been destroyed by the\nCarnarvon surrender; a shopkeeper would not offend his customers for the\nsake of a Union Jack that no longer waved triumphant in the breeze. They\nwere like the Arab sheikhs at Berber, who, when they found that the\nEgyptian pashas were going to evacuate, went over to the Mahdi. The\nconventions appointed to select the candidates were denounced as the mere\ncreatures of Mr. Parnell, the Grand Elector. As if anything could have\nshown a more politic appreciation of the circumstances. There are\nsituations that require a dictator, not to impose an opinion, but to\nkindle an aspiration; not to shape a demand, but to be the effective organ\nof opinion and demand. Now in the Irish view was one of those situations.\nIn the last parliament twenty-six seats were held by persons designated\nnominal home rulers; in the new parliament, not one. Every new nationalist\nmember pledged himself to resign whenever the parliamentary party should\ncall upon him. Such an instrument grasped in a hand of iron was\nindispensable, first to compel the British government to listen, and\nsecond, to satisfy any British government disposed to listen, that in\ndealing with Mr. Parnell they were dealing with nationalist Ireland, and\nwith a statesman who had the power to make his engagements good. You need\ngreater qualities, said Cardinal De Retz, to be a good party leader than\nto be emperor of the universe. Ireland is not that portion of the universe\nin which this is least true.\n\n\n\n\nChapter III. A Critical Month (December 1885)\n\n\n    Whoever has held the post of minister for any considerable time\n    can never absolutely, unalterably maintain and carry out his\n    original opinions. He finds himself in the presence of situations\n    that are not always the same--of life and growth--in connection with\n    which he must take one course one day, and then, perhaps, another\n    on the next day. I could not always run straight ahead like a\n    cannon ball.--BISMARCK.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nThe month of December was passed by Mr. Gladstone at Hawarden, in such\ndepth of meditation as it is easy for us to conjecture. The composition of\nhis party, the new situation in parliament, the mutual relations of\nimportant individuals, the Irish case, his own share in respect of the\nIrish case, the strange new departure in Irish policy announced and acted\nupon by the subsisting cabinet--from all these points of view it was now\nhis business to survey the extraordinary scene. The knot to be unravelled\nin 1886 was hardly less entangled than that which engaged the powerful\ngenius of Pitt at the opening of the century. Stripped of invidious\ninnuendo, the words of Lord Salisbury a few weeks later state with\nstrength and truth the problem that now confronted parliament and its\nchief men. \"Up to the time,\" said the tory prime minister, \"when Mr.\nGladstone took office, be it for good or evil, for many generations\nIreland had been governed through the influence and the action of the\nlanded gentry. I do not wish to defend that system. There is a good deal\nto be said for it, and a good deal to be said against it. What I wish to\ninsist upon is, not that that system was good, but that the statesman who\nundertook to overthrow it, should have had something to put in its place.\nHe utterly destroyed it. By the Land Act of 1870, by the Ballot Act of\n1872, by the Land Act of 1881, and last of all by the Reform bill of 1884,\nthe power of the landed gentry in Ireland is absolutely shattered; and he\nnow stands before the formidable problem of a country deprived of a system\nof government under which it had existed for many generations, and\nabsolutely without even a sketch of a substitute by which the ordinary\nfunctions of law and order can be maintained. Those changes which he\nintroduced into the government of Ireland were changes that were admirable\nfrom a parliamentary point of view. They were suited to the dominant\nhumour of the moment. But they were barren of any institutions by which\nthe country could be governed and kept in prosperity for the future.\"(166)\nThis is a statement of the case that biographer and historian alike should\nponder. Particularly should they remember that both parties had renounced\ncoercion.\n\nMr. Gladstone has publicly explained the working of his mind, and both his\nprivate letters at the time, and many a conversation later, attest the\nhold which the new aspect, however chimerical it may now seem to those who\ndo not take long views, had gained upon him. He could not be blind to the\nfact that the action and the language of the tory ministers during the\nlast six months had shown an unquestionable readiness to face the new\nnecessities of a complex situation with new methods. Why should not a\nsolution of the present difficulties be sought in the same co-operation of\nparties, that had been as advantageous as it was indispensable in other\ncritical occasions of the century? He recalled other leading precedents of\nnational crisis. There was the repeal of the Test Act in 1828; catholic\nemancipation in 1829; the repeal of the corn law in 1846; the extension of\nthe franchise in 1867. In the history of these memorable transactions, Mr.\nGladstone perceived it to be extremely doubtful whether any one of these\nmeasures, all carried as they were by tory governments, could have become\nlaw except under the peculiar conditions which secured for each of them\nboth the aid of the liberal vote in the House of Commons, and the\nauthority possessed by all tory governments in the House of Lords. What\nwas the situation? The ministerial party just reached the figure of two\nhundred and fifty-one. Mr. Gladstone had said in the course of the\nelection that for a government in a minority to deal with the Irish\nquestion would not be safe, such an operation could not but be attended by\ndanger; but the tender of his support to Lord Salisbury was a\ndemonstration that he thought the operation might still properly be\nundertaken.(167)\n\n\n    _To Herbert Gladstone._\n\n    _December 10, 1885._--1. The nationalists have run in political\n    alliance with the tories for years; more especially for six\n    months; most of all at the close during the elections, when _they_\n    have made us 335 (say) against 250 [conservatives] instead of 355\n    against 230. This alliance is therefore at its zenith. 2. The\n    question of Irish government ought for the highest reasons to be\n    settled at once, and settled by the allied forces, (1) because\n    they have the government, (2) because their measure will have fair\n    play from all, most, or many of us, which a measure of ours would\n    not have from the tories. 3. As the allied forces are half the\n    House, so that there is not a majority against them, no\n    constitutional principle is violated by allowing the present\n    cabinet to continue undisturbed for the purpose in view. 4. The\n    plan for Ireland ought to be produced by the government of the\n    day. Principles may be laid down by others, but not the detailed\n    interpretation of them in a measure. I have publicly declared I\n    produce no plan until the government has arrived at some issue\n    with the Irish, as I hope they will. 5. If the moment ever came\n    when a plan had to be considered with a view to production on\n    behalf of the liberal party, I do not at present see how such a\n    question could be dissociated from another vital question, namely,\n    who are to be the government. For a government alone can carry a\n    measure, though some outline of essentials might be put out in a\n    motion or resolution.\n\n\nHappening in these days to meet in the neighbouring (M98) palace of a whig\nmagnate, Mr. Balfour, a young but even then an important member of the\ngovernment, with whom as a veteran with a junior of high promise he had\nlong been on terms of friendly intimacy, Mr. Gladstone began an informal\nconversation with him upon the condition of Ireland, on the stir that it\nwas making in men's minds, and on the urgency of the problem. The\nconversation he followed up by a letter (Dec. 20). Every post, he said,\nbore him testimony to the growing ferment. In urging how great a calamity\nit would be if so vast a question should fall into the lines of party\nconflict, he expressed his desire to see it taken up by the government,\nand to be able, with reserve of necessary freedom, to co-operate in their\ndesign. Mr. Balfour replied with courteous scepticism, but promised to\ninform Lord Salisbury. The tactical computation was presumably this, that\nLord Salisbury would lose the Orange group from Ireland and the extreme\ntories in England, but would keep the bulk of his party. On the other\nhand, Mr. Gladstone in supporting a moderate home rule would drop some of\nthe old whigs and some of the extreme radicals, but he too would keep the\nbulk of the liberal party. Therefore, even if Mr. Parnell and his\nfollowers should find the scheme too moderate to be endurable, still Lord\nSalisbury with Mr. Gladstone's help would settle the Irish question as\nPeel with the help of the whigs settled the question of corn.\n\nBoth at the time and afterwards Mr. Gladstone was wont to lay great stress\nupon the fact that he had opened this suggestion and conveyed this proffer\nof support. For instance, he writes to Lord Hartington (Dec. 20): \"On\nTuesday I had a conversation with Balfour at Eaton, which in conformity\nwith my public statements, I think, conveyed informally a hope that they\nwould act, as the matter is so serious, and as its becoming a party\nquestion would be a great national calamity. I have written to him to say\n(without speaking for others) that if they can make a proposal for the\npurpose of settling definitely the question of Irish government, I shall\nwish with proper reserves to treat it in the spirit in which I have\ntreated Afghanistan and the Balkan Peninsula.\"\n\nThe language of Lord Carnarvon when he took office and of Lord Salisbury\nat Newport, coupled with the more substantial fact of the alliance between\ntories and nationalists before and during the election, no doubt warranted\nMr. Gladstone's assumption that the alliance might continue, and that the\ntalk of a new policy had been something more than an electioneering\nmanoeuvre. Yet the importance that he always attached to his offer of\nsupport for a definite settlement, or in plainer English, some sort of\nhome rule, implies a certain simplicity. He forgot in his patriotic zeal\nthe party system. The tory leader, capable as his public utterances show\nof piercing the exigencies of Irish government to the quick, might\npossibly, in the course of responsible consultations with opponents for a\npatriotic purpose, have been drawn by argument and circumstance on to the\nground of Irish autonomy, which he had hitherto considered, and considered\nwith apparent favour, only in the dim distance of abstract meditation or\nthrough the eyes of Lord Carnarvon. The abstract and intellectual\ntemperament is sometimes apt to be dogged and stubborn; on the other hand,\nit is often uncommonly elastic. Lord Salisbury's clear and rationalising\nunderstanding might have been expected to carry him to a thoroughgoing\nexperiment to get rid of a deep and inveterate disorder. If he thought it\npolitic to assent to communication with Mr. Parnell, why should he not\nlisten to overtures from Mr. Gladstone? On the other hand, Lord\nSalisbury's hesitation in facing the perils of an Irish settlement in\nreliance upon the co-operation of political opponents is far from being\nunintelligible. His inferior parliamentary strength would leave him at the\nmercy of an extremely formidable ally. He may have anticipated that, apart\nfrom the ordinary temptations of every majority to overthrow a minority,\nall the strong natural impulses of the liberal leader, his vehement\nsympathy with the principle of nationality, the irresistible attraction\nfor him of all the grand and eternal commonplaces of liberty and\nself-government, would inevitably carry him much further on the Irish road\nthan either Lord Salisbury himself may have been disposed to travel, or\nthan he could be sure of persuading his party to follow. He may (M99) well\nhave seen grounds for pause before committing himself to so delicate and\nprecarious an enterprise.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nEarly in December Lord Granville was at Hawarden, and the two discussed\nthe crucial perplexities of the hour, not going further than agreement\nthat responsibility lay with the government, and that the best chance for\nsettlement lay in large concession. From Hawarden Lord Granville went to\nChatsworth, where he found Lord Spencer on his way to visit Mr. Gladstone;\nbut nothing important passed among the three leaders thus brought together\nunder the roof of Lord Hartington. Lord Granville imparted to Lord Spencer\nand Lord Hartington that Mr. Gladstone was full of Ireland in the\ndirection of some large concession of self-government. The host discussed\nthe thing dispassionately without much expression of opinion. Proceeding\nto Hawarden, Lord Spencer was there joined by Lord Rosebery. Their chief\nrepeated to them the propositions already stated (p. 258). Mr. Gladstone\nwrote to Lord Granville (Dec. 9):\n\n\n    You have, I think, acted very prudently in not returning here. It\n    would have been violently canvassed. Your report is as favourable\n    as could be expected. I think my conversations with Rosebery and\n    Spencer have also been satisfactory. What I expect is a healthful,\n    slow fermentation in many minds, working towards the final\n    product. It is a case of between the devil and the deep sea. But\n    our position is a bed of roses, compared with that of the\n    government....\n\n\nLord Spencer was hardly second in weight to Mr. Gladstone himself. His\nunrivalled experience of Irish administration, his powers of firm decision\nin difficult circumstances, and the impression of high public spirit,\nuprightness, and fortitude, which had stamped itself deep upon the public\nmind, gave him a force of moral authority in an Irish crisis that was\nunique. He knew the importance of a firm and continuous system in Ireland.\nSuch a system he had inflexibly carried out. Extreme concessions had been\nextorted from him by the radicals in the cabinet, and when the last moment\nof the eleventh hour had arrived, it looked as if he would break up the\ngovernment by insisting. Then the government was turned out, and the party\nof \"law and order\" came in. He saw his firm and continuous system at the\nfirst opportunity flouted and discarded. He was aware, as officials and as\nthe public were aware, that his successor at Dublin Castle made little\nsecret that he had come over to reverse the policy. Lord Spencer, too,\nwell knew in the last months of his reign at Dublin that his own system,\nin spite of outward success, had made no mark upon Irish disaffection. It\nis no wonder that after his visit to Hawarden, he laboured hard at\nconsideration of the problem that the strange action of government on the\none hand, and the speculations of a trusted leader on the other, had\nforced upon him. On Mr. Gladstone he pressed the question whether a\ngeneral support should be given to Irish autonomy as a principle, before\nparticulars were matured. In any case he perceived that the difficulty of\ngoverning Ireland might well be increased by knowledge of the mere fact\nthat Mr. Gladstone and himself, whether in office or in opposition, were\nlooking in the direction of autonomy. Somebody said to Mr. Gladstone,\npeople talked about his turning Spencer round his thumb. \"It would be more\ntrue,\" he replied, \"that he had turned me round his.\" That is, I suppose,\nby the lessons of Lord Spencer's experience.\n\nIn the middle of the month Lord Hartington asked Mr. Gladstone for\ninformation as to his views and intentions on the Irish question as\ndeveloped by the general election. The rumours in the newspapers, he said,\nas well as in private letters, were so persistent that it was hard to\nbelieve them without foundation. Mr. Gladstone replied to Lord Hartington\nin a letter of capital importance in its relation to the prospects of\nparty union (Dec. 17):--\n\n\n    _To Lord Hartington._\n\n    The whole stream of public excitement is now turned upon me, and I\n    am pestered with incessant telegrams which I have no defence\n    against, but either suicide or Parnell's method of\n    self-concealment. The truth is, I have more or less of opinions\n    and ideas, but no intentions or negotiations. In these ideas and\n    opinions there is, I think, little that I have not more or less\n    conveyed in public declarations; in principle nothing. I will try\n    to lay them before you. I consider that Ireland has now spoken;\n    and that an effort ought to be made _by the government_ without\n    delay to meet her demands for the management by an Irish\n    legislative body of Irish as distinct from imperial affairs. Only\n    a government can do it, and a tory government can do it more\n    easily and safely than any other. There is first a postulate that\n    the state of Ireland shall be such as to warrant it. The\n    conditions of an admissible plan are--\n\n    1. Union of the empire and due supremacy of parliament.\n\n    2. Protection for the minority--a difficult matter on which I have\n    talked much with Spencer, certain points, however, remaining to be\n    considered.\n\n    3. Fair allocation of imperial charges.\n\n    4. A statutory basis seems to me better and safer than the revival\n    of Grattan's parliament, but I wish to hear much more upon this,\n    as the minds of men are still in so crude a state on the whole\n    subject.\n\n    5. Neither as opinions nor as instructions have I to any one alive\n    promulgated these ideas as decided on by me.\n\n    6. As to intentions, I am determined to have none at present, to\n    leave space to the government--I should wish to encourage them if I\n    properly could--above all, on no account to say or do anything\n    which would enable the nationalists to establish rival biddings\n    between us. If this storm of rumours continues to rage, it may be\n    necessary for me to write some new letter to my constituents, but\n    I am desirous to do nothing, simply leaving the field open for the\n    government until time makes it necessary to decide. Of our late\n    colleagues I have had most communication with Granville, Spencer,\n    Rosebery. Would you kindly send this on to Granville?\n\n    I think you will find this in conformity with my public\n    declarations, though some blanks are filled up. I have in truth\n    thought it my duty without in the least committing myself or any\n    one else, to think through the subject as well as I could, being\n    equally convinced of its urgency and bigness. If H. and N. are\n    with you, pray show them this letter, which is a very hasty one,\n    for I am so battered with telegrams that I hardly know whether I\n    stand on my head or my heels....\n\n    With regard to the letter I sent you, my opinion is that there is\n    a Parnell party and a separation or civil war party, and the\n    question which is to have the upper hand will have to be decided\n    in a limited time. My earnest recommendation to everybody is not\n    to commit himself. Upon this rule, under whatever pressure, I\n    shall act as long as I can. There shall be no private negotiation\n    carried on by me, but the time may come when I shall be obliged to\n    speak publicly. Meanwhile I hope you will keep in free and full\n    communication with old colleagues. Pray put questions if this\n    letter seems ambiguous....\n\n    Pray remember that I am at all times ready for personal\n    communication, should you think it desirable.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nBefore receiving this letter, Lord Hartington was startled, as all the\nworld was, to come on something in the newspapers that instantly created a\nnew situation. Certain prints published on December 17 what was alleged to\nbe Mr. Gladstone's scheme for an Irish settlement.(168) It proposed in\nterms the creation of an Irish parliament. Further particulars were given\nin detail, but with these we need not concern ourselves. The Irish\nparliament was enough. The public mind, bewildered as it was by the\nsituation that the curious issue of the election had created, was thrown\nby this announcement into extraordinary commotion. The facts are these.\nMr. Herbert Gladstone visited London at this time (Dec. 14), partly in\nconsequence of a speech made a few days before by Sir C. Dilke, and of the\nclub talk which the speech had set going. It was taken to mean that he and\nMr. Chamberlain, the two radical leaders, thought that such an Irish\npolicy as might be concocted between Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Parnell would\nreceive no general support from the liberal party, and that it would be\nmuch safer to (M100) leave the tories in power, in the expectation that\nsome moderate measures of reform might be got from them, and that\nmeanwhile they would become committed with the Irishmen. Tactics of this\nkind were equivalent to the exclusion of Mr. Gladstone, for in every\nletter that he wrote he pronounced the Irish question urgent. Mr. Herbert\nGladstone had not been long in London before the impression became strong\nupon him, that in the absence of a guiding hint upon the Irish question,\nthe party might be drifting towards a split. Under this impression he had\na conversation with the chief of an important press agency, who had\npreviously warned him that the party was all at sea. To this gentleman, in\nan interview at which no notes were taken and nothing read from papers--so\nlittle formal was it--he told his own opinions on the assumed opinions of\nMr. Gladstone, all in general terms, and only with the negative view of\npreventing friendly writers from falling into traps. Unluckily it would\nseem to need at least the genius of a Bismarck, to perform with precision\nand success the delicate office of inspiring a modern oracle on the\njournalistic tripod. Here, what was intended to be a blameless negative\nsoon swelled, as the oracular fumes are wont to do, into a giant positive.\nIn conversations with another journalist, who was also his private friend\n(Dec. 15), he used language which the friend took to justify the pretty\nunreserved announcement that Mr. Gladstone was about to set to work in\nearnest on home rule.\n\n\"With all these matters,\" Mr. Herbert Gladstone wrote to a near relative\nat the time, \"my father had no more connection than the man in the moon,\nand until each event occurred, he knew no more of it than the man in the\nstreet.\" Mr. Gladstone on the same day (Dec. 17) told the world by\ntelegraph that the statement was not an accurate representation of his\nviews, but a speculation upon them; he added that it had not been\npublished with his knowledge or authority. There can be no doubt, whatever\nelse may be said, that the publication was neither to his advantage, nor\nin conformity with his view of the crisis. No statesman in our history has\never been more careful of the golden rule of political strategy--to neglect\nof which Frederick the Great traced the failure of Joseph II.--not to take\nthe second step before you have taken the first. Neither scheme nor\nintention had yet crystallised in his mind. Never was there a moment when\nevery consideration of political prudence more imperatively counselled\nsilence. Mr. Gladstone's denial of all responsibility was not found to be\nan explicit contradiction; it was a repudiation of the two newspapers, but\nit was not a repudiation of an Irish parliament. Therefore people believed\nthe story the more. Friends and foes became more than ever alert, excited,\nalarmed, and in not a few cases vehemently angry. This unauthorised\npublication with the qualified denial, placed Mr. Gladstone in the very\nposition which he declared that he would not take up; it made him a\ntrespasser on ground that belonged to the government. Any action on his\npart would in his own view not only be unnecessary; it would be\nunwarrantable; it would be in the highest degree injurious and\nmischievous.(169) Yet whatever it amounted to, some of this very injury\nand mischief followed.\n\nLord Hartington no sooner saw what was then called the Hawarden kite\nflying in the sky, than he felt its full significance. He at once wrote to\nMr. Gladstone, partly in reply to the letter of the 17th already given,\nand pointed with frankness to what would follow. No other subject would be\ndiscussed until the meeting of parliament, and it would be discussed with\nthe knowledge, or what would pass for knowledge, that in Mr. Gladstone's\nopinion the time for concession to Ireland had arrived, and that\nconcession was practicable. In replying to his former letter Mr. Gladstone\nhad invited personal communication, and Lord Hartington thought that he\nmight in a few days avail himself of it, though (December 18) he feared\nthat little advantage would follow. In spite of urgent arguments from wary\nfriends, Lord Hartington at once proceeded to write to his chairman in\nLancashire (December 20), informing the public that no proposals of\nliberal policy on the Irish demand had been communicated to him; for his\nown part he stood to what (M101) he said, at the election. This letter was\nthe first bugle note of an inevitable conflict between Mr. Gladstone and\nthose who by and by became the whig dissentients.\n\nTo Lord Hartington resistance to any new Irish policy came easily, alike\nby temperament and conviction. Mr. Chamberlain was in a more embarrassing\nposition; and his first speech after the election showed it. \"We are face\nto face,\" he said, \"with a very remarkable demonstration by the Irish\npeople. They have shown that as far as regards the great majority of them,\nthey are earnestly in favour of a change in the administration of their\ngovernment, and of some system which would give them a larger control of\ntheir domestic affairs. Well, we ourselves by our public declarations and\nby our liberal principles are pledged to acknowledge the justice of this\nclaim.\" What was the important point at the moment, Mr. Chamberlain\ndeclared that in his judgment the time had hardly arrived when the liberal\nparty could interfere safely or with advantage to settle this great\nquestion. \"Mr. Parnell has appealed to the tories. Let him settle accounts\nwith his new friends. Let him test their sincerity and goodwill; and if he\nfinds that he has been deceived, he will approach the liberal party in a\nspirit of reason and conciliation.\"(170)\n\nTranslated into the language of parliamentary action, this meant that the\nliberals, with a majority of eighty-two over the tories, were to leave the\ntory minority undisturbed in office, on the chance of their bringing in\ngeneral measures of which liberals could approve, and making Irish\nproposals to which Mr. Parnell, in the absence of competition for his\nsupport, might give at least provisional assent. In principle, these\ntactics implied, whether right or wrong, the old-fashioned union of the\ntwo British parties against the Irish. Were the two hundred and fifty\ntories to be left in power, to carry out all the promises of the general\nelection, and fulfil all the hopes of a new parliament chosen on a new\nsystem? The Hawarden letter-bag was heavy with remonstrances from newly\nelected liberals against any such course.\n\nSecond only to Mr. Gladstone in experience of stirring and perilous\npositions, Lord Granville described the situation to one of his colleagues\nas nothing less than \"thoroughly appalling.\" A great catastrophe, he said,\nmight easily result from any of the courses open: from the adoption of\ncoercion by either government or opposition; from the adoption by either\nof concession; from the attempt to leave the state of Ireland as it was.\nIf, as some think, a great catastrophe did in the end result from the\ncourse that Mr. Gladstone was now revolving in his own mind at Hawarden,\nand that he had commended to the meditations of his most important\ncolleagues, what alternative was feasible?\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nThe following letters set out the various movements in a drama that was\nnow day by day, through much confusion and bewilderment, approaching its\nclimax.\n\n\n    _To Lord Granville._\n\n    _December 18, '85._--... Thinking incessantly about the matter,\n    speaking freely and not with finality to you, and to Rosebery and\n    Spencer--the only colleagues I have seen--I have trusted to writing\n    to Hartington (who had had Harcourt and Northbrook with him) and\n    to you for Derby.\n\n    If I have made _any_ step in advance at all, which I am not sure\n    of, it has most certainly been in the direction of leaving the\n    field open for the government, encouraging them to act, and\n    steadily refusing to say or do _anything_ like negotiation on my\n    own behalf. So I think Derby will see that in the main I am\n    certainly with him.... What will Parnell do? What will the\n    government do? How can we decide without knowing or trying to\n    know, both if we can, but at any rate the second? This letter is\n    at your discretion to use in proper quarters.\n\n    _December 22._--In the midst of these troubles, I look to you as\n    the great feud-composer, and your note just received is just what\n    I should have hoped and expected. Hartington wrote to me on\n    Saturday that he was going up to see Goschen, but as I thought\n    inviting a letter from me, which I wrote [December 17, above], and\n    it was with no small surprise that I read him yesterday in the\n    _Times_. However, I repeated yesterday to R. Grosvenor all that I\n    have said to you about what seems to me the plain duty of the\n    _party_, in the event of a severance between nationalists and\n    tories. Meantime I care not who knows my anxiety to prevent that\n    severance, and for that reason among others to avoid all\n    communications of ideas and intentions which could tend to bring\n    it about.\n\n\nOn December 27, Lord Granville wrote to Mr. Gladstone at Hawarden:--\n\n\n    I have been asked to request you to call a cabinet of your late\n    colleagues to discuss the present state of affairs. I have\n    declined, giving my reasons, which appear to me to be good. At the\n    same time, I think it would calm some fussiness that exists, if\n    you let it be known to a few that you will be in town and ready\n    for consultation, before the actual meeting.\n\n\nMr. Gladstone answered, as those acquainted with his modes of mind might\nhave been sure that he would:--\n\n\n    _December 28._--Thank you for stopping the request to which your\n    letter of yesterday refers. A cabinet does not exist out of\n    office, and no one in his senses could covenant to call _the late\n    cabinet_ together, I think, even if there were something on which\n    it was ready to take counsel, which at this moment there is not.\n    On the other hand, you will have seen from my letter that the idea\n    before me has been that of going unusual lengths in the way of\n    consulting beforehand, not only leading men but the party, or\n    undertaking some special obligation to be assured of their\n    concurrence generally, before undertaking new responsibilities.\n\n    The one great difficulty in proceeding to consult now, I think, is\n    that we cannot define the situation for ourselves, as an essential\n    element of it is the relation between nationalists and tories,\n    which they--not we--have to settle. If we meet on Tuesday 12th to\n    choose a Speaker, so far as I can learn, regular business will not\n    begin before the 19th. By the 12th we shall have given ourselves a\n    much better chance of knowing how the two parties stand together;\n    and there will be plenty of time for our consultations. Thus at\n    least I map out the time; pray give me any comments you think\n    required.\n\n    I begged you to keep Derby informed; would you kindly do the same\n    with Harcourt? Rosebery goes to London to-morrow.\n\n\nTwo days before this resistance to the request for a meeting, he had\nwritten to Lord Granville with an important enclosure:--\n\n\n    _December 26, 1885._--I have put down on paper in a memorandum as\n    well as I can, the possible forms of the question which may have\n    to be decided at the opening of the session. I went over the\n    ground in conversation with you, and afterwards with R. Grosvenor,\n    and I requested R. Grosvenor, who was going to London, to speak to\n    Hartington in that sense. After his recent act of publication, I\n    should not like to challenge him by sending him the written paper.\n    Please, however, to send it on to Spencer, who will send it back\n    to me.\n\n\nThe memorandum itself must here be quoted, for it sets out in form,\nsuccinct, definite, and exhaustive, the situation as Mr. Gladstone at that\ntime regarded it:--\n\n\n    _Secret._ _Hawarden Castle, Chester, Dec. 26, 1885._\n\n    1. Government should act.\n\n    2. Nationalists should support them in acting.\n\n    3. I have done what I can to bring about (1). I am confident the\n    nationalists know my desire. They also publicly know there can be\n    no plan from me in the present circumstances.\n\n    4. If (1) and (2) come about, we, who are half the House of\n    Commons, may under the circumstances be justified in waiting for\n    the production of a plan.\n\n    5. This would be in every sense the best situation.\n\n    6. But if ministers refuse to take up the question--or if from\n    their not actually taking it up, or on any grounds, the\n    nationalists publicly dissolve their alliance with them, the\n    government then have a party of 250 in the face of 420, and in the\n    face of 335 who were elected to oppose them.\n\n    7. The basis of our system is that the ministry shall have the\n    confidence of the House of Commons. The exception is, when it is\n    about to appeal to the people. The rule applies most strongly when\n    an election has just taken place. Witness 1835, 1841, 1859, and\n    the _three_ last elections, after each of which, the rule has been\n    acted upon, silent inference standing instead of a vote.\n\n    8. The present circumstances warrant, I think, an understanding as\n    above, between ministers and the nationalists; but not one between\n    us and the nationalists.\n\n    9. If from any cause the alliance of the tories and nationalists\n    which did exist, and presumably does exist, should be known to be\n    dissolved, I do not see how it is possible for what would then be\n    the liberal majority to shrink from the duty appertaining to it as\n    such, and to leave the business of government to the 250 men whom\n    it was elected to oppose.\n\n    10. This looks towards an amendment to the Address, praying her\n    Majesty to choose ministers possessed of the confidence of the\n    House of Commons.\n\n    11. Which under the circumstances should, I think, have the\n    sanction of a previous meeting of the party.\n\n    12. An attempt would probably be made to traverse the proceeding\n    by drawing me on the Irish question.\n\n    13. It is impossible to justify the contention that as _a\n    condition previous_ to asserting the right and duty of a\n    parliamentary majority, the party or the leaders should commit\n    themselves on a measure about which they can form no final\n    judgment, until by becoming the government they can hold all the\n    necessary communications.\n\n    14. But in all likelihood jealousy will be stronger than logic;\n    and to obviate such jealousy, it might be right for me [to go] to\n    the very farthest allowable point.\n\n    15. The case supposed is, the motion made--carried--ministers\n    resign--Queen sends for me.\n\n    Might I go so far as to say at the first meeting that in the case\n    supposed, I should only accept the trust if assured of the\n    adequate, that is of the general, support of the party to a plan\n    of duly guarded home rule?\n\n    16. If that support were withheld, it would be my duty to stand\n    aside.\n\n    17. In that event it would, I consider, become the duty of that\n    portion of the party, which was not prepared to support me in an\n    effort to frame a plan of duly guarded home rule, to form a\n    government itself if invited by the Queen to do so.\n\n    18. With me the Irish question would of course remain paramount;\n    but preferring a liberal government without an adequate Irish\n    measure to a tory government similarly lacking, such a liberal\n    government would be entitled to the best general support I could\n    give it.\n\n\nThe reference of this memorandum to Lords Granville and Spencer was\nregarded as one of the first informal steps towards a consultation of\nleaders. On receiving Lord Spencer's reply on the point of procedure Mr.\nGladstone wrote to him (December 30):--\n\n\n    _To Lord Spencer._\n\n    I understand your idea to be that inasmuch as leaders of the party\n    are likely to be divided on the subject of a bold Irish measure,\n    and a divergence might be exhibited in a vote on the Address, it\n    may be better to allow the tory government, with 250 supporters in\n    a house of 670, to assume the direction of the session and\n    continue the administration of imperial affairs. I do not\n    undervalue the dangers of the other course. But let us look at\n    this one--\n\n    1. It is an absolute novelty.\n\n    2. Is it not a novelty which strikes at the root of our\n    parliamentary government? under which the first duty of a majority\n    freshly elected, according to a uniform course of precedent and a\n    very clear principle, is to establish a government which has its\n    confidence.\n\n    3. Will this abdication of primary duty avert or materially\n    postpone the (apprehended) disruption of the party? Who can\n    guarantee us against an Irish or independent amendment to the\n    Address? The government must in any case produce at once their\n    Irish plan. What will have been gained by waiting for it? The\n    Irish will know three things--(1) That I am conditionally in favour\n    of at least examining their demand. (2) That from the nature of\n    the case, I must hold this question paramount to every interest of\n    party. (3) That a part, to speak within bounds, of the liberal\n    party will follow me in this respect. Can it be supposed that in\n    these circumstances they will long refrain, or possibly refrain at\n    all? With their knowledge of possibilities behind them, _dare_\n    they long refrain? An immense loss of dignity in a great crisis of\n    the empire would attend the forcing of our hands by the Irish or\n    otherwise. There is no necessity for an instant decision. My\n    desire is thoroughly to shake up all the materials of the\n    question. The present leaning of my mind is to consider the faults\n    and dangers of abstention greater than those of a more decided\n    course. Hence, in part, my great anxiety that the present\n    government should move. Please send this on to Granville.\n\n\nFinding Mr. Gladstone immovable at Hawarden, four of the members of the\nlast liberal cabinet of both wings met at Devonshire House on New Year's\nday. All, save one, found themselves hopeless, especially after the\nHawarden revelations, as to the possibility of governing Ireland by mere\nrepression. Lord Hartington at once communicated the desires of the\nconclave for information of his views and designs. Mr. Gladstone replied\n(January 2, 1886):--\n\n\n    On the 17th December I communicated to you _all_ the opinions I\n    had formed on the Irish question. But on the 21st you published in\n    the _Times_ a re-affirmation of opposite opinions.\n\n    On the Irish question, I have not a word to add to that letter. I\n    am indeed doing what little the pressure of correspondence\n    permits, to prepare myself by study and reflection. My object was\n    to facilitate study by you and others--I cannot say it was wholly\n    gained. But I have done nothing, and shall do nothing, to convert\n    those opinions into intentions, for I have not the material before\n    me. I do not know whether my \"postulate\" is satisfied.... I have\n    taken care by my letter of the 17th that you should know my\n    opinions _en bloc_. You are quite welcome to show it, if you think\n    fit, to those whom you met. But Harcourt has, I believe, seen it,\n    and the others, if I mistake not, know the substance.... There is\n    no doubt that a very grave situation is upon us, a little sooner\n    or a little later. All my desire and thought was how to render it\n    less grave, for next to the demands of a question far higher than\n    all or any party interests, is my duty to labour for the\n    consolidation of the party.... Pray show this letter, if you think\n    fit, to those on whose behalf you write. I propose to be available\n    in London about 4 P.M., for any who wish to see me.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nSignals and intimations were not wholly wanting from the Irish camp. It\nwas known among the subalterns in that rather impenetrable region, partly\nby the light of nature, partly by the indiscretions of dubiously\naccredited ambassadors, that Mr. Gladstone was not disposed on any terms\nto meet the Irish demand by more coercion. For the liberal party as a\nwhole the Irish had a considerable aversion. The violent scenes that\nattended the Coercion bill of 1881, the interchange of hard words, the\nsuspensions, the imprisonments--all mechanically acquiesced in by the\nministerial majority--had engendered both bitterness and contempt. The\nIrishmen did not conceal the satisfaction with which they saw the defeat\nof some of those liberals who had openly gloated over their arrests and\nall the rest of their humiliations. Mr. Gladstone, it is true, had laid a\nheavy and chastening hand upon them. Yet, even when the struggle had been\nfiercest, with the quick intuition of a people long oppressed, they\ndetected a note of half-sympathetic passion which convinced them that he\nwould be their friend if he could, and would help them when he might.\n\nMr. Parnell was not open to impressions of this order. He had a long\nmemory for injuries, and he had by no means satisfied himself that the\nsame injuries might not recur. As soon as the general election was over,\nhe had at once set to work upon the result. Whatever might be right for\nothers, his line of tactics was plain--to ascertain from which of the two\nEnglish parties he was most likely to obtain the response that he desired\nto the Irish demand, and then to concert the procedure best fitted to\nplace that party in power. He was at first not sure whether Lord Salisbury\nwould renounce the Irish alliance after it had served the double purpose\nof ousting the liberals from office, and then reducing their numbers at\nthe election. He seems also to have counted upon further communications\nwith Lord Carnarvon, and this expectation was made known to Mr. Gladstone,\nwho expressed his satisfaction at the news, though it was also made known\nto him that Mr. Parnell doubted (M102) Lord Carnarvon's power to carry out\nhis unquestionably favourable dispositions. He at the same time very\nnaturally did his best to get some light as to Mr. Gladstone's own frame\nof mind. If neither party would offer a solution of the problem of Irish\ngovernment, Mr. Parnell would prefer to keep the tories in office, as they\nwould at least work out gradually a solution of the problems of Irish\nland. To all these indirect communications Mr. Gladstone's consistent\nreply was that Mr. Parnell's immediate business was with the government of\nthe day, first, because only the government could handle the matter;\nsecond, because a tory government with the aid that it would receive from\nliberals, might most certainly, safely, and quickly settle it. He declined\nto go beyond the ground already publicly taken by him, unless by way of a\nfurther public declaration. On to this new ground he would not go, until\nassured that the government had had a fair opportunity given them.\n\nBy the end of December Mr. Parnell decided that there was not the\nslightest possibility of any settlement being offered by the conservatives\nunder the existing circumstances. \"Whatever chance there was,\" he said,\n\"disappeared when the seemingly authoritative statements of Mr.\nGladstone's intention to deal with the question were published.\" He\nregarded it as quite probable that in spite of a direct refusal from the\ntories, the Irish members might prefer to pull along with them, rather\nthan run the risk of fresh coercion from the liberals, should the latter\nreturn to power. \"Supposing,\" he argued, \"that the liberals came into\noffice, and that they offered a settlement of so incomplete a character\nthat we could not accept it, or that owing to defections they could not\ncarry it, should we not, if any long interval occurred before the proposal\nof a fresh settlement, incur considerable risk of further coercion?\" At\nany rate, they had better keep the government in, rather than oust them in\norder to admit Lord Hartington or Mr. Chamberlain with a new coercion bill\nin their pockets.\n\nForeseeing these embarrassments, Mr. Gladstone wrote in a final memorandum\n(December 24) of this eventful year, \"I used every effort to obtain a\nclear majority at the election, and failed. I am therefore at present a\nman in chains. Will ministers bring in a measure? If 'Aye,' I see my way.\nIf 'No': that I presume puts an end to all relations of confidence between\nnationalists and tories. If that is done, I have then upon me, as is\nevident, the responsibilities of _the leader of a majority_. But what if\nneither Aye nor No can be had--will the nationalists then continue their\nsupport and thus relieve me from responsibility, or withdraw their support\n[from the government] and thus change essentially my position? Nothing but\na public or published dissolution of a relation of amity publicly sealed\ncould be of any avail.\"\n\nSo the year ended.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IV. Fall Of The First Salisbury Government. (January 1886)\n\n\n    Historians coolly dissect a man's thoughts as they please; and\n    label them like specimens in a naturalist's cabinet. Such a thing,\n    they argue, was done for mere personal aggrandizement; such a\n    thing for national objects; such a thing from high religious\n    motives. In real life we may be sure it was not so.--GARDINER.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nMinisters meanwhile hesitated, balanced, doubted, and wavered. Their party\nwas in a minority, and so they had a fair plea for resigning and not\nmeeting the new parliament. On the other hand, they had a fair plea for\ncontinuing in office, for though they were in a minority, no other party\nhad a majority. Nobody knew what the Hartington whigs would do, or what\nthe Irish would do. There seemed to be many chances for expert angling.\nThen with what policy were they to meet the House of Commons? They might\nadhere to the conciliatory policy of the summer and autumn, keep clear of\nrepressive legislation, and make a bold attempt in the direction of\nself-government. Taking the same courageous plunge as was taken by\nWellington and Peel in 1829, by Peel in the winter of 1845, by Disraeli in\n1867, they might carry the declarations made by Lord Carnarvon on behalf\nof the government in July to their only practical conclusion. But then\nthey would have broken up their party, as Wellington and Peel broke it up;\nand Lord Salisbury may have asked himself whether the national emergency\nwarranted the party risk.\n\nResistance then to the Irish demand being assumed, various tactics came\nunder review. They might begin by asking for a vote of confidence, saying\nplainly that if they were turned out and Mr. Gladstone were put in, he\nwould propose home rule. In that case a majority was not wholly\nimpossible, for the whig wing might come over, nor was it quite certain\nthat the Irish would help to put the government out. At any rate the\ndebate would force Mr. Gladstone into the open, and even if they did not\nhave a majority, they would be in a position to advise immediate\ndissolution on the issue of home rule.\n\nThe only other course open to the cabinet was to turn their backs upon the\nprofessions of the summer; to throw overboard the Carnarvon policy as a\ncargo for which there was no longer a market; to abandon a great\nexperiment after a ludicrously short trial; and to pick up again the old\ninstrument of coercion, which not six months before they had with such\nelaborate ostentation condemned and discarded. This grand manoeuvre was\nkept carefully in the background, until there had been time for the whole\nchapter of accidents to exhaust itself, and it had become certain that no\ntrump cards were falling to the ministerial hand. Not until this was quite\nclear, did ministers reveal their poignant uneasiness about the state of\nIreland.\n\nIn the middle of October (1885) Lord Randolph Churchill visited the\nviceroy in Dublin, and found him, as he afterwards said, extremely anxious\nand alarmed at the growing power of the National League. Yet the viceroy\nwas not so anxious and alarmed as to prevent Lord Randolph from saying at\nBirmingham a month after, on November 20, that up to the present time\ntheir decision to preserve order by the same laws as in England had been\nabundantly justified, and that on the whole crime and outrage had greatly\ndiminished. This was curious, and shows how tortuous was the crisis. Only\na fortnight later the cabinet met (December 2), and heard of the\nextraordinary development and unlimited resources of the league. All the\nrest of the month of December,--so the public were by and by informed,--the\ncondition of Ireland was the subject of the most anxious consideration.\nWith great deliberation, a decision was at length reached. It was that\nordinary law had broken down, and that exceptional means of repression\nwere indispensable. Then a (M103) serious and embarrassing incident\noccurred. Lord Carnarvon \"threw up the government of Ireland,\" and was\nfollowed by Sir William Hart <DW18>, the chief secretary.(171) A measure of\ncoercion was prepared, its provisions all drawn in statutory form, but who\nwas to warrant the necessity for it to parliament?(172)\n\nThough the viceroy's retirement was not publicly known until the middle of\nJanuary, yet so early as December 17 the prime minister had applied to Mr.\nSmith, then secretary of state for war, to undertake the duties of Irish\ngovernment.(173) This was one of the sacrifices that no man of public\nspirit can ever refuse, and Mr. Smith, who had plenty of public spirit,\nbecame Irish secretary. Still when parliament assembled more than a month\nafter Lord Salisbury's letter to his new chief secretary, no policy was\nannounced. Even on the second night of the session Mr. Smith answered\nquestions for the war office. The parliamentary mystification was\ncomplete. Who, where, and what was the Irish government?\n\nThe parliamentary session was rapidly approaching, and Mr. Gladstone had\ngood information of the various quarters whence the wind was blowing.\nRumours reached him (January 9) from the purlieus of Parliament Street,\nthat general words of confidence in the government would be found in the\nQueen's Speech. Next he was told of the report that an amendment would be\nmoved by the ultras of law and order,--the same who had mutinied on the\nMaamtrasna debate,--censuring ministers for having failed to uphold the\nauthority of the Queen. The same correspondent (January 15), who was well\nable to make his words good, wrote to Mr. Gladstone that even though home\nrule might perhaps not be in a parliamentary sense before the House, it\nwas in a most distinct manner before the country, and no political party\ncould avoid expressing an opinion upon it. On the same day another\ncolleague of hardly less importance drew attention to an article in a\njournal supposed to be inspired by Lord Randolph, to the effect that\nconciliation in Ireland had totally failed, that Lord Carnarvon had\nretired because that policy was to be reversed and he was not the man for\nthe rival policy of vigour, and finally, that the new policy would\nprobably be announced in the Queen's Speech; in no circumstances would it\nbe possible to avoid a general action on the Address.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThe current of domestic life at Hawarden, in the midst of all these\nperplexities, flowed in its usual ordered channels. The engagement of his\nsecond daughter stirred Mr. Gladstone's deepest interest. He practised\noccasional woodcraft with his sons, though ending his seventy-sixth year.\nHe spends a morning in reviewing his private money affairs, the first time\nfor three years. He never misses church. He corrects the proofs of an\narticle on Huxley; carries on tolerably profuse correspondence, coming to\nvery little; he works among his books, and arranges his papers; reads\nBeaconsfield's _Home Letters_, Lord Stanhope's _Pitt_, Macaulay's _Warren\nHastings_, which he counts the most brilliant of all that illustrious\nman's performances; Maine on _Popular Government_; _King Solomon's Mines_;\nsomething of Tolstoy; Dicey's _Law of the Constitution_, where a chapter\non semi-sovereign assemblies made a deep impression on him in regard to\nthe business that now absorbed his mind. Above all, he nearly every day\nreads Burke: \"_December 18._--Read Burke; what a magazine of wisdom on\nIreland and America. _January 9._--Made many extracts from Burke--_sometimes\nalmost divine_.\"(174) We may easily imagine how the heat from that\nprofound and glowing furnace still further inflamed strong purposes and\nexalted resolution in Mr. Gladstone. The Duke of Argyll wrote to say that\nhe was sorry to hear of the study of Burke: \"Your _perfervidum ingenium\nScoti_ does not need being touched with a live coal from that Irish altar.\nOf course your reference to Burke indicates a tendency to compare our\nposition as regards Ireland to the position of George III. towards the\ncolonies. I deny that there is any parallelism or even analogy.\" (M104) It\nwas during these months that he renewed his friendly intercourse with\nCardinal Manning, which had been suspended since the controversy upon the\nVatican pamphlets. In November Mr. Gladstone sent Manning his article on\nthe \"Dawn of Creation.\" The cardinal thanked him for the paper--\"still more\nfor your words, which revive the memories of old days. Fifty-five years\nare a long reach of life in which to remember each other. We have twice\nbeen parted, but as the path declines, as you say, it narrows, and I am\nglad that we are again nearing each other as we near our end.... If we\ncannot unite in the realm where 'the morning stars sang together' we\nshould be indeed far off.\" Much correspondence followed on the articles\nagainst Huxley. Then his birthday came:--\n\n\n    Postal deliveries and other arrivals were seven hundred.\n    Immeasurable kindness almost overwhelmed us. There was also the\n    heavy and incessant weight of the Irish question, which offers\n    daily phases more or less new. It was a day for intense\n    thankfulness, but, alas, not for recollection and detachment. When\n    will that day come? Until then, why string together the\n    commonplaces and generalities of great things, really unfelt?... I\n    am certain there is one keen and deep desire to be extricated from\n    the life of contention in which a chain of incidents has for the\n    last four years detained me against all my will. Then, indeed, I\n    should reach an eminence from which I could look before and after.\n    But I know truly that I am not worthy of this liberty with which\n    Christ makes free his elect. In his own good time, something, I\n    trust, will for me too be mercifully devised.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nAt the end of this long travail, which anybody else would have found all\nthe sorer for the isolation and quietude that it was ever Mr. Gladstone's\nfashion in moments of emergency to seek, he reached London on January\n11th; two days later he took the oath in the new parliament, whose life\nwas destined to be so short; and then he found himself on the edge of the\nwhirlpool. Three days before formalities were over, and the House\nassembled for the despatch of business, he received a communication that\nmuch perturbed him, and shed an ominous light on the prospect of liberal\nunity. This communication he described to Lord Granville:--\n\n\n    _21 Carlton House Terrace, Jan. 18, 1886._--Hartington writes to me\n    a letter indicating the possibility that on Thursday, while I\n    announce with reasons a policy of silence and reserve, he may feel\n    it his duty to declare his determination \"to maintain the\n    legislative union,\" that is to proclaim a policy (so I understand\n    the phrase) of absolute resistance without examination to the\n    demand made by Ireland through five-sixths of her members. This is\n    to play the tory game with a vengeance. They are now, most rashly\n    not to say more, working the Irish question to split the liberal\n    party.\n\n    It seems to me that if a gratuitous declaration of this kind is\n    made, it must produce an explosion; and that in a week's time\n    Hartington will have to consider whether he will lead the liberal\n    party himself, or leave it to chaos. He will make my position\n    impossible. When, in conformity with the wishes expressed to me, I\n    changed my plans and became a candidate at the general election,\n    my motives were two. The _first_, a hope that I might be able to\n    contribute towards some pacific settlement of the Irish question.\n    The _second_, a desire to prevent the splitting of the party, of\n    which there appeared to be an immediate danger. The second object\n    has thus far been attained. But it may at any moment be lost, and\n    the most disastrous mode of losing it perhaps would be that now\n    brought into view. It would be certainly opposed to my convictions\n    and determination, to attempt to lead anything like a home rule\n    opposition, and to make this subject--the strife of nations--the\n    dividing line between parties. This being so, I do not see how I\n    could as leader survive a gratuitous declaration of opposition to\n    me such as Hartington appears to meditate. If he still meditates\n    it, ought not the party to be previously informed?\n\n    Pray, consider whether you can bring this subject before him, less\n    invidiously than I. I have explained to you and I believe to him,\n    and I believe you approve, my general idea, that we ought not to\n    join issue with the government on what is called home rule (which\n    indeed the social state of Ireland may effectually thrust aside\n    for the time); and that still less ought we to join issue among\n    ourselves, if we have a choice, unless and until we are called\n    upon to consider whether or not to take the government. I for one\n    will have nothing to do with ruining the party if I can avoid it.\n\n\nThis letter discloses with precision the critical state of facts on the\neve of action being taken. Issue was not directly joined with ministers on\nhome rule; no choice was found to exist as to taking the government; and\nthis brought deep and long-standing diversities among the liberal leaders\nto the issue that Mr. Gladstone had strenuously laboured to avoid from the\nbeginning of 1885 to the end.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nThe Irish paragraphs in the speech from the throne (January 21, 1886) were\nabstract, hypothetical, and vague. The sovereign was made to say that\nduring the past year there had been no marked increase of serious crime,\nbut there was in many places a concerted resistance to the enforcement of\nlegal obligations, and the practice of intimidation continued to exist.\n\"If,\" the speech went on, \"as my information leads me to apprehend, the\nexisting provisions of the law should prove to be inadequate to cope with\nthese growing evils, I look with confidence to your willingness to invest\nmy government with all necessary powers.\" There was also an abstract\nparagraph about the legislative union between the two islands.\n\nIn a fragment composed in the autumn of 1897, Mr. Gladstone has described\nthe anxiety with which he watched the course of proceedings on the\nAddress:--\n\n\n    I had no means of forming an estimate how far the bulk of the\n    liberal party could be relied on to support a measure of home\n    rule, which should constitute an Irish parliament subject to the\n    supremacy of the parliament at Westminster. I was not sanguine on\n    this head. Even in the month of December, when rumours of my\n    intentions were afloat, I found how little I could reckon on a\n    general support. Under the circumstances I certainly took upon\n    myself a grave responsibility. I attached value to the acts and\n    language of Lord Carnarvon, and the other favourable\n    manifestations. Subsequently we had but too much evidence of a\n    deliberate intention to deceive the Irish, with a view to their\n    support at the election. But in the actual circumstances I thought\n    it my duty to encourage the government of Lord Salisbury to settle\n    the Irish question, so far as I could do this by promises of my\n    personal support. Hence my communication with Mr. Balfour, which\n    has long been in the hands of the public.\n\n    It has been unreasonably imputed to me, that the proposal of home\n    rule was a bid for the Irish vote. But my desire for the\n    adjustment of the question by the tories is surely a conclusive\n    answer. The fact is that I could not rely upon the collective\n    support of the liberals; but I could and did rely upon the support\n    of so many of them as would make the success of the measure\n    certain, in the event of its being proposed by the tory\n    administration. It would have resembled in substance the liberal\n    support given to Roman catholic emancipation in 1829, and the\n    repeal of the corn laws in 1846. Before the meeting of parliament,\n    I had to encounter uncomfortable symptoms among my principal\n    friends, of which I think ---- was the organ.\n\n    I was, therefore, by no means eager for the dismissal of the tory\n    government, though it counted but 250 supporters out of 670, as\n    long as there were hopes of its taking up the question, or at all\n    events doing nothing to aggravate the situation.\n\n    When we came to the debate on the Address I had to face a night of\n    extreme anxiety. The speech from the throne referred in a menacing\n    way to Irish disturbances, and contained a distinct declaration in\n    support of the legislative union. On referring to the clerks at\n    the table to learn in what terms the Address in reply to the\n    speech was couched, I found it was a \"thanking\" address, which did\n    not commit the House to an opinion. What I dreaded was lest some\n    one should have gone back to the precedent of 1833, when the\n    Address in reply to the speech was virtually made the vehicle of a\n    solemn declaration in favour of the Act of Union.(175)\n\n    Home rule, rightly understood, altered indeed the terms of the Act\n    of Union, but adhered to its principle, which was the supremacy of\n    the imperial parliament. Still [it] was pretty certain that any\n    declaration of a substantive character, at the epoch we had now\n    reached, would in its moral effect shut the doors of the existing\n    parliament against home rule.\n\n    In a speech of pronounced clearness, Mr. Arthur Elliot endeavoured\n    to obtain a movement in this direction. I thought it would be\n    morally fatal if this tone were extensively adopted on the liberal\n    side; so I determined on an effort to secure reserve for the time,\n    that our freedom might not be compromised. I, therefore, ventured\n    upon describing myself as an \"old parliamentary hand,\" and in that\n    capacity strongly advised the party to keep its own counsel, and\n    await for a little the development of events. Happily this counsel\n    was taken; had it been otherwise, the early formation of a\n    government favourable to home rule would in all likelihood have\n    become an impossibility. For although our Home Rule bill was\n    eventually supported by more than 300 members, I doubt whether, if\n    the question had been prematurely raised on the night of the\n    Address, as many as 200 would have been disposed to act in that\n    sense.\n\n\nIn the debate on the Address the draft Coercion bill reposing in the\nsecret box was not mentioned. Sir Michael Hicks Beach, the leader of the\nHouse, described the mischiefs then afoot, and went on to say that whether\nthey could be dealt with by ordinary law, or would require exceptional\npowers, were questions that would receive the new chief secretary's\nimmediate attention,(176) Parliament was told that the minister had\nactually gone to Ireland to make anxious inquiry into these questions. Mr.\nSmith arrived in Dublin at six o'clock on the morning of January 24, and\nhe quitted it at six o'clock on the evening of the 26th. He was sworn in\nat the Castle in the forenoon of that day.(177) His views must have\nreached the cabinet in London not later than the morning of the 26th. Not\noften can conclusions on such a subject have been ripened with such\nelectrifying precocity.\n\n\"I intend to reserve my own freedom of action,\" Mr. Gladstone said; \"there\nare many who have taken their seats for the first time upon these benches,\nand I may avail myself of the privilege of old age to offer a\nrecommendation. I would tell them of my own intention to keep my counsel\nand reserve my own freedom, until I see the moment and the occasion when\nthere may be a prospect of public benefit in endeavouring to make a\nmovement forward, and I will venture to recommend them, as an old\nparliamentary hand, to do the same.\"(178) Something in this turn of phrase\nkindled lively irritation, and it drew bitter reproaches from more than\none of the younger whigs. The angriest of these remonstrances was listened\nto from beginning to end without a solitary cheer from the liberal\nbenches. The great bulk of the party took their leader's advice. Of course\nthe reserve of his speech was as significant of Irish concession, as the\nmost open declaration would have been. Yet there was no rebellion. This\nwas felt by ministers to be a decisive omen of the general support likely\nto be given to Mr. Gladstone's supposed policy by his own party. Mr.\nParnell offered some complimentary remarks on the language of Mr.\nGladstone, but he made no move in the direction of an amendment. The\npublic outside looked on with stupefaction. For two or three days all\nseemed to be in suspense. But the two ministerial leaders in the Commons\nknew how to read the signs. What Sir Michael (M105) Hicks Beach and Lord\nRandolph foresaw, for one thing was an understanding between Mr. Gladstone\nand the Irishmen, and for another, they foresaw the acquiescence of the\nmass of the liberals. This twofold discovery cleared the ground for a\ndecision. After the second night's debate ministers saw that the only\nchance now was to propose coercion. Then it was that the ephemeral chief\nsecretary had started on his voyage for the discovery of something that\nhad already been found.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nOn the afternoon of the 26th, the leader of the House gave notice that two\ndays later the new Irish secretary would ask leave to introduce a bill\ndealing with the National League, with intimidation, and with the\nprotection of life, property, and public order. This would be followed by\na bill dealing with land, pursuing in a more extensive sense the policy of\nthe Ashbourne Act of the year before. The great issue was thus at last\nbrought suddenly and nakedly into view. When the Irish secretary reached\nEuston Square on the morning of the 27th, he found that his government was\nout.\n\nThe crucial announcement of the 26th of January compelled a prompt\ndetermination, and Mr. Gladstone did not shrink. A protest against a\nreturn to coercion as the answer of the British parliament to the\nextraordinary demonstration from Ireland, carried with it the\nresponsibility of office, and this responsibility Mr. Gladstone had\nresolved to undertake.\n\n\n    The determining event of these transactions,--he says in the\n    fragment already cited,--was the declaration of the government that\n    they would propose coercion for Ireland. This declaration put an\n    end to all the hopes and expectations associated with the mission\n    of Lord Carnarvon. Not perhaps in mere logic, but practically, it\n    was now plain that Ireland had no hope from the tories. This being\n    so, my rule of action was changed at once, and I determined on\n    taking any and every legitimate opportunity to remove the existing\n    government from office. Immediately on making up my mind about the\n    rejection of the government, I went to call upon Sir William\n    Harcourt and informed him as to my intentions and the grounds of\n    them. He said, \"What! Are you prepared to go forward without\n    either Hartington or Chamberlain?\" I answered, \"Yes.\" I believe it\n    was in my mind to say, if I did not actually say it, that I was\n    prepared to go forward without anybody. That is to say without any\n    known and positive assurance of support. This was one of the great\n    imperial occasions which call for such resolutions.\n\n\nAn amendment stood upon the notice-paper in the name of Mr. Collings,\nregretting the omission from the speech of measures for benefiting the\nrural labourer; and on this motion an immediate engagement was fought.\nTime was important. An exasperating debate on coercion with obstruction,\ndisorder, suspensions, would have been a damning prologue to any policy of\naccommodation. The true significance of the motion was not concealed. On\nthe agrarian aspect of it, the only important feature was the adhesion of\nMr. Gladstone, now first formally declared, to the policy of Mr.\nChamberlain. The author of the agrarian policy fought out once more on the\nfloor of the House against Lord Hartington and Mr. Goschen the battle of\nthe platform. It was left for Sir Michael Hicks Beach to remind the House\nthat, whatever the honest mover might mean, the rural labourer had very\nlittle to do with the matter, and he implored the gentlemen in front of\nhim to think twice and thrice before they committed the future of this\ncountry to the gravest dangers that ever awaited it.\n\nThe debate was not prolonged. The discussion opened shortly before dinner,\nand by one o'clock the division was taken. The government found itself in\na minority of 79. The majority numbered 331, composed of 257 liberals and\n74 Irish nationalists. The ministerialist minority was 252, made up of 234\ntories and 18 liberals. Besides the fact that Lord Hartington, Mr.\nGoschen, and Sir Henry James voted with ministers, there was a still more\nominous circumstance. No fewer than 76 liberals were absent, including\namong them the imposing personality of Mr. Bright. In a memorandum written\nfor submission to the Queen a few days later, Mr. Gladstone said, \"I must\nexpress my personal conviction that had the late ministers remained in\noffice and proceeded with their proposed plan of repression, and even had\nthat plan received my support, it would have ended in a disastrous\nparliamentary failure.\"(179)\n\nThe next day (Jan. 28) ministers of course determined to resign. A liberal\nmember of parliament was overtaken by Lord Randolph on the parade ground,\nwalking away from the cabinet. \"You look a little pensive,\" said the\nliberal. \"Yes; I was thinking. I have plenty to think of. Well, we are\nout, and you are in.\" \"I suppose so,\" the liberal replied, \"we are in for\nsix months; we dissolve; you are in for six years.\" \"Not at all sure,\"\nsaid Lord Randolph; \"let me tell you one thing most solemnly and most\nsurely: the conservative party are not going to be made the instrument of\nthe Irish for turning out Mr. Gladstone, if he refuses repeal.\" \"Nobody,\"\nobserved the sententious liberal, \"should so often as the politician say\nthe prayer not to be led into temptation. Remember your doings last\nsummer.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter  V. The New Policy. (1886)\n\n\n    In reason all government without the consent of the governed is\n    the very definition of slavery; but in fact eleven men well armed\n    will certainly subdue one single man in his shirt.... Those who\n    have used to cramp liberty have gone so far as to resent even the\n    liberty of complaining; although a man upon the rack was never\n    known to be refused the liberty of roaring as loud as he thought\n    fit.--JONATHAN SWIFT.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nThe tory government was defeated in the sitting of Tuesday (Jan. 26). On\nFriday, \"at a quarter after midnight, in came Sir H. Ponsonby, with verbal\ncommission from her Majesty, which I at once accepted.\"(180) The whole of\nSaturday was spent in consultations with colleagues. On Sunday, Mr.\nGladstone records, \"except church, my day from one to eight was given to\nbusiness. I got only fragmentary reading of the life of the admirable Mr.\nSuckling and other books. At night came a painful and harassing succession\nof letters, and my sleep for once gave way; yet for the soul it was\nprofitable, driving me to the hope that the strength of God might be made\nmanifest in my weakness.\" On Monday, Feb. 1, he went to attend the Queen.\n\"Off at 9.10 to Osborne. Two audiences: an hour and half in all.\nEverything good in the main points. Large discourse upon Ireland in\nparticular. Returned at 7-3/4. I kissed hands and am thereby prime minister\nfor the third time. But, as I trust, for a brief time only. Slept well,\n_D.G._\"\n\nThe first question was, how many of his colleagues in the liberal cabinet\nthat went out of office six months before, would now embark with him in\nthe voyage into stormy and unexplored seas. I should suppose that no such\ndifficulties (M106) had ever confronted the attempt at making a cabinet\nsince Canning's in 1827.\n\nMr. Gladstone begins the fragment from which I have already quoted with a\nsentence or two of retrospect, and then proceeds:--\n\n\n    In 1885 (I think) Chamberlain had proposed a plan accepted by\n    Parnell (and supported by me) which, without establishing in\n    Ireland a national parliament, made very considerable advances\n    towards self-government. It was rejected by a small majority of\n    the cabinet--Granville said at the time he would rather take home\n    rule. Spencer thought it would introduce confusion into executive\n    duties.\n\n    On the present occasion a full half of the former ministers\n    declined to march with me. Spencer and Granville were my main\n    supports. Chamberlain and Trevelyan went with me, their basis\n    being that we were to seek for some method of dealing with the\n    Irish case other than coercion. What Chamberlain's motive was I do\n    not clearly understand. It was stated that he coveted the Irish\n    secretaryship.... To have given him the office would at that time\n    have been held to be a declaration of war against the Irish party.\n\n    Selborne nibbled at the offer, but I felt that it would not work,\n    and did not use great efforts to bring him in.(181)\n\n    When I had accepted the commission, Ponsonby brought me a message\n    from the Queen that she hoped there would not be any Separation in\n    the cabinet. The word had not at that time acquired the offensive\n    meaning in which it has since been stereotyped by the so-called\n    unionists; and it was easy to frame a reply in general but strong\n    words. I am bound to say that at Osborne in the course of a long\n    conversation, the Queen was frank and free, and showed none of the\n    \"armed neutrality,\" which as far as I know has been the best\n    definition of her attitude in the more recent years towards a\n    liberal minister. Upon the whole, when I look back upon 1886, and\n    consider the inveterate sentiment of hostility flavoured with\n    contempt towards Ireland, which has from time immemorial formed\n    the basis of English, tradition, I am much more disposed to be\n    thankful for what we then and afterwards accomplished, than to\n    murmur or to wonder at what we did not.\n\n\nWhat Mr. Gladstone called the basis of his new government was set out in a\nshort memorandum, which he read to each of those whom he hoped to include\nin his cabinet: \"I propose to examine whether it is or is not practicable\nto comply with the desire widely prevalent in Ireland, and testified by\nthe return of eighty-five out of one hundred and three representatives,\nfor the establishment by statute of a legislative body to sit in Dublin,\nand to deal with Irish as distinguished from imperial affairs; in such a\nmanner as would be just to each of the three kingdoms, equitable with\nreference to every class of the people of Ireland, conducive to the social\norder and harmony of that country, and calculated to support and\nconsolidate the unity of the empire on the continued basis of imperial\nauthority and mutual attachment.\"\n\nNo definite plan was propounded or foreshadowed, but only the proposition\nthat it was a duty to seek a plan. The cynical version was that a cabinet\nwas got together on the chance of being able to agree. To Lord Hartington,\nMr. Gladstone applied as soon as he received the Queen's commission. The\ninvitation was declined on reasoned grounds (January 30). Examination and\ninquiry, said Lord Hartington, must mean a proposal. If no proposal\nfollowed inquiry, the reaction of Irish disappointment would be severe, as\nit would be natural. His adherence, moreover, would be of little value. He\nhad already, he observed, in the government of 1880 made concessions on\nother subjects that might be thought to have shaken public confidence in\nhim; he could go no further without destroying that confidence altogether.\nHowever that might be, he could not depart from the traditions of British\nstatesmen, and he was opposed to a separate Irish legislature. At the same\ntime he concluded, in a sentence afterwards pressed by Mr. Gladstone on\nthe notice of the Queen: \"I am fully convinced that the alternative policy\nof governing Ireland without large concessions to the national sentiment,\npresents difficulties of a tremendous character, which in my opinion could\nnow only be faced by the support of a nation united by the consciousness\nthat the fullest opportunity had been given for the production and\nconsideration of a conciliatory policy.\"\n\nA few days later (February 5) Lord Hartington wrote: \"I have been told\nthat I have been represented as having been in general agreement with you\non your Irish policy, and having been prevented joining your government\nsolely by the declarations which I made to my constituents; and as not\nintending to oppose the government even on home rule. On looking over my\nletter I think that the general intention is sufficiently clear, but there\nis part of one sentence which, taken by itself, might be understood as\ncommitting me beyond what I intended or wished. The words I refer to are\nthose in which I say that it may be possible for me as a private member to\nprevent obstacles being placed in the way of a fair trial being given to\nthe policy of the new government. But I think that the commencement of the\nsentence in which these words occur sufficiently reserves my liberty, and\nthat the whole letter shows that what I desire is that the somewhat\nundefined declarations which have hitherto been made should now assume a\npractical shape.\"(182)\n\nThe decision was persistently regarded by Mr. Gladstone as an important\nevent in English political history. With a small number of distinguished\nindividual exceptions, it marked the withdrawal from the liberal party of\nthe aristocratic element. Up to a very recent date this had been its\ngoverning element. Until 1868, the whig nobles and their connections held\nthe reins and shaped the policy. After the accession of a leader from\noutside of the caste in 1868, when Mr. Gladstone for the first time became\nprime minister, they continued to hold more than their share of the\noffices, but in cabinet they sank to the position of what is called a\nmoderating force. After 1880 it became every day more clear that even this\nmodest function was slipping away. Lord Hartington found that the\nmoderating force could no longer moderate. If he went on, he must make up\nhis mind to go under the Caudine forks once a week. The significant\nreference, among his reasons for not joining the new ministry, to the\nconcessions that he had made in the last government for the sake of party\nunity, and to his feeling that any further moves of the same kind for the\nsame purpose would destroy all public confidence in him, shows just as the\ncircumstances of the election had shown, and as the recent debate on the\nCollings amendment had shown, how small were the chances, quite apart from\nIrish policy, of uniting whig and radical wings in any durable liberal\ngovernment.\n\nMr. Goschen, who had been a valuable member of the great ministry of 1868,\nwas invited to call, but without hopes that he would rally to a cause so\nstartling; the interview, while courteous and pleasant, was over in a very\nfew minutes. Lord Derby, a man of still more cautious type, and a rather\nrecent addition to the officers of the liberal staff, declined, not\nwithout good nature. Lord Northbrook had no faith in a new Irish policy,\nand his confidence in his late leader had been shaken by Egypt. Most\nlamented of all the abstentions was the honoured and trusted name of Mr.\nBright.\n\nMr. Trevelyan agreed to join, in the entirely defensible hope that they\n\"would knock the measure about in the cabinet, as cabinets do,\" and mould\nit into accord with what had until now been the opinion of most of its\nmembers.(183) Mr. Chamberlain, who was destined to play so singular and\nversatile a part in the eventful years to come, entered the cabinet with\nreluctance and misgiving. The Admiralty was first proposed to him and was\ndeclined, partly on the ground that the chief of the fighting and spending\ndepartments was not the post for one who had just given to domestic\nreforms the paramount place in his stirring addresses to (M107) the\ncountry. Mr. Chamberlain, we may be sure, was not much concerned about the\nparticular office. Whatever its place in the hierarchy, he knew that he\ncould trust himself to make it as important as he pleased, and that his\nweight in the cabinet and the House would not depend upon the accident of\na department. Nobody's position was so difficult. He was well aware how\nserious a thing it would be for his prospects, if he were to join a\nconfederacy of his arch enemies, the whigs, against Mr. Gladstone, the\ncommanding idol of his friends, the radicals. If, on the other hand, by\nrefusing to enter the government he should either prevent its formation or\nshould cause its speedy overthrow, he would be left planted with a\ncomparatively ineffective group of his own, and he would incur the deep\nresentment of the bulk of those with whom he had hitherto been accustomed\nto act.\n\nAll these were legitimate considerations in the mind of a man with the\ninstinct of party management. In the end he joined his former chief. He\nmade no concealment of his position. He warned the prime minister that he\ndid not believe it to be possible to reconcile conditions as to the\nsecurity of the empire and the supremacy of parliament, with the\nestablishment of a legislative body in Dublin. He declared his own\npreference for an attempt to come to terms with the Irish members on the\nbasis of a more limited scheme of local government, coupled with proposals\nabout land and about education. At the same time, as the minister had been\ngood enough to leave him unlimited liberty of judgment and rejection, he\nwas ready to give unprejudiced examination to more extensive\nproposals.(184) Such was Mr. Chamberlain's excuse for joining. It is\nhardly so intelligible as Lord Hartington's reasons for not joining. For\nthe new government could only subsist by Irish support. That support\nnotoriously depended on the concession of more than a limited scheme of\nlocal government. The administration would have been overthrown in a week,\nand to form a cabinet on such a basis as was here proposed would be the\nidlest experiment that ever was tried.\n\nThe appointment of the writer of these pages to be Irish secretary was at\nonce generally regarded as decisive of Mr. Gladstone's ultimate intention,\nfor during the election and afterwards I had spoken strongly in favour of\na colonial type of government for Ireland. It was rightly pressed upon Mr.\nGladstone by at least one of his most experienced advisers, that such an\nappointment to this particular office would be construed as a declaration\nin favour of an Irish parliament, without any further examination at\nall.(185) And so, in fact, it was generally construed.\n\nNobody was more active in aiding the formation of the new ministry than\nSir William Harcourt, in whose powerful composition loyalty to party and\nconviction of the value of party have ever been indestructible instincts.\n\"I must not let the week absolutely close,\" Mr. Gladstone wrote to him\nfrom Mentmore (February 6), \"without emphatically thanking you for the\nindefatigable and effective help which you have rendered to me during its\ncourse, in the difficult work now nearly accomplished.\"\n\nAt the close of the operation, he writes from Downing Street to his son\nHenry, then in India:--\n\n\n    _February 12, 1886._ You see the old date has reappeared at the\n    head of my letter. The work last week was extremely hard from the\n    mixture of political discussions on the Irish question, by way of\n    preliminary condition, with the ordinary distribution of offices,\n    which while it lasts is of itself difficult enough.\n\n    Upon the whole I am well satisfied with its composition. It is not\n    a bit more radical than the government of last year; perhaps a\n    little less. And we have got some good young hands, which please\n    me very much. Yet short as the Salisbury government has been, it\n    would not at all surprise me if this were to be shorter still,\n    such are the difficulties that bristle round the Irish question.\n    But the great thing is to be right; and as far as matters have yet\n    advanced, I see no reason to be apprehensive in this capital\n    respect. I have framed a plan for the land and for the finance of\n    what must be a very large transaction. It is necessary to see our\n    way a little on these at the outset, for, unless these portions of\n    anything we attempt are sound and well constructed, we cannot hope\n    to succeed. On the other hand, if we fail, as I believe the late\n    ministers would have failed even to pass their plan of repressive\n    legislation, the consequences will be deplorable in every way.\n    There seems to be no doubt that some, and notably Lord R.\n    Churchill, fully reckoned on my failing to form a government.(186)\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThe work pressed, and time was terribly short. The new ministers had\nbarely gone through their re-elections before the opposition began to\nharry them for their policy, and went so far, before the government was\nfive weeks old, as to make the extreme motion for refusing supply. Even if\nthe opposition had been in more modest humour, no considerable delay could\nbe defended. Social order in Ireland was in a profoundly unsatisfactory\nphase. That fact was the starting-point of the reversal of policy which\nthe government had come into existence to carry out. You cannot announce a\ngrand revolution, and then beg the world to wait. The very reason that\njustified the policy commanded expedition. Anxiety and excitement were too\nintense out of doors for anything but a speedy date, and it was quite\ncertain that if the new plan were not at once propounded, no other public\nbusiness would have much chance.\n\nThe new administration did not meet parliament until after the middle of\nFebruary, and the two Irish bills, in which their policy was contained,\nwere ready by the end of the first week of April. Considering the enormous\nbreadth and intricacy of the subjects, the pressure of parliamentary\nbusiness all the time, the exigencies of administrative work in the case\nof at least one of the ministers principally concerned, and the\ndistracting atmosphere of party perturbation and disquiet that daily and\nhourly harassed the work, the despatch of such a task within such limits\nof time was at least not discreditable to the industry and concentration\nof those who achieved it. I leave it still open to the hostile critic to\nsay, as Moliere's Alceste says of the sonnet composed in a quarter of an\nhour, that time has nothing to do with the business.\n\nAll through March Mr. Gladstone laboured in what he called \"stiff\nconclaves\" about finance and land, attended drawing rooms, and \"observed\nthe variations of H.M.'s _accueils_\"; had an audience of the Queen, \"very\ngracious, but avoided serious subjects\"; was laid up with cold, and the\nweather made Sir Andrew Clark strict; then rose up to fresh grapples with\nfinance and land and untoward colleagues, and all the \"inexorable demands\nof my political vocation.\" His patience and self-control were as\nmarvellous as his tireless industry. Sorely tried by something or another\nat a cabinet, he enters,--\"Angry with myself for not bearing it better. I\nought to have been thankful for it all the time.\" On a similar occasion, a\njunior colleague showed himself less thankful than he should have been for\npurposeless antagonism. \"Think of it as discipline,\" said Mr. (M108)\nGladstone. \"But why,\" said the unregenerate junior, \"should we grudge the\nblessings of discipline to some other people?\"\n\nMr. Gladstone was often blamed even by Laodiceans among his supporters,\nnot wise but foolish after the event, because he did not proceed by way of\nresolution, instead of by bill. Resolutions, it was argued, would have\nsmoothed the way. General propositions would have found readier access to\nmen's minds. Having accepted the general proposition, people would have\nfound it harder to resist the particular application. Devices that\nstartled in the precision of a clause, would in the vagueness of a broad\nand abstract principle have soothed and persuaded. Mr. Gladstone was\nperfectly alive to all this, but his answer to it was plain. Those who\neventually threw out the bill would insist on unmasking the resolution.\nThey would have exhausted all the stereotyped vituperation of abstract\nmotions. They would have ridiculed any general proposition as mere\nplatitude, and pertinaciously clamoured for working details. What would\nthe resolution have affirmed? The expediency of setting up a legislative\nauthority in Ireland to deal with exclusively Irish affairs. But such a\nresolution would be consistent equally with a narrow scheme on the one\nhand, such as a plan for national councils, and a broad scheme on the\nother, giving to Ireland a separate exchequer, separate control over\ncustoms and excise, and practically an independent and co-ordinate\nlegislature.(187) How could the government meet the challenge to say\noutright whether they intended broad or narrow? Such a resolution could\nhardly have outlived an evening's debate, and would not have postponed the\nevil day of schism for a single week.\n\nPrecedents lent no support. It is true that the way was prepared for the\nAct of Union in the parliament of Great Britain, by the string of\nresolutions moved by Mr. Pitt in the beginning of 1799. But anybody who\nglances at them, will at once perceive that if resolutions on their model\nhad been framed for the occasion of 1886, they would have covered the\nwhole ground of the actual bill, and would instantly have raised all the\nformidable objections and difficulties exactly as the bill itself raised\nthem. The Bank Charter Act of 1833 was founded on eight resolutions, and\nthey also set forth in detail the points of the ministerial plan.(188) The\nrenewal of the East India Company's charter in the same year went on by\nway of resolutions, less abundant in particulars than the Bank Act, but\npreceded by correspondence and papers which had been exhaustively\ncanvassed and discussed.(189) The question of Irish autonomy was in no\nposition of that sort.\n\nThe most apt precedent in some respects is to be found on a glorious\noccasion, also in the year 1833. Mr. Stanley introduced the proposals of\nhis government for the emancipation of the West Indian slaves in five\nresolutions. They furnished a key not only to policy and general\nprinciples, but also to the plan by which these were to be carried\nout.(190) Lord Howick followed the minister at once, raising directly the\nwhole question of the plan. Who could doubt that Lord Hartington would now\ntake precisely the same course towards Irish resolutions of similar scope?\nThe procedure on the India bill of 1858 was just as little to the point.\nThe general disposition of the House was wholly friendly to a settlement\nof the question of Indian government by the existing ministry. No single\nsection of the opposition wished to take it out of their hands, for\nneither Lord Russell nor the Peelites nor the Manchester men, and probably\nnot even Lord Palmerston himself, were anxious for the immediate return of\nthe last-named minister to power. Who will pretend that in the House, of\nCommons in February 1886, anything at all like the same state of facts\nprevailed? As for the resolutions in the case of the Irish church, they\nwere moved by Mr. Gladstone in opposition, and he thought it obvious that\na policy proposed in opposition stands on a totally different footing from\na policy laid before parliament on the responsibility of a government, and\na government bound by every necessity of the situation to prompt\naction.(191)\n\n(M109) At a later stage, as we shall see, it was actually proposed that a\nvote for the second reading of the bill should be taken to mean no more\nthan a vote for its principle. Every one of the objections that instantly\nsprang out of their ambush against this proposal would have worked just as\nmuch mischief against an initial resolution. In short, in opening a policy\nof this difficulty and extent, the cabinet was bound to produce to\nparliament not merely its policy but its plan for carrying the policy out.\nBy that course only could parliament know what it was doing. Any other\ncourse must have ended in a mystifying, irritating, and barren confusion,\nalike in the House of Commons and in the country.(192)\n\nThe same consideration that made procedure by resolution unadvisable told\nwith equal force within the cabinet. Examination into the feasibility of\nsome sort of plan was most rapidly brought to a head by the test of a\nparticular plan. It is a mere fable of faction that a cast iron policy was\narbitrarily imposed upon the cabinet; as matter of fact, the plan\noriginally propounded did undergo large and radical modifications.\n\nThe policy as a whole shaped itself in two measures. First, a scheme for\ncreating a legislative body, and defining its powers; second, a scheme for\nopening the way to a settlement of the land question, in discharge of an\nobligation of honour and policy, imposed upon this country by its active\nshare in all the mischiefs that the Irish land system had produced. The\nintroduction of a plan for dealing with the land was not very popular even\namong ministers, but it was pressed by Lord Spencer and the Irish\nsecretary, on the double ground that the land was too burning a question\nto be left where it then stood, and next that it was unfair to a new and\nuntried legislature in Ireland to find itself confronted by such a\nquestion on the very threshold.\n\nThe plan was opened by Mr. Gladstone in cabinet on March 13th, and Mr.\nChamberlain and Mr. Trevelyan at once wished to resign. He remonstrated in\na vigorous correspondence. \"I have seen many and many a resignation,\" he\nsaid, \"but never one based upon the intentions, nay the immature\nintentions, of the prime minister, and on a pure intuition of what may\nhappen. Bricks and rafters are prepared for a house, but are not\nthemselves a house.\" The evil hour was postponed, but not for long. The\nCabinet met again a few days later (March 26) and things came to a sharp\nissue. The question was raised in a sufficiently definite form by the\nproposition from the prime minister for the establishment of a statutory\nbody sitting in Dublin with legislative powers. No difficulty was made\nabout the bare proposition itself. Every one seemed to go as far as that.\nIt needed to be tested, and tests were at once forthcoming. Mr. Trevelyan\ncould not assent to the control of the immediate machinery of law and\norder being withdrawn from direct British authority, among other reasons\nbecause it was this proposal that created the necessity for buying out the\nIrish landlords, which he regarded as raising a problem absolutely\ninsoluble.(193) Mr. Chamberlain raised four points. He objected to the\ncesser of Irish representation; he could not consent to the grant of full\nrights of taxation to Ireland; he resisted the surrender of the\nappointment of judges and magistrates; and he argued strongly against\nproceeding by enumeration of the things that an Irish government might not\ndo, instead of by a specific delegation of the things that it might\ndo.(194) That these four objections were not in themselves incapable of\naccommodation was shown by subsequent events. The second was very\nspeedily, and the first was ultimately allowed, while the fourth was held\nby good authority to be little more than a question of drafting. Even the\nthird was not a point either way on which to break up a government,\ndestroy a policy, and split a party. But everybody who is acquainted with\neither the great or the small conflicts of human history, knows how little\nthe mere terms of a principle or of an objection are to be trusted as a\nclue either to its practical significance, or (M110) to the design with\nwhich it is in reality advanced. The design here under all the four heads\nof objection, was the dwarfing of the legislative body, the cramping and\nconstriction of its organs, its reduction to something which the Irish\ncould not have even pretended to accept, and which they would have been no\nbetter than fools if they had ever attempted to work.\n\nSome supposed then, and Mr. Chamberlain has said since, that when he\nentered the cabinet room on this memorable occasion, he intended to be\nconciliatory. Witnesses of the scene thought that the prime minister made\nlittle attempt in that direction. Yet where two men of clear mind and firm\nwill mean two essentially different things under the same name, whether\nautonomy or anything else, and each intends to stand by his own\ninterpretation, it is childish to suppose that arts of deportment will\nsmother or attenuate fundamental divergence, or make people who are quite\naware how vitally they differ, pretend that they entirely agree. Mr.\nGladstone knew the giant burden that he had taken up, and when he went to\nthe cabinet of March 26, his mind was no doubt fixed that success, so\nhazardous at best, would be hopeless in face of personal antagonisms and\nbitterly divided counsels. This, in his view, and in his own phrase, was\none of the \"great imperial occasions\" that call for imperial resolves. The\ntwo ministers accordingly resigned.\n\nBesides these two important secessions, some ministers out of the cabinet\nresigned, but they were of the whig complexion.(195) The new prospect of\nthe whig schism extending into the camp of the extreme radicals created\nnatural alarm but hardly produced a panic. So deep were the roots of\nparty, so immense the authority of a veteran leader. It used to be said of\nthe administration of 1880, that the world would never really know Mr.\nGladstone's strength in parliament and the country, until every one of his\ncolleagues had in turn abandoned him to his own resources. Certainly the\nsecessions of the end of March 1886 left him undaunted. Every\nconsideration of duty and of policy bound him to persevere. He felt,\njustly enough, that a minister who had once deliberately invited his party\nand the people of the three kingdoms to follow him on so arduous and bold\na march as this, had no right on any common plea to turn back until he had\nexhausted every available device to \"bring the army of the faithful\nthrough.\"\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nFrom the first the Irish leader was in free and constant communication\nwith the chief secretary. Proposals were once or twice made, not I think\nat Mr. Parnell's desire, for conversations to be held between Mr.\nGladstone and himself, but they were always discouraged by Mr. Gladstone,\nwho was never fond of direct personal contentions, or conversations when\nthe purpose could be as well served otherwise, and he had a horror of what\nhe called multiplying channels of communication. \"For the moment,\" he\nreplied, \"I think we may look to Mr. M. alone, and rely on all he says for\naccuracy as well as fidelity. I have been hard at work, and to-day I mean\nto have a further and full talk with Mr. M., who will probably soon after\nwish for some renewed conversation with Mr. Parnell.\" Mr. Parnell showed\nhimself acute, frank, patient, closely attentive, and possessed of\nstriking though not rapid insight. He never slurred over difficulties, nor\ntried to pretend that rough was smooth. On the other hand, he had nothing\nin common with that desperate species of counsellor, who takes all the\nsmall points, and raises objections instead of helping to contrive\nexpedients. He measured the ground with a slow and careful eye, and fixed\ntenaciously on the thing that was essential at the moment. Of constructive\nfaculty he never showed a trace. He was a man of temperament, of will, of\nauthority, of power; not of ideas or ideals, or knowledge, or political\nmaxims, or even of the practical reason in any of its higher senses, as\nHamilton, Madison, and Jefferson had practical reason. But he knew what he\nwanted.\n\n(M111) He was always perfectly ready at this period to acquiesce in Irish\nexclusion from Westminster, on the ground that they would want all the\nbrains they had for their own parliament. At the same time he would have\nliked a provision for sending a delegation to Westminster on occasion,\nwith reference to some definite Irish questions such as might be expected\nto arise. As to the composition of the upper or protective order in the\nIrish parliament, he was wholly unfamiliar with the various utopian plans\nthat have been advanced for the protection of minorities, and he declared\nhimself tolerably indifferent whether the object should be sought in\nnomination by the crown, or through a special and narrower elective body,\nor by any other scheme. To such things he had given no thought. He was a\nparty chief, not a maker of constitutions. He liked the idea of both\norders sitting in one House. He made one significant suggestion: he wished\nthe bill to impose the same disqualification upon the clergy as exists in\nour own parliament. But he would have liked to see certain ecclesiastical\ndignitaries included by virtue of their office in the upper or protective\nbranch. All questions of this kind, however, interested him much less than\nfinance. Into financial issues he threw himself with extraordinary energy,\nand he fought for better terms with a keenness and tenacity that almost\nbaffled the mighty expert with whom he was matched. They only met once\nduring the weeks of the preparation of the bill, though the indirect\ncommunication was constant. Here is my scanty note of the meeting:--\n\n\n    _April 5._--Mr. Parnell came to my room at the House at 8.30, and\n    we talked for two hours. At 10.30 I went to Mr. Gladstone next\n    door, and told him how things stood. He asked me to open the\n    points of discussion, and into my room we went. He shook hands\n    cordially with Mr. Parnell, and sat down between him and me. We at\n    once got to work. P. extraordinarily close, tenacious, and sharp.\n    It was all finance. At midnight, Mr. Gladstone rose in his chair\n    and said, \"I fear I must go; I cannot sit as late as I used to\n    do.\" \"Very clever, very clever,\" he muttered to me as I held open\n    the door of his room for him. I returned to Parnell, who went on\n    repeating his points in his impenetrable way, until the policeman\n    mercifully came to say the House was up.\n\n\nMr. Gladstone's own note must also be transcribed:--\n\n\n    _April 5._--Wrote to Lord Spencer. The Queen and ministers. Four\n    hours on the matter for my speech. 1-1/2 hours with Welby and\n    Hamilton on the figures. Saw Lord Spencer, Mr. Morley, Mr. A. M.\n    H. of C., 5-8. Dined at Sir Thomas May's.\n\n    1-1/2 hours with Morley and Parnell on the root of the matter;\n    rather too late for me, 10-1/2-12. A hard day. (_Diary._)\n\n\nOn more than one financial point the conflict went perilously near to\nbreaking down the whole operation. \"If we do not get a right budget,\" said\nMr. Parnell, \"all will go wrong from the very first hour.\" To the last he\nheld out that the just proportion of Irish contribution to the imperial\nfund was not one-fourteenth or one-fifteenth, but a twentieth or\ntwenty-first part. He insisted all the more strongly on his own more\nliberal fraction, as a partial compensation for their surrender of fiscal\nliberty and the right to impose customs duties. Even an hour or two before\nthe bill was actually to be unfolded to the House, he hurried to the Irish\noffice in what was for him rather an excited state, to make one more\nappeal to me for his fraction. It is not at all improbable that if the\nbill had gone forward into committee, it would have been at the eleventh\nhour rejected by the Irish on this department of it, and then all would\nhave been at an end. Mr. Parnell never concealed this danger ahead.\n\nIn the cabinet things went forward with such ups and downs as are usual\nwhen a difficult bill is on the anvil. In a project of this magnitude, it\nwas inevitable that some minister should occasionally let fall the\nconsecrated formula that if this or that were done or not done, he must\nreconsider his position. Financial arrangements, and the protection of the\nminority, were two of the knottiest points,--the first from the contention\nraised on the Irish side, the second from misgiving in some minds as to\nthe possibility of satisfying protestant sentiment in England and\nScotland. Some kept the colonial type more strongly in view than others,\nand the bill no doubt ultimately bore that cast.\n\n(M112) The draft project of surrendering complete taxing-power to the\nIrish legislative body was eventually abandoned. It was soon felt that the\nbare possibility of Ireland putting duties on British goods--and it was not\nmore than a bare possibility in view of Britain's position as practically\nIreland's only market--would have destroyed the bill in every manufacturing\nand commercial centre in the land. Mr. Parnell agreed to give up the\ncontrol of customs, and also to give up direct and continuous\nrepresentation at Westminster. On this cardinal point of the cesser of\nIrish representation, Mr. Gladstone to the last professed to keep an open\nmind, though to most of the cabinet, including especially three of its\noldest hands and coolest heads, exclusion was at this time almost vital.\nExclusion was favoured not only on its merits. Mr. Bright was known to\nregard it as large compensation for what otherwise he viewed as pure\nmischief, and it was expected to win support in other quarters generally\nhostile. So in truth it did, but at the cost of support in quarters that\nwere friendly. On April 30, Mr. Gladstone wrote to Lord Granville, \"I\nscarcely see how a cabinet could have been formed, if the inclusion of the\nIrish members had been insisted on; and now I do not see how the scheme\nand policy can be saved from shipwreck, if the exclusion is insisted on.\"\n\nThe plan was bound to be extensive, as its objects were extensive, and it\ntook for granted in the case of Ireland the fundamental probabilities of\ncivil society. He who looks with \"indolent and kingly gaze\" upon all\nprojects of written constitutions need not turn to the Appendix unless he\nwill. Two features of the plan were cardinal.\n\nThe foundation of the scheme was the establishment in Ireland of a\ndomestic legislature to deal with Irish as distinguished from imperial\naffairs. It followed from this that if Irish members and representative\npeers remained at Westminster at all, though they might claim a share in\nthe settlement of imperial affairs, they could not rightly control English\nor Scotch affairs. This was from the first, and has ever since remained,\nthe Gordian knot. The cabinet on a review of all the courses open\ndetermined to propose the plan of total exclusion, save and unless for the\npurpose of revising this organic statute.\n\nThe next question was neither so hard nor so vital. Ought the powers of\nthe Irish legislature to be specifically enumerated? Or was it better to\nenumerate the branches of legislation from which the statutory parliament\nwas to be shut out? Should we enact the things that they might do, or the\nthings that they might not do, leaving them the whole residue of\nlaw-making power outside of these exceptions and exclusions? The latter\nwas the plan adopted in the bill. Disabilities were specified, and\neverything not so specified was left within the scope of the Irish\nauthority. These disabilities comprehended all matters affecting the\ncrown. All questions of defence and armed force were shut out; all foreign\nand colonial relations; the law of trade and navigation, of coinage and\nlegal tender. The new legislature could not meddle with certain charters,\nnor with certain contracts, nor could it establish or endow any particular\nreligion.(196)\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nAmong his five spurious types of courage, Aristotle names for one the man\nwho seems to be brave, only because he does not see his danger. This, at\nleast, was not Mr. Gladstone's case. No one knew better than the leader in\nthe enterprise, how formidable were the difficulties that lay in his path.\nThe giant mass of secular English prejudice against Ireland frowned like a\nmountain chain across the track. A strong and proud nation had trained\nitself for long courses of time in habits of dislike for the history, the\npolitical claims, the religion, the temperament, of a weaker nation. The\nviolence of the Irish members in the last parliament, sporadic barbarities\nin some of the wilder portions of the island, the hideous murders in the\nPark, had all deepened and vivified the scowling impressions nursed by\nlarge bodies of Englishmen for many ages past about unfortunate Ireland.\nThen the practical operation of shaping an Irish constitution, whether on\ncolonial, federal, or any (M113) other lines, was in itself a task that,\neven if all external circumstance had been as smiling as it was in fact\nthe opposite, still abounded in every kind of knotty, intricate, and\nintractable matter.\n\nIt is true that elements could be discovered on the other side. First, was\nMr. Gladstone's own high place in the confidence of great masses of his\ncountrymen, the result of a lifetime of conspicuous service and\nachievement. Next, the lacerating struggle with Ireland ever since 1880,\nand the confusion into which it had brought our affairs, had bred\nsomething like despair in many minds, and they were ready to look in\nalmost any direction for relief from an intolerable burden. Third, the\ncontroversy had not gone very far before opponents were astounded to find\nthat the new policy, which they angrily scouted as half insanity and half\ntreason, gave comparatively little shock to the new democracy. This was at\nfirst imputed to mere ignorance and raw habits of political judgment.\nWider reflection might have warned them that the plain people of this\nisland, though quickly roused against even the shadow of concession when\nthe power or the greatness of their country is openly assailed, seem at\nthe same time ready to turn to moral claims of fair play, of conciliation,\nof pacific truce. With all these magnanimous sentiments the Irish case was\nonly too easily made to associate itself. The results of the Irish\nelections and the force of the constitutional demand sank deep in the\npopular mind. The grim spectre of Coercion as the other alternative wore\nits most repulsive look in the eyes of men, themselves but newly admitted\nto full citizenship. Rash experiment in politics has been defined as\nraising grave issues without grave cause. Nobody of any party denied in\nthis crisis the gravity of the cause.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VI. Introduction Of The Bill. (1886)\n\n\n    Much have I seen and known; cities of men\n    And manners, climates, councils, governments,\n    Myself not least, but honour'd of them all....\n    There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;\n    There gloom the dark broad seas.\n                    --TENNYSON, _Ulysses_.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nIt was not within the compass either of human effort or human endurance\neven for the most practised and skilful of orators to unfold the whole\nplan, both government and land, in a single speech. Nor was public\ninterest at all equally divided. Irish land had devoured an immense amount\nof parliamentary time in late years; it is one of the most technical and\nrepulsive of all political subjects; and to many of the warmest friends of\nIrish self-government, any special consideration for the owners of Irish\nland was bitterly unpalatable. Expectation was centred upon the plan for\ngeneral government. This was introduced on April 8. Here is the entry in\nthe little diary:--\n\n\n    The message came to me this morning: \"Hold thou up my goings in\n    thy path, that my footsteps slip not.\" Settled finally my figures\n    with Welby and Hamilton; other points with Spencer and Morley.\n    Reflected much. Took a short drive. H. of C., 4-1/2-8-1/4.\n    Extraordinary scenes outside the House and in. My speech, which I\n    have sometimes thought could never end, lasted nearly 3-1/2 hours.\n    Voice and strength and freedom were granted to me in a degree\n    beyond what I could have hoped. But many a prayer had gone up for\n    me, and not I believe in vain.\n\n\nNo such scene had ever been beheld in the House of Commons. Members came\ndown at break of day to secure their places; before noon every seat was\nmarked, and (M114) crowded benches were even arrayed on the floor of the\nHouse from the mace to the bar. Princes, ambassadors, great peers, high\nprelates, thronged the lobbies. The fame of the orator, the boldness of\nhis exploit, curiosity as to the plan, poignant anxiety as to the party\nresult, wonder whether a wizard had at last actually arisen with a spell\nfor casting out the baleful spirits that had for so many ages made Ireland\nour torment and our dishonour, all these things brought together such an\nassemblage as no minister before had ever addressed within those\nworld-renowned walls. The parliament was new. Many of its members had\nfought a hard battle for their seats, and trusted they were safe in the\nhaven for half a dozen good years to come. Those who were moved by\nprofessional ambition, those whose object was social advancement, those\nwho thought only of upright public service, the keen party men, the men\nwho aspired to office, the men with a past and the men who looked for a\nfuture, all alike found themselves adrift on dark and troubled waters. The\nsecrets of the bill had been well kept. To-day the disquieted host were\nfirst to learn what was the great project to which they would have to say\nthat Aye or No on which for them and for the state so much would hang.\n\nOf the chief comrades or rivals of the minister's own generation, the\nstrong administrators, the eager and accomplished debaters, the sagacious\nleaders, the only survivor now comparable to him in eloquence or in\ninfluence was Mr. Bright. That illustrious man seldom came into the House\nin those distracted days; and on this memorable occasion his stern and\nnoble head was to be seen in dim obscurity. Various as were the emotions\nin other regions of the House, in one quarter rejoicing was unmixed.\nThere, at least, was no doubt and no misgiving. There pallid and tranquil\nsat the Irish leader, whose hard insight, whose patience, energy, and\nspirit of command, had achieved this astounding result, and done that\nwhich he had vowed to his countrymen that he would assuredly be able to\ndo. On the benches round him, genial excitement rose almost to tumult.\nWell it might. For the first time since the union, the Irish case was at\nlast to be pressed in all its force and strength, in every aspect of\npolicy and of conscience, by the most powerful Englishman then alive.\n\nMore striking than the audience was the man; more striking than the\nmultitude of eager onlookers from the shore was the rescuer with\ndeliberate valour facing the floods ready to wash him down; the veteran\nUlysses, who after more than half a century of combat, service, toil,\nthought it not too late to try a further \"work of noble note.\" In the\nhands of such a master of the instrument, the theme might easily have lent\nitself to one of those displays of exalted passion which the House had\nmarvelled at in more than one of Mr. Gladstone's speeches on the Turkish\nquestion, or heard with religious reverence in his speech on the\nAffirmation bill in 1883. What the occasion now required was that passion\nshould burn low, and reasoned persuasion hold up the guiding lamp. An\nelaborate scheme was to be unfolded, an unfamiliar policy to be explained\nand vindicated. Of that best kind of eloquence which dispenses with\ndeclamation, this was a fine and sustained example. There was a deep,\nrapid, steady, onflowing volume of argument, exposition, exhortation.\nEvery hard or bitter stroke was avoided. Now and again a fervid note\nthrilled the ear and lifted all hearts. But political oratory is action,\nnot words,--action, character, will, conviction, purpose, personality. As\nthis eager muster of men underwent the enchantment of periods exquisite in\ntheir balance and modulation, the compulsion of his flashing glance and\nanimated gesture, what stirred and commanded them was the recollection of\nnational service, the thought of the speaker's mastering purpose, his\nunflagging resolution and strenuous will, his strength of thew and sinew\nwell tried in long years of resounding war, his unquenched conviction that\nthe just cause can never fail. Few are the heroic moments in our\nparliamentary politics, but this was one.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThe first reading of the bill was allowed to pass without a division. To\nthe second, Lord Hartington moved an (M115) amendment in the ordinary form\nof simple rejection.(197) His two speeches(198) present the case against\nthe policy and the bill in its most massive form. The direct and\nunsophisticated nature of his antagonism, backed by a personal character\nof uprightness and plain dealing beyond all suspicion, gave a momentum to\nhis attack that was beyond any effect of dialectics. It was noticed that\nhe had never during his thirty years of parliamentary life spoken with\nanything like the same power before. The debates on the two stages\noccupied sixteen nights. They were not unworthy of the gravity of the\nissue, nor of the fame of the House of Commons. Only one speaker held the\nmagic secret of Demosthenic oratory. Several others showed themselves\nmasters of the higher arts of parliamentary discussion. One or two\ntransient spurts of fire in the encounters of orange and green, served to\nreveal the intensity of the glow behind the closed doors of the furnace.\nBut the general temper was good. The rule against irritating language was\nhardly ever broken. Swords crossed according to the strict rules of\ncombat. The tone was rational and argumentative. There was plenty of\nstrong, close, and acute reasoning; there was some learning, a\nconsiderable acquaintance both with historic and contemporary, foreign and\ndomestic fact, and when fact and reasoning broke down, their place was\nabundantly filled by eloquent prophecy of disaster on one side, or\nblessing on the other. Neither prophecy was demonstrable; both could be\nmade plausible.\n\nDiscussion was adorned by copious references to the mighty shades who had\nbeen the glory of the House in a great parliamentary age. We heard again\nthe Virgilian hexameters in which Pitt had described the spirit of his\npolicy at the union:--\n\n\n              \"Paribus se legibus ambae\n    Invictae gentes aeterna in foedera mittant.\"\n\n\nWe heard once more how Grattan said that union of the legislatures was\nseverance of the nations; that the ocean forbade union, the channel\nforbade separation; that England in her government of Ireland had gone to\nhell for her principles and to bedlam for her discretion. There was, above\nall, a grand and copious anthology throughout the debate from Burke, the\ngreatest of Irishmen and the largest master of civil wisdom in our tongue.\n\nThe appearance of a certain measure of the common form of all debates was\ninevitable. No bill is ever brought in of which its opponents do not say\nthat it either goes too far, or else it does not go far enough; no bill of\nwhich its defenders do not say as to some crucial flaw pounced upon and\nparaded by the enemy, that after all it is a mere question of drafting, or\ncan be more appropriately discussed in committee. There was the usual\nevasion of the strong points of the adversary's case, the usual\nexaggeration of its weak ones. That is debating. Perorations ran in a\nmonotonous mould; integrity of the empire on one side, a real, happy, and\nindissoluble reconciliation between English and Irish on the other.\n\nOne side dwelt much on the recall of Lord Fitzwilliam in 1795, and the\nsqualid corruption of the union; the other, on the hopeless distraction\nleft by the rebellion of 1798, and the impotent confusion of the Irish\nparliament. One speaker enumerated Mr. Pitt's arguments for the union--the\nargument about the regency and about the commercial treaty, the argument\nabout foreign alliances and confederacies and the army, about free trade\nand catholic emancipation; he showed that under all these six heads the\nnew bill carefully respected and guarded the grounds taken by the minister\nof the union. He was bluntly answered by the exclamation that nobody cared\na straw about what Mr. Pitt said, or what Sir Ralph Abercromby said; what\nwe had to deal with were the facts of the case in the year 1886. You show\nyour mistrust of the Irish by inserting all these safeguards in the bill,\nsaid the opposition. No, replied ministers; the safeguards are to meet no\nmistrusts of ours, but those entertained or feigned by other people. You\nhad no mandate for home rule, said the opposition. Still less, ministers\nretorted, had you a mandate for coercion. (M116) Such a scheme as this,\nexclaimed the critics, with all its checks and counterchecks, its\ntruncated functions, its vetoes, exceptions, and reservations, is\ndegrading to Ireland, and every Irish patriot with a spark of spirit in\nhis bosom must feel it so. As if, retorted the defenders, there were no\ndegradation to a free people in suffering twenty years of your firm and\nresolute coercion. One side argued that the interests of Ireland and Great\nBritain were much too closely intertwined to permit a double legislature.\nThe other argued that this very interdependence was just what made an\nIrish legislature safe, because it was incredible that they should act as\nif they had no benefit to receive from us, and no injury to suffer from\ninjury inflicted upon us. Do you, asked some, blot out of your minds the\nbitter, incendiary, and rebellious speech of Irish members? But do you\nthen, the rejoinder followed, suppose that the language that came from\nmen's hearts when a boon was refused, is a clue to the sentiment in their\nhearts when the boon shall have been granted? Ministers were bombarded\nwith reproachful quotations from their old speeches. They answered the\nfire by taunts about the dropping of coercion, and the amazing manoeuvres\nof the autumn of 1885. The device of the two orders was denounced as\ninconsistent with the democratic tendencies of the age. A very impressive\nargument forsooth from you, was the reply, who are either stout defenders\nof the House of Lords as it is, or else stout advocates for some of the\nmultifarious schemes for mixing hereditary peers with fossil officials,\nall of them equally alien to the democratic tendencies whether of this age\nor any other. So, with stroke and counter-stroke, was the ball kept\nflying.\n\nMuch was made of foreign and colonial analogies; of the union between\nAustria and Hungary, Norway and Sweden, Denmark and Iceland; how in\nforcing legislative union on North America we lost the colonies; how the\nunion of legislatures ended in the severance of Holland from Belgium. All\nthis carried little conviction. Most members of parliament like to think\nwith pretty large blinkers on, and though it may make for narrowness, this\nis consistent with much practical wisdom. Historical parallels in the\nactual politics of the day are usually rather decorative than substantial.\n\nIf people disbelieve premisses, nothing can be easier than to ridicule\nconclusions; and what happened now was that critics argued against this or\nthat contrivance in the machinery, because they insisted that no machinery\nwas needed at all, and that no contrivance could ever be made to work,\nbecause the Irish mechanicians would infallibly devote all their\ninfatuated energy and perverse skill, not to work it, but to break it in\npieces. The Irish, in Mr. Gladstone's ironical paraphrase of these\nsingular opinions, had a double dose of original sin; they belonged wholly\nto the kingdoms of darkness, and therefore the rules of that probability\nwhich wise men have made the guide of life can have no bearing in any case\nof theirs. A more serious way of stating the fundamental objection with\nwhich Mr. Gladstone had to deal was this. Popular government is at the\nbest difficult to work. It is supremely difficult to work in a statutory\nscheme with limits, reservations, and restrictions lurking round every\ncorner. Finally, owing to history and circumstance, no people in all the\nworld is less fitted to try a supremely difficult experiment in government\nthan the people who live in Ireland. Your superstructure, they said, is\nenormously heavy, yet you are going to raise it on foundations that are a\nquaking bog of incapacity and discontent. This may have been a good answer\nto the policy of the bill. But to criticise its provisions from such a\npoint of view was as inevitably unfruitful as it would be to set a\nhardened agnostic to revise the Thirty-nine articles or the mystic theses\nof the Athanasian creed.\n\nOn the first reading, Mr. Chamberlain astounded allies and opponents alike\nby suddenly revealing his view, that the true solution of the question was\nto be sought in some form of federation. It was upon the line of\nfederation, and not upon the pattern of the self-governing colonies, that\nwe should find a way out of the difficulty.(199) Men could hardly trust\ntheir ears. On the second reading, he startled us once more by declaring\nthat he was perfectly prepared, the very (M117) next day if we pleased, to\nestablish between this country and Ireland the relations subsisting\nbetween the provincial legislatures and the dominion parliament of\nCanada.(200) As to the first proposal, anybody could see that federation\nwas a vastly more revolutionary operation than the delegation of certain\nlegislative powers to a local parliament. Moreover before federating an\nIrish legislature, you must first create it. As to the second proposal,\nanybody could see on turning for a quarter of an hour to the Dominion Act\nof 1867, that in some of the particulars deemed by Mr. Chamberlain to be\nspecially important, a provincial legislature in the Canadian system had\nmore unfettered powers than the Irish legislature would have under the\nbill. Finally, he urged that inquiry into the possibility of satisfying\nthe Irish demand should be carried on by a committee or commission\nrepresenting all sections of the House.(201) In face of projects so\nstrangely fashioned as this, Mr. Gladstone had a right to declare that\njust as the subject held the field in the public mind--for never before had\nbeen seen such signs of public absorption in the House and out of the\nHouse--so the ministerial plan held the field in parliament. It had many\nenemies, but it had not a single serious rival.\n\nThe debate on the second reading had hardly begun when Lord Salisbury\nplaced in the hands of his adversaries a weapon with which they took care\nto do much execution. Ireland, he declared, is not one nation, but two\nnations. There were races like the Hottentots, and even the Hindoos,\nincapable of self-government. He would not place confidence in people who\nhad acquired the habit of using knives and slugs. His policy was that\nparliament should enable the government of England to govern Ireland.\n\"Apply that recipe honestly, consistently, and resolutely for twenty\nyears, and at the end of that time you will find that Ireland will be fit\nto accept any gifts in the way of local government or repeal of coercion\nlaws that you may wish to give her.\"(202) In the same genial vein, Lord\nSalisbury told his Hottentot fellow-citizens--one of the two _invictae\ngentes_ of Mr. Pitt's famous quotation--that if some great store of\nimperial treasure were going to be expended on Ireland, instead of buying\nout landlords, it would be far more usefully employed in providing for the\nemigration of a million Irishmen. Explanations followed this inconvenient\ncandour, but explanations are apt to be clumsy, and the pungency of the\nindiscretion kept it long alive. A humdrum speaker, who was able to\ncontribute nothing better to the animation of debate, could always by\ninsinuating a reference to Hottentots, knives and slugs, the deportation\nof a million Irishmen, and twenty years of continuous coercion, make sure\nof a roar of angry protest from his opponents, followed by a lusty\ncounter-volley from his friends.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nThe reception of the bill by the organs of Irish opinion was easy to\nforetell. The nationalists accepted it in sober and rational language,\nsubject to amendments on the head of finance and the constabulary clauses.\nThe tories said it was a bill for setting up an Irish republic. It is\nanother selfish English plan, said the moderates. Some Irishmen who had\nplayed with home rule while it was a phrase, drew back when they saw it in\na bill. Others, while holding to home rule, objected to being reduced to\nthe status of colonists. The body of home rulers who were protestant was\nsmall, and even against them it was retorted that for every protestant\nnationalist there were ten catholic unionists. The Fenian organs across\nthe Atlantic, while quarrelling with such provisions as the two orders,\n\"one of which would be Irish and the other English,\" did justice to the\nbravery of the attempt, and to the new moral forces which it would call\nout. The florid violence which the Fenians abandoned was now with proper\nvariations adopted by Orangemen in the north. The General Assembly of the\npresbyterian church in Ireland passed strong resolutions against a\nparliament, in favour of a peasant proprietary, in favour of loyalty, and\nof coercion. A few days later the general synod of the protestant\nepiscopal church followed suit, and denounced a parliament. The Orange\nprint in Belfast drew up a Solemn League and Covenant for Ulster, to\nignore and resist an Irish national government. Unionist prints in Dublin\ndeclared and indignantly repelled \"the selfish English design to get rid\nof the Irish nuisance from Westminster, and reduce us to the position of a\ntributary dependency.\"(203)\n\nThe pivot of the whole policy was the acceptance of the bill by the\nrepresentatives of Ireland. On the evening when the bill was produced, Mr.\nParnell made certain complaints as to the reservation of the control of\nthe constabulary, as to the power of the first order to effect a deadlock,\nand as to finance. He explicitly and publicly warned the government from\nthe first that, when the committee stage was reached, he would claim a\nlarge decrease in the fraction named for the imperial contribution. There\nwas never any dissembling as to this. In private discussion, he had always\nheld that the fair proportion of Irish contribution to imperial charges\nwas not a fifteenth but a twentieth, and he said no more in the House than\nhe had persistently said in the Irish secretary's room. There too he had\nurged what he also declared in the House: that he had always insisted that\ndue representation should be given to the minority; that he should welcome\nany device for preventing ill-considered legislation, but that the\nprovision in the bill, for the veto of the first order, would lead to\nprolonged obstruction and delay. Subject to modification on these three\nheads, he accepted the bill. \"I am convinced,\" he said in concluding,\n\"that if our views are fairly met in committee regarding the defects to\nwhich I have briefly alluded,--the bill will be cheerfully accepted by the\nIrish people, and by their representatives, as a solution of the\nlong-standing dispute between the two countries.\"(204)\n\nIt transpired at a later date that just before the introduction of the\nbill, when Mr. Parnell had been made acquainted with its main proposals,\nhe called a meeting of eight of his leading colleagues, told them what\nthese proposals were, and asked them whether they would take the bill or\nleave it.(205) Some began to object to the absence of certain provisions,\nsuch as the immediate control of the constabulary, and the right over\nduties of customs. Mr. Parnell rose from the table, and clenched the\ndiscussion by informing them that if they declined the bill, the\ngovernment would go. They at once agreed \"to accept it _pro tanto_,\nreserving for committee the right of enforcing and, if necessary,\nreconsidering their position with regard to these important questions.\"\nThis is neither more nor less than the form in which Mr. Parnell made his\ndeclaration in parliament. There was complete consistency between the\nterms of this declaration, and the terms of acceptance agreed to by his\ncolleagues, as disclosed in the black days of December four years later.\nThe charge of bad faith and hypocrisy so freely made against the Irishmen\nis wholly unwarranted by a single word in these proceedings. If the whole\ntransaction had been known to the House of Commons, it could not have\nimpaired by one jot or tittle the value set by the supporters of the bill\non the assurances of the Irishmen that, in principle and subject to\nmodification on points named, they accepted the bill as a settlement of\nthe question, and would use their best endeavours to make it work.(206)\n\n\n\n\nChapter VII. The Political Atmosphere. Defeat Of The Bill. (1886)\n\n\n    Everything on every side was full of traps and mines.... It was in\n    the midst of this chaos of plots and counterplots ... that the\n    firmness of that noble person [Lord Rockingham] was put to the\n    proof. He never stirred from his ground; no, not an inch.--BURKE\n    (1766).\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nThe atmosphere in London became thick and hot with political passion.\nVeteran observers declared that our generation had not seen anything like\nit. Distinguished men of letters and, as it oddly happened, men who had\nwon some distinction either by denouncing the legislative union, or by\ninsisting on a decentralisation that should satisfy Irish national\naspirations, now choked with anger because they were taken at their word.\nJust like irascible scholars of old time who settled controversies about\ncorrupt texts by imputing to rival grammarians shameful crimes, so these\nwriters could find no other explanation for an opinion that was not their\nown about Irish government, except moral turpitude and personal\ndegradation. One professor of urbanity compared Mr. Gladstone to a\ndesperate pirate burning his ship, or a gambler doubling and trebling his\nstake as luck goes against him. Such strange violence in calm natures,\nsuch pharisaic pretension in a world where we are all fallen, remains a\nriddle. Political differences were turned into social proscription. Whigs\nwho could not accept the new policy were specially furious with whigs who\ncould. Great ladies purified their lists of the names of old intimates.\nAmiable magnates excluded from their dinner-tables and their country\nhouses once familiar friends who had fallen into the guilty heresy, and\neven harmless portraits of the heresiarch were sternly removed from the\nwalls. At some of the political clubs it rained blackballs. It was a\npainful demonstration how thin after all is our social veneer, even when\nmost highly polished.\n\nWhen a royal birthday was drawing near, the prime minister wrote to Lord\nGranville, his unfailing counsellor in every difficulty political and\nsocial: \"I am becoming seriously perplexed about my birthday dinner.\nHardly any peers of the higher ranks will be available, and not many of\nthe lower. Will the seceding colleagues come if they are asked? (Argyll,\nto whom I applied privately on the score of old friendship, has already\n_refused_ me.) I am for asking them; but I expect refusal. Lastly, it has\nbecome customary for the Prince of Wales to dine with me on that day, and\nhe brings his eldest son now that the young Prince is of age. But his\nposition would be very awkward, if he comes and witnesses a great\nnakedness of the land. What do you say to all this? If you cannot help me,\nwho can?\" Most of the seceding colleagues accepted, and the dinner came\noff well enough, though as the host wrote to a friend beforehand, \"If\nHartington were to get up and move a vote of want of confidence after\ndinner, he would almost carry it.\" The Prince was unable to be present,\nand so the great nakedness was by him unseen, but Prince Albert Victor,\nwho was there instead, is described by Mr. Gladstone as \"most kind.\"\n\nThe conversion of Peel to free trade forty years before had led to the\nsame species of explosion, though Peel had the court strongly with him.\nBoth then and now it was the case of a feud within the bosom of a party,\nand such feuds like civil wars have ever been the fiercest. In each case\nthere was a sense of betrayal--at least as unreasonable in 1886 as it was\nin 1846. The provinces somehow took things more rationally than the\nmetropolis. Those who were stunned by the fierce moans of London over the\nassured decline in national honour and credit, the imminence of civil war,\nand the ultimate destruction of British power, found their acquaintances\nin the country excited and interested, but still clothed and in their\nright minds. The gravity of the question was fully understood, but in\ntaking sides ordinary (M118) men did not talk as if they were in for the\nbattle of Armageddon. The attempt to kindle the torch of religious fear or\nhate was in Great Britain happily a failure. The mass of liberal\npresbyterians in Scotland, and of nonconformists in England and Wales,\nstood firm, though some of their most eminent and able divines resisted\nthe new project, less on religious grounds than on what they took to be\nthe balance of political arguments. Mr. Gladstone was able to point to the\nconclusive assurances he had received that the kindred peoples in the\ncolonies and America regarded with warm and fraternal sympathy the present\neffort to settle the long-vexed and troubled relations between Great\nBritain and Ireland:--\n\n\n    We must not be discouraged if at home and particularly in the\n    upper ranks of society, we hear a variety of discordant notes,\n    notes alike discordant from our policy and from one another. You\n    have before you a cabinet determined in its purpose and an\n    intelligible plan. I own I see very little else in the political\n    arena that is determined or that is intelligible.\n\n\nInside the House subterranean activity was at its height all through the\nmonth of May. This was the critical period. The regular opposition spoke\nlittle and did little; with composed interest they watched others do their\nwork. On the ministerial side men wavered and changed and changed again,\nfrom day to day and almost from hour to hour. Never were the motions of\nthe pendulum so agitated and so irregular. So novel and complex a problem\nwas a terrible burden for a new parliament. About half its members had not\nsat in any parliament before. The whips were new, some of the leaders on\nthe front benches were new, and those of them who were most in earnest\nabout the policy were too heavily engrossed in the business of the\nmeasure, to have much time for the exercises of explanation, argument, and\npersuasion with their adherents. One circumstance told powerfully for\nministers. The great central organisation of the liberal party came\ndecisively over to Mr. Gladstone (May 5), and was followed by nearly all\nthe local associations in the country. Neither whig secession nor radical\ndubitation shook the strength inherent in such machinery, in a community\nwhere the principle of government by party has solidly established itself.\nThis was almost the single consolidating and steadying element in that\nhour of dispersion. A serious move in the opposite direction had taken\nplace three weeks earlier. A great meeting was held at the Opera House, in\nthe Haymarket, presided over by the accomplished whig nobleman who had the\nmisfortune to be Irish viceroy in the two dismal years from 1880, and it\nwas attended both by Lord Salisbury on one side and Lord Hartington on the\nother. This was the first broad public mark of liberal secession, and of\nthat practical fusion between whig and tory which the new Irish policy had\nactually precipitated, but to which all the signs in the political heavens\nhad been for three or four years unmistakably pointing.\n\nThe strength of the friends of the bill was twofold: first, it lay in the\ndislike of coercion as the only visible alternative; and second, it lay in\nthe hope of at last touching the firm ground of a final settlement with\nIreland. Their weakness was also twofold: first, misgivings about the\nexclusion of the Irish members; and second, repugnance to the scheme for\nland purchase. There were not a few, indeed, who pronounced the exclusion\nof Irish members to be the most sensible part of the plan. Mr. Gladstone\nretained his impartiality, but knew that if we proposed to keep the\nIrishmen, we should be run in upon quite as fiercely from the other side.\nMr. Parnell stood to his original position. Any regular and compulsory\nattendance at Westminster, he said, would be highly objectionable to his\nfriends. Further, the right of Irish members to take part in purely\nEnglish as well as imperial business would be seized upon by English\npoliticians, whenever it should answer their purpose, as a pretext for\ninterfering in Irish affairs. In short, he foresaw, as all did, the\ndifficulties that would inevitably arise from retention. But the tide ran\nmore and more strongly the other way. Scotland grew rather restive at a\nproposal which, as she apprehended, would make a precedent for herself\nwhen her turn for extension of local powers should come, and Scotchmen had\nno intention of being shut out (M119) from a voice in imperial affairs. In\nEngland, the catholics professed alarm at the prospect of losing the only\ncatholic force in the House of Commons. \"We cannot spare one of you,\"\ncried Cardinal Manning. Some partisans of imperial federation took it into\ntheir heads that the plan for Ireland would be fatal to a plan for the\nwhole empire, though others more rationally conceived that if there was to\nbe a scheme for the empire, schemes for its several parts must come first.\nSome sages, while pretending infinite friendship to home rule, insisted\nthat the parliament at Westminster should retain a direct and active veto\nupon legislation at Dublin, and that Irish members should remain as they\nwere in London. That is to say, every precaution should be taken to ensure\na stiff fight at Westminster over every Irish measure of any importance\nthat had already been fought on College Green. Speaking generally, the\nfeeling against this provision was due less to the anomaly of taxation\nwithout representation, than to fears for the unity of the empire and the\nsupremacy of parliament.\n\nThe Purchase bill proved from the first to be an almost intolerable dose.\nVivid pictures were drawn of a train of railway trucks two miles long,\nloaded with millions of bright sovereigns, all travelling from the pocket\nof the British son of toil to the pocket of the idle Irish landlord. The\nnationalists from the first urged that the scheme for home rule should not\nbe weighted with a land scheme, though they were willing to accept it so\nlong as it was not used to prejudice the larger demand. On the other side\nthe Irish landlords themselves peremptorily rejected the plan that had\nbeen devised for their protection.\n\nThe air was thick with suggestions, devices, contrivances, expedients,\npossible or madly impossible. Proposals or embryonic notions of proposals\nfloated like motes in a sunbeam. Those to whom lobby diplomacy is as the\nbreath of their nostrils, were in their element. So were the worthy\npersons who are always ready with ingenious schemes for catching a vote or\ntwo here, at the cost of twenty votes elsewhere. Intrigue may be too dark\na word, but coaxing, bullying, managing, and all the other arts of party\nemergency, went on at an unprecedented rate. Of these arts, the\nsupervising angels will hardly record that any section had a monopoly. The\nlegerdemain that makes words pass for things, and liquefies things into\nwords, achieved many flashes of success. But they were only momentary, and\nthe solid obstacles remained. The foundations of human character are much\nthe same in all historic ages, and every public crisis brings out the same\ntypes.\n\nMuch depended on Mr. Bright, the great citizen and noble orator, who had\nin the last five-and-forty years fought and helped to win more than one\nbattle for wise and just government; whose constancy had confronted storms\nof public obloquy without yielding an inch of his ground; whose eye for\nthe highest questions of state had proved itself singularly sure; and\nwhose simplicity, love of right, and unsophisticated purity of public and\nprivate conduct, commanded the trust and the reverence of nearly all the\nbetter part of his countrymen. To Mr. Bright the eyes of many thousands\nwere turned in these weeks of anxiety and doubt. He had in public kept\nsilence, though in private he made little secret of his disapproval of the\nnew policy. Before the bill was produced he had a prolonged conversation\n(March 20) with Mr. Gladstone at Downing Street. \"Long and weighty\" are\nthe words in the diary. The minister sketched his general design, Mr.\nBright stated his objections much in the form in which, as we shall see,\nhe stated them later. Of the exclusion of the Irish members he approved.\nThe Land bill he thought quite wrong, for why should so enormous an effort\nbe made for one interest only? He expressed his sympathy with Mr.\nGladstone in his great difficulties, could not but admire his ardour, and\ncame away with the expectation that the obstacles would be found\ninvincible, and that the minister would retire and leave others to\napproach the task on other lines. Other important persons, it may be\nobserved, derived at this time a similar impression from Mr. Gladstone's\nlanguage to them: that he might discern the impossibility of his policy,\nthat he would admit it, and would then hand the responsibility over to\nLord Hartington, or whoever else might be willing to face it.\n\n(M120) On the other hand, Mr. Bright left the minister himself not without\nhopes that as things went forward he might count on this potent auxiliary.\nSo late as the middle of May, though he could not support, it was not\ncertain that he would actively oppose. The following letter to Mr.\nGladstone best describes his attitude at this time:--\n\n\n    _Mr. Bright to Mr. Gladstone._\n    _Rochdale, May 13th, 1886._\n\n    MY DEAR GLADSTONE,--Your note just received has put me in a great\n    difficulty. To-day is the anniversary of the greatest sorrow of my\n    life, and I feel pressed to spend it at home. I sent a message to\n    Mr. Arnold Morley last evening to say that I did not intend to\n    return to town before Monday next--but I shall now arrange to go\n    to-morrow--although I do not see how I can be of service in the\n    great trouble which has arisen.\n\n    I feel outside all the contending sections of the liberal\n    party--for I am not in favour of home rule, or the creation of a\n    Dublin parliament--nor can I believe in any scheme of federation as\n    shadowed forth by Mr. Chamberlain.\n\n    I do not believe that with regard to the Irish question \"the\n    resources of civilisation are exhausted\"; and I think the plan of\n    your bill is full of complexity, and gives no hope of successful\n    working in Ireland or of harmony between Westminster and Dublin. I\n    may say that my regard for you and my sympathy with you have made\n    me silent in the discussion on the bills before the House. I\n    cannot consent to a measure which is so offensive to the whole\n    protestant population of Ireland, and to the whole sentiment of\n    the province of Ulster so far as its loyal and protestant people\n    are concerned. I cannot agree to exclude them from the protection\n    of the imperial parliament. I would do much to clear the rebel\n    party from Westminster, and I do not sympathise with those who\n    wish to retain them, but admit there is much force in the\n    arguments on this point which are opposed to my views upon it.\n\n    Up to this time I have not been able to bring myself to the point\n    of giving a vote in favour of your bills. I am grieved to have to\n    say this. As to the Land bill, if it comes to a second reading, I\n    fear I must vote against it. It may be that my hostility to the\n    rebel party, looking at their conduct since your government was\n    formed six years ago, disables me from taking an impartial view of\n    this great question. If I could believe them loyal, if they were\n    honourable and truthful men, I could yield them much; but I\n    suspect that your policy of surrender to them will only place more\n    power in their hands, to war with greater effect against the unity\n    of the three kingdoms with no increase of good to the Irish\n    people.\n\n    How then can I be of service to you or to the real interests of\n    Ireland if I come up to town? I cannot venture to advise you, so\n    superior to me in party tactics and in experienced statesmanship,\n    and I am not so much in accord with Mr. Chamberlain as to make it\n    likely that I can say anything that will affect his course. One\n    thing I may remark, that it appears to me that measures of the\n    gravity of those now before parliament cannot and ought not to be\n    thrust through the House by force of a small majority. The various\n    reform bills, the Irish church bill, the two great land bills,\n    were passed by very large majorities. In the present case, not\n    only the whole tory party oppose, but a very important section of\n    the liberal party; and although numerous meetings of clubs and\n    associations have passed resolutions of confidence in you, yet\n    generally they have accepted your Irish government bill as a\n    'basis' only, and have admitted the need of important changes in\n    the bill--changes which in reality would destroy the bill. Under\n    these circumstances it seems to me that more time should be given\n    for the consideration of the Irish question. Parliament is not\n    ready for it, and the intelligence of the country is not ready for\n    it. If it be possible, I should wish that no division should be\n    taken upon the bill. If the second reading should be carried only\n    by a _small_ majority, it would not forward the bill; but it would\n    strengthen the rebel party in their future agitation, and make it\n    more difficult for another session or another parliament to deal\n    with the question with some sense of independence of that party.\n    In any case of a division, it is I suppose certain that a\n    considerable majority of British members will oppose the bill.\n    Thus, whilst it will have the support of the rebel members, it\n    will be opposed by a majority from Great Britain and by a most\n    hostile vote from all that is loyal in Ireland. The result will\n    be, if a majority supports you it will be one composed in effect\n    of the men who for six years past have insulted the Queen, have\n    torn down the national flag, have declared your lord lieutenant\n    guilty of deliberate murder, and have made the imperial parliament\n    an assembly totally unable to manage the legislative business for\n    which it annually assembles at Westminster.\n\n    Pray forgive me for writing this long letter. I need not assure\n    you of my sympathy with you, or my sorrow at being unable to\n    support your present policy in the House or the country. The more\n    I consider the question, the more I am forced in a direction\n    contrary to my wishes.\n\n    For thirty years I have preached justice to Ireland. I am as much\n    in her favour now as in past times, but I do not think it justice\n    or wisdom for Great Britain to consign her population, including\n    Ulster and all her protestant families, to what there is of\n    justice and wisdom in the Irish party now sitting in the\n    parliament in Westminster.\n\n    Still, if you think I can be of service, a note to the Reform Club\n    will, I hope, find me there to-morrow evening.--Ever most sincerely\n    yours,  JOHN BRIGHT.\n\n\nAn old parliamentary friend, of great weight and authority, went to Mr.\nBright to urge him to support a proposal to read the bill a second time,\nand then to hang it up for six months. Bright suffered sore travail of\nspirit. At the end of an hour the peacemaker rose to depart. Bright\npressed him to continue the wrestle. After three-quarters of an hour more\nof it, the same performance took place. It was not until a third hour of\ndiscussion that Mr. Bright would let it come to an end, and at the end he\nwas still uncertain. The next day the friend met him, looking worn and\ngloomy. \"You may guess,\" Mr. Bright said, \"what sort of a night I have\nhad.\" He had decided to vote against the second reading. The same person\nwent to Lord Hartington. He took time to deliberate, and then finally\nsaid, \"No; Mr. Gladstone and I do not mean the same thing.\"\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThe centre of interest lay in the course that might be finally taken by\nthose who declared that they accepted the principle of the bill, but\ndemurred upon detail. It was upon the group led from Birmingham that the\nissue hung. \"There are two principles in the bill,\" said Mr. Chamberlain\nat this time, \"which I regard as vital. The first is the principle of\nautonomy, to which I am able to give a hearty assent. The second is\ninvolved in the method of giving effect to this autonomy. In the bill the\ngovernment have proceeded on the lines of separation or of colonial\nindependence, whereas, in my humble judgment, they should have adopted the\nprinciple of federation as the only one in accordance with democratic\naspirations and experience.\"(207) He was even so strong for autonomy, that\nhe was ready to face all the immense difficulties of federation, whether\non the Canadian or some other pattern, rather than lose autonomy. Yet he\nwas ready to slay the bill that made autonomy possible. To kill the bill\nwas to kill autonomy. To say that they would go to the country on the\nplan, and not on the principle, was idle. If the election were to go\nagainst the government, that would destroy not only the plan which they\ndisliked, but the principle of which they declared that they warmly\napproved. The new government that would in that case come into existence,\nwould certainly have nothing to say either to plan or principle.\n\nTwo things, said Mr. Chamberlain on the ninth night of the debate, had\nbecome clear during the controversy. One was that the British democracy\nhad a passionate devotion to the prime minister. The other was the display\nof a sentiment out of doors, \"the universality and completeness of which,\nI dare say, has taken many of us by surprise, in favour of some form of\nhome rule to Ireland, which will give to the Irish people some greater\ncontrol over their own affairs.\"(208) It did not need so acute a\nstrategist as Mr. Chamberlain to perceive that the only hope of rallying\nany (M121) considerable portion of the left wing of the party to the\ndissentient flag, in face of this strong popular sentiment embodied in a\nsupereminent minister, was to avoid as much as possible all irreconcilable\nlanguage against either the minister or the sentiment, even while taking\nenergetic steps to unhorse the one and to nullify the other.\n\nThe prime minister meanwhile fought the battle as a battle for a high\npublic design once begun should be fought. He took few secondary\narguments, but laboured only to hold up to men's imagination, and to burn\ninto their understanding, the lines of central policy, the shame and\ndishonour from which it would relieve us, the new life with which it would\ninspire Ireland, the ease that it would bring to parliament in England.\nHis tenacity, his force and resource, were inexhaustible. He was harassed\non every side. The Irish leader pressed him hard upon finance. Old\nadherents urged concession about exclusion. The radicals disliked the two\norders. Minor points for consideration in committee rained in upon him, as\nbeing good reasons for altering the bill before it came in sight of\ncommittee. Not a single constructive proposal made any way in the course\nof the debate. All was critical and negative. Mr. Gladstone's grasp was\nunshaken, and though he saw remote bearings and interdependent\nconsequences where others supposed all to be plain sailing, yet if the\nprinciple were only saved he professed infinite pliancy. He protested that\nthere ought to be no stereotyping of our minds against modifications, and\nthat the widest possible variety of modes of action should be kept open;\nand he \"hammered hard at his head,\" as he put it, to see what could be\nworked out in the way of admitting Irish members without danger, and\nwithout intolerable inconvenience. If anybody considered, he continued to\nrepeat in endless forms, that there was another set of provisions by which\nbetter and fuller effect could be given to the principle of the bill, they\nwere free to displace all the particulars that hindered this better and\nfuller effect being given to the principle.(209)\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nAt the beginning of May the unionist computation was that 119 on the\nministerial side of the House had, with or without qualification, promised\nto vote against the second reading. Of these, 70 had publicly committed\nthemselves, and 23 more were supposed to be absolutely certain. If the\nwhole House voted, this estimate of 93 would give a majority of 17 against\nthe bill.(210) The leader of the radical wing, however, reckoned that 55\nout of the 119 would vote with him for the second reading, if he\npronounced the ministerial amendments of the bill satisfactory. The\namendments demanded were the retention of the Irish members, a definite\ndeclaration of the supremacy of the imperial parliament, a separate\nassembly for Ulster, and the abolition of the restrictive devices for the\nrepresentation of minorities. Less than all this might have been taken in\ncommittee, provided that the government would expressly say before the\nsecond reading, that they would retain the Irish representation on its\nexisting footing. The repeated offer by ministers to regard this as an\nopen question was derided, because it was contended that if the bill were\nonce safe through its second reading, Mr. Bright and the whigs would\nprobably vote with ministers against Irish inclusion.\n\nEven if this ultimatum had been accepted, there would still have remained\nthe difficulty of the Land bill, of which Mr. Chamberlain had announced\nthat he would move the rejection. In the face of ever-growing\nembarrassments and importunities, recourse was had to the usual device of\na meeting of the party at the foreign office (May 27). The circular\ncalling the meeting was addressed to those liberals who, while retaining\nfull freedom on all particulars in the bill, were \"in favour of the\nestablishment of a legislative body in Dublin for the management of\naffairs specifically and exclusively Irish.\" This was henceforth to be the\ntest of party membership. A man who was for an Irish legislative body was\nexpected to come to the party meeting, and a man who was against it was\nexpected to stay (M122) away. Many thought this discrimination a mistake.\nSome two hundred and twenty members attended. The pith of the prime\nminister's speech, which lasted for an hour, came to this: that the\ngovernment would not consent to emasculate the principle of the bill, or\nturn it into a mockery, a delusion, and a snare; that members who did not\nwholly agree with the bill, might still in accordance with the strict\nspirit of parliamentary rules vote for the second reading with a view to\nits amendment in committee; that such a vote would not involve support of\nthe Land bill; that he was ready to consider any plan for the retention of\nthe Irish members, provided that it did not interfere with the liberty of\nthe Irish legislative body, and would not introduce confusion into the\nimperial parliament. Finally, as to procedure--and here his anxious\naudience fell almost breathless--they could either after a second reading\nhang up the bill, and defer committee until the autumn; or they could wind\nup the session, prorogue, and introduce the bill afresh with the proper\namendments in October. The cabinet, he told them, inclined to the later\ncourse.\n\nBefore the meeting Mr. Parnell had done his best to impress upon ministers\nthe mischievous effect that would be produced on Irish members and in\nIreland, by any promise to withdraw the bill after the second reading. On\nthe previous evening, I received from him a letter of unusual length. \"You\nof course,\" he said, \"are the best judges of what the result may be in\nEngland, but if it be permitted me to express an opinion, I should say\nthat withdrawal could scarcely fail to give great encouragement to those\nwhom it cannot conciliate, to depress and discourage those who are now the\nstrongest fighters for the measure, to produce doubt and wonder in the\ncountry and to cool enthusiasm; and finally, when the same bill is again\nproduced in the autumn, to disappoint and cause reaction among those who\nmay have been temporarily disarmed by withdrawal, and to make them at once\nmore hostile and less easy to appease.\" This letter I carried to Mr.\nGladstone the next morning, and read aloud to him a few minutes before he\nwas to cross over to the foreign office. For a single instant--the only\noccasion that I can recall during all these severe weeks--his patience\nbroke. The recovery was as rapid as the flash, for he knew the duty of the\nlieutenant of the watch to report the signs of rock or shoal. He was quite\nas conscious of all that was urged in Mr. Parnell's letter as was its\nwriter, but perception of risks on one side did not overcome risks on the\nother. The same evening they met for a second time:--\n\n\n    _May 27._--... Mr. Gladstone and Parnell had a conversation in my\n    room. Parnell courteous enough, but depressed and gloomy. Mr.\n    Gladstone worn and fagged.... When he was gone, Parnell repeated\n    moodily that he might not be able to vote for the second reading,\n    if it were understood that after the second reading the bill was\n    to be withdrawn. \"Very well,\" said I, \"that will of course destroy\n    the government and the policy; but be that as it may, the cabinet,\n    I am positive, won't change their line.\"\n\n\nThe proceedings at the foreign office brought to the supporters of\ngovernment a lively sense of relief. In the course of the evening a score\nof the waverers were found to have been satisfied, and were struck off the\ndissentient lists. But the relief did not last for many hours. The\nopposition instantly challenged ministers (May 28) to say plainly which of\nthe two courses they intended to adopt. Though short, this was the most\nvivacious debate of all. Was the bill to be withdrawn, or was it to be\npostponed? If it was to be withdrawn, then, argued the tory leader (Sir\nM.H. Beach) in angry tones, the vote on the second reading would be a\nfarce. If it was to be postponed, what was that but to paralyse the forces\nof law and order in Ireland in the meantime? Such things were trifling\nwith parliament, trifling with a vital constitutional question, and\ntrifling with the social order which the government professed to be so\nanxious to restore. A bill read a second time on such terms as these would\nbe neither more nor less than a Continuance-in-Office bill.\n\nThis biting sally raised the temper of the House on both sides, and Mr.\nGladstone met it with that dignity which did not often fail to quell even\nthe harshest of his adversaries. \"You pronounce that obviously the motive\nof the government is to ensure their own continuance in office. They\nprefer that to all the considerations connected with the great issue\nbefore them, and their minds in fact are of such a mean and degraded\norder, that they can only be acted upon, not by motives of honour and\nduty, but simply by those of selfishness and personal interest. Sir, I do\nnot condescend to discuss that imputation. The dart aimed at our shield,\nbeing such a dart as that, is _telum imbelle sine ictu_.\"(211)\n\nThe speaker then got on to the more hazardous part of the ground. He\nproceeded to criticise the observation of the leader of the opposition\nthat ministers had undertaken to remodel the bill. \"That happy word,\" he\nsaid, \"as applied to the structure of the bill, is a pure invention.\" Lord\nRandolph interjected that the word used was not \"remodelled,\" but\n\"reconstructed.\" \"Does the noble lord dare to say,\" asked the minister,\n\"that it was used in respect of the bill?\" \"Yes,\" said the noble lord.\n\"Never, never,\" cried the minister, with a vehemence that shook the hearts\nof doubting followers; \"it was used with respect to one particular clause,\nand one particular point of the bill, namely so much of it as touches the\nfuture relation of the representatives of Ireland to the imperial\nparliament.\" Before the exciting episode was over, it was stated\ndefinitely that if the bill were read a second time, ministers would\nadvise a prorogation and re-introduce the bill with amendments. The effect\nof this couple of hours was to convince the House that the government had\nmade up their minds that it was easier and safer to go to the country with\nthe plan as it stood, than to agree to changes that would entangle them in\nnew embarrassments, and discredit their confidence in their own handiwork.\nIngenious negotiators perceived that their toil had been fruitless. Every\nman now knew the precise situation that he had to face, in respect alike\nof the Irish bill and liberal unity.\n\nOn the day following this decisive scene (May 29), under the direction of\nthe radical leader an invitation to a conference was issued to those\nmembers \"who being in favour of some sort of autonomy for Ireland,\ndisapproved of the government bills in their present shape.\" The form of\nthe invitation is remarkable in view of its ultimate effect on Irish\nautonomy. The meeting was held on May 31, in the same committee room\nupstairs that four years later became associated with the most cruel of\nall phases of the Irish controversy. Mr. Chamberlain presided, and some\nfifty-five gentlemen attended. Not all of them had hitherto been\nunderstood to be in favour either of some sort, or of any sort, of\nautonomy for Ireland. The question was whether they should content\nthemselves with abstention from the division, or should go into the lobby\nagainst the government. If they abstained, the bill would pass, and an\nextension of the party schism would be averted. The point was carried, as\nall great parliamentary issues are, by considerations apart from the nice\nand exact balance of argument on the merits. In anxious and distracting\nmoments like this, when so many arguments tell in one way and so many tell\nin another, a casting vote often belongs to the moral weight of some\nparticular person. The chairman opened in a neutral sense. It seems to\nhave been mainly the moral weight of Mr. Bright that sent down the scale.\nHe was not present, but he sent a letter. He hoped that every man would\nuse his own mind, but for his part he must vote against the bill. This\nletter was afterwards described as the death-warrant of the bill and of\nthe administration. The course of the men who had been summoned because\nthey were favourable to some sort of home rule was decided by the\nillustrious statesman who opposed every sort of home rule. Their boat was\ndriven straight upon the rocks of coercion by the influence of the great\norator who had never in all his career been more eloquent than when he was\ndenouncing the mischief and futility of Irish coercion, and protesting\nthat force is no remedy.\n\nOne of the best speakers in the House, though not at that time in the\ncabinet, was making an admirably warm and convinced defence alike of the\npolicy and the bill while these proceedings were going on. But Mr. Fowler\nwas listened to by men of pre-occupied minds. All knew what (M123)\nmomentous business was on foot in another part of the parliamentary\nprecincts. Many in the ranks were confident that abstention would carry\nthe day. Others knew that the meeting had been summoned for no such\npurpose, and they made sure that the conveners would have their way. The\nquiet inside the House was intense and unnatural. As at last the news of\nthe determination upstairs to vote against the bill ran along the benches\nbefore the speaker sat down, men knew that the ministerial day was lost.\nIt was estimated by the heads of the \"Chamberlain group\" that if they\nabstained, the bill would pass by a majority of five. Such a bill carried\nby such a majority could of course not have proceeded much further. The\nprinciple of autonomy would have been saved, and time would have been\nsecured for deliberation upon a new plan. More than once Mr. Gladstone\nobserved that no decision taken from the beginning of the crisis to the\nend was either more incomprehensible or more disastrous.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nThe division was taken a little after one o'clock on the morning of the\n8th of June. The Irish leader made one of the most masterly speeches that\never fell from him. Whether agreeing with or differing from the policy,\nevery unprejudiced listener felt that this was not the mere dialectic of a\nparty debater, dealing smartly with abstract or verbal or artificial\narguments, but the utterance of a statesman with his eye firmly fixed upon\nthe actual circumstances of the nation for whose government this bill\nwould make him responsible. As he dealt with Ulster, with finance, with\nthe supremacy of parliament, with the loyal minority, with the settlement\nof education in an Irish legislature,--soberly, steadily, deliberately,\nwith that full, familiar, deep insight into the facts of a country, which\nis only possible to a man who belongs to it and has passed his life in it,\nthe effect of Mr. Parnell's speech was to make even able disputants on\neither side look little better than amateurs.\n\nThe debate was wound up for the regular opposition by Sir Michael Hicks\nBeach, who was justly regarded throughout the session as having led his\nparty with remarkable skill and judgment. Like the Irish leader, he seemed\nto be inspired by the occasion to a performance beyond his usual range,\nand he delivered the final charge with strong effect. The bill, he said,\nwas the concoction of the prime minister and the Irish secretary, and the\ncabinet had no voice in the matter. The government had delayed the\nprogress of the bill for a whole long and weary month, in order to give\nparty wirepullers plenty of time in which to frighten waverers. To treat a\nvote on the second reading as a mere vote on a principle, without\nreference to the possibility of applying it, was a mischievous farce.\nCould anybody dream that if he supported the second reading now, he would\nnot compromise his action in the autumn and would not be appealed to as\nhaving made a virtual promise to Ireland, of which it would be impossible\nto disappoint her? As for the bill itself, whatever lawyers might say of\nthe theoretic maintenance of supremacy, in practice it would have gone.\nAll this side of the case was put by the speaker with the straight and\nvigorous thrust that always works with strong effect in this great arena\nof contest.\n\nThen came the unflagging veteran with the last of his five speeches. He\nwas almost as white as the flower in his coat, but the splendid compass,\nthe flexibility, the moving charm and power of his voice, were never more\nwonderful. The construction of the speech was a masterpiece, the temper of\nit unbroken, its freedom from taunt and bitterness and small personality\nincomparable. Even if Mr. Gladstone had been in the prime of his days,\ninstead of a man of seventy-six years all struck; even if he had been at\nhis ease for the last four months, instead of labouring with indomitable\ntoil at the two bills, bearing all the multifarious burdens of the head of\na government, and all the weight of the business of the leader of the\nHouse, undergoing all the hourly strain and contention of a political\nsituation of unprecedented difficulty,--much of the contention being of\nthat peculiarly trying and painful sort which means the parting of\ncolleagues and friends,--his closing speech would still have been a\nsurprising effort of free, argumentative, and fervid appeal. With the\nfervid (M124) appeal was mingled more than one piece of piquant mockery.\nMr. Chamberlain had said that a dissolution had no terrors for him. \"I do\nnot wonder at it. I do not see how a dissolution can have any terrors for\nhim. He has trimmed his vessel, and he has touched his rudder in such a\nmasterly way, that in whichever direction the winds of heaven may blow\nthey must fill his sails. Supposing that at an election public opinion\nshould be very strong in favour of the bill, my right hon. friend would\nthen be perfectly prepared to meet that public opinion, and tell it, 'I\ndeclared strongly that I adopted the principle of the bill.' On the other\nhand, if public opinion were very adverse to the bill, he again is in\ncomplete armour, because he says, 'Yes, I voted against the bill.'\nSupposing, again, public opinion is in favour of a very large plan for\nIreland, my right hon. friend is perfectly provided for that case also.\nThe government plan was not large enough for him, and he proposed in his\nspeech on the introduction of the bill that we should have a measure on\nthe basis of federation, which goes beyond this bill. Lastly--and now I\nhave very nearly boxed the compass--supposing that public opinion should\ntake quite a different turn, and instead of wanting very large measures\nfor Ireland, should demand very small measures for Ireland, still the\nresources of my right hon. friend are not exhausted, because he is then\nable to point out that the last of his plans was for four provincial\ncircuits controlled from London.\" All these alternatives and provisions\nwere visibly \"creations of the vivid imagination, born of the hour and\nperishing with the hour, totally unavailable for the solution of a great\nand difficult problem.\"\n\nNow, said the orator, was one of the golden moments of our history, one of\nthose opportunities which may come and may go, but which rarely return, or\nif they return, return at long intervals, and under circumstances which no\nman can forecast. There was such a golden moment in 1795, on the mission\nof Lord Fitzwilliam. At that moment the parliament of Grattan was on the\npoint of solving the Irish problem. The cup was at Ireland's lips, and she\nwas ready to drink it, when the hand of England rudely and ruthlessly\ndashed it to the ground in obedience to the wild and dangerous intimations\nof an Irish faction. There had been no great day of hope for Ireland\nsince, no day when you might completely and definitely hope to end the\ncontroversy till now--more than ninety years. The long periodic time had at\nlast run out, and the star had again mounted into the heavens.\n\nThis strain of living passion was sustained with all its fire and speed to\nthe very close. \"Ireland stands at your bar expectant, hopeful, almost\nsuppliant. Her words are the words of truth and soberness. She asks a\nblessed oblivion of the past, and in that oblivion our interest is deeper\neven than hers. You have been asked to-night to abide by the traditions of\nwhich we are the heirs. What traditions? By the Irish traditions? Go into\nthe length and breadth of the world, ransack the literature of all\ncountries, find if you can a single voice, a single book, in which the\nconduct of England towards Ireland is anywhere treated except with\nprofound and bitter condemnation. Are these the traditions by which we are\nexhorted to stand? No, they are a sad exception to the glory of our\ncountry. They are a broad and black blot upon the pages of its history,\nand what we want to do is to stand by the traditions of which we are the\nheirs in all matters except our relations with Ireland, and to make our\nrelation with Ireland to conform to the other traditions of our country.\nSo we treat our traditions, so we hail the demand of Ireland for what I\ncall a blessed oblivion of the past. She asks also a boon for the future;\nand that boon for the future, unless we are much mistaken, will be a boon\nto us in respect of honour, no less than a boon to her in respect of\nhappiness, prosperity and peace. Such, sir, is her prayer. Think, I\nbeseech you; think well, think wisely, think, not for the moment, but for\nthe years that are to come, before you reject this bill.\"\n\nThe question was put, the sand glass was turned upon the table, the\ndivision bells were set ringing. Even at this moment, the ministerial\nwhips believed that some were still wavering. A reference made by Mr.\nParnell to harmonious communications in the previous summer with a tory\nminister, (M125) inclined them to vote for the bill. On the other hand,\nthe prospect of going to an election without a tory opponent was no weak\ntemptation to a weak man. A common impression was that the bill would be\nbeaten by ten or fifteen. Others were sure that it would be twice as much\nas either figure. Some on the treasury bench, perhaps including the prime\nminister himself, hoped against hope that the hostile majority might not\nbe more than five or six. It proved to be thirty. The numbers were 343\nagainst 313. Ninety-three liberals voted against the bill. These with the\ntwo tellers were between one-third and one-fourth of the full liberal\nstrength from Great Britain. So ended the first engagement in this long\ncampaign. As I passed into his room at the House with Mr. Gladstone that\nnight, he seemed for the first time to bend under the crushing weight of\nthe burden that he had taken up.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nWhen ministers went into the cabinet on the following day, three of them\ninclined pretty strongly towards resignation as a better course than\ndissolution; mainly on the ground that the incoming government would then\nhave to go to the country with a policy of their own. Mr. Gladstone,\nhowever, entirely composed though pallid, at once opened the case with a\nlist of twelve reasons for recommending dissolution, and the reasons were\nso cogent that his opening of the case was also its closing. They were\nentirely characteristic, for they began with precedent and the key was\ncourage. He knew of no instance where a ministry defeated under\ncircumstances like ours, upon a great policy or on a vote of confidence,\nfailed to appeal to the country. Then with a view to the enthusiasm of our\nfriends in this country, as well as to feeling in Ireland, it was\nessential that we should not let the flag go down. We had been constantly\nchallenged to a dissolution, and not to take the challenge up would be a\nproof of mistrust, weakness, and a faint heart. \"My conclusion is,\" he\nsaid, \"a dissolution is formidable, but resignation would mean for the\npresent juncture abandonment of the cause.\" His conclusion was accepted\nwithout comment. The experts outside the cabinet were convinced that a\nbold front was the best way of securing the full fighting power of the\nparty. The white feather on such an issue, and with so many minds\nwavering, would be a sure provocative of defeat.\n\nMr. Gladstone enumerated to the Queen what he took to be the new elements\nin the case. There were on the side of the government, 1. The transfer of\nthe Irish vote from, the tories, 2. The popular enthusiasm in the liberal\nmasses which he had never seen equalled. But what was the electoral value\nof enthusiasm against (_a_) anti-Irish prejudices, (_b_) the power of\nrank, station, and wealth, (_c_) the kind of influence exercised by the\nestablished clergy, 'perversely applied as of course Mr. Gladstone thinks\nin politics, but resting upon a very solid basis as founded on the\ngenerally excellent and devoted work which they do in their parishes'?\nThis remained to be proved. On the other side there was the whig\ndefection, with the strange and unnatural addition from Birmingham. \"Mr.\nGladstone himself has no skill in these matters, and dare not lay an\nopinion before your Majesty on the probable general result.\" He thought\nthere was little chance, if any, of a tory majority in the new parliament.\nOpinion taken as a whole seemed to point to a majority not very large,\nwhichever way it may be.\n\nNo election was ever fought more keenly, and never did so many powerful\nmen fling themselves with livelier activity into a great struggle. The\nheaviest and most telling attack came from Mr. Bright, who had up to now\nin public been studiously silent. Every word, as they said of Daniel\nWebster, seemed to weigh a pound. His arguments were mainly those of his\nletter already given, but they were delivered with a gravity and force\nthat told powerfully upon the large phalanx of doubters all over the\nkingdom. On the other side, Mr. Gladstone's plume waved in every part of\nthe field. He unhorsed an opponent as he flew past on the road; his voice\nrang with calls as thrilling as were ever heard in England; he appealed to\nthe individual, to his personal responsibility, to the best elements in\nhim, to the sense of justice, to the powers of hope and of sympathy; he\n(M126) displayed to the full that rare combination of qualities that had\nalways enabled him to view affairs in all their range, at the same time\nfrom the high commanding eminence and on the near and sober level.\n\nHe left London on June 17 on his way to Edinburgh, and found \"wonderful\ndemonstrations all along the road; many little speeches; could not be\nhelped.\" \"The feeling here,\" he wrote from Edinburgh (June 21), \"is truly\nwonderful, especially when, the detestable state of the press is\nconsidered.\" Even Mr. Goschen, whom he described as \"supplying in the\nmain, soul, brains, and movement to the dissentient body,\" was handsomely\nbeaten in one of the Edinburgh divisions, so fatal was the proximity of\nAchilles. \"_June 22._ Off to Glasgow, 12-3/4. Meeting at 3. Spoke an hour\nand twenty minutes. Off at 5.50. Reached Hawarden at 12.30 or 40. Some\nspeeches by the way; others I declined. The whole a scene of triumph. God\nhelp us, His poor creatures.\" At Hawarden, he found chaos in his room, and\nhe set to work upon it, but he did not linger. On June 25, \"off to\nManchester; great meeting in the Free Trade Hall. Strain excessive. Five\nmiles through the streets to Mr. Agnew's; a wonderful spectacle half the\nway.\" From Manchester he wrote, \"I have found the display of enthusiasm\nfar beyond all former measure,\" and the torrid heat of the meeting almost\nbroke him down, but friends around him heard him murmur, \"I must do it,\"\nand bracing himself with tremendous effort he went on. Two days later\n(June 28) he wound up the campaign in a speech at Liverpool, which even\nold and practised political hands who were there, found the most\nmagnificent of them all. Staying at Courthey, the residence of his\nnephews, in the morning he enters, \"Worked up the Irish question once more\nfor my last function. Seven or eight hours of processional uproar, and a\nspeech of an hour and forty minutes to five or six thousand people in\nHengler's Circus. Few buildings give so noble a presentation of an\naudience. Once more my voice held out in a marvellous manner. I went in\nbitterness, in the heat of my spirit, but the hand of the Lord was strong\nupon me.\"\n\nHe had no sooner returned to Hawarden, than he wrote to tell Mrs.\nGladstone (July 2) of a stroke which was thought to have a curiously\ndaemonic air about it:--\n\n\n    The Leith business will show you I have not been inactive\n    here.--former M.P. _attended my meeting in the Music Hall_, and was\n    greeted by me accordingly (he had voted against us after wobbling\n    about much). Hearing by late post yesterday that waiting to the\n    last he had then declared against us, I telegraphed down to\n    Edinburgh in much indignation, that they might if they liked put\n    me up against him, and I would go down again and speak if they\n    wished it. They seem to have acted with admirable pluck and\n    promptitude. Soon after mid-day to-day I received telegrams to say\n    I am elected for Midlothian,(212) and _also for Leith_,--having\n    retired rather than wait to be beaten. I told them instantly to\n    publish this, as it may do good.\n\n\nThe Queen, who had never relished these oratorical crusades whether he was\nin opposition or in office, did not approve of the first minister of the\ncrown addressing meetings outside of his own constituency. In reply to a\ngracious and frank letter from Balmoral, Mr. Gladstone wrote:--\n\n\n    He must state frankly what it is that has induced him thus to\n    yield [to importunity for speeches]. It is that since the death of\n    Lord Beaconsfield, in fact since 1880, the leaders of the\n    opposition, Lord Salisbury and Lord Iddesleigh (he has not\n    observed the same practice in the case of Sir M. H. Beach) have\n    established a rule of what may be called popular agitation, by\n    addressing public meetings from time to time at places with which\n    they were not connected. This method was peculiarly marked in the\n    case of Lord Salisbury as a peer, and this change on the part of\n    the leaders of opposition has induced Mr. Gladstone to deviate on\n    this critical occasion from the rule which he had (he believes)\n    generally or uniformly observed in former years. He is, as he has\n    previously apprised your Majesty, aware of the immense\n    responsibility he has assumed, and of the severity of just\n    condemnation which will be pronounced upon him, if he should\n    eventually prove to have been wrong. But your Majesty will be the\n    first to perceive that, even if it had been possible for him to\n    decline this great contest, it was not possible for him having\n    entered upon it, to conduct it in a half-hearted manner, or to\n    omit the use of any means requisite in order to place (what he\n    thinks) the true issue before the country.\n\n\nNature, however, served the royal purpose. Before his speech at Liverpool,\nhe was pressed to speak in the metropolis:--\n\n\n    As to my going to London,--he wrote in reply,--I have twice had my\n    chest rather seriously strained, and I have at this moment a sense\n    of internal fatigue within it which is quite new to me, from the\n    effects of a bad arrangement in the hall at Manchester. Should\n    anything like it be repeated at Liverpool to-morrow I shall not be\n    fit physically to speak for a week, if then. Mentally I have never\n    undergone such an uninterrupted strain as since January 30 of this\n    year. The forming and reforming of the government, the work of\n    framing the bills, and _studying the subject_ (which none of the\n    opponents would do), have left me almost stunned, and I have the\n    autumn in prospect with, perhaps, most of the work to do over\n    again if we succeed.\n\n\nBut this was not to be. The incomparable effort was in vain. The sons of\nZeruiah were too hard for him, and England was unconvinced.\n\nThe final result was that the ministerialists or liberals of the main body\nwere reduced from 235 to 196, the tories rose from 251 to 316, the\ndissentient liberals fell to 74, and Mr. Parnell remained at his former\nstrength. In other words, the opponents of the Irish policy of the\ngovernment were 390, as against 280 in its favour; or a unionist majority\nof 110. Once more no single party possessed an independent or absolute\nmajority. An important member of the tory party said to a liberal of his\nacquaintance (July 7), that he was almost sorry the tories had not played\nthe bold game and fought independently of the dissentient liberals. \"But\nthen,\" he added, \"we could not have beaten you on the bill, without the\ncompact to spare unionist seats.\"\n\nEngland had returned opponents of the liberal policy in the proportion of\ntwo and a half to one against its friends; but Scotland approved in the\nproportion of three to two, Wales approved by five to one, and Ireland by\nfour and a half to one. Another fact with a warning in it was that, taking\nthe total poll for Great Britain, the liberals had 1,344,000, the seceders\n397,000, and the tories 1,041,000. Therefore in contested constituencies\nthe liberals of the main body were only 76,000 behind the forces of tories\nand seceders combined. Considering the magnitude and the surprise of the\nissue laid before the electors, and in view of the confident prophecies of\neven some peculiar friends of the policy, that both policy and its authors\nwould be swept out of existence by a universal explosion of national anger\nand disgust, there was certainly no final and irrevocable verdict in a\nhostile British majority of no more than four per cent, of the votes\npolled. Apart from electoral figures, coercion loomed large and near at\nhand, and coercion tried under the new political circumstances that would\nfor the first time attend it, might well be trusted to do much more than\nwipe out the margin at the polls. \"There is nothing in the recent defeat,\"\nsaid Mr. Gladstone, \"to abate the hopes or to modify the anticipations of\nthose who desire to meet the wants and wishes of Ireland.\"\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nThe question now before Mr. Gladstone was whether to meet the new\nparliament or at once to resign. For a short time he wavered, along with\nan important colleague, and then he and all the rest came round to\nresignation. The considerations that guided him were these. It is best for\nIreland that the party strongest in the new parliament should be at once\nconfronted with its responsibilities. Again, we were bound to consider\nwhat would most tend to reunite the liberal party, and it was in\nopposition that the chances of such reunion would be likely to stand\nhighest, especially in view of coercion which many of the dissidents had\nrefused to contemplate. If he could remodel the bill or frame a new one,\nthat might be a possible ground for endeavouring to make up a majority,\nbut he could not see his way to any (M127) such process, though he was\nready for certain amendments. Finally, if we remained, an amendment would\nbe moved definitely committing the new House against home rule.\n\nThe conclusion was for immediate resignation, and his colleagues were\nunanimous in assent. The Irish view was different and impossible.\nReturning from a visit to Ireland I wrote to Mr. Gladstone (July 19):--\n\n\n    You may perhaps care to see what ---- [not a secular politician]\n    thinks, so I enclose you a conversation between him and ----. He\n    does not show much strength of political judgment, and one can\n    understand why Parnell never takes him into counsel. Parnell, of\n    course, is anxious for us to hold on to the last moment. Our fall\n    will force him without delay to take up a new and difficult line.\n    But his letters to me, especially the last, show a desperate\n    willingness to blink the new parliamentary situation.\n\n\nMr. Parnell, in fact, pressed with some importunity that we should meet\nthe new parliament, on the strange view that the result of the election\nwas favourable on general questions, and indecisive only on Irish policy.\nWe were to obtain the balance of supply in an autumn sitting, in January\nto attack registration reform, and then to dissolve upon that, without\nmaking any Irish proposition whatever. This curious suggestion left\naltogether out of sight the certainty that an amendment referring to\nIreland would be at once moved on the Address, such as must beyond all\ndoubt command the whole of the tories and a large part, if not all, of the\nliberal dissentients. Only one course was possible for the defeated\nministers, and they resigned.\n\nOn July 30, Mr. Gladstone had his final audience of the Queen, of which he\nwrote the memorandum following:--\n\n\n    _Conversation with the Queen, August 2, 1886._\n\n    The conversation at my closing audience on Friday was a singular\n    one, when regarded as the probable last word with the sovereign\n    after fifty-five years of political life, and a good quarter of a\n    century's service rendered to her in office.\n\n    The Queen was in good spirits; her manners altogether pleasant.\n    She made me sit at once. Asked after my wife as we began, and sent\n    a kind message to her as we ended. About me personally, I think,\n    her single remark was that I should require some rest. I remember\n    that on a closing audience in 1874 she said she felt sure I might\n    be reckoned upon to support the throne. She did not say anything\n    of the sort to-day. Her mind and opinions have since that day been\n    seriously warped, and I respect her for the scrupulous avoidance\n    of anything which could have seemed to indicate a desire on her\n    part to claim anything in common with me.\n\n    Only at three points did the conversation touch upon anything even\n    faintly related to public affairs.... The second point was the\n    conclusion of some arrangement for appanages or incomes on behalf\n    of the third generation of the royal house. I agreed that there\n    ought at a suitable time to be a committee on this subject, as had\n    been settled some time back, she observing that the recent\n    circumstances had made the time unsuitable. I did not offer any\n    suggestion as to the grounds of the affair, but said it seemed to\n    me possible to try some plan under which intended marriages should\n    be communicated without forcing a reply from the Houses. Also I\n    agreed that the amounts were not excessive. I did not pretend to\n    have a solution ready: but said it would, of course, be the duty\n    of the government to submit a plan to the committee. The third\n    matter was trivial: a question or two from her on the dates and\n    proceedings connected with the meeting. The rest of the\n    conversation, not a very long one, was filled up with nothings. It\n    is rather melancholy. But on neither side, given the conditions,\n    could it well be helped.\n\n    On the following day she wrote a letter, making it evident that,\n    so far as Ireland was concerned, she could not trust herself to\n    say what she wanted to say....\n\n\nAmong the hundreds of letters that reached him every week was one from an\nevangelical lady of known piety, enclosing him a form of prayer that had\nbeen issued against home rule. His acknowledgment (July 27) shows none of\nthe impatience of the baffled statesman:--\n\n\n    I thank you much for your note; and though I greatly deplored the\n    issue, and the ideas of the prayer in question, yet, from the\n    moment when I heard it was your composition, I knew perfectly well\n    that it was written in entire good faith, and had no relation to\n    political controversy in the ordinary sense. I cannot but think\n    that, in bringing the subject of Irish intolerance before the\n    Almighty Father, we ought to have some regard to the fact that\n    down to the present day, as between the two religions, the offence\n    has been in the proportion of perhaps a hundred to one on the\n    protestant side, and the suffering by it on the Roman side. At the\n    present hour, I am pained to express my belief that there is far\n    more of intolerance in action from so-called protestants against\n    Roman catholics, than from Roman catholics against protestants. It\n    is a great satisfaction to agree with you, as I feel confident\n    that I must do, in the conviction that of prayers we cannot\n    possibly have too much in this great matter, and for my own part I\n    heartily desire that, unless the policy I am proposing be for the\n    honour of God and the good of His creatures, it may be trampled\n    under foot and broken into dust. Of your most charitable thoughts\n    and feelings towards me I am deeply sensible, and I remain with\n    hearty regard.\n\n\nAs he wrote at this time to R. H. Hutton (July 2), one of the choice\nspirits of our age, \"Rely upon it, I can never quarrel with you or with\nBright. What vexes me is when differences disclose baseness, which\nsometimes happens.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK X. 1886-1892\n\n\n\n\nChapter I. The Morrow Of Defeat. (1886-1887)\n\n\n    Charity rendereth a man truly great, enlarging his mind into a\n    vast circumference, and to a capacity nearly infinite; so that it\n    by a general care doth reach all things, by an universal affection\n    doth embrace and grace the world.... Even a spark of it in\n    generosity of dealing breedeth admiration; a glimpse of it in\n    formal courtesy of behaviour procureth much esteem, being deemed\n    to accomplish and adorn a man.--BARROW.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nAfter the rejection of his Irish policy in the summer of 1886, Mr.\nGladstone had a period of six years before him, the life of the new\nparliament. Strangely dramatic years they were, in some respects unique in\nour later history. The party schism among liberals grew deeper and wider.\nThe union between tories and seceders became consolidated and final. The\nalternative policy of coercion was passed through parliament in an extreme\nform and with violent strain on the legislative machinery, and it was\ncarried out in Ireland in a fashion that pricked the consciences of many\nthousands of voters who had resisted the proposals of 1886. A fierce storm\nrent the Irish phalanx in two, and its leader vanished from the field\nwhere for sixteen years he had fought so bold and uncompromising a fight.\nDuring this period Mr. Gladstone stood in the most trying of all the\nvaried positions of his life, and without flinching he confronted it in\nthe strong faith that the national honour as well as the assuagement\n(M128) of the inveterate Irish wound in the flank of his country, were the\nissues at stake.\n\nThis intense pre-occupation in the political struggle did not for a single\nweek impair his other interests, nor stay his ceaseless activity in\ncontroversies that were not touched by politics. Not even now, when the\ngreat cause to which he had so daringly committed himself was in decisive\nissue, could he allow it to dull or sever what had been the standing\nconcerns of life and thought to him for so long a span of years. As from\nhis youth up, so now behind the man of public action was the diligent,\neager, watchful student, churchman, apologist, divine. And what is curious\nand delightful is that he never set a more admirable example of the tone\nand temper in which literary and religious controversy should be\nconducted, than in these years when in politics exasperation was at its\nworst. It was about this time that he wrote: \"Certainly one of the lessons\nlife has taught me is that where there is known to be a common object, the\npursuit of truth, there should also be a studious desire to interpret the\nadversary in the best sense his words will fairly bear; to avoid whatever\nwidens the breach; and to make the most of whatever tends to narrow it.\nThese I hold to be part of the laws of knightly tournament.\" And to these\nlaws he sedulously conformed. Perhaps at some happy time before the day of\njudgment they may be transferred from the tournament to the battle-fields\nof philosophy, criticism, and even politics.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nAfter the defeat in which his tremendous labours had for the moment ended,\nhe made his way to what was to him the most congenial atmosphere in the\nworld, to the company of Doellinger and Acton, at Tegernsee in Bavaria.\n\"Tegernsee,\" Lord Acton wrote to me (Sept. 7), \"is an out-of-the-way\nplace, peaceful and silent, and as there is a good library in the house, I\nhave taken some care of his mind, leading in the direction of little\nFrench comedies, and away from the tragedy of existence. It has done him\ngood, and he has just started with Doellinger to climb a high mountain in\nthe neighbourhood.\"\n\n\n    _To Mrs. Gladstone._\n\n    _Tegernsee, Aug. 28, 1886._--We found Doellinger reading in the\n    garden. The course of his life is quite unchanged. His\n    constitution does not appear at all to have given way. He beats me\n    utterly in standing, but that is not saying much, as it never was\n    one of my gifts; and he is not conscious (eighty-seven last\n    February) of any difficulty with the heart in going up hill. His\n    deafness has increased materially, but not so that he cannot carry\n    on very well conversation with a single person. We have talked\n    much together even on disestablishment which he detests, and\n    Ireland as to which he is very apprehensive, but he never seems to\n    shut up his mind by prejudice. I had a good excuse for giving him\n    my pamphlet,(213) but I do not know whether he will tell us what\n    he thinks of it. He was reading it this morning. He rises at six\n    and breakfasts alone. Makes a _good_ dinner at two and has nothing\n    more till the next morning. He does not appear after dark. On the\n    whole one sees no reason why he should not last for several years\n    yet.\n\n\n\"When Dr. Doellinger was eighty-seven,\" Mr. Gladstone wrote later, \"he\nwalked with me seven miles across the hill that separates the Tegernsee\nfrom the next valley to the eastward. At that time he began to find his\nsleep subject to occasional interruptions, and he had armed himself\nagainst them by committing to memory the first three books of the\n_Odyssey_ for recital.\"(214) Of Mr. Gladstone Doellinger had said in 1885,\n\"I have known Gladstone for thirty years, and would stand security for him\nany day; his character is a very fine one, and he possesses a rare\ncapability for work. I differ from him in his political views on many\npoints, and it is difficult to convince him, for he is clad in triple\nsteel.\"(215)\n\nAnother high personage in the Roman catholic world sent him letters\nthrough Acton, affectionately written and with signs of serious as well as\nsympathising study of his Irish policy. A little later (Sept. 21) Mr.\nGladstone writes to his wife at Hawarden:--\n\n\n    Bishop Strossmayer may make a journey all the way to Hawarden, and\n    it seems that Acton may even accompany him, which would make it\n    much more manageable. His coming would be a great compliment, and\n    cannot be discouraged or refused. It would, however, be a serious\n    affair, for he speaks no language with which as a spoken tongue we\n    are familiar, his great cards being Slavonic and Latin.\n    Unfortunately I have a very great increase of difficulty in\n    _hearing_ the words in foreign tongues, a difficulty which I hope\n    has hardly begun with you as yet.\n\n\nLike a good host, Lord Acton kept politics out of his way as well as he\ncould, but some letter of mine \"set him on fire, and he is full of ----'s\nblunder and of Parnell's bill.\" Parliamentary duty was always a sting to\nhim, and by September 20 he was back in the House of Commons, speaking on\nthe Tenants Relief (Ireland) bill. Then to the temple of peace at Hawarden\nfor the rest of the year, to read the _Iliad_ \"for the twenty-fifth or\nthirtieth time, and every time richer and more glorious than before\"; to\nwrite elaborately on Homeric topics; to receive a good many visitors; and\nto compose the admirable article on Tennyson's second _Locksley Hall_. On\nthis last let us pause for an instant. The moment was hardly one in which,\nfrom a man of nature less great and powerful than Mr. Gladstone, we should\nhave counted on a buoyant vindication of the spirit of his time. He had\njust been roughly repulsed in the boldest enterprise of his career; his\nname was a target for infinite obloquy; his motives were largely denounced\nas of the basest; the conflict into which he had plunged and from which he\ncould not withdraw was hard; friends had turned away from him; he was old;\nthe issue was dubious and dark. Yet the personal, or even what to him were\nthe national discomfitures of the hour, were not allowed to blot the sun\nout of the heavens. His whole soul rose in challenge against the tragic\ntones of Tennyson's poem, as he recalled the solid tale of the vast\nimprovements, the enormous mitigation of the sorrows and burdens of\nmankind, that had been effected in the land by public opinion and public\nauthority, operative in the exhilarating sphere of self-government during\nthe sixty years between the first and second _Locksley Hall_.\n\n\n    The sum of the matter seems to be that upon the whole, and in a\n    degree, we who lived fifty, sixty, seventy years back, and are\n    living now, have lived into a gentler time; that the public\n    conscience has grown more tender, as indeed was very needful; and\n    that in matters of practice, at sight of evils formerly regarded\n    with indifference or even connivance, it now not only winces but\n    rebels; that upon the whole the race has been reaping, and not\n    scattering; earning and not wasting; and that without its being\n    said that the old Prophet is wrong, it may be said that the young\n    Prophet was unquestionably right.\n\n\nHere is the way in which a man of noble heart and high vision as of a\ncircling eagle, transcends his individual chagrins. All this optimism was\nthe natural vein of a statesman who had lived a long life of effort in\npersuading opinion in so many regions, in overcoming difficulty upon\ndifficulty, in content with a small reform where men would not let him\nachieve a great one, in patching where he could not build anew, in\nunquenchable faith, hope, patience, endeavour. Mr. Gladstone knew as well\nas Tennyson that \"every blessing has its drawbacks, and every age its\ndangers\"; he was as sensitive as Tennyson or Ruskin or any of them, to the\nimplacable tragedy of industrial civilisation--the city children\n\"blackening soul and sense in city slime,\" progress halting on palsied\nfeet \"among the glooming alleys,\" crime and hunger casting maidens on the\nstreet, and all the other recesses of human life depicted by the poetic\nprophet in his sombre hours. But the triumphs of the past inspired\nconfidence in victories for the future, and meanwhile he thought it well\nto remind Englishmen that \"their country is still young as well as old,\nand that in these latest days it has not been unworthy of itself.\"(216)\n\nOn his birthday he enters in his diary:--\n\n\n    _Dec. 29, 1886._--This day in its outer experience recalls the\n    Scotch usage which would say, \"terrible pleasant.\" In spite of the\n    ruin of telegraph wires by snow, my letters and postal arrivals of\n    to-day have much exceeded those of last year. Even my share of the\n    reading was very heavy. The day was gone before it seemed to have\n    begun, all amidst stir and festivity. The estimate was nine\n    hundred arrivals. O for a birthday of recollection. It is long\n    since I have had one. There is so much to say on the soul's\n    history, but bracing is necessary to say it, as it is for reading\n    Dante. It has been a year of shock and strain. I think a year of\n    some progress; but of greater absorption in interests which,\n    though profoundly human, are quite off the line of an old man's\n    direct preparation for passing the River of Death. I have not had\n    a chance given me of creeping from this whirlpool, for I cannot\n    abandon a cause which is so evidently that of my fellow-men, and\n    in which a particular part seems to be assigned to me. Therefore\n    am I not disturbed \"though the hills be carried into the middle of\n    the sea.\"\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\n    _To Lord Acton._\n\n    _Hawarden, Jan. 13, 1887._--It is with much pleasure that I read\n    your estimate of Chamberlain. His character is remarkable, as are\n    in a very high degree his talents. It is one of my common sayings\n    that to me characters of the political class are the most\n    mysterious of all I meet, so that I am obliged to travel the road\n    of life surrounded by an immense number of judgments more or less\n    in suspense, and getting on for practical purposes as well as I\n    can.\n\n    I have with a clear mind and conscience not only assented to but\n    promoted the present conferences, and I had laboured in that sense\n    long before Mr. Chamberlain made his speech at Birmingham. It will\n    surprise as well as grieve me if they do harm; if indeed they do\n    not do some little good. Large and final arrangements, it would be\n    rash I think to expect.\n\n    The tide is flowing, though perhaps not rapidly, in our favour.\n    Without our lifting a finger, a crumbling process has begun in\n    both the opposite parties. \"In quietness and in confidence shall\n    be your strength\" is a blessed maxim, often applicable to\n    temporals as well as spirituals. I have indeed one temptation to\n    haste, namely, that the hour may come for me to say farewell and\n    claim my retirement; but inasmuch as I remain _in situ_ for the\n    Irish question only, I cannot be so foolish as to allow myself to\n    ruin by precipitancy my own purpose. Though I am writing a paper\n    on the Irish question for Mr. Knowles, it is no trumpet-blast, but\n    is meant to fill and turn to account a season of comparative\n    quietude.\n\n    The death of Iddesleigh has shocked and saddened us all. He was\n    full of excellent qualities, but had not the backbone and strength\n    of fibre necessary to restore the tone of a party demoralised by\n    his former leader. In gentleness, temper, sacrifice of himself to\n    the common purpose of his friends, knowledge, quickness of\n    perception, general integrity of intention, freedom from personal\n    aims, he was admirable.... I have been constantly struggling to\n    vindicate a portion of my time for the pursuits I want to follow,\n    but with very little success indeed. Some rudiments of Olympian\n    religion have partially taken shape. I have a paper ready for\n    Knowles probably in his March number on the Poseidon of Homer, a\n    most curious and exotic personage.... Williams and Norgate got me\n    the books I wanted, but alack for the time to read them! In\n    addition to want of time, I have to deplore my slowness in\n    reading, declining sight, and declining memory; all very serious\n    affairs for one who has such singular reason to be thankful as to\n    general health and strength.\n\n    I wish I could acknowledge duly or pay even in part your\n    unsparing, untiring kindness in the discharge of your engagements\n    as \"Cook.\" Come early to England--and stay long. We will try what\n    we can to bind you.\n\n\nA few months later, he added to his multifarious exercises in criticism\nand controversy, a performance that attracted especial attention.(217)\n\"Mamma and I,\" he wrote to Mrs. Drew, \"are each of us still separately\nengaged in a death-grapple with _Robert Elsmere_. I complained of some of\nthe novels you gave me to read as too stiff, but they are nothing to this.\nIt is wholly out of the common order. At present I regard with doubt and\ndread the idea of doing anything on it, but cannot yet be sure whether\nyour observations will be verified or not. In any case it is a tremendous\nbook.\" And on April 1 (1888), he wrote, \"By hard work I have finished and\nam correcting my article on _Robert Elsmere_. It is rather stiff work. I\nhave had two letters from her. She is much to be liked personally, but is\na fruit, I think, of what must be called Arnoldism.\"\n\n\n    _To Lord Acton._\n\n    _Aston Clinton, Tring, Easter Day, April 1, '88._--I do not like to\n    let too long a time elapse without some note of intercourse, even\n    though that season approaches which brings you back to the shores\n    of your country. Were you here I should have much to say on many\n    things; but I will now speak, or first speak, of what is\n    uppermost, and would, if a mind is like a portmanteau, be taken or\n    tumble out first.\n\n    You perhaps have not heard of _Robert Elsmere_, for I find without\n    surprise, that it makes its way slowly into public notice. It is\n    not far from twice the length of an ordinary novel; and the labour\n    and effort of reading it all, I should say, sixfold; while one\n    could no more stop in it than in reading Thucydides. The idea of\n    the book, perhaps of the writer, appears to be a movement of\n    retreat from Christianity upon Theism: a Theism with a Christ\n    glorified, always in the human sense, but beyond the ordinary\n    measure. It is worked out through the medium of a being--one ought\n    to say a character, but I withhold the word, for there is no\n    sufficient substratum of character to uphold the qualities--gifted\n    with much intellectual subtlety and readiness, and almost every\n    conceivable moral excellence. He finds vent in an energetic\n    attempt to carry his new gospel among the skilled artisans of\n    London, whom the writer apparently considers as supplying the\n    _norm_ for all right human judgment. He has extraordinary success,\n    establishes a new church under the name of the new Christian\n    brotherhood, kills himself with overwork, but leaves his project\n    flourishing in a certain \"Elgood Street.\" It is in fact (like the\n    Salvation Army), a new Kirche der Zukunft.\n\n    I am always inclined to consider this Theism as among the least\n    defensible of the positions alternative to Christianity. Robert\n    Elsmere who has been a parish clergyman, is upset entirely, as it\n    appears, by the difficulty of accepting miracles, and by the\n    suggestion that the existing Christianity grew up in an age\n    specially predisposed to them.\n\n    I want as usual to betray you into helping the lame dog over the\n    stile; and I should like to know whether you would think me\n    violently wrong in holding that the period of the Advent was a\n    period when the appetite for, or disposition to, the supernatural\n    was declining and decaying; that in the region of human thought,\n    speculation was strong and scepticism advancing; that if our Lord\n    were a mere man, armed only with human means, His whereabouts was\n    in this and many other ways misplaced by Providence; that the\n    gospels and the New Testament must have much else besides miracle\n    torn out of them, in order to get us down to the _caput mortuum_\n    of Elgood Street. This very remarkable work is in effect identical\n    with the poor, thin, ineffectual production published with some\n    arrogance by the Duke of Somerset, which found a quack remedy for\n    difficulties in what he considered the impregnable citadel of\n    belief in God.\n\n    Knowles has brought this book before me, and being as strong as it\n    is strange, it cannot perish still-born. I am tossed about with\n    doubt as to writing upon it.\n\n    _To Lord Acton._\n\n    _Oxford, April 8, '88._--I am grateful for your most interesting\n    letter, which contains very valuable warnings. On the other side\n    is copied what I have written on two of the points raised by the\n    book. Have I said too much of the Academy? I have spoken only of\n    the first century. You refer to (apparently) about 250 A.D. as a\n    time of great progress? But I was astonished on first reading the\n    census of Christian clergy in Rome _temp._ St. Cyprian, it was so\n    slender. I am not certain, but does not Beugnot estimate the\n    Christians, before Constantine's conversion, in the west at\n    one-tenth of the population? Mrs. T. Arnold died yesterday here.\n    Mrs. Ward had been summoned and she is coming to see me this\n    evening. It is a very singular phase of the controversy which she\n    has opened. When do you _repatriate_?\n\n    I am afraid that my kindness to the Positivists amounts only to a\n    comparative approval of their not dropping the great human\n    tradition out of view; _plus_ a very high appreciation of the\n    personal qualities of our friend ----.\n\n    _To Lord Acton._\n\n    _Dollis Hill, May 13, '88._--Your last letter was one of extreme\n    interest. It raised such a multitude of points, after your perusal\n    of my article on R. Elsmere, as to stimulate in the highest degree\n    my curiosity to know how far you would carry into propositions,\n    the ideas which you for the most part obliquely put forward. I\n    gave the letter to Mary, who paid us a flying visit in London,\n    that she might take it to Hawarden for full digestion. For myself\n    I feed upon the hope that when (when ?) you come back to England\n    we may go over the points, and I may reap further benefits from\n    your knowledge. I will not now attempt anything of the kind. But I\n    will say this generally, that I am not so much oppressed as you\n    appear to be, with the notion that great difficulties have been\n    imported by the researches of scientists into the religious and\n    theological argument. As respects cosmogony and _geogony_, the\n    Scripture has, I think, taken much benefit from them. Whatever be\n    the date of the early books, Pentateuch or Hexateuch in their\n    present _edition_, the Assyriological investigations seem to me to\n    have fortified and accredited their substance by producing similar\n    traditions in variant forms inferior to the Mosaic forms, and\n    tending to throw them back to a higher antiquity, a fountainhead\n    nearer the source. Then there is the great chapter of the\n    Dispersal: which Renan (I think) treats as exhibiting the\n    marvellous genius (!) of the Jews. As to unbroken sequences in the\n    physical order, they do not trouble me, because we have to do not\n    with the natural but the moral order, and over this science, or as\n    I call it natural science, does not wave her sceptre. It is no\n    small matter, again (if so it be, as I suppose), that, after\n    warring for a century against miracle as unsustained by\n    experience, the assailants should now have to abandon that ground,\n    stand only upon sequence, and controvert the great facts of the\n    New Testament only by raising to an extravagant and unnatural\n    height the demands made under the law of testimony in order to\n    [justify] a rational belief. One admission has to be made, that\n    death did not come into the world by sin, namely the sin of Adam,\n    and this sits inconveniently by the declaration of Saint Paul.\n\n    Mrs. Ward wrote to thank me for the tone of my article. Her first\n    intention was to make some reply in the _Nineteenth Century_\n    itself. It appears that ---- advised her not to do it. But Knowles\n    told me that he was labouring to bring her up to the scratch\n    again. There, I said, you show the cloven foot; you want to keep\n    the _Nineteenth Century_ pot boiling.\n\n    I own that your reasons for not being in England did not appear to\n    me cogent, but it would be impertinent to make myself a judge of\n    them. The worst of it was that you did not name _any_ date. But I\n    must assume that you are coming; and surely the time cannot now be\n    far. Among other things, I want to speak with you about French\n    novels, a subject on which there has for me been quite recently\n    cast a most lurid light.\n\n\nActon's letters in reply may have convinced Mr. Gladstone that there were\ndepths in this supreme controversy that he had hardly sounded; and\nadversaria that he might have mocked from a professor of the school or\nschools of unbelief, he could not in his inner mind make light of, when\ncoming from the pen of a catholic believer. Before and after the article\non _Robert Elsmere_ appeared, Acton, the student with his vast historic\nknowledge and his deep penetrating gaze, warned the impassioned critic of\nsome historic point overstated or understated, some dangerous breach left\nall unguarded, some lack of nicety in definition. Acton's letters will one\nday see the light, and the reader may then know how candidly Mr. Gladstone\nwas admonished as to the excess of his description of the moral action of\nChristianity; as to the risk of sending modern questions to ancient\nanswers, for the apologists of an age can only meet the difficulties of\ntheir age; that there are leaps and bounds in the history of thought; how\nwell did Newman once say that in theology you have to meet questions that\nthe Fathers could hardly have been made to understand; how if you go to\nSt. Thomas or Leibnitz or Paley for rescue from Hegel or Haeckel your\napologetics will be a record of disaster. You insist broadly, says Acton,\non belief in the divine nature of Christ as the soul, substance, and\ncreative force of Christian religion; you assign to it very much of the\ngood the church has done; all this with little or no qualification or\ndrawback from the other side:--\n\n\n    Enter Martineau or Stephen or ---- (unattached), and loq.:--Is this\n    the final judgment of the chief of liberals? the pontiff of a\n    church whose fathers are the later Milton and the later Penn,\n    Locke, Bayle, Toland, Franklin, Turgot, Adam Smith, Washington,\n    Jefferson, Bentham, Dugald Stewart, Romilly, Tocqueville,\n    Channing, Macaulay, Mill? These men and others like them\n    disbelieved that doctrine established freedom, and they undid the\n    work of orthodox Christianity, they swept away that appalling\n    edifice of intolerance, tyranny, cruelty, which believers in\n    Christ built up to perpetuate their belief.\n\n\nThe philosophy of liberal history, Acton proceeds, which has to\nacknowledge the invaluable services of early Christianity, feels the\nanti-liberal and anti-social action of later Christianity, before the rise\nof the sects that rejected, some of them the divinity of Christ; others,\nthe institutions of the church erected upon it. Liberalism if it admits\nthese things as indifferent, surrenders its own _raison d'etre_, and\nceases to strive for an ethical cause. If the doctrine of Torquemada make\nus condone his morality, there can be no public right and no wrong, no\npolitical sin, no secular cause to die for. So it might be said that--\n\n\n    You do not work really from the principle of liberalism, but from\n    the cognate, though distinct principles of democracy, nationality,\n    progress, etc. To some extent, I fear, you will estrange valued\n    friends, not assuredly by any expression of theological belief,\n    but by seeming to ignore the great central problem of Christian\n    politics. If I had to put my own doubts, instead of the average\n    liberal's, I should state the case in other words, but not\n    altogether differently.(218)\n\n\n\n\nChapter II. The Alternative Policy In Act. (1886-1888)\n\n\n    Those who come over hither to us from England, and some weak\n    people among ourselves, whenever in discourse we make mention of\n    liberty and property, shake their heads, and tell us that \"Ireland\n    is a depending kingdom,\" as if they would seem by this phrase to\n    intend, that the people of Ireland are in some state of slavery or\n    dependence different from those of England.--JONATHAN SWIFT.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nIn the ministry that succeeded Mr. Gladstone in 1886, Sir Michael Hicks\nBeach undertook for the second time the office of Irish secretary, while\nLord Randolph Churchill filled his place at the exchequer and as leader of\nthe House. The new Irish policy was to open with the despatch of a\ndistinguished soldier to put down moonlighters in Kerry; the creation of\none royal commission under Lord Cowper, to inquire into land rents and\nland purchase; and another to inquire into the country's material\nresources. The two commissions were well-established ways of marking time.\nAs for Irish industries and Irish resources, a committee of the House of\nCommons had made a report in a blue book of a thousand pages only a year\nbefore. On Irish land there had been a grand commission in 1880, and a\ncommittee of the House of Lords in 1882-3. The latest Purchase Act was\nhardly yet a year old. Then to commission a general to hunt down little\nhandfuls of peasants who with blackened faces and rude firearms crept\nstealthily in the dead of night round lonely cabins in the remote\nhillsides and glens of Kerry, was hardly more sensible than it would be to\nsend a squadron of life-guards to catch pickpockets in a London slum.\n\nA question that exercised Mr. Gladstone at least as sharply as the\nproceedings of ministers, was the attitude (M129) to be taken by those who\nhad quitted him, ejected him in the short parliament of 1886, and fought\nthe election against him. We have seen how much controversy arose long\nyears before as to the question whereabouts in the House of Commons the\nPeelites should take their seats.(219) The same perplexity now confronted\nthe liberals who did not agree with Mr. Gladstone upon Irish government.\nLord Hartington wrote to him, and here is his reply:--\n\n\n    _August 2, 1886._--I fully appreciate the feeling which has\n    prompted your letter, and I admit the reality of the difficulties\n    you describe. It is also clear, I think, that so far as title to\n    places on the front opposition bench is concerned, your right to\n    them is identical with ours. I am afraid, however, that I cannot\n    materially contribute to relieve you from embarrassment. The\n    choice of a seat is more or less the choice of a symbol; and I\n    have no such acquaintance with your political views and\n    intentions, as could alone enable me to judge what materials I\n    have before me for making an answer to your inquiry. For my own\n    part, I earnestly desire, subject to the paramount exigencies of\n    the Irish question, to promote in every way the reunion of the\n    liberal party; a desire in which I earnestly trust that you\n    participate. And I certainly could not directly or indirectly\n    dissuade you from any step which you may be inclined to take, and\n    which may appear to you to have a tendency in any measure to\n    promote that end.\n\n\nA singular event occurred at the end of the year (1886), that produced an\nimportant change in the relations of this group of liberals to the\ngovernment that they had placed and maintained in power. Lord Randolph,\nthe young minister who with such extraordinary rapidity had risen to\nascendency in the councils of the government, suddenly in a fatal moment\nof miscalculation or caprice resigned (Dec. 23). Political suicide is not\neasy to a man with energy and resolution, but this was one of the rare\ncases. In a situation so strangely unstable and irregular, with an\nadministration resting on the support of a section sitting on benches\nopposite, and still declaring every day that they adhered to old liberal\nprinciples and had no wish to sever old party ties, the withdrawal of Lord\nRandolph Churchill created boundless perturbation. It was one of those\nexquisite moments in which excited politicians enjoy the ineffable\nsensation that the end of the world has come. Everything seemed possible.\nLord Hartington was summoned from the shores of the Mediterranean, but\nbeing by temperament incredulous of all vast elemental convulsions, he\ntook his time. On his return he declined Lord Salisbury's offer to make\nway for him as head of the government. The glitter of the prize might have\ntempted a man of schoolboy ambition, but Lord Hartington was too\nexperienced in affairs not to know that to be head of a group that held\nthe balance was, under such equivocal circumstances, far the more\nsubstantial and commanding position of the two. Mr. Goschen's case was\ndifferent, and by taking the vacant post at the exchequer he saved the\nprime minister from the necessity of going back under Lord Randolph's\nyoke. As it happened, all this gave a shake to both of the unionist wings.\nThe ominous clouds of coercion were sailing slowly but discernibly along\nthe horizon, and this made men in the unionist camp still more restless\nand uneasy. Mr. Chamberlain, on the very day of the announcement of the\nChurchill resignation, had made a speech that was taken to hold out an\nolive branch to his old friends. Sir William Harcourt, ever holding\nstoutly in fair weather and in foul to the party ship, thought the\nbreak-up of a great political combination to be so immense an evil, as to\ncall for almost any sacrifices to prevent it. He instantly wrote to\nBirmingham to express his desire to co-operate in re-union, and in the\ncourse of a few days five members of the original liberal cabinet of 1886\nmet at his house in what was known as the Round Table Conference.(220)\n\nA letter of Mr. Gladstone's to me puts some of his views on the situation\ncreated by the retirement of Lord Randolph:--\n\n\n    _Hawarden, Christmas Day, 1886._--Between Christmas services, a\n    flood of cards and congratulations for the season, and many\n    interesting letters, I am drowned in work to-day, having just at\n    1-1/4 P.M. ascertained what my letters _are_. So forgive me if,\n    first thanking you very much for yours, I deal with some points\n    rather abruptly.\n\n    1. Churchill has committed an outrage as against the Queen, and\n    also the prime minister, in the method of resigning and making\n    known his resignation. This, of course, they will work against\n    him. 2. He is also entirely wrong in supposing that the finance\n    minister has any ruling authority on the great estimates of\n    defence. If he had, he would be the master of the country. But\n    although he has no right to demand the concurrence of his\n    colleagues in his view of the estimates, he has a rather special\n    right, because these do so much towards determining budget and\n    taxation, to indicate his own views by resignation. I have\n    repeatedly fought estimates to the extremity, with an intention of\n    resigning in _case_. But to send in a resignation makes it\n    impossible for his colleagues as men of honour to recede. 3. I\n    think one of his best points is that he had made before taking\n    office recent and formal declarations on behalf of economy, of\n    which his colleagues must be taken to have been cognisant, and\n    Salisbury in particular. He may plead that he could not reduce\n    these all at once to zero. 4. Cannot something be done, without\n    reference to the holes that may be picked, to give him some\n    support as a champion of economy? This talk about the continental\n    war, I for one regard as pure nonsense when aimed at magnifying\n    our estimates.\n\n    5. With regard to Hartington. What he will do I know not, and our\n    wishes could have no weight with him.... The position is one of\n    such difficulty for H. that I am very sorry for him, though it was\n    never more true that he who makes his own bed in a certain way\n    must lie in it. Chamberlain's speech hits him very hard in case of\n    acceptance. I take it for granted that he will not accept to sit\n    among thirteen tories, but will have to demand an entry by force,\n    _i.e._ with three or four friends. To accept upon that footing\n    would, I think, be the logical consequence of all he has said and\n    done since April. In logic, he ought to go forward, _or_, as\n    Chamberlain has done, backward. The Queen will, I have no doubt,\n    be brought to bear upon him, and the nine-tenths of his order. If\n    the Irish question rules all others, all he has to consider is\n    whether he (properly flanked) can serve his view of the Irish\n    question. But with this logic we have nothing to do. The question\n    for us also is (I think), what is best for our view of the Irish\n    question? I am tempted to wish that he should accept; it would\n    clear the ground. But I do not yet see my way with certainty.\n\n    6. With regard to Chamberlain. From what has already passed\n    between us you know that, apart from the new situation and from\n    his declaration, I was very desirous that everything honourable\n    should be done to conciliate and soothe. Unquestionably his speech\n    is a new fact of great weight. He is again a liberal, _quand\n    meme_, and will not on all points (as good old Joe Hume used to\n    say) swear black is white for the sake of his views on Ireland. We\n    ought not to waste this new fact, but take careful account of it.\n    On the other hand, I think he will see that the moment for taking\n    account of it has not come. Clearly the first thing is to see who\n    are the government. When we see this, we shall also know something\n    of its colour and intentions. I do not think Randolph can go back.\n    He would go back at a heavy discount. If he wants to minimise, the\n    only way I see is that he should isolate his vote on the\n    estimates, form no _clique_, and proclaim strong support in Irish\n    matters and general policy. Thus he might pave a roundabout road\n    of return.... In _many_ things Goschen is more of a liberal than\n    Hartington, and he would carry with him next to nobody.\n\n    7. On the whole, I rejoice to think that, come what may, this\n    affair will really effect progress in the Irish question.\n\n    A happy Christmas to you. It will be happier than that of the\n    ministers.\n\n\nMr. Gladstone gave the Round Table his blessing, his \"general idea being\nthat he had better meddle as little as possible with the conference, and\nretain a free hand.\" Lord Hartington would neither join the conference,\nnor deny that he thought it premature. While negotiation was going on, he\nsaid, somebody must stay at home, guard the position, and keep a watch on\nthe movements of the enemy, and this duty was his. In truth, after\nencouraging or pressing Mr. (M130) Goschen to join the government, it was\nobviously impossible to do anything that would look like desertion either\nof him or of them. On the other side, both English liberals and Irish\nnationalists were equally uneasy lest the unity of the party should be\nbought by the sacrifice of fundamentals. The conference was denounced from\nthis quarter as an attempt to find a compromise that would help a few men\nsitting on the fence to salve \"their consciences at the expense of a\nnation's rights.\" Such remarks are worth quoting, to illustrate the temper\nof the rank and file. Mr. Parnell, though alive to the truth that when\npeople go into a conference it usually means that they are ready to give\nup something, was thoroughly awake to the satisfactory significance of the\nBirmingham overtures.\n\nThings at the round table for some time went smoothly enough. Mr.\nChamberlain gradually advanced the whole length. He publicly committed\nhimself to the expediency of establishing some kind of legislative\nauthority in Dublin in accordance with Mr. Gladstone's principle, with a\npreference in his own mind for a plan on the lines of Canada. This he\nfollowed up, also in public, by the admission that of course the Irish\nlegislature must be allowed to organise their own form of executive\ngovernment, either by an imitation on a small scale of all that goes on at\nWestminster and Whitehall, or in whatever other shape they might think\nproper.(221) To assent to an Irish legislature for such affairs as\nparliament might determine to be distinctively Irish, with an executive\nresponsible to it, was to accept the party credo on the subject. Then the\nsurface became mysteriously ruffled. Language was used by some of the\nplenipotentiaries in public, of which each side in turn complained as\ninconsistent with conciliatory negotiation in private. At last on the very\nday on which the provisional result of the conference was laid before Mr.\nGladstone, there appeared in a print called the _Baptist_(222) an article\nfrom Mr. Chamberlain, containing an ardent plea for the disestablishment\nof the Welsh church, but warning the Welshmen that they and the Scotch\ncrofters and the English labourers, thirty-two millions of people, must\nall go without much-needed, legislation because three millions were\ndisloyal, while nearly six hundred members of parliament would be reduced\nto forced inactivity, because some eighty delegates, representing the\npolicy and receiving the pay of the Chicago convention, were determined to\nobstruct all business until their demands had been conceded. Men naturally\nasked what was the use of continuing a discussion, when one party to it\nwas attacking in this peremptory fashion the very persons and the policy\nthat in private he was supposed to accept. Mr. Gladstone showed no\nimplacability. Viewing the actual character of the _Baptist_ letter, he\nsaid to Sir W. Harcourt, \"I am inclined to think we can hardly do more\nnow, than to say we fear it has interposed an unexpected obstacle in the\nway of any attempt at this moment to sum up the result of your\ncommunications, which we should otherwise hopefully have done; but on the\nother hand we are unwilling that so much ground apparently gained should\nbe lost, that a little time may soften or remove the present ruffling of\nthe surface, and that we are quite willing that the subject should stand\nover for resumption at a convenient season.\"\n\nThe resumption never happened. Two or three weeks later, Mr. Chamberlain\nannounced that he did not intend to return to the round table.(223) No\nother serious and formal attempt was ever made on either side to prevent\nthe liberal unionists from hardening into a separate species. When they\nbecame accomplices in coercion, they cut off the chances of re-union.\nCoercion was the key to the new situation. Just as at the beginning of\n1886, the announcement of it by the tory government marked the parting of\nthe ways, so was it now.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nWe must now with reasonable cheerfulness turn our faces back towards\nIreland. On the day of his return from (M131) Ireland (August 17, 1886)\nMr. Parnell told me that he was quite sure that rents could not be paid in\nthe coming winter, and if the country was to be kept quiet, the government\nwould have to do something. He hoped that they would do something;\notherwise there would be disturbance, and that he did not want. He had\nmade up his mind that his interests would be best served by a quiet\nwinter. For one thing he knew that disturbance would be followed by\ncoercion, and he knew and often said that of course strong coercion must\nalways in the long run win the day, little as the victory might be worth.\nFor another thing he apprehended that disturbance might frighten away his\nnew political allies in Great Britain, and destroy the combination which\nhe had so dexterously built up. This was now a dominant element with him.\nHe desired definitely that the next stage of his movement should be in the\nlargest sense political and not agrarian. He brought two or three sets of\nproposals in this sense before the House, and finally produced a Tenants\nRelief bill. It was not brilliantly framed. For in truth it is not in\nhuman nature, either Irish or any other, to labour the framing of a bill\nwhich has no chance of being seriously considered.\n\nThe golden secret of Irish government was always to begin by trying to\nfind all possible points for disagreement with anything that Mr. Parnell\nsaid or proposed, instead of seeking whether what he said or proposed\nmight not furnish a basis for agreement. The conciliatory tone was soon\nover, and the Parnell bill was thrown out. The Irish secretary denounced\nit as permanently upsetting the settlement of 1881, as giving a death-blow\nto purchase, and as produced without the proof of any real grounds for a\ngeneral reduction in judicial rents. Whatever else he did, said Sir\nMichael Hicks Beach, he would never agree to govern Ireland by a policy of\nblackmail.(224)\n\nA serious movement followed the failure of the government to grapple with\narrears of rent. The policy known as the plan of campaign was launched.\nThe plan of campaign was this. The tenants of a given estate agreed with\none another what abatement they thought just in the current half-year's\nrent. This in a body they proffered to landlord or agent. If it was\nrefused as payment in full, they handed the money to a managing committee,\nand the committee deposited it with some person in whom they had\nconfidence, to be used for the purpose of the struggle.(225) That such\nproceeding constituted an unlawful conspiracy nobody doubts, any more than\nit can be doubted that before the Act of 1875 every trade combination of a\nlike kind in this island was a conspiracy.\n\nAt an early stage the Irish leader gave his opinion to the present\nwriter:--\n\n\n    _Dec. 7, 1886._--Mr. Parnell called, looking very ill and worn. He\n    wished to know what I thought of the effect of the plan of\n    campaign upon public opinion. \"If you mean in Ireland,\" I said,\n    \"of course I have no view, and it would be worth nothing if I had.\n    In England, the effect is wholly bad; it offends almost more even\n    than outrages.\" He said he had been very ill and had taken no\n    part, so that he stands free and uncommitted. He was anxious to\n    have it fully understood that the fixed point in his tactics is to\n    maintain the alliance with the English liberals. He referred with\n    much bitterness, and very justifiable too, to the fact that when\n    Ireland seemed to be quiet some short time back, the government\n    had at once begun to draw away from all their promises of remedial\n    legislation. If now rents were paid, meetings abandoned, and\n    newspapers moderated, the same thing would happen over again as\n    usual. However, he would send for a certain one of his\n    lieutenants, and would press for an immediate cessation of the\n    violent speeches.\n\n    _December 12._--Mr. Parnell came, and we had a prolonged\n    conversation. The lieutenant had come over, and had defended the\n    plan of campaign. Mr. Parnell persevered in his dissent and\n    disapproval, and they parted with the understanding that the\n    meetings should be dropped, and the movement calmed as much as\n    could be. I told him that I had heard from Mr. Gladstone, and that\n    he could not possibly show any tolerance for illegalities.\n\n\nThat his opponents should call upon Mr. Gladstone to denounce the plan of\ncampaign and cut himself off from its authors, was to be expected. They\nmade the most of it. (M132) But he was the last man to be turned aside\nfrom the prosecution of a policy that he deemed of overwhelming moment, by\nany minor currents. Immediately after the election, Mr. Parnell had been\ninformed of his view that it would be a mistake for English and Irish to\naim at uniform action in parliament. Motives could not be at all points\nthe same. Liberals were bound to keep in view (next to what the Irish\nquestion might require) the reunion of the liberal party. The Irish were\nbound to have special regard to the opinion and circumstances of Ireland.\nCommon action up to a certain degree would arise from the necessities of\nthe position. Such was Mr. Gladstone's view. He was bent on bringing a\nrevolutionary movement to what he confidently anticipated would be a good\nend; to allow a passing phase of that movement to divert him, would be to\nabandon his own foundations. No reformer is fit for his task who suffers\nhimself to be frightened off by the excesses of an extreme wing.\n\nIn reply to my account of the conversation with Mr. Parnell, he wrote to\nme:--\n\n\n    _Hawarden, December 8, 1886._--I have received your very clear\n    statement and reply in much haste for the post--making the same\n    request as yours for a return. I am glad to find the ---- speech is\n    likely to be neutralised, I hope effectually. It was really very\n    bad. I am glad you write to ----. 2. As to the campaign in Ireland,\n    I do not at present feel the force of Hartington's appeal to me to\n    speak out. I do not recollect that he ever spoke out about\n    Churchill, of whom he is for the time the enthusiastic\n    follower.(226) 3. But all I say and do must be kept apart from the\n    slightest countenance direct or indirect to illegality. We too\n    suffer under the power of the landlord, but we cannot adopt this\n    as a method of breaking it. 4. I am glad you opened the question\n    of intermediate measures.... 5. Upon the whole I suppose he sees\n    he cannot have countenance from us in the plan of campaign. The\n    question rather is how much disavowal. I have contradicted a tory\n    figment in Glasgow that I had approved.\n\n\nAt a later date (September 16, 1887) he wrote to me as to an intended\nspeech at Newcastle: \"You will, I have no doubt, press even more earnestly\nthan before on the Irish people the duty and policy of maintaining order,\nand in these instances I shall be very glad if you will associate me with\nyourself.\"\n\n\"The plan of campaign,\" said Mr. Gladstone, \"was one of those devices that\ncannot be reconciled with the principles of law and order in a civilised\ncountry. Yet we all know that such devices are the certain result of\nmisgovernment. With respect to this particular instance, if the plan be\nblameable (I cannot deny that I feel it difficult to acquit any such plan)\nI feel its authors are not one-tenth part so blameable as the government\nwhose contemptuous refusal of what they have now granted, was the parent\nand source of the mischief.\"(227) This is worth looking at.\n\nThe Cowper Commission, in February 1887, reported that refusal by some\nlandlords explained much that had occurred in the way of combination, and\nthat the growth of these combinations had been facilitated by the fall in\nprices, restriction of credit by the banks, and other circumstances making\nthe payment of rent impossible.(228) Remarkable evidence was given by Sir\nRedvers Buller. He thought there should be some means of modifying and\nredressing the grievance of rents being still higher than the people can\npay. \"You have got a very ignorant poor people, and the law should look\nafter them, instead of which it has only looked after the rich.\"(229) This\nwas exactly what Mr. Parnell had said. In the House the government did not\nbelieve him; in Ireland they admitted his case to be true. In one instance\nGeneral Buller wrote to the agents of the estate that he believed it was\nimpossible for the tenants to pay the rent that was demanded; there might\nbe five or six rogues among them, but in his opinion the greater number of\nthem were nearer famine than paying rent.(230) In this very case ruthless\nevictions followed. The same scenes were enacted elsewhere. The landlords\nwere within their rights, the courts were bound by the law, the police had\nno choice but to back (M133) the courts. The legal ease was complete. The\nmoral case remained, and it was through these barbarous scenes that in a\nrough and non-logical way the realities of the Irish land system for the\nfirst time gained access to the minds of the electors of Great Britain.\nSuch devices as the plan of campaign came to be regarded in England and\nScotland as what they were, incidents in a great social struggle. In a\nvast majority of cases the mutineers succeeded in extorting a reduction of\nrent, not any more immoderate than the reduction voluntarily made by good\nlandlords, or decreed in the land-courts. No agrarian movement in Ireland\nwas ever so unstained by crime.\n\nSome who took part in these affairs made no secret of political motives.\nUnlike Mr. Parnell, they deliberately desired to make government\ndifficult. Others feared that complete inaction would give an opening to\nthe Fenian extremists. This section had already shown some signs both of\ntheir temper and their influence in certain proceedings of the Gaelic\nassociation at Thurles. But the main spring was undoubtedly agrarian, and\nthe force of the spring came from mischiefs that ministers had refused to\nface in time. \"What they call a conspiracy now,\" said one of the insurgent\nleaders, \"they will call an Act of parliament next year.\" So it turned\nout.\n\nThe Commission felt themselves \"constrained to recommend an earlier\nrevision of judicial rents, on account of the straitened circumstances of\nIrish farmers.\" What the commissioners thus told ministers in the spring\nwas exactly what the Irish leader had told them in the previous autumn.\nThey found that there were \"real grounds\" for some legislation of the kind\nthat the chief secretary, unconscious of what his cabinet was so rapidly\nto come to, had stigmatised as the policy of blackmail.\n\nOn the last day of March 1887, the government felt the necessity of\nintroducing a measure based on facts that they had disputed, and on\nprinciples that they had repudiated. Leaseholders were admitted, some\nhundred thousand of them. That is, the more solemn of the forms of\nagrarian contract were set aside. Other provisions we may pass over. But\nthis was not the bill to which the report of the Commission pointed. The\npith of that report was the revision and abatement of judicial rents, and\nfrom the new bill this vital point was omitted. It could hardly have been\notherwise after a curt declaration made by the prime minister in the\nprevious August. \"We do not contemplate any revision of judicial rents,\"\nhe said--immediately, by the way, after appointing a commission to find out\nwhat it was that they ought to contemplate. \"We do not think it would be\nhonest in the first place, and we think it would be exceedingly\ninexpedient.\"(231) He now repeated that to interfere with judicial rents\nbecause prices had fallen, would be to \"lay your axe to the root of the\nfabric of civilised society.\"(232) Before the bill was introduced, Mr.\nBalfour, who had gone to the Irish office on the retirement of Sir M. H.\nBeach in the month of March, proclaimed in language even more fervid, that\nit would be folly and madness to break these solemn contracts.(233)\n\nFor that matter, the bill even as it first stood was in direct\ncontravention to all such high doctrine as this, inasmuch as it clothed a\ncourt with power to vary solemn contracts by fixing a composition for\noutstanding debt, and spreading the payment of it over such a time as the\njudge might think fit. That, however, was the least part of what finally\novertook the haughty language of the month of April. In May the government\naccepted a proposal that the court should not only settle the sum due by\nan applicant for relief for outstanding debt, but should fix a reasonable\nrent for the rest of the term. This was the very power of variation that\nministers had, as it were only the day before, so roundly denounced. But\nthen the tenants in Ulster were beginning to growl. In June ministers\nwithdrew the power of variation, for now it was the landlords who were\ngrowling. Then at last in July the prime minister called his party\ntogether, and told them that if the bill were not altered, Ulster would be\nlost to the unionist cause, and that after all he must put into the bill a\ngeneral revision of judicial rents for three years. So finally, as it was\nput by a speaker of that time, (M134) you have the prime minister\nrejecting in April the policy which in May he accepts; rejecting in June\nthe policy which he had accepted in May; and then in July accepting the\npolicy which he had rejected in June, and which had been within a few\nweeks declared by himself and his colleagues to be inexpedient and\ndishonest, to be madness and folly, and to be a laying of the axe to the\nvery root of the fabric of civilised society. The simplest recapitulation\nmade the bitterest satire.\n\nThe law that finally emerged from these singular operations dealt, it will\nbe observed in passing, with nothing less than the chief object of Irish\nindustry and the chief form of Irish property. No wonder that the\nlandlords lifted up angry voices. True, the minister the year before had\nlaid it down that if rectification of rents should be proved necessary,\nthe landlords ought to be compensated by the state. Of this consolatory\nbalm it is needless to say no more was ever heard; it was only a graceful\nsentence in a speech, and proved to have little relation to purpose or\nintention. At the Kildare Street club in Dublin members moodily asked one\nanother whether they might not just as well have had the policy of Mr.\nParnell's bill adopted on College Green, as adopted at Westminster.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nThe moment had by this time once more come for testing the proposition\nfrom which Mr. Gladstone's policy had first started. The tory government\nhad been turned out at the beginning of 1886 upon coercion, and Mr.\nGladstone's government had in the summer of that year been beaten upon\nconciliation. \"I ventured to state in 1886,\" said Mr. Gladstone a year\nlater,(234) \"that we had arrived at the point where two roads met, or\nrather where two roads parted; one of them the road that marked the\nendeavour to govern Ireland according to its constitutionally expressed\nwishes; the other the road principally marked by ultra-constitutional\nmeasures, growing more and more pronounced in character.\" Others, he said,\nwith whom we had been in close alliance down to that date, considered that\na third course was open, namely liberal concession, stopping short of\nautonomy, but upon a careful avoidance of coercion. Now it became visible\nthat this was a mistake, and that in default of effective conciliation,\ncoercion was the inevitable alternative. So it happened.\n\nThe government again unlocked the ancient armoury, and brought out the\nwell-worn engines. The new Crimes bill in most particulars followed the\nold Act, but it contained one or two serious extensions, including a\nclause afterwards dropped, that gave to the crown a choice in cases of\nmurder or certain other aggravated offences of carrying the prisoner out\nof his own country over to England and trying him before a Middlesex jury\nat the Old Bailey--a puny imitation of the heroic expedient suggested in\n1769, of bringing American rebels over for trial in England under a\nslumbering statute of King Henry VIII. The most startling innovation of\nall was that the new Act was henceforth to be the permanent law of\nIreland, and all its drastic provisions were to be brought into force\nwhenever the executive government pleased.(235) This Act was not\nrestricted as every former law of the kind had been in point of time, to\nmeet an emergency; it was made a standing instrument of government.\nCriminal law and procedure is one of the most important of all the\nbranches of civil rule, and certainly is one of the most important of all\nits elements. This was now in Ireland to shift up and down, to be one\nthing to-day and another thing to-morrow at executive discretion. Acts\nwould be innocent or would be crimes, just as it pleased the Irish\nminister. Parliament did not enact that given things were criminal, but\nonly that they should be criminal when an Irish minister should choose to\nsay so.(236) Persons charged with them would have the benefit of a jury or\nwould be deprived of a jury, as the Irish minister might think proper.\n\n(M135) Mr. Parnell was in bad health and took little part, but he made\nmore than one pulverising attack in that measured and frigid style which,\nin a man who knows his case at first hand, may be so much more awkward for\na minister than more florid onslaughts. He discouraged obstruction, and\nadvised his followers to select vital points and to leave others alone.\nThis is said to have been the first Coercion bill that a majority of Irish\nmembers voting opposed.\n\nIt was at this point that the government suddenly introduced their\nhistoric proposal for closure by guillotine. They carried (June 10) a\nresolution that at ten o'clock on that day week the committee stage should\nbe brought compulsorily to an end, and that any clauses remaining\nundisposed of should be put forthwith without amendment or debate. The\nmost remarkable innovation upon parliamentary rule and practice since\nCromwell and Colonel Pride, was introduced by Mr. Smith in a\ncharacteristic speech, well larded with phrases about duty, right,\nresponsibility, business of the country, and efficiency of the House.\nThese solemnising complacencies' did not hide the mortifying fact that if\nit had really been one of the objects of Irish members for ten years past\nto work a revolution in the parliament where they were forced against\ntheir will to sit, they had at least, be such a revolution good or bad,\nsucceeded in their design.\n\nPerhaps looking forward with prophetic eye to a day that actually arrived\nsix years later, Mr. Gladstone, while objecting to the proposal as\nunjustified, threw the responsibility of it upon the government, and used\nnone of the flaming colours of defiance. The bulk of the liberals\nabstained from the division. This practical accord between the two sets of\nleading men made the parliamentary revolution definite and finally\nclenched it. It was not without something of a funereal pang that members\nwith a sense of the old traditions of the power, solemnity, and honour of\nthe House of Commons came down on the evening of the seventeenth of June.\nWithin a week they would be celebrating the fiftieth year of the reign of\nthe Queen, and that night's business was the strange and unforeseen goal\nat which a journey of little more than the same period of time along the\nhigh, democratic road had brought the commonalty of the realm since 1832.\nAmong the provisions that went into the bill without any discussion in\ncommittee were those giving to the Irish executive the power of stamping\nan association as unlawful; those dealing with special juries and change\nof the place of trial; those specifying the various important conditions\nattaching to proclamations, which lay at the foundation of the Act; those\ndealing with rules, procedure, and the limits of penalty. The report next\nfell under what Burke calls the accursed slider. That stage had taken\nthree sittings, when the government moved (June 30) that it must close in\nfour days. So much grace, however, was not needed; for after the motion\nhad been carried the liberals withdrew from the House, and the Irishmen\nbetook themselves to the galleries, whence they looked down upon the\nmechanical proceedings below.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nIn Ireland the battle now began in earnest. The Irish minister went into\nit with intrepid logic. Though very different men in the deeper parts of\ncharacter, Macaulay's account of Halifax would not be an ill-natured\naccount of Mr. Balfour. \"His understanding was keen, sceptical,\ninexhaustibly fertile in distinctions and objections, his taste refined,\nhis sense of the ludicrous exquisite; his temper placid and forgiving, but\nfastidious, and by no means prone either to malevolence or to enthusiastic\nadmiration.\" His business was to show disaffected Ireland that parliament\nwas her master. Parliament had put the weapon into his hands, and it was\nfor him to smite his antagonists to the ground. He made no experiments in\njudicious mixture, hard blows and soft speech, but held steadily to force\nand fear. His apologists argued that after all substantial justice was\ndone even in what seemed hard cases, and even if the spirit of law were\nsometimes a trifle strained. Unluckily the peasant with the blunderbuss,\nas he waits behind the hedge for the tyrant or the traitor, says just the\nsame. The forces of disorder were infinitely less formidable than they had\nbeen a hundred times before. The contest was child's play compared with\n(M136) the violence and confusion with which Mr. Forster or Lord Spencer\nhad to deal. On the other hand the alliance between liberals and Irish\ngave to the struggle a parliamentary complexion, by which no coercion\nstruggle had ever been marked hitherto. In the dialectic of senate and\nplatform, Mr. Balfour displayed a strength of wrist, a rapidity, an\ninstant readiness for combat, that took his foes by surprise, and roused\nin his friends a delight hardly surpassed in the politics of our day.\n\nThere was another important novelty this time. To England hitherto Irish\ncoercion had been little more than a word of common form, used without any\nthought what the thing itself was like to the people coerced. Now it was\ndifferent. Coercion had for once become a flaming party issue, and when\nthat happens all the world awakes. Mr. Gladstone had proclaimed that the\nchoice lay between conciliation and coercion. The country would have liked\nconciliation, but did not trust his plan. When coercion came, the two\nBritish parties rushed to their swords, and the deciding body of neutrals\nlooked on with anxiety and concern. There has never been a more\nstrenuously sustained contest in the history of political campaigns. No\neffort was spared to bring the realities of repression vividly home to the\njudgment and feelings of men and women of our own island. English visitors\ntrooped over to Ireland, and brought back stories of rapacious landlords,\nviolent police, and famishing folk cast out homeless upon the wintry\nroadside. Irishmen became the most welcome speakers on British platforms,\nand for the first time in all our history they got a hearing for their\nlamentable tale. To English audiences it was as new and interesting as the\nnarrative of an African explorer or a navigator in the Pacific. Our Irish\ninstructors even came to the curious conclusion that ordinary\ninternational estimates must be revised, and that Englishmen are in truth\nfar more emotional than Irishmen. Ministerial speakers, on the other hand,\ndiligently exposed inaccuracy here or over-colouring there. They appealed\nto the English distaste for disorder, and to the English taste for\nmastery, and they did not overlook the slumbering jealousy of popery and\npriestcraft. But the course of affairs was too rapid for them, the strong\nharsh doses to the Irish patient were too incessant. The Irish convictions\nin cases where the land was concerned rose to 2805, and of these rather\nover one-half were in cases where in England the rights of the prisoner\nwould have been guarded by a jury. The tide of common popular feeling in\nthis island about the right to combine, the right of public meeting, the\nfrequent barbarities of eviction, the jarring indignities of prison\ntreatment, flowed stronger and stronger. The general impression spread\nmore and more widely that the Irish did not have fair play, that they were\nnot being treated about speeches and combination and meetings as\nEnglishmen or Scotchmen would be treated. Even in breasts that had been\nmost incensed by the sudden reversal of policy in 1886, the feeling slowly\ngrew that it was perhaps a pity after all that Mr. Gladstone had not been\nallowed to persevere on the fair-shining path of conciliation.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nThe proceedings under exceptional law would make an instructive chapter in\nthe history of the union. Mr. Gladstone followed them vigilantly, once or\ntwice without his usual exercise of critical faculty, but always bringing\ninto effective light the contrast between this squalid policy and his\nanticipations of his own. Here we are only concerned with what affected\nBritish opinion on the new policy. One set of distressing incidents, not\nconnected with the Crimes Act, created disgust and even horror in the\ncountry and set Mr. Gladstone on fire. A meeting of some six thousand\npersons assembled in a large public square at Mitchelstown in the county\nof Cork.(237) It was a good illustration of Mr. Gladstone's habitual\nstrategy in public movements, that he should have boldly and promptly\nseized on the doings at Mitchelstown as an incident well fitted to arrest\nthe attention of the country. \"Remember Mitchelstown\" became a watchword.\nThe chairman, speaking from a carriage that did duty for a platform,\nopened the proceedings. Then a file of police endeavoured to force a way\nthrough the densest part of the (M137) crowd for a government note-taker.\nWhy they did not choose an easier mode of approach from the rear, or by\nthe side; why they had not got their reporter on to the platform before\nthe business began; and why they had not beforehand asked for\naccommodation as was the practice, were three points never explained. The\npolice unable to make a way through the crowd retired to the outskirt. The\nmeeting went on. In a few minutes a larger body of police pressed up\nthrough the thick of the throng to the platform. A violent struggle began,\nthe police fighting their way through the crowd with batons and clubbed\nrifles. The crowd flung stones and struck out with sticks, and after three\nor four minutes the police fled to their barracks--some two hundred and\nfifty yards away. So far there is no material discrepancy in the various\nversions of this dismal story. What followed is matter of conflicting\ntestimony. One side alleged that a furious throng rushed after the police,\nattacked the barrack, and half murdered a constable outside, and that the\nconstables inside in order to save their comrade and to beat off the\nassailing force, opened fire from an upper window. The other side declared\nthat no crowd followed the retreating police at all, that the assault on\nthe barrack was a myth, and that the police fired without orders from any\nresponsible officer, in mere blind panic and confusion. One old man was\nshot dead, two others were mortally wounded and died within a week.\n\nThree days later the affray was brought before the House of Commons. Any\none could see from the various reports that the conduct of the police, the\nresistance of the crowd, and the guilt or justification of the bloodshed,\nwere all matters in the utmost doubt and demanding rigorous inquiry. Mr.\nBalfour pronounced instant and peremptory judgment. The thing had happened\non the previous Friday. The official report, however rapidly prepared,\ncould not have reached him until the morning of Sunday. His officers at\nthe Castle had had no opportunity of testing their official report by\ncross-examination of the constables concerned, nor by inspection of the\nbarrack, the line of fire, and other material elements of the case. Yet on\nthe strength of this hastily drawn and unsifted report received by him\nfrom Ireland on Sunday, and without even waiting for any information that\neye-witnesses in the House might have to lay before him in the course of\nthe discussion, the Irish minister actually told parliament once for all,\non the afternoon of Monday, that he was of opinion, \"looking at the matter\nin the most impartial spirit, that the police were in no way to blame, and\nthat no responsibility rested upon any one except upon those who convened\nthe meeting under circumstances which they knew would lead to excitement\nand might lead to outrage.\"(238) The country was astounded to see the most\ncritical mind in all the House swallow an untested police report whole; to\nhear one of the best judges in all the country of the fallibility of human\ntestimony, give offhand, in what was really a charge of murder, a verdict\nof Not Guilty, after he had read the untested evidence on one side.\n\nThe rest was all of a piece. The coroner's inquest was held in due course.\nThe proceedings were not more happily conducted than was to be expected\nwhere each side followed the counsels of ferocious exasperation. The jury,\nafter some seventeen days of it, returned a verdict of wilful murder\nagainst the chief police officer and five of his men. This inquisition was\nafterwards quashed (February 10, 1888) in the Queen's bench, on the ground\nthat the coroner had perpetrated certain irregularities of form. Nobody\nhas doubted that the Queen's bench was right; it seemed as if there had\nbeen a conspiracy of all the demons of human stupidity in this tragic\nbungle, from the first forcing of the reporter through the crowd, down to\nthe inquest on the three slain men and onwards. The coroner's inquest\nhaving broken down, reasonable opinion demanded that some other public\ninquiry should be held. Even supporters of the government demanded it. If\nthree men had been killed by the police in connection with a public\nmeeting in England or Scotland, no home secretary would have dreamed for\nfive minutes of resisting such a demand. Instead of a public inquiry, what\nthe chief secretary did was to appoint a (M138) confidential departmental\ncommittee of policemen privately to examine, not whether the firing was\njustified by the circumstances, but how it came about that the police were\nso handled by their officers that a large force was put to flight by a\ndisorderly mob. The three deaths were treated as mere accident and\nirrelevance. The committee was appointed to correct the discipline of the\nforce, said the Irish minister, and in no sense to seek justification for\nactions which, in his opinion, required no justification.(239) Endless\nspeeches were made in the House and out of it; members went over to\nMitchelstown to measure distances, calculate angles, and fire imaginary\nrifles out of the barrack window; all sorts of theories of ricochet shots\nwere invented, photographs and diagrams were taken. Some held the police\nto be justified, others held them to be wholly unjustified. But without a\njudicial inquiry, such as had been set up in the case of Belfast in 1886,\nall these doings were futile. The government remained stubborn. The\nslaughter of the three men was finally left just as if it had been the\nslaughter of three dogs. No other incident of Irish administration stirred\ndeeper feelings of disgust in Ireland, or of misgiving and indignation in\nEngland.\n\nHere was, in a word, the key to the new policy. Every act of Irish\nofficials was to be defended. No constable could be capable of excess. No\nmagistrate could err. No prison rule was over harsh. Every severity\ntechnically in order must be politic.\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nAmong other remarkable incidents, the Pope came to the rescue, and sent an\nemissary to inquire into Irish affairs. The government had lively hopes of\nthe emissary, and while they beat the Orange drum in Ulster with one hand,\nwith the other they stealthily twitched the sleeve of Monsignor Persico.\nIt came to little. The Congregation at Rome were directed by the Pope to\nexamine whether it was lawful to resort to the plan of campaign. They\nanswered that it was contrary both to natural justice and Christian\ncharity. The papal rescript, embodying this conclusion, was received in\nIreland with little docility. Unwisely the cardinals had given reasons,\nand the reasons, instead of springing in the mystic region of faith and\nmorals, turned upon issues of fact as to fair rents. But then the Irish\ntenant thought himself a far better judge of a fair rent, than all the\ncardinals that ever wore red hats. If he had heard of such a thing as\nJansenism, he would have known that he was in his own rude way taking up a\nposition not unlike that of the famous teachers of Port Royal two hundred\nand thirty years before, that the authority of the Holy See is final as to\ndoctrine, but may make a mistake as to fact.\n\nMr. Parnell spoke tranquilly of \"a document from a distant country,\" and\npublicly left the matter to his catholic countrymen.(240) Forty catholic\nmembers of parliament met at the Mansion House in Dublin, and signed a\ndocument in which they flatly denied every one of the allegations and\nimplications about fair rents, free contract, the land commission and all\nthe rest, and roundly declared the Vatican circular to be an instrument of\nthe unscrupulous foes both of the Holy See and of the people of Ireland.\nThey told the Pope, that while recognising unreservedly as catholics the\nspiritual jurisdiction of the Holy See, they were bound solemnly to affirm\nthat Irish catholics recognise no rights in Rome to interfere in their\npolitical affairs. A great meeting in the Phoenix Park ratified the same\nposition by acclamation. At Cork, under the presidency of the mayor, and\njealously watched by forces of horse and foot, a great gathering in a\nscene of indescribable excitement protested that they would never allow\nthe rack-renters of Ireland to grind them down at the instigation of\nintriguers at Rome. Even in many cities in the United States the same\nvoice was heard. The bishops knew well that the voice was strongly marked\nby the harsh accent of their Fenian adversaries. They issued a declaration\nof their own, protesting to their flocks that the rescript was confined\nwithin the spiritual sphere, and that his holiness was far from wishing to\nprejudice the nationalist movement. In the closing week of the year, the\nPope himself judged that the time had come for him to make known (M139)\nthat the action which had been \"so sadly misunderstood,\" had been prompted\nby the desire to keep the cause in which Ireland was struggling from being\nweakened by the introduction of anything that could justly be brought in\nreproach against it.(241) The upshot of the intervention was that the\naction condemned by the rescript was not materially affected within the\narea already disturbed; but the rescript may have done something to\nprevent its extension elsewhere.\n\n\n\nVII\n\n\nAmong the entries for 1887 there occur:--\n\n\n    _Sandringham, Jan. 29._--A large party. We were received with the\n    usual delicacy and kindness. Much conversation with the Prince of\n    Wales.... Walk with ----, who charmed me much. _Jan. 31._--Off by 11\n    A.M. to Cambridge.... Dined with the master of Trinity in hall.\n    Went over the Newnham buildings: greatly pleased. Saw Mr.\n    Sidgwick. Evening service at King's.... _Feb. 2._--Hawarden at\n    5.30. Set to work on papers. Finished Greville's Journals. _Feb.\n    3._--Wrote on Greville. _Feb. 5._--Felled a chestnut. _Feb.\n    27._--Read Lord Shaftesbury's _Memoirs_--an excellent discipline for\n    me. _March 5._-- Dollis Hill [a house near Willesden often lent to\n    him in these times by Lord and Lady Aberdeen] a refuge from my\n    timidity, unwilling at 77 to begin a new London house. _March\n    9._--Windsor [to dine and sleep]. The Queen courteous as always;\n    somewhat embarrassed, as I thought. _March 29._--Worked on Homer,\n    Apollo, etc. Then turned to the Irish business and revolved much,\n    with extreme difficulty in licking the question into shape. Went\n    to the House and spoke 1-1/2 hours as carefully and with as much\n    measure as I could. Conclave on coming course of business. _April\n    5._--Conversation with Mr. Chamberlain--ambiguous result, but some\n    ground made. _April 18._--H. of C. 4-1/2-8-1/4 and 10-2. Spoke 1-1/4 h.\n    My voice did its duty but with great effort. _April 25._--Spoke for\n    an hour upon the budget. R. Churchill excellent. Conclave on the\n    forged letters. _May 4._--Read earlier speeches of yesterday with\n    care, and worked up the subject of Privilege. Spoke 1-1/4 h.\n\n\nIn June (1887) Mr. Gladstone started on a political campaign in South\nWales, where his reception was one of the most triumphant in all his\ncareer. Ninety-nine hundredths of the vast crowds who gave up wages for\nthe sake of seeing him and doing him honour were strong protestants, yet\nhe said to a correspondent, \"they made this demonstration in order to\nsecure firstly and mainly justice to catholic Ireland. It is not after all\na bad country in which such things take place.\"\n\nIt was at Swansea that he said what he had to say about the Irish members.\nHe had never at any time from the hour when he formed his government, set\nup their exclusion as a necessary condition of home rule. All that he ever\nbargained for was that no proposal for inclusion should be made a ground\nfor impairing real and effective self-government. Subject to this he was\nready to adjourn the matter and to leave things as they were, until\nexperience should show the extent of the difficulty and the best way of\nmeeting it. Provisional exclusion had been suggested by a member of great\nweight in the party in 1886. The new formula was provisional inclusion.\nThis announcement restored one very distinguished adherent to Mr.\nGladstone, and it appeased the clamour of the busy knot who called\nthemselves imperial federationists. Of course it opened just as many new\ndifficulties as it closed old ones, but both old difficulties and new fell\ninto the background before the struggle in Ireland.\n\n\n    _June 2, 1887._--Off at 11.40. A tumultuous but interesting journey\n    to Swansea and Singleton, where we were landed at 7.30. Half a\n    dozen speeches on the way. A small party to dinner. 3.--A \"quiet\n    day.\" Wrote draft to the associations on the road, as model. Spent\n    the forenoon in settling plans and discussing the lines of my\n    meditated statement to-morrow with Sir Hussey Vivian, Lord\n    Aberdare, and Mr. Stuart Rendel. In the afternoon we went to the\n    cliffs and the Mumbles, and I gave some hours to writing\n    preliminary notes on a business where all depends on the manner of\n    handling. Small party to dinner. Read Cardiff and Swansea guides.\n    4.--More study and notes. 12-4-1/2 the astonishing procession. Sixty\n    thousand! Then spoke for near an hour. Dinner at 8, near an\n    hundred, arrangements perfect. Spoke for nearly another hour; got\n    through a most difficult business as well as I could expect.\n    5.--Church 11 A.M., notable sermon and H. C. (service long), again\n    6-1/2 P.M., good sermon. Wrote to Sir W. Harcourt, Mr. Morley, etc.\n    Walked in the garden. Considered the question of a non-political\n    address \"in council\"; we all decided against it. 6.--Surveys in the\n    house, then 12-4 to Swansea for the freedom and opening the town\n    library. I was rather jealous of a non-political affair at such a\n    time, but could not do less than speak for thirty or thirty-five\n    minutes for the two occasions. 4-8 to Park Farm, the beautiful\n    vales, breezy common and the curious chambered cairn. Small\n    dinner-party. 7.--Off at 8.15 and a hard day to London, the\n    occasion of processions, hustles, and speeches; that at Newport in\n    the worst atmosphere known since the Black Hole. Poor C. too was\n    an invalid. Spoke near an hour to 3000 at Cardiff; about 1/4 hour at\n    Newport; more briefly at Gloucester and Swindon. Much enthusiasm\n    even in the English part of the journey. Our party was reduced at\n    Newport to the family, at Gloucester to our two selves. C. H.\n    Terrace at 6.20. Wrote to get off the House of Commons. It has\n    really been a \"progress,\" and an extraordinary one.\n\n\nIn December 1887, under the pressing advice of his physician, though \"with\na great lazy reluctance,\" Mr. Gladstone set his face with a family party\ntowards Florence. He found the weather more northern than at Hawarden, but\nit was healthy. He was favourably impressed by all he saw of Italian\nsociety (English being cultivated to a degree that surprised him), but he\ndid his best to observe Sir Andrew Clark's injunction that he should\npractise the Trappist discipline of silence, and the condition of his\nvoice improved in consequence. He read Scartazzini's book on Dante, and\nfound it fervid, generally judicial, and most unsparing in labour; and he\nwas much interested in Beugnot's _Chute du Paganisme_. And as usual, he\nreturned homeward as unwillingly as he had departed. During the session he\nfought his Irish battle with unsparing tenacity, and the most conspicuous\npiece of his activity out of parliament was a pilgrimage to Birmingham\n(November 1888). It was a great gathering of lieutenants and leading\nsupporters from, every part of the country. Here is a note of mine:--\n\n\n    On the day of the great meeting in Bingley Hall, somebody came to\n    say that Mr. Gladstone wanted to know if I could supply him with a\n    certain passage from a speech of Lord Hartington's. I found him in\n    his dressing-gown, conning his notes and as lively as youth. He\n    jumped up and pressed point after point on me, as if I had been a\n    great public meeting. I offered to go down to the public library\n    and hunt for the passage; he deprecated this, but off I went, and\n    after some search unearthed the passage, and copied it out. In the\n    evening I went to dine with him before the meeting. He had been\n    out for a short walk to the Oratory in the afternoon to call on\n    Cardinal Newman. He was not allowed, he told me, to see the\n    cardinal, but he had had a long talk with Father Neville. He found\n    that Newman was in the habit of reading with a reflector candle,\n    but had not a good one. \"So I said I had a good one, and I sent it\n    round to him.\" He was entirely disengaged in mind during dinner,\n    ate and drank his usual quantity, and talked at his best about all\n    manner of things. At the last moment he was telling us of John\n    Hunter's confirmation, from his own medical observation, of\n    Homer's remark about Dolon; a bad fellow, whose badness Homer\n    explains by the fact that he was a brother brought up among\n    sisters only:--\n\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK KORONIS~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH YPOGEGRAMMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}.(242)\n\n    Oliver Cromwell, by the way, was an only surviving boy among seven\n    sisters, so we cannot take either poet or surgeon for gospel. Time\n    was up, and bore us away from Homer and Hunter. He was perfectly\n    silent in the carriage, as I remembered Bright had been when years\n    before I drove with him to the same hall. The sight of the vast\n    meeting was almost appalling, from fifteen to seventeen thousand\n    people. He spoke with great vigour and freedom; the fine passages\n    probably heard all over; many other passages certainly not heard,\n    but his gestures so strong and varied as to be almost as\n    interesting as the words would have been. The speech lasted an\n    hour and fifty minutes; and he was not at all exhausted when he\n    sat down. The scene at the close was absolutely indescribable and\n    incomparable, overwhelming like the sea.\n\n\nHe took part in parliamentary business at the beginning of December. On\nDecember 3rd he spoke on Ireland with immense fervour and passion. He was\nroused violently by the chairman's attempt to rule out strong language\nfrom debate, and made a vehement passage on that point. The substance of\nthe speech was rather thin and not new, but the delivery magnificent. The\nIrish minister rose to reply at 7.50, and Mr. Gladstone reluctantly made\nup his mind to dine in the House. A friend by his side said No, and at\n8.40 hurried him down the back-stairs to a hospitable board in Carlton\nGardens. He was nearly voiceless, until it was time for the rest of us to\ngo back. A speedy meal revived him, and he was soon discoursing on\nO'Connell and many other persons and things, with boundless force and\nvivacity.\n\nA few days later he was carried off to Naples. Hereto, he told Lord Acton,\n\"we have been induced by three circumstances. First, a warm invitation\nfrom the Dufferins to Rome; as to which, however, there are _cons_ as well\nas _pros_ for a man who like me is neither Italian nor Curial in the view\nof present policies. Secondly, our kind friend Mr. Stuart Rendel has\nactually offered to be our conductor thither and back, to perform for us\nthe great service which you rendered us in the trip to Munich and Saint\nMartin. Thirdly, I have the hope that the stimulating climate of Naples,\ntogether with an abstention from speech greater than any I have before\nenjoyed, may act upon my 'vocal cord,' and partially at least restore it.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter III. The Special Commission. (1887-1890)\n\n\n    My Lords, it appears to me that the measure is unfortunate in its\n    origin, unfortunate in its scope and object, and unfortunate in\n    the circumstances which accompanied its passage through the other\n    House. It appears to me to establish a precedent most novel, and\n    fraught with the utmost danger.--LORD HERSCHELL.(243)\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nMr. Gladstone's ceaseless attention to the many phases of the struggle\nthat was now the centre of his public life, was especially engaged on what\nremains the most amazing of them. I wish it were possible to pass it over,\nor throw it into a secondary place; but it is too closely connected with\nthe progress of Mr. Gladstone's Irish policy in British opinion at a\ncritical stage, and it is still the subject of too many perversions that\naffect his name. Transactions are to be found in our annals where wrong\nwas done by government to individuals on a greater scale, where a powerful\nmajority devised engines for the proscription of a weak minority with\ndeadlier aim, and where the omnipotence of parliament was abused for the\npurpose of faction with more ruthless result. But whether we look at the\nsqualid fraud in which the incident began, or at the tortuous\nparliamentary pretences by which it was worked out, or at the perversion\nof fundamental principles of legal administration involved in sending men\nto answer the gravest charges before a tribunal specially constituted at\nthe absolute discretion of their bitterest political opponents--at the\nmoment engaged in a fierce contest with them in another field--from\nwhatever point of view we approach, the erection of the Special Commission\nof 1888 stands out as one of the ugliest things done in the name and under\nthe forms of law in this island during the century.\n\n(M140) In the spring of 1887 the conductors of _The Times_, intending to\nstrengthen the hands of the government in their new and doubtful struggle,\npublished a series of articles, in which old charges against the Irish\nleader and his men were served up with fresh and fiery condiments. The\nallegations of crime were almost all indefinite; the method was by\nallusion, suggestion, innuendo, and the combination of ingeniously\nselected pieces, to form a crude and hideous mosaic. Partly from its\nextravagance, partly because it was in substance stale, the thing missed\nfire.\n\nOn the day on which the division was to be taken on the second reading of\nthe Coercion bill, a more formidable bolt was shot. On that morning (April\n18th, 1887), there appeared in the newspaper, with all the fascination of\nfacsimile, a letter alleged to be written by Mr. Parnell. It was dated\nnine days after the murders in the Phoenix Park, and purported to be an\napology, presumably to some violent confederate, for having as a matter of\nexpediency openly condemned the murders, though in truth the writer\nthought that one of the murdered men deserved his fate.(244) Special point\nwas given to the letter by a terrible charge, somewhat obliquely but still\nunmistakably made, in an article five or six weeks before, that Mr.\nParnell closely consorted with the leading Invincibles when he was\nreleased on parole in April 1882; that he probably learned from them what\nthey were about; and that he recognised the murders in the Phoenix Park as\ntheir handiwork.(245) The significance of the letter therefore was that,\nknowing the bloody deed to be theirs, he wrote for his own safety to\nqualify, recall, and make a humble apology for the condemnation which he\nhad thought it politic publicly to pronounce. The town was thrown into a\ngreat ferment. At the political clubs and in the lobbies, all was\ncomplacent jubilation on the one side, and consternation on the other.\nEven people with whom politics were a minor interest were shocked by such\nan exposure of the grievous depravity of man.\n\nMr. Parnell did not speak until one o'clock in the morning, immediately\nbefore the division on the second reading of the bill. He began amid the\ndeepest silence. His denial was scornful but explicit. The letter, he\nsaid, was an audacious fabrication. It is fair to admit that the\nministerialists were not without some excuse of a sort for the incredulous\nlaughter with which they received this repudiation. They put their trust\nin the most serious, the most powerful, the most responsible, newspaper in\nthe world; greatest in resources, in authority, in universal renown.\nNeglect of any possible precaution against fraud and forgery in a document\nto be used for the purpose of blasting a great political opponent would be\nculpable in no common degree. Of this neglect people can hardly be blamed\nfor thinking that the men of business, men of the world, and men of honour\nwho were masters of the _Times_, must be held absolutely incapable.\n\nThose who took this view were encouraged in it by the prime minister.\nWithin four-and-twenty hours he publicly took the truth of the story, with\nall its worst innuendoes, entirely for granted. He went with rapid stride\nfrom possibility to probability, and from probability to certainty. In a\nspeech, of which precipitate credulity was not the only fault, Lord\nSalisbury let fall the sentence: \"When men who knew gentlemen who\nintimately knew Mr. Parnell murdered Mr. Burke.\" He denounced Mr.\nGladstone for making a trusted friend of such a man--one who had \"mixed on\nterms of intimacy with those whose advocacy of assassination was well\nknown.\" Then he went further. \"You may go back,\" he said, \"to the\nbeginning of British government, you may go back from decade to decade,\nand from leader to leader, but you will never find a man who has accepted\na position, in reference to an ally tainted with the strong presumption of\nconniving at assassination, which has been accepted by Mr. Gladstone at\nthe present time.\"(246) Seldom has party spirit led eminent personages to\ngreater lengths of dishonouring absurdity.\n\nNow and afterwards people asked why Mr. Parnell did not promptly bring his\nlibellers before a court of law. The answer was simple. The case would\nnaturally have been tried in London. In other words, not only the\nplaintiff's own character, but the whole movement that he represented,\nwould have been submitted to a Middlesex jury, with all the national and\npolitical prejudices inevitable in such a body, and with all the twelve\nchances of a disagreement, that would be almost as disastrous to Mr.\nParnell as an actual verdict for his assailants. The issues were too great\nto be exposed to the hazards of a cast of the die. Then, why not lay the\nvenue in Ireland? It was true that a favourable verdict might just as\nreasonably be expected from the prepossessions of Dublin, as an\nunfavourable one from the prepossessions of London. But the moral effect\nof an Irish verdict upon English opinion would be exactly as worthless, as\nthe effect of an English verdict in a political or international case\nwould be upon the judgment and feeling of Ireland. To procure a\ncondemnation of the _Times_ at the Four Courts, as a means of affecting\nEnglish opinion, would not be worth a single guinea. Undoubtedly the\nsubsequent course of this strange history fully justified the advice that\nMr. Parnell received in this matter from the three persons in the House of\nCommons with whom on this point he took counsel.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThe prudent decision against bringing a fierce political controversy\nbefore an English judge and jury was in a few months brought to nought,\nfrom motives that have remained obscure, and with results that nobody\ncould foresee. The next act in the drama was the institution of\nproceedings for libel against the _Times_ in November 1887, by an Irishman\nwho had formerly sat in parliament as a political follower of Mr. Parnell.\nThe newspaper met him by denying that the articles on _Parnellism and\nCrime_ related to him. It went on to plead that the statements in the\narticles were true in substance and in fact. The action was tried before\nLord Coleridge in July 1888, and the newspaper was represented by the\nadvocate who happened to be the principal law officer of the crown. The\nplaintiff's counsel picked out certain passages, said that his client was\none of the persons intended to be libelled, and claimed damages. He was\nheld to have made an undoubted _prima facie_ case on the two libels in\nwhich he had been specifically named. This gave the enemy his chance. The\nattorney general, speaking for three days, opened the whole case for the\nnewspaper; repeated and enlarged upon the charges and allegations in its\narticles; stated the facts which he proposed to give in evidence; sought\nto establish that the fac-simile letter was really signed by Mr. Parnell;\nand finally put forward other letters, now produced for the first time,\nwhich carried complicity and connivance to a further point. These charges\nhe said that he should prove. On the third day he entirely changed his\ntack. Having launched this mass of criminating imputation, he then\nsuddenly bethought him, so he said, of the hardships which his course\nwould entail upon the Irishmen, and asked that in that action he should\nnot be called upon to prove anything at all. The Irishmen and their leader\nremained under a load of odium that the law officer of the crown had cast\nupon them, and declined to substantiate.\n\nThe production of this further batch of letters stirred Mr. Parnell from\nhis usual impassiveness. His former determination to sit still was shaken.\nThe day after the attorney general's speech, he came to the present writer\nto say that he thought of sending a paragraph to the newspapers that\nnight, with an announcement of his intention to bring an action against\nthe _Times_, narrowed to the issue of the letters. The old arguments\nagainst an action were again pressed upon him. He insisted, on the other\nside, that he was not afraid of cross-examination; that they might\ncross-examine as much as ever they pleased, either about the doings of the\nland league or the letters; that his hands would be found to be clean, and\nthe letters to be gross (M141) forgeries. The question between us was\nadjourned; and meanwhile he fell in with my suggestion that he should the\nnext day make a personal statement to the House. The personal statement\nwas made in his most frigid manner, and it was as frigidly received. He\nwent through the whole of the letters, one by one; showed the palpable\nincredibility of some of them upon their very face, and in respect of\nthose which purported to be written by himself, he declared, in words free\nfrom all trace of evasion, that he had never written them, never signed\nthem, never directed nor authorised them to be written.\n\nSo the matter was left on the evening of Friday (July 6, 1888). On Monday\nMr. Parnell came to the House with the intention to ask for a select\ncommittee. The feeling of the English friend to whom he announced his\nintention in the lobby, still was that the matter might much better be\nleft where it stood. The new batch of letters had strengthened his\nposition, for the Kilmainham letter was a fraud upon the face of it, and a\nstory that he had given a hundred pounds to a fugitive from justice after\nthe murders, had been demolished. The press throughout the country had\ntreated the subject very coolly. The government would pretty certainly\nrefuse a select committee, and what would be the advantage to him in the\nminds of persons inclined to think him guilty, of making a demand which he\nknew beforehand would be declined? Such was the view now pressed upon Mr.\nParnell. This time he was not moved. He took his own course, as he had a\nparamount right to do. He went into the House and asked the ministers to\ngrant a select committee to inquire into the authenticity of the letters\nread at the recent trial. Mr. Smith replied, as before, that the House was\nabsolutely incompetent to deal with the charges. Mr. Parnell then gave\nnotice that he would that night put on the paper the motion for a\ncommittee, and on Thursday demand a day for its discussion.\n\nWhen Thursday arrived, either because the hot passion of the majority was\nirresistible, or from a cool calculation of policy, or simply because the\nsituation was becoming intolerable, a new decision had been taken, itself\nfar more intolerable than the scandal that it was to dissipate. The\ngovernment met the Irish leader with a refusal and an offer. They would\nnot give a committee, but they were willing to propose a commission to\nconsist wholly or mainly of judges, with statutory power to inquire into\n\"the allegations and charges made against members of parliament by the\ndefendants in the recent action.\" If the gentlemen from Ireland were\nprepared to accept the offer, the government would at once put on the\npaper for the following Monday, notice of motion for leave to bring in a\nbill.(247)\n\nWhen the words of the notice of motion appeared in print, it was found\namid universal astonishment that the special commission was to inquire\ninto the charges and allegations generally, not only against certain\nmembers of parliament, but also against \"other persons.\" The enormity of\nthis sudden extension of the operation was palpable. A certain member is\ncharged with the authorship of incriminating letters. To clear his\ncharacter as a member of parliament, he demands a select committee. We\ndecline to give a committee, says the minister, but we offer you a\ncommission of judges, and you may take our offer or refuse, as you please;\nonly the judges must inquire not merely into your question of the letters,\nbut into all the charges and allegations made against all of you, and not\nthese only, but into the charges and allegations made against other people\nas well. This was extraordinary enough, but it was not all.\n\nIt is impossible to feel much surprise that Mr. Parnell was ready to\nassent to any course, however unconstitutional that course might be, if\nonly it led to the exposure of an insufferable wrong. The credit of\nparliament and the sanctity of constitutional right were no supreme\nconcern of his. He was burning to get at any expedient, committee or\ncommission, which should enable him to unmask and smite his hidden foes.\nMuch of his private language at this time was in some respects vague and\nineffectual, but he was naturally averse to any course that might, in his\nown words, look like backing down. \"Of course,\" he said, \"I am not sure\nthat we shall come off with flying colours. But I think we shall. I am\nnever sure of anything.\" He was still confident that he had the clue.\n\nOn the second stage of the transaction, Mr. Smith, in answer to various\nquestions in the early part of the sitting, made a singular declaration.\nThe bill, he said, of which he had given notice, was a bill to be\nintroduced in accordance with the offer already made. \"I do not desire to\ndebate the proposal; and I have put it in this position on the Order Book,\nin order that it may be rejected or accepted by the honourable member in\nthe form in which it stands.\" Then in the next sentence, he said, \"If the\nmotion is received and accepted by the House, the bill will be printed and\ncirculated, and I will then name a day for the second reading. But I may\nsay frankly that I do not anticipate being able to make provision for a\ndebate on the second reading of a measure of this kind. It was an offer\nmade by the government to the honourable gentleman and his friends, to be\neither accepted or rejected.\"(248) The minister treated his bill as\nlightly as if it were some small proposal of ordinary form and of even\nless than ordinary importance. It is not inconceivable that there was\ndesign in this, for Mr. Smith concealed under a surface of plain and\nhomely worth a very full share of parliamentary craft, and he knew well\nenough that the more extraordinary the measure, the more politic it always\nis to open with an air of humdrum.\n\nThe bill came on at midnight July 16, in a House stirred with intense\nexcitement, closely suppressed. The leader of the House made the motion\nfor leave to introduce the most curious innovation of the century, in a\nspeech of half-a-minute. It might have been a formal bill for a\nprovisional order, to be taken as of course. Mr. Parnell, his ordinary\npallor made deeper by anger, and with unusual though very natural\nvehemence of demeanour, at once hit the absurdity of asking him whether he\naccepted or rejected the bill, not only before it was printed but without\nexplanation of its contents. He then pressed in two or three weighty\nsentences the deeper absurdity of leaving him any option at all. The\nattorney general had said of the story of the fac-simile letter, that if\nit was not genuine, it was the worst libel ever launched on a public man.\nIf the first lord believed his attorney, said Mr. Parnell, instead of\ntalking about making a bargain with me, he ought to have come down and\nsaid, \"The government are determined to have this investigation, whether\nthe honourable member, this alleged criminal, likes it or not.\"(249)\n\nThat was in fact precisely what the government had determined. The\nprofession that the bill was a benevolent device for enabling the alleged\ncriminals to extricate themselves was very soon dropped. The offer of a\nboon to be accepted or declined at discretion was transformed into a grand\ncompulsory investigation into the connection of the national and land\nleagues with agrarian crime, and the members of parliament were virtually\nput into the dock along with all sorts of other persons who chanced to be\nmembers of those associations. The effect was certain. Any facts showing\ncriminality in this or that member of the league would be taken to show\ncriminality in the organisation as a whole, and especially in the\npolitical leaders. And the proceeding could only be vindicated by the\ntruly outrageous principle that where a counsel in a suit finds it his\nduty as advocate to make grave charges against members of parliament in\ncourt, then it becomes an obligation on the government to ask for an Act\nto appoint a judicial commission to examine those charges, if only they\nare grave enough.\n\nThe best chance of frustrating the device was lost when the bill was\nallowed to pass its first reading unopposed. Three of the leaders of the\nliberal opposition--two in the Commons, one in the Lords--were for making a\nbold stand against the bill from the first. Mr. Gladstone, on the\ncontrary, with his lively instinct for popular feeling out of doors,\ndisliked any action indicative of reluctance to face inquiry; and though\nholding a strong view that no case had been made out for putting aside the\nconstitutional and convenient organ of a committee, yet he thought that an\n(M142) inquiry under thoroughly competent and impartial judges, after the\nright and true method of proceeding had been refused, was still better\nthan no proceeding at all. This much of assent, however, was qualified. \"I\nthink,\" he said, \"that an inquiry under thoroughly competent and impartial\njudges is better than none. But that inquiry must, I think, be put into\nsuch a shape as shall correspond with the general law and principles of\njustice.\" As he believed, the first and most indispensable conditions of\nan effective inquiry were wanting, and without them he \"certainly would\nhave no responsibility whatever.\"(250)\n\nFor the first few days politicians were much adrift. They had moments of\ncompunction. Whether friends or foes of the Irish, they were perplexed by\nthe curious double aspect of the measure. Mr. Parnell himself began to\nfeel misgivings, as he came to realise the magnitude of the inquiry, its\nvast expense, its interminable length, its unfathomable uncertainties. On\nthe day appointed for the second reading of the bill appointing the\ncommission (July 23), some other subject kept the business back until\nseven o'clock. Towards six, Mr. Parnell who was to open the debate on his\nown side, came to an English friend, to ask whether there would be time\nfor him to go away for an hour; he wished to examine some new furnace for\nassaying purposes, the existence of gold in Wicklow being one of his fixed\nideas. So steady was the composure of this extraordinary man. The English\nfriend grimly remarked to him that it would perhaps be rather safer not to\nlose sight of the furnace in which at any moment his own assaying might\nbegin. His speech on this critical occasion was not one of his best.\nIndifference to his audience often made him meagre, though he was scarcely\never other than clear, and in this debate there was only one effective\npoint which it was necessary for him to press. The real issue was whether\nthe reference to the judges should be limited or unlimited; should be a\nfishing inquiry at large into the history of an agrarian agitation ten\nyears old, or an examination into definite and specified charges against\nnamed members of parliament. The minister, in moving the second reading,\nno longer left it to the Irish members to accept or reject; it now rested,\nhe said, with the House to decide. It became evident that the acuter\nmembers of the majority, fully awakened to the opportunities for\ndestroying the Irishmen which an unlimited inquisition might furnish, had\nmade up their minds that no limit should be set to the scope of the\ninquisition. Boldly they tramped through a thick jungle of fallacy and\ninconsistency. They had never ceased to insist, and they insisted now,\nthat Mr. Parnell ought to have gone into a court of law. Yet they fought\nas hard as they could against every proposal for making the procedure of\nthe commission like the procedure of a law court. In a court there would\nhave been a specific indictment. Here a specific indictment was what they\nmost positively refused, and for it they substituted a roving inquiry,\nwhich is exactly what a court never undertakes. They first argued that\nnothing but a commission was available to test the charges against members\nof parliament. Then, when they had bethought themselves of further\nobjects, they argued round that it was unheard of and inconceivable to\ninstitute a royal commission for members of parliament alone.\n\nAll arguments, however unanswerable, were at this stage idle, because Mr.\nParnell had reverted to his original resolution to accept the bill, and at\nhis request the radicals sitting below him abandoned their opposition. The\nbill passed the second reading without a division. This circumstance\npermitted the convenient assertion, made so freely afterwards, that the\nbill, irregular, unconstitutional, violent, as it might be, at any rate\nreceived the unanimous assent of the House of Commons.\n\nStormy scenes marked the progress of the bill through committee. Seeing\nthe exasperation produced by their shifting of the ground, and the delay\nwhich it would naturally entail, ministers resolved on a bold step. It was\nnow August. Government remembered the process by which they had carried\nthe Coercion bill, and they improved upon it. After three days of\ncommittee, they moved that at one o'clock in the morning on the fourth\nsitting the (M143) chairman should break off discussion, put forthwith the\nquestion already proposed from the chair, then successively put forthwith\nall the remaining clauses, and so report the bill to the House. This\nprocess shut out all amendments not reached at the fatal hour, and is the\nmost drastic and sweeping of all forms of closure. In the case of the\nCoercion bill, resort to the guillotine was declared to be warranted by\nthe urgency of social order in Ireland. That plea was at least plausible.\nNo such plea of urgency could be invoked for a measure, which only a few\ndays before the government had considered to be of such secondary\nimportance, that the simple rejection of it by Mr. Parnell was to be\nenough to induce them to withdraw it. The bill that had been proffered as\na generous concession to Irish members, was now violently forced upon them\nwithout debate. Well might Mr. Gladstone speak of the most extraordinary\nseries of proceedings that he had ever known.(251)\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nThe three judges first met on September 17, 1888, to settle their\nprocedure. They sat for one hundred and twenty-eight days, and rose for\nthe last time on November 22, 1889. More than four hundred and fifty\nwitnesses were examined. One counsel spoke for five days, another for\nseven, and a third for nearly twelve. The mammoth record of the\nproceedings fills eleven folio volumes, making between seven and eight\nthousand pages. The questions put to witnesses numbered ninety-eight\nthousand.\n\nIt was a strange and fantastic scene. Three judges were trying a social\nand political revolution. The leading actors in it were virtually in the\ndock. The tribunal had been specially set up by their political opponents,\nwithout giving them any effective voice either in its composition or upon\nthe character and scope of its powers. For the first time in England since\nthe Great Rebellion, men were practically put upon their trial on a\npolitical charge, without giving them the protection of a jury. For the\nfirst time in that period judges were to find a verdict upon the facts of\ncrime. The charge placed in the forefront was a charge of conspiracy. But\nto call a combination a conspiracy does not make it a conspiracy or a\nguilty combination, unless the verdict of a jury pronounces it to be one.\nA jury would have taken all the large attendant circumstances into\naccount. The three judges felt themselves bound expressly to shut out\nthose circumstances. In words of vital importance, they said, \"We must\nleave it for politicians to discuss, and for statesmen to determine, in\nwhat respects the present laws affecting land in Ireland are capable of\nimprovement. _We have no commission to consider whether the conduct of\nwhich they are accused can be palliated by the circumstances of the time,\nor whether it should be condoned in consideration of benefits alleged to\nhave resulted from their action._\"(252) When the proceedings were over,\nLord Salisbury applauded the report as \"giving a very complete view of a\nvery curious episode of our internal history.\"(253) A very complete view\nof an agrarian rising--though it left out all palliating circumstances and\nthe whole state of agrarian law!\n\nInstead of opening with the letters, as the country expected, the accusers\nbegan by rearing a prodigious accumulation of material, first for the\nIrish or agrarian branch of their case, and then for the American branch.\nThe government helped them to find their witnesses, and so varied a host\nwas never seen in London before. There was the peasant from Kerry in his\nfrieze swallow-tail and knee-breeches, and the woman in her scarlet\npetticoat who runs barefoot over the bog in Galway. The convicted member\nof a murder club was brought up in custody from Mountjoy prison or\nMaryborough. One of the most popular of the Irish representatives had been\nfetched from his dungeon, and was to be seen wandering through the lobbies\nin search of his warders. Men who had been shot by moonlighters limped\ninto the box, and poor women in their blue-hooded cloaks told pitiful\ntales of midnight horror. The sharp spy was there, who disclosed sinister\nsecrets from cities across the Atlantic, and the uncouth informer who\nbetrayed or invented the history of rude and ferocious plots hatched at\nthe country cross-roads (M144) or over the peat fire in desolate cabins in\nwestern Ireland. Divisional commissioners with their ledgers of agrarian\noffences, agents with bags full of figures and documents, landlords,\npriests, prelates, magistrates, detectives, smart members of that famous\nconstabulary force which is the arm, eye, and ear of the Irish\ngovernment--all the characters of the Irish melodrama were crowded into the\ncorridors, and in their turn brought out upon the stage of this surprising\ntheatre.\n\nThe proceedings speedily settled down into the most wearisome drone that\nwas ever heard in a court of law. The object of the accusers was to show\nthe complicity of the accused with crime by tracing crime to the league,\nand making every member of the league constructively liable for every act\nof which the league was constructively guilty. Witnesses were produced in\na series that seemed interminable, to tell the story of five-and-twenty\noutrages in Mayo, of as many in Cork, of forty-two in Galway, of\nsixty-five in Kerry, one after another, and all with immeasurable detail.\nSome of the witnesses spoke no English, and the English of others was\nhardly more intelligible than Erse. Long extracts were read out from four\nhundred and forty speeches. The counsel on one side produced a passage\nthat made against the speaker, and then the counsel on the other side\nfound and read some qualifying passage that made as strongly for him. The\nthree judges groaned. They had already, they said plaintively, ploughed\nthrough the speeches in the solitude of their own rooms. Could they not be\ntaken as read? No, said the prosecuting counsel; we are building up an\nargument, and it cannot be built up in a silent manner. In truth it was\ndesigned for the public outside the court,(254) and not a touch could be\nspared that might deepen the odium. Week after week the ugly tale went\non--a squalid ogre let loose among a population demoralised by ages of\nwicked neglect, misery, and oppression. One side strove to show that the\nogre had been wantonly raised by the land league for political objects of\ntheir own; the other, that it was the progeny of distress and wrong, that\nthe league had rather controlled than kindled its ferocity, and that crime\nand outrage were due to local animosities for which neither league nor\nparliamentary leaders were answerable.\n\nOn the forty-fourth day (February 5) came a lurid glimpse from across the\nAtlantic. The Irish emigration had carried with it to America the deadly\npassion for the secret society. A spy was produced, not an Irishman this\ntime for a wonder, but an Englishman. He had been for eight-and-twenty\nyears in the United States, and for more than twenty of them he had been\nin the pay of Scotland Yard, a military spy, as he put it, in the service\nof his country. There is no charge against him that he belonged to that\nfoul species who provoke others to crime and then for a bribe betray them.\nHe swore an oath of secrecy to his confederates in the camps of the\nClan-na-Gael, and then he broke his oath by nearly every post that went\nfrom New York to London. It is not a nice trade, but then the dynamiter's\nis not a nice trade either.(255) The man had risen high in the secret\nbrotherhood. Such an existence demanded nerves of steel; a moment of\nforgetfulness, an accident with a letter, the slip of a phrase in the two\nparts that he was playing, would have doomed him in the twinkling of an\neye. He now stood a rigorous cross-examination like iron. There is no\nreason to think that he told lies. He was perhaps a good deal less trusted\nthan he thought, for he does not appear on any occasion to have forewarned\nthe police at home of any of the dynamite attempts that four or five years\nearlier had startled the English capital. The pith of his week's evidence\nwas his account of an interview between himself and Mr. Parnell in the\ncorridors of the House of Commons in April 1881. In this interview, Mr.\nParnell, he said, expressed his desire to bring the Fenians in Ireland\ninto line with his own constitutional movement, and to that end requested\nthe spy to invite a notorious leader of the physical force party in\nAmerica to come over to Ireland, to arrange a harmonious understanding.\nMr. Parnell had no recollection of the interview, (M145) though he thought\nit very possible that an interview might have taken place. It was\nundoubtedly odd that the spy having once got his line over so big a fish,\nshould never afterwards have made any attempt to draw him on. The judges,\nhowever, found upon a review of \"the probabilities of the case,\" that the\nconversation in the corridor really took place, that the spy's account was\ncorrect, and that it was not impossible that in conversation with a\nsupposed revolutionist, Mr. Parnell may have used such language as to\nleave the impression that he agreed with his interlocutor. Perhaps a more\nexact way of putting it would be that the spy talked the Fenian doctrine\nof physical force, and that Mr. Parnell listened.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nAt last, on the fiftieth day (February 14, 1889), and not before, the\ncourt reached the business that had led to its own creation. Three batches\nof letters had been produced by the newspaper. The manager of the\nnewspaper told his story, and then the immediate purveyor of the letters\ntold his. Marvellous stories they were.\n\nThe manager was convinced from the beginning, as he ingenuously said,\nquite independently of handwriting, that the letters were genuine. Why? he\nwas asked. Because he felt they were the sort of letters that Mr. Parnell\nwould be likely to write. He counted, not wholly without some reason, on\nthe public sharing this inspiration of his own indwelling light. The day\nwas approaching for the division on the Coercion bill. Every journalist,\nsaid the manager, must choose his moment. He now thought the moment\nsuitable for making the public acquainted with the character of the\nIrishmen. So, with no better evidence of authority than his firm faith\nthat it was the sort of letter that Mr. Parnell would be likely to write,\non the morning of the second reading of the Coercion bill, he launched the\nfac-simile letter. In the early part of 1888 he received from the same\nhand a second batch of letters, and a third batch a few days later. His\ntotal payments amounted to over two thousand five hundred pounds. He still\nasked no questions as to the source of these expensive documents. On the\ncontrary he particularly avoided the subject. So much for the cautious and\nexperienced man of business.\n\nThe natural course would have been now to carry the inquiry on to the\nsource of the letters. Instead of that, the prosecutors called an expert\nin handwriting. The court expostulated. Why should they not hear at once\nwhere the letters came from; and then it might be proper enough to hear\nwhat an expert had to say? After a final struggle the prolonged tactics of\ndeferring the evil day, and prejudicing the case up to the eleventh hour,\nwere at last put to shame. The second of the two marvellous stories was\nnow to be told.\n\nThe personage who had handed the three batches of letters to the\nnewspaper, told the Court how he had in 1885 compiled a pamphlet called\n_Parnellism Unmasked_, partly from materials communicated to him by a\ncertain broken-down Irish journalist. To this unfortunate sinner, then in\na state of penury little short of destitution, he betook himself one\nwinter night in Dublin at the end of 1885. Long after, when the game was\nup and the whole sordid tragi-comedy laid bare, the poor wretch wrote: \"I\nhave been in difficulties and great distress for want of money for the\nlast twenty years, and in order to find means of support for myself and my\nlarge family, I have been guilty of many acts which must for ever disgrace\nme.\"(256) He had now within reach a guinea a day, and much besides, if he\nwould endeavour to find any documents that might be available to sustain\nthe charges made in the pamphlet. After some hesitation the bargain was\nstruck, a guinea a day, hotel and travelling expenses, and a round price\nfor documents. Within a few months the needy man in clover pocketed many\nhundreds of pounds. Only the author of the history of _Jonathan Wild the\nGreat_ could do justice to such a story of the Vagabond in Luck--a jaunt to\nLausanne, a trip across the Atlantic, incessant journeys backward and\nforward to Paris, the jingling of guineas, the rustle of hundred-pound\nnotes, and now and then perhaps a humorous thought of simple and solemn\npeople in newspaper offices in London, or a moment's meditation on that\nperplexing law of human affairs by which the weak things (M146) of the\nworld are chosen to confound the things that are mighty.\n\nThe moment came for delivering the documents in Paris, and delivered they\nwere with details more grotesque than anything since the foolish baronet\nin Scott's novel was taken by Dousterswivel to find the buried treasure in\nSaint Ruth's. From first to last not a test or check was applied by\nanybody to hinder the fabrication from running its course without a hitch\nor a crease. When men have the demon of a fixed idea in their cerebral\nconvolutions, they easily fall victims to a devastating credulity, and the\nvictims were now radiant as, with microscope and calligraphic expert by\ntheir side, they fondly gazed upon their prize. About the time when the\njudges were getting to work, clouds arose on this smiling horizon. It is\ngood, says the old Greek, that men should carry a threatening shadow in\ntheir hearts even under the full sunshine. Before this, the manager\nlearned for the first time, what was the source of the letters. The\nblessed doctrine of intrinsic certainty, however, which has before now\ndone duty in far graver controversy, prevented him from inquiring as to\nthe purity of the source.\n\nThe toils were rapidly enclosing both the impostor and the dupes. He was\nput into the box at last (Feb. 21). By the end of the second day, the\ntorture had become more than he could endure. Some miscalled the scene\ndramatic. That is hardly the right name for the merciless hunt of an\nabject fellow-creature through the doublings and windings of a thousand\nlies. The breath of the hounds was on him, and he could bear the chase no\nlonger. After proceedings not worth narrating, except that he made a\nconfession and then committed his last perjury, he disappeared. The police\ntraced him to Madrid. When they entered his room with their warrant (March\n1), he shot himself dead. They found on his corpse the scapulary worn by\ndevout catholics as a visible badge and token of allegiance to the\nheavenly powers. So in the ghastliest wreck of life, men still hope and\nseek for some mysterious cleansing of the soul that shall repair all.\n\nThis damning experience was a sharp mortification to the government, who\nhad been throughout energetic confederates in the attack. Though it did\nnot come at once formally into debate, it exhilarated the opposition, and\nMr. Gladstone himself was in great spirits, mingled with intense\nindignation and genuine sympathy for Mr. Parnell as a man who had suffered\nan odious wrong.\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nThe report of the commission was made to the crown on February 13, 1890.\nIt reached the House of Commons about ten o'clock the same evening. The\nscene was curious,--the various speakers droning away in a House otherwise\nprofoundly silent, and every member on every bench, including high\nministers of state, plunged deep and eager into the blue-book. The general\nimpression was that the findings amounted to acquittal, and everybody went\nhome in considerable excitement at this final explosion of the damaged\nblunderbuss. The next day Mr. Gladstone had a meeting with the lawyers in\nthe case, and was keen for action in one form or another; but on the whole\nit was agreed that the government should be left to take the initiative.\n\nThe report was discussed in both Houses, and strong speeches were made on\nboth sides. The government (Mar. 3) proposed a motion that the House\nadopted the report, thanked the judges for their just and impartial\nconduct, and ordered the report to be entered on the journals. Mr.\nGladstone followed with an amendment, that the House deemed it to be a\nduty to record its reprobation of the false charges of the gravest and\nmost odious description, based on calumny and on forgery, that had been\nbrought against members of the House; and, while declaring its\nsatisfaction at the exposure of these calumnies, the House expressed its\nregret at the wrong inflicted and the suffering and loss endured through a\nprotracted period by reason of these acts of flagrant iniquity. After a\nhandsome tribute to the honour and good faith of the judges, he took the\npoint that some of the opinions in the report were in no sense and no\ndegree judicial. How, for instance, could three judges, sitting ten years\nafter the fact (1879-80), determine better than anybody (M147) else that\ndistress and extravagant rents had nothing to do with crime? Why should\nthe House of Commons declare its adoption of this finding without question\nor correction? Or of this, that the rejection of the Disturbance bill by\nthe Lords in 1880 had nothing to do with the increase of crime? Mr.\nForster had denounced the action of the Lords with indignation, and was\nnot he, the responsible minister, a better witness than the three judges\nin no contact with contemporary fact? How were the judges authorised to\naffirm that the Land bill of 1881 had not been a great cause in mitigating\nthe condition of Ireland? Another conclusive objection was that--on the\ndeclaration of the judges themselves, rightly made by them--what we know to\nbe essential portions of the evidence were entirely excluded from their\nview.\n\nHe next turned to the findings, first of censure, then of acquittal. The\nfindings of censure were in substance three. First, seven of the\nrespondents had joined the league with a view of separating Ireland from\nEngland. The idea was dead, but Mr. Gladstone was compelled to say that in\nhis opinion to deny the moral authority of the Act of Union was for an\nIrishman no moral offence whatever. Here the law-officer sitting opposite\nto him busily took down a note. \"Yes, yes,\" Mr. Gladstone exclaimed, \"you\nmay take my words down. I heard you examine your witness from a pedestal,\nas you felt, of the greatest elevation, endeavouring to press home the\nmonstrous guilt of an Irishman who did not allow moral authority to the\nAct of Union. In my opinion the Englishman has far more cause to blush for\nthe means by which that Act was obtained.\" As it happened, on the only\noccasion on which Mr. Gladstone paid the Commission a visit, he had found\nthe attorney general cross-examining a leading Irish member, and this\npassage of arms on the Act of Union between counsel and witness then\noccurred.\n\nThe second finding of censure was that the Irish members incited to\nintimidation by speeches, knowing that intimidation led to crime. The\nthird was that they never placed themselves on the side of law and order;\nthey did not assist the administration, and did not denounce the party of\nphysical force. As if this, said Mr. Gladstone, had not been the subject\nof incessant discussion and denunciation in parliament at the time ten\nyears ago, and yet no vote of condemnation was passed upon the Irish\nmembers then. On the contrary, the tory party, knowing all these charges,\nassociated with them for purposes of votes and divisions; climbed into\noffice on Mr. Parnell's shoulders; and through the viceroy with the\nconcurrence of the prime minister, took Mr. Parnell into counsel upon the\ndevising of a plan for Irish government. Was parliament now to affirm and\nrecord a finding that it had scrupulously abstained from ever making its\nown, and without regard to the counter-allegation that more crime and\nworse crime was prevented by agitation? It was the duty of parliament to\nlook at the whole of the facts of the great crisis of 1880-1--to the\ndistress, to the rejection of the Compensation bill, to the growth of\nevictions, to the prevalence of excessive rents. The judges expressly shut\nout this comprehensive survey. But the House was not a body with a limited\ncommission; it was a body of statesmen, legislators, politicians, bound to\nlook at the whole range of circumstances, and guilty of misprision of\njustice if they failed so to do. \"Suppose I am told,\" he said in notable\nand mournful words, \"that without the agitation Ireland would never have\nhad the Land Act of 1881, are you prepared to deny that? I hear no\nchallenges upon that statement, for I think it is generally and deeply\nfelt that without the agitation the Land Act would not have been passed.\nAs the man responsible more than any other for the Act of 1881--as the man\nwhose duty it was to consider that question day and night during nearly\nthe whole of that session--I must record my firm opinion that it would not\nhave become the law of the land, if it had not been for the agitation with\nwhich Irish society was convulsed.\"(257)\n\nThis bare table of his leading points does nothing to convey the\nimpression made by an extraordinarily fine performance. When the speaker\ncame to the findings of acquittal, to the dismissal of the infamous\ncharges of the forged letters, of intimacy with the Invincibles, of being\n(M148) accessory to the assassinations in the Park, glowing passion in\nvoice and gesture reached its most powerful pitch, and the moral appeal at\nits close was long remembered among the most searching words that he had\never spoken. It was not forensic argument, it was not literature; it had\nevery note of true oratory--a fervid, direct and pressing call to his\nhearers as \"individuals, man by man, not with a responsibility diffused\nand severed until it became inoperative and worthless, to place himself in\nthe position of the victim of this frightful outrage; to give such a\njudgment as would bear the scrutiny of the heart and of the conscience of\nevery man when he betook himself to his chamber and was still.\"\n\nThe awe that impressed the House from this exhortation to repair an\nenormous wrong soon passed away, and debate in both Houses went on the\nregular lines of party. Everything that was found not to be proved against\nthe Irishmen, was assumed against them. Not proven was treated as only an\nevasive form of guilty. Though the three judges found that there was no\nevidence that the accused had done this thing or that, yet it was held\nlegitimate to argue that evidence must exist--if only it could be found.\nThe public were to nurse a sort of twilight conviction and keep their\nminds in a limbo of beliefs that were substantial and alive--only the light\nwas bad.\n\nIn truth, the public did what the judges declined to do. They took\ncircumstances into account. The general effect of this transaction was to\npromote the progress of the great unsettled controversy in Mr. Gladstone's\nsense. The abstract merits of home rule were no doubt untouched, but it\nmade a difference to the concrete argument, whether the future leader of\nan Irish parliament was a proved accomplice of the Park murderers or not.\nIt presented moreover the chameleon Irish case in a new and singular\ncolour. A squalid insurrection awoke parliament to the mischiefs and\nwrongs of the Irish cultivators. Reluctantly it provided a remedy. Then in\nthe fulness of time, ten years after, it dealt with the men who had roused\nit to its duty. And how? It brought them to trial before a special\ntribunal, invented for the purpose, and with no jury; it allowed them no\nvoice in the constitution of the tribunal; it exposed them to long and\nharassing proceedings; and it thereby levied upon them a tremendous\npecuniary fine. The report produced a strong recoil against the flagrant\nviolence, passion, and calumny, that had given it birth; and it affected\nthat margin of men, on the edge of either of the two great parties by whom\nelectoral decisions are finally settled.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IV. An Interim. (1889-1891)\n\n\n    The nobler a soul is, the more objects of compassion it hath.\n\n    --BACON.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nAt the end of 1888 Mr. Gladstone with his wife and others of his house was\ncarried off by Mr. Rendel's friendly care to Naples. Hereto, he told Lord\nActon, \"we have been induced by three circumstances. First, a warm\ninvitation from the Dufferins to Rome; as to which, however, there are\n_cons_ as well as _pros_, for a man who like me is neither Italian nor\nCurial in the view of present policies. Secondly, our kind friend Mr.\nStuart Rendel has actually offered to be our conductor thither and back,\nto perform for us the great service which you rendered us in the trip to\nMunich and Saint-Martin. Thirdly, I have the hope that the stimulating\nclimate of Naples, together with an abstention from speech greater than\nany I have before enjoyed, might act upon my 'vocal cord,' and partially\nat least restore it.\"\n\nAt Naples he was much concerned with Italian policy.\n\n\n    _To Lord Granville._\n\n    _Jan. 13, 1889._--My stay here where the people really seem to\n    regard me as not a foreigner, has brought Italian affairs and\n    policy very much home to me, and given additional force and\n    vividness to the belief I have always had, that it was sadly\n    impolitic for Italy to make enemies for herself beyond the Alps.\n    Though I might try and keep back this sentiment in Rome, even my\n    silence might betray it and I could not promise to keep silence\n    altogether. I think the impolicy amounts almost to madness\n    especially for a country which carries with her, nestling in her\n    bosom, the \"standing menace\" of the popedom....\n\n                  -------------------------------------\n\n    _To J. Morley._\n\n    _Jan. 10._--I hope you have had faith enough not to be troubled\n    about my supposed utterances on the temporal power.... I will not\n    trouble you with details, but you may rest assured I have never\n    said the question of the temporal power was anything except an\n    Italian question. I have a much greater anxiety than this about\n    the Italian alliance with Germany. It is in my opinion an awful\n    error and constitutes the great danger of the country. It may be\n    asked, \"What have you to do with it?\" More than people might\n    suppose. I find myself hardly regarded here as a foreigner. They\n    look upon me as having had a real though insignificant part in the\n    Liberation. It will hardly be possible for me to get through the\n    affair of this visit without making my mind known. On this account\n    mainly I am verging towards the conclusion that it will be best\n    for me not to visit Rome, and my wife as it happens is not anxious\n    to go there. If you happen to see Granville or Rosebery please let\n    them know this.\n\n    We have had on the whole a good season here thus far. Many of the\n    days delicious. We have been subjected here as well as in London\n    to a course of social kindnesses as abundant as the waters which\n    the visitor has to drink at a watering place, and so enervating\n    from the abstraction of cares that I am continually thinking of\n    the historical Capuan writer. I am in fact totally demoralised,\n    and cannot wish not to continue so. Under the circumstances\n    Fortune has administered a slight, a very slight physical\n    correction. A land-slip, or rather a Tufo rock-slip of 50,000\n    tons, has come down and blocked the proper road between us and\n    Naples.\n\n                  -------------------------------------\n\n    _To Lord Acton._\n\n    _Jan. 23, 1889._--Rome is I think definitely given up. I shall be\n    curious to know your reasons for approving this _gran rifiuto_.\n    Meantime I will just glance at mine. I am not so much afraid of\n    the Pope as of the Italian government and court. My sentiments are\n    so very strong about the present foreign policy. The foreign\n    policy of the government but not I fear of the government only. If\n    I went to Rome, and saw the King and the minister, as I must, I\n    should be treading upon eggs all the time with them. I could not\n    speak out uninvited; and it is not satisfactory to be silent in\n    the presence of those interested, when the feelings are very\n    strong....\n\n\nThese feelings broke out in time in at least one anonymous article.(258)\nHe told Lord Granville how anxious he was that no acknowledgment of\nauthorship, direct or indirect, should come from any of his friends. \"Such\nan article of necessity lectures the European states. As one of a public\nof three hundred and more millions, I have a right to do this, but not in\nmy own person.\" This strange simplicity rather provoked his friends, for\nit ignored two things--first, the certainty that the secret of authorship\nwould get out; second, if it did not get out, the certainty that the\nEuropean states would pay no attention to such a lecture backed by no name\nof weight--perhaps even whether it were so backed or not. Faith in\nlectures, sermons, articles, even books, is one of the things most easily\noverdone.\n\n\n    Most of my reading, he went on to Acton, has been about the Jews\n    and the Old Testament. I have not looked at the books you kindly\n    sent me, except a little before leaving Hawarden; but I want to\n    get a hold on the broader side of the Mosaic dispensation and the\n    Jewish history. The great historic features seem to me in a large\n    degree independent of the critical questions which have been\n    raised about the _redaction_ of the Mosaic books. Setting aside\n    Genesis, and the Exodus proper, it seems difficult to understand\n    how either Moses or any one else could have advisedly published\n    them in their present form; and most of all difficult to believe\n    that men going to work deliberately after the captivity would not\n    have managed a more orderly execution. My thoughts are always\n    running back to the parallel question about Homer. In that case,\n    those who hold that Peisistratos or some one of his date was the\n    compiler, have at least this to say, that the poems in their\n    present form are such as a compiler, having liberty of action,\n    might have aimed at putting out from his workshop. Can that be\n    said of the Mosaic books? Again, are we not to believe in the\n    second and third Temples as centres of worship because there was a\n    temple at Leontopolis, as we are told? Out of the frying-pan, into\n    the fire.\n\n\nWhen he left Amalfi (Feb. 14) for the north, he found himself, he says, in\na public procession, with great crowds at the stations, including Crispi\nat Rome, who had once been his guest at Hawarden.\n\nAfter his return home, he wrote again to Lord Acton:--\n\n\n    _April 28, 1889._--I have long been wishing to write to you. But as\n    a rule I never can write any letters that I wish to write. My\n    volition of that kind is from day to day exhausted by the worrying\n    demand of letters that I do not wish to write. Every year brings\n    me, as I reckon, from three to five thousand new correspondents,\n    of whom I could gladly dispense with 99 per cent. May you never be\n    in a like plight.\n\n    Mary showed me a letter of recent date from you, which referred to\n    the idea of my writing on the Old Testament. The matter stands\n    thus: An appeal was made to me to write something on the general\n    position and claims of the holy scriptures for the working men. I\n    gave no pledge but read (what was for me) a good deal on the laws\n    and history of the Jews with only two results: first, deepened\n    impressions of the vast interest and importance attaching to them,\n    and of their fitness to be made the subject of a telling popular\n    account; secondly, a discovery of the necessity of reading much\n    more. But I have never in this connection thought much about what\n    is called the criticism of the Old Testament, only seeking to\n    learn how far it impinged upon the matters that I really was\n    thinking of. It seems to me that it does not impinge much.... It\n    is the fact that among other things I wish to make some sort of\n    record of my life. You say truly it has been very full. I add\n    fearfully full. But it has been in a most remarkable degree the\n    reverse of self-guided and self-suggested, with reference I mean\n    to all its best known aims. Under this surface, and in its daily\n    habit no doubt it has been selfish enough. Whether anything of\n    this kind will ever come off is most doubtful. Until I am released\n    from politics by the solution of the Irish problem, I cannot even\n    survey the field.\n\n    I turn to the world of action. It has long been in my mind to\n    found something of which a library would be the nucleus. I incline\n    to begin with a temporary building here. Can you, who have built a\n    library, give me any advice? On account of fire I have half a mind\n    to corrugated iron, with felt sheets to regulate the temperature.\n\n    Have you read any of the works of Dr. Salmon? I have just finished\n    his volume on Infallibility, which fills me with admiration of its\n    easy movement, command of knowledge, singular faculty of\n    disentanglement, and great skill and point in argument; though he\n    does not quite make one love him. He touches much ground trodden\n    by Dr. Doellinger; almost invariably agreeing with him.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nJuly 25, 1889, was the fiftieth anniversary of his marriage. The Prince\nand Princess of Wales sent him what he calls a beautiful and splendid\ngift. The humblest were as ready as the highest with their tributes, and\ncomparative strangers as ready as the nearest. Among countless others who\nwrote was Bishop Lightfoot, great master of so much learning:--\n\n\n    I hope you will receive this tribute from one who regards your\n    private friendship as one of the great privileges of his life.\n\n\nAnd Doellinger:--\n\n\n    If I were fifteen years younger than I am, how happy I would be to\n    come over to my beloved England once more, and see you surrounded\n    by your sons and daughters, loved, admired, I would almost say\n    worshipped, by a whole grateful nation.\n\n\nOn the other side, a clever lady having suggested to Browning that he\nshould write an inscription for her to some gift for Mr. Gladstone,\nreceived an answer that has interest, both by the genius and fame of its\nwriter, and as a sign of widespread feeling in certain circles in those\ndays:--\n\n\n    Surely your kindness, even your sympathy, will be extended to me\n    when I say, with sorrow indeed, that I am unable now\n    conscientiously to do what, but a few years ago, I would have at\n    least attempted with such pleasure and pride as might almost\n    promise success. I have received much kindness from that\n    extraordinary personage, and what my admiration for his\n    transcendent abilities was and ever will be, there is no need to\n    speak of. But I am forced to altogether deplore his present\n    attitude with respect to the liberal party, of which I, the\n    humblest unit, am still a member, and as such grieved to the heart\n    by every fresh utterance of his which comes to my knowledge. Were\n    I in a position to explain publicly how much the personal feeling\n    is independent of the political aversion, all would be easy; but I\n    am a mere man of letters, and by the simple inscription which\n    would truly testify to what is enduring, unalterable in my esteem,\n    I should lead people--as well those who know me as those who do\n    not--to believe my approbation extended far beyond the bounds which\n    unfortunately circumscribe it now. All this--even more--was on my\n    mind as I sat, last evening, at the same table with the\n    brilliantly-gifted man whom once--but that \"once\" is too sad to\n    remember.\n\n\nAt a gathering at Spencer House in the summer of 1888, when this year of\nfelicitation opened, Lord Granville, on behalf of a number of subscribers,\npresented Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone with two portraits, and in his address\nspoke of the long span of years through, which, they had enjoyed \"the\nunclouded blessings of the home.\" The expression was a just one. The\nextraordinary splendour and exalted joys of an outer life so illustrious\nwere matched in the inner circle of the hearth by a happy order,\naffectionate reciprocal attachments, a genial round of kindliness and\nduty, that from year to year went on untarnished, unstrained, unbroken.\nVisitors at Hawarden noticed that, though the two heads of the house were\nnow old, the whole atmosphere seemed somehow to be alive with the\nfreshness and vigour of youth; it was one of the youngest of households in\nits interests and activities. The constant tension of his mind never\nimpaired his tenderness and wise solicitude for family and kinsfolk, and\nfor all about him; and no man ever had such observance of decorum with\nsuch entire freedom from pharisaism.\n\nNor did the order and moral prosperity of his own home (M149) leave him\ncomplacently forgetful of fellow-creatures to whom life's cup had been\ndealt in another measure. On his first entry upon the field of responsible\nlife, he had formed a serious and solemn engagement with a friend--I\nsuppose it was Hope-Scott--that each would devote himself to active service\nin some branch of religious work.(259) He could not, without treason to\nhis gifts, go forth like Selwyn or Patteson to Melanesia to convert the\nsavages. He sought a missionary field at home, and he found it among the\nunfortunate ministers to \"the great sin of great cities.\" In these humane\nefforts at reclamation he persevered all through his life, fearless of\nmisconstruction, fearless of the levity or baseness of men's tongues,\nregardless almost of the possible mischiefs to the public policies that\ndepended on him. Greville(260) tells the story how in 1853 a man made an\nattempt one night to extort money from Mr. Gladstone, then in office as\nchancellor of the exchequer, by threats of exposure; and how he instantly\ngave the offender into custody, and met the case at the police office.\nGreville could not complete the story. The man was committed for trial.\nMr. Gladstone directed his solicitors to see that the accused was properly\ndefended. He was convicted and sent to prison. By and by Mr. Gladstone\ninquired from the governor of the prison how the delinquent was conducting\nhimself. The report being satisfactory, he next wrote to Lord Palmerston,\nthen at the home office, asking that the prisoner should be let out. There\nwas no worldly wisdom in it, we all know. But then what are people\nChristians for?\n\nWe have already seen(261) his admonition to a son, and how much importance\nhe attached to the dedication of a certain portion of our means to\npurposes of charity and religion. His example backed his precept. He kept\ndetailed accounts under these heads from 1831 to 1897, and from these it\nappears that from 1831 to the end of 1890 he had devoted to objects of\ncharity and religion upwards of seventy thousand pounds, and in the\nremaining years of his life the figure in this account stands at thirteen\nthousand five hundred--this besides thirty thousand pounds for his\ncherished object of founding the hostel and library at Saint Deiniol's.\nHis friend of early days, Henry Taylor, says in one of his notes on life\nthat if you know how a man deals with money, how he gets it, spends it,\nkeeps it, shares it, you know some of the most important things about him.\nHis old chief at the colonial office in 1846 stands the test most nobly.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nNear the end of 1889 among the visitors to Hawarden was Mr. Parnell. His\nair of good breeding and easy composure pleased everybody. Mr. Gladstone's\nown record is simple enough, and contains the substance of the affair as\nhe told me of it later:--\n\n\n    _Dec. 18, 1889._--Reviewed and threw into form all the points of\n    possible amendment or change in the plan of Irish government,\n    etc., for my meeting with Mr. Parnell. He arrived at 5.30, and we\n    had two hours of satisfactory conversation; but he put off the\n    _gros_ of it. 19.--Two hours more with Mr. P. on points in Irish\n    government plans. He is certainly one of the very best people to\n    deal with that I have ever known. Took him to the old castle. He\n    seems to notice and appreciate everything.\n\n\nThinking of all that had gone before, and all that was so soon to come\nafter, anybody with a turn for imaginary dialogue might easily upon this\ntheme compose a striking piece.\n\nIn the spring of 1890 Mr. Gladstone spent a week at Oxford of which he\nspoke with immense enthusiasm. He was an honorary fellow of All Souls, and\nhere he went into residence in his own right with all the zest of a\nvirtuous freshman bent upon a first class. Though, I daresay, pretty\nnearly unanimous against his recent policies, they were all fascinated by\nhis simplicity, his freedom from assumption or parade, his eagerness to\nknow how leading branches of Oxford study fared, his naturalness and\npleasant manners. He wrote to Mrs. Gladstone (Feb. 1):--\n\n\n    Here I am safe and sound, and launched anew on my university\n    career, all my days laid out and occupied until the morning of\n    this day week, when I am to return to London. They press me to\n    stay over the Sunday, but this cannot be thought of. I am received\n    with infinite kindness, and the rooms they have given me are\n    delightful. Weather dull, and light a medium between London and\n    Hawarden. I have seen many already, including Liddon and Acland,\n    who goes up to-morrow for a funeral early on Monday. Actually I\n    have engaged to give a kind of Homeric lecture on Wednesday to the\n    members of the union. The warden and his sisters are courteous and\n    hospitable to the last degree. He is a unionist. The living here\n    is very good, perhaps some put on for a guest, but I like the tone\n    of the college; the fellows are men of a high class, and their\n    conversation is that of men with work to do. I had a most special\n    purpose in coming here which will be more than answered. It was to\n    make myself safe so far as might be, in the articles(262) which\n    eighteen months ago I undertook to write about the Old Testament.\n    This, as you know perhaps, is now far more than the New, the\n    battle-ground of belief. There are here most able and instructed\n    men, and I am already deriving great benefit.\n\n\nSomething that fell from him one morning at breakfast in the common room\nled in due time to the election of Lord Acton to be also an honorary\nmember of this distinguished society. \"If my suggestion,\" Mr. Gladstone\nwrote to one of the fellows, \"really contributed to this election, then I\nfeel that in the dregs of my life I have at least rendered one service to\nthe college. My ambition is to visit it and Oxford in company with him.\"\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nIn 1890 both Newman and Doellinger died.\n\n\n    I have been asked from many quarters, Mr. Gladstone said to Acton,\n    to write about the Cardinal. But I dare not. First, I do not know\n    enough. Secondly, I should be puzzled to use the little knowledge\n    that I have. I was not a friend of his, but only an acquaintance\n    treated with extraordinary kindness whom it would ill become to\n    note what he thinks defects, while the great powers and qualities\n    have been and will be described far better by others. Ever since\n    he published his University Sermons in 1843, I have thought him\n    unsafe in philosophy, and no Butlerian though a warm admirer of\n    Butler. No; it was before 1843, in 1841 when he published Tract\n    XC. The _general_ argument of that tract was unquestionable; but\n    he put in sophistical matter without the smallest necessity. What\n    I recollect is about General Councils: where in treating the\n    declaration that they may err he virtually says, \"No doubt they\n    may--unless the Holy Ghost prevents them.\" But he was a wonderful\n    man, a holy man, a very refined man, and (to me) a most kindly\n    man.\n\n\nOf Dr. Doellinger he contributed a charming account to a weekly print,(263)\nand to Acton he wrote:--\n\n\n    I have the fear that my Doellinger letters will disappoint you.\n    When I was with him, he spoke to me with the utmost freedom; and\n    so I think he wrote, but our correspondence was only occasional. I\n    think nine-tenths of my intercourse with him was oral; with\n    Cardinal Newman nothing like one-tenth. But with neither was the\n    mere _corpus_ of my intercourse great, though in D.'s case it was\n    very precious, most of all the very first of it in 1845.... With\n    my inferior faculty and means of observation, I have long adopted\n    your main proposition. His attitude of mind was more historical\n    than theological. When I first knew him in 1845, and he honoured\n    me with very long and interesting conversations, they turned very\n    much upon theology, and I derived from him what I thought very\n    valuable and steadying knowledge. Again in 1874 during a long\n    walk, when we spoke of the shocks and agitation of our time, he\n    told me how the Vatican decrees had required him to reperuse and\n    retry the whole circle of his thought. He did not make known to me\n    any general result; but he had by that time found himself wholly\n    detached from the Council of Trent, which was indeed a logical\n    necessity from his preceding action. The Bonn Conference appeared\n    to show him nearly at the standing-point of anglican theology. I\n    thought him more liberal as a theologian than as a politician. On\n    the point of church establishment he was as impenetrable as if he\n    had been a Newdegate. He would not see that there were two sides\n    to the question. I long earnestly to know what progress he had\n    made at the last towards redeeming the pledge given in one of his\n    letters to me, that the evening of his life was to be devoted to a\n    great theological construction.... I should have called him an\n    anti-Jesuit, but in _no_ other sense, that is in no sense, a\n    Jansenist. I never saw the least sign of leaning in that\n    direction.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nHere the reader may care to have a note or two of talk with him in these\ndays:--\n\n\n    _At Dollis Hill, Sunday, Feb. 22, 1891_.... A few minutes after\n    eight Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone came in from church, and we three sat\n    down to dinner. A delightful talk, he was in full force, plenty of\n    energy without vehemence. The range of topics was pretty wide, yet\n    marvellous to say, we had not a single word about Ireland.\n    Certainly no harm in that.\n\n    _J. M._--A friend set me on a hunt this morning through Wordsworth\n    for the words about France standing on the top of golden hours. I\n    did not find them, but I came across a good line of Hartley\n    Coleridge's about the Thames:--\n\n    \"And the thronged river toiling to the main.\"\n\n    _Mr. G._--Yes, a good line. Toiling to the main recalls Dante:--\n\n    \"Su la marina, dove'l Po discende,\n    Per aver pace co' seguaci sui.\"(264)\n\n    _J. M._--Have you seen Symonds's re-issued volume on Dante? 'Tis\n    very good. Shall I lend it to you?\n\n    _Mr. G._--Sure to be good, but not in the session. I never look at\n    Dante unless I can have a great continuous draught of him. He's\n    too big, he seizes and masters you.\n\n    _J. M._--Oh, I like the picturesque bits, if it's only for\n    half-an-hour before dinner; the bird looking out of its nest for\n    the dawn, the afternoon bell, the trembling of the water in the\n    morning light, and the rest that everybody knows.\n\n    _Mr. G._--No, I cannot do it. By the way, ladies nowadays keep\n    question books, and among other things ask their friends for the\n    finest line in poetry. I think I'm divided between three, perhaps\n    the most glorious is Milton's--[_Somehow this line slipped from\n    memory, but the reader might possibly do worse than turn over\n    Milton in search for his finest line._] Or else Wordsworth's--\"Or\n    hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.\" Yet what so splendid as\n    Penelope's about not rejoicing the heart of anybody less than\n    Odysseus?\n\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER CHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}.(265)\n\n    He talked a great deal to-night about Homer; very confident that\n    he had done something to drive away the idea that Homer was an\n    Asiatic Greek. Then we turned to Scott, whom he held to be by far\n    the greatest of his countrymen. I suggested John Knox. No, the\n    line must be drawn firm between the writer and the man of action;\n    no comparisons there.\n\n    _J. M._--Well, then, though I love Scott so much that if any man\n    chooses to put him first, I won't put him second, yet is there not\n    a vein of pure gold in Burns that gives you pause?\n\n    _Mr. G._--Burns very fine and true, no doubt; but to imagine a\n    whole group of characters, to marshal them, to set them to work,\n    to sustain the action--I must count that the test of highest and\n    most diversified quality.\n\n    We spoke of the new Shakespeare coming out. I said I had been\n    taking the opportunity of reading vol. i., and should go over it\n    all in successive volumes. _Mr. G._--\"Falstaff is wonderful--one of\n    the most wonderful things in literature.\"\n\n    Full of interest in _Hamlet_, and enthusiasm for it--comes closer\n    than any other play to some of the strangest secrets of human\n    nature--what _is_ the key to the mysterious hold of this play on\n    the world's mind? I produced my favourite proposition that\n    _Measure for Measure_ is one of the most modern of all the plays;\n    the profound analysis of Angelo and his moral catastrophe, the\n    strange figure of the duke, the deep irony of our modern time in\n    it all. But I do not think he cared at all for this sort of\n    criticism. He is too healthy, too objective, too simple, for all\n    the complexities of modern morbid analysis.\n\n    Talked of historians; Lecky's two last volumes he had not yet\n    read, but--had told him that, save for one or two blots due to\n    contemporary passion, they were perfectly honourable to Lecky in\n    every way. Lecky, said Mr. G., \"has real insight into the motives\n    of statesmen. Now Carlyle, so mighty as he is in flash and\n    penetration, has no eye for motives. Macaulay, too, is so caught\n    by a picture, by colour, by surface, that he is seldom to be\n    counted on for just account of motive.\"\n\n    He had been reading with immense interest and satisfaction\n    Sainte-Beuve's _History of Port Royal_, which for that matter\n    deserves all his praise and more, though different parts of it are\n    written from antagonistic points of view. Vastly struck by\n    Saint-Cyran. When did the notion of the spiritual director make\n    its appearance in Europe? Had asked both Doellinger and Acton on\n    this curious point. For his own part, he doubted whether the\n    office existed before the Reformation.\n\n    _J. M._--Whom do you reckon the greatest Pope?\n\n    _Mr. G._--I think on the whole, Innocent III. But his greatness was\n    not for good. What did he do? He imposed the dogma of\n    transubstantiation; he is responsible for the Albigensian\n    persecutions; he is responsible for the crusade which ended in the\n    conquest of Byzantium. Have you ever realised what a deadly blow\n    was the ruin of Byzantium by the Latins, how wonderful a fabric\n    the Eastern Empire was?\n\n    _J. M._--Oh, yes, I used to know my Finlay better than most books.\n    Mill used to say a page of Finlay was worth a chapter of Gibbon:\n    he explains how decline and fall came about.\n\n    _Mr. G._--Of course. Finlay has it all.\n\n    He tried then to make out that the eastern empire was more\n    wonderful than anything done by the Romans; it stood out for\n    eleven centuries, while Rome fell in three. I pointed out to him\n    that the whole solid framework of the eastern empire was after all\n    built up by the Romans. But he is philhellene all through past and\n    present.\n\n\n\n\nChapter V. Breach With Mr. Parnell. (1890-1891)\n\n\n    Fortuna vitrea est,--tum quum splendet frangitur.--PUBLIL. SYRUS.\n    Brittle like glass is fortune,--bright as light, and then the\n                crash.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nIt would have been a miracle if the sight of all the methods of coercion,\nalong with the ignominy of the forged letters, had not worked with strong\neffect upon the public mind. Distrust began to creep at a very rapid pace\neven into the ministerial ranks. The tory member for a large northern\nborough rose to resent \"the inexpedient treatment of the Irishmen from a\nparty point of view,\" to protest against the 'straining and stretching of\nthe law' by the resident magistrates, to declare his opinion that these\ngentlemen were not qualified to exercise the jurisdiction entrusted to\nthem, \"and to denounce the folly of making English law unpopular in\nIreland, and provoking the leaders of the Irish people by illegal and\nunconstitutional acts.\"(266) These sentiments were notoriously shared to\nthe full by many who sat around him. Nobody in those days, discredited as\nhe was with his party, had a keener scent for the drift of popular feeling\nthan Lord Randolph Churchill, and he publicly proclaimed that this sending\nof Irish members of parliament to prison in such numbers was a feature\nwhich he did not like. Further, he said that the fact of the government\nnot thinking it safe for public meetings of any sort to be held, excited\npainful feelings in English minds.(267) All this was after the system had\nbeen in operation for two years. Even strong unionist organs in the Irish\npress could not stand it.(268) They declared that if (M150) the Irish,\ngovernment wished to make the coercive system appear as odious as\npossible, they would act just as they were acting. They could only explain\nall these doings, not by \"wrong-headedness or imbecility,\" but by a\nstrange theory that there must be deliberate treachery among the\ngovernment agents.\n\nBefore the end of the year 1889 the electoral signs were unmistakable.\nFifty-three bye-elections had been contested since the beginning of the\nparliament. The net result was the gain of one seat for ministers and of\nnine to the opposition. The Irish secretary with characteristic candour\nnever denied the formidable extent of these victories, though he mourned\nover the evils that such temporary successes might entail, and was\nconvinced that they would prove to be dearly bought.(269) A year later the\ntide still flowed on; the net gain of the opposition rose to eleven. In\n1886 seventy-seven constituencies were represented by forty-seven\nunionists and thirty liberals. By the beginning of October in 1890 the\nunionist members in the same constituencies had sunk to thirty-six, and\nthe liberals had risen to forty-one. Then came the most significant\nelection of all.\n\nThere had been for some months a lull in Ireland. Government claimed the\ncredit of it for coercion; their adversaries set it down partly to the\noperation of the Land Act, partly to the natural tendency in such\nagitations to fluctuate or to wear themselves out, and most of all to the\nstrengthened reliance on the sincerity of the English liberals. Suddenly\nthe country was amazed towards the middle of September by news that\nproceedings under the Coercion Act had been instituted against two\nnationalist leaders, and others. Even strong adherents of the government\nand their policy were deeply dismayed, when they saw that after three\nyears of it, the dreary work was to begin over again. The proceedings\nseemed to be stamped in every aspect as impolitic. In a few days the two\nleaders would have been on their way to America, leaving a half-empty war\nchest behind them and the flame of agitation burning low. As the offences\ncharged had been going on for six months, there was clearly no pressing\nemergency.\n\nA critical bye-election was close at hand at the moment in the Eccles\ndivision of Lancashire. The polling took place four days after a vehement\ndefence of his policy by Mr. Balfour at Newcastle. The liberal candidate\nat Eccles expressly declared from his election address onwards, that the\ngreat issue on which he fought was the alternative between conciliation\nand coercion. Each candidate increased the party vote, the tory by rather\nmore than one hundred, the liberal by nearly six hundred. For the first\ntime the seat was wrested from the tories, and the liberal triumphed by a\nsubstantial majority.(270) This was the latest gauge of the failure of the\nIrish policy to conquer public approval, the last indication of the\ndirection in which the currents of public opinion were steadily\nmoving.(271) Then all at once a blinding sandstorm swept the ground.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nOne of those events now occurred that with their stern irony so mock the\nstatesman's foresight, and shatter political designs in their most\nprosperous hour. As a mightier figure than Mr. Parnell remorsefully said\non a grander stage, a hundred years before, cases sometimes befall in the\nhistory of nations where private fault is public disaster.\n\nAt the end of 1889, the Irish leader had been made a party in a suit for\ndivorce. He betrayed no trace in his demeanour, either to his friends or\nto the House, of embarrassment at the position. His earliest appearance\nafter the evil news, was in the debate on the first night of the session\n(February 11, '90), upon a motion about the publication of the forged\nletter. Some twenty of (M151) his followers being absent, he wished the\ndiscussion to be prolonged into another sitting. Closely as it might be\nsupposed to concern him, he listened to none of the debate. He had a\nsincere contempt for speeches in themselves, and was wont to set down most\nof them to vanity. A message was sent that he should come upstairs and\nspeak. After some indolent remonstrance, he came. His speech was\nadmirable; firm without emphasis, penetrating, dignified, freezing, and\nunanswerable. Neither now nor on any later occasion did his air of\ncomposure in public or in private give way.\n\nMr. Gladstone was at Hawarden, wide awake to the possibility of peril. To\nMr. Arnold Morley he wrote on November 4:--\"I fear a thundercloud is about\nto burst over Parnell's head, and I suppose it will end the career of a\nman in many respects invaluable.\" On the 13th he was told by the present\nwriter that there were grounds for an impression that Mr. Parnell would\nemerge as triumphantly from the new charge, as he had emerged from the\nobloquy of the forged letters. The case was opened two days later, and\nenough came out upon the first day of the proceedings to point to an\nadverse result. A Sunday intervened, and Mr. Gladstone's self-command\nunder storm-clouds may be seen in a letter written on that day to me:--\n\n\n    _Nov. 16, 1890._--1. It is, after all, a thunder-clap about\n    Parnell. Will he ask for the Chiltern Hundreds? He cannot continue\n    to lead? What could he mean by his language to you? The Pope has\n    now clearly got a commandment under which to pull him up. It\n    surely cannot have been always thus; for he represented his\n    diocese in the church synod. 2. I thank you for your kind scruple,\n    but in the country my Sundays are habitually and largely invaded.\n    3. Query, whether if a bye-seat were open and chanced to have a\n    large Irish vote W---- might not be a good man there. 4. I do not\n    think my Mem. is worth circulating but perhaps you would send it\n    to Spencer. I sent a copy to Harcourt. 5. [A small parliamentary\n    point, not related to the Parnell affair, nor otherwise\n    significant.] 6. Most warmly do I agree with you about the Scott\n    _Journal_. How one loves him. 7. Some day I hope to inflict on you\n    a talk about Homer and Homerology (as I call it).\n\n\nThe court pronounced a condemnatory decree on Monday, November 17th.\nParliament was appointed to meet on Tuesday, the 25th. There was only a\nweek for Irish and English to resolve what effect this condemnation should\nhave upon Mr. Parnell's position as leader of one and ally of the other.\nMr. Parnell wrote the ordinary letter to his parliamentary followers. The\nfirst impulses of Mr. Gladstone are indicated in a letter to me on the day\nafter the decree:--\n\n\n    _Nov. 18, 1890._--Many thanks for your letter. I had noticed the\n    Parnell circular, not without misgiving. I read in the _P. M. G._\n    this morning a noteworthy article in the _Daily Telegraph_,(272)\n    or rather from it, with which I very much agree. But I think it\n    plain that we have nothing to say and nothing to do in the matter.\n    The party is as distinct from us as that of Smith or Hartington. I\n    own to some surprise at the apparent facility with which the R. C.\n    bishops and clergy appear to take the continued leadership, but\n    they may have tried the ground and found it would not _bear_. It\n    is the Irish parliamentary party, and that alone to which we have\n    to look....\n\n\nSuch were Mr. Gladstone's thoughts when the stroke first fell.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nIn England and Scotland loud voices were speedily lifted up. Some treated\nthe offence itself as an inexpiable disqualification. Others argued that,\neven if the offence could be passed over as lying outside of politics, it\n(M152) had been surrounded by incidents of squalor and deceit that\nbetrayed a character in which no trust could ever be placed again. In some\nEnglish quarters all this was expressed with a strident arrogance that set\nIrishmen on fire. It is ridiculous, if we remember what space Mr. Parnell\nfilled in Irish imagination and feeling, how popular, how mysterious, how\ninvincible he had been, to blame them because in the first moment of shock\nand bewilderment they did not instantly plant themselves in the judgment\nseat, always so easily ascended by Englishmen with little at stake. The\npoliticians in Dublin did not hesitate. A great meeting was held at\nLeinster Hall in Dublin on the Thursday (November 20th). The result was\neasy to foresee. Not a whisper of revolt was heard. The chief nationalist\nnewspaper stood firm for Mr. Parnell's continuance. At least one\necclesiastic of commanding influence was supposed to be among the\njournal's most ardent prompters. It has since been stated that the bishops\nwere in fact forging bolts of commination. No lurid premonitory fork or\nsheet flashed on the horizon, no rumble of the coming thunders reached the\npublic ear.\n\nThree days after the decree in the court, the great English liberal\norganization chanced to hold its annual meeting at Sheffield (November\n20-21). In reply to a request of mine as to his views upon our position,\nMr. Gladstone wrote to me as follows:--\n\n\n    _Nov. 19, 1890._--Your appeal as to your meeting of to-morrow gives\n    matter for thought. I feel (1) that the Irish have abstractedly a\n    right to decide the question; (2) that on account of Parnell's\n    enormous services--he has done for home rule something like what\n    Cobden did for free trade, set the argument on its legs--they are\n    in a position of immense difficulty; (3) that we, the liberal\n    party as a whole, and especially we its leaders, have for the\n    moment nothing to say to it, that we must be passive, must wait\n    and watch. But I again and again say to myself, I say I mean in\n    the interior and silent forum, \"It'll na dee.\" I should not be\n    surprised if there were to be rather painful manifestations in the\n    House on Tuesday. It is yet to be seen what our Nonconformist\n    friends, such a man as ----, for example, or such a man as ---- will\n    say.... If I recollect right, Southey's _Life of Nelson_ was in my\n    early days published and circulated by the Society for Promoting\n    Christian Knowledge. It would be curious to look back upon it and\n    see how the biographer treats his narrative at the tender points.\n    What I have said under figure 3 applies to me beyond all others,\n    and notwithstanding my prognostications I shall maintain an\n    extreme reserve in a position where I can do no good (in the\n    present tense), and might by indiscretion do much harm. You will\n    doubtless communicate with Harcourt and confidential friends only\n    as to anything in this letter. The thing, one can see, is not a\n    _res judicata_. It may ripen fast. Thus far, there is a total want\n    of moral support from this side to the Irish judgment.\n\n\nA fierce current was soon perceived to be running. All the elements so\npowerful for high enthusiasm, but hazardous where an occasion demands\ncircumspection, were in full blast. The deep instinct for domestic order\nwas awake. Many were even violently and irrationally impatient that Mr.\nGladstone had not peremptorily renounced the alliance on the very morrow\nof the decree. As if, Mr. Gladstone himself used to say, it could be the\nduty of any party leader to take into his hands the intolerable burden of\nexercising the rigours of inquisition and private censorship over every\nman with whom what he judged the highest public expediency might draw him\nto co-operate. As if, moreover, it could be the duty of Mr. Gladstone to\nhurry headlong into action, without giving Mr. Parnell time or chance of\ntaking such action of his own as might make intervention unnecessary. Why\nwas it to be assumed that Mr. Parnell would not recognise the facts of the\nsituation? \"I determined,\" said Mr. Gladstone \"to watch the state of\nfeeling in this country. I made no public declaration, but the country\nmade up its mind. I was in some degree like the soothsayer Shakespeare\nintroduces into one of his plays. He says, 'I do not make the facts; I\nonly foresee them.' I did not foresee the facts even; they were present\nbefore me.\"(273)\n\n(M153) The facts were plain, and Mr. Gladstone was keenly alive to the\nfull purport of every one of them. Men, in whose hearts religion and\nmorals held the first place, were strongly joined by men accustomed to\nsettle political action by political considerations. Platform-men united\nwith pulpit-men in swelling the whirlwind. Electoral calculation and moral\nfaithfulness were held for once to point the same way. The report from\nevery quarter, every letter to a member from a constituent, all was in one\nsense. Some, as I have said, pressed the point that the misconduct itself\nmade co-operation impossible; others urged the impossibility of relying\nupon political understandings with one to whom habitual duplicity was\nbelieved to have been brought home. We may set what value we choose upon\nsuch arguments. Undoubtedly they would have proscribed some of the most\nimportant and admired figures in the supreme doings of modern Europe.\nUndoubtedly some who have fallen into shift and deceit in this particular\nrelation, have yet been true as steel in all else. For a man's character\nis a strangely fitted mosaic, and it is unsafe to assume that all his\ntraits are of one piece, or inseparable in fact because they ought to be\ninseparable by logic. But people were in no humour for casuistry, and\nwhether all this be sophistry or sense, the volume of hostile judgment and\nobstinate intention could neither be mistaken, nor be wisely breasted if\nhome rule was to be saved in Great Britain.\n\nMr. Gladstone remained at Hawarden during the week. To Mr. Arnold Morley\nhe wrote (Nov. 23): \"I have a bundle of letters every morning on the\nParnell business, and the bundles increase. My own opinion has been the\nsame from the first, and I conceive that the time for action has now come.\nAll my correspondents are in unison.\" Every post-bag was heavy with\nadmonitions, of greater cogency than such epistles sometimes possess; and\na voluminous bundle of letters still at Hawarden bears witness to the\nemotions of the time. Sir William Harcourt and I, who had taken part in\nthe proceedings at Sheffield, made our reports. The acute manager of the\nliberal party came to announce that three of our candidates had bolted\nalready, that more were sure to follow, and that this indispensable\ncommodity in elections would become scarcer than ever. Of the general\nparty opinion, there could be no shadow of doubt. It was no application of\nspecial rigour because Mr. Parnell was an Irishman. Any English politician\nof his rank would have fared the same or worse, and retirement, temporary\nor for ever, would have been inevitable. Temporary withdrawal, said some;\npermanent withdrawal, said others; but for withdrawal of some sort, almost\nall were inexorable.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nMr. Gladstone did not reach London until the afternoon of Monday, November\n24. Parliament was to assemble on the next day. Three members of the\ncabinet of 1886, and the chief whip of the party,(274) met him in the\nlibrary of Lord Rendel's house at Carlton Gardens. The issue before the\nliberal leaders was a plain one. It was no question of the right of the\nnationalists to choose their own chief. It was no question of inflicting\npolitical ostracism on a particular kind of moral delinquency. The\nquestion was whether the present continuance of the Irish leadership with\nthe silent assent of the British leaders, did not involve decisive\nabstention at the polls on the day when Irish policy could once more be\nsubmitted to the electors of Great Britain? At the best the standing\ndifficulties even to sanguine eyes, and under circumstances that had\nseemed so promising, were still formidable. What chance was there if this\nnew burden were superadded? Only one conclusion was possible upon the\nstate of facts, and even those among persons responsible for this decision\nwho were most earnestly concerned in the success of the Irish policy,\nreviewing all the circumstances of the dilemma, deliberately hold to this\nday that though a catastrophe followed, a worse catastrophe was avoided.\nIt is one of the commonest of all secrets of cheap misjudgment in human\naffairs, to start by assuming that there is always some good way out of a\nbad case. Alas for us all, this is not so. Situations arise alike (M154)\nfor individuals, for parties, and for states, from which no good way out\nexists, but only choice between bad way and worse. Here was one of those\nsituations. The mischiefs that followed the course actually taken, we see;\nthen, as is the wont of human kind, we ignore the mischiefs that as surely\nawaited any other.\n\nMr. Gladstone always steadfastly resisted every call to express an opinion\nof his own that the delinquency itself had made Mr. Parnell unfit and\nimpossible. It was vain to tell him that the party would expect such a\ndeclaration, or that his reputation required that he should found his\naction on moral censure all his own. \"What!\" he cried, \"because a man is\nwhat is called leader of a party, does that constitute him a censor and a\njudge of faith and morals? I will not accept it. It would make life\nintolerable.\" He adhered tenaciously to political ground. \"I have been for\nfour years,\" Mr. Gladstone justly argued, \"endeavouring to persuade voters\nto support Irish autonomy. Now the voter says to me, 'If a certain thing\nhappens--namely, the retention of the Irish leadership in its present\nhands--I will not support Irish autonomy.' How can I go on with the work?\nWe laboriously rolled the great stone up to the top of the hill, and now\nit topples down to the bottom again, unless Mr. Parnell sees fit to go.\"\nFrom the point of view of Irish policy this was absolutely unanswerable.\nIt would have been just as unanswerable, even if all the dire confusion\nthat afterwards came to pass had then been actually in sight. Its force\nwas wholly independent, and necessarily so, of any intention that might be\nformed by Mr. Parnell.\n\nAs for that intention, let us turn to him for a moment. Who could dream\nthat a man so resolute in facing facts as Mr. Parnell, would expect all to\ngo on as before? Substantial people in Ireland who were preparing to come\nround to home rule at the prospect of a liberal victory in Great Britain,\nwould assuredly be frightened back. Belfast would be more resolute than\never. A man might estimate as he pleased either the nonconformist\nconscience in England, or the catholic conscience in Ireland. But the most\ncynical of mere calculators,--and I should be slow to say that this was Mr.\nParnell,--could not fall a prey to such a hallucination as to suppose that\na scandal so frightfully public, so impossible for even the most mild-eyed\ncharity to pretend not to see, and which political passion was so\ninterested in keeping in full blaze, would instantly drop out of the mind\nof two of the most religious communities in the world; or that either of\nthese communities could tolerate without effective protest so impenitent\nan affront as the unruffled continuity of the stained leadership. All this\nwas independent of anything that Mr. Gladstone might do or might not do.\nThe liberal leaders had a right to assume that the case must be as obvious\nto Mr. Parnell as it was to everybody else, and unless loyalty and good\nfaith have no place in political alliances, they had a right to look for\nhis spontaneous action. Was unlimited consideration due from them to him\nand none from him to them?\n\nThe result of the consultation was the decisive letter addressed to me by\nMr. Gladstone, its purport to be by me communicated to Mr. Parnell. As any\none may see, its language was courteous and considerate. Not an accent was\nleft that could touch the pride of one who was known to be as proud a man\nas ever lived. It did no more than state an unquestionable fact, with an\ninevitable inference. It was not written in view of publication, for that\nit was hoped would be unnecessary. It was written with the expectation of\nfinding the personage concerned in his usual rational frame of mind, and\nwith the intention of informing him of what it was right that he should\nknow. The same evening Mr. McCarthy was placed in possession of Mr.\nGladstone's views, to be laid before Mr. Parnell at the earliest moment.\n\n\n    _1 Carlton Gardens, Nov. 24, 1890._--MY DEAR MORLEY.--Having arrived\n    at a certain conclusion with regard to the continuance, at the\n    present moment, of Mr. Parnell's leadership of the Irish party, I\n    have seen Mr. McCarthy on my arrival in town, and have inquired\n    from him whether I was likely to receive from Mr. Parnell himself\n    any communication on the subject. Mr. McCarthy replied that he was\n    unable to give me any information on the subject. I mentioned to\n    him that in 1882, after the terrible murder in the Phoenix Park,\n    Mr. Parnell, although totally removed from any idea of\n    responsibility, had spontaneously written to me, and offered to\n    take the Chiltern Hundreds, an offer much to his honour but one\n    which I thought it my duty to decline.\n\n    While clinging to the hope of a communication from Mr. Parnell, to\n    whomsoever addressed, I thought it necessary, viewing the\n    arrangements for the commencement of the session to-morrow, to\n    acquaint Mr. McCarthy with the conclusion at which, after using\n    all the means of observation and reflection in my power, I had\n    myself arrived. It was that notwithstanding the splendid services\n    rendered by Mr. Parnell to his country, his continuance at the\n    present moment in the leadership would be productive of\n    consequences disastrous in the highest degree to the cause of\n    Ireland. I think I may be warranted in asking you so far to expand\n    the conclusion I have given above, as to add that the continuance\n    I speak of would not only place many hearty and effective friends\n    of the Irish cause in a position of great embarrassment, but would\n    render my retention of the leadership of the liberal party, based\n    as it has been mainly upon the prosecution of the Irish cause,\n    almost a nullity. This explanation of my views I begged Mr.\n    McCarthy to regard as confidential, and not intended for his\n    colleagues generally, if he found that Mr. Parnell contemplated\n    spontaneous action; but I also begged that he would make known to\n    the Irish party, at their meeting to-morrow afternoon, that such\n    was my conclusion, if he should find that Mr. Parnell had not in\n    contemplation any step of the nature indicated. I now write to\n    you, in case Mr. McCarthy should be unable to communicate with Mr.\n    Parnell, as I understand you may possibly have an opening\n    to-morrow through another channel. Should you have such an\n    opening, I beg you to make known to Mr. Parnell the conclusion\n    itself, which I have stated in the earlier part of this letter. I\n    have thought it best to put it in terms simple and direct, much as\n    I should have desired had it lain within my power, to alleviate\n    the painful nature of the situation. As respects the manner of\n    conveying what my public duty has made it an obligation to say, I\n    rely entirely on your good feeling, tact, and judgment.--Believe me\n    sincerely yours, W. E. GLADSTONE.\n\n\nNo direct communication had been possible, though every effort to open it\nwas made. Indirect information had been received. Mr. Parnell's purpose\nwas reported to have shifted during the week since the decree. On the\nWednesday he had been at his stiffest, proudest, and coldest, bent on\nholding on at all cost. He thought he saw a way of getting something done\nfor Ireland; the Irish people had given him a commission; he should stand\nto it, so long as ever they asked him. On the Friday, however (Nov. 21),\nhe appeared, so I had been told, to be shaken in his resolution. He had\nbethought him that the government might possibly seize the moment for a\ndissolution; that if there were an immediate election, the government\nwould under the circumstances be not unlikely to win; if so, Mr. Gladstone\nmight be thrown for four or five years into opposition; in other words,\nthat powerful man's part in the great international transaction would be\nat an end. In this mood he declared himself alive to the peril and the\ngrave responsibility of taking any course that could lead to consequences\nso formidable. That was the last authentic news that reached us. His Irish\ncolleagues had no news at all. After this glimpse the curtain had fallen,\nand all oracles fell dumb.\n\nIf Mr. Gladstone's decision was to have the anticipated effect, Mr.\nParnell must be made aware of it before the meeting of the Irish party\n(Nov. 25). This according to custom was to be held at two o'clock in the\nafternoon, to choose their chairman for the session. Before the choice was\nmade, both the leader and his political friends should know the view and\nthe purpose that prevailed in the camp of their allies. Mr. Parnell kept\nhimself invisible and inaccessible alike to English and Irish friends\nuntil a few minutes before the meeting. The Irish member who had seen Mr.\nGladstone the previous evening, at the last moment was able to deliver the\nmessage that had been confided to him. Mr. Parnell replied that he should\nstand to his guns. The other members of the Irish party came together,\nand, wholly ignorant of the attitude taken by Mr. Gladstone, promptly and\nwith hardly a word of discussion re-elected their leader to his usual\npost. The gravity of the unfortunate error (M155) committed in the failure\nto communicate the private message to the whole of the nationalist\nmembers, with or without Mr. Parnell's leave, lay in the fact that it\nmagnified and distorted Mr. Gladstone's later intervention into a\nhumiliating public ultimatum. The following note, made at the time,\ndescribes the fortunes of Mr. Gladstone's letter:--\n\n\n    _Nov. 25._--I had taken the usual means of sending a message to Mr.\n    Parnell, to the effect that Mr. Gladstone was coming to town on\n    the following day, and that I should almost certainly have a\n    communication to make to Mr. Parnell on Tuesday morning. It was\n    agreed at my interview with his emissary on Sunday night (November\n    23) that I should be informed by eleven on Tuesday forenoon where\n    I should see him. I laid special stress on my seeing him before\n    the party met. At half-past eleven, or a little later, on that day\n    I received a telegram from the emissary that he could not reach\n    his friend.(275) I had no difficulty in interpreting this. It\n    meant that Mr. Parnell had made up his mind to fight it out,\n    whatever line we might adopt; that he guessed that my wish to see\n    him must from his point of view mean mischief; and that he would\n    secure his re-election as chairman before the secret was out. Mr.\n    McCarthy was at this hour also entirely in the dark, and so were\n    all the other members of the Irish party supposed to be much in\n    Mr. Parnell's confidence. When I reached the House a little after\n    three, the lobby was alive with the bustle and animation usual at\n    the opening of a session, and Mr. Parnell was in the thick of it,\n    talking to a group of his friends. He came forward with much\n    cordiality. \"I am very sorry,\" he said, \"that I could not make an\n    appointment, but the truth is I did not get your message until I\n    came down to the House, and then it was too late.\" I asked him to\n    come round with me to Mr. Gladstone's room. As we went along the\n    corridor he informed me in a casual way that the party had again\n    elected him chairman. When we reached the sunless little room, I\n    told him I was sorry to hear that the election was over, for I had\n    a communication to make to him which might, as I hoped, still make\n    a difference. I then read out to him Mr. Gladstone's letter. As he\n    listened, I knew the look on his face quite well enough to see\n    that he was obdurate. The conversation did not last long. He said\n    the feeling against him was a storm in a teacup, and would soon\n    pass. I replied that he might know Ireland, but he did not half\n    know England; that it was much more than a storm in a teacup; that\n    if he set British feeling at defiance and brazened it out, it\n    would be ruin to home rule at the election; that if he did not\n    withdraw for a time, the storm would not pass; that if he withdrew\n    from the actual leadership now as a concession due to public\n    feeling in this country, this need not prevent him from again\n    taking the helm when new circumstances might demand his presence;\n    that he could very well treat his re-election as a public vote of\n    confidence by his party; that, having secured this, he would\n    suffer no loss of dignity or authority by a longer or shorter\n    period of retirement. I reminded him that for two years he had\n    been practically absent from active leadership. He answered, in\n    his slow dry way, that he must look to the future; that he had\n    made up his mind to stick to the House of Commons and to his\n    present position in his party, until he was convinced, and he\n    would not soon be convinced, that it was impossible to obtain home\n    rule from a British parliament; that if he gave up the leadership\n    for a time, he should never return to it; that if he once let go,\n    it was all over. There was the usual iteration on both sides in a\n    conversation of the kind, but this is the substance of what\n    passed. His manner throughout was perfectly cool and quiet, and\n    his unresonant voice was unshaken. He was paler than usual, and\n    now and then a wintry smile passed over his face. I saw that\n    nothing would be gained by further parley, so I rose and he\n    somewhat slowly did the same. \"Of course,\" he said, as I held the\n    door open for him to leave, \"Mr. Gladstone will have to attack me.\n    I shall expect that. He will have a right to do that.\" So we\n    parted.\n\n    I waited for Mr. Gladstone, who arrived in a few minutes. It was\n    now four o'clock. \"Well?\" he asked eagerly the moment the door was\n    closed, and without taking off cape or hat. \"Have you seen him?\"\n    \"He is obdurate,\" said I. I told him shortly what had passed. He\n    stood at the table, dumb for some instants, looking at me as if he\n    could not believe what I had said. Then he burst out that we must\n    at once publish his letter to me; at once, that very afternoon. I\n    said, \"'Tis too late now.\" \"Oh, no,\" said he, \"the _Pall Mall_\n    will bring it out in a special edition.\" \"Well, but,\" I persisted,\n    \"we ought really to consider it a little.\" Reluctantly he yielded,\n    and we went into the House. Harcourt presently joined us on the\n    bench, and we told him the news. It was by and by decided that the\n    letter should be immediately published. Mr. Gladstone thought that\n    I should at once inform Mr. Parnell of this. There he was at that\n    moment, pleasant and smiling, in his usual place on the Irish\n    bench. I went into our lobby, and sent somebody to bring him out.\n    Out he came, and we took three or four turns in the lobby. I told\n    him that it was thought right, under the new circumstances, to\n    send the letter to the press. \"Yes,\" he said amicably, as if it\n    were no particular concern of his, \"I think Mr. Gladstone will be\n    quite right to do that; it will put him straight with his party.\"\n\n\nThe debate on the address had meanwhile been running its course. Mr.\nGladstone had made his speech. One of the newspapers afterwards described\nthe liberals as wearing pre-occupied countenances. \"We were pre-occupied\nwith a vengeance,\" said Mr. Gladstone, \"and even while I was speaking I\ncould not help thinking to myself, Here am I talking about Portugal and\nabout Armenia, while every single creature in the House is absorbed in one\nthing only, and that is an uncommonly long distance from either Armenia or\nPortugal.\" News of the letter, which had been sent to the reporters about\neight o'clock, swiftly spread. Members hurried to ex-ministers in the\ndining-room to ask if the story of the letter were true. The lobbies were\nseized by one of those strange and violent fevers to which on such\noccasions the House of Commons is liable. Unlike the clamour of the Stock\nExchange or a continental Chamber, there is little noise, but the\nperturbation is profound. Men pace the corridors in couples and trios, or\nflit from one knot to another, listening to an oracle of the moment\nmodestly retailing a rumour false on the face of it, or evolving monstrous\nhypotheses to explain incredible occurrences. This, however, was no common\ncrisis of lobby or gallery.\n\nOne party quickly felt that, for them at least, it was an affair of life\nor death. It was no wonder that the Irish members were stirred to the very\ndepths. For five years they had worked on English platforms, made active\nfriendships with English and Scottish liberals in parliament and out of\nit, been taught to expect from their aid and alliance that deliverance\nwhich without allies must remain out of reach and out of sight; above all,\nfor nearly five years they had been taught to count on the puissant voice\nand strong right arm of the leader of all the forces of British\nliberalism.\n\nThey suddenly learned that if they took a certain step in respect of the\nleadership of their own party, the alliance was broken off, the most\npowerful of Englishmen could help them no more, and that all the dreary\nand desperate marches since 1880 were to be faced once again in a blind\nand endless campaign, against the very party to whose friendship they had\nbeen taught to look for strength, encouragement, and victory. Well might\nthey recoil. More astounded still, they learned at the same time that they\nhad already taken the momentous step in the dark, and that the knowledge\nof what they were doing, the pregnant meanings and the tremendous\nconsequences of it, had been carefully concealed from them. Never were\nconsternation, panic, distraction, and resentment better justified.\n\nThe Irishmen were anxious to meet at once. Their leader sat moodily in the\nsmoking-room downstairs. His faculty of concentrated vision had by this\ntime revealed to him the certainty of a struggle, and its intensity. He\nknew in minute detail every element of peril both at Westminster and in\nIreland. A few days before, he mentioned to the present writer his\nsuspicion of designs on foot in ecclesiastical quarters, though he\ndeclared that he had no fear of them. He may have surmised that the\ndemonstration at the Leinster Hall was superficial and impulsive. On the\nother hand, his confidence in the foundations of his dictatorship was\nunshaken. This being so, if deliberate calculation were the universal\nmainspring of every statesman's action--as it assuredly is not nor can ever\nbe--he would have spontaneously withdrawn for a season, in the (M156)\nassurance that if signs of disorganisation were to appear among his\nfollowers, his prompt return from Elba would be instantly demanded in\nIreland, whether or no it were acquiesced in by the leaders and main army\nof liberals in England. That would have been both politic and decent, even\nif we conceive his mind to have been working in another direction. He may,\nfor instance, have believed that the scandal had destroyed the chances of\na liberal victory at the election, whether he stayed or withdrew. Why\nshould he surrender his position in Ireland and over contending factions\nin America, in reliance upon an English party to which, as he was well\naware, he had just dealt a smashing blow? These speculations, however,\nupon the thoughts that may have been slowly moving through his mind, are\nhardly worth pursuing. Unluckily, the stubborn impulses of defiance that\ncame naturally to his temperament were aroused to their most violent pitch\nand swept all calculations of policy aside. He now proceeded passionately\nto dash into the dust the whole fabric of policy which he had with such\ninfinite sagacity, patience, skill, and energy devised and reared.\n\nTwo short private memoranda from his own hand on this transaction, I find\namong Mr. Gladstone's papers. He read them to me at the time, and they\nillustrate his habitual practice of shaping and clearing his thought and\nrecollection by committal to black and white:--\n\n\n    _Nov. 26, 1890._--Since the month of December 1885 my whole\n    political life has been governed by a supreme regard to the Irish\n    question. For every day, I may say, of these five, we have been\n    engaged in laboriously rolling up hill the stone of Sisyphus. Mr.\n    Parnell's decision of yesterday means that the stone is to break\n    away from us and roll down again to the bottom of the hill. I\n    cannot recall the years which have elapsed. It was daring,\n    perhaps, to begin, at the age I had then attained, a process which\n    it was obvious must be a prolonged one.\n\n    Simply to recommence it now, when I am within a very few weeks of\n    the age at which Lord Palmerston, the marvel of parliamentary\n    longevity, succumbed, and to contemplate my accompanying the cause\n    of home rule to its probable triumph a rather long course of years\n    hence, would be more than daring; it would be presumptuous. My\n    views must be guided by rational probabilities, and they exclude\n    any such anticipation. My statement, therefore, that my leadership\n    would, under the contemplated decision of Mr. Parnell, be almost a\n    nullity, is a moderate statement of the case. I have been\n    endeavouring during all these years to reason with the voters of\n    the kingdom, and when the voter now tells me that he cannot give a\n    vote for making the Mr. Parnell of to-day the ruler of Irish\n    affairs under British sanction, I do not know how to answer him,\n    and I have yet to ask myself formally the question what under\n    those circumstances is to be done. I must claim entire and\n    absolute liberty to answer that question as I may think right.\n\n    _Nov. 28, 1890._--The few following words afford a key to my\n    proceedings in the painful business of the Irish leadership.\n\n    It was at first my expectation, and afterwards my desire, that Mr.\n    Parnell would retire by a perfectly spontaneous act. As the\n    likelihood of such a course became less and less, while time ran\n    on, and the evidences of coming disaster were accumulated, I\n    thought it would be best that he should be impelled to withdraw,\n    but by an influence conveyed to him, at least, from within the\n    limits of his own party. I therefore begged Mr. Justin McCarthy to\n    acquaint Mr. Parnell of what I thought as to the consequences of\n    his continuance; I also gave explanations of my meaning, including\n    a reference to myself; and I begged that my message to Mr. Parnell\n    might be made known to the Irish party, in the absence of a\n    spontaneous retirement.\n\n    This was on Monday afternoon. But there was no certainty either of\n    finding Mr. Parnell, or of an impression on him through one of his\n    own followers. I therefore wrote the letter to Mr. Morley, as a\n    more delicate form of proceeding than a direct communication from\n    myself, but also as a stronger measure than that taken through Mr.\n    McCarthy, because it was more full, and because, as it was in\n    writing, it admitted of the ulterior step of immediate\n    publication. Mr. Morley could not find Mr. Parnell until after the\n    first meeting of the Irish party on Monday. When we found that Mr.\n    McCarthy's representation had had no effect, that the Irish party\n    had not been informed, and that Mr. Morley's making known the\n    material parts of my letter was likewise without result, it at\n    once was decided to publish the letter; just too late for the\n    _Pall Mall Gazette_, it was given for publication to the morning\n    papers, and during the evening it became known in the lobbies of\n    the House.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nMr. Parnell took up his new ground in a long manifesto to the Irish people\n(November 29). It was free of rhetoric and ornament, but the draught was\nskilfully brewed. He charged Mr. Gladstone with having revealed to him\nduring his visit at Hawarden in the previous December, that in a future\nscheme of home rule the Irish members would be cut down from 103 to 32,\nland was to be withdrawn from the competency of the Irish legislature, and\nthe control of the constabulary would be reserved to the Imperial\nauthority for an indefinite period, though Ireland would have to find the\nmoney all the time. This perfidious truncation of self-government by Mr.\nGladstone was matched by an attempt on my part as his lieutenant only a\nfew days before, to seduce the Irish party into accepting places in a\nliberal government, and this gross bribe of mine was accompanied by a\ndespairing avowal that the hapless evicted tenants must be flung\noverboard. In other words, the English leaders intended to play Ireland\nfalse, and Mr. Parnell stood between his country and betrayal. Such a\nstory was unluckily no new one in Irish history since the union. On that\ntheme Mr. Parnell played many adroit variations during the eventful days\nthat followed. Throw me to the English wolves if you like, he said, but at\nany rate make sure that real home rule and not its shadow is to be your\nprice, and that they mean to pay it. This was to awaken the spectre of old\nsuspicions, and to bring to life again those forces of violence and\ndesperation which it had been the very crown of his policy to exorcise.\n\nThe reply on the Hawarden episode was prompt. Mr. Gladstone asserted that\nthe whole discussion was one of those informal exchanges of view which go\nto all political action, and in which men feel the ground and discover the\nleanings of one another's minds. No single proposal was made, no\nproposition was mentioned to which a binding assent was sought. Points of\npossible improvement in the bill of 1886 were named as having arisen in\nMr. Gladstone's mind, or been suggested by others, but no positive\nconclusions were asked for or were expected or were possible. Mr. Parnell\nquite agreed that the real difficulty lay in finding the best form in\nwhich Irish representation should be retained at Westminster, but both saw\nthe wisdom and necessity of leaving deliberation free until the time\nshould come for taking practical steps. He offered no serious objection on\nany point; much less did he say that they augured any disappointment of\nIrish aspirations. Apart from this denial, men asked themselves how it was\nthat if Mr. Parnell knew that the cause was already betrayed, he yet for a\nyear kept the black secret to himself, and blew Mr. Gladstone's praise\nwith as loud a trumpet as before?(276) As for my own guilty attempt at\ncorruption in proposing an absorption of the Irish party in English\npolitics by means of office and emolument, I denied it with reasonable\nemphasis at the time, and it does not concern us here, nor in fact\nanywhere else.\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nWe now come to what was in its day the famous story of Committee Room\nFifteen, so called from the chamber in which the next act of this dismal\nplay went on.(277) The proceedings between the leader and his party were\nwatched with an eagerness that has never been surpassed in this kingdom or\nin America. They were protracted, intense, dramatic, and the issue for a\ntime hung in poignant doubt. The party interest of the scene was supreme,\nfor if the Irishmen should rally to their chief, then the English alliance\nwas at an end, Mr. Gladstone would virtually close (M157) his illustrious\ncareer, the rent in the liberal ranks might be repaired, and leading men\nand important sections would all group themselves afresh. \"Let us all keep\nquiet,\" said one important unionist, \"we may now have to revise our\npositions.\" Either way, the serpent of faction would raise its head in\nIreland, and the strong life of organised and concentrated nationalism\nwould perish in its coils. The personal interest was as vivid as the\npolitical,--the spectacle of a man of infinite boldness, determination,\nastuteness, and resource, with the will and pride of Lucifer, at bay with\nfortune and challenging a malignant star. Some talked of the famous Ninth\nThermidor, when Robespierre fought inch by inch the fierce struggle that\nended in his ruin. Others talked of the old mad discord of Zealot and\nHerodian in face of the Roman before the walls of Jerusalem. The great\nveteran of English politics looked on, wrathful and astounded at a\npreternatural perversity for which sixty years of public life could\nfurnish him no parallel. The sage public looked on, some with the same\ninterest that would in ancient days have made them relish a combat of\ngladiators; others with glee at the mortification of political opponents;\nothers again with honest disgust at what threatened to be the ignoble rout\nof a beneficent policy.\n\nIt was the fashion for the moment in fastidious reactionary quarters to\nspeak of the actors in this ordeal as \"a hustling group of yelling\nrowdies.\" Seldom have terms so censorious been more misplaced. All depends\nupon the point of view. Men on a raft in a boiling sea have something to\nthink of besides deportment and the graces of serenity. As a matter of\nfact, even hostile judges then and since agreed that no case was ever\nbetter opened within the walls of Westminster than in the three speeches\nmade on the first day by Mr. Sexton and Mr. Healy on the one side, and Mr.\nRedmond on the other. In gravity, dignity, acute perception, and that good\nfaith which is the soul of real as distinct from spurious debate, the\nparliamentary critic recognises them as all of the first order. So for the\nmost part things continued. It was not until a protracted game had gone\nbeyond limits of reason and patience, that words sometimes flamed high.\nExperience of national assemblies gives no reason to suppose that a body\nof French, German, Spanish, Italian, or even of English, Scotch, Welsh, or\nAmerican politicians placed in circumstances of equal excitement, arising\nfrom an incident in itself at once so squalid and so provocative, would\nhave borne the strain with any more self-control.\n\nMr. Parnell presided, frigid, severe, and lofty, \"as if,\" said one\npresent, \"it were we who had gone astray, and he were sitting there to\njudge us.\" Six members were absent in America, including Mr. Dillon and\nMr. O'Brien, two of the most important of all after Mr. Parnell himself.\nThe attitude of this pair was felt to be a decisive element. At first,\nunder the same impulse as moved the Leinster Hall meeting, they allowed\ntheir sense of past achievement to close their eyes; they took for granted\nthe impossible, that religious Britain and religious Ireland would blot\nwhat had happened out of their thoughts; and so they stood for Mr.\nParnell's leadership. The grim facts of the case were rapidly borne in\nupon them. The defiant manifesto convinced them that the leadership could\nnot be continued. Travelling from Cincinnati to Chicago, they read it,\nmade up their minds, and telegraphed to anxious colleagues in London. They\nspoke with warmth of Mr. Parnell's services, but protested against his\nunreasonable charges of servility to liberal wirepullers; they described\nthe \"endeavours to fasten the responsibility for what had happened upon\nMr. Gladstone and Mr. Morley\" as reckless and unjust; and they foresaw in\nthe position of isolation, discredit, and international ill-feeling which\nMr. Parnell had now created, nothing but ruin for the cause. This\ndeliverance from such a quarter (November 30) showed that either\nabdication or deposition was inevitable.\n\nThe day after Mr. Parnell's manifesto, the bishops came out of their\nshells. Cardinal Manning had more than once written most urgently to the\nIrish prelates the moment the decree was known, that Parnell could not be\nupheld in London, and that no political expediency could outweigh the\nmoral sense. He knew well enough that the bishops in (M158) Ireland were\nin a very difficult strait, but insisted \"that plain and prompt speech was\nsafest.\" It was now a case, he said to Mr. Gladstone (November 29), of\n_res ad triarios_, and it was time for the Irish clergy to speak out from\nthe housetops. He had also written to Rome. \"Did I not tell you,\" said Mr.\nGladstone when he gave me this letter to read, \"that the Pope would now\nhave one of the ten commandments on his side?\" \"We have been slow to act,\"\nDr. Walsh telegraphed to one of the Irish members (November 30), \"trusting\nthat the party will act manfully. Our considerate silence and reserve are\nbeing dishonestly misinterpreted.\" \"All sorry for Parnell,\" telegraphed\nDr. Croke, the Archbishop of Cashel--a manly and patriotic Irishman if ever\none was--\"but still, in God's name, let him retire quietly and with good\ngrace from the leadership. If he does so, the Irish party will be kept\ntogether, the honourable alliance with Gladstonian liberals maintained,\nsuccess at general election secured, home rule certain. If he does not\nretire, alliance will be dissolved, election lost, Irish party seriously\ndamaged if not wholly broken up, home rule indefinitely postponed,\ncoercion perpetuated, evicted tenants hopelessly crushed, and the public\nconscience outraged. Manifesto flat and otherwise discreditable.\" This was\nemphatic enough, but many of the flock had already committed themselves\nbefore the pastors spoke. To Dr. Croke, Mr. Gladstone wrote (Dec. 2): \"We\nin England seem to have done our part within our lines, and what remains\nis for Ireland itself. I am as unwilling as Mr. Parnell himself could be,\nto offer an interference from without, for no one stands more stoutly than\nI do for the independence of the Irish national party as well as for its\nunity.\"\n\nA couple of days later (Dec. 2) a division was taken in Room Fifteen upon\na motion made in Mr. Parnell's interest, to postpone the discussion until\nthey could ascertain the views of their constituents, and then meet in\nDublin. It was past midnight. The large room, dimly lighted by a few lamps\nand candles placed upon the horse-shoe tables, was more than half in\nshadow. Mr. Parnell, his features barely discernible in the gloom, held a\nprinted list of the party in his hand, and he put the question in cold,\nunmoved tones. The numbers were 29 for the motion--that is to say, for him,\nand 44 against him. Of the majority, many had been put on their trial with\nhim in 1880; had passed months in prison with him under the first Coercion\nAct and suffered many imprisonments besides; they had faced storm,\nobloquy, and hatred with him in the House of Commons, a place where\nobloquy stings through tougher than Hibernian skins; they had undergone\nwith him the long ordeal of the three judges; they had stood by his side\nwith unswerving fidelity from the moment when his band was first founded\nfor its mortal struggle down to to-day, when they saw the fruits of the\nstruggle flung recklessly away, and the policy that had given to it all\nits reason and its only hope, wantonly brought to utter foolishness by a\nsuicidal demonstration that no English party and no English leader could\never be trusted. If we think of even the least imaginative of them as\nhaunted by such memories of the past, such distracting fears for the\nfuture, it was little wonder that when they saw Mr. Parnell slowly casting\nup the figures, and heard his voice through the sombre room announcing the\nominous result, they all sat, both ayes and noes, in profound and painful\nstillness. Not a sound was heard, until the chairman rose and said without\nan accent of emotion that it would now be well for them to adjourn until\nthe next day.\n\nThis was only the beginning. Though the ultimate decision of the party was\nquite certain, every device of strategy and tactics was meanwhile\nresolutely employed to avert it. His supple and trenchant blade was still\nin the hands of a consummate swordsman. It is not necessary to\nrecapitulate all the moves in Mr. Parnell's grand manoeuvre for turning the\neyes of Ireland away from the question of leadership to the question of\nliberal good faith and the details of home rule. Mr. Gladstone finally\nannounced that only after the question of leadership had been disposed\nof--one belonging entirely to the competence of the Irish party--could he\nrenew former relations, and once more enter into confidential\ncommunications with any of them. There was only one guarantee, he said,\nthat could be of any (M159) value to Ireland, namely the assured and\nunalterable fact that no English leader and no party could ever dream of\neither proposing or carrying any scheme of home rule which had not the\nfull support of Irish representatives. This was obvious to all the world.\nMr. Parnell knew it well enough, and the members knew it, but the members\nwere bound to convince their countrymen that they had exhausted compliance\nwith every hint from their falling leader, while Mr. Parnell's only object\nwas to gain time, to confuse issues, and to carry the battle over from\nWestminster to the more buoyant and dangerously charged atmosphere of\nIreland.\n\nThe majority resisted as long as they could the evidence that Mr. Parnell\nwas audaciously trifling with them and openly abusing his position as\nchairman. On the evening of Friday (December 5) Mr. Sexton and Mr. Healy\nwent to Mr. Parnell after the last communication from Mr. Gladstone. They\nurged him to bend to the plain necessities of the case. He replied that he\nwould take the night to consider. The next morning (December 6) they\nreturned to him. He informed them that his responsibility to Ireland would\nnot allow him to retire. They warned him that the majority would not\nendure further obstruction beyond that day, and would withdraw. As they\nleft, Mr. Parnell wished to shake hands, \"if it is to be the last time.\"\nThey all shook hands, and then went once more to the field of action.\n\nIt was not until after some twelve days of this excitement and stress that\nthe scene approached such disorder as has often before and since been\nknown in the House of Commons. The tension at last had begun to tell upon\nthe impassive bronze of Mr. Parnell himself. He no longer made any\npretence of the neutrality of the chair. He broke in upon one speaker more\nthan forty times. In a flash of rage he snatched a paper from another\nspeaker's hand. The hours wore away, confusion only became worse\nconfounded, and the conclusion on both sides was foregone. Mr. McCarthy at\nlast rose, and in a few moderate sentences expressed his opinion that\nthere was no use in continuing a discussion that must be barren of\nanything but reproach, bitterness, and indignity, and he would therefore\nsuggest that those who were of the same mind should withdraw. Then he\nmoved from the table, and his forty-four colleagues stood up and silently\nfollowed him out of the room. In silence they were watched by the minority\nwho remained, in number twenty-six.(278)\n\n\n\nVII\n\n\nA vacancy at Bassetlaw gave Mr. Gladstone an opportunity of describing the\ngrounds on which he had acted. His speech was measured and weighty, but\nthe result showed the effect of the disaster. The tide, that a few weeks\nbefore had been running so steadily, now turned. The unionist vote\nremained almost the same as in 1885; the liberal vote showed a falling off\nof over 400 and the unionist majority was increased from 295 to 728.\n\nAbout this time having to go to Ireland, on my way back I stopped at\nHawarden, and the following note gives a glimpse of Mr. Gladstone at this\nevil moment (Dec. 17):--\n\n\n    I found him in his old corner in the \"temple of peace.\" He was\n    only half recovered from a bad cold, and looked in his worsted\n    jacket, and dark tippet over his shoulders, and with his white,\n    deep-furrowed face, like some strange Ancient of Days: so\n    different from the man whom I had seen off at King's Cross less\n    than a week before. He was cordial as always, but evidently in\n    some perturbation. I sat down and told him what I had heard from\n    different quarters about the approaching Kilkenny election. I\n    mentioned X. as a Parnellite authority. \"What,\" he flamed up with\n    passionate vehemence, \"X. a Parnellite! Are they mad, then? Are\n    they clean demented?\" etc. etc.\n\n    I gave him my general impression as to the future. The bare idea\n    that Parnell might find no inconsiderable following came upon him\n    as if it had been a thunder-clap. He listened, and catechised, and\n    knit his brow.\n\n    _Mr. G._--What do you think we should do in case (1) of a divided\n    Ireland, (2) of a Parnellite Ireland?\n\n    _J. M._--It is too soon to settle what to think. But, looking to\n    Irish interests, I think a Parnellite Ireland infinitely better\n    than a divided Ireland. Anything better than an Ireland divided,\n    so far as she is concerned.\n\n    _Mr. G._--Bassetlaw looks as if we were going back to 1886. For me\n    that is notice to quit. Another five years' agitation at my age\n    would be impossible--_ludicrous_ (with much emphasis).\n\n    _J. M._--I cannot profess to be surprised that in face of these\n    precious dissensions men should have misgivings, or that even\n    those who were with us, should now make up their minds to wait a\n    little.\n\n    I said what there was to be said for Parnell's point of view;\n    that, in his words to me of Nov. 25, he \"must look to the future\";\n    that he was only five and forty; that he might well fear that\n    factions would spring up in Ireland if he were to go; that he\n    might have made up his mind, that whether he went or stayed, we\n    should lose the general election when it came. The last notion\n    seemed quite outrageous to Mr. G., and he could not suppose that\n    it had ever entered Parnell's head.\n\n    _Mr. G._--You have no regrets at the course we took?\n\n    _J. M._--None--none. It was inevitable. I have never doubted. That\n    does not prevent lamentation that it was inevitable. It is the old\n    story. English interference is always at the root of mischief in\n    Ireland. But how could we help what we did? We had a right to\n    count on Parnell's sanity and his sincerity....\n\n    Mr. G. then got up and fished out of a drawer the memorandum of\n    his talk with Parnell at Hawarden on Dec. 18, 1889, and also a\n    memorandum written for his own use on the general political\n    position at the time of the divorce trial. The former contained\n    not a word as to the constabulary, and in other matters only put a\n    number of points, alternative courses, etc., without a single\n    final or definite decision. While he was fishing in his drawer, he\n    said, as if speaking to himself, \"It looks as if I should get my\n    release even sooner than I had expected.\"\n\n    \"That,\" I said, \"is a momentous matter which will need immense\n    deliberation.\" So it will, indeed.\n\n    _Mr. G._--Do you recall anything in history like the present\n    distracted scenes in Ireland?\n\n    _J. M._--Florence, Pisa, or some other Italian city, with the\n    French or the Emperor at the gates?\n\n    _Mr. G._--I'll tell you what is the only thing that I can think of\n    as at all like it. Do you remember how it was at the siege of\n    Jerusalem--the internecine fury of the Jewish factions, the\n    {~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER ZETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}, and the rest--while Titus and the legions were marching on\n    the city!\n\n    We went in to luncheon. Something was said of our friend ----, and\n    the new found malady, Renault's disease.\n\n    _J. M._--Joseph de Maistre says that in the innocent primitive ages\n    men died of diseases without names.\n\n    _Mr. G._--Homer never mentions diseases at all.\n\n    _J. M._--Not many of them die a natural death in Homer.\n\n    _Mr. G._--Do you not recollect where Odysseus meets his mother\n    among the shades, and she says:--\n\n    {~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PSILI AND PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} ...\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH OXIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH OXIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK KORONIS~} {~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER OMICRON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PERISPOMENI~},\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH OXIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK KORONIS~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}.(279)\n\n    _J. M._--Beautiful lines. {~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} such a tender word, and it is\n    untranslatable.\n\n    _Mr. G._--Oh, _desiderium_.\n\n    \"Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus\n    Tam cari capitis.\"(280)\n\n    _J. M._--The Scotch word \"_wearying_\" for somebody. And\n    _Sehnsucht_.\n\n    Then Mr. G. went off to his library to hunt up the reference, and\n    when I followed him, I found the worn old _Odyssey_ open at the\n    passage in the eleventh book. As he left the room, he looked at me\n    and said, \"Ah, this is very different stuff for talking about,\n    from all the wretched work we were speaking of just now. Homer's\n    fellows would have cut a very different figure, and made short\n    work in that committee room last week!\" We had a few more words on\n    politics.... So I bade him good-bye.... #/\n\n\n(M160) In view of the horrors of dissension in Ireland, well-meaning\nattempts were made at the beginning of the year to bring about an\nunderstanding. The Irish members, returning from America where the schism\nat home had quenched all enthusiasm and killed their operations, made\ntheir way to Boulogne, for the two most important among them were liable\nto instant arrest if they were found in the United Kingdom. They thought\nthat Mr. Parnell was really desirous to withdraw on such terms as would\nsave his self-respect, and if he could plead hereafter that before giving\nway he had secured a genuine scheme of home rule. Some suspicion may well\nhave arisen in their minds when a strange suggestion came from Mr. Parnell\nthat the liberal leaders should enter into a secret engagement about\nconstabulary and the other points. He had hardly given such happy evidence\nof his measure of the sanctity of political confidences, as to encourage\nfurther experiments. The proposal was absurd on the face of it. These\nsuspicions soon became certainties, and the Boulogne negotiations came to\nan end. I should conjecture that those days made the severest ordeal\nthrough which Mr. Gladstone, with his extreme sensibility and his\nabhorrence of personal contention, ever passed. Yet his facility and\nversatility of mood was unimpaired, as a casual note or two of mine may\nshow:--\n\n\n    ... Mr. G.'s confabulation [with an Irish member] proved to have\n    been sought for the purpose of warning him that Parnell was about\n    to issue a manifesto in which he would make all manner of\n    mischief. Mr. G. and I had a few moments in the room at the back\n    of the chair; he seemed considerably perturbed, pale, and\n    concentrated. We walked into the House together; he picked up the\n    points of the matter in hand (a motion for appropriating all the\n    time) and made one of the gayest, brightest, and most delightful\n    speeches in the world--the whole House enjoying it consumedly. Who\n    else could perform these magic transitions?\n\n                  -------------------------------------\n\n    Mr. G. came into the House, looking rather anxious; gave us an\n    account of his interview with the Irish deputation; and in the\n    midst of it got up to say his few sentences of condolence with the\n    Speaker on the death of Mrs. Peel--the closing phrases admirably\n    chosen, and the tones of his voice grave, sincere, sonorous, and\n    compassionate. When he sat down, he resumed his talk with H. and\n    me. He was so touched, he said, by those \"poor wretches\" on the\n    deputation, that he would fain, if he could, make some\n    announcement that would ease their unlucky position.\n\n    [A question of a letter in reply to some application prompted by\n    Mr. Parnell. Mr. Gladstone asked two of us to try our hands at a\n    draft.] At last we got it ready for him and presently we went to\n    his room. It was now six o'clock. Mr. G. read aloud in full deep\n    voice the letter he had prepared on the base of our short draft.\n    We suggested this and that, and generally argued about phrases for\n    an hour, winding up with a terrific battle on two prodigious\n    points: (1) whether he ought to say, \"after this statement of my\n    views,\" or \"I have now fully stated my views on the points you\n    raise\"; (2) \"You will _doubtless_ concur,\" or \"_probably_ concur.\"\n    Most characteristic, most amazing. It was past seven before the\n    veteran would let go--and then I must say that he looked his full\n    years. Think what his day had been, in mere intellectual strain,\n    apart from what strains him far more than that--his strife with\n    persons and his compassion for the unlucky Irishmen. I heard\n    afterwards that when he got home, he was for once in his life done\n    up, and on the following morning he lay in bed. All the same, in\n    the evening he went to see _Antony and Cleopatra_, and he had a\n    little ovation. As he drove away the crowd cheered him with cries\n    of \"Bravo, don't you mind Parnell!\" Plenty of race feeling left,\n    in spite of union of hearts!\n\n\nNo leader ever set a finer example under reverse than did Mr. Gladstone\nduring these tedious and desperate proceedings. He was steadfastly loyal,\nconsiderate, and sympathetic towards the Irishmen who had trusted him; his\nfirm patience was not for a moment worn out; in vain a boisterous wave now\nand again beat upon him from one quarter or another. Not for a moment was\nhe shaken; even under these starless skies his faith never drooped. \"The\npublic mischief,\" he wrote to Lord Acton (Dec. 27, 1890), \"ought to put\nout of view every private thought. But the blow to me is very heavy--the\nheaviest I ever have received. It is a great and high call to work by\nfaith and not by sight.\"\n\nOccasion had already offered for testing the feeling of Ireland. There was\na vacancy in the representation of Kilkenny, and the Parnellite candidate\nhad been defeated.\n\n\n    _To J. Morley._\n\n    _Hawarden, Dec. 23, 1890._--Since your letter arrived this morning,\n    the Kilkenny poll has brightened the sky. It will have a great\n    effect in Ireland, although it is said not to be a representative\n    constituency, but one too much for us. It is a great gain; and yet\n    sad enough to think that even here one-third of the voters should\n    be either rogues or fools. I suppose the ballot has largely\n    contributed to save Kilkenny. It will be most interesting to learn\n    how the tories voted.\n\n    I return your enclosure.... I have ventured, without asking your\n    leave, on keeping a copy of a part. Only in one proposition do I\n    differ from you. I would rather see Ireland disunited than see it\n    Parnellite.\n\n    I think that as the atmosphere is quiet for the moment we had\n    better give ourselves the benefit of a little further time for\n    reflection. Personally, I am hard hit. My course of life was\n    daring enough as matters stood six weeks ago. How it will shape in\n    the new situation I cannot tell. But this is the selfish part.\n    Turning for a moment to the larger outlook, I am extremely\n    indisposed to any harking back in the matter of home rule; we are\n    now, I think, freed from the enormous danger of seeing P. master\n    in Ireland; division and its consequences in diminishing force,\n    are the worst we have to fear. What my mind leans to in a way\n    still vague is to rally ourselves by some affirmative legislation\n    taken up by and on behalf of the party. Something of this kind\n    would be the best source to look to for reparative strength.\n\n    _To Lord Acton._\n\n    _Jan. 9, 1891._--To a greybeard in a hard winter the very name of\n    the south is musical, and the kind letters from you and Lord\n    Hampden make it harmony as well as melody. But I have been and am\n    chained to the spot by this Parnell business, and every day have\n    to consider in one shape or other what ought to be said by myself\n    or others.... I consider the Parnell chapter of politics finally\n    closed for us, the British liberals, at least during my time. He\n    has been even worse since the divorce court than he was in it. The\n    most astounding revelation of my lifetime.\n\n                  -------------------------------------\n\n    _To J. Morley._\n\n    _Hawarden, Dec. 30, 1890._--I must not longer delay thanking you\n    for your most kind and much valued letter on my birthday--a\n    birthday more formidable than usual, on account of the recent\n    disasters, which, however, may all come to good. If I am able to\n    effect in the world anything useful, be assured I know how much of\n    it is owed to the counsel and consort of my friends.\n\n    It is not indeed the common lot of man to make serious additions\n    to the friendships which so greatly help us in this pilgrimage,\n    after seventy-six years old; but I rejoice to think that in your\n    case it has been accomplished for me.\n\n\n\nVIII\n\n\nA few more sentences will end this chapter in Mr. Gladstone's life. As we\nhave seen, an election took place in the closing days of December 1890.\nMr. Parnell flung himself into the contest with frantic activity. A fierce\nconflict ended in the defeat of his candidate by nearly two to one.(281)\nThree months later a contest occurred in Sligo. Here again, though he had\nstrained every nerve in the interval as well as in the immediate struggle,\nhis candidate was beaten.(282) Another three months, then a third election\nat Carlow,--with the same result, the rejection of Mr. Parnell's man by a\nmajority of much more than two to one.(283) It was in vain that his\nadherents denounced those who had left him as mutineers and helots, and\nexalted him as \"truer than Tone, abler than Grattan, greater than\nO'Connell, full of love for Ireland as Thomas Davis himself.\" On the other\nside, he encountered antagonism in every key, from pathetic remonstrance\nor earnest reprobation, down to an unsparing fury that savoured (M161) of\nthe ruthless factions of the Seine. In America almost every name of\nconsideration was hostile.\n\nYet undaunted by repulse upon repulse, he tore over from England to\nIreland and back again, week after week and month after month, hoarse and\nhaggard, seamed by sombre passions, waving the shreds of a tattered flag.\nIreland must have been a hell on earth to him. To those Englishmen who\ncould not forget that they had for so long been his fellow-workers, though\nthey were now the mark of his attack, these were dark and desolating days.\nNo more lamentable chapter is to be found in all the demented scroll of\naimless and untoward things, that seem as if they made up the history of\nIreland. It was not for very long. The last speech that Mr. Parnell ever\nmade in England was at Newcastle-on-Tyne in July 1891, when he told the\nold story about the liberal leaders, of whom he said that there was but\none whom he trusted. A few weeks later, not much more than ten months\nafter the miserable act had opened, the Veiled Shadow stole upon the\nscene, and the world learned that Parnell was no more.(284)\n\n\n\n\nChapter VI. Biarritz. (1891-1892)\n\n\n    Omnium autem ineptiarum, quae sunt innumerabiles, haud sciam an\n    nulla sit major, quam, ut illi solent, quocunque in loco,\n    quoscunque inter homines visum est, de rebus aut difficillimis aut\n    non necessariis argutissime disputare.--CICERO.\n\n    Of all the numberless sorts of bad taste and want of tact, perhaps\n    the worst is to insist, no matter where you are or with whom you\n    are, on arguing about the hardest subjects to the full pitch of\n    elaboration and detail.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nWe have seen how in 1889 Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone celebrated the fiftieth\nanniversary of one of the most devoted and successful marriages that ever\nwas made, and the unbroken felicity of their home. In 1891, after the\nshadows of approaching calamity had for many months hung doubtfully over\nthem, a heavy blow fell, and their eldest son died. Not deeply concerned\nin ordinary politics, he was a man of many virtues and some admirable\ngifts; he was an accomplished musician, and I have seen letters of his to\nhis father, marked by a rare delicacy of feeling and true power of\nexpression. \"I had known him for nearly thirty years,\" one friend wrote,\n\"and there was no man, until his long illness, who had changed so little,\nor retained so long the best qualities of youth, and my first thought was\nthat the greater the loss to you, the greater would be the consolation.\"\n\nTo Archbishop Benson, Mr. Gladstone wrote (July 6):--\n\n\n    It is now forty-six years since we lost a child,(285) and he who\n    has now passed away from our eyes, leaves to us only blessed\n    recollections. I suppose all feel that those deaths which reverse\n    the order of nature have a sharpness of their own. But setting\n    this apart, there is nothing lacking to us in consolations human\n    or divine. I can only wish that I may become less unworthy to have\n    been his father.\n\n\nTo me he wrote (July 10):--\n\n\n    We feel deeply the kindness and tenderness of your letter. It\n    supplies one more link in a long chain of recollection which I\n    deeply prize. Yes, ours is a tribulation, and a sore one, but yet\n    we feel we ought to find ourselves carried out of ourselves by\n    sympathy with the wife whose noble and absorbing devotion had\n    become like an entire life of itself, and who is now face to face\n    with the void. The grief of children too, which passes, is very\n    sharp while it remains. The case has been very remarkable. Though\n    with abatement of some powers, my son has not been without many\n    among the signs and comforts of health during a period of nearly\n    two and a half years. All this time the terrible enemy was lodged\n    in the royal seat, and only his healthy and unyielding\n    constitution kept it at defiance, and maintained his mental and\n    inward life intact.... And most largely has human, as well as\n    divine compassion, flowed in upon us, from none more conspicuously\n    than from yourself, whom we hope to count among near friends for\n    the short remainder of our lives.\n\n\nTo another correspondent who did not share his own religious beliefs, he\nsaid (July 5):--\n\n\n    When I received your last kind note, I fully intended to write to\n    you with freedom on the subject of _The Agnostic Island_. But\n    since then I have been at close quarters, so to speak, with the\n    dispensations of God, for yesterday morning my dearly beloved\n    eldest son was taken from the sight of our eyes. At this moment of\n    bleeding hearts, I will only say what I hope you will in\n    consideration of the motives take without offence, namely this: I\n    would from the bottom of my heart that whenever the hour of\n    bereavement shall befall you or those whom you love, you and they\n    may enjoy the immeasurable consolation of believing, with all the\n    mind and all the heart, that the beloved one is gone into eternal\n    rest, and that those who remain behind may through the same mighty\n    Deliverer hope at their appointed time to rejoin him.\n\n    All this language on the great occasions of human life was not\n    with him the tone of convention. Whatever the synthesis, as they\n    call it,--whatever the form, whatever the creed and faith may be,\n    he was one of that high and favoured household who, in Emerson's\n    noble phrase, \"live from a great depth of being.\"\n\n\nEarlier in the year Lord Granville, who so long had been his best friend,\ndied. The loss by his death was severe. As Acton, who knew of their\nrelations well and from within, wrote to Mr. Gladstone (April 1):--\n\n\n    There was an admirable fitness in your union, and I had been able\n    to watch how it became closer and easier, in spite of so much to\n    separate you, in mental habits, in early affinities, and even in\n    the form of fundamental convictions, since he came home from your\n    budget, overwhelmed, thirty-eight years ago. I saw all the\n    connections which had their root in social habit fade before the\n    one which took its rise from public life and proved more firm and\n    more enduring than the rest.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nIn September he paid a visit to his relatives at Fasque, and thence he\nwent to Glenalmond--spots that in his tenacious memory must have awakened\nhosts of old and dear associations. On October 1, he found himself after a\nlong and busy day, at Newcastle-on-Tyne, where he had never stayed since\nhis too memorable visit in 1862.(286) Since the defeat of the Irish policy\nin 1886, he had attended the annual meeting of the chief liberal\norganisation at Nottingham (1887), Birmingham (1888), and Manchester\n(1889). This year it was the turn of Newcastle. On October 2, he gave his\nblessing to various measures that afterwards came to be known as the\nNewcastle programme. After the shock caused by the Irish quarrel, every\npolitician knew that it would be necessary to balance home rule by reforms\nexpected in England and Scotland. No liberal, whatever his particular\nshade, thought that it would be either honourable or practical to throw\nthe Irish policy overboard, and if there (M162) were any who thought such\na course honourable, they knew it would not be safe. The principle and\nexpediency of home rule had taken a much deeper root in the party than it\nsuited some of the trimming tribe later to admit. On the other hand, after\nfive years of pretty exclusive devotion to the Irish case, to pass by the\nBritish case and its various demands for an indefinite time longer, would\nhave been absurd.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nIn the eighties Mr. Gladstone grew into close friendship with one who had\nfor many years been his faithful supporter in the House of Commons as\nmember for Dundee. Nobody ever showed him devotion more considerate,\nloyal, and unselfish than did Mr. Armitstead, from about the close of the\nparliament of 1880 down to the end of this story.(287) In the middle of\nDecember 1891 Mr. Armitstead planned a foreign trip for his hero, and\npersuaded me to join. Biarritz was to be our destination, and the\nexpedition proved a wonderful success. Some notes of mine, though intended\nonly for domestic consumption, may help to bring Mr. Gladstone in his\neasiest moods before the reader's eye. No new ideas struck fire, no\nparticular contribution was made to grand themes. But a great statesman on\na holiday may be forgiven for not trying to discover brand-new keys to\nphilosophy, history, and \"all the mythologies.\" As a sketch from life of\nthe veteran's buoyancy, vigour, genial freshness of heart and brain, after\nfour-score strenuous years, these few pages may be found of interest.\n\n                  -------------------------------------\n\nWe left Paris at nine in the morning (Dec. 16), and were listening to the\nswell of the mighty Bay resounding under our windows at Biarritz soon\nafter midnight.\n\nThe long day's journey left no signs of fatigue on either Mr. or Mrs.\nGladstone, and his only regret was that we had not come straight through\ninstead of staying a night in Paris. I'm always for going straight on, he\nsaid. For some odd reason in spite of the late hour he was full of stories\nof American humour, which he told with extraordinary verve and enjoyment.\nI contributed one that amused him much, of the Bostonian who, having read\nShakespeare for the first time, observed, \"I call that a very clever book.\nNow, I don't suppose there are twenty men in Boston to-day who could have\nwritten that book!\"\n\n_Thursday, Dec. 17._--Splendid morning for making acquaintance with a new\nplace. Saw the western spur of the Pyrenees falling down to the Bidassoa\nand the first glimpse of the giant wall, beyond which, according to\nMichelet, Africa begins, and our first glimpse of Spain.\n\nAfter breakfast we all sallied forth to look into the shops and to see the\nlie of the land. Mr. G. as interested as a child in all the objects in the\nshops--many of them showing that we are not far from Spain. The consul very\npolite, showed us about, and told us the hundred trifles that bring a\nplace really into one's mind. Nothing is like a first morning's stroll in\na foreign town. By afternoon the spell dissolves, and the mood comes of\nDante's lines, \"_Era gia l'ora_,\" etc.(288)\n\nSome mention was made of Charles Austin, the famous lawyer: it brought up\nthe case of men who are suddenly torn from lives of great activity to\ncomplete idleness.\n\n_Mr. G._--I don't know how to reconcile it with what I've always regarded\nas the foundation of character--Bishop Butler's view of habit. How comes it\nthat during the hundreds of years in which priests and fellows of Eton\nCollege have retired from hard work to college livings and leisure, not\none of them has ever done anything whatever for either scholarship or\ndivinity--not one?\n\nMr. G. did not know Mazzini, but Armellini, another of the Roman\ntriumvirs, taught him Italian in 1832. (M163) I spoke a word for Gambetta,\nbut he would not have it. \"Gambetta was _autoritaire_; I do not feel as if\nhe were a true liberal in the old and best sense. I cannot forget how\nhostile he was to the movement for freedom in the Balkans.\"\n\nSaid he only once saw Lord Liverpool. He went to call on Canning at\nGlos'ter House (close to our Glos'ter Road Station), and there through a\nglass door he saw Canning and Lord Liverpool talking together.\n\n_Peel._--Had a good deal of temper; not hot; but perhaps sulky. Not a\nfarsighted man, but fairly clear-sighted. \"I called upon him after the\nelection in 1847. The Janissaries, as Bentinck called us, that is the men\nwho had stood by Peel, had been 110 before the election; we came back only\n50. Peel said to me that what he looked forward to was a long and fierce\nstruggle on behalf of protection. I must say I thought this foolish. If\nBentinck had lived, with his strong will and dogged industry, there might\nhave been a wide rally for protection, but everybody knew that Dizzy did\nnot care a straw about it, and Derby had not constancy and force enough.\"\n\nMr. G. said Disraeli's performances against Peel were quite as wonderful\nas report makes them. Peel altogether helpless in reply. Dealt with them\nwith a kind of \"righteous dulness.\" The Protectionist secession due to\nthree men: Derby contributed prestige; Bentinck backbone; and Dizzy\nparliamentary brains.\n\nThe golden age of administrative reform was from 1832 to the Crimean War;\nPeel was always keenly interested in the progress of these reforms.\n\n_Northcote._--\"He was my private secretary; and one of the very best\nimaginable; pliant, ready, diligent, quick, acute, with plenty of humour,\nand a temper simply perfect. But as a leader, I think ill of him; you had\na conversation; he saw the reason of your case; and when he left, you\nsupposed all was right. But at the second interview, you always found that\nhe had been unable to persuade his friends. What could be weaker than his\nconduct on the Bradlaugh affair! You could not wonder that the rank and\nfile of his men should be caught by the proposition that an atheist ought\nnot to sit in parliament. But what is a leader good for, if he dare not\ntell his party that in a matter like this they are wrong, and of course\nnobody knew better than N. that they were wrong. A clever, quick man with\nfine temper. By the way, how is it that we have no word, no respectable\nword, for backbone?\"\n\n_J. M._--Character?\n\n_Mr. G._--Well, character; yes; but that's vague. It means will, I suppose.\n(I ought to have thought of Novalis's well-known definition of character\nas \"a completely fashioned will.\")\n\n_J. M._--Our inferiority to the Greeks in discriminations of language shown\nby our lack of precise equivalents for {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}, etc.,\nof which we used to hear so much when coached in the _Ethics_.\n\nMr. G. went on to argue that because the Greeks drew these fine\ndistinctions in words, they were superior in conduct. \"You cannot beat the\nGreeks in noble qualities.\"\n\n_Mr. G._--I admit there is no Greek word of good credit for the virtue of\nhumility.\n\n_J. M._--{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~}? But that has an association of meanness.\n\n_Mr. G._--Yes; a shabby sort of humility. Humility as a sovereign grace is\nthe creation of Christianity.\n\n_Friday, December 18._--Brilliant sunshine, but bitterly cold; an east wind\nblowing straight from the Maritime Alps. Walking, reading, talking. Mr. G.\nafter breakfast took me into his room, where he is reading Heine, Butcher\non Greek genius, and Marbot. Thought Thiers's well-known remark on Heine's\ndeath capital,--\"To-day the wittiest Frenchman alive has died.\"\n\n_Mr. G._--We have talked about the best line in poetry, etc. How do you\nanswer this question--Which century of English history produced the\ngreatest men?\n\n_J. M._--What do you say to the sixteenth?\n\n_Mr. G._--Yes, I think so. Gardiner was a great man. Henry VIII. was great.\nBut bad. Poor Cranmer. Like Northcote, he'd no backbone. Do you remember\nJeremy Collier's sentence about his bravery at the stake, which (M164) I\ncount one of the grandest in English prose--\"He seemed to repel the force\nof the fire and to overlook the torture, by strength of thought.\"(289)\nThucydides could not beat that.\n\nThe old man twice declaimed the sentence with deep sonorous voice, and his\nusual incomparable modulation.\n\nMr. G. talked of a certain General ----. He was thought to be a first-rate\nman; neglected nothing, looked to things himself, conceived admirable\nplans, and at last got an important command. Then to the universal\nsurprise, nothing came of it; ---- they said, \"could do everything that a\ncommander should do, except say, _Quick march_.\" There are plenty of\npoliticians of that stamp, but Mr. G. decidedly not one of them. I\nmentioned a farewell dinner given to ---- in the spring, by some rich man or\nother. It cost L560 for forty-eight guests! Flowers alone L150. Mr. G. on\nthis enormity, recalled a dinner to Talfourd about copyright at the old\nClarendon Hotel in Bond Street, and the price was L2, 17s. 6d. a head. The\nold East India Company used to give dinners at a cost of seven guineas a\nhead. He has a wonderfully lively interest for these matters, and his\ncuriosity as to the prices of things in the shop-windows is inexhaustible.\nWe got round to Goethe. Goethe, he said, never gave prominence to duty.\n\n_J. M._--Surely, surely in that fine psalm of life, _Das Goettliche_?\n\n_Mr. G._--Doellinger used to confront me with the _Iphigenie_ as a great\ndrama of duty.\n\nHe wished that I had known Doellinger--\"a man thoroughly from beginning to\nend of his life _purged of self_.\" Mistook the nature of the Irish\nquestions, from the erroneous view that Irish Catholicism is ultramontane,\nwhich it certainly is not.\n\n_Saturday, Dec. 19._--\n\nWhat is extraordinary is that all Mr. G.'s versatility, buoyancy, and the\nrest goes with the most profound accuracy and intense concentration when\nany point of public business is raised. Something was said of the salaries\nof bishops. He was ready in an instant with every figure and detail, and\nevery circumstance of the history of the foundation of the Ecclesiastical\nCommission in 1835-6. Then his _savoir faire_ and wisdom of parliamentary\nconduct. \"I always made it a rule in the H. of C. to allow nobody to\nsuppose that I did not like him, and to say as little as I could to\nprevent anybody from liking me. Considering the intense friction and\ncontention of public life, it is a saving of wear and tear that as many as\npossible even among opponents should think well of one.\"\n\n_Sunday, Dec. 20._--At table, a little discussion as to the happiness and\nmisery of animal creation. Outside of man Mr. G. argued against Tennyson's\ndescription of Nature as red in tooth and claw. Apart from man, he said,\nand the action of man, sentient beings are happy and not miserable. But\nFear? we said. No; they are unaware of impending doom; when hawk or kite\npounces on its prey, the small bird has little or no apprehension; 'tis\ndeath, but death by appointed and unforeseen lot.\n\n_J. M._--There is Hunger. Is not the probability that most creatures are\nalways hungry, not excepting Man?\n\nTo this he rather assented. Of course optimism like this is indispensable\nas the basis of natural theology.\n\nTalked to Mr. G. about Michelet's Tableau de la France, which I had just\nfinished in vol. 2 of the history. A brilliant tour de force, but strains\nthe relations of soil to character; compels words and facts to be the\nslaves of his phantasy; the modicum of reality overlaid with violent\nparadox and foregone conclusion. Mr. G. not very much interested--seems\nonly to care for political and church history.\n\n_Monday, Dec. 31._--Mr. G. did not appear at table to-day, suffering from a\nsurfeit of wild strawberries the day before. But he dined in his dressing\ngown, and I had some chat with him in his room after lunch.\n\n_Mr. G._--\"'Tis a hard law of political things that if a man shows special\ncompetence in a department, that is the very thing most likely to keep him\nthere, and prevent his promotion.\"\n\n(M165) _Mr. G._--I consider Burke a tripartite man: America, France,\nIreland--right as to two, wrong in one.\n\n_J. M._--Must you not add home affairs and India? His _Thoughts on the\nDiscontents_ is a masterpiece of civil wisdom, and the right defence in a\ngreat constitutional struggle. Then he gave fourteen years of industry to\nWarren Hastings, and teaching England the rights of the natives, princes\nand people, and her own duties. So he was right in four out of five.\n\n_Mr. G._--Yes, yes--quite true. Those two ought to be added to my three.\nThere is a saying of Burke's from which I must utterly dissent. \"Property\nis sluggish and inert.\" Quite the contrary. Property is vigilant, active,\nsleepless; if ever it seems to slumber, be sure that one eye is open.\n\n_Marie Antoinette._ I once read the three volumes of letters from Mercy\nd'Argenteau to Maria Theresa. He seems to have performed the duty imposed\nupon him with fidelity.\n\n_J. M._--Don't you think the Empress comes out well in the correspondence?\n\n_Mr. G._--Yes, she shows always judgment and sagacity.\n\n_J. M._--Ah, but besides sagacity, worth and as much integrity as those\nslippery times allowed.\n\n_Mr. G._--Yes (but rather reluctantly, I thought). As for Marie Antoinette,\nshe was not a striking character in any senses she was horribly frivolous;\nand, I suppose, we must say she was, what shall I call it--a very\nconsiderable flirt?\n\n_J. M._--The only case with real foundation seems to be that of the _beau\nFersen_, the Swedish secretary. He too came to as tragic an end as the\nQueen.\n\n_Tuesday, Dec. 22._--Mr. G. still somewhat indisposed--but reading away all\nday long. Full of Marbot. Delighted with the story of the battle of\nCastiglione: how when Napoleon held a council of war, and they all said\nthey were hemmed in, and that their only chance was to back out, Augereau\nroughly cried that they might all do what they liked, but he would attack\nthe enemy cost what it might. \"Exactly like a place in the _Iliad_; when\nAgamemnon and the rest sit sorrowful in the assembly arguing that it was\nuseless to withstand the sovereign will of Zeus, and that they had better\nflee into their ships, Diomed bursts out that whatever others think, in\nany event he and Sthenelus, his squire, will hold firm, and never desist\nfrom the onslaught until they have laid waste the walls of Troy.\"(290) A\nlarge dose of Diomed in Mr. G. himself.\n\nTalk about the dangerous isolation in which the monarchy will find itself\nin England if the hereditary principle goes down in the House of Lords;\n\"it will stand bare, naked, with no shelter or shield, only endured as the\nbetter of two evils.\" \"I once asked,\" he said, \"who besides myself in the\nparty cares for the hereditary principle? The answer was, That perhaps ----\ncared for it!!\"--naming a member of the party supposed to be rather sapient\nthan sage.\n\nNews in the paper that the Comte de Paris in his discouragement was about\nto renounce his claims, and break up his party. Somehow this brought us\nround to Tocqueville, of whom Mr. G. spoke as the nearest French approach\nto Burke.\n\n_J. M._--But pale and without passion. Who was it that said of him that he\nwas an aristocrat who accepted his defeat? That is, he knew democracy to\nbe the conqueror, but he doubted how far it would be an improvement, he\nsaw its perils, etc.\n\n_Mr. G._--I have not much faith in these estimates, whether in favour of\nprogress or against it. I don't believe in comparisons of age with age.\nHow can a man strike a balance between one government and another? How can\nhe place himself in such an attitude, and with such comprehensive sureness\nof vision, as to say that the thirteenth century was better or higher or\nworse or lower than the nineteenth?\n\n_Thursday, Dec. 24._--At lunch we had the news of the Parnellite victory at\nWaterford. A disagreeable reverse for us. Mr. G. did not say many words\nabout it, only that it would give heart to the mischief makers--only too\ncertain. But we said no more about it. He and I took a walk on the sands\nin the afternoon, and had a curious talk (considering), about the\nprospects of the church of England. He was (M166) anxious to know about my\ntalk some time ago with the Bishop of ---- whom I had met at a feast at\nLincoln's Inn. I gave him as good an account as I could of what had\npassed. Mr. G. doubted that this prelate was fundamentally an Erastian, as\nTait was. Mr. G. is eager to read the signs of the times as to the\nprospects of Anglican Christianity, to which his heart is given; and he\nfears the peril of Erastianism to the spiritual life of the church, which\nis naturally the only thing worth caring about. Hence, he talked with much\ninterest of the question whether the clever fellows at Oxford and\nCambridge now take orders. He wants to know what kind of defenders his\nchurch is likely to have in days to come. Said that for the first time\ninterest has moved away both from politics and theology, towards the vague\nsomething which they call social reform; and he thinks they won't make\nmuch out of that in the way of permanent results. The establishment he\nconsiders safer than it has been for a long time.\n\nAs to Welsh disestablishment, he said it was a pity that where the\nnational sentiment was so unanimous as it was in Wales, the operation\nitself should not be as simple as in Scotland. In Scotland sentiment is\nnot unanimous, but the operation is easy. In Wales sentiment is all one\nway, but the operation difficult--a good deal more difficult than people\nsuppose, as they will find out when they come to tackle it.\n\n[Perhaps it may be mentioned here that, though we always talked freely and\nabundantly together upon ecclesiastical affairs and persons, we never once\nexchanged a word upon theology or religious creed, either at Biarritz or\nanywhere else.]\n\n_Pitt._--A strong denunciation of Pitt for the French war. People don't\nrealise what the French war meant. In 1812 wheat at Liverpool was 20s. (?)\nthe imperial bushel of 65 pounds (?)! Think of that, when you bring it\ninto figures of the cost of a loaf. And that was the time when Eaton,\nEastnor, and other great palaces were built by the landlords out of the\nhigh rents which the war and war prices enabled them to exact.\n\nWished we knew more of Melbourne. He was in many ways a very fine fellow.\n\"In two of the most important of all the relations of a prime minister, he\nwas perfect; I mean first, his relations to the Queen, second to his\ncolleagues.\"\n\nSomebody at dinner quoted a capital description of the perverse fashion of\ntalking that prevailed at Oxford soon after my time, and prevails there\nnow, I fancy--\"hunting for epigrammatic ways of saying what you don't\nthink.\" ---- was the father of this pestilent mode.\n\nRather puzzled him by repeating a saying of mine that used to amuse\nFitzjames Stephen, that Love of Truth is more often than we think only a\nfine name for Temper. I think Mr. G. has a thorough dislike for anything\nthat has a cynical or sardonic flavour about it. I wish I had thought, by\nthe way, of asking him what he had to say of that piece of Swift's, about\nall objects being insipid that do not come by delusion, and everything\nbeing shrunken as it appears in the glass of nature, so that if it were\nnot for artificial mediums, refracted angles, false lights, varnish and\ntinsel, there would be pretty much of a level in the felicity of mortal\nman.\n\nAm always feeling how strong is his aversion to seeing more than he can\nhelp of what is sordid, mean, ignoble. He has not been in public life all\nthese years without rubbing shoulders with plenty of baseness on every\nscale, and plenty of pettiness in every hue, but he has always kept his\neyes well above it. Never was a man more wholly free of the starch of the\ncensor, more ready to make allowance, nor more indulgent even; he enters\ninto human nature in all its compass. But he won't linger a minute longer\nthan he must in the dingy places of life and character.\n\n_Christmas Day, 1891._--A divine day, brilliant sunshine, and mild spring\nair. Mr. G. heard what he called an admirable sermon from an English\npreacher, \"with a great command of his art.\" A quietish day, Mr. G. no\ndoubt engaged in {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH DASIA AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}.\n\n_Saturday, Dec. 26._--Once more a noble day. We started in a couple of\ncarriages for the Negress station, a couple of miles away or more, I with\nthe G.'s. Occasion produced the Greek epitaph of the nameless drowned\nsailor (M167) who wished for others kinder seas.(291) Mr. G. felt its\npathos and its noble charm--so direct and simple, such benignity, such a\ngood lesson to men to forget their own misdeeds and mischance, and to pray\nfor the passer-by a happier star. He repaid me by two epigrams of a\ndifferent vein, and one admirable translation into Greek, of Tennyson on\nSir John Franklin, which I do not carry in my mind; another on a\nboisterous Eton fellow--\n\n\n    Didactic, dry, declamatory, dull,\n    The bursar ---- bellows like a bull.\n\n\nJust in the tone of Greek epigram, a sort of point, but not too much\npoint.\n\n_Parliamentary Wit._--Thought Disraeli had never been surpassed, nor even\nequalled, in this line. He had a contest with General Grey, who stood upon\nthe general merits of the whig government, after both Lord Grey and\nStanley had left it. D. drew a picture of a circus man who advertised his\nshow with its incomparable team of six grey horses. One died, he replaced\nit by a mule. Another died, and he put in a donkey, still he went on\nadvertising his team of greys all the same. Canning's wit not to be found\nconspicuously in his speeches, but highly agreeable pleasantries, though\nmany of them in a vein which would jar horribly on modern taste.\n\nSome English redcoats and a pack of hounds passed us as we neared the\nstation. They saluted Mr. G. with a politeness that astonished him, but\nwas pleasant. Took the train for Irun, the fields and mountain <DW72>s\ndelightful in the sun, and the sea on our right a superb blue such as we\nnever see in English waters. At Irun we found carriages waiting to take us\non to Fuentarabia. From the balcony of the church had a beautiful view\nover the scene of Wellington's operations when he crossed the Bidassoa, in\nthe presence of the astonished Soult. A lovely picture, made none the\nworse by this excellent historic association. The alcalde was extremely\npolite and intelligent. The consul who was with us showed a board on the\nold tower, in which _v_ in some words was _b_, and I noted that the\nalcalde spoke of Viarritz. I reminded Mr. G. of Scaliger's epigram--\n\n\n    Haud temere antiquas mutat Vasconia voces,\n    Cui nihil est alind vivere quam bibere.\n\n\nPretty cold driving home, but Mr. G. seemed not to care. He found both the\nchurches at St. Jean and at Fuentarabia very noteworthy, though the latter\nvery popish, but both, he felt, \"had a certain association with grandeur.\"\n\n_Sunday, Dec. 27._--After some quarter of an hour of travellers' topics, we\nplunged into one of the most interesting talks we have yet had. _Apropos_\nof I do not know what, Mr. G. said that he had not advised his son to\nenter public life. \"No doubt there are some men to whom station, wealth,\nand family traditions make it a duty. But I have never advised any\nindividual, as to whom I have been consulted, to enter the H. of C.\"\n\n_J. M._--But isn't that rather to encourage self-indulgence? Nobody who\ncares for ease or mental composure would seek public life?\n\n_Mr. G._--Ah, I don't know that. Surely politics open up a great field for\nthe natural man. Self-seeking, pride, domination, power--all these passions\nare gratified in politics.\n\n_J. M._--You cannot be sure of achievement in politics, whether personal or\npublic?\n\n_Mr. G._--No; to use Bacon's pregnant phrase, they are too immersed in\nmatter. Then as new matter, that is, new details and particulars, come\ninto view, men change their judgment.\n\n_J. M._--You have spoken just now of somebody as a thorough good tory. You\nknow the saying that nobody is worth much who has not been a bit of a\nradical in his youth, and a bit of a tory in his fuller age.\n\n_Mr. G._ (laughing)--Ah, I'm afraid that hits me rather hard. But for\nmyself, I think I can truly put up all the change that has come into my\npolitics into a sentence; I (M168) was brought up to distrust and dislike\nliberty, I learned to believe in it. That is the key to all my changes.\n\n_J. M._--According to my observation, the change in my own generation is\ndifferent. They have ceased either to trust or to distrust liberty, and\nhave come to the mind that it matters little either way. Men are\ndisenchanted. They have got what they wanted in the days of their youth,\nyet what of it, they ask? France has thrown off the Empire, but the\nstatesmen of the republic are not a great breed. Italy has gained her\nunity, yet unity has not been followed by thrift, wisdom, or large\nincrease of public virtue or happiness. America has purged herself of\nslavery, yet life in America is material, prosaic,--so say some of her own\nrarest sons. Don't think that I say all these things. But I know able and\nhigh-minded men who suffer from this disenchantment.\n\n_Mr. G._--Italy would have been very different if Cavour had only lived--and\neven Ricasoli. Men ought not to suffer from disenchantment. They ought to\nknow that _ideals in politics are never realised_. And don't let us forget\nin eastern Europe the rescue in our time of some ten millions of men from\nthe harrowing domination of the Turk. (On this he expatiated, and very\njustly, with much energy.)\n\nWe turned to our own country. Here he insisted that democracy had\ncertainly not saved us from a distinct decline in the standard of public\nmen.... Look at the whole conduct of opposition from '80 to '85--every\nprinciple was flung overboard, if they could manufacture a combination\nagainst the government. For all this deterioration one man and one man\nalone is responsible, Disraeli. He is the grand corrupter. He it was who\nsowed the seed.\n\n_J. M._--Ought not Palmerston to bear some share in this?\n\n_Mr. G._--No, no; Pam. had many strong and liberal convictions. On one\nsubject Dizzy had them too--the Jews. There he was much more than rational,\nhe was fanatical. He said once that Providence would deal good or ill\nfortune to nations, according as they dealt well or ill by the Jews. I\nremember once sitting next to John Russell when D. was making a speech on\nJewish emancipation. \"Look at him,\" said J. R., \"how manfully he sticks to\nit, tho' he knows that every word he says is gall and wormwood to every\nman who sits around him and behind him.\" A curious irony, was it not, that\nit should have fallen to me to propose a motion for a memorial both to\nPam. and Dizzy?\n\nA superb scene upon the ocean, with a grand wind from the west. Mr. G. and\nI walked on the shore; he has a passion for tumultuous seas. I have never\nseen such huge masses of water shattering themselves among the rocks.\n\nIn the evening Mr. G. remarked on our debt to Macaulay, for guarding the\npurity of the English tongue. I recalled a favourite passage from Milton,\nthat next to the man who gives wise and intrepid counsels of government,\nhe places the man who cares for the purity of his mother tongue. Mr. G.\nliked this. Said he only knew Bright once slip into an error in this\nrespect, when he used \"transpire\" for \"happen.\" Macaulay of good example\nalso in rigorously abstaining from the inclusion of matter in footnotes.\nHallam an offender in this respect. I pointed out that he offended in\ncompany with Gibbon.\n\n_Monday, Dec. 28._--We had an animated hour at breakfast.\n\n_Oxford and Cambridge._--Curious how, like two buckets, whenever one was\nup, the other was down. Cambridge has never produced four such men of\naction in successive ages as Wolsey, Laud, Wesley, and Newman.\n\n_J. M._--In the region of thought Cambridge has produced the greatest of\nall names, Newton.\n\n_Mr. G._--In the earlier times Oxford has it--with Wycliff, Occam, above all\nRoger Bacon. And then in the eighteenth century, Butler.\n\n_J. M._--But why not Locke, too, in the century before?\n\nThis brought on a tremendous tussle, for Mr. G. was of the same mind, and\nperhaps for the same sort of reason, as Joseph de Maistre, that contempt\nfor Locke is the beginning of knowledge. All very well for De Maistre, but\nnot for a man in line with European liberalism. I pressed the very obvious\npoint that you must take into account not only a man's intellectual\nproduct or his general stature, but also (M169) his influence as a\nhistoric force. From the point of view of influence Locke was the origin\nof the emancipatory movement of the eighteenth century abroad, and laid\nthe philosophic foundations of liberalism in civil government at home. Mr.\nG. insisted on a passage of Hume's which he believed to be in the history,\ndisparaging Locke as a metaphysical thinker.(292) \"That may be,\" said I,\n\"though Hume in his _Essays_ is not above paying many compliments to 'the\ngreat reasoner,' etc., to whom, for that matter, I fancy that he stood in\npretty direct relation. But far be it from me to deny that Hume saw deeper\nthan Locke into the metaphysical millstone. That is not the point. I'm\nonly thinking of his historic place, and, after all, the history of\nphilosophy is itself a philosophy.\" To minds nursed in dogmatic schools,\nall this is both unpalatable and incredible.\n\nSomehow we slid into the freedom of the will and Jonathan Edwards. I told\nhim that Mill had often told us how Edwards argued the necessarian or\ndeterminist case as keenly as any modern.\n\n_Tuesday, Dec. 29._--Mr. G. 82 to-day. I gave him Mackail's Greek Epigrams,\nand if it affords him half as much pleasure as it has given me, he will be\nvery grateful. Various people brought Mr. G. bouquets and addresses. Mr.\nG. went to church in the morning, and in the afternoon took a walk with\nme.... _Land Question._ As you go through France you see the soil\ncultivated by the population. In our little dash into Spain the other day,\nwe saw again the soil cultivated by the population. In England it is\ncultivated by the capitalist, for the farmer is capitalist. Some\nastonishing views recently propounded by D. of Argyll on this matter.\nUnearned increment--so terribly difficult to catch it. Perhaps best try to\nget at it through the death duties. Physical condition of our\npeople--always a subject of great anxiety--their stature, colour, and so on.\nFeared the atmosphere of cotton factories, etc., very deleterious. As\nagainst bad air, I said, you must set good food; the Lancashire operative\nin decent times lives uncommonly well, as he deserves to do. He agreed\nthere might be something in this.\n\nThe day was humid and muggy, but the tumult of the sea was most majestic.\nMr. G. delighted in it. He has a passion for the sound of the sea; would\nlike to have it in his ear all day and all night. Again and again he\nrecurred to this.\n\nAfter dinner, long talk about Mazzini, of whom Mr. G. thought poorly in\ncomparison with Poerio and the others who for freedom sacrificed their\nlives. I stood up for Mazzini, as one of the most morally impressive men I\nhad ever known, or that his age knew; he breathed a soul into democracy.\n\nThen we fell into a discussion as to the eastern and western churches. He\nthought the western popes by their proffered alliance with the mahometans,\netc., had betrayed Christianity in the east. I offered De Maistre's view.\n\nMr. G. strongly assented to old Chatham's dictum that vacancy is worse\nthan even the most anxious work. He has less to reproach himself with than\nmost men under that head.\n\nHe repeated an observation that I have heard him make before, that he\nthought politicians are more _rapid_ than other people. I told him that\nBowen once said to me on this that he did not agree; that he thought\nrapidity the mark of all successful men in the practical line of life,\nmerchants and stockbrokers, etc.\n\n_Wednesday, Dec. 30._--A very muggy day. A divine sunset, with the\nloveliest pink and opal tints in the sky. Mr. G. reading Gleig's\n_Subaltern_. Not a very entertaining book in itself, but the incidents\nbelong to Wellington's Pyrenean campaign, and, for my own part, I rather\nenjoyed it on the principle on which one likes reading _Romola_ at\nFlorence, _Transformation_ at Rome, _Sylvia's Lovers_ at Whitby, and\n_Hurrish_ on the northern edge of Clare.\n\n_Thursday, Dec. 31._--Down to the pier, and found all the party watching\nthe breakers, and superb they were. Mr. G. exulting in the huge force of\nthe Atlantic swell and the beat of the rollers on the shore, like a\nTitanic pulse.\n\nAfter dinner Mr. G. raised the question of payment of members. He had been\nasked by somebody whether he meant at Newcastle to indicate that everybody\nshould be paid, or only those who chose to take it or to ask (M170) for\nit. He produced the same extraordinary plan as he had described to me on\nthe morning of his Newcastle speech--_i.e._ that the Inland Revenue should\nascertain from their own books the income of every M.P., and if they found\nany below the limit of exemption, should notify the same to the Speaker,\nand the Speaker should thereupon send to the said M.P. below the limit an\nannual cheque for, say, L300, the name to appear in an annual return to\nParliament of all the M.P.'s in receipt of public money on any grounds\nwhatever. I demurred to this altogether, as drawing an invidious\ndistinction between paid and unpaid members; said it was idle to ignore\nthe theory on which the demand for paid members is based, namely, that it\nis desirable in the public interest that poor men should have access to\nthe H. of C.; and that the poor man should stand there on the same footing\nas anybody else.\n\n_Friday, Jan. 1, 1892._--After breakfast Mrs. Gladstone came to my room and\nsaid how glad she was that I had not scrupled to put unpleasant points;\nthat Mr. G. must not be shielded and sheltered as some great people are,\nwho hear all the pleasant things and none of the unpleasant; that the\nperturbation from what is disagreeable only lasts an hour. I said I hoped\nthat I was faithful with him, but of course I could not be always putting\nmyself in an attitude of perpetual controversy. She said, \"He is never\nmade angry by what you say.\" And so she went away, and ---- and I had a good\nand most useful set-to about Irish finance.\n\nAt luncheon Mr. G. asked what we had made out of our morning's work. When\nwe told him he showed a good deal of impatience and vehemence, and, to my\ndismay, he came upon union finance and the general subject of the\ntreatment of Ireland by England....\n\nIn the afternoon we took a walk, he and I, afterwards joined by the rest.\nHe was as delighted as ever with the swell of the waves, as they bounded\nover one another, with every variety of grace and tumultuous power. He\nwondered if we had not more and better words for the sea than the\nFrench--\"breaker,\" \"billow,\" \"roller,\" as against \"flot,\" \"vague,\" \"onde,\"\n\"lame,\" etc.\n\nAt dinner he asked me whether I had made up my mind on the burning\nquestion of compulsory Greek for a university degree. I said, No, that as\nthen advised I was half inclined to be against compulsory Greek, but it is\nso important that I would not decide before I was obliged. \"So with me,\"\nhe said, \"the question is one with many subtle and deep-reaching\nconsequences.\" He dwelt on the folly of striking Italian out of the course\nof modern education, thus cutting European history in two, and setting an\nartificial gulf between the ancient and modern worlds.\n\n_Saturday, Jan. 2._--Superb morning, and all the better for being much\ncooler. At breakfast somebody started the idle topic of quill pens. When\nthey came to the length of time that so-and-so made a quill serve, \"De\nRetz,\" said I, \"made up his mind that Cardinal Chigi was a poor creature,\n_maximus in minimis_, because at their first interview Chigi boasted that\nhe had used one pen for three years.\" That recalled another saying of\nRetz's about Cromwell's famous dictum, that nobody goes so far as the man\nwho does not know where he is going. Mr. G. gave his deep and eager Ah! to\nthis. He could not recall that Cromwell had produced many dicta of such\nquality. \"I don't love him, but he was a mighty big fellow. But he was\nintolerant. He was intolerant of the episcopalians.\"\n\n_Mr. G._--Do you know whom I find the most tolerant churchman of that time?\n_Laud!_ Laud got Davenant made Bishop of Salisbury, and he zealously\nbefriended Chillingworth and Hales. (There was some other case, which I\nforget.)\n\n_The execution of Charles._--I told him of Gardiner's new volume which I\nhad just been reading. \"Charles,\" he said, \"was no doubt a dreadful liar;\nCromwell perhaps did not always tell the truth; Elizabeth was a tremendous\nliar.\"\n\n_J. M._--Charles was not wholly inexcusable, being what he was, for\nthinking that he had a good game in his hands, by playing off the\nparliament against the army, etc.\n\n_Mr. G._--There was less excuse for cutting off his head than in the case\nof poor Louis XVI., for Louis was the excuse for foreign invasion.\n\n(M171) _J. M._--Could you call foreign invasion the intervention of the\nScotch?\n\n_Mr. G._--Well, not quite. I suppose it is certain that it was Cromwell who\ncut off Charles's head? Not one in a hundred in the nation desired it.\n\n_J. M._--No, nor one in twenty in the parliament. But then, ninety-nine in\na hundred in the army.\n\nIn the afternoon we all drove towards Bayonne to watch the ships struggle\nover the bar at high water. As it happened we only saw one pass out, a\ncountryman for Cardiff. A string of others were waiting to go, but a\nlittle steamer from Nantes came first, and having secured her station,\nfound she had not force enough to make the bar, and the others remained\nswearing impatiently behind her. The Nantes steamer was like Ireland. The\nscene was very fresh and fine, and the cold most exhilarating after the\nmugginess of the last two or three days. Mr. G., who has a dizzy head, did\nnot venture on the jetty, but watched things from the sands. He and I\ndrove home together, at a good pace. \"I am inclined,\" he said laughingly,\n\"to agree with Dr. Johnson that there is no pleasure greater than sitting\nbehind four fast-going horses.\"(293) Talking of Johnson generally, \"I\nsuppose we may take him as the best product of the eighteenth century.\"\nPerhaps so, but is he its most characteristic product?\n\n_Wellington._--Curious that there should be no general estimate of W.'s\ncharacter; his character not merely as a general but as a man. No love of\nfreedom. His sense of duty very strong, but military rather than civil.\n\n_Montalembert._--Had often come into contact with him. A very amiable and\nattractive man. But less remarkable than Rio.\n\n_Latin Poets._--Would you place Virgil first?\n\n_J. M._--Oh, no, Lucretius much the first for the greatest and sublimest of\npoetic qualities. Mr. G. seemed to assent to this, though disposed to make\na fight for the second _Aeneid_ as equal to anything. He expressed his\nadmiration for Catullus, and then he was strong that Horace would run\nanybody else very hard, breaking out with the lines about Regulus--\n\n\n    \"Atqui sciebat quae sibi barbarus\n    Tortor pararet;\" etc.(294)\n\n\n_Blunders in Government._--How right Napoleon was when he said, reflecting\non all the vast complexities of government, that the best to be said of a\nstatesman is that he has avoided the biggest blunders.\n\nIt is not easy to define the charm of these conversations. Is charm the\nright word? They are in the highest degree stimulating, bracing, widening.\nThat is certain. I return to my room with the sensations of a man who has\ntaken delightful exercise in fresh air. He is so wholly free from the\n_ergoteur_. There's all the difference between the _ergoteur_ and the\ngreat debater. He fits his tone to the thing; he can be as playful as\nanybody. In truth I have many a time seen him in London and at Hawarden\nnot far from trivial. But here at Biarritz all is appropriate, and though,\nas I say, he can be playful and gay as youth, he cannot resist rising in\nan instant to the general point of view--to grasp the elemental\nconsiderations of character, history, belief, conduct, affairs. There he\nis at home, there he is most himself. I never knew anybody less guilty of\nthe tiresome sin of arguing for victory. It is not his knowledge that\nattracts; it is not his ethical tests and standards; it is not that\ndialectical strength of arm which, as Mark Pattison said of him, could\ntwist a bar of iron to its purpose. It is the combination of these with\nelevation, with true sincerity, with extraordinary mental force.\n\n_Sunday, Jan. 3._--Vauvenargues is right when he says that to carry through\ngreat undertakings, one must act as though one could never die. My\nwonderful companion is a wonderful illustration. He is like M. Angelo,\nwho, just before he died on the very edge of ninety, made an allegorical\nfigure, and inscribed upon it, _ancora impara_, \"still learning.\"\n\nAt dinner he showed in full force.\n\n(M172) _Heroes of the Old Testament._--He could not honestly say that he\nthought there was any figure in the O. T. comparable to the heroes of\nHomer. Moses was a fine fellow. But the others were of secondary\nquality--not great high personages, of commanding nature.\n\n_Thinkers._--Rather an absurd word--to call a man a thinker (and he repeated\nthe word with gay mockery in his tone). When did it come into use? Not\nuntil quite our own times, eh? I said, I believed both Hobbes and Locke\nspoke of thinkers, and was pretty sure that _penseur_, as in _libre\npenseur_, had established itself in the last century. [Quite true;\nVoltaire used it, but it was not common.]\n\n_Dr. Arnold._--A high, large, impressive figure--perhaps more important by\nhis character and personality than his actual work. I mentioned M. A.'s\npoem on his father, _Rugby Chapel_, with admiration. Rather to my\nsurprise, Mr. G. knew the poem well, and shared my admiration to the full.\nThis brought us on to poetry generally, and he expatiated with much\neloquence and sincerity for the rest of the talk. The wonderful continuity\nof fine poetry in England for five whole centuries, stretching from\nChaucer to Tennyson, always a proof to his mind of the soundness, the sap,\nand the vitality of our nation and its character. What people, beginning\nwith such a poet as Chaucer 500 years ago, could have burst forth into\nsuch astonishing production of poetry as marked the first quarter of the\ncentury, Byron, Wordsworth, Shelley, etc.\n\n_J. M._--It is true that Germany has nothing, save Goethe, Schiller, Heine,\nthat's her whole list. But I should say a word for the poetic movement in\nFrance: Hugo, Gautier, etc. Mr. G. evidently knew but little, or even\nnothing, of modern French poetry. He spoke up for Leopardi, on whom he had\nwritten an article first introducing him to the British public, ever so\nmany years ago--in the _Quarterly_.\n\n_Mr. G._--Wordsworth used occasionally to dine with me when I lived in the\nAlbany. A most agreeable man. I always found him amiable, polite, and\nsympathetic. Only once did he jar upon me, when he spoke slightingly of\nTennyson's first performance.\n\n_J. M._--But he was not so wrong as he would be now. Tennyson's Juvenilia\nare terribly artificial.\n\n_Mr. G._--Yes, perhaps. Tennyson has himself withdrawn some of them. I\nremember W., when he dined with me, used on leaving to change his silk\nstockings in the anteroom and put on grey worsted.\n\n_J. M._--I once said to M. Arnold that I'd rather have been Wordsworth than\nanybody [not exactly a modest ambition]; and Arnold, who knew him well in\nthe Grasmere country, said, \"Oh no, you would not; you would wish you were\ndining with me at the Athenaeum. He was too much of the peasant for you.\"\n\n_Mr. G._--No, I never felt that; I always thought him a polite and an\namiable man.\n\nMentioned Macaulay's strange judgment in a note in the _History_, that\nDryden's famous lines,\n\n\n    \"... Fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit;\n    Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay.\n    To-morrow's falser than the former day;\n    Lies worse, and while it says we shall be blest\n    With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.\n    Strange cozenage!...\"\n\n\nare as fine as any eight lines in Lucretius. Told him of an excellent\nremark of ---- on this, that Dryden's passage wholly lacks the mystery and\ngreat superhuman air of Lucretius. Mr. G. warmly agreed.\n\nHe regards it as a remarkable sign of the closeness of the church of\nEngland to the roots of life and feeling in the country, that so many\nclergymen should have written so much good poetry. Who, for instance? I\nasked. He named Heber, Moultrie, Newman (_Dream of Gerontius_), and Faber\nin at least one good poem, \"The poor Labourer\" (or some such title),\nCharles Tennyson. I doubt if this thesis has much body in it. He was for\nShelley as the most musical of all our poets. I told him that I had once\nasked M. to get Tennyson to write an autograph line for a friend of mine,\nand Tennyson had sent this:--\n\n\n    \"Coldly on the dead volcano sleeps the gleam of dying day.\"\n\n\nSo I suppose the poet must think well of it himself. 'Tis (M173) from the\nsecond _Locksley Hall_, and describes a man after passions have gone cool.\n\n_Mr. G._--Yes, in melody, in the picturesque, and as apt simile, a fine\nline.\n\nHad been trying his hand at a translation of his favourite lines of\nPenelope about Odysseus. Said that, of course, you could translate similes\nand set passages, but to translate Homer as a whole, impossible. He was\ninclined, when all is said, to think Scott the nearest approach to a\nmodel.\n\n_Monday, Jan. 4._--At luncheon, Mr. Gladstone recalled the well-known story\nof Talleyrand on the death of Napoleon. The news was brought when T.\nchanced to be dining with Wellington. \"Quel evenement!\" they all cried.\n\"Non, ce n'est pas un evenement,\" said Talleyrand, \"c'est une\nnouvelle\"--'Tis no event, 'tis a piece of news. \"Imagine such a way,\" said\nMr. G., \"of taking the disappearance of that colossal man! Compare it with\nthe opening of Manzoni's ode, which makes the whole earth stand still. Yet\nboth points of view are right. In one sense, the giant's death was only\nnews; in another, when we think of his history, it was enough to shake the\nworld.\" At the moment, he could not recall Manzoni's words, but at dinner\nhe told me that he had succeeded in piecing them together, and after\ndinner he went to his room and wrote them down for me on a piece of paper.\nCuriously enough, he could not recall the passage in his own splendid\ntranslation.(295)\n\nTalk about handsome men of the past; Sidney Herbert one of the handsomest\nand most attractive. But the Duke of Hamilton bore away the palm, as\nglorious as a Greek god. \"One day in Rotten Row, I said this to the\nDuchess of C. She set up James Hope-Scott against my Duke. No doubt he had\nan intellectual element which the Duke lacked.\" Then we discussed the\nbest-looking man in the H. of C. to-day....\n\n_Duke of Wellington._--Somebody was expatiating on the incomparable\nposition of the Duke; his popularity with kings, with nobles, with common\npeople. Mr. G. remembered that immediately after the formation of\nCanning's government in 1827, when it was generally thought that he had\nbeen most unfairly and factiously treated (as Mr. G. still thinks, always\nsaving Peel) by the Duke and his friends, the Duke made an expedition to\nthe north of England, and had an overwhelming reception. Of course, he was\nthen only twelve years from Waterloo, and yet only four or five years\nlater he had to put up his iron shutters.\n\nApproved a remark that a friend of ours was not simple enough, not ready\nenough to take things as they come.\n\n_Mr. G._--Unless a man has a considerable gift for taking things as they\ncome, he may make up his mind that political life will be sheer torment to\nhim. He must meet fortune in all its moods.\n\n_Tuesday, Jan. 5._--After dinner to-day, Mr. G. extraordinarily gay. He had\nbought a present of silver for his wife. She tried to guess the price, and\nafter the manner of wives in such a case, put the figure provokingly low.\nMr. G. then put on the deprecating air of the tradesman with wounded\nfeelings--and it was as capital fun as we could desire. That over, he fell\nto his backgammon with our host.\n\n_Wednesday, Jan. 6._--Mrs. Gladstone eighty to-day! What a marvel....\n\nLeon Say called to see Mr. G. Long and most interesting conversation about\nall sorts of aspects of French politics, the concordat, the schools, and\nall the rest of it.\n\nHe illustrated the ignorance of French peasantry as to current affairs.\nThiers, long after he had become famous, went on a visit to his native\nregion; and there met a friend of his youth. \"Eh bien,\" said his friend,\n\"tu as fait ton chemin.\" \"Mais oui, j'ai fait un peu mon chemin. J'ai ete\nministre meme.\" \"Ah, tiens! je ne savais pas que tu etais protestant.\"\n\nI am constantly struck by his solicitude for the well-being and right\ndoing of Oxford and Cambridge--\"the two eyes of the country.\" This\nconnection between the higher education and the general movement of the\nnational mind engages his profound attention, and no doubt deserves such\nattention (M174) in any statesman who looks beyond the mere surface\nproblems of the day. To perceive the bearings of such matters as these,\nmakes Mr. G. a statesman of the highest class, as distinguished from men\nof clever expedients.\n\nMr. G. had been reading the Greek epigrams on religion in Mackail; quoted\nthe last of them as illustrating the description of the dead as the\ninhabitants of the more populous world:--\n\n\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ZETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK KORONIS~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH DASIA AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH DASIA AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER XI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}.(296)\n\n\nA more impressive epigram contains the same thought, where the old man,\nleaning on his staff, likens himself to the withered vine on its dry pole,\nand goes on to ask himself what advantage it would be to warm himself for\nthree or four more years in the sun; and on that reflection without\nheroics put off his life, and changed his home to the greater company,\n\n\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH PSILI AND PERISPOMENI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}.\n\n\nAll the rest of the evening he kept us alive by a stock of infinite\ndrolleries. A scene of a dish of over-boiled tea at West Calder after a\nmeeting, would have made the fortune of a comedian.\n\nI said that in the all-important quality of co-operation, ---- was only good\non condition of being in front. Mr. G. read him in the same sense.\nReminded of a mare he once had--admirable, provided you kept off spur,\ncurb, or whip; show her one of these things, and she would do nothing. Mr.\nG. more of a judge of men than is commonly thought.\n\nTold us of a Chinese despatch which came under his notice when he was at\nthe board of trade, and gave him food for reflection. A ship laden with\ngrain came to Canton. The administrator wrote to the central government at\nPekin to know whether the ship was to pay duty and land its cargo. The\nanswer was to the effect that the central government of the Flowery Land\nwas quite indifferent as a rule to the goings and comings of the\nBarbarians; whether they brought a cargo or brought no cargo was a thing\nof supreme unconcern. \"But this cargo, you say, is food for the people.\nThere ought to be no obstacle to the entry of food for the people. So let\nit in. Your Younger Brother commends himself to you, etc. etc.\"\n\n_Friday, Jan. 8._--A quiet evening. We were all rather piano at the end of\nan episode which had been thoroughly delightful. When Mr. G. bade me\ngood-night, he said with real feeling, \"More sorry than I can say that\nthis is our last evening together at Biarritz.\" He is painfully grieved to\nlose the sound of the sea in his ears.\n\n_Saturday, Jan. 9._--Strolled about all the forenoon. \"What a time of\nblessed composure it has been,\" said Mr. G. with a heavy sigh. The distant\nhills covered with snow, and the voice of the storm gradually swelling.\nStill the savage fury of the sea was yet some hours off, so we had to\nleave Biarritz without the spectacle of Atlantic rage at its fiercest.\n\nFound comfortable saloon awaiting us at Bayonne, and so under weeping\nskies we made our way to Pau. The landscape must be pretty, weather\npermitting. As it was, we saw but little. Mr. G. dozed and read Max\nMueller's book on Anthropological Religions.\n\nArrived at Pau towards 5.30; drenching rain: nothing to be seen.\n\nAt tea time, a good little discussion raised by a protest against Dante\nbeing praised for a complete survey of human nature and the many phases of\nhuman lot. Intensity he has, but insight over the whole field of character\nand life? Mr. G. did not make any stand against this, and made the curious\nadmission that Dante was too optimist to be placed on a level with\nShakespeare, or even with Homer.\n\nThen we turned to lighter themes. He had once said to Henry Taylor, \"I\nshould have thought he was the sort of man to have a good strong grasp of\na subject,\" speaking of Lord Grey, who had been one of Taylor's many\nchiefs at the Colonial Office. \"I should have thought,\" replied Taylor\nslowly and with a dreamy look, \"he was the sort of man to have a good\nstrong _nip_ of a subject.\" Witty, and very applicable to many men.\n\nWordsworth once gave Mr. G. with much complacency, as an example of his\nown readiness and resource, this story. A man came up to him at Rydal and\nsaid, \"Do you happen to have seen my wife.\" \"Why,\" replied the Sage, \"I\ndid not know you had a wife!\" This peculiarly modest attempt at pointed\nrepartee much tickled Mr. G., as well it might.\n\n_Tuesday, Jan. 12._--Mr. G. completely recovered from two days of\nindisposition. We had about an hour's talk on things in general, including\npolicy in the approaching session. He did not expect a dissolution, at the\nsame time a dissolution would not surprise him.\n\nAt noon they started for Perigord and Carcassonne, Nismes, Arles, and so\non to the Riviera full of kind things at our parting.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VII. The Fourth Administration. (1892-1894)\n\n\n    {~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH PERISPOMENI AND YPOGEGRAMMENI~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK KORONIS~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH DASIA AND PERISPOMENI~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH DASIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH DASIA AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER PHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}\n    {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMEGA WITH YPOGEGRAMMENI~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH YPOGEGRAMMENI~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}.\n\n    _Iliad_, i. 250.\n\n    Two generations of mortal men had he already seen pass away, who\n    with him of old had been born and bred in sacred Pylos, and among\n    the third generation he held rule.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nIn 1892 the general election came, after a session that was not very long\nnor at all remarkable. Everybody knew that we should soon be dismissed,\nand everybody knew that the liberals would have a majority, but the size\nof it was beyond prognostication. Mr. Gladstone did not talk much about\nit, but in fact he reckoned on winning by eighty or a hundred. A leading\nliberal-unionist at whose table we met (May 24) gave us forty. That\nafternoon by the way the House had heard a speech of great power and\nsplendour. An Irish tory peer in the gallery said afterwards, \"That old\nhero of yours is a miracle. When he set off in that high pitch, I said\nthat won't last. Yet he kept it up all through as grand as ever, and came\nin fresher and stronger than when he began.\" His sight failed him in\nreading an extract, and he asked me to read it for him, so he sat down\namid sympathetic cheers while it was read out from the box.\n\nAfter listening to a strong and undaunted reply from Mr. Balfour, he asked\nme to go with him into the tea-room; he was fresh, unperturbed, and in\nhigh spirits. He told me he had once sat at table with Lord Melbourne, but\nregretted that he had never known him. Said that of the sixty men or so\nwho had been his colleagues in cabinet, the (M175) very easiest and most\nattractive was Clarendon. Constantly regretted that he had never met nor\nknown Sir Walter Scott, as of course he might have done. Thought the\neffect of diplomacy to be bad on the character; to train yourself to\npractise the airs of genial friendship towards men from whom you are doing\nyour best to hide yourself, and out of whom you are striving to worm that\nwhich they wish to conceal. Said that he was often asked for advice by\nyoung men as to objects of study. He bade them study and ponder, first,\nthe history and working of freedom in America; second, the history of\nabsolutism in France from Louis XIV. to the Revolution. It was suggested\nthat if the great thing with the young is to attract them to fine types of\ncharacter, the Huguenots had some grave, free, heroic figures, and in the\neighteenth century Turgot was the one inspiring example: when Mill was in\nlow spirits, he restored himself by Condorcet's life of Turgot. This\nreminded him that Canning had once praised Turgot in the House of Commons,\nthough most likely nobody but himself knew anything at all about Turgot.\nTalking of the great centuries, the thirteenth, and the sixteenth, and the\nseventeenth, Mr. Gladstone let drop what for him seems the remarkable\njudgment that \"Man as a type has not improved since those great times; he\nis not so big, so grand, so heroic as he has been.\" This, the reader will\nagree, demands a good deal of consideration.\n\nThen he began to talk about offices, in view of what were now pretty\nobvious possibilities. After discussing more important people, he asked\nwhether, after a recent conversation, I had thought more of my own office,\nand I told him that I fancied like Regulus I had better go back to the\nIrish department. \"Yes,\" he answered with a flash of his eye, \"I think so.\nThe truth is that we're both chained to the oar; I am chained to the oar;\nyou are chained.\"\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThe electoral period, when it arrived, he passed once more at Dalmeny. In\na conversation the morning after I was allowed to join him there, he\nseemed already to have a grand majority of three figures, to have kissed\nhands, and to be installed in Downing Street. This confidence was\nindispensable to him. At the end of his talk he went up to prepare some\nnotes for the speech that he was to make in the afternoon at Glasgow. Just\nbefore the carriage came to take him to the train, I heard him calling\nfrom the library. In I went, and found him hurriedly thumbing the leaves\nof a Horace. \"Tell me,\" he cried, \"can you put your finger on the passage\nabout Castor and Pollux? I've just thought of something; Castor and Pollux\nwill finish my speech at Glasgow.\" \"Isn't it in the Third Book?\" said I.\n\"No, no; I'm pretty sure it is in the First Book\"--busily turning over the\npages. \"Ah, here it is,\" and then he read out the noble lines with\nanimated modulation, shut the book with a bang, and rushed off exultant to\nthe carriage. This became one of the finest of his perorations.(297) His\ndelivery of it that afternoon, they said, was most majestic--the picture of\nthe wreck, and then the calm that gradually brought down the towering\nbillows to the surface of the deep, entrancing the audience like magic.\n\nThen came a depressing week. The polls flowed in, all day long, day after\nday. The illusory hopes of many months faded into night. The three-figure\nmajority by the end of the week had vanished so completely, that one\nwondered how it could ever have been thought of. On July 13 his own\nMidlothian poll was declared, and instead of his old majority of 4000, or\nthe 3000 on which he counted, he was only in by 690. His chagrin was\nundoubtedly intense, for he had put forth every atom of his strength in\nthe campaign. But with that splendid suppression of vexation which is one\nof the good lessons that men learn in public life, he put a brave face on\nit, was perfectly cheery all through the luncheon, and afterwards took me\nto the music-room, where instead of constructing a triumphant cabinet with\na majority of a hundred, he had to try to adjust an Irish policy to a\nparliament with hardly a majority at all. These topics exhausted, with a\ncuriously quiet gravity of tone he told me (M176) that cataract had formed\nover one eye, that its sight was gone, and that in the other eye he was\ninfested with a white speck. \"One white speck,\" he said, almost laughing,\n\"I can do with, but if the one becomes many, it will be a bad business.\nThey tell me that perhaps the fresh air of Braemar will do me good.\" To\nBraemar the ever loyal Mr. Armitstead piloted them, in company with Lord\nActon of whose society Mr. Gladstone could never have too much.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nIt has sometimes been made a matter of blame by friends no less than foes,\nthat he should have undertaken the task of government, depending on a\nmajority not large enough to coerce the House of Lords. One or two short\nobservations on this would seem to be enough. How could he refuse to try\nto work his Irish policy through parliament, after the bulk of the Irish\nmembers had quitted their own leader four years before in absolute\nreliance on the sincerity and good faith of Mr. Gladstone and his party?\nAfter all the confidence that Ireland had shown in him at the end of 1890,\nhow could he in honour throw up the attempt that had been the only object\nof his public life since 1886? To do this would have been to justify\nindeed the embittered warnings of Mr. Parnell in his most reckless hour.\nHow could either refusal of office or the postponement of an Irish bill\nafter taking office, be made intelligible in Ireland itself? Again, the\npath of honour in Ireland was equally the path of honour and of safety in\nGreat Britain. Were British liberals, who had given him a majority, partly\nfrom disgust at Irish coercion, partly from faith that he could produce a\nworking plan of Irish government, and partly from hopes of reforms of\ntheir own--were they to learn that their leaders could do nothing for any\nof their special objects?\n\nMr. Gladstone found some consolation in a precedent. In 1835, he argued,\n\"the Melbourne government came in with a British minority, swelled into a\nmajority hardly touching thirty by the O'Connell contingent of forty. And\nthey staid in for six years and a half, the longest lived government since\nLord Liverpool's.(298) But the Irish were under the command of a master;\nand Ireland, scarcely beginning her political life, had to be content with\nsmall mercies. Lastly, that government was rather slack, and on this\nground perhaps could not well be taken as a pattern.\" In the present case,\nthe attitude of the Parnellite group who continued the schism that began\nin the events of the winter of 1890, was not likely to prove a grave\ndifficulty in parliament, and in fact it did not. The mischief here was in\nthe effect of Irish feuds upon public opinion in the country. As Mr.\nGladstone put it in the course of a letter that he had occasion to write\nto me (November 26, 1892):--\n\n\n    Until the schism arose, we had every prospect of a majority\n    approaching those of 1868 and 1880. With the death of Mr. Parnell\n    it was supposed that it must perforce close. But this expectation\n    has been disappointed. The existence and working of it have to no\n    small extent puzzled and bewildered the English people. They\n    cannot comprehend how a quarrel, to them utterly unintelligible\n    (some even think it discreditable), should be allowed to divide\n    the host in the face of the enemy; and their unity and zeal have\n    been deadened in proportion. Herein we see the main cause why our\n    majority is not more than double what it actually numbers, and the\n    difference between these two scales of majority represents, as I\n    apprehend, the difference between power to carry the bill as the\n    Church and Land bills were carried into law, and the default of\n    such power. The main mischief has already been done; but it\n    receives additional confirmation with the lapse of every week or\n    month.\n\n\nIn forming his fourth administration Mr. Gladstone found one or two\nobstacles on which he had not reckoned, and perhaps could not have been\nexpected to reckon. By that forbearance of which he was a master, they\nwere in good time surmounted. New men, of a promise soon amply fulfilled,\nwere taken in, including, to Mr. Gladstone's own particular satisfaction,\nthe son of the oldest (M177) of all the surviving friends of his youth,\nSir Thomas Acland.(299)\n\nMr. Gladstone remained as head of the government for a year and a few\nmonths (Aug. 1892 to March 3, 1894). In that time several decisions of\npith and moment were taken, one measure of high importance became law,\noperations began against the Welsh establishment, but far the most\nconspicuous biographic element of this short period was his own\nincomparable display of power of every kind in carrying the new bill for\nthe better government of Ireland through the House of Commons.\n\nIn foreign affairs it was impossible that he should forget the case of\nEgypt. Lord Salisbury in 1887 had pressed forward an arrangement by which\nthe British occupation was under definite conditions and at a definite\ndate to come to an end. If this convention had been accepted by the\nSultan, the British troops would probably have been home by the time of\nthe change of government in this country. French diplomacy, however, at\nConstantinople, working as it might seem against its own professed aims,\nhindered the ratification of the convention, and Lord Salisbury's policy\nwas frustrated. Negotiations did not entirely drop, and they had not\npassed out of existence when Lord Salisbury resigned. In the autumn of\n1892 the French ambassador addressed a friendly inquiry to the new\ngovernment as to the reception likely to be given to overtures for\nre-opening the negotiations. The answer was that if France had suggestions\nto offer, they would be received in the same friendly spirit in which they\nwere tendered. When any communications were received, Mr. Gladstone said\nin the House of Commons, there would be no indisposition on our part to\nextend to them our friendly consideration. Of all this nothing came. A\nrather serious ministerial crisis in Egypt in January 1893, followed by a\nministerial crisis in Paris in April, arrested whatever projects of\nnegotiation France may have entertained.(300)\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nIn December (1892), at Hawarden, Mr. Gladstone said to me one day after we\nhad been working for five or six hours at the heads of the new Home Rule\nbill, that his general health was good and sound, but his sight and his\nhearing were so rapidly declining, that he thought he might almost any day\nhave to retire from office. It was no moment for banal deprecation. He sat\nsilently pondering this vision in his own mind, of coming fate. It seemed\nlike Tennyson's famous simile--\n\n\n    So dark a forethought rolled about his brain,\n    As on a dull day in an ocean cave\n    The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall\n    In silence.\n\n\nIt would have been preternatural if he had shown the same overwhelming\ninterest that had animated him when the Irish policy was fresh in 1886.\nYet the instinct of a strong mind and the lifelong habit of ardent\nindustry carried him through his Sisyphean toil. The routine business of\nhead of a government he attended to, with all his usual assiduity, and in\ncabinet he was clear, careful, methodical, as always.\n\nThe preparation of the bill was carefully and elaborately worked by Mr.\nGladstone through an excellent committee (M178) of the cabinet.(301) Here\nhe was acute, adroit, patient, full of device, expedient, and the art of\nconstruction; now and then vehement and bearing down like a three-decker\nupon craft of more modest tonnage. But the vehemence was rare, and here as\neverywhere else he was eager to do justice to all the points and arguments\nof other people. He sought opportunities of deliberation in order to\ndeliberate, and not under that excellent name to cultivate the art of the\nharangue, or to overwork secondary points, least of all to treat the many\nas made for one. That is to say, he went into counsel for the sake of\ncounsel, and not to cajole, or bully, or insist on his own way because it\nwas his own way. In the high article of finance, he would wrestle like a\ntiger. It was an intricate and difficult business by the necessity of the\ncase, and among the aggravations of it was the discovery at one point that\na wrong figure had been furnished to him by some department. He declared\nthis truly heinous crime to be without a precedent in his huge experience.\n\nThe crucial difficulty was the Irish representation at Westminster. In the\nfirst bill of 1886, the Irish members were to come no more to the imperial\nparliament, except for one or two special purposes. The two alternatives\nto the policy of exclusion were either inclusion of the Irish members for\nall purposes, or else their inclusion for imperial purposes only. In his\nspeech at Swansea in 1887, Mr. Gladstone favoured provisional inclusion,\nwithout prejudice to a return to the earlier plan of exclusion if that\nshould be recommended by subsequent experience.(302) In the bill now\nintroduced (Feb. 13, 1893), eighty representatives from Ireland were to\nhave seats at Westminster, but they were not to vote upon motions or bills\nexpressly confined to England or Scotland, and there were other\nlimitations. This plan was soon found to be wholly intolerable to the\nHouse of Commons. Exclusion having failed, and inclusion of reduced\nnumbers for limited purposes having failed, the only course left open was\nwhat was called _omnes omnia_, or rather the inclusion of eighty Irish\nmembers, with power of voting on all purposes.\n\nEach of the three courses was open to at least one single, but very\ndirect, objection. Exclusion, along with the exaction of revenue from\nIreland by the parliament at Westminster, was taxation without\nrepresentation. Inclusion for all purposes was to allow the Irish to\nmeddle in our affairs, while we were no longer to meddle in theirs.\nInclusion for limited purposes still left them invested with the power of\nturning out a British government by a vote against it on an imperial\nquestion. Each plan, therefore, ended in a paradox. There was a fourth\nparadox, namely, that whenever the British supporters of a government did\nnot suffice to build up a decisive majority, then the Irish vote\ndescending into one or other scale of the parliamentary balance might\ndecide who should be our rulers. This paradox--the most glaring of them\nall--habit and custom have made familiar, and familiarity might almost seem\nto have actually endeared it to us. In 1893 Mr. Gladstone and his\ncolleagues thought themselves compelled to change clause 9 of the new\nbill, just as they had thought themselves forced to drop clause 24 of the\nold bill.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nIt was Mr. Gladstone's performances in the days of committee on the bill,\nthat stirred the wonder and admiration of the House. If he had been fifty\nthey would have been astonishing; at eighty-four they were indeed a\nmarvel. He made speeches of powerful argument, of high constitutional\nreasoning, of trenchant debating force. No emergency arose for which he\nwas not ready, no demand that his versatility was not adequate to meet.\nHis energy never flagged. When the bill came on, he would put on his\nglasses, pick up the paper of amendments, and running through them like\nlightning, would say, \"Of course, that's absurd--that will never do--we can\nnever accept that--is there any harm in this?\" Too many concessions made on\nthe spur of the (M179) moment to the unionists stirred resentment in the\nnationalists, and once or twice they exploded. These rapid splendours of\nhis had their perils. I pointed out to him the pretty obvious drawbacks of\nsettling delicate questions as we went along with no chance of sounding\nthe Irishmen, and asked him to spare me quarter of an hour before\nluncheon, when the draftsman and I, having threshed out the amendments of\nthe day, could put the bare points for his consideration. He was horrified\nat the very thought. \"Out of the question. Do you want to kill me? I must\nhave the whole of the morning for general government business. Don't ask\nme.\"(303)\n\nObstruction was freely practised and without remorse. The chief fighting\ndebater against the government made a long second-reading speech, on the\nmotion that the clause stand part of the bill. A little before eight\no'clock when the fighting debater was winding up, Mr. Gladstone was\nundecided about speaking. \"What do you advise?\" he asked of a friend. \"I\nam afraid it will take too much out of you,\" the friend replied; \"but\nstill, speak for twenty minutes and no more.\" Up he rose, and for half an\nhour a delighted House was treated to one of the most remarkable\nperformances that ever was known. \"I have never seen Mr. Gladstone,\" says\none observer, \"so dramatic, so prolific of all the resources of the\nactor's art. The courage, the audacity, and the melodrama of it were\nirresistible\" (May 11).\n\n\n    For ten minutes, writes another chronicler, Mr. Gladstone spoke,\n    holding his audience spell-bound by his force. Then came a sudden\n    change, and it seemed that he was about to collapse from sheer\n    physical exhaustion. His voice failed, huskiness and\n    indistinctness took the place of clearness and lucidity. Then\n    pulling himself together for a great effort, Mr. Gladstone\n    pointing the deprecatory finger at Mr. Chamberlain, warned the\n    Irishmen to beware of him; to watch the fowler who would inveigle\n    them in his snare. Loud and long rang the liberal cheers. In plain\n    words he told the unionists that Mr. Chamberlain's purpose was\n    none other than obstruction, and he conveyed the intimation with a\n    delicate expressiveness, a superabundant good feeling, a dramatic\n    action and a marvellous music of voice that conspired in their\n    various qualities to produce a _tour de force_. By sheer strength\n    of enthusiasm and an overflowing wealth of eloquence, Mr.\n    Gladstone literally conquered every physical weakness and secured\n    an effect electric in its influence even on seasoned \"old hands.\"\n    Amidst high excitement and the sound of cheering that promised\n    never to die away the House gradually melted into the lobbies. Mr.\n    Gladstone, exhausted with his effort, chatted to Mr. Morley on the\n    treasury bench. Except for these two the government side was\n    deserted, and the conservatives had already disappeared. The\n    nationalists sat shoulder to shoulder, a solid phalanx. They eyed\n    the prime minister with eager intent, and as soon as the venerable\n    statesman rose to walk out of the House, they sprang to their feet\n    and rent the air with wild hurrahs.\n\n\nNo wonder if the talk downstairs at dinner among his colleagues that\nnight, all turned upon their chief, his art and power, his union of the\nhighest qualities of brain and heart with extraordinary practical\npenetration, and close watchfulness of incident and trait and personality,\ndisclosed in many a racy aside and pungent sally. The orator was fatigued,\nbut full of keen enjoyment. This was one of the three or four occasions\nwhen he was induced not to return to the House after dinner. It had always\nbeen his habit in taking charge of bills to work the ship himself. No\nwonder that he held to this habit in this case.\n\nOn another occasion ministers had taken ground that, as the debate went\non, everybody saw they could not hold. An official spokesman for the bill\nhad expressed an opinion, or intention, that, as very speedily appeared,\nIrish opposition would not allow to be maintained. There was no great\nsubstance in the point, but even a small dose of humiliation will make a\nparliamentary dish as bitter to one side as it is savoury to the other.\nThe opposition grew more and more radiant, as it grew more certain that\nthe official spokesman (M180) must be thrown over. The discomfiture of the\nministerialists at the prospect of the public mortification of their\nleaders was extreme in the same degree. \"I suppose we must give it up,\"\nsaid Mr. Gladstone. This was clear; and when he rose, he was greeted with\nmocking cheers from the enemy, though the enemy's chief men who had long\nexperience of his Protean resources were less confident. Beginning in a\ntone of easy gravity and candour, he went on to points of pleasant banter,\ngot his audience interested and amused and a little bewildered; carried\nmen with him in graceful arguments on the merits; and finally, with\nbye-play of consummate sport, showed in triumph that the concession that\nwe consented to make was so right and natural, that it must have been\ninevitable from the very first. Never were tables more effectively turned;\nthe opposition watched first with amazement, then with excitement and\ndelight as children watch a wizard; and he sat down victorious. Not\nanother word was said or could be said. \"Never in all my parliamentary\nyears,\" said a powerful veteran on the front bench opposite, as he passed\nbehind the Speaker's chair, \"never have I seen so wonderful a thing done\nas that.\"\n\nThe state of the county of Clare was a godsend to the obstructive. Clare\nwas not at that moment quite as innocent as the garden of Eden before the\nfall, but the condition was not serious; it had been twenty times worse\nbefore without occupying the House of Commons five minutes. Now an evening\na week was not thought too much for a hollow debate on disorder in Clare.\nIt was described as a definite matter of urgent importance, though it had\nslept for years, and though three times in succession the judge of assize\n(travelling entirely out of his proper business) had denounced the state\nof things. It was made to support five votes of censure in eight weeks.\n\nOn one of these votes of censure on Irish administration, moved by Mr.\nBalfour (March 27), Mr. Gladstone listened to the debate. At 8 we begged\nhim not to stay and not to take the trouble to speak, so trumpery was the\nwhole affair. He said he must, if only for five minutes, to show that he\nidentified himself with his Irish minister. He left to dine, and then\nbefore ten was on his feet, making what Lord Randolph Churchill rightly\ncalled \"a most impressive and entrancing speech.\" He talked of Pat this\nand Michael that, and Father the other, as if he had pondered their cases\nfor a month, clenching every point with extraordinary strength as well as\nconsummate ease and grace, and winding up with some phrases of wonderful\nsimplicity and concentration.\n\nA distinguished member made a motion for the exclusion of Irish cabinet\nministers from their chamber. Mr. Gladstone was reminded on the bench just\nbefore he rose, that the same proposal had been inserted in the Act of\nSettlement, and repealed in 1705. He wove this into his speech with a\nskill, and amplified confidence, that must have made everybody suppose\nthat it was a historic fact present every day to his mind. The attention\nof a law-officer sitting by was called to this rapid amplification. \"I\nnever saw anything like it in all my whole life,\" said the law-officer;\nand he was a man who had been accustomed to deal with some of the\nstrongest and quickest minds of the day as judges and advocates.\n\nOne day when a tremendous afternoon of obstruction had almost worn him\ndown, the adjournment came at seven o'clock. He was haggard and depressed.\nOn returning at ten we found him making a most lively and amusing speech\nupon procedure. He sat down as blithe as dawn. \"To make a speech of that\nsort,\" he said in deprecation of compliment, \"a man does best to dine out;\n'tis no use to lie on a sofa and think about it.\"\n\nUndoubtedly Mr. Gladstone's method in this long committee carried with it\nsome disadvantages. His discursive treatment exposed an enormous surface.\nHis abundance of illustration multiplied points for debate. His fertility\nin improvised arguments encouraged improvisation in disputants without the\ngift. Mr. Gladstone always supposed that a great theme needs to be\ncopiously handled, which is perhaps doubtful, and indeed is often an exact\ninversion of the true state of things. However that may be, copiousness is\na game at which two can play, as a patriotic opposition now and at other\ntimes has effectually disclosed. Some thought in these days that a man\nlike Lord Althorp, for (M181) instance, would have given the obstructives\nmuch more trouble in their pursuits than did Mr. Gladstone.\n\nThat Mr. Gladstone's supporters should become restive at the slow motion\nof business was natural enough. They came to ministers, calling out for a\ndrastic closure, as simple tribes might clamour to a rain-maker. It was\nthe end of June, and with a reasonable opposition conducted in decent good\nfaith, it was computed that the bill might be through committee in\nnineteen days. But the hypothesis of reason and good faith was not thought\nto be substantial, and the cabinet resolved on resort to closure on a\nscale like that on which it had been used by the late government in the\ncase of the Crimes Act of 1887, and of the Special Commission. It has been\nsaid since on excellent authority, that without speaking of their good\nfaith, Mr. Gladstone's principal opponents were now running absolutely\nshort of new ammunition, and having used the same arguments and made the\nsame speeches for so many weeks, they were so worn out that the guillotine\nwas superfluous. Of these straits, however, there was little evidence. Mr.\nGladstone entered into the operation with a good deal of chagrin. He saw\nthat the House of Commons in which he did his work and rose to glory was\nswiftly fading out of sight, and a new institution of different habits of\nresponsibility and practice taking its place.\n\nThe stage of committee lasted for sixty-three sittings. The whole\nproceedings occupied eighty-two. It is not necessary to hold that the time\nwas too long for the size of the task, if it had been well spent. The\nspirit of the debate was aptly illustrated by the plea of a brilliant\ntory, that he voted for a certain motion against a principle that he\napproved, because he thought the carrying of the motion \"would make the\nbill more detestable.\" Opposition rested on a view of Irish character and\nIrish feeling about England, that can hardly have been very deeply thought\nout, because ten years later the most bitter opponents of the Irish claim\nlaunched a policy, that was to make Irish peasants direct debtors to the\nhated England to the tune of one hundred million pounds, and was to\ndislodge by imperial cash those who were persistently called the only\nfriends of the imperial connection. The bill passed its second reading by\n347 against 304, or a majority of 43. In some critical divisions, the\nmajority ran down to 27. The third reading was carried by 301 against 267,\nor a majority of 34. It was estimated that excluding the Irish, there was\na majority against the bill of 23. If we counted England and Wales alone,\nthe adverse majority was 48. When it reached them, the Lords incontinently\nthrew it out. The roll of the Lords held 560 names, beyond the peers of\nthe royal house. Of this body of 560, no fewer than 419 voted against the\nbill, and only 41 voted for it.\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nThe session was protracted until it became the longest in the history of\nparliament. The House was sitting when Mr. Gladstone's eighty-fourth\nbirthday arrived. \"Before putting a question,\" said Mr. Balfour in a tone\nthat, after the heat and exasperations of so many months, was refreshing\nto hear, \"perhaps the right honourable gentleman will allow me, on my own\npart and on that of my friends, to offer him our most sincere\ncongratulations.\" \"Allow me to thank him,\" said Mr. Gladstone, \"for his\ngreat courtesy and kindness.\" The government pressed forward and carried\nthrough the House of Commons a measure dealing with the liability of\nemployers for accidents, and a more important measure setting up elective\nbodies for certain purposes in parishes. Into the first the Lords\nintroduced such changes as were taken to nullify all the advantages of the\nbill, and the cabinet approved of its abandonment. Into the second they\nforced back certain provisions that the Commons had with full deliberation\ndecisively rejected.\n\nMr. Gladstone was at Biarritz, he records, when this happened in January\nof 1894. He had gone there to recruit after the incomparable exertions of\nthe session, and also to consider at a cool distance and in changed scenes\nother topics that had for some weeks caused him some agitation. He now\nthought that there was a decisive case against the House of Lords. Apart\nfrom the Irish bill to which the (M182) Commons had given eighty-two days,\nthe Lords had maimed the bill for parish councils, to which had gone the\nlabour of forty-one days. Other bills they had mutilated or defeated. Upon\nthe whole, he argued, it was not too much to say that for practical\npurposes the Lords had destroyed the work of the House of Commons,\nunexampled as that work was in the time and pains bestowed upon it. \"I\nsuggested dissolution to my colleagues in London, where half, or more than\nhalf, the cabinet were found at the moment. I received by telegraph a\nhopelessly adverse reply.\" Reluctantly he let the idea drop, always\nmaintaining, however, that a signal opportunity had been lost. Even in my\nlast conversation with him in 1897, he held to his text that we ought to\nhave dissolved at this moment. The case, he said, was clear, thorough, and\ncomplete. As has been already mentioned, there were four occasions on\nwhich he believed that he had divined the right moment for a searching\nappeal to public opinion on a great question.(304) The renewal of the\nincome tax in 1853 was the first; the proposal of religious equality for\nIreland in 1868 was the second; home rule was the third, and here he was\njustified by the astonishing and real progress that he had made up to the\ncatastrophe at the end of 1890. The fourth case was this, of a dissolution\nupon the question of the relations of the two Houses.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VIII. Retirement From Public Life. (1894)\n\n\n    O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden\n    Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.\n\n    _Henry VIII._ iii. 2.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\n\"Politics,\" wrote Mr. Gladstone in one of his private memoranda in March\n1894, \"are like a labyrinth, from the inner intricacies of which it is\neven more difficult to find the way of escape, than it was to find the way\ninto them. My age did something but not enough. The deterioration of my\nhearing helped, but insufficiently. It is the state of my sight which has\nsupplied me with effectual aid in exchanging my imperious public\nobligations for what seems to be a free place on 'the breezy common of\nhumanity.' And it has only been within the last eight months, or\nthereabouts, that the decay of working sight has advanced at such a pace\nas to present the likelihood of its becoming stringently operative at an\nearly date. It would have been very difficult to fix that date at this or\nthat precise point, without the appearance of making an arbitrary choice;\nbut then the closing of the parliamentary session (1893-4) offered a\nnatural break between the cessation and renewal of engagements, which was\nadmirably suited to the design. And yet I think it, if not certain, yet\nvery highly probable at the least, that any disposition of mine to profit\nby this break would--but for the naval scheme of my colleagues in the naval\nestimates--have been frustrated by their desire to avoid the inconveniences\nof a change, and by the pressure which they would have brought to bear\nupon me in consequence. The effect of that scheme was not to bring about\nthe construction of an artificial cause, or pretext rather, of\nresignation, but to compel me to act upon one that was rational,\nsufficient, and ready to hand.\"\n\nThis is the short, plain, and intelligible truth as to what now happened.\nThere can be no reason to-day for not stating what was for a long time\nmatter of common surmise, if not of common knowledge, that Mr. Gladstone\ndid not regard the naval estimates, opened but not settled in December\n1893, as justified by the circumstances of the time. He made a speech that\nmonth in parliament in reply to a motion from the front bench opposite,\nand there he took a position undoubtedly antagonistic to the new scheme\nthat found favour with his cabinet, though not with all its members. The\npresent writer is of course not free to go into details, beyond those that\nanybody else not a member of the cabinet would discover from Mr.\nGladstone's papers. Nor does the public lose anything of real interest by\nthis necessary reserve. Mr. Gladstone said he wished to make me \"his\ndepositary\" as things gradually moved on, and he wrote me a series of\nshort letters from day to day. If they could be read aloud in Westminster\nHall, no harm would be done either to surviving colleagues or to others;\nthey would furnish no new reason for thinking either better or worse of\nanybody; and no one with a decent sense of the value of time would concern\nhimself in all the minor detail of an ineffectual controversy. The central\nfacts were simple. Two things weighed with him, first his infirmities, and\nsecond his disapproval of the policy. How, he asked himself, could he turn\nhis back on his former self by becoming a party to swollen expenditure?\nTrue he had changed from conservative to liberal in general politics, but\nwhen he was conservative, that party was the economic party, \"Peel its\nleader being a Cobdenite.\" To assent to this new outlay in time of peace\nwas to revolutionise policy. Then he would go on--\"Owing to the part which\nI was drawn to take, first in Italy, then as to Greece, then on the\neastern question, I have come to be considered not only an English but a\nEuropean statesman. My name stands in Europe as a symbol of the policy of\npeace, moderation, and non-aggression. What would be said of my active\nparticipation in a policy that will be taken as plunging England into the\nwhirlpool of militarism? Third, I have been in active public life for a\nperiod nearly as long as the time between the beginning of Mr. Pitt's\nfirst ministry and the close of Sir Robert Peel's; between 1783 and\n1846--sixty-two years and a half. During that time I have uniformly opposed\nmilitarism.\" Thus he would put his case.\n\nAfter the naval estimates were brought forward, attempts were naturally\nmade at accommodation, for whether he availed himself of the end of the\nsession as a proper occasion of retirement or not, he was bound to try to\nget the estimates down if he could. He laboured hard at the task of\nconversion, and though some of his colleagues needed no conversion, with\nthe majority he did not prevail. He admitted that he had made limited\nconcessions to scares in 1860 and in 1884, and that he had besides been\nrepeatedly responsible for extraordinary financial provisions having\nreference to some crisis of the day:--\n\n\n    I did this, (1) By a preliminary budget in 1854; (2) By the final\n    budget of July 1859; by the vote of credit in July 1870; and again\n    by the vote of credit in 1884. Every one of these was special, and\n    was shown in each case respectively to be special by the sequel:\n    no one of them had reference to the notion of establishing\n    dominant military or even naval power in Europe. Their amounts\n    were various, but were adapted to the view taken, at least by me,\n    of the exigency actually present.(305)\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nWhile the House after so many months of toil was still labouring manfully\nupon English bills, two of them of no secondary importance, it was decided\nby his family and their advisers that Mr. Gladstone should again try the\neffects of Biarritz, and thither they went on January 13. Distance,\nhowever, could not efface from his mind all thought of the decision that\nthe end of the session would exact from him. (M183) Rumours began to fly\nabout in London that the prime minister upon his return intended to\nresign, and they were naturally clad with intrinsic probability. From\nBiarritz a communication was made to the press with his authority. It was\nto this effect, that the statement that Mr. Gladstone had definitely\ndecided, or had decided at all, on resigning office was untrue. It was\ntrue that for many months past his age and the condition of his sight and\nhearing had in his judgment made relief from public cares desirable, and\nthat accordingly his tenure of office had been at any moment liable to\ninterruption from these causes, in their nature permanent.\n\nNature meanwhile could not set back the shadow on the dial. On his coming\nback from Biarritz (February 10) neither eyes nor ears were better. How\nshould they be at eighty-five? The session was ending, the prorogation\nspeech was to be composed, and the time had come for that \"natural break\"\nbetween the cessation and renewal of his official obligations, of which we\nhave already heard him speak. His colleagues carried almost to importunity\ntheir appeals to him to stay; to postpone what one of them called, and\nmany of them truly felt to be, this \"moment of anguish.\" The division of\nopinion on estimates remained, but even if that could have been bridged,\nhis sight and hearing could not be made whole. The rational and sufficient\ncause of resignation, as he only too justly described it, was strong as\never. Whether if the cabinet had come to his view on estimates, he would\nin spite of his great age and infirmities have come to their view of the\nimportance of his remaining, we cannot tell. According to his wont, he\navoided decision until the time had come when decision was necessary, and\nthen he made up his mind, \"without the appearance of an arbitrary choice,\"\nthat the time had come for accepting the natural break, and quitting\noffice.\n\nOn Feb. 27, arriving in the evening at Euston from Ireland, I found a\nmessenger with a note from Mr. Gladstone begging me to call on my way\nhome. I found him busy as usual at his table in Downing Street. \"I suppose\n'tis the long habit of a life,\" he said cheerily, \"but even in the midst\nof these passages, if ever I have half or quarter of an hour to spare, I\nfind myself turning to my Horace translation.\" He said the prorogation\nspeech would be settled on Thursday; the Queen would consider it on\nFriday; the council would be held on Saturday, and on that evening or\nafternoon he should send in his letter of resignation.\n\nThe next day he had an audience at Buckingham Palace, and indirectly\nconveyed to the Queen what she might soon expect to learn from him. His\nrigorous sense of loyalty to colleagues made it improper and impossible to\nbring either before the Queen or the public his difference of judgment on\nmatters for which his colleagues, not he, would be responsible, and on\nwhich they, not he, would have to take action. He derived certain\nimpressions at his audience, he told me, one of them being that the\nSovereign would not seek his advice as to a successor.\n\nHe wrote to inform the Prince of Wales of the approaching event:--\n\n\n    In thus making it known to your royal Highness, he concluded, I\n    desire to convey, on my own and my wife's part our fervent thanks\n    for the unbounded kindness which we have at all times received\n    from your royal Highness and not less from the beloved Princess of\n    Wales. The devotion of an old man is little worth; but if at any\n    time there be the smallest service which by information or\n    suggestion your royal Highness may believe me capable of\n    rendering, I shall remain as much at your command as if I had\n    continued to be an active and responsible servant of the Queen. I\n    remain with heartfelt loyalty and gratitude, etc.\n\n\nThe Prince expressed his sincere regret, said how deeply the Princess and\nhe were touched by the kind words about them, and how greatly for a long\nnumber of years they had valued his friendship and that of Mrs. Gladstone.\nMr. Balfour, to whom he also confidentially told the news, communicated\namong other graceful words, \"the special debt of gratitude that was due to\nhim for the immense public service he had performed in fostering and\nkeeping alive the great traditions of the House of Commons.\" The day after\nthat (March 1) was his last cabinet council, and a painful day it (M184)\nwas. The business of the speech and other matters were discussed as usual,\nthen came the end. In his report to the Queen--his last--he said:--\n\n\n    Looking forward to the likelihood that this might be the last\n    occasion on which Mr. Gladstone and his colleagues might meet in\n    the cabinet, Lord Kimberley and Sir William Harcourt on their own\n    part and on that of the ministers generally, used words\n    undeservedly kind of acknowledgment and farewell. Lord Kimberley\n    will pray your Majesty to appoint a council for Saturday, at as\n    early an hour as may be convenient.\n\n\nMr. Gladstone sat composed and still as marble, and the emotion of the\ncabinet did not gain him for an instant. He followed the \"words of\nacknowledgment and farewell\" in a little speech of four or five minutes,\nhis voice unbroken and serene, the tone low, grave, and steady. He was\nglad to know that he had justification in the condition of his senses. He\nwas glad to think that notwithstanding difference upon a public question,\nprivate friendships would remain unaltered and unimpaired. Then hardly\nabove a breath, but every accent heard, he said \"God bless you all.\" He\nrose slowly and went out of one door, while his colleagues with minds\noppressed filed out by the other. In his diary he enters--\"A really moving\nscene.\"\n\nA little later in the afternoon he made his last speech in the House of\nCommons. It was a vigorous assault upon the House of Lords. His mind had\nchanged since the day in September 1884 when he had declared to an\nemissary from the court that he hated organic change in the House of\nLords, and would do much to avert that mischief.(306) Circumstances had\nnow altered the case; we had come to a more acute stage. Were they to\naccept the changes made by the Lords in the bill for parish councils, or\nwere they to drop it? The question, he said, is whether the work of the\nHouse of Lords is not merely to modify, but to annihilate the whole work\nof the House of Commons, work which has been performed at an amount of\nsacrifice--of time, of labour, of convenience, and perhaps of health--but at\nany rate an amount of sacrifice totally unknown to the House of Lords. The\ngovernment had resolved that great as were the objections to acceptance of\nthe changes made by the Lords, the arguments against rejection were still\nweightier. Then he struck a note of passion, and spoke with rising fire:--\n\n\n    We are compelled to accompany that acceptance with the sorrowful\n    declaration that the differences, not of a temporary or casual\n    nature merely, but differences of conviction, differences of\n    prepossession, differences of mental habit, and differences of\n    fundamental tendency, between the House of Lords and the House of\n    Commons, appear to have reached a development in the present year\n    such as to create a state of things of which we are compelled to\n    say that, in our judgment, it cannot continue. Sir, I do not wish\n    to use hard words, which are easily employed and as easily\n    retorted--it is a game that two can play at--but without using hard\n    words, without presuming to judge of motives, without desiring or\n    venturing to allege imputations, I have felt it a duty to state\n    what appeared to me to be indisputable facts. The issue which is\n    raised between a deliberative assembly, elected by the votes of\n    more than 6,000,000 people, and a deliberative assembly occupied\n    by many men of virtue, by many men of talent, of course with\n    considerable diversities and varieties, is a controversy which,\n    when once raised, must go forward to an issue.\n\n\nMen did not know that they were listening to his last speech, but his\nwords fell in with the eager humour of his followers around him, and he\nsat down amid vehement plaudits. Then when the business was at an end, he\nrose, and for the last time walked away from the House of Commons. He had\nfirst addressed it sixty-one years before.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nThe following day (March 2) he busied himself in packing his papers, and\nworking at intervals on his translation of Horace. He told me that he had\nnow reason to suppose that the Queen might ask him for advice as to his\nsuccessor. After some talk, he said that if asked he should advise her to\nsend for Lord Spencer. As it happened, his advice was not sought. That\nevening he went to Windsor to dine and (M185) sleep. The next day was to\nbe the council. Here is his memorandum of the last audience on Saturday,\nMarch 3(307):--\n\n\n    As I crossed the quadrangle at 10.20 on my way to St. George's\n    Chapel, I met Sir H. Ponsonby, who said he was anxious to speak to\n    me about the future. He was much impressed with the movement among\n    a body of members of parliament against having any peer for prime\n    minister. I signified briefly that I did not think there should be\n    too ready a submission to such a movement. There was not time to\n    say a great deal, and I had something serious to say, so we\n    adjourned the conversation till half past eleven, when I should\n    return from St. George's.\n\n    He came at that time and opened on the same lines, desiring to\n    obtain from me whatever I thought proper to say as to persons in\n    the arrangements for the future. I replied to him that this was in\n    my view a most serious matter. All my thoughts on it were\n    absolutely at the command of the Queen. And I should be equally at\n    his command, if he inquired of me from her and in her name; but\n    that otherwise my lips must be sealed. I knew from him that he was\n    in search of information to report to the Queen, but this was a\n    totally different matter.\n\n    I entered, however, freely on the general question of the movement\n    among a section of the House of Commons. I thought it impossible\n    to say at the moment, but I should not take for granted that it\n    would be formidable or regard it as _in limine_ disposing of the\n    question. Up to a certain point, I thought it a duty to strengthen\n    the hands of our small minority and little knot of ministers in\n    the Lords, by providing these ministers with such weight as\n    attaches to high office. All this, or rather all that touched the\n    main point, namely the point of a peer prime minister, he without\n    doubt reported.\n\n    The council train came down and I joined the ministers in the\n    drawing-room. I received various messages as to the time when I\n    was to see the Queen, and when it would be most convenient to me.\n    I interpret this variety as showing that she was nervous. It ended\n    in fixing the time after the council and before luncheon. I\n    carried with me a box containing my resignation, and, the council\n    being over, handed it to her immediately, and told her that it\n    contained my tender of resignation. She asked whether she ought\n    then to read it. I said there was nothing in the letter to require\n    it. It repeated my former letter of notice, with the requisite\n    additions.\n\n    I must notice what, though slight, supplied the only incident of\n    any interest in this perhaps rather memorable audience, which\n    closed a service that would reach to fifty-three years on\n    September 3, when I was sworn privy councillor before the Queen at\n    Claremont. When I came into the room and came near to take the\n    seat she has now for some time courteously commanded, I did think\n    she was going to \"break down.\" If I was not mistaken, at any rate\n    she rallied herself, as I thought, by a prompt effort, and\n    remained collected and at her ease. Then came the conversation,\n    which may be called neither here nor there. Its only material\n    feature was negative. There was not one syllable on the past,\n    except a repetition, an emphatic repetition, of the thanks she had\n    long ago amply rendered for what I had done, a service of no great\n    merit, in the matter of the Duke of Coburg, and which I assured\n    her would not now escape my notice if occasion should arise. There\n    was the question of eyes and ears, of German _versus_ English\n    oculists, she believing in the German as decidedly superior. Some\n    reference to my wife, with whom, she had had an interview and had\n    ended it affectionately,--and various nothings. No touch on the\n    subject of the last Ponsonby conversation. Was I wrong in not\n    tendering orally my best wishes? I was afraid that anything said\n    by me should have the appearance of _touting_. A departing servant\n    has some title to offer his hopes and prayers for the future; but\n    a servant is one who has done, or tried to do, service in the\n    past. There is in all this a great sincerity. There also seems to\n    be some little mystery as to my own case with her. I saw no sign\n    of embarrassment or preoccupation. The Empress Frederick was\n    outside in the corridor. She bade me a most kind and warm\n    farewell, which I had done nothing to deserve.\n\n\nThe letter tendered to the Queen in the box was this:--\n\n\n    Mr. Gladstone presents his most humble duty to your Majesty. The\n    close of the session and the approach of a new one have offered\n    Mr. Gladstone a suitable opportunity for considering the condition\n    of his sight and hearing, both of them impaired, in relation to\n    his official obligations. As they now place serious and also\n    growing obstacles in the way of the efficient discharge of those\n    obligations, the result has been that he has found it his duty\n    humbly to tender to your Majesty his resignation of the high\n    offices which your Majesty has been pleased to intrust to him. His\n    desire to make this surrender is accompanied with a grateful sense\n    of the condescending kindnesses, which your Majesty has graciously\n    shown him on so many occasions during the various periods for\n    which he has had the honour to serve your Majesty. Mr. Gladstone\n    will not needlessly burden your Majesty with a recital of\n    particulars. He may, however, say that although at eighty-four\n    years of age he is sensible of a diminished capacity for prolonged\n    labour, this is not of itself such as would justify his praying to\n    be relieved from the restraints and exigencies of official life.\n    But his deafness has become in parliament, and even in the\n    cabinet, a serious inconvenience, of which he must reckon on more\n    progressive increase. More grave than this, and more rapid in its\n    growth, is the obstruction of vision which arises from cataract in\n    both his eyes. It has cut him off in substance from the\n    newspapers, and from all except the best types in the best lights,\n    while even as to these he cannot master them with that ordinary\n    facility and despatch which he deems absolutely required for the\n    due despatch of his public duties. In other respects than reading\n    the operation of the complaint is not as yet so serious, but this\n    one he deems to be vital. Accordingly he brings together these two\n    facts, the condition of his sight and hearing, and the break in\n    the course of public affairs brought about in the ordinary way by\n    the close of the session. He has therefore felt that this is the\n    fitting opportunity for the resignation which by this letter he\n    humbly prays your Majesty to accept.\n\n\nIn the course of the day the Queen wrote what I take to be her last letter\nto him:--\n\n\n    _Windsor Castle, March 3, 1894._--Though the Queen has already\n    accepted Mr. Gladstone's resignation, and has taken leave of him,\n    she does not like to leave his letter tendering his resignation\n    unanswered. She therefore writes these few lines to say that she\n    thinks that after so many years of arduous labour and\n    responsibility he is right in wishing to be relieved at his age of\n    these arduous duties. And she trusts he will be able to enjoy\n    peace and quiet with his excellent and devoted wife in health and\n    happiness, and that his eyesight may improve.\n\n    The Queen would gladly have conferred a peerage on Mr. Gladstone,\n    but she knows he would not accept it.\n\n\nHis last act in relation to this closing scene of the great official drama\nwas a letter to General Ponsonby (March 5):--\n\n\n    The first entrance of a man to Windsor Castle in a responsible\n    character, is a great event in his life; and his last departure\n    from it is not less moving. But in and during the process which\n    led up to this transaction on Saturday, my action has been in the\n    strictest sense sole, and it has required me in circumstances\n    partly known to harden my heart into a flint. However, it is not\n    even now so hard, but that I can feel what you have most kindly\n    written; nor do I fail to observe with pleasure that you do not\n    speak absolutely in the singular. If there were feelings that made\n    the occasion sad, such feelings do not die with the occasion. But\n    this letter must not be wholly one of egotism. I have known and\n    have liked and admired all the men who have served the Queen in\n    your delicate and responsible office; and have liked most,\n    probably because I knew him most, the last of them, that most\n    true-hearted man, General Grey. But forgive me for saying you are\n    \"to the manner born\"; and such a combination of tact and temper\n    with loyalty, intelligence, and truth I cannot expect to see\n    again. Pray remember these are words which can only pass from an\n    old man to one much younger, though trained in a long experience.\n\n\nIt is hardly in human nature, in spite of Charles V., Sulla, and some\nother historic persons, to lay down power beyond recall, without a secret\npang. In Prior's lines that came to the mind of brave Sir Walter Scott, as\nhe saw the curtain falling on his days,--\n\n\n    The man in graver tragic known,\n    (Though his best part long since was done,)\n    Still on the stage desires to tarry....\n    Unwilling to retire, though weary.\n\n\nWhether the departing minister had a lingering thought that in the\ndispensations of the world, purposes and services would still arise to\nwhich even yet he might one day be summoned, we do not know. Those who\nwere nearest to him believe not, and assuredly he made no outer sign.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IX. The Close. (1894-1898)\n\n\n    Natural death is as it were a haven and a rest to us after long\n    navigation. And the noble Soul is like a good mariner; for he,\n    when he draws near the port, lowers his sails and enters it softly\n    with gentle steerage.... And herein we have from our own nature a\n    great lesson of suavity; for in such a death as this there is no\n    grief nor any bitterness: but as a ripe apple is lightly and\n    without violence loosened from its branch, so our soul without\n    grieving departs from the body in which it hath been.--DANTE,\n    _Convito_.(308)\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nAfter the first wrench was over, and an end had come to the demands,\npursuits, duties, glories, of powerful and active station held for a long\nlifetime, Mr. Gladstone soon settled to the new conditions of his\nexistence, knowing that for him all that could be left was, in the figure\nof his great Italian poet,\"to lower sails and gather in his ropes.\"(309)\nHe was not much in London, and when he came he stayed in the pleasant\nretreat to which his affectionate and ever-attached friends, Lord and Lady\nAberdeen, so often invited him at Dollis Hill. Much against his will, he\ndid not resign his seat in the House, and he held it until the dissolution\nof 1895.(310) In June (1895) he took a final cruise in one of Sir Donald\nCurrie's ships, visiting Hamburg, the new North Sea canal, and Copenhagen\nonce more. His injured sight was a far deadlier breach in the habit of his\ndays than withdrawal from office or from parliament. His own tranquil\nwords written in the year in which he laid down his part in the shows of\nthe world's huge stage, tell the story:--\n\n\n    _July 25, 1894._--For the first time in my life there has been\n    given to me by the providence of God a period of comparative\n    leisure, reckoning at the present date to four and a half months.\n    Such a period drives the mind in upon itself, and invites, almost\n    constrains, to recollection, and the rendering at least internally\n    an account of life; further it lays the basis of a habit of\n    meditation, to the formation of which the course of my existence,\n    packed and crammed with occupation outwards, never stagnant,\n    oft-times overdriven, has been extremely hostile. As there is no\n    life which in its detail does not seem to afford intervals of\n    brief leisure, or what is termed \"waiting\" for others engaged with\n    us in some common action, these are commonly spent in murmurs and\n    in petulant desire for their termination. But in reality they\n    supply excellent opportunities for brief or ejaculatory prayer.\n\n    As this new period of my life has brought with it my retirement\n    from active business in the world, it affords a good opportunity\n    for breaking off the commonly dry daily journal, or ledger as it\n    might almost be called, in which for seventy years I have recorded\n    the chief details of my outward life. If life be continued I\n    propose to note in it henceforward only principal events or\n    occupations. This first breach since the latter part of May in\n    this year has been involuntary. When the operation on my eye for\n    cataract came, it was necessary for a time to suspend all use of\n    vision. Before that, from the beginning of March, it was only my\n    out-of-door activity or intercourse that had been paralysed....\n    For my own part, _suave mari magno_ steals upon me; or at any\n    rate, an inexpressible sense of relief from an exhausting life of\n    incessant contention. A great revolution has been operated in my\n    correspondence, which had for many years been a serious burden,\n    and at times one almost intolerable. During the last months of\n    partial incapacity I have not written with my own hand probably so\n    much as one letter per day. Few people have had a smaller number\n    of _otiose_ conversations probably than I in the last fifty years;\n    but I have of late seen more friends and more freely, though\n    without practical objects in view. Many kind friends have read\n    books to me; I must place Lady Sarah Spencer at the head of the\n    proficients in that difficult art; in distinctness of\n    articulation, with low clear voice, she is supreme. Dearest\n    Catherine has been my chaplain from morning to morning. My\n    church-going has been almost confined to mid-day communions, which\n    have not required my abandonment of the reclining posture for long\n    periods of time. Authorship has not been quite in abeyance; I have\n    been able to write what I was not allowed to read, and have\n    composed two theological articles for the _Nineteenth Century_ of\n    August and September respectively.(311)\n\n    Independently of the days of blindness after the operation, the\n    visits of doctors have become a noticeable item of demand upon\n    time. Of physic I incline to believe I have had as much, in 1894\n    as in my whole previous life. I have learned for the first time\n    the extraordinary comfort of the aid which the attendance of a\n    nurse can give. My health will now be matter of little interest\n    except to myself. But I have not yet abandoned the hope that I may\n    be permitted to grapple with that considerable armful of work,\n    which had been long marked out for my old age; the question of my\n    recovering sight being for the present in abeyance.\n\n    _Sept. 13._--I am not yet thoroughly accustomed to my new stage of\n    existence, in part because the remains of my influenza have not\n    yet allowed me wholly to resume the habits of health. But I am\n    thoroughly content with my retirement; and I cast no longing,\n    lingering look behind. I pass onward from it _oculo irretorto_.\n    There is plenty of work before me, peaceful work and work directed\n    to the supreme, _i.e._ the spiritual cultivation of mankind, if it\n    pleases God to give me time and vision to perform it.\n\n    _Oct. 1._--As far as I can at present judge, all the signs of the\n    eye being favourable, the new form of vision will enable me to get\n    through in a given time about half the amount of work which would\n    have been practicable under the old. I speak of reading and\n    writing work, which have been principal with me when I had the\n    option. In conversation there is no difference, although there are\n    various drawbacks in what we call society. On the 20th of last\n    month when I had gone through my crises of trials, Mr. Nettleship,\n    [the oculist], at once declared that any further operation would\n    be superfluous.\n\n    I am unable to continue attendance at the daily morning service,\n    not on account of the eyesight but because I may not rise before\n    ten at the earliest. And so a Hawarden practice of over fifty\n    years is interrupted; not without some degree of hope that it may\n    be resumed. Two evening services, one at 5 P.M. and the other at\n    7, afford me a limited consolation. I drive almost every day, and\n    thus grow to my dissatisfaction more burdensome. My walking powers\n    are limited; once I have exceeded two miles by a little. A large\n    part of the day remains available at my table; daylight is\n    especially precious; my correspondence is still a weary weight,\n    though I have admirable help from children. Upon the whole the\n    change is considerable. In early and mature life a man walks to\n    his daily work with a sense of the duty and capacity of\n    self-provision, a certain {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER KAPPA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~} [independence] (which the\n    Greeks carried into the moral world). Now that sense is reversed;\n    it seems as if I must, God knows how reluctantly, lay burdens upon\n    others; and as if capacity were, so to speak, dealt out to me\n    mercifully--but by armfuls.\n\n\nOld age until the very end brought no grave changes in physical\nconditions. He missed sorely his devoted friend, Sir Andrew Clark, to\nwhose worth as man and skill as healer he had borne public testimony in\nMay 1894. But for physician's service there was no special need. His\nordinary life, though of diminished power, suffered little interruption.\n\"The attitude,\" he wrote, \"in which I endeavoured to fix myself was that\nof a soldier on parade, in a line of men drawn up ready to march and\nwaiting for the word of command. I sought to be in preparation for prompt\nobedience, feeling no desire to go, but on the other hand without\nreluctance because firmly convinced that whatever He ordains for us is\nbest, best both for us and for all.\"\n\nHe worked with all his old zest at his edition of Bishop Butler, and his\nvolume of studies subsidiary to Butler. He wrote to the Duke of Argyll\n(Dec. 5, 1895):--\n\n\n    I find my Butler a weighty undertaking, but I hope it will be\n    useful at least for the important improvements of form which I am\n    making.\n\n    It is very difficult to keep one's temper in dealing with M.\n    Arnold when he touches on religious matters. His patronage of a\n    Christianity fashioned by himself is to me more offensive and\n    trying than rank unbelief. But I try, or seem to myself to try, to\n    shrink from controversy of which I have had so much. Organic\n    evolution sounds to me a Butlerish idea, but I doubt if he ever\n    employed either term, certainly he has not the phrase, and I\n    cannot as yet identify the passage to which you may refer.\n\n    _Dec. 9._--Many thanks for your letter. The idea of evolution is\n    without doubt deeply ingrained in Butler. The case of the animal\n    creation had a charm for him, and in his first chapter he opens,\n    without committing himself, the idea of their possible elevation\n    to a much higher state. I have always been struck by the glee with\n    which negative writers strive to get rid of \"special creation,\" as\n    if by that method they got the idea of God out of their way,\n    whereas I know not what right they have to say that the small\n    increments effected by the divine workman are not as truly special\n    as the large. It is remarkable that Butler has taken such hold\n    both on nonconformists in England and outside of England,\n    especially on those bodies in America which are descended from\n    English non-conformists.\n\n\nHe made progress with his writings on the Olympian Religion, without\nregard to Acton's warnings and exhortations to read a score of volumes by\nlearned explorers with uncouth names. He collected a new series of his\n_Gleanings_. By 1896 he had got his cherished project of hostel and\nlibrary at St. Deiniol's in Hawarden village, near to its launch. He was\ndrawn into a discussion on the validity of anglican orders, and even wrote\na letter to Cardinal Rampolla, in his effort to realise the dream of\nChristian unity. The Vatican replied in such language as might have been\nexpected by anybody with less than Mr. Gladstone's inextinguishable faith\nin the virtues of argumentative persuasion. Soon he saw the effects of\nChristian disunion upon a bloodier stage. In the autumn of this year he\nwas roused to one more vehement protest like that twenty years before\nagainst the abominations of Turkish rule, this time in Armenia. He had\nbeen induced to address a meeting in Chester in August 1895, and now a\nyear later he travelled to Liverpool (Sept. 24) to a non-party gathering\nat Hengler's Circus. He always described this as the place most agreeable\nto the speaker of all those with which he was acquainted. \"Had I the years\nof 1876 upon me,\" he said to one of his sons, \"gladly would I start\nanother campaign, even if as long as that.\"\n\nTo discuss, almost even to describe, the course of his policy and\nproceedings in the matter of Armenia, would bring us into a mixed\ncontroversy affecting statesmen now living, who played an unexpected part,\nand that controversy may well stand over for another, and let us hope a\nvery distant, day. Whether we had a right to interfere single-handed;\nwhether we were bound as a duty to interfere under the Cyprus Convention;\nwhether our intervention would provoke hostilities on the part of other\nPowers and even kindle a general conflagration in Europe; whether our\nseverance of diplomatic relations with the Sultan or our withdrawal from\nthe concert of Europe would do any good; what possible form armed\nintervention could take--all these are questions on which both liberals and\ntories vehemently differed from one another then, and will vehemently\ndiffer again. Mr. Gladstone was bold and firm in his replies. As to the\nidea, he said, that all independent action on the part of this great\ncountry was to be made chargeable for producing war in Europe, \"that is in\nmy opinion a mistake almost more deplorable than almost any committed in\nthe history of diplomacy.\" We had a right under the convention. We had a\nduty under the responsibilities incurred at Paris in 1856, at Berlin in\n1878. The upshot of his arguments at Liverpool was that we should break\noff relations with the Sultan; that we should undertake not to turn\nhostilities to our private advantage; that we should limit our proceedings\nto the suppression of mischief in its aggravated form; and if Europe\nthreatened us with war it might be necessary to recede, as France had\nreceded under parallel circumstances from her individual policy on the\neastern question in 1840,--receded without loss either of honour or power,\nbelieving that she had been right and wise and others wrong and unwise.\n\nIf Mr. Gladstone had still had, as he puts it, \"the years of 1876,\" he\nmight have made as deep a mark. As it was, his speech at Liverpool was his\nlast great deliverance to a public audience. As the year ended this was\nhis birthday entry:--\n\n\n    _Dec. 29, 1896._--My long and tangled life this day concludes its\n    87th year. My father died four days short of that term. I know of\n    no other life so long in the Gladstone family, and my profession\n    has been that of politician, or, more strictly, minister of state,\n    an extremely short-lived race when their scene of action has been\n    in the House of Commons, Lord Palmerston being the only complete\n    exception. In the last twelve months eyes and ears may have\n    declined, but not materially. The occasional contraction of the\n    chest is the only inconvenience that can be called new. I am not\n    without hope that Cannes may have a [illegible] to act upon it.\n    The blessings of family life continue to be poured in the largest\n    measure upon my unworthy head. Even my temporal affairs have\n    thriven. Still old age is appointed for the gradual loosening and\n    succeeding snapping of the threads. I visited Lord Stratford when\n    he was, say, 90 or 91 or thereabouts. He said to me, \"It is not a\n    blessing.\" As to politics, I think the basis of my mind is laid\n    principally in finance and philanthropy. The prospects of the\n    first are darker than I have ever known them. Those of the second\n    are black also, but with more hope of some early dawn. I do not\n    enter on interior matters. It is so easy to write, but to write\n    honestly nearly impossible. Lady Grosvenor gave me to-day a\n    delightful present of a small crucifix. I am rather too\n    independent of symbol.\n\n\nThis is the last entry in the diaries of seventy years.\n\nAt the end of January 1897, the Gladstones betook themselves once more to\nLord Rendel's _palazzetto_, as they called it, at Cannes.\n\n\n    I had hoped during this excursion, he journalises, to make much\n    way with my autobiographica. But this was in a large degree\n    frustrated, first by invalidism, next by the eastern question, on\n    which I was finally obliged to write something.(312) Lastly, and\n    not least, by a growing sense of decline in my daily amount of\n    brain force available for serious work. My power to read (but to\n    read very slowly indeed since the cataract came) for a\n    considerable number of hours daily, thank God, continues. This is\n    a great mercy. While on my outing, I may have read, of one kind\n    and another, twenty volumes. Novels enter into this list rather\n    considerably. I have begun seriously to ask myself whether I shall\n    ever be able to face \"The Olympian Religion.\"\n\n\nThe Queen happened to be resident at Cimiez at this time, and Mr.\nGladstone wrote about their last meeting:--\n\n\n    A message came down to us inviting us to go into the hotel and\n    take tea with the Princess Louise. We repaired to the hotel, and\n    had our tea with Miss Paget, who was in attendance. The Princess\n    soon came in, and after a short delay we were summoned into the\n    Queen's presence. No other English people were on the ground. We\n    were shown into a room tolerably, but not brilliantly lighted,\n    much of which was populated by a copious supply of Hanoverian\n    royalties. The Queen was in the inner part of the room, and behind\n    her stood the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge.\n    Notwithstanding my enfeebled sight, my vision is not much impaired\n    for practical purposes in cases such as this, where I am\n    thoroughly familiar with the countenance and whole contour of any\n    person to be seen. My wife preceded, and Mary followed me. The\n    Queen's manner did not show the old and usual vitality. It was\n    still, but at the same time very decidedly kind, such as I had not\n    seen it for a good while before my final resignation. She gave me\n    her hand, a thing which is, I apprehended, rather rare with men,\n    and which had never happened with me during all my life, though\n    that life, be it remembered, had included some periods of rather\n    decided favour. Catherine sat down near her, and I at a little\n    distance. For a good many years she had habitually asked me to\n    sit. My wife spoke freely and a good deal to the Queen, but the\n    answers appeared to me to be very slight. As to myself, I\n    expressed satisfaction at the favourable accounts I had heard of\n    the accommodation at Cimiez, and perhaps a few more words of\n    routine. To speak frankly, it seemed to me that the Queen's\n    peculiar faculty and habit of conversation had disappeared. It was\n    a faculty, not so much the free offspring of a rich and powerful\n    mind, as the fruit of assiduous care with long practice and much\n    opportunity. After about ten minutes, it was signified to us that\n    we had to be presented to all the other royalties, and so passed\n    the remainder of this meeting.\n\n\nIn the early autumn of 1897 he found himself affected by (M186) what was\nsupposed to be a peculiar form of catarrh. He went to stay with Mr.\nArmitstead at Butterstone in Perthshire. I saw him on several occasions\nafterwards, but this was the last time when I found him with all the\nfreedom, full self-possession, and kind geniality of old days. He was\nkeenly interested at my telling him that I had seen James Martineau a few\ndays before, in his cottage further north in Inverness-shire; that\nMartineau, though he had now passed his ninety-second milestone on life's\nroad, was able to walk five or six hundred feet up his hillside every day,\nwas at his desk at eight each morning, and read theology a good many hours\nbefore he went to bed at night. Mr. Gladstone's conversation was varied,\nglowing, full of reminiscence. He had written me in the previous May,\nhoping among other kind things that \"we may live more and more in sympathy\nand communion.\" I never saw him more attractive than in the short pleasant\ntalks of these three or four days. He discussed some of the sixty or\nseventy men with whom he had been associated in cabinet life,(313) freely\nbut charitably, though he named two whom he thought to have behaved worse\nto him than others. He repeated his expression of enormous admiration for\nGraham. Talked about his own voice. After he had made his long budget\nspeech in 1860, a certain member, supposed to be an operatic expert, came\nto him and said, \"You must take great care, or else you will destroy the\n_colour_ in your voice.\" He had kept a watch on general affairs. The\nspeech of a foreign ruler upon divine right much incensed him. He thought\nthat Lord Salisbury had managed to set the Turk up higher than he had\nreached since the Crimean war; and his policy had weakened Greece, the\nmost liberal of the eastern communities. We fought over again some old\nbattles of 1886 and 1892-4. Mr. Armitstead had said to him--\"Oh, sir,\nyou'll live ten years to come.\" \"I do trust,\" he answered as he told me\nthis, \"that God in his mercy will spare me that.\"\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nThen came months of distress. The facial annoyance grew into acute and\ncontinued pain, and to pain he proved to be exceedingly sensitive. It did\nnot master him, but there were moments that seemed almost of collapse and\ndefeat. At last the night was gathering\n\n\n            About the burning crest\n    Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun.(314)\n\n\nThey took him at the end of November (1897) to Cannes, to the house of\nLord Rendel.\n\nSometimes at dinner he talked with his host, with Lord Welby, or Lord\nActon, with his usual force, but most of the time he lay in extreme\nsuffering and weariness, only glad when they soothed him with music. It\nwas decided that he had better return, and in hope that change of air\nmight even yet be some palliative, he went to Bournemouth, which he\nreached on February 22. For weeks past he had not written nor read, save\none letter that he wrote in his journey home to Lady Salisbury upon a\nrather narrow escape of her husband's in a carriage accident. On March 18\nhis malady was pronounced incurable, and he learned that it was likely to\nend in a few weeks. He received the verdict with perfect serenity and with\na sense of unutterable relief, for his sufferings had been cruel. Four\ndays later he started home to die. On leaving Bournemouth before stepping\ninto the train, he turned round, and to those who were waiting on the\nplatform to see him off, he said with quiet gravity, \"God bless you and\nthis place, and the land you love.\" At Hawarden he bore the dreadful\nburden of his pain with fortitude, supported by the ritual ordinances of\nhis church and faith. Music soothed him, the old composers being those he\nliked best to hear. Messages of sympathy were read to him, and he listened\nsilently or with a word of thanks.\n\n\"The retinue of the whole world's good wishes\" flowed to the \"large upper\nchamber looking to the sunrising, where the aged pilgrim lay.\" Men and\nwomen of every communion offered up earnest prayers for him. Those who\nwere of no communion thought with pity, sympathy, and sorrow of\n\n\n    A Power passing from the earth\n    To breathless Nature's dark abyss.\n\n\n(M187) From every rank in social life came outpourings in every key of\nreverence and admiration. People appeared--as is the way when death\ncomes--to see his life and character as a whole, and to gather up in his\npersonality, thus transfigured by the descending shades, all the best\nhopes and aspirations of their own best hours. A certain grandeur\noverspread the moving scene. Nothing was there for tears. It was \"no\nimportunate and heavy load.\" The force was spent, but it had been nobly\nspent in devoted and effective service for his country and his fellow-men.\n\nFrom the Prince of the Black Mountain came a telegram: \"Many years ago,\nwhen Montenegro, my beloved country, was in difficulties and in danger,\nyour eloquent voice and powerful pen successfully pleaded and worked on\nher behalf. At this time vigorous and prosperous, with a bright future\nbefore her, she turns with sympathetic eye to the great English statesman\nto whom she owes so much, and for whose present sufferings she feels so\ndeeply.\" And he answered by a message that \"his interest in Montenegro had\nalways been profound, and he prayed that it might prosper and be blessed\nin all its undertakings.\"\n\nOf the thousand salutations of pity and hope none went so much to his\nheart as one from Oxford--an expression of true feeling, in language worthy\nof her fame:--\n\n\n    At yesterday's meeting of the hebdomadal council, wrote the\n    vice-chancellor, an unanimous wish was expressed that I should\n    convey to you the message of our profound sorrow and affection at\n    the sore trouble and distress which you are called upon to endure.\n    While we join in the universal regret with which the nation\n    watches the dark cloud which has fallen upon the evening of a\n    great and impressive life, we believe that Oxford may lay claim to\n    a deeper and more intimate share in this sorrow. Your brilliant\n    career in our university, your long political connection with it,\n    and your fine scholarship, kindled in this place of ancient\n    learning, have linked you to Oxford by no ordinary bond, and we\n    cannot but hope that you will receive with satisfaction this\n    expression of deep-seated kindliness and sympathy from us.\n\n    We pray that the Almighty may support you and those near and dear\n    to you in this trial, and may lighten the load of suffering which\n    you bear with such heroic resignation.\n\n\nTo this he listened more attentively and over it he brooded long, then he\ndictated to his youngest daughter sentence by sentence at intervals his\nreply:--\n\n\n    There is no expression of Christian sympathy that I value more\n    than that of the ancient university of Oxford, the God-fearing and\n    God-sustaining university of Oxford. I served her, perhaps\n    mistakenly, but to the best of my ability. My most earnest prayers\n    are hers to the uttermost and to the last.\n\n\nWhen May opened, it was evident that the end was drawing near. On the 13th\nhe was allowed to receive visits of farewell from Lord Rosebery and from\nmyself, the last persons beyond his household to see him. He was hardly\nconscious. On the early morning of the 19th, his family all kneeling\naround the bed on which he lay in the stupor of coming death, without a\nstruggle he ceased to breathe. Nature outside--wood and wide lawn and\ncloudless far-off sky--shone at her fairest.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nOn the day after his death, in each of the two Houses the leader made the\nmotion, identical in language in both cases save the few final words about\nfinancial provision in the resolution of the Commons:--\n\n\n    That an humble Address be presented to her Majesty praying that\n    her Majesty will be graciously pleased to give directions that the\n    remains of the Right Hon. William Ewart Gladstone be interred at\n    the public charge, and that a monument be erected in the\n    Collegiate Church of St. Peter, Westminster, with an inscription\n    expressive of the public admiration and attachment and of the high\n    sense entertained of his rare and splendid gifts, and of his\n    devoted labours to parliament and in great offices of state, and\n    to assure her Majesty that this House will make good the expenses\n    attending the same.\n\n\nThe language of the movers was worthy of the British parliament at its\nbest, worthy of the station of those who (M188) used it, and worthy of the\nfigure commemorated. Lord Salisbury was thought by most to go nearest to\nthe core of the solemnity:--\n\n\n    What is the cause of this unanimous feeling? Of course, he had\n    qualities that distinguished him from all other men; and you may\n    say that it was his transcendent intellect, his astonishing power\n    of attaching men to him, and the great influence he was able to\n    exert upon the thought and convictions of his contemporaries. But\n    these things, which explain the attachment, the adoration of those\n    whose ideas he represented, would not explain why it is that\n    sentiments almost as fervent are felt and expressed by those whose\n    ideas were not carried out by his policy. My Lords, I do not think\n    the reason is to be found in anything so far removed from the\n    common feelings of mankind as the abstruse and controversial\n    questions of the policy of the day. They had nothing to do with\n    it. Whether he was right, or whether he was wrong, in all the\n    measures, or in most of the measures which he proposed--those are\n    matters of which the discussion has passed by, and would certainly\n    be singularly inappropriate here; they are really remitted to the\n    judgment of future generations, who will securely judge from\n    experience what we can only decide by forecast. It was on account\n    of considerations more common to the masses of human beings, to\n    the general working of the human mind, than any controversial\n    questions of policy that men recognised in him a man\n    guided--whether under mistaken impressions or not, it matters\n    not--but guided in all the steps he took, in all the efforts that\n    he made, by a high moral ideal. What he sought were the\n    attainments of great ideals, and, whether they were based on sound\n    convictions or not, they could have issued from nothing but the\n    greatest and the purest moral aspirations; and he is honoured by\n    his countrymen, because through so many years, across so many\n    vicissitudes and conflicts, they had recognised this one\n    characteristic of his action, which has never ceased to be felt.\n    He will leave behind him, especially to those who have followed\n    with deep interest the history of the later years--I might almost\n    say the later months of his life--he will leave behind him the\n    memory of a great Christian statesman. Set up necessarily on\n    high--the sight of his character, his motives, and his intentions\n    would strike all the world. They will have left a deep and most\n    salutary influence on the political thought and the social thought\n    of the generation in which he lived, and he will be long\n    remembered not so much for the causes in which he was engaged or\n    the political projects which he favoured, but as a great example,\n    to which history hardly furnishes a parallel, of a great Christian\n    man.\n\n\nMr. Balfour, the leader in the Commons, specially spoke of him as \"the\ngreatest member of the greatest deliberative assembly that the world has\nseen,\" and most aptly pointed to Mr. Gladstone's special service in\nrespect of that assembly.\n\n\n    One service he did, in my opinion incalculable, which is\n    altogether apart from the judgment that we may be disposed to pass\n    upon particular opinions, or particular lines of policy which Mr.\n    Gladstone may from time to time have advocated. Sir, he added a\n    dignity, as he added a weight, to the deliberations of this House\n    by his genius, which I think it is impossible adequately to\n    replace. It is not enough for us to keep up simply a level, though\n    it be a high level, of probity and of patriotism. The mere average\n    of civic virtue is not sufficient to preserve this Assembly from\n    the fate that has overcome so many other Assemblies, products of\n    democratic forces. More than this is required; more than this was\n    given to us by Mr. Gladstone. He brought to our debates a genius\n    which compelled attention, he raised in the public estimation the\n    whole level of our proceedings, and they will be most ready to\n    admit the infinite value of his service who realise how much of\n    public prosperity is involved in the maintenance of the worth of\n    public life, and how perilously difficult most democracies\n    apparently feel it to be to avoid the opposite dangers into which\n    so many of them have fallen.\n\n\nSir William Harcourt spoke of him as friend and official colleague:--\n\n\n    I have heard men who knew him not at all, who have asserted that\n    the supremacy of his genius and the weight of his authority\n    oppressed and overbore those who lived with him and those who\n    worked under him. Nothing could be more untrue. Of all chiefs he\n    was the least exacting. He was the most kind, the most tolerant,\n    he was the most placable. How seldom in this House was the voice\n    of personal anger heard from his lips. These are the true marks of\n    greatness.\n\n\nLord Rosebery described his gifts and powers, his concentration, the\nmultiplicity of his interests, his labour of every day, and almost of\nevery hour of every day, in fashioning an intellect that was mighty by\nnature. And besides this panegyric on the departed warrior, he touched\nwith felicity and sincerity a note of true feeling in recalling to his\nhearers\n\n\n    the solitary and pathetic figure, who for sixty years, shared all\n    the sorrows and all the joys of Mr. Gladstone's life, who received\n    his confidence and every aspiration, who shared his triumphs with\n    him and cheered him under his defeats; who by her tender\n    vigilance, I firmly believe, sustained and prolonged his years.\n\n\nWhen the memorial speeches were over the House of Commons adjourned. The\nQueen, when the day of the funeral came, telegraphed to Mrs. Gladstone\nfrom Balmoral:--\n\n\n    My thoughts are much with you to-day, when your dear husband is\n    laid to rest. To-day's ceremony will be most trying and painful\n    for you, but it will be at the same time gratifying to you to see\n    the respect and regret evinced by the nation for the memory of one\n    whose character and intellectual abilities marked him as one of\n    the most distinguished statesmen of my reign. I shall ever\n    gratefully remember his devotion and zeal in all that concerned my\n    personal welfare and that of my family.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nIt was not at Westminster only that his praise went forth. Famous men, in\nthe immortal words of Pericles to his Athenians, have the whole world for\ntheir tomb; they are commemorated not only by columns and inscriptions in\ntheir own land; in foreign lands too a memorial of them is graven in the\nhearts of men. So it was here. No other statesman on our famous roll has\ntouched the imagination of so wide a world.\n\nThe colonies through their officers or more directly, sent to Mrs.\nGladstone their expression of trust that the worldwide admiration and\nesteem of her honoured and illustrious husband would help her to sustain\nher burden of sorrow. The ambassador of the United States reverently\ncongratulated her and the English race everywhere, upon the glorious\ncompletion of a life filled with splendid achievements and consecrated to\nthe noblest purposes. The President followed in the same vein, and in\nCongress words were found to celebrate a splendid life and character. The\nPresident of the French republic wished to be among the first to associate\nhimself with Mrs. Gladstone's grief: \"By the high liberality of his\ncharacter,\" he said, \"and by the nobility of his political ideal, Mr.\nGladstone had worthily served his country and humanity.\" The entire French\ngovernment requested the British ambassador in Paris to convey the\nexpression of their sympathy and assurance of their appreciation,\nadmiration, and respect for the character of the illustrious departed. The\nCzar of Russia telegraphed to Mrs. Gladstone: \"I have just received the\npainful news of Mr. Gladstone's decease, and consider it my duty to\nexpress to you my feelings of sincere sympathy on the occasion of the\ncruel and irreparable bereavement which has befallen you, as well as the\ndeep regret which this sad event has given me. The whole of the civilised\nworld will beweep the loss of a great statesman, whose political views\nwere so widely humane and peaceable.\"\n\nIn Italy the sensation was said to be as great as when Victor Emmanuel or\nGaribaldi died. The Italian parliament and the prime minister telegraphed\nto the effect that \"the cruel loss which had just struck England, was a\ngrief sincerely shared by all who are devoted to liberty. Italy has not\nforgotten, and will never forget, the interest and sympathy of Mr.\nGladstone in events that led to its independence.\" In the same key,\nGreece: the King, the first minister, the university, the chamber,\ndeclared that he was entitled to the gratitude of the Greek people, and\nhis name would be by them for ever venerated. From Roumania, Macedonia,\nNorway, Denmark, tributes came \"to the great memory of Gladstone, one of\nthe glories of mankind.\" Never has so wide and honourable a pomp all over\nthe globe followed an English statesman to the grave.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nOn May 25, the remains were brought from Hawarden, and in the middle of\nthe night the sealed coffin was placed in Westminster Hall, watched until\nthe funeral by the piety of relays of friends. For long hours each day\ngreat multitudes filed past the bier. It was a striking demonstration of\nnational feeling, for the procession contained every rank, and contingents\ncame from every part of the kingdom. On Saturday, May 28, the body was\ncommitted to the grave in Westminster Abbey. No sign of high honour was\nabsent. The heir to the throne and his son were among those who bore the\npall. So were the prime minister and the two leaders of the parties in\nboth Houses. The other pall-bearers were Lord Rosebery who had succeeded\nhim as prime minister, the Duke of Rutland who had half a century before\nbeen Mr. Gladstone's colleague at Newark, and Mr. Armitstead and Lord\nRendel, who were his private friends. Foreign sovereigns sent their\nrepresentatives, the Speaker of the House of Commons was there in state,\nand those were there who had done stout battle against him for long years;\nthose also who had sat with him in council and stood by his side in\nfrowning hours. At the head of the grave was \"the solitary and pathetic\nfigure\" of his wife. Even men most averse to all pomps and shows on the\noccasions and scenes that declare so audibly their nothingness, here were\nonly conscious of a deep and moving simplicity, befitting a great citizen\nnow laid among the kings and heroes. Two years later, the tomb was opened\nto receive the faithful and devoted companion of his life.\n\n\n\n\nChapter X. Final.\n\n\nAnybody can see the host of general and speculative questions raised by a\ncareer so extraordinary. How would his fame have stood if his political\nlife had ended in 1854, or 1874, or 1881, or 1885? What light does it shed\nupon the working of the parliamentary system; on the weakness and strength\nof popular government; on the good and bad of political party; on the\nsuperiority of rule by cabinet or by an elected president; on the\nrelations of opinion to law? Here is material for a volume of\ndisquisition, and nobody can ever discuss such speculations without\nreference to power as it was exercised by Mr. Gladstone. Those thronged\nhalls, those vast progresses, those strenuous orations--what did they\namount to? Did they mean a real moulding of opinion, an actual impression,\nwhether by argument or temper or personality or all three, on the minds of\nhearers? Or was it no more than the same kind of interest that takes men\nto stage-plays with a favourite performer? This could hardly be, for his\nhearers gave him long spells of power and a practical authority that was\nunique and supreme. What thoughts does his career suggest on the relations\nof Christianity to patriotism, or to empire, or to what has been called\nneo-paganism? How many points arise as to the dependence of ethics on\ndogma? These are deep and living and perhaps burning issues, not to be\ndiscussed at the end of what the reader may well have found a long\njourney. They offer themselves for his independent consideration.\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nMr. Gladstone's own summary of the period in which he (M189) had been so\nconspicuous a figure was this, when for him the drama was at an end:--\n\n\n    Of his own career, he says, it is a career certainly chargeable\n    with many errors of judgment, but I hope on the whole, governed at\n    least by uprightness of intention and by a desire to learn. The\n    personal aspect may now readily be dismissed as it concerns the\n    past. But the public aspect of the period which closes for me with\n    the fourteen years (so I love to reckon them) of my formal\n    connection with Midlothian is too important to pass without a\n    word. I consider it as beginning with the Reform Act of Lord\n    Grey's government. That great Act was for England improvement and\n    extension, for Scotland it was political birth, the beginning of a\n    duty and a power, neither of which had attached to the Scottish\n    nation in the preceding period. I rejoice to think how the\n    solemnity of that duty has been recognised, and how that power has\n    been used. The three-score years offer us the pictures of what the\n    historian will recognise as a great legislative and administrative\n    period--perhaps, on the whole, the greatest in our annals. It has\n    been predominantly a history of emancipation--that is of enabling\n    man to do his work of emancipation, political, economical, social,\n    moral, intellectual. Not numerous merely, but almost numberless,\n    have been the causes brought to issue, and in every one of them I\n    rejoice to think that, so far as my knowledge goes, Scotland has\n    done battle for the right.\n\n    Another period has opened and is opening still--a period possibly\n    of yet greater moral dangers, certainly a great ordeal for those\n    classes which are now becoming largely conscious of power, and\n    never heretofore subject to its deteriorating influences. These\n    have been confined in their actions to the classes above them,\n    because they were its sole possessors. Now is the time for the\n    true friend of his country to remind the masses that their present\n    political elevation is owing to no principles less broad and noble\n    than these--the love of liberty, of liberty for all without\n    distinction of class, creed or country, and the resolute\n    preference of the interests of the whole to any interest, be it\n    what it may, of a narrower scope.(315)\n\n\nA year later, in bidding farewell to his constituents \"with sentiments of\ngratitude and attachment that can never be effaced,\" he proceeds:--\n\n\n    Though in regard to public affairs many things are disputable,\n    there are some which belong to history and which have passed out\n    of the region of contention. It is, for example as I conceive,\n    beyond question that the century now expiring has exhibited since\n    the close of its first quarter a period of unexampled activity\n    both in legislative and administrative changes; that these\n    changes, taken in the mass, have been in the direction of true and\n    most beneficial progress; that both the conditions and the\n    franchises of the people have made in relation to the former state\n    of things, an extraordinary advance; that of these reforms an\n    overwhelming proportion have been effected by direct action of the\n    liberal party, or of statesmen such as Peel and Canning, ready to\n    meet odium or to forfeit power for the public good; and that in\n    every one of the fifteen parliaments the people of Scotland have\n    decisively expressed their convictions in favour of this wise,\n    temperate, and in every way remarkable policy.(316)\n\n\nTo charge him with habitually rousing popular forces into dangerous\nexcitement, is to ignore or misread his action in some of the most\ncritical of his movements. \"Here is a man,\" said Huxley, \"with the\ngreatest intellect in Europe, and yet he debases it by simply following\nmajorities and the crowd.\" He was called a mere mirror of the passing\nhumours and intellectual confusions of the popular mind. He had nothing,\nsaid his detractors, but a sort of clever pilot's eye for winds and\ncurrents, and the rising of the tide to the exact height that would float\nhim and his cargo over the bar. All this is the exact opposite of the\ntruth. What he thought was that the statesman's gift consisted in insight\ninto the facts of a particular era, disclosing the existence of material\nfor forming public opinion and directing public opinion to a given\npurpose. In every one of his achievements of high mark--even in his last\nmarked failure of achievement--he expressly formed, or endeavoured to form\nand create, the public opinion upon which he knew that in the last resort\nhe must depend.\n\n(M190) We have seen the triumph of 1853.(317) Did he, in renewing the most\nhated of taxes, run about anxiously feeling the pulse of public opinion?\nOn the contrary, he grappled with the facts with infinite labour--and half\nhis genius was labour--he built up a great plan; he carried it to the\ncabinet; they warned him that the House of Commons would be against him;\nthe officials of the treasury told him the Bank would be against him; that\na strong press of commercial interests would be against him. Like the bold\nand sinewy athlete that he always was, he stood to his plan; he carried\nthe cabinet; he persuaded the House of Commons; he vanquished the Bank and\nthe hostile interests; and in the words of Sir Stafford Northcote, he\nchanged and turned for many years to come, a current of public opinion\nthat seemed far too powerful for any minister to resist. In the\ntempestuous discussions during the seventies on the policy of this country\nin respect of the Christian races of the Balkan Peninsula, he with his own\nvoice created, moulded, inspired, and kindled with resistless flame the\nwhole of the public opinion that eventually guided the policy of the\nnation with such admirable effect both for its own fame, and for the good\nof the world. Take again the Land Act of 1881, in some ways the most\ndeep-reaching of all his legislative achievements. Here he had no flowing\ntide, every current was against him. He carried his scheme against the\nignorance of the country, against the prejudice of the country, and\nagainst the standing prejudices of both branches of the legislature, who\nwere steeped from the crown of the head to the sole of the foot in the\nstrictest doctrines of contract.\n\nThen his passion for economy, his ceaseless war against public profusion,\nhis insistence upon rigorous keeping of the national accounts--in this\ngreat department of affairs he led and did not follow. In no sphere of his\nactivities was he more strenuous, and in no sphere, as he must well have\nknown, was he less likely to win popularity. For democracy is spendthrift;\nif, to be sure, we may not say that most forms of government are apt to be\nthe same.\n\nIn a survey of Mr. Gladstone's performances, some would place this of\nwhich I have last spoken, as foremost among his services to the country.\nOthers would call him greatest in the associated service of a skilful\nhandling and adjustment of the burden of taxation; or the strengthening of\nthe foundations of national prosperity and well-being by his reformation\nof the tariff. Yet others again choose to remember him for his share in\nguiding the successive extensions of popular power, and simplifying and\npurifying electoral machinery. Irishmen at least, and others so far as\nthey are able to comprehend the history and vile wrongs and sharp needs of\nIreland, will have no doubt what rank in legislation they will assign to\nthe establishment of religious equality and agrarian justice in that\nportion of the realm. Not a few will count first the vigour with which he\nrepaired what had been an erroneous judgment of his own and of vast hosts\nof his countrymen, by his courage in carrying through the submission of\nthe Alabama claims to arbitration. Still more, looking from west to east,\nin this comparison among his achievements, will judge alike in its result\nand in the effort that produced it, nothing equal to the valour and\ninsight with which he burst the chains of a mischievous and degrading\npolicy as to the Ottoman empire. When we look at this exploit, how in face\nof an opponent of genius and authority and a tenacity not inferior to his\nown, in face of strongly rooted tradition on behalf of the Turk, and an\neasily roused antipathy against the Russian, by his own energy and\nstrength of arm he wrested the rudder from the hand of the helmsman and\nput about the course of the ship, and held England back from the enormity\nof trying to keep several millions of men and women under the yoke of\nbarbaric oppression and misrule,--we may say that this great feat alone was\nfame enough for one statesman. Let us make what choice we will of this or\nthat particular achievement, how splendid a list it is of benefits\nconferred and public work effectually performed. Was he a good\nparliamentary tactician, they ask? Was his eye sure, his hand firm, his\nmeasurement of forces, distances, and possibilities of change in wind and\ntide accurate? Did he usually hit the proper moment for a magisterial\nintervention? Experts did not (M191) always agree on his quality as\ntactician. At least he was pilot enough to bring many valuable cargoes\nsafely home.\n\nHe was one of the three statesmen in the House of Commons of his own\ngeneration who had the gift of large and spacious conception of the place\nand power of England in the world, and of the policies by which she could\nmaintain it. Cobden and Disraeli were the other two. Wide as the poles\nasunder in genius, in character, and in the mark they made upon the\nnation, yet each of these three was capable of wide surveys from high\neminence. But Mr. Gladstone's performances in the sphere of active\ngovernment were beyond comparison.\n\nAgain he was often harshly judged by that tenacious class who insist that\nif a general principle be sound, there can never be a reason why it should\nnot be applied forthwith, and that a rule subject to exceptions is not\nworth calling a rule; and the worst of it is that these people are mostly\nthe salt of the earth. In their impatient moments they dismissed him as an\nopportunist, but whenever there was a chance of getting anything done,\nthey mostly found that he was the only man with courage and resolution\nenough to attempt to do it. In thinking about him we have constantly to\nremember, as Sir George Lewis said, that government is a very rough affair\nat best, a huge rough machine, not the delicate springs, wheels, and\nbalances of a chronometer, and those concerned in working it have to be\nsatisfied with what is far below the best. \"Men have no business to talk\nof disenchantment,\" Mr. Gladstone said; \"ideals are never realised.\" That\nis no reason, he meant, why men should not persist and toil and hope, and\nthis is plainly the true temper for the politician. Yet he did not feed\nupon illusions. \"The history of nations,\" he wrote in 1876, \"is a\nmelancholy chapter; that is, the history of governments is one of the most\nimmoral parts of human history.\"\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nIt might well be said that Mr. Gladstone took too little, rather than too\nmuch trouble to be popular. His religious conservatism puzzled and\nirritated those who admired and shared his political liberalism, just as\nchurchmen watched with uneasiness and suspicion his radical alliances.\nNeither those who were churchmen first, nor those whose interests were\nkeenest in politics, could comprehend the union of what seemed\nincompatibles, and because they could not comprehend they sometimes in\ntheir shallower humours doubted his sincerity. Mr. Gladstone was never,\nafter say 1850, really afraid of disestablishment; on the contrary he was\nmuch more afraid of the perils of establishment for the integrity of the\nfaith. Yet political disestablishers often doubted him, because they had\nnot logic enough to see that a man may be a fervent believer in anglican\ninstitutions and what he thinks catholic tradition, and yet be as ready as\nCavour for the principle of free church in free state.\n\nIt is curious that some of the things that made men suspicious, were in\nfact the liveliest tokens of his sincerity and simplicity. With all his\npower of political imagination, yet his mind was an intensely literal\nmind. He did not look at an act or a decision from the point of view at\nwhich it might be regarded by other people. Ewelme, the mission to the\nIonian Islands, the royal warrant, the affair of the judicial committee,\nvaticanism, and all the other things that gave offence, and stirred\nmisgivings even in friends, showed that the very last question he ever\nasked himself was how his action would look; what construction might be\nput upon it, or even would pretty certainly be put upon it; whom it would\nencourage, whom it would estrange, whom it would perplex. Is the given end\nright, he seemed to ask; what are the surest means; are the means as right\nas the end, as right as they are sure? But right--on strict and literal\nconstruction. What he sometimes forgot was that in political action,\nconstruction is part of the act, nay, may even be its most important\npart.(318)\n\nThe more you make of his errors, the more is the need to explain his vast\nrenown, the long reign of his authority, the substance and reality of his\npowers. We call men great for many reasons apart from service wrought or\neminence of intellect or even from force and depth of character. To (M192)\nhave taken a leading part in transactions of decisive moment; to have\nproved himself able to meet demands on which high issues hung; to combine\nintellectual qualities, though moderate yet adequate and sufficient, with\nthe moral qualities needed for the given circumstance--with daring,\ncircumspection, energy, intrepid initiative; to have fallen in with one of\nthose occasions in the world that impart their own greatness even to a\nmediocre actor, and surround his name with a halo not radiating from\nwithin but shed upon him from without--in all these and many other ways men\ncome to be counted great. Mr. Gladstone belongs to the rarer class who\nacquired authority and fame by transcendent qualities of genius within, in\nhalf independence of any occasions beyond those they create for\nthemselves.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nOf his attitude in respect of church parties, it is not for me to speak.\nHe has himself described at least one aspect of it in a letter to an\ninquirer, which would be a very noble piece by whomsoever written, and in\nthe name of whatsoever creed or no-creed, whether Christian or Rationalist\nor Nathan the Wise Jew's creed. It was addressed to a clergyman who seems\nto have asked of what section Mr. Gladstone considered himself an\nadherent:--\n\n\n    _Feb. 4, 1865._--It is impossible to misinterpret either the\n    intention or the terms of your letter; and I thank you for it\n    sincerely. But I cannot answer the question which you put to me,\n    and I think I can even satisfy you that with my convictions I\n    should do wrong in replying to it in any manner. Whatever reason I\n    may have for being painfully and daily conscious of every kind of\n    unworthiness, yet I am sufficiently aware of the dignity of\n    religious belief to have been throughout a political life, now in\n    its thirty-third year, steadily resolved never by my own voluntary\n    act to make it the subject of any compact or assurance with a view\n    to a political object. You think (and pray do not suppose I make\n    this matter of complaint) that I have been associated with one\n    party in the church of England, and that I may now lean rather\n    towards another.... There is no one about whom information can be\n    more easily had than myself. I have had and have friends of many\n    colours, churchmen high and low, presbyterians, Greeks, Roman\n    catholics, dissenters, who can speak abundantly, though perhaps\n    not very well of me. And further, as member for the university, I\n    have honestly endeavoured at all times to put my constituents in\n    possession of all I could convey to them that could be considered\n    as in the nature of a fact, by answering as explicitly as I was\n    able all questions relating to the matters, and they are numerous\n    enough, on which I have had to act or speak. Perhaps I shall\n    surprise you by what I have yet further to say. I have never by\n    any conscious act yielded my allegiance to any person or party in\n    matters of religion. You and others may have called me (without\n    the least offence) a churchman of some particular kind, and I have\n    more than once seen announced in print my own secession from the\n    church of England. These things I have not commonly contradicted,\n    for the atmosphere of religious controversy and contradiction is\n    as odious as the atmosphere of mental freedom is precious, to me;\n    and I have feared to lose the one and be drawn into the other, by\n    heat and bitterness creeping into the mind. If another chooses to\n    call himself, or to call me, a member of this or that party, I am\n    not to complain. But I respectfully claim the right not to call\n    myself so, and on this claim, I have I believe acted throughout my\n    life, without a single exception; and I feel that were I to waive\n    it, I should at once put in hazard that allegiance to Truth, which\n    is at once the supreme duty and the supreme joy of life. I have\n    only to add the expression of my hope that in what I have said\n    there is nothing to hurt or to offend you; and, if there be, very\n    heartily to wish it unsaid.\n\n\nYet there was never the shadow of mistake about his own fervent faith. As\nhe said to another correspondent:--\n\n\n    _Feb. 5, 1876._--I am in principle a strong denominationalist. \"One\n    fold and one shepherd\" was the note of early Christendom. The\n    shepherd is still one and knows his sheep; but the folds are many;\n    and, without condemning any others, I am of opinion that it is\n    best for us all that we should all of us be jealous for the honour\n    of whatever we have and hold as positive truth, appertaining to\n    the Divine Word and the foundation and history of the Christian\n    community. I admit that this question becomes one of circumstance\n    and degree, but I take it as I find it defined for myself by and\n    in my own position.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nOf Mr. Gladstone as orator and improvisatore, enough has been said and\nseen. Besides being orator and statesman he was scholar and critic.\nPerhaps scholar in his interests, not in abiding contribution. The most\ncopious of his productions in this delightful but arduous field was the\nthree large volumes on _Homer and the Homeric Age_, given to the world in\n1858. Into what has been well called the whirlpool of Homeric\ncontroversies, the reader shall not here be dragged. Mr. Gladstone himself\ngave them the go-by, with an indifference and disdain such as might have\nbeen well enough in the economic field if exhibited towards a\nprotectionist farmer, or a partisan of retaliatory duties on manufactured\ngoods, but that were hardly to the point in dealing with profound and\noriginal critics. What he too contemptuously dismissed as Homeric\n\"bubble-schemes,\" were in truth centres of scientific illumination. At the\nend of the eighteenth century Wolf's famous _Prolegomena_ appeared, in\nwhich he advanced the theory that Homer was no single poet, nor a name for\ntwo poets, nor an individual at all; the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ were\ncollections of independent lays, folk-lore and folk-songs connected by a\ncommon set of themes, and edited, redacted, or compacted about the middle\nof the sixth century before Christ. A learned man of our own day has said\nthat F. A. Wolf ought to be counted one of the half dozen writers that\nwithin the last three centuries have most influenced thought. This would\nbring Wolf into line with Descartes, Newton, Locke, Kant, Rousseau, or\nwhatever other five master-spirits of thought from then to now the\njudicious reader may select. The present writer has assuredly no\ncompetence to assign Wolf's place in the history of modern criticism, but\nstraying aside for a season from the green pastures of Hansard, and\nturning over again the slim volume of a hundred and fifty pages in which\nWolf discusses his theme, one may easily discern a fountain of broad\nstreams of modern thought (apart from the particular thesis) that to Mr.\nGladstone, by the force of all his education and his deepest\nprepossessions, were in the highest degree chimerical and dangerous.\n\nHe once wrote to Lord Acton (1889) about the Old Testament and Mosaic\nlegislation:--\n\n\n    Now I think that the most important parts of the argument have in\n    a great degree a solid standing ground apart from the destructive\n    criticism on dates and on the text: and I am sufficiently aware of\n    my own rawness and ignorance in the matter not to allow myself to\n    judge definitely, or condemn. I feel also that I have a\n    prepossession derived from the criticisms in the case of Homer. Of\n    them I have a very bad opinion, not only in themselves, but as to\n    the levity, precipitancy, and shallowness of mind which they\n    display; and here I do venture to speak, because I believe myself\n    to have done a great deal more than any of the destructives in the\n    examination of the text, which is the true source of the materials\n    of judgment. They are a soulless lot; but there was a time when\n    they had possession of the public ear as much I suppose as the Old\n    Testament destructives now have, within their own precinct. It is\n    only the constructive part of their work on which I feel tempted\n    to judge; and I must own that it seems to me sadly wanting in the\n    elements of rational probability.\n\n\nThis unpromising method is sufficiently set out when he says: \"I find in\nthe plot of the _Iliad_ enough of beauty, order, and structure, not merely\nto sustain the supposition of its own unity, but to bear an independent\ntestimony, should it be still needed, to the existence of a personal and\nindividual Homer as its author.\"(319) From such a method no permanent\ncontribution could come.\n\nYet scholars allow that Mr. Gladstone in these three volumes, as well as\nin _Juventus Mundi_ and his _Homeric Primer_, has added not a little to\nour scientific knowledge of the Homeric poems,(320) by his extraordinary\nmastery of the text, the result of unwearied and prolonged industry, aided\n(M193) by a memory both tenacious and ready. Taking his own point of view,\nmoreover, anybody who wishes to have his feeling about the _Iliad_ and\n_Odyssey_ as delightful poetry refreshed and quickened, will find\ninspiring elements in the profusion, the eager array of Homer's own lines,\nthe diligent exploration of aspects and bearings hitherto unthought of.\nThe \"theo-mythology\" is commonly judged fantastic, and has been compared\nby sage critics to Warburton's _Divine Legation_--the same comprehensive\ngeneral reading, the same heroic industry in marshalling the particulars\nof proof, the same dialectical strength of arm, and all brought to prove\nan unsound proposition.(321) Yet the comprehensive reading and the\nparticulars of proof are by no means without an interest of their own,\nwhatever we may think of the proposition; and here, as in all his literary\nwriting distinguished from polemics, he abounds in the ethical elements.\nHere perhaps more than anywhere else he impresses us by his love of beauty\nin all its aspects and relations, in the human form, in landscape, in the\naffections, in animals, including above all else that sense of beauty\nwhich made his Greeks take it as one of the names for nobility in conduct.\nConington, one of the finest of scholars, then lecturing at Oxford on\nLatin poets and deep in his own Virgilian studies, which afterwards bore\nsuch admirable fruit, writes at length (Feb. 14, 1857) to say how grateful\nhe is to Mr. Gladstone for the care with which he has pursued into details\na view of Virgil that they hold substantially in common, and proceeds with\ncare and point to analyse the quality of the Roman poet's art, as some\nyears later he defended against Munro the questionable proposition of the\nsuperiority in poetic style of the graceful, melodious, and pathetic\nVirgil to Lucretius's mighty muse.\n\nNo field has been more industriously worked for the last forty years than\nthis of the relations of paganism to the historic religion that followed\nit in Europe. The knowledge and the speculations into which Mr. Gladstone\nwas thus initiated in the sixties may now seem crude enough; but he\ndeserves some credit in English, though not in view of German, speculation\nfor an early perception of an unfamiliar region of comparative science,\nwhence many a product most unwelcome to him and alien to his own beliefs\nhas been since extracted. When all is said, however, Mr. Gladstone's place\nis not in literary or critical history, but elsewhere.\n\nHis style is sometimes called Johnsonian, but surely without good ground.\nJohnson was not involved and he was clear, and neither of these things can\nalways be said of Mr. Gladstone. Some critic charged him in 1840 with\n\"prolix clearness.\" The old charge, says Mr. Gladstone upon this, was\n\"obscure compression. I do not doubt that both may be true, and the former\nmay have been the result of a well-meant effort to escape from the\nlatter.\" He was fond of abstract words, or the nearer to abstract the\nbetter, and the more general the better. One effect of this was\nundoubtedly to give an indirect, almost a shifty, air that exasperated\nplain people. Why does he beat about the bush, they asked; why cannot he\nsay what he means? A reader might have to think twice or thrice or twenty\ntimes before he could be sure that he interpreted correctly. But then\npeople are so apt to think once, or half of once; to take the meaning that\nsuits their own wish or purpose best, and then to treat that as the only\nmeaning. Hence their perplexity and wrath when they found that other doors\nwere open, and they thought a mistake due to their own hurry was the\nresult of a juggler's trick. On the other hand a good writer takes all the\npains he can to keep his reader out of such scrapes.\n\nHis critical essays on Tennyson and Macaulay are excellent. They are\nacute, discriminating, generous. His estimate of Macaulay, apart from a\npiece of polemical church history at the end, is perhaps the best we have.\n\"You make a very just remark,\" said Acton to him, \"that Macaulay was\nafraid of contradicting his former self, and remembered all he had written\nsince 1825. At that time his mind was formed, and so it remained. What\nliterary influences acted on the formation of his political opinions, what\nwere his religious sympathies, and what is his exact place among\nhistorians, you have rather avoided discussing. There is still something\nto say on these points.\" To Tennyson Mr. Gladstone believed himself to\nhave been unjust, especially in the passages of _Maud_ devoted to the\nwar-frenzy, and when he came to reprint the article he admitted that he\nhad not sufficiently remembered that he was dealing with a dramatic and\nimaginative composition.(322) As he frankly said of himself, he was not\nstrong in the faculties of the artist, but perhaps Tennyson himself in\nthese passages was prompted much more by politics than by art. Of this\npiece of retractation the poet truly said, \"Nobody but a noble-minded man\nwould have done that.\"(323) Mr. Gladstone would most likely have chosen to\ncall his words a qualification rather than a recantation. In either case,\nit does not affect passages that give the finest expression to one of the\nvery deepest convictions of his life,--that war, whatever else we may\nchoose to say of it, is no antidote for Mammon-worship and can never be a\ncure for moral evils:--\n\n\n    It is, indeed, true that peace has its moral perils and\n    temptations for degenerate man, as has every other blessing,\n    without exception, that he can receive from the hand of God. It is\n    moreover not less true that, amidst the clash of arms, the noblest\n    forms of character may be reared, and the highest acts of duty\n    done; that these great and precious results may be due to war as\n    their cause; and that one high form of sentiment in particular,\n    the love of country, receives a powerful and general stimulus from\n    the bloody strife. But this is as the furious cruelty of Pharaoh\n    made place for the benign virtue of his daughter; as the\n    butchering sentence of Herod raised without doubt many a mother's\n    love into heroic sublimity; as plague, as famine, as fire, as\n    flood, as every curse and every scourge that is wielded by an\n    angry Providence for the chastisement of man, is an appointed\n    instrument for tempering human souls in the seven-times heated\n    furnace of affliction, up to the standard of angelic and\n    archangelic virtue.\n\n    War, indeed, has the property of exciting much generous and noble\n    feeling on a large scale; but with this special recommendation it\n    has, in its modern forms especially, peculiar and unequalled\n    evils. As it has a wider sweep of desolating power than the rest,\n    so it has the peculiar quality that it is more susceptible of\n    being decked in gaudy trappings, and of fascinating the\n    imagination of those whose proud and angry passions it inflames.\n    But it is, on this very account, a perilous delusion to teach that\n    war is a cure for moral evil, in any other sense than as the\n    sister tribulations are. The eulogies of the frantic hero in\n    _Maud_, however, deviate into grosser folly. It is natural that\n    such vagaries should overlook the fixed laws of Providence. Under\n    these laws the mass of mankind is composed of men, women, and\n    children who can but just ward off hunger, cold, and nakedness;\n    whose whole ideas of Mammon-worship are comprised in the search\n    for their daily food, clothing, shelter, fuel; whom any casualty\n    reduces to positive want; and whose already low estate is yet\n    further lowered and ground down, when \"the blood-red blossom of\n    war flames with its heart of fire.\"...\n\n    Still war had, in times now gone by, ennobling elements and\n    tendencies of the less sordid kind. But one inevitable\n    characteristic of modern war is, that it is associated throughout,\n    in all particulars, with a vast and most irregular formation of\n    commercial enterprise. There is no incentive to Mammon-worship so\n    remarkable as that which it affords. The political economy of war\n    is now one of its most commanding aspects. Every farthing, with\n    the smallest exceptions conceivable, of the scores or hundreds of\n    millions which a war may cost, goes directly, and very violently,\n    to stimulate production, though it is intended ultimately for\n    waste or for destruction. Even apart from the fact that war\n    suspends, _ipso facto_, every rule of public thrift, and tends to\n    sap honesty itself in the use of the public treasure for which it\n    makes such unbounded calls, it therefore is the greatest feeder of\n    that lust of gold which we are told is the essence of commerce,\n    though we had hoped it was only its occasional besetting sin. It\n    is, however, more than this; for the regular commerce of peace is\n    tameness itself compared with the gambling spirit which war,\n    through the rapid shiftings and high prices which it brings,\n    always introduces into trade. In its moral operation it more\n    resembles, perhaps the finding of a new gold-field, than anything\n    else.\n\n\nMore remarkable than either of these two is his piece on Leopardi (1850),\nthe Italian poet, whose philosophy and (M194) frame of mind, said Mr.\nGladstone, \"present more than any other that we know, more even than that\nof Shelley, the character of unrelieved, unredeemed desolation--the very\nqualities in it which attract pitying sympathy, depriving it of all\nseductive power.\" It is curious that he should have selected one whose\nlife lay along a course like Leopardi's for commemoration, as a man who in\nalmost every branch of mental exertion seems to have had the capacity for\nattaining, and generally at a single bound, the very highest excellence.\n\"There are many things,\" he adds, \"in which Christians would do well to\nfollow him: in the warmth of his attachments; in the moderation of his\nwants; in his noble freedom from the love of money; in his all-conquering\nassiduity.\"(324) Perhaps the most remarkable sentence of all is this: \"...\nwhat is not needful, and is commonly wrong, namely, is to pass a judgment\non our fellow-creatures. Never let it be forgotten that there is scarcely\na single moral action of a single man of which other men can have such a\nknowledge, in its ultimate grounds, its surrounding incidents, and the\nreal determining causes of its merits, as to warrant their pronouncing a\nconclusive judgment upon it.\"\n\nThe translation of poetry into poetry, as Coleridge said, is difficult\nbecause the translator must give brilliancy without the warmth of original\nconception, from which such brilliancy would follow of its own accord. But\nwe must not judge Mr. Gladstone's translation either of Horace's odes or\nof detached pieces from Greek or Italian, as we should judge the professed\nman of letters or poet like Coleridge himself. His pieces are the\ndiversions of the man of affairs, with educated tastes and interest in\ngood literature. Perhaps the best single piece is his really noble\nrendering of Manzoni's noble ode on the death of Napoleon; for instance:--\n\n\n        From Alp to farthest Pyramid,\n          From Rhine to Mansanar,\n        How sure his lightning's flash foretold\n          His thunderbolts of war!\n    To Don from Scilla's height they roar,\n    From North to Southern shore.\n        And this was glory? After-men,\n          Judge the dark problem. Low\n        We to the Mighty Maker bend\n          The while, Who planned to show\n    What vaster mould Creative Will\n      With him could fill.\n\n                  -------------------------------------\n\n        As on the shipwrecked mariner\n          The weltering wave's descent--\n        The wave, o'er which, a moment since,\n          For distant shores he bent\n    And bent in vain, his eager eye;\n      So on that stricken head\n        Came whelming down the mighty Past.\n          How often did his pen\n        Essay to tell the wondrous tale\n          For after times and men,\n    And o'er the lines that could not die\n      His hand lay dead.\n\n        How often, as the listless day\n        In silence died away,\n        He stood with lightning eye deprest,\n        And arms across his breast,\n    And bygone years, in rushing train,\n    Smote on his soul amain:\n        The breezy tents he seemed to see,\n        And the battering cannon's course,\n        And the flashing of the infantry,\n        And the torrent of the horse,\n    And, obeyed as soon as heard,\n      Th' ecstatic word.\n\n\nAlways let us remember that his literary life was part of the rest of his\nlife, as literature ought to be. He was no mere reader of many books, used\nto relieve the strain of mental anxiety or to slake the thirst of literary\nor intellectual curiosity. Reading with him in the days of his full vigour\nwas a habitual communing with the master spirits of mankind, as a\nvivifying and nourishing part of life. As we have seen, he would not read\nDante in the session, nor unless he could have a large draught. Here as\nelsewhere in the ordering of his days he was methodical, systematic, full.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\n(M195) Though man of action, yet Mr. Gladstone too has a place by\ncharacter and influences among what we may call the abstract, moral,\nspiritual forces that stamped the realm of Britain in his age. In a new\ntime, marked in an incomparable degree by the progress of science and\ninvention, by vast mechanical, industrial, and commercial development, he\naccepted it all, he adjusted his statesmanship to it all, nay, he revelled\nin it all, as tending to ameliorate the lot of the \"mass of men, women,\nand children who can just ward off hunger, cold, and nakedness.\" He did\nnot rail at his age, he strove to help it. Following Walpole and Cobden\nand Peel in the policies of peace, he knew how to augment the material\nresources on which our people depend. When was Britain stronger, richer,\nmore honoured among the nations--I do not say always among the diplomatic\nchanceries and governments--than in the years when Mr. Gladstone was at the\nzenith of his authority among us? When were her armed forces by sea and\nland more adequate for defence of every interest? When was her material\nresource sounder? When was her moral credit higher? Besides all this, he\nupheld a golden lamp.\n\nThe unending revolutions of the world are for ever bringing old phases\nuppermost again. Events from season to season are taken to teach sinister\nlessons, that the Real is the only Rational, force is the test of right\nand wrong, the state has nothing to do with restraints of morals, the\nruler is emancipated. Speculations in physical science were distorted for\nalien purposes, and survival of the fittest was taken to give brutality a\nmore decent name. Even new conceptions and systems of history may be\ntwisted into release of statesmen from the conscience of Bishop Butler's\nplain man. This gospel it was Mr. Gladstone's felicity to hold at bay.\nWithout bringing back the cosmopolitanism of the eighteenth century,\nwithout sharing all the idealisms of the middle of the nineteenth, he\nresisted with his whole might the odious contention that moral progress in\nthe relations of nations and states to one another is an illusion and a\ndream.\n\nThis vein perhaps brings us too near to the regions of dissertation. Let\nus rather leave off with thoughts and memories of one who was a vivid\nexample of public duty and of private faithfulness; of a long career that\nwith every circumstance of splendour, amid all the mire and all the\npoisons of the world, lighted up in practice even for those who have none\nof his genius and none of his power his own precept, \"Be inspired with the\nbelief that life is a great and noble calling; not a mean and grovelling\nthing, that we are to shuffle through as we can, but an elevated and lofty\ndestiny.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\n\n\n\nIrish Local Government, 1883. (Page 103)\n\n\n    _Mr. Gladstone to Lord Granville_\n\n    _Cannes, Jan. 22, 1883._--Today I have been a good deal distressed\n    by a passage as reported in Hartington's very strong and able\n    speech, for which I am at a loss to account, so far does it travel\n    out into the open, and so awkward are the intimations it seems to\n    convey. I felt that I could not do otherwise than telegraph to you\n    in cipher on the subject. But I used words intended to show that,\n    while I thought an immediate notification needful, I was far from\n    wishing to hasten the reply, and desired to leave altogether in\n    your hands the mode of touching a delicate matter. Pray use the\n    widest discretion.\n\n    I console myself with thinking it is hardly possible that\n    Hartington can have meant to say what nevertheless both _Times_\n    and _Daily News_ make him seem to say, namely, that we recede\n    from, or throw into abeyance, the declarations we have constantly\n    made about our desire to extend local government, properly so\n    called, to Ireland on the first opportunity which the state of\n    business in parliament would permit. We announced our intention to\n    do this at the very moment when we were preparing to suspend the\n    Habeas Corpus Act. Since that time we have seen our position in\n    Ireland immensely strengthened, and the leader of the agitation\n    has even thought it wise, and has dared, to pursue a somewhat\n    conciliatory course. Many of his coadjutors are still as vicious,\n    it may be, as ever, but how can we say (for instance) to the\n    Ulster men, you shall remain with shortened liberties and without\n    local government, because Biggar & Co. are hostile to British\n    connection?\n\n    There has also come prominently into view a new and powerful set\n    of motives which, in my deliberate judgment, require us, for the\n    sake of the United Kingdom even more than for the sake of Ireland,\n    to push forward this question. Under the present highly\n    centralised system of government, every demand which can be\n    started on behalf of a poor and ill-organised country, comes\n    directly on the British government and treasury; if refused it\n    becomes at once a head of grievance, if granted not only a new\n    drain but a certain source of political complication and\n    embarrassment. The peasant proprietary, the winter's distress, the\n    state of the labourers, the loans to farmers, the promotion of\n    public works, the encouragement of fisheries, the promotion of\n    emigration, each and every one of these questions has a sting, and\n    the sting can only be taken out of it by our treating it in\n    correspondence with a popular and responsible Irish body,\n    competent to act for its own portion of the country.\n\n    Every consideration which prompted our pledges, prompts the\n    recognition of them, and their extension, rather than curtailment.\n    The Irish government have in preparation a Local Government bill.\n    Such a bill may even be an economy of time. By no other means that\n    I can see shall we be able to ward off most critical and\n    questionable discussions on questions of the class I have\n    mentioned. The argument that we cannot yet trust Irishmen with\n    popular local institutions is the mischievous argument by which\n    the conservative opposition to the Melbourne government resisted,\n    and finally crippled, the reform of municipal corporations in\n    Ireland. By acting on principles diametrically opposite, we have\n    broken down to thirty-five or forty what would have been a party,\n    in this parliament, of sixty-five home rulers, and have thus\n    arrested (or at the very least postponed) the perilous crisis,\n    which no man has as yet looked in the face; the crisis which will\n    arise when a large and united majority of Irish members demand\n    some fundamental change in the legislative relations of the two\n    countries. I can ill convey to you how dear are my thoughts, or\n    how earnest my convictions, on this important subject....\n\n\n\n\nGeneral Gordon's Instructions. (Page 153)\n\n\n_The following is the text of General Gordon's Instructions (Jan. 18,\n1884)_:--\n\n\n    Her Majesty's government are desirous that you should proceed at\n    once to Egypt, to report to them on the military situation in the\n    Soudan, and on the measures it may be advisable to take for the\n    security of the Egyptian garrisons still holding positions in that\n    country, and for the safety of the European population in\n    Khartoum. You are also desired to consider and report upon the\n    best mode of effecting the evacuation of the interior of the\n    Soudan, and upon the manner in which the safety and good\n    administration by the Egyptian government of the ports on the sea\n    coast can best be secured. In connection with this subject you\n    should pay especial consideration to the question of the steps\n    that may usefully be taken to counteract the stimulus which it is\n    feared may possibly be given to the slave trade by the present\n    insurrectionary movement, and by the withdrawal of the Egyptian\n    authority from the interior. You will be under the instructions of\n    Her Majesty's agent and consul-general at Cairo, through whom your\n    reports to Her Majesty's government should be sent under flying\n    seal. You will consider yourself authorised and instructed to\n    perform such other duties as the Egyptian government may desire to\n    entrust to you, and as may be communicated to you by Sir E.\n    Baring. You will be accompanied by Colonel Stewart, who will\n    assist you in the duties thus confided to you. On your arrival in\n    Egypt you will at once communicate with Sir E. Baring, who will\n    arrange to meet you and will settle with you whether you should\n    proceed direct to Suakin or should go yourself or despatch Colonel\n    Stewart _via_ the Nile.\n\n\n\n\nThe Military Position In The Soudan, April 1885. (Page 179)\n\n\n_This Memorandum, dated April 9, 1885, was prepared by Mr. Gladstone for\nthe cabinet_:--\n\n\n    The commencement of the hot season appears, with other\n    circumstances, to mark the time for considering at large our\n    position in the Soudan. Also a declaration of policy is now\n    demanded from us in nearly all quarters.... When the betrayal of\n    Khartoum had been announced, the desire and intention of the\n    cabinet were to reserve for a later decision the question of an\n    eventual advance upon that place, should no immediate movement on\n    it be found possible. The objects they had immediately in view\n    were to ascertain the fate of Gordon, to make every effort on his\n    behalf, and to prevent the extension of the area of disturbance.\n\n    But Lord Wolseley at once impressed upon the cabinet that he\n    required, in order to determine his immediate military movements,\n    to know whether they were to be based upon the plan of an eventual\n    advance on Khartoum, or whether the intention of such an advance\n    was to be abandoned altogether. If the first plan were adopted,\n    Lord Wolseley declared his power and intention to take Berber, and\n    even gave a possible date for it, in the middle of March. The\n    cabinet, adopting the phrase which Lord Wolseley had used, decided\n    upon the facts as they then stood before it: (_a_) Lord Wolseley\n    was to calculate upon proceeding to Khartoum after the hot season,\n    to overthrow the power of the Mahdi there; (_b_) and,\n    consequently, on this decision, they were to commence the\n    construction of a railway from Suakin to Berber, in aid of the\n    contemplated expedition; (_c_) an expedition was also to be sent\n    against Osman Digna, which would open the road to Berber; but Lord\n    Wolseley's demand for this expedition applied alike to each of the\n    two military alternatives which he had laid before the cabinet.\n\n    There was no absolute decision to proceed to Khartoum at any time;\n    and the declarations of ministers in parliament have treated it as\n    a matter to be further weighed; but all steps have thus far been\n    taken to prepare for it, and it has been regarded as at least\n    probable. In approaching the question whether we are still to\n    proceed on the same lines, it is necessary to refer to the motives\n    which under the directions of the cabinet were stated by Lord\n    Granville and by me, on the 19th of February, as having\n    contributed to the decision, I copy out a part of the note from\n    which he and I spoke:--\n\n    Objects in the Soudan which we have always deemed fit for\n    consideration as far as circumstances might allow:--\n\n    1. The case of those to whom Gordon held himself bound in honour.\n\n    2. The possibility of establishing an orderly government at\n    Khartoum.\n\n    3. Check to the slave trade.\n\n    4. The case of the garrisons.\n\n    A negative decision would probably have involved the abandonment\n    at a stroke of all these objects. And also (we had to consider)\n    whatever dangers, proximate or remote, in Egypt or in the East\n    might follow from the triumphant position of the Mahdi; hard to\n    estimate, but they may be very serious.\n\n    Two months, which have passed since the decision of the government\n    (Feb. 5), have thrown light, more or less, upon the several points\n    brought into view on the 19th February. 1. We have now no\n    sufficient reason to assume that any of the population of Khartoum\n    felt themselves bound to Gordon, or to have suffered on his\n    account; or even that any large numbers of men in arms perished in\n    the betrayal of the town, or took his part after the enemy were\n    admitted into it. 2. We have had no tidings of anarchy at\n    Khartoum, and we do not know that it is governed worse, or that\n    the population is suffering more, than it would be under a Turkish\n    or Egyptian ruler. 3. It is not believed that the possession of\n    Khartoum is of any great value as regards the slave trade. 4. Or,\n    after the failure of Gordon with respect to the garrisons, that\n    the possession of Khartoum would, without further and formidable\n    extensions of plan, avail for the purpose of relieving them. But\n    further, what knowledge have we that these garrisons are unable to\n    relieve themselves? There seems some reason to believe that the\n    army of Hicks, when the action ceased, fraternised with the\n    Mahdi's army, and that the same thing happened at Khartoum. Is\n    there ground to suppose that they are hateful unless as\n    representatives of Egyptian power? and ought they not to be\n    released from any obligation to present themselves in that\n    capacity?\n\n    With regard to the larger question of eventual consequences in\n    Egypt or the East from the Mahdi's success at Khartoum, it is open\n    to many views, and cannot be completely disposed of. But it may be\n    observed--1. That the Mahdi made a trial of marching down the Nile\n    and speedily abandoned it, even in the first flush of his success.\n    2. That cessation of operations in the Soudan does not at this\n    moment mean our military inaction in the East. 3. That the\n    question is one of conflict, not with the arms of an enemy, but\n    with Nature in respect of climate and supply. 4. There remains\n    also a grave question of justice, to which I shall revert.\n\n    Should the idea of proceeding to Khartoum be abandoned, the\n    railway from Suakin, as now projected, would fall with it, since\n    it was adopted as a military measure, subsidiary to the advance on\n    Khartoum. The prosecution of it as a civil or commercial\n    enterprise would be a new proposal, to be examined on its merits.\n\n    The military situation appears in some respects favourable to the\n    re-examination of the whole subject. The general has found himself\n    unable to execute his intention of taking Berber, and this failure\n    alters the basis on which the cabinet proceeded in February, and\n    greatly increases the difficulty of the autumn enterprise. On the\n    one hand Wolseley's and Graham's forces have had five or six\n    considerable actions, and have been uniformly victorious. On the\n    other hand, the Mahdi has voluntarily retired from Khartoum, and\n    Osman Digna has been driven from the field, but cannot, as Graham\n    says, be followed into the mountains.(325) While the present\n    situation may thus seem opportune, the future of more extended\n    operations is dark. In at least one of his telegrams, Wolseley has\n    expressed a very keen desire to get the British army out of the\n    Soudan.(326) He has now made very large demands for the autumn\n    expedition, which, judging from previous experience and from\n    general likelihood, are almost certain to grow larger, as he comes\n    more closely to confront the very formidable task before him;\n    while in his letter to Lord Hartington he describes this affair to\n    be _the greatest __\"__since 1815,__\"_ and expresses his hope that\n    all the members of the cabinet clearly understand this to be the\n    case. He also names a period of between two or three years for the\n    completion of the railway, while he expresses an absolute\n    confidence in the power and resources of this country with vast\n    effort to insure success. He means without doubt military success.\n    Political success appears much more problematical.\n\n    There remains, however, to be considered a question which I take\n    to be of extreme importance. I mean the moral basis of the\n    projected military operations. I have from the first regarded the\n    rising of the Soudanese against Egypt as a justifiable and\n    honourable revolt. The cabinet have, I think, never taken an\n    opposite view. Mr. Power, in his letter from Khartoum before\n    Gordon's arrival, is decided and even fervent in the same sense.\n\n    We sent Gordon on a mission of peace and liberation. From such\n    information as alone we have possessed, we found this missionary\n    of peace menaced and besieged, finally betrayed by some of his\n    troops, and slaughtered by those whom he came to set free. This\n    information, however, was fragmentary, and was also one-sided. We\n    have now the advantage of reviewing it as a whole, of reading it\n    in the light of events, and of some auxiliary evidence such as\n    that of Mr. Power.\n\n    I never understood how it was that Gordon's mission of peace\n    became one of war. But we knew the nobleness of his philanthropy,\n    and we trusted him to the uttermost, as it was our duty to do. He\n    never informed us that he had himself changed the character of the\n    mission. It seemed strange that one who bore in his hands a\n    charter of liberation should be besieged and threatened; but we\n    took everything for granted in his favour, and against his\n    enemies; and we could hardly do otherwise. Our obligations in this\n    respect were greatly enhanced by the long interruption of\n    telegraphic communication. It was our duty to believe that, if we\n    could only know what he was prevented from saying to us,\n    contradictions would be reconciled, and language of excess\n    accounted for. We now know from the letters of Mr. Power that when\n    he was at Khartoum with Colonel de Coetlogon before Gordon's\n    arrival, a retreat on Berber had been actually ordered; it was\n    regarded no doubt as a serious work of time, because it involved\n    the removal of an Egyptian population;(327) but it was deemed\n    feasible, and Power expresses no doubt of its accomplishment.(328)\n    As far as, amidst its inconsistencies, a construction can be put\n    on Gordon's language, it is to the effect that there was a\n    population and a force attached to him, which he could not remove\n    and would not leave.(329) But De Coetlogon did not regard this\n    removal as impracticable, and was actually setting about it. Why\n    Gordon did not prosecute it, why we hear no more of it from Power\n    after Gordon's arrival, is a mystery. Instructed by results we now\n    perceive that Gordon's title as governor-general might naturally\n    be interpreted by the tribes in the light of much of the language\n    used by him, which did not savour of liberation and evacuation,\n    but of powers of government over the Soudan; powers to be used\n    benevolently, but still powers of government. Why the Mahdi did\n    not accept him is not hard to understand, but why was he not\n    accepted by those local sultans, whom it was the basis of his\n    declared policy to re-invest with their ancient powers, in spite\n    of Egypt and of the Mahdi alike? Was he not in short interpreted\n    as associated with the work of Hicks, and did he not himself give\n    probable colour to this interpretation? It must be borne in mind\n    that on other matters of the gravest importance--on the use of\n    Turkish force--on the use of British force--on the employment of\n    Zobeir--Gordon announced within a very short time contradictory\n    views, and never seemed to feel that there was any need of\n    explanation, in order to account for the contradictions. There is\n    every presumption, as well as every sign, that like fluctuation\n    and inconsistency crept into his words and acts as to the\n    liberation of the country; and this, if it was so, could not but\n    produce ruinous effects. Upon the whole, it seems probable that\n    Gordon, perhaps insensibly to himself, and certainly without our\n    concurrence, altered the character of his mission, and worked in a\n    considerable degree against our intentions and instructions.\n\n    There does not appear to be any question now of the security of\n    the army, but a most grave question whether we can demonstrate a\n    necessity (nothing less will suffice) for making war on a people\n    who are struggling against a foreign and armed yoke, not for the\n    rescue of our own countrymen, not for the rescue _so far as we\n    know_ of an Egyptian population, but with very heavy cost of\n    British life as well as treasure, with a serious strain on our\n    military resources at a most critical time, and with the most\n    serious fear that if we persist, we shall find ourselves engaged\n    in an odious work of subjugation. The discontinuance of these\n    military operations would, I presume, take the form of a\n    suspension _sine die,_ leaving the future open; would require\n    attention to be paid to defence on the recognised southern\n    frontier of Egypt, and need not involve any precipitate\n    abandonment of Suakin.\n\n\n\n\nHome Rule Bill, 1886. (Page 308)\n\n\n(M196) _The following summary of the provisions of the Home Rule bill of\n1886 supplements the description of the bill given in Chapter V. Book\nX._:--\n\n\n    One of the cardinal difficulties of all free government is to make\n    it hard for majorities to act unjustly to minorities. You cannot\n    make this injustice impossible but you may set up obstacles. In\n    this case, there was no novelty in the device adopted. The\n    legislative body was to be composed of two orders. The first order\n    was to consist of the twenty-eight representative peers, together\n    with seventy-five members elected by certain scheduled\n    constituencies on an occupation franchise of twenty-five pounds\n    and upwards. To be eligible for the first order, a person must\n    have a property qualification, either in realty of two hundred\n    pounds a year, or in personalty of the same amount, or a capital\n    value of four thousand pounds. The representative peers now\n    existing would sit for life, and, as they dropped off, the crown\n    would nominate persons to take their place up to a certain date,\n    and on the exhaustion of the twenty-eight existing peers, then the\n    whole of the first order would become elective under the same\n    conditions as the seventy-five other members.\n\n    The second order would consist of 206 members, chosen by existing\n    counties and towns under the machinery now operative. The two\n    orders were to sit and deliberate together, but either order could\n    demand a separate vote. This right would enable a majority of one\n    order to veto the proposal of the other. But the veto was only to\n    operate until a dissolution, or for three years, whichever might\n    be the longer interval of the two.\n\n    The executive transition was to be gradual. The office of viceroy\n    would remain, but he would not be the minister of a party, nor\n    quit office with an outgoing government. He would have a privy\n    council; within that council would be formed an executive body of\n    ministers like the British cabinet. This executive would be\n    responsible to the Irish legislature, just as the executive\n    government here is responsible to the legislature of this country.\n    If any clause of a bill seemed to the viceroy to be _ultra vires_,\n    he could refer it to the judicial committee of the privy council\n    in London. The same reference, in respect of a section of an Irish\n    Act, lay open either to the English secretary of state, or to a\n    suitor, defendant, or other person concerned.\n\n    Future judges were to hold the same place in the Irish system as\n    English judges in the English system; their office was to be\n    during good behaviour; they were to be appointed on the advice of\n    the Irish government, removable only on the joint address of the\n    two orders, and their salaries charged on the Irish consolidated\n    fund. The burning question of the royal Irish constabulary was\n    dealt with provisionally. Until a local force was created by the\n    new government, they were to remain at the orders of the lord\n    lieutenant. Ultimately the Irish police were to come under the\n    control of the legislative body. For two years from the passing of\n    the Act, the legislative body was to fix the charge for the whole\n    constabulary of Ireland.\n\n    In national as in domestic housekeeping, the figure of available\n    income is the vital question. The total receipts of the Irish\n    exchequer would be L8,350,000, from customs, excise, stamps,\n    income-tax, and non-tax revenue. On a general comparison of the\n    taxable revenues of Ireland and Great Britain, as tested more\n    especially by the property passing under the death duties, the\n    fair proportion due as Ireland's share for imperial purposes, such\n    as interest on the debt, defence, and civil charge, was fixed at\n    one-fifteenth. This would bring the total charge properly imperial\n    up to L3,242,000. Civil charges in Ireland were put at L2,510,000,\n    and the constabulary charge on Ireland was not to exceed\n    L1,000,000, any excess over that sum being debited to England. The\n    Irish government would be left with a surplus of L404,000. This\n    may seem a ludicrously meagre amount, but, compared with the total\n    revenue, it is equivalent to a surplus on our own budget of that\n    date of something like five millions.\n\n    The true payment to imperial charges was to be L1,842,000 because\n    of the gross revenue above stated of L1,400,000 though paid in\n    Ireland in the first instance was really paid by British consumers\n    of whisky, porter, and tobacco. This sum, deducted from\n    L3,342,000, leaves the real Irish contribution, namely L1,842,000.\n\n    A further sum of uncertain, but substantial amount, would go to\n    the Irish exchequer from another source, to which we have now to\n    turn. With the proposals for self-government were coupled\n    proposals for a settlement of the land question. The ground-work\n    was an option offered to the landlords of being bought out under\n    the terms of the Act. The purchaser was to be an Irish state\n    authority, as the organ representing the legislative body. The\n    occupier was to become the proprietor, except in the congested\n    districts, where the state authority was to be the proprietor. The\n    normal price was to be twenty years' purchase of the net rental.\n    The most important provision, in one sense, was that which\n    recognised the salutary principle that the public credit should\n    not be resorted to on such a scale as this merely for the benefit\n    of a limited number of existing cultivators of the soil, without\n    any direct advantage to the government as representing the\n    community at large. That was effected by making the tenant pay an\n    annual instalment, calculated on the gross rental, while the state\n    authority would repay to the imperial treasury a percentage\n    calculated on the net rental, and the state authority would pocket\n    the difference, estimated to be about 18 per cent. on the sum\n    payable to the selling landlord. How was all this to be secured?\n    Principally, on the annuities paid by the tenants who had\n    purchased their holdings, and if the holdings did not satisfy the\n    charge, then on the revenues of Ireland. All public revenues\n    whatever were to be collected by persons appointed by the Irish\n    government, but these collectors were to pay over all sums that\n    came into their hands to an imperial officer, to be styled a\n    receiver-general. Through him all rents and Irish revenues\n    whatever were to pass, and not a shilling was to be let out for\n    Irish purposes until their obligations to the imperial exchequer\n    had been discharged.\n\n\n\n\nOn The Place Of Italy. (Page 415)\n\n\n    By the provisions of nature, Italy was marked out for a\n    conservative force in Europe. As England is cut off by the\n    channel, so is Italy by the mountains, from the continental\n    mass.... If England commits follies they are the follies of a\n    strong man who can afford to waste a portion of his resources\n    without greatly affecting the sum total.... She has a huge free\n    margin, on which she might scrawl a long list of follies and even\n    crimes without damaging the letterpress. But where and what is the\n    free margin in the case of Italy, a country which has contrived in\n    less than a quarter of a century of peace, from the date of her\n    restored independence, to treble (or something near it) the\n    taxation of her people, to raise the charge of her debt to a point\n    higher than that of England, and to arrive within one or two short\n    paces of national bankruptcy?...\n\n    Italy by nature stands in alliance neither with anarchy nor with\n    Caesarism, but with the cause and advocates of national liberty\n    and progress throughout Europe. Never had a nation greater\n    advantages from soil and climate, from the talents and\n    dispositions of the people, never was there a more smiling\n    prospect (if we may fall back upon the graceful fiction) from the\n    Alpine tops, even down to the Sicilian promontories, than that\n    which for the moment has been darkly blurred. It is the heart's\n    desire of those, who are not indeed her teachers, but her friends,\n    that she may rouse herself to dispel once and for ever the evil\n    dream of what is not so much ambition as affectation, may\n    acknowledge the true conditions under which she lives, and it\n    perhaps may not yet be too late for her to disappoint the\n    malevolent hopes of the foes of freedom, and to fulfil every\n    bright and glowing prediction which its votaries have ever uttered\n    on her behalf.--_\"__The Triple Alliance and Italy's Place in\n    it__\"__ (Contemporary Review, Oct. 1889)._\n\n\n\n\nThe Glasgow Peroration. (Page 492)\n\n\n_After describing the past history of Ireland as being for more than five\nhundred years 'one almost unbroken succession of political storm and\nswollen tempest, except when those tempests were for a time interrupted by\na period of servitude and by the stillness of death,' Mr. Gladstone went\non_:--\n\n\n    Those storms are in strong contrast with the future, with the\n    present. The condition of the Irish mind justifies us in\n    anticipating. It recalls to my mind a beautiful legend of ancient\n    paganism--for that ancient paganism, amongst many legends false and\n    many foul, had also some that were beautiful. There were two\n    Lacedaemonian heroes known as Castor and Pollux, honoured in their\n    life and more honoured in their death, when a star was called\n    after them, and upon that star the fond imagination of the people\n    fastened lively conceptions; for they thought that when a ship at\n    sea was caught in a storm, when dread began to possess the minds\n    of the crew, and peril thickened round them, and even alarm was\n    giving place to despair, that if then in the high heavens this\n    star appeared, gradually and gently but effectually the clouds\n    disappeared, the winds abated, the towering billows fell down to\n    the surface of the deep, calm came where there had been uproar,\n    safety came where there had been danger, and under the beneficent\n    influence of this heavenly body the terrified and despairing crew\n    came safely to port. The proposal which the liberal party of this\n    country made in 1886, which they still cherish in their mind and\n    heart, and which we trust and believe, they are about now to carry\n    forward, that proposal has been to Ireland and the political\n    relations of the two countries what the happy star was believed to\n    be to the seamen of antiquity. It has produced already\n    anticipations of love and good will, which are the first fruits of\n    what is to come. It has already changed the whole tone and temper\n    of the relations, I cannot say yet between the laws, but between\n    the peoples and inhabitants of these two great islands. It has\n    filled our hearts with hope and with joy, and it promises to give\n    us in lieu of the terrible disturbances of other times, with their\n    increasing, intolerable burdens and insoluble problems, the\n    promise of a brotherhood exhibiting harmony and strength at home,\n    and a brotherhood which before the world shall, instead of being\n    as it hitherto has been for the most part, a scandal, be a model\n    and an example, and shall show that we whose political wisdom is\n    for so many purposes recognised by the nations of civilised Europe\n    and America have at length found the means of meeting this oldest\n    and worst of all our difficulties, and of substituting for\n    disorder, for misery, for contention, the actual arrival and the\n    yet riper promise of a reign of peace.--_Theatre Royal, Glasgow,\n    July 2, 1892._\n\n\n\n\nThe Naval Estimates Of 1894.\n\n\n(M197) _The first paragraph of this memorandum will be found on p. 508_:--\n\n\n    This might be taken for granted as to 1854, 1870, and 1884. That\n    it was equally true in my mind of 1859 may be seen by any one who\n    reads my budget speech of July 18, 1859. I defended the provision\n    as required by and for the time, and for the time only. The\n    occasion in that year was the state of the continent. It was\n    immediately followed by the China war (No. 3) and by the French\n    affair (1861-2), but when these had been disposed of economy\n    began; and, by 1863-4, the bulk of the new charge had been got rid\n    of.\n\n    There is also the case of the fortifications in 1860, which would\n    take me too long to state fully. But I will state briefly (1) my\n    conduct in that matter was mainly or wholly governed by regard to\n    peace, for I believed, and believe now, that in 1860 there were\n    only two alternatives; one of them, the French treaty, and the\n    other, war with France. And I also believed in July 1860 that the\n    French treaty must break down, unless I held my office. (2) The\n    demand was reduced from nine millions to about five (has this been\n    done now?) (3) I acted in concert with my old friend and\n    colleague, Sir James Graham. We were entirely agreed.\n\n    _Terse figures of new estimates_\n\n    The \"approximate figure\" of charge involved in the new plan of the\n    admiralty is L4,240,000, say 4-1/2 millions. Being an increase\n    (subject probably to some further increase in becoming an act)\n\n    1. On the normal navy estimate 1888-9 (_i.e._ before the Naval\n    Defence Act) of, in round numbers, 4-1/4 millions\n\n    2. On the first year's total charge under the Naval Defence Act of\n    (1,979,000), 2 millions\n\n    3. On the estimates of last year 1893-94 of 3 millions\n\n    4. On the total charge of 1893-4 of (1,571,000), 1-1/2 million\n\n    5. On the highest amount ever defrayed from the year's revenue\n    (1892-3), 1-1/2 million\n\n    6. On the highest expenditure of any year under the Naval Defence\n    Act which included 1,150,000 of borrowed money, 359,000\n\n\n\n\nMr. Gladstone's Cabinet Colleagues. (Page 525)\n\n\n_The following is the list of the seventy ministers who served in cabinets\nof which Mr. Gladstone was a member_:--\n\n1843-45.  Peel.\n          Wellington.\n          Lyndhurst.\n          Wharncliffe.\n          Haddington.\n          Buccleuch.\n          Aberdeen.\n          Graham.\n          Stanley.\n          Ripon.\n          Hardinge.\n          Goulburn.\n          Knatchbull.\n1846.  Ellenborough.\n          S. Herbert.\n          Granville Somerset.\n          Lincoln.\n1852-55.  Cranworth.\n          Granville.\n          Argyll.\n          Palmerston.\n          Clarendon.\n          C. Wood.\n          Molesworth.\n          Lansdowne.\n          Russell.\n          G. Grey.\n1855.  Panmure.\n          Carlisle.\n1859-65.  Campbell.\n          G. C. Lewis.\n          Duke of Somerset.\n          Milner Gibson.\n          Elgin.\n          C. Villiers.\n1859-65.  Cardwell.\n          Westbury.\n          Ripon.\n          Stanley of Alderley.\n1865-66.  Hartington.\n          Goschen.\n1868-74.  Hatherley.\n          Kimberley.\n          Bruce.\n          Lowe.\n          Childers.\n          Bright.\n          C. Fortescue.\n          Stansfeld.\n          Selborne.\n          Forster.\n1880-85.  Spencer.\n          Harcourt.\n          Northbrook.\n          Chamberlain.\n          Dodson.\n          Dilke.\n          Derby.\n          Trevelyan.\n          Lefevre.\n          Rosebery.\n1886.  Herschell.\n          C. Bannerman.\n          Mundella.\n          John Morley.\n1892.  Asquith.\n          Fowler.\n          Acland.\n          Bryce.\n          A. Morley.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHRONOLOGY\n\n\nAll speeches unless otherwise stated were made in the House of Commons.\n\n1880.\n\nFeb. \"Free trade, railways and the growth of commerce,\" in _Nineteenth\nCentury_.\n\nFeb. 27. At St. Pancras on obstruction, liberal unity and errors of\ngovernment.\n\nFeb. 27. On rules dealing with obstruction.\n\nMarch \"Russia and England,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nMarch 5. On motion in favour of local option.\n\nMarch 11. Issues address to electors of Midlothian.\n\nMarch 15. Criticises budget.\n\nMarch 17. At Music Hall, Edinburgh, on government's eastern policy.\n\nMarch 18. At Corstorphine on Anglo-Turkish convention.\n\nMarch 18. At Ratho on neglect of domestic legislation.\n\nMarch 19. At Davidson's Mains on indictment of the government. At Dalkeith\non the government and class interests.\n\nMarch 20. At Juniper Green, and at Balerno, replies to tory criticism of\nliberal party. At Midcalder on abridgment of rights of parliament.\n\nMarch 22. At Gilmerton on church disestablishment. At Loanhead on the\neastern policy of liberal and tory parties.\n\nMarch 23. At Gorebridge and at Pathhead.\n\nMarch 25. At Penicuik on Cyprus.\n\nMarch 30. At Stow on finance.\n\nApril \"Religion, Achaian and Semitic,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nApril 2. At West Calder on liberal record and shortcomings of the\ngovernment.\n\nApril 5. Elected for Midlothian: Mr. Gladstone, 1579; Lord Dalkeith, 1368.\n\nApril 7. Returns to Hawarden.\n\nApril 28. Second administration formed.\n\nMay. Anonymous article, \"The Conservative Collapse,\" in _Fortnightly\nReview_.\n\nMay 8. Returned unopposed for Midlothian.\n\nMay 11. Publication of correspondence with Count Karolyi, Austrian\nambassador.\n\nMay 16. Receives deputation of farmers on agricultural reform.\n\nMay 20. On government's Turkish policy.\n\nMay 21. Moves reference to committee of Mr. Bradlaugh's claim to take his\nseat in parliament.\n\nMay 25. On South African federation.\n\nJune 1. On government's policy regarding Cyprus.\n\nJune 10. Introduces supplementary budget.\n\nJune 16. On reduction of European armaments.\n\nJune 18. On resolution in favour of local option. Moves second reading of\nSavings Banks bill.\n\nJune 22. On resolution that Mr. Bradlaugh be allowed to make a\ndeclaration.\n\nJuly 1. On Mr. Bradlaugh's case.\n\nJuly 5, 26. On Compensation for Disturbances (Ireland) bill.\n\nJuly 23. Explains government's policy regarding Armenia.\n\nJuly 30-Aug. 9. Confined to room by serious illness.\n\nAug. 26-Sept. 4. Makes sea trip in the _Grantully Castle_ round England\nand Scotland.\n\nSept. 4. On government's Turkish policy.\n\nNov. 9. At lord mayor's banquet on Ireland and foreign and colonial\nquestions.\n\n1881.\n\nJan. 6. On Ireland.\n\nJan. 21. On annexation of Transvaal.\n\nJan. 28. On Irish Protection of Person and Property bill.\n\nFeb. 3. Brings in closure resolution.\n\nFeb. 23. Falls in garden at Downing Street.\n\nMarch 15. Moves vote of condolence on assassination of Alexander II.\n\nMarch 16. On grant in aid of India for expenses of Afghan war.\n\nMarch 28. On county government and local taxation.\n\nApril 4. Introduces budget.\n\nApril 7. Brings in Land Law (Ireland) bill.\n\nApril 26 and 27. On Mr. Bradlaugh's case.\n\nMay 2. Resigns personal trusteeship of British Museum.\n\nMay 4. Supports Welsh Sunday Closing bill.\n\nMay 5. Supports vote of thanks on military operations in Afghanistan.\n\nMay 9. Tribute to Lord Beaconsfield.\n\nMay 16. On second reading of Irish Land bill.\n\nJune 10. On the law of entail.\n\nJune 24. On Anglo Turkish convention.\n\nJuly 25. On vote of censure on Transvaal.\n\nJuly 29. On third reading of Irish Land bill.\n\nAug. 6. At Mansion House on fifteen months' administration.\n\nAug. 18. On Mr. Parnell's vote of censure on the Irish executive.\n\nOct. 7. Presented with an address by corporation of Leeds: on land and\n\"fair trade.\" At banquet in Old Cloth Hall on Ireland.\n\nOct. 8. Presented with address by Leeds Chamber of Commerce: on free\ntrade. Mass meeting of 25,000 persons in Old Cloth Hall on foreign and\ncolonial policy.\n\nOct. 13. Presented with address by city corporation at Guildhall: on\nIreland and arrest of Mr. Parnell.\n\nOct. 27. At Knowsley on the aims of the Irish policy.\n\nNov. 9. At lord mayor's banquet on government's Irish policy and\nparliamentary procedure.\n\n1882.\n\nJan. 12. At Hawarden on agriculture.\n\nJan. 31. On local taxation to deputation from chambers of agriculture.\n\nFeb. 7. On Mr. Bradlaugh's claim.\n\nFeb. 9. On home rule amendment to address.\n\nFeb. 16. On the Irish demand for home rule.\n\nFeb. 20. Moves first of new procedure rules.\n\nFeb. 21. On local taxation.\n\nFeb. 21 and 22. On Mr. Bradlaugh's case.\n\nFeb. 27. Meeting of liberal party at Downing Street. On House of Lords'\ncommittee to inquire into Irish Land Act.\n\nFeb. 27. Moves resolution declaring parliamentary inquiry into Land Act\ninjurious to interests of good government.\n\nMarch 3. On persecution of Jews in Russia.\n\nMarch 6. Supports resolution for legislation on parliamentary oaths.\n\nMarch 10. On proposed state acquisition of Irish railways.\n\nMarch 17. On British North Borneo Company's charter.\n\nMarch 21. On parliamentary reform.\n\nMarch 23. On grant to Duke of Albany.\n\nMarch 30. On closure resolution.\n\nMarch 31. On inquiry into ecclesiastical commission.\n\nApril 17. Opposes motion for release of Cetewayo.\n\nApril 18. On diplomatic communications with Vatican.\n\nApril 24. Introduces budget.\n\nApril 26. On the Irish Land Act Amendment bill.\n\nMay 2. Statement of Irish policy, announces release of \"suspects,\" and\nresignation of Mr. Forster.\n\nMay 4. On Mr. Forster's resignation.\n\nMay 8. Moves adjournment of the House on assassination of Lord F.\nCavendish and Mr. Burke.\n\nMay 15. Brings in Arrears of Rent (Ireland) bill.\n\nMay 19. On second reading of Prevention of Crime (Ireland) bill.\n\nMay 22. On Arrears bill.\n\nMay 24. On Prevention of Crime bill.\n\nMay 26-June 1. On government's Egyptian policy.\n\nJune 14. On Egyptian crisis.\n\nJune 17. On Mr. Bright's resignation.\n\nJuly 12. On bombardment of Alexandria.\n\nJuly 21. On third reading of Arrears bill.\n\nJuly 24. Asks for vote of credit for L2,300,000.\n\nJuly 27. Concludes debate on vote of credit.\n\nJuly 28. On national expenditure.\n\nAug. 8. On Lords' amendments to Arrears bill.\n\nAug. 9. On suspension of Irish members, July 1.\n\nAug. 16. On events leading to Egyptian war.\n\nOct. 25-31, and Dec. 1. On twelve new rules of procedure.\n\nOct. 26. Moves vote of thanks to forces engaged in Egyptian campaign.\n\nNov. 24. Opposes demand for select committee on release of Mr. Parnell.\n\nDec. 13. Celebrates political jubilee.\n\n1883.\n\nJan. 6-16. Suffers from sleeplessness at Hawarden.\n\nJan. 17. Leaves England for south of France.\n\nMarch 2. Returns to London.\n\nMarch 14. On Irish Land Law (1881) Amendment bill.\n\nMarch 16. On Boer invasion of Bechuanaland.\n\nApril 3. On Channel tunnel.\n\nApril 6. On increase in national expenditure.\n\nApril 17. On local taxation.\n\nApril 19. On Lords Alcester and Wolseley's annuity bills.\n\nApril 26. On Parliamentary Oaths Act (1866) Amendment bill.\n\nMay 2. At National Liberal club on conservative legacy of 1880 and work of\nliberal administration, 1880-1883.\n\nMay 7. On Contagious Diseases Acts.\n\nMay 25. On reforms in Turkey.\n\nMay 29. Meeting of liberal party at foreign office: on state of public\nbusiness.\n\nJune 2. At Stafford House: tribute to Garibaldi.\n\nJune 12. On revision of purchase clauses of Land Act.\n\nJune 23. On withdrawal of provisional agreement for second Suez canal.\n\nJuly 27. On India and payment for Egyptian campaign.\n\nJuly 30. On future negotiations with Suez canal company.\n\nAug. 6. On government's Transvaal and Zululand policies.\n\nAug. 6-7. On British occupation of Egypt.\n\nAug. 18. Protests against violent speeches of Irish members.\n\nAug. 21. On work of the session.\n\nSept. Italian translation of Cowper's hymn: \"Hark my soul! It is the\nLord,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nAug. 8-21. In _Pembroke Castle_ round coast of Scotland to Norway and\nCopenhagen.\n\nAug. 13. At Kirkwall: on changes during half century of his political\nlife.\n\nSept. 18. Entertains the Emperor and Empress of Russia, the King and Queen\nof Denmark, at dinner on board _Pembroke Castle_ in Copenhagen harbour.\n\nDec. 22. At Hawarden, to deputation of liberal working men on reform of\nthe franchise.\n\n1884.\n\nJan. 5. At Hawarden on condition of agriculture.\n\nJan 31. Receives deputations from Leeds conference, etc., on Franchise\nbill.\n\nFeb. 11 and 21. On Mr. Bradlaugh's attempt to take the oath.\n\nFeb. 12. On Egyptian and Soudan policy in reply to vote of censure.\n\nFeb. 13. On re-establishment of grand committees.\n\nFeb. 25. Moves resolution of thanks to Speaker Brand on his retirement.\n\nFeb. 28. Explains provisions of Representation of the People (Franchise)\nbill.\n\nMarch 3. In defence of retention of Suakin.\n\nMarch 6. On government's Egyptian policy.\n\nMarch 10-19. Confined to his room by a chill.\n\nMarch 19 to April 7. Recuperates at Coombe Warren.\n\nMarch 31. On death of Duke of Albany.\n\nApril 3. On General Gordon's mission in Soudan.\n\nApril 7. On second reading of Franchise bill.\n\nMay 12. On vote of censure regarding General Gordon.\n\nMay 27. On Egyptian financial affairs.\n\nJune 10. Opposes amendment to Franchise bill granting suffrage to women.\n\nJune 23. On terms of agreement with France on Egypt.\n\nJune 26. On third reading of Franchise bill.\n\nJuly 8. On second reading of London Government bill.\n\nJuly 10. Meeting of the liberal party: on rejection of Franchise bill by\nHouse of Lords.\n\nJuly 11. On negotiations with Lord Cairns on Franchise bill.\n\nJuly 18. At Eighty club on relation of politics of the past to politics of\nthe future.\n\nAug. 2. On failure of conference on Egyptian finance.\n\nAug. 11. On Lord Northbrook's mission to Egypt.\n\nAug. 30. At Corn Exchange, Edinburgh, on Lords and Franchise bill.\n\nSept. 1. At Corn Exchange, Edinburgh, in defence of his administration.\n\nSept. 2. In Waverley Market on demand of Lords for dissolution.\n\nSept. 26. Returns to Hawarden.\n\nOct. 16. Cuts first sod on Wirral railway: on railway enterprise.\n\nOct. 23. On Franchise bill.\n\nOct. 28. Defends Lord Spencer's Irish administration.\n\nNov. 4. Lays foundation stone of National Liberal club: on liberal\nadministrations of past half century.\n\nNov. 6 and 10. On second reading of Franchise bill.\n\nNov. 21. On Mr. Labouchere's motion for reform of House of Lords.\n\nDec. 1. Brings in Redistribution bill.\n\nDec. 4. On second reading of Redistribution bill.\n\n1885.\n\nFeb. 23. On vote of censure on Soudan policy.\n\nMarch 26. Moves ratification of Egyptian financial agreement.\n\nApril 9. Announces occupation of Penjdeh by Russians.\n\nApril 16. In defence of Egyptian Loan bill.\n\nApril 21. Asks for vote of credit for war preparations.\n\nApril 27. On Soudan and Afghanistan.\n\nMay 4. Announces agreement with Russia on Afghan boundary dispute.\n\nMay 14. On Princess Beatrice's dowry.\n\nJune 8. Defends increase of duties on beer and spirits.\n\nJune 9. Resignation of government.\n\nJune 24. Reads correspondence on crisis.\n\nJuly 6. On legislation on parliamentary oaths.\n\nJuly 7. On intentions of the new government.\n\nAug. 8-Sept. 1. In Norway.\n\nSept. 17. Issues address to Midlothian electors.\n\nNov. \"Dawn of Creation and of Worship,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nNov. 9. At Albert Hall, Edinburgh, on proposals of Irish party.\n\nNov. 11. At Free Assembly Hall, Edinburgh, on disestablishment.\n\nNov. 17. At West Calder on Ireland, foreign policy, and free trade.\n\nNov. 21. At Dalkeith on finance and land reform.\n\nNov. 23. At inauguration of Market Cross, Edinburgh: on history of the\ncross.\n\nNov. 24. At Music Hall, Edinburgh, on tory tactics and Mr. Parnell's\ncharges.\n\nNov. 27. Elected for Midlothian: Mr. Gladstone, 7879; Mr. Dalrymple, 3248.\n\n1886.\n\nJan. \"Proem to Genesis: a Plea for a Fair Trial,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nJan. 21. On government's policy in India, the Near East and Ireland.\n\nJan. 26. In support of amendment for allotments.\n\nFeb. 3. Third administration formed.\n\nFeb. 4. Issues address to electors of Midlothian.\n\nFeb. 10. Returned unopposed for Midlothian.\n\nFeb. 22. On comparative taxation of England and Ireland. On annexation of\nBurmah.\n\nFeb. 23. On Ireland's contribution to imperial revenue.\n\nMarch 4. On condition of Ireland.\n\nMarch 6-12. Confined to his room by a cold.\n\nApril 6. On death of Mr. W. E. Forster.\n\nApril 8. Brings in Government of Ireland (Home Rule) bill.\n\nApril 13. On first reading of Home Rule bill.\n\nApril 16. Explains provisions of Irish Land Purchase bill.\n\nMay 1. Issues address to electors of Midlothian on Home Rule bill.\n\nMay 10. Moves second reading of Home Rule bill.\n\nMay 27. Meeting of liberal party at the foreign office: on the Home Rule\nbill.\n\nMay 28. Explains intentions regarding the Home Rule bill.\n\nJune 7-8. Concludes debate on Home Rule bill.\n\nJune 10. Announces dissolution of parliament.\n\nJune 14. Issues address to electors of Midlothian.\n\nJune 18. At Music Hall, Edinburgh, on home rule.\n\nJune 21. At Music Hall, Edinburgh, on home rule.\n\nJune 22. At Glasgow on home rule.\n\nJune 25. At Free Trade Hall, Manchester, on home rule.\n\nJune 28. At Liverpool on Ulster and home rule.\n\nJuly 2. Returned unopposed for Midlothian and Leith.\n\nJuly 20. Resignation of third administration.\n\nAug. 19-24. On government's Irish, policy.\n\nAug. 25. Leaves England for Bavaria.\n\nAug 28. \"_The Irish Question: (1) History of an Idea; (2) Lessons of the\nElection_,\" published.\n\nSept. 19. Returns to London.\n\nSept. 20. On Tenants Relief (Ireland) bill.\n\nOct. 4. At Hawarden. Receives address signed by 400,000 women of Ireland:\non home rule.\n\n1887.\n\nJan. \"_Locksley Hall_ and the Jubilee,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nJan. 27. Tribute to memory of Lord Iddesleigh.\n\nJan. 27. On Lord Randolph Churchill's retirement and Ireland.\n\nFeb. \"Notes and Queries on the Irish Demand,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nMarch \"The Greater Gods of Olympus: (1) Poseidon,\" in _Nineteenth\nCentury_.\n\nMatch 17. To the liberal members for Yorkshire: on home rule.\n\nMarch 24. On the exaction of excessive rents.\n\nMarch 29. On Criminal Law Amendment (Ireland) bill.\n\nApril \"The History of 1852-60 and Greville's Latest Journals,\" in _English\nHistorical Review_.\n\nApril 18. On second reading of Criminal Law Amendment bill.\n\nApril 19. At Eighty club on liberal unionist grammar of dissent.\n\nApril 25. Criticise Mr. Goschen's budget.\n\nMay \"The Greater Gods of Olympus: (2) Apollo,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nMay 5. Moves for select committee to inquire into the _Times_ articles on\n\"Parnellism and Crime.\"\n\nMay 11. At Dr. Parker's house on Ireland.\n\nMay 31. On Crimes bill at Hawarden.\n\nJune Reviews Mr. Lecky's _History of England in the Eighteenth Century_ in\n_Nineteenth Century_.\n\nJune \"The Great Olympian Sedition,\" in _Contemporary Review_.\n\nJune 4. At Swansea, on Welsh nationality, Welsh grievances, and the Irish\nCrimes bill.\n\nJune 6. At Singleton Abbey on home rule and retention of Irish members.\n\nJune 7. At Cardiff on home rule.\n\nJuly \"The Greater Gods of Olympus: (3) Athene,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nJune 2. To the liberal members for Durham on Lord Hartington's Irish\nrecord.\n\nJune 7. Moves rejection of Irish Criminal Law Amendment bill.\n\nJune 9. Presented at Dollis Hill with address signed by 10,689 citizens of\nNew York.\n\nJune 14. On second reading of the Irish Land bill.\n\nJune 16. At National Liberal club: on Ireland and home rule movement in\nScotland and Wales.\n\nJune 29. At Memorial Hall on the lessons of bye-elections.\n\nAug. \"Mr. Lecky and Political Morality,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nAug. 16. Lays first cylinder of railway bridge over the Dee: on railway\nenterprise and the Channel tunnel.\n\nAug. 25. On proclamation of Irish land league.\n\nAug. 30. At Hawarden on Queen Victoria's reign.\n\nSept. \"Electoral Facts of 1887,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nSept. 12. On riot at Mitchelstown, Ireland.\n\nOct. \"Ingram's History of the Irish Union,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nOct. 4. At Hawarden on the absolutist methods of government.\n\nOct. 18. At National Liberal Federation, Nottingham, on conduct of Irish\npolice.\n\nOct. 19. At Skating Rink, Nottingham, on home rule.\n\nOct. 20. At Drill Hall, Derby, on Ireland.\n\nNov. \"An Olive Branch from America,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nDec. 27. At Dover on free trade and Irish Crimes Act.\n\nDec. 28. Leaves England for Italy.\n\n1888.\n\nJan. \"A reply to Dr. Ingram,\" in _Westminster Review_.\n\nFeb. \"The Homeric Here,\" in _Contemporary Review_.\n\nFeb. 8. Returns to London.\n\nFeb. 17. On coercion in Ireland.\n\nMarch \"Further Notes and Queries on the Irish Demand,\" in _Contemporary\nReview_.\n\nMarch 23. On perpetual pensions.\n\nApril 9. On the budget.\n\nApril 11. At National Liberal club on the budget and Local Government\nbill.\n\nApril 23. Moves an amendment in favour of equalising the death duties on\nreal and personal property.\n\nApril 25. On second reading of County Government (Ireland) bill.\n\nMay. \"Robert Elsmere, and the Battle of Belief,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nMay. A reply to Colonel Ingersoll on \"Christianity,\" in _North American\nReview_.\n\nMay 1. On government control of railways.\n\nMay 2. Opens Gladstone library at National Liberal club: on books.\n\nMay 9. At Memorial Hall on Irish question.\n\nMay 26. At Hawarden condemns licensing clauses of Local Government bill.\n\nMay 30. Receives deputation of 1500 Lancashire liberals at Hawarden.\n\nJune 18. On death of German Emperor.\n\nJune 26. Condemns administration of Irish criminal law.\n\nJune 27. On Channel Tunnel bill.\n\nJune 30. At Hampstead on Ireland and the bye-elections.\n\nJuly \"The Elizabethan Settlement of Religion,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nJuly 6. On payment of members.\n\nJuly 18. To liberal members for Northumberland and Cumberland on Parnell\ncommission and retention of Irish members.\n\nJuly 23. On second reading of Parnell Commission bill.\n\nJuly 25. Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone presented with their portraits on entering\non fiftieth year of married life.\n\nJuly 30. On composition of Parnell commission.\n\nAug. 20. Receives deputation of 1500 liberals at Hawarden: on conservative\ngovernment of Ireland.\n\nAug. 23. At Hawarden on spade husbandry and the cultivation of fruit.\n\nSept. \"Mr. Forster and Ireland,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nSept. 4. At Wrexham on Irish and Welsh home rule.\n\nSept. 4. At the Eisteddfod on English feeling towards Wales.\n\nNov. \"Queen Elizabeth and the Church of England,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nNov. 5. At Town Hall, Birmingham, on liberal unionists and one man one\nvote.\n\nNov. 6. To deputation at Birmingham on labour representation and payment\nof members.\n\nNov. 7. At Bingley Hall, Birmingham, on Irish question.\n\nNov. 8. To deputation of Birmingham Irish National club on Irish\ngrievances.\n\nNov. 19. On Irish Land Purchase bill.\n\nDec. 3. On Mr. Balfour's administration of Ireland.\n\nDec. 15. At Limehouse Town Hall on necessary English reforms and the Irish\nquestion.\n\nDec. 17. On English occupation of Suakin.\n\nDec. 19. Leaves England for Naples.\n\n1889.\n\nJan. \"Daniel O'Connell,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nFeb. Reviews _Divorce_ by Margaret Lee in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nFeb. 20. Returns to London.\n\nMarch 1. On conciliatory measures in administration of Ireland.\n\nMarch 29. On death of John Bright.\n\nApril Reviews _For the Right_ in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nApril 4. On L21,000,000 for naval defence.\n\nApril 9. On Scotch home rule.\n\nMay \"Italy in 1888-89,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nMay 15. On second reading of Welsh Education bill.\n\nMay 16. Moves amendment to Mr. Goschen's proposed death duties on estates\nabove L10,000.\n\nJune 5. At Southampton on lessons of the bye-elections.\n\nJune 7. At Romsey on Lord Palmerston.\n\nJune 8. At Weymouth on shorter parliaments and Ireland.\n\nJune 10. At Torquay on Ireland.\n\nJune 11. At Falmouth and Redruth on Ireland.\n\nJune 12. At Truro, St. Austell, and Bodmin on Ireland, one man one vote,\nthe death duties, etc.\n\nJune 14. At Launceston on dissentient liberals.\n\nJune 14. At Drill Hall, Plymouth, on home rule.\n\nJune 17. At Shaftesbury and Gillingham on the agricultural labourer.\n\nJuly \"Plain Speaking on the Irish Union,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nJuly 6. Presented with freedom of Cardiff; on free trade; on foreign\nopinion of English rule in Ireland.\n\nJuly 25. Golden wedding celebrated in London.\n\nJuly 25. Speech on royal grants.\n\nAug. \"Phoenician Affinities of Ithaca,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nAug. 22. At Hawarden on cottage gardens and fruit culture.\n\nAug. 26. Celebration of golden wedding at Hawarden.\n\nSept. 7. Entertained in Paris by Society of Political Economy.\n\nSept. 23. At Hawarden on dock strike and bimetallism.\n\nSept. \"The Triple Alliance and Italy's Place in it,\" by Outidanos, in\n_Contemporary Review_.\n\nOct. Reviews _Journal de Marie Bashkirtseff_ in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nOct. 23. At Southport on Ireland.\n\nOct. 26. Opens literary institute at Saltney, Chester.\n\nNov. \"The English Church under Henry the Eighth,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nNov. \"The Question of Divorce,\" in _North American Review_.\n\nDec. Reviews _Memorials of a Southern Planter_ in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nDec. 2. At Free Trade Hall, Manchester, on liberal unionists and foreign\npolicy.\n\nDec. 3. In Free Trade Hall on government of Ireland.\n\nDec. 4. At luncheon at Town Hall on city of Manchester.\n\n1890.\n\nJan. \"A Defence of Free Trade,\" in _North American Review_.\n\nJan. \"The Melbourne Government: its Acts and Persons,\" in _Nineteenth\nCentury_.\n\nJan. 9. At Hawarden on the effect of free trade on agriculture.\n\nJan. 22. At Chester on Ireland.\n\nFeb. 5. At Oxford Union on vestiges of Assyrian mythology in Homer.\n\nFeb. 11. On motion declaring publication by _Times_ of forged Parnell\nletter to be breach of privilege.\n\nMarch \"On Books and the Housing of Them,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nMarch 3. On report of Parnell commission.\n\nMarch 24. At National Liberal club on report of Parnell commission.\n\nMarch 26. At Guy's Hospital on the medical profession.\n\nApril 24. On second reading of Purchase of Land (Ireland) bill.\n\nMay 2. On disestablishment of church of Scotland.\n\nMay 12. On free trade at Prince's Hall, Piccadilly.\n\nMay 15. On Local Taxation Duties bill.\n\nMay 16. At Norwich on Parnell commission, land purchase and licensing\nquestion.\n\nMay 17. At Lowestoft on Siberian atrocities and the agricultural labourer.\n\nApril 27. Receives 10,000 liberals at Hawarden: on Mitchelstown, Irish\nLand bill, and Licensing bill.\n\nJune 5. On Channel Tunnel bill.\n\nJune 13. On Local Taxation Duties bill.\n\nJune 18. To depositors in railways' savings banks: on thrift.\n\nJuly 17. At Burlington School, London, on the education of women.\n\nJuly 24. On Anglo-German Agreement bill.\n\nJuly 30. To Wesleyans at National Liberal club on Maltese marriage\nquestion, and Ireland.\n\nAug. 21. At Hawarden on cottage gardening and fruit farming.\n\nJuly 30. \"Dr. Doellinger's Posthumous Remains,\" in the _Speaker_.\n\nSept. 12. At Dee iron works on industrial progress.\n\nOct. 21. At Corn Exchange, Edinburgh, on government's Irish\nadministration.\n\nOct. 23. At West Calder on condition of working classes and Ireland.\n\nOct. 25. At Dalkeith on home rule for Scotland and Ireland.\n\nOct. 27. At Music Hall, Edinburgh, on retention of Irish members,\nprocedure and obstruction.\n\nOct. 29. At Dundee on free trade and the McKinley tariff. Opens Victorian\nArt Gallery: on appreciation of beauty.\n\nNov. \"Mr. Carnegie's Gospel of Wealth,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nNov. 24. Letter to Mr. Morley on Mr. Parnell and leadership of Irish\nparty.\n\nDec. 1. Publishes reply to Mr. Parnell's manifesto to Irish people.\n\nDec. 2. On Purchase of Land (Ireland) bill.\n\nDec. 11. At Retford on Mr. Parnell and the home rule cause.\n\nPublishes _The Impregnable Rock of Holy Scripture_, a reprint of articles\nin _Good Words_.\n\n_Landmarks of Homeric Study, together with an Essay on the Points of\nContact between the Assyrian Tablets and the Homeric Text._\n\n1891.\n\nJan. 27. Supports motion to expunge from journals of the House the\nBradlaugh resolution (1881).\n\nFeb. \"Professor Huxley and the Swine-Miracle,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nFeb. 4. Moves second reading of Religious Disabilities Removal bill.\n\nFeb. 13. Opens free library in St. Martin's Lane: on free libraries.\n\nFeb. 16. Condemns action of Irish executive in Tipperary trials.\n\nFeb. 20. On disestablishment of church in Wales.\n\nFeb. 27. On taxation of land.\n\nMarch 3. On registration reform.\n\nMarch 14. At Eton College on Homeric Artemis.\n\nMarch 17. At Hastings on Mr. Goschen's finance, Irish policy, and the\ncareer of Mr. Parnell.\n\nMay \"A Memoir of John Murray,\" in _Murray's Magazine_.\n\nJune 19. At St. James's Hall, at jubilee of Colonial Bishoprics Fund, on\ndevelopment of colonial church.\n\nJuly 4. Death of W. H. Gladstone.\n\nJuly 15. At Hawarden on fifty years of progress.\n\nSept. \"Electoral Facts, No. III.,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nOct. \"On the Ancient Beliefs in a Future State,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nOct. 1. At jubilee of Glenalmond College on study of nature and the\nclerical profession.\n\nOct. 2. At Newcastle on the liberal programme.\n\nNov. 3. At Newcastle on local self-government and freedom of trade.\n\nNov. 28. At Wirral on home rule. At Sunlight Soap works on profit-sharing\nand cooperation.\n\nDec. 11. At Holborn Restaurant to conference of labourers on rural\nreforms.\n\nDec. 15. Leaves London for Biarritz.\n\n1892.\n\nFeb.-May \"On the Olympian Religion,\" in _North American Review_.\n\nFeb. 29. Returns to London.\n\nMarch 3. Opposes grant of L20,000 for survey of Uganda railway.\n\nMarch 16. On Welsh Land Tenure bill.\n\nMarch 24. On Small Agricultural Holdings bill.\n\nMarch 28. On Indian Councils Act (1861) Amendment bill.\n\nApril Reviews _The Platform, its Rise and Progress_, in _Nineteenth\nCentury_.\n\nApril 28. On Church Discipline (Immorality) bill.\n\nMay 24. On Local Government (Ireland) bill.\n\nMay 31. At Memorial Hall on London government.\n\nJune \"Did Dante Study in Oxford?\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nJune 5. At Dalkeith on Scotch home rule and disestablishment.\n\nJune 16. Receives deputation from London trades council on Eight Hours\nbill.\n\nJune 18. To nonconformists at Clapham on Ulster and home rule.\n\nJune 21. Issues address to electors of Midlothian.\n\nJune 25. Struck in the eye by piece of gingerbread in Chester. At Liberal\nclub on the general election, the appeal to religious bigotry, and\ndisestablishment.\n\nJune 30. At Edinburgh Music Hall on Lord Salisbury's manifesto, home rule,\nand retention of Irish members.\n\nJuly 2. At Glasgow on Orangeism and home rule.\n\nJuly 4. At Gorebridge on labour questions.\n\nJuly 6. At Corstorphine on government's record.\n\nJuly 7. At West Calder on protection, the hours of labour and home rule.\n\nJuly 11. At Penicuik on conservative responsibility for recent wars,\nfinance, disestablishment, and Irish question.\n\nJuly 13. Elected for Midlothian: Mr. Gladstone, 5845; Colonel Wauchope,\n5155.\n\nAug. 9. On vote of want of confidence.\n\nAug. 15. Fourth administration formed.\n\nAug. 24. Returned unopposed for Midlothian.\n\nAug. 29. Knocked down by heifer in Hawarden Park.\n\nSept. 5. A paper on Archaic Greece and the East read before Congress of\nOrientalists.\n\nSept. 12. At Carnarvon on case of Wales.\n\nOct. \"A Vindication of Home Rule: a Reply to the Duke of Argyll,\" in\n_North American Review_.\n\nOct. 22. Cuts first sod of the new Cheshire railway: on migration of\npopulation and mineral produce of Wales.\n\nOct. 24. Delivers Romanes lecture at Oxford on history of universities.\n\nDec. 3. Presented with freedom of Liverpool: on history of Liverpool and\nManchester ship canal.\n\nDec. 21. Leaves England for Biarritz.\n\n1893.\n\nJan. 10. Returns to England.\n\nJan. 31. Replies to Mr. Balfour's criticisms on the address.\n\nFeb. 3. On Mr. Labouchere's amendment in favour of evacuation of Uganda.\n\nFeb. 8. On amendment praying for immediate legislation for agricultural\nlabourers.\n\nFeb. 11. On motion for restriction of alien immigration.\n\nFeb. 13. Brings in Government of Ireland (Home Rule) bill.\n\nFeb. 28. On motion for international monetary conference.\n\nMarch 3. Receives deputation from the miners' federation on Eight Hours\nbill.\n\nMarch 20. On Sir Gerald Portal's mission to Uganda.\n\nMarch 27. Meeting of the liberal party at foreign office: on programme for\nsession.\n\nMarch 27. On Mr. Balfour's motion censuring action of Irish executive.\n\nMarch 28. Receives deputations from Belfast manufacturers and city of\nLondon merchants protesting against home rule.\n\nApril 6. Moves second reading of Home Rule bill.\n\nApril 19. Receives a deputation from the miners' National Union on Eight\nHours bill.\n\nApril 21. Replies to criticisms on Home Rule bill.\n\nMay 1. On the occupation of Egypt.\n\nMay 2. Receives a deputation of the Mining Association in opposition to\nEight Hours bill.\n\nMay 3. On second reading of Miners' Eight Hours bill.\n\nMay 11. Replies to Mr. Chamberlain's speech on first clause of Home Rule\nbill.\n\nMay 23. Opens Hawarden institute: on the working classes.\n\nMay 29. At Chester on Home Rule bill.\n\nJune \"Some Eton Translations,\" in _Contemporary Review_.\n\nJune 16. On arbitration between England and United States.\n\nJune 22. Statement regarding the financial clauses of Home Rule bill.\n\nJune 28. Moves resolution for closing debate on committee stage of Home\nRule bill.\n\nJuly 12. Announces government's decision regarding the retention of Irish\nmembers at Westminster.\n\nJuly 14. Moves address of congratulation on marriage of Duke of York.\n\nJuly 21. Moves a new clause to Home Rule bill regulating financial\nrelations.\n\nAug. 5. At Agricultural Hall, Islington, on industry and art.\n\nAug. 30. Moves third reading of Home Rule bill.\n\nSept. 27. At Edinburgh on House of Lords and the Home Rule bill.\n\nNov. 9. On Matabeleland and the chartered company.\n\nDec. 19. On naval policy of the government.\n\n1894.\n\nJan. 13. Leaves England for Biarritz.\n\nFeb. 10. Returns to England.\n\nMarch 1. On the Lords' amendments to Parish Councils bill.\n\nMarch 3. Resigns the premiership.\n\nMarch 7. Confined to bed by severe cold.\n\nMarch 17. At Brighton. Letter to Sir John Cowan--his farewell to\nparliamentary life.\n\nMay \"The Love Odes of Horace--five specimens,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nMay 3. At Prince's Hall on life and work of Sir Andrew Clark.\n\nMay 24. Right eye operated on for cataract.\n\nJuly 7. Announces decision not to seek re-election to parliament.\n\nAug. \"The Place of Heresy and Schism in the Modern Christian Church,\" in\n_Nineteenth Century_.\n\nAug. 14. On cottage gardening at Hawarden.\n\nAug. 16. Receives deputation of 1500 liberals from Torquay at Hawarden.\n\nSept. \"The True and False Conception of the Atonement,\" in _Nineteenth\nCentury_.\n\nDec. 29. Receives deputation from the Armenian national church at\nHawarden.\n\n1895.\n\nJan. 7. Presented with an album by Irish-Americans: in favour of Irish\nunity.\n\nJan. 8. Leaves England for south of France.\n\nMarch Publishes _The Psalter with a concordance_.\n\nJan. \"The Lord's Day,\" in _Church Monthly_; concluded in April number.\n\nJan. 23. Returns to England from France.\n\nJan. 15. At Hawarden to a deputation of Leeds and Huddersfield liberal\nclubs: on English people and political power, and on advantages of\nlibraries.\n\nJune 12-24. Cruise in _Tantallon Castle_ to Hamburg, Copenhagen, and Kiel.\n\nJuly 1. Farewell letter to Midlothian constituents.\n\nAug. 5. At Hawarden on small holdings and his old age.\n\nAug. 6. At Chester on Armenian question.\n\nNov. \"Bishop Butler and his Censors,\" in _Nineteenth Century_; concluded\nin December number.\n\nDec. 28. Leaves England for Biarritz and Cannes.\n\n1896.\n\nFeb. Publishes _The Works of Bishop Butler_.\n\nMarch 10. Returns to England from Cannes.\n\nMarch 28. At Liverpool on the development of the English railway system.\n\nApril \"The Future Life and the Condition of Man Therein,\" in _North\nAmerican Review_.\n\nApril Contributes an article on \"The Scriptures and Modern Criticism\" to\nthe _People's Bible_.\n\nMay _Soliloquium and Postscript_--a letter to the Archbishop of York,\npublished.\n\nJune \"Sheridan,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nJune 1. Letter on Anglican Orders published.\n\nAug. 3. At Hawarden horticultural show on rural life.\n\nSept. 1. At fete in aid of Hawarden Institute on progress of music.\n\nSept. 2. At Hawarden fete on Welsh music.\n\nSept. 24. At Hengler's circus, Liverpool, on Armenian question.\n\nOct. \"The Massacres in Turkey,\" in _Nineteenth Century_.\n\nOct. 16. At Penmaenmawr in praise of seaside resorts.\n\n1897.\n\nJan. 29. Leaves England for Cannes.\n\nMarch 19. Letter to the Duke of Westminster on the Cretan question\npublished.\n\nMarch 30. Returns to England from Cannes.\n\nMay 4. At Hawarden on the condition of the clergy.\n\nJune 2. Opens Victoria jubilee bridge over the Dee at Queensferry.\n\nAug. 2. At Hawarden horticultural show on small culture.\n\nNov. 26. Leaves England for Cannes.\n\n1898.\n\nJan. 5. \"Personal Recollections of Arthur H. Hallam,\" in _Daily\nTelegraph_.\n\nFeb. 18. Returns to London from Cannes.\n\nFeb. 22. Goes to Bournemouth.\n\nMarch 22. Returns to Hawarden.\n\nMay 19. Death of Mr. Gladstone.\n\nMay 26, 27. Lying in state in Westminster Hall.\n\nMay 28. Burial in Westminster Abbey.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n    1 Above, vol. ii. pp. 563-8.\n\n   M1 The Cabinet A Coalition\n   M2 Character As Head Of The Cabinet\n   M3 An Independent House Of Commons\n   M4 Naval Demonstration\n\n    2 March 25-6, 1881.\n\n    3 Bradlaugh, who was a little vain of his legal skill, founded this\n      claim upon the Evidence Amendment Act, taken in connection with the\n      Parliamentary Oaths and other Acts.\n\n   M5 The Bradlaugh Case\n\n    4 See vol. i. p. 138.\n\n    5 Speech on second reading of Affirmation bill, 1883.\n\n   M6 On Theistic Tests\n   M7 The Bradlaugh Case\n\n_    6 Lord Hampden's Diaries._\n\n    7 Perhaps the best equivalent for _begeistert_ here is \"_daemonic._\"\n\n   M8 Speech On Affirmation Bill\n\n    8 Lucretius, ii. 646. \"For the nature of the gods must ever of itself\n      enjoy repose supreme through endless time, far withdrawn from all\n      concerns of ours; free from all our pains, free from all our perils,\n      strong in resources of its own, needing nought from us, no favours\n      win it, no anger moves.\"\n\n   M9 End Of The Struggle\n\n    9 Religious Disabilities Removal bill, Feb. 4, 1891.\n\n   10 Vol. ii. p. 583.\n\n  M10 Recall Of Sir Bartle Frere\n  M11 Annexation Of The Transvaal\n\n   11 Sir Garnet Wolseley to Sir M. Hicks Beach, Nov. 13, 1879.\n\n  M12 Decision Of The Government\n\n   12 In H. of C, Jan. 21, 1881.\n\n_   13 Speeches in Scotland_, i. pp. 48, 63.\n\n   14 C, 2586, No. 3.\n\n   15 Mr. Grant Duff, then colonial under-secretary, said in the House of\n      Commons, May 21, 1880, \"Under the very difficult circumstances of\n      the case, the plan which seemed likely best to conciliate the\n      interests at once of the Boers, the natives and the English\n      population, was that the Transvaal should receive, and receive with\n      promptitude, as a portion of confederation, the largest possible\n      measure of local liberties that could be granted, and that was the\n      direction in which her Majesty's present advisers meant to move.\"\n\n   16 At Birmingham, June 1881.\n\n  M13 Decision Of The Government\n\n   17 C, 2367, p. 55.\n\n_   18 Afghanistan and S. Africa:_ A letter to Mr. Gladstone by Sir Bartle\n      Frere. Murray, 1891, pp. 24-6. Frere, on his return to England, once\n      more impressed on the colonial office the necessity of speedily\n      granting the Boers a constitution, otherwise there would be serious\n      trouble. (_Life_, ii. p. 408.)\n\n  M14 Boer Rising\n\n   19 Sir George Colley pressed Lord Kimberley in his correspondence with\n      the reality of this grievance, and the urgency of trying to remove\n      it. This was after the Boers had taken to arms at the end of 1880.\n\n   20 Before the Gladstone government came into office, between August\n      1879 and April 1880, whilst General Wolseley was in command, the\n      force in Natal and the Transvaal had been reduced by six batteries\n      of artillery, three companies of engineers, one cavalry regiment,\n      eleven battalions of infantry, and five companies of army service\n      corps. The force at the time of the outbreak was: in Natal 1772, and\n      in the Transvaal 1759--a total of 3531. As soon as the news of the\n      insurrection reached London, large reinforcements were at once\n      despatched to Colley, the first of them leaving Gibraltar on Dec.\n      27, 1880.\n\n   21 Sir B. Frere was recalled on August 1, 1880, and sailed for England\n      September 15. Sir Hercules Robinson, his successor, did not reach\n      the Cape until the end of January 1881. In the interval Sir George\n      Strahan was acting governor.\n\n  M15 Paragraph In The Royal Speech\n\n   22 Lord Kimberley justified this decision on the ground that it was\n      impossible to send a commissioner to inquire and report, at a moment\n      when our garrisons were besieged, and we had collected no troops to\n      relieve them, and when we had just received the news that the\n      detachment of the 94th had been cut off on the march from Lydenberg\n      to Pretoria. \"Is it not practically certain,\" he wrote, \"that the\n      Boers would have refused at that time to listen to any reasonable\n      terms, and would have simply insisted that we should withdraw our\n      troops and quit the country?\" Of course, the Boer overture, some six\n      weeks after the rejection by Lord Kimberley of the Cape proposal,\n      and after continued military success on the side of the Boers,\n      showed that this supposed practical certainty was the exact reverse\n      of certain.\n\n  M16 Boer Overtures\n\n   23 \"I do not know whether I am indebted to you or to Mr. Childers or to\n      both, for the continuance of H.M.'s confidence, but I shall always\n      feel more deeply grateful than I can express; and can never forget\n      H.M.'s gracious message of encouragement at a time of great\n      trouble.\"--Colley to Kimberley, Jan. 31, 1881.\n\n   24 \"The directions to Colley,\" says Mr. Bright in a cabinet minute,\n      \"intended to convey the offer of a suspension of hostilities on both\n      sides, with a proposal that a commissioner should be appointed to\n      enter into negotiations and arrangements with a view to peace.\"\n\n_   25 Life of Childers_, ii. p. 24.\n\n  M17 Repulse On Majuba Hill\n\n   26 Colley's letter to Childers, Feb. 23, _Life of Childers_, ii. p. 24.\n\n  M18 Sir Evelyn Wood's View\n\n   27 See Selborne's _Memorials_, ii. p. 3, and also a speech by Lord\n      Kimberley at Newcastle, Nov. 14, 1899.\n\n   28 In a speech at Edinburgh (Sept. 1, 1884), Mr. Gladstone put the same\n      argument--\"The people of the Transvaal, few in number, were in close\n      and strong sympathy with their brethren in race, language, and\n      religion. Throughout South Africa these men, partly British subjects\n      and partly not, were as one man associated in feeling with the\n      people of the Transvaal; and had we persisted in that dishonourable\n      attempt, against all our own interests, to coerce the Transvaal as\n      we attempted to coerce Afghanistan, we should have had the whole\n      mass of the Dutch population at the Cape and throughout South Africa\n      rising in arms against us.\"\n\n   29 July 25, 1881.\n\n   30 One of the most determined enemies of the government in 1881, ten\n      years later, in a visit to South Africa, changed his mind. \"The\n      Dutch sentiment in the Cape Colony, wrote Lord Randolph Churchill,\n      'had been so exasperated by what it considered the unjust,\n      faithless, and arbitrary policy pursued towards the free Dutchmen of\n      the Transvaal by Frere, Shepstone, and Lanyon, that the final\n      triumph of the British arms, mainly by brute force, would have\n      permanently and hopelessly alienated it from Great Britain.... On\n      the whole, I find myself free to confess, and without reluctance to\n      admit, that the English escaped from a wretched and discreditable\n      muddle, not without harm and damage, but perhaps in the best\n      possible manner.\"\n\n  M19 Case Considered\n  M20 The Sequel\n\n   31 \"I apprehend, whether you call it a Protectorate, or a Suzerainty,\n      or the recognition of England as a Paramount Power, the fact is that\n      a certain controlling power is retained when the state which\n      exercises this suzerainty has a right to veto any negotiations into\n      which the dependent state may enter with foreign powers. Whatever\n      suzerainty meant in the Convention of Pretoria, the condition of\n      things which it implied still remains; although the word is not\n      actually employed, we have kept the substance. We have abstained\n      from using the word because it was not capable of legal definition,\n      and because it seemed to be a word which was likely to lead to\n      misconception and misunderstanding.\"--_Lord Derby in the House of\n      Lords_, March 17, 1884. I do not desire to multiply points of\n      controversy, but the ill-starred raising of the ghost of suzerainty\n      in 1897-9 calls for the twofold remark that the preamble was struck\n      out by Lord Derby's own hand, and that alike when Lord Knutsford and\n      Lord Ripon were at the colonial office, answers were given in the\n      House of Commons practically admitting that no claim of suzerainty\n      could be put forward.\n\n_   32 Works of T. H. Green_, iii. 382.\n\n   33 House of Commons, April 4, 1882.\n\n   34 Edinburgh, Sept. 1, 1884.\n\n  M21 Action Of The Lords\n\n   35 See vol. ii. book vi. chap. II.\n\n   36 Proceedings had been instituted in the Dublin courts against Parnell\n      and others for seditious conspiracy. The jury were unable to agree\n      on a verdict.\n\n   37 Tried by Lord Spencer in Westmeath in 1871, it had been successful,\n      but the area of disturbance was there comparatively insignificant.\n\n  M22 Disturbances In Ireland\n\n   38 For a plain and precise description of the Coercion Act of 1881, see\n      Dicey's _Law of the Constitution_, pp. 243-8.\n\n   39 See vol. ii. p. 284.\n\n  M23 Great Agrarian Law\n  M24 Its Reception In Ireland\n  M25 Arrest Of Mr. Parnell\n\n   40 At the Cloth Hall banquet, Leeds, Oct. 8, 1881.\n\n   41 Speech to the Leeds Chamber of Commerce, Oct. 8, 1881.\n\n  M26 Mr. Forster's Resignation\n\n   42 Introduced by Mr. Redmond.\n\n  M27 The Murders In The Phoenix Park\n\n   43 It had been Mr. Burke's practice to drive from the Castle to the\n      Park gate, then to descend and walk home, followed by two\n      detectives. On this occasion he found at the gate that the chief\n      secretary had passed, and drove forward to overtake him. The\n      detectives did not follow him as usual. If they had followed, he\n      would have been saved.\n\n_   44 Life of Dean Church_, p. 299.\n\n_   45 Nineteenth Century_, August, 1877; _Gleanings_, iv. p. 357.\n\n  M28 Anti-European Rising\n\n   46 July 27, 1882.\n\n   47 Granville and Malet, November 4, 1881.\n\n   48 Before Midlothian, however, Mr. Gladstone had in 1877 drawn an\n      important distinction: \"If I find the Turk incapable of establishing\n      a good, just, and well-proportioned government over civilised and\n      Christian races, it does not follow that he is under a similar\n      incapacity when his task shall only be to hold empire over\n      populations wholly or principally Orientals and Mahomedans. On this\n      head I do not know that any verdict of guilty has yet been found by\n      a competent tribunal.\"--_Gleanings_, iv. p. 364.\n\n  M29 Policy Of England And France\n\n_   49 Fortnightly Review_, July 1882.\n\n   50 Defining the claims of the European bondholder on revenue.\n\n  M30 Gambetta\n\n_   51 Fortnightly Review_, July 1882.\n\n  M31 Diplomatic Labyrinth\n\n   52 Lord Granville to Lord Dufferin. Oct. 5, 1882.\n\n  M32 Bombardment Of Alexandria\n  M33 Tel-El-Kebir\n\n   53 A share of the credit of success is due to the admirable efficiency\n      of Mr. Childers at the War Office. See Sir Garnet's letter to him,\n      _Life of Childers_, ii. p. 117.\n\n   54 Considerate la vostra semenza:\n      Fatti non foste a viver come bruti,\n      Ma per seguir virtute e conoscenza.\n      --_Inferno_, xxvi. 118.\n\n  M34 After Fifty Years\n\n_   55 Times_, Dec. 8, 1882.\n\n_   56 Standard_, Nov. 16, 1882.\n\n_   57 Morning Post_, Oct. 20, 1882.\n\n  M35 Parliamentary Power Unbroken\n\n   58 Traill's _New Lucian_, pp. 305-6,--in spite of politics, a book of\n      admirable wit, scholarship, and ingenious play of mind.\n\n   59 To Mr. Hazzopolo, Dec. 22, 1882.\n\n  M36 Dean Wellesley\n  M37 Recommendation To Canterbury\n\n_   60 Life of Tait_, i. p. 109.\n\n   61 Bishop Browne writes to a friend (_Life_, p. 457): \"Gladstone, I\n      learned both from himself and others, searched into all precedents\n      from the Commonwealth to the present day for a primate who began his\n      work at seventy, and found none but Juxon. Curiously, I have been\n      reading that he himself, prompted by Bishop Wilberforce, wanted\n      Palmerston to appoint Sumner (of Winchester) when he was\n      seventy-two. It was when they feared they could not get Longley (who\n      was sixty-eight).\"\n\n_   62 Life and Letters of Dean Church_, p. 307.\n\n  M38 Church Appointments\n\n_   63 Life and Letters of Dean Church_, p. 307.\n\n   64 See vol. i. p. 47.\n\n_   65 Gleanings_, ii. p. 287.\n\n  M39 Reconstruction\n\n   66 Lord Derby had refused office in the previous May.\n\n  M40 Reconstruction\n\n   67 The matter itself has no importance, but a point of principle or\n      etiquette at one time connected with it is perhaps worth mentioning.\n      To a colleague earlier in the year Mr. Gladstone wrote: \"I can\n      affirm with confidence that the notion of a title in the cabinet to\n      be consulted on the succession to a cabinet office is absurd. It is\n      a title which cabinet ministers do not possess. During thirty-eight\n      years since I first entered the cabinet, I have never known more\n      than a friendly announcement before publicity, and very partial\n      consultation perhaps with one or two, especially the leaders in the\n      second House.\"\n\n  M41 Holiday At Cannes\n\n   68 See Appendix.\n\n   69 The lines from Lucretius (in his speech on the Affirmation bill).\n      See above, p. 19.\n\n   70 In a party sense, as he told the cabinet, it might be wise enough to\n      grant it, as it would please the public, displease the tories, and\n      widen the breach between the fourth party and their front bench. Mr.\n      Gladstone had suffered an unpleasant experience in another case, of\n      the relations brought about by the refusal of a political pension\n      after inquiry as to the accuracy of the necessary statement as to\n      the applicant's need for it.\n\n  M42 Mr. Bright And The Irishmen\n\n   71 By an odd coincidence, on the day after my selection of this letter,\n      I read that the French prime minister, M. Combes, laid down the\n      doctrine that the government is never committed by a minister's\n      individual declarations, but only by those of the head of the\n      government. He alone has the power of making known the direction\n      given to policy, and each minister individually has authority only\n      for the administration of his department (September 25, 1902). Of\n      course this is wholly incompatible with Mr. Gladstone's ideas of\n      parliamentary responsibility and the cabinet system.\n\n  M43 Official Discipline\n  M44 Occupation Of Egypt\n\n   72 Many indications of this could be cited, if there were room. A\n      parade of the victors of Tel-el-Kebir through the streets of London\n      stirred little excitement. Two ministers went to make speeches at\n      Liverpool, and had to report on returning to town that references to\n      Egypt fell altogether flat.\n\n  M45 Egyptian Finance\n\n   73 Milner's _England in Egypt_, p. 185.\n\n  M46 County Franchise\n\n_   74 Saturday Review_, April 12, 1884.\n\n  M47 Bill Rejected By The Lords\n\n   75 Edinburgh, August 30, 1884.\n\n   76 Corn Exchange, Edinburgh, August 30, 1884.\n\n  M48 Negotiation\n  M49 Negotiation And Persuasion\n\n   77 Dinner of the Eighty Club, July 11, 1884.\n\n  M50 The Queen's Suggestion\n  M51 Conferences With Lord Salisbury\n  M52 The Question Settled\n  M53 Mr. Plunket's Speech\n  M54 The Case Of Ireland\n\n   78 Lord Waterford, July 7, 1884.\n\n   79 December 11, 1883.\n\n   80 \"I am not at all sure,\" Mr. Forster rashly said (March 31, 1884),\n      \"that Mr. Parnell will increase his followers by means of this\n      bill.\"\n\n   81 This was only the second occasion on which his party in cardinal\n      divisions voted with the government.\n\n  M55 The Mahdi\n\n   82 Wingate, pp. 50, 51.\n\n   83 The Soudan was conquered in 1819 by Ismail Pasha, the son of Mehemet\n      Ali, and from that date Egypt had a more or less insecure hold over\n      the country. In 1870 Sir Samuel Baker added the equatorial provinces\n      to the Egyptian Soudan.\n\n   84 Mr. Gladstone said on Nov. 2, 1882: \"It is no part of the duty\n      incumbent upon us to restore order in the Soudan. It is politically\n      connected with Egypt in consequence of its very recent conquest; but\n      it has not been included within the sphere of our operations, and we\n      are by no means disposed to admit without qualification that it is\n      within the sphere of our responsibility.\" Lord Granville, May 7,\n      1883: \"H.M. government are in no way responsible for the operations\n      in the Soudan, which have been undertaken under the authority of the\n      Egyptian government, or for the appointment or actions of General\n      Hicks.\"\n\n  M56 Policy Of Evacuation\n  M57 Despatch Of Gordon\n\n   85 It was a general mistake at that time to suppose that wherever a\n      garrison fell into the hands of the Mahdi, they were massacred. At\n      Tokar, for instance, the soldiers were incorporated by the victors.\n      See Wingate, p. 553.\n\n   86 Granville to Baring, Dec. 1, 1883; Jan. 10, 1884.\n\n   87 Gordon had suppressed the Taiping rising in China in 1863. In 1874\n      he was appointed by the Egyptian government governor-general of the\n      equatorial provinces of central Africa. In 1876 he resigned owing to\n      trouble with the governor-general of the Soudan upon the suppression\n      of the slave trade, but was appointed (1877) governor-general of the\n      Soudan, Darfur, the equatorial provinces, and the Red Sea littoral.\n      He held this position till the end of 1879, suppressing the slave\n      trade with a strong hand and improving the means of communication\n      throughout the Soudan. He succeeded in establishing comparative\n      order. Then the new Egyptian government reversed Gordon's policy,\n      and the result of his six years' work soon fell to pieces.\n\n   88 Gordon's Letters to Barnes, 1885. Lord Granville took his ticket,\n      Lord Wolseley carried the General's bag, and the Duke of Cambridge\n      held open the carriage door.\n\n  M58 Character Of Gordon\n\n   89 Baring's Instructions to Gordon (Jan. 25, 1884).\n\n   90 Gladstone to Granville, Jan. 19, 1884.--\"I telegraphed last night my\n      concurrence in your proceedings about Gordon: but Chester would not\n      awake and the message only went on this morning.\"\n\n   91 Dilke in House of Commons, Feb. 14, 1884. See also Lord Granville to\n      Sir E. Baring, March 28, 1884. In recapitulating the instructions\n      given to General Gordon, Lord Granville says: \"_His_ (Gordon's)\n      _first proposal_ was to proceed to Suakin with the object of\n      reporting from thence on the best method of effecting the evacuation\n      of the Soudan.... His instructions, _drawn up in accordance with his\n      own views_, were to report to her Majesty's government on the\n      military situation in the Soudan,\" etc.\n\n  M59 Gordon's Instructions\n\n   92 For the full text of these instructions, see Appendix.\n\n   93 Baring to Granville, January 28, 1884.\n\n   94 Dated, _Steamship __\"__Tanjore,__\"__ at Sea, Jan. 22, 1884_.\n\n   95 Granville to Baring, March 28.\n\n  M60 Changes Of Policy\n\n   96 Feb. 23, 1885.\n\n   97 May 13, 1884.\n\n  M61 Zobeir\n\n   98 Wingate's _Mahdism_, p. 109.\n\n   99 Baring to Granville, Jan. 28.--\"I had a good deal of conversation\n      with General Gordon as to the manner in which Zobeir Pasha should be\n      treated. Gen. Gordon entertains a high opinion of Zobeir Pasha's\n      energy and ability. He possesses great influence in the Soudan, and\n      General Gordon is of opinion that _circumstances might arise which\n      would render it desirable that he should be sent back to the\n      Soudan_.\"\n\n  M62 Zobeir\n\n  100 (_From his diary._) _March 9._--... At night recognised the fact of a\n      cold, and began to deal with it. 10th. Kept my bed all day. 11th.\n      The cabinet sat, and Granville came to and fro with the\n      communications, Clark having prohibited my attendance. Read _Sybil_.\n      12th. Bed as yesterday. 13th. Got to my sitting-room in the evening.\n      It has, however, taken longer this time to clear the chest, and\n      Clark reports the pulse still too high by ten. Saw Granville.\n      Conclave, 7-1/2 to 8-1/2, on telegram to Baring for Gordon. I was not\n      allowed to attend the cabinet.\n\n  101 The case of the government was stated with all the force and reason\n      of which it admitted, in Lord Granville's despatch of March 28,\n      1884.\n\n  M63 Condition Of The Soudan\n\n  102 In the light of this proceeding, the following is curious: \"There is\n      one subject which I cannot imagine any one differing about. That is\n      the impolicy of announcing our intention to evacuate Khartoum. Even\n      if we were bound to do so we should have said nothing about it. The\n      moment it is known we have given up the game, every man will go over\n      to the Mahdi. All men worship the rising sun. The difficulties of\n      evacuation will be enormously increased, if, indeed, the withdrawal\n      of our garrison is not rendered impossible.\"--Interview with General\n      Gordon, _Pall Mall Gazette_, Jan. 8, 1884.\n\n      ... \"In the afternoon of Feb. 13 Gordon assembled all the\n      influential men of the province and showed them the secret firman.\n      The reading of this document caused great excitement, but at the\n      same time its purport was received evidently with much\n      gratification. It is worthy of note that the whole of the notables\n      present at this meeting subsequently threw in their cause with the\n      Mahdi.\"--Henry William Gordon's _Events in the Life of Charles George\n      Gordon_, p. 340.\n\n  103 Wingate, p. 110.\n\n  M64 Question Of An Expedition\n\n  104 Lord Hartington, House of Commons, May 13, 1884. An admirable\n      speech, and the best defence of ministers up to this date.\n\n  105 Address to the electors of Midlothian, September 17, 1885.\n\n  106 See the official _History of the Soudan Campaign_, by Colonel\n      Colvile, Part 1. pp. 45-9.\n\n  M65 The Expedition Starts\n\n  107 February 27, 1885.\n\n  108 Colvile, II., Appendix 47, p. 274. Apart from the authority of\n      Kitchener, Gordon's own language shows that he knew himself to be\n      _in extremis_ by the end of December.\n\n  109 The story that he went to the theatre the same night is untrue.\n\n  M66 Mr. Gladstone's Vindication\n\n_  110 Belford's Magazine_ (New York), Sept. 1890. A French translation of\n      this letter will be found in _L'Egypte et ses Provinces Perdues_, by\n      the recipient, Colonel C. Chaille-Long Bey (1892), pp. 196-7. He was\n      chief of the staff to Gordon in the Soudan, and consular-agent for\n      the United States at Alexandria. Another book of his, published in\n      1884, is _The Three Prophets; Chinese Gordon, El Mahdi, and Arabi\n      Pasha_. Burton reviewed Gordon's Khartoum Journals, _Academy_, June\n      11, 1885.\n\n  M67 Party Prospects\n\n  111 Above, p. 166.\n\n  M68 The Left Wing\n\n  112 For the censure, 288; against, 302.\n\n  M69 Narrow Escape In Parliament\n\n  113 I often tried to persuade him that our retreat was to be explained\n      apart from pusillanimity, but he would not listen.\n\n  M70 Change Of Soudan Policy\n\n  114 See Appendix.\n\n  115 For instance when Mr. Gladstone fell from office in 1874, Lord Odo\n      Russell wrote to him, \"how sorry I feel at your retirement, and how\n      grateful I am to you for the great advantage and encouragement I\n      have enjoyed while serving under your great administration, in Rome\n      and Berlin.\"\n\n  116 \"We do not depart in any degree from the policy of leaving the\n      Soudan. As to the civilisation which the noble and gallant earl\n      [Lord Dundonald] would impose upon us the duty of restoring, it\n      could only be carried out by a large and costly expedition,\n      entailing enormous sacrifice of blood and treasure, and for the\n      present a continuous expenditure, which I do not think the people of\n      this country would sanction.... The defence of our retention of\n      Suakin is that it is a very serious obstacle to the renewal and the\n      conduct of that slave trade which is always trying to pass over from\n      Africa into Asia. I do not think that the retention of Suakin is of\n      any advantage to the Egyptian government. If I were to speak purely\n      from the point of view of that government's own interest, I should\n      say, 'Abandon Suakin at once.' \"--Lord Salisbury, in the House of\n      Lords, March 16, 1888.\n\n  M71 A Historical Parallel\n\n  117 Above, vol. ii. p. 49.\n\n  118 Edinburgh, March 17, 1880.\n\n  119 In the letter to Mr. Bright (July 14, 1882) already given, Mr.\n      Gladstone went somewhat nearer to the Manchester school, and\n      expressed his agreement with Bright in believing most wars to have\n      been sad errors.\n\n  M72 The Vote Of Credit\n\n  120 West Calder, November 17, 1885.\n\n  M73 State Of Ireland\n  M74 Lord Randolph Churchill And The Irishmen\n\n  121 May 20, 1885.\n\n  122 The story was told by Lord R. Churchill in a speech at Sheffield,\n      Sept 4, 1885.\n\n  123 Mr. McCarthy's speech at Hull, Dec. 15, 1887.\n\n  M75 In The Ministerial Camp\n  M76 Opinion In The Cabinet\n  M77 Opinion In The Cabinet\n  M78 Final Deliberations\n  M79 Budget Rejected\n  M80 Resignation Of Office\n\n  124 Duke of Argyll, July 10, 1885.\n\n  125 As the reader will remember (vol. i. pp. 436-440), on Dec. 16, 1852,\n      Mr. Disraeli's motion for imposing a house duty of a shilling in the\n      pound was rejected by 305 to 286. Mr. Gladstone also referred to the\n      case of the expulsion of the whigs by Peel. On May 13, 1841, after\n      eight nights' debate, the government were defeated by a majority of\n      36 on their budget proposals in regard to sugar. Ministers not\n      resigning, Sir Robert Peel moved a vote of want of confidence on May\n      27, which was carried by a majority of 1 (312-311), June 4, 1841.\n      Parliament thereupon was dissolved.\n\n  M81 Ministerial Crisis\n\n  126 Memo. by Mr. Gladstone, on a sheet of notepaper, June 20, 1885.\n\n  M82 Crisis Prolonged\n\n  127 Mr. Gladstone was reminded by a colleague that when Sir Robert Peel\n      resumed office in 1845, at the request of the Queen, he did so\n      before and without consultation with his colleagues. In the end they\n      all, excepting Lord Stanley, supported him.\n\n  128 June 25, 1885.\n\n  129 The correspondence with the Queen up to June 21 was read by Mr.\n      Gladstone in the House of Commons on June 24, and Lord Salisbury\n      made his statement in the House of Lords on the next day. Mr.\n      Gladstone told the House of Commons that he omitted one or two\n      sentences from one of his letters, as having hardly any bearing on\n      the real points of the correspondence. The omitted sentences related\n      to the Afghan frontier, and the state of the negotiations with\n      Russia.\n\n  130 This proceeding was so unusual as to be almost without a precedent.\n      Lord Mulgrave had addressed the House of Lords in 1837, and Lord\n      Clarendon in 1850. But on each of these occasions the viceroy's\n      administration had been the object of vigorous attack, and no one\n      but the viceroy himself was capable of making an effective\n      parliamentary defence.\n\n  131 July 6, 1885. _Hans._ 298, p. 1659.\n\n  M83 The Maamtrasna Debate\n\n  132 Sir M. H. Beach, July 17, 1885. _Hans._ 299, p. 1085.\n\n_  133 Hans._ 299, p. 1098.\n\n_  134 Ibid._ p. 1119.\n\n  M84 Change In Situation\n\n  135 In _The Contemporary Review_, October 1885, p. 491.\n\n  136 See _Spectator_, Sept. 26, 1885.\n\n  M85 Whigs And Radicals\n  M86 Party Aspects\n\n  137 Mr. Chamberlain has been good enough to read these two letters, and\n      he assents to their substantial accuracy, with a demurrer on two or\n      three points, justly observing that anybody reporting a very long\n      and varied conversation is almost certain, however scrupulous in\n      intention, to insert in places what were thoughts much in his own\n      mind, rather than words actually spoken. In inserting these two\n      letters, it may tend to prevent controversy if we print such\n      corrective hints as are desired.\n\n  138 In connection with a local government bill for small holdings and\n      allotments, subsequently passed.\n\n  139 He suggested, for instance, the appointment of a committee.\n\n  140 Mr. Chamberlain puts it that he proposed to exclude home rule as\n      impossible, and to offer a local government bill which he thought\n      that Parnell might accept. Mr. Gladstone's statement that he and his\n      visitor were \"pretty well agreed\" on Ireland, cannot mean therefore\n      that the visitor was in favour of home rule.\n\n  141 This is not remembered.\n\n  142 \"Some misunderstanding here.\"\n\n  143 That is, in his seventy-sixth year.\n\n  M87 A Remarkable Interview\n\n  144 This episode was first mentioned in the House of Commons, June 7,\n      1886. Lord Carnarvon explained in the Lords, June 10. Mr. Parnell\n      replied in a letter to the _Times_, June 12. He revived the subject\n      in the House of Commons, Feb. 13, 1888, and Lord Carnarvon explained\n      a second time in the Lords on May 3. On Lord Carnarvon's first\n      explanation, the Duke of Argyll, while placing the utmost reliance\n      on his personal honour and accuracy, \"felt bound to observe that the\n      statement did not appear to be complete, for he had omitted to\n      explain what the nature of the communication [with Mr. Parnell]\n      absolutely was.\" Neither then nor two years later was the omission\n      made good. Curiously enough on the first occasion Lord Carnarvon did\n      not even mention that Lord Salisbury in any way shared his\n      responsibility for the interview, and in fact his language pointed\n      the other way. What remains is his asseveration, supported by Lord\n      Salisbury, that he had made no formal bargain with Mr. Parnell, and\n      gave him no sort of promise, assurance, or pledge. This is not only\n      entirely credible, it is certain; for the only body that could carry\n      out such a promise had not been consulted. \"I may at least say this\n      of what went on outside the cabinet--that I had no communication on\n      the subject, _no authorisation_, and that I never communicated to\n      them even that which I had done.\"--_Hansard_, 306, p. 1258.\n\n_  145 E.g._ _Hans._ 306, pp. 1181, 1199.\n\n  146 Letter to the _Times_, June 12, 1886.\n\n  M88 A Remarkable Interview\n\n_  147 Hans._ 332, p. 336.\n\n  148 August 24, 1885.\n\n  M89 Lord Hartington And Mr. Chamberlain\n\n  149 Lord Hartington at Waterfoot, August 29.\n\n  150 June 17, 1885.\n\n  151 Warrington, September 8.\n\n  M90 Letter To Mr. Childers\n\n_  152 Life of Childers_, ii. p. 230.\n\n  153 Sept. 18, 1885.\n\n  154 Nov. 9, 1885.\n\n  155 Midlothian Speeches, p. 49.\n\n_  156 Ibid._ p. 39.\n\n  M91 Declarations From Lord Salisbury\n\n  157 Some of them are set out in Special Commission _Report_, pp. 99,\n      100.\n\n  158 See Mr. Gladstone upon these tactics in his fifth Midlothian speech,\n      Nov. 24, 1885. Also in the seventh, Nov. 28, pp. 159-60.\n\n  M92 Irish Manifesto\n  M93 In Midlothian\n\n_  159 Nineteenth Century_, November 1885; reprinted in _Later Gleanings_.\n\n  160 Speech in the Free Assembly Hall, Nov. 11, 1885.\n\n  M94 First Days\n\n  161 November 26, 1885.\n\n_  162 Result of General Election of 1885_:--\n\n      English and Welsh boroughs and universities, 93 L., 86 C., 1 P.\n      Metropolis, 26, 36, 0\n      English and Welsh counties, 152, 101, 0\n      Scottish boroughs, 30, 3, 0\n      Scottish counties, 32, 7, 0\n      Ireland, 0, 18, 85\n      Totals, 333 L., 251 C., 86 P.\n\n      The following figures may also be found interesting:--\n\n      _Election of 1868_--\n\n      English and Welsh Liberals, 267\n      Tories, 225\n      Majority, 42\n\n      _In 1880_--\n\n      English and Welsh Liberals, 284\n      Tories, 205\n      Majority, 79\n\n      _In 1885_--\n\n      English and Welsh Liberals, 270\n      Tories, 223\n      Majority, 47\n\n  M95 General Result\n\n  163 Mr. Chamberlain at Leicester, December 3, 1885.\n\n  M96 Extraordinary Results In Ireland\n\n  164 Macknight's _Ulster as it Is_, ii. p. 108.\n\n  165 Mr. Forster, March 11, 1881.\n\n  M97 Mr. Parnell As Dictator\n\n  166 Lord Salisbury, at a dinner given in London to the four conservative\n      members for Hertfordshire, February 17, 1886.\n\n_  167 Special Aspects of the Irish Question_, p. 18.\n\n  M98 Proffer Of Support\n  M99 Leaders At Hawarden\n\n  168 These statements first appeared in the _Leeds Mercury_ and the\n      _Standard_ on Dec. 17, and in a communication from the National\n      Press Agency issued on the night of Dec. 16. They were not published\n      in the _Times_ and other London morning papers until Dec. 18. Mr.\n      Gladstone's telegram was printed in the evening papers on Dec. 17.\n\n M100 Reports From Hawarden\n\n  169 Speech on the Address, January 21, 1886.\n\n M101 Notes Of Conflict\n\n  170 At the Birmingham Reform Club, Dec. 17, 1885.\n\n M102 Views Of Mr. Parnell\n M103 Changes And Rumours\n\n  171 Correspondence between Lord Salisbury and Lord Carnarvon, _Times_,\n      Jan. 16, 1886.\n\n_  172 Hans._ 302, pp. 1929-1993, March 4, 1886. See also Lord Randolph\n      Churchill at Paddington, Feb. 13, 1886.\n\n  173 Maxwell's _Life of W. H. Smith_, ii. p. 163.\n\n  174 If this seems hyperbole, let the reader remember an entry in\n      Macaulay's diary: \"I have now finished reading again most of Burke's\n      works. Admirable! The greatest man since Milton.\" Trevelyan's\n      _Life_, ii. p. 377.\n\n M104 End Of Seventy-Sixth Year\n\n  175 In 1833 the King's Speech represented the state of Ireland in words\n      that might be used at the present time, and expressed confidence\n      that parliament would entrust the King with \"such additional powers\n      as may be necessary for punishing the disturbers of the public peace\n      and for preserving and strengthening the legislative union between\n      the two countries, which with your support and under the blessing of\n      divine Providence I am determined to maintain by all the means in my\n      power.\" The Address in answer assured his Majesty that his\n      confidence should not be disappointed, and that \"we shall be ready\n      to entrust to H.M. such additional measures, etc., for preserving\n      and strengthening the legislative union which we have determined,\"\n      etc. This was the address that Mr. O'Connell denounced as a \"bloody\n      and brutal address,\" and he moved as an amendment that the House do\n      resolve itself into a committee of the whole House to consider of an\n      humble address to his Majesty. Feb. 8. Amendment negatived, Ayes\n      being 428, Noes 40.--_Memo._ by Sir T. E. May for Mr. Gladstone, Jan.\n      18, 1886. O'Connell, that is to say, did not move an amendment in\n      favour of repeal, but proposed the consideration of the Address in\n      committee of the whole House.\n\n_  176 Hans._ 302, p. 128.\n\n  177 Lord Carnarvon left Ireland on Jan. 28, and Lord Justices were then\n      appointed. But the lawyers seem to hold that there cannot be Lord\n      Justices without a viceroy, and Lord Carnarvon was therefore\n      technically viceroy out of the kingdom (of Ireland), until Lord\n      Aberdeen was sworn in upon Feb. 10, 1886. He must, accordingly, have\n      signed the minute appointing Mr. Smith chief secretary, though of\n      course Mr. Smith had gone over to reverse the Carnarvon policy.\n\n_  178 Hans._ 302, p. 112.\n\n M105 Coercion Bill Announced\n\n  179 Mr. Gladstone was often taunted with having got in upon the question\n      of allotments, and then throwing the agricultural labourer\n      overboard. \"The proposition,\" he said, \"is not only untrue but\n      ridiculous. If true, it would prove that Lord Grey in 1830 came in\n      upon the pension list, and Lord Derby in 1852 on the militia.... For\n      myself, I may say personally that I made my public declaration on\n      behalf of allotments in 1832, when Mr. Jesse Collings was just\n      born.\"--To Mr. C. A. Fyffe, May 6, 1890.\n\n_  180 Diary._\n\n M106 Again Prime Minister\n\n  181 \"When the matter was finally adjusted by Chamberlain's retirement,\n      we had against us--Derby, Northbrook, Carlingford, Selborne, Dodson,\n      Chamberlain, Hartington, Trevelyan, Bright; and for--Granville,\n      Spencer, Kimberley, Ripon, Rosebery, Harcourt, Childers, Lefevre,\n      Dilke (unavailable).\" Mr. Goschen was not in the cabinet of 1880.\n\n  182 A few weeks later, Lord Hartington said on the point of Mr.\n      Gladstone's consistency: \"When I look back to the declarations that\n      Mr. Gladstone made in parliament, which have not been infrequent;\n      when I look back to the increased definiteness given to these\n      declarations in his address to the electors of Midlothian and in his\n      Midlothian speeches; when I consider all these things, I feel that I\n      have not, and that no one has, any right to complain of the\n      declaration that Mr. Gladstone has recently made.\"--Speech at the\n      Eighty Club, March 5, 1886.\n\n_  183 Hans._ 304, p. 1106.\n\n M107 Position Of Mr. Chamberlain\n\n  184 January 30, 1886. _Hans._ 304, p. 1185.\n\n  185 As for the story of my being concerned in Mr. Gladstone's conversion\n      to home rule, it is, of course, pure moonshine. I only glance at it\n      because in politics people are ready to believe anything. At the\n      general election of 1880, I had declined to support home rule. In\n      the press, however, I had strenuously opposed the Forster Coercion\n      bill of the following winter, as involving a radical misapprehension\n      of the nature and magnitude of the case. In the course of that\n      controversy, arguments pressed themselves forward which led much\n      further than mere resistance to the policy of coercion. Without\n      having had the advantage of any communication whatever with Mr.\n      Gladstone upon Irish subjects for some years before, I had still\n      pointed out to my constituents at Newcastle in the previous\n      November, that there was nothing in Mr. Gladstone's electoral\n      manifesto to prevent him from proposing a colonial plan for Ireland,\n      and I had expressed my own conviction that this was the right\n      direction in which to look. A few days before the fall of the tory\n      government, I had advocated the exclusion of Irish members from\n      Westminster, and the production of measures dealing with the\n      land.--Speech at Chelmsford, January 7, 1886.\n\n  186 The cabinet was finally composed as follows:--\n\n      Mr. Gladstone, _First lord of the treasury_.\n      Lord Herschell, _Lord chancellor_.\n      Lord Spencer, _President of council_.\n      Sir W. Harcourt, _Chancellor of exchequer_.\n      Mr. Childers, _Home secretary_.\n      Lord Rosebery, _Foreign secretary_.\n      Lord Granville, _Colonial secretary_.\n      Lord Kimberley, _Indian secretary_.\n      Mr. Campbell-Bannerman, _War secretary_.\n      Lord Ripon, _Admiralty_.\n      Mr. Chamberlain, _Local government_.\n      Mr. Morley, _Irish secretary_.\n      Mr. Trevelyan, _Scotch secretary_.\n      Mr. Mundella, _Board of trade_.\n\n      The Lord chancellor, Mr. C.-Bannerman, Mr. Mundella, and myself now\n      sat in cabinet for the first time. After the two resignations at the\n      end of March, Mr. Stansfeld came in as head of the Local government\n      board, and we sat with the ominous number of thirteen at table.\n\n M108 On Procedure By Resolution\n\n  187 See Mr. Chamberlain's speech, June 1, 1886. _Hans._ 306, p. 677.\n      Also Lord Hartington at Bradford, May 18, 1886.\n\n  188 June 1, 1833. _Hans._ 18, p. 186.\n\n  189 June 13, 1833. _Ibid._ p. 700.\n\n  190 May 14, 1833. _Hans._ 17, p. 1230.\n\n  191 There is also the case of the Reform bill of 1867. Disraeli laid\n      thirteen resolutions on the table. Lowe and Bright both agreed in\n      urging that the resolutions should be dropped and the bill at once\n      printed. A meeting of liberal members at Mr. Gladstone's house\n      unanimously resolved to support an amendment setting aside the\n      resolutions. Disraeli at once abandoned them.\n\n M109 Two Branches Of The Policy\n\n  192 Lord Hartington's argument on the second reading shows how a\n      resolution would have fared. _Hans._ 305, p. 610.\n\n_  193 Hans._ 304, p. 1116.\n\n_  194 Hans._ 304, p. 1190.\n\n M110 Important Resignations\n\n  195 Faint hopes were nourished that Mr. Bright might be induced to join,\n      but there was unfortunately no ground for them. Mr. Whitbread was\n      invited, but preferred to lend staunch and important support\n      outside. Lord Dalhousie, one of the truest hearts that ever was\n      attracted to public life, too early lost to his country, took the\n      Scottish secretaryship, not in the cabinet.\n\n M111 Mr. Parnell\n M112 The Bill On The Anvil\n\n  196 See Appendix.\n\n M113 Forces For And Against\n M114 Scene In Parliament\n M115 Character Of The Debate\n\n  197 First reading, April 13. Motion made for second reading and\n      amendment, May 10. Land bill introduced and first reading, April 16.\n\n  198 April 9, May 10.\n\n M116 Stroke And Counter-Stroke\n\n_  199 Hans._ 304, pp. 1204-6.\n\n M117 Lord Salisbury\n\n_  200 Hans._ 306, p. 697.\n\n_  201 Hans._ 304, p. 1202.\n\n  202 May 15, 1886.\n\n  203 See for instance, _Irish Times_, May 8, and _Belfast Newsletter_,\n      May 17, 18, 21, 1886.\n\n_  204 Hans._ 304, p. 1134. Also 305, p. 1252.\n\n  205 When the bill was practically settled, he asked if he might have a\n      draft of the main provisions, for communication to half a dozen of\n      his confidential colleagues. After some demur, the Irish secretary\n      consented, warning him of the damaging consequences of any premature\n      divulgation. The draft was duly returned, and not a word leaked out.\n      Some time afterwards Mr. Parnell recalled the incident to me. \"Three\n      of the men to whom I showed the draft were newspaper men, and they\n      were poor men, and any newspaper would have given them a thousand\n      pounds for it. No very wonderful virtue, you may say. But how many\n      of your House of Commons would believe it?\"\n\n  206 For this point, see the _Times_ report of the famous proceedings in\n      Committee-room Fifteen, collected in the volume entitled _The\n      Parnellite Split_ (1891).\n\n M118 Subterranean Activity\n M119 Strength And Weakness\n M120 Correspondence With Mr. Bright\n\n  207 Letter to Mr. T. H. Bolton, M.P. _Times_, May 8, 1886.\n\n_  208 Hans._ 306, p. 698.\n\n M121 Few Secondary Arguments\n\n_  209 Hans._ 306, p. 1218.\n\n  210 In the end exactly 93 liberals did vote against the bill.\n\n M122 Party Meeting\n\n_  211 Hans._ 306, p. 322.\n\n M123 Death-Warrant Of The Bill\n M124 End Of The Debate\n M125 Dissolution Of Parliament\n M126 At Edinburgh\n\n  212 He was returned without opposition.\n\n M127 Cabinet Resign\n M128 At Tegernsee\n\n  213 On the Irish Question.--\"The History of an Idea and the Lesson of the\n      Elections,\" a fifty-page pamphlet prepared before leaving England.\n\n_  214 Speaker_, Jan. 1, 1890.\n\n_  215 Conversations of Doellinger._ By L. von Koebell, pp. 100, 102.\n\n_  216 Nineteenth Century_, January 1887. See also speech at Hawarden, on\n      the Queen's Reign, August 30, 1887. The reader will remember Mr.\n      Gladstone's contrast between poet and active statesman at Kirkwall\n      in 1883.\n\n_  217 Robert Elsmere: the Battle of Belief_ (1888). Republished from the\n      _Nineteenth Century_ in _Later Gleanings_, 1898.\n\n  218 May 2, 1888.\n\n M129 Dissentient Position\n\n  219 See vol. i. p. 423.\n\n  220 Sir W. Harcourt, Mr. Chamberlain, Lord Herschell, Sir George\n      Trevelyan, and myself.\n\n M130 Round Table Conference\n\n  221 See speeches at Hawick, Jan. 22, and at Birmingham, Jan. 29, 1887.\n\n_  222 Baptist_ article, in _Times_, Feb. 25, 1887.\n\n  223 If anybody should ever wish further to disinter the history of this\n      fruitless episode, he will find all the details in a speech by Sir\n      William Harcourt at Derby, Feb, 27, 1889. See also Sir G. O.\n      Trevelyan, _Times_, July 26, 1887, Mr. Chamberlain's letter to Mr.\n      Evelyn Ashley, _Times_, July 29, 1887, and a speech of my own at\n      Wolverhampton, April 19, 1887.\n\n M131 State Of Ireland\n\n_  224 Hans._ 309, Sept. 21, 1886.\n\n  225 See _United Ireland_, Oct. 23, 1886.\n\n M132 Plan Of Campaign\n\n  226 Lord Randolph had encouraged a plan of campaign in Ulster against\n      home rule.\n\n  227 Speech at the Memorial Hall, July 29, 1887.\n\n  228 Report, p. 8, sect. 15.\n\n_  229 Freeman_, Jan. 1887.\n\n  230 Questions 16, 473-5.\n\n M133 Ministerial Vacillations\n\n_  231 Hans._ August 19, 1886.\n\n_  232 Ibid._ 313, March 22, 1887.\n\n_  233 Ibid._ 312, April 22, 1887.\n\n M134 Singular Operations\n\n  234 Speech on Criminal Law Amendment (Ireland) bill, March 29, 1887.\n\n  235 This vital feature of the bill was discussed in the report stage, on\n      a motion limiting the operation of the Act to three years. June 27,\n      1887. _Hans._ 316, p. 1013. The clause was rejected by 180 to 119,\n      or a majority of 61.\n\n  236 See Palles, C. B., in Walsh's case. _Judgments of Superior Courts in\n      cases under the Criminal Law and Procedure Amendment Act_, 1887, p.\n      110.\n\n M135 New Crimes Act\n M136 First Guillotine Closure\n\n  237 On September 9, 1887.\n\n M137 Mitchelstown\n\n  238 Sept. 12, 1887. _Hans._ 321, p. 327.\n\n M138 Intervention From Rome\n\n  239 Dec. 3, 1888. _Hans._ 331, p. 916.\n\n  240 May 8, 1888.\n\n M139 At Sandringham And Windsor\n\n_  241 Tablet_, Jan. 5, 1889.\n\n_  242 Iliad_, X. 317. See _Homer and Homeric Age_, iii. 467 n.\n\n  243 House of Lords, August 10, 1888.\n\n M140 The Facsimile Letter\n\n  244 Here is the text of this once famous piece:--\n\n      '15/5/82.\n\n      \"DEAR SIR,--I am not surprised at your friend's anger, but he and you\n      should know that to denounce the murders was the only course open to\n      us. To do that promptly was plainly our best policy. But you can\n      tell him and all others concerned, that though I regret the accident\n      of Lord F. Cavendish's death, I cannot refuse to admit that Burke\n      got no more than his deserts. You are at liberty to show him this,\n      and others whom you can trust also, but let not my address be known.\n      He can write to the House of Commons.--Yours very truly,\n\n      \"CHAS. S. PARNELL.\"\n\n  245 The three judges held this to be a correct interpretation of the\n      language used in the article of March 10th, 1887. Report, pp. 57-8.\n\n  246 April 20, 1887.\n\n M141 Demand For A Committee\n\n_  247 Hans._ July 12, 1888, p. 1102.\n\n_  248 Hans._ July 16, p. 1410.\n\n_  249 Hans._ July 16, 1888, p. 1495.\n\n M142 The Bill\n\n_  250 Hans._ 329, July 23, 1888, p. 263.\n\n M143 The Tribunal Opened\n\n_  251 Hans._ Aug. 2, 1888, p. 1282.\n\n_  252 Report_, p. 5.\n\n_  253 Hans._ 342, p. 1357.\n\n M144 Proceedings In Court\n\n_  254 Evidence_, iv. p. 219.\n\n  255 The common-sense view of the employment of such a man seems to be\n      set out in the speech of Sir Henry James (Cassell and Co.), pp.\n      149-51, and 494-5.\n\n M145 The Letters Reached\n\n  256 Feb. 24, 1889. _Evidence_, vi. p. 20.\n\n M146 The Forgeries Exploded\n M147 On The Report\n\n  257 See above, vol. iii. p. 56.\n\n M148 On The Report\n\n  258 \"The Triple Alliance and Italy's Place in It.\" By Outidanos.\n      _Contemporary Review_, October 1889. See Appendix.\n\n M149 Blessings Of The Home\n\n  259 See above, vol. i. pp. 99, 568.\n\n  260 Third Part, vol. i. p. 62.\n\n  261 Vol. i. p. 206.\n\n  262 These articles appeared in _Good Words_ (March-November 1900), and\n      were subsequently published in volume form under the title of _The\n      Impregnable Rock of Holy Scripture_.\n\n_  263 Speaker_, Aug. 30, 1890.\n\n_  264 Inf._ v. 98: \"Where Po descends for rest with his tributary\n      streams.\"\n\n_  265 Od._ xx. 82.\n\n  266 Mr. Hanbury, August 1, 1889. _Hans._ 339, p. 98.\n\n  267 At Birmingham, July 30, 1889.\n\n_  268 E.g._ _Northern Whig_, February 21, 1889.\n\n M150 Advance Of Home Rule\n\n  269 Mr. Balfour at Manchester. _Times_, October 21, 1889.\n\n  270 October 22, 1890.\n\n  271 See Mr. Roby's speech at the Manchester Reform Club, Oct. 24, and\n      articles in _Manchester Guardian_, Oct. 16 and 25, 1890. The _Times_\n      (Oct. 23), while denying the inference that the Irish question was\n      the question most prominent in the minds of large numbers of the\n      electors, admitted that this was the vital question really before\n      the constituency, and says generally, \"The election, like so many\n      other bye-elections, has been decided by the return to their party\n      allegiance of numbers of Gladstonians who in 1886 absented\n      themselves from the polling booths.\"\n\n M151 The Catastrophe\n\n  272 \"That the effect of this trial will be to relegate Mr. Parnell for a\n      time, at any rate, to private life, must we think be assumed....\n      Special exemptions from penalties which should apply to all public\n      men alike cannot possibly be made in favour of exceptionally\n      valuable politicians to suit the convenience of their parties. He\n      must cease, for the present at any rate, to lead the nationalist\n      party; and conscious as we are of the loss our opponents will\n      sustain by his resignation, we trust that they will believe us when\n      we say that we are in no mood to exult in it.... It is no\n      satisfaction to us to feel that a political adversary whose\n      abilities and prowess it was impossible not to respect, has been\n      overthrown by irrelevant accident, wholly unconnected with the\n      struggle in which we are engaged.\"--_Daily Telegraph_, Nov. 17, 1890.\n\n M152 Opinion In Ireland\n\n  273 Speech at Retford, Dec. 11, 1890. _Antony and Cleopatra_, Act I. Sc.\n      2.\n\n M153 Judgments In Great Britain\n\n  274 Lord Granville, Sir W. Harcourt, Mr. Arnold Morley, and myself.\n\n M154 The Liberal Leaders\n M155 The Irish Leader Obdurate\n\n  275 If anybody cares to follow all this up, he may read a speech of Mr.\n      Parnell's at Kells, Aug. 16, 1891, and a full reply of mine sent to\n      the press, Aug. 17.\n\n M156 Mr. Parnell's Decision\n\n  276 On the day after leaving Hawarden Mr. Parnell spoke at Liverpool,\n      calling on Lancashire to rally to their \"grand old leader.\" \"My\n      countrymen rejoice,\" he said, \"for we are on the safe path to our\n      legitimate freedom and our future prosperity.\" December 19, 1889.\n\n  277 See _The Parnell Split_, reprinted from the _Times_ in 1891.\n      Especially also _The Story of Room 15_, by Donal Sullivan, M.P., the\n      accuracy of which seems not to have been challenged.\n\n M157 Committee Room Fifteen\n M158 The Irish Bishops\n M159 Break-Up Of The Irish Party\n\n  278 The case for the change of mind which induced the majority who had\n      elected Mr. Parnell to the chair less than a fortnight before, now\n      to depose him, was clearly put by Mr. Sexton at a later date. To the\n      considerations adduced by him nobody has ever made a serious\n      political answer. The reader will find Mr. Sexton's argument in the\n      reports of these proceedings already referred to.\n\n_  279 Od._ xi. 200. \"It was not sickness that came upon me; it was\n      wearying for thee and thy lost counsels, glorious Odysseus, and for\n      all thy gentle kindness, this it was that broke the heart within\n      me.\"\n\n  280 Hor. _Carm._ i. 24.\n\n M160 Severe Ordeal\n\n  281 December 23, 1890.\n\n  282 April 3, 1891.\n\n  283 July 8, 1891.\n\n M161 Death Of Mr. Parnell\n\n  284 October 6. He was in his forty-sixth year (_b._ June 1846), and had\n      been sixteen years in parliament.\n\n  285 Vol. i. p. 387.\n\n  286 See above, vol. ii. p. 76.\n\n M162 At Newcastle\n\n  287 Once Mr. Gladstone presented him with a piece of plate, and set upon\n      it one of those little Latin inscriptions to which he was so much\n      addicted, and which must serve here instead of further commemoration\n      of a remarkable friendship: Georgio Armitstead, Armigero, D.D. Gul.\n      E. Gladstone. Amicitiae Benevolentiae Beneficiorum delatorum Valde\n      memor Mense Augusti A.D., 1894.\n\n  288 Era gia l'ora, che volge 'l disio\n      A' naviganti, e 'ntenerisce 'l cuore\n      Lo di ch' han detto a' dolci amici addio, etc.\n\n      _Purg._ viii.\n\n      Byron's rendering is well enough known.\n\n M163 Opinions On Statesmen\n M164 Table-Talk\n\n  289 On some other occasion he set this against Macaulay's praise of a\n      passage in Barrow mentioned above, ii. p. 536.\n\n M165 Table-Talk\n\n_  290 Iliad_, ix. 32.\n\n M166 Ecclesiastical\n M167 Fuentarabia\n\n  291 {~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}, {~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA WITH VARIA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER THETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER BETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH DASIA AND OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER DELTA~}{~GREEK KORONIS~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER MU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER IOTA WITH OXIA~},\n      {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH PSILI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH VARIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER FINAL SIGMA~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER PI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER GAMMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER CHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER CHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ETA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER SIGMA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER EPSILON WITH OXIA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER RHO~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER UPSILON~}.\n\n      \"Ask not, mariner, whose tomb I am here, but be thine own fortune a\n      kinder sea.\"--MACKAIL.\n\n M168 Disenchantment A Mistake\n M169 Table-Talk\n\n  292 I have not succeeded in hitting on the passage in the _History_.\n\n M170 Payment Of Members\n M171 At Bayonne\n\n  293 Boswell, March 21, 1776. Repeated, with a very remarkable\n      qualification, Sept. 19, 1777. Birkbeck Hill's edition, iii. p. 162.\n\n_  294 Carm._ iii. 5.\n\n M172 Table-Talk\n M173 Table-Talk\n\n_  295 Translations by Lyttelton and Gladstone_, p. 166.\n\n M174 Table-Talk\n\n  296 Thou shalt possess thy soul without care among the living, and\n      lighter when thou goest to the place where most are.\n\n M175 Conversations\n\n  297 See Appendix, Hor. _Carm._ i. 12, 25.\n\n M176 Question Of Undertaking Government\n\n  298 Lord Palmerston's government of 1859 was shorter by only a few days.\n\n M177 The Cabinet\n\n  299 Here is the Fourth Cabinet:--\n\n      _First lord of the treasury and privy seal_, W. E. Gladstone.\n      _Lord chancellor_, Lord Herschell.\n      _President of the council and Indian secretary_, Earl of Kimberley.\n      _Chancellor of the exchequer_, Sir W. V. Harcourt.\n      _Home secretary_, H. H. Asquith.\n      _Foreign secretary_, Earl of Rosebery.\n      _Colonial secretary_, Marquis of Ripon.\n      _Secretary for war_, H. Campbell-Bannerman.\n      _First lord of the admiralty_, Earl Spencer.\n      _Chief secretary for Ireland_, John Morley.\n      _Secretary for Scotland_, Sir G. O. Trevelyan.\n      _President of the board of trade_, A. J. Mundella.\n      _President of the local government board_, H. H. Fowler.\n      _Chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster_, James Bryce.\n      _Postmaster-general_, Arnold Morley.\n      _First commissioner of works_, J. G. Shaw Lefevre.\n      _Vice-president of the council_, A. H. D. Acland.\n\n  300 See Mr. Gladstone's speeches and answers to questions in the House\n      of Commons, Jan. 1, Feb. 3, and May 1, 1893. See also the French\n      Yellow Book for 1893, for M. Waddington's despatches of Nov. 1,\n      1892, May 5, 1893, and Feb. 1, 1893.\n\n M178 Preparation Of The Bill\n\n  301 I hope I am not betraying a cabinet secret if I mention that this\n      committee was composed of Mr. Gladstone, Lord Spencer, Lord\n      Herschell, Mr. Campbell-Bannermann, Mr. Bryce, and myself.\n\n  302 See above, p. 386.\n\n M179 Achievements In Debate\n\n  303 One poor biographic item perhaps the tolerant reader will not grudge\n      me leave to copy from Mr. Gladstone's diary:--\"_October 6, 1892._ Saw\n      J. Morley and made him envoy to ----. He is on the whole ... about the\n      best stay I have.\"\n\n M180 Obstruction\n M181 The Guillotine\n M182 Question Of Dissolution\n\n  304 See above, ii. p. 241.\n\n  305 See Appendix for further elucidation.\n\n M183 Again At Biarritz\n M184 Last Cabinet\n\n  306 Above, p. 130.\n\n M185 Last Audience\n\n  307 Written down, March 5.\n\n  308 Dr. Carlyle's translation.\n\n_  309 Inferno_, xxvii. 81.\n\n  310 On July 1, 1895, he announced his formal withdrawal in a letter to\n      Sir John Cowan, so long the loyal chairman of his electoral\n      committee.\n\n  311 \"The Place of Heresy and Schism in the Modern Christian Church\" and\n      \"The True and False Conception of the Atonement.\"\n\n_  312 Letter to the Duke of Westminster._\n\n M186 Last Meeting With The Queen\n\n  313 For the list see Appendix.\n\n_  314 King John._\n\n M187 Last Illness\n M188 Parliamentary Tributes\n M189 His Summary Of The Period\n\n  315 Letter to Sir John Cowan, March 17, 1894.\n\n  316 July 1, 1895.\n\n M190 Leader, Not Follower\n\n  317 See vol. i. p. 457.\n\n M191 Achievements Compared\n\n  318 See _Guardian_, Feb. 25, 1874.\n\n M192 Attitude To Church Parties\n\n  319 iii. p. 396.\n\n  320 For instance, Geddes, _Problem of the Homeric Poems_, 1878, p. 16.\n\n M193 On Homer\n\n  321 Pattison, ii. p. 166.\n\n_  322 Gleanings_, ii. p. 147.\n\n_  323 Life_, i. p. 398.\n\n M194 Leopardi Translations\n\n_  324 Gleanings_, ii. p. 129.\n\n M195 A Golden Lamp\n\n  325 Telegram of April 4.\n\n  326 Despatch, March 9.\n\n  327 Power, p. 73 A.\n\n_  328 Ibid._ 75 B.\n\n  329 Egypt, No. 18, p. 34, 1884 (April); Egypt, No. 35, p. 122 (July 30).\n\n M196 Home Rule Bill, 1886\n M197 Naval Estimates Of 1894\n\n\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Chris Curnow, Mary Akers and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n    Minor spelling inconsistencies, mainly hyphenated words, have been\n    harmonized. Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.\n    Obvious typos have been corrected. A \"List of Illustrations\" section  has been\n    added so as to aid the reader.\n\n\n\n\nTRACKS AND TRACKING\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n    TRACKS AND\n    TRACKING\n\n    BY\n\n    JOSEF BRUNNER\n\n    _FULLY ILLUSTRATED_\n\n    NEW YORK\n\n    OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY\n\n    MCMIX\n\n\n\n\n    Copyright, 1909, by\n\n    OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY\n\n    _All Rights Reserved_\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                   _Page_\n\n    FOREWORD                                           ix\n    GENERAL REMARKS                                     3\n\n\n    PART I\n\n    GROUP ONE--HOOFED GAME:\n\n    The White-Tailed or Virginia Deer                  11\n    The Fan-Tailed Deer                                32\n    The Mule Deer                                      39\n    The Wapiti or Elk                                  43\n    The Moose                                          49\n    The Mountain Sheep                                 55\n    The Antelope                                       61\n\n    PREDACEOUS ANIMALS:\n\n    The Bear                                           73\n    The Cougar                                         92\n    The Lynx                                          101\n    The Domestic Cat                                  107\n    The Wolf                                          109\n    The Coyote                                        118\n    The Fox                                           121\n    WHAT TRACKING MEANS AND SOME HUNTING METHODS      125\n\n    GROUP TWO:\n\n    The Jack-Rabbit                                   135\n    The Varying Hare                                  140\n    The Cottontail Rabbit                             144\n    The Squirrel                                      148\n\n    GROUP THREE:\n\n    The Marten and the Black-Footed Ferret            153\n    The Otter                                         157\n    The Mink                                          161\n    The Ermine                                        164\n\n    GROUP FOUR:\n\n    The Beaver                                        171\n    The Badger                                        180\n    The Porcupine                                     186\n    The Skunk                                         192\n\n\n    PART II\n\n    FEATHERED GAME:\n\n    Feathered Game                                    197\n    Upland Birds                                      199\n    Waterfowls                                        211\n    Predatory Birds                                   214\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n                                                _Page_\n    Frontispiece                                    iv\n\n    VIRGINIA DEER                                   12\n\n    TRACKS OF VIRGINIA DEER                         14\n\n    VIRGINIA DEER.                                  17\n\n    HIND FOOT OF VIRGINIA DEER.                     20\n\n    Trail of a deer\n      shot through brisket                          22\n\n    Trail of a deer\n      with broken hind leg                          22\n\n    Same as No. 3 on opposite page, but bullet\n      did not penetrate to the lungs.               22\n\n    HOOF OF BLACK-TAILED DEER.                      28\n\n    FAN-TAILED BUCK DEER.                           33\n\n    DEER TRACKS                                     35\n\n    MULE-DEER                                       40\n\n    ELK.                                            43\n\n    ELK                                             46\n\n    MOOSE BULL TRACK                                50\n\n    MOOSE TRACKS                                    52\n\n    MOUNTAIN SHEEP.                                 57\n\n    HOG TRACK; WALKING.                             59\n\n    HIND FOOT OF ANTELOPE.                          62\n\n    ANTELOPE.                                       64\n\n    THE SIGN OF THE ANTELOPE (BUCK)                 64\n\n    BEAR FEET--RIGHT SIDE                           76\n\n    BEAR TRAIL.                                     77\n\n    TRACKS OF BEAR, RUNNING                         80\n\n    BEAR TRACK.                                     82\n\n    BEAR STUMP.                                     82\n\n    BEAR TRACK.                                     84\n\n    BEAR LOG                                        86\n\n    BEAR LOG                                        89\n\n    COUGAR.                                         93\n\n    LYNX.                                          101\n\n    RIGHT FRONT PAW OF LYNX                        103\n\n    LYNX TRAIL                                     106\n\n    WOLF                                           109\n\n    WOLF                                           111\n\n    COYOTE.                                        119\n\n    FOX.                                           122\n\n    HUNTING WITH THE WIND                          130\n\n    JACK-RABBIT                                    135\n\n    JACK RABBIT                                    137\n\n    JACK RABBIT.                                   139\n\n    VARYING HARE                                   141\n\n    VARYING HARE                                   142\n\n    VARYING HARE                                   143\n\n    Cottontail Rabbit Tracks                       145\n\n    COTTON TAIL RABBIT                             146\n\n    COTTON TAIL RABBIT                             147\n\n    SQUIRREL.                                      148\n\n    Marten track                                   154\n\n    Marten track                                   156\n\n    OTTER.                                         158\n\n    MINK.                                          162\n\n    MINK.                                          163\n\n    ERMINE TRACKS.                                 166\n\n    BEAVER                                         171\n\n    BEAVER                                         174\n\n    BEAVER STUMP                                   176\n\n    THE BEAVER'S HOME                              176\n\n    BEAVER TRAILS OR SLIDES                        176\n\n    BEAVER TRAIL                                   176\n\n    BADGER                                         181\n\n    BADGER TRACKS                                  182\n\n    BADGER                                         183\n\n    PORCUPINE                                      186\n\n    SIGN OF THE PORCUPINE                          190\n\n    PORCUPINE TRACKS                               191\n\n    FEET OF THE PORCUPINE                          191\n\n    SIGN OF THE PORCUPINE                          191\n\n    SKUNK                                          192\n\n    TURKEY.                                        201\n\n    PHEASANT.                                      202\n\n    Ruffed Grouse.                                 203\n\n    RUFFED GROUSE                                  204\n\n    BLUE GROUSE                                    205\n\n    SHARP-TAILED GROUSE                            205\n\n    Sharp-tailed Grouse.                           207\n\n    QUAIL.                                         209\n\n    WOODCOCK.                                      210\n\n    Waterfowl                                      212\n\n    Waterfowl                                      213\n\n    SHARP-SHINNED HAWK                             216\n\n    HERON TRACKS.                                  216\n\n    WILSON'S SNIPE                                 217\n\n    Various Birds                                  217\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD\n\n\nTo derive the greatest pleasure from the pursuit of game, either\nlarge or small, it is necessary that the disciple of Nimrod be\nversed in the science of interpreting the meaning of tracks and\ntrails. Nature is as an open book to the man who can read the signs\nof the woods and plains correctly; and where the uninitiated see\nonly meaningless tracks, experienced hunters find them in many\ninstances the guide to exhilarating sport and a desired trophy. To\nthe tyro the finest tracking snow is useless and the marks he sees\neverywhere around him simply bewilder him. Were he able to read\nthem as every hunter should, his day's sport would mean enjoyment\nand success, instead of disappointment and failure.\n\nGame is not so plentiful as it used to be, and for this reason\nit is generally a waste of time--from the standpoint of the\ngame bag--merely to tramp through the woods and trust to luck.\nMoreover, the high-power, small-caliber rifles, which are so\nextensively used, very often lead to shots at distances at which it\nis not possible to place an immediately fatal bullet. This makes\nit the more necessary for the hunter to be able to read the signs\ncorrectly and to interpret aright the language of the trails. Every\nsportsman should consider it a sacred duty to bring to bay any\nanimal he has wounded, and he should also regard it a matter of\nhonor to acquire a working knowledge of tracks, trails, and signs.\nThen he will not, through ignorance, make carrion or wolf-bait of a\nnoble creature which, in all reason, he should have secured.\n\nA sportsman who is unable to interpret the meaning of tracks he\nencounters, however much game he may have killed by chance, luck,\nor with the assistance of others, will be considered a tyro in\nwoodcraft by companions who have learned their lessons in this art.\n\nLack of opportunity on the part of the majority of sportsmen to\nbecome versed in tracking lore by actual experience, as well as\nthe incompetence of a great number of guides, is the reason for\nthis book. The contents represent the experience gained from twenty\nyears of uninterrupted life in the great outdoors; and while only\nhalf of that time was spent in the pursuit and study of American\ngame, the foreign experience was a considerable aid in arriving\nat definite conclusions, for the same species, with but few\nexceptions, show the same features in their trails the world over.\n\nNo space has been given to microscopic intricacies, since in the\nwoods plain tracking lore is intricate enough. In practice whoever\nlooks for exaggerated, fine, distinctive features in tracks and\ntrails soon sees things which a sober-minded expert recognizes as\nimaginative.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is generally understood that a track means the imprint left\non the ground or snow by a passing creature. From its form and\nappearance the initiated are usually able to tell the species,\nand in some cases the variety, of animal that made it. Where\nthe latter is not possible, a succession of tracks--the trail,\nin short--is almost invariably the means of reaching a proper\ndecision. The expert considers not only tracks and trails, but also\nthe \"signs,\" among which are the behavior of animals under certain\ncircumstances, blazed trees, bear logs, beaver stumps and cuttings,\nexcrements, etc., etc. A mere treatise of tracks, trails and signs\nwould in many instances leave the inexperienced man without a\ncomprehensive knowledge; therefore certain actions of the hunted,\nand notes on hunting methods which have proved practical, although\nthey are not generally known, have been introduced into the text.\n\nIt is believed that a thorough study of this book, including the\nillustrations, will enable the reader to become as well versed in\ntracking lore as he could by years of actual experience in the\nwoods.\n\n\n\n\nTRACKS AND TRACKING\n\n\n\n\nTRACKS AND TRACKING\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL REMARKS\n\n_About the Motive Features of Different Animals_\n\n\nTAKING it for granted that the arrangement of the individual tracks\nin the trail is due to the general anatomic make-up of the animal\nwhich made them, we have to consider four groups in the treatise on\nmammals.\n\nThe _first_, the members of which possess a length of body\ncorrectly proportional to their height, includes the deer, ox,\nbear, dog, and cat families.\n\nThe _second_ includes rabbits, squirrels, and animals whose hind\nlegs are very long in proportion to their front legs.\n\nThe _third_ is made up of those animals whose legs, considering the\nlength of their bodies, are very short--marten, mink, etc.\n\nThe _fourth_ group embraces the animals whose legs are very short\nin proportion to the length of the body, and whose bodies, in\naddition to this, are disproportionately thick--beaver, badger, etc.\n\nOf the various movements, we have to consider the walk, the\ntrot, and the gallop. Animals of the first group plant the feet\ndiagonally in the walk and trot. The hind foot track covers the\none made by the forefoot of the same side. If the right forefoot\ntouches the ground first, the left hind foot is placed next,\nthen the left forefoot, and last the right hind foot. Thus four\nfootfalls may be heard when hoofed animals are walking.\n\nIn the trot, which is but a hastened walk, the trail assumes more\nthe form of a straight line, because the animal endeavors to plant\nthe feet more under the middle of the body to obviate the swaying\nmotion; and because of the quicker action, in which two feet touch\nthe ground at the same moment, but two distinct footfalls can be\nheard.\n\nThe gallop, the quickest movement onward, is a series of leaps\nor jumps. In it the hind feet serve mainly as propellers while\nthe forefeet support and brace the body; and for this reason the\nformer are placed side by side, or nearly so, while the latter\nstand one behind the other in the trail. The faster the gallop,\nthe more closely do the tracks conform to these conditions. In the\ngreatest speed of some members of the deer family the hind feet\nalso come nearer the center line, as shown in the illustrations.\nAs, by the velocity of the movement, the hind feet are thrown past\nthe point where the forefeet strike the ground, their imprints\nappear in front of those of the latter, a fact which should be kept\nconstantly in mind by the trailer, since, in the case of an animal\nwith a broken leg, the appearance of the leap imprints are usually\nthe only means to decide which leg is broken. In animals of the\nfirst group a broken foreleg is always more serious than an injured\nhind leg, and therefore the game is easier brought to bag.\n\nIn members of the second group there is but one motion, no matter\nwhether they are moving slow or fast--the hind feet are always\nthrown ahead of the forefeet, and the track picture is that of the\nleap.\n\nAs the hind feet of animals of this group are considerably larger\nthan the forefeet, it is easily determined which individual foot\nhas made a given track.\n\nThe animals of the third group move usually in leaps, but on\naccount of the length of body and the shortness of the limbs, the\nhind feet are not placed as far ahead of the front pair as in the\npreceding group. At the usual gait the hind feet cover the forefeet\ntracks, and the trail picture therefore shows a pair of tracks side\nby side at regular distances. At a faster pace the trail picture\nchanges, as shown in the illustrations; however, this is so seldom\ndone as to be of almost no consequence to the tracker.\n\nMembers of the fourth group, like those of the first, walk and\nleap; however, the size of the body and the shortness of the legs\ncombine to make a track picture entirely different from and not\neasily confounded with the trail of the latter. The individual\ntracks are close together, considering their size, and the toes of\nthe hind feet almost invariably point inward to a marked degree,\nreaching an extreme limit in the beaver and the badger.\n\nWith the exception of the members of the second group and the\nbeaver, the hind feet of all animals are smaller than the forefeet,\na fact which, in some instances, has its uses when following the\ntrail.\n\n\n\n\nPART ONE\n\n\n\n\n_GROUP I_\n\nHOOFED GAME\n\n\n\n\nTHE WHITE-TAILED OR VIRGINIA DEER\n\n\nTHOUGH the American sportsman still can enjoy in some districts, as\nan inheritance from prehistoric times, the pursuit of the majestic\nmoose, and though the lordly elk still awakens the echoes in many\nof our mountain ranges with his challenging call, the game in which\nthe great majority of hunters are pre-eminently interested is the\nelusive white-tailed deer, which is found in all the states except\nCalifornia, Nevada, Oregon, and Delaware, and because to bring it\ndown demands, to say the least, no less skill than is required in\nthe pursuit of its larger relatives.\n\nThough, under ordinary conditions, a single track of any other\nanimal is nearly sufficient to ascertain the species or variety,\nthe case is different where white-tailed and mule deer are\nconcerned--that is, if they inhabit the same locality; and even a\nsmall elk track may be taken for that of the white-tailed deer.\n\nThe track of a mule deer, roaming in rocky hills or out in the arid\nbreaks of the Bad Lands, is of course a very different thing from\nthat of a white-tail, but let the animals make their permanent\nstand in white-tail country proper, and almost all difference in\ntheir track soon disappears. It is evident that the sole of their\nhoof undergoes the same change as that of a horse, which can be\nridden daily without shoes in dry regions, but which will get\nfootsore within a day or two if it is transferred into a district\nwhere rain and dew moisten the grass and keep the ground damp.\n\n  [Illustration: VIRGINIA DEER]\n\nConsidering the individual track, the hoof of the Virginia deer\nevidently spreads easier than that of any other member of the\nfamily, except moose and caribou. It is because of this that,\nduring the season when they are in good condition and in hunting\ntime, the ridge of dirt or snow that is made between the two halves\nof the hoof, and left in the track, is much more conspicuous than\nthat left by any other deer. However, if the conditions are not\nideal--and they most certainly are not if snow is on the ground,\nunder which circumstances most tracking is done--the variance\nappears so slight that it can be noticed only by examining minutely\na perfect track, which may be found along the trail under some tree\nwhere not more than an inch of snow has fallen or at a barren spot.\n\nThe writer does not depend on the size of the track in deciding\nwhether it was made by a buck or a doe, as he has seen many does\nwhich have made as large tracks as the largest bucks; and the\ncommon claim that rounded toes always indicate a buck he has also\nfound to be a fallacy. Sometimes it is noticeable in the trail that\nthe hind feet lag, _i. e._, they do not quite reach the forefeet\ntracks. This almost invariably means an old buck which has become\nrather stiff with age. The chance that the same mark is made by\nan old sterile doe is remote, though, according to observations,\npossible.\n\n  [Illustration: TRACKS OF VIRGINIA DEER\n\n  (1) Trail of buck before and after rutting season. (2) During\n  rutting season the drag extends from one step to the next. (3)\n  Trail of doe and fawn; the latter, however, takes still shorter\n  steps. (4) Buck or doe trotting.]\n\nNot infrequently, at least much oftener than with black-tail and\nelk, a marked difference between the two halves of the hoof may be\nobserved in the track of the Virginia deer, and the tracks of the\nlatter appear more slender than those of the former--that is,\nin the same locality. Some claim that they can always distinguish\nthe track of Virginia from that of other deer, but the writer\ncounts himself among those who can not, and he has noticed that the\nhunters who claim the skill are in the same predicament when out in\nthe woods.\n\nAccurate measurements with the divider and tapeline would possibly\nshow some slight differences in the tracks of the various kinds of\nsimilar sized deer, but they would be so diminutive and variable as\nto be worthless in practice.\n\nThe trail, together with other signs, is much more significant\nof the doings, ailments and sex of the animal than an individual\ntrack would be. During the summer months the buck, and, it must be\nadmitted, the sterile doe also, accumulates a considerable amount\nof fat; and the result is markedly shown in the placing of the\nfeet, their tracks being an appreciable degree off the center line\nsupposed to be under the middle of the body. For this reason the\ntoes of the hoof point more outward than is usual in the doe and\nfawn. From this it might appear that a single track, or a few\nof them, would be sufficient to decide the sex, but it is not;\nbecause any deer in crossing a trackable spot is likely to look to\nthe right and then to the left, and the tracks will point in the\ndirection the animal has looked.\n\n  [Illustration: VIRGINIA DEER. (ONE-HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (1) Front track. (2) Hind track. (3) Lagging back of hind feet;\n  sign of the old buck. (4) Overhastening; the sign of the young\n  buck. 3 and 4 also apply to the elk bull.]\n\nDoes heavy with fawns show similar features in their trail, but\nas there are no such does during autumn, we can pass them over.\nA buck always has the tendency to drag his legs, a feature which\nreaches the climax during rutting season, while any doe, even the\nsterile, steps clean if the snow is less than one foot deep. This\nfact makes it possible to tell a buck's track with certainty,\neven if tracking conditions are not favorable, because there is\nalways some displacement behind and in front of the tracks which is\nreadily observed in sand or dry snow.\n\nThere is one other feature by which the trail of a white-tail buck\ncan be distinguished from that of a doe, and even that of the buck\nof black-tails, and that is the animal's habit of scanning the\nsurroundings while standing near trees, windfalls, and the like.\nAn old buck at leisure will take careful observations two or three\ntimes inside of a hundred yards, except during the rutting season,\nwhen he is too busy to spend so much time for safety's sake, and he\nalways does this from what he evidently considers cover.\n\nIn open forests are often seen places where the ground has been\npawed up, and the ground covering, moss, leaves or sod, thrown in\nevery direction. This always indicates the presence of at least\ntwo old bucks in the same locality, and is never done by does.\n\n  [Illustration: HIND FOOT OF VIRGINIA DEER. (SLIGHTLY REDUCED)\n\n  (A) Dew claws. (B) Heels. (C) Soles. (D) Toes.]\n\nAbout the first of September bucks begin to cleanse their horns of\nthe velvet and small trees and bushes exhibit the signs of having\nbeen used for that purpose. Where such signs are found in roomy\nforests near dense thickets, the sportsman can, with moderate\ncertainty, count on getting a trophy by stalking quietly or waiting\nfrom sunrise to about 8 o'clock A.M., or from an hour or so before\nsundown until dark. Of course it is easier to get meat for the pot\nnear streams and feeding places, where there are plenty of tracks,\nbut as doe and fawn shooting aims at the base of life, and as old\nbucks usually do not make their appearance there as long as it is\nlight enough for a rifle shot, I would not advise one to stalk or\nwait there at all. Stalking during rainy days in open forests where\nbucks have left evidences, such as blazed trees, will, as a rule,\nbe rewarded. At that time, game being comparatively undisturbed,\nmost deer are shot at while standing, and even a poor shot can\nhardly miss. However, as tracking is more difficult than when snow\ncovers the ground, it is advisable to watch the deer closely for\nthe signs at the moment of firing.\n\nThe most important sign to observe is the action of the game when\nit receives the missile, since it is an evidence of where it was\nhit. If struck somewhere in the front half, it usually jumps into\nthe air--that is, if it does not drop instantly, which incident we\nhave no need to consider in this connection--and if struck in the\nhind half, it will kick out with the hind legs. A deer shot through\nthe heart seldom drops immediately. After the first jump, which is\noften hardly perceptible and no doubt overlooked by the average\nhunter, it generally makes off at top speed, running close down\nto the ground. It may run only fifty yards, and it may run five\nhundred, but one thing is certain--the hunter can follow at once,\nand the animal will be dead by the time he reaches it.\n\nThe most striking exception to the rule of heart shots the writer\nsaw in the Snowy Mountains, Montana, during 1904. A buck was\ngalloping, broadside exposed, at a distance of about one hundred\nand twenty yards, and was fired at. Four or five jumps after\nthe shot was fired he stopped behind some trees, which prevented\nanother shot. He remained hidden a few seconds, then trotted about\nthirty yards and stopped again; finally he trotted off, directly\naway from me, and if ever I would have sworn that a deer was\nmissed, I would have done so then.\n\nHowever, force of habit compelled me to follow the trail, and about\ntwo hundred yards from where he stopped last, the buck lay stone\ndead. The bullet, a steel-jacketed .30 U. S., had penetrated the\nheart squarely, and made a hole the size of a quarter. There was\nnot a drop of blood along the trail. Moral: Follow the deer, even\nif you think you have missed.\n\nA deer shot through the lungs usually goes off, after the first\njump, as if nothing had happened to it. There is no variance in its\ntrail from that of an uninjured deer, but alongside the trail there\nis in every case the story of where the bullet hit, in the shape\nof foamy, light- blood. This trail, too, may be followed\nimmediately.\n\n  [Illustration:\n\n  (1) Trail of a deer shot through brisket, and leg broken low in\n  shoulder. (2) Trail of a deer shot through the shoulders high.\n  (3) Trail of a deer with broken foreleg--the lower the leg is\n  broken the more drag there is.\n\n  The shoulder shot (No. 2) should be followed immediately. It is\n  best to shoot again when a deer gets up after the first shot\n  strikes it here. They always drop like dead when shot thus.]\n\n  [Illustration:\n\n  (1) Trail of a deer with broken hind leg--the lower the leg is\n  broken the more drag there is. (2) Trail of a deer shot through\n  the ham. (3) This trail usually means shot through intestines,\n  liver and often lungs at the same time; the animal will not go\n  much over a mile, even if not given time to get sick, and death\n  results in less than two hours.]\n\n  [Illustration: (1) Same as No. 3 on opposite page, but bullet did\n  not penetrate to the lungs. The animal dies slowly, and after a\n  couple of hours is usually shot in its bed. (2) The cross jump;\n  result of a bullet through intestines or liver when the animal\n  was broadside to the hunter--usually the slowest killing shot.\n  (3) The tracks of a wounded deer never register where the animal\n  was walking.\n\n  All these curious jumps may be seen on one trail, alternating\n  with jumps as made by a sound deer. They indicate soft shots,\n  and should not be followed within two hours after the animal\n  was shot. Blood, etc., on the trail decides for the tracker\n  where the bullet struck. Usually the less blood the surer the\n  animal will be found dead after a few hours.]\n\nA liver shot is, perhaps, the least satisfactory of any. Sometimes\nthe deer on being shot through the liver, kicks, and at other\ntimes it humps itself up, but always it leaves the place at a\nquite lively rate, making a trail like a lung-shot deer, with here\nand there a cross jump between. (See illustration.) It is hard to\nadvise what one should do in this case. I generally smoke a pipeful\nof tobacco before taking up the trail, to give the animal time to\nlie down. After that I follow and try to get another shot. While I\nhave killed deer instantly with shots through the liver, there have\nbeen some that I never brought to bag.\n\nOnce I killed an elk three days after we had fried parts of its\nliver which had dropped out through the hole made by a projectile\nfrom a heavy-caliber English rifle, used previously for hunting\nelephants. At another time I killed a deer one year after having\nshot it through the liver. When killed, this deer was apparently\nas well and fat as could be, though in place of the soft liver we\nfound a hard mass.\n\nA shot through the intestines causes the animal to kick violently,\nhump up its back, and go off at a slow rate. It usually lies down\nwithin a quarter of a mile, and stays down if not molested too\nsoon. Along the trail may be found a little dark- blood, and\nsometimes matter the animal has eaten. Deer shot thus should not\nbe followed before at least two hours have passed, since if jumped\nthey often go for miles. A deer with a broken leg may be followed\nat once, though the chase is usually quicker ended if half an hour\nis given for the animal to settle down.\n\nIn my opinion a sportsman who does any considerable hunting for big\ngame should have his dog trained to follow a track as far as his\nmaster will follow him. A dog that runs deer is useless, and if he\nwill not stay close to his master he must be kept on a leash. There\nis no law in any State against such use of a dog, and it would save\nmuch hard work to the man whose eye is not trained for tracking\nwhen there is no snow.\n\nBesides the signs visible when a deer is shot, there are those\nwhich are brought to the hunter's knowledge through his ear: a\nhard, sharp sound conveying the intelligence that a bone is struck\n(and if it is not a leg the deer will hardly run), and a dull\n\"thud\" telling that a soft part is hit. In any and every case\nthe hunter should examine minutely the place where the game stood\nwhen it was shot at. The hair cut off by the bullet is often of\ngreat assistance in determining the location of the wound, and the\ntorn-up needles or ground often show if the animal jumped or kicked\nas it was shot. Remember that the successful hunter is never in a\nhurry, and minutes spent in close observation will often save hours\nof exhausting chase.\n\n  [Illustration: HOOF OF BLACK-TAILED DEER. (SLIGHTLY REDUCED)]\n\nLater in the season, when rough winds have robbed deciduous bushes\nof their leaves, bucks generally change their day stand, abandoning\nquaking-aspen thickets, and settling down among windfalls and\nsmall coniferous trees, thereby offering better chances for shots\nat any hour of the day. Still later, during the rutting season,\nthe biggest specimens and best fighters will occupy those roomy,\nopen forests, where in September and early October they make\ntheir appearance only during morning and evening hours. These\nold over-lords at this time select the places of a wider view,\napparently to see others of their kind that may pass, to fight\nthem off their range if they are bucks, and to claim ownership of\nthem if they are does. The white-tail buck does not keep a harem,\nas is done by the elk and to some extent by the black-tailed deer,\nbut stays with a doe a few days only, generally two or three, and\nthen looks out for adventures elsewhere, or, more probably, the doe\ndoes not care for his company after being satisfied, and avoids\nhim. Before the close of the hunting season, where it is extended\nuntil January 1, bucks again stay in thickets as prior to the\nrutting season, and soon after migrate to their winter range, where\nthey, in company with does and fawns, spend the rigorous season of\nthe year.\n\nSumming up, we have seven signs by which to distinguish a buck's\ntrail from that of a doe, of which the first in the following list\nis a feature of the white-tailed deer solely, and of which the\nthree last named cannot be regarded as always absolutely certain:\n\n    1. Watching from cover;\n    2. Drag;\n    3. Blazing of trees;\n    4. Pawing of ground;\n    5. Distance of tracks from center line;\n    6. The pointing outward of toes;\n    7. The lagging back with the hind legs.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAN-TAILED DEER\n\n\nTHE existence of the fan-tailed deer, or gazelle-deer, as it\nis sometimes called, is denied by some who know no better, but\nit is generally recognized by \"old timers\" and men who hunt it\nin its present restricted habitat. That its range was formerly\nmore extensive than now, and that even now it still exists in\nwidely separated districts, the writer infers from a letter of\nJustice Douglas, late of the Supreme Court of New York, whose\nguide apparently shot one in Michigan, and from an article in a\nsportsman's periodical by Mr. Ernest McGaffey, who found it in\nthe Black Hills. The writer found relics of them in the Bad Lands\nof Montana and live specimens in the Snowy Mountains of the same\nState. It is evidently a smaller variety of the common Virginia\ndeer, with a markedly longer tail; however, as its track shows some\ndecided differences, by which it can readily be distinguished, it\nis considered advisable to treat it separately.\n\n  [Illustration: FAN-TAILED BUCK DEER. (ONE-HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (1) Front track. (2) Hind track. (3) Walk. (4) Trot. (5) Gallop.\n  (A) Dust heap. (B) Hillock.]\n\nTo begin with, the heels of the hoof are as broad as those of\nthe Virginia deer, yet the hoof is considerably shorter, and\nconsequently the track also, a feature which is, however, of value\nonly on good tracking ground.\n\nThe buck of this deer, whose tracks always register, walks with\nhoofs pressed close together, puts the heels firmly on the ground,\nwhich action moves the ground or snow toward the front, and steps\noff by making a deep imprint with the toes. The result is a small\nhillock in the middle of the track and, as this deer never drags\nits feet, a small dust heap in front of it. In snow or mud, of\ncourse, the latter sign cannot be found.\n\nAs this deer is much smaller than the ordinary white-tail, its\nsteps are consequently shorter, and in loose snow, where no\nindividual track is visible, its trail may be mistaken for that of\na fawn, and only by following it a distance can an error be avoided.\n\nOnce a friend and I on our way home struck a trail, and while\nwalking alongside it we both expressed our opinion that the deer\nwhich made it was the smallest fawn in that territory. We never\nwould have given that trail any consideration had it not run along\nour path. As it was, we followed it, and after we had gone a\nhundred yards or so, my indifference changed to intense interest;\nfor it could be seen that the deer had taken observations from\nnearly every shielding object it had passed. This caused me to\nexpress the belief that this deer was a very old fan-tailed buck,\nand events proved I was not mistaken. He had lost all his front\nteeth but two, which were badly used up, had four points on each\nantler, and weighed less than fifty pounds after his entrails were\nremoved. As his conduct the day he was hunted down disclosed some\nfeatures often experienced in the pursuit of deer, it is not out of\nplace to relate it.\n\n  [Illustration: DEER TRACKS\n\n  (1) Canter. (2) Going at a lively rate, in bounds up to\n  twenty-four feet; lung-shot deer often run this way. (3) Top\n  speed, bounds up to twenty-eight feet--indicates heart-shot if\n  the animal is wounded.]\n\nHe was located in a thicket, and jumped with the assistance of the\nwind, a method which will be referred to later. We saw him but did\nnot fire, as our chance opportunity was lost while we were looking\nfor the horns so as to be sure not to kill a doe. His trail led to\na creek two miles distant, and there disappeared. I knew that he\nhad gone along in the creek, for wounded deer had often tricked me\nin that manner, but that a well deer should resort to that method\nto throw me off the track, after being so slightly molested, was\nrather astonishing. A quarter of a mile upstream I found where he\nhad left the water, and I followed the trail, having resolved that\nI would kill that buck in one way or another. The trail led me two\nmiles farther, and then it stopped. The snow was like sand, and\nprevented the individual tracks from being seen plainly. The buck\nhad back-tracked, and I had overrun the spot from which he made\nthe side-jump. Back I went, and after going three hundred yards I\nfound his artful side-jump, and the trail led into a thick clump of\npines. Again I sent the wind in as a driver, and that time got a\nshot; but I did not down my quarry. The trail showed the buck was\nshot through the brisket and shoulder (low). Then I sat down, ate\nmy lunch, and smoked my pipe. After that the trail led me again\nto the creek. I crossed to the other side and, about fifty yards\nfrom the creek, followed its course over half a mile, knowing that\nthe buck would not leave the water on the side he entered it to\nlie down. Finally the creek led past a fir tree with low-hanging\nbranches, and as the trail had not been seen thus far, I was\nmoderately sure that the buck had not passed that cover--and it\nproved that he had not. During snowless times if a deer has been\nwounded and gets away, hunting a day or two after along streams in\nthe district will often bring to bay the wounded animal. If it has\nthe strength, it will hunt up water to cool the wound, and then\ncrawl into the densest cover that is near. I have found many deer\nin this way, dead and alive--and still more skeletons to which the\ntracks of \"varmints\" led me in the later season.\n\nThe signs of the fan-tailed buck are:\n\n    1. Watching from cover;\n    2. Hillock in track;\n    3. Dust heap in front of track;\n    4. Blazing of trees;\n    5. Pawing of ground.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MULE-DEER\n\n\nTHE track of the black-tailed or mule-deer, while it shows no\nappreciable differences from that of the Virginia (in white-tail\ncountry), undergoes--even in the mountains and breaks, its proper\nhabitat--changes interesting not only to the student but to the\nhunter.\n\nThe three pictures of the hind foot of the same four-year-old\nmule-deer buck show what intermediate variations occur in the track\nof this animal. The photograph was taken when the buck was killed,\nand the drawings made in the rainy month of June, and at the time\nof the deer's death in October, respectively. That particular buck\nhad its preferred stand on a lofty ridge, too high an altitude\nfor white-tailed deer to make their permanent abode, though they\nfrequent it as transient visitors.\n\nThe mule-deer always puts its foot down firmly from above, while\nthe motion of the Virginia deer might be called rather one of\nsliding; and because of this the hoofs spread sideways without\nlengthening the tracks. This gives the track of the latter a\nsomewhat round appearance as long as there is moisture in the\nground, or if it is covered by snow that is not too dry. This\nform of the track is usually found during the winter and early\nsummer. Of course, when the rim becomes prominent enough to prevent\nspreading, as is the case during prolonged dry weather or in the\narid regions, a big mule-deer will make a rather small track, and\nin many instances the sole of the hoof does not show at all in the\nmark. The track has very much the appearance of that made by a\ndomestic sheep, yet it is different from it because in the sheep's\ntrack the heels and soles always show, and the hoofs are spread to\nan extent not found in deer. Besides, the halves of the hoof of\na mule-deer are as a rule almost exactly alike, whereas with the\nsheep that is but seldom the case.\n\n  [Illustration: MULE-DEER\n\n  (1) Track of buck, sketched during June (flat; about half natural\n  size). (2) Track of same buck in October (see photograph of\n  foot). (3) Domestic sheep (flat). (4) Trail of buck; drag during\n  rutting season from one step to the next. (5) Trail of doe. (6)\n  Gallop.]\n\nThe buck of the mule-deer evidently has not sense enough to spend,\nfor safety's sake, some of his time in watching from cover, and\nbecause of this his trail leads along without stopping, except\nwhere he did so to feed. Moreover, he does not vent his anger at\na rival by pawing the ground as the white-tail buck does. As the\nrutting season of mule-deer is later in the year, the drag in the\nbuck's trail is a most prominent feature, when in the case of the\nVirginia deer it has ceased to connect the individual tracks.\n\nIn determining whether one stands before the trail of a mule-deer\nor some other kind, the locality where the track is found has to be\nconsidered, which often solves the question. Their natural habitat\nis usually higher mountains, and even the treeless breaks where no\nwhite-tailed deer are to be found. The possibility of confounding a\nbig mule-deer track with a small elk track is not remote; however,\nif one observes closely, mistakes will not occur often, as the\nyoung elk places his feet nearer the center line under the body\nthan an old mule-deer buck, and never makes any drag. Then again a\nfull-grown elk always makes a track at least twice the size of that\nof the mule-deer.\n\nThe signs of the mule-deer buck are:\n\n    1. Drag;\n    2. Blazing of trees;\n    3. Distance of tracks from center line;\n    4. Pointing outward of toes.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WAPITI OR ELK\n\n\nIN the pursuit of _Cervus canadensis_ the aim of the tracker is to\ndistinguish the signs of the bull from those of the cow. As the\nnumber to be killed per season by each hunter is limited by law to\none or two bulls, the pursuer is naturally interested in knowing\nhow to tell the signs of the old ones.\n\nThey are:\n\n     1. Size of track;\n     2. Distance of track from center line;\n     3. Pointing outward of hoofs;\n     4. Hillock in track;\n     5. Lagging back with hind legs;\n     6. Closeness of track;\n     7. Roundness of toes;\n     8. Blazing of trees;\n     9. Pawing of ground;\n    10. Size and roundness of dew-claws.\n\n  [Illustration: ELK. (ONE-HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (1) Bull track. (A) Closeness of track. (B) Hillock. (2) Cow\n  track, flat (note spread). (3) Trail of bull. (4) Trail of cow.\n  (5) Trail of calf.]\n\nA male yearling has a bigger hoof, and consequently makes a larger\ntrack, than a female of the same age, and as the track of a\nthree-year-old bull is the size of that of a large cow, it is\nobvious that even the track of the largest sterile specimen of the\nhornless sex cannot approach in size that made by an old bull. As\nthe general size of the elk differs in their various districts,\nthis fact has to be considered; an elk in the Coast country, for\nexample, is much inferior in weight to an elk of the same age in\nthe Rockies. For this reason it is necessary to know the general\nsize of the elks in the territory in which the tracking is done to\nestimate with approximate correctness the number of points on their\nhorns from the size of the track.\n\n  [Illustration: ELK\n\n  (6) Gallop. (7) Trot.]\n\nThe bigger the bull, the farther, of course, stand the tracks away\nfrom the center line. What has been said about this, and about the\npointing outward of toes in the chapter on Virginia deer, applies\nalso to the elk, with the difference, however, that in the latter\nit is always a _sure_ sign of the bull, as is also the lagging back\nwith the hind feet.\n\nLike the fan-tail buck, the elk bull, in his manner of walking,\nmakes a hill in his track, but there is no dust heap in front of\nthe latter's, as the elk apparently does not step off so clean.\n\nThe bull elk always manages to walk with tightly closed hoofs, at\nvariance with the cow, which lets the hoofs spread more.\n\nBy reason of his weight and his habit of pawing the ground, the\npoints of the hoofs or toes of an old bull become rather blunt,\ncausing a much rounder track than a cow makes; and in a big track,\nlike that of an elk, such features show up conspicuously, while it\nwould be a hard matter to detect them in a much smaller deer track,\neven on the best tracking ground.\n\nThe dew-claws, being much thicker and blunter in the bull than in\nthe cow, are a certain distinctive feature, but their imprint can\nbe seen only in mud or snow, and there the other more prominent\nsigns of the bull track are, as a rule, visible also and will be\nfound more reliable.\n\nThe young bull often oversteps the forefoot track with the hind\nfoot; therefore in case the tracks do not register it is necessary\nto examine the two individual tracks of one side. If the bigger\ntrack is in front, an old bull made it, and if the reverse is the\ncase, the animal is not worth following, because it is a young one.\n\nLike all members of the deer tribes, the elk bull cleanses his\nhorns of the velvet on trees, and, in addition to pawing the ground\nwith the hoofs, he often belabors it with his horns in his anger\nwith a rival.\n\nSome consider the distance between the individual tracks in the\nattempt to determine the size and other points of the elk, and if\nthe animal has been seen, this is well, but if there is only the\ntrail to decide by, it appears to be a far-fetched \"sign,\" because\nthe foundation, a knowledge of the speed, is lacking.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOOSE\n\n\nTHE favorite rendezvous, in summer or winter range, of any other\nmember of the deer tribes may be ascertained by the observant\ntrailer, and the animal found within a given area with moderate\ncertainty, but not so our most gigantic game, the moose; he is far\ntoo much of a traveler. True, he too has his range, but its limits\nare so extended that he may return to the same place but once\nwithin a month or two. Here to-day and elsewhere to-morrow seems to\nbe his rule.\n\nYet, in spite of the moose's habits, the tracker may bag him in any\ngiven locality by ascertaining in what umbrageous thicket or on\nwhat wooded hillside the moose prefers to stay during his visits,\nthat is, if the hunter does not wish to run him down by sheer\nendurance, which would take him over deep, crusted snow, cost about\na week's hard work, and furnish poor sport.\n\nOn account of its extraordinary size, it is out of the question\nthat the track of a bull moose should be mistaken for that of\nanother deer; rather it might be taken for that of a big ox, except\nthe track of the latter is always rounder and the entire hoof-form\ndifferent. Where any doubt exists, a close examination will\ninvariably dispel it. In forming a conclusion about a moose track\nthe chief aim is always to decide if it was made by a bull or cow.\nThe hoof of the bull is bulkier than that of the cow, and should\ntherefore produce a rounder track. The immense weight of the animal\ntends to obliterate such minor distinctive features in most cases\nwhere the ground is not very hard.\n\nThe dew-claws on the bull are always farther apart than on the cow,\nand as they are much blunter they make a good mark to consider.\n\nThe individual tracks of the bull are farther off from the center\nline than in the case of the cow; but as the stride is long, this\nfeature is not apparent to any appreciable extent.\n\n  [Illustration: MOOSE BULL TRACK\n\n  (About one-half natural size)]\n\nThe length of the steps, if it is possible to estimate the gait he\nwas traveling from his other actions (feeding, etc.), is one of\nthe best signs of the bull, since he makes markedly longer strides\nthan the cow of equal size.\n\n  [Illustration: MOOSE TRACKS\n\n  (1) Trail of bull. (2) Trail of cow. (3) Trot. (4) Gallop.]\n\nFrom all the foregoing it is obvious that it is a rather doubtful\npossibility for the beginner to tell the track of a bull from that\nof a cow, but actual observations in the woods will impart to him\nthe ability to distinguish between them with a considerable degree\nof accuracy. Until he so learns he should follow every likely\nlooking track until it enters a thicket, and if he is following\na bull with a halfway good set of horns he will notice overhead\nbroken twigs and bent branches, or perhaps he will find along the\ntrail blazed trees, broken bushes, or the ground torn with hoofs or\nhorns, and may know by these also that a bull made the signs.\n\nUnlike any other deer previously discussed, the moose, when\ntrotting, oversteps the forefeet tracks with the hind feet to a\nconsiderable extent. (See sketch of trail.)\n\nAs signs of the bull moose we may consider:\n\n    1. Roundness of hoof;\n    2. Distance between and bluntness of dew-claws;\n    3. Distance of tracks from center line;\n    4. Length of steps;\n    5. Breaking of twigs with horns (overhead along trail);\n    6. Blazing of trees;\n    7. Pawing of ground.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN SHEEP\n\n    _Where first the early sunbeams glow_\n    _On rugged cliffs, through morning shrouds,_\n    _Where icy winds in summer blow_\n    _On crests among the thunder clouds,_\n    _Way up on mountains high and steep,_\n    _There lives and roams the bighorn sheep._\n\n\nTHE king of sports, undoubtedly, is the pursuit of the bighorn, but\non account of the habitat of this game, under normal conditions, it\nis restricted to comparatively few hunters, since perfect physical\ncondition and unswerving perseverance are required to endure\nthe hardships which present themselves in mountain climbing and\n\"camping out of camp,\" and to bear cheerfully the many discouraging\nexperiences which are commonly the lot of the sportsman who desires\nto secure the finest trophy to be taken in our country.\n\nNo other reminder of the chase will bring back to memory so many\npleasant recollections as the head and horns of an old mountain\nram after time has obliterated the memory of the hardships\nendured, and has woven around the trophy a halo through which the\nmind's eye sees again sublime views from lofty mountain peaks,\nroseate dawns and glowing sunsets, which bathed cliffs and crests\nand crags in a flood of molten gold. Again the hunter feels the\nthrill of care-free independence of the trifling world below, and\nexperiences boundless elation as the crack of the rifle, sounding\nand resounding from a thousand crags, proclaims to the Alpine world\nthe triumphant end of the chase.\n\nThe tracking of this game consists chiefly in locating it by the\nsigns left on high meadows, or near springs or salt-licks. Except\nfor the larger spoor of the ram, there is no difference in the\ntrack or trail of either sex.\n\nGenerally on meadows or near springs, where the big tracks of a\nsingle animal, or at most a couple of them, are frequently found,\nand where the tracks of lambs are conspicuous by their absence, one\nmay expect, with moderate certainty, to see game worthy of a shot,\nas rams prefer to range alone, except at rutting time and during\nthe winter.\n\n  [Illustration: MOUNTAIN SHEEP. (ONE-HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (1) Front track. (2) Hind track. (3) Trail. (4) Leaps.]\n\nIf there is no snow, one may learn to know the track of every\nindividual sheep which frequents the range, and if he spends much\ntime there he will see an animal at too great a distance to be\nshot at, but if he has any memory at all, he will recognize its\ntrack if he finds it anywhere in that region. This, of course, does\nnot refer to mountain sheep below the average, which, I assume, are\nof little interest to the sportsman who takes the trouble to hunt\nfor a trophy; nor does the meat hunter go up into these regions for\nthe pot, as he will get something easier lower down.\n\nIf the feeding ground or watering place of an old ram is once\nknown, about the best thing to do is to wait for the quarry. If\nthe game is seen, and it has not already observed the hunter, it\nusually can be flagged as antelopes were in former days. The oldest\nbucks, however, seldom respond to the summons, and are seldom lured\nwithin rifle range by this method.\n\nHunting bighorn has much in common with hunting antelopes, but\nin the pursuit of the former there is grander scenery and more\nphysical exercise.\n\nThe tracks of mountain sheep often show the cross-step, seldom\nregister, and, as the animals when running have to place their feet\nwhere they can, the trail gives no indication of where an animal\nhas been hit. Infinitely greater vigilance is required than in deer\nhunting to observe the signs at the moment of firing, and in the\nstudy of hair and blood.\n\n  [Illustration: HOG TRACK; WALKING. (ABOUT HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  To save the novice from ridiculous experiences this illustration\n  is given. The hog track is always spread, very seldom registers,\n  and, if the ground is not very hard, the dew-claws are always\n  shown.]\n\nThe hoof of the bighorn spreads easily and evenly; therefore, in\nthe track the distance between the heels is as great as between\nthe toes, and frequently greater--a fact which makes it impossible\nto confound it with that of any other animal.\n\nAs stated, there is but one sign by which to tell the ram: Size of\nthe track.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ANTELOPE\n\n\nTHE track of the antelope looks like a combination of a bighorn\ntrack, which it resembles somewhat in length and prominence of the\nouter rim of the hoof, and that of the domestic sheep, to which\nit bears a likeness in the shape of the heels. To confound it,\nhowever, with either one of them is a rather remote possibility,\nsince the heels are broader and closer together than those of\na mountain sheep, with which in the Bad Lands the antelope is\nsometimes found in the same range, and the spread is different from\nthat of the domestic sheep. In the case of the domestic sheep the\ngreatest spread is at the point of the toes, while in the case of\nthe antelope, the hoof being hooked, it is more between the soles.\n\nAn antelope buck of moderate size makes at all times a bigger\ntrack than any range sheep, the track of the latter always being\nrather flat. As antelopes live on the open plains where they are\ngenerally hunted by sighting them, and as a sportsman is allowed to\nkill but one in a season, we will therefore consider only the signs\nof the old bucks.\n\nThere are but two signs, and these can be condensed into one,\nbecause they are usually found at the same spot: Pawing of ground,\nand droppings.\n\nThe droppings are of similar size, and though more or less\nconnected, always comparatively dry, while from does and fawns they\nare either dry and scattered, or, if moist, in a lump and always\nirregular in size; the cause of which seeming phenomenon is a\ncertain amount of glutinous substance in the droppings of the buck.\n\n  [Illustration: HIND FOOT OF ANTELOPE. (LIFE SIZE)]\n\nThe pawing is usually done in old buffalo trails, cattle runways,\nand roads, or where coal deposits come to the surface making the\nground barren of vegetation; where this sign is found, an old buck\nis always near, even if the locality cannot properly be considered\nantelope country. Old bucks, before and after rutting season,\nfrequently make their habitat in roomy forests or in the breaks\nof the Bad Lands, sometimes several miles distant from the grounds\nwhere the herds roam.\n\n  [Illustration: ANTELOPE. (ONE-HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (1) Track of antelope. (2) Domestic sheep (flat), note spread.\n  (3) Trail of antelope. (4) Gallop (no dew-claws; the antelope has\n  none).]\n\n  [Illustration: THE SIGN OF THE ANTELOPE (BUCK)]\n\nThe rutting season begins about the middle of August. The old\nbucks are first in selecting their does, but they have to leave\ntheir respective adherents on account of the stronger young bucks,\nwhich fight off their old and emaciated rivals. During the rutting\nseason all bucks have such an emphatically disagreeable odor that\nit is absolutely impossible to eat the meat; afterward they are\nbut skin and bones, and before they can pick up again and are fit\nfor food, they shed their horns. The sportsman, in consequence of\nthe law, which opens the shooting season for antelope September\n1st, is put to two disagreeable alternatives: either to shoot a\nbuck and let the meat rot, saving horns and skin as a trophy of the\nsport (?), or to kill a doe or fawn, to feast on excellent venison,\nand incidentally hasten the extermination of the most beautiful\ncreature of the plains.\n\nSport with antelope bucks in the full sense of the word, can be had\nonly during the summer months; then they tax the hunter's skill,\nand their meat is fit for the table of an epicure.\n\nWhen their natural range is absorbed by private preserves, or\nwhen human progress is advanced so far that it demands even of\npoliticians the exercise of some common sense, then, no doubt, laws\nwill be passed befitting the game. Until then, the sportsman, to\nkeep his shield of honor bright, must abstain from the killing of\nantelope; else, ridiculous and inconsistent as it may seem, if he\ndecides he must have a trophy of this kind, in any event, he must\ndisregard the statutory laws.\n\nFlagging old bucks seems to me an inexcusable waste of time; those\nwhich I have tried to flag have invariably heeded the signal, and\nleft immediately for distant ranges, apparently having profited\nfrom previous experiences.\n\nThe distress cry of a jack-rabbit, however, invariably causes\nantelope to investigate. Often when I have been calling for wolves\nand coyotes, antelopes have appeared seemingly from nowhere and\napproached so close that they could easily have been killed with a\nshotgun. If there is a herd of cattle in the known range of an old\nbuck it is almost a sure thing that he will associate with them\nduring the late afternoon. In timbered country bucks will be found\nfrequenting comparatively small parks where it is easy to stalk\nthem.\n\nThe antelope has the widest range of vision of all our game, but\nlike the others it is unable to distinguish objects when looking\ntoward he sun, a fact which at times has its advantages when\nhunting the antelope or bighorn sheep.\n\nThe wound-signs are the same as in deer; but as antelope are\nusually shot at in open country, they can generally be seen until\nthey drop dead or lie down. In the latter case it is more merciful\nto let them die without disturbing them, unless it is possible from\nthe lay of the country to stalk them so that their misery may be\nended by a second well-aimed shot.\n\nBy reason of the hoof-form, the very prominent hillock in the\nantelope track is of no value in ascertaining the sex, and neither\nis the irregular stepping in the trail.\n\nCOMPARISONS OF THE MALE SIGNS AS FOUND IN THE VARIOUS HOOFED GAME\nANIMALS\n\n    --------+--------+---------+----------+---------+--------+---------+\n            |        | Distance| Pointing | Hillock |        | Lagging |\n     Animal | Size of|  from   | Outward  |   in    |  Drag  | Back of |\n            | Track  | Center  | of Hoofs |  Track  |        |Hind Legs|\n            |        |  Line   |          |         |        |         |\n    --------+--------+---------+----------+---------+--------+---------+\n    Virginia|    -   |    +    |     +    |    -    |    +   |    +    |\n      Deer  |        |         |          |         |        |         |\n    --------+--------+---------+----------+---------+--------+---------+\n      Fan-  |        |         |          |         |        |         |\n     Tailed |_Dust heap in front of track_|    +    |    -   |    -    |\n      Deer  |        |         |          |         |        |         |\n    --------+--------+---------+----------+---------+--------+---------+\n      Mule  |    -   |    +    |     +    |    -    |    +   |    -    |\n      Deer  |        |         |          |         |        |         |\n    --------+--------+---------+----------+---------+--------+---------+\n      Elk   |    +   |    +    |     +    |    +    |    -   |    +    |\n    --------+--------+---------+----------+---------+--------+---------+\n     Moose  |    -   |    +    |       _Length of steps_     |    -    |\n            |        |         _Breaking of twigs with horns_|         |\n    --------+--------+---------+----------+---------+--------+---------+\n    Bighorn |    +   |    -    |     -    |    -    |    -   |    -    |\n    --------+--------+---------+----------+---------+--------+---------+\n    Antelope|    +   |    -    |     -    |    -    |    _Droppings_   |\n    --------+--------+---------+----------+---------+--------+---------+\n\n    --------+---------+---------+-----------+----------+---------\n            |         |Roundness| Size and  |          |\n     Animal |Clearness|   of    | Form of   |Blazing of|Pawing of\n            |of Track |  Toes   |   Dew     |  Trees   | Ground\n            |         |         |  Claws    |          |\n    --------+---------+---------+-----------+----------+---------\n    Virginia|   _Watching from |cover_      |    +     |    +\n      Deer  |         |         |           |          |\n    --------+---------+---------+-----------+----------+---------\n      Fan-  |         |         |           |          |\n     Tailed |   _Watching from |cover_      |    +     |    +\n      Deer  |         |         |           |          |\n    --------+---------+---------+-----------+----------+---------\n      Mule  |    -    |    -    |     -     |    +     |    -\n      Deer  |         |         |           |          |\n    --------+---------+---------+-----------+----------+---------\n      Elk   |    +    |    +    |     +     |    +     |    +\n    --------+---------+---------+-----------+----------+---------\n     Moose  |    -    |    +    |     +     |    +     |    +\n            |         |         |           |          |\n    --------+---------+---------+-----------+----------+---------\n    Bighorn |    -    |    -    |     -     |    -     |    -\n    --------+---------+---------+-----------+----------+---------\n    Antelope|    -    |    -    |     -     |    -     |    +\n    --------+---------+---------+-----------+----------+---------\n\n\n\n\nPREDACEOUS ANIMALS\n\n\n\n\nTHE BEAR\n\n\nHUNTING bears with the assistance of guides supplied with a\nwell-trained pack of hounds may be satisfactory, if merely the\nkilling of them is desired, but it certainly is not sport, and\ndoes not even deserve to be ranked with trapping bears, as in the\nlatter case the hunter must possess at least some knowledge of the\nquarry's habitat and habits. Unlike a fox, a bear when once found\nby the hounds stands no chance of escaping, and there would be just\nas much sport in shooting the animal in a park or pen as in killing\na run-to-bay bear. This applies also with truth to mountain lions,\nalthough perhaps there is in the case of the cougar the excuse of\nthe animal's destructiveness.\n\nThe employment of dogs in the chase would never exterminate or\neven appreciably lessen the number of deer in any hunting country\nwhere lakes are not abundant, but everywhere it surely means the\ndownfall and extinction of that relic of gray ages, the bear.\n\nWhere not plentiful--and the places where they are found in number\nare to-day quite few and remote from civilization--bears are, on\nthe whole, harmless, and decidedly more useful than injurious. The\ndamage they do is almost _nil_, while they serve man in many ways.\nThe meat of young bears is equal to the best venison; their fat is\ndecidedly superior to the \"fancy\" lard we buy, of the source and\nhandling of which we are ignorant; and the hides give excellent\nservice as robes, rugs and clothing. In my opinion bears should be\nprotected to a certain extent rather than shot down merely to make\na record.\n\nSport should be conducted in a spirit of fairness to the game, and\nwhile a couple of dogs is perhaps permissible in bear hunting,\nstill-hunting is the better sport, because it requires the utmost\nskill and knowledge of woodcraft on account of the quarry's\nsagacity and cunning, which is superior to that of any other of our\nwild animals. Even if one is able to read the habits of the bear\nclearly from its trail, it is necessary to possess an abundant\nsupply of patience, for, barring lucky accidents, no one can\nreasonably hope to outwit Bruin at the first attempt.\n\n  [Illustration: BEAR FEET--RIGHT SIDE (ONE-QUARTER NATURAL SIZE)]\n\nThe end of their hibernation depends largely on the weather, but\nabout March or April bears frequent snowless <DW72>s and gulches in\nsearch of roots, bulbs, and similar food, and it is there one must\nlook for signs at that time. If a cold spell interrupts the spring\nweather, as is often the case, a trail, sometimes a week old, will\noften lead the hunter to a nearby thicket where Bruin has made\nhimself a bed on the ground, with the intention of sleeping until\nanother thaw. He usually changes his bed every two or three days,\nbut ordinarily will not leave the thicket unless he is disturbed.\nIf a bear is found to be in such a thicket, the hunter should curb\nhis impatience and suspend following up the trail until the snow\ngets soft, when he can work carefully against the wind toward his\nquarry. However, as it is usually impossible to see farther than\nten or twenty feet ahead, Bruin has, in this kind of hunting, much\nthe best of the hunter, and the latter finds in most cases an empty\nbed.\n\n  [Illustration: BEAR TRAIL. (STEPS ABOUT TWO FEET APART)]\n\nIf the thicket is not too large the wind-hunting method before\ndescribed will, no doubt, often give satisfaction; but as a rule\nthe thickets which the bears make their spring habitat are of\ntoo great an extent. The surest and easiest way to get him is to\npersuade some other fellow to follow the trail while you intercept\nand shoot the bear when he leaves the thicket. Knowledge of Bruin's\ncunning then furnishes the means to decide where he will pass,\nsince, as a rule, he will sneak off under the densest cover and\ntry to reach another thicket under shelter of bushes, rocks and\nthe like. Anyone, not altogether a tyro in the woods, can easily\ndecide from the lay of the country where to wait for His Bearship.\nWhen the place is selected, one should be sure that there is an\nabsolutely clear opening at least a couple of feet wide. A bear is\nbulky and clumsy-looking enough, but he is able to pass without\noffering a chance for a shot at places where another animal could\nhardly escape an average hunter's lead. I am by no means slow\nwith my trigger finger, but before I learned to appreciate this\nfact I was chagrined on several occasions by having bears pass\nme unharmed at a less distance than fifty yards, and that too at\nplaces where I thought I could kill a running rabbit if I wished to\ndo so.\n\n  [Illustration: TRACKS OF BEAR, RUNNING]\n\nIf a bear succeeds in leaving a thicket without giving opportunity\nfor a shot, there is no need for disappointment--he will pass\nthe same spot when he happens to be in the same thicket again,\nand this is a certainty if he does not abandon that part of the\ncountry. This statement has met with some disbelief among a few of\nmy personal acquaintances, and to prove my claims I had to shoot a\nbear within a month from a given point. I killed Bruin, or rather\nOld Eph, as it was a grizzly, less than ten feet from where I said\nI would, and that settled the matter.\n\nA mile and a half from my home there is such a thicket not over\none acre in extent, and if fresh bear signs are seen anywhere in\nthe surrounding woods, which cover several thousand acres and\ncontain many larger and just as dense thickets, I wait there,\nreasonably sure that I will see Bruin soon after sunrise or at\nsunset. Experience has proved to me that it is a waste of time to\nwatch for bears where signs are most numerous. They invariably\nleave their home thicket very quietly before dark, and start their\nnoisy feeding, chewing up logs, and breaking down berry bushes, not\nless than half a mile from their abiding place, near which no signs\nexcept a few tracks are visible.\n\n  [Illustration: BEAR TRACK. (HIND FOOT; TWO-THIRDS NATURAL SIZE)]\n\nFor the entertainment of a visiting friend the thicket was driven\na few times by the wind method, which worked splendidly. An \"old\nmule,\" which was shot through the lungs with a .30-40 rifle on the\nprevious evening, was the only one that left the shelter slowly.\nAll the others, presumably the same on every occasion, appeared to\nbe very much frightened, and ran for about three-quarters of a mile\nafter they had passed the danger point.\n\n  [Illustration: BEAR STUMP. (ANTS WERE CHEWED OUT SEVEN FEET ABOVE\n  GROUND)]\n\nTo locate the abode of bears in such thickets during the summer and\nearly autumn, it is best and simplest to trail them by the signs\nthey make during their nocturnal rambles, such as overturned logs,\netc.; and if only a few of such signs are found near dense cover,\nfacing north or northwest, the ground should be carefully examined\nfor tracks. These are usually difficult to see, and if no moist\nplaces are near such cover, the apparently used paths that lead\ninto it, but on which there are no signs except an occasional claw\nmark, must serve as base for a conclusion, which must be verified\nby watching at a good point near the thicket during the morning or\nevening. The snapping of a twig or the breaking of a log on which\nBruin carelessly steps often confirms the conclusions, though the\nbear may sometimes remain invisible to the hunter for several\nconsecutive visits.\n\n  [Illustration: BEAR TRACK. (FRONT FOOT; ABOUT TWO-FIFTHS NATURAL\n  SIZE)]\n\nWhen the thicket they prefer is once located, the rest is easy. If\nquick results are desired, driving or, perhaps, calling will yield\nresults. I once shot a bear which made its appearance immediately\nwhen, by way of experiment, I imitated the distress cry of a\njack-rabbit. If the hunter has plenty of time to spend in the woods\nit is a good plan to watch for the quarry. During autumn proper,\nbears retreat to the more remote districts and the fastnesses of\nthe mountains; here they are usually found during the daytime where\nthey are accustomed to feed. In places where berries are plentiful,\non ridges and in gulches where blue jays and squirrels are storing\ntheir winter supply of mast, here will be found the bears' favorite\nautumn haunts. In the mountains of the West there is a berry\nbush called kinni-kinic barberry or bearberry--I am not sure which\nis the correct term--that is thickly covered with fruit about the\nsize of buffalo berries, and which is a favorite food for bears\nbefore they can obtain mast; or, if the latter fails, Bruin seems\nto regard the seeds of the pinon as a delicacy; but as it would\napparently take up too much of his time to fill himself from those\nthat fall to the ground, he resorts to easier methods to obtain\nthem--he becomes a thief and incurs the enmity of squirrels and\njays.\n\nOn ridges he robs the caches of the jays, and in canyons he depletes\nthe stores of the squirrels, and, by no means approving of such\nactions, they heartily hate him and \"cuss\" at him whenever he\napproaches, and in this way often betray his presence to the hunter\nwho has learned to interpret the language of the wood-folk. It is\nalways well to approach with the utmost care places where there is\na continual chatter of squirrels and cries of blue jays are heard;\nand if the \"cussed\" one proves to be some other marauder--well, it\nmay be a bear next time. When still-hunting during the autumn the\nattention paid to these small denizens of the woods is by no means\nwasted, and yields better results than covering a great territory,\nor watching for hours on trails or near baits, which latter are\nseldom visited by bears during rifle light.\n\n  [Illustration: BEAR LOG]\n\nUntil I undertook the systematic study of the bear's habits I was\nunder the impression, from what I had read, that a bear track was\neasily recognized, and actually passed many, regarding them as\ncougar tracks. I have since noticed that many hunters, born and\nreared in a bear country, make the same mistake. Of course in mud\nor snow a bear track is easily identified, but in the vastness\nof mountains and forests snow and mud are not always present; in\nfact, they are of little service. There, the heel of the foot is\npractically never seen in the track during snowless times, and\nas the shape of the fore part of the foot conforms with that of\nthe mountain lion, a mistake is easily possible if the imprints\nof the five toes of the bear are not all visible. The trailer in\nthese districts and under these circumstances is generally lucky\nif he can discern here and there the part of a track of a bear's\nfoot. A couple of years ago a party of old deer hunters told me of\nthe great number of lion tracks they had seen as they came into\ncamp, and at my query if they saw any bear tracks, they answered,\n\"No\"; yet I had camped there over two months, knew absolutely that\nno lion was in those parts, that bears were abundant, and that\nthe hunters could have seen only their tracks. So much for the\ninformation of those who have an idea that an animal, weighing from\nthree hundred to over a thousand pounds, must necessarily make a\nbig trail which can be readily followed.\n\n  [Illustration: BEAR LOG]\n\nThe tracker, if he will but stop and investigate closely, need not\nmake a mistake, even if only the imprint of a single toe is plainly\nvisible, as the long nails of the bear almost always leave some\nmark in front of the track. The distance which the nails stand\naway from the toe imprints is the only means of distinguishing\nthe grizzly's track from that of the black bear, except that size\ndispels any doubt. The nails of the grizzly stand out almost\nstraight, while those of the black bear are more curvate, and their\nimprints must consequently be found closer to the track of the foot.\n\nThe likeness of the bear track to that of the human foot has been\nreferred to by many writers. In reality no likeness exists, and the\ninexperienced trailer in the woods has the already disadvantageous\nconditions under which he is working multiplied so long as he is\nnot disillusioned.\n\nIf a bear who knows nothing of the hunter is shot at and suddenly\nwhirls around, _i. e._, jumps when the trigger is pulled, he is\nhit, no matter whether there is another sign or not, and the color\nof the blood will indicate to the hunter where he is struck. A shot\nthrough the lungs with the modern high-power rifle will sometimes\nnot prove fatal within ten or twelve hours.\n\nA missed bear is never in a hurry to get away, unless he has seen\nor scented the hunter previous to the firing, and in most cases he\noffers a chance for a second or third shot.\n\nNot a few city hunters \"pull out\" if they encounter bear signs\nwhere they intend to spend their outing, saying they are not\nlooking for bears; yet the chances are many against their seeing\none even if they were anxious for an encounter. The trouble is not\nto avoid a bear, but to find him, as his greatest desire seems to\nbe to keep out of man's reach, and he employs all his cunning to\nthat end.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COUGAR\n\n\nOF all the predatory animals there is none which in destructiveness\nequals or even approaches the mountain lion; he, and he only, is\noften the cause of unsatisfactory hunting trips into districts\nwhere other big game by every reason ought to be abundant. A family\nof these great beasts will, while the young ones are growing up,\ndeplete a region of almost every other game animal.\n\nIf a cougar kills a deer during the morning hours, he seems to\nspend the day near it, as I have again and again found freshly\nvacated beds under nearby bushes or rocks. On these occasions I\nwas following the drag the \"varmint\" had made with the carcass,\nand although I kept a close watch on the surroundings, the lion\nremained invisible; yet I know that he was watching me, for in\nevery instance I found that he visited and examined the covered\ncarcass during the following night.\n\nThe methods usually followed to rid the hunting-ground of its worst\npoacher are to shoot or trap him. If the former is decided upon,\nthe fact that the lion has an excellent nose and keen vision should\nnot be forgotten when the place to watch for him is selected.\n\n  [Illustration: COUGAR. (ONE-HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n    (1) Ordinary gait.\n    (2) Sneaking.\n    (3) Trot.\n  ]\n\nStill-hunting the cougar is about the most thankless undertaking\none could enter upon, yet there are occasions when a close\nobserver may be able to kill one without extra trouble when\nout primarily for other game. The main requisite is time and a\nthorough acquaintance with the country. The cougar, after the\nyoung are grown up, does not remain in a comparatively small\ndistrict for any length of time, but usually covers a much wider\nterritory than the gray wolf, although the latter is universally\nknown as a great wanderer. At irregular intervals, say from once\nin a fortnight to once in two months, depending on the region,\nit returns to the same district. Unlike the wolf, the cougar, in\nreturning to and hunting over a district, does not usually go\nover the same trail and buttes he has used on the previous trip,\nbut prefers to explore new ground on each occasion unless there\nis something unusual to attract him. If his tracks, therefore,\nare seen quite often on a certain lookout point, the hunter\nshould be alert for the cause of attraction, generally a fallen\ntree, or an overhanging rock protecting a snug dry bed beneath\nfrom rain or snow, which are always situated on a wind-sheltered\nhillside facing south. When such a place is known, the hunter\nshould scrupulously refrain from going near it, to avoid leaving\nany scent there; but he should observe the \"nest\" as often as he\ncomes into its vicinity, and from a convenient distant point.\nIf the \"nest\" has an occupant, it is better to let a bullet\ninvestigate before the hunter does so himself, for a cat is a\ncat, and if its suspicions are aroused, the devil cannot beat\nit in trickiness--it will vanish unobserved without the hunter\nknowing how it could have done so. I once shot one out of a bunch\nof three, and felt sure the remaining two were \"my meat,\" yet\nnot a spot of yellow of them did I see afterward, although every\nnook within three hundred yards of the surrounding country was\nseemingly open to my scouting.\n\nThis is tedious hunting, of course, and the number of cougars\nwould not be appreciably lessened by the method; but one lion\noutwitted thus is worth perhaps, as a trophy of skill, a score\nkilled by other means; and besides, it at least gives the\nstill-hunter a chance.\n\nCougars do not respond readily to being called (by imitating the\ncries of a jack-rabbit); at least I have lured but one in eight\nor ten years, and missed it at that. Trapping them is as sure as\ngambling, _i. e._, there is never any certainty that one will\nget the lion, and as their existence is unquestionably obnoxious\nto sportsmen and stockgrowers alike, hunting them with dogs is a\ncommendable method, since it insures their decrease, and to the\ntyro means a trophy.\n\nBarnyard study is, undoubtedly, responsible for the conclusions\nadvanced by some writers that the members of the cat family are\nthe most perfect track makers, _i. e._, walkers. As a matter\nof fact, the trail of a wild cat cannot be compared, so far as\nperfection goes, with the trail of the wild dog. The cougar's\ntracks seldom register. He either oversteps with the hind foot\nthe track made by the forefoot when in a hurry, or he does not\nstep quite far enough to cover the forefoot track when leisurely\nwalking, and the individual tracks do not stand so close to the\ncenter line of the trail as do those of the wolf. The roundness\nof the track, together with the inconspicuousness of the nail\nmarks, even under the most favorable tracking conditions, makes\nthe cougar track unmistakably different from that of a wolf.\nHowever, on hard ground the track of a bear and a lion may be\neasily taken for one another, though the latter contains but four\ntoe-marks. But then every toe-mark is not often visible on hard\nground.\n\nWith all predatory animals the rule holds good that the female\ntrack appears smaller than that of the male, even though the\nsize of the animals be the reverse. For example, a male cougar\nmeasuring seven feet from tip to tip, will make a bigger track\nthan a nine-foot-long female. Although with dividers and tapeline\none might have difficulty to ascertain the difference, which at\nbest would be very small to the eye, it is unmistakable, and\none well acquainted with tracks can hardly make the error of\nmistaking a female track for that of a male. The latter always\nlooks more substantial.\n\nIt is the same with the tracks of males and females of predatory\nanimals as it is with a bunch of deer, or of a single one for\nthat matter, after bucks have shed their horns. The initiated\ncan tell accurately from the appearance of the animals which\nare bucks and which are does; yet if questioned _how_ he knows\nit, he can scarcely answer. At best he will say, \"Because it\nlooks like one.\" The reason for my dwelling on this subject is\nby no means an idle one. During the early summer the ravages of\n\"varmints\" often become almost unbearable to stockmen, and since\nfemales, which have to provide for their offspring, are the worst\noffenders, it is well for anyone to be able to distinguish their\ntracks from those of males, in order to follow them only, as they\nare the only ones that will always with certainty lead to the den\nwithin a day's travel.\n\nPredatory animals are, in the writer's opinion, not monogamous.\nWhile a male is often found with a family, the same male may be\nseen the next day with others of his kind miles away. I have\nnoted this while following game on horseback. On the other hand,\na male track may lead to several dens if followed far enough.\nOn several occasions I have shot two or even three males of a\nspecies near a den within a week or so, the desire to kill the\nfemale being on every occasion responsible for the long-continued\nwatch.\n\nIn following a track with the purpose of hunting up a den it\nmakes but little difference whether the trail be fresh or old. A\ntrail two weeks old, but made after a rain, is often more easily\nfollowed than a fresher one, and will as well lead to the den's\nvicinity, as the latter very often could not be followed at all\non hard ground; and a back-trail often leads more quickly to the\nden than one leading ahead. Prevailing conditions of weather and\nlay of country should govern the tracker's choice of which trail\nto follow. He must know that he has to follow the back track if\nit comes from rough country, for the den is more likely situated\nthere than elsewhere.\n\nA den that contains young cougars is readily recognized by the\nsuperabundance of carcasses of game lying around its vicinity.\n\nCertainly unless due regard is given to the extermination of\npredatory animals, it is impossible to bring a hunting preserve\nup to the highest standard, and for the same reason their\nunrestricted existence in the open hunting grounds can only be\nharmful. The time when predatory animals kept the number of other\ngame in a healthy balance has passed, and the sportsman who\nkills half a dozen deer ought to have to his credit at least one\nmember of the former tribe to offset his killing those of the\nlatter. As few of the hunting fraternity attain this desirable\nresult, I think those who kill as many or more marauders as they\ndo useful game animals, ought to be hailed as benefactors to the\nsportsmen's fraternity. Sometimes, I am sorry to say, such an\naction is referred to as unsportsmanlike by those who would soon\nfind the woods empty of desirable game if others gave no more\nattention to marauders than they do themselves.\n\n\n\n\n  THE LYNX\n\n\nWHAT the cougar is as an enemy to the useful big game, the\nbob-cat is to small game and the young of big game. He, however,\nlacks the cunning of the former, being easily called or trapped,\nand therefore as a class, and excepting individual cases few and\nfar between, will never become a menace to either the sportsmen's\nfraternity or to stockgrowers. Where hundreds of them infest the\ncountry--as in certain sections of the Bad Lands--they only serve\nto check the increase of the millions of cottontail rabbits,\nwhich would otherwise so rapidly multiply that they would become\na destructive pest throughout the cultivated sections of the\ncountry.\n\n  [Illustration: Scale 1 foot\n\n  LYNX. (ONE-HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (1) Forefoot. (2) Hind foot (small specimen; nail marks are\n  generally invisible). (3) Imprint of fox. (4) Lynx, ordinary\n  gait. (5 and 6) Fox, ordinary gait. (6 and 7) Comparison of fox\n  and lynx trails in snow. (8) Lynx, running. (9) Domestic cat.]\n\nThe tracker, trailing bob-cats like deer, can often surprise them\nat prowling, or jump them at close range from their beds, which\nare usually found under deadfalls or overhanging rocks, etc. Until\ntheir suspicions are aroused they are very foolish and the writer\nhas shot not a few with a .22 rifle when still-hunting for rabbits.\nWhen called, they have not sense enough to run away if missed by\nthe first and even second shot. In hunting them with dogs they\ngive good sport, and not infrequently get away by entering holes or\nputting the dogs to shame in some other manner.\n\n  [Illustration: RIGHT FRONT PAW OF LYNX]\n\n  [Illustration: RED LYNX]\n\nAt a careless glance the lynx track is but a miniature of that of\nthe cougar, but a close examination reveals the fact that the marks\nof the individual toes are proportionately much more elongated than\nin the latter. The trail, though much better than the mountain\nlion's trail, is not as perfect as that of the coyote or fox, for\neither of which it might be mistaken in loose snow; it is always\nmore out of line. In _Country Life in America_ for June, 1905, a\nwell-known nature writer shows a lynx trail, as perfectly as it can\nbe illustrated, as that of a fox. With such good standing tracks\nit is inexcusable if the trailer makes a mistake, and even if one\nhas had but little actual experience in the woods, a less perfect\noutline of the trail will be found sufficient to tell the wild cat\nfrom the wild dog.\n\n  [Illustration: LYNX TRAIL]\n\nIn snow five inches or more deep the lynx makes, as a rule, quite a\ndrag with his feet, much more so than either fox or coyote, which\nlatter disturbs the snow only near the individual tracks. On good\ntracking ground, or in soft snow, the nail marks are sometimes\nvisible, but never prominent like those of the fox or coyote.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DOMESTIC CAT\n\n\nTHE track and trail of the house cat--(if it were only a house cat\nnothing would be said about it here)--is too well known to need\ndescription. If it is found anywhere in hunting grounds, parks,\netc., the finder will confer a benefit on lovers of nature and its\nfeathered denizens if he, where possible, will set a trap baited\nwith fish (herring), or cheese; or if there is a chance to fill the\n\"varmint's\" anatomy with pellets from a shotgun or a .22 rifle, or\nto cut it in two with a big rifle bullet, he should never fail to\ndo so. It may seem a waste of powder and lead, but it is not, for\nin my opinion there is no more harmful creature a-foot or a-wing\nthan the domestic cat outdoors.\n\nIt would be impossible to estimate the amount of damage they do by\nkilling songsters which nature intended to check insect pests. As\nfar as the sportsman is concerned, a single cat will often deprive\nhim of his shooting in given localities, for, if it has once found\nthe location of a bevy of quail, grouse or other game birds, it\nwill not stop until the last one of the family is killed.\n\nWild predatory animals generally restrict their raids to the hours\nof the night; a domestic cat will prowl and kill at any hour during\nthe twenty-four. Some specimens attack even deer fawns and other\ngame of like size.\n\nA cat shrinks from nothing in its lust for killing--not even from\nwater--and I remember seeing a big tom-cat rob a pond in a city\npark of its goldfish. Unluckily for the marauder I had a gun with\nme.\n\nAnyone interested in shooting should keep a lookout for cat tracks\nin the woods during the summer and autumn, and do his best to let\nthem show no more.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WOLF\n\n\nTHERE is perhaps no other animal about which more disagreeable\nthings are said and written than the wolf, yet the writer, though\nrecognizing its bad points, would dislike to have it become\nextinct. Its howl is inseparably associated with many of my\npleasantest recollections, and the butte-fringed prairies and\nrugged Bad Lands would have decidedly less charm without it for one\nwho has learned to love that so-called \"God-forsaken country.\"\n\n  [Illustration: WOLF\n\n  Front track\n\n  Dog, forefoot (Two-thirds natural size)\n\n  Hind track]\n\nExcept under unusually severe weather conditions, wolves generally\nkill only the weakest of range stock and big game animals, and\nI doubt if their so-called depredations in this respect are\nanything but a benefit to the survivors, as weaklings among any\nspecies of animals are always inimical to the general health and\ncondition of the respective variety. The wolf in this regard does\nonly what the sensible warden of a well-conducted game preserve\ndoes; _i. e._, weeds out undesirable specimens. In Yellowstone\nPark, for example, since the cougars there are systematically\nhunted with hounds, wolves and coyotes ought to be protected to a\ncertain extent or else the result will undoubtedly be a general\ndegeneration among the game animals in that region.\n\nBefore the warfare against lions was started, there were already\nmany scabby elks in that great preserve, and if the slaughter of\nscavengers is kept up indiscriminately--well, a reasonable person\ncan only await results with misgivings. Nature always works out her\ncourse best if left alone, and I believe that in the case of the\nYellowstone Park the Nation in the course of time will be willing\nto pay ten times the amount it now pays for their extermination to\nhave the \"varmints\" alive in that great preserve. Where weaklings\nare not abundant, game animals naturally suffer from an abundance\nof wolves, and where the stock-raiser has enough sense to dispose\nof sick or weak stock himself, Old Gray has no business.\n\n  [Illustration:\n\n  (1) Wolf (slow trot). (2) Dog (trot). (3) Wolf (quick trot). (4)\n  Wolf (gallop). (5) Dog walking slowly; a motion never seen in the\n  wolf trail.\n\nIn hunting wolves the quickest results are obtained in calling by\nimitating the cries of a jack-rabbit. Wolves evidently think one\nof their tribe has caught a bunny, and, as Wildenbruch fittingly\nsays: \"Each and everyone would eat him.\" This trait is shared by\nmost other marauders. The wolf is a poor runner, and is easily run\ndown with the aid of an ordinary horse in open country.\n\nThe surest and most effective way apart from calling, is by\ntrapping, which is the most extensively practiced, and he who says\nthat trapping is not great sport has surely never tried to outwit\nan old wolf. I always measure sport by the amount of skill required.\n\nThe keeper of a game preserve, who is not acquainted with the use\nof traps and other devices designed to decrease predatory animals,\nwill never succeed in showing first-class results to the owner or\nowners so far as abundance of game is concerned; and what holds\ngood in the case of the shooting-preserves holds good also for the\nopen hunting grounds.\n\nThe track of an old full-grown wolf, although similar to that of a\ndog, differs from the latter, inasmuch as it shows that the foot is\nless fleshy, the soles of the various toes appearing more sharply\ndivided than in the dog's track. The latter has a comparatively\nbig foot but also a soft foot which, being plainly visible in the\nordinary gait, becomes much more apparent where the animal adopts\na quicker motion. The toes are then spread out to an extent never\nfound in the wolf, except when the latter is running very fast,\nand consequently the nail marks of the two middle toes of the dog\nare about twice as far apart as those of his wild relative. A\nwolf trail shows the individual tracks ordinarily about eighteen\ninches apart, while the dog, making the same size or a slightly\nbigger track, steps at the same gait less than fourteen inches;\nand if, in trotting, he should equal the length of wolf-steps, the\nspread of the middle toes makes his tracks easily recognizable. A\ngood-stepping dog steps about as near the center line as the wolf,\nbut as his steps are shorter, they appear more out of line to the\neye. This is an optical illusion, but it serves the tracker's\npurpose.\n\nA young wolf, say less than one year old, has as soft a foot as a\ndog's. However, as young wolves go mostly in packs, following the\ntrail will generally reveal the identity of the animal. Usually\nwolves do not track continuously, one animal investigating\nhere and another there, while the main trail leads on. Dogs,\ntwo or more, show no clear-cut single trail even for so short a\nspace as ten feet, while a number of wolves often travel several\nhundred yards with the trail showing as though only one animal\nhad made it. If one sees a wolf trail, and without following it\nconcludes that it was made by a single specimen, he is liable to\nmake the same mistake \"Liver-eating\" Johnson made with a bunch\nof horse-stealing Indians. He was stopping with a friend, Eugene\nIrvin, also an old Indian fighter, and one morning noticed about\nfifty horse-tracks, of which he concluded only about half-a-dozen\nwere made by horses mounted by redskins. Instead of following out\non the prairies and deciding there from the comparative absence\nof dust in the tracks--a rider is not mixed up with the herd he\nis driving, and consequently in his mount's tracks less dust is\nto be found--he hurried back to induce Irvin to join him in the\npursuit of the Indians. Now that old scout was not as eager for\nthe horses as \"Liver-eating,\" and not at all for a fight, but for\nold friendship's sake said he would come along if a couple more\nfellows could be found, which, by the way, he did not believe\npossible, for the country was not settled then as it is now. But\nit happened that two men did come along just at that moment, and\nJohnson soon convinced them that profitable business was ahead if\nthey joined in the pursuit. So the four went, taking a straight cut\ntoward Horsethief, a section of the country southeast of the Big\nSnowy Mountains, where they thought the Indians would make a halt.\n\nAbout three o'clock that afternoon they overtook the \"Reds,\" but\nfound to their chagrin that a dozen bucks were ready to give\nbattle, while still four or five were left to attend to the stolen\nhorses, and as neither Johnson nor any of his companions were\nburning for a fight, in which there was no promise of getting\nanything but bullet holes, Johnson decided that he would rather go\nhome without the horses.\n\nIn the Bull Mountains a hunter followed a wolf trail into a ravine\nfrom which there was no escape for the \"varmint\" except past him,\nand he was promptly attacked by a half-dozen wolves. He killed\nfour after a hard fight, but he was pretty well chewed up at the\nfinish. Of course he had expected to find only one in the gulch.\n\nAs a rule the wolf is not anxious to fight, although not so\ncowardly as most other animals--the cougar for example--yet I have\nseen a single specimen follow a hunter, a boy of twelve years, but\nthe best rifle shot I ever met, about two miles. I was with him,\nand waited for that wolf until he was within twenty yards, when I\nallowed the boy to fire. His nerves were evidently too much shaken,\nfor he missed his first wolf--nevertheless he got his pelt.\n\nThe locating of dens, as explained in the discussion of the cougar,\nis also applicable to wolves.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COYOTE\n\n\nWHAT has been said in regard to the wolf and dog track, is\napplicable also to the track and trail of the prairie wolf, but\nas the latter is small there always exists the possibility that\nits track will be mistaken for that of the fox. Where the locality\ngives no clue to the identity of the maker of the trail, the\ntracker has no distinguishing feature whatever from which to form\nhis judgment, since a big red fox makes as big a track as a small\ncoyote. The writer, after hunting foxes for many years, followed\nwhat he took for fox trails quite frequently in a certain section\nof the country, until he discovered that there was no fox within\na couple of hundred miles of the place. A big coyote, of course,\nmakes a larger track than a fox, but here all difference stops. For\ncomparison's sake the track and trail of the _average_ coyote and\nof the _average_ fox are shown.\n\n\n  [Illustration: COYOTE. (TWO-THIRDS NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (1) Ordinary trot. (2) Fast trot.]\n\nThe hunting methods are the same as for the gray wolf. Where the\nlatter, however, is looking for the living, the coyote is watching\nfor the dead, and he rather deserves to be called the hyena of the\nWestern Hemisphere than prairie wolf, for his main diet is carrion.\nHis addiction to carrion can be made of use to the hunter, in\nlocating big game which has been unfortunately \"shot to the woods,\"\nand of which he desires to secure at least the antlered or horned\nhead.\n\nIn locating missing persons, who are supposed to have met with a\nfatal accident or worse, the trail of the coyote could be employed\nto advantage--and undoubtedly will be, if it is once a matter of\ngeneral knowledge that the prairie wolf will always visit the\nimmediate vicinity of the remains of a hidden or buried human body,\nand sound its dismal howl over them every time it happens to pass\nthrough that part of the country.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOX\n\n\nTHERE is very little to add to what has been said about the fox\ntrack in the chapter on the coyote. When galloping, the fox's\ntrail shows many variations not found in that of any other animal,\nbut as the sinful fellow generally leaps only when he undertakes\na chase, or is chased himself, the features in the running trail\nare practically of little or no consequence to the tracker. It is\nhardly possible to confound a fox trail with that of a very small\ndog--only in that the latter has a foot as small as the average\nfox--on account of the glaring dissimilarity in the length of the\nindividual steps, which is much more apparent than between the wolf\nand big dog. The writer, at the tender age of seven, mistook once\na very small dog's trail for that of a fox, but after his father\npointed out the above feature, he never afterwards made such a\nmistake.\n\n  [Illustration: FOX. (TWO-THIRDS NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  Front and hind track. (1) Ordinary gait; the shaded part shows\n  drag of brush. (2) Running.]\n\nWhen no individual track is visible, as is the case in dry snow,\nthe blurry mark of the fox brush which is frequently seen at\nintervals in the trail settles any existing doubt. Some foxes, as\nwell as wolves and coyotes, drag their feet to the same extent as\ndoes a dog that walks badly, and because of this the tracker may\ndisregard as immaterial the prominence or absence of the drag made\nby the toenails.\n\nHunting foxes with hounds is undoubtedly the most popular method.\n\nCalling him like the wolf and coyote yields good results for the\nstill-hunter, but of all methods I prefer to shoot them during the\nrutting season, which occurs in January. The rutting season of\ncoyotes is during February, and that of wolves from January 1st\nuntil April, approximately speaking. I have seen wolves \"run\" as\nearly as December 28th, and have killed pups about two weeks old\nafter the middle of June.\n\nIt is on snowy, blustering days that, in the depth of the woods,\nthe fox is holding high carnival, and his and her tracks run in\nall directions. Watching where the trails are most numerous soon\nfurnishes work for the gun and trophies for the hunter, for on such\noccasions the fox seems to have lost the senses of sight and smell\nwhich at other times are so well developed. It is a singular fact\nthat they always run the most during the worst weather. In driving\nit is impossible to tell where a wolf or coyote will leave a\ncertain thicket, beyond that it will not leave it where it entered;\nbut a fox is always the sure victim of the hunter if he knows the\nfox path, for like the bear or old boar, he and every one of his\ntribe will always leave a thicket at the same point.\n\nIn calling, an old fox, like a wolf, comes stealthily, while a\nyoung one, like a coyote, will generally be in a hurry to get\nthere.\n\n\n\n\nWHAT TRACKING MEANS, AND SOME HUNTING METHODS\n\n\nBY the term \"tracking\" we usually understand the following of a\ntrail, but if a hunter attempts to get a shot at his quarry solely\nby this means he has to depend on good luck or physical endurance.\nThe cougar is, in my opinion, the most perfect tracker and most\nsuccessful still-hunter; he tracks, but he does not follow the\ntrail like a pack of wolves or dogs; he uses it only as a guide,\nfollowing it for an occasional fifty or one hundred yards, which is\nto my mind the proper method for the human hunter.\n\nTracking also means the ascertaining of the preferred stand of\ncertain animals. If, for example, the rutting place of the biggest\nelk in a district is located by comparison of various tracks,\nand the bull is shot later by waiting for, or stalking him at\nhis favorite place, he undoubtedly falls a victim to tracking.\nAgain, a track of a big bull moose is seen, and though it is too\nold to warrant expectations of finding the animal still in the\nlocality, it is followed and determines where the bull made his\nresting-place. When, weeks later, perhaps, the fresh trail of the\nsame bull is seen and again the previously preferred hillside,\nor another specific part of the woods is hunted over carefully\nwithout attention to the trail, but with all consideration for\nwind-direction and lay of country, and a fair shot is obtained,\ncan it be doubted that tracking was responsible for the downfall\nof this monarch of the woods? If so, let the doubter once follow a\nmoose track straight and try to get an easy shot: he will probably\nchange his mind. The locating of game, sometimes weeks in advance\nof the time when the shooting is to be done, is not by any means\nthe least feature in the art of tracking. To reduce, if possible,\nthe annual slaughter of men by careless hunters, it may not be\namiss to discuss certain hunting methods which have given me the\nmost satisfaction, and which obviate the possibility of being fired\nat by mistake.\n\nStalking along in grown-up timber and other open places, the\nsportsman will run across the trails of all the animals which have\nmoved in the district he covers, and, having decided which trail\nhe wishes to follow, he keeps on in the direction it leads. If it\nenters a thicket, a circuitous route--under wind--will lead him to\nwhere the animal has passed out, or show him that it is \"fast,\" _i.\ne._, in the thicket. If the former, he, of course, has to pursue\nthe same tactics until the game is located. The rest is generally\neasy enough, and that without entering any thicket, where, as we\nall know, it usually happens that hunters are mistaken for deer.\n\nMany hunters in relating their experiences tell us how careful they\nwere to hunt against the wind, to approach their game. While it is\nwell enough to have the wind against one if the game is in sight\nor driven toward one, I consider it more judicious to make the\nwind serve me. Having located an animal in a thicket, I select a\nstump or some other elevation to windward which allows the widest\npossible view, and simply wait long enough to allow the wind to\ninform my quarry of my presence. It will not require long for the\ngame to take the hint and get up--often affording a shot by this\nmeans alone--to leave the premises. Very few are the instances that\nan old buck goes straight away and gives me no chance to see him,\nbecause in that case he would have to cross my trail, and to do\nthat the wind, or rather my scent, does not frighten him enough;\nand if he goes out at the side which is untainted by any scent of\nman, he is usually my meat--if he is up to my standard. If the\nthicket is too big, the smoke of a pipe will often do wonders. The\nbiggest buck I ever shot, became my victim through the assistance\nof a smudge--the thicket in that instance being about ten acres in\nextent. The diagram (p. 130) will illustrate the method better than\nwords could. I have used it with success on many animals, and even\non a wounded bear.\n\nDuring snowless times no one can know with certainty if a deer is\nin a certain thicket, and the method has to be employed at random\nwhere there are enough signs to make it likely that a buck is near.\n\nIn hunting against the wind in open forests more game is passed\nthan many hunters would suppose. The animals see the man, note\nthat he will pass them, and hide by getting as near to the ground\nas possible. If they scent him after he has passed, they evidently\nrealize that the danger is over, though some, mostly the younger,\ninexperienced animals, then sneak off. Where game is very wild it\nis often in such localities as I have mentioned only possible to\napproach them _with the wind_ by outdistancing the latter, because\na big game animal at rest depends on its nose to save it from\ndanger in the direction from which the wind comes, and on its eyes\nto watch the side from which it can get no other warning.\n\nDesirable game is often located on <DW72>s, and can be shot from\nan opposite <DW72> if only it can be made to move around slowly,\nthe latter being important, as shots in such cases have usually to\nbe fired at long distance, and the ability to hit running game at\nthree hundred or four hundred yards is not possessed by everybody.\n\nAn imitation of the lamenting cry of a jack-rabbit serves me best\nin such cases, though it has often saved the game I was after,\nbecause it has attracted a wolf, or a cat; and I would rather kill\none \"varmint\" than half a dozen bucks, which last can at best elude\na man who knows how to track for but a limited length of time.\n\n  [Illustration: HUNTING WITH THE WIND\n\n  The stand is at 2 if the hunter is alone, and uses only his scent\n  or pipe smoke to drive the deer out of the thicket. If a smudge\n  is used for this purpose, as is necessary in big thickets, the\n  stand is at 1, and if the hunter has a companion, one stands at\n  1, and the other at 2. A smudge should be made distant enough\n  from the thicket--about at 3--to give the hunter time to go\n  around, and take his stand at 1.]\n\nThe sketch of leaps of wounded animals apply to all of our hoofed\ngame except bighorn sheep. In any case, where one of them has been\nfired at, the trail should be followed for at least two hundred\nyards, as often an animal that goes away with the bounds of an\napparently sound creature, will announce its distress through the\nplacing of its feet, a sure indication to the tracker that he will\nbe able to get his victim at the trail's end.\n\n\n\n\nPART ONE\n\n_GROUP II_\n\n\n\n\nTHE JACK-RABBIT\n\n\nThe jack-rabbit is generally a resident of open country, though he\nmay be found also in woodlands; and, in some parts of the country,\nwhen deep snow covers the lowlands, he retires to the fastnesses of\nthe mountains, where, up to altitudes of eight thousand feet, he\nfrequents the range of Bighorn.\n\nHe is unquestionably the delight of the hunter who desires to\nacquire efficiency in hitting moving objects with a rifle bullet.\n\n  [Illustration: JACK-RABBIT]\n\nHis tracks, being the biggest of the rabbit tribe, cannot very\nwell be mistaken for those of any other animal. On sandy or muddy\nplaces often only the imprint of the front part of the hind foot\nis seen; and on hard roads, plow furrows, etc., usually the mark\nof the toenails alone is visible. When the animal is feeding or\nmoving along slowly, the whole imprints of the hind feet are left,\nwhile with increasing speed only the front parts of them touch the\nground. The forefeet rarely pair, and never if a jack-rabbit is\nrunning. If the long-eared fellow decides in the morning that it\nis time to retire for the day, he usually runs along a road,\ncattle-runway, or the like, returns in his own trail, and by a long\nside leap makes the trail seem to end. Where he lands, the four\nfootmarks are usually so close together that they can be almost\ncovered with the hand. He may leap directly into his \"form,\" or\nhe may repeat the same maneuver several times; but one thing is\ncertain, a jack which acts in this manner is never far from home.\nIf pursued during the daytime, he employs the same tactics again\nand again to throw the pursuer off the trail. At feeding places\nslight forms are often observed, and to follow the trail leading\nfrom them means, as a rule, a tiring walk, as those forms indicate\nthat the jack has spent the after-supper hours there.\n\n  [Illustration: JACK RABBIT\n\n  (1) Morning trail (easy lope). (2) Moving slowly. (3) Speeding.\n  (A) Side-jump. (B) Day form. (E) Night forms. (B to D)Morning\n  trail and night trail (feeding).]\n\nI have hunted with men who blamed their dogs if they failed to\ncatch a rabbit with a broken foreleg. They evidently did not\nconsider that a broken foreleg is of very little consequence to the\nrunning efficiency of that kind of animal. One with an injured hind\nleg, however, can be run down easily.\n\n  [Illustration: JACK RABBIT. (TWO-THIRDS NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (A) Front foot. (B) Hind foot.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE VARYING HARE\n\n\nTHE Varying Hare, though scarcely half the size of the jack-rabbit,\nmakes almost as large a track, and when he spreads his feet in\npassing over frozen snow his tracks are fully as large. The\nentire track picture, however, differs materially from that of\nthe jack--the individual tracks stand much closer together, and\nthe feet are usually paired. The hare makes many different track\npictures, but he cannot long refrain from making the jump--shown\nslightly reduced in the illustration--and a following of the trail\nfor a short distance will always dispel any existing doubt, even if\nthe individual tracks are larger than those of a young jack-rabbit.\nThere is a much greater likelihood of mistaking the varying hare's\ntrail for that of the cottontail rabbit, with which it has many\npoints of resemblance. Only the slenderness of the rabbit's foot\nserves as a distinguishing feature in the trail so long as they\nare both unalarmed. If, however, they are put on the quick jump,\nthe similarity of the two trails disappears.\n\n  [Illustration: VARYING HARE]\n\n  [Illustration: VARYING HARE. (SLIGHTLY REDUCED)]\n\n  [Illustration:\n\n  (1) At leisure (one to three feet). (2) Steady lope (three to\n  five feet); the front tracks blend into one mark. (3) On the\n  quick jump (five to twelve feet).\n\n   Varying Hare track when the snow is deeper than a couple of\n   inches.\n\n   VARYING HARE TRACKS]\n\n\n\n\nTHE COTTONTAIL RABBIT\n\n\nAS can be easily seen from a comparison of the life-size track\npicture of the varying hare and cottontail--drawn from tracks made\nunder the same tracking conditions, _i. e._, on ground covered by\nabout two inches of snow, and while the animals were running at\napproximately the same speed--the tracks of the cottontail, besides\nbeing much more slender than those of the hare, are also more\npencil-shaped at the point of the toes. The toes are but faintly\nindicated, and the toenails practically indiscernible, while in the\ncase of the hare both are plainly visible; in fact, the imprint of\nthe toenails is a prominent feature in the track of the hare. In\nevery case where any doubt exists in regard to the tracks of the\ntwo small varieties, this alone is sufficient to settle it; as the\ntoe marks are more prominent in the front track, its appearance\nalone is sufficient for the trailer to form a correct conclusion.\nExcept when jumping with the hind feet into the front tracks two\nindividual tracks of the cottontail never blend into one mark on\naccount of the slenderness of the feet. The jump picture of both\nthe small rabbits in dry snow sometimes appears very much like that\nof the marten; but by following the trail for a short distance one\nwill always dispel any doubt.\n\n  [Illustration: Cottontail Rabbit Tracks--(1) At leisure. (2) In a\n  hurry.]\n\nIn illustrated articles the writer has seen drawings and\nphotographs of tracks and trails claimed to have been made by the\nNew England cottontail which looked exactly like those made by\nthe varying hare. If there was no mistake in identification, the\nWestern cottontail, which the illustrations represent, evidently\nmakes tracks entirely different from those of the Eastern variety.\nThere is every reason to believe, however, that the track of the\nsame type of rabbit is the same in every part of the country.\n\n  [Illustration: COTTON TAIL RABBIT]\n\nWhile the pursuit of big game is exciting sport at times, hunting\nrabbits is always attended with soul-satisfying fun. A famous\noccupant of the White House found recreation and pleasure in it,\nand I believe that few hunters who ever entered into the true\nspirit of the sport have failed to obtain a great deal of pleasure\nand healthful exercise.\n\n  [Illustration: COTTONTAIL RABBIT\n\n  The dotted line shows the real length of foot.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE SQUIRREL\n\n\nTHE squirrel practically always pairs its feet when on the ground.\nLike the other members of Group II its hind feet are much larger\nthan the forefeet, and, as in the track-picture, are always planted\nahead of the latter. The hind feet point outward, so that even\nby imperfect imprints, it may readily be seen in which direction\nthe trail leads. As there is no other track known to the writer\nwhich could be confused with the squirrel's, it is not necessary\nto describe it; the illustration serves every purpose. Where the\nremains of the feast of a \"varmint\" are left in the woods--meat,\nentrails, or bones--squirrel tracks are found in great numbers,\nand the tyro is liable to take them for those of other animals.\nOrdinarily a careful look is sufficient to disillusion him, both as\nto the identity of the tracks and the diet of the squirrel.\n\n  [Illustration: SQUIRREL. (ABOUT TWO-THIRDS NATURAL SIZE)]\n\nBesides tracks, the squirrel leaves other signs which betray its\npresence in the woods--heaps of cone chips near stumps and other\nelevations, or strewn under trees one may find twigs from which\nbuds have been eaten. Sometimes the cries of birds whose nests\nthe squirrel may be robbing of eggs or young, will betray his\npresence. It is an entertaining pastime to hunt squirrels with a\nsmall-caliber rifle.\n\nThe writer considers the squirrel one of the most injurious\ncreatures of our woods, and believes that in hunting him it is\nbetter to use some other weapon than the noisy shotgun.\n\n\n\n\nPART ONE\n\n_GROUP III_\n\n\n\n\nTHE MARTEN AND THE BLACK-FOOTED FERRET\n\n\nTHOUGH their habitat is entirely different, these two animals make\nvery similar tracks and trails, so they are properly treated of in\nthe same division.\n\nWhile the marten is a resident of the woods, the black-footed\nferret never leaves the open prairie, where it lives in abandoned\nprairie-dog holes, usually leaving its hole every second night,\nunless it happens to kill a rabbit. It is the most relentless enemy\nof the rabbit, and lives almost exclusively on its flesh.\n\nThe track of the black-footed ferret is about the size of a\nsmall marten's, but in soft snow the soles of the toes show more\nprominently than those of the latter, whose strongly haired feet\nusually cause the sole marks to appear rather indistinct.\n\nSometimes the trail of the marten looks like that of the\ncottontail, but if followed for a short distance it always assumes\nagain the form of a parallel trapeze, the evidence of the usual\nmarten motion to which the ferret adheres at all times except in\nthe pursuit of prey.\n\n  [Illustration:\n\n  Marten track (one-third natural size), showing the four foot\n  marks (not the usual jump, see trails). The black-footed ferret\n  makes a slightly smaller track and shows not quite so much hair.]\n\nThere is no reason for mistaking one for the other, because, as\naforesaid, they do not inhabit the same locality; but if one does\nnot know of the existence of the wild ferret, then, of course,\none might track a supposed marten on the prairie--as did the writer\nwhen he first came West--where that animal never has been found.\n\n  [Illustration:(1) Marten tracks. The lower part of the left-hand\n  drawing shows the usual marten motion, namely, the jump. The\n  upper part of the same drawing shows the walk, which is always\n  only for a short distance. (2) The black-footed ferret always\n  pairs its feet and never walks. (3) Running.]\n\nTracking marten and shooting them is as successful a method as\ntrapping them.\n\nIf ferrets are tracked and their skin is wanted whole, a trap not\nsmaller than a No. 4 should be set at the entrance of the hole,\nas the pretty \"varmint\" mutilates himself if trapped and not soon\nkilled. If a ferret runs a rabbit into a hole he may not leave it\nfor two or three weeks, otherwise, as stated, the ferret usually\ntravels forth every second night.\n\n\n\n\nTHE OTTER\n\n\nIT can be seen from the accompanying illustration of front and hind\ntracks that the footmarks of the otter are rather unusually round;\nand on hard ground, which allows but a slight impression, the\nalmost circular standing imprints of toes and heel show plainly. If\nthe individual tracks are invisible in dry snow, the form of the\ntrail, together with the drag made at intervals by the long tail of\nthe otter, obviates any doubt as to what animal has made the trail.\n\nThe otter has a habit of leaving the streams along which he\nlives, or which he visits, at regular places, and makes what are\ncalled slides near which parts of fish are frequently scattered.\nExcrements containing fish bones found on boulders and promontories\nin the rivers are unmistakable otter signs that betray his\npresence, even if no tracks or slides are seen along the banks of\nthe stream.\n\n  [Illustration: OTTER. (SLIGHTLY LESS THAN HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (A) Right forefoot track. (B) Right hind-foot track. (1) Jumping.\n  (2) Walking. (3) Running. The shaded line shows the drag of the\n  tail.]\n\nThe otter is perhaps the greatest wanderer among the mammals, and\nmay, therefore, frequently be found where he was supposed to be\nextinct; though if he visits a trout-stream or pond he usually\nmakes his stay long enough to deplete it to a greater extent than\na host of fishermen would.\n\nWhere otter signs are seen along small streams or at favorable\nplaces along rivers, waiting for them with a shotgun during\nevenings and moonlight nights usually yields satisfactory results.\nIf one is shot, and there is no danger of the current taking it\naway, it is well to keep quiet for a time, as they often fish in\npairs, and the second frequently gives as good a chance for a shot\nas the first.\n\nThe whistling call of the otter can easily be imitated, and at big\nrivers on a clear night calling them is good sport. However, the\nsportsman must be patient, as the otter will answer immediately,\nbut will take his own time in coming. On small streams it is well\nto post oneself as near as possible to the water, as otherwise the\notter will pass unseen in the shadow of the bank.\n\nSometimes the otter travels for miles on land, and if daylight\nsurprises him there he will hunt shelter for the day in any\nconvenient hole. A trap set in it, and the entrance closed with a\nboulder is usually the easiest way to get his skin.\n\nAs the animal is especially destructive in trout streams the\nsportsman gunner will always do a great favor to the disciple of\nthe rod when he closes the career of one of these four-footed\npoachers.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MINK\n\n\nTHE mink track presents some similarity to those of the marten and\nthe black-footed ferret, but it is much smaller than that of the\nmarten, and the toe-marks are even more prominent than those of\nthe ferret, for which it might be mistaken at times if it were not\nthat the form of the trails is different. The mink never travels\nfor long distances without showing at least three tracks plainly in\nthe jump-picture, while the ferret practically never does this. The\ntrack of the ferret is found near ice-bound streams only when it\ncrosses them to reach other hunting-grounds, while the mink, being\nalmost as skilful at catching fish as the otter, generally travels\nalong a stream's course.\n\nIn destructiveness to small game the mink is perhaps only equaled\nby the domestic cat, which, in remote districts, he resembles in\nthe habit of hunting at all hours of the day.\n\n  [Illustration: MINK. (LESS THAN ONE-HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (A) Left front-track. (B) Hind-tracks (a characteristic track\n  picture). (1) Ordinary jump. (2) Easy running. (3) Running.]\n\nTrapping is practically the only paying method of hunting him. When\nhe goes upstream he leaves the water below rapids and travels along\nits edge usually until he again reaches quiet water. If a trap is\nplaced in the intervening space--the trail of the animal will\nshow the trapper the best point--every mink in that vicinity may\nbe caught without the trouble of baiting traps, which is a rather\nuncertain method where game and fish are plentiful.\n\n  [Illustration: MINK]\n\n\n\n\nTHE ERMINE\n\n\nALL lovers of our feathered song-birds kill the weasel at every\nopportunity, believing it to be one of the deadliest enemies to\nbird-life; and if sportsmen bear in mind that every time it gets\na chance the little marauder fastens its teeth in the neck of\na grouse or a rabbit, they will undoubtedly show it no mercy.\nConsidering, however, the number of injurious rodents it kills,\nit is doubtful if this \"little marten\" is, on the whole, more\ndestructive than useful. Certainly it does no more harm than the\nabsolutely useless squirrel. I leave it to others to argue whether\nit should be killed or spared. I do not spare it in ruffed grouse\ncover and near home, where I wish to give the birds absolute\nprotection.\n\nIts tracks and trail, with the exception of the walk, which the\nweasel does not use where it could be tracked, are exact miniatures\nof those of its large relative, the marten, and are, judging from\npersonal observations, frequently mistaken for those of other\nanimals even by sportsmen of long standing. One will mistake its\ntrail for that of the deer, another for that of a coyote, fox or\nlynx, and still another, under favorable tracking conditions, will\nconfound its track with that of the mink or ferret. In loose snow,\nwhen its trail is likely to be mistaken for that of any of those\nmentioned, it should be considered that the jumps of the ermine\nconstantly vary in length, while the individual tracks made by the\nother named animals usually stand a regular distance apart.\n\nIf the tracker follows an ermine's tracks which he takes to be\nthose of a mink, he should soon discover that the animal has\nentered every hole and crevice along the trail, and that, judging\nby the number of tracks around them, it found rock piles, logs,\nbrush heaps, etc., very interesting and attractive. Now, marten or\nmink investigate these things simply by passing over or through\nthem--if they do not stop inside--but they never make regular paths\naround them as the ermine does. Besides this, the ermine makes a\ntrack hardly one-third as large as that of a small marten.\n\n  [Illustration: ERMINE TRACKS. (HIND FEET, LIFE SIZE)\n\n  (1) Ordinary jump. (2) Running.]\n\nI have again and again pointed out the above features to men with\nwhom I have hunted, yet, presumably on account of not being thrown\non their own resources at the time, they seemingly paid little\nattention to them, for I observed that they repeated their mistakes\njust as soon as opportunity offered. The secret of successful\ntrailing can be acquired only by the careful and observant.\n\nThe features of a track or trail, once they are thoroughly\nimpressed on the mind, will always be remembered; and he who is\ntoo careless to take note of them, even when they are pointed out,\nhas only himself to blame if he spends time--hours perhaps--in the\npursuit of the trail of an animal he does not want.\n\n\n\n\nPART ONE\n\n_GROUP IV_\n\n\n\n\nTHE BEAVER\n\n\n  [Illustration: BEAVER]\n\nTHE beaver was once distributed to a vast extent all over the\nglobe, but is now found in comparatively few sections of the\nOld and New Worlds, and nowhere in great abundance. The state\nof Montana, which until recently had the largest number of them\nwithin its boundaries, joined, during 1907, those States where\nthis interesting animal is practically extinct, and the blackening\n\"beaver stumps\" along its streams bear witness to the shame of\nthe legislative assembly of 1907, which left the beaver without\nprotection. For the extermination of the beaver in this State the\nwealthy classes, and not the trappers, must bear the blame, for\nwithout the consent of the former the trapper could not even have\ndecreased the number of them without endangering his own liberty.\n\n  [Illustration: BEAVER. (ABOUT ONE-HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (A) Track of right hind foot. (B) Track of right forefoot.]\n\nWhere the beaver _is_ protected, he increases rapidly, and if\nhunted with a rifle, he affords as much excitement as any game\nthat roams the woods.\n\n  [Illustration: BEAVER STUMP]\n\n  [Illustration: THE BEAVER'S HOME]\n\nBusiness instinct, as well as sportsmanship, should urge sportsmen\nto concerted action in order to preserve and increase the\ncomparatively few beaver colonies now left on our continent.\n\n  [Illustration: BEAVER TRAILS OR SLIDES]\n\n  [Illustration: BEAVER TRAIL\n\n  The third toe touches the center line.]\n\nThe beaver's tracks most strikingly represent the fourth group of\nmammals in this treatise. In the effort to support and steady the\nbody adequately, the animal endeavors to plant its feet as near as\npossible under the center of its body, but its corpulency prevents,\nand the result is a track so ridiculous that it is laughable. The\nfront tracks are covered with the hind feet, the third toenails of\nwhich reach the center line, and the heel of which stand, according\nto the size of the specimen which made the trail, from four to\neight inches from it. The nails of the two inside toes of the hind\nfeet are but to a limited extent visible as the web between the\ntoes protrudes them. Where the beaver is scarce and much pursued,\nthe imprint of a forefoot near the water's edge may be discovered\noccasionally here and there; in this case the prominence of the\ntoenails is unmistakable. I may state here, that a front track at\nthe water's edge is often the only sign which may be found along\na stream where beavers have become very wary; they seem to be\nable to live on almost nothing--leaves, roots, etc.--for not a\nsingle cutting can be discovered in such cases. Where not sought\nextensively, the hunter seldom notes the tracks of this aquatic\nfur-bearer; cut willows or tree stumps are, if not a surer, at\nleast a more easily distinguished indication of their presence,\nwhile on much-used slides the tracks could not be seen anywhere.\nIt has been the writer's experience that in every case in which he\nobserved the building of a new house by one of these animals, the\nbuilder was invariably a female providing for a happy family event.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BADGER\n\n\nON our continent there is no other animal which is responsible for\nso many broken necks and limbs as the badger. While in pursuit of\nhis prey, he digs holes in the ground, which when grown over with\nweeds or grass, are almost certain death-traps for the unwary rider.\n\nThe man who enjoys riding after wolves or the fox considers the\nbadger as a menace, and is never likely to look upon it with any\ndegree of favor, notwithstanding its decided usefulness as a\ndestroyer of undesirable rodents. I myself bit the dust of the\nprairie four times within a couple of months on account of this\nanimal, though there was no further damage than a broken gunstock\nand sore limbs. I have since killed everyone of the tribe when a\nchance offered, though with some feeling of regret on account of\ntheir desirable features.\n\nThe track of the badger is striking from the prominence of the\nfive-nail marks of the forefeet and the twisted inward appearance\nof the hind track which usually stands squarely in the front track.\nConsidering the size of the tracks, the step-marks stand close\ntogether--about seven inches--and, as in all animals of this group,\nto some extent off from the center line.\n\n  [Illustration: BADGER]\n\n  [Illustration: BADGER TRACKS; LEFT. (SLIGHTLY REDUCED)]\n\nIt is readily tracked down, and when its hole is approached,\nthe animal frequently exhibits its head as a target from its\ncuriosity to see what is coming. If run into a hole, it will almost\ninvariably reappear within a few minutes. If it offers no chance\nfor a shot, a trap placed at the entrance and covered nicely\ngenerally brings about its destruction. If no trap is at hand it\ncan be confined to its hole by tying a piece of paper or a rag to\na stick and placing it not less than two feet from the entrance,\nwhich will prevent its leaving the hole for twenty-four hours or\nso. This is a surer method of keeping the animal a prisoner than\nblocking the entrance, and works satisfactorily also with other\nmarauders that take to holes.\n\nA fox can usually be held thus for several days, and by this ruse\nI have actually starved two of them to death. There was in each\ncase three entrances, and but one trap at hand, which was in both\ninstances uncovered by the prisoners during the first night.\n\n  [Illustration: BADGER\n\n  (A) Walking. (B) Running.]\n\nAs the ground was frozen hard, I did not wish to bother with\nsetting the trap at another entrance, so I left things as they\nwere, after covering the instrument again. But the foxes knew\nit was there all the same, and did not again try to leave their\nprison by that exit, and the other entrances were guarded by that\nfearful specter of paper. Finally each one died about eight feet\nfrom the scarecrow--about five feet inside the hole, which was\nexamined daily--one during the nineteenth, and the other during\nthe twenty-second day of their imprisonment. Had the ground not\nbeen frozen so hard as it was, the experiment would have been\nunsuccessful, as each of the foxes would of course have dug out at\nsome other spot. The latter method of escape will be employed by\nthe badger in every case where the trap is not properly covered.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PORCUPINE\n\n\nIT may appear out of place to discuss this creature which has no\nsportive quality whatever, but its trail is so conspicuous in snow\nthat it cannot be passed without being noticed, and the tyro,\nattracted by the size of the tracks, will in many instances follow\nit, thinking he is on the trail of something else.\n\nA short time ago I trailed a supposedly lost, inexperienced hunting\ncompanion who had run across the trail of a \"bear,\" as he thought,\nand followed and killed \"Bruin,\" who happened to be up a tree.\nWhen I caught up with the young fellow, he was contemplating his\nbroken gunstock, smashed in finishing the \"varmint,\" but proudly\nexhibited, to my great hilarity, the \"bear\" which may have weighed\nabout twenty pounds, and whose fur consisted mainly of quills.\n\n  [Illustration: PORCUPINE]\n\nBefore I got acquainted with the \"pine-porker,\" I tried in vain for\na period of four months to ascertain the identity of an animal\nwhose tracks I frequently saw on a road. Only the marks of the\nsoles were visible there, and none of the many men I asked knew\nthat track, though they knew the animal which made it very well,\nas developed later, when tracking conditions became so that I could\nfollow the trail to its end.\n\nIf conditions are half-favorable, the imprints of the\ntoenails--four on the forefeet and five on the hind feet--are\nalways visible.\n\n  [Illustration: PORCUPINE TRACKS\n\n  (1) Walk. (2) Run.]\n\n  [Illustration: FEET OF THE PORCUPINE\n\n  Four toes on front and five toes on hind feet (about one-half\n  natural size)]\n\n  [Illustration: SIGN OF THE PORCUPINE\n\n  (Bark eaten from the tree)]\n\nIf the snow is a few inches deep, the tracks stand in a\ntrough-shaped trail because the animal's body almost touches\nthe ground. The toes point inward, and almost touch the center\nline. In the snowless woods numerous small dead trees attract\nthe attention of even those not interested in forestry. If these\ntrees are examined they will reveal the mark of the porcupine,\neasily recognized by the partly eaten bark.\n\nAlong the streams of the Bad Lands the limbs of cottonwood trees\nare sometimes depleted of every vestige of bark, which loss\nultimately causes the death of the trees. Where forests are cared\nfor on an economical basis, the porcupine is certainly a proper\nsubject for extermination.\n\nTheir meat is excellent if fried quickly in hot lard; roasted, or\ncooked slowly, it emits an odor repellent even to a hungry man.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SKUNK\n\n\nTHOUGH an inexcusable intruder in the chicken coop and where\ngame birds are raised, the skunk is decidedly useful from the\nstandpoint of the forester or of the farmer. In the writer's\nopinion, sportsmen if they encounter him in the woods should\ncease to kill the animal just because it is \"only a skunk\";\nothers of the fraternity advance the \"just because\" argument if\nthey are questioned why they \"shoot\" the nests of useful hornets.\nThe skunk may rob a few birds' nests during the summer, but his\nmain diet consists of larvae and berries, and by destroying the\nformer he is of inestimable value to the forests and fields near\nhis residence.\n\nI am thoroughly convinced that his introduction and absolute\nprotection in localities where moths, butterflies and the like,\nin their undeveloped stage, have become a menace, would greatly\nhelp to solve the problem of rendering these pests harmless.\n\n  [Illustration: SKUNK\n\n  (A) Front track. (B) Hind track (life size). (1) Easy lope. (2)\n  Walk.]\n\nWith every skunk we kill we interfere with the balance of nature,\nand the resulting deficit has finally to be met with the pocketbook\nby paying for artificial substitutes for nature, which if left\nalone would do the work much better.\n\nIn the summer woods it is not so much the skunk's tracks which\ntell of his presence and merits, as the numerous small holes in\nthe ground, about a couple of inches deep, from which the animal\nprocures the larvae there awaiting the final stage of development.\n\nThe soles of the skunk's feet are similar to those of the badger,\nwhile their size about corresponds with that of the domestic\ncat; the toenails always show conspicuously under fair tracking\nconditions.\n\nThe individual tracks stand about half as far apart as do those of\nthe domestic cat, and are always considerably out of line. Like\nthe other members of this group, the skunk betrays himself by his\ntrail; he is a slow animal, and presumably would not put on speed\nif he were capable of it, since, when foraging he is never in a\nhurry, and if molested it is usually the disturber who prefers to\nemploy speed.\n\n\n\n\nPART TWO\n\nFEATHERED GAME\n\n\n\n\nFEATHERED GAME\n\n\nIT is out of the question to treat the signs and tracks of birds\nwith the same thoroughness as those of mammals, because the tracks\nof several birds reproduce exactly those of domestic fowls, and\nthose made by young birds of one kind may look like those of old\nbirds of another variety. A description of bird tracks will,\nhowever, be found interesting, and perhaps useful at certain times,\nespecially by the inexperienced hunter.\n\nThe locality where a given track is seen is the main point to be\nconsidered. Tame turkeys and domestic chickens do not, as a rule,\nventure great distances from the barnyard, so if tracks similar\nto theirs are seen far from human habitation, it is usually safe\nto conclude that wild birds made them. In the case of waterfowls,\nhowever, even the consideration of the locality, under certain\ncircumstances, does not exclude errors; so the hunter, if he sees\ntracks from which he might deduce the presence of these birds\nin his immediate locality, should employ his resources to find\nout for certain whether his deductions are correct or not. The\ndescriptions are of necessity limited, and the reader should study\nthe illustrations as the more important part of the matter.\n\n\n\n\nUPLAND BIRDS\n\n_The Turkey_\n\n\nThe tracks of this, the largest of game birds, differ in nowise\nfrom those of the domestic kind. In the woods--in wild turkey\ncountry--they usually indicate their presence by scratching up the\nground cover in search of food, just as domestic fowls do under\nsimilar circumstances, and by their droppings. The latter are the\nmore important as a means of identification.\n\nWild turkeys, when habitually or temporarily frequenting a given\nlocality, have their favorite trees upon which they roost, and\nunder these trees the droppings will be very plentiful. Some\nhunters wait at such roosting places during the evening or morning\nand get their game; sometimes the bird may have treed five hundred\nyards or more away, but the expert, who is not given to guesswork,\nmakes it his purpose to ascertain all the turkey trees in a\ndistrict, notes the easiest way to approach them, and then, during\nthe early evening hours he will, from a convenient point, mark\ndown the birds which he hears treeing. Then during the hour before\ndaybreak he will go noiselessly as near as possible to a roosting\ntree which he knows harbors one or more turkeys, and after it is\nlight enough to shoot he will experience little trouble in stalking\nas close as is necessary to get his bird.\n\n\n_The Sage Grouse_\n\nThe track of the sage hen is about the size of that of a small\ndomestic chicken, but the toes at their base are somewhat broader,\ngiving the entire track a different aspect.\n\nIn the spring and autumn months the birds frequent sagebrush flats\nand hillsides, and during the early autumn they seek the vicinity\nof water, and there, if it were not that their toes are rather\nshort in comparison with their broadness, the tracks might be\nmistaken for those of the pheasant in any place where that game\nbird has been introduced.\n\n  [Illustration: TURKEY. (LARGE DRAWING TWO-THIRDS NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  (1) Walking. (2) Strutting.]\n\n  [Illustration: PHEASANT. (NATURAL SIZE)]\n\n\n_Pheasant_\n\nThe middle toe of the pheasant stands almost in a straight line in\nthe trail, and this feature is the most striking one whereby to\ndistinguish its track from the tracks of any of our native game\nbirds.\n\n  [Illustration: Ruffed Grouse. (Two-thirds natural size) Blue\n  Grouse.]\n\n\n_Grouse_\n\nThe members of this class, in which are included the various\nvarieties of the ruffed grouse and those of the Spruce or Blue\ngrouse, all spread their feet in similar fashion, and walk with\nthe middle toes pointed inward to a considerable degree. Because\nof this similarity the size of the tracks and the length of steps\nare the only means by which to identify the particular species\nwhich made them. The ruffed grouse make the shortest steps and the\nsmallest tracks.\n\n  [Illustration: RUFFED GROUSE]\n\n  [Illustration: BLUE GROUSE]\n\nThe illustrations show the tracks and trail of a dusky grouse of\nordinary size, and of an unusually big ruffed grouse cock.\n\n  [Illustration: SHARP-TAILED GROUSE]\n\nThe drawings were made under ideal tracking conditions; and only\nthen is it possible to note the difference in the number of the\nknots of the middle toe. Though, as a general rule, the ruffed\ngrouse usually frequents rather low country and the blue-grouse\ntribe is generally found on high grounds, the locality where a\ntrack is seen gives no sure indication of the species. The writer\nhas frequently encountered the ruffed grouse at altitudes of over\nseven thousand feet, and the blue grouse lower down than he ever\nfound the ruffed variety.\n\n  [Illustration: Sharp-tailed Grouse. (Two-thirds natural size)\n  Sage Grouse.]\n\n\n_Prairie Chickens_\n\nFrom the prairie hen to the sharp-tailed grouse, they all belong to\none order as far as their tracks are concerned. A prairie chicken\ndoes not spread the toes to the same extent as does the grouse of\nthe woods, and the middle toes stand also somewhat straighter in\nthe line of the trail. The tracks made by the sharp-tailed grouse\nare always of a rather blurred appearance because of the heavily\nfeathered feet.\n\n\n_Quail_\n\nThe size of the quail's track is about that of a domestic pigeon.\nA peculiarity of the track is that the mark of the hind toe stands\ncomparatively far off from the track on account of its singular\ndisproportion to the size of the foot.\n\nIn the pursuit of grouse, chickens, etc., the hunter usually\nnotes tracks less than other signs. Foremost among the latter are\nthe places where the birds take sand baths, where stray feathers\nwill usually be found. Countless interwoven small paths, leading\neverywhere and nowhere in grass and grain fields, are infallible\nsigns that birds have fed there.\n\n  [Illustration: QUAIL. (NATURAL SIZE)]\n\n\n_Woodcock_\n\nThe neatest bird track seen in upland hunting is, in the writer's\nopinion, that of the woodcock. True, this fascinating Long-face\nhas generally gone to warmer climes before winter sets in, but\noccasionally an early snowstorm catches him, and then his tracks\nare a striking feature near springy places in forests, or under\ndense trees that hold most of the snow aloft on their branches.\nThe splendid imprints are as unmistakable among bird tracks as the\ntracks of the mountain sheep among big game, and as unforgettable\nif once seen.\n\n  [Illustration: WOODCOCK. (NATURAL SIZE)]\n\n\nWATERFOWLS\n\n_Swans, Geese, Ducks_\n\nThe tracks of these aquatic game birds are so much alike that\nonly the difference in size makes it possible to distinguish the\nspecies and varieties of ducks and geese; if they are of similar\nsize they cannot possibly be told apart. Where the tracks are seen\nduring cold weather at small open streams or springs, it is certain\nthat the birds visit there at night, doubtlessly coming from a big\nstream or lake, perhaps many miles distant; by waiting for them\nat sundown royal sport can be obtained. During summer, on grassy\nplaces near water, young geese and ducks usually make numerous\nsmall paths, similar to those made by upland birds, but broader.\n\n  [Illustration: Tracks of (1) Rail, (2) Coot, (3) Crane, (4) Swan.\n  (One-half natural size)]\n\n  [Illustration: (A) Duck, mallard size. (One-half natural size)\n\n  (B) Goose. (One-half natural size)\n\n  (C) Trail of Swan, Geese and Ducks.]\n\n\n\n\nPREDATORY BIRDS\n\n\n_The Great Horned Owl_\n\nThe great horned owl is of interest to the sportsman merely by\nreason of the depredations which some members of this tribe commit\non small game. Where not forced by a scarcity of small game to\nsubsist on mice, etc., this owl lives almost exclusively on rabbits\nand birds. The writer remembers an instance where one specimen\nkilled every beaver kid and muskrat on a creek several miles\nalong its course. The owl's tracks are very rarely seen, but from\nthe undigested refuse which he ejects through his mouth (for he\nswallows all his prey, hair, bones, etc., when feeding) frequently\nfound thickly strewn under his favorite roosting trees (usually\ndensely branched), it can readily be ascertained what the light-shy\nfellow lives on, and if he proves to be an outlaw, his death will\nbenefit the hunting ground.\n\n\n_Hawks_\n\nNotwithstanding claims to the contrary, all hawks, with the\nexception of the sparrow hawk, are injurious. Even the much-lauded\nmarsh hawk in open districts lives exclusively on small birds,\nthat is, at least, in the West. In timbered country, where he is\ntoo ungainly to catch winged prey, by force of necessity he has to\nsubsist on small injurious rodents which he can catch in the open.\n\nWhoever has observed with open eyes and an open mind the actions\nof hawks, knows that it will pay the sportsmen well to fill them\nwith lead at every opportunity. Imitating their mating call--an\neasy matter--is the most satisfactory method of getting them within\nrange, and it is also a very entertaining pastime during the close\nseason. The hunter selects a good cover for himself in a locality\nwhich he knows or suspects to be infested by the pests, and sounds\nhis _cac-cac-cac_--or, _kee-kee-kee-e-e_--dependent upon which\nvariety of eagles or hawks he wishes to call, and if a hawk is\nwithin hearing, he is never long in coming.\n\n  [Illustration: SHARP-SHINNED HAWK]\n\n  [Illustration: HERON TRACKS. (ONE-HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  Bittern is the same form, but smaller. (The large drawing is of\n  the right track.)]\n\n  [Illustration: WILSON'S SNIPE]\n\n\n_Various Birds_\n\n  [Illustration: HERON TRACKS. (ONE-HALF NATURAL SIZE)\n\n  Bittern is the same form, but smaller. (The large drawing is of\n  the right track.)]\n\n  [Illustration: Tracks of (1) Flamingo (one-half natural size).\n  (2) Plover (one-half natural size). (3) Gull (one-half natural\n  size). (4) Dove (full size).]\n\nFor the sake of comparison, and because also some of them are very\ninteresting, results of my observations of the tracks of several\nbirds not of the game class are herewith given.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tracks and Tracking, by Josef Brunner\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Bryan Ness, Tom Cosmas and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nbook was produced from scanned images of public domain\nmaterial from the Google Print project.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                            SEASIDE STUDIES\n\n                                  IN\n\n                            NATURAL HISTORY.\n\n                                  BY\n\n                          ELIZABETH C. AGASSIZ\n\n                                 AND\n\n                           ALEXANDER AGASSIZ.\n\n\n\n                   MARINE ANIMALS OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY.\n\n                               RADIATES.\n\n                             [Illustration]\n\n\n\n                                BOSTON:\n                      JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,\n            LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.\n\n                                 1871.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n      Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by\n                   A L E X A N D E R  A G A S S I Z,\n              in the Clerk's Office of the District Court\n                  for the District of Massachusetts.\n\n\n\n\n\n                           UNIVERSITY PRESS:\n                     WELCH, BIGELOW, AND COMPANY,\n                              CAMBRIDGE.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                            THIS LITTLE BOOK\n              IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHORS TO\n                          PROFESSOR L. AGASSIZ,\n            WHOSE PRINCIPLES OF CLASSIFICATION HAVE BEEN THE MAIN\n                         GUIDE IN ITS PREPARATION.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThis volume is published with the hope of supplying a want often\nexpressed for some seaside book of a popular character, describing the\nmarine animals common to our shores. There are many English books of\nthis kind; but they relate chiefly to the animals of Great Britain,\nand can only have a general bearing on those of our own coast, which\nare for the most part specifically different from their European\nrelatives. While keeping this object in view, an attempt has also been\nmade to present the facts in such a connection, with reference to\nprinciples of science and to classification, as will give it in some\nsort the character of a manual of Natural History, in the hope of\nmaking it useful not only to the general reader, but also to teachers\nand to persons desirous of obtaining a more intimate knowledge of the\nsubjects discussed in it. With this purpose, although nearly all the\nillustrations are taken from among the most common inhabitants of our\nbay, a few have been added from other localities in order to fill out\nthis little sketch of Radiates, and render it, as far as is possible\nwithin such limits, a complete picture of the type.\n\nA few words of explanation are necessary with reference to the joint\nauthorship of the book. The drawings and the investigations, where\nthey are not referred to other observers, have been made by MR. A.\nAGASSIZ, the illustrations having been taken, with very few\nexceptions, from nature, in order to represent the animals, as far as\npossible, in their natural attitudes; and the text has been written by\nMRS. L. AGASSIZ, with the assistance of MR. A. AGASSIZ's notes and\nexplanations.\n\nCAMBRIDGE, May, 1865.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nNOTE.\n\nThis second edition is a mere reprint of the first. A few mistakes\naccidentally overlooked have been corrected; an explanation of the\nabbreviations of the names of writers used after the scientific names\nhas been added, as well as a list of the wood-cuts. The changes which\nhave taken place in the opinions of scientific men with regard to the\ndistribution of animal life in the ocean have been duly noticed in\ntheir appropriate place, but no attempt has been made to incorporate\nmore important additions which the progress of our knowledge of\nRadiates may require hereafter.\n\nCAMBRIDGE, January, 1871.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n  CONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                                 PAGE\n\n  ON RADIATES IN GENERAL                                            1\n\n  GENERAL SKETCH OF THE POLYPS                                      5\n\n  ACTINOIDS                                                         7\n\n  MADREPORIANS                                                     16\n\n  HALCYONOIDS                                                      19\n\n  GENERAL SKETCH OF ACALEPHS                                       21\n\n  CTENOPHORAE                                                       26\n\n  EMBRYOLOGY OF CTENOPHORAE                                         34\n\n  DISCOPHORAE                                                       37\n\n  HYDROIDS                                                         49\n\n  MODE OF CATCHING JELLY-FISHES                                    85\n\n  ECHINODERMS                                                      91\n\n  HOLOTHURIANS                                                     95\n\n  ECHINOIDS                                                       101\n\n  STAR-FISHES                                                     108\n\n  OPHIURANS                                                       115\n\n  CRINOIDS                                                        120\n\n  EMBRYOLOGY OF ECHINODERMS                                       123\n\n  DISTRIBUTION OF LIFE IN THE OCEAN                               141\n\n  SYSTEMATIC TABLE                                                152\n\n  INDEX                                                           154\n\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF THE WOOD-CUTS.\n\n\nUnless otherwise specified, the illustrations are drawn from nature\nby ALEX. AGASSIZ.\n\n\n  FIG.                                                            PAGE\n\n  1. Transverse section of an Actinia (Agassiz)                      5\n\n  2, 3, 4. Actinia in different degrees of expansion (Agassiz)       8\n\n  5. METRIDIUM MARGINATUM fully expanded                             8\n\n  6. Vertical section of an Actinia                                 10\n\n  7. View from above of an expanded Actinia                         11\n\n  8, 9. Young Actiniae                                               11\n\n 10. RHODACTINIA DAVISII                                            13\n\n 11. ARACHNACTIS BRACHIOLATA                                        14\n\n 12. Young Arachnactis                                              14\n\n 13. Young Arachnactis showing the mouth                            14\n\n 14. BICIDIUM PARASITICUM                                           15\n\n 15. HALCAMPA ALBIDA                                                16\n\n 16. Colony of ASTRANGIA DANAE                                       17\n\n 17. Magnified individuals of Astrangia                             17\n\n 18. Single individual of Astrangia                                 18\n\n 19. Lasso-cell of Astrangia                                        18\n\n 20. Limestone pit of Astrangia                                     19\n\n 21. Single individual of HALCYONIUM CARNEUM                        19\n\n 22. Halcyonium community                                           20\n\n 23. Expanded individual of Halcyonium                              20\n\n 24. Branch of MILLEPORA ALCICORNIS (Agassiz)                       22\n\n 25. Expanded animals of Millepora (Agassiz)                        22\n\n 26. Transverse section of branch of Millepora (Agassiz)            23\n\n 27. PLEUROBRACHIA RHODODACTYLA (Agassiz)                           27\n\n 28. The same as Fig. 27 seen in plane of tentacles (Agassiz)       28\n\n 29. Pleurobrachia in motion                                        29\n\n 30. Pleurobrachia seen from the extremity opposite the mouth       30\n\n 31. BOLINA ALATA seen from the broad side (Agassiz)                31\n\n 32. Bolina seen from the narrow side (Agassiz)                     31\n\n 33. IDYIA ROSEOLA seen from the broad side (Agassiz)               32\n\n 34. Young Pleurobrachia still in the egg                           35\n\n 35. Young Pleurobrachia swimming in the egg                        35\n\n 36. Young Pleurobrachia resembling already adult                   35\n\n 37. Young Idyia                                                    35\n\n 38. Young Idyia seen from the anal pole                            36\n\n 39. Idyia somewhat older than Fig. 37                              36\n\n 40. Idyia still older                                              36\n\n 41. Young Bolina in stage resembling Pleurobrachia                 37\n\n 42. Young Bolina seen from the broad side                          37\n\n 43. Young Bolina seen from the narrow side                         37\n\n 44. CYANEA ARCTICA                                                 40\n\n 45. Scyphistoma of Aurelia (Agassiz)                               41\n\n 46. Scyphistoma older than Fig. 45 (Agassiz)                       41\n\n 47. Strobila of Aurelia (Agassiz)                                  41\n\n 48. Ephyra of Aurelia (Agassiz)                                    42\n\n 49. AURELIA FLAVIDULA seen in profile (Agassiz)                    42\n\n 50. Aurelia seen from above (Agassiz)                              43\n\n 51. CAMPANELLA PACHYDERMA                                          44\n\n 52. The same from below                                            44\n\n 53. TRACHYNEMA DIGITALE                                            45\n\n 54. HALICLYSTUS AURICULA                                           46\n\n 55. Lucernaria seen from the mouth side                            47\n\n 56. Young Lucernaria                                               48\n\n 57. Hydrarium of EUCOPE DIAPHANA                                   50\n\n 58. Magnified portion of Fig. 57                                   50\n\n 59. Part of marginal tentacles of Eucope                           51\n\n 60. Young Eucope                                                   51\n\n 61. Adult Eucope, profile                                          51\n\n 62. Quarter-disk of Fig. 60                                        51\n\n 63. Quarter-disk of Eucope older than Fig. 62                      52\n\n 64. Quarter-disk of adult Eucope                                   52\n\n 65. OCEANIA LANGUIDA just escaped from the reproductive calycle    53\n\n 66. Same as Fig. 65 from below                                     53\n\n 67. Young Oceania older than Fig. 65                               54\n\n     Diagram of succession of tentacles                             54\n\n 68. Adult Oceania                                                  55\n\n 69. Attitude assumed by Oceania                                    56\n\n 70. CLYTIA BICOPHORA escaped from reproductive calycle             57\n\n 71. Somewhat older than Fig. 70                                    57\n\n 72. Magnified portion of Hydrarium of Clytia                       57\n\n 73. Adult Clytia                                                   57\n\n 74. ZYGODACTYLA GROENLANDICA                                       58\n\n 75. The same seen in profile                                       59\n\n 76. TIMA FORMOSA                                                   61\n\n 77. One of the lips of the mouth                                   61\n\n 78. Head of Hydrarium of Tima                                      62\n\n 79. MELICERTUM CAMPANULA from above (Agassiz)                      63\n\n 80. The same seen in profile                                       64\n\n 81. Planula of Melicertum                                          65\n\n 82. Cluster of planulae                                             65\n\n 83. Young Hydrarium                                                65\n\n 84. DYNAMENA PUMILA                                                66\n\n 85. Magnified portion of Fig. 84                                   66\n\n 86. DYPHASIA ROSACEA                                               67\n\n 87. Medusa of LAFOEA                                               67\n\n 88. Colony of Coryne mirabilis (Agassiz)                           68\n\n 89. Magnified head of Fig. 88 (Agassiz)                            68\n\n 90. Free Medusa of Coryne (Agassiz)                                68\n\n 91. TURRIS VESICARIA                                               69\n\n 92. BOUGAINVILLIA SUPERCILIARIS                                    70\n\n 93. Hydrarium of Bougainvillia                                     70\n\n 94, 95, 96. Medusae buds of Fig. 93                                 71\n\n 97. Young Medusa just freed from the Hydroid                       71\n\n 98. TUBULARIA COUTHOUYI (Agassiz)                                  72\n\n 99. Cluster of Medusae of Fig. 98 (Agassiz)                         72\n\n 100. Female colony of HYDRACTINIA POLYCLINA (Agassiz)              73\n\n 101. Male colony of the same (Agassiz)                             73\n\n 102. Unsymmetrical Medusa of HYBOCODON PROLIFER (Agassiz)          74\n\n 103. Medusa bud of Hybocodon (Agassiz)                             74\n\n 104. Hybocodon Hydrarium (Agassiz)                                 74\n\n 105. DYSMORPHOSA FULGURANS                                         75\n\n 106. Proboscis of Fig. 105 with young Medusae                       75\n\n 107. Young NANOMIA CARA                                            76\n\n 108. Nanomia with rudimentary Medusae                               76\n\n 109. Nanomia somewhat older than Fig. 108                          77\n\n 110. Heart-shaped swimming bell of Nanomia                         77\n\n 111. Cluster of Medusae with tentacles having pendent knobs         78\n\n 112. Magnified pendent knob                                        79\n\n 113. Medusa with corkscrew-shaped tentacles                        79\n\n 114. Medusa with simple tentacle                                   80\n\n 115. Adult Nanomia                                                 81\n\n 116. Oil float of Nanomia                                          82\n\n 117. PHYSALIA ARETHUSA (Agassiz)                                   83\n\n 118. Bunch of Hydrae (Agassiz)                                      84\n\n 119. Cluster of Medusae (Agassiz)                                   86\n\n 120. VELELLA MUTICA (Agassiz)                                      84\n\n 121. Free Medusa of Velella (Agassiz)                              84\n\n 122. PTYCHOGENA LACTEA                                             86\n\n 123. Ovary of Ptychogena                                           87\n\n 124. SYNAPTA TENUIS                                                95\n\n 125. Anchor of Synapta                                             96\n\n 126. CAUDINA ARENATA                                               97\n\n 127. CUVIERIA SQUAMATA                                             98\n\n 128. Young Cuvieria                                                99\n\n 129. Cuvieria somewhat older than Fig. 128                         99\n\n 130. PENTACTA FRONDOSA                                            100\n\n 131. TOXOPNEUSTES DROBACHIENSIS                                   102\n\n 132. Portion of shell of Fig. 131 without spines (Agassiz)        103\n\n 133. Sea-urchin shell without spines (Agassiz)                    103\n\n 134. Sea-urchin from the mouth side (Agassiz)                     104\n\n 135. Magnified spine                                              104\n\n 136. Transverse section of spine                                  105\n\n 137. Pedicellaria of Sea-urchin                                   105\n\n 138. Teeth of Sea-urchin                                          106\n\n 139. ECHINARACHNIUS PARMA                                         107\n\n 140. Transverse section of Echinarachnius (Agassiz)               108\n\n 141. Ray of Star-fish, seen from mouth side (Agassiz)             109\n\n 142. ASTRACANTHION BERYLINUS                                      110\n\n 143. Single spine of Star-fish                                    111\n\n 144. Limestone network of back of Star-fish                       111\n\n 145. Madreporic body of Star-fish                                 111\n\n 146. CRIBRELLA OCULATA                                            112\n\n 147. CTENODISCUS CRISPATUS                                        114\n\n 148. OPHIOPHOLIS BELLIS                                           115\n\n 149. Arm of Fig. 148, from the mouth side (Agassiz)               116\n\n 150. Tentacle of Ophiopolis                                       116\n\n 151. ASTROPHYTON AGASSIZII                                        118\n\n 152. Pentacrinus                                                  121\n\n 153. ALECTO MERIDIONALIS                                          122\n\n 154. Young Comatulae                                               122\n\n 155, 156, 157. Egg of Star-fish in different stages\n        of development                                             124\n\n 158. Larva just hatched from egg                                  125\n\n 159-164. Successive stages of development of Larva                125\n\n 165. Larva in which arms are developing                           126\n\n 166. Adult Star-fish Larva (BRACHIOLARIA)                         127\n\n 167. Fig. 166 seen in profile                                     128\n\n 168-170. Young Star-fish (Astracanthion) in different stages\n        of development                                             129\n\n 171. Lower side of ray of young Star-fish                         130\n\n 172. Very young Star-fish seen in profile                         130\n\n 173-175. Larvae of Sea-urchin (Toxopneustes) in different stages\n        of development                                        130, 131\n\n 176. Adult Larva of Sea-urchin                                    132\n\n 177. Fig. 176 seen endways                                        133\n\n 178. Sea-urchin resorbing the arms of the larva                   133\n\n 179-181. Successive stages of young Sea-urchin               133, 134\n\n 182. Ophiuran which has nearly resorbed the larva                 135\n\n 183. Larva of Ophiuran (Pluteus)                                  136\n\n 184. Young Ophiuran                                               137\n\n 185. Cluster of eggs of Star-fishes over mouth of parent          137\n\n      Diagram of a rocky beach                                     149\n\n\n\n\n  ABBREVIATIONS OF THE NAMES OF AUTHORS.\n\n\n     AG.               L. Agassiz.\n\n     A. AG.            A. Agassiz.\n\n     AYRES W. O.       Ayres.\n\n     BLAINV.           Blainville.\n\n     BOSC              Bosc.\n\n     BR.               Brandt.\n\n     CLARK H. J.       Clark.\n\n     CUV.              Cuvier.\n\n     D. & K.           Dueben and Koren.\n\n     EDW.              Milne-Edwards.\n\n     FORBES Edw.       Forbes.\n\n     GRAY J. E.        Gray.\n\n     JAEG.             Jaeger.\n\n     LAM.              Lamarck.\n\n     LAMX.             Lamouroux.\n\n     LIN.              Linnaeus.\n\n     LYM.              Lyman.\n\n     M. & T.           Mueller and Troschel.\n\n     MILL.             Miller.\n\n     PER. et LES.      Peron and Lesueur.\n\n     SARS M.           Sars.\n\n     STIMP.            Stimpson.\n\n     TIL.              Tilesius.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nMARINE ANIMALS OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY.\n\n\nON RADIATES IN GENERAL.\n\nIt is perhaps not strange that the Radiates, a type of animals whose\nhome is in the sea, many of whom are so diminutive in size, and so\nlight and evanescent in substance, that they are hardly to be\ndistinguished from the element in which they live, should have been\namong the last to attract the attention of naturalists. Neither is it\nsurprising to those who know something of the history of these\nanimals, that when the investigation of their structure was once\nbegun, when some insight was gained into their complex life, their\nassociation in fixed or floating communities, their wonderful\nprocesses of development uniting the most dissimilar individuals in\none and the same cycle of growth, their study should have become one\nof the most fascinating pursuits of modern science, and have engaged\nthe attention of some of the most original investigators during the\nlast half century. It is true that from the earliest days of Natural\nHistory, the more conspicuous and easily accessible of these animals\nattracted notice and found their way into the scientific works of the\ntime. Even Aristotle describes some of them under the names of\nAcalephae and Knidae, and later observers have added something, here and\nthere, to our knowledge on the subject; but it is only within the last\nfifty years that their complicated history has been unravelled, and\nthe facts concerning them presented in their true connection.\n\nAmong the earlier writers on this subject we are most indebted to\nRondelet, in the sixteenth century, who includes some account of the\nRadiates, in his work on the marine animals of the Mediterranean. His\nposition as Professor in the University at Montpelier gave him an\nadmirable opportunity, of which he availed himself to the utmost, for\ncarrying out his investigations in this direction. Seba and Klein, two\nnaturalists in the North of Europe, also published at about this time\nnumerous illustrations of marine animals, including Radiates. But in\nall these works we find only drawings and descriptions of the animals,\nwithout any attempt to classify them according to common structural\nfeatures. In 1776, O. F. Mueller, in a work on the marine and\nterrestrial faunae of Denmark, gave some admirable figures of Radiates,\nseveral of which are identical with those found on our own coast.\nCavolini also in his investigations on the lower marine animals of the\nMediterranean, and Ellis in his work upon those of the British coast,\ndid much during the latter half of the past century to enlarge our\nknowledge of them.\n\nIt was Cuvier, however, who first gave coherence and precision to all\nprevious investigations upon this subject, by showing that these\nanimals are united on a common plan of structure expressively\ndesignated by him under the name Radiata. Although, from a mistaken\nappreciation of their affinities, he associated some animals with them\nwhich do not belong to the type, and have since, upon a more intimate\nknowledge of their structure, been removed to their true positions;\nyet the principle introduced by him into their classification, as well\nas into that of the other types of the animal kingdom, has been all\nimportant to science.\n\nIt was in the early part of this century that the French began to\nassociate scientific objects with their government expeditions.\nScarcely any important voyage was undertaken to foreign countries by\nthe French navy which did not include its corps of naturalists, under\nthe patronage of government. Among the most beautiful figures we have\nof Radiates, are those made by Savigny, one of the French naturalists\nwho accompanied Napoleon to Egypt; and from this time the lower marine\nanimals began to be extensively collected and studied in their living\ncondition. Henceforth the number of investigators in the field became\nmore numerous, and it may not be amiss to give here a slight account\nof the more prominent among them.\n\nDarwin's fascinating book, published after his voyage to the Pacific,\nand giving an account of the Coral islands, the many memoirs of Milne\nEdwards and Haime, and the great works of Quoy and Gaimard, and of\nDana, are the chief authorities upon Polyps. In the study of the\nEuropean Acalephs we have a long list of names high in the annals of\nscience. Eschscholtz, Peron and Lesueur, Quoy and Gaimard, Lesson,\nMertens, and Huxley, have all added largely to our information\nrespecting these animals, their various voyages having enabled them to\nextend their investigations over a wide field. No less valuable have\nbeen the memoirs of Koelliker, Leuckart, Gegenbaur, Vogt, and Haeckel,\nwho in their frequent excursions to the coasts of Italy and France\nhave made a special study of the Acalephs, and whose descriptions have\nall the vividness and freshness which nothing but familiarity with the\nliving specimens can give. Besides these, we have the admirable works\nof Von Siebold, of Ehrenberg, the great interpreter of the microscopic\nworld, of Steenstrup, Dujardin, Dalyell, Forbes, Allman, and Sars. Of\nthese, the four latter were fortunate in having their home on the\nsea-shore within reach of the objects of their study, so that they\ncould watch them in their living condition, and follow all their\nchanges. The charming books of Forbes, who knew so well how to\npopularize his instructions, and present scientific results under the\nmost attractive form, are well known to English readers. But a word on\nthe investigations of Sars may not be superfluous.\n\nBorn near the coast of Norway, and in early life associated with the\nChurch, his passion for Natural History led him to employ all his\nspare time in the study of the marine animals immediately about him,\nand his first papers on this subject attracted so much attention, that\nhe was offered the place of Professor at Christiania, and henceforth\ndevoted himself exclusively to scientific pursuits, and especially to\nthe investigation of the Acalephs. He gave us the key to the almost\nfabulous transformations of these animals, and opened a new path in\nscience by showing the singular phenomenon of the so-called \"alternate\ngenerations,\" in which the different phases of the same life may be so\ndistinct and seemingly so disconnected that, until we find the\nrelation between them, we seem to have several animals where we have\nbut one.\n\nTo the works above mentioned, we may add the third and fourth volumes\nof Professor Agassiz's Contributions to the Natural History of the\nUnited States, which are entirely devoted to the American Acalephs.\n\nThe most important works and memoirs concerning the Echinoderms are\nthose by Klein, Link, Johannes Mueller, Jaeger, Desmoulins, Troschel,\nSars, Savigny, Forbes, Agassiz, and Luetken, but excepting those of\nForbes and Sars, few of these observations are made upon the living\nspecimens. It may be well to mention here, for the benefit of those\nwho care to know something more of the literature of this subject in\nour own country, a number of memoirs on the Radiates of our coasts,\npublished by the various scientific societies of the United States,\nand to be found in their annals. Such are the papers of Gould,\nAgassiz, Leidy, Stimpson, Ayres, McCrady, Clark, A. Agassiz, and\nVerrill.\n\nOne additional word as to the manner in which the subjects included in\nthe following descriptions are arranged. We have seen that Cuvier\nrecognized the unity of plan in the structure of the whole type of\nRadiates. All these animals have their parts disposed around a common\ncentral axis, and diverging from it toward the periphery. The idea of\nbilateral symmetry, or the arrangement of parts on either side of a\nlongitudinal axis, on which all the higher animals are built, does not\nenter into their structure, except in a very subordinate manner,\nhardly to be perceived by any but the professional naturalist. This\nradiate structure being then common to the whole type, the animals\ncomposing it appear under three distinct structural expressions of the\ngeneral plan, and according to these differences are divided into\nthree classes,--Polyps, Acalephs, and Echinoderms. With these few\npreliminary remarks we may now take up in turn these different groups,\nbeginning with the lowest, or the Polyps.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: It is to be regretted that on account of the meagre\nrepresentations of Polyps on our coast, where the coral reefs, which\ninclude the most interesting features of Polyp life, are entirely\nwanting, our account of these animals is necessarily deficient in\nvariety of material. When we reach the Acalephs or Jelly-Fishes, in\nwhich the fauna of our shores is especially rich, we shall not have the\nsame apology for dulness; and it will be our own fault if our readers\nare not attracted by the many graceful forms to which we shall then\nintroduce them.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL SKETCH OF THE POLYPS.\n\nBefore describing the different kinds of Polyps living on our\nimmediate coast, we will say a few words of Polyps in general and of\nthe mode in which the structural plan common to all Radiates is\nadapted to this particular class. In all Polyps the body consists of a\nsac divided by vertical partitions (Fig. 1.) into distinct cavities or\nchambers. These partitions are not, however, all formed at once, but\nare usually limited to six at first, multiplying indefinitely with the\ngrowth of the animal in some kinds, while in others they never\nincrease beyond a certain definite number. In the axis of the sac,\nthus divided, hangs a smaller one, forming the digestive cavity, and\nsupported for its whole length by the six primary partitions. The\nother partitions, though they extend more or less inward in proportion\nto their age, do not unite with the digestive sac, but leave a free\nspace in the centre between their inner edge and the outer wall of the\ndigestive sac. The genital organs are placed on the inner edges of the\npartitions, thus hanging as it were at the door of the chambers, so\nthat when hatched, the eggs naturally drop into the main cavity of the\nbody, whence they pass into the second smaller sac through an opening\nin its bottom or digestive cavity, and thence out through the mouth\ninto the water. In the lower Polyps, as in our common Actinia for\ninstance, these organs occur on all the radiating partitions, while\namong the higher ones, the Halcyonoids for example, they are found\nonly on a limited number. This limitation in the repetition of\nidentical parts is always found to be connected with structural\nsuperiority.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 1. Transverse section of an Actinia.\n    (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nThe upper margin of the body is fringed by hollow tentacles, each of\nwhich opens into one of the chambers. All parts of the animal thus\ncommunicate with each other, whatever is introduced at the mouth\ncirculating through the whole structure, passing first into the\ndigestive cavity, thence through the opening in the bottom into the\nmain chambered cavity, where it enters freely into all the chambers,\nand from the chambers into the tentacles. The rejected portions of the\nfood, after the process of digestion is completed, return by the same\nroad and are thrown out at the mouth.\n\nThese general features exist in all Polyps, and whether they lead an\nindependent life as the Actinia, or are combined in communities, like\nmost of the corals and the Halcyonoids; whether the tentacles are many\nor few; whether the partitions extend to a greater or less height in the\nbody; whether they contain limestone deposit, as in the corals, or\nremain soft throughout life as the sea-anemone,--the above description\napplies to them all, while the minor differences, either in the\ntentacles or in the form, size, color, and texture of the body, are\nsimply modifications of this structure, introducing an infinite variety\ninto the class, and breaking it up into the lesser groups designated as\norders, families, genera, and species. Let us now look at some of the\ndivisions thus established.\n\nThe class of Polyps is divided into three orders,--the Halcyonoids,\nthe Madreporians, and the Actinoids. Of the lowest among these orders,\nthe Actinoid Polyps, our Actinia or sea-anemone is a good example.\nThey remain soft through life, having a great number of partitions and\nconsequently a great number of tentacles, since there is a tentacle\ncorresponding to every chamber. Indeed, in this order the\nmultiplication of tentacles and partitions is indefinite, increasing\nduring the whole life of the animal with its growth; while we shall\nsee that in some of the higher orders the constancy and limitation in\nthe number of these parts is an indication of superiority, being\naccompanied by a more marked individualization of the different\nfunctions.\n\nNext come the Madreporians, of which our Astrangia, to be described\nhereafter, may be cited as an example. In this group, although the\nnumber of tentacles still continues to be large, they are nevertheless\nmore limited than in the Actinoids; but their characteristic feature\nis the deposition of limestone walls in the centre of the chambers\nformed by the soft partitions, so that all the soft partitions\nalternate with hard ones. The tentacles, always corresponding to the\ncavity of the chambers, may be therefore said to ride this second set\nof partitions arising just in the centre of the chambers.\n\nThe third and highest order of Polyps is that of the Halcyonoids. Here\nthe partitions are reduced to eight; the tentacles, according to the\ninvariable rule, agree in number with the chambers, but have a far\nmore highly complicated structure than in the lower Polyps. Some of\nthese Halcyonoids deposit limestone particles in their frame. But the\ntendency to solidify is not limited to definite points, as in the\nMadreporians. It may take place anywhere, the rigidity of the whole\nstructure increasing of course in proportion to the accumulation of\nlimestone. There are many kinds, in which the axis always remains soft\nor cartilaginous, while others, as the so-called sea-fans for\ninstance, well known among the corals for their beauty of form and\ncolor, are stiff and hard throughout. Whatever their character in this\nrespect, however, they are always compound, living in communities, and\nnever found as separate individuals after their early stages of\ngrowth. Some of those with soft axis lead a wandering life, enjoying\nas much freedom of movement as if they had an individual existence,\nshooting through the water like the Pennatulae, well known on the\nCalifornia coast, or working their way through the sand like the\nRenilla, common on the sandy shores of our Southern States.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nACTINOIDS.\n\n\n_Actinia, or Sea-Anemone_. (_Metridium marginatum_ EDW.)\n\nNothing can be more unprepossessing than a sea-anemone when\ncontracted. A mere lump of brown or whitish jelly, it lies like a\nlifeless thing on the rock to which it clings, and it is difficult to\nbelieve that it has an elaborate and exceedingly delicate internal\norganization, or will ever expand into such grace and beauty as really\nto deserve the name of the flower after which it has been called.\nFigs. 2, 3, 4, and 5, show this animal in its various stages of\nexpansion and contraction. Fig. 2 represents it with all its external\nappendages folded in, and the whole body flattened; in Fig. 3, the\ntentacles begin to steal out, and the body rises slightly; in Fig. 4,\nthe body has nearly gained its full height, and the tentacles, though\nby no means fully spread, yet form a delicate wreath around the mouth;\nwhile in Fig. 5, drawn in life size, the whole summit of the body\nseems crowned with soft, plumy fringes. We would say for the benefit\nof collectors that these animals are by no means difficult to find,\nand thrive well in confinement, though it will not do to keep them in\na small aquarium with other specimens, because they soon render the\nwater foul and unfit for their companions. They should therefore be\nkept in a separate glass jar or bowl, and under such circumstances\nwill live for a long time with comparatively little care.\n\n    [Illustration: Figs. 2, 3, 4. Actinia in different degrees of\n    expansion. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 5. The same Actinia (Metridium marginatum)\n    fully expanded; natural size.]\n\nThey may be found in any small pools about the rocks which are flooded\nby the tide at high water. Their favorite haunts, however, where they\noccur in greatest quantity are more difficult to reach; but the\ncurious in such matters will be well rewarded, even at the risk of wet\nfeet and a slippery scramble over rocks covered with damp sea-weed, by\na glimpse into their more crowded abodes. Such a grotto is to be found\non the rocks of East Point at Nahant. It can only be reached at low\ntide, and then one is obliged to creep on hands and knees to its\nentrance, in order to see through its entire length; but its whole\ninterior is studded with these animals, and as they are of various\nhues, pink, brown, orange, purple, or pure white, the effect is like\nthat of brightly  mosaics set in the roof and walls. When the\nsun strikes through from the opposite extremity of this grotto, which\nis open at both ends, lighting up its living mosaic work, and showing\nthe play of the soft fringes wherever the animals are open, it would\nbe difficult to find any artificial grotto to compare with it in\nbeauty. There is another of the same kind on Saunders's Ledge, formed\nby a large boulder resting on two rocky ledges, leaving a little cave\nbeneath, lined in the same way with variously  sea-anemones, so\nclosely studded over its walls that the surface of the rock is\ncompletely hidden. They are, however, to be found in larger or smaller\nclusters, or scattered singly in any rocky fissures, overhung by\nsea-weed, and accessible to the tide at high water.\n\nThe description of Polyp structure given above includes all the\ngeneral features of the sea-anemone; but for the better explanation of\nthe figures, it may not be amiss to recapitulate them here in their\nspecial application. The body of the sea-anemone may be described as a\ncircular, gelatinous bag, the bottom of which is flat and slightly\nspreading around the margin. (Fig. 2.) The upper edge of this bag\nturns in so as to form a sac within a sac. (Fig. 6.) This inner sac,\n_s_, is the stomach or digestive cavity, forming a simple open space\nin the centre of the body, with an aperture in the bottom, _b_,\nthrough which the food passes into the larger sac, in which it is\nenclosed. But this outer and larger sac or main cavity of the body is\nnot, like the inner one, a simple open space. It is, on the contrary,\ndivided by vertical partitions into a number of distinct chambers,\nconverging from the periphery to the centre. These partitions do not\nall advance so far as actually to join the wall of the digestive\ncavity hanging in the centre of the body, but most of them stop a\nlittle short of it, leaving thus a small, open space between the\nchambers and the inner sac. (Fig. 1.) The eggs hang on the inner edge\nof the partitions; when mature they drop into the main cavity, enter\nthe inner digestive cavity through its lower opening, and are passed\nout through the mouth.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 6. Vertical section of an Actinia, showing a\n    primary _(g)_ and a secondary partition of _g'_; _o_ mouth, _t_\n    tentacles, _s_ stomach, _f f_ reproductive organs, _b_ main\n    cavity, _c_ openings in partitions, _a_ lower floor, or foot.]\n\nThe embryo bears no resemblance to the mature animal. It is a little\nplanula, semi-transparent, oblong, entirely covered with vibratile\ncilia, by means of which it swims freely about in the water till it\nestablishes itself on some rocky surface, the end by which it becomes\nattached spreading slightly and fitting itself to the inequalities of\nthe rock so as to form a secure basis. The upper end then becomes\ndepressed toward the centre, that depression deepening more and more\ntill it forms the inner sac, or in other words the digestive cavity\ndescribed above. The open mouth of this inner sac, which may, however,\nbe closed at will, since the whole substance of the body is\nexceedingly contractile, is the oral opening or so-called mouth of the\nanimal. We have seen how the main cavity becomes divided by radiating\npartitions into numerous chambers; but while these internal changes\nare going on, corresponding external appendages are forming in the\nshape of the tentacles, which add so much to the beauty of the animal,\nand play so important a part in its history. The tentacles, at first\nonly few in number, are in fact so many extensions of the inner\nchambers, gradually narrowing upward till they form these delicate\nhollow feelers which make a soft downy fringe all around the mouth.\n(Fig. 7.) They do not start abruptly from the summit, but the upper\nmargin of the body itself thins out to form more or less extensive\nlobes, through which the partitions and chambers continue their\ncourse, and along the edge of which the tentacles arise.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 7. View from above of an Actinia with all its\n    tentacles expanded; _o_ mouth, _b_ crescent-shaped folds at\n    extremity of mouth, _a a_ folds round mouth, _t t t_ tentacles.]\n\n    [Illustration: Figs. 8, 9. Young Actiniae in different stages of\n    growth.]\n\nThe eggs are not always laid in the condition of the simple planula\ndescribed above. They may, on the contrary, be dropped from the parent\nin different stages of development, sometimes even after the tentacles\nhave begun to form, as in Figs. 8, 9. Neither is it by means of eggs\nalone that these animals reproduce themselves; they may also multiply\nby a process of self-division. The disk of an Actinia may contract\nalong its centre till the circular outline is changed to that of a\nfigure 8, this constriction deepening gradually till the two halves of\nthe 8 separate, and we have an Actinia with two mouths, each\nsurrounded by an independent set of tentacles. Presently this\nseparation descends vertically till the body is finally divided from\nsummit to base, and we have two Actiniae where there was originally but\none. Another and a far more common mode of reproduction among these\nanimals is that of budding like corals. A slight swelling arises on\nthe side of the body or at its base; it enlarges gradually, a\ndigestive cavity is formed within it, tentacles arise around its\nsummit, and it finally drops off from the parent and leads an\nindependent existence. As a number of these buds are frequently formed\nat once, such an Actinia, surrounded by its little family, still\nattached to the parent, may appear for a time like a compound stock,\nthough their normal mode of existence is individual and distinct.\n\nThe Actinia is exceedingly sensitive, contracting the body and drawing\nin the tentacles almost instantaneously at the slightest touch. These\nsudden movements are produced by two powerful sets of muscles, running\nat right angles with each other through the thickness of the body\nwall; the one straight and vertical, extending from the base of the\nwall to its summit; the other circular and horizontal, stretching\nconcentrically around it. By the contraction of the former, the body\nis of course shortened; by the contraction of the latter, the body is,\non the contrary, lengthened in proportion to the compression of its\ncircumference. Both sets can easily be traced by the vertical and\nhorizontal lines crossing each other on the external wall of the body,\nas in Fig. 5. Each tentacle is in like manner furnished with a double\nset of muscles, having an action similar to that described above. In\nconsequence of these violent muscular contractions, the water imbibed\nby the animal, and by which all its parts are distended to the utmost,\nis forced, not only out of the mouth, but also through small openings\nin the body wall scarcely perceptible under ordinary circumstances,\nbut at such times emitting little fountains in every direction.\n\nNotwithstanding its extraordinary sensitiveness, the organs of the\nsenses in the Actinia are very inferior, consisting only of a few\npigment cells accumulated at the base of the tentacles. The two sets\nof muscles meet at the base of the body, forming a disk, or kind of\nfoot, by which the animal can fix itself so firmly to the ground, that\nit is very difficult to remove it without injury. It is nevertheless\ncapable of a very limited degree of motion, by means of the expansion\nand contraction of this foot-like disk.\n\nThe Actiniae are extremely voracious; they feed on mussels and cockles,\nsucking the animals out of their shells. When in confinement they may\nbe fed on raw meat, and seem to relish it; but if compelled to do so,\nthey will live on more meagre fare, and will even thrive for a long\ntime on such food as they may pick up in the water where they are\nkept.\n\n\n_Rhodactinia_ (_Rhodactinia Davisii_ AG.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 10. Rhodactinia Davisii Ag.; natural size.]\n\nVery different from this is the bright red Rhodactinia (Fig. 10),\nquite common in the deeper waters of our bay, while farther north, in\nMaine, it occurs at low-water mark. Occasionally it may be found\nthrown up on our sandy beaches after a storm, and then, if it has not\nbeen too long out of its native element, or too severely buffeted by\nthe waves, it will revive on being thrown into a bucket of fresh\nsea-water, expand to its full size, and show all the beauty of its\nnatural coloring. It is crowned with a wreath of thick, short\ntentacles (Fig. 10), and though so vivid and bright in color, it is\nnot so pretty as the more common Actinia marginata, with its soft\nwaving wreath of plume-like feelers, in comparison to which the\ntentacles of the Rhodactinia are clumsy and slow in their movements.\n\nAll Actiniae are not attached to the soil like those described above,\nnor do they all terminate in a muscular foot, some being pointed or\nrounded at their extremity. Many are nomadic, wandering about at will\nduring their whole lifetime, others live buried in the sand or mud,\nonly extending their tentacles beyond the limits of the hole where\nthey make their home; while others again lead a parasitic life,\nfastening themselves upon our larger jelly-fish, the Cyaneae, though\none is at a loss to imagine what sustenance they can derive from\nanimals having so little solidity, and consisting so largely of water.\n\n\n_Arachnactis_. (_Arachnactis brachiolata_ A. AG.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 11. Arachnactis brachiolata A. Ag., greatly\n    magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 12. Young Arachnactis.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 13. Young Arachnactis seen so as to show the\n    mouth.]\n\nAmong the nomadic Polyps is a small floating Actinia, called\nArachnactis, (Fig. 11,) from its resemblance to a spider. They are\nfound in great plenty floating about during the night, feeling their\nway in every direction by means of their tentacles, which are large in\nproportion to the size of the animal, few in number, and turned\ndownward when in their natural attitude. The partitions and the\ndigestive cavity enclosed between them are short, as will be seen in\nFig. 11, when compared to the general cavity of the body floating\nballoon-like above them. Around the mouth is a second row of shorter\ntentacles, better seen in a younger specimen (Fig. 12). This Actinia\ndiffers from those described above, in having two of the sides\nflattened, instead of being perfectly circular. Looked at from above\n(as in Fig. 13) this difference in the diameters is very perceptible;\nthere is an evident tendency towards establishing a longitudinal axis.\nIn the sea-anemone, this disposition is only hinted at in the slightly\npointed folds or projections on opposite sides of the circle formed by\nthe mouth, which in the Arachnactis are so elongated as to produce a\nsomewhat narrow slit (see Fig. 13), instead of a circular opening. The\nmouth is also a little out of centre, rather nearer one end of the\ndisk than the other. These facts are interesting, as showing that the\ntendency towards establishing a balance of parts, as between an\nanterior and posterior extremity, a right and left side, is not\nforgotten in these lower animals, though their organization as a whole\nis based upon an equality of parts, admitting neither of posterior and\nanterior extremities, nor of right and left, nor of above and below,\nin a structural sense. This animal also presents a seeming anomaly in\nthe mode of formation of the young tentacles, which always make their\nappearance at the posterior extremity of the longitudinal axis, the\nnew ones being placed behind the older ones, instead of alternating\nwith them as in other Actiniae.\n\n\n_Bicidium_. (_Bicidium parasiticum_ AG.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 14. Bicidium parasiticum; natural size.]\n\nThe Bicidium (Fig. 14), our parasitic Actinia, is to be sought for in\nthe mouth-folds of the Cyanea, our common large red Jelly-fish. In any\nmoderate-sized specimen of the latter from twelve to eighteen inches\nin diameter, we shall be sure to find one or more of these parasites,\nhidden away among the numerous folds of the mouth. The body is long\nand tapering, having an aperture in the extremity, the whole animal\nbeing like an elongated cone, strongly ribbed from apex to base. At\nthe base, viz. at the month end, are a few short, stout tentacles.\nThis Actinia is covered with innumerable little transverse wrinkles\n(see Fig. 14), by means of which it fastens itself securely among the\nfluted membranes around the mouth of the Jelly-fish. It will live a\nconsiderable time in confinement, attaching itself, for its whole\nlength, to the vessel in which it is kept, and clinging quite firmly\nif any attempt is made to remove it. The general color of the body is\nviolet or a brownish red, though the wrinkles give it a somewhat\nmottled appearance. _Halcampa_. (_Halcampa albida_ AG.)\n\nStrange to say, the Actiniae, which live in the mud, are among the most\nbeautifully  of these animals. They frequently prepare their\nhome with some care, lining their hole by means of the same secretions\nwhich give their slimy surface to our common Actiniae, and thus forming\na sort of tube, into which they retire when alarmed. But if\nundisturbed, they may be seen at the open door of their house with\ntheir many  disk and mottled tentacles extending beyond the\naperture, and their mouth wide open, waiting for what the tide may\nbring them. By the play of their tentacles, they can always produce a\ncurrent of water about the mouth, by means of which food passes into\nthe stomach. We have said, that these animals are very brightly\n, but the little Halcampa (Fig. 15), belonging to our coast, is\nnot one of the brilliant ones. It is, on the contrary, a small,\ninsignificant Actinia, resembling a worm, as it burrows its way\nthrough the sand. It is of a pale yellowish color, with whitish warts\non the surface.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 15. Halcampa albida; natural size.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nMADREPORIANS.\n\n\n_Astrangia_. (_Astrangia Danae_ AG.)\n\nIn Figure 16, we have the only species of coral growing so far north\nas our latitude. Indeed, it hardly belongs in this volume, since we\nhave limited ourselves to the Radiates of Massachusetts Bay,--its\nnorthernmost boundary being somewhat to the south of Massachusetts\nBay, about the shores of Long Island, and on the islands of Martha's\nVineyard Sound. But we introduce it here, though it is not included\nunder our title, because any account of the Radiates, from which so\nimportant a group as that of the corals was excluded, would be very\nincomplete.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 16. Astrangia colony; natural size.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 17. Magnified individuals of an Astrangia\n    community in different stages of expansion.]\n\nThis pretty coral of our Northern waters is no reef-builder, and does\nnot extend farther south than the shores of North Carolina. It usually\nestablishes itself upon broken angular bits of rock, lying in\nsheltered creeks and inlets, where the violent action of the open sea\nis not felt. The presence of one of these little communities on a rock\nmay first be detected by what seems like a delicate white film over\nthe surface. This film is, however, broken up by a number of hard\ncalcareous deposits in very regular form (Fig. 20), circular in\noutline, but divided by numerous partitions running from the outer\nwall to the centre of every such circle, where they unite at a little\nwhite spot formed by the mouth or oral opening. These circles\nrepresent, and indeed are themselves the distinct individuals (Fig.\n17) composing the community, and they look not unlike the star-shaped\npits on a coral head, formed by Astraeans. Unlike the massive compact\nkinds of coral, however, the individuals multiply by budding from the\nbase chiefly, never rising one above the other, but spreading over the\nsurface on which they have established themselves, a few additional\nindividuals arising between the older ones. In consequence of this\nmode of growth, such a community, when it has attained any size, forms\na little white mound on the rock, higher in the centre, where the\nolder members have attained their whole height and solidity, and\nthinning out toward the margin, where the younger ones may be just\nbeginning life, and hardly rise above the surface of the rock. These\ncommunities rarely grow to be more than two or three inches in\ndiameter, and about quarter of an inch in height at the centre where\nthe individuals have reached their maximum size. When the animals are\nfully expanded (Fig. 18), with all their tentacles spread, the surface\nof every such mound becomes covered with downy white fringes, and what\nseemed before a hard, calcareous mass upon the rock, changes to a soft\nfleecy tuft, waving gently to and fro in the water. The tentacles are\nthickly covered with small wart-like appendages, which, on\nexamination, prove to be clusters of lasso-cells, the terminal cluster\nof the tentacle being quite prominent. These lasso-cells are very\nformidable weapons, judging both from their appearance when magnified\n(Fig. 19), and from the terrible effect of their bristling lash upon\nany small crustacean, or worm, that may be so unfortunate as to come\nwithin its reach.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 18. Single individual of Astrangia, fully\n    expanded.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 19. Magnified lasso-cell of Astrangia.]\n\nThe description of the internal arrangement of parts in the Actinia\napplies in every particular to these corals, with the exception of the\nhard deposit in the lower part of the body. As in all the Polyps,\nradiating partitions divide the main cavity of the body into distinct\nseparate chambers, and the tentacles increasing by multiples of six,\nnumbering six in the first set, six in the second, and twelve in the\nthird, are hollow, and open into the chambers. But the feature which\ndistinguishes them from the soft Actiniae, and unites them with the\ncorals, requires a somewhat more accurate description. In each\nindividual, a hard deposit is formed (Fig. 20), beginning at the base\nof every chamber, and rising from its floor to about one fifth the\nheight of the animal at its greatest extension. This lime deposit does\nnot, however, fill the chamber for its whole width, but rises as a\nthin wall in its centre. (See Figs. 13, 17.) Thus between all the soft\npartitions, in the middle of the chambers which separate them, low\nlimestone walls are gradually built up, uniting in a solid column in\nthe centre. These walls run parallel with the soft partitions,\nalthough they do not rise to the same height, and they form the\nradiating lines like stiff lamellae, so conspicuous when all the soft\nparts of the body are drawn in. The mouth of the Astrangia is oval,\nand the partitions spread in a fan-shaped way, being somewhat shorter\nat one side of the animal than on the other. The partitions extend\nbeyond the solid wall which unites them at the periphery, in\nconsequence of which, this wall is marked by faint vertical ribs.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 20. Limestone parts of an individual of\n    Astrangia; magnified.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nHALCYONOIDS.\n\n\n_Halcyonium_. (_Halcyonium carneum_ AG.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 21. Single individual of Halcyonium seen from\n    above; magnified.]\n\nWe come now to the Halcyonoids, represented in our waters by the\nHalcyonium (Fig. 22). In the Halcyonoids, the highest group of Polyps,\nthe tentacles reach their greatest limitation, which, as above\nmentioned, is found to be a mark of superiority, and, connected with\nother structural features, places them at the head of their class. The\nnumber of tentacles throughout this group is always eight. They are\nvery complicated (Fig. 21), in comparison with the tentacles of the\nlower orders, being deeply lobed, and fringed around the margin. Our\nHalcyonium communities (Fig. 22) usually live in deep water, attached\nto dead shells, though they may occasionally be found growing at\nlow-water mark, but this is very rare. They have received a rather\nlugubrious name from the fishermen, who call them \"dead-men's\nfingers,\" and indeed, when the animals are contracted, such a\ncommunity, with its short branches attached to the main stock, looks\nnot unlike the stump of a hand, with short, fat fingers. In such a\ncondition they are very ugly, the whole mass being somewhat gelatinous\nin texture, and a dull, yellowish pink in color. But when the animals,\nwhich are capable of great extension, are fully spread, as in Fig. 22,\nsuch a polyp-stock has a mossy, tufted look, and is by no means an\nunsightly object. When the individuals are entirely expanded, as in\nFig. 23, they become quite transparent, and their internal structure\ncan readily be seen through the walls of the body; we can then easily\ndistinguish the digestive cavity, supported for its whole length by\nthe eight radiating partitions, as well as the great size of the main\ndigestive cavity surrounding it. Notwithstanding the remarkable power\nof contraction and dilatation in the animals themselves, the tentacles\nare but slightly contractile. This kind of community increases\naltogether by budding, the individual polyps remaining more or less\nunited, the tissues of the individuals becoming thicker by the\ndeposition of lime nodules, and thus forming a massive\nsemi-cartilaginous pulp, uniting the whole community. In the\nneighborhood of Provincetown they are very plentiful, and are found\nall along the shores of our Bay in deep water.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 22. Halcyonium community; natural size.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 23. Individual of Halcyonium fully expanded;\n    magnified.]\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL SKETCH OF ACALEPHS.\n\nIn the whole history of metamorphosis, that wonderful chapter in the\nlife of animals, there is nothing more strange or more interesting\nthan the transformations of the Acalephs. First, as little floating\nplanulae or transparent spheres, covered with fine vibratile cilia, by\nmeans of which they move with great rapidity, then as communities\nfixed to the ground and increasing by budding like the corals, or\nmultiplying by self-division, and later as free-swimming Jelly-fishes,\nmany of them pass through phases which have long baffled the\ninvestigations of naturalists, and have only recently been understood\nin their true connection. Great progress has, however, been made\nduring this century in our knowledge of this class. Thanks to the\ninvestigations of Sars, Dujardin, Steenstrup, Van Beneden, and many\nothers, we now have the key to their true relations, and transient\nphases of growth, long believed to be the adult condition of distinct\nanimals, are recognized as parts in a cycle of development belonging\nto one and the same life. As the class now stands, it includes three\norders, highest among which are the CTENOPHORAE, so called on account\nof their locomotive organs, consisting of minute flappers arranged in\nvertical comb-like rows; next to these are the DISCOPHORAE, with their\nlarge gelatinous umbrella-like disks, commonly called Jelly-fishes,\nSun-fishes, or Sea-blubbers, and below these come the HYDROIDS,\nembracing the most minute and most diversified of all these animals.\n\nThese orders are distinguished not only by their striking external\ndifferences, but by their mode of development also. The Ctenophorae\ngrow from eggs by a direct continuous process of development, without\nundergoing any striking metamorphosis; the Discophorae, with some few\nexceptions, in which they develop like the Ctenophorae from eggs, begin\nlife as a Hydra-like animal, the subsequent self-division of which\ngives rise, by a singular process, presently to be described, to a\nnumber of distinct Jelly-fishes; the Hydroids include all those\nAcalephs which either pass the earlier stages of their existence as\nlittle shrub-like communities, or remain in that condition through\nlife. These Hydroid stocks, as they are sometimes called, give rise to\nbuds; these buds are transformed into Jelly-fishes, which in some\ninstances break off when mature and swim away as free animals, while\nin others they remain permanent members of the Hydroid stock, never\nassuming a free mode of life. All these buds when mature, whether free\nor fixed, lay eggs in their turn, from which a fresh stock arises to\nrenew this singular cycle of growth, known among naturalists as\n\"alternate generations.\"\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 24. Branch of Millepora alcicornis; natural\n    size. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 25. Animals of M. alcicornis expanded;\n    magnified. _a_ _a_ _a_ small Hydroid, _b_ larger Hydroid, _t_\n    tentacles, _m_ mouth. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nThe Hydroids are not all attached to the ground,--some like the\nPhysalia (Portuguese man-of-war), or the Nanomia, that pretty floating\nHydroid of our own waters, move about with as much freedom as if they\nenjoyed an individual independent existence. As all these orders have\ntheir representatives on our coast, to be described hereafter in\ndetail, we need only allude here to their characteristic features. But\nwe must not leave unnoticed one very remarkable Hydroid Acaleph (Fig.\n24), not found in our waters, and resembling the Polyps so much, that\nit has long been associated with them. The Millepore is a coral, and\nwas therefore the more easily confounded with the Polyps, so large a\nproportion of which build coral stocks; but a more minute\ninvestigation of its structure (Figs. 25, 26) has recently shown that\nit belongs with the Acalephs.[2] This discovery is the more important,\nnot only as explaining the true position of this animal in the Animal\nKingdom, but as proving also the presence of Acalephs in the earliest\nperiods of creation, since it refers a large number of fossil corals,\nwhose affinities with the millepores are well understood, to that\nclass, instead of to the class of Polyps with which they had hitherto\nbeen associated. But for this we should have no positive evidence of\nthe existence of Acalephs in early geological periods, the gelatinous\ntexture of the ordinary Jelly-fishes making their preservation almost\nimpossible. It is not strange that the true nature of this animal\nshould have remained so long unexplained; for it is only by the soft\nparts of the body, not of course preserved in the fossil condition,\nthat their relations to the Acalephs may be detected; and they are so\nshy of approach, drawing their tentacles and the upper part of the\nbody into their limestone frame if disturbed, that it is not easy to\nexamine the living animal.\n\n    [Footnote 2: See \"Methods of Study,\" by Prof. Agassiz.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 26. Transverse section of a branch, showing\n    pits, _a_ _a_ _a_ _a_, of the large Hydroids with the horizontal\n    floors. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nThe Millepore is very abundant on the Florida reefs. From the solid\nbase of the coral stock arise broad ridges, branching more or less\nalong the edges, the whole surface being covered by innumerable pores,\nfrom which the diminutive animals project when expanded. (Fig. 25.)\nThe whole mass of the coral is porous, and the cavities occupied by\nthe Hydrae are sunk perpendicularly to the surface within the stock.\nSeen in a transverse cut these tubular cavities are divided at\nintervals by horizontal partitions (Fig. 26), extending straight\nacross the cavity from wall to wall, and closing it up entirely, the\nanimal occupying only the outer-most open space, and building a new\npartition behind it as it rises in the process of growth. This\nstructure is totally different from that of the Madrepores, Astraeans,\nPorites, and indeed, from all the polyp corals which, like all Polyps,\nhave the vertical partitions running through the whole length of the\nbody, and more or less open from top to bottom.\n\nThe life of the Jelly-fishes, with the exception of the Millepores and\nthe like, is short in comparison to that of other Radiates. While\nPolyps live for many years, and Star-fishes and Sea-urchins require\nten or fifteen years to attain their full size, the short existence of\nthe Acaleph, with all its changes, is accomplished in one year. The\nbreeding season being in the autumn, the egg grows into a Hydroid\nduring the winter; in the spring the Jelly-fish is freed from the\nHydroid stock, or developed upon it as the case may be; it attains its\nfull size in the fall, lays its eggs and dies, and the cycle is\ncomplete. The autumn storms make fearful havoc among them, swarms of\nthem being killed by the fall rains, after which they may be found\nthrown up on the beaches in great numbers. When we consider the size\nof these Jelly-fishes, their rapidity of growth seems very remarkable.\nOur common Aurelia measures some twelve to eighteen inches in diameter\nwhen full grown, and yet in the winter it is a Hydra so small as\nalmost to escape notice. Still more striking is the rapid increase of\nour Cyanea, that giant among Jelly-fishes, which, were it not for the\nsoft, gelatinous consistency of its body, would be one of the most\nformidable among our marine animals.\n\nBefore entering upon the descriptions of the special kinds of\nJelly-fishes, we would remind our readers that the radiate plan of\nstructure is reproduced in this class of animals as distinctly as in\nthe Polyps, though under a different aspect. Here also we find that\nthere is a central digestive cavity from which all the radiating\ncavities, whether simple or ramified, diverge toward the periphery. It\nis true that the open chambers of the Polyps are here transformed into\nnarrow tubes, by the thickening of the dividing partitions; or in\nother words, the open spaces of the Polyps correspond to tubes in the\nAcalephs, while the partitions in the Polyps correspond to the thick\nmasses of the body dividing the tubes in the Acalephs. But the\nprinciple of radiation on which the whole branch of Radiates is\nconstructed controls the organization of Acalephs no less than that of\nthe other classes, so that a transverse section across any Polyp (Fig.\n1), or across any Acaleph (Fig. 50), or across any Echinoderm (Fig.\n140), shows their internal structure to be based upon a radiation of\nall parts from the centre to the periphery.\n\nThat there may be no vagueness as to the terms used hereafter, we\nwould add one word respecting the nomenclature of this class, whose\naliases might baffle the sagacity of a police detective. The names\nAcalephs, Medusae, or the more common appellation of Jelly-fishes,\ncover the same ground, and are applied indiscriminately to the animals\nthey represent. The name Jelly-fish is an inappropriate one, though\nthe gelatinous consistency of these animals is accurately enough\nexpressed by it; but they have no more structural relation to a fish\nthan to a bird or an insect. They have, however, received this name\nbefore the structure of animals was understood, when all animals\ninhabiting the waters were indiscriminately called fishes, and it is\nnow in such general use that it would be difficult to change it. The\nname Medusa is derived from their long tentacular appendages,\nsometimes wound up in a close coil, sometimes thrown out to a great\ndistance, sometimes but half unfolded, and aptly enough compared to\nthe snaky locks of Medusa. Their third and oldest appellation, that of\nAcalephs,--alluding to their stinging or nettling property, and given\nto them and like animals by Aristotle, in the first instance, but\nafterwards applied by Cuvier in a more limited sense to\nJelly-fishes,--is the most generally accepted, and perhaps the most\nappropriate of all.\n\nThe subject of nomenclature is not altogether so dry and arid as it\nseems to many who do not fully understand the significance of\nscientific names. Not only do they often express with terse precision\nthe character of the animal or plant they signify, but there is also\nno little sentiment concealed under these jaw-breaking appellations.\nAs seafaring men call their vessels after friends or sweethearts, or\ncommemorate in this way some impressive event, or some object of their\nreverence, so have naturalists, under their fabrication of appropriate\nnames, veiled many a graceful allusion, either to the great leaders of\nour science, or to some more intimate personal affection. The _Linnaea\nborealis_ was well named after his famous master, by a disciple of the\ngreat Norwegian naturalist; _Goethea semperflorens_, the\never-blooming, is another tribute of the same kind, while the pretty,\ngraceful little Lizzia, named by Forbes, is one instance among many of\na more affectionate reference to nearer friends. The allusions of this\nkind are not always of so amiable a character, however,--witness the\n\"Buffonia,\" a low, noxious weed, growing in marshy places, and named\nby Linnaeus after Buffon, whom he bitterly hated. Indeed, there is a\nworld of meaning hidden under our zoological and botanical\nnomenclature, known only to those who are intimately acquainted with\nthe annals of scientific life in its social as well as its\nprofessional aspect.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nCTENOPHORAE.\n\n\nThe Ctenophorae differ from other Jelly-fishes in their mode of\nlocomotion. All the Discophorous Medusae, as well as Hydroids, move by\na rhythmical rise and fall of the disk, contracting and expanding with\nalternations so regular, that it reminds one of the action of the\nlungs, and seems at first sight to be a kind of respiration in which\nwater takes the place of air. The Greeks recognized this peculiar\ncharacter in their name, for they called them Sea-lungs. Indeed,\nlocomotion, respiration, and circulation are so intimately connected\nin all these lower animals, that whatever promotes one of these\nfunctions affects the other also, and though the immediate result of\nthe contraction and expansion of the disk seems to be to impel them\nthrough the water, yet it is also connected with the introduction of\nwater into the body, which there becomes assimilated with the food in\nthe process of digestion, and is circulated throughout all its parts\nby means of ramifying tubes. In the Ctenophorae there is no such\nregular expansion and contraction of the disk; they are at once\ndistinguished from the Discophorae by the presence of external\nlocomotive appendages of a very peculiar character. They move by the\nrapid flapping of countless little oars or paddles, arranged in\nvertical rows along the surface of the disk, acting independently of\neach other; one row, or even one paddle, moving singly, or all of them\ntogether, at the will of the animal; thus enabling it to accelerate or\nslacken its movements, to dart through the water rapidly, or to\ndiminish its speed by partly furling its little sails, or, spreading\nthem slightly, to poise itself with a faint, quivering movement that\nreminds one of the pause of the humming-bird in the air,--something\nthat is neither positive motion, nor actual rest.[3]\n\n    [Footnote 3: The flappers of one side are sometimes in full\n    activity, while those of the other side are perfectly quiet or\n    nearly so, thus producing rotatory movements in every direction.]\n\nThese locomotive appendages are intimately connected with the\ncirculating tubes, as we shall see when we examine the structural\ndetails of these animals, so that in them also breathing and moving\nare in direct relation to each other. To those unaccustomed to the\ncomparison of functions in animals, the use of the word breathing, as\napplied to the introduction of water into the body, may seem\ninappropriate, but it is by the absorption of aerated water that these\nlower animals receive that amount of oxygen into the system, as\nnecessary to the maintenance of life in them, as a greater supply is\nto the higher animals. The name of Ctenophorae or comb-bearers, is\nderived from these rows of tiny paddles which have been called combs\nby some naturalists, because they are set upon horizontal bands of\nmuscles, see Fig. 29, reminding one of the base of a comb, while the\nfringes are compared to its teeth. These flappers add greatly to the\nbeauty of these animals, for a variety of brilliant hues is produced\nalong each row by the decomposition of the rays of light upon them\nwhen in motion. They give off all the prismatic colors, and as the\ncombs are exceedingly small, so that at first sight one hardly\ndistinguishes them from the disk itself, the exquisite play of color,\nrippling in regular lines over the surface of the animal, seems at\nfirst to have no external cause.\n\n\n_Pleurobrachia_. (_Pleurobrachia rhododactyla Ag_.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 27. Pleurobrachia seen at right angles to the\n    plane in which the tentacles are placed. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nAmong the most graceful and attractive of these animals are the\nPleurobrachia (Fig. 29), and, though not first in order, we will give\nit the precedence in our description, because it will serve to\nillustrate some features of the other two groups. The body of the\nPleurobrachia consists of a transparent sphere, varying, however, from\nthe perfect sphere in being somewhat oblong, and also by a slight\ncompression on two opposite sides (Figs. 27 and 28), so as to render\nits horizontal diameter longer in one direction than in the other\n(Fig. 30). This divergence from the globular form, so slight in\nPleurobrachia as to be hardly perceptible to the casual observer,\nestablishing two diameters of different lengths at right angles with\neach other, is equally true of the other genera. It is interesting and\nimportant, as showing the tendency in this highest group of Acalephs\nto assume a bilateral character. This bilaterality becomes still more\nmarked in the highest class of Radiates, the Echinoderms. Such\nstructural tendencies in the lower animals, hinting at laws to be more\nfully developed in the higher forms, are always significant, as\nshowing the intimate relation between all parts of the plan of\ncreation. This inequality of the diameters is connected with the\ndisposition of parts in the whole structure, the locomotive fringes\nand the vertical tubes connected with them being arranged in sets of\nfour on either side of a plane passing through the longer diameter,\nshowing thus a tendency toward the establishment of a right and left\nside of the body, instead of the perfectly equal disposition of parts\naround a common centre, as in the lower Radiates.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 28. Pleurobrachia seen in plane of tentacles.\n    (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nThe Pleurobrachia are so transparent, that, with some preparatory\nexplanation of their structure, the most unscientific observer may\ntrace the relation of parts in them. At one end of the sphere is the\ntransverse split (Fig. 27), that serves them as a mouth; at the\nopposite pole is a small circumscribed area, in the centre of which is\na dark eye-speck. The eight rows of locomotive fringes run from pole\nto pole, dividing the whole surface of the body like the ribs on a\nmelon. (Figs. 27, 28.) Hanging from either side of the body, a little\nabove the area in which the eye-speck is placed, are two most\nextraordinary appendages in the shape of long tentacles, possessing\nsuch wonderful power of extension and contraction that, while at one\nmoment they may be knotted into a little compact mass no bigger than a\npin's head, drawn up close against the side of the body, or hidden\nwithin it, the next instant they may be floating behind it in various\npositions to a distance of half a yard and more, putting out at the\nsame time soft plumy fringes (Fig. 29) along one side, like the beard\nof a feather. One who has never seen these animals may well be\npardoned for doubting even the most literal and matter-of-fact account\nof these singular tentacles. There is no variety of curve or spiral\nthat does not seem to be represented in their evolutions. Sometimes\nthey unfold gradually, creeping out softly and slowly from a state of\ncontraction, or again the little ball, hardly perceptible against the\nside of the body, drops suddenly to the bottom of the tank in which\nthe animal floating, and one thinks for a moment, so slight is the\nthread-like attachment, that it has actually fallen from the body; but\nwatch a little longer, and all the filaments spread out along the side\nof the thread, it expands to its full length and breadth, and resumes\nall its graceful evolutions.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 29. Natural attitude of Pleurobrachia when in\n    motion.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 30. Pleurobrachia seen from the extremity\n    opposite the mouth.]\n\nOne word of the internal structure of these animals, to explain its\nrelation to the external appendages. The mouth opens into a wide\ndigestive cavity (Figs. 27, 28), enclosed between two vertical tubes.\nToward the opposite end of the body these tubes terminate or unite in\na single funnel-like canal, which is a reservoir as it were for the\ncirculating fluid poured into it through an opening in the bottom of\nthe digestive cavity. The food in the digestive cavity becomes\nliquefied by mingling with the water entering with it at the mouth,\nand, thus prepared, it passes into this canal, from which, as we shall\npresently see, all the circulating tubes ramifying throughout the body\nare fed. Two of these circulating tubes, or, as they are called from\nthe nature of the liquid they contain, chymiferous tubes, are very\nlarge, starting horizontally and at right angles with the digestive\ncavity from the point of junction between the vertical tubes (Fig. 30)\nand the canal. Presently they give off two branches, those again\nramifying in two directions as they approach the periphery, so that\neach one of the first main tubes has multiplied to four, before its\nramifications reach the surface, thus making in all eight radiating\ntubes. So far, these eight tubes are horizontal, all diverging on the\nsame level; but as they reach the periphery each one gives rise to a\nvertical tube, running along the surface of the body from pole to\npole, just within the rows of locomotive fringes on the outer surface,\nand immediately connected with them (Figs. 27, 28). As in all the\nCtenophorae, these fringes keep up a constant play of color by their\nrapid vibrations. In Pleurobrachia the prevailing tint is a yellowish\npink, though it varies to green, red, and purple, with the changing\nmotions of the animal. We have seen that the vertical tubes between\nwhich the digestive cavity is enclosed, start like the cavity itself\nfrom that pole of the body where the mouth is placed, and that, as\nthey approach the opposite pole, at a distance from the mouth of about\ntwo thirds the whole length of the body, they unite in the canal,\nwhich then extends to the other pole where the eye-speck is placed. As\nit is just at this point of juncture between the tubes and the canal\nthat the two main horizontal tubes arise from which all the others\nbranch on the same plane (Figs. 27, 28), it follows that they reach\nthe periphery, not on a level with the pole opposite the mouth, but\nremoved from it by about one third the height of the body. In\nconsequence of this the eight vertical tubes arising from the\nhorizontal ones, in order to run the entire length of the body from\npole to pole, extend in opposite directions, sending a branch to each\npole, though the branch running toward the mouth is of course the\nlonger of the two. The tentacles have their roots in two sacs within\nthe body, placed at right angles with the split of the mouth. (Figs.\n27, 30.) They open at the surface on the opposite side from the mouth,\nthough not immediately within the area at which the eye-speck is\nplaced, but somewhat above it, and at a little distance on either side\nof it. The tentacles may be drawn completely within these sacs, or be\nextended outside, as we have seen, to a greater or less degree, and in\nevery variety of curve or spiral.\n\n\n_Bolina_. (_Bolina alata_ AG.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 31. Bolina seen from the broad side; _o_\n    eye-speck, _m_ mouth, _r_ auricles, _v_ digestive cavity, _g_ _h_\n    short rows of flappers, _a_ _f_ long rows of flappers, _n_ _x_ _t_\n    _z_ tubes winding in the larger lobes; about half natural size.\n    (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 32. Bolina seen from the narrow side; _c_ _h_\n    short rows of flappers, _a_ _b_ long rows of flappers; other\n    letters as in Fig. 31. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nThe Bolina (Fig 32), like the Pleurobrachia, is slightly oval in form,\nwith a longitudinal split at one end of the body, forming a mouth\nwhich opens into a capacious sac or digestive cavity. But it differs\nfrom the Pleurobrachia in having the oral end of the body split into\ntwo larger lobes (Fig. 31), hanging down from the mouth. These lobes\nmay gape widely, or they may close completely over the mouth so as to\nhide it from view, and their different aspects under various degrees\nof expansion or contraction account for the discrepancies in the\ndescription of these animals. We have seen that the Pleurobrachia\nmoves with the mouth upward; but the Bolina, on the contrary, usually\ncarries the mouth downward, though it occasionally reverses its\nposition, and in this attitude, with the lobes spread open, it is\nexceedingly graceful in form, and looks like a white flower with the\ncrown fully expanded. These broad lobes are balanced on the other\nsides of the body by four smaller appendages, divided in pairs, two on\neach side (Fig. 32), called auricles. These so-called auricles are in\nfact organs of the same kind as the larger lobes, though less\ndeveloped. The rows of locomotive flappers on the Bolina differ in\nlength from each other (Fig. 31), instead of being equal, as in the\nPleurobrachia. The four longest ones are opposite each other on those\nsides of the body where the larger lobes are developed, the four short\nones being in pairs on the sides where the auricles are placed. At\nfirst sight they all seem to terminate at the margin of the body, but\na closer examination shows that the circulating tubes connected with\nthe longer row extend into the lobes, where they wind about in a\nvariety of complicated involutions. (Fig. 32.) The movements of the\nBolina are more sluggish than those of the Pleurobrachia, and the long\ntentacles, so graceful an ornament to the latter, are wanting in the\nformer. With these exceptions the description given above of the\nPleurobrachia will serve equally well for the Bolina. The structure is\nthe same in all essential points, though it differs in the size and\nproportion of certain external features, and its play of color is less\nbrilliant than that of the Pleurobrachia. The Bolina, with its slow,\nundulating motion, its broad lobes sometimes spreading widely, at\nother times folded over the mouth, its delicacy of tint and texture,\nand its rows of vibrating fringes along the surface, is nevertheless a\nvery beautiful object, and well rewards the extreme care without which\nit dies at once in confinement.\n\n\n_Idyia_. (_Idyia roseola_ AG.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 33. Idyia roseola seen from the broad side,\n    half natural size; _a_ anal opening, _b_ lateral tube, _c_\n    circular tube, _d_ _e_ _f_ _g_ _h_ rows of locomotive flappers.\n    (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nThe lowest genus of Ctenophorae found on our coast, the Idyia (Fig.\n33), has neither the tentacles of the Pleurobrachia, nor the lobes of\nthe Bolina. It is a simple ovate sphere, the interior of which is\nalmost entirely occupied by an immense digestive cavity. It would seem\nthat the reception and digestion of food is intended to be the almost\nexclusive function of this animal, for it has a mouth whose ample\ndimensions correspond with its capacious stomach. Instead of the\nlongitudinal split serving as a mouth, in the Bolina and\nPleurobrachia, one end of the body in the Idyia is completely open\n(Fig. 33), so that occasionally some unsuspicious victim of smaller\ndiameter than itself may be seen to swim into this wide portal, when\nsuddenly the door closes behind him with a quick contraction, and he\nfinds himself a prisoner. The Idyia does not always obtain its food\nafter this indolent fashion however, for it often attacks a Bolina or\nPleurobrachia as large or even larger than itself, when it extends its\nmouth to the utmost, slowly overlapping the prey it is trying to\nswallow by frequent and repeated contractions, and even cutting off by\nthe same process such portions as cannot be forced into the digestive\ncavity.\n\nThe general internal structure of the Idyia corresponds with that of\nthe Bolina and Pleurobrachia; it has the same tubes branching\nhorizontally from the main cavity, then ramifying as they approach the\nperiphery till they are multiplied to eight in all, each of which\ngives off one of the vertical tubes connected with the eight rows of\nlocomotive flappers. Opposite the mouth is the eye-speck, placed as in\nthe two other genera, at the centre of a small circumscribed area,\nwhich in the Idyia is surrounded by delicate fringes, forming a\nrosette at this end of the body. These animals are exceedingly\nbrilliant in color; bright pink is their prevailing hue, though pink,\nred, yellow, orange, green, and purple, sometimes chase each other in\nquick succession along their locomotive fringes. At certain seasons,\nwhen most numerous, they even give a rosy tinge to patches on the\nsurface of the sea. Their color is brightest and deepest before the\nspawning season, but as this advances, and the ovaries and spermaries\nare emptied, they grow paler, retaining at last only a faint pink\ntint. They appear early in July, rapidly attain their maximum size,\nand are most numerous during the first half of August. Toward the end\nof August they spawn, and the adults are usually destroyed by the\nearly September storms, the young disappearing at the same time, not\nto be seen again till the next summer. It is an interesting question,\nnot yet solved, to know what becomes of the summer's brood in the\nfollowing winter. They probably sink into deep waters during this\nintervening period. The Idyia, like the Pleurobrachia, moves with the\nmouth upward, but inclined slightly forward also, so as to give an\noblique direction to the axis of the body.[4]\n\n    [Footnote 4: Until this summer only the three genera of Ctenophorae\n    above mentioned were supposed to exist along our coast, but during\n    the present season I have had the good fortune to find two\n    additional ones. One of them, the Lesueuria, resembles a Bolina\n    with the long lobes so cut off, that they have a very stunted\n    appearance in comparison with those of the Bolina. The other, the\n    Mertensia, is closely allied to Pleurobrachia; it is exceedingly\n    flattened and pear-shaped. This species was discovered long ago by\n    Fabricius, but had escaped thus far the attention of other\n    naturalists. (_A. Agassiz_.)]\n\n\n\n\nEMBRYOLOGY OF CTENOPHORAE.\n\n\nAll the Ctenophorae are reproduced from eggs, these eggs being so\ntransparent that one may follow with comparative ease the changes\nundergone by the young while still within the egg envelope.\nUnfortunately, however, they are so delicate that it is impossible to\nkeep them alive for any length of time, even by supplying them\nconstantly with fresh sea-water, and keeping them continually in\nmotion, both of which are essential conditions to their existence. It\nis therefore only from eggs accidentally fished up at different stages\nof growth that we may hope to ascertain any facts respecting the\nsequence of their development. When hatched, the little Ctenophore is\nalready quite advanced. It is small when compared with the size of the\negg envelope, and long before it is set free, it swims about with\ngreat velocity within the walls of its diminutive prison (Fig. 35).\nThe importance of studying the young stages of animals can hardly find\na better illustration than among the Ctenophorae. Before their\nextraordinary embryonic changes were understood, many of the younger\nforms had found their way into our scientific annals as distinct\nanimals, and our nomenclature thus became burdened with long lists of\nnames which will disappear as our knowledge advances.\n\nThe great size of their locomotive flappers in proportion to the rest\nof the body, is characteristic of the young Ctenophorae. They seem like\nlarge paddles on the sides of these tiny transparent spheres, and,\nowing to their great power as compared with those of the adult, the\nyoung move with extraordinary rapidity. The Pleurobrachia alone\nretains its quickness of motion in after life, and although its long\ngraceful streamers appear only as short stumpy tentacles in the young\n(Fig. 34), yet its active little body would be more easily recognized\nin the earlier stages of growth than that of the other Ctenophorae.\nFigs. 34, 35, and 36 show the Pleurobrachia at various stages of\ngrowth; Fig. 34, with its thick stunted tentacles and short rows of\nflappers, is the youngest; the flappers themselves are rather long at\nthis age, looking more like stiff hairs than like the minute fringes\nof the adult. In Fig. 35 the tentacles are already considerably longer\nand more delicate; in Fig. 36 the vertical tubes are already\ncompleted, while Figs. 27-29 present it in its adult condition.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 34. Young Pleurobrachia still in the egg; _t_\n    tentacle, _e_ eye-speck, _c_ _c_ rows of locomotive flappers, _d_\n    digestive cavity; greatly magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 35. Young Pleurobrachia swimming about in the\n    egg just before hatching; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 36. Young Pleurobrachia resembling somewhat\n    the adult; _f_ funnel leading to anal opening, _l_ lateral tubes,\n    _o_ _o_ _o'_ _o'_ rows of locomotive flappers; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 37. Young Idyia, greatly magnified; lettering\n    as in Fig. 36; _d_ digestive cavity.]\n\nThe Idyia differs greatly in appearance at different periods of its\ndevelopment, and, indeed, no one would suspect, without some previous\nknowledge of its transformations, that the young Idyia, with its rapid\ngyrations, its short ambulacral tubes, like immense pouches (Fig. 37),\nits large pigment spots scattered over the surface (Fig. 38), was an\nearlier stage of the rosy-hued Idyia, which glides through the water\nwith a scarcely perceptible motion. Figs. 37-40 represent the various\nstages of its growth. It will be seen how very short are the\nlocomotive fringes (Fig. 39) in comparison with those of the\nfull-grown ones (Fig. 33). It is only in the adult Idyia that these\nrows attain their full height, and the tubes, ramifying throughout the\nbody (Fig. 40), are completed.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 38. Young Idyia seen from the anal extremity,\n    magnified; _a_ anal opening, other letters as in Fig. 36.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 39. Idyia somewhat older than Fig. 37,\n    lettering as before; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 40. Young Idyia in which the ambulacral tubes\n    begin to ramify; magnified, letters as before.]\n\nThe Bolina, in its early condition, recalls the young Pleurobrachia.\nAt this period it has the same rapid motion, and when somewhat more\nadvanced, long tentacles, resembling those of the Pleurobrachia, make\ntheir appearance (Fig. 41); it is only at a later period that the\ntentacles become contracted, while the large lobes (Fig. 42), so\ncharacteristic of Bolina, are formed by the elongation of the oral end\nof the body, the auricles becoming more conspicuous at the same time\n(Fig. 43). A little later the lobes enlarge, the movements become more\nlazy; it assumes both in form and habits the character of the adult\nBolina.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 41. Young Bolina in stage resembling\n    Pleurobrachia; greatly magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 42. Young Bolina seen from the broad side,\n    with rudimentary auricles and lobes; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 43. The same as Fig. 42, seen from the narrow\n    side.]\n\nThe series of changes through which the Ctenophorae pass are as\nremarkable as any we shall have occasion to describe, though not\naccompanied with such absolutely different conditions of existence.\nThe comparison of the earlier stages of life in these animals with\ntheir adult condition is important, not only with reference to their\nmode of development, but also because it gives us some insight into\nthe relative standing of the different groups, since it shows us that\ncertain features, permanent in the lower groups, are transient in the\nhigher ones. A striking instance of this occurs in the fact mentioned\nabove, that though the long tentacles so characteristic of the adult\nPleurobrachia exist in the young Bolina, they yield in importance at a\nlater period to the lobes which eventually become the predominant and\ncharacteristic feature of the latter.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nDISCOPHORAE.\n\n\nThe disk of the Discophorae is by no means so delicate as that of the\nother Jelly-fishes. It seems indeed quite solid, and somewhat like\ncartilage to the touch, and yet so large a part of its bulk consists\nof water, that a Cyanea, weighing when alive about thirty-four pounds,\nbeing left to dry in the sun for some days, was found to have lost\nabout 99/100 of its original weight,--only the merest film remaining\non the paper upon which it had been laid. The prominence of the disk\nin this group of Jelly-fishes is well characterized by their German\nname, \"Scheiben quallen,\" viz. disk-medusae. We shall see hereafter\nthat the disk, so large and seemingly solid in the Discophorae, thins\nout in many of the other Jelly-fishes, and becomes exceedingly\nconcave. This is especially the case in many of the Hydroid Medusae,\nwhere it assumes a bell-shaped form, and is constantly spoken of as\nthe bell. It should be remembered, however, in reading descriptions of\nthese animals, that the so-called bell is only a modified disk, and\nperfectly homologous with that organ in the Discophorae.\n\nThe Discophorous Medusae are distinguished from all others by the\npeculiar nature of the reproductive organs. They are contained in\npouches (Fig. 50, _o_, _o_, _o_, _o_), the contents of which are first\ndischarged into the main cavity, and then pass out through the mouth.\nPillars support the four angles of the digestive cavity, thus\nseparating the lower from the upper floor of the disk, while the\nchymiferous tubes (Fig. 50) branch and run into each other near the\nperiphery, forming a more or less complicated anastomosing network,\ninstead of a simple circular tube, as is the case with the Hydroid\nMedusae. (Fig. 74.)\n\n\n_Cyanea_. (_Cyanea arctica_ PER. et LES.)\n\nIn our descriptions of the Discophorae, we may give the precedence to\nthe Cyanea on account of its size. This giant among Jelly-fishes is\nrepresented in Fig. 44. It is much to be regretted that these animals,\nwhen they are not so small as to escape attention altogether, are\nusually seen out of their native element, thrown dead or dying on the\nshore, a mass of decaying gelatinous matter. All persons who have\nlived near the sea are familiar with the so-called Sea-blubbers,\nsometimes strewing the sandy beaches after the autumn storms in such\nnumbers that it is difficult to avoid them in walking or driving. In\nsuch a condition the Cyanea is far from being an attractive object; to\nform an idea of his true appearance, one must meet him as he swims\nalong at midday, rather lazily withal, his huge semi-transparent disk,\nwith its flexible lobed margin, glittering in the sun, and his\ntentacles floating to a distance of many yards behind him.\nEncountering one of those huge Jelly-fishes, when out in a row-boat\none day, we attempted to make a rough measurement of his dimensions\nupon the spot. He was lying quietly near the surface, and did not seem\nin the least disturbed by the proceeding, but allowed the oar, eight\nfeet in length, to be laid across the disk, which proved to be about\nseven feet in diameter. Backing the boat slowly along the line of the\ntentacles, which were floating at their utmost extension behind him,\nwe then measured these in the same manner, and found them to be rather\nmore than fourteen times the length of the oar, thus covering a space\nof some hundred and twelve feet. This sounds so marvellous that it may\nbe taken as an exaggeration; but though such an estimate could not of\ncourse be absolutely accurate, yet the facts are rather understated\nthan overstated in the dimensions here given. And, indeed, the\nobservation was more careful and precise than the circumstances would\nlead one to suppose, for the creature lay as quietly, while his\nmeasure was taken, as if he had intended to give every facility for\nthe operation. This specimen was, however, of unusual size; they more\ncommonly measure from three to five feet across the disk, while the\ntentacles may be thirty or forty feet long. The tentacles are\nexceedingly numerous (see Fig. 44), arising in eight distinct bunches,\nfrom the margin of the disk, and hanging down in a complete labyrinth.\n\nThese animals are not so harmless as it would seem, from their soft,\ngelatinous consistency; it is no pleasant thing when swimming or\nbathing to become entangled in this forest of fine feelers, for they\nhave a stinging property like nettles, and may render a person almost\ninsensible, partly from pain, and partly from a numbness produced by\ntheir contact, before he is able to free himself from the network in\nwhich he is caught. The weapons by which they produce these results\nseem so insignificant, that one cannot but wonder at their power. The\ntentacles are covered by minute cells, lasso-cells as they are called,\n(similar to those of Astrangia, Fig. 19,) each one of which contains a\nwhip finer than the finest thread, coiled in a spiral within it.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 44. Cyanea arctica; greatly reduced in size.]\n\nThese myriad whips can be thrown out at the will of the animal, and\nreally form an efficient galvanic battery. Behind the veil of\ntentacles, and partly hidden by it, four curtains, with lobed or\nruffled margins, dimly seen in Fig. 44, hang down from the under\nsurface of the disk. The ovaries are formed by four pendent pouches,\nplaced near the sides of the mouth, and attached to four cavities\nwithin the disk. Around the circumference of the disk are eight\neye-specks, each formed by a small tube protected under a little\nlappet or hood rising from the upper surface of the disk. The\nprevailing color of this huge Jelly-fish is a dark brownish-red, with\na light, milk-white margin, tinged with blue, the tentacles and other\npendent appendages having a somewhat different hue from the disk. The\novaries are flesh-, the curtain formed by the expansion of the\nlobes of the mouth is dark brown, while the tentacles are of different\ncolors, some being yellow, others purple, and others reddish brown or\npink.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 45. Scyphistoma of a Discophore; Aurelia\n    flavidula. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 47. Strobila of a Discophore; Aurelia\n    flavidula. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 46. Scyphistoma, older than Fig. 45.\n    (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nStrange to say, this gigantic Discophore is produced by a Hydroid\nmeasuring not more than half an inch in height when full grown; could\nwe follow the history of any egg laid by one of these Discophorae in\nthe autumn, and this has indeed been partially done, we should see\nthat, like any other planula, the young hatched from the egg is at\nfirst spherical, but presently becomes pear-shaped, and attaches\nitself to the ground. From the upper end tentacles project (see Fig.\n45), growing more numerous, as in Fig. 46, though they never exceed\nsixteen in number. As it increases in height constrictions take place\nat different distances along its length, every such constriction being\nlobed around its margin, till at last it looks like a pile of\nscalloped saucers or disks strung together (see Fig. 47). The topmost\nof these disks falls off and dies; but all the others separate by the\ndeepening of the constrictions, and swim off as little free disks\n(Fig. 48), which eventually grow into the enormous Jelly-fish\ndescribed above. These three phases of growth, before the relation\nbetween them was understood, have been mistaken for distinct animals,\nand described as such under the names of Scyphistoma, Strobila, and\nEphyra.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 48. Ephyra of a Discophore; Aurelia flavidula.\n    (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n\n_Aurelia_. (_Aurelia flavidula_ PER. et LES.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 49. Aurelia seen in profile, reduced.\n    (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nAnother large Discophore, though by no means to be compared to the\nCyanea in size, is our common Aurelia (Figs. 49, 50) Its bluish-white\ndisk measures from twelve to fifteen inches in diameter, but its\ndimensions are not increased by the tentacles, which have no great\npower of contraction and expansion, and form a short fringe around its\nmargin, widening and narrowing slightly as the tentacles are stretched\nor drawn in. It is quite transparent, as may be seen in Fig 49, where\nall the fine ramifications of the chymiferous tubes as well as the\novaries, are seen through the vault of the disk. Fig. 50 represents\nthe upper surface, with the ovaries around the mouth, occupying the\nsame position as those of the Cyanea, though they differ from the\nlatter in their greater rigidity, and do not hang down in the form of\npouches. The males and females in this kind of Jelly-fish may be\ndistinguished by the difference of color in the reproductive organs,\nwhich are rose- in the males, and of a dull yellow in the\nfemales. The process of development is exactly the same in the Aurelia\nas in the Cyanea, though there is a very slight difference in their\nrespective Hydroids. They are, however, so much alike, that one is\nhere made to serve for both, the above figures being taken from the\nHydroid of the Aurelia. It is curious, that while, as in the case of\nthe Aurelia and Cyanea, very dissimilar Jelly-fishes may arise from\nalmost identical Hydroids, we have the reverse of the proposition, in\nthe fact that Hydroids of an entirely distinct character may produce\nsimilar Jelly-fishes.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 50. Aurelia flavidula, seen from above; _o_\n    mouth, _e e e e_ eyes, _m m m m_ lobes of the mouth, _o o o o_\n    ovaries, _t t t t_ tentacles, _w w_ ramified tubes. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nThe embryos or little planulae, hatched from the Cyanea and Aurelia in\nthe fall, seem to be gregarious in their mode of life, swimming about\ntogether in great numbers till they find a suitable point of\nattachment, and assume their fixed Hydroid existence. The Cyaneae,\nhowever, when adult, are usually found singly, while the Aureliae, on\nthe contrary, seek each other, and commonly herd together.\n\n\n_The Campanella_. (_Campanella pachyderma_ A. AG.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 51. Campanella seen in profile; greatly\n    magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 52. Same, seen from below.]\n\nThe Campanella (Fig. 51) is a pretty little Jelly-fish, not larger\nthan a pin's head, reproduced directly from eggs, without passing\nthrough the Hydroid stage. During its early stages of growth it\nprobably remains attached to floating animals, thus leading a kind of\nparasitic existence; but as its habits are not accurately known, this\ncannot be asserted as a constant fact respecting them. The veil in\nthis Jelly-fish is very large, forming pendent pouches hanging from\nthe circular canal (see Fig. 51), and leaving but just room enough for\nthe passage of the proboscis between the folds. It may not be amiss to\nintroduce here a general account of this organ, which occurs in many\nof the Medusae, though it has very different proportions in the various\nkinds. It is a delicate membrane, hanging from the circular tube, so\nas partially to close the mouth of the bell, leaving a larger or\nsmaller opening for the passage of the water, which is taken in and\nforced out again by the alternate expansions and contractions of the\nbell.\n\nThere are but four chymiferous tubes in the Campanella, and four stiff\ntentacles, which in consequence of the peculiar character of the veil\nappear, when the animal is seen in profile, to start from the middle\nof the disk. The ovaries consist of eight pouches, placed near the\npoint of junction of the four chymiferous tubes. (Fig. 52.) This\nlittle Medusa is of a dark yellowish color with brownish ocellated\nspots, scattered profusely over the upper part of the disk.\n\n\n_Circe_. (_Trachynema digitale_ A. AG.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 53. Trachynema digitale; about twice the\n    natural size.]\n\nAmong the Jelly-fishes, the position of which is somewhat doubtful, is\nthe Circe (Fig. 53), differing greatly in outline from the ordinary\nJelly-fishes. As may be seen in Figure 53, the bell forms but a small\nportion of the animal; it rises in a sharp cone on the summit,\nthinning out at the lower edge, to form the large cavity in which\nhangs the long proboscis and the eight ovaries, four of which may be\nseen in Fig. 53 crowded with eggs. The Circe differs in consistency,\nas well as in form, from other Jelly-fishes. It is hard and horny to\nthe touch, and the veil, usually so light and filmy, is here a thick\nfolded membrane, which at every stroke of the animal forces the water\nin and out of the cavity. It is very active, moving by powerful jerks,\neach one of which throws it far on its way. It advances usually in\nstraight lines; or, if it wishes to change its direction, it drives\nthe water out of the veil suddenly on one side or the other, so as to\nshoot off, sometimes at right angles with its former path. Four large\npedunculated eyes, hidden in the figure by the tentacles, stand out\nprominently from the circular tube. When the animal is in motion, the\ntentacles are carried closely curled around the edge of the disk, as\nin Fig. 53, where the Circe is represented under a magnifying power of\ntwo and a half diameters. This Jelly-fish is of a delicate rose color,\nthe tentacles assuming, however, a dark-purple tint at their\nextremities when contracted.\n\n\n_Lucernaria_. (_Haliclystus auricula_ CLARK.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 54. Group of Lucernaria attached to eel-grass;\n    natural size.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 55. Lucernaria seen from the mouth side.]\n\nOne of the prettiest and most graceful, as well as one of the most\ncommon of our Jelly-fishes, is the Lucernaria (Fig. 54). It has such\nan extraordinary contractility of all its parts, that it is not easy\nto describe it under any definite form or position, since both are\nconstantly changing; but perhaps of all its various attitudes and\noutlines none are more normal to it than those given in Fig. 54. It\nfrequently raises itself in the upright position represented here by\nthe individual highest on the stem, spreading itself in the form of a\nperfectly symmetrical cup or vase, the margin of which is indented by\na succession of inverted scallops, the point of junction between every\ntwo scallops being crowned by a tuft of tentacles. But watch it for a\nwhile, and the sides of this vase turn backward, spreading completely\nopen, till they present the whole inner surface, with the edges even\ncurved a little downward, drooping slightly, and the proboscis rising\nin the centre. In such an attitude one may trace with ease the shape\nof the mouth, the lobes surrounding it, as well as the tubes and\ncavities radiating from it toward the margin. A touch is, however,\nsufficient to make it close upon itself, shrinking together in the\nattitude of the third individual in Fig. 54, or even drawing its\ntentacles completely in, and contracting all its parts till it looks\nlike a little ball hanging on the stem. These are but a few of its\nmanifold changes, for it may be seen in every phase of expansion and\ncontraction. Let us now look for a moment at the details of its\nstructure. The resemblance to a cup or vase, as in the upper figure of\nthe wood-cut (Fig. 54), is deceptive; for a vase is hollow, whereas\nthe Lucernaria, though so delicate and transparent that its upper\nsurface, when thus stretched, seems like a mere film, is nevertheless\na solid gelatinous mass, traversed by certain channels, cavities, and\npartitions, but otherwise continuous throughout. The peduncle by which\nit is attached is but an extension of the floor of a gelatinous disk,\ncorresponding to that of any Jelly-fish. Four tubes pass through the\nwhole length of this peduncle, and open into four chambers, dividing\nthe digestive cavity above into as many equal spaces. (Fig. 55.) These\nspaces are produced by folds in the upper floor of the disk, uniting\nit to the lower floor at given distances, and forming so many\npartition-walls, dividing the digestive sac into four distinct\ncavities. These lines of juncture between the two floors, where the\npartitions occur, produce the four radiating lines, running from the\nproboscis to the margin of the disk, on the upper surface. (Fig. 55.)\nThe triangular figures, running from the mouth to each cluster of\ntentacles, are produced by the ovaries, which consist of distinct\npouches or bags attached to the upper surface of the disk, and hanging\ndown into the cavities below; every little dot within these triangular\nspaces represents such a bag. Each bag is crowded with eggs, which\ndrop into the digestive cavity at the spawning season, and are passed\nout at the mouth. The tentacles always grow in clusters, but are\nnevertheless arranged according to a regular order. They are\nclub-shaped at their extremities, but are hollow throughout, opening\ninto the chambers of the digestive cavity, two of the clusters thus\nbeing connected with each chamber. Their chief office seems to be to\ncatch the food and convey it to the mouth, though they may also be\nused as a kind of suckers, and the animal not unfrequently attaches\nitself by means of these appendages. Between every two clusters of\ntentacles will be observed a short, single appendage, of an entirely\ndifferent appearance. These are the so-called auricles, and though so\nunlike tentacles in the adult animal, when in their earlier stages\n(Fig. 56) they resemble each other closely. But as their development\ngoes on, the tentacles stretch out into longer, more delicate flexible\norgans, while the auricles remain short and compact throughout life.\nThey contain a slight pigment spot representing an eye, though how far\nit serves the purpose of vision remains doubtful. They are chiefly\nused by the animal as a means of adhering to any surface upon which it\nmay wish to fasten itself; for the Lucernaria, though usually found\nattached to eel-grass in shoal water, has the power of independent\nmotion, and frequently separates from its resting-place, floating\nabout freely in the water for a while, or attaching itself anew by\nmeans of the auricles and tentacles upon some other object. The color\nof this pretty Acaleph varies from a greenish hue to green, with a\nfaint tinge of red, or to a reddish brown. One of its commonest and\nmost exquisite tints is that of a pale aqua-marine. It may be found\nalong our shores wherever the eel-grass grows, and as far out as this\nplant extends. It thrives admirably in confinement, and for this\nreason is especially adapted to the aquarium.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 56. Young Lucernaria; magnified.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nHYDROIDS.\n\n\nUnder this order, the general character of which has already been\nexplained in the introductory chapter on Acalephs, are included a\nnumber of groups which, whether as Hydroid communities in their\nearlier phases of existence, or as free swimming Medusae in their\nfarther development, challenge our admiration, both for their beauty\nof form and color, and their grace of motion. Some of them are so\nminute that they escape the observation of all but those who are\nlaboriously seeking for the hidden treasures of the microscopic world,\nbut the greater number are large enough to be readily found by the\nmost inexperienced collector, when his attention is once drawn to\nthem; and he may easily stock his aquarium with these pretty little\ncommunities, and even trace the development of the Jelly-fishes upon\nthem.\n\nTo the Hydroids belong the Campanularians, the Sertularians, and the\nTubularians. Some examples of each, as represented on our shores, will\nbe found under their different heads, accompanied with full\ndescriptions. There is another group usually considered as distinct\nfrom Hydroids, and known as a separate order among Acalephs, under the\nname of Siphonophorae, but included with them here in accordance with\nthe views of Vogt, Agassiz, and others, in whose opinion they differ\nfrom the ordinary Hydroid communities only in being free and floating,\ninstead of fixed to the ground. Some new facts, published here for the\nfirst time, tend to sustain the accuracy of this classification.[5]\nWith these few preliminary remarks to show the connection of the\norder, let us now look at some of the animals belonging to it more in\ndetail.\n\n    [Footnote 5: See Chapter on Nanomia.]\n\n\n_Campanularians_.\n\nAll the Campanularians, of which Oceania (Fig. 68), Clytia (Fig. 73),\nand Eucope (Fig. 61) form a part, belong among those little shrub-like\ncommunities of animals called Hydroids, from which most of our\nJelly-fishes are developed. They differ in one essential feature from\nthe Tubularians. (Fig. 93.) The whole stem, from summit to base, is\nenveloped in a horny sheath, extending around both the fertile and\nsterile individuals of the community, and forming a network at the\nbase of the stem, which serves as a kind of foundation for the whole\nstock. To the naked eye such a community looks like a tiny shrub (see\nFig. 57), with the branches growing in regular alternation on either\nside of the stems. The reproductive calycles, i.e. the protecting\nenvelopes covering the young Medusae, usually arise in the angles of\nthe branches formed by a prolongation of the sheath. These calycles or\nbells, as they are called, assume a great variety of\nshapes,--elliptical, round, pear-shaped, or ringed like the Clytia.\n(Fig. 72.) In one such bell there may be no less than twenty or thirty\nMedusae developed one below the other; when ready to hatch, the calycle\nbursts and allows them to escape.\n\n\n_Eucope_. (_Eucope diaphana_ AG.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 57. Hydrarium of Eucope; natural size.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 58. Portion of Fig. 57; magnified.]\n\nIn Figs. 60 and 61 we have a representation of our little Eucope, one\nof the prettiest of the Jelly-fishes belonging to this group; Fig. 57\nrepresents the Hydroid from which it arises; a single branch with the\nreproductive bell being magnified in Fig. 58. In Fig. 59 is seen a\nportion of the Jelly-fish disk, with the fringe of tentacles highly\nmagnified. The disk of the Eucope (Fig. 60) looks like a shallow bell,\nof which the proboscis often seems to form the handle; for the disk\nhas such an extraordinary thinness that it turns inside out with the\ngreatest ease, so that the inner surface may become at any moment the\nouter one, with the proboscis projecting from it, as in Fig. 60, while\nthe next movement of the animal may reverse its whole position, and\nthe proboscis then hangs down from the inside, as in other\nJelly-fishes. (See Fig. 61.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 59. Part of marginal tube and tentacles of\n    Eucope, greatly magnified; _e_ eye-speck, _b_ base of tentacle.,\n    _r_ reentering base of tentacle.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 60. Young Eucope; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 61. Adult Eucope seen in profile; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 62. Quarter disk of Fig. 60, seen from below;\n    _e e_ tentacles bearing eye-speck.]\n\nThe tentacles are solid and stiff like little hairs, and two of them,\nin each quarter-segment of the disk, have small concretions at the\nbase, which are no doubt eye-specks. (See Fig. 62.) Along the\nchymiferous tubes little swellings are developed, which increase\ngradually, and become either ovaries or spermaries, according to the\nsex of the animal. (Fig. 63.) In the adult the genital organs hang\ndown, like elongated bags, from the chymiferous tubes. (Fig. 64.) The\ntentacles are numerous, multiplying to about a hundred and ninety-two\nin the adult, and increasing according to the numerical law to be\nexplained in the description of the Oceania.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 63. Quarter-disk of young Eucope, older than\n    Fig. 62, with a second set of tentacles (2) between the first set\n    (1).]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 64. Magnified quarter-disk of adult Eucope.]\n\nThis little Jelly-fish is one of the most common in our Bay. There is\nnot a night or day when they cannot be taken in large numbers, from\nthe early spring till late in the autumn; and as the breeding season\nlasts during the whole of that period, they are found in all possible\nstages of growth. In consequence of this, the course of their\ndevelopment, and the relation between the different phases of their\nexistence as Hydroids, and afterwards as Acalephs, are well known,\nthough the successive steps of their growth have not been traced\nconnectedly, as in some of the other Jelly-fishes, the Tima or\nMelicertum, for instance. The process is, however, so similar\nthroughout the class of Hydroids, that, having followed it from\nbeginning to end in some of the groups, we have the key to the history\nof others, whose development has not been so fully traced. The eggs\nlaid by the Eucope in the autumn develop into planulae, which acquire\ntheir full size as Hydroid communities toward the close of the winter,\nand the development of the young Medusae upon them, as described above,\nbegins with the opening spring.\n\n\n_Oceania_. (_Oceania languida_ A. AG.)\n\nThe Oceania (Fig. 68) is so delicate and unsubstantial, that with the\nnaked eye one perceives it only by the more prominent outlines of its\nstructure. We may see the outline of the disk, but not the disk\nitself; we may trace the four faint thread-like lines produced by the\nradiating tubes traversing the disk from the summit to the margin; and\nwe may perceive, with far more distinctness, the four ovaries attached\nto these tubes near their base; we may see also the circular tube\nuniting the radiating tubes, and the tentacles hanging from it, and we\ncan detect the edge of the filmy veil that fringes the margin of the\ndisk. But the substance connecting all these organs is not to be\ndistinguished from the element in which it floats, and the whole\nstructure looks like a slight web of threads in the water, without our\nbeing able to discern by what means they are held together. Under the\nmicroscope, however, the invisible presently becomes visible, and we\nfind that this Jelly-fish, like all others, has a solid gelatinous\ndisk.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 65. Young Oceania just escaped from its\n    reproductive calycle; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 66. The same as Fig. 65, from below, still\n    more magnified; _t_ long tentacles., _t'_ rudimentary tentacle,\n    _e_ eye-speck on each side of base of tentacles.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 67. Young Oceania, older than Fig. 65;\n    magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Diagram of succession of tentacles.]\n\nLet us begin with its earlier condition. When it first escapes from\nthe parent Hydroid stock, the Oceania is almost spherical in form.\n(See Fig. 65.) The disk is divided by four chymiferous tubes, running\nfrom the summit to the margin, where they meet the circular tube in\nwhich they all unite. At this time, it has but two well-developed\ntentacles, opposite each other on the margin of the disk, just at the\nbase of two of the chymiferous tubes (Fig. 66), while two others are\njust discernible in a rudimentary state, forming slight projections at\nthe base of the two other tubes. Fig. 66 gives a view of the animal\nfrom below, at this stage of its growth, while Fig. 65 shows it in\nprofile. It will be seen by the latter how very spherical is the\noutline of the disk at this period, while the proboscis, in which are\nplaced the mouth and digestive cavity, is quite long, and hangs down\nconsiderably below the lower surface of the disk. As the animal\nadvances in age the disk loses its spherical outline, and becomes much\nflattened, as may be seen in Fig. 67. It may be well to introduce here\nsome explanation of the law according to which the different sets of\ntentacles follow each other in successive cycles of growth, since it\nis a law of almost universal application in Jelly-fishes and Polyps;\nand, owing to the smaller number and simpler arrangement of the\ntentacles in Oceania, it may be more easily analyzed in them than in\nmany others, where the number and complication of the different sets\nof tentacles make it very difficult to trace their relation to each\nother during their successive growth. We have seen that the Oceania\nbegins life with only two tentacles. These form the first set, and are\nmarked with the number 1 in the subjoined diagram, which gives the\nplan of all the different sets in their regular order. The second set,\nmarked 2, consists also of two, which are developed at equal distances\nbetween the first two, i.e. at right angles with them. The third set,\nhowever, marked 3, consists of four, as do all the succeeding sets,\nand they are developed between the first and second. The fourth set\ncomes in between the first and third; the fifth between the third and\nsecond; the sixth between the first and fourth; the seventh between\nthe fifth and second; the eighth between the third and fourth; the\nninth between the fifth and third. The ultimate number of tentacles in\nthe Oceania is thirty-two, or sometimes thirty-six, and the cycles\nalways in twos or multiples of two. But whatever be the number\nincluded in the successive sets of tentacles, and the unit for the\nfirst set ranges from two to forty-eight, the law in different kinds\nof Jelly-fishes is always the same, the youngest set always forming\nbetween the oldest preceding set. Thus the fourth set comes in between\nthe first and third, and the fifth between the second and third, the\nintervals occupied now by the fourth set, being limited by the first\nset of tentacles on one side, and by the third set on the other side,\nwhile the intervals occupied by the fifth set are bounded by the\nsecond and third sets.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 68. Adult Oceania; natural size.]\n\nThe little spheres represented between the tentacles on the margin of\nthe disk, in Figs. 65-67, are eye-specks, and these continue to\nincrease in number with age; in this the Oceania differs from the\nEucope, in which it will be remembered there were but two eye-specks\nin each quarter-segment of the disk throughout life. Fig. 68\nrepresents the adult Oceania in full size, when it averages from an\ninch and a half to two inches in diameter. It is slow and languid in\nits movements, coming to the surface only in the hottest hours of the\nsummer days; at such times it basks in the sun, turning lazily about,\nand dragging its tentacles after it with seeming effort. Sometimes it\nremains for hours suspended in the water, not moving even its\ntentacles, and offering a striking contrast to its former great\nactivity when young, and to the lively little Eucope, which darts\nthrough the water at full speed, hardly stopping to rest for a moment.\nIf the Oceania be disturbed it flattens its disk, and folds itself up\nsomewhat in the shape of a bale (see Fig. 69), remaining perfectly\nstill, with the tentacles stretching in every direction. When the\ncause of alarm is removed, it gently expands again, resuming its\nnatural outline and indolent attitudes. The number of these animals is\namazing. At certain seasons, when the weather is favorable, the\nsurface of the sea may be covered with them, for several miles, so\nthickly that their disks touch each other. Thus they remain packed\ntogether in a dense mass, allowing themselves to be gently drifted\nalong by the tide till the sun loses its intensity, when they retire\nto deeper waters. Some points, not yet observed, are still wanting to\ncomplete the history of this Jelly-fish. By comparing such facts,\nhowever, as are already collected respecting it, with our fuller\nknowledge of the same process of growth in the Eucope, Tima, and\nMelicertum, we may form a tolerably correct idea of its development.\nIt is hatched from a Campanularia.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 69. Attitude assumed by Oceania when\n    disturbed.]\n\n\n_Clytia_. (_Clytia bicophora_ AG.)\n\nIn Figs. 70-73 we have the Acalephian and Hydroid stages of the Clytia\n(Fig. 73), another very pretty little Jelly-fish, closely allied to\nthe Oceania. When first hatched, like the Oceania, it is very convex,\nalmost thimble-shaped (see Fig. 70), but a little later the disk\nflattens and becomes more open, as in Fig. 71. In Fig. 72, we have a\nbranch of the Hydroid, a Campanularia, greatly magnified, with the\nannulated reproductive calycle attached to it, and crowded with\nJelly-fishes ready to make their escape as soon as the calycle bursts.\nThe adult Clytia (Fig. 73) is somewhat smaller and more active than\nthe Oceania, and is easily recognized by the black base of its\ntentacles, at their point of juncture with the margin of the disk. It\nis more commonly found at night, than in the day-time, being nocturnal\nin its habits.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 70. Young Clytia just escaped from the\n    reproductive calycle.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 71. Clytia somewhat older than Fig. 70.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 72. Magnified portion of Hydrarium of Clytia.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 73. Adult Clytia; twice natural size.]\n\n\n_Zygodactyla_. (_Zygodactyla groenlandica_ AG.)\n\nLittle has been known, and still less published, of this remarkable\ngenus of Jelly-fish (Figs. 74, 75) up to the present time. The name\nZygodactyla, or Twinfinger, was given to it by Brandt, from drawings\nmade by Mertens, who had some opportunity of studying it in his\njourney around the world. These drawings were published in the\nTransactions of the St. Petersburg Academy. In the year 1848 Professor\nAgassiz read a paper upon one of the species of this genus belonging\nto our coast, before the American Academy, in which he called it\nRhacostoma, not being aware that it had already received a name, and\ngave some account of its extraordinary phosphorescent properties. The\nname Rhacostoma must of course yield to that of Zygodactyla, which has\na prior claim.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 74. Zygodactyla seen from above.]\n\nThe average size of this Jelly-fish when full grown is from seven to\neight inches in diameter; sometimes it may measure even ten or eleven,\nbut this is rather rare. The light-violet  disk is exceedingly\ndelicate and transparent, its edge being fringed with long fibrous\ntentacles, tinged with darker violet at their point of juncture with\nthe disk, and hanging down a yard and more when fully extended, though\nthey vary in length according to the size of the specimen, and, in\nconsequence of their contractile power, may seem much shorter at some\nmoments than at others. The radiating tubes in this Jelly-fish are\nexceedingly numerous, the whole inner surface of the disk being ribbed\nwith them. (See Figs. 74 and 75.) The ovaries follow the length of the\ntubes, though they do not extend quite to their extremity, where they\njoin the circular tube around the margin of the disk; nor do they\nstart exactly at the point where the tubes diverge from the central\ncavity, but a little below it. (Fig. 74.) Each ovary consists of a\nlong, brownish, flat bag, split along the middle, so closely folded\ntogether that it seems like a flat blade attached along the length of\nthe tube. Perhaps a better comparison would be to a pea-pod greatly\nelongated, with the edges split along their line of juncture, and\nattached to a tube of the same length. The ovaries are not perfectly\nstraight, but slightly waving, as may be seen in Fig. 74, and these\nundulations are stronger when the ovaries are crowded with eggs, as is\nthe case at the time of spawning.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 75. Zygodactyla seen in profile.]\n\nThe large digestive cavity hangs from the centre of the under side of\nthe disk (Fig. 75), terminating in the proboscis, which, in this kind\nof Jelly-fish, is short in proportion to the diameter of the disk,\nwhile the opening of the mouth is very large. (Fig. 74.) It is\nunfortunate that a variety of inappropriate names, likely to mislead\nrather than aid the unscientific observer, have been applied to\ndifferent parts of the Jelly-fish. What we call here digestive cavity,\nproboscis, and mouth, are, in fact, parts of one organ. An exceedingly\ndelicate, transparent, filmy membrane hangs from the under side of the\ndisk; that membrane forms the outer wall of the digestive cavity,\nwhich it encloses; it narrows toward its lower margin, leaving open\nthe circular aperture called the mouth; this narrowing of the membrane\nis produced by a number of folds in its lower part, while at its\nmargin these folds spread out to form ruffles around the edge of the\nmouth, and these ruffles again extend into the long scalloped fringes\nhanging down below.\n\nThe motion of these Jelly-fishes is very slow and sluggish. Like all\ntheir kind, they move by the alternate dilatation and contraction of\nthe disk, but in the Zygodactyla these undulations have a certain\ngraceful indolence, very unlike the more rapid movements of many of\nthe Medusae. It often remains quite motionless for a long time, and\nthen, if you try to excite it by disturbing the water in the tank, or\nby touching it, it heaves a slow, lazy sigh, with the whole body\nrising slightly as it does so, and then relapses into its former\ninactivity. Indeed, one cannot help being reminded, when watching the\nvariety in the motions of the different kinds of Jelly-fishes, of the\ndifference of temperament in human beings. There are the alert and\nactive ones, ever on the watch, ready to seize the opportunity as it\ncomes, but missing it sometimes from too great impatience; and the\nslow, steady people, with very regular movements, not so quick\nperhaps, but as successful in the long run; and the dreamy, indolent\ncharacters, of which the Zygodactyla is one, always floating languidly\nabout, and rarely surprised into any sudden or abrupt expression. One\nwould say, too, that they have their aristocratic circles; for there\nis a delicate, high-bred grace about some of them quite wanting in the\ncoarser kinds. The lithe, flexible form of the greyhound is not in\nstronger contrast to the heavy, square build of the bull dog, than are\nsome of the lighter, more frail species of Jelly-fish to the more\nsolid and clumsy ones. Among these finer kinds we would place the\nTima. (Fig. 76.)\n\n\n_Tima_. (_Tima formosa_ AG.)\n\nOne's vocabulary is soon exhausted in describing the different degrees\nof consistency in the substance of Jelly-fishes. Delicate and\ntransparent as is the Tima, it has yet a certain robustness and\nsolidity beside the Oceania, described above. In fact, all are\ngelatinous, all are more or less transparent, and it is not easy to\ndescribe the various shades of solidity in jelly. Perhaps they may be\nmore accurately represented by the impression made upon the touch than\nupon the sight. If, for instance, you place your hand upon a\nZygodactyla, you feel that you have come in contact with a substance\nthat has a positive consistency; but if you dip your finger into a\nbowl where a Tima is swimming, and touch its disk, you will feel no\ndifference between it and the water in which it floats, and will not\nbe aware that you have reached it till the animal shrinks away from\nthe contact.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 76. Tima; half natural size.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 77. One of the lips of the mouth at the\n    extremity of the long proboscis; _m_ mouth, _d_ digestive cavity,\n    _c_ chymiferous tube.]\n\nThe adult Tima, represented in Fig. 76, is not more than an inch and a\nhalf or two inches in diameter. Instead of countless tubes diverging\nfrom the digestive cavity to the margin of the disk, as in the\nZygodactyla, there are but four. The digestive cavity in the Tima is\nmuch smaller than in the Zygodactyla, and is placed at the end of the\nproboscis, which is long, and hangs down far below the disk. This\nremoval of the digestive cavity to the extremity of the proboscis\ngives to the tubes arising from it a very different and much sharper\ncurve than they have in the Zygodactyla. In the Tima they start from\nthe end of the proboscis, as may be seen in the wood-cut (Fig. 76),\nand then turn abruptly off, when they arrive at the under surface of\nthe disk, to reach its margin. The disk has, as usual, its veil and\nits fringe of tentacles; the tentacles in the full-grown Tima are\nfew,--seven in all the four intermediate spaces between the tubes,\nwith one at the base of each tube, making thirty-two in all. The\novaries, which are milk-white, follow the line of the tubes, as in the\nZygodactyla, and have very undulating folds when full of eggs. The\ntubes meet in the digestive cavity, the margin of which spreads out to\nform four ruffled edges that hang down from it. One of these ruffles,\nconsiderably magnified, is represented in Fig. 77. In Fig. 78 we have\na portion of the Hydroid stock from which this Jelly-fish arises, also\ngreatly magnified. The Tima is very active, yet not abrupt in its\nmotions; but when in good condition it is constantly moving about,\nrising to the surface by the regular pulsations of the disk, or\nswimming from side to side, or poising itself quietly in the water,\ngiving now and then a gentle undulation to keep itself in position.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 78. Magnified head of Hydrarium of Tima.]\n\nThough not a very frequent visitor of our shores, the appearance of\nthe Tima is not limited by the seasons, since they are found at all\ntimes of the year. It is a fact, unexplained as yet, that the Tima and\nmany other Jelly-fishes are never seen except when full grown. What\nmay be the haunts and habits of these animals from the time of their\nhatching till they make their appearance again in the adult condition,\nis not known, though it is probable that they remain at the bottom\nduring this period, and only come to the surface to spawn. This\nimpression is confirmed by the observations made upon a very young\nCyanea which was kept for a long time in confinement; but a question\nof this kind cannot of course be settled by a single experiment.[6]\n\n[Footnote 6: Since the above was written, I have had an opportunity of\nlearning some additional facts respecting the habits of the young\nCyanea, which may, perhaps, apply to other Jelly-fishes also. Having\noccasion to visit the wharves at Provincetown at about four o'clock\none morning, I was surprised to find thousands of the spring brood of\nCyaneae, hitherto supposed to pass the early period of their existence\nwholly in deep water, floating about near the surface. They varied in\nsize, some being no larger than a three-cent-piece, while others were\nfrom an inch in diameter to three inches. It would seem that they make\ntheir appearance only during the earliest morning hours, for at seven\no'clock, when I returned to the same spot, they had all vanished. It\nmay be that other young Medusae have the same habits of early rising,\nand that instead of coming to bask in the midday sunshine, like their\nelders, they prefer the cooler hours of the dawn. (_A. Agassiz_.)]\n\n\n_Melicertum_. (_Melicertum campanula_ PER. et LES.)\n\nA pretty Medusa, smaller and far more readily obtained than the Tima,\nis the Melicertum. (Fig. 80.) Its disk has a yellowish hue, and from\nits margin hangs a heavy row of yellow tentacles, while the eight\novaries (Fig. 79) are of a darker shade of the same color. This little\ngolden-tinted Jelly-fish, moving through the water with short, quick\nthrobs, produced by the rapid rise and fall of the disk, is a very\ngraceful object. Its bright color, made particularly prominent by the\ndarker undulating lines of the ovaries, which become very marked near\nthe spawning season, renders it more conspicuous in the water than one\nwould suppose from its size; for it does not measure more than an inch\nin height when full grown. (See Fig. 80.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 79. Melicertum campanula seen from above; _m_\n    mouth, _o o_ ovaries, _t t_ tentacles. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n\n_Development of Melicertum and Tima_.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 80. Melicertum seen in profile; natural size.]\n\nIn the Melicertum and Tima we have had the good fortune to trace the\nprocess by which the eggs are changed into Hydroid communities. If any\none has a curiosity to follow for themselves this singular history of\nalternate generations, the Melicertum is a good subject for the\nexperiment, as it thrives well in confinement. After keeping a number\nof them in a large glass jar for a couple of days at the time of\nspawning, it will be found that the ovaries, which were at first quite\nfull of eggs, are emptied, and that a number of planulae; are swimming\nabout near the bottom of the vessel. After a day or two the outline of\nthese planulae, spherical at first, becomes pear-shaped (see Fig. 81),\nand presently they attach themselves by the blunt end to the bottom of\nthe jar. (Fig. 82.) Thus their Hydroid life begins; they elongate\ngradually, the horny sheath is formed around them, tentacles arise on\nthe upper end, short and stunted at first, but tapering rapidly out\ninto fine flexible feelers, the stem branches, and we have a little\nHydroid community (Fig. 83), upon which, in the course of the\nfollowing spring, the reproductive calycles containing the Medusae buds\nwill be developed, as in the case of the Eucope and Clytia. The Tima\npasses through exactly the same process, though the shape of the\nplanulae and the appearance of the young differ from that of the\nMelicertum, as may be seen in Fig. 78, where a single head of the Tima\nHydroid, greatly magnified, is represented. By combining the above\nobservations upon the development of the Hydroids of the Melicertum\nand Tima with those previously mentioned upon the young Medusa arising\nfrom reproductive calycles in the Eucope and Clytia, we get a complete\npicture of all the changes through which any one of these Hydroid\nMedusae passes, from its Hydroid condition to the moment when it enters\nupon an independent existence as a free Jelly-fish.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 81. Planula of Melicertum; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 82. Cluster of planulae just attached to the\n    ground.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 83. Young Hydrarium developed from planulae;\n    magnified.]\n\n\n(_Laomedea amphora_ AG.)\n\nThe Medusae of the Campanularians are not all free. On the contrary, in\nmany of the species they always remain attached to the Hydroid, never\nattaining so high a development as the free Medusae, and withering on\nthe stem after having laid their eggs. Such is the _Laomedea amphora_,\nquite common on all the bridges connecting Boston with the country,\nwhere, on account of the large amount of food brought down from the\nsewers by the river, they thrive wonderfully, growing to a great size,\nsometimes measuring from a foot to eighteen inches in height.\n\n\n_Sertularians_.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 84. Colony of Dynamena pumila; natural size.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 85. Magnified portion of Fig. 84.]\n\nThe Sertularians form another group of Hydroids closely allied to the\nCampanularians, though differing from them in the arrangement of the\nsterile Hydrae upon the stem. Among these one of the most numerous is\nthe Dynamena (_Dynamena pumila_ Lamx., Fig. 84), which hangs its\nyellowish fringes from almost every sea-weed above low-water-mark. It\nis especially thick and luxuriant on the fronds of our common _Fucus\nvesiculosus_. The color is usually of a pale yellow, though sometimes\nit is nearly white, and when first taken from the water it has a\nglittering look, such as a white frost leaves on a spray of grass.\nFig. 84 represents such a cluster in natural size, while Fig. 85 shows\na piece of the stem highly magnified, with a reproductive calycle\nattached to the side of a sterile Hydra stem. Many of these\nSertularian Hydroids assume the most graceful forms, hanging like long\npendent streamers from the Laminaria, or in other instances resembling\nminiature trees. One of these tree-like Sertularians (_Dyphasia\nrosacea_ Ag.), abundant on all rocks in sheltered places immediately\nbelow low-water-mark, is represented in Fig. 86. In both these\nSertularians the Medusae wither on the stock, never becoming free. The\nfree Medusae of the Sertularians are only known in their adult\ncondition in a single genus, which is closely allied to Melicertum,\nand which is produced from a Hydroid genus called Lafoea. Fig. 87\nrepresents one of these young Sertularian Medusae (_Lafoea cornuta_\nLamx.).\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 86. Dyphasia rosacea, natural size.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 87. Medusa of Lafoea.]\n\n\n_Tubularians_.\n\nIn the Sertularian and Campanularian Hydroids we have found that the\ncommunities consist generally of a large number of small individuals,\nso small, indeed, that it is hardly possible at first glance to\ndistinguish the separate members of these miniature societies. Among\nthe Tubularians, on the contrary, the communities are usually composed\nof a small number of comparatively large individuals; and indeed these\nHydroids may even grow singly, as in the case of the Hybocodon (Fig.\n104), which attains several inches in height. There is also another\ngeneral feature in which the Tubularians differ from both the other\ngroups of Hydroids. In the latter, the horny sheath which encloses the\nstem extends to form a protecting calycle around the Hydra heads. This\nprotecting calycle is wanting round the heads of the Tubularians,\nthough their stems are surrounded by a sheath.\n\n\n_Sarsia_. (_Coryne mirabilis_ AG.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 88. Colony of Coryne; natural size.\n    (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 89. Magnified head of Coryne; _a_ stem, _t_\n    tentacles, _o_ mouth, _v_ body, _d_ Medusa. (Agassiz.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 90. Free Medusa of Coryne. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nAmong the most common of our Tubularians is a small, mossy Hydroid\n(Fig. 88), covering the rocks between tides, in patches of several\nfeet in diameter. Fig. 89 represents a single head from this little\nmossy tuft greatly magnified, in which is seen the medusa bud arising\nfrom the stem by the process already described in the other Hydroids.\nIn Fig. 90 we have the little Jelly-fish in its adult condition, about\nthe size of a small walnut, with a wide circular opening, through\nwhich passes the long proboscis, hanging from the under surface of the\ndisk to a considerable distance below its margin. The four tentacles\nare of an immense length when compared to the size of the animal. As a\ngeneral thing, the tentacles are less numerous in the Tubularian\nMedusae than in those arising from other Hydroids; they want also the\nsingular limestone concretions found at the base of the tentacles in\nthe Campanularian Medusae. In Fig. 91 we have one of the Tubularian\nMedusae (_Turris vesicaria_ A. Ag.) which lifts a rather larger number\nof tentacles than is usual among these Jelly-fishes. We never find the\ntentacles multiplying almost indefinitely in them, as in Zygodactyla\nand Eucope. The little Jelly-fish described above is known as Sarsia,\nwhile its Hydroid is called Coryne. These names having been given to\nthe separate phases of its existence before their connection was\nunderstood, and when they were supposed to represent two distinct\nanimals. They are especially interesting with reference to the history\nof Hydroids in general, because they were among the first of these\nanimals in whom the true relation between the different phases of\ntheir existence was discovered. Lesson named the Sarsia after the\ngreat Norwegian naturalist, Sars, to whom we owe so large a part of\nwhat is at present known respecting this curious subject of alternate\ngenerations.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 91. Turris vesicaria; natural size.]\n\n\n_Bougainvillia_. (_Bougainvillia superciliaris_ AG.)\n\nThe Bougainvillia (Fig. 92), is one of our most common Jelly-fishes,\nfrequenting our wharves as well as our sea-shore during the spring. The\ntentacles are arranged in four bunches or clusters at the junction of\nthe radiating tubes with the circular tube, from which they may be seen\nextending in every direction whenever these animals remain quietly\nsuspended in the water,--a favorite attitude with them, and one which\nthey retain sometimes for days, seeming to make no effort beyond that of\ngently playing their tentacles to and fro (Fig. 92). These tentacles are\ncapable of immense extension, sometimes to ten or fifteen times the\ndiameter of the bell. The proboscis is not simple as in the Sarsia, but\nlooks like a yellow urn suspended at its four corners from the\nchymiferous tubes. The oral opening is entirely concealed by clusters of\nshorter tentacles surrounding the mouth in a close wreath, on which the\neggs are supported. A highly magnified branch of the Hydroid stock from\nwhich this Medusa arises is represented in Fig. 93. There we see the\nlittle Jelly-fishes in different degrees of development on the stem,\nwhile in Figs. 94-97 they are given separately and still more enlarged.\nIn Fig. 94 the outline of the Jelly-fish is still oval, the proboscis is\nbut just formed, and the tentacles appear only as round swellings or\nknobs. In Fig. 95 a depression has taken place at the upper end,\npresently to be an opening, the proboscis is enlarged, and the tentacles\nlengthened, but still turned inward. In Fig. 96 the appendages of the\nproboscis are quite conspicuous, the tentacles are turned outward, and\nthe Jelly-fish is almost ready to break from its attachment, having\nassumed its ultimate outline. Fig. 97 represents it just after it has\nseparated from the stem, when it has only two tentacles at each cluster\nand simple knobs around the mouth, instead of the complicated branching\ntentacles of the adult.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 92. Bougainvillia; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 93. Hydrarium of Bougainvillia; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Figs. 94, 95, 96. Medusae buds of Fig. 93, in\n    different degrees of development.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 97. Young Medusa just freed from the Hydroid;\n    magnified.]\n\n\n_Tubularia_. (_Tubularia Couthouyi_ AG.)\n\nThere are several other Tubularians common in our waters which should\nnot be passed over without mention, although as this little book is by\nno means intended as a complete text-book, but rather as a volume of\nhints for amateur collectors, we would avoid as much as possible\nencumbering it with many names, or with descriptions already given in\nmore comprehensive works. This Tubularia is interesting, however, from\nthe fact that the Medusae buds are never freed from the stem, and do\nnot develop into full-grown Jelly-fishes, but always remain abortive.\nFig. 98 represents one head of such a Hydroid with the Medusae buds\npendent from it in a thick cluster, while in Fig. 99 we have a few of\nthem sufficiently magnified to show that, though presenting the four\nchymiferous tubes, they are otherwise exceedingly simple in structure,\nas compared with the free Jelly-fishes.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 98. Tubularia; magnified. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 99. Part of cluster of Medusae of Fig. 98;\n    magnified. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n\n_Hydractinia_. (_Hydractinia polyclina_ AG.)\n\nThis is another Tubularian, covering the surface of rocks in\ntide-pools, or attaching itself upon shells inhabited by hermit crabs.\nIndeed it was upon these shells that the Hydractinia was first\nnoticed, and it was long supposed that the wanderings to which the\nlittle colony was thus subjected were necessary for its healthy\ndevelopment. But subsequent observations have shown that it attaches\nitself quite as frequently to the solid rock as to these nomadic\nshells. It has a rosy color, and, being very small, it looks, until\none examines it closely, more like a thick red carpet of soft moss,\nthan like a colony of animals. These communities are distinct in sex,\nthe fertile individuals in each being either all male or all female.\nIn Fig. 100 we have a portion of a female colony, representing one\nfertile head, in which the buds are crowded with Medusae; one sterile\nhead, surrounded by its wreath of tentacles; and still another member\nof the society whose office is not fully understood, unless it be that\nof a kind of purveyor, catching food for the rest. Fig. 101 represents\nthe corresponding individuals taken from a male colony. The sex makes\nlittle difference in the appearance of the reproductive heads. All the\nindividuals of a Hydractinia colony are connected at the base by a\nhorny network, rising occasionally into points of a conical or\ncylindrical shape. This polymorphism among the Tubularians is another\nevidence of the relation between the Siphonophorae, or floating\nHydroids, and the fixed Hydroids.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 100. Female colony of Hydractinia; _a_ sterile\n    individual, _b_ fertile individual producing female Medusae, _c_\n    fertile individual with globular tentacles without Medusae, _d_ _e_\n    _f_ _g_ _h_ _i_ Medusae in different stages of growth, _o_ mouth\n    tentacles. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 101. Male colony; _a_ _a_ sterile individuals,\n    _b_ fertile individuals producing male Medusae, _d_; _o_ globular\n    tentacles, _t_ slender tentacles of sterile individual.\n    (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n\n_Hybocodon_. (_Hybocodon prolifer_ AG.)\n\nAmong our Medusae derived from a Tubularian stock is the Hybocodon,\nviz. the hunchbacked Medusa (Fig. 102), a singular little Jelly-fish,\nodd and unsymmetrical in shape, as its name indicates, and interesting\nfrom its relations to one of our floating communities, the Nanomia,\npresently to be described. Instead of the evenly proportioned bell of\nthe ordinary Medusae, the Hybocodon has a one-sided outline (Fig. 102),\none large tentacle only being fully developed, while the others remain\nalways abortive, so that the whole weight of the structure is thrown\non one half of the bell. Upon this large tentacle small Jelly-fishes,\nsimilar to the original, are produced by budding, this process going\non till ten or twelve such Jelly-fishes (Fig. 103) may be seen\nsuspended from the tentacle. Up to this time it has remained connected\nwith the Hydroid from which it arises, a rather large Tubularian,\nusually growing singly (Fig. 104), and of a deep orange-red in color.\nBut at this stage of its existence it frees itself, and leads an\nindependent life hereafter, swimming about with a quick, darting\nmotion. In the account of the Nanomia, the homology between its scale,\nor abortive Medusa, and the Hybocodon, is traced in detail, and I need\nonly allude to it here. Though this Medusa is so peculiar in\nappearance, the Tubularian from which it is derived is very like the\n_Tubularia Couthouyi_, already described. This is one of the instances\nbefore alluded to, in which closely allied forms give rise to very\ndissimilar ones, or, as in many cases, the very reverse of this takes\nplace, and closely allied forms arise from very dissimilar ones.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 102. Unsymmetrical free Medusa of Hybocodon;\n    _r_ _o_ chymiferous tubes, _v_ proboscis, _s_ circular tube, _m_\n    young Medusae at base of long tentacle _t_. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 103. Medusa bud of Hybocodon; _a_ base of\n    attachment, _o_ proboscis, _c_ circular tube, _d_ young Medusae at\n    base of long tentacle _t_. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 104. Single head of Hybocodon Hydroid; _a_\n    stem, _d_ Medusae buds, _o_ tentacles round mouth. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n\n_Dysmorphosa_. (_Dysmorphosa fulgurans_ A. AG.)\n\nBesides the budding at the base of the tentacle, as in Hybocodon, we\nfind another mode of development among Hydroid Medusae, viz. that of\nbudding from the proboscis. One of our most common little\nJelly-fishes, the Dysmorphosa (Fig. 105), to which we owe the\noccasional blue phosphorescence of the sea, so brilliant at times,\nbuds in this manner. Fig. 105 represents an adult Dysmorphosa, on the\nproboscis of which may be seen three small buds in different stages of\ndevelopment. In Fig. 106 the proboscis is more enlarged, showing one\nof the little Jelly-fishes similar to the parent, just ready to drop\noff. We need not wonder at the immense number of these animals, with\nwhich the sea actually swarms at times, when we know that as fast as\nthey are dropped, and it takes but a few days to complete their\ndevelopment, they each begin the same process; so that in the course\nof a week or ten days one such Medusa, supposing it to have produced\nsix buds only, will have given rise to forty-two Jelly-fishes,\nthirty-six of which may be equally prolific in the same short period.\nThese Medusae budding thus, and swimming about, carrying their young\nwith them, bear such a close resemblance to the floating communities\nof Hydroids formerly known as Siphonophorae, that did we not know that\nsome of them arise from Tubularians, it would be natural to associate\nthem with the Siphonophorae.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 105. Dysmorphosa seen in profile; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 106. Magnified proboscis of Dysmorphosa with\n    young Medusae budding from it.]\n\n\n_Nanomia_. (_Nanomia cara_ A. AG.)\n\nThe Nanomia (Fig. 115), our free floating Hydroid, consists, when\nfirst formed, of a single Hydra containing an oblong oil bubble (Fig.\n107). The whole organisation of such a Hydra is limited to a simple\ndigestive cavity; it has, in fact, but one organ, and one function,\nand consists of an alimentary sac resembling the proboscis of a Medusa\n(Fig. 107); the oil bubble is separated from it by a transverse\npartition, and has no connection with the cavity. Presently, between\nthe oil bubble and the cavity arise a number of buds of various\ncharacter (Fig. 108), which we will describe one by one, beginning\nwith those nearest the oil bubble, since these upper members of the\nlittle swimming community bear a very important part in its history.\nThe infant community (Fig. 108) passes rapidly into the stage\nrepresented in Fig. 109, and then through all the stages intermediate\nbetween this and the adult, shown in its natural size in Fig. 115. The\nupper buds enlarge gradually, and soon take upon themselves a perfect\nMedusa structure (Fig. 110), with the exception of the proboscis, the\nabsence of which is easily understood, when we find that these Medusae,\nserve the purpose of locomotion only, having no share in the function\nof feeding the community, so that a digestive apparatus would be quite\nsuperfluous for them. In every other respect they are perfect Medusae,\nattached to the Hydra as the Medusa buds always are when first formed,\nhaving the (four) chymiferous tubes, characteristic of all Hydroid\nMedusae, radiating from the centre to the periphery; two of these tubes\nare very winding, as may be seen in Fig. 110, while the other pair are\nstraight. The Medusae themselves are heart-shaped in form, depressed at\nthe centre of the upper surface, and bulging on either side into\nwing-like expansions, where they join the stem. These expansions\ninterlock with one another, crossing nearly at right angles. The\nMedusae-like buds are the swimming bells; by their contractions,\nalternately taking in and throwing out the water, they impel the whole\ncommunity forward, so that it seems rather to move like one animal,\nthan like a combination of individuals.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 107. Young Nanomia; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig, 108. Young Nanomia with rudimentary Medusae.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 109. Young Nanomia, older than Fig. 108.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 110. Heart-shaped swimming bell of Nanomia;\n    magnified.]\n\nBesides these locomotive members, the community contains three kinds\nof Hydrae arising as buds from the primitive Hydra below the swimming\nbells, the latter remaining always nearest the oil bubble at the top,\nwhile the first Hydra, the founder of the community, in proportion as\nthe new individuals are added, is gradually pushed downward, and\nremains always at the end of the string, the stem of which is formed\nby the elongated neck of the primitive Hydra. All the three sets of\nHydrae have certain features in common, while they have other\ndistinguishing characteristics marking them as distinct individuals.\nThey are all accompanied by triangular shields (Fig. 111), arising\nwith them at the same point on the parent stem, and all are furnished\nwith tentacles hanging down from the summit of the Hydra at the side\nopposite the shield. These facts are important to remember, since we\nshall presently perceive, upon analyzing their parts, that these Hydrae\nhave a close homology to the Hybocodon. The tentacles differ in\nstructure as well as in number for each kind of Hydra. Having shown in\nwhat characters they agree, let us now take each set individually, and\nsee what differences they present.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 111. Cluster of Medusae with tentacles having\n    pendent knobs.]\n\nIn the first set which we will examine the Hydra is open-mouthed. Like\nthe original Hydra, it is only a digestive tube, similar in all\nrespects to the proboscis of a Medusa-disk. Its only function is that\nof feeding, and it shows a laudable fidelity to its calling, being\nvery constantly and earnestly engaged in the work. Let us add,\nhowever, that in this instance the occupation is not a wholly selfish\none, since the cavity of every Hydra communicates with that of the\nstem, and the food taken in at these over-gaping mouths, is at once\ncirculated through all parts of the community, with the exception of\nthe oil bubble, from which it is excluded by the transverse partition\ndividing it from all the lower members of the stock. The shields share\nin this general nourishment of the compound body by means of\nchymiferous tubes extending toward the outer surface, and opening into\nthe cavity of the stem. The mouth of this Hydra is very flexible (Fig.\n111), expanding and contracting at the will of the animal, and\nsometimes acting as a sucker, fastening itself, leech-like, on the\nobject from which it seeks to draw its sustenance. (See Fig. 111.) The\ntentacles attached to this set of Hydrae are exceedingly long and\ndelicate. They arise in a cluster at the upper and inner edge of the\nHydra, just at its point of juncture with the stem, and being\nextremely flexible and contractile, their long tendril-like sprays are\nthrown out in an endless variety of attitudes. (See Fig. 115.) Along\nthe whole length of this kind of tentacle are attached little pendent\nknobs at even distances; Fig. 112 represents such a knob greatly\nmagnified, and absolutely paved with lasso-cells, the inner and\nsmaller ones being surrounded by a row of larger ones.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 112. Magnified pendent knob.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 113. Medusa with corkscrew shaped tentacles.]\n\nThe second set of Hydrae (Fig. 113), are also open-mouthed,\ncorresponding with those described above, in everything except the\ntentacles, which are both shorter and thicker, and are coiled in a\ncorkscrew-like spiral. These are thickly studded for their whole\nlength with lasso-cells. (See Fig. 113.)\n\nIn the third and last set of Hydrae (Fig. 114), the mouth is closed;\nthey have, therefore, no share in feeding the community, but receive\ntheir nourishment from the cavity of the stem into which they open.\nThey differ also from the others in having a single tentacle instead\nof a cluster, and on this tentacle the lasso-cells are scattered at\nuneven distances (Fig. 114). The special function of these closed\nHydrae is yet to be explained; they have oil bubbles at their upper end\n(see Fig. 111, the top Hydra), and though we have never seen them drop\noff, it seems natural to suppose that they do separate from the parent\nstock, and found new communities similar to those from which they\narise.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 114. Medusa with a simple thread-like\n    tentacle.]\n\nThe intricate story of this singular compound existence does not end\nhere. There is still another set of individuals whose share in\nmaintaining the life of the community is by no means the least\nimportant. Little bunches of buds, of a different character from any\ndescribed above, may be seen at certain distances along the lower part\nof the stem. These are the reproductive individuals. They are clusters\nof imperfect sexual Medusae, resembling the rudimentary Medusae of\nTubularia (Fig. 99), which are never freed from the parent stem, but\ndischarge their contents at the breeding season. Like many other\ncompound Hydroids, the sexes are never combined, in one of these\ncommunities; they are always either male or female, and as those with\nfemale buds have not yet been observed, we can only judge by inference\nof their probable character. Front what is already known, however, of\nHydroid communities of a like description, we suppose that the process\nof reproduction must be the same in these, and that the female stocks\nof Nanomia give birth to small Jelly-fishes, the eggs of which become\noil bubbles, similar to that with which our little community began.\n(Fig. 108.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 115. Adult Nanomia, natural size, at rest.]\n\nBy the time all these individuals have been added along the length of\nthe stem, the stem itself has grown to be about three inches long\n(Fig. 115), though the tentacles hanging from the various members of\nthe community give to the whole an appearance of much greater length.\nThe motion of this little string of living beings is most graceful.\nThe oil bubble (Fig. 116) at the upper end is their float; the\nswimming bells immediately below it (Fig. 110), by the convulsive\ncontractions of which they move along, are their oars. The water is\nnot taken in and expelled again by all the bells at once, but first\nfrom all the bells on one side, beginning at the lower one, and then\nfrom all those on the opposite side, beginning also at the lower one;\nthis alternate action gives to their movements a swinging, swaying\ncharacter, expressive of the utmost freedom and grace. Whether such a\nlittle community darts with a lightning-like speed through the water,\nor floats quietly up and down, for its movements are both rapid and\ngentle, it always sways in this way from side to side. Its beauty is\nincreased by the spots of bright red scattered along the length of the\nstock at the base and tips of the Hydrae, as well as upon the\ntentacles. The movements and attitudes of the tentacles are most\nvarious. Sometimes they shoot them out in straight lines on either\nside, and then the aspect of the whole thing reminds one of a tiny\nchandelier in which the coral drops make the pendants, or they may be\ncaught up in a succession of loops or floating in long streamers;\nindeed, there is no end to the fantastic forms they assume, ever\nastonishing you by some new combination of curves. The prevailing hue\nof the whole community is rosy, with the exception of the oil bubble\nor float, which looks a bright garnet color when seen in certain\nlights.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 116. Oil float of Nanomia; greatly magnified.]\n\nLet us now compare one of the Hydrae hanging from the stem (Fig. 113)\nwith the Hybocodon (Fig. 102). The reader will remember the\nunsymmetrical bell of this singular Medusa, one half of its disk more\nlargely developed than the other, with the proboscis hanging from the\ncentre, and the cluster of tentacles from one side. Let us now split\nthe bell so as to divide it in two halves with the proboscis hanging\nbetween them; next enlarge the side where there are no tentacles, and\ngive it a triangular outline; then contract the opposite side so as to\ndraw up the cluster of tentacles to meet the base of the proboscis,\nand what have we? The proboscis now corresponds to the Hydra of our\nNanomia, with the cluster of tentacles attached to its upper edge\n(Fig. 113), while the enlarged half of the bell represents the shield.\nIf this homology be correct it shows that the Nanomia is not, as some\nnaturalists have supposed all the Siphonophores to be, a single\nanimal, its different parts being a mere collection of organs endowed\nwith special functions, as feeding, locomotion, reproduction, &c., but\nthat it is indeed a community of distinct individuals corresponding\nexactly to the polymorphous Hydroids, whose stocks are attached, such\nas Hydractinia, and differing from them only in being free and\nfloating.\n\nThe homologies of the Siphonophorae or floating Hydroids, with many of\nthe fixed Hydroids, is perhaps more striking when we compare the\nearlier stages of their growth. Suppose, for instance, that the\nplanula of our Melicertum (See Fig. 81) should undergo its development\nwithout becoming attached to the ground,--what should we then have? A\nfloating community (Fig. 83), including on the same stock like the\nNanomia, both sterile and fertile Hydrae, from the latter of which\nMedusae bells are developed. The little Hydractinia community (Fig.\n100), in which we have no less than four distinct kinds of\nindividuals, each performing a definite distinct function, affords a\nstill better comparison.\n\n\n_Physalia_. (_Physalia Arethusa_ TIL.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 117. Physalia; _a_ _b_ air sac with crest _c_,\n    _m_ bunches of individuals, _n_ central tentacles, _t_ _t_\n    expanded tentacles. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nAmong the most beautiful of the Siphonophores, is the well-known\nPhysalia or Portuguese man-of-war, represented in Fig. 117. The float\nabove is a sort of crested sac or bladder, while the long streamers\nbelow consist of a number of individuals corresponding in their nature\nand functions to those composing a Hydroid community. Among them are\nthe fertile and sterile Hydrae (Fig. 118), the feeders and Medusae bells\n(Fig. 119). The Physalia properly belongs to tropical waters, but\nsometimes floats northward, in the warm current of the Gulf Stream,\nand is stranded on Cape Cod. When found so far from their home,\nhowever, they have usually lost much of their vividness of color; to\njudge of their beauty one should see them in the Gulf of Mexico,\nsailing along with their brilliant float fully expanded, their crest\nraised, and their long tentacles trailing after them.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 118. Bunch of Hydrae; _a_ base of attachment,\n    _b_ _b_ _b_ single Hydrae, _c_ _c_ tentacles. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 119. Bunch of Hydrae; cluster of Medusae; _b_\n    _b_ Hydrae with tentacles, _c_ _d_ bunches of Medusae (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n\n_Velella_. (_Velella mutica_ BOSC.)\n\nAnother very beautiful floating Hydroid, occasionally caught in our\nwaters, though its home is also far to the south, is the Velella (Fig.\n120). It is bright blue in color, and in form not unlike a little flat\nboat with an upright sail. Its Medusa (Fig. 121) resembles so much\nthat of some of our Tubularians, that it has actually been removed on\nthis account from the old group of Siphonophorae, and placed next the\nTubularians; another evidence of the close affinity between the former\nand the Hydroids.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 120. Velella; _m_ so-called mouth, _a_\n    tentacles. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 121. Free Medusa of Velella; _a_ proboscis,\n    _b_ chymiferous tube, _c_ circular tube. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n\n\n\nMODE OF CATCHING JELLY-FISHES.\n\n\nNot the least attractive feature in the study of these animals, is the\nmode of catching them. We will suppose it to be a warm, still morning\nat Nahant, in the last week of August, with a breath of autumn in the\nhaze that softens the outlines of the opposite shore, and makes the\nhorizon line a little dim. It is about eleven o'clock, for few of the\nJelly-fishes are early risers; they like the warm sun, and at an\nearlier hour they are not to be found very near the surface. The sea\nis white and glassy, with a slight swell but no ripple, and seems\nalmost motionless as we put off in a dory from the beach near\nSaunders's Ledge. We are provided with two buckets, one for the larger\nJelly-fishes, the Zygodactyla, Aurelia, &c., the other for the smaller\nfry, such as the various kinds of Ctenophorae, the Tima, Melicertum,\n&c. Beside these, we have two nets and glass bowls, in which to take\nup the more fragile creatures that cannot bear rough handling. A bump\nor two on the stones before we are fairly launched, a shove of the oar\nto keep the boat well out from the rocks along which we skirt for a\nmoment, and now we are off. We pull around the point to our left and\nturn toward the Ledge, filling our buckets as we go. Now we are\ncrossing the shallows that make the channel between the inner and\nouter rocks of Saunders's Ledge. Look down,--how clear the water is\nand how lovely the sea-weeds, above which we are floating, dark brown\nand purple fronds of the Ulvae, and the long blades of the Laminaria\nwith mossy green tufts between. As we issue from this narrow passage\nwe must be on the watch, for the tide is rising, and may come laden\nwith treasures, as it sweeps through it. A sudden cry from the oarsman\nat the bow, not of rocks or breakers ahead, but of \"A new Jelly-fish\nastern!\" The quick eye of the naturalist of the party pronounces it\nunknown to zoologists, un-described by any scientific pen. Now what\nexcitement! \"Out with the net!--we have passed him! he has gone down!\nno, there he is again! back us a bit.\" Here he is floating close by\nus; now he is within the circle of the net, but he is too delicate to\nbe caught safely in that way, so, while one of us moves the net gently\nabout, to keep him within the space enclosed by it, another slips the\nglass bowl under him, lifts it quickly, and there is a general\nexclamation of triumph and delight,--we have him. And now we look more\nclosely; yes, decidedly he is a novelty as well as a beauty. (See Fig.\n122, _Ptychogena lactea_ A. Ag.) Those white mossy tufts for ovaries\nare unlike anything we have found before (Fig. 123), and not\nrepresented in any published figures of Jelly-fishes. We float about\nhere for a while, hoping to find more of the same kind, but no others\nmake their appearance, and we keep on our way to East Point, where\nthere is a capital fishing ground for Medusae of all sorts. Here two\ncurrents meet, and the Jelly-fishes are stranded as it were along the\nline of juncture, able to move neither one way nor the other. At this\nspot the sea actually swarms with life; one cannot dip the net into\nthe water without bringing up Pleurobrachia, Bolina, Idyia,\nMelicertum, &c., while the larger Zygodactyla and Aurelia float about\nthe boat in numbers. These large Jelly-fishes produce a singular\neffect as one sees them at some depth beneath the water; the Aureliae,\nespecially, with their large white disks, look like pale phantoms\nwandering about far below the surface; but they constantly float\nupward, and if not too far out of reach, one may bring them up by\nstirring the water under them with the end of the oar.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 122. Ptychogena, natural size.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 123. Ovary of Ptychogena; magnified.]\n\nWhen we have passed an hour or so floating about just beyond East\nPoint, and have nearly filled our buckets with Jelly-fishes of all\nsizes and descriptions, we turn and row homeward. The buckets look\nvery pretty as they stand in the bottom of the boat with the sunshine\nlighting up their living contents. The Idyia glitters and sparkles\nwith ever-changing hues, the Pleurobrachiae dart about, trailing their\nlong graceful tentacles after them, the golden Melicerta are kept in\nconstant motion by their quick, sudden contractions, and the delicate\ntransparent Tima floats among them all, not the less beautiful because\nso colorless. There is an unfortunate Idyia, who, by some mistake, has\ngot into the wrong bucket with the larger Jelly-fish, where a\nZygodactyla has entangled it among his tentacles and is quietly\nbreakfasting upon it.\n\nDuring our row the tide has been rising, and as we near the channel of\nSaunders's Ledge, it is running through more strongly than before, and\nat the entrance of the shallows a pleasant surprise is prepared us; no\nless than half a dozen of our new friends (the Ptychogena as he has\nbeen baptized), come to look for their lost companion perhaps, await\nus there, and are presently added to our spoils. We reach the shore\nheavily laden with the fruits of our morning's excursion.\n\nThe most interesting part of the work for the naturalist is still to\ncome. On our return to the Laboratory, the contents of the buckets are\npoured into separate glass bowls and jars; holding them up against the\nlight, we can see which are our best and rarest specimens; these we\ndip out in glass cups and place by themselves. If any small specimens\nare swimming about at the bottom of the jar, and refuse to come within\nour reach, there is a very simple mode of catching them. Dip a glass\ntube into the water, keeping the upper end closed with your finger,\nand sink it till the lower end is just above the animal you want to\nentrap; then lift your finger, and as the air rushes out the water\nrushes in, bringing with it the little creature you are trying to\ncatch. When the specimens are well assorted, the microscope is taken\nout, and the rest of the day is spent in studying the new\nJelly-fishes, recording the results, making notes, drawings, &c.\n\nStill more attractive than the rows by day are the night expeditions\nin search of Jelly-fishes. For this object we must choose a quiet\nnight, for they will not come to the surface if the water is troubled.\nNature has her culminating hours, and she brings us now and then a day\nor night on which she seems to have lavished all her treasures. It was\non such a rare evening, at the close of the summer of 1862, that we\nrowed over the same course by Saunders's Ledge and East Point\ndescribed above. The August moon was at her full, the sky was without\na cloud, and we floated on a silver sea; pale streamers of the aurora\nquivered in the north, and notwithstanding the brilliancy of the moon,\nthey too cast their faint reflection in the ocean. We rowed quietly\nalong past the Ledge, past Castle Rock, the still surface of the water\nunbroken, except by the dip of the oars and the ripple of the boat,\ntill we reached the line off East Point, where the Jelly-fishes are\nalways most abundant, if they are to be found at all. Now dip the net\ninto the water. What genie under the sea has wrought this wonderful\nchange? Our dirty, torn old net is suddenly turned to a web of gold,\nand as we lift it from the water heavy rills of molten metal seem to\nflow down its sides and collect in a glowing mass at the bottom. The\ntruth is, the Jelly-fishes, so sparkling and brilliant in the\nsunshine, have a still lovelier light of their own at night; they give\nout a greenish golden light as brilliant as that of the brightest\nglow-worm, and on a calm summer night, at the spawning season, when\nthey come to the surface in swarms, if you do but dip your hand into\nthe water it breaks into sparkling drops beneath your touch. There are\nno more beautiful phosphorescent animals in the sea than the Medusae;\nit would seem that the expression, \"rills of molten metal\" could\nhardly apply to anything so impalpable as a Jelly-fish, but, although\nso delicate in structure, their gelatinous disks give them a weight\nand substance; and at night, when their transparency is not perceived,\nand their whole mass is aglow with phosphorescent light, they truly\nhave an appearance of solidity which is most striking, when they are\nlifted out of the water and flow down the sides of the net.\n\nThe various kinds present very different aspects; wherever the larger\nAureliae and Zygodactylae float to the surface, they bring with them a\ndim spreading halo of light, the smaller Ctenophorae become little\nshining spheres, while a thousand lesser creatures add their tiny\nlamps to the illumination of the ocean; for this so-called\nphosphorescence of the sea is by no means due to the Jelly-fishes\nalone, but is also produced by many other animals, differing in the\ncolor as well as the intensity of their light, and it is a curious\nfact that they seem to take possession of the field by turns. You may\nrow over the same course, which a few nights since glowed with a\ngreenish golden light wherever the surface of the water was disturbed,\nand though equally brilliant, the phosphorescence has now a pure white\nlight. On such an evening, be quite sure that when you empty your\nbuckets on your return and examine their contents you will find that\nthe larger part of your treasures are small crustacea (little\nshrimps). Of course there will be other phosphorescent creatures,\nJelly-fishes, &c., among them, but the predominant color is given by\nthese little crustacea. On another evening the light will have a\nbluish tint, and then the phosphorescence is principally due to the\nDysmorphosa (Fig. 105).\n\nNotwithstanding the beauty of a moonlight row, if you would see the\nphosphorescence to greatest advantage you must choose a dark night,\nwhen the motion of your boat sets the sea on fire around you, and a\nlong undulating wave of light rolls off from your oar as you lift it\nfrom the water. On a brilliant evening this effect is lost in a great\ndegree, and it is not until you dip your net fairly under the moonlit\nsurface of the sea, that you are aware how full of life it is.\nOccasionally one is tempted out by the brilliancy of the\nphosphorescence, when the clouds are so thick that water, sky, and\nland become one indiscriminate mass of black, and the line of rocks\ncan be discerned only by the vivid flash of greenish golden light,\nwhen the breakers dash against them. At such times there is something\nwild and weird in the whole scene, which at once fascinates and\nappalls the imagination; one seems to be rocking above a volcano, for\nthe surface around is intensely black, except where fitful flashes or\nbroad waves of light break from the water under the motion of the boat\nor the stroke of the oars. It was on a night like this, when the\nphosphorescence was unusually brilliant, and the sea as black as ink,\nthe surf breaking heavily and girdling the rocky shore with a wall of\nfire, that our collector was so fortunate as to find in the rich\nharvest he brought home the entirely new and exceedingly pretty little\nfloating Hydroid, described under the name of Nanomia (Fig. 115). It\nwas in its very infancy (Fig. 108), a mere bubble, not yet possessed\nof the various appendages which eventually make up its complex\nstructure; but it was nevertheless very important to have seen it in\nthis early stage of its existence, since, when a few full-grown\nspecimens were found in the autumn, which lived for some days in\nconfinement and quietly allowed their portraits to be taken (see Fig.\n115), it was easy to connect the adult animal with the younger phase\nof its own life and thus make a complete history.\n\nMarine phosphorescence is no new topic, and we have dwelt too long,\nperhaps, upon a phenomenon that every voyager has seen, and many have\ndescribed. Its effect is very different, when seen from the deck of a\nvessel, from its appearance as one floats through its midst,\ndistinguishing the very creatures that produce it, and any account of\nthe Medusae which did not include this most characteristic feature\nwould be incomplete.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nECHINODERMS.\n\n\nOur illustrations and descriptions of Echinoderms are scanty in\ncomparison to those of the preceding class; for while, in consequence,\nperhaps, of the combined influence of the Gulf Stream and the cold\narctic current on the New England shore, Acalephs are largely\nrepresented in our waters, our marine fauna is meagre in Echinoderms.\nBut although we have few varieties, those which do establish\nthemselves on a coast seemingly so ungenial for others of their kind,\nsuch as the Echinus, and our common Star-fish, for instance, thrive\nwell and are very abundant. The class of Echinoderms includes five\norders, viz. CRINOIDS, OPHIURANS, STAR-FISHES, SEA-URCHINS, and\nHOLOTHURIANS. The animals composing these orders differ so widely in\nappearance that it was very long before their true relations were\ndetected, and it was seen that all their external differences were\nunited under a common plan. Let us compare, for instance, the\nworm-like Holothurians (Figs. 124, 126, 127) with all the host of\nStar-fishes (Figs. 142, 146, 147) and Sea-urchins (Figs. 131, 139), or\ncompare the radiating form of the Star-fish, its arms spreading in\nevery direction, with the close spherical outline of the Sea-urchin,\nor the Crinoid floating at the end of a stem (Fig. 152) with either of\nthese, and we shall cease to wonder that naturalists failed to find at\nonce a unity of idea under all these varieties of execution. And yet\nthe fundamental structure of the class of Echinoderms is represented\nas distinctly by any one of its five orders as by any other, and is\nabsolutely identical in all. They differ only by trifling\nmodifications of development.\n\nIn Echinoderms as a class, the body presents three regions differing\nin structure, and on the greater or less development of these regions\nor systems, as we may call them, their chief differences are based.\nTake, for instance, the dorsal system, the nature of which is\nexplained by the name, indicating of course the back of the animal,\nthough it does not necessarily imply the upper side of the body, since\nsome of the Echinoderms, as the stemmed Crinoids, for example, carry\nthe dorsal side downward, while the Star-fishes and Sea-urchins carry\nit upward, and the Holothurians, moving with the mouth forward, have\nthe dorsal system at the opposite end of the body. Whatever the\nnatural attitude of the animal, however, and the consequent position\nof the dorsal region, it exists alike in all the five orders, though\nit has not the same extent and importance in each. But in all it is\nmade up of similar parts, bears the same relation to the rest of the\nbody, has the same share in the general economy of the animal. And\nthough when we compare the spreading back of a Star-fish with the\nsmall area on the top of a Sea-urchin, where all the zones unite, we\nmay not at once see the correspondence between them, yet a careful\ncomparison of all their structural details shows that they are both\nbuilt with the same elements and represent the same region, though it\nis stretched to the utmost in the one case, and greatly contracted in\nthe other.\n\nThis being true of the dorsal system, let us look at another equally\nimportant structural feature in this class. All Echinoderms have\nlocomotive organs peculiar to themselves, a kind of suckers which may\nbe more or less numerous, larger or smaller, in different species, but\nare always appendages of the same character. These are variously\ndistributed over the body, but always with a certain regularity\noccupying definite spaces, shown by investigation to be homologous in\nall. For instance, the rays of the Star-fish correspond in every\ndetail on their under side, along which the locomotive suckers run,\nwith the zones on the Sea-urchin, from end to end of which the suckers\nare arranged; and the same is equally true of the distribution of the\nsuckers on the Holothurians, Ophiurans, and Crinoids, though, as most\npersons are less familiar with these orders than with the other two,\nit might not be so easy to point out the coincidence to our readers.\nThese suckers are called the ambulacra, the lines along which they run\nare called the ambulacral rows or zones, while the system of\nlocomotion as a whole is known as the ambulacral system. Since these\norgans are thus regularly distributed over the body in distinct zones\nor rows, it follows that the latter must be divided by intervening\nspaces. These intervals are called the interambulacral spaces; but\nwhile in some orders they are occupied by larger plates and prominent\nspines, as in the Sea-urchin and Star-fish, in others they are either\ncomparatively insignificant or completely suppressed, as in the\nCrinoids and Ophiurans. Such are the three regions or systems which by\ntheir greater or less development introduce an almost infinite variety\nof combinations into this highest class of Radiates. It may not be\namiss before proceeding further to compare the five orders with\nreference to this point, and see which of these three systems has the\npreponderance in each one.\n\nTaking the orders in their rank and beginning with the lowest, we find\nin the Crinoids that the dorsal system preponderates, being composed\nof highly complicated plates, and developed to such a degree as to\nform in many instances a stem by which the animal is attached to the\nground, while the ambulacral system is limited to a comparatively\nsmall area, and the interambulacral system is wanting. The order of\nCrinoids has diminished so much in modern geological times that we\nmust consult its fossil forms in order to understand fully the\npeculiar adaptation of the Echinoderm plan in this group.\n\nIn the Ophiurans, the dorsal system is still large, and though it no\nlonger stretches out to form a stem, it folds over on the under side\nof the animal so as to enclose entirely the ambulacral system, forming\na kind of shield for the arms. Here also the interambulacral system is\nwanting.\n\nIn the Star-fishes the dorsal system encroaches less upon the\nstructure of the animal. The back and oral side here correspond\nexactly in size, and though the flat leathery upper surface of the\nanimal, covered with spines, serves as a protection to the delicate\nambulacral suckers which find their way between the rows of small\nplates along the under side of the arms, yet it does not enfold them\nas in the Ophiurans. On the contrary, in the Star-fishes the\nambulacral rows are protected on either side by a row of the so-called\ninterambulacral plates, through which no suckers pass.\n\nIn the Sea-urchin, the dorsal system is contracted to a minimum,\nforming a small area on the top of the animal, the rows of\ninterambulacral plates which are separated and lie on either side of\nthe ambulacra in the Star-fish being united in the Sea-urchin, and\nboth the ambulacral and the interambulacral systems bent upward,\nmeeting in the small dorsal area above, so as to form a spherical\noutline. Here the ambulacral and interambulacral systems have taken a\ngreat preponderance over the dorsal system, and the same is the case\nwith the Holothurians, in which the same structure is greatly\nelongated, the dorsal system being thus pushed out as it were to the\nend of a cylinder, while the ambulacral and interambulacral systems\nrun along its whole length. All Echinoderms without exception have\nambulacral tubes, even though in some there are no external ambulacral\nsuckers connected with them.\n\nThere is one organ peculiar to the class of Echinoderms, the general\nstructure of which may be described here, since it is common to them\nall, with the exception of the Crinoids, the anatomy of which is,\nhowever, so imperfectly understood, that we are hardly justified in\nassuming that it does not exist even in that order. This organ is\nknown as the madreporic body; it is a small sieve or limestone filter\nopening into a tube or canal; by means of this tube, which connects\nwith the ambulacral system, the water from without, first filtered\nthrough the madreporic body and thus freed from any impurities, is\nconveyed to the ambulacra. In the more detailed account of the\ndifferent orders we shall see what is the position of this singular\norgan in each group, and how it is adapted in them all to their\nspecial structure. The development of Echinoderms forms one of the\nmost wonderful chapters in the annals of Natural History. Marvellous\nas is the embryonic history of the Acalephs, including all the\ndifferent aspects they assume in the cycle of their growth, it is\nthrown into the shade by the transformations which Echinoderms undergo\nbefore assuming their adult condition. This singular mode of\ndevelopment, although it has features recalling the development of\nJelly-fishes from Hydroids, is nevertheless entirely distinct from it,\nand is known only in the class of Echinoderms. As the whole story is\ngiven at length in the chapter on the embryology of the Echinoderms,\nwe need only allude to it here in general terms. We owe the discovery\nof this remarkable process to Johannes Mueller, one of the greatest\nanatomists of this century.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nHOLOTHURIANS.\n\n\n_Synapta_. (_Synapta tenuis_ AYRES.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 124. Synapta, natural size.]\n\nThis is one of the most curious of the Holothurians, and easily\nobserved on account of its transparency, which allows us to see its\ninternal structure. It has a long cylindrical body (Fig. 124) along\nthe length of which run the five rows of ambulacra, which are in this\ninstance closed tubes without any projecting suckers or locomotive\norgans of any kind attached to them, so that the name is retained only\non account of their correspondence in position, and not from any\nsimilarity of function to the ambulacra in Star-fishes and\nSea-urchins. But though the ambulacra in Synapta are in fact mere\nwater-tubes like the vertical tubes in the Ctenophorae, by means of\nwhich the water, first filtered through the madreporic body,\ncirculates along the skin, they are as organs perfectly homologous\nwith the ambulacra in all other Echinoderms. The mouth has a circular\ntube around the aperture, and a wreath of branching tentacles\nencircling it. The habits of these animals are singular. They live in\nvery coarse mud, but they surround themselves with a thin envelope of\nfiner sand, which they form by selecting the small particles with\ntheir tentacles, and making a ring around their anterior extremity.\nThis ring they then push down along the length of the body, and\ncontinue this process, adding ring after ring, till they have entirely\nencircled themselves with a sand tube. They move the rings down partly\nby means of contractions of the body, but also by the aid of\ninnumerable appendages over the whole surface. To the naked eye these\nappendages appear like little specks on the skin; but under the\nmicroscope they are seen to be warts projecting from the surface, each\none containing a little anchor with the arms turned upward (Fig. 125).\nAround the mouth these warts are larger, but do not contain any\nanchors. It will be seen hereafter that these appendages are\nhomologous with certain organs in other Holothurians, the warts with\nthe anchors corresponding to the limestone pavement covering or\npartially covering the surface of the Cuvieria, for instance, while\nthose without anchors correspond to the so-called false ambulacra in\nPentacta. By means of these appendages, though aided also by the\ncontractions of the body, the Synaptae move through the mud and collect\naround themselves the sand tube in which they are encased. Their food\nis very coarse for animals so delicate in structure. When completely\nempty of food they are white, perfectly transparent, and the spiral\ntube forming the digestive cavity may be seen wound up and hanging\nloosely in the centre for the whole length of the body. In such a\ncondition it is of a pale yellow color. But look at one that is gorged\nwith food. The whole length of the alimentary canal is then crowded\nwith sand, pebbles, and shells, distinctly seen through the\ntransparent skin, and giving a dark gray color to the whole body. They\nswallow the sand for the sake of the nutritious substance it contains,\nand having assimilated and digested this, they then eject the harder\nmaterials. The motion of the body in consequence of its contractions\nis much like that of leeches, and on this account these Synaptae were\nlong supposed to be a transition type between the Radiates and worms.\nThe body grows to a great length, often half a yard and more, but\nconstantly drops large portions from its posterior part, by means of\nits own contractions, or breaks itself up by the expulsion of the\nintestines, which are very readily cast out. The tentacles are hollow,\nconsisting of a central rib with branches from either side. In the\nSynaptae, as in all the Holothurians, the madreporic body is placed\nnear the mouth, between two of the ambulacra, and opposite the fifth\nor odd one. The tube, connecting with the central tube around the\nmouth, by means of which it communicates with the ambulacral tubes, is\nvery short.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 125. Anchor of Synapta; _a_ anchor, _w_ plate\n    upon which anchor is attached; greatly magnified.]\n\n\n_Caudina_. (_Caudina arenata_ STIMPS.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 126. Caudina arenata; natural size.]\n\nSeveral other Holothurians are frequently met with on our shores.\nAmong them is the _Caudina arenata_ (Fig. 126), a small Holothurian,\nyellowish in color, and thick in texture, by no means so pretty as the\nwhite transparent Synapta; the tentacles are short, resembling a crown\nof cloves around the mouth. It lives in the sand, and may be found in\ngreat numbers on the sandy beaches after a storm.\n\n\n_Cuvieria_. (_Cuvieria squamata_ D. & K.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 127. Cuvieria; natural size.]\n\nThe Holothurian of our coast, excelling all the rest in beauty, is the\nCuvieria. (Fig. 127.) As it lies on the sand, a solid red lump, with\nneither grace of form nor beauty of color, even the vividness of its\ntint growing dull and dead when it is removed from its native element,\ncertainly no one could suspect that it possessed any hidden charm; but\nplace it in a glass bowl with fresh sea-water; the dull red changes to\ndeep vivid crimson, the tentacles creep out (Fig. 127) softly, and\nslowly, till the mouth is surrounded by a spreading wreath, comparable\nfor richness of tint, and for delicate tracery, to the most beautiful\nsea-weeds. These tentacles, when fully expanded, are as long as the\nbody itself. A limestone pavement composed of numerous pieces covers\nalmost the whole surface of the animal; this apparatus corresponds, as\nwe have already mentioned, to the warts containing anchors in the\nSynapta; but in the latter, the limestone particles are smaller,\nwhereas in the Cuvieria they are developed to a remarkable extent.\nThis animal is very sluggish, the ambulacral suckers, found only on\nthree of the tubes, being arranged in such a way as to form a sort of\nsole on which they creep; the sole is tough and leathery in texture,\nbut free from the limestone pavement described above. The young (Figs.\n128, 129) are very common, swimming freely about, and more readily\nfound than the adult; they are of a bright vermilion color, but the\ntentacles hardly branch at that age, nor is the limestone pavement\nformed, which gives such a peculiar aspect to the full-grown animal.\nThe young Cuvieria, somewhat older than that represented in Fig. 129,\nare found in plenty under stones at low-water mark, just after they\nhave given up their nomadic habits, and when the limestone pavement\nbegins to be developed.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 128. Young Cuvieria, much enlarged; _l_ body,\n    _g_ tentacles.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 129. Somewhat older Cuvieria; _l_ body, _g_\n    tentacle round mouth, _g'_ testaete of sole, _b_ madreporic\n    tentacle.]\n\n\n_Pentacta_. (_Pentacta frondosa_ JAeG.)\n\nThe highest of our Holothurians in structure, is the Pentacta. (Fig.\n130) It is very rare on our beaches, though occasionally found under\nstones at low-water mark; farther north, in Maine, and at Grand Manan,\nit is very common, covering all the rocks near low-water mark. It is a\nchocolate brown in color, and measures, when fully expanded, some\nfifteen to eighteen inches in length. Unlike the Cuvieria, the\nambulacral suckers are evenly distributed and almost equally developed\non all the tubes; between the five rows of ambulacral suckers are\nscattered irregularly certain appendages resembling suckers, but found\non examination not to be true locomotive suckers, and called on that\naccount false ambulacra. These are the organs corresponding to the\nwarts around the mouth of the Synapta. Although the ambulacral suckers\nare, as we have said, equally developed on all the tubes, yet the\nPentacta does not use them indiscriminately as locomotive organs. In\nPentacta, as well as in all Holothurians, whether provided with\nambulacral suckers, or, like the Synapta and Caudina, deprived of\nthem, the odd ambulacrum, viz. the one placed opposite the madreporic\nbody, is always used to creep upon, and forms the under surface of the\nanimal.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 130. Pentacta frondosa; expanded about one\n    third the natural size.]\n\nThe correspondence between the different phases of growth in the young\nPentacta, and the adult forms of the orders described above, the\nSynapta, Caudina, Cuvieria, and Pentacta itself, is a striking\ninstance of the way in which embryonic forms illustrate the relative\nstanding of adult animals. In the earlier stages of its development,\nthe ambulacral tubes alone are developed in the Pentacta; in this\ncondition it recalls the lower orders of Holothurians, as the Synapta\nand Caudina; then a sole is formed by the greater development of three\nof the ambulacra, and in this state it reminds us of the next in\norder, the Cuvieria, while it is only in assuming its adult form that\nthe Pentacta develops its other ambulacra, with their many suckers.\n\nThe Pentacta resembles the Trepang, so highly valued by the Chinese as\nan article of food, and forms a not unsavory dish, having somewhat the\nflavor of lobster.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nECHINOIDS.\n\n\n_Sea-urchin_. (_Toxopneustes drobachiensis_ AG.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 131. Toxopneustes from above, with all the\n    appendages expanded; natural size.]\n\nSea-urchins (Fig. 131) are found in rocky pools, hidden away usually\nin cracks and holes. They like to shelter themselves in secluded\nnooks, and, not satisfied even with the privacy of such a retreat,\nthey cover themselves with sea-weed, drawing it down with their\ntentacles, and packing it snugly above them, as if to avoid\nobservation. This habit makes them difficult to find, and it is only\nby parting the sea-weed, and prying into the most retired corners in\nsuch a pool, that one detects them. Their motions are slow, and they\nare less active than either the Star-fish or the Ophiuran, to both of\nwhich they are so closely allied.\n\nLet us look at one first, as seen from above, with all its various\norgans fully extended. (Fig. 131.) The surface of the animal is\ndivided by ten zones, like ribs on a melon, only that these zones\ndiffer in size, five broad zones alternating with five narrower ones.\nThe broad zones, representing the interambulacral system, are composed\nof large plates, supporting a number of hard projecting spines, while\nthe narrow zones, forming the ambulacral system, are pierced with\nsmall holes, arranged in regular rows, (Fig. 132,) through which\nextend the tentacles terminating with little cups or suckers. These\nzones converge towards the summit of the animal, meeting in the small\narea which here represents the dorsal system; this area is filled by\nten plates, five larger ones at the extremity of the interambulacral\nzones, and five smaller ones at the extremity of the ambulacral zones.\n(Fig. 132.) In the five larger plates are the ovarian openings, so\ncalled because each one is pierced by a small hole through which the\neggs are passed out, while in the five smaller plates are the\neye-specks. The ovaries themselves consist of long pouches or sacs,\ncarried along the inner side of each ambulacrum; one of these ovarian\nplates is larger than the others, and forms the madreporic body, being\npierced with many minute holes; here, as in the Star-fish, it is\nplaced between two of the ambulacral rows, and opposite the fifth or\nodd one. Looked at from the under or the oral side, as seen in Fig.\n134, the animal presents the mouth, a circular aperture furnished with\nfive teeth in its centre; these five teeth opening into a complicated\nintestine to be presently described. From the mouth, the ten zones\ndiverge, curving upward to meet in the dorsal area on the summit of\nthe body. (Fig. 133.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 132. Portion of shell of Fig. 131, with spines\n    rubbed off. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 133. Sea-urchin shell with all the spines\n    removed. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nLet us now examine the appearance and functions of the various\nappendages on the surface. The tentacles have a variety of functions\nto perform; they are the locomotive appendages, and for this reason,\nas we have seen, the zones along which they are placed are called the\nambulacra, while the intervening spaces, or the broad zones, are\ncalled the interambulacra. It should not be supposed, however, that\nthe locomotive appendages are the only ones to be found on the\nambulacra, for spines occur on the narrow as well as on the broad\nzones, though the larger and more prominent ones are always placed on\nthe latter. The tentacles are also subservient to circulation, for the\nwater which is taken in at the madreporic body passes into all the\ntentacles, sometimes called on that account water-tubes. Beside these\noffices the tentacles are constantly busy catching any small prey, and\nconveying it to the mouth, or securing the bits of sea-weed with\nwhich, as has been said, these animals conceal themselves from\nobservation. It is curious to see their fine transparent feelers,\nfastening themselves by means of the terminal suckers on such a\nfloating piece of sea-weed, drawing it gently down and packing it\ndelicately over the surface of the body. As locomotive appendages, the\ntentacles are chiefly serviceable on the lower or oral side of the\nanimal, which always moves with the mouth downward. About this portion\nof the body the tentacles are numerous (Fig. 134) and large, and when\nthe animal advances it stretches them in a given direction, fastens\nthem by means of the suckers on some surface, be it of rock, or shell,\nor the side of the glass jar in which they are kept, and being thus\nanchored it drags itself forward. The tentacles are of a violet hue,\nthough when stretched to their greatest length they lose their color,\nand become almost white and transparent; but in their ordinary\ncondition the color is quite decided, and the rows along which they\noccur make as many violet lines upon the surface of the body.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 134. Sea-urchin seen from the mouth side.\n    (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 135. Magnified spine.]\n\nAlmost the sole function of the spines seems to be that of protecting\nthe animal, and enabling it to resist the attacks of its enemies, the\nforce of the waves, or any sudden violent contact with the rocks. The\nspines, when magnified, are seen to be finely ribbed for nearly the\nwhole length (Fig. 135), the bare basal knob serving as the point of\nattachment for the powerful muscles, which move these spines on a\nregular ball-and-socket joint, the ball surmounting the tubercles\n(seen in Fig. 132), which fit exactly in a socket at the base of the\nspine. In a transverse section of a spine (Fig. 136), we see that the\nribs visible on the outside are delicate columns placed closely side\nby side, and connected by transverse rods forming an exceedingly\ndelicate pattern. Beside the tentacles and the spines, they have other\nexternal appendages, of which the function long remained a mystery,\nand is yet but partially explained; these are the so-called\npedicellariae; they consist of a stem (_s_, Fig. 137), which becomes\nswollen (_p_, Fig. 137) into a thimble-shaped knob at the end (_t_,\nFig. 137); this knob may seem solid and compact at first sight, but it\nis split into three wedges, which can be opened and shut at will. When\nopen, these pedicellariae may best be compared to a three-pronged fork,\nexcept that the prongs are arranged concentrically instead of on one\nplane, and, when closed, they fit into one another as neatly as the\npieces of a puzzle.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 136. Transverse section of spine; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 137. Pedicellaria of Sea-urchin; _s_ stem, _p_\n    base of fork, _t_ fork.]\n\nIf we watch the Sea-urchin after he has been feeding, we shall learn,\nat least, one of the offices which this singular organ performs in the\ngeneral economy of the animal. That part of his food which he ejects\npasses out at an opening on the summit of the body, in the small area\nwhere all the zones converge. The rejected particle is received on one\nof these little forks, which closes upon it like a forceps, and it is\npassed on from one to the other, down the side of the body, till it is\ndropped off into the water. Nothing is more curious and entertaining\nthan to watch the neatness and accuracy with which this process is\nperformed. One may see the rejected bits of food passing rapidly along\nthe lines upon which these pedicellariae occur in greatest number, as\nif they were so many little roads for the conveying away of the refuse\nmatters; nor do the forks cease from their labor till the surface of\nthe animal is completely clean, and free from any foreign substance.\nWere it not for this apparatus the food thus rejected would be\nentangled among the tentacles and spines, and be stranded there till\nthe motion of the water washed it away. These curious little organs\nmay have some other office than this very laudable and useful one of\nscavenger, and this seems the more probable because they occur over\nthe whole surface of the body, while they seem to pass the excrements\nonly along certain given lines. They are especially numerous about the\nmouth, where they certainly cannot have this function; we shall see\nalso that they bear an important part in the structure of the\nStar-fish, where there are no such avenues on the upper surface, for\nthe passage of the refuse food, as occur on the Sea-urchin.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 138. Teeth of Sea-urchin, so-called Lantern of\n    Aristotle.]\n\nOn opening a Sea-urchin, we find that the teeth (Fig. 138), which seem\nat first sight only like five little conical wedges around the mouth\n(Fig. 134), are connected with a complicated intestine, which extends\nspirally from the lower to the upper floor of the body, festooning\nitself from one ambulacral zone to the next, till it reaches the\nsummit, where it opens. This intestine leads into the centre of the\nteeth, the jaws themselves, which sustain the teeth, being made up of\na number of pieces, and moved by a complicated system of muscular\nbands. When the intestine is distended with food, it fills the greater\npart of the inner cavity; the remaining space is occupied in the\nbreeding season by the genital organs. In a section of the Sea-urchin,\none may also trace the tube by which the supply of water, first\nfiltered through the madreporic body, is conveyed to the ambulacra; it\nextends from the summit of the body to the circular tube surrounding\nthe mouth.\n\n\n_Echinarachnius_. (_Echinarachnius parma_ GRAY.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 139. Echinarachnius, seen from above, with the\n    spines on part of the shell; _a_ ambulacral zone, _i_\n    interambulacral zone.]\n\nBeside the Toxopneustes (Fig. 131) described above, we have another\nSea-urchin very common along our shores. Among children who live near\nsandy beaches, they are well known as \"sand-cakes\" (Fig. 139), and\nindeed they are so flat and round, that, when dried and deprived of\ntheir bristles, they look not unlike a cake with a star-shaped figure\non its surface. (Fig. 139.) When first taken from the water they are\nof a dark reddish brown color, and covered with small silky bristles.\nThe disk is so flat, being but very slightly convex on the upper side,\nthat one would certainly not associate it at first sight with the\ncommon spherical Sea-urchin or Sea-egg, as the Toxopneustes is\nsometimes called. But upon closer examination the delicate ambulacral\ntubes or suckers may be seen projecting from along the line of the\nambulacra, as in the spherical Sea-urchin; and though these ambulacra\nbecome expanded near the summit into gill-like appendages, forming a\nsort of rosette in the centre of the disk, they are, nevertheless, the\nsame organs, only somewhat more complicated. When such a disk is dried\nin the sun, and the bristles entirely removed, the lines of suture of\nthe plates composing it, and corresponding exactly to those of the\nspherical Sea-urchin, may very readily be seen. (_a_ and _i_, Fig.\n139.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 140. Transverse section of Echinarachnius; _o_\n    mouth, _e_ _e_ ambulacra, _c_ _m_ ambulacral ramifications, _w_\n    _w_ interambulacra. (_Agassiz_.)]\n\nThis flat Sea-urchin or Echinarachnius, as it is called, belongs to a\ngroup of Sea-urchins known as Clypeastroids (shield-like Sea-urchins).\nIn a section (Fig. 140) exposing the internal structure, one cannot\nbut be reminded by its general aspect of an Aurelia. Could one\nsolidify an Aurelia it would present much the same appearance; another\nevidence that all the Radiates are built on one plan, their\ndifferences being only so many modes of expressing the same structural\nidea. The teeth or jaws in this flat Sea-urchin are not so complicated\nas in the Toxopneustes, being simply flat pieces, arranged around the\nmouth (_o_, Fig. 140), without the apparatus of muscular bands by\nmeans of which the teeth are moved in the other genus. It is a curious\nfact, considered in relation to the general radiate structure of these\nanimals, that the teeth, instead of moving up and down like the jaws\nin Vertebrates, or from right to left like those of Articulates, move\nconcentrically, all converging towards the centre.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nSTAR-FISHES.\n\n\n_Star-fish_. (_Astracanthion berylinus_ AG.)\n\nAlthough there is the closest homology of parts between the Star-fish\nand the Sea-urchin, the arrangement of these parts, and the external\nappearance of the animals, as a whole, are entirely different. The\nStar-fish has zones corresponding exactly to those of the Sea-urchin,\nbut instead of being drawn together, and united at the summit of the\nanimal, so as to form a spherical outline, they are spread out on one\nlevel in the shape of a star. This change in the general arrangement\nbrings the eye-specks to the extremities of the arms, and places the\novarian openings in the angles between the arms. The madreporic body\nis situated on the upper surface of the disk (Fig. 142), at the angle\nbetween two of the arms, and consequently between two of the\nambulacra, and opposite the odd one. The tube into which it opens,\nruns vertically from the upper floor of the disk to the lower, where\nit connects with the circular tube around the mouth, and thus\ncommunicates with all the ambulacral rows. The ambulacral zones which,\nin the Star-fish, have the shape of a furrow, run along the lower side\nof each ray (Fig. 141); the interambulacral zones are divided, their\nplates being arranged in rows along either side of the ambulacral\nfurrows. The ambulacral furrow, like the ambulacral zone in the\nSea-urchin, is pierced with numerous holes, alternating with each\nother in a kind of zigzag arrangement, one hole a little in advance,\nthe next a little farther back, and so on, and through these holes\npass the tentacles, terminating in suckers, as in the Sea-urchins, and\nserving as in them for locomotive organs. The most prominent and\nstrongest spines are arranged upon the large interambulacral plates on\nboth sides of the ambulacral furrows; but the upper surface of the\nanimal is also completely studded with smaller spines, scattered at\nvarious distances, apparently without any regular arrangement.\n(Fig. 142.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 141. Star-fish ray, seen from mouth side.\n    (_Agassiz_.)]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 142. Star-fish; natural size, seen from\n    above.]\n\nThe position of the pedicellariae is quite different from that which\nthey occupy in the Sea-urchin, where they are scattered singly between\nthe spines and tentacles, though more regularly and closely grouped\nalong the lines upon which the refuse food is moved off. In the\nStar-fish, on the contrary, these singular organs seem to be grouped\nfor some special purpose around the spines, on the upper surface of\nthe body. Every such spine swells near its point of attachment, thus\nforming a spreading base (Fig. 143), around which the pedicellariae are\narranged in a close wreath, in the centre of which the summit of the\nspine projects; they differ also from those of the Sea-urchin in\nhaving two prongs instead of three. Other pedicellariae are scattered\nindependently over the surface of the animal, but they are smaller\nthan those forming the clusters and connected with the spines. The\nfunction of these organs in the Star-fish remains unexplained; the\nopening on the upper surface, through which the refuse food is thrown\nout, is in such a position that they evidently do not serve here the\nsame purpose which renders them so useful to the Sea-urchin.\nOccasionally they may be seen to catch small prey with these forks,\nlittle Crustacea, for instance; but this is probably not their only\noffice. The Star-fish has a fourth set of external appendages in the\nshape of little water-tubes. (Seen in Fig. 143.) The upper surface of\nthe back consists of a strong limestone network (Fig. 144), and\ncertain openings in this network are covered with a thin membrane\nthrough which these water-tubes project. It is supposed that water may\nbe introduced into the body through these tubes; but while there can\nbe no doubt that they are constantly filled with water, and are\ntherefore directly connected with the circulation through the\nmadreporic body (Fig. 145), no external opening has as yet been\ndetected in them. The fact, however, that when these animals are taken\nout of their native element, the water pours out of them all over the\nsurface of the back, so that they at once collapse and lose entirely\ntheir fulness of outline, seems to show that water does issue from\nthose tubes. The ends of the arms are always slightly turned up, and\nat the summit of each is a red eye-speck. The tentacles about the eye\nbecome very delicate and are destitute of suckers.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 143. Single spine of Star-fish, with\n    surrounding appendages; magnified.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 144. Limestone network of back of Star-fish.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 145. Madreporic body of Star-fish; magnified.]\n\nThese animals have singular mode of eating; they place themselves over\nwhatever they mean to feed upon, as a cockle-shell for instance, the\nback gradually rising as they arch themselves above it; they then turn\nthe digestive sac or stomach inside out, so as to enclose their prey\ncompletely, and proceed leisurely to suck out the animal from its\nshell. Cutting open any one of the arms we may see the yellow folds of\nthe stomach pouches which extend into each ray; within the arms,\nextending along either side of the upper surface, are also seen the\novaries, like clusters of small yellow berries. Immediately below\nthese, along the centre of the lower floor of each ray, runs the ridge\nformed by the ambulacral furrow, and upon either side of this ridge\nare placed the vesicles, by means of which the tentacles may be filled\nand emptied at the will of the animal; the rest of the cavity of the\nray is filled by the liver. The mouth, which is surrounded by a\ncircular tube, is not furnished with teeth, as in the Sea-urchin; but\nthe end of each ambulacral ridge is hard, thus serving the purpose of\nteeth.\n\n\n_Cribrella_. (_Cribrella oculata_ FORBES.)\n\nOur coast, as we have said, is not rich in the variety of Star-fishes.\nWe have two large species, one of a dark-brown color (Fig. 132), the\n_Astracanthion berylinus_, and the other, the _A. pallidus_, of a\npinkish tint; then there is the small Cribrella, inferior in\nstructural rank to the two above mentioned. (Fig. 146.) This pretty\nlittle Star-fish presents the greatest variety of colors; some are\ndyed in Tyrian purple, others have a paler shade of the same hue, some\nare vermilion, others a bright orange or yellow. A glass dish filled\nwith Cribrellae might vie with a tulip-bed in gayety and vividness of\ntints.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 146. Cribrella from above; natural size.]\n\nThe disk of the Cribrella is smooth, instead of being covered, like\nthe larger Star-fishes, with a variety of prominent appendages. The\nspines are exceedingly short, crowded like little warts over the\nsurface. It is an interesting fact, illustrating again the\ncorrespondence between the adult forms of the lower orders and the\nphases of growth in the higher ones, that these spines have an\nembryonic character. One would naturally expect to find that these\nsmall spines of the adult Cribrella would differ from those of the\nother full-grown Star-fishes chiefly in size, that they would be a\nsomewhat modified pattern of the same thing on a smaller scale; but\nwhen examined under the microscope, they resemble the spines of the\nhigher orders in their embryonic condition; it is not, in fact, a\ndifference in size merely, but a difference in degree of development.\nThe Cribrella moves usually with two of the arms turned backward, and\nthe three others advanced together, the two posterior ones being\nsometimes brought so close to each other as to touch for their whole\nlength.\n\n\n_Hippasteria_. (_Hippasteria phrygiana_ AG.)\n\nBeside these Star-fishes we have the pentagonal Hippasteria\n(_Hippasteria phrygiana_ AG.), like a red star with rounded points,\nfound chiefly in deep water, though it is occasionally thrown up on\nthe beaches. It has but two rows of large tentacles, terminating in a\npowerful sucking disk. The pedicellariae on this Star-fish resemble\nlarge two-pronged clasps, arranged principally along the lower side.\nThe pentagonal Star-fishes of our coast are in striking contrast to\nthe long-armed species we have just described; they are edged with\nrows of large smooth plates, and do not possess the many prominent\nspines so characteristic of the ordinary Star-fishes.\n\n\n_Ctenodiscus_. (_Ctenodiscus crispatus_ D. & K.)\n\nThe Ctenodiscus (_Ctenodiscus crispatus_ D. & K., Fig. 147), an\ninhabitant of more northern waters, but seeming also to be at home\nhere occasionally, is another pentagonal Star-fish. It lives in deep\nwater, and frequents muddy bottoms. The peculiar structure of their\nambulacra has probably some reference to this mode of living, for they\nare entirely wanting in the sucking disks so characteristic of the\nother members of this class, and their tentacles are pointed, as if to\nenable them to work their way through the mud in which they make their\nhome. The pointed tentacles of this genus are characteristic of a\nlarge group of Star-fishes, and it is an important fact, as showing\ntheir lower standing, that this feature, as well as the pentagonal\noutline, obtains in the earlier stages of growth of our more common\nStar-fishes, while in their adult condition they assume the deeply\nindented star-shaped outline, and have suckers at the extremities of\nthe tentacles.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 147. Ctenodiscus, seen from above; natural\n    size.]\n\n\n_Solaster_. (_Solaster endeca_ FORBES.)\n\nWe find also among Star-fishes the same tendency to multiplication of\nparts so common among the Polyps and Acalephs. Our Solaster (_Solaster\nendeca_ Forbes), for instance, has no less than twelve arms; it\ninhabits more northern latitudes, though sometimes found in our Bay;\non the coast of Maine it is quite common, and occurs in company with\nanother many-rayed species, the _Crossaster papposa_ M. & T. The color\nof both of these Star-fishes is exceedingly varied; we find in the\nSolaster as many different hues as in the Cribrella, which it\nresembles in the structure of its spines, while in the Crossaster\nbands of different tints of red and purple are arranged\nconcentrically, and the whole surface of the back is spotted with\nbrilliantly-tinged tiny wreaths of water-tubes, crowded round the base\nof the different spines, which are somewhat similar to those of the\nAstracanthion.\n\n\n\n\nOPHIURANS.\n\n\n_Ophiopholis_. (_Ophiopholis bellis_ LYM.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 148. Ophiopholis, from above; natural size.]\n\nThere are but two species of the ordinary forms of Ophiurans in\nMassachusetts Bay; the white Amphiura (_Amphiura squamata_ Sars), with\nlong slender arms, and the spotted Ophiopholis (Fig. 148), with\nshorter and stouter arms, and in which the disk is less compact than\nin the Amphiura, and not so perfectly circular. All Ophiurans are\ndifficult to find, from their exceeding shyness; they hide themselves\nin the darkest crevices, and though no eye-specks have yet been\ndetected in them, they must have some quick perception of coming\ndanger, for at the gentlest approach they instantly draw away and\nshelter themselves in their snug retreats. [Illustration: Fig. 149.\nOne arm of Fig. 148; from the mouth side.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 150. Ambulacral tentacle of Ophiopholis;\n    magnified.]\n\nThey differ from the Star-fishes in having the disk entirely distinct\nfrom the arms; that is, the arms, instead of merging gradually into\nthe disk, start at once from its margin. They have no interambulacral\nspaces or plates; but the whole upper surface is formed of large hard\nplates, which extend from the back over the sides of the arms to their\nlower surface, where they form a straight ridge along the centre.\n(Fig. 149.) The sides of these plates are pierced with holes, through\nwhich the tentacles pass; these have not, like those of the\nStar-fishes and Sea-urchins, a sucker at the extremity, but are\ncovered with little warts or tubercles (Fig. 150); they are their\nlocomotive appendages, and their way of moving is curious; they first\nextend one of the arms in the direction in which they mean to move,\nthen bring forward two others to meet them, three arms being thus\nusually in advance, and then they drag the rest of the body on. They\nmove with much more rapidity, and seem more active, than the\nStar-fishes; probably owing to the greater independence of the arms\nfrom the disk. The spines project along the margin of the arms, and\nnot over the whole surface, the back of the arms being perfectly free\nfrom any appendages, and presenting only the surface of the plates.\nThe madreporic body is formed by a plate on the lower side of the\ndisk, in a position corresponding to that which it occupies in the\nyoung Star-fish; this plate is one of the large circular shields\noccupying the interambulacral spaces around the mouth. (Fig. 149.) On\neach side of the arms, where they join the disk, are slits opening\ninto the ovarian pouches. They have no teeth; but the hard ridge at\nthe oral end of the ambulacra, extending toward the mouth in\nStar-fish, is still more distinct and sharper in the Ophiurans,\napproaching more nearly the character of teeth.\n\n\n_Astrophyton_. (_Astrophyton Agassizii_ STIMP.)\n\nA singular species of Ophiuran, known among fishermen as the\n\"Basket-fish,\" (Fig. 151,) is to be found in Massachusetts Bay. Its\narms are very long in comparison to the size of the disk, and divide\ninto a vast number of branches. In moving, the animal lifts itself on\nthe extreme end of these branches, standing as it were on tiptoe (Fig.\n151), so that the ramifications of the arms form a kind of\ntrellis-work all around it, reaching to the ground, while the disk\nforms a roof. In this living house with latticed walls small fishes\nand other animals are occasionally seen to take shelter; but woe to\nthe little shrimp or fish who seeks a refuge there, if he be of such a\nsize as to offer his host a tempting mouthful; he will fare as did the\nfly who accepted the invitation of the spider. These animals are\nexceedingly voracious, and sometimes, in their greediness for food,\nentangle themselves in fishing lines or nets. When disturbed, they\ncoil their arms closely around the mouth, assuming at such times a\nkind of basket-shape, from which they derive their name.\n\nThis Basket-fish is honorably connected with our early colonial\nhistory, being thought worthy, by no less a personage than John\nWinthrop, Governor of Connecticut, who, as he says, \"had never seen\nthe like,\" to be sent with \"other natural curiosities of these parts\"\nto the Royal Society of London, in 1670. He accompanies the specimen\nwith a minute description, omitting \"other particulars, that we may\nreflect a little upon this elaborate piece of nature.\" His account is\nas graphic as it is accurate, and we can hardly give a better idea of\nthe animal than by extracting some portions of it. \"This Fish,\" he\nsays, \"spreads itself from a Pentagonal Root, which incompasseth the\nMouth (being in the middle), into 5 main Limbs or branches, each of\nwhich, just at issuing out from the Body, subdivides itself into two,\nand each of these 10 branches do again divide into two parts, making\n20 lesser branches; each of which again divide into two smaller\nbranches, making in all 40. These again into 80, and these into 160;\nand these into 320; these into 640; into 1280; into 2560; into 5120;\ninto 10,240; into 20,480; into 40,960; into 81,920; beyond which the\nfurther expanding of the Fish could not be certainly trac'd\";--a\nstatement which we readily believe, wondering only at the patience\nwhich followed this labyrinth so far.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 151. Astrophyton, Basket-fish; in a natural\n    attitude.]\n\nIn a later letter, after having had an interview with the fisherman\nwho caught the specimen, and, as he says, \"asked all the questions I\ncould think needful concerning it,\" the Governor proceeds to tell us\nthat it was caught \"not far from the Shoals of Nantucket (which is an\nIsland upon the Coast of New England),\" and that when \"first pull'd\nout of the water it was like a basket, and had gathered itself round\nlike a Wicker-basket, having taken fast hold upon that bait on the\nhook which he\" (the fisherman) \"had sunk down to the bottom to catch\nother Fish, and having held that within the surrounding brachia would\nnot let it go, though drawn up into the Vessel; until, by lying a\nwhile on the Deck, it felt the want of its natural Element; and then\nvoluntarily it extended itself into the flat round form, in which it\nappear'd when present'd to your view.\" The Governor goes on to reflect\nin a philosophical vein upon the purpose involved in all this\ncomplicated machinery. \"The only use,\" he says, \"that could be\ndiscerned of all that curious composure wherewith nature had adorned\nit seems to be to make it as a purse-net to catch some other fish, or\nany other thing fit for its food, and as a basket of store to keep\nsome of it for future supply, or as a receptacle to preserve and\ndefend the young ones of the same kind from fish of prey; if not to\nfeed on them also (which appears probable the one or the other), for\nthat sometimes there were found pieces of Mackerel within that\nconcave. And he, the Fisherman, told me that once he caught one, which\nhad within the hollow of its embracements a very small fish of the\nsame kind, together with some piece or pieces of another fish, which\nwas judged to be of a Mackerel. And that small one ('tis like) was\nkept either for its preservation or for food to the greater; but,\nbeing alive, it seems most likely it was there lodged for safety,\nexcept it were accidentally drawn within the net, together with that\npiece of fish upon which it might be then feeding.\" The account\nconcludes by saying, \"This Fisherman could not tell me of any name it\nhath, and 'tis in all likelihood yet nameless, being not commonly\nknown as other Fish are. But until a fitter _English_ name be found\nfor it, why may it not be called (in regard of what hath been before\nmentioned of it) a _Basket-Fish_, or a _Net-Fish_, or a\n_Purs-net-Fish_?\" And so it remains to this day as the Governor of\nConnecticut first christened it, the Basket-fish.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nCRINOIDS.\n\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 152. Fossil Pentacrinus.]\n\nThe Crinoids are very scantily represented in the present creation.\nThey had their day in the earlier geological epochs, when for some\ntime they remained the sole representatives of their class, and were\nthen so numerous that the class of Echinoderms, with only one order,\nseemed as full and various as it now does with five. The different\nforms they assumed in the successive geological periods are\nparticularly instructive; these older Crinoids combined characters\nwhich foreshadowed the advent of the Ophiurans, the true Star-fishes,\nand the Sea-urchins; and so prominently were their prophetic\ncharacters developed, that many of them are readily mistaken for\nStar-fishes or Sea-urchins.\n\nIn later times the group of Crinoids has been gradually dwindling in\nnumber and variety. Its present representatives are the Pentacrini of\nPorto Rico and the coast of Portugal, the lovely little Rhizocrinus of\nthe Atlantic, dredged first by the younger Sars on the coast of\nNorway, attached throughout life to a stem, and the Comatula, which\nhas a stem only in the early stages of its growth, but is free when\nadult. The Pentacrinus bears the closer relation to the more ancient\nCrinoids (Fig. 152), which were always supported on a stem, while it\nis only in more recent periods that we find the free Crinoids,\ncorresponding to the Comatula.\n\n\n_Comatula_. (_Alecto meridionalis_ AG.)\n\nOne large species of Comatula (_Alecto Eschrichtii_ M. & T.) is known\non our coast, off the shores of Greenland, where it has been dredged\nat a depth of about one hundred and fifty fathoms, and young specimens\nof the same species have been found as far south as Eastport, Maine.\nThe species selected for representation here, however, (Fig. 153,) is\none quite abundant along the shores of South Carolina. It is\nintroduced instead of the northern one, because the latter is so rare\nthat it is not likely to fall into the hands of our readers. The\nannexed drawing (Fig. 154, magnified from Fig. 153) represents a group\nof the young of the Charleston Comatula, still attached to the parent\nbody by their stems, and in various stages of development. At first\nsight, the Comatula, or, as it is sometimes called, the feather-star,\nresembles an Ophiuran; but on a closer examination we find that the\narms are made up of short joints; and along the sides of the arms,\nattached to each joint, are appendages resembling somewhat the beards\nof a feather, and giving to each ray the appearance of a plume; hence\nthe name of feather-star. On one side the arms are covered with a\ntough skin, through which project the ambulacrae, and on the same side\nof the disk are situated the mouth and the anus; the latter projects\nin a trumpet-shaped proboscis. On the opposite side of the disk the\nComatula is covered with plates, arranged regularly around a central\nplate, which is itself covered with long cirri.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 153. Comatula (Living Crinoid) seen from the\n    back; a group of young Comatulae attached to parent.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 154. Magnified view of the group of young\n    Comatulae of Fig. 153.]\n\nWe are indebted to Thompson for the explanation of the true relations\nof the young Comatula to the present Pentacrinus and the fossil\nCrinoids. Supposing these young to be full-grown animals, he at first\ndescribed them as living representatives of the genus Pentacrinus; it\nwas only after he had watched their development, and ascertained by\nactual observation that they dropped from their stem, to lead an\nindependent life as free Comatulae, that he fully understood their true\nconnection with the past history of their kind, as well as with their\ncontemporaries. In Fig. 153, a faint star-like dot (_y_) may be seen\nattached to the side of the disk by a slight line. In Fig. 154, we\nhave that minute dot as it appears under the microscope, magnified\nmany diameters; when it is seen to be a cirrus of a Comatula, with\nthree small Pentacrinus-like animals growing upon it, in different\nstages of development. In the upper one, the branching arms and the\ndisk, with its many plates, are already formed; and though in the\nfigure the rays are folded together, they are free, and can be opened\nat will. In the larger of the two lower buds, the plates of the disk\nare less perfect, and the arms are straight and simple, without any\nramifications, though they are free and movable, whereas, in the\nsmaller one, they are folded within the closed bud.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nEMBRYOLOGY OF ECHINODERMS.\n\n\nAll Radiates have a special mode of development, as distinct for each\nclass as is their adult condition, and in none are the stages of\ngrowth more characteristic than in the Echinoderms. In the Polyps, the\ndivision of the body into chambers, so marked a feature of their\nultimate structure, takes place early; in the Acalephs, the tubes\nwhich traverse the body are hollowed out of its mass in the first\nstages of the embryonic growth, and we shall see that in the\nEchinoderms also, the distinctive feature of their structure, viz. the\nenclosing of the organs by separate walls, early manifests itself.\nThis peculiarity gives to the internal structure of these animals so\nindividual a character, that some naturalists, overlooking the law of\nradiation, as prevalent in them as in any members of this division,\nhave been inclined to separate them, as a primary division of the\nanimal kingdom, from the Polyps and Acalephs, in both of which the\nbody-wall furnishes the walls of the different internal cavities,\neither by folding inwardly in such a manner as to enclose them, as in\nthe Polyps, or by the cavities themselves being hollowed out of the\ngeneral mass, as in the Acalephs.\n\n\n_Star-fish_. (_Astracanthion_.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 155. Egg of Star-fish.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 156. Egg of Star-fish in which the yolk has\n    been divided into two segments.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 157. Egg in which there are eight segments of\n    the yolk.]\n\nThe egg of the Star-fish, when first formed, is a transparent,\nspherical body, enclosing the germinative vesicle and dot. (See Fig.\n155.) As soon as these disappear, the segmentation of the yolk begins;\nit divides first into two portions (see Fig. 156), then into four,\nthen into eight, and so on; but when there are no more than eight\nbodies of segmentation (see Fig. 157), they already show a disposition\nto arrange themselves in a hollow sphere, enclosing a space within,\nand by the time the segmentation is completed, they form a continuous\nspherical shell. At this time the egg, or, as we will henceforth call\nit, the embryo, escapes and swims freely about. (See Fig. 158.) The\nwall next begins to thin out on one side, while on the opposite side,\nwhich by comparison becomes somewhat bulging, a depression is formed\n(_m_ _a_, Fig. 159), gradually elongating into a loop hanging down\nwithin the little animal, and forming a digestive cavity. (_d_, Fig.\n160.) At this stage it much resembles a young Actinia. The loop\nspreads somewhat at its upper extremity, and at its lower end is an\nopening, which at this period of the animal's life serves a double\npurpose, that of mouth and anus also, for at this opening it both\ntakes in and rejects its food. We shall see that before long a true\nmouth is formed, after which this first aperture takes its place\nopposite the mouth, retaining only the function of the anus. Presently\nfrom the upper bulging extremity of the digestive cavity, two lappets,\nor little pouches, project (_w_ _w'_ Fig. 161); they shortly become\ncompletely separated from it, and form two distinct hollow cavities\n(_w_ _w'_, Fig. 162). Here begins the true history of the young\nStar-fish, for these two cavities will develop into two water-tubes,\non one of which the back of the Star-fish, that is, its upper surface,\ncovered with spines, will be developed, while on the other, the lower\nsurface, with the suckers and tentacles, will arise. At a very early\nstage one of these water-tubes (_w'_, Fig. 163) connects with a\nsmaller tube opening outwards, which is hereafter to be the madreporic\nbody (_b_, Fig. 163). Almost until the end of its growth, these two\nsurfaces, as we shall see, remain separate, and form an open angle\nwith one another; it is only toward the end of the development that\nthey unite, enclosing between them the internal organs, which have\nbeen built up in the mean while.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 158. Larva just hatched from egg; a thickened\n    pole.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 159. Larva somewhat older than Fig. 158; _m_\n    _a_ depression at thickened pole.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 160. Larva where the depression has become a\n    digestive cavity _d_, opening at _a_.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 161. Earlets, _w_ _w'_ (water-tubes),\n    developed at the extremity of the digestive cavity _d_; _m_\n    mouth.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 162. More advanced larva; _a_ _d_ _c_\n    digestive system, _v_ vibratile chord, _m_ mouth.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 163. Profile view of larva; _b_ madreporic\n    opening, _w'_ earlet, _a_ _d_ digestive system, _m_ mouth, _v_\n    _v'_ vibratile chord.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 164. Larva showing mode of formation of mouth\n    _m_, by bending of digestive cavity _o_.]\n\nAt about the same time with the development of these two pouches, so\nimportant in the animal's future history, the digestive cavity becomes\nslightly curved, bending its upper end sideways till it meets the\nouter wall, and forms a junction with it (_m_, Fig. 164). At this\npoint, when the juncture takes place, an aperture is presently formed,\nwhich is the true mouth. The digestive sac, which has thus far served\nas the only internal cavity, now contracts at certain distances, and\nforms three distinct, though connected cavities, as in Fig. 163; viz.\nthe oesophagus leading directly from the mouth (_m_) to the second\ncavity or stomach (_d_), which opens in its turn into the third\ncavity, the alimentary canal. Meanwhile the water-tubes have been\nelongating till they now surround the digestive cavity, extending on\nthe other side of it beyond the mouth, where they unite, thus forming\na Y-shaped tube, narrowing at one extremity, and dividing into two\nbranches toward the other end. (Fig. 165.)\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 165. Larva in which arms are developing,\n    lettering as before; _e'_ _e''_ _e'''_ _e^4_ _e^5_ _e^6_ arms, _o_\n    oesophagus.]\n\nOn the surface where the mouth is formed, and very near it on either\nside, two small arcs arise, as _v_ in Fig. 162; these are cords\nconsisting entirely of vibratile cilia. They are the locomotive organs\nof the young embryo, and they gradually extend until they respectively\nenclose nearly the whole of the upper and lower half of the body,\nforming two large shields or plastrons. (Figs. 165, 166.) The corners\nof these shields project, slightly at first (Fig. 165), but elongating\nmore and more until a number of arms are formed, stretching in various\ndirections (Figs. 166, 167), and, by their constant upward and\ndownward play, moving the embryo about in the water.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 166. Adult larva, so-called Brachiolaria,\n    lettering as before; _r_ back of young Star-fish, _t_ tentacles of\n    young Star-fish, _f_ _f'_ brachiolar appendages.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 167. Fig. 166 seen in profile, lettering as\n    before.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 168. Star-fish which has just resorbed the\n    larva, seen from the back; _b_ madreporic opening.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 169. Fig. 168, seen from the mouth side; _m_\n    mouth, _t_ tentacles.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 170. Young Star-fish which has become\n    symmetrical, seen from the back; _t'_ odd tentacle.]\n\nAt this stage of the growth of the embryo, we have what seems quite a\ncomplicated structure, and might be taken for a complete animal; this\nis after all but the prelude to its true Star-fish existence. While\nthese various appendages of the embryo have been forming, changes of\nanother kind have taken place; on one of the two water-tubes above\nmentioned (_w'_), at the end nearest the digestive cavity, a number of\nlobes are formed (_t_, Fig. 166); this is the first appearance of the\ntentacles. In the same region of the opposite water-tube (_w_) a\nnumber of little limestone rods arise, which eventually unite to form\na continuous network; this is the beginning of the back of the\nStar-fish (_r_, Fig. 166), from which the spines will presently\nproject. When this process is complete, the whole embryo, with the\nexception of the part where the young Star-fish is placed, grows\nopaque; it fades, as it were, begins to shrink and contract, and\npresently drops to the bottom, where it attaches itself by means of\nshort arms (_f_ _f'_, Fig. 166), covered with warts, which act as\nsuckers, and are placed just above the mouth. As soon as the Star-fish\nhas thus secured itself, it begins to resorb the whole external\nstructure described above; the water-tubes, the plastrons, and the\ncomplicated system of arms connected with them, disappear within the\nlittle Star-fish; it swallows up, so to speak, the first stage of its\nown existence; it devours its own larva, which now becomes part and\nparcel of the new animal. Next the two surfaces, the back and lower\nsurface, on which the arms are now marked out, while the tentacles,\nsuckers, and spines have already assumed a certain prominence,\napproach each other. At this time, however, the arms are not in one\nplane; both the back and the lower surface are curved in a kind of\nspiral; they begin to flatten; the arms spread out on one level,--and\nnow the two surfaces draw together, meeting at the circumference, and\nenclosing between them the internal organs, which, as we have seen,\nare already formed and surrounded by walls of their own, before the\ntwo walls of the body, close thus over them. Fig. 168 represents the\nupper surface of the Star-fish just before this junction takes place.\nThe complicated structure of the Brachiolaria, as the larva of the\nStar-fish has been called, hitherto so essential to the life of the\nanimal, by which it has been supported, moved about in the water, and\nprovided with food during its immature condition, has made a final\ncontribution to its further development by the process of resorption\ndescribed above, and has wholly disappeared within the Star-fish. At\nthis stage the rays are only just marked out, as five lobes around the\nmargin; Fig. 169 represents the lower surface at the same moment, with\nthe open mouth (_m_), around which the tentacles (_t_) are just\nbeginning to appear; while Fig. 170 shows us the animal at a more\nadvanced stage, after the two surfaces have united. It has now\nsomewhat the outline of a Maltese cross, the five arms being more\ndistinctly marked out, while the tentacles have already attained a\nconsiderable length (Fig. 171), and the dorsal plates have become\nquite distinct. Fig. 172 represents the same animal, at the same age,\nin profile. This period, in which we have compared the form of the\nStar-fish to that of a Maltese cross, is one of long duration; two or\nthree years must elapse before the arms will elongate sufficiently to\ngive it a star-shaped form, and before the pedicellariae make their\nappearance, and it is only then that it can be at once recognized as\nthe young of our common Star-fish. Even then, after it has assumed its\nultimate outline, it lacks some features of the adult, having only two\nrows of tentacles, whereas the full-grown Star-fish has four.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 171. Lower side of ray of young Star-fish; _m_\n    mouth, _b_ madreporic body, _e_ eye-speck.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 172. Young Star-fish seen in profile; _t'_ odd\n    tentacle at extremity of arm.]\n\n\n_Sea-urchins_.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 173, 174, 175. Young larvae of Toxopneustes in\n    different stages of development; _e'_-_e^iv_ arms, _v-v''_\n    vibratile chord, _w_ _w'_ earlets (water-tubes), _a_ _o_ _d_ _c_\n    digestive system, _r'-r'''_ solid rods of arms, _m_ mouth, _b_\n    madreporic opening.]\n\nThis extraordinary process of development which we have analyzed thus\nat length in the history of the Star-fish, but which is equally true\nof all Echinoderms, has been hitherto described (so far as it was\nknown) under the name of the plutean stages of growth. In these early\nstages the young, or the so called larvae of Echinoderms, have received\nthe name of Pluteus on account of their ever-changing forms. Let us\nlook for a moment at the plutean stages of the Sea-urchin, as they\ndiffer in some points from those of the Star-fish. In the Pluteus of\nour common Sea-urchins (see Fig. 176), the arms are supported by a\nframework of solid limestone rods, which do not exist in that of the\nStar-fish, and which give to the larva of the Sea-urchin a remarkable\nrigidity. They are formed very early, as may be seen in Fig. 173,\nrepresenting the little Sea-urchin before any arms are discernible,\nthough the limestone rods are quite distinct. Figs. 173, 174, 175, may\nbe compared with Figs. 160, 162, 165, of the young Star-fish, where it\nwill be seen that the general outline is very similar, though, on\naccount of the limestone rods, the Pluteus of the Sea-urchin seems\nsomewhat more complicated. In Fig. 176 the young Sea-urchin has so far\nencroached upon the Pluteus that it forms the essential part of the\nbody, the arms and rods appearing as mere appendages. Fig. 177 shows\nthe same animal when we looked down upon it in its natural attitude;\nthe Sea-urchin is carried downward, and the arms stretch in every\ndirection around it. In Fig. 178 the Plutens is already in process of\nabsorption; in Fig. 179 it has wholly disappeared; in Figs. 180 and\n181 we have different stages of the little Sea-urchin, with its spines\nand suckers of a large size and in full activity. The appearance of\nthe Sea-urchin, as soon as this larva or Pluteus is completely\nabsorbed, is much more like that of the adult than is the Star-fish at\nthe same stages, in which, as we have seen, there is a transition\nperiod of considerable duration.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 176. Adult larva of Toxopneustes, _f_\n    brachiolar appendages.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 177. Fig. 176 seen endways.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 178. The Sea-urchin resorbing the arms of the\n    larva.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 179. Half a young Sea-urchin immediately after\n    resorption of the larva; _s''_ _s''_ spines, _t'_ _t'_ ambulacral\n    tentacles.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 180. Young Sea-urchin older than Fig. 179; _t_\n    _t'_ tentacles, _s''_ _s'''_ spines.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 181. Still older Sea-urchin; _t_ _t_\n    tentacles, _a_ anus, _p_ pedicellariae; shell one sixteenth of an\n    inch in diameter.]\n\n\n_Ophiurans_.\n\nFig. 183 represents an Ophiuran undergoing the same process of growth,\nat a period when the larva is most fully developed, and before it\nbegins to fail. By the limestone rods which support the arms, the\nPluteus of the Ophiuran, here represented, resembles that of the\nSea-urchin more than that of the Star-Fish, while by the character of\nthe water-tubes and by its internal organization it is more closely\nallied to the latter. It differs from both, however, in the immense\nlength of two of the arms; these arms being the last signs of its\nplutean condition to disappear; when the young Ophiuran has absorbed\nalmost the whole Pluteus, it still goes wandering about with these two\nimmense appendages, which finally share the fate of all the rest. Fig.\n182 represents an Ophiuran at the moment when the process of\nresorption is nearly completed, though the arms of the Pluteus,\ngreatly diminished, are still to be seen protruding from the surface\nof the animal.\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 182. Ophiuran which has resorbed the whole\n    larva except the two long arms, _y_ _y'_ limestone rods of young\n    Ophiuran, _r_ middle of back, lettering as in Fig. 183.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 183. Larva of Ophiuran; _e'-e^iv_ arms, _r'_\n    _r^iv_ solid rods, _v_ _v'_ vibratile chord, _w_ _w'_ water\n    system, _b_ madreporic body, _a_ _d_ digestive system.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 184 Young Ophiuran which has resorbed the\n    whole larva; _r_ middle plate of back.]\n\n    [Illustration: Fig. 185 Cluster of eggs of Star-fishes placed over\n    the mouth of the parent.]\n\nThis mode of development, though common to all Echinoderms, appears\nunder very different conditions in some of them. There are certain\nStar-fishes, Ophiurans, and Holothurians, passing through their\ndevelopment under what is known as the sedentary process. The eggs are\nnot laid, as in the cases described above, but are carried in a sort\nof pouch over the mouth of the parent animal, where they remain till\nthey attain a stage corresponding to that of Fig. 168 of the\nStar-fish, and having much the same cross-shaped outline, when they\nescape from the pouch (as the young Ophiopholis, Fig. 184), and swim\nabout for the first time as free animals. Fig. 185 represents a\ncluster of young Star-fishes of the sedentary kind at about this\nperiod. But while this mode of growth seems at first sight so\ndifferent, we shall find, if we look a little closer, that it is\nessentially the same, and that, though the circumstances under which\nthe development takes place are changed, the process does not differ.\nThe little Star-fish or Ophiuran, in the pouch, becomes surrounded by\nthe same plutean structure as those which are laid in the egg; it is\nonly more contracted to suit the narrower space in which they have to\nmove; and the water-tubes on which the upper and lower surfaces of the\nbody arise, the shields, spreading out into arms at the corners,\nexist, fully developed or rudimentary, in the one as much as in the\nother, and when no longer necessary to its external existence they are\nresorbed in the same way in both cases. This singular process of\ndevelopment has no parallel in the animal kingdom, although the growth\nof the young Echinoderm on the Brachiolaria may at first sight remind\nus of the budding of the little Medusa on the Hydroid stock, or even\nof the passage of the insect larva into the chrysalis. But in both\nthese instances, the different phases of the development are entirely\ndistinct; the Hydroid stock is permanent, continuing to live and grow\nand perform its share in the cycle of existence to which it belongs,\nafter the Medusa has parted from it to lead a separate life, or if the\nlatter remains attached to the parent stock, after it has entered upon\nits own proper functions. The life of the caterpillar, chrysalis and\nbutterfly, is also distinct and definitely marked; the moment when the\nanimal passes from one into the other cannot be mistaken, although the\ndifferent phases are carried on successively and not simultaneously,\nas in the case of the Acalephs. But in the Echinoderms, on the\ncontrary, though the aspect of the Brachiolaria, or plutean stage, is\nso different from that of the adult form, that no one would suppose\nthem to belong to the same animal, yet these two stages of growth pass\nso gradually into one another, that one cannot say when the life of\nthe larva ceases, and that of the Echinoderm begins.\n\nThe bearing of embryology upon classification is becoming every day\nmore important, rendering the processes of development among animals\none of the most interesting and instructive studies to which the\nnaturalist can devote himself, in the present state of his science.\nThe accuracy of this test, not only as explaining the relations\nbetween animals now living, but as giving the clew to their connection\nwith those of past times, cannot but astonish any one who makes it the\nbasis of his investigations. The comparison of embryo forms with\nfossil types is of course difficult, and must in many instances be\nincomplete, for while, in the one case, death and decay have often\nhalf destroyed the specimen, in the other, life has scarcely stamped\nitself in legible characters on the new being. Yet, whenever such\ncomparisons have been successfully carried out, the result is always\nthe same; the present representatives of the fossil types recall in\ntheir embryonic condition the ancient forms, and often explain their\ntrue position in the animal kingdom. One of the most remarkable\nexamples of this in the type we are now considering, is that of the\nComatula already mentioned. Its condition in the earlier stages of\ngrowth, when it is provided with a stem, at once shows its relation to\nthe old stemmed Crinoids, the earliest representatives of the class of\nEchinoderms.\n\nThese coincidences are still more striking among living animals, where\nthey can be more readily and fully traced, and often give us a key to\ntheir relative standing, which our knowledge of their anatomical\nstructure fails to furnish. This is perhaps nowhere more distinctly\nseen than in the type of Radiates, where the Acalephs in their first\nstages of growth, that is, in their Hydroid condition, remind us of\nthe adult forms among Polyps, showing the structural rank of the\nAcalephs to be the highest, since they pass beyond a stage which is\npermanent with the Polyps; while the adult forms of the Acalephs have\nin their turn a certain resemblance to the embryonic phases of the\nclass next above them, the Echinoderms. Within the limits of the\nclasses, the same correspondence exists as between the different\norders; the embryonic forms of the higher Polyps recall the adult\nforms of the lower ones, and the same is true of the Acalephs as far\nas these phenomena have been followed and compared among them. In the\nclass of Echinoderms the comparison has been carried out to a\nconsiderable extent, their classification has hitherto been based\nchiefly upon the ambulacral system, so characteristic of the class,\nbut so unequally developed in the different orders. This places the\nHolothurians, in which the ambulacral system has its greatest\ndevelopment, at the head of the class; next to them come the\nSea-urchins or Echinoids; then the Star-fishes; then the Ophiurans and\nCrinoids, in which the ambulacral system is reduced to a minimum.\nAnother basis for classification in this type, which gives the same\nresult, is the indication of a bilateral symmetry in some of the\norders. In the Holothurians, for instance, there is a decided tendency\ntoward the establishment of a posterior and anterior extremity, of a\nright and left, an upper and lower side of the body. In the\nSea-urchins, in many of which the mouth is out of centre, placed\nnearer one side than the other, this tendency is still apparent, while\nin the three lower groups, the Star-fishes, Ophiurans, and Crinoids,\nit is almost entirely lost, in the equal division of identical parts\nradiating from a common centre. A comparison of the embryonic and\nadult forms in these orders, confirms entirely this classification\nbased upon structural features. The Star-fishes, in their earlier\nstages, resemble the mature Ophiurans, while the Crinoids, the lowest\ngroup of all, retain throughout their whole existence many features\ncharacteristic of the embryonic conditions of the higher Echinoderms.\nIn this principle of classification, already so fertile in results, we\nmay hope to find, in some instances, the solution of many perplexing\npoints respecting the structural rank of animals, the confirmation of\nclassifications already established; in others, an insight into the\ntrue relations of groups which have hitherto been divided upon purely\narbitrary grounds.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nDISTRIBUTION OF LIFE IN THE OCEAN.\n\n\nWe have seen that while our bay is rich in certain species, it is\nwholly deficient or but scantily supplied with others, and that the\ncharacter of the animals inhabiting its waters is more or less\ndirectly connected with general physical conditions. Such an area,\nlimited though it be, gives us some insight into the laws which, in\ntheir wider application, control the distribution of marine life along\nthe shores of the most extensive continents. The coast of\nMassachusetts, taken as a whole, is like that of New England\ngenerally, a rocky coast; yet it has its sandy and muddy beaches, and\nthough it lies for a great part open to the sea, it has nevertheless\nits sheltered harbors, its quiet bays and snug recesses.\n\nA comparison of these limited localities with far more extensive\nreaches of shore, where similar physical conditions prevail, shows\nthat they reproduce, in fainter and less various characters of course,\nin proportion to their narrower boundaries, but still with a certain\nfidelity, the same combinations of animal and vegetable life. In other\nwords, a sandy beach, however small, gives us some idea of the nature\nof the animals we may look for on any sandy coast, as, for instance,\nclams of various kinds, razor-shells, quahogs, snails, &c., creatures\nwho can penetrate the sand, drag themselves through it or over it,\nleaving their winding trails as they go, and to whom the conditions\nprevailing in such spots are genial. So the narrowest mud flat on the\nsea-shore or muddy beach will give us the same dead and inanimate\naspect which characterizes a more extensive coast of like character,\nwhere the gases always generated in mud are deadly to many kinds of\nanimals. The beings who find a home in such localities are of closely\nallied species, chiefly a variety of worms, who burrow their way into\nthe mud, and seem to court the miasma so fatal to other creatures. The\nsame is true of any stony beach or rocky shore not more than a quarter\nof a mile in length; it gives us an idea of the animal population on\nany similar coast of greater extent.\n\nThese correspondences are of course modified by differences in\nclimatic conditions. The animals on a sandy beach or a rocky shore, on\nthe coast of Great Britain, for instance, are not absolutely identical\nwith those of a sandy beach or a rocky shore on the coast of New\nEngland, but they are more or less nearly related to them. Naturalists\nrefer to this reiteration, all the world over, of like organic\ncombinations under similar circumstances, when they speak of\n\"representative species.\" The aggregate result is the same, though the\nindividual forms are slightly modified. And here lies one secret of\nthe infinite variety in nature, by which the old seems ever new, and\nthe same thought has an eternal freshness and originality, endlessly\nrepeated, yet never hackneyed.\n\nIn this sense our bay presents, on a miniature scale, a variety of\nphysical and organic combinations, which may be compared to those more\nextensive divisions in the geographical distribution of animals and\nplants, called by naturalists zoological or botanical provinces or\ndistricts, the animal and vegetable populations of which are\ntechnically designated as their faunae and florae. Such organic realms,\nas we may call them, have long been recognized on land, and the most\nextensive among them are easily distinguished. No one will fail to\nrecognize the tropical zone, with its royal dynasty of palms and all\nthe accompanying glories of a tropical vegetation, its birds of\nbrilliant plumage, its large Mammalia, lions, tigers, panthers,\nelephants, and its great rivers haunted by gigantic reptiles. Nor is\nthe representation of vegetable and animal life less characteristic in\nthe temperate zone, where the oak is monarch of the woods, with all\nhis attendant court of elms, walnuts, beeches, birches, maples, and\nthe like, where birds of more sober hues, but sweeter voices, take the\nplace of the brilliant parrots and many-tinted humming-birds of the\ntropical forest; while buffaloes, bears, wolves, foxes, and deer\nrepresent the larger Mammalia. In the arctic zone, though marked by\npeculiar and distinctive features, vegetation has dwindled to a\nminimum; the birds are chiefly gulls and ducks, which go there for the\nbreeding season in the summer, and the reindeer and polar bears are\nalmost sole possessors of the snow and ice-fields; but this meagreness\nin the representation of the larger land Mammalia is amply compensated\nin the numbers of heavy aquatic Mammalia, the whales, walruses, seals,\nand porpoises of the Arctic seas.\n\nDuring the last half-century, since the geographical distribution of\nanimals and plants has become a subject of more careful investigation\namong naturalists, these broad zones of the earth's surface, with\ntheir characteristic populations and vegetation, have been subdivided,\naccording to more limited and special combinations of organic forms,\ninto narrower zoological and botanical areas. The application of these\nresults to marine life is however of much more recent date, and indeed\nit would seem at first sight, as if the water, from its own nature,\ncould hardly impose a barrier so impassable as the land. The\nlocalization of the marine faunae and florae is nevertheless as distinct\nas that of terrestrial animals and plants, and late investigations\nhave done much to explain the connection of this distribution with\nphysical conditions.\n\nA glance at the coast of our own continent, starting from the high\nnorth and making the circuit of its shores, from Baffin's Bay to\nBehring's Straits, will show us to what a variety of physical\ninfluences the animals who live along its shores are subjected. On the\nshores of Baffin's Bay, especially on the inner coast of Greenland,\nwhere the glaciers push their way down to the very brink of the water,\nand annually launch their southward-bound icebergs, we shall hardly\nexpect to find a very abundant littoral fauna. On its western shore,\nwhere the ice does not advance so far, and a greater surface of rock\nis exposed, the circumstances are more favorable to the development of\nanimal life. Here abound the winged Mollusks (Pteropods), often swept\ndown to the coast of Nova Scotia by the cold current from Baffin's\nBay; the \"whale feed,\" as the fishermen call them, because the whales\ndevour them voraciously. Here occur also many compound Mollusks,\nespecially a variety of Ascidians, and the highly  stocks of\nBryozoa. With them is found the Comatula of the northern waters, one\nof the few modern Crinoids, and beside these a number of Star-fishes,\nSea-urchins, and Holothurians, not differing so essentially from those\nalready described as to require special mention.\n\nAlong the shore of Labrador and Newfoundland, the coast is wholly\nrocky, and especially about Newfoundland it is deeply indented with\nbays. Here there is ample opportunity for the growth of certain kinds\nof animals in sheltered nooks. The number of species is, however, much\ngreater along the shores of Maine, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick than\nin Labrador, owing no doubt to the milder climate. The beautiful shore\nof Maine, with its countless islands, and broken, picturesque outline,\nis very rich in species. Parts of this coast are remarkable for a\nvariety of naked Mollusks, as well as for the great numbers of\nbright- Actiniae, and also for the more brilliant kinds of\nHolothurians, the Cuvieria, and the like. The latter are especially\nabundant in the Bay of Fundy, and here also occurs the only Northern\nrepresentative on our coast of the Sea-fans or Gorgoniae, so common on\nthe shores of Florida.\n\nFarther south, from Cape Cod to Cape Hatteras, the character of the\ncoast changes; it becomes more sandy, and though here and there the\naspect is varied by a rocky promontory or a stony beach, yet the\ngeneral character is flat and sandy. With this new character of the\nshore, the fauna is also greatly modified, and it is worthy of remark,\nthat while thus far the representative species have reflected the\ncharacter of animals to the north of them, they now begin to represent\nrather those of the Carolina shores. South of Cape Cod come in a kind\nof Scallop and Periwinkle, very different from the larger Scallops\nfound on the coast of Maine and the British Provinces; our Sea-urchin\nis replaced by the Echinocidaris, with its few long spines, and an\nentirely new set of Crustacea and Worms make their appearance on this\nmore sandy bottom. And here we must not forget that not only is the\naspect of the animal life changed, as we pass from a rock-bound to a\nsandy coast, but that of the vegetation also. The various many-tinted\nsea-weeds of the rocky shore disappear almost entirely, and their\nplace is but poorly supplied by the long eel-grass, which is almost\nthe only marine plant to be found in such a locality. Beside its more\nsandy character, the coast from Cape Cod to Cape Hatteras is affected\nby the large amount of fresh water poured into the sea along its whole\nline, greatly modifying the character of the shore animals. The\nHudson, the Delaware, the Susquehanna, the Potomac, the James, the\nRoanoke, and the large estuaries connected with some of these rivers,\ngive a very peculiar character to the shore, and bring down, not only\na vast supply of fresh water, but also a large quantity of detritus of\nall sorts from the land. Under these circumstances life would be\nimpossible for many of the animals which live farther north. The only\nlocality on the North Atlantic shore, where the conditions are\nsomewhat similar, is at the mouth of the St. Lawrence, that great\ndrainage-bed through which the Canadian lakes empty their superfluous\nwaters into the Gulf of St. Lawrence.\n\nThe whole coast of the Carolinas, from Cape Hatteras to Florida, is a\nsandy beach; but though in this respect it resembles that immediately\nto the north of it, it differs greatly in other features.\nComparatively little fresh water is poured into the ocean along this\nshore, and its more southerly range, instead of being protected by\nsand-spits like Pamlico and Albemarle Sounds, or broken by estuaries\nand inlets like the coast of Virginia, lies broadly open to the sea.\nOn its extensive beaches we have the large Pholas, burrowing deep\nbelow the surface, and the Cerianthus, those long, cylindrical\nActiniae, enclosed in sheaths, with their bright crowns of\ngayly- tentacles; the free colonies of Halcyonoids abound also\non this coast, and a new set of Sea-urchins (Spatangoids and\nClypeastroids) make their appearance.\n\nFarther south, along the Florida coast, a new element comes in, that\nof the coral reefs, enclosing shallow channels near the shore, and\nthus providing sheltered harbors on their leeward side, while on their\nseaward side they <DW72> steeply to the ocean. Beside this, the reef\nitself affords a home for a great variety of creatures, who bore their\nway into it and live in its recesses, as some insects live in the bark\nof trees. Perhaps a more favorable combination of circumstances for\nthe development of marine life does not exist anywhere than about the\ncoral reefs of Florida, and certainly nowhere is there a more rich and\nvaried littoral fauna, especially on their western shore within the\nGulf of Mexico. Here swims the Portuguese Man-of-War, borne gayly\nalong on the surface of the water by its brilliant float, here the\nblue Velella sets its oblique sail to the wind, and hosts of the\nlighter and more brightly tinted corals fringe the shore with a\nmany- shrubbery. In these waters are also found the blue and\nyellow Angel-fish, the Parrot-fish (Scarus), and the strange\nPorcupine-fish (Diodon). Vegetable life is comparatively scanty in\nthese tropical waters, where there are scarcely any sea-weeds, except\nthe corallines or limestone Algae of the reefs. The shore of the Gulf\nof Mexico, as a whole, has much the same character as that of the\nCarolinas, until we reach the point where the mountains and plateau of\nMexico come down to the coast. From this point to the Isthmus of\nPanama the coast is again rocky.\n\nCrossing the Isthmus and following the Pacific shore of the continent\nnorthward, we find a sandy open shore alternating with rocky beaches\nas far north as Acapulco. Along this coast there is to be found a\ngreat variety of corals, especially Sea-fans, growing on the rocks,\nbut no reef. The Pocillopora, an Acalephian coral, the Pacific\nrepresentative of the Millepore of Florida, is especially abundant. On\nthe peninsula of Lower California we come again upon a rocky coast,\nwith steep bluffs, extending into the sea. Within the Gulf of\nCalifornia are found, on its sandy coast, peculiar kinds of\nSea-urchins, Spatangoids, and Clypeastroids, which occur nowhere else\non this coast. From Cape St. Lucas up to the Straits of Fuca, with the\nexception of the large estuary forming the Bay of San Francisco, there\nare scarcely a couple of harbors of any consequence. The whole shore\nis most inhospitable, and the violent northwest winds in summer, and\nthe southeast winds in winter, render it still more bleak and\ndifficult of approach. In consequence of these conditions, the fauna\nis scanty along a great part of the shore; the best spots for\ncollecting are the beaches, near the head of the peninsula, opposite\nthe islands of Santa Barbara and San Diego, and that within the harbor\nof San Francisco. On the former, large Craw-fishes abound (Palinurus),\nakin to those of Florida, though specifically different from them. In\nthe latter, the great amount of fresh water prevents the fauna from\nbeing exclusively marine; this harbor is, nevertheless, the great\ncentre of the viviparous fishes, and contains also a large variety of\npeculiarly shaped Sculpins.\n\nFarther north, between the Straits of Fuca and the island of Sitka,\nthe shore resembles that of Maine, with its many islands, bays, and\ninlets; a succession of long, narrow islands forms a barrier along the\ncoast, enclosing the shore waters, so as almost to make them into an\ninland sea. But little fresh water empties upon this part of the\ncoast, and here, where the salt water is little modified by any\ndeposit from the land, but where the violence of the ocean is broken\nby this barrier of islands, there is a full development of marine\nlife. The shores of the Gulf of Georgia, and those of Vancouver's\nIsland, seem to be especially the home of the Star-fishes. The fauna\nof this locality has been but little investigated, and yet the number\nof species of Star-fishes known from there is greater than from any\nother region; many of them are of colossal size, measuring some four\nfeet in diameter. This coast seems also very favorable for the\ndevelopment of Hydroids, in consequence of which its waters swarm with\na variety of Jelly-fishes. The Pennatula, that pretty compound\nHalcyonoid, with its feather-like sprays, is another characteristic\ntype of this fauna. Beyond this, from Sitka to Behring's Straits, the\nsame rocky coast prevails as in Labrador and Greenland. In Behring's\nStraits we return again to the forests of beautiful compound Mollusks,\nor rather to a variety of \"representative species,\" resembling the\nBryozoa and Ascidians so abundant in Baffin's Bay. The depth of the\nwater, however, is much less here than on the corresponding Atlantic\ncoast, where, south of Greenland, along the shore of Labrador, the\nwater is very deep, while in Behring's Straits the depth is not\ngreater than from one hundred to one hundred and twenty fathoms. The\nrespective faunae of these two shores are also affected by the\ndifference of temperature, the cold current from Baffin's Bay sweeping\ndown upon the coast of Labrador, while, through Behring's Straits, the\nwarm current from the Pacific pours into the Arctic Ocean.\n\nThus the whole coast of our continent is peopled more or less thickly\nwith animals. But now arises a new set of inquiries; how far into the\nsea do these animals extend? how wide is their domain? Do they wander\nat will in the ocean, or are they bound by any law to keep within a\ncertain distance of the shore? These questions would seem to be easily\nanswered, for wherever we go on the surface of the sea, and as far as\nthe eye can penetrate into its depths, we find it full of life; and\nyet a closer examination shows that all these beings have their\nappointed boundaries. Along the shores, animal and vegetable life\nseems to be distributed in certain definite combinations. Those who\nare familiar with rocky beaches readily recognize the different bands\nof color produced by the various kinds of sea-weed growing at given\ndistances between high and low-water-mark. First comes the olive green\nrockweed (the Fucus), and with it are found barnacles and small\nCrustacea, myriads of which are to be seen hopping about in this\nrockweed when the tide is out. Below these are the brown crispy\nRhodersperms and Melanosperms, and associated with them are\nStar-fishes, Crabs, and Cockles. Next in order is the Laminarian zone.\nHere we have the broad fronds of the Laminaria, the \"devil's aprons,\"\nas the fishermen call them; in this zone is the home of the\nSea-urchin, and here will be found also a few small fishes. Lastly we\nhave the Coralline zone, so called on account of the lime deposit in\nthe sea-weeds, giving them the rigidity of corals; among these the\nLobsters make their appearance, and here are to be found also numerous\nclusters of Hydroids, the nurses of the Jelly-fishes.\n\nThis distribution is not casual; these belts of animal and vegetable\nlife are sharply defined and so constantly associated, that they must\nbe controlled by the same physical laws. The first important\ninvestigations on this subject were made by Oersted, the distinguished\nDanish naturalist. He undertook a complete topographical survey of the\ncoast near which he lived, carrying his soundings to a depth of some\ntwelve fathoms, and found that both the fauna and flora of the shore\nwere divided, according to the depth of the water, into bands of\nvegetable and animal life, corresponding very nearly with those given\nabove. His observations were, however, limited, not extending beyond\nthe neighborhood of his home. It is to Edward Forbes, the great\nEnglish naturalist, whose short life was so rich in results for\nscience, that we owe a more complete and extensive investigation of\nthe whole subject.\n\n    [Illustration: Diagram of a rocky beach.]\n\nAided by a friend, Captain McAndrew, who placed his yacht at his\ndisposal, he made a series of observations on the British,\nScandinavian, and Danish coasts, and explored also with the same\nobject the shores of the Mediterranean. Not content with sounding the\npresent ocean, he sunk his daring plummet in the seas of past\ngeological ages, and by comparing the nature and position of their\nfossil remains with those of living marine faunae, he measured the\ndepths of the water along their shores. He collected a vast amount of\nmaterial, and the results of his labors have formed the basis of all\nsubsequent generalizations upon this subject. Nevertheless he arrived\nat some erroneous conclusions, which, had he lived, he would no doubt\nhave been the first to correct. Dredging from low-water-mark outward,\nhe found that, from the Laminarian and Coralline zone, the animals\nbegan gradually to decrease in number, and that, at a depth of two or\nthree hundred fathoms, the dredge always came up nearly empty. He\ninferred that at a certain depth the weight of water became too great\nto be endured by animals, and that the ocean beyond this line, like\nthe land beyond the line of perpetual snow, was barren of life. This\nresult seemed the more probable on account of the immense pressure to\nwhich animals are subjected, even at a comparatively moderate depth. A\ncolumn of water thirty-two feet high is equal to one atmosphere in\nweight; this pressure being increased to the same amount for every\nthirty-two feet of depth, it follows that a fish one hundred and\ntwenty-eight feet, or some twenty fathoms below the surface, is under\nthe pressure of almost four atmospheres plus that of the air outside.\nWherever tides run high, as in the Bay of Fundy, for instance, where\nan animal is under the pressure of one atmosphere at low tide, and of\nthree atmospheres at high tide, we see that marine animals are\nuninjured by great changes of pressure. Yet it seems natural to\nsuppose that there is a limit to this power of resistance; and that\nthere must exist barren areas at the bottom of the ocean, as destitute\nof life as the regions on the earth which are above the line of\nperpetual snow. No doubt pressure does influence the distribution of\nlife in the ocean; but it would seem, from subsequent observations,\nthat the boundaries assigned by Forbes were far too narrow, and that\nthe structure of many marine animals enables them to live under a\nweight, the one hundredth part of which would be fatal to any\nterrestrial animal.\n\nFor some years Forbes's theory was very generally accepted, and the\nresults of Darwin's and Dana's investigations, showing that corals\ncould not live beyond a depth of fifteen fathoms, seemed to confirm\nit. But, quite recently, facts derived from new and unlooked-for\nsources of information have given a check to this theory. Commerce has\ncome to the aid of science (rewarding her for the gift first received\nat her hands), and the telegraph cables, alive with the secrets of sea\nand land, have brought us tidings from the deep. Dr. Wallich, the\nnaturalist who in 1860 accompanied the expedition to explore the bed\nof the Atlantic, previous to laying the telegraphic cable, first\ncalled attention again to this subject. He brought up various animals,\nhighly organized, from a depth of about nineteen hundred fathoms.\n\nYet, in spite of this positive evidence added to the former\nobservations of Ehrenberg, and to those of Sir James Ross, who, in the\nAntarctic Sea, brought up an Euryale on a sounding-line from a depth\nof eight hundred to a thousand fathoms, naturalists were slow to\nbelieve that the distribution of animal life in the ocean was not\nlimited to the shallow depths assigned by Edward Forbes. In the\nMediterranean and in the Red Sea, from depths of eighteen hundred to\ntwo thousand fathoms, living animals have been brought up on the\ntelegraph wires, not of doubtful infusorial character, hovering on the\nborder-land between animal and vegetable life, but of considerable\nsize, as, for instance, one or two kinds of Crustacea, Cockles, stocks\nof Bryozoa and tubes of Annelids. When the cable between France and\nAlgiers was taken up from a depth of eighteen hundred fathoms, there\ncame with it an Oyster, Cockle-shells, Annelid tubes, Bryozoa and\nSea-fans. As these animals were growing upon it, there could be no\ndoubt that they had their normal life and development at this depth,\nand since they are carnivorous, they tell also of the existence of\nother animals with them on which they feed.\n\nThe dredge, which thus far has played an important part in zoological\nresearches, is destined to revolutionize many of our accepted\ntheories, if we can judge of its future by the brilliant results of\nthe last few years.\n\nFrom 1861 to the present time the Swedish government has sent several\nexpeditions to Spitzbergen and Greenland. They carried on dredging\noperations most successfully to a depth of twenty-six hundred fathoms.\nFor some years past Loven, Koren, and Danielssen, the elder and\nyounger Sars, and other Scandinavian naturalists, have made systematic\ndredgings along the coast of Norway, which, though not extending below\nfour hundred fathoms or thereabouts, have yet furnished most\nastounding results.\n\nThe United States Coast Survey has, in connection with an exploration\nof the Gulf Stream, been the first to establish a systematic series of\ndredgings at great depths, continued during several years. The results\nhave proved conclusively that there exists everywhere, in the deep\nsea, modified, of course, according to the nature of the bottom and\nthe temperature, a most varied fauna, totally distinct from that\ncharacteristic of the shores and of shallower waters. Since 1867 Count\nPourtales has had charge of these investigations, first established\nmany years ago by Professor Bache and continued by his successor\nProfessor Peirce. He has dredged across the Gulf Stream between\nFlorida and Cuba to a depth of about seven hundred fathoms, collecting\nan immense number of marine animals entirely unknown before, and\ncharacteristic of the different belts of depth, having a most\nextraordinary geographical distribution, many of the species being\nfound in Florida, the Azores, the Faroe Islands, and the west coast of\nNorway.\n\nThe English Admiralty has for two summers detailed a vessel admirably\nfitted for such purposes, intrusting the scientific direction of the\nexpedition to Dr. Carpenter, Professor Thomson, and Mr. Jeffreys.\nTheir dredgings, carried on to the enormous depth of two thousand four\nhundred and thirty-five fathoms, have in every respect corroborated\nthe conclusions drawn from the collections made by Count Pourtales and\nthe Scandinavian naturalists, who, not content with so thoroughly\nexploring their own coast, have even sent a ship of war to dredge\nacross the whole Atlantic.\n\nThese discoveries only show how much yet remains to be done before we\nshall fully understand the laws of marine life. But we already have\nample evidence that the same beneficent order controls the\ndistribution of animals in the ocean as on land, appointing to all its\ninhabitants their fitting home in the dim waste of waters.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nSYSTEMATIC TABLE OF THE ANIMALS DESCRIBED IN THIS VOLUME\n\n\nRADIATA CUV.\n\nCLASS I.--POLYPI LAM.\n\nORDER I.--ACTINARIA EDW.\n\n_Metridium marginatum_ EDW. _Rhodactinia Davisii_ AG. _Bicidium\nparasiticum_ AG. _Arachnactis brachiolata_ A. AG. _Halcampa albida_ AG.\n\n\nORDER II.--MADREPORIA AG.\n\n_Astrangia Danae_ AG.\n\n\nORDER III.--HALCYONARIA EDW.\n\n_Halcyonium carneum_ AG.\n\n\nCLASS II.--ACALEPHAE CUV.\n\nORDER I.--HYDROIDEA JOHNST.\n\n_Velella mutica_ BOSC. _Physalia Arethusa_ TIL. _Nanomia cara_ A. AG.\n_Millepora alcicornis_ LIN. _Hydractinia polyclina_ AG. _Tubularia\nCouthouyi_ AG. _Hybocodon prolifer_ AG. _Coryne mirabilis_ AG. _Turris\nvesicaria_ A. AG. _Bougainvillia superciliaris_ AG. _Dysmorphosa\nfulgurans_ A. AG. _Dynamena pumila_ LAMX. _Dyphasia rosacea_ AG. _Lafoea\ncornuta_ LAMX. _Melicertum campanula_ PER. et LES. _Ptychogena lactea_\nA. AG. _Laomedea amphora_ AG. _Zygodactyla groenlandica_ AG. _Tima\nformosa_ AG. _Eucope diaphana_ AG. _Clytia bicophora_ AG. _Oceania\nlanguida_ A. AG.\n\n\nORDER II.--DISCOPHORAE ESCH.\n\n_Haliclystus auricula_ CLARK. _Trachynema digitale_ A. AG. _Campanella\npachyderma_ A. AG. _Cyanea arctica_ PER. et LES. _Aurelia flavidula_\nPER. et LES.\n\n\nORDER III.--CTENOPHORAE ESCH.\n\n_Idyia roseola_ AG. _Pleurobrachia rhododactyla_ AG. _Bolina alata_ AG.\n\nCLASS III.--ECHINODERMATA KLEIN.\n\nORDER I.--CRINOIDEA MILL.\n\n_Pentacrinus,_ _Alecto Eschrichtii_ M. & T. _Alecto meridionalis_ AG.\n\n\nORDER II.--OPHIURIDEA FORBES.\n\n_Amphiura squamata_ SARS. _Ophiopholis bellis_ LYM. _Astrophyton\nAgassizii_ STIMP.\n\n\nORDER III.--ASTERIDEA FORBES.\n\n_Ctenodiscus crispatus_ D. & K. _Hippasteria phrygiana_ AG. _Cribrella\noculata_ FORBES. _Solaster endeca_ FORBES. _Crossaster papposa_ M. & T.\n_Astracanthion pallidus_ AG. _Astracanthion berylinus_ AG.\n\n\nORDER IV.--ECHINIDEA LAM.\n\n_Toxopneustes drobachiensis_ AG. _Echinarachnius parma_ GRAY.\n\n\nORDER V.--HOLOTHURIDEA BRANDT.\n\n_Caudina arenata_ STIMP. _Synapta tenuis_ AYRES. _Cuvieria squamata_ D.\n& K. _Pentacta frondosa_ JAeG.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nINDEX.\n\n\n                                            PAGE\n    Abbreviations of authors' names,         xii\n\n    Acalephs,                                 21\n\n    Actinia,                                   7\n\n    Actinoids,                                 7\n\n    Alecto Eschrichtii,                      121\n\n    Alecto meridionalis,                     121\n\n    Amphiura squamata,                       115\n\n    Arachnactis brachiolata,                  14\n\n    Astracanthion berylinus,                 108\n\n    Astracanthion pallidus,                  112\n\n    Astrangia Danae,                           16\n\n    Astrophyton Agassizii,                   117\n\n    Aurelia flavidula,                        42\n\n\n    Bicidium parasiticum,                     15\n\n    Bolina alata,                             31\n\n    Bougainvillia superciliaris,              69\n\n\n    Campanella pachyderma,                    44\n\n    Campanularians,                           49\n\n    Caudina arenata,                          97\n\n    Circe,                                    45\n\n    Clytia bicophora,                         56\n\n    Comatula,                                121\n\n    Coryne mirabilis,                         68\n\n    Cribrella oculata,                       112\n\n    Crinoids,                                120\n\n    Crossaster papposa,                      114\n\n    Ctenodiscus crispatus,                   113\n\n    Ctenophorae,                               26\n\n    Cuvieria squamata,                        98\n\n    Cyanea aretica,                           38\n\n\n    Development of Melicertum,                64\n\n         ''    ''  Tima,                      64\n\n    Discophorae,                               37\n\n    Distribution of Life in the Ocean,       141\n\n    Dynamena pumila,                          66\n\n    Dyphasia rosacea,                         67\n\n    Dysmorphosa fulgurans,                    75\n\n\n    Echinarachnius parma,                    106\n\n    Echinoderms,                              91\n\n    Echinoids,                               101\n\n    Embryology of Astracanthion,             124\n\n       ''     ''  Ctenophorae,                 34\n\n       ''     ''  Echinoderms,               123\n\n       ''     ''  Ophiurans,                 135\n\n       ''     ''  Sea-urchins,               130\n\n       ''     ''  Star-fishes,               124\n\n    Eucope diaphana,                          50\n\n\n    Halcampa albida,                          16\n\n    Halcyonium carneum,                       19\n\n    Halcyonoids,                              19\n\n    Haliclystus auricula,                     46\n\n    Hippasteria phrygiana,                   113\n\n    Holothurians,                             95\n\n    Hybocodon prolifer,                       74\n\n    Hydractinia polyclina,                    73\n\n    Hydroids,                                 49\n\n\n    Idyia roseola,                            32\n\n\n    Lafoea cornuta,                           67\n\n    Laomedea amphora,                         65\n\n    Lucernaria,                               46\n\n\n    Madreporians,                             16\n\n    Melicertum campanula,                     63\n\n    Metridium marginatum,                      7\n\n    Millepora alcicornis,                     22\n\n    Mode of catching Jelly-fishes,            85\n\n\n    Nanomia cara,                             76\n\n\n    Oceania languida,                         53\n\n    Ophiurans,                               115\n\n    Ophiopholis bellis,                      115\n\n\n    Pentacrinus,                             121\n\n    Pentacta frondosa,                        99\n\n    Pleurobrachia rhododactyla,               27\n\n    Polyps,                                    5\n\n    Ptychogena lactea,                        86\n\n    Physalia Arethusa,                        83\n\n\n    Radiates,                                  1\n\n    Rhodactinia Davisii,                      13\n\n\n    Sarsia,                                   68\n\n    Sea-urchin,                              101\n\n    Sertularians,                             66\n\n    Solaster endeca,                         114\n\n    Star-fishes,                             108\n\n    Synapta tenuis,                           95\n\n    Systematic Table,                        152\n\n\n    Tima formosa,                             60\n\n    Toxopneustes drobachiensis,              101\n\n    Trachynema digitale,                      45\n\n    Tubularia Couthouyi,                      72\n\n    Tubularians,                              67\n\n    Turris vesicaria,                         69\n\n\n    Velella mutica,                           84\n\n\n    Zygodactyla groenlandica,                 57\n\n\n\n\n\n                               THE END.\n\n     ___________________________________________________________\n     Cambridge: Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.\n\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  Transcriber's Notes\n\n  With the exception of the corrections detailed below and some\n  minor corrections (missing periods, commas, etc.) which were made\n  but are not listed, the text presented is that in the original\n  printed version. The illustration labels were originally presented\n  at the bottom of the containing page; but have been moved beneath\n  the illustrations.\n\n  Typographical Corrections\n\n    Page xi: Ophiopolis => Ophiopholis\n    Page 4:  diferent   => different\n    Page 21, 101, 127, 131, 148: so called => so-called\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Seaside Studies in Natural History, by\nElizabeth Cabot Cary Agassiz and Alexander Agassiz\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Suzanne Shell and PG Distributed Proofreaders\n\n\n\n\nTHE HUNTED WOMAN\n\nBY\n\nJAMES OLIVER CURWOOD\n\nAuthor of KAZAN, Etc.\n\nIllustrated by\n\nFRANK B. HOFFMAN\n\n\n1915\n\nTO MY WIFE\n\nAND\n\nOUR COMRADES OF THE TRAIL\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\"'Look at MacDonald.... It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking me\nNorth, Ladygray.... Up there, another grave is calling MacDonald.'\"\n\nA tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure.... \"'Another o' them Dotty Dimples\ncome out to save the world. I thought I'd help eggicate her a little, an'\nso I sent her to Bill's place'\"\n\n\"A crowd was gathering.... A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering\nsilk was standing beside a huge brown bear\"\n\n\"'The tunnel is closed,' she whispered.... 'That means we have just\nforty-five minutes to live.... Let us not lie to one another.'\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nIt was all new--most of it singularly dramatic and even appalling to the\nwoman who sat with the pearl-gray veil drawn closely about her face. For\neighteen hours she had been a keenly attentive, wide-eyed, and partly\nfrightened bit of humanity in this onrush of \"the horde.\" She had heard a\nvoice behind her speak of it as \"the horde\"--a deep, thick, gruff voice\nwhich she knew without looking had filtered its way through a beard. She\nagreed with the voice. It was the Horde--that horde which has always beaten\nthe trails ahead for civilization and made of its own flesh and blood the\nfoundation of nations. For months it had been pouring steadily into the\nmountains--always in and never out, a laughing, shouting, singing,\nblaspheming Horde, every ounce of it toughened sinew and red brawn, except\nthe Straying Angels. One of these sat opposite her, a dark-eyed girl with\nover-red lips and hollowed cheeks, and she heard the bearded man say\nsomething to his companions about \"dizzy dolls\" and \"the little angel in\nthe other seat.\" This same voice, gruffened in its beard, had told her that\nten thousand of the Horde had gone up ahead of them. Then it whispered\nsomething that made her hands suddenly tighten and a hot flush sweep\nthrough her. She lifted her veil and rose slowly from her seat, as if to\nrearrange her dress. Casually she looked straight into the faces of the\nbearded man and his companion in the seat behind. They stared. After that\nshe heard nothing more of the Straying Angels, but only a wildly mysterious\nconfabulation about \"rock hogs,\" and \"coyotes\" that blew up whole\nmountains, and a hundred and one things about the \"rail end.\" She learned\nthat it was taking five hundred steers a week to feed the Horde that lay\nalong the Grand Trunk Pacific between Hogan's Camp and the sea, and that\nthere were two thousand souls at Tete Jaune Cache, which until a few months\nbefore had slumbered in a century-old quiet broken only by the Indian and\nhis trade. Then the train stopped in its twisting trail, and the bearded\nman and his companion left the car. As they passed her they glanced down.\nAgain the veil was drawn close. A shimmering tress of hair had escaped its\nbondage; that was all they saw.\n\n[Illustration: \"Look at MacDonald.... It's not the gold, but MacDonald,\nthat's taking me north, Ladygray.... Up there, another grave is calling\nMacDonald.\"]\n\nThe veiled woman drew a deeper breath when they were gone. She saw that\nmost of the others were getting off. In her end of the car the\nhollow-cheeked girl and she were alone. Even in their aloneness these two\nwomen had not dared to speak until now. The one raised her veil again, and\ntheir eyes met across the aisle. For a moment the big, dark, sick-looking\neyes of the \"angel\" stared. Like the bearded man and his companion, she,\ntoo, understood, and an embarrassed flush added to the colour of the rouge\non her cheeks. The eyes that looked across at her were blue--deep, quiet,\nbeautiful. The lifted veil had disclosed to her a face that she could not\nassociate with the Horde. The lips smiled at her--the wonderful eyes\nsoftened with a look of understanding, and then the veil was lowered again.\nThe flush in the girl's cheek died out, and she smiled back.\n\n\"You are going to Tete Jaune?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes. May I sit with you for a few minutes? I want to ask questions--so\nmany!\"\n\nThe hollow-cheeked girl made room for her at her side.\n\n\"You are new?\"\n\n\"Quite new--to this.\"\n\nThe words, and the manner in which they were spoken, made the other glance\nquickly at her companion.\n\n\"It is a strange place to go--Tete Jaune,\" she said. \"It is a terrible\nplace for a woman.\"\n\n\"And yet you are going?\"\n\n\"I have friends there. Have you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThe girl stared at her in amazement. Her voice and her eyes were bolder\nnow.\n\n\"And without friends you are going--_there?_\" she cried. \"You have no\nhusband--no brother----\"\n\n\"What place is this?\" interrupted the other, raising her veil so that she\ncould look steadily into the other's face. \"Would you mind telling me?\"\n\n\"It is Miette,\" replied the girl, the flush reddening her cheeks again.\n\"There's one of the big camps of the railroad builders down on the Flats.\nYou can see it through the window. That river is the Athabasca.\"\n\n\"Will the train stop here very long?\"\n\nThe Little Angel shrugged her thin shoulders despairingly.\n\n\"Long enough to get me into The Cache mighty late to-night,\" she\ncomplained. \"We won't move for two hours.\"\n\n\"I'd be so glad if you could tell me where I can go for a bath and\nsomething to eat. I'm not very hungry--but I'm terribly dusty. I want to\nchange some clothes, too. Is there a hotel here?\"\n\nHer companion found the question very funny. She had a giggling fit before\nshe answered.\n\n\"You're sure new,\" she explained. \"We don't have hotels up here. We have\nbed-houses, chuck-tents, and bunk-shacks. You ask for Bill's Shack down\nthere on the Flats. It's pretty good. They'll give you a room, plenty of\nwater, and a looking-glass--an' charge you a dollar. I'd go with you, but\nI'm expecting a friend a little later, and if I move I may lose him.\nAnybody will tell you where Bill's place is. It's a red an' white striped\ntent--and it's respectable.\"\n\nThe stranger girl thanked her, and turned for her bag. As she left the car,\nthe Little Angel's eyes followed her with a malicious gleam that gave them\nthe strange glow of candles in a sepulchral cavern. The colours which she\nunfurled to all seeking eyes were not secret, and yet she was filled with\nan inward antagonism that this stranger with the wonderful blue eyes had\ndared to see them and recognize them. She stared after the retreating\nform--a tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure that filled her with envy and\na dull sort of hatred. She did not hear a step behind her. A hand fell\nfamiliarly on her shoulder, and a coarse voice laughed something in her ear\nthat made her jump up with an artificial little shriek of pleasure. The man\nnodded toward the end of the now empty car.\n\n\"Who's your new friend?\" he asked.\n\n\"She's no friend of mine,\" snapped the girl. \"She's another one of them\nDolly Dimples come out to save the world. She's that innocent she wonders\nwhy Tete Jaune ain't a nice place for ladies without escort. I thought I'd\nhelp eggicate her a little an' so I sent her to Bill's place. Oh, my Lord,\nI told her it was respectable!\"\n\nShe doubled over the seat in a fit of merriment, and her companion seized\nthe opportunity to look out of the window.\n\nThe tall, blue-eyed stranger had paused for a moment on the last step of\nthe car to pin up her veil, fully revealing her face. Then she stepped\nlightly to the ground, and found herself facing the sunlight and the\nmountains. She drew a slow, deep breath between her parted lips, and turned\nwonderingly, for a moment forgetful. It was the first time she had left the\ntrain since entering the mountains, and she understood now why some one in\nthe coach had spoken of the Miette Plain as Sunshine Pool. Where-ever she\nlooked the mountains fronted her, with their splendid green <DW72>s reaching\nup to their bald caps of gray shale and reddish rock or gleaming summits of\nsnow. Into this \"pool\"--this pocket in the mountains--the sun descended in\na wonderful flood. It stirred her blood like a tonic. She breathed more\nquickly; a soft glow  her cheeks; her eyes grew more deeply violet\nas they caught the reflection of the blue sky. A gentle wind fretted the\nloose tendrils of brown hair about her face. And the bearded man, staring\nthrough the car window, saw her thus, and for an hour after that the\nhollow-cheeked girl wondered at the strange change in him.\n\nThe train had stopped at the edge of the big fill overlooking the Flats. It\nwas a heavy train, and a train that was helping to make history--a\ncombination of freight, passenger, and \"cattle.\" It had averaged eight\nmiles an hour on its climb toward Yellowhead Pass and the end of steel. The\n\"cattle\" had already surged from their stifling and foul-smelling cars in a\nnoisy inundation of curiously mixed humanity. They were of a dozen\ndifferent nationalities, and as the girl looked at them it was not with\nrevulsion or scorn but with a sudden quickening of heartbeat and a little\nlaugh that had in it something both of wonder and of pride. This was the\nHorde, that crude, monstrous thing of primitive strength and passions that\nwas overturning mountains in its fight to link the new Grand Trunk Pacific\nwith the seaport on the Pacific. In that Horde, gathered in little groups,\nshifting, sweeping slowly toward her and past her, she saw something as\nomnipotent as the mountains themselves. They could not know defeat. She\nsensed it without ever having seen them before. For her the Horde now had a\nheart and a soul. These were the builders of empire--the man-beasts who\nmade it possible for Civilization to creep warily and without peril into\nnew places and new worlds. With a curious shock she thought of the\nhalf-dozen lonely little wooden crosses she had seen through the car window\nat odd places along the line of rail.\n\nAnd now she sought her way toward the Flats. To do this she had to climb\nover a track that was waiting for ballast. A car shunted past her, and on\nits side she saw the big, warning red placards--Dynamite. That one word\nseemed to breathe to her the spirit of the wonderful energy that was\nexpending itself all about her. From farther on in the mountains came the\ndeep, sullen detonations of the \"little black giant\" that had been rumbling\npast her in the car. It came again and again, like the thunderous voice of\nthe mountains themselves calling out in protest and defiance. And each time\nshe felt a curious thrill under her feet and the palpitant touch of\nsomething that was like a gentle breath in her ears. She found another\ntrack on her way, and other cars slipped past her crunchingly. Beyond this\nsecond track she came to a beaten road that led down into the Flats, and\nshe began to descend.\n\n[Illustration: A tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure.... \"Another o' them\nDotty Dimples come out to save the world. I thought I'd help eggicate her a\nlittle, an' so I sent her to Bill's place. Oh, my Lord, I told her it was\nrespectable!\"]\n\nTents shone through the trees on the bottom. The rattle of the cars grew\nmore distant, and she heard the hum and laughter of voices and the jargon\nof a phonograph. At the bottom of the <DW72> she stepped aside to allow a\nteam and wagon to pass. The wagon was loaded with boxes that rattled and\ncrashed about as the wheels bumped over stones and roots. The driver of the\nteam did not look at her. He was holding back with his whole weight; his\neyes bulged a little; he was sweating, in his face was a comedy of\nexpression that made the girl smile in spite of herself. Then she saw one\nof the bobbing boxes and the smile froze into a look of horror. On it was\npainted that ominous word--DYNAMITE!\n\nTwo men were coming behind her.\n\n\"Six horses, a wagon an' old Fritz--blown to hell an' not a splinter left\nto tell the story,\" one of them was saying. \"I was there three minutes\nafter the explosion and there wasn't even a ravelling or a horsehair left.\nThis dynamite's a dam' funny thing. I wouldn't be a rock-hog for a\nmillion!\"\n\n\"I'd rather be a rock-hog than Joe--drivin' down this hill a dozen times a\nday,\" replied the other.\n\nThe girl had paused again, and the two men stared at her as they were about\nto pass. The explosion of Joe's dynamite could not have startled them more\nthan the beauty of the face that was turned to them in a quietly appealing\ninquiry.\n\n\"I am looking for a place called--Bill's Shack,\" she said, speaking the\nLittle Sister's words hesitatingly. \"Can you direct me to it, please?\"\n\nThe younger of the two men looked at his companion without speaking. The\nother, old enough to regard feminine beauty as a trap and an illusion,\nturned aside to empty his mouth of a quid of tobacco, bent over, and\npointed under the trees.\n\n\"Can't miss it--third tent-house on your right, with canvas striped like a\nbarber-pole. That phonnygraff you hear is at Bill's.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\nShe went on.\n\nBehind her, the two men stood where she had left them. They did not move.\nThe younger man seemed scarcely to breathe.\n\n\"Bill's place!\" he gasped then. \"I've a notion to tell her. I can't\nbelieve----\"\n\n\"Shucks!\" interjected the other.\n\n\"But I don't. She isn't that sort. She looked like a Madonna--with the\nheart of her clean gone. I never saw anything so white an' so beautiful.\nYou call me a fool if you want to--I'm goin' on to Bill's!\"\n\nHe strode ahead, chivalry in his young and palpitating heart. Quickly the\nolder man was at his side, clutching his arm.\n\n\"Come along, you cotton-head!\" he cried. \"You ain't old enough or big\nenough in this camp to mix in with Bill. Besides,\" he lied, seeing the\nwavering light in the youth's eyes, \"I know her. She's going to the right\nplace.\"\n\nAt Bill's place men were holding their breath and staring. They were not\nunaccustomed to women. But such a one as this vision that walked calmly and\nundisturbed in among them they had never seen. There were half a dozen\nlounging there, smoking and listening to the phonograph, which some one now\nstopped that they might hear every word that was spoken. The girl's head\nwas high. She was beginning to understand that it would have been less\nembarrassing to have gone hungry and dusty. But she had come this far, and\nshe was determined to get what she wanted--if it was to be had. The colour\nshone a little more vividly through the pure whiteness of her skin as she\nfaced Bill, leaning over his little counter. In him she recognized the\nBrute. It was blazoned in his face, in the hungry, seeking look of his\neyes--in the heavy pouches and thick crinkles of his neck and cheeks. For\nonce Bill Quade himself was at a loss.\n\n\"I understand that you have rooms for rent,\" she said unemotionally. \"May I\nhire one until the train leaves for Tete Jaune Cache?\"\n\nThe listeners behind her stiffened and leaned forward. One of them grinned\nat Quade. This gave him the confidence he needed to offset the fearless\nquestioning in the blue eyes. None of them noticed a newcomer in the door.\nQuade stepped from behind his shelter and faced her.\n\n\"This way,\" he said, and turned to the drawn curtains beyond them.\n\nShe followed. As the curtains closed after them a chuckling laugh broke the\nsilence of the on-looking group. The newcomer in the doorway emptied the\nbowl of his pipe, and thrust the pipe into the breast-pocket of his flannel\nshirt. He was bareheaded. His hair was blond, shot a little with gray. He\nwas perhaps thirty-eight, no taller than the girl herself, slim-waisted,\nwith trim, athletic shoulders. His eyes, as they rested on the\nstill-fluttering curtains, were a cold and steady gray. His face was thin\nand bronzed, his nose a trifle prominent. He was a man far from handsome,\nand yet there was something of fascination and strength about him. He did\nnot belong to the Horde. Yet he might have been the force behind it,\ncontemptuous of the chuckling group of rough-visaged men, almost arrogant\nin his posture as he eyed the curtains and waited.\n\nWhat he expected soon came. It was not the usual giggling, the usual\nexchange of badinage and coarse jest beyond the closed curtains. Quade did\nnot come out rubbing his huge hands, his face crinkling with a sort of\nexultant satisfaction. The girl preceded him. She flung the curtains aside\nand stood there for a moment, her face flaming like fire, her blue eyes\nfilled with the flash of lightning. She came down the single step. Quade\nfollowed her. He put out a hand.\n\n\"Don't take offence, girly,\" he expostulated. \"Look here--ain't it\nreasonable to s'pose----\"\n\nHe got no farther. The man in the door had advanced, placing himself at the\ngirl's side. His voice was low and unexcited.\n\n\"You have made a mistake?\" he said.\n\nShe took him in at a glance--his clean-cut, strangely attractive face, his\nslim build, the clear and steady gray of his eyes.\n\n\"Yes, I have made a mistake--a terrible mistake!\"\n\n\"I tell you it ain't fair to take offence,\" Quade went on. \"Now, look\nhere----\"\n\nIn his hand was a roll of bills. The girl did not know that a man could\nstrike as quickly and with as terrific effect as the gray-eyed stranger\nstruck then. There was one blow, and Quade went down limply. It was so\nsudden that he had her outside before she realized what had happened.\n\n\"I chanced to see you go in,\" he explained, without a tremor in his voice.\n\"I thought you were making a mistake. I heard you ask for shelter. If you\nwill come with me I will take you to a friend's.\"\n\n\"If it isn't too much trouble for you, I will go,\" she said. \"And for\nthat--in there--thank you!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nThey passed down an aisle through the tall trees, on each side of which\nfaced the vari- and many-shaped architecture of the little town. It\nwas chiefly of canvas. Now and then a structure of logs added an appearance\nof solidity to the whole. The girl did not look too closely. She knew that\nthey passed places in which there were long rows of cots, and that others\nwere devoted to trade. She noticed signs which advertised soft drinks and\ncigars--always \"soft drinks,\" which sometimes came into camp marked as\n\"dynamite,\" \"salt pork,\" and \"flour.\" She was conscious that every one\nstared at them as they passed. She heard clearly the expressions of wonder\nand curiosity of two women and a girl who were spreading out blankets in\nfront of a rooming-tent. She looked at the man at her side. She appreciated\nhis courtesy in not attempting to force an acquaintanceship. In her eyes\nwas a ripple of amusement.\n\n\"This is all strange and new to me--and not at all uninteresting,\" she\nsaid. \"I came expecting--everything. And I am finding it. Why do they stare\nat me so? Am I a curiosity?\"\n\n\"You are,\" he answered bluntly. \"You are the most beautiful woman they have\never seen.\"\n\nHis eyes encountered hers as he spoke. He had answered her question fairly.\nThere was nothing that was audacious in his manner or his look. She had\nasked for information, and he had given it. In spite of herself the girl's\nlips trembled. Her colour deepened. She smiled.\n\n\"Pardon me,\" she entreated. \"I seldom feel like laughing, but I almost do\nnow. I have encountered so many curious people and have heard so many\ncurious things during the past twenty-four hours. You don't believe in\nconcealing your thoughts out here in the wilderness, do you?\"\n\n\"I haven't expressed _my_ thoughts,\" he corrected. \"I was telling you what\n_they_ think.\"\n\n\"Oh-h-h--I beg your pardon again!\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" he answered lightly, and now his eyes were laughing frankly\ninto her own. \"I don't mind informing you,\" he went on, \"that I am the\nbiggest curiosity you will meet between this side of the mountains and the\nsea. I am not accustomed to championing women. I allow them to pursue their\nown course without personal interference on my part. But--I suppose it will\ngive you some satisfaction if I confess it--I followed you into Bill's\nplace because you were more than ordinarily beautiful, and because I wanted\nto see fair play. I knew you were making a mistake. I knew what would\nhappen.\"\n\nThey had passed the end of the street, and entered a little green plain\nthat was soft as velvet underfoot. On the farther side of this, sheltered\namong the trees, were two or three tents. The man led the way toward these.\n\n\"Now, I suppose I've spoiled it all,\" he went on, a touch of irony in his\nvoice. \"It was really quite heroic of me to follow you into Bill's place,\ndon't you think? You probably want to tell me so, but don't quite dare.\nAnd I should play up to my part, shouldn't I? But I cannot--not\nsatisfactorily. I'm really a bit disgusted with myself for having taken as\nmuch interest in you as I have. I write books for a living. My name is John\nAldous.\"\n\nWith a little cry of amazement, his companion stopped. Without knowing it,\nher hand had gripped his arm.\n\n\"You are John Aldous--who wrote 'Fair Play,' and 'Women!'\" she gasped.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, amusement in his face.\n\n\"I have read those books--and I have read your plays,\" she breathed, a\nmysterious tremble in her voice. \"You despise women!\"\n\n\"Devoutly.\"\n\nShe drew a deep breath. Her hand dropped from his arm.\n\n\"This is very, very funny,\" she mused, gazing off to the sun-capped peaks\nof the mountains. \"You have flayed women alive. You have made them want to\nmob you. And yet----\"\n\n\"Millions of them read my books,\" he chuckled.\n\n\"Yes--all of them read your books,\" she replied, looking straight into his\nface. \"And I guess--in many ways--you have pointed out things that are\ntrue.\"\n\nIt was his turn to show surprise.\n\n\"You believe that?\"\n\n\"I do. More than that--I have always thought that I knew your secret--the\nbig, hidden thing under your work, the thing which you do not reveal\nbecause you know the world would laugh at you. And so--_you despise me!_\"\n\n\"Not you.\"\n\n\"I am a woman.\"\n\nHe laughed. The tan in his cheeks burned a deeper red.\n\n\"We are wasting time,\" he warned her. \"In Bill's place I heard you say you\nwere going to leave on the Tete Jaune train. I am going to take you to a\nreal dinner. And now--I should let those good people know your name.\"\n\nA moment--unflinching and steady--she looked into his face.\n\n\"It is Joanne, the name you have made famous as the dreadfulest woman in\nfiction. Joanne Gray.\"\n\n\"I am sorry,\" he said, and bowed low. \"Come. If I am not mistaken I smell\nnew-baked bread.\"\n\nAs they moved on he suddenly touched her arm. She felt for a moment the\nfirm clasp of his fingers. There was a new light in his eyes, a glow of\nenthusiasm.\n\n\"I have it!\" he cried. \"You have brought it to me--the idea. I have been\nwanting a name for _her_--the woman in my new book. She is to be a\ntremendous surprise. I haven't found a name, until now--one that fits. I\nshall call her Ladygray!\"\n\nHe felt the girl flinch. He was surprised at the sudden startled look that\nshot into her eyes, the swift ebbing of the colour from her cheeks. He drew\naway his hand at the strange change in her. He noticed how quickly she was\nbreathing--that the fingers of her white hands were clasped tensely.\n\n\"You object,\" he said.\n\n\"Not enough to keep you from using it,\" she replied in a low voice. \"I owe\nyou a great deal.\" He noted, too, how quickly she had recovered herself.\nHer head was a little higher. She looked toward the tents. \"You were not\nmistaken,\" she added. \"I smell new-made bread!\"\n\n\"And I shall emphasize the first half of it--_Lady_gray,\" said John Aldous,\nas if speaking to himself. \"That diminutizes it, you might say--gives it\nthe touch of sentiment I want. You can imagine a lover saying 'Dear little\n_Lady_gray, are you warm and comfy?' He wouldn't say Ladygray as if she\nwore a coronet, would he?\"\n\n\"Smell-o'-bread--fresh bread!\" sniffed Joanne Gray, as if she had not heard\nhim. \"It's making me hungry. Will you please hurry me to it, John Aldous?\"\n\nThey were approaching the first of the three tent-houses, over which was a\ncrudely painted sign which read \"Otto Brothers, Guides and Outfitters.\" It\nwas a large, square tent, with weather-faded red and blue stripes, and from\nit came the cheerful sound of a woman's laughter. Half a dozen\ntrampish-looking Airedale terriers roused themselves languidly as they drew\nnearer. One of them stood up and snarled.\n\n\"They won't hurt you,\" assured Aldous. \"They belong to Jack Bruce and\nClossen Otto--the finest bunch of grizzly dogs in the Rockies.\" Another\nmoment, and a woman had appeared in the door. \"And that is Mrs. Jack Otto,\"\nhe added under his breath. \"If all women were like her I wouldn't have\nwritten the things you have read!\"\n\nHe might have added that she was Scotch. But this was not necessary. The\nlaughter was still in her good-humoured face. Aldous looked at his\ncompanion, and he found her smiling back. The eyes of the two women had\nalready met.\n\nBriefly Aldous explained what had happened at Quade's, and that the young\nwoman was leaving on the Tete Jaune train. The good-humoured smile left\nMrs. Otto's face when he mentioned Quade.\n\n\"I've told Jack I'd like to poison that man some day,\" she cried. \"You poor\ndear, come in, I'll get you a cup of tea.\"\n\n\"Which always means dinner in the Otto camp,\" added Aldous.\n\n\"I'm not so hungry, but I'm tired--so tired,\" he heard the girl say as she\nwent in with Mrs. Otto, and there was a new and strangely pathetic note in\nher voice. \"I want to rest--until the train goes.\"\n\nHe followed them in, and stood for a moment near the door.\n\n\"There's a room in there, my dear,\" said the woman, drawing back a curtain.\n\"Make yourself at home, and lie down on the bed until I have the tea\nready.\"\n\nWhen the curtain had closed behind her, John Aldous spoke in a low voice to\nthe woman.\n\n\"Will you see her safely to the train, Mrs. Otto?\" he asked. \"It leaves at\na quarter after two. I must be going.\"\n\nHe felt that he had sufficiently performed his duty. He left the tent, and\npaused for a moment outside to touzle affectionately the trampish heads of\nthe bear dogs. Then he turned away, whistling. He had gone a dozen steps\nwhen a low voice stopped him. He turned. Joanne had come from the door.\n\nFor one moment he stared as if something more wonderful than anything he\nhad ever seen had risen before him. The girl was bareheaded, and she stood\nin a sun mellowed by a film of cloud. Her head was piled with lustrous\ncoils of gold-brown hair that her hat and veil had hidden. Never had he\nlooked upon such wonderful hair, crushed and crumpled back from her smooth\nforehead; nor such marvellous whiteness of skin and pure blue depths of\neyes! In her he saw now everything that was strong and splendid in woman.\nShe was not girlishly sweet. She was not a girl. She was a woman--glorious\nto look at, a soul glowing out of her eyes, a strength that thrilled him in\nthe quiet and beautiful mystery of her face.\n\n\"You were going without saying good-bye,\" she said. \"Won't you let me thank\nyou--a last time?\"\n\nHer voice brought him to himself again. A moment he bent over her hand. A\nmoment he felt its warm, firm pressure in his own. The smile that flashed\nto his lips was hidden from her as he bowed his blond-gray head.\n\n\"Pardon me for the omission,\" he apologized. \"Good-bye--and may good luck\ngo with you!\"\n\nTheir eyes met once more. With another bow he had turned, and was\ncontinuing his way. At the door Joanne Gray looked back. He was whistling\nagain. His careless, easy stride was filled with a freedom that seemed to\ncome to her in the breath of the mountains. And then she, too, smiled\nstrangely as she reentered the tent.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nIf John Aldous had betrayed no visible sign of inward vanquishment he at\nleast was feeling its effect. For years his writings had made him the\ntarget for a world of women, and many men. The men he had regarded with\nindifferent toleration. The women were his life--the \"frail and ineffective\ncreatures\" who gave spice to his great adventure, and made his days\nanything but monotonous. He was not unchivalrous. Deep down in his\nheart--and this was his own secret--he did not even despise women. But he\nhad seen their weaknesses and their frailties as perhaps no other man had\never seen them, and he had written of them as no other man had ever\nwritten. This had brought him the condemnation of the host, the admiration\nof the few. His own personal veneer of antagonism against woman was purely\nartificial, and yet only a few had guessed it. He had built it up about him\nas a sort of protection. He called himself \"an adventurer in the mysteries\nof feminism,\" and to be this successfully he had argued that he must\ndestroy in himself the usual heart-emotions of the sex-man and the animal.\n\nHow far he had succeeded in this he himself did not know--until these last\nmoments when he had bid good-bye to Joanne Gray. He confessed that she had\nfound a cleft in his armour, and there was an uneasy thrill in his blood.\nIt was not her beauty alone that had affected him. He had trained himself\nto look at a beautiful woman as he might have looked at a beautiful flower,\nconfident that if he went beyond the mere admiration of it he would find\nonly burned-out ashes. But in her he had seen something that was more than\nbeauty, something that for a flashing moment had set stirring every\nmolecule in his being. He had felt the desire to rest his hand upon her\nshining hair!\n\nHe turned off into a winding path that led into the thick poplars,\nrestraining an inclination to look back in the direction of the Otto camp.\nHe pulled out the pipe he had dropped into his shirt pocket, filled it with\nfresh tobacco, and began smoking. As he smoked, his lips wore a quizzical\nsmile, for he was honest enough to give Joanne Gray credit for her triumph.\nShe had awakened a new kind of interest in him--only a passing interest, to\nbe sure--but a new kind for all that. The fact amused him. In a large way\nhe was a humourist--few guessing it, and he fully appreciated the humour of\nthe present situation--that he, John Aldous, touted the world over as a\nwoman-hater, wanted to peer out through the poplar foliage and see that\nwonderful gold-brown head shining in the sun once more!\n\nHe wandered more slowly on his way, wondering with fresh interest what his\nfriends, the women, would say when they read his new book. His title for it\nwas \"Mothers.\" It was to be a tremendous surprise.\n\nSuddenly his face became serious. He faced the sound of a distant\nphonograph. It was not the phonograph in Quade's place, but that of a rival\ndealer in soft drinks at the end of the \"street.\" For a moment Aldous\nhesitated. Then he turned in the direction of the camp.\n\nQuade was bolstered up on a stool, his back against the thin partition,\nwhen John Aldous sauntered in. There was still a groggy look in his mottled\nface. His thick bulk hung a bit limply. In his heavy-lidded eyes,\nunder-hung by watery pouches of sin and dissipation, there was a vengeful\nand beastlike glare. He was surrounded by his friends. One of them was\ntaking a wet cloth from his head. There were a dozen in the canvas-walled\nroom, all with their backs to the door, their eyes upon their fallen and\ndishonoured chief. For a moment John Aldous paused in the door. The cool\nand insolent smile hovered about his lips again, and little crinkles had\ngathered at the corners of his eyes.\n\n\"Did I hit you pretty hard, Bill?\" he asked.\n\nEvery head was turned toward him. Bill Quade stared, his mouth open. He\nstaggered to his feet, and stood dizzily.\n\n\"You--damn you!\" he cried huskily.\n\nThree or four of the men had already begun to move toward the stranger.\nTheir hands were knotted, their faces murderously dark.\n\n\"Wait a minute, boys,\" warned Aldous coolly. \"I've got something to say to\nyou--and Bill. Then eat me alive if you want to. Do you want to be square\nenough to give me a word?\"\n\nQuade had settled back sickly on his stool. The others had stopped,\nwaiting. The quiet and insolently confident smile had not left Aldous'\nlips.\n\n\"You'll feel better in a few minutes, Bill,\" he consoled. \"A hard blow on\nthe jaw always makes you sick at the pit of the stomach. That dizziness\nwill pass away shortly. Meanwhile, I'm going to give you and your pals a\nlittle verbal and visual demonstration of what you're up against, and warn\nyou to bait no traps for a certain young woman whom you've lately seen.\nShe's going on to Tete Jaune. And I know how your partner plays his game up\nthere. I'm not particularly anxious to butt into your affairs and the\nbusiness of this pretty bunch that's gathered about you, but I've come to\ngive you a friendly warning for all that. If this young woman is\nembarrassed up at Tete Jaune you're going to settle with me.\"\n\nAldous had spoken without a tremor of excitement in his voice. Not one of\nthe men noticed his speaking lips, his slim hands, or his careless posture\nas he leaned in the door. They were looking straight into his eyes,\nstrangely scintillating and deadly earnest. In such a man mere bulk did not\ncount.\n\n\"That much--for words,\" he went on. \"Now I'm going to give you the visual\ndemonstration. I know your game, Bill. You're already planning what you're\ngoing to do. You won't fight fair--because you never have. You've already\ndecided that some morning I'll turn up missing, or be dug out from under a\nfall of rock, or go peacefully floating down the Athabasca. See! There's\nnothing in that hand, is there?\"\n\nHe stretched out an empty hand toward them, palm up.\n\n\"And now!\"\n\nA twist of the wrist so swift their eyes could not follow, a metallic\nclick, and the startled group were staring into the black muzzle of a\nmenacing little automatic.\n\n\"That's known as the sleeve trick, boys,\" explained Aldous with his\nimperturbable smile. \"It's a relic of the old gun-fighting days when the\nbest man was quickest. From now on, especially at night, I shall carry this\nlittle friend of mine just inside my wristband. There are eleven shots in\nit, and I shoot fairly straight. Good-day!\"\n\nBefore they had recovered from their astonishment he was gone.\n\nHe did not follow the road along which Joanne had come a short time before,\nbut turned again into the winding trail that led riverward through the\npoplars. Where before he had been a little amused at himself, he was now\nmore seriously disgusted. He was not afraid of Quade, who was perhaps the\nmost dangerous man along the line of rail. Neither was he afraid of the\nlawless men who worked his ends. But he knew that he had made powerful\nenemies, and all because of an unknown woman whom he had never seen until\nhalf an hour before. It was this that disturbed his equanimity--the _woman_\nof it, and the knowledge that his interference had been unsolicited and\nprobably unnecessary. And now that he had gone this far he found it not\neasy to recover his balance. Who was this Joanne Gray? he asked himself.\nShe was not ordinary--like the hundred other women who had gone on ahead of\nher to Tete Jaune Cache. If she had been that, he would soon have been in\nhis little shack on the shore of the river, hard at work. He had planned\nwork for himself that afternoon, and he was nettled to discover that his\nenthusiasm for the grand finale of a certain situation in his novel was\ngone. Yet for this he did not blame her. He was the fool. Quade and his\nfriends would make him feel that sooner or later.\n\nHis trail led him to a partly dry muskeg bottom. Beyond this was a thicker\ngrowth of timber, mostly spruce and cedar, from behind which came the\nrushing sound of water. A few moments more and he stood with the wide\ntumult of the Athabasca at his feet. He had chosen this spot for his little\ncabin because the river ran wild here among the rocks, and because\npack-outfits going into the southward mountains could not disturb him by\nfording at this point. Across the river rose the steep embankments that\nshut in Buffalo Prairie, and still beyond that the mountains, thick with\ntimber rising billow on billow until trees looked like twigs, with gray\nrock and glistening snow shouldering the clouds above the last purple line.\nThe cabin in which he had lived and worked for many weeks faced the river\nand the distant Saw Tooth Range, and was partly hidden in a clump of\njack-pines. He opened the door and entered. Through the window to the south\nand west he could see the white face of Mount Geikie, and forty miles away\nin that wilderness of peaks, the sombre frown of Hardesty; through it the\nsun came now, flooding his work as he had left it. The last page of\nmanuscript on which he had been working was in his typewriter. He sat down\nto begin where he had left off in that pivotal situation in his\nmasterpiece.\n\nHe read and re-read the last two or three pages of the manuscript,\nstruggling to pick up the threads where he had dropped them. With each\nreading he became more convinced that his work for that afternoon was\nspoiled. And by whom? By _what?_ A little fiercely he packed his pipe with\nfresh tobacco. Then he leaned back, lighted it, and laughed. More and more\nas the minutes passed he permitted himself to think of the strange young\nwoman whose beauty and personality had literally projected themselves into\nhis workshop. He marvelled at the crudity of the questions which he asked\nhimself, and yet he persisted in asking them. Who was she? What could be\nher mission at Tete Jaune Cache? She had repeated to him what she had said\nto the girl in the coach--that at Tete Jaune she had no friends. Beyond\nthat, and her name, she had offered no enlightenment.\n\nIn the brief space that he had been with her he had mentally tabulated her\nage as twenty-eight--no older. Her beauty alone, the purity of her eyes,\nthe freshness of her lips, and the slender girlishness of her figure, might\nhave made him say twenty, but with those things he had found the maturer\npoise of the woman. It had been a flashlight picture, but one that he was\nsure of.\n\nSeveral times during the next hour he turned to his work, and at last gave\nup his efforts entirely. From a peg in the wall he took down a little\nrifle. He had found it convenient to do much of his own cooking, and he had\nbroken a few laws. The partridges were out of season, but temptingly fat\nand tender. With a brace of young broilers in mind for supper, he left the\ncabin and followed the narrow foot-trail up the river. He hunted for half\nan hour before he stirred a covey of birds. Two of these he shot.\nConcealing his meat and his gun near the trail he continued toward the ford\nhalf a mile farther up, wondering if Stevens, who was due to cross that\nday, had got his outfit over. Not until then did he look at his watch. He\nwas surprised to find that the Tete Jaune train had been gone three\nquarters of an hour. For some unaccountable reason he felt easier. He went\non, whistling.\n\nAt the ford he found Stevens standing close to the river's edge, twisting\none of his long red moustaches in doubt and vexation.\n\n\"Damn this river,\" he growled, as Aldous came up. \"You never can tell what\nit's going to do overnight. Look there! Would you try to cross?\"\n\n\"I wouldn't,\" replied Aldous. \"It's a foot higher than yesterday. I\nwouldn't take the chance.\"\n\n\"Not with two guides, a cook, and a horse-wrangler on your pay-roll--and a\nhospital bill as big as Geikie staring you in the face?\" argued Stevens,\nwho had been sick for three months. \"I guess you'd pretty near take a\nchance. I've a notion to.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't,\" repeated Aldous.\n\n\"But I've lost two days already, and I'm taking that bunch of sightseers\nout for a lump sum, guaranteeing 'em so many days on the trail. This ain't\nwhat you might call _on the trail_. They don't expect to pay for this\ndelay, and that outfit back in the bush is costing me thirty dollars a day.\nWe can get the dunnage and ourselves over in the flat-boat. It'll make our\narms crack--but we can do it. I've got twenty-seven horses. I've a notion\nto chase 'em in. The river won't be any lower to-morrow.\"\n\n\"But you may be a few horses ahead.\"\n\nStevens bit off a chunk of tobacco and sat down. For a few moments he\nlooked at the muddy flood with an ugly eye. Then he chuckled, and grinned.\n\n\"Came through the camp half an hour ago,\" he said. \"Hear you cleaned up on\nBill Quade.\"\n\n\"A bit,\" said Aldous.\n\nStevens rolled his quid and spat into the water slushing at his feet.\n\n\"Guess I saw the woman when she got off the train,\" he went on. \"She\ndropped something. I picked it up, but she was so darned pretty as she\nstood there looking about I didn't dare go up an' give it to her. If it had\nbeen worth anything I'd screwed up my courage. But it wasn't--so I just\ngawped like the others. It was a piece of paper. Mebby you'd like it as a\nsouvenir, seein' as you laid out Quade for her.\"\n\nAs he spoke, Stevens fished a crumpled bit of paper from his pocket and\ngave it to his companion. Aldous had sat down beside him. He smoothed the\npage out on his knee. There was no writing on it, but it was crowded thick\nwith figures, as if the maker of the numerals had been doing some problem\nin mathematics. The chief thing that interested him was that wherever\nmonetary symbols were used it was the \"pound\" and not the \"dollar\" sign.\nThe totals of certain columns were rather startling.\n\n\"Guess she's a millionaire if that's her own money she's been figgering,\"\nsaid Stevens. \"Notice that figger there!\" He pointed with a stubby\nforefinger. \"Pretty near a billion, ain't it?\"\n\n\"Seven hundred and fifty thousand,\" said Aldous.\n\nHe was thinking of the \"pound\" sign. She had not looked like the\nEnglishwomen he had met. He folded the slip of paper and put it in his\npocket.\n\nStevens eyed him seriously.\n\n\"I was coming over to give you a bit of advice before I left for the\nMaligne Lake country,\" he said. \"You'd better move. Quade won't want you\naround after this. Besides----\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"My kid heard something,\" continued the packer, edging nearer. \"You was\nmighty good to the kid when I was down an' out, Aldous. I ought to tell\nyou. It wasn't an hour ago the kid was behind the tent an' he heard Quade\nand Slim Barker talking. So far as I can find from the kid, Quade has gone\nnutty over her. He's ravin'. He told Slim that he'd give ten thousand\ndollars to get her in his hands. What sent the boy down to me was Quade\ntellin' Slim that he'd get _you_ first. He told Slim to go on to Tete\nJaune--follow the girl!\"\n\n\"The deuce you say!\" cried Aldous, clutching the other's arm suddenly.\n\"He's done that?\"\n\n\"That's what the kid says.\"\n\nAldous rose to his feet slowly. The careless smile was playing about his\nmouth again. A few men had learned that in those moments John Aldous was\ndangerous.\n\n\"The kid is undoubtedly right,\" he said, looking down at Stevens. \"But I am\nquite sure the young woman is capable of taking care of herself. Quade has\na tremendous amount of nerve, setting Slim to follow her, hasn't he? Slim\nmay run up against a husband or a brother.\"\n\nStevens haunched his shoulders.\n\n\"It's not the woman I'm thinking about. It's you. I'd sure change my\nlocation.\"\n\n\"Why wouldn't it be just as well if I told the police of his threat?\" asked\nAldous, looking across the river with a glimmer of humour in his eyes.\n\n\"Oh, hell!\" was the packer's rejoinder.\n\nSlowly he unwound his long legs and rose to his feet.\n\n\"Take my advice--move!\" he said. \"As for me, I'm going to cross that cussed\nriver this afternoon or know the reason why.\"\n\nHe stalked away in the direction of his outfit, chewing viciously at his\nquid. For a few moments Aldous stood undecided. He would liked to have\njoined the half-dozen men he saw lounging restfully a distance beyond the\ngrazing ponies. But Stevens had made him acutely aware of a new danger. He\nwas thinking of his cabin--and the priceless achievement of his last months\nof work, his manuscript. If Quade should destroy that----\n\nHe clenched his hands and walked swiftly toward his camp. To \"burn out\" an\nenemy was one of Quade's favourite methods of retaliation. He had heard\nthis. He also knew that Quade's work was done so cleverly that the police\nhad been unable to call him to account.\n\nQuade's status had interested Aldous from the beginning. He had discovered\nthat Quade and Culver Rann, his partner at Tete Jaune, were forces to be\nreckoned with even by the \"powers\" along the line of rail. They were the\ntwo chiefs of the \"underground,\" the men who controlled the most dangerous\nelement from Miette to Fort George. He had once seen Culver Rann, a quiet,\nkeen-eyed, immaculately groomed man of forty--the cleverest scoundrel that\nhad ever drifted into the Canadian west. He had been told that Rann was\nreally the brain of the combination, and that the two had picked up a\nquarter of a million in various ways. But it was Quade with whom he had to\ndeal now, and he began to thank Stevens for his warning. He was filled with\na sense of relief when he reached his cabin and found it as he had left\nit. He always made a carbon copy of his work. This copy he now put into a\nwaterproof tin box, and the box he concealed under a log a short distance\nback in the bush.\n\n\"Now go ahead, Quade,\" he laughed to himself, a curious, almost exultant\nring in his voice. \"I haven't had any real excitement for so long I can't\nremember, and if you start the fun there's going to _be_ fun!\"\n\nHe returned to his birds, perched himself behind a bush at the river's\nedge, and began skinning them. He had almost finished when he heard hoarse\nshouts from up the river. From his position he could see the stream a\nhundred yards below the ford. Stevens had driven in his horses. He could\nsee them breasting the first sweep of the current, their heads held high,\nstruggling for the opposite shore. He rose, dropped his birds, and stared.\n\n\"Good God, what a fool!\" he gasped.\n\nHe saw the tragedy almost before it had begun. Still three hundred yards\nbelow the swimming horses was the gravelly bar which they must reach on the\nopposite side. He noted the grayish strip of smooth water that marked the\nend of the dead-line. Three or four of the stronger animals were forging\nsteadily toward this. The others grouped close together, almost motionless\nin their last tremendous fight, were left farther and farther behind. Then\ncame the break. A mare and her yearling colt had gone in with the bunch.\nAldous saw the colt, with its small head and shoulders high out of the\nwater, sweep down like a chip with the current. A cold chill ran through\nhim as he heard the whinneying scream of the mother--a warning cry that\nheld for him the pathos and the despair of a creature that was human. He\nknew what it meant. \"Wait--I'm coming--I'm coming!\" was in that cry. He saw\nthe mare give up and follow resistlessly with the deadly current, her eyes\nupon her colt. The heads behind her wavered, then turned, and in another\nmoment the herd was sweeping down to its destruction.\n\nAldous felt like turning his head. But the spectacle fascinated him, and he\nlooked. He did not think of Stevens and his loss as the first of the herd\nplunged in among the rocks. He stood with white face and clenched hands,\nleaning over the water boiling at his feet, cursing softly in his\nhelplessness. To him came the last terrible cries of the perishing animals.\nHe saw head after head go under. Out of the white spume of a great rock\nagainst which the flood split itself with the force of an avalanche he saw\none horse pitched bodily, as if thrown from a huge catapault. The last\nanimal had disappeared when chance turned his eyes upstream and close in to\nshore. Here flowed a steady current free of rock, and down this--head and\nshoulders still high out of the water--came the colt! What miracle had\nsaved the little fellow thus far Aldous did not stop to ask. Fifty yards\nbelow it would meet the fate of the others. Half that distance in the\ndirection of the maelstrom below was the dead trunk of a fallen spruce\noverhanging the water for fifteen or twenty feet. In a flash Aldous was\nracing toward it. He climbed out on it, leaned far over, and reached down.\nHis hand touched the water. In the grim excitement of rescue he forgot his\nown peril. There was one chance in twenty that the colt would come within\nhis reach, and it did. He made a single lunge and caught it by the ear. For\na moment after that his heart turned sick. Under the added strain the dead\nspruce sagged down with a warning crack. But it held, and Aldous hung to\nhis grip on the ear. Foot by foot he wormed his way back, until at last he\nhad dragged the little animal ashore.\n\nAnd then a voice spoke behind him, a voice that he would have recognized\namong ten thousand, low, sweet, thrilling.\n\n\"That was splendid, John Aldous!\" it said. \"If I were a man I would want to\nbe a man like you!\"\n\nHe turned. A few steps from him stood Joanne Gray. Her face was as white as\nthe bit of lace at her throat. Her lips were colourless, and her bosom rose\nand fell swiftly. He knew that she, too, had witnessed the tragedy. And the\neyes that looked at him were glorious.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nTo John Aldous Joanne's appearance at this moment was like an anti-climax.\nIt plunged him headlong for a single moment into what he believed to be the\nabsurdity of a situation. He had a quick mental picture of himself out on\nthe dead spruce, performing a bit of mock-heroism by dragging in a\nhalf-drowned colt by one ear. In another instant this had passed, and he\nwas wondering why Joanne Gray was not on her way to Tete Jaune.\n\n\"It was splendid!\" she was saying again, her eyes glowing at him. \"I know\nmen who would not have risked that for a human!\"\n\n\"Perhaps they would have been showing good judgment,\" replied Aldous.\n\nHe noticed now that she was holding with one hand the end of a long slender\nsapling which a week or two before he had cut and trimmed for a fish-pole.\nHe nodded toward it, a half-cynical smile on his lips.\n\n\"Were you going to fish me out--or the colt?\" he asked.\n\n\"You,\" she replied. \"I thought you were in danger.\" And then she added, \"I\nsuppose you are deeply grateful that fate did not compel you to be saved by\na woman.\"\n\n\"Not at all. If the spruce had snapped, I would have caught at the end of\nyour sapling like any drowning rat--or man. Allow me to thank you.\"\n\nShe had stepped down to the level strip of sand on which the colt was\nweakly struggling to rise to its feet. She was breathing quickly. Her face\nwas still pale. She was without a hat, and as she bent for a moment over\nthe colt Aldous felt his eyes drawn irresistibly to the soft thick coils of\nher hair, a glory of colour that made him think of the lustrous brown of a\nripe wintelberry. She looked up suddenly and caught his eyes upon her.\n\n\"I came quite by accident,\" she explained quickly. \"I wanted to be alone,\nand Mrs. Otto said this path would lead to the river. When I saw you I was\nabout to turn back. And then I saw the other--the horses coming down the\nstream. It was terrible. Are they all drowned?\"\n\n\"All that you saw. It wasn't a pretty sight, was it?\" There was a\nsuggestive inquiry in his voice as he added, \"If you had gone to Tete Jaune\nyou would have missed the unpleasantness of the spectacle.\"\n\n\"I would have gone, but something happened. They say it was a cave-in, a\nslide--something like that. The train cannot go on until to-morrow.\"\n\n\"And you are to stay with the Ottos?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\nQuick as a flash she had seemed to read his thoughts.\n\n\"I am sorry,\" she added, before he could speak. \"I can see that I have\nannoyed you. I have literally projected myself into your work, and I am\nafraid that I have caused you trouble. Mrs. Otto has told me of this man\nthey call Quade. She says he is dangerous. And I have made him your enemy.\"\n\n\"I am, not afraid of Quade. The incident was nothing more than an agreeable\ninterruption to what was becoming a rather monotonous existence up here. I\nhave always believed, you know, that a certain amount of physical\nexcitement is good oil for our mental machinery. That, perhaps, was why you\ncaught me hauling at His Coltship's ear.\"\n\nHe had spoken stiffly. There was a hard note in his voice, a suggestion of\nsomething that was displeasing in his forced laugh. He knew that in these\nmoments he was fighting against his inner self--against his desire to tell\nher how glad he was that something had held back the Tete Jaune train, and\nhow wonderful her hair looked in the afternoon sun. He was struggling to\nkeep himself behind the barriers he had built up and so long maintained in\nhis writings. And yet, as he looked, he felt something crumbling into\nruins. He knew that he had hurt her. The hardness of his words, the\ncoldness of his smile, his apparently utter indifference to her had sent\nsomething that was almost like a quick, physical pain into her eyes. He\ndrew a step nearer, so that he caught the soft contour of her cheek. Joanne\nGray heard him, and lowered her head slightly, so that he could not see.\nShe was a moment too late. On her cheek Aldous saw a single creeping\ndrop--a tear.\n\nIn an instant he was at her side. With a quick movement she brushed the\ntear away before she faced him.\n\n\"I've hurt you,\" he said, looking her straight in the eyes. \"I've hurt you,\nand God knows I'm a brute for doing it. I've treated you as badly as\nQuade--only in a different way. I know how I've made you feel--that you've\nbeen a nuisance, and have got me into trouble, and that I don't want to\nhave anything more to do with you. Have I made you feel that?\"\n\n\"I am afraid--you have.\"\n\nHe reached out a hand, and almost involuntarily her own came to it. She saw\nthe change in his face, regret, pain, and then that slow-coming, wonderful\nlaughter in his eyes.\n\n\"That's just how I set out to make you feel,\" he confessed, the warmth of\nher hand sending a thrill through him. \"I might as well be frank, don't you\nthink? Until you came I had but one desire, and that was to finish my book.\nI had planned great work for to-day. And you spoiled it. I couldn't get you\nout of my mind. And it made me--ugly.\"\n\n\"And that was--all?\" she whispered, a tense waiting in her eyes. \"You\ndidn't think----\"\n\n\"What Quade thought,\" he bit in sharply. The grip of his fingers hurt her\nhand. \"No, not that. My God, I didn't make you think _that?_\"\n\n\"I'm a stranger--and they say women don't go to Tete Jaune alone,\" she\nanswered doubtfully.\n\n\"That's true, they don't--not as a general rule. Especially women like you.\nYou're alone, a stranger, and too beautiful. I don't say that to flatter\nyou. You are beautiful, and you undoubtedly know it. To let you go on alone\nand unprotected among three or four thousand men like most of those up\nthere would be a crime. And the women, too--the Little Sisters. They'd\nblast you. If you had a husband, a brother or a father waiting for you it\nwould be different. But you've told me you haven't. You have made me change\nmy mind about my book. You are of more interest to me just now than that.\nWill you believe me? Will you let me be a friend, if you need a friend?\"\n\nTo Aldous it seemed that she drew herself up a little proudly. For a moment\nshe seemed taller. A rose-flush of colour spread over her cheeks. She drew\nher hand from him. And yet, as she looked at him, he could see that she was\nglad.\n\n\"Yes, I believe you,\" she said. \"But I must not accept your offer of\nfriendship. You have done more for me now than I can ever repay. Friendship\nmeans service, and to serve me would spoil your plans, for you are in great\nhaste to complete your book.\"\n\n\"If you mean that you need my assistance, the book can wait.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't have said that,\" she cut in quickly, her lips tightening\nslightly. \"It was utterly absurd of me to hint that I might require\nassistance--that I cannot take care of myself. But I shall be proud of the\nfriendship of John Aldous.\"\n\n\"Yes, you can take care of yourself, Ladygray,\" said Aldous softly, looking\ninto her eyes and yet speaking as if to himself. \"That is why you have\nbroken so curiously into my life. It's _that_--and not your beauty. I have\nknown beautiful women before. But they were--just women, frail things that\nmight snap under stress. I have always thought there is only one woman in\nten thousand who would not do that--under certain conditions. I believe you\nare that one in ten thousand. You can go on to Tete Jaune alone. You can go\nanywhere alone--and care for yourself.\"\n\nHe was looking at her so strangely that she held her breath, her lips\nparted, the flush in her cheeks deepening.\n\n\"And the strangest part of it all is that I have always known you away back\nin my imagination,\" he went on. \"You have lived there, and have troubled\nme. I could not construct you perfectly. It is almost inconceivable that\nyou should have borne the same name--Joanne. Joanne, of 'Fair Play.'\"\n\nShe gave a little gasp.\n\n\"Joanne was--terrible,\" she cried. \"She was bad--bad to the heart and soul\nof her!\"\n\n\"She was splendid,\" replied Aldous, without a change in his quiet voice.\n\"She was splendid--but bad. I racked myself to find a soul for her, and I\nfailed. And yet she was splendid. It was my crime--not hers--that she\nlacked a soul. She would have been my ideal, but I spoiled her. And by\nspoiling her I sold half a million copies of the book. I did not do it\npurposely. I would have given her a soul if I could have found one. She\nwent her way.\"\n\n\"And you compare me to--_her?_\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Aldous deliberately. \"You are that Joanne. But you possess what\nI could not give to her. Joanne of 'Fair Play' was splendid without a soul.\nYou have what she lacked. You may not understand, but you have come to\nperfect what I only partly created.\"\n\nThe colour had slowly ebbed from Joanne's face. There was a mysterious\ndarkness in her eyes.\n\n\"If you were not John Aldous I would--strike you,\" she said. \"As it\nis--yes--I want you as a friend.\"\n\nShe held out her hand. For a moment he felt its warmth again in his own.\nHe bowed over it. Her eyes rested steadily on his blond head, and again she\nnoted the sprinkle of premature gray in his hair. For a second time she\nfelt almost overwhelmingly the mysterious strength of this man. Perhaps\neach took three breaths before John Aldous raised his head. In that time\nsomething wonderful and complete passed between them. Neither could have\ntold the other what it was. When their eyes met again, it was in their\nfaces.\n\n\"I have planned to have supper in my cabin to-night,\" said Aldous, breaking\nthe tension of that first moment. \"Won't you be my guest, Ladygray?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Otto----\" she began.\n\n\"I will go to her at once and explain that you are going to eat partridges\nwith me,\" he interrupted. \"Come--let me show you into my workshop and\nhome.\"\n\nHe led her to the cabin and into its one big room.\n\n\"You will make yourself at home while I am gone, won't you?\" he invited.\n\"If it will give you any pleasure you may peel a few potatoes. I won't be\ngone ten minutes.\"\n\nNot waiting for any protest she might have, Aldous slipped back through the\ndoor and took the path up to the Ottos'.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nAs soon as he had passed from the view of the cabin door Aldous shortened\nhis pace. He knew that never in his life had he needed to readjust himself\nmore than at the present moment. A quarter of an hour had seen a complete\nand miraculous revolution within him. It was a change so unusual and\napparently so impossible that he could not grasp the situation and the fact\nall at once. But the truth of it swept over him more and more swiftly as he\nmade his way along the dark, narrow trail that led up to the Miette Plain.\nIt was something that not only amazed and thrilled him. First--as in all\nthings--he saw the humour of it. He, John Aldous of all men, had utterly\nobliterated himself, and for a _woman_. He had even gone so far as to offer\nthe sacrifice of his most important work. Frankly he had told Joanne that\nshe interested him more just now than his book. Again he repeated to\nhimself that it had not been a surrender--but an obliteration. With a pair\nof lovely eyes looking quietly into him, he had wiped the slate clean of\nthe things he had preached for ten years and the laws he had made for\nhimself. And as he came in sight of the big Otto tent, he found himself\nsmiling, his breath coming quickly, strange voices singing within him.\n\nHe stopped to load and light his pipe before he faced Mrs. Otto, and he\nclouded himself in as much smoke as possible while he explained to her\nthat he had almost forced Joanne to stop at his cabin and eat partridges\nwith him. He learned that the Tete Jaune train could not go on until the\nnext day, and after Mrs. Otto had made him take a loaf of fresh bread and a\ncan of home-made marmalade as a contribution to their feast, he turned back\ntoward the cabin, trying to whistle in his old careless way.\n\nThe questions he had first asked himself about Joanne forced themselves\nback upon him now with deeper import. Almost unconsciously he had revealed\nhimself to her. He had spread open for her eyes and understanding the page\nwhich he had so long hidden. He had as much as confessed to her that she\nhad come to change him--to complete what he had only half created. It had\nbeen an almost inconceivable and daring confession, and he believed that\nshe understood him. More than that, she had read about him. She had read\nhis books. She knew John Aldous--the man.\n\nBut what did he know about her beyond the fact that her name was Joanne\nGray, and that the on-sweeping Horde had brought her into his life as\nmysteriously as a storm might have flung him a bit of down from a swan's\nbreast? Where had she come from? And why was she going to Tete Jaune? It\nmust be some important motive was taking her to a place like Tete Jaune,\nthe rail-end, a place of several thousand men, with its crude muscle and\nbrawn and the seven passions of man. It was an impossible place for a young\nand beautiful woman unprotected. If Joanne had known any one among the\nengineers or contractors, or had she possessed a letter of introduction to\nthem, the tense lines would not have gathered so deeply about the corners\nof Aldous' mouth. But these men whose brains were behind the Horde--the\nengineers and the contractors--knew what women alone and unprotected meant\nat Tete Jaune. Such women floated in with the Horde. And Joanne was going\nin with the Horde. There lay the peril--and the mystery of it.\n\nSo engrossed was Aldous in his thoughts that he had come very quietly to\nthe cabin door. It was Joanne's voice that roused him. Sweet and low she\nwas singing a few lines from a song which he had never heard.\n\nShe stopped when Aldous appeared at the door. It seemed to him that her\neyes were a deeper, more wonderful blue as she looked up at him, and\nsmiled. She had found a towel for an apron, and was peeling potatoes.\n\n\"You will have some unusual excuses to make very soon,\" she greeted him.\n\"We had a visitor while you were gone. I was washing the potatoes when I\nlooked up to find a pair of the fiercest, reddest moustaches I have ever\nseen, ornamenting the doorway. The man had two eyes that seemed about to\nfall out when he saw me. He popped away like a rabbit--and--and--there's\nsomething he left behind in his haste!\"\n\nJoanne's eyes were flooded with laughter as she nodded at the door. On the\nsill was a huge quid of tobacco.\n\n\"Stevens!\" Aldous chuckled. \"God bless my soul, if you frightened him into\ngiving up a quid of tobacco like that you sure _did_ startle him some!\" He\nkicked Stevens' lost property out with the toe of his boot and turned to\nJoanne, showing her the fresh bread and marmalade. \"Mrs. Otto sent these to\nyou,\" he said. \"And the train won't leave until to-morrow.\"\n\nIn her silence he pulled a chair in front of her, sat down close, and\nthrust the point of his hunting knife into one of the two remaining\npotatoes.\n\n\"And when it does go I'm going with you,\" he added.\n\nHe expected this announcement would have some effect on her. As she jumped\nup with the pan of potatoes, leaving the one still speared on the end of\nhis knife, he caught only the corner of a bewitching smile.\n\n\"You still believe that I will be unable to take care of myself up at this\nterrible Tete Jaune?\" she asked, bending for a moment over the table. \"Do\nyou?\"\n\n\"No. You can care for yourself anywhere, Ladygray,\" he repeated. \"But I am\nquite sure that it will be less troublesome for me to see that no insults\nare offered you than for you to resent those insults when they come. Tete\nJaune is full of Quades,\" he added.\n\nThe smile was gone from her face when she turned to him. Her blue eyes were\nfilled with a tense anxiety.\n\n\"I had almost forgotten that man,\" she whispered. \"And you mean that you\nwould fight for me--again?\"\n\n\"A thousand times.\"\n\nThe colour grew deeper in her cheeks. \"I read something about you once that\nI have never forgotten, John Aldous,\" she said. \"It was after you returned\nfrom Thibet. It said that you were largely made up of two emotions--your\ncontempt for woman and your love of adventure; that it would be impossible\nfor you not to see a flaw in one, and that for the other--physical\nexcitement--you would go to the ends of the earth. Perhaps it is this--your\ndesire for adventure--that makes you want to go with me to Tete Jaune?\"\n\n\"I am beginning to believe that it will be the greatest adventure of my\nlife,\" he replied, and something in his quiet voice held her silent. He\nrose to his feet, and stood before her. \"It is already the Great\nAdventure,\" he went on. \"I feel it. And I am the one to judge. Until to-day\nI would have staked my life that no power could have wrung from me the\nconfession I am going to make to you voluntarily. I have laughed at the\nopinion the world has held of me. To me it has all been a colossal joke. I\nhave enjoyed the hundreds of columns aimed at me by excited women through\nthe press. They have all asked the same question: Why do you not write of\nthe good things in women instead of always the bad? I have never given them\nan answer. But I answer you now--here. I have not picked upon the\nweaknesses of women because I despise them. Those weaknesses--the\ndestroying frailties of womankind--I have driven over rough-shod through\nthe pages of my books because I have always believed that Woman was the one\nthing which God came nearest to creating _perfect_. I believe they should\nbe perfect. And because they have not quite that perfection which should be\ntheirs I have driven the cold facts home as hard as I could. I have been a\nfool and an iconoclast instead of a builder. This confession to you is\nproof that you have brought me face to face with the greatest adventure of\nall.\"\n\nThe colour in her cheeks had centred in two bright spots. Her lips formed\nwords which came slowly, strangely.\n\n\"I guess--I understand,\" she said. \"Perhaps I, too, would have been that\nkind of an iconoclast--if I could have put the things I have thought into\nwritten words.\" She drew a deep breath, and went on, her eyes full upon\nhim, speaking as if out of a dream. \"The Great Adventure--for you. Yes; and\nperhaps for both.\"\n\nHer hands were drawn tightly to her breast. Something about her as she\nstood there, her back to the table, drew John Aldous to her side, forced\nthe question from his lips: \"Tell me, Ladygray--why are you going to Tete\nJaune?\"\n\nIn that same strange way, as if her lips were framing words beyond their\npower to control, she answered:\n\n\"I am going--to find--my husband.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nSilent, his head bowed a little, John Aldous stood before her after those\nlast words. A slight noise outside gave him the pretext to turn to the\ndoor. She was going to Tete Jaune--to find her husband! He had not expected\nthat. For a breath, as he looked out toward the bush, his mind was in a\nstrange daze. A dozen times she had given him to understand there was no\nhusband, father, or brother waiting for her at the rail-end. She had told\nhim that she was alone--without friends. And now, like a confession, those\nwords had come strangely from her lips.\n\nWhat he had heard was one of Otto's pack-horses coming down to drink. He\nturned toward her again.\n\nJoanne stood with her back still to the table. She had slipped a hand into\nthe front of her dress and had drawn forth a long thick envelope. As she\nopened it, Aldous saw that it contained banknotes. From among these she\npicked out a bit of paper and offered it to him.\n\n\"That will explain--partly,\" she said.\n\nIt was a newspaper clipping, worn and faded, with a date two years old. It\nhad apparently been cut from an English paper, and told briefly of the\ntragic death of Mortimer FitzHugh, son of a prominent Devonshire family,\nwho had lost his life while on a hunting trip in the British Columbia\nWilds.\n\n\"He was my husband,\" said Joanne, as Aldous finished. \"Until six months ago\nI had no reason to believe that the statement in the paper was not true.\nThen--an acquaintance came out here hunting. He returned with a strange\nstory. He declared that he had seen Mr. FitzHugh alive. Now you know why I\nam here. I had not meant to tell you. It places me in a light which I do\nnot think that I can explain away--just now. I have come to prove or\ndisprove his death. If he is alive----\"\n\nFor the first time she betrayed the struggle she was making against some\npowerful emotion which she was fighting to repress. Her face had paled. She\nstopped herself with a quick breath, as if knowing that she had already\ngone too far.\n\n\"I guess I understand,\" said Aldous. \"For some reason your anxiety is not\nthat you will find him dead, Ladygray, but that you may find him alive.\"\n\n\"Yes--yes, that is it. But you must not urge me farther. It is a terrible\nthing to say. You will think I am not a woman, but a fiend. And I am your\nguest. You have invited me to supper. And--the potatoes are ready, and\nthere is no fire!\"\n\nShe had forced a smile back to her lips. John Aldous whirled toward the\ndoor.\n\n\"I will have the partridges in two seconds!\" he cried. \"I dropped them when\nthe horses went through the rapids.\"\n\nThe oppressive and crushing effect of Joanne's first mention of a husband\nwas gone. He made no effort to explain or analyze the two sudden changes\nthat swept over him. He accepted them as facts, and that was all. Where a\nfew moments before there had been the leaden grip of something that seemed\nto be physically choking him, there was now again the strange buoyancy with\nwhich he had gone to the Otto tent. He began to whistle as he went to the\nriver's edge. He was whistling when he returned, the two birds in his hand.\nJoanne was waiting for him in the door. Again her face was a faintly tinted\nvision of tranquil loveliness; her eyes were again like the wonderful blue\npools over the sunlit mountains. She smiled as he came up. He was\namazed--not that she had recovered so completely from the emotional\nexcitement that had racked her, but because she betrayed in no way a sign\nof grief--of suspense or of anxiety. A few minutes ago he had heard her\nsinging. He could almost believe that her lips might break into song again\nas she stood there.\n\nFrom that moment until the sun sank behind the mountains and gray shadows\nbegan to creep in where the light had been, there was no other reference to\nthe things that had happened or the things that had been said since\nJoanne's arrival. For the first time in years John Aldous completely forgot\nhis work. He was lost in Joanne. With the tremendous reaction that was\nworking out in him she became more and more wonderful to him with each\nbreath that he drew. He made no effort to control the change that was\nsweeping through him. His one effort was to keep it from being too apparent\nto her.\n\nThe way in which Joanne had taken his invitation was as delightful as it\nwas new to him. She had become both guest and hostess. With her lovely arms\nbared halfway to the shoulders she rolled out a batch of biscuits. \"Hot\nbiscuits go so well with marmalade,\" she told him. He built a fire. Beyond\nthat, and bringing in the water, she gave him to understand that his duties\nwere at an end, and that he could smoke while she prepared the supper. With\nthe beginning of dusk he closed the cabin door that he might have an excuse\nfor lighting the big hanging lamp a little earlier. He had imagined how its\nwarm glow would flood down upon the thick soft coils of her shining hair.\n\nEvery fibre in him throbbed with a keen and exquisite satisfaction as he\nsat down opposite her. During the meal he looked into the quiet, velvety\nblue of her eyes a hundred times. He found it a delightful sensation to\ntalk to her and look into those eyes at the same time. He told her more\nabout himself than he had ever told another soul. It was she who spoke\nfirst of the manuscript upon which he was working. He had spoken of certain\nadventures that had led up to the writing of one of his books.\n\n\"And this last book you are writing, which you call 'Mothers,'\" she said.\n\"Is it to be like 'Fair Play?'\"\n\n\"It was to have been the last of the trilogy. But it won't be now,\nLadygray. I've changed my mind.\"\n\n\"But it is so nearly finished, you say?\"\n\n\"I would have completed it this week. I was rushing it to an end at fever\nheat when--you came.\"\n\nHe saw the troubled look in her eyes, and hastened to add:\n\n\"Let us not talk about that manuscript, Ladygray. Some day I will let you\nread it, and then you will understand why your coming has not hurt it. At\nfirst I was unreasonably disturbed because I thought that I must finish it\nwithin a week from to-day. I start out on a new adventure then--a strange\nadventure, into the North.\"\n\n\"That means--the wild country?\" she asked. \"Up there in the North--there\nare no people?\"\n\n\"An occasional Indian, perhaps a prospector now and then,\" he said. \"Last\nyear I travelled a hundred and twenty-seven days without seeing a human\nface except that of my Cree companion.\"\n\nShe had leaned a little over the table, and was looking at him intently,\nher eyes shining.\n\n\"That is why I have understood you, and read between the printed lines in\nyour books,\" she said. \"If I had been a man, I would have been a great deal\nlike you. I love those things--loneliness, emptiness, the great spaces\nwhere you hear only the whisperings of the winds and the fall of no other\nfeet but your own. Oh, I should have been a man! It was born in me. It was\na part of me. And I loved it--loved it.\"\n\nA poignant grief had shot into her eyes. Her voice broke almost in a sob.\nAmazed, he looked at her in silence across the table.\n\n\"You have lived that life, Ladygray?\" he said after a moment. \"You have\nseen it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she nodded, clasping and unclasping her slim white hands. \"For years\nand years, perhaps even more than you, John Aldous! I was born in it. And\nit was my life for a long time--until my father died.\" She paused, and he\nsaw her struggling to subdue the quivering throb in her throat. \"We were\ninseparable,\" she went on, her voice becoming suddenly strange and quiet.\n\"He was father, mother--everything to me. It was too wonderful. Together\nwe hunted out the mysteries and the strange things in the out-of-the-way\nplaces of the earth. It was his passion. He had given birth to it in me. I\nwas always with him, everywhere. And then he died, soon after his discovery\nof that wonderful buried city of Mindano, in the heart of Africa. Perhaps\nyou have read----\"\n\n\"Good God,\" breathed Aldous, so low that his voice did not rise above a\nwhisper. \"Joanne--Ladygray--you are not speaking of Daniel Gray--Sir Daniel\nGray, the Egyptologist, the antiquarian who uncovered the secrets of an\nancient and wonderful civilization in the heart of darkest Africa?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you--are his daughter?\"\n\nShe bowed her head.\n\nLike one in a dream John Aldous rose from his chair and went to her. He\nseized her hands and drew her up so that they stood face to face. Again\nthat strange and beautiful calmness filled her eyes.\n\n\"Our trails have strangely crossed, Lady Joanne,\" he said. \"They have been\ncrossing--for years. While Sir Daniel was at Murja, on the eve of his great\ndiscovery, I was at St. Louis on the Senegal coast. I slept in that little\nCape Verde hotel, in the low whitewashed room overlooking the sea. The\nproprietor told me that Sir Daniel had occupied it before me, and I found a\nbroken fountain pen in the drawer of that sickly black teakwood desk, with\nthe carved serpent's head. And I was at Gampola at another time, headed for\nthe interior of Ceylon, when I learned that I was travelling again one of\nSir Daniel's trails. And you were with him!\"\n\n\"Always,\" said Joanne.\n\nFor a few tense moments they had looked steadily into each other's eyes.\nSwiftly, strangely, the world was bridging itself for them. Their minds\nswept back swiftly as the fire in a thunder-sky. They were no longer\nstrangers. They were no longer friends of a day. The grip of Aldous' hands\ntightened. A hundred things sprang to his lips. Before he could speak, he\nsaw a sudden, startled change leap into Joanne's face. She had turned her\nface a little, so that she was looking toward the window. A frightened cry\nbroke from her lips. Aldous whirled about. There was nothing there. He\nlooked at Joanne again. She was white and trembling. Her hands were\nclutched at her breast. Her eyes, big and dark and staring, were still\nfixed on the window.\n\n\"That man!\" she panted. \"His face was there--against the glass--like a\ndevil's!\"\n\n\"Quade?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nShe caught at his arm as he sprang toward the door.\n\n\"Stop!\" she cried. \"You mustn't go out----\"\n\nFor a moment he turned at the door. He was as she had seen him in Quade's\nplace, terribly cool, a strange, quiet smile on his lips. His eyes were\ngray, smiling steel.\n\n\"Close the door after me and lock it until I return,\" he said. \"You are the\nfirst woman guest I ever had, Ladygray. I cannot allow you to be insulted!\"\n\nAs he went out she saw him slip something from his pocket. She caught the\nglitter of it in the lamp-glow.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nIt was in the blood of John Aldous to kill Quade. He ran with the quickness\nof a hare around the end of the cabin, past the window, and then stopped to\nlisten, his automatic in his hand, his eye piercing the gloom for some\nmoving shadow. He had not counted on an instant's hesitation. He would\nshoot Quade, for he knew why the mottled beast had been at the window.\nStevens' boy had been right. Quade was after Joanne. His ugly soul was\ndisrupted with a desire to possess her, and Aldous knew that when roused by\npassion he was more like a devil-fish than a man--a creeping, slimy,\nnight-seeking creature who had not only the power of the underworld back of\nhim, but wealth as well. He did not think of him as a man as he stood\nlistening, but as a beast. He was ready to shoot. But he saw nothing. He\nheard no sound that could have been made by a stumbling foot or a moving\nbody. An hour later, the moon would have been up, but it was dark now\nexcept for the stars. He heard the hoot of an owl a hundred yards away. Out\nin the river something splashed. From the timber beyond Buffalo Prairie\ncame the yapping bark of a coyote. For five minutes he stood as silent as\none of the rocks behind him. He realized that to go on--to seek blindly for\nQuade in the darkness, would be folly. He went back, tapped at the door,\nand reentered the cabin when Joanne threw back the lock.\n\nShe was still pale. Her eyes were bright.\n\n\"I was coming--in a moment,\" she said, \"I was beginning to fear that----\"\n\n\"--he had struck me down in the dark?\" added Aldous, as she hesitated.\n\"Well, he would like to do just that, Joanne.\" Unconsciously her name had\nslipped from him. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to\ncall her Joanne now. \"Is it necessary for me to tell you what this man\nQuade is--why he was looking through the window?\"\n\nShe shuddered.\n\n\"No--no--I understand!\"\n\n\"Only partly,\" continued Aldous, his face white and set. \"It is necessary\nthat you should know more than you have guessed, for your own protection.\nIf you were like most other women I would not tell you the truth, but would\ntry to shield you from it. As it is you should know. There is only one\nother man in the Rocky Mountains more dangerous than Bill Quade. He is\nCulver Rann, up at Tete Jaune. They are partners--partners in crime, in\nsin, in everything that is bad and that brings them gold. Their influence\namong the rougher elements along the line of rail is complete. They are so\nstrongly entrenched that they have put contractors out of business because\nthey would not submit to blackmail. The few harmless police we have\nfollowing the steel have been unable to touch them. They have cleaned up\nhundreds of thousands, chiefly in three things--blackmail, whisky, and\nwomen. Quade is the viler of the two. He is like a horrible beast. Culver\nRann makes me think of a sleek and shining serpent. But it is this man\nQuade----\"\n\nHe found it almost impossible to go on with Joanne's blue eyes gazing so\nsteadily into his.\n\n\"--whom we have made our enemy,\" she finished for him.\n\n\"Yes--and more than that,\" he said, partly turning his head away. \"You\ncannot go on to Tete Jaune alone, Joanne. You must go nowhere alone. If you\ndo----\"\n\n\"What will happen?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Perhaps nothing would happen. But you cannot go alone. I am\ngoing to take you back to Mrs. Otto now. And to-morrow I shall go on to\nTete Jaune with you. It is fortunate that I have a place up there to which\nI can take you, and where you will be safe.\"\n\nAs they were preparing to go, Joanne glanced ruefully at the table.\n\n\"I am ashamed to leave the dishes in that mess,\" she said.\n\nHe laughed, and tucked her hand under his arm as they went through the\ndoor. When they had passed through the little clearing, and the darkness of\nthe spruce and balsam walls shut them in, he took her hand.\n\n\"It is dark and you may stumble,\" he apologized. \"This isn't much like the\nshell plaza in front of the Cape Verde, is it?\"\n\n\"No. Did you pick up any of the little red bloodshells? I did, and they\nmade me shiver. There were strange stories associated with them.\"\n\nHe knew that she was staring ahead into the blank wall of gloom as she\nspoke, and that it was not thought of the bloodshells, but of Quade, that\nmade her fingers close more tightly about his own. His right hand was\ngripping the butt of his automatic. Every nerve in him was on the alert,\nyet she could detect nothing of caution or preparedness in his careless\nvoice.\n\n\"The bloodstones didn't trouble me,\" he answered. \"I can't remember\nanything that upset me more than the snakes. I am a terrible coward when it\ncomes to anything that crawls without feet. I will run from a snake no\nlonger than your little finger--in fact, I'm just as scared of a little\ngrass snake as I am of a python. It's the _thing_, and not its size, that\nhorrifies me. Once I jumped out of a boat into ten feet of water because my\ncompanion caught an eel on his line, and persisted in the argument that it\nwas a fish. Thank Heaven we don't have snakes up here. I've seen only three\nor four in all my experience in the Northland.\"\n\nShe laughed softly in spite of the uneasy thrill the night held for her.\n\n\"It is hard for me to imagine you being afraid,\" she said. \"And yet if you\nwere afraid I know it would be of just some little thing like that. My\nfather was one of the bravest men in the world, and a hundred times I have\nseen him show horror at sight of a spider. If you were afraid of snakes,\nwhy did you go up the Gampola, in Ceylon?\"\n\n\"I didn't know the snakes were there,\" he chuckled. \"I hadn't dreamed there\nwere a half so many snakes in the whole world as there were along that\nconfounded river. I slept sitting up, dressed in rubber wading boots that\ncame to my waist, and wore thick leather gloves. I got out of the country\nat the earliest possible moment.\"\n\nWhen they entered the edge of the Miette clearing and saw the glow of\nlights ahead of them, Aldous caught the sudden upturn of his companion's\nface, laughing at him in the starlight.\n\n\"Kind, thoughtful John Aldous!\" she whispered, as if to herself. \"How nice\nof you it was to talk of such pleasant things while we were coming through\nthat black, dreadful swamp--with a Bill Quade waiting for us on the side!\"\n\nA low ripple of laughter broke from her lips, and he stopped dead in his\ntracks, forgetting to put the automatic back in his pocket. At sight of it\nthe amusement died in her face. She caught his arm, and one of her hands\nseized the cold steel of the pistol.\n\n\"Would he--_dare?_\" she demanded.\n\n\"You can't tell,\" replied Aldous, putting the gun in his pocket. \"And that\nwas a creepy sort of conversation to load you down with, wasn't it,\nLadygray? I imagine you'll catch me in all sorts of blunders like that.\" He\npointed ahead. \"There's Mrs. Otto now. She's looking this way and wondering\nwith all her big heart if you ought not to be at home and in bed.\"\n\nThe door of the Otto home was wide open, and silhouetted in the flood of\nlight was the good-natured Scotchwoman. Aldous gave the whistling signal\nwhich she and her menfolk always recognized, and hurried on with Joanne.\n\nBefore they had quite reached the tent-house, Joanne put a detaining hand\non his arm.\n\n\"I don't want you to go back to the cabin to-night,\" she said. \"The face at\nthe window--was terrible. I am afraid. I don't want you to be there alone.\"\n\nHer words sent a warm glow through him.\n\n\"Nothing will happen,\" he assured her. \"Quade will not come back.\"\n\n\"I don't want you to return to the cabin,\" she persisted. \"Is there no\nother place where you can stay?\"\n\n\"I might go down and console Stevens, and borrow a couple of his horse\nblankets for a bed if that will please you.\"\n\n\"It will,\" she cried quickly. \"If you don't return to the cabin you may go\non to Tete Jaune with me to-morrow. Is it a bargain?\"\n\n\"It is!\" he accepted eagerly. \"I don't like to be chased out, but I'll\npromise not to sleep in the cabin to-night.\"\n\nMrs. Otto was advancing to meet them. At the door he bade them good-night,\nand walked on in the direction of the lighted avenue of tents and shacks\nunder the trees. He caught a last look in Joanne's eyes of anxiety and\nfear. Glancing back out of the darkness that swallowed him up, he saw her\npause for a moment in the lighted doorway, and look in his direction. His\nheart beat faster. Joyously he laughed under his breath. It was strangely\nnew and pleasing to have some one thinking of him in that way.\n\nHe had not intended to go openly into the lighted avenue. From the moment\nhe had plunged out into the night after Quade, his fighting blood was\nroused. He had subdued it while with Joanne, but his determination to find\nQuade and have a settlement with him had grown no less. He told himself\nthat he was one of the few men along the line whom it would be difficult\nfor Quade to harm in other than a physical way. He had no business that\ncould be destroyed by the other's underground methods, and he had no job to\nlose. Until he had seen Joanne enter the scoundrel's red-and-white striped\ntent he had never hated a man as he now hated Quade. He had loathed him\nbefore, and had evaded him because the sight of him was unpleasant; now he\nwanted to grip his fingers around his thick red throat. He had meant to\ncome up behind Quade's tent, but changed his mind and walked into the\nlighted trail between the two rows of tents and shacks, his hands thrust\ncarelessly into his trousers pockets. The night carnival of the railroad\nbuilders was on. Coarse laughter, snatches of song, the click of pool balls\nand the chink of glasses mingled with the thrumming of three or four\nmusical instruments along the lighted way. The phonograph in Quade's place\nwas going incessantly. Half a dozen times Aldous paused to greet men whom\nhe knew. He noted that there was nothing new or different in their manner\ntoward him. If they had heard of his trouble with Quade, he was certain\nthey would have spoken of it, or at least would have betrayed some sign.\nFor several minutes he stopped to talk with MacVeigh, a young Scotch\nsurveyor. MacVeigh hated Quade, but he made no mention of him. Purposely he\npassed Quade's tent and walked to the end of the street, nodding and\nlooking closely at those whom he knew. It was becoming more and more\nevident to him that Quade and his pals were keeping the affair of the\nafternoon as quiet as possible. Stevens had heard of it. He wondered how.\n\nAldous retraced his steps. As though nothing had happened, he entered\nQuade's place. There were a dozen men inside, and among them he recognized\nthree who had been there that afternoon. He nodded to them. Slim Barker was\nin Quade's place behind the counter. Barker was Quade's right-hand man at\nMiette, and there was a glitter in his rat-like eyes as Aldous leaned over\nthe glass case at one end of the counter and asked for cigars. He fumbled a\nbit as he picked out half a dollar's worth from the box. His eyes met\nSlim's.\n\n\"Where is Quade?\" he asked casually.\n\nBarker shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"Busy to-night,\" he answered shortly. \"Want to see him?\"\n\n\"No, not particularly. Only--I don't want him to hold a grudge.\"\n\nBarker replaced the box in the case and turned away. After lighting a cigar\nAldous went out. He was sure that Quade had not returned from the river.\nWas he lying in wait for him near the cabin? The thought sent a sudden\nthrill through him. In the same breath it was gone. With half a dozen men\nready to do his work, Aldous knew that Quade would not redden his own hands\nor place himself in any conspicuous risk. During the next hour he visited\nthe places where Quade was most frequently seen. He had made up his mind to\nwalk over to the engineers' camp, when a small figure darted after him out\nof the gloom of the trees.\n\nIt was Stevens' boy.\n\n\"Dad wants to see you down at the camp,\" he whispered excitedly. \"He says\nright away--an' for no one to see you. He said not to let any one see me.\nI've been waiting for you to come out in the dark.\"\n\n\"Skip back and tell him I'll come,\" replied Aldous quickly. \"Be sure you\nmind what he says--and don't let any one see you!\"\n\nThe boy disappeared like a rabbit. Aldous looked back, and ahead, and then\ndived into the darkness after him.\n\nA quarter of an hour later he came out on the river close to Stevens' camp.\nA little nearer he saw Stevens squatted close to a smouldering fire about\nwhich he was drying some clothes. The boy was huddled in a disconsolate\nheap near him. Aldous called softly, and Stevens slowly rose and stretched\nhimself. The packer advanced to where he had screened himself behind a\nclump of bush. His first look at the other assured him that he was right in\nusing caution. The moon had risen, and the light of it fell in the packer's\nface. It was a dead, stonelike gray. His cheeks seemed thinner than when\nAldous had seen him a few hours before and there was despair in the droop\nof his shoulders. His eyes were what startled Aldous. They were like coals\nof fire, and shifted swiftly from point to point in the bush. For a moment\nthey stood silent.\n\n\"Sit down,\" Stevens said then. \"Get out of the moonlight. I've got\nsomething to tell you.\"\n\nThey crouched behind the bush.\n\n\"You know what happened,\" Stevens said, in a low voice. \"I lost my outfit.\"\n\n\"Yes, I saw what happened, Stevens.\"\n\nThe packer hesitated for a moment. One of his big hands reached out and\ngripped John Aldous by the arm.\n\n\"Let me ask you something before I go on,\" he whispered. \"You won't take\noffence--because it's necessary. She looked like an angel to me when I saw\nher up at the train. But you _know_. Is she good, or----You know what we\nthink of women who come in here alone. That's why I ask.\"\n\n\"She's what you thought she was, Stevens,\" replied Aldous. \"As pure and as\nsweet as she looks. The kind we like to fight for.\"\n\n\"I was sure of it, Aldous. That's why I sent the kid for you. I saw her in\nyour cabin--after the outfit went to hell. When I come back to camp, Quade\nwas here. I was pretty well broken up. Didn't talk to him much. But he seen\nI had lost everything. Then he went on down to your place. He told me that\nlater. But I guessed it soon as he come back. I never see him look like he\ndid then. I'll cut it short. He's mad--loon mad--over that girl. I played\nthe sympathy act, thinkin' of you--an' _her_. He hinted at some easy money.\nI let him understand that at the present writin' I'd be willing to take\nmoney most any way, and that I didn't have any particular likin' for you.\nThen it come out. He made me a proposition.\"\n\nStevens lowered his voice, and stopped to peer again about the bush.\n\n\"Go on,\" urged Aldous. \"We're alone.\"\n\nStevens bent so near that his tobacco-laden breath swept his companion's\ncheek.\n\n\"He said he'd replace my lost outfit if I'd put you out of the way some\ntime day after to-morrow!\"\n\n\"Kill me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nFor a few moments there was a silence broken only by their tense breathing.\nAldous had found the packer's hand. He was gripping it hard.\n\n\"Thank you, old man,\" he said. \"And he believes you will do it?\"\n\n\"I told him I would--day after to-morrow--an' throw your body in the\nAthabasca.\"\n\n\"Splendid, Stevens! You've got Sherlock Holmes beat by a mile! And does he\nwant you to do this pretty job because I gave him a crack on the jaw?\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it!\" exclaimed Stevens quickly. \"He knows the girl is a\nstranger and alone. You've taken an interest in her. With you out of the\nway, she won't be missed. Dammit, man, don't you know his system? And, if\nhe ever wanted anything in his life he wants her. She's turned that\npoison-blood of his into fire. He raved about her here. He'll go the limit.\nHe'll do anything to get her. He's so crazy I believe he'd give every\ndollar he's got. There's just one thing for you to do. Send the girl back\nwhere she come from. Then you get out. As for myself--I'm goin' to\nemigrate. Ain't got a dollar now, so I might as well hit for the prairies\nan' get a job on a ranch. Next winter I guess me 'n the kid will trap up on\nthe Parsnip River.\"\n\n\"You're wrong--clean wrong,\" said Aldous quietly. \"When I saw your outfit\ngoing down among the rocks I had already made up my mind to help you. What\nyou've told me to-night hasn't made any difference. I would have helped you\nanyway, Stevens. I've got more money than I know what to do with right now.\nRoper has a thirty-horse outfit for sale. Buy it to-morrow. I'll pay for\nit, and you needn't consider yourself a dollar in debt. Some day I'll have\nyou take me on a long trip, and that will make up for it. As for the girl\nand myself--we're going on to Tete Jaune to-morrow.\"\n\nAldous could see the amazed packer staring at him in the gloom. \"You don't\nthink I'm sellin' myself, do you, Aldous?\" he asked huskily. \"That ain't\nwhy you're doin' this--for me 'n the kid--is it?\"\n\n\"I had made up my mind to do it before I saw you to-night,\" repeated\nAldous. \"I've got lots of money, and I don't use but a little of it. It\nsometimes accumulates so fast that it bothers me. Besides, I've promised to\naccept payment for the outfit in trips. These mountains have got a hold on\nme, Stevens. I'm going to take a good many trips before I die.\"\n\n\"Not if you go on to Tete Jaune, you ain't,\" replied Stevens, biting a huge\nquid from a black plug.\n\nAldous had risen to his feet. Stevens stood up beside him.\n\n\"If you go on to Tete Jaune you're a bigger fool than I was in tryin' to\nswim the outfit across the river to-day,\" he added. \"Listen!\" He leaned\ntoward Aldous, his eyes gleaming. \"In the last six months there's been\nforty dead men dragged out of the Frazer between Tete Jaune an' Fort\nGeorge. You know that. The papers have called 'em accidents--the 'toll of\nrailroad building.' Mebby a part of it is. Mebby a half of them forty died\nby accident. The other half didn't. They were sent down by Culver Rann and\nBill Quade. Once you go floatin' down the Frazer there ain't no questions\nasked. Somebody sees you an' pulls you out--mebby a Breed or an Indian--an'\nputs you under a little sand a bit later. If it's a white man he does\nlikewise. There ain't no time to investigate floaters over-particular in\nthe wilderness. Besides, you git so beat up in the rocks you don't look\nlike much of anything. I know, because I worked on the scows three months,\nan' helped bury four of 'em. An' there wasn't anything, not even a scrap of\npaper, in the pockets of two of 'em! Is that suspicious, or ain't it? It\ndon't pay to talk too much along the Frazer. Men keep their mouths shut.\nBut I'll tell you this: Culver Rann an' Bill Quade know a lot.\"\n\n\"And you think I'll go in the Frazer?\"\n\n\"Egzactly. Quade would rather have you in there than in the Athabasca. And\nthen----\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\nStevens spat into the bush, and shrugged his shoulders. \"This beautiful\nlady you've taken an interest in will turn up missing, Aldous. She'll\ndisappear off the face of the map--just like Stimson's wife did. You\nremember Stimson?\"\n\n\"He was found in the Frazer,\" said Aldous, gripping the other's arm in the\ndarkness.\n\n\"Egzactly. An' that pretty wife of his disappeared a little later. Up there\neverybody's too busy to ask where other people go. Culver Rann an' Bill\nQuade know what happened to Stimson, an' they know what happened to\nStimson's wife. You don't want to go to Tete Jaune. You don't want to let\n_her_ go. I know what I'm talking about. Because----\"\n\nThere fell a moment's silence. Aldous waited. Stevens spat again, and\nfinished in a whisper:\n\n\"Quade went to Tete Jaune to-night. He went on a hand-car. He's got\nsomething he wants to tell Culver Rann that he don't dare telephone or\ntelegraph. An' he wants to get that something to him ahead of to-morrow's\ntrain. Understand?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nJohn Aldous confessed to himself that he did not quite understand, in spite\nof the effort Stevens had made to impress upon him, the importance of not\ngoing to Tete Jaune. He was bewildered over a number of things, and felt\nthat he needed to be alone for a time to clear his mind. He left Stevens,\npromising to return later to share a couple of blankets and a part of his\ntepee, for he was determined to keep his promise to Joanne, and not return\nto his own cabin, even though Quade had left Miette. He followed a moonlit\ntrail along the river to an abandoned surveyors' camp, knowing that he\nwould meet no one, and that in this direction he would have plenty of\nunbroken quiet in which to get some sort of order out of the chaotic tangle\nof events through which he had passed that day.\n\nAldous had employed a certain amount of caution, but until he had talked\nwith Stevens he had not believed that Quade, in his twofold desire to\navenge himself and possess Joanne, would go to the extraordinary ends\npredicted by the packer. His point of view was now entirely changed. He\nbelieved Stevens. He knew the man was not excitable. He was one of the\ncoolest heads in the mountains. And he had abundant nerve. Thought of\nStimson and Stimson's wife had sent the hot blood through Aldous like fire.\nWas Stevens right in that detail? And was Quade actually planning the same\nend for him and Joanne? Why had Quade stolen on ahead to Tete Jaune? Why\nhad he not waited for to-morrow's train?\n\nHe found himself walking swiftly along the road, where he had intended to\nwalk slowly--a hundred questions pounding through his brain. Suddenly a\nthought came to him that stopped him in the trail, his unseeing eyes\nstaring down into the dark chasm of the river. After all, was it so strange\nthat Quade would do these things? Into his own life Joanne had come like a\nwonderful dream-creature transformed into flesh and blood. He no longer\ntried to evade the fact that he could not think without thinking of Joanne.\nShe had become a part of him. She had made him forget everything but her,\nand in a few hours had sent into the dust of ruin his cynicism and\naloneness of a lifetime. If Joanne had come to him like this, making him\nforget his work, filling him more and more with the thrilling desire to\nfight for her, was it so very strange that a beast like Quade would\nfight--in another way?\n\nHe went on down the trail, his hands clenched tightly. After all, it was\nnot fear of Quade or of what he might attempt that filled him with\nuneasiness. It was Joanne herself, her strange quest, its final outcome.\nWith the thought that she was seeking for the man who was her husband, a\nleaden hand seemed gripping at his heart. He tried to shake it off, but it\nwas like a sickness. To believe that she had been the wife of another man\nor that she could ever belong to any other man than himself seemed like\nshutting his eyes forever to the sun. And yet she had told him. She had\nbelonged to another man; she might belong to him even now. She had come to\nfind if he was alive--or dead.\n\nAnd if alive? Aldous stopped again, and looked down into the dark pit\nthrough which the river was rushing a hundred feet below him. It tore in\nfrothing maelstroms through a thousand rocks, filling the night with a low\nthunder. To John Aldous the sound of it might have been a thousand miles\naway. He did not hear. His eye saw nothing in the blackness. For a few\nmoments the question he had asked himself obliterated everything. If they\nfound Joanne's husband alive at Tete Jaune--what then? He turned back,\nretracing his steps over the trail, a feeling of resentment--of hatred for\nthe man he had never seen--slowly taking the place of the oppressive thing\nthat had turned his heart sick within him. Then, in a flash, came the\nmemory of Joanne's words--words in which, white-faced and trembling, she\nhad confessed that her anxiety was not that she would find him dead, but\nthat _she would find him alive_. A joyous thrill shot through him as he\nremembered that. Whoever this man was, whatever he might have been to her\nonce, or was to her now, Joanne did not want to find him alive! He laughed\nsoftly to himself as he quickened his pace. The tense grip of his fingers\nloosened. The grim, almost ghastly part of it did not occur to him--the\nfact that deep in his soul he was wishing a man dead and in his grave.\n\nHe did not return at once to the scenes about Quade's place, but went to\nthe station, three quarters of a mile farther up the track. Here, in a\ncasual way, he learned from the little pink-faced Cockney Englishman who\nwatched the office at night that Stevens had been correct in his\ninformation. Quade had gone to Tete Jaune. Although it was eleven o'clock,\nAldous proceeded in the direction of the engineers' camp, still another\nquarter of a mile deeper in the bush. He was restless. He did not feel that\nhe could sleep that night. The engineers' camp he expected to find in\ndarkness, and he was surprised when he saw a light burning brightly in\nKeller's cabin.\n\nKeller was the assistant divisional engineer, and they had become good\nfriends. It was Keller who had set the first surveyor's line at Tete Jaune,\nand it was he who had reported it as the strategic point from which to push\nforward the fight against mountain and wilderness, both by river and rail.\nHe was, in a way, accountable for the existence of Tete Jaune just where it\ndid exist, and he knew more about it than any other man in the employ of\nthe Grand Trunk Pacific. For this reason Aldous was glad that Keller had\nnot gone to bed. He knocked at the door and entered without waiting for an\ninvitation.\n\nThe engineer stood in the middle of the floor, his coat off, his fat,\nstubby hands thrust into the pockets of his baggy trousers, his red face\nand bald cranium shining in the lamplight. A strange fury blazed in his\neyes as he greeted his visitor. He began pacing back and forth across the\nroom, puffing volumes of smoke from a huge bowled German pipe as he\nmotioned Aldous to a chair.\n\n\"What's the matter, Peter?\"\n\n\"Enough--an' be damned!\" growled Peter. \"If it wasn't enough do you think\nI'd be out of bed at this hour of the night?\"\n\n\"I'm sure it's enough,\" agreed Aldous. \"If it wasn't you'd be in your\nlittle trundle over there, sleeping like a baby. I don't know of any one\nwho can sleep quite as sweetly as you, Peter. But what the devil _is_ the\ntrouble?\"\n\n\"Something that you can't make me feel funny over. You haven't heard--about\nthe bear?\"\n\n\"Not a word, Peter.\"\n\nKeller took his hands from his pockets and the big, bowled pipe from his\nmouth.\n\n\"You know what I did with that bear,\" he said. \"More than a year ago I made\nfriends with her up there on the hill instead of killing her. Last summer I\ngot her so she'd eat out of my hands. I fed her a barrel of sugar between\nJuly and November. We used to chum it an hour at a time, and I'd pet her\nlike a dog. Why, damn it, man, I thought more of that bear than I did of\nany human in these regions! And she got so fond of me she didn't leave to\nden up until January. This spring she came out with two cubs, an' as soon\nas they could waddle she brought 'em out there on the hillside an' waited\nfor me. We were better chums than ever. I've got another half barrel of\nsugar--lump sugar--on the way from Edmonton. An' now what do you think that\ndamned C.N.R. gang has done?\"\n\n\"They haven't shot her?\"\n\n\"No, they haven't shot her. I wish to God they had! They've _blown her\nup!_\"\n\nThe little engineer subsided into a chair.\n\n\"Do you hear?\" he demanded. \"They've blown her up! Put a stick of dynamite\nunder some sugar, attached a battery wire to it, an' when she was licking\nup the sugar touched it off. An' I can't do anything, damn 'em! Bears ain't\nprotected. The government of this province calls 'em 'pests.' Murder 'em\non sight, it says. An' those fiends over there think it's a good joke on\nme--an' the bear!\"\n\nKeller was sweating. His fat hands were clenched, and his round, plump body\nfairly shook with excitement and anger.\n\n\"When I went over to-night they laughed at me--the whole bunch,\" he went on\nthickly. \"I offered to lick every man in the outfit from A to Z, an' I\nain't had a fight in twenty years. Instead of fighting like men, a dozen of\nthem grabbed hold of me, chucked me into a blanket, an' bounced me for\nfifteen minutes straight! What do you think of _that_, Aldous?\nMe--assistant divisional engineer of the G.T.P.--_bounced in a blanket_!\"\n\nPeter Keller hopped from his chair and began pacing back and forth across\nthe room again, sucking truculently on his pipe.\n\n\"If they were on our road I'd--I'd chase every man of them out of the\ncountry. But they're not. They belong to the C.N.R. They're out of my\nreach.\" He stopped, suddenly, in front of Aldous. \"What can I do?\" he\ndemanded.\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Aldous. \"You've had something like this coming to you,\nPeter. I've been expecting it. All the camps for twenty miles up and down\nthe line know what you thought of that bear. You fired Tibbits because, as\nyou said, he was too thick with Quade. You told him that right before\nQuade's face. Tibbits is now foreman of that grading gang over there. Two\nand two make four, you know. Tibbits--Quade--the blown-up bear. Quade\ndoesn't miss an opportunity, no matter how small it is. Tibbits and Quade\ndid this to get even with you. You might report the blanket affair to the\ncontractors of the other road. I don't believe they would stand for it.\"\n\nAldous had guessed correctly what the effect of associating Quade's name\nwith the affair would be. Keller was one of Quade's deadliest enemies. He\nsat down close to Aldous again. His eyes burned deep back. It was not\nKeller's physique, but his brain, and the fearlessness of his spirit, that\nmade him dangerous.\n\n\"I guess you're right, Aldous,\" he said. \"Some day--I'll even up on Quade.\"\n\n\"And so shall I, Peter.\"\n\nThe engineer stared into the other's eyes.\n\n\"You----\"\n\nAldous nodded.\n\n\"Quade left for Tete Jaune to-night, on a hand-car. I follow him to-morrow,\non the train. I can't tell you what's up, Peter, but I don't think it will\nstop this side of death for Quade and Culver Rann--or me. I mean that quite\nliterally. I don't see how more than one side can come out alive. I want to\nask you a few questions before I go on to Tete Jaune. You know every\nmountain and trail about the place, don't you?\"\n\n\"I've tramped them all, afoot and horseback.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps you can direct me to what I must find--a man's grave.\"\n\nPeter Keller paused in the act of relighting his pipe. For a moment he\nstared in amazement.\n\n\"There are a great many graves up at Tete Jaune,\" he said, at last. \"A\ngreat many graves--and many of them unmarked. If it's a _Quade_ grave\nyou're looking for, Aldous, it will be unmarked.\"\n\n\"I am quite sure that it is marked--or _was_ at one time,\" said Aldous.\n\"It's the grave of a man who had quite an unusual name, Peter, and you\nmight remember it--Mortimer FitzHugh.\"\n\n\"FitzHugh--FitzHugh,\" repeated Keller, puffing out fresh volumes of smoke.\n\"Mortimer FitzHugh----\"\n\n\"He died, I believe, before there was a Tete Jaune, or at least before the\nsteel reached there,\" added Aldous. \"He was on a hunting trip, and I have\nreason to think that his death was a violent one.\"\n\nKeller rose and fell into his old habit of pacing back and forth across the\nroom, a habit that had worn a path in the bare pine boards of the floor.\n\n\"There's graves an' graves up there, but not so many that were there before\nTete Jaune came,\" he began, between puffs. \"Up on the side of White Knob\nMountain there's the grave of a man who was torn to bits by a grizzly. But\nhis name was Humphrey. Old Yellowhead John--Tete Jaune, they called\nhim--died years before that, and no one knows where his grave is. We had\nfive men die before the steel came, but there wasn't a FitzHugh among 'em.\nCrabby--old Crabby Tompkins, a trapper, is buried in the sand on the\nFrazer. The last flood swept his slab away. There's two unmarked graves in\nGlacier Canyon, but I guess they're ten years old if a day. Burns was shot.\nI knew him. Plenty died after the steel came, but before that----\"\n\nSuddenly he stopped. He faced Aldous. His breath came in quick jerks.\n\n\"By Heaven, I do remember!\" he cried. \"There's a mountain in the Saw Tooth\nRange, twelve miles from Tete Jaune--a mountain with the prettiest basin\nyou ever saw at the foot of it, with a lake no bigger than this camp, and\nan old cabin which Yellowhead himself must have built fifty years ago.\nThere's a blind canyon runs out of it, short an' dark, on the right. We\nfound a grave there. I don't remember the first name on the slab. Mebby it\nwas washed out. But, so 'elp me God, _the last name was FitzHugh_!\"\n\nWith a sudden cry, Aldous jumped to his feet and caught Keller's arm.\n\n\"You're sure of it, Peter?\"\n\n\"Positive!\"\n\nIt was impossible for Aldous to repress his excitement. The engineer stared\nat him even harder than before.\n\n\"What can that grave have to do with Quade?\" he asked. \"The man died before\nQuade was known in these regions.\"\n\n\"I can't tell you now, Peter,\" replied Aldous, pulling the engineer to the\ntable. \"But I think you'll know quite soon. For the present, I want you to\nsketch out a map that will take me to the grave. Will you?\"\n\nOn the table were pencil and paper. Keller seated himself and drew them\ntoward him.\n\n\"I'm damned if I can see what that grave can have to do with Quade,\" he\nsaid; \"but I'll tell you how to find it!\"\n\nFor several minutes they bent low over the table, Peter Keller describing\nthe trail to the Saw Tooth Mountain as he sketched it, step by step, on a\nsheet of office paper. When it was done, Aldous folded it carefully and\nplaced it in his wallet.\n\n\"I can't go wrong, and--thank you, Keller!\"\n\nAfter Aldous had gone, Peter Keller sat for some time in deep thought.\n\n\"Now I wonder what the devil there can be about a grave to make him so\nhappy,\" he grumbled, listening to the whistle that was growing fainter down\nthe trail.\n\nAnd Aldous, alone, with the moon straight above him as he went back to the\nMiette Plain, felt, in truth, this night had become brighter for him than\nany day he had ever known. For he knew that Peter Keller was not a man to\nmake a statement of which he was not sure. Mortimer FitzHugh was dead. His\nbones lay under the slab up in that little blind canyon in the shadow of\nthe Saw Tooth Mountain. To-morrow he would tell Joanne. And, blindly, he\ntold himself that she would be glad.\n\nStill whistling, he passed the Chinese laundry shack on the creek, crossed\nthe railroad tracks, and buried himself in the bush beyond. A quarter of an\nhour later he stole quietly into Stevens' camp and went to bed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nStevens, dreaming of twenty horses plunging to death among the rocks in the\nriver, slept uneasily. He awoke before it was dawn, but when he dragged\nhimself from his tepee, moving quietly not to awaken his boy, he found John\nAldous on his knees before a small fire, slicing thin rashers of bacon into\na frying-pan. The weight of his loss was in the tired packer's eyes and\nface and the listless droop of his shoulders. John Aldous, with three hours\nbetween the blankets to his credit, was as cheery as the crackling fire\nitself. He had wanted to whistle for the last half-hour. Seeing Stevens, he\nbegan now.\n\n\"I wasn't going to rouse you until breakfast was ready,\" he interrupted\nhimself to say. \"I heard you groaning, Stevens. I know you had a bad night.\nAnd the kid, too. He couldn't sleep. But I made up my mind you'd have to\nget up early. I've got a lot of business on to-day, and we'll have to rouse\nCurly Roper out of bed to buy his pack outfit. Find the coffee, will you? I\ncouldn't.\"\n\nFor a moment Stevens stood over him.\n\n\"See here, Aldous, you didn't mean what you said last night, did you? You\ndidn't mean--that?\"\n\n\"Confound it, yes! Can't you understand plain English, Stevens? Don't you\nbelieve a man when he's a gentleman? Buy that outfit! Why, I'd buy twenty\noutfits to-day, I'm--I'm feeling so fine, Stevens!\"\n\nFor the first time in forty-eight hours Stevens smiled.\n\n\"I was wondering if I hadn't been dreaming,\" he said. \"Once, a long time\nago, I guess I felt just like you do now.\"\n\nWith which cryptic remark he went for the coffee.\n\nAldous looked up in time to see the boy stagger sleepily out of the tepee.\nThere was something pathetic about the motherlessness of the picture, and\nhe understood a little of what Stevens had meant.\n\nAn hour later, with breakfast over, they started for Curly's. Curly was\npulling on his boots when they arrived, while his wife was frying the\ninevitable bacon in the kitchen.\n\n\"I hear you have some horses for sale, Curly,\" said Aldous.\n\n\"Hi 'ave.\"\n\n\"How many?\"\n\n\"Twenty-nine, 'r twenty-eight--mebby twenty-seven.\"\n\n\"How much?\"\n\nCurly looked up from the task of pulling on his second boot.\n\n\"H'are you buying 'orses or looking for hinformation?\" he asked.\n\n\"I'm buying, and I'm in a hurry. How much do you want a head?\"\n\n\"Sixty, 'r six----\"\n\n\"I'll give you sixty dollars apiece for twenty-eight head, and that's just\nten dollars apiece more than they're worth,\" broke in Aldous, pulling a\ncheck-book and a fountain pen from his pocket. \"Is it a go?\"\n\nA little stupefied by the suddenness of it all, Curly opened his mouth and\nstared.\n\n\"Is it a go?\" repeated Aldous. \"Including blankets, saddles, pack-saddles,\nropes, and canvases?\"\n\nCurly nodded, looking from Aldous to Stevens to see if he could detect\nanything that looked like a joke.\n\n\"Hit's a go,\" he said.\n\nAldous handed him a check for sixteen hundred and eighty dollars.\n\n\"Make out the bill of sale to Stevens,\" he said. \"I'm paying for them, but\nthey're Stevens' horses. And, look here, Curly, I'm buying them only with\nyour agreement that you'll say nothing about who paid for them. Will you\nagree to that?\"\n\nCurly was joyously looking at the check.\n\n\"Gyve me a Bible,\" he demanded. \"Hi'll swear Stevens p'id for them! I give\nyou the word of a Hinglish gentleman!\"\n\nWithout another word Aldous opened the cabin door and was gone, leaving\nStevens quite as much amazed as the little Englishman whom everybody called\nCurly, because he had no hair.\n\nAldous went at once to the station, and for the first time inquired into\nthe condition that was holding back the Tete Jaune train. He found that a\nslide had given way, burying a section of track under gravel and rock. A\nhundred men were at work clearing it away, and it was probable they would\nfinish by noon. A gang boss, who had come back with telegraphic reports,\nsaid that half a dozen men had carried Quade's hand-car over the\nobstruction about midnight.\n\nIt was seven o'clock when Aldous left for the Miette bottom. He believed\nthat Joanne would be up. At this season of the year the first glow of day\nusually found the Ottos at breakfast, and for half an hour the sun had been\nshining on the top of Pyramid Mountain. He was eager to tell her what had\npassed between him and Keller. He laughed softly when he confessed to\nhimself how madly he wanted to see her.\n\nHe always liked to come up to the Otto home very early of a morning, or in\nthe dusk of evening. Very frequently he was filled with a desire to stand\noutside the red-and-white striped walls of the tent-house and listen\nunseen. Inside there was always cheer: at night the crackle of fire and the\nglow of light, the happy laughter of the gentle-hearted Scotchwoman, and\nthe affectionate banter of her \"big mountain man,\" who looked more like a\nbrigand than the luckiest and most contented husband in the mountains--the\nluckiest, quite surely, with the one exception of his brother Clossen, who\nhad, by some occult strategy or other, induced a sweet-faced and\naristocratic little woman to look upon his own honest physiognomy as the\nhandsomest and finest in the world. This morning Aldous followed a narrow\npath that brought him behind the tent-house. He heard no voices. A few\nsteps more and he emerged upon a scene that stopped him and set his heart\nthumping.\n\nLess than a dozen paces away stood Mrs. Otto and Joanne, their backs toward\nhim. They were gazing silently and anxiously in the direction of the thick,\nlow bush across the clearing, through which led the trail to his cabin. He\ndid not look toward the bush. His eyes were upon Joanne. Her slender figure\nwas full in the golden radiance of the morning sun, and Aldous felt himself\nunder the spell of a joyous wonder as he looked at her. For the first time\nhe saw her hair as he had pictured it--as he had given it to that other\n_Joanne_ in the book he had called \"Fair Play.\" She had been brushing it in\nthe sun when he came, but now she stood poised in that tense and waiting\nattitude--silent--gazing in the direction of the bush, with that marvellous\nmantle sweeping about her in a shimmering silken flood. He would not have\nmoved, nor would he have spoken, until Joanne herself broke the spell. She\nturned, and saw him. With a little cry of surprise she flung back her hair.\nHe could not fail to see the swift look of relief and gladness that had\ncome into her eyes. In another instant her face was flushing crimson.\n\n\"I beg your pardon for coming up like an eavesdropper,\" he apologized. \"I\nthought you would just about be at breakfast, Mrs. Otto.\"\n\nThe Scotchwoman heaved a tremendous sigh of relief.\n\n\"Goodness gracious, but I'm glad to see you!\" she exclaimed thankfully.\n\"Jack and Bruce have just gone out to see if they could find your dead\nbody!\"\n\n\"We thought perhaps something might have happened,\" said Joanne, who had\nmoved nearer the door. \"You will excuse me, won't you, while I finish my\nhair?\"\n\nWithout waiting for him to answer, she ran into the tent. No sooner had she\ndisappeared than the good-natured smile left Mrs. Otto's face. There was a\nnote of alarm in her low voice as she whispered:\n\n\"Jack and Bruce went to the barn last night, and she slept with me. She\ntried to be quiet, but I know she didn't sleep much. And she cried. I\ncouldn't hear her, but the pillow was wet. Once my hand touched her cheek,\nand it was wet. I didn't ask any questions. This morning, at breakfast, she\ntold us everything that happened, all about Quade--and your trouble. She\ntold us about Quade looking in at the window, and she was so nervous\nthinking something might have happened to you last night that the poor dear\ncouldn't even drink her coffee until Jack and Bruce went out to hunt for\nyou. But I don't think that was why she cried!\"\n\n\"I wish it had been,\" said Aldous. \"It makes me happy to think she was\nworried about--me.\"\n\n\"Good Lord!\" gasped Mrs. Otto.\n\nHe looked for a moment into the slow-growing amazement and understanding in\nher kind eyes.\n\n\"You will keep my little secret, won't you, Mrs. Otto?\" he asked. \"Probably\nyou'll think it's queer. I've only known her a day. But I feel--like that.\nSomehow I feel that in telling this to you I am confiding in a mother, or a\nsister. I want you to understand why I'm going on to Tete Jaune with her.\nThat is why she was crying--because of the dread of something up there. I'm\ngoing with her. She shouldn't go alone.\"\n\nVoices interrupted them, and they turned to find that Jack and Bruce Otto\nhad come out of the bush and were quite near. Aldous was sorry that Joanne\nhad spoken of his trouble with Quade. He did not want to discuss the\nsituation, or waste time in listening to further advice. He was anxious to\nbe alone again with Joanne, and tell her what he had learned from Peter\nKeller. For half an hour he repressed his uneasiness. The brothers then\nwent on to their corral. A few minutes later Joanne was once more at his\nside, and they were walking slowly over the trail that led to the cabin on\nthe river.\n\nHe could see that the night had made a change in her. There were circles\nunder her eyes which were not there yesterday. When she looked at him their\nvelvety blue depths betrayed something which he knew she was struggling\ndesperately to keep from him. It was not altogether fear. It was more a\nbetrayal of pain--a torment of the soul and not of the body. He noticed\nthat in spite of the vivid colouring of her lips her face was strangely\npale. The beautiful flush that had come into it when she first saw him was\ngone.\n\nThen he began to tell her of his visit to Peter Keller. His own heart was\nbeating violently when he came to speak of the grave and the slab over it\nthat bore the name of FitzHugh. He had expected that what he had discovered\nfrom Keller would create some sort of a sensation. He had even come up to\nthe final fact gradually, so that it would not appear bald and shocking.\nJoanne's attitude stunned him. She looked straight ahead. When she turned\nto him he did not see in her eyes what he had expected to see. They were\nquiet, emotionless, except for that shadow of inward torture which did not\nleave them.\n\n\"Then to-morrow we can go to the grave?\" she asked simply.\n\nHer voice, too, was quiet and without emotion.\n\nHe nodded. \"We can leave at sunrise,\" he said. \"I have my own horses at\nTete Jaune and there need be no delay. We were to start into the North from\nthere.\"\n\n\"You mean on the adventure you were telling me about?\"\n\nShe had looked at him quickly.\n\n\"Yes. Old Donald, my partner, has been waiting for me a week. That's why I\nwas so deuced anxious to rush the book to an end. I'm behind Donald's\nschedule, and he's growing nervous. It's rather an unusual enterprise\nthat's taking us north this time, and Donald can't understand why I should\nhang back to write the tail end of a book. He has lived sixty years in the\nmountains. His full name is Donald MacDonald. Sometimes, back in my own\nmind, I've called him History. He seems like that--as though he'd lived for\nages in these mountains instead of sixty years. If I could only write what\nhe has lived--even what one might imagine that he has lived! But I cannot.\nI have tried three times, and have failed. I think of him as The Last\nSpirit--a strange wandering ghost of the mighty ranges. His kind passed\naway a hundred years ago. You will understand--when you see him.\"\n\nShe put her hand on his arm and let it rest there lightly as they walked.\nInto her eyes had returned some of the old warm glow of yesterday.\n\n\"I want you to tell me about this adventure,\" she entreated softly. \"I\nunderstand--about the other. You have been good--oh! so good to me! And I\nshould tell you things; you are expecting me to explain. It is only fair\nand honest that I should. I know what is in your mind, and I only want you\nto wait--until to-morrow. Will you? And I will tell you then, when we have\nfound the grave.\"\n\nInvoluntarily his hand sought Joanne's. For a single moment he felt the\nwarm, sweet thrill of it in his own as he pressed it more closely to his\narm. Then he freed it, looking straight ahead. A soft flush grew in\nJoanne's cheeks.\n\n\"Do you care a great deal for riches?\" he asked. \"Does the golden pot at\nthe end of the rainbow hold out a lure for you?\" He did not realize the\nstrangeness of his question until their eyes met. \"Because if you don't,\"\nhe added, smiling, \"this adventure of ours isn't going to look very\nexciting to you.\"\n\nShe laughed softly.\n\n\"No, I don't care for riches,\" she replied. \"I am quite sure that just as\ngreat education proves to one how little one knows, so great wealth brings\none face to face with the truth of how little one can enjoy. My father used\nto say that the golden treasure at the end of the rainbow in every human\nlife was happiness, and that is something which you cannot buy. So why\ncrave riches, then? But please don't let my foolish ideas disappoint you.\nI'll promise to be properly excited.\"\n\nShe saw his face suddenly aflame with enthusiasm.\n\n\"By George, but you're a--a brick, Joanne!\" he exclaimed. \"You are! And\nI--I----\" He was fumbling in his breast pocket. He brought out his wallet\nand extracted from it the bit of paper Stevens had given him. \"You dropped\nthat, and Stevens found it,\" he explained, giving it to her. \"I thought\nthose figures might represent your fortune--or your income. Don't mind\ntelling you I went over 'em carefully. There's a mistake in the third\ncolumn. Five and four don't make seven. They make nine. In the final, when\nyou come to the multiplication part of it, that correction will make you\njust thirty-two thousand five hundred dollars richer.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said Joanne, lowering her eyes, and beginning to tear the paper\ninto small pieces. \"And will it disappoint you, Mr. John Aldous, if I tell\nyou that all these figures stand for riches which some one else possesses?\nAnd won't you let me remind you that we're getting a long way from what I\nwant to know--about your trip into the North?\"\n\n\"That's just it: we're hot on the trail,\" chuckled Aldous, deliberately\nplacing her hand on his arm again. \"You don't care for riches. Neither do\nI. I'm delighted to know we're going tandem in that respect. I've never had\nany fun with money. It's the money that's had fun with me. I've no use for\nyachts and diamonds and I'd rather travel afoot with a gun over my shoulder\nthan in a private car. Half the time I'm doing my own cooking, and I\nhaven't worn a white shirt in a year. My publishers persist in shoving more\nmoney my way than I know what to do with.\n\n\"You see, I pay only ten cents a plug for my smoking tobacco, and other\nthings accordingly. Somebody has said something about the good Lord sitting\nup in Heaven and laughing at the jokes He plays on men. Well, I'm sitting\nback and laughing now and then at the tussle between men and money over all\ncreation. There's a whole lot of humour in the way men and women fight and\ndie for money, if you only take time to stand out on the side and look on.\nThere's nothing big or dramatic about it. I may be a heathen, but to my\nmind the funniest of all things is to see the world wringing its neck for a\ndollar. And Donald--old History--needs even less money than I. So that puts\nthe big element of humour in this expedition of ours. We don't want money,\nparticularly. Donald wouldn't wear more than four pairs of boots a year if\nhe was a billionaire. And yet----\"\n\nHe turned to Joanne. The pressure of her hand was warmer on his arm. Her\nbeautiful eyes were glowing, and her red lips parted as she waited\nbreathlessly for him to go on.\n\n\"And yet, we're going to a place where you can scoop gold up with a\nshovel,\" he finished. \"That's the funny part of it.\"\n\n\"It isn't funny--it's tremendous!\" gasped Joanne. \"Think of what a man like\nyou could do with unlimited wealth, the good you might achieve, the\nsplendid endowments you might make----\"\n\n\"I have already made several endowments,\" interrupted Aldous. \"I believe\nthat I have made a great many people happy, Ladygray--a great many. I am\ngifted to make endowments, I think, above most people. Not one of the\nendowments I have made has failed of complete success.\"\n\n\"And may I ask what some of them were?\"\n\n\"I can't remember them all. There have been a great, great many. Most\nconspicuous among them were three endowments which I made to some very\nworthy people at various times for seven salted mines. I suppose you know\nwhat a salted mine is, Ladygray? At other times I have endowed railroad\nstocks which were very much in need of my helping mite, two copper\ncompanies, a concern that was supposed to hoist up pure asbestos from the\nstomach of Popocatapetl, and a steamship company that never steamed. As I\nsaid before, they were all very successful endowments.\"\n\n\"And how many of the other kind have you made?\" she asked gently, looking\ndown the trail. \"Like--Stevens', for instance?\"\n\nHe turned to her sharply.\n\n\"What the deuce----\"\n\n\"Did you succeed in getting the new outfit from Mr. Curly?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes. How did you know?\"\n\nShe smiled at the amazement which had gathered in his face. A glad, soft\nlight shone in her eyes.\n\n\"I guess Mrs. Otto has been like a mother to that poor little boy,\" she\nexplained. \"When you and Mr. Stevens went up to buy the outfit this morning\nJimmy ran over to tell her the news. We were all there--at breakfast. He\nwas so excited he could scarcely breathe. But it all came out, and he ran\nback to camp before you came because he thought you wouldn't want me to\nknow. Wasn't that funny? He told me so when I walked a little way up the\npath with him.\"\n\n\"The little reprobate!\" chuckled Aldous. \"He's the best publicity man I\never had, Ladygray. I did want you to know about this, and I wanted it to\ncome to you in just this way, so that I wouldn't be compelled to tell you\nmyself of the big and noble act I have done. It was my hope and desire that\nyou, through some one else, would learn of it, and come to understand more\nfully what a generous and splendid biped I am. I even plotted to give this\nchild of Stevens' a silver dollar if he would get the news to you in some\none of his innocent ways. He's done it. And he couldn't have done it\nbetter--even for a dollar. Ah, here we are at the cabin. Will you excuse\nme while I pick up a few things that I want to take on to Tete Jaune with\nme?\"\n\nBetween two trees close to the cabin he had built a seat, and here he left\nJoanne. He was gone scarcely five minutes when he reappeared with a small\npack-sack over his shoulders, locked the door, and rejoined her.\n\n\"You see it isn't much of a task for me to move,\" he said, as they turned\nback in the direction of the Ottos'. \"I'll wash the dishes when I come back\nnext October.\"\n\n\"Five months!\" gasped Joanne, counting on her fingers. \"John Aldous, do you\nmean----\"\n\n\"I do,\" he nodded emphatically. \"I frequently leave dishes unwashed for\nquite a spell at a time. That's the one unpleasant thing about this sort of\nlife--washing dishes. It's not so bad in the rainy season, but it's fierce\nduring a dry spell. When it rains I put the dishes out on a flat rock,\ndirty side up, and the good Lord does the scrubbing.\"\n\nHe looked at Joanne, face and eyes aglow with the happiness that was\nsweeping in a mighty tumult within him. Half an hour had worked a\ntransformation in Joanne. There was no longer a trace of anguish or of fear\nin her eyes. Their purity and limpid beauty made him think of the rock\nviolets that grew high up on the mountains. Her lips and cheeks were\nflushed, and the soft pressure of her hand again resting on his arm filled\nhim with the exquisite thrill of possession and joy. He did not speak of\nTete Jaune again until they reached the Otto tent-house, and then only to\nassure her that he would call for her half an hour before the train was\nready to leave.\n\nAs soon as possible after that he went to the telegraph office and sent a\nlong message to MacDonald. Among other things he told him to prepare their\ncabin for a lady guest. He knew this would shock the old mountain wanderer,\nbut he also knew that Donald would follow his instructions in spite of\nwhatever alarm he might have. There were other women at Tete Jaune, the\nwives of men he knew, to whom he might have taken Joanne. Under the\nconditions, however, he believed his own cabin would be her best refuge, at\nleast for a day or so. In that time he could take some one into his\nconfidence, probably Blackton and his wife. In fact, as he thought the\ncircumstances over, he saw the necessity of confiding in the Blacktons that\nvery night.\n\nHe left the station, growing a bit nervous. Was it right for him to take\nJoanne to his cabin at all? He had a tremendous desire to do so, chiefly on\naccount of Quade. The cabin was a quarter of a mile in the bush, and he was\npositive if Joanne was there that Quade, and perhaps Culver Rann, would\ncome nosing about. This would give him the opportunity of putting into\nexecution a plan which he had already arranged for himself and old\nMacDonald. On the other hand, was this arrangement fair to Joanne, even\nthough it gave him the chance to square up accounts with Quade?\n\nHe stopped abruptly, and faced the station. All at once there swept upon\nhim a realization of how blind he had been, and what a fool he had almost\nmade of himself. Blackton was one of the contractors who were working\nmiracles in the mountains. He was a friend who would fight for him if\nnecessary. Mrs. Blackton, who preferred to be on the firing line with her\nhusband than in her luxurious city home, was the leader of all that was\ndecent and womanly in Tete Jaune. Why not have these friends meet them at\nthe train and take Joanne direct to their house? Such recognition and\nfriendship would mean everything to Joanne. To take her to his cabin would\nmean----\n\nInwardly he swore at himself as he hurried back to the station, and his\nface burned hotly as he thought of the chance such a blunder on his part\nwould have given Quade and Culver Rann to circulate the stories with which\nthey largely played their scoundrelly game. He sent another and longer\ntelegram. This time it was to Blackton.\n\nHe ate dinner with Stevens, who had his new outfit ready for the mountains.\nIt was two o'clock before he brought Joanne up to the station. She was\ndressed now as he had first seen her when she entered Quade's place. A veil\ncovered her face. Through the gray film of it he caught the soft warm glow\nof her eyes and the shimmer of gold-brown tendrils of her hair. And he knew\nwhy she wore that veil. It set his heart beating swiftly--the fact that she\nwas trying to hide from all eyes but his own a beauty so pure and wonderful\nthat it made her uncomfortable when under the staring gaze of the Horde.\n\nThe hand that rested on his arm he pressed closer to his side as they\nwalked up the station platform, and under his breath he laughed softly and\njoyously as he felt the thrill of it. He spoke no word. Not until they were\nin their seat in the coach did Joanne look at him after that pressure of\nher hand, and then she did not speak. But in the veiled glow of her eyes\nthere was something that told him she understood--a light that was\nwonderfully gentle and sweet. And yet, without words, she asked him to\nkeep within his soul the things that were pounding madly there for speech.\n\nAs the train rolled on and the babble of voices about them joined the\ncrunching rumble of the wheels, he wanted to lean close to her and tell her\nhow a few hours had changed the world for him. And then, for a moment, her\neyes turned to him again, and he knew that it would be a sacrilege to give\nvoice to the things he wanted to say. For many minutes he was silent,\ngazing with her upon the wild panorama of mountain beauty as it drifted\npast the car window. A loud voice two seats ahead of them proclaimed that\nthey were about to make Templeton's Curve. The man was talking to his\ncompanion.\n\n\"They shot up a hundred thousand pounds of black powder an' dynamite to\nmake way for two hundred feet of steel on that curve,\" he explained in a\nvoice heard all over the car. \"They say you could hear the explosion fifty\nmiles away. Jack Templeton was near-sighted, an' he didn't see a rock\ncoming down on him that was half as big as a house. I helped scrape up what\nwas left of 'im an' we planted him at this end of the curve. It's been\nTempleton's Curve ever since. You'll see his grave--with a slab over it!\"\n\nIt was there almost as he spoke, marked by a white-painted cross in a\ncircle of whitewashed stones. John Aldous felt a sudden shiver pass through\nhis companion. She turned from the window. Through her veil he saw her lips\ntighten. Until he left the car half an hour later the man in the second\nseat ahead talked of Templeton's grave and a dozen other graves along the\nright of way. He was a rock-hog, and a specialist on the subject of\ngraves. Inwardly Aldous cursed him roundly. He cursed him all the way to\nTete Jaune, for to him he attributed the change which had again come over\nJoanne.\n\nThis change she could only partly conceal from him under her veil. She\nasked him many questions about Tete Jaune and the Blacktons, and tried to\ntake an interest in the scenery they were passing. In spite of this he\ncould see that she was becoming more and more nervous as they progressed\ntoward the end of their journey. He felt the slow dampening of his own joy,\nthe deadening clutch of yesterday at his heart. Twice she lifted her veil\nfor a moment and he saw she was pale and the tense lines had gathered about\nher mouth again. There was something almost haggard in her look the second\ntime.\n\nIn the early dusk of evening they arrived at Tete Jaune. Aldous waited\nuntil the car had emptied itself before he rose from his seat. Joanne's\nhand clutched at his arm as they walked down the aisle. He felt the fierce\npressure of her fingers in his flesh. On the car platform they paused for a\nmoment, and he felt her throbbing beside him. She had taken her hand from\nhis arm, and he turned suddenly. She had raised her veil. Her face was dead\nwhite. And she was staring out over the sea of faces under them in a\nstrange questing way, and her breath came from between her slightly parted\nlips as if she had been running. Amazed for the moment, John Aldous did not\nmove. Somewhere in that crowd _Joanne expected to find a face she knew!_\nThe truth struck him dumb--made him inert and lifeless. He, too, stared as\nif in a trance. And then, suddenly, every drop of blood in his body blazed\ninto fierce life.\n\nIn the glow of one of the station lamps stood a group of men. The faces of\nall were turned toward them. One he recognized--a bloated, leering face\ngrinning devilishly at them. It was Quade!\n\nA low, frightened cry broke from Joanne's lips, and he knew that she, too,\nhad seen him. But it was not Quade that she had looked for. It was not his\nface that she had expected to see nor because of him that she had lifted\nher veil for the mob!\n\nHe stepped down from the car and gave her his hand. Her fingers clutched\nhis convulsively. And they were cold as the fingers of the dead.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\nA moment later some one came surging through the crowd, and called Aldous\nby name. It was Blackton. His thin, genial face with its little spiked\nmoustache rose above the sea of heads about him, and as he came he grinned\na welcome.\n\n\"A beastly mob!\" he exclaimed, as he gripped his friend's hand. \"I'm sorry\nI couldn't bring my wife nearer than the back platform.\"\n\nAldous turned to Joanne. He was still half in a daze. His heart was choking\nhim with its swift and excited beating. Even as he introduced her to\nBlackton the voice kept crying in his brain that she had expected to find\nsome one in this crowd whom she knew. For a space it was as if the Joanne\nwhom he had known had slipped away from him. She had told him about the\ngrave, but this other she had kept from him. Something that was almost\nanger surged up in him. His face bore marks of the strain as he watched her\ngreet Blackton. In an instant, it seemed to him, she had regained a part of\nher composure. Blackton saw nothing but the haggard lines about her eyes\nand the deep pallor in her face, which he ascribed to fatigue.\n\n\"You're tired, Miss Gray,\" he said. \"It's a killing ride up from Miette\nthese days. If we can get through this mob we'll have supper within fifteen\nminutes!\"\n\nWith a word to Aldous he began worming his long, lean body ahead of them.\nAn instant Joanne's face was very close to Aldous', so close that he felt\nher breath, and a tendril of her hair touched his lips. In that instant her\neyes looked into his steadily, and he felt rush over him a sudden shame. If\nshe was seeking and expecting, it was to him more than ever that she was\nnow looking for protection. The haunting trouble in her eyes, their\nentreaty, their shining faith in him told him that, and he was glad that\nshe had not seen his sudden fear and suspicion. She clung more closely to\nhim as they followed Blackton. Her little fingers held his arm as if she\nwere afraid some force might tear him from her. He saw that she was looking\nquickly at the faces about them with that same questing mystery in her\nsearch.\n\nAt the thin outer edge of the crowd Blackton dropped back beside them. A\nfew steps more and they came to the end of the platform, where a buckboard\nwas waiting in the dim light of one of the station lamps. Blackton\nintroduced Joanne, and assisted her into the seat beside his wife.\n\n\"We'll leave you ladies to become acquainted while we rustle the baggage,\"\nhe said. \"Got the checks, Aldous?\"\n\nJoanne had given Aldous two checks on the train, and he handed them to\nBlackton. Together they made their way to the baggage-room.\n\n\"Thought Miss Gray would have some luggage, so I had one of my men come\nwith another team,\" he explained. \"We won't have to wait. I'll give him the\nchecks.\"\n\nBefore they returned to the buckboard, Aldous halted his friend.\n\n\"I couldn't say much in that telegram,\" he said. \"If Miss Gray wasn't a\nbit tired and unstrung I'd let her explain. I want you to tell Mrs.\nBlackton that she has come to Tete Jaune on a rather unpleasant mission,\nold man. Nothing less than to attend to the grave of a--a near relative.\"\n\n\"I regret that--I regret it very much,\" replied Blackton, flinging away the\nmatch he had lighted without touching it to his cigar. \"I guessed something\nwas wrong. She's welcome at our place, Aldous--for as long as she remains\nin Tete Jaune. Perhaps I knew this relative. If I can assist you--or\nher----\"\n\n\"He died before the steel came,\" said Aldous. \"FitzHugh was his name. Old\nDonald and I are going to take her to the grave. Miss Gray is an old friend\nof mine,\" he lied boldly. \"We want to start at dawn. Will that be too much\ntrouble for you and your wife?\"\n\n\"No trouble at all,\" declared Blackton. \"We've got a Chinese cook who's\nmore like an owl than a human. How will a four o'clock breakfast suit you?\"\n\n\"Splendidly!\"\n\nAs they went on, the contractor said:\n\n\"I carried your word to MacDonald. Hunted him down out in the bush. He is\nvery anxious to see you. He said he would not be at the depot, but that you\nmust not fail him. He's kept strangely under cover of late. Curious old\nghost, isn't he?\"\n\n\"The strangest man in the mountains,\" said Aldous \"And, when you come to\nknow him, the most lovable. We're going North together.\"\n\nThis time it was Blackton who stopped, with a hand on his companion's arm.\nA short distance from them they could see the buckboard in the light of\nthe station lamp.\n\n\"Has old Donald written you lately?\" he asked.\n\n\"No. He says he hasn't written a letter in twenty years.\"\n\nBlackton hesitated.\n\n\"Then you haven't heard of his--accident?\"\n\nThe strange look in the contractor's face as he lighted a cigar made John\nAldous catch him sharply by the arm.\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"He was shot. I happened to be in Dr. Brady's office when he dragged\nhimself in, late at night. Doc got the bullet out of his shoulder. It\nwasn't a bad wound. The old man swore it was an accident, and asked us to\nsay nothing about it. We haven't. But I've been wondering. Old Donald said\nhe was careless with his own pistol. But the fact is, Aldous--_he was shot\nfrom behind!_\"\n\n\"The deuce you say!\"\n\n\"There was no perforation except from _behind_. In some way the bullet had\nspent itself before it reached him. Otherwise it would have killed him.\"\n\nFor a moment Aldous stared in speechless amazement into Blackton's face.\n\n\"When did this happen?\" he asked then.\n\n\"Three days ago. Since then I have not seen old Donald until to-night.\nAlmost by accident I met him out there in the timber. I delivered the\ntelegram you sent him. After he had read it I showed him mine. He scribbled\nsomething on a bit of paper, folded it, and pinned it with a porcupine\nquill. I've been mighty curious, but I haven't pulled out that quill. Here\nit is.\"\n\nFrom his pocket he produced the note and gave it to Aldous.\n\n\"I'll read it a little later,\" said Aldous. \"The ladies may possibly become\nanxious about us.\"\n\nHe dropped it in his pocket as he thanked Blackton for the trouble he had\ntaken in finding MacDonald. As he climbed into the front seat of the\nbuckboard his eyes met Joanne's. He was glad that in a large measure she\nhad recovered her self-possession. She smiled at him as they drove off, and\nthere was something in the sweet tremble of her lips that made him almost\nfancy she was asking his forgiveness for having forgotten herself. Her\nvoice sounded more natural to him as she spoke to Mrs. Blackton. The\nlatter, a plump little blue-eyed woman with dimples and golden hair, was\nalready making her feel at home. She leaned over and placed a hand on her\nhusband's shoulder.\n\n\"Let's drive home by way of town, Paul,\" she suggested. \"It's only a little\nfarther, and I'm quite sure Miss Gray will be interested in our Great White\nWay of the mountains. And I'm crazy to see that bear you were telling me\nabout,\" she added.\n\nNothing could have suited Aldous more than this suggestion. He was sure\nthat Quade, following his own and Culver Rann's old methods, had already\nprepared stories about Joanne, and he not only wanted Quade's friends--but\nall of Tete Jaune as well--to see Joanne in the company of Mrs. Paul\nBlackton and her husband. And this was a splendid opportunity, for the\nnight carnival was already beginning.\n\n\"The bear is worth seeing,\" said Blackton, turning his team in the\ndirection of the blazing light of the half-mile street that was the\nBroadway of Tete Jaune. \"And the woman who rides him is worth seeing, too,\"\nhe chuckled. \"He's a big fellow--and she plays the Godiva act. Rides him up\nand down the street with her hair down, collecting dimes and quarters and\nhalf dollars as she goes.\"\n\nA minute later the length of the street swept out ahead of them. It is\nprobable that the world had never before seen a street just like this\nBroadway in Tete Jaune--the pleasure Mecca of five thousand workers along\nthe line of steel. There had been great \"camps\" in the building of other\nrailroads, but never a city in the wilderness like this--a place that had\nsprung up like magic and which, a few months later, was doomed to disappear\nas quickly. For half a mile it blazed out ahead of them, two garishly\nlighted rows of shacks, big tents, log buildings, and rough board\nstructures, with a rough, wide street between.\n\nTo-night Tete Jaune was like a blazing fire against the darkness of the\nforest and mountain beyond. A hundred sputtering \"jacks\" sent up columns of\nyellow flame in front of places already filled with the riot and tumult of\nthe night. A thousand lamps and  lanterns flashed like fireflies\nalong the way, and under them the crowd had gathered, and was flowing back\nand forth. It was a weird and fantastic sight--this one strange and almost\nuncanny street that was there largely for the play and the excitement of\nmen.\n\nAldous turned to Joanne. He knew what this town meant. It was the first and\nthe last of its kind, and its history would never be written. The world\noutside the mountains knew nothing of it. Like the men who made up its\ntransient life it would soon be a forgotten thing of the past. Even the\nmountains would forget it. But more than once, as he had stood a part of\nit, his blood had warmed at the thought of the things it held secret, the\nthings that would die with it, the big human drama it stood for, its hidden\ntragedies, its savage romance, its passing comedy. He found something of\nhis own thought in Joanne's eyes.\n\n\"There isn't much to it,\" he said, \"but to-night, if you made the hunt, you\ncould find men of eighteen or twenty nationalities in that street.\"\n\n\"And a little more besides,\" laughed Blackton. \"If you could write the\ncomplete story of how Tete Jaune has broken the law, Aldous, it would fill\na volume as big as Peggy's family Bible!\"\n\n\"And after all, it's funny,\" said Peggy Blackton. \"There!\" she cried\nsuddenly. \"Isn't _that_ funny?\"\n\nThe glare and noisy life were on both sides of them now. Half a dozen\nphonographs were going. From up the street came the softer strains of a\npiano, and from in between the shrieking notes of bagpipe. Peggy Blackton\nwas pointing to a brilliantly lighted, black-tarpaulined shop. Huge white\nletters on its front announced that Lady Barbers were within. They could\nsee two of them at work through the big window. And they were pretty. The\nplace was crowded with men. Men were waiting outside.\n\n\"Paul says they charge a dollar for a haircut and fifty cents for a shave,\"\nexplained Peggy Blackton. \"And the man over there across the street is\ngoing broke because he can't get business at fifteen cents a shave. _Isn't_\nit funny?\"\n\nAs they went on Aldous searched the street for Quade. Several times he\nturned to the back seat, and always he found Joanne's eyes questing in that\nstrange way for the some one whom she expected to see. Mrs. Blackton was\npointing out lighted places, and explaining things as they passed, but he\nknew that in spite of her apparent attention Joanne heard only a part of\nwhat she was saying. In that crowd she hoped--or feared--to find a certain\nface. And again Aldous told himself that it was not Quade's face.\n\nNear the end of the street a crowd was gathering, and here, for a moment,\nBlackton stopped his team within fifty feet of the objects of attraction. A\nslim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering silk was standing beside a\nhuge brown bear. Her sleek black hair, shining as if it had been oiled,\nfell in curls about her shoulders. Her rouged lips were smiling. Even at\nthat distance her black eyes sparkled like diamonds. She had evidently just\nfinished taking up a collection, for she was fastening the cord of a silken\npurse about her neck. In another moment she bestrode the bear, the crowd\nfell apart, and as the onlookers broke into a roar of applause the big\nbeast lumbered slowly up the street with its rider.\n\n\"One of Culver Rann's friends,\" said Blackton _sotto voce_, as he drove on.\n\"She takes in a hundred a night if she makes a cent!\"\n\n[Illustration: A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering silk was\nstanding beside a huge brown bear. In another moment she bestrode the bear,\nand the big beast lumbered up the street with its rider.]\n\nBlackton's big log bungalow was close to the engineers' camp half a mile\ndistant from the one lighted street and the hundreds of tents and shacks\nthat made up the residential part of the town. Not until they were inside,\nand Peggy Blackton had disappeared with Joanne for a few moments, did\nAldous take old Donald MacDonald's note from his pocket. He pulled out the\nquill, unfolded the bit of paper, and read the few crudely written words\nthe mountain man had sent him. Blackton turned in time to catch the sudden\namazement in his face. Crushing the note in his hand, Aldous looked at the\nother, his mouth tightening.\n\n\"You must help me make excuses, old man,\" he said quietly. \"It will seem\nstrange to them if I do not stay for supper. But--it is impossible. I must\nsee old Donald as quickly as I can get to him.\"\n\nHis manner more than his words kept Blackton from urging him to remain. The\ncontractor stared at him for a moment, his own eyes growing harder and more\ndirect.\n\n\"It's about the shooting,\" he said. \"If you want me to go with you,\nAldous----\"\n\n\"Thanks. That will be unnecessary.\"\n\nPeggy Blackton and Joanne were returning. Aldous turned toward them as they\nentered the room. With the note still in his hand he repeated to them what\nhe had told Blackton--that he had received word which made it immediately\nurgent for him to go to MacDonald. He shook hands with the Blacktons,\npromising to be on hand for the four o'clock breakfast.\n\nJoanne followed him to the door and out upon the veranda. For a moment they\nwere alone, and now her eyes were wide and filled with fear as he clasped\nher hands closely in his own.\n\n\"I saw him,\" she whispered, her fingers tightening convulsively. \"I saw\nthat man--Quade--at the station. He followed us up the street. Twice I\nlooked behind--and saw him. I am afraid--afraid to let you go back there. I\nbelieve he is somewhere out there now--waiting for you!\"\n\nShe was frightened, trembling; and her fear for him, the fear in her\nshining eyes, in her throbbing breath, in the clasp of her fingers, sent\nthrough John Aldous a joy that almost made him free her hands and crush her\nin his arms in the ecstasy of that wonderful moment. Then Peggy Blackton\nand her husband appeared in the door. He released her hands, and stepped\nout into the gloom. The cheery good-nights of the Blacktons followed him.\nAnd Joanne's good-night was in her eyes--following him until he was gone,\nfilled with their entreaty and their fear.\n\nA hundred yards distant, where the trail split to lead to the camp of the\nengineers, there was a lantern on a pole. Here Aldous paused, out of sight\nof the Blackton bungalow, and in the dim light read again MacDonald's note.\n\nIn a cramped and almost illegible hand the old wanderer of the mountains\nhad written:\n\n   Don't go to cabin. Culver Rann waiting to kill you. Don't show\n   yorself in town. Cum to me as soon as you can on trail striking\n   north to Loon Lake. Watch yorself. Be ready with yor gun.\n\n   DONALD MacDONALD.\n\nAldous shoved the note in his pocket and slipped back out of the\nlantern-glow into deep shadow. For several minutes he stood silent and\nlistening.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n\nAs John Aldous stood hidden in the darkness, listening for the sound of a\nfootstep, Joanne's words still rang in his ears. \"I believe he is out\nthere--waiting for you,\" she had said; and, chuckling softly in the gloom,\nhe told himself that nothing would give him more satisfaction than an\nimmediate and material proof of her fear. In the present moment he felt a\nkeen desire to confront Quade face to face out there in the lantern-glow,\nand settle with the mottled beast once for all. The fact that Quade had\nseen Joanne as the guest of the Blacktons hardened him in his\ndetermination. Quade could no longer be in possible error regarding her. He\nknew that she had friends, and that she was not of the kind who could be\nmade or induced to play his game and Culver Rann's. If he followed her\nafter this----\n\nAldous gritted his teeth and stared up and down the black trail. Five\nminutes passed and he heard nothing that sounded like a footstep, and he\nsaw no moving shadow in the gloom. Slowly he continued along the road until\nhe came to where a narrow pack-trail swung north and east through the thick\nspruce and balsam in the direction of Loon Lake. Remembering MacDonald's\nwarning, he kept his pistol in his hand. The moon was just beginning to\nrise over the shoulder of a mountain, and after a little it lighted up the\nmore open spaces ahead of him. Now and then he paused, and turned to\nlisten. As he progressed with slowness and caution, his mind worked\nswiftly. He knew that Donald MacDonald was the last man in the world to\nwrite such a message as he had sent him through Blackton unless there had\nbeen a tremendous reason for it. But why, he asked himself again and again,\nshould Culver Rann want to kill him? Rann knew nothing of Joanne. He had\nnot seen her. And surely Quade had not had time to formulate a plot with\nhis partner before MacDonald wrote his warning. Besides, an attempt had\nbeen made to assassinate the old mountaineer! MacDonald had not warned him\nagainst Quade. He had told him to guard himself against Rann. And what\nreason could this Culver Rann have for doing him injury? The more he\nthought of it the more puzzled he became. And then, in a flash, the\npossible solution of it all came to him.\n\nHad Culver Rann discovered the secret mission on which he and the old\nmountaineer were going into the North? Had he learned of the gold--where it\nwas to be found? And was their assassination the first step in a plot to\nsecure possession of the treasure?\n\nThe blood in Aldous' veins ran faster. He gripped his pistol harder. More\nclosely he looked into the moonlit gloom of the trail ahead of him. He\nbelieved that he had guessed the meaning of MacDonald's warning. It was the\ngold! More than once thought of the yellow treasure far up in the North had\nthrilled him, but never as it thrilled him now. Was the old tragedy of it\nto be lived over again? Was it again to play its part in a terrible drama\nof men's lives, as it had played it more than forty years ago? The gold!\nThe gold that for nearly half a century had lain with the bones of its\ndead, alone with its terrible secret, alone until Donald MacDonald had\nfound it again! He had not told Joanne the story of it, the appalling and\nalmost unbelievable tragedy of it. He had meant to do so. But they had\ntalked of other things. He had meant to tell her that it was not the gold\nitself that was luring him far to the north--that it was not the gold alone\nthat was taking Donald MacDonald back to it.\n\nAnd now, as he stood for a moment listening to the low sweep of the wind in\nthe spruce-tops, it seemed to him that the night was filled with whispering\nvoices of that long-ago--and he shivered, and held his breath. A cloud had\ndrifted under the moon. For a few moments it was pitch dark. The fingers of\nhis hand dug into the rough bark of a spruce. He did not move. It was then\nthat he heard something above the caressing rustle of the wind in the\nspruce-tops.\n\nIt came to him faintly, from full half a mile deeper in the black forest\nthat reached down to the bank of the Frazer. It was the night call of an\nowl--one of the big gray owls that turned white as the snow in winter.\nMentally he counted the notes in the call. One, two, three, _four_--and a\nflood of relief swept over him. It was MacDonald. They had used that signal\nin their hunting, when they had wished to locate each other without\nfrightening game. Always there were three notes in the big gray owl's\nquavering cry. The fourth was human. He put his hands to his mouth and sent\nback an answer, emphasizing the fourth note. The light breeze had died down\nfor a moment, and Aldous heard the old mountaineer's reply as it floated\nfaintly back to him through the forest. Continuing to hold his pistol, he\nwent on, this time more swiftly.\n\nMacDonald did not signal again. The moon was climbing rapidly into the sky,\nand with each passing minute the night was becoming lighter. He had gone\nhalf a mile when he stopped again and signalled softly. MacDonald's voice\nanswered, so near that for an instant the automatic flashed in the\nmoonlight. Aldous stepped out where the trail had widened into a small open\nspot. Half a dozen paces from him, in the bright flood of the moon, stood\nDonald MacDonald.\n\nThe night, the moon-glow, the tense attitude of his waiting added to the\nweirdness of the picture which the old wanderer of the mountains made as\nAldous faced him. MacDonald was tall; some trick of the night made him\nappear almost unhumanly tall as he stood in the centre of that tiny moonlit\namphitheatre. His head was bowed a little, and his shoulders drooped a\nlittle, for he was old. A thick, shaggy beard fell in a silvery sheen over\nhis breast. His hair, gray as the underwing of the owl whose note he\nforged, straggled in uncut disarray from under the drooping rim of a\nbattered and weatherworn hat. His coat was of buckskin, and it was short at\nthe sleeves--four inches too short; and the legs of his trousers were cut\noff between the knees and the ankles, giving him a still greater appearance\nof height.\n\nIn the crook of his arm MacDonald held a rifle, a strange-looking,\nlong-barrelled rifle of a type a quarter of a century old. And Donald\nMacDonald, in the picture he made, was like his gun, old and gray and\nghostly, as if he had risen out of some graveyard of the past to warm\nhimself in the yellow splendour of the moon. But in the grayness and\ngauntness of him there was something that was mightier than the strength of\nyouth. He was alert. In the crook of his arm there was caution. His eyes\nwere as keen as the eyes of an animal. His shoulders spoke of a strength\nbut little impaired by the years. Ghostly gray beard, ghostly gray hair,\nhaunting eyes that gleamed, all added to the strange and weird\nimpressiveness of the man as he stood before Aldous. And when he spoke, his\nvoice had in it the deep, low, cavernous note of a partridge's drumming.\n\n\"I'm glad you've come, Aldous,\" he said. \"I've been waiting ever since the\ntrain come in. I was afraid you'd go to the cabin!\"\n\nAldous stepped forth and gripped the old mountaineer's outstretched hand.\nThere was intense relief in Donald's eyes.\n\n\"I got a little camp back here in the bush,\" he went on, nodding riverward.\n\"It's safer 'n the shack these days. Yo're sure--there ain't no one\nfollowing?\"\n\n\"Quite certain,\" assured Aldous. \"Look here, MacDonald--what in thunder has\nhappened? Don't continue my suspense! Who shot you? Why did you warn me?\"\n\nDeep in his beard the old hunter laughed.\n\n\"Same fellow as would have shot you, I guess,\" he answered. \"They made a\nbad job of it, Johnny, an awful bad job, an' mebby there'd been a better\nman layin' for you!\"\n\nHe was pulling Aldous in the bush as he spoke. For ten minutes he dived on\nahead through a jungle in which there was no trail. Suddenly he turned,\nled the way around the edge of a huge mass of rock, and paused a moment\nlater before a small smouldering fire. Against the face of a gigantic\nboulder was a balsam shelter. A few cooking utensils were scattered about.\nIt was evident that MacDonald had been living here for several days.\n\n\"Looks as though I'd run away, don't it, Johnny?\" he asked, laughing in his\ncurious, chuckling way again. \"An' so I did, boy. From the mountain up\nthere I've been watching things through my telescope--been keepin' quiet\nsince Doc pulled the bullet out. I've been layin' for the Breed. I wanted\nhim to think I'd vamoosed. I'm goin' to kill him!\"\n\nHe had squatted down before the fire, his long rifle across his knees, and\nspoke as quietly as though he was talking of a partridge or a squirrel\ninstead of a human being. He wormed a hand into one of his pockets and\nproduced a small dark object which he handed to Aldous The other felt an\nuncanny chill as it touched his fingers. It was a mis-shapened bullet.\n\n\"Doc gave me the lead,\" continued MacDonald coolly, beginning to slice a\npipeful of tobacco from a tar-black plug. \"It come from Joe's gun. I've\nhunted with him enough to know his bullet. He fired through the window of\nthe cabin. If it hadn't been for the broom handle--just the end of it\nstickin' up\"--he shrugged his gaunt shoulders as he stuffed the tobacco\ninto the bowl of his pipe--\"I'd been dead!\" he finished tersely.\n\n\"You mean that Joe----\"\n\n\"Has sold himself to Culver Rann!\" exclaimed MacDonald. He sprang to his\nfeet. For the first time he showed excitement. His eyes blazed with\nrepressed rage. A hand gripped the barrel of his rifle as if to crush it.\n\"He's sold himself to Culver Rann!\" he repeated. \"He's sold him our secret.\nHe's told him where the gold is, Johnny! He's bargained to guide Rann an'\nhis crowd to it! An' first--they're goin' to kill _us!_\"\n\nWith a low whistle Aldous took off his hat. He ran a hand through his\nblond-gray hair. Then he replaced his hat and drew two cigars from his\npocket. MacDonald accepted one. Aldous' eyes were glittering; his lips were\nsmiling.\n\n\"They are, are they, Donald? They're going to kill us?\"\n\n\"They're goin' to try,\" amended the old hunter, with another curious\nchuckle in his ghostly beard. \"They're goin' to try, Johnny. That's why I\ntold you not to go to the cabin. I wasn't expecting you for a week.\nTo-morrow I was goin' to start on a hike for Miette. I been watching\nthrough my telescope from the mountain up there. I see Quade come in this\nmorning on a hand-car. Twice I see him and Rann together. Then I saw\nBlackton hike out into the bush. I was worrying about you an' wondered if\nhe had any word. So I laid for him on the trail--an' I guess it was lucky.\nI ain't been able to set my eyes on Joe. I looked for hours through the\ntelescope--an' I couldn't find him. He's gone, or Culver Rann is keeping\nhim out of sight.\"\n\nFor several moments Aldous looked at his companion in silence. Then he\nsaid:\n\n\"You're sure of all this, are you, Donald? You have good proof--that Joe\nhas turned traitor?\"\n\n\"I've been suspicious of him ever since we come down from the North,\"\nspoke MacDonald slowly. \"I watched him--night an' day. I was afraid he'd\nget a grubstake an' start back alone. Then I saw him with Culver Rann. It\nwas late. I heard 'im leave the shack, an' I followed. He went to Rann's\nhouse--an' Rann was expecting him. Three times I followed him to Culver\nRann's house. I knew what was happening then, an' I planned to get him back\nin the mountains on a hunt, an' kill him. But I was too late. The shot came\nthrough the window. Then he disappeared. An'--Culver Rann is getting an\noutfit together! Twenty head of horses, with grub for three months!\"\n\n\"The deuce! And our outfit? Is it ready?\"\n\n\"To the last can o' beans!\"\n\n\"And your plan, Donald?\"\n\nAll at once the old mountaineer's eyes were aflame with eagerness as he\ncame nearer to Aldous.\n\n\"Get out of Tete Jaune to-night!\" he cried in a low, hissing voice that\nquivered with excitement. \"Hit the trail before dawn! Strike into the\nmountains with our outfit--far enough back--and then wait!\"\n\n\"Wait?\"\n\n\"Yes--wait. If they follow us--_fight!_\"\n\nSlowly Aldous held out a hand. The old mountaineer's met it. Steadily they\nlooked into each other's eyes.\n\nThen John Aldous spoke:\n\n\"If this had been two days ago I would have said yes. But to-night--it is\nimpossible.\"\n\nThe fingers that had tightened about his own relaxed. Slowly a droop came\ninto MacDonald's shoulders. Disappointment, a look that was almost despair\nsettled in his eyes. Seeing the change, Aldous held the old hunter's hand\nmore firmly.\n\n\"That doesn't mean we're not going to fight,\" he said quickly. \"Only we've\ngot to plan differently. Sit down, Donald. Something has been happening to\nme. And I'm going to tell you about it.\"\n\nA little back from the fire they seated themselves, and Aldous told Donald\nMacDonald about Joanne.\n\nHe began at the beginning, from the moment his eyes first saw her as she\nentered Quade's place. He left nothing out. He told how she had come into\nhis life, and how he intended to fight to keep her from going out of it. He\ntold of his fears, his hopes, the mystery of their coming to Tete Jaune,\nand how Quade had preceded them to plot the destruction of the woman he\nloved. He described her as she had stood that morning, like a radiant\ngoddess in the sun; and when he came to that he leaned nearer, and said\nsoftly:\n\n\"And when I saw her there, Donald, with her hair streaming about her like\nthat, I thought of the time you told me of that other woman--the woman of\nyears and years ago--and how you, Donald, used to look upon her in the sun,\nand rejoice in your possession. Her spirit has been with you always. You\nhave told me how for nearly fifty years you have followed it over these\nmountains. And this woman means as much to me. If she should die to-night\nher spirit would live with me in that same way. You understand, Donald. I\ncan't go into the mountains to-night. God knows when I can go--now. But\nyou----\"\n\nMacDonald had risen. He turned his face to the black wall of the forest.\nAldous thought he saw a sudden quiver pass through the great, bent\nshoulders.\n\n\"And I,\" said MacDonald slowly, \"will have the horses ready for you at\ndawn. We will fight this other fight--later.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\n\nFor an hour after Donald MacDonald had pledged himself to accompany Joanne\nand Aldous on their pilgrimage to the grave in the Saw Tooth Range the two\nmen continued to discuss the unusual complications in which they had\nsuddenly become involved, and at the same time prepared themselves a supper\nof bacon and coffee over the fire. They agreed upon a plan of action with\none exception. Aldous was determined to return to the town, arguing there\nwas a good strategic reason for showing himself openly and without fear.\nMacDonald opposed this apprehensively.\n\n\"Better lay quiet until morning,\" he expostulated. \"You'd better listen to\nme, an' do that, Johnny. I've got something in my shoulder that tells me\nyou'd better!\"\n\nIn the face of the old hunter's misgiving, Aldous prepared to leave. It was\nnearly ten o'clock when he set back in the direction of Tete Jaune, Donald\naccompanying him as far as the moonlit amphitheatre in the forest. There\nthey separated, and Aldous went on alone.\n\nHe believed that Joanne and the Blacktons would half expect him to return\nto the bungalow after he had seen MacDonald. He was sure that Blackton, at\nleast, would look for him until quite late. The temptation to take\nadvantage of their hospitality was great, especially as it would bring him\nin the company of Joanne again. On the other hand, he was certain that this\nfirst night in Tete Jaune held very large possibilities for him. The\ndetective instinct in him was roused, and his adventurous spirit was alive\nfor action. First of all, he wanted proof of what MacDonald had told him.\nThat an attempt had been made to assassinate the old mountaineer he did not\nfor an instant doubt. But had Joe DeBar, the half-breed, actually betrayed\nthem? Had he sold himself to Culver Rann, and did Rann hold the key to the\nsecret expedition they had planned into the North? He did not, at first,\ncare to see Rann. He made up his mind that if he did meet him he would stop\nand chat casually with him, as though he had heard and seen nothing to\nrouse his suspicions. He particularly wanted to find DeBar; and, next to\nDeBar, Quade himself.\n\nThe night carnival was at its height when Aldous re-entered the long,\nlighted street. From ten until eleven was the liveliest hour of the night.\nEven the restaurants and soup-kitchens were crowded then. He strolled\nslowly down the street until he came to a little crowd gathered about the\nbear equestrienne. The big canvas dance-hall a few doors away had lured\nfrom her most of her admirers by this time, and Aldous found no difficulty\nin reaching the inner circle. He looked first for the half-breed. Failing\nto find him, he looked at the woman, who stood only a few feet from him.\nHer glossy black curls were a bit dishevelled, and the excitement of the\nnight had added to the vivid colouring of her rouged lips and cheeks. Her\nbody was sleek and sinuous in its silken vesture; arms and shoulders were\nstartlingly white; and when she turned, facing Aldous, her black eyes\nflashed fires of deviltry and allurement.\n\nFor a moment he stared into her face. If he had not been looking closely he\nwould not have caught the swift change that shot into the siren-like play\nof her orbs. It was almost instantaneous. Her slow-travelling glance\nstopped as she saw him. He saw the quick intake of her breath, a sudden\ncompression of her lips, the startled, searching scrutiny of a pair of eyes\nfrom which, for a moment, all the languor and coquetry of her trade were\ngone. Then she passed him, smiling again, nodding, sweeping a hand and arm\neffectively through her handsome curls as she flung a shapely limb over the\nbroad back of the bear. In a garish sort of way the woman was beautiful,\nand this night, as on all others, her beauty had nearly filled the silken\ncoin-bag suspended from her neck. As she rode down the street Aldous\nrecalled Blackton's words: She was a friend of Culver Rann's. He wondered\nif this fact accounted for the strangeness of the look she had given him.\n\nHe passed on to the dance-hall. It was crowded, mostly with men. But here\nand there, like so many faces peering forth from living graves, he saw the\nLittle Sisters of Tete Jaune Cache. Outnumbered ten to one, their voices\nrang out in shrill banter and delirious laughter above the rumble of men.\nAt the far end, a fiddle, a piano, and a clarinet were squealing forth\nmusic. The place smelled strongly of whisky. It always smelled of that, for\nmost of the men who sought amusement here got their whisky in spite of the\nlaw. There were rock-hogs from up the line, and rock-hogs from down the\nline, men of all nationalities and of almost all ages; teamsters,\ntrail-cutters, packers, and rough-shod navvies; men whose daily task was to\nplay with dynamite and giant powder; steel-men, tie-men, and men who\ndrilled into the hearts of mountains. More than once John Aldous had looked\nupon this same scene, and had listened to the trample and roar and wild\nrevelry of it, marvelling that to-morrow the men of this saturnalia would\nagain be the builders of an empire. The thin, hollow-cheeked faces that\npassed and repassed him, rouged and smiling, could not destroy in his mind\nthe strength of the picture. They were but moths, fluttering about in their\nown doom, contending with each other to see which should quickest achieve\ndestruction.\n\nFor several minutes Aldous scanned the faces in the big tent-hall, and\nnowhere did he see DeBar. He dropped out, and continued leisurely along the\nlighted way until he came to Lovak's huge black-and-white striped\nsoup-tent. At ten o'clock, and until twelve, this was as crowded as the\ndance-hall. Aldous knew Lovak, the Hungarian.\n\nThrough Lovak he had found the key that had unlocked for him many curious\nand interesting things associated with that powerful Left Arm of the Empire\nBuilders--the Slav. Except for a sprinkling of Germans, a few Italians, and\nnow and then a Greek or Swiss, only the Slavs filled Lovak's place!--Slavs\nfrom all the Russias and the nations south: the quick and chattering Polak;\nthe thick-set, heavy-jowled Croatian; the silent and dangerous-eyed\nLithuanian. All came in for Lovak's wonderful soup, which he sold in big\nyellow bowls at ten cents a bowl--soup of barley, rice, and cabbage, of\nbeef and mutton, of everything procurable out of which soup could be made,\nand, whether of meat or vegetable, smelling to heaven of garlic.\n\nFifty men were eating when Aldous went in, devouring their soup with the\nutter abandon and joy of the Galician, so that the noise they made was like\nthe noise of fifty pigs at fifty troughs. Now and then DeBar, the\nhalf-breed, came here for soup, and Aldous searched quickly for him. He was\nturning to go when his friend, Lovak, came to him. No, Lovak had not seen\nDeBar. But he had news. That day the authorities--the police--had\nconfiscated twenty dressed hogs, and in each porcine carcass they had found\nfour-quart bottles of whisky, artistically imbedded in the leaf-lard fat.\nThe day before those same authorities had confiscated a barrel of\n\"kerosene.\" They were becoming altogether too officious, Lovak thought.\n\nAldous went on. He looked in at a dozen restaurants, and twice as many\nsoft-drink emporiums, where phonographs were worked until they were cracked\nand dizzy. He stopped at a small tobacco shop, and entered to buy himself\nsome cigars. There was one other customer ahead of him. He was lighting a\ncigar, and the light of a big hanging lamp flashed on a diamond ring. Over\nhis sputtering match his eyes met those of John Aldous. They were dark\neyes, neither brown nor black, but dark, with the keenness and strange\nglitter of a serpent's. He wore a small, clipped moustache; his hands were\nwhite; he was a man whom one might expect to possess the _sang froid_ of a\ndevil in any emergency. For barely an instant he hesitated in the operation\nof lighting his cigar as he saw Aldous. Then he nodded.\n\n\"Hello, John Aldous,\" he said.\n\n\"Good evening, Culver Rann,\" replied Aldous.\n\nFor a moment his nerves had tingled--the next they were like steel. Culver\nRann's teeth gleamed. Aldous smiled back. They were cold, hard, rapierlike\nglances. Each understood now that the other was a deadly enemy, for Quade's\nenemies were also Culver Rann's. Aldous moved carelessly to the glass case\nin which were the cigars. With the barest touch of one of his slim white\nhands Culver Rann stopped him.\n\n\"Have one of mine, Aldous,\" he invited, opening a silver case filled with\ncigars. \"We've never had the pleasure of smoking together, you know.\"\n\n\"Never,\" said Aldous, accepting one of the cigars. \"Thanks.\"\n\nAs he lighted it, their eyes met again. Aldous turned to the case.\n\n\"Half a dozen 'Noblemen,'\" he said to the man behind the counter; then, to\nRann: \"Will you have one on me?\"\n\n\"With pleasure,\" said Rann. He added, smiling straight into the other's\neyes, \"What are you doing up here, Aldous? After local colour?\"\n\n\"Perhaps. The place interests me.\"\n\n\"It's a lively town.\"\n\n\"Decidedly. And I understand that you've played an important part in the\nmaking of it,\" replied Aldous carelessly.\n\nFor a flash Rann's eyes darkened, and his mouth hardened, then his white\nteeth gleamed again. He had caught the insinuation, and he had scarcely\nbeen able to ward off the shot.\n\n\"I've tried to do my small share,\" he admitted. \"If you're after local\ncolour for your books, Aldous, I possibly may be able to assist you--if\nyou're in town long.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly you could,\" said Aldous. \"I think you could tell me a great\ndeal that I would like to know, Rann. But--will you?\"\n\nThere was a direct challenge in his coldly smiling eyes.\n\n\"Yes, I think I shall be quite pleased to do so,\" said Rann.\n\"Especially--if you are long in town.\" There was an odd emphasis on those\nlast words.\n\nHe moved toward the door.\n\n\"And if you are here very long,\" he added, his eyes gleaming significantly,\n\"it is possible you may have experiences of your own which would make very\ninteresting reading if they ever got into print. Good-night, Aldous!\"\n\nFor two or three minutes after Rann had gone Aldous loitered in the tobacco\nshop. Then he went out. All at once it struck him that he should have kept\nhis eyes on Quade's partner. He should have followed him. With the hope of\nseeing him again he walked up and down the street. It was eleven o'clock\nwhen he went into Big Ben's pool-room. Five minutes later he came out just\nas a woman hurried past him, carrying with her a strong scent of perfume.\nIt was the Lady of the Bear. She was in a street dress now, her glossy\ncurls still falling loose about her--probably homeward bound after her\nnight's harvest. It struck Aldous that the hour was early for her\nretirement, and that she seemed somewhat in a hurry.\n\nThe woman was going in the direction of Rann's big log bungalow, which was\nbuilt well out of town toward the river. She had not seen him as he stood\nin the pool-room doorway, and before she had passed out of sight he was\nfollowing her. There were a dozen branch trails and \"streets\" on the way to\nRann's, and into the gloom of some one of these the woman disappeared, so\nthat Aldous lost her entirely. He was not disappointed when he found she\nhad left the main trail.\n\nFive minutes later he stood close to Rann's house. From the side on which\nhe had approached it was dark. No gleam of light showed through the\nwindows. Slowly he walked around the building, and stopped suddenly on the\nopposite side. Here a closely drawn curtain was illuminated by a glow from\nwithin. Cautiously Aldous made his way along the log wall of the house\nuntil he came to the window. At one side the curtain had caught against\nsome object, leaving perhaps a quarter of an inch of space through which\nthe light shone. Aldous brought his eyes on a level with this space.\n\nA half of the room came within his vision. Directly in front of him,\nlighted by a curiously shaped iron lamp suspended from the ceiling, was a\ndull red mahogany desk-table. At one side of this, partly facing him, was\nCulver Rann. Opposite him sat Quade.\n\nRann was speaking, while Quade, with his bullish shoulders hunched forward\nand his fleshy red neck, rolling over the collar of his coat, leaned across\nthe table in a tense and listening attitude. With his eyes glued to the\naperture, Aldous strained his ears to catch what Rann was saying. He heard\nonly the low and unintelligible monotone of his voice. A mocking smile was\naccompanying Rann's words. To-night, as at all times, this hawk who preyed\nupon human lives was immaculate. In all ways but one he was the antithesis\nof the beefy scoundrel who sat opposite him. On the hand that toyed\ncarelessly with the fob of his watch flashed a diamond; another sparkled in\nhis cravat. His dark hair was sleek and well brushed; his bristly little\nmoustache was clipped in the latest fashion. He was not large. His hands,\nas he made a gesture toward Quade, were of womanish whiteness. Casually, on\nthe street or in a Pullman, Aldous would have taken him for a gentleman.\nNow, as he stared through the narrow slit between the bottom of the curtain\nand the sill, he knew that he was looking upon one of the most dangerous\nmen in all the West. Quade was a villain. Culver Rann, quiet and cool and\nsuave, was a devil. Behind his depravity worked the brain which Quade\nlacked, and a nerve which, in spite of that almost effeminate\nimmaculateness, had been described to Aldous as colossal.\n\nSuddenly Quade turned, and Aldous saw that he was flushed and excited. He\nstruck the desk a blow with his fist. Culver Rann leaned back and smiled.\nAnd John Aldous slipped away from the window.\n\nHis nerves were quivering; in the darkness he unbuttoned the pocket that\nheld his automatic. Through the window he had seen an open door behind\nRann, and his blood thrilled with the idea that had come to him. He was\nsure the two partners in crime were discussing himself and MacDonald--and\nJoanne. To hear what they were saying, to discover their plot, would be\nthree quarters of the fight won, if it came to a fight. The open door was\nan inspiration.\n\nSwiftly and silently he went to the rear of the house. He tried the door\nand found it unlocked. Softly he opened it, swinging it inward an inch at\na time, and scarcely breathing as he entered. It was dark, and there was a\nsecond closed door ahead of him. From beyond that he heard voices. He\nclosed the outer door so that he would not be betrayed by a current of air\nor a sound from out of the night. Then, even more cautiously and slowly, he\nbegan to open the second door.\n\nAn inch at first, then two inches, three inches--a foot--he worked the door\ninward. There was no light in this second room, and he lay close to the\nfloor, head and shoulders thrust well in. Through the third and open door\nhe saw Quade and Culver Rann. Rann was laughing softly as he lighted a\nfresh cigar. His voice was quiet and good humoured, but filled with a\nbanter which it was evident Quade was not appreciating.\n\n\"You amaze me,\" Rann was saying. \"You amaze me utterly. You've gone\nmad--mad as a rock-rabbit, Quade! Do you mean to tell me you're on the\nsquare when you offer to turn over a half of your share in the gold if I\nhelp you to get this woman?\"\n\n\"I do,\" replied Quade thickly. \"I mean just that! And we'll put it down in\nblack an' white--here, now. You fix the papers, same as any other deal, and\nI'll sign!\"\n\nFor a moment Culver Rann did not reply. He leaned back in his chair, thrust\nthe thumbs of his white hands in his vest, and sent a cloud of smoke above\nhis head. Then he looked at Quade, a gleam of humour in his eyes.\n\n\"Nothing like a woman for turning a man's head soft,\" he chuckled. \"Nothing\nin the world like it, 'pon my word, Quade. First it was DeBar. I don't\nbelieve we'd got him if he hadn't seen Marie riding her bear. Marie and\nher curls and her silk tights, Quade--s'elp me, it wouldn't have surprised\nme so much if you'd fallen in love with _her!_ And over this other woman\nyou're as mad as Joe is over Marie. At first sight he was ready to sell his\nsoul for her. So--I gave Marie to him. And now, for some other woman,\nyou're just as anxious to surrender a half of your share of what we've\nbought through Marie. Good heaven, man, if you were in love with Marie----\"\n\n\"Damn Marie!\" growled Quade. \"I know the time when you were bugs over her\nyourself, Rann. It wasn't so long ago. If I'd looked at her then----\"\n\n\"Of course, not then,\" interrupted Rann smilingly. \"That would have been\nimpolite, Quade, and not at all in agreement with the spirit of our\nbrotherly partnership. And, you must admit, Marie is a devilish\ngood-looking girl. I've surrendered her only for a brief spell to DeBar.\nAfter he has taken us to the gold--why, the poor idiot will probably have\nbeen sufficiently happy to----\"\n\nHe paused, with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders.\n\n\"--go into cold storage,\" finished Quade.\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\nAgain Quade leaned over the table, and for a moment there was silence, a\nsilence in which Aldous thought the pounding of his heart must betray him.\nHe lay motionless on the floor. The nails of his fingers dug into the bare\nwood. Under the palm of his right hand lay his automatic.\n\nThen Quade spoke. There must have been more in his face than was spoken in\nhis words, for Culver Rann took the cigar from between his lips, and a\nlight that was deadly serious slowly filled his eyes.\n\n\"Rann, we'll talk business!\" Quade's voice was harsh, deep, and quivering.\n\"I want this woman. I may be a fool, but I'm going to have her. I might get\nher alone, but we've always done things together--an' so I made you that\nproposition. It ain't a hard job. It's one of the easiest jobs we ever had.\nOnly that fool of a writer is in the way--an' he's got to go anyway. We've\ngot to get rid of him on account of the gold, him an' MacDonald. We've got\nthat planned. An' I've showed you how we can get the woman, an' no one ever\nknow. Are you in on this with me?\"\n\nCulver Rann's reply was as quick and sharp as a pistol shot.\n\n\"I am.\"\n\nFor another moment there was silence. Then Quade asked:\n\n\"Any need of writin', Culver?\"\n\n\"No. There can't be a written agreement in this deal because--it's\ndangerous. There won't be much said about old MacDonald. But questions, a\ngood many of them, will be asked about this man Aldous. As for the\nwoman----\" Rann shrugged his shoulders with a sinister smile. \"She will\ndisappear like the others,\" he finished. \"No one will ever get on to that.\nIf she doesn't make a pal like Marie--after a time, why----\"\n\nAgain Aldous saw that peculiar shrug of his shoulders.\n\nQuade's head nodded on his thick neck.\n\n\"Of course, I agree to that,\" he said. \"After a time. But most of 'em have\ncome over, ain't they, Culver? Eh? Most of 'em have,\" he chuckled coarsely.\n\"When you see her you won't call me a fool for going dippy over her,\nCulver. And she'll come round all right after she's gone through what we've\ngot planned for her. I'll make a pal of her!\"\n\nIn that moment, as he listened to the gloating passion and triumph in\nQuade's brutal voice, something broke in the brain of John Aldous. It\nfilled him with a fire that in an instant had devoured every thought or\nplan he had made, and in this madness he was consumed by a single\ndesire--the desire to kill. And yet, as this conflagration surged through\nhim, it did not blind or excite him. It did not make him leap forth in\nanimal rage. It was something more terrible. He rose so quietly that the\nothers did not see or hear him in the dark outer room. They did not hear\nthe slight metallic click of the safety on his pistol.\n\nFor the space of a breath he stood and looked at them. He no longer sensed\nthe words Quade was uttering. He was going in coolly and calmly to kill\nthem. There was something disagreeable in the flashing thought that he\nmight kill them from where he stood. He would not fire from the dark. He\nwanted to experience the exquisite sensation of that one first moment when\nthey would writhe back from him, and see in him the presence of death. He\nwould give them that one moment of life--just that one. Then he would kill.\n\nWith his pistol ready in his hand he stepped out into the lighted room.\n\n\"Good evening, gentlemen!\" he said.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\n\nFor a space of perhaps twenty seconds after John Aldous announced himself\nthere was no visible sign of life on the part of either Quade or Culver\nRann. The latter sat stunned. Not the movement of a finger broke the\nstonelike immobility of his attitude. His eyes were like two dark coals\ngazing steadily as a serpent's over Quade's hunched shoulders and bowed\nhead. Quade seemed as if frozen on the point of speaking to Rann. One hand\nwas still poised a foot above the table. It was he who broke the tense and\nlifeless tableau.\n\nSlowly, almost as slowly as Aldous had opened the door, Quade turned his\nhead, and stared into the coldly smiling face of the man whom he had\nplotted to kill, and saw the gleaming pistol in his hand. A curious look\novercame his pouchy face, a look not altogether of terror--but of shock. He\nknew Aldous had heard. He accepted in an instant, and perceptibly, the\nsignificance of the pistol in his hand. But Culver Rann sat like a rock.\nHis face expressed nothing. Not for the smallest part of a second had he\nbetrayed any emotion that might be throbbing within him. In spite of\nhimself Aldous admired the man's unflinching nerve.\n\n\"Good evening, gentlemen!\" he repeated.\n\nThen Rann leaned slowly forward over the table. One hand rose to his\nmoustache. It was his right hand. The other was invisible. Quade pulled\nhimself together and stepped to the end of the table, his two empty hands\nin front of him. Aldous, still smiling, faced Rann's glittering eyes and\ncovered him with his automatic. Culver Rann twisted the end of his\nmoustache, and smiled back.\n\n\"Well?\" he said. \"Is it checkmate?\"\n\n\"It is,\" replied Aldous. \"I've promised you scoundrels one minute of life.\nI guess that minute is about up.\"\n\nThe last word was scarcely out of his mouth when the room was in\ndarkness--a darkness so complete and sudden that for an instant his hand\nfaltered, and in that instant he heard the overturning of a chair and the\nfalling of a body. Twice his automatic sent a lightning-flash of fire where\nCulver Rann had sat; twice it spat threadlike ribbons of flame through the\nblackness where Quade had stood. He knew what had happened, and also what\nto expect if he lost out now. The curiously shaped iron lamp had concealed\nan electric bulb, and Rann had turned off the switch-key under the table.\nHe had no further time to think. An object came hurtling through the thick\ngloom and fell with terrific force on his outstretched pistol arm. His\nautomatic flew from his hand and struck against the wall. Unarmed, he\nsprang back toward the open door--full into the arms of Quade!\n\nAldous knew that it was Quade and not Culver Rann, and he struck out with\nall the force he could gather in a short-arm blow. His fist landed against\nQuade's thick neck. Again and again he struck, and Quade's grip loosened.\nIn another moment he would have reached the door if Rann had not caught him\nfrom behind. Never had Aldous felt the clutch of hands like those of the\nwomanish hands of Culver Rann. It was as if sinuous fingers of steel were\nburying themselves in his flesh. Before they found his throat he flung\nhimself backward with all his weight, and with a tremendous effort freed\nhimself.\n\nBoth Quade and Culver Rann now stood between him and the door. He could\nhear Quade's deep, panting breath. Rann, as before, was silent as death.\nThen he heard the door close. A key clicked in the lock. He was trapped.\n\n\"Turn on the light, Billy,\" he heard Rann say in a quiet, unexcited voice.\n\"We've got this house-breaker cornered, and he's lost his gun. Turn on the\nlight--and I'll make one shot do the business!\"\n\nAldous heard Quade moving, but he was not coming toward the table.\nSomewhere in the room was another switch connected with the iron lamp, and\nAldous felt a curious chill shoot up his spine. Without seeing through that\npitch darkness of the room he sensed the fact that Culver Rann was standing\nwith his back against the locked door, a revolver in his hand. And he knew\nthat Quade, feeling his way along the wall, held a revolver in his hand.\nMen like these two did not go unarmed. The instant the light was turned on\nthey would do their work. As he stood, silent as Culver Rann, he realized\nthe tables were turned. In that moment's madness roused by Quade's gloating\nassurance of possessing Joanne he had revealed himself like a fool, and now\nhe was about to reap the whirlwind of his folly. Deliberately he had given\nhimself up to his enemies. They, too, would be fools if they allowed him to\nescape alive.\n\nHe heard Quade stop. His thick hand was fumbling along the wall. Aldous\nguessed that he was feeling for the switch. He almost fancied he could see\nRann's revolver levelled at him through the darkness. In that thrilling\nmoment his mind worked with the swiftness of a powder flash. One of his\nhands touched the edge of the desk-table, and he knew that he was standing\ndirectly opposite the curtained window, perhaps six feet from it. If he\nflung himself through the window the curtain would save him from being cut\nto pieces.\n\nNo sooner had the idea of escape come to him than he had acted. A flood of\nlight filled the room as his body crashed through the glass. He heard a\ncry--a single shot--as he struck the ground. He gathered himself up and ran\nswiftly. Fifty yards away he stopped, and looked back. Quade and Rann were\nin the window. Then they disappeared, and a moment later the room was again\nin gloom.\n\nFor a second time Aldous hurried in the direction of MacDonald's camp. He\nknew that, in spite of the protecting curtain, the glass had cut him. He\nfelt the warm blood dripping over his face; both hands were wet with it,\nThe arm on which he had received the blow from the unseen object in the\nroom gave him considerable pain, and he had slightly sprained an ankle in\nhis leap through the window, so that he limped a little. But his mind was\nclear--so clear that in the face of his physical discomfort he caught\nhimself laughing once or twice as he made his way along the trail.\n\nAldous was not of an ordinary type. To a curious and superlative degree he\ncould appreciate a defeat as well as a triumph. His adventures had been a\npart of a life in which he had not always expected to win, and in\nto-night's game he admitted that he had been hopelessly and ridiculously\nbeaten. Tragedy, to him, was a first cousin of comedy; to-night he had set\nout to kill, and, instead of killing, he had run like a jack-rabbit for\ncover. Also, in that same half-hour Rann and Quade had been sure of him,\nand he had given them the surprise of their lives by his catapultic\ndisappearance through the window. There was something ludicrous about it\nall--something that, to him, at least, had turned a possible tragedy into a\nvery good comedy-drama.\n\nNor was Aldous blind to the fact that he had made an utter fool of himself,\nand that the consequences of his indiscretion might prove extremely\nserious. Had he listened to the conspirators without betraying himself he\nwould have possessed an important advantage over them. The knowledge he had\ngained from overhearing their conversation would have made it comparatively\neasy for MacDonald and him to strike them a perhaps fatal blow through the\nhalf-breed DeBar. As the situation stood now, he figured that Quade and\nCulver Rann held the advantage. Whatever they had planned to do they would\nput into quick execution. They would not lose a minute.\n\nIt was not for himself that Aldous feared. Neither did he fear for Joanne.\nEvery drop of red fighting blood in him was ready for further action, and\nhe was determined that Quade should find no opportunity of accomplishing\nany scheme he might have against Joanne's person. On the other hand, unless\nthey could head off DeBar, he believed that Culver Rann's chances of\nreaching the gold ahead of them would grow better with the passing of each\nhour. To protect Joanne from Quade he must lose no time. MacDonald would\nbe in the same predicament, while Rann, assisted by as many rascals of his\nown colour as he chose to take with him, would be free to carry out the\nother part of the conspirators' plans.\n\nThe longer he thought of the mess he had stirred up the more roundly Aldous\ncursed his imprudence. And this mess, as he viewed it in these cooler\nmoments, was even less disturbing than the thought of what might have\nhappened had he succeeded in his intention of killing both Quade and Rann.\nTwenty times as he made his way through the darkness toward MacDonald's\ncamp he told himself that he must have been mad. To have killed Rann or\nQuade in self-defence, or in open fight, would have been playing the game\nwith a shadow of mountain law behind it. But he had invaded Rann's home.\nHad he killed them he would have had but little more excuse than a\nhouse-breaker or a suspicious husband might have had. Tete Jaune would not\ncountenance cold-blooded shooting, even of criminals. He should have taken\nold Donald's advice and waited until they were in the mountains. An\nunpleasant chill ran through him as he thought of the narrowness of his\ndouble escape.\n\nTo his surprise, John Aldous found MacDonald awake when he arrived at the\ncamp in the thickly timbered coulee. He was preparing a midnight cup of\ncoffee over a fire that was burning cheerfully between two big rocks.\nPurposely Aldous stepped out into the full illumination of it. The old\nhunter looked up. For a moment he stared into the blood-smeared face of his\nfriend; then he sprang to his feet, and caught him by the arm.\n\n\"Yes, I got it,\" nodded Aldous cheerfully. \"I went out for it, Mac, and I\ngot it! Get out your emergency kit, will you? I rather fancy I need a\nlittle patching up.\"\n\nMacDonald uttered not a word. From the balsam lean-to he brought out a\nsmall rubber bag and a towel. Into a canvas wash-basin he then turned a\nhalf pail of cold water, and Aldous got on his knees beside this. Not once\ndid the old mountaineer speak while he was washing the blood from Aldous'\nface and hands. There was a shallow two-inch cut in his forehead, two\ndeeper ones in his right cheek, and a gouge in his chin. There were a dozen\ncuts on his hands, none of them serious. Before he had finished MacDonald\nhad used two thirds of a roll of court-plaster.\n\nThen he spoke.\n\n\"You can soak them off in the morning,\" he said. \"If you don't, the lady'll\nthink yo're a red Indian on the warpath. Now, yo' fool, what have yo' gone\nan' done?\"\n\nAldous told him what had happened, and before MacDonald could utter an\nexpression of his feelings he admitted that he was an inexcusable idiot and\nthat nothing MacDonald might say could drive that fact deeper home.\n\n\"If I'd come out after hearing what they had to say, we could have got\nDeBar at the end of a gun and settled the whole business,\" he finished. \"As\nit is, we're in a mess.\"\n\nMacDonald stretched his gaunt gray frame before the fire. He picked up his\nlong rifle, and fingered the lock.\n\n\"You figger they'll get away with DeBar?\"\n\n\"Yes, to-night.\"\n\nMacDonald threw open the breech of his single-loader and drew out a\ncartridge as long as his finger. Replacing it, he snapped the breech shut.\n\n\"Don't know as I'm pertic'lar sad over what's happened,\" he said, with a\ncurious look at Aldous. \"We might have got out of this without what you\ncall strenu'us trouble. Now--it's _fight!_ It's goin' to be a matter of\nguns an' bullets, Johnny--back in the mountains. You figger Rann an' the\nsnake of a half-breed'll get the start of us. Let 'em have a start! They've\ngot two hundred miles to go, an' two hundred miles to come back. Only--they\nwon't come back!\"\n\nUnder his shaggy brows the old hunter's eyes gleamed as he looked at\nAldous.\n\n\"To-morrow we'll go to the grave,\" he added. \"Yo're cur'ous to know what's\ngoin' to happen when we find that grave, Johnny. So am I. I hope----\"\n\n\"What do you hope?\"\n\nMacDonald shook his great gray head in the dying firelight.\n\n\"Let's go to bed, Johnny,\" he rumbled softly in his beard. \"It's gettin'\nlate.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\n\nTo sleep after the excitement through which he had passed, and with\nto-morrow's uncertainties ahead of him, seemed to Aldous a physical\nimpossibility. Yet he slept, and soundly. It was MacDonald who roused him\nthree hours later. They prepared a quick breakfast over a small fire, and\nAldous heated water in which he soaked his face until the strips of\ncourt-plaster peeled off. The scratches were lividly evident, but, inasmuch\nas he had a choice of but two evils, he preferred that Joanne should see\nthese instead of the abominable disfigurement of court-plaster strips.\n\nOld Donald took one look at him through half-closed eyes.\n\n\"You look as though you'd come out of a tussle with a grizzly,\" he grinned.\n\"Want some fresh court-plaster?\"\n\n\"And look as though I'd come out of a circus--no!\" retorted Aldous. \"I'm\ninvited to breakfast at the Blacktons', Mac. How the devil am I going to\nget out of it?\"\n\n\"Tell 'em you're sick,\" chuckled the old hunter, who saw something funny in\nthe appearance of Aldous' face. \"Good Lord, how I'd liked to have seen you\ncome through that window--in daylight!\"\n\nAldous led off in the direction of the trail. MacDonald followed close\nbehind him. It was dark--that almost ebon-black hour that precedes summer\ndawn in the northern mountains. The moon had long ago disappeared in the\nwest. When a few minutes later they paused in the little opening on the\ntrail Aldous could just make out the shadowy form of the old mountaineer.\n\n\"I lost my gun when I jumped through the window, Mac,\" he explained.\n\"There's another thirty-eight automatic in my kit at the corral. Bring\nthat, and the .303 with the gold-bead sight--and plenty of ammunition.\nYou'd better take that forty-four hip-cannon of yours along, as well as\nyour rifle. Wish I could civilize you, Mac, so you'd carry one of the\nSavage automatics instead of that old brain-storm of fifty years ago!\"\n\nMacDonald gave a grunt of disgust that was like the whoof of a bear.\n\n\"It's done business all that time,\" he growled good humouredly. \"An' it\nain't ever made me jump through any window as I remember of, Johnny!\"\n\n\"Enough,\" said Aldous, and in the gloom he gripped the other's hand.\n\"You'll be there, Mac--in front of the Blacktons'--just as it's growing\nlight?\"\n\n\"That means in three quarters of an hour, Johnny. I'll be there. Three\nsaddle-horses and a pack.\"\n\nWhere the trail divided they separated. Aldous went directly to the\nBlacktons'. As he had expected, the bungalow was alight. In the kitchen he\nsaw Tom, the Oriental cook, busy preparing breakfast. Blackton himself,\ncomfortably dressed in duck trousers and a smoking-jacket, and puffing on a\npipe, opened the front door for him. The pipe almost fell from his mouth\nwhen he saw his friend's excoriated face.\n\n\"What in the name of Heaven!\" he gasped.\n\n\"An accident,\" explained Aldous, with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders.\n\"Blackton, I want you to do me another good turn. Tell the ladies anything\nyou can think of--something reasonable. The truth is, I went through a\nwindow--a window with plenty of glass in it. Now how the deuce can I\nexplain going through a window like a gentleman?\"\n\nWith folded arms, Blackton inspected him thoughtfully for a moment.\n\n\"You can't,\" he said. \"But I don't think you went through a window. I\nbelieve you fell over a cliff and were caught in an armful of wait-a-bit\nbushes. They're devilish those wait-a-bits!\"\n\nThey shook hands.\n\n\"I'm ready to blow up with curiosity again,\" said Blackton. \"But I'll play\nyour game, Aldous.\"\n\nA few minutes later Joanne and Peggy Blackton joined them. He saw again the\nquick flush of pleasure in Joanne's lovely face when she entered the room.\nIt changed instantly when she saw the livid cuts in his skin. She came to\nhim quickly, and gave him her hand. Her lips trembled, but she did not\nspeak. Blackton accepted this as the psychological moment.\n\n\"What do you think of a man who'll wander off a trail, tumble over a ledge,\nand get mixed up in a bunch of wait-a-bit like _that?_\" he demanded,\nlaughing as though he thought it a mighty good joke on Aldous. \"Wait-a-bit\nthorns are worse than razors, Miss Gray,\" he elucidated further.\n\"They're--they're perfectly devilish, you know!\"\n\n\"Indeed they _are_,\" emphasized Peggy Blackton, whom her husband had given\na quick look and a quicker nudge, \"They're dreadful!\"\n\nLooking straight into Joanne's eyes, Aldous guessed that she did not\nbelieve, and scarcely heard, the Blacktons.\n\n\"I had a presentiment something was going to happen,\" she said, smiling at\nhim. \"I'm glad it was no worse than that.\"\n\nShe withdrew her hand, and turned to Peggy Blackton. To John's delight she\nhad arranged her wonderful shining hair in a braid that rippled in a thick,\nsinuous rope of brown and gold below her hips. Peggy Blackton had in some\nway found a riding outfit for her slender figure, a typical mountain\noutfit, with short divided skirt, loose blouse, and leggings. She had never\nlooked more beautiful to him. Her night's rest had restored the colour to\nher soft cheeks and curved lips; and in her eyes, when she looked at him\nagain, there was a strange, glowing light that thrilled him. During the\nnext half-hour he almost forgot his telltale disfigurements. At breakfast\nPaul and Peggy Blackton were beautifully oblivious of them. Once or twice\nhe saw in Joanne's clear eyes a look which made him suspect that she had\nguessed very near to the truth.\n\nMacDonald was prompt to the minute. Gray day, with its bars of golden tint,\nwas just creeping over the shoulders of the eastern mountains when he rode\nup to the Blacktons'. The old hunter was standing close to the horse which\nJoanne was to ride when Aldous brought her out. Joanne gave him her hand,\nand for a moment MacDonald bowed his shaggy head over it. Five minutes\nlater they were trailing up the rough wagon-road, MacDonald in the lead,\nand Joanne and Aldous behind, with the single pack horse between.\n\nFor several miles this wagon-trail reached back through the thick timber\nthat filled the bottom between the two ranges of mountains. They had\ntravelled but a short distance when Joanne drew her horse close in beside\nAldous.\n\n\"I want to know what happened last night,\" she said. \"Will you tell me?\"\n\nAldous met her eyes frankly. He had made up his mind that she would believe\nonly the truth, and he had decided to tell her at least a part of that. He\nwould lay his whole misadventure to the gold. Leaning over the pommel of\nhis saddle he recounted the occurrences of the night before, beginning with\nhis search for Quade and the half-breed, and his experience with the woman\nwho rode the bear. He left out nothing--except all mention of herself. He\ndescribed the events lightly, not omitting those parts which appealed to\nhim as being very near to comedy.\n\nIn spite of his effort to rob the affair of its serious aspect his recital\nhad a decided effect upon Joanne. For some time after he had finished one\nof her small gloved hands clutched tightly at the pommel of her saddle; her\nbreath came more quickly; the colour had ebbed from her cheeks, and she\nlooked straight ahead, keeping her eyes from meeting his. He began to\nbelieve that in some way she was convinced he had not told her the whole\ntruth, and was possibly displeased, when she again turned her face to him.\nIt was tense and white. In it was the fear which, for a few minutes, she\nhad tried to keep from him.\n\n\"They would have killed you?\" she breathed.\n\n\"Perhaps they would only have given me a good scare,\" said Aldous. \"But I\ndidn't have time to wait and find out. I was very anxious to see MacDonald\nagain. So I went through the window!\"\n\n\"No, they would have killed you,\" said Joanne. \"Perhaps I did wrong, Mr.\nAldous, but I confided--a little--in Peggy Blackton last night. She seemed\nlike a sister. I love her. And I wanted to confide in some one--a woman,\nlike her. It wasn't much, but I told her what happened at Miette: about\nyou, and Quade, and how I saw him at the station, and again--later,\nfollowing us. And then--she told me! Perhaps she didn't know how it was\nfrightening me, but she told me all about these men--Quade and Culver Rann.\nAnd now I'm more afraid of Culver Rann than Quade, and I've never seen him.\nThey can't hurt me. But I'm afraid for you!\"\n\nAt her words a joy that was like the heat of a fire leaped into his brain.\n\n\"For me?\" he said. \"Afraid--for me?\"\n\n\"Yes. Why shouldn't I be, if I know that you are in danger?\" she asked\nquietly. \"And now, since last night, and the discovery of your secret by\nthese men, I am terrified. Quade has followed you here. Mrs. Blackton told\nme that Culver Rann was many times more dangerous than Quade. Only a little\nwhile ago you told me you did not care for riches. Then why do you go for\nthis gold? Why do you run the risk? Why----\"\n\nHe waited. The colour was flooding back into her face in an excited,\nfeverish flush. Her blue eyes were dark as thunder-clouds in their\nearnestness.\n\n\"Don't you understand?\" she went on. \"It was because of me that you\nincurred this deadly enmity of Quade's. If anything happens to you, I shall\nhold myself responsible!\"\n\n\"No, you will not be responsible,\" replied Aldous, steadying the tremble in\nhis voice. \"Besides, nothing is going to happen. But you don't know how\nhappy you have made me by taking this sort of an interest in me. It--it\nfeels good,\" he laughed.\n\nFor a few paces he dropped behind her, where the overhead spruce boughs\nleft but the space for a single rider between. Then, again, he drew up\nclose beside her.\n\n\"I was going to tell you about this gold,\" he said. \"It isn't the gold\nwe're going after.\"\n\nHe leaned over until his hand rested on her saddle-bow.\n\n\"Look ahead,\" he went on, a curious softness in his voice. \"Look at\nMacDonald!\"\n\nThe first shattered rays of the sun were breaking over the mountains and\nreflecting their glow in the valley. Donald MacDonald had lifted his face\nto the sunrise; out from under his battered hat the morning breeze sweeping\nthrough the valley of the Frazer tossed his shaggy hair; his great owl-gray\nbeard swept his breast; his broad, gaunt shoulders were hunched a little\nforward as he looked into the east. Again Aldous looked into Joanne's eyes.\n\n\"It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking me north, Ladygray. And\nit's not the gold that is taking MacDonald. It is strange, almost\nunbelievedly strange--what I am going to tell you. To-day we are seeking a\ngrave--for you. And up there, two hundred miles in the north, another grave\nis calling MacDonald. I am going with him. It just happens that the gold is\nthere. You wouldn't guess that for more than forty years that blessed old\nwanderer ahead of us has loved a dead woman, would you? You wouldn't think\nthat for nearly half a century, year in and year out, winter and summer\nalike, he has tramped the northern mountains--a lost spirit with but one\ndesire in life--to find at last her resting-place? And yet it is so,\nLadygray. I guess I am the only living creature to whom he has opened his\nheart in many a long year. A hundred times beside our campfire I have\nlistened to him, until at last his story seems almost to be a part of my\nown. He may be a little mad, but it is a beautiful madness.\"\n\nHe paused.\n\n\"Yes,\" whispered Joanne. \"Go on--John Aldous.\"\n\n\"It's--hard to tell,\" he continued. \"I can't put the feeling of it in\nwords, the spirit of it, the wonder of it. I've tried to write it, and I\ncouldn't. Her name was Jane. He has never spoken of her by any other name\nthan that, and I've never asked for the rest of it. They were kids when\ntheir two families started West over the big prairies in Conestoga wagons.\nThey grew up sweethearts. Both of her parents, and his mother, died before\nthey were married. Then, a little later, his father died, and they were\nalone. I can imagine what their love must have been. I have seen it still\nliving in his eyes, and I have seen it in his strange hour-long dreams\nafter he has talked of her. They were always together. He has told me how\nthey roamed the mountains hand in hand in their hunts; how she was comrade\nand chum when he went prospecting. He has opened his lonely old heart to\nme--a great deal. He's told me how they used to be alone for months at a\ntime in the mountains, the things they used to do, and how she would sing\nfor him beside their campfire at night. 'She had a voice sweet as an\nangel,' I remember he told me once. Then, more than forty years ago, came\nthe gold-rush away up in the Stikine River country. They went. They joined\na little party of twelve--ten men and two women. This party wandered far\nout of the beaten paths of the other gold-seekers. And at last they found\ngold.\"\n\nAhead of them Donald MacDonald had turned in his saddle and was looking\nback. For a moment Aldous ceased speaking.\n\n\"Please--go on!\" said Joanne.\n\n\"They found gold,\" repeated Aldous. \"They found so much of it, Ladygray,\nthat some of them went mad--mad as beasts. It was placer gold--loose gold,\nand MacDonald says that one day he and Jane filled their pockets with\nnuggets. Then something happened. A great storm came; a storm that filled\nthe mountains with snow through which no living creature as heavy as a man\nor a horse could make its way. It came a month earlier than they had\nexpected, and from the beginning they were doomed. Their supplies were\nalmost gone.\n\n\"I can't tell you the horrors of the weeks and months that followed, as old\nDonald has told them to me, Joanne. You must imagine. Only, when you are\ndeep in the mountains, and the snow comes, you are like a rat in a trap. So\nthey were caught--eleven men and three women. They who could make their\nbeds in sheets of yellow gold, but who had no food. The horses were lost in\nthe storm. Two of their frozen carcasses were found and used for food. Two\nof the men set out on snowshoes, leaving their gold behind, and probably\ndied.\n\n\"Then the first terrible thing happened. Two men quarrelled over a can of\nbeans, and one was killed. He was the husband of one of the women. The next\nterrible thing happened to her--and there was a fight. On one side there\nwere young Donald and the husband of the other woman; on the other\nside--the beasts. The husband was killed, and Donald and Jane sought refuge\nin the log cabin they had built. That night they fled, taking what little\nfood they possessed, and what blankets they could carry. They knew they\nwere facing death. But they went together, hand in hand.\n\n\"At last Donald found a great cave in the side of a mountain. I have a\npicture of that cave in my brain--a deep, warm cave, with a floor of soft\nwhite sand, a cave into which the two exhausted fugitives stumbled, still\nhand in hand, and which was home. But they found it a little too late.\nThree days later Jane died. And there is another picture in my brain--a\npicture of young Donald sitting there in the cave, clasping in his arms the\ncold form of the one creature in the world that he loved; moaning and\nsobbing over her, calling upon her to come back to life, to open her eyes,\nto speak to him--until at last his brain cracked and he went mad. That is\nwhat happened. He went mad.\"\n\nJoanne's breath was coming brokenly through her lips. Unconsciously she had\nclasped her fingers about the hand Aldous rested on her pommel.\n\n\"How long he remained in the cave with his dead, MacDonald has never been\nable to say,\" he resumed.\n\n\"He doesn't know whether he buried his wife or left her lying on the sand\nfloor of the cave. He doesn't know how he got out of the mountains. But he\ndid, and his mind came back. And since then, Joanne--for a matter of forty\nyears--his life has been spent in trying to find that cave. All those years\nhis search was unavailing. He could find no trace of the little hidden\nvalley in which the treasure-seekers found their bonanza of gold. No word\nof it ever came out of the mountains; no other prospector ever stumbled\nupon it. Year after year Donald went into the North; year after year he\ncame out as the winter set in, but he never gave up hope.\n\n\"Then he began spending winter as well as summer in that forgotten\nworld--forgotten because the early gold-rush was over, and the old\nTelegraph trail was travelled more by wolves than men. And always, Donald\nhas told me, his beloved Jane's spirit was with him in his wanderings over\nthe mountains, her hand leading him, her voice whispering to him in the\nloneliness of the long nights. Think of it, Joanne! Forty years of that!\nForty years of a strange, beautiful madness, forty years of undying love,\nof faith, of seeking and never finding! And this spring old Donald came\nalmost to the end of his quest. He knows, now; he knows where that little\ntreasure valley is hidden in the mountains, he knows where to find the\ncave!\"\n\n\"He found her--he found her?\" she cried. \"After all those years--he found\nher?\"\n\n\"Almost,\" said Aldous softly. \"But the great finale in the tragedy of\nDonald MacDonald's life is yet to come, Ladygray. It will come when once\nmore he stands in the soft white sand of that cavern floor, and sometimes\nI tremble when I think that when that moment comes I will be at his side.\nTo me it will be terrible. To him it will be--what? That hour has not quite\narrived. It happened this way: Old Donald was coming down from the North on\nthe early slush snows this spring when he came to a shack in which a man\nwas almost dead of the smallpox. It was DeBar, the half-breed.\n\n\"Fearlessly MacDonald nursed him. He says it was God who sent him to that\nshack. For DeBar, in his feverish ravings, revealed the fact that he had\nstumbled upon that little Valley of Gold for which MacDonald had searched\nthrough forty years. Old Donald knew it was the same valley, for the\nhalf-breed raved of dead men, of rotting buckskin sacks of yellow nuggets,\nof crumbling log shacks, and of other things the memories of which stabbed\nlike knives into Donald's heart. How he fought to save that man! And, at\nlast, he succeeded.\n\n\"They continued south, planning to outfit and go back for the gold. They\nwould have gone back at once, but they had no food and no horses. Foot by\nfoot, in the weeks that followed, DeBar described the way to the hidden\nvalley, until at last MacDonald knew that he could go to it as straight as\nan eagle to its nest. When they reached Tete Jaune he came to me. And I\npromised to go with him, Ladygray--back to the Valley of Gold. He calls it\nthat; but I--I think of it as The Valley of Silent Men. It is not the gold,\nbut the cavern with the soft white floor that is calling us.\"\n\nIn her saddle Joanne had straightened. Her head was thrown back, her lips\nwere parted, and her eyes shone as the eyes of a Joan of Arc must have\nshone when she stood that day before the Hosts.\n\n\"And this man, the half-breed, has sold himself--for a woman?\" she said,\nlooking straight ahead at the bent shoulders of old MacDonald.\n\n\"Yes, for a woman. Do you ask me why I go now? Why I shall fight, if\nfighting there must be?\"\n\nShe turned to him. Her face was a blaze of glory.\n\n\"No, no, no!\" she cried. \"Oh, John Aldous! if I were only a man, that I\nmight go with you and stand with you two in that Holy Sepulchre--the\nCavern----If I were a man, I'd go--and, yes, I would fight!\"\n\nAnd Donald MacDonald, looking back, saw the two clasping hands across the\ntrail. A moment later he turned his horse from the broad road into a narrow\ntrail that led over the range.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\n\nFrom the hour in which she had listened to the story of old MacDonald a\nchange seemed to have come over Joanne. It was as if she had risen out of\nherself, out of whatever fear or grief she might have possessed in her own\nheart. John Aldous knew that there was some deep significance in her visit\nto the grave under the Saw Tooth Mountain, and that from the beginning she\nhad been fighting under a tremendous mental and physical strain. He had\nexpected this day would be a terrible day for her; he had seen her efforts\nto strengthen herself for the approaching crisis that morning. He believed\nthat as they drew nearer to their journey's end her suspense and\nuneasiness, the fear which she was trying to keep from him, would, in spite\nof her, become more and more evident. For these reasons the change which he\nsaw in her was not only delightfully unexpected but deeply puzzling. She\nseemed to be under the influence of some new and absorbing excitement. Her\ncheeks were flushed. There was a different poise to her head; in her voice,\ntoo, there was a note which he had not noticed before.\n\nIt struck him, all at once, that this was a new Joanne--a Joanne who, at\nleast for a brief spell, had broken the bondage of oppression and fear that\nhad fettered her. In the narrow trail up the mountain he rode behind her,\nand in this he found a pleasure even greater than when he rode at her\nside. Only when her face was turned from him did he dare surrender himself\nat all to the emotions which had transformed his soul. From behind he could\nlook at her, and worship without fear of discovery. Every movement of her\nslender, graceful body gave him a new and exquisite thrill; every dancing\nlight and every darkening shadow in her shimmering hair added to the joy\nthat no fear or apprehension could overwhelm within him now. Only in those\nwonderful moments, when her presence was so near, and yet her eyes did not\nsee him, could he submerge himself completely in the thought of what she\nhad become to him and of what she meant to him.\n\nDuring the first hour of their climb over the break that led into the\nvalley beyond they had but little opportunity for conversation. The trail\nwas an abandoned Indian path, narrow, and in places extremely steep. Twice\nAldous helped Joanne from her horse that she might travel afoot over places\nwhich he considered dangerous. When he assisted her in the saddle again,\nafter a stiff ascent of a hundred yards, she was panting from her exertion,\nand he felt the sweet thrill of her breath in his face. For a space his\nhappiness obliterated all thoughts of other things. It was MacDonald who\nbrought them back.\n\nThey had reached the summit of the break, and through his long brass\ntelescope the old mountaineer was scanning the valley out of which they had\ncome. Under them lay Tete Jaune, gleaming in the morning sun, and it dawned\nsuddenly upon Aldous that this was the spot from which MacDonald had spied\nupon his enemies. He looked at Joanne. She was breathing quickly as she\nlooked upon the wonder of the scene below them. Suddenly she turned, and\nencountered his eyes.\n\n\"They might--follow?\" she asked.\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"No danger of that,\" he assured her.\n\nMacDonald had dismounted, and now he lay crouched behind a rock, with his\ntelescope resting over the top of it. He had leaned his long rifle against\nthe boulder; his huge forty-four, a relic of the old Indian days, hung at\nhis hip. Joanne saw these omens of preparedness, and her eyes shifted again\nto Aldous. His .303 swung from his saddle. At his waist was the heavy\nautomatic. She smiled. In her eyes was understanding, and something like a\nchallenge. She did not question him again, but under her gaze Aldous\nflushed.\n\nA moment later MacDonald closed his telescope and without a word mounted\nhis horse. Where the descent into the second valley began he paused again.\nTo the north through the haze of the morning sun gleamed the snow-capped\npeaks of the Saw Tooth Range. Apparently not more than an hour's ride\ndistant rose a huge red sandstone giant which seemed to shut in the end of\nthe valley MacDonald stretched forth a long arm in its direction.\n\n\"What we're seekin' is behind that mountain,\" he said. \"It's ten miles from\nhere.\" He turned to the girl. \"Are you gettin' lame, Mis' Joanne?\"\n\nAldous saw her lips tighten.\n\n\"No. Let us go on, please.\"\n\nShe was staring fixedly at the sombre red mass of the mountain. Her eyes\ndid not take in the magnificent sweep of the valley below. They saw\nnothing of the snow-capped peaks beyond. There was something wild and\nunnatural in their steady gaze. Aldous dropped behind her as they began the\ngradual descent from the crest of the break and his own heart began to beat\nmore apprehensively; the old question flashed back upon him, and he felt\nagain the oppression that once before had held him in its grip. His eyes\ndid not leave Joanne. And always she was staring at the mountain behind\nwhich lay the thing they were seeking! It was not Joanne herself that set\nhis blood throbbing. Her face had not paled. Its colour was like the hectic\nflush of a fever. Her eyes alone betrayed her; their strange intensity--the\nalmost painful steadiness with which they hung to the distant mountain, and\na dread of what was to come seized upon him. Again he found himself asking\nhimself questions which he could not answer. Why had Joanne not confided\nmore fully in him? What was the deeper significance of this visit to the\ngrave, and of her mission in the mountains?\n\nDown the narrow Indian trail they passed into the thick spruce timber. Half\nan hour later they came out into the grassy creek bottom of the valley.\nDuring that time Joanne did not look behind her, and John Aldous did not\nspeak. MacDonald turned north, and the sandstone mountain was straight\nahead of them. It was not like the other mountains. There was something\nsinister and sullen about it. It was ugly and broken. No vegetation grew\nupon it, and through the haze of sunlight its barren sides and battlemented\ncrags gleamed a dark and humid red after the morning mists, as if freshly\nstained with blood. Aldous guessed its effect upon Joanne, and he\ndetermined to put an end to it. Again he rode up close beside her.\n\n\"I want you to get better acquainted with old Donald,\" he said. \"We're sort\nof leaving him out in the cold, Ladygray. Do you mind if I tell him to come\nback and ride with you for a while?\"\n\n\"I've been wanting to talk with him,\" she replied. \"If you don't mind----\"\n\n\"I don't,\" he broke in quickly. \"You'll love old Donald, Ladygray. And, if\nyou can, I'd like to have you tell him all that you know about--Jane. Let\nhim know that I told you.\"\n\nShe nodded. Her lips trembled in a smile.\n\n\"I will,\" she said.\n\nA moment later Aldous was telling MacDonald that Joanne wanted him. The old\nmountaineer stared. He drew his pipe from his mouth, beat out its\nhalf-burned contents, and thrust it into its accustomed pocket.\n\n\"She wants to see me?\" he asked. \"God bless her soul--what for?\"\n\n\"Because she thinks you're lonesome up here alone, Mac. And look\nhere\"--Aldous leaned over to MacDonald--\"her nerves are ready to snap. I\nknow it. There's a mighty good reason why I can't relieve the strain she is\nunder. But you can. She's thinking every minute of that mountain up there\nand the grave behind it. You go back, and talk. Tell her about the first\ntime you ever came up through these valleys--you and Jane. Will you, Mac?\nWill you tell her that?\"\n\nMacDonald did not reply, but he dropped behind. Aldous took up the lead. A\nfew minutes later he looked back, and laughed softly under his breath.\nJoanne and the old hunter were riding side by side in the creek bottom, and\nJoanne was talking. He looked at his watch. He did not look at it again\nuntil the first gaunt, red shoulder of the sandstone mountain began to loom\nover them. An hour had passed since he left Joanne. Ahead of him, perhaps a\nmile distant, was the cragged spur beyond which--according to the sketch\nKeller had drawn for him at the engineers' camp--was the rough canyon\nleading back to the basin on the far side of the mountain. He had almost\nreached this when MacDonald rode up.\n\n\"You go back, Johnny,\" he said, a singular softness in his hollow voice.\n\"We're a'most there.\"\n\nHe cast his eyes over the western peaks, where dark clouds were shouldering\ntheir way up in the face of the sun, and added:\n\n\"There's rain in that. I'll trot on ahead with Pinto and have a tent ready\nwhen you come. I reckon it can't be more'n a mile up the canyon.\"\n\n\"And the grave, Mac?\"\n\n\"Is right close to where I'll pitch the tent,\" said MacDonald, swinging\nsuddenly behind the pack-horse Pinto, and urging him into a trot. \"Don't\nwaste any time, Johnny.\"\n\nAldous rode back to Joanne.\n\n\"It looks like rain,\" he explained. \"These Pacific showers come up quickly\nthis side of the Divide, and they drench you in a jiffy. Donald is going on\nahead to put up a tent.\"\n\nBy the time they reached the mouth of the canyon MacDonald was out of\nsight. A little creek that was a swollen torrent in spring time trickled\nout of the gorge. Its channel was choked with a chaotic confusion of\nsandstone rock and broken slate, and up through this Aldous carefully\npicked his way, followed closely by Joanne. The sky continued to darken\nabove them, until at last the sun died out, and a thick and almost palpable\ngloom began to envelop them. Low thunder rolled through the mountains in\nsullen, rumbling echoes. He looked back at Joanne, and was amazed to see\nher eyes shining, and a smile on her lips as she nodded at him.\n\n\"It makes me think of Henrik Hudson and his ten-pin players,\" she called\nsoftly. \"And ahead of us--is Rip Van Winkle!\"\n\nThe first big drops were beginning to fall when they came to an open place.\nThe gorge swung to the right; on their left the rocks gave place to a\nrolling meadow of buffalo grass, and Aldous knew they had reached the\nbasin. A hundred yards up the <DW72> was a fringe of timber, and as he\nlooked he saw smoke rising out of this. The sound of MacDonald's axe came\nto them. He turned to Joanne, and he saw that she understood. They were at\ntheir journey's end. Perhaps her fingers gripped her rein a little more\ntightly. Perhaps it was imagination that made him think there was a slight\ntremble in her voice when she said:\n\n\"This--is the place?\"\n\n\"Yes. It should be just above the timber. I believe I can see the upper\nbreak of the little box canyon Keller told me about.\"\n\nShe rode without speaking until they entered the timber. They were just in\ntime. As he lifted her down from her horse the clouds opened, and the rain\nfell in a deluge. Her hair was wet when he got her in the tent. MacDonald\nhad spread out a number of blankets, but he had disappeared. Joanne sank\ndown upon them with a little shiver. She looked up at Aldous. It was almost\ndark in the tent, and her eyes were glowing strangely. Over them the\nthunder crashed deafeningly. For a few minutes it was a continual roar,\nshaking the mountains with mighty reverberations that were like the\nexplosions of giant guns. Aldous stood holding the untied flap against the\nbeat of the rain. Twice he saw Joanne's lips form words. At last he heard\nher say:\n\n\"Where is Donald?\"\n\nHe tied the flap, and dropped down on the edge of the blankets before he\nanswered her.\n\n\"Probably out in the open watching the lightning, and letting the rain\ndrench him,\" he said. \"I've never known old Donald to come in out of a\nrain, unless it was cold. He was tying up the horses when I ran in here\nwith you.\"\n\nHe believed she was shivering, yet he knew she was not cold. In the half\ngloom of the tent he wanted to reach over and take her hand.\n\nFor a few minutes longer there was no break in the steady downpour and the\ncrashing of the thunder. Then, as suddenly as the storm had broken, it\nbegan to subside. Aldous rose and flung back the tent-flap.\n\n\"It is almost over,\" he said. \"You had better remain in the tent a little\nlonger, Ladygray. I will go out and see if MacDonald has succeeded in\ndrowning himself.\"\n\nJoanne did not answer, and Aldous stepped outside. He knew where to find\nthe old hunter. He had gone up to the end of the timber, and probably this\nminute was in the little box canyon searching for the grave. It was a\nmatter of less than a hundred yards to the upper fringe of timber, and when\nAldous came out of this he stood on the summit of the grassy divide that\nseparated the tiny lake Keller had described from the canyon. It was less\nthan a rifle shot distant, and on the farther side of it MacDonald was\nalready returning. Aldous hurried down to meet him. He did not speak when\nthey met, but his companion answered the question in his eyes, while the\nwater dripped in streams from his drenched hair and beard.\n\n\"It's there,\" he said, pointing back. \"Just behind that big black rock.\nThere's a slab over it, an' you've got the name right. It's Mortimer\nFitzHugh.\"\n\nAbove them the clouds were splitting asunder. A shaft of sunlight broke\nthrough, and as they stood looking over the little lake the shaft\nbroadened, and the sun swept in golden triumph over the mountains.\nMacDonald beat his limp hat against his knee, and with his other hand\ndrained the water from his beard.\n\n\"What you goin' to do?\" he asked.\n\nAldous turned toward the timber. Joanne herself answered the question. She\nwas coming up the <DW72>. In a few moments she stood beside them. First she\nlooked down upon the lake. Then her eyes turned to Aldous. There was no\nneed for speech. He held out his hand, and without hesitation she gave him\nher own. MacDonald understood. He walked down ahead of them toward the\nblack rock. When he came to the rock he paused. Aldous and Joanne passed\nhim. Then they, too, stopped, and Aldous freed the girl's hand.\n\nWith an unexpectedness that was startling they had come upon the grave. Yet\nnot a sound escaped Joanne's lips. Aldous could not see that she was\nbreathing. Less than ten paces from them was the mound, protected by its\ncairn of stones; and over the stones rose a weather-stained slab in the\nform of a cross. One glance at the grave and Aldous riveted his eyes upon\nJoanne. For a full minute she stood as motionless as though the last breath\nhad left her body. Then, slowly, she advanced. He could not see her face.\nHe followed, quietly, step by step as she moved. For another minute she\nleaned over the slab, making out the fine-seared letters of the name. Her\nbody was bent forward; her two hands were clenched tightly at her side.\nEven more slowly than she had advanced she turned toward Aldous and\nMacDonald. Her face was dead white. She lifted her hands to her breast, and\nclenched them there.\n\n\"It is his name,\" she said, and there was something repressed and terrible\nin her low voice. \"It is his name!\"\n\nShe was looking straight into the eyes of John Aldous, and he saw that she\nwas fighting to say something which she had not spoken. Suddenly she came\nto him, and her two hands caught his arm.\n\n\"It is terrible--what I am going to ask of you,\" she struggled. \"You will\nthink I am a ghoul. But I must have proof! I must--I must!\"\n\nShe was staring wildly at him, and all at once there leapt fiercely through\nhim a dawning of the truth. The name was there, seared by hot iron in that\nslab of wood. The name! But under the cairn of stones----\n\nBehind them MacDonald had heard. He towered beside them now. His great\nmountain-twisted hands drew Joanne a step back, and strange gentleness was\nin his voice as he said:\n\n\"You an' Johnny go back an' build a fire, Mis' Joanne. I'll find the\nproof!\"\n\n\"Come,\" said Aldous, and he held out his hand again.\n\nMacDonald hurried on ahead of them. When they reached the camp he was gone,\nso that Joanne did not see the pick and shovel which he carried back. She\nwent into the tent and Aldous began building a fire where MacDonald's had\nbeen drowned out. There was little reason for a fire; but he built it, and\nfor fifteen minutes added pitch-heavy fagots of storm-killed jack-pine and\nspruce to it, until the flames leapt a dozen feet into the air. Half a\ndozen times he was impelled to return to the grave and assist MacDonald in\nhis gruesome task. But he knew that MacDonald had meant that he should stay\nwith Joanne. If he returned, she might follow.\n\nHe was surprised at the quickness with which MacDonald performed his work.\nNot more than half an hour had passed when a low whistle drew his eyes to a\nclump of dwarf spruce back in the timber. The mountaineer was standing\nthere, holding something in his hand. With a backward glance to see that\nJoanne had not come from the tent, Aldous hastened to him. What he could\nsee of MacDonald's face was the lifeless colour of gray ash. His eyes\nstared as if he had suffered a strange and unexpected shock. He went to\nspeak, but no words came through his beard. In his hand he held his faded\nred neck-handkerchief. He gave it to Aldous.\n\n\"It wasn't deep,\" he said. \"It was shallow, turribly shallow, Johnny--just\nunder the stone!\"\n\nHis voice was husky and unnatural.\n\nThere was something heavy in the handkerchief, and a shudder passed through\nAldous as he placed it on the palm of his hand and unveiled its contents.\nHe could not repress an exclamation when he saw what MacDonald had brought.\nIn his hand, with a single thickness of the wet handkerchief between the\nobjects and his flesh, lay a watch and a ring. The watch was of gold. It\nwas tarnished, but he could see there were initials, which he could not\nmake out, engraved on the back of the case. The ring, too, was of gold. It\nwas one of the most gruesome ornaments Aldous had ever seen. It was in the\nform of a coiled and writhing serpent, wide enough to cover half of one's\nmiddle finger between the joints. Again the eyes of the two men met, and\nagain Aldous observed that strange, stunned look in the old hunter's face.\nHe turned and walked back toward the tent, MacDonald following him slowly,\nstill staring, his long gaunt arms and hands hanging limply at his side.\n\nJoanne heard them, and came out of the tent. A choking cry fell from her\nlips when she saw MacDonald. For a moment one of her hands clutched at the\nwet canvas of the tent, and then she swayed forward, knowing what John\nAldous had in his hand. He stood voiceless while she looked. In that tense\nhalf-minute when she stared at the objects he held it seemed to him that\nher heart-strings must snap under the strain. Then she drew back from\nthem, her eyes filled with horror, her hands raised as if to shut out the\nsight of them, and a panting, sobbing cry broke from between her pallid\nlips.\n\n\"Oh, my God!\" she breathed. \"Take them away--take them away!\"\n\nShe staggered back to the tent, and stood there with her hands covering her\nface. Aldous turned to the old hunter and gave him the things he held.\n\nA moment later he stood alone where the three had been, staring now as\nJoanne had stared, his heart beating wildly.\n\nFor Joanne, in entering the tent, had uncovered her face; it was not grief\nthat he saw there, but the soul of a woman new-born. And as his own soul\nresponded in a wild rejoicing, MacDonald, going over the summit and down\ninto the hollow, mumbled in his beard:\n\n\"God ha' mercy on me! I'm doin' it for her an' Johnny, an' because she's\nlike my Jane!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\n\nPlunged from one extreme of mental strain to another excitement that was as\nacute in its opposite effect, John Aldous stood and stared at the tent-flap\nthat had dropped behind Joanne. Only a flash he had caught of her face; but\nin that flash he had seen the living, quivering joyousness of freedom\nblazing where a moment before there had been only horror and fear. As if\nashamed of her own betrayal, Joanne had darted into the tent. She had\nanswered his question a thousand times more effectively than if she had\nremained to tell him with her lips that MacDonald's proofs were\nsufficient--that the grave in the little box canyon had not disappointed\nher. She had recognized the ring and the watch; from them she had shrank in\nhorror, as if fearing that the golden serpent might suddenly leap into life\nand strike.\n\nIn spite of the mightiest efforts she might have made for self-control\nAldous had seen in her tense and tortured face a look that was more than\neither dread or shock--it was abhorrence, hatred. And his last glimpse of\nher face had revealed those things gone, and in their place the strange joy\nshe had run into the tent to hide. That she should rejoice over the dead,\nor that the grim relics from the grave should bring that new dawn into her\nface and eyes, did not strike him as shocking. In Joanne his sun had\nalready begun to rise and set. He had come to understand that for her the\ngrave must hold its dead; that the fact of death, death under the slab that\nbore Mortimer FitzHugh's name, meant life for her, just as it meant life\nand all things for him. He had prayed for it, even while he dreaded that it\nmight not be. In him all things were now submerged in the wild thought that\nJoanne was free, and the grave had been the key to her freedom.\n\nA calmness began to possess him that was in singular contrast to the\nperturbed condition of his mind a few minutes before. From this hour Joanne\nwas his to fight for, to win if he could; and, knowing this, his soul rose\nin triumph above his first physical exultation, and he fought back the\nalmost irresistible impulse to follow her into the tent and tell her what\nthis day had meant for him. Following this came swiftly a realization of\nwhat it had meant for her--the suspense, the terrific strain, the final\nshock and gruesome horror of it. He was sure, without seeing, that she was\nhuddled down on the blankets in the tent. She had passed through an ordeal\nunder which a strong man might have broken, and the picture he had of her\nstruggle in there alone turned him from the tent filled with a\ndetermination to make her believe that the events of the morning, both with\nhim and MacDonald, were easily forgotten.\n\nHe began to whistle as he threw back the wet canvas from over the camp\noutfit that had been taken from Pinto's back. In one of the two cow-hide\npanniers he saw that thoughtful old Donald had packed materials for their\ndinner, as well as utensils necessary for its preparation. That dinner they\nwould have in the valley, well beyond the red mountain. He began to repack,\nwhistling cheerily. He was still whistling when MacDonald returned. He\nbroke off sharply when he saw the other's face.\n\n\"What's the matter, Mac?\" he asked. \"You sick?\"\n\n\"It weren't pleasant, Johnny.\"\n\nAldous nodded toward the tent.\n\n\"It was--beastly,\" he whispered. \"But we can't let her feel that way about\nit, Mac. Cheer up--and let's get out of this place. We'll have dinner\nsomewhere over in the valley.\"\n\nThey continued packing until only the tent remained to be placed on Pinto's\nback. Aldous resumed his loud whistling as he tightened up the\nsaddle-girths, and killed time in half a dozen other ways. A quarter of an\nhour passed. Still Joanne did not appear. Aldous scratched his head\ndubiously, and looked at the tent.\n\n\"I don't want to disturb her, Mac,\" he said in a low voice. \"Let's keep up\nthe bluff of being busy. We can put out the fire.\"\n\nTen minutes later, sweating and considerably smokegrimed, Aldous again\nlooked toward the tent.\n\n\"We might cut down a few trees,\" suggested MacDonald.\n\n\"Or play leap-frog,\" added Aldous.\n\n\"The trees'd sound more natcherel,\" said MacDonald. \"We could tell her----\"\n\nA stick snapped behind them. Both turned at the same instant. Joanne stood\nfacing them not ten feet away.\n\n\"Great Scott!\" gasped Aldous. \"Joanne, I thought you were in the tent!\"\n\nThe beautiful calmness in Joanne's face amazed him. He stared at her as he\nspoke, forgetting altogether the manner in which he had intended to greet\nher when she came from the tent.\n\n\"I went out the back way--lifted the canvas and crawled under just like a\nboy,\" she explained. \"And I've walked until my feet are wet.\"\n\n\"And the fire is out!\"\n\n\"I don't mind wet feet,\" she hurried to assure him.\n\nOld Donald was already at work pulling the tent-pegs. Joanne came close to\nAldous, and he saw again that deep and wonderful light in her eyes. This\ntime he knew that she meant he should see it, and words which he had\ndetermined not to speak fell softly from his lips.\n\n\"You are no longer afraid, Ladygray? That which you dreaded----\"\n\n\"Is dead,\" she said. \"And you, John Aldous? Without knowing, seeing me only\nas you have seen me, do you think that I am terrible?\"\n\n\"No, could not think that.\"\n\nHer hand touched his arm.\n\n\"Will you go out there with me, in the sunlight, where we can look down\nupon the little lake?\" she asked. \"Until to-day I had made up my mind that\nno one but myself would ever know the truth. But you have been good to me,\nand I must tell you--about myself--about him.\"\n\nHe found no answer. He left no word with MacDonald. Until they stood on the\ngrassy knoll, with the lakelet shimmering in the sunlight below them,\nJoanne herself did not speak again. Then, with a little gesture, she said:\n\n\"Perhaps you think what is down there is dreadful to me. It isn't. I shall\nalways remember that little lake, almost as Donald remembers the\ncavern--not because it watches over something I love, but because it guards\na thing that in life would have destroyed me! I know how you must feel,\nJohn Aldous--that deep down in your heart you must wonder at a woman who\ncan rejoice in the death of another human creature. Yet death, and death\nalone, has been the key from bondage of millions of souls that have lived\nbefore mine; and there are men--men, too--whose lives have been warped and\ndestroyed because death did not come to save them. One was my father. If\ndeath had come for him, if it had taken my mother, that down there would\nnever have happened--for me!\"\n\nShe spoke the terrible words so quietly, so calmly, that it was impossible\nfor him entirely to conceal their effect upon him. There was a bit of\npathos in her smile.\n\n\"My mother drove my father mad,\" she went on, with a simple directness that\nwas the most wonderful thing he had ever heard come from human lips. \"The\nworld did not know that he was mad. It called him eccentric. But he was\nmad--in just one way. I was nine years old when it happened, and I can\nremember our home most vividly. It was a beautiful home. And my father!\nNeed I tell you that I worshipped him--that to me he was king of all men?\nAnd as deeply as I loved him, so, in another way, he worshipped my mother.\nShe was beautiful. In a curious sort of way I used to wonder, as a child,\nhow it was possible for a woman to be so beautiful. It was a dark beauty--a\nrecurrence of French strain in her English blood.\n\n\"One day I overheard my father tell her that, if she died, he would kill\nhimself. He was not of the passionate, over-sentimental kind; he was a\nphilosopher, a scientist, calm and self-contained--and I remembered those\nwords later, when I had outgrown childhood, as one of a hundred proofs of\nhow devoutly he had loved her. It was more than love, I believe. It was\nadoration. I was nine, I say, when things happened. Another man, a divorce,\nand on the day of the divorce this woman, my mother, married her lover.\nSomewhere in my father's brain a single thread snapped, and from that day\nhe was mad--mad on but one subject; and so deep and intense was his madness\nthat it became a part of me as the years passed, and to-day I, too, am\npossessed of that madness. And it is the one greatest thing in the world\nthat I am proud of, John Aldous!\"\n\nNot once had her voice betrayed excitement or emotion. Not once had it\nrisen above its normal tone; and in her eyes, as they turned from the lake\nto him, there was the tranquillity of a child.\n\n\"And that madness,\" she resumed, \"was the madness of a man whose brain and\nsoul were overwrought in one colossal hatred--a hatred of divorce and the\nlaws that made it possible. It was born in him in a day, and it lived until\nhis death. It turned him from the paths of men, and we became wanderers\nupon the face of the earth. Two years after the ruin of our home my mother\nand the man she had married died in a ship that was lost at sea. This had\nno effect upon my father. Possibly you will not understand what grew up\nbetween us in the years and years that followed. To the end he was a\nscientist, a man seeking after the unknown, and my education came to be a\ncomposite of teachings gathered in all parts of the world. We were never\napart. We were more than father and daughter; we were friends,\ncomrades--he was my world, and I was his.\n\n\"I recall, as I became older, how his hatred of that thing that had broken\nour home developed more and more strongly in me. His mind was titanic. A\nthousand times I pleaded with him to employ it in the great fight I wanted\nhim to make--a fight against the crime divorce. I know, now, why he did\nnot. He was thinking of me. Only one thing he asked of me. It was more than\na request. It was a command. And this command, and my promise, was that so\nlong as I lived--no matter what might happen in my life--I would sacrifice\nmyself body and soul sooner than allow that black monster of divorce to\nfasten its clutches on me. It is futile for me to tell you these things,\nJohn Aldous. It is impossible--you cannot understand!\"\n\n\"I can,\" he replied, scarcely above a whisper. \"Joanne, I begin--to\nunderstand!\"\n\nAnd still without emotion, her voice as calm as the unruffled lake at their\nfeet, she continued:\n\n\"It grew in me. It is a part of me now. I hate divorce as I hate the worst\nsin that bars one from Heaven. It is the one thing I hate. And it is\nbecause of this hatred that I suffered myself to remain the wife of the man\nwhose name is over that grave down there--Mortimer FitzHugh. It came about\nstrangely--what I am going to tell you now. You will wonder. You will think\nI was insane. But remember, John Aldous--the world had come to hold but one\nfriend and comrade for me, and he was my father. It was after Mindano. He\ncaught the fever, and he was dying.\"\n\nFor the first time her breath choked her. It was only for an instant. She\nrecovered herself, and went on:\n\n\"Out of the world my father had left he had kept one friend--Richard\nFitzHugh; and this man, with his son, was with us during those terrible\ndays of fever. I met Mortimer as I had met a thousand other men. His\nfather, I thought, was the soul of honour, and I accepted the son as such.\nWe were much together during those two weeks of my despair, and he seemed\nto be attentive and kind. Then came the end. My father was dying. And I--I\nwas ready to die. In his last moments his one thought was of me. He knew I\nwas alone, and the fear of it terrified him. I believe he did not realize\nthen what he was asking of me. He pleaded with me to marry the son of his\nold friend before he died. And I--John Aldous, I could not fight his last\nwish as he lay dying before my eyes. We were married there at his bedside.\nHe joined our hands. And the words he whispered to me last of all were:\n'Remember--Joanne--thy promise and thine honour!'\"\n\nFor a moment Joanne stood facing the little lake, and when she spoke again\nthere was a note of thankfulness, of subdued joy and triumph, in her voice.\n\n\"Before that day had ended I had displeased Mortimer FitzHugh,\" she said,\nand Aldous saw the fingers of her hands close tightly. \"I told him that\nuntil a month had passed I would not live with him as a wife lives with her\nhusband. And he was displeased. And my father was not yet buried! I was\nshocked. My soul revolted.\n\n\"We went to London and I was made welcome in the older FitzHugh's wifeless\nhome, and the papers told of our wedding. And two days later there came\nfrom Devonshire a woman--a sweet-faced little woman with sick, haunted\neyes; in her arms she brought a baby; and that baby _was Mortimer\nFitzHugh's!_\n\n\"We confronted him--the mother, the baby, and I; and then I knew that he\nwas a fiend. And the father was a fiend. They offered to buy the woman off,\nto support her and the child. They told me that many English gentlemen had\nmade mistakes like this, and that it was nothing--that it was quite common.\nMortimer FitzHugh had never touched me with his lips, and now, when he came\nto touch me with his hands, I struck him. It was a serpent's house, and I\nleft it.\n\n\"My father had left me a comfortable fortune, and I went into a house of my\nown. Day after day they came to me, and I knew that they feared I was going\nto secure a divorce. During the six months that followed I learned other\nthings about the man who was legally my husband. He was everything that was\nvile. Brazenly he went into public places with women of dishonour, and I\nhid my face in shame.\n\n\"His father died, and for a time Mortimer FitzHugh became one of the\ntalked-about spendthrifts of London. Swiftly he gambled and dissipated\nhimself into comparative poverty. And now, learning that I would not get a\ndivorce, he began to regard me as a slave in chains. I remember, one time,\nthat he succeeded in laying his hands on me, and they were like the touch\nof things that were slimy and poisonous. He laughed at my revulsion. He\ndemanded money of me, and to keep him away from me I gave it to him. Again\nand again he came for money; I suffered as I cannot tell you, but never\nonce in my misery did I weaken in my promise to my father and to myself.\nBut--at last--I ran away.\n\n\"I went to Egypt, and then to India. A year later I learned that Mortimer\nFitzHugh had gone to America, and I returned to London. For two years I\nheard nothing of him; but day and night I lived in fear and dread. And then\ncame the news that he had died, as you read in the newspaper clipping. I\nwas free! For a year I believed that; and then, like a shock that had come\nto destroy me, I was told that he _was not dead_ but that he was alive, and\nin a place called Tete Jaune Cache, in British Columbia. I could not live\nin the terrible suspense that followed. I determined to find out for myself\nif he was alive or dead. And so I came, John Aldous. And he is dead. He is\ndown there--dead. And I am glad that he is dead!\"\n\n\"And if he was not dead,\" said Aldous quietly, \"I would kill him!\"\n\nHe could find nothing more to say than that. He dared trust himself no\nfurther, and in silence he held out his hands, and for a moment Joanne gave\nhim her own. Then she withdrew them, and with a little gesture, and the\nsmile which he loved to see trembling about her mouth, she said:\n\n\"Donald will think this is scandalous. We must go back and apologize!\"\n\nShe led him down the <DW72>, and her face was filled with the pink flush of\na wild rose when she ran up to Donald, and asked him to help her into her\nsaddle. John Aldous rode like one in a dream as they went back into the\nvalley, for with each minute that passed Joanne seemed more and more to\nhim like a beautiful bird that had escaped from its prison-cage, and in him\nmind and soul were absorbed in the wonder of it and in his own rejoicing.\nShe was free, and in her freedom she was happy!\n\nFree! It was that thought that pounded steadily in his brain. He forgot\nQuade, and Culver Rann, and the gold; he forgot his own danger, his own\nwork, almost his own existence. Of a sudden the world had become\ninfinitesimally small for him, and all he could see was the soft shimmer of\nJoanne's hair in the sun, the wonder of her face, the marvellous blue of\nher eyes--and all he could hear was the sweet thrill of her voice when she\nspoke to him or old Donald, and when, now and then, soft laughter trembled\non her lips in the sheer joy of the life that had dawned anew for her this\nday.\n\nThey stopped for dinner, and then went on over the range and down into the\nvalley where lay Tete Jaune. And all this time he fought to keep from\nflaming in his own face the desire that was like a hot fire within him--the\ndesire to go to Joanne and tell her that he loved her as he had never\ndreamed it possible for love to exist in the whole wide world. He knew that\nto surrender to that desire in this hour would be something like sacrilege.\nHe did not guess that Joanne saw his struggle, that even old MacDonald\nmumbled low words in his beard. When they came at last to Blackton's\nbungalow he thought that he had kept this thing from her, and he did not\nsee--and would not have understood if he had seen--the wonderful and\nmysterious glow in Joanne's eyes when she kissed Peggy Blackton.\n\nBlackton had come in from the work-end, dust-covered and jubilant.\n\n\"I'm glad you folks have returned,\" he cried, beaming with enthusiasm as he\ngripped Aldous by the hand. \"The last rock is packed, and to-night we're\ngoing to shake the earth. We're going to blow up Coyote Number\nTwenty-seven, and you won't forget the sight as long as you live!\"\n\nNot until Joanne had disappeared into the house with Peggy Blackton did\nAldous feel that he had descended firmly upon his feet once more into a\nmatter-of-fact world. MacDonald was waiting with the horses, and Blackton\nwas pointing over toward the steel workers, and was saying something about\nten thousand pounds of black powder and dynamite and a mountain that had\nstood a million years and was going to be blown up that night.\n\n\"It's the best bit of work I've ever done, Aldous--that and Coyote Number\nTwenty-eight. Peggy was going to touch the electric button to Twenty-seven\nto-night, but we've decided to let Miss Gray do that, and Peggy'll fire\nTwenty-eight to-morrow night. Twenty-eight is almost ready. If you say so,\nthe bunch of us will go over and see it in the morning. Mebby Miss Gray\nwould like to see for herself that a coyote isn't only an animal with a\nbushy tail, but a cavern dug into rock an' filled with enough explosives to\nplay high jinks with all the navies in the world if they happened to be on\nhand at the time. What do you say?\"\n\n\"Fine!\" said Aldous.\n\n\"And Peggy wants me to say that it's a matter of only common, every-day\ndecency on your part to make yourself our guest while here,\" added the\ncontractor, stuffing his pipe. \"We've got plenty of room, enough to eat,\nand a comfortable bed for you. You're going to be polite enough to accept,\naren't you?\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" exclaimed Aldous, his blood tingling at the thought of\nbeing near Joanne. \"I've got some business with MacDonald and as soon as\nthat's over I'll domicile myself here. It's bully of you, Blackton! You\nknow----\"\n\n\"Why, dammit, of course I know!\" chuckled Blackton, lighting his pipe.\n\"Can't I see, Aldous? D'ye think I'm blind? I was just as gone over Peggy\nbefore I married her. Fact is, I haven't got over it yet--and never will. I\ncome up from the work four times a day regular to see her, and if I don't\ncome I have to send up word I'm safe. Peggy saw it first. She said it was a\nshame to put you off in that cabin with Miss Gray away up here. I don't\nwant to stick my nose in your business, old man, but--by George!--I\ncongratulate you! I've only seen one lovelier woman in my life, and that's\nPeggy.\"\n\nHe thrust out a hand and pumped his friend's limp arm, and Aldous felt\nhimself growing suddenly warm under the other's chuckling gaze.\n\n\"For goodness sake don't say anything, or act anything, old man,\" he\npleaded. \"I'm--just--hoping.\"\n\nBlackton nodded with prodigious understanding in his eyes.\n\n\"Come along when you get through with MacDonald,\" he said. \"I'm going in\nand clean up for to-night's fireworks.\"\n\nA question was in Aldous' mind, but he did not put it in words. He wanted\nto know about Quade and Culver Rann.\n\n\"Blackton is such a ridiculously forgetful fellow at times that I don't\nwant to rouse his alarm,\" he said to MacDonald as they were riding toward\nthe corral a few minutes later. \"He might let something out to Joanne and\nhis wife, and I've got reasons--mighty good reasons, Mac--for keeping this\naffair as quiet as possible. We'll have to discover what Rann and Quade are\ndoing ourselves.\"\n\nMacDonald edged his horse in nearer to Aldous.\n\n\"See here, Johnny, boy--tell me what's in your mind?\"\n\nAldous looked into the grizzled face, and there was something in the glow\nof the old mountaineer's eyes that made him think of a father.\n\n\"You know, Mac.\"\n\nOld Donald nodded.\n\n\"Yes, I guess I do, Johnny,\" he said in a low voice. \"You think of Mis'\nJoanne as I used to--to--think of _her_. I guess I know. But--what you\ngoin' to do?\"\n\nAldous shook his head, and for the first time that afternoon a look of\nuneasiness and gloom overspread his face.\n\n\"I don't know, Mac. I'm not ashamed to tell you. I love her. If she were to\npass out of my life to-morrow I would ask for something that belonged to\nher, and the spirit of her would live in it for me until I died. That's how\nI care, Mac. But I've known her such a short time. I can't tell her yet. It\nwouldn't be the square thing. And yet she won't remain in Tete Jaune very\nlong. Her mission is accomplished. And if--if she goes I can't very well\nfollow her, can I, Mac?\"\n\nFor a space old Donald was silent. Then he said, \"You're thinkin' of me,\nJohnny, an' what we was planning on?\"\n\n\"Partly.\"\n\n\"Then don't any more. I'll stick to you, an' we'll stick to her. Only----\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"If you could get Peggy Blackton to help you----\"\n\n\"You mean----\" began Aldous eagerly.\n\n\"That if Peggy Blackton got her to stay for a week--mebby ten\ndays--visitin' her, you know, it wouldn't be so bad if you told her then,\nwould it, Johnny?\"\n\n\"By George, it wouldn't!\"\n\n\"And I think----\"\n\n\"Yes----\"\n\n\"Bein' an old man, an' seein' mebby what you don't see----\"\n\n\"Yes----\"\n\n\"That she'd take you, Johnny.\"\n\nIn his breast John's heart seemed suddenly to give a jump that choked him.\nAnd while he stared ahead old Donald went on.\n\n\"I've seen it afore, in a pair of eyes just like her eyes, Johnny--so soft\nan' deeplike, like the sky up there when the sun's in it. I seen it when we\nwas ridin' behind an' she looked ahead at you, Johnny. I did. An' I've seen\nit afore. An' I think----\"\n\nAldous waited, his heart-strings ready to snap.\n\n\"An' I think--she likes you a great deal, Johnny.\"\n\nAldous reached over and gripped MacDonald's hand.\n\n\"The good Lord bless you, Donald! We'll stick! As for Quade and Culver\nRann----\"\n\n\"I've been thinkin' of them,\" interrupted MacDonald. \"You haven't got time\nto waste on them, Johnny. Leave 'em to me. If it's only a week you've got\nto be close an' near by Mis' Joanne. I'll find out what Quade an' Rann are\ndoing, and what they're goin' to do. I've got a scheme. Will you leave 'em\nto me?\"\n\nAldous nodded, and in the same breath informed MacDonald of Peggy\nBlackton's invitation. The old hunter chuckled exultantly. He stopped his\nhorse, and Aldous halted.\n\n\"It's workin' out fine, Johnny!\" he exclaimed. \"There ain't no need of you\ngoin' any further. We understand each other, and there ain't nothin' for\nyou to do at the corral. Jump off your horse and go back. If I want you\nI'll come to the Blacktons' 'r send word, and if you want me I'll be at the\ncorral or the camp in the coulee. Jump off, Johnny!\"\n\nWithout further urging Aldous dismounted. They shook hands again, and\nMacDonald drove on ahead of him the saddled horses and the pack. And as\nAldous turned back toward the bungalow old Donald was mumbling low in his\nbeard again, \"God ha' mercy on me, but I'm doin' it for her an' Johnny--for\nher an' Johnny!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\n\nHalf an hour later Blackton had shown Aldous to his room and bath. It was\nfour o'clock when he rejoined the contractor in the lower room, freshly\nbathed and shaven and in a change of clothes. He had not seen Joanne, but\nhalf a dozen times he had heard her and Peggy Blackton laughing and talking\nin Mrs. Blackton's big room at the head of the stairs, and he heard them\nnow as they sat down to smoke their cigars. Blackton was filled with\nenthusiasm over the accomplishment of his latest work, and Aldous tried\nhard not to betray the fact that the minutes were passing with gruelling\nslowness while he waited for Joanne. He wanted to see her. His heart was\nbeating like an excited boy's. He could hear her footsteps over his head,\nand he distinguished her soft laughter, and her sweet voice when she spoke.\nThere was something tantalizing in her nearness and the fact that she did\nnot once show herself at the top of the stair. Blackton was still talking\nabout \"coyotes\" and dynamite when, an hour later, Aldous looked up, and his\nheart gave a big, glad jump.\n\nPeggy Blackton, a plump little golden-haired vision of happiness, was\nalready half a dozen steps down the stairs. At the top Joanne, for an\ninstant, had paused. Through that space, before the contractor had turned,\nher eyes met those of John Aldous. She was smiling. Her eyes were shining\nat him. Never had he seen her look at him in that way, he thought, and\nnever had she seemed such a perfect vision of loveliness. She was dressed\nin a soft, clinging something with a flutter of white lace at her throat,\nand as she came down he saw that she had arranged her hair in a marvellous\nway. Soft little curls half hid themselves in the shimmer of rich coils she\nhad wreathed upon her head, and adorable little tendrils caressed the\nlovely flush in her cheeks, and clung to the snow-whiteness of her neck.\n\nFor a moment, as Peggy Blackton went to her husband, he stood very close to\nJoanne, and into his eyes she was smiling, half laughing, her beautiful\nmouth aquiver, her eyes glowing, the last trace of their old suspense and\nfear vanished in a new and wondrous beauty. He would not have said she was\ntwenty-eight now. He would have sworn she was twenty.\n\n\"Joanne,\" he whispered, \"you are wonderful. Your hair is glorious!\"\n\n\"Always--my hair,\" she replied, so low that he alone heard. \"Can you never\nsee beyond my hair, John Aldous?\"\n\n\"I stop there,\" he said. \"And I marvel. It is glorious!\"\n\n\"Again!\" And up from her white throat there rose a richer, sweeter colour.\n\"If you say that again now, John Aldous, I shall never make curls for you\nagain as long as I live!\"\n\n\"For me----\"\n\nHis heart seemed near bursting with joy. But she had left him, and was\nlaughing with Peggy Blackton, who was showing her husband where he had\nmissed a stubbly patch of beard on his cheek. He caught her eyes, turned\nswiftly to him, and they were laughing at him, and there came a sudden\npretty upturn to her chin as he continued to stare, and he saw again the\ncolour deepening in her face. When Peggy Blackton led her husband to the\nstair, and drove him up to shave off the stubbly patch, Joanne found the\nopportunity to whisper to him:\n\n\"You are rude, John Aldous! You must not stare at me like that!\"\n\nAnd as she spoke the rebellious colour was still in her face, in spite of\nthe tantalizing curve of her red lips and the sparkle in her eyes.\n\n\"I can't help it,\" he pleaded. \"You are--glorious!\"\n\nDuring the next hour, and while they were at supper, he could see that she\nwas purposely avoiding his eyes, and that she spoke oftener to Paul\nBlackton than she did to him, apparently taking the keenest interest in his\nfriend's enthusiastic descriptions of the mighty work along the line of\nsteel. And as pretty Peggy Blackton never seemed quite so happy as when\nlistening to her husband, he was forced to content himself by looking at\nJoanne most of the time, without once receiving her smile.\n\nThe sun was just falling behind the western mountains when Peggy and\nJoanne, hurried most incontinently by Blackton, who had looked at his\nwatch, left the table to prepare themselves for the big event of the\nevening.\n\n\"I want to get you there before dusk,\" he explained. \"So please hurry!\"\n\nThey were back in five minutes. Joanne had slipped on a long gray coat, and\nwith a veil that trailed a yard down her back she had covered her head.\nNot a curl or a tress of her hair had she left out of its filmy prison, and\nthere was a mischievous gleam of triumph in her eyes when she looked at\nAldous.\n\nA moment later, when they went ahead of Blackton and his wife to where the\nbuckboard was waiting for them, he said:\n\n\"You put on that veil to punish me, Ladygray?\"\n\n\"It is a pretty veil,\" said she.\n\n\"But your hair is prettier,\" said he.\n\n\"And you embarrassed me very much by staring as you did, John Aldous!\"\n\n\"Forgive me. It is--I mean you are--so beautiful.\"\n\n\"And you are sometimes--most displeasing,\" said she. \"Your ingenuousness,\nJohn Aldous, is shocking!\"\n\n\"Forgive me,\" he said again.\n\n\"And you have known me but two days,\" she added.\n\n\"Two days--is a long time,\" he argued. \"One can be born, and live, and die\nin two days. Besides, our trails have crossed for years.\"\n\n\"But--it displeases me.\"\n\n\"What I have said?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And the way I have looked at you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHer voice was low and quiet now, her eyes were serious, and she was not\nsmiling.\n\n\"I know--I know,\" he groaned, and there was a deep thrill in his voice.\n\"It's been only two days after all, Ladygray. It seems like--like a\nlifetime. I don't want you to think badly of me. God knows I don't!\"\n\n\"No, no. I don't,\" she said quickly and gently. \"You are the finest\ngentleman I ever knew, John Aldous. Only--it embarrasses me.\"\n\n\"I will cut out my tongue and put out my eyes----\"\n\n\"Nothing so terrible,\" she laughed softly. \"Will you help me into the\nwagon? They are coming.\"\n\nShe gave him her hand, warm and soft; and Blackton forced him into the seat\nbetween her and Peggy, and Joanne's hand rested in his arm all the way to\nthe mountain that was to be blown up, and he told himself that he was a\nfool if he were not supremely happy. The wagon stopped, and he helped her\nout again, her warm little hand again close in his own, and when she looked\nat him he was the cool, smiling John Aldous of old, so cool, and strong,\nand unemotional that he saw surprise in her eyes first, and then that\ngentle, gathering glow that came when she was proud of him, and pleased\nwith him. And as Blackton pointed out the mountain she unknotted the veil\nunder her chin and let it drop back over her shoulders, so that the last\nlight of the day fell richly in the trembling curls and thick coils of her\nhair.\n\n\"And that is my reward,\" said John Aldous, but he whispered it to himself.\n\nThey had stopped close to a huge flat rock, and on this rock men were at\nwork fitting wires to a little boxlike thing that had a white button-lever.\nPaul Blackton pointed to this, and his face was flushed with excitement.\n\n\"That's the little thing that's going to blow it up, Miss Gray--the touch\nof your finger on that little white button. Do you see that black base of\nthe mountain yonder?--right there where you can see men moving about? It's\nhalf a mile from here, and the 'coyote' is there, dug into the wall of\nit.\"\n\nThe tremble of enthusiasm was in his voice as he went on, pointing with his\nlong arm: \"Think of it! We're spending a hundred thousand dollars going\nthrough that rock that people who travel on the Grand Trunk Pacific in the\nfuture will be saved seven minutes in their journey from coast to coast!\nWe're spending a hundred thousand there, and millions along the line, that\nwe may have the smoothest roadbed in the world when we're done, and the\nquickest route from sea to sea. It looks like waste, but it isn't. It's\nscience! It's the fight of competition! It's the determination behind the\nforces--the determination to make this road the greatest road in the world!\nListen!\"\n\nThe gloom was thickening swiftly. The black mountain was fading slowly\naway, and up out of that gloom came now ghostly and far-reaching voices of\nmen booming faintly through giant megaphones.\n\n\"_Clear away! Clear away! Clear away!_\" they said, and the valley and the\nmountain-sides caught up the echoes, until it seemed that a hundred voices\nwere crying out the warning. Then fell a strange and weird silence, and the\nechoes faded away like the voices of dying men, and all was still save the\nfar-away barking of a coyote that answered the mysterious challenges of the\nnight. Joanne was close to the rock. Quietly the men who had been working\non the battery drew back.\n\n\"It is ready!\" said one.\n\n\"Wait!\" said Blackton, as his wife went to speak, \"Listen!\"\n\nFor five minutes there was silence. Then out of the night a single\nmegaphone cried the word:\n\n\"_Fire!_\"\n\n\"All is clear,\" said the engineer, with a deep breath. \"All you have to do,\nMiss Gray, is to move that little lever from the side on which it now rests\nto the opposite side. Are you ready?\"\n\nIn the darkness Joanne's left hand had sought John's. It clung to his\ntightly. He could feel a little shiver run through her.\n\n\"Yes,\" she whispered.\n\n\"Then--if you please--press the button!\"\n\nSlowly Joanne's right hand crept out, while the fingers of her left clung\ntighter to Aldous. She touched the button--thrust it over. A little cry\nthat fell from between her tense lips told them she had done the work, and\na silence like that of death fell on those who waited.\n\nA half a minute--perhaps three quarters--and a shiver ran under their feet,\nbut there was no sound; and then a black pall, darker than the night,\nseemed to rise up out of the mountain, and with that, a second later, came\nthe explosion. There was a rumbling and a jarring, as if the earth were\nconvulsed under foot; volumes of dense black smoke shot upward, and in\nanother instant these rolling, twisting volumes of black became lurid, and\nan explosion like that of a thousand great guns rent the air. As fast as\nthe eye could follow sheets of flame shot up out of the sea of smoke,\nclimbing higher and higher, in lightning flashes, until the lurid tongues\nlicked the air a quarter of a mile above the startled wilderness. Explosion\nfollowed explosion, some of them coming in hollow, reverberating booms,\nothers sounding as if in midair. Unseen by the watchers, the heavens were\nfilled with hurtling rocks; solid masses of granite ten feet square were\nthrown a hundred feet away; rocks weighing a ton were hurled still farther,\nas if they were no more than stones flung by the hands of a giant; chunks\nthat would have crashed from the roof to the basement of a skyscraper\ndropped a third of a mile away. For three minutes the frightful convulsions\ncontinued, and the tongues of flame leaped into the night. Then the lurid\nlights died out, shorter and shorter grew the sullen flashes, and then\nagain fell--silence!\n\nDuring those appalling moments, unconscious of the act, Joanne had shrank\nclose to Aldous, so that he felt the soft crush of her hair and the swift\nmovement of her bosom. Blackton's voice brought them back to life.\n\nHe laughed, and it was the laugh of a man who had looked upon work well\ndone.\n\n\"It has done the trick,\" he said. \"To-morrow we will come and see. And I\nhave changed my plans about Coyote Number Twenty-eight. Hutchins, the\nsuperintendent, is passing through in the afternoon, and I want him to see\nit.\" He spoke now to a man who had come up out of the darkness. \"Gregg,\nhave Twenty-eight ready at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon--four\no'clock--sharp!\"\n\nThen he said:\n\n\"Dust and a bad smell will soon be settling about us. Come, let's go home!\"\n\nAnd as they went back to the buckboard wagon through the gloom John Aldous\nstill held Joanne's hand in his own, and she made no effort to take it from\nhim.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\n\nThe next morning, when Aldous joined the engineer in the dining-room below,\nhe was disappointed to find the breakfast table prepared for two instead of\nfour. It was evident that Peggy Blackton and Joanne were not going to\ninterrupt their beauty nap on their account.\n\nBlackton saw his friend's inquiring look, and chuckled.\n\n\"Guess we'll have to get along without 'em this morning, old man. Lord\nbless me, did you hear them last night--after you went to bed?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You were too far away,\" chuckled Blackton again, \"I was in the room across\nthe hall from them. You see, old man, Peggy sometimes gets fairly starved\nfor the right sort of company up here, and last night they didn't go to bed\nuntil after twelve o'clock. I looked at my watch. Mebby they were in bed,\nbut I could hear 'em buzzing like two bees, and every little while they'd\ngiggle, and then go on buzzing again. By George, there wasn't a break in\nit! When one let up the other'd begin, and sometimes I guess they were both\ngoing at once. Consequently, they're sleeping now.\"\n\nWhen breakfast was finished Blackton looked at his watch.\n\n\"Seven o'clock,\" he said. \"We'll leave word for the girls to be ready at\nnine. What are you going to do meantime, Aldous?\"\n\n\"Hunt up MacDonald, probably.\"\n\n\"And I'll run down and take a look at the work.\"\n\nAs they left the house the engineer nodded down the road. MacDonald was\ncoming.\n\n\"He has saved you the trouble,\" he said. \"Remember, Aldous--nine o'clock\nsharp!\"\n\nA moment later Aldous was advancing to meet the old mountaineer.\n\n\"They've gone, Johnny,\" was Donald's first greeting.\n\n\"Gone?\"\n\n\"Yes. The whole bunch--Quade, Culver Rann, DeBar, and the woman who rode\nthe bear. They've gone, hide and hair, and nobody seems to know where.\"\n\nAldous was staring.\n\n\"Also,\" resumed old Donald slowly, \"Culver Rann's outfit is gone--twenty\nhorses, including six saddles. An' likewise others have gone, but I can't\nfind out who.\"\n\n\"Gone!\" repeated Aldous again.\n\nMacDonald nodded.\n\n\"And that means----\"\n\n\"That Culver Rann ain't lost any time in gettin' under way for the gold,\"\nsaid Donald. \"DeBar is with him, an' probably the woman. Likewise three\ncut-throats to fill the other saddles. They've gone prepared to fight.\"\n\n\"And Quade?\"\n\nOld Donald hunched his shoulders, and suddenly John's face grew dark and\nhard.\n\n\"I understand,\" he spoke, half under his breath. \"Quade has\ndisappeared--but he isn't with Culver Rann. He wants us to believe he has\ngone. He wants to throw us off our guard. But he's watching, and\nwaiting--somewhere--like a hawk, to swoop down on Joanne! He----\"\n\n\"That's it!\" broke in MacDonald hoarsely. \"That's it, Johnny! It's his old\ntrick--his old trick with women. There's a hunderd men who've got to do his\nbidding--do it 'r get out of the mountains--an' we've got to watch Joanne.\nWe have, Johnny! If she should disappear----\"\n\nAldous waited.\n\n\"You'd never find her again, so 'elp me God, you wouldn't, Johnny!\" he\nfinished.\n\n\"We'll watch her,\" said Aldous quietly. \"I'll be with her to-day, Mac, and\nto-night I'll come down to the camp in the coulee to compare notes with\nyou. They can't very well steal her out of Blackton's house while I'm\ngone.\"\n\nFor an hour after MacDonald left him he walked about in the neighbourhood\nof the Blackton bungalow smoking his pipe. Not until he saw the contractor\ndrive up in the buckboard did he return. Joanne and Peggy were more than\nprompt. They were waiting. If such a thing were possible Joanne was more\nradiantly lovely than the night before. To Aldous she became more beautiful\nevery time he looked at her. But this morning he did not speak what was in\nhis heart when, for a moment, he held her hand, and looked into her eyes.\nInstead, he said:\n\n\"Good morning, Ladygray. Have you used----\"\n\n\"I have,\" she smiled. \"Only it's Potterdam's Tar Soap, and not the other.\nAnd you--have not shaved, John Aldous!\"\n\n\"Great Scott, so I haven't!\" he exclaimed, rubbing his chin. \"But I did\nyesterday afternoon, Ladygray!\"\n\n\"And you will again this afternoon, if you please,\" she commanded. \"I don't\nlike bristles.\"\n\n\"But in the wilderness----\"\n\n\"One can shave as well as another can make curls,\" she reminded him, and\nthere came an adorable little dimple at the corner of her mouth as she\nlooked toward Paul Blackton.\n\nAldous was glad that Paul and Peggy Blackton did most of the talking that\nmorning. They spent half an hour where the explosion of the night before\nhad blown out the side of the mountain, and then drove on to Coyote Number\nTwenty-eight. It was in the face of a sandstone cliff, and all they could\nsee of it when they got out of the wagon was a dark hole in the wall of\nrock. Not a soul was about, and Blackton rubbed his hands with\nsatisfaction.\n\n\"Everything is completed,\" he said. \"Gregg put in the last packing this\nmorning, and all we are waiting for now is four o'clock this afternoon.\"\n\nThe hole in the mountain was perhaps four feet square. Ten feet in front of\nit the engineer paused, and pointed to the ground. Up out of the earth came\ntwo wires, which led away from the mouth of the cavern.\n\n\"Those wires go down to the explosives,\" he explained. \"They're battery\nwires half a mile long. But we don't attach the battery until the final\nmoment, as you saw last night. There might be an accident.\"\n\nHe bent his tall body and entered the mouth of the cavern, leading his wife\nby the hand. Observing that Joanne had seen this attention on the\ncontractor's part, Aldous held out his own hand, and Joanne accepted it.\nFor perhaps twenty feet they followed the Blacktons with lowered heads.\nThey seemed to have entered a black, cold pit, sloping slightly downward,\nand only faintly could they see Blackton when he straightened.\n\nHis voice came strange and sepulchral:\n\n\"You can stand up now. We're in the chamber. Don't move or you might\nstumble over something. There ought to be a lantern here.\"\n\nHe struck a match, and as he moved slowly toward a wall of blackness,\nsearching for the lantern, he called back encouragingly through the gloom:\n\n\"You folks are now standing right over ten tons of dynamite, and there's\nanother five tons of black powder----\"\n\nA little shriek from Peggy Blackton stopped him, and his match went out.\n\n\"What in heaven's name is the matter?\" he asked anxiously. \"Peggy----\"\n\n\"Why in heaven's name do you light a match then, with us standing over all\nthose tons of dynamite?\" demanded Peggy. \"Paul Blackton, you're----\"\n\nThe engineer's laughter was like a giant's roar in the cavern, and Joanne\ngave a gasp, while Peggy shiveringly caught Aldous by the arm.\n\n\"There--I've got the lantern!\" exclaimed Blackton. \"There isn't any danger,\nnot a bit. Wait a minute and I'll tell you all about it.\" He lighted the\nlantern, and in the glow of it Joanne's and Peggy's faces were white and\nstartled. \"Why, bless my soul, I didn't mean to frighten you!\" he cried. \"I\nwas just telling you facts. See, we're standing on a solid floor--four feet\nof packed rock and cement. The dynamite and black powder are under that.\nWe're in a chamber--a cave--an artificial cavern. It's forty feet deep,\ntwenty wide, and about seven high.\"\n\nHe held the lantern even with his shoulders and walked deeper into the\ncavern as he spoke. The others followed. They passed a keg on which was a\nhalf-burned candle. Close to the keg was an empty box. Beyond these things\nthe cavern was empty.\n\n\"I thought it was full of powder and dynamite,\" apologized Peggy.\n\n\"You see, it's like this,\" Blackton began. \"We put the powder and dynamite\ndown there, and pack it over solid with rock and cement. If we didn't leave\nthis big air-chamber above it there would be only one explosion, and\nprobably two thirds of the explosive would not fire, and would be lost.\nThis chamber corrects that. You heard a dozen explosions last night, and\nyou'll hear a dozen this afternoon, and the biggest explosion of all is\nusually the fourth or fifth. A 'coyote' isn't like an ordinary blast or\nshot. It's a mighty expensive thing, and you see it means a lot of work.\nNow, if some one were to touch off those explosives at this minute----\nWhat's the matter, Peggy? Are you cold? You're shivering!\"\n\n\"Ye-e-e-e-s!\" chattered Peggy.\n\nAldous felt Joanne tugging at his hand.\n\n\"Let's take Mrs. Blackton out,\" she whispered. \"I'm--I'm--afraid she'll\ntake cold!\"\n\nIn spite of himself Aldous could not restrain his laughter until they had\ngot through the tunnel. Out in the sunlight he looked at Joanne, still\nholding her hand. She withdrew it, looking at him accusingly.\n\n\"Lord bless me!\" exclaimed Blackton, who seemed to understand at last.\n\"There's no danger--not a bit!\"\n\n\"But I'd rather look at it from outside, Paul, dear,\" said Mrs. Blackton.\n\n\"But--Peggy--if it went off now you'd be in just as bad shape out here!\"\n\n\"I don't think we'd be quite so messy, really I don't, dear,\" she\npersisted.\n\n\"Lord bless me!\" he gasped.\n\n\"And they'd probably be able to find something of us,\" she added.\n\n\"Not a button, Peggy!\"\n\n\"Then I'm going to move, if you please!\" And suiting her action to the word\nPeggy led the way to the buckboard. There she paused and took one of her\nhusband's big hands fondly in both her own. \"It's perfectly wonderful,\nPaul--and I'm proud of you!\" she said. \"But, honestly, dear, I can enjoy it\nso much better at four o'clock this afternoon.\"\n\nSmiling, Blackton lifted her into the buckboard.\n\n\"That's why I wish Paul had been a preacher or something like that,\" she\nconfided to Joanne as they drove homeward. \"I'm growing old just thinking\nof him working over that horrid dynamite and powder all the time. Every\nlittle while some one is blown into nothing.\"\n\n\"I believe,\" said Joanne, \"that I'd like to do something like that if I\nwere a man. I'd want to be a man, not that preachers aren't men, Peggy,\ndear--but I'd want to do things, like blowing up mountains for instance, or\nfinding buried cities, or\"--she whispered, very, very softly under her\nbreath--\"writing books, John Aldous!\"\n\nOnly Aldous heard those last words, and Joanne gave a sharp little cry; and\nwhen Peggy asked her what the matter was Joanne did not tell her that John\nAldous had almost broken her hand on the opposite side--for Joanne was\nriding between the two.\n\n\"It's lame for life,\" she said to him half an hour later, when he was\nbidding her good-bye, preparatory to accompanying Blackton down to the\nworking steel. \"And I deserve it for trying to be kind to you. I think some\nwriters of books are--are perfectly intolerable!\"\n\n\"Won't you take a little walk with me right after dinner?\" he was asking\nfor the twentieth time.\n\n\"I doubt it very, very much.\"\n\n\"Please, Ladygray!\"\n\n\"I may possibly think about it.\"\n\nWith that she left him, and she did not look back as she and Peggy Blackton\nwent into the house. But as they drove away they saw two faces at the\nwindow that overlooked the townward road, and two hands were waving\ngood-bye. Both could not be Peggy Blackton's hands.\n\n\"Joanne and I are going for a walk this afternoon, Blackton,\" said Aldous,\n\"and I just want to tell you not to worry if we're not back by four\no'clock. Don't wait for us. We may be watching the blow-up from the top of\nsome mountain.\"\n\nBlackton chuckled.\n\n\"Don't blame you,\" he said. \"From an observer's point of view, John, it\nlooks to me as though you were going to have something more than hope to\nlive on pretty soon!\"\n\n\"I--I hope so.\"\n\n\"And when I was going with Peggy I wouldn't have traded a quiet little walk\nwith her--like this you're suggesting--for a front seat look at a blow-up\nof the whole Rocky Mountain system!\"\n\n\"And you won't forget to tell Mrs. Blackton that we may not return by four\no'clock?\"\n\n\"I will not. And\"--Blackton puffed hard at his pipe--\"and, John--the Tete\nJaune preacher is our nearest neighbour,\" he finished.\n\nFrom then until dinner time John Aldous lived in an atmosphere that was not\nquite real, but a little like a dream. His hopes and his happiness were at\ntheir highest. He knew that Joanne would go walking with him that\nafternoon, and in spite of his most serious efforts to argue to the\ncontrary he could not keep down the feeling that the event would mean a\ngreat deal for him. Almost feverishly he interested himself in Paul\nBlackton's work. When they returned to the bungalow, a little before noon,\nhe went to his room, shaved himself, and in other ways prepared for dinner.\n\nJoanne and the Blacktons were waiting when he came down.\n\nHis first look at Joanne assured him. She was dressed in a soft gray\nwalking-suit. Never had the preparation of a dinner seemed so slow to him,\nand a dozen times he found himself inwardly swearing at Tom, the Chinese\ncook. It was one o'clock before they sat down at the table and it was two\no'clock when they arose. It was a quarter after two when Joanne and he left\nthe bungalow.\n\n\"Shall we wander up on the mountain?\" he asked. \"It would be fine to look\ndown upon the explosion.\"\n\n\"I have noticed that in some things you are very observant,\" said Joanne,\nignoring his question. \"In the matter of curls, for instance, you are\nunapproachable; in others you are--quite blind, John Aldous!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" he asked, bewildered.\n\n\"I lost my scarf this morning, and you did not notice it. It is quite an\nunusual scarf. I bought it in Cairo, and I don't want to have it blown up.\"\n\n\"You mean----\"\n\n\"Yes. I must have dropped it in the cavern. I had it when we entered.\"\n\n\"Then we'll return for it,\" he volunteered. \"We'll still have plenty of\ntime to climb up the mountain before the explosion.\"\n\nTwenty minutes later they came to the dark mouth of the tunnel. There was\nno one in sight, and for a moment Aldous searched for matches in his\npocket.\n\n\"Wait here,\" he said. \"I won't be gone two minutes.\"\n\nHe entered, and when he came to the chamber he struck a match. The lantern\nwas on the empty box. He lighted it, and began looking for the scarf.\nSuddenly he heard a sound. He turned, and saw Joanne standing in the glow\nof the lantern.\n\n\"Can you find it?\" she asked.\n\n\"I haven't--yet.\"\n\nThey bent over the rock floor, and in a moment Joanne gave a little\nexclamation of pleasure as she caught up the scarf. In that same moment, as\nthey straightened and faced each other, John Aldous felt his heart cease\nbeating, and Joanne's face had gone as white as death. The rock-walled\nchamber was atremble; they heard a sullen, distant roaring, and as Aldous\ncaught Joanne's hand and sprang toward the tunnel the roar grew into a\ndeafening crash, and a gale of wind rushed into their faces, blowing out\nthe lantern, and leaving them in darkness. The mountain seemed crumbling\nabout them, and above the sound of it rang out a wild, despairing cry from\nJoanne's lips. For there was no longer the brightness of sunshine at the\nend of the tunnel, but darkness--utter darkness; and through that tunnel\nthere came a deluge of dust and rock that flung them back into the\nblackness of the pit, and separated them.\n\n\"John--John Aldous!\"\n\n\"I am here, Joanne! I will light the lantern!\"\n\nHis groping hands found the lantern. He relighted it, and Joanne crept to\nhis side, her face as white as the face of the dead. He held the lantern\nabove him, and together they stared at where the tunnel had been. A mass of\nrock met their eyes. The tunnel was choked. And then, slowly, each turned\nto the other; and each knew that the other understood--for it was Death\nthat whispered about them now in the restless air of the rock-walled tomb,\na terrible death, and their lips spoke no words as their eyes met in that\nfearful and silent understanding.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\n\nJoanne's white lips spoke first.\n\n\"The tunnel is closed!\" she whispered.\n\nHer voice was strange. It was not Joanne's voice. It was unreal, terrible,\nand her eyes were terrible as they looked steadily into his. Aldous could\nnot answer; something had thickened in his throat, and his blood ran cold\nas he stared into Joanne's dead-white face and saw the understanding in her\neyes. For a space he could not move, and then, as suddenly as it had fallen\nupon him, the effect of the shock passed away.\n\n[Illustration: \"The tunnel is closed,\" she whispered.... \"That means we\nhave just forty-five minutes to live.... Let us not lie to one another.\"]\n\nHe smiled, and put out a hand to her.\n\n\"A slide of rock has fallen over the mouth of the tunnel,\" he said, forcing\nhimself to speak as if it meant little or nothing. \"Hold the lantern,\nJoanne, while I get busy.\"\n\n\"A slide of rock,\" she repeated after him dumbly.\n\nShe took the lantern, her eyes still looking at him in that stricken way,\nand with his naked hands John Aldous set to work. Five minutes and he knew\nthat it was madness to continue. Hands alone could not clear the tunnel.\nAnd yet he worked, tearing into the rock and shale like an animal; rolling\nback small boulders, straining at larger ones until the tendons of his arms\nseemed ready to snap and his veins to burst. For a few minutes after that\nhe went mad. His muscles cracked, he panted as he fought with the rock\nuntil his hands were torn and bleeding, and over and over again there ran\nthrough his head Blackton's last words--_Four o'clock this afternoon!--Four\no'clock this afternoon!_\n\nThen he came to what he knew he would reach very soon, a solid wall! Rock\nand shale and earth were packed as if by battering rams. For a few moments\nhe fought to control himself before facing Joanne. Over him swept the grim\nrealization that his last fight must be for her. He steadied himself, and\nwiped the dust and grime from his face with his handkerchief. For the last\ntime he swallowed hard. His soul rose within him almost joyously now in the\nface of this last great fight, and he turned--John Aldous, the super-man.\nThere was no trace of fear in his face as he went to her. He was even\nsmiling in that ghostly glow of the lantern.\n\n\"It is hard work, Joanne.\"\n\nShe did not seem to hear what he had said. She was looking at his hands.\nShe held the lantern nearer.\n\n\"Your hands are bleeding, John!\"\n\nIt was the first time she had spoken his name like that, and he was\nthrilled by the calmness of her voice, the untrembling gentleness of her\nhand as it touched his hand. From his bruised and bleeding flesh she raised\nher eyes to him, and they were no longer the dumb, horrified eyes he had\ngazed into fifteen minutes before. In the wonder of it he stood silent, and\nthe moment was weighted with an appalling silence.\n\nIt came to them both in that instant--the _tick-tick-tick_ of the watch in\nhis pocket!\n\nWithout taking her eyes from his face she asked:\n\n\"What time is it. John?\"\n\n\"Joanne----\"\n\n\"I am not afraid,\" she whispered. \"I was afraid this afternoon, but I am\nnot afraid now. What time is it, John?\"\n\n\"My God--they'll dig us out!\" he cried wildly. \"Joanne, you don't think\nthey won't dig us out, do you? Why, that's impossible! The slide has\ncovered the wires. They've got to dig us out! There is no danger--none at\nall. Only it's chilly, and uncomfortable, and I'm afraid you'll take cold!\"\n\n\"What time is it?\" she repeated softly.\n\nFor a moment he looked steadily at her, and his heart leaped when he saw\nthat she must believe him, for though her face was as white as an ivory\ncross she was smiling at him--yes! she was smiling at him in that gray and\nghastly death-gloom of the cavern!\n\nHe brought out his watch, and in the lantern-glow they looked at it.\n\n\"A quarter after three,\" he said. \"By four o'clock they will be at\nwork--Blackton and twenty men. They will have us out in time for supper.\"\n\n\"A quarter after three,\" repeated Joanne, and the words came steadily from\nher lips. \"That means----\"\n\nHe waited.\n\n\"_We have forty-five minutes in which to live!_\" she said.\n\nBefore he could speak she had thrust the lantern into his hand, and had\nseized his other hand in both her own.\n\n\"If there are only forty-five minutes let us not lie to one another,\" she\nsaid, and her voice was very close. \"I know why you are doing it, John\nAldous. It is for me. You have done a great deal for me in these two days\nin which one 'can be born, and live, and die.' But in these last minutes\nI do not want you to act what I know cannot be the truth. You know--and I\nknow. The wires are laid to the battery rock. There is no hope. At four\no'clock--we both know what will happen. And I--am not afraid.\"\n\nShe heard him choking for speech. In a moment he said:\n\n\"There are other lanterns--Joanne. I saw them when I was looking for the\nscarf. I will light them.\"\n\nHe found two lanterns hanging against the rock wall. He lighted them, and\nthe half-burned candle.\n\n\"It is pleasanter,\" she said.\n\nShe stood in the glow of them when he turned to her, tall, and straight,\nand as beautiful as an angel. Her lips were pale; the last drop of blood\nhad ebbed from her face; but there was something glorious in the poise of\nher head, and in the wistful gentleness of her mouth and the light in her\neyes. And then, slowly, as he stood looking with a face torn in its agony\nfor her, she held out her arms.\n\n\"John--John Aldous----\"\n\n\"Joanne! Oh, my God!--Joanne!\"\n\nShe swayed as he sprang to her, but she was smiling--smiling in that new\nand wonderful way as her arms reached out to him, and the words he heard\nher say came low and sobbing:\n\n\"John--John, if you want to, now--you can tell me that my hair is\nbeautiful!\"\n\nAnd then she was in his arms, her warm, sweet body crushed close to him,\nher face lifted to him, her soft hands stroking his face, and over and over\nagain she was speaking his name while from out of his soul there rushed\nforth the mighty flood of his great love; and he held her there, forgetful\nof time now, forgetful of death itself; and he kissed her tender lips, her\nhair, her eyes--conscious only that in the hour of death he had found life,\nthat her hands were stroking his face, and caressing his hair, and that\nover and over again she was whispering sobbingly his name, and that she\nloved him. The pressure of her hands against his breast at last made him\nfree her. And now, truly, she was glorious. For the triumph of love had\noverridden the despair of death, and her face was flooded with its colour\nand in her eyes was its glory.\n\nAnd then, as they stood there, a step between them, there came--almost like\nthe benediction of a cathedral bell--the soft, low tinkling chime of the\nhalf-hour bell in Aldous' watch!\n\nIt struck him like a blow. Every muscle in him became like rigid iron, and\nhis torn hands clenched tightly at his sides.\n\n\"Joanne--Joanne, it is impossible!\" he cried huskily, and he had her close\nin his arms again, even as her face was whitening in the lantern-glow. \"I\nhave lived for you, I have waited for you--all these years you have been\ncoming, coming, coming to me--and now that you are mine--_mine_--it is\nimpossible! It cannot happen----\"\n\nHe freed her again, and caught up a lantern. Foot by foot he examined the\npacked tunnel. It was solid--not a crevice or a break through which might\nhave travelled the sound of his voice or the explosion of a gun. He did not\nshout. He knew that it would be hopeless, and that his voice would be\nterrifying in that sepulchral tomb. Was it possible that there might be\nsome other opening--a possible exit--in that mountain wall? With the\nlantern in his hand he searched. There was no break. He came back to\nJoanne. She was standing where he had left her. And suddenly, as he looked\nat her, all fear went out of him, and he put down the lantern and went to\nher.\n\n\"Joanne,\" he whispered, holding her two hands against his breast, \"you are\nnot afraid?\"\n\n\"No, I am not afraid.\"\n\n\"And you know----\"\n\n\"Yes, I know,\" and she leaned forward so that her head lay partly against\ntheir clasped hands and partly upon his breast.\n\n\"And you love me, Joanne?\"\n\n\"As I never dreamed that I should love a man, John Aldous,\" she whispered.\n\n\"And yet it has been but two days----\"\n\n\"And I have lived an eternity,\" he heard her lips speak softly.\n\n\"You would be my wife?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"To-morrow?\"\n\n\"If you wanted me then, John.\"\n\n\"I thank God,\" he breathed in her hair. \"And you would come to me without\nreservation, Joanne, trusting me, believing in me--you would come to me\nbody, and heart, and soul?\"\n\n\"In all those ways--yes.\"\n\n\"I thank God,\" he breathed again.\n\nHe raised her face. He looked deep into her eyes, and the glory of her love\ngrew in them, and her lips trembled as she lifted them ever so little for\nhim to kiss.\n\n\"Oh, I was happy--so happy,\" she whispered, putting her hands to his face.\n\"John, I knew that you loved me, and oh! I was fighting so hard to keep\nmyself from letting you know how happy it made me. And here, I was afraid\nyou wouldn't tell me--before it happened. And John--John----\"\n\nShe leaned back from him, and her white hands moved like swift shadows in\nher hair, and then, suddenly, it billowed about her--her glorious\nhair--covering her from crown to hip; and with her hands she swept and\npiled the lustrous masses of it over him until his face, and head, and\nshoulders were buried in the flaming sheen and sweet perfume of it.\n\nHe strained her closer. Through the warm richness of her tresses his lips\npressed her lips, and they ceased to breathe. And up to their ears,\npounding through that enveloping shroud of her hair came the\n_tick-tick-tick_ of the watch in his pocket.\n\n\"Joanne,\" he whispered.\n\n\"Yes, John.\"\n\n\"You are not afraid of--death?\"\n\n\"No, not when you are holding me like this, John.\"\n\nHe still clasped her hands, and a sweet smile crept over her lips.\n\n\"Even now you are splendid,\" she said. \"Oh, I would have you that way, my\nJohn!\"\n\nAgain they stood up in the unsteady glow of the lanterns.\n\n\"What time is it?\" she asked.\n\nHe drew out his watch, and as they both looked his blood ran cold.\n\n\"Twelve minutes,\" she murmured, and there was not a quiver in her voice.\n\"Let us sit down, John--you on this box, and I on the floor, at your\nfeet--like this.\"\n\nHe seated himself on the box, and Joanne nestled herself at his knees, her\nhands clasped in his.\n\n\"I think, John,\" she said softly, \"that very, very often we would have\nvisited like this--you and I--in the evening.\"\n\nA lump choked him, and he could not answer.\n\n\"I would very often have come and perched myself at your feet like this.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, my beloved.\"\n\n\"And you would always have told me how beautiful my hair was--always. You\nwould not have forgotten that, John--or have grown tired?\"\n\n\"No, no--never!\"\n\nHis arms were about her. He was drawing her closer.\n\n\"And we would have had beautiful times together, John--writing, and going\nadventuring, and--and----\"\n\nHe felt her trembling, throbbing, and her arms tightened about him.\n\nAnd now, again up through the smother of her hair, came the\n_tick-tick-tick_ of his watch.\n\nHe felt her fumbling at his watch pocket, and in a moment she was holding\nthe timepiece between them, so that the light of the lantern fell on the\nface of it.\n\n\"It is three minutes of four, John.\"\n\nThe watch slipped from her fingers, and now she drew herself up so that her\narms were about his neck, and their faces touched.\n\n\"Dear John, you love me?\"\n\n\"So much that even now, in the face of death, I am happy,\" he whispered.\n\"Joanne, sweetheart, we are not going to be separated. We are\ngoing--together. Through all eternity it must be like this--you and I,\ntogether. Little girl, wind your hair about me--tight!\"\n\n\"There--and there--and there, John! I have tied you to me, and you are\nburied in it! Kiss me, John----\"\n\nAnd then the wild and terrible fear of a great loneliness swept through\nhim. For Joanne's voice had died away in a whispering breath, and the lips\nhe kissed did not kiss him back, and her body lay heavy, heavy, heavy in\nhis arms. Yet in his loneliness he thanked God for bringing her oblivion in\nthese last moments, and with his face crushed to hers he waited. For he\nknew that it was no longer a matter of minutes, but of seconds, and in\nthose seconds he prayed, until up through the warm smother of her\nhair--with the clearness of a tolling bell--came the sound of the little\ngong in his watch striking the Hour of Four!\n\nIn space other worlds might have crumbled into ruin; on earth the stories\nof empires might have been written and the lives of men grown old in those\nfirst century-long seconds in which John Aldous held his breath and waited\nafter the chiming of the hour-bell in the watch on the cavern floor. How\nlong he waited he did not know; how closely he was crushing Joanne to his\nbreast he did not realize. Seconds, minutes, and other minutes--and his\nbrain ran red in dumb, silent madness. And the watch! It _ticked, ticked,\nticked!_ It was like a hammer.\n\nHe had heard the sound of it first coming up through her hair. But it was\nnot in her hair now. It was over him, about him--it was no longer a\nticking, but a throb, a steady, jarring, beating throb. It grew louder,\nand the air stirred with it. He lifted his head. With the eyes of a madman\nhe stared--and listened. His arms relaxed from about Joanne, and she\nslipped crumpled and lifeless to the floor. He stared--and that steady\n_beat-beat-beat_--a hundred times louder than the ticking of a\nwatch--pounded in his brain. Was he mad? He staggered to the choked mouth\nof the tunnel, and then there fell shout upon shout, and shriek upon shriek\nfrom his lips, and twice, like a madman now, he ran back to Joanne and\ncaught her up in his arms, calling and sobbing her name, and then\nshouting--and calling her name again. She moved; her eyes opened, and like\none gazing upon the spirit of the dead she looked into the face of John\nAldous, a madman's face in the lantern-glow.\n\n\"John--John----\"\n\nShe put up her hands, and with a cry he ran with her in his arms to the\nchoked tunnel.\n\n\"Listen! Listen!\" he cried wildly. \"Dear God in Heaven, Joanne--can you not\nhear them? It's Blackton--Blackton and his men! Hear--hear the rock-hammers\nsmashing! Joanne--Joanne--we are saved!\"\n\nShe did not sense him. She swayed, half on her feet, half in his arms, as\nconsciousness and reason returned to her. Dazedly her hands went to his\nface in their old, sweet way. Aldous saw her struggling to understand--to\ncomprehend; and he kissed her soft upturned lips, fighting back the\nexcitement that made him want to raise his voice again in wild and joyous\nshouting.\n\n\"It is Blackton!\" he said over and over again. \"It is Blackton and his men!\nListen!--you can hear their picks and the pounding of their rock-hammers!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\n\nAt last Joanne realized that the explosion was not to come, that Blackton\nand his men were working to save them. And now, as she listened with him,\nher breath began to come in sobbing excitement between her lips--for there\nwas no mistaking that sound, that steady _beat-beat-beat_ that came from\nbeyond the cavern wall and seemed to set strange tremors stirring in the\nair about their ears. For a few moments they stood stunned and silent, as\nif not yet quite fully comprehending that they had come from out of the pit\nof death, and that men were fighting for their rescue. They asked\nthemselves no questions--why the \"coyote\" had not been fired? how those\noutside knew they were in the cavern. And, as they listened, there came to\nthem a voice. It was faint, so faint that it seemed to whisper to them\nthrough miles and miles of space--yet they knew that it was a voice!\n\n\"Some one is shouting,\" spoke Aldous tensely. \"Joanne, my darling, stand\naround the face of the wall so flying rock will not strike you and I will\nanswer with my pistol!\"\n\nWhen he had placed her in safety from split lead and rock chips, he drew\nhis automatic and fired it close up against the choked tunnel. He fired\nfive times, steadily, counting three between each shot, and then he placed\nhis ear to the mass of stone and earth and listened. Joanne slipped to him\nlike a shadow. Her hand sought his, and they held their breaths. They no\nlonger heard sounds--nothing but the crumbling and falling of dust and\npebbles where the bullets had struck, and their own heart-beats. The picks\nand rock-hammers had ceased.\n\nTighter and tighter grew the clasp of Joanne's fingers, and a terrible\nthought flashed into John's brain. Perhaps a, rock from the slide had cut a\nwire, and they had found the wire--had repaired it! Was that thought in\nJoanne's mind, too? Her finger-nails pricked his flesh. He looked at her.\nHer eyes were closed, and her lips were tense and gray. And then her eyes\nshot open--wide and staring. They heard, faintly though it came to\nthem--once, twice, three times, four, five--the firing of a gun!\n\nJohn Aldous straightened, and a great breath fell from his lips.\n\n\"Five times!\" he said. \"It is an answer. There is no longer doubt.\"\n\nHe was holding out his arms to her, and she came into them with a choking\ncry; and now she sobbed like a little child with her head against his\nbreast, and for many minutes he held her close, kissing her wet face, and\nher damp hair, and her quivering lips, while the beat of the picks and the\ncrash of the rock-hammers came steadily nearer.\n\nWhere those picks and rock-hammers fell a score of men were working like\nfiends: Blackton, his arms stripped to the shoulders; Gregg, sweating and\nurging the men; and among them--lifting and tearing at the rock like a\nmadman--old Donald MacDonald, his shirt open, his great hands bleeding, his\nhair and beard tossing about him in the wind. Behind them, her hands\nclasped to her breast--crying out to them to hurry, _hurry_--stood Peggy\nBlackton. The strength of five men was in every pair of arms. Huge boulders\nwere rolled back. Men pawed earth and shale with their naked hands.\nRock-hammers fell with blows that would have cracked the heart of a granite\nobelisk. Half an hour--three quarters--and Blackton came back to where\nPeggy was standing, his face black and grimed, his arms red-seared where\nthe edges of the rocks had caught them, his eyes shining.\n\n\"We're almost there, Peggy,\" he panted. \"Another five minutes and----\"\n\nA shout interrupted him. A cloud of dust rolled out of the mouth of the\ntunnel, and into that dust rushed half a dozen men led by old Donald.\nBefore the dust had settled they began to reappear, and with a shrill\nscream Peggy Blackton darted forward and flung her arms about the\ngold-shrouded figure of Joanne, swaying and laughing and sobbing in the\nsunshine. And old Donald, clasping his great arms about Aldous, cried\nbrokenly:\n\n\"Oh, Johnny, Johnny--something told me to foller ye--an' I was just in\ntime--just in time to see you go into the coyote!\"\n\n\"God bless you, Mac!\" said Aldous, and then Paul Blackton was wringing his\nhands; and one after another the others shook his hand, but Peggy Blackton\nwas crying like a baby as she hugged Joanne in her arms.\n\n\"MacDonald came just in time,\" explained Blackton a moment later; and he\ntried to speak steadily, and tried to smile. \"Ten minutes more, and----\"\n\nHe was white.\n\n\"Now that it has turned out like this I thank God that it happened, Paul,\"\nsaid Aldous, for the engineer's ears alone. \"We thought we were facing\ndeath, and so--I told her. And in there, on our knees, we pledged ourselves\nman and wife. I want the minister--as quick as you can get him, Blackton.\nDon't say anything to Joanne, but bring him to the house right away, will\nyou?\"\n\n\"Within half an hour,\" replied Blackton. \"There comes Tony with the\nbuckboard. We'll hustle up to the house and I'll have the preacher there in\na jiffy.\"\n\nAs they went to the wagon, Aldous looked about for MacDonald. He had\ndisappeared. Requesting Gregg to hunt him up and send him to the bungalow,\nhe climbed into the back seat, with Joanne between him and Peggy. Her\nlittle hand lay in his. Her fingers clung to him. But her hair hid her\nface, and on the other side of her Peggy Blackton was laughing and talking\nand crying by turns.\n\nAs they entered the bungalow, Aldous whispered to Joanne:\n\n\"Will you please go right to your room, dear? I want to say something to\nyou--alone.\"\n\nWhen she went up the stair, Peggy caught a signal from her husband. Aldous\nremained with them. In two minutes he told the bewildered and finally\ndelighted Peggy what was going to happen, and as Blackton hustled out for\nthe minister's house he followed Joanne. She had fastened her door behind\nher. He knocked. Slowly she opened it.\n\n\"John----\"\n\n\"I have told them, dear,\" he whispered happily. \"They understand. And,\nJoanne, Paul Blackton will be back in ten minutes--with the minister. Are\nyou glad?\"\n\nShe had opened the door wide, and he was heading out his arms to her again.\nFor a moment she did not move, but stood there trembling a little, and\ndeeper and sweeter grew the colour in her face, and tenderer the look in\nher eyes.\n\n\"I must brush my hair,\" she answered, as though she could think of no other\nwords. \"I--I must dress.\"\n\nLaughing joyously, he went to her and gathered the soft masses of her hair\nin his hands, and piled it up in a glorious disarray about her face and\nhead, holding it there, and still laughing into her eyes.\n\n\"Joanne, you are mine!\"\n\n\"Unless I have been dreaming--I am, John Aldous!\"\n\n\"Forever and forever.\"\n\n\"Yes, forever--and ever.\"\n\n\"And because I want the whole world to know, we are going to be married by\na minister.\"\n\nShe was silent.\n\n\"And as my wife to be,\" he went on, his voice trembling with his happiness,\n\"you must obey me!\"\n\n\"I think that I shall, John.\"\n\n\"Then you will not brush your hair, and you will not change your dress, and\nyou will not wash the dust from your face and that sweet little beauty-spot\nfrom the tip of your nose,\" he commanded, and now he drew her head close to\nhim, so that he whispered, half in her hair: \"Joanne, my darling, I want\nyou _wholly_ as you came to me there, when we thought we were going to die.\nIt was there you promised to become my wife, and I want you as you were\nthen--when the minister comes.\"\n\n\"John, I think I hear some one coming up the front steps!\"\n\nThey listened. The door opened. They heard voices--Blackton's voice,\nPeggy's voice, and another voice--a man's voice.\n\nBlackton's voice came up to them very distinctly.\n\n\"Mighty lucky, Peggy,\" he said. \"Caught Mr. Wollaver just as he was passing\nthe house. Where's----\"\n\n\"Sh-h-hh!\" came Peggy Blackton's sibilant whisper.\n\nJoanne's hands had crept to John's face.\n\n\"I think,\" she said, \"that it is the minister, John.\"\n\nHer warm lips were near, and he kissed them.\n\n\"Come, Joanne. We will go down.\"\n\nHand in hand they went down the stair; and when the minister saw Joanne,\ncovered in the tangle and glory of her hair; and when he saw John Aldous,\nwith half-naked arms and blackened face; and when, with these things, he\nsaw the wonderful joy shining in their eyes, he stood like one struck dumb\nat sight of a miracle descending out of the skies. For never had Joanne\nlooked more beautiful than in this hour, and never had man looked more like\nentering into paradise than John Aldous.\n\nShort and to the point was the little mountain minister's service, and when\nhe had done he shook hands with them, and again he stared at them as they\nwent back up the stair, still hand in hand. At her door they stopped. There\nwere no words to speak now, as her heart lay against his heart, and her\nlips against his lips. And then, after those moments, she drew a little\nback, and there came suddenly that sweet, quivering, joyous play of her\nlips as she said:\n\n\"And now, my husband, may I dress my hair?\"\n\n\"My hair,\" he corrected, and let her go from his arms.\n\nHer door closed behind her. A little dizzily he turned to his room. His\nhand was on the knob when he heard her speak his name. She had reopened her\ndoor, and stood with something in her hand, which she was holding toward\nhim. He went back, and she gave him a photograph.\n\n\"John, you will destroy this,\" she whispered. \"It is his\nphotograph--Mortimer FitzHugh's. I brought it to show to people, that it\nmight help me in my search. Please--destroy it!\"\n\nHe returned to his room and placed the photograph on his table. It was\nwrapped in thin paper, and suddenly there came upon him a most compelling\ndesire to see what Mortimer FitzHugh had looked like in life. Joanne would\nnot care. Perhaps it would be best for him to know.\n\nHe tore off the paper. And as he looked at the picture the hot blood in his\nveins ran cold. He stared--stared as if some wild and maddening joke was\nbeing played upon his faculties. A cry rose to his lips and broke in a\ngasping breath, and about him the floor, the world itself, seemed slipping\naway from under his feet.\n\nFor the picture he held in his hand was the picture of Culver Rann!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\n\nFor a minute, perhaps longer, John Aldous stood staring at the photograph\nwhich he held in his hand. It was the picture of Culver Rann--not once did\nhe question that fact, and not once did the thought flash upon him that\nthis might be only an unusual and startling resemblance. It was assuredly\nCulver Rann! The picture dropped from his hand to the table, and he went\ntoward the door. His first impulse was to go to Joanne. But when he reached\nthe door he locked it, and dropped into a chair, facing the mirror in his\ndresser.\n\nThe reflection of his own face was a shock to him. If he was pale, the dust\nand grime of his fight in the cavern concealed his pallor. But the face\nthat stared at him from out of the glass was haggard, wildly and almost\ngrotesquely haggard, and he turned from it with a grim laugh, and set his\njaws hard. He returned to the table, and bit by bit tore the photograph\ninto thin shreds, and then piled the shreds on his ash-tray and burned\nthem. He opened a window to let out the smoke and smell of charring paper,\nand the fresh, cool air of early evening struck his face. He could look off\nthrough the fading sunshine of the valley and see the mountain where Coyote\nNumber Twenty-eight was to have done its work, and as he looked he gripped\nthe window-sill so fiercely that the nails of his fingers were bent and\nbroken against the wood. And in his brain the same words kept repeating\nthemselves over and over again. Mortimer FitzHugh was not dead. He was\nalive. He was Culver Rann. And Joanne--Joanne was not _his_ wife; she was\nstill the wife of Mortimer FitzHugh--of Culver Rann!\n\nHe turned again to the mirror, and there was another look in his face. It\nwas grim, terribly grim--and smiling. There was no excitement, nothing of\nthe passion and half-madness with which he had faced Quade and Rann the\nnight before. He laughed softly, and his nails dug as harshly into the\npalms of his hands as they had dug into the sills of the window.\n\n\"You poor, drivelling, cowardly fool!\" he said to his reflection. \"And you\ndare to say--you dare to _think_ that she is not your wife?\"\n\nAs if in reply to his words there came a knock at the door, and from the\nhall Blackton called:\n\n\"Here's MacDonald, Aldous. He wants to see you.\"\n\nAldous opened the door and the old hunter entered.\n\n\"If I ain't interruptin' you, Johnny----\"\n\n\"You're the one man in the world I want to see, Mac. No, I'll take that\nback; there's one other I want to see worse than you--Culver Rann.\"\n\nThe strange look in his face made old Donald stare.\n\n\"Sit down,\" he said, drawing two chairs close to the table. \"There's\nsomething to talk about. It was a terribly close shave, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"An awful close shave, Johnny. As close a shave as ever was.\"\n\nStill, as if not quite understanding what he saw, old Donald was staring\ninto John's face.\n\n\"I'm glad it happened,\" said Aldous, and his voice became softer. \"She\nloves me, Mac. It all came out when we were in there, and thought we were\ngoing to die. Not ten minutes ago the minister was here, and he made us man\nand wife.\"\n\nWords of gladness that sprang to the old man's lips were stopped by that\nstrange, cold, tense look in the face of John Aldous.\n\n\"And in the last five minutes,\" continued Aldous, as quietly as before, \"I\nhave learned that Mortimer FitzHugh, her husband, is not dead. Is it very\nremarkable that you do not find me happy, Mac? If you had come a few\nminutes ago----\"\n\n\"Oh, my God! Johnny! Johnny!\"\n\nMacDonald had pitched forward over the table, and now he bowed his great\nshaggy head in his hands, and his gaunt shoulders shook as his voice came\nbrokenly through his beard.\n\n\"I did it, Johnny; I did it for you an' her! When I knew what it would mean\nfor her--I _couldn't_, Johnny, I couldn't tell her the truth, 'cause I knew\nshe loved you, an' you loved her, an' it would break her heart. I thought\nit would be best, an' you'd go away together, an' nobody would ever know,\nan' you'd be happy. I didn't lie. I didn't say anything. But\nJohnny--Johnny, _there weren't no bones in the grave!_\"\n\n\"My God!\" breathed Aldous.\n\n\"There were just some clothes,\" went on MacDonald huskily, \"an' the watch\nan' the ring were on top. Johnny, there weren't nobody ever buried there,\nan' I'm to blame--I'm to blame.\"\n\n\"And you did that for us,\" cried Aldous, and suddenly he reached over and\ngripped old Donald's hands. \"It wasn't a mistake, Mac. I thank God you kept\nsilent. If you had told her that the grave was empty, that it was a fraud,\nI don't know what would have happened. And now--she is _mine!_ If she had\nseen Culver Rann, if she had discovered that this scoundrel, this\nblackmailer and murderer, was Mortimer FitzHugh, her husband----\"\n\n\"Johnny! John Aldous!\"\n\nDonald MacDonald's voice came now like the deep growling roar of a\nshe-bear, and as he cried the other's name he sprang to his feet, and his\neyes gleamed in their deep sockets like raging fires.\n\n\"Johnny!\"\n\nAldous rose, and he was smiling. He nodded.\n\n\"That's it,\" he said. \"Mortimer FitzHugh is Culver Rann!\"\n\n\"An'--an' you know this?\"\n\n\"Absolutely. Joanne gave me Mortimer FitzHugh's photograph to destroy. I am\nsorry that I burned it before you saw it. But there is no doubt. Mortimer\nFitzHugh and Culver Rann are the same man.\"\n\nSlowly the old mountaineer turned to the door. Aldous was ahead of him, and\nstood with his hand on the knob.\n\n\"I don't want you to go yet, Mac.\"\n\n\"I--I'll see you a little later,\" said Donald clumsily.\n\n\"Donald!\"\n\n\"Johnny!\"\n\nFor a full half minute they looked steadily into each other's eyes.\n\n\"Only a week, Johnny,\" pleaded Donald. \"I'll be back in a week.\"\n\n\"You mean that you will kill him?\"\n\n\"He'll never come back. I swear it, Johnny!\"\n\nAs gently as he might have led Joanne, Aldous drew the mountaineer back to\nthe chair.\n\n\"That would be cold-blooded murder,\" he said, \"and I would be the murderer.\nI can't send you out to do my killing, Mac, as I might send out a hired\nassassin. Don't you see that I can't? Good heaven, some day--very soon--I\nwill tell you how this hound, Mortimer FitzHugh, poisoned Joanne's life,\nand did his worst to destroy her. It's to me he's got to answer, Donald.\nAnd to me he shall answer. I am going to kill him. But it will not be\nmurder. Since you have come into this room I have made my final plan, and I\nshall follow it to the end coolly and deliberately. It will be a great\ngame, Mac--and it will be a fair game; and I shall play it happily, because\nJoanne will not know, and I will be strengthened by her love.\n\n\"Quade wants my life, and tried to hire Stevens, up at Miette, to kill me.\nCulver Rann wants my life; a little later it will come to be the greatest\ndesire of his existence to have me dead and out of the way. I shall give\nhim the chance to do the killing, Mac. I shall give him a splendid chance,\nand he will not fail to accept his opportunity. Perhaps he will have an\nadvantage, but I am as absolutely certain of killing him as I am that the\nsun is going down behind the mountains out there. If others should step\nin, if I should have more than Culver Rann on my hands--why, then you may\ndeal yourself a hand if you like, Donald. It may be a bigger game than One\nagainst One.\"\n\n\"It will,\" rumbled MacDonald. \"I learned other things early this afternoon,\nJohnny. Quade did not stay behind. He went with Rann. DeBar and the woman\nare with them, and two other men. They went over the Lone Cache Pass, and\nthis minute are hurrying straight for the headwaters of the Parsnip. There\nare five of 'em--five men.\"\n\n\"And we are two,\" smiled Aldous. \"So there _is_ an advantage on their side,\nisn't there, Mac? And it makes the game most eminently fair, doesn't it?\"\n\n\"Johnny, we're good for the five!\" cried old Donald in a low, eager voice.\n\"If we start now----\"\n\n\"Can you have everything ready by morning?\"\n\n\"The outfit's waiting. It's ready now, Johnny.\"\n\n\"Then we'll leave at dawn. I'll come to you to-night in the coulee, and\nwe'll make our final plans. My brain is a little muddled now, and I've got\nto clear it, and make myself presentable before supper. We must not let\nJoanne know. She must suspect nothing--absolutely nothing.\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" repeated MacDonald as he went to the door.\n\nThere he paused and, hesitating for a moment, leaned close to Aldous, and\nsaid in a low voice:\n\n\"Johnny, I've been wondering why the grave were empty. I've been wondering\nwhy there weren't somebody's bones there just t' give it the look it should\n'a' had an' why the clothes were laid out so nicely with the watch an' the\nring on top!\"\n\nWith that he was gone, and Aldous closed and relocked the door.\n\nHe was amazed at his own composure as he washed himself and proceeded to\ndress for supper. What had happened had stunned him at first, had even\nterrified him for a few appalling moments. Now he was superbly\nself-possessed. He asked himself questions and answered them with a\npromptness which left no room for doubt in his mind as to what his actions\nshould be. One fact he accepted as absolute: Joanne belonged to him. She\nwas his wife. He regarded her as that, even though Mortimer FitzHugh was\nalive. In the eyes of both God and man FitzHugh no longer had a claim upon\nher. This man, who was known as Culver Rann, was worse than Quade, a\nscoundrel of the first water, a procurer, a blackmailer, even a\nmurderer--though he had thus far succeeded in evading the rather loose and\npoorly working tentacles of mountain law.\n\nNot for an instant did he think of Joanne as Culver Rann's wife. She was\n_his_ wife. It was merely a technicality of the law--a technicality that\nJoanne might break with her little finger--that had risen now between them\nand happiness. And it was this that he knew was the mountain in his path,\nfor he was certain that Joanne would not break that last link of bondage.\nShe would know, with Mortimer FitzHugh alive, that the pledge between them\nin the \"coyote,\" and the marriage ceremony in the room below, meant\nnothing. Legally, she was no more to him now than she was yesterday, or the\nday before. And she would leave him, even if it destroyed her, heart and\nsoul. He was sure of that. For years she had suffered her heart to be\nground out of her because of the \"bit of madness\" that was in her, because\nof that earlier tragedy in her life--and her promise, her pledge to her\nfather, her God, and herself. Without arguing a possible change in her\nbecause of her love for him, John Aldous accepted these things. He believed\nthat if he told Joanne the truth he would lose her.\n\nHis determination not to tell her, to keep from her the secret of the grave\nand the fact that Mortimer FitzHugh was alive, grew stronger in him with\neach breath that he drew. He believed that it was the right thing to do,\nthat it was the honourable and the only thing to do. Now that the first\nshock was over, he did not feel that he had lost Joanne, or that there was\na very great danger of losing her. For a moment it occurred to him that he\nmight turn the law upon Culver Rann, and in the same breath he laughed at\nthis absurdity. The law could not help him. He alone could work out his own\nand Joanne's salvation. And what was to happen must happen very soon--up in\nthe mountains. When it was all over, and he returned, he would tell Joanne.\n\nHis heart beat more quickly as he finished dressing. In a few minutes more\nhe would be with Joanne, and in spite of what had happened, and what might\nhappen, he was happy. Yesterday he had dreamed. To-day was reality--and it\nwas a glorious reality. Joanne belonged to him. She loved him. She was his\nwife, and when he went to her it was with the feeling that only a serpent\nlay in the path of their paradise--a serpent which he would crush with as\nlittle compunction as that serpent would have destroyed her. Utterly and\nremorselessly his mind was made up.\n\nThe Blacktons' supper hour was five-thirty, and he was a quarter of an hour\nlate when he tapped at Joanne's door. He felt the warmth of a strange and\ndelightful embarrassment flushing his face as the door opened, and she\nstood before him. In her face, too, was a telltale riot of colour which the\ndeep tan partly concealed in his own.\n\n\"I--I am a little late, am I not, Joanne?\" he asked.\n\n\"You are, sir. If you have taken all this time dressing you are worse than\na woman. I have been waiting fifteen minutes!\"\n\n\"Old Donald came to see me,\" he apologized. \"Joanne----\"\n\n\"You mustn't, John!\" she expostulated in a whisper. \"My face is afire now!\nYou mustn't kiss me again--until after supper----\"\n\n\"Only once,\" he pleaded.\n\n\"If you will promise--just once----\"\n\nA moment later she gasped:\n\n\"Five times! John Aldous, I will never believe you again as long as I\nlive!\"\n\nThey went down to the Blacktons, and Peggy and Paul, who were busy over\nsome growing geraniums in the dining-room window, faced about with a forced\nand incongruous appearance of total oblivion to everything that had\nhappened. It lasted less than ten seconds. Joanne's lips quivered. Aldous\nsaw the two little dimples at the corners of her mouth fighting to keep\nthemselves out of sight--and then he looked at Peggy. Blackton could stand\nit no longer, and grinned broadly.\n\n\"For goodness sake go to it, Peggy!\" he laughed. \"If you don't you'll\nexplode!\"\n\nThe next moment Peggy and Joanne were in each other's arms, and the two men\nwere shaking hands.\n\n\"We know just how you feel,\" Blackton tried to explain. \"We felt just like\nyou do, only we had to face twenty people instead of two. And you're not\nhungry. I'll wager that. I'll bet you don't feel like swallowing a\nmouthful. It had that peculiar effect on us, didn't it, Peggy?\"\n\n\"And I--I almost choked myself,\" gurgled Peggy as they took their places at\nthe table. \"There really did seem to be something thick in my throat,\nJoanne, dear. I coughed and coughed and coughed before all those people\nuntil I wanted to die right there! And I'm wondering----\"\n\n\"If I'm going to choke, too?\" smiled Joanne. \"Indeed not, Peggy. I'm as\nhungry as a bear!\"\n\nAnd now she did look glorious and self-possessed to Aldous as she sat\nopposite him at that small round table, which was just fitted for four. He\ntold her so when the meal was finished, and they were following the\nBlacktons into the front room. Blackton had evidently been carefully\ndrilled along the line of a certain scheme which Peggy had formed, for in\nspite of a negative nod from her, which signified that he was to wait a\nwhile, he pulled out his watch, and said:\n\n\"It isn't at all surprising if you people have forgotten that to-morrow is\nSunday. Peggy and I always do some Saturday-night shopping, and if you\ndon't mind, we'll leave you to care for the house while we go to town. We\nwon't be gone more than an hour.\"\n\nA few minutes later, when the door had closed behind them, Aldous led\nJoanne to a divan, and sat down beside her.\n\n\"I couldn't have arranged it better myself, dear,\" he exclaimed. \"I have\nbeen wondering how I could have you alone for a few minutes, and tell you\nwhat is on my mind before I see MacDonald again to-night. I'm afraid you\nwill be displeased with me, Joanne. I hardly know how to begin. But--I've\ngot to.\"\n\nA moment's uneasiness came into her eyes as she saw how seriously he was\nspeaking.\n\n\"You don't mean, John--there's more about Quade--and Culver Rann?\"\n\n\"No, no--nothing like that,\" he laughed, as though amused at the absurdity\nof her question. \"Old Donald tells me they have skipped the country,\nJoanne. It's not that. It's you I'm thinking of, and what you may think of\nme a minute from now. Joanne, I've given my word to old Donald. He has\nlived in my promise. I've got to keep that promise--I must go into the\nNorth with him.\"\n\nShe had drawn one of his hands into her lap and was fondling it with her\nown soft palm and fingers.\n\n\"Of course, you must, John. I love old Donald.\"\n\n\"And I must go--soon,\" he added.\n\n\"It is only fair to him that you should,\" she agreed.\n\n\"He--he is determined we shall go in the morning,\" he finished, keeping his\neyes from her.\n\nFor a moment Joanne did not answer. Her fingers interweaved with his, her\nwarm little palm stroked the rough back of his hand. Then she said, very\nsoftly:\n\n\"And why do you think that will displease me, John, dear? I will be ready!\"\n\n\"You!\"\n\nHer eyes were on him, full, and dark, and glowing, and in them were both\nlove and laughter.\n\n\"You dear silly John!\" she laughed. \"Why don't you come right out and tell\nme to stay at home, instead of--of--'beating 'round the bush'--as Peggy\nBlackton says? Only you don't know what a terrible little person you've\ngot, John. You really don't. So you needn't say any more. We'll start in\nthe morning--and I am going with you!\"\n\nIn a flash John Aldous saw his whole scheme shaking on its foundation.\n\n\"It's impossible--utterly impossible!\" he gasped.\n\n\"And why utterly?\" she asked, bending her head so that her soft hair\ntouched his face and lips. \"John, have you already forgotten what we said\nin that terrible cavern--what we told ourselves we would have done if we\nhad lived? We were going adventuring, weren't we? And we are not dead--but\nalive. And this will be a glorious trip! Why, John, don't you see, don't\nyou understand? It will be our honeymoon trip!\"\n\n\"It will be a long, rough journey,\" he argued. \"It will be hard--hard for a\nwoman.\"\n\nWith a little laugh, Joanne sprang up and stood before him in a glow of\nlight, tall, and slim, and splendid, and there was a sparkle of beautiful\ndefiance and a little of triumph in her eyes as she looked down on him.\n\n\"And it will be dangerous, too? You are going to tell me that?\"\n\n\"Yes, it will be dangerous.\"\n\nShe came to him and rumpled up his hair, and turned his face up so that she\ncould look into his eyes.\n\n\"Is it worse than fever, and famine, and deep swamps, and crawling\njungles?\" she asked. \"Are we going to encounter worse things than beasts,\nand poisonous serpents, and murderous savages--even hunger and thirst,\nJohn? For many years we dared those together--my father and I. Are these\ngreat, big, beautiful mountains more treacherous than those Ceylon jungles\nfrom which you ran away--even you, John? Are they more terrible to live in\nthan the Great African Desert? Are your bears worse than tigers, your\nwolves more terrible than lions? And if, through years and years, I faced\nthose things with my father, do you suppose that I want to be left behind\nnow, and by my husband?\"\n\nSo sweet and wonderful was the sound of that name as it came softly from\nher lips, that in his joy he forgot the part he was playing, and drew her\nclose down in his arms, and in that moment all that remained of the scheme\nhe had built for keeping her behind crumbled in ruin about him.\n\nYet in a last effort he persisted.\n\n\"Old Donald wants to travel fast--very fast, Joanne. I owe a great deal to\nhim. Even you I owe to him--for he saved us from the 'coyote.'\"\n\n\"I am going, John.\"\n\n\"If we went alone we would be able to return very soon.\"\n\n\"I am going.\"\n\n\"And some of the mountains--it is impossible for a woman to climb them!\"\n\n\"Then I will let you carry me up them, John. You are so strong----\"\n\nHe groaned hopelessly.\n\n\"Joanne, won't you stay with the Blacktons, to please me?\"\n\n\"No. I don't care to please you.\"\n\nHer fingers were stroking his cheek.\n\n\"John?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Father taught me to shoot, and as we get better acquainted on our\nhoneymoon trip I'll tell you about some of my hunting adventures. I don't\nlike to shoot wild things, because I love them too well. But I can shoot.\nAnd I want a gun!\"\n\n\"Great Scott!\"\n\n\"Not a toy--but a real gun,\" she continued. \"A gun like yours. And then, if\nby any chance we should have trouble--with Culver Rann----\"\n\nShe felt him start, and her hands pressed harder against his face.\n\n\"Now I know,\" she whispered. \"I guessed it all along. You told me that\nCulver Rann and the others were after the gold. They've gone--and their\ngoing isn't quite 'skipping the country' as you meant me to understand it,\nJohn Aldous! So please let's not argue any more. If we do we may quarrel,\nand that would be terrible. I'm going. And I will be ready in the morning.\nAnd I want a gun. And I want you to be nice to me, and I want it to be our\nhoneymoon--even if it is going to be exciting!\"\n\nAnd with that she put her lips to his, and his last argument was gone.\n\nTwo hours later, when he went to the coulee, he was like one who had come\nout of a strange and disturbing and altogether glorious dream. He had told\nJoanne and the Blacktons that it was necessary for him to be with MacDonald\nthat night. Joanne's good-night kiss was still warm on his lips, the loving\ntouch of her hands still trembled on his face, and the sweet perfume of her\nhair was in his nostrils. He was drunk with the immeasurable happiness that\nhad come to him, every fibre in him was aquiver with it--and yet, possessed\nof his great joy, he was conscious of a fear; a fear that was new and\ngrowing, and which made him glad when he came at last to the little fire in\nthe coulee.\n\nHe did not tell MacDonald the cause of this fear at first. He told the\nstory of Mortimer FitzHugh and Joanne, leaving no part of it unbared, until\nhe could see Donald MacDonald's great gaunt hands clenching in the\nfirelight, and his cavernous eyes flaming darkly through the gloom. Then he\ntold what had happened when the Blacktons went to town, and when he had\nfinished, and rose despairingly beside the fire, Donald rose, too, and his\nvoice boomed in a sort of ecstasy.\n\n\"My Jane would ha' done likewise,\" he cried in triumph. \"She would that,\nJohnny--she would!\"\n\n\"But this is different!\" groaned Aldous. \"What am I going to do, Mac? What\ncan I do? Don't you see how impossible it is! Mac, Mac--she isn't my\nwife--not entirely, not absolutely, not in the last and vital sense of\nbeing a wife by law! If she knew the truth, she wouldn't consider herself\nmy wife; she would leave me. For that reason I can't take her. I can't.\nThink what it would mean!\"\n\nOld Donald had come close to his side, and at the look in the gray old\nmountaineer's face John Aldous paused. Slowly Donald laid his hands on his\nshoulders.\n\n\"Johnny,\" he said gently, \"Johnny, be you sure of yourself? Be you a man,\nJohnny?\"\n\n\"Good heaven, Donald. You mean----\"\n\nTheir eyes met steadily.\n\n\"If you are, Johnny,\" went on MacDonald in a low voice, \"I'd take her with\nme. An' if you ain't, I'd leave these mount'ins to-night an' never look in\nher sweet face again as long as I lived.\"\n\n\"You'd take her along?\" demanded Aldous eagerly.\n\n\"I would. I've been thinkin' it over to-night. An' something seemed to tell\nme we mustn't dare leave her here alone. There's just two things to do,\nJohnny. You've got to stay with her an' let me go on alone or--you've got\nto take her.\"\n\nSlowly Aldous shook his head. He looked at his watch. It was a little after\nten.\n\n\"If I could make myself believe that she would not be safe here--I would\ntake her,\" he said. \"But I can't quite make up my mind to that, Mac. She\nwill be in good hands with the Blacktons. I will warn Paul. Joanne is\ndetermined to go, and I know she will think it pretty indecent to be told\nemphatically that she can't go. But I've got to do it. I can't see----\"\n\nA break in the stillness of the night stopped him with the suddenness of a\nbullet in his brain. It was a scream--a woman's scream, and there followed\nit shriek after shriek, until the black forest trembled with the fear and\nagony of the cries, and John Aldous stood as if suddenly stripped of the\npower to move or act. Donald MacDonald roused him to life. With a roar in\nhis beard, he sprang forth into the darkness. And Aldous followed, a hot\nsweat of fear in his blood where a moment before had been only a chill of\nwonder and horror. For in Donald's savage beastlike cry he had caught\nJoanne's name, and an answering cry broke from his own lips as he followed\nthe great gaunt form that was tearing with the madness of a wounded bear\nahead of him through the night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\n\nNot until they had rushed up out of the coulee and had reached the pathlike\ntrail did the screaming cease. For barely an instant MacDonald paused, and\nthen ran on with a speed that taxed Aldous to keep up. When they came to\nthe little open amphitheatre in the forest MacDonald halted again. Their\nhearts were thumping like hammers, and the old mountaineer's voice came\nhusky and choking when he spoke.\n\n\"It wasn't far--from here!\" he panted.\n\nScarcely had he uttered the words when he sped on again. Three minutes\nlater they came to where the trail crossed the edge of a small\nrock-cluttered meadow, and with a sudden spurt Aldous darted ahead of\nMacDonald into this opening, where he saw two figures in the moonlight.\nHalf a dozen feet from them he stopped with a cry of horror. They were Paul\nand Peggy Blackton! Peggy was dishevelled and sobbing, and was frantically\nclutching at her husband. It was Paul Blackton who dragged the cry from his\nlips. The contractor was swaying. He was hatless; his face was covered with\nblood, and his eyes were only half open, as if he were fighting to pull\nhimself back into consciousness after a terrible blow. Peggy's hair was\ndown, her dress was torn at the throat, and she was panting so that for a\nmoment she could not speak.\n\n\"They've got--Joanne!\" she cried then. \"They went--there!\"\n\nShe pointed, and Aldous ran where she pointed--into the timber on the far\nside of the little meadow. MacDonald caught his arm as they ran.\n\n\"You go straight in,\" he commanded. \"I'll swing--to right--toward\nriver----\"\n\nFor two minutes after that Aldous tore straight ahead. Then for barely a\nmoment he stopped. He had not paused to question Peggy Blackton. His own\nfears told him who Joanne's abductors were. They were men working under\ninstructions from Quade. And they could not be far away, for scarcely ten\nminutes had passed since the first scream. He listened, and held his breath\nso that the terrific beating of his heart would not drown the sound of\ncrackling brush. All at once the blood in him was frozen by a fierce yell.\nIt was MacDonald, a couple of hundred yards to his right, and after that\nyell came the bellowing shout of his name.\n\n\"Johnny! Johnny! Oh, Johnny!\"\n\nHe dashed in MacDonald's direction, and a few moments later heard the\ncrashing of bodies in the undergrowth. Fifty seconds more and he was in the\narena. MacDonald was fighting three men in a space over which the\nspruce-tops grew thinly. The moon shone upon them as they swayed in a\nstruggling mass, and as Aldous sprang to the combat one of the three reeled\nbackward and fell as if struck by a battering-ram. In that same moment\nMacDonald went down, and Aldous struck a terrific blow with the butt of his\nheavy Savage. He missed, and the momentum of his blow carried him over\nMacDonald. He tripped and fell. By the time he had regained his, feet the\ntwo men had disappeared into the thick shadows of the spruce forest. Aldous\nwhirled toward the third man, whom he had seen fall. He, too, had\ndisappeared. A little lamely old Donald brought himself to his feet. He was\nsmiling.\n\n\"Now, what do 'ee think, Johnny?\"\n\n\"Where is she? Where is Joanne?\" demanded Aldous.\n\n\"Twenty feet behind you, Johnny, gagged an' trussed up nice as a whistle!\nIf they hadn't stopped to do that work you wouldn't ha' seen her ag'in,\nJohnny--s'elp me, God, you wouldn't! They was hikin' for the river. Once\nthey had reached the Frazer, and a boat----\"\n\nHe broke off to lead Aldous to a clump of dwarf spruce. Behind this, white\nand still in the moonlight, but with eyes wide open and filled with horror,\nlay Joanne. Hands and feet were bound, and a big handkerchief was tied over\nher mouth. Twenty seconds later Aldous held her shivering and sobbing and\nlaughing hysterically by turns in his arms, while MacDonald's voice brought\nPaul and Peggy Blackton to them. Blackton had recovered from the blow that\nhad dazed him. Over Joanne's head he stared at Aldous. And MacDonald was\nstaring at Blackton. His eyes were burning a little darkly.\n\n\"It's all come out right,\" he said, \"but it ain't a special nice time o'\nnight to be taking a' evening walk in this locality with a couple o'\nladies!\"\n\nBlackton was still staring at Aldous, with Peggy clutching his arm as if\nafraid of losing him.\n\nIt was Peggy who answered MacDonald.\n\n\"And it was a nice time of night for you to send a message asking us to\nbring Joanne down the trail!\" she cried, her voice trembling.\n\n\"We----\" began Aldous, when he saw a sudden warning movement on MacDonald's\npart, and stopped. \"Let us take the ladies home,\" he said.\n\nWith Joanne clinging to him, he led the way. Behind them all MacDonald\ngrowled loudly:\n\n\"There's got t' be something done with these damned beasts of furriners.\nIt's gettin' so no woman ain't safe at night!\"\n\nTwenty minutes later they reached the bungalow. Leaving Joanne and Peggy\ninside, now as busily excited as two phoebe birds, and after Joanne had\ninsisted upon Aldous sleeping at the Blacktons' that night, the two men\naccompanied MacDonald a few steps on his way back to camp.\n\nAs soon as they were out of earshot Blackton began cursing softly under his\nbreath.\n\n\"So you didn't send that damned note?\" he asked. \"You haven't said so, but\nI've guessed you didn't send it!\"\n\n\"No, we didn't send a note.\"\n\n\"And you had a reason--you and MacDonald--for not wanting the girls to know\nthe truth?\"\n\n\"A mighty good reason,\" said Aldous. \"I've got to thank MacDonald for\nclosing my mouth at the right moment. I was about to give it away. And now,\nBlackton, I've got to confide in you. But before I do that I want your word\nthat you will repeat nothing of what I say to another person--even your\nwife.\"\n\nBlackton nodded.\n\n\"Go on,\" he said. \"I've suspected a thing or two, Aldous. I'll give you my\nword. Go on.\"\n\nAs briefly as possible, and without going deeply into detail, Aldous told\nof Quade and his plot to secure possession of Joanne.\n\n\"And this is his work,\" he finished. \"I've told you this, Paul, so that you\nwon't worry about Peggy. You can see from to-night's events that they were\nnot after her, but wanted Joanne. Joanne must not learn the truth. And your\nwife must not know. I am going to settle with Quade. Just how and where and\nwhen I'm going to settle with him I don't care to say now. But he's going\nto answer to me. And he's going to answer soon.\"\n\nBlackton whistled softly.\n\n\"A boy brought the note,\" he said. \"He stood in the dark when he handed it\nto me. And I didn't recognize any one of the three men who jumped out on\nus. I didn't have much of a chance to fight, but if there's any one on the\nface of the earth who has got it over Peggy when it comes to screaming, I'd\nlike to know her name! Joanne didn't have time to make a sound. But they\ndidn't touch Peggy until she began screaming, and then one of the men began\nchoking her. They had about laid me out with a club, so I was helpless.\nGood God----\"\n\nHe shuddered.\n\n\"They were river men,\" said MacDonald. \"Probably some of Tomman's scow-men.\nThey were making for the river.\"\n\nA few minutes later, when Aldous was saying good-night to MacDonald, the\nold hunter said again, in a whisper:\n\n\"Now what do 'ee think, Johnny?\"\n\n\"That you're right, Mac,\" replied Aldous in a low voice. \"There is no\nlonger a choice. Joanne must go with us. You will come early?\"\n\n\"At dawn, Johnny.\"\n\nHe returned to the bungalow with Blackton, and until midnight the lights\nthere burned brightly while the two men answered a thousand questions about\nthe night's adventure, and Aldous told of his and Joanne's plans for the\nhoneymoon trip into the North that was to begin the next day.\n\nIt was half-past twelve when be locked the door of his and sat down to\nthink.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\n\nThere was no doubt in the mind of John Aldous now. The attempt upon Joanne\nleft him but one course to pursue: he must take her with him, in spite of\nthe monumental objections which he had seen a few hours before. He realized\nwhat a fight this would mean for him, and with what cleverness and resource\nhe must play his part. Joanne had not given herself to him as she had once\ngiven herself to Mortimer FitzHugh. In the \"coyote,\" when they had faced\ndeath, she had told him that were there to be a to-morrow in life for them\nshe would have given herself to him utterly and without reservation. And\nthat to-morrow had dawned. It was present. She was his wife. And she had\ncome to him as she had promised. In her eyes he had seen love and trust and\nfaith--and a glorious happiness. She had made no effort to hide that\nhappiness from him. Consciousness of it filled him with his own great\nhappiness, and yet it made him realize even more deeply how hard his fight\nwas to be. She was his wife. In a hundred little ways she had shown him\nthat she was proud of her wifehood. And again he told himself that she had\ncome to him as she had promised, that she had given into his keeping all\nthat she had to give. And yet--_she was not his wife!_\n\nHe groaned aloud, and his fingers dug into the flesh of his knees as he\nthought of that. Could he keep that terrible truth from her? If she went\nwith him into the North, would she not guess? And, even though he kept the\ntruth from her until Mortimer FitzHugh was dead, would he be playing fair\nwith her? Again he went over all that he had gone over before. He knew that\nJoanne would leave him to-morrow, and probably forever, if he told her that\nFitzHugh was alive. The law could not help him, for only death--and never\ndivorce--would free her. Within himself he decided for the last time. He\nwas about to do the one thing left for him to do. And it was the honourable\nthing, for it meant freedom for her and happiness for them both. To him,\nDonald MacDonald had become a man who lived very close to the heart and the\nright of things, and Donald had said that he should take her. This was the\ngreatest proof that he was right.\n\nBut could he keep Joanne from guessing? Could he keep her from discovering\nthe truth until it was time for her to know that truth? In this necessity\nof keeping her from suspecting that something was wrong he saw his greatest\nfight. Compared with it, the final settlement with Quade and Mortimer\nFitzHugh sank into a second importance. He knew what would happen then. But\nJoanne--Joanne on the trail, as his wife----\n\nHe began pacing back and forth in his room, clouding himself in the smoke\nof his pipe. Frequently Joanne's mind had filled him with an exquisite\ndelight by its quickness and at times almost magic perceptiveness, and he\nrealized that in these things, and the fineness of her woman's intuition,\nnow lay his greatest menace. He was sure that she understood the meaning of\nthe assault upon her that night, though she had apparently believed what\nhe and Blackton had told them--that it had been the attack of\nirresponsible and drunken hoodlums. Yet he was certain that she had already\nguessed that Quade had been responsible.\n\nHe went to bed, dreading what questions and new developments the morning\nmight bring forth. And when the morning came, he was both amazed and\ndelighted. The near tragedy of the previous night might never have happened\nin so far as he could judge from Joanne's appearance. When she came out of\nher room to meet him, in the glow of a hall lamp, her eyes were like stars,\nand the colour in her cheeks was like that of a rose fresh from its slumber\nin dew.\n\n\"I'm so happy, and what happened last night seems so like a bad dream,\" she\nwhispered, as he held her close to him for a few moments before descending\nthe stairs. \"I shall worry about Peggy, John. I shall. I don't understand\nhow her husband dares to bring her among savages like these. You wouldn't\nleave me among them, would you?\" And as she asked the question, and his\nlips pressed hers, John Aldous still believed that in her heart she knew\nthe truth of that night attack.\n\nIf she did know, she kept her secret from him all that day. They left Tete\nJaune before sunrise with an outfit which MacDonald had cut down to six\nhorses. Its smallness roused Joanne's first question, for Aldous had\ndescribed to her an outfit of twenty horses. He explained that a large\noutfit made travel much more difficult and slow, but he did not tell her\nthat with six horses instead of twenty they could travel less\nconspicuously, more easily conceal themselves from enemies, and, if\nnecessary, make quick flight or swift pursuit.\n\nThey stopped to camp for the night in a little basin that drew from Joanne\nan exclamation of joy and wonder. They had reached the upper timber-line,\nand on three sides the basin was shut in by treeless and brush-naked walls\nof the mountains. In the centre of the dip was a lake fed by a tiny stream\nthat fell in a series of ribbonlike cataracts a sheer thousand feet from\nthe snow-peaks that towered above them. Small, parklike clumps of spruce\ndotted the miniature valley; over it hung a sky as blue as sapphire and\nunder their feet was a carpet of soft grass sprayed with little blue\nforget-me-nots and wild asters.\n\n\"I have never seen anything a half so beautiful as this!\" cried Joanne, as\nAldous helped her from her horse.\n\nAs her feet touched the ground she gave a little cry and hung limply in his\narms.\n\n\"I'm lame--lame for life!\" she laughed in mock humour. \"John, I can't\nstand. I really can't!\"\n\nOld Donald was chuckling in his beard as he came up.\n\n\"You ain't nearly so lame as you'll be to-morrow,\" he comforted her. \"An'\nyou won't be nearly so lame to-morrow as you'll be next day. Then you'll\nbegin to get used to it, Mis' Joanne.\"\n\n\"_Mrs. Aldous_, Donald,\" she corrected sweetly. \"Or--just Joanne.\"\n\nAt that Aldous found himself holding her so closely that she gave a little\ngasp.\n\n\"Please don't,\" she expostulated. \"Your arms are terribly strong, John!\"\n\nMacDonald had turned away, still chuckling, and began to unpack. Joanne\nlooked behind her, then quickly held up her softly pouted lips. Aldous\nkissed her, and would have kissed her again but she slipped suddenly from\nhis arms and going to Pinto began to untie a dishpan that was fastened to\nthe top of his pack.\n\n\"Get to work, John Aldous!\" she commanded.\n\nMacDonald had camped before in the basin, and there were tepee poles ready\ncut, as light and dry as matchwood. Joanne watched them as they put up the\ntent, and when it was done, and she looked inside, she cried delightedly:\n\n\"It's the snuggest little home I ever had, John!\"\n\nAfter that she busied herself in a way that was a constantly growing\npleasure to him. She took possession at once of pots and pans and kettles.\nShe lost no time in impressing upon both Aldous and MacDonald the fact that\nwhile she was their docile follower on the trail she was to be at the head\nof affairs in camp. While they were straightening out the outfit, hobbling\nthe horses, and building a fire, she rummaged through the panniers and took\nstock of their provisions. She bossed old Donald in a manner that made him\nfairly glow with pleasure. She bared her white arms to the elbows and made\nbiscuits for the \"reflector\" instead of bannock, while Aldous brought water\nfrom the lake, and MacDonald cut wood. Her cheeks were aflame. Her eyes\nwere laughing, joyous, happy. MacDonald seemed years younger. He obeyed her\nlike a boy, and once Aldous caught him looking at her in a way that set him\nthinking again of those days of years and years ago, and of other camps,\nand of another woman--like Joanne.\n\nMacDonald had thought of this first camp--and there were porterhouse steaks\nfor supper, which he had brought packed in a kettle of ice. When they sat\ndown to the meal, Joanne was facing a distant snow-capped ridge that cut\nthe skyline, and the last of the sun, reflected from the face of the\nmountain on the east, had set brown-and-gold fires aglow in her hair. They\nwere partly through when her eyes rested on the distant snow-ridge. Aldous\nsaw her looking steadily. Suddenly she pointed beyond him.\n\n\"I see something moving over the snow on that mountain!\" she cried a little\nexcitedly. \"It is hurrying toward the summit--just under the skyline! What\nis it?\"\n\nAldous and MacDonald looked toward the ridge. Fully a mile away, almost\neven with the skyline now, a small dark object was moving over the white\nsurface of the snow.\n\n\"It ain't a goat,\" said MacDonald, \"because a goat is white, and we\ncouldn't see it on the snow. It ain't a sheep, 'cause it's too dark, an'\nmovin' too slow. It must be a bear, but why in the name o' sin a bear would\nbe that high, I don't know!\"\n\nHe jumped up and ran for his telescope.\n\n\"A grizzly,\" whispered Joanne tensely. \"Would it be a grizzly, John?\"\n\n\"Possibly,\" he answered. \"Indeed, it's very likely. This is a grizzly\ncountry. If we hurry you can get a look at him through the telescope.\"\n\nMacDonald was already studying the object through his long glass when they\njoined him.\n\n\"It's a bear,\" he said.\n\n\"Please--please let me look at him,\" begged Joanne.\n\nThe dark object was now almost on the skyline. Half A minute more and it\nwould pass over and out of sight. MacDonald still held his eye to the\ntelescope, as though he had not heard Joanne. Not until the moving object\nhad crossed the skyline, and had disappeared, did he reply to her.\n\n\"The light's bad, an' you couldn't have made him out very well,\" he said.\n\"We'll show you plenty o' grizzlies, an' so near you won't want a\ntelescope. Eh, Johnny?\"\n\nAs he looked at Aldous there was a strange look in his eyes, and during the\nremainder of the supper he was restless, and ate hurriedly. When he had\nfinished he rose and picked up his long rifle.\n\n\"There's sheep somewhere near this basin, Johnny,\" he explained. \"An' I\nreckon Joanne'll scold us if we don't keep her in fresh meat. I'm goin' to\nbring in some mutton if there's any to be got, an' I probably won't be back\nuntil after dark.\"\n\nAldous knew that he had more to say, and he went with him a few steps\nbeyond the camp.\n\nAnd MacDonald continued in a low, troubled voice:\n\n\"Be careful, Johnny. Watch yo'rself. I'm going to take a look over into the\nnext valley, an' I won't be back until late. It wasn't a goat, an' it\nwasn't a sheep, an' it wasn't a bear. It was two-legged! It was a man,\nJohnny, an' he was there to watch this trail, or my name ain't Donald\nMacDonald. Mebby he came ahead of us last night, an' mebby he was here\nbefore that happened. Anyway, be on your guard while I look over into the\nnext range.\"\n\nWith that he struck off in the direction of the snow-ridge, and for a few\nmoments Aldous stood looking after the tall, picturesque figure until it\ndisappeared behind a clump of spruce. Swiftly he was telling himself that\nit was not the hunting season, and that it was not a prospector whom they\nhad seen on the snow-ridge. As a matter of caution, there could be but one\nconclusion to draw. The man had been stationed there either by Quade or\nFitzHugh, or both, and had unwittingly revealed himself.\n\nHe turned toward Joanne, who had already begun to gather up the supper\nthings. He could hear her singing happily, and as he looked she pressed a\nfinger to her lips and threw a kiss to him. His heart smote him even as he\nsmiled and waved a hand in response. Then he went to her. How slim and\nwonderful she looked in that glow of the setting sun, he thought. How white\nand soft were her hands, how tender and fragile her lovely neck! And how\nhelpless--how utterly helpless she would be if anything happened to him and\nMacDonald! With an effort he flung the thought from him. On his knees he\nwiped the dishes and pots and pans for Joanne. When this was done, he\nseized an axe and showed her how to gather a bed. This was a new and\ndelightful experience for Joanne.\n\n\"You always want to cut balsam boughs when you can get them,\" he explained,\npausing before two small trees. \"Now, this is a cedar, and this is a\nbalsam. Notice how prickly and needlelike on all sides these cedar branches\nare. And now look at the balsam. The needles lay flat and soft. Balsam\nmakes the best bed you can get in the North, except moss, and you've got to\ndry the moss.\"\n\nFor fifteen minutes he clipped off the soft ends of the balsam limbs and\nJoanne gathered them in her arms and carried them into the tepee. Then he\nwent in with her, and showed her how to make the bed. He made it a narrow\nbed, and a deep bed, and he knew that Joanne was watching him, and he was\nglad the tan hid the uncomfortable glow in his face when he had finished\ntucking in the end of the last blanket.\n\n\"You will be as cozy as can be in that,\" he said.\n\n\"And you, John?\" she asked, her face flushing rosily. \"I haven't seen\nanother tent for you and Donald.\"\n\n\"We don't sleep in a tent during the summer,\" he said. \"Just our\nblankets--out in the open.\"\n\n\"But--if it should rain?\"\n\n\"We get under a balsam or a spruce or a thick cedar.\"\n\nA little later they stood beside the fire. It was growing dusk. The distant\nsnow-ridge was swiftly fading into a pale and ghostly sheet in the gray\ngloom of the night. Up that ridge Aldous knew that MacDonald was toiling.\n\nJoanne put her hands to his shoulders.\n\n\"Are you sorry--so very, very sorry that you let me come, John?\"\n\n\"I didn't let you come,\" he laughed softly, drawing her to him. \"You came!\"\n\n\"And are you sorry?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nIt was deliciously sweet to have her tilt up her head and put her soft lips\nto his, and it was still sweeter when her tender hands stroked his cheeks,\nand eyes and lips smiled their love and gladness. He stood stroking her\nhair, with her face laying warm and close against him, and over her head he\nstared into the thickening darkness of the spruce and cedar copses. Joanne\nherself had piled wood on the fire, and in its glow they were dangerously\nilluminated. With one of her hands she was still caressing his cheek.\n\n\"When will Donald return?\" she asked.\n\n\"Probably not until late,\" he replied, wondering what it was that had set a\nstone rolling down the side of the mountain nearest to them. \"He hunted\nuntil dark, and may wait for the moon to come up before he returns.\"\n\n\"John----\"\n\n\"Yes, dear?----\" And mentally he measured the distance to the nearest clump\nof timber between them and the mountain.\n\n\"Let's build a big fire, and sit down on the pannier canvases.\"\n\nHis eyes were still on the timber, and he was wondering what a man with a\nrifle, or even a pistol, might do at that space. He made a good target, and\nMacDonald was probably several miles away.\n\n\"I've been thinking about the fire,\" he said. \"We must put it out, Joanne.\nThere are reasons why we should not let it burn. For one thing, the smoke\nwill drive any game away that we may hope to see in the morning.\"\n\nHer hands lay still against his cheek.\n\n\"I--understand, John,\" she replied quickly, and there was the smallest bit\nof a shudder in her voice. \"I had forgotten. We must put it out!\"\n\nFive minutes later only a few glowing embers remained where the fire had\nbeen. He had spread out the pannier canvases, and now he seated himself\nwith his back to a tree. Joanne snuggled close to him.\n\n\"It is much nicer in the dark,\" she whispered, and her arms reached up\nabout him, and her lips pressed warm and soft against his hand. \"Are you\njust a little ashamed of me, John?\"\n\n\"Ashamed? Good heaven----\"\n\n\"Because,\" she interrupted him, \"we have known each other such a very short\ntime, and I have allowed myself to become so very, very well acquainted\nwith you. It has all been so delightfully sudden, and strange, and I\nam--just as happy as I can be. You don't think it is immodest for me to say\nthese things to my husband, John--even if I have only known him three\ndays?\"\n\nHe answered by crushing her so closely in his arms that for a few moments\nafterward she lay helplessly on his breast, gasping for breath. His brain\nwas afire with the joyous madness of possession. Never had woman come to\nman more sweetly than Joanne had come to him, and as he felt her throbbing\nand trembling against him he was ready to rise up and shout forth a\nchallenge to a hundred Quades and Culver Ranns hiding in the darkness of\nthe mountains. For a long time he held her nestled close in his arms, and\nat intervals there were silences between them, in which they listened to\nthe glad tumult of their own hearts, and the strange silence that came to\nthem from out of the still night.\n\nIt was their first hour alone--of utter oblivion to all else but\nthemselves; to Joanne the first sacrament hour of her wifehood, to him the\nfirst hour of perfect possession and understanding. In that hour their\nsouls became one, and when at last they rose to their feet, and the moon\ncame up over a crag of the mountain and flooded them in its golden light,\nthere was in Joanne's face a tenderness and a gentle glory that made John\nAldous think of an angel. He led her to the tepee, and lighted a candle\nfor her, and at the last, with the sweet demand of a child in the manner of\nher doing it, she pursed up her lips to be kissed good-night.\n\nAnd when he had tied the tent-flap behind her, he took his rifle and sat\ndown with it across his knees in the deep black shadow of a spruce, and\nwaited and listened for the coming of Donald MacDonald.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\n\nFor an hour after Joanne had gone into her tent Aldous sat silent and\nwatchful. From where he had concealed himself he could see over a part of\nthe moonlit basin, and guard the open space between the camp and the clump\nof timber that lay in the direction of the nearest mountain. After Joanne\nhad blown out her candle the silence of the night seemed to grow deeper\nabout him. The hobbled horses had wandered several hundred yards away, and\nonly now and then could he hear the thud of a hoof, or the clank of a steel\nshoe on rock. He believed that it was impossible for any one to approach\nwithout ears and eyes giving him warning, and he felt a distinct shock when\nDonald MacDonald suddenly appeared in the moonlight not twenty paces from\nhim. With an ejaculation of amazement he jumped to his feet and went to\nhim.\n\n\"How the deuce did you get here?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Were you asleep, Johnny?\"\n\n\"I was awake--and watching!\"\n\nThe old hunter chuckled.\n\n\"It was so still when I come to those trees back there that I thought mebby\nsomething had 'appened,\" he said.\n\n\"So, I sneaked up, Johnny.\"\n\n\"Did you see anything over the range?\" asked Aldous anxiously.\n\n\"I found footprints in the snow, an' when I got to the top I smelled smoke,\nbut couldn't see a fire. It was dark then.\" MacDonald nodded toward the\ntepee. \"Is she asleep, Johnny?\"\n\n\"I think so. She must be very tired.\"\n\nThey drew back into the shadow of the spruce. It was a simultaneous\nmovement of caution, and both, without speaking their thoughts, realized\nthe significance of it. Until now they had had no opportunity of being\nalone since last night.\n\nMacDonald spoke in a low, muffled voice:\n\n\"Quade an' Culver Rann are goin' the limit, Johnny,\" he said. \"They left\nmen on the job at Tete Jaune, and they've got others watching us.\nConsequently, I've hit on a scheme--a sort of simple and unreasonable\nscheme, mebby, but an awful good scheme at times.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Whenever you see anything that ain't a bear, or a goat, or a sheep, don't\nwait to change the time o' day--but shoot!\" said MacDonald.\n\nAldous smiled grimly.\n\n\"If I had any ideas of chivalry, or what I call fair play, they were taken\nout of me last night, Mac,\" he said. \"I'm ready to shoot on sight!\"\n\nMacDonald grunted his satisfaction.\n\n\"They can't beat us if we do that, Johnny. They ain't even ordinary\ncut-throats--they're sneaks in the bargain; an' if they could walk in our\ncamp, smilin' an' friendly, and brain us when our backs was turned, they'd\ndo it. We don't know who's with them, and if a stranger heaves in sight\nmeet him with a chunk o' lead. They're the only ones in these mountains,\nan' we won't make any mistake. See that bunch of spruce over there?\"\n\nThe old hunter pointed to a clump fifty yards beyond the tepee toward the\nlittle lake. Aldous nodded.\n\n\"I'll take my blankets over there,\" continued MacDonald. \"You roll yourself\nup here, and the tepee'll be between us. You see the system, Johnny? If\nthey make us a visit during the night we've got 'em between us, and\nthere'll be some real burying to do in the morning!\"\n\nBack under the low-hanging boughs of the dwarf spruce Aldous spread out his\nblanket a few minutes later. He had made up his mind not to sleep, and for\nhours he lay watchful and waiting, smoking occasionally, with his face\nclose to the ground so that the odour of tobacco would cling to the earth.\nThe moon rose until it was straight overhead, flooding the valley in a\ngolden splendour that he wished Joanne might have seen. Then it began\nsinking into the west; slowly at first, and then more swiftly, its radiance\ndiminished. He looked at his watch before the yellow orb effaced itself\nbehind the towering peak of a distant mountain. It was a quarter of two.\n\nWith deepening darkness, his eyes grew heavier. He closed them for a few\nmoments at a time; and each time the interval was longer, and it took\ngreater effort to force himself into wakefulness. Finally he slept. But he\nwas still subconsciously on guard, and an hour later that consciousness was\nbeating and pounding within him, urging him to awake. He sat up with a\nstart and gripped his rifle. An owl was hooting--softly, very softly. There\nwere four notes. He answered, and a little later MacDonald came like a\nshadow out of the gloom. Aldous advanced to meet him, and he noticed that\nover the eastern mountains there was a break of gray.\n\n\"It's after three, Johnny,\" MacDonald greeted him. \"Build a fire and get\nbreakfast. Tell Joanne I'm out after another sheep. Until it's good an'\nlight I'm going to watch from that clump of timber up there. In half an\nhour it'll be dawn.\"\n\nHe moved toward the timber, and Aldous set about building a fire. He was\ncareful not to awaken Joanne. The fire was crackling cheerily when he went\nto the lake for water. Returning he saw the faint glow of candlelight in\nJoanne's tepee. Five minutes later she appeared, and all thought of danger,\nand the discomfort of his sleepless night, passed from him at sight of her.\nHer eyes were still a little misty with sleep when he took her in his arms\nand kissed her, but she was deliciously alive, and glad, and happy. In one\nhand she had brought a brush and in the other a comb.\n\n\"You slept like a log,\" he cried happily. \"It can't be that you had very\nbad dreams, little wife?\"\n\n\"I had a beautiful dream, John,\" she laughed softly, and the colour flooded\nup into her face.\n\nShe unplaited the thick silken strands of her braid and began brushing her\nhair in the firelight, while Aldous sliced the bacon. Some of the slices\nwere thick, and some were thin, for he could not keep his eyes from her as\nshe stood there like a goddess, buried almost to her knees in that wondrous\nmantle. He found himself whistling with a very light heart as she braided\nher hair, and afterward plunged her face in a bath of cold water he had\nbrought from the lake. From that bath she emerged like a glowing Naiad.\nHer eyes sparkled. Her cheeks were pink and her lips full and red. Damp\nlittle tendrils of hair clung adorably about her face and neck. For another\nfull minute Aldous paused in his labours, and he wondered if MacDonald was\nwatching them from the clump of timber. The bacon was sputtering when\nJoanne ran to it and rescued it from burning.\n\nDawn followed quickly after that first break of day in the east, but not\nuntil one could see a full rifle-shot away did MacDonald return to the\ncamp. Breakfast was waiting, and as soon as he had finished the old hunter\nwent after the horses. It was five o'clock, and bars of the sun were\nshooting over the tops of the mountains when once more they were in the\nsaddle and on their way.\n\nMost of this day Aldous headed the outfit up the valley. On the pretext of\nsearching for game MacDonald rode so far in advance that only twice during\nthe forenoon was he in sight. When they stopped to camp for the night his\nhorse was almost exhausted, and MacDonald himself showed signs of\ntremendous physical effort. Aldous could not question him before Joanne. He\nwaited. And MacDonald was strangely silent.\n\nThe proof of MacDonald's prediction concerning Joanne was in evidence this\nsecond night. Every bone in her body ached, and she was so tired that she\nmade no objection to going to her bed as soon as it was dark.\n\n\"It always happens like this,\" consoled old Donald, as she bade him\ngood-night. \"To-morrow you'll begin gettin' broke in, an' the next day you\nwon't have any lameness at all.\"\n\nShe limped to the tepee with John's arm snugly about her slim waist.\nMacDonald waited patiently until he returned. He motioned Aldous to seat\nhimself close at his side. Both men lighted their pipes before the\nmountaineer spoke.\n\n\"We can't both sleep at once to-night, Johnny,\" he said. \"We've got to take\nturns keeping watch.\"\n\n\"You've discovered something to-day?\"\n\n\"No. It's what I haven't discovered that counts. There weren't no tracks in\nthis valley, Johnny, from mount'in to mount'in. They haven't travelled\nthrough this range, an' that leaves just two things for us to figger on.\nThey're behind us--or DeBar is hitting another trail into the north. There\nisn't no danger ahead right now, because we're gettin' into the biggest\nranges between here an' the Yukon. If Quade and Rann are in the next valley\nthey can't get over the mount'ins to get at us. Quade, with all his flesh,\ncouldn't climb over that range to the west of us inside o' three days, if\nhe could get over it at all. They're hikin' straight for the gold over\nanother trail, or they're behind us, an' mebby both.\"\n\n\"How--both?\" asked Aldous.\n\n\"Two parties,\" explained MacDonald, puffing hard at his pipe. \"If there's\nan outfit behind us they were hid in the timber on the other side of the\nsnow-ridge, and they're pretty close this minute. Culver Rann--or FitzHugh,\nas you call him--is hustling straight on with DeBar. Mebby Quade is with\nhim, an' mebby he ain't. Anyway, there's a big chance of a bunch behind us\nwith special instructions from Quade to cut our throats and keep Joanne.\"\n\nThat day Aldous had been turning a question over in his own mind. He asked\nit now.\n\n\"Mac, are you sure you can go to the valley of gold without DeBar?\"\n\nFor a long half minute MacDonald looked at him, and then his voice rumbled\nin a low, exultant laugh in his beard.\n\n\"Johnny,\" he said, with a strange quiver in his voice, \"I can go to it now\nstraighter an' quicker than DeBar! I know why I never found it. DeBar\nhelped me that much. The trail is mapped right out in my brain now, Johnny.\nFive years ago I was within ten miles of the cavern--an' didn't know it!\"\n\n\"And we can get there ahead of them?\"\n\n\"We could--if it wasn't for Joanne. We're makin' twenty miles a day. We\ncould make thirty.\"\n\n\"If we could beat them to it!\" exclaimed Aldous, clenching his hands. \"If\nwe only could, Donald--the rest would be easy!\"\n\nMacDonald laid a heavy hand on his knee.\n\n\"You remember what you told me, Johnny, that you'd play the game fair, and\ngive 'em a first chance? You ain't figgerin' on that now, be you?\"\n\n\"No, I'm with you now, Donald. It's----\"\n\n\"Shoot on sight!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nAldous rose from his seat as he spoke.\n\n\"You turn in, Mac,\" he said. \"You're about bushed after the work you've\ndone to-day. I'll keep first watch. I'll conceal myself fifty or sixty\nyards from camp, and if we have visitors before midnight the fun will all\nbe mine.\"\n\nHe knew that MacDonald was asleep within fifteen minutes after he had\nstationed himself at his post. In spite of the fact that he had had almost\nno sleep the preceding night, he was more than usually wakeful. He was\nfilled with a curious feeling that events were impending. Yet the hours\npassed, the moon flooded the valley again, the horses grazed without alarm,\nand nothing happened. He had planned not to awaken old Donald at midnight,\nbut MacDonald roused himself, and came to take his place a little before\ntwelve. From that hour until four Aldous slept like the dead. He was\ntremendously refreshed when he arose, to find that the candle was alight in\nJoanne's tepee, and that MacDonald had built a fire. He waited for Joanne,\nand went with her to the tiny creek near the camp, where both bathed their\nfaces in the snow-cold water from the mountain tops. Joanne had slept\nsoundly for eight hours, and she was as fresh and as happy as a bird. Her\nlameness was almost gone, and she was eager for the day's journey.\n\nAs they filed again up the valley that morning, with the early sun\ntransfiguring the great snow-topped ranges about them into a paradise of\ncolour and warmth, Aldous found himself mentally wondering if it were\nreally possible that a serious danger menaced them. He did not tell\nMacDonald what was in his mind. He did not confess that he was about ready\nto believe that the man on the snow-ridge had been a hunter or a prospector\nreturning to his camp in the other valley, and that the attack in Tete\nJaune was the one and only effort Quade would make to secure possession of\nJoanne. While a few hours before he had almost expected an immediate\nattack, he was now becoming more and more convinced that Quade, to a large\nextent, had dropped out of the situation. He might be with Mortimer\nFitzHugh, and probably was--a dangerous and formidable enemy to be\naccounted for when the final settlement came.\n\nBut as an immediate menace to Joanne, Aldous was beginning to fear him less\nas the hours passed. Joanne, and the day itself, were sufficient to disarm\nhim of his former apprehension. In places they could see for miles ahead\nand behind them. And Joanne, each time that he looked at her, was a greater\njoy to him. Constantly she was pointing out the wonders of the mountains to\nhim and MacDonald. Each new rise or fall in the valley held fresh and\ndelightful surprises for her; in the craggy peaks she pointed out\ncastlements, and towers, and battlemented strongholds of ancient princes\nand kings. Her mind was a wild and beautiful riot of imagination, of\nwonder, and of happiness, and in spite of the grimness of the mission they\nwere on even MacDonald found himself rejoicing in her spirit, and he\nlaughed and talked with them as they rode into the North.\n\nThey were entering now into a hunter's paradise. For the first time Joanne\nsaw white, moving dots far up on a mountain-side, which MacDonald told her\nwere goats. In the afternoon they saw mountain sheep feeding on a slide\nhalf a mile away, and for ten breathless minutes Joanne watched them\nthrough the telescope. Twice caribou sped over the opens ahead of them. But\nit was not until the sun was settling toward the west again that Joanne saw\nwhat she had been vainly searching the sides of the mountains to find.\nMacDonald had stopped suddenly in the trail, motioning them to advance.\nWhen they rode up to him he pointed to a green <DW72> two hundred yards\nahead.\n\n\"There's yo'r grizzly, Joanne,\" he said.\n\nA huge, tawny beast was ambling slowly along the crest of the <DW72>, and at\nsight of him Joanne gave a little cry of excitement.\n\n\"He's hunting for gophers,\" explained MacDonald.\n\n\"That's why he don't seem in a hurry. He don't see us because a b'ar's eyes\nare near-sighted, but he could smell us half a mile away if the wind was\nright.\"\n\nHe was unslinging his long rifle as he spoke. Joanne was near enough to\ncatch his arm.\n\n\"Don't shoot--please don't shoot!\" she begged. \"I've seen lions, and I've\nseen tigers--and they're treacherous and I don't like them. But there's\nsomething about bears that I love, like dogs. And the lion isn't a king\namong beasts compared with him. Please don't shoot!\"\n\n\"I ain't a-goin' to,\" chuckled old Donald. \"I'm just getting ready to give\n'im the proper sort of a handshake if he should happen to come this way,\nJoanne. You know a grizzly ain't pertic'lar afraid of anything on earth as\nI know of, an' they're worse 'n a dynamite explosion when they come\nhead-on. There--he's goin' over the <DW72>!\"\n\n\"Got our wind,\" said Aldous.\n\nThey went on, a colour in Joanne's face like the vivid sunset. They camped\ntwo hours before dusk, and MacDonald figured they had made better than\ntwenty miles that day. The same precautions were observed in guarding the\ncamp as the night before, and the long hours of vigil were equally\nuneventful. The next day added still more to Aldous' peace of mind\nregarding possible attack from Quade, and on the night of this day, their\nfourth in the mountains, he spoke his mind to MacDonald.\n\nFor a few moments afterward the old hunter smoked quietly at his pipe. Then\nhe said:\n\n\"I don't know but you're right, Johnny. If they were behind us they'd most\nlikely have tried something before this. But it ain't in the law of the\nmount'ins to be careless. We've got to watch.\"\n\n\"I agree with you there, Mac,\" replied Aldous. \"We cannot afford to lose\nour caution for a minute. But I'm feeling a deuced sight better over the\nsituation just the same. If we can only get there ahead of them!\"\n\n\"If Quade is in the bunch we've got a chance of beating them,\" said\nMacDonald thoughtfully. \"He's heavy, Johnny--that sort of heaviness that\ndon't stand up well in the mount'ins; whisky-flesh, I call it. Culver Rann\ndon't weigh much more'n half as much, but he's like iron. Quade may be a\ndrag. An' Joanne, Lord bless her!--she's facing the music like an' 'ero,\nJohnny!\"\n\n\"And the journey is almost half over.\"\n\n\"This is the fourth day. I figger we can make it in ten at most, mebby\nnine,\" said old Donald. \"You see we're in that part of the Rockies where\nthere's real mount'ins, an' the ranges ain't broke up much. We've got\nfairly good travel to the end.\"\n\nOn this night Aldous slept from eight until twelve. The next, their fifth,\nhis watch was from midnight until morning. As the sixth and the seventh\ndays and nights passed uneventfully the belief that there were no enemies\nbehind them became a certainty. Yet neither Aldous nor MacDonald relaxed\ntheir vigilance.\n\nThe eighth day dawned, and now a new excitement took possession of Donald\nMacDonald. Joanne and Aldous saw his efforts to suppress it, but it did not\nescape their eyes. They were nearing the tragic scenes of long ago, and old\nDonald was about to reap the reward of a search that had gone faithfully\nand untiringly through the winters and summers of forty years. He spoke\nseldom that day. There were strange lights in his eyes. And once his voice\nwas husky and strained when he said to Aldous:\n\n\"I guess we'll make it to-morrow, Johnny--jus' about as the sun's going\ndown.\"\n\nThey camped early, and Aldous rolled himself in his blanket when Joanne\nextinguished the candle in her tent. He found that he could not sleep, and\nhe relieved MacDonald at eleven o'clock.\n\n\"Get all the rest you can, Mac,\" he urged. \"There may be doings\nto-morrow--at about sundown.\"\n\nThere was but little moonlight now, but the stars were clear. He lighted\nhis pipe, and with his rifle in the crook of his arm he walked slowly up\nand down over a hundred-yard stretch of the narrow plain in which they had\ncamped. That night they had built their fire beside a fallen log, which was\nnow a glowing mass without flame. Finally he sat down with his back to a\nrock fifty paces from Joanne's tepee. It was a splendid night. The air was\ncool and sweet. He leaned back until his head rested against the rock, and\nthere fell upon him the fatal temptation to close his eyes and snatch a few\nminutes of the slumber which had not come to him during the early hours of\nthe night. He was in a doze, oblivious to movement and the softer sounds of\nthe night, when a cry pierced the struggling consciousness of his brain\nlike the sting of a dart. In an instant he was on his feet.\n\nIn the red glow of the log stood Joanne in her long white night robe. She\nseemed to be swaying when he first saw her. Her hands were clutched at her\nbosom, and she was staring--staring out into the night beyond the burning\nlog, and in her face was a look of terror. He sprang toward her, and out of\nthe gloom beyond her rushed Donald MacDonald. With a cry she turned to\nAldous and flung herself shivering and half-sobbing into his arms.\nGray-faced, his eyes burning like the smouldering coals in the fire, Donald\nMacDonald stood a step behind them, his long rifle in his hands.\n\n\"What is it?\" cried Aldous. \"What has frightened you, Joanne?\"\n\nShe was shuddering against his breast.\n\n\"It--it must have been a dream,\" she said. \"It--it frightened me. But it\nwas so terrible, and I'm--I'm sorry, John. I didn't know what I was doing.\"\n\n\"What was it, dear?\" insisted Aldous.\n\nMacDonald had drawn very close.\n\nJoanne raised her head.\n\n\"Please let me go back to bed, John. It was only a dream, and I'll tell it\nto you in the morning, when there's sunshine--and day.\"\n\nSomething in MacDonald's tense, listening attitude caught Aldous' eyes.\n\n\"What was the dream?\" he urged.\n\nShe looked from him to old Donald, and shivered.\n\n\"The flap of my tepee was open,\" she said slowly. \"I thought I was awake. I\nthought I could see the glow of the fire. But it was a dream--a _dream_,\nonly it was horrible! For as I looked I saw a face out there in the light,\na white, searching face--and it was his face!\"\n\n\"Whose face?\"\n\n\"Mortimer FitzHugh's,\" she shuddered.\n\nTenderly Aldous led her back to the tent.\n\n\"Yes, it was surely an unpleasant dream, dear,\" he comforted her. \"Try and\nsleep again. You must get all the rest you can.\"\n\nHe closed the flap after her, and turned back toward MacDonald. The old\nhunter had disappeared. It was ten minutes before he came in from out of\nthe darkness. He went straight to Aldous.\n\n\"Johnny, you was asleep!\"\n\n\"I'm afraid I was, Mac--just for a minute.\"\n\nMacDonald's fingers gripped his arm.\n\n\"Jus' for a minute, Johnny--an' in that minute you lost the chance of your\nlife!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean\"--and old Donald's voice was filled with a low, choking tremble\nthat Aldous had never heard in it before--\"I mean that it weren't no dream,\nJohnny! Mortimer FitzHugh was in this camp to-night!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\n\nDonald MacDonald's startling assertion that Mortimer FitzHugh had been in\nthe camp, and that Joanne's dream was not a dream, but reality, brought a\ngasp of astonishment and disbelief from Aldous. Before he had recovered\nsufficiently from his amazement to speak, MacDonald was answering the\nquestion in his mind.\n\n\"I woke quicker'n you, Johnny,\" he said. \"She was just coming out of the\ntepee, an' I heard something running off through the brush. I thought mebby\nit was a wolverine, or a bear, an' I didn't move until she cried out your\nname an' you jumped up. If she had seen a bear in the fire-glow she\nwouldn't have thought it was Mortimer FitzHugh, would she? It's possible,\nbut it ain't likely, though I do say it's mighty queer why he should be in\nthis camp alone. It's up to us to watch pretty close until daylight.\"\n\n\"He wouldn't be here alone,\" asserted Aldous. \"Let's get out of the light,\nMac. If you're right, the whole gang isn't far away!\"\n\n\"They ain't in rifle-shot,\" said MacDonald. \"I heard him running a hundred\nyards out there. That's the queer thing about it! Why didn't they jump on\nus when they had the chance?\"\n\n\"We'll hope that it was a dream,\" replied Aldous. \"If Joanne was dreaming\nof FitzHugh, and while still half asleep saw something in camp, she might\neasily imagine the rest. But we'll keep watch. Shall I move out there?\"\n\nMacDonald nodded, and the two men separated. For two hours they patrolled\nthe darkness, waiting and listening. With dawn Aldous returned to camp to\narouse Joanne and begin breakfast. He was anxious to see what effect the\nincident of the night had on her. Her appearance reassured him. When he\nreferred to the dream, and the manner in which she had come out into the\nnight, a lovely confusion sent the blushes into her face. He kissed her\nuntil they grew deeper, and she hid her face on his neck.\n\nAnd then she whispered something, with her face still against his shoulder,\nthat drove the hot blood into his own cheeks.\n\n\"You are my husband, John, and I don't suppose I should be ashamed to let\nyou see me in my bare feet. But, John--you have made me feel that way, and\nI am--your wife!\"\n\nHe held her head close against him so that she could not see his face.\n\n\"I wanted to show you--that I loved you--'that much,\" he said, scarcely\nknowing what words he was speaking. \"Joanne, my darling----\"\n\nA soft hand closed his lips.\n\n\"I know, John,\" she interrupted him softly. \"And I love you so for it, and\nI'm so proud of you--oh, so proud, John!\"\n\nHe was glad that MacDonald came crashing through the bush then. Joanne\nslipped from his arms and ran into the tepee.\n\nIn MacDonald's face was a grim and sullen look.\n\n\"You missed your chance, all right, Johnny,\" he growled. \"I found where a\nhorse was tied out there. The tracks lead to a big slide of rock that opens\na break in the west range. Whoever it was has beat it back into the other\nvalley. I can't understand, s'elp me God, I can't, Johnny! Why should\nFitzHugh come over into this valley alone? And he _rode_ over! I'd say the\ndevil couldn't do that!\"\n\nHe said nothing more, but went out to lead in the hobbled horses, leaving\nAldous in half-stunned wonderment to finish the preparation of breakfast.\nJoanne reappeared a little later, and helped him. It was six o'clock before\nbreakfast was over and they were ready to begin their day's journey. As\nthey were throwing the hitch over the last pack, MacDonald said in a low\nvoice to Aldous:\n\n\"Everything may happen to-day, Johnny. I figger we'll reach the end by\nsundown. An' what don't happen there may happen along the trail. Keep a\nrifle-shot behind with Joanne. If there's unexpected shooting, we want what\nyou might call a reserve force in the rear. I figger I can see danger, if\nthere is any, an' I can do it best alone.\"\n\nAldous knew that in these last hours Donald MacDonald's judgment must be\nfinal, and he made no objection to an arrangement which seemed to place the\nold hunter under a more hazardous risk than his own. And he realized fully\nthat these were the last hours. For the first time he had seen MacDonald\nfill his pockets with the finger-long cartridges for his rifle, and he had\nnoted how carefully he had looked at the breech of that rifle. Without\nquestioning, he had followed the mountaineer's example. There were fifty\nspare cartridges in his own pockets. His .303 was freshly cleaned and\noiled. He had tested the mechanism of his automatic. MacDonald had watched\nhim, and both understood what such preparations meant as they set out on\nthis last day's journey into the North. They had not kept from Joanne the\nfact that they would reach the end before night, and as they rode the\nprescribed distance behind the old hunter Aldous wondered how much she\nguessed, and what she knew. They had given her to understand that they were\nbeating out the rival party, but he believed that in spite of all their\nefforts there was in Joanne's mind a comprehension which she did not reveal\nin voice or look. To-day she was no different than yesterday, or the day\nbefore, except that her cheeks were not so deeply flushed, and there was an\nuneasy questing in her eyes. He believed that she sensed the nearness of\ntragedy, that she was conscious of what they were now trying to hide from\nher, and that she did not speak because she knew that he and MacDonald did\nnot want her to know. His heart throbbed with pride. Her courage inspired\nhim. And he noticed that she rode closer to him--always at his side through\nthat day.\n\nEarly in the afternoon MacDonald stopped on the crest of a swell in the\nvalley and waited for them. When they came up he was facing the north. He\ndid not look at them. For a few moments he did not speak. His hat was\npulled low, and his beard was twitching.\n\nThey looked ahead. At their feet the valley broadened until it was a mile\nin width. Half a mile away a band of caribou were running for the cover of\na parklike clump of timber. MacDonald did not seem to notice them. He was\nstill looking steadily, and he was gazing at a mountain. It was a\ntremendous mountain, a terrible-looking, ugly mountain, perhaps three miles\naway. Aldous had never seen another like it. Its two huge shoulders were of\nalmost ebon blackness, and glistened in the sunlight as if smeared with\noil. Between those two shoulders rose a cathedral-like spire of rock and\nsnow that seemed to tip the white fleece of the clouds.\n\nMacDonald did not turn when he spoke. His voice was deep and vibrant with\nan intense emotion. Yet he was not excited.\n\n\"I've been hunting for that mount'in for forty years, Johnny!\"\n\n\"Mac!\"\n\nAldous leaned over and laid a hand on the old mountaineer's shoulder. Still\nMacDonald did not look at him.\n\n\"Forty years,\" he repeated, as if speaking to himself. \"I see how I missed\nit now, just as DeBar said. I hunted from the west, an' on that side the\nmount'in ain't black. We must have crossed this valley an' come in from the\neast forty years ago, Johnny----\"\n\nHe turned now, and what Joanne and Aldous saw in his face was not grief; it\nwas not the sorrow of one drawing near to his beloved dead, but a joy that\nhad transfigured him. The fire and strength of the youth in which he had\nfirst looked upon this valley with Jane at his side burned again in the\nsunken eyes of Donald MacDonald. After forty years he had come into his\nown. Somewhere very near was the cavern with the soft white floor of sand,\nand for a moment Aldous fancied that he could hear the beating of\nMacDonald's heart, while from Joanne's tender bosom there rose a deep,\nsobbing breath of understanding.\n\nAnd MacDonald, facing the mountain again, pointed with a long, gaunt arm,\nand said:\n\n\"We're almost there, Johnny. God ha' mercy on them if they've beat us out!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\n\nThey rode on into the Valley of Gold. Again MacDonald took the lead, and he\nrode straight into the face of the black mountain. Aldous no longer made an\neffort to keep Joanne in ignorance of what might be ahead of them. He put a\nsixth cartridge into the chamber of his rifle, and carried the weapon\nacross the pommel of his saddle. He explained to her now why they were\nriding behind--that if their enemies were laying in wait for them,\nMacDonald, alone, could make a swift retreat. Joanne asked no questions.\nHer lips were set tight. She was pale.\n\nAt the end of three quarters of an hour it seemed to them that MacDonald\nwas riding directly into the face of a wall of rock. Then he swung sharply\nto the left, and disappeared. When they came to the point where he had\nturned they found that he had entered a concealed break in the mountain--a\nchasm with walls that rose almost perpendicular for a thousand feet above\ntheir heads. A dark and solemn gloom pervaded this chasm, and Aldous drew\nnearer to MacDonald, his rifle held in readiness, and his bridle-rein\nfastened to his saddle-horn. The chasm was short. Sunlight burst upon them\nsuddenly, and a few minutes later MacDonald waited for them again.\n\nEven Aldous could not restrain an exclamation of surprise when he rode up\nwith Joanne. Under them was another valley, a wide-sweeping valley between\ntwo rugged ranges that ran to the southwest. Up out of it there came to\ntheir ears a steady, rumbling roar; the air was filled with that roar; the\nearth seemed to tremble with it under their feet--and yet it was not loud.\nIt came sullenly, as if from a great distance.\n\nAnd then they saw that MacDonald was not looking out over the sweep of the\nvalley, but down. Half a mile under them there was a dip--a valley within a\nvalley--and through it ran the silver sheen of a stream. MacDonald spoke no\nword now. He dismounted and levelled his long telescope at the little\nvalley. Aldous helped Joanne from her horse, and they waited. A great\nbreath came at last from the old hunter. Slowly he turned. He did not give\nthe telescope to Aldous, but to Joanne. She looked. For a full minute she\nseemed scarcely to breathe. Her hands trembled when she turned to give the\nglass to Aldous.\n\n\"I see--log cabins!\" she whispered.\n\nMacDonald placed a detaining hand on her arm.\n\n\"Look ag'in--Joanne,\" he said in a low voice that had in it a curious\nquiver.\n\nAgain she raised the telescope to her eyes.\n\n\"You see the little cabin--nearest the river?\" whispered Donald.\n\n\"Yes, I see it.\"\n\n\"That was our cabin--Jane's an' mine--forty years ago,\" he said, and now\nhis voice was husky.\n\nJoanne's breath broke sobbingly as she gave Aldous the glass. Something\nseemed to choke him as he looked down upon the scene of the grim tragedy\nin which Donald MacDonald and Jane had played their fatal part. He saw the\ncabins as they had stood for nearly half a century. There were four. Three\nof them were small, and the fourth was large. They might have been built\nyesterday, for all that he could see of ruin or decay. The doors and\nwindows of the larger cabin and two of the smaller ones were closed. The\nroofs were unbroken. The walls appeared solid. Twice he looked at the\nfourth cabin, with its wide-open door and window, and twice he looked at\nthe cabin nearest the stream, where had lived Donald MacDonald and Jane.\n\nDonald had moved, and Joanne was watching him tensely, when he took the\nglass from his eyes. Mutely the old mountaineer held out a hand, and Aldous\ngave him the telescope. Crouching behind a rock he slowly swept the valley.\nFor half an hour he looked through the glass, and in that time scarce a\nword was spoken. During the last five minutes of that half-hour both Joanne\nand Aldous knew that MacDonald was looking at the little cabin nearest the\nstream, and with hands clasped tightly they waited in silence.\n\nAt last old Donald rose, and his face and voice were filled with a\nwonderful calm.\n\n\"There ain't been no change,\" he said softly. \"I can see the log in front\no' the door that I used to cut kindling on. It was too tough for them to\nsplit an' burn after we left. An' I can see the tub I made out o' spruce\nfor Jane. It's leaning next the door, where I put it the day before we went\naway. Forty years ain't very long, Johnny! It ain't very long!\"\n\nJoanne had turned from them, and Aldous knew that she was crying.\n\n\"An' we've beat 'em to it, Johnny--we've beat 'em to it!\" exulted\nMacDonald. \"There ain't a sign of life in the valley, and we sure could\nmake it out from here if there was!\"\n\nHe climbed into his saddle, and started down the <DW72> of the mountain.\nAldous went to Joanne. She was sobbing. Her eyes were blinded by tears.\n\n\"It's terrible, terrible,\" she whispered brokenly. \"And it--it's beautiful,\nJohn. I feel as though I'd like to give my life--to bring Jane back!\"\n\n\"You must not betray tears or grief to Donald,\" said Aldous, drawing her\nclose in his arms for a moment. \"Joanne--sweetheart--it is a wonderful\nthing that is happening with him! I dreaded this day--I have dreaded it for\na long time. I thought that it would be terrible to witness the grief of a\nman with a heart like Donald's. But he is not filled with grief, Joanne. It\nis joy, a great happiness that perhaps neither you nor I can\nunderstand--that has come to him now. Don't you understand? He has found\nher. He has found their old home. To-day is the culmination of forty years\nof hope, and faith, and prayer. And it does not bring him sorrow, but\ngladness. We must rejoice with him. We must be happy with him. I love you,\nJoanne. I love you above all else on earth or in heaven. Without you I\nwould not want to live. And yet, Joanne, I believe that I am no happier\nto-day than is Donald MacDonald!\"\n\nWith a sudden cry Joanne flung her arms about his neck.\n\n\"John, is it _that?_\" she cried, and joy shone through her tears. \"Yes,\nyes, I understand now! His heart is not breaking. It is life returning into\na heart that was empty. I understand--oh, I understand now! And we must be\nhappy with him. We must be happy when we find the cavern--and Jane!\"\n\n\"And when we go down there to the little cabin that was their home.\"\n\n\"Yes--yes!\"\n\nThey followed behind MacDonald. After a little a spur of the mountain-side\nshut out the little valley from them, and when they rounded this they found\nthemselves very near to the cabins. They rode down a beautiful <DW72> into\nthe basin, and when he reached the log buildings old Donald stopped and\ndismounted. Again Aldous helped Joanne from her horse. Ahead of them\nMacDonald went to the cabin nearest the stream. At the door he paused and\nwaited for them.\n\n\"Forty years!\" he said, facing them. \"An' there ain't been so very much\nchange as I can see!\"\n\nYears had dropped from his shoulders in these last few minutes, and even\nAldous could not keep quite out of his face his amazement and wonder. Very\ngently Donald put his hand to the latch, as though fearing to awaken some\none within; and very gently he pressed down on it, and put a bit of his\nstrength against the door. It moved inward, and when it had opened\nsufficiently he leaned forward so that his head and a half of his shoulders\nwere inside; and he looked--a long time he looked, without a movement of\nhis body or a breath that they could see.\n\nAnd then he turned to them again, and his eyes were shining as they had\nnever seen them shine before.\n\n\"I'll open the window,\" he said. \"It's dark--dark inside.\"\n\nHe went to the window, which was closed with a sapling barricade that had\nswung on hinges; and when he swung it back the rusted hinges gave way, and\nthe thing crashed down at his feet. And now through the open window the sun\npoured in a warm radiance, and Donald entered the cabin, with Joanne and\nAldous close behind him.\n\nThere was not much in the cabin, but what it held was earth, and heaven,\nand all else to Donald MacDonald. A strange, glad cry surged from his chest\nas he looked about him, and now Joanne saw and understood what John Aldous\nhad told her--for Donald MacDonald, after forty years, had come back to his\nhome!\n\n\"Oh, my Gawd, Johnny, they didn't touch anything! They didn't touch\nanything!\" he breathed in ecstasy. \"I thought after we ran away they'd come\nin----\"\n\nHe broke off, and his hat dropped from his hand, and he stood and stared;\nand what he was looking at, the sun fell upon in a great golden splash, and\nJoanne's hand gripped John's, and held to it tightly. Against the wall,\nhanging as they had hung for forty years, were a woman's garments: a hood,\na shawl, a dress, and an apron that was half in tatters; and on the floor\nunder these things were _a pair of shoes_. And as Donald MacDonald went to\nthem, his arms reaching out, his lips moving, forgetful of all things but\nthat he had come home, and Jane was here, Joanne drew Aldous softly to the\ndoor, and they went out into the day.\n\nJoanne did not speak, and Aldous did not urge her. He saw her white throat\nthrobbing as if there were a little heart beating there, and her eyes were\nbig and dark and velvety, like the eyes of a fawn that had been frightened.\nThere was a thickness in his own throat, and he found that it was difficult\nfor him to see far out over the plain. They waited near the horses. Fifty\nyards from them ran the stream; a clear, beautiful stream which flowed in\nthe direction from which the mysterious ramble of thunder seemed to come.\nThis, Aldous knew, was the stream of gold. In the sand he saw wreckage\nwhich he knew were the ancient rockers; a shovel, thrust shaft-deep, still\nremained where it had last been planted.\n\nPerhaps for ten minutes Donald MacDonald remained in the cabin. Then he\ncame out. Very carefully he closed the door. His shoulders were thrown\nback. His head was held high. He looked like a monarch.\n\nAnd his voice was calm.\n\n\"Everything is there, Johnny--everything but the gold,\" he said. \"They took\nthat.\"\n\nNow he spoke to Joanne.\n\n\"You better not go with us into the other cabins,\" he said.\n\n\"Why?\" she asked softly.\n\n\"Because--there's death in them all.\"\n\n\"I am going,\" she said.\n\nFrom the window of the largest cabin MacDonald pulled the sapling shutter,\nand, like the other, it fell at his feet. Then they opened the door, and\nentered; and here the sunlight revealed the cabin's ghastly tragedy. The\nfirst thing that they saw, because it was most terrible, was a rough table,\nhalf over which lay the shrunken thing that had once been a man. A part of\nits clothes still remained, but the head had broken from its column, and\nthe white and fleshless skull lay facing them. Out of tattered and\ndust-crumbling sleeves reached the naked bones of hands and arms. And on\nthe floor lay another of these things, in a crumpled and huddled heap, only\nthe back of the skull showing, like the polished pate of a bald man. These\nthings they saw first, and then two others: on the table were a heap of\nage-blackened and dusty sacks, and out of the back of the crumbling thing\nthat guarded them stuck the long buckhorn hilt of a knife.\n\n\"They must ha' died fighting,\" said MacDonald. \"An' there, Johnny, is their\ngold!\"\n\nWhite as death Joanne stood in the door and watched them. MacDonald and\nAldous went to the sacks. They were of buckskin. The years had not aged\nthem. When Aldous took one in his hands he found that it was heavier than\nlead. With his knife MacDonald cut a slit in one of them, and the sun that\ncame through the window flashed in a little golden stream that ran from the\nbag.\n\n\"We'll take them out and put 'em in a pannier,\" said MacDonald. \"The others\nwon't be far behind us, Johnny.\"\n\nBetween them they carried out the seven sacks of gold. It was a load for\ntheir arms. They put it in one of the panniers, and then MacDonald nodded\ntoward the cabin next the one that had been his own.\n\n\"I wouldn't go in there, Joanne,\" he said.\n\n\"I'm going,\" she whispered again.\n\n\"It was _their_ cabin--the man an' his wife,\" persisted old Donald. \"An'\nthe men was beasts, Joanne! I don't know what happened in there--but I\nguess.\"\n\n\"I'm going,\" she said again.\n\nMacDonald pulled down the barricade from the window--a window that also\nfaced the south and west, and this time he had to thrust against the door\nwith his shoulder. They entered, and now a cry came from Joanne's lips--a\ncry that had in it horror, disbelief, a woman's wrath. Against the wall was\na pile of something, and on that pile was the searching first light of day\nthat had fallen upon it for nearly half a century. The pile was a man\ncrumpled down; across it, her skeleton arms thrown about it protectingly,\nwas a woman. This time Aldous did not go forward. MacDonald was alone, and\nAldous took Joanne from the cabin, and held her while she swayed in his\narms. Donald came out a little later, and there was a curious look of\nexultation and triumph in his face.\n\n\"She killed herself,\" he said. \"That was her husband. I know him. I gave\nhim the rock-nails he put in the soles of his boots--and the nails are\nstill there.\"\n\nHe went alone into the remaining two cabins, while Aldous stood with\nJoanne. He did not stay long. From the fourth cabin he brought an armful of\nthe little brown sacks. He returned, and brought a second armful.\n\n\"There's three more in that last cabin,\" he explained. \"Two men, an' a\nwoman. She must ha' been the wife of the man they killed. They were the\nlast to live, an' they starved to death. An' now, Johnny----\"\n\nHe paused, and he drew in a great breath.\n\nHe was looking to the west, where the sun was beginning to sink behind the\nmountains.\n\n\"An' now, Johnny, if you're ready, an' if Joanne is ready, we'll go,\" he\nsaid.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\n\nAs they went up out of the basin into the broad meadows of the larger\nvalley, MacDonald rode between Aldous and Joanne, and the pack-horses, led\nby Pinto, trailed behind.\n\nAgain old Donald said, as he searched the valley:\n\n\"We've beat 'em, Johnny. Quade an' Rann are coming up on the other side of\nthe range, and I figger they're just about a day behind--mebby only hours,\nor an hour. You can't tell. There's more gold back there. We got about a\nhunderd pounds in them fifteen sacks, an' there was twice that much. It's\nhid somewhere. Calkins used to keep his'n under the floor. So did Watts.\nWe'll find it later. An' the river, an' the dry gulches on both sides of\nthe valley--they're full of it! It's all gold, Johnny--gold everywhere!\"\n\nHe pointed ahead to where the valley rose in a green <DW72> between two\nmountains half a mile away.\n\n\"That's the break,\" he said. \"It don't seem very far now, do it, Joanne?\"\nHis silence seemed to have dropped from him like a mantle, and there was\njoy in what he was telling. \"But it was a distance that night--a tumble\ndistance,\" he continued, before she could answer. \"That was forty-one years\nago, coming November. An' it was cold, an' the snow was deep. It was bitter\ncold--so cold it caught my Jane's lungs, an' that was what made her go a\nlittle later. The <DW72> up there don't look steep now, but it was steep\nthen--with two feet of snow to drag ourselves through. I don't think the\ncavern is more'n five or six miles away, Johnny, mebby less, an' it took us\ntwenty hours to reach it. It snowed so heavy that night, an' the wind\nblowed so, that our trail was filled up or they might ha' followed.\"\n\nMany times Aldous had been on the point of asking old Donald a question.\nFor the first time he asked it now, even as his eyes swept slowly and\nsearchingly over the valley for signs of Mortimer FitzHugh and Quade.\n\n\"I've often wondered why you ran away with Jane,\" he said. \"I know what\nthreatened her--a thing worse than death. But why did you run? Why didn't\nyou stay and fight?\"\n\nA low growl rumbled in MacDonald's beard.\n\n\"Johnny, Johnny, if I only ha' could!\" he groaned. \"There was five of them\nleft when I ran into the cabin an' barricaded myself there with Jane. I\nstuck my gun out of the window an' they was afraid to rush the cabin. They\nwas _afraid_, Johnny, all that afternoon--_an' I didn't have a cartridge\nleft to fire!_ That's why we went just as soon as we could crawl out in the\ndark. I knew they'd come that night. I might ha' killed one or two hand to\nhand, for I was big an' strong in them days, Johnny, but I knew I couldn't\nbeat 'em all. So we went.\"\n\n\"After all, death isn't so very terrible,\" said Joanne softly, and she was\nriding so close that for a moment she laid one of her warm hands on Donald\nMacDonald's.\n\n\"No, it's sometimes--wunnerful--an' beautiful,\" replied Donald, a little\nbrokenly, and with that he rode ahead, and Joanne and Aldous waited until\nthe pack-horses had passed them.\n\n\"He's going to see that all is clear at the summit,\" explained Aldous.\n\nThey seemed to be riding now right into the face of that mysterious rumble\nand roar of the mountains. It was an hour before they all stood together at\nthe top of the break, and here MacDonald swung sharply to the right, and\ncame soon to the rock-strewn bed of a dried-up stream that in ages past had\nbeen a wide and rushing torrent. Steadily, as they progressed down this,\nthe rumble and roar grew nearer. It seemed that it was almost under their\nfeet, when again MacDonald turned, and a quarter of an hour later they\nfound themselves at the edge of a small plain; and now all about them were\ncold and towering mountains that shut out the sun, and a hundred yards to\ntheir right was a great dark cleft in the floor of the plain, and up out of\nthis came the rumble and roar that was like the sullen anger of monster\nbeasts imprisoned deep down in the bowels of the earth.\n\nMacDonald got off his horse, and Aldous and Joanne rode up to him. In the\nold man's face was a look of joy and triumph.\n\n\"It weren't so far as I thought it was, Johnny!\" he cried. \"Oh, it must ha'\nbeen a turrible night--a turrible night when Jane an' I come this way! It\ntook us twenty hours, Johnny!\"\n\n\"We are near the cavern?\" breathed Joanne.\n\n\"It ain't more'n half a mile farther on, I guess. But we'll camp here.\nWe're pretty well hid. They can't find us. An' from that summit up there\nwe can keep watch in both valleys.\"\n\nKnowing the thoughts that were in MacDonald's mind, and how full his heart\nwas with a great desire, Aldous went to him when they had dismounted.\n\n\"You go on alone if there is time to-night, Mac,\" he said, knowing that the\nother would understand him. \"I will make camp.\"\n\n\"There ain't no one in the valley,\" mused the old man, a little doubtfully\nat first. \"It would be safe--quite safe, Johnny.\"\n\n\"Yes, it will be safe.\"\n\n\"And I will stand guard while John is working,\" said Joanne, who had come\nto them. \"No one can approach us without being seen.\"\n\nFor another moment MacDonald hesitated. Then he said:\n\n\"Do you see that break over there across the plain? It's the open to a\ngorge. Johnny, it do seem unreasonable--it do seem as though I must ha'\nbeen dreamin'--when I think that it took us twenty hours! But the snow was\nto my waist in this plain, an' it was slow work--turrible slow work! I\nthink the cavern--ain't on'y a little way up that gorge.\"\n\n\"You can make it before the sun is quite gone.\"\n\n\"An' I could hear you shout, or your gun. I could ride back in five\nminutes--an' I wouldn't be gone an hour.\"\n\n\"There is no danger,\" urged Aldous.\n\nA deep breath came from old Donald's breast.\n\n\"I guess--I'll go, Johnny, if you an' Joanne don't mind.\"\n\nHe looked about him, and then he pointed toward the face of a great rock.\n\n\"Put the tepee up near that,\" he said. \"Pile the saddles, an' the blankets,\nan' the panniers around it, so it'll look like a real camp, Johnny. But it\nwon't be a real camp. It'll be a dummy. See them thick spruce an' cedar\nover there? Build Joanne a shelter of boughs in there, an' take in some\ngrub, an' blankets, an' the gold. See the point, Johnny? If anything should\nhappen----\"\n\n\"They'd tackle the bogus camp!\" cried Aldous with elation. \"It's a splendid\nidea!\"\n\nHe set at once about unpacking the horses, and Joanne followed close at his\nside to help him. MacDonald mounted his horse and rode at a trot in the\ndirection of the break in the mountain.\n\nThe sun had disappeared, but its reflection was still on the peaks; and\nafter he had stripped and hobbled the horses Aldous took advantage of the\nlast of day to scrutinize the plain and the mountain <DW72>s through the\ntelescope. After that he found enough dry poles with which to set up the\ntepee, and about this he scattered the saddles and panniers, as MacDonald\nhad suggested. Then he cleared a space in the thick spruce, and brought to\nit what was required for their hidden camp.\n\nIt was almost dark when he completed the spruce and cedar lean-to for\nJoanne. He knew that to-night they must build no fire, not even for tea;\nand when they had laid out the materials for their cold supper, which\nconsisted of beans, canned beef and tongue, peach marmalade, bread bannock,\nand pickles and cheese, he went with Joanne for water to a small creek they\nhad crossed a hundred yards away. In both his hands, ready for instant\naction, he carried his rifle. Joanne carried the pail. Her eyes were big\nand bright and searching in that thick-growing dusk of night. She walked\nvery close to Aldous, and she said:\n\n\"John, I know how careful you and Donald have been in this journey into the\nNorth. I know what you have feared. Culver Rann and Quade are after the\ngold, and they are near. But why does Donald talk as though we are _surely_\ngoing to be attacked by them, or are _surely_ going to attack them? I don't\nunderstand it, John. If you don't care for the gold so much, as you told me\nonce, and if we find Jane to-morrow, or to-night, why do we remain to have\ntrouble with Quade and Culver Rann? Tell me, John.\"\n\nHe could not see her face fully in the gloom, and he was glad that she\ncould not see his.\n\n\"If we can get away without fighting, we will, Joanne,\" he lied. And he\nknew that she would have known that he was lying if it had not been for the\ndarkness.\n\n\"You won't fight--over the gold?\" she asked, pressing his arm. \"Will you\npromise me that, John?\"\n\n\"Yes, I promise that. I swear it!\" he cried, and so forcefully that she\ngave a glad little laugh.\n\n\"Then if they don't find us to-morrow, we'll go back home?\" She trembled,\nand he knew that her heart was filled with a sudden lightness. \"And I don't\nbelieve they will find us. They won't come beyond that terrible place--and\nthe gold! Why should they, John? Why should they follow us--if we leave\nthem everything? Oh-h-h-h!\" She shuddered, and whispered: \"I wish we had\nnot brought the gold, John. I wish we had left it behind!\"\n\n\"What we have is worth thirty or forty thousand dollars,\" he said\nreassuringly, as he filled his pail with water and they began to return.\n\"We can do a great deal of good with that. Endowments, for instance,\" he\nlaughed.\n\nAs he spoke, they both stopped, and listened. Plainly they heard the\napproaching thud of hoofs. MacDonald had been gone nearer two hours than\none, and believing that it was him, Aldous gave the owl signal. The signal\nfloated back to them softly. Five minutes later MacDonald rode up and\ndismounted. Until he had taken the saddle off, and had hobbled his horse,\nhe did not speak. Neither Joanne nor Aldous asked the question that was in\ntheir hearts. But even in the darkness they felt something. It was as if\nnot only the torrent rushing through the chasm, but MacDonald's heart as\nwell, was charging the air with a strange and subdued excitement. And when\nMacDonald spoke, that which they had felt was in his voice.\n\n\"You ain't seen or heard anything, Johnny?\"\n\n\"Nothing. And you--Donald?\"\n\nIn the darkness, Joanne went to the old man, and her hand found one of his,\nand clasped it tightly; and she found that Donald MacDonald's big hand was\ntrembling in a strange and curious way, and she could feel him quivering.\n\n\"You found Jane?\" she whispered.\n\n\"Yes, I found her, little Joanne.\"\n\nShe did not let go of his hand until they entered the open space which\nAldous had made in the spruce. Then she remembered what Aldous had said to\nher earlier in the day, and cheerfully she lighted the two candles they\nhad set out, and forced Aldous down first upon the ground, and then\nMacDonald, and began to help them to beans and meat and bannock, while all\nthe time her heart was crying out to know about the cavern--and Jane. The\ncandleglow told her a great deal, for in it Donald MacDonald's face was\nvery calm, and filled with a great peace, despite the trembling she had\nfelt. Her woman's sympathy told her that his heart was too full on this\nnight for speech, and when he ate but little she did not urge him to eat\nmore; and when he rose and went silently and alone out into the darkness\nshe held Aldous back; and when, still a little later, she went into her\nnest for the night, she whispered softly to him:\n\n\"I know that he found Jane as he wanted to find her, and he is happy. I\nthink he has gone out there alone--to cry.\" And for a time after that, as\nhe sat in the gloom, John Aldous knew that Joanne was sobbing like a little\nchild in the spruce and cedar shelter he had built for her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\n\nIf MacDonald slept at all that night Aldous did not know it. The old\nmountaineer watched until a little after twelve in the deep shadow of a\nrock between the two camps.\n\n\"I can't sleep,\" he protested, when Aldous urged him to take his rest. \"I\nmight take a little stroll up the plain, Johnny--but I can't sleep.\"\n\nThe plain lay in a brilliant starlight at this hour; they could see the\ngleam of the snow-peaks--the light was almost like the glow of the moon.\n\n\"There'll be plenty of sleep after to-morrow,\" added MacDonald, and there\nwas a finality in his voice and words which set the other's blood stirring.\n\n\"You think they will show up to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Yes. This is the same valley the cabins are in, Johnny. That big mountain\nruns out an' splits it, an' it curves like a horseshoe. From that mount'in\nwe can see them, no matter which way they come. They'll go straight to the\ncabins. There's a deep little run under the <DW72>. You didn't see it when\nwe came out, but it'll take us within a hunderd yards of 'em. An' at a\nhunderd yards----\"\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders suggestively in the starlight, and there was a\nsmile on his face.\n\n\"It seems almost like murder,\" shuddered Aldous.\n\n\"But it ain't,'\" replied MacDonald quickly. \"It's self-defence! If we\ndon't do it, Johnny--if we don't draw on them first, what happened there\nforty years ago is goin' to happen again--with Joanne!\"\n\n\"A hundred yards,\" breathed Aldous, his jaws setting hard. \"And there are\nfive!\"\n\n\"They'll go into the cabins,\" said MacDonald. \"At some time there will be\ntwo or three outside, an' we'll take them first. At the sound of the shots\nthe others will run out, and it will be easy. Yo' can't very well miss a\nman at a hunderd yards, Johnny?\"\n\n\"No, I won't miss.\"\n\nMacDonald rose.\n\n\"I'm goin' to take a little stroll, Johnny.\"\n\nFor two hours after that Aldous was alone. He knew why old Donald could not\nsleep, and where he had gone, and he pictured him sitting before the little\nold cabin in the starlit valley communing with the spirit of Jane. And\nduring those two hours he steeled himself for the last time to the thing\nthat was going to happen when the day came.\n\nIt was nearly three o'clock when MacDonald returned. It was four o'clock\nbefore he roused Joanne; and it was five o'clock when they had eaten their\nbreakfast, and MacDonald prepared to leave for the mountain with his\ntelescope. Aldous had observed Joanne talking to him for several minutes\nalone, and he had also observed that her eyes were very bright, and that\nthere was an unusual eagerness in her manner of listening to what the old\nman was saying. The significance of this did not occur to him when she\nurged him to accompany MacDonald.\n\n\"Two pairs of eyes are better than one, John,\" she said, \"and I cannot\npossibly be in danger here. I can see you all the time, and you can see\nme--if I don't run away, or hide.\" And she laughed a little breathlessly.\n\"There is no danger, is there, Donald?\"\n\nThe old hunter shook his head.\n\n\"There's no danger, but--you might be lonesome,\" he said.\n\nJoanne put her pretty mouth close to Aldous' ear.\n\n\"I want to be alone for a little while, dear,\" she whispered, and there was\nthat mystery in her voice which kept him from questioning her, and made him\ngo with MacDonald.\n\nIn three quarters of an hour they had reached the spur of the mountain from\nwhich MacDonald had said they could see up the valley, and also the break\nthrough which they had come the preceding afternoon. The morning mists\nstill hung low, but as these melted away under the sun mile after mile of a\nmarvellous panorama spread out swiftly under them, and as the distance of\ntheir vision grew, the deeper became the disappointment in MacDonald's\nface. For half an hour after the mists had gone he neither spoke nor\nlowered the telescope from his eyes. A mile away Aldous saw three caribou\ncrossing the valley. A little later, on a green <DW72>, he discerned a\nmoving hulk that he knew was a bear. He did not speak until old Donald\nlowered the glass.\n\n\"I can see for eight miles up the valley, an' there ain't a soul in sight,\"\nsaid MacDonald in answer to his question. \"I figgered they'd be along about\nnow, Johnny.\"\n\nA dozen times Aldous had looked back at the camp. Twice he had seen Joanne.\nHe looked now through the telescope. She was nowhere in sight. A bit\nnervously he returned the telescope to MacDonald.\n\n\"And I can't see Joanne,\" he said.\n\nMacDonald looked. For five minutes he levelled the glass steadily at the\ncamp. Then he shifted it slowly westward, and a low exclamation broke from\nhis lips as he lowered the glass, and looked at Aldous.\n\n\"Johnny, she's just goin' into the gorge! She was just disappearin' when I\ncaught her!\"\n\n\"Going into--the gorge!\" gasped Aldous, jumping to his feet. \"Mac----\"\n\nMacDonald rose and stood at his side. There was something reassuring in the\nrumbling laugh that came from deep in his chest.\n\n\"She's beat us!\" he chuckled. \"Bless her, she's beat us! I didn't guess why\nshe was askin' me all them questions. An' I told her, Johnny--told her just\nwhere the cavern was up there in the gorge, an' how you wouldn't hardly\nmiss it if you tried. An' she asked me how long it would take to _walk_\nthere, an' I told her half an hour. An' she's going to the cavern, Johnny!\"\n\nHe was telescoping his long glass as he spoke, and while Aldous was still\nstaring toward the gorge in wonderment and a little fear, he added:\n\n\"We'd better follow. Quade an' Rann can't get here inside o' two or three\nhours, an' we'll be back before then.\" Again he rumbled with that curious\nchuckling laugh. \"She beat us, Johnny, she beat us fair! An' she's got\nspirrit, a wunnerful spirrit, to go up there alone!\"\n\nAldous wanted to run, but he held himself down to MacDonald's stride. His\nheart trembled apprehensively as they hurriedly descended the mountain and\ncut across the plain. He could not quite bring himself to MacDonald's point\nof assurance regarding Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. The old mountaineer was\npositive that the other party was behind them. Aldous asked himself if it\nwere not possible that Quade and FitzHugh were _ahead_ of them, and already\nwaiting and watching for their opportunity. He had suggested that they\nmight have swung farther to the west, with the plan of descending upon the\nvalley from the north, and MacDonald had pointed out how unlikely this was.\nIn spite of this, Aldous was not in a comfortable frame of mind as they\nhurried after Joanne. She had half an hour's start of them when they\nreached the mouth of the gorge, and not until they had travelled another\nhalf-hour up the rough bed of the break between the two mountains, and\nMacDonald pointed ahead, and said: \"There's the cavern!\" did he breathe\neasier.\n\nThey could see the mouth of the cavern when they were yet a couple of\nhundred yards from it. It was a wide, low cleft in the north face of the\nchasm wall, and in front of it, spreading out like the flow of a stream,\nwas a great spatter of white sand, like a huge rug that had been spread out\nin a space cleared of its chaotic litter of rock and broken slate. At first\nglance Aldous guessed that the cavern had once been the exit of a\nsubterranean stream. The sand deadened the sound of their footsteps as they\napproached. At the mouth of the cave they paused. It was perhaps forty or\nfifty feet deep, and as high as a nine-foot room. Inside it was quite\nlight. Halfway to the back of it, upon her knees, and with her face turned\nfrom them, was Joanne.\n\nThey were very close to her before she heard them. With a startled cry she\nsprang to her feet, and Aldous and MacDonald saw what she had been doing.\nOver a long mound in the white sand still rose the sapling stake which\nDonald had planted there forty years before; and about this, and scattered\nover the grave, were dozens of wild asters and purple hyacinths which\nJoanne had brought from the plain. Aldous did not speak, but he took her\nhand, and looked down with her on the grave. And then something caught his\neyes among the flowers, and Joanne drew him a step nearer, her eyes shining\nlike velvet stars, while his heart beat faster when he saw what the object\nwas. It was a book, open in the middle, and it lay face downward on the\ngrave. It was old, and looked as though it might have fallen into dust at\nthe touch of his finger. Joanne's voice was low and filled with a\nwhispering awe.\n\n\"It was her Bible, John!\"\n\nHe turned a little, and noticed that Donald had gone to the mouth of the\ncavern, and was looking toward the mountain.\n\n\"It was her Bible,\" he heard Joanne repeating; and then MacDonald turned\ntoward them, and he saw in his face a look that seemed strange and out of\nplace in this home of his dead. He went to him, and Joanne followed.\n\nMacDonald had turned again--was listening--and holding his breath. Then he\nsaid, still with his face toward the mountain and the valley:\n\n\"I may be mistaken, Johnny, but I think I heard--a rifle-shot!\"\n\nFor a full minute they listened.\n\n\"It seemed off there,\" said MacDonald, pointing to the south. \"I guess\nwe'd better get back to camp, Johnny.\"\n\nHe started ahead of them, and Aldous followed as swiftly as he could with\nJoanne. She was panting with excitement, but she asked no questions.\nMacDonald began to spring more quickly from rock to rock; over the level\nspaces he began to run. He reached the edge of the plain four or five\nhundred yards in advance of them, and was scanning the valley through his\ntelescope when they came up.\n\n\"They're not on this side,\" he said. \"They're comin' up the other leg of\nthe valley, Johnny. We've got to get to the mount'in before we can see\nthem.\"\n\nHe closed the glass with a snap and swung it over his shoulder. Then he\npointed toward the camp.\n\n\"Take Joanne down there,\" he commanded. \"Watch the break we came through,\nan' wait for me. I'm goin' up on the mount'in an' take a look!\"\n\nThe last words came back over his shoulder as he started on a trot down the\n<DW72>. Only once before had Aldous seen MacDonald employ greater haste, and\nthat was on the night of the attack on Joanne. He was convinced there was\nno doubt in Donald's mind about the rifle-shot, and that the shot could\nmean but one thing--the nearness of Mortimer FitzHugh and Quade. Why they\nshould reveal their presence in that way he did not ask himself as he\nhurried down into the plain with Joanne. By the time they reached the camp\nold Donald had covered two thirds of the distance to the mountain. Aldous\nlooked at his watch and a curious thrill shot through him. Only a little\nmore than an hour had passed since they had left the mountain to follow\nJoanne, and in that time it would have been impossible for their enemies to\nhave covered more than a third of the eight-mile stretch of valley which\nthey had found empty of human life under the searching scrutiny of the\ntelescope! He was right--and MacDonald was wrong! The sound of the shot, if\nthere had been a shot, must have come from some other direction!\n\nHe wanted to shout his warning to MacDonald, but already too great a\ndistance separated them. Besides, if he was right, MacDonald would run into\nno danger in that direction. Their menace was to the north--beyond the\nchasm out of which came the rumble and roar of the stream. When Donald had\ndisappeared up the <DW72> he looked more closely at the rugged walls of rock\nthat shut them in on that side. He could see no break in them. His eyes\nfollowed the dark streak in the floor of the plain, which was the chasm. It\nwas two hundred yards below where they were standing; and a hundred yards\nbeyond the tepee he saw where it came out of a great rent in the mountain.\nHe looked at Joanne. She had been watching him, and was breathing quickly.\n\n\"While Donald is taking his look from the mountain, I'm going to\ninvestigate the chasm,\" he said.\n\nShe followed him, a few steps behind. The roar grew in their ears as they\nadvanced. After a little solid rock replaced the earth under their feet,\nand twenty paces from the precipice Aldous took Joanne by the hand. They\nwent to the edge and looked over. Fifty feet below them the stream was\ncaught in the narrow space between the two chasm walls, and above the rush\nand roar of it Aldous heard the startled cry that came from Joanne. She\nclutched his hand fiercely. Fascinated she gazed down. The water, speeding\nlike a millrace, was a lather of foam; and up through this foam there shot\nthe crests of great rocks, as though huge monsters of some kind were at\nplay, whipping the torrent into greater fury, and bellowing forth\nthunderous voices. Downstream Aldous could see that the tumult grew less;\nfrom the rent in the mountain came the deeper, more distant-rolling thunder\nthat they had heard on the other side of the range. And then, as he looked,\na sharper cry broke from Joanne, and she dragged him back from the ledge,\nand pointed toward the tepee.\n\nOut from among the rocks had appeared a human figure. It was a woman. Her\nhair was streaming wildly about her, and in the sun it was black as a\ncrow's wing. She rushed to the tepee, opened the flap, and looked in. Then\nshe turned, and a cry that was almost a scream rang from her lips. In\nanother moment she had seen Aldous and Joanne, and was running toward them.\nThey advanced to meet her. Suddenly Aldous stopped, and with a sharp\nwarning to Joanne he threw his rifle half to his shoulder, and faced the\nrocks from which the speeding figure had come. In that same instant they\nboth recognized her. It was Marie, the woman who had ridden the bear at\nTete Jaune, and with whom Mortimer FitzHugh had bought Joe DeBar!\n\nShe staggered up to them, panting, exhausted, her breath coming in gulping\nsobs. For a moment she could not speak. Her dress was torn; her waist was\nripped so that it exposed her throat and shoulder; and the front of the\nwaist and her face were stained with blood. Her black eyes shone like a\nmadwoman's. Fiercely she fought to get her breath, and all the time she\nclung to Joanne, and looked at Aldous. She pointed toward the rocks--the\nchaotic upheaval that lay between the tepee and the chasm--and words broke\ngaspingly from her lips.\n\n\"They're coming!--coming!\" she cried. \"They killed Joe--murdered him--and\nthey're coming--to kill you!\" She clutched a hand to her breast, and then\npointed with it to the mountain where MacDonald had gone. \"They saw him\ngo--and they sent two men to kill him; and the rest are coming through the\nrocks!\" She turned sobbingly to Joanne. \"They killed Joe,\" she moaned.\n\"They killed Joe, and they're coming--for _you!_\"\n\nThe emphasis on that final word struck like a blow in the ears of John\nAldous.\n\n\"Run for the spruce!\" he commanded. \"Joanne, run!\"\n\nMarie had crumpled down in a moaning heap at Joanne's feet, and sat swaying\nwith her face in her hands.\n\n\"They killed him--they murdered my Joe!\" she was sobbing. \"And it was my\nfault--my fault! I trapped him! I sold him! And, oh, my God, I loved him--I\nloved him!\"\n\n\"Run, Joanne!\" commanded Aldous a second time. \"Run for the spruce!\"\n\nInstead of obeying him, Joanne knelt down beside Marie.\n\nHe went to speak again, but there came an interruption--a thing that was\nlike the cold touch of lead in his own heart. From up on the mountain where\nthe old mountaineer had walked into the face of death there came the\nsharp, splitting report of a rifle; and in that same instant it was\nfollowed by another and still a third--quick, stinging, whiplike\nreports--and he knew that not one of them had come from the gun of Donald\nMacDonald!\n\nAnd then he saw that the rocks behind the tepee had become suddenly alive\nwith men!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\n\nSheer amazement made Aldous hold his fire in that first moment. Marie had\nsaid that two men were after MacDonald. He had heard three shots nearly a\nmile away, and she was still sobbing that DeBar was dead. That accounted\nfor _three_. He had expected to see only Quade, and FitzHugh, and one other\nbehind the tepee. And there were six! He counted them as they came swiftly\nout from the shelter of the rocks to the level of the plain. He was about\nto fire when he thought of Joanne and Marie. They were still behind him,\ncrouching upon the ground. To fire from where he stood would draw a\nfusillade of bullets in their direction, and with another warning cry to\nJoanne, he sped twenty paces to one side so that they would not be within\nrange. Not until then did the attacking party see him.\n\nAt a hundred and fifty yards he had no time to pick out Quade or Mortimer\nFitzHugh. He fired first at a group of three, and one of the three crumpled\ndown as though his skull had been crushed from above. A rifle spat back at\nhim and the bullet sang like a ripping cloth close over his head. He\ndropped to his knees before he fired again, and a bullet clove the air\nwhere he had stood. The crack of rifles did not hurry him. He knew that he\nhad six cartridges, and only six, and he aimed deliberately. At his second\nshot the man he had fired at ran forward three or four steps, and then\npitched flat on his face. For a flash Aldous thought that it was Mortimer\nFitzHugh. Then, along his gun barrel, he saw FitzHugh--and pulled the\ntrigger. It was a miss.\n\nTwo men had dropped upon their knees and were aiming more carefully. He\nswung his sight to the foremost, and drove a bullet straight through his\nchest. The next moment something seemed to have fallen upon him with\ncrushing weight. A red sea rose before his eyes. In it he was submerged;\nthe roar of it filled his ears; it blinded him; and in the suffocating\nembrace of it he tried to cry out. He fought himself out of it, his eyes\ncleared, and he could see again. His rifle was no longer in his hands, and\nhe was standing. Twenty feet away men were rushing upon him. His brain\nrecovered itself with the swiftness of lightning. A bullet had stunned him,\nbut he was not badly hurt. He jerked out his automatic, but before he could\nraise it, or even fire from his hip, the first of his assailants was upon\nhim with a force that drove it from his hand. They went down together, and\nas they struggled on the bare rock Aldous caught for a fraction of a second\na scene that burned itself like fire in his brain. He saw Mortimer FitzHugh\nwith a revolver in his hand. He had stopped; he was staring like one\nlooking upon the ghost of the dead, and as he stared there rose above the\nrumbling roar of the chasm a wild and terrible shriek from Joanne.\n\nAldous saw no more then. He was not fighting for his life, but for her, and\nhe fought with the mad ferocity of a tiger. As he struck, and choked, and\nbeat the head of his assailant on the rock, he heard shriek after shriek\ncome from Joanne's lips; and then for a flash he saw them again, and\nJoanne was struggling in the arms of Quade!\n\nHe struggled to his knees, and the man he was fighting struggled to his\nknees; and then they came to their feet, locked in a death-grip on the edge\nof the chasm. From Quade's clutch he saw Joanne staring at Mortimer\nFitzHugh; then her eyes shot to him, and with another shriek she fought to\nfree herself.\n\nFor thirty seconds of that terrible drama Mortimer FitzHugh stood as if\nhewn out of rock. Then he sprang toward the fighters.\n\nIn the arms of John Aldous was the strength of ten men. He twisted the head\nof his antagonist under his arm; he braced his feet--in another moment he\nwould have flung him bodily into the roaring maelstrom below. Even as his\nmuscles gathered themselves for the final effort he knew that all was lost.\nMortimer FitzHugh's face leered over his shoulder, his demoniac intention\nwas in his eyes before he acted. With a cry of hatred and of triumph he\nshoved them both over the edge, and as Aldous plunged to the depths below,\nstill holding to his enemy, he heard a last piercing scream from Joanne.\n\nAs the rock slid away from under his feet his first thought was that the\nend had come, and that no living creature could live in the roaring\nmaelstrom of rock and, flood into which he was plunging. But quicker than\nhe dashed through space his mind worked. Instinctively, without time for\nreasoning, he gripped at the fact that his one chance lay in the close\nembrace of his enemy. He hung to him. It seemed to him that they turned\nover and over a hundred times in that distance of fifty feet. Then a mass\nof twisting foam broke under him, and up out of it shot the head of one of\nthe roaring monsters of rock that he and Joanne had looked upon. They\nstruck it fairly, and Aldous was uppermost. He felt the terrific impact of\nthe other's body. The foam boiled upward again, and they slipped off into\nthe flood.\n\nStill Aldous held to his enemy. He could feel that he was limp now; he no\nlonger felt the touch of the hands that had choked him, or the embrace of\nthe arms that had struggled with him. He believed that his antagonist was\ndead. The fifty-foot fall, with the rock splitting his back, had killed\nhim. For a moment Aldous still clung to him as they sank together under the\nsurface, torn and twisted by the whirling eddies and whirlpools. It seemed\nto him that they would never cease going down, that they were sinking a\nvast distance.\n\nDully he felt the beat of rocks. Then it flashed upon him that the dead man\nwas sinking like a weighted thing. He freed himself. Fiercely he struggled\nto bring himself to the surface. It seemed an eternity before he rose to\nthe top. He opened his mouth and drew a great gulp of air into his lungs.\nThe next instant a great rock reared like a living thing in his face; he\nplunged against it, was beaten over it, and again he was going\ndown--down--in that deadly clutch of maelstrom and undertow. Again he\nfought, and again he came to the surface. He saw a black, slippery wall\ngliding past him with the speed of an express train. And now it seemed as\nthough a thousand clubs were beating him. Ahead of him were rocks--nothing\nbut rocks.\n\nHe shot through them like a piece of driftwood. The roaring in his ears\ngrew less, and he felt the touch of something under his feet. Sunlight\nburst upon him. He caught at a rock, and hung to it. His eyes cleared a\nlittle. He was within ten feet of a shore covered with sand and gravel. The\nwater was smooth and running with a musical ripple. Waist-deep he waded\nthrough it to the shore, and fell down upon his knees, with his face buried\nin his arms. He had been ten minutes in the death-grip of the chasm. It was\nanother ten minutes before he staggered to his feet and looked about him.\n\nHis face was beaten until he was almost blind. His shirt had been torn from\nhis shoulders and his flesh was bleeding. He advanced a few steps. He\nraised one arm and then the other. He limped. One arm hurt him when he\nmoved it, but the bone was sound. He was terribly mauled, but he knew that\nno bones were broken, and a gasp of thankfulness fell from his lips. All\nthis time his mind had been suffering even more than his body. Not for an\ninstant, even as he fought for life between the chasm walls, and as he lay\nhalf unconscious on the rock, had he forgotten Joanne. His one thought was\nof her now. He had no weapon, but as he stumbled in the direction of the\ncamp in the little plain he picked up a club that lay in his path.\n\nThat MacDonald was dead, Aldous was certain. There would be four against\nhim--Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh and the two men who had gone to the\nmountain. His brain cleared swiftly as a part of his strength returned, and\nit occurred to him that if he lost no time he might come upon Joanne and\nher captors before the two men came from killing old Donald. He tried to\nrun. Not until then did he fully realize the condition he was in. Twice in\nthe first hundred yards his legs doubled under him and he fell down among\nthe rocks. He grew steadily stronger, though each time he tried to run or\nspring a distance of a few feet his legs doubled under him like that. It\ntook him twenty minutes to get back to the edge of the plain, and when he\ngot there it was empty. There was no sign of Quade or FitzHugh, or of\nJoanne and Marie; and there was no one coming from the direction of the\nmountain.\n\nHe tried to run again, and he found that over the level floor of the valley\nhe could make faster time than among the rocks. He went to where he had\ndropped his rifle. It was gone. He searched for his automatic. That, too,\nwas gone. There was one weapon left--a long skinning-knife in one of the\npanniers near the tepee. As he went for this, he passed two of the men whom\nhe had shot. Quade and FitzHugh had taken their weapons, and had turned\nthem over to see if they were alive or dead. They were dead. He secured the\nknife, and behind the tepee he passed the third body, its face as still and\nwhite as the others. He shuddered as he recognized it. It was Slim Barker.\nHis rifle was gone.\n\nMore swiftly now he made his way into the break out of which his assailants\nhad come a short time before. The thought came to him again that he had\nbeen right, and that Donald MacDonald, in spite of all his years in the\nmountains, had been fatally wrong. Their enemies had come down from the\nnorth, and this break led to their hiding-place. Through it Joanne must\nhave been taken by her captors. As he made his way over the rocks, gaining\na little more of his strength with each step, his mind tried to picture the\nsituation that had now arisen between Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. How\nwould Quade, who was mad for possession of Joanne, accept FitzHugh's claim\nof ownership? Would he believe his partner? Would he even believe Joanne\nif, to save herself from him, she told him FitzHugh was her husband? Even\nif he believed them, _would he give her up?_ Would Quade allow Mortimer\nFitzHugh to stand between him and the object for which he was willing to\nsacrifice everything?\n\nAs Aldous asked himself these questions his blood ran hot and cold by\nturns. And the answer to them drew a deep breath of fear and of anguish\nfrom him as he tried again to run among the rocks. There could be but one\nanswer: Quade would fight. He would fight like a madman, and if this fight\nhad happened and FitzHugh had been killed Joanne had already gone utterly\nand helplessly into his power. He believed that FitzHugh had not revealed\nto Quade his relationship to Joanne while they were on the plain, and the\nthought still more terrible came to him that he might not reveal it at all,\nthat he might repudiate Joanne even as she begged upon her knees for him to\nsave her. What a revenge it would be to see her helpless and broken in the\narms of Quade! And then, both being beasts----\n\nHe could think no farther. The sweat broke out on his face as he hobbled\nfaster over a level space. The sound of the water between the chasm walls\nwas now a thunder in his ears. He could not have heard a rifle-shot or a\nscream a hundred yards away. The trail he was following had continually\ngrown narrower. It seemed to end a little ahead of him, and the fear that\nhe had come the wrong way after all filled him with dread. He came to the\nface of the mountain wall, and then, to his left, he saw a crack that was\nno wider than a man's body. In it there was sand, and the, sand was beaten\nby footprints! He wormed his way through, and a moment later stood at the\nedge of the chasm. Fifty feet above him a natural bridge of rock spanned\nthe huge cleft through which the stream was rushing. He crossed this,\nexposing himself openly to a shot if it was guarded. But it was not\nguarded. This fact convinced him that MacDonald had been killed, and that\nhis enemies believed he was dead. If MacDonald had escaped, and they had\nfeared a possible pursuit, some one would have watched the bridge.\n\nThe trail was easy to follow now. Sand and grassy earth had replaced rock\nand shale; he could make out the imprints of feet--many of them--and they\nled in the direction of a piece of timber that apparently edged a valley\nrunning to the east and west. The rumble of the torrent in the chasm grew\nfainter as he advanced. A couple of hundred yards farther on the trail\nswung to the left again; it took him around the end of a huge rock, and as\nhe appeared from behind this, his knife clutched in his hand, he dropped\nsuddenly flat on his face, and his heart rose like a lump in his throat.\nScarcely fifty yards above him was the camp of his enemies! There were two\ntepees and piles of saddles and panniers and blankets about them, but not a\nsoul that he could see. And then, suddenly, there rose a voice bellowing\nwith rage, and he recognized it as Quade's. It came from beyond the tepee,\nand he rose quickly from where he had thrown himself and ran forward, with\nthe tepee between him and those on the other side. Close to the canvas he\ndropped on his knees and crawled out behind a pile of saddles and panniers.\nFrom here he could see.\n\nSo near that he could almost have touched them were Joanne and Marie,\nseated on the ground, with their backs toward him. Their hands were tied\nbehind them. Their feet were bound with pannier ropes. A dozen paces beyond\nthem were Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh.\n\nThe two men were facing each other, a yard apart. Mortimer FitzHugh's face\nwas white, a deadly white, and he was smiling. His right hand rested\ncarelessly in his hunting-coat pocket. There was a sneering challenge on\nhis lips; in his eyes was a look that Aldous knew meant death if Quade\nmoved. And Quade was like a great red beast ready to spring. His eyes\nseemed bulging out on his cheeks; his great hands were knotted; his\nshoulders were hunched forward, and his mottled face was ablaze with\npassion. In that moment's dramatic tableau Aldous glanced about swiftly.\nThe men from the mountain had not returned. He was alone with Quade and\nMortimer FitzHugh.\n\nThen FitzHugh spoke, very quietly, a little laughingly; but his voice\ntrembled, and Aldous knew what the hand was doing in the hunting-coat\npocket.\n\n\"You're excited, Billy,\" he said. \"I'm not a liar, as you've very\nimpolitely told me. And I'm not playing you dirt, and I haven't fallen in\nlove with the lady myself, as you seem to think. But she belongs to me,\nbody and soul. If you don't believe me--why, ask the lady herself, Billy!\"\n\nAs he spoke, he turned his sneering eyes for the fraction of a second\ntoward Joanne. The movement was fatal. Quade was upon him. The hand in the\ncoat pocket flung itself upward, there followed a muffled report, but the\nbullet flew wide. In all his life Aldous had never heard a sound like the\nroar that came from Quade's throat then. He saw Mortimer FitzHugh's hand\nappear with a pistol in it, and then the pistol was gone. He did not see\nwhere it went to. He gripped his knife and waited, his heart beating with\nwhat seemed like smothered explosions as he watched for the opportunity\nwhich he knew would soon come. He expected to see FitzHugh go down under\nQuade's huge bulk. Instead of that, a small, iron fist shot upward and\nQuade's head went back as if broken from his neck.\n\nFitzHugh sprang a step backward, and in the movement his heel caught the\nedge of a pack-saddle. He stumbled, almost fell, and before he could\nrecover himself Quade was at him again. This time there was something in\nthe red brute's hand. It rose and fell once--and Mortimer FitzHugh reeled\nbackward with a moaning cry, swayed for a second or two on his feet, and\nfell to the ground. Quade turned. In his hand was a bloody knife. Madness\nand passion and the triumphant joy of a demon were in his face as he glared\nat his helpless prey. As Aldous crouched lower his shoulder touched one of\nthe saddles. It slipped from the pile, one of the panniers followed it, and\nQuade saw him. There was no longer reason for concealment, and as Quade\nstood paralyzed for a moment Aldous sprang forth into the space between him\nand Joanne. He heard the cry that broke strangely from her lips but he did\nnot turn his head. He advanced upon Quade, his head lowered, the long\nskinning-knife gleaming in his hand.\n\nJohn Aldous knew that words would avail nothing in these last few minutes\nbetween him and Quade. The latter had already hunched himself forward, the\nred knife in his hand poised at his waistline. He was terrible. His huge\nbulk, his red face and bull neck, his eyes popping from behind their fleshy\nlids, and the dripping blade in the shapeless hulk of his hand gave him the\nappearance as he stood there of some monstrous gargoyle instead of a thing\nof flesh and blood. And Aldous was terrible to look at, but in a way that\nwrung a moaning cry from Joanne. His face was livid from the beat of the\nrocks; it was crusted with blood; his eyes were partly closed, and what\nremained of his shirt was drenched with blood that still ran from the deep\ncuts in his arms and shoulders. But it was he who advanced, and Quade who\nstood and waited.\n\nAldous knew little or nothing of knife-fighting; and he realized, also,\nthat there was a strange weakness in his arms and body caused by his battle\nwith the maelstroms in the chasm. But he had wrestled a great deal with the\nIndians of the north, who fought as their half-wolf sledgedogs fought, and\nhe employed their methods now. Slowly and deliberately he began to circle\naround Quade, so that Quade became the pivot of that circle, and as he\ncircled he drew nearer and nearer to his enemy, but never in a frontal\nadvance. He edged inward, with his knife-arm on the outside. His deadly\ndeliberateness and the steady glare of his eyes discomfited Quade, who\nsuddenly took a step backward.\n\nIt was always when the Indian made this step that his opponent darted in;\nand Aldous, with this in mind, sprang to the attack. Their knives clashed\nin midair. As they met, hilt to hilt, Aldous threw his whole weight against\nQuade, darted sidewise, and with a terrific lunge brought the blade of his\nknife down between Quade's shoulders. A straight blade would have gone from\nback to chest through muscle and sinew, but the knife which Aldous held\nscarcely pierced the other's clothes.\n\nNot until then did he fully realize the tremendous odds against him. The\ncurved blade of his skinning-knife would not penetrate! His one hope was to\ncut with it. He flung out his arm before Quade had fully recovered, and\nblind luck carried the keen edge of the knife across his enemy's pouchy\ncheek. The blood came in a spurt, and with a terrible cry Quade leaped back\ntoward the pile of saddles and panniers. Before Aldous could follow his\nadvantage the other had dropped his knife and had snatched up a four-foot\nlength of a tepee pole. For a moment he hesitated while the blood ran in a\nhot flood down his thick neck. Then with a bellow of rage he rushed upon\nAldous.\n\nIt was no time for knife-work now. As the avalanche of brute strength\ndescended upon him Aldous gathered himself for the shock. He had already\nmeasured his own weakness. Those ten minutes among the rocks of the chasm\nhad broken and beaten him until his strength was gone. He was panting from\nhis first onset with Quade, but his brain was working. And he knew that\nQuade was no longer a reasoning thing. He had ceased to think. He was blind\nwith the passion of the brute, and his one thought was to crush his enemy\ndown under the weight of the club in his huge hands. Aldous waited. He\nheard Joanne's terrified scream when Quade was almost upon him--when less\nthan five feet separated them. The club was descending when he flung\nhimself forward, straight for the other's feet. The club crashed over him,\nand with what strength he had he gripped Quade at the knees. With a\ntremendous thud Quade came to earth. The club broke from the grip of his\nhands. For a moment he was stunned, and in that moment Aldous was at his\nthroat.\n\nHe would have sold the best of his life for the skinning-knife. But he had\nlost it in gripping Quade. And now he choked--with every ounce of strength\nin him he choked at the thick red neck of his enemy. Quade's hands reached\nfor his own throat. They found it. And both choked, lying there gasping and\ncovered with blood! while Joanne struggled vainly to free herself, and\nscream after scream rang from her lips. And John Aldous knew that at last\nthe end had come. For there was no longer strength in his arms, and there\nwas something that was like a strange cramp in his fingers, while the\nclutch at his own throat was turning the world black. His grip relaxed. His\nhands fell limp. The last that he realized was that Quade was over him, and\nthat he must be dying.\n\nThen it was, as he lay within a final second or two of death, no longer\nconscious of physical attack or of Joanne's terrible cries, that a strange\nand unforeseen thing occurred. Beyond the tepee a man had risen from the\nearth. He staggered toward them, and it was from Marie that the wildest and\nstrangest cry of all came now. For the man was Joe DeBar! In his hand he\nheld a knife. Swaying and stumbling he came to the fighters--from behind.\nQuade did not see him, and over Quade's huge back he poised himself. The\nknife rose; for the fraction of a second it trembled in midair. Then it\ndescended, and eight inches of steel went to the heart of Quade.\n\nAnd as DeBar turned and staggered toward Joanne and Marie, John Aldous was\nsinking deeper and deeper into a black and abysmal night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\n\nIn that chaotic night in which he was drifting, light as a feather floating\non the wind, John Aldous experienced neither pain nor very much of the\nsense of life. And yet, without seeing or feeling, he seemed to be living,\nAll was dead in him but that last consciousness, which is almost the\nspirit; he might have been dreaming, and minutes, hours, or even years\nmight have passed in that dream. For a long time he seemed to be sinking\nthrough the blackness; and then something stopped him, without jar or\nshock, and he was rising. He could hear nothing. There was a vast silence\nabout him, a silence as deep and as unbroken as the abysmal pit in which he\nseemed to be softly floating.\n\nAfter a time Aldous felt himself swaying and rocking, as though tossed\ngently on the billows of a sea. This was the first thought that took shape\nin his struggling brain--he was at sea; he was on a ship in the heart of a\nblack night, and he was alone. He tried to call out, but his tongue seemed\ngone. It seemed a very long time before day broke, and then it was a\nstrange day. Little needles of light pricked his eyes; silver strings shot\nlike flashes of weblike lightning through the darkness, and after that he\nsaw for an instant a strange glare. It was gone in one big, powderlike\nflash, and he was in night again. These days and nights seemed to follow\none another swiftly now, and the nights grew less dark, and the days\nbrighter. He was conscious of sounds and buffetings, and it was very hot.\n\nOut of this heat there came a cool, soft breeze that was continually\ncaressing his face, and eyes, and head. It was like the touch of a spirit\nhand. It became more and more real to him. It caressed him into a dark and\ncomfortable oblivion. Out of this oblivion a still brighter day roused him.\nHis brain seemed clear. He opened his eyes. A white cloud was hovering over\nthem; it fell softly; it was cool and gentle. Then it rose again, and it\nwas not a cloud, but a hand! The hand moved away, and he was looking into a\npair of wide-open, staring, prayerful eyes, and a little cry came to him,\nand a voice.\n\n\"John--John----\"\n\nHe was drifting again, but now he knew that he was alive. He heard\nmovement. He heard voices. They were growing nearer and more distinct. He\ntried to cry out Joanne's name, and it came in a whispering breath between\nhis lips. But Joanne heard; and he heard her calling to him; he felt her\nhands; she was imploring him to open his eyes, to speak to her. It seemed\nmany minutes before he could do this, but at last he succeeded. And this\ntime his vision was not so blurred. He could see plainly. Joanne was there,\nhovering over him, and just beyond her was the great bearded face of Donald\nMacDonald. And then, before words had formed on his lips, he did a\nwonderful thing. He smiled.\n\n\"O my God, I thank Thee!\" he heard Joanne cry out, and then she was on her\nknees, and her face was against his, and she was sobbing.\n\nHe knew that it was MacDonald who drew her away.\n\nThe great head bent over him.\n\n\"Take this, will 'ee, Johnny boy?\"\n\nAldous stared.\n\n\"Mac, you're--alive,\" he breathed.\n\n\"Alive as ever was, Johnny. Take this.\"\n\nHe swallowed. And then Joanne hovered over him again, and he put up his\nhands to her face, and her glorious eyes were swimming seas as she kissed\nhim and choked back the sobs in her throat. He buried his fingers in her\nhair. He held her head close to him, and for many minutes no one spoke,\nwhile MacDonald stood and looked down on them. In those minutes everything\nreturned to him. The fight was over. MacDonald had come in time to save him\nfrom Quade. But--and now his eyes stared upward through the sheen of\nJoanne's hair--he was in a cabin! He recognized it. It was Donald\nMacDonald's old home. When Joanne raised her head he looked about him\nwithout speaking. He was in the wide bunk built against the wall. Sunlight\nwas filtering through a white curtain at the window, and in the open door\nhe saw the anxious face of Marie.\n\nHe tried to lift himself, and was amazed to find that he could not. Very\ngently Joanne urged him back on his pillow. Her face was a glory of life\nand of joy. He obeyed her as he would have obeyed the hand of the Madonna.\nShe saw all his questioning.\n\n\"You must be quiet, John,\" she said, and never had he heard in her voice\nthe sweetness of love that was in it now. \"We will tell you\neverything--Donald and I. But you must be quiet. You were terribly beaten\namong the rocks. We brought you here at noon, and the sun is setting--and\nuntil now you have not opened your eyes. Everything is well. But you must\nbe quiet. You were terribly bruised by the rocks, dear.\"\n\nIt was sweet to lie under the caresses of her hand. He drew her face down\nto him.\n\n\"Joanne, my darling, you understand now--why I wanted to come alone into\nthe North?\"\n\nHer lips pressed warm and soft against his.\n\n\"I know,\" she whispered, and he could feel her arras trembling, and her\nbreath coming quickly. Gently she drew away from him. \"I am going to make\nyou some broth,\" she said then.\n\nHe watched her as she went out of the cabin, one white hand lifted to her\nthroat.\n\nOld Donald MacDonald seated himself on the edge of the bunk. He looked down\nat Aldous, chuckling in his beard; and Aldous, with his bruised and swollen\nface and half-open eyes, grinned like a happy fiend.\n\n\"It was a wunerful, wunerful fight, Johnny!\" said old Donald.\n\n\"It was, Mac. And you came in fine on the home stretch!\"\n\n\"What d'ye mean--home stretch?\" queried Donald leaning over.\n\n\"You saved me from Quade.\"\n\nDonald fairly groaned.\n\n\"I didn't, Johnny--I didn't! DeBar killed 'im. It was all over when I come.\nOn'y--Johnny--I had a most cur'ous word with Culver Rann afore he died!\"\n\nIn his eagerness Aldous was again trying to sit up when Joanne appeared in\nthe doorway. With a little cry she darted to him, forced him gently back,\nand brushed old Donald off the edge of the bunk.\n\n\"Go out and watch the broth, Donald,\" she commanded firmly. Then she said\nto Aldous, stroking back his hair, \"I forbade you to talk. John, dear,\naren't you going to mind me?\"\n\n\"Did Quade get me with the knife?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, no.\"\n\n\"Am I shot?\"\n\n\"No, dear.\"\n\n\"Any bones broken?\"\n\n\"Donald says not.\"\n\n\"Then please give me my pipe, Joanne--and let me get up. Why do you want me\nto lie here when I'm strong like an ox, as Donald says?\"\n\nJoanne laughed happily.\n\n\"You _are_ getting better every minute,\" she cried joyously. \"But you were\nterribly beaten by the rocks, John. If you will wait until you have the\nbroth I will let you sit up.\"\n\nA few minutes later, when he had swallowed his broth, Joanne kept her\npromise. Only then did he realize that there was not a bone or a muscle in\nhis body that did not have its own particular ache. He grimaced when Joanne\nand Donald bolstered him up with blankets at his back. But he was happy.\nTwilight was coming swiftly, and as Joanne gave the final pats and turns to\nthe blankets and pillows, MacDonald was lighting half a dozen candles\nplaced around the room.\n\n\"Any watch to-night, Donald?\" asked Aldous.\n\n\"No, Johnny, there ain't no watch to-night,\" replied the old mountaineer.\n\nHe came and seated himself on a bench with Joanne. For half an hour after\nthat Aldous listened to a recital of the strange things that had\nhappened--how poor marksmanship had saved MacDonald on the mountain-side,\nand how at last the duel had ended with the old hunter killing those who\nhad come to slay him. When they came to speak of DeBar, Joanne leaned\nnearer to Aldous.\n\n\"It is wonderful what love will sometimes do,\" she spoke softly. \"In the\nlast few hours Marie has bared her soul to me, John. What she has been she\nhas not tried to hide from me, nor even from the man she loves. She was one\nof Mortimer FitzHugh's tools. DeBar saw her and loved her, and she sold\nherself to him in exchange for the secret of the gold. When they came into\nthe North the wonderful thing happened. She loved DeBar--not in the way of\nher kind, but as a woman in whom had been born a new heart and a new soul\nand a new joy. She defied FitzHugh; she told DeBar how she had tricked him.\n\n\"This morning FitzHugh attempted his old familiarity with her, and DeBar\nstruck him down. The act gave them excuse for what they had planned to do.\nBefore her eyes Marie thought they had killed the man she loved. She flung\nherself on his breast, and she said she could not feel his heart beat, and\nhis blood flowed warm against her hands and face. Both she and DeBar had\ndetermined to warn us if they could. Only a few minutes before DeBar was\nstabbed he had let off his rifle--an accident, he said. But it was not an\naccident. It was the shot Donald heard in the cavern. It saved us, John!\nAnd Marie, waiting her opportunity, fled to us in the plain. DeBar was not\nkilled. He says my screams brought him back to life. He came out--and\nkilled Quade with a knife. Then he fell at our feet. A few minutes later\nDonald came. DeBar is in another cabin. He is not fatally hurt, and Marie\nis happy.\"\n\nShe was stroking his hand when she finished. The curious rumbling came\nsoftly in MacDonald's beard and his eyes were bright with a whimsical\nhumour.\n\n\"I pretty near bored a hole through poor Joe when I come up,\" he chuckled.\n\"But you bet I hugged him when I found what he'd done, Johnny! Joe says\ntheir camp was just over the range from us that night FitzHugh looked us\nup, an' Joanne thought she'd been dreamin'. He didn't have any help, but\nhis intention was to finish us alone--murder us asleep--when Joanne cried\nout. Joe says it was just a devil's freak that took 'im to the top of the\nmountain alone that night. He saw our fire an' came down to investigate.\"\n\nA low voice was calling outside the door. It was Marie. As Joanne went to\nher a quick gleam came into old Donald's eyes. He looked behind him\ncautiously to see that she had disappeared, then he bent over Aldous, and\nwhispered hoarsely:\n\n\"Johnny, I had a most cur'ous word with Rann--or FitzHugh--afore he died!\nHe wasn't dead when I went to him. But he knew he was dyin'; an' Johnny, he\nwas smilin' an' cool to the end. I wanted to ask 'im a question, Johnny. I\nwas dead cur'ous to know _why the grave were empty!_ But he asked for\nJoanne, an' I couldn't break in on his last breath. I brought her. The\nfirst thing he asked her was how people had took it when they found out\nhe'd poisoned his father! When Joanne told him no one had ever thought he'd\nkilled his father, FitzHugh sat leanin' against the saddles for a minit so\nwhite an' still I thought he 'ad died with his eyes open. Then it came out,\nJohnny. He was smilin' as he told it. He killed his father with poison to\nget his money. Later he came to America. He didn't have time to tell us how\nhe come to think they'd discovered his crime. He was dyin' as he talked. It\ncame out sort o' slobberingly, Johnny. He thought they'd found 'im out. He\nchanged his name, an' sent out the report that Mortimer FitzHugh had died\nin the mount'ins. But Johnny, he died afore I could ask him about the\ngrave!\"\n\nThere was a final note of disappointment in old Donald's voice that was\nalmost pathetic.\n\n\"It was such a cur'ous grave,\" he said. \"An' the clothes were laid out so\nprim an' nice.\"\n\nAldous laid his hand on MacDonald's.\n\n\"It's easy, Mac,\" he said, and he wanted to laugh at the disappointment\nthat was still in the other's face. \"Don't you see? He never expected any\none to dig _into_ the grave. And he put the clothes and the watch and the\nring in there to get rid of them. They might have revealed his identity.\nWhy, Donald----\"\n\nJoanne was coming to them again. She laid a cool hand on his forehead and\nheld up a warning finger to MacDonald.\n\n\"Hush!\" she said gently, \"Your head is very hot, dear, and there must be\nno more talking. You must lie down and sleep. Tell John good-night,\nDonald!\"\n\nLike a boy MacDonald did as she told him, and disappeared through the cabin\ndoor. Joanne levelled the pillows and lowered John's head.\n\n\"I can't sleep, Joanne,\" he protested.\n\n\"I will sit here close at your side and stroke your face and hair,\" she\nsaid gently.\n\n\"And you will talk to me?\"\n\n\"No, I must not talk. But, John----\"\n\n\"Yes, dear.\"\n\n\"If you will promise to be very, very quiet, and let me be very quiet----\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I will make you a pillow of my hair.\"\n\n\"I--will be quiet,\" he whispered.\n\nShe unbound her hair, and leaned over so that it fell in a flood on his\npillow. With a sigh of contentment he buried his face in the rich, sweet\nmasses of it. Gently, like the cooling breeze that had come to him in his\nhours of darkness, her hand caressed him. He closed his eyes; he drank in\nthe intoxicating perfume of her tresses; and after a little he slept.\n\nFor many hours Joanne sat at his bedside, sleepless, and rejoicing.\n\nWhen Aldous awoke it was dawn in the cabin. Joanne was gone. For a few\nminutes he continued to lie with his face toward the window. He knew that\nhe had slept a long time, and that the day was breaking. Slowly he raised\nhimself. The terrible ache in his body was gone; he was still lame, but no\nlonger helpless. He drew himself cautiously to the edge of the bunk and\nsat there for a time, testing himself before he got up. He was delighted at\nthe result of the experiments. He rose to his feet. His clothes were\nhanging against the wall, and he dressed himself. Then he opened the door\nand walked out into the morning, limping a little as he went. MacDonald was\nup. Joanne's tepee was close to the cabin. The two men greeted each other\nquietly, and they talked in low voices, but Joanne heard them, and a few\nmoments later she ran out with her hair streaming about her and went\nstraight into the arms of John Aldous.\n\nThis was the beginning of the three wonderful days that yet remained for\nJoanne and John Aldous in Donald MacDonald's little valley of gold and\nsunshine and blue skies. They were strange and beautiful days, filled with\na great peace and a great happiness, and in them wonderful changes were at\nwork. On the second day Joanne and Marie rode alone to the cavern where\nJane lay, and when they returned in the golden sun of the afternoon they\nwere leading their horses, and walking hand in hand. And when they came\ndown to where DeBar and Aldous and Donald MacDonald were testing the\nrichness of the black sand along the stream there was a light in Marie's\neyes and a radiance in Joanne's face which told again that world-old story\nof a Mary Magdalene and the dawn of another Day. And now, Aldous thought,\nMarie had become beautiful; and Joanne laughed softly and happily that\nnight, and confided many things into the ears of Aldous, while Marie and\nDeBar talked for a long time alone out under the stars, and came back at\nlast hand in hand, like two children. Before they went to bed Marie\nwhispered something to Joanne, and a little later Joanne whispered it to\nAldous.\n\n\"They want to know if they can be married with us, John,\" she said. \"That\nis, if you haven't grown tired of trying to marry me, dear,\" she added with\na happy laugh. \"Have you?\"\n\nHis answer satisfied her. And when she told a small part of it to Marie,\nthe other woman's dark eyes grew as soft as the night, and she whispered\nthe words to Joe.\n\nThe third and last day was the most beautiful of all. Joe's knife wound was\nnot bad. He had suffered most from a blow on the head. Both he and Aldous\nwere in condition to travel, and plans were made to begin the homeward\njourney on the fourth morning. MacDonald had unearthed another dozen sacks\nof the hidden gold, and he explained to Aldous what must be done to secure\nlegal possession of the little valley. His manner of doing this was\nunnatural and strained. His words came haltingly. There was unhappiness in\nhis eyes. It was in his voice. It was in the odd droop of his shoulders.\nAnd finally, when they were alone, he said to Aldous, with almost a sob in\nhis voice:\n\n\"Johnny--Johnny, if on'y the gold were not here!\"\n\nHe turned his eyes to the mountain, and Aldous took one of his big gnarled\nhands in both his own.\n\n\"Say it, Mac,\" he said gently. \"I guess I know what it is.\"\n\n\"It ain't fair to you, Johnny,\" said old Donald, still with his eyes on the\nmountains. \"It ain't fair to you. But when you take out the claims down\nthere it'll start a rush. You know what it means, Johnny. There'll be a\nthousand men up here; an' mebby you can't understand--but there's the\ncavern an' Jane an' the little cabin here; an' it seems like desecratin'\n_her_.\"\n\nHis voice choked, and as Aldous gripped the big hand harder in his own he\nlaughed.\n\n\"It would, Mac,\" he said. \"I've been watching you while we made the plans.\nThese cabins and the gold have been here for more than forty years without\ndiscovery, Donald--and they won't be discovered again so long as Joe DeBar\nand John Aldous and Donald MacDonald have a word to say about it. We'll\ntake out no claims, Mac. The valley isn't ours. It's Jane's valley and\nyours!\"\n\nJoanne, coming up just then, wondered what the two men had been saying that\nthey stood as they did, with hands clasped. Aldous told her. And then old\nDonald confessed to them what was in his mind, and what he had kept from\nthem. At last he had found his home, and he was not going to leave it\nagain. He was going to stay with Jane. He was going to bring her from the\ncavern and bury her near the cabin, and he pointed out the spot, covered\nwith wild hyacinths and asters, where she used to sit on the edge of the\nstream and watch him while he worked for gold. And they could return each\nyear and dig for gold, and he would dig for gold while they were away, and\nthey could have it all. All that he wanted was enough to eat, and Jane, and\nthe little valley. And Joanne turned from him as he talked, her face\nstreaming with tears, and in John's throat was a great lump, and he looked\naway from MacDonald to the mountains.\n\nSo it came to pass that on the fourth morning, when they went into the\nsouth, they stopped on the last knoll that shut out the little valley from\nthe larger valley, and looked back. And Donald MacDonald stood alone in\nfront of the cabin waving them good-bye.\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Hunted Woman, by James Oliver Curwood\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by D A Alexander and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n MINKIE\n\n BY LOUIS TRACY\n\n Author of \"_The Wings of the Morning_,\" \"_The Pillar of Light_,\" \"_The\n Captain of the Kansas_,\" etc.\n\n Toronto McLeod & Allen Publishers 1907\n\n\n\n\n COPYRIGHT, 1907 BY EDWARD J. CLODE.\n\n _Entered at Stationers' Hall_\n\n _The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A._\n\n\n\n\n Illustration: _Minkie_\n\n\n\n\n CONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                   PAGE\n          CHAPTER I\n HOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END                                     3\n\n          CHAPTER II\n PRINCE JOHN'S STRANGE ALLY                                          41\n\n          CHAPTER III\n THE WHITE MAN'S WAY                                                 73\n\n          CHAPTER IV\n THE BLACK MAN'S WAY                                                107\n\n          CHAPTER V\n THE UNDOING OF SCHWARTZ                                            143\n\n\n\n\n LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n \"Minkie\"                                                _Frontispiece_\n\n                                                                   PAGE\n\n \"Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?\"                 8\n\n Minkie took the ivory doll from her pocket and surveyed it\n seriously                                                           69\n\n But she stood there quite motionless                                91\n\n The Old Man read the typewritten letter which Schwartz gave him    114\n\n My first call was at a jeweller's in Piccadilly                    157\n\n\n\n\nHOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nHOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END\n\n_Told by Bobby, the Horse_\n\n\nMinkie says I ought to begin this story, because I am the biggest\nand strongest. I don't see that at all, but she thinks I can't see\nmuch, anyhow, owing to my silly habit of wearing blinkers, which is\njust her irritating way of settling an argument--as if _I_ made the\nharness. And she knows better, too. I have an eye stuck on each side\nof my head to enable me to look nearly all round the circle; but that\nclever individual, man, tries to improve on Providence by making me don\nthe rogue's badge. Well, it would make any horse laugh. You watch how\nthe clever individual came to grief when Minkie and her gang tackled\nhim. Yes, that is what they call us--her \"gang\"--although Dandy, the\nfox-terrier, won't admit that Tibbie belongs to our crowd, and he\ngets furious if one even mentions the Parrot. Perhaps he is prejudiced\nagainst Tibbie--I have noticed that most dogs seldom have a good word\nfor a cat--but I do agree with him about that green idiot, Polly. Of\nall the back-biting, screeching--Eh, what? Oh, don't worry, as I tell\nDan when he trots in to my place to look for a rat--you'll be in the\nmiddle of a real up-to-date yarn in two buzzes of a gad-fly....\n\nThe fun started last Christmas Eve, when a small blue boy on a big red\nbicycle came to our front door and tried to pull the bell out by the\nroots after playing tricks with the knocker. Everybody thought it was\na parcel for herself. Dorothy sailed out of the drawing-room; Cookie\nand Evangeline, our housemaid (Mam wanted to call her Mary, but she\nthreatened to give notice), rushed from the kitchen; even dearest Mam\ndropped her sewing and wondered what the Guv'nor had sent her; but\nMinkie tobogganed downstairs on a tray, and came in an easy first. Dan\nwas close up, as he simply hates every sort of postman; so Minkie\ngrabbed him with one hand and opened the door with the other.\n\nAnd it was only a telegram.\n\nWhen Mam opened it, she said \"Good gracious!\"\n\n\"What is it, mother?\" inquired Dorothy.\n\nBut Minkie had read it over Mam's shoulder and it was just this:\n\n\"Schwartz arrived unexpectedly to-day. Have invited him to spend\nChristmas and New Year with us. Send victoria meet 2.15. Tom.\"\n\nTom is the Old Man. His other name is Grosvenor. He isn't really old,\nbut Jim calls him the Old Man, or the Guv'nor, and we are all pretty\nfree and easy in the stable, you know.\n\n\"Good gracious!\" said Mam again, \"he will be here in half an hour.\nEvangeline, run and tell James to drive to the station at once. Mr.\nGrosvenor is bringing a friend home with him.\"\n\nNow, it is to be observed, in the first place, that ladies are always\nflustered by telegrams. The Old Man said nothing about \"bringing\"\nSchwartz by the 2.15, and Mam knew quite well that he expected to be\ndetained at the office until the 5.30. Next, when two-legged people are\nin a hurry, they put the rush on to their four-legged helpers. I was\njust enjoying a nice wisp of hay when Jim banged in and rattled me into\nmy harness, while Mole, the gardener, who also cleans the knives and\nboots, pulled the victoria out of the shed.\n\nI was going through the gate in fine style when Minkie came flying.\n\n\"Don't stop,\" she said, and skipped inside.\n\nJim thought Mam had sent her, but Jim is always wrong when he imagines\nanything about Minkie. The fact was, as she told me afterwards, she had\nheard a lot of talk about this Schwartz, and she felt that it would be\ngood for all parties if she took his measure a few minutes ahead of\nthe rest of the family; so she jammed on a pirate cap and Dorothy's\nfur coat, and slid across the lawn without any one's being the wiser,\nexcept Dan, and he was sore with her on account of the escape of the\ntelegraph boy. He tried to take it out of Tibbie, but she nipped up a\ntree, and the parrot, who was watching him head downwards through the\ndrawing-room window, yelled \"Yah!\" at him. That settled it. He came\nafter me and jumped up at my bit.\n\n\"Race you to the station,\" he said, pretending he hadn't seen Minkie.\n\n\"Right,\" said I; \"but, to make a match of it, you ought to get Mole to\nharness you to his little girl's toy pram.\"\n\nThis remark seemed to hurt his feelings, but I didn't know then about\nthe rat-tatling messenger boy. Anyhow, he met the doctor's poodle in\nthe village, so he joined us at the station in a good temper.\n\nWhen the train arrived, it brought heaps of people. It always puzzles\nme that folk should gorge more at Christmas time than any other. Every\nman, woman, and child carried half-a-dozen parcels, and nearly every\nparcel held something to eat. Some of the men hugged long narrow boxes,\nwhich looked as if they contained wax candles, but which really held a\nbottle of whisky. I know, because Jim....\n\n\"Mr. Grosvenor hasn't come, miss,\" said Jim, when the crowd thinned.\n\n\"Who said he was coming?\" asked Minkie.\n\n\"Well, Evangeline thought--\"\n\n\"Evangeline never thinks. The doctor has warned her against it. If ever\nshe tries to do anything of the kind the excitement will kill her.\nNo, Jim. Dad has told a Mr. Schwartz to come on by this train, and\nmake himself at home until he joins him later. Schwartz is German for\nblack. Most Germans are dumpy. But things often go by contraries. Our\ngreen-grocer is named Brown, so Mr. Schwartz should be a tall thin man,\nwith straw hair and white eyebrows.\"\n\nNail my shoes, she wasn't far out of it. A humpbacked porter came along\nwith a couple of portmanteaux, followed by a heavy swell who was up to\nspecification except as to the color of his hair, which was chestnut.\n\n\"This is Mr. Grosvenor's carriage, sir,\" said the porter.\n\n\"Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?\" said the newcomer,\ngrinning at Minkie.\n\nIllustration: \"Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Are you Mr. Schwartz?\" she asked, and Dan inspected his calf, because\nMinkie's tone told us she had taken a violent dislike to the visitor at\nfirst sight.\n\n\"Yes,\" he smirked, being so busy looking at her that he paid no heed to\nthe porter, who was waiting for his tip.\n\n\"Well, if you give the porter a shilling I'll drive you to our place.\nMother is expecting you.\"\n\n\"Are you particular as to the exact amount?\" he inquired, still\ngrinning. In fact, he was one of those silly men who believe that you\nmust laugh when you want to be amiable; so please imagine Mr. Schwartz\nalways guffawing--at least, not always, because he could scowl very\nunpleasantly at times. Tickle my withers, we made him scowl all right\nbefore we were through with him.\n\n\"No,\" said Minkie, giving the porter just one little look. \"As it is\nChristmas time, you might make it half a crown.\"\n\nSchwartz got his hand down quick. Because he was a rich man, he thought\ntuppence would be ample. He produced a florin, but Minkie spotted it.\n\n\"If you haven't another sixpence I can lend you one,\" she said sweetly,\nand I saw Dan licking his lips when he heard her speak in that way.\n\n\"Don't trouble,\" said Schwartz, rather shortly, and he handed the\nporter three shillings. That was another of his queer ways. He liked to\nimpress people, but cheaply. He wanted a girl of fourteen to realize\nwhat a grand person he was, yet he was afraid she would spring him up\nto a crown, or even half a sovereign, if he didn't make haste.\n\nThen Minkie made room for him by her side, and Dan hopped in too.\n\n\"Is that dog yours?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And does your father permit a beast with muddy paws to sit in his\ncarriage?\"\n\n\"Not often,\" said Minkie, looking at his boots. \"Dandy, you wicked imp,\nget out at once.\"\n\nDan took a header into the roadway, and ran up alongside me, barking\nfor all he was worth.\n\n\"Tell you what, Bob,\" he cried, nearly choking himself with joy, \"this\nred-headed Jew is going to find trouble. He is sure to drop into the\nstable to-morrow. I'll keep you posted in affairs inside the house,\nand, when I give you the office, you'll let him have both heels in the\nright place, eh?\"\n\n\"I'll do my best,\" I coughed, and Jim wondered what was the matter, as\nthere are no flies about in winter-time.\n\nMeanwhile, Minkie took Schwartz in hand, and my long ears were not\ngiven me for amusement.\n\n\"We thought you were not coming until next week,\" she said, by way of\nbeing polite.\n\n\"I finished some business in Paris sooner than I expected, and Mr.\nGrosvenor was good enough to ask me to spend Christmas and New Year at\nDale End. I shall enjoy the visit immensely, I am sure. I have not had\na Christmas at home for many years.\"\n\n\"At home?\" Minkie raised her large blue eyes so innocently. I knew\nexactly how she looked, and I rattled my harness to tell her I was\nlistening.\n\n\"Yes; in England, I mean.\"\n\n\"Ah.\"\n\n\"Don't you call England 'home,' too?\"\n\n\"Of course, but I live here.\"\n\n\"So do I.\"\n\n\"Sorry. I fancied you just said you had been in some other country for\na long time.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm a bit of a cosmopolitan, I admit. Do you know what a\ncosmopolitan is?\"\n\n\"It means anything but English.\"\n\nMr. Schwartz roared. \"Gad!\" he cried, \"that is not so far wrong.\"\n\nAn old gentleman passed us in a mail phaeton, drawn by a pair of fat\ncobs, your bellows-to-mend and step-short sort. They don't like me,\nbecause I always make a point of giving them the dust in summer, so one\nof them snorted, \"Station hack!\"\n\n\"Going to have a shave?\" I asked, quite civilly, he being all of a\nlather.\n\nMinkie gave the old gentleman a smile and a bow. He was rather\nsurprised, which was reasonable enough, seeing that she usually sails\nalong without seeing anybody; but he got his hat off in good time.\n\n\"Who is that?\" inquired Schwartz.\n\n\"Jack's uncle,\" said Minkie.\n\n\"Jack is a friend of yours, eh?\"\n\n\"Um, yes, but he--perhaps I shouldn't say anything about it. Jack is\ntwenty-five, you see.\"\n\n\"Oh, is he?\" Schwartz was not smiling now. It was easy to guess that\nby his voice. \"I suppose he is better acquainted with your sister than\nwith you?\"\n\n\"Yes, heaps.\"\n\n\"What is his other name?\"\n\n\"Percival Stanhope.\"\n\n\"Mr. John Percival Stanhope, in fact? Odd that I should not have heard\nof him, if he is such a great friend of the family?\"\n\n\"Dolly doesn't say much about him. He's in India, and India is such a\nlong way off.\"\n\n\"Jolly good job, too, or you would be frizzling to-day.\" Mr. Schwartz\nwas brightening up again.\n\n\"I think you are mistaken,\" said Minkie, quietly. \"Jack says it is ever\nso cold in the Punjab at Christmas-time.\"\n\n\"Does he write to you, then?\" demanded Schwartz.\n\n\"No; that was in a letter to Dolly.\"\n\n\"A recent letter?\"\n\n\"He was talking about Christmas two years ago. But please don't mention\nhim to her. We have no right to discuss her affairs, have we?\"\n\n\"No, no; of course not. It was just by way of conversation, eh?\"\n\n\"That is the cemetery,\" said Minkie, pointing to a low tree-lined wall\nin the distance. \"Some day, if you like, I shall take you there, and\nshow you his mother's grave.\"\n\n\"Thanks, but I am not fond of cemeteries, as a rule.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you would prefer to be cremated?\"\n\n\"I haven't considered the matter.\"\n\n\"But you ought to. You are quite old, nearly forty, and I saw in a pill\nadvertisement the other day that forty is a dangerous age if your liver\nis out of order.\"\n\n\"Here, young lady, not quite so fast, please. How do you know I am\nforty, and why do you think I have a diseased liver?\"\n\n\"It said so in the paper.\"\n\n\"The deuce it did.\"\n\n\"Yes; in one of those little spicy bits, telling you all about people,\nyou know. It said: 'Mr. Montague Schwartz is one of the Chosen People.'\nYou are Mr. Montague Schwartz, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Go on, do.\"\n\n\"Oh, I remember every word '--one of the Chosen People--' that means\nyou are a Jew, doesn't it?\"\n\n\"Of Jewish descent, certainly.\"\n\n\"Well, it went on: 'His rise has been meteoric. At twenty he quitted\nthe paternal fried fish shop in the Mile End Road, at thirty he was\nrunning a saloon and other industries at Kimberley, and at forty he is\nbuilding a mansion in Mayfair.' There was a lot more, but now you see\nhow I knew your age.\"\n\n\"It is perfectly clear. There only remains the liver.\"\n\n\"I got that from the pill advertisement. There are several sure signs\nof congestion, and you have all of them in your face and eyes. Shall I\nshow it to you? Those pills might cure you.\"\n\n\"Really, you are too kind for words. May I ask if your sister shares\nyour knowledge of my career and state of health?\"\n\n\"Did I show her the paper, do you mean?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"No, I had forgotten all about it, but if you would like her to see\nit--\"\n\n\"Look here, Miss Millicent, you are a sharp girl. Now, I'll\nmake a bargain with you. Find that paper, say no more about the\nparagraph--which, I may tell you, is rank nonsense from start to\nfinish--and your Christmas box will be five sovereigns.\"\n\n\"Done,\" said Minkie, coolly. \"And here we are at Dale End. Mile\nEnd--Dale End. Funny, isn't it, how names run together that way\noccasionally.\"\n\nBefore Jim led me around to the stable I heard Mam express her surprise\nthat Mr. Schwartz had come alone. She had expected her husband by the\nsame train. And she did not know Millicent had gone in the victoria.\nHow on earth did the child recognise Mr. Schwartz, as she had never\nseen him?\n\n\"I rather fancy your younger daughter would pick me out in the Strand\nif she were so minded,\" explained the visitor, cheerfully.\n\n\"I hope she did not bore you by her chatter,\" said dear, innocent Mam.\n\"Or perhaps she was in one of her silent moods?\"\n\n\"No. We got along famously; didn't we, Millicent?\"\n\n\"It was a nice drive,\" said Minkie, \"not too cold, and the village is\nquite gay.\"\n\n\"Well, I find the air rather chilly,\" said Mam. \"Why are we all\nstanding here? Come into the drawing-room, Mr. Schwartz. Dorothy is\nthere, and we shall have tea brought a little earlier than usual.\nEvangeline, tell James to take Mr. Schwartz's portmanteaux to the Blue\nRoom.\"\n\nOf course, I should not have heard what happened next if Tibbie had\nnot looked in to see me that night. As a matter of fact, the gang does\nnot miss much in the way of gossip. One or other of us is always on\nhand. And that parrot--though he is no friend of mine--is a terror for\npicking up news. Jim hangs his cage on a tree opposite my door every\nfine morning, and the things he tells me are surprising. He has hardly\na good word for anybody, but then, what a dull world it would be if we\nonly told the nice things about our friends. Why, we should all be dumb\nsoon.\n\nDan tried to sneak in behind Minkie, but Mam had her eye on him.\n\n\"I do believe that naughty Dandy has been in the wars again,\" she said.\n\"Millicent, did you see him fighting any other dog?\"\n\n\"No, mother. He met the doctor's poodle, but there was no fight.\"\nMinkie was always strictly accurate.\n\n\"What a wonder! Anyhow, he is muddy and wet. Ask cook to rub him over\nwith a damp cloth.\"\n\nTibbie, pretending to be asleep, twitched one ear as she saw Dan being\nled off to the kitchen. \"Gnar!\" muttered Dan, who hates damp cloths,\n\"wait till I catch you in the garden!\" Tibbie just smiled. I must say\nthat cats take life easily; they are given the best of everything, and\ndo nothing. A friend of mine, a regular old stager, who pulls near in\nthe Black Lion bus, tells me that Tibbie's method is the only way to\nget on, and he sees a lot of different people at the inn, so he ought\nto be a bit of a philosopher. \"Make other people work for you,\" he\nsays. \"That's the ticket; when they bring you chaff tell 'em you must\nhave oats, an' snap their heads off if they don't move quick enough.\nBless your hoof, they like it. You hear 'em say: 'There's blood for\nyou, a born aristocrat, he is,' an' they'll do any mortal thing you\nwant.\"\n\nWell, Tibbie curled up like a hedgehog, and listened, because we\ndon't have many strangers at Dale End. The talk turned on Ostend--no,\nit's as true as I'm standing on four legs, but the very first place\nmentioned had an \"end\" in it--where the Old Man and Mam and Dorothy had\nbeen in the summer. Minkie had measles, or something spotty, so she\nwas forbidden to travel, and we had a ripping July all to ourselves.\nEclipse wasn't in it; why, I had beer every day. They met Mr. Schwartz\nat Ostend, it seems, and he took such a fancy to Dolly that he wanted\nto marry her straight off. She wouldn't do that, even if Mam and the\nGuv'nor were agreeable, but she had not heard from Jack for ages, and\nSchwartz was really very attentive, besides being tremendously rich.\nNow, we at Dale End find it difficult to pay the hay and corn bills,\nso you see that a wealthy son-in-law would be what the sale catalogues\ncall \"a desirable acquisition.\"\n\nI have heard a lot of people in the village say that Dolly is so pretty\nshe ought to make a good match. When she did a skirt dance at the\nCottage Hospital Bazaar, the local paper spoke of her as \"the beautiful\nMiss Grosvenor.\" She pretended to be very angry about that, but Tibbie\nsays she bought a dozen papers and sent them to her girl friends, so\nthe rest of the report must have been suitable. I suppose she is all\nright for a grownup. For my part, I prefer Minkie, who has a yellow\nmane, and blue eyes, and freckles. She is as straight as a soldier, and\nhas small hands and feet, and the loveliest brown legs.... Eh, what?\nWell, say stockings, then, but when I took first prize and the cup for\nthe best hackney in the show, everybody admired my legs; so why not\nMinkie's?\n\nAnyhow, by the time tea was served, Schwartz had further established\nhimself in Mam's good graces. He was a clever chap in his way, and he\ncould say the right thing to women occasionally, and he was wise enough\nnot to bother Dorothy too much, though Tibbie saw, out of the tail of\nher eye, that the girl could not move from one side of the room to\nthe other without Schwartz's watching her approvingly. Tibbie knew by\nhis eyes that he was saying to himself: \"She will look all right in\nBrook-street.\"\n\nDan announced the postman while Dorothy was pouring out the tea, and\nMinkie brought in a heap of letters, mostly Christmas cards. Minkie had\na baker's dozen to herself, and five of them were addressed to \"Minkie\nand her Gang\"; each of the five contained pictures of a girl, a horse,\na dog, a cat, and a parrot. She soon made out by the postmark and the\nhandwriting who had sent every card, even though the names were not\ngiven. One seemed to puzzle her at first, and she slipped it into her\npocket. The others were handed round, before Dorothy arranged them on\nthe mantel-piece with a number which had come by earlier deliveries,\nand Mr. Schwartz admired them immensely.\n\n\"It is so interesting to come back to the old country and find these\npleasant customs in full swing,\" he said. \"I have neither sent nor\nreceived a Christmas card for years. I was telling Millicent on our way\nfrom the station that, by chance, I have been out of England at this\nseason every year for ten years.\"\n\n\"You did not mention the exact period, Mr. Schwartz,\" said Minkie. \"I\nrather thought that ten years ago you were in Kimberley?\"\n\n\"Oh, one speaks in round numbers. By the way, have you received a card\nfrom your elderly friend--the man we met driving the pair?\"\n\n\"Driving a pair. Who was that, Millie?\" asked her mother.\n\n\"Mr. Stanhope, Jack's uncle.\"\n\nDorothy dropped a piece of toast, and Mam bent over her letters, but\nshe said quietly:\n\n\"I fear my girls will not be honored by any such attention on his part,\nMr. Schwartz. Indeed, I think he is the only enemy we possess in the\nneighborhood. How did you come to describe him as a friend of yours,\nMillie?\"\n\n\"I didn't.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I was mistaken,\" put in Schwartz, who was beginning to hate\nMinkie, yet had no wish to quarrel with her.\n\n\"I said Jack was my friend. Isn't that right, mother?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. I understand now. By the way, dearie, are you going to meet\nyour father? It is nearly time to start. And be careful to wrap up\nwell.\"\n\n\"The victoria will not be ready for another five minutes. I have time\nto bring you that paper if you would care to see it before dinner, Mr.\nSchwartz.\"\n\n\"Thanks. I shall be delighted--you wretched little imp,\" he added under\nhis breath, but Tibbie heard him.\n\nMinkie brought the paper.\n\n\"That is the paragraph I told you of,\" said she, pointing very\ndaintily to something on one of the pages. I have seen her point that\nway to a dead rat when she wished Jim or Mole to throw it away.\n\n\"Much obliged. And here are the five sovereigns I promised you as a\nChristmas box.\"\n\n\"Mr. Schwartz--\" broke in Mam, but he turned to her with his best\nmanner.\n\n\"I beg of you to allow me to do this, Mrs. Grosvenor. It is really a\nharmless joke between Millicent and myself,\" he said.\n\n\"But five pounds--\" protested Mam.\n\n\"That was in the bond. Pray let me explain. By chance, she mentioned\nsome very useful information which this newspaper contained; I might\nnot have heard of it otherwise. So I am adding a little to her\nChristmas present--that is all.\"\n\n\"It seems a great deal of money,\" sighed Mam, who often wanted a fiver\nand had to do without it, \"but you two appear to have the matter cut\nand dried, so I suppose it is all right. What are you going to do with\nyour fabulous wealth, Millicent?\"\n\n\"Make a corner in toffee. Make every kid in Dale End pay a penny for a\nha'penny-worth. That is the proper thing, isn't it, Mr. Schwartz?\"\n\n\"I don't think I can teach you much,\" he replied with his usual grin.\n\n\"Oh yes, you can. Read the next paragraph, the one beginning: 'The\nunhappy natives of the Upper Niger.' It tells about gas-pipe guns and\ncoal-dust powder. Yes, mother dear, going now.\"\n\nIt was quite dark, of course, when I brought Minkie to the station a\nsecond time. The weather had changed, too, from what the farmers call\n\"soft\" to a touch of frost, which made both Jim and me pleased that my\nshoes had been sharped by the blacksmith that morning.\n\nThe train was rather late, so Minkie went into the station and\ninterviewed a porter. He told her something which seemed to interest\nher, so she asked the booking-clerk for change of a sovereign and gave\nthe man a shilling.\n\nShe picked out her father the instant the train drew up at the\nplatform. He looked worried, she told me afterwards, but that passed\nwhen he saw her. He had the usual number of parcels which people carry\nat Christmas time, and Minkie grabbed all of them, but he stopped her\nwith a laugh.\n\n\"We can't rush off in the orthodox way to-night, Minkie,\" he said. \"Mr.\nSchwartz's servant is on this train, and I promised to take him with us\nto the house. By the way, is Dandy with you in the carriage?\"\n\n\"No, father dear. Why do you ask?\"\n\n\"Because this valet of Schwartz's is a black man, and Dandy might not\napprove of him at first sight.\"\n\n\"A black man.\"\n\n\"Yes, polished ebony. Rather smart, too. Speaks English perfectly. He\ncame to me at Waterloo and said--Oh, there he is. Hi, you. Just follow\nme, will you.\"\n\nMinkie thought that the <DW64> was an extraordinarily fine fellow, and\nvery well dressed. It was odd that Schwartz had not mentioned him,\nand she wondered where he would sleep. Perhaps he curled up on a mat\noutside his master's room. In that case, she must make Dan clearly\nunderstand that she rather approved of the Ethiopian than otherwise.\n\nHis luggage appeared to be a small handbag. He almost made the mistake\nof entering the carriage with Minkie and her father, but he showed his\nteeth in a good-natured grin, and climbed to Jim's side on the box.\nI had a look at him as he passed the near lamp, and he certainly did\nstartle me; I am quite sure I should have shifted him if Minkie had not\nsaid quietly:\n\n\"All right, Bobby. Steady, old chap.\"\n\nOn the way home I heard Minkie trying to cheer up her father by telling\nhim little bits of village news, and he did his best to respond, but\nboth of us felt there was something wrong, as the Guv'nor is likely\nenough most days.\n\n\"Mr. Schwartz has arrived, of course?\" he inquired, soon after we\nquitted the station. \"I forgot to ask you sooner. I took it for granted\nwhen his servant turned up and told me he had missed the earlier train.\"\n\n\"Yes. He came according to your telegram.\"\n\n\"How has he got on at home?\"\n\n\"Oh, first rate. Mam and Dolly seemed quite pleased to see him.\"\n\n\"What do _you_ think of him, Minkie?\"\n\n\"I hardly know yet, father dear. I shall tell you--let me see--on New\nYear's Eve.\"\n\n\"You demand seven days' experience, eh? Wise child. I wish some one had\ntaught me at your age to wait a bit before I formed my opinions.\"\n\n\"One might form them quickly enough, but not express them.\"\n\n\"Which means that you don't like Schwartz? Well, he is not exactly my\nsort, I admit, but he is wealthy, Minkie, and one must bow the knee\nbefore the golden calf occasionally. And his repute stands high in the\ncity, so he might be a useful friend. We must make the best of him, eh?\"\n\n\"One always does that with one's guests, of course,\" said Minkie, who\ncould feel a heavy assortment of gold and silver coins in her pocket.\n\nMinkie jumped out when I pulled up at the front entrance. Dan was\nstanding on the top step and wondering what in the world was sitting\nbeside Jim on the box. Before he could say a word, Minkie grabbed him\nand whispered in his ear. But he was very uneasy, because the black\nman sprang down almost as promptly as Minkie, and nearly frightened\nEvangeline into a fit when she met him in the hall. He took his hat off\nin quite an elegant way.\n\n\"I am Mr. Schwartz's valet,\" he said. \"Mr. Grosvenor was good enough to\nbring me with him from London. Is my master in his room now?\"\n\n\"N-no, sir,\" stuttered Evangeline. He gave her the queerest feeling,\nshe told Cookie later.\n\n\"Well, if you will kindly show me to his suite I will prepare his\nclothes for dinner,\" went on the <DW64>, who appeared to be more anxious\nto get to work than any of our servants.\n\nEvangeline glanced at Minkie and the Guv'nor; she was sure it must be\nall right, as the <DW64> had arrived in their company, but she dared\nnot go upstairs with him. Wild horses would not drag her there, she\nsaid, though I would back myself to haul her to the top attic before\nshe could say \"knife.\" \"It's the Blue Room,\" she said. \"First on the\nleft in that corridor,\" and she pointed to the side of the house where\nMr. Schwartz was lodged. The big <DW54> went up at once. Evangeline\nhelped to carry in some of the parcels, and Minkie took her father's\novercoat and hat, but kept an eye on Dan, who was looking at the stairs\nanxiously. Dolly came running to kiss the Old Man, and Mam appeared.\n\n\"Where is Mr. Schwartz?\" asked the Guv'nor.\n\n\"Here I am,\" said Schwartz, appearing in the drawing-room doorway. \"I\nam afraid you had a cold journey from town. It was exceedingly kind of\nyou to send me on ahead. My only regret is that you could not come with\nme.\"\n\n\"Business, my dear fellow. It pursues me to the last hour, even in\nholiday time.\"\n\n\"But that is good. It argues success. Your idle man is rarely\nsuccessful.\"\n\n\"I fear it is possible for a busy man to score a loss occasionally. I\nexpect you have finished tea long since? Can you squeeze the pot, Mam?\"\n\n\"It will be here in a minute, Tom,\" said Mam, smiling. \"My husband\nhates to miss his tea, Mr. Schwartz. He would drink three cups now if I\nwere to let him, though we dine at seven.\"\n\n\"By the way, that reminds me,\" said the Old Man, dropping into his\nregular chair in the drawing-room. \"I fell in with your servant at\nWaterloo, Schwartz.\"\n\n\"My servant!\" said Schwartz, blankly, and both Dan and Tibbie heard\nevery word, as Minkie had collected Dan again before she took her usual\nperch on a hassock near her father. If the Guv'nor had said he came\nacross Schwartz's balloon at the Southwestern terminus our visitor\ncould not have put more bewilderment into his voice.\n\n\"Yes, your black valet,\" explained the Guv'nor.\n\n\"My black valet! I don't possess such an article. I left my man at\nBrook-street, and he is a Frenchman.\"\n\nSchwartz had risen to his feet. He looked strangely pale--Minkie told\nme his face was a flea-bitten grey. The Guv'nor jumped up, too. So did\nMinkie, and Dan, and Tibbie. You see, Mam and Dorothy knew nothing\nabout the gentleman who had gone to Schwartz's bedroom to arrange his\ndress suit and put the studs in his shirt.\n\n\"Then who the blazes is the <DW65> who is in your room upstairs at this\nmoment?\" said the Old Man, forgetting that there were ladies present.\n\n\"<DW65>! My room!\"\n\nSchwartz's voice cracked. He gasped as though he had run a mile. He\nglared at the Guv'nor and then glared at Minkie. Stifle me, he thought\nit was some trick she had played on him. But if the head of our family\nwas not much good at business he was in the front row where prompt\naction was needed.\n\n\"Follow me, quick!\" he shouted, and made for the door. He was just a\nsecond too late. The tall <DW64> was coming downstairs three at a time.\nHe bounded across the hall and had his hand on the latch just as the\nGuv'nor rushed at him. Out went the black, out went Mr. Grosvenor after\nhim, with Minkie and Dan a dead heat half a length behind, and Schwartz\nwhipping in. On the level the <DW65> drew away; but Dan overhauled him\nat the turn near the clump of rhododendrons, and Dan never makes the\nmistake of advertising his whereabouts when the matter is serious. So\nhe nailed the make-believe valet by the ankle, and his teeth closed on\nbone and sinew without ever a sound. Down went the <DW65> with a crash\nand a yell. It was pitch dark among the shrubs, but the Old Man groped\nfor him and got a knee in the small of his back, bending his head\nupwards at the same time by grabbing a handful of wool. That is a good\ntrick. It simply paralyses the other fellow.\n\n\"I've got him,\" he shouted, but Schwartz just roared \"Help!\" at the top\nof his voice, and kept to the open drive. Minkie heard Dan sawing away,\nand growling a bit, now; she closed in, clutched a loose leg that was\nkicking wildly, and said:\n\n\"Are you all right, dad?\"\n\n\"Yes. Tell James to fetch a stable lantern and a rope.\"\n\nMinkie wasn't going to leave her father nor miss any of the fun. She\nsung out directions, and Jim came along at a gallop. The unfortunate\n<DW65> was screaming that the dog was eating him, but, when they had\ntied his hands behind his back, and Minkie pulled Dan off, he seemed to\nbe more frightened than hurt. Polly told me next day that these black\nfellows are always weak below the knee joints, however gigantic they\nmay be otherwise.\n\nBut the previous excitement was a small affair compared with the row\nwhich sprang up when Jim held the lantern so that Schwartz could see\nthe <DW64>'s face.\n\n\"Gott in himmel!\" he shrieked, in a kind of frenzy, \"it's Prince John.\"\n\n\"Yes--you thief!\" said the prisoner, who seemed to regain his\nself-possession and his dignity when he set eyes on Schwartz.\n\n\"Where is it? Where is it? Give it to me, or I'll tear your liver\nout!\" squealed the other, dancing close up to him in an extraordinary\npassion, being one of those men who fly into a delirium when rage gets\nthe better of them.\n\n\"I have not got it,\" said Prince John, if that was his name. He turned\nto the Guv'nor. \"If you will take me back to the house, Mr. Grosvenor,\"\nhe continued, \"and keep that dog off, I will explain everything,\nand trust to your sense of justice to clear me of any suspicion of\nwrong-doing. That man is the thief, not me,\" and he actually spat at\nSchwartz.\n\nJim said that it gave him a turn to hear a buck <DW65> talking like\nthat, but it took him and the Guv'nor all their time to keep Schwartz\nfrom using his nails on the man's eyes. Then the two began to shout at\none another, and it appeared that all the trouble arose about a thing\ncalled a ju-ju, which the black man said Schwartz had stolen from his\npeople, a tribe on the Upper Niger. Anyhow, the Guv'nor marched his\ncaptive back to the house, and Schwartz rushed upstairs. He tore down\nagain, more like a lunatic than ever, as the ju-ju had gone from the\ndressing-case in which he had left it.\n\nHe searched the <DW64>, and was almost ready to cut him open in case he\nhad swallowed it, but the ju-ju was not in the man's possession. Then\nhe went out with Jim and the lantern, and hunted every inch of the\ndrive and shrubbery, but could find nothing, though it was easy enough\nto discover the place where Dan had brought down his highness.\n\nThe odd thing was that he refused to send for the police, and the more\ncertain it became that the ju-ju was missing, the more jubilant grew\nPrince John's face as he sat in the hall. At last, there was nothing\nfor it but the <DW65> must be set at liberty. Schwartz wanted the\nGuv'nor to lock him up all night. Of course, that could not be done, as\nSurrey isn't West Africa, and the Old Man had come to the conclusion\nthat there was not much in the dispute between them, anyhow.\n\nSo Prince John's bonds were untied, and the Guv'nor told him if he\nshowed his black muzzle inside our gateway again he would be locked\nup. He was very polite and apologetic, especially to the ladies, and\nthe house party went in to dinner greatly mystified by the whole\naffair. Schwartz did not say much, and his appetite was spoiled. After\ndinner he had another hunt in his bedroom and among the shrubs, but\nfinally he gave up the search until daylight, and came in and asked for\na whisky and soda.\n\nMeanwhile, Minkie brought Dan to the stable to see me. She came the\nback way, and climbed to the hay-loft with Jim's lantern. Dan began to\nlook around for a rat, but she stopped him.\n\n\"Are you awake, Bobby?\" she asked.\n\n\"Awake!\" said I. \"I should rather think I am, after such goings on in\nthe house.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said she, pulling a small black bag from among the hay, \"if\nyou are a good horse, and listen carefully, I will now tell you what a\nju-ju is. Come here, Dan. If it is alive, I may want you to bite it.\"\n\nSkin me and sell my hide, what do you think it was? Just a small chunk\nof ivory, carved to represent a man with a monkey's head. It had a\nlittle coat of  beads tied where its waist was meant to be, and\nits eyes were two shiny green stones. And that was all.\n\n\"Well,\" cried Minkie, \"this _is_ a surprise. At first sight, I don't\nthink much of a ju-ju, but that may be only my beastly ignorance, as\nthe man said when he tried to boil a china egg.\"\n\n\n\n\nPRINCE JOHN'S STRANGE ALLY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nPRINCE JOHN'S STRANGE ALLY\n\n_Told by Dandy, the Terrier_\n\n\nI made a mistake once, and nipped a tramp's wooden leg. Since then, I\nlook before I take hold. But even a poodle could see that this thing\nwas old bone, though its eyes glinted like Tibbie's in the dark, and\nthere was a smell of grease about its beaded kilt. And, talking of\nkilts, there's a bare-legged fellow who comes here every summer and\nstruts up and down the road, making the beastliest row with some sort\nof instrument all pipes and ribbons. Wow! don't I change his tune if I\nget out before anybody can catch me!\n\n\"Why, it's a baby's toy,\" said I, seeing that Minkie was rather taken\nwith it.\n\n\"Let's have a look,\" said a voice I hated, and Tibbie walked up\nBobby's neck, and perched between his ears.\n\n\"Hello!\" cried I, in my most sarcastic snarl, \"are you there? And what\nis this acrobatic business? Is it a circus, or what?\"\n\n\"Speak when you're spoken to,\" spat Tibbie. \"And let me give you fair\nwarning that the next time you sneak any meat off my skewer I'll--\"\n\n\"Oh, shut up, both of you,\" commanded Minkie; so I just pretended to\nlick my lips, though I really care very little for the rather high\nstuff that cats make such a song about. I like mine underdone.\n\n\"Have you ever before heard of a ju-ju, Bob?\" went on Minkie.\n\n\"No,\" said Bob. He didn't shake his head, because Tibbie was there, and\nshe has a nasty habit of hanging on with her claws before you can say\n\"Rats!\" Why do cats have such sharp nails, anyhow? They used to scar my\nmuzzle something awful before I learnt to jump on them feet first. But\nthey can't bite for nuts. If they could, I must admit--\n\n\"I think _I_ might tell you something about it,\" broke in Tibbie,\nbacking down Bob's mane and settling on his withers again.\n\n\"Well, go on,\" said Minkie, bending a bit, so as to watch Tibbie's\ngreen eyes.\n\n\"It's a long time ago since I had the story from a blue Persian.\"\n\n\"Cookie has some liver in the larder.\" You see, Minkie knew her cat.\n\n\"Has she? I was out when the butcher came.\"\n\n\"Yes. It's liver and bacon for breakfast in the morning. And SOLES!\"\n\nP-r-r-r, you could feel Tibbie's fur rising.\n\n\"I'll try to remember,\" she said in a rather thick voice. \"It seems\nthat we cats used to be worshipped by the ancient Egyptians. The cat\ndeity was named Elurus, and we were also venerated as a symbol of the\nmoon--\"\n\nI couldn't help it. Even Bob coughed, and then pretended to be chewing\nhay. But, because I laughed, Minkie clouted my ear.\n\n\"The Romans always placed a cat at the feet of the Goddess of Liberty;\nthey realized that no animal resists the loss of its freedom so\nfuriously as a cat,\" continued Tibbie in her best purr. \"That is why\nyou never see a cat wearing a collar, the badge of servitude, like a\ndog.\"\n\nWow! I'll give her \"servitude\" next time I have a chance. \"Like a dog!\"\nindeed.\n\n\"What has all this got to do with a ju-ju?\" asked Minkie.\n\n\"I am coming to that. The Egyptians were a very wise people, obviously,\nand their ways were sure to be copied by the black men who lived near\nthem. They thought so much of cats that whoever killed one, even\naccidentally, was punished by death. This cat-headed god, Elurus, had\na human body, and his image brought luck and good fortune to those who\ncarried it about with them. Now, there are no cats where the black men\nlive, but there are plenty of monkeys, so I am just guessing.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Minkie, quite seriously.\n\n\"Regarding that fish and liver?\" cried Tibbie, trying to talk in an\noff-hand way.\n\n\"I am going to interview Cookie now,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Hold on! Where do _I_ come in?\" I simply had to interfere. The thing\nwas an outrage. Fancy getting fish and liver for a blue-mouldy yarn\nlike that.\n\n\"And me?\" snorted Bob.\n\n\"You're both too fat already,\" said Minkie calmly, but she kicked down\nanother lot of hay before she blew the lantern out, and I got a snack\nof steak while Tibbie was filling up on fish heads and _foie de veau_.\nI lapped the best part of her milk, too, when she wasn't looking.\n\nThere was a keen frost that night, and the scent of the <DW65>, not\nto mention some beery singers who call themselves \"the waits,\" kept\nme awake for hours. Every man has a different smell, though some folk\nget mad if you tell them so, but the Upper Niger tang was new to me,\nand I couldn't help thinking what a place that must be for a hunt if\neven a well-washed black prince left such a _bouquet_ behind him. I\nsuppose you are surprised to hear a fox-terrier using French words, but\nI learnt them from Mademoiselle, Minkie's governess, who went away last\nmonth.\n\nNext morning, at breakfast, all the talk was of Prince John and the\nju-ju. Schwartz had hunted high and low for his doll, but, considering\nthat it was in Minkie's pocket, he was not likely to find it. If only\nhe had a nose like me he would soon have been on its track. I fancied\nthe Guv'nor was not altogether pleased that such a rough-and-tumble\nperformance should have taken place at Holly Lodge on a Christmas\nEve, and Schwartz was so put out by the loss of the ju-ju that it\ncast rather a gloom over the household--excepting Minkie, Tibbie and\nme, of course. As for that fool of a parrot, he, or she--blessed if\nI can tell one parrot from another, but this one never lays an egg,\nthough everyone calls him \"Polly\"--well, he was nearly delirious with\nexcitement, because Christmas time brings nuts into his cage. Once the\nconversation came pretty close to our little secret.\n\n\"By the way, Millicent, that <DW64> had a black bag in his hand when\nhe drove home with us last night, didn't he?\" inquired the Old Man,\ntackling Minkie rather suddenly.\n\n\"Oh, yes, father dear. I saw it quite plainly. Did he take it upstairs,\nEvangeline?\"\n\n\"I dunno, miss. He fair flummaxed me, he did, with his bowin' and\nscrapin' an, lah-di-dah manners. As I said to Cook--\"\n\n\"That will do, Evangeline,\" put in Mam. \"Bring some more toast, please.\"\n\nMinkie had steered the question off smartly, but the Guv'nor stuck to\nhis point.\n\n\"There can be no doubt the rascal brought the bag into the house. I\nremember now seeing him carry it into the hall. Yet it was not in his\npossession when we caught him in the garden, and it must have been\nfound if it were lying among the shrubs, or he had left it in the\nhouse. By Jove! Is it possible that he had an accomplice? Really,\nSchwartz, you ought to have called in the police if the matter is so\nserious.\"\n\n\"This quarrel is between Prince John and myself,\" said Schwartz,\nsullenly. \"He may have had others to help, though it is difficult to\nsee how that could be, under the circumstances. But this is only the\nsecond round of a big fight. He and I will meet again, probably on a\ncertain island in the Niger which we both know well. Then we shall\nsettle the ownership of that small god, for keeps.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Dolly, \"is it an idol?\"\n\nThen Schwartz tried to pull himself together.\n\n\"No, Miss Dorothy, not an idol, but a fetish,\" he said, with his usual\ngrin. \"The fact is, I fear I have led you to believe that I attach an\nexaggerated value to it. It is only a bit of carved ivory, which the\nnatives regard as a talisman. But it had a sentimental interest for me,\nmuch as a gambler at Monte Carlo might prize a champagne cork, or a\npiece of coal, or some equally ridiculous charm which he had carried in\nhis pocket on the night of a big _coup_.\"\n\n\"Me-ow!\" said Tibbie, looking up at Minkie.\n\n\"Yes, darling,\" said Minkie, \"the dish is going out now, and I have\ntold cook to save you the tit-bits. Dan, come back here! Who stole\nTibbie's milk last night?\"\n\n\"_Misère de Dieu!_\" as mademoiselle said when she was turning over\nthe strawberry plants and grabbed a wasp--who split on me? Was it\nEvangeline? Wait till I catch her sliding down to the front gate\nto-night when her young man whistles \"Annie Rooney.\" I'll raise the\nhouse.\n\n\"I suppose you had some lively times occasionally in West Africa,\nSchwartz?\" said the Old Man cheerfully, his idea being to swing the\ntalk away from a topic which his guest seemed to avoid.\n\n\"Y-yes, for a few minutes every now and then. But the excitement soon\npassed. For the rest, it was deadly dull, a sort of slow crescendo up\nto the boiling point of fever, and a gradual diminuendo back to flabby\nhealth again. It is no country for a white man, unless he wants his\nrelations to collect his life insurance.\"\n\n\"Yet you made money there?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. Why else should one go to such a filthy swamp?\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say that the natives of a fever-laden district are\nphysically up to the standard of the fellow we collared last night?\"\n\n\"No; he comes from the highlands, where the country is altogether\ndifferent. But the money is made at the ports and trading stations.\"\n\n\"Any sport?\"\n\n\"Very little, the bush is too dense.\"\n\n\"Then why do the blacks want gas-pipe guns and coal-dust gunpowder?\"\nasked Minkie, who was making a jam sandwich.\n\n\"To shoot the whites,\" replied Schwartz. \"So you see it would be bad\nfor our health if the traders gave them good weapons and ammunition.\"\n\n\"That explains it,\" said Minkie.\n\n\"Explains what, dear?\" inquired Mam, and Schwartz squirmed a bit until\nMinkie said:\n\n\"Something I read in a paper, mother. These wicked <DW64>s pay high\nprices for rifles, and of course it is best to let them believe they\nare buying the genuine article.\"\n\nMam was puzzled, but the Guv'nor laughed.\n\n\"Excellent!\" he cried. \"I am glad to hear that one member of the family\nhas grasped the true principles of commercial success.\"\n\n\"I'm sure I don't know where Millicent gets her ideas from,\" sighed\nMam. \"When I was her age I could no more have said such a thing than I\ncould have flown.\"\n\n\"And you certainly were never built for flying, less now than ever,\"\nsmiled her husband. Of course, I paid little heed to all this chaff,\nbecause I was bolting half that jam sandwich, which Minkie had dropped.\nEvangeline saw what happened, and said nothing, so it will be \"Whistle\nand I'll come to you, my lad,\" to-night. But I woke up to the sounds\nof battle when Mam wanted to know who was going to church. Everybody\nsaid \"I,\" except Schwartz, who had letters to write. You ought to have\nwatched his face when Minkie said quietly:\n\n\"In that case you will miss seeing Jack Stanhope, the friend of whom I\nwas telling you yesterday.\"\n\n\"Jack! Is he at home?\" Dolly blurted out, and then blushed right down\nher neck.\n\n\"Yes. Didn't you know?\"\n\n\"How could I? If it comes to that, how do you know?\"\n\n\"He sent me a Christmas picture postcard last evening, one of the new\nones, with the season's wishes and a lot of robins on one side and a\nha-penny stamp with the address and a little bit of a letter on the\nother. Here it is. Shall I read it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Guv'nor rather grimly. Outside the gang, he understood\nMinkie better than anybody else, and he evidently wondered why she was\nmaking such a dead set against Schwartz.\n\nMinkie produced the card from the pocket which held the ju-ju. It was a\ndeep pocket, lengthened by herself; she often needed it to hide a young\nrabbit when I had induced one to leave his home and friends, because\nkeepers make a beastly fuss about these small matters if they hear of\nthem.\n\n\"It has the West Strand postmark, 9 A.M., December 24th,\" said\nshe, \"and this is what he writes: 'Dear Minkie: Just arrived from\nMarseilles, ex s.s. Persia. It was enough to freeze Dan's tail off\ncrossing the Channel, but I am glad to be here early, as I can do a bit\nof shopping (being in need of decoration) before I run down to Dale\nEnd. I shall be strolling past the Lodge about six o'clock, and will\nbe delighted if you are visible. Otherwise, we shall meet at Church\nto-morrow, and exchange winks if Grampus is there too. Yours ever,\nJack. P.S. I have brought you a pet mongoose.' That is all.\"\n\n\"Quite enough, too. May I ask who 'Grampus' is?\" said her father.\n\n\"His uncle. Jack depends on him for his allowance, so he has to humor\nhim, but he never agreed with him about that shooting squabble, you\nknow.\"\n\n\"I know nothing about his views, and care less, and I do not wish you\nto exchange either postcards or winks with him or any of his name.\"\n\n\"Tom,\" put in Mam, gently, \"this is Christmas morning.\"\n\n\"I have not forgotten that, my dear. Nor have I forgotten this day two\nyears ago, when the other Stanhope ignored my proffered hand before a\ndozen of our mutual acquaintances. You hear, Millicent? I have spoken.\"\n\n\"Yes, father dear, but it is such a pity about the mongoose. And I had\na new word I wanted to surprise Jack with. Christmas picture postcard\nis such a mouthful, so I intended to call it a Chris-card. Don't you\nthink that rather neat?\"\n\n\"I do, but it is not comparable to the neatness with which you draw a\nred herring across the scent. Of course, if he sends you the mongoose,\nyou may keep it, and write a civil note of thanks, but we can hardly\nindulge in a close friendship with the nephew when the uncle cannot\nfind a good word to say for us.\"\n\nI was that delighted that I scraped Minkie's leg to tell her I was\nunderneath the table. A mongoose coming to join the family! What _is_ a\nmongoose, anyhow? Has it four legs, or two? Can it fight? I must have\nmurmured my thoughts aloud, because the parrot gave a screech that made\nSchwartz jump.\n\n\"Go and hide in the nearest rabbit burrow, little dog,\" he yelled. \"Run\naway and bury yourself with a bone. When that mongoose turns up he'll\nchase you into the next parish. Oh, Christopher! Aren't we havin' a\nbeano? Another rum 'ot, please, miss.\"\n\nI kept my temper. There is no use arguing with a parrot. You can't get\nat him, and he has an amazing variety of language at command; but I\nmust state one small point in his favor; if you pay no heed to his\nvulgarity, and cut out of his talk the silly bits which seem to please\npeople who wear clothes, he gives one a lot of useful information. He\nwill not say a word in a friendly way, same as I give even Tibbie the\nnod if there's a mouse in the kitchen. The best plan is to sauce him,\nor sneer at him. Then he flies into a rage and talks like a book.\n\nSo, \"Polly,\" said I, \"you shouldn't strain your voice in that fashion.\nIt will make your feet ache.\"\n\nHe knew what I meant well enough, because just then he was hanging head\ndownwards from his perch. He reached out and took a grip of a steel bar\nin his beak, pretending he had hold of me by the neck.\n\n\"If I were you I'd whitewash my face in the hope that the mongoose\nwould not recognize me after the first round,\" he croaked.\n\n\"I believe you are afraid of the thing yourself.\"\n\n\"Say not so, whiskers. Kiss me, mother, kiss your darling. A\nfull-grown mongoose will make you the sickest dog in the British Isles.\nWhoop at him, Boxer! Back to him, Bendigo! O my sainted aunt, I'll\nwatch that snake-catcher chuck you into the lake. Nah, then, who'll\ntike odds. I'll back the fee-ald. The fee-ald a powney!\"\n\n\"Evangeline,\" said Mam, \"put the green cloth over that bird. He grows\nworse daily, and I cannot make out where he learns so much cockney\nslang.\"\n\nMinkie kicked me under the table. She guessed I had been teasing him.\nAt any rate, the parrot clearly expected to witness a first-rate set-to\nwhen the mongoose arrived. In his own mind he had already taken a\nticket for the front row of the stalls, and I meant to oblige him with\na star turn. A mongoose may be able to catch a snake, but he must not\nput on airs with a dog who killed thirty rats in one minute the last\ntime Farmer Hodson threshed his barley stack.\n\nI heard Schwartz telling Dolly that he had changed his mind and would\ngo to church, so at half-past ten they walked off to the village. It\nwas quite warm in the sun, but the air was nippy, so I gave Tib a run\nacross the lawn when I found her stalking a sparrow; then I went round\nto see Bob. He was busy eating. I suppose a horse has to get through a\nlot of hay before he fills up. Hay is dry stuff at the best. I like an\nodd snack between meals myself, but the only chew worth considering is\nsomething you can load in quickly before any other fellow has a chance\nof grabbing it.\n\nAnyhow, when I asked Bob what a mongoose was, he was rather short, and\nsaid he had no time for riddles, as he had been dreaming of <DW65>s all\nnight.\n\n\"Tell you what,\" said I, \"hay makes you nervous. It must be like tea.\nCookie says--\"\n\nThen Bob gave his horse laugh.\n\n\"Cookie calls it 'tea,' does she?\" he roared. \"You give her my\ncompliments and ask her to draw some of that tea for me in a jug. Tib\nknows where the barrel is.\"\n\nSo I trotted back to Polly.\n\n\"Look here!\" I said, \"tell me what a mongoose is, and I'll nick some\ngrapes for you.\"\n\nHe was singing \"Hello, my baby,\" but he stopped.\n\n\"It's an ichneumon,\" he answered. That nettled me.\n\n\"Anything like a cockatoo?\" I asked.\n\n\"You're a low-bred cur,\" he screamed, \"an ignorant mongrel. You\nshouldn't seek information. What you want is a ticket for the Dogs'\nHome. Help! Help!\"\n\n\"Why, you hook-nosed nut-cracker, what's the good of telling anybody\nthat a mongoose is an ichneumon? How would you like it if I said you\nwere a zygodactyl?\"\n\nHe nearly had a fit. His language brought Evangeline from the attic:\nshe thought the house was on fire. The fact is, Minkie dug that word\nout of the dictionary, and I've been waiting for an opportunity to hand\nit on to Polly; now he has had it, fair between the eyes.\n\nI heard afterwards that if affairs were lively at Holly Lodge it\nwas not all peace and goodwill to men at the parish church. Grampus\nhad an attack of gout--a day earlier than usual--so Jack went to\nChristmas service alone. He winked twice at Minkie, but she gazed at\nhim steadily with the only eye he could see. Dolly was entirely taken\nup with her prayer-book, so Jack took careful stock of the red-haired\nman with the map of Judea in his face. But a captain of hussars who has\nwon the D. S. O. has no reason to be ashamed of being alive, so, when\nour people came through the lych gate, there was Captain Stanhope with\nhis hat off, smiling quite pleasantly, and wishing them the compliments\nof the season.\n\nOf course, Mam and the Guv'nor, being gentlefolk, had to respond.\nSchwartz made to walk on with Dolly, but she stopped, too, and Minkie\nshook hands with Jack first of anybody.\n\nThe old man was hardly comfortable; he nudged Mam's arm, and they would\nhave joined Schwartz if Jack hadn't said:\n\n\"By the way, Mr. Grosvenor, I want to have a chat with you on a matter\nof some importance. Can you spare me a few minutes now, or shall I call\nlater in the day?\"\n\nDolly blushed, and her father saw it. He stiffened a bit, just as I do\nwhen my hair rises.\n\n\"I am sorry, Captain Stanhope, but I fear that any exchange of\nconfidences between us will not only be useless but open to\nmisinterpretation,\" he said coldly.\n\n\"Let me explain that I am running dead against my uncle's wishes in\nseeking this interview,\" protested Jack. \"Believe me, I am actuated by\nthe best of good feeling towards you and your family, sir.\"\n\n\"I do credit that; but any discussion of the point must inflict\nunnecessary pain.\"\n\n\"This is really a serious matter.\"\n\n\"So is everything where your uncle and I are concerned. Come on, my\ndear. We cannot keep Mr. Schwartz waiting.\"\n\nThe Guv'nor lifted his hat and marched away. Mam said nothing, Dolly\ndidn't care tuppence how her skirt draped, Minkie said that if the\nfrost continued there would soon be thick ice, and Schwartz grinned.\nDolly thought she would like to slap Schwartz, so she joined Minkie on\nthe high path above the road, where the hens have to fly when I get\nafter them.\n\n\"I think it's too bad of father to snub Jack in that way,\" she said,\nhalf sobbing.\n\n\"Dad is making a mistake,\" agreed Minkie. \"If you take my advice you\nwill come with me this afternoon and find out what it is Jack wants to\nsay.\"\n\n\"How can I? Where can I see him? We can't go to the Manor House.\"\n\n\"I have arranged to meet Jack at half-past two near the Four Lanes.\"\n\n\"You have arranged!--\"\n\n\"Yes. While you were squinting up to find out if your hat was at the\nright tilt I was watching Jack drawing a cross and 2.30 on the gravel\nwith his stick. I nodded, so that is all right. Are you coming?\"\n\nDolly was flurried. \"I dunno,\" she murmured. \"You don't understand\nthings, Minkie. Dad is desperately anxious that we should not offend\nMr. Schwartz, who can be either a very good friend or a dangerous\nenemy. Oh, sis! What a happy world it would be if we had all the money\nwe want!\"\n\n\"P'raps. Schwartz is rich, and he looked happy last night, didn't he?\nJack's uncle is rolling in coin, and to-day he is nursing a foot the\nsize of an elephant's.\"\n\n\"I am not thinking of myself, Minkie.\"\n\n\"I know that. You are trying to help Dad, and he is fretting because he\nhas to pay a lot of money on the 10th of January.\"\n\nDolly opened her eyes widely.\n\n\"Who told _you_?\" she cried.\n\n\"Sh-s-s-sh. There's Mam calling. She wants us to look in at nurse's\ncottage. What about Jack--quick!\"\n\n\"I'll see,\" whispered Dolly.\n\nPeople who play poker are a bit doubtful when they say that. If you\nadd the recognized fact that the woman who hesitates is lost you will\nunderstand at once that when Minkie and I climbed over the orchard\nfence at 2.15, Miss Dorothy came running after us.\n\n\"Mam has gone upstairs, and Mr. Schwartz and father are in the library,\nso I will join you in your stroll,\" she said, trying to keep up a\npretence.\n\n\"Step out, then,\" said Minkie. \"Jack will be waiting.\"\n\nHe was. He saw us coming long before we reached the cross roads, and\nhis first words meant war.\n\n\"Who is this fellow Schwartz?\" he demanded.\n\n\"A friend of--father's,\" said Dorothy.\n\n\"Well, he is a rogue,\" said Jack. \"I wanted to warn Mr. Grosvenor about\nhim this morning, but he wouldn't listen to me.\"\n\n\"Oh, was that it?\" and Dorothy's nose went up in the air.\n\n\"Partly. Not all. I say, Minkie, if you take Dan into the warren you\nwill find a heap of rabbits. The keepers are a mile away. I told them\nyou were coming.\"\n\n\"Then Dan can go by himself. I am far more interested in Schwartz than\nDot is. Do you know anything about ju-jus?\"\n\n\"By Jove, Minkie, you do come to the point. Why, that blessed <DW65>\nprince is at the Manor now, plotting all sorts of mischief with my\nuncle.\"\n\n\"How did he get there? I suppose you met him last night?\"\n\n\"Yes. I was passing along the road when I heard Jim turn him out of\nthe gate, and order him not to show his black mug inside the grounds\nagain. I wondered what on earth a <DW54> was doing at Dale End. Thinking\nhe was a Hindu, one of the natives who come to England to read up law,\nI spoke to him, but as soon as we reached a lamp I saw he was a <DW64>.\nHe was in awful trouble, and appeared to have been badly handled. As\nsoon as he discovered that I was a friend of yours--which I mean to\nremain, no matter how your father and my uncle disagree--he became very\nexcited and appealed to me for assistance. The villagers spotted him\nand began to gather, so I took him to the Manor, unfortunately.\"\n\n\"Why unfortunately?\" demanded Minkie.\n\n\"Because some of the servants told my uncle he was there, and the old\nboy made me bring him upstairs.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"I nearly lost my temper with both of them. It seems that Schwartz,\nwho was a low-down trader on the Niger, stole some sort of ju-ju, or\nsmall fetish, belonging to the Kwantu bushmen, the most powerful tribe\nin the hinterland. That was three years ago. Since then he has become\nenormously wealthy, and the <DW65>s say it is because he holds this\nju-ju, which is the luckiest thing in Africa. They, at least, have\nhad all sorts of plagues since they lost it, tsetse fly, smallpox,\nbad rubber years, and I don't know what besides. At any rate they are\non the verge of rebellion. Their ju-ju men, or wizards, are preaching\nwholesale murder of the whites. Some German traders have supplied\nthem with Mannlicher rifles and ammunition, and there is real danger\nof a terrific mutiny. Now, I am a British officer, and I have some\nexperience of superstitious natives, if not of <DW64>s, so I can quite\nrealize what may happen out there if the cause of disaffection is not\nremoved. You can hardly grasp the serious nature of the business,\nMinkie, but Dorothy, being older--\"\n\n\"Can appreciate it much better, of course,\" said Minkie. \"Yet I am\nbeginning to see things. Did Prince John say what would happen if the\nju-ju were restored?\"\n\n\"That is a very sensible question for a kid,\" observed Jack,\napprovingly. \"He vows that the whole affair will end the instant the\nKwantu ju-ju men receive back their fetish. He, and a few leading\nbushmen, some of whom have been educated in England, remember, have\nrestrained the mutiny by a solemn undertaking to bring the god home\nbefore the spring rains begin. They have offered Schwartz all the money\nthey can scrape together if he will only give it up, but he laughs at\nthem and defies them.\"\n\n\"He didn't seem to laugh last night,\" put in Minkie.\n\n\"Do you believe he has really lost it?\"\n\n\"Oh yes. I am quite sure of that?\" and she felt in her pocket\nabsent-mindedly.\n\n\"Well, I am at my wits' end to decide how to act. Prince John is\nequally certain that Schwartz has recovered it. When Dan brought him\ndown, a small bag in which he had placed the ju-ju was knocked out of\nhis hand, and it must, therefore, be in Holly Lodge somewhere. The\n<DW64> is a determined man, and there is a look in his eyes which I have\nseen in a Pathan's when--Well, no matter. If your father will not meet\nme he will at least read a letter. Now, Minkie, it will soon be too\ndark to find anything among the bushes--\"\n\n\"Rats!\" cried Minkie, so sharply that I jumped, thinking she meant it.\n\"You've got six months' furlough, so you'll meet Dot often enough.\nPlease go on. What does Prince John intend to do next?\"\n\n\"He may endeavor to burgle your house. He will kill Schwartz if need\nbe. He will certainly kill Dan.\"\n\nOh, _in_deed! I pricked up my ears at this. What between the <DW65>\nand the mongoose I'm in for a lively time. Nobody is going to be happy\nuntil I am cold meat.\n\n\"But they will put him in gaol if he tries burglary?\" said Minkie, who\nwas unmoved by the prospect of my early death.\n\n\"He says that Schwartz simply dare not face him in a court of law.\"\n\n\"It is our house, you know?\"\n\nCaptain Stanhope sighed perplexedly. He was a man, discussing hard\nthings with two girls. Minkie gave me a look as much as to say \"Don't\nmiss a word of this,\" and went on:\n\n\"Of course, one can't credit the absurd idea that a piece of wood, or\nbrass, or whatever it is, can bring good luck to anyone who possesses\nit.\"\n\n\"Our ebony acquaintance holds so strongly to the absurdity that he\nwill stop short of nothing in the effort to secure it. And my old\nfool of an--I beg your pardon, I mean my respected uncle, is actually\nplotting with him as to ways and means. He is in favor of informing\nthe Government, but the Kwantu gentleman says the Colonial office will\nscoff at the notion. He is right there. The officials in Whitehall\nalways do scoff until a certain number of white men and women are\nmurdered, and an army corps has to be sent to exact vengeance.\"\n\n\"It seems to me that the killing will begin here, probably with a white\ndog--r-r-rip!\" observed Minkie, stooping to dig me in the ribs.\n\n\"Mongoose!\" I yelled, but she didn't appear to take any notice.\n\nIllustration: Minkie took the ivory doll from her pocket and surveyed\nit seriously.\n\n\"I wouldn't write to dad if I were you,\" she continued. \"He would\nsimply take sides with Schwartz. But you can write to me, if you like,\nonly you must not wink, nor send postcards.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Dorothy will tell you. Come on, Dan, let's have a look at the warren.\"\n\nWhen we were quite by ourselves Minkie took the ivory doll from her\npocket and surveyed it seriously.\n\n\"Ju-ju,\" she said, \"I hope you can really accomplish these wonders,\nbecause I'm going to do things, and there will be a fearful row if I\ndon't succeed.\"\n\nI nearly killed twice in ten minutes, but a warren is the deuce and\nall if some of the holes are not stopped and you have no ferret. When\nwe rejoined the others any dog could see that Dorothy had been crying.\nYet she didn't exactly look miserable, like Jim's wife looked when her\nfirst baby died. Women are queer. Sometimes you can't tell whether they\nare glad or sorry, because they weep just the same.\n\nThe girls were dressing for dinner when a man in livery came with a\nwooden box and a note for \"Miss Millicent Grosvenor.\"\n\nOh, wow and wag everlasting--it's the mongoose!\n\n\n\n\nTHE WHITE MAN'S WAY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE WHITE MAN'S WAY\n\n_Told by Tibbie, the Cat_\n\n\nAs this record of events at Dale End now enters on a phase demanding\nintelligence of a somewhat high order for its recital, I take up the\ntale at a point where Dan becomes incoherent. I admit I was greatly\ninterested myself when Minkie, without waiting for Evangeline to do up\nher blouse, glissaded down the stair rail and rushed the cage into the\nmorning-room. I had heard of mongooses from Tommy Willoughby, who lives\nin our road, as he had come across them when the Colonel commanded the\nGalway Blazers at Alexandria. He says they eat crocodiles' eggs, and\nare therefore held in high regard by the Egyptians, and the Egyptians,\njudged by their treatment of cats, are evidently a sensible race.\nYet there are no crocodiles' eggs at Dale End, fresh ones, that is,\nso I pity this poor stranger if Jim or Mole catches him dining in the\nhen-house. I tried a young Dorking myself once, and Jim behaved very\nunfeelingly with a whip.\n\nDan, of course, tore after Minkie with his mouth open, and his stump of\na tail pointing north. I crept in noiselessly, and watched proceedings\nfrom beneath a wide and deep leather chair. I could see a thing like\na big red rat behind some wooden bars which ran down one side of a\nsoap box. The animal had a sharp muzzle, small paws with fairly useful\nclaws, and a tail that was almost the size of the remainder of its body.\n\n\"A mongoose can fight,\" I reasoned, \"and its huge tail shows that it\ncan turn quickly.\" Dan, naturally, took no stock of these essentials.\nHe was nearly beside himself with excitement, and Minkie had to grab\nhim with one hand while she held Captain Stanhope's letter in the other.\n\n\"Do be quiet, Dan!\" she cried, shaking him. \"Tibbie, where are you?\"\n\n\"Here,\" I meow'd.\n\n\"Then listen, the pair of you. Jack writes: 'Dear Minkie--I send the\nmongoose. He is very tame, quite a lovable little chap. You can let him\nrun about the house at once if all the doors are closed. After a day or\ntwo he can go out into the garden safely, as he will always come back\nto his box if you leave it open. He is accustomed to my dogs, and there\nare terriers among them, so make Dan understand that the mongoose wants\nto play with him when he stands up as if he were going to box with his\nfore-paws. You may have more trouble with Tib, but she will soon learn\nto treat him as one of the family. For that matter, Rikki (that is his\nname) can keep either of them in order if he is not taken by surprise\nby reason of his friendliness with all my live stock. He will eat most\nthings they eat. When the frost goes, and he can hunt in the garden, he\nwill keep himself. Yours, Jack.' So there! Just try and behave decently\nwhen I introduce Rikki.\"\n\nDan's growls died away in a sort of groan.\n\n\"I'll have that buck <DW65> stroking me and saying 'Good dog' next,\"\nhe muttered bitterly. And then it was all I could do to keep from\nsmiling when I saw Minkie open the cage and take the mongoose out,\ngripping Dan tightly lest his feelings should overcome him. Will you\nbelieve it, that queer-looking beast seemed quite pleased to see Dan!\nIt jumped up and licked his whiskers, and tickled his ears with its\nlittle hands, while all poor Dan could say was \"Gnar-r!\" and roll his\neyes wildly to see what it was doing, Minkie's fingers being like\nbits of steel. At last, grief and curiosity conquered him. He sniffed\nit, and Minkie let go. The parrot, from the dining-room, guessed what\nwas happening, and shouted \"Hark to him, Boxer! Back to him, Bendigo!\nAt him, boy! At him!\" But it was no use. May I never have another\nnight out if Dan and Rikki were not having a friendly wrestle on the\nhearth-rug in half a minute.\n\nThe mongoose had quick eyes. When it rolled over in the game it saw\nme. I must say it had some sense, too; it seemed to know that I was\nnot given to any dog-foolery, and it squared itself for battle. Dan,\nthinking to show off, charged full tilt for my chair, so I determined\nto take a rise out of him. I began to purr, walked straight up to him,\nwith my tail well aloft and the tip twiddling, and began to rub myself\nagainst his ribs.\n\nYou never saw a dog so taken aback. I'm sure he thought I was crazy,\nand even Minkie said softly:\n\n\"Well, I never! Is the ju-ju beginning to work already?\"\n\nOdd, isn't it? She attributed my little joke to that chunk of ivory in\nher pocket. Anyhow, the mongoose took no liberties with me. When all is\nsaid and done, Dan and I are in one camp, and every sort of rat in the\nother--but I am surprised at Dan.\n\nNow, parcels turn up so continuously at Christmas time that no one\nelse was aware of Rikki's arrival until he sat up and begged from\nMr. Schwartz while our visitor was drinking his soup. The parrot was\nwatching, and made a horrid noise at the right moment, just as Schwartz\nlooked down and saw a pair of fierce red eyes glaring at him. The\nmongoose put on his best grin, which made matters worse. Schwartz\nnearly overturned the dinner-table. I would never have credited six\nfeet of man with being in such a funk. Everybody was glad he expressed\nhis emotions in German--he himself more than the others when he calmed\ndown. Minkie nearly came in for a scolding, but the Guv'nor, who is\na real sport, was soon taken by Rikki's antics, and rather chaffed\nSchwartz about his alarm.\n\n\"That is all very well Grosvenor,\" said Schwartz, \"but you have not\nlived where poisonous spiders, centipedes, scorpions, and all sorts of\nsnakes come prowling into the house. I have jumped for my life far too\noften to be ashamed of a momentary forgetfulness that I was in England.\nMoreover, I was not aware that Millicent was forming a menagerie.\"\n\n\"I hope to have a monkey soon,\" observed Minkie.\n\n\"I'll take jolly good care you don't,\" said her father. \"Monkeys are\nmost mischievous brutes, and they disagree with every other animal near\nthem. By the way, has Dan seen your new pet?\"\n\n\"Yes. They had quite a romp in the morning-room. You see I had to read\nJack's letter to both Tibbie and Dan before I introduced Rikki.\"\n\n\"I wish you wouldn't allude to Captain Stanhope as 'Jack.' It argues a\nfamiliarity which does not exist.\"\n\n\"If you are speaking of the young gentleman who hailed you after\nchurch to-day, I should say you were justified in that remark,\" put in\nSchwartz.\n\nThat showed the man's bad taste; but it told me something more. Since\nthe morning, his manner towards the Guv'nor had altered. People say\nI am cruel when I play with a mouse, forgetting that I must practice\nevery tricky twist and sidelong spring or I shall not be able to kill\nmice at all. However that may be, I can recognize the trait when I\nsee it in others, and Schwartz looked and talked like a man who has\nanother man under his thumb. Although her father may speak sharply to\nMinkie at times, he very strongly resents such a liberty being taken\nby an outsider. Perhaps he thought Schwartz regarded the allusion\nto a monkey as a personal matter. At any rate, when the parrot told\nEvangeline to go and boil her head there was a laugh, and the incident\npassed.\n\nOf course, I knew Minkie far too well to believe that she meant to let\nSchwartz say what he liked, but I did not expect her to drop such a\nbombshell on the table as she produced after the pudding appeared.\n\n\"Talking of monkeys, Mr. Schwartz,\" she said when there was a pause in\nthe conversation, \"are there many in West Africa?\"\n\n\"Swarms,\" he replied, rather snappy, because he noticed that Minkie\ngave his name the German sound, which is funnier than our English way\nof saying it.\n\n\"Do they worship them?\"\n\n\"No, they eat them.\"\n\n\"Then why should they make one of their most powerful ju-jus like a\nmonkey?\"\n\nI imagine that for a moment Schwartz really forgot where he was. His\neyes bulged forward, his face grew red, and big veins stood out on his\nforehead.\n\n\"What--do you--know about it?\" he gasped, glaring at her as though he\nwanted to run round the table and wring her neck.\n\n\"Nothing,\" she answered meekly. \"That is why I am asking you.\"\n\n\"But you have some motive. Such a question is impossible coming from a\nchild. Who told you anything of a ju-ju resembling a monkey?\" Schwartz\nwas almost shouting now, and the Old Man gave Mam an imploring glance.\nMam tried to press Minkie's toes under the table, but Minkie just\ntucked her legs beneath her chair out of harm's way, and not a soul\ncould catch her eye, because she and Schwartz were looking straight at\neach other.\n\n\"After the affair last night I read about ju-jus and fetishism in the\nEncyclopædia,\" she said. \"That was very interesting, but I really had\nin my mind what Jack--I mean Captain Stanhope--told me to-day. Prince\nJohn assures him that if the ju-ju you took from his people is not sent\nback before the spring rains there will be a rebellion in that country.\nSo I felt certain it must be a monkey-headed one, made of ivory, with\na little beaded skirt, as that is the most powerful ju-ju known among\nthe Kwantus.\"\n\nI wonder Schwartz did not leap at her there and then. His eyes\npositively glittered. He exercised all his powers to regain his\nself-control, but his hands shook, and there was a curious tremor in\nhis voice.\n\n\"This information is, indeed, valuable to me,\" he said, dropping his\ntone to the ordinary level again. \"No, I beg of you, Grosvenor, let\nMillicent continue. Do I gather that Captain Stanhope is in league with\nthe <DW64> thief who made his way to my room last night?\"\n\n\"Did I say that?\" inquired Minkie, smiling at Schwartz in a way that\nthose who knew her dreaded.\n\n\"You implied it. Evidently your military friend enjoys Prince John's\nconfidence.\"\n\n\"Oh, if you put it that way you are right. Prince John is staying at\nthe Manor House and Captain Stanhope is using his influence to keep him\nquiet.\"\n\n\"He told you that.\"\n\n\"And I believe him.\"\n\n\"Did he actually describe the ju-ju to you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then how are you able to hit off its appearance so exactly?\"\n\n\"Because I'm a good guesser. Isn't that so, father dear?\"\n\nThe Guv'nor didn't seem to realize that Minkie had deliberately pulled\nhim into the conversation. He was dreadfully upset, and he tried to\ncover his confusion by tackling her on the question of disobedience.\n\n\"I told you to have nothing further to do with the Manor House people,\"\nhe said, and his voice was very harsh and stern, \"yet it is evident you\nmet and talked with young Stanhope to-day without my cognizance.\"\n\n\"Yes. I met him near the Four Lanes. You said, father dear, that we\nwere not to exchange postcards and winks, and that was all.\"\n\n\"You knew quite well that I meant you to cut the acquaintance entirely.\nMillicent, what has come to you that you should disregard my wishes in\nthis way?\"\n\n\"I am very sorry, dad. I did not think I was doing wrong. I promise\nnow that I shall not speak to Captain Stanhope again until you give me\npermission. If I had really meant to disobey you I would hardly have\ntold you so openly at table. My idea was that you would like to know\nall about this ju-ju which Mr. Schwartz has lost, and the queer effect\nit may have in causing a West African war.\"\n\nPoor Mam was nearly crying, and Dorothy's face was a study; she was\nterrified lest Minkie should blurt out the fact that she, too, was at\nthe Four Lanes. As it happened, Minkie could not have mentioned a worse\nlocality. It was the Four Lanes warren which first led to the quarrel\nbetween old Mr. Stanhope and the Guv'nor. There was a lawsuit about\nthe shooting rights, which ought to have gone with our estate, but Mr.\nStanhope's lawyers made out a flaw in a copyhold, whatever that may\nmean, and we lost. I wonder why men invented law. If they followed our\nexample, and fought in the good old way, our Old Man would now own that\nwarren.\n\nThere might have been more unpleasant things said had not Polly yelled\nsuddenly:\n\n\"Fire! Murder! Per-lice! 'E dunno where 'e are!\"\n\nThe mongoose had just discovered that it was the parrot who was\ngrowling nasty remarks at Evangeline because she took the nuts from the\nsideboard without giving him any. Naturally, being a newcomer, Rikki\nwas surprised, so he had jumped on to the window-sill to have a look\nat this queer bird. Minkie was told to put the mongoose in his box, as\nEvangeline declared she wouldn't touch such an awful objec', not for a\nmillion pounds.\n\nWhile Minkie was out of the room the Guv'nor tried to recover his good\nhumor.\n\n\"You must not pay heed to my little girl's way of expressing herself,\nSchwartz,\" he said. \"We have rather encouraged her to be outspoken, and\nshe has always been remarkably intelligent. Try that port. You will\nfind it good, a '74, the last bottle, worse luck.\"\n\n\"Here's to Holly Lodge and its owner, his wife and his charming\ndaughters. May we all be sitting here this time next year!\" cried\nSchwartz, lifting his glass and glancing at Dolly.\n\nIt was a pleasant enough toast in its way, but again I had that feeling\nunder the fur that the words meant a lot more than they expressed. Dan\nnaturally said he saw nothing particular in them, but you will find I\nwas right. I noticed, too, that Schwartz drank two glasses of the wine\nin quick succession, though he had declined a liqueur the previous\nevening. I mentioned this to Dan, but he only growled:\n\n\"You see a sparrow behind every bush. Schwartz is a rotter, but he is\nbehaving himself. Why, I have known Jim shift a quart of beer after\nhe had said he wasn't thirsty, just because Mam told him to get some\nlemonade.\"\n\n\"Have _you_ ever picked a bone after turning up your nose at a dog\nbiscuit?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes, but there might have been cat in the biscuit.\"\n\nI turned my back on him. He thinks that sort of low-down humor is\nclever, and he hurries away to tell Bob how he scored off me. Of\ncourse, he made tracks to the stable the moment dinner was ended, with\nthe result that he missed quite a thrilling episode.\n\nMam and Dorothy went to the drawing-room, but Schwartz, who was\nlistening intently, heard Minkie go into the morning-room, whither I\nhad followed her to study the mongoose at leisure. After a minute or\ntwo, he made the excuse that he wanted to show the Guv'nor a letter\nwhich he had left upstairs, and he came out, though I heard Poll\nwarbling \"Kiss me and call me your darling.\"\n\nHe closed the door, walked across the hall to the foot of the stairs,\nand tip-toe'd back to the morning-room. Minkie looked at me, and I\nlooked at Minkie.\n\n\"Now for it!\" she whispered.\n\nSchwartz entered. He had the glint in his eyes which I feel when I have\na young thrush within range of a spring. He never turned his head, but\nkept glaring at Minkie while he fumbled with the lock till the door was\nshut. Then he crept, rather than walked, towards her.\n\n\"Now, you young devil!\" he hissed, \"give it to me, or I'll strangle\nyou.\"\n\nThat was the right opening; I began to feel nervous, and when I say\n\"nervous\" I don't mean \"frightened,\" like Evangeline is when the\nvillain says something of the sort in the story she reads each week in\nthe _Society Girl's Companion_; in fact, if she begins to wash up after\nfinishing the instalment she is sure to smash something. No; that is\nthe mistake Dan always makes. Had he been in the room during the next\nfew minutes he would have alarmed the house by his stupid barking,\nbecause any one could see that Schwartz meant mischief. Certainly Dan\nwould have bitten him first, whereas I hid under the leather chair.\n_Chacun à son gout_, as mademoiselle used to say when she saw Minkie\nkissing Bob's nose--my motto is \"Defence, not defiance.\" But the\nspecies of nervousness I experienced was shared by Minkie. It was a\nkind of spiritual exaltation, a bracing of the muscles, a tuning of the\nheart-strings which carries one through a desperate crisis.\n\nFor Schwartz was primed with wine, and maddened by the knowledge that\nhe had been tricked by a girl, a girl who was able to survey his mean\nsoul and appraise its miserable insufficiency. He thought to frighten\nher by letting the beast in him peep forth at her. Even if she screamed\nfor protection, he counted on either securing the ju-ju or learning its\nwhereabouts before her father could come to her rescue. Then he would\nexplain that he was joking, while Minkie would receive scant sympathy\nwhen it became known that she had kept mum as to her possession of an\narticle which he prized so greatly. Of course, he was sure she had the\nju-ju, and Minkie did not commit the error of pretending she did not\nunderstand him.\n\n\"Even if you were able to strangle me I could not give you what I have\nnot got,\" said she, very quietly, standing straight, with her hands\nbehind her back. I noticed that the fingers of her right hand were\nlightly resting in those of her left, with thumbs crossed, and that\nshowed she was not going to struggle. I was somewhat surprised, because\nwith those wiry hands of hers I have seen her bend a stout poker\nacross her knee, and she could vault astride Bob's back from the ground\nby taking a twist of his mane in them. She has done that several times\nsince she had an argument with Dolly one day last November, when she\nproved that Sir Walter Scott made young Lochinvar perform a remarkable\ngymnastic feat in the lines:\n\n     So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,\n     So light to the saddle before her he sprung!\n\nIt was evident that young Lochinvar's right leg must have gone clean\nover the fair lady's picture hat, so _I_ think that the poet meant\n\"clung\"; but, anyhow, what I want to convey now is that Minkie could\nhave landed on Schwartz's shoulders and tapped the bald spot on his\nhead with one of the fire-irons at one and the same instant if she had\nmeant to fight.\n\nHer attitude seemed to me to be rather foolhardy. No matter what you\nmay say about the triumph of mind over matter I believe in having the\nbrute force side of the thesis ready for action if necessary. Schwartz,\nhowever, thought she was afraid, which proves conclusively that he\nwas a man of limited ideas, even if he were rich as Croesus. He did\nnot believe her, though a gentleman should always pretend to believe\na lady, even though he knows she is telling a fib. His mouth opened\nand he held his tongue between his teeth. He came nearer, carrying his\nhands up like a hawk's talons. This was partly pantomime and partly\nreal. The pantomime was essential in Dale End; had Minkie been in the\nKwantu bush she might have seen more of the reality; but then, under\nthe latter conditions, she would have shown Schwartz a _savate_ kick\nwhich I taught her, and he must have bitten off the end of his tongue\nin learning it. One acquires a lot of capital dodges, I assure you,\nwhen defending the top of a wall on a dark night.\n\nIllustration: But she stood there quite motionless.\n\nBut she stood there, quite motionless, a slight, elegant figure in\nwhite Surah silk, with black stockings and nice shiny shoes, on which\nwere a pair of her Grandmother Faulkner's paste buckles, which Mam had\njust given her as a Christmas present. Her flaxen hair was tied with a\nribbon of almost the same tint, and she wore a strip of the ribbon as a\nwaist-belt. I wish somebody could have drawn her as she faced Schwartz,\nwho was well dressed, of course, but whose leering face was like the\nsatyr's in our garden. And he had called her a devil! Well, tastes\ndiffer, as I have remarked previously. Being only a cat, I don't know\nmuch about these things, but my money goes on Schwartz if there is a\nprize competition for a model of old Hoof and Horns.\n\nI have taken my time over this part of the story to enable you to\nrealise the suspense, the wolfish aspect, the stealthy threatening of\nSchwartz's advance towards Minkie. Obviously, the mere clock ticking\nwas short enough.\n\n\"You lie!\" he breathed again, so close that his wine-laden breath was\noffensive to her. Then he grasped her arms, and began to pass his\ncoarse hands down her body. I am telling you the simple truth. He\nactually searched her clothes, pressing them to her limbs to make sure\nthat his precious ju-ju was not secreted somewhere about her. I held\nmy breath, and I really had it in my mind to jump up at his staring\neyes, when I chanced to catch Minkie's contemptuous smile. Then I knew\nthat she had fooled Schwartz again, had, in fact, expected him to adopt\nsome such futile dodge, and had put the fetish in a secure hiding-place.\n\nDisappointment nearly drove the man off his balance. He was so enraged\nthat he shook her violently.\n\n\"You _must_ give it up,\" he said hoarsely. \"I am determined to have it,\nnow, this instant.\"\n\nMinkie remained quite passive.\n\n\"If I call my father he will horsewhip you,\" she said coolly.\n\n\"Give me that ju-ju,\" he almost whimpered, such was his fury.\n\n\"You have satisfied yourself that I have not got it,\" she answered.\n\"Take your hands off me, or it will be bad for you. If you ever dare to\ntouch me again, you will never see it. If you try to behave as decently\nas you know how, I may, perhaps, discuss terms.\"\n\nIt was ludicrous to watch his change of attitude. From a bold lion he\nbecame a cringing jackal. He almost wept with relief at the mention of\nthe word \"terms.\"\n\n\"Anything you like,\" he cried eagerly. \"What do you want--money,\ndiamonds, anything?--but I must have it now.\"\n\nThe man was crazy, talking that way to a girl just turned fourteen. Had\nshe been ten years older she might have listened; twenty, and she might\nhave closed the deal straight off. But Minkie was young enough to be\nchivalrous, and she meant to make Schwartz eat mud.\n\n\"You cannot obtain it now,\" she said, speaking as calmly as she does\nto Mole when she wants the tennis net fixed. \"You had better cool down\nrapidly, because you will not see your ju-ju until New Year's Day--\"\n\n\"What!\" he yelled, forgetting himself and trying to grab her again.\nThis time Minkie adopted tactics which I fully approved of. She sprang\nback and sideways, placing my chair between Schwartz and herself. Then\nshe seized a heavy glass encrière.\n\n\"One inch nearer and you receive this in the face,\" she said. \"And I\nnever miss,\" she added, seeing that Schwartz halted.\n\nOf course, I had to move quickly, too; as I passed Rikki's box I saw\nhim gazing out with such a puzzled expression. It did not occur to me\npreviously that he understands Hindustani better than English, which\nis a pity, as we never before have had any real excitement like this\nat Holly Lodge. It was as good as a play to see Schwartz glowering at\nMinkie, and estimating the effect of a two-pound inkpot if applied to\nhis nose with a velocity of X miles per second. Talk about motor traps\nand policemen's stop watches--he made a lightning calculation I can\nassure you, and it was dead against any forward movement.\n\n\"Suppose we abandon hostilities and discuss matters reasonably,\" he\nsaid, with another violent effort at self-control. \"To begin with, I\ncan compel you to hand over my property.\"\n\n\"It is not your property. You stole it. It belongs to the Kwantu tribe.\nIf I were to act with strict honesty, I should hand it to Prince John.\"\n\nSchwartz fell into the net like the silliest bunny that ever ran for a\nhedge. He assumed instantly that Minkie could be bribed.\n\n\"You are too young to judge of such matters,\" he sneered. \"Moreover, I\nhave only to appeal to your father--\"\n\n\"You will find him in the dining-room.\"\n\nPoor Schwartz! I was beginning to pity him. Even the mongoose saw the\njoke, and grinned, because we hunting animals know all about bluff--we\nmeet with lots of it down our way. He determined that it was advisable\nto deal with Minkie herself, which was precisely what she wanted. You\nsee, these rich men think money will buy anything.\n\n\"Why New Year's Day?\" he asked anxiously, while I noticed that his\ncollar was limp with perspiration. \"Why not to-night? I have plenty of\nmoney in notes. And if more is needed, I would never dream of stopping\na cheque once it is written.\"\n\n\"I cannot give you the ju-ju before this day week,\" said Minkie. \"I\nhave my reasons, and I decline to state them. Nor can I tell you my\nterms until two or three days have passed. But I want £50 now for\nexpenses. If you have not that sum with you, I can wait until to-morrow\nor the day after.\"\n\nSchwartz gazed at her with amazement. He was burning to ask her a\ndozen questions, but Dan came scratching and sniffing at the door, so\nthey might be interrupted any moment. The man dared not forego the\nopportunity of clinching the bargain, yet his greed kept him back.\n\n\"Fifty pounds!--expenses!\" he protested. \"Why, how much do you expect\nme to pay for the thing itself?\"\n\n\"No matter,\" said Minkie. \"I can easily get the money elsewhere.\"\n\nHe knew she meant the Manor House, and that frightened him. Dan kept\nscratching away, and saying: \"Let me in! What's on? Bones and cleavers,\nopen the door!\" Schwartz produced a pocketbook, and pulled out a note.\n\n\"There!\" he cried, \"will that suffice?\"\n\nIt was fifty pounds all right, but Minkie did not trouble to examine it.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said. \"I can change it at the bank if necessary.\"\n\n\"And you promise--\"\n\n\"You shall have your ju-ju on New Year's Day.\"\n\n\"But I insist on learning something further as to its safety. How can\nyou be sure Prince John--\"\n\nJust then Mam heard Dan damaging our best paint; she crossed the hall\nand flung the door wide.\n\n\"This wretched dog--\" she began, but stopped short on seeing Schwartz\nand Minkie. Schwartz swallowed something, and grinned like a death's\nhead.\n\n\"This mongoose is an extraordinary creature,\" he said. \"I have taken\nquite a fancy to him....\"\n\nHe rejoined the Guv'nor, as he had the letter in his pocketbook all the\ntime. Dolly was playing and singing \"Du, du liegst mir im Herzen,\" so\nMam thought she had a good chance of explaining matters to Minkie.\n\n\"I hope you will be nice to Mr. Schwartz if he takes an interest in\nyour pets,\" she said. \"You annoyed your father considerably during\ndinner by your unwarrantable hostility to our guest. I am more than\nsurprised at you.\"\n\n\"Please forgive me, mother dear. And you might tell Dad that I have\ncleared away all misunderstandings between Mr. Schwartz and myself.\"\n\n\"Misunderstandings, child! How can you possibly use such a word where a\ngentleman is concerned of whom you have seen so little?\"\n\n\"There are some people whom one gets to know very quickly. Do you\nremember the burglar whom our policeman caught as he was climbing the\nrectory wall? Those two had never seen each other before, yet we met\nthem coming down the road arm-in-arm.\"\n\nMam laughed. \"You are always ready enough to turn a difficult\nconversation when it suits your purpose. Why don't you show equal tact\nin your remarks to Mr. Schwartz? I would not ask this, Millicent, if I\nhad not a special reason.\"\n\n\"Tell me, mummy dear. Is Mr. Schwartz going to lend Dad some money?\"\n\n\"You certainly are the most amazing child!\" cried Mam. \"Who told you\nthat?\"\n\n\"No one. I just imagined it; and I will tell you why. One day last week\nI saw that Dad was awfully cut up about something he read in the paper.\nIt was about the Kwantu Mines, Limited. I know, because I picked up the\npaper in order to see what was worrying Dad.\"\n\n\"But you shouldn't,\" said Mam, though her lips quivered a little. Now,\nthere is not a person alive who can be more affectionate than Minkie\nwith those whom she loves. I like being petted myself, so I know. She\nput her arms round her mother and whispered:\n\n\"I hope Dad and you won't fret. I am sure everything will come right in\nthe end. Don't you think it is a sign of something out of the common\ngoing to happen when this black prince comes to our house, a man from\nthe very place which is causing Dad so much trouble?\"\n\nWhile Mam searched for her handkerchief Dan muttered to me:\n\n\"A pretty game you've been having here while I was looking after\naffairs outside. What has Schwartz been up to? And what good is a cat,\nanyhow?\"\n\nThat put my back up.\n\n\"Let me tell you that if you had been in this room during the past five\nminutes you would have made a beastly fool of yourself and spoiled the\nfinest bit of sport we've ever had,\" said I.\n\nHe was so tickled with conceit that he sneezed.\n\n\"Go away and play, pussy,\" he sniggered. \"You me-ow while I act. Why,\nI've been chasing <DW65>s all over the place.\"\n\nThat startled me. Bad as he is, Dan never lies.\n\n\"Chasing <DW65>s!\" I cried. \"Is there more of 'em?\"\n\n\"I counted no less than five,\" he growled, strutting about in great\nstyle, and rather alarming the mongoose. I assure you his news so upset\nme that I paid no attention to what Minkie and Mam were saying until I\nheard Minkie mention Jack's name.\n\n\"I wish you could persuade Dad to see Captain Stanhope,\" she said. \"The\nmerest little note would bring him here to-morrow, and there can be no\ndoubt he would give Dad some very useful information.\"\n\n\"Ah, my dear, if I had my way things would be different,\" sighed Mam;\nthen, feeling that discussion would do no good, she bustled out,\nbidding Minkie turn the gas low and come to the drawing-room.\n\nDan was bursting to get Minkie outside and let her know about the\nsuspicious characters who were prowling round our house, but she\nwouldn't listen to him.\n\n\"Oh, be quiet,\" she commanded. \"I want to do a sum.\"\n\nFirst, she took the crisp note out of her pocket and looked to see if\nit was really fifty pounds.\n\n\"Let me reckon up,\" she said then. \"I began yesterday with a crooked\nsixpence. I gave the porter a shilling out of Schwartz's fiver for\ntelling me Jack arrived by the 4.20. So now I have fifty-four pounds,\nnineteen shillings and sixpence. Good old ju-ju! Keep it going! I am\npretty strong in arithmetic, but if you maintain that rate of increase\nuntil New Year's Day, I shall lose count. Anyhow, they'll want a\nbigger bank at Dale End. Now, Dan, I'm ready. What is it?\"\n\nBut, before she crossed the hall, she rescued the ju-ju from its\nhiding-place at the back of the grandfathers clock.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLACK MAN'S WAY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE BLACK MAN'S WAY\n\n_Told by Polly, the Parrot_\n\n\nYou will observe that I was left in the dining-room with the Guv'nor.\nThose insignificant quadrupeds, Dan and Tib, thought that I was out of\nthe fun. They always do think that, until they come smirking to me for\nnews; then they go off and backbite me behind my tail feathers. That\nimpudent whelp, Dan, sidled up this morning to ask me what a mongoose\nwas. When I was weak enough, at the mention of grapes, to tell him it\nwas an ichneumon, he had the cheek to call me some outlandish name\nthat no decent bird would dream of using. I'll make it hot for him,\nsee if I don't. And that yellow-eyed Tibbie, for all her dainty ways\nand quiet talk, is not much better. Sometimes, when I have a bath, I\nflick a few drops of water over her, and she looks at me as much as\nto say: \"Oh, if only I could lay a paw on you!\" Yet, mark my word,\nshe'll be trotting in here for a chat as soon as I say a word about the\ndiscussion between Schwartz and the Old Man.\n\nI have been keeping an eye on the Guv'nor recently. Between you and me,\nit was he who taught me all the funny bits I know. There is nothing he\nenjoys more than to hear Mam exclaim: \"Dear me! How in the world does\nthe bird learn those vulgar songs?\" It's as easy as sitting on a rail.\nSome Italian ragamuffins come to Dale End occasionally with a Handel\npiano--eh, what? not that sort of handle; well, you know the thing I\nmean--and I pick up the tunes. When the Guv'nor hears me whistling them\nhe sings the words, and at the next chance I get I amaze Mam with \"My\nIrish Molly O\" or \"Why do they call me the Gibson Girl?\" The Guv'nor\nfinds out all about these things in London. Once Minkie asked him how\nhe did it, and he told her he learnt them from the office-boy. I wish I\nknew that boy.\n\nNow, it's a solemn fact that I have not added a line to my collection\nduring the past month. I know several new airs, and I have whistled\nthem regularly, but the Old Man remains silent. At first I imagined\nthat perhaps the office-boy had a swollen face, but soon I felt sure\nmy teacher had lost his spirits. Minkie noticed it, but I found it out\nlong before her. You see, we parrots are very wise birds, quick to\nobserve, and able to examine any new notion from all points of view; my\nhabit of looking at Dan upside down riles him far more than the silly\nthings I shout at him.\n\nMinkie, I gathered, guessed that her father was in trouble over some\nStock Exchange business, and the mention of Kwantu by Captain Stanhope\nbrought back to her mind the name of the mining company whose affairs,\nas discussed in a newspaper, seemed to be the cause of the worry. But\nit was I, the \"giddy acrobat,\" as Dan calls me, who hit on the real\nmystery, and I made even stolid Bob wild before I told him all about it\nnext day.\n\nWhile Schwartz was interviewing Minkie in the morning-room, the Guv'nor\nsat and stared at the fire. He was smoking, but he didn't seem to\nenjoy his cigar, and he had that queer look in his face which men call\ndespair. 'Pon my honor, I would rather be a bird than a man any day. We\nfeathered folk don't sigh and abandon hope when things go wrong. Why,\nthe commonest little sparrow in the garden would chirp his contempt if\nanybody suggested to him that he should lie down and die just because\nhe couldn't find an insect under the first leaf he turned over. Die,\nindeed! Not he! He works all the harder, and is very likely to be\nrewarded by a fine fat grub under the next bush.\n\nIt was quite evident that the Guv'nor had not realized the length of\nSchwartz's absence when that gentleman reappeared. He looked up, rather\nmiserably, and said:\n\n\"I am sorry to have troubled you in the matter, Schwartz. And I fear\nyou are having a poor time of it, what between the recital of my\ndifficulties and the unfortunate incident which took place last night.\"\n\n\"Last night's affair will adjust itself in a day or two,\" answered\nSchwartz, grimly, thinking, no doubt, of the £50 note he had just\ntossed to Minkie. \"The really important item now is this absurd\npredicament of yours, Grosvenor--\"\n\n\"Don't forget that the suggestion came from you in the first instance.\"\n\n\"I am well aware you asked me to let you know if there was anything\ngood going,\" said Schwartz, rather stiffly. \"My friends usually follow\nmy judgment with satisfactory results, and I was quite certain that\nthis Kwantu mine was a swindle, but how was I to ascertain that this\nspecial flotation was to be made use of for a squeeze? And you are not\nthe only fish struggling in the net.\"\n\n\"Then the others have my sympathy. Yet it was a piece of lunacy on my\npart to indulge in a heavy bear speculation in interests of which I\nwas utterly ignorant. I don't mind losing a hundred or two in a fair\ngamble, and I have usually come out on the right side of the ledger,\nbut it was the worst sort of madness to sell a thousand shares in a\nWest African Company. Good heavens! What right has a man who is almost\na sleeping partner in a city warehouse to dabble in concerns like\nthat!\"\n\n\"Let me see,\" said Schwartz, giving his friend a quick side look as he\ntook a letter from his pocket, \"you sold at something over par?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the Guv'nor, still gazing at the fire.\n\n\"And they are now at 6-1/4?\"\n\n\"Yes. Over £5,000 gone already, and the special settlement due on the\n10th of next month.\"\n\n\"Can you buy at that price?\"\n\n\"I suppose so. Unhappily, I am a child in these matters. I honestly\nbelieve that my little Millicent would have avoided this trap which I\nblundered into so easily.\"\n\n\"Um-m,\" said Schwartz.\n\n\"But surely your inquiries have not led you to expect the price to go\nhigher?\" demanded the Guv'nor, growing almost white with misery.\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" cried the other man blandly, \"when you are in\nthe hands of unscrupulous rascals you never know when they will be\nsatisfied. The thing is beautifully simple. You and others have sold a\nbear. You are called on to deliver your shares, which you cannot do,\nfor the very good reason that the market is controlled by the people\nwho bought all the shares offered. You have fallen among thieves. There\nis no telling what price they may force things up to before they let\ngo.\"\n\n\"Then the issue is quite plain,\" said the Guv'nor, rising with the air\nof a man who has no more to say. \"It will <DW36>, indeed, almost ruin\nme to raise five thousand pounds. Any material advance on that amount\nmeans bankruptcy, with goodness knows what evil results to my wife and\ndaughters. If there is any law in the land it should not be possible\nfor men to crush others in this barefaced way.\"\n\n\"The law cannot help you. But sit down, Grosvenor. Let us hammer this\nthing out. I have tried to ascertain the identity of the promoters, and\nI have failed. Here is the letter my brokers wrote me yesterday. You\nsee they say that the company is registered in Jersey, and the nominal\ndirectors are mere figure-heads. The real manipulators of the stock do\nnot appear on the surface--\"\n\n\"Surely you, who are so well acquainted with West Africa, can make a\ntolerably accurate guess as to the people behind the scenes?\"\n\n\"If I had the slightest grounds for naming any one I should not only\ntell you, Grosvenor, but I would gladly lend my personal assistance in\narranging matters.\"\n\nThe Old Man read the typewritten letter which Schwartz gave him.\nOf course, I did not know then what was in it, but it seemed to\nsubstantiate Schwartz's statements.\n\n\"Amazing thing!\" he murmured. \"And that I should be such a fool! I\nonly wanted to earn an extra hundred or so, for the sake of the girls,\nto give them some little luxuries which diminishing dividends hardly\npermit of, and this is the result--I find myself on the very brink of\nruin. Ah, well! Let me apologize again for--\"\n\n\"Have you any objection, then, to a full and frank discussion of the\nmatter with me?\"\n\nIllustration: The Old Man read the typewritten letter which Schwartz\ngave him.\n\n\"Great Scott, no! Why do you put such a question?\"\n\n\"Please sit down, then. The ladies can spare us from the drawing-room\na little longer. Dorothy is singing, and Millicent is--er--engaged\nwith her new pet, while Mrs. Grosvenor will not object, I am sure,\nif we smoke another cigar. Now, to come to the point. I have been\nthinking matters over during the day, and I have a proposition to make\nwhich may commend itself to you. It is no secret to you that I admire\nyour elder daughter very much. Were I your prospective son-in-law,\nGrosvenor, I would be prepared to take your liabilities on to my own\nshoulders. And let me say at once that I am not bargaining with you for\nDorothy's hand. You know that I was anxious to pay her my addresses in\nOstend, and this Kwantu business was not in existence at that time. You\ngave a conditional assent to my suit then. Now I am only asking you\nto exercise a little judicious parental pressure on a charming girl\nwho hardly knows her own mind. I am sure you will not think the less\nof me because I endeavor to gain my own ends whilst coming to your\nassistance.\"\n\nI whistled loudly in my surprise. I couldn't help it, but it seemed to\nannoy Schwartz, who glared at me quite vindictively. The Guv'nor, of\ncourse, paid no heed, being accustomed to my interruptions.\n\n\"It is awfully good of you,\" he said slowly, \"and I admit the justice\nof your contention that your wish to marry Dorothy is nothing new. But\nI have always held it a fixed principle, which my wife shares with me,\nthat parents should neither force their children to marry for money nor\nwithhold their consent to marriages based on love, unless the drawbacks\nare out of all reason. As I understand the position, Dorothy did not\nexactly refuse you at Ostend, but simply declared that she had no wish\nto leave her home for some years to come?\"\n\n\"Yes. That is so.\"\n\n\"Then, if I go to her now, and tell her you stipulate for her hand as a\ncondition for extricating me from--\"\n\n\"Forgive me,\" broke in Schwartz, with a certain prompt candor which did\nhim credit as an actor. \"I don't ask that. I only want your permission\nto approach her myself.\"\n\n\"But you had that six months ago.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I am exceedingly grateful to you. What I seek to-day is your\npromise to further my request by varying your attitude from passive\napproval to active support.\"\n\nHe was artful, that Schwartz. The Old Man wriggled a bit, but he hardly\nknew what to say. He was a thoroughbred, you see, and he hated the idea\nof bartering one of his girls for five thousand pounds. Yet Schwartz\nwas what ladies who come to tea call \"a good catch,\" and it was quite\ntrue that he was after Dorothy months before anybody at Holly Lodge so\nmuch as heard the word \"Kwantu.\" And the Guv'nor was a proud man, too.\nIt was Schwartz himself who had led him to believe that it would be an\neasy thing to make money by selling shares in this mine, yet Minkie\ntold me afterwards that he seemed to be quite surprised when her father\ninformed him that he had taken the \"tip\" and sold heavily. That was\nin November, when the mine was floated, and Schwartz had been absent\nin Paris until the third week in December. Now, as the German was a\nmillionaire, and had landed a friend in a hole by his advice, it was\nreasonable enough to expect him to lend a helping hand, yet there could\nbe no doubt he meant to take advantage of the difficulty and compel\nDorothy to marry him to save her father.\n\nI saw the bearings of the game far more clearly than the Guv'nor. My\nown opinion was that Schwartz was a regular scamp, and my experience of\nscamps is fairly wide, as I hail from South America. You would hardly\ncredit the ups and downs of my life--no wonder I can take a man's\nmeasure with fair accuracy. I began my education in an Indian village,\nafter discovering that a baited trap is not exactly what it looks like.\nThen I went by train to Montevideo, and the things I learnt there would\nmake you weep if I told you even the half which the Spanish language\npermits. A <DW65> fireman knifed my owner, a saloon-keeper, and was\none of a crowd which cleared out the bar before the patrol came. He\nbrought me to New York, and pawned me to an East-side crimp. I was\nstolen from there, and hung outside a sixth-floor tenement until I was\nsold to a bird-fancier in Eighth Avenue. He was a <DW55>, so I need say\nno more about him. If Mam understood the least little bit of Italian\nshe wouldn't keep me in the house five minutes, but you bet I take a\nrise out of those organ-grinders when they come touting for coppers.\nGiovanni traded me for five dollars to a patriotic American named\nO'Reilly, and he gave me a university course which ended suddenly by\nhis going to Sing-Sing, while I was seized, with the remainder of the\nfurniture, by another American citizen named Rosenbaum. During the\nannual fire at his place I was rescued by a ship's steward, who liked\nthe way I talked. On the way to England he died from want of proper\nliquid nourishment, and the crew would have kept me in the forecastle\nif some old girl had not complained to the captain of the dreadful\nlanguage used by one of the men whenever she leaned over the forward\nrail. How was I to know she could speak the tongues of the Sunny South?\n\nBelieve me, even after I arrived at Liverpool, my adventures would fill\na book, but I have said enough to show that I was ready to appreciate a\ngood home when the Guv'nor found me in Leadenhall Market, and took me\nto Dale End as a present to Minkie. More than that, you never really\nappreciate a good home until you have had a few bad ones, and it is in\nthe latter that you obtain any genuine schooling in the darker side of\nhuman nature.\n\nSo it is obvious that I watched Schwartz with my eyes skinned. I sized\nup the situation this way. Schwartz meant to press the Old Man just\na little short of breaking point, and was far more anxious to bring\nabout an agreement than he permitted to be seen. I was aching to give\nthe Guv'nor a pointer, but I couldn't, as my acquaintance with English\nis peculiar, and he is not able to catch on my meaning like Minkie. If\nonly he had raised Schwartz before the draw, as they say in poker, his\nadversary would not have been so sure of his cards. As it was, he tried\nto evade the final struggle.\n\n\"After all,\" he said, with a brave attempt at a smile, \"this is a poor\nway to spend Christmas night. Suppose we adjourn to the drawing-room\nnow, and try to forget for a while that mines may be bottomless pits.\"\n\nSchwartz was well content to leave it at that.\n\n\"May I have my letter?\" he said.\n\nThe Guv'nor handed it to him, but it was not yet refolded when Minkie\nburst into the room.\n\n\"Please come, dad!\" she cried. \"And you, too, Mr. Schwartz! Jim says\nthat the house is simply surrounded by black men.\"\n\nOf course, Schwartz had no grit in him: his type of man never has.\nHe went pale, shook a bit, and leaned back against the table, and I\nnoticed that the letter fell from his fingers to the floor. After a\nbreathless question or two from the men as to what Jim meant by his\nextraordinary statement, they all rushed out. I turned a couple of\nsummersaults, and was about to sing \"Tell me, pretty maiden,\" when I\nsaw a sharp snout thrust inquiringly round the jamb of the door. It was\nthe mongoose.\n\n\"Welcome, little stranger,\" I said, but he didn't seem to grasp idioms\nquickly, so I gave him the only chunk of Hindustani I possess.\n\n\"Jao! you soor-ka-butcha,\" I shouted. One of my sailor friends says\nthat is a polite way of asking after another gentleman's health, but\nthe mongoose looked up at me and wanted to know (in proper animalese)\nwhy I was calling him names.\n\n\"I didn't,\" I said.\n\n\"But you did,\" he retorted.\n\n\"Well, I didn't mean to. I thought that when the first mate said that\nto a lascar he meant 'Wot oh, 'ow's yer pore feet?'\"\n\n\"You shouldn't use words you don't understand,\" said Rikki, quite sharp.\n\n\"Keep your wool on; you'll need it before the frost breaks. What's this\nI hear about <DW65>s outside? Are they after the fowls?\"\n\n\"Dan says they want to kidnap Schwartz.\"\n\n\"Look here, young fuzzy-wuzzy, not so free with your 'Dan' and\n'Schwartz.' You haven't joined the Gang until I pass you. Just try to\nremember that. Nice thing! You'll be addressing me as 'Poll' next, I\nsuppose? Now, if you want to make yourself useful, pick up that piece\nof paper on the carpet near the leg of the table, and carry it into\nyour cage. Mind you don't eat it. Miss Millicent may want it.\"\n\n\"Is that Minkie?\"\n\n\"There you go again. 'Minkie,' indeed, and you not two hours in the\nhouse!\"\n\n\"Sorry.\"\n\n\"Well, if you behave yourself properly I'll forgive you this time.\nBefore you go, kindly pass those nuts from the sideboard.\"\n\n\"What kind of nuts are they?\" said Rikki, thoughtfully.\n\n\"Brazil. They're rank poison for mongooses.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" He leaped up and gazed at the dish. \"Shabàsh!\" he said, cracking\none. \"They're good eating.\"\n\n\"I'll shabàsh you,\" I screamed. \"Help! Thieves! Hi, hi, hi! Oh, mother,\nlook at Dick!\"\n\n\"What's the row now?\" demanded Tib, trotting in from the hall.\n\n\"Tib, if you love me, chase that red-haired vagabond away from my\nnuts,\" I implored her.\n\n\"Oh, it's always the same old song with you,\" she grinned. \"Any one\nwould think you were being murdered. Rikki is really doing you a good\nturn, Poll. Too many nuts are bad for you. Evangeline said so.\"\n\nIngratitood, thy name is cat! I fairly boiled over. I even called\nEvangeline such things that she came running in with a stick. And, of\ncourse, she never saw that cunning fox, Rikki. He sneaked out while she\nwas beating me, but he took the letter with him, and I wouldn't be the\nleast bit astonished if he told Minkie he had done it off his own bat.\n\nExactly why Minkie brought the Guv'nor and Schwartz out of the\ndining-room in such a whirl I never discovered. She would have told\nme in a minute if I had thought of asking her, but things happened\nat such a rate during the next few days that I had plenty to do to\nkeep track of current events without bothering my head over ancient\nhistory. I fancy she disturbed their conversation purposely. She knew\nSchwartz was in a desperate mood, and would endeavor to force her\nfather to serve his ends. Mam's statement, too, backed up by Dorothy's\nhints and the plain tale she had read in the newspaper, gave her an\nall-round glimpse of the facts concerning Kwantus, and Dan was quite\nright when he said that Minkie had invoked the ju-ju's aid in a plan\nfor the undoing of Schwartz. She told us what it was when we all met in\nthe stable on Boxing Day, but, of course, you will excuse me for not\nmentioning it yet. To be candid, I daren't. We renewed the vow of the\nGang in solemn state, and Rikki was sworn in as a new member at the\nsame time. He was admitted thus promptly on account of his services\nwith regard to that letter, which was a jolly sight more important than\nit sounded, and I must say he behaved rather handsomely, because he not\nonly gave me full credit for the suggestion that he should nab it, but\nhe told me privately he was sorry about those nuts.\n\nOur vow is a jolly serious affair. We bind ourselves to be loyal to\nthe Gang \"by hoof and claw, by beak and tooth, in air, on earth, and\nin water.\" Each member pledges himself or herself to \"sink all private\nfeud the instant any other member is threatened by an external enemy,\nwhether with two, three, or four legs.\" We also promise to be loyal to\nour leader Minkie, and to protect and help all inmates of Holly Lodge,\nand, in token of fealty and allegiance, each of us has to hold up a\nfoot or claw.\n\nDan, naturally, tried to be clever, and suggested that the words \"or\nitself\" should be inserted after the word \"herself,\" on the ground\nthat no one knew the sex of a zygodactyl; he could not meet my eye,\nand pretended to snigger, but Minkie told him not to be rude. It\nmay surprise some people to hear that we made common cause against\nthree-legged adversaries, but that is easily explained. One day last\nsummer, while Jim was washing Bob in the yard, and Dan was routing\namong some plant pots for a rat, a travelling menagerie passed our\nhouse, and a kangaroo leaped over the garden wall and landed in the\nmidst of us. My cage was slung to the walnut tree, and I was so scared\nthat I fell from my perch. Dan, with all his faults, is certainly a\ncourageous beast, because he sprang at the stranger, and received a\nkick that knocked him clean over the cucumber frame. Jim fell into\nthe pail, but Bob whisked round and gave the kangaroo a postman's\ndouble tap on the ribs that sent him flying back to his caravan. Dan,\nwho was furious, alleged that the beast used his tail as a leg, and\nnever touched the ground with his fore-legs at all. Jim bore out his\nstatement, so the vow brought in the three-legged variety, to make sure.\n\nI asked if Evangeline were included in the word \"inmates,\" and Minkie\nsaid it was a frivolous question. I quite agree with her. Holly Lodge\nisn't a lunatic asylum.\n\nYet any outsider might be pardoned the mistake if he heard our\nlight-headed housemaid telling Cookie the things she saw when she went\nto the post, just before she beat me with a cane. _I_ know that post.\nIt is a gate-post, and it has a young man leaning against it.\n\n\"Fust one <DW65> kem past, an' his eyes rolled something 'orrible,\"\nshe said. \"Then two kem from the hoppo-site direction, an' their eyes\nrolled wuss nor the other's. 'Tell you wot, Lena,' Bill said to me, 'I\ndon't like this. I'm for 'ome,' and he left me standin' there, with all\nthose orful blacks prowlin' round like lions. Did you ever 'ear of such\na thing? I'm finished with Bill; I wouldn't look at him again not if he\nhad twenty milk-walks. I ran for my life, an' found Jim. He whistled\nDan, an' it did me good to see the way that dorg began to clear the\nroad, but Jim called him orf, 'cause he says a <DW65> has as much right\nto live as any other sort of man, and those fellows were a-behavin' of\nthemselves. That's as may be; if there's much more of these goin's on\n'ere I give my month's notice.\"\n\nWhat do you think of that for a School Board education? If I couldn't\ntalk better than Evangeline I'd borrow some black-lead and set up as a\njack daw.\n\nIt seems that the Old Man and Schwartz did not come across any <DW64>s.\nProbably Dan had frightened them, if Prince John had told his friends\nwhat sort of a Rugger tackle Dan could put up. But Minkie is sharp,\ndreadful sharp. The moment I mentioned Jim's remark to Evangeline,\nshe fastened on to it instantly. Jim was washing the victoria in the\ncoach-house, and she went straight to him.\n\n\"When did you last meet Prince John?\" she inquired, planting her\nfeet well apart, and holding her hands behind her back. She wore her\nblue serge that morning, and had a beaver hat set well clear of her\nforehead. As the weather was cold, though fine, she had tight-fitting\nbrown gaiters over her strong boots, and she looked fit for any game\nthat might present itself.\n\nJim shuffled from one foot to the other, and scratched the tip of his\near.\n\n\"I don't exactly remember, miss,\" he said.\n\n\"Take time, James. There is no hurry. Just think.\"\n\n\"Well, it might ha' bin at the Marquis o' Granby; yesterday after tea.\"\n\n\"And what did he say?\"\n\n\"He said it was a powerful shame a furriner should come to a British\ncolony an' steal a thing which a lot o' pore blacks thought more of\nthan anybody could imagine.\"\n\n\"And then he paid for another round of beer?\"\n\n\"Well, miss, if you put it that way--\"\n\n\"And he asked you to search for his black bag, and particularly for a\nlittle ivory doll which was inside it?\"\n\n\"Why, _you_ must ha' bin talkin' to him, too, miss!\"\n\n\"No, James. I'm just guessing. What did you say to him?\"\n\n\"I didn't see any harm in tellin' him that there was no sich thing\nanywheres in our grounds, an' Evangeline is sure it isn't in Mr.\nSchwartz's bedroom.\"\n\n\"Do you think it quite right, James, to go to the Marquis o' Granby and\ndiscuss our affairs with a <DW64> in a public bar?\"\n\n\"You'll pardon me, miss, but that ain't a fair way of puttin' it. This\nprince chap an' the rest of us had a rough an' tumble on Christmas\nEve, an' I slung him out of the front gate all fair an' square. It was\na perfectly nateral thing to meet 'im afterwards an' 'ave a friendly\nchat over a pint.\"\n\n\"All right. The matter remains between you and me. But I want you to\npromise that if Prince John, or any other <DW64>, approaches you again,\nand tries to get information, you will tell me everything at the first\nopportunity.\"\n\n\"Of course, miss, I promise that. You can't think I would go agin the\npeople in Holly Lodge, can you?\"\n\nApplause from the stable. Even Rikki joined in with his squeak, though\nhe could hardly make out what Jim was saying. Nevertheless, Minkie had\nnot finished with our unhappy groom yet. I was glad to hear Jim getting\nit. He grumbles every time he puts fresh sand in my cage.\n\n\"Did you arrange to meet him to-day?\" she demanded.\n\n\"Yes, miss,\" he said.\n\n\"When and where?\"\n\n\"Well, I said as 'ow the carriage might not be wanted after five, an' I\nwould walk to the other side of the green, when there would not be so\nmany people about.\"\n\n\"And what were you to tell him?\"\n\n\"Well, just any gossip that was goin', especially about Mr. Schwartz.\"\n\n\"And how much did he promise to give you?\"\n\nJim looked rather sheepish. His skin is the color of a brick, but I\nfancy he took on a beet-root tinge.\n\n\"I believe a sovereign was mentioned, miss,\" he admitted.\n\n\"Here is your sovereign, James. Please oblige me by not meeting Prince\nJohn to-night.\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't take it. I really can't; not from you, Miss Millicent.\nWhy, I could never look you in the face again.\"\n\n\"Take it, please. It is not my money. You know very well that I have\nno sovereigns to give away. And, when you meet the prince, I want you\nto tell him plainly that you must not hold any further conversation\nwith him. If my father knew of yesterday's talk he would be exceedingly\nangry.\"\n\n\"I thought that already, miss. Blest if I can imagine how _you_ found\nout so much.\"\n\nI laughed. I was the only member of the Gang, except Minkie, who saw\nhow important was Evangeline's yarn to Cookie. Dan was very sore about\nwhat he called Jim's treachery, but Bob told him not to be a fool.\n\"When the beer is in the wit is out,\" he said, and Bob ought to know,\nas he soaked up gallons of it while the Guv'nor and Mam and Dorothy\nwere in Ostend last summer.\n\nAll that day there was electricity in the atmosphere. Tibbie said she\nfelt it in her fur. Everybody in the village could speak of nothing\nelse but the extraordinary collection of <DW64>s who had invaded what\nthe guidebook calls \"a peaceful retreat.\" At last, even the local\npoliceman became aware that something unusual was taking place, and he\nstrolled majestically up our drive to make inquiries.\n\nThe Guv'nor met him, and said Mr. Schwartz's presence accounted for the\nsudden access of color to the landscape.\n\n\"My friend has large interests in West Africa,\" he explained, \"and\nthe mere fact that he is staying at Dale End has drawn to this\nneighborhood many natives who are at present residing in England.\"\n\n\"From information received,\" quoth Robert, \"I have reason to believe,\nsir, that a larceny on your premises is intended by some of these\nblacks.\"\n\n\"Nonsense! That story has arisen owing to one of them's thrusting\nhimself in here on Christmas Eve.\"\n\nSchwartz asked the Old Man to head off any police interference in that\nway. So the law marched back to the village and took off its belt. Yet\nevery man, woman, and child in Dale End resembled so many full soda\nsyphons: the moment you touched them they spurted bubbles, and all\nthe gas that escaped was chat concerning our sable visitors. It soon\nbecame known that there were three <DW64>s staying at the Manor, and\nfour at the Marquis o' Granby. They had plenty of money, which they\nspent freely; but there could not be the slightest doubt that they were\nhostile to us at Holly Lodge, and the maids at the Marquis o' Granby\nspread the story that the blacks had some awful-looking choppers among\ntheir luggage. From the description I recognized these as machetes.\n\nWhen Schwartz accompanied Dorothy to her old nurse's cottage during the\nafternoon, some idiot told two <DW64>s who were standing at the door\nof the inn that the millionaire was just walking across the green with\nMiss Grosvenor. The black men muttered something, rolled their eyes in\na manner that would have given Evangeline hysterics, and dogged the\ncouple all the way back to our place.\n\nThat started a rumor of attempted murder which set the village in an\nuproar, and there was some danger of an attack on the strangers until\nP. C. Banks gave his personal assurance that Mr. Grosvenor himself had\nsaid the <DW64>s were perfectly harmless. Altogether, Boxing Day was\nlively. I began to think of old times in South America, when we had a\nrevolution every twenty-four hours, and I used to ask the baker each\nmorning, \"Who is President to-day?\"\n\nBut the night passed without any special incident. I had a few words\nwith the mongoose after dinner because I chanced to call him \"Mickey\"\ninstead of \"Rikki,\" and Dan and Tib had a spar about some cutlet bones;\nsuch breezes, however, are not uncommon in the best families, and, in\ndistinct contrast with us, harmony reigned in the drawing-room, where\nSchwartz made himself agreeable to all parties, even to Minkie.\n\nPicture to yourself, then, the terrific excitement which sprang up next\nday at luncheon-time when Minkie was missing! I first heard of it from\nDan, who rushed in and yelped:\n\n\"Have you seen Minkie anywhere?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said I, breathlessly.\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Here.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"At breakfast.\"\n\n\"Goose!\" he hissed, and ran out again.\n\nOf course, I was only taking a rise out of him. I had no notion that\nhis search was serious until I heard Mam weeping when the Guv'nor came\nback after driving all round the village, and calling at every house he\ncould think of.\n\n\"Oh, Tom,\" she sobbed, crying as if her heart would break, \"if any\nharm has befallen our darling I shall not survive it.\"\n\n\"Why do you take such a gloomy view of a trivial absence from home?\" he\nasked, though his voice did not bear out the carelessness of his words.\n\"You know well enough what an extraordinary child Millicent is. We can\nnever tell what queer thing she may be doing.\"\n\nMam was not to be comforted in that way.\n\n\"Millicent has always asked permission if she wished to be away at meal\ntime, and Dandy is not with her. I would not be so frightened if the\ndog had gone, too. Tom, what shall we do if she is not home before it\nis dark? I shall go mad.\"\n\nDorothy was weeping also, and I heard Evangeline snivel something\nabout them there black villains as was up to no good, she was sure.\nThat was the worst thing she could have said. Mam simply refused to\nremain in the house when the light failed. She was going to ask Captain\nStanhope's help, she declared. He knew a good deal about these <DW64>s,\nand she was certain he would move heaven and earth to discover Minkie's\nwhereabouts, because he loved the child as if she were his own sister.\n\nThe Guv'nor saw that Mam was not fit to venture out, so he persuaded\nher to let him go to the Manor and see Jack. Schwartz, who was really\nbeside himself with anxiety, tried hard to console Mam and Dorothy\nduring the Guv'nor's absence, though he personally was in a fine pickle\nwhich they knew nothing of.\n\nHe was afraid Minkie had been attacked, either on account of the ju-ju\nor the money he had given her, but he simply dared not say anything\nabout his suspicions. At last, after an hour that had a thousand\nminutes, the Guv'nor returned. Mam saw by her first glance at his face\nthat he brought bad news. She gave a deep sigh, and fainted clean away.\n\nI heard Bob telling Dan something outside, but I was forced to\nlisten to what the Guv'nor was saying to Schwartz, while Dorothy and\nEvangeline and Cookie were trying to revive Mam.\n\n\"It's a bad business, I fear,\" he whispered, holding on to the back\nof a chair like a man who thinks he may fall. \"I met Stanhope and\nhis uncle at the Manor, and even the older Stanhope was aghast when\nI told him my errand. It was the first they had heard of Minkie's\ndisappearance, and Jack is now procuring the arrest of every <DW64> in\nDale End.\"\n\n\"I would like to burn them alive,\" broke in Schwartz, and he meant it,\ntoo, for he was on the rack.\n\n\"But that is not all,\" went on the Old Man hoarsely. \"My poor little\ngirl was seen talking to one of these devils last evening, at dusk, at\nthe further end of the green. And to-day, the moment the Bank was open,\nshe changed a fifty-pound note. There can be no doubt about it. The\nmanager himself told me. Of course, he thought the money was mine. God\nin heaven! what does it all mean, and what has become of her?\"\n\nSchwartz sat down, and bent his head. He gave it up. He didn't know\nwhat to do. Neither did I. I was acquainted with Minkie's plan, but, so\nfar as I could see, it had nothing in it which was likely to keep her\naway from home.\n\nNo wonder people in Dale End called that a Black Christmas. It was\nnearly being a fiery one also, because others in the village shared\nSchwartz's idea, and it was actually proposed that the police-station\nshould be burnt down and the <DW64>s roasted inside it. Isn't there a\nproverb about scratching a Russian and finding a Tartar? Well, to my\nthinking, you will not find such a world of difference between Surrey\nand Alabama when a black man is suspected of doing away with a white\ngirl.\n\nAnd our Minkie, too! Oh, look here, I'm off into the Latin tongues.\nI can't express my feelings in pure Anglo-Saxon. Give me a torch and\na bucket of tar; I'll find the feathers! _Saperlotte!_ What was it\nGiovanni used to say?\n\n\n\n\nTHE UNDOING OF SCHWARTZ\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE UNDOING OF SCHWARTZ\n\n_Told by Minkie_\n\n\nI suppose it was very wrong of me to leave home without warning. Mam\nsays that if I had told her what I meant to do she would have been\nspared all anxiety. Of course, Mam means that _now_; my own private\nimpression is that all sorts of objections might have occurred to her\n_then_; and any interference with my plan might have upset things\naltogether. However, if I tell the story in my own way, you will see I\nhad several good reasons for acting as I did. One of my copy-books had\na head-line: \"It is a dangerous yet true axiom that the end justifies\nthe means,\" and I never understood that sentence until I read in a\npaper how a clever little boy had extinguished a fire in a bedroom by\npulling a plug out of the cistern in an attic overhead. Had there been\nno fire, that clever little boy would have got spanked. See?\n\nAnd there was no time to be lost. Seven powerful <DW64>s had not come\nto Dale End for amusement. They meant mischief. Without going so far as\nkilling us all in our beds, they could easily have attacked the house\nand held us up, as they say in America, until the ju-ju was found. They\nwere not afraid of the law; six of them were ready to go to prison\nprovided the seventh got clear away with their funny little god. And\nwhat would Mam have thought then? And Evangeline? And what would Polly\nhave said?\n\nJim, too, was in league with our own maids to search everywhere for the\nju-ju. Isn't it odd that you can't trust your fellow-mortals? Dan, or\nBob, or Tib would die sooner than play the sneak; even that sarcastic\nold parrot would never betray the Gang, and little Rikki, though he is\na newcomer, is with us tooth and nail. Anyhow, what between Schwartz\nand the servants inside, and Prince John and his tribesman outside, I\nmade up my mind to act a bit sooner than I intended. Perhaps the ju-ju\negged me on also. You never can tell. The mysteries of fetish-worship\nare beyond me.\n\nOf course, _I_ kept Jim's appointment with the African Prince. It was\nnearly dark when I crossed the green, and there were four <DW64>s\nstanding in the road near the Manor gate. They were all much of a size,\nand I thought I should not be able to recognize the man who came to\nour house. But I spotted him at once. There must be something in being\nborn a ruler, even a savage one. Prince John was quite different to\nthe others in his manners and appearance. I was sorry he wore English\nclothes. It would have been fine if he were stalking about in feathers\nand a leopard skin, though I expect, poor fellow, he would have caught\nhis death of cold.\n\nThe four paid no heed to me until I stopped and said \"Hello!\"\n\nThat made them look at me, and Prince John said: \"Have you a message\nfor me?\"\n\nHe thought I was some girl from the village, but I quickly put him\nright on that point.\n\n\"Yes,\" I answered. \"Come here. I wish to speak to you alone.\"\n\nThen he knew me, as he had heard me talking to Dad on our way from the\nstation in the victoria. He advanced a few steps.\n\n\"Oh,\" he said, \"one of Mr. Grosvenor's daughters? I remember. My ankle\nis still stiff where you held it. You must have strong hands, for a\nchild. Now, what can I do for you? Have you brought me what I seek?\"\n\nHe spoke as if he were a king, not a bit like the affected drawl of our\nlocal M.P. when he opens a bazaar, but it was necessary that I should\nmake him jump, so I replied, rather off-handedly:\n\n\"It all depends on the price you are willing to pay.\"\n\nThat fetched him like a shot. He came quite close and looked down at me\neagerly. I could see the whites of his eyes, and they reminded me of a\npollywog, but I kept a straight face.\n\n\"Do you mean to say you have found a bit of carved ivory, with a\nmonkey's head and a little beaded skirt? If so, girl, give it to me,\nand I will reward you with a handful of gold,\" he cried.\n\n\"I have not got your ju-ju in my possession at this moment,\" I said,\nspeaking slowly, and watching him as intently as Dan watches the mouth\nof a burrow when he hears the rabbits squeaking at the sight of a\nferret. \"But I am fairly certain I can lay my hand on it, on terms.\"\n\n\"Terms! Anything you ask! What is your price? Take me with you now--\"\n\n\"Not so fast, Prince John,\" said I, drawing away a foot or so--because\na <DW64> does look rather horrid when you are too near him, although he\nmay only be showing animation, which, in his case, means teeth--\"there\nis nothing to be gained by hurry. You can't have your ju-ju to-night,\nbut you may have it to-morrow night, provided you are willing to pay my\nfather exactly half the sum you offered Mr. Schwartz.\"\n\nMy heart beat a trifle faster when the words were out. Jack did not\nmention the amount. It might have been a few hundred pounds, or several\nthousands. I imagined it was a tolerably large figure, or Schwartz\nwould not have been so ready to hand me fifty pounds for the mere\nexpenses.\n\nPrince John did not hesitate a second.\n\n\"I agree,\" he cried, \"yet surely Mr. Grosvenor has not sent _you_ to\narrange such an important matter with _me_!\"\n\nHe might have been his own ju-ju addressing a black-beetle, or Lord\nKitchener talking to a tin soldier, but I didn't budge another inch.\nWhat I wanted to know was the price. So I made him jump again.\n\n\"Mr. Grosvenor knows nothing whatever about it,\" I said. \"This affair\nis absolutely between you and me, and must remain so until you bring\nthe money to our house to-morrow evening.\"\n\n\"Do I understand that the ju-ju is in your hands, that no one else is\naware of the fact, and that you alone are in treaty with me for its\nrestoration?\"\n\nI caught the change in his voice. If I hadn't a well-trained ear I\ncould never distinguish the various shades of meaning in the speech\nof other members of the Gang, because they really don't use words,\nyou know, but just sounds which tell me what they want to say. After\nall, that is talking, in a sense. And his prince-ship forgot he was\nin Surrey. Perhaps, like me, when I read an exciting book, he fancied\nhimself far away, in a land where a big yellow river gurgles through a\nswamp all dark with trees, and a hundred thousand black men were ready\nto do anything he commanded. Anyhow, _I_ wasn't black.\n\n\"You have stated the facts,\" I answered coolly.\n\n\"But isn't it somewhat daring? Are you not afraid? You are a small\nEnglish girl, and we are big, strong Africans. You are taking a great\nrisk, eh?\"\n\nAgain he came nearer, but I stood my ground, though he could not tell\nthat my nails were digging into the palms of my hands.\n\n\"I am English, of course, though not so small,\" I said, \"and I am so\nperfectly well aware you are an African that I have arranged for your\nju-ju to be burnt to ashes unless I am home at six o'clock.\"\n\n_Parbleu!_ as mademoiselle used to forbid me to say, though it only\nmeans \"By blue!\" he altered his tune mighty sharp, or it would be more\ncorrect to put it that he came back with a flop from the Upper Niger to\nDale End.\n\n\"It is very extraordinary,\" he muttered, \"but I cannot bring myself to\ndisbelieve you. Captain Stanhope said that if you were friendly to us,\nsomething might be done. I accept your proposal. Hand over my property\nand I, in return, will hand your father five thousand pounds.\"\n\nThere! It was out. You know what it is like when you wade into the sea\nand take your first header through a curling breaker. That is how I\nfelt. Something buzzed in my ears, but I was determined to keep control\nover my voice.\n\n\"In notes?\" I managed to say.\n\n\"Certainly. One does not carry such sums in gold. I have the money\nhere; I was prepared, as you are aware, to pay Mr. Schwartz twice as\nmuch. But what guarantee have I that you will not sell the ju-ju to him\nfor a higher amount?\"\n\n\"You have my word, and the knowledge that I came to you of my own free\nwill.\"\n\n\"Your groom told you I would be here?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, I trust you. What time shall I come to your house?\"\n\n\"At nine o'clock.\"\n\n\"I warn you I am in no mood to be tricked in this matter. You see those\nmen there?\" and he glanced over his shoulder towards the other <DW64>s.\n\"They will face death cheerfully to gain our common object.\"\n\n\"You may rely on what I have said.\"\n\n\"Thank you. Yet it is amazing, quite amazing.\"\n\nI thought so, too. But I wanted some information, and I had to hurry,\nas it was growing late.\n\n\"Your people are Kwantus, aren't they? Have you ever heard of the\nKwantu mine?\"\n\n\"Of course I have. It is in my kingdom. Schwartz owns it, the thief.\"\n\nWell, I never! I did gasp a bit at that.\n\n\"Are you sure?\" I was forced to say.\n\n\"Who should know better than I? It is the best mine in West Africa.\nThe price of the shares shows that its value is appreciated by others,\nthough I cannot understand how so much is known in England about it, as\nit has hardly been opened up. Schwartz obtained the concession solely\nbecause we hoped he would give us back our ju-ju.\"\n\nYet I had in my pocket a letter from some Stock Exchange people to\nSchwartz himself, telling him they could not ascertain the name of the\nreal owner! That was the letter Rikki secured at Polly's bidding, and\nhid in his cage.\n\nSomehow, it seemed to prove that Schwartz was really the bad man\nPrince John made him out to be. I did not quite grasp the meaning of\nit all, though I was sure that dear old Dad was being swindled, but\nwith fifty-three pounds nineteen and sixpence in my pocket, and five\nthousand pounds as good as paid to father, and the ju-ju safe in the\nscullery copper, where Evangeline would light a fire after supper,\nit would be queer if I failed to bring Schwartz to reason. Besides,\nI meant to secure the assistance of an older head than mine, as this\ncompany business rather bothered me, and I was too young to be well up\nin \"squeezes.\"\n\nMy new friend lifted his hat with a grand air when I said \"Good night.\"\nI walked away quietly, and I heard such a hubbub of strange talk when\nPrince John rejoined his companions.\n\nI met two other <DW64>s on the road across the green. I fancied they\nwere watching the turning to the railway station to make sure that\nSchwartz did not leave Holly Lodge without their knowledge. At any\nrate, I determined to take no risks next morning, as it was more than\nprobable Prince John would tell his confederates of the new power\nbehind the ju-ju.\n\nThat night, in my locked bedroom, I examined the little idol very\ncarefully. It was roughly carved; the ivory was yellow with age, and\ncovered with tiny cracks, which looked like a net of fine hair. The\nskirt was made of a sort of hemp, plaited together, with a small\n bead between each knot. It was just a strip of beaded cloth,\nwhich lapped over at the joint, and was held in position by a piece of\nstring. The beads differed from any I had ever seen, but I was almost\ncertain the monkey's eyes were emeralds, but not good ones, as Mam has\na nice emerald and diamond ring, so I know.\n\nI don't mind telling you now that I was half afraid of the thing. It\nseemed to be quite absurd that so many grown men should be willing to\nkill each other for its ownership. One might imagine a baby crying for\nit, because babies always prefer the most disreputable wooden horse\nor dirtiest rag doll, but it made one's hair tingle to think of war,\nand money, and good or bad fortune for goodness knows how many people,\ndepending on the whereabouts of this eight-inch piece of tusk. Worst\nof all, I was beginning to believe in it. It seemed to squint at me in\na chummy way with its wicked little eyes. Before I so much as heard of\nits existence or knew its name it brought me luck, just because it was\nlying in Schwartz's portmanteau in the carriage. You will remember I\ntouched Schwartz for five pounds in five minutes on Christmas Eve. On\nChristmas Day I got fifty out of him, and now Prince John was ready to\ngive me five thousand. I couldn't help wondering if it would keep up\nthe pace, and add another nought each day I held it.\n\nAnd that made me feel rather horrid, so I stuffed it out of sight under\nthe bolster, and said my prayers; then the creeps passed away, and I\nfell asleep.\n\nThere was a sunshiny frost when I awoke, and every tree and shrub in\nthe garden was decked with sparkling gems. Evangeline seemed to be\nannoyed when I unlocked the door.\n\n\"Nice thing,\" she said, \"makin' me bump me nose in that fashion!\"\n\nDan came in with her, and I found that she had clattered along with\nthe hot water without looking where she was going. Of course, the door\ndidn't yield as usual, so her head struck the panel.\n\nDan and I laughed, and Evangeline rubbed her nose with a black finger.\nThen we laughed some more, and Evangeline looked at herself in the\nglass.\n\n\"We'll all be <DW65>s in this house soon,\" she declared in a rage, and\nslammed out.\n\n\"Well, what's the game to-day?\" said Dan, sitting on his tail.\n\n\"Nothing more than yesterday,\" I answered.\n\n\"I told the parrot that, but the blessed bird is swinging on his perch\nand roaring something about another revolution.\"\n\n\"What does he mean?\"\n\n\"He's talking Spanish, I believe. The few words I could make sense of\nshowed that he regarded last night's general contentment as the calm\nbefore the storm.\"\n\n\"Dan,\" said I, \"you are only two years old. Polly is twenty, at the\nleast. If you count up you will find that he is ten times wiser than\nyou.\"\n\nDan looked at me suspiciously. After thinking for a minute or two and\nscratching hard on the back of his head, he got me to let him out.\nWhen I came down to breakfast I discovered him listening to Polly, who\nwas singing extracts from the latest musical comedies. The instant\nI appeared Polly became silent. He clung to the wires sideways, and\nwatched me steadily, first with one eye and then with the other. Even\nTibbie sat blinking at me from the hearth-rug, and when I went round\nto the stable, dear old Bob turned in his stall and stared at me\nsolemnly. Talk about a ju-ju, the Gang can read my very thoughts!\n\nIllustration: My first call was at a jeweller's in Piccadilly.\n\nDan and Tibbie and Rikki began to follow at my heels, and it grieved\nme very much to be compelled to shut them up in the coach-house. But\nI had to do it. I put on my beaver hat and an astrachan jacket, went\nout through the front gate, doubled down the paddock, crossed the fir\nplantation, and made my way by a field path to Breckonhurst, the next\nstation to Dale End. I took a return ticket to London, remained in the\nwaiting-room until a train came in, and then popped quickly into the\nnearest empty carriage. At Waterloo I sat in the train until the other\npassengers had quitted the platform. After that, I took my chance of\nnot being recognized.\n\nMy first call was at a jeweller's in Piccadilly. I showed him the\nju-ju, and asked him what the beads were. He screwed a funny-shaped\nglass into his right eye and examined them.\n\n\"They are different varieties of chalcedony,\" he said. \"There are\nagates, carnelians, cat's eyes, onyx, sards, and three kinds of flints\nin this collection.\"\n\n\"Good gracious!\" said I.\n\n\"What is it?\" he asked, looking curiously at the idol.\n\n\"A jou-jou,\" I answered, blessing mademoiselle inwardly.\n\nThe man didn't speak French, so I told him _jou-jou_ meant \"toy,\" and\nthat satisfied him. We had some more talk, and I am sure I surprised\nhim, but he was very civil, and took no end of trouble to discover an\naddress I wanted. It turned out to be a little street off Tottenham\nCourt Road. I drove there in a hansom, remained ten minutes, and hired\nthe same cab back to the West-end. The cabman wanted to charge me four\nshillings, but I gave him half-a-crown and looked for his number.\n\n\"S'elp me!\" he cried, \"wot's things a-comin' to?\" And, with that, he\nwhipped his poor horse into a canter, which is the nasty, vindictive\nway that sort of man has of expressing his feelings.\n\nThen I had a real slice of luck. I met Mr. Warden, my father's\nsolicitor, just coming out of his office. He was quite taken aback at\nseeing me, especially when he found that Dad or Mam was not with me,\nand my good fortune was that had I been a few seconds later I should\nhave missed him, as he was going to join Mrs. Warden in Brighton,\nhaving simply run up to town for an hour to glance at his letters. I\nwas sorry for Mrs. Warden, but I had to keep him.\n\nAlthough he was a lawyer, and a very smart one, Dad says, he did open\nhis eyes wide when I got fairly started with my story. I told him\neverything, or nearly everything, and the only bits that puzzled him\nwere my references to Dan, or Bob, or Tib. As for what the parrot\nsaid, or Rikki did, he was too polite to smile, but he kept balancing\nhis gold-rimmed spectacles on his nose, and pressing the tips of his\nfingers together, until I thought it best not to mention the Gang any\nmore, because they seemed to bother him.\n\nBut, oh my, didn't he look serious when I showed him the letter from\nSchwartz's brokers, and told him about the \"squeeze\" in Kwantus! He\nasked me if I knew what paper I got my information from, and I said\n\"yes,\" so he tinkled a little bell and sent a clerk to buy a copy in\nFleet-street. I was not sure about the date, but the clerk, who was\nsuch a nice boy, said he could search the file.\n\nBy the time I had finished, the clerk returned with the newspaper. Mr.\nWarden changed his spectacles, and said \"Hum\" and \"Ha\" several times\nwhile he was reading the paragraph. Then he put on the gold ones again,\nand gazed at me.\n\n\"You are a very remarkable girl, Millicent,\" he said.\n\n\"I suppose my story sounds odd,\" I answered, \"but it all happened\nexactly as I have told you, and there is hardly anything that takes\nplace in Dale End which the Gang cannot form a reliable opinion about.\"\n\n\"The Gang?\" he repeated.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, I meant my animal friends, but, of course, you\ndon't quite believe in them.\"\n\n\"I believe that you talk to them, and thus teach yourself to express\nyour views very clearly. At any rate, we can let that pass. May I see\nthis phenomenon of a ju-ju?\"\n\nI smiled, because I was expecting him to say that.\n\n\"If you don't mind,\" I explained, \"I would rather show it to you in the\ntrain this evening.\"\n\n\"This evening? Are we not going to Dale End at once?\"\n\n\"I shall not be ready until nearly six o'clock. I have a lot of things\nto do. Are you quite sure you will meet me at the station?\"\n\nHe was positive, he said, but he was distressed at the notion that I\nshould be hours and hours alone in London, so the nice young clerk was\nordered to take care of me. I led him rather a dance, and the way I\nspent Schwartz's gold seemed to give him a pain. Mr. Warden promised to\ntelegraph to Mam to tell her I was quite safe, and that we should both\nbe home about seven, but he was so astounded by my adventures that he\nwrote Southend in place of Dale End, and the telegram reached us in a\nletter two days later, with Mr. Warden's apologies. Do you know, I am\nconvinced the ju-ju had something to do with that. If Schwartz had\nheard who Mr. Warden was, he might have smelt a rat. And isn't it odd,\nas Bob pointed out, that Southend should come after West-end, and Dale\nEnd, and Ostend and Mile End?\n\nThe clerk and I had lunch and tea together and he insisted on paying,\nthough I had ever so much more money in my pocket than he. By the time\nwe reached Waterloo he looked rather tired, because we took no more\ncabs, and I went to lots of places I wanted to see, so I bought him a\nbox of cigarettes as a present, and he said he hoped I would often come\nto London on business.\n\nMr. Warden was waiting for me, and the moment the guard set eyes on me\nhe came running up.\n\n\"So you're here, are you, Miss Grosvenor?\" he cried. \"A fine thing\nyou've bin and gone and done. All Dale End is inquirin' after you, an'\nyour pore father is nearly wild.\"\n\nMr. Warden gave him a shilling, saying it was all right. But it wasn't.\nWhen we reached our station, and began to walk to the Lodge, as Bob\nwas not there to meet us, every person we met turned and followed us,\nuntil there was quite a mob at our heels when we crossed the green. We\ndidn't know then that Mr. Banks, our policeman, had all the <DW64>s,\nincluding Prince John, locked up in his tiny police-station. Jack and\nseveral men from the Manor were helping him to mount guard over them\nuntil more policemen arrived, as the Dale-enders wanted to lynch the\nblack men, which would have been a sad job for everybody.\n\nOur escort blocked the road in front of our gate, but they did not\nventure to come inside the grounds. Dan was the first to hear the\nnoise, and he barked. Then he caught my step on the gravel, and Mam\nwill never again say that a dog can't speak, for he told her quite\nplainly that I was coming.\n\nWell, you can guess all the crying and kissing that went on, and how\nDad tried to be angry while he took me in his arms, but Mr. Warden\nspoke about the telegram, and declared he would write to the _Times_\nand the Postmaster General. Tib climbed up on my shoulder, and Rikki\ngave my hand such a queer little lick, while Poll did several lightning\ntwists on the cross-bar, and whistled \"Won't you come home, Bill\nBailey.\" I heard dear Bob neighing in the stable, and I went to kiss\nhis velvety nose the first minute I could spare.\n\nMr. Schwartz was really as delighted as anybody that I had turned up,\nso he failed to notice how cool Mr. Warden was when Dad introduced\nthem. I had hardly got my hat and jacket off, and was hugging Mam for\nthe tenth time, when Dad called me into the morning-room, where he and\nSchwartz and Mr. Warden were standing.\n\nSolicitors can be very sharp if they like, and our lawyer surprised me\nwith the way he tackled Schwartz.\n\n\"My young friend here,\" he said, meaning me, \"tells me she has promised\nto restore to you a certain article known as a ju-ju, which you lost on\nChristmas Eve.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Schwartz, quite calmly. You see, he was a smart man of\nbusiness, and I suppose he was not afraid of lawyers, or he would not\nhave been able to keep all the money he was worth.\n\n\"Well,\" went on Mr. Warden, \"she is prepared to hand it to you in\nreturn for your quittance of her father's obligation to find you one\nthousand shares in the Kwantu Mines, Limited.\"\n\nThat staggered Schwartz somewhat, but he said, in a husky voice: \"I\nfail to understand you.\"\n\n\"That is a pity. I wish to avoid a scandal. If you compel candor I\nshall be obliged to tell you who is the real owner of that property,\nand the law of England punishes fraudulent conspiracy very heavily. The\nlinks in the chain are quite complete; they even include our possession\nof a letter to you from a certain firm of brokers stating that they had\nfailed to discover the genuine proprietors of the company.\"\n\n\"Eh?\" cried Dad, looking at Schwartz, \"what is this? Are you sure of\nyour facts, Warden?\"\n\nI once read in a paper that some man who was fighting another man \"went\ndown and out.\" I didn't know what it meant, but it seemed to fit\nSchwartz's case. He went limp all at once.\n\n\"Quite sure, Grosvenor,\" said the solicitor. \"You can thank your\ndaughter for putting me on the track of a very discreditable and\nunsavory business. I have prepared the necessary documents, Mr.\nSchwartz. Will you execute them without further explanation?\"\n\n\"Where is the ju-ju?\" demanded Schwartz, pulling himself together, and\nglaring at me with eyes like flint marbles.\n\n\"Here,\" said I, hauling it out of my pocket.\n\nHe took it, held it in his left hand, and signed the papers placed\nbefore him by the lawyer. Dad signed, too, and Mr. Warden witnessed the\nsignatures. Not a word was spoken. Schwartz went out of the room, and\nDad rang for Evangeline to tell Jim to get the victoria ready at once.\n\nWhen Schwartz drove through our gate on his way to the station the\nmob cheered him. I expect he felt like being cheered. Bob told me\nafterwards that he said a naughty word to our lame porter when he\nwanted to carry the small bag in which the ju-ju was placed, I\nsuppose, because gentlemen's pockets are not like mine. Still, from\nwhat I heard later, he must have taken it out of the bag when he was\nsafe in the train.\n\nIt was then nearly eight o'clock, and Dad sent Mole with a note to\nJack to say that the <DW64>s ought to be liberated at once. Jack, who\nhas plenty of brains, brought his uncle with him to congratulate Dad\nand Mam about me, and they stayed to dinner. Jack and Dorothy sat\ntogether, so matters looked all right in that quarter. They did not say\na great deal. Just as in Schwartz's case, silence was eloquent. Dad\nbrought me once to see a play at Drury Lane, and I imagined all sorts\nof terrifying things when the villain crept nearer the defenceless\nheroine. If either of them spoke it was not half so thrilling. I had\njust the same feeling when Mr. Warden kept waiting for Schwartz to\nadmit he was beaten.\n\nPrince John rang our bell exactly at nine o'clock.\n\n\"Wah!\" shrieked Evangeline when she opened the door. Then she fled. I\nhad to rush and grab Dan, but I smiled sweetly at my dark visitor, and\nasked him to come into the morning-room. I knew that Mr. Warden and\nUncle Stanhope were telling each other that every motorist should be\nsent to penal servitude on a second conviction, so I had no trouble in\nbeckoning Dad to join me for a minute.\n\nHe was rather surprised at meeting the <DW64>, but he apologized quite\nnicely for the Christmas Eve incident, and also for any inconvenience\nwhich the other might have undergone owing to the action of the police.\nI was wondering if Dad meant to put his hand in his pocket and produce\nsome money, but he told me afterwards that he felt exactly the same as\nI did with regard to Prince John. The man looked every inch a king, and\nI have reckoned up that he was at least seventy-four inches high.\n\nBut, before I could stop him, Dad nearly gave me away badly.\n\n\"I ought to tell you,\" he went on, \"that, from circumstances which have\ncome to my knowledge, I now sympathize deeply with you in your search\nfor the--er--curious West African--er--god which you wish to recover,\nand I must say that if my--er--daughter Millicent had consulted me--\"\n\nSo Dad was just beginning to tell the Kwantu chief in his best J.P.\nmanner that Schwartz was again the proud possessor of the ju-ju, when I\nbroke in:\n\n\"One moment, father dear,\" I cried, \"you will understand things ever so\nmuch better when you hear what Prince John and I have to say to each\nother. Have you kept your part of the bargain?\" I asked the black man\nquickly.\n\nHe took from his coat pocket a small bundle tied with pink tape.\n\n\"Here are fifty Bank of England notes for £100 each,\" he said.\n\n\"Then here is your ju-ju,\" I answered, diving into my skirt pocket, and\nhanding him the original piece of ivory, beaded kilt and all complete,\nand you may now know what a trouble it was to get a fair copy of it\nmade for Schwartz during the few hours I had at my disposal in London.\n\nDad looked awfully severe, after his first gasp of amazement had passed.\n\n\"Millicent,\" he said, \"what have you done?\"\n\n\"I have served Mr. Schwartz as he tried to serve you, father dear,\"\nI replied. \"As for Prince John, he offered the man who stole the\nju-ju ten thousand pounds if it were given back, so I saw no harm in\narranging that half the amount should be paid to you. In any case, I\nalways meant the poor black people to have it. It was a very great\nshame for Mr. Schwartz to take from them a thing which they thought so\nmuch of.\"\n\nFor a little while he could say nothing. Like me, he was watching the\nblack prince, who really treated that absurd--I mean that extraordinary\nscrap of carved ivory, as if it were the most precious article in the\nworld. It might have been all one blazing diamond by the reverent way\nhe handled it. When he was quite sure that it was his own ju-ju--and\nhe did not take for granted, like Schwartz, that it was the genuine\nthing until he had looked at every mark--he pressed its funny monkey\nface to his lips, his forehead, and his breast. He paid not the least\nheed to us or what we were saying. It was not until he had produced a\nsmall, finely woven mat from the pocket in which he kept the notes, and\nwrapped the ju-ju in it before putting it away, that he gave us any\nattention.\n\nOf course, Dad started a second time to talk as if he were at a\nConservative meeting.\n\n\"It has given me the greatest pleasure to observe that my--er--daughter\nMillicent has restored to you the--er--interesting object which you\nseem to value so highly, but I need hardly say that--er--the payment of\nany such--er--astounding reward as five thousand pounds is utterly out\nof the question.\"\n\n\"My people pay the money gladly,\" said the <DW64> prince, dragging\nhimself up in the grandest way imaginable. \"I tell you, too, that\nyour daughter's name will be honored in my country, and when I and my\nfriends return home we shall not fail to send her other tokens of our\nregard and good will.\"\n\n\"We cannot accept this money,\" said Dad, firmly.\n\n\"It is quite essential that you should,\" said the other with equal\ncoolness. \"If you refuse it now, I shall simply be compelled to send it\nto you through the post. We lost our ju-ju owing to the remissness of\nits guardians. We must atone for that, and the payment must be made in\ntreasure--or blood.\"\n\nYou can have no idea how he uttered those last two words. He spoke\nquietly, and in a low voice, but somehow I could feel in them the\nedge of one of those sharp, heavy choppers--called \"machetes,\" Polly\nsays--which the maids in the Marquis o' Granby saw in the <DW64>s'\nbedrooms.\n\nSo it ended in our shaking hands with Prince John, and in Dad's\nbringing the notes into the drawing-room to show them to Mam and the\nothers before he put them away in the silver safe. Everybody made a\ntremendous fuss over me, and Poll sang \"The man who broke the Bank at\nMonte Carlo,\" but I was only too delighted that we had had such a jolly\nChristmas, and were all good friends again, though it looked rather\nglum at one time. They made me talk nearly all this story before I\nwent to bed, and I heard old Mr. Stanhope growl that if Dorothy was in\nsuch a hurry to get married he didn't see why she shouldn't.\n\nDad did not tell me until long after, but he sent Mr. Schwartz his\nfifty-five pounds next day, when he also bought me the loveliest bay\npony to ride. I christened him \"Prince John\" when I introduced him to\nthe gang.\n\nAnd that reminds me. In the morning paper the day afterwards, I found\na most exciting paragraph. I whistled Dan, took Tibbie and Rikki under\neach arm, and asked Mole to carry Poll's cage to the stable.\n\nBob and Prince John looked round in their stalls to see what was the\nmatter, and Bob said:\n\n\"What is it now? Has a North American Indian arrived in Dale End, or\nwhat?\"\n\n\"You listen,\" I said. \"I came across this in the paper just now: 'An\nextraordinary outrage was committed in the precincts of Waterloo\nStation on Thursday evening--'\"\n\n\"Thursday evening!\" cried Tib. \"Why, that's the evening Schwartz--\"\n\n\"Don't interrupt,\" I said, and went on reading: \"'Mr. Montague\nSchwartz, the well-known West African millionaire, was leaving the\nstation in a four-wheeled cab when two gigantic <DW64>s rushed to the\nnear side of the vehicle as it was descending the steep <DW72> into\nWaterloo Road, and threw it bodily over.'\"\n\n\"Ha! ha!\" roared Dan, but I silenced him with a look.\n\n\"'The cabman was, of course, flung headlong from his seat; Mr. Schwartz\nwas imprisoned inside, and ran grave risk of serious injury owing to\nthe plunging of the frightened horse.'\"\n\n\"Silly creatures, some horses,\" observed Poll, and Bob didn't like it,\nbut I continued:\n\n\"'In the darkness and confusion no one seems to have noticed the\n<DW64>s, who made off with Mr. Schwartz's luggage, even appropriating\na leather dressing-case which was on the front seat inside, and had\nfallen on top of the alarmed occupant. Mr. Schwartz, when extricated\nfrom his dangerous position, behaved with admirable coolness. He felt\nin his pockets, and declared that the rascals who had adopted this\nnovel and exceedingly daring method of highway robbery had only secured\nsome clothing and other articles which could be easily replaced. He\nwas naturally somewhat shaken, however. After liberally compensating\nthe cab-driver, Mr. Schwartz sought the escort of two policemen, when\nhe entered another vehicle to proceed to his house in Brook-street.\nDuring the course of yesterday the police arrested several <DW64>s,\nbut neither the cabman nor Mr. Schwartz could identify any of them,\nand they were set at liberty.' I think that's rather fine; don't you?\nPlease don't all speak at once.\"\n\nBut they did, and lost their tempers because nobody could get a\nhearing; Bob and Prince John stamped and rattled the chains of their\nhead-stalls, Dan chased Tibbie up the loft ladder, and Poll shrieked at\nRikki:\n\n\"You're a miserable, cat-whiskered _soor-ka butcha_, that's what you\nare, and I mean it this time, whatever it is!\"\n\nAnd that is all, I think, for this time.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nMinor changes have been made to regularize hyphenation and correct\nminor printer errors.\n\nIllustrations have been moved below paragraphs to allow smoother\nreading in this e-book. Additionally, the titles of the Illustrations\nfrom the \"List of Illustrations\" have been added to the illustration\nline to make it more apparent what the illustration contained.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Minkie, by Louis Tracy\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Susan Skinner, Emmy and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\nFor the reader: Things that were handwritten are denoted in the text as\nHW:\n\n\n\n\nTHE LETTERS\n\nOF\n\n[Illustration: HW: Charles Dickens]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LETTERS\n\nOF\n\nCHARLES DICKENS.\n\nEDITED BY\n\nHIS SISTER-IN-LAW AND HIS ELDEST DAUGHTER.\n\n=In Two Volumes.=\n\nVOL. II.\n\n1857 TO 1870.\n\n\n\n        London:\n        CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.\n        1880.\n\n[_The Right of Translation is Reserved._]\n\n\n\n\nCHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.\n\n\n\n\nERRATA.\n\nVOL. II.\n\n\n        Page 84, line 35. For \"South Kensington\n             Museum,\" _read_ \"the South Kensington Museum.\"\n\n        \" 108, line 26. For \"frequent contributor,\"\n             _read_ \"a frequent contributor.\"\n\n        \" 113, lines 6, 7. For \"great remonstrance,\"\n             _read_ \"Great Remonstrance.\"\n\n        \" 130, line 10. For \"after,\" _read_ \"afore.\"\n\n        \" 160,  \"   32. For \"a head,\" _read_ \"ahead.\"\n\n        \" 247,  \"   12. For \"Shea,\" _read_ \"Shoe.\"\n\n        \" 292,  \"   12. For \"Mabel's progress,\" _read_\n              \"Mabel's Progress.\"\n\n\n\n\n=Book II.=--_Continued._\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nLETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS.\n\n\n\n\n1857.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nThis was a very full year in many ways. In February, Charles Dickens\nobtained possession of Gad's Hill, and was able to turn workmen into it.\nIn April he stayed, with his wife and sister-in-law, for a week or two\nat Wate's Hotel, Gravesend, to be at hand to superintend the beginning\nof his alterations of the house, and from thence we give a letter to\nLord Carlisle. He removed his family, for a summer residence in the\nhouse, in June; and he finished \"Little Dorrit\" there early in the\nsummer. One of his first visitors at Gad's Hill was the famous writer,\nHans Christian Andersen. In January \"The Frozen Deep\" had been played at\nthe Tavistock House theatre with such great success, that it was\nnecessary to repeat it several times, and the theatre was finally\ndemolished at the end of that month. In June Charles Dickens heard, with\ngreat grief, of the death of his dear friend Douglas Jerrold; and as a\ntestimony of admiration for his genius and affectionate regard for\nhimself, it was decided to organise, under the management of Charles\nDickens, a series of entertainments, \"in memory of the late Douglas\nJerrold,\" the fund produced by them (a considerable sum) to be\npresented to Mr. Jerrold's family. The amateur company, including many\nof Mr. Jerrold's colleagues on \"Punch,\" gave subscription performances\nof \"The Frozen Deep;\" the Gallery of Illustration, in Regent Street,\nbeing engaged for the purpose. Charles Dickens gave two readings at St.\nMartin's Hall of \"The Christmas Carol\" (to such immense audiences and\nwith such success, that the idea of giving public readings for his _own_\nbenefit first occurred to him at this time). The professional actors,\namong them the famous veteran actor, Mr. T. P. Cooke, gave a performance\nof Mr. Jerrold's plays of \"The Rent Day\" and \"Black-eyed Susan,\" in\nwhich Mr. T. P. Cooke sustained the character in which he had originally\nmade such great success when the play was written. A lecture was given\nby Mr. Thackeray, and another by Mr. W. H. Russell. Finally, the Queen\nhaving expressed a desire to see the play, which had been much talked of\nduring that season, there was another performance before her Majesty and\nthe Prince Consort at the Gallery of Illustration in July, and at the\nend of that month Charles Dickens read his \"Carol\" in the Free Trade\nHall, at Manchester. And to wind up the \"Memorial Fund\" entertainments,\n\"The Frozen Deep\" was played again at Manchester, also in the great Free\nTrade Hall, at the end of August. For the business of these\nentertainments he secured the assistance of Mr. Arthur Smith, of whom he\nwrites to Mr. Forster, at this time: \"I have got hold of Arthur Smith,\nas the best man of business I know, and go to work with him to-morrow\nmorning.\" And when he began his own public readings, both in town and\ncountry, he felt himself most fortunate in having the co-operation of\nthis invaluable man of business, and also of his zealous friendship and\npleasant companionship.\n\nIn July, his second son, Walter Landor, went to India as a cadet in the\n\"Company's service,\" from which he was afterwards transferred to the\n42nd Royal Highlanders. His father and his elder brother went to see him\noff, to Southampton. From this place Charles Dickens writes to Mr.\nEdmund Yates, a young man in whom he had been interested from his\nboyhood, both for the sake of his parents and for his own sake, and for\nwhom he had always an affectionate regard.\n\nIn September he made a short tour in the North of England, with Mr.\nWilkie Collins, out of which arose the \"Lazy Tour of Two Idle\nApprentices,\" written by them jointly, and published in \"Household\nWords.\" Some letters to his sister-in-law during this expedition are\ngiven here, parts of which (as is the case with many letters to his\neldest daughter and his sister-in-law) have been published in Mr.\nForster's book.\n\nThe letters which follow are almost all on the various subjects\nmentioned in our notes, and need little explanation.\n\nHis letter to Mr. Procter makes allusion to a legacy lately left to that\nfriend.\n\nThe letters to Mr. Dilke, the original and much-respected editor of \"The\nAthenaeum,\" and to Mr. Forster, on the subject of the \"Literary Fund,\"\nrefer, as the letters indicate, to a battle which they were carrying on\ntogether with that institution.\n\nA letter to Mr. Frank Stone is an instance of his kind, patient, and\njudicious criticism of a young writer, and the letter which follows it\nshows how thoroughly it was understood and how perfectly appreciated by\nthe authoress of the \"Notes\" referred to. Another instance of the same\nkind criticism is given in a second letter this year to Mr. Edmund\nYates.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]\n\n                                 TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _January 2nd, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR PROCTER,\n\nI have to thank you for a delightful book, which has given me unusual\npleasure. My delight in it has been a little dashed by certain farewell\nverses, but I have made up my mind (and you have no idea of the\nobstinacy of my character) not to believe them.\n\nPerhaps it is not taking a liberty--perhaps it is--to congratulate you\non Kenyon's remembrance. Either way I can't help doing it with all my\nheart, for I know no man in the world (myself excepted) to whom I would\nrather the money went.\n\n                                            Affectionately yours ever.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Sir James Emerson Tennent.]\n\n                                 TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _January 9th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR TENNENT,\n\n\nI must thank you for your earnest and affectionate letter. It has given\nme the greatest pleasure, mixing the play in my mind confusedly and\ndelightfully with Pisa, the Valetta, Naples, Herculanaeum--God knows what\nnot.\n\nAs to the play itself; when it is made as good as my care can make it, I\nderive a strange feeling out of it, like writing a book in company; a\nsatisfaction of a most singular kind, which has no exact parallel in my\nlife; a something that I suppose to belong to the life of a labourer in\nart alone, and which has to me a conviction of its being actual truth\nwithout its pain, that I never could adequately state if I were to try\nnever so hard.\n\nYou touch so kindly and feelingly on the pleasure such little pains\ngive, that I feel quite sorry you have never seen this drama in progress\nduring the last ten weeks here. Every Monday and Friday evening during\nthat time we have been at work upon it. I assure you it has been a\nremarkable lesson to my young people in patience, perseverance,\npunctuality, and order; and, best of all, in that kind of humility which\nis got from the earned knowledge that whatever the right hand finds to\ndo must be done with the heart in it, and in a desperate earnest.\n\nWhen I changed my dress last night (though I did it very quickly), I was\nvexed to find you gone. I wanted to have secured you for our green-room\nsupper, which was very pleasant. If by any accident you should be free\nnext Wednesday night (our last), pray come to that green-room supper. It\nwould give me cordial pleasure to have you there.\n\n                           Ever, my dear Tennent, very heartily yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n                     TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday Night, Jan, 17th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nSo wonderfully do good (epistolary) intentions become confounded with\nbad execution, that I assure you I laboured under a perfect and most\ncomfortable conviction that I had answered your Christmas Eve letter of\n1855. More than that, in spite of your assertions to the contrary, I\nstill strenuously believe that I did so! I have more than half a mind\n(\"Little Dorrit\" and my other occupations notwithstanding) to charge you\nwith having forgotten my reply!! I have even a wild idea that Townshend\nreproached me, when the last old year was new, with writing to you\ninstead of to him!!! We will argue it out, as well as we can argue\nanything without poor dear Haldimand, when I come back to Elysee. In any\ncase, however, don't discontinue your annual letter, because it has\nbecome an expected and a delightful part of the season to me.\n\nWith one of the prettiest houses in London, and every conceivable (and\ninconceivable) luxury in it, Townshend is voluntarily undergoing his own\nsentence of transportation in Nervi, a beastly little place near Genoa,\nwhere you would as soon find a herd of wild elephants in any villa as\ncomfort. He has a notion that he _must_ be out of England in the winter,\nbut I believe him to be altogether wrong (as I have just told him in a\nletter), unless he could just take his society with him.\n\nWorkmen are now battering and smashing down my theatre here, where we\nhave just been acting a new play of great merit, done in what I may call\n(modestly speaking of the getting-up, and not of the acting) an\nunprecedented way. I believe that anything so complete has never been\nseen. We had an act at the North Pole, where the slightest and greatest\nthing the eye beheld were equally taken from the books of the Polar\nvoyagers. Out of thirty people, there were certainly not two who might\nnot have gone straight to the North Pole itself, completely furnished\nfor the winter! It has been the talk of all London for these three\nweeks. And now it is a mere chaos of scaffolding, ladders, beams,\ncanvases, paint-pots, sawdust, artificial snow, gas-pipes, and\nghastliness. I have taken such pains with it for these ten weeks in all\nmy leisure hours, that I feel now shipwrecked--as if I had never been\nwithout a play on my hands before. A third topic comes up as this\nceases.\n\nDown at Gad's Hill, near Rochester, in Kent--Shakespeare's Gad's Hill,\nwhere Falstaff engaged in the robbery--is a quaint little country-house\nof Queen Anne's time. I happened to be walking past, a year and a half\nor so ago, with my sub-editor of \"Household Words,\" when I said to him:\n\"You see that house? It has always a curious interest for me, because\nwhen I was a small boy down in these parts I thought it the most\nbeautiful house (I suppose because of its famous old cedar-trees) ever\nseen. And my poor father used to bring me to look at it, and used to say\nthat if I ever grew up to be a clever man perhaps I might own that\nhouse, or such another house. In remembrance of which, I have always in\npassing looked to see if it was to be sold or let, and it has never been\nto me like any other house, and it has never changed at all.\" We came\nback to town, and my friend went out to dinner. Next morning he came to\nme in great excitement, and said: \"It is written that you were to have\nthat house at Gad's Hill. The lady I had allotted to me to take down to\ndinner yesterday began to speak of that neighbourhood. 'You know it?' I\nsaid; 'I have been there to-day.' 'O yes,' said she, 'I know it very\nwell. I was a child there, in the house they call Gad's Hill Place. My\nfather was the rector, and lived there many years. He has just died, has\nleft it to me, and I want to sell it.' 'So,' says the sub-editor, 'you\nmust buy it. Now or never!'\" I did, and hope to pass next summer there,\nthough I may, perhaps, let it afterwards, furnished, from time to time.\n\nAll about myself I find, and the little sheet nearly full! But I know,\nmy dear Cerjat, the subject will have its interest for you, so I give it\nits swing. Mrs. Watson was to have been at the play, but most\nunfortunately had three children sick of gastric fever, and could not\nleave them. She was here some three weeks before, looking extremely well\nin the face, but rather thin. I have not heard of your friend Mr.\nPercival Skelton, but I much misdoubt an amateur artist's success in\nthis vast place. I hope you detected a remembrance of our happy visit to\nthe Great St. Bernard in a certain number of \"Little Dorrit\"? Tell Mrs.\nCerjat, with my love, that the opinions I have expressed to her on the\nsubject of cows have become matured in my mind by experience and\nvenerable age; and that I denounce the race as humbugs, who have been\ngetting into poetry and all sorts of places without the smallest reason.\nHaldimand's housekeeper is an awful woman to consider. Pray give him our\nkindest regards and remembrances, if you ever find him in a mood to take\nit. \"Our\" means Mrs. Dickens's, Georgie's, and mine. We often, often\ntalk of our old days at Lausanne, and send loving regard to Mrs. Cerjat\nand all your house.\n\n                          Adieu, my dear fellow; ever cordially yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                                TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _January 28th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nYour friend and servant is as calm as Pecksniff, saving for his knitted\nbrows now turning into cordage over Little Dorrit. The theatre has\ndisappeared, the house is restored to its usual conditions of order, the\nfamily are tranquil and domestic, dove-eyed peace is enthroned in this\nstudy, fire-eyed radicalism in its master's breast.\n\nI am glad to hear that our poetess is at work again, and shall be very\nmuch pleased to have some more contributions from her.\n\nLove from all to your dear sister, and to Katie, and to all the house.\n\nWe dined yesterday at Frederick Pollock's. I begged an amazing\nphotograph of you, and brought it away. It strikes me as one of the most\nludicrous things I ever saw in my life. I think of taking a\npublic-house, and having it copied larger, for the size. You may\nremember it? Very square and big--the Saracen's Head with its hair cut,\nand in modern gear? Staring very hard? As your particular friend, I\nwould not part with it on any consideration. I will never get such a\nwooden head again.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]\n\n                                TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _February 7th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR MARY,\n\n\nHalf-a-dozen words on this, my birthday, to thank you for your kind and\nwelcome remembrance, and to assure you that your Joseph is proud of it.\n\nFor about ten minutes after his death, on each occasion of that event\noccurring, Richard Wardour was in a floored condition. And one night, to\nthe great terror of Devonshire, the Arctic Regions, and Newfoundland\n(all of which localities were afraid to speak to him, as his ghost sat\nby the kitchen fire in its rags), he very nearly did what he never did,\nwent and fainted off, dead, again. But he always plucked up, on the turn\nof ten minutes, and became facetious.\n\nLikewise he chipped great pieces out of all his limbs (solely, as I\nimagine, from moral earnestness and concussion of passion, for I never\nknow him to hit himself in any way) and terrified Aldersley[1] to that\ndegree, by lunging at him to carry him into the cave, that the said\nAldersley always shook like a mould of jelly, and muttered, \"By G----,\nthis is an awful thing!\"\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\nP.S.--I shall never cease to regret Mrs. Watson's not having been there.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]\n\n                            TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, Feb. 8th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR WHITE,\n\nI send these lines by Mary and Katey, to report my love to all.\n\nYour note about the _Golden Mary_ gave me great pleasure; though I don't\nbelieve in one part of it; for I honestly believe that your story, as\nreally belonging to the rest of the narrative, had been generally\nseparated from the other stories, and greatly liked. I had not that\nparticular shipwreck that you mention in my mind (indeed I doubt if I\nknow it), and John Steadiman merely came into my head as a staunch sort\nof name that suited the character. The number has done \"Household Words\"\ngreat service, and has decidedly told upon its circulation.\n\nYou should have come to the play. I much doubt if anything so complete\nwill ever be seen again. An incredible amount of pains and ingenuity was\nexpended on it, and the result was most remarkable even to me.\n\nWhen are you going to send something more to H. W.? Are you lazy??\nLow-spirited??? Pining for Paris????\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. C. W. Dilke.]\n\n            OFFICE OF \"HOUSEHOLD WORDS,\" _Thursday, March 19th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR MR. DILKE,\n\nForster has another notion about the Literary Fund. Will you name a day\nnext week--that day being neither Thursday nor Saturday--when we shall\nhold solemn council there at half-past four?\n\nFor myself, I beg to report that I have my war-paint on, that I have\nburied the pipe of peace, and am whooping for committee scalps.\n\n                                                Ever faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Earl of Carlisle.]\n\n                       GRAVESEND, KENT, _Wednesday, April 15th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR LORD CARLISLE,\n\nI am writing by the river-side for a few days, and at the end of last\nweek ---- appeared here with your note of introduction. I was not in the\nway; but as ---- had come express from London with it, Mrs. Dickens\nopened it, and gave her (in the limited sense which was of no use to\nher) an audience. She did not quite seem to know what she wanted of me.\nBut she said she had understood at Stafford House that I had a theatre\nin which she could read; with a good deal of modesty and diffidence she\nat last got so far. Now, my little theatre turns my house out of window,\ncosts fifty pounds to put up, and is only two months taken down;\ntherefore, is quite out of the question. This Mrs. Dickens explained,\nand also my profound inability to do anything for ---- readings which\nthey could not do for themselves. She appeared fully to understand the\nexplanation, and indeed to have anticipated for herself how powerless I\nmust be in such a case.\n\nShe described herself as being consumptive, and as being subject to an\neffusion of blood from the lungs; about the last condition, one would\nthink, poor woman, for the exercise of public elocution as an art.\n\nBetween ourselves, I think the whole idea a mistake, and have thought so\nfrom its first announcement. It has a fatal appearance of trading upon\nUncle Tom, and am I not a man and a brother? which you may be by all\nmeans, and still not have the smallest claim to my attention as a public\nreader. The town is over-read from all the white squares on the\ndraught-board; it has been considerably harried from all the black\nsquares--now with the aid of old banjoes, and now with the aid of Exeter\nHall; and I have a very strong impression that it is by no means to be\nlaid hold of from this point of address. I myself, for example, am the\nmeekest of men, and in abhorrence of slavery yield to no human creature,\nand yet I don't admit the sequence that I want Uncle Tom (or Aunt\nTomasina) to expound \"King Lear\" to me. And I believe my case to be the\ncase of thousands.\n\nI trouble you with this much about it, because I am naturally desirous\nyou should understand that if I could possibly have been of any service,\nor have suggested anything to this poor lady, I would not have lost the\nopportunity. But I cannot help her, and I assure you that I cannot\nhonestly encourage her to hope. I fear her enterprise has no hope in it.\n\nIn your absence I have always followed you through the papers, and felt\na personal interest and pleasure in the public affection in which you\nare held over there.[2] At the same time I must confess that I should\nprefer to have you here, where good public men seem to me to be dismally\nwanted. I have no sympathy with demagogues, but am a grievous Radical,\nand think the political signs of the times to be just about as bad as\nthe spirit of the people will admit of their being. In all other\nrespects I am as healthy, sound, and happy as your kindness can wish. So\nyou will set down my political despondency as my only disease.\n\nOn the tip-top of Gad's Hill, between this and Rochester, on the very\nspot where Falstaff ran away, I have a pretty little old-fashioned\nhouse, which I shall live in the hope of showing to you one day. Also I\nhave a little story respecting the manner in which it became mine, which\nI hope (on the same occasion in the clouds) to tell you. Until then and\nalways, I am, dear Lord Carlisle,\n\n                                    Yours very faithfully and obliged.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]\n\n                                    TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _May 13th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR FORSTER,\n\nI have gone over Dilke's memoranda, and I think it quite right and\nnecessary that those points should be stated. Nor do I see the least\ndifficulty in the way of their introduction into the pamphlet. But I do\nnot deem it possible to get the pamphlet written and published before\nthe dinner. I have so many matters pressing on my attention, that I\ncannot turn to it immediately on my release from my book just finished.\nIt shall be done and distributed early next month.\n\nAs to anything being lost by its not being in the hands of the people\nwho dine (as you seem to think), I have not the least misgiving on that\nscore. They would say, if it were issued, just what they will say\nwithout it.\n\nLord Granville is committed to taking the chair, and will make the best\nspeech he can in it. The pious ---- will cram him with as many\ndistortions of the truth as his stomach may be strong enough to receive.\n----, with Bardolphian eloquence, will cool his nose in the modest\nmerits of the institution. ---- will make a neat and appropriate speech\non both sides, round the corner and over the way. And all this would be\ndone exactly to the same purpose and in just the same strain, if twenty\nthousand copies of the pamphlet had been circulated.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]\n\n                            TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Friday, May 22nd, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR WHITE,\n\nMy emancipation having been effected on Saturday, the ninth of this\nmonth, I take some shame to myself for not having sooner answered your\nnote. But the host of things to be done as soon as I was free, and the\ntremendous number of ingenuities to be wrought out at Gad's Hill, have\nkept me in a whirl of their own ever since.\n\nWe purpose going to Gad's Hill for the summer on the 1st of June; as,\napart from the master's eye being a necessary ornament to the spot, I\nclearly see that the workmen yet lingering in the yard must be squeezed\nout by bodily pressure, or they will never go. How will this suit you\nand yours? If you will come down, we can take you all in, on your way\nnorth; that is to say, we shall have that ample verge and room enough,\nuntil about the eighth; when Hans Christian Andersen (who has been\n\"coming\" for about three years) will come for a fortnight's stay in\nEngland. I shall like you to see the little old-fashioned place. It\nstrikes me as being comfortable.\n\nSo let me know your little game. And with love to Mrs. White, Lotty, and\nClara,\n\n                                Believe me, ever affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]\n\n                OFFICE OF \"HOUSEHOLD WORDS,\" _Monday, June 1st, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR STONE,\n\nI know that what I am going to say will not be agreeable; but I rely on\nthe authoress's good sense; and say it, knowing it to be the truth.\n\nThese \"Notes\" are destroyed by too much smartness. It gives the\nappearance of perpetual effort, stabs to the heart the nature that is in\nthem, and wearies by the manner and not by the matter. It is the\ncommonest fault in the world (as I have constant occasion to observe\nhere), but it is a very great one. Just as you couldn't bear to have an\nepergne or a candlestick on your table, supported by a light figure\nalways on tiptoe and evidently in an impossible attitude for the\nsustainment of its weight, so all readers would be more or less\noppressed and worried by this presentation of everything in one smart\npoint of view, when they know it must have other, and weightier, and\nmore solid properties. Airiness and good spirits are always delightful,\nand are inseparable from notes of a cheerful trip; but they should\nsympathise with many things as well as see them in a lively way. It is\nbut a word or a touch that expresses this humanity, but without that\nlittle embellishment of good nature there is no such thing as humour. In\nthis little MS. everything is too much patronised and condescended to,\nwhereas the slightest touch of feeling for the rustic who is of the\nearth earthy, or of sisterhood with the homely servant who has made her\nface shine in her desire to please, would make a difference that the\nwriter can scarcely imagine without trying it. The only relief in the\ntwenty-one slips is the little bit about the chimes. It _is_ a relief,\nsimply because it is an indication of some kind of sentiment. You don't\nwant any sentiment laboriously made out in such a thing. You don't want\nany maudlin show of it. But you do want a pervading suggestion that it\nis there. It makes all the difference between being playful and being\ncruel. Again I must say, above all things--especially to young people\nwriting: For the love of God don't condescend! Don't assume the attitude\nof saying, \"See how clever I am, and what fun everybody else is!\" Take\nany shape but that.\n\nI observe an excellent quality of observation throughout, and think the\nboy at the shop, and all about him, particularly good. I have no doubt\nwhatever that the rest of the journal will be much better if the writer\nchooses to make it so. If she considers for a moment within herself, she\nwill know that she derived pleasure from everything she saw, because she\nsaw it with innumerable lights and shades upon it, and bound to humanity\nby innumerable fine links; she cannot possibly communicate anything of\nthat pleasure to another by showing it from one little limited point\nonly, and that point, observe, the one from which it is impossible to\ndetach the exponent as the patroness of a whole universe of inferior\nsouls. This is what everybody would mean in objecting to these notes\n(supposing them to be published), that they are too smart and too\nflippant.\n\nAs I understand this matter to be altogether between us three, and as I\nthink your confidence, and hers, imposes a duty of friendship on me, I\ndischarge it to the best of my ability. Perhaps I make more of it than\nyou may have meant or expected; if so, it is because I am interested and\nwish to express it. If there had been anything in my objection not\nperfectly easy of removal, I might, after all, have hesitated to state\nit; but that is not the case. A very little indeed would make all this\ngaiety as sound and wholesome and good-natured in the reader's mind as\nit is in the writer's.\n\n                                                Affectionately always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Anonymous.]\n\n                 GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM, _Thursday, June 4th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR ----\n\nComing home here last night, from a day's business in London, I found\nyour most excellent note awaiting me, in which I have had a pleasure to\nbe derived from none but good and natural things. I can now honestly\nassure you that I believe you will write _well_, and that I have a\nlively hope that I may be the means of showing you yourself in print one\nday. Your powers of graceful and light-hearted observation need nothing\nbut the little touches on which we are both agreed. And I am perfectly\nsure that they will be as pleasant to you as to anyone, for nobody can\nsee so well as you do, without feeling kindly too.\n\nTo confess the truth to you, I was half sorry, yesterday, that I had\nbeen so unreserved; but not half as sorry, yesterday, as I am glad\nto-day. You must not mind my adding that there is a noble candour and\nmodesty in your note, which I shall never be able to separate from you\nhenceforth.\n\n                                          Affectionately yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]\n\n                               GAD'S HILL, _Saturday, June 6th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR HENRY,\n\nHere is a very serious business on the great estate respecting the water\nsupply. Last night, they had pumped the well dry merely in raising the\nfamily supply for the day; and this morning (very little water having\nbeen got into the cisterns) it is dry again! It is pretty clear to me\nthat we must look the thing in the face, and at once bore deeper, dig,\nor do some beastly thing or other, to secure this necessary in\nabundance. Meanwhile I am in a most plaintive and forlorn condition\nwithout your presence and counsel. I raise my voice in the wilderness\nand implore the same!!!\n\nWild legends are in circulation among the servants how that Captain\nGoldsmith on the knoll above--the skipper in that crow's-nest of a\nhouse--has millions of gallons of water always flowing for him. Can he\nhave damaged my well? Can we imitate him, and have our millions of\ngallons? Goldsmith or I must fall, so I conceive.\n\nIf you get this, send me a telegraph message informing me when I may\nexpect comfort. I am held by four of the family while I write this, in\ncase I should do myself a mischief--it certainly won't be taking to\ndrinking water.\n\n                              Ever affectionately (most despairingly).\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday, July 13th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nMany thanks for your Indian information. I shall act upon it in the most\nexact manner. Walter sails next Monday. Charley and I go down with him\nto Southampton next Sunday. We are all delighted with the prospect of\nseeing you at Gad's Hill. These are my Jerrold engagements: On Friday,\nthe 24th, I have to repeat my reading at St. Martin's Hall; on Saturday,\nthe 25th, to repeat \"The Frozen Deep\" at the Gallery of Illustration for\nthe last time. On Thursday, the 30th, or Friday, the 31st, I shall\nprobably read at Manchester. Deane, the general manager of the\nExhibition, is going down to-night, and will arrange all the\npreliminaries for me. If you and I went down to Manchester together, and\nwere there on a Sunday, he would give us the whole Exhibition to\nourselves. It is probable, I think (as he estimates the receipts of a\nnight at about seven hundred pounds), that we may, in about a fortnight\nor so after the reading, play \"The Frozen Deep\" at Manchester. But of\nthis contingent engagement I at present know no more than you do.\n\nNow, will you, upon this exposition of affairs, choose your own time for\ncoming to us, and, when you have made your choice, write to me at Gad's\nHill? I am going down this afternoon for rest (which means violent\ncricket with the boys) after last Saturday night; which was a teaser,\nbut triumphant. The St. Martin's Hall audience was, I must confess, a\nvery extraordinary thing. The two thousand and odd people were like one,\nand their enthusiasm was something awful.\n\nYet I have seen that before, too. Your young remembrance cannot recall\nthe man; but he flourished in my day--a great actor, sir--a noble\nactor--thorough artist! I have seen him do wonders in that way. He\nretired from the stage early in life (having a monomaniacal delusion\nthat he was old), and is said to be still living in your county.\n\nAll join in kindest love to your dear sister and all the rest.\n\n                         Ever, my dearest Macready,\n                                            Most affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]\n\n                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, July 19th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR YATES,\n\nAlthough I date this ashore, I really write it from Southampton (don't\nnotice this fact in your reply, for I shall be in town on Wednesday). I\nhave come here on an errand which will grow familiar to you before you\nknow that Time has flapped his wings over your head. Like me, you will\nfind those babies grow to be young men before you are quite sure they\nare born. Like me, you will have great teeth drawn with a wrench, and\nwill only then know that you ever cut them. I am here to send Walter\naway over what they call, in Green Bush melodramas, \"the Big Drink,\" and\nI don't at all know this day how he comes to be mine, or I his.\n\nI don't write to say this--or to say how seeing Charley, and he going\naboard the ship before me just now, I suddenly came into possession of a\nphotograph of my own back at sixteen and twenty, and also into a\nsuspicion that I had doubled the last age. I merely write to mention\nthat Telbin and his wife are going down to Gad's Hill with us, about\nmid-day next Sunday, and that if you and Mrs. Yates will come too, we\nshall be delighted to have you. We can give you a bed, and you can be in\ntown (if you have such a savage necessity) by twenty minutes before ten\non Monday morning.\n\nI was very much pleased (as I had reason to be) with your account of the\nreading in _The Daily News_. I thank you heartily.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. T. P. Cooke.]\n\n        IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE LATE MR. DOUGLAS JERROLD.\n\n               COMMITTEE'S OFFICE, GALLERY OF ILLUSTRATION,\n                           REGENT STREET, _Thursday, July 30th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR MR. COOKE,\n\nI cannot rest satisfied this morning without writing to congratulate you\non your admirable performance of last night. It was so fresh and\nvigorous, so manly and gallant, that I felt as if it splashed against my\ntheatre-heated face along with the spray of the breezy sea. What I felt\neverybody felt; I should feel it quite an impertinence to take myself\nout of the crowd, therefore, if I could by any means help doing so. But\nI can't; so I hope you will feel that you bring me on yourself, and have\nonly yourself to blame.\n\n                                              Always faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Compton.]\n\n                        GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER,\n                                        _Sunday Night, Aug 2nd, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. COMPTON,\n\nWe are going to play \"The Frozen Deep\" (pursuant to requisition from\ntown magnates, etc.) at Manchester, at the New Free Trade Hall, on the\nnights of Friday and Saturday, the 21st and 22nd August.\n\nThe place is out of the question for my girls. Their action could not be\nseen, and their voices could not be heard. You and I have played, there\nand elsewhere, so sociably and happily, that I am emboldened to ask you\nwhether you would play my sister-in-law Georgina's part (Compton and\nbabies permitting).\n\nWe shall go down in the old pleasant way, and shall have the Art\nTreasures Exhibition to ourselves on the Sunday; when even \"he\" (as\nRogers always called every pretty woman's husband) might come and join\nus.\n\nWhat do you say? What does he say? and what does baby say? When I use\nthe term \"baby,\" I use it in two tenses--present and future.\n\nAnswer me at this address, like the Juliet I saw at Drury Lane--when was\nit?--yesterday. And whatever your answer is, if you will say that you\nand Compton will meet us at the North Kent Station, London Bridge, next\nSunday at a quarter before one, and will come down here for a breath of\nsweet air and stay all night, you will give your old friends great\npleasure. Not least among them,\n\n                                                     Yours faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                        GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER,\n                                             _Monday, Aug. 3rd, 1857._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nI write to you in reference to your last note, as soon as I positively\nknow our final movements in the Jerrold matter.\n\nWe are going to wind up by acting at Manchester (on solemn requisition)\non the evenings of Friday and Saturday, the 21st and 22nd (actresses\nsubstituted for the girls, of course). We shall have to leave here on\nthe morning of the 20th. You thought of coming on the 16th; can't you\nmake it a day or two earlier, so as to be with us a whole week? Decide\nand pronounce. Again, cannot you bring Katey with you? Decide and\npronounce thereupon, also.\n\nI read at Manchester last Friday. As many thousand people were there as\nyou like to name. The collection of pictures in the Exhibition is\nwonderful. And the power with which the modern English school asserts\nitself is a very gratifying and delightful thing to behold. The care for\nthe common people, in the provision made for their comfort and\nrefreshment, is also admirable and worthy of all commendation. But they\nwant more amusement, and particularly (as it strikes me) _something in\nmotion_, though it were only a twisting fountain. The thing is too still\nafter their lives of machinery, and art flies over their heads in\nconsequence.\n\nI hope you have seen my tussle with the \"Edinburgh.\" I saw the chance\nlast Friday week, as I was going down to read the \"Carol\" in St.\nMartin's Hall. Instantly turned to, then and there, and wrote half the\narticle. Flew out of bed early next morning, and finished it by noon.\nWent down to Gallery of Illustration (we acted that night), did the\nday's business, corrected the proofs in Polar costume in dressing-room,\nbroke up two numbers of \"Household Words\" to get it out directly, played\nin \"Frozen Deep\" and \"Uncle John,\" presided at supper of company, made\nno end of speeches, went home and gave in completely for four hours,\nthen got sound asleep, and next day was as fresh as you used to be in\nthe far-off days of your lusty youth.\n\nAll here send kindest love to your dear good sister and all the house.\n\n                                         Ever and ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]\n\n                  TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday Afternoon, Aug. 9th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR STONE,\n\nNow here, without any preface, is a good, confounding, stunning question\nfor you--would you like to play \"Uncle John\" on the two nights at\nManchester?\n\nIt is not a long part. You could have a full rehearsal on the Friday,\nand I could sit in the wing at night and pull you through all the\nbusiness. Perhaps you might not object to being in the thing in your own\nnative place, and the relief to me would be enormous.\n\nThis is what has come into my head lying in bed to-day (I have been in\nbed all day), and this is just my plain reason for writing to you.\n\nIt's a capital part, and you are a capital old man. You know the play as\nwe play it, and the Manchester people don't. Say the word, and I'll send\nyou my own book by return of post.\n\nThe agitation and exertion of Richard Wardour are so great to me, that I\ncannot rally my spirits in the short space of time I get. The strain is\nso great to make a show of doing it, that I want to be helped out of\n\"Uncle John\" if I can. Think of yourself far more than me; but if you\nhalf think you are up to the joke, and half doubt your being so, then\ngive me the benefit of the doubt and play the part.\n\nAnswer me at Gad's Hill.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\nP.S.--If you play, I shall immediately announce it to all concerned. If\nyou don't, I shall go on as if nothing had happened, and shall say\nnothing to anyone.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]\n\n                        GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Saturday, Aug. 15th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR HENRY,\n\nAt last, I am happy to inform you, we have got at a famous spring!! It\nrushed in this morning, ten foot deep. And our friends talk of its\nsupplying \"a ton a minute for yourself and your family, sir, for\nnevermore.\"\n\nThey ask leave to bore ten feet lower, to prevent the possibility of\nwhat they call \"a choking with sullage.\" Likewise, they are going to\ninsert \"a rose-headed pipe;\" at the mention of which implement, I am\n(secretly) well-nigh distracted, having no idea of what it means. But I\nhave said \"Yes,\" besides instantly standing a bottle of gin. Can you\ncome back, and can you get down on Monday morning, to advise and\nendeavour to decide on the mechanical force we shall use for raising the\nwater? I would return with you, as I shall have to be in town until\nThursday, and then to go to Manchester until the following Tuesday.\n\nI send this by hand to John, to bring to you.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]\n\n                          GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Monday, Aug. 17th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR STONE,\n\nI received your kind note this morning, and write this reply here to\ntake to London with me and post in town, being bound for that village\nand three days' drill of the professional ladies who are to succeed the\nTavistock girls.\n\nMy book I enclose. There is a slight alteration (which does not affect\nyou) at the end of the first act, in order that the piece may be played\nthrough without having the drop curtain down. You will not find the\nsituations or business difficult, with me on the spot to put you right.\n\nNow, as to the dress. You will want a pair of pumps, and a pair of white\nsilk socks; these you can get at Manchester. The extravagantly and\nanciently-frilled shirts that I have had got up for the part, I will\nbring you down; large white waistcoat, I will bring you down; large\nwhite hat, I will bring you down; dressing-gown, I will bring you down;\nwhite gloves and ditto choker you can get at Manchester. There then\nremain only a pair of common nankeen tights, to button below the calf,\nand blue wedding-coat. The nankeen tights you had best get made at once;\nmy \"Uncle John\" coat I will send you down in a parcel by to-morrow's\ntrain, to have altered in Manchester to your shape and figure. You will\nthen be quite independent of Christian chance and Jewish Nathan, which\nlatter potentate is now at Canterbury with the cricket amateurs, and\nmight fail.\n\nA Thursday's rehearsal is (unfortunately) now impracticable, the passes\nfor the railway being all made out, and the company's sailing orders\nissued. But, as I have already suggested, with a careful rehearsal on\nFriday morning, and with me at the wing at night to put you right, you\nwill find yourself sliding through it easily. There is nothing in the\nleast complicated in the business. As to the dance, you have only to\nknock yourself up for a twelvemonth and it will go nobly.\n\nAfter all, too, if you _should_, through any unlucky breakdown, come to\nbe afraid of it, I am no worse off than I was before, if I have to do it\nat last. Keep your pecker up with that.\n\nI am heartily obliged to you, my dear old boy, for your affectionate and\nconsiderate note, and I wouldn't have you do it, really and\nsincerely--immense as the relief will be to me--unless you are quite\ncomfortable in it, and able to enjoy it.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]\n\n              OFFICE OF \"HOUSEHOLD WORDS,\" _Tuesday, Aug. 18th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR STONE,\n\nI sent you a telegraph message last night, in total contradiction of the\nletter you received from me this morning.\n\nThe reason was simply this: Arthur Smith and the other business men,\nboth in Manchester and here, urged upon me, in the strongest manner,\nthat they were afraid of the change; that it was well known in\nManchester that I had done the part in London; that there was a danger\nof its being considered disrespectful in me to give it up; also that\nthere was a danger that it might be thought that I did so at the last\nminute, after an immense let, whereas I might have done it at first,\netc. etc. etc. Having no desire but for the success of our object, and a\nbecoming recognition on my part of the kind Manchester public's\ncordiality, I gave way, and thought it best to go on.\n\nI do so against the grain, and against every inclination, and against\nthe strongest feeling of gratitude to you. My people at home will be\nmiserable too when they hear I am going to do it. If I could have heard\nfrom you sooner, and got the bill out sooner, I should have been firmer\nin considering my own necessity of relief. As it is, I sneak under; and\nI hope you will feel the reasons, and approve.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]\n\n                       GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Wednesday, Sept. 2nd, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR HENRY,\n\nThe second conspirator has been here this morning to ask whether you\nwish the windlass to be left in the yard, and whether you will want him\nand his mate any more, and, if so, when? Of course he says (rolling\nsomething in the form of a fillet in at one broken tooth all the while,\nand rolling it out at another) that they could wish fur to have the\nwindlass if it warn't any ways a hill conwenience fur to fetch her away.\nI have told him that if he will come back on Friday he shall have your\nreply. Will you, therefore, send it me by return of post? He says he'll\n\"look up\" (as if he was an astronomer) \"a Friday arterdinner.\"\n\nOn Monday I am going away with Collins for ten days or a fortnight, on a\n\"tour in search of an article\" for \"Household Words.\" We have not the\nleast idea where we are going; but _he_ says, \"Let's look at the Norfolk\ncoast,\" and _I_ say, \"Let's look at the back of the Atlantic.\" I don't\nquite know what I mean by that; but have a general impression that I\nmean something knowing.\n\nI am horribly used up after the Jerrold business. Low spirits, low\npulse, low voice, intense reaction. If I were not like Mr. Micawber,\n\"falling back for a spring\" on Monday, I think I should slink into a\ncorner and cry.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n              ALLONBY, CUMBERLAND, _Wednesday Night, Sept. 9th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR GEORGY,\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThink of Collins's usual luck with me! We went up a Cumberland mountain\nyesterday--a huge black hill, fifteen hundred feet high. We took for a\nguide a capital innkeeper hard by. It rained in torrents--as it only\ndoes rain in a hill country--the whole time. At the top, there were\nblack mists and the darkness of night. It then came out that the\ninnkeeper had not been up for twenty years, and he lost his head and\nhimself altogether; and we couldn't get down again! What wonders the\nInimitable performed with his compass until it broke with the heat and\nwet of his pocket no matter; it did break, and then we wandered about,\nuntil it was clear to the Inimitable that the night must be passed\nthere, and the enterprising travellers probably die of cold. We took our\nown way about coming down, struck, and declared that the guide might\nwander where he would, but we would follow a watercourse we lighted\nupon, and which must come at last to the river. This necessitated\namazing gymnastics; in the course of which performances, Collins fell\ninto the said watercourse with his ankle sprained, and the great\nligament of the foot and leg swollen I don't know how big.\n\nHow I enacted Wardour over again in carrying him down, and what a\nbusiness it was to get him down; I may say in Gibbs's words: \"Vi lascio\na giudicare!\" But he was got down somehow, and we got off the mountain\nsomehow; and now I carry him to bed, and into and out of carriages,\nexactly like Wardour in private life. I don't believe he will stand for\na month to come. He has had a doctor, and can wear neither shoe nor\nstocking, and has his foot wrapped up in a flannel waistcoat, and has a\nbreakfast saucer of liniment, and a horrible dabbling of lotion\nincessantly in progress. We laugh at it all, but I doubt very much\nwhether he can go on to Doncaster. It will be a miserable blow to our H.\nW. scheme, and I say nothing about it as yet; but he is really so\ncrippled that I doubt the getting him there. We have resolved to fall\nto work to-morrow morning and begin our writing; and there, for the\npresent, that point rests.\n\nThis is a little place with fifty houses, five bathing-machines, five\ngirls in straw hats, five men in straw hats, and no other company. The\nlittle houses are all in half-mourning--yellow stone on white stone, and\nblack; and it reminds me of what Broadstairs might have been if it had\nnot inherited a cliff, and had been an Irishman. But this is a capital\nlittle homely inn, looking out upon the sea; and we are really very\ncomfortably lodged. I can just stand upright in my bedroom. Otherwise,\nit is a good deal like one of Ballard's top-rooms. We have a very\nobliging and comfortable landlady; and it is a clean nice place in a\nrough wild country. We came here haphazard, but could not have done\nbetter.\n\nWe lay last night at a place called Wigton--also in half-mourning--with\nthe wonderful peculiarity that it had no population, no business, no\nstreets to speak of; but five linendrapers within range of our small\nwindows, one linendraper's next door, and five more linendrapers round\nthe corner. I ordered a night-light in my bedroom. A queer little old\nwoman brought me one of the common Child's night-lights, and seeming to\nthink that I looked at it with interest, said: \"It's joost a vara\nkeeyourious thing, sir, and joost new coom oop. It'll burn awt hoors a'\nend, an no gootther, nor no waste, nor ony sike a thing, if you can\ncreedit what I say, seein' the airticle.\"\n\nOf course _I_ shall go to Doncaster, whether or no (please God), and my\npostage directions to you remain unchanged. Love to Mamey, Katey,\nCharley, Harry, and the darling Plorn.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                        LANCASTER, _Saturday Night, Sept. 12th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR GEORGY,\n\nI received your letter at Allonby yesterday, and was delighted to get\nit. We came back to Carlisle last night (to a capital inn, kept by\nBreach's brother), and came on here to-day. We are on our way to\nDoncaster; but Sabbath observance throws all the trains out; and\nalthough it is not a hundred miles from here, we shall have, as well as\nI can make out the complicated lists of trains, to sleep at Leeds--which\nI particularly detest as an odious place--to-morrow night.\n\nAccustomed as you are to the homage which men delight to render to the\nInimitable, you would be scarcely prepared for the proportions it\nassumes in this northern country. Station-masters assist him to alight\nfrom carriages, deputations await him in hotel entries, innkeepers bow\ndown before him and put him into regal rooms, the town goes down to the\nplatform to see him off, and Collins's ankle goes into the newspapers!!!\n\nIt is a great deal better than it was, and he can get into new hotels\nand up the stairs with two thick sticks, like an admiral in a farce. His\nspirits have improved in a corresponding degree, and he contemplates\ncheerfully the keeping house at Doncaster. I thought (as I told you) he\nwould never have gone there, but he seems quite up to the mark now. Of\ncourse he can never walk out, or see anything of any place. We have done\nour first paper for H. W., and sent it up to the printer's.\n\nThe landlady of the little inn at Allonby lived at Greta Bridge, in\nYorkshire, when I went down there before \"Nickleby,\" and was smuggled\ninto the room to see me, when I was secretly found out. She is an\nimmensely fat woman now. \"But I could tuck my arm round her waist then,\nMr. Dickens,\" the landlord said when she told me the story as I was\ngoing to bed the night before last. \"And can't you do it now,\" I said,\n\"you insensible dog? Look at me! Here's a picture!\" Accordingly, I got\nround as much of her as I could; and this gallant action was the most\nsuccessful I have ever performed, on the whole. I think it was the\ndullest little place I ever entered; and what with the monotony of an\nidle sea, and what with the monotony of another sea in the room\n(occasioned by Collins's perpetually holding his ankle over a pail of\nsalt water, and laving it with a milk jug), I struck yesterday, and came\naway.\n\nWe are in a very remarkable old house here, with genuine old rooms and\nan uncommonly quaint staircase. I have a state bedroom, with two\nenormous red four-posters in it, each as big as Charley's room at Gad's\nHill. Bellew is to preach here to-morrow. \"And we know he is a friend of\nyours, sir,\" said the landlord, when he presided over the serving of the\ndinner (two little salmon trout; a sirloin steak; a brace of partridges;\nseven dishes of sweets; five dishes of dessert, led off by a bowl of\npeaches; and in the centre an enormous bride-cake--\"We always have it\nhere, sir,\" said the landlord, \"custom of the house.\") (Collins turned\npale, and estimated the dinner at half a guinea each.)\n\nThis is the stupidest of letters, but all description is gone, or going,\ninto \"The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices.\"\n\nKiss the darling Plorn, who is often in my thoughts. Best love to\nCharley, Mamey, and Katie. I will write to you again from Doncaster,\nwhere I shall be rejoiced to find another letter from you.\n\n                               Ever affectionately, my dearest Georgy.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                  ANGEL HOTEL, DONCASTER, _Tuesday, Sept. 15th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR GEORGY,\n\nI found your letter here on my arrival yesterday. I had hoped that the\nwall would have been almost finished by this time, and the additions to\nthe house almost finished too--but patience, patience!\n\nWe have very good, clean, and quiet apartments here, on the second\nfloor, looking down into the main street, which is full of horse\njockeys, bettors, drunkards, and other blackguards, from morning to\nnight--and all night. The races begin to-day and last till Friday, which\nis the Cup Day. I am not going to the course this morning, but have\nengaged a carriage (open, and pair) for to-morrow and Friday.\n\n\"The Frozen Deep's\" author gets on as well as could be expected. He can\nhobble up and down stairs when absolutely necessary, and limps to his\nbedroom on the same floor. He talks of going to the theatre to-night in\na cab, which will be the first occasion of his going out, except to\ntravel, since the accident. He sends his kind regards and thanks for\nenquiries and condolence. I am perpetually tidying the rooms after him,\nand carrying all sorts of untidy things which belong to him into his\nbedroom, which is a picture of disorder. You will please to imagine\nmine, airy and clean, little dressing-room attached, eight water-jugs (I\nnever saw such a supply), capital sponge-bath, perfect arrangement, and\nexquisite neatness. We breakfast at half-past eight, and fall to work\nfor H. W. afterwards. Then I go out, and--hem! look for subjects.\n\nThe mayor called this morning to do the honours of the town, whom it\npleased the Inimitable to receive with great courtesy and affability. He\npropounded invitation to public _dejeuner_, which it did _not_ please\nthe Inimitable to receive, and which he graciously rejected.\n\nThat's all the news. Everything I can describe by hook or by crook, I\ndescribe for H. W. So there is nothing of that sort left for letters.\n\nBest love to dear Mamey and Katey, and to Charley, and to Harry. Any\nnumber of kisses to the noble Plorn.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Ryland.]\n\n                 GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Saturday Evening, Oct. 3rd, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR SIR,\n\nI have had the honour and pleasure of receiving your letter of the 28th\nof last month, informing me of the distinction that has been conferred\nupon me by the Council of the Birmingham and Midland Institute.\n\nAllow me to assure you with much sincerity, that I am highly gratified\nby having been elected one of the first honorary members of that\nestablishment. Nothing could have enhanced my interest in so important\nan undertaking; but the compliment is all the more welcome to me on that\naccount.\n\nI accept it with a due sense of its worth, with many acknowledgments and\nwith all good wishes.\n\n                        I am ever, my dear Sir, very faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]\n\n                     TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday Night, Nov. 16th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR YATES,\n\nI retain the story with pleasure; and I need not tell you that you are\nnot mistaken in the last lines of your note.\n\nExcuse me, on that ground, if I say a word or two as to what I think (I\nmention it with a view to the future) might be better in the paper. The\nopening is excellent. But it passes too completely into the Irishman's\nnarrative, does not light it up with the life about it, or the\ncircumstances under which it is delivered, and does not carry through\nit, as I think it should with a certain indefinable subtleness, the\nthread with which you begin your weaving. I will tell Wills to send me\nthe proof, and will try to show you what I mean when I shall have gone\nover it carefully.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]\n\n                        TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Wednesday, Dec. 13th, 1857._\n\nMY DEAR STONE,\n\nI find on enquiry that the \"General Theatrical Fund\" has relieved\nnon-members in one or two instances; but that it is exceedingly\nunwilling to do so, and would certainly not do so again, saving on some\nvery strong and exceptional case. As its trustee, I could not represent\nto it that I think it ought to sail into those open waters, for I very\nmuch doubt the justice of such cruising, with a reference to the\ninterests of the patient people who support it out of their small\nearnings.\n\n                                                  Affectionately ever.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] The part played in \"The Frozen Deep\" by its author, Mr. Wilkie\nCollins.\n\n[2] The Earl of Carlisle was at this time Viceroy of Ireland.\n\n\n\n\nBook III.\n\n1858 TO 1870.\n\n\n\n\n1858.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nAll through this year, Charles Dickens was constantly moving about from\nplace to place. After much and careful consideration, he had come to the\ndetermination of, for the future, giving readings for his own benefit.\nAnd although in the spring of this year he gave one reading of his\n\"Christmas Carol\" for a charity, all the other readings, beginning from\nthe 29th April, and ever after, were for himself. In the autumn of this\nyear he made reading tours in England, Scotland, and Ireland, always\naccompanied by his friend and secretary, Mr. Arthur Smith. At Newcastle,\nCharles Dickens was joined by his daughters, who accompanied him in his\nScotch tour. The letters to his sister-in-law, and to his eldest\ndaughter, are all given here, and will be given in all future reading\ntours, as they form a complete diary of his life and movements at these\ntimes. To avoid the constant repetition of the two names, the beginning\nof the letters will be dispensed with in all cases where they follow\neach other in unbroken succession. The Mr. Frederick Lehmann mentioned\nin the letter written from Sheffield, had married a daughter of Mr.\nRobert Chambers, and niece of Mrs. Wills. Coming to settle in London a\nshort time after this date, Mr. and Mrs. Lehmann became intimately known\nto Charles Dickens and his family--more especially to his eldest\ndaughter, to whom they have been, and are, the kindest and truest of\nfriends. The \"pretty little boy\" mentioned as being under Mrs. Wills's\ncare, was their eldest son.\n\nWe give the letter to Mr. Thackeray, not because it is one of very great\ninterest, but because, being the only one we have, we are glad to have\nthe two names associated together in this work.\n\nThe \"little speech\" alluded to in this first letter to Mr. Macready was\none made by Charles Dickens at a public dinner, which was given in aid\nof the Hospital for Sick Children, in Great Ormond Street. He afterwards\n(early in April) gave a reading from his \"Christmas Carol\" for this same\ncharity.\n\nThe Christmas number of \"Household Words,\" mentioned in a letter to Mr.\nWilkie Collins, was called \"A House to Let,\" and contained stories\nwritten by Charles Dickens, Mr. Wilkie Collins, and other contributors\nto \"Household Words.\"\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]\n\n                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, Jan. 17th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR WILKIE,\n\nI am very sorry to receive so bad an account of the foot. But I hope it\nis all in the past tense now.\n\nI met with an incident the other day, which I think is a good deal in\nyour way, for introduction either into a long or short story. Dr.\nSutherland and Dr. Monro went over St. Luke's with me (only last\nFriday), to show me some distinctly and remarkably developed types of\ninsanity. Among other patients, we passed a deaf and dumb man, now\nafflicted with incurable madness too, of whom they said that it was only\nwhen his madness began to develop itself in strongly-marked mad actions,\nthat it began to be suspected. \"Though it had been there, no doubt, some\ntime.\" This led me to consider, suspiciously, what employment he had\nbeen in, and so to ask the question. \"Aye,\" says Dr. Sutherland, \"that\nis the most remarkable thing of all, Mr. Dickens. He was employed in the\ntransmission of electric-telegraph messages; and it is impossible to\nconceive what delirious despatches that man may have been sending about\nall over the world!\"\n\nRejoiced to hear such good report of the play.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]\n\n                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Tuesday, Feb. 2nd, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR YATES,\n\nYour quotation is, as I supposed, all wrong. The text is _not_ \"which\nhis 'owls was organs.\" When Mr. Harris went into an empty dog-kennel, to\nspare his sensitive nature the anguish of overhearing Mrs. Harris's\nexclamations on the occasion of the birth of her first child (the\nPrincess Royal of the Harris family), \"he never took his hands away from\nhis ears, or came out once, till he was showed the baby.\" On\nencountering that spectacle, he was (being of a weakly constitution)\n\"took with fits.\" For this distressing complaint he was medically\ntreated; the doctor \"collared him, and laid him on his back upon the\nairy stones\"--please to observe what follows--\"and she was told, to ease\nher mind, his 'owls was organs.\"\n\nThat is to say, Mrs. Harris, lying exhausted on her bed, in the first\nsweet relief of freedom from pain, merely covered with the counterpane,\nand not yet \"put comfortable,\" hears a noise apparently proceeding from\nthe back-yard, and says, in a flushed and hysterical manner: \"What 'owls\nare those? Who is a-'owling? Not my ugebond?\" Upon which the doctor,\nlooking round one of the bottom posts of the bed, and taking Mrs.\nHarris's pulse in a reassuring manner, says, with much admirable\npresence of mind: \"Howls, my dear madam?--no, no, no! What are we\nthinking of? Howls, my dear Mrs. Harris? Ha, ha, ha! Organs, ma'am,\norgans. Organs in the streets, Mrs. Harris; no howls.\"\n\n                                                     Yours faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. M. Thackeray.]\n\n                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Tuesday, Feb. 2nd, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR THACKERAY,\n\nThe wisdom of Parliament, in that expensive act of its greatness which\nconstitutes the Guild, prohibits that corporation _from doing anything_\nuntil it shall have existed in a perfectly useless condition for seven\nyears. This clause (introduced by some private-bill magnate of official\nmight) seemed so ridiculous, that nobody could believe it to have this\nmeaning; but as I felt clear about it when we were on the very verge of\ngranting an excellent literary annuity, I referred the point to counsel,\nand my construction was confirmed without a doubt.\n\nIt is therefore needless to enquire whether an association in the nature\nof a provident society could address itself to such a case as you\nconfide to me. The prohibition has still two or three years of life in\nit.\n\nBut, assuming the gentleman's title to be considered as an \"author\" as\nestablished, there is no question that it comes within the scope of the\nLiterary Fund. They would habitually \"lend\" money if they did what I\nconsider to be their duty; as it is they only give money, but they give\nit in such instances.\n\nI have forwarded the envelope to the Society of Arts, with a request\nthat they will present it to Prince Albert, approaching H.R.H. in the\nSiamese manner.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]\n\n                   TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Wednesday Night, Feb. 3rd, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR FORSTER,\n\nI beg to report two phenomena:\n\n1. An excellent little play in one act, by Marston, at the Lyceum;\ntitle, \"A Hard Struggle;\" as good as \"La Joie fait Peur,\" though not at\nall like it.\n\n2. Capital acting in the same play, by Mr. Dillon. Real good acting, in\nimitation of nobody, and honestly made out by himself!!\n\nI went (at Marston's request) last night, and cried till I sobbed again.\nI have not seen a word about it from Oxenford. But it is as wholesome\nand manly a thing altogether as I have seen for many a day. (I would\nhave given a hundred pounds to have played Mr. Dillon's part).\n\nLove to Mrs. Forster.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Dr. Westland Marston.]\n\n                         TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Wednesday, Feb. 3rd, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR MARSTON,\n\nI most heartily and honestly congratulate you on your charming little\npiece. It moved me more than I could easily tell you, if I were to try.\nExcept \"La Joie fait Peur,\" I have seen nothing nearly so good, and\nthere is a subtlety in the comfortable presentation of the child who is\nto become a devoted woman for Reuben's sake, which goes a long way\nbeyond Madame de Girardin. I am at a loss to let you know how much I\nadmired it last night, or how heartily I cried over it. A touching idea,\nmost delicately conceived and wrought out by a true artist and poet, in\na spirit of noble, manly generosity, that no one should be able to study\nwithout great emotion.\n\nIt is extremely well acted by all concerned; but Mr. Dillon's\nperformance is really admirable, and deserving of the highest\ncommendation. It is good in these days to see an actor taking such\npains, and expressing such natural and vigorous sentiment. There is only\none thing I should have liked him to change. I am much mistaken if any\nman--least of all any such man--would crush a letter written by the hand\nof the woman he loved. Hold it to his heart unconsciously and look about\nfor it the while, he might; or he might do any other thing with it that\nexpressed a habit of tenderness and affection in association with the\nidea of her; but he would never crush it under any circumstances. He\nwould as soon crush her heart.\n\nYou will see how closely I went with him, by my minding so slight an\nincident in so fine a performance. There is no one who could approach\nhim in it; and I am bound to add that he surprised me as much as he\npleased me.\n\nI think it might be worth while to try the people at the Francais with\nthe piece. They are very good in one-act plays; such plays take well\nthere, and this seems to me well suited to them. If you would like\nSamson or Regnier to read the play (in English), I know them well, and\nwould be very glad indeed to tell them that I sent it with your sanction\nbecause I had been so much struck by it.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]\n\n           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, LONDON, W.C., _Thursday, Feb. 11th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR REGNIER,\n\nI want you to read the enclosed little play. You will see that it is in\none act--about the length of \"La Joie fait Pour.\" It is now acting at\nthe Lyceum Theatre here, with very great success. The author is Mr.\nWestland Marston, a dramatic writer of reputation, who wrote a very\nwell-known tragedy called \"The Patrician's Daughter,\" in which Macready\nand Miss Faucit acted (under Macready's management at Drury Lane) some\nyears ago.\n\nThis little piece is so very powerful on the stage, its interest is so\nsimple and natural, and the part of Reuben is such a very fine one, that\nI cannot help thinking you might make one grand _coup_ with it, if with\nyour skilful hand you arranged it for the Francais. I have communicated\nthis idea of mine to the author, \"_et la-dessus je vous ecris_.\" I am\nanxious to know your opinion, and shall expect with much interest to\nreceive a little letter from you at your convenience.\n\nMrs. Dickens, Miss Hogarth, and all the house send a thousand kind loves\nand regards to Madame Regnier and the dear little boys. You will bring\nthem to London when you come, with all the force of the Francais--will\nyou not?\n\n                        Ever, my dear Regnier, faithfully your Friend.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]\n\n                         TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Saturday, Feb. 20th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR REGNIER,\n\nLet me thank you with all my heart for your most patient and kind\nletter. I made its contents known to Mr. Marston, and I enclose you his\nreply. You will see that he cheerfully leaves the matter in your hands,\nand abides by your opinion and discretion.\n\nYou need not return his letter, my friend. There is great excitement\nhere this morning, in consequence of the failure of the Ministry last\nnight to carry the bill they brought in to please your Emperor and his\ntroops. _I_, for one, am extremely glad of their defeat.\n\n\"Le vieux P----,\" I have no doubt, will go staggering down the Rue de la\nPaix to-day, with his stick in his hand and his hat on one side,\npredicting the downfall of everything, in consequence of this event. His\nhandwriting shakes more and more every quarter, and I think he mixes a\ngreat deal of cognac with his ink. He always gives me some astonishing\npiece of news (which is never true), or some suspicious public prophecy\n(which is never verified), and he always tells me he is dying (which he\nnever is).\n\nAdieu, my dear Regnier, accept a thousand thanks from me, and believe\nme, now and always,\n\n                                Your affectionate and faithful Friend.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                                  TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _March 15th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nI have safely received your cheque this morning, and will hand it over\nforthwith to the honorary secretary of the hospital. I hope you have\nread the little speech in the hospital's publication of it. They had it\ntaken by their own shorthand-writer, and it is done verbatim.\n\nYou may be sure that it is a good and kind charity. It is amazing to me\nthat it is not at this day ten times as large and rich as it is. But I\nhope and trust that I have happily been able to give it a good thrust\nonward into a great course. We all send our most affectionate love to\nall the house. I am devising all sorts of things in my mind, and am in a\nstate of energetic restlessness incomprehensible to the calm\nphilosophers of Dorsetshire. What a dream it is, this work and strife,\nand how little we do in the dream after all! Only last night, in my\nsleep, I was bent upon getting over a perspective of barriers, with my\nhands and feet bound. Pretty much what we are all about, waking, I\nthink?\n\nBut, Lord! (as I said before) you smile pityingly, not bitterly, at this\nhubbub, and moralise upon it, in the calm evenings when there is no\nschool at Sherborne.\n\n                                        Ever affectionately and truly.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs Hogge.[3]]\n\n              TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                        _Wednesday, April 14th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. HOGGE,\n\nAfter the profoundest cogitation, I come reluctantly to the conclusion\nthat I do not know that orphan. If you were the lady in want of him, I\nshould certainly offer _myself_. But as you are not, I will not hear of\nthe situation.\n\nIt is wonderful to think how many charming little people there must be,\nto whom this proposal would be like a revelation from Heaven. Why don't\nI know one, and come to Kensington, boy in hand, as if I had walked (I\nwish to God I had) out of a fairy tale! But no, I do _not_ know that\norphan. He is crying somewhere, by himself, at this moment. I can't dry\nhis eyes. He is being neglected by some ogress of a nurse. I can't\nrescue him.\n\nI will make a point of going to the Athenaeum on Monday night; and if I\nhad five hundred votes to give, Mr. Macdonald should have them all, for\nyour sake.\n\nI grieve to hear that you have been ill, but I hope that the spring,\nwhen it comes, will find you blooming with the rest of the flowers.\n\n                                                Very faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]\n\n                  TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                        _Wednesday, April 28th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR YATES,\n\nFor a good many years I have suffered a great deal from charities, but\nnever anything like what I suffer now. The amount of correspondence they\ninflict upon me is really incredible. But this is nothing. Benevolent\nmen get behind the piers of the gates, lying in wait for my going out;\nand when I peep shrinkingly from my study-windows, I see their\npot-bellied shadows projected on the gravel. Benevolent bullies drive up\nin hansom cabs (with engraved portraits of their benevolent institutions\nhanging over the aprons, like banners on their outward walls), and stay\nlong at the door. Benevolent area-sneaks get lost in the kitchens and\nare found to impede the circulation of the knife-cleaning machine. My\nman has been heard to say (at The Burton Arms) \"that if it was a\nwicious place, well and good--_that_ an't door work; but that wen all\nthe Christian wirtues is always a-shoulderin' and a-helberin' on you in\nthe 'all, a-tryin' to git past you and cut upstairs into master's room,\nwhy no wages as you couldn't name wouldn't make it up to you.\"\n\n                                                     Persecuted ever.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs Yates.]\n\n(THE CHARMING ACTRESS, THE MOTHER OF MR. EDMUND YATES.)\n\n                       TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, W.C.,\n                                    _Saturday Evening, May 15th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. YATES,\n\nPray believe that I was sorry with all my heart to miss you last\nThursday, and to learn the occasion of your absence; also that, whenever\nyou can come, your presence will give me a new interest in that evening.\nNo one alive can have more delightful associations with the lightest\nsound of your voice than I have; and to give you a minute's interest and\npleasure, in acknowledgment of the uncountable hours of happiness you\ngave me when you were a mysterious angel to me, would honestly gratify\nmy heart.\n\n                                 Very faithfully and gratefully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n                              GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, July 7th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nI should vainly try to tell you--so I _won't_ try--how affected I have\nbeen by your warm-hearted letter, or how thoroughly well convinced I\nalways am of the truth and earnestness of your friendship. I thank you,\nmy dear, dear fellow, with my whole soul. I fervently return that\nfriendship and I highly cherish it.\n\nYou want to know all about me? I am still reading in London every\nThursday, and the audiences are very great, and the success immense. On\nthe 2nd of August I am going away on a tour of some four months in\nEngland, Ireland, and Scotland. I shall read, during that time, not\nfewer than four or five times a week. It will be sharp work; but\nprobably a certain musical clinking will come of it, which will mitigate\nthe hardship.\n\nAt this present moment I am on my little Kentish freehold (_not_ in\ntop-boots, and not particularly prejudiced that I know of), looking on\nas pretty a view out of my study window as you will find in a long day's\nEnglish ride. My little place is a grave red brick house (time of George\nthe First, I suppose), which I have added to and stuck bits upon in all\nmanner of ways, so that it is as pleasantly irregular, and as violently\nopposed to all architectural ideas, as the most hopeful man could\npossibly desire. It is on the summit of Gad's Hill. The robbery was\ncommitted before the door, on the man with the treasure, and Falstaff\nran away from the identical spot of ground now covered by the room in\nwhich I write. A little rustic alehouse, called The Sir John Falstaff,\nis over the way--has been over the way, ever since, in honour of the\nevent. Cobham Woods and Park are behind the house; the distant Thames in\nfront; the Medway, with Rochester, and its old castle and cathedral, on\none side. The whole stupendous property is on the old Dover Road, so\nwhen you come, come by the North Kent Railway (not the South-Eastern) to\nStrood or Higham, and I'll drive over to fetch you.\n\nThe blessed woods and fields have done me a world of good, and I am\nquite myself again. The children are all as happy as children can be. My\neldest daughter, Mary, keeps house, with a state and gravity becoming\nthat high position; wherein she is assisted by her sister Katie, and by\nher aunt Georgina, who is, and always has been, like another sister. Two\nbig dogs, a bloodhound and a St. Bernard, direct from a convent of that\nname, where I think you once were, are their principal attendants in the\ngreen lanes. These latter instantly untie the neckerchiefs of all tramps\nand prowlers who approach their presence, so that they wander about\nwithout any escort, and drive big horses in basket-phaetons through\nmurderous bye-ways, and never come to grief. They are very curious about\nyour daughters, and send all kinds of loves to them and to Mrs. Cerjat,\nin which I heartily join.\n\nYou will have read in the papers that the Thames in London is most horrible.\nI have to cross Waterloo or London Bridge to get to the railroad when I\ncome down here, and I can certify that the offensive smells, even in\nthat short whiff, have been of a most head-and-stomach-distending\nnature. Nobody knows what is to be done; at least everybody knows a\nplan, and everybody else knows it won't do; in the meantime cartloads of\nchloride of lime are shot into the filthy stream, and do something I\nhope. You will know, before you get this, that the American telegraph\nline has parted again, at which most men are sorry, but very few\nsurprised. This is all the news, except that there is an Italian Opera\nat Drury Lane, price eighteenpence to the pit, where Viardot, by far the\ngreatest artist of them all, sings, and which is full when the dear\nopera can't let a box; and except that the weather has been\nexceptionally hot, but is now quite cool. On the top of this hill it has\nbeen cold, actually cold at night, for more than a week past.\n\nI am going over to Rochester to post this letter, and must write another\nto Townshend before I go. My dear Cerjat, I have written lightly\nenough, because I want you to know that I am becoming cheerful and\nhearty. God bless you! I love you, and I know that you love me.\n\n                                  Ever your attached and affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                       WEST HOE, PLYMOUTH, _Thursday, Aug. 5th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nI received your letter this morning with the greatest pleasure, and read\nit with the utmost interest in all its domestic details.\n\nWe had a most wonderful night at Exeter. It is to be regretted that we\ncannot take the place again on our way back. It was a prodigious cram,\nand we turned away no end of people. But not only that, I think they\nwere the finest audience I have ever read to. I don't think I ever read,\nin some respects, so well; and I never beheld anything like the personal\naffection which they poured out upon me at the end. It was really a very\nremarkable sight, and I shall always look back upon it with pleasure.\n\nLast night here was not so bright. There are quarrels of the strangest\nkind between the Plymouth people and the Stonehouse people. The room is\nat Stonehouse (Tracy says the wrong room; there being a Plymouth room in\nthis hotel, and he being a Plymouthite). We had a fair house, but not at\nall a great one. All the notabilities come this morning to \"Little\nDombey,\" for which we have let one hundred and thirty stalls, which\nlocal admiration of local greatness considers very large. For \"Mrs. Gamp\nand the Boots,\" to-night, we have also a very promising let. But the\nraces are on, and there are two public balls to-night, and the yacht\nsquadron are all at Cherbourg to boot. Arthur is of opinion that \"Two\nSixties\" will do very well for us. I doubt the \"Two Sixties\" myself.\n_Mais nous verrons._\n\nThe room is a very handsome one, but it is on the top of a windy and\nmuddy hill, leading (literally) to nowhere; and it looks (except that it\nis new and _mortary_) as if the subsidence of the waters after the\nDeluge might have left it where it is. I have to go right through the\ncompany to get to the platform. Big doors slam and resound when anybody\ncomes in; and all the company seem afraid of one another. Nevertheless\nthey were a sensible audience last night, and much impressed and\npleased.\n\nTracy is in the room (wandering about, and never finishing a sentence),\nand sends all manner of sea-loves to you and the dear girls. I send all\nmanner of land-loves to you from myself, out of my heart of hearts, and\nalso to my dear Plorn and the boys.\n\nArthur sends his kindest love. He knows only two characters. He is\neither always corresponding, like a Secretary of State, or he is\ntransformed into a rout-furniture dealer of Rathbone Place, and drags\nforms about with the greatest violence, without his coat.\n\nI have no time to add another word.\n\n                         Ever, dearest Georgy, your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                   LONDON, _Saturday, Aug. 7th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMEY,\n\nThe closing night at Plymouth was a very great scene, and the morning\nthere was exceedingly good too. You will be glad to hear that at Clifton\nlast night, a torrent of five hundred shillings bore Arthur away,\npounded him against the wall, flowed on to the seats over his body,\nscratched him, and damaged his best dress suit. All to his unspeakable\njoy.\n\nThis is a very short letter, but I am going to the Burlington Arcade,\ndesperately resolved to have all those wonderful instruments put into\noperation on my head, with a view to refreshing it.\n\nKindest love to Georgy and to all.\n\n                                               Ever your affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                              SHREWSBURY, _Thursday, Aug. 12th, 1858._\n\nA wonderful audience last night at Wolverhampton. If such a thing can\nbe, they were even quicker and more intelligent than the audience I had\nin Edinburgh. They were so wonderfully good and were so much on the\nalert this morning by nine o'clock for another reading, that we are\ngoing back there at about our Bradford time. I never saw such people.\nAnd the local agent would take no money, and charge no expenses of his\nown.\n\nThis place looks what Plorn would call \"ortily\" dull. Local agent\npredicts, however, \"great satisfaction to Mr. Dickens, and excellent\nattendance.\" I have just been to look at the hall, where everything was\nwrong, and where I have left Arthur making a platform for me out of\ndining-tables.\n\nIf he comes back in time, I am not quite sure but that he is himself\ngoing to write to Gad's Hill. We talk of coming up from Chester _in the\nnight to-morrow, after the reading_; and of showing our precious selves\nat an apparently impossibly early hour in the Gad's Hill breakfast-room\non Saturday morning.\n\nI have not felt the fatigue to any extent worth mentioning; though I\nget, every night, into the most violent heats. We are going to dine at\nthree o'clock (it wants a quarter now) and have not been here two\nhours, so I have seen nothing of Clement.\n\nTell Georgy with my love, that I read in the same room in which we\nacted, but at the end opposite to that where our stage was. We are not\nat the inn where the amateur company put up, but at The Lion, where the\nfair Miss Mitchell was lodged alone. We have the strangest little rooms\n(sitting-room and two bed-rooms all together), the ceilings of which I\ncan touch with my hand. The windows bulge out over the street, as if\nthey were little stern-windows in a ship. And a door opens out of the\nsitting-room on to a little open gallery with plants in it, where one\nleans over a queer old rail, and looks all downhill and slant-wise at\nthe crookedest black and yellow old houses, all manner of shapes except\nstraight shapes. To get into this room we come through a china closet;\nand the man in laying the cloth has actually knocked down, in that\nrepository, two geraniums and Napoleon Bonaparte.\n\nI think that's all I have to say, except that at the Wolverhampton\ntheatre they played \"Oliver Twist\" last night (Mr. Toole the Artful\nDodger), \"in consequence of the illustrious author honouring the town\nwith his presence.\" We heard that the device succeeded very well, and\nthat they got a good many people.\n\nJohn's spirits have been equable and good since we rejoined him. Berry\nhas always got something the matter with his digestion--seems to me the\nmale gender of Maria Jolly, and ought to take nothing but Revalenta\nArabica. Bottled ale is not to be got in these parts, and Arthur is\nthrown upon draught.\n\nMy dearest love to Georgy and to Katey, also to Marguerite. Also to all\nthe boys and the noble Plorn.\n\n                                        Ever your affectionate Father.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                 _Wednesday Morning, Aug. 18th, 1858._\n\nI write this hurried line before starting, to report that my cold is\ndecidedly better, thank God (though still bad), and that I hope to be\nable to stagger through to-night. After dinner yesterday I began to\nrecover my voice, and I think I sang half the Irish Melodies to myself,\nas I walked about to test it. I got home at half-past ten, and\nmustard-poulticed and barley-watered myself tremendously.\n\nLove to the dear girls, and to all.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The same.]\n\n            ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Friday Night, Aug. 20th, 1858._\n\nI received your welcome and interesting letter to-day, and I write you a\nvery hurried and bad reply; but it is _after the reading_, and you will\ntake the will for the deed under these trying circumstances, I know.\n\nWe have had a tremendous night; the largest house I have ever had since\nI first began--two thousand three hundred people. To-morrow afternoon,\nat three, I read again.\n\nMy cold has been oppressive, and is not yet gone. I have been very hard\nto sleep too, and last night I was all but sleepless. This morning I was\nvery dull and seedy; but I got a good walk, and picked up again. It has\nbeen blowing all day, and I fear we shall have a sick passage over to\nDublin to-morrow night.\n\nTell Mamie (with my dear love to her and Katie) that I will write to her\nfrom Dublin--probably on Sunday. Tell her too that the stories she told\nme in her letter were not only capital stories in themselves, but\n_excellently told_ too.\n\nWhat Arthur's state has been to-night--he, John, Berry, and Boylett, all\ntaking money and going mad together--you _cannot_ imagine. They turned\naway hundreds, sold all the books, rolled on the ground of my room\nknee-deep in checks, and made a perfect pantomime of the whole thing. He\nhas kept quite well, I am happy to say, and sends a hundred loves.\n\nIn great haste and fatigue.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Monday, Aug. 23rd, 1858._\n\nWe had a nasty crossing here. We left Holyhead at one in the morning,\nand got here at six. Arthur was incessantly sick the whole way. I was\nnot sick at all, but was in as healthy a condition otherwise as humanity\nneed be. We are in a beautiful hotel. Our sitting-room is exactly like\nthe drawing-room at the Peschiere in all its dimensions. I never saw two\nrooms so exactly resembling one another in their proportions. Our\nbedrooms too are excellent, and there are baths and all sorts of\ncomforts.\n\nThe Lord Lieutenant is away, and the place looks to me as if its\nprofessional life were away too. Nevertheless, there are numbers of\npeople in the streets. Somehow, I hardly seem to think we are going to\ndo enormously here; but I have scarcely any reason for supposing so\n(except that a good many houses are shut up); and I _know_ nothing about\nit, for Arthur is now gone to the agent and to the room. The men came by\nboat direct from Liverpool. They had a rough passage, were all ill, and\ndid not get here till noon yesterday. Donnybrook Fair, or what remains\nof it, is going on, within two or three miles of Dublin. They went out\nthere yesterday in a jaunting-car, and John described it to us at\ndinner-time (with his eyebrows lifted up, and his legs well asunder), as\n\"Johnny Brooks's Fair;\" at which Arthur, who was drinking bitter ale,\nnearly laughed himself to death. Berry is always unfortunate, and when I\nasked what had happened to Berry on board the steamboat, it appeared\nthat \"an Irish gentleman which was drunk, and fancied himself the\ncaptain, wanted to knock Berry down.\"\n\nI am surprised by finding this place very much larger than I had\nsupposed it to be. Its bye-parts are bad enough, but cleaner, too, than\nI had supposed them to be, and certainly very much cleaner than the old\ntown of Edinburgh. The man who drove our jaunting-car yesterday hadn't a\npiece in his coat as big as a penny roll, and had had his hat on\n(apparently without brushing it) ever since he was grown up. But he was\nremarkably intelligent and agreeable, with something to say about\neverything. For instance, when I asked him what a certain building was,\nhe didn't say \"courts of law\" and nothing else, but: \"Av you plase, sir,\nit's the foor coorts o' looyers, where Misther O'Connell stood his trial\nwunst, ye'll remimber, sir, afore I tell ye of it.\" When we got into the\nPhoenix Park, he looked round him as if it were his own, and said:\n\"THAT'S a park, sir, av yer plase.\" I complimented it, and he said:\n\"Gintlemen tills me as they'r bin, sir, over Europe, and never see a\npark aqualling ov it. 'Tis eight mile roond, sir, ten mile and a half\nlong, and in the month of May the hawthorn trees are as beautiful as\nbrides with their white jewels on. Yonder's the vice-regal lodge, sir;\nin them two corners lives the two sicretirries, wishing I was them, sir.\nThere's air here, sir, av yer plase! There's scenery here, sir! There's\nmountains--thim, sir! Yer coonsider it a park, sir? It is that, sir!\"\n\nYou should have heard John in my bedroom this morning endeavouring to\nimitate a bath-man, who had resented his interference, and had said as\nto the shower-bath: \"Yer'll not be touching _that_, young man. Divil a\ntouch yer'll touch o' that insthrument, young man!\" It was more\nridiculously unlike the reality than I can express to you, yet he was so\ndelighted with his powers that he went off in the absurdest little\ngingerbeery giggle, backing into my portmanteau all the time.\n\nMy dear love to Katie and to Georgy, also to the noble Plorn and all the\nboys. I shall write to Katie next, and then to Aunty. My cold, I am\nhappy to report, is very much better. I lay in the wet all night on\ndeck, on board the boat, but am not as yet any the worse for it. Arthur\nwas quite insensible when we got to Dublin, and stared at our luggage\nwithout in the least offering to claim it. He left his kindest love for\nall before he went out. I will keep the envelope open until he comes in.\n\n                             Ever, my dearest Mamie,\n                                        Your most affectionate Father.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n               MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Wednesday, Aug. 25th, 1858._\n\nI begin my letter to you to-day, though I don't know when I may send it\noff. We had a very good house last night, after all, that is to say, a\ngreat rush of shillings and good half-crowns, though the stalls were\ncomparatively few. For \"Little Dombey,\" this morning, we have an immense\nstall let--already more than two hundred--and people are now fighting in\nthe agent's shop to take more. Through some mistake of our printer's,\nthe evening reading for this present Wednesday was dropped, in a great\npart of the announcements, and the agent opened no plan for it. I have\ntherefore resolved not to have it at all. Arthur Smith has waylaid me\nin all manner of ways, but I remain obdurate. I am frightfully tired,\nand really relieved by the prospect of an evening--overjoyed.\n\nThey were a highly excitable audience last night, but they certainly did\nnot comprehend--internally and intellectually comprehend--\"The Chimes\"\nas a London audience do. I am quite sure of it. I very much doubt the\nIrish capacity of receiving the pathetic; but of their quickness as to\nthe humorous there can be no doubt. I shall see how they go along with\nLittle Paul, in his death, presently.\n\nWhile I was at breakfast this morning, a general officer was announced\nwith great state--having a staff at the door--and came in, booted and\nplumed, and covered with Crimean decorations. It was Cunninghame, whom\nwe knew in Genoa--then a captain. He was very hearty indeed, and came to\nask me to dinner. Of course I couldn't go. Olliffe has a brother at\nCork, who has just now (noon) written to me, proposing dinners and\nexcursions in that neighbourhood which would fill about a week; I being\nthere a day and a half, and reading three times. The work will be very\nsevere here, and I begin to feel depressed by it. (By \"here,\" I mean\nIreland generally, please to observe.)\n\nWe meant, as I said in a letter to Katie, to go to Queenstown yesterday\nand bask on the seashore. But there is always so much to do that we\ncouldn't manage it after all. We expect a tremendous house to-morrow\nnight as well as to-day; and Arthur is at the present instant up to his\neyes in business (and seats), and, between his regret at losing\nto-night, and his desire to make the room hold twice as many as it\n_will_ hold, is half distracted. I have become a wonderful\nIrishman--must play an Irish part some day--and his only relaxation is\nwhen I enact \"John and the Boots,\" which I consequently do enact all day\nlong. The papers are full of remarks upon my white tie, and describe it\nas being of enormous size, which is a wonderful delusion, because, as\nyou very well know, it is a small tie. Generally, I am happy to report,\nthe Emerald press is in favour of my appearance, and likes my eyes. But\none gentleman comes out with a letter at Cork, wherein he says that\nalthough only forty-six I look like an old man. _He_ is a rum customer,\nI think.\n\nThe Rutherfords are living here, and wanted me to dine with them, which,\nI needn't say, could not be done; all manner of people have called, but\nI have seen only two. John has given it up altogether as to rivalry with\nthe Boots, and did not come into my room this morning at all. Boots\nappeared triumphant and alone. He was waiting for me at the hotel-door\nlast night. \"Whaa't sart of a hoose, sur?\" he asked me. \"Capital.\" \"The\nLard be praised fur the 'onor o' Dooblin!\"\n\nArthur buys bad apples in the streets and brings them home and doesn't\neat them, and then I am obliged to put them in the balcony because they\nmake the room smell faint. Also he meets countrymen with honeycomb on\ntheir heads, and leads them (by the buttonhole when they have one) to\nthis gorgeous establishment and requests the bar to buy honeycomb for\nhis breakfast; then it stands upon the sideboard uncovered and the flies\nfall into it. He buys owls, too, and castles, and other horrible\nobjects, made in bog-oak (that material which is not appreciated at\nGad's Hill); and he is perpetually snipping pieces out of newspapers and\nsending them all over the world. While I am reading he conducts the\ncorrespondence, and his great delight is to show me seventeen or\neighteen letters when I come, exhausted, into the retiring-place. Berry\nhas not got into any particular trouble for forty-eight hours, except\nthat he is all over boils. I have prescribed the yeast, but\nineffectually. It is indeed a sight to see him and John sitting in\npay-boxes, and surveying Ireland out of pigeon-holes.\n\n                                       _Same Evening before Bed-time._\n\nEverybody was at \"Little Dombey\" to-day, and although I had some little\ndifficulty to work them up in consequence of the excessive crowding of\nthe place, and the difficulty of shaking the people into their seats,\nthe effect was unmistakable and profound. The crying was universal, and\nthey were extraordinarily affected. There is no doubt we could stay here\na week with that one reading, and fill the place every night. Hundreds\nof people have been there to-night, under the impression that it would\ncome off again. It was a most decided and complete success.\n\nArthur has been imploring me to stop here on the Friday after Limerick,\nand read \"Little Dombey\" again. But I have positively said \"No.\" The\nwork is too hard. It is not like doing it in one easy room, and always\nthe same room. With a different place every night, and a different\naudience with its own peculiarity every night, it is a tremendous\nstrain. I was sick of it to-day before I began, then got myself into\nwonderful train.\n\nHere follows a dialogue (but it requires imitation), which I had\nyesterday morning with a little boy of the house--landlord's son, I\nsuppose--about Plorn's age. I am sitting on the sofa writing, and find\nhim sitting beside me.\n\n        INIMITABLE. Holloa, old chap.\n\n        YOUNG IRELAND. Hal-loo!\n\n        INIMITABLE (_in his delightful way_). What a\n        nice old fellow you are. I am very fond of\n        little boys.\n\n        YOUNG IRELAND. Air yer? Ye'r right.\n\n        INIMITABLE. What do you learn, old fellow?\n\n        YOUNG IRELAND (_very intent on Inimitable, and\n        always childish, except in his brogue_). I\n        lairn wureds of three sillibils, and wureds of\n        two sillibils, and wureds of one sillibil.\n\n        INIMITABLE (_gaily_). Get out, you humbug! You\n        learn only words of one syllable.\n\n        YOUNG IRELAND (_laughs heartily_). You may say\n        that it is mostly wureds of one sillibil.\n\n        INIMITABLE. Can you write?\n\n        YOUNG IRELAND. Not yet. Things comes by\n        deegrays.\n\n        INIMITABLE. Can you cipher?\n\n        YOUNG IRELAND (_very quickly_). Wha'at's that?\n\n        INIMITABLE. Can you make figures?\n\n        YOUNG IRELAND. I can make a nought, which is\n        not asy, being roond.\n\n        INIMITABLE. I say, old boy, wasn't it you I saw\n        on Sunday morning in the hall, in a soldier's\n        cap? You know--in a soldier's cap?\n\n        YOUNG IRELAND (_cogitating deeply_). Was it a\n        very good cap?\n\n        INIMITABLE. Yes.\n\n        YOUNG IRELAND. Did it fit unkommon?\n\n        INIMITABLE. Yes.\n\n        YOUNG IRELAND. Dat was me!\n\nThere are two stupid old louts at the room, to show people into their\nplaces, whom John calls \"them two old Paddies,\" and of whom he says,\nthat he \"never see nothing like them (snigger) hold idiots\" (snigger).\nThey bow and walk backwards before the grandees, and our men hustle them\nwhile they are doing it.\n\nWe walked out last night, with the intention of going to the theatre;\nbut the Piccolomini establishment (they were doing the \"Lucia\") looked\nso horribly like a very bad jail, and the Queen's looked so\nblackguardly, that we came back again, and went to bed. I seem to be\nalways either in a railway carriage, or reading, or going to bed. I get\nso knocked up, whenever I have a minute to remember it, that then I go\nto bed as a matter of course.\n\nI send my love to the noble Plorn, and to all the boys. To dear Mamie\nand Katie, and to yourself of course, in the first degree. I am looking\nforward to the last Irish reading on Thursday, with great impatience.\nBut when we shall have turned this week, once knocked off Belfast, I\nshall see land, and shall (like poor Timber in the days of old) \"keep up\na good heart.\" I get so wonderfully hot every night in my dress clothes,\nthat they positively won't dry in the short interval they get, and I\nhave been obliged to write to Doudney's to make me another suit, that I\nmay have a constant change.\n\n                         Ever, my dearest Georgy, most affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                 BELFAST, _Saturday, Aug. 28th, 1858._\n\nWhen I went down to the Rotunda at Dublin on Thursday night, I said to\nArthur, who came rushing at me: \"You needn't tell me. I know all about\nit.\" The moment I had come out of the door of the hotel (a mile off), I\nhad come against the stream of people turned away. I had struggled\nagainst it to the room. There, the crowd in all the lobbies and passages\nwas so great, that I had a difficulty in getting in. They had broken all\nthe glass in the pay-boxes. They had offered frantic prices for stalls.\nEleven bank-notes were thrust into that pay-box (Arthur saw them) at one\ntime, for eleven stalls. Our men were flattened against walls, and\nsqueezed against beams. Ladies stood all night with their chins against\nmy platform. Other ladies sat all night upon my steps. You never saw\nsuch a sight. And the reading went tremendously! It is much to be\nregretted that we troubled ourselves to go anywhere else in Ireland. We\nturned away people enough to make immense houses for a week.\n\nWe arrived here yesterday at two. The room will not hold more than from\neighty to ninety pounds. The same scene was repeated with the additional\nfeature, that the people are much rougher here than in Dublin, and that\nthere was a very great uproar at the opening of the doors, which, the\npolice in attendance being quite inefficient and only looking on, it was\nimpossible to check. Arthur was in the deepest misery because shillings\ngot into stalls, and half-crowns got into shillings, and stalls got\nnowhere, and there was immense confusion. It ceased, however, the moment\nI showed myself; and all went most brilliantly, in spite of a great\npiece of the cornice of the ceiling falling with a great crash within\nfour or five inches of the head of a young lady on my platform (I was\nobliged to have people there), and in spite of my gas suddenly going out\nat the time of the game of forfeits at Scrooge's nephew's, through some\nBelfastian gentleman accidentally treading on the flexible pipe, and\nneeding to be relighted.\n\nWe shall not get to Cork before mid-day on Monday; it being difficult to\nget from here on a Sunday. We hope to be able to start away to-morrow\nmorning to see the Giant's Causeway (some sixteen miles off), and in\nthat case we shall sleep at Dublin to-morrow night, leaving here by the\ntrain at half-past three in the afternoon. Dublin, you must understand,\nis on the way to Cork. This is a fine place, surrounded by lofty hills.\nThe streets are very wide, and the place is very prosperous. The whole\nride from Dublin here is through a very picturesque and various country;\nand the amazing thing is, that it is all particularly neat and orderly,\nand that the houses (outside at all events) are all brightly whitewashed\nand remarkably clean. I want to climb one of the neighbouring hills\nbefore this morning's \"Dombey.\" I am now waiting for Arthur, who has\ngone to the bank to remit his last accumulation of treasure to London.\n\nOur men are rather indignant with the Irish crowds, because in the\nstruggle they don't sell books, and because, in the pressure, they can't\nforce a way into the room afterwards to sell them. They are deeply\ninterested in the success, however, and are as zealous and ardent as\npossible. I shall write to Katie next. Give her my best love, and kiss\nthe darling Plorn for me, and give my love to all the boys.\n\n                       Ever, my dearest Mamie,\n                                        Your most affectionate Father.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n            MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Sunday Night, Aug. 29th, 1858._\n\nI am so delighted to find your letter here to-night (eleven o'clock),\nand so afraid that, in the wear and tear of this strange life, I have\nwritten to Gad's Hill in the wrong order, and have not written to you,\nas I should, that I resolve to write this before going to bed. You will\nfind it a wretchedly stupid letter; but you may imagine, my dearest\ngirl, that I am tired.\n\nThe success at Belfast has been equal to the success here. Enormous! We\nturned away half the town. I think them a better audience, on the whole,\nthan Dublin; and the personal affection there was something\noverwhelming. I wish you and the dear girls could have seen the people\nlook at me in the street; or heard them ask me, as I hurried to the\nhotel after reading last night, to \"do me the honour to shake hands,\nMisther Dickens, and God bless you, sir; not ounly for the light you've\nbeen to me this night, but for the light you've been in mee house, sir\n(and God love your face), this many a year.\" Every night, by-the-bye,\nsince I have been in Ireland, the ladies have beguiled John out of the\nbouquet from my coat. And yesterday morning, as I had showered the\nleaves from my geranium in reading \"Little Dombey,\" they mounted the\nplatform, after I was gone, and picked them all up as keepsakes!\n\nI have never seen _men_ go in to cry so undisguisedly as they did at\nthat reading yesterday afternoon. They made no attempt whatever to hide\nit, and certainly cried more than the women. As to the \"Boots\" at night,\nand \"Mrs. Gamp\" too, it was just one roar with me and them; for they\nmade me laugh so that sometimes I _could not_ compose my face to go on.\n\nYou must not let the new idea of poor dear Landor efface the former\nimage of the fine old man. I wouldn't blot him out, in his tender\ngallantry, as he sat upon that bed at Forster's that night, for a\nmillion of wild mistakes at eighty years of age.\n\nI hope to be at Tavistock House before five o'clock next Saturday\nmorning, and to lie in bed half the day, and come home by the 10.50 on\nSunday.\n\nTell the girls that Arthur and I have each ordered at Belfast a trim,\nsparkling, slap-up _Irish jaunting-car_!!! I flatter myself we shall\nastonish the Kentish people. It is the oddest carriage in the world, and\nyou are always falling off. But it is gay and bright in the highest\ndegree. Wonderfully Neapolitan.\n\nWhat with a sixteen mile ride before we left Belfast, and a sea-beach\nwalk, and a two o'clock dinner, and a seven hours' railway ride since, I\nam--as we say here--\"a thrifle weary.\" But I really am in wonderful\nforce, considering the work. For which I am, as I ought to be, very\nthankful.\n\nArthur was exceedingly unwell last night--could not cheer up at all. He\nwas so very unwell that he left the hall(!) and became invisible after\nmy five minutes' rest. I found him at the hotel in a jacket and\nslippers, and with a hot bath just ready. He was in the last stage of\nprostration. The local agent was with me, and proposed that he (the\nwretched Arthur) should go to his office and balance the accounts then\nand there. He went, in the jacket and slippers, and came back in twenty\nminutes, _perfectly well_, in consequence of the admirable balance. He\nis now sitting opposite to me ON THE BAG OF SILVER, forty pounds (it\nmust be dreadfully hard), writing to Boulogne.\n\nI suppose it is clear that the next letter I write is Katie's. Either\nfrom Cork or from Limerick, it shall report further. At Limerick I read\nin the theatre, there being no other place.\n\nBest love to Mamie and Katie, and dear Plorn, and all the boys left when\nthis comes to Gad's Hill; also to my dear good Anne, and her little\nwoman.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]\n\n                      GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Monday, Sept. 6th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR WILKIE,\n\nFirst, let me report myself here for something less than eight-and-forty\nhours. I come last (and direct--a pretty hard journey) from Limerick.\nThe success in Ireland has been immense.\n\nThe work is very hard, sometimes overpowering; but I am none the worse\nfor it, and arrived here quite fresh.\n\nSecondly, will you let me recommend the enclosed letter from Wigan, as\nthe groundwork of a capital article, in your way, for H. W.? There is\nnot the least objection to a plain reference to him, or to Phelps, to\nwhom the same thing happened a year or two ago, near Islington, in the\ncase of a clever and capital little daughter of his. I think it a\ncapital opportunity for a discourse on gentility, with a glance at those\nother schools which advertise that the \"sons of gentlemen only\" are\nadmitted, and a just recognition of the greater liberality of our public\nschools. There are tradesmen's sons at Eton, and Charles Kean was at\nEton, and Macready (also an actor's son) was at Rugby. Some such title\nas \"Scholastic Flunkeydom,\" or anything infinitely contemptuous, would\nhelp out the meaning. Surely such a schoolmaster must swallow all the\nsilver forks that the pupils are expected to take when they come, and\nare not expected to take away with them when they go. And of course he\ncould not exist, unless he had flunkey customers by the dozen.\n\nSecondly--no, this is thirdly now--about the Christmas number. I have\narranged so to stop my readings, as to be available for it on _the 15th\nof November_, which will leave me time to write a good article, if I\nclear my way to one. Do you see your way to our making a Christmas\nnumber of this idea that I am going very briefly to hint? Some\ndisappointed person, man or woman, prematurely disgusted with the world,\nfor some reason or no reason (the person should be young, I think)\nretires to an old lonely house, or an old lonely mill, or anything you\nlike, with one attendant, resolved to shut out the world, and hold no\ncommunion with it. The one attendant sees the absurdity of the idea,\npretends to humour it, but really thus to slaughter it. Everything that\nhappens, everybody that comes near, every breath of human interest that\nfloats into the old place from the village, or the heath, or the four\ncross-roads near which it stands, and from which belated travellers\nstray into it, shows beyond mistake that you can't shut out the world;\nthat you are in it, to be of it; that you get into a false position the\nmoment you try to sever yourself from it; and that you must mingle with\nit, and make the best of it, and make the best of yourself into the\nbargain.\n\nIf we could plot out a way of doing this together, I would not be afraid\nto take my part. If we could not, could we plot out a way of doing it,\nand taking in stories by other hands? If we could not do either (but I\nthink we could), shall we fall back upon a round of stories again? That\nI would rather not do, if possible. Will you think about it?\n\nAnd can you come and dine at Tavistock House _on Monday, the 20th\nSeptember, at half-past five_? I purpose being at home there with the\ngirls that day.\n\nAnswer this, according to my printed list for the week. I am off to\nHuddersfield on Wednesday morning.\n\nI think I will now leave off; merely adding that I have got a splendid\nbrogue (it really is exactly like the people), and that I think of\ncoming out as the only legitimate successor of poor Power.\n\n                           Ever, my dear Wilkie, affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]\n\n                      STATION HOTEL, YORK, _Friday, Sept. 10th, 1858._\n\nDEAREST MEERY,\n\nFirst let me tell you that all the magicians and spirits in your employ\nhave fulfilled the instructions of their wondrous mistress to\nadmiration. Flowers have fallen in my path wherever I have trod; and\nwhen they rained upon me at Cork I was more amazed than you ever saw me.\n\nSecondly, receive my hearty and loving thanks for that same. (Excuse a\nlittle Irish in the turn of that sentence, but I can't help it).\n\nThirdly, I have written direct to Mr. Boddington, explaining that I am\nbound to be in Edinburgh on the day when he courteously proposes to do\nme honour.\n\nI really cannot tell you how truly and tenderly I feel your letter, and\nhow gratified I am by its contents. Your truth and attachment are\nalways so precious to me that I can_not_ get my heart out on my sleeve\nto show it you. It is like a child, and, at the sound of some familiar\nvoices, \"goes and hides.\"\n\nYou know what an affection I have for Mrs. Watson, and how happy it made\nme to see her again--younger, much, than when I first knew her in\nSwitzerland.\n\nGod bless you always!\n\n                                            Ever affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                 ROYAL HOTEL, SCARBOROUGH, _Sunday, Sept. 11th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nWe had a very fine house indeed at York. All kinds of applications have\nbeen made for another reading there, and no doubt it would be\nexceedingly productive; but it cannot be done. At Harrogate yesterday;\nthe queerest place, with the strangest people in it, leading the oddest\nlives of dancing, newspaper reading, and tables d'hote. The piety of\nYork obliging us to leave that place for this at six this morning, and\nthere being no night train from Harrogate, we had to engage a special\nengine. We got to bed at one, and were up again before five; which,\nafter yesterday's fatigues, leaves me a little worn out at this present.\n\nI have no accounts of this place as yet, nor have I received any letter\nhere. But the post of this morning is not yet delivered, I believe. We\nhave a charming room, overlooking the sea. Leech is here (living within\na few doors), with the partner of his bosom, and his young family. I\nwrite at ten in the morning, having been here two hours; and you will\nreadily suppose that I have not seen him.\n\nOf news, I have not the faintest breath. I seem to have been doing\nnothing all my life but riding in railway-carriages and reading. The\nrailway of the morning brought us through Castle Howard, and under the\nwoods of Easthorpe, and then just below Malton Abbey, where I went to\npoor Smithson's funeral. It was a most lovely morning, and, tired as I\nwas, I couldn't sleep for looking out of window.\n\nYesterday, at Harrogate, two circumstances occurred which gave Arthur\ngreat delight. Firstly, he chafed his legs sore with his black bag of\nsilver. Secondly, the landlord asked him as a favour, \"If he could\noblige him with a little silver.\" He obliged him directly with some\nforty pounds' worth; and I suspect the landlord to have repented of\nhaving approached the subject. After the reading last night we walked\nover the moor to the railway, three miles, leaving our men to follow\nwith the luggage in a light cart. They passed us just short of the\nrailway, and John was making the night hideous and terrifying the\nsleeping country, by _playing the horn_ in prodigiously horrible and\nunmusical blasts.\n\nMy dearest love, of course, to the dear girls, and to the noble Plorn.\nApropos of children, there was one gentleman at the \"Little Dombey\"\nyesterday morning, who exhibited, or rather concealed, the profoundest\ngrief. After crying a good deal without hiding it, he covered his face\nwith both his hands, and laid it down on the back of the seat before\nhim, and really shook with emotion. He was not in mourning, but I\nsupposed him to have lost some child in old time. There was a remarkably\ngood fellow of thirty or so, too, who found something so very ludicrous\nin \"Toots,\" that he _could not_ compose himself at all, but laughed\nuntil he sat wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. And whenever he felt\n\"Toots\" coming again he began to laugh and wipe his eyes afresh, and\nwhen he came he gave a kind of cry, as if it were too much for him. It\nwas uncommonly droll, and made me laugh heartily.\n\n                            Ever, dear Georgy, your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n               SCARBOROUGH ARMS, LEEDS, _Wednesday, Sept. 15th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nI have added a pound to the cheque. I would recommend your seeing the\npoor railway man again and giving him ten shillings, and telling him to\nlet you see him again in about a week. If he be then still unable to\nlift weights and handle heavy things, I would then give him another ten\nshillings, and so on.\n\nSince I wrote to Georgy from Scarborough, we have had, thank God,\nnothing but success. The Hull people (not generally considered\nexcitable, even on their own showing) were so enthusiastic, that we were\nobliged to promise to go back there for two readings. I have positively\nresolved not to lengthen out the time of my tour, so we are now\narranging to drop some small places, and substitute Hull again and York\nagain. But you will perhaps have heard this in the main from Arthur. I\nknow he wrote to you after the reading last night. This place I have\nalways doubted, knowing that we should come here when it was recovering\nfrom the double excitement of the festival and the Queen. But there is a\nvery large hall let indeed, and the prospect of to-night consequently\nlooks bright.\n\nArthur told you, I suppose, that he had his shirt-front and waistcoat\ntorn off last night? He was perfectly enraptured in consequence. Our men\ngot so knocked about that he gave them five shillings apiece on the\nspot. John passed several minutes upside down against a wall, with his\nhead amongst the people's boots. He came out of the difficulty in an\nexceedingly touzled condition, and with his face much flushed. For all\nthis, and their being packed as you may conceive they would be packed,\nthey settled down the instant I went in, and never wavered in the\nclosest attention for an instant. It was a very high room, and required\na great effort.\n\nOddly enough, I slept in this house three days last year with Wilkie.\nArthur has the bedroom I occupied then, and I have one two doors from\nit, and Gordon has the one between. Not only is he still with us, but he\n_has_ talked of going on to Manchester, going on to London, and coming\nback with us to Darlington next Tuesday!!!\n\nThese streets look like a great circus with the season just finished.\nAll sorts of garish triumphal arches were put up for the Queen, and they\nhave got smoky, and have been looked out of countenance by the sun, and\nare blistered and patchy, and half up and half down, and are hideous to\nbehold. Spiritless men (evidently drunk for some time in the royal\nhonour) are slowly removing them, and on the whole it is more like the\nclearing away of \"The Frozen Deep\" at Tavistock House than anything\nwithin your knowledge--with the exception that we are not in the least\nsorry, as we were then. Vague ideas are in Arthur's head that when we\ncome back to Hull, we are to come here, and are to have the Town Hall (a\nbeautiful building), and read to the million. I can't say yet. That\ndepends. I remember that when I was here before (I came from Rockingham\nto make a speech), I thought them a dull and slow audience. I hope I may\nhave been mistaken. I never saw better audiences than the Yorkshire\naudiences generally.\n\nI am so perpetually at work or asleep, that I have not a scrap of news.\nI saw the Leech family at Scarboro', both in my own house (that is to\nsay, hotel) and in theirs. They were not at either reading. Scarboro' is\ngay and pretty, and I think Gordon had an idea that we were always at\nsome such place.\n\nKiss the darling Plorn for me, and give him my love; dear Katie too,\ngiving her the same. I feel sorry that I cannot get down to Gad's Hill\nthis next time, but I shall look forward to our being there with Georgy,\nafter Scotland. Tell the servants that I remember them, and hope they\nwill live with us many years.\n\n                              Ever, my dearest Mamie,\n                                        Your most affectionate Father.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                   KING'S HEAD, SHEFFIELD, _Friday, Sept. 17th, 1858._\n\nI write you a few lines to Tavistock House, thinking you may not be\nsorry to find a note from me there on your arrival from Gad's Hill.\n\nHalifax was too small for us. I never saw such an audience though. They\nwere really worth reading to for nothing, though I didn't do exactly\nthat. It is as horrible a place as I ever saw, I think.\n\nThe run upon the tickets here is so immense that Arthur is obliged to\nget great bills out, signifying that no more can be sold. It will be by\nno means easy to get into the place the numbers who have already paid.\nIt is the hall we acted in. Crammed to the roof and the passages. We\nmust come back here towards the end of October, and are again altering\nthe list and striking out small places.\n\nThe trains are so strange and unintelligible in this part of the country\nthat we were obliged to leave Halifax at eight this morning, and\nbreakfast on the road--at Huddersfield again, where we had an hour's\nwait. Wills was in attendance on the platform, and took me (here at\nSheffield, I mean) out to Frederick Lehmann's house to see Mrs. Wills.\nShe looked pretty much the same as ever, I thought, and was taking care\nof a very pretty little boy. The house and grounds are as nice as\nanything _can_ be in this smoke. A heavy thunderstorm is passing over\nthe town, and it is raining hard too.\n\nThis is a stupid letter, my dearest Georgy, but I write in a hurry, and\nin the thunder and lightning, and with the crowd of to-night before me.\n\n                                             Ever most affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                               STATION HOTEL, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE,\n                                           _Sunday, Sept. 26th, 1858._\n\n                              EXTRACT.\n\nThe girls (as I have no doubt they have already told you for themselves)\narrived here in good time yesterday, and in very fresh condition. They\npersisted in going to the room last night, though I had arranged for\ntheir remaining quiet.\n\nWe have done a vast deal here. I suppose you know that we are going to\nBerwick, and that we mean to sleep there and go on to Edinburgh on\nMonday morning, arriving there before noon? If it be as fine to-morrow\nas it is to-day, the girls will see the coast piece of railway between\nBerwick and Edinburgh to great advantage. I was anxious that they\nshould, because that kind of pleasure is really almost the only one they\nare likely to have in their present trip.\n\nStanfield and Roberts are in Edinburgh, and the Scottish Royal Academy\ngave them a dinner on Wednesday, to which I was very pressingly\ninvited. But, of course, my going was impossible. I read twice that day.\n\nRemembering what you do of Sunderland, you will be surprised that our\nprofit there was very considerable. I read in a beautiful new theatre,\nand (I thought to myself) quite wonderfully. Such an audience I never\nbeheld for rapidity and enthusiasm. The room in which we acted\n(converted into a theatre afterwards) was burnt to the ground a year or\ntwo ago. We found the hotel, so bad in our time, really good. I walked\nfrom Durham to Sunderland, and from Sunderland to Newcastle.\n\nDon't you think, as we shall be at home at eleven in the forenoon this\nday fortnight, that it will be best for you and Plornish to come to\nTavistock House for that Sunday, and for us all to go down to Gad's Hill\nnext day? My best love to the noble Plornish. If he is quite reconciled\nto the postponement of his trousers, I should like to behold his first\nappearance in them. But, if not, as he is such a good fellow, I think it\nwould be a pity to disappoint and try him.\n\nAnd now, my dearest Georgy, I think I have said all I have to say before\nI go out for a little air. I had a very hard day yesterday, and am\ntired.\n\n                                          Ever your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]\n\n                       TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON,\n                                            _Sunday, Oct. 10th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR FORSTER,\n\nAs to the truth of the readings, I cannot tell you what the\ndemonstrations of personal regard and respect are. How the densest and\nmost uncomfortably-packed crowd will be hushed in an instant when I show\nmy face. How the youth of colleges, and the old men of business in the\ntown, seem equally unable to get near enough to me when they cheer me\naway at night. How common people and gentlefolks will stop me in the\nstreets and say: \"Mr. Dickens, will you let me touch the hand that has\nfilled my home with so many friends?\" And if you saw the mothers, and\nfathers, and sisters, and brothers in mourning, who invariably come to\n\"Little Dombey,\" and if you studied the wonderful expression of comfort\nand reliance with which they hang about me, as if I had been with them,\nall kindness and delicacy, at their own little death-bed, you would\nthink it one of the strangest things in the world.\n\nAs to the mere effect, of course I don't go on doing the thing so often\nwithout carefully observing myself and the people too in every little\nthing, and without (in consequence) greatly improving in it.\n\nAt Aberdeen, we were crammed to the street twice in one day. At Perth\n(where I thought when I arrived there literally could be nobody to\ncome), the nobility came posting in from thirty miles round, and the\nwhole town came and filled an immense hall. As to the effect, if you had\nseen them after Lilian died, in \"The Chimes,\" or when Scrooge woke and\ntalked to the boy outside the window, I doubt if you would ever have\nforgotten it. And at the end of \"Dombey\" yesterday afternoon, in the\ncold light of day, they all got up, after a short pause, gentle and\nsimple, and thundered and waved their hats with that astonishing\nheartiness and fondness for me, that for the first time in all my public\ncareer they took me completely off my legs, and I saw the whole eighteen\nhundred of them reel on one side as if a shock from without had shaken\nthe hall.\n\nThe dear girls have enjoyed themselves immensely, and their trip has\nbeen a great success. I hope I told you (but I forget whether I did or\nno) how splendidly Newcastle[4] came out. I am reminded of Newcastle at\nthe moment because they joined me there.\n\nI am anxious to get to the end of my readings, and to be at home again,\nand able to sit down and think in my own study. But the fatigue, though\nsometimes very great indeed, hardly tells upon me at all. And although\nall our people, from Smith downwards, have given in, more or less, at\ntimes, I have never been in the least unequal to the work, though\nsometimes sufficiently disinclined for it. My kindest and best love to\nMrs. Forster.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                        ROYAL HOTEL, DERBY, _Friday, Oct. 22nd, 1858._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nI am writing in a very poor condition; I have a bad cold all over me,\npains in my back and limbs, and a very sensitive and uncomfortable\nthroat. There was a great draught up some stone steps near me last\nnight, and I daresay that caused it.\n\nThe weather on my first two nights at Birmingham was so intolerably\nbad--it blew hard, and never left off raining for one single\nmoment--that the houses were not what they otherwise would have been. On\nthe last night the weather cleared, and we had a grand house.\n\nLast night at Nottingham was almost, if not quite, the most amazing we\nhave had. It is not a very large place, and the room is by no means a\nvery large one, but three hundred and twenty stalls were let, and all\nthe other tickets were sold.\n\nHere we have two hundred and twenty stalls let for to-night, and the\nother tickets are gone in proportion. It is a pretty room, but not\nlarge.\n\nI have just been saying to Arthur that if there is not a large let for\nYork, I would rather give it up, and get Monday at Gad's Hill. We have\ntelegraphed to know. If the answer comes (as I suppose it will) before\npost time, I will tell you in a postscript what we decide to do. Coming\nto London in the night of to-morrow (Saturday), and having to see Mr.\nOuvry on Sunday, and having to start for York early on Monday, I fear I\nshould not be able to get to Gad's Hill at all. You won't expect me till\nyou see me.\n\nArthur and I have considered Plornish's joke in all the immense number\nof aspects in which it presents itself to reflective minds. We have come\nto the conclusion that it is the best joke ever made. Give the dear boy\nmy love, and the same to Georgy, and the same to Katey, and take the\nsame yourself. Arthur (excessively low and inarticulate) mutters that he\n\"unites.\"\n\n[We knocked up Boylett, Berry, and John so frightfully yesterday, by\ntearing the room to pieces and altogether reversing it, as late as four\no'clock, that we gave them a supper last night. They shine all over\nto-day, as if it had been entirely composed of grease.]\n\n                          Ever, my dearest Mamie,\n                                        Your most affectionate Father.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                           WOLVERHAMPTON, _Wednesday, Nov. 3rd, 1858._\n\nLittle Leamington came out in the most amazing manner yesterday--turned\naway hundreds upon hundreds of people. They are represented as the\ndullest and worst of audiences. I found them very good indeed, even in\nthe morning.\n\nThere awaited me at the hotel, a letter from the Rev. Mr. Young,\nWentworth Watson's tutor, saying that Mrs. Watson wished her boy to\nshake hands with me, and that he would bring him in the evening. I\nexpected him at the hotel before the readings. But he did not come. He\nspoke to John about it in the room at night. The crowd and confusion,\nhowever, were very great, and I saw nothing of him. In his letter he\nsaid that Mrs. Watson was at Paris on her way home, and would be at\nBrighton at the end of this week. I suppose I shall see her there at the\nend of next week.\n\nWe find a let of two hundred stalls here, which is very large for this\nplace. The evening being fine too, and blue being to be seen in the sky\nbeyond the smoke, we expect to have a very full hall. Tell Mamey and\nKatey that if they had been with us on the railway to-day between\nLeamington and this place, they would have seen (though it is only an\nhour and ten minutes by the express) fires and smoke indeed. We came\nthrough a part of the Black Country that you know, and it looked at its\nblackest. All the furnaces seemed in full blast, and all the coal-pits\nto be working.\n\nIt is market-day here, and the ironmasters are standing out in the\nstreet (where they always hold high change), making such an iron hum and\nbuzz, that they confuse me horribly. In addition, there is a bellman\nannouncing something--not the readings, I beg to say--and there is an\nexcavation being made in the centre of the open place, for a statue, or\na pump, or a lamp-post, or something or other, round which all the\nWolverhampton boys are yelling and struggling.\n\nAnd here is Arthur, begging to have dinner at half-past three instead of\nfour, because he foresees \"a wiry evening\" in store for him. Under which\ncomplication of distractions, to which a waitress with a tray at this\nmoment adds herself, I sink, and leave off.\n\nMy best love to the dear girls, and to the noble Plorn, and to you.\nMarguerite and Ellen Stone not forgotten. All yesterday and to-day I\nhave been doing everything to the tune of:\n\n        And the day is dark and dreary.\n\n                     Ever, dearest Georgy,\n                                  Your most affectionate and faithful.\n\nP.S.--I hope the brazier is intolerably hot, and half stifles all the\nfamily. Then, and not otherwise, I shall think it in satisfactory work.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]\n\n                TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W. C.,\n                                             _Friday, Nov. 5th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR WHITE,\n\nMay I entreat you to thank Mr. Carter very earnestly and kindly in my\nname, for his proffered hospitality; and, further, to explain to him\nthat since my readings began, I have known them to be incompatible with\nall social enjoyments, and have neither set foot in a friend's house nor\nsat down to a friend's table in any one of all the many places I have\nbeen to, but have rigidly kept myself to my hotels. To this resolution I\nmust hold until the last. There is not the least virtue in it. It is a\nmatter of stern necessity, and I submit with the worst grace possible.\n\nWill you let me know, either at Southampton or Portsmouth, whether any\nof you, and how many of you, if any, are coming over, so that Arthur\nSmith may reserve good seats? Tell Lotty I hope she does not contemplate\ncoming to the morning reading; I always hate it so myself.\n\nMary and Katey are down at Gad's Hill with Georgy and Plornish, and they\nhave Marguerite Power and Ellen Stone staying there. I am sorry to say\nthat even my benevolence descries no prospect of their being able to\ncome to my native place.\n\nOn Saturday week, the 13th, my tour, please God, ends.\n\nMy best love to Mrs. White, and to Lotty, and to Clara.\n\n                            Ever, my dear White, affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]\n\n                 TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                            _Monday, Dec. 13th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR STONE,\n\nMany thanks for these discourses. They are very good, I think, as\nexpressing what many men have felt and thought; otherwise not specially\nremarkable. They have one fatal mistake, which is a canker at the foot\nof their ever being widely useful. Half the misery and hypocrisy of the\nChristian world arises (as I take it) from a stubborn determination to\nrefuse the New Testament as a sufficient guide in itself, and to force\nthe Old Testament into alliance with it--whereof comes all manner of\ncamel-swallowing and of gnat-straining. But so to resent this miserable\nerror, or to (by any implication) depreciate the divine goodness and\nbeauty of the New Testament, is to commit even a worse error. And to\nclass Jesus Christ with Mahomet is simply audacity and folly. I might as\nwell hoist myself on to a high platform, to inform my disciples that the\nlives of King George the Fourth and of King Alfred the Great belonged to\none and the same category.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]\n\n                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, Dec. 18th, 1858._\n\nMY DEAR PROCTER,\n\nA thousand thanks for the little song. I am charmed with it, and shall\nbe delighted to brighten \"Household Words\" with such a wise and genial\nlight. I no more believe that your poetical faculty has gone by, than I\nbelieve that you have yourself passed to the better land. You and it\nwill travel thither in company, rely upon it. So I still hope to hear\nmore of the trade-songs, and to learn that the blacksmith has hammered\nout no end of iron into good fashion of verse, like a cunning workman,\nas I know him of old to be.\n\n                               Very faithfully yours, my dear Procter.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[3] Niece to the Rev. W. Harness.\n\n[4] The birthplace of Mr. Forster.\n\n\n\n\n1859.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nDuring the winter, Charles Dickens was living at Tavistock House,\nremoving to Gad's Hill for the summer early in June, and returning to\nLondon in November. At this time a change was made in his weekly\njournal. \"Household Words\" became absolutely his own--Mr. Wills being\nhis partner and editor, as before--and was \"incorporated with 'All the\nYear Round,'\" under which title it was known thenceforth. The office was\nstill in Wellington Street, but in a different house. The first number\nwith the new name appeared on the 30th April, and it contained the\nopening of \"A Tale of Two Cities.\"\n\nThe first letter which follows shows that a proposal for a series of\nreadings in America had already been made to him. It was carefully\nconsidered and abandoned for the time. But the proposal was constantly\nrenewed, and the idea never wholly relinquished for many years before he\nactually decided on making so distant a \"reading tour.\"\n\nMr. Procter contributed to the early numbers of \"All the Year Round\"\nsome very spirited \"Songs of the Trades.\" We give notes from Charles\nDickens to the veteran poet, both in the last year, and in this year,\nexpressing his strong approval of them.\n\nThe letter and two notes to Mr. (afterwards Sir Antonio) Panizzi, for\nwhich we are indebted to Mr. Louis Fagan, one of Sir A. Panizzi's\nexecutors, show the warm sympathy and interest which he always felt for\nthe cause of Italian liberty, and for the sufferings of the State\nprisoners who at this time took refuge in England.\n\nWe give a little note to the dear friend and companion of Charles\nDickens's daughters, \"Lotty\" White, because it is a pretty specimen of\nhis writing, and because the young girl, who is playfully \"commanded\" to\nget well and strong, died early in July of this year. She was, at the\ntime this note was written, first attacked with the illness which was\nfatal to all her sisters. Mamie and Kate Dickens went from Gad's Hill to\nBonchurch to pay a last visit to their friend, and he writes to his\neldest daughter there. Also we give notes of loving sympathy and\ncondolence to the bereaved father and mother.\n\nIn the course of this summer Charles Dickens was not well, and went for\na week to his old favourite, Broadstairs--where Mr. Wilkie Collins and\nhis brother, Mr. Charles Allston Collins, were staying--for sea-air and\nchange, preparatory to another reading tour, in England only. His letter\nfrom Peterborough to Mr. Frank Stone, giving him an account of a reading\nat Manchester (Mr. Stone's native town), was one of the last ever\naddressed to that affectionate friend, who died very suddenly, to the\ngreat grief of Charles Dickens, in November. The letter to Mr. Thomas\nLongman, which closes this year, was one of introduction to that\ngentleman of young Marcus Stone, then just beginning his career as an\nartist, and to whom the premature death of his father made it doubly\ndesirable that he should have powerful helping hands.\n\nCharles Dickens refers, in a letter to Mrs. Watson, to his portrait by\nMr. Frith, which was finished at the end of 1858. It was painted for Mr.\nForster, and is now in the \"Forster Collection\" at South Kensington\nMuseum.\n\nThe Christmas number of this year, again written by several hands as\nwell as his own, was \"The Haunted House.\" In November, his story of \"A\nTale of Two Cities\" was finished in \"All the Year Round,\" and in\nDecember was published, complete, with dedication to Lord John Russell.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Smith.]\n\n             TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                         _Wednesday, Jan. 26th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR ARTHUR,\n\nWill you first read the enclosed letters, having previously welcomed,\nwith all possible cordiality, the bearer, Mr. Thomas C. Evans, from New\nYork?\n\nYou having read them, let me explain that Mr. Fields is a highly\nrespectable and influential man, one of the heads of the most classical\nand most respected publishing house in America; that Mr. Richard Grant\nWhite is a man of high reputation; and that Felton is the Greek\nProfessor in their Cambridge University, perhaps the most distinguished\nscholar in the States.\n\nThe address to myself, referred to in one of the letters, being on its\nway, it is quite clear that I must give some decided and definite answer\nto the American proposal. Now, will you carefully discuss it with Mr.\nEvans before I enter on it at all? Then, will you dine here with him on\nSunday--which I will propose to him--and arrange to meet at half-past\nfour for an hour's discussion?\n\nThe points are these:\n\nFirst. I have a very grave question within myself whether I could go to\nAmerica at all.\n\nSecondly. If I did go, I could not possibly go before the autumn.\n\nThirdly. If I did go, how long must I stay?\n\nFourthly. If the stay were a short one, could _you_ go?\n\nFifthly. What is his project? What could I make? What occurs to you upon\nhis proposal?\n\nI have told him that the business arrangements of the readings have been\nfrom the first so entirely in your hands, that I enter upon nothing\nconnected with them without previous reference to you.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Tuesday, Feb. 1st, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nI received your always welcome annual with even more interest than usual\nthis year, being (in common with my two girls and their aunt) much\nexcited and pleased by your account of your daughter's engagement. Apart\nfrom the high sense I have of the affectionate confidence with which you\ntell me what lies so tenderly on your own heart, I have followed the\nlittle history with a lively sympathy and regard for her. I hope, with\nyou, that it is full of promise, and that you will all be happy in it.\nThe separation, even in the present condition of travel (and no man can\nsay how much the discovery of a day may advance it), is nothing. And so\nGod bless her and all of you, and may the rosy summer bring her all the\nfulness of joy that we all wish her.\n\nTo pass from the altar to Townshend (which is a long way), let me report\nhim severely treated by Bully, who rules him with a paw of iron; and\ncomplaining, moreover, of indigestion. He drives here every Sunday, but\nat all other times is mostly shut up in his beautiful house, where I\noccasionally go and dine with him _tete-a-tete_, and where we always\ntalk of you and drink to you. That is a rule with us from which we never\ndepart. He is \"seeing a volume of poems through the press;\" rather an\nexpensive amusement. He has not been out at night (except to this house)\nsave last Friday, when he went to hear me read \"The Poor Traveller,\"\n\"Mrs. Gamp,\" and \"The Trial\" from \"Pickwick.\" He came into my room at\nSt. Martin's Hall, and I fortified him with weak brandy-and-water. You\nwill be glad to hear that the said readings are a greater _furore_ than\nthey ever have been, and that every night on which they now take\nplace--once a week--hundreds go away, unable to get in, though the hall\nholds thirteen hundred people. I dine with ---- to-day, by-the-bye,\nalong with his agent; concerning whom I observe him to be always divided\nbetween an unbounded confidence and a little latent suspicion. He always\ntells me that he is a gem of the first water; oh yes, the best of\nbusiness men! and then says that he did not quite like his conduct\nrespecting that farm-tenant and those hay-ricks.\n\nThere is a general impression here, among the best-informed, that war in\nItaly, to begin with, is inevitable, and will break out before April. I\nknow a gentleman at Genoa (Swiss by birth), deeply in with the\nauthorities at Turin, who is already sending children home.\n\nIn England we are quiet enough. There is a world of talk, as you know,\nabout Reform bills; but I don't believe there is any general strong\nfeeling on the subject. According to my perceptions, it is undeniable\nthat the public has fallen into a state of indifference about public\naffairs, mainly referable, as I think, to the people who administer\nthem--and there I mean the people of all parties--which is a very bad\nsign of the times. The general mind seems weary of debates and\nhonourable members, and to have taken _laissez-aller_ for its motto.\n\nMy affairs domestic (which I know are not without their interest for\nyou) flow peacefully. My eldest daughter is a capital housekeeper, heads\nthe table gracefully, delegates certain appropriate duties to her sister\nand her aunt, and they are all three devotedly attached. Charley, my\neldest boy, remains in Barings' house. Your present correspondent is\nmore popular than he ever has been. I rather think that the readings in\nthe country have opened up a new public who were outside before; but\nhowever that may be, his books have a wider range than they ever had,\nand his public welcomes are prodigious. Said correspondent is at present\noverwhelmed with proposals to go and read in America. Will never go,\nunless a small fortune be first paid down in money on this side of the\nAtlantic. Stated the figure of such payment, between ourselves, only\nyesterday. Expects to hear no more of it, and assuredly will never go\nfor less. You don't say, my dear Cerjat, when you are coming to England!\nSomehow I feel that this marriage ought to bring you over, though I\ndon't know why. You shall have a bed here and a bed at Gad's Hill, and\nwe will go and see strange sights together. When I was in Ireland, I\nordered the brightest jaunting-car that ever was seen. It has just this\nminute arrived per steamer from Belfast. Say you are coming, and you\nshall be the first man turned over by it; somebody must be (for my\ndaughter Mary drives anything that can be harnessed, and I know of no\nEnglish horse that would understand a jaunting-car coming down a Kentish\nhill), and you shall be that somebody if you will. They turned the\nbasket-phaeton over, last summer, in a bye-road--Mary and the other\ntwo--and had to get it up again; which they did, and came home as if\nnothing had happened. They send their loves to Mrs. Cerjat, and to you,\nand to all, and particularly to the dear _fiancee_. So do I, with all my\nheart, and am ever your attached and affectionate friend.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Antonio Panizzi.]\n\n                    TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday Night, March 14th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR PANIZZI,\n\nIf you should feel no delicacy in mentioning, or should see no objection\nto mentioning, to Signor Poerio, or any of the wronged Neapolitan\ngentlemen to whom it is your happiness and honour to be a friend on\ntheir arrival in this country, an idea that has occurred to me, I should\nregard it as a great kindness in you if you would be my exponent. I\nthink you will have no difficulty in believing that I would not, on any\nconsideration, obtrude my name or projects upon any one of those noble\nsouls, if there were any reason of the slightest kind against it. And if\nyou see any such reason, I pray you instantly to banish my letter from\nyour thoughts.\n\nIt seems to me probable that some narrative of their ten years'\nsuffering will, somehow or other, sooner or later, be by some of them\nlaid before the English people. The just interest and indignation alive\nhere, will (I suppose) elicit it. False narratives and garbled stories\nwill, in any case, of a certainty get about. If the true history of the\nmatter is to be told, I have that sympathy with them and respect for\nthem which would, all other considerations apart, render it unspeakably\ngratifying to me to be the means of its diffusion. What I desire to lay\nbefore them is simply this. If for my new successor to \"Household Words\"\na narrative of their ten years' trial could be written, I would take any\nconceivable pains to have it rendered into English, and presented in the\nsincerest and best way to a very large and comprehensive audience. It\nshould be published exactly as you might think best for them, and\nremunerated in any way that you might think generous and right. They\nwant no mouthpiece and no introducer, but perhaps they might have no\nobjection to be associated with an English writer, who is possibly not\nunknown to them by some general reputation, and who certainly would be\nanimated by a strong public and private respect for their honour,\nspirit, and unmerited misfortunes. This is the whole matter; assuming\nthat such a thing is to be done, I long for the privilege of helping to\ndo it. These gentlemen might consider it an independent means of making\nmoney, and I should be delighted to pay the money.\n\nIn my absence from town, my friend and sub-editor, Mr. Wills (to whom I\nhad expressed my feeling on the subject), has seen, I think, three of\nthe gentlemen together. But as I hear, returning home to-night, that\nthey are in your good hands, and as nobody can be a better judge than\nyou of anything that concerns them, I at once decide to write to you and\nto take no other step whatever. Forgive me for the trouble I have\noccasioned you in the reading of this letter, and never think of it\nagain if you think that by pursuing it you would cause them an instant's\nuneasiness.\n\n                                    Believe me, very faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Antonio Panizzi.]\n\n                         TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Tuesday, March 15th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR PANIZZI,\n\nLet me thank you heartily for your kind and prompt letter. I am really\nand truly sensible of your friendliness.\n\nI have not heard from Higgins, but of course I am ready to serve on the\nCommittee.\n\n                                              Always faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]\n\n                        TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Saturday, March 19th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR PROCTER,\n\nI think the songs are simply ADMIRABLE! and I have no doubt of this\nbeing a popular feature in \"All the Year Round.\" I would not omit the\nsexton, and I would not omit the spinners and weavers; and I would omit\nthe hack-writers, and (I think) the alderman; but I am not so clear\nabout the chorister. The pastoral I a little doubt finding audience for;\nbut I am not at all sure yet that my doubt is well founded.\n\nHad I not better send them all to the printer, and let you have proofs\nkept by you for publishing? I shall not have to make up the first number\nof \"All the Year Round\" until early in April. I don't like to send the\nmanuscript back, and I never do like to do so when I get anything that I\nknow to be thoroughly, soundly, and unquestionably good. I am hard at\nwork upon my story, and expect a magnificent start. With hearty thanks,\n\n                                            Ever yours affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]\n\n                 TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                          _Tuesday, March 29th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR EDMUND,\n\n1. I think that no one seeing the place can well doubt that my house at\nGad's Hill is the place for the letter-box. The wall is accessible by\nall sorts and conditions of men, on the bold high road, and the house\naltogether is the great landmark of the whole neighbourhood. Captain\nGoldsmith's _house_ is up a lane considerably off the high road; but he\nhas a garden _wall_ abutting on the road itself.\n\n2. \"The Pic-Nic Papers\" were originally sold to Colburn, for the benefit\nof the widow of Mr. Macrone, of St. James's Square, publisher, deceased.\nTwo volumes were contributed--of course gratuitously--by writers who had\nhad transactions with Macrone. Mr. Colburn, wanting three volumes in all\nfor trade purposes, added a third, consisting of an American reprint.\nOf that volume I didn't know, and don't know, anything. The other two I\nedited, gratuitously as aforesaid, and wrote the Lamplighter's story in.\nIt was all done many years ago. There was a preface originally,\ndelicately setting forth how the book came to be.\n\n3. I suppose ---- to be, as Mr. Samuel Weller expresses it somewhere in\n\"Pickwick,\" \"ravin' mad with the consciousness o' willany.\" Under their\nadvertisement in _The Times_ to-day, you will see, without a word of\ncomment, the shorthand writer's verbatim report of the judgment.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Antonio Panizzi.]\n\n             \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND\" OFFICE, _Thursday, April 7th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR PANIZZI,\n\nIf you don't know, I think you should know that a number of letters are\npassing through the post-office, purporting to be addressed to the\ncharitable by \"Italian Exiles in London,\" asking for aid to raise a fund\nfor a tribute to \"London's Lord Mayor,\" in grateful recognition of the\nreception of the Neapolitan exiles. I know this to be the case, and have\nno doubt in my own mind that the whole thing is an imposture and a \"do.\"\nThe letters are signed \"Gratitudine Italiana.\"\n\n                                                Ever faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss White.]\n\n                  TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                           _Monday, April 18th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR LOTTY,\n\nThis is merely a notice to you that I must positively insist on your\ngetting well, strong, and into good spirits, with the least possible\ndelay. Also, that I look forward to seeing you at Gad's Hill sometime in\nthe summer, staying with the girls, and heartlessly putting down the\nPlorn You know that there is no appeal from the Plorn's inimitable\nfather. What _he_ says must be done. Therefore I send you my love (which\nplease take care of), and my commands (which please obey).\n\n                                               Ever your affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]\n\n                  TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                            _Tuesday, May 31st, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. WATSON,\n\nYou surprise me by supposing that there is ever latent a defiant and\nroused expression in the undersigned lamb! Apart from this singular\ndelusion of yours, and wholly unaccountable departure from your usual\naccuracy in all things, your satisfaction with the portrait is a great\npleasure to me. It has received every conceivable pains at Frith's\nhands, and ought on his account to be good. It is a little too much (to\nmy thinking) as if my next-door neighbour were my deadly foe, uninsured,\nand I had just received tidings of his house being afire; otherwise very\ngood.\n\nI cannot tell you how delighted we shall be if you would come to Gad's\nHill. You should see some charming woods and a rare old castle, and you\nshould have such a snug room looking over a Kentish prospect, with every\nfacility in it for pondering on the beauties of its master's beard! _Do_\ncome, but you positively _must not_ come and go on the same day.\n\nWe retreat there on Monday, and shall be there all the summer.\n\nMy small boy is perfectly happy at Southsea, and likes the school very\nmuch. I had the finest letter two or three days ago, from another of my\nboys--Frank Jeffrey--at Hamburg. In this wonderful epistle he says:\n\"Dear papa, I write to tell you that I have given up all thoughts of\nbeing a doctor. My conviction that I shall never get over my stammering\nis the cause; all professions are barred against me. The only thing I\nshould like to be is a gentleman farmer, either at the Cape, in Canada,\nor Australia. With my passage paid, fifteen pounds, a horse, and a\nrifle, I could go two or three hundred miles up country, sow grain, buy\ncattle, and in time be very comfortable.\"\n\nConsidering the consequences of executing the little commission by the\nnext steamer, I perceived that the first consequence of the fifteen\npounds would be that he would be robbed of it--of the horse, that it\nwould throw him--and of the rifle, that it would blow his head off;\nwhich probabilities I took the liberty of mentioning, as being against\nthe scheme. With best love from all,\n\n                  Ever believe me, my dear Mrs. Watson,\n                                       Your faithful and affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. White.]\n\n                            TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, June 5th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. WHITE,\n\nI do not write to you this morning because I have anything to say--I\nwell know where your consolation is set, and to what beneficent figure\nyour thoughts are raised--but simply because you are so much in my mind\nthat it is a relief to send you and dear White my love. You are always\nin our hearts and on our lips. May the great God comfort you! You know\nthat Mary and Katie are coming on Thursday. They will bring dear Lotty\nwhat she little needs with you by her side--love; and I hope their\ncompany will interest and please her. There is nothing that they, or any\nof us, would not do for her. She is a part of us all, and has belonged\nto us, as well as to you, these many years.\n\n                                  Ever your affectionate and faithful.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                          GAD'S HILL, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Monday, June 11th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nOn Saturday night I found, very much to my surprise and pleasure, the\nphotograph on my table at Tavistock House. It is not a very pleasant or\ncheerful presentation of my daughters; but it is wonderfully like for\nall that, and in some details remarkably good. When I came home here\nyesterday I tried it in the large Townshend stereoscope, in which it\nshows to great advantage. It is in the little stereoscope at present on\nthe drawing-room table. One of the balustrades of the destroyed old\nRochester bridge has been (very nicely) presented to me by the\ncontractor for the works, and has been duly stonemasoned and set up on\nthe lawn behind the house. I have ordered a sun-dial for the top of it,\nand it will be a very good object indeed. The Plorn is highly excited\nto-day by reason of an institution which he tells me (after questioning\nGeorge) is called the \"Cobb, or Bodderin,\" holding a festival at The\nFalstaff. He is possessed of some vague information that they go to\nHigham Church, in pursuance of some old usage, and attend service there,\nand afterwards march round the village. It so far looks probable that\nthey certainly started off at eleven very spare in numbers, and came\nback considerably recruited, which looks to me like the difference\nbetween going to church and coming to dinner. They bore no end of bright\nbanners and broad sashes, and had a band with a terrific drum, and are\nnow (at half-past two) dining at The Falstaff, partly in the side room\non the ground-floor, and partly in a tent improvised this morning. The\ndrum is hung up to a tree in The Falstaff garden, and looks like a\ntropical sort of gourd. I have presented the band with five shillings,\nwhich munificence has been highly appreciated. Ices don't seem to be\nprovided for the ladies in the gallery--I mean the garden; they are\nprowling about there, endeavouring to peep in at the beef and mutton\nthrough the holes in the tent, on the whole, in a debased and degraded\nmanner.\n\nTurk somehow cut his foot in Cobham Lanes yesterday, and Linda hers.\nThey are both lame, and looking at each other. Fancy Mr. Townshend not\nintending to go for another three weeks, and designing to come down here\nfor a few days--with Henri and Bully--on Wednesday! I wish you could\nhave seen him alone with me on Saturday; he was so extraordinarily\nearnest and affectionate on my belongings and affairs in general, and\nnot least of all on you and Katie, that he cried in a most pathetic\nmanner, and was so affected that I was obliged to leave him among the\nflowerpots in the long passage at the end of the dining-room. It was a\nvery good piece of truthfulness and sincerity, especially in one of his\nyears, able to take life so easily.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Wills are here now (but I daresay you know it from your\naunt), and return to town with me to-morrow morning. We are now going on\nto the castle. Mrs. Wills was very droll last night, and told me some\ngood stories. My dear, I wish particularly to impress upon you and dear\nKatie (to whom I send my other best love) that I hope your stay will not\nbe very long. I don't think it very good for either of you, though of\ncourse I know that Lotty will be, and must be, and should be the first\nconsideration with you both. I am very anxious to know how you found her\nand how you are yourself.\n\nBest love to dear Lotty and Mrs. White. The same to Mr. White and Clara.\nWe are always talking about you all.\n\n                        Ever, dearest Mamie, your affectionate Father.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]\n\n                      GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Thursday, July 7th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR WHITE,\n\nI send my heartiest and most affectionate love to Mrs. White and you,\nand to Clara. You know all that I could add; you have felt it all; let\nit be unspoken and unwritten--it is expressed within us.\n\nDo you not think that you could all three come here, and stay with us?\nYou and Mrs. White should have your own large room and your own ways,\nand should be among us when you felt disposed, and never otherwise. I do\nhope you would find peace here. Can it not be done?\n\nWe have talked very much about it among ourselves, and the girls are\nstrong upon it. Think of it--do!\n\n                                               Ever your affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]\n\n                        GAD'S HILL, _Thursday Night, Aug. 25th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR FORSTER,\n\nHeartily glad to get your letter this morning.\n\nI cannot easily tell you how much interested I am by what you tell me of\nour brave and excellent friend the Chief Baron, in connection with that\nruffian. I followed the case with so much interest, and have followed\nthe miserable knaves and asses who have perverted it since, with so much\nindignation, that I have often had more than half a mind to write and\nthank the upright judge who tried him. I declare to God that I believe\nsuch a service one of the greatest that a man of intellect and courage\ncan render to society. Of course I saw the beast of a prisoner (with my\nmind's eye) delivering his cut-and-dried speech, and read in every word\nof it that no one but the murderer could have delivered or conceived\nit. Of course I have been driving the girls out of their wits here, by\nincessantly proclaiming that there needed no medical evidence either\nway, and that the case was plain without it. Lastly, of course (though a\nmerciful man--because a merciful man I mean), I would hang any Home\nSecretary (Whig, Tory, Radical, or otherwise) who should step in between\nthat black scoundrel and the gallows. I can_not_ believe--and my belief\nin all wrong as to public matters is enormous--that such a thing will be\ndone.\n\nI am reminded of Tennyson, by thinking that King Arthur would have made\nshort work of the amiable ----, whom the newspapers strangely delight to\nmake a sort of gentleman of. How fine the \"Idylls\" are! Lord! what a\nblessed thing it is to read a man who can write! I thought nothing could\nbe grander than the first poem till I came to the third; but when I had\nread the last, it seemed to be absolutely unapproached and\nunapproachable.\n\nTo come to myself. I have written and begged the \"All the Year Round\"\npublisher to send you directly four weeks' proofs beyond the current\nnumber, that are in type. I hope you will like them. Nothing but the\ninterest of the subject, and the pleasure of striving with the\ndifficulty of the forms of treatment, nothing in the mere way of money,\nI mean, could also repay the time and trouble of the incessant\ncondensation. But I set myself the little task of making a _picturesque_\nstory, rising in every chapter with characters true to nature, but whom\nthe story itself should express, more than they should express\nthemselves, by dialogue. I mean, in other words, that I fancied a story\nof incident might be written, in place of the bestiality that _is_\nwritten under that pretence, pounding the characters out in its own\nmortar, and beating their own interests out of them. If you could have\nread the story all at once, I hope you wouldn't have stopped halfway.\n\nAs to coming to your retreat, my dear Forster, think how helpless I am.\nI am not well yet. I have an instinctive feeling that nothing but the\nsea will restore me, and I am planning to go and work at Ballard's, at\nBroadstairs, from next Wednesday to Monday. I generally go to town on\nMonday afternoon. All Tuesday I am at the office, on Wednesday I come\nback here, and go to work again. I don't leave off till Monday comes\nround once more. I am fighting to get my story done by the first week in\nOctober. On the 10th of October I am going away to read for a fortnight\nat Ipswich, Norwich, Oxford, Cambridge, and a few other places. Judge\nwhat my spare time is just now!\n\nI am very much surprised and very sorry to find from the enclosed that\nElliotson has been ill. I never heard a word of it.\n\nGeorgy sends best love to you and to Mrs. Forster, so do I, so does\nPlorn, so does Frank. The girls are, for five days, with the Whites at\nRamsgate. It is raining, intensely hot, and stormy. Eighteen creatures,\nlike little tortoises, have dashed in at the window and fallen on the\npaper since I began this paragraph [Illustration: ink-blot] (that was\none!). I am a wretched sort of creature in my way, but it is a way that\ngets on somehow. And all ways have the same fingerpost at the head of\nthem, and at every turning in them.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens and Miss Katie Dickens.]\n\n                       ALBION, BROADSTAIRS, _Friday, Sept. 2nd, 1859._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE AND KATIE,\n\nI have been \"moved\" here, and am now (Ballard having added to the hotel\na house we lived in three years) in our old dining-room and\nsitting-room, and our old drawing-room as a bedroom. My cold is so bad,\nboth in my throat and in my chest, that I can't bathe in the sea; Tom\nCollin dissuaded me--thought it \"bad\"--but I get a heavy shower-bath at\nMrs. Crampton's every morning. The baths are still hers and her\nhusband's, but they have retired and live in \"Nuckells\"--are going to\ngive a stained-glass window, value three hundred pounds, to St. Peter's\nChurch. Tom Collin is of opinion that the Miss Dickenses has growed two\nfine young women--leastwise, asking pardon, ladies. An evangelical\nfamily of most disagreeable girls prowl about here and trip people up\nwith tracts, which they put in the paths with stones upon them to keep\nthem from blowing away. Charles Collins and I having seen a bill\nyesterday--about a mesmeric young lady who did feats, one of which was\nset forth in the bill, in a line by itself, as\n\n                            THE RIGID LEGS,\n\n--were overpowered with curiosity, and resolved to go. It came off in\nthe Assembly Room, now more exquisitely desolate than words can\ndescribe. Eighteen shillings was the \"take.\" Behind a screen among the\ncompany, we heard mysterious gurglings of water before the entertainment\nbegan, and then a slippery sound which occasioned me to whisper C. C.\n(who laughed in the most ridiculous manner), \"Soap.\" It proved to be the\nyoung lady washing herself. She must have been wonderfully dirty, for\nshe took a world of trouble, and didn't come out clean after all--in a\nwretched dirty muslin frock, with blue ribbons. She was the alleged\nmesmeriser, and a boy who distributed bills the alleged mesmerised. It\nwas a most preposterous imposition, but more ludicrous than any poor\nsight I ever saw. The boy is clearly out of pantomime, and when he\npretended to be in the mesmeric state, made the company back by going\nin among them head over heels, backwards, half-a-dozen times, in a most\ninsupportable way. The pianist had struck; and the manner in which the\nlecturer implored \"some lady\" to play a \"polker,\" and the manner in\nwhich no lady would; and in which the few ladies who were there sat with\ntheir hats on, and the elastic under their chins, as if it were going to\nblow, is never to be forgotten. I have been writing all the morning, and\nam going for a walk to Ramsgate. This is a beast of a letter, but I am\nnot well, and have been addling my head.\n\n                           Ever, dear Girls, your affectionate Father.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]\n\n                     GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                     _Friday Night, Sept. 16th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR WILKIE,\n\nJust a word to say that I have received yours, and that I look forward\nto the reunion on Thursday, when I hope to have the satisfaction of\nrecounting to you the plot of a play that has been laid before me for\ncommending advice.\n\nDitto to what you say respecting the _Great Eastern_. I went right up to\nLondon Bridge by the boat that day, on purpose that I might pass her. I\nthought her the ugliest and most unshiplike thing these eyes ever\nbeheld. I wouldn't go to sea in her, shiver my ould timbers and rouse me\nup with a monkey's tail (man-of-war metaphor), not to chuck a biscuit\ninto Davy Jones's weather eye, and see double with my own old toplights.\n\nTurk has been so good as to produce from his mouth, for the wholesome\nconsternation of the family, eighteen feet of worm. When he had brought\nit up, he seemed to think it might be turned to account in the\nhousekeeping and was proud. Pony has kicked a shaft off the cart, and is\nto be sold. Why don't you buy her? she'd never kick with you.\n\nBarber's opinion is, that them fruit-trees, one and all, is touchwood,\nand not fit for burning at any gentleman's fire; also that the stocking\nof this here garden is worth less than nothing, because you wouldn't\nhave to grub up nothing, and something takes a man to do it at\nthree-and-sixpence a day. Was \"left desponding\" by your reporter.\n\nI have had immense difficulty to find a man for the stable-yard here.\nBarber having at last engaged one this morning, I enquired if he had a\ndecent hat for driving in, to which Barber returned this answer:\n\n\"Why, sir, not to deceive you, that man flatly say that he never have\nwore that article since man he was!\"\n\nI am consequently fortified into my room, and am afraid to go out to\nlook at him. Love from all.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                          _Saturday, Oct. 15th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR REGNIER,\n\nYou will receive by railway parcel the proof-sheets of a story of mine,\nthat has been for some time in progress in my weekly journal, and that\nwill be published in a complete volume about the middle of November.\nNobody but Forster has yet seen the latter portions of it, or will see\nthem until they are published. I want you to read it for two reasons.\nFirstly, because I hope it is the best story I have written. Secondly,\nbecause it treats of a very remarkable time in France; and I should very\nmuch like to know what you think of its being dramatised for a French\ntheatre. If you should think it likely to be done, I should be glad to\ntake some steps towards having it well done. The story is an\nextraordinary success here, and I think the end of it is certain to make\na still greater sensation.\n\nDon't trouble yourself to write to me, _mon ami_, until you shall have\nhad time to read the proofs. Remember, they are _proofs_, and _private_;\nthe latter chapters will not be before the public for five or six weeks\nto come.\n\nWith kind regards to Madame Regnier, in which my daughters and their\naunt unite,\n\n                                    Believe me, ever faithfully yours.\n\nP.S.--The story (I daresay you have not seen any of it yet) is called\n\"A Tale of Two Cities.\"\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]\n\n                   PETERBOROUGH, _Wednesday Evening, Oct. 19th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR STONE,\n\nWe had a splendid rush last night--exactly as we supposed, with the\npressure on the two shillings, of whom we turned a crowd away. They were\na far finer audience than on the previous night; I think the finest I\nhave ever read to. They took every word of the \"Dombey\" in quite an\namazing manner, and after the child's death, paused a little, and then\nset up a shout that it did one good to hear. Mrs. Gamp then set in with\na roar, which lasted until I had done. I think everybody for the time\nforgot everything but the matter in hand. It was as fine an instance of\nthorough absorption in a fiction as any of us are likely to see ever\nagain.\n\n---- (in an exquisite red mantle), accompanied by her sister (in another\nexquisite red mantle) and by the deaf lady, (who leaned a black\nhead-dress, exactly like an old-fashioned tea-urn without the top,\nagainst the wall), was charming. HE couldn't get at her on account of\nthe pressure. HE tried to peep at her from the side door, but she (ha,\nha, ha!) was unconscious of his presence. I read to her, and goaded him\nto madness. He is just sane enough to send his kindest regards.\n\nThis is a place which--except the cathedral, with the loveliest front I\never saw--is like the back door to some other place. It is, I should\nhope, the deadest and most utterly inert little town in the British\ndominions. The magnates have taken places, and the bookseller is of\nopinion that \"such is the determination to do honour to Mr. Dickens,\nthat the doors _must_ be opened half an hour before the appointed time.\"\nYou will picture to yourself Arthur's quiet indignation at this, and the\nmanner in which he remarked to me at dinner, \"that he turned away twice\nPeterborough last night.\"\n\nA very pretty room--though a Corn Exchange--and a room we should have\nbeen glad of at Cambridge, as it is large, bright, and cheerful, and\nwonderfully well lighted.\n\nThe difficulty of getting to Bradford from here to-morrow, at any time\nconvenient to us, turned out to be so great, that we are all going in\nfor Leeds (only three-quarters of an hour from Bradford) to-night after\nthe reading, at a quarter-past eleven. We are due at Leeds a quarter\nbefore three.\n\nSo no more at present from,\n\n                                                 Yours affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. R. Sculthorpe.]\n\n                TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                          _Thursday, Nov. 10th, 1859._\n\nDEAR SIR,\n\nJudgment must go by default. I have not a word to plead against Dodson\nand Fogg. I am without any defence to the action; and therefore, as law\ngoes, ought to win it.\n\nSeriously, the date of your hospitable note disturbs my soul. But I have\nbeen incessantly writing in Kent and reading in all sorts of places, and\nhave done nothing in my own personal character these many months; and\nnow I come to town and our friend[5] is away! Let me take that\ndefaulting miscreant into council when he comes back.\n\n                                                     Faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]\n\n               TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                         _Wednesday, Nov. 16th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR REGNIER,\n\nI send you ten thousand thanks for your kind and explicit letter. What I\nparticularly wished to ascertain from you was, whether it is likely the\nCensor would allow such a piece to be played in Paris. In the case of\nits being likely, then I wished to have the piece as well done as\npossible, and would even have proposed to come to Paris to see it\nrehearsed. But I very much doubted whether the general subject would not\nbe objectionable to the Government, and what you write with so much\nsagacity and with such care convinces me at once that its representation\nwould be prohibited. Therefore I altogether abandon and relinquish the\nidea. But I am just as heartily and cordially obliged to you for your\ninterest and friendship, as if the book had been turned into a play five\nhundred times. I again thank you ten thousand times, and am quite sure\nthat you are right. I only hope you will forgive my causing you so much\ntrouble, after your hard work.\n\nMy girls and Georgina send their kindest regards to Madame Regnier and\nto you. My Gad's Hill house (I think I omitted to tell you, in reply to\nyour enquiry) is on the very scene of Falstaff's robbery. There is a\nlittle _cabaret_ at the roadside, still called The Sir John Falstaff.\nAnd the country, in all its general features, is, at this time, what it\nwas in Shakespeare's. I hope you will see the house before long. It is\nreally a pretty place, and a good residence for an English writer, is it\nnot?\n\nMacready, we are all happy to hear from himself, is going to leave the\ndreary tomb in which he lives, at Sherborne, and to remove to\nCheltenham, a large and handsome place, about four or five hours'\nrailway journey from London, where his poor girls will at least see and\nhear some life. Madame Celeste was with me yesterday, wishing to\ndramatise \"A Tale of Two Cities\" for the Lyceum, after bringing out the\nChristmas pantomime. I gave her my permission and the book; but I fear\nthat her company (troupe) is a very poor one.\n\nThis is all the news I have, except (which is no news at all) that I\nfeel as if I had not seen you for fifty years, and that\n\n                          I am ever your attached and faithful Friend.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. T. Longman.]\n\n                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday, Nov. 28th, 1859._\n\nMY DEAR LONGMAN,\n\nI am very anxious to present to you, with the earnest hope that you will\nhold him in your remembrance, young Mr. Marcus Stone, son of poor Frank\nStone, who died suddenly but a little week ago. You know, I daresay,\nwhat a start this young man made in the last exhibition, and what a\nfavourable notice his picture attracted. He wishes to make an additional\nopening for himself in the illustration of books. He is an admirable\ndraughtsman, has a most dexterous hand, a charming sense of grace and\nbeauty, and a capital power of observation. These qualities in him I\nknow well of my own knowledge. He is in all things modest, punctual, and\nright; and I would answer for him, if it were needful, with my head.\n\nIf you will put anything in his way, you will do it a second time, I am\ncertain.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[5] Mr. Edmund Yates.\n\n\n\n\n1860.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nThis winter was the last spent at Tavistock House. Charles Dickens had\nfor some time been inclining to the idea of making his home altogether\nat Gad's Hill, giving up his London house, and taking a furnished house\nfor the sake of his daughters for a few months of the London season.\nAnd, as his daughter Kate was to be married this summer to Mr. Charles\nCollins, this intention was confirmed and carried out. He made\narrangements for the sale of Tavistock House to Mr. Davis, a Jewish\ngentleman, and he gave up possession of it in September. Up to this time\nGad's Hill had been furnished merely as a temporary summer\nresidence--pictures, library, and all best furniture being left in the\nLondon house. He now set about beautifying and making Gad's Hill\nthoroughly comfortable and homelike. And there was not a year\nafterwards, up to the year of his death, that he did not make some\naddition or improvement to it. He also furnished, as a private\nresidence, a sitting-room and some bedrooms at his office in Wellington\nStreet, to be used, when there was no house in London, as occasional\ntown quarters by himself, his daughter, and sister-in-law.\n\nHe began in this summer his occasional papers for \"All the Year Round,\"\nwhich he called \"The Uncommercial Traveller,\" and which were continued\nat intervals in his journal until 1869.\n\nIn the autumn of this year he began another story, to be published\nweekly in \"All the Year Round.\" The letter to Mr. Forster, which we\ngive, tells him of this beginning and gives him the name of the book.\nThe first number of \"Great Expectations\" appeared on the 1st December.\nThe Christmas number, this time, was written jointly by himself and Mr.\nWilkie Collins. The scene was laid at Clovelly, and they made a journey\ntogether into Devonshire and Cornwall, for the purpose of this story, in\nNovember.\n\nThe letter to Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton is, unfortunately, the only one\nwe have as yet been able to procure. The present Lord Lytton, the\nViceroy of India, has kindly endeavoured to help us even during his\nabsence from England. But it was found to be impossible without his own\nassistance to make the necessary search among his father's papers. And\nhe has promised us that, on his return, he will find and lend to us,\nmany letters from Charles Dickens, which are certainly in existence, to\nhis distinguished fellow-writer and great friend. We hope, therefore, it\nmay be possible for us at some future time to be able to publish these\nletters, as well as those addressed to the present Lord Lytton (when he\nwas Mr. Robert Lytton, otherwise \"Owen Meredith,\" and frequent\ncontributor to \"Household Words\" and \"All the Year Round\"). We have the\nsame hope with regard to letters addressed to Sir Henry Layard, at\npresent Ambassador at Constantinople, which, of course, for the same\nreason, cannot be lent to us at the present time.\n\nWe give a letter to Mr. Forster on one of his books on the Commonwealth,\nthe \"Impeachment of the Five Members;\" which, as with other letters\nwhich we are glad to publish on the subject of Mr. Forster's own works,\nwas not used by himself for obvious reasons.\n\nA letter to his daughter Mamie (who, after her sister's marriage, paid a\nvisit with her dear friends the White family to Scotland, where she had\na serious illness) introduces a recent addition to the family, who\nbecame an important member of it, and one to whom Charles Dickens was\nvery tenderly attached--her little white Pomeranian dog \"Mrs. Bouncer\"\n(so called after the celebrated lady of that name in \"Box and Cox\"). It\nis quite necessary to make this formal introduction of the little pet\nanimal (who lived to be a very old dog and died in 1874), because future\nletters to his daughter contain constant references and messages to\n\"Mrs. Bouncer,\" which would be quite unintelligible without this\nexplanation. \"Boy,\" also referred to in this letter, was his daughter's\nhorse. The little dog and the horse were gifts to Mamie Dickens from her\nfriends Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Smith, and the sister of the latter, Miss\nCraufurd.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                            TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday, Jan. 2nd, 1860._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nA happy New Year to you, and many happy years! I cannot tell you how\ndelighted I was to receive your Christmas letter, or with what pleasure\nI have received Forster's emphatic accounts of your health and spirits.\nBut when was I ever wrong? And when did I not tell you that you were an\nimpostor in pretending to grow older as the rest of us do, and that you\nhad a secret of your own for reversing the usual process! It happened\nthat I read at Cheltenham a couple of months ago, and that I have rarely\nseen a place that so attracted my fancy. I had never seen it before.\nAlso I believe the character of its people to have greatly changed for\nthe better. All sorts of long-visaged prophets had told me that they\nwere dull, stolid, slow, and I don't know what more that is\ndisagreeable. I found them exactly the reverse in all respects; and I\nsaw an amount of beauty there--well--that is not to be more specifically\nmentioned to you young fellows.\n\nKatie dined with us yesterday, looking wonderfully well, and singing\n\"Excelsior\" with a certain dramatic fire in her, whereof I seem to\nremember having seen sparks afore now. Etc. etc. etc.\n\n        With kindest love from all at home to all with you,\n                       Ever, my dear Macready, your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]\n\n                 TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                     _Saturday Night, Jan. 7th, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR WILKIE,\n\nI have read this book with great care and attention. There cannot be a\ndoubt that it is a very great advance on all your former writing, and\nmost especially in respect of tenderness. In character it is excellent.\nMr. Fairlie as good as the lawyer, and the lawyer as good as he. Mr.\nVesey and Miss Halcombe, in their different ways, equally meritorious.\nSir Percival, also, is most skilfully shown, though I doubt (you see\nwhat small points I come to) whether any man ever showed uneasiness by\nhand or foot without being forced by nature to show it in his face too.\nThe story is very interesting, and the writing of it admirable.\n\nI seem to have noticed, here and there, that the great pains you take\nexpress themselves a trifle too much, and you know that I always contest\nyour disposition to give an audience credit for nothing, which\nnecessarily involves the forcing of points on their attention, and which\nI have always observed them to resent when they find it out--as they\nalways will and do. But on turning to the book again, I find it\ndifficult to take out an instance of this. It rather belongs to your\nhabit of thought and manner of going about the work. Perhaps I express\nmy meaning best when I say that the three people who write the\nnarratives in these proofs have a DISSECTIVE property in common, which\nis essentially not theirs but yours; and that my own effort would be to\nstrike more of what is got _that way_ out of them by collision with one\nanother, and by the working of the story.\n\nYou know what an interest I have felt in your powers from the beginning\nof our friendship, and how very high I rate them? _I_ know that this is\nan admirable book, and that it grips the difficulties of the weekly\nportion and throws them in masterly style. No one else could do it half\nso well. I have stopped in every chapter to notice some instance of\ningenuity, or some happy turn of writing; and I am absolutely certain\nthat you never did half so well yourself.\n\nSo go on and prosper, and let me see some more, when you have enough\n(for your own satisfaction) to show me. I think of coming in to back you\nup if I can get an idea for my series of gossiping papers. One of those\ndays, please God, we may do a story together; I have very odd\nhalf-formed notions, in a mist, of something that might be done that\nway.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]\n\n              11, WELLINGTON STREET, NORTH STRAND, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                           _Wednesday, May 2nd, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR FORSTER,\n\nIt did not occur to me in reading your most excellent, interesting, and\nremarkable book, that it could with any reason be called one-sided. If\nClarendon had never written his \"History of the Rebellion,\" then I can\nunderstand that it might be. But just as it would be impossible to\nanswer an advocate who had misstated the merits of a case for his own\npurpose, without, in the interests of truth, and not of the other side\nmerely, re-stating the merits and showing them in their real form, so I\ncannot see the practicability of telling what you had to tell without\nin some sort championing the misrepresented side, and I think that you\ndon't do that as an advocate, but as a judge.\n\nThe evidence has been suppressed and , and the judge goes\nthrough it and puts it straight. It is not _his_ fault if it all goes\none way and tends to one plain conclusion. Nor is it his fault that it\ngoes the further when it is laid out straight, or seems to do so,\nbecause it was so knotted and twisted up before.\n\nI can understand any man's, and particularly Carlyle's, having a\nlingering respect that does not like to be disturbed for those (in the\nbest sense of the word) loyal gentlemen of the country who went with the\nking and were so true to him. But I don't think Carlyle sufficiently\nconsiders that the great mass of those gentlemen _didn't know the\ntruth_, that it was a part of their loyalty to believe what they were\ntold on the king's behalf, and that it is reasonable to suppose that the\nking was too artful to make known to _them_ (especially after failure)\nwhat were very acceptable designs to the desperate soldiers of fortune\nabout Whitehall. And it was to me a curious point of adventitious\ninterest arising out of your book, to reflect on the probability of\ntheir having been as ignorant of the real scheme in Charles's head, as\ntheir descendants and followers down to this time, and to think with\npity and admiration that they believed the cause to be so much better\nthan it was. This is a notion I was anxious to have expressed in our\naccount of the book in these pages. For I don't suppose Clarendon, or\nany other such man to sit down and tell posterity something that he has\nnot \"tried on\" in his own time. Do you?\n\nIn the whole narrative I saw nothing anywhere to which I demurred. I\nadmired it all, went with it all, and was proud of my friend's having\nwritten it all. I felt it to be all square and sound and right, and to\nbe of enormous importance in these times. Firstly, to the people who\n(like myself) are so sick of the shortcomings of representative\ngovernment as to have no interest in it. Secondly, to the humbugs at\nWestminster who have come down--a long, long way--from those men, as you\nknow. When the great remonstrance came out, I was in the thick of my\nstory, and was always busy with it; but I am very glad I didn't read it\nthen, as I shall read it now to much better purpose. All the time I was\nat work on the \"Two Cities,\" I read no books but such as had the air of\nthe time in them.\n\nTo return for a final word to the Five Members. I thought the marginal\nreferences overdone. Here and there, they had a comical look to me for\nthat reason, and reminded me of shows and plays where everything is in\nthe bill.\n\nLastly, I should have written to you--as I had a strong inclination to\ndo, and ought to have done, immediately after reading the book--but for\na weak reason; of all things in the world I have lost heart in one--I\nhope no other--I cannot, times out of calculation, make up my mind to\nwrite a letter.\n\n                          Ever, my dear Forster, affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Thursday, May 3rd, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nThe date of this letter would make me horribly ashamed of myself, if I\ndidn't know that _you_ know how difficult letter-writing is to one whose\ntrade it is to write.\n\nYou asked me on Christmas Eve about my children. My second daughter is\ngoing to be married in the course of the summer to Charles Collins, the\nbrother of Wilkie Collins, the novelist. The father was one of the most\nfamous painters of English green lanes and coast pieces. He was bred an\nartist; is a writer, too, and does \"The Eye Witness,\" in \"All the Year\nRound.\" He is a gentleman, accomplished, and amiable. My eldest daughter\nhas not yet started any conveyance on the road to matrimony (that I know\nof); but it is likely enough that she will, as she is very agreeable and\nintelligent. They are both very pretty. My eldest boy, Charley, has been\nin Barings' house for three or four years, and is now going to Hong\nKong, strongly backed up by Barings, to buy tea on his own account, as a\nmeans of forming a connection and seeing more of the practical part of a\nmerchant's calling, before starting in London for himself. His brother\nFrank (Jeffrey's godson) I have just recalled from France and Germany,\nto come and learn business, and qualify himself to join his brother on\nhis return from the Celestial Empire. The next boy, Sydney Smith, is\ndesigned for the navy, and is in training at Portsmouth, awaiting his\nnomination. He is about three foot high, with the biggest eyes ever\nseen, and is known in the Portsmouth parts as \"Young Dickens, who can do\neverything.\"\n\nAnother boy is at school in France; the youngest of all has a private\ntutor at home. I have forgotten the second in order, who is in India. He\nwent out as ensign of a non-existent native regiment, got attached to\nthe 42nd Highlanders, one of the finest regiments in the Queen's\nservice; has remained with them ever since, and got made a lieutenant by\nthe chances of the rebellious campaign, before he was eighteen. Miss\nHogarth, always Miss Hogarth, is the guide, philosopher, and friend of\nall the party, and a very close affection exists between her and the\ngirls. I doubt if she will ever marry. I don't know whether to be glad\nof it or sorry for it.\n\nI have laid down my pen and taken a long breath after writing this\nfamily history. I have also considered whether there are any more\nchildren, and I don't think there are. If I should remember two or three\nothers presently, I will mention them in a postscript.\n\nWe think Townshend looking a little the worse for the winter, and we\nperceive Bully to be decidedly old upon his legs, and of a most\ndiabolical turn of mind. When they first arrived the weather was very\ndark and cold, and kept them indoors. It has since turned very warm and\nbright, but with a dusty and sharp east wind. They are still kept\nindoors by this change, and I begin to wonder what change will let them\nout. Townshend dines with us every Sunday. You may be sure that we\nalways talk of you and yours, and drink to you heartily.\n\nPublic matters here are thought to be rather improving; the deep\nmistrust of the gentleman in Paris being counteracted by the vigorous\nstate of preparation into which the nation is getting. You will have\nobserved, of course, that we establish a new defaulter in respect of\nsome great trust, about once a quarter. The last one, the cashier of a\nCity bank, is considered to have distinguished himself greatly, a\nquarter of a million of money being high game.\n\nNo, my friend, I have not shouldered my rifle yet, but I should do so on\nmore pressing occasion. Every other man in the row of men I know--if\nthey were all put in a row--is a volunteer though. There is a tendency\nrather to overdo the wearing of the uniform, but that is natural enough\nin the case of the youngest men. The turn-out is generally very\ncreditable indeed. At the ball they had (in a perfectly unventilated\nbuilding), their new leather belts and pouches smelt so fearfully that\nit was, as my eldest daughter said, like shoemaking in a great prison.\nShe, consequently, distinguished herself by fainting away in the most\ninaccessible place in the whole structure, and being brought out\n(horizontally) by a file of volunteers, like some slain daughter of\nAlbion whom they were carrying into the street to rouse the indignant\nvalour of the populace.\n\nLord, my dear Cerjat, when I turn to that page of your letter where you\nwrite like an ancient sage in whom the fire has paled into a meek-eyed\nstate of coolness and virtue, I half laugh and half cry! _You_ old!\n_You_ a sort of hermit? Boh! Get out.\n\nWith this comes my love and all our loves, to you and Mrs. Cerjat, and\nyour daughter. I add my special and particular to the sweet \"singing\ncousin.\" When shall you and I meet, and where? Must I come to see\nTownshend? I begin to think so.\n\n                 Ever, my dear Cerjat, your affectionate and faithful.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]\n\n                                GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, June 5th, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,\n\nI am very much interested and gratified by your letter concerning \"A\nTale of Two Cities.\" I do not quite agree with you on two points, but\nthat is no deduction from my pleasure.\n\nIn the first place, although the surrender of the feudal privileges (on\na motion seconded by a nobleman of great rank) was the occasion of a\nsentimental scene, I see no reason to doubt, but on the contrary, many\nreasons to believe, that some of these privileges had been used to the\nfrightful oppression of the peasant, quite as near to the time of the\nRevolution as the doctor's narrative, which, you will remember, dates\nlong before the Terror. And surely when the new philosophy was the talk\nof the salons and the slang of the hour, it is not unreasonable or\nunallowable to suppose a nobleman wedded to the old cruel ideas, and\nrepresenting the time going out, as his nephew represents the time\ncoming in; as to the condition of the peasant in France generally at\nthat day, I take it that if anything be certain on earth it is certain\nthat it was intolerable. No _ex post facto_ enquiries and provings by\nfigures will hold water, surely, against the tremendous testimony of men\nliving at the time.\n\nThere is a curious book printed at Amsterdam, written to make out no\ncase whatever, and tiresome enough in its literal dictionary-like\nminuteness, scattered up and down the pages of which is full authority\nfor my marquis. This is \"Mercier's Tableau de Paris.\" Rousseau is the\nauthority for the peasant's shutting up his house when he had a bit of\nmeat. The tax-taker was the authority for the wretched creature's\nimpoverishment.\n\nI am not clear, and I never have been clear, respecting that canon of\nfiction which forbids the interposition of accident in such a case as\nMadame Defarge's death. Where the accident is inseparable from the\npassion and emotion of the character, where it is strictly consistent\nwith the whole design, and arises out of some culminating proceeding on\nthe part of the character which the whole story has led up to, it seems\nto me to become, as it were, an act of divine justice. And when I use\nMiss Pross (though this is quite another question) to bring about that\ncatastrophe, I have the positive intention of making that half-comic\nintervention a part of the desperate woman's failure, and of opposing\nthat mean death--instead of a desperate one in the streets, which she\nwouldn't have minded--to the dignity of Carton's wrong or right; this\n_was_ the design, and seemed to be in the fitness of things.\n\nNow, as to the reading. I am sorry to say that it is out of the question\nthis season. I have had an attack of rheumatism--quite a stranger to\nme--which remains hovering about my left side, after having doubled me\nup in the back, and which would disable me from standing for two hours.\nI have given up all dinners and town engagements, and come to my little\nFalstaff House here, sensible of the necessity of country training all\nthrough the summer. Smith would have proposed any appointment to see you\non the subject, but he has been dreadfully ill with tic. Whenever I read\nin London, I will gladly put a night aside for your purpose, and we will\nplot to connect your name with it, and give it some speciality. But this\ncould not be before Christmas time, as I should not be able to read\nsooner, for in the hot weather it would be useless. Let me hear from you\nabout this when you have considered it. It would greatly diminish the\nexpenses, remember.\n\n                                   Ever affectionately and faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Lord John Russell.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Sunday, June 17th, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR LORD JOHN RUSSELL,\n\nI cannot thank you enough for your kind note and its most welcome\nenclosure. My sailor-boy comes home from Portsmouth to-morrow, and will\nbe overjoyed. His masters have been as anxious for getting his\nnomination as though it were some distinction for themselves.\n\n                                       Ever your faithful and obliged.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Earl of Carlisle.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                          _Wednesday, Aug. 8th, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR LORD CARLISLE,\n\nComing back here after an absence of three days in town, I find your\nkind and cordial letter lying on my table. I heartily thank you for it,\nand highly esteem it. I understand that the article on the spirits to\nwhich you refer was written by ---- (he played an Irish porter in one\nscene of Bulwer's comedy at Devonshire House). Between ourselves, I\nthink it must be taken with a few grains of salt, imperial measure. The\nexperiences referred to \"came off\" at ----, where the spirit of ----\n(among an extensive and miscellaneous bodiless circle) _dines_\nsometimes! Mr. ----, the high priest of the mysteries, I have some\nconsiderable reason--derived from two honourable men--for mistrusting.\nAnd that some of the disciples are very easy of belief I know.\n\nThis is Falstaff's own Gad's Hill, and I live on the top of it. All goes\nwell with me, thank God! I should be thoroughly delighted to see you\nagain, and to show you where the robbery was done. My eldest daughter\nkeeps my house, and it is one I was extraordinarily fond of when a\nchild.\n\n                     My dear Lord Carlisle, ever affectionately yours.\n\nP.S.--I am prowling about, meditating a new book.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                           _Tuesday, Sept. 4th, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nYour description of your sea-castle makes your room here look uncommonly\ndusty. Likewise the costermongers in the street outside, and the one\ncustomer (drunk, with his head on the table) in the Crown Coffee House\nover the way, in York Street, have an earthy, and, as I may say, a\nland-lubberly aspect. Cape Horn, to the best of _my_ belief, is a\ntremendous way off, and there are more bricks and cabbage-leaves between\nthis office and that dismal point of land than _you_ can possibly\nimagine.\n\nComing here from the station this morning, I met, coming from the\nexecution of the Wentworth murderer, such a tide of ruffians as never\ncould have flowed from any point but the gallows. Without any figure of\nspeech it turned one white and sick to behold them.\n\nTavistock House is cleared to-day, and possession delivered up. I must\nsay that in all things the purchaser has behaved thoroughly well, and\nthat I cannot call to mind any occasion when I have had money dealings\nwith a Christian that have been so satisfactory, considerate, and\ntrusting.\n\nI am ornamented at present with one of my most intensely preposterous\nand utterly indescribable colds. If you were to make a voyage from Cape\nHorn to Wellington Street, you would scarcely recognise in the bowed\nform, weeping eyes, rasped nose, and snivelling wretch whom you would\nencounter here, the once gay and sparkling, etc. etc.\n\nEverything else here is as quiet as possible. Business reports you\nreceive from Holsworth. Wilkie looked in to-day, going to\nGloucestershire for a week. The office is full of discarded curtains and\ncoverings from Tavistock House, which Georgina is coming up this evening\nto select from and banish. Mary is in raptures with the beauties of\nDunkeld, but is not very well in health. The Admiral (Sydney) goes up\nfor his examination to-morrow. If he fails to pass with credit, I will\nnever believe in anybody again, so in that case look out for your own\nreputation with me.\n\nThis is really all the news I have, except that I am lazy, and that\nWilkie dines here next Tuesday, in order that we may have a talk about\nthe Christmas number.\n\nI beg to send my kind regard to Mrs. Wills, and to enquire how she likes\nwearing a hat, which of course she does. I also want to know from her\nin confidence whether _Crwllm festidiniog llymthll y wodd_?\n\nYesterday I burnt, in the field at Gad's Hill, the accumulated letters\nand papers of twenty years. They sent up a smoke like the genie when he\ngot out of the casket on the seashore; and as it was an exquisite day\nwhen I began, and rained very heavily when I finished, I suspect my\ncorrespondence of having overcast the face of the heavens.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\nP.S.--Kind regard to Mr. and Mrs. Novelli.[6]\n\nI have just sent out for _The Globe_. No news.\n\nHullah's daughter (an artist) tells me that certain female students have\naddressed the Royal Academy, entreating them to find a place for their\neducation. I think it a capital move, for which I can do something\npopular and telling in _The Register_. Adelaide Procter is active in the\nbusiness, and has a copy of their letter. Will you write to her for\nthat, and anything else she may have about it, telling her that I\nstrongly approve, and want to help them myself?\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                     _Friday Night, Sept. 14th, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. WATSON,\n\nI lose no time in answering your letter; and first as to business, the\nschool in the High Town at Boulogne was excellent. The boys all English,\nthe two proprietors an old Eton master and one of the Protestant\nclergymen of the town. The teaching unusually sound and good. The manner\nand conduct developed in the boys quite admirable. But I have never\nseen a gentleman so perfectly acquainted with boy-nature as the Eton\nmaster. There was a perfect understanding between him and his charges;\nnothing pedantic on his part, nothing slavish on their parts. The result\nwas, that either with him or away from him, the boys combined an ease\nand frankness with a modesty and sense of responsibility that was really\nabove all praise. Alfred went from there to a great school at Wimbledon,\nwhere they train for India and the artillery and engineers. Sydney went\nfrom there to Mr. Barrow, at Southsea. In both instances the new masters\nwrote to me of their own accord, bearing quite unsolicited testimony to\nthe merits of the old, and expressing their high recognition of what\nthey had done. These things speak for themselves.\n\nSydney has just passed his examination as a naval cadet and come home,\nall eyes and gold buttons. He has twelve days' leave before going on\nboard the training-ship. Katie and her husband are in France, and seem\nlikely to remain there for an indefinite period. Mary is on a month's\nvisit in Scotland; Georgina, Frank, and Plorn are at home here; and we\nall want Mary and her little dog back again. I have sold Tavistock\nHouse, am making this rather complete in its way, and am on the restless\neve of beginning a new big book; but mean to have a furnished house in\ntown (in some accessible quarter) from February or so to June. May we\nmeet there.\n\nYour handwriting is always so full of pleasant memories to me, that when\nI took it out of the post-office at Rochester this afternoon it quite\nstirred my heart. But we must not think of old times as sad times, or\nregard them as anything but the fathers and mothers of the present. We\nmust all climb steadily up the mountain after the talking bird, the\nsinging tree, and the yellow water, and must all bear in mind that the\nprevious climbers who were scared into looking back got turned into\nblack stone.\n\nMary Boyle was here a little while ago, as affectionate at heart as\never, as young, and as pleasant. Of course we talked often of you. So\nlet me know when you are established in Halfmoon Street, and I shall be\ntruly delighted to come and see you.\n\nFor my attachments are strong attachments and never weaken. In right of\nbygones, I feel as if \"all Northamptonshire\" belonged to me, as all\nNorthumberland did to Lord Bateman in the ballad. In memory of your\nwarming your feet at the fire in that waste of a waiting-room when I\nread at Brighton, I have ever since taken that watering-place to my\nbosom as I never did before. And you and Switzerland are always one to\nme, and always inseparable.\n\nCharley was heard of yesterday, from Shanghai, going to Japan, intending\nto meet his brother Walter at Calcutta, and having an idea of beguiling\nthe time between whiles by asking to be taken as an amateur with the\nEnglish Chinese forces. Everybody caressed him and asked him everywhere,\nand he seemed to go. With kind regards, my dear Mrs. Watson,\n\n                                            Ever affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Sunday, Sept. 23rd, 1860._\n\n                       ON THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER.\n\nMY DEAR E. Y.,\n\nI did not write to you in your bereavement, because I knew that the\ngirls had written to you, and because I instinctively shrunk from making\na form of what was so real. _You_ knew what a loving and faithful\nremembrance I always had of your mother as a part of my youth--no more\ncapable of restoration than my youth itself. All the womanly goodness,\ngrace, and beauty of my drama went out with her. To the last I never\ncould hear her voice without emotion. I think of her as of a beautiful\npart of my own youth, and this dream that we are all dreaming seems to\ndarken.\n\nBut it is not to say this that I write now. It comes to the point of my\npen in spite of me.\n\n\"Holding up the Mirror\" is in next week's number. I have taken out all\nthis funeral part of it. Not because I disliked it (for, indeed, I\nthought it the best part of the paper), but because it rather grated on\nme, going over the proof at that time, as a remembrance that would be\nbetter reserved a little while. Also because it made rather a mixture of\nyourself as an individual, with something that does not belong or attach\nto you as an individual. You can have the MS.; and as a part of a paper\ndescribing your own juvenile remembrances of a theatre, there it is,\nneeding no change or adaption.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Sunday, Sept. 23rd, 1860._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nIf you had been away from us and ill with anybody in the world but our\ndear Mrs. White, I should have been in a state of the greatest anxiety\nand uneasiness about you. But as I know it to be impossible that you\ncould be in kinder or better hands, I was not in the least restless\nabout you, otherwise than as it grieved me to hear of my poor dear\ngirl's suffering such pain. I hope it is over now for many a long day,\nand that you will come back to us a thousand times better in health than\nyou left us.\n\nDon't come back too soon. Take time and get well restored. There is no\nhurry, the house is not near to-rights yet, and though we all want you,\nand though Boy wants you, we all (including Boy) deprecate a fatiguing\njourney being taken too soon.\n\nAs to the carpenters, they are absolutely maddening. They are always at\nwork, yet never seem to do anything. Lillie was down on Friday, and said\n(his eye fixed on Maidstone, and rubbing his hand to conciliate his\nmoody employer) that \"he didn't think there would be very much left to\ndo after Saturday, the 29th.\"\n\nI didn't throw him out of the window. Your aunt tells you all the news,\nand leaves me no chance of distinguishing myself, I know. You have been\ntold all about my brackets in the drawing-room, all about the glass\nrescued from the famous stage-wreck of Tavistock House, all about\neverything here and at the office. The office is really a success. As\ncomfortable, cheerful, and private as anything of the kind can possibly\nbe.\n\nI took the Admiral (but this you know too, no doubt) to Dollond's, the\nmathematical instrument maker's, last Monday, to buy that part of his\noutfit. His sextant (which is about the size and shape of a cocked hat),\non being applied to his eye, entirely concealed him. Not the faintest\nvestige of the distinguished officer behind it was perceptible to the\nhuman vision. All through the City, people turned round and stared at\nhim with the sort of pleasure people take in a little model. We went on\nto Chatham this day week, in search of some big man-of-war's-man who\nshould be under obligation to salute him--unfortunately found none. But\nthis no doubt you know too, and all my news falls flat.\n\nI am driven out of my room by paint, and am writing in the best spare\nroom. The whole prospect is excessively wet; it does not rain now, but\nyesterday it did tremendously, and it rained very heavily in the night.\nWe are even muddy; and that is saying a great deal in this dry country\nof chalk and sand. Everywhere the corn is lying out and saturated with\nwet. The hops (nearly everywhere) look as if they had been burnt.\n\nIn my mind's eye I behold Mrs. Bouncer, still with some traces of her\nlate anxiety on her faithful countenance, balancing herself a little\nunequally on her bow fore-legs, pricking up her ears, with her head on\none side, and slightly opening her intellectual nostrils. I send my\nloving and respectful duty to her.\n\nTo dear Mrs. White, and to White, and to Clara, say anything from me\nthat is loving and grateful.\n\n                    My dearest Mamie,\n                          Ever and ever your most affectionate Father.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                     _Monday Night, Sept. 24th, 1860._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nAt the Waterloo station we were saluted with \"Hallo! here's Dickens!\"\nfrom divers naval cadets, and Sir Richard Bromley introduced himself to\nme, who had his cadet son with him, a friend of Sydney's. We went down\ntogether, and the boys were in the closest alliance. Bromley being\nAccountant-General of the Navy, and having influence on board, got their\nhammocks changed so that they would be serving side by side, at which\nthey were greatly pleased. The moment we stepped on board, the \"Hul-lo!\nhere's Dickens!\" was repeated on all sides, and the Admiral (evidently\nhighly popular) shook hands with about fifty of his messmates. Taking\nBromley for my model (with whom I fraternised in the most pathetic\nmanner), I gave Sydney a sovereign before stepping over the side. He was\nas little overcome as it was possible for a boy to be, and stood waving\nthe gold-banded cap as we came ashore in a boat.\n\nThere is no denying that he looks very small aboard a great ship, and\nthat a boy must have a strong and decided speciality for the sea to take\nto such a life. Captain Harris was not on board, but the other chief\nofficers were, and were highly obliging. We went over the ship. I should\nsay that there can be little or no individuality of address to any\nparticular boy, but that they all tumble through their education in a\ncrowded way. The Admiral's servant (I mean our Admiral's) had an idiotic\nappearance, but perhaps it did him injustice (a mahogany-faced marine by\nstation). The Admiral's washing apparatus is about the size of a\nmuffin-plate, and he could easily live in his chest. The meeting with\nBromley was a piece of great good fortune, and the dear old chap could\nnot have been left more happily.\n\n                      Ever, my dearest Georgy, your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Power.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                          _Tuesday, Sept. 25th, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR MARGUERITE,\n\nI like the article exceedingly, and think the translations\n_admirable_--spirited, fresh, bold, and evidently faithful. I will get\nthe paper into the next number I make up, No. 78. I will send a proof to\nyou for your correction, either next Monday or this day week. Or would\nyou like to come here next Monday and dine with us at five, and go over\nto Madame Celeste's opening? Then you could correct your paper on the\npremises, as they drink their beer at the beer-shops.\n\nSome of the introductory remarks on French literature I propose to\nstrike out, as a little too essayical for this purpose, and likely to\nthrow out a large portion of the large audience at starting, as\nsuggesting some very different kind of article. My daring pen shall have\nimbued its murderous heart with ink before you see the proof.\n\n                                    With kind regards,\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Thursday, Oct. 4th, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR FORSTER,\n\nIt would be a great pleasure to me to come to you, an immense pleasure,\nand to sniff the sea I love (from the shore); but I fear I must come\ndown one morning and come back at night. I will tell you why.\n\nLast week, I got to work on a new story. I called a council of war at\nthe office on Tuesday. It was perfectly clear that the one thing to be\ndone was, for me to strike in. I have therefore decided to begin a\nstory, the length of the \"Tale of Two Cities,\" on the 1st of\nDecember--begin publishing, that is. I must make the most I can out of\nthe book. When I come down, I will bring you the first two or three\nweekly parts. The name is, \"GREAT EXPECTATIONS.\" I think a good name?\n\nNow the preparations to get ahead, combined with the absolute necessity\nof my giving a good deal of time to the Christmas number, will tie me to\nthe grindstone pretty tightly. It will be just as much as I can hope to\ndo. Therefore, what I had hoped would be a few days at Eastbourne\ndiminish to a few hours.\n\nI took the Admiral down to Portsmouth. Every maritime person in the town\nknew him. He seemed to know every boy on board the _Britannia_, and was\na tremendous favourite evidently. It was very characteristic of him that\nthey good-naturedly helped him, he being so very small, into his hammock\nat night. But he couldn't rest in it on these terms, and got out again\nto learn the right way of getting in independently. Official report\nstated that \"after a few spills, he succeeded perfectly, and went to\nsleep.\" He is perfectly happy on board, takes tea with the captain,\nleads choruses on Saturday nights, and has an immense marine for a\nservant.\n\nI saw Edmund Yates at the office, and he told me that during all his\nmother's wanderings of mind, which were almost incessant at last, she\nnever once went back to the old Adelphi days until she was just dying,\nwhen he heard her say, in great perplexity: \"I can _not_ get the words.\"\n\nBest love to Mrs. Forster.\n\n                                Ever, my dear Forster, affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                         _Wednesday, Oct. 24th, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR WILKIE,\n\nI have been down to Brighton to see Forster, and found your letter there\non arriving by express this morning. I also found a letter from\nGeorgina, describing that Mary's horse went down suddenly on a stone,\nand how Mary was thrown, and had her riding-habit torn to pieces, and\nhas a deep cut just above the knee--fortunately not in the knee itself,\nwhich is doing exceedingly well, but which will probably incapacitate\nher from walking for days and days to come. It is well it was no worse.\nThe accident occurred at Milton, near Gravesend, and they found Mary in\na public-house there, wonderfully taken care of and looked after.\n\nI propose that we start on Thursday morning, the 1st of November. The\ntrain for Penzance leaves the Great Western terminus at a quarter-past\nnine in the morning. It is a twelve hours' journey. Shall we meet at the\nterminus at nine? I shall be here all the previous day, and shall dine\nhere.\n\nYour account of your passage goes to my heart through my stomach. What a\npity I was not there on board to present that green-visaged, but\nsweet-tempered and uncomplaining spectacle of imbecility, at which I am\nso expert under stormy circumstances, in the poet's phrase:\n\n        As I sweep\n        Through the deep,\n        When the stormy winds do blow.\n\nWhat a pity I am not there, at Meurice's, to sleep the sleep of infancy\nthrough the long plays where the gentlemen stand with their backs to the\nmantelpieces. What a pity I am not with you to make a third at the Trois\nFreres, and drink no end of bottles of Bordeaux, without ever getting a\ntouch of redness in my (poet's phrase again) \"innocent nose.\" But I must\ngo down to Gad's to-night, and get to work again. Four weekly numbers\nhave been ground off the wheel, and at least another must be turned\nbefore we meet. They shall be yours in the slumberous railway-carriage.\n\nI don't think Forster is at all in good health. He was tremendously\nhospitable and hearty. I walked six hours and a half on the downs\nyesterday, and never stopped or sat. Early in the morning, before\nbreakfast, I went to the nearest baths to get a shower-bath. They kept\nme waiting longer than I thought reasonable, and seeing a man in a cap\nin the passage, I went to him and said: \"I really must request that\nyou'll be good enough to see about this shower-bath;\" and it was Hullah!\nwaiting for another bath.\n\nRumours were brought into the house on Saturday night, that there was a\n\"ghost\" up at Larkins's monument. Plorn was frightened to death, and I\nwas apprehensive of the ghost's spreading and coming there, and causing\n\"warning\" and desertion among the servants. Frank was at home, and\nAndrew Gordon was with us. Time, nine o'clock. Village talk and\ncredulity, amazing. I armed the two boys with a short stick apiece, and\nshouldered my double-barrelled gun, well loaded with shot. \"Now\nobserve,\" says I to the domestics, \"if anybody is playing tricks and has\ngot a head, I'll blow it off.\" Immense impression. New groom evidently\nconvinced that he has entered the service of a bloodthirsty demon. We\nascend to the monument. Stop at the gate. Moon is rising. Heavy shadows.\n\"Now, look out!\" (from the bloodthirsty demon, in a loud, distinct\nvoice). \"If the ghost is here and I see him, so help me God I'll fire at\nhim!\" Suddenly, as we enter the field, a most extraordinary noise\nresponds--terrific noise--human noise--and yet superhuman noise. B. T.\nD. brings piece to shoulder. \"Did you hear that, pa?\" says Frank. \"I\ndid,\" says I. Noise repeated--portentous, derisive, dull, dismal,\ndamnable. We advance towards the sound. Something white comes lumbering\nthrough the darkness. An asthmatic sheep! Dead, as I judge, by this\ntime. Leaving Frank to guard him, I took Andrew with me, and went all\nround the monument, and down into the ditch, and examined the field\nwell, thinking it likely that somebody might be taking advantage of the\nsheep to frighten the village. Drama ends with discovery of no one, and\ntriumphant return to rum-and-water.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n              BIDEFORD, NORTH DEVON, _Thursday Night, Nov. 1st, 1860._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nI write (with the most impracticable iron pen on earth) to report our\nsafe arrival here, in a beastly hotel. We start to-morrow morning at\nnine on a two days' posting between this and Liskeard in Cornwall. We\nare due in Liskeard (but nobody seems to know anything about the roads)\non Saturday afternoon, and we purpose making an excursion in that\nneighbourhood on Sunday, and coming up from Liskeard on Monday by Great\nWestern fast train, which will get us to London, please God, in good\ntime on Monday evening. There I shall hear from you, and know whether\ndear Mamie will move to London too.\n\nWe had a pleasant journey down here, and a beautiful day. No adventures\nwhatever. Nothing has happened to Wilkie, and he sends love.\n\nWe had stinking fish for dinner, and have been able to drink nothing,\nthough we have ordered wine, beer, and brandy-and-water. There is\nnothing in the house but two tarts and a pair of snuffers. The landlady\nis playing cribbage with the landlord in the next room (behind a thin\npartition), and they seem quite comfortable.\n\n                      Ever, my dearest Georgy, your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                            _Friday, Dec. 28th, 1860._\n\nMY DEAR MARY,\n\nI cannot tell you how much I thank you for the beautiful cigar-case, and\nhow seasonable, and friendly, and good, and warm-hearted it looked when\nI opened it at Gad's Hill. Besides which, it is a cigar-case, and will\nhold cigars; two crowning merits that I never yet knew to be possessed\nby any article claiming the same name. For all of these reasons, but\nmore than all because it comes from you, I love it, and send you\neighteen hundred and sixty kisses, with one in for the new year.\n\nBoth excellent stories and perfectly new. Your Joe swears that he never\nheard either--never a word or syllable of either--after he laughed at\n'em this blessed day.\n\nI have no news, except that I am not quite well, and am being doctored.\nPray read \"Great Expectations.\" I think it is very droll. It is a very\ngreat success, and seems universally liked. I suppose because it opens\nfunnily, and with an interest too.\n\nI pass my time here (I am staying here alone) in working, taking physic,\nand taking a stall at a theatre every night. On Boxing Night I was at\nCovent Garden. A dull pantomime was \"worked\" (as we say) better than I\never saw a heavy piece worked on a first night, until suddenly and\nwithout a moment's warning, every scene on that immense stage fell over\non its face, and disclosed chaos by gaslight behind! There never was\nsuch a business; about sixty people who were on the stage being\nextinguished in the most remarkable manner. Not a soul was hurt. In the\nuproar, some moon-calf rescued a porter pot, six feet high (out of which\nthe clown had been drinking when the accident happened), and stood it on\nthe cushion of the lowest proscenium box, P.S., beside a lady and\ngentleman, who were dreadfully ashamed of it. The moment the house knew\nthat nobody was injured, they directed their whole attention to this\ngigantic porter pot in its genteel position (the lady and gentleman\ntrying to hide behind it), and roared with laughter. When a modest\nfootman came from behind the curtain to clear it, and took it up in his\narms like a Brobdingnagian baby, we all laughed more than ever we had\nlaughed in our lives. I don't know why.\n\nWe have had a fire here, but our people put it out before the\nparish-engine arrived, like a drivelling perambulator, with _the beadle\nin it_, like an imbecile baby. Popular opinion, disappointed in the fire\nhaving been put out, snowballed the beadle. God bless it!\n\nOver the way at the Lyceum, there is a very fair Christmas piece, with\none or two uncommonly well-done <DW65> songs--one remarkably gay and\nmad, done in the finale to a scene. Also a very nice transformation,\nthough I don't know what it means.\n\nThe poor actors waylay me in Bow Street, to represent their necessities;\nand I often see one cut down a court when he beholds me coming, cut\nround Drury Lane to face me, and come up towards me near this door in\nthe freshest and most accidental way, as if I was the last person he\nexpected to see on the surface of this globe. The other day, there thus\nappeared before me (simultaneously with a scent of rum in the air) one\naged and greasy man, with a pair of pumps under his arm. He said he\nthought if he could get down to somewhere (I think it was Newcastle), he\nwould get \"taken on\" as Pantaloon, the existing Pantaloon being \"a\nstick, sir--a mere muff.\" I observed that I was sorry times were so bad\nwith him. \"Mr. Dickens, you know our profession, sir--no one knows it\nbetter, sir--there is no right feeling in it. I was Harlequin on your\nown circuit, sir, for five-and-thirty years, and was displaced by a boy,\nsir!--a boy!\"\n\nSo no more at present, except love to Mrs. Watson and Bedgey Prig and\nall, from my dear Mary.\n\n                                              Your ever affectionate\n                                                                  JOE.\n\nP.S.--DON'T I pine neither?\n\nP.P.S.--I did my best to arouse Forster's worst feelings; but he had got\ninto a Christmas habit of mind, and wouldn't respond.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] With whom Mr. and Mrs. Wills were staying at Aberystwith.\n\n\n\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n1861.\n\n\nThis, as far as his movements were concerned, was again a very unsettled\nyear with Charles Dickens. He hired a furnished house in the Regent's\nPark, which he, with his household, occupied for some months. During the\nseason he gave several readings at St. James's Hall. After a short\nsummer holiday at Gad's Hill, he started, in the autumn, on a reading\ntour in the English provinces. Mr. Arthur Smith, being seriously ill,\ncould not accompany him in this tour; and Mr. Headland, who was formerly\nin office at the St. Martin's Hall, was engaged as business-manager of\nthese readings. Mr. Arthur Smith died in October, and Charles Dickens's\ndistress at the loss of this loved friend and companion is touchingly\nexpressed in many of his letters of this year.\n\nThere are also sorrowful allusions to the death of his brother-in-law,\nMr. Henry Austin, which sad event likewise happened in October. And the\nletter we give to Mrs. Austin (\"Letitia\") has reference to her sad\naffliction.\n\nIn June of this year he paid a short visit to Sir E. B. Lytton at\nKnebworth, accompanied by his daughter and sister-in-law, who also\nduring his autumn tour joined him in Edinburgh. But this course of\nreadings was brought rather suddenly to an end on account of the death\nof the Prince Consort.\n\nBesides being constantly occupied with the business of these readings,\nCharles Dickens was still at work on his story of \"Great Expectations,\"\nwhich was appearing weekly in \"All the Year Round.\" The story closed on\nthe 3rd of August, when it was published as a whole in three volumes,\nand inscribed to Mr. Chauncey Hare Townshend. The Christmas number of\n\"All the Year Round\" was called \"Tom Tiddler's Ground,\" to which Charles\nDickens contributed three stories.\n\nOur second letter in this year is given more as a specimen of the claims\nwhich were constantly being made upon Charles Dickens's time and\npatience, than because we consider the letter itself to contain much\npublic interest; excepting, indeed, as showing his always considerate\nand courteous replies to such constant applications.\n\n\"The fire\" mentioned in the letter to Mr. Forster was the great fire in\nTooley Street. The \"Morgan\" was an American sea-captain, well known in\nthose days, and greatly liked and respected. It may interest our readers\nto know that the character of Captain Jorgan, in the Christmas number of\nthe previous year, was suggested by this pleasant sailor, for whom\nCharles Dickens had a hearty liking. Young Mr. Morgan was, during the\nyears he passed in England, a constant visitor at Gad's Hill. The\n\"Elwin\" mentioned in the letter written from Bury St. Edmunds, was the\nRev. Whitwell Elwin, a Norfolk gentleman, well known in the literary\nworld, and who was for many years editor of \"The Quarterly Review.\"\n\nThe explanation of the letter to Mr. John Agate, of Dover, we give in\nthat gentleman's own words:\n\n\"There are few public men with the strain upon their time and energies\nwhich he had particularly (and which I know better now that I have read\nhis life), who would have spared the time to have written such a long\ncourteous letter.\n\n\"I wrote to him rather in anger, and left the letter myself at The Lord\nWarden, as I and my family were very much disappointed, after having\npurchased our tickets so long before, to find we could not got into the\nroom, as money was being received, but his kind letter explained all.\"\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                          _Wednesday, Jan. 9th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\n\"We\" are in the full swing of stopping managers from playing \"A Message\nfrom the Sea.\" I privately doubt the strength of our position in the\nCourt of Chancery, if we try it; but it is worth trying.\n\nI am aware that Mr. Lane of the Britannia sent an emissary to Gad's Hill\nyesterday. It unfortunately happens that the first man \"we\" have to\nassert the principle against is a very good man, whom I really respect.\n\nI have no news, except that I really hope and believe I am gradually\ngetting well. If I have no check, I hope to be soon discharged by the\nmedico.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\nP.S.--Best love to Mamie, also to the boys and Miss Craufurd.\n\n\n    OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\" 26, WELLINGTON STREET, W.C.,\n                                    _Tuesday Evening, Jan. 9th, 1861._\n\nDEAR SIR,\n\nI feel it quite hopeless to endeavour to present my position before you,\nin reference to such a letter as yours, in its plain and true light.\nWhen you suppose it would have cost Mr. Thackeray \"but a word\" to use\nhis influence to obtain you some curatorship or the like, you fill me\nwith the sense of impossibility of leading you to a more charitable\njudgment of Mr. Dickens.\n\nNevertheless, I will put the truth before you. Scarcely a day of my life\npasses, or has passed for many years, without bringing me some letters\nsimilar to yours. Often they will come by dozens--scores--hundreds. My\ntime and attention would be pretty well occupied without them, and the\nclaims upon me (some very near home), for all the influence and means of\nhelp that I do and do not possess, are not commonly heavy. I have no\npower to aid you towards the attainment of your object. It is the simple\nexact truth, and nothing can alter it. So great is the disquietude I\nconstantly undergo from having to write to some new correspondent in\nthis strain, that, God knows, I would resort to another relief if I\ncould.\n\nYour studies from nature appear to me to express an excellent\nobservation of nature, in a loving and healthy spirit. But what then?\nThe dealers and dealers' prices of which you complain will not be\ninfluenced by that honest opinion. Nor will it have the least effect\nupon the President of the Royal Academy, or the Directors of the School\nof Design. Assuming your supposition to be correct that these\nauthorities are adverse to you, I have no more power than you have to\nrender them favourable. And assuming them to be quite disinterested and\ndispassionate towards you, I have no voice or weight in any appointment\nthat any of them make.\n\nI will retain your packet over to-morrow, and will then cause it to be\nsent to your house. I write under the pressure of occupation and\nbusiness, and therefore write briefly.\n\n                                                     Faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n             OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\" _Friday, Feb. 1st, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nYou have read in the papers of our heavy English frost. At Gad's Hill it\nwas so intensely cold, that in our warm dining-room on Christmas Day we\ncould hardly sit at the table. In my study on that morning, long after a\ngreat fire of coal and wood had been lighted, the thermometer was I\ndon't know where below freezing. The bath froze, and all the pipes\nfroze, and remained in a stony state for five or six weeks. The water in\nthe bedroom-jugs froze, and blew up the crockery. The snow on the top of\nthe house froze, and was imperfectly removed with axes. My beard froze\nas I walked about, and I couldn't detach my cravat and coat from it\nuntil I was thawed at the fire. My boys and half the officers stationed\nat Chatham skated away without a check to Gravesend--five miles off--and\nrepeated the performance for three or four weeks. At last the thaw came,\nand then everything split, blew up, dripped, poured, perspired, and got\nspoilt. Since then we have had a small visitation of the plague of\nservants; the cook (in a riding-habit) and the groom (in a dress-coat\nand jewels) having mounted Mary's horse and mine, in our absence, and\nscoured the neighbouring country at a rattling pace. And when I went\nhome last Saturday, I innocently wondered how the horses came to be out\nof condition, and gravely consulted the said groom on the subject, who\ngave it as his opinion \"which they wanted reg'lar work.\" We are now\ncoming to town until midsummer. Having sold my own house, to be more\nfree and independent, I have taken a very pretty furnished house, No. 3,\nHanover Terrace, Regent's Park. This, of course, on my daughter's\naccount. For I have very good and cheerful bachelor rooms here, with an\nold servant in charge, who is the cleverest man of his kind in the\nworld, and can do anything, from excellent carpentery to excellent\ncookery, and has been with me three-and-twenty years.\n\nThe American business is the greatest English sensation at present. I\nventure to predict that the struggle of violence will be a very short\none, and will be soon succeeded by some new compact between the Northern\nand Southern States. Meantime the Lancashire mill-owners are getting\nvery uneasy.\n\nThe Italian state of things is not regarded as looking very cheerful.\nWhat from one's natural sympathies with a people so oppressed as the\nItalians, and one's natural antagonism to a pope and a Bourbon (both of\nwhich superstitions I do suppose the world to have had more than enough\nof), I agree with you concerning Victor Emmanuel, and greatly fear that\nthe Southern Italians are much degraded. Still, an united Italy would be\nof vast importance to the peace of the world, and would be a rock in\nLouis Napoleon's way, as he very well knows. Therefore the idea must be\nchampioned, however much against hope.\n\nMy eldest boy, just home from China, was descried by Townshend's Henri\nthe moment he landed at Marseilles, and was by him borne in triumph to\nTownshend's rooms. The weather was snowy, slushy, beastly; and\nMarseilles was, as it usually is to my thinking, well-nigh intolerable.\nMy boy could not stay with Townshend, as he was coming on by express\ntrain; but he says: \"I sat with him and saw him dine. He had a leg of\nlamb, and a tremendous cold.\" That is the whole description I have been\nable to extract from him.\n\nThis journal is doing gloriously, and \"Great Expectations\" is a great\nsuccess. I have taken my third boy, Frank (Jeffrey's godson), into this\noffice. If I am not mistaken, he has a natural literary taste and\ncapacity, and may do very well with a chance so congenial to his mind,\nand being also entered at the Bar.\n\nDear me, when I have to show you about London, and we dine _en garcon_\nat odd places, I shall scarcely know where to begin. Only yesterday I\nwalked out from here in the afternoon, and thought I would go down by\nthe Houses of Parliament. When I got there, the day was so beautifully\nbright and warm, that I thought I would walk on by Millbank, to see the\nriver. I walked straight on _for three miles_ on a splendid broad\nesplanade overhanging the Thames, with immense factories, railway works,\nand what-not erected on it, and with the strangest beginnings and ends\nof wealthy streets pushing themselves into the very Thames. When I was a\nrower on that river, it was all broken ground and ditch, with here and\nthere a public-house or two, an old mill, and a tall chimney. I had\nnever seen it in any state of transition, though I suppose myself to\nknow this rather large city as well as anyone in it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. E. M. Ward, R.A.]\n\n                              3, HANOVER TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK,\n                                    _Saturday Night, March 9th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR WARD,\n\nI cannot tell you how gratified I have been by your letter, and what a\nsplendid recompense it is for any pleasure I am giving you. Such\ngenerous and earnest sympathy from such a brother-artist gives me true\ndelight. I am proud of it, believe me, and moved by it to do all the\nbetter.\n\n                                                Ever faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n              \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND\" OFFICE, _Tuesday, June 11th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nThere is little doubt, I think, of my reading at Cheltenham somewhere\nabout November. I submit myself so entirely to Arthur Smith's\narrangements for me, that I express my sentiments on this head with\nmodesty. But I think there is scarcely a doubt of my seeing you then.\n\nI have just finished my book of \"Great Expectations,\" and am the worse\nfor wear. Neuralgic pains in the face have troubled me a good deal, and\nthe work has been pretty close. But I hope that the book is a good book,\nand I have no doubt of very soon throwing off the little damage it has\ndone me.\n\nWhat with Blondin at the Crystal Palace and Leotard at Leicester Square,\nwe seem to be going back to barbaric excitements. I have not seen, and\ndon't intend to see, the Hero of Niagara (as the posters call him), but\nI have been beguiled into seeing Leotard, and it is at once the most\nfearful and most graceful thing I have ever seen done.\n\nClara White (grown pretty) has been staying with us.\n\nI am sore afraid that _The Times_, by playing fast and loose with the\nAmerican question, has very seriously compromised this country. The\nAmericans northward are perfectly furious on the subject; and Motley the\nhistorian (a very sensible man, strongly English in his sympathies)\nassured me the other day that he thought the harm done very serious\nindeed, and the dangerous nature of the daily widening breach scarcely\ncalculable.\n\nKindest and best love to all. Wilkie Collins has just come in, and sends\nbest regard.\n\n                        Ever most affectionately, my dearest Macready.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]\n\n                                 GAD'S HILL, _Monday, July 1st, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR FORSTER,\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nYou will be surprised to hear that I have changed the end of \"Great\nExpectations\" from and after Pip's return to Joe's, and finding his\nlittle likeness there.\n\nBulwer (who has been, as I think I told you, extraordinarily taken by\nthe book), so strongly urged it upon me, after reading the proofs, and\nsupported his views with such good reasons, that I resolved to make the\nchange. You shall have it when you come back to town. I have put in a\nvery pretty piece of writing, and I have no doubt the story will be more\nacceptable through the alteration.\n\nI have not seen Bulwer's changed story. I brought back the first month\nwith me, and I know the nature of his changes throughout; but I have not\nyet had the revised proofs. He was in a better state at Knebworth than I\nhave ever seen him in all these years, a little weird occasionally\nregarding magic and spirits, but perfectly fair and frank under\nopposition. He was talkative, anecdotical, and droll; looked young and\nwell, laughed heartily, and enjoyed some games we played with great\nzest. In his artist character and talk he was full of interest and\nmatter, but that he always is. Socially, he seemed to me almost a new\nman. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and so did Georgina and Mary.\n\nThe fire I did not see until the Monday morning, but it was blazing\nfiercely then, and was blazing hardly less furiously when I came down\nhere again last Friday. I was here on the night of its breaking out. If\nI had been in London I should have been on the scene, pretty surely.\n\nYou will be perhaps surprised to hear that it is Morgan's conviction\n(his son was here yesterday), that the North will put down the South,\nand that speedily. In his management of his large business, he is\nproceeding steadily on that conviction. He says that the South has no\nmoney and no credit, and that it is impossible for it to make a\nsuccessful stand. He may be all wrong, but he is certainly a very shrewd\nman, and he has never been, as to the United States, an enthusiast of\nany class.\n\nPoor Lord Campbell's seems to me as easy and good a death as one could\ndesire. There must be a sweep of these men very soon, and one feels as\nif it must fall out like the breaking of an arch--one stone goes from a\nprominent place, and then the rest begin to drop. So one looks towards\nBrougham, and Lyndhurst, and Pollock.\n\nI will add no more to this, or I know I shall not send it; for I am in\nthe first desperate laziness of having done my book, and think of\noffering myself to the village school as a live example of that vice for\nthe edification of youth.\n\n                                Ever, my dear Forster, affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                             _Monday, July 8th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. WATSON,\n\nI have owed you a letter for so long a time that I fear you may\nsometimes have misconstrued my silence. But I hope that the sight of the\nhandwriting of your old friend will undeceive you, if you have, and will\nput that right.\n\nDuring the progress of my last story, I have been working so hard that\nvery, very little correspondence--except enforced correspondence on\nbusiness--has passed this pen. And now that I am free again, I devote a\nfew of my first leisure moments to this note.\n\nYou seemed in your last to think that I had forgotten you in respect of\nthe Christmas number. Not so at all. I discussed with them here where\nyou were, how you were to be addressed, and the like; finally left the\nnumber in a blank envelope, and did not add the address to it until it\nwould have been absurd to send you such stale bread. This was my fault,\nbut this was all. And I should be so pained at heart if you supposed me\ncapable of failing in my truth and cordiality, or in the warm\nremembrance of the time we have passed together, that perhaps I make\nmore of it than you meant to do.\n\nMy sailor-boy is at home--I was going to write, for the holidays, but I\nsuppose I must substitute \"on leave.\" Under the new regulations, he must\nnot pass out of the _Britannia_ before December. The younger boys are\nall at school, and coming home this week for the holidays. Mary keeps\nhouse, of course, and Katie and her husband surprised us yesterday, and\nare here now. Charley is holiday-making at Guernsey and Jersey. He has\nbeen for some time seeking a partnership in business, and has not yet\nfound one. The matter is in the hands of Mr. Bates, the managing partner\nin Barings' house, and seems as slow a matter to adjust itself as ever I\nlooked on at. Georgina is, as usual, the general friend and confidante\nand factotum of the whole party.\n\nYour present correspondent read at St. James's Hall in the beginning of\nthe season, to perfectly astounding audiences; but finding that fatigue\nand excitement very difficult to manage in conjunction with a story,\ndeemed it prudent to leave off reading in high tide and mid-career, the\nrather by reason of something like neuralgia in the face. At the end of\nOctober I begin again; and if you are at Brighton in November, I shall\ntry to see you there. I deliver myself up to Mr. Arthur Smith, and I\nknow it is one of the places for which he has put me down.\n\nThis is all about me and mine, and next I want to know why you never\ncome to Gad's Hill, and whether you are never coming. The stress I lay\non these questions you will infer from the size of the following note of\ninterrogation[HW: =?=]\n\nI am in the constant receipt of news from Lausanne. Of Mary Boyle, I\ndaresay you have seen and heard more than I have lately. Rumours\noccasionally reach me of her acting in every English shire incessantly,\nand getting in a harvest of laurels all the year round. Cavendish I have\nnot seen for a long time, but when I did see him last, it was at\nTavistock House, and we dined together jovially. Mention of that\nlocality reminds me that when you DO come here, you will see the\npictures looking wonderfully better, and more precious than they ever\ndid in town. Brought together in country light and air, they really are\nquite a baby collection and very pretty.\n\nI direct this to Rockingham, supposing you to be there in this summer\ntime. If you are as leafy in Northamptonshire as we are in Kent, you are\ngreener than you have been for some years. I hope you may have seen a\nlarge-headed photograph with little legs, representing the undersigned,\npen in hand, tapping his forehead to knock an idea out. It has just\nsprung up so abundantly in all the shops, that I am ashamed to go about\ntown looking in at the picture-windows, which is my delight. It seems to\nme extraordinarily ludicrous, and much more like than the grave portrait\ndone in earnest. It made me laugh when I first came upon it, until I\nshook again, in open sunlighted Piccadilly.\n\nPray be a good Christian to me, and don't be retributive in measuring\nout the time that shall pass before you write to me. And believe me\never,\n\n                                       Your affectionate and faithful.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                         _Wednesday, Aug. 28th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR WILKIE,\n\nI have been going to write to you ever since I received your letter from\nWhitby, and now I hear from Charley that you are coming home, and must\nbe addressed in the Rue Harley. Let me know whether you will dine here\nthis day week at the usual five. I am at present so addle-headed (having\nhard Wednesday work in Wills's absence) that I can't write much.\n\nI have got the \"Copperfield\" reading ready for delivery, and am now\ngoing to blaze away at \"Nickleby,\" which I don't like half as well.\nEvery morning I \"go in\" at these marks for two or three hours, and then\ncollapse and do nothing whatever (counting as nothing much cricket and\nrounders).\n\nIn my time that curious railroad by the Whitby Moor was so much the more\ncurious, that you were balanced against a counter-weight of water, and\nthat you did it like Blondin. But in these remote days the one inn of\nWhitby was up a back-yard, and oyster-shell grottoes were the only view\nfrom the best private room. Likewise, sir, I have posted to Whitby.\n\"Pity the sorrows of a poor old man.\"\n\nThe sun is glaring in at these windows with an amount of ferocity\ninsupportable by one of the landed interest, who lies upon his back with\nan imbecile hold on grass, from lunch to dinner. Feebleness of mind and\nhead are the result.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\nP.S.--The boys have multiplied themselves by fifty daily, and have\nseemed to appear in hosts (especially in the hottest days) round all the\ncorners at Gad's Hill. I call them the prowlers, and each has a\ndistinguishing name attached, derived from his style of prowling.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Smith.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Tuesday, Sept. 3rd, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR ARTHUR,\n\nI cannot tell you how sorry I am to receive your bad account of your\nhealth, or how anxious I shall be to receive a better one as soon as you\ncan possibly give it.\n\nIf you go away, don't you think in the main you would be better here\nthan anywhere? You know how well you would be nursed, what care we\nshould take of you, and how perfectly quiet and at home you would be,\nuntil you become strong enough to take to the Medway. Moreover, I think\nyou would be less anxious about the tour, here, than away from such\nassociation. I would come to Worthing to fetch you, I needn't say, and\nwould take the most careful charge of you. I will write no more about\nthis, because I wish to avoid giving you more to read than can be\nhelped; but I do sincerely believe it would be at once your wisest and\nleast anxious course. As to a long journey into Wales, or any long\njourney, it would never do. Nice is not to be thought of. Its dust, and\nits sharp winds (I know it well), towards October are very bad indeed.\n\nI send you the enclosed letters, firstly, because I have no circular to\nanswer them with, and, secondly, because I fear I might confuse your\narrangements by interfering with the correspondence. I shall hope to\nhave a word from you very soon. I am at work for the tour every day,\nexcept my town Wednesdays.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\nP.S.--Kindest regards from all.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John Watkins.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                   _Saturday Night, Sept. 28th, 1861._\n\nDEAR MR. WATKINS,\n\nIn reply to your kind letter I must explain that I have not yet brought\ndown any of your large photographs of myself, and therefore cannot\nreport upon their effect here. I think the \"cartes\" are all liked.\n\nA general howl of horror greeted the appearance of No. 18, and a riotous\nattempt was made to throw it out of window. I calmed the popular fury\nby promising that it should never again be beheld within these walls. I\nthink I mentioned to you when you showed it to me, that I felt persuaded\nit would not be liked. It has a grim and wasted aspect, and perhaps\nmight be made useful as a portrait of the Ancient Mariner.\n\nI feel that I owe you an apology for being (innocently) a difficult\nsubject. When I once excused myself to Ary Scheffer while sitting to\nhim, he received the apology as strictly his due, and said with a vexed\nair: \"At this moment, _mon cher_ Dickens, you look more like an\nenergetic Dutch admiral than anything else;\" for which I apologised\nagain.\n\nIn the hope that the pains you have bestowed upon me will not be thrown\naway, but that your success will prove of some use to you, believe me,\n\n                                                     Faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                             _Sunday, Oct. 6th, 1861._\n\n              AFTER THE DEATH OF MR. ARTHUR SMITH.\n\nMY DEAR EDMUND,\n\nComing back here to-day, I find your letter.\n\nI was so very much distressed last night in thinking of it all, and I\nfind it so very difficult to preserve my composure when I dwell in my\nmind on the many times fast approaching when I shall sorely miss the\nfamiliar face, that I am hardly steady enough yet to refer to the\nreadings like a man. But your kind reference to them makes me desirous\nto tell you that I took Headland (formerly of St. Martin's Hall, who has\nalways been with us in London) to conduct the business, when I knew that\nour poor dear fellow could never do it, even if he had recovered\nstrength to go; and that I consulted with himself about it when I saw\nhim for the last time on earth, and that it seemed to please him, and he\nsaid: \"We couldn't do better.\"\n\nWrite to me before you come; and remember that I go to town Wednesday\nmornings.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                             OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                          _Thursday, Oct. 10th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nI received your affectionate little letter here this morning, and was\nvery glad to get it. Poor dear Arthur is a sad loss to me, and indeed I\nwas very fond of him. But the readings must be fought out, like all the\nrest of life.\n\n                                               Ever your affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Sunday, Oct. 13th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nThis is a short note. But the moment I know for certain what is designed\nfor me at Cheltenham, I write to you in order that you may know it from\nme and not by chance from anyone else.\n\nI am to read there on the evening of Friday, the 3rd of January, and on\nthe morning of Saturday, the 4th; as I have nothing to do on Thursday,\nthe 2nd, but come from Leamington, I shall come to you, please God, for\na quiet dinner that day.\n\nThe death of Arthur Smith has caused me great distress and anxiety. I\nhad a great regard for him, and he made the reading part of my life as\nlight and pleasant as it _could_ be made. I had hoped to bring him to\nsee you, and had pictured to myself how amused and interested you would\nhave been with his wonderful tact and consummate mastery of arrangement.\nBut it's all over.\n\nI begin at Norwich on the 28th, and am going north in the middle of\nNovember. I am going to do \"Copperfield,\" and shall be curious to test\nits effect on the Edinburgh people. It has been quite a job so to piece\nportions of the long book together as to make something continuous out\nof it; but I hope I have got something varied and dramatic. I am also\n(not to slight _your_ book) going to do \"Nickleby at Mr. Squeers's.\" It\nis clear that both must be trotted out at Cheltenham.\n\nWith kindest love and regard to all your house,\n\n                    Ever, my dearest Macready, your most affectionate.\n\nP.S.--Fourth edition of \"Great Expectations\" almost gone!\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                  ANGEL HOTEL, BURY ST. EDMUNDS,\n                                         _Wednesday, Oct. 13th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nI have just now received your welcome letter, and I hasten to report\n(having very little time) that we had a splendid hall last night, and\nthat I think \"Nickleby\" tops all the readings. Somehow it seems to have\ngot in it, by accident, exactly the qualities best suited to the\npurpose, and it went last night not only with roars, but with a general\nhilarity and pleasure that I have never seen surpassed.\n\nWe are full here for to-night.\n\nFancy this: last night at about six, who should walk in but Elwin! He\nwas exactly in his usual state, only more demonstrative than ever, and\nhad been driven in by some neighbours who were coming to the reading. I\nhad tea up for him, and he went down at seven with me to the dismal den\nwhere I dressed, and sat by the fire while I dressed, and was childishly\nhappy in that great privilege! During the reading he sat on a corner of\nthe platform and roared incessantly. He brought in a lady and gentleman\nto introduce while I was undressing, and went away in a perfect and\nabsolute rapture.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                     ROYAL HOTEL, NORWICH, _Tuesday, Oct. 29th, 1861._\n\nI cannot say that we began well last night. We had not a good hall, and\nthey were a very lumpish audience indeed. This did not tend to cheer the\nstrangeness I felt in being without Arthur, and I was not at all myself.\nWe have a large let for to-night, I think two hundred and fifty stalls,\nwhich is very large, and I hope that both they and I will go better. I\ncould have done perfectly last night, if the audience had been bright,\nbut they were an intent and staring audience. They laughed though very\nwell, and the storm made them shake themselves again. But they were not\nmagnetic, and the great big place was out of sorts somehow.\n\nTo-morrow I will write you another short note, however short. It is\n\"Nickleby\" and the \"Trial\" to-night; \"Copperfield\" again to-morrow. A\nwet day here, with glimpses of blue. I shall not forget Katey's health\nat dinner. A pleasant journey down.\n\n                      Ever, my dearest Georgy, your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The same.]\n\n             THE GREAT WHITE HORSE, IPSWICH, _Friday, Nov. 1st, 1861._\n\nI cannot quite remember in the whirl of travelling and reading, whether\nor no I wrote you a line from Bury St. Edmunds. But I think (and hope)\nI did. We had a fine room there, and \"Copperfield\" made a great\nimpression. At mid-day we go on to Colchester, where I shall expect the\nyoung Morgans. I sent a telegram on yesterday, after receiving your\nnote, to secure places for them. The answer returned by telegraph was:\n\"No box-seats left but on the fourth row.\" If they prefer to sit on the\nstage (for I read in the theatre, there being no other large public\nroom), they shall. Meantime I have told John, who went forward this\nmorning with the other men, to let the people at the inn know that if\nthree travellers answering that description appear before my\ndinner-time, they are to dine with me.\n\nPlorn's admission that he likes the school very much indeed, is the\ngreat social triumph of modern times.\n\nI am looking forward to Sunday's rest at Gad's, and shall be down by the\nten o'clock train from town. I miss poor Arthur dreadfully. It is\nscarcely possible to imagine how much. It is not only that his loss to\nme socially is quite irreparable, but that the sense I used to have of\ncompactness and comfort about me while I was reading is quite gone. And\nwhen I come out for the ten minutes, when I used to find him always\nready for me with something cheerful to say, it is forlorn. I cannot but\nfancy, too, that the audience must miss the old speciality of a\npervading gentleman.\n\nNobody I know has turned up yet except Elwin. I have had many\ninvitations to all sorts of houses in all sorts of places, and have of\ncourse accepted them every one.\n\nLove to Mamie, if she has come home, and to Bouncer, if _she_ has come;\nalso Marguerite, who I hope is by this time much better.\n\n                         Ever, my dear Georgy, your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Henry Austin.]\n\n                                 GAD'S HILL, _Sunday, Nov. 3rd, 1861._\n\nEXTRACT.\n\nI am heartily glad to hear that you have been out in the air, and I hope\nyou will go again very soon and make a point of continuing to go. There\nis a soothing influence in the sight of the earth and sky, which God put\ninto them for our relief when He made the world in which we are all to\nsuffer, and strive, and die.\n\nI will not fail to write to you from many points of my tour, and if you\never want to write to me you may be sure of a quick response, and may be\ncertain that I am sympathetic and true.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n            FOUNTAIN HOTEL, CANTERBURY, _Windy Night, Nov. 4th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nA word of report before I go to bed. An excellent house to-night, and an\naudience positively perfect. The greatest part of it stalls, and an\nintelligent and delightful response in them, like the touch of a\nbeautiful instrument. \"Copperfield\" wound up in a real burst of feeling\nand delight.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John Agate.]\n\n                LORD WARDEN HOTEL, DOVER, _Wednesday, Nov. 6th, 1861._\n\nSIR,\n\nI am exceedingly sorry to find, from the letter you have addressed to\nme, that you had just cause of complaint in being excluded from my\nreading here last night. It will now and then unfortunately happen when\nthe place of reading is small (as in this case), that some confusion\nand inconvenience arise from the local agents over-estimating, in\nperfect good faith and sincerity, the capacity of the room. Such a\nmistake, I am assured, was made last night; and thus all the available\nspace was filled before the people in charge were at all prepared for\nthat circumstance.\n\nYou may readily suppose that I can have no personal knowledge of the\nproceedings of the people in my employment at such a time. But I wish to\nassure you very earnestly, that they are all old servants, well\nacquainted with my principles and wishes, and that they are under the\nstrongest injunction to avoid any approach to mercenary dealing; and to\nbehave to all comers equally with as much consideration and politeness\nas they know I should myself display. The recent death of a\nmuch-regretted friend of mine, who managed this business for me, and on\nwhom these men were accustomed to rely in any little difficulty, caused\nthem (I have no doubt) to feel rather at a loss in your case. Do me the\nfavour to understand that under any other circumstances you would, as a\nmatter of course, have been provided with any places whatever that could\nbe found, without the smallest reference to what you had originally\npaid. This is scanty satisfaction to you, but it is so strictly the\ntruth, that yours is the first complaint of the kind I have ever\nreceived.\n\nI hope to read in Dover again, but it is quite impossible that I can\nmake any present arrangement for that purpose. Whenever I may return\nhere, you may be sure I shall not fail to remember that I owe you a\nrecompense for a disappointment. In the meanwhile I very sincerely\nregret it.\n\n                                                     Faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                  BEDFORD HOTEL, BRIGHTON, _Thursday, Nov. 7th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR GEORGY,\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Duchess of Cambridge comes to-night to \"Copperfield.\" The bad\nweather has not in the least touched us, and beyond all doubt a great\ndeal of money has been left untaken at each place.\n\nThe storm was most magnificent at Dover. All the great side of The Lord\nWarden next the sea had to be emptied, the break of the sea was so\nprodigious, and the noise was so utterly confounding. The sea came in\nlike a great sky of immense clouds, for ever breaking suddenly into\nfurious rain. All kinds of wreck were washed in. Miss Birmingham and I\nsaw, among other things, a very pretty brass-bound chest being thrown\nabout like a feather. On Tuesday night, the unhappy Ostend packet could\nnot get in, neither could she go back, and she beat about the Channel\nuntil noon yesterday. I saw her come in then, _with five men at the\nwheel_; such a picture of misery, as to the crew (of passengers there\nwere no signs), as you can scarcely imagine.\n\nTho effect at Hastings and at Dover really seems to have outdone the\nbest usual impression, and at Dover they wouldn't go, but sat applauding\nlike mad. The most delicate audience I have seen in any provincial place\nis Canterbury. The audience with the greatest sense of humour certainly\nis Dover. The people in the stalls set the example of laughing, in the\nmost curiously unreserved way; and they really laughed when Squeers read\nthe boys' letters, with such cordial enjoyment, that the contagion\nextended to me, for one couldn't hear them without laughing too.\n\nSo, thank God, all goes well, and the recompense for the trouble is in\nevery way great. There is rather an alarming breakdown at Newcastle, in\nrespect of all the bills having been, in some inscrutable way, lost on\nthe road. I have resolved to send Berry there, with full powers to do\nall manner of things, early next week.\n\nThe amended route-list is not printed yet, because I am trying to get\noff Manchester and Liverpool; both of which I strongly doubt, in the\npresent state of American affairs. Therefore I can't send it for\nMarguerite; but I can, and do, send her my love and God-speed. This is\naddressed to the office because I suppose you will be there to-morrow.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Earl of Carlisle.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                                _November 15th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR LORD CARLISLE,\n\nYou know poor Austin, and what his work was, and how he did it. If you\nhave no private objection to signing the enclosed memorial (which will\nreceive the right signatures before being presented), I think you will\nhave no public objection. I shall be heartily glad if you can put your\nname to it, and shall esteem your doing so as a very kind service. Will\nyou return the memorial under cover to Mr. Tom Taylor, at the Local\nGovernment Act Office, Whitehall? He is generously exerting himself in\nfurtherance of it, and so delay will be avoided.\n\n                       My dear Lord Carlisle, faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Sunday, Nov. 17th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR MARY,\n\nI am perfectly enraptured with the quilt. It is one of the most\ntasteful, lively, elegant things I have ever seen; and I need not tell\nyou that while it is valuable to me for its own ornamental sake, it is\nprecious to me as a rainbow-hint of your friendship and affectionate\nremembrance.\n\nPlease God you shall see it next summer occupying its allotted place of\nstate in my brand-new bedroom here. You shall behold it then, with all\ncheerful surroundings, the envy of mankind.\n\nMy readings have been doing absolute wonders. Your Duchess and Princess\ncame to hear first \"Nickleby\" and the \"Pickwick Trial,\" then\n\"Copperfield,\" at Brighton. I think they were pleased with me, and I am\nsure I was with them; for they are the very best audience one could\npossibly desire. I shall always have a pleasant remembrance of them.\n\nOn Wednesday I am away again for the longest part of my trip.\n\nYes, Mary dear, I must say that I like my Carton, and I have a faint\nidea sometimes that if I had acted him, I could have done something with\nhis life and death.\n\n                    Believe me, ever your affectionate and faithful\n                                                                  JOE.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                   QUEEN'S HEAD, NEWCASTLE, _Friday, Nov. 22nd, 1861._\n\nI received your letter this morning, and grieve to report that the\nunlucky Headland has broken down most awfully!\n\nFirst, as perhaps you remember, this is the place where the bills were\n\"lost\" for a week or two. The consequence has been that the agent could\nnot announce all through the \"Jenny Lind\" time (the most important for\nannouncing), and could but stand still and stare when people came to ask\nwhat I was going to read. Last night I read \"Copperfield\" to the most\nenthusiastic and appreciative audience imaginable, but in numbers about\nhalf what they might have been. To-night we shall have a famous house;\nbut we might have had it last night too. To-morrow (knowing by this time\nwhat can, of a certainty, be done with \"Copperfield\"), I had, of course,\ngiven out \"Copperfield\" to be read again. Conceive my amazement and\ndismay when I find the printer to have announced \"Little Dombey\"!!!\nThis, I declare, I had no more intention of reading than I had of\nreading an account of the solar system. And this, after a sensation last\nnight, of a really extraordinary nature in its intensity and delight!\n\nSays the unlucky Headland to this first head of misery: \"Johnson's\nmistake\" (Johnson being the printer).\n\nSecond, I read at Edinburgh for the first time--observe the day--_next\nWednesday_. Jenny Lind's concert at Edinburgh is to-night. This morning\ncomes a frantic letter from the Edinburgh agent. \"I have no bills, no\ntickets; I lose all the announcement I would have made to hundreds upon\nhundreds of people to-night, all of the most desirable class to be well\ninformed beforehand. I can't announce what Mr. Dickens is going to read;\nI can answer no question; I have, upon my responsibility, put a dreary\nadvertisement into the papers announcing that he _is_ going to read so\nmany times, and that particulars will shortly be ready; and I stand\nbound hand and foot.\" \"Johnson's mistake,\" says the unlucky Headland.\n\nOf course, I know that the man who never made a mistake in poor Arthur's\ntime is not likely to be always making mistakes now. But I have written\nby this post to Wills, to go to him and investigate. I have also\ndetached Berry from here, and have sent him on by train at a few\nminutes' notice to Edinburgh, and then to Glasgow (where I have no doubt\neverything is wrong too). Glasgow we may save; Edinburgh I hold to be\nirretrievably damaged. If it can be picked up at all, it can only be at\nthe loss of the two first nights, and by the expenditure of no end of\nspirits and force. And this is the harder, because it is impossible not\nto see that the last readings polished and prepared the audiences in\ngeneral, and that I have not to work them up in any place where I have\nbeen before, but that they start with a London intelligence, and with a\nrespect and preparation for what they are going to hear.\n\nI hope by the time you and Mamie come to me, we shall have got into some\ngood method. I must take the thing more into my own hands and look after\nit from hour to hour. If such a thing as this Edinburgh business could\nhave happened under poor Arthur, I really believe he would have fallen\ninto a fit, or gone distracted. No one can ever know what he was but I\nwho have been with him and without him. Headland is so anxious and so\ngood-tempered that I cannot be very stormy with him; but it is the\nsimple fact that he has no notion of the requirements of such work as\nthis. Without him, and with a larger salary to Berry (though there are\nobjections to the latter as _first_ man), I could have done a hundred\ntimes better.\n\nAs Forster will have a strong interest in knowing all about the\nproceedings, perhaps you will send him this letter to read. There is no\nvery tremendous harm, indeed, done as yet. At Edinburgh I KNOW what I\ncan do with \"Copperfield.\" I think it is not too much to say that for\nevery one who does come to hear it on the first night, I can get back\nfifty on the second. And whatever can be worked up there will tell on\nGlasgow. Berry I shall continue to send on ahead, and I shall take\nnothing on trust and more as being done.\n\nOn Sunday morning at six, I have to start for Berwick. From Berwick, in\nthe course of that day, I will write again; to Mamie next time.\n\nWith best love to her and Mrs. B.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                QUEEN'S HEAD, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE,\n                                          _Saturday, Nov. 23rd, 1861._\n\nA most tremendous hall here last night; something almost terrible in the\ncram. A fearful thing might have happened. Suddenly, when they were all\nvery still over Smike, my gas batten came down, and it looked as if the\nroom was falling. There were three great galleries crammed to the roof,\nand a high steep flight of stairs, and a panic must have destroyed\nnumbers of people. A lady in the front row of stalls screamed, and ran\nout wildly towards me, and for one instant there was a terrible wave in\nthe crowd. I addressed that lady laughing (for I knew she was in sight\nof everybody there), and called out as if it happened every night,\n\"There's nothing the matter, I assure you; don't be alarmed; pray sit\ndown;\" and she sat down directly, and there was a thunder of applause.\nIt took some few minutes to mend, and I looked on with my hands in my\npockets; for I think if I had turned my back for a moment there might\nstill have been a move. My people were dreadfully alarmed, Boylett in\nparticular, who I suppose had some notion that the whole place might\nhave taken fire.\n\n\"But there stood the master,\" he did me the honour to say afterwards, in\naddressing the rest, \"as cool as ever I see him a-lounging at a railway\nstation.\"\n\nA telegram from Berry at Edinburgh yesterday evening, to say that he\nhad got the bills, and that they would all be up and dispersed yesterday\nevening under his own eyes. So no time was lost in setting things as\nright as they can be set. He has now gone on to Glasgow.\n\nP.S.--Duty to Mrs. Bouncer.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                          BERWICK-ON-TWEED, _Monday, Nov. 25th, 1861._\n\nI write (in a gale of wind, with a high sea running), to let you know\nthat we go on to Edinburgh at half-past eight to-morrow morning.\n\nA most ridiculous room was designed for me in this odd out-of-the-way\nplace. An immense Corn Exchange made of glass and iron, round,\ndome-topped, lofty, utterly absurd for any such purpose, and full of\nthundering echoes, with a little lofty crow's-nest of a stone gallery\nbreast high, deep in the wall, into which it was designed to put _me_! I\ninstantly struck, of course, and said I would either read in a room\nattached to this house (a very snug one, capable of holding five hundred\npeople) or not at all. Terrified local agents glowered, but fell\nprostrate.\n\nBerry has this moment come back from Edinburgh and Glasgow with hopeful\naccounts. He seems to have done the business extremely well, and he says\nthat it was quite curious and cheering to see how the Glasgow people\nassembled round the bills the instant they were posted, and evidently\nwith a great interest in them.\n\nWe left Newcastle yesterday morning in the dark, when it was intensely\ncold and froze very hard. So it did here. But towards night the wind\nwent round to the S.W., and all night it has been blowing very hard\nindeed. So it is now.\n\nTell Mamie that I have the same sitting-room as we had when we came here\nwith poor Arthur, and that my bedroom is the room out of it which she\nand Katie had. Surely it is the oddest town to read in! But it is taken\non poor Arthur's principle that a place in the way pays the expenses of\na through journey; and the people would seem to be coming up to the\nscratch gallantly. It was a dull Sunday, though; O it _was_ a dull\nSunday, without a book! For I had forgotten to buy one at Newcastle,\nuntil it was too late. So after dark I made a jug of whisky-punch, and\ndrowned the unlucky Headland's remembrance of his failures.\n\nI shall hope to hear very soon that the workmen have \"broken through,\"\nand that you have been in the state apartments, and that upholstery\nmeasurements have come off.\n\nThere has been a horrible accident in Edinburgh. One of the seven-storey\nold houses in the High Street fell when it was full of people. Berry was\nat the bill-poster's house, a few doors off, waiting for him to come\nhome, when he heard what seemed like thunder, and then the air was\ndarkened with dust, \"as if an immense quantity of steam had been blown\noff,\" and then all that dismal quarter set up shrieks, which he says\nwere most dreadful.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n              WATERLOO HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Wednesday, Nov. 27th, 1861._\n\nMrs. Bouncer must decidedly come with you to Carlisle. She shall be\nreceived with open arms. Apropos of Carlisle, let me know _when_ you\npurpose coming there. We shall be there, please God, on the Saturday in\ngood time, as I finish at Glasgow on the Friday night.\n\nI have very little notion of the state of affairs here, as Headland\nbrought no more decisive information from the agents yesterday (he never\n_can_ get decisive information from any agents), than \"the teeckets air\njoost moving reecht and left.\" I hope this may be taken as satisfactory.\nJenny Lind carried off a world of money from here. Miss Glyn, or Mrs.\nDallas, is playing Lady Macbeth at the theatre, and Mr. Shirley Brooks\nis giving two lectures at the Philosophical Society on the House of\nCommons and Horace Walpole. Grisi's farewell benefits are (I think) on\nmy last two nights here.\n\nGordon dined with me yesterday. He is, if anything, rather better, I\nthink, than when we last saw him in town. He was immensely pleased to be\nwith me. I went with him (as his office goes anywhere) right into and\namong the ruins of the fallen building yesterday. They were still at\nwork trying to find two men (brothers), a young girl, and an old woman,\nknown to be all lying there. On the walls two or three common clocks are\nstill hanging; one of them, judging from the time at which it stopped,\nwould seem to have gone for an hour or so after the fall. Great interest\nhad been taken in a poor linnet in a cage, hanging in the wind and rain\nhigh up against the broken wall. A fireman got it down alive, and great\nexultation had been raised over it. One woman, who was dug out unhurt,\nstaggered into the street, stared all round her, instantly ran away, and\nhas never been heard of since. It is a most extraordinary sight, and of\ncourse makes a great sensation.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                 WATERLOO HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Friday, Nov. 29th, 1861._\n\nI think it is my turn to write to you, and I therefore send a brief\ndespatch, like a telegram, to let you know that in a gale of wind and a\nfierce rain, last night, we turned away a thousand people. There was no\ngetting into the hall, no getting near the hall, no stirring among the\npeople, no getting out, no possibility of getting rid of them. And yet,\nin spite of all that, and of their being steaming wet, they never\nflagged for an instant, never made a complaint, and took up the trial\nupon their very shoulders, to the last word, in a triumphant roar.\n\nThe talk about \"Copperfield\" rings through the whole place. It is done\nagain to-morrow night. To-morrow morning I read \"Dombey.\" To-morrow\nmorning is Grisi's \"farewell\" morning concert, and last night was her\n\"farewell\" evening concert. Neither she, nor Jenny Lind, nor anything,\nnor anybody seems to make the least effect on the draw of the readings.\n\nI lunch with Blackwood to-day. He was at the reading last night; a\ncapital audience. Young Blackwood has also called here. A very good\nyoung fellow, I think.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n            CARRICK'S ROYAL HOTEL, GLASGOW, _Tuesday, Dec. 3rd, 1861._\n\nI send you by this post another _Scotsman_. From a paragraph in it, a\nletter, and an advertisement, you may be able to form some dim guess of\nthe scene at Edinburgh last night. Such a pouring of hundreds into a\nplace already full to the throat, such indescribable confusion, such a\nrending and tearing of dresses, and yet such a scene of good humour on\nthe whole. I never saw the faintest approach to it. While I addressed\nthe crowd in the room, Gordon addressed the crowd in the street. Fifty\nfrantic men got up in all parts of the hall and addressed me all at\nonce. Other frantic men made speeches to the walls. The whole Blackwood\nfamily were borne in on the top of a wave, and landed with their faces\nagainst the front of the platform. I read with the platform crammed with\npeople. I got them to lie down upon it, and it was like some impossible\ntableau or gigantic picnic; one pretty girl in full dress lying on her\nside all night, holding on to one of the legs of my table. It was the\nmost extraordinary sight. And yet from the moment I began to the moment\nof my leaving off, they never missed a point, and they ended with a\nburst of cheers.\n\nThe confusion was decidedly owing to the local agents. But I think it\nmay have been a little heightened by Headland's way of sending them the\ntickets to sell in the first instance.\n\nNow, as I must read again in Edinburgh on Saturday night, your\ntravelling arrangements are affected. So observe carefully (you and\nMamie) all that I am going to say. It appears to me that the best course\nwill be for you to come to _Edinburgh_ on Saturday; taking the fast\ntrain from the Great Northern station at nine in the morning. This would\nbring you to the Waterloo at Edinburgh, at about nine or so at night,\nand I should be home at ten. We could then have a quiet Sunday in\nEdinburgh, and go over to Carlisle on the Monday morning.\n\nThe expenditure of lungs and spirits was (as you may suppose) rather\ngreat last night, and to sleep well was out of the question; I am\ntherefore rather fagged to-day. And as the hall in which I read to-night\nis a large one, I must make my letter a short one.\n\nMy people were torn to ribbons last night. They have not a hat among\nthem, and scarcely a coat.\n\nGive my love to Mamie. To her question, \"Will there be war with\nAmerica?\" I answer, \"Yes;\" I fear the North to be utterly mad, and war\nto be unavoidable.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n                   VICTORIA HOTEL, PRESTON, _Friday, Dec. 13th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nThe news of the Christmas number is indeed glorious, and nothing can\nlook brighter or better than the prospects of the illustrious\npublication.\n\nBoth Carlisle and Lancaster have come out admirably, though I doubted\nboth, as you did. But, unlike you, I always doubted this place. I do so\nstill. It is a poor place at the best (you remember?), and the mills are\nworking half time, and trade is very bad. The expenses, however, will be\na mere nothing. The accounts from Manchester for to-morrow, and from\nLiverpool for the readings generally, are very cheering indeed.\n\nThe young lady who sells the papers at the station is just the same as\never. Has orders for to-night, and is coming \"with a person.\" \"_The_\nperson?\" said I. \"Never _you_ mind,\" said she.\n\nI was so charmed with Robert Chambers's \"Traditions of Edinburgh\" (which\nI read _in_ Edinburgh), that I was obliged to write to him and say so.\n\nGlasgow finished nobly, and the last night in Edinburgh was signally\nsuccessful and positively splendid.\n\nWill you give my small Admiral, on his personal application, one\nsovereign? I have told him to come to you for that recognition of his\nmeritorious services.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n                  ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Sunday, Dec. 15th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nI sent you a telegram to-day, and I write before the answer has come to\nhand.\n\nI have been very doubtful what to do here. We have a great let for\nto-morrow night. The Mayor recommends closing to-morrow, and going on on\nTuesday and Wednesday, so does the town clerk, so do the agents. But I\nhave a misgiving that they hardly understand what the public general\nsympathy with the Queen will be. Further, I feel personally that the\nQueen has always been very considerate and gracious to me, and I would\non no account do anything that might seem unfeeling or disrespectful. I\nshall attach great weight, in this state of indecision, to your\ntelegram.\n\nA capital audience at Preston. Not a capacious room, but full. Great\nappreciation.\n\nThe scene at Manchester last night was really magnificent. I had had the\nplatform carried forward to our \"Frozen Deep\" point, and my table and\nscreen built in with a proscenium and room scenery. When I went in\n(there was a very fine hall), they applauded in the most tremendous\nmanner; and the extent to which they were taken aback and taken by storm\nby \"Copperfield\" was really a thing to see.\n\nThe post closes early here on a Sunday, and I shall close this also\nwithout further reference to \"a message from the\" W. H. W. being\nprobably on the road.\n\nRadley is ill, and supposed to be fast declining, poor fellow. The house\nis crammed, the assizes on, and troops perpetually embarking for Canada,\nand their officers passing through the hotel.\n\n                                     Kindest regards, ever faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]\n\n                          GAD'S HILL, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                          _Saturday, Dec. 28th, 1861._\n\nMY DEAR MARY,\n\nOn Monday (as you know) I am away again, but I am not sorry to see land\nand a little rest before me; albeit, these are great experiences of the\npublic heart.\n\nThe little Admiral has gone to visit America in the _Orlando_, supposed\nto be one of the foremost ships in the Service, and the best found, best\nmanned, and best officered that ever sailed from England. He went away\nmuch gamer than any giant, attended by a chest in which he could easily\nhave stowed himself and a wife and family of his own proportions.\n\n                                 Ever and always, your affectionate\n                                                                  JOE.\n\n\n\n\n1862.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nAt the beginning of this year, Charles Dickens resumed the reading tour\nwhich he had commenced at the close of the previous year and continued\nup to Christmas. The first letter which follows, to Mr. Wills, a New\nYear's greeting, is written from a railway station between one town and\nanother on this journey. Mr. Macready, who had married for the second\ntime not very long before this, was now settled at Cheltenham. Charles\nDickens had arranged to give readings there, chiefly for the pleasure of\nvisiting him, and of having him as one of his audience.\n\nThis reading tour went on until the beginning of February. One of the\nlast of the series was in his favourite \"beautiful room,\" the St.\nGeorge's Hall at Liverpool. In February, he made an exchange of houses\nwith his friends Mr. and Mrs. Hogge, they going to Gad's Hill, and he\nand his family to Mr. Hogge's house in Hyde Park Gate South. In March he\ncommenced a series of readings at St. James's Hall, which went on until\nthe middle of June, when he, very gladly, returned to his country home.\n\nA letter beginning \"My dear Girls,\" addressed to some American ladies\nwho happened to be at Colchester, in the same inn with him when he was\nreading there, was published by one of them under the name of \"Our\nLetter,\" in the \"St. Nicholas Magazine,\" New York, in 1877. We think it\nbest to explain it in the young lady's own words, which are, therefore,\nappended to the letter.\n\nMr. Walter Thornbury was one of Charles Dickens's most valuable\ncontributors to \"All the Year Round.\" His letters to him about the\nsubjects of his articles for that journal, are specimens of the minute\nand careful attention and personal supervision, never neglected or\ndistracted by any other work on which he might be engaged, were it ever\nso hard or engrossing.\n\nThe letter addressed to Mr. Baylis we give chiefly because it has, since\nMr. Baylis's death, been added to the collection of MSS. in the British\nMuseum. He was a very intimate and confidential friend of the late Lord\nLytton, and accompanied him on a visit to Gad's Hill in that year.\n\nWe give an extract from another letter from Charles Dickens to his\nsister, as a beautiful specimen of a letter of condolence and\nencouragement to one who was striving, very bravely, but by very slow\ndegrees, to recover from the overwhelming grief of her bereavement. Mr.\nWilkie Collins was at this time engaged on his novel of \"No Name,\" which\nappeared in \"All the Year Round,\" and was threatened with a very serious\nbreakdown in health. Charles Dickens wrote the letter which we give, to\nrelieve Mr. Collins's mind as to his work. Happily he recovered\nsufficiently to make an end to his own story without any help; but the\ntrue friendship and kindness which suggested the offer were none the\nless appreciated, and may, very likely, by lessening his anxiety, have\nhelped to restore his health. At the end of October in this year,\nCharles Dickens, accompanied by his daughter and sister-in-law, went to\nreside for a couple of months in Paris, taking an apartment in the Rue\ndu Faubourg St. Honore. From thence he writes to M. Charles Fechter. He\nhad been greatly interested in this fine artist from the time of his\nfirst appearance in England, and was always one of his warmest friends\nand supporters during his stay in this country. M. Fechter was, at this\ntime, preparing for the opening of the Lyceum Theatre, under his own\nmanagement, at the beginning of the following year.\n\nJust before Christmas, Charles Dickens returned to Gad's Hill. The\nChristmas number for this year was \"Somebody's Luggage.\"\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n\n                AT THE BIRMINGHAM STATION, _Thursday, Jan. 2nd, 1862._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nBeing stationed here for an hour, on my way from Leamington to\nCheltenham, I write to you.\n\nFirstly, to reciprocate all your cordial and affectionate wishes for the\nNew Year, and to express my earnest hope that we may go on through many\nyears to come, as we have gone on through many years that are gone. And\nI think we can say that we doubt whether any two men can have gone on\nmore happily and smoothly, or with greater trust and confidence in one\nanother.\n\nA little packet will come to you from Hunt and Roskell's, almost at the\nsame time, I think, as this note.\n\nThe packet will contain a claret-jug. I hope it is a pretty thing in\nitself for your table, and I know that you and Mrs. Wills will like it\nnone the worse because it comes from me.\n\nIt is not made of a perishable material, and is so far expressive of our\nfriendship. I have had your name and mine set upon it, in token of our\nmany years of mutual reliance and trustfulness. It will never be so full\nof wine as it is to-day of affectionate regard.\n\n                                                Ever faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                 CHELTENHAM, _Friday, Jan. 3rd, 1862._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nMrs. Macready in voice is very like poor Mrs. Macready dead and gone;\nnot in the least like her otherwise. She is perfectly satisfactory, and\nexceedingly winning. Quite perfect in her manner with him and in her\nease with his children, sensible, gay, pleasant, sweet-tempered; not in\nthe faintest degree stiff or pedantic; accessible instantly. I have very\nrarely seen a more agreeable woman. The house is (on a smaller scale)\nany house we have known them in. Furnished with the old furniture,\npictures, engravings, mirrors, tables, and chairs. Butty is too tall for\nstrength, I am afraid, but handsome, with a face of great power and\ncharacter, and a very nice girl. Katie you know all about. Macready,\ndecidedly much older and infirm. Very much changed. His old force has\ngone out of him strangely. I don't think I left off talking a minute\nfrom the time of my entering the house to my going to bed last night,\nand he was as much amused and interested as ever I saw him; still he\nwas, and is, unquestionably aged.\n\nAnd even now I am obliged to cut this letter short by having to go and\nlook after Headland. It would never do to be away from the rest of them.\nI have no idea what we are doing here; no notion whether things are\nright or wrong; no conception where the room is; no hold of the business\nat all. For which reason I cannot rest without going and looking after\nthe worthy man.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                 TORQUAY, _Wednesday, Jan. 8th, 1862._\n\nYou know, I think, that I was very averse to going to Plymouth, and\nwould not have gone there again but for poor Arthur. But on the last\nnight I read \"Copperfield,\" and positively enthralled the people. It was\na most overpowering effect, and poor Andrew[7] came behind the screen,\nafter the storm, and cried in the best and manliest manner. Also there\nwere two or three lines of his shipmates and other sailors, and they\nwere extraordinarily affected. But its culminating effect was on\nMacready at Cheltenham. When I got home after \"Copperfield,\" I found him\nquite unable to speak, and able to do nothing but square his dear old\njaw all on one side, and roll his eyes (half closed), like Jackson's\npicture of him. And when I said something light about it, he returned:\n\"No--er--Dickens! I swear to Heaven that, as a piece of passion and\nplayfulness--er--indescribably mixed up together, it does--er--no,\nreally, Dickens!--amaze me as profoundly as it moves me. But as a piece\nof art--and you know--er--that I--no, Dickens! By ----! have seen the\nbest art in a great time--it is incomprehensible to me. How is it got\nat--er--how is it done--er--how one man can--well? It lays me on\nmy--er--back, and it is of no use talking about it!\" With which he put\nhis hand upon my breast and pulled out his pocket-handkerchief, and I\nfelt as if I were doing somebody to his Werner. Katie, by-the-bye, is a\nwonderful audience, and has a great fund of wild feeling in her. Johnny\nnot at all unlike Plorn.\n\nI have not yet seen the room here, but imagine it to be very small.\nExeter I know, and that is small also. I am very much used up, on the\nwhole, for I cannot bear this moist warm climate. It would kill me very\nsoon. And I have now got to the point of taking so much out of myself\nwith \"Copperfield,\" that I might as well do Richard Wardour.\n\nYou have now, my dearest Georgy, the fullest extent of my tidings. This\nis a very pretty place--a compound of Hastings, Tunbridge Wells, and\nlittle bits of the hills about Naples; but I met four respirators as I\ncame up from the station, and three pale curates without them, who\nseemed in a bad way.\n\nFrightful intelligence has just been brought in by Boylett, concerning\nthe small size of the room. I have terrified Headland by sending him to\nlook at it, and swearing that if it's too small I will go away to\nExeter.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                  ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Tuesday, Jan. 28th, 1862._\n\nThe beautiful room was crammed to excess last night, and numbers were\nturned away. Its beauty and completeness when it is lighted up are most\nbrilliant to behold, and for a reading it is simply perfect. You\nremember that a Liverpool audience is usually dull, but they put me on\nmy mettle last night, for I never saw such an audience--no, not even in\nEdinburgh!\n\nI slept horribly last night, and have been over to Birkenhead for a\nlittle change of air to-day. My head is dazed and worn by gas and heat,\nand I fear that \"Copperfield\" and \"Bob\" together to-night won't mend it.\n\nBest love to Mamie and Katie, if still at Gad's. I am going to bring the\nboys some toffee.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Misses Armstrong]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Monday, Feb. 10th, 1862._\n\nMY DEAR GIRLS,\n\nFor if I were to write \"young friends,\" it would look like a\nschoolmaster; and if I were to write \"young ladies,\" it would look like\na schoolmistress; and worse than that, neither form of words would look\nfamiliar and natural, or in character with our snowy ride that\ntooth-chattering morning.\n\nI cannot tell you both how gratified I was by your remembrance, or how\noften I think of you as I smoke the admirable cigars. But I almost think\nyou must have had some magnetic consciousness across the Atlantic, of my\nwhiffing my love towards you from the garden here.\n\nMy daughter says that when you have settled those little public affairs\nat home, she hopes you will come back to England (possibly in united\nstates) and give a minute or two to this part of Kent. _Her_ words are,\n\"a day or two;\" but I remember your Italian flights, and correct the\nmessage.\n\nI have only just now finished my country readings, and have had nobody\nto make breakfast for me since the remote ages of Colchester!\n\n                                                Ever faithfully yours.\n\n\nOUR LETTER.\n\nBy M. F. ARMSTRONG.\n\n\"From among all my treasures--to each one of which some pleasant history\nis bound--I choose this letter, written on coarse blue paper.\n\nThe letter was received in answer to cigars sent from America to Mr.\nDickens.\n\nThe 'little public affairs at home' refers to the war of the Rebellion.\n\nAt Colchester, he read 'The Trial' from 'Pickwick,' and selections from\n'Nicholas Nickleby.'\n\nThe lady, her two sisters, and her brother were Mr. Dickens's guests at\nthe queer old English inn at Colchester.\n\nThrough the softly falling snow we came back together to London, and on\nthe railway platform parted, with a hearty hand-shaking, from the man\nwho will for ever be enshrined in our hearts as the kindest and most\ngenerous, not to say most brilliant of hosts.\"\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n                      16, HYDE PARK GATE, SOUTH KENSINGTON GORE,\n                                           _Sunday, March 16th, 1862._\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nMy daughter naturally liking to be in town at this time of year, I have\nchanged houses with a friend for three months.\n\nMy eldest boy is in business as an Eastern merchant in the City, and\nwill do well if he can find continuous energy; otherwise not. My second\nboy is with the 42nd Highlanders in India. My third boy, a good steady\nfellow, is educating expressly for engineers or artillery. My fourth\n(this sounds like a charade), a born little sailor, is a midshipman in\nH.M.S. _Orlando_, now at Bermuda, and will make his way anywhere.\nRemaining two at school, elder of said remaining two very bright and\nclever. Georgina and Mary keeping house for me; and Francis Jeffrey (I\nought to have counted him as the third boy, so we'll take him in here as\nnumber two and a half) in my office at present. Now you have the family\nbill of fare.\n\nYou ask me about Fechter and his Hamlet. It was a performance of\nextraordinary merit; by far the most coherent, consistent, and\nintelligible Hamlet I ever saw. Some of the delicacies with which he\nrendered his conception clear were extremely subtle; and in particular\nhe avoided that brutality towards Ophelia which, with a greater or less\namount of coarseness, I have seen in all other Hamlets. As a mere _tour\nde force_, it would have been very remarkable in its disclosure of a\nperfectly wonderful knowledge of the force of the English language; but\nits merit was far beyond and above this. Foreign accent, of course, but\nnot at all a disagreeable one. And he was so obviously safe and at ease,\nthat you were never in pain for him as a foreigner. Add to this a\nperfectly picturesque and romantic \"make up,\" and a remorseless\ndestruction of all conventionalities, and you have the leading virtues\nof the impersonation. In Othello he did not succeed. In Iago he is very\ngood. He is an admirable artist, and far beyond anyone on our stage. A\nreal artist and a gentleman.\n\nLast Thursday I began reading again in London--a condensation of\n\"Copperfield,\" and \"Mr. Bob Sawyer's Party,\" from \"Pickwick,\" to finish\nmerrily. The success of \"Copperfield\" is astounding. It made an\nimpression that _I_ must not describe. I may only remark that I was half\ndead when I had done; and that although I had looked forward, all\nthrough the summer, when I was carefully getting it up, to its being a\nLondon sensation; and that although Macready, hearing it at Cheltenham,\ntold me to be prepared for a great effect, it even went beyond my hopes.\nI read again next Thursday, and the rush for places is quite furious.\nTell Townshend this with my love, if you see him before I have time to\nwrite to him; and tell him that I thought the people would never let me\ngo away, they became so excited, and showed it so very warmly. I am\ntrying to plan out a new book, but have not got beyond trying.\n\n                                                 Yours affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Walter Thornbury.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                           _Friday, April 18th, 1862._\n\n\nMY DEAR THORNBURY,\n\nThe Bow Street runners ceased out of the land soon after the\nintroduction of the new police. I remember them very well as standing\nabout the door of the office in Bow Street. They had no other uniform\nthan a blue dress-coat, brass buttons (I am not even now sure that that\nwas necessary), and a bright red cloth waistcoat. The waistcoat was\nindispensable, and the slang name for them was \"redbreasts,\" in\nconsequence.\n\nThey kept company with thieves and the like, much more than the\ndetective police do. I don't know what their pay was, but I have no\ndoubt their principal complements were got under the rose. It was a very\nslack institution, and its head-quarters were The Brown Bear, in Bow\nStreet, a public-house of more than doubtful reputation, opposite the\npolice-office; and either the house which is now the theatrical costume\nmaker's, or the next door to it.\n\nField, who advertises the Secret Enquiry Office, was a Bow Street\nrunner, and can tell you all about it; Goddard, who also advertises an\nenquiry office, was another of the fraternity. They are the only two I\nknow of as yet existing in a \"questionable shape.\"\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Baylis.]\n\n                        GAD'S HILL, ETC., _Wednesday, July 2nd, 1862._\n\nMY DEAR MR. BAYLIS,\n\nI have been in France, and in London, and in other parts of Kent than\nthis, and everywhere but here, for weeks and weeks. Pray excuse my not\nhaving (for this reason specially) answered your kind note sooner.\n\nAfter carefully cross-examining my daughter, I do NOT believe her to be\nworthy of the fernery. Last autumn we transplanted into the shrubbery a\nquantity of evergreens previously clustered close to the front of the\nhouse, and trained more ivy about the wall and the like. When I ask her\nwhere she would have the fernery and what she would do with it, the\nwitness falters, turns pale, becomes confused, and says: \"Perhaps it\nwould be better not to have it at all.\" I am quite confident that the\nconstancy of the young person is not to be trusted, and that she had\nbetter attach her fernery to one of her chateaux in Spain, or one of her\nEnglish castles in the air. None the less do I thank you for your more\nthan kind proposal.\n\nWe have been in great anxiety respecting Miss Hogarth, the sudden\ndecline of whose health and spirits has greatly distressed us. Although\nshe is better than she was, and the doctors are, on the whole, cheerful,\nshe requires great care, and fills us with apprehension. The necessity\nof providing change for her will probably take us across the water very\nearly in the autumn; and this again unsettles home schemes here, and\nwithers many kinds of fern. If they knew (by \"they\" I mean my daughter\nand Miss Hogarth) that I was writing to you, they would charge me with\nmany messages of regard. But as I am shut up in my room in a ferocious\nand unapproachable condition, owing to the great accumulation of letters\nI have to answer, I will tell them at lunch that I have anticipated\ntheir wish. As I know they have bills for me to pay, and are at present\nshy of producing them, I wish to preserve a gloomy and repellent\nreputation.\n\n                          My dear Mr. Baylis, faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Henry Austin.]\n\n                                GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, Oct. 7th, 1862._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI do not preach consolation because I am unwilling to preach at any\ntime, and know my own weakness too well. But in this world there is no\nstay but the hope of a better, and no reliance but on the mercy and\ngoodness of God. Through those two harbours of a shipwrecked heart, I\nfully believe that you will, in time, find a peaceful resting-place even\non this careworn earth. Heaven speed the time, and do you try hard to\nhelp it on! It is impossible to say but that our prolonged grief for the\nbeloved dead may grieve them in their unknown abiding-place, and give\nthem trouble. The one influencing consideration in all you do as to\nyour disposition of yourself (coupled, of course, with a real earnest\nstrenuous endeavour to recover the lost tone of spirit) is, that you\nthink and feel you _can_ do. I do not in the least regard your change of\ncourse in going to Havre as any evidence of instability. But I rather\nhope it is likely that through such restlessness you will come to a far\nquieter frame of mind. The disturbed mind and affections, like the\ntossed sea, seldom calm without an intervening time of confusion and\ntrouble.\n\nBut nothing is to be attained without striving. In a determined effort\nto settle the thoughts, to parcel out the day, to find occupation\nregularly or to make it, to be up and doing something, are chiefly to be\nfound the mere mechanical means which must come to the aid of the best\nmental efforts.\n\nIt is a wilderness of a day, here, in the way of blowing and raining,\nand as darkly dismal, at four o'clock, as need be. My head is but just\nnow raised from a day's writing, but I will not lose the post without\nsending you a word.\n\nKatie was here yesterday, just come back from Clara White's (that was),\nin Scotland. In the midst of her brilliant fortune, it is too clear to\nme that she is already beckoned away to follow her dead sisters.\nMacready was here from Saturday evening to yesterday morning, older but\nlooking wonderfully well, and (what is very rare in these times) with\nthe old thick sweep of hair upon his head. Georgina being left alone\nhere the other day, was done no good to by a great consternation among\nthe servants. On going downstairs, she found Marsh (the stableman)\nseated with great dignity and anguish in an arm-chair, and incessantly\ncrying out: \"I am dead.\" To which the women servants said with great\npathos (and with some appearance of reason): \"No, you ain't, Marsh!\" And\nto which he persisted in replying: \"Yes, I am; I am dead!\" Some\nneighbouring vagabond was impressed to drive a cart over to Rochester\nand fetch the doctor, who said (the patient and his consolers being all\nvery anxious that the heart should be the scene of affliction):\n\"Stomach.\"\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                     _Tuesday Night, Oct. 14th, 1862._\n\nMY DEAR WILKIE,\n\nFrank Beard has been here this evening, of course since I posted my this\nday's letter to you, and has told me that you are not at all well, and\nhow he has given you something which he hopes and believes will bring\nyou round. It is not to convey this insignificant piece of intelligence,\nor to tell you how anxious I am that you should come up with a wet sheet\nand a flowing sail (as we say at sea when we are not sick), that I\nwrite. It is simply to say what follows, which I hope may save you some\nmental uneasiness. For I was stricken ill when I was doing \"Bleak\nHouse,\" and I shall not easily forget what I suffered under the fear of\nnot being able to come up to time.\n\nDismiss that fear (if you have it) altogether from your mind. Write to\nme at Paris at any moment, and say you are unequal to your work, and\nwant me, and I will come to London straight and do your work. I am quite\nconfident that, with your notes and a few words of explanation, I could\ntake it up at any time and do it. Absurdly unnecessary to say that it\nwould be a makeshift! But I could do it at a pinch, so like you as that\nno one should find out the difference. Don't make much of this offer in\nyour mind; it is nothing, except to ease it. If you should want help, I\nam as safe as the bank. The trouble would be nothing to me, and the\ntriumph of overcoming a difficulty great. Think it a Christmas number,\nan \"Idle Apprentice,\" a \"Lighthouse,\" a \"Frozen Deep.\" I am as ready as\nin any of these cases to strike in and hammer the hot iron out.\n\nYou won't want me. You will be well (and thankless!) in no time. But\nthere I am; and I hope that the knowledge may be a comfort to you. Call\nme, and I come.\n\nAs Beard always has a sense of medical responsibility, and says anything\nimportant about a patient in confidence, I have merely remarked here\nthat \"Wilkie\" is out of sorts. Charley (who is here with Katie) has no\nother cue from me.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]\n\n                          PARIS, RUE DU FAUBOURG ST. HONORE, 27,\n                                            _Tuesday, Nov. 4th, 1862._\n\nMY DEAR FECHTER,\n\nYou know, I believe, how our letters crossed, and that I am here until\nChristmas. Also, you know with what pleasure and readiness I should have\nresponded to your invitation if I had been in London.\n\nPray tell Paul Feval that I shall be charmed to know him, and that I\nshall feel the strongest interest in making his acquaintance. It almost\nputs me out of humour with Paris (and it takes a great deal to do that!)\nto think that I was not at home to prevail upon him to come with you,\nand be welcomed to Gad's Hill; but either there or here, I hope to\nbecome his friend before this present old year is out. Pray tell him so.\n\nYou say nothing in your note of your Lyceum preparations. I trust they\nare all going on well. There is a fine opening for you, I am sure, with\na good beginning; but the importance of a good beginning is very great.\nIf you ever have time and inclination to tell me in a short note what\nyou are about, you can scarcely interest me more, as my wishes and\nstrongest sympathies are for and with your success--_mais cela va sans\ndire_.\n\nI went to the Chatelet (a beautiful theatre!) the other night to see\n\"Rothomago,\" but was so mortally _gene_ with the poor nature of the\npiece and of the acting, that I came out again when there was a week or\ntwo (I mean an hour or two, but the hours seemed weeks) yet to get\nthrough.\n\n                        My dear Fechter, very faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Clarkson Stanfield, R.A.]\n\n                          PARIS, RUE DU FAUBOURG ST. HONORE, 27,\n                                             _Friday, Dec. 5th, 1862._\n\nMY DEAR STANNY,\n\nWe have been here for two months, and I shall probably come back here\nafter Christmas (we go home for Christmas week) and stay on into\nFebruary. But I shall write and propose a theatre before Christmas is\nout, so this is to warn you to get yourself into working pantomime\norder!\n\nI hope Wills has duly sent you our new Christmas number. As you may like\nto know what I myself wrote of it, understand the Dick contributions to\nbe, _his leaving it till called for_, and _his wonderful end_, _his\nboots_, and _his brown paper parcel_.\n\nSince you were at Gad's Hill I have been travelling a good deal, and\nlooking up many odd things for use. I want to know how you are in health\nand spirits, and it would be the greatest of pleasures to me to have a\nline under your hand.\n\nGod bless you and yours with all the blessings of the time of year, and\nof all times!\n\n                                Ever your affectionate and faithful\n                                                                 DICK.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]\n\n                                    PARIS, _Saturday, Dec. 6th, 1862._\n\nMY DEAR FECHTER,\n\nI have read \"The White Rose\" attentively, and think it an extremely good\nplay. It is vigorously written with a great knowledge of the stage, and\npresents many striking situations. I think the close particularly fine,\nimpressive, bold, and new.\n\nBut I greatly doubt the expediency of your doing _any_ historical play\nearly in your management. By the words \"historical play,\" I mean a play\nfounded on any incident in English history. Our public are accustomed to\nassociate historical plays with Shakespeare. In any other hands, I\nbelieve they care very little for crowns and dukedoms. What you want is\nsomething with an interest of a more domestic and general nature--an\ninterest as romantic as you please, but having a more general and wider\nresponse than a disputed succession to the throne can have for\nEnglishmen at this time of day. Such interest culminated in the last\nStuart, and has worn itself out. It would be uphill work to evoke an\ninterest in Perkin Warbeck.\n\nI do not doubt the play's being well received, but my fear is that these\npeople would be looked upon as mere abstractions, and would have but a\ncold welcome in consequence, and would not lay hold of your audience.\nNow, when you _have_ laid hold of your audience and have accustomed them\nto your theatre, you may produce \"The White Rose,\" with far greater\njustice to the author, and to the manager also. Wait. Feel your way.\nPerkin Warbeck is too far removed from analogy with the sympathies and\nlives of the people for a beginning.\n\n                               My dear Fechter, ever faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                          _Saturday, Dec. 27th, 1862._\n\nMY DEAR MARY,\n\nI must send you my Christmas greeting and happy New Year wishes in\nreturn for yours; most heartily and fervently reciprocating your\ninterest and affection. You are among the few whom I most care for and\nbest love.\n\nBeing in London two evenings in the opening week, I tried to persuade my\nlegs (for whose judgment I have the highest respect) to go to an evening\nparty. But I _could not_ induce them to pass Leicester Square. The\nfaltering presentiment under which they laboured so impressed me, that\nat that point I yielded to their terrors. They immediately ran away to\nthe east, and I accompanied them to the Olympic, where I saw a very good\nplay, \"Camilla's Husband,\" very well played. Real merit in Mr. Neville\nand Miss Saville.\n\nWe came across directly after the gale, with the Channel all bestrewn\nwith floating wreck, and with a hundred and fifty sick schoolboys from\nCalais on board. I am going back on the morning after Fechter's opening\nnight, and have promised to read \"Copperfield\" at the Embassy, for a\nBritish charity.\n\nGeorgy continues wonderfully well, and she and Mary send you their best\nlove. The house is pervaded by boys; and every boy has (as usual) an\nunaccountable and awful power of producing himself in every part of the\nhouse at every moment, apparently in fourteen pairs of creaking boots.\n\n                              My dear Mary, ever affectionately your\n                                                                  JOE.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[7] Lieutenant Andrew Gordon, R.N., son of the Sheriff of Midlothian.\n\n\n\n\n1863.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nAt the beginning of this year, Charles Dickens was in Paris for the\npurpose of giving a reading at the English Embassy.\n\nHe remained in Paris until the beginning of February, staying with his\nservant \"John\" at the Hotel du Helder. There was a series of readings in\nLondon this season at the Hanover Square Rooms. The Christmas number of\n\"All the Year Round\" was entitled \"Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings,\" to which\nCharles Dickens contributed the first and last chapter.\n\nThe Lyceum Theatre, under the management of M. Fechter, was opened in\nJanuary with \"The Duke's Motto,\" and the letter given here has reference\nto this first night.\n\nWe regret very much having no letters to Lady Molesworth, who was an old\nand dear friend of Charles Dickens. But this lady explains to us that\nshe has long ceased to preserve any letters addressed to her.\n\nThe \"Mr. and Mrs. Humphery\" (now Sir William and Lady Humphery)\nmentioned in the first letter for this year, were dear and intimate\nfriends of his eldest daughter, and were frequent guests in her father's\nhouse. Mrs. Humphery and her sister Lady Olliffe were daughters of the\nlate Mr. William Cubitt, M.P.\n\nWe have in this year the first letter of Charles Dickens to Mr. Percy\nFitzgerald. This gentleman had been a valuable contributor to his\njournal before he became personally known to Charles Dickens. The\nacquaintance once made soon ripened into friendship, and for the future\nMr. Fitzgerald was a constant and always a welcome visitor to Gad's\nHill.\n\nThe letter to Mr. Charles Reade alludes to his story, \"Hard Cash,\" which\nwas then appearing in \"All the Year Round.\" As a writer, and as a\nfriend, he was held by Charles Dickens in the highest estimation.\n\nCharles Dickens's correspondence with his solicitor and excellent\nfriend, Mr. Frederic Ouvry (now a vice-president of the Society of\nAntiquaries), was almost entirely of a business character; but we are\nglad to give one or two notes to that gentleman, although of little\npublic interest, in order to have the name in our book of one of the\nkindest of our own friends.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                          PARIS, HOTEL DU HELDER, RUE DU HELDER,\n                                            _Friday, Jan. 16th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nAs I send a line to your aunt to-day and know that you will not see it,\nI send another to you to report my safe (and neuralgic) arrival here. My\nlittle rooms are perfectly comfortable, and I like the hotel better than\nany I have ever put up at in Paris. John's amazement at, and\nappreciation of, Paris are indescribable. He goes about with his mouth\nopen, staring at everything and being tumbled over by everybody.\n\nThe state dinner at the Embassy, yesterday, coming off in the room where\nI am to read, the carpenters did not get in until this morning. But\ntheir platforms were ready--or supposed to be--and the preparations are\nin brisk progress. I think it will be a handsome affair to look at--a\nvery handsome one. There seems to be great artistic curiosity in Paris,\nto know what kind of thing the reading is.\n\nI know a \"rela-shon\" (with one weak eye), who is in the gunmaking line,\nvery near here. There is a strong family resemblance--but no muzzle.\nLady Molesworth and I have not begun to \"toddle\" yet, but have exchanged\naffectionate greetings. I am going round to see her presently, and I\ndine with her on Sunday. The only remaining news is, that I am beset by\nmysterious adorers, and smuggle myself in and out of the house in the\nmeanest and basest manner.\n\nWith kind regard to Mr. and Mrs. Humphery,\n\n                     Ever, my dearest Mamey, your affectionate Father.\n\nP.S.--_Hommage a Madame B.!_\n\n\n[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]\n\n                                      PARIS, _Sunday, Feb. 1st, 1863._\n\nMY DEAR REGNIER,\n\nI was charmed by the receipt of your cordial and sympathetic letter, and\nI shall always preserve it carefully as a most noble tribute from a\ngreat and real artist.\n\nI wished you had been at the Embassy on Friday evening. The audience was\na fine one, and the \"Carol\" is particularly well adapted to the purpose.\nIt is an uncommon pleasure to me to learn that I am to meet you on\nTuesday, for there are not many men whom I meet with greater pleasure\nthan you. Heaven! how the years roll by! We are quite old friends now,\nin counting by years. If we add sympathies, we have been friends at\nleast a thousand years.\n\n                                            Affectionately yours ever.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                     HOTEL DU HELDER, PARIS, _Sunday, Feb. 1st, 1863._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nI cannot give you any idea of the success of the readings here, because\nno one can imagine the scene of last Friday night at the Embassy. Such\naudiences and such enthusiasm I have never seen, but the thing\nculminated on Friday night in a two hours' storm of excitement and\npleasure. They actually recommenced and applauded right away into their\ncarriages and down the street.\n\nYou know your parent's horror of being lionised, and will not be\nsurprised to hear that I am half dead of it. I cannot leave here until\nThursday (though I am every hour in danger of running away) because I\nhave to dine out, to say nothing of breakfasting--think of me\nbreakfasting!--every intervening day. But my project is to send John\nhome on Thursday, and then to go on a little perfectly quiet tour for\nabout ten days, touching the sea at Boulogne. When I get there, I will\nwrite to your aunt (in case you should not be at home), saying when I\nshall arrive at the office. I must go to the office instead of Gad's,\nbecause I have much to do with Forster about Elliotson.\n\nI enclose a short note for each of the little boys. Give Harry ten\nshillings pocket-money, and Plorn six.\n\nThe Olliffe girls, very nice. Florence at the readings, prodigiously\nexcited.\n\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                      PARIS, _Sunday, Feb. 1st, 1863._\n\nFrom my hurried note to Mamie, you will get some faint general idea of a\nnew star's having arisen in Paris. But of its brightness you can have no\nadequate conception.\n\n[John has locked me up and gone out, and the little bell at the door is\nringing demoniacally while I write.]\n\nYou have never heard me read yet. I have been twice goaded and lifted\nout of myself into a state that astonished _me_ almost as much as the\naudience. I have a cold, but no neuralgia, and am \"as well as can be\nexpected.\"\n\nI forgot to tell Mamie that I went (with Lady Molesworth) to hear\n\"Faust\" last night. It is a splendid work, in which that noble and sad\nstory is most nobly and sadly rendered, and perfectly delighted me. But\nI think it requires too much of the audience to do for a London opera\nhouse. The composer must be a very remarkable man indeed. Some\nmanagement of light throughout the story is also very poetical and fine.\nWe had Carvalho's box. I could hardly bear the thing, it affected me so.\n\nBut, as a certain Frenchman said, \"No weakness, Danton!\" So I leave off.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]\n\n                                   PARIS, _Wednesday, Feb. 4th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAR FECHTER,\n\nA thousand congratulations on your great success! Never mind what they\nsay, or do, _pour vous ecraser_; you have the game in your hands. The\nromantic drama, thoroughly well done (with a touch of Shakespeare now\nand then), is the speciality of your theatre. Give the public the\npicturesque, romantic drama, with yourself in it; and (as I told you in\nthe beginning) you may throw down your gauntlet in defiance of all\ncomers.\n\nIt is a most brilliant success indeed, and it thoroughly rejoices my\nheart!\n\nUnfortunately I cannot now hope to see \"Maquet,\" because I am packing up\nand going out to dinner (it is late in the afternoon), and I leave\nto-morrow morning when all sensible people, except myself, are in bed;\nand I do not come back to Paris or near it. I had hoped to see him at\nbreakfast last Monday, but he was not there. Paul Feval was there, and I\nfound him a capital fellow. If I can do anything to help you on with\n\"Maquet\"[8] when I come back I will most gladly do it.\n\nMy readings here have had the finest possible reception, and have\nachieved a most noble success. I never before read to such fine\naudiences, so very quick of perception, and so enthusiastically\nresponsive.\n\nI shall be heartily pleased to see you again, my dear Fechter, and to\nshare your triumphs with the real earnestness of a real friend. And so\ngo on and prosper, and believe me, as I truly am,\n\n\n                                                 Most cordially yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                          _Thursday, Feb. 19th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nI have just come back from Paris, where the readings--\"Copperfield,\"\n\"Dombey\" and \"Trial,\" and \"Carol\" and \"Trial\"--have made a sensation\nwhich modesty (my natural modesty) renders it impossible for me to\ndescribe. You know what a noble audience the Paris audience is! They\nwere at their very noblest with me.\n\nI was very much concerned by hearing hurriedly from Georgy that you\nwere ill. But when I came home at night, she showed me Katie's letter,\nand that set me up again. Ah, you have the best of companions and\nnurses, and can afford to be ill now and then for the happiness of being\nso brought through it. But don't do it again yet awhile for all that.\n\nLegouve (whom you remember in Paris as writing for the Ristori) was\nanxious that I should bring you the enclosed. A manly and generous\neffort, I think? Regnier desired to be warmly remembered to you. He\nlooks just as of yore.\n\nParis generally is about as wicked and extravagant as in the days of the\nRegency. Madame Viardot in the \"Orphee,\" most splendid. An opera of\n\"Faust,\" a very sad and noble rendering of that sad and noble story.\nStage management remarkable for some admirable, and really poetical,\neffects of light. In the more striking situations, Mephistopheles\nsurrounded by an infernal red atmosphere of his own. Marguerite by a\npale blue mournful light. The two never blending. After Marguerite has\ntaken the jewels placed in her way in the garden, a weird evening draws\non, and the bloom fades from the flowers, and the leaves of the trees\ndroop and lose their fresh green, and mournful shadows overhang her\nchamber window, which was innocently bright and gay at first. I couldn't\nbear it, and gave in completely.\n\nFechter doing wonders over the way here, with a picturesque French\ndrama. Miss Kate Terry, in a small part in it, perfectly charming. You\nmay remember her making a noise, years ago, doing a boy at an inn, in\n\"The Courier of Lyons\"? She has a tender love-scene in this piece, which\nis a really beautiful and artistic thing. I saw her do it at about three\nin the morning of the day when the theatre opened, surrounded by\nshavings and carpenters, and (of course) with that inevitable hammer\ngoing; and I told Fechter: \"That is the very best piece of womanly\ntenderness I have ever seen on the stage, and you'll find that no\naudience can miss it.\" It is a comfort to add that it was instantly\nseized upon, and is much talked of.\n\nStanfield was very ill for some months, then suddenly picked up, and is\nreally rosy and jovial again. Going to see him when he was very\ndespondent, I told him the story of Fechter's piece (then in rehearsal)\nwith appropriate action; fighting a duel with the washing-stand, defying\nthe bedstead, and saving the life of the sofa-cushion. This so kindled\nhis old theatrical ardour, that I think he turned the corner on the\nspot.\n\nWith love to Mrs. Macready and Katie, and (be still my heart!)\nBenvenuta, and the exiled Johnny (not too attentive at school, I hope?),\nand the personally-unknown young Parr,\n\n                    Ever, my dearest Macready, your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Power.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                          _Thursday, Feb. 26th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAR MARGUERITE,\n\nI think I have found a first-rate title for your book, with an early and\na delightful association in most people's minds, and a strong suggestion\nof Oriental pictures:\n\n                        \"ARABIAN DAYS AND NIGHTS.\"\n\nI have sent it to Low's. If they have the wit to see it, do you in your\nfirst chapter touch that string, so as to bring a fanciful explanation\nin aid of the title, and sound it afterwards, now and again, when you\ncome to anything where Haroun al Raschid, and the Grand Vizier, and\nMesrour, the chief of the guard, and any of that wonderful _dramatis\npersonae_ are vividly brought to mind.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Knight.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                         _Wednesday, March 4th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAR CHARLES KNIGHT,\n\nAt a quarter to seven on Monday, the 16th, a stately form will be\ndescried breathing birthday cordialities and affectionate amenities, as\nit descends the broken and gently dipping ground by which the level\ncountry of the Clifton Road is attained. A practised eye will be able to\ndiscern two humble figures in attendance, which from their flowing\ncrinolines may, without exposing the prophet to the imputation of\nrashness, be predicted to be women. Though certes their importance,\nabsorbed and as it were swallowed up in the illustrious bearing and\ndetermined purpose of the maturer stranger, will not enthrall the gaze\nthat wanders over the forest of San Giovanni as the night gathers in.\n\n                                           Ever affectionately,\n                                                       G. P. R. JAMES.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Dallas.[9]]\n\n\nEXTRACT.\n\nTHE TIME OF THE PRINCESS ALEXANDRA'S ARRIVAL IN LONDON.\n\nIt is curious to see London gone mad. Down in the Strand here, the\nmonomaniacal tricks it is playing are grievous to behold, but along\nFleet Street and Cheapside it gradually becomes frenzied, dressing\nitself up in all sorts of odds and ends, and knocking itself about in a\nmost amazing manner. At London Bridge it raves, principally about the\nKings of Denmark and their portraits. I have been looking among them for\nHamlet's uncle, and have discovered one personage with a high nose, who\nI think is the man.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Lehmann.]\n\n      OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\" NO. 26, WELLINGTON STREET,\n                               STRAND, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                          _Tuesday, March 10th, 1863._\n\nDEAR MRS. LEHMANN,\n\nTwo stalls for to-morrow's reading were sent to you by post before I\nheard from you this morning. Two will always come to you while you\nremain a Gummidge, and I hope I need not say that if you want more, none\ncould be better bestowed in my sight.\n\nPray tell Lehmann, when you next write to him, that I find I owe him a\nmint of money for the delightful Swedish sleigh-bells. They are the\nwonder, awe, and admiration of the whole country side, and I never go\nout without them.\n\nLet us make an exchange of child stories. I heard of a little fellow the\nother day whose mamma had been telling him that a French governess was\ncoming over to him from Paris, and had been expatiating on the blessings\nand advantages of having foreign tongues. After leaning his plump little\ncheek against the window glass in a dreary little way for some minutes,\nhe looked round and enquired in a general way, and not as if it had any\nspecial application, whether she didn't think \"that the Tower of Babel\nwas a great mistake altogether?\"\n\n                                                Ever faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Major.[10]]\n\n  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\" A WEEKLY JOURNAL, ETC. ETC.,\n                     26, WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND,\n                                         _Thursday, March 12th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAR MARY,\n\nI am quite concerned to hear that you and your party (including your\nbrother Willie) paid for seats at my reading last night. You must\npromise me never to do so any more. My old affections and attachments\nare not so lightly cherished or so easily forgotten as that I can bear\nthe thought of you and yours coming to hear me like so many strangers.\nIt will at all times delight me if you will send a little note to me, or\nto Georgina, or to Mary, saying when you feel inclined to come, and how\nmany stalls you want. You may always be certain, even on the fullest\nnights, of room being made for you. And I shall always be interested and\npleased by knowing that you are present.\n\nMind! You are to be exceedingly penitent for last night's offence, and\nto make me a promise that it shall never be repeated. On which condition\naccept my noble forgiveness.\n\nWith kind regard to Mr. Major, my dear Mary,\n\n                                                 Affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                         _Thursday, March 31st, 1863._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nI mean to go on reading into June. For the sake of the finer effects (in\n\"Copperfield\" principally), I have changed from St. James's Hall to the\nHanover Square Room. The latter is quite a wonderful room for sound, and\nso easy that the least inflection will tell anywhere in the place\nexactly as it leaves your lips; but I miss my dear old shilling\ngalleries--six or eight hundred strong--with a certain roaring sea of\nresponse in them, that you have stood upon the beach of many and many a\ntime.\n\nThe summer, I hope and trust, will quicken the pace at which you grow\nstronger again. I am but in dull spirits myself just now, or I should\nremonstrate with you on your slowness.\n\nHaving two little boys sent home from school \"to see the illuminations\"\non the marriage-night, I chartered an enormous van, at a cost of five\npounds, and we started in majesty from the office in London, fourteen\nstrong. We crossed Waterloo Bridge with the happy design of beginning\nthe sight at London Bridge, and working our way through the City to\nRegent Street. In a by-street in the Borough, over against a dead wall\nand under a railway bridge, we were blocked for four hours. We were\nobliged to walk home at last, having seen nothing whatever. The wretched\nvan turned up in the course of the next morning; and the best of it was\nthat at Rochester here they illuminated the fine old castle, and really\nmade a very splendid and picturesque thing (so my neighbours tell me).\n\nWith love to Mrs. Macready and Katie,\n\n                    Ever, my dearest Macready, your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                        _Wednesday, April 22nd, 1863._\n\n\n                  ON THE DEATH OF MR. EGG.\n\nEXTRACT.\n\nAh, poor Egg! I knew what you would think and feel about it. When we saw\nhim in Paris on his way out I was struck by his extreme nervousness, and\nderived from it an uneasy foreboding of his state. What a large piece of\na good many years he seems to have taken with him! How often have I\nthought, since the news of his death came, of his putting his part in\nthe saucepan (with the cover on) when we rehearsed \"The Lighthouse;\" of\nhis falling out of the hammock when we rehearsed \"The Frozen Deep;\" of\nhis learning Italian numbers when he ate the garlic in the carriage; of\nthe thousands (I was going to say) of dark mornings when I apostrophised\nhim as \"Kernel;\" of his losing my invaluable knife in that beastly\nstage-coach; of his posting up that mysterious book[11] every night! I\nhardly know why, but I have always associated that volume most with\nVenice. In my memory of the dear gentle little fellow, he will be (as\nsince those days he always has been) eternally posting up that book at\nthe large table in the middle of our Venice sitting-room, incidentally\nasking the name of an hotel three weeks back! And his pretty house is to\nbe laid waste and sold. If there be a sale on the spot I shall try to\nbuy something in loving remembrance of him, good dear little fellow.\nThink what a great \"Frozen Deep\" lay close under those boards we acted\non! My brother Alfred, Luard, Arthur, Albert, Austin, Egg. Even among\nthe audience, Prince Albert and poor Stone! \"I heard the\"--I forget what\nit was I used to say--\"come up from the great deep;\" and it rings in my\nears now, like a sort of mad prophecy.\n\nHowever, this won't do. We must close up the ranks and march on.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Rev. W. Brookfield.]\n\n                                         GAD'S HILL, _May 17th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAR BROOKFIELD,\n\nIt occurs to me that you may perhaps know, or know of, a kind of man\nthat I want to discover.\n\nOne of my boys (the youngest) now is at Wimbledon School. He is a\ndocile, amiable boy of fair abilities, but sensitive and shy. And he\nwrites me so very earnestly that he feels the school to be confusingly\nlarge for him, and that he is sure he could do better with some\ngentleman who gave his own personal attention to the education of\nhalf-a-dozen or a dozen boys, as to impress me with the belief that I\nought to heed his conviction.\n\nHas any such phenomenon as a good and reliable man in this wise ever\ncome in your way? Forgive my troubling you, and believe me,\n\n                                                      Cordially yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Rev. W. Brookfield.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                                     _May 24th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAR BROOKFIELD,\n\nI am most truly obliged to you for your kind and ready help.\n\nWhen I am in town next week, I will call upon the Bishop of Natal, more\nto thank him than with the hope of profiting by that gentleman of whom\nhe writes, as the limitation to \"little boys\" seems to stop the way. I\nwant to find someone with whom this particular boy could remain; if\nthere were a mutual interest and liking, that would be a great point\ngained.\n\nWhy did the kings in the fairy tales want children? I suppose in the\nweakness of the royal intellect.\n\nConcerning \"Nickleby,\" I am so much of your mind (comparing it with\n\"Copperfield\"), that it was a long time before I could take a pleasure\nin reading it. But I got better, as I found the audience always taking\nto it. I have been trying, alone by myself, the \"Oliver Twist\" murder,\nbut have got something so horrible out of it that I am afraid to try it\nin public.\n\n                                                Ever faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Thursday, May 28th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nI don't wonder at your finding it difficult to reconcile your mind to a\nFrench Hamlet; but I assure you that Fechter's is a very remarkable\nperformance perfectly consistent with itself (whether it be my\nparticular Hamlet, or your particular Hamlet, or no), a coherent and\nintelligent whole, and done by a true artist. I have never seen, I\nthink, an intelligent and clear view of the whole character so well\nsustained throughout; and there is a very captivating air of romance and\npicturesqueness added, which is quite new. Rely upon it, the public were\nright. The thing could not have been sustained by oddity; it would have\nperished upon that, very soon. As to the mere accent, there is far less\ndrawback in that than you would suppose. For this reason, he obviously\nknows English so thoroughly that you feel he is safe. You are never in\npain for him. This sense of ease is gained directly, and then you think\nvery little more about it.\n\nThe Colenso and Jowett matter is a more difficult question, but\nhere again I don't go with you. The position of the writers of \"Essays\nand Reviews\" is, that certain parts of the Old Testament have done\ntheir intended function in the education of the world _as it was_;\nbut that mankind, like the individual man, is designed by the Almighty\nto have an infancy and a maturity, and that as it advances, the\nmachinery of its education must advance too. For example: inasmuch as\never since there was a sun and there was vapour, there _must have_ been\na rainbow under certain conditions, so surely it would be better now to\nrecognise that indisputable fact. Similarly, Joshua might command the\nsun to stand still, under the impression that it moved round the earth;\nbut he could not possibly have inverted the relations of the earth and\nthe sun, whatever his impressions were. Again, it is contended that the\nscience of geology is quite as much a revelation to man, as books of an\nimmense age and of (at the best) doubtful origin, and that your\nconsideration of the latter must reasonably be influenced by the former.\nAs I understand the importance of timely suggestions such as these, it\nis, that the Church should not gradually shock and lose the more\nthoughtful and logical of human minds; but should be so gently and\nconsiderately yielding as to retain them, and, through them, hundreds\nof thousands. This seems to me, as I understand the temper and tendency\nof the time, whether for good or evil, to be a very wise and necessary\nposition. And as I understand the danger, it is not chargeable on those\nwho take this ground, but on those who in reply call names and argue\nnothing. What these bishops and such-like say about revelation, in\nassuming it to be finished and done with, I can't in the least understand.\nNothing is discovered without God's intention and assistance, and I\nsuppose every new knowledge of His works that is conceded to man to be\ndistinctly a revelation by which men are to guide themselves. Lastly,\nin the mere matter of religious doctrine and dogmas, these men\n(Protestants--protestors--successors of the men who protested against\nhuman judgment being set aside) talk and write as if they were all\nsettled by the direct act of Heaven; not as if they had been, as we know\nthey were, a matter of temporary accommodation and adjustment among\ndisputing mortals as fallible as you or I.\n\nComing nearer home, I hope that Georgina is almost quite well. She has\nno attack of pain or flurry now, and is in all respects immensely\nbetter. Mary is neither married nor (that I know of) going to be. She\nand Katie and a lot of them have been playing croquet outside my window\nhere for these last four days, to a mad and maddening extent. My\nsailor-boy's ship, the _Orlando_, is fortunately in Chatham Dockyard--so\nhe is pretty constantly at home--while the shipwrights are repairing a\nleak in her. I am reading in London every Friday just now. Great crams\nand great enthusiasm. Townshend I suppose to have left Lausanne\nsomewhere about this day. His house in the park is hermetically sealed,\nready for him. The Prince and Princess of Wales go about (wisely) very\nmuch, and have as fair a chance of popularity as ever prince and\nprincess had. The City ball in their honour is to be a tremendously\ngorgeous business, and Mary is highly excited by her father's being\ninvited, and she with him. Meantime the unworthy parent is devising all\nkinds of subterfuges for sending her and getting out of it himself. A\nvery intelligent German friend of mine, just home from America,\nmaintains that the conscription will succeed in the North, and that the\nwar will be indefinitely prolonged. _I_ say \"No,\" and that however mad\nand villainous the North is, the war will finish by reason of its not\nsupplying soldiers. We shall see. The more they brag the more I don't\nbelieve in them.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]\n\n\n                   GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Saturday Night, July 4th_, 1863.\n\nMY DEAR MR. FITZGERALD,\n\nI have been most heartily gratified by the perusal of your article on my\ndogs. It has given me an amount and a kind of pleasure very unusual, and\nfor which I thank you earnestly. The owner of the renowned dog Caesar\nunderstands me so sympathetically, that I trust with perfect confidence\nto his feeling what I really mean in these few words. You interest me\nvery much by your kind promise, the redemption of which I hereby claim,\nto send me your life of Sterne when it comes out. If you should be in\nEngland before this, I should be delighted to see you here on the top of\nFalstaff's own Gad's Hill. It is a very pretty country, not thirty\nmiles from London; and if you could spare a day or two for its fine\nwalks, I and my two latest dogs, a St. Bernard and a bloodhound, would\nbe charmed with your company as one of ourselves.\n\n                                    Believe me, very faithfully yours.\n\n\n                                        _Friday, July 10th, 1863._[12]\n\nDEAR MADAM,\n\nI hope you will excuse this tardy reply to your letter. It is often\nimpossible for me, by any means, to keep pace with my correspondents. I\nmust take leave to say, that if there be any general feeling on the part\nof the intelligent Jewish people, that I have done them what you\ndescribe as \"a great wrong,\" they are a far less sensible, a far less\njust, and a far less good-tempered people than I have always supposed\nthem to be. Fagin, in \"Oliver Twist,\" is a Jew, because it unfortunately\nwas true of the time to which that story refers, that that class of\ncriminal almost invariably was a Jew. But surely no sensible man or\nwoman of your persuasion can fail to observe--firstly, that all the rest\nof the wicked _dramatis personae_ are Christians; and secondly, that he\nis called the \"Jew,\" not because of his religion, but because of his\nrace. If I were to write a story, in which I described a Frenchman or a\nSpaniard as \"the Roman Catholic,\" I should do a very indecent and\nunjustifiable thing; but I make mention of Fagin as the Jew, because he\nis one of the Jewish people, and because it conveys that kind of idea of\nhim which I should give my readers of a Chinaman, by calling him a\nChinese.\n\nThe enclosed is quite a nominal subscription towards the good object in\nwhich you are interested; but I hope it may serve to show you that I\nhave no feeling towards the Jewish people but a friendly one. I always\nspeak well of them, whether in public or in private, and bear my\ntestimony (as I ought to do) to their perfect good faith in such\ntransactions as I have ever had with them; and in my \"Child's History of\nEngland,\" I have lost no opportunity of setting forth their cruel\npersecution in old times.\n\n                                         Dear Madam, faithfully yours.\n\n\nIn reply to this, the Jewish lady thanks him for his kind letter and its\nenclosure, still remonstrating and pointing out that though, as he\nobserves, \"all the other criminal characters were Christians, they are,\nat least, contrasted with characters of good Christians; this wretched\nFagin stands alone as the Jew.\"\n\nThe reply to _this_ letter afterwards was the character of Riah, in \"Our\nMutual Friend,\" and some favourable sketches of Jewish character in the\nlower class, in some articles in \"All the Year Round.\"\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Ouvry.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                   _Wednesday Night, July 29th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAR OUVRY,\n\nI have had some undefined idea that you were to let me know if you were\ncoming to the archaeologs at Rochester. (I myself am keeping out of their\nway, as having had enough of crowding and speech-making in London.) Will\nyou tell me where you are, whether you are in this neighbourhood or out\nof it, whether you will come here on Saturday and stay till Monday or\ntill Tuesday morning? If you will come, I _know_ I can give you the\nheartiest welcome in Kent, and I _think_ I can give you the best wine in\nthis part of it. Send me a word in reply. I will fetch you from\nanywhere, at any indicated time.\n\nWe have very pretty places in the neighbourhood, and are not\nuncomfortable people (I believe) to stay with.\n\n                                                Faithfully yours ever.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Reade.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                        _Wednesday, Sept. 30th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAR READE,\n\nI _must_ write you one line to say how interested I am in your story,\nand to congratulate you upon its admirable art and its surprising grace\nand vigour.\n\nAnd to hint my hope, at the same time, that you will be able to find\nleisure for a little dash for the Christmas number. It would be a really\ngreat and true pleasure to me if you could.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                          _Wednesday, Oct. 7th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nYou will see by to-day's _Times_ that it _was_ an earthquake that shook\nme, and that my watch showed exactly the same time as the man's who\nwrites from Blackheath so near us--twenty minutes past three.\n\nIt is a great satisfaction to me to make it out so precisely; I wish you\nwould enquire whether the servants felt it. I thought it was the voice\nof the cook that answered me, but that was nearly half an hour later. I\nam strongly inclined to think that there is a peculiar susceptibility in\niron--at all events in our part of the country--to the shock, as though\nthere were something magnetic in it. For, whereas my long iron bedstead\nwas so violently shaken, I certainly heard nothing rattle in the room.\n\nI will write about my return as soon as I get on with the still unbegun\n\"Uncommercial.\"\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n                                GAD'S HILL, _Sunday, Dec. 20th, 1863._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nI am clear that you took my cold. Why didn't you do the thing\ncompletely, and take it away from me? for it hangs by me still.\n\nWill you tell Mrs. Linton that in looking over her admirable account\n(_most_ admirable) of Mrs. Gordon's book, I have taken out the\nreferences to Lockhart, not because I in the least doubt their justice,\nbut because I knew him and he liked me; and because one bright day in\nRome, I walked about with him for some hours when he was dying fast, and\nall the old faults had faded out of him, and the now ghost of the\nhandsome man I had first known when Scott's daughter was at the head of\nhis house, had little more to do with this world than she in her grave,\nor Scott in his, or small Hugh Littlejohn in his. Lockhart had been\nanxious to see me all the previous day (when I was away on the\nCampagna), and as we walked about I knew very well that _he_ knew very\nwell why. He talked of getting better, but I never saw him again. This\nmakes me stay Mrs. Linton's hand, gentle as it is.\n\nMrs. Lirriper is indeed a most brilliant old lady. God bless her.\n\nI am glad to hear of your being \"haunted,\" and hope to increase your\nstock of such ghosts pretty liberally.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[8] Alluding to a translation of a play by M. Maquet, which M. Fechter\nwas then preparing for his theatre.\n\n[9] Now Mrs. Dallas Glyn.\n\n[10] Formerly Miss Talfourd.\n\n[11] His travelling journal.\n\n[12] Answer to letter from Jewish lady, remonstrating with him on\ninjustice to the Jews, shown in the character of Fagin, and asking for\nsubscription for the benefit of the Jewish poor.\n\n\n\n\n1864.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nCharles Dickens was, as usual, at Gad's Hill, with a family and friendly\nparty, at the opening of this year, and had been much shocked and\ndistressed by the news of the sudden death of Mr. Thackeray, brought to\nhim by friends arriving from London on the Christmas Eve of 1863, the\nday on which the sad event happened. He writes of it, in the first\nletter of the year, to Mr. Wilkie Collins, who was passing the winter in\nItaly. He tells him, also, of his having got well to work upon a new\nserial story, the first number of which (\"Our Mutual Friend\") was\npublished on the 1st of May.\n\nThe year began very sadly for Charles Dickens. On the 7th of February\n(his own birthday) he received the mournful announcement of the death of\nhis second son, Walter Landor (a lieutenant in the 42nd Royal\nHighlanders), who had died quite suddenly at Calcutta, on the last night\nof the year of 1863, at the age of twenty-three. His third son, Francis\nJeffrey, had started for India at the end of January.\n\nHis annual letter to M. de Cerjat contains an allusion to \"another\ngeneration beginning to peep above the table\"--the children of his son\nCharles, who had been married three years before, to Miss Bessie Evans.\n\nIn the middle of February he removed to a house in London (57,\nGloucester Place, Hyde Park), where he made a stay of the usual\nduration, up to the middle of June, all the time being hard at work upon\n\"Our Mutual Friend\" and \"All the Year Round.\" Mr. Marcus Stone was the\nillustrator of the new monthly work, and we give a specimen of one of\nmany letters which he wrote to him about his \"subjects.\"\n\nHis old friend, Mr. Charles Knight, with whom for many years Charles\nDickens had dined on his birthday, was staying, this spring, in the Isle\nof Wight. To him he writes of the death of Walter, and of another sad\ndeath which happened at this time, and which affected him almost as\nmuch. Clara, the last surviving daughter of Mr. and Mrs. White, who had\nbeen happily married to Mr. Gordon, of Cluny, not more than two years,\nhad just died at Bonchurch. Her father, as will be seen by the touching\nallusion to him in this letter, had died a short time after this\ndaughter's marriage.\n\nA letter to Mr. Edmund Ollier has reference to certain additions which\nCharles Dickens wished him to make to an article (by Mr. Ollier) on\nWorking Men's Clubs, published in \"All the Year Round.\"\n\nWe are glad to have one letter to the Lord Chief Baron, Sir Frederick\nPollock, which shows the great friendship and regard Charles Dickens had\nfor him, and his admiration of his qualities in his judicial capacity.\n\nWe give a pleasant letter to Mrs. Storrar, for whom, and for her\nhusband, Dr. Storrar, Charles Dickens had affectionate regard, because\nwe are glad to have their names in our book. The letter speaks for\nitself and needs no explanation.\n\nThe latter part of the year was uneventful. Hard at work, he passed the\nsummer and autumn at Gad's Hill, taking holidays by receiving visitors\nat home (among them, this year, Sir J. Emerson Tennent, his wife and\ndaughter, who were kindly urgent for his paying them a return visit in\nIreland) and occasional \"runs\" into France. The last letters we give are\nhis annual one to M. de Cerjat, and a graceful little New Year's note to\nhis dear old friend \"Barry Cornwall.\"\n\nThe Christmas number was \"Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy,\" the first and last\npart written by himself, as in the case of the previous year's \"Mrs.\nLirriper.\"\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]\n\n                                GAD'S HILL, _Monday, Jan. 24th, 1864._\n\n                              EXTRACT.\n\nMY DEAR WILKIE,\n\nI am horribly behindhand in answering your welcome letter; but I have\nbeen so busy, and have had the house so full for Christmas and the New\nYear, and have had so much to see to in getting Frank out to India,\nthat I have not been able to settle down to a regular long letter, which\nI mean this to be, but which it may not turn out to be, after all.\n\nFirst, I will answer your enquiries about the Christmas number and the\nnew book. The Christmas number has been the greatest success of all; has\nshot ahead of last year; has sold about two hundred and twenty thousand;\nand has made the name of Mrs. Lirriper so swiftly and domestically\nfamous as never was. I had a very strong belief in her when I wrote\nabout her, finding that she made a great effect upon me; but she\ncertainly has gone beyond my hopes. (Probably you know nothing about\nher? which is a very unpleasant consideration.) Of the new book, I have\ndone the two first numbers, and am now beginning the third. It is a\ncombination of drollery with romance which requires a great deal of\npains and a perfect throwing away of points that might be amplified; but\nI hope it is _very good_. I confess, in short, that I think it is.\nStrange to say, I felt at first quite dazed in getting back to the large\ncanvas and the big brushes; and even now, I have a sensation as of\nacting at the San Carlo after Tavistock House, which I could hardly have\nsupposed would have come upon so old a stager.\n\nYou will have read about poor Thackeray's death--sudden, and yet not\nsudden, for he had long been alarmingly ill. At the solicitation of Mr.\nSmith and some of his friends, I have done what I would most gladly have\nexcused myself from doing, if I felt I could--written a couple of pages\nabout him in what was his own magazine.\n\nConcerning the Italian experiment, De la Rue is more hopeful than you.\nHe and his bank are closely leagued with the powers at Turin, and he has\nlong been devoted to Cavour; but he gave me the strongest assurances\n(with illustrations) of the fusion between place and place, and of the\nblending of small mutually antagonistic characters into one national\ncharacter, progressing cheeringly and certainly. Of course there must be\ndiscouragements and discrepancies in the first struggles of a country\npreviously so degraded and enslaved, and the time, as yet, has been very\nshort.\n\nI should like to have a day with you at the Coliseum, and on the Appian\nWay, and among the tombs, and with the Orvieto. But Rome and I are wide\nasunder, physically as well as morally. I wonder whether the dramatic\nstable, where we saw the marionettes, still receives the Roman public?\nAnd Lord! when I think of you in that hotel, how I think of poor dear\nEgg in the long front drawing-room, giving on to the piazza, posting up\nthat wonderful necromantic volume which we never shall see opened!\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Marcus Stone.]\n\n                    57, GLOUCESTER PLACE, HYDE PARK,, HYDE PARK,\n                                           _Tuesday, Feb. 23rd, 1864._\n\nMY DEAR MARCUS,\n\nI think the design for the cover _excellent_, and do not doubt its\ncoming out to perfection. The slight alteration I am going to suggest\noriginates in a business consideration not to be overlooked.\n\nThe word \"Our\" in the title must be out in the open like \"Mutual\nFriend,\" making the title three distinct large lines--\"Our\" as big as\n\"Mutual Friend.\" This would give you too much design at the bottom. I\nwould therefore take out the dustman, and put the Wegg and Boffin\ncomposition (which is capital) in its place. I don't want Mr. Inspector\nor the murder reward bill, because these points are sufficiently\nindicated in the river at the top. Therefore you can have an indication\nof the dustman in Mr. Inspector's place. Note, that the dustman's face\nshould be droll, and not horrible. Twemlow's elbow will still go out of\nthe frame as it does now, and the same with Lizzie's skirts on the\nopposite side. With these changes, work away!\n\nMrs. Boffin, as I judge of her from the sketch, \"very good, indeed.\" I\nwant Boffin's oddity, without being at all blinked, to be an oddity of a\nvery honest kind, that people will like.\n\nThe doll's dressmaker is immensely better than she was. I think she\nshould now come extremely well. A weird sharpness not without beauty is\nthe thing I want.\n\n                                                Affectionately always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Knight.]\n\n                                       57, GLOUCESTER PLACE, W.,\n                                           _Tuesday, March 1st, 1864._\n\nMY DEAR KNIGHT,\n\nWe knew of your being in the Isle of Wight, and had said that we should\nhave this year to drink your health in your absence. Rely on my being\nalways ready and happy to renew our old friendship in the flesh. In the\nspirit it needs no renewal, because it has no break.\n\nAh, poor Mrs. White! A sad, sad story! It is better for poor White that\nthat little churchyard by the sea received his ashes a while ago, than\nthat he should have lived to this time.\n\nMy poor boy was on his way home from an up-country station, on sick\nleave. He had been very ill, but was not so at the time. He was talking\nto some brother-officers in the Calcutta hospital about his preparations\nfor home, when he suddenly became excited, had a rush of blood from the\nmouth, and was dead. His brother Frank would arrive out at Calcutta,\nexpecting to see him after six years, and he would have been dead a\nmonth.\n\nMy \"working life\" is resolving itself at the present into another book,\nin twenty green leaves. You work like a Trojan at Ventnor, but you do\nthat everywhere; and that's why you are so young.\n\nMary and Georgina unite in kindest regard to you, and to Mrs. Knight,\nand to your daughters. So do I. And I am ever, my dear Knight,\n\n                                                 Affectionately yours.\n\nP.S.--Serene View! What a placid address!\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Ollier.]\n\n                           \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND\" OFFICE, _March, 1864._\n\n                                 EXTRACT.\n\nI want the article on \"Working Men's Clubs\" to refer back to \"The Poor\nMan and his Beer\" in No. 1, and to maintain the principle involved in\nthat effort.\n\nAlso, emphatically, to show that trustfulness is at the bottom of all\nsocial institutions, and that to trust a man, as one of a body of men,\nis to place him under a wholesome restraint of social opinion, and is a\nvery much better thing than to make a baby of him.\n\nAlso, to point out that the rejection of beer in this club, tobacco in\nthat club, dancing or what-not in another club, are instances that such\nclubs are founded on mere whims, and therefore cannot successfully\naddress human nature in the general, and hope to last.\n\nAlso, again to urge that patronage is the curse and blight of all such\nendeavours, and to impress upon the working men that they must originate\nand manage for themselves. And to ask them the question, can they\npossibly show their detestation of drunkenness better, or better strive\nto get rid of it from among them, than to make it a hopeless\ndisqualification in all their clubs, and a reason for expulsion.\n\nAlso, to encourage them to declare to themselves and their fellow\nworking men that they want social rest and social recreation for\nthemselves and their families; and that these clubs are intended for\nthat laudable and necessary purpose, and do not need educational\npretences or flourishes. Do not let them be afraid or ashamed of wanting\nto be amused and pleased.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Lord Chief Baron.]\n\n                    57, GLOUCESTER PLACE, _Tuesday, March 15th, 1864._\n\nMY DEAR CHIEF BARON,\n\nMany thanks for your kind letter, which I find on my return from a\nweek's holiday.\n\nYour answer concerning poor Thackeray I will duly make known to the\nactive spirit in that matter, Mr. Shirley Brooks.\n\nYour kind invitation to me to come and see you and yours, and hear the\nnightingales, I shall not fail to discuss with Forster, and with an eye\nto spring. I expect to see him presently; the rather as I found a note\nfrom him when I came back yesterday, describing himself somewhat\ngloomily as not having been well, and as feeling a little out of heart.\n\nIt is not out of order, I hope, to remark that you have been much in my\nthoughts and on my lips lately? For I really have not been able to\nrepress my admiration of the vigorous dignity and sense and spirit, with\nwhich one of the best of judges set right one of the dullest of juries\nin a recent case.\n\n                               Believe me ever, very faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]\n\n                     57, GLOUCESTER PLACE, _Tuesday, March 29th, 1864._\n\nMY DEAR FORSTER,\n\nI meant to write to you last night, but to enable Wills to get away I\nhad to read a book of Fitzgerald's through before I went to bed.\n\nConcerning Eliot, I sat down, as I told you, and read the book through\nwith the strangest interest and the highest admiration. I believe it to\nbe as honest, spirited, patient, reliable, and gallant a piece of\nbiography as ever was written, the care and pains of it astonishing, the\ncompleteness of it masterly; and what I particularly feel about it is\nthat the dignity of the man, and the dignity of the book that tells\nabout the man, always go together, and fit each other. This same quality\nhas always impressed me as the great leading speciality of the\nGoldsmith, and enjoins sympathy with the subject, knowledge of it, and\npursuit of it in its own spirit; but I think it even more remarkable\nhere. I declare that apart from the interest of having been so put into\nthe time, and enabled to understand it, I personally feel quite as much\nthe credit and honour done to literature by such a book. It quite clears\nout of the remembrance a thousand pitiful things, and sets one up in\nheart again. I am not surprised in the least by Bulwer's enthusiasm. I\nwas as confident about the effect of the book when I closed the first\nvolume, as I was when I closed the second with a full heart. No man less\nin earnest than Eliot himself could have done it, and I make bold to add\nthat it never could have been done by a man who was so distinctly born\nto do the work as Eliot was to do his.\n\nSaturday at Hastings I must give up. I have wavered and considered, and\nconsidered and wavered, but if I take that sort of holiday, I must have\na day to spare after it, and at this critical time I have not. If I were\nto lose a page of the five numbers I have purposed to myself to be\nready by the publication day, I should feel that I had fallen short. I\nhave grown hard to satisfy, and write very slowly, and I have so much\nbad fiction, that _will_ be thought of when I don't want to think of it,\nthat I am forced to take more care than I ever took.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Storrar.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                     _Sunday Morning, May 15th, 1864._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. STORRAR,\n\nOur family dinner must come off at Gad's Hill, where I have improvements\nto exhibit, and where I shall be truly pleased to see you and the doctor\nagain. I have deferred answering your note, while I have been scheming\nand scheming for a day between this time and our departure. But it is\nall in vain. My engagements have accumulated, and become such a whirl,\nthat no day is left me. Nothing is left me but to get away. I look\nforward to my release from this dining life with an inexpressible\nlonging after quiet and my own pursuits. What with public speechifying,\nprivate eating and drinking, and perpetual simmering in hot rooms, I\nhave made London too hot to hold me and my work together. Mary and\nGeorgina acknowledge the condition of imbecility to which we have become\nreduced in reference to your kind reminder. They say, when I stare at\nthem in a forlorn way with your note in my hand: \"What CAN you do!\" To\nwhich I can only reply, implicating them: \"See what you have brought me\nto!\"\n\nWith our united kind regard to yourself and Dr. Storrar, I entreat your\npity and compassion for an unfortunate wretch whom a too-confiding\ndisposition has brought to this pass. If I had not allowed my \"cheeild\"\nto pledge me to all manner of fellow-creatures, I and my digestion might\nhave been in a state of honourable independence this day.\n\n                                      Faithfully and penitently yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]\n\n                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\" ETC. ETC. ETC.\n                                         _Wednesday, July 27th, 1864._\n\nMY DEAR MR. FITZGERALD,\n\nFirst, let me assure you that it gave us all real pleasure to see your\nsister and you at Gad's Hill, and that we all hope you will both come\nand stay a day or two with us when you are next in England.\n\nNext, let me convey to you the intelligence that I resolve to launch\n\"Miss Manuel,\" fully confiding in your conviction of the power of the\nstory. On all business points, Wills will communicate with you. I\npurpose beginning its publication in our first September number,\ntherefore there is no time to be lost.\n\nThe only suggestion I have to make as to the MS. in hand and type is,\nthat Captain Fermor wants relief. It is a disagreeable character, as you\nmean it to be, and I should be afraid to do so much with him, if the\ncase were mine, without taking the taste of him, here and there, out of\nthe reader's mouth. It is remarkable that if you do not administer a\ndisagreeable character carefully, the public have a decided tendency to\nthink that the _story_ is disagreeable, and not merely the fictitious\nperson.\n\nWhat do you think of the title,\n\n                              NEVER FORGOTTEN?\n\nIt is a good one in itself, would express the eldest sister's pursuit,\nand glanced at now and then in the text, would hold the reader in\nsuspense. I would propose to add the line,\n\n                       BY THE AUTHOR OF BELLA DONNA.\n\nLet me know your opinion as to the title. I need not assure you that the\ngreatest care will be taken of you here, and that we shall make you as\nthoroughly well and widely known as we possibly can.\n\n                                                Very faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Sir James Emerson Tennent.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Friday, Aug. 26th, 1864._\n\nMY DEAR TENNENT,\n\nBelieve me, I fully intended to come to you--did not doubt that I should\ncome--and have greatly disappointed Mary and her aunt, as well as\nmyself, by not coming. But I do not feel safe in going out for a visit.\nThe mere knowledge that I had such a thing before me would put me out.\nIt is not the length of time consumed, or the distance traversed, but it\nis the departure from a settled habit and a continuous sacrifice of\npleasures that comes in question. This is an old story with me. I have\nnever divided a book of my writing with anything else, but have always\nwrought at it to the exclusion of everything else; and it is now too\nlate to change.\n\nAfter receiving your kind note I resolved to make another trial. But the\nhot weather and a few other drawbacks did not mend the matter, for I\nhave dropped astern this month instead of going ahead. So I have seen\nForster, and shown him my chains, and am reduced to taking exercise in\nthem, like Baron Trenck.\n\nI am heartily pleased that you set so much store by the dedication. You\nmay be sure that it does not make me the less anxious to take pains, and\nto work out well what I have in my mind.\n\nMary and Georgina unite with me in kindest regards to Lady Tennent and\nMiss Tennent, and wish me to report that while they are seriously\ndisappointed, they still feel there is no help for it. I can testify\nthat they had great pleasure in the anticipation of the visit, and that\ntheir faces were very long and blank indeed when I began to hint my\ndoubts. They fought against them valiantly as long as there was a\nchance, but they see my difficulty as well as anyone not myself can.\n\n                  Believe me, my dear Tennent, ever faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Clarkson Stanfield, R.A.]\n\n                          THE ATHENAEUM, _Wednesday, Sept. 21st, 1864._\n\nMY DEAR STANNY,\n\nI met George in the street a few days ago, and he gave me a wonderful\naccount of the effect of your natural element upon you at Ramsgate. I\nexpect you to come back looking about twenty-nine, and feeling about\nnineteen.\n\nThis morning I have looked in here to put down Fechter as a candidate,\non the chance of the committee's electing him some day or other. He is a\nmost devoted worshipper of yours, and would take it as a great honour if\nyou would second him. Supposing you to have not the least objection (of\ncourse, if you should have any, I can in a moment provide a substitute),\nwill you write your name in the candidates' book as his seconder when\nyou are next in town and passing this way?\n\nLastly, if you should be in town on his opening night (a Saturday, and\nin all probability the 22nd of October), will you come and dine at the\noffice and see his new piece? You have not yet \"pronounced\" in the\nmatter of that new French stage of his, on which Calcott for the said\nnew piece has built up all manner of villages, camps, Versailles\ngardens, etc. etc. etc. etc., with no wings, no flies, no looking off\nin any direction. If you tell me that you are to be in town by that\ntime, I will not fail to refresh your memory as to the precise day.\n\n        With kind regard to Mrs. Stanfield,\n                Believe me, my dear old boy, ever your affectionate\n                                                                 DICK.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n                          GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER,\n                                           _Tuesday, Oct. 25th, 1864._\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nHere is a limping brute of a reply to your always-welcome Christmas\nletter! But, as usual, when I have done my day's work, I jump up from my\ndesk and rush into air and exercise, and find letter-writing the most\ndifficult thing in my daily life.\n\nI hope that your asthmatic tendencies may not be strong just now; but\nTownshend's account of the premature winter at Lausanne is not\nencouraging, and with us here in England all such disorders have been\naggravated this autumn. However, a man of your dignity _must_ have\neither asthma or gout, and I hope you have got the better of the two.\n\nIn London there is, as you see by the papers, extraordinarily little\nnews. At present the apprehension (rather less than it was thought) of a\ncommercial crisis, and the trial of Mueller next Thursday, are the two\nchief sensations. I hope that gentleman will be hanged, and have hardly\na doubt of it, though croakers contrariwise are not wanting. It is\ndifficult to conceive any other line of defence than that the\ncircumstances proved, taken separately, are slight. But a sound judge\nwill immediately charge the jury that the strength of the circumstances\nlies in their being put together, and will thread them together on a\nfatal rope.\n\nAs to the Church, my friend, I am sick of it. The spectacle presented by\nthe indecent squabbles of priests of most denominations, and the\nexemplary unfairness and rancour with which they conduct their\ndifferences, utterly repel me. And the idea of the Protestant\nestablishment, in the face of its own history, seeking to trample out\ndiscussion and private judgment, is an enormity so cool, that I wonder\nthe Right Reverends, Very Reverends, and all other Reverends, who commit\nit, can look in one another's faces without laughing, as the old\nsoothsayers did. Perhaps they can't and don't. How our sublime and\nso-different Christian religion is to be administered in the future I\ncannot pretend to say, but that the Church's hand is at its own throat I\nam fully convinced. Here, more Popery, there, more Methodism--as many\nforms of consignment to eternal damnation as there are articles, and all\nin one forever quarrelling body--the Master of the New Testament put out\nof sight, and the rage and fury almost always turning on the letter of\nobscure parts of the Old Testament, which itself has been the subject of\naccommodation, adaptation, varying interpretation without end--these\nthings cannot last. The Church that is to have its part in the coming\ntime must be a more Christian one, with less arbitrary pretensions and a\nstronger hold upon the mantle of our Saviour, as He walked and talked\nupon this earth.\n\nOf family intelligence I have very little. Charles Collins continuing in\na very poor way, and showing no signs of amendment. He and my daughter\nKatie went to Wiesbaden and thence to Nice, where they are now. I have\nstrong apprehensions that he will never recover, and that she will be\nleft a young widow. All the rest are as they were. Mary neither married\nnor going to be; Georgina holding them all together and perpetually\ncorresponding with the distant ones; occasional rallyings coming off\nhere, in which another generation begins to peep above the table. I once\nused to think what a horrible thing it was to be a grandfather. Finding\nthat the calamity falls upon me without my perceiving any other change\nin myself, I bear it like a man.\n\nMrs. Watson has bought a house in town, to which she repairs in the\nseason, for the bringing out of her daughter. She is now at Rockingham.\nHer eldest son is said to be as good an eldest son as ever was, and to\nmake her position there a perfectly independent and happy one. I have\nnot seen him for some years; her I often see; but he ought to be a good\nfellow, and is very popular in his neighbourhood.\n\nI have altered this place very much since you were here, and have made a\npretty (I think an unusually pretty) drawing-room. I wish you would come\nback and see it. My being on the Dover line, and my being very fond of\nFrance, occasion me to cross the Channel perpetually. Whenever I feel\nthat I have worked too much, or am on the eve of overdoing it, and want\na change, away I go by the mail-train, and turn up in Paris or anywhere\nelse that suits my humour, next morning. So I come back as fresh as a\ndaisy, and preserve as ruddy a face as though I never leant over a sheet\nof paper. When I retire from a literary life I think of setting up as a\nChannel pilot.\n\nPray give my love to Mrs. Cerjat, and tell her that I should like to go\nup the Great St. Bernard again, and shall be glad to know if she is open\nto another ascent. Old days in Switzerland are ever fresh to me, and\nsometimes I walk with you again, after dark, outside the hotel at\nMartigny, while Lady Mary Taylour (wasn't it?) sang within very\nprettily. Lord, how the time goes! How many years ago!\n\n                                                 Affectionately yours.\n\n\n                                     _Wednesday, Nov. 16th, 1864._[13]\n\nDEAR MADAM,\n\nI have received your letter with great pleasure, and hope to be (as I\nhave always been at heart) the best of friends with the Jewish people.\nThe error you point out to me had occurred to me, as most errors do to\nmost people, when it was too late to correct it. But it will do no harm.\nThe peculiarities of dress and manner are fused together for the sake of\npicturesqueness.\n\n                                         Dear Madam, faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                          _Saturday, Dec. 31st, 1864._\n\nMY DEAR PROCTER,\n\nI have reserved my acknowledgment of your delightful note (the youngest\nnote I have had in all this year) until to-day, in order that I might\nsend, most heartily and affectionately, all seasonable good wishes to\nyou and to Mrs. Procter, and to those who are nearest and dearest to\nyou. Take them from an old friend who loves you.\n\nMamie returns the tender compliments, and Georgina does what the\nAmericans call \"endorse them.\" Mrs. Lirriper is proud to be so\nremembered, and says over and over again \"that it's worth twenty times\nthe trouble she has taken with the narrative, since Barry Cornwall,\nEsquire, is pleased to like it.\"\n\nI got rid of a touch of neuralgia in France (as I always do there), but\nI found no old friends in my voyages of discovery on that side, such as\nI have left on this.\n\n                              My dear Procter, ever your affectionate.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[13] In answer to another letter from the \"Jewish lady,\" in which she\ngives her reasons for still being dissatisfied with the character of\nRiah.\n\n\n\n\n1865.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nFor this spring a furnished house in Somer's Place, Hyde Park, had been\ntaken, which Charles Dickens occupied, with his sister-in-law and\ndaughter, from the beginning of March until June.\n\nDuring the year he paid two short visits to France.\n\nHe was still at work upon \"Our Mutual Friend,\" two numbers of which had\nbeen issued in January and February, when the first volume was\npublished, with dedication to Sir James Emerson Tennent. The remaining\nnumbers were issued between March and November, when the complete work\nwas published in two volumes.\n\nThe Christmas number, to which Charles Dickens contributed three\nstories, was called \"Doctor Marigold's Prescriptions.\"\n\nBeing out of health, and much overworked, Charles Dickens, at the end of\nMay, took his first short holiday trip into France. And on his way home,\nand on a day afterwards so fatal to him, the 9th of June, he was in that\nmost terrible railway accident at Staplehurst. Many of our letters for\nthis year have reference to this awful experience--an experience from\nthe effects of which his nerves never wholly recovered. His letters to\nMr. Thomas Mitton and to Mrs. Hulkes (an esteemed friend and neighbour)\nare graphic descriptions of this disaster. But they do NOT tell of the\nwonderful presence of mind and energy shown by Charles Dickens when most\nof the terrified passengers were incapable of thought or action, or of\nhis gentleness and goodness to the dead and dying. The Mr. Dickenson[14]\nmentioned in the letter to Mrs. Hulkes soon recovered. He always\nconsiders that he owes his life to Charles Dickens, the latter having\ndiscovered and extricated him from beneath a carriage before it was too\nlate.\n\nOur first letter to Mr. Kent is one of congratulation upon his having\nbecome the proprietor of _The Sun_ newspaper.\n\nProfessor Owen has been so kind as to give us some notes, which we\npublish for the sake of his great name. Charles Dickens had not much\ncorrespondence with Professor Owen, but there was a firm friendship and\ngreat mutual admiration between them.\n\nThe letter to Mrs. Procter is in answer to one from her, asking Charles\nDickens to write a memoir of her daughter Adelaide, as a preface to a\ncollected edition of her poems.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Tuesday, Jan. 17th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR KENT,\n\nI meant to have written instantly on the appearance of your paper in its\nbeautiful freshness, to congratulate you on its handsome appearance, and\nto send you my heartiest good wishes for its thriving and prosperous\ncareer. Through a mistake of the postman's, that remarkable letter has\nbeen tesselated into the Infernal Pavement instead of being delivered in\nthe Strand.\n\nWe have been looking and waiting for your being well enough to propose\nyourself for a mouthful of fresh air. Are you well enough to come on\nSunday? We shall be coming down from Charing Cross on Sunday morning,\nand I shall be going up again at nine on Monday morning.\n\nIt amuses me to find that you don't see your way with a certain \"Mutual\nFriend\" of ours. I have a horrible suspicion that you may begin to be\nfearfully knowing at somewhere about No. 12 or 13. But you shan't if I\ncan help it.\n\nYour note delighted me because it dwelt upon the places in the number\nthat _I_ dwell on. Not that that is anything new in your case, but it is\nalways new to me in the pleasure I derive from it, which is truly\ninexpressible.\n\n                                                 Ever cordially yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Procter.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                         _Wednesday, Feb. 15th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. PROCTER,\n\nOf course I will do it, and of course I will do it for the love of you\nand Procter. You can give me my brief, and we can speak about its\ndetails. Once again, of course I will do it, and with all my heart.\n\nI have registered a vow (in which there is not the least merit, for I\ncouldn't help it) that when I am, as I am now, very hard at work upon a\nbook, I never will dine out more than one day in a week. Why didn't you\nask me for the Wednesday, before I stood engaged to Lady Molesworth for\nthe Tuesday?\n\nIt is so delightful to me to sit by your side anywhere and be brightened\nup, that I lay a handsome sacrifice upon the altar of \"Our Mutual\nFriend\" in writing this note, very much against my will. But for as many\nyears as can be made consistent with my present juvenility, I always\nhave given my work the first place in my life, and what can I do now at\n35!--or at least at the two figures, never mind their order.\n\nI send my love to Procter, hoping you may appropriate a little of it by\nthe way.\n\n                                                 Affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                         _Wednesday, March 1st, 1865._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nI have been laid up here with a frost-bitten foot (from hard walking in\nthe snow), or you would have heard from me sooner.\n\nMy reply to Professor Agassiz is short, but conclusive. Daily seeing\nimproper uses made of confidential letters in the addressing of them to\na public audience that have no business with them, I made not long ago a\ngreat fire in my field at Gad's Hill, and burnt every letter I\npossessed. And now I always destroy every letter I receive not on\nabsolute business, and my mind is so far at ease. Poor dear Felton's\nletters went up into the air with the rest, or his highly distinguished\nrepresentative should have had them most willingly.\n\nWe never fail to drink old P.'s health on his birthday, or to make him\nthe subject of a thousand loving remembrances. With best love to Mrs.\nMacready and Katie,\n\n                          Ever, my dearest Macready,\n                                        Your most affectionate Friend.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                                   16, SOMER'S PLACE, HYDE PARK,\n                                   _Saturday Night, April 22nd, 1865._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nA thousand thanks for your kind letter, most heartily welcome.\n\nMy frost-bitten foot, after causing me great inconvenience and much\npain, has begun to conduct itself amiably. I can now again walk my ten\nmiles in the morning without inconvenience, but am absurdly obliged to\nsit shoeless all the evening--a very slight penalty, as I detest going\nout to dinner (which killed the original old Parr by-the-bye).\n\nI am working like a dragon at my book, and am a terror to the household,\nlikewise to all the organs and brass bands in this quarter. Gad's Hill\nis being gorgeously painted, and we are here until the 1st of June. I\nwish I might hope you would be there any time this summer; I really\n_have_ made the place comfortable and pretty by this time.\n\nIt is delightful to us to hear such good news of Butty. She made so\ndeep an impression on Fechter that he always asks me what Ceylon has\ndone for her, and always beams when I tell him how thoroughly well it\nhas made her. As to _you_, you are the youngest man (worth mentioning as\na thorough man) that I know. Oh, let me be as young when I am as----did\nyou think I was going to write \"old?\" No, sir--withdrawn from the wear\nand tear of busy life is my expression.\n\nPoole still holds out at Kentish Town, and says he is dying of solitude.\nHis memory is astoundingly good. I see him about once in two or three\nmonths, and in the meantime he makes notes of questions to ask me when I\ncome. Having fallen in arrear of the time, these generally refer to\nunknown words he has encountered in the newspapers. His three last (he\nalways reads them with tremendous difficulty through an enormous\nmagnifying-glass) were as follows:\n\n        1. What's croquet?\n        2. What's an Albert chain?\n        3. Let me know the state of mind of the Queen.\n\nWhen I had delivered a neat exposition on these heads, he turned back to\nhis memoranda, and came to something that the utmost power of the\nenormous magnifying-glass couldn't render legible. After a quarter of an\nhour or so, he said: \"O yes, I know.\" And then rose and clasped his\nhands above his head, and said: \"Thank God, I am not a dram-drinker.\"\n\nDo think of coming to Gad's in the summer; and do give my love to Mrs.\nMacready, and tell her I know she can make you come if she will. Mary\nand Georgy send best and dearest loves to her, to you, and to Katie, and\nto baby. Johnny we suppose to be climbing the tree of knowledge\nelsewhere.\n\n                  My dearest Macready, ever yours most affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                                GAD'S HILL, _Monday, June 12th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\n                    [_So far in his own writing._]\n\nMany thanks for your kind words of remembrance.[15] This is not all in\nmy own hand, because I am too much shaken to write many notes. Not by\nthe beating and dragging of the carriage in which I was--it did not go\nover, but was caught on the turn, among the ruins of the bridge--but by\nthe work afterwards to get out the dying and dead, which was terrible.\n\n                   [_The rest in his own writing_.]\n\n                                        Ever your affectionate Friend.\n\nP.S.--My love to Mrs. Macready.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Thomas Mitton.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Tuesday, June 13th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR MITTON,\n\nI should have written to you yesterday or the day before, if I had been\nquite up to writing.\n\nI was in the only carriage that did not go over into the stream. It was\ncaught upon the turn by some of the ruin of the bridge, and hung\nsuspended and balanced in an apparently impossible manner. Two ladies\nwere my fellow-passengers, an old one and a young one. This is exactly\nwhat passed. You may judge from it the precise length of the suspense:\nSuddenly we were off the rail, and beating the ground as the car of a\nhalf-emptied balloon might. The old lady cried out, \"My God!\" and the\nyoung one screamed. I caught hold of them both (the old lady sat\nopposite and the young one on my left), and said: \"We can't help\nourselves, but we can be quiet and composed. Pray don't cry out.\" The\nold lady immediately answered: \"Thank you. Rely upon me. Upon my soul I\nwill be quiet.\" We were then all tilted down together in a corner of the\ncarriage, and stopped. I said to them thereupon: \"You may be sure\nnothing worse can happen. Our danger _must_ be over. Will you remain\nhere without stirring, while I get out of the window?\" They both\nanswered quite collectedly, \"Yes,\" and I got out without the least\nnotion what had happened. Fortunately I got out with great caution and\nstood upon the step. Looking down I saw the bridge gone, and nothing\nbelow me but the line of rail. Some people in the two other compartments\nwere madly trying to plunge out at window, and had no idea that there\nwas an open swampy field fifteen feet down below them, and nothing else!\nThe two guards (one with his face cut) were running up and down on the\ndown side of the bridge (which was not torn up) quite wildly. I called\nout to them: \"Look at me. Do stop an instant and look at me, and tell me\nwhether you don't know me.\" One of them answered: \"We know you very\nwell, Mr. Dickens.\" \"Then,\" I said, \"my good fellow, for God's sake give\nme your key, and send one of those labourers here, and I'll empty this\ncarriage.\" We did it quite safely, by means of a plank or two, and when\nit was done I saw all the rest of the train, except the two baggage\nvans, down in the stream. I got into the carriage again for my brandy\nflask, took off my travelling hat for a basin, climbed down the\nbrickwork, and filled my hat with water.\n\nSuddenly I came upon a staggering man covered with blood (I think he\nmust have been flung clean out of his carriage), with such a frightful\ncut across the skull that I couldn't bear to look at him. I poured some\nwater over his face and gave him some to drink, then gave him some\nbrandy, and laid him down on the grass, and he said, \"I am gone,\" and\ndied afterwards. Then I stumbled over a lady lying on her back against a\nlittle pollard-tree, with the blood streaming over her face (which was\nlead colour) in a number of distinct little streams from the head. I\nasked her if she could swallow a little brandy and she just nodded, and\nI gave her some and left her for somebody else. The next time I passed\nher she was dead. Then a man, examined at the inquest yesterday (who\nevidently had not the least remembrance of what really passed), came\nrunning up to me and implored me to help him find his wife, who was\nafterwards found dead. No imagination can conceive the ruin of the\ncarriages, or the extraordinary weights under which the people were\nlying, or the complications into which they were twisted up among iron\nand wood, and mud and water.\n\nI don't want to be examined at the inquest, and I don't want to write\nabout it. I could do no good either way, and I could only seem to speak\nabout myself, which, of course, I would rather not do. I am keeping very\nquiet here. I have a--I don't know what to call it--constitutional (I\nsuppose) presence of mind, and was not in the least fluttered at the\ntime. I instantly remembered that I had the MS. of a number with me, and\nclambered back into the carriage for it. But in writing these scanty\nwords of recollection I feel the shake and am obliged to stop.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Walter Jones.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                        _Saturday, June 17th, 1865_.[16]\n\nSIR,\n\nI beg you to assure the Committee of the Newsvendors' Benevolent and\nProvident Institution, that I have been deeply affected by their special\nremembrance of me in my late escape from death or mutilation, and that I\nthank them with my whole heart.\n\n                                          Faithfully yours and theirs.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Hulkes.]\n\n                                GAD'S HILL, _Sunday, June 18th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. HULKES,\n\nI return the _Examiner_ with many thanks. The account is true, except\nthat I _had_ brandy. By an extraordinary chance I had a bottle and a\nhalf with me. I slung the half-bottle round my neck, and carried my hat\nfull of water in my hands. But I can understand the describer (whoever\nhe is) making the mistake in perfect good faith, and supposing that I\ncalled for brandy, when I really called to the others who were helping:\n\"I have brandy here.\" The Mr. Dickenson mentioned had changed places\nwith a Frenchman, who did not like the window down, a few minutes before\nthe accident. The Frenchman was killed, and a labourer and I got Mr.\nDickenson out of a most extraordinary heap of dark ruins, in which he\nwas jammed upside down. He was bleeding at the eyes, ears, nose, and\nmouth; but he didn't seem to know that afterwards, and of course I\ndidn't tell him. In the moment of going over the viaduct the whole of\nhis pockets were shaken empty! He had no watch, no chain, no money, no\npocket-book, no handkerchief, when we got him out. He had been choking\na quarter of an hour when I heard him groaning. If I had not had the\nbrandy to give him at the moment, I think he would have been done for.\nAs it was, I brought him up to London in the carriage with me, and\ncouldn't make him believe he was hurt. He was the first person whom the\nbrandy saved. As I ran back to the carriage for the whole full bottle, I\nsaw the first two people I had helped lying dead. A bit of shade from\nthe hot sun, into which we got the unhurt ladies, soon had as many dead\nin it as living.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Ryland.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                         _Wednesday, June 21st, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR MR. RYLAND,\n\nI need not assure you that I regard the unanimous desire of the Town\nCouncil Committee as a great honour, and that I feel the strongest\ninterest in the occasion, and the strongest wish to associate myself\nwith it.\n\nBut, after careful consideration, I most unwillingly come to the\nconclusion that I must decline. At the time in question I shall, please\nGod, either have just finished, or be just finishing, my present book.\nCountry rest and reflection will then be invaluable to me, before\ncasting about for Christmas. I am a little shaken in my nervous system\nby the terrible and affecting incidents of the late railway accident,\nfrom which I bodily escaped. I am withdrawing myself from engagements of\nall kinds, in order that I may pursue my story with the comfortable\nsense of being perfectly free while it is a-doing, and when it is done.\nThe consciousness of having made this engagement would, if I were to\nmake it, render such sense incomplete, and so open the way to others.\nThis is the real state of the case, and the whole reason for my\ndeclining.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Lehmann.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Tuesday, June 29th, 1865._\n\nDEAR MRS. LEHMANN,\n\nCome (with self and partner) on either of the days you name, and you\nwill be heartily welcomed by the humble youth who now addresses you, and\nwill then cast himself at your feet.\n\nI am quite right again, I thank God, and have even got my voice back; I\nmost unaccountably brought somebody else's out of that terrible scene.\nThe directors have sent me a Resolution of Thanks for assistance to the\nunhappy passengers.\n\n                             With kind regards to Lehmann, ever yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                             _Friday, July 7th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR FITZGERALD,\n\nI shall be delighted to see you at Gad's Hill on Sunday, and I hope you\nwill bring a bag with you and will not think of returning to London at\nnight.\n\nWe are a small party just now, for my daughter Mary has been decoyed to\nAndover for the election week, in the Conservative interest; think of my\nfeelings as a Radical parent! The wrong-headed member and his wife are\nthe friends with whom she hunts, and she helps to receive (and\n_de_ceive) the voters, which is very awful!\n\nBut in the week after next we shall be in great croquet force. I shall\nhope to persuade you to come back to us then for a few days, and we will\ntry to make you some amends for a dull Sunday. Turn it over in your mind\nand try to manage it.\n\n                                                 Sincerely yours ever.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Professor Owen, F.R.S.]\n\n                             GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, July 12th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR OWEN,\n\nStudying the gorilla last night for the twentieth time, it suddenly came\ninto my head that I had never thanked you for that admirable treatise.\nThis is to bear witness to my blushes and repentance. If you knew how\nmuch interest it has awakened in me, and how often it has set me\na-thinking, you would consider me a more thankless beast than any\ngorilla that ever lived. But happily you do _not_ know, and I am not\ngoing to tell you.\n\n                                    Believe me, ever faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Earl Russell.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                         _Wednesday, Aug. 16th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR LORD RUSSELL,\n\nMr. Dallas, who is a candidate for the Scotch professional chair left\nvacant by Aytoun's death, has asked me if I would object to introduce to\nyou the first volume of a book he has in the press with my publishers,\non \"The Gay Science of Art and Criticism.\" I have replied I would _not_\nobject, as I have read as many of the sheets as I could get, with\nextreme pleasure, and as I know you will find it a very winning and\nbrilliant piece of writing. Therefore he will send the proofs of the\nvolume to you as soon as he can get them from the printer (at about the\nend of this week I take it), and if you read them you will not be hard\nupon me for bearing the responsibility of his doing so, I feel assured.\n\nI suppose Mr. Dallas to have some impression that his pleasing you with\nhis book might advance his Scottish suit. But all I know is, that he is\na gentleman of great attainments and erudition, much distinguished as\nthe writer of the best critical literary pieces in _The Times_, and\nthoroughly versed in the subjects which Professor Aytoun represented\nofficially.\n\nI beg to send my regard to Lady Russell and all the house, and am ever,\nmy dear Lord Russell,\n\n                                            Your faithful and obliged.\n\nP.S.--I am happy to report that my sailor-boy's captain, relinquishing\nhis ship on sick leave, departs from the mere form of certificate given\nto all the rest, and adds that his obedience to orders is remarkable,\nand that he is a highly intelligent and promising young officer.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Marcus Stone.]\n\n                HOTEL DU HELDER, PARIS, _Wednesday, Sept. 13th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR MARCUS,\n\nI leave here to-morrow, and propose going to the office by tidal train\n_next Saturday evening_. Through the whole of next week, on and off, I\nshall be at the office; when not there, at Gad's; but much oftener at\nthe office. The sooner I can know about the subjects you take for\nillustration the better, as I can then fill the list of illustrations to\nthe second volume for the printer, and enable him to make up his last\nsheet. Necessarily that list is now left blank, as I cannot give him the\ntitles of the subjects, not knowing them myself.\n\nIt has been fearfully hot on this side, but is something cooler.\n\n                                            Ever affectionately yours.\n\nP.S.--On glancing over this note, I find it very like the king's\nlove-letter in \"Ruy Blas.\" \"Madam, there is a high wind. I have shot six\nwolves.\"\n\nI think the frontispiece to the second volume should be the dustyard\nwith the three mounds, and Mr. Boffin digging up the Dutch bottle, and\nVenus restraining Wegg's ardour to get at him. Or Mr. Boffin might be\ncoming down with the bottle, and Venus might be dragging Wegg out of the\nway as described.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                         _Saturday, Sept. 23rd, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR FITZGERALD,\n\nI cannot thank you too much for Sultan. He is a noble fellow, has fallen\ninto the ways of the family with a grace and dignity that denote the\ngentleman, and came down to the railway a day or two since to welcome me\nhome (it was our first meeting), with a profound absence of interest in\nmy individual opinion of him which captivated me completely. I am going\nhome to-day to take him about the country, and improve his acquaintance.\nYou will find a perfect understanding between us, I hope, when you next\ncome to Gad's Hill. (He has only swallowed Bouncer once, and\ntemporarily.)\n\nYour hint that you were getting on with your story and liked it was more\nthan golden intelligence to me in foreign parts. The intensity of the\nheat, both in Paris and the provinces, was such that I found nothing\nelse so refreshing in the course of my rambles.\n\nWith many more thanks for the dog than my sheet of paper would hold,\n\n                               Believe me, ever very faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Procter.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                                   _Sept. 26th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. PROCTER,\n\nI have written the little introduction, and have sent it to my printer,\nin order that you may read it without trouble. But if you would like to\nkeep the few pages of MS., of course they are yours.\n\nIt is brief, and I have aimed at perfect simplicity, and an avoidance of\nall that your beloved Adelaide would have wished avoided. Do not expect\ntoo much from it. If there should be anything wrong in fact, or anything\nthat you would like changed for any reason, _of course you will tell me\nso_, and of course you will not deem it possible that you can trouble me\nby making any such request most freely.\n\nYou will probably receive the proof either on Friday or Saturday. Don't\nwrite to me until you have read it. In the meantime I send you back the\ntwo books, with the two letters in the bound one.\n\n                           With love to Procter,\n                                        Ever your affectionate Friend.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]\n\n                HOTEL DU HELDER, PARIS, _Wednesday, Sept. 30th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR EDMUND,\n\nI leave here to-morrow and purpose being at the office on Saturday\nnight; all next week I shall be there, off and on--\"off\" meaning Gad's\nHill; the office will be my last address. The heat has been excessive on\nthis side of the Channel, and I got a slight sunstroke last Thursday,\nand was obliged to be doctored and put to bed for a day; but, thank God,\nI am all right again. The man who sells the _tisane_ on the Boulevards\ncan't keep the flies out of his glasses, and as he wears them on his red\nvelvet bands, the flies work themselves into the ends of the tumblers,\ntrying to get through and tickle the man. If fly life were long enough,\nI think they would at last. Three paving blouses came to work at the\ncorner of this street last Monday, pulled up a bit of road, sat down to\nlook at it, and fell asleep. On Tuesday one of the blouses spat on his\nhands and seemed to be going to begin, but didn't. The other two have\nshown no sign of life whatever. This morning the industrious one ate a\nloaf. You may rely upon this as the latest news from the French capital.\n\n                                                      Faithfully ever.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]\n\n                      26, WELLINGTON STREET, _Monday, Nov. 6th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAR KENT,\n\n_No_, I _won't_ write in this book, because I have sent another to the\nbinder's for you.\n\nI have been unwell with a relaxed throat, or I should have written to\nyou sooner to thank you for your dedication, to assure you that it\nheartily, most heartily, gratifies me, as the sincere tribute of a true\nand generous heart, and to tell you that I have been charmed with your\nbook itself. I am proud of having given a name to anything so\npicturesque, so sympathetic and spirited.\n\nI hope and believe the \"Doctor\" is nothing but a good 'un. He has\nperfectly astonished Forster, who writes: \"Neither good, gooder, nor\ngoodest, but super-excellent; all through there is such a relish of you\nat your best, as I could not have believed in, after a long story.\"\n\nI shall be charmed to see you to-night.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                                _November 13th, 1865._\n\n                                EXTRACT.\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nHaving achieved my book and my Christmas number, and having shaken\nmyself after two years' work, I send you my annual greeting. How are\nyou? Asthmatic, I know you will reply; but as my poor father (who was\nasthmatic, too, and the jolliest of men) used philosophically to say,\n\"one must have something wrong, I suppose, and I like to know what it\nis.\"\n\nIn England we are groaning under the brigandage of the butcher, which is\nbeing carried to that height that I think I foresee resistance on the\npart of the middle-class, and some combination in perspective for\nabolishing the middleman, whensoever he turns up (which is everywhere)\nbetween producer and consumer. The cattle plague is the butcher's\nstalking-horse, and it is unquestionably worse than it was; but seeing\nthat the great majority of creatures lost or destroyed have been cows,\nand likewise that the rise in butchers' meat bears no reasonable\nproportion to the market prices of the beasts, one comes to the\nconclusion that the public is done. The commission has ended very weakly\nand ineffectually, as such things in England rather frequently do; and\neverybody writes to _The Times_, and nobody does anything else.\n\nIf the Americans don't embroil us in a war before long it will not be\ntheir fault. What with their swagger and bombast, what with their claims\nfor indemnification, what with Ireland and Fenianism, and what with\nCanada, I have strong apprehensions. With a settled animosity towards\nthe French usurper, I believe him to have always been sound in his\ndesire to divide the States against themselves, and that we were\nunsound and wrong in \"letting I dare not wait upon I would.\" The Jamaica\ninsurrection is another hopeful piece of business. That\nplatform-sympathy with the black--or the native, or the devil--afar off,\nand that platform indifference to our own countrymen at enormous odds in\nthe midst of bloodshed and savagery, makes me stark wild. Only the other\nday, here was a meeting of jawbones of asses at Manchester, to censure\nthe Jamaica Governor for his manner of putting down the insurrection! So\nwe are badgered about New Zealanders and Hottentots, as if they were\nidentical with men in clean shirts at Camberwell, and were to be bound\nby pen and ink accordingly. So Exeter Hall holds us in mortal submission\nto missionaries, who (Livingstone always excepted) are perfect\nnuisances, and leave every place worse than they found it.\n\nOf all the many evidences that are visible of our being ill-governed, no\none is so remarkable to me as our ignorance of what is going on under\nour Government. What will future generations think of that enormous\nIndian Mutiny being ripened without suspicion, until whole regiments\narose and killed their officers? A week ago, red tape, half-bouncing and\nhalf pooh-poohing what it bounced at, would have scouted the idea of a\nDublin jail not being able to hold a political prisoner. But for the\nblacks in Jamaica being over-impatient and before their time, the whites\nmight have been exterminated, without a previous hint or suspicion that\nthere was anything amiss. _Laissez aller_, and Britons never, never,\nnever!----\n\nMeantime, if your honour were in London, you would see a great\nembankment rising high and dry out of the Thames on the Middlesex shore,\nfrom Westminster Bridge to Blackfriars. A really fine work, and really\ngetting on. Moreover, a great system of drainage. Another really fine\nwork, and likewise really getting on. Lastly, a muddle of railways in\nall directions possible and impossible, with no general public scheme,\nno general public supervision, enormous waste of money, no fixable\nresponsibility, no accountability but under Lord Campbell's Act. I think\nof that accident in which I was preserved. Before the most furious and\nnotable train in the four-and-twenty hours, the head of a gang of\nworkmen takes up the rails. That train changes its time every day as the\ntide changes, and that head workman is not provided by the railway\ncompany with any clock or watch! Lord Shaftesbury wrote to me to ask me\nwhat I thought of an obligation on railway companies to put strong walls\nto all bridges and viaducts. I told him, of course, that the force of\nsuch a shock would carry away anything that any company could set up,\nand I added: \"Ask the minister what _he_ thinks about the votes of the\nrailway interest in the House of Commons, and about his being afraid to\nlay a finger on it with an eye to his majority.\"\n\nI seem to be grumbling, but I am in the best of humours. All goes well\nwith me and mine, thank God.\n\nLast night my gardener came upon a man in the garden and fired. The man\nreturned the compliment by kicking him in the groin and causing him\ngreat pain. I set off, with a great mastiff-bloodhound I have, in\npursuit. Couldn't find the evil-doer, but had the greatest difficulty in\npreventing the dog from tearing two policemen down. They were coming\ntowards us with professional mystery, and he was in the air on his way\nto the throat of an eminently respectable constable when I caught him.\n\nMy daughter Mary and her aunt Georgina send kindest regard and\nremembrance. Katey and her husband are going to try London this winter,\nbut I rather doubt (for they are both delicate) their being able to\nweather it out. It has been blowing here tremendously for a fortnight,\nbut to-day is like a spring day, and plenty of roses are growing over\nthe labourers' cottages. The _Great Eastern_ lies at her moorings beyond\nthe window where I write these words; looks very dull and unpromising. A\ndark column of smoke from Chatham Dockyard, where the iron shipbuilding\nis in progress, has a greater significance in it, I fancy.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Tuesday, Nov. 14th, 1865._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nAs you want to know my views of the Sphinx, here they are. But I have\nonly seen it once; and it is so extraordinarily well done, that it ought\nto be observed closely several times.\n\nAnyone who attentively notices the flower trick will see that the two\nlittle high tables hung with drapery cover each a trap. Each of those\ntables, during that trick, hides a confederate, who changes the paper\ncone twice. When the cone has been changed as often as is required, the\ntrap is closed and the table can be moved.\n\nWhen the curtain is removed for the performance of the Sphinx trick,\nthere is a covered, that is, draped table on the stage, which is never\nseen before or afterwards. In front of the middle of it, and between it\nand the audience, stands one of those little draped tables covering a\ntrap; this is a third trap in the centre of the stage. The box for the\nhead is then upon IT, and the conjuror takes it off and shows it. The\nman whose head is afterwards shown in that box is, I conceive, in the\ntable; that is to say, is lying on his chest in the thickness of the\ntable, in an extremely constrained attitude. To get him into the table,\nand to enable him to use the trap in the table through which his head\ncomes into the box, the two hands of a confederate are necessary. That\nconfederate comes up a trap, and stands in the space afforded by the\ninterval below the stage and the height of the little draped table! his\nback is towards the audience. The moment he has assisted the hidden man\nsufficiently, he closes the trap, and the conjuror then immediately\nremoves the little draped table, and also the drapery of the larger\ntable; when he places the box on the last-named table _with the slide\non_ for the head to come into it, he stands with his back to the\naudience and his face to the box, and masks the box considerably to\nfacilitate the insertion of the head. As soon as he knows the head to be\nin its place, he undraws the slide. When the verses have been spoken and\nthe trick is done, he loses no time in replacing the slide. The curtain\nis then immediately dropped, because the man cannot otherwise be got out\nof the table, and has no doubt had quite enough of it. With kindest\nregards to all at Penton,\n\n                                          Ever your most affectionate.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14] Now Captain E. Newton Dickenson.\n\n[15] This was a circular note which he sent in answer to innumerable\nletters of enquiry, after the accident.\n\n[16] This letter was written in reply to the Committee's congratulations\nupon Mr. Dickens's escape from the accident to the tidal train from\nFolkestone, at Staplehurst, just previous to this date.\n\n\n\n\n1866.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nThe furnished house hired by Charles Dickens in the spring of this year\nwas in Southwick Place, Hyde Park.\n\nHaving entered into negotiations with the Messrs. Chappell for a series\nof readings to be given in London, in the English provinces, in Scotland\nand Ireland, Charles Dickens had no leisure for more than his usual\neditorial work for \"All the Year Round.\" He contributed four parts to\nthe Christmas number, which was entitled, \"Mugby Junction.\"\n\nFor the future all his English readings were given in connection with\nthe Messrs. Chappell, and never in all his career had he more\nsatisfactory or more pleasant business relations than those connected\nwith these gentlemen. Moreover, out of this connection sprang a sincere\nfriendship on both sides.\n\nMr. Dolby is so constantly mentioned in future letters, that they\nthemselves will tell of the cordial companionship which existed between\nCharles Dickens and this able and most obliging \"manager.\"\n\nThe letter to \"Lily\" was in answer to a child's letter from Miss Lily\nBenzon, inviting him to a birthday party.\n\nThe play alluded to in the letter to M. Fechter was called \"A Long\nStrike,\" and was performed at the Lyceum Theatre.\n\nThe \"Sultan\" mentioned in the letter to Mr. Fitzgerald was a noble Irish\nbloodhound, presented by this gentleman to Charles Dickens. The story of\nthe dog's death is told in a letter to M. de Cerjat, which we give in\nthe following year.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                           _Saturday, Jan. 6th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAR MARY,\n\nFeeling pretty certain that I shall never answer your letter unless I\nanswer it at once (I got it this morning), here goes!\n\nI did not dramatise \"The Master of Ravenswood,\" though I did a good deal\ntowards and about the piece, having an earnest desire to put Scott, for\nonce, upon the stage in his own gallant manner. It is _an enormous\nsuccess_, and increases in attraction nightly. I have never seen the\npeople in all parts of the house so leaning forward, in lines sloping\ntowards the stage, earnestly and intently attractive, as while the story\ngradually unfolds itself. But the astonishing circumstance of all is,\nthat Miss Leclercq (never thought of for Lucy till all other Lucies had\nfailed) is marvellously good, highly pathetic, and almost unrecognisable\nin person! What note it touches in her, always dumb until now, I do not\npretend to say, but there is no one on the stage who could play the\ncontract scene better, or more simply and naturally, and I find it\nimpossible to see it without crying! Almost everyone plays well, the\nwhole is exceedingly picturesque, and there is scarcely a movement\nthroughout, or a look, that is not indicated by Scott. So you get a life\nromance with beautiful illustrations, and I do not expect ever again to\nsee a book take up its bed and walk in like manner.\n\nI am charmed to learn that you have had a freeze out of my ghost story.\nIt rather did give me a shiver up the back in the writing. \"Dr.\nMarigold\" has just now accomplished his two hundred thousand. My only\nother news about myself is that I am doubtful whether to read or not in\nLondon this season. If I decide to do it at all, I shall probably do it\non a large scale.\n\nMany happy years to you, my dear Mary. So prays\n\n                                              Your ever affectionate\n                                                                   Jo.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]\n\n                              GAD'S HILL, _Thursday, Jan. 18th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAR KENT,\n\nI cannot tell you how grieved we all are here to know that you are\nsuffering again. Your patient tone, however, and the hopefulness and\nforbearance of Ferguson's course, gives us some reassurance. Apropos of\nwhich latter reference I dined with Ferguson at the Lord Mayor's, last\nTuesday, and had a grimly distracted impulse upon me to defy the\ntoast-master and rush into a speech about him and his noble art, when I\nsat pining under the imbecility of constitutional and corporational\nidiots. I did seize him for a moment by the hair of his head (in\nproposing the Lady Mayoress), and derived some faint consolation from\nthe company's response to the reference. O! no man will ever know under\nwhat provocation to contradiction and a savage yell of repudiation I\nsuffered at the hands of ----, feebly complacent in the uniform of\nMadame Tussaud's own military waxers, and almost the worst speaker I\never heard in my life! Mary and Georgina, sitting on either side of me,\nurged me to \"look pleasant.\" I replied in expressions not to be\nrepeated. Shea (the judge) was just as good and graceful, as he (the\nmember) was bad and gawky.\n\nBulwer's \"Lost Tales of Miletus\" is a most noble book! He is an\nextraordinary fellow, and fills me with admiration and wonder.\n\nIt is of no use writing to you about yourself, my dear Kent, because you\nare likely to be tired of that constant companion, and so I have gone\nscratching (with an exceedingly bad pen) about and about you. But I come\nback to you to let you know that the reputation of this house as a\nconvalescent hospital stands (like the house itself) very high, and that\ntestimonials can be produced from credible persons who have recovered\nhealth and spirits here swiftly. Try us, only try us, and we are content\nto stake the reputation of the establishment on the result.\n\n                                            Ever affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]\n\n                                 GAD'S HILL, _Friday, Feb. 2nd, 1866._\n\nMY DEAR FITZGERALD,\n\nI ought to have written to you days and days ago, to thank you for your\ncharming book on Charles Lamb, to tell you with what interest and\npleasure I read it as soon as it came here, and to add that I was\nhonestly affected (far more so than your modesty will readily believe)\nby your intimate knowledge of those touches of mine concerning\nchildhood.\n\nLet me tell you now that I have not in the least cooled, after all,\neither as to the graceful sympathetic book, or as to the part in it with\nwhich I am honoured. It has become a matter of real feeling with me, and\nI postponed its expression because I couldn't satisfactorily get it out\nof myself, and at last I came to the conclusion that it must be left in.\n\n                          My dear Fitzgerald, faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n             OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\" _Friday, Feb. 9th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nI found your letter here when I came back on Wednesday evening, and was\nextremely glad to get it.\n\nFrank Beard wrote me word that with such a pulse as I described, an\nexamination of the heart was absolutely necessary, and that I had better\nmake an appointment with him alone for the purpose. This I did. I was\nnot at all disconcerted, for I knew well beforehand that the effect\ncould not possibly be without that one cause at the bottom of it. There\nseems to be degeneration of some functions of the heart. It does not\ncontract as it should. So I have got a prescription of iron, quinine,\nand digitalis, to set it a-going, and send the blood more quickly\nthrough the system. If it should not seem to succeed on a reasonable\ntrial, I will then propose a consultation with someone else. Of course I\nam not so foolish as to suppose that all my work can have been achieved\nwithout _some_ penalty, and I have noticed for some time a decided\nchange in my buoyancy and hopefulness--in other words, in my usual\n\"tone.\"\n\nI shall wait to see Beard again on Monday, and shall most probably come\ndown that day. If I should not, I will telegraph after seeing him. Best\nlove to Mamie.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Brookfield.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                           _Tuesday, Feb. 20th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. BROOKFIELD,\n\nHaving gone through your MS. (which I should have done sooner, but that\nI have not been very well), I write these few following words about it.\nFirstly, with a limited reference to its unsuitability to these pages.\nSecondly, with a more enlarged reference to the merits of the story\nitself.\n\nIf you will take any part of it and cut it up (in fancy) into the small\nportions into which it would have to be divided here for only a month's\nsupply, you will (I think) at once discover the impossibility of\npublishing it in weekly parts. The scheme of the chapters, the manner of\nintroducing the people, the progress of the interest, the places in\nwhich the principal places fall, are all hopelessly against it. It would\nseem as though the story were never coming, and hardly ever moving.\nThere must be a special design to overcome that specially trying mode of\npublication, and I cannot better express the difficulty and labour of it\nthan by asking you to turn over any two weekly numbers of \"A Tale of Two\nCities,\" or \"Great Expectations,\" or Bulwer's story, or Wilkie\nCollins's, or Reade's, or \"At the Bar,\" and notice how patiently and\nexpressly the thing has to be planned for presentation in these\nfragments, and yet for afterwards fusing together as an uninterrupted\nwhole.\n\nOf the story itself I honestly say that I think highly. The style is\nparticularly easy and agreeable, infinitely above ordinary writing, and\nsometimes reminds me of Mrs. Inchbald at her best. The characters are\nremarkably well observed, and with a rare mixture of delicacy and\ntruthfulness. I observe this particularly in the brother and sister, and\nin Mrs. Neville. But it strikes me that you constantly hurry your\nnarrative (and yet without getting on) _by telling it, in a sort of\nimpetuous breathless way, in your own person, when the people should\ntell it and act it for themselves_. My notion always is, that when I\nhave made the people to play out the play, it is, as it were, their\nbusiness to do it, and not mine. Then, unless you really have led up to\na great situation like Basil's death, you are bound in art to make more\nof it. Such a scene should form a chapter of itself. Impressed upon the\nreader's memory, it would go far to make the fortune of the book.\nSuppose yourself telling that affecting incident in a letter to a\nfriend. Wouldn't you describe how you went through the life and stir of\nthe streets and roads to the sick-room? Wouldn't you say what kind of\nroom it was, what time of day it was, whether it was sunlight,\nstarlight, or moonlight? Wouldn't you have a strong impression on your\nmind of how you were received, when you first met the look of the dying\nman, what strange contrasts were about you and struck you? I don't want\nyou, in a novel, to present _yourself_ to tell such things, but I want\nthe things to be there. You make no more of the situation than the index\nmight, or a descriptive playbill might in giving a summary of the\ntragedy under representation.\n\nAs a mere piece of mechanical workmanship, I think all your chapters\nshould be shorter; that is to say, that they should be subdivided.\nAlso, when you change from narrative to dialogue, or _vice versa_, you\nshould make the transition more carefully. Also, taking the pains to sit\ndown and recall the principal landmarks in your story, you should then\nmake them far more elaborate and conspicuous than the rest. Even with\nthese changes I do not believe that the story would attract the\nattention due to it, if it were published even in such monthly portions\nas the space of \"Fraser\" would admit of. Even so brightened, it would\nnot, to the best of my judgment, express itself piecemeal. It seems to\nme to be so constituted as to require to be read \"off the reel.\" As a\nbook in two volumes I think it would have good claims to success, and\ngood chances of obtaining success. But I suppose the polishing I have\nhinted at (not a meretricious adornment, but positively necessary to\ngood work and good art) to have been first thoroughly administered.\n\nNow don't hate me if you can help it. I can afford to be hated by some\npeople, but I am not rich enough to put you in possession of that\nluxury.\n\n                                                Ever faithfully yours.\n\nP.S.--The MS. shall be delivered at your house to-morrow. And your\npetitioner again prays not to be, etc.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                       ADELPHI, LIVERPOOL, _Friday, April 13th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nThe reception at Manchester last night was quite a magnificent sight;\nthe whole of the immense audience standing up and cheering. I thought\nthem a little slow with \"Marigold,\" but believe it was only the\nattention necessary in so vast a place. They gave a splendid burst at\nthe end. And after \"Nickleby\" (which went to perfection), they set up\nsuch a call, that I was obliged to go in again. The unfortunate gasman,\na very steady fellow, got a fall off a ladder and sprained his leg. He\nwas put to bed in a public opposite, and was left there, poor man.\n\nThis is the first very fine day we have had. I have taken advantage of\nit by crossing to Birkenhead and getting some air upon the water. It was\nfresh and beautiful.\n\nI send my best love to Mamie, and hope she is better. I am, of course,\ntired (the pull of \"Marigold\" upon one's energy, in the Free Trade Hall,\nwas great); but I stick to my tonic, and feel, all things considered, in\nvery good tone. The room here (I mean the hall) being my special\nfavourite and extraordinarily easy, is _almost_ a rest!\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                     ADELPHI, LIVERPOOL, _Saturday, April 14th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nThe police reported officially that three thousand people were turned\naway from the hall last night. I doubt if they were so numerous as that,\nbut they carried in the outer doors and pitched into Dolby with great\nvigour. I need not add that every corner of the place was crammed. They\nwere a very fine audience, and took enthusiastically every point in\n\"Copperfield\" and the \"Trial.\" They made the reading a quarter of an\nhour longer than usual. One man advertised in the morning paper that he\nwould give thirty shillings (double) for three stalls, but nobody would\nsell, and he didn't get in.\n\nExcept that I cannot sleep, I really think myself in much better\ntraining than I had anticipated. A dozen oysters and a little champagne\nbetween the parts every night, constitute the best restorative I have\never yet tried. John appears low, but I don't know why. A letter comes\nfor him daily; the hand is female; whether Smudger's, or a nearer one\nstill and a dearer one, I don't know. So it may or may not be the cause\nof his gloom.\n\n\"Miss Emily\" of Preston is married to a rich cotton lord, rides in open\ncarriages in gorgeous array, and is altogether splendid. With this\neffective piece of news I close.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                          GLASGOW, _April 17th, 1866._\n\nWe arrived here at ten yesterday evening. I don't think the journey\nshook me at all. Dolby provided a superb cold collation and \"the best of\ndrinks,\" and we dined in the carriage, and I made him laugh all the way.\n\nThe let here is very large. Every precaution taken to prevent my\nplatform from being captured as it was last time; but I don't feel at\nall sure that it will not be stormed at one of the two readings. Wills\nis to do the genteel to-night at the stalls, and Dolby is to stem the\nshilling tide _if_ he can. The poor gasman cannot come on, and we have\ngot a new one here who is to go to Edinburgh with us. Of Edinburgh we\nknow nothing, but as its first night has always been shady, I suppose it\nwill stick to its antecedents.\n\nI like to hear about Harness and his freshness. The let for the next\nreading at St. James's is \"going,\" they report, \"admirably.\" Lady\nRussell asked me to dinner to-morrow, and I have written her a note\nto-day. The rest has certainly done me good. I slept thoroughly well\nlast night, and feel fresh. What to-night's work, and every night's\nwork this week, may do contrariwise, remains to be seen.\n\nI hope Harry's knee may be in the way of mending, from what you relate\nof it.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n              WATERLOO HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Wednesday, April 18th, 1866._\n\nWe had a tremendous house again last night at Glasgow; and turned away\ngreat numbers. Not only that, but they were a most brilliant and\ndelicate audience, and took \"Marigold\" with a fine sense and quickness\nnot to be surpassed. The shillings pitched into Dolby again, and one man\nwrites a sensible letter in one of the papers this morning, showing to\n_my_ satisfaction (?) that they really had, through the local agent,\nsome cause of complaint. Nevertheless, the shilling tickets are sold for\nto-morrow, and it seems to be out of the question to take any money at\nthe doors, the call for all parts is so enormous. The thundering of\napplause last night was quite staggering, and my people checked off my\nreception by the minute hand of a watch, and stared at one another,\nthinking I should never begin. I keep quite well, have happily taken to\nsleeping these last three nights; and feel, all things considered, very\nlittle conscious of fatigue. I cannot reconcile my town medicine with\nthe hours and journeys of reading life, and have therefore given it up\nfor the time. But for the moment, I think I am better without it. What\nwe are doing here I have not yet heard. I write at half-past one, and we\nhave been little more than an hour in the house. But I am quite prepared\nfor the inevitable this first Edinburgh night. Endeavours have been\nmade (from Glasgow yesterday) to telegraph the exact facts out of our\nlocal agent; but hydraulic pressure wouldn't have squeezed a straight\nanswer out of him. \"Friday and Saturday doing very well, Wednesday not\nso good.\" This was all electricity could discover.\n\nI am going to write a line this post to Katie, from whom I have a note.\nI hope Harry's leg will now step out in the manner of the famous cork\nleg in the song.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                              EDINBURGH, _Thursday, April 19th, 1866._\n\nThe house was more than twice better than any first night here\npreviously. They were, as usual here, remarkably intelligent, and the\nreading went _brilliantly_. I have not sent up any newspapers, as they\nare generally so poorly written, that you may know beforehand all the\ncommonplaces that they will write. But _The Scotsman_ has so pretty an\narticle this morning, and (so far as I know) so true a one, that I will\ntry to post it to you, either from here or Glasgow. John and Dolby went\nover early, and Wills and I follow them at half-past eleven. It is cold\nand wet here. We have laid half-crown bets with Dolby, that he will be\nassaulted to-night at Glasgow. He has a surprising knowledge of what the\nreceipts will be always, and wins half-crowns every night. Chang is\nliving in this house. John (not knowing it) was rendered perfectly\ndrivelling last night, by meeting him on the stairs. The Tartar Dwarf is\nalways twining himself upstairs sideways, and drinks a bottle of whisky\nper day, and is reported to be a surprising little villain.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                WATERLOO HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Friday, April 20th, 1866._\n\nNo row at Glasgow last night. Great placards were posted about the town\nby the anxious Dolby, announcing that no money would be taken at the\ndoors. This kept the crowd off. Two files of policemen and a double\nstaff everywhere did the rest, and nothing could be better-tempered or\nmore orderly. Tremendous enthusiasm with the \"Carol\" and \"Trial.\" I was\ndead beat afterwards, that reading being twenty minutes longer than\nusual; but plucked up again, had some supper, slept well, and am quite\nright to-day. It is a bright day, and the express ride over from Glasgow\nwas very pleasant.\n\nEverything is gone here for to-night. But it is difficult to describe\nwhat the readings have grown to be. The let at St. James's Hall is not\nonly immense for next Tuesday, but so large for the next reading\nafterwards, that Chappell writes: \"That will be the greatest house of\nthe three.\" From Manchester this morning they write: \"Send us more\ntickets instantly, for we are sold out and don't know what to do with\nthe people.\" Last night the whole of my money under the agreement had\nbeen taken. I notice that a great bank has broken at Liverpool, which\nmay hurt us there, but when last heard of it was going as before. And\nthe audience, though so enormous, do somehow express a personal\naffection, which makes them very strange and moving to see.\n\nI have a story to answer you and your aunt with. Before I left Southwick\nPlace for Liverpool, I received a letter from Glasgow, saying, \"Your\nlittle Emily has been woo'd and married and a'! since you last saw her;\"\nand describing her house within a mile or two of the city, and asking\nme to stay there. I wrote the usual refusal, and supposed Mrs. ---- to\nbe some romantic girl whom I had joked with, perhaps at Allison's or\nwhere not. On the first night at Glasgow I received a bouquet from ----,\nand wore one of the flowers. This morning at the Glasgow station, ----\nappeared, and proved to be the identical Miss Emily, of whose marriage\nDolby had told me on our coming through Preston. She was attired in\nmagnificent raiment, and presented the happy ----.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                              LIVERPOOL, _Thursday, April 26th, 1866._\n\nWe noticed between London and Rugby (the first stoppage) something very\nodd in our carriage yesterday, not so much in its motion as in its\nsound. We examined it as well as we could out of both windows, but could\nmake nothing of it. On our arrival at Rugby, it was found to be on fire.\nAnd as it was in the middle of the train, the train had to be broken to\nget it off into a siding by itself and get another carriage on. With\nthis slight exception we came down all right.\n\nMy voice is much better, I am glad to report, and I mean to try Beard's\nremedy after dinner to-day. This is all my present news.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The same.]\n\n                        DOWN HOTEL, CLIFTON, _Friday, May 11th, 1866._\n\nI received your note before I left Birmingham this morning. It has been\nvery heavy work getting up at half-past six each morning after a heavy\nnight, and I am not at all well to-day. We had a tremendous hall at\nBirmingham last night--two thousand one hundred people. I made a most\nridiculous mistake. Had \"Nickleby\" on my list to finish with, instead of\n\"Trial.\" Read \"Nickleby\" with great go, and the people remained. Went\nback again at ten and explained the accident, and said if they liked, I\nwould give them the \"Trial.\" They _did_ like, and I had another\nhalf-hour of it in that enormous place.\n\nThis stoppage of Overend and Gurney in the City will play the ---- with\nall public gaieties, and with all the arts.\n\nMy cold is no better. John fell off a platform about ten feet high\nyesterday, and fainted. He looks all the colours of the rainbow to-day,\nbut does not seem much hurt beyond being puffed up one hand, arm, and\nside.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Lily Benzon.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Monday, June 18th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAR LILY,\n\nI am sorry that I cannot come to read to you \"The Boots at the Holly\nTree Inn,\" as you ask me to do; but the truth is, that I am tired of\nreading at this present time, and have come into the country to rest and\nhear the birds sing. There are a good many birds, I daresay, in\nKensington Palace Gardens, and upon my word and honour they are much\nbetter worth listening to than I am. So let them sing to you as hard as\never they can, while their sweet voices last (they will be silent when\nthe winter comes); and very likely after you and I have eaten our next\nChristmas pudding and mince-pies, you and I and Uncle Harry may all meet\ntogether at St. James's Hall; Uncle Harry to bring you there, to hear\nthe \"Boots;\" I to receive you there, and read the \"Boots;\" and you (I\nhope) to applaud very much, and tell me that you like the \"Boots.\" So,\nGod bless you and me, and Uncle Harry, and the \"Boots,\" and long life\nand happiness to us all!\n\n                                             Your affectionate Friend.\n\nP.S.--There's a flourish!\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Monday, Aug. 13th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAR PROCTER,\n\nI have read your biography of Charles Lamb with inexpressible pleasure\nand interest. I do not think it possible to tell a pathetic story with a\nmore unaffected and manly tenderness. And as to the force and vigour of\nthe style, if I did not know you I should have made sure that there was\na printer's error in the opening of your introduction, and that the word\n\"seventy\" occupied the place of \"forty.\"\n\nLet me, my dear friend, most heartily congratulate you on your\nachievement. It is not an ordinary triumph to do such justice to the\nmemory of such a man. And I venture to add, that the fresh spirit with\nwhich you have done it impresses me as being perfectly wonderful.\n\n                                            Ever affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Sir James Emerson Tennent.]\n\n                                GAD'S HILL, _Monday, Aug. 20th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAR TENNENT,\n\nI have been very much interested by your extract, and am strongly\ninclined to believe that the founder of the Refuge for Poor Travellers\nmeant the kind of man to which it refers. Chaucer certainly meant the\nPardonere to be a humbug, living on the credulity of the people. After\ndescribing the sham reliques he carried, he says:\n\n        But with these relikes whawne that he found\n        A poure personne dwelling up on lond\n        Upon a day he gat him more monnie\n        Than that the personne got in monthes time,\n        And thus, with fained flattering and japes\n        He made the personne, and the people, his apes.\n\nAnd the worthy Watts (founder of the charity) may have had these very\nlines in his mind when he excluded such a man.\n\nWhen I last heard from my boy he was coming to you, and was full of\ndelight and dignity. My midshipman has just been appointed to the\n_Bristol_, on the West Coast of Africa, and is on his voyage out to join\nher. I wish it was another ship and another station. She has been\nunlucky in losing men.\n\nKindest regard from all my house to yours.\n\n                                                Faithfully yours ever.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]\n\n                               GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, Sept. 4th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAR FECHTER,\n\nThis morning I received the play to the end of the telegraph scene, and\nI have since read it twice.\n\nI clearly see the _ground_ of Mr. Boucicault's two objections; but I do\nnot see their _force_.\n\nFirst, as to the writing. If the characters did not speak in a terse and\nhomely way, their idea and language would be inconsistent with their\ndress and station, and they would lose, as characters, before the\naudience. The dialogue seems to be exactly what is wanted. Its\nsimplicity (particularly in Mr. Boucicault's part) is often very\neffective; and throughout there is an honest, straight-to-the-purpose\nruggedness in it, like the real life and the real people.\n\nSecondly, as to the absence of the comic element. I really do not see\nhow more of it could be got into the story, and I think Mr. Boucicault\nunderrates the pleasant effect of his own part. The very notion of a\nsailor, whose life is not among those little courts and streets, and\nwhose business does not lie with the monotonous machinery, but with the\nfour wild winds, is a relief to me in reading the play. I am quite\nconfident of its being an immense relief to the audience when they see\nthe sailor before them, with an entirely different bearing, action,\ndress, complexion even, from the rest of the men. I would make him the\nfreshest and airiest sailor that ever was seen; and through him I can\ndistinctly see my way out of \"the Black Country\" into clearer air. (I\nspeak as one of the audience, mind.) I should like something of this\ncontrast to be expressed in the dialogue between the sailor and Jew, in\nthe second scene of the second act. Again, I feel Widdicomb's part\n(which is charming, and ought to make the whole house cry) most\nagreeable and welcome, much better than any amount in such a story, of\nmere comicality.\n\nIt is unnecessary to say that the play is done with a master's hand. Its\ncloseness and movement are quite surprising. Its construction is\nadmirable. I have the strongest belief in its making a great success.\nBut I must add this proviso: I never saw a play so dangerously depending\nin critical places on strict natural propriety in the manner and\nperfection in the shaping of the small parts. Those small parts cannot\ntake the play up, but they can let it down. I would not leave a hair on\nthe head of one of them to the chance of the first night, but I would\nsee, to the minutest particular, the make-up of every one of them at a\nnight rehearsal.\n\nOf course you are free to show this note to Mr. Boucicault, and I\nsuppose you will do so; let me throw out this suggestion to him and you.\nMight it not ease the way with the Lord Chamberlain's office, and still\nmore with the audience, when there are Manchester champions in it, if\ninstead of \"Manchester\" you used a fictitious name? When I did \"Hard\nTimes\" I called the scene Coketown. Everybody knew what was meant, but\nevery cotton-spinning town said it was the other cotton-spinning town.\n\nI shall be up on Saturday, and will come over about mid-day, unless you\nname any other time.\n\n                                                        Ever heartily.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Walter Thornbury]\n\n            \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND\" OFFICE, _Saturday, Sept. 15th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAR THORNBURY,\n\nMany thanks for your letter.\n\nIn reference to your Shakespeare queries, I am not so much enamoured of\nthe first and third subjects as I am of the Ariosto enquiry, which\nshould be highly interesting. But if you have so got the matter in your\nmind, as that its execution would be incomplete and unsatisfactory to\nyou unless you write all the three papers, then by all means write the\nthree, and I will most gladly take them. For some years I have had so\nmuch pleasure in reading you, that I can honestly warrant myself as what\nactors call \"a good audience.\"\n\nThe idea of old stories retold is decidedly a good one. I greatly like\nthe notion of that series. Of course you know De Quincey's paper on the\nRatcliffe Highway murderer? Do you know also the illustration (I have it\nat Gad's Hill), representing the horrible creature as his dead body lay\non a cart, with a piece of wood for a pillow, and a stake lying by,\nready to be driven through him?\n\nI don't _quite_ like the title, \"The Social History of London.\" I should\nbetter like some title to the effect, \"The History of London's Social\nChanges in so many Years.\" Such a title would promise more, and better\nexpress your intention. What do you think of taking for a first title,\n\"London's Changes\"? You could then add the second title, \"Being a\nHistory,\" etc.\n\nI don't at all desire to fix a limit to the series of old stories\nretold. I would state the general intention at the beginning of the\nfirst paper, and go on like Banquo's line.\n\nDon't let your London title remind people, by so much as the place of\nthe word \"civilisation,\" of Buckle. It seems a ridiculous caution, but\nthe indolent part of the public (a large part!) on such points tumble\ninto extraordinary mistakes.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]\n\n                                GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, Nov. 6th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAR FITZGERALD,\n\nIt is always pleasant to me to hear from you, and I hope you will\nbelieve that this is not a mere fashion of speech.\n\nConcerning the green covers, I find the leaves to be budding--on\nunquestionable newspaper authority; but, upon my soul, I have no other\nknowledge of their being in embryo! Really, I do not see a chance of my\nsettling myself to such work until after I have accomplished forty-two\nreadings, to which I stand pledged.\n\nI hope to begin this series somewhere about the middle of January, in\nDublin. Touching the details of the realisation of this hope, will you\ntell me in a line as soon as you can--_Is the exhibition room a good\nroom for speaking in?_\n\nYour mention of the late Sultan touches me nearly. He was the finest dog\nI ever saw, and between him and me there was a perfect understanding.\nBut, to adopt the popular phrase, it was so very confidential that it\n\"went no further.\" He would fly at anybody else with the greatest\nenthusiasm for destruction. I saw him, muzzled, pound into the heart of\na regiment of the line; and I have frequently seen him, muzzled, hold a\ngreat dog down with his chest and feet. He has broken loose (muzzled)\nand come home covered with blood, again and again. And yet he never\ndisobeyed me, unless he had first laid hold of a dog.\n\nYou heard of his going to execution, evidently supposing the procession\nto be a party detached in pursuit of something to kill or eat? It was\nvery affecting. And also of his bolting a blue-eyed kitten, and making\nme acquainted with the circumstance by his agonies of remorse (or\nindigestion)?\n\nI cannot find out that there is anyone in Rochester (a sleepy old city)\nwho has anything to tell about Garrick, except what is not true. His\nbrother, the wine merchant, would be more in Rochester way, I think. How\non earth do you find time to do all these books?\n\nYou make my hair stand on end; an agreeable sensation, for I am charmed\nto find that I have any. Why don't you come yourself and look after\nGarrick? I should be truly delighted to receive you.\n\n                           My dear Fitzgerald, always faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Friday, Dec. 28th, 1866._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nI have received your letter with the utmost pleasure and we all send our\nmost affectionate love to you, Mrs. Macready, Katie, Johnny, and the boy\nof boys. All good Christmas and New Year greetings are to be understood\nas included.\n\nYou will be interested in knowing that, encouraged by the success of\nsummer cricket-matches, I got up a quantity of foot-races and rustic\nsports in my field here on the 26th last past: as I have never yet had a\ncase of drunkenness, the landlord of The Falstaff had a drinking-booth\non the ground. All the prizes I gave were in money, too. We had two\nthousand people here. Among the crowd were soldiers, navvies, and\nlabourers of all kinds. Not a stake was pulled up, or a rope slackened,\nor one farthing's-worth of damage done. To every competitor (only) a\nprinted bill of general rules was given, with the concluding words: \"Mr.\nDickens puts every man upon his honour to assist in preserving order.\"\nThere was not a dispute all day, and they went away at sunset rending\nthe air with cheers, and leaving every flag on a six hundred yards'\ncourse as neat as they found it when the gates were opened at ten in the\nmorning. Surely this is a bright sign in the neighbourhood of such a\nplace as Chatham!\n\n\"Mugby Junction\" turned, yesterday afternoon, the extraordinary number\nof two hundred and fifty thousand!\n\nIn the middle of next month I begin a new course of forty-two readings.\nIf any of them bring me within reach of Cheltenham, with an hour to\nspare, I shall come on to you, even for that hour. More of this when I\nam afield and have my list, which Dolby (for Chappell) is now\npreparing.\n\nForster and Mrs. Forster were to have come to us next Monday, to stay\nuntil Saturday. I write \"were,\" because I hear that Forster (who had a\ntouch of bronchitis when he wrote to me on Christmas Eve) is in bed.\nKatie, who has been ill of low nervous fever, was brought here yesterday\nfrom London. She bore the journey much better than I expected, and so I\nhope will soon recover. This is my little stock of news.\n\nI begin to discover in your riper years, that you have been secretly\nvain of your handwriting all your life. For I swear I see no change in\nit! What it always was since I first knew it (a year or two!) it _is_.\nThis I will maintain against all comers.\n\n                             Ever affectionately, my dearest Macready.\n\n\n\n\n1867.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nAs the London and provincial readings were to be resumed early in the\nyear and continued until the end of March, Charles Dickens took no house\nin London this spring. He came to his office quarters at intervals, for\nthe series in town; usually starting off again, on his country tour, the\nday after a London reading. From some passages in his letters to his\ndaughter and sister-in-law during this country course, it will be seen\nthat (though he made very light of the fact) the great exertion of the\nreadings, combined with incessant railway travelling, was beginning to\ntell upon his health, and he was frequently \"heavily beaten\" after\nreading at his best to an enthusiastic audience in a large hall.\n\nDuring the short intervals between his journeys, he was as constantly\nand carefully at work upon the business of \"All the Year Round\" as if he\nhad no other work on hand. A proof of this is given in a letter dated\n\"5th February.\" It is written to a young man (the son of a friend), who\nwrote a long novel when far too juvenile for such a task, and had\nsubmitted it to Charles Dickens for his opinion, with a view to\npublication. In the midst of his own hard and engrossing occupation he\nread the book, and the letter which he wrote on the subject needs no\nremark beyond this, that the young writer received the adverse criticism\nwith the best possible sense, and has since, in his literary profession,\nprofited by the advice so kindly given.\n\nAt this time the proposals to Charles Dickens for reading in America,\nwhich had been perpetually renewed from the time of his first abandoning\nthe idea, became so urgent and so tempting, that he found at last he\nmust, at all events, give the subject his most serious consideration. He\ntook counsel with his two most confidential friends and advisers, Mr.\nJohn Forster and Mr. W. H. Wills. They were both, at first, strongly\nopposed to the undertaking, chiefly on the ground of the trial to his\nhealth and strength which it would involve. But they could not deny the\ncounterbalancing advantages. And, after much deliberation, it was\nresolved that Mr. George Dolby should be sent out by the Messrs.\nChappell, to take an impression, on the spot, as to the feeling of the\nUnited States about the Readings. His report as to the undoubted\nenthusiasm and urgency on the other side of the Atlantic it was\nimpossible to resist. Even his friends withdrew their opposition (though\nstill with misgivings as to the effect upon his health, which were but\ntoo well founded!), and on the 30th September he telegraphed \"Yes\" to\nAmerica.\n\nThe \"Alfred\" alluded to in a letter from Glasgow was Charles Dickens's\nfourth son, Alfred Tennyson, who had gone to Australia two years\npreviously.\n\nWe give, in April, the last letter to one of the friends for whom\nCharles Dickens had always a most tender love--Mr. Stanfield. He was\nthen in failing health, and in May he died.\n\nAnother death which affected him very deeply happened this summer. Miss\nMarguerite Power died in July. She had long been very ill, but, until it\nbecame impossible for her to travel, she was a frequent and beloved\nguest at Gad's Hill. The Mrs. Henderson to whom he writes was Miss\nPower's youngest sister.\n\nBefore he started for America it was proposed to wish him God-speed by\ngiving him a public dinner at the Freemasons' Hall. The proposal was\nmost warmly and fully responded to. His zealous friend, Mr. Charles\nKent, willingly undertook the whole work of arrangement of this banquet.\nIt took place on the 2nd November, and Lord Lytton presided.\n\nOn the 8th he left London for Liverpool, accompanied by his daughters,\nhis sister-in-law, his eldest son, Mr. Arthur Chappell, Mr. Charles\nCollins, Mr. Wilkie Collins, Mr. Kent, and Mr. Wills. The next morning\nthe whole party took a final leave of Charles Dickens on board the\n_Cuba_, which sailed that day.\n\nWe give a letter which he wrote to Mr. J. L. Toole on the morning of the\ndinner, thanking him for a parting gift and an earnest letter. That\nexcellent comedian was one of his most appreciative admirers, and, in\nreturn, he had for Mr. Toole the greatest admiration and respect.\n\nThe Christmas number for this year, \"No Thoroughfare,\" was written by\nCharles Dickens and Mr. Wilkie Collins. It was dramatised by Mr. Collins\nchiefly. But, in the midst of all the work of preparation for departure,\nCharles Dickens gave minute attention to as much of the play as could be\ncompleted before he left England. It was produced, after Christmas, at\nthe Adelphi Theatre, where M. Fechter was then acting, under the\nmanagement of Mr. Benjamin Webster.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                               _New Year's Day, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nThoroughly determined to be beforehand with \"the middle of next summer,\"\nyour penitent friend and remorseful correspondent thus addresses you.\n\nThe big dog, on a day last autumn, having seized a little girl (sister\nto one of the servants) whom he knew, and was bound to respect, was\nflogged by his master, and then sentenced to be shot at seven next\nmorning. He went out very cheerfully with the half-dozen men told off\nfor the purpose, evidently thinking that they were going to be the death\nof somebody unknown. But observing in the procession an empty\nwheelbarrow and a double-barrelled gun, he became meditative, and fixed\nthe bearer of the gun with his eyes. A stone deftly thrown across him by\nthe village blackguard (chief mourner) caused him to look round for an\ninstant, and he then fell dead, shot through the heart. Two posthumous\nchildren are at this moment rolling on the lawn; one will evidently\ninherit his ferocity, and will probably inherit the gun. The pheasant\nwas a little ailing towards Christmas Day, and was found dead under some\nivy in his cage, with his head under his wing, on the morning of the\ntwenty-seventh of December, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-six. I,\nproprietor of the remains of the two deceased, am working hard, getting\nup \"Barbox\" and \"The Boy at Mugby,\" with which I begin a new series of\nreadings in London on the fifteenth. Next morning I believe I start into\nthe country. When I read, I _don't_ write. I only edit, and have the\nproof-sheets sent me for the purpose. Here are your questions answered.\n\nAs to the Reform question, it should have been, and could have been,\nperfectly known to any honest man in England that the more intelligent\npart of the great masses were deeply dissatisfied with the state of\nrepresentation, but were in a very moderate and patient condition,\nawaiting the better intellectual cultivation of numbers of their\nfellows. The old insolent resource of assailing them and making the most\naudaciously wicked statements that they are politically indifferent,\nhas borne the inevitable fruit. The perpetual taunt, \"Where are they?\"\nhas called them out with the answer: \"Well then, if you _must_ know,\nhere we are.\" The intolerable injustice of vituperating the bribed to an\nassembly of bribers, has goaded their sense of justice beyond endurance.\nAnd now, what they would have taken they won't take, and whatever they\nare steadily bent upon having they will get. Rely upon it, this is the\nreal state of the case. As to your friend \"Punch,\" you will find him\nbegin to turn at the very selfsame instant when the new game shall\nmanifestly become the losing one. You may notice his shoes pinching him\na little already.\n\nMy dear fellow, I have no more power to stop that mutilation of my books\nthan you have. It is as certain as that every inventor of anything\ndesigned for the public good, and offered to the English Government,\nbecomes _ipso facto_ a criminal, to have his heart broken on the\ncircumlocutional wheel. It is as certain as that the whole Crimean story\nwill be retold, whenever this country again goes to war. And to tell the\ntruth, I have such a very small opinion of what the great genteel have\ndone for us, that I am very philosophical indeed concerning what the\ngreat vulgar may do, having a decided opinion that they can't do worse.\n\nThis is the time of year when the theatres do best, there being still\nnumbers of people who make it a sort of religion to see Christmas\npantomimes. Having my annual houseful, I have, as yet, seen nothing.\nFechter has neither pantomime nor burlesque, but is doing a new version\nof the old \"Trente Ans de la Vie d'un Joueur.\" I am afraid he will not\nfind his account in it. On the whole, the theatres, except in the\narticles of scenery and pictorial effect, are poor enough. But in some\nof the smaller houses there are actors who, if there were any dramatic\nhead-quarters as a school, might become very good. The most hopeless\nfeature is, that they have the smallest possible idea of an effective\nand harmonious whole, each \"going in\" for himself or herself. The\nmusic-halls attract an immense public, and don't refine the general\ntaste. But such things as they do are well done of their kind, and\nalways briskly and punctually.\n\nThe American yacht race is the last sensation. I hope the general\ninterest felt in it on this side will have a wholesome interest on that.\nIt will be a woeful day when John and Jonathan throw their caps into the\nring. The French Emperor is indubitably in a dangerous state. His\nParisian popularity wanes, and his army are discontented with him. I\nhear on high authority that his secret police are always making\ndiscoveries that render him desperately uneasy.\n\nYou know how we have been swindling in these parts. But perhaps you\ndon't know that Mr. ----, the \"eminent\" contractor, before he fell into\ndifficulties settled _one million of money_ on his wife. Such a good and\ndevoted husband!\n\nMy daughter Katie has been very ill of nervous fever. On the 27th of\nDecember she was in a condition to be brought down here (old high road\nand post-horses), and has been steadily getting better ever since. Her\nhusband is here too, and is on the whole as well as he ever is or ever\nwill be, I fear.\n\nWe played forfeit-games here, last night, and then pool. For a\nbilliard-room has been added to the house since you were here. Come and\nplay a match with me.\n\n                                                Always affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                  ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Monday, Jan. 21st, 1867._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nFirst I send you my most affectionate wishes for many, many happy\nreturns of your birthday. That done, from my heart of hearts, I go on to\nmy small report of myself.\n\nThe readings have produced such an immense effect here that we are\ncoming back for two more in the middle of February. \"Marigold\" and the\n\"Trial,\" on Friday night, and the \"Carol,\" on Saturday afternoon, were a\nperfect furore; and the surprise about \"Barbox\" has been amusingly\ngreat. It is a most extraordinary thing, after the enormous sale of that\nChristmas number, that the provincial public seems to have combined to\nbelieve that it _won't_ make a reading. From Wolverhampton and Leeds we\nhave exactly the same expression of feelings _beforehand_. Exactly as I\nmade \"Copperfield\"--always to the poorest houses I had with Headland,\nand against that luminary's entreaty--so I should have to make this, if\nI hadn't \"Marigold\" always in demand.\n\nIt being next to impossible for people to come out at night with horses,\nwe have felt the weather in the stalls, and expect to do so through this\nweek. The half-crown and shilling publics have crushed to their places\nmost splendidly. The enthusiasm has been unbounded. On Friday night I\nquite astonished myself; but I was taken so faint afterwards that they\nlaid me on a sofa at the hall for half an hour. I attribute it to my\ndistressing inability to sleep at night, and to nothing worse.\n\nScott does very well indeed. As a dresser he is perfect. In a quarter of\nan hour after I go into the retiring-room, where all my clothes are\nairing and everything is set out neatly in its own allotted space, I am\nready; and he then goes softly out, and sits outside the door. In the\nmorning he is equally punctual, quiet, and quick. He has his needles and\nthread, buttons, and so forth, always at hand; and in travelling he is\nvery systematic with the luggage. What with Dolby and what with this\nskilful valet, everything is made as easy to me as it possibly _can_ be,\nand Dolby would do anything to lighten the work, and does everything.\n\nThere is great distress here among the poor (four thousand people\nrelieved last Saturday at one workhouse), and there is great anxiety\nconcerning _seven mail-steamers some days overdue_. Such a circumstance\nas this last has never been known. It is supposed that some great\nrevolving storm has whirled them all out of their course. One of these\nmissing ships is an American mail, another an Australian mail.\n\n\n                                                     _Same Afternoon._\n\nWe have been out for four hours in the bitter east wind, and walking on\nthe sea-shore, where there is a broad strip of great blocks of ice. My\nhands are so rigid that I write with great difficulty.\n\nWe have been constantly talking of the terrible Regent's Park accident.\nI hope and believe that nearly the worst of it is now known.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                  CHESTER, _Tuesday, Jan. 22nd, 1867._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nWe came over here from Liverpool at eleven this forenoon. There was a\nheavy swell in the Mersey breaking over the boat; the cold was nipping,\nand all the roads we saw as we came along were wretched. We find a very\nmoderate let here; but I am myself rather surprised to know that a\nhundred and twenty stalls have made up their minds to the undertaking of\ngetting to the hall. This seems to be a very nice hotel, but it is an\nextraordinarily cold one. Our reading for to-night is \"Marigold\" and\n\"Trial.\" With amazing perversity the local agent said to Dolby: \"They\nhoped that Mr. Dickens _might_ have given them 'The Boy at Mugby.'\"\n\nBarton, the gasman who succeeded the man who sprained his leg, sprained\n_his_ leg yesterday!! And that, not at his work, but in running\ndownstairs at the hotel. However, he has hobbled through it so far, and\nI hope will hobble on, for he knows his work.\n\nI have seldom seen a place look more hopelessly frozen up than this\nplace does. The hall is like a Methodist chapel in low spirits, and with\na cold in its head. A few blue people shiver at the corners of the\nstreets. And this house, which is outside the town, looks like an\nornament on an immense twelfth cake baked for 1847.\n\nI am now going to the fire to try to warm myself, but have not the least\nexpectation of succeeding. The sitting-room has two large windows in it,\ndown to the ground and facing due east. The adjoining bedroom (mine) has\nalso two large windows in it, down to the ground and facing due east.\nThe very large doors are opposite the large windows, and I feel as if I\nwere something to eat in a pantry.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n            HEN AND CHICKENS, BIRMINGHAM, _Thursday, Jan. 24th, 1867._\n\nAt Chester we read in a snowstorm and a fall of ice. I think it was the\nworst weather I ever saw. Nevertheless, the people were enthusiastic. At\nWolverhampton last night the thaw had thoroughly set in, and it rained\nheavily. We had not intended to go back there, but have arranged to do\nso on the day after Ash Wednesday. Last night I was again heavily\nbeaten. We came on here after the reading (it is only a ride of forty\nminutes), and it was as much as I could do to hold out the journey. But\nI was not faint, as at Liverpool; I was only exhausted. I am all right\nthis morning; and to-night, as you know, I have a rest. I trust that\nCharley Collins is better, and that Mamie is strong and well again.\nYesterday I had a note from Katie, which seemed hopeful and encouraging.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n            HEN AND CHICKENS, BIRMINGHAM, _Thursday, Jan. 24th, 1867._\n\nSince I wrote to your aunt just now, I have received your note addressed\nto Wolverhampton. We left the men there last night, and they brought it\non with them at noon to-day.\n\nThe maimed gasman's foot is much swollen, but he limps about and does\nhis work. I have doctored him up with arnica. During the \"Boy\" last\nnight there was an escape of gas from the side of my top batten, which\ncaught the copper-wire and was within a thread of bringing down the\nheavy reflector into the stalls. It was a very ticklish matter, though\nthe audience knew nothing about it. I saw it, and the gasman and Dolby\nsaw it, and stood at that side of the platform in agonies. We all three\ncalculated that there would be just time to finish and save it; when the\ngas was turned out the instant I had done, the whole thing was at its\nvery last and utmost extremity. Whom it would have tumbled on, or what\nmight have been set on fire, it is impossible to say.\n\nI hope you rewarded your police escort on Tuesday night. It was the most\ntremendous night I ever saw at Chester.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                      LEEDS, _Friday, Feb. 1st, 1867._\n\nWe got here prosperously, and had a good (but not great) house for\n\"Barbox\" and \"Boy\" last night. For \"Marigold\" and \"Trial,\" to-night,\neverything is gone. And I even have my doubts of the possibility of\nDolby's cramming the people in. For \"Marigold\" and \"Trial\" at\nManchester, to-morrow, we also expect a fine hall.\n\nI shall be at the office for next Wednesday. If Charley Collins should\nhave been got to Gad's, I will come there for that day. If not, I\nsuppose we had best open the official bower again.\n\nThis is a beastly place, with a very good hotel. Except Preston, it is\none of the nastiest places I know. The room is like a capacious coal\ncellar, and is incredibly filthy; but for sound it is perfect.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Anonymous.]\n\n            OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\" _Tuesday, Feb. 5th, 1867._\n\nDEAR SIR,\n\nI have looked at the larger half of the first volume of your novel, and\nhave pursued the more difficult points of the story through the other\ntwo volumes.\n\nYou will, of course, receive my opinion as that of an individual writer\nand student of art, who by no means claims to be infallible.\n\nI think you are too ambitious, and that you have not sufficient\nknowledge of life or character to venture on so comprehensive an\nattempt. Evidences of inexperience in every way, and of your power being\nfar below the situations that you imagine, present themselves to me in\nalmost every page I have read. It would greatly surprise me if you found\na publisher for this story, on trying your fortune in that line, or\nderived anything from it but weariness and bitterness of spirit.\n\nOn the evidence thus put before me, I cannot even entirely satisfy\nmyself that you have the faculty of authorship latent within you. If you\nhave not, and yet pursue a vocation towards which you have no call, you\ncannot choose but be a wretched man. Let me counsel you to have the\npatience to form yourself carefully, and the courage to renounce the\nendeavour if you cannot establish your case on a very much smaller\nscale. You see around you every day, how many outlets there are for\nshort pieces of fiction in all kinds. Try if you can achieve any success\nwithin these modest limits (I have practised in my time what I preach to\nyou), and in the meantime put your three volumes away.\n\n                                                     Faithfully yours.\n\nP.S.--Your MS. will be returned separately from this office.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                 LIVERPOOL, _Friday, Feb. 15th, 1867._\n\nMy short report of myself is that we had an enormous turn-away last\nnight, and do not doubt about having a cram to-night. The day has been\nvery fine, and I have turned it to the wholesomest account by walking on\nthe sands at New Brighton all the morning. I am not quite right, but\nbelieve it to be an effect of the railway shaking. There is no doubt of\nthe fact that, after the Staplehurst experience, it tells more and\nmore, instead of (as one might have expected) less and less.\n\nThe charming room here greatly lessens the fatigue of this fatiguing\nweek. I read last night with no more exertion than if I had been at\nGad's, and yet to eleven hundred people, and with astonishing effect. It\nis \"Copperfield\" to-night, and Liverpool is the \"Copperfield\"\nstronghold.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                   GLASGOW, _Sunday, Feb. 17th, 1867._\n\nWe arrived here this morning at our time to the moment, five minutes\npast ten. We turned away great numbers on both nights at Liverpool; and\nManchester last night was a splendid spectacle. They cheered to that\nextent after it was over, that I was obliged to huddle on my clothes\n(for I was undressing to prepare for the journey), and go back again.\n\nAfter so heavy a week, it _was_ rather stiff to start on this long\njourney at a quarter to two in the morning; but I got more sleep than I\never got in a railway-carriage before, and it really was not tedious.\nThe travelling was admirable, and a wonderful contrast to my friend the\nMidland.\n\nI am not by any means knocked up, though I have, as I had in the last\nseries of readings, a curious feeling of soreness all round the body,\nwhich I suppose to arise from the great exertion of voice. It is a mercy\nthat we were not both made really ill at Liverpool. On Friday morning I\nwas taken so faint and sick, that I was obliged to leave the table. On\nthe same afternoon the same thing happened to Dolby. We then found that\na part of the hotel close to us was dismantled for painting, and that\nthey were at that moment painting a green passage leading to our rooms,\nwith a most horrible mixture of white lead and arsenic. On pursuing the\nenquiry, I found that the four lady book-keepers in the bar were all\nsuffering from the poison.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                          BRIDGE OF ALLAN, _Tuesday, Feb. 19th, 1867._\n\nI was very glad to get your letter before leaving Glasgow this morning.\nThis is a poor return for it, but the post goes out early, and we come\nin late.\n\nYesterday morning I was so unwell that I wrote to Frank Beard, from whom\nI shall doubtless hear to-morrow. I mention it, only in case you should\ncome in his way, for I know how perversely such things fall out. I felt\nit a little more exertion to read afterwards, and I passed a sleepless\nnight after that again; but otherwise I am in good force and spirits\nto-day. I may say, in the best force.\n\nThe quiet of this little place is sure to do me good. The little inn in\nwhich we are established seems a capital house of the best country sort.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                 GLASGOW, _Thursday, Feb. 21st, 1867._\n\nAfter two days' rest at the Bridge of Allan I am in renewed force, and\nhave nothing to complain of but inability to sleep. I have been in\nexcellent air all day since Tuesday at noon, and made an interesting\nwalk to Stirling yesterday, and saw its lions, and (strange to relate)\nwas not bored by them. Indeed, they left me so fresh that I knocked at\nthe gate of the prison, presented myself to the governor, and took Dolby\nover the jail, to his unspeakable interest. We then walked back again\nto our excellent country inn.\n\nEnclosed is a letter from Alfred, which you and your aunt will be\ninterested in reading, and which I meant to send you sooner but forgot\nit. Wonderful as it is to mention, the sun shines here to-day! But to\ncounterbalance that phenomenon I am in close hiding from ----, who has\nchristened his infant son in my name, and, consequently, haunts the\nbuilding. He and Dolby have already nearly come into collision, in\nconsequence of the latter being always under the dominion of the one\nidea that he is bound to knock everybody down who asks for me.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n        The \"Jewish lady,\" wishing to mark her\n        \"appreciation of Mr. Dickens's nobility of\n        character,\" presented him with a copy of\n        Benisch's Hebrew and English Bible, with this\n        inscription: \"Presented to Charles Dickens, in\n        grateful and admiring recognition of his having\n        exercised the noblest quality man can\n        possess--that of atoning for an injury as soon\n        as conscious of having inflicted it.\"\n\n        The acknowledgment of the gift is the following\n        letter:\n\n[Sidenote: Jewish Lady.]\n\n                       BRADFORD, YORKSHIRE, _Friday, March 1st, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. ----,\n\nI am working through a series of readings, widely dispersed through\nEngland, Scotland, and Ireland, and am so constantly occupied that it is\nvery difficult for me to write letters. I have received your highly\nesteemed note (forwarded from my home in Kent), and should have replied\nto it sooner but that I had a hope of being able to get home and see\nyour present first. As I have not been able to do so, however, and am\nhardly likely to do so for two months to come, I delay no longer. It is\nsafely awaiting me on my own desk in my own quiet room. I cannot thank\nyou for it too cordially, and cannot too earnestly assure you that I\nshall always prize it highly. The terms in which you send me that mark\nof your remembrance are more gratifying to me than I can possibly\nexpress to you; for they assure me that there is nothing but goodwill\nleft between you and me and a people for whom I have a real regard, and\nto whom I would not wilfully have given an offence or done an injustice\nfor any worldly consideration.\n\n                                    Believe me, very faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                      NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE, _Wednesday, March 6th, 1867._\n\nThe readings have made an immense effect in this place, and it is\nremarkable that although the people are individually rough, collectively\nthey are an unusually tender and sympathetic audience; while their comic\nperception is quite up to the high London standard. The atmosphere is so\nvery heavy that yesterday we escaped to Tynemouth for a two hours' sea\nwalk. There was a high north wind blowing and a magnificent sea running.\nLarge vessels were being towed in and out over the stormy bar, with\nprodigious waves breaking on it; and spanning the restless uproar of the\nwaters was a quiet rainbow of transcendent beauty. The scene was quite\nwonderful. We were in the full enjoyment of it when a heavy sea caught\nus, knocked us over, and in a moment drenched us, and filled even our\npockets. We had nothing for it but to shake ourselves together (like\nDoctor Marigold) and dry ourselves as well as we could by hard walking\nin the wind and sunshine! But we were wet through for all that when we\ncame back here to dinner after half an hour's railway ride.\n\nI am wonderfully well, and quite fresh and strong. Have had to doctor\nDolby for a bad cold; have not caught it (yet), and have set him on his\nlegs again.\n\nScott is striking the tents and loading the baggages, so I must deliver\nup my writing-desk. We meet, please God, on Tuesday.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                 SHELBOURNE HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Friday, March 15th, 1867._\n\nWe made our journey through an incessant snowstorm on Wednesday night;\nat last got snowed up among the Welsh mountains in a tremendous storm of\nwind, came to a stop, and had to dig the engine out. We went to bed at\nHolyhead at six in the morning of Thursday, and got aboard the packet at\ntwo yesterday afternoon. It blew hard, but as the wind was right astern,\nwe only rolled and did not pitch much. As I walked about on the bridge\nall the four hours, and had cold salt beef and biscuit there and\nbrandy-and-water, you will infer that my Channel training has not worn\nout.\n\nOur \"business\" here is _very bad_, though at Belfast it is enormous.\nThere is no doubt that great alarm prevails here. This hotel is\nconstantly filling and emptying as families leave the country, and set\nin a current to the steamers. There is apprehension of some disturbance\nbetween to-morrow night and Monday night (both inclusive), and I learn\nthis morning that all the drinking-shops are to be closed from to-night\nuntil Tuesday. It is rumoured here that the Liverpool people are very\nuneasy about some apprehended disturbance there at the same time. Very\nlikely you will know more about this than I do, and very likely it may\nbe nothing. There is no doubt whatever that alarm prevails, and the\nmanager of this hotel, an intelligent German, is very gloomy on the\nsubject. On the other hand, there is feasting going on, and I have been\nasked to dinner-parties by divers civil and military authorities.\n\nDon't _you_ be uneasy, I say once again. You may be absolutely certain\nthat there is no cause for it. We are splendidly housed here, and in\ngreat comfort.\n\nLove to Charley and Katey.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n               SHELBOURNE HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Saturday, March 16th, 1867._\n\nI daresay you know already that I held many councils in London about\ncoming to Ireland at all, and was much against it. Everything looked as\nbad here as need be, but we did very well last night after all.\n\nThere is considerable alarm here beyond all question, and great\ndepression in all kinds of trade and commerce. To-morrow being St.\nPatrick's Day, there are apprehensions of some disturbance, and croakers\npredict that it will come off between to-night and Monday night. Of\ncourse there are preparations on all sides, and large musters of\nsoldiers and police, though they are kept carefully out of sight. One\nwould not suppose, walking about the streets, that any disturbance was\nimpending; and yet there is no doubt that the materials of one lie\nsmouldering up and down the city and all over the country. [I have a\nletter from Mrs. Bernal Osborne this morning, describing the fortified\nway in which she is living in her own house in the County Tipperary.]\n\nYou may be quite sure that your venerable parent will take good care of\nhimself. If any riot were to break out, I should immediately stop the\nreadings here. Should all remain quiet, I begin to think they will be\nsatisfactorily remunerative after all. At Belfast, we shall have an\nenormous house. I read \"Copperfield\" and \"Bob\" here on Monday;\n\"Marigold\" and \"Trial\" at Belfast, on Wednesday; and \"Carol\" and \"Trial\"\nhere, on Friday. This is all my news, except that I am in perfect force.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                 SHELBOURNE HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Sunday, March 17th, 1867._\n\nEverything remains in appearance perfectly quiet here. The streets are\ngay all day, now that the weather is improved, and singularly quiet and\ndeserted at night. But the whole place is secretly girt in with a\nmilitary force. To-morrow night is supposed to be a critical time; but\nin view of the enormous preparations, I should say that the chances are\nat least one hundred to one against any disturbance.\n\nI cannot make sure whether I wrote to you yesterday, and told you that\nwe had done very well at the first reading after all, even in money. The\nreception was prodigious, and the readings are the town talk. But I\nrather think I did actually write this to you. My doubt on the subject\narises from my having deliberated about writing on a Saturday.\n\nThe most curious, and for facilities of mere destruction, such as firing\nhouses in different quarters, the most dangerous piece of intelligence\nimparted to me on authority is, that the Dublin domestic men-servants as\na class are all Fenians.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                               BELFAST, _Wednesday, March 20th, 1867._\n\nThe post goes out at twelve, and I have only time to report myself. The\nsnow not lying between this and Dublin, we got here yesterday to our\ntime, after a cold but pleasant journey. Fitzgerald came on with us. I\nhad a really charming letter from Mrs. Fitzgerald, asking me to stay\nthere. She must be a perfectly unaffected and genuine lady. There are\nkind messages to you and Mary in it. I have sent it on to Mary, who will\nprobably in her turn show it to you. We had a wonderful crowd at Dublin\non Monday, and the greatest appreciation possible. We have a good let,\nin a large hall, here to-night. But I am perfectly convinced that the\nworst part of the Fenian business is to come yet.\n\nAll about the Fitzgeralds and everything else when we meet.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                BELFAST, _Thursday, March 21st, 1867._\n\nIn spite of public affairs and dismal weather, we are doing wonders in\nIreland.\n\nThat the conspiracy is a far larger and more important one than would\nseem from what it has done yet, there is no doubt. I have had a good\ndeal of talk with a certain colonel, whose duty it has been to\ninvestigate it, day and night, since last September. That it will give a\nworld of trouble, and cost a world of money, I take to be (after what I\nhave thus learned) beyond all question. One regiment has been found to\ncontain five hundred Fenian soldiers every man of whom was sworn in the\nbarrack-yard. How information is swiftly and secretly conveyed all over\nthe country, the Government with all its means and money cannot\ndiscover; but every hour it is found that instructions, warnings, and\nother messages are circulated from end to end of Ireland. It is a very\nserious business indeed.\n\nI have just time to send this off, and to report myself quite well\nexcept for a slight cold.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                  NORWICH, _Friday, March 29th, 1867._\n\nThe reception at Cambridge last night was something to be proud of in\nsuch a place. The colleges mustered in full force from the biggest guns\nto the smallest, and went far beyond even Manchester in the roars of\nwelcome and the rounds of cheers. All through the readings, the whole of\nthe assembly, old men as well as young, and women as well as men, took\neverything with a heartiness of enjoyment not to be described. The place\nwas crammed, and the success the most brilliant I have ever seen.\n\nWhat we are doing in this sleepy old place I don't know, but I have no\ndoubt it is mild enough.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Walter Thornbury]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                            _Monday, April 1st, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR THORNBURY,\n\nI am very doubtful indeed about \"Vaux,\" and have kept it out of the\nnumber in consequence. The mere details of such a rascal's proceedings,\nwhether recorded by himself or set down by the Reverend Ordinary, are\nnot wholesome for a large audience, and are scarcely justifiable (I\nthink) as claiming to be a piece of literature. I can understand\nBarrington to be a good subject, as involving the representation of a\nperiod, a style of manners, an order of dress, certain habits of street\nlife, assembly-room life, and coffee-room life, etc.; but there is a\nvery broad distinction between this and mere Newgate Calendar. The\nlatter would assuredly damage your book, and be protested against to me.\nI have a conviction of it, founded on constant observation and\nexperience here.\n\nYour kind invitation is extremely welcome and acceptable to me, but I am\nsorry to add that I must not go a-visiting. For this reason: So\nincessantly have I been \"reading,\" that I have not once been at home at\nGad's Hill since last January, and am little likely to get there before\nthe middle of May. Judge how the master's eye must be kept on the place\nwhen it does at length get a look at it after so long an absence! I hope\nyou will descry in this a reason for coming to me again, instead of my\ncoming to you.\n\nThe extinct prize-fighters, as a body, I take to be a good subject, for\nmuch the same reason as George Barrington. Their patrons were a class of\nmen now extinct too, and the whole ring of those days (not to mention\nJackson's rooms in Bond Street) is a piece of social history. Now Vaux\nis not, nor is he even a phenomenon among thieves.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Clarkson Stanfield, R.A.]\n\n                          GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER,\n                                         _Thursday, April 18th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR STANNY,\n\nThe time of year reminds me how the months have gone, since I last heard\nfrom you through Mrs. Stanfield.\n\nI hope you have not thought me unmindful of you in the meanwhile. I have\nbeen almost constantly travelling and reading. England, Ireland, and\nScotland have laid hold of me by turns, and I have had no rest. As soon\nas I had finished this kind of work last year, I had to fall to work\nupon \"All the Year Round\" and the Christmas number. I was no sooner quit\nof that task, and the Christmas season was but run out to its last day,\nwhen I was tempted into another course of fifty readings that are not\nyet over. I am here now for two days, and have not seen the place since\nTwelfth Night. When a reading in London has been done, I have been\nbrought up for it from some great distance, and have next morning been\ncarried back again. But the fifty will be \"paid out\" (as we say at sea)\nby the middle of May, and then I hope to see you.\n\nReading at Cheltenham the other day, I saw Macready, who sent his love\nto you. His face was much more massive and as it used to be, than when I\nsaw him previous to his illness. His wife takes admirable care of him,\nand is on the happiest terms with his daughter Katie. His boy by the\nsecond marriage is a jolly little fellow, and leads a far easier life\nthan the children you and I remember, who used to come in at dessert and\nhave each a biscuit and a glass of water, in which last refreshment I\nwas always convinced that they drank, with the gloomiest malignity,\n\"Destruction to the gormandising grown-up company!\"\n\nI hope to look up your latest triumphs on the day of the Academy dinner.\nOf course as yet I have had no opportunity of even hearing of what\nanyone has done. I have been (in a general way) snowed up for four\nmonths. The locomotive with which I was going to Ireland was dug out of\nthe snow at midnight, in Wales. Both passages across were made in a\nfurious snowstorm. The snow lay ankle-deep in Dublin, and froze hard at\nBelfast. In Scotland it slanted before a perpetual east wind. In\nYorkshire, it derived novelty from thunder and lightning. Whirlwinds\neverywhere I don't mention.\n\nGod bless you and yours. If I look like some weather-beaten pilot when\nwe meet, don't be surprised. Any mahogany-faced stranger who holds out\nhis hand to you will probably turn out, on inspection, to be the old\noriginal Dick.\n\n                 Ever, my dear Stanny, your faithful and affectionate.\n\nP.S.--I wish you could have been with me (of course in a snowstorm) one\nday on the pier at Tynemouth. There was a very heavy sea running, and a\nperfect fleet of screw merchantmen were plunging in and out on the turn\nof the tide at high-water. Suddenly there came a golden horizon, and a\nmost glorious rainbow burst out, arching one large ship, as if she were\nsailing direct for heaven. I was so enchanted by the scene, that I\nbecame oblivious of a few thousand tons of water coming on in an\nenormous roller, and was knocked down and beaten by its spray when it\nbroke, and so completely wetted through and through, that the very\npockets in my pocket-book were full of sea.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. George Stanfield.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                             _Sunday, May 19th, 1867._\n\n                    ON THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER.\n\nMY DEAR GEORGE,\n\nWhen I came up to the house this afternoon and saw what had happened, I\nhad not the courage to ring, though I had thought I was fully prepared\nby what I heard when I called yesterday. No one of your father's friends\ncan ever have loved him more dearly than I always did, or can have\nbetter known the worth of his noble character.\n\nIt is idle to suppose that I can do anything for you; and yet I cannot\nhelp saying that I am staying here for some days, and that if I could,\nit would be a much greater relief to me than it could be a service to\nyou.\n\nYour poor mother has been constantly in my thoughts since I saw the\nquiet bravery with which she preserved her composure. The beauty of her\nministration sank into my heart when I saw him for the last time on\nearth. May God be with her, and with you all, in your great loss.\n\n                                          Affectionately yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n                                           _Thursday, June 6th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nI cannot tell you how warmly I feel your letter, or how deeply I\nappreciate the affection and regard in which it originates. I thank you\nfor it with all my heart.\n\nYou will not suppose that I make light of any of your misgivings if I\npresent the other side of the question. Every objection that you make\nstrongly impresses me, and will be revolved in my mind again and again.\n\nWhen I went to America in '42, I was so much younger, but (I think) very\nmuch weaker too. I had had a painful surgical operation performed\nshortly before going out, and had had the labour from week to week of\n\"Master Humphrey's Clock.\" My life in the States was a life of continual\nspeech-making (quite as laborious as reading), and I was less patient\nand more irritable then than I am now. My idea of a course of readings\nin America is, that it would involve far less travelling than you\nsuppose, that the large first-class rooms would absorb the whole course,\nand that the receipts would be very much larger than your estimate,\nunless the demand for the readings is ENORMOUSLY EXAGGERATED ON ALL\nHANDS. There is considerable reason for this view of the case. And I can\nhardly think that all the speculators who beset, and all the private\ncorrespondents who urge me, are in a conspiracy or under a common\ndelusion.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI shall never rest much while my faculties last, and (if I know myself)\nhave a certain something in me that would still be active in rusting and\ncorroding me, if I flattered myself that I was in repose. On the other\nhand, I think that my habit of easy self-abstraction and withdrawal into\nfancies has always refreshed and strengthened me in short intervals\nwonderfully. I always seem to myself to have rested far more than I have\nworked; and I do really believe that I have some exceptional faculty of\naccumulating young feelings in short pauses, which obliterates a\nquantity of wear and tear.\n\nMy worldly circumstances (such a large family considered) are very good.\nI don't want money. All my possessions are free and in the best order.\nStill, at fifty-five or fifty-six, the likelihood of making a very great\naddition to one's capital in half a year is an immense consideration....\nI repeat the phrase, because there should be something large to set\nagainst the objections.\n\nI dine with Forster to-day, to talk it over. I have no doubt he will\nurge most of your objections and particularly the last, though American\nfriends and correspondents he has, have undoubtedly staggered him more\nthan I ever knew him to be staggered on the money question. Be assured\nthat no one can present any argument to me which will weigh more\nheartily with me than your kind words, and that whatever comes of my\npresent state of abeyance, I shall never forget your letter or cease to\nbe grateful for it.\n\n                                Ever, my dear Wills, faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Sunday, June 13th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nI have read the first three numbers of Wilkie's story this morning, and\nhave gone minutely through the plot of the rest to the last line. It\ngives a series of \"narratives,\" but it is a very curious story, wild,\nand yet domestic, with excellent character in it, and great mystery. It\nis prepared with extraordinary care, and has every chance of being a\nhit. It is in many respects much better than anything he has done. The\nquestion is, how shall we fill up the blank between Mabel's progress and\nWilkie? What do you think of proposing to Fitzgerald to do a story three\nmonths long? I daresay he has some unfinished or projected something by\nhim.\n\nI have an impression that it was not Silvester who tried Eliza Fenning,\nbut Knowles. One can hardly suppose Thornbury to make such a mistake,\nbut I wish you would look into the Annual Register. I have added a final\nparagraph about the unfairness of the judge, whoever he was. I\ndistinctly recollect to have read of his \"putting down\" of Eliza\nFenning's father when the old man made some miserable suggestion in his\ndaughter's behalf (this is not noticed by Thornbury), and he also\nstopped some suggestion that a knife thrust into a loaf adulterated with\nalum would present the appearance that these knives presented. But I may\nhave got both these points from looking up some pamphlets in Upcott's\ncollection which I once had.\n\nYour account of your journey reminds me of one of the latest American\nstories, how a traveller by stage-coach said to the driver: \"Did you\never see a snail, sir?\" \"Yes, sir.\" \"Where did you meet him, sir?\" \"I\n_didn't_ meet him, sir!\" \"Wa'al, sir, I think you did, if you'll excuse\nme, for I'm damned if you ever overtook him.\"\n\nEver faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Henderson.]\n\n                               GAD'S HILL, _Thursday, July 4th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. HENDERSON,\n\nI was more shocked than surprised by the receipt of your mother's\nannouncement of our poor dear Marguerite's death. When I heard of the\nconsultation, and recalled what had preceded it and what I have seen\nhere, my hopes were very slight.\n\nYour letter did not reach me until last night, and thus I could not\navoid remaining here to-day, to keep an American appointment of unusual\nimportance. You and your mother both know, I think, that I had a great\naffection for Marguerite, that we had many dear remembrances together,\nand that her self-reliance and composed perseverance had awakened my\nhighest admiration in later times. No one could have stood by her grave\nto-day with a better knowledge of all that was great and good in her\nthan I have, or with a more loving remembrance of her through all her\nphases since she first came to London a pretty timid girl.\n\nI do not trouble your mother by writing to her separately. It is a sad,\nsad task to write at all. God help us!\n\n                                                     Faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]\n\n                                        GAD'S HILL, _July 21st, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR FITZGERALD,\n\nI am heartily glad to get your letter, and shall be thoroughly well\npleased to study you again in the pages of A. Y. R.\n\nI have settled nothing yet about America, but am going to send Dolby out\non the 3rd of next month to survey the land, and come back with a report\non some heads whereon I require accurate information. Proposals (both\nfrom American and English speculators) of a very tempting nature have\nbeen repeatedly made to me; but I cannot endure the thought of binding\nmyself to give so many readings there whether I like it or no; and if I\ngo at all, am bent on going with Dolby single-handed.\n\nI have been doing two things for America; one, the little story to which\nyou refer; the other, four little papers for a child's magazine. I like\nthem both, and think the latter a queer combination of a child's mind\nwith a grown-up joke. I have had them printed to assure correct printing\nin the United States. You shall have the proof to read, with the\ngreatest pleasure. On second thoughts, why shouldn't I send you the\nchildren's proof by this same post? I will, as I have it here, send it\nunder another cover. When you return it, you shall have the short story.\n\n                                    Believe me, always heartily yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]\n\n                                  EXTRACT.\n\n                                                    _July 28th, 1867._\n\nI am glad you like the children, and particularly glad you like the\npirate. I remember very well when I had a general idea of occupying that\nplace in history at the same age. But I loved more desperately than\nBoldheart.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n             ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Friday Night, Aug. 2nd, 1867._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nI cannot get a boot on--wear a slipper on my left foot, and consequently\nam here under difficulties. My foot is occasionally painful, but not\nvery. I don't think it worth while consulting anybody about it as yet. I\nmake out so many reasons against supposing it to be gouty, that I really\ndo not think it is.\n\nDolby begs me to send all manner of apologetic messages for his going to\nAmerica. He is very cheerful and hopeful, but evidently feels the\nseparation from his wife and child very much. His sister[17] was at\nEuston Square this morning, looking very well. Sainton too, very light\nand jovial.\n\nWith the view of keeping myself and my foot quiet, I think I will not\ncome to Gad's Hill until Monday. If I don't appear before, send basket\nto Gravesend to meet me, leaving town by the 12.10 on Monday. This is\nimportant, as I couldn't walk a quarter of a mile to-night for five\nhundred pounds.\n\nLove to all at Gad's.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n                                GAD'S HILL, _Monday, Sept. 2nd, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nLike you, I was shocked when this new discovery burst upon me on Friday,\nthough, unlike you, I never could believe in ----, solely (I think)\nbecause, often as I have tried him, I never found him standing by my\ndesk when I was writing a letter without trying to read it.\n\nI fear there is no doubt that since ----'s discharge, he (----) has\nstolen money at the readings. A case of an abstracted shilling seems to\nhave been clearly brought home to him by Chappell's people, and they\nknow very well what _that_ means. I supposed a very clear keeping off\nfrom Anne's husband (whom I recommended for employment to Chappell) to\nhave been referable only to ----; but now I see how hopeless and unjust\nit would be to expect belief from him with two such cases within his\nknowledge.\n\nBut don't let the thing spoil your holiday. If we try to do our duty by\npeople we employ, by exacting their proper service from them on the one\nhand, and treating them with all possible consistency, gentleness, and\nconsideration on the other, we know that we do right. Their doing wrong\ncannot change our doing right, and that should be enough for us.\n\nSo I have given _my_ feathers a shake, and am all right again. Give\n_your_ feathers a shake, and take a cheery flutter into the air of\nHertfordshire.\n\nGreat reports from Dolby and also from Fields! But I keep myself quite\ncalm, and hold my decision in abeyance until I shall have book, chapter,\nand verse before me. Dolby hoped he could leave Uncle Sam on the 11th of\nthis month.\n\nSydney has passed as a lieutenant, and appeared at home yesterday, all\nof a sudden, with the consequent golden garniture on his sleeve, which\nI, God forgive me, stared at without the least idea that it meant\npromotion.\n\nI am glad you see a certain unlikeness to anything in the American\nstory. Upon myself it has made the strangest impression of reality and\noriginality!! And I feel as if I had read something (by somebody else),\nwhich I should never get out of my mind!!! The main idea of the\nnarrator's position towards the other people was the idea that I _had_\nfor my next novel in A. Y. R. But it is very curious that I did not in\nthe least see how to begin his state of mind until I walked into Hoghton\nTowers one bright April day with Dolby.\n\n                                                      Faithfully ever.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. F. D. Finlay.]\n\n           CONTRADICTING A NEWSPAPER REPORT OF HIS BEING IN A\n                       CRITICAL STATE OF HEALTH.\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Tuesday, Sept. 3rd, 1867._\n\nThis is to certify that the undersigned victim of a periodical\nparagraph-disease, which usually breaks out once in every seven years\n(proceeding to England by the overland route to India and per Cunard\nline to America, where it strikes the base of the Rocky Mountains, and,\nrebounding to Europe, perishes on the steppes of Russia), is _not_ in a\n\"critical state of health,\" and has _not_ consulted \"eminent surgeons,\"\nand never was better in his life, and is _not_ recommended to proceed to\nthe United States for \"cessation from literary labour,\" and has not had\nso much as a headache for twenty years.\n\n                                                      CHARLES DICKENS.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]\n\n                                    \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND\" OFFICE,\n                                           _Monday, Sept. 16th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR FECHTER,\n\nGoing over the prompt-book carefully, I see one change in your part to\nwhich (on Lytton's behalf) I positively object, as I am quite certain he\nwould not consent to it. It is highly injudicious besides, as striking\nout the best known line in the play.\n\nTurn to your part in Act III., the speech beginning\n\n                                Pauline, _by pride\n        Angels have fallen ere thy time_: by pride----\n\nYou have made a passage farther on stand:\n\n                            _Then did I seek to rise\n        Out of my mean estate. Thy bright image, etc._\n\nI must stipulate for your restoring it thus:\n\n                            Then did I seek to rise\n        Out of the prison of my mean estate;\n        And, with such jewels as the exploring mind\n        Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom\n        From those twin jailers of the daring heart--\n        Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image, etc. etc.\n\nThe last figure has been again and again quoted; is identified with the\nplay; is fine in itself; and above all, I KNOW that Lytton would not let\nit go. In writing to him to-day, fully explaining the changes in detail,\nand saying that I disapprove of nothing else, I have told him that I\nnotice this change and that I immediately let you know that it must not\nbe made.\n\n(There will not be a man in the house from any newspaper who would not\ndetect mutilations in that speech, moreover.)\n\n                                                                 Ever.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                           _Monday, Sept. 30th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nThe telegram is despatched to Boston: \"Yes. Go ahead.\" After a very\nanxious consultation with Forster, and careful heed of what is to be\nsaid for and against, I have made up my mind to see it out. I do not\nexpect as much money as the calculators estimate, but I cannot set the\nhope of a large sum of money aside.\n\nI am so nervous with travelling and anxiety to decide something, that I\ncan hardly write. But I send you these few words as my dearest and best\nfriend.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\" NO. 26, WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND,\n                                      LONDON, W.C.,\n                                           _Monday, Sept. 30th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nYou will have had my telegram that I go to America. After a long\ndiscussion with Forster, and consideration of what is to be said on both\nsides, I have decided to go through with it. I doubt the profit being as\ngreat as the calculation makes it, but the prospect is sufficiently\nalluring to turn the scale on the American side.\n\nUnless I telegraph to the contrary, I will come to Gravesend (send\nbasket there) by 12 train on Wednesday. Love to all.\n\nWe have telegraphed \"Yes\" to Boston.\n\nI begin to feel myself drawn towards America, as Darnay, in the \"Tale of\nTwo Cities,\" was attracted to the Loadstone Rock, Paris.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]\n\n                   26, WELLINGTON STREET, _Saturday, Oct. 19th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR KENT,\n\nIn the midst of the great trouble you are taking in the cause of your\nundersigned affectionate friend, I hope the reading of the enclosed may\nbe a sort of small godsend. Of course it is very strictly private. The\nprinters are not yet trusted with the name, but the name will be, \"No\nThoroughfare.\" I have done the greater part of it; may you find it\ninteresting!\n\nMy solicitor, a man of some mark and well known, is anxious to be on the\nCommittee:\n\n        Frederic Ouvry, Esquire,\n                 66, Lincoln's Inn Fields.\n\n                                            Ever affectionately yours.\n\nP.S.--My sailor son!\n\nI forgot him!!\n\nComing up from Portsmouth for the dinner!!!\n\nDer--er--oo not cur--ur--urse me, I implore.\n\n                                                           Penitently.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Power.]\n\n                             GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, Oct. 23rd, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. POWER,\n\nI have a sad pleasure in the knowledge that our dear Marguerite so\nremembered her old friend, and I shall preserve the token of her\nremembrance with loving care. The sight of it has brought back many old\ndays.\n\nWith kind remembrance to Mrs. Henderson,\n\n                             Believe me always, very faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. J. L. Toole.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Saturday, Nov. 2nd, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR MR. TOOLE,\n\nI heartily thank you for your elegant token of remembrance, and for your\nearnest letter. Both have afforded me real pleasure, and the first-named\nshall go with me on my journey.\n\nLet me take this opportunity of saying that on receipt of your letter\nconcerning to-day's dinner, I immediately forwarded your request to the\nhonorary secretary. I hope you will understand that I could not, in\ndelicacy, otherwise take part in the matter.\n\nAgain thanking you most cordially,\n\n                                  Believe me, always faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n                      26, WELLINGTON STREET, _Sunday, Nov. 3rd, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nIf you were to write me many such warm-hearted letters as you send this\nmorning, my heart would fail me! There is nothing that so breaks down my\ndetermination, or shows me what an iron force I put upon myself, and how\nweak it is, as a touch of true affection from a tried friend.\n\nAll that you so earnestly say about the goodwill and devotion of all\nengaged, I perceived and deeply felt last night. It moved me even more\nthan the demonstration itself, though I do suppose it was the most\nbrilliant ever seen. When I got up to speak, but for taking a desperate\nhold of myself, I should have lost my sight and voice and sat down\nagain.\n\nGod bless you, my dear fellow. I am, ever and ever,\n\n                                                    Your affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                            _Tuesday, Nov. 5th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. WATSON,\n\nA thousand thanks for your kind letter, and many congratulations on your\nhaving successfully attained a dignity which I never allow to be\nmentioned in my presence. Charley's children are instructed from their\ntenderest months only to know me as \"Wenerables,\" which they sincerely\nbelieve to be my name, and a kind of title that I have received from a\ngrateful country.\n\nAlas! I cannot have the pleasure of seeing you before I presently go to\nLiverpool. Every moment of my time is preoccupied. But I send you my\nsincere love, and am always truthful to the dear old days, and the\nmemory of one of the dearest friends I ever loved.\n\n                                                 Affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                          ABOARD THE \"CUBA,\" QUEENSTOWN HARBOUR,\n                                            _Sunday, Nov. 10th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nWe arrived here at seven this morning, and shall probably remain\nawaiting our mail, until four or five this afternoon. The weather in the\npassage here was delightful, and we had scarcely any motion beyond that\nof the screw.\n\nWe are nearly but not quite full of passengers. At table I sit next the\ncaptain, on his right, on the outside of the table and close to the\ndoor. My little cabin is big enough for everything but getting up in and\ngoing to bed in. As it has a good window which I can leave open all\nnight, and a door which I can set open too, it suits my chief\nrequirements of it--plenty of air--admirably. On a writing-slab in it,\nwhich pulls out when wanted, I now write in a majestic manner.\n\nMany of the passengers are American, and I am already on the best terms\nwith nearly all the ship.\n\nWe began our voyage yesterday a very little while after you left us,\nwhich was a great relief. The wind is S.E. this morning, and if it would\nkeep so we should go along nobly. My dearest love to your aunt, and\nalso to Katie and all the rest. I am in very good health, thank God, and\nas well as possible.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                               ABOARD THE \"CUBA,\" FIVE DAYS OUT,\n                                         _Wednesday, Nov. 13th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nAs I wrote to Mamie last, I now write to you, or mean to do it, if the\nmotion of the ship will let me.\n\nWe are very nearly halfway to-day. The weather was favourable for us\nuntil yesterday morning, when we got a head-wind which still stands by\nus. We have rolled and pitched, of course; but on the whole have been\nwonderfully well off. I have had headache and have felt faint once or\ntwice, _but have not been sick at all_. My spacious cabin is very noisy\nat night, as the most important working of the ship goes on outside my\nwindow and over my head; but it is very airy, and if the weather be bad\nand I can't open the window, I can open the door all night. If the\nweather be fine (as it is now), I can open both door and window, and\nwrite between them. Last night, I got a foot-bath under the dignified\ncircumstances of sitting on a camp-stool in my cabin, and having the\nbath (and my feet) in the passage outside. The officers' quarters are\nclose to me, and, as I know them all, I get reports of the weather and\nthe way we are making when the watch is changed, and I am (as I usually\nam) lying awake. The motion of the screw is at its slightest vibration\nin my particular part of the ship. The silent captain, reported gruff,\nis a very good fellow and an honest fellow. Kelly has been ill all the\ntime, and not of the slightest use, and is ill now. Scott always\ncheerful, and useful, and ready; a better servant for the kind of work\nthere never can have been. Young Lowndes has been fearfully sick until\nmid-day yesterday. His cabin is pitch dark, and full of blackbeetles. He\nshares mine until nine o'clock at night, when Scott carries him off to\nbed. He also dines with me in my magnificent chamber. This passage in\nwinter time cannot be said to be an enjoyable excursion, but I certainly\nam making it under the best circumstances. (I find Dolby to have been\nenormously popular on board, and to have known everybody and gone\neverywhere.)\n\nSo much for my news, except that I have been constantly reading, and\nfind that \"Pierra\" that Mrs. Hogge sent me by Katie to be a very\nremarkable book, not only for its grim and horrible story, but for its\nsuggestion of wheels within wheels, and sad human mysteries. Baker's\nsecond book not nearly so good as his first, but his first anticipated\nit.\n\nWe hope to get to Halifax either on Sunday or Monday, and to Boston\neither on Tuesday or Wednesday. The glass is rising high to-day, and\neverybody on board is hopeful of an easterly wind.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                                     _Saturday, 16th._\n\nLast Thursday afternoon a heavy gale of wind sprang up and blew hard\nuntil dark, when it seemed to lull. But it then came on again with great\nviolence, and blew tremendously all night. The noise, and the rolling\nand plunging of the ship, were awful. Nobody on board could get any\nsleep, and numbers of passengers were rolled out of their berths. Having\na side-board to mine to keep me in, like a baby, I lay still. But it was\na dismal night indeed, and it was curious to see the change it had made\nin the faces of all the passengers yesterday. It cannot be denied that\nthese winter crossings are very trying and startling; while the\npersonal discomfort of not being able to wash, and the miseries of\ngetting up and going to bed, with what small means there are all\nsliding, and sloping, and slopping about, are really in their way\ndistressing.\n\nThis forenoon we made Cape Race, and are now running along at full speed\nwith the land beside us. Kelly still useless, and positively declining\nto show on deck. Scott, with an eight-day-old moustache, more super like\nthan ever. My foot (I hope from walking on the boarded deck) in a very\nshy condition to-day, and rather painful. I shaved this morning for the\nfirst time since Liverpool; dodging at the glass, very much like\nFechter's imitation of ----. The white cat that came off with us in the\ntender a general favourite. She belongs to the daughter of a Southerner,\nreturning with his wife and family from a two-years' tour in Europe.\n\n\n                                                       _Sunday, 17th._\n\nAt four o'clock this morning we got into bad weather again, and the\nstate of things at breakfast-time was unutterably miserable. Nearly all\nthe passengers in their berths--no possibility of standing on\ndeck--sickness and groans--impracticable to pass a cup of tea from one\npair of hands to another. It has slightly moderated since (between two\nand three in the afternoon I write), and the sun is shining, but the\nrolling of the ship surpasses all imagination or description.\n\nWe expect to be at Halifax about an hour after midnight, and this letter\nshall be posted there, to make certain of catching the return mail on\nWednesday. Boston is only thirty hours from Halifax.\n\nBest love to Mamie, and to Katie and Charley. I know you will report me\nand my love to Forster and Mrs. Forster. I write with great difficulty,\nwedged up in a corner, and having my heels on the paper as often as the\npen. Kelly worse than ever, and Scott better than ever.\n\nMy desk and I have just arisen from the floor.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                    PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, _Thursday, Nov. 21st, 1867._\n\nI arrived here on Tuesday night, after a very slow passage from Halifax\nagainst head-winds. All the tickets for the first four readings here\n(all yet announced) were sold immediately on their being issued.\n\nYou know that I begin on the 2nd of December with \"Carol\" and \"Trial\"?\nShall be heartily glad to begin to count the readings off.\n\nThis is an immense hotel, with all manner of white marble public\npassages and public rooms. I live in a corner high up, and have a hot\nand cold bath in my bedroom (communicating with the sitting-room), and\ncomforts not in existence when I was here before. The cost of living is\nenormous, but happily we can afford it. I dine to-day with Longfellow,\nEmerson, Holmes, and Agassiz. Longfellow was here yesterday. Perfectly\nwhite in hair and beard, but a remarkably handsome and notable-looking\nman. The city has increased enormously in five-and-twenty years. It has\ngrown more mercantile--is like Leeds mixed with Preston, and flavoured\nwith New Brighton; but for smoke and fog you substitute an exquisitely\nbright light air. I found my rooms beautifully decorated (by Mrs.\nFields) with choice flowers, and set off by a number of good books. I am\nnot much persecuted by people in general, as Dolby has happily made up\nhis mind that the less I am exhibited for nothing the better. So our men\nsit outside the room door and wrestle with mankind.\n\nWe had speech-making and singing in the saloon of the _Cuba_ after the\nlast dinner of the voyage. I think I have acquired a higher reputation\nfrom drawing out the captain, and getting him to take the second in\n\"All's Well,\" and likewise in \"There's not in the wide world\" (your\nparent taking first), than from anything previously known of me on these\nshores. I hope the effect of these achievements may not dim the lustre\nof the readings. We also sang (with a Chicago lady, and a strong-minded\nwoman from I don't know where) \"Auld Lang Syne,\" with a tender\nmelancholy, expressive of having all four been united from our cradles.\nThe more dismal we were, the more delighted the company were. Once (when\nwe paddled i' the burn) the captain took a little cruise round the\ncompass on his own account, touching at the \"Canadian Boat Song,\" and\ntaking in supplies at \"Jubilate,\" \"Seas between us braid ha' roared,\"\nand roared like the seas themselves. Finally, I proposed the ladies in a\nspeech that convulsed the stewards, and we closed with a brilliant\nsuccess. But when you dine with Mr. Forster, ask him to read to you how\nwe got on at church in a heavy sea. Hillard has just been in and sent\nhis love \"to those dear girls.\" He has grown much older. He is now\nDistrict Attorney of the State of Massachusetts, which is a very good\noffice. Best love to your aunt and Katie, and Charley and all his house,\nand all friends.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                      PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, _Monday, Nov. 25th, 1867._\n\nI cannot remember to whom I wrote last, but it will not much matter if I\nmake a mistake; this being generally to report myself so well, that I am\nconstantly chafing at not having begun to-night instead of this night\nweek.\n\nThe tickets being all sold for next week, and no other announcement\nbeing yet made, there is nothing new in that way to tell of. Dolby is\nover at New York, where we are at our wits' end how to keep tickets out\nof the hands of speculators. Morgan is staying with me; came yesterday\nto breakfast, and goes home to-morrow. Fields and Mrs. Fields also dined\nyesterday. She is a very nice woman, with a rare relish for humour and a\nmost contagious laugh. The Bostonians having been duly informed that I\nwish to be quiet, really leave me as much so as I should be in\nManchester or Liverpool. This I cannot expect to last elsewhere; but it\nis a most welcome relief here, as I have all the readings to get up. The\npeople are perfectly kind and perfectly agreeable. If I stop to look in\nat a shop-window, a score of passers-by stop; and after I begin to read,\nI cannot expect in the natural course of things to get off so easily.\nBut I every day take from seven to ten miles in peace.\n\nCommunications about readings incessantly come in from all parts of the\ncountry. We take no offer whatever, lying by with our plans until after\nthe first series in New York, and designing, if we make a furore there,\nto travel as little as possible. I fear I shall have to take Canada at\nthe end of the whole tour. They make such strong representations from\nMontreal and Toronto, and from Nova Scotia--represented by St. John's\nand Halifax--of the slight it would be to them, if I wound up with the\nStates, that I am shaken.\n\nIt is sad to see Longfellow's house (the house in which his wife was\nburnt) with his young daughters in it, and the shadow of that terrible\nstory. The young undergraduates of Cambridge (he is a professor there)\nhave made a representation to him that they are five hundred strong,\nand cannot get one ticket. I don't know what is to be done for them; I\nsuppose I must read there somehow. We are all in the clouds until I\nshall have broken ground in New York, as to where readings will be\npossible and where impossible.\n\nAgassiz is one of the most natural and jovial of men. I go out\na-visiting as little as I can, but still have to dine, and what is\nworse, sup pretty often. Socially, I am (as I was here before)\nwonderfully reminded of Edinburgh when I had many friends in it.\n\nYour account and Mamie's of the return journey to London gave me great\npleasure. I was delighted with your report of Wilkie, and not surprised\nby Chappell's coming out gallantly.\n\nMy anxiety to get to work is greater than I can express, because time\nseems to be making no movement towards home until I shall be reading\nhard. Then I shall begin to count and count and count the upward steps\nto May.\n\nIf ever you should be in a position to advise a traveller going on a sea\nvoyage, remember that there is some mysterious service done to the\nbilious system when it is shaken, by baked apples. Noticing that they\nwere produced on board the _Cuba_, every day at lunch and dinner, I\nthought I would make the experiment of always eating them freely. I am\nconfident that they did wonders, not only at the time, but in stopping\nthe imaginary pitching and rolling after the voyage is over, from which\nmany good amateur sailors suffer. I have hardly had the sensation at\nall, except in washing of a morning. At that time I still hold on with\none knee to the washing-stand, and could swear that it rolls from left\nto right. The _Cuba_ does not return until Wednesday, the 4th December.\nYou may suppose that every officer on board is coming on Monday, and\nthat Dolby has provided extra stools for them. His work is very hard\nindeed. Cards are brought to him every minute in the day; his\ncorrespondence is immense; and he is jerked off to New York, and I don't\nknow where else, on the shortest notice and the most unreasonable times.\nMoreover, he has to be at \"the bar\" every night, and to \"liquor up with\nall creation\" in the small hours. He does it all with the greatest good\nhumour, and flies at everybody who waylays the Chief, furiously. We have\ndivided our men into watches, so that one always sits outside the\ndrawing-room door. Dolby knows the whole Cunard line, and as we could\nnot get good English gin, went out in a steamer yesterday and got two\ncases (twenty-four bottles) out of Cunard officers. Osgood and he were\ndetached together last evening for New York, whence they telegraph every\nother hour about some new point in this precious sale of tickets. So\ndistracted a telegram arrived at three that I have telegraphed back,\n\"Explain yourselves,\" and am now waiting for the explanation. I think\nyou know that Osgood is a partner in Ticknor and Fields'.\n\nTuesday morning.--Dolby has come back from New York, where the prospects\nseem immense. We sell tickets there next Friday and Saturday, and a\ntremendous rush is expected.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Dickens.]\n\n              PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, U.S., _Saturday, Nov. 30th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR CHARLEY,\n\nYou will have heard before now how fortunate I was on my voyage, and how\nI was not sick for a moment. These screws are tremendous ships for\ncarrying on, and for rolling, and their vibration is rather distressing.\nBut my little cabin, being for'ard of the machinery, was in the best\npart of the vessel, and I had as much air in it, night and day, as I\nchose. The saloon being kept absolutely without air, I mostly dined in\nmy own den, in spite of my being allotted the post of honour on the\nright hand of the captain.\n\nThe tickets for the first four readings here (the only readings\nannounced) were all sold immediately, and many are now re-selling at a\nlarge premium. The tickets for the first four readings in New York (the\nonly readings announced there also) were on sale yesterday, and were all\nsold in a few hours. The receipts are very large indeed; but engagements\nof any kind and every kind I steadily refuse, being resolved to take\nwhat is to be taken myself. Dolby is nearly worked off his legs, is now\nat New York, and goes backwards and forwards between this place and that\n(about the distance from London to Liverpool, though they take nine\nhours to do it) incessantly. Nothing can exceed his energy and good\nhumour, and he is extremely popular everywhere. My great desire is to\navoid much travelling, and to try to get the people to come to me,\ninstead of my going to them. If I can effect this to any moderate\nextent, I shall be saved a great deal of knocking about. My original\npurpose was not to go to Canada at all; but Canada is so up in arms on\nthe subject that I think I shall be obliged to take it at last. In that\ncase I should work round to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and then take the\npacket for home.\n\nAs they don't seem (Americans who have heard me on their travels\nexcepted) to have the least idea here of what the readings are like, and\nas they are accustomed to mere readings out of a book, I am inclined to\nthink the excitement will increase when I shall have begun. Everybody\nis very kind and considerate, and I have a number of old friends here,\nat the Bar and connected with the University. I am now negotiating to\nbring out the dramatic version of \"No Thoroughfare\" at New York. It is\nquite upon the cards that it may turn up trumps.\n\nI was interrupted in that place by a call from my old secretary in the\nStates, Mr. Putnam. It was quite affecting to see his delight in meeting\nhis old master again. And when I told him that Anne was married, and\nthat I had (unacknowledged) grandchildren, he laughed and cried\ntogether. I suppose you don't remember Longfellow, though he remembers\nyou in a black velvet frock very well. He is now white-haired and\nwhite-bearded, but remarkably handsome. He still lives in his old house,\nwhere his beautiful wife was burnt to death. I dined with him the other\nday, and could not get the terrific scene out of my imagination. She was\nin a blaze in an instant, rushed into his arms with a wild cry, and\nnever spoke afterwards.\n\nMy love to Bessie, and to Mekitty, and all the babbies. I will lay this\nby until Tuesday morning, and then add a final line to it.\n\n                      Ever, my dear Charley, your affectionate Father.\n\n\n                                            _Tuesday, Dec. 3rd, 1867._\n\nSuccess last night beyond description or exaggeration. The whole city is\nquite frantic about it to-day, and it is impossible that prospects could\nbe more brilliant.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                       PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, _Sunday, Dec. 1st, 1867._\n\nI received yours of the 18th November, yesterday. As I left Halifax in\nthe _Cuba_ that very day, you probably saw us telegraphed in _The Times_\non the 19th.\n\nDolby came back from another run to New York, this morning. The receipts\nare very large indeed, far exceeding our careful estimate made at Gad's.\nI think you had best in future (unless I give you intimation to the\ncontrary) address your letters to me, at the Westminster Hotel, Irving\nPlace, New York City. It is a more central position than this, and we\nare likely to be much more there than here. I am going to set up a\nbrougham in New York, and keep my rooms at that hotel. The account of\nMatilda is a very melancholy one, and really distresses me. What she\nmust sink into, it is sad to consider. However, there was nothing for it\nbut to send her away, that is quite clear.\n\nThey are said to be a very quiet audience here, appreciative but not\ndemonstrative. I shall try to change their character a little.\n\nI have been going on very well. A horrible custom obtains in these parts\nof asking you to dinner somewhere at half-past two, and to supper\nsomewhere else about eight. I have run this gauntlet more than once, and\nits effect is, that there is no day for any useful purpose, and that the\nlength of the evening is multiplied by a hundred. Yesterday I dined with\na club at half-past two, and came back here at half-past eight, with a\ngeneral impression that it was at least two o'clock in the morning. Two\ndays before I dined with Longfellow at half-past two, and came back at\neight, supposing it to be midnight. To-day we have a state dinner-party\nin our rooms at six, Mr. and Mrs. Fields, and Mr. and Mrs. Bigelow. (He\nis a friend of Forster's, and was American Minister in Paris). There are\nno <DW64> waiters here, all the servants are Irish--willing, but not\nable. The dinners and wines are very good. I keep our own rooms well\nventilated by opening the windows, but no window is ever opened in the\nhalls or passages, and they are so overheated by a great furnace, that\nthey make me faint and sick. The air is like that of a pre-Adamite\nironing-day in full blast. Your respected parent is immensely popular in\nBoston society, and its cordiality and unaffected heartiness are\ncharming. I wish I could carry it with me.\n\nThe leading New York papers have sent men over for to-morrow night with\ninstructions to telegraph columns of descriptions. Great excitement and\nexpectation everywhere. Fields says he has looked forward to it so long\nthat he knows he will die at five minutes to eight.\n\nAt the New York barriers, where the tickets are on sale and the people\nranged as at the Paris theatres, speculators went up and down offering\n\"twenty dollars for anybody's place.\" The money was in no case accepted.\nOne man sold two tickets for the second, third, and fourth night for\n\"one ticket for the first, fifty dollars\" (about seven pounds ten\nshillings), \"and a brandy cocktail,\" which is an iced bitter drink. The\nweather has been rather muggy and languid until yesterday, when there\nwas the coldest wind blowing that I ever felt. In the night it froze\nvery hard, and to-day the sky is beautiful.\n\n\n                                                  _Tuesday, Dec. 3rd._\n\nMost magnificent reception last night, and most signal and complete\nsuccess. Nothing could be more triumphant. The people will hear of\nnothing else and talk of nothing else. Nothing that was ever done here,\nthey all agree, evoked any approach to such enthusiasm. I was quite as\ncool and quick as if I were reading at Greenwich, and went at it\naccordingly. Tell your aunt, with my best love, that I have this morning\nreceived hers of the 21st, and that I will write to her next. That will\nbe from New York. My love to Mr. and Mrs. Hulkes and the boy, and to Mr.\nand Mrs. Malleson.[18]\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                  BOSTON, _Wednesday, Dec. 4th, 1867._\n\nI find that by going off to the _Cuba_ myself this morning I can send\nyou the enclosed for Mary Boyle (I don't know how to address her), whose\nusual flower for my button-hole was produced in the most extraordinary\nmanner here last Monday night! All well and prosperous. \"Copperfield\"\nand \"Bob\" last night; great success.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]\n\n                                         BOSTON, _December 4th, 1867._\n\nMY DEAR MEERY,\n\nYou can have no idea of the glow of pleasure and amazement with which I\nsaw your remembrance of me lying on my dressing-table here last Monday\nnight. Whosoever undertook that commission accomplished it to a miracle.\nBut you must go away four thousand miles, and have such a token conveyed\nto _you_, before you can quite appreciate the feeling of receiving it.\nTen thousand loving thanks.\n\nImmense success here, and unbounded enthusiasm. My largest expectations\nfar surpassed.\n\n                                              Ever your affectionate\n                                                                   Jo.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                 WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK CITY,\n                                          _Wednesday, Dec 11th, 1867._\n\nAmazing success here. A very fine audience; _far better than that at\nBoston_. Great reception. Great, \"Carol\" and \"Trial,\" on the first\nnight; still greater, \"Copperfield\" and \"Bob,\" on the second. Dolby\nsends you a few papers by this post. You will see from their tone what a\nsuccess it is.\n\nI cannot pay this letter, because I give it at the latest moment to the\nmail-officer, who is going on board the Cunard packet in charge of the\nmails, and who is staying in this house. We are now selling (at the\nhall) the tickets for the four readings of next week. At nine o'clock\nthis morning there were two thousand people in waiting, and they had\nbegun to assemble in the bitter cold as early as two o'clock. All night\nlong Dolby and our man have been stamping tickets. (Immediately over my\nhead, by-the-bye, and keeping me awake.) This hotel is quite as quiet as\nMivart's, in Brook Street. It is not very much larger. There are\nAmerican hotels close by, with five hundred bedrooms, and I don't know\nhow many boarders; but this is conducted on what is called \"the European\nprinciple,\" and is an admirable mixture of a first-class French and\nEnglish house. I keep a very smart carriage and pair; and if you were to\nbehold me driving out, furred up to the moustache, with furs on the\ncoach-boy and on the driver, and with an immense white, red, and yellow\nstriped rug for a covering, you would suppose me to be of Hungarian or\nPolish nationality.\n\nWill you report the success here to Mr. Forster with my love, and tell\nhim he shall hear from me by next mail?\n\nDolby sends his kindest regards. He is just come in from our ticket\nsales, and has put such an immense untidy heap of paper money on the\ntable that it looks like a family wash. He hardly ever dines, and is\nalways tearing about at unreasonable hours. He works very hard.\n\nMy best love to your aunt (to whom I will write next), and to Katie, and\nto both the Charleys, and all the Christmas circle, not forgetting\nChorley, to whom give my special remembrance. You may get this by\nChristmas Day. _We_ shall have to keep it travelling from Boston here;\nfor I read at Boston on the 23rd and 24th, and here again on the 26th.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                 WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK CITY,\n                                            _Monday, Dec. 16th, 1867._\n\nWe have been snowed up here, and the communication with Boston is still\nvery much retarded. Thus we have received no letters by the Cunard\nsteamer that came in last Wednesday, and are in a grim state of mind on\nthat subject.\n\nLast night I was getting into bed just at twelve o'clock, when Dolby\ncame to my door to inform me that the house was on fire (I had\npreviously smelt fire for two hours). I got Scott up directly, told him\nto pack the books and clothes for the readings first, dressed, and\npocketed my jewels and papers, while Dolby stuffed himself out with\nmoney. Meanwhile the police and firemen were in the house, endeavouring\nto find where the fire was. For some time it baffled their endeavours,\nbut at last, bursting out through some stairs, they cut the stairs away,\nand traced it to its source in a certain fire-grate. By this time the\nhose was laid all through the house from a great tank on the roof, and\neverybody turned out to help. It was the oddest sight, and people had\nput the strangest things on! After a little chopping and cutting with\naxes and handing about of water, the fire was confined to a dining-room\nin which it had originated, and then everybody talked to everybody else,\nthe ladies being particularly loquacious and cheerful. And so we got to\nbed again at about two.\n\nThe excitement of the readings continues unabated, the tickets for\nreadings are sold as soon as they are ready, and the public pay treble\nprices to the speculators who buy them up. They are a wonderfully fine\naudience, even better than Edinburgh, and almost, if not quite, as good\nas Paris.\n\nDolby continues to be the most unpopular man in America (mainly because\nhe can't get four thousand people into a room that holds two thousand),\nand is reviled in print daily. Yesterday morning a newspaper proclaims\nof him: \"Surely it is time that the pudding-headed Dolby retired into\nthe native gloom from which he has emerged.\" He takes it very coolly,\nand does his best. Mrs. Morgan sent me, the other night, I suppose the\nfinest and costliest basket of flowers ever seen, made of white\ncamellias, yellow roses, pink roses, and I don't know what else. It is a\nyard and a half round at its smallest part.\n\nI must bring this to a close, as I have to go to the hall to try an\nenlarged background.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                    BOSTON, _Sunday, Dec. 22nd, 1867._\n\nComing here from New York last night (after a detestable journey), I was\ndelighted to find your letter of the 6th. I read it at my ten o'clock\ndinner with the greatest interest and pleasure, and then we talked of\nhome till we went to bed.\n\nOur tour is now being made out, and I hope to be able to send it in my\nnext letter home, which will be to Mamie, from whom I have _not_ heard\n(as you thought I had) by the mail that brought out yours. After very\ncareful consideration I have reversed Dolby's original plan, and have\ndecided on taking Baltimore, Washington, Cincinnati, _Chicago_ (!), St.\nLouis, and a few other places nearer here, instead of staying in New\nYork. My reason is that we are doing immensely, both at New York and\nhere, and that I am sure it is in the peculiar character of the people\nto prize a thing the more the less easily attainable it is made.\nTherefore, I want, by absence, to get the greatest rush and pressure\nupon the five farewell readings in New York in April. All our announced\nreadings are already crammed.\n\nWhen we got here last Saturday night, we found that Mrs. Fields had not\nonly garnished the rooms with flowers, but also with holly (with real\nred berries) and festoons of moss dependent from the looking-glasses and\npicture frames. She is one of the dearest little women in the world. The\nhomely Christmas look of the place quite affected us. Yesterday we dined\nat her house, and there was a plum-pudding, brought on blazing, and not\nto be surpassed in any house in England. There is a certain Captain\nDolliver, belonging to the Boston Custom House, who came off in the\nlittle steamer that brought me ashore from the _Cuba_. He took it into\nhis head that he would have a piece of English mistletoe brought out in\nthis week's Cunard, which should be laid upon my breakfast-table. And\nthere it was this morning. In such affectionate touches as this, these\nNew England people are especially amiable.\n\nAs a general rule, you may lay it down that whatever you see about me in\nthe papers is not true. But although my voyage out was of that highly\nhilarious description that you first made known to me, you may\n_generally_ lend a more believing ear to the Philadelphia correspondent\nof _The Times_. I don't know him, but I know the source from which he\nderives his information, and it is a very respectable one.\n\nDid I tell you in a former letter from here, to tell Anne, with her old\nmaster's love, that I had seen Putnam, my old secretary? Grey, and with\nseveral front teeth out, but I would have known him anywhere. He is\ncoming to \"Copperfield\" to-night, accompanied by his wife and daughter,\nand is in the seventh heaven at having his tickets given him.\n\nOur hotel in New York was on fire _again_ the other night. But fires in\nthis country are quite matters of course. There was a large one there at\nfour this morning, and I don't think a single night has passed since I\nhave been under the protection of the Eagle, but I have heard the fire\nbells dolefully clanging all over the city.\n\nDolby sends his kindest regard. His hair has become quite white, the\neffect, I suppose, of the climate. He is so universally hauled over the\ncoals (for no reason on earth), that I fully expect to hear him, one of\nthese nights, assailed with a howl when he precedes me to the platform\nsteps. You may conceive what the low newspapers are here, when one of\nthem yesterday morning had, as an item of news, the intelligence:\n\"Dickens's Readings. The chap calling himself Dolby got drunk last\nnight, and was locked up in a police-station for fighting an Irishman.\"\nI don't find that anybody is shocked by this liveliness.\n\nMy love to all, and to Mrs. Hulkes and the boy. By-the-bye, when we left\nNew York for this place, Dolby called my amazed attention to the\ncircumstance that Scott was leaning his head against the side of the\ncarriage and weeping bitterly. I asked him what was the matter, and he\nreplied: \"The owdacious treatment of the luggage, which was more\noutrageous than a man could bear.\" I told him not to make a fool of\nhimself; but they do knock it about cruelly. I think every trunk we have\nis already broken.\n\nI must leave off, as I am going out for a walk in a bright sunlight and\na complete break-up of the frost and snow. I am much better than I have\nbeen during the last week, but have a cold.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                 WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK CITY,\n                                          _Thursday, Dec. 26th, 1867._\n\nI got your aunt's last letter at Boston yesterday, Christmas Day\nmorning, when I was starting at eleven o'clock to come back to this\nplace. I wanted it very much, for I had a frightful cold (English colds\nare nothing to those of this country), and was exceedingly depressed and\nmiserable. Not that I had any reason but illness for being so, since the\nBostonians had been quite astounding in their demonstrations. I never\nsaw anything like them on Christmas Eve. But it is a bad country to be\nunwell and travelling in; you are one of say a hundred people in a\nheated car, with a great stove in it, and all the little windows closed,\nand the hurrying and banging about are indescribable. The atmosphere is\ndetestable, and the motion often all but intolerable. However, we got\nour dinner here at eight o'clock, and plucked up a little, and I made\nsome hot gin punch to drink a merry Christmas to all at home in. But it\nmust be confessed that we were both very dull. I have been in bed all\nday until two o'clock, and here I am now (at three o'clock) a little\nbetter. But I am not fit to read, and I must read to-night. After\nwatching the general character pretty closely, I became quite sure that\nDolby was wrong on the length of the stay and the number of readings we\nhad proposed in this place. I am quite certain that it is one of the\nnational peculiarities that what they want must be difficult of\nattainment. I therefore a few days ago made a _coup d'etat_, and altered\nthe whole scheme. We shall go to Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington,\nalso some New England towns between Boston and this place, away to the\nfalls of Niagara, and off far west to Chicago and St. Louis, before\ncoming back for ten farewell readings here, preceded by farewells at\nBoston, leaving Canada altogether. This will not prolong the list beyond\neighty-four readings, the exact original number, and will, please God,\nwork it all out in April. In my next, I daresay, I shall be able to send\nthe exact list, so that you may know every day where we are. There has\nbeen a great storm here for a few days, and the streets, though wet, are\nbecoming passable again. Dolby and Osgood are out in it to-day on a\nvariety of business, and left in grave and solemn state. Scott and the\ngasman are stricken with dumb concern, not having received one single\nletter from home since they left. What their wives can have done with\nthe letters they take it for granted they have written, is their stormy\nspeculation at the door of my hall dressing-room every night.\n\nIf I do not send a letter to Katie by this mail, it will be because I\nshall probably be obliged to go across the water to Brooklyn to-morrow\nto see a church, in which it is proposed that I shall read!!! Horrible\nvisions of being put in the pulpit already beset me. And whether the\naudience will be in pews is another consideration which greatly disturbs\nmy mind. No paper ever comes out without a leader on Dolby, who of\ncourse reads them all, and never can understand why I don't, in which he\nis called all the bad names in (and not in) the language.\n\nWe always call him P. H. Dolby now, in consequence of one of these\ngraceful specimens of literature describing him as the \"pudding-headed.\"\n\nI fear that when we travel he will have to be always before me, so that\nI may not see him six times in as many weeks. However, I shall have done\na fourth of the whole this very next week!\n\nBest love to your aunt, and the boys, and Katie, and Charley, and all\ntrue friends.\n\n\n                                                             _Friday._\n\nI managed to read last night, but it was as much as I could do. To-day I\nam so very unwell, that I have sent for a doctor; he has just been, and\nis in doubt whether I shall not have to stop reading for a while.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                      WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK,\n                                            _Monday, Dec. 30th, 1867._\n\nI am getting all right again. I have not been well, been very low, and\nhave been obliged to have a doctor; a very agreeable fellow indeed, who\nsoon turned out to be an old friend of Olliffe's.[19] He has set me on\nmy legs and taken his leave \"professionally,\" though he means to give me\na call now and then.\n\nIn the library at Gad's is a bound book, \"Remarkable Criminal Trials,\"\ntranslated by Lady Duff Gordon, from the original by Fauerbach. I want\nthat book, and a copy of Praed's poems, to be sent out to Boston, care\nof Ticknor and Fields. If you will give the \"Criminal Trials\" to Wills,\nand explain my wish, and ask him to buy a copy of Praed's poems and add\nit to the parcel, he will know how to send the packet out. I think the\n\"Criminal Trials\" book is in the corner book-case, by the window,\nopposite the door.\n\nNo news here. All going on in the regular way. I read in that church I\ntold you of, about the middle of January. It is wonderfully seated for\ntwo thousand people, and is as easy to speak in as if they were two\nhundred. The people are seated in pews, and we let the pews. I stood on\na small platform from which the pulpit will be removed for the\noccasion!! I emerge from the vestry!!! Philadelphia, Baltimore, and\nanother two nights in Boston will follow this coming month of January.\nOn Friday next I shall have read a fourth of my whole list, besides\nhaving had twelve days' holiday when I first came out. So please God I\nshall soon get to the half, and so begin to work hopefully round.\n\nI suppose you were at the Adelphi on Thursday night last. They are\npirating the bill as well as the play here, everywhere. I have\nregistered the play as the property of an American citizen, but the law\nis by no means clear that I established a right in it by so doing; and\nof course the pirates knew very well that I could not, under existing\ncircumstances, try the question with them in an American court of law.\nNothing is being played here scarcely that is not founded on my\nbooks--\"Cricket,\" \"Oliver Twist,\" \"Our Mutual Friend,\" and I don't know\nwhat else, every night. I can't get down Broadway for my own portrait;\nand yet I live almost as quietly in this hotel, as if I were at the\noffice, and go in and out by a side door just as I might there.\n\nI go back to Boston on Saturday to read there on Monday and Tuesday.\nThen I am back here, and keep within six or seven hours' journey of\nhereabouts till February. My further movements shall be duly reported as\nthe details are arranged.\n\nI shall be curious to know who were at Gad's Hill on Christmas Day, and\nhow you (as they say in this country) \"got along.\" It is exceedingly\ncold here again, after two or three quite spring days.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[17] Madame Sainton Dolby.\n\n[18] The nearest neighbour at Higham, and intimate friends.\n\n[19] Dr. Fordyce Barker.\n\n\n\n\n1868.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nCharles Dickens remained in America through the winter, returning home\nfrom New York in the _Russia_, on the 19th of April. His letters show\nhow entirely he gave himself up to the business of the readings, how\nseverely his health suffered from the climate, and from the perpetual\ntravelling and hard work, and yet how he was able to battle through to\nthe end. These letters are also full of allusions to the many kind and\ndear friends who contributed so largely to the pleasure of this American\nvisit, and whose love and attention gave a touch of _home_ to his\nprivate life, and left such affection and gratitude in his heart as he\ncould never forget. Many of these friends paid visits to Gad's Hill; the\nfirst to come during this summer being Mr. Longfellow, his daughters,\nand Mr. Appleton, brother-in-law of Mr. Longfellow, and Mr. and Mrs.\nCharles Eliot Norton, of Cambridge.\n\nFor the future, there were to be no more Christmas numbers of \"All the\nYear Round.\" Observing the extent to which they were now copied in all\ndirections, Charles Dickens supposed them likely to become tiresome to\nthe public, and so determined that in his journal they should be\ndiscontinued.\n\nWhile still in America, he made an agreement with the Messrs. Chappell\nto give a series of farewell readings in England, to commence in the\nautumn of this year. So, in October, Charles Dickens started off again\nfor a tour in the provinces. He had for some time been planning, by way\nof a novelty for this series, a reading from the murder in \"Oliver\nTwist,\" but finding it so very horrible, he was fearful of trying its\neffect for the first time on a public audience. It was therefore\nresolved, that a trial of it should be made to a limited private\naudience in St. James's Hall, on the evening of the 18th of November.\nThis trial proved eminently successful, and \"The Murder from Oliver\nTwist\" became one of the most popular of his selections. But the\nphysical exertion it involved was far greater than that of any of his\nprevious readings, and added immensely to the excitement and exhaustion\nwhich they caused him.\n\nOne of the first letters of the year from America is addressed to Mr.\nSamuel Cartwright, of surgical and artistic reputation, and greatly\nesteemed by Charles Dickens, both in his professional capacity and as a\nprivate friend.\n\nThe letter written to Mrs. Cattermole, in May, tells of the illness of\nMr. George Cattermole. This dear old friend, so associated with Charles\nDickens and his works, died soon afterwards, and the letter to his widow\nshows that Charles Dickens was exerting himself in her behalf.\n\nThe play of \"No Thoroughfare\" having been translated into French under\nthe title of \"L'Abime,\" Charles Dickens went over to Paris to be present\nat the first night of its production.\n\nOn the 26th of September, his youngest son, Edward Bulwer Lytton (the\n\"Plorn\" so often mentioned), started for Australia, to join his brother\nAlfred Tennyson, who was already established there. It will be seen by\nhis own words how deeply and how sadly Charles Dickens felt this\nparting. In October of this year, his son Henry Fielding entered Trinity\nHall, Cambridge, as an undergraduate.\n\nThe Miss Forster mentioned in the letter to his sister-in-law, and for\nwhom the kind and considerate arrangements were suggested, was a sister\nof Mr. John Forster, and a lady highly esteemed by Charles Dickens. The\nillness from which she was then suffering was a fatal one. She died in\nthis same year, a few days before Christmas.\n\nMr. J. C. Parkinson, to whom a letter is addressed, was a gentleman\nholding a Government appointment, and contributing largely to journalism\nand periodical literature.\n\nAs our last letter for this year, we give one which Charles Dickens\nwrote to his youngest son on his departure for Australia.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                      WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK,\n                                             _Friday, Jan. 3rd, 1868._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nI received yours of the 19th from Gad's and the office this morning. I\nread here to-night, and go back to Boston to-morrow, to read there\nMonday and Tuesday.\n\nTo-night, I read out the first quarter of my list. Our houses have been\nvery fine here, but have never quite recovered the Dolby uproar. It\nseems impossible to devise any scheme for getting the tickets into the\npeople's hands without the intervention of speculators. The people _will\nnot_ help themselves; and, of course, the speculators and all other such\nprowlers throw as great obstacles in Dolby's way (an Englishman's) as\nthey possibly can. He may be a little injudicious into the bargain. Last\nnight, for instance, he met one of the \"ushers\" (who show people to\ntheir seats) coming in with Kelly. It is against orders that anyone\nemployed in front should go out during the readings, and he took this\nman to task in the British manner. Instantly the free and independent\nusher put on his hat and walked off. Seeing which, all the other free\nand independent ushers (some twenty in number) put on _their_ hats and\nwalked off, leaving us absolutely devoid and destitute of a staff for\nto-night. One has since been improvised; but it was a small matter to\nraise a stir and ill will about, especially as one of our men was\nequally in fault.\n\nWe have a regular clerk, a Bostonian whose name is Wild. He, Osgood,\nDolby, Kelly, Scott, George the gasman, and perhaps a boy or two,\nconstitute my body-guard. It seems a large number of people, but the\nbusiness cannot be done with fewer. The speculators buying the front\nseats to sell at a premium (and we have found instances of this being\ndone by merchants in good position!), and the public perpetually\npitching into Dolby for selling them back seats, the result is that they\nwon't have the back seats, send back their tickets, write and print\nvolumes on the subject, and deter others from coming.\n\nYou may get an idea of the staff's work, by what is in hand now. They\nare preparing, numbering, and stamping six thousand tickets for\nPhiladelphia, and eight thousand tickets for Brooklyn. The moment those\nare done, another eight thousand tickets will be wanted for Baltimore,\nand probably another six thousand for Washington. This in addition to\nthe correspondence, advertisements, accounts, travellings, and the\nmighty business of the reading four times a week.\n\nThe Cunard steamers being now removed from Halifax, I have decided _not_\nto go there, or to St. John's, New Brunswick. And as there would be a\nperfect uproar if I picked out such a place in Canada as Quebec or\nMontreal, and excluded those two places (which would guarantee three\nhundred pounds a night), and further, as I don't want places, having\nmore than enough for my list of eighty-four, I have finally resolved not\nto go to Canada either. This will enable me to embark for home in April\ninstead of May.\n\nTell Plorn, with my love, that I think he will find himself much\ninterested at that college,[20] and that it is very likely he may make\nsome acquaintances there that will thereafter be pleasant and useful to\nhim. Sir Sydney Dacres is the best of friends. I have a letter from Mrs.\nHulkes by this post, wherein the boy encloses a violet, now lying on the\ntable before me. Let her know that it arrived safely, and retaining its\ncolour. I took it for granted that Mary would have asked Chorley for\nChristmas Day, and am very glad she ultimately did so. I am sorry that\nHarry lost his prize, but believe it was not his fault. Let _him_ know\n_that_, with my love. I would have written to him by this mail in answer\nto his, but for other occupation. Did I tell you that my landlord made\nme a drink (brandy, rum, and snow the principal ingredients) called a\n\"Rocky Mountain sneezer\"? Or that the favourite drink before you get up\nis an \"eye-opener\"? Or that Roberts (second landlord), no sooner saw me\non the night of the first fire, than, with his property blazing, he\ninsisted on taking me down into a roomful of hot smoke to drink brandy\nand water with him? We have not been on fire again, by-the-bye, more\nthan once.\n\nThere has been another fall of snow, succeeded by a heavy thaw. I have\nlaid down my sledge, and taken up my carriage again, in consequence. I\nam nearly all right, but cannot get rid of an intolerable cold in the\nhead. No more news.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                         PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, U.S., _Jan. 4th, 1868._\n\nI write to you by this opportunity, though I really have nothing to tell\nyou. The work is hard and the climate is hard. We made a tremendous hit\nlast night with \"Nickleby\" and \"Boots,\" which the Bostonians certainly\non the whole appreciate more than \"Copperfield\"! Dolby is always going\nabout with an immense bundle that looks like a sofa cushion, but it is\nin reality paper money; and always works like a Trojan. His business at\nnight is a mere nothing, for these people are so accustomed to take care\nof themselves, that one of these immense audiences will fall into their\nplaces with an ease amazing to a frequenter of St. James's Hall. And the\ncertainty with which they are all in, before I go on, is a very\nacceptable mark of respect. I must add, too, that although there is a\nconventional familiarity in the use of one's name in the newspapers as\n\"Dickens,\" \"Charlie,\" and what not, I do not in the least see that\nfamiliarity in the writers themselves. An inscrutable tone obtains in\njournalism, which a stranger cannot understand. If I say in common\ncourtesy to one of them, when Dolby introduces, \"I am much obliged to\nyou for your interest in me,\" or so forth, he seems quite shocked, and\nhas a bearing of perfect modesty and propriety. I am rather inclined to\nthink that they suppose their printed tone to be the public's love of\nsmartness, but it is immensely difficult to make out. All I can as yet\nmake out is, that my perfect freedom from bondage, and at any moment to\ngo on or leave off, or otherwise do as I like, is the only safe position\nto occupy.\n\nAgain; there are two apparently irreconcilable contrasts here. Down\nbelow in this hotel every night are the bar loungers, dram drinkers,\ndrunkards, swaggerers, loafers, that one might find in a Boucicault\nplay. Within half an hour is Cambridge, where a delightful domestic\nlife--simple, self-respectful, cordial, and affectionate--is seen in an\nadmirable aspect. All New England is primitive and puritanical. All\nabout and around it is a puddle of mixed human mud, with no such quality\nin it. Perhaps I may in time sift out some tolerably intelligible whole,\nbut I certainly have not done so yet. It is a good sign, may be, that it\nall seems immensely more difficult to understand than it was when I was\nhere before.\n\nFelton left two daughters. I have only seen the eldest, a very sensible,\nfrank, pleasant girl of eight-and-twenty, perhaps, rather like him in\nthe face. A striking-looking daughter of Hawthorn's (who is also dead)\ncame into my room last night. The day has slipped on to three o'clock,\nand I must get up \"Dombey\" for to-night. Hence this sudden break off.\nBest love to Mamie, and to Katie and Charley Collins.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]\n\n               WESTMINSTER HOTEL, NEW YORK, _Sunday, Jan. 12th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR WILKIE,\n\nFirst, of the play.[21] I am truly delighted to learn that it made so\ngreat a success, and I hope I may yet see it on the Adelphi boards. You\nhave had a world of trouble and work with it, but I hope will be repaid\nin some degree by the pleasure of a triumph. Even for the alteration at\nthe end of the fourth act (of which you tell me in your letter received\nyesterday), I was fully prepared, for I COULD NOT see the original\neffect in the reading of the play, and COULD NOT make it go. I agree\nwith Webster in thinking it best that Obenreizer should die on the\nstage; but no doubt that point is disposed of. In reading the play\nbefore the representation, I felt that it was too long, and that there\nwas a good deal of unnecessary explanation. Those points are, no doubt,\ndisposed of too by this time.\n\nWe shall do nothing with it on this side. Pirates are producing their\nown wretched versions in all directions, thus (as Wills would say)\nanticipating and glutting \"the market.\" I registered one play as the\nproperty of Ticknor and Fields, American citizens. But, besides that the\nlaw on the point is extremely doubtful, the manager of the Museum\nTheatre, Boston, instantly announced his version. (You may suppose what\nit is and how it is done, when I tell you that it was playing within ten\ndays of the arrival out of the Christmas number.) Thereupon, Ticknor and\nFields gave him notice that he mustn't play it. Unto which he replied,\nthat he meant to play it and would play it. Of course he knew very well\nthat if an injunction were applied for against him, there would be an\nimmediate howl against my persecution of an innocent, and he played it.\nThen the noble host of pirates rushed in, and it is being done, in some\nmangled form or other, everywhere.\n\nIt touches me to read what you write of your poor mother. But, of\ncourse, at her age, each winter counts heavily. Do give her my love, and\ntell her that I asked you about her.\n\nI am going on here at the same great rate, but am always counting the\ndays that lie between me and home. I got through the first fourth of my\nreadings on Friday, January 3rd. I leave for two readings at\nPhiladelphia this evening.\n\nBeing at Boston last Sunday, I took it into my head to go over the\nmedical school, and survey the holes and corners in which that\nextraordinary murder was done by Webster. There was the\nfurnace--stinking horribly, as if the dismembered pieces were still\ninside it--and there are all the grim spouts, and sinks, and chemical\nappliances, and what not. At dinner, afterwards, Longfellow told me a\nterrific story. He dined with Webster within a year of the murder, one\nof a party of ten or twelve. As they sat at their wine, Webster suddenly\nordered the lights to be turned out, and a bowl of some burning mineral\nto be placed on the table, that the guests might see how ghostly it made\nthem look. As each man stared at all the rest in the weird light, all\nwere horrified to see Webster _with a rope round his neck_, holding it\nup, over the bowl, with his head jerked on one side, and his tongue\nlolled out, representing a man being hanged!\n\nPoking into his life and character, I find (what I would have staked my\nhead upon) that he was always a cruel man.\n\nSo no more at present from,\n\n        My dear Wilkie, yours ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n               WESTMINSTER HOTEL, NEW YORK, _Sunday, Jan. 12th, 1868._\n\nAs I am off to Philadelphia this evening, I may as well post my letter\nhere. I have scarcely a word of news. My cold steadily refuses to leave\nme; but otherwise I am as right as one can hope to be under this heavy\nwork. My New York readings are over (except four farewell nights in\nApril), and I look forward to the relief of being out of my hardest\nhall. Last Friday night, though it was only \"Nickleby\" and \"Boots,\" I\nwas again dead beat at the end, and was once more laid upon a sofa. But\nthe faintness went off after a little while. We have now cold, bright,\nfrosty weather, without snow--the best weather for me.\n\nHaving been in great trepidation about the play, I am correspondingly\nelated by the belief that it really _is_ a success. No doubt the\nunnecessary explanations will have been taken out, and the flatness of\nthe last act fetched up. At some points I could have done wonders to it,\nin the way of screwing it up sharply and picturesquely, if I could have\nrehearsed it. Your account of the first night interested me immensely,\nbut I was afraid to open the letter until Dolby rushed in with the\nopened _Times_.\n\nOn Wednesday I come back here for my four church readings at Brooklyn.\nEach evening an enormous ferryboat will convey me and my state carriage\n(not to mention half-a-dozen waggons, and any number of people, and a\nfew score of horses) across the river, and will bring me back again. The\nsale of tickets there was an amazing scene. The noble army of\nspeculators are now furnished (this is literally true, and I am quite\nserious), each man with a straw mattress, a little bag of bread and\nmeat, two blankets, and a bottle of whisky. With this outfit _they lie\ndown in line on the pavement_ the whole night before the tickets are\nsold, generally taking up their position at about ten. It being severely\ncold at Brooklyn, they made an immense bonfire in the street--a narrow\nstreet of wooden houses!--which the police turned out to extinguish. A\ngeneral fight then took place, out of which the people farthest off in\nthe line rushed bleeding when they saw a chance of displacing others\nnear the door, and put their mattresses in those places, and then held\non by the iron rails. At eight in the morning Dolby appeared with the\ntickets in a portmanteau. He was immediately saluted with a roar of\n\"Halloa, Dolby! So Charley has let you have the carriage, has he, Dolby!\nHow is he, Dolby! Don't drop the tickets, Dolby! Look alive, Dolby!\"\netc. etc. etc., in the midst of which he proceeded to business, and\nconcluded (as usual) by giving universal dissatisfaction.\n\nHe is now going off upon a little journey \"to look over the ground and\ncut back again.\" This little journey (to Chicago) is fifteen hundred\nmiles on end, by railway, and back again!\n\nWe have an excellent gasman, who is well up to that department. We have\nenlarged the large staff by another clerk, yet even now the preparation\nof such an immense number of new tickets constantly, and the keeping and\nchecking of the accounts, keep them hard at it. And they get so oddly\ndivided! Kelly is at Philadelphia, another man at Baltimore, two others\nare stamping tickets at the top of this house, another is cruising over\nNew England, and Osgood will come on duty to-morrow (when Dolby starts\noff) to pick me up after the reading, and take me to the hotel, and\nmount guard over me, and bring me back here. You see that even such\nwretched domesticity as Dolby and self by a fireside is broken up under\nthese conditions.\n\nDolby has been twice poisoned, and Osgood once. Morgan's sharpness has\ndiscovered the cause. When the snow is deep upon the ground, and the\npartridges cannot get their usual food, they eat something (I don't know\nwhat, if anybody does) which does not poison _them_, but which poisons\nthe people who eat them. The symptoms, which last some twelve hours, are\nviolent sickness, cold perspiration, and the formation of some\ndetestable mucus in the stomach. You may infer that partridges have been\nbanished from our bill of fare. The appearance of our sufferers was\nlamentable in the extreme.\n\nDid I tell you that the severity of the weather, and the heat of the\nintolerable furnaces, dry the hair and break the nails of strangers?\nThere is not a complete nail in the whole British suite, and my hair\ncracks again when I brush it. (I am losing my hair with great rapidity,\nand what I don't lose is getting very grey.)\n\nThe _Cuba_ will bring this. She has a jolly new captain--Moody, of the\n_Java_--and her people rushed into the reading, the other night,\ncaptain-headed, as if I were their peculiar property. Please God I shall\ncome home in her, in my old cabin; leaving here on the 22nd of April,\nand finishing my eighty-fourth reading on the previous night! It is\nlikely enough that I shall read and go straight on board.\n\nI think this is all my poor stock of intelligence. By-the-bye, on the\nlast Sunday in the old year, I lost my old year's pocket-book, \"which,\"\nas Mr. Pepys would add, \"do trouble me mightily.\" Give me Katie's new\naddress; I haven't got it.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                              PHILADELPHIA, _Monday, Jan. 13th, 1868._\n\nI write you this note, a day later than your aunt's, not because I have\nanything to add to the little I have told her, but because you may like\nto have it.\n\nWe arrived here last night towards twelve o'clock, more than an hour\nafter our time. This is one of the immense American hotels (it is called\nthe Continental); but I find myself just as quiet here as elsewhere.\nEverything is very good indeed, the waiter is German, and the greater\npart of the house servants seem to be <DW52> people. The town is very\nclean, and the day as blue and bright as a fine Italian day. But it\nfreezes very hard. All the tickets being sold here for six nights (three\nvisits of two nights each), the suite complain of want of excitement\nalready, having been here ten hours! Mr. and Mrs. Barney Williams, with\na couple of servants, and a pretty little child-daughter, were in the\ntrain each night, and I talked with them a good deal. They are reported\nto have made an enormous fortune by acting among the Californian\ngold-diggers. My cold is no better, for the cars are so intolerably hot,\nthat I was often obliged to go and stand upon the break outside, and\nthen the frosty air was biting indeed. The great man of this place is\none Mr. Childs, a newspaper proprietor, and he is so exactly like Mr.\nEsse in all conceivable respects except being an inch or so taller, that\nI was quite confounded when I saw him waiting for me at the station\n(always called depot here) with his carriage. During the last two or\nthree days, Dolby and I have been making up accounts, which are\nexcellently kept by Mr. Osgood, and I find them amazing, quite, in their\nresults.\n\nI was very much interested in the home accounts of Christmas Day. I\nthink I have already mentioned that we were in very low spirits on that\nday. I began to be unwell with my cold that morning, and a long day's\ntravel did not mend the matter. We scarcely spoke (except when we ate\nour lunch), and sat dolefully staring out of window. I had a few\naffectionate words from Chorley, dated from my room, on Christmas\nmorning, and will write him, probably by this mail, a brief\nacknowledgment. I find it necessary (so oppressed am I with this\nAmerican catarrh, as they call it) to dine at three o'clock instead of\nfour, that I may have more time to get voice, so that the days are cut\nshort, and letter-writing is not easy.\n\nMy best love to Katie, and to Charley, and to our Charley, and to all\nfriends. If I could only get to the point of being able to hold my head\nup and dispense with my pocket-handkerchief for five minutes, I should\nbe all right.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Dickens.]\n\n                      WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK,\n                                         _Wednesday, Jan. 15th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR CHARLEY,\n\nFinding your letter here this afternoon on my return from Philadelphia\n(where I have been reading two nights), I take advantage of a spare\nhalf-hour in which to answer it at once, though it will not leave here\nuntil Saturday. I had previously heard of the play, and had _The Times_.\nIt was a great relief and delight to me, for I had no confidence in its\nsuccess; being reduced to the confines of despair by its length. If I\ncould have rehearsed it, I should have taken the best part of an hour\nout of it. Fechter must be very fine, and I should greatly like to see\nhim play the part.\n\nI have not been very well generally, and am oppressed (and I begin to\nthink that I probably shall be until I leave) by a true American cold,\nwhich I hope, for the comfort of human nature, may be peculiar to only\none of the four quarters of the world. The work, too, is very severe.\nBut I am going on at the same tremendous rate everywhere. The staff,\ntoo, has had to be enlarged. Dolby was at Baltimore yesterday, is at\nWashington to-day, and will come back in the night, and start away again\non Friday. We find it absolutely necessary for him to go on ahead. We\nhave not printed or posted a single bill here, and have just sold ninety\npounds' worth of paper we had got ready for bills. In such a rush a\nshort newspaper advertisement is all we want. \"Doctor Marigold\" made a\ngreat hit here, and is looked forward to at Boston with especial\ninterest. I go to Boston for another fortnight, on end, the 24th of\nFebruary. The railway journeys distress me greatly. I get out into the\nopen air (upon the break), and it snows and blows, and the train bumps,\nand the steam flies at me, until I am driven in again.\n\nI have finished here (except four farewell nights in April), and begin\nfour nights at Brooklyn, on the opposite side of the river, to-night;\nand thus oscillate between Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, and\nthen cut into New England, and so work my way back to Boston for a\nfortnight, after which come Chicago, Cincinnati, Detroit and Cleveland,\nand Buffalo, and then Philadelphia, Boston, and New York farewells. I\nwill not pass my original bound of eighty-four readings in all. My mind\nwas made up as to that long ago. It will be quite enough. Chicago is\nsome fifteen hundred miles from here. What with travelling, and getting\nready for reading, and reading, the days are pretty fully occupied. Not\nthe less so because I rest very indifferently at night.\n\nThe people are exceedingly kind and considerate, and desire to be most\nhospitable besides. But I cannot accept hospitality, and never go out,\nexcept at Boston, or I should not be fit for the labour. If Dolby holds\nout well to the last it will be a triumph, for he has to see everybody,\ndrink with everybody, sell all the tickets, take all the blame, and go\nbeforehand to all the places on the list. I shall not see him after\nto-night for ten days or a fortnight, and he will be perpetually on the\nroad during the interval. When he leaves me, Osgood, a partner in\nTicknor and Fields' publishing firm, mounts guard over me, and has to go\ninto the hall from the platform door every night, and see how the public\nare seating themselves. It is very odd to see how hard he finds it to\nlook a couple of thousand people in the face, on which head, by-the-bye,\nI notice the papers to take \"Mr. Dickens's extraordinary composure\"\n(their great phrase) rather ill, and on the whole to imply that it would\nbe taken as a suitable compliment if I would stagger on to the platform\nand instantly drop, overpowered by the spectacle before me.\n\nDinner is announced (by Scott, with a stiff neck and a sore throat), and\nI must break off with love to Bessie and the incipient Wenerableses. You\nwill be glad to hear of your distinguished parent that Philadelphia has\ndiscovered that \"he is not like the descriptions we have read of him at\nthe little red desk. He is not at all foppish in appearance. He wears a\nheavy moustache and a Vandyke beard, and looks like a well-to-do\nPhiladelphian gentleman.\"\n\n                      Ever, my dear Charley, your affectionate Father.\n\nP.S.--Your paper is remarkably good. There is not the least doubt that\nyou can write constantly for A. Y. R. I am very pleased with it.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n               WESTMINSTER HOTEL, NEW YORK, _Friday, Jan, 18th, 1868._\n\nThis will be but a very short report, as I must get out for a little\nexercise before dinner.\n\nMy \"true American catarrh\" (the people seem to have a national pride in\nit) sticks to me, but I am otherwise well. I began my church readings\nlast night, and it was very odd to see the pews crammed full of people,\nall in a broad roar at the \"Carol\" and \"Trial.\"\n\nBest love to all. I have written Charley a few lines by this mail, and\nalso Chorley.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n              WESTMINSTER HOTEL, NEW YORK, _Tuesday, Jan. 21st, 1868._\n\nI finished my church to-night. It is Mrs. Stowe's brother's, and a most\nwonderful place to speak in. We had it enormously full last night\n(\"Marigold\" and \"Trial\"), but it scarcely required an effort. Mr. Ward\nBeecher (Mrs. Stowe's brother's name) being present in his pew. I sent\nto invite him to come round before he left; and I found him to be an\nunostentatious, straightforward, and agreeable fellow.\n\nMy cold sticks to me, and I can scarcely exaggerate what I sometimes\nundergo from sleeplessness. The day before yesterday I could get no rest\nuntil morning, and could not get up before twelve. This morning the\nsame. I rarely take any breakfast but an egg and a cup of tea, not even\ntoast or bread-and-butter. My dinner at three, and a little quail or\nsome such light thing when I come home at night, is my daily fare. At\nthe Hall I have established the custom of taking an egg beaten up in\nsherry before going in, and another between the parts. I think that\npulls me up; at all events, I have since had no return of faintness.\n\nAs the men work very hard, and always with their hearts cheerfully in\nthe business, I cram them into and outside of the carriage, to bring\nthem back from Brooklyn with me. The other night, Scott (with a\nportmanteau across his knees and a wideawake hat low down upon his nose)\ntold me that he had presented himself for admission in the circus (as\ngood as Franconi's, by-the-bye), and had been refused. \"The only\ntheayter,\" he said in a melancholy way, \"as I was ever in my life turned\nfrom the door of.\" Says Kelly: \"There must have been some mistake,\nScott, because George and me went, and we said, 'Mr. Dickens's staff,'\nand they passed us to the best seats in the house. Go again, Scott.\"\n\"No, I thank you, Kelly,\" says Scott, more melancholy than before, \"I'm\nnot a-going to put myself in the position of being refused again. It's\nthe only theayter as I was ever turned from the door of, and it shan't\nbe done twice. But it's a beastly country!\" \"Scott,\" interposed Majesty,\n\"don't you express your opinions about the country.\" \"No, sir,\" says\nScott, \"I never do, please, sir, but when you are turned from the door\nof the only theayter you was ever turned from, sir, and when the beasts\nin railway cars spits tobacco over your boots, you (privately) find\nyourself in a beastly country.\"\n\nI expect shortly to get myself snowed up on some railway or other, for\nit is snowing hard now, and I begin to move to-morrow. There is so much\nfloating ice in the river that we are obliged to leave a pretty wide\nmargin of time for getting over the ferry to read. The dinner is coming\nin, and I must leave off.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                            PHILADELPHIA, _Thursday, Jan. 23rd, 1868._\n\nWhen I wrote to your aunt by the last mail, I accidentally omitted to\ntouch upon the question of helping Anne. So I will begin in this present\nwriting with reference to her sad position. I think it will be best for\nyou to be guided by an exact knowledge of her _wants_. Try to ascertain\nfrom herself what means she has, whether her sick husband gets what he\nought to have, whether she is pinched in the articles of necessary\nclothing, bedding, or the like of that; add to this intelligence your\nown observation of the state of things about her, and supply what she\nmost wants, and help her where you find the greatest need. The question,\nin the case of so old and faithful a servant, is not one of so much or\nso little money on my side, but how _most efficiently_ to ease her mind\nand help _her_. To do this at once kindly and sensibly is the only\nconsideration by which you have to be guided. Take _carte blanche_ from\nme for all the rest.\n\nMy Washington week is the first week in February, beginning on Monday,\n3rd. The tickets are sold, and the President is coming, and the chief\nmembers of the Cabinet, and the leaders of parties, and so forth, are\ncoming; and, as the Holly Tree Boots says: \"That's where it is, don't\nyou see!\"\n\nIn my Washington doubts I recalled Dolby for conference, and he joined\nme yesterday afternoon, and we have been in great discussion ever since\non the possibility of giving up the Far West, and avoiding such immense\ndistances and fatigues as would be involved in travelling to Chicago and\nCincinnati. We have sketched another tour for the last half of March,\nwhich would be infinitely easier for me, though on the other hand less\nprofitable, the places and the halls being smaller. The worst of it is,\nthat everybody one advises with has a monomania respecting Chicago.\n\"Good heaven, sir,\" the great Philadelphian authority said to me this\nmorning, \"if you don't read in Chicago, the people will go into fits.\"\nIn reference to fatigue, I answered: \"Well, I would rather they went\ninto fits than I did.\" But he didn't seem to see it at all. ---- alone\nconstantly writes me: \"Don't go to the West; you can get what you want\nso much more easily.\" How we shall finally decide, I don't yet know. My\nBrooklyn church has been an immense success, and I found its minister\nwas a bachelor, a clever, unparsonic, and straightforward man, and a man\nwith a good knowledge of art into the bargain.\n\nWe are not a bit too soon here, for the whole country is beginning to be\nstirred and shaken by the presidential election, and trade is\nexceedingly depressed, and will be more so. Fanny Kemble lives near this\nplace, but had gone away a day before my first visit here. _She_ is\ngoing to read in February or March. Du Chaillu has been lecturing out\nWest about the gorilla, and has been to see me; I saw the Cunard steamer\n_Persia_ out in the stream, yesterday, beautifully smart, her flags\nflying, all her steam up, and she only waiting for her mails to slip\naway. She gave me a horrible touch of home-sickness.\n\nWhen the 1st of March arrives, and I can say \"next month,\" I shall begin\nto grow brighter. A fortnight's reading in Boston, too (last week of\nFebruary and first week of March), will help me on gaily, I hope (the\nwork so far off tells). It is impossible for the people to be more\naffectionately attached to a third, I really believe, than Fields and\nhis wife are to me; and they are a landmark in the prospect.\n\nDolby sends kindest regards, and wishes it to be known that he has not\nbeen bullied lately. We do _not_ go West at all, but take the easier\nplan.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                              BALTIMORE, _Wednesday, Jan. 29th, 1868._\n\nAs I have an hour to spare, before starting to Philadelphia, I begin my\nletter this morning. It has been snowing hard for four-and-twenty hours,\nthough this place is as far south as Valentia in Spain; and Dolby, being\non his way to New York, has a good chance of being snowed up somewhere.\n\nThey are a bright responsive people here, and very pleasant to read to.\nI have rarely seen so many fine faces in an audience. I read here in a\ncharming little opera-house built by a society of Germans, quite a\ndelightful place for the purpose. I stand on the stage, with a drop\ncurtain down, and my screen before it. The whole scene is very pretty\nand complete, and the audience have a \"ring\" in them that sounds in the\near. I go from here to Philadelphia to read to-morrow night and Friday,\ncome through here again on Saturday on my way to Washington, come back\nhere on Saturday week for two finishing nights, then go to Philadelphia\nfor two farewells, and so turn my back on the southern part of the\ncountry. Distances and travelling have obliged us to reduce the list of\nreadings by two, leaving eighty-two in all. Of course we afterwards\ndiscovered that we had finally settled the list on a Friday! I shall be\nhalfway through it at Washington, of course, on a Friday also, and my\nbirthday!\n\nDolby and Osgood, who do the most ridiculous things to keep me in\nspirits (I am often very heavy, and rarely sleep much), have decided to\nhave a walking-match at Boston, on Saturday, February 29th. Beginning\nthis design in joke, they have become tremendously in earnest, and Dolby\nhas actually sent home (much to his opponent's terror) for a pair of\nseamless socks to walk in. Our men are hugely excited on the subject,\nand continually make bets on \"the men.\" Fields and I are to walk out six\nmiles, and \"the men\" are to turn and walk round us. Neither of them has\nthe least idea what twelve miles at a pace is. Being requested by both\nto give them \"a breather\" yesterday, I gave them a stiff one of five\nmiles over a bad road in the snow, half the distance uphill. I took them\nat a pace of four miles and a half an hour, and you never beheld such\nobjects as they were when we got back; both smoking like factories, and\nboth obliged to change everything before they could come to dinner. They\nhave the absurdest ideas of what are tests of walking power, and\ncontinually get up in the maddest manner and see _how high they can\nkick_ the wall! The wainscot here, in one place, is scored all over with\ntheir pencil-marks. To see them doing this--Dolby, a big man, and\nOsgood, a very little one, is ridiculous beyond description.\n\n\n                                           PHILADELPHIA, _Same Night._\n\nWe came on here through a snowstorm all the way, but up to time. Fanny\nKemble (who begins to read shortly) is coming to \"Marigold\" and \"Trial\"\nto-morrow night. I have written her a note, telling her that if it will\nat all assist _her_ movements to know _mine_, my list is at her\nservice. Probably I shall see her to-morrow. Tell Mamie (to whom I will\nwrite next), with my love, that I found her letter of the 10th of this\nmonth awaiting me here. The _Siberia_ that brought it is a new Cunarder,\nand made an unusually slow passage out. Probably because it would be\ndangerous to work new machinery too fast on the Atlantic.\n\n\n                                                     _Thursday, 30th._\n\nMy cold still sticks to me. The heat of the railway cars and their\nunventilated condition invariably brings it back when I think it going.\nThis morning my head is as stuffed and heavy as ever! A superb sledge\nand four horses have been offered me for a ride, but I am afraid to take\nit, lest I should make the \"true American catarrh\" worse, and should get\nhoarse. So I am going to give Osgood another \"breather\" on foot instead.\n\nThe communication with New York is not interrupted, so we consider the\nzealous Dolby all right. You may imagine what his work is, when you hear\nthat he goes three times to every place we visit. Firstly, to look at\nthe hall, arrange the numberings, and make five hundred acquaintances,\nwhom he immediately calls by their christian-names; secondly, to sell\nthe tickets--a very nice business, requiring great tact and temper;\nthirdly, with me. He will probably turn up at Washington next Sunday,\nbut only for a little while; for as soon as I am on the platform on\nMonday night, he will start away again, probably to be seen no more\nuntil we pass through New York in the middle of February.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Samuel Cartwright]\n\n                              BALTIMORE, _Wednesday, Jan. 29th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR CARTWRIGHT,\n\nAs I promised to report myself to you from this side of the Atlantic,\nand as I have some leisure this morning, I am going to lighten my\nconscience by keeping my word.\n\nI am going on at a great pace and with immense success. Next week, at\nWashington, I shall, please God, have got through half my readings. The\nremaining half are all arranged, and they will carry me into the third\nweek of April. It is very hard work, but it is brilliantly paid. The\nchanges that I find in the country generally (this place is the least\nchanged of any I have yet seen) exceed my utmost expectations. I had\nbeen in New York a couple of days before I began to recognise it at all;\nand the handsomest part of Boston was a black swamp when I saw it\nfive-and-twenty years ago. Considerable advances, too, have been made\nsocially. Strange to say, the railways and railway arrangements (both\nexceedingly defective) seem to have stood still while all other things\nhave been moving.\n\nOne of the most comical spectacles I have ever seen in my life was\n\"church,\" with a heavy sea on, in the saloon of the Cunard steamer\ncoming out. The officiating minister, an extremely modest young man, was\nbrought in between two big stewards, exactly as if he were coming up to\nthe scratch in a prize-fight. The ship was rolling and pitching so, that\nthe two big stewards had to stop and watch their opportunity of making a\ndart at the reading-desk with their reverend charge, during which pause\nhe held on, now by one steward and now by the other, with the feeblest\nexpression of countenance and no legs whatever. At length they made a\ndart at the wrong moment, and one steward was immediately beheld alone\nin the extreme perspective, while the other and the reverend gentleman\n_held on by the mast_ in the middle of the saloon--which the latter\nembraced with both arms, as if it were his wife. All this time the\ncongregation was breaking up into sects and sliding away; every sect (as\nin nature) pounding the other sect. And when at last the reverend\ngentleman had been tumbled into his place, the desk (a loose one, put\nupon the dining-table) deserted from the church bodily, and went over to\nthe purser. The scene was so extraordinarily ridiculous, and was made so\nmuch more so by the exemplary gravity of all concerned in it, that I was\nobliged to leave before the service began.\n\nThis is one of the places where Butler carried it with so high a hand in\nthe war, and where the ladies used to spit when they passed a Northern\nsoldier. It still wears, I fancy, a look of sullen remembrance. (The\nladies are remarkably handsome, with an Eastern look upon them, dress\nwith a strong sense of colour, and make a brilliant audience.) The ghost\nof slavery haunts the houses; and the old, untidy, incapable, lounging,\nshambling black serves you as a free man. Free of course he ought to be;\nbut the stupendous absurdity of making him a voter glares out of every\nroll of his eye, stretch of his mouth, and bump of his head. I have a\nstrong impression that the race must fade out of the States very fast.\nIt never can hold its own against a striving, restless, shifty people.\nIn the penitentiary here, the other day, in a room full of all blacks\n(too dull to be taught any of the work in hand), was one young brooding\nfellow, very like a black rhinoceros. He sat glowering at life, as if it\nwere just endurable at dinner time, until four of his fellows began to\nsing, most unmelodiously, a part song. He then set up a dismal howl, and\npounded his face on a form. I took him to have been rendered quite\ndesperate by having learnt anything. I send my kind regard to Mrs.\nCartwright, and sincerely hope that she and you have no new family\ndistresses or anxieties. My standing address is the Westminster Hotel,\nIrving Place, New York City. And I am always, my dear Cartwright,\n\n                                                      Cordially yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                              PHILADELPHIA, _Friday, Jan. 31st, 1868._\n\nSince writing to your aunt I have received yours of the 7th, and am\ntruly glad to have the last news of you confirmed by yourself.\n\nFrom a letter Wilkie has written to me, it seems there can be no doubt\nthat the \"No Thoroughfare\" drama is a real, genuine, and great success.\nIt is drawing immensely, and seems to \"go\" with great effect and\napplause.\n\n\"Doctor Marigold\" here last night (for the first time) was an immense\nsuccess, and all Philadelphia is going to rush at once for tickets for\nthe two Philadelphian farewells the week after next. The tickets are to\nbe sold to-morrow, and great excitement is anticipated in the streets.\nDolby not being here, a clerk will sell, and will probably wish himself\ndead before he has done with it.\n\nIt appears to me that Chorley[22] writes to you on the legacy question\nbecause he wishes you to understand that there is no danger of his\nchanging his mind, and at the bottom I descry an honest desire to pledge\nhimself as strongly as possible. You may receive it in that better\nspirit, or I am much mistaken. Tell your aunt, with my best love, that I\nwrote to Chauncey weeks ago, in answer to a letter from him. I am now\ngoing out in a sleigh (and four) with unconceivable dignity and\ngrandeur; mentioning which reminds me that I am informed by trusty\nscouts that ---- intends to waylay me at Washington, and may even\ndescend upon me in the train to-morrow.\n\nBest love to Katie, the two Charleys, and all.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                WASHINGTON, _Tuesday, Feb. 4th, 1868._\n\nI began here last night with great success. The hall being small, the\nprices were raised to three dollars each ticket. The audience was a\nsuperior one, composed of the foremost public men and their families. At\nthe end of the \"Carol\" they gave a great break out, and applauded, I\nreally believe, for five minutes. You would suppose them to be\nManchester shillings instead of Washington half-sovereigns. Immense\nenthusiasm.\n\nA devoted adherent in this place (an Englishman) had represented to\nDolby that if I were taken to an hotel here it would be impossible to\nsecure me a minute's rest, and he undertook to get one Wheleker, a\nGerman, who keeps a little Verey's, to furnish his private dining-rooms\nfor the illustrious traveller's reception. Accordingly here we are, on\nthe first and second floor of a small house, with no one else in it but\nour people, a French waiter, and a very good French cuisine. Perfectly\nprivate, in the city of all the world (I should say) where the hotels\nare intolerable, and privacy the least possible, and quite comfortable.\n\"Wheleker's Restaurant\" is our rather undignified address for the\npresent week.\n\nI dined (against my rules) with Charles Sumner on Sunday, he having been\nan old friend of mine. Mr. Secretary Staunton (War Minister) was there.\nHe is a man of a very remarkable memory, and famous for his\nacquaintance with the minutest details of my books. Give him any passage\nanywhere, and he will instantly cap it and go on with the context. He\nwas commander-in-chief of all the Northern forces concentrated here, and\nnever went to sleep at night without first reading something from my\nbooks, which were always with him. I put him through a pretty severe\nexamination, but he was better up than I was.\n\nThe gas was very defective indeed last night, and I began with a small\nspeech, to the effect that I must trust to the brightness of their faces\nfor the illumination of mine; this was taken greatly. In the \"Carol,\" a\nmost ridiculous incident occurred all of a sudden. I saw a dog look out\nfrom among the seats into the centre aisle, and look very intently at\nme. The general attention being fixed on me, I don't think anybody saw\nthe dog; but I felt so sure of his turning up again and barking, that I\nkept my eye wandering about in search of him. He was a very comic dog,\nand it was well for me that I was reading a very comic part of the book.\nBut when he bounced out into the centre aisle again, in an entirely new\nplace (still looking intently at me) and tried the effect of a bark upon\nmy proceedings, I was seized with such a paroxysm of laughter, that it\ncommunicated itself to the audience, and we roared at one another loud\nand long.\n\nThe President has sent to me twice, and I am going to see him to-morrow.\nHe has a whole row for his family every night. Dolby rejoined his chief\nyesterday morning, and will probably remain in the august presence until\nSunday night. He and Osgood, \"training for the match,\" are ludicrous\nbeyond belief. I saw them just now coming up a street, each trying to\npass the other, and immediately fled. Since I have been writing this,\nthey have burst in at the door and sat down on the floor to blow. Dolby\nis now writing at a neighbouring table, with his bald head smoking as if\nhe were on fire. Kelly (his great adherent) asked me, when he was last\naway, whether it was quite fair that I should take Mr. Osgood out for\n\"breathers\" when Mr. Dolby had no such advantage. I begin to expect that\nhalf Boston will turn out on the 29th to see the match. In which case it\nwill be unspeakably droll.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                            WASHINGTON, _my Birthday_, 1868.\n                                      (_And my cold worse than ever._)\n\nThis will be but a short letter, as I have been to see the President\nthis morning, and have little time before the post goes. He had sent a\ngentleman to me, most courteously begging me to make my own appointment,\nand I did so. A man of very remarkable appearance indeed, of tremendous\nfirmness of purpose. Not to be turned or trifled with.\n\nAs I mention my cold's being so bad, I will add that I have never had\nanything the matter with me since I came here _but_ the cold. It is now\nin my throat, and slightly on my chest. It occasions me great\ndiscomfort, and you would suppose, seeing me in the morning, that I\ncould not possibly read at night. But I have always come up to the\nscratch, have not yet missed one night, and have gradually got used to\nthat. I had got much the better of it; but the dressing-room at the hall\nhere is singularly cold and draughty, and so I have slid back again.\n\nThe papers here having written about this being my birthday, the most\nexquisite flowers came pouring in at breakfast time from all sorts of\npeople. The room is covered with them, made up into beautiful bouquets,\nand arranged in all manner of green baskets. Probably I shall find\nplenty more at the hall to-night. This is considered the dullest and\nmost apathetic place in America. _My_ audiences have been superb.\n\nI mentioned the dog on the first night here. Next night I thought I\nheard (in \"Copperfield\") a suddenly suppressed bark. It happened in this\nwise: Osgood, standing just within the door, felt his leg touched, and\nlooking down beheld the dog staring intently at me, and evidently just\nabout to bark. In a transport of presence of mind and fury, he instantly\ncaught him up in both hands and threw him over his own head out into the\nentry, where the check-takers received him like a game at ball. Last\nnight he came again _with another dog_; but our people were so sharply\non the look-out for him that he didn't get in. He had evidently promised\nto pass the other dog free.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                          BALTIMORE, U.S., _Tuesday, Feb. 11th, 1868._\n\nThe weather has been desperately severe, and my cold quite as bad as\never. I couldn't help laughing at myself on my birthday at Washington.\nIt was observed as much as though I were a little boy. Flowers and\ngarlands (of the most exquisite kind) bloomed all over the room; letters\nradiant with good wishes poured in; a shirt pin, a handsome silver\ntravelling bottle, a set of gold shirt studs, and a set of gold sleeve\nlinks were on the dinner-table. After \"Boots,\" at night, the whole\naudience rose and remained (Secretaries of State, President's family,\nJudges of Supreme Court, and so forth) standing and cheering until I\nwent back to the table and made them a little speech. On the same\naugust day of the year I was received by the President, a man with a\nvery remarkable and determined face. Each of us looked at each other\nvery hard, and each of us managed the interview (I think) to the\nsatisfaction of the other. In the outer room was sitting a certain\nsunburnt General Blair, with many evidences of the war upon him. He got\nup to shake hands with me, and then I found he had been out in the\nprairie with me five-and-twenty years ago. That afternoon my \"catarrh\"\nwas in such a state that Charles Sumner, coming in at five o'clock and\nfinding me covered with mustard poultice, and apparently voiceless,\nturned to Dolby and said: \"Surely, Mr. Dolby, it is impossible that he\ncan read to-night.\" Says Dolby: \"Sir, I have told the dear Chief so four\ntimes to-day, and I have been very anxious. But you have no idea how he\nwill change when he gets to the little table.\" After five minutes of the\nlittle table, I was not (for the time) even hoarse. The frequent\nexperience of this return of force when it is wanted saves me a vast\namount of anxiety.\n\nI wish you would get from Homan and report to me, as near as he can\nmake, an approximate estimate is the right term in the trade, I believe,\nof the following work:\n\n1. To re-cover, with red leather, all the dining-room chairs.\n\n2. To ditto, with green leather, all the library chairs and the couch.\n\n3. To provide and lay down new _Brussels_ carpets in the front spare and\nthe two top spares. Quality of carpet, quality of yours and mine.\n\nI have some doubts about the state of the hall floor-cloth, and also the\nfloor-cloth in the dining-room. Will you and your aunt carefully examine\nboth (calling in Homan too, if necessary), _and report to me_?\n\nIt would seem that \"No Thoroughfare\" has really developed as a drama\ninto an amazing success. I begin to think that I shall see it. Dolby is\naway this morning, to conquer or die in a terrific struggle with the\nMayor of Newhaven (where I am to read next week), who has assailed him\non a charge of false play in selling tickets. Osgood, my other keeper,\nstands at the table to take me out, and have a \"breather\" for the\nwalking-match, so I must leave off.\n\nThink of my dreaming of Mrs. Bouncer each night!!!\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Fielding Dickens.]\n\n                          BALTIMORE, U.S., _Tuesday, Feb. 11th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR HARRY,\n\nI should have written to you before now, but for constant and arduous\noccupation.\n\nIn reference to the cricket club's not being what it might be, I agree\nwith you in the main. There are some things to be considered, however,\nwhich you have hardly taken into account. The first thing to be avoided\nis, the slightest appearance of patronage (one of the curses of\nEngland). The second thing to be avoided is, the deprival of the men of\ntheir just right to manage their own affairs. I would rather have no\nclub at all, than have either of these great mistakes made. The way out\nof them is this: Call the men together, and explain to them that the\nclub might be larger, richer, and better. Say that you think that more\nof the neighbouring gentlemen could be got to be playing members. That\nyou submit to them that it would be better to have a captain who could\ncorrespond with them, and talk to them, and in some sort manage them;\nand that, being perfectly acquainted with the game, and having long\nplayed it at a great public school, you propose yourself as captain, for\nthe foregoing reasons. That you propose to them to make the subscription\nof the gentlemen members at least double that of the working men, for no\nother reason than that the gentlemen can afford it better; but that both\nclasses of members shall have exactly the same right of voting equally\nin all that concerns the club. Say that you have consulted me upon the\nmatter, and that I am of these opinions, and am ready to become chairman\nof the club, and to preside at their meetings, and to overlook its\nbusiness affairs, and to give it five pounds a year, payable at the\ncommencement of each season. Then, having brought them to this point,\ndraw up the club's rules and regulations, amending them where they want\namendment.\n\nDiscreetly done, I see no difficulty in this. But it can only be\nhonourably and hopefully done by having the men together. And I would\nnot have them at The Falstaff, but in the hall or dining-room--the\nservants' hall, an excellent place. Whatever you do, let the men ratify;\nand let them feel their little importance, and at once perceive how much\nbetter the business begins to be done.\n\nI am very glad to hear of the success of your reading, and still more\nglad that you went at it in downright earnest. I should never have made\nmy success in life if I had been shy of taking pains, or if I had not\nbestowed upon the least thing I have ever undertaken exactly the same\nattention and care that I have bestowed upon the greatest. Do everything\nat your best. It was but this last year that I set to and learned every\nword of my readings; and from ten years ago to last night, I have never\nread to an audience but I have watched for an opportunity of striking\nout something better somewhere. Look at such of my manuscripts as are\nin the library at Gad's, and think of the patient hours devoted year\nafter year to single lines.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe weather is very severe here, and the work is very hard. Dolby,\nhaving been violently pitched into by the Mayor of Newhaven (a town at\nwhich I am to read next week), has gone bodily this morning with defiant\nwritten instructions from me to inform the said mayor that, if he fail\nto make out his case, he (Dolby) is to return all the money taken, and\nto tell him that I will not set foot in his jurisdiction; whereupon the\nNewhaven people will probably fall upon the mayor in his turn, and lead\nhim a pleasant life.\n\n                        Ever, my dear Harry, your affectionate Father.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                            PHILADELPHIA, _Thursday, Feb. 13th, 1868._\n\nWe have got into an immense difficulty with the people of Newhaven. I\nhave a strong suspicion that one of our men (who sold there) has been\nspeculating all this while, and that he must have put front seats in his\npockets, and sold back ones. He denies what the mayor charges, but the\nmayor holds on grimly. Dolby set off from Baltimore as soon as we found\nout what was amiss, to examine and report; but some new feature of\ndifficulty must have come out, for this morning he telegraphs from New\nYork (where he had to sleep last night on his way to Newhaven), that he\nis coming back for further consultation with the Chief. It will\ncertainly hurt us, and will of course be distorted by the papers into\nall manner of shapes. My suspicion _may not_ be correct, but I have an\ninstinctive belief that it is. We shall probably have the old New York\nrow (and loss) over again, unless I can catch this mayor tripping in an\nassertion.\n\nIn this very place, we are half-distracted by the speculators. They have\nbeen holding out for such high prices, that the public have held out\ntoo; and now (frightened at what they have done) the speculators are\ntrying to sell their worst seats at half the cost price, so that we are\nin the ridiculous situation of having sold the room out, and yet not\nknowing what empty seats there may be. _We_ could sell at our box-office\nto any extent; but _we_ can't buy back of the speculators, because we\ninformed the public that all the tickets were gone. And if we bought\n_under_ our own price and _sold_ at our own price, we should at once be\nin treaty with the speculators, and should be making money by it! Dolby,\nthe much bullied, will come back here presently, half bereft of his\nsenses; and I should be half bereft of mine, if the situation were not\ncomically disagreeable.\n\nNothing will induce the people to believe in the farewells. At Baltimore\non Tuesday night (a very brilliant night indeed), they asked as they\ncame out: \"When will Mr. Dickens read here again?\" \"Never.\" \"Nonsense!\nNot come back, after such houses as these? Come. Say when he'll read\nagain.\" Just the same here. We could as soon persuade them that I am the\nPresident, as that I am going to read here, for the last time, to-morrow\nnight.\n\nThere is a child of the Barney Williams's in this house--a little\ngirl--to whom I presented a black doll when I was here last. I have seen\nher eye at the keyhole since I began writing this, and I think she and\nthe doll are outside still. \"When you sent it up to me by the <DW52>\nboy,\" she said after receiving it (<DW52> boy is the term for black\nwaiter), \"I gave such a cream that ma came running in and creamed too,\n'cos she fort I'd hurt myself. But I creamed a cream of joy.\" _She_ had\na friend to play with her that day, and brought the friend with her, to\nmy infinite confusion. A friend all stockings, and much too tall, who\nsat on the sofa very far back, with her stockings sticking stiffly out\nin front of her, and glared at me and never spake word. Dolby found us\nconfronted in a sort of fascination, like serpent and bird.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                  NEW YORK, _Monday, Feb. 17th, 1868._\n\nI got your letter of the 3rd of February here this morning. As I am off\nat seven to-morrow morning, I answer it at once, though indeed I have\nnothing to say.\n\n\"True American\" still sticking to me. But I am always ready for my work,\nand therefore don't much mind. Dolby and the Mayor of Newhaven\nalternately embrace and exchange mortal defiances. In writing out some\nadvertisements towards midnight last night, he made a very good mistake.\n\"The reading will be comprised within two _minutes_, and the audience\nare earnestly entreated to be seated ten _hours_ before its\ncommencement.\"\n\nThe weather has been finer lately, but the streets are in a horrible\ncondition, through half-melted snow, and it is now snowing again. The\nwalking-match (next Saturday week) is already in the Boston papers! I\nsuppose half Boston will turn out on the occasion. As a sure way of not\nbeing conspicuous, \"the men\" are going to walk in flannel! They are in a\nmingled state of comicality and gravity about it that is highly\nridiculous. Yesterday being a bright cool day, I took Dolby for a\n\"buster\" of eight miles. As everybody here knows me, the spectacle of\nour splitting up the fashionable avenue (the only way out of town)\nexcited the greatest amazement. No doubt _that_ will be in the papers\nto-morrow. I give a gorgeous banquet to eighteen (ladies and gentlemen)\nafter the match. Mr. and Mrs. Fields, Do. Ticknor, Longfellow and his\ndaughter, Lowell, Holmes and his wife, etc. etc. Sporting speeches to be\nmade, and the stakes (four hats) to be handed over to the winner.\n\nMy ship will not be the _Cuba_ after all. She is to go into dock, and\nthe _Russia_ (a larger ship, and the latest built for the Cunard line)\nis to take her place.\n\nVery glad to hear of Plorn's success. Best love to Mamie.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]\n\n                                    WASHINGTON, _February 24th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR FECHTER,\n\nYour letter reached me here yesterday. I have sent you a telegram\n(addressed to the theatre) this morning, and I write this by the\nearliest return mail.\n\nMy dear fellow, consider yourself my representative. Whatever you do, or\ndesire to do, about the play, I fully authorise beforehand. Tell\nWebster, with my regard, that I think his proposal honest and fair; that\nI think it, in a word, like himself; and that I have perfect confidence\nin his good faith and liberality.\n\nAs to making money of the play in the United States here, Boucicault has\nfilled Wilkie's head with golden dreams that have _nothing_ in them. He\nmakes no account of the fact that, wherever I go, the theatres (with my\nname in big letters) instantly begin playing versions of my books, and\nthat the moment the Christmas number came over here they pirated it and\nplayed \"No Thoroughfare.\" Now, I have enquired into the law, and am\nextremely doubtful whether I _could_ have prevented this. Why should\nthey pay for the piece as you act it, when they have no actors, and when\nall they want is my name, and they can get that for nothing?\n\nWilkie has uniformly written of you enthusiastically. In a letter I had\nfrom him, dated the 10th of January, he described your conception and\nexecution of the part in the most glowing terms. \"Here Fechter is\nmagnificent.\" \"Here his superb playing brings the house down.\" \"I should\ncall even his exit in the last act one of the subtlest and finest things\nhe does in the piece.\" \"You can hardly imagine what he gets out of the\npart, or what he makes of his passionate love for Marguerite.\" These\nexpressions, and many others like them, crowded his letter.\n\nI never did so want to see a character played on the stage as I want to\nsee you play Obenreizer. As the play was going when I last heard of it,\nI have some hopes that I MAY see it yet. Please God, your Adelphi\ndressing-room will be irradiated with the noble presence of \"Never\nWrong\" (if you are acting), about the evening of Monday, the 4th of May!\n\nI am doing enormous business. It is a wearying life, away from all I\nlove, but I hope that the time will soon begin to spin away. Among the\nmany changes that I find here is the comfortable change that the people\nare in general extremely considerate, and very observant of my privacy.\nEven in this place, I am really almost as much my own master as if I\nwere in an English country town. Generally, they are very good audiences\nindeed. They do not (I think) perceive touches of art to _be_ art; but\nthey are responsive to the broad results of such touches. \"Doctor\nMarigold\" is a great favourite, and they laugh so unrestrainedly at \"The\nTrial\" from \"Pickwick\" (which you never heard), that it has grown about\nhalf as long again as it used to be.\n\nIf I could send you a \"brandy cocktail\" by post I would. It is a highly\nmeritorious dram, which I hope to present to you at Gad's. My New York\nlandlord made me a \"Rocky Mountain sneezer,\" which appeared to me to be\ncompounded of all the spirits ever heard of in the world, with bitters,\nlemon, sugar, and snow. You can only make a true \"sneezer\" when the snow\nis lying on the ground.\n\nThere, my dear boy, my paper is out, and I am going to read\n\"Copperfield.\" Count always on my fidelity and true attachment, and look\nout, as I have already said, for a distinguished visitor about Monday,\nthe 4th of May.\n\n                    Ever, my dear Fechter,\n                                 Your cordial and affectionate Friend.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                   BOSTON, _Tuesday, Feb. 25th, 1868._\n\nIt is so very difficult to know, by any exercise of common sense, what\nturn or height the political excitement may take next, and it may so\neasily, and so soon, swallow up all other things, that I think I shall\nsuppress my next week's readings here (by good fortune not yet\nannounced) and watch the course of events. Dolby's sudden desponding\nunder these circumstances is so acute, that it is actually swelling his\nhead as I glance at him in the glass while writing.\n\nThe catarrh is no better and no worse. The weather is intensely cold.\nThe walking-match (of which I will send particulars) is to come off on\nSunday. Mrs. Fields is more delightful than ever, and Fields more\nhospitable. My room is always radiant with brilliant flowers of their\nsending. I don't know whether I told you that the walking-match is to\ncelebrate the extinction of February, and the coming of the day when I\ncan say \"next month.\"\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                  BOSTON, _Thursday, Feb. 27th, 1868._\n\nThis morning at breakfast I received yours of the 11th from Palace Gate\nHouse. I have very little news to give you in return for your budget.\nThe walking-match is to come off on Saturday, and Fields and I went over\nthe ground yesterday to measure the miles. We went at a tremendous pace.\nThe condition of the ground is something indescribable, from half-melted\nsnow, running water, and sheets and blocks of ice. The two performers\nhave not the faintest notion of the weight of the task they have\nundertaken. I give a dinner afterwards, and have just now been settling\nthe bill of fare and selecting the wines.\n\nIn the first excitement of the presidential impeachment, our houses\ninstantly went down. After carefully considering the subject, I decided\nto take advantage of the fact that next week's four readings here have\nnot yet been announced, and to abolish them altogether. Nothing in this\ncountry lasts long, and I think the public may be heartily tired of the\nPresident's name by the 9th of March, when I read at a considerable\ndistance from here. So behold me with a whole week's holiday in view!\nThe Boston audiences have come to regard the readings and the reader as\ntheir peculiar property; and you would be at once amused and pleased if\nyou could see the curious way in which they seem to plume themselves on\nboth. They have taken to applauding too whenever they laugh or cry, and\nthe result is very inspiriting. I shall remain here until Saturday, the\n7th, but shall not read here, after to-morrow night, until the 1st of\nApril, when I begin my Boston farewells, six in number.\n\n\n                                                       _Friday, 28th._\n\nIt has been snowing all night, and the city is in a miserable condition.\nWe had a fine house last night for \"Carol\" and \"Trial,\" and such an\nenthusiastic one that they persisted in a call after the \"Carol,\" and,\nwhile I was out, covered the little table with flowers. The \"True\nAmerican\" has taken a fresh start, as if it were quite a novelty, and is\non the whole rather worse than ever to-day. The Cunard packet, the\n_Australasian_ (a poor ship), is some days overdue, and Dolby is\nanxiously looking out for her. There is a lull in the excitement about\nthe President, but the articles of impeachment are to be produced this\nafternoon, and then it may set in again. Osgood came into camp last\nnight from selling in remote places, and reports that at Rochester and\nBuffalo (both places near the frontier), Canada people bought tickets,\nwho had struggled across the frozen river and clambered over all sorts\nof obstructions to get them. Some of those halls turn out to be smaller\nthan represented, but I have no doubt, to use an American expression,\nthat we shall \"get along.\"\n\nTo-morrow fortnight we purpose being at the Falls of Niagara, and then\nwe shall turn back and really begin to wind up. I have got to know the\n\"Carol\" so well that I can't remember it, and occasionally go dodging\nabout in the wildest manner to pick up lost pieces. They took it so\ntremendously last night that I was stopped every five minutes. One poor\nyoung girl in mourning burst into a passion of grief about Tiny Tim, and\nwas taken out. This is all my news.\n\nEach of the pedestrians is endeavouring to persuade the other to take\nsomething unwholesome before starting.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                    BOSTON, _Monday, March 2nd, 1868._\n\nA heavy gale of wind and a snowstorm oblige me to write suddenly for the\nCunard steamer a day earlier than usual. The railroad between this and\nNew York will probably be stopped somewhere. After all the hard weather\nwe have had, this is the worst day we have seen.\n\nThe walking-match came off on Saturday, over tremendously difficult\nground, against a biting wind, and through deep snow-wreaths. It was so\ncold, too, that our hair, beards, eyelashes, eyebrows, were frozen hard,\nand hung with icicles. The course was thirteen miles. They were close\ntogether at the turning-point, when Osgood went ahead at a splitting\npace and with extraordinary endurance, and won by half a mile. Dolby did\nvery well indeed, and begs that he may not be despised. In the evening I\ngave a very splendid dinner. Eighteen covers, most magnificent flowers,\nsuch table decoration as was never seen in these parts. The whole thing\nwas a great success, and everybody was delighted.\n\nI am holiday-making until Friday, when we start on the round of travel\nthat is to bring us back here for the 1st of April. My holiday-making\nis simply thorough resting, except on Wednesday, when I dine with\nLongfellow. There is still great political excitement, but I hope it may\nnot hurt us very much. My fear is that it may damage the farewell. Dolby\nis not of my mind as to this, and I hope he may be right. We are not\nquite determined whether Mrs. Fields did not desert our colours, by\ncoming on the ground in a carriage, and having _bread soaked in brandy_\nput into the winning man's mouth as he steamed along. She pleaded that\nshe would have done as much for Dolby, if _he_ had been ahead, so we are\ninclined to forgive her. As she had done so much for me in the way of\nflowers, I thought I would show her a sight in that line at the dinner.\nYou never saw anything like it. Two immense crowns; the base, of the\nchoicest exotics; and the loops, oval masses of violets. In the centre\nof the table an immense basket, overflowing with enormous bell-mouthed\nlilies; all round the table a bright green border of wreathed creeper,\nwith clustering roses at intervals; a rose for every button-hole, and a\nbouquet for every lady. They made an exhibition of the table before\ndinner to numbers of people.\n\nP. H. has just come in with a newspaper, containing a reference (in good\ntaste!) to the walking-match. He posts it to you by this post.\n\nIt is telegraphed that the storm prevails over an immense extent of\ncountry, and is just the same at Chicago as here. I hope it may prove a\nwind-up. We are getting sick of the sound of sleigh-bells even.\n\nYour account of Anne has greatly interested me.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]\n\n                                      SYRACUSE, U.S. OF AMERICA,\n                                      _Sunday Night, March 8th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR FECHTER,\n\nI am here in a most wonderful out-of-the-world place, which looks as if\nit had begun to be built yesterday, and were going to be imperfectly\nknocked together with a nail or two the day after to-morrow. I am in the\nworst inn that ever was seen, and outside is a thaw that places the\nwhole country under water. I have looked out of window for the people,\nand I can't find any people. I have tried all the wines in the house,\nand there are only two wines, for which you pay six shillings a bottle,\nor fifteen, according as you feel disposed to change the name of the\nthing you ask for. (The article never changes.) The bill of fare is \"in\nFrench,\" and the principal article (the carte is printed) is \"Paettie de\nshay.\" I asked the Irish waiter what this dish was, and he said: \"It was\nthe name the steward giv' to oyster patties--the Frinch name.\" These are\nthe drinks you are to wash it down with: \"Mooseux,\" \"Abasinthe,\"\n\"Curacco,\" \"Marschine,\" \"Annise,\" and \"Margeaux\"!\n\nI am growing very home-sick, and very anxious for the 22nd of April; on\nwhich day, please God, I embark for home. I am beginning to be tired,\nand have been depressed all the time (except when reading), and have\nlost my appetite. I cannot tell you--but you know, and therefore why\nshould I?--how overjoyed I shall be to see you again, my dear boy, and\nhow sorely I miss a dear friend, and how sorely I miss all art, in these\nparts. No disparagement to the country, which has a great future in\nreserve, or to its people, who are very kind to me.\n\nI mean to take my leave of readings in the autumn and winter, in a final\nseries in England with Chappell. This will come into the way of literary\nwork for a time, for, after I have rested--don't laugh--it is a grim\nreality--I shall have to turn my mind to--ha! ha! ha!--to--ha! ha! ha!\n(more sepulchrally than before)--the--the CHRISTMAS NUMBER!!! I feel as\nif I had murdered a Christmas number years ago (perhaps I did!) and its\nghost perpetually haunted me. Nevertheless in some blessed rest at\nGad's, we will talk over stage matters, and all matters, in an even way,\nand see what we can make of them, please God. Be sure that I shall not\nbe in London one evening, after disembarking, without coming round to\nthe theatre to embrace you, my dear fellow.\n\nI have had an American cold (the worst in the world) since Christmas\nDay. I read four times a week, with the most tremendous energy I can\nbring to bear upon it. I travel about pretty heavily. I am very resolute\nabout calling on people, or receiving people, or dining out, and so save\nmyself a great deal. I read in all sorts of places--churches, theatres,\nconcert rooms, lecture halls. Every night I read I am described (mostly\nby people who have not the faintest notion of observing) from the sole\nof my boot to where the topmost hair of my head ought to be, but is not.\nSometimes I am described as being \"evidently nervous;\" sometimes it is\nrather taken ill that \"Mr. Dickens is so extraordinarily composed.\" My\neyes are blue, red, grey, white, green, brown, black, hazel, violet, and\nrainbow-. I am like \"a well-to-do American gentleman,\" and the\nEmperor of the French, with an occasional touch of the Emperor of China,\nand a deterioration from the attributes of our famous townsman, Rufus W.\nB. D. Dodge Grumsher Pickville. I say all sorts of things that I never\nsaid, go to all sorts of places that I never saw or heard of, and have\ndone all manner of things (in some previous state of existence I\nsuppose) that have quite escaped my memory. You ask your friend to\ndescribe what he is about. This is what he is about, every day and hour\nof his American life.\n\nI hope to be back with you before you write to me!\n\n                  Ever, my dear Fechter,\n                             Your most affectionate and hearty Friend.\n\nP.S.--Don't let Madame Fechter, or Marie, or Paul forget me!\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                  SYRACUSE, _Sunday, March 8th, 1868._\n\nAs we shall probably be busy all day to-morrow, I write this to-day,\nthough it will not leave New York until Wednesday. This is a very grim\nplace in a heavy thaw, and a most depressing one. The hotel also is\nsurprisingly bad, quite a triumph in that way. We stood out for an hour\nin the melting snow, and came in again, having to change completely.\nThen we sat down by the stove (no fireplace), and there we are now. We\nwere so afraid to go to bed last night, the rooms were so close and\nsour, that we played whist, double dummy, till we couldn't bear each\nother any longer. We had an old buffalo for supper, and an old pig for\nbreakfast, and we are going to have I don't know what for dinner at six.\nIn the public rooms downstairs, a number of men (speechless) are sitting\nin rocking-chairs, with their feet against the window-frames, staring\nout at window and spitting dolefully at intervals. Scott is in tears,\nand George the gasman is suborning people to go and clean the hall,\nwhich is a marvel of dirt. And yet we have taken considerably over three\nhundred pounds for to-morrow night!\n\nWe were at Albany the night before last and yesterday morning; a very\npretty town, where I am to read on the 18th and 19th. This day week we\nhope to wash out this establishment with the Falls of Niagara. And there\nis my news, except that your _last letters_ to me in America must be\nposted by the Cunard steamer, which will sail from Liverpool on\n_Saturday, the 4th of April_. These I shall be safe to get before\nembarking.\n\nI send a note to Katie (addressed to Mamie) by this mail. I wrote to\nHarry some weeks ago, stating to him on what principles he must act in\nremodelling the cricket club, if he would secure success.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                                _Monday Morning, 9th._\n\nNothing new. Weather cloudy, and town more dismal than yesterday. It\nfroze again last night, and thaws again this morning. Somebody sent me\nan Australian newspaper this morning--some citizen of Syracuse I\nmean--because of a paragraph in it describing the taking of two\nfreebooters, at which taking Alfred was present. Though I do not make\nout that he had anything in the world to do with it, except having his\nname pressed into the service of the newspaper.\n\n\n                                BUFFALO, _Thursday, March 12th, 1868._\n\nI hope this may be in time for next Saturday's mail; but this is a long\nway from New York, and rivers are swollen with melted snow, and\ntravelling is unusually slow.\n\nJust now (two o'clock in the afternoon) I received your sad news of the\ndeath of poor dear Chauncey.[23] It naturally goes to my heart. It is\nnot a light thing to lose such a friend, and I truly loved him. In the\nfirst unreasonable train of feeling, I dwelt more than I should have\nthought possible on my being unable to attend his funeral. I know how\nlittle this really matters; but I know he would have wished me to be\nthere with real honest tears for his memory, and I feel it very much. I\nnever, never, never was better loved by man than I was by him, I am\nsure. Poor dear fellow, good affectionate gentle creature.\n\nI have not as yet received any letter from Henri, nor do I think he can\nhave written to New York by your mail. I believe that I am--I know that\nI _was_--one of the executors. In that case Mr. Jackson, his agent, will\neither write to me very shortly on Henri's information of my address, or\nenquiry will be made at Gad's or at the office about it.\n\nIt is difficult for me to write more just now. The news is a real shock\nat such a distance, and I must read to-night, and I must compose my\nmind. Let Mekitty know that I received her violets with great pleasure,\nand that I sent her my best love and my best thanks.\n\nOn the 25th of February I read \"Copperfield\" and \"Bob\" at Boston. Either\non that very day, or very close upon it, I was describing his\n(Townshend's) house to Fields, and telling him about the great Danby\npicture that he should see when he came to London.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                ROCHESTER, _Sunday, March 16th, 1868._\n\nI found yours of the 28th February, when I came back here last night. We\nhave had two brilliant sunny days at Niagara, and have seen that\nwonderful place under the finest circumstances.\n\nEnclosed I return you Homan's estimate; let all that work be done,\nincluding the curtains.\n\nAs to the hall, I have my doubts whether one of the parqueted floors\nmade by Aaron Smith's, of Bond Street, ought not to be better than\ntiles, for the reason that perhaps the nature of the house's\nconstruction might render the \"bed\" necessary for wooden flooring more\neasy to be made than the \"bed\" necessary for tiles. I don't think you\ncan do better than call in the trusty Lillie to advise. Decide with your\naunt on which appears to be better, under the circumstances. Have\nestimate made for _cash_, select patterns and colours, and let the work\nbe done out of hand. (Here's a prompt order; now I draw breath.) Let it\nbe thoroughly well done--no half measures.\n\nThere is a great thaw all over the country here, and I think it has done\nthe catarrh good. I am to read at the famous Newhaven on Tuesday, the\n24th. I hope without a row, but cannot say. The readings are running out\nfast now, and we are growing very restless.\n\nThis is a short letter, but we are pressed for time. It is two o'clock,\nand we dine at three, before reading. To-morrow we rise at six, and have\neleven hours' railway or so. We have now come back from our farthest\npoint, and are steadily working towards home.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                     SPRINGFIELD, MASS., _Saturday, March 21st, 1868._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nWhat with perpetual reading and travelling, what with a \"true American\ncatarrh\" (on which I am complimented almost boastfully), and what with\none of the severest winters ever known, your coals of fire received by\nthe last mail did not burn my head so much as they might have done\nunder less excusatory circumstances. But they scorched it too!\n\nYou would find the general aspect of America and Americans decidedly\nmuch improved. You would find immeasurably greater consideration and\nrespect for your privacy than of old. You would find a steady change for\nthe better everywhere, except (oddly enough) in the railroads generally,\nwhich seem to have stood still, while everything else has moved. But\nthere is an exception westward. There the express trains have now a very\ndelightful carriage called a \"drawing-room car,\" literally a series of\nlittle private drawing-rooms, with sofas and a table in each, opening\nout of a little corridor. In each, too, is a large plate-glass window,\nwith which you can do as you like. As you pay extra for this luxury, it\nmay be regarded as the first move towards two classes of passengers.\nWhen the railroad straight away to San Francisco (in six days) shall be\nopened through, it will not only have these drawing-rooms, but\nsleeping-rooms too; a bell in every little apartment communicating with\na steward's pantry, a restaurant, a staff of servants, marble\nwashing-stands, and a barber's shop! I looked into one of these cars a\nday or two ago, and it was very ingeniously arranged and quite complete.\n\nI left Niagara last Sunday, and travelled on to Albany, through three\nhundred miles of flood, villages deserted, bridges broken, fences\ndrifting away, nothing but tearing water, floating ice, and absolute\nwreck and ruin. The train gave in altogether at Utica, and the\npassengers were let loose there for the night. As I was due at Albany, a\nvery active superintendent of works did all he could to \"get Mr. Dickens\nalong,\" and in the morning we resumed our journey through the water,\nwith a hundred men in seven-league boots pushing the ice from before us\nwith long poles. How we got to Albany I can't say, but we got there\nsomehow, just in time for a triumphal \"Carol\" and \"Trial.\" All the\ntickets had been sold, and we found the Albanians in a state of great\nexcitement. You may imagine what the flood was when I tell you that we\ntook the passengers out of two trains that had their fires put out by\nthe water four-and-twenty hours before, and cattle from trucks that had\nbeen in the water I don't know how long, but so long that the sheep had\nbegun to eat each other! It was a horrible spectacle, and the haggard\nhuman misery of their faces was quite a new study. There was a fine\nbreath of spring in the air concurrently with the great thaw; but lo and\nbehold! last night it began to snow again with a strong wind, and to-day\na snowdrift covers this place with all the desolation of winter once\nmore. I never was so tired of the sight of snow. As to sleighing, I have\nbeen sleighing about to that extent, that I am sick of the sound of a\nsleigh-bell.\n\nI have seen all our Boston friends, except Curtis. Ticknor is dead. The\nrest are very little changed, except that Longfellow has a perfectly\nwhite flowing beard and long white hair. But he does not otherwise look\nold, and is infinitely handsomer than he was. I have been constantly\nwith them all, and they have always talked much of you. It is the\nestablished joke that Boston is my \"native place,\" and we hold all sorts\nof hearty foregatherings. They all come to every reading, and are always\nin a most delightful state of enthusiasm. They give me a parting dinner\nat the club, on the Thursday before Good Friday. To pass from Boston\npersonal to New York theatrical, I will mention here that one of the\nproprietors of my New York hotel is one of the proprietors of Niblo's,\nand the most active. Consequently I have seen the \"Black Crook\" and the\n\"White Fawn,\" in majesty, from an arm-chair in the first entrance, P.S.,\nmore than once. Of these astonishing dramas, I beg to report (seriously)\nthat I have found no human creature \"behind\" who has the slightest idea\nwhat they are about (upon my honour, my dearest Macready!), and that\nhaving some amiable small talk with a neat little Spanish woman, who is\nthe _premiere danseuse_, I asked her, in joke, to let me measure her\nskirt with my dress glove. Holding the glove by the tip of the\nforefinger, I found the skirt to be just three gloves long, and yet its\nlength was much in excess of the skirts of two hundred other ladies,\nwhom the carpenters were at that moment getting into their places for a\ntransformation scene, on revolving columns, on wires and \"travellers\" in\niron cradles, up in the flies, down in the cellars, on every description\nof float that Wilmot, gone distracted, could imagine!\n\nI have taken my passage for Liverpool from New York in the Cunarder\n_Russia_, on the 22nd of April. I had the second officer's cabin on deck\ncoming out, and I have the chief steward's cabin on deck going home,\nbecause it will be on the sunny side of the ship. I have experienced\nnothing here but good humour and cordiality. In the autumn and winter I\nhave arranged with Chappells to take my farewell of reading in the\nUnited Kingdom for ever and ever.\n\nI am delighted to hear of Benvenuta's marriage, and I think her husband\na very lucky man. Johnnie has my profound sympathy under his\nexaminatorial woes. The noble boy will give me Gavazzi revised and\nenlarged, I expect, when I next come to Cheltenham. I will give you and\nMrs. Macready all my American experiences when you come to London, or,\nbetter still, to Gad's. Meanwhile I send my hearty love to all, not\nforgetting dear Katie.\n\nNiagara is not at all spoiled by a very dizzy-looking suspension bridge.\nIs to have another still nearer to the Horse-shoe opened in July. My\nlast sight of that scene (last Sunday) was thus: We went up to the\nrapids above the Horse-shoe--say two miles from it--and through the\ngreat cloud of spray. Everything in the magnificent valley--buildings,\nforest, high banks, air, water, everything--was _made of rainbow_.\nTurner's most imaginative drawing in his finest day has nothing in it so\nethereal, so gorgeous in fancy, so celestial. We said to one another\n(Dolby and I), \"Let it for evermore remain so,\" and shut our eyes and\ncame away.\n\nGod bless you and all dear to you, my dear old Friend!\n\n                               I am ever your affectionate and loving.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                 PORTLAND, _Sunday, March 29th, 1868._\n\nI should have written to you by the last mail, but I really was too\nunwell to do it. The writing day was last Friday, when I ought to have\nleft Boston for New Bedford (fifty-five miles) before eleven in the\nmorning. But I was so exhausted that I could not be got up, and had to\ntake my chance of an evening's train producing me in time to read, which\nit just did. With the return of snow, nine days ago, the \"true American\"\n(which had lulled) came back as bad as ever. I have coughed from two or\nthree in the morning until five or six, and have been absolutely\nsleepless. I have had no appetite besides, and no taste. Last night here\nI took some laudanum, and it is the only thing that has done me good.\nBut the life in this climate is so very hard. When I did manage to get\nfrom Boston to New Bedford, I read with my utmost force and vigour.\nNext morning, well or ill, I must turn out at seven to get back to\nBoston on my way here.\n\nI dine at Boston at three, and at five must come on here (a hundred and\nthirty miles or so), for to-morrow night; there being no Sunday train.\nTo-morrow night I read here in a very large place, and Tuesday morning\nat six I must start again to get back to Boston once more. But after\nto-morrow night, I have only the Boston and New York farewells, thank\nGod! I am most grateful to think that when we came to devise the details\nof the tour, I foresaw that it could never be done, as Dolby and Osgood\nproposed, by one unassisted man, as if he were a machine. If I had not\ncut out the work, and cut out Canada, I could never have gone there, I\nam quite sure. Even as it is, I have just now written to Dolby (who is\nin New York), to see my doctor there, and ask him to send me some\ncomposing medicine that I can take at night, inasmuch as without sleep I\ncannot get through. However sympathetic and devoted the people are about\nme, they _can not_ be got to comprehend that one's being able to do the\ntwo hours with spirit when the time comes round, may be co-existent with\nthe consciousness of great depression and fatigue. I don't mind saying\nall this, now that the labour is so nearly over. You shall have a\nbrighter account of me, please God, when I close this at Boston.\n\n\n                                                 _Monday, March 30th._\n\nWithout any artificial aid, I got a splendid night's rest last night,\nand consequently am very much freshened up to-day. Yesterday I had a\nfine walk by the sea, and to-day I have had another on the heights\noverlooking it.\n\n\n                                              BOSTON, _Tuesday, 31st._\n\nI have safely arrived here, just in time to add a line to that effect,\nand get this off by to-morrow's English mail from New York. Catarrh\nrather better. Everything triumphant last night, except no sleep again.\nI suppose Dolby to be now on his way back to join me here. I am much\nmistaken if the political crisis do not damage the farewells by almost\none half.\n\nI hope that I am certainly better altogether.\n\nMy room well decorated with flowers, of course, and Mr. and Mrs. Fields\ncoming to dinner. They are the most devoted of friends, and never in the\nway and never out of it.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                 BOSTON, _Wednesday, April 1st, 1868._\n\nI received your letter of from the 14th to the 17th of March, here, last\nnight. My New York doctor has prescribed for me promptly, and I hope I\nam better. I am certainly no worse. We shall do (to the best of my\nbelief) _very well_ with the farewells here and at New York, but not\ngreatly. Everything is at a standstill, pending the impeachment and the\nnext presidential election. I forgot whether I told you that the New\nYork press are going to give me a public dinner, on Saturday, the 18th.\n\nI hear (but not from himself) that Wills has had a bad fall in hunting,\nand is, or has been, laid up. I am supposed, I take it, not to know this\nuntil I hear it from himself.\n\n\n_Thursday._\n\nMy notion of the farewells is pretty certain now to turn out right. It\nis not at all probable that we shall do anything enormous. Every pulpit\nin Massachusetts will resound to violent politics to-day and to-night.\nYou remember the Hutchinson family?[24] I have had a grateful letter\nfrom John Hutchinson. He speaks of \"my sister Abby\" as living in New\nYork. The immediate object of his note is to invite me to the marriage\nof his daughter, twenty-one years of age.\n\nYou will see by the evidence of this piece of paper that I am using up\nmy stationery. Scott has just been making anxious calculations as to our\npowers of holding out in the articles of tooth-powder, etc. The\ncalculations encourage him to believe that we shall just hold out, and\nno more. I think I am still better to-day than I was yesterday; but I am\nfar from strong, and have no appetite. To see me at my little table at\nnight, you would think me the freshest of the fresh. And this is the\nmarvel of Fields' life.\n\nI don't forget that this is Forster's birthday.\n\n\n                                              _Friday Afternoon, 3rd._\n\nCatarrh worse than ever! And we don't know (at four) whether I can read\nto-night or must stop. Otherwise all well.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                   BOSTON, _Tuesday, April 7th, 1868._\n\nI not only read last Friday, when I was doubtful of being able to do so,\nbut read as I never did before, and astonished the audience quite as\nmuch as myself. You never saw or heard such a scene of excitement.\n\nLongfellow and all the Cambridge men urged me to give in. I have been\nvery near doing so, but feel stronger to-day. I cannot tell whether the\ncatarrh may have done me any lasting injury in the lungs or other\nbreathing organs, until I shall have rested and got home. I hope and\nbelieve not. Consider the weather. There have been two snowstorms since\nI wrote last, and to-day the town is blotted out in a ceaseless whirl of\nsnow and wind.\n\nI cannot eat (to anything like the ordinary extent), and have\nestablished this system: At seven in the morning, in bed, a tumbler of\nnew cream and two tablespoonsful of rum. At twelve, a sherry cobbler and\na biscuit. At three (dinner time), a pint of champagne. At five minutes\nto eight, an egg beaten up with a glass of sherry. Between the parts,\nthe strongest beef tea that can be made, drunk hot. At a quarter-past\nten, soup, and anything to drink that I can fancy. I don't eat more than\nhalf a pound of solid food in the whole four-and-twenty hours, if so\nmuch.\n\nIf I hold out, as I hope to do, I shall be greatly pressed in leaving\nhere and getting over to New York before next Saturday's mail from\nthere. Do not, therefore, _if all be well_, expect to hear from me by\nSaturday's mail, but look for my last letter from America by the mail of\nthe following Wednesday, the 15th. _Be sure_ that you shall hear,\nhowever, by Saturday's mail, if I should knock up as to reading. I am\ntremendously \"beat,\" but I feel really and unaffectedly so much stronger\nto-day, both in my body and hopes, that I am much encouraged. I have a\nfancy that I turned my worst time last night.\n\nDolby is as tender as a woman and as watchful as a doctor. He never\nleaves me during the reading now, but sits at the side of the platform\nand keeps his eye upon me all the time. Ditto George, the gasman,\nsteadiest and most reliable man I ever employed. I am the more hopeful\nof my not having to relinquish a reading, because last night was\n\"Copperfield\" and \"Bob\"--by a quarter of an hour the longest, and, in\nconsideration of the storm, by very much the most trying. Yet I was far\nfresher afterwards than I have been these three weeks.\n\nI have \"Dombey\" to do to-night, and must go through it carefully; so\nhere ends my report. The personal affection of the people in this place\nis charming to the last.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]\n\n                           GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Monday, May 11th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. WATSON,\n\nI am delighted to have your letter. It comes to me like a faithful voice\nfrom dear old Rockingham, and awakens many memories.\n\nThe work in America has been so very hard, and the winter there has been\nso excessively severe, that I really have been very unwell for some\nmonths. But I had not been at sea three days on the passage home when I\nbecame myself again.\n\nIf you will arrange with Mary Boyle any time for coming here, we shall\nbe charmed to see you, and I will adapt my arrangements accordingly. I\nmake this suggestion because she generally comes here early in the\nsummer season. But if you will propose yourself _anyhow_, giving me a\nmargin of a few days in case of my being pre-engaged for this day or\nthat, we will (as my American friends say) \"fix it.\"\n\nWhat with travelling, reading night after night, and speech-making day\nafter day, I feel the peace of the country beyond all expression. On\nboard ship coming home, a \"deputation\" (two in number, of whom only one\ncould get into my cabin, while the other looked in at my window) came to\nask me to read to the passengers that evening in the saloon. I\nrespectfully replied that sooner than do it, I would assault the\ncaptain, and be put in irons.\n\n                                            Ever affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. George Cattermole.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Saturday, May 16th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. CATTERMOLE,\n\nOn my return from America just now, I accidentally heard that George had\nbeen ill. My sister-in-law had heard it from Forster, but vaguely. Until\nI received your letter of Wednesday's date, I had no idea that he had\nbeen very ill; and should have been greatly shocked by knowing it, were\nit not for the hopeful and bright assurance you give me that he is\ngreatly better.\n\nMy old affection for him has never cooled. The last time he dined with\nme, I asked him to come again that day ten years, for I was perfectly\ncertain (this was my small joke) that I should not set eyes upon him\nsooner. The time being fully up, I hope you will remind him, with my\nlove, that he is due. His hand is upon these walls here, so I should\nlike him to see for himself, and _you_ to see for _yourself_, and in\nthis hope I shall pursue his complete recovery.\n\nI heartily sympathise with you in your terrible anxiety, and in your\nvast relief; and, with many thanks for your letter, am ever, my dear\nMrs. Cattermole,\n\n                                                 Affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                             GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, June 10th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nSince my return from America, I have been so overwhelmed with business\nthat I have not had time even to write to you. You may imagine what six\nmonths of arrear are to dispose of; added to this, Wills has received a\nconcussion of the brain (from an accident in the hunting-field), and is\nsent away by the doctors, and strictly prohibited from even writing a\nnote. Consequently all the business and money details of \"All the Year\nRound\" devolve upon me. And I have had to get them up, for I have never\nhad experience of them. Then I am suddenly entreated to go to Paris, to\nlook after the French version of \"No Thoroughfare\" on the stage. And I\ngo, and come back, leaving it a great success.\n\nI hope Mrs. Macready and you have not abandoned the idea of coming here?\nThe expression of this hope is the principal, if not the only, object of\nthis present note. May the amiable secretary vouchsafe a satisfactory\nreply!\n\nKatie, Mary, and Georgina send their very best love to your Katie and\nMrs. Macready. The undersigned is in his usual brilliant condition, and\nindeed has greatly disappointed them at home here, by coming back \"so\nbrown and looking so well.\" They expected a wreck, and were, at first,\nmuch mortified. But they are getting over it now.\n\nTo my particular friends, the noble boy and Johnny, I beg to be warmly\nremembered.\n\n                                Ever, my dearest Macready,\n                                               Your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Henry Austin.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Tuesday, July 21st, 1868._\n\n              ON THE DEATH OF MR. HENRY AUSTIN.[25]\n\nMY DEAR LETITIA,\n\nYou will have had a telegram from me to-day. I received your sad news by\nthis morning's post. They never, without express explanation, mind\n\"Immediate\" on a letter addressed to the office, because half the people\nwho write there on business that does not press, or on no business at\nall, so mark their letters.\n\nOn Thursday I have people to see and matters to attend to, both at the\noffice and at Coutts', which, in Wills's absence, I cannot forego or\ndepute to another. But, _between ourselves_, I must add something else:\nI have the greatest objection to attend a funeral in which my affections\nare not strongly and immediately concerned. I have no notion of a\nfuneral as a matter of form or ceremony. And just as I should expressly\nprohibit the summoning to my own burial of anybody who was not very near\nor dear to me, so I revolt from myself appearing at that solemn rite\nunless the deceased were very near or dear to me. I cannot endure being\ndressed up by an undertaker as part of his trade show. I was not in this\npoor good fellow's house in his lifetime, and I feel that I have no\nbusiness there when he lies dead in it. My mind is penetrated with\nsympathy and compassion for the young widow, but that feeling is a real\nthing, and my attendance as a mourner would not be--to myself. It would\nbe to you, I know, but it would not be to myself. I know full well that\nyou cannot delegate to me your memories of and your associations with\nthe deceased, and the more true and tender they are the more invincible\nis my objection to become a form in the midst of the most awful\nrealities.\n\nWith love and condolence from Georgina, Mary, and Katie,\n\n                           Believe me, ever your affectionate Brother.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. George Cattermole.]\n\n                             GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, July 22nd, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. CATTERMOLE,\n\nOf course I will sign your memorial to the Academy. If you take either\nof the Landseers, certainly take Edwin (1, St. John's Wood Road, N.W.)\nBut, if you would be content with Frith, I have already spoken to him,\nand believe that I can answer for him. I shall be at \"All the Year\nRound\" Office, 26, Wellington Street, London, to-morrow, from eleven to\nthree. Frith will be here on Saturday, and I shall be here too. I spoke\nto him a fortnight ago, and I found him most earnest in the cause. He\nsaid he felt absolutely sure that the whole profession in its best and\nhighest representation would do anything for George. I sounded him,\nhaving the opportunity of meeting him at dinner at Cartwright's.\n\n                                            Ever yours affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n                                            _Friday, July 31st, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nI had such a hard day at the office yesterday, that I had not time to\nwrite to you before I left. So I write to-day.\n\nI am very unwilling to abandon the Christmas number, though even in the\ncase of my little Christmas books (which were immensely profitable) I\nlet the idea go when I thought it was wearing out. Ever since I came\nhome, I have hammered at it, more or less, and have been uneasy about\nit. I have begun something which is very droll, but it manifestly shapes\nitself towards a book, and could not in the least admit of even that\nshadowy approach to a congruous whole on the part of other contributors\nwhich they have ever achieved at the best. I have begun something else\n(aboard the American mail-steamer); but I don't like it, because the\nstories must come limping in after the old fashion, though, of course,\nwhat I _have_ done will be good for A. Y. R. In short, I have cast about\nwith the greatest pains and patience, and I have been wholly unable to\nfind what I want.\n\nAnd yet I cannot quite make up my mind to give in without another fight\nfor it. I offered one hundred pounds reward at Gad's to anybody who\ncould suggest a notion to satisfy me. Charles Collins suggested one\nyesterday morning, in which there is _something_, though not much. I\nwill turn it over and over, and try a few more starts on my own account.\nFinally, I swear I will not give it up until August is out. Vow\nregistered.\n\nI am clear that a number by \"various writers\" would not do. If we have\nnot the usual sort of number, we must call the current number for that\ndate the Christmas number, and make it as good as possible.\n\nI sit in the Chalet,[26] like Mariana in the Moated Grange, and to as\nmuch purpose.\n\nI am buying the freehold of the meadow at Gad's, and of an adjoining\narable field, so that I shall now have about eight-and-twenty freehold\nacres in a ring-fence. No more now.\n\nI made up a very good number yesterday. You will see in it a very short\narticle that I have called \"Now!\" which is a highly remarkable piece of\ndescription. It is done by a new man, from whom I have accepted another\narticle; but he will never do anything so good again.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                         _Wednesday, Aug. 26th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nI was happy to receive your esteemed letter a few days ago.\n\nThe severity of the winter in America (which was quite exceptional even\nin that rigorous climate), combined with the hard work I had to do,\ntried me a good deal. Neuralgia and colds beset me, either by turns or\nboth together, and I had often much to do to get through at night. But\nthe sea voyage home again did wonders in restoring me, and I have been\nvery well indeed, though a little fatigued, ever since. I am now\npreparing for a final reading campaign in England, Scotland, and\nIreland. It will begin on the 6th of October, and will probably last,\nwith short occasional intermissions, until June.\n\nThe great subject in England for the moment is the horrible accident to\nthe Irish mail-train. It is now supposed that the petroleum (known to be\na powerful anaesthetic) rendered the unfortunate people who were burnt\nalmost instantly insensible to any sensation. My escape in the\nStaplehurst accident of three years ago is not to be obliterated from my\nnervous system. To this hour I have sudden vague rushes of terror, even\nwhen riding in a hansom cab, which are perfectly unreasonable but quite\ninsurmountable. I used to make nothing of driving a pair of horses\nhabitually through the most crowded parts of London. I cannot now drive,\nwith comfort to myself, on the country roads here; and I doubt if I\ncould ride at all in the saddle. My reading secretary and companion\nknows so well when one of these odd momentary seizures comes upon me in\na railway carriage, that he instantly produces a dram of brandy, which\nrallies the blood to the heart and generally prevails. I forget whether\nI ever told you that my watch (a chronometer) has never gone exactly\nsince the accident? So the Irish catastrophe naturally revives the\ndreadful things I saw that day.\n\nThe only other news here you know as well as I; to wit, that the country\nis going to be ruined, and that the Church is going to be ruined, and\nthat both have become so used to being ruined, that they will go on\nperfectly well.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n     OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\" NO. 26, WELLINGTON STREET,\n                                  STRAND, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                         _Saturday, Sept. 26th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nI will add a line to this at the Athenaeum, after seeing Plorn off, to\ntell you how he went away.\n\n\n                                           ATHENAEUM, _Quarter to Six._\n\nI can honestly report that he went away, poor dear fellow, as well as\ncould possibly be expected. He was pale, and had been crying, and (Harry\nsaid) had broken down in the railway carriage after leaving Higham\nstation; but only for a short time.\n\nJust before the train started he cried a good deal, but not painfully.\n(Tell dear Georgy that I bought him his cigars.) These are hard, hard\nthings, but they might have to be done without means or influence, and\nthen they would be far harder. God bless him!\n\n\n        PARLIAMENT. REPLY TO A PROPOSAL MADE THROUGH\n        ALEXANDER RUSSEL, OF \"THE SCOTSMAN,\" THAT HE\n        SHOULD ALLOW HIMSELF TO BE PUT FORWARD AS A\n        CANDIDATE FOR THE REPRESENTATION OF EDINBURGH.\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. F. D. Finlay.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                             _Sunday, Oct. 4th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR FINLAY,\n\nI am much obliged to you in all friendship and sincerity for your\nletter. I have a great respect for your father-in-law and his paper, and\nI am much attached to the Edinburgh people. You may suppose, therefore,\nthat if my mind were not fully made up on the parliamentary question, I\nshould waver now.\n\nBut my conviction that I am more useful and more happy as I am than I\ncould ever be in Parliament is not to be shaken. I considered it some\nweeks ago, when I had a stirring proposal from the Birmingham people,\nand I then set it up on a rock for ever and a day.\n\nDo tell Mr. Russel that I truly feel this mark of confidence, and that I\nhope to acknowledge it in person in Edinburgh before Christmas. There is\nno man in Scotland from whom I should consider his suggestion a greater\nhonour.\n\n                                                           Ever yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPoor Plorn is gone to Australia. It was a hard parting at the last. He\nseemed to me to become once more my youngest and favourite little child\nas the day drew near, and I did not think I could have been so shaken.\nYou were his idol to the hour of his departure, and he asked me to tell\nyou how much he wanted to bid you good-bye.\n\nKindest love from all.\n\n                                                        Ever heartily.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The same.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                          _Wednesday, Oct. 7th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR FECHTER,\n\nI got your letter sent to Gad's Hill this morning. Until I received it,\nI supposed the piece to have been put into English from your French by\nyoung Ben. If I understand that the English is yours, then I say that it\nis extraordinarily good, written by one in another country.\n\nI do not read again in London until the 20th; and then \"Copperfield.\"\nBut by that time you will be at work yourself.\n\nLet us dine at six to-day, in order that we may not have to hurry for\nthe comic dog.\n\n                                                      Ever faithfully.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                 QUEEN'S HOTEL, MANCHESTER, _Sunday, Oct. 11th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nWe had a fine audience last night in the Free Trade Hall, though not\nwhat we consider a large money-house. The let in Liverpool is extremely\ngood, and we are going over there at half-past one. We got down here\npleasantly enough and in good time; so all has gone well you see.\n\nTitiens, Santley, and an opera company of that class are at the theatre\nhere. They have been doing very poorly in Manchester.\n\nThere is the whole of my scanty news. I was in wonderful voice last\nnight, but croak a little this morning, after so much speaking in so\nvery large a place. Otherwise I am all right. I find myself constantly\nthinking of Plorn.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                  ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Monday, Oct. 12th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nOur lets here are excellent, and we shall have a great house to-night.\nWe had a very fine and enthusiastic audience in the Free Trade Hall, at\nManchester, on Saturday; but our first nights there never count up in\nmoney, as the rest do. Yesterday, \"Charlotte,\" Sainton, and Piatti\nstayed with us here; and they went on to Hull this morning. It was\npleasant to be alone again, though they were all very agreeable.\n\nThe exertion of going on for two hours in that immense place at\nManchester being very great, I was hoarse all day yesterday, though I\nwas not much distressed on Saturday night. I am becoming melodious again\n(at three in the afternoon) rapidly, and count on being quite restored\nby a basin of turtle at dinner.\n\nI am glad to hear about Armatage, and hope that a service begun in a\npersonal attachment to Plorn may go on well. I shall never be\nover-confident in such matters, I think, any more.\n\nThe day is delicious here. We have had a blow on the Mersey this\nmorning, and exulted over the American steamers. With kind regard to Sir\nWilliam and Lady Humphery.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                 ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Tuesday, Oct. 13th, 1868._\n\nAs I sent a line to Mary yesterday, I enclose you Alfred's letter.\nPlease send it on to her when you next write to Penton.\n\nI have just now written to Mrs. Forster, asking her to explain to Miss\nForster how she could have an easy-chair or a sofa behind my side screen\non Tuesday, without occasioning the smallest inconvenience to anybody.\nAlso, how she would have a door close at hand, leading at once to cool\npassages and a quiet room, etc. etc. etc. It is a sad story.\n\nWe had a fine house here last night, and a large turn-away. \"Marigold\"\nand \"Trial\" went immensely. I doubt if \"Marigold\" were ever more\nenthusiastically received. \"Copperfield\" and \"Bob\" to-night, and a large\nlet. This notwithstanding election meetings and all sorts of things.\n\nMy favourite room brought my voice round last night, and I am in\nconsiderable force.\n\nDolby sends kindest regard, and the message: \"Everton toffee shall not\nbe forgotten.\"\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Fielding Dickens.]\n\n                ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Thursday, Oct. 15th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR HARRY,\n\nI have your letter here this morning. I enclose you another cheque for\ntwenty-five pounds, and I write to London by this post, ordering three\ndozen sherry, two dozen port, and three dozen light claret, to be sent\ndown to you.\n\nNow, observe attentively. We must have no shadow of debt. Square up\neverything whatsoever that it has been necessary to buy. Let not a\nfarthing be outstanding on any account, when we begin together with your\nallowance. Be particular in the minutest detail.\n\nI wish to have no secret from you in the relations we are to establish\ntogether, and I therefore send you Joe Chitty's letter bodily. Reading\nit, you will know exactly what I know, and will understand that I treat\nyou with perfect confidence. It appears to me that an allowance of two\nhundred and fifty pounds a year will be handsome for all your wants, if\nI send you your wines. I mean this to include your tailor's bills as\nwell as every other expense; and I strongly recommend you to buy nothing\nin Cambridge, and to take credit for nothing but the clothes with which\nyour tailor provides you. As soon as you have got your furniture\naccounts in, let us wipe all those preliminary expenses clean out, and I\nwill then send you your first quarter. We will count in it October,\nNovember, and December; and your second quarter will begin with the New\nYear. If you dislike, at first, taking charge of so large a sum as\nsixty-two pounds ten shillings, you can have your money from me\nhalf-quarterly.\n\nYou know how hard I work for what I get, and I think you know that I\nnever had money help from any human creature after I was a child. You\nknow that you are one of many heavy charges on me, and that I trust to\nyour so exercising your abilities and improving the advantages of your\npast expensive education, as soon to diminish _this_ charge. I say no\nmore on that head.\n\nWhatever you do, above all other things keep out of debt and confide in\nme. If you ever find yourself on the verge of any perplexity or\ndifficulty, come to me. You will never find me hard with you while you\nare manly and truthful.\n\nAs your brothers have gone away one by one, I have written to each of\nthem what I am now going to write to you. You know that you have never\nbeen hampered with religious forms of restraint, and that with mere\nunmeaning forms I have no sympathy. But I most strongly and\naffectionately impress upon you the priceless value of the New\nTestament, and the study of that book as the one unfailing guide in\nlife. Deeply respecting it, and bowing down before the character of our\nSaviour, as separated from the vain constructions and inventions of men,\nyou cannot go very wrong, and will always preserve at heart a true\nspirit of veneration and humility. Similarly I impress upon you the\nhabit of saying a Christian prayer every night and morning. These things\nhave stood by me all through my life, and remember that I tried to\nrender the New Testament intelligible to you and lovable by you when you\nwere a mere baby.\n\nAnd so God bless you.\n\n                                        Ever your affectionate Father.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                            _Monday, Nov. 16th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR KENT,\n\nI was on the eve of writing to you.\n\nWe thought of keeping the trial private; but Oxenford has suggested to\nChappell that he would like to take the opportunity of to-morrow night's\nreading, of saying something about \"Oliver\" in _Wednesday's paper_.\nChappell has told Levy of this, and also Mr. Tompkin, of _The Post_,\nwho was there. Consequently, on Wednesday evening your charming article\ncan come out to the best advantage.\n\nYou have no idea of the difficulty of getting in the end of Sikes. As to\nthe man with the invaluable composition! my dear fellow, believe me, no\naudience on earth could be held for ten minutes after the girl's death.\nGive them time, and they would be revengeful for having had such a\nstrain put upon them. Trust me to be right. I stand there, and I know.\n\nConcerning Harry, I like to guide the boys to a distinct choice, rather\nthan to press it on them. That will be my course as to the Middle\nTemple, of which I think as you do.\n\nWith cordial thanks for every word in your letter,\n\n                                          Affectionately yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. F. Lehmann.]\n\n                 KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Sunday, Dec. 6th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. LEHMANN,\n\nI hope you will see Nancy with the light of a great audience upon her\nsome time between this and May; always supposing that she should not\nprove too weird and woeful for the general public.\n\nYou know the aspect of this city on a Sunday, and how gay and bright it\nis. The merry music of the blithe bells, the waving flags, the\nprettily-decorated houses with their draperies of various colours, and\nthe radiant countenances at the windows and in the streets, how charming\nthey are! The usual preparations are making for the band in the open\nair, in the afternoon; and the usual pretty children (selected for that\npurpose) are at this moment hanging garlands round the Scott monument,\npreparatory to the innocent Sunday dance round that edifice, with which\nthe diversions invariably close. It is pleasant to think that these\ncustoms were themselves of the early Christians, those early birds who\n_didn't_ catch the worm--and nothing else--and choke their young with\nit.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                 KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Sunday, Dec. 6th, 1868._\n\nWe got down here to our time to the moment; and, considering the length\nof the journey, very easily. I made a calculation on the road, that the\nrailway travelling over such a distance involves something more than\nthirty thousand shocks to the nerves. Dolby didn't like it at all.\n\nThe signals for a gale were up at Berwick, and along the road between\nthere and here. It came on just as we arrived, and blew tremendously\nhard all night. The wind is still very high, though the sky is bright\nand the sun shining. We couldn't sleep for the noise.\n\nWe are very comfortably quartered. I fancy that the \"business\" will be\non the whole better here than in Glasgow, where trade is said to be very\nbad. But I think I shall be pretty correct in both places as to the run\nbeing on the final readings.\n\nWe are going up Arthur's Seat presently, which will be a pull for our\nfat friend.\n\nScott, in a new Mephistopheles hat, baffles imagination and description.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]\n\n                KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Tuesday, Dec. 8th, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR WILKIE,\n\nI am hard at it here as usual, though with an audience so finely\nperceptive that the labour is much diminished. I have got together in a\nvery short space the conclusion of \"Oliver Twist\" that you suggested,\nand am trying it daily with the object of rising from that blank state\nof horror into a fierce and passionate rush for the end. As yet I cannot\nmake a certain effect of it; but when I shall have gone over it as many\nscore of times as over the rest of that reading, perhaps I may strike\none out.\n\nI shall be very glad to hear when you have done your play, and I _am_\nglad to hear that you like the steamer. I agree with you about the\nreading perfectly. In No. 3 you will see an exact account of some places\nI visited at Ratcliffe. There are two little instances in it of\nsomething comic rising up in the midst of the direst misery, that struck\nme very humorously at the time.\n\nAs I have determined not to do the \"Oliver Murder\" until after the 5th\nof January, when I shall ascertain its effect on a great audience, it is\ncurious to notice how the shadow of its coming affects the Scotch mind.\nThere was such a disposition to hold back for it here (until I return to\nfinish in February) that we had next to no \"let\" when we arrived. It all\ncame with a rush yesterday. They gave me a most magnificent welcome back\nfrom America last night.\n\nI am perpetually counting the weeks before me to be \"read\" through, and\nam perpetually longing for the end of them; and yet I sometimes wonder\nwhether I shall miss something when they are over.\n\nIt is a very, very bad day here, very dark and very wet. Dolby is over\nat Glasgow, and I am sitting at a side window looking up the length of\nPrince's Street, watching the mist change over the Castle and murdering\nNancy by turns.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\nP.S.--I have read the whole of Fitzgerald's \"Zero,\" and the idea is\nexceedingly well wrought out.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n              KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Saturday, Dec. 12th, 1868._\n\nI send another _Scotsman_ by this post, because it is really a good\nnewspaper, well written, and well managed. We had an immense house here\nlast night, and a very large turn-away.\n\nWe have four guests to dinner to-day: Peter Fraser, Ballantyne, John\nBlackwood, and Mr. Russel. Immense preparations are making in the\nestablishment, \"on account,\" Mr. Kennedy says, \"of a' four yon chiels\nbeing chiels wha' ken a guid dinner.\" I enquired after poor Doctor Burt,\nnot having the least idea that he was dead.\n\nMy voice holds out splendidly so far, and I have had no return of the\nAmerican. But I sleep very indifferently indeed.\n\nIt blew appallingly here the night before last, but the wind has since\nshifted northward, and it is now bright and cold. The _Star of Hope_,\nthat picked up those shipwrecked people in the boat, came into Leith\nyesterday, and was received with tremendous cheers. Her captain must be\na good man and a noble fellow.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The same.]\n\n                KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Monday, Dec. 14th, 1868._\n\nThe dinner-party of Saturday last was an immense success. Russel swore\non the occasion that he would go over to Belfast expressly to dine with\nme at the Finlays'. Ballantyne informed me that he was going to send you\nsome Scotch remembrance (I don't know what) at Christmas!\n\nThe Edinburgh houses are very fine. The Glasgow room is a big wandering\nplace, with five prices in it, which makes it the more aggravating, as\nthe people get into knots which they can't break, as if they were afraid\nof one another.\n\nForgery of my name is becoming popular. You sent me, this morning, a\nletter from Russell Sturgis, answering a supposed letter of mine\n(presented by \"Miss Jefferies\"), and assuring me of his readiness to\ngive not only the ten pounds I asked for, but any contribution I wanted,\ntowards sending that lady and her family back to Boston.\n\nI wish you would take an opportunity of forewarning Lady Tennent that\nthe first night's reading she will attend is an experiment quite out of\nthe way, and that she may find it rather horrible.\n\nThe keeper of the Edinburgh Hall, a fine old soldier, presented me, on\nFriday night, with the finest red camellia for my button-hole that ever\nwas seen. Nobody can imagine how he came by it, as the florists had had\na considerable demand for that colour from ladies in the stalls, and\ncould get no such thing.\n\nThe day is dark, wet, and windy. The weather is likely to be vile indeed\nat Glasgow, where it always rains, and where the sun is never seen\nthrough the smoke. We go over there to-morrow at ten.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                 CARRICK'S ROYAL HOTEL, GLASGOW,\n                                           _Tuesday, Dec. 15th, 1868._\n\nIt occurs to me that my table at St. James's Hall might be appropriately\nornamented with a little holly next Tuesday. If the two front legs were\nentwined with it, for instance, and a border of it ran round the top of\nthe fringe in front, with a little sprig by way of bouquet at each\ncorner, it would present a seasonable appearance.\n\nIf you will think of this, and will have the materials ready in a little\nbasket, I will call for you at the office at half-past twelve on\nTuesday, and take you up to the hall, where the table will be ready for\nyou.\n\nNo news, except that we had a great crush and a wonderful audience in\nEdinburgh last night.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                 CARRICK'S ROYAL HOTEL, GLASGOW,\n                                         _Wednesday, Dec. 16th, 1868._\n\nThis is to report all well, except that I have wretched nights. The\nweather is diabolical here, and times are very bad. I cut \"Copperfield\"\nwith a bold dexterity that amazed myself and utterly confounded George\nat the wing; knocking off that and \"Bob\" by ten minutes to ten.\n\nI don't know anything about the Liverpool banquet, except from _The\nTimes_. As I don't finish there in February (as they seem to have\nsupposed), but in April, it may, perhaps, stand over or blow over\naltogether. Such a thing would be a serious addition to the work, and\nyet refusal on my part would be too ungracious.\n\nThe density and darkness of this atmosphere are fearful. I shall be\nheartily glad to start for Edinburgh again on Friday morning.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The same.]\n\n                KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Friday, Dec. 18th, 1868._\n\nI am heartily glad to get back here this afternoon. The day is bright\nand cheerful, and the relief from Glasgow inexpressible. The\naffectionate regard of the people exceeds all bounds, and is shown in\nevery way. The manager of the railway being at the reading the other\nnight, wrote to me next morning, saying that a large saloon should be\nprepared for my journey up, if I would let him know when I purposed\nmaking the journey. On my accepting the offer he wrote again, saying\nthat he had inspected \"our Northern saloons,\" and not finding them so\nconvenient for sleeping in as the best English, had sent up to King's\nCross for the best of the latter; which I would please consider my own\ncarriage as long as I wanted it. The audiences do everything but\nembrace me, and take as much pains with the readings as I do.\n\nI find your Christmas present (just arrived) to be a haggis and\nshortbread!\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. J. C. Parkinson.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                                _Christmas Day, 1868._\n\nMY DEAR PARKINSON,\n\nWhen your letter was delivered at \"All the Year Round\" Office yesterday,\nI was attending a funeral. It comes to hand here consequently to-day.\n\nI am diffident of addressing Mr. Gladstone on the subject of your desire\nto be appointed to the vacant Commissionership of Inland Revenue,\nbecause, although my respect for him and confidence in him are second to\nthose of no man in England (a bold word at this time, but a truthful\none), my personal acquaintance with him is very slight. But you may\nmake, through any of your friends, any use you please of this letter,\ntowards the end of bringing its contents under Mr. Gladstone's notice.\n\nIn expressing my conviction that you deserve the place, and are in every\nway qualified for it, I found my testimony upon as accurate a knowledge\nof your character and abilities as anyone can possibly have acquired. In\nmy editorship both of \"Household Words\" and \"All the Year Round,\" you\nknow very well that I have invariably offered you those subjects of\npolitical and social interest to write upon, in which integrity,\nexactness, a remarkable power of generalising evidence and balancing\nfacts, and a special clearness in stating the case, were indispensable\non the part of the writer. My confidence in your powers has never been\nmisplaced, and through all our literary intercourse you have never been\nhasty or wrong. Whatever trust you have undertaken has been so\ncompletely discharged, that it has become my habit to read your proofs\nrather for my own edification than (as in other cases) for the detection\nof some slip here or there, or the more pithy presentation of the\nsubject.\n\nThat your literary work has never interfered with the discharge of your\nofficial duties, I may assume to be at least as well known to your\ncolleagues as it is to me. It is idle to say that if the post were in my\ngift you should have it, because you have had, for some years, most of\nthe posts of high trust that have been at my disposal. An excellent\npublic servant in your literary sphere of action, I should be heartily\nglad if you could have this new opportunity of distinguishing yourself\nin the same character. And this is at least unselfish in me, for I\nsuppose I should then lose you?\n\n                                              Always faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Edward Bulwer Lytton Dickens.]\n\n          LETTER TO HIS YOUNGEST SON ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR\n                       AUSTRALIA IN 1868.[27]\n\nMY DEAREST PLORN,\n\nI write this note to-day because your going away is much upon my mind,\nand because I want you to have a few parting words from me to think of\nnow and then at quiet times. I need not tell you that I love you dearly,\nand am very, very sorry in my heart to part with you. But this life is\nhalf made up of partings, and these pains must be borne. It is my\ncomfort and my sincere conviction that you are going to try the life for\nwhich you are beat fitted. I think its freedom and wildness more suited\nto you than any experiment in a study or office would ever have been;\nand without that training, you could have followed no other suitable\noccupation.\n\nWhat you have already wanted until now has been a set, steady, constant\npurpose. I therefore exhort you to persevere in a thorough determination\nto do whatever you have to do as well as you can do it. I was not so old\nas you are now when I first had to win my food, and do this out of this\ndetermination, and I have never slackened in it since.\n\nNever take a mean advantage of anyone in any transaction, and never be\nhard upon people who are in your power. Try to do to others, as you\nwould have them do to you, and do not be discouraged if they fail\nsometimes. It is much better for you that they should fail in obeying\nthe greatest rule laid down by our Saviour, than that you should.\n\nI put a New Testament among your books, for the very same reasons, and\nwith the very same hopes that made me write an easy account of it for\nyou, when you were a little child; because it is the best book that ever\nwas or will be known in the world, and because it teaches you the best\nlessons by which any human creature who tries to be truthful and\nfaithful to duty can possibly be guided. As your brothers have gone\naway, one by one, I have written to each such words as I am now writing\nto you, and have entreated them all to guide themselves by this book,\nputting aside the interpretations and inventions of men.\n\nYou will remember that you have never at home been wearied about\nreligious observances or mere formalities. I have always been anxious\nnot to weary my children with such things before they are old enough to\nform opinions respecting them. You will therefore understand the better\nthat I now most solemnly impress upon you the truth and beauty of the\nChristian religion, as it came from Christ Himself, and the\nimpossibility of your going far wrong if you humbly but heartily respect\nit.\n\nOnly one thing more on this head. The more we are in earnest as to\nfeeling it, the less we are disposed to hold forth about it. Never\nabandon the wholesome practice of saying your own private prayers, night\nand morning. I have never abandoned it myself, and I know the comfort of\nit.\n\nI hope you will always be able to say in after life, that you had a kind\nfather. You cannot show your affection for him so well, or make him so\nhappy, as by doing your duty.\n\n                                             Your affectionate Father.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[20] The Agricultural College, Cirencester.\n\n[21] \"No Thoroughfare.\"\n\n[22] The Mr. H. F. Chorley so often mentioned was the well-known musical\ncritic, and a dear and intimate friend of Charles Dickens and his\nfamily. We have no letters to him, Mr. Chorley having destroyed all his\ncorrespondence before his death.\n\n[23] Mr. Chauncey Hare Townshend. He was one of the dearest friends of\nCharles Dickens and a very constant correspondent; but no letters\naddressed to him are in existence.\n\n[24] An American family of brothers and a sister who came to London to\ngive a musical entertainment shortly after Charles Dickens's return from\nhis first visit to America. He had a great interest in, and liking for,\nthese young people.\n\n[25] Cousin and adopted child of Mr. and Mrs. Austin.\n\n[26] A model of a Swiss chalet, and a present from M. Charles Fechter,\nused by Charles Dickens as a summer writing-room.\n\n[27] This letter has been already published by Mr. Forster in his\n\"Life.\"\n\n\n\n\n1869.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nThe \"Farewell Readings\" in town and country were resumed immediately\nafter the beginning of this year, and were to have been continued until\nthe end of May. The work was even harder than it had ever been. Charles\nDickens began his country tour in Ireland early in January, and read\ncontinuously in all parts of England and Scotland until the end of\nApril. A public dinner (in commemoration of his last readings in the\ntown) was given to him at Liverpool on the 10th April. Besides all this\nsevere country work, he was giving a series of readings at St. James's\nHall, and reading the \"Murder\" from \"Oliver Twist,\" in London and in the\ncountry, frequently four times a week. In the second week of February, a\nsudden and unusually violent attack of the old trouble in his foot made\nit imperatively necessary to postpone a reading at St. James's Hall, and\nto delay for a day or two his departure for Scotland. The foot continued\nto cause him pain and inconvenience, but, as will be seen from his\nletters, he generally spoke of himself as otherwise well, until he\narrived at Preston, where he was to read on the 22nd of April. The day\nbefore this appointed reading, he writes home of some grave symptoms\nwhich he had observed in himself, and had reported to his doctor, Mr. F.\nCarr Beard. That gentleman, taking alarm at what he considered\n\"indisputable evidences of overwork,\" wisely resolved not to content\nhimself with written consultations, but went down to Preston on the day\nappointed for the reading there, and, after seeing his patient,\nperemptorily stopped it, carried him off to Liverpool, and the next day\nto London. There he consulted Sir Thomas Watson, who entirely\ncorroborated Mr. Beard's opinion. And the two doctors agreed that the\ncourse of readings must be stopped for this year, and that reading,\n_combined with travelling_, must be stopped _for ever_. Charles Dickens\nhad no alternative but to acquiesce in this verdict; but he felt it\nkeenly, not only for himself, but for the sake of the Messrs. Chappell,\nwho showed the most disinterested kindness and solicitude on the\noccasion. He at once returned home to Gad's Hill, and the rest and quiet\nof the country restored him, for the time, to almost his usual condition\nof health and spirits. But it was observed, by all who loved him, that\nfrom this time forth he never regained his old vigour and elasticity.\nThe attack at Preston was the \"beginning of the end!\"\n\nDuring the spring and summer of this year, he received visits from many\ndearly valued American friends. In May, he stayed with his daughter and\nsister-in-law for two or three weeks at the St. James's Hotel,\nPiccadilly, having promised to be in London at the time of the arrival\nof Mr. and Mrs. Fields, of Boston, who visited Europe, accompanied by\nMiss Mabel Lowell (the daughter of the famous American poet) this year.\nBesides these friends, Mr. and Mrs. Childs, of Philadelphia--from whom\nhe had received the greatest kindness and hospitality, and for whom he\nhad a hearty regard--Dr. Fordyce Barker and his son, Mr. Eytinge (an\nillustrator of an American edition of Charles Dickens's works), and Mr.\nBayard Taylor paid visits to Gad's Hill, which were thoroughly enjoyed\nby Charles Dickens and his family. This last summer was a very happy\none. He had the annual summer visitors and parties of his friends in the\nneighbourhood. He was, as usual, projecting improvements in his beloved\ncountry home; one, which he called the \"crowning improvement of all,\"\nwas a large conservatory, which was to be added during the absence of\nthe family in London in the following spring.\n\nThe state of Mr. Wills's health made it necessary for him now to retire\naltogether from the editorship of \"All the Year Round.\" Charles\nDickens's own letters express the regret which he felt at the\ndissolution of this long and always pleasant association. Mr. Wills's\nplace at the office was filled by Charles Dickens's eldest son, now sole\neditor and proprietor of the journal.\n\nIn September Charles Dickens went to Birmingham, accompanied by his son\nHarry, and presided at the opening of the session of (what he calls in\nhis letter to Mr. Arthur Ryland, \"_our_ Institution\") the Midland\nInstitute. He made a speech on education to the young students, and\npromised to go back early in the following year and distribute the\nprizes. In one of the letters which we give to Mr. Ryland, he speaks of\nhimself as \"being in full force again,\" and \"going to finish his\nfarewell readings soon after Christmas.\" He had obtained the sanction of\nSir Thomas Watson to giving twelve readings, _in London only_, which he\nhad fixed for the beginning of the following year.\n\nThe letter to his friend Mr. Finlay, which opens the year, was in reply\nto a proposal for a public banquet at Belfast, projected by the Mayor of\nthat town, and conveyed through Mr. Finlay. This gentleman was at that\ntime proprietor of _The Northern Whig_ newspaper at Belfast, and he was\nson-in-law to Mr. Alexander Russel, editor of _The Scotsman_.\n\nCharles Dickens's letter this New Year to M. de Cerjat was his last.\nThat faithful and affectionate friend died very shortly afterwards.\n\nTo Miss Mary Boyle he writes to acknowledge a New Year's gift, which he\nhad been much touched by receiving from her, at a time when he knew she\nwas deeply afflicted by the sudden death of her brother, Captain\nCavendish Boyle, for whom Charles Dickens had a true regard and\nfriendship.\n\nWhile he was giving his series of London readings in the spring, he\nreceived a numerously signed circular letter from actors and actresses\nof the various London theatres. They were very curious about his new\nreading of the \"Oliver Twist\" murder, and representing to him the\nimpossibility of their attending an evening, requested him to give a\nmorning reading, for their especial benefit. We give his answer,\ncomplying with the request. And the occasion was, to him, a most\ngratifying and deeply interesting one.\n\nThe letter to Mr. Edmund Ollier was in answer to an invitation to be\npresent at the inauguration of a bust of Mr. Leigh Hunt, which was to be\nplaced over his grave at Kensal Green.\n\nThe letter to Mr. Shirley Brooks, the well-known writer, who succeeded\nMr. Mark Lemon as editor of \"Punch,\" and for whom Charles Dickens had a\ncordial regard, was on the subject of a memorial on behalf of Mrs. Peter\nCunningham, whose husband had recently died.\n\nThe \"remarkable story,\" of which he writes to his daughter in August,\nwas called \"An Experience.\" It was written by a lady (who prefers to be\nanonymous) who had been a contributor to \"Household Words\" from its\nfirst starting, and was always highly valued in this capacity by Charles\nDickens.\n\nOur latest letters for this year are in October. One to Mr. Charles\nKent, sympathising with him on a disappointment which he had experienced\nin a business undertaking, and one to Mr. Macready, in which he tells\nhim of his being in the \"preliminary agonies\" of a new book. The first\nnumber of \"Edwin Drood\" was to appear before the end of his course of\nreadings in March; and he was at work so long beforehand with a view to\nsparing himself, and having some numbers ready before the publication of\nthe first one.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. F. D. Finlay.]\n\n                          THE ATHENAEUM (CLUB), _New Year's Day, 1869._\n\nMY DEAR FINLAY,\n\nFirst my heartfelt wishes for many prosperous and happy years. Next, as\nto the mayor's kind intentions. I feel really grateful to him and\ngratified by the whole idea, but acceptance of the distinction on my\npart would be impracticable. My time in Ireland is all anticipated, and\nI could not possibly prolong my stay, because I _must_ be back in London\nto read on Tuesday fortnight, and then must immediately set forth for\nthe West of England. It is not likely, besides, that I shall get through\nthese farewells before the end of May. And the work is so hard, and my\nvoice is so precious, that I fear to add an ounce to the fatigue, or I\nmight be overweighted. The avoidance of gas and crowds when I am not in\nthe act of being cooked before those lights of mine, is an essential\npart of the training to which (as I think you know) I strictly adhere,\nand although I have accepted the Liverpool invitation, I have done so as\nan exception; the Liverpool people having always treated me in our\npublic relations with a kind of personal affection.\n\nI am sincerely anxious that the Mayor of Belfast should know how the\ncase stands with me. If you will kindly set me straight and right, I\nshall be truly obliged to you.\n\nMy sister-in-law has been very unwell (though she is now much better),\nand is recommended a brisk change. As she is a good sailor, I mean to\nbring her to Ireland with me; at which she is highly delighted.\n\n                                                Faithfully yours ever.\n\n\n[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                             _Monday, Jan. 4th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAR CERJAT,\n\nI will answer your question first. Have I done with my farewell\nreadings? Lord bless you, no; and I shall think myself well out of it if\nI get done by the end of May. I have undertaken one hundred and six, and\nhave as yet only vanquished twenty-eight. To-morrow night I read in\nLondon for the first time the \"Murder\" from \"Oliver Twist,\" which I have\nre-arranged for the purpose. Next day I start for Dublin and Belfast. I\nam just back from Scotland for a few Christmas holidays. I go back there\nnext month; and in the meantime and afterwards go everywhere else.\n\nTake my guarantee for it, you may be quite comfortable on the subject of\npapal aspirations and encroachments. The English people are in\nunconquerable opposition to that church. They have the animosity in the\nblood, derived from the history of the past, though perhaps\nunconsciously. But they do sincerely want to win Ireland over if they\ncan. They know that since the Union she has been hardly used. They know\nthat Scotland has _her_ religion, and a very uncomfortable one. They\nknow that Scotland, though intensely anti-papal, perceives it to be\nunjust that Ireland has not _her_ religion too, and has very\nemphatically declared her opinion in the late elections. They know that\na richly-endowed church, forced upon a people who don't belong to it, is\na grievance with these people. They know that many things, but\nespecially an artfully and schemingly managed institution like the\nRomish Church, thrive upon a grievance, and that Rome has thriven\nexceedingly upon this, and made the most of it. Lastly, the best among\nthem know that there is a gathering cloud in the West, considerably\nbigger than a man's hand, under which a powerful Irish-American body,\nrich and active, is always drawing Ireland in that direction; and that\nthese are not times in which other powers would back our holding Ireland\nby force, unless we could make our claim good in proving fair and equal\ngovernment.\n\nPoor Townshend charged me in his will \"to publish without alteration his\nreligious opinions, which he sincerely believed would tend to the\nhappiness of mankind.\" To publish them without alteration is absolutely\nimpossible; for they are distributed in the strangest fragments through\nthe strangest note-books, pocket-books, slips of paper and what not, and\nproduce a most incoherent and tautological result. I infer that he must\nhave held some always-postponed idea of fitting them together. For these\nreasons I would certainly publish nothing about them, if I had any\ndiscretion in the matter. Having none, I suppose a book must be made.\nHis pictures and rings are gone to the South Kensington Museum, and are\nnow exhibiting there.\n\nCharley Collins is no better and no worse. Katie looks very young and\nvery pretty. Her sister and Miss Hogarth (my joint housekeepers) have\nbeen on duty this Christmas, and have had enough to do. My boys are now\nall dispersed in South America, India, and Australia, except Charley,\nwhom I have taken on at \"All the Year Round\" Office, and Henry, who is\nan undergraduate at Trinity Hall, and I hope will make his mark there.\nAll well.\n\nThe Thames Embankment is (faults of ugliness in detail apart) the finest\npublic work yet done. From Westminster Bridge to near Waterloo it is now\nlighted up at night, and has a fine effect. They have begun to plant it\nwith trees, and the footway (not the road) is already open to the\nTemple. Besides its beauty, and its usefulness in relieving the crowded\nstreets, it will greatly quicken and deepen what is learnedly called\nthe \"scour\" of the river. But the Corporation of London and some other\nnuisances have brought the weirs above Twickenham into a very bare and\nunsound condition, and they already begin to give and vanish, as the\nstream runs faster and stronger.\n\nYour undersigned friend has had a few occasional reminders of his \"true\nAmerican catarrh.\" Although I have exerted my voice very much, it has\nnot yet been once touched. In America I was obliged to patch it up\nconstantly.\n\nI like to read your patriarchal account of yourself among your Swiss\nvines and fig-trees. You wouldn't recognise Gad's Hill now; I have so\nchanged it, and bought land about it. And yet I often think that if Mary\nwere to marry (which she won't) I should sell it and go genteelly\nvagabondising over the face of the earth. Then indeed I might see\nLausanne again. But I don't seem in the way of it at present, for the\nolder I get, the more I do and the harder I work.\n\n                                            Yours ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                          _Wednesday, Jan. 6th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAR MARY,\n\nI was more affected than you can easily believe, by the sight of your\ngift lying on my dressing-table on the morning of the new year. To be\nremembered in a friend's heart when it is sore is a touching thing; and\nthat and the remembrance of the dead quite overpowered me, the one being\ninseparable from the other.\n\nYou may be sure that I shall attach a special interest and value to the\nbeautiful present, and shall wear it as a kind of charm. God bless you,\nand may we carry the friendship through many coming years!\n\nMy preparations for a certain murder that I had to do last night have\nrendered me unfit for letter-writing these last few days, or you would\nhave heard from me sooner. The crime being completely off my mind and\nthe blood spilled, I am (like many of my fellow-criminals) in a highly\nedifying state to-day.\n\n                            Ever believe me, your affectionate Friend.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                TORQUAY, _Wednesday, Jan. 27th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nWe have been doing immensely.\n\nThis place is most beautiful, though colder now than one would expect.\nThis hotel, an immense place, built among picturesque broken rocks out\nin the blue sea, is quite delicious. There are bright green trees in the\ngarden, and new peas a foot high. Our rooms are _en suite_, all\ncommanding the sea, and each with two very large plate-glass windows.\nEverything good and well served.\n\nA _pantomime_ was being done last night, in the place where I am to read\nto-night. It is something between a theatre, a circus, a riding-school,\na Methodist chapel, and a cow-house. I was so disgusted with its\nacoustic properties on going in to look at it, that the whole\nunfortunate staff have been all day, and now are, sticking up baize and\ncarpets in it to prevent echoes.\n\nI have rarely seen a more uncomfortable edifice than I thought it last\nnight.\n\nAt Clifton, on Monday night, we had a contagion of fainting. And yet the\nplace was not hot. I should think we had from a dozen to twenty ladies\nborne out, stiff and rigid, at various times. It became quite\nridiculous.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                      BATH, _Friday, Jan. 29th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAREST GEORGY,\n\nYou must not trust blank places in my list, because many have been, and\nwill be, gradually filled up. After the Tuesday's reading in London, I\nhave TWO for that same week in the country--Nottingham and Leicester. In\nthe following week I have none; but my arrangements are all at sea as\nyet, for I must somehow and somewhere do an \"Uncommercial\" in that week,\nand I also want to get poor Chauncey's \"opinions\" to the printer.\n\nThis mouldy old roosting-place comes out mouldily as to let of course. I\nhate the sight of the bygone assembly-rooms, and the Bath chairs\ntrundling the dowagers about the streets. As to to-morrow morning in the\ndaylight!----\n\nI have no cold to speak of. Dolby sends kindest regard.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Lehmann.]\n\n                                  OFFICE, _Wednesday, Feb. 3rd, 1869._\n\nDEAR MRS. LEHMANN,\n\nBefore getting your kind note, I had written to Lehmann, explaining why\nI cannot allow myself any social pleasure while my farewell task is yet\nunfinished. The work is so very hard, that every little scrap of rest\n_and silence_ I can pick up is precious. And even those morsels are so\nflavoured with \"All the Year Round,\" that they are not quite the genuine\narticle.\n\nJoachim[28] came round to see me at the hall last night, and I told him\nhow sorry I was to forego the pleasure of meeting him (he is a noble\nfellow!) at your pleasant table.\n\nI am glad you are coming to the \"Murder\" on the 2nd of March. (The house\nwill be prodigious.) Such little changes as I have made shall be\ncarefully presented to your critical notice, and I hope will be crowned\nwith your approval. But you are always such a fine audience that I have\nno fear on that head. I saw Chorley yesterday in his own room. A sad and\nsolitary sight. The widowed Drake, with a certain _gin_coherence of\nmanner, presented a blooming countenance and buxom form in the passage;\nso buxom indeed that she was obliged to retire before me like a modest\nstopper, before I could get into the dining decanter where poor Chorley\nreposed.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\nP.S.--My love to Rudie.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                 GLASGOW, _Thursday, Feb. 25th, 1869._\n\nI received your letter at Edinburgh this morning. I did not write to you\nyesterday, as there had been no reading on the previous night.\n\nThe foot bears the fatigue wonderfully well, and really occasions me no\ninconvenience beyond the necessity of wearing the big work of art. Syme\nsaw me again this morning, and utterly scouted the gout notion\naltogether. I think the Edinburgh audience understood the \"Murder\"\nbetter last night than any audience that has heard it yet. \"Business\" is\nenormous, and Dolby jubilant.\n\nIt is a most deplorable afternoon here, deplorable even for Glasgow. A\ngreat wind blowing, and sleet driving before it in a storm of heavy\nblobs. We had to drive our train dead in the teeth of the wind, and got\nin here late, and are pressed for time.\n\nStrange that in the North we have had absolutely no snow. There was a\nvery thin scattering on the Pentlands for an hour or two, but no more.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                                 EDINBURGH, _Friday, Feb. 26th, 1869._\n\nWriting to-morrow morning would be all but impracticable for me; would\nbe quite so for Dolby, who has to go to the agents and \"settle up\" in\nthe midst of his breakfast. So I write to-day, in reply to your note\nreceived at Glasgow this morning.\n\nThe foot conducts itself splendidly. We had a most enormous cram at\nGlasgow. Syme saw me again yesterday (before I left here for Glasgow),\nand repeated \"Gout!\" with the greatest indignation and contempt, several\ntimes. The aching is going off as the day goes on, if it be worth\nmentioning again. The ride from Glasgow was charming this morning; the\nsun shining brilliantly, and the country looking beautiful.\n\nI told you what the Nortons were. Mabel Lowell is a charming little\nthing, and very retiring in manner and expression.\n\nWe shall have a scene here to-night, no doubt. The night before last,\nBallantyne, unable to get in, had a seat behind the screen, and was\nnearly frightened off it by the \"Murder.\" Every vestige of colour had\nleft his face when I came off, and he sat staring over a glass of\nchampagne in the wildest way. I have utterly left off _my_ champagne,\nand, I think, with good results. Nothing during the readings but a very\nlittle weak iced brandy-and-water.\n\nI hope you will find me greatly improved on Tuesday.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                                BIRMINGHAM, _Friday, March 5th, 1869._\n\nThis is to send you my best love, and to wish you many and many happy\nreturns of to-morrow, which I miraculously remember to be your\nbirthday.\n\nI saw this morning a very pretty fan here. I was going to buy it as a\nremembrance of the occasion, when I was checked by a dim misgiving that\nyou had a fan not long ago from Chorley. Tell me what you would like\nbetter, and consider me your debtor in that article, whatever it may be.\n\nI have had my usual left boot on this morning, and have had an hour's\nwalk. It was in a gale of wind and a simoom of dust, but I greatly\nenjoyed it. Immense enthusiasm at Wolverhampton last night over\n\"Marigold.\" Scott made a most amazing ass of himself yesterday. He\nreported that he had left behind somewhere three books--\"Boots,\"\n\"Murder,\" and \"Gamp.\" We immediately telegraphed to the office. Answer,\nno books there. As my impression was that he must have left them at St.\nJames's Hall, we then arranged to send him up to London at seven this\nmorning. Meanwhile (though not reproached), he wept copiously and\naudibly. I had asked him over and over again, was he sure he had not put\nthem in my large black trunk? Too sure, too sure. Hadn't opened that\ntrunk after Tuesday night's reading. He opened it to get some clothes\nout when I went to bed, and there the books were! He produced them with\nan air of injured surprise, as if we had put them there.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                 QUEEN'S HOTEL, MANCHESTER, _Sunday, March 7th, 1869._\n\nWe have had our sitting-room chimney afire this morning, and have had to\nturn out elsewhere to breakfast; but the chamber has since been cleaned\nup, and we are reinstated. Manchester is (_for_ Manchester) bright and\nfresh.\n\nTell Russell that a crop of hay is to be got off the meadow this year,\nbefore the club use it. They did not make such use of it last year as\nreconciles me to losing another hay-crop. So they must wait until the\nhay is in, before they commence active operations.\n\nPoor Olliffe! I am truly sorry to read those sad words about his\nsuffering, and fear that the end is not far off.\n\nWe are very comfortably housed here, and certainly that immense hall is\na wonderful place for its size. Without much greater expenditure of\nvoice than usual, I a little enlarged the action last night, and Dolby\n(who went to all the distant points of view) reported that he could\ndetect no difference between it and any other place. As always happens\nnow--and did not at first--they were unanimously taken by Noah\nClaypole's laugh. But the go, throughout, was enormous. Sims Reeves was\ndoing Henry Bertram at the theatre, and of course took some of our\nshillings. It was a night of excitement for Cottonopolis.\n\nI received from Mrs. Keeley this morning a very good photograph of poor\nold Bob. Yesterday I had a letter from Harry, reminding me that our\nintended Cambridge day is the day next after that of the boat-race.\nClearly it must be changed.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n              QUEEN'S HOTEL, MANCHESTER, _Saturday, March 20th, 1869._\n\nGetting yours and its enclosure, Mary's note, at two this afternoon, I\nwrite a line at once in order that you may have it on Monday morning.\n\nThe Theatre Royal, Liverpool, will be a charming place to read in.\nLadies are to dine at the dinner, and we hear it is to be a very grand\naffair. Dolby is doubtful whether it may not \"hurt the business,\" by\ndrawing a great deal of money in another direction, which I think\npossible enough. Trade is very bad _here_, and the gloom of the Preston\nstrike seems to brood over the place. The Titiens Company have been\ndoing wretchedly. I should have a greater sympathy with them if they\nwere not practising in the next room now.\n\nMy love to Letitia and Harriette,[29] wherein Dolby (highly gratified by\nbeing held in remembrance) joins with the same to you.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                               MANCHESTER, _Sunday, March 21st, 1869._\n\nWill you tell Mary that I have had a letter from Frith, in which he says\nthat he will be happy to show her his pictures \"any day in the first\nweek of April\"? I have replied that she will be proud to receive his\ninvitation. His object in writing was to relieve his mind about the\n\"Murder,\" of which he cannot say enough.\n\nTremendous enthusiasm here last night, calling in the most thunderous\nmanner after \"Marigold,\" and again after the \"Trial,\" shaking the great\nhall, and cheering furiously.\n\nLove to all.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John Clarke.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                        _Wednesday, March 24th, 1869._\n\nLADIES AND GENTLEMEN,\n\nI beg to assure you that I am much gratified by the desire you do me the\nhonour to express in your letter handed to me by Mr. John Clarke.\n\nBefore that letter reached me, I had heard of your wish, and had\nmentioned to Messrs. Chappell that it would be highly agreeable to me to\nanticipate it, if possible. They readily responded, and we agreed upon\nhaving three morning readings in London. As they are not yet publicly\nannounced, I add a note of the days and subjects:\n\nSaturday, May 1st. \"Boots at the Holly-Tree Inn,\" and \"Sikes and Nancy\"\nfrom \"Oliver Twist.\"\n\nSaturday, May 8th. \"The Christmas Carol.\"\n\nSaturday, May 22nd. \"Sikes and Nancy\" from \"Oliver Twist,\" and \"The\nTrial\" from \"Pickwick.\"\n\nWith the warmest interest in your art, and in its claims upon the\ngeneral gratitude and respect,\n\n                            Believe me, always faithfully your Friend.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n                  ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Sunday, April 4th, 1869._\n\nBy this post I send to Mary the truly affecting account of poor dear\nKatie Macready's death. It is as sorrowful as anything so peaceful and\ntrustful can be!\n\nBoth my feet are very tender, and often feel as though they were in hot\nwater. But I was wonderfully well and strong, thank God! and had no end\nof voice for the two nights running in that great Birmingham hall. We\nhad enormous houses.\n\nSo far as I understand the dinner arrangements here, they are much too\nlong. As to the acoustics of that hall, and the position of the tables\n(both as bad as bad can be), my only consolation is that, if anybody can\nbe heard, _I_ probably can be. The honorary secretary tells me that six\nhundred people are to dine. The mayor, being no speaker and out of\nhealth besides, hands over the toast of the evening to Lord Dufferin.\nThe town is full of the festival. The Theatre Royal, touched up for the\noccasion, will look remarkably bright and well for the readings, and our\nlets are large. It is remarkable that our largest let as yet is for\nThursday, not Friday. I infer that the dinner damages Friday, but Dolby\ndoes not think so. There appears to be great curiosity to hear the\n\"Murder.\" (On Friday night last I read to two thousand people, and odd\nhundreds.)\n\nI hear that Anthony Trollope, Dixon, Lord Houghton, Lemon, Esquiros (of\nthe _Revue des Deux Mondes_), and Sala are to be called upon to speak;\nthe last, for the newspaper press. All the Liverpool notabilities are to\nmuster. And Manchester is to be represented by its mayor with due\nformality.\n\nI had been this morning to look at St. George's Hall, and suggest what\ncan be done to improve its acoustics. As usually happens in such cases,\ntheir most important arrangements are already made and unchangeable. I\nshould not have placed the tables in the committee's way at all, and\ncould certainly have placed the dais to much greater advantage. So all\nthe good I could do was to show where banners could be hung with some\nhope of stopping echoes. Such is my small news, soon exhausted. We\narrived here at three yesterday afternoon; it is now mid-day; Chorley\nhas not yet appeared, but he had called at the local agent's while I was\nat Birmingham.\n\nIt is a curious little instance of the way in which things fit together\nthat there is a ship-of-war in the Mersey, whose flags and so forth are\nto be brought up to St. George's Hall for the dinner. She is the\n_Donegal_, of which Paynter told me he had just been captain, when he\ntold me all about Sydney at Bath.\n\nOne of the pleasantest things I have experienced here this time, is the\nmanner in which I am stopped in the streets by working men, who want to\nshake hands with me, and tell me they know my books. I never go out but\nthis happens. Down at the docks just now, a cooper with a fearful\nstutter presented himself in this way. His modesty, combined with a\nconviction that if he were in earnest I would see it and wouldn't repel\nhim, made up as true a piece of natural politeness as I ever saw.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]\n\n             IMPERIAL HOTEL, BLACKPOOL, _Wednesday, April 21st, 1869._\n\nI send you this hasty line to let you know that I have come to this\nsea-beach hotel (charming) for a day's rest. I am much better than I was\non Sunday, but shall want careful looking to, to get through the\nreadings. My weakness and deadness are all _on the left side_, and if I\ndon't look at anything I try to touch with my left hand, I don't know\nwhere it is. I am in (secret) consultation with Frank Beard; he\nrecognises, in the exact description I have given him, indisputable\nevidences of overwork, which he would wish to treat immediately. So I\nhave said: \"Go in and win.\"\n\nI have had a delicious walk by the sea to-day, and I sleep soundly, and\nhave picked up amazingly in appetite. My foot is greatly better too, and\nI wear my own boot.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n                        PRESTON, _Thursday Evening, April 22nd, 1869._\n\n_Don't be in the least alarmed._ Beard has come down, and instantly\nechoes my impression (perfectly unknown to him), that the readings must\nbe _stopped_. I have had symptoms that must not be disregarded. I go to\nLiverpool to-night with him (to get away from here), and proceed to the\noffice to-morrow.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Lord John Russell.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                          _Wednesday, May 26th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAR LORD RUSSELL,\n\nI have delayed answering your kind letter, in order that you might get\nhome before I wrote. I am happy to report myself quite well again, and I\nshall be charmed to come to Pembroke Lodge on any day that may be most\nconvenient to Lady Russell and yourself after the middle of June.\n\nYou gratify me beyond expression by your reference to the Liverpool\ndinner. I made the allusion to you with all my heart at least, and it\nwas most magnificently received.\n\nI beg to send my kind regard to Lady Russell, with many thanks for her\nremembrance, and am ever,\n\n                               My dear Lord Russell, faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                          _Thursday, June 24th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nAt a great meeting[30] compounded of your late \"Chief,\" Charley, Morley,\nGrieve, and Telbin, your letter was read to-day, and a very sincere\nrecord of regret and thanks was placed on the books of the great\ninstitution.\n\nMany thanks for the suggestion about the condition of churches. I am so\naweary of church questions of all sorts that I am not quite clear as to\ntackling this. But I am turning it in my mind. I am afraid of two\nthings: firstly, that the thing would not be picturesquely done;\nsecondly, that a general cucumber-coolness would pervade the mind of our\ncirculation.\n\nNothing new here but a speaking-pipe, a post-box, and a mouldy smell\nfrom some forgotten crypt--an extra mouldy smell, mouldier than of yore.\nLillie sniffs, projects one eye into nineteen hundred and ninety-nine,\nand does no more.\n\nI have been to Chadwick's, to look at a new kind of cottage he has built\n(very ingenious and cheap).\n\nWe were all much disappointed last Saturday afternoon by a neighbouring\nfire being only at a carpenter's, and not at Drury Lane Theatre.\nEllen's[31] child having an eye nearly poked out by a young friend, and\nbeing asked whether the young friend was not very sorry afterwards,\nreplied: \"No. _She_ wasn't. _I_ was.\"\n\nLondon execrable.\n\n                                            Ever affectionately yours.\n\nP.S.--Love to Mrs. Wills.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Shirley Brooks.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Tuesday, July 12th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAR BROOKS,\n\nI have appended my sign manual to the memorial, which I think is very\ndiscreetly drawn up. I have a strong feeling of sympathy with poor Mrs.\nCunningham, for I remember the pretty house she managed charmingly. She\nhas always done her duty well, and has had hard trials. But I greatly\ndoubt the success of the memorial, I am sorry to add.\n\nIt was hotter here yesterday on this Kentish chalk than I have felt it\nanywhere for many a day. Now it is overcast and raining hard, much to\nthe satisfaction of great farmers like myself.\n\nI am glad to infer from your companionship with the Cocked Hats, that\nthere is no such thing as gout within several miles of you. May it keep\nits distance.\n\n                               Ever, my dear Brooks, faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                               GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, July 20th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nI have received your letter here to-day, and deeply feel with you and\nfor you the affliction of poor dear Katie's loss. I was not unprepared\nfor the sad news, but it comes in such a rush of old remembrances and\nwithered joys that strikes to the heart.\n\nGod bless you! Love and youth are still beside you, and in that thought\nI take comfort for my dear old friend.\n\nI am happy to report myself perfectly well and flourishing. We are just\nnow announcing the resumption and conclusion of the broken series of\nfarewell readings in a London course of twelve, beginning early in the\nnew year.\n\nScarcely a day has gone by this summer in which we have not talked of\nyou and yours. Georgina, Mary, and I continually speak of you. In the\nspirit we certainly are even more together than we used to be in the\nbody in the old times. I don't know whether you have heard that Harry\nhas taken the second scholarship (fifty pounds a year) at Trinity Hall,\nCambridge. The bigwigs expect him to do a good deal there.\n\nWills having given up in consequence of broken health (he has been my\nsub-editor for twenty years), I have taken Charley into \"All the Year\nRound.\" He is a very good man of business, and evinces considerable\naptitude in sub-editing work.\n\nThis place is immensely improved since you were here, and really is now\nvery pretty indeed. We are sorry that there is no present prospect of\nyour coming to see it; but I like to know of your being at the sea, and\nhaving to do--_from the beach_, as Mrs. Keeley used to say in \"The\nPrisoner of War\"--with the winds and the waves and all their freshening\ninfluences.\n\nI dined at Greenwich a few days ago with Delane. He asked me about you\nwith much interest. He looks as if he had never seen a printing-office,\nand had never been out of bed after midnight.\n\nGreat excitement caused here by your capital news of Butty. I suppose\nWilly has at least a dozen children by this time.\n\nOur loves to the noble boy and to dear Mrs. Macready.\n\n                            Ever, my dearest Macready,\n                                       Your attached and affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Ollier.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Tuesday, Aug. 3rd, 1869._\n\nMY DEAR MR. OLLIER,\n\nI am very sensible of the feeling of the Committee towards me; and I\nreceive their invitation (conveyed through you) as a most acceptable\nmark of their consideration.\n\nBut I have a very strong objection to speech-making beside graves. I do\nnot expect or wish my feeling in this wise to guide other men; still, it\nis so serious with me, and the idea of ever being the subject of such a\nceremony myself is so repugnant to my soul, that I must decline to\nofficiate.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]\n\n      OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\" NO. 26, WELLINGTON STREET,\n                             STRAND, LONDON, W.C.,\n                                            _Tuesday, Aug. 3rd, 1869._\n\nMY DEAREST MAMIE,\n\nI send you the second chapter of the remarkable story. The printer is\nlate with it, and I have not had time to read it, and as I altered it\nconsiderably here and there, I have no doubt there are some verbal\nmistakes in it. However, they will probably express themselves.\n\nBut I offer a prize of six pairs of gloves--between you, and your aunt,\nand Ellen Stone, as competitors--to whomsoever will tell me what idea in\nthis second part is mine. I don't mean an idea in language, in the\nturning of a sentence, in any little description of an action, or a\ngesture, or what not in a small way, but an idea, distinctly affecting\nthe whole story _as I found it_. You are all to assume that I found it\nin the main as you read it, with one exception. If I had written it, I\nshould have made the woman love the man at last. And I should have\nshadowed that possibility out, by the child's bringing them a little\nmore together on that holiday Sunday.\n\nBut I didn't write it. So, finding that it wanted something, I put that\nsomething in. What was it?\n\nLove to Ellen Stone.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Ryland.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Friday, Aug. 13th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAR MR. RYLAND,\n\nMany thanks for your letter.\n\nI have very strong opinions on the subject of speechification, and hold\nthat there is, everywhere, a vast amount too much of it. A sense of\nabsurdity would be so strong upon me, if I got up at Birmingham to make\na flourish on the advantages of education in the abstract for all sorts\nand conditions of men, that I should inevitably check myself and present\na surprising incarnation of the soul of wit. But if I could interest\nmyself in the practical usefulness of the particular institution; in the\nways of life of the students; in their examples of perseverance and\ndetermination to get on; in their numbers, their favourite studies, the\nnumber of hours they must daily give to the work that must be done for a\nlivelihood, before they can devote themselves to the acquisition of new\nknowledge, and so forth, then I could interest others. This is the kind\nof information I want. Mere holding forth \"I utterly detest, abominate,\nand abjure.\"\n\nI fear I shall not be in London next week. But if you will kindly send\nme here, at your leisure, the roughest notes of such points as I have\nindicated, I shall be heartily obliged to you, and will take care of\ntheir falling into shape and order in my mind. Meantime I \"make a note\nof\" Monday, 27th September, and of writing to you touching your kind\noffer of hospitality, three weeks before that date.\n\nI beg to send my kind regard to Mrs. and Miss Ryland, and am always,\n\n                                                Very faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Frederic Ouvry.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Sunday, Aug. 22nd, 1869._\n\nMY DEAR OUVRY,\n\nI will expect a call from you at the office, on Thursday, at your own\nmost convenient hour. I admit the soft impeachment concerning Mrs. Gamp:\nI likes my payments to be made reg'lar, and I likewise likes my\npublisher to draw it mild.\n\n                                                           Ever yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Ryland.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                            _Monday, Sept. 6th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAR MR. RYLAND,\n\nI am sorry to find--I had a foreshadowing of it some weeks ago--that I\nshall not be able to profit by your kind offer of hospitality when I\ncome to Birmingham for _our_ Institution. I must come down in time for a\nquiet dinner at the hotel with my \"Readings\" secretary, Mr. Dolby, and\nmust away next morning. Besides having a great deal in hand just now\n(the title of a new book among other things), I shall have visitors from\nabroad here at the time, and am severely claimed by my daughter, who\nindeed is disloyal to Birmingham in the matter of my going away at all.\nPray represent me to Mrs. Ryland as the innocent victim of\ncircumstances, and as sacrificing pleasure to the work I have to do, and\nto the training under which alone I can do it without feeling it.\n\nYou will see from the enclosed that I am in full force, and going to\nfinish my readings, please God, after Christmas. I am in the hope of\nreceiving your promised notes in due course, and continue in the\nirreverent condition in which I last reported myself on the subject of\nspeech-making. Now that men not only make the nights of the session\nhideous by what the Americans call \"orating\" in Parliament, but trouble\nthe peace of the vacation by saying over again what they said there\n(with the addition of what they _didn't_ say there, and never will have\nthe courage to say there), I feel indeed that silence, like gold across\nthe Atlantic, is a rarity at a premium.\n\n                                              Faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                          _Thursday, Oct. 7th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAR KENT,\n\nI felt that you would be deeply disappointed. I thought it better not to\nmake the first sign while you were depressed, but my mind has been\nconstantly with you. And not mine alone. You cannot think with what\naffection and sympathy you have been made the subject of our family\ndinner talk at Gad's Hill these last three days. Nothing could exceed\nthe interest of my daughters and my sister-in-law, or the earnestness of\ntheir feeling about it. I have been really touched by its warm and\ngenuine expression.\n\nCheer up, my dear fellow; cheer up, for God's sake. That is, for the\nsake of all that is good in you and around you.\n\n                                        Ever your affectionate Friend.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                                GAD'S HILL, _Monday, Oct. 18th, 1869._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nI duly received your letter nearly a fortnight ago, with the greatest\ninterest and pleasure. Above all things I am delighted with the prospect\nof seeing you here next summer; a prospect which has been received with\nnine times nine and one more by the whole house. You will hardly know\nthe place again, it is so changed. You are not expected to admire, but\nthere _is_ a conservatory building at this moment--be still, my soul!\n\nThis leaves me in the preliminary agonies of a new book, which I hope to\nbegin publishing (in twelve numbers, not twenty) next March. The coming\nreadings being all in London, and being, after the first fortnight, only\nonce a week, will divert my attention very little, I hope.\n\nHarry has just gone up to Cambridge again, and I hope will get a\nfellowship in good time.\n\nWills is much gratified by your remembrance, and sends you his warm\nregard. He wishes me to represent that he is very little to be pitied.\nThat he suffers no pain, scarcely inconvenience, even, so long as he is\nidle. That he likes idleness exceedingly. He has bought a country place\nby Welwyn in Hertfordshire, near Lytton's, and takes possession\npresently.\n\nMy boy Sydney is now a second lieutenant, the youngest in the Service, I\nbelieve. He has the highest testimonials as an officer.\n\nYou may be quite sure there will be no international racing in American\nwaters. Oxford knows better, or I am mistaken. The Harvard crew were a\nvery good set of fellows, and very modest.\n\nRyland of Birmingham doesn't look a day older, and was full of interest\nin you, and asked me to remind you of him. By-the-bye, at Elkington's I\nsaw a pair of immense tea-urns from a railway station (Stafford), sent\nthere to be repaired. They were honeycombed within in all directions,\nand had been supplying the passengers, under the active agency of hot\nwater, with decomposed lead, copper, and a few other deadly poisons, for\nheaven knows how many years!\n\nI must leave off in a hurry to catch the post, after a hard day's work.\n\n                  Ever, my dearest Macready,\n                                  Your most affectionate and attached.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[28] Herr Joseph Joachim, the renowned violinist.\n\n[29] His sister-in-law, Mrs. Augustus Dickens, always a welcome visitor\nat Gad's Hill.\n\n[30] Of the Guild of Literature and Art.\n\n[31] The housekeeper at the office.\n\n\n\n\n1870.\n\nNARRATIVE.\n\n\nCharles Dickens passed his last Christmas and New Year's Day at Gad's\nHill, with a party of family and friends, in the usual way, except that\nhe was suffering again from an attack of the foot trouble, particularly\non Christmas Day, when he was quite disabled by it and unable to walk at\nall--able only to join the party in the evening by keeping his room all\nday. However, he was better in a day or two, and early in January he\nwent to London, where he had taken the house of his friends, Mr. and\nMrs. Milner Gibson, for the season.\n\nHis series of \"Farewell Readings\" at St. James's Hall began in January,\nand ended on the 16th March. He was writing \"Edwin Drood\" also, and was,\nof course, constantly occupied with \"All the Year Round\" work. In the\nbeginning of January, he fulfilled his promise of paying a second visit\nto Birmingham and making a speech, of which he writes in his last letter\nto Mr. Macready.\n\nFor his last reading he gave the \"Christmas Carol\" and \"The Trial\" from\n\"Pickwick,\" and at the end of the evening he addressed a few farewell\nwords to his audience. It was a memorable and splendid occasion. He was\nvery deeply affected by the loving enthusiasm of his greeting, and it\nwas a real sorrow to him to give up for ever the personal associations\nwith thousands of the readers of his books. But when the pain, mingled\nwith pleasure, of this last reading was over, he felt greatly the relief\nof having undisturbed time for his own quieter pursuits, and looked\nforward to writing the last numbers of \"Edwin Drood\" at Gad's Hill,\nwhere he was to return in June.\n\nThe last public appearance of any kind that he made was at the Royal\nAcademy dinner in May. He was at the time far from well, but he made a\ngreat effort to be present and to speak, from his strong desire to pay a\ntribute to the memory of his dear old friend Mr. Maclise, who died in\nApril.\n\nHer Majesty having expressed a wish, conveyed through Mr. Helps\n(afterwards Sir Arthur Helps), to have a personal interview with Charles\nDickens, he accompanied Mr. Helps to Buckingham Palace one afternoon in\nMarch. He was most graciously and kindly received by her Majesty, and\ncame away with a hope that the visit had been mutually agreeable. The\nQueen presented him with a copy of her \"Journal in the Highlands,\" with\nan autograph inscription. And he had afterwards the pleasure of\nrequesting her acceptance of a set of his books. He attended a levee\nheld by the Prince of Wales in April, and the last time he dined out in\nLondon was at a party given by Lord Houghton for the King of the\nBelgians and the Prince of Wales, who had both expressed a desire to\nmeet Charles Dickens. All through the season he had been suffering, at\nintervals, from the swollen foot, and on this occasion it was so bad,\nthat up to the last moment it was very doubtful whether he could fulfil\nhis engagement.\n\nWe have very few letters for this year, and none of any very particular\ninterest, but we give them all, as they are _the last_.\n\nMr. S. L. Fildes was his \"new illustrator,\" to whom he alludes in a note\nto Mr. Frith; we also give a short note to Mr. Fildes himself.\n\nThe correspondence of Charles Dickens with Mrs. Dallas Glyn, the\ncelebrated actress, for whom he had a great friendship, is so much on\nthe subject of her own business, that we have only been able to select\ntwo notes of any public interest.\n\nIn explanation of _the last letter_, we give an extract from a letter\naddressed to _The Daily News_ by Mr. J. M. Makeham, soon after the death\nof Charles Dickens, as follows: \"That the public may exactly understand\nthe circumstances under which Charles Dickens's letter to me was\nwritten, I am bound to explain that it is in reply to a letter which I\naddressed to him in reference to a passage in the tenth chapter of\n\"Edwin Drood,\" respecting which I ventured to suggest that he had,\nperhaps, forgotten that the figure of speech alluded to by him, in a way\nwhich, to my certain knowledge, was distasteful to some of his admirers,\nwas drawn from a passage of Holy Writ which is greatly reverenced by a\nlarge number of his countrymen as a prophetic description of the\nsufferings of our Saviour.\"\n\nThe MS. of the little \"History of the New Testament\" is now in the\npossession of his eldest daughter. She has (together with her aunt)\nreceived many earnest entreaties, both from friends and strangers, that\nthis history might be allowed to be published, for the benefit of other\nchildren.\n\nThese many petitions have his daughter's fullest sympathy. But she knows\nthat her father wrote this history ONLY for his own children, that it\nwas his particular wish that it never should be published, and she\ntherefore holds this wish as sacred and irrevocable.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]\n\n            5, HYDE PARK PLACE, LONDON, W., _Sunday, Jan. 23rd, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR WILLS,\n\nIn the note I had from you about Nancy and Sikes, you seem to refer to\nsome other note you had written me. Therefore I think it well merely to\nmention that I have received no other note.\n\nI do not wonder at your not being up to the undertaking (even if you had\nhad no cough) under the wearing circumstances. It was a very curious\nscene. The actors and actresses (most of the latter looking very pretty)\nmustered in extraordinary force, and were a fine audience. I set myself\nto carrying out of themselves and their observation, those who were bent\non watching how the effects were got; and I believe I succeeded. Coming\nback to it again, however, I feel it was madness ever to do it so\ncontinuously. My ordinary pulse is seventy-two, and it runs up under\nthis effort to one hundred and twelve. Besides which, it takes me ten or\ntwelve minutes to get my wind back at all; I being, in the meantime,\nlike the man who lost the fight--in fact, his express image. Frank Beard\nwas in attendance to make divers experiments to report to Watson; and\nalthough, as you know, he stopped it instantly when he found me at\nPreston, he was very much astonished by the effects of the reading on\nthe reader.\n\nSo I hope you may be able to come and hear it before it is silent for\never. It is done again on the evenings of the 1st February, 15th\nFebruary, and 8th March. I hope, now I have got over the mornings, that\nI may be able to work on my book. But up to this time the great\npreparation required in getting the subjects up again, and the twice a\nweek besides, have almost exclusively occupied me.\n\nI have something the matter with my right thumb, and can't (as you see)\nwrite plainly. I sent a word to poor Robert Chambers,[32] and I send my\nlove to Mrs. Wills.\n\n                            Ever, my dear Wills, affectionately yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Dallas.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                         _Wednesday, Jan. 16th, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. DALLAS,\n\nIt is perfectly delightful to me to get your fervent and sympathetic\nnote this morning. A thousand thanks for it. I will take care that two\nplaces on the front row, by my daughter, are reserved for your occasion\nnext time. I cannot see you in too good a seat, or too often.\n\n                               Believe me, ever very faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. S. L. Fildes.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                         _Wednesday, Jan. 16th, 1870._\n\nDEAR SIR,\n\nI beg to thank you for the highly meritorious and interesting specimens\nof your art that you have had the kindness to send me. I return them\nherewith, after having examined them with the greatest pleasure.\n\nI am naturally curious to see your drawing from \"David Copperfield,\" in\norder that I may compare it with my own idea. In the meanwhile, I can\nhonestly assure you that I entertain the greatest admiration for your\nremarkable powers.\n\n                                                     Faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Fielding Dickens.]\n\n                  5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Thursday, Feb. 17th, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR HARRY,\n\nI am extremely glad to hear that you have made a good start at the\nUnion. Take any amount of pains about it; open your mouth well and\nroundly, speak to the last person visible, and give yourself time.\n\nLoves from all.\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]\n\n                                         _Wednesday, March 2nd, 1870._\n\nMY DEAREST MACREADY,\n\nThis is to wish you and yours all happiness and prosperity at the\nwell-remembered anniversary to-morrow. You may be sure that loves and\nhappy returns will not be forgotten at _our_ table.\n\nI have been getting on very well with my book, and we are having immense\naudiences at St. James's Hall. Mary has been celebrating the first\nglimpses of spring by having the measles. She got over the disorder very\neasily, but a weakness remains behind. Katie is blooming. Georgina is in\nperfect order, and all send you their very best loves. It gave me true\npleasure to have your sympathy with me in the second little speech at\nBirmingham. I was determined that my Radicalism should not be called in\nquestion. The electric wires are not very exact in their reporting, but\nat all events the sense was there. Ryland, as usual, made all sorts of\nenquiries about you.\n\nWith love to dear Mrs. Macready and the noble boy my particular friend,\nand a hearty embrace to you,\n\n                          I am ever, my dearest Macready,\n                                               Your most affectionate.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. ----.]\n\n                                  OFFICE OF \"ALL THE YEAR ROUND,\"\n                                         _Wednesday, March 9th, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR ----,\n\nYou make me very uneasy on the subject of your new long story here, by\nsowing your name broadcast in so many fields at once, and undertaking\nsuch an impossible amount of fiction at one time. Just as you are coming\non with us, you have another story in progress in \"The Gentleman's\nMagazine,\" and another announced in \"Once a Week.\" And so far as I know\nthe art we both profess, it cannot be reasonably pursued in this way. I\nthink the short story you are now finishing in these pages obviously\nmarked by traces of great haste and small consideration; and a long\nstory similarly blemished would really do the publication irreparable\nharm.\n\nThese considerations are so much upon my mind that I cannot forbear\nrepresenting them to you, in the hope that they may induce you to take a\nlittle more into account the necessity of care and preparation, and some\nself-denial in the quantity done. I am quite sure that I write fully as\nmuch in your interest as in that of \"All the Year Round.\"\n\n                                  Believe me, always faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The same.]\n\n                   5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Friday, March 11th, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR ----,\n\nOf course the engagement between us is to continue, and I am sure you\nknow me too well to suppose that I have ever had a thought to the\ncontrary. Your explanation is (as it naturally would be, being yours)\nmanly and honest, and I am both satisfied and hopeful.\n\n                                                           Ever yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]\n\n                 5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Saturday, March 26th, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR KENT,\n\nI received both copies of _The Sun_, with the tenderest pleasure and\ngratification.\n\nEverything that I can let you have in aid of the proposed record[33]\n(which, _of course_, would be far more agreeable to me if done by you\nthan by any other hand), shall be at your service. Dolby has all the\nfigures relating to America, and you shall have for reference the books\nfrom which I read. They are afterwards going into Forster's\ncollection.[34]\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Fielding Dickens.]\n\n                  5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Tuesday, March 29th, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR HARRY,\n\nYour next Tuesday's subject is a very good one. I would not lose the\npoint that narrow-minded fanatics, who decry the theatre and defame its\nartists, are absolutely the advocates of depraved and barbarous\namusements. For wherever a good drama and a well-regulated theatre\ndecline, some distorted form of theatrical entertainment will infallibly\narise in their place. In one of the last chapters of \"Hard Times,\" Mr.\nSleary says something to the effect: \"People will be entertained\nthomehow, thquire. Make the betht of uth, and not the wortht.\"\n\n                                                  Ever affectionately.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. Shirley Brooks.]\n\n                    5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Friday, April 1st, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR SHIRLEY BROOKS,\n\nI have written to Mr. Low, expressing my regret that I cannot comply\nwith his request, backed as it is by my friend S. B. But I have told him\nwhat is perfectly true--that I leave town for the peaceful following of\nmy own pursuits, at the end of next month; that I have excused myself\nfrom filling all manner of claims, on the ground that the public\nengagements I could make for the season were very few and were all made;\nand that I cannot bear hot rooms when I am at work. I have smoothed this\nas you would have me smooth it.\n\nWith your longing for fresh air I can thoroughly sympathise. May you get\nit soon, and may you enjoy it, and profit by it half as much as I wish!\n\n                                                Ever faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. W. P. Frith, R.A.]\n\n                 5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Saturday, April 16th, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR FRITH,\n\nI shall be happy to go on Wednesday evening, if convenient.\n\nYou please me with what you say of my new illustrator, of whom I have\ngreat hopes.\n\n                                                Faithfully yours ever.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]\n\n                                   _Monday Morning, April 25th, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR KENT,\n\nI received your book[35] with the greatest pleasure, and heartily thank\nyou for it. It is a volume of a highly prepossessing appearance, and a\nmost friendly look. I felt as if I should have taken to it at sight;\neven (a very large even) though I had known nothing of its contents, or\nof its author!\n\nFor the last week I have been most perseveringly and ding-dong-doggedly\nat work, making headway but slowly. The spring always has a restless\ninfluence over me; and I weary, at any season, of this London dining-out\nbeyond expression; and I yearn for the country again. This is my excuse\nfor not having written to you sooner. Besides which, I had a baseless\nconviction that I should see you at the office last Thursday. Not having\ndone so, I fear you must be worse, or no better? If you _can_ let me\nhave a report of yourself, pray do.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Frederick Pollock.]\n\n                      5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Monday, May 2nd, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. POLLOCK,\n\nPray tell the illustrious Philip van Artevelde, that I will deal with\nthe nefarious case in question if I can. I am a little doubtful of the\npracticability of doing so, and frisking outside the bounds of the law\nof libel. I have that high opinion of the law of England generally,\nwhich one is likely to derive from the impression that it puts all the\nhonest men under the diabolical hoofs of all the scoundrels. It makes me\ncautious of doing right; an admirable instance of its wisdom!\n\nI was very sorry to have gone astray from you that Sunday; but as the\nearlier disciples entertained angels unawares, so the later often miss\nthem haphazard.\n\nYour description of La Font's acting is the complete truth in one short\nsentence: Nature's triumph over art; reversing the copy-book axiom! But\nthe Lord deliver us from Plessy's mechanical ingenuousness!!\n\nAnd your petitioner will ever pray.\n\nAnd ever be,\n\n                                                     Faithfully yours.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. E. M. Ward.]\n\n                  5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Wednesday, May 11th, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. WARD,\n\nI grieve to say that I am literally laid by the heels, and incapable of\ndining with you to-morrow. A neuralgic affection of the foot, which\nusually seizes me about twice a year, and which will yield to nothing\nbut days of fomentation and horizontal rest, set in last night, and has\ncaused me very great pain ever since, and will too clearly be no better\nuntil it has had its usual time in which to wear itself out. I send my\nkindest regard to Ward, and beg to be pitied.\n\n                                  Believe me, faithfully yours always.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]\n\n                    5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Tuesday, May 17th, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR KENT,\n\nMany, many thanks! It is only my neuralgic foot. It has given me such a\nsharp twist this time that I have not been able, in its extreme\nsensitiveness, to put any covering upon it except scalding fomentations.\nHaving viciously bubbled and blistered it in all directions, I hope it\nnow begins to see the folly of its ways.\n\n                                                  Affectionately ever.\n\nP.S.--I hope the Sun shines.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mrs. Bancroft.]\n\n                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,\n                                           _Thursday, May 31st, 1870._\n\nMY DEAR MRS. BANCROFT,[36]\n\nI am most heartily obliged to you for your kind note, which I received\nhere only last night, having come here from town circuitously to get a\nlittle change of air on the road. My sense of your interest cannot be\nbetter proved than by my trying the remedy you recommend, and that I\nwill do immediately. As I shall be in town on Thursday, my troubling you\nto order it would be quite unjustifiable. I will use your name in\napplying for it, and will report the result after a fair trial. Whether\nthis remedy succeeds or fails as to the neuralgia, I shall always\nconsider myself under an obligation to it for having indirectly procured\nme the great pleasure of receiving a communication from you; for I hope\nI may lay claim to being one of the most earnest and delighted of your\nmany artistic admirers.\n\n                                         Believe me, faithfully yours.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[32] On the death of his second wife.\n\n[33] Of the Readings. The intention was carried out. Mr. Kent's book,\n\"Charles Dickens as a Reader,\" was published in 1872.\n\n[34] No doubt Charles Dickens intended to add the Reading Books to the\nlegacy of his MSS. to Mr. Forster. But he did not do so, therefore the\n\"Readings\" are not a part of the \"Forster Collection\" at the South\nKensington Museum.\n\n[35] A new collective edition of \"Kent's Poems,\" dedicated to his\ncousin, Colonel Kent, of the 77th Regiment.\n\n[36] Miss Marie Wilton.\n\n\n\n\nTWO LAST LETTERS.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]\n\n\n[Illustration: Gad's Hill Place,\n                          Higham by Rochester, Kent.[37]\n\n        HW: Wednesday Eighth June 1870\n\n\nHW: Dear Kent\n\nTomorrow is a very bad day for me to make a call, as, in addition to my\nusual office business, I have a mass of accounts to settle with Wills.\nBut I hope I may be ready for you at 3 o'clock. If I can't be--why, then\nI shan't be.\n\nYou must really get rid of those Opal enjoyments. They are too\noverpowering:\n\n\"These violent delights have violent ends.\"\n\nI think it was a father of your churches who made the wise remark to a\nyoung gentleman who got up early (or stayed out late) at Verona?\n\n                                 Ever affectionately\n                                             Signature: ChD]\n\n\n\n[Sidenote: Mr. John M. Makeham.]\n\n                               =Gad's Hill Place,=\n                                          =Higham by Rochester, Kent.=\n\n[Illustration: HW: Wednesday Eighth June 1870\n\nDear Sir\n\nIt would be quite inconceivable I think--but for your\nletter--that any reasonable reader could possibly attach a scriptural\nreference to a passage in a book of mine, reproducing a much abused\nsocial figure of speech, impressed into all sorts of service on all\nsorts of inappropriate occasions, without the faintest connexion of it\nwith its original source. I am truly shocked to find that any reader can\nmake the mistake\n\nI have always striven in my writings to express veneration for the life\nand lessons of our Saviour; because I feel it; and because I re-wrote\nthat history for my children--every one of whom knew it from having it\nrepeated to them--long before they could read, and almost as soon as\nthey could speak.\n\nBut I have never made proclamation of this from the house tops\n\n                                          Faithfully Yours,\n                                                       Charles Dickens\n\nJohn M. Markham Esq.]\n\nAll through this spring in London, Charles Dickens had been ailing in\nhealth, and it was remarked by many friends that he had a weary look,\nand was \"aged\" and altered. But he was generally in good spirits, and\nhis family had no uneasiness about him, relying upon the country quiet\nand comparative rest at Gad's Hill to have their usual influence in\nrestoring his health and strength. On the 2nd June he attended a private\nplay at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Freake, where his two daughters were\namong the actresses. The next day he went back to Gad's Hill. His\ndaughter Kate (whose home was there at all times when she chose, and\nalmost always through the summer months) went down on Sunday, the 5th\nJune, for a day's visit, to see the \"great improvement of the\nconservatory.\" Her father laughingly assured her she had now seen \"the\nlast\" improvement at Gad's Hill. At this time he was tolerably well, but\nshe remarked to her sister and aunt how strangely he was tired, and what\na curious grey colour he had in his face after a very short walk on that\nSunday afternoon. However, he seemed quite himself again in the evening.\nThe next day his daughter Kate went back, accompanied by her sister, who\nwas to pay her a short visit, to London.\n\nCharles Dickens was very hard at work on the sixth number of \"Edwin\nDrood.\" On the Monday and Tuesday he was well, but he was unequal to\nmuch exercise. His last walk was one of his greatest favourites--through\nCobham Park and Wood--on the afternoon of Tuesday.\n\nOn the morning of Wednesday, the 8th (one of the loveliest days of a\nlovely summer), he was very well; in excellent spirits about his book,\nof which he said he _must_ finish his number that day--the next\n(Thursday) being the day of his weekly visit to \"All the Year Round\"\noffice. Therefore, he would write all day in the Chalet, and take no\nwalk or drive until the evening. In the middle of the day he came to the\nhouse for an hour's rest, and smoked a cigar in the conservatory--out of\nwhich new addition to the house he was taking the greatest personal\nenjoyment--and seemed perfectly well, and exceedingly cheerful and\nhopeful. When he came again to the house, about an hour before the time\nfixed for the early dinner, he seemed very tired, silent, and absorbed.\nBut this was so usual with him after a day of engrossing work, that it\ncaused no alarm or surprise to his sister-in-law--the only member of his\nhousehold who happened to be at home. He wrote some letters--among them,\nthese last letters which we give--in the library of the house, and also\narranged many trifling business matters, with a view to his departure\nfor London the next morning. He was to be accompanied, on his return at\nthe end of the week, by Mr. Fildes, to introduce the \"new illustrator\"\nto the neighbourhood in which many of the scenes of this last book of\nCharles Dickens, as of his first, were laid.\n\nIt was not until they were seated at the dinner-table that a striking\nchange in the colour and expression of his face startled his\nsister-in-law, and on her asking him if he was ill, he said, \"Yes, very\nill; I have been very ill for the last hour.\" But on her expressing an\nintention of sending instantly for a doctor, he stopped her, and said:\n\"No, he would go on with dinner, and go afterwards to London.\" And then\nhe made an effort to struggle against the fit that was fast coming on\nhim, and talked, but incoherently, and soon very indistinctly. It being\nnow evident that he _was_ ill, and very seriously ill, his sister-in-law\nbegged him to come to his own room before she sent off for medical help.\n\"Come and lie down,\" she entreated. \"Yes, on the ground,\" he said, very\ndistinctly--these were the last words he spoke--and he slid from her\narm, and fell upon the floor.\n\nThe servants brought a couch into the dining-room, where he was laid. A\nmessenger was despatched for Mr. Steele, the Rochester doctor, and with\na telegram to his doctor in London, and to his daughters. This was a few\nminutes after six o'clock.\n\nHis daughters arrived, with Mr. Frank Beard, this same evening. His\neldest son the next morning, and his son Henry and his sister Letitia in\nthe evening of the 9th--too late, alas!\n\nAll through the night, Charles Dickens never opened his eyes, or showed\na sign of consciousness. In the afternoon of the 9th, Dr. Russell\nReynolds arrived at Gad's Hill, having been summoned by Mr. Frank Beard\nto meet himself and Mr. Steele. But he could only confirm their hopeless\nverdict, and made his opinion known with much kind sympathy, to the\nfamily, before returning to London.\n\nCharles Dickens remained in the same unconscious state until the evening\nof this day, when, at ten minutes past six, the watchers saw a shudder\npass over him, heard him give a deep sigh, saw one tear roll down his\ncheek, and he was gone from them. And as they saw the dark shadow steal\nacross his calm, beautiful face, not one among them--could they have\nbeen given such a power--would have recalled his sweet spirit back to\nearth.\n\nAs his family were aware that Charles Dickens had a wish to be buried\nnear Gad's Hill, arrangements were made for his burial in the pretty\nchurchyard of Shorne, a neighbouring village, of which he was very fond.\nBut this intention was abandoned in consequence of a pressing request\nfrom the Dean and Chapter of Rochester Cathedral that his remains might\nbe placed there. A grave was prepared and everything arranged, when it\nwas made known to the family, through Dean Stanley, that there was a\ngeneral and very earnest desire that Charles Dickens should find his\nresting-place in Westminster Abbey. To such a fitting tribute to his\nmemory they could make no possible objection, although it was with great\nregret that they relinquished the idea of laying him in a place so\nclosely identified with his life and his works. His name,\nnotwithstanding, is associated with Rochester, a tablet to his memory\nhaving been placed by his executors on the wall of Rochester Cathedral.\n\nWith regard to Westminster Abbey, his family only stipulated that the\nfuneral might be made as private as possible, and that the words of his\nwill, \"I emphatically direct that I be buried in an inexpensive,\nunostentatious, and strictly private manner,\" should be religiously\nadhered to. And so they were. The solemn service in the vast cathedral\nbeing as private as the most thoughtful consideration could make it.\n\nThe family of Charles Dickens were deeply grateful to all in authority\nwho so carried out his wishes. And more especially to Dean Stanley and\nto the (late) Lady Augusta Stanley, for the tender sympathy shown by\nthem to the mourners on this day, and also on Sunday, the 19th, when the\nDean preached his beautiful funeral sermon.\n\nAs during his life Charles Dickens's fondness for air, light, and gay\ncolours amounted almost to a passion, so when he lay dead in the home he\nhad so dearly loved, these things were not forgotten.\n\nThe pretty room opening into the conservatory (from which he had never\nbeen removed since his seizure) was kept bright with the most beautiful\nof all kinds of flowers, and flooded with the summer sun:\n\n        \"And nothing stirred in the room. The old, old\n        fashion. The fashion that came in with our\n        first garments, and will last unchanged until\n        our race has run its course, and the wide\n        firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old,\n        old fashion--death!\n\n        \"Oh, thank God, all who see it, for that older\n        fashion yet, of immortality!\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[37] This letter has lately been presented by Mr. Charles Kent to the\nBritish Museum.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX.\n\n\n  A'Beckett, Gilbert, i. 134\n\n  Actors, Dickens a friend to poor, ii. 134\n\n  Affidavit, a facetious, i. 101\n\n  Agassiz, Professor, ii. 226, 309\n\n  Agate, John, ii. 136;\n    letter to, ii. 154\n\n  Ainsworth, W. H., letters to, i. 43, 75, 92\n\n  Alison, Sir Archibald, i. 170\n\n  \"All the Year Round,\" commencement of, ii. 83;\n    \"The Uncommercial Traveller\" in, ii. 107;\n    Christmas Numbers of: \"The Haunted House,\" ii. 84;\n    \"A Message from the Sea,\" ii. 108, 137;\n    \"Tom Tiddler's Ground,\" ii. 136;\n    \"Somebody's Luggage,\" ii. 171;\n    \"Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings,\" ii. 187;\n    \"Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy,\" ii. 209, 210;\n    \"Dr. Marigold's Prescriptions,\" ii. 224, 239, 246;\n    \"Mugby Junction,\" ii. 244, 265;\n    \"No Thoroughfare,\" ii. 268, 300, 327, 332, 334, 338, 350, 356,\n        361, 362, 384;\n    and see ii. 386,\n    and see Charles Dickens as an Editor\n\n  America, feeling for Dickens in the backwoods of, i. 40, 41;\n    Dickens's first visit to, i. 53;\n    his welcome in, i. 59;\n    his opinion of, i. 60-64;\n    freedom of opinion in, i. 61;\n    Dickens's levees in, i. 66;\n    change of temperature in, i. 66;\n    hotel charges in, i. 67;\n    midnight rambles in New York, i. 67;\n    descriptions of Niagara, i. 69, 70; ii. 372, 377;\n    a maid's views on Niagara, i. 72;\n    copyright in, i. 71, 73, 74;\n    Dickens's tribute to Mrs. Trollope's book on, i. 81;\n    press-ridden, i. 97;\n    absence of quiet in, i. 98;\n    criticisms of Dickens in, i. 151;\n    the great war in, ii. 142, 143;\n    feeling between England and, ii. 240;\n    Dickens's second visit to--the journey, ii. 302-306;\n    Dickens's letters on, ii. 306-382;\n    fires in, ii. 317, 320;\n    treatment of luggage in, ii. 321;\n    drinks in, ii. 329, 363;\n    literary piracy in, ii. 332;\n    walking-match between Dolby and Osgood in, ii. 346, 352, 353,\n        360, 361, 364, 366, 377;\n    changes and improvements in since Dickens's first visit,\n        ii. 348, 374;\n    the <DW64>s in, ii. 349;\n    personal descriptions of Dickens in, ii. 369;\n    travelling in, ii. 375;\n    and see Readings\n\n  \"American Notes,\" publication of, i. 54\n\n  Andersen, Hans Christian, ii. 3\n\n  \"Animal Magnetism,\" tag to, written by Dickens, i. 238\n\n  Anne, Mrs. Dickens's maid, i. 72, 414; ii. 18, 25, 28, 343\n\n  \"Apprentices, The Tour of the Two Idle,\" ii. 5, 32, 33\n\n  \"Arabian Nights,\" a mistake in the, i. 88, 89\n\n  Armatage, Isaac, ii. 391\n\n  Armstrong, the Misses, letter to, ii. 175;\n    and see ii. 176\n\n  Astley's Theatre, description of a clown at, i. 116\n\n  Austin, Henry, i. 240; ii. 135, 157;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Austin, Mrs. Henry, ii. 447;\n    letters to, ii. 154, 180, 384\n\n  Author, the highest reward of an, i. 41\n\n  Autobiography, a concise, of Dickens, i. 437\n\n  Autograph of Dickens in 1833, i. 2;\n    Dickens leaves his in Shakespeare's room, i. 13;\n    of Boz, i. 43;\n    of Dickens as Bobadil, i. 195;\n    facsimile of Dickens's handwriting in 1856, i. 421;\n    facsimile letters of Dickens written the day before his death,\n        ii. 443-445\n\n\n  Babbage, Charles, letters to, i. 86, 87, 186\n\n  Ballantyne, ii. 415\n\n  Bancroft, Mrs., letter to, ii. 441\n\n  Banks, G., i. 273; letter to, i. 296\n\n  Barber, Dickens's gardener, ii. 102\n\n  Barker, Dr. Fordyce, ii. 378, 405\n\n  \"Barnaby Rudge\" written and published, i. 36;\n    Dickens's descriptions of the illustrations of:\n      the raven, i. 38;\n      the locksmith's house, i. 39;\n      rioters in The Maypole, i. 45;\n      scene in the ruins of the Warren, i. 46;\n      abduction of Dolly Varden, i. 48;\n      Lord George Gordon in the Tower, the duel, frontispiece, i. 50;\n      Hugh taken to gaol, i. 51\n\n  \"Battle of Life, The,\" dedication of, i. 147, 157;\n    Dickens superintends rehearsals of the play of, i. 163, 165, 167;\n    sale of, i. 166, 176;\n    reception of the play of, i. 167\n\n  Baylis, Mr., ii. 170;\n    letter to, ii. 179\n\n  Beadle, a, in office, ii. 134\n\n  Beard, Frank, ii. 182, 405, 421, 434, 447\n\n  Beaucourt, M., i. 297, 357, 439\n\n  Bedstead, a German, i. 128\n\n  Beecher, Ward, ii. 341\n\n  Begging letters, Dickens's answers to, i. 148-150\n\n  Belgians, the King of the, ii. 432\n\n  Benzon, Miss Lily, letter to, ii. 258\n\n  Berry, one of Dickens's readings men, ii. 54, 159, 160\n\n  Bicknell, Henry, i. 215;\n    letter to, i. 229\n\n  Biographers, Dickens on, i. 190;\n    his opinion of John Forster as a biographer, i. 188-191\n\n  Birthday wishes, i. 51\n\n  \"Black-eyed Susan,\" Dickens as T. P. Cooke in, i. 113;\n    a new version of, i. 114\n\n  Blackwood, Mr., ii. 165\n\n  Blair, General, ii. 355\n\n  Blanchard, Laman, letter to, i. 99\n\n  \"Bleak House,\" commenced, i. 241;\n    publication of, i. 272;\n    Dickens's opinion of, i. 279;\n    circulation of, i. 289, 309, 317\n\n  Blessington, Lady, i. 171\n\n  Bobadil, Captain, Dickens plays, i. 134;\n    Dickens's remarks on, i. 144;\n    a letter after, i. 195\n\n  Book-backs, Dickens's imitation, i. 265, 266\n\n  Book Clubs, established, i. 94;\n    Dickens on, i. 104\n\n  Boucicault, Dion, ii. 260, 261\n\n  Boulogne, Dickens at, i. 271, 297, 304-312, 341, 414, 439-448;\n    a Shakespearian performance at, i. 308;\n    _en fete_, i. 315;\n    illuminations at, on the occasion of the Prince Consort's visit,\n        i. 362;\n    fire at, i. 364;\n    condition of, during the Crimean war, i. 365;\n    letters descriptive of, i. 305, 306, 309, 312, 357, 358, 360, 372\n\n  Bouncer, Mrs., Miss Dickens's dog, ii. 109, 126, 189, 356\n\n  Bow Street Runners, ii. 178\n\n  Boxall, Sir William, i. 233, 237\n\n  Boyle, Captain Cavendish, ii. 407\n\n  Boyle, Miss Mary, i. 211, 214, 227, 414; ii. 123, 145, 315, 406;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Breach of Promise, a new sort of, i. 179\n\n  Breakfast, a Yorkshire, i. 9\n\n  Broadstairs, Dickens at, i. 4, 6, 17, 28, 36, 53, 134, 170, 185,\n        213, 240; ii. 84, 99;\n    description of lodgings at, i. 33;\n    amusements of, i. 180, 182;\n    size of Fort House at, i. 254\n\n  Bromley, Sir Richard, ii. 126\n\n  Brookfield, Mrs., letter to, ii. 249\n\n  Brookfield, The Rev. W., letters to, ii. 199, 200\n\n  Brooks, Shirley, ii. 407;\n    letters to, ii. 423, 438\n\n  Brougham, Lord, i. 182; ii. 144\n\n  Browne, H. K., i. 6, 13\n\n  Buckstone, J. B., i. 360\n\n  Burnett, Mrs., i. 185\n\n\n  Cabin, a, on board ship, i. 56\n\n  Campbell, Lord, ii, 144\n\n  Capital punishment, Dickens's views on, i. 209\n\n  Carlisle, the Earl of, letters to, i. 253, 281; ii. 12, 118, 157\n\n  Carlyle, Thomas, ii. 112\n\n  Cartwright, Samuel, ii. 326;\n    letter to, ii. 348\n\n  Castlereagh, Lord, i. 245\n\n  Cat-hunting, i. 449\n\n  Cattermole, George, i. 42, 143; ii. 327, 383;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Cattermole, Mrs., letters to, ii. 383, 385\n\n  Celeste, Madame, ii. 106\n\n  Cerjat, M. de, i. 147; ii. 406;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Chambers, Robert, ii. 167, 434\n\n  Chancery, Dickens on the Court of, i. 450\n\n  Chapman and Hall, Messrs., i. 3;\n    letter to, i. 55\n\n  Chappell, Messrs., ii. 244, 245, 267, 309, 326, 405\n\n  Charities, Dickens's sufferings from public, ii. 47\n\n  Children, stories of, i. 223, 365, 420; ii. 196, 359, 423\n\n  Childs, Mr., ii. 337, 405\n\n  \"Chimes, The,\" written, i. 95;\n    an attack on cant, i. 118, 129;\n    Dickens's opinion of, i. 129, 133;\n    Dickens gives a private reading of, i. 133\n\n  Chorley, H. F., ii. 338, 350\n\n  \"Christmas Carol, The,\" publication of, i. 85;\n    criticisms on, i. 99\n\n  Christmas greetings, i. 167\n\n  Church, Dickens on the, ii. 221;\n    service on board ship, ii. 348;\n    Dickens on the Romish, ii. 409, 410\n\n  Circumlocution, Dickens on, ii. 241, 270\n\n  Clarke, John, letter to, ii. 418\n\n  Cockspur Street Society, the, i. 85-87\n\n  Cold, effects of a, i. 92, 93;\n    remedy for a, i. 168\n\n  Colden, David, i. 64\n\n  Collins, C. A., ii. 84, 100, 113, 221, 242, 387, 410\n\n  Collins, Wilkie, i. 241, 272, 297, 332, 359, 376, 385, 388, 413,\n        414, 447; ii. 33, 84, 108, 170, 268, 292;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Comedy, Mr. Webster's offer for a prize, Dickens an imaginary\n        competitor, i. 86, 90\n\n  Compton, Mrs., letter to, ii. 22\n\n  Conjuring feats, i. 96;\n    and see ii. 243\n\n  Cooke, T. P., i. 113; ii. 4;\n    letter to, ii. 21\n\n  Copyright, i. 13;\n    Dickens's struggles to secure English, in America, i. 71, 73, 74\n\n  Costello, Dudley, i. 241;\n    letters to, i. 104, 205\n\n  Cottage, a cheap, i. 18\n\n  Coutts, Miss, i. 410\n\n  Covent Garden Theatre, Macready retires from management of, i. 18;\n    ruins of, i. 430;\n    a scene at, ii. 133\n\n  \"Cricket on the Hearth, The,\" i. 135, 145\n\n  Croker, J. Crofton, i. 272;\n    letter to, i. 275\n\n  Cruikshank, George, i. 170\n\n  Cunningham, Mrs., ii. 423\n\n  Cunningham, Peter, i. 186, 407;\n    letters to, i. 195, 270, 312, 356\n\n\n  Dacres, Sir Sydney, ii. 329\n\n  _Daily News, The_, started, i. 135\n\n  Dallas, Mrs., letters to, ii. 195, 434\n\n  Dallas, Mr., ii. 235\n\n  \"David Copperfield,\" dedication of, i. 147;\n    purpose of Little Emily in, i. 211;\n    success of, i. 211;\n    reading of, i. 377, 382;\n    Dickens's favourite work, i. 382;\n    and see i. 204, 221, 227, 279\n\n  Deane, F. H., letter to, i. 68\n\n  Delane, John, i. 298; ii. 425;\n    letter to, i. 314\n\n  De la Rue, Mr., ii. 210\n\n  Devonshire, the Duke of, letters to, i. 437, 443, 457\n\n  Devrient, Emil, i. 277\n\n  Dickens, Charles, at Furnival's Inn, i. 1;\n    his marriage, i. 1;\n    employed as a parliamentary reporter, i. 1;\n    spends his honeymoon at Chalk, Kent, i. 1;\n    employed on _The Morning Chronicle_, i. 2;\n    removes to Doughty Street, i. 4;\n    writes for the stage, i. 4, 5, 7, 16, 17;\n    his visit to the Yorkshire schools, i. 6;\n    at Twickenham Park, i. 6;\n    his visits to Broadstairs, see Broadstairs;\n    his visit to Stratford-on-Avon and Kenilworth, i. 6, 12;\n    in Shakespeare's room, i. 13;\n    elected at the Athenaeum Club, i. 12;\n    removes to Devonshire Terrace, i. 17;\n    portraits of, see Portraits;\n    visits to Scotland, i. 36, ii. 39, and see ii. 395;\n    personal feeling of for his characters, i. 36, 37, 42;\n    declines to enter Parliament, i. 37, 44; ii. 389;\n    public dinners to, i. 36, 53, 273; ii. 268, 301, 404, 406, 417,\n        419, 420;\n    an enemy of cant, i. 88, 118, 129;\n    visits of to America, see America;\n    expedition of to Cornwall, i. 54;\n    his travels in Italy, see Italy;\n    political opinions of, i. 62, 63, 88, 104;\n    fancy signatures to letters of, i. 91, 146, 152, 181, 206,\n        237, 425; ii. 195;\n    takes the chair at the opening of the Liverpool Mechanics'\n        Institute, i. 94, and see i. 100-102;\n    his theatrical performances, see Theatrical Performances;\n    effects of work on, i. 121,; ii. 248, 266, 325;\n    _The Daily News_, started by, i. 135;\n    his visits to Lausanne and Switzerland, i. 147, 297, and\n        see Switzerland;\n    his visits to Paris, see Paris;\n    as a stage, manager, i. 163, 167, 231, 232, 237; ii. 26;\n    at Chester Place, Regent's Park, i. 169;\n    takes the chair at the opening of the Leeds Mechanics' Institute,\n        and of the Glasgow Athenaeum, i. 170;\n    at Brighton, i. 185, 213;\n    at Bonchurch, i, 204;\n    purchases Tavistock House, i. 240, and see Tavistock House;\n    as an editor, i. 246, 259, 269, 270, 285; ii. 127, 217, 262, 286,\n        292;\n    his readings, see Readings;\n    illnesses of, i. 14, 297; ii. 404, 405, 421, 446;\n    in America, ii. 338, 341, 347, 353, 355, 360, 365, 373, 377, 380,\n        381;\n    his visits to Boulogne, see Boulogne;\n    presentation of plate to, at Birmingham, i. 348;\n    purchases Gad's Hill, i. 377, 414, and see Gad's Hill;\n    delivers a speech on Administrative Reform, i. 377;\n    at Folkestone, i. 377, 378;\n    restlessness of, when at work, i. 402, 425;\n    tour of, in the North, ii. 5, 29-32;\n    his kindly criticisms of young writers, ii. 16, 34, 267, 277,\n        for other criticisms see i. 152, 188; ii. 14, 43, 215, 249;\n    elected a member of the Birmingham Institute, ii. 34;\n    religious views of, ii. 82, 202, 221, 394, 403, 444;\n    visit of, to Cornwall, ii. 108;\n    at Hanover Terrace, Regent's Park, ii. 135;\n    visits Lord Lytton at Knebworth, ii. 136;\n    at Hyde Park Gate South, ii. 170;\n    at 57, Gloucester Place, Hyde Park, ii. 208;\n    at Somer's Place, Hyde Park, ii. 224;\n    in the Staplehurst accident, ii. 224;\n    at Southwick Place, Hyde Park, ii. 224;\n    his energy, ii. 291;\n    one of the secrets of the success of, ii. 357, 392;\n    the Midland Institute at Birmingham opened by, ii. 406, and\n        see ii. 427;\n    his last speech, at the Royal Academy dinner, ii. 432;\n    his interview with the Queen, ii. 432;\n    attends a levee of the Prince of Wales, ii. 432;\n    his last illness, ii. 446;\n    his death, ii. 448;\n    funeral of, ii. 448, 449;\n    and see Letters of\n\n  Dickens, Mrs. Charles, marriage of, i. 1;\n    visit of, to America, i. 53;\n    at Rome, i. 135;\n    accident to, i. 215;\n    at Malvern, i. 239;\n    present to, at Birmingham, i. 298;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Dickens, Charles, jun., birth of, i. 4;\n    nickname of, i. 76;\n    at Eton, i. 212, 240, 243, 255, 258;\n    at Leipsic, i. 297, 310, 319;\n    at Barings', i. 455;\n    marriage of, ii. 208;\n    on \"All the Year Round,\" ii. 406, 410, 424;\n    and see i. 169, 233, 237, 243, 255, 258, 290, 347, 378, 405, 426;\n        ii. 88, 114, 123, 140, 145, 176, 447;\n    letters to, ii. 310, 338\n\n  Dickens, Kate, nickname of, i. 76;\n    marriage of, ii. 107, 113;\n    illness of, ii. 266, 271; and see ii. 39, 75, 77, 84, 221, 410,\n        436, 446;\n    letters to, i. 178; ii. 99\n\n  Dickens, Mamie, nickname of, i. 76;\n    illnesses of, i. 363, 436;\n    accident to, ii. 129;\n    and see ii. 39, 49, 55, 75, 77, 84, 87, 114, 116, 120, 145, 179,\n        234, 411, 447, and Letters\n\n  Dickens, Walter, nickname of, i. 76;\n    goes to India, ii. 19, 21;\n    attached to the 42nd Highlanders, ii. 114, 176;\n    death of, ii. 208, 212; and see i. 268, 314, 378, 443; ii. 4\n\n  Dickens, Frank, nickname of, i. 126;\n    letter of, to Dickens, ii. 93;\n    in India, ii. 208, 212; and see ii. 114, 131, 140, 177\n\n  Dickens, Alfred, at Wimbledon School, ii. 122;\n    settles in Australia, ii. 327; and see ii. 177, 371\n\n  Dickens, Sydney, birth of, i. 169;\n    nickname of, i. 170;\n    death of, i. 171;\n    story of, i. 223;\n    a naval cadet, ii. 125, 126, 145, 167;\n    on board H.M.S. _Orlando_, ii. 169; and see i. 363; ii. 114,\n        118, 122, 177, 202, 236, 260, 296, 430\n\n  Dickens, Henry, entered at Trinity Hall, Cambridge, ii. 327;\n    wins a scholarship, ii. 424, 430;\n      and see i. 363; ii. 177, 190, 254, 255, 329, 371, 389, 395,\n        406, 410, 447;\n    letters to, ii. 356, 392, 435, 438\n\n  Dickens, Edward, nicknames of, i. 322, 338;\n    goes to Australia, ii. 327, 329;\n    Dickens's love for, ii. 389-391;\n      and see i. 353, 359, 365, 403, 420, 426, 439; ii. 53, 76, 79,\n        92, 95, 153, 190, 199;\n    letter to, ii. 402\n\n  Dickens, Dora, birth of, i. 213;\n    death of, i. 240\n\n  Dickens, Alfred, sen., i. 184, 410; ii. 199\n\n  Dickens, Mrs. Augustus, ii. 418\n\n  Dickens, Fanny, see Mrs. Burnett\n\n  Dickens, Frederick, i. 9\n\n  Dickens, John, i. 240, 437; ii. 240\n\n  Dickens, Mrs. John, ii. 333\n\n  Dickens, Letitia, see Mrs. Henry Austin\n\n  Dickenson, Captain, ii. 224, 232\n\n  Dickson, David, letter to, i. 89\n\n  Diezman, S. A., letter to, i. 32\n\n  Dilke, C. W., ii. 5;\n    letter to, ii. 12\n\n  Dillon, C., ii. 42\n\n  Dinner, a search for a, i. 326;\n    ladies at public dinners, i. 103\n\n  Dogs, Dickens's, i. 67, 109, 110; ii. 50, 96, 101; ii. 203, 237,\n        242, 245, 264, 269;\n    a plague of, i. 292;\n    stories of, i. 109, 352, 354, 455\n\n  Dolby, George, ii. 245, 252-255, 267, 273, 280, 295, 296, 308, 310,\n        311, 317-323, 328, 330, 335, 336, 340, 345-347, 352-360, 363,\n        367, 381\n\n  \"Dombey and Son,\" i. 147;\n    success of, i. 156, 176;\n    sale of, i. 162\n\n  D'Orsay, Comte, i. 171, 244\n\n  Driver, Dickens's estimate of himself as a, i. 2\n\n  Drury Lane Theatre, the saloon at, i. 37;\n    suggestions for the saloon at, i. 52, 53\n\n  Dufferin, Lord, ii. 419\n\n  Dwarf, the Tartar, ii. 255\n\n\n  Earthquake, an, in England, ii. 206\n\n  Edinburgh on a Sunday, ii. 395\n\n  Education, Dickens an advocate of, for the people, i. 104\n\n  \"Edwin Drood,\" ii. 407, 431, 432, 446\n\n  Eeles, Mr., letters to, i. 265, 269\n\n  Egg, Augustus, i. 170, 172, 226, 297, 320, 332; ii. 198\n\n  Eliot, Sir John, Dickens on Forster's life of, ii. 215\n\n  Elliotson, Dr., i. 37, 149, ii. 99\n\n  Elton, Mr., i. 85, 92\n\n  Elwin, Rev. W., ii. 136, 151\n\n  Ely, Miss, letter to, i. 153\n\n  Emerson, Mr., ii. 306\n\n  Emery, Mr., i. 429\n\n  England, state of, in 1855, i. 391;\n    politically, i. 406\n\n  Epitaph, Dickens's, on a little child, i. 68\n\n  Executions, Dickens on public, i. 209, 212\n\n  Exhibition, an infant school at the, i. 257\n\n  Eytinge, Mr., ii. 405\n\n\n  Fairy Tales, Dickens on, i. 307\n\n  \"Faust,\" Gounod's, ii. 191, 193\n\n  Fechter, Charles, ii. 171, 177, 187, 193, 201, 219, 270, 386; and\n        see Letters\n\n  Felton, Mr., ii. 85\n\n  Ferguson, Sir William, ii. 246, 247\n\n  Feval, Paul, ii. 183, 192\n\n  Fielding, Henry, i. 394\n\n  Fields, Cyrus W., ii. 85, 308, 344, 361, 364, 379, 405\n\n  Fields, Mrs., ii. 306, 308, 319, 344, 361, 364, 367, 379, 405\n\n  Fildes, S. L., ii. 432, 447;\n    letter to, ii. 435\n\n  Finlay, F. D., ii. 406;\n    letters to, ii. 297, 389, 408\n\n  Fitzgerald, Mrs., ii. 285\n\n  Fitzgerald, Percy, ii. 187, 397;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Flunkeydom, scholastic, ii. 68\n\n  Forgues, M., i. 415, 421\n\n  Forster, Miss, ii. 327\n\n  Forster, John, i. 7, 10, 134, 143, 225, 240, 268, 428; ii. 108, 130,\n        265;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Franklin, Sir John, i. 373\n\n  Freake, Mr. and Mrs., ii. 446\n\n  French portraits of the English, i. 175\n\n  Friday, Dickens's lucky day, i. 414, 429\n\n  Frith, W. P., ii. 84, 93, 385, 418;\n    letters to, i. 79; ii. 439\n\n  Frost, the great, of 1861, ii. 139\n\n  Funerals, Dickens on state, i. 290; ii. 385\n\n\n  Gad's Hill, purchase of, i. 377, 378, 414;\n    Dickens takes possession of, ii. 3;\n    his childish impressions of, ii. 8;\n    improvements in, ii. 107, 373, 406, 446;\n    sports at, ii. 205;\n    cricket club at, ii. 356;\n    letters concerning, i. 384, 410, 429; ii. 15, 18, 25, 28, 49, 106,\n        119, 227\n\n  Gaskell, Mrs., i. 214;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Germany, esteem felt for Dickens in, i. 32\n\n  Ghost, stalking a, ii. 131\n\n  Gibson, M., i. 315; ii. 121\n\n  Gibson, Mr. and Mrs. Milner, ii. 431\n\n  Gladstone, Right Hon. W. E., ii. 401\n\n  Goldsmith, Oliver, Dickens on Forster's Life of, i. 188;\n    on the works of, i. 380\n\n  Gordon, Andrew, ii. 131\n\n  Gordon, Mr. Sheriff, ii. 164\n\n  \"Great Expectations,\" commenced, ii. 108, 136;\n    letters concerning, ii. 128, 133, 140, 142, 143, 151\n\n  Grief, the perversity of, exemplified, i. 18\n\n  Grimaldi, Life of, edited by Dickens, i. 4\n\n  Guild of Literature and Art, i. 239;\n    theatrical performances in aid of the, i. 239, 241, 248, 252, 268,\n        271;\n    and see ii. 41\n\n\n  Haldimand, Mr., i. 147, 169, 212, 380;\n    letters to, i. 157, 254\n\n  Halleck, Fitz-Greene, i. 59\n\n  \"Hard Times,\" i. 341;\n    satire of, explained, i. 349;\n    letters concerning, i. 355, 371\n\n  Harley, J. P., letters to, i. 5, 23\n\n  Harness, Rev. W., ii. 253;\n    letters to, i. 37, 76, 361\n\n  \"Haunted Man, The,\" i. 170, 185, 241;\n    subjects for illustrations in, described, i. 200, 201;\n    dramatisation of, i. 203\n\n  Headland, Mr., ii. 135, 149, 158, 160\n\n  Helps, Sir Arthur, ii. 432\n\n  Henderson, Mrs., letter to, ii. 293\n\n  Hewett, Captain, i. 57\n\n  \"History of England, The Child's,\" i. 297\n\n  Hogarth, Mary, i. 4, 9\n\n  Hogarth, Georgina, i. 425; ii. 50, 114, 145, 179, 202, 408, 436;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Hogge, Mrs., letter to, ii. 46\n\n  Holland, Lady, i. 11\n\n  Holmes, Mr., ii. 306\n\n  Home, longings for, i. 64, 70\n\n  Hood, Tom, i. 287;\n    letter to, i. 80\n\n  Horne, Mrs., letter to, i. 456\n\n  Horne, R. H., letter to, i. 93\n\n  Hospital, a dinner at a, i. 88;\n    Great Ormond Street, ii. 40, 46\n\n  Houghton, Lord, ii. 432;\n    letter to, i. 41\n\n  \"Household Words,\" i. 148;\n    scheme of, i. 216;\n    suggested titles for, i. 219;\n    success of, i. 221;\n    Christmas numbers of, i. 241, 288;\n    \"The Golden Mary,\" i. 414; ii. 11,\n    \"A House to Let,\" ii. 40;\n    incorporated with \"All the Year Round,\" ii. 83;\n    letters concerning, i. 219, 221, 250, 285, 286, 291-293, 295, 299,\n        301, 334, 335, 353, 423, 452; ii. 68\n\n  Hughes, Master Hastings, letter to, i. 14\n\n  Hulkes, Mrs., ii. 224, 315, 329;\n    letter to, ii. 232\n\n  Hullah, John, i. 5; ii. 131\n\n  Humphery, Mr. and Mrs., afterwards Sir W. and Lady, ii. 187\n\n  Hunt, Leigh, ii. 407\n\n  Hutchinson, John, ii. 380\n\n\n  _Illustrated London News_, offers to Dickens from, i. 150\n\n  Illustrations of Dickens's works, his descriptions for, i. 38-40,\n        45, 46, 50, 51, 200-203; ii. 237\n\n  Impeachment of the Five Members, Dickens on Forster's, ii. 14\n\n  Ireland, a dialogue in, ii. 61;\n    feeling for Dickens in, ii. 65;\n    Fenianism in, ii. 282-286;\n    proposed banquet to Dickens in, ii. 406;\n    Dickens on the Established Church in, ii. 409;\n    and see ii. 57, 60, 64\n\n  Italy, Dickens's first visit to, i. 94;\n    the sky of, i. 106;\n    the colouring of, i. 106;\n    a sunset in, i. 106;\n    twilight in, i. 107;\n    frescoes in, i. 107;\n    churches in, i. 108;\n    fruit in, i. 109;\n    climate of, i. 111;\n    a coastguard in, i. 116;\n    Dickens at Albaro, i. 105-117;\n    at Genoa, i. 120-122, 134, 321;\n    at Venice and Verona, i. 119-121, 337;\n    at Naples, i. 134-141, 322;\n    an ascent of Vesuvius, i. 137-141;\n    at Rome, i. 134, 135, 325-333;\n    Dickens on the unity of, ii. 84, 89, 90, 140, 211;\n    and see i. 297, 346\n\n\n  Jamaica, the insurrection in, ii. 241\n\n  Jeffrey, Lord, i. 184, 218\n\n  Jerrold, Douglas, i. 134, 225, 268, 390; ii. 3, 4, 19;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Jews, Dickens's friendly feeling for, ii. 204, 223, 280\n\n  Joachim, Joseph, ii. 413\n\n  John, Dickens's manservant, ii. 54, 56, 57, 72, 153, 187, 188, 255\n\n  Joll, Miss, letter to, i. 209\n\n  Jones, Walter, letter to, ii. 232\n\n\n  Keeley, Mrs., ii. 417\n\n  Keeley, Robert, i. 165;\n    letter to, i. 105\n\n  Kelly, Miss, i. 302, 303\n\n  Kelly, one of Dickens's readings men, ii. 305, 306, 342\n\n  Kemble, Fanny, ii. 344, 346\n\n  Kent, W. Charles, i. 186; ii. 225, 268, 407;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Kinkel, Dr., i. 230\n\n  Knight, Charles, i. 94; ii. 208;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Knowles, Sheridan, i. 214;\n    letter to, i. 215\n\n\n  \"Lady of Lyons, The,\" ii. 298\n\n  La Font, ii. 440\n\n  Lamartine, i. 187\n\n  Landor, Walter Savage, i. 268, 337; ii. 66;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Landseer, Edwin, letter to, i. 103\n\n  Landseer, Tom, i. 27\n\n  Lansdowne, Lord, i. 275\n\n  Law, Dickens's opinion of English, ii. 440\n\n  Layard, A. H., i. 377; ii. 108;\n    letters to, i. 390, 391\n\n  Leclercq, Miss, ii. 246\n\n  Lectures, Dickens on public, i. 97\n\n  Leech, John, i. 134, 186, 225, 226, 239\n\n  Le Gros, Mr., i. 140, 332\n\n  Lehmann, Mrs., ii. 39, 75;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Lehmann, F., ii. 39, 75\n\n  Lemaitre, M., i. 386\n\n  Lemon, Mark, i. 134, 186, 225, 226, 376, 390;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Lemon, Mrs., i. 419\n\n  Leotard, ii. 142\n\n  LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS TO:\n    Agate, John, ii. 154\n    Ainsworth, W. H., i. 43, 75, 92\n    Anonymous, i. 277; ii. 276\n    Armstrong, the Misses, ii. 175\n    Austin, Henry, i. 2, 69-73, 76, 262-264, 266, 361; ii. 18, 25, 28\n    Austin, Mrs., ii. 154, 180, 384\n    Babbage, Charles, i. 86, 87, 186\n    Bancroft, Mrs., ii. 441\n    Banks, G., i. 296\n    Baylis, Mr., ii. 179\n    Benzon, Miss, ii. 258\n    Bicknell, H., i. 229\n    Blanchard, Laman, i. 99\n    Boyle, Miss, i. 224, 225, 227, 245, 265, 279, 345, 381, 423;\n        ii. 10, 132, 157, 169, 186, 245, 315, 411\n    Brookfield, Mrs., ii. 249\n    Brookfield, Rev. W., ii. 199, 200\n    Brooks, Shirley, ii. 423, 438\n    Carlisle, the Earl of, i. 253, 281; ii. 12, 118, 157\n    Cartwright, Samuel, ii. 348\n    Cattermole, Mrs., ii. 383, 385\n    Cattermole, George, i. 22, 28-30, 31, 33-36, 38, 39, 42, 43,\n        45-48, 50, 51, 81, 143\n    Cerjat, M. de, i. 161, 210, 346, 378; ii. 7, 48, 86, 113, 138,\n        176, 200, 220, 240, 268, 387, 409\n    Chapman and Hall, i. 55\n    Clarke, John, ii. 418\n    Collins, Wilkie, i. 294, 358, 362, 397, 400, 403, 419, 437, 448;\n        ii. 40, 67, 101, 110, 129, 146, 182, 198, 209, 332, 397\n    Compton, Mrs., ii. 22\n    Cooke, T. P., ii. 21\n    Costello, Dudley, i. 104, 205\n    Croker, J. Crofton, i. 275\n    Cunningham, Peter, i. 195, 270, 312, 356\n    Dallas, Mrs., ii. 195, 434\n    Deane, F. H., i. 68\n    Delane, John, i. 314\n    Devonshire, the Duke of, i. 437, 443, 457\n    Dickens, Mrs. Charles, i. 12, 100, 123, 127, 130, 132, 165, 166,\n        206, 223, 244, 249, 267, 330, 406, 433\n    Dickens, Charles, ii. 310, 338\n    Dickens, Edward, ii. 402\n    Dickens, Henry, ii. 356, 392, 435, 438\n    Dickens, Miss Kate, i. 178; ii. 99\n    Dickens, Miss, i. 176, 178, 182, 199, 205, 453; ii. 52, 53, 56,\n        63, 72, 78, 95, 99, 124, 150, 161, 163, 165, 188, 190, 243,\n        252, 254, 256, 273, 275, 276, 278, 279, 283, 285, 299, 302,\n        306, 313, 316, 321, 324, 337, 341, 343, 350, 351, 354, 363,\n        366, 372, 377, 380, 389, 391, 399, 412, 415, 421, 426\n    Dickson, David, i. 89\n    Diezman, S. A., i. 32\n    Dilke, C. W., ii. 12\n    Eeles, Mr., i. 265, 269\n    Ely, Miss, i. 153\n    Fechter, Charles, ii. 183, 185, 191, 260, 297, 361, 368, 390\n    Fildes, S. L., ii. 435\n    Finlay, F. D., ii. 297, 389, 408\n    Fitzgerald, Percy, ii. 203, 217, 234, 237, 247, 263, 293, 294\n    Forster, John, i. 167, 188, 393; ii. 14, 42, 76, 97, 111, 128,\n        142, 215\n    Frith, W. P., i. 79; ii. 439\n    Gaskell, Mrs., i. 216, 269, 270, 292, 293, 301, 355, 360, 381\n    Haldimand, Mr., i. 157\n    Halleck, Fitz-Greene, i. 59\n    Harley, J. P., i. 5, 23\n    Harness, Rev. W., i. 37, 76, 361\n    Henderson, Mrs., ii. 293\n    Hogarth, Catherine, i. 3\n    Hogarth, Miss, i. 135, 177, 183, 319, 320, 322, 325, 337, 359, 385,\n        426, 428, 429, 435; ii. 28, 31, 33, 51, 55, 58, 61, 65, 70, 74,\n        75, 79, 126, 132, 137, 151, 152, 156, 158, 162, 165, 172-174,\n        190, 206, 248, 251, 253, 255, 257, 272, 274, 277, 279, 281,\n        282, 284-286, 295, 298, 303, 304, 307, 315, 317, 319, 327, 330,\n        334, 341, 345, 353, 358, 360, 364, 370, 371, 379, 391, 392, 396,\n        398, 400, 413-419, 421\n    Hogge, Mrs., ii. 46\n    Hood, Tom, i. 80\n    Horne, Mrs., i. 456\n    Horne, R. H., i. 93\n    Hughes, Master, i. 14\n    Hulkes, Mrs., ii. 232\n    Jerrold, Douglas, i. 87, 90, 118, 154, 427\n    Jewish Lady, a, ii. 204, 223, 280\n    Joll, Miss, i. 209\n    Jones, Walter, ii. 232\n    Keeley, Robert, i. 105\n    Kent, W. Charles, i. 188, 461; ii. 225, 239, 246, 299, 394, 429,\n        437, 439, 441, 443\n    Knight, Charles, i. 104, 152, 218, 259, 277, 280, 349, 351; ii.\n        195, 212\n    Knowles, Sheridan, i. 215\n    Landor, Walter Savage, i. 157, 230, 313, 343, 441\n    Landseer, Edwin, i. 103\n    Layard, A. H., i. 390, 391\n    Lehmann, Mrs. F., ii. 196, 234, 395, 413\n    Lemon, Mark, i. 192, 203, 207, 243, 281, 394, 396, 416, 439, 440\n    Longman, Thomas, i. 73; ii. 106\n    Longman, William, i. 24\n    Lovejoy, G., i. 44\n    Lytton, Sir E. B., ii. 116\n    Maclise, Daniel, i. 33, 105\n    Macready, W. C., i. 5, 16, 17, 18, 24, 26, 27, 49, 52, 60, 77, 79,\n        95, 117, 129, 141, 144, 146, 154, 183, 187, 194, 195, 198, 247,\n        252, 273, 283, 300, 307, 368, 399, 404, 430, 431, 446, 451, 459;\n        ii. 10, 19, 22, 46, 109, 141, 150, 192, 197, 226, 227, 229, 265,\n        373, 383, 424, 429, 436\n    Major, Mrs., ii. 196\n    Makeham, John, ii. 444\n    Marston, Dr. Westland, ii. 43\n    Milnes, R. Monckton, i. 41\n    Mitton, Thomas, i. 10, 19, 56, 58, 65, 121, 136, 458; ii. 229\n    Morpeth, Viscount, i. 92, 146,\n      and see Carlisle, The Earl of Ollier, Edmund, ii. 213, 425\n    Ouvry, F., ii. 205, 427\n    Owen, Professor, ii. 235\n    Panizzi, Antonio, ii. 89, 90, 92\n    Pardoe, Miss, i. 73\n    Parkinson, J. C., ii. 401\n    Pollock, Mrs. F., ii. 440\n    Pollock, Sir F., ii. 214\n    Poole, John, i. 236\n    Power, Miss, i. 179, 181, 460; ii. 127, 194\n    Power, Mrs., ii. 300\n    Procter, Adelaide, i. 374\n    Procter, B. W., i. 354; ii. 5, 82, 90, 223, 259\n    Procter, Mrs., ii. 226, 238\n    Reade, Charles, ii. 206\n    Regnier, Monsieur, i. 302, 303, 383, 411; ii. 44, 45, 102, 105, 189\n    Roberts, David, i. 215, 246, 248, 389\n    Russell, Lord John, i. 277, 316; ii. 118, 235, 422\n    Ryland, Arthur, i. 349, 382, 388; ii. 34, 233, 426, 428\n    Sandys, William, i. 178\n    Saunders, John, i. 366\n    Sculthorpe, W. R., ii. 104\n    Smith, Arthur, ii. 85, 147\n    Smith, H. P., i. 74, 179, 181\n    Stanfield, Clarkson, i. 92, 102, 113, 144, 151, 205, 299, 373, 394,\n        395, 398; ii. 184, 219, 287\n    Stanfield, George, ii. 289\n    Stone, Marcus, i. 340; ii. 211, 236\n    Stone, Frank, i. 199-201, 206, 259, 261, 295, 305, 355, 365, 396,\n        397; ii. 16, 24, 25, 27, 35, 82, 103\n    Storrar, Mrs., ii. 216\n    \"_Sun, The_,\" the editor of, i. 187\n    Tagart, Edward, i. 111, 173\n    Talfourd, Miss Mary, i. 51\n    Talfourd, Serjeant, i. 10\n    Tennent, Sir James Emerson, i. 329; ii. 6, 218, 259\n    Thackeray, W. M., ii. 41\n    Thornbury, Walter, ii. 178, 262, 286\n    Tomlin, John, i. 40\n    Toole, J. L., ii. 300\n    Trollope, Mrs., i. 81, 397\n    Viardot, Madame, i. 412\n    Ward, E. M., ii. 141\n    Ward, Mrs., ii. 441\n    Watkins, John, i. 287; ii. 148\n    Watson, Hon. Mrs., i. 171, 196, 209, 226, 228, 231, 234, 237, 242,\n        254, 276, 282, 289, 309, 317, 343, 370, 402, 412, 453; ii. 93,\n        121, 144, 301, 382\n    Watson, Hon. R., i. 159\n    White, Mrs., ii. 94\n    White, Miss, ii. 92\n    White, Rev. James, i. 149, 193, 208, 217, 220, 288, 291, 292, 350;\n        ii. 11, 15, 81, 97\n    Wills, W. H., i. 148-150, 219, 221, 222, 244, 250, 285, 286, 292,\n        295, 299, 303, 304, 307, 315, 333, 334, 352, 357, 384, 387,\n        401, 407, 408, 410, 415, 433, 450, 452; ii. 119, 167, 168, 171,\n        207, 290, 292, 295, 301, 386, 422, 433\n    Wilson, Effingham, i. 199\n    Yates, Edmund, ii. 20, 34, 41, 47, 91, 123, 149, 238\n    Yates, Mrs., ii. 48\n\n  Lewes, G. H., i. 170\n\n  \"Lighthouse, The,\" the play of, i. 337;\n    Dickens's prologue to, i. 461;\n    Dickens's \"Song of the Wreck\" in, i. 461;\n    and see ii. 198\n\n  Linton, Mrs., ii. 207\n\n  Lion, a chained, i. 144\n\n  Literary Fund, the, ii. 5, 12\n\n  \"Little Dorrit,\" i. 378, 413, 415;\n    proposed name of, i. 402;\n    sale of, i. 426;\n    letters concerning, i. 402, 403, 406, 426\n\n  Lockhart, Mr., ii. 207\n\n  London, the Mayor of, from a French point of view, i. 175;\n    in September, i. 318;\n    Dickens's opinion of the Corporation of, i. 389; ii. 411;\n    facetious advice to country visitors to, i. 252\n\n  Longfellow, W. H., ii. 306, 308, 312, 326, 333, 361, 375\n\n  Longman, Thomas, letters to, i. 73; ii. 106\n\n  Longman, William, letter to, i. 24\n\n  Lovejoy, G., i. 44\n\n  Lowell, Miss Mabel, ii. 405, 415\n\n  Lyceum Theatre under Fechter, ii. 187, 191, 245;\n    and see Fechter\n\n  Lyndhurst, Lord, i. 147; ii. 144\n\n  Lynn, Miss, i. 378\n\n  Lyttelton, Hon. Spencer, i. 239, 245\n\n  Lytton, the first Lord, i. 214, 239; ii. 108, 135, 143, 247, 268;\n    letter to, ii. 116\n\n  Lytton, Lord, ii. 108\n\n\n  Maclise, Daniel, i. 18, 23, 80, 177, 370; ii. 432;\n    letters to, i. 33, 105\n\n  Macready, W. C., i. 94, 133, 239, 413; ii. 169, 172, 173;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Macready, Benvenuta, i. 431; ii. 194\n\n  Macready, Kate, i. 415; ii. 193\n\n  Macready, Mrs., ii. 172, 288\n\n  Macready, Jonathan, ii. 376\n\n  Macready, Nina, i. 195\n\n  Macready, W., ii. 425\n\n  Major, Mrs., letter to, ii. 196\n\n  Makeham, J. M., ii. 432;\n    Dickens's last letter written to, ii. 444\n\n  Malleson, Mr. and Mrs., ii. 315\n\n  Marsh, Dickens's coachman, a story of, ii. 181\n\n  Marston, Dr. Westland, ii. 42, 44, 45;\n    letter to, ii. 43\n\n  Martineau, i. 61, 229\n\n  \"Martin Chuzzlewit,\" i. 53;\n    dramatised, i. 95, 105;\n    a story of Mrs. Harris, ii. 41\n\n  \"Master Humphrey's Clock,\" i. 28;\n    the plan of, described, i. 29;\n    letters concerning illustrations for, i. 29-31, 33-36, 38-40,\n        45-47, 50-51\n\n  \"Memoires du Diable, Les,\" i. 444\n\n  Mesmerism, a seance of, ii. 100\n\n  Missionaries, Dickens on, i. 227; ii. 241\n\n  Mitton, Thomas, see Letters\n\n  Molesworth, Lady, ii. 187, 189\n\n  Monuments, Dickens on, i. 287, 356\n\n  Moore, Tom, i. 163\n\n  Morgan, Captain, ii. 136, 143\n\n  Morgan, W., ii. 308, 336\n\n  Morley, Mr., i. 399\n\n  Morpeth, Viscount, letters to, i. 92, 146;\n    and see Carlisle, The Earl of\n\n  Motley, Mr., ii. 142\n\n  Mountain, a hazardous ascent of a, ii. 29\n\n  Mulgrave, Earl of, i. 57\n\n\n  Narrative, i. 1, 4, 6, 17, 28, 36, 53, 57, 85, 94, 134, 147, 169,\n      185, 204, 213, 239, 271, 296, 341, 376, 413; ii. 3, 39, 83,\n      107, 135, 169, 187, 208, 224, 244, 266, 325, 404, 431, 446\n\n  Nathan, Messrs. H. and L., i. 232, 233, 235\n\n  Neville, Mr., ii. 186\n\n  Newsvendors' Benevolent Institution, ii. 232\n\n  New Testament, Dickens's love for the, ii. 394, 403;\n    Dickens writes a history of the, for his children, ii. 433\n\n  \"Nicholas Nickleby,\" publication of, i. 6;\n    rewards and punishments of characters in, i. 14;\n    Dickens at work on, i. 16;\n    dedication of, i, 26;\n    the Kenwigs in, i, 25;\n    and see ii. 200\n\n  Nicknames, Dickens's, of George Cattermole, i. 42, 143;\n    of his children, i. 76, 126, 170, 322, 338, 453;\n    nautical, i. 152;\n    of himself, i. 198, 206, 307, 362;\n    of Frank Stone, i. 214, 305\n\n  Norton, C. E., ii. 326\n\n  Noviomagians, the, i. 272\n\n\n  \"Old Curiosity Shop, The,\" Dickens engaged on, i. 28;\n    scenes in, described by Dickens for illustration, i. 21, 33-37, 42;\n    Dickens heartbroken over the story, i. 36, 37, 42\n\n  \"Oliver Twist,\" publication of, i. 4;\n    Dickens at work on, i. 11;\n    the reading of \"The Murder\" from, ii. 326, 395, 397, 399\n\n  Ollier, Edmund, ii. 209, 407;\n    letters to, ii. 213, 425\n\n  Olliffe, Lady, ii. 187, 190\n\n  Olliffe, Sir J., ii. 417\n\n  Olliffe, the Misses, ii. 190\n\n  Organs, street, i. 104\n\n  Osgood, Mr., ii. 310, 336, 337, 340, 346, 352, 356, 366\n\n  \"Our Mutual Friend,\" ii. 208, 210, 224;\n    and as to illustrations for, see ii. 211, 237\n\n  Ouvry, Frederic, ii. 188, 300;\n    letters to, ii. 205, 427\n\n  Overs, i. 37, 49\n\n  Owen, Professor, ii. 235\n\n\n  Panizzi, Antonio, ii. 84;\n    letters to, ii. 89, 90, 92\n\n  Pardoe, Miss, letter to, i. 73\n\n  Paris, Dickens at, i. 130, 131, 147, 157-161, 169, 174, 239, 376,\n        378, 385-387, 413, 406-425, 430, 431; ii. 171, 187;\n    house-hunting in, i. 158;\n    description of Dickens's house in, i. 159;\n    state of, in 1846, i. 160, 161;\n    feeling of people of, for Dickens, i. 411;\n    Dickens's reading at, ii. 187-190, 192\n\n  Parkinson, J. C., ii. 327;\n    letter to, ii. 401\n\n  Parrots, human, i. 87, 121\n\n  \"Patrician's Daughter, The,\" prologue to, written by Dickens,\n      i. 55, 77\n\n  Patronage, the curse of England, ii. 213, 356\n\n  Paxton, Sir Joseph, i. 446\n\n  Phelps, J., i. 366\n\n  \"Pickwick,\" origin and publication of, i. 1, 3;\n    first mention of Jingle, i. 3;\n    conclusion of, celebrated, i. 5;\n    the design of the Shepherd in, explained, i. 85, 89\n\n  Picnic, a, of the elements, i, 116;\n    with Eton boys, i. 255, 258\n\n  \"Picnic Papers,\" Dickens's share of the, ii. 91\n\n  Plessy, Madame, i. 412; ii. 440\n\n  Pollock, Sir F., ii. 97, 144, 209;\n    letter to, ii. 10, 214\n\n  Pollock, Mrs. F., letter to, ii. 440\n\n  Poole, John, i. 298, 317; ii. 228;\n    letter to, i. 236\n\n  \"Poor Travellers, The,\" i. 378;\n    sale of, i. 379\n\n  Portraits of Dickens, by Maclise, i. 18, 23;\n    by Frith, ii. 84, 93;\n    by Ary Scheffer, i. 414, 434;\n    by John Watkins, ii. 148;\n    a caricature, ii. 146\n\n  Postman, an Albaro, i. 112, 117\n\n  Power, Miss, i. 442; ii. 82, 293, 300;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Power, Nelly, i. 443\n\n  Power, Mrs., letter to, ii. 300\n\n  Presence of mind of Dickens, ii. 161, 224, 230\n\n  Press, the, freedom of, i. 49;\n    in America, i. 97;\n    taxation of the, i. 274\n\n  Procter, Adelaide, i. 341; ii. 238;\n    letter to, i. 374\n\n  Procter, B. W., i. 341; ii. 83, 91;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Procter, Mrs., letter to, ii. 226, 238\n\n  Publishing system, how to improve the, i. 86\n\n  Purse, the power of the, i. 88\n\n  Putnam, Mr., ii. 312\n\n\n  Queen, the, Dickens's theatrical performance before, i. 239;\n    his feeling for, ii. 168;\n    his interview with, ii. 432\n\n\n  Rae, Dr., i. 373\n\n  Railways, ii. 242\n\n  Reade, Charles, ii. 188;\n    letter to, ii. 206\n\n  Reader, Charles Dickens as a, ii. 437\n\n  Readings, Dickens's public, for charities, i. 297, 341, 377; ii. 4,\n        169, 170;\n    first reading for his own benefit, ii. 39;\n    at Paris, ii. 187, 189, 192;\n    in America, ii. 267;\n    farewell series of readings in England, ii. 326, 404, 405;\n    trial reading of \"The Murder\" from \"Oliver Twist,\" ii. 326;\n    reading to the actors, ii. 407, 418;\n    farewell reading, ii. 431;\n    effects of \"The Murder\" reading on Dickens, ii. 434;\n    books of the, ii. 438;\n    letters concerning the readings in England, Scotland, and Ireland,\n        i. 344, 348, 369, 371, 379, 382, 388, 413, 424; ii. 20, 49,\n        51-67, 70-80, 87, 103, 145, 147, 151-168, 174, 178, 197, 200,\n        251-258, 272-286;\n    letters concerning American, ii. 83, 85, 290, 294, 298, 299,\n        306-382;\n    letters concerning the farewell series of, ii. 391, 392, 395-400,\n        412-421\n\n  Reform, Dickens speaks on Administrative, i. 377, 399;\n    association for, i. 399;\n    Dickens on Parliamentary, ii. 87, 269\n\n  Refreshment rooms, i. 424\n\n  Regnier, M., i. 298;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Reynolds, Dr. Russell, ii. 448\n\n  Richardson, Samuel, Dickens's opinion of, i. 175\n\n  \"Rivals, The,\" a scene from, rewritten, i. 345\n\n  Roberts, David, i. 214; ii. 75;\n    letters to, i. 215, 246, 248, 389\n\n  \"Robinson Crusoe,\" Dickens on, i. 443\n\n  Robson, F., i. 451\n\n  Roche, Dickens's courier, i. 95, 122-126, 139\n\n  Rochester Cathedral, proposed burial of Dickens in, ii. 448\n\n  Royal Academy, female students at the, ii. 121;\n    Dickens's last public appearance, at the dinner of the, ii. 431\n\n  Russel, Alexander, ii. 389, 390, 398, 406\n\n  Russell, Lord John, i. 272; ii. 85;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Russell, W. H., ii. 4\n\n  Ryland, Arthur, ii. 4, 430;\n    and see Letters\n\n\n  Sainton-Dolby, Madame, ii. 295, 391\n\n  Sanatorium for art-students, i. 102\n\n  Sand, Georges, i. 420\n\n  Sandys, William, letter to, i. 178\n\n  Saunders, John, i. 341;\n    letter to, i. 366\n\n  Savage, i. 271\n\n  Saville, Miss, ii. 186\n\n  Scheffer, Ary, i. 414, 434; ii. 149\n\n  Schoolmistress, a Yorkshire, i. 8\n\n  Scott, Sir Walter, i. 22, 254\n\n  Scott, Dickens's dresser, ii. 272, 305, 306, 317, 321, 342, 370, 416\n\n  Scribe, Eugene, i. 430, 432\n\n  Sculthorpe, W. R., letter to, ii. 104\n\n  Seaside, the, in wet weather, i. 90\n\n  Sea voyage, a, i. 322\n\n  Shaftesbury, Lord, ii. 242\n\n  Shakespeare, Dickens in room of, i. 13;\n    Dickens's criticisms of Charles Knight's biography of, i. 152;\n    and see i. 178\n\n  Shea, Mr. Justice, ii. 247\n\n  Shower-bath, a perpetual, i. 207\n\n  \"Sketches,\" publication of the, i. 1\n\n  Smith, Arthur, ii. 4, 39, 52, 53, 56-60, 64-67, 71, 72, 78, 80,\n      104, 109, 135, 145, 149-153;\n    letters to, ii. 85, 147\n\n  Smith, H. P., letters to, i. 74, 179, 181\n\n  Smith, Sydney, i. 24\n\n  Smollett, Dickens on the works of, i. 356\n\n  Snevellicci, Miss, in real life, i. 13\n\n  Snore, a mighty, i. 158\n\n  Songs by Dickens: on Mark Lemon, i. 207;\n    of \"The Wreck\" in \"The Lighthouse,\" i. 461\n\n  Speaking, Dickens on public, ii. 426, 428;\n    advice to his son Henry on public, ii. 435\n\n  Spencer, Lord, i. 242\n\n  Spider, a fearful, i. 180\n\n  Spiritualism, Dickens on, i. 350, 397\n\n  Stage-coach, American story of a, ii. 292\n\n  Stage suggestions, i. 79;\n    a stage mob, i. 174;\n    a piece of stage business, i. 156\n\n  Stanfield, Clarkson, i. 370, 377, 429, 435, 454; ii. 75, 194, 267;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Stanfield, George, letter to, ii. 289\n\n  Stanley, Dean, ii. 448, 449\n\n  Stanley, Lady Augusta, ii. 449\n\n  Staplehurst, Dickens in the railway accident at, ii. 224;\n    description of the accident, ii. 229-233;\n    effects of the accident on Dickens, ii. 388\n\n  Staunton, Mr. Secretary, ii. 351\n\n  Steele, Sir Richard, Dickens on Forster's essay on, i. 393\n\n  Steele, Mr., ii. 447, 448\n\n  Stone, Arthur, i. 436\n\n  Stone, Ellen, ii. 81\n\n  Stone, Frank, i. 134, 143, 225, 240; ii. 84;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Stone, Marcus, i. 299; ii. 84, 106, 208;\n    letters to, i. 340; ii. 211, 236\n\n  Storrar, Mrs., ii. 209;\n    letter to, ii. 216\n\n  \"Strange Gentleman, The,\" farce written by Dickens and produced, i. 4;\n    price of, i. 5;\n    sent to Macready, i. 16\n\n  Strikes, Dickens on, i. 416\n\n  Sumner, Charles, ii. 351, 355\n\n  _Sun, The_, newspaper, ii. 225;\n    letter to editor of, i. 187\n\n  Switzerland, the Simplon Pass in, i. 127;\n    pleasant recollections of, i. 197, 218;\n    Dickens at Lausanne in, i. 147;\n    a revolution in, i. 155, 175;\n    friends in, i. 157;\n    Dickens's love for, i. 158;\n    letters concerning Lausanne in, i. 147, 154, 160, 172, 179\n\n  Sympathy, letters of, i. 193, 265, 282, 283, 394; ii. 94, 97,\n      123, 154, 180, 289, 293\n\n\n  Tagart, Edward, letters to, i. 111, 173\n\n  \"Tale of Two Cities, A,\" ii. 83, 84, 158;\n    letters concerning, ii. 98, 102, 105, 106, 116\n\n  Talfourd, Miss Mary, letter to, i. 51\n\n  Talfourd, Mr. Justice, i. 7;\n    letter to, i. 10\n\n  Tauechnitz, Baron, i. 188, 195\n\n  Tavistock House, purchase of, i. 240;\n    sale of, ii. 107;\n    letters concerning, i. 259, 261-266\n\n  Taxation, Dickens on, i. 218;\n    of newspapers, i. 273\n\n  Taylor, Bayard, ii. 405\n\n  Telegraph, the dramatic side of the, i. 417\n\n  Tennent, Sir James Emerson, i. 298; ii. 209, 224;\n    letters to, i. 329; ii. 218, 259\n\n  Tenniel, John, i. 241\n\n  Tennyson, Alfred, Dickens's admiration for, ii. 98\n\n  Terry, Miss Kate, ii. 193\n\n  Thackeray, W. M., ii. 4, 39, 137, 208, 210, 214;\n    letter to, ii. 41\n\n  Thames, drainage of the, ii. 50;\n    embankment of the, ii. 410\n\n  Theatre, Dickens at the, i. 13;\n    Phiz's laughter at the, i. 13;\n    the saloon at Drury Lane, i. 37, 52;\n    scents of a, i. 96;\n    story of a, i. 144;\n    proposal for a national, i. 199;\n    Dickens on the, ii. 271, 438\n\n  Theatrical Fund, the, ii. 35\n\n  Theatrical performances of Charles Dickens:\n    at Montreal, i. 72;\n    at Miss Kelly's Theatre, i. 134;\n    \"Fortunio\" at Tavistock House, i. 376, 381;\n    \"The Lighthouse,\" i. 377, 394-397;\n    \"The Frozen Deep,\" i. 414;\n    for the Jerrold Memorial Fund, ii. 19, 23;\n    before the Queen, i. 239;\n    and see i. 170, 185, 239, 241, 271, 376, 377, 414; ii. 3;\n    letters concerning the, i. 141, 143, 144, 146, 181, 192, 196,\n        224-228, 231, 232, 234, 244, 268, 398, 433, 453, 454, 457,\n        459, 460; ii. 6, 11, 198\n\n  Thornbury, Walter, ii. 170, 292;\n    letters to, ii. 178, 262, 286\n\n  Tomlin, John, letter to, i. 40\n\n  Toole, J. L., ii. 54, 268;\n    letter to, ii. 300\n\n  Topham, F. W., i. 241, 269\n\n  Townshend, Chauncey Hare, ii. 7, 86, 96, 115, 136, 140, 371, 410\n\n  Trollope, Mrs., letters to, i. 80, 397\n\n\n  \"Uncle Tom's Cabin,\" Dickens on, i. 289\n\n  \"Uncommercial Traveller, The,\" ii. 107\n\n\n  Viardot, Madame, ii. 193;\n    letter to, i. 412\n\n  \"Village Coquettes, The,\" operetta written by Dickens, i. 5;\n    and see i. 93\n\n  Volunteers, Dickens on the, ii. 115\n\n\n  Waistcoat, a wonderful, i. 102;\n    the loan by Dickens of Macready's, i. 146\n\n  Wales, the Prince of, popularity of, ii. 203;\n    Dickens attends levee of, ii. 432\n\n  Wales, the Princess of, her arrival in England, ii. 195;\n    the illuminations in honour of, ii. 198;\n    popularity of, ii. 203\n\n  War, Dickens on the Russian, i. 379\n\n  Ward, E. M., i. 341;\n    letter to, ii. 141\n\n  Ward, Mrs., letter to, ii. 441\n\n  Watkins, John, i. 415;\n    letters to, i. 287; ii. 148\n\n  Watson, Hon. R., i. 147, 280;\n    letter to, i. 159\n\n  Watson, Hon. Mrs., i. 147; ii. 9, 70;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Watson, Sir Thomas, ii. 405, 407\n\n  Watson, Wentworth, ii. 79\n\n  Watts's refuge for poor travellers, ii. 259\n\n  Webster, Benjamin, i. 85, 90, 434; ii. 361\n\n  Webster, a story of the murderer, ii. 333\n\n  Welcome home, a, i. 117\n\n  Westminster Abbey, burial of Dickens in, ii. 448\n\n  Whewell, Dr., i. 372\n\n  White, Clara, ii. 142, 181, 208\n\n  White, Rev. James, i. 149, 413; ii. 209;\n    and see Letters\n\n  White, Mrs., ii. 212;\n    letter to, ii. 94\n\n  White, Miss, ii. 81, 84, 96;\n    letter to, ii. 92\n\n  White, Richard Grant, ii. 85\n\n  Wigan, Alfred, i. 429\n\n  Williams, Mr. and Mrs. Barney, ii. 337, 359\n\n  Wills, W. H., i. 148, 241, 375; ii. 83, 379, 383, 406, 430;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Wills, Mrs., ii. 75, 96, 120\n\n  Wilson, Effingham, letter to, i. 199\n\n  Working men, clubs for, ii. 209, 213;\n    Dickens on the management of such clubs, ii. 356;\n    feeling of, for Dickens, ii. 420\n\n\n  Yates, Edmund, i. 414, 426; ii. 5, 129;\n    and see Letters\n\n  Yates, Mrs., ii. 129;\n    letter to, ii. 48\n\n\nTHE END.\n\nCHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE\nPRESS.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPage 142, \"Leotard\" changed to \"Leotard\" twice (Palace and Leotard) and\n(into seeing Leotard)\n\nPage 181, \"shefound\" changed to \"she found\" (she found Marsh)\n\nPage 432, \"levee\" changed to \"levee\" (a levee held)\n\nPage 453, \"Celeste\" changed to \"Celeste\" (Celeste, Madame)\n\nPage 454-455, entries for \"Dickens, Mamie\" and \"Dickens, Kate\" were\noriginally not in alphabetically order. This was corrected.\n\nPage 456, \"Fitzgreene\" changed to \"Fitz-Greene\" (Halleck, Fitz-Greene)\n\nPage 458, \"Fitzgreene\" changed to \"Fitz-Greene\" (Halleck, Fitz-Greene)\n\nPage 460, \"Lyttleton\" changed to \"Lyttelton\" (Lyttleton, Hon. Spencer)\n\nPage 462, \"Shee\" changed to \"Shea\" (Shea, Mr. Justice)\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Letters of Charles Dickens, by Charles Dickens\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Juliet Sutherland, Paul Fernandez and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note: Accents have been replaced by unaccented\ncharacters in this version. Both \"ne'er-do-well\" and \"ne'er-do-weel\"\nare used, so both spellings have been preserved.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"WHAT IS IT? WHAT IS IT?\"]\n\n\n\n\nA SCOUT OF TO-DAY\n\nBY\n\nISABEL HORNIBROOK\n\n_Author of \"Camp and Trail,\" \"Lost in Maine Woods,\"\n\"Captain Curly's Boy,\" etc., etc._\n\nWITH ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n[Illustration]\n\n    BOSTON AND NEW YORK\n   HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY\n  The Riverside Press Cambridge 1913\n\n    COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY ISABEL HORNIBROOK\n   ALL RIGHTS RESERVED\n _Published June 1913_\n\nAFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO \"NED\"\n\n\nThe Author expresses her indebtedness to Edmund Richard Cummins for the\nsong, \"THE SCOUTS OF THE U.S.A.\"\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n     I.  THE GREAT WOODS                  1\n\n    II.  ONLY A CHIP'                    17\n\n   III.  RACCOON JUNIOR                  34\n\n    IV.  VARNEY'S PAINTPOT               55\n\n     V.  \"YOU MUST LOOK OUT!\"            70\n\n    VI.  THE FRICTION FIRE               82\n\n   VII.  MEMBERS OF THE LOCAL COUNCIL   104\n\n  VIII.  THE BOWLINE KNOT               121\n\n    IX.  GODEY PECK                     145\n\n     X.  THE BALDFACED HOUSE            159\n\n    XI.  ESTU PRETA!                    178\n\n   XII.  THE CHRISTMAS BRIGADE          196\n\n  XIII.  THE BIG MINUTE                 207\n\n   XIV.  A RIVER DUEL                   215\n\n    XV.  THE CAMP ON THE DUNES          230\n\n   XVI.  THE PUP-SEAL'S CREEK           244\n\n  XVII.  THE SIGNALMAN                  262\n\n XVIII.  THE LOG SHANTY AGAIN           271\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n \"WHAT IS IT? WHAT IS IT?\" (page 99) _Colored Frontispiece_\n\n \"HELP! _HELP!_\"                                         56\n\n \"MAK' YOU S-SILENT! W'AT FOR YOU SPIK LAK DAT?\"        150\n\n IN CAMP                                                238\n\n \"CAN'T YOU SEE THE TIDE IS LEAVING YOU?\"               252\n\n _From drawings by J. Reading_\n\n\n\n\nA SCOUT OF TO-DAY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE GREAT WOODS\n\n\n\"Well! this would be the very day for a long tramp up into the woods.\nTooraloo! I feel just in the humor for that.\"\n\nColin Estey stretched his well-developed fourteen-year-old body among\nthe tall feathery grasses of the broad salt-marsh whereon he lay,\nkicking his heels in the September sunshine, and gazed longingly off\ntoward the grand expanse of New England woodland that bordered the\nmarshes and, rising into tree-clad hills, stretched away much farther\nthan the eye could reach in apparently illimitable majesty.\n\nThose woods were the most imposing and mysterious feature in Colin's\nworld. They bounded it in a way. Beyond a certain shallow point in them\nlay the Unknown, the Woodland Wonder, whereof he had heard much, but\nwhich he had never explored for himself. And this reminded him\nunpleasantly that he was barely fourteen, in stature measuring five\nfeet three _and_ three eighths, facts which never obtruded themselves\nbaldly upon his memory when he romped about the salt-marshes, or rowed a\nboat--or if no boat was forthcoming, paddled a washtub--on the broad\ntidal river that wound in and out between the marshes.\n\nYet though the unprobed mystery of the dense woods vexed him with the\nfeeling of being immature and young--woodland distances look vaster at\nfourteen than at eighteen--it fascinated him, too, more than did any\nriddle of the salt-marshes or lunar enigma of the ebb and flow of tide\nin the silvery, brackish river formed by an arm of sea that coursed\ninland for many a mile to meet a freshwater stream near the town where\nColin was born.\n\nAny daring boy above the age of ten could learn pretty nearly all there\nwas to know about that tidal river: of the mammal and fish wherewith it\nteemed, from the great harbor seal, once the despot of the river, to the\ntiny brit that frolicked in the eddies; and about the graceful bird-life\nthat soared above its brackish current.\n\nHe could bathe, shrieking with excitement, as wild from delight as any\nyoung water-bird, in the foam of the rocky bar where fresh stream and\nsalt stream met with a great crowing of waters and laughter of spray.\n\nHe could imitate the triple whistle, the shrill \"Wheu! Wheu! Wheu!\" of\nthe greater yellow-legs so cleverly as to beguile that noisy bird, which\nis said to warn every other feathered thing within hearing, into\nforgetting its panic and alighting near him.\n\nHe could give the drawn-out, plaintive \"Ter-lee-ee!\" call of the\nblack-breasted plover, and find the crude nest of the spotted sandpiper\nnestling beneath a tall clump of candle-grass.\n\nAll these secrets and many more were within easy reach and could be\nstudied in his unwritten Nature Primer whose pages were traced in the\nflight of each bird and the spawn of every fish.\n\nBut the Heart of the Woods was a closed book to most fourteen-year-old\nboys born and brought up in the little tidal town of Exmouth.\n\nColin had often longed to turn the pages of that book--to penetrate\nfarther into the woods than he had dared to do yet. This longing was\nfanned by the tales of men who had hunted, trapped or felled trees in\nthem, who could spell out each syllable of the woodlore to be studied in\ntheir golden twilight; and who, as they roved and read, could put a\nfinger on many a  illustration of Nature's methods set against a\ngreen background of branches or fluttering underbrush, like the flitting\nfoliage of moving pictures.\n\nTo-day the wood-longing possessed Colin so strongly that it actually\nstung him all over, from his neck to his drumming, purposeless heels.\n\nHe glanced up into the brilliant September sky arching the salt-marshes,\nquestioning it as to what might be going on in the woods at this moment\nunder its imperial canopy.\n\nAnd the blue eye of the sky winked back at him, hinting that it knew of\nforest secrets to be discovered to-day--of fascinating woodland\ncreatures to be seen for a moment at their whisking gambols.\n\nThe sunlight's energy raced through him. The briny ozone of the\nsalt-marshes was a tickling feather in his nostrils, teasing him with a\ndesire to find an outlet for that energy in some new and unprecedented\nform of activity.\n\nHe sprang to his feet, spurning the plumy grass.\n\n\"Gee whiz! I'm not going to lie here any longer, smelling marsh-hay,\" he\ncried half articulately, his eye taking in the figures of two hay-makers\nwho were mowing the tall marsh-grass and letting it lie in fragrant\nswathes to dry into the salt hay that forms such juicy fodder for\ncattle. \"It's me for the woods to-day! I want to go farther into those\nold woods than I've ever gone before--far enough to find Varney's\nPaintpot and the Bear's Den--and the <DW53>'s hole that Toiney Leduc saw\namong the alders an' ledges near Big Swamp!\"\n\nHe halted on the first footstep, whistling blithely to a gray-winged\nyellow-legs that skimmed above his head. The curly, boyish whistle,\nascending in spirals, carried the musical challenge aloft: \"I'm glad I'm\nalive and athirst for adventure; aren't you?\"\n\nTo which the bird's noisy three-syllabled cry responded like three\ncheers!\n\n\"It's me for the woods to-day!\" Colin set off at an easy lope across the\nmarshes. \"I'm going to look up Coombsie and Starrie Chase--and Kenjo\nRed! Us boys won't have much more time for fun before school reopens!\"\ngrammar capsizing in the sudden, boisterous eddy within him.\n\nThat eddy of excitement carried him like a feather up an earthy\nembankment that ascended from the low-lying marshes, over a fence, and\nout onto the drab highroad which a little farther on blossomed out into\nhouses on either side and became the quiet main street of Exmouth.\n\nColin turned his face westward toward the home of \"Coombsie,\" otherwise\nMark Coombs--also shortened into \"Marcoo\" by nickname-loving boydom.\n\nHe had not gone far when his loping speed slackened abruptly to a\ncontemplative trot. The trot sobered down to a crestfallen walk. The\nwalk dwindled into a halt right in the middle of the sunny road.\n\n\"Tooraloo! here comes Coombsie now,\" he ejaculated behind his twitching\nlips. \"And some one with him! Oh, I forgot all about that!\" Dismay stole\nover his face at the thought. \"Of course it's the strange boy, Marcoo's\ncousin, who came from Philadelphia yesterday and is going to stay here\nfor ever so long--six months or so--while his parents travel in Europe.\nThis spoils our fun. Probably _he_ won't want to start off on a long\nhike through the woods,\" rigidly scanning the approaching stranger as a\nstiffened terrier might size up a dog of a different breed. \"His folks\nare rich, so Marcoo said; I suppose he's been brought up in a city\nflowerpot--and isn't much of a fellow anyhow!\" with a disgruntled grin.\n\nBut as the oncoming pair drew within twenty yards of the youthful critic\nthe latter's tense face-muscles relaxed. Reassurance crept into his\nexpression.\n\n\"Gee! he looks all right, this city boy. He's not dolled-up much anyway!\nAnd he doesn't look 'Willified' either!\" was Colin's complacent comment.\n\nNo, the stranger's dress was certainly not patterned after the fashion\nof the boy-doll which Colin Estey had seen simpering in store-windows.\nHe wore a khaki shirt stained with service, rough tweed knickerbockers\nand a soft broad-brimmed hat. He carried his coat; the ends of his blue\nnecktie dangled outside his shirt, one was looped up into a careless\nknot. His gray eye was rather more than usually alert and bright, his\ngeneral appearance certainly not suggestive of a flowerpot plant; his\nstep, quick and springy, embodied the saline breeze that skipped over\nthe salt-marshes.\n\nSo much Colin took in before criticism was blown out of his mind by a\nshout from Coombsie.\n\n\"Hullo! Col,\" exclaimed Marcoo. \"Say, this is fine! We were just\nstarting off to hunt you up--Nix and I! This is my cousin, Nixon Warren,\nwho popped up here from Philadelphia late last night. Nix, this is my\nchum, Colin Estey!\"\n\nThe two boys acknowledged the introduction with gruff shyness.\n\n\"Nixon and I settled on going down the river to-day in Captain Andy's\npower-boat, and Mother put us up a corking good luncheon,\" Marcoo\nsignificantly swung a basket pendant from his right hand. \"But we've\njust been talking to Captain Andy,\" glancing backward over his shoulder\nat the receding figure of an elderly man who limped as he walked, \"and\nhe says he can't take us to-day. He won't even loan us the Pill.\"\nCoombsie gesticulated with the basket toward the broad tidal river\ngleaming in the sunshine, on which rode a trim gasolene launch with a\nlittle rowboat, so tubby that it was almost round and aptly named the\nPill, lying as tender beside it.\n\n\"Pshaw! the Pill isn't much of a boat. One might as well put to sea in a\nshoebox!\" Colin chuckled.\n\n\"I know! Well, we can't go on the river anyhow, so we've determined to\ntake the basket along and spend the whole day in the woods. Nix is--\"\n\n\"Great O!\" whooped Colin, breaking in. \"That's what I've been planning\non doing too. I want to go _far_ into the woods to-day,\"--his hands\ndoubled and opened excitedly, as if grasping at something hitherto out\nof reach,--\"farther than I've ever been before,--far enough to see\nVarney's Paintpot and the old Bear's Den--and some of the other wonders\nthat the men tell about!\"\n\n\"But there aren't any bears in these Massachusetts woods now?\" It was\nthe strange boy, Nixon Warren, who eagerly spoke.\n\n\"Not that we know of!\" Coombsie answered. \"If one should stray over the\nborder from New Hampshire he manages to lie low. Apparently there's\nnothing bigger than a deer traveling in our woods to-day--together with\nfoxes in plenty and an occasional <DW53>. The last bear seen in this\nregion, Nix, had his den in the cave of a great rock in the thickest\npart o' the woods. He was such an everlasting nuisance, killing calves\nand lambs, that a hunter tracked him into the cave and killed him with\nhis knife. Ever since it has been called the Bear's Den. I've never seen\nit; nor you, Col!\"\n\n\"No, but Starrie Chase has! I was going to hunt him up too, and Kenjo\nRed: they're a team if you want to go into the woods; they know more\nabout them than any other boy in Exmouth.\"\n\n\"Kenjo has gone to Salem to-day. And Leon Chase?\" Coombsie's expression\nwas doubtful. \"I guess Leon makes a bluff of knowing the woods better\nthan he does. He'll scare everything away with his dog and shotgun.\nCaptain Andy is hunting for him now,\" with another backward glance to\nwhere the massive figure of the old sea-captain was melting from view.\n\"He's threatening to shake Starrie until his heels change places with\nhis head for fixing the Doctor's doorbell last night, wedging a pin into\nit so that it kept on ringing until the electricity gave out--and for\nteasing old Ma'am Baldwin again.\"\n\n\"'Mom Baldwin,' who lives in that old baldfaced house 'way over on the\nsalt-marshes!\" Colin hooted. \"Pshaw! she ought to wash her clothes at\nthe Witch Rock, where Dark Tammy was made to wash hers, over a hundred\nyears ago. I guess Leon knows the way to Varney's Paintpot anyhow,\" he\nadvanced clinchingly.\n\n\"What sort of queer Paintpot is that?\" Nixon Warren spoke; his\nstranger's part in the conversation was limited to putting excited\nquestions.\n\n\"It's a red-ochre swamp--a bed of moist red clay--that's hidden\nsomewhere in the woods,\" Colin explained. \"The Indians used it for\nmaking paint. So did the farmers, hereabouts, until a few years ago. I\nbelieve it's mostly dried up now.\"\n\n\"Whoopee! if we could only find it, we might paint ourselves to our\nwaists, make believe we were Indians and go yelling through the woods!\"\nNixon's eye sparkled like sun-touched granite, and Colin parted with the\nlast lingering suspicion of his being a flowerpot fellow.\n\nThis suggestion settled it. Starrie Chase, otherwise Leon, might let his\nboyish energy leak off as waste steam in planting another thorn in the\nside of the hard-worked doctor who bore the burdens of half the\ncommunity, and in persecuting lonely old women, but--he was supposed to\nknow the way to Varney's Paintpot!\n\nAnd the three started along the road to find him.\n\nThe quest did not lead them far. Rounding a bend in the highroad, they\ncame abruptly upon Leon Starr Chase, familiarly called Starrie, almost a\nfifteen-year-old boy, of Nixon's age.\n\nHe was leaning against a low fence above the marshes, holding a dead\nbird high above the head of a very lively fox-terrier whose tan ears\ngesticulated like tiny signal flags as he jumped into the air to capture\nit, with a short one-syllabled bark.\n\n\"Ha! _you_ can't catch it, Blink--and you shan't have it till you do,\"\nteased his master, lowering its limp yellow legs a little.\n\nThe dog's nose touched them. The next instant he had the bird in his\nmouth.\n\nWith equal swiftness he dropped it on the sidewalk, growling and gagging\nat the warm feathers which almost choked him. \"Ugh-r-r!\" He spurned it\nwith his black nose along the ground, the tiny yellow claws raking up\nminute spirals of dust.\n\n\"There! I knew you wouldn't eat it,\" remarked his master indifferently.\n\"You're a spoiled pup!\" Simultaneously Leon caught sight of the three\nboys making toward him and burst into a complacent shout of recognition.\n\n\"Hullo, Colin! Hullo, Coombsie!\" he cried. \"See what I've got! Six\n_yellow-legs_! I fired into a flock; the first I've seen this year. They\nwere going from me and I dropped half a dozen of them together, with\nthis old 'fuzzee'!\" He touched an ancient shotgun propped beside him.\n\"I've shot quite a number one at a time this week.\"\n\nHis left hand went out to a huddle of still quivering feathers on top of\nthe fence in which five pairs of yellow spindle-legs were tangled like\nslim twigs.\n\nColin, as was expected of him, burst into an exclamation of wonder at\nthis destructive skill. Coombsie's admiration was more forced.\n\nBlink, the terrier, scornfully rolled over the feathered thing in the\ndust. He snapped angrily at the stranger, Nixon Warren, who tried to\npick it up and examine it.\n\n\"That bird won't be fit to eat now, after the dog has played with it,\"\nsuggested the latter, addressing Leon without the benefit of an\nintroduction.\n\n\"I don't care. Probably I'll give the whole bunch of yellow-legs away,\nanyhow--Mother doesn't like their sedgy flavor. She'd rather I'd let the\nbirds alone, I guess!\"\n\n\"Why do you shoot so many if you don't want them?\"\n\n\"Oh! partly for the sport and partly because these 'Greater Yellow-legs'\nare such telltales that they warn every duck and other bird within\nhearing by their noisy whistle.\"\n\nImpulsively Nixon put out a finger and touched one slim leg with its\nlimp claw that protruded from the fence. At the same moment he glanced\nupward.\n\nOver the boys' heads, having just risen from the feathery marshes,\nskimmed a feathered telltale, live counterpart of the one he touched,\nits legs golden spindles in the sunshine, its shrill joy-whistle: \"Wheu!\nWheu! _Whe-eu!_\" proclaiming the thanksgiving which had rioted through\nColin's mind on the fragrant salt-marshes: \"Glad I'm alive! Glad I'm\nalive! _Glad_--I'm alive!\"\n\nA smothered exclamation broke from Coombsie as he followed the finger\nand the flight.\n\nLeon snatched up the gun.\n\n\"One can't have too much of a good thing: I guess I could drop that\n'telltale,' too!\"\n\nBut Marcoo's hand fastened upon his arm with an impulsive cry.\n\n\"Eh! What's the matter with you--Flutter-budget?\" Lowering the pointed\nshotgun, Leon whisked round; his restless brown eyes had a lightning\ntrick of shutting and opening, as if he were taking a photograph of the\nperson addressed, which was in general highly disconcerting to the boy\nwho differed from him. \"No need to make a fuss! I wouldn't let her off\nhere, anyhow,\" he added, fondling the gun. \"Father would be fined if I\nshould fire a shot on the highroad.\"\n\n\"_We're_ starting off on a hike--for a long tramp into the woods, Leon,\"\nbegan Coombsie hurriedly, anxious to create a diversion. \"We want you to\ncome with us, as leader; Colin says that _you_ know the way to Varney's\nPaintpot!\"\n\nThe other's expression changed like a rocket: Starrie Chase enjoyed\nleading other boys, even more than he reveled in \"popping\nyellow-legs\"--for the former Nature had intended him.\n\n\"All right!\" he responded with swift eagerness. \"Just, you fellows, keep\nan eye on my gun while I run home with the birds; I'll be back in a\nminute!\"\n\n\"Oh! you're not going to take your gun into the woods?\"\n\n\"Sure--I am! I might get a chance at a fox!\"\n\n\"Won't it be an awful nuisance carrying it all the way through the thick\nundergrowth--we want to go as far into the woods as the Bear's Den?\"\nsuggested Marcoo tactfully.\n\n\"Well, perhaps it would. I'll just scoot home then, and be back in no\ntime!\"\n\nHe snatched the dead birds from the fence, raced away and reappeared in\nthree minutes, with the terrier barking at his heels.\n\n\"I'm going to let Blink come anyhow; he'll have a great time chasing\nthings--eh, Blinkie?\" Leon made a hurdle of his outstretched arm for the\nscampering dog to jump over it.\n\nAnd the terrier replied in a volley of excited barks, saying in doggy\ntalk: \"Fellows! if there's fun ahead, I'm in with you. The woods are a\ngrand old playground!\"\n\nHe led the way, and the four boys followed, jostling each other merrily,\nrubbing their high spirits together and bringing sparks from the\ncontact--bound for that mysterious forest Paintpot.\n\nBut the stranger, Nixon Warren, could not forbear throwing one backward\nglance from under his wide-brimmed hat at the poor dog-scorned\nyellow-legs, its joy-whistle silenced, stiffening in the dust.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nONLY A CHIP'\n\n\n\"Oh! I wish I had worn my tramping togs,\" exclaimed Nixon Warren as the\nfour boys, after covering an easy mile along the highroad and over the\nuplands that lay between marsh and woodland, plunged, whooping, in amid\nthe forest shadows roofed by the meeting branches of pines, hemlocks,\noaks, and birches, with here and there a maple already turning ruddy,\nthat formed the outposts of the dense woods.\n\nA dwarf counterpart of the same trees laced with vines and prickly\nbrambles made an undergrowth so thick that they parted with shreds of\ntheir clothing as they went threshing through it, in a fascinating\ngold-misted twilight, through which the slender sunbeams flashed like\nfairy knitting-needles weaving a scarf of light and shade around each\ntall trunk.\n\n\"Why! you're better 'togged' for the woods than the rest of us are,\"\nanswered Leon Starr Chase, looking askance at the new boy. \"That's a\ndandy hat; must shade your eyes a whole lot when you're tramping on\nopen ground! I guess ours don't need any shading!\"\n\nA wandering sunbeam kindled a brassy spark in Leon's brown eye which\nlooked as if it could face anything unabashed. In his mind lurked the\nsame suspicion that had hovered over Colin's at first sight of Nixon,\nthat this newcomer from a distant city might be somewhat of a flowerpot\nfellow, delicately reared and coddled, not a hardy plant that could\nrevel and rough it in the wilderness atmosphere of the thick woods.\n\nNothing about the boy-stranger supported such an idea for a moment,\nexcept to Leon, as the party progressed, the interest which he took in\nthe floral life of the woodland: in objects which Starrie Chase who\ninvariably \"hit the woods\" as he phrased it, with destruction in the\nforefront of his thoughts, generally overlooked, and therefore did not\nconsider worth a second glance.\n\nHe stood and gaped as Nixon, with a shout of delight, pounced upon some\nrosy pepper-grass, stooped to pick a wood aster or gentian, or pointed\nout to Coombsie the green sarsaparilla plant flaunting and prolific\nbetween the trees.\n\n\"What do you call this, Marcoo?\" the strange boy would exclaim\ndelightedly, finding novel treasure trove in the rare white blossoms of\nLabrador tea. \"I don't remember to have seen this flower on any of our\nhikes through the Pennsylvania woods!\"\n\nTo which Coombsie would make answer:--\n\n\"Don't ask me, Nix; I know a little about birds, but when it comes to\nknowing anything of flowers or plants--excepting those that are under\nour feet every day--I 'fall down flunk!' Hullo! though, here are some\ndevil's pitchforks--or stick-tight--I do know them!\"\n\n\"So do I!\" Nixon stooped over the tall bristly flower-heads, rusty green\nin color, and gathered a few of the two-pronged seed-vessels that cling\nso readily to the fur of an animal or the clothing of a boy. \"It's funny\nto think how they have to depend upon some passing animal to propagate\nthe seeds. Say! but they do stick tight, don't they?\" And he slyly\nslipped a few of the russet pitchforks inside Leon's collar--whereupon a\nwhooping scuffle ensued.\n\n\"It looks to me as if _some_ lightfooted animal were in the habit of\npassing here that might carry the seeds along,\" said the perpetrator of\nthe prank presently, dropping upon his hands and knees to examine\nbreathlessly the leaves and brambles pressed down into a trail so light\nthat it seemed the mere shadow of a pathway leading off into the woods\nat right angles from where the boys stood.\n\n\"You're right. It's a fox-path!\" Leon was examining the shadow-tracks\ntoo. \"A fox trots along here to his hunting-ground where he catches\nshrews an' mice or grasshoppers even, when he can't get hold of a plump\nquail or partridge. Whew! I wish I'd brought my gun.\"\n\nDead silence for two minutes, while each ear was intently strained to\ncatch the sound of a sly footfall and heard nothing but the noisy\nshrilling of the cicada, or seventeen-year locust, with the pipe of\nkindred insects.\n\n\"Look! there's been a partridge at work here,\" cried Nixon by and by,\nwhen the still game was over and the boys were forging ahead again.\n\nHe pointed to a decayed log whose flaky wood, garnished here and there\nwith a tiny buff feather, was mostly pecked away and reduced to brown\npowder by the busy bird which had wallowed there.\n\n\"He's been trying to get at some insects in the wood. See how he has\ndusted it all up with his claws an' feathers!\" went on the excited\nspeaker. \"Oh--but I tell you what makes you feel happy!\" He drew a long\nbreath, turning suddenly, impulsively, to the boys behind him. \"It's\nwhen you're out on a hike an' a partridge rises right in front of\nyou--and you hear his wings sing!\"\n\nColin and Coombsie stared. The strange boy's look flashed with such\nfrank gladness, doubled and trebled by sharing sympathetically, in so\nfar as he could, each bounding thrill that animated the wild, free life\nabout him! They had often been moved by the liquid notes from a\nsongster's throat, but had not come enough into loving touch with Nature\nto hear music in a bird's wings.\n\nIf Leon had heard it, his one idea would have been to silence it with a\nshot. He stood still in his tracks, bristling like his dog.\n\n\"Ughr-r! 'Singing wings'!\" he sneered. \"Aw! take that talk home to\nMamma.\"\n\n\"Say that once again, and I'll lick you!\" The stranger's gaze became,\nnow, very straight and inviting from under his broad-brimmed hat.\n\nThe atmosphere felt highly charged--unpleasantly so for the other two\nboys. But at that critical moment an extraordinary sound of other\nsinging--human singing--was borne to them in faint merriment upon the\nwoodland breeze, so primitive, so unlike anything modern, that it might\nhave been Robin Hood himself or one of his green-coated Merry Men\nsinging a roundelay in the woods to the accompaniment of a\nwoodchopper's axe.\n\n  \"Rond! Rond! Rond! peti' pie pon' ton'!\n  Rond! rond! rond! peti' pie pon' ton'!\"\n\n\"_What is it?_ Who is--it?\" Nixon's stiffening fists unclosed. His eye\nwas bright with bewilderment.\n\n\"Houp-la! it's Toiney--Toiney Leduc.\" Colin broke into an exultant\nwhoop. \"Now we'll have fun! Toiney is a funny one, for sure!\"\n\n\"He's more fun than a circus,\" corroborated Coombsie. \"We're coming to a\nlittle farm-clearing in the woods now, Nix,\" he explained, falling in by\nhis cousin's side as the four boys moved hastily ahead, challenges\nforgotten. \"There's a house on it, the last for miles. It's owned by a\nman called Greer, and Toiney Leduc works for him during the summer an'\nfall. Toiney is a French-Canadian who came here about a year ago; his\nbrother is employed in one of the shipbuilding yards on the river.\"\n\nThe merry, oft-repeated strain came to them more distinctly now, rolling\namong the trees:--\n\n  \"Rond, rond, rond, peti' pie pon' ton'!\n    C'eta't une bonne femme,\n    Qui garda't sex moutons,\n  Rond', rond', rond, peti' pie pon' ton'!\"\n\n\"He's singing about the woman who was taking care of her sheep and how\nthe lamb got his chin in the milk! He translated it for me,\" said Colin.\n\n\"'Translate!' He doesn't know enough English to say 'Boo!' straight,\"\nthrew back Leon, as he gained the edge of the clearing. \"It is Toiney!\"\nhe cried exultingly. \"Toiney--and the _Hare_!\"\n\n\"The--what? My word! there are surprises enough in these woods--what\nwith forest paintpots--and the rest.\" Nixon, as he spoke, was bounding\nout into the open too, thrilled by expectation: a musical woodchopper\nattended by a tame rodent would certainly be a unique item upon the\nforest playbill which promised a variety of attractions already.\n\nBut he saw no skipping hare upon the green patch of clearing--nothing\nbut a boy of twelve whose full forehead and pointed face was very\nslightly rodent-like in shape, but whose eyes, which at this startled\nmoment showed little save their whites, were as shy and frightened as a\nrabbit's, while he shrank close to Toiney's side.\n\n\"My brother says that whenever he sees that boy he feels like offering\nhim a bunch of clover or a lettuce leaf!\" laughed Leon, repeating the\nthoughtless speech of an adult. He stooped suddenly, picked some of the\nshaded clover leaves and a pink blossom: \"Eh! want some clover, 'Hare'?\"\nhe asked teasingly, thrusting the green stuff close to the face of the\nabnormally frightened boy.\n\nThe hapless, human Hare sought to efface himself behind Toiney's back.\nAnd the woodchopper began to execute an excited war-dance, flourishing\nthe axe wherewith he had been musically felling a young birch tree for\nfuel.\n\n\"Ha! you Leon, you _coquin_, _gamin_--rogue--you'll say dat one time\nmore, den I go lick you, me!\" he cried in his imperfect English eked out\nwith indignant French.\n\n\"No, you won't go lick me--you!\" Nevertheless Starrie Chase and his\nmocking face retreated a little; he had no fancy for tackling Toiney and\nthe axe.\n\n\"That boy's name is Harold Greer; it's too bad about him,\" Coombsie was\nwhispering in Nix Warren's ear. \"The doctor says he's 'all there,'\nnothing wrong with him mentally. But he was born frightened--abnormally\ntimid--and he seems to get worse instead o' better. He's afraid of\neverything, of his own shadow, I think, and more still of the shadows of\nothers: I mean he's so shy that he won't speak to anybody--if he can\nhelp it--except his grandfather and Toiney and the old woman who keeps\nhouse for them.\"\n\nNixon looked pityingly at the boy who lived thus in his own shadow--the\nshadow of a baseless fear.\n\n\"Whew! it must be bad to be born scared!\" he gasped. \"I wish we could\nget Toiney to sing some more.\"\n\nAt this moment there came a wild shout from Colin who had been exploring\nthe clearing and stumbled upon something near the outhouses.\n\n\"Gracious! what is it--a wildcat?\" he cried. \"It isn't a fox--though it\nhas a bushy tail! It's as big as half a dozen squirrels. Hulloo-oo!\" in\nyelling excitement, \"it must be a <DW53>--a young <DW53>.\"\n\nThere was a general stampede for the hen-house, amid the squawking\ncackle of its rightful inhabitants.\n\nToiney followed, so did the human Hare, keeping always behind his back\nand casting nervous glances in Leon's direction.\n\n\"Ha! _le petit raton_--de littal <DW53>!\" gasped the woodchopper. \"W'en I\ngo on top of hen-house dis morning w'at you t'ink I fin' dere, engh? I\nfin' heem littal <DW53>! I'll t'ink he kill two, t'ree poulets--littal\nchick!\" gesticulating fiercely at the dead marauder and at the bodies of\nsome slain chickens. \"Dog he kill heem; but, _sapre_! he fight lak\n_diable_! Engh?\"\n\nThe last exclamation was a grunt of inquiry as to whether the boys\nunderstood how that young raccoon, about two-thirds grown, had fought.\nToiney shruggingly rubbed his hands on his blue shirt-sleeves while he\npointed to a mongrel dog, the other participant in that early-morning\nbattle, with whom Leon's terrier had been exchanging canine courtesies.\n\nBlink forsook his scarred brother now and sniffed eagerly at the <DW53>'s\ndead body as he had sniffed at the poor yellow-legs in the dust.\n\n\"Where did he come from, Toiney? Do you suppose he strayed from the\n<DW53>'s hole that you found in the woods, among some ledges near Big\nSwamp?\" Colin, together with the other boys, was stooping down to\nexamine the dead body of the wild animal which measured nearly a foot\nand a half from the tip of its sharp nose to the beginning of the bushy\ntail that was handsomely ringed with black and a shading buff-color.\n\n\"Yaas, he'll com' out f'om de foret--f'om among heem beeg tree.\" Toiney\nLeduc, letting his axe fall to the ground, waved an eloquent right arm\nin its flannel shirt-sleeve toward the woods beyond the clearing.\n\n\"Isn't his fur long and thick--more like coarse gray hair than fur?\"\nNixon stroked the raccoon's shaggy coat.\n\n\"Tell us how to find those ledges where the hole is? There may be some\nlive ones in it. I'd give anything to see a live <DW53>,\" urged Coombsie.\n\n\"Ah! la! la! You no fin' dat ledge en dat swamp. Eet's littal black in\ndere, in gran' foret--in dem big ole hood,\" came the dissuading answer.\n\n\"He always says 'hood' for 'wood,'\" explained Marcoo _sotto voce_.\n\n\"Ciel! w'en you go for fin' dat hole, dat's de time you get los'--engh?\"\nurged Toiney, suddenly very earnest. \"You walkee, walkee--lak wit' eye\nshut--den you haf so tire' en so lonesam' you go--_deaded_.\"\n\nHe flung out his hands with an eloquent gesture of blind despair upon\nthe last word, which shot a warning thrill to the boys' hearts. Three of\nthem looked rather apprehensively toward the dense woods that stretched\naway interminably beyond the clearing.\n\nBut the fourth, Leon, was not to be intimidated by anything short of\nToiney brandishing the woodchopper's axe.\n\nHe paused in his gesture of slyly offering more clover to the boy with\nthe frightened eyes.\n\n\"Oh! I know the woods pretty well, Toiney,\" he said. \"I've been far into\nthem with my father. I can find the way to Big Swamp.\"\n\n\"I'll bet me you' head you get los'--hein?\"\n\n\"Why don't you bet your own seal-head, Toiney? You can't say 'Boo!'\nstraight.\" Leon scathingly pointed to the Canadian's bare, closely\ncropped head, dark and shiny as sealskin.\n\n\"_Sapre!_ I'll no bet yous head--you Leon--for nobodee want heem, axcep'\nfor play ping-pong,\" screamed the enraged Toiney.\n\nThere was a general mirthful roar. Leon reddened.\n\n\"Oh, come; let's 'beat it'!\" he cried. \"We'll never find that <DW53>'s\nburrow, or anything else, if we stand here chattering with a Canuck.\nLook at Blink! He's after something on the edge of the woods. A red\nsquirrel, I think!\"\n\nHe set off in the wake of the terrier, and his companions followed,\ndisregarding further protests in Toiney's ragged English.\n\nOnce more they were immersed in the woods beyond the clearing. The\nterrier was barking furiously up a pine tree, on whose lowest branch sat\nthe squirrel getting off an angry patter of \"Quek-Quik!\nQuek-quek-quek-quik!\" punctuated with shrill little cries.\n\n\"Hear him chittering an' chattering! There's some fire to that\nconversation. See! the squirrel looks all red mouth,\" laughed Nixon.\n\nThe mouth of the little tree-climbing fury yawned, indeed, like a tiny\ncoral cave decorated with minute ivories as he sat bolt upright on the\ndry branch, scolding the dog.\n\n\"Oh! come on, Blink, you can't get at him. You can chase a woodchuck or\nsomething else that isn't quite so quick, and kill it!\" cried his\nmaster.\n\nThe \"something else\" was presently started in the form of a little\nchipmunk, ground brother to the squirrel, which had been holding\nsolitary revel with a sunbeam on a rock.\n\nWith a frightened flick of its gold-brown tail it sought shelter in a\ncleft of a low, natural wall where some large stones were piled one upon\nanother.\n\nInstantly it discovered that this shallow refuge offered no sure shelter\nfrom the dog following hot upon its trail. Forth it popped again, with\na plaintive, chirping \"Chip! Chip! Chir-r-r!\" of extreme terror and\nfled, like a tuft of fur wafted by the breeze, to its real fortress, the\ndeep, narrow hole which it had tunneled in under a rock, and which it\nwas so shy of revealing to strangers that it would never have sought\nshelter there save in dire extremity.\n\nIt was such a very small hole as regards the round entrance through\nwhich the chipmunk had squeezed, which did not measure three inches in\ncircumference--and such a touchingly neat little hole, for there was no\ntrace of the earth which the little creature had scattered in burrowing\nit--that it might well have moved any heart to pity.\n\nThe terrier finding himself baffled, sat down before it, and pointed his\nears at his master, inquiring about the prospects of a successful siege.\n\n\"He was too quick for you that time, Blinkie. But you'll get another\nchance at him, pup,\" guaranteed Leon, while his companions were\nendeavoring to solve the riddle--one of the minor charming mysteries of\nthe woods--namely, what the ground-squirrel does with the earth which he\nscatters in tunneling his grass-fringed hole.\n\nNo such marvel appealed to Leon Chase! With lightning rapidity he was\nwrenching a thin, rodlike stick from a near-by white birch, and tearing\nthe leaves off. Before one of the other boys could stop him, he had\ninserted this as a long probe in the hole, working the cruel goad\nruthlessly from side to side, scattering earth enough now and torn grass\non either side of the <DW74>-and-span entrance.\n\n\"Ha! you haven't seen the last of him, Blink!\" he cried. \"I'll soon\n'podge' him out of that! This hole runs in under a rock; so there can't\nbe a sharp turn in it, as is the case with the chip-squirrel's hole\ngenerally! I guess I can reach him with the stick; then he'll be so\nfrightened that he'll pop out right in your face,\" forming a quick\ndeduction that did credit to his powers of observation and made it seem\na bruising pity as well for persecutor as persecuted that such boyish\ningenuity should be turned to miserable ends.\n\nLeon's eyes were beady with malicious triumph. His breath came in short\nexcited puffs. So did the terrier's. It boded ill for the tormented\nchipmunk cowering at the farthest end of the desecrated hole.\n\n\"Hullo! that's two against one and it isn't fair play. _Quit it!_\"\nsuddenly burst forth a ringing boyish voice. \"The chip' was faster than\nthe dog--he ought to have an even chance for his life, anyhow!\"\n\nLeon, crouching by the hole, looked up in petrified amazement. It was\nNixon Warren, the stranger to these woods, who spoke. The tormentor\nbroke into an insulting laugh.\n\n\"Eh--what's the matter with _you_, Chicken-heart?\" he sneered. \"None o'\nyour business whether it's fair or not!\"\n\nA flash leaped from the gray eyes under Nixon's broad hat that defied\nthe sneer applied to him. His chest heaved under the Khaki shirt with\nwhose metal buttons a sunbeam played winsomely, while with defiant\nvehemence Leon worked his probing stick deeper, deeper into the hole\nwhere the mite of a chipmunk shrank before the cruel goad that would\nultimately force it forth to meet the whirlwind of the dog's attack.\n\nColin and Coombsie held their breath, feeling as if they could see the\ntrembling \"chipping\" fugitive pressed against the farthest wall of its\nenlarged retreat.\n\nAnother minute, and out it must pop to death.\n\nBut upon the dragging, prodding seconds of that minute broke again the\nvoice of the chipmunk's champion--hot and ringing.\n\n\"_Quit that!_\" it exploded. \"Stop wiggling the stick in the hole--or\nI'll make you!\"\n\n\"You'll make me, eh? Oh! run along home to Mamma--that's where your\nplace is!\" But right upon the heels of the sneer a sharp question rushed\nfrom Leon's lips: \"Who are you--anyhow--to tell me to stop?\"\n\nAnd the tall trees bowed their noble heads, the grasses ceased their\nwhispering, even the seventeen-year locust, shrilling in the distance,\nseemed to suspend its piping note to listen to the answer that rushed\nbravely forth:--\n\n\"I'm a Boy Scout! A Boy Scout of America! I've promised to do a good\nturn to somebody--or something--every day. I'm going to do it to that\nchipmunk! Stop working that stick in the hole!\"\n\n\"Gee whiz! I thought there was something queer about you from the\nfirst.\"\n\nThe mouth of Starrie Chase yawned until it rivaled the enlarged hole.\nSitting on his heels, his cruel probing momentarily suspended, he gazed\nup, as at a newfangled sort of animal, at this daring Boy Scout of\nAmerica--this Scout of the U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nRACCOON JUNIOR\n\n\n\"Scout or no scout, you are not going to boss me!\"\n\nThus Starrie Chase broke the breathless silence that reigned for half a\nminute in the woods, following upon Nixon's declaration that he was a\nboy scout, bound by the scout law to protect the weak among human beings\nand animals.\n\nFor the space of that half-minute the tormenting stick had ceased to\nprobe the hole. The wretched chipmunk, cowering in the farthest corner\nof its once neat retreat, had a respite.\n\nBut Leon--who was not inherently cruel so much as thoughtlessly teasing\nand the victim of a destructive habit of mind, now felt that should he\nyield a point to this fifteen-year-old lad from a distant city, the\nleadership which he so prized, among the boys of Exmouth, would be\nendangered. He was the recognized head of a certain youthful male gang,\nof which Colin and Coombsie--though the latter occasionally deplored his\nmethods--were leading representatives.\n\n\"Go ahead, scout, prevent my doing anything I want to do--if you can!\"\nhe flung out, his brown eyes winking upward with that snapshot quickness\nas if he were photographing on their retina the figure of that new\nspecies of animal, the scout of the U.S.A. \"I've heard of your kind\nbefore; you know a lot of things that nobody else knows--or wants to\nknow either!\"\n\nThe last words were to the accompaniment of the goading stick which\nbegan to move vehemently to and fro in the hole again. That neat little\nhole, which had been one of the humbler miracles of the woods, now gaped\nas an ugly, torn fissure beneath its roof of rock.\n\nBefore it was a defacing debris of torn grass and earth in which Blink\nscratched impatiently, whining over the delay in the chip-squirrel's\nexit.\n\n\"Oh! give it up, Leon; I believe I can hear him stirring in the hole!\"\npleaded Colin Estey.\n\nSimultaneously the scout flung himself on his knees before the\nchipmunk's fortress, well-nigh captured, and seized the cruel goad.\n\n\"Let go of this stick or I'll lick you with it! I can; I'm as old--older\nthan you are!\" Leon was now a red-eyed savage.\n\n\"That would be like your notion of fair play! Oh! drop the stick an'\ncome on with your fists! I'm not afraid of you.\"\n\nThe probable result of such a duel remains a problem; any slight\nadvantage in age was on Leon's side, but each alert movement of the boy\nscout showed that he possessed eye, mind, and muscle trained to the\nfullest to cope with any situation that might arise. Whoever might prove\nvictor, the expedition to Varney's Paintpot would have been abruptly\nfrustrated by a fight among the exploring party, had not Marcoo the\ntactful interfered.\n\n\"Oh! what's the use of fighting about a chip'?\" he cried, thrusting a\nplump shoulder between the bristling combatants. \"It's just this way,\nLeon: Nix is right; it's a mean business, trying to force that chipmunk\nout of its hole for the dog to catch it! You can withdraw the stick\nright now, come with us an' share our luncheon; or you can go off on\nyour own hook--and you don't get a crumb out of the basket--we'll find\nthe Paintpot without you!\"\n\nLeon drew a long wavering breath, looking at Colin for support.\n\nBut Public Opinion as represented by the two younger boys, was by this\ntime entirely with the scout. For it is the genius among boys, as among\ngrown-ups, who voices what lies hidden and unexpressed, in the hearts of\nothers; we are always moved by the bold utterance of that which we have\nsurreptitiously felt ourselves.\n\nBoth Colin Estey and Marcoo had known what it was to feel their sense of\npity and justice outraged by Leon's persecuting methods. But it needed\nthe trained boldness of the boy scout to put the sentiment into words;\nto be ready to fight for his knightly principles and win. For he had\nwon.\n\nLeon Chase fairly writhed at the choice set before him--at the necessity\nof yielding a point to the stranger! But he felt that it would be still\nmore obnoxious to his feelings to be deserted by his companions, left to\nbeat a solitary retreat homeward with his dog or wander--alone and\nfasting--through the woods, a boy hermit!\n\n\"All right! Have your way! Come along,\" he cried crossly. \"We'll never\nget anywhere--that's sure--if we waste any more time on a chipmunk!\"\n\nWithdrawing the stick from the enlarged aperture, he flung it away and\nscrambled to his feet, whistling to the dog.\n\nIt needed much moral suasion on the part of all four boys to lure the\nterrier away from the raided hole with whose earth his slim white legs\nwere coated. But he presently consented to explore the woods further in\nsearch of diversion.\n\nAnd the incident ended without any torn fur flying its flag of pain on\nthe summer air.\n\nThe flag of feud between the two boys, Starrie Chase and Nixon, was not,\nhowever, immediately lowered. Coombsie--a studious, thoughtful lad--had\nthe unhappy feeling of having brought two strange fires together which\nmight at any moment result in an explosion that would be especially\ndisastrous on this the first day of his cousin's visit to him.\n\nBut as one lad has remarked: \"Two boys cannot remain mad with each other\nlong: there's always too much doing!\"\n\nAnd everybody knows that sawdust smothers smouldering fire! It did in\nthis instance. After about ten minutes of \"grouchy\" but uneventful\ntramping, the forest explorers came to a logging camp, a rude shanty,\nflanked by a yellow mountain of sawdust where a portable sawmill had\nbeen set up during the preceding winter and taken down in spring.\n\nIn spite of the fact that so much lay before them to be seen in the\nwoods--if haply they might arrive at the various points of heart's\ndesire--it was not in boy-nature to refrain from scaling that unstable,\nshelving sawdust peak for a better view onward into those shadowy woods.\nAnd a lusty sham battle ensued, in the midst of which Leon found\noccasion to repay the trick played on him with the pitchfork seeds by\nslipping a handful of sawdust inside the scout's khaki collar.\n\n\"Whew! that's worse than the devil's pitchforks,\" groaned the latter,\nwrithing and squirming in his tan shirt.\n\nBut does not a trifling discomfort under such circumstances enhance\nwhile curbing the enjoyment of a boy, tying him to earth, when his young\nspirit like an aeroplane, winged with sheer joy of life and youthful\ndaring, feels as if it could spurn that earth sphere as too limited,\nand, riding on the breeze of heaven, seek adventure among the clouds?\n\nIn such a mood the four boys, drinking in the odor of the pine-trees as\na fillip to delight, were presently exploring the loggers' shanty, with\nits rude bunks, oilcloth-covered table, here an old magazine, there a\nworn-out stocking, relics of human habitation.\n\n\"Nobody occupies this camp during the summer,\" said Leon. \"I think\nToiney Leduc and another man worked up here last winter.\"\n\n\"I'm pretty sure that Toiney did! Look there!\" The scout was unfolding a\npiece of charred paper pinioned in a corner by a tomato can; it was a\nprinted fragment of a French-Canadian _voyageur_ song, at sight of which\nthe boys made the shanty ring with:--\n\n  \"Rond! rond! rond! peti' pie pon' ton'!\"\n\n\"But I'm not so sure that nobody is using the shanty now,\" remarked\nNixon presently. \"See that tobacco ash and the stains on the white\noilcloth!\" pointing to the dingy table. \"Both look fresh; the ash\ncouldn't possibly have remained here since last winter; 'twould have\nbeen blown away long ago by the wind sweeping through the open shanty.\nThere's some more of it on the mattress in this bunk,\" drawing himself\nup to look over the side of the rude crib built into the wall. \"I guess\nsomebody _does_ occupy the camp now--at night anyway!\"\n\n\"Oh! so you set up to be a sort of Sherlock Holmes, do you?\" jeered\nLeon.\n\n\"I don't set up to be anything! But I can tell that the men ground their\naxes right here.\" The scout was now kicking over a small wooden trough\nthat had reposed, bottom uppermost, amid the long grass before the\nshanty.\n\n\"How can you make that out?\" It was Colin who spoke.\n\n\"Because, look! there's rust on the inside of the trough, showing that\nthere are steely particles mixed with the dust of the interior and that\nwater has dripped into it from the revolving grindstone.\"\n\n\"Pshaw! anybody could find that out who set to work to think about it,\"\ncame in a chorus from his three companions.\n\nBut that \"thinking\" was just the point: the others would have passed by\nthat topsy-turvy wooden vessel, which might have been used for sundry\npurposes, with its dusty interior exactly the hue of the yellow sawdust,\nwithout stopping to reason out the story of the patient axe-grinding\nwhich had gone on there during winter's bitter days.\n\n\"But, I say, what good does it do you to find out things like that?\"\nquestioned Starrie Chase, kicking over the trough, his shrewd young face\na star of speculation. \"If one should go about poking his nose into\neverything that had happened, why! he'd find stories in most things, I\nguess! The woods would be full of them.\"\n\n\"So they are!\" replied the scout quickly. \"That's just what we're\ntaught: that every bird and animal, as well as everything which is done\nby men, leaves its 'sign!' We must try to read that 'sign' and store up\nin our minds what we learn, as a squirrel stores his nuts for winter, so\nthat often we may find out things of importance to ourselves or others.\nAnd I'll tell you it makes life a jolly lot more interesting than when\none goes about 'lak wit' eye shut'! as Toiney says. I've never had such\ngood times as since I've been a scout:--\n\n  Then hurrah for the woods, hurrah for the fields,\n    Hurrah for the life that's free,\n  With a heart and mind both clean and kind,\n    The Scout's is the life for me!\n\n    And we'll shout, shout, shout,\n    For the Scout, Scout, Scout,\n      For the Scouts of the U.S.A.!\"\n\nThe speaker exploded suddenly in a burst of song, throwing his broad hat\ninto the air with a yell on the refrain that woke the echoes of the log\nshanty, while the breezy orchestra in the tree-tops, like noisy reed\ninstruments, came in on the last line:--\n\n  \"For the Scouts of the U.S.A.!\"\n\nColin and Coombsie were enthusiastically shouting it too.\n\n\"Say! Col, that fellow suits me all right,\" whispered Marcoo, nudging\nhis chum and pointing toward the excited scout.\n\n\"Me, too!\" returned Colin.\n\n\"Pshaw! he thinks he's It, but I think the opposite,\" murmured Leon\ntruculently.\n\n\"To what troop or patrol do you belong, Nix?\" questioned his cousin.\n\n\"Peewit Patrol, troop six, of Philadelphia! I was a tenderfoot for six\nmonths; now I'm a second-degree scout--with hope of becoming a\nfirst-class one soon. Want to see my badge?\" pointing to his coat. \"Each\npatrol is named after a bird or animal. We use the peewit's whistle for\nsignaling to each other: Tewitt! Tewitt!\"\n\nAgain the woods rang with a fairly good imitation of the peewit's--or\nEuropean lapwing's--whistling note.\n\n\"Oh! I'd put a patent on that whistle if I were you,\" snapped Leon\nsarcastically: \"I'm sure nothing like it was ever heard in these--or any\nother--woods! We'd better be moving on or the mosquitoes will eat us\nup,\" he added hastily. \"There hasn't been any frost to get rid of them\nyet.\"\n\nBut as the quartette of boys left the log-camp behind and, with the\nterrier in erratic attendance, plunged again into the thick woods, it\nby and by became apparent to each that, so far as a knowledge of their\nexact whereabouts went or an ability to locate any point of destination,\nthey were approaching the truth of Toiney's words and wandering \"lak\nwit' eye shut!\"\n\nFor a time they kept to a logging-road that branched off from the\nshanty, a mere grass-grown, root-obstructed pathway, over which, when\nthat great white leveler, Winter, evened things up with his mantle of\nsnow, the felled trees were drawn on a rough sled to some point where\nstood the movable sawmill.\n\nThe dense woods were intersected at long intervals by such\nhalf-obliterated paths; in their remote recesses lurked other rough\nshanties where a scout might read the \"sign\" that told of the hard life\nof the lumbermen.\n\nBut neither vine-laced road nor shanty was easy of discovery for the\nuninitiated.\n\n\"Whew! it kind o' brings the gooseflesh to be so far in the woods as\nthis without having the least idea whether we're getting anywhere or\nnot.\" Thus spoke Coombsie at the end of half an hour's steady tramping\nand plowing through the underbrush. \"Are you sure that you know in which\ndirection lies the cave called the Bear's Den, Leon? A logging-road\nruns past that, so I've heard.\"\n\n\"Oh, we'll arrive there in time, I guess; Varney's Paintpot is somewhere\nin the same direction as the cave,\" replied the pseudo-leader evasively.\n\"They're some distance apart, but we've made a bee-line from one to the\nother when I've been in the woods with my father or brother Jim.\"\n\nBut these woods were a different proposition now, without an older head\nand more experienced woodlore to rely upon: Leon, who had never before\nposed as a guide through their mazes, secretly acknowledged this.\n\nHe had not imagined that it would be so difficult to find one's way,\nunaided, in this wilderness of endless trees and underbrush, through\nwhose changing aspects ran the same mystifying thread as if the\ngold-brown gloom of a shadowy hill-<DW72>,--where only the sunbeams\nwaltzing on dry pine-needles seemed alive,--or the jeweled twilight of a\ngrassy alley bound a gossamer handkerchief about one's eyes, so that one\ngroped blindfold against a blank wall of uncertainty.\n\n\"Say! but I wish I had brought my pocket compass with me,\" groaned the\nscout. \"Guess I didn't live up to our scout motto: BE PREPARED! But\nthen--\" he looked at his cousin--\"we started out with the intention of\ngoing down the river and you objected to my trotting back for it,\nMarcoo, when we determined on a hike through the woods.\"\n\n\"I was afraid that if the men knew what we were planning, they'd have\nheaded us off as Toiney tried to do,\" confessed Marcoo candidly.\n\n\"Well, I wish now that I had gone back; I could have packed the luncheon\ninto my knapsack; it would have been much more easily carried than in\nthis basket. I miss my staff too!\" Nixon deposited the lunch-basket,\nwith which he was now impeded, on the ground in a green woodland glade\nwhere the noble forest trees, red oak, cedar, maple, interspersed with\nan occasional pine, hemlock, or balsam fir, rose to a height of from\nsixty to a hundred feet, bordering a patch of open ground, starred with\nwildflowers, dotted with berries.\n\nDelicate queen's lace, purple gentians, starry wood-asters, waxen Indian\npipes, made it seem as if this must be the wood-fairies' dancing-ground,\nwhere at night they rode a moonbeam from flower to flower, and sipped\njuice from the milk-berries, bunch-berries or scarlet fox-berries that\nstrayed at intervals along the ground.\n\n\"I'd like to stay _here_ forever.\" Colin stretched himself upon a bank\nof moss, his mind going back to the explorer's longing, to the\nwood-hunger which had consumed him, as he lay upon the fragrant\nmarsh-grass some hours before. He was getting his wish now--and not\neverybody gets that without having to pay for it. \"The trees look kind\no' fatherly an' protecting; don't they?\" he murmured lazily.\n\nYes, here one felt admitted to the companionship of those noble\ntrees,--the greatest story-tellers that ever were, when one listens and\ninterprets their conversations with the breeze. A \"Hurrah for the\nwoods!\" was on every tongue as the boys chewed a berry or smoked a\npearly orchid pipe.\n\nMoods changed a little as they took up their wandering again and\npresently waded, single file, through a jungle of bushes, scrub oak,\ndwarf pine, pigmy cedar and birch, laced with brambles. Here the trees\noverhead were of less magnitude and the tall leafy undergrowth foamed\nabout their ears, giving them somewhat the distracted feeling of being\ncast away on a trackless sea--each sequestered in his own little\nboat--with emerald billows shutting out all view of port.\n\n\"Three cheers! We're almost through with this jungle. I guess we're\ncoming to more open ground again--none too soon, either!\" cried Leon who\nled, with his dog. \"Shouldn't wonder if we were approaching a swamp: it\nmay be Big Swamp, as the men call that great alder-swamp that's all\nspongy in parts and dotted with deep bog-holes, where one might sink out\nof sight quick!\n\n\"For goodness' sake! look at the crows,\" he whooped three minutes later,\nas, leaving the wavy undergrowth behind, he plunged out on a mossy <DW72>\nstrewn with an occasional boulder. \"_The crows!_ What do you suppose\nthey're after? They're teasing something! 'Hollering' at something!\"\n\nThe same amazed exclamation broke from his companions' lips. Halfway\ndown the <DW72> was an old and leafy chestnut tree. Around this the crows\nwere circling, now alighting on the branches, now fluttering off again\non sloping sable wing, their yellow beaks gleaming.\n\nA cawing din filled the air, with an occasional loud \"Quock!\" of alarm\nor indignation.\n\n\"They're teasing something--perhaps it's a squirrel! I've seen them do\nthat before; they're regular pests!\" exclaimed Leon, inconsistently\nfinding fault with the crows for being birds of the same feather with\nhimself.\n\n\"Whew! there's something doing here. Let's see what it is!\" Nixon was\nequally excited.\n\nWith the terrier scampering ahead, the four boys set off at a run toward\nthe crow-infested tree.\n\n\"I believe there's something--some animal--hidden in the hollow between\nthe branches!\" Leon gave vent to a low shout, his brown eyes yellow with\nexcitement. \"It's round that the crows are hovering!\"\n\n\"There is! There is! I see the end of a big, bushy tail. It isn't a\nsquirrel's tail either!\" returned the scout in a fever of mystification.\n\"Let's go softly, so that we won't frighten the thing whatever it\nis--then we can have a good look at it!\"\n\n\"Suppose it should be a wildcat, then we'd 'scat'!\" gasped Colin,\nfeeling his wildest hopes and tremors fulfilled. \"I see its nose--a\nblack nose--over the edge of the hollow! It's like--Gee! it can't be\nanother <DW53> from the swamp--like the dead one that Toiney found in the\nhencoop?\"\n\nSimultaneously the terrier, Blink, was launching himself like a white\narrow toward the spreading nut-tree, which stood upon a grassy knoll,\nwhile the woods rang with his fusillade of barking.\n\nAnd from the hollow in the tree came a shrill whimpering cry, remarkably\nlike that of a small and frightened child.\n\nStarrie Chase fairly gambolled with excitement: \"That's where you're\nright, Col,\" he panted. \"If it isn't a <DW53>--another young <DW53>--I'm a\nDutchman! I hunted one in the woods, by night, with my brother, last\nyear!\"\n\n\"He keeps on singing,\" breathed Coombsie. \"Isn't his cry like a\ntwo-year-old child's?\"\n\n\"Oh! if we only had my brother's <DW53> dog here--and could get him down\nfrom the tree--the dog might finish him!\" Leon seemed emitting sparks of\nexcitement from his pointed elbows and other quivering joints. \"Go for\nhim, Blink!\" he raved, hardly knowing what he said. \"You're not afraid\nof anything--you feel like a mastiff! Oh! we _must_ get him out of that\ntree-hollow on to the ground.\"\n\n\"Caw! Caw!... Caw!... Quock! Quock!\" At the approach of the boys and dog\nthe crows set up a wilder din, describing broader circles round the tree\nor fluttering upward to its loftier branches.\n\nAgain came that petulant whimpering cry from the hollow of the\nchestnut, where a young raccoon (probably brother to the intruder which\nhad made a short bee-line through the woods, guided by instinct and its\nnose, to Toiney's hencoop) now wailed and quailed, finding himself\nbetween two sets of enemies: the barking dog and excited boys below, the\npestering crows above.\n\nAbandoning the wise nocturnal habits of his forefathers, with the\nrashness of youth, he too had strayed at sunrise from that secluded hole\namong the ledges on the borders of Big Swamp, filled with dreams of\njuicy cornfields and other delicacies.\n\nNot readily finding such a land of milk and honey, he climbed into the\nhollow of this chestnut tree, flanked by a young ash upon the knoll, and\nthere composed himself to sleep.\n\nBut thither the crows, flocking, found him; and recognizing in him an\nhereditary enemy of their eggs and nestlings, set to work to make his\nlife a burden.\n\nNevertheless Raccoon Junior preferred their society to that of the boys\nand dog which instinct warned him to dread above all other foes.\n\nAs the well-bred terrier--game enough to face any foe, though it might\nprove a sorry day for him if he should tackle that young\nraccoon--reared on his hind legs, and clawed the bark of the trunk in\nhis excitement, the rash Junior climbed swiftly out of the hollow and\nfled up among the branches of the tall chestnut tree, seeking to hide\nhimself among the long thick leaves amid a stormy \"Quock!\" and \"Caw!\nCaw! Caw!\" from the crows.\n\n\"Oh! there--there he goes! See his stout body and funny little legs!\"\n\n\"And his long gray hair and the black patch over his eyes--makes him\nlook as if he wore spectacles!\"\n\n\"And his bushy tail! Huh! there's some class to that tail--all ringed\nwith buff and black.\"\n\nSuch cries broke from three wildly excited throats. Leon spent no breath\nin admiration. Like lightning, he had snatched up a stone and sent it\nflying up the tree after the fugitive with such good aim that it struck\none of the short, climbing legs.\n\nAnother whimpering cry--sharp and shrill as that of a wounded\nchild--rang down among the thick leaves.\n\n\"What did you do that for? You've broken one of his legs, I think!\"\nexclaimed the scout.\n\n\"So much the better! If he should light down from the tree, he can't run\nso fast! I want that dandy tail of his--and his skin!\" Starrie Chase\nwas now beside himself with the greedy feeling, that possessed him\nwhenever he saw a wild animal, that its own skin did not belong to it,\nbut to him.\n\n\"Say, fellows!\" he cried wildly, \"if you'll stay right here by the tree\nand prevent his coming down, I--I'll run all the way back to that\nfarm-clearing--I guess I can find my way--and bring back Toiney's gun,\nand shoot him. Say--will you?\"\n\nNo such promise was forthcoming.\n\n\"Well, I know what I'll do!\" Leon tore off his jacket. \"I'll tie the\nsleeves of my coat round the trunk of the tree; that will prevent his\ncoming down, so I've heard my father say. Bother! they won't meet. I'll\nhave to use your coat too, Nix!\"\n\nHe snatched up the scout's Norfolk jacket, thrown down beside the basket\nat the foot of the tree, and was knotting it to his own, when there was\na wild shriek from Colin:--\n\n\"Look! Look! He's jumped over into the other tree. Oh! he's come down;\nhe's on the ground now--there beyond the ash tree--rolling over like a\nball! Oh, he's going--going like a slate sliding downhill!\"\n\nWhile Leon had been so cleverly knotting the coats round the\ntree-trunk, and his terrier barking up it, the young <DW53> had outwitted\nthem and dropped like an acrobat to the ground, having gained the odds\nof a dozen yards in his race for safety.\n\nOff went the terrier after him, now! Off went the four boys, hot on the\ntrail too, madly rushing down the hill clear to the edge of the\nalder-swamp toward which it sloped--yes! and into its quagmire borders\ntoo, while the crows, raving like a foghorn, supplied music for the\nchase.\n\nBut the speed of the limping wild animal enabled it, having gained its\nshort legs--despite the injury of the stone--to reach the shelter of a\nquivering clump of alders where Blink worried in and out in vain, nose\nto the ground--sniffing and baffled.\n\n\"Oh, we've lost sight of him now! He's given us the slip,\" cried Colin,\nrecklessly dashing for the alders.\n\nSuddenly the air cracked with his cry that raved with terror like the\ncrows: \"Help! _Help!_ I'm into it now--into it plunk--into Big Swamp!\nI'm sinking--s-sinking above my waist! Help! Help!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nVARNEY'S PAINTPOT\n\n\n\"I'm 'plunk' into it! I'm sinking in the swamp mud! I can't--can't get\nout! Oh--h-help--help!\"\n\nColin's wild cries as he found himself sinking in the oozing,\nolive-green mud of the vast alder-swamp, struck his comrades with a\nmomentary blind horror.\n\nThe half-immersed boy was indeed \"plunk\" into it; he was submerged to\nhis waist and slowly sinking inch by inch farther, now fairly gibbering\nin his frantic terror of being swallowed bodily by one of the many\nsucking throats of Big Swamp.\n\nHe writhed and struggled madly, snatching at the rank grass whose slimy\nroots came away in his hand--at the bushes--even at the brilliant poison\nsumac, already ruddy as a swamp lamp--with the clutch of a drowning man;\nLeon's remembered words stinging his ears like noisome insects: \"There\nare _live_ spots in that swamp where one might go out of\nsight--_quick_!\"\n\nThe hideous slimy life of the spongy bog, half water, half mud!\n\nLeon's sharp-featured face at that moment seemed to be carved out of\npale wood as his snapping eyes took in the swamp, with its groves of\nwhispering alders, its margin of scattered birch-trees and swamp cedars,\nthe lamplike sumac burning maliciously--the sinking boyish figure amid\nthe moist green dreariness!\n\nNow, Starrie Chase was by Nature's gift more quick-witted than his\ncompanions, even than the trained boy scout.\n\n\"If we try to wade in toward him, we'll sink ourselves!\" he cried. \"I'll\ntry to haul him out with that birch-tree.\"\n\nA leaping, plunging run, sinking to his ankles, and with the long bound\nof a gray squirrel he alighted upon the supple trunk of a tall\nwhite-birch sapling that grew within the borders of the swamp!\n\nNo squirrel ever climbed more rapidly than did he to its middle\nbranches.\n\nAnd the yellow flame in his eyes, now, was not a spark from\npersecution's fire.\n\n[Illustration: \"HELP! _HELP!_\"]\n\n\"Hold on, Col! Keep up! The tree'll pull you out. I'll bend it down to\nyou. When it comes within reach of your arms catch hold of the trunk!\nHang on for your life! I'll shin down, and 'twill hoist you up--you're\nlighter than I am!\"\n\nHe was bending the tall, supple trunk, with its leafy crown,\ndown--down--as he spoke. It creaked beneath his fifteen-year-old weight.\nThe strained roots groaned in the swampy soil.\n\n\"Gee! if the roots should give way _I'll_ land in the soup too,\" was his\npiercing thought; and a shudder ran down his spine as he saw the pools\nof olive-green bog-soup beneath him--bottomless pools--in which floated\nslimy, stagnant things, leaves and dead insects.\n\nPools more horrible even than the patch of liquidescent mud in which\nColin was sinking!\n\nBut Starrie Chase would never have attained to the leadership that was\nhis among the boys of Exmouth if there had been nothing in him but the\nsavage--the petty, not the primitive savage--that persecuted chipmunks\nand old women. Now the hero who slept in the shadow of the savage was\naroused and there was \"something doing\"!\n\nLying flat upon the pliant sapling he forced it down with his heaving\nchest, with every ounce of will and weight in his strong body.\n\nThe silvery trunk bent to the sinking boy like a white angel.\n\nWith a cry he flung his arms upward and grasped it. At the same moment\nLeon slid down and jumped to a comparatively firm spot of the quagmire.\n\nThe flexible young tree rebounded slowly with the weight lighter than\nhis pendant from it--like a stone attached to the boom of a derrick.\n\nIn a few seconds it was almost upright, with Colin Estey, mud-plastered\nto his arm-pits, hanging on like an olive-green bough, his dilated eyes\nstarting from his head, his face blanched to the gray-white of the\nfriendly trunk.\n\n\"Slide down now, Col, an' jump--I'll stand by to give you a hand!\" cried\nLeon, the daring rescuer.\n\nAnd in another minute the victim was safe on _terra firma_--out of the\nslimy throat of Big Swamp.\n\n\"Oh! I thought I was going--to sink down--out of sight!\" he gasped\nbetween lips that did not seem to move, so tightly was the skin of his\nface stretched by terror. \"That I'd be swallowed by the mud! I would\nhave been--but for Leon!\"\n\n\"You surely were quick! Quick as a flash!\" The two boys who had been\nspectators gazed open-mouthed at Starrie Chase as if they saw the hero\nwho for three brief minutes had flashed out into the open.\n\n\"Whew! I got such a fright that I'll never forget it; I declare I feel\nweak still,\" mumbled Coombsie.\n\n\"Pooh! your fright--was nothing to mine,\" Colin's stiff lips began to\ntremble now with recovering life. \"And I'm plastered with mud to my\nshoulder-blades--wet too! But I don't care, as I'm out of it!\" He\nglanced nervously toward Big Swamp, and at the clump of restless alders\nwhich probably still sheltered Raccoon Junior.\n\n\"The sun is quite hot here; let's move back up the hill and sit down!\"\nNixon pointed to the grassy <DW72> behind them where the crows still\nflapped their wings around the chestnut-tree with an occasional relieved\n\"Caw!\" \"We'll roll you over there, Col, and hang you out to dry!\"\n\n\"Well! suppose we eat our lunch during the process, eh?\" suggested\nMarcoo. \"Goodness! wouldn't it be 'one on us' if a fox had sneaked out\nof the woods and run off with the lunch-basket? We left it under the\nchestnut-tree.\"\n\nThey made their way back to that nut-tree, whose hoary trunk was still\nswathed with Leon's coat and the scout's Norfolk jacket, knotted round\nit to prevent the young <DW53> which had signally outwitted them from\n\"lighting down.\"\n\n\"Whew! I feel as if 'twas low tide inside me. A scare always makes me\nhungry,\" remarked Leon, not at all like a hero, but a very prosaic boy.\n\"I think eating in the woods is the best part of the business!\"\n\n\"I say! You'd make a jolly good scout; do you know it?\" put forth Nixon.\n\nBut the other only hunched his shoulders with the grin of a\ncontortionist as he bit into a ham sandwich, richly flavored with peanut\nbutter and quince jelly from the shaking which the basket had undergone\non its passage through the woods.\n\nThe troop of hungry crows which had pecked unavailingly at the wicker\ncover, had retired to some distance and watched the picnic in croaking\nenvy.\n\nColin lay out in the sun, being rolled over at intervals by the scout,\nto dislodge the caking mud from his clothes, and to knead up his \"soggy\"\nspirits.\n\n\"Well! if we had carried out our first intention this morning, Nix, if\nwe had gone down the river to the Sugarloaf Sand-Dunes near its mouth,\nwe might _all_ have stuck high and dry, in the river mud, if the tide\nforsook us,\" said Coombsie by and by, as he dispensed a limited amount\nof cold coffee from a pint bottle. \"That's a pleasure in store, whenever\nwe can get Captain Andy to take us in his motor-boat. Say! he's great;\nhe was skipper of a Gloucester fishing schooner until a year ago, when\nhe lost his vessel in a fog; the main-boom fell on him and broke his\nleg; he's lame still. He stays in Exmouth with his daughter most o' the\ntime now. He was one o' the Gloucester crackerjacks: he saved so many\nlives at sea that he used to be called the Ocean Patrol!\"\n\n\"Why, he must be a regular sea-scout,\" Nixon's eye watered; he had the\nbump of hero-worship strongly developed.\n\n\"Captain Andy's laying for you, Leon,\" remarked Coombsie, passing round\nsome jelly-roll.\n\n\"Oh, I guess I know why!\" came the nonchalant answer. \"It's for tying a\nwooden shingle to a long branch of the apple-tree near old Ma'am\nBaldwin's house, so that it would keep tapping on her door through the\nnight. If the wind is in the right direction it works finely--keeps her\nguessing all the time! I've lain low among the marsh-grass and seen her\ncome to the door, in the dark, a dozen times, gruntin' like a grizzly!\nI hate solitary cranks!\"\n\n\"Captain Andy says that she was never peculiar as she is now, until her\nyoungest son ran wild and was sent to a reformatory,\" suggested Marcoo\ngravely.\n\n\"I'd cut out that trick, if I were you!\" growled the scout.\n\n\"Oh! I don't know; there are times when a fellow must paint the town\nred--or something--or 'he'd bust'! That reminds me, we were going to\ndaub ourselves with red from Varney's Paintpot. If we're to find it\nto-day, we'd better be moving on pretty soon. It must be after two\no'clock now.\"\n\n\"I haven't got my watch on, but it's quite that, or later,\" the scout\nglanced upward at the brilliant afternoon sun.\n\n\"Hadn't we better give up all idea of visiting the Paintpot or the\nBear's Den,\" Marcoo suggested rather nervously, \"and begin tramping\nhomeward--if we can discover in which direction home lies? I think we\nought to try and find some outlet from the woods.\"\n\n\"So do I. Col will have a peck of swamp mud to carry round with him. His\nclothes are heavy and damp. If I only had my compass we could steer a\nfairly straight course, for these woods lie to the southeast of the\ntown; don't they? Anybody got a watch on? I left mine at home.\" Nixon\nlooked eagerly at his companions.\n\n\"Our boy-scout handbook tells us how to use the watch as a compass by\npointing the hour-hand to the sun and reckoning back halfway to noon, at\nwhich point the south would be.\"\n\n\"My 'timer' is out of commission,\" regretted Marcoo.\n\nNeither of the other two boys possessed a watch.\n\n\"In that case we might trust to the dog to lead us out of the woods.\nWe'd better just tell Blink to go home, and follow him; he'll find his\nway out some time; won't you, pup?\" Nix stooped to fondle the tan ears\nof the terrier which had taken to him from the first, having never\nharbored the ghost of a suspicion of his being a \"flowerpot fellow.\"\n\nThe little dog stretched his jaws in a tired yawn. The pink pads of his\npaws were sore from much running, following up rabbit trails, and the\nrest. But the purple lights in his faithful brown eyes said plainly:\n\"Leave it to me, fellows! Instinct can put it all over reason, just\nnow!\"\n\nBut Blink's master started an opposition movement. He had been invited\nto guide the expedition; he was averse to resigning such leadership to\nhis terrier; in that case his supposed knowledge of the woods, of which\nhe had boasted aforetime to the Exmouth boys, would henceforth be\nregarded as a \"windy joke.\"\n\n\"Follow Blink!\" Thus he flouted the idea. \"If we do, we won't get out of\nthese woods before midnight! He'll dodge round after every live thing he\nsees, from a weasel to a grasshopper--like a regular will-o'-the-wisp.\nThe sensible thing to do is to search for a logging-road--we're sure to\ncome to one in time--and follow that on. Or a stream--a stream would\nlead out on to the salt-marshes, to join the river.\"\n\n\"There don't appear to be any streams in these woods; they seem as dry\nas an attic!\" Nixon, the scout, knew that the proposal now adopted by\nthe majority was all wrong, contrary to the advice derived through his\nbook from the great Chief Scout, Grand Master of Woodlore, but he hated\nto raise another fuss or make a split in the camp.\n\nSo the quartette of boys filed slowly up the <DW72> and back into the\nwoods, Coombsie carrying the almost empty basket, containing sparse\nremnants of the feast: \"We may be hungry before we arrive home!\" he\nremarked, with involuntary foreboding in his tone.\n\nThat foreboding increased as they pressed on. Each one now became\ndepressingly sure that he was wandering in the woods \"lak wit' eye\nshut\"; without any knowledge of his bearings, or of how to retrace his\nsteps to the log shanty flanked by the mountain of sawdust, whence he\nmight be able to find his way back to the farm-clearing where he had\nencountered the musical woodchopper, frightened boy and dead raccoon.\n\nThe boy scout was silently reproaching himself for having fallen short\nof the prudent standard inculcated by his scout training. Carried away\nby the novelty of these strange woods and his equally strange\ncompanions, he had lowered the foresail of prudence--just tramped along\nblindly with the others--taking no note of landmarks, nor leaving any\ntrace behind him that would serve to guide him back along the course by\nwhich he had come.\n\nBut, then, he had trusted to Leon's leadership; and the latter's boasted\nknowledge of the woods proved, as Coombsie had suspected, to consist of\nbluff as a chief ingredient!\n\n\"I wish I had kept my eyes open and noticed things as I came along, or\nthat I had thought of notching the trees at intervals with my\npenknife--blazing a trail--which we could have followed back,\" lamented\nthe scout. \"I guess we're only wandering round in a circle now; we're\nnot hitting a logging-road or trail of any kind. Tck! puppie,\"--emitting\nan inarticulate summons between his tongue and palate,--\"let's see\nwhat's the matter with those forepaws of yours! Blood, is it? Have you\nscratched them?\"\n\nHe stooped to examine Blink's slim white forelegs.\n\n\"_Gee whiz!_ it isn't blood--it's clay--red clay: we must be on the\ntrail of Varney's Paintpot, fellows!\"\n\nSo they were! They presently found it, that red-ochre bed, lying in\nobscurity among the bushes, scrub oak, dwarf pine and cedar, together\nwith tall ferns, that stood guard over it jealously, in a particularly\ndense portion of the woods.\n\nOnce the clay had been vivid and valuable, with wonderful painting\nproperties. Many an Indian had stained his arrow blood-red with it. Many\na white man, an early settler, had painted the rude furniture of his\nhome from that forest paintpot--then a moist tank of Nature's pigment.\n\nLater on it had been used too, as civilization progressed, and was\nclaimed by the man whose name it bore.\n\nNow, it was for the most part caked and dried up, its coloring power\nweakened; yet there were still moist and vivid spots such as that in\nwhich Blink, with the dog's unerring instinct for scenting out the\nunusual, had smeared himself.\n\nAnd those spots the boys promptly turned into a rouge-pot. They painted\ntheir own faces and each other's, until more savage-looking red men\nthese woods had never seen.\n\nThey forbore from delaying to smear their bodies, as Nixon had\nsuggested, for one word was now booming in each tired brain like a\nfoghorn through a mist: \"Lost! Lost! _Lost!_\" And they could not quite\nescape from it in this new diversion.\n\nStill they tried to dye hope a fresh rose-color at this forest paintpot\ntoo: to silence with whooping yells and fantastic capers, and in\nflitting war-dances in and out among the trees, the grim raving of that\nword in their ears.\n\nThey painted Blink likewise in zebra-like stripes across his back,\nwhereupon he promptly rolled on the ground, blurring his markings,\nuntil he was a mottled and grotesque red-and-white object.\n\n\"He looks like a clown's dog,\" said Coombsie. \"If any one should meet us\nin the woods, they'd think we were a troop of painted guys escaped from\na circus! We'll create a sensation in the town when we get home--if we\never do?\" _sotto voce_. \"Hadn't we better stop 'training on' now, and\ntry to get somewhere?\"\n\nSo, controlling the training-on, capering savage now rampant in each one\ncorresponding to his painted face, they toiled on again, while the\nafternoon shadows lengthened in the woods--until they stood transfixed,\ntheir war-whoops silenced, before another surprise of the woods on which\nthey had tumbled, unprepared.\n\nIt was a lengthy gray cairn of stones with a rude wooden marker at the\ntop bearing the date 1790, and at the foot a modern granite slab\ninscribed with the words: \"Bishop's Grave,\" and the date of the stone's\nerection.\n\n\"_Bishop's Grave!_\" Coombsie ejaculated, while the empty basket drooped\nheavily from his hand as if \"the grasshopper had suddenly become a\nburden.\" \"I've heard of the grave, but I've never seen it before. Bishop\nwas lost in these woods about a hundred and twenty-one years ago; he\ncouldn't find his way out and wandered round till he died. His body was\ndiscovered months afterwards and they buried it here.\"\n\nAwe fell upon the four boys. Their faces were drawn under the smearing\nof paint. Their eyes gleamed strangely, like sunken islands, from out\ntheir ruddy setting. The mottled terrier, with that sympathetic\nperception which dogs have of their masters' moods, pointed one ear\nsharply and drooped the other, like a flag at half-mast, while he stared\nat the rude cairn.\n\nThe scout impulsively lifted his broad-brimmed hat as he was in the\nhabit of doing if, when marching with his troop, he encountered a\nfuneral.\n\nIn the mind of each lad tolled like a slow bell the menacing echo of\nToiney's words: \"You walkee--walkee--en you haf so tire' en so lonesam\nyou _go deaded_!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\"YOU MUST LOOK OUT!\"\n\n\nThe four boys did not linger long before that lonely grave; the fears it\nevoked were too unpleasant. They pushed on again through the woods, each\none clearing his throat of a husky tickling that was third cousin to a\nweary sob.\n\nThe scout was inwardly combating the depressing memory of Toiney Leduc's\nwarning with the advice of the Chief Scout that if he should ever find\nhimself lost in the woods, Fear, not hunger or cold, would prove his\nworst enemy.\n\n\"I mustn't lose my grip! I must keep my head--not be fogged by fear! I'm\na boy scout of America,\" he reminded himself.\n\nStill the shadow of that gray cairn stalked him as well as the others.\nEven Leon was subdued by it. His manner had lost the last trace of its\nshallow cocksureness. The mantle of bluff had melted from him, leaving\nhim a distracted, temper-tried boy like his three companions.\n\n\"I know that the cave called the Bear's Den is not quite a mile from\nBishop's grave, but I haven't the least idea of how to go about\nreaching it,\" he admitted. \"A logging-road passes the cave; that might\nlead us somewhere. I wish we could strike a stream.\"\n\n\"So do I! My mouth is dry as dust; I'm parched with thirst.\" Nixon, as\nhe spoke, stooped, picked up a round pebble, inserted it between his dry\npalate and tongue and began sucking on it, as on a gum-drop.\n\n\"What on earth are you doing that for?\" questioned Leon sharply; the\nnerves in his tired body were now jangling like an instrument out of\ntune; together with his three companions he was cross as a thorn--ready\nto quarrel with his own shadow.\n\n\"'What am I doing it for?' Why! to start the saliva,\" quavered the\nscout, sucking hard; \"to prevent me from feeling the thirst so much.\"\n\n\"_Blamed_ rubbish!\" Starrie Chase snorted. \"As if sucking a stone like a\nbaby would do you any good!\"\n\n\"Everything is 'rubbish,' except what you know yourself; and _that's_\nnext to nothing!\" Nixon was now equally cross. \"You don't know half as\nmuch about the woods as your dog does. If it hadn't been for you, we'd\nhave been out of this place long ago!\"\n\n\"Oh! you think you're It, because you're a boy scout, but I think the\nopposite!\"\n\n\"Shut up! Don't give me any of your 'jaw'!\"\n\nBut there was a sudden, queer contortion of the scout's face on the last\nword.\n\nAbruptly he stalked on, humming to himself--a curious-looking being,\nwith his painted face and dazed eyes under the broad-brimmed hat.\n\n\"What's that you're singing, Nix?\" Coombsie was catching at a straw to\ndivert thought from Bishop's grave.\n\n\"Oh! go on, let's hear it. Sounds lively!\" urged Leon, whose temper had\nsunk beneath the realization of their plight, a quenched flash.\n\nThe scout sidetracked his pebble between right cheek and gums and began\nto sing with what cheerfulness he could muster, as much for his own\nencouragement as that of his companions, a patrol song, the gift of a\npoet to the boy scouts of the world:--\n\n  \"Look out when your temper goes\n    At the end of a losing game;\n  And your boots are too tight for your toes,\n    And you answer and argue and blame!\n  It's the hardest part of the law,\n    But it's got to be learned by the scout,\n  For whining and shirking and 'jaw,'\n    All patrols look out!\n  These are our regulations,\n    There's just one law for the scout,\n  And the first and the last, and the present and the past,\n    And the future and the perfect is look out!\"\n\nBefore Nixon had finished the chorus his three companions were shouting\nit with him as a spur to their jaded spirits.\n\n\"Ours is a losing game in earnest--all because we didn't look out and\ntake proper precautions so that we might have some chance of returning\nby the way that we came,\" remarked the soloist with a grim laugh. \"Now,\nwe 'jolly well must look out!' as the song says. I'm going to climb the\nnext tree that's good an' tall, and see whether I can discover any\nfaraway smoke that would show us where a house might be,--or a gap in\nthe woods,--or anything.\"\n\n\"Good idea! I'll climb too,\" seconded Leon. \"You choose one tree; I'll\ntake another, and see what we can make out!\"\n\nBut they were toiling through a comparatively insignificant part of the\nfine woods now, where the foamy undergrowth billowed about their ears.\nHere the birch-trees, hickories, and maples, with an occasional pine and\nhemlock, only averaged from thirty-five to forty feet in stature. Not\nfor another half-mile or so did Nixon sight a tall stately trunk\ntowering above its forest brethren, its many-pointed leaves proclaiming\nit to be a fine red oak.\n\n\"Whoo'! Whoo'! It's me for that oak-tree!\" he cried. \"I'll shin up that,\nright to the top and scour the horizon. 'Twill be easily climbed too!\"\n\n\"See that freak pine with the divided trunk a little farther on? I'm\ngoing to climb that,\" announced Leon Chase. \"It's a fine tree, if it is\na freak--like the Siamese Twins.\"\n\nIn another minute with the agility of a cat he had climbed to the crotch\nof the freak tree where its twin trunks divided.\n\n\"Look out! those lower branches are brown an' rotten, Starrie. I\nwouldn't trust to them if I were you!\" shouted Colin, indicating the\ndrooping pine-boughs about ten feet from the ground; he kicked a similar\nlarge drab branch, as he spoke, which had fallen and lay decaying at the\nfoot of the freak tree.\n\n\"Right you are! I won't.\" Leon was a wonderful climber; twining his arms\nand legs round one olive-green trunk of the divided pine he managed to\nreach the firm boughs above through whose needles the late afternoon\nbreeze crooned a sonorous warning.\n\nThe scout, meanwhile, had clambered like a squirrel nearly to the top\nof the splendid oak-tree. Presently the two boys upon the ground heard a\nshrill \"Tewitt! Tewitt!\" the signal-whistle of his peewit patrol, fully\nsixty feet above their heads, followed by Nixon's voice shouting: \"Can't\nsee smoke anywhere, fellows--or any sign of a real break in the woods.\nBut there seems to be some sort of little clearing about two hundred\nyards from here, I should say!\" He was carefully scanning the space over\nintervening tree-tops with his eye, knowing that if he could judge this\ndistance in the woods with approximate accuracy it would count as a\npoint in his favor toward realizing the height of his ambition and\ngraduating into a first-class scout.\n\nLeon, a moment later, was singing out blithely from the pine-tree's top:\n\"I see that gap between the trees too, just a little way farther on. I\nguess it's a logging-road at last--probably a shanty as well--the road\nwill lead somewhere anyhow. Hurrah! We'll be out o' the misery in time.\nRace you down, Nix?\" he challenged exuberantly at the top of his voice.\n\nThen began a swift, racing descent, marked on Leon's part by the touch\nof recklessness that often characterized his movements; he was\ndetermined that though the boy scout might excel him in certain points\nof knowledge, he should not outdo him in athletic activity.\n\n\"There! I knew I could 'trim' you anywhere--in a tree or on the ground,\"\nhe cried all in one gasping breath as--caution to the winds--he stepped\non one of the lower dead boughs which he had avoided going up.\n\nIt snapped under his hundred and twenty-five pounds of sturdy weight,\nlike a breaking twig. He crashed to the ground, alighting in a huddle\nupon the decayed branch, the crumbling wind-fall, at the foot of the\ntree.\n\n\"Gracious! are you hurt, Starrie?\" Coombsie and Colin rushed to him.\n\n\"I--think--not! I guess I'm all here.\" Leon made a desperate attempt to\nrise, and instantly sank back, clutching at the grass around him with\nsuch a sound as nobody had ever heard before from the lips of Leon Starr\nChase--the moan of a maimed creature.\n\n\"My ankle! My right ankle!\" he groaned. \"I twisted it, coming down on\nthat rotten branch. It feels as if every tree in the woods had fallen on\nit together! Ouch! I--can't--stand.\" Drops of agony stole out upon his\nforehead.\n\n\"You've sprained it, I guess!\" Nixon was now bending over the victim.\n\"Here, let me take your shoe off, before the foot swells! Perhaps, with\nCol and me helping you, you can limp along to that clearing?\"\n\nLeon made another attempt, with the leather pressure removed, but sank\ndown again and began to relieve himself of his stocking too, in order to\nexamine the injury.\n\n\"Ou-ouch!\" he groaned savagely. \"My ankle is as black as a thundercloud\nalready. It feels just like a thunderstorm, too--all heavy throbs an'\nlightning shoots of pain!\"\n\nThe trail of those fiery darts could be traced in the livid blue and\nyellow streaks that were turning the rapidly swelling ankle, in which\nthe ligaments were badly torn, to as many hues as Joseph's coat, against\na background of sullen black.\n\n\"Well! this is the--limit!\" Coombsie dropped the lunch-basket, to which\nhe had clung faithfully, into a nest of underbrush: with a probable\nlogging-road within reach that might serve as a clue to lead them\nsomewhere, here was one of their number with a thunderstorm in his\nankle!\n\nAnd then the hero that dwelt in the shadow of the savage in that\ncontradictory breast of Leon Chase flashed awake again in a moment, as\nat Big Swamp; the real plucky boyhood in him shone out like a star!\n\n\"'Twill be dark--in the woods--before very long,\" he said, his voice\nsprained too by pain, while his clammy face, still coated with the\nred-ochre pigment of Varney's Paintpot, smeared by the drops of agony\nand his coat-sleeve, was a lurid sight. \"You fellows will have to hustle\nif you want to reach that road--if it is a logging-road--and get out of\nthe woods before night! I can hardly--hobble. I'd better stay here:\nBlink will stay with me; won't you, pup? When you boys get home--let my\nfather know--he and Jim will come out an' find me; they know every inch\nof the woods.\"\n\n\"And leave you alone in the woods for hours? Not I, for one!\" The\nscout's answer was decisive, so were the loyal protests of the other two\nlads.\n\nBlink, with a shrewd comprehension that something was wrong with his\nmaster, had been alternately licking Leon's ear and the inflamed pads of\nhis own paws. At the mention of his name he pressed so close to the\nvictim's side, sitting bolt upright on his haunches, that their two\nbodies might have been joined at one point like the trunks of the freak\ntree. And the purple fidelity lights in his brown eyes said plainly\nthat not hunger, thirst, or lonely death itself, could separate him from\nthe being who was a greater fellow in his eyes than any scout of the\nU.S.A.\n\nThe other three boys were at that stage of fatigue and discomfiture when\nthe well of emotion is easily pumped; their eyes grew moist at the dog's\nsteadfast look.\n\nBut the scout shook himself brusquely as if trying to awake something\nwithin.\n\n\"We ought to be able to fix you up so that you can get along to that\nlittle clearing, anyhow!\" he said, his mind busy with the sixth point of\nthe scout law and how under these circumstances he could best live up to\nit and help an injured comrade. \"We might form a chair-carry, Col and I,\nbut the undergrowth ahead is too thick; we couldn't wrestle\nthrough--three abreast. Ha! we'd better make a crutch for you; that's\nthe idea! There's a birch sapling, neat an' handy, as an Irishman would\nsay!\"\n\nAnd the ubiquitous white birch, the wood-man's friend, came into play\nagain. Its slim trunk, being wrenched from the ground, roots and all,\nand trimmed off with Nixon's knife, formed a fair prop.\n\n\"Chuck me your handkerchiefs!\" said the crutch-maker to the other two\nuninjured boys. \"We'll pad the top of it, so that it won't dig into his\narmpit. Now then, Leon! get this under your right arm and put your left\none round my neck--that will fix you up to hobble a short distance.\"\n\nA half-reluctant grin, distorted by agony, convulsed Leon's face as,\nleaning hard upon the white-birch prop, he arose and limped a few steps;\nhe recollected how at odd moments in the woods--whenever there wasn't\ntoo much doing--he had believed that he held a grudge against the scout\nfor making him yield one sharply contested point and that about such an\ninfinitesimal thing in his eyes as the brief life of a chipmunk.\n\n\"Oh! I guess I can limp along with the crutch,\" he said, smearing the\ndew of pain over his bedaubed face, now ghastly under the paint.\n\n\"Go on; you're only wasting time!\" Nixon drew the other's left arm with\nits moist cold hand around his neck--all the heat in Leon's body had\ngone to swell the thunderstorm in his ankle.\n\nAnd thus plowing, stumbling through the undergrowth, the scout's right\nhand keeping the impudent twigs from poking his companion's eyes out,\nthey reached the narrow clearing along which the ambient light of a\nSeptember sunset flowed like a golden river.\n\nNo coveted log shanty, where at least they could encamp for the night,\ndecorated it.\n\nBut on its opposite side there loomed before the boys' eyes as they\nissued from the woods a great, lichen-covered rock, over twenty feet\nhigh, with a deep cavernous opening that yawned like a sleepy mouth at\nsunset as it swallowed the rays streaming into it.\n\n\"Glory halleluiah! it's the Bear's Den--at last,\" ejaculated Leon, pain\nmomentarily eclipsed. \"Thanks, Nix: you're a horse!\" as he withdrew his\narm from his comrade's shoulders. \"But that cave is about five miles\nfrom anywhere--from any opening in the woods! What on earth are we going\nto do now?\"\n\n\"Why! light a fire the first thing, I guess,\" returned the boy scout\npractically.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE FRICTION FIRE\n\n\n\"We haven't got any matches to start a fire with!\" Coombsie sat down in\na pool of gold with the well-nigh empty basket beside him, and turned\nbaffled eyes upon the others.\n\n\"I have a few in a safety box in my pocket. Thank goodness! I didn't go\nback on our scout motto: 'Be Prepared!' so far as matches are concerned,\nanyway.\" Nixon felt in each pocket of his Norfolk jacket with a face\nthat lengthened dismally under the smears of Varney's Paintpot.\n\"_Gone!_\" he ejaculated despairingly. \"I must have lost the box!\"\n\n\"It probably dropped out of your pocket into the grass when I tied our\ncoats round the chest-nut-tree, to prevent that young <DW53> from\n'lighting down,'\" suggested Leon, and _his_ face grew pinched; it was\nnot a refreshing memory that conjured up a picture of Raccoon Junior\nlimping back to the hole among the ledges near Big Swamp, with a leg\nbroken by his stone, at the moment when a fellow had a whole\nthunderstorm in his ankle.\n\n\"Well! we're up against it now,\" gasped the scout. \"We can't get out\nof the woods to-night; that's sure! We could sleep in the cave and be\njolly comfortable too\"--he stooped down and examined its wide\ninterior--\"if we only had a fire. But, without a camp-fire or a single\nblanket, we'll be uncomfortable enough when it comes on dark; these\nSeptember nights are chilly.\"\n\nHe threw his hat on the ground, drew his coat-sleeve across his ruddy\nforehead, rendering his bedaubed countenance slightly more grotesque\nthan before. He had forgotten that it was smeared, forgotten paint and\nfrolic. An old look descended upon his face.\n\nHe was desperately tired. Every muscle of his body ached. His head was\nconfused too from long wandering among the trees; his thoughts seemed to\nskip back into the woods away from him; he felt himself stalking them as\nBlink would stalk a rabbit. But there was one thing more alive in him at\nthat moment than ever before, a sense of protective responsibility.\n\nWith Leon disabled and the two younger boys completely worn out, it\nrested with him alone to turn a night in the Bear's Den into a mere\n\"corking\" adventure, or to let it drag by as a dark age of discomfort\nwith certainly bad results for two of the party. Nixon had felt Leon's\nhand as it slipped from his neck at the edge of the clearing, it was\nclammy as ice; his first-aid training as a scout told him that the\ninjured lad would feel the cold bitterly during the night.\n\nStarrie Chase would probably \"stick it out without squealing,\" as in\nsuch circumstances he would try to do himself. But it would be a hard\nexperience. And young Colin's clothing was still sodden from his partial\nimmersion in Big Swamp. It was one of those moments for the Scout of the\nU.S.A. when the potential father in the boy is awake.\n\n\"I've _got_ to fix things up for the night, somehow,\" he wearily told\nhimself aloud. \"I wonder--I wonder if I could manage to start a fire\nwithout matches--with 'rubbing-sticks'? I did it once when we were\ncamping out with our scoutmaster. But he helped me. If I could only get\nthe fire, now, 'twould be a--great--stunt!\"\n\n\"'Start a fire without matches!' You're crazy!\" Colin and Coombsie\nlooked sideways at him; they had heard of people being \"turned round\" in\ntheir heads by much woodland wandering.\n\n\"Shut up, you two!\" commanded Leon, suddenly imperious. \"He knows what\nhe's about. He did a good stunt in helping me along here.\"\n\n\"If I could only find the right kinds of wood to start a friction\nfire--balsam fir for the fireboard and drill, and a little chunk of\ncedarwood to be shredded into tinder!\" The boy scout was eagerly\nscanning the trees on either side of the grass-grown logging-road, trees\nwhich at this moment seemed to have their roots in the forest soil and\ntheir heads in Heaven's own glory.\n\n\"_There's_ a fir-tree! Among those pines--a little way along the road!\"\nLeon spoke in that slow, stiff voice, sprained by pain. \"Perhaps I can\nhelp you--Nix?\"\n\n\"No, you lie still, but chuck me your knife, it's stronger than mine! I\nought to have two tools for preparing the 'rubbing-sticks,' so the Chief\nScout tells us in our book, but I'll have to get along somehow with our\npocketknives.\"\n\nNix Warren was off up the road as he spoke; hope, responsibility, and\nambition toward the performance of a \"great stunt,\" forming a fighting\ntrio to get the better of weariness.\n\nThe glory was waning from the tree-tops when he returned, bearing with\nhim one sizeable chunk of balsamic fir-wood and a long stick from the\nsame tree.\n\n\"Any sort of stick will do for the bent bow which is attached to the\ndrill and works it; that's what our book says,\" he murmured, as if\nconning over a lesson. \"Who's got a leather shoe-lace? You have--cowhide\nlaces--in those high boots of yours, Colin! Mind letting me have one?\"\n\nThe speaker was excitedly setting to work, now, fashioning the flat\nfireboard from the chunk of fir-wood, carving a deep notch in its side,\nand scooping out a shallow hole at the inner end of the notch into which\nthe point of the upright drill would fit.\n\nIn feeling, he was the primitive man again, this modern boy scout: he\nwas that grand old savage ancestor of prehistoric times into whose ear\nGod whispered the secret, unknown to beast or bird, of creating light\nand warmth for himself and those dependent on him, when the sun forsook\nthem.\n\n\"Say! can't you fellows get busy and collect some materials for a fire,\ndry chips and pine-splinters--fat pine-splinters--and dead branches?\nThere's plenty of good fuel around! You wood-finders'll have a cinch!\"\n\nIt certainly was a signal act of faith in Colin and Coombsie when they\nbestirred their weary limbs to obey this command from the wizard who was\nto try and evoke the mysterious fire-element latent in the combustible\nwood he handled, but hard to get at without the aids which civilization\nplaces at man's disposal.\n\nThey each kept a corner of their inquisitive eyes upon him while they\ncollected the fuel, watching the shaping of the notched fireboard, of\nthe upright pointed drill, over a dozen inches in length, and the\nconstruction of a rude bow out of a supple stick found on the clearing,\nwith Colin's cowhide shoe-lace made fast to each end as the cord or\nstrap that bent the bow.\n\nThis cord was twisted once round the upper part of the drill whose lower\npoint fitted into the shallow hole in the fireboard.\n\n\"Whew! I must find a piece of pine-wood with a knot in it and scoop that\nknot out, so that it will form a disc for the top of the drill in which\nit will turn easily,\" said the perspiring scout. \"Oh, sugarloons! I've\nforgotten all about the _tinder_; we may have to trot a long way into\nthe woods to find a cedar-tree.\"\n\n\"I'll go with you, Nix,\" proffered Marcoo, while Leon, lying on the\nground near the cave, with his dog pressing close to him, undertook the\ntask of scooping that soft knot out of the pine-disk.\n\n\"All right; bring along the tin mug out of your basket; perhaps we may\nfind water!\"\n\nAnd they did! Oh, blessed find! Wearily they trudged back about sixty\nyards into the woods, in an opposite direction from that in which they\nhad traveled before--Nixon taking the precaution of breaking off a twig\nfrom every second or third tree so as to mark the trail--before they lit\non a grove of young cedars through which ran a sound, now a purling sob,\nnow a tinkling laugh; softer, more angel-like, than the wind's mirth!\n\n\"_Water!_ A spring! Oh--tooraloo!\" And they drank their fill, bringing\nback, along with the cedar-wood for tinder--water, as much as their tin\nvessel would hold, for the two boys and dog keeping watch over the\nfire-sticks on the old bear's camping-ground.\n\nThe soft cedar was shredded into tinder between two stones. The drill\nwas set up with its lower point resting in the notched hole of the\nfire-board, its upper point fitting into the pine-disk which Nixon\nsteadied with his hand.\n\nThen the boy scout began to work the bent bow which passed through a\nhole in the upper part of the drill, steadily to and fro, slowly turning\nthat drill, grinding its lower point into the punky wood of the\nfireboard.\n\nIn the eye of each of the four boys the coveted spark already glowed,\ndrilled by excitement out of the dead wood of his fatigue.\n\nEven the dog, his jaws gaping, his tongue lolling out, lay stretched at\nattention, his gaze intent upon the central figure of the boy scout\nworking the strapped bow backward and forward, turning the pointed drill\nthat bored into the fireboard.\n\nGround-up wood began to fall through the notch in the fireboard adjacent\nto the hole upon another slab of wood which Nixon had placed as a tray\nbeneath it.\n\nThis powdered wood was brown. Slowly it turned black. Was that smoke?\n\nIt was a strange tableau, the four disheveled boys with their\nred-smeared faces, the painted clown's dog, all holding their breath\nintent upon the primitive miracle of the fire-birth.\n\nSmoke it was! _Increasing smoke!_ And in its tiny cloud suddenly\nappeared the miracle--a dull red spark at the heart of the black wood\ndust.\n\n\"What do you know about that?\" Marcoo's voice was thick.\n\n\"Gee! that's a--wonderful--stunt. I guess you could light a fire with a\npiece of damp bark and a snowball!\" Leon looked up at the panting scout.\n\nColin's mind was telegraphing back to the moment when he lay on the\nsalt-marshes that morning, hungry for the woods. If any one had told him\nthat, before night, he would assist at a forest drama like this!\n\n\"Hush! Don't speak for fear you'd hoodoo it! We haven't got it yet--the\nfire! Perhaps--perhaps--I can't make it burn.\" It was the most wonderful\nmoment of his life for the boy scout as he now took a pinch of the\ncedar-wood tinder, half-enclosed in a piece of paper-like birch-bark and\nheld it down upon the red fire-germ--in all following the teaching of\nthe great Chief Scout.\n\nThen he lifted the slab of wood that served as tray, bearing the ruddy\nfire-embryo and tinder, and blew upon it evenly, gently. It blazed. The\nmiracle was complete.\n\n\"_Wonderful stunt!_\" murmured Starrie Chase again. His hand in its\nrestless uneasiness had been plucking large flakes of moss from the gray\nrock behind him and turning them over, revealing the medicinal gold\nthread that embroidered the earthy underside of the sod; he was sucking\nthat bitter fibre--supposed to be good for a sore mouth, but no panacea\nfor a sprained ankle--while a like gold thread of fascinated speculation\nembroidered the ruddy mask of his face.\n\n\"Hurrah! we'll have a fire right away now, that will talk to us all\nnight long.\" The triumphant scout lowered the flame-bud to the ground,\npiled over it some of the resinous pine-splinters and strips of\ninflammatory bark, fanning it steadily with his hat. In a few minutes a\nrollicking camp-fire was roaring in front of the old Bear's Den.\n\n\"Now! we must gather some big chunks, dry roots and stumps, to keep the\nfire going through the night, cut sods to put round it and prevent its\nspreading into the woods, and break up some pine-tips to strew in the\ncave for a bed. There's lots of work ahead still, fellows, before we can\nbe snug for the night!\"\n\nThe scout, having got his second breath with his great achievement, was\nworking hard as he spoke; Marcoo and Colin followed his example in\nrenewed spirits. Leon, chafing at his own inactivity, tried to stand and\nsank down with a groan.\n\n\"How's the thunderstorm sprain?\" they asked him.\n\n\"Worse--ugh-h! And I'm parched with thirst--still!\"\n\n\"Well, we'll lope off into the woods and bring you back some more water.\nIf you'll leave a little in the bottom of the mug I'll soak our\nhandkerchiefs in it and wrap them round your ankle; cold applications\nmay relieve the pain;\" the scout was recalling what he had learned about\nfirst aid to the injured.\n\nDarkness descended upon the old bear's stamping-ground. But the\ncamp-fire burned gloriously, throwing off now and again a foam of flame\nwhose rosy clots lit in the crevices of the tall rock and bloomed there\nfor an instant like scarlet flowers.\n\nThe work necessary in making camp for the night done, the four boys\ngathered round it, dividing their scanty rations, the scraps of food\nleft in Coombsie's basket, and speculating as to how early in the\nmorning a search-party would come out and find them.\n\n\"Toiney Leduc will certainly be one of the party. Toiney is a regular\nscout; he's only been here a year, but he knows the woods well,\"\nremarked Leon, then was silent a minute, gazing wistfully into the heart\nof the flames which filled the pause with snappy conversational\nfire-works.\n\n\"Tell us something about this boy scout business, bo'!\" he spoke again\nin the slow, sprained voice, his feverish eyes burning into the fire,\nhis tone making the slangy little abbreviation stand for brother, as he\naddressed Nixon. \"It seems as if it might be The Thing--starting that\nfire was a great stunt--and if it's The Thing--every fellow wants to be\nin it!\"\n\n\"Oh! you don't know what good times we have,\" began the scout.\n\nAnd briefly skimming from one point to another, he told of the origin of\nthe Boy Scout Movement far away in Africa during the defense of a\nbesieged city, and of the great English general, the friend of boys, who\nhad fathered that movement.\n\nLeon's eyes narrowed as he still gazed into the camp-fire: it was a long\ndescent from the defense of a beleaguered city to the championship of a\nbesieged chipmunk, but his quick mind grasped the principle of fiery\nchivalry underlying both--one and the same.\n\n\"Can you sing some more of that U.S.A. song which you were shouting in\nthe woods near the log camp?\" Marcoo broke in, as the narrator dwelt on\nthose good times spent in hiking, trailing, camping with the\nscoutmaster.\n\n\"Perhaps I can--a verse or two! That's the latest for the Boy Scouts of\nAmerica--the Scouts of the old U.S. Don't know whether I have a pinch of\nbreath left, though!\"\n\nAnd the flagging voice began, gathering gusto from the camp-fire, glee\nfrom the stars now winking through the pine-tops:--\n\n  \"Mile after mile in rank or file,\n    We tramp through field and wood:\n  Or off we hike down path or pike,\n    One glorious brotherhood.\n      Hurrah for the woods, hurrah for the fields,\n        Hurrah for the life that's free!\n      With a body and mind both clean and kind,\n        The Scout's is the life for me!\"\n\n\"Chorus, fellows!\" he cried:--\n\n  We will fight, fight, fight, for the right, right, right,\n   \"Be prepared\" both night and day;\n  and we'll shout, shout, shout, for the Scout, Scout, Scout,\n   for the Scouts of the U.S.A.\n\nThe rolling music in the pine-trees, the reedy whistle of the breeze\namong beeches and birches, soft cluck of rocking branches, the bagpipe\nskirling of the flames leaping high, fluted and green-edged, all came in\non that chorus; together with the four boyish voices and the bark of the\ndog as he bayed the blaze: the night woods rang for the Scouts of the\nU.S.A.\n\n  \"If when night comes down we are far from town,\n    Both tired and happy too,\n  Camp-fires we light and by embers bright\n    We sleep the whole night through.\n      Hurrah for the sun, hurrah for the storm,\n        Hurrah for the stars above!\n      We feel secure, safe, sane and sure,\n        For we know that God is Love.\"\n\n\"Why have you that knot in your tie?\" asked Leon after the last note had\ndied away in forest-echo, while the scout was wetting the bandages round\nhis inflamed ankle before they crept into the cave to sleep.\n\n\"To remind me to do one good turn to somebody every day.\"\n\n\"Well, you can untie it now; I guess you've done good turns by the bunch\nto-day!\"\n\nLying presently upon the fragrant pine-tips with which they had strewn\nthe interior of the cave, the scout's tired fingers fumbled for that\nknot and drowsily undid it. He had lost both way and temper in the\nwoods. But he had tried, at least, to obey the scout law of kindness.\n\nAs he lay on guard, nearest to the cave's entrance, winking back at the\nstars, this brought him a happy sense of that wide brotherhood whose\ncradle is God's Everlasting Arms.\n\nFrom the well of his sleepy excitement two words bubbled up: \"Our\nFather!\" Rolling over until his nose burrowed among the fragrant\nevergreens, he repeated the Lord's Prayer, adding--because this had been\nan eventful day--a brief petition which had been put into his lips by\nhis scoutmaster and was uttered under unusual stress of feeling, or when\nhe remembered it: That in helpfulness to others and loyalty to good he\nmight be a follower of the Lord of Chivalry, Jesus Christ, and continue\nhis faithful soldier and servant \"until the scout's last trail is done!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was almost morning when he awoke for the second time, having stirred\nhis tired limbs once already to replenish the camp-fire.\n\nNow that hard-won fire had waned to a dull red shading on the undersides\nof velvety logs, the remainder of whose surface was of a chilly gray\nfrom which each passing breeze flicked the white flakes of ash like\nhalf-shriveled moths.\n\n\"Whew! I must punch up the fire again--but it's hard to get the kinks\nout o' my backbone;\" he straightened his curled-up spine with difficulty\nand stumbled out on the camping-ground.\n\nIt was that darkest hour before dawn. The stars were waning as well as\nthe fire. The trees which had been friends in the daytime were\nspectators now. Each wrapped in its dark mantle, they seemed to stand\ncuriously aloof, watching him.\n\nHe attacked the logs with a stick, poking them together and thrusting a\ndry branch into the ruddy nest where the fire still hatched.\n\nSnip! Snap! Crackle! the flames awoke. Mingling with their reviving\nlaughter, came a low, strange cluck that was not the voice of the fire,\nimmediately followed by a long shrill cry with a wavering trill in it,\nnot unlike human mirth.\n\nIt hailed from some point in the scout's rear.\n\n\"For heaven's sake!\" The stick shook in his fingers. \"Can it be a\nwildcat--or another <DW53>?\"\n\nStiffly he wheeled round. His eyes traveled up the great rock--in whose\ncave his companions lay sleeping; as they gained the top of that old\ngrayback, they were confronted by two other eyes--mere twinkling points\nof flame!\n\nThe scout's scalp seemed to lift like a blown-off roof. His throat grew\nvery dry.\n\nAt the same moment there was a noiseless flitting as of a shadow from\nthe rock's crest to a near-by tree whence came the weird cry again.\n\n\"_An owl!_ Well, forevermore! And my hair is standing straight still!\"\n\n\"_What is it?_ _What is it, Nix?_\" came in muffled cries from the cave.\n\n\"Only a screech owl; it's unusual to find one so far in the woods as\nthis!\"\n\nAs it happened two ruddy screech owls, faithful lovers and monogamists,\nwhich had dwelt together as Darby and Joan in the hollow of an old\napple-tree in a distant orchard, being persecuted both by boys and blue\njays, had eschewed civilization, isolating themselves, at least from the\nformer, in the woods.\n\nAs dawn broke between the tall pines and a pale river of daylight flowed\nalong the logging-road, they were seen, both together, upon a low bough,\nwith the dawn breeze fluffing their thick, rufous plumage, making them\nlook larger than they really were, and their heads slowly turning from\nside to side, trying to discover the meaning of a camp-fire and other\nstrange doings in this their retreat.\n\n\"Oo-oo! look at them,\" hooted Colin softly, creeping out of the cave and\nstealthily approaching their birch-tree. \"They have yellow eyes and\nfaces like kittens. Huh! they're more comical than a basket of monkeys.\nOh, there they go.\"\n\nFor even as his hand was put forth to touch them, they vanished\nsilently as the ebbing shadows in the train of night.\n\n\"This must be a great place for owls,\" said Leon, blinking like\none--not until far on in the night had he slept owing to the\nwrenching pain in his ankle. \"Listen! there goes the big old\nhooter--the great horned owl--the Grand Duke we call him. Hear\nhim 'way off: 'Whoo-whoo-hoo-doo-whoo!' Sounds almost like a wolf\nhowling! _Ou-ouch!_\"\n\n\"Is your ankle hurting badly, Starrie?\"\n\n\"It's--fierce.\"\n\n\"Daylight is coming fast now; I'll be able to find the spring and wet\nthose bandages again--and bring you a drink too\"; this from the scout.\n\n\"Thanks. You're the boy, Nix!\"\n\nThe brotherly act accomplished, there was silence in the cave where the\nfour boys had again stretched themselves while young Day crept up over\nthe woods.\n\nSuddenly Leon's voice was heard ambiguously muttering in the cave's\nrecess: \"If it's The Thing, every fellow wants to be in it!\"\n\n\"Say! fellows, I've got an idea,\" he put forth aloud.\n\n\"Out with it, if it's worth anything!\" from Colin.\n\n\"Oh, for heaven's sake, Leon! get it out quick, and let us go to sleep\nagain!\" pleaded Coombsie, who knew that if Starrie Chase was oppressed\nby an idea, other boys would hear it in his time, not in theirs.\n\n\"I propose that after we get home--when my ankle is better--we start a\nboy scout patrol in our town and call it the Owl Patrol! I guess we've\nheard the owls--different kinds--often enough to-night, to be able to\nimitate one or other of them.\"\n\n\"Good enough! The Scout's is the life for me!\" sang out Colin.\n\n\"The motion is seconded and carried--now let's go to sleep!\" from\nMarcoo.\n\n\"As I expect to stay in these parts for six months, or longer, I'll get\ntransferred from the Philadelphia Peewits to the new patrol!\" decided\nNixon.\n\n\"Bully for you! We'll ask Kenjo Red and Sweetsie to come in; they're\ndandy fellows--and who else?\" Leon hesitated.\n\n\"Why don't you get hold of that frightened boy who was with Toiney on\nthe edge of the woods? We had a boy like him in our Philadelphia troop,\"\nwent on Nixon hurriedly, ignoring a surge of protest. \"Scared of his own\nshadow he was! Abnormal timidity--with a long Latin name--due to\npre-natal influences, according to the doctors! Well, our scoutmaster\nmanaged somehow to enlist him as a tenderfoot. When he got out into the\nwoods with us and found that every other scout was trying to help him to\nbecome a 'fellow,' why! he began to crawl out of his shell. He's getting\nto be quite a boy now!\"\n\n\"But the '_Hare_'! he'd spoil--_Ouch!_\" A sudden wrench of agony as Leon\nmoved restlessly put the pointed question as to whether the mental pain\nwhich Harold Greer suffered might not be as hard to drag round as a\nthunderstorm ankle.\n\n\"All right, Nix! Enlist him if you can! I guess you'll have to pass on\nwho comes into the new patrol.\"\n\nColin dug his nose into the pine-tips with a skeptical chuckle: that new\npatrol would have a big contract on hand, he thought, if it was to\ngather up the wild, waste energy of Leon,--that element in him which\nparents and teachers sought to eradicate,--turn it to good account, and\ntake the fright out of the Hare.\n\nBut from the woods came a deep bass whoop that sounded encouraging: the\nWhoo-whoo-hoo-doo-whoo! of the Grand Duke bidding the world\ngood-morning ere he went into retreat for the day.\n\nIt was answered by the Whoo-whoo-whooah-whoo! of a brother owl, also\nlifting up his voice before sunrise.\n\n\"Listen, fellows!\" cried Leon excitedly. \"_Listen!_ The feathered owls\nthemselves are cheering the Owl Patrol.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nMEMBERS OF THE LOCAL COUNCIL\n\n\nAnd thus the new patrol was started.\n\nThree weeks after the September morning when an anxious search-party led\nby Asa Chase, Leon's father, and by that clever woodsman Toiney Leduc,\nhad started out at dawn to search the dense woods for four missing boys,\nand found a grotesque-looking quartette with faces piebald from the\nhalf-effaced smears of Varney's Paintpot, breakfasting on blueberries\nand water by a still ruddy camp-fire,--three weeks after those morning\nwoods had rung with Toiney's shrill \"Hola!\" the first meeting for the\nformation of the Owl Patrol was held.\n\nIn virtue of his being already a boy scout with a year's training behind\nhim, Nixon Warren was elected patrol leader; and Leon Starr Chase who\nstill limped as a result of his reckless descent of that freak\npine-tree, was made second in rank with the title of corporal--or\nassistant patrol leader.\n\nAmong the half-dozen spectators, leading men of the small town, who had\nassembled to witness the inaugural doings at this first meeting and to\nlend their approval to the new movement for the boys, there appeared one\nwho was lamer than Leon, his halting step being due to a year-old injury\nwhich condemned him to limp somewhat for the remainder of his life.\n\nThis was Captain Andrew Davis, popularly known as Captain Andy, who had\nbeen for thirty years a Gloucester fishing-skipper, one of the\npresent-day Vikings who sail forth from the Queen Fishing City at the\nhead of its blue harbor.\n\nHe had commanded one fine fishing-vessel after another, was known along\nthe water-front and among the fishing-fleet as a \"crackerjack\" and\n\"driver,\" with other more complimentary titles. He had got the better of\nthe sea in a hundred raging battles on behalf of himself and others. But\nit partially worsted him at last by wrecking his vessel in what he\nmildly termed a \"November breeze\"--in reality a howling hurricane--and\nby laming him for life when at the height of the storm the schooner's\nmain-boom fell on him.\n\nHe was dragged forth from under it, half-dead, but, \"game to the last,\"\nrefused to be carried below. Lashed to the weather main-bitt--one of\nthe sawed-off posts rising from the vessel's deck to which the\nmain-sheet was made fast--in order to prevent his being swept overboard\nby the great seas washing over that deck, he had kept barking out orders\nand fighting for the lives of his crew so long as he could command a\nbreath.\n\n\"And I didn't lose a man, Doc!\" he said long afterwards to his friend\nand admirer, the Exmouth doctor, the hard-working physician with whose\nlong-suffering bell Leon had mischievously tampered. \"I didn't lose a\nman--only the vessel. When the gale blew down we had to take to the\ndories, for she was just washing to pieces under us. Too bad: she was an\nable vessel too! But I guess I'll have to 'take my medicine' for the\nrest of my life--an' take it limping!\"--with a rueful smile.\n\nBut the many waters through which he had passed had not quenched in\nCaptain Andy the chivalrous love for his human brothers. Rather did they\nbaptize and freshen it until it sprouted anew, after he took up his\nresidence ashore, in a paternal love for boys which kept his great heart\nyouthful in his massive, sixty-year-old body; and which kept him\nhopefully dreaming, too, of deeds that shall be done by the sons now\nbeing reared for Uncle Sam, that shall rival or outshine the knightly\nfeats of their fathers both on land and sea.\n\nSo he smiled happily, this grand old sea-scout, as, on the occasion of\nthe first meeting for the inauguration of the Boy Scout Movement, he\nheaved his powerful frame into a seat beside his friend the doctor who\nwas equally interested in the new doings.\n\n\"Hi there, Doc!\" said Captain Andy joyously, laying his hand, big and\nwarm as a tea-kettle, on the doctor's arm, \"we're launching a new boat\nfor the boys to-night, eh? Seems to me that it's an able craft too--this\nnew movement--intended to keep the lads goin' ahead under all the sail\nthey can carry, and on a course where they'll get the benefit of the\nbest breezes, too.\"\n\n\"That's how it strikes me,\" returned the doctor. \"If it will only keep\nStarrie Chase, as they call him, sailing in an opposite direction to my\ndoorbell, I'm sure I shall bless it! D'you know, Andy,\" the gray-bearded\nphysician addressed the weatherbeaten sea-fighter beside him as he had\ndone when they were schoolboys together, \"when I heard how that boy Leon\nhad sprained his ankle badly in the woods and that the family had sent\nfor me, I said: 'Serve him right! _Let_ him be tied by the leg for a\nwhile and meditate on the mischief of his ways; I'm not going to see\nhim!' Of course, before the words were well out, I had picked up my bag\nand was on my way to the Chase homestead!\"\n\n\"Of course you were!\" Captain Andy beamed upon his friend until his\nlarge face with its coating of ruddy tan flamed like an aurora borealis\nunder the electric lights of the little town hall in which the first boy\nscout meeting was held. \"Trust you, Doc!\"\n\nThe ex-skipper knew that no man of his acquaintance lived up to the\ntwelve points of the scout law in more thorough fashion than did this\ncountry doctor, who never by day or night closed his ears against the\ncall of distress.\n\n\"I'll say this much for the young rascal, he was ashamed to see me bring\nout my bandages\"; the doctor now nodded humorously in the direction of\nLeon Chase, who made one of a semicircle composed of Nixon, himself and\nsix other boys, at present seated round the young scoutmaster whom they\nhad chosen to be leader of the new movement in their town.\n\n\"But by and by his tongue loosened somewhat,\" went on the grizzled\nmedical man, \"and he began to take me into his confidence about the\nformation of this boy scout patrol; he seemed more taken up with that\nthan with what he called 'the thunderstorm in his ankle.' Leon isn't one\nto knuckle under much to pain, anyhow! Somehow, as he talked, I began to\nfeel as if we hadn't been properly facing the problem of our boys in and\nabout this town, Andy.\"\n\n\"I see what you mean!\" Captain Andrew nodded. \"Leon is as full of tricks\nas a tide rip in a gale o' wind. An' that's the most mischievous thing I\nknow!\" with a reminiscent chuckle. \"But what can you do? If a boy is\nchockfull o' bubbling energy that's going round an' round in a whirl\ninside him, like the rip, it's bound to boil over in mischief, if there\nain't a deep channel to draw it off.\"\n\n\"That's just it! Ours is a slow little town--not much doing for the\nboys! Not even a male teacher in our graded schools to organize hikes\nand athletics for them! I am afraid that more than one lad with no\nnatural criminal tendency, has got into trouble, been ultimately sent to\na reformatory, owing to a lack in the beginning of some outlet safe and\nexciting for that surplus energy of which you speak. Take the case of\nDave Baldwin, for instance, son of that old Ma'am Baldwin who lives over\non the salt-marshes!\" The doctor's face took on a sorry expression.\n\"There was nothing really bad in him, I think! Just too much tide rip!\nHe was the counterpart of this boy Leon, with a craving for excitement,\na wild energy in him that boiled over at times in irregular pranks--like\nthe rip--as you say.\"\n\n\"And you know what makes _that_ so dangerous?\" Captain Andy's sigh was\nheaved from the depths of past experience. \"Well! with certain shoals\nan' ledges in the ocean there's too much water crowded onto 'em at low\ntide, so it just boils chock up from the bottom like a pot, goes round\nand round in a whirl, strings out, foamy an' irregular, for miles. It's\n'day, day!' to the vessel that once gets well into it, for you never\nknow where 'twill strike you.\n\n\"And it's pretty much the same with a lively boy, Doc: at low tide, when\nthere's nothing doing, too much o' something is crowded onto the ledges\nin him, an' when it froths over, it gets himself and others into\ntrouble. Keep him interested--swinging ahead on a high tide of activity\nunder all the sail he can carry, and there's no danger of the rip\nforming. That's what this Boy Scout Movement aims at, I guess! It looks\nto me--my word! it _does_ look to me--as if Leon was already 'deepening\nthe water some,' to-night,\" wound up Captain Andy with a gratified\nsmile, scrutinizing the face of Starrie Chase, which was at this moment\nmarked by a new and purposeful eagerness as he discussed the various\nrequirements of the tenderfoot test, the elementary knowledge to be\nmastered before the next meeting, ere he could take the scout oath, be\ninvested with the tenderfoot scout badge and be enrolled among the Boy\nScouts of America.\n\n\"A movement such as this might have been the saving of Dave Baldwin,\"\nsighed the Doctor. \"He was always playing such wild tricks. People kept\nwarning him to 'cut it out' or he would surely get into trouble. But the\n'tide rip' within seemed too much for him. No foghorn warnings made any\nimpression. I've been thinking lately of the saying of one wise man:\n'Hitherto there has been too much foghorn and too little bugle in our\ntreatment of the boys!' Too much croaking at them: too little challenge\nto advance! So I said to the new scoutmaster, Harry Estey, Colin's\nbrother,\" nodding toward a tall young man who was the centre of the\neager ring of boys, \"I said, 'give Leon the _bugle_: give it to him\nliterally and figuratively: you'll need a bugler in your boy scout camp\nand I'll pay for the lessons; it will be a better pastime for him than\nfixing my doorbell.'\"\n\n\"I hope 'twill keep him from tormenting that lonely old woman over on\nthe marshes; the boys of this town have made her life a burden to her,\"\nsaid Captain Andy, thinking of that female recluse \"Ma'am Baldwin,\" to\nwhom allusion had been made by Colin and Coombsie on the memorable day\nwhich witnessed their headstrong expedition into the woods. \"She has\nbeen regarded as fair game by them because she's a grain cranky an'\npeculiar, owing to the trouble she's had about her son. He was the\nyoungest, born when she was middle-aged--perhaps she spoiled him a\nlittle. Come to think of it, Doc, I saw the young scape-grace a few days\nago when I was down the river in my power-boat! He was skulking like a\nfox round those Sugar-loaf Sand-Dunes near the bay.\"\n\n\"How did he look?\"\n\n\"Oh, shrunken an' dirty, like a winter's day!\" Captain Andy was\naccustomed to the rough murkiness of a winter day on mid-ocean\nfishing-grounds. \"He made off when he saw me heading for him. He's\nnothing but an idle vagrant now, who spends his time loafing between\nthose white dunes and the woods on t' other side o' the river. He got\nwork on a farm after he was discharged from the reformatory, but didn't\nstick to it. Other fellows shunned him, I guess! Folks say that he's\nbeen mixed up in some petty thefts of lumber from the shipyards lately,\nothers that he keeps a row-boat stowed away in the pocket of a little\ncreek near the dunes, and occasionally does smuggling in a small way\nfrom a vessel lying out in the bay. But that's only a yarn! He couldn't\ndodge the revenue officers. Anyhow, it's too bad that Dave should have\ngone the way he has! He's only 'a boy of a man' yet, not more'n\ntwenty-three. When I was about that age I shipped on the same vessel\nwith Dave's father--she was a trawler bound for Gran' Banks--we made\nmore than one trip together on her. He was a white man; and--\"\n\n\"_Captain Andy!_\" A voice ringing and eager, the voice of the\nscoutmaster of the new patrol who had just received his certificate from\nheadquarters, interrupted the captain's recollections of Dave Baldwin's\nfather. \"Captain Andy, will you undertake to instruct these boys in\nknot-tying, before our next meeting, so that they may be able to tie the\nfour knots which form part of the tenderfoot test, and be enrolled as\nscouts two weeks from now?\"\n\n\"Sakes! yes; I'll teach 'em. And if any one of 'em is such a lubber that\nhe won't set himself to learn, why, I'll spank him with a dried codfish\nas if I had him aboard a fishing-vessel. Belay that!\"\n\nAnd the ex-skipper's eye roved challengingly toward the scout recruits\nfrom under the heavy lid and short bristling eyelashes which overhung\nits blue like a fringed cloud-bank.\n\nThe threat was welcomed with an outburst of laughter.\n\n\"And, Doctor, will you give us some talks on first-aid to the injured,\nafter we get the new patrol fairly started?\" Scoutmaster Estey, Colin's\nelder brother, looked now at the busy physician, who, with Captain Andy\nand other prominent townsmen, including the clergymen of diverse creeds,\nwas a member of the local council of the Boy Scouts of America which had\nbeen recently formed in the little town.\n\n\"Yes; you may rely on me for that. But\"--here the doctor turned\nquestioningly toward the weather beaten sea-captain, his neighbor--\"I\nthought the new patrol, the Owl Patrol as they have named it, was to\nconsist of eight boys, and I see only seven present to-night. There's\nthat tall boy, Nixon Warren, who's visiting here, and Mark Coombs, his\ncousin; then there's Leon Chase, Colin Estey, Kenjo Red, otherwise\nKenneth Jordan,\" the doctor smiled at the red head of a sturdy-looking\nlad of fourteen, \"Joe Sweet, commonly called Sweetsie, and Evan Macduff.\nBut where's the eighth Owl, Andy? Isn't he fledged yet?\"\n\n\"I guess not! I think they'll have to tackle him in private before they\ncan enlist him.\" The narrow rift of blue which represented Captain\nAndy's eye under the cloud-bank glistened. \"You'll never guess who they\nhave fixed upon for the eighth Owl, Doc. Why! that frightened boy, Ben\nGreer's son, who lives on the little farm-clearing in the woods with his\ngran'father and a Canadian farmhand whom Old Man Greer hires for the\nsummer an' fall.\"\n\n\"Not Harold Greer? You don't mean that abnormally shy an' timid boy whom\nthe children nickname the 'Hare'? Why! I had to supply a certificate for\nhim so that he could be kept out of school. It made him worse to go,\nbecause the other boys teased him so cruelly.\"\n\n\"Jus' so! But that brand o' teasing is ruled out under the scout law. A\nscout is a brother to every other scout. I guess the idea of trying to\nget Harold enlisted in the Boy Scouts and thereby waking him up a\nlittle an' gradually showing him what 'bugaboos' his fears are,\noriginated with that lad from Philadelphia, Nix Warren, who, as I\nunderstand, showed himself to be quite a fellow in the woods, starting a\nfriction fire with rubbing-sticks an' doing other stunts which caused\nhis companions to become head over heels interested in this new\nmovement.\"\n\n\"But how did _he_ get interested in Harold Greer?\" inquired the doctor.\n\n\"Well, as they trudged through the woods on that day when they made\ncircus guys of themselves at Varney's Paintpot, and subsequently got\nlost, they passed the Greer farm and saw Harold who hid behind that\nFrench-Canadian, Toiney, when he saw them coming. Apparently it struck\nNix, seeing him for the first time, what a miserable thing it must be\nfor the boy himself to be afraid of everything an' nothing. So he set\nhis heart on enlisting Harold in the new patrol. He, Nix, wants to pass\nthe test for becoming a first-class scout: to do this he must enlist a\nrecruit trained by himself in the requirements of a tenderfoot; and he\nis going to try an' get near to Harold an' train him--Nixon's cousin,\nMark Coombs, Marcoo, as they call him, told me all about it.\"\n\n\"Well, I like that!\" The doctor's face glowed. \"Though I'm afraid\nthey'll have difficulty in getting the eighth Owl sufficiently fledged\nto show any plumage but the white feather!\" with a sorry smile. \"I pity\nthat boy Harold,\" went on the medical man, \"because he has been hampered\nby heredity and in a way by environment too. His mother was a very\ndelicate, nervous creature, Andy. She was a prey to certain fears, the\nworst of which was one which we doctors call 'cloister fobia,' which\nmeans that she had a strange dread of a crowd, or even of mingling with\na small group of individuals. As you know, her husband, like Dave\nBaldwin's father, was a Gloucester fisherman, whose home was in these\nparts. During his long absences at sea, she lived alone with her\nfather-in-law, her little boy Harold and one old woman in that little\nfarmhouse on the clearing. And I suppose every time that the wind howled\nthrough the woods she had a fresh fit of the quakes, thinking of her\nhusband away on the foggy fishing-grounds.\"\n\n\"Yes! I guess at such times the women suffer more than we do,\" muttered\nCaptain Andy, thinking of his dead wife.\n\n\"Well!\" the doctor cleared his throat, \"after Harold's mother received\nthe news that her husband's vessel was lost with all hands, on Quero\nBank, when her little boy was about five years old, she became more\nunbalanced; she wouldn't see any of her relatives even, if she could\navoid it, save those who lived in the house with her. I attended her\nwhen she was ill and begged her to try and get the better of her\nfoolishness for her boy's sake--or to let me send him away to a school\nof some kind. Both Harold's grandfather and she opposed the latter idea.\nShe lived until her son was nine years old; by that time she had\ncommunicated all her queer dread of people--and a hundred other scares\nas well--to him. But in my opinion there's nothing to prevent his\nbecoming in time a normal boy under favorable conditions where his\ncompanions would help him to fight his fears, instead of fastening them\non him--conditions under which what we call his 'inhibitory power of\nself-control' would be strengthened, so that he could command his\nterrified impulses. And if the Boy Scout Movement can, under God, do\nthis, Andy, why then I'll say--I'll say that knighthood has surely in\nour day come again--that Scout Nixon Warren has sallied forth into the\nwoods and slain a dragon more truly, perhaps, than ever did Knight of\nthe Round Table by whose rules the boy scouts of to-day are governed!\"\n\nThe doctor's last words were more to himself than to his companion, and\nfull of the ardor of one who was a dragon-fighter \"from way back\": day\nby day, for years, he had grappled with the many-clawed dragons of pain\nand disease, often taking no reward for his labors.\n\nAs his glance studied one and another of the seven boyish faces now\nforming an eager ring round the tall scoutmaster, while the date of the\nnext meeting--the great meeting at which eight new recruits were to take\nthe scout oath--was being discussed, he was beset by the same feeling\nwhich had possessed Colin Estey on that September morning in the Bear's\nDen. Namely, that the Owl Patrol would have a big contract on hand if it\nwas to get the better of that mischievous \"tide rip\" in Leon and prove\nto the handicapped \"Hare\" what imaginary bugaboos were his fears!\n\nBut Leon's face in its purposeful interest plainly showed that,\naccording to Captain Andy's breezy metaphor, to-night he was really\ndeepening the water in which his boyish bark floated, drawing out from\nthe shoals among which he had drifted after a manner too trifling for\nhis age and endowment.\n\nAnd so the doctor felt that there _might_ be hope for the eighth Owl\nchosen, and not present, being still a scared fledgling on that little\nfarm-clearing in the woods, having never yet shaken a free wing, but\nonly the craven white feather.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE BOWLINE KNOT\n\n\nScout Nixon Warren, henceforth to be known as the patrol leader of the\nOwls, was himself possessed by the excited feeling that he was faring\nforth, into the October woods to tackle a dragon--the obstinate\nHobgoblin of confirmed Fear--when on the day following that first boy\nscout meeting in Exmouth he took his way, accompanied by Coombsie, over\nthe heaving uplands that lay between the salt-marshes and the woodland.\n\nThence, through thick grove and undergrowth, they tramped to the little\nfarm-clearing, where they had come upon Toiney and the dead raccoon.\n\nNixon had arrayed himself in the full bravery of his scout uniform\nto-day, hoping that it might attract the attention of the frightened boy\nwhose interest he wished to capture.\n\nThe October sun burnished his metal buttons, with the oxidized silver\nbadge upon his left arm beneath the white bars of the patrol leader,\nand the white stripe at his wrist recording his one year's service as a\nscout.\n\nBecause of the impression they hoped to produce, Marcoo too had donned\nthe uniform, minus stripes and badge--the latter he would not be\nentitled to wear until after the all-important next meeting when, on his\npassing the tenderfoot test, the scoutmaster would pin it on his shirt,\nbut reversed until he should have proved his right to wear that badge of\nchivalry by the doing of some initial good turn.\n\nBut Marcoo, like his companion, carried the long scout staff and was\nloud in his appreciation of its usefulness on a woodland hike.\n\nAnd thus, a knightly-looking pair of pilgrims, they issued forth into\nthe forest clearing, bathed in the early afternoon sun.\n\nAs before, their ears were tickled afar off by the sound of a tuneful\nvoice alternately whistling and singing, though to-day it was\nunaccompanied by the woodchopper's axe.\n\n\"That's Toiney!\" said Marcoo. \"Listen to him! He's just 'full of it';\nisn't he?\"\n\nToiney was indeed full to the brim and bubbling over with the primitive,\nzestful joy of life as he toiled upon the little woodland farm, cutting\noff withered cornstalks from a patch which earlier in the season had\nbeen golden with fine yellow maize of his planting. His lithe, energetic\nfigure focused the sun rays which loved to play over his knitted cap of\ndingy red, with a bobbing tassel, over the rough blue shirt of homespun\nflannel, and upon the queer heelless high boots of rough unfinished\nleather, with puckered moccasin-like feet, in which he could steal\nthrough the woods well-nigh as noiselessly as the dog-fox himself.\n\nAs the two scouts emerged into the open he was singing to the sunbeams\nand to the timid human \"Hare\" who basked in his brightness, a funny\nlittle fragment of song which he illustrated as though he had a sling in\nhis hand and were letting fly a missile:--\n\n   \"Gaston Gue, si j'avais ma fron-de,\n   Gaston Gue, je te l'aurais fron-de!\"\n\nThis he translated for Harold's benefit:--\n\n   \"Gaston Gue, if I haf ma sling,\n   Gaston Gue, at you I vould fling!\"\n\n\"Well! you needn't 'fling' at us, Toiney,\" laughed Nixon, stepping\nforward with a bold front. \"Hullo! Harold!\" he added in what he meant to\nbe a most winning tone.\n\n\"Hullo, Harold! How are _you_?\" supplemented Marcoo in accents equally\nsugared.\n\nBut the abnormally timid boy, with the pointed chin and slightly\nrodent-like face, only made an indistinguishable sound in his throat and\nslunk behind some bushes on the edge of the corn-patch.\n\nToiney, on the other hand, was never backward in responding vivaciously\nto a friendly greeting.\n\n\"Houp-e-la!\" he explained in bantering astonishment as he surveyed the\ntwo scouts in the uniform which was strange to him. \"_Houp-e-la!_ We\narre de boy! We arre de stuff, I guess, engh?\" He pointed an earthy\nforefinger at the figures in khaki, his black eyes sparkling with\nwhimsical flattery. \"But, _comment_, you'll no come for go in gran'\nforet agen, dat's de tam' you'll get los' agen--hein?\"\n\n\"No, we're not going any farther into the woods to-day. We came to see\n_him_.\" Nixon nodded in the direction of Harold skulking timidly behind\nthe berry bushes. \"We want to speak to him about something.\"\n\n\"Ah--misericorde--he'll no speak on you; he's a _poltron_, a scaree:\nsome tam' I'll be so shame for heem I'll feel lak' cry!\" returned\nToiney, moved to voluble frankness, his eye glistening like a moist\nbead, now, with mortified pity. \"Son gran'pere--hees gran'fader--he's\ngo on town dis day: he's try ver' hard for get heem to go also--for to\nsee! Mais, _non_! He's too scaree!\" And the speaker, glancing toward the\nscreen of bushes, shrugged his shoulders despairingly, as if asking what\ncould possibly be done for such a craven.\n\nScout Nixon was not baffled. Persistent by nature, he had worked well\ninto the fibre of his being the tenth point of the scout law: that\ndefeat, or the semblance thereof, must not down the true scout.\n\n\"Then I'll talk to you first, Toiney,\" he said, \"and tell you about\nsomething that we think might help him.\"\n\nAnd in the simplest English that he could choose, eked out at intervals\nwith freshman French, he made clear to Toiney's quick understanding the\naim and methods of the Boy Scout Movement.\n\nThe Canadian, a born son of the woods, was quick to grasp and commend\nthe return to Nature.\n\n\"_Ca c'est b'en!_\" he murmured with an approving nod. \"I'll t'ink dat\niss good for boy to go in gran' foret--w'en he know how fin' de way--for\nsee heem beeg tree en de littal wil' an-ni-mal, engh? Mais,\nmiseri-corde,\"--his shrugging shoulders pumped up a huge sigh as he\nturned toward Harold,--\"mis-eri-corde! _he'll_ no marche as\n_eclaireur_--w'at-you-call-eet--scoutee--hein? He'll no go on meetin' or\non school, engh?\"\n\nAnd Toiney set to work cutting down cornstalks again as if the subject\nwere unhappily disposed of.\n\nSuch was not the case, however. At one word which he, the blue-shirted\nwoodsman, had used in his harangue, Nixon started, and a strange look\nshot across his face. He knew enough of French to translate literally\nthat word _eclaireur_, the French military term for scout. He knew that\nit meant figuratively a light-spreader: one who marches ahead of his\ncomrades to enlighten the others.\n\nCould any term be more applicable to the peace scout of to-day who is\nstriving to bring in an advanced era of progress and good will?\n\nSomehow, it stimulated in Scout Warren the desire to be an _eclaireur_\nin earnest to the darkened boy overshadowed by his bugbear fears, now\nskulking behind the berry-bushes.\n\n\"I guess it's no use our trying to get hold of him,\" Coombsie was saying\nmeanwhile in his cousin's ear. \"See that old dame over there, Nix?\" he\npointed to a portly, elderly woman with an immense straw hat tied down,\nsunbonnet fashion, over her head. \"Well! she took care of Harold's\nmother before she died; now she keeps house for his grandfather, and\nshe, that old woman, told my mother that up to the time Harold was seven\nyears old he would often run and hide his head in her lap of an evening\nas it was coming on dark. And when she asked what frightened him he said\nthat he was 'afraid of the stars'! Just fancy! Afraid of the stars as\nthey came out above the clearing here!\"\n\n\"Gee whiz! What do you know about that?\" exclaimed Nixon with a rueful\nwhistle: that dark hobgoblin, Fear, was more absurdly entrenched than he\nhad thought possible.\n\nYet Harold's seemed more than ever a case in which the scout who could\nonce break down the wall of shyness round him might prove a true\n_eclaireur_: so he advanced upon the timid boy and addressed him with a\nhoneyed mildness which made Coombsie chuckle and gasp, \"Oh, sugar!\"\nunder his breath; though Marcoo set himself to second his patrol\nleader's efforts to the best of his ability.\n\nTogether they sought to decoy Harold into a conversation, asking him\nquestions about his life, whether he ever went into the woods with\nToiney or played solitary games on the clearing. They intimated that\nthey knew he was \"quite a boy\" if he'd only make friends with them and\nnot be so stand-offish; and they tried to inveigle him into a simple\ngame of tag or hide-and-seek among the bushes as a prelude to some more\nexciting sport such as duck-on-a-rock or prisoner's base.\n\nBut the hapless \"_poltron_\" only answered them in jerky monosyllables,\ncowering against the bushes, and finally slunk back to the side of the\nblue-shirted farmhand with whom he had become familiar--whose merry\nsongs could charm away the dark spirit of fear--and there remained,\nhovering under Toiney's wing.\n\n\"I knew that it would be hard to get round him,\" said Marcoo\nthoughtfully. \"Until now all the boys whom he has met have picked on an'\nteased him. Suppose you turn your attention to _me_ for a while, Nix!\nSuppose you were to make a bluff of teaching me some of the things that\na fellow must learn before he can enlist as a tenderfoot scout! Perhaps,\nthen, he'd begin to listen an' take notice. I've got a toy flag in my\npocket; let's start off with that!\"\n\n\"Good idea! You do use your head for something more than a hat-rack,\nMarcoo!\" The patrol leader relapsed with a relieved sigh into his\nnatural manner. \"I brought an end of rope with me; I thought we might\nhave got along to teaching him how to tie one or other of the four knots\nwhich form part of the tenderfoot test. You take charge of the rope-end.\nAnd don't lose it if you want to live!\"\n\nHe passed the little brown coil to his cousin and receiving in return\nthe miniature Stars and Stripes, went through a formal flag-raising\nceremony there on the sunny clearing. Tying the toy flag-staff to the\ntop of his tall scout's staff, he planted the latter in some soft earth;\nthen both scouts stood at attention and saluted Old Glory, after which\nthey passed and repassed it at marching pace, each time removing their\nbroad-brimmed hats with much respect and an eye on Harold to see if he\nwas taking notice.\n\nSubsequently the patrol leader stationed himself by the impromptu\nflagstaff, and delivered a simple lecture to Coombsie upon the history\nand composition of the National Flag; a knowledge of which, together\nwith the proper forms of respect due to that starry banner, would enter\ninto his examination for tenderfoot scout.\n\nBoth were hoping that some crumbs of information--some ray of patriotic\nenthusiasm--might be absorbed by Harold, the boy who had never been to\nschool, and who had scantily profited by some elementary and\nintermittent lessons in reading and writing from his grandfather. His\nbrown eyes, shy as any rodent's, watched this parade curiously. But\nthough Toiney tried to encourage him by precept and gesticulation to\nfollow the boy scouts' example and salute the Flag, plucking off his own\ntasseled cap and going through a dumb pantomime of respect to it, the\n\"scaree\" could not be moved from his shuffling stolidity.\n\nThe starry flaglet waving from the scout's planted staff, might have\nbeen a gorgeous, drifting leaf from the surrounding woods for all the\nattention he paid to it!\n\n\"Say! but it's hard to land him, isn't it?\" Nixon suspended the parade\nwith a sigh almost of despair. \"Well, here goes, for one more attempt to\nget him interested! Chuck me that rope-end, Marcoo! I'll show you how to\ntie a bowline knot; perhaps, as his father was a sailor--a deep-sea\nfisherman--knot-tying may be more in his line than flag-raising.\"\n\nThe next minute Coombsie's fingers were fumbling with the rope rather\nblunderingly, for Marcoo was by nature a bookworm and more efficient\nalong lines of abstract study than at anything requiring manual skill.\n\n\"Pass the end up through the bight,\" directed Scout Warren when the\nbight or loop had been formed upon the standing part of the rope. \"I\nsaid _up_, not down, jackass! Now, pass it round the 'standing part';\ndon't you know what that means? Why! the long end of the rope on which\nyou're working. Oh! you're a dear donkey,\" nodding with good-humored\nscorn.\n\nNow both the donkey recruit and the instructing scout had become for the\nmoment genuinely absorbed in the intricacies of that bowline knot, and\nforgot that this was not intended as a _bona-fide_ lesson, but as mere\n\"show off\" to awaken the interest of a third person.\n\nTheir tail-end glances were no longer directed furtively at Harold to\nsee whether or not he was beginning to \"take notice.\"\n\nSo they missed the first quiver of a peculiar change in him; they did\nnot see that his sagging chin was suddenly reared a little as if by the\napplication of an invisible bearing-rein.\n\nThey missed the twitching face-muscles, the slowly dilating eye, the\nbreath beginning to come in quick puffs through his spreading nostrils,\nlike the smoke issuing from the punky wood, heralding the advent of the\nruddy spark, when in the woods they started a fire with rubbing-sticks.\nAnd just as suddenly and mysteriously as that triumphant spark\nappeared--evolved by Nixon's fire-drill, from the dormant possibilities\nin the dull wood--did the first glitter of fascinated light appear and\ngrow in the eye of Harold Greer, the prisoner of Fear, disparagingly\nnicknamed the \"Hare\"!\n\n\"I--I can do that! I c-can do it--b-better than he can!\" Stuttering and\ntrembling in a strange paroxysm of eagerness, the _poltron_ addressed,\nin a nervous squawk, not the absorbed scouts, but Toiney, his friend and\nprotector.\n\n\"I can t-tie it better'n _he_ does! I know--I know I can!\" The shrill\nboyish voice which seemed suddenly to dominate every other sound on the\nclearing was hoarse with derision as the abnormally shy and timid boy\npointed a trembling finger at Marcoo still, like a \"dear donkey,\"\nblundering with the rope-end.\n\nHad the gray rabbit, which suddenly at that moment whisked out of the\nwoods and across a distant corner, opened its mouth and addressed them,\nthe surprise to the two scouts could scarcely have been greater.\n\n\"Oh! _you can_, can you?\" said Nixon thickly. \"Let's see you try!\" He\nplaced the rope-end in Harold's hand, which received it with a fondling\ntouch.\n\n\"Here you make a small loop on this part of the rope, leaving a good\nlong end,\" he began coolly, while his heart bounded, for the spark in\nthe furtive eye of the twelve-year-old \"scaree\" was rapidly becoming a\nscintillation: the scouts had struck fire from him at last.\n\nA triumph beside which the signal achievement of their friction fire in\nthe woods paled!\n\nThe intangible dragon which held their brother boy a captive on this\nlonely clearing, not permitting him to mingle freely with his fellows\nfor study or play, was weakening before them.\n\n\"That's right, Harold! Go ahead: now pass the end up through the loop!\nBravo, you're the boy! Now, around the standing part--the rope\nitself--and down again! Good: you have it. You can beat _him_ every time\nat tying a knot: he's just a blockhead, isn't he?\"\n\nAnd Scout Warren pointed with much show of scorn at Marcoo, the normal\nrecruit, who looked on delightedly. Never before did boy rejoice so\nunselfishly over being beaten at a test as Coombsie then! For right here\non the little farm-clearing a strange thing had happened.\n\nIn the gloom of every beclouded mind there is one chink by which light,\nmore or less, may enter; and a skillful teacher can work an improvement\nby enlarging that chink.\n\nHarold's brain was not darkened in the sense of being defective. And the\ngray tent of fear in which he dwelt had its chink too; the scouts had\nfound it in the frayed rope-end and knot.\n\nFor while the timid boy watched Coombsie's bungling fingers, that drab\nknot, upon which they blundered, suddenly beckoned to him like a star.\n\nAnd, all in a moment, it was no longer his fear-stricken mother who\nlived in him, but his daring fisherman-father whose horny fingers could\ntie every sailor's knot that was ever heard of, and who had used that\nbowline noose in many an emergency at sea to save a ship-wrecked\nfellow-creature.\n\nThe bowline was the means of saving the fisherman's son now from mental\nshipwreck, or something nearly as bad. Harold's eager thoughts became\nentangled in it, while his fingers worked under Nixon's directions; he\nforgot, for once, to be afraid.\n\nPresently the noose was complete, and Nixon was showing him how to\ntighten it by pulling on the standing part of the rope.\n\nThis achieved, the timid human \"Hare\" raised his brown eyes from the\nrope in his hand and looked from one to another of his three companions\nas in a dream, a bright one.\n\nFor half a minute a rainbowed--almost awed--silence held the three upon\nthe clearing. Toiney was the first to break it. He flung his arms\nrapturously round the hitherto fear-bound boy.\n\n\"Bravo! mo' fin,\" he cried, embracing Harold as his \"cute one.\" \"Bravo!\nmo' smarty. Grace a bon Dieu, you ain' so scare anny longere! You go for\nbe de boy--de brave boy--you go for be de scout--engh?\" His eyes were\nwet and winking as if, now indeed, he felt \"lak' cry\"!\n\n\"Certainly, you're going to be a scout, Harold,\" corroborated Nixon,\nequally if not so eloquently moved. \"Now! don't you want to learn how to\ntie another knot, the fisherman's bend? You ought to be able to tie\nthat, you know, because your father was a great fisherman.\"\n\nHarold was nothing loath. More and more his father's spirit flashed\nawake in him. Through the rest of that afternoon, which marked a new era\nin his life, he seemed to work with his father's fingers, while the\nOctober sky glowed in radiant tints of saffron and blue, and a light\nbreeze skipped through the pine-trees and the brilliant maples that\nflamed at intervals like lamps around the clearing.\n\n\"We'll come again to-morrow or the day after, Harold, and teach you more\n'stunts'; I mean some other things, besides knot-tying, that a boy ought\nto know how to do,\" said Nixon as a filmy haze hovering over the edges\nof the woods warned them that it bore evening on its dull blue wings.\n\n\"Aw right!\" docilely agreed Harold; and though he shuffled his feet\ntimidly, like the \"poltron\" or craven, which Toiney had in sorrow called\nhim, there was a shy longing in his face which said that he was sorry\nthe afternoon was over, that he would look for the return of his new\nfriends, the only boys who had ever racked their brains to help and not\nto hurt him.\n\nBefore their departure he had learned how to tie three knots, square or\nreef, bowline and the fisherman's bend. He had likewise admitted two\nmore persons within the narrow enclosure of his confidence--the two who\nwere to liberate him, the _eclaireurs_, the peace scouts of to-day.\n\nAnd, for the first time in his life, he had awkwardly lifted his cap and\nsaluted the flag of his country as it waved in miniature from the\nplanted staff.\n\nThat afternoon was the first of several spent by Scout Warren and his\naide-de-camp, Coombsie, on the little farm-clearing in the woods, trying\nto foster a boyish spirit in Harold, to overcome his dread of mingling\nwith other boys, to awaken in him the desire to become a boy scout and\nshare the latter's good times at indoor meeting, on hike, or in camp.\n\nWhen the date of the second meeting drew near at which seven new\nrecruits were to take the scout oath and be formally organized into the\nOwl Patrol, they had obtained the promise of this timid fledgling to be\npresent under Toiney's wing, and enlist, too.\n\n\"I wonder whether he'll keep his word or if he'll fight shy of coming at\nthe last minute?\" whispered Nixon to Coombsie on the all-important\nevening when the other recruits led by their scoutmaster marched into\nthe modest town hall, a neutral ground where all of diverse creeds might\nmeet, and where the members of the local council, including the doctor\nand Captain Andy, had already assembled.\n\n\"If he doesn't show up, Nix, you won't be able to pass the twelfth point\nof test for becoming a first-class scout by producing a recruit trained\nby yourself in the requirements of a tenderfoot,\" suggested Marcoo.\n\"You've passed all the active tests, haven't you?\"\n\nScout Warren nodded, keeping an anxious eye on the door. Having been\nduly transferred from his Philadelphia troop to the new patrol which had\njust been organized in this tide-lapped corner of Massachusetts--where\nit seemed probable now that he would spend a year at least, as his\nparents contemplated a longer stay in Europe--he had already passed the\nmajor part of his examination for first-class scout before the Scout\nCommissioner of the district.\n\nHe was an expert in first-aid and primitive cooking. He had prepared a\nfair map of a certain section of the marshy country near the tidal\nriver. He could state upon his honor that he had accurately judged with\nhis eye a certain distance in the woods--namely, from the top of that\ntowering red-oak-tree which, when lost, he had chosen as a lookout\npoint, to the cave called the Bear's Den--on the never-to-be-forgotten\nday when four painted boys and a dog finally took refuge in that rocky\ncavern; the boy scout's judgment of the distance being subsequently\nconfirmed by lumbermen who knew every important tree in that section of\nthe woods.\n\nHe had passed tests in swimming, tree-felling, map-reading, and so\nforth! But he would not be entitled to wear, instead of the second-class\nscout badge, the badge of the first-class rank, beneath the two white\nbars of the patrol leader upon his left arm, until he produced the\ntenderfoot whom he had trained.\n\nBut would that timid recruit from the little woodland clearing--that\nhalf-fledged Owlet--appear?\n\n\"Suppose he should 'funk it' at the last minute?\" whispered Marcoo\ntragically to the patrol leader. \"No! No! As I'm alive! here they\ncome--Toiney, with Harold in tow. Blessings on that Canuck!\" he added\nfervently.\n\nIt was a strange-looking pair who now entered the little town hall:\nToiney, in a rough gray sweater and those heelless high boots, removing\nhis tasseled cap and depositing in a corner the lantern which had guided\nhim with his charge through the woods, as facile to him by night as by\nday; and Harold, timidly clinging to his arm.\n\nThe brown eyes of the latter rolled up in panic as he beheld the big\nlighted room wherein the boy scouts and those interested in them were\nassembled. All his mother's unbalanced fear of a crowd returning upon\nhim in full force, he would have fled, but for Toiney's firm\nimprisonment of his trembling arm, and for Toiney's voice encouraging\nhim gutturally with:--\n\n\"Tiens! mo' beau. _Courage!_ Gard' donc de scout wit' de flag on she's\nhand! V'la! V'la!\" pointing to Nixon, the patrol leader, supporting the\nStars and Stripes. \"Bon courage! you go for be de scout too--engh?\"\n\nHis country's flag, blooming into magnificence under the electric light,\nhad, to-night, a smile for Harold, as he saw it the centre of saluting\nboys.\n\nSomething of his brave father's love for that National Ensign, the\n\"Color\" as the fisherman called it, which had presided over so many\ncrises of that father's life, as when on a gala day in harbor he ran it\nto the masthead, or twined it in the rigging, at sea, to speak another\nvessel, or sorrowfully hoisted it at half-mast for a shipmate\ndrowned,--something of that loving reverence now began to blossom in\nHarold's heart like a many-tinted flower!\n\n\"Well! here you are, Harold.\" Coombsie was promptly taking charge of the\nnew arrival, piloting him, with Toiney, to a seat. \"I knew you'd come;\nyou've got the right stuff in you; eh?\"\n\nIt was feeble \"stuff\" at the moment, and in danger of melting into an\nopen attempt at flight; for Harold's eyes had turned from the benignant\nflag to the figure of Leon Chase.\n\nBut Leon had little opportunity, and less desire, to harass him\nto-night.\n\nFor, as the kernel of the initiatory proceedings was reached, the first\nof the seven new recruits to hold up the three fingers of his right hand\nand take the scout oath was Starrie Chase:--\n\n     \"On my honor I will do my best, to do my duty to God and my\n     country, and to obey the scout law: To help other people at all\n     times, to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally\n     straight.\"\n\nCaptain Andy cleared his throat as he listened, and the doctor wiped his\nglasses.\n\nThen, as corporal or second in command of the new patrol, Leon stood\nholding aloft the brand-new flag of that patrol--a great, horned\nhoot-owl, the Grand Duke of the neighboring woods, embroidered on a blue\nground by Colin's mother--while his brother recruits, having each passed\nthe tenderfoot test, took the oath and were enrolled as duly fledged\nOwls.\n\nHarold, the timid fledgling, came last. Supported on either side by his\nsponsors, Nixon and Coombsie, he distinguished himself by tying the four\nknots which formed part of the test with swiftness and skill, and by\n\"muddling\" through the rest of the examination, consent having been\nobtained from headquarters that some leniency in the matter of answers\nmight be shown to this handicapped boy who had never been to school and\nfor whom--as for Leon--the Boy Scout Movement might prove The Thing.\n\nCaptain Andy declared it to be \"The Thing\" when later that night he was\ncalled upon for a speech.\n\n\"Boys!\" he said, heaving his massive figure erect, the sky-blue rift of\nhis eye twinkling under the cloudy lid. \"Boys! it's an able craft, this\nnew movement, if you'll only buckle to an' work it well. And it's a\nhearty motto you have: BE PREPARED. Prepared to help yourselves, so that\nyou can stand by to help others! Lads,\"--the voice of the old\nsea-fighter boomed blustrously,--\"there comes a time to 'most every one\nwho isn't a poor-hearted lubber, when he wants to help somebody else\nmore than he ever wanted to help himself; and if he hasn't made the most\no' what powers he has, why! when that Big Minute comes he won't be 'in\nit.' Belay that! Make it fast here!\" tapping his forehead. \"Live up to\nyour able motto an' pretty soon you'll find yourselves going ahead under\nall the sail you can carry; an' you won't be trying to get a corner on\nthe breeze either, or to blanket any other fellow's sails! Rather,\nyou'll show him the road an' give him a tow when he needs it. God bless\nyou! So long!\"\n\nAnd when the wisdom of the grand old sea-scout had been cheered to the\necho, the eight members of the new patrol, rallying round their Owl\nflag, broke into the first verse of their song, a part of which Nixon\nhad sung to them by the camp-fire in the woods:--\n\n  \"No loyal Scout gives place to doubt,\n    But action quick he shows!\n  Like a knight of old he is brave and bold,\n    And chivalry he knows.\n      Then hurrah for the brave, hurrah for the good!\n        Hurrah for the pure in heart!\n      At duty's call, with a smile for all,\n        The Scout will do his part!\"\n\n\"Sing! Harold. Do your part, and sing!\" urged Nixon, the patrol leader.\n\"Oh, go on: that isn't a scout's mouth, Harold!\" looking at the weak\nbrother's fear-tightened lips. \"A scout's mouth turns up at the corners.\nSmile, Harold! Smile and sing.\"\n\nA minute later Scout Warren's own features were wreathed by a smile,\nhumorous, moved, glad--more glad than any which had illumined his face\nhitherto--for by his side the boy who had once feared the stars as they\nstole out above the clearing, was singing after him:--\n\n  \"Hurrah for the sun, hurrah for the storm!\n    Hurrah for the stars above!\"\n\n\"He's going to make a good scout, some time; don't you think so, Cap?\"\nNixon, glancing down at the timid \"poltron,\" nudged Captain Andy's arm.\n\n\"Aye, aye! lad, I guess he will, when you've put some more backbone into\nhim,\" came the optimistic answer.\n\nBut Captain Andy's gaze did not linger on Harold. The keen search-light\nof his glance was trained upon Leon--upon Corporal Chase, who, judging\nby the new and lively purpose in his face, had to-night, indeed, through\nthe channel of his scout oath, \"deepened the water in which he floated,\"\nas he stood holding high the royal-blue banner of the Owl Patrol.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nGODEY PECK\n\n\nThat stirring initiation meeting was the forerunner of others thereafter\nheld weekly in the small town hall, when the members of the new patrol\nhad their bodies developed, stiffened into manly erectness by a good\ndrill and various rousing indoor games, while their minds were expanded\nby the practice of various new and exciting \"stunts\" as Leon called\nthem.\n\nTo Starrie Chase the most interesting of these in which he soon became\nsurprisingly proficient was the flag-signaling, transmitting or\nreceiving a message to or from a brother scout stationed at the other\nend of the long hall. Spelling out such a message swiftly, letter by\nletter, with the two little red and white flags, according to either the\nsemaphore or American Morse code, had a splendid fascination for him.\n\nMore exciting still was it when on some dark fall evening, at the end of\nthe Saturday afternoon hike, he gathered with his brother scouts around\na blazing camp-fire on the uplands, with the pale gray ribbon of the\ntidal river dimly unrolling itself beyond the low-lying marshes, and the\nscoutmaster would suggest that he should try some outdoor signaling to\nanother scout stationed on a distant hillock, using torches, two red\nbrands from the fire, one in each hand, instead of the regulation flags.\n\n\"Oh! but this is in-ter-est-ing; makes a fellow feel as if he were\n'going some'!\" Starrie would declare to himself in an ecstatic drawl,\nas, first his right arm, then his left, manipulated the rosy firebrands,\nwhile his keen eyes could barely discern the black silhouette of his\nbrother Owl's figure on its distant mound, as he spelled out a brief\nmessage.\n\nIt certainly was \"going.\" There was progress here: exciting progress.\nGrowth which made the excitement squeezed out of his former pranks seem\ntame and childish!\n\nAnd more than one resident of the neighborhood--including Dave Baldwin's\nold mother, who lived alone in her shallow, baldfaced house, almost\ndenuded of paint by the elements, at a bleak point where upland and\nsalt-marsh met--drew a free breath and thanked God for a respite.\n\nIn addition to the indoor signaling there were talks on first-aid to\nthe injured by the busy doctor and on seamanship by Captain Andy whose\nbig voice had a storm-burr clinging to it in which, at exciting moments,\nan intent ear could almost catch the echo of the gale's roar, of raging\nseas, shrieking rigging and slatting sails--all the wild orchestra of\nthe storm-king.\n\nThen there were the Saturday hikes, and once in a while the week-end\ncamping-out in the woods from Friday evening to Saturday night, whenever\nScoutmaster Estey, Colin's much-admired brother, could obtain a forenoon\nholiday, in addition to the customary Saturday afternoon, from the\noffice where he worked as naval architect, or expert designer of\nfishing-vessels, in connection with a shipbuilding yard on the river.\n\nA notable figure in relation to the scouts' outdoor life was Toiney\nLeduc, the French-Canadian farmhand. As time progressed he became an\ninseparable part of it.\n\nFor Harold, the abnormally timid boy, for whom it was hoped that the new\nmovement would do much, was inseparable from him: Harold would not come\nto scout meeting or march on hike without Toiney, although with his\nbrother Owls and their scoutmaster he was already beginning to emerge\nfrom his shadowy fears like a beetle from the grub.\n\nIn time he would no doubt fully realize what impotent bugaboos were his\nvague terrors, and would be reconciled to the world at large through the\nmedium of the Owl Patrol.\n\nAlready there was such an improvement in his health and spirits that his\ngrandfather raised Toiney's wages on condition that he would consent to\nwork all the year round on the little farm-clearing, and no longer spend\nhis winters at some loggers' camp, tree-felling, in the woods.\n\nMoreover Old Man Greer, to whom the abnormal condition of his only\ngrandson had been a sore trial, was willing and glad to spare Toiney's\nservices as woodland guide to the boy scouts, including Harold, whenever\nthey were required for a week-end excursion.\n\nAnd so much did those eight scouts learn from this primitive woodsman,\nwho could not command enough English to say \"Boo!\" straight, according\nto Leon, but who understood the language and track-prints of bird and\nanimal as if they the shy ones had taught him, that by general petition\nof all members of the new patrol, Toiney was elected assistant\nscoutmaster, and duly received his emblazoned certificate from\nheadquarters.\n\nHis presence and songs lent a primitive charm to many a camp-fire\ngathering; no normal boy could feel temporarily dull in his company, for\nToiney, besides being an expert in woodlore and a good trailer, was\nessentially a _bon enfant_, or jolly child, at heart, meeting every\nexperience with the blithe faith that, somehow--somewhere--he would come\nout on top.\n\nIn the woods his songs were generally inaudible, locked up in his heart\nor throat, though occasionally they escaped to his lips which would move\nsilently in a preliminary canter, then part to emit a gay bar or two, a\njoyous \"Tra la la ... la!\" or:--\n\n  \"Rond', Rond', Rond', peti' pie pon' ton'!\"\n\nBut on these occasions the strain rarely soared above a whisper and was\npromptly suspended lest it should startle any wild thing within hearing,\nwhile he led his boy scouts through the denser woods with the skill and\nstealth of the Indian whose wary blood mingled very slightly with the\ncurrent in his veins.\n\nThose were mighty moments for the young scoutmaster and members of the\nOwl Patrol when they \"lay low,\" crouching breathlessly in some thicket,\nwith Toiney, prostrate on his face and hands, a little in advance of\nthem, his black eyes intent upon a fox-path, a mere shadow-track such as\nfour of their number had seen on that first memorable day in the woods,\nwhere only the lightly trampled weeds or an occasional depression in\nsome little bush told their assistant scoutmaster, whom nothing escaped,\nthat some airy-footed animal was in the habit of passing there from\nburrow to hunting-ground.\n\nThe waiting was sometimes long and the enforced silence irksome to\nyouthful scouts; there were times when it oppressed one or other of the\nboys like a steel cage against the bars of which his voice, like a\nrebellious bird, dashed itself in some irrepressible sound, a\npinched-off cry or smothered whistle.\n\nBut that always drew a backward hiss of \"Mak' you s-silent! W'at for you\nspik lak dat?\" from the advance scout, Toiney, or a clipped, sarcastic\n\"_T'as pas besoin_ to shoutee--engh?\"\n\nAnd the needless semi-shout was repressed next time by the reprimanded\none, many a lesson in self-control being learned thereby.\n\n[Illustration: \"MAK' YOU S-SILENT! W'AT FOR YOU SPIK LAK DAT?\"]\n\nMore than once patience was at last rewarded by a glimpse of the\ntrotting traveler, the sly red fox, maker of that shadow-path: of its\nsandy coat, white throat, large black ears, and the bushy, reddish tail,\nwith milk-white tip, the \"flag\" as woodsmen call it.\n\nInstinctively on such occasions Leon at first yearned for his gun, his\nold \"fuzzee,\" with which he had worked havoc--often purposeless and\nexcessive--among shore birds, and from which he had to part when he\nenlisted in the Boy Scouts of America, and adopted principles tending\ntoward the conservation of all wild life rather than to destruction.\n\nGradually, however, Starrie Chase, like his brother scouts, came under\nthe glamour of this peaceful trailing. He began to discover a subtler\nexcitement, more spicy fun--the spicier for Toiney's presence--in the\nbrief contemplation of that dog-fox at home, trotting along, unmolested,\nto his hunting-ground, than in past fevered glimpses of him when all\ninterest in his wiles and habits was merged into greed for his skin and\ntail.\n\nMany were the opportunities, too, for a glimpse at the white flag of the\nshy deer as it bounded off into some deeper woodland glade, and for\nbeing thrilled by the swift drumming of the partridge's wings when it\nrose from its dusting-place on the ground or on some old log whose\nbrown, flaky wood could be reduced to powder; or from feasting on the\nbrilliant and lowly partridge-berries which, nestling amid their\nevergreen leaves, challenged November's sereness.\n\nEach woodland hike brought its own revelation--its special\ndiscovery--insignificant, perhaps--but which thereafter stood out as a\nbeauty spot upon the face of the day.\n\nThe hikes were generally conducted after this manner: seven of the Owls\nwith their tall scoutmaster would leave the town bright and early on a\nSaturday morning, a goodly spectacle in their khaki uniforms, and, staff\nin hand, take their way through the woods to the little farm-clearing\nwhere they were reinforced by the assistant scoutmaster in his rough\ngarb--Toiney would not don the scout uniform--and by Harold, the still\nweak brother.\n\nTheir coming was generally heralded by modified shouting. And the\nimpulsive Toiney would suspend some farm task and stand erect with an\nexplosive \"_Houp-la!_\" tickling his throat, to witness that most\nexhilarating of present-day sights, a party of boy scouts emerging from\nthe woods into a clearing, with Mother Nature in the guise of the early\nsunshine rushing, open-armed, to meet them, as if welcoming her stray\nchildren back to her heart.\n\nThen Toiney, as forest guide, would assume the leadership of the party,\nand not only was his thorough acquaintance with \"de bird en de littal\nwil' an-ni-mal\" valuable; but his fund of knowledge about \"heem beeg\ntree,\" and the uses to which the different kinds of wood could be put,\nseemed broad and unfailing, too.\n\nThe most exciting discovery of that season to the boys was when he\npointed out to them one day the small hole or den amid some rocky ledges\nnear Big Swamp where the Mother <DW53>--as sometimes happens, though she\ngenerally prefers a hollow tree--had brought forth her intrepid\noffspring; both the one which had raided Toiney's hencoop, and Raccoon\nJunior who had come to a warlike issue with the crows.\n\nToiney, as he explained, had investigated that deep hole amid the ledges\nwhen the woods were green with spring, and had discovered some wild\nanimal which by its size and general outline he knew to be a <DW53>,\ncrouching at the inner end of it, with her young \"littal as small cat.\"\nHe had beaten a hasty retreat, not willing to provoke a possible attack\nfrom the mother rendered bold by maternity, or to disturb the infant\nfamily.\n\nHe was radiant at finding the <DW53>'s rocky home again, though\ntenantless, now.\n\n\"Ha! I'll know we fin' heem den\"; he beamed upon his comrades with\nprimitive conceit. \"We arre de boy--engh? We arre de bes' scout ev'ry\ntam!\"\n\nAnd that was the aim of each member of the Owl Patrol, with the\nexception, perhaps, of Harold, not indeed to be the \"best scout,\" but to\nfigure as the equal in scoutcraft of any lad of his age and a\ncorresponding period of service, in the United States. To this end he\ndrilled, explored and studied, somewhat to the mystification of boys who\nstill held aloof from the scout movement!\n\n\"Where are ye off to, Starrie?\" inquired Godey Peck, a youth of this\ntype, one fair November afternoon, intercepting Leon about an hour after\nschool had closed. \"Don't you want to come along with me? I'm going down\nto Stanway's shipyard to have a look at the new vessel that they're\ngoing to launch at daybreak to-morrow. She's all wedged up on the ways,\nready to go. Say!\" Godey edged slyly nearer to Leon, \"us boys--Choc\nLatour, Benjie Lane an' me--have hit on a plan for being launched in\nher. You know they won't allow boys to be aboard, if they know it, when\nshe shoots off the launching ways. But those ship carpenters'll have to\nrise bright and early if they want to get ahead of us! See?\"\n\nGodey laid a forefinger against the left side of his nose, to emphasize\na high opinion of his own subtlety.\n\n\"How are you going to work it?\" Leon asked briefly.\n\n\"Why! there's a vessel 'most built on the stocks right 'longside the\nfinished hull. Us boys are going to wake very early, trot down to the\nshipyard before any of the workmen are around; then we'll shin up the\nstaging an' over the half-built vessel right onto the white deck o' the\nnew one that's waiting to be launched. 'Twill be easy to drop below into\nthe cabin an' hide under the bunks until the time comes for launching\nher. When we hear 'em knocking out the last block from under her\nkeel--when she's just beginning to crawl--then we'll pop up an' be on\ndeck when she's launched; see?\"\n\n\"Ho! So you're going to do the stowaway act, eh?\" Starrie Chase, with\nthat characteristic snap of his brown eyes, seemed to be taking a mental\nphotograph of the plan.\n\n\"Only for an hour or two. You want to be in this too; don't you,\nStarrie?\"\n\nLeon was silent, considering. The underhand scheme ran counter to the\naboveboard principles of the scout law which he had sworn to obey; of\nthat he felt sure. \"On my honor I will do my best ... to keep myself\nmorally straight!\" Voluntarily and enthusiastically he had taken the\nchivalrous oath, and he was \"too much of a fellow\" to go back on it\ndeliberately.\n\n\"No! I don't want to play stowaway,\" he answered after a minute. \"It's a\ncrazy plan anyhow! Give it up, Gode! Likely enough you'll scratch up the\npaint of the new cabin with your boots, skulking there all three of\nyou--then there'll be a big row; and 'twould seem a pity, too, after all\nthe months it has taken to build an' paint that dandy new hull.\"\n\nSuch a view would scarcely have presented itself to Leon two months ago;\nhe certainly was \"deepening the water\" in which he floated.\n\n\"Well, let's pop down to the shipyard anyhow, an' see her!\" urged Godey,\nhoping that a contemplation of the new vessel, airily wedged high on the\nlaunching ways, with her bridal deck white as a hound's tooth, would\nweaken the other's resolution.\n\n\"No, I'll be down there to-morrow morning, on the river-slip, to see her\ngo. But I want to do something else this afternoon. I'm going home to\nstudy.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Flag-signaling in the Boy Scout Handbook. I can send a message by\nsemaphore now, twenty letters per minute; I must get it down to sixteen\nbefore I can pass the examination for first-class scout!\" Starrie threw\nthis out impetuously, his face glowing. \"We're going to have an outdoor\ntest in some other things this evening--if I pass it I'll be a\nsecond-class scout. I don't want to be a tenderfoot for ever! Say! but\nthe signaling gets me; it's so interesting: I'm beginning to study the\nMorse code now.\"\n\n\"Pshaw! You boy scouts jus' make me tired.\" Godey leaned against the\nparapet of the broad bridge above the tidal river whereon the boys\nstood, as if the contemplation of so much energy ambitiously directed\nwas too much for him. \"Here comes another of your kind now!\"\n\nHe pointed to Colin Estey who came swinging along out of the distance,\nhis quick springy step and upright carriage doing credit to the scouts'\ndrill.\n\nColin halted ere crossing the bridge to hail a street-car for an old\ngentleman who was making futile attempts to stop it, and then\ncourteously helped him to the platform.\n\nGodey shook his head over the action. \"Cock-a-doodle-doo!\" he crowed\nscornfully. \"Ain't we acting hifalutin?\"\n\nYet there was nothing at all bombastic about the simple good turn or in\nColin's bright face as he joined the other scout upon the bridge and\nmarched off homeward with him, their rhythmic step and erect carriage\nattracting the attention of more than one adult pedestrian.\n\nGodey lolled on the parapet, looking after them, racking his brain for\nsome derisive epithet to hurl at their backs; he longed to shout,\n\"Sissies!\" and \"Spongecakes!\" But such belittling terms clearly didn't\napply.\n\nThe only mocking shaft in his quiver that would come anywhere near\nhitting the mark of those well-drilled backs--straight as a rod--was one\nwhich even he felt to be feeble:--\n\n\"Oh! you Tin Scouts,\" he shouted maliciously. \"Tin Soldiers! _Tin\nScouts!_\" sustaining the cry until the two figures disappeared from view\nin the direction of the Chase homestead.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE BALDFACED HOUSE\n\n\nBut Leon did not study signaling and the Morse alphabet that afternoon.\nHe was presently dispatched by his father, who owned a pleasant home on\nthe outskirts of the town, on an errand to a farm some two miles distant\non the uplands that skirted the woods.\n\nThe afternoon had all the spicy beauty of early November, with a slight\nfrost in the air. The fresh breeze laughed like a tomboy as it romped\nover the salt-marshes. Each eddying dimple in the tidal river shone like\na star sapphire, while the broad, brackish channel wound in and out\nbetween the marshes with as many wriggles as a lively trout.\n\n\"Those little creeks look like runaways,\" thought Leon as he paused upon\nthe uplands and beamed down upon the wide panorama of golden marsh-land\nand winding water. \"They're for all the world like schoolboys that have\ncut school, giggling an' running to hide!\" His eye dreamily followed the\ncourse of many a truant creek that half-turned its head, looking under\nthe tickling sunbeams as if it were glancing back over its shoulder,\nwhile it burrowed into the marshes vainly trying to hide where the\nrelentless schoolmaster, called, for want of a better name, Solar\nAttraction, might not find it and compel its return to the ocean.\n\n\"And the Sugarloaf Sand-Dunes; don't they look fine?\" reflected the boy\nscout further, his eye traveling off downstream to where the curving\ntidal channel broadened into pearly plains of water, bounded at one\ndistant point, near the juncture of river and sea, by a dazzlingly white\nbeach.\n\nThere the fine colorless sand, which when viewed closely had very much\nthe hue of skim milk, the white being shot with a faint gray-blue tinge,\nhad been piled by the winds of ages into tall sand-hills, into pyramids\nand columns: one dazzling pillar, in especial, being named the Sugarloaf\nfrom its crystalline whiteness, had given its name to the whole expanse\nof dune and beach.\n\nThe tall Sugarloaf gleamed in the distance now like a snowy lighthouse\nwhose lamps are sleeping, presiding over the mouth of the tidal river;\nits brother sand-hills capped by vegetation might have been the pure\nbright cliffs of some fairy shore.\n\nThe boy scout stood for many minutes upon the uplands, gazing afar, his\nmouth open as if he were physically drinking in that distant beauty.\n\n\"Gee whiz! this is gr-reat; isn't it, Blinkie?\" he murmured to the\nsquatting dog by his side. \"I never before saw that old Sugarloaf look\nas it does to-day; did you, Mr. Dog?\"\n\nIt had appeared just as radiantly beautiful, off and on, during all the\nseasons of Leon's life. But his powers of observation had not been\ntrained as was the case of late. In the years prior to his becoming a\nscout, when his inseparable companion on uplands and marsh had been a\nshotgun--from the time he was permitted free use of one--and the\nall-absorbing idea in his mind how to contrive a successful shot at\nshore bird or animal, he had gone about \"lak wit' eye shut,\" so far as\nmany things just now beginning to fill him with a wonderful, speechless\ngladness were concerned.\n\n\"Well, we're not heading for that farmhouse, are we, pup?\" he said at\nlength, turning from the contemplation of runaway creeks and radiant\ndunes to the completion of his father's errand.\n\nBut the sunlit beauty at which he had been gazing coursed through his\nevery vein, finding vent in a curly, ecstatic whistle that ascended in\nspirals until it touched the high keynote of exultation and there hung\nsuspended; while the rest of the trip to that upland farmhouse was\naccomplished in a series of broad jumps, the terrier being as wild with\ndelight as his master.\n\nThe errand performed and the boy scout having put in half an hour\ncondescendingly amusing the farmer's two small children, while Blink\nexchanged compliments with his kind, master and dog started upon the\nreturn walk.\n\n\"Oh! it's early yet; don't you want to come a little way into the woods,\ndoggie?\" said Leon, doubling backward after they had taken a few steps.\n\"We haven't had many runs together lately. Your nose has been out of\njoint; poor pup!\" stooping to caress the terrier. \"Toiney says we can't\ntake you on our scout hikes, because you'd scare every 'littal wil'\nan-ni-mal' within a mile. You would, too; wouldn't you? But there's an\noutdoor scout meeting to-night to be held over in Sparrow Hollow, each\nfellow lighting his own camp-fire--using not more than two matches--and\ncooking his own supper. And you may come. Yes, I said you might come!\"\nas the dog, gyrating like a feather, seized his coat-sleeve between\nstrong white teeth in his eagerness not to be excluded from any more fun\nthat might be afoot.\n\nThey were soon on the sere skirts of the woodland, prancing through\nleafy drifts.\n\n\"We can't go far,\" said Leon. \"We must get back to the town and buy our\nhalf-pound of beefsteak that we're to cook without the use of any\nordinary cooking-utensil, and so pass one of the tests for becoming a\nsecond-class scout. I'll divvy up with you, pup! But whew! isn't this\njust fine?... The woods in November can put it all over the September\nwoods to my mind.\"\n\nHe added the last words to himself. There was something about the rugged\nstrength of the stripped trees, with the stealing blue haze of evening\nsoftening their bareness, about the evergreen grandeur of pine and\nhemlock lording it over their robbed brethren, about the drab,\nparchment-like leaves clinging with eerie murmur to the oak-tree, and\nthe ruddy twigs of bare berry-bushes, that appealed to the element of\nrugged daring in the boy himself.\n\nHe could not so soon break away from the woods as he had intended,\nthough he only explored their outskirts.\n\nDusk was already falling when he found himself on the open uplands\nagain, bound back toward the distant town.\n\n\"The scouts are to start for Sparrow Hollow at six o'clock: we must\nhustle, if we want to start with them,\" he said to the dog. \"The only\nway we can make it is by taking a short cut across the marshes and\nwading through the river; that would be a quick way of reaching the town\nand the butcher's shop, to buy our beefsteak,\" muttering rapidly, partly\nto himself, partly to his impatient companion. \"The tide is full out\nnow, the water will be shallow; I can take off my shoes and stockings\nand carry you, pup. Who cares if it's cold?\"\n\nThe boy scout, with an anticipatory glow all over him, felt impervious\nto any extreme of temperature as he bounded down the uplands, with the\nbreeze--the freshening, freakish breeze--driving across the salt-marshes\ndirectly in his face, racing through every vein in him, stirring up a\nwhirligig within, presently bringing waste things to the top even as it\nstirred up dust and refuse in the roadway.\n\n\"Hullo! there's the old _baldfaced house_,\" he cried suddenly to the\ndog. \"Here we are on our old stamping-ground, Blink! Wonder if 'Mom\nBaldwin' is doing her witch stunts still? We haven't said 'Howdy!' to\nher for a long time; have we, pup?\"\n\nSlackening pace, for that fickle breeze was blowing away many things\nthat he ought to have remembered, among them the lateness of the hour,\nhe turned aside a few steps to where a lonely old house stood at the\nfoot of the <DW72> as the uplands melted into the salt-marshes.\n\nIt was a shallow shell of a dwelling--all face and no rear\napparently--and that face was bald, almost stripped of paint by the\nelements. Just as storm-stripped was the heart of the one old woman who\nlived in it, and whom Leon had been wont to call a \"solitary crank!\"\n\nTo the neighborhood generally she was known as Ma'am Baldwin, mother of\nthe young scape-grace, Dave Baldwin, who had so troubled the peaceful\ntown by his pranks that he had finally been shut up in a reformatory,\nand who was now, a year after his release, a useless vagrant, spending,\naccording to report, most of his time loafing between the white\nsand-dunes on one side of the river and the woods on the\nother--incidentally breaking his mother's heart at the same time.\n\nShe had lived here in the old baldfaced house, with him, her youngest\nboy, the child of her middle age, until his wild doings brought the\nlaw's hand upon him. After his imprisonment shame prevented her leaving\nthe isolated dwelling and going to live with her married daughter near\nthe town, though that daughter's one child, her little grandson Jack,\npossessed all the love-spots still green in her withered heart.\n\nIn her humiliation and loneliness \"Mom Baldwin,\" as the boys called her,\nhad become rather eccentric.\n\nShe had more than once been seen by those town boys--Leon and his\ngang--stationed behind the smeared glass of her paintless window, doing\nstrange signaling \"stunts\" with a lighted lantern, whose pale rays\ndescribed a circle, dipped and then shot up as, held aloft in her bony\nold hand, it sent an amber gleam over the salt-marshes.\n\n\"She's a witch--a witch like Dark Tammy, who lived on the edge of the\nwoods over a hundred years ago and who washed her clothes at the Witch\nRock,\" whispered Starrie Chase and his companions one to another as they\nlay low among the rank grass of the dark marshes, spying upon her.\n\"She's a witch, working spells with that lantern!\"\n\nOlder people surmised that she was signaling to her vagabond son, who\nmight be haunting the distant marshes, trying to lure him home; shame\nand grief on his account had half-unbalanced her, they said.\n\nBut the boys pretended to stick to their own superstitious belief,\nbecause, to them, it offered some shabby excuse for tormenting her.\n\nLeon Chase in particular made her rank little garden his nightly\nstamping-ground, and was the most ingenious in his persecuting\nattentions.\n\nHe it was who devised the plan of anchoring a shingle or other light\npiece of wood by a short string to the longest branch of the apple-tree\nthat grew near her door.\n\nWhen the wind blew directly across the marshes, as it did this evening,\nand drove against that paintless door, it operated the impromptu\nknocker; the wooden shingle would keep up an intermittent tapping,\nplaying ticktack upon the painted panels all night.\n\nSometimes Ma'am Baldwin had come to the door a dozen times and peered\nforth over the dark salt-marshes, believing that it was her vagrant son\nwho demanded entrance, while the perpetrators of the trick, Leon Chase,\nGodey Peck and others of their gang--tickled in the meanest part of them\nby the fact that they \"kept her guessing\"--hid among the marsh-grass\nand watched.\n\nHardly any prank could have been more senseless, childish, and\nunfeeling. Yet Starrie Chase had actually believed that he got some sham\nexcitement out of it.\n\nAnd to-night as his feet pressed his old stamping-ground beneath that\napple-tree beside the house, while the wind raked the marshes and\nwhipped his thoughts into dusty confusion, the old waste impulses which\nprompted the trick were mysteriously whirled uppermost again.\n\nThe mischievous tide rip boiled in him once more.\n\nJust as he became conscious of its yeasty bubbling, his foot touched\nsomething on the ground--a hard winter apple. He picked it up and threw\nit against the house, imposing silence on his dog by dictatorial gesture\nand word.\n\nThere was a stir within the paintless dwelling. Through the blurred\nwindow-panes he caught sight of a shrunken form moving.\n\n\"Ha! there's the old 'witch' herself. She looks like a withered\ncorn-stalk with all those odds and ends of shawls dangling about her.\nSsh-ssh! Blinkie. Down, doggie! _Quiet, sir!_\"\n\nLeon's fingers groped upon the ground, where twilight shadows were\nmerging into darkness, for another apple. Since he enlisted as a boy\nscout mischief had been sentenced and shut up in a dark little cell\ninside him. But Malign Habit, though a captive, dies hard.\n\nThose seeking fingers touched something else, a worm-eaten shingle blown\nfrom the old roof. He picked it up and considered it in the darkness,\nwhile his left hand felt in his pocket for some twine.\n\n\"Gee! it would be a great night for that trick to work,\" he muttered\nwith a low chuckle that had less depth to it than a parrot's. \"The wind\nis just in the right direction--driving straight through the house. Eh,\nBlink! Shall we 'get her on a string' again?\"\n\nThe dog whined softly with impatience. Of late, in his short excursions\nwith his master, he had not been used to such stealthy doings. With the\nexception of the trailing expeditions through the woods from which\ncanines were debarred, movements had been open, manly, and aboveboard\nsince the master became a boy scout.\n\nBut Leon had forgotten that he was a scout, had momentarily forgotten\neven the outdoor test in Sparrow Hollow, and the necessary preparations\ntherefor.\n\nHis fingers trifled with the shingle and string. His brain going ahead\nof those fingers was already attaching the one to the other when--the\npaintless door opened and Ma'am Baldwin stepped out.\n\nShe did look like a wind-torn corn-stalk, short and withered, with the\nbreeze catching at the many- strips of shawls that hung around\nher, uniting to protect her somewhat against that marsh-wind driving\nstraight from the river through her home.\n\nFrom her left hand drooped a pale lantern, the one with which boyish\nimagination had accused her of working spells.\n\nIt made an island of yellow light about her as she stepped slowly forth\ninto the dusk. And Leon saw her raise her right arm to her breast with\nthat timid, pathetic movement characteristic of old people--especially\nof those whom life has treated harshly--as if she was afraid of what\nmight spring upon her out of the gusty darkness.\n\nNot for nothing had Starrie Chase been for two months a boy scout! Prior\nto those eight weeks of training that feebly defensive arm would have\nmeant naught to him; hardly would he have noticed it. But just as his\neyes had been opened to consider at length, with a dazzled thrill, that\ndistant Sugarloaf Sand-Pillar and other of Nature's beauties as he had\nseldom or never contemplated them before; so those scout's eyes were\nbeing trained to remark each significant gesture of another person and\nto read its meaning.\n\nSomehow, that right arm laid across an old woman's breast told a tale of\nloneliness and lack of defenders which made the boy wince. The distance\nwidened between his two hands holding respectively the shingle and\nstring.\n\nThere was a wood-pile within a few yards of him. Ma'am Baldwin stepped\ntoward it, breathing heavily and ejaculating: \"My sen-ses! How it do\nblow!\" While Leon restrained the terrier with a \"_Quiet_, Blink! Don't\ngo for her!\"\n\nMa'am Baldwin, intent on holding fast to her shawls and procuring some\nchunks from the wood-pile--nearsighted as she was, to boot--did not\nnotice the boy and dog standing in the blackness beneath the bare\napple-tree.\n\nShe set the lantern atop of the pile. As she bent forward, groping for a\nhatchet, its yellow rays kindled two other lanterns in her eyes by whose\nlight the lurking boy gazed through into her heart and saw for a brief\nmoment how tired, lonely, and baffled it was.\n\nAt the glimpse he straightened up very stiffly. There was a gurgle in\nhis throat, a stirring as of panic at the roots of his hair.\n\nBut not scare produced the rigidity! It was caused by a sudden great\nthroe within which scraped his throat and sent a dimness to his eyes.\nThe captive, Malign Habit, imprisoned before, was dying now in the grasp\nof the Scout.\n\nTo put it otherwise,--at sight of an old woman's arm pathetically\nshielding her breast, at a startled peep into her heart, the tight\nlittle bud of chivalry in Leon, watered of late by his scout training,\nfostered by the good turn to somebody every day, burst suddenly,\nimpetuously into flower!\n\nWith a low snarl at himself, he thrust the coil of string deep into his\npocket, and flung the shingle as far as he could into the night.\n\n\"Ughr-r-r! Guess I was meaner'n you'd be, Blink!\" he muttered,\nswallowing the discovery that sometimes of yore, in his dealings with\nhis own kind, he had been less of a gentleman than his dog.\n\nTo which Blink, freed from restraint, returned a sharp, glad \"Wouf!\"\nthat said: \"I'm glad you've come to your senses, old man!\"\n\n\"Hullo! 'Mom Baldwin,'\" Leon stepped forward as the bowed woman started\nat the monosyllabic bark, and peered fearfully into the darkness. \"Don't\nyou want me to split those chunks for you? You can't manage the\nhatchet.\"\n\nMa'am Baldwin's experience had taught her to distrust boys--Leon\nespecially! As her peering eyes recognized him, she backed away, raising\nher right arm to her breast again with that helpless gesture of defense.\n\nStarrie Chase blenched in turn. That pathetic old arm warding him off\nhurt him more at the core than a knockdown blow from a stronger limb.\n\nBut remembering all at once that he was a scout, trained to prompt\naction, he picked up the hatchet where she had dropped it, and set to\nwork vigorously, chopping wood.\n\n\"Now! I'll carry these chunks into the house for you,\" he said\npresently. \"Aw! let me. I'd just as soon do it!\"\n\nMa'am Baldwin had no alternative. Leon pushed the paintless door open\nand carried the wood inside, while she hobbled after him, well-nigh as\nmuch astonished as if Gabriel's trump had suddenly awoke the echoes of\nthe gusty marshland.\n\nThe scout went to and fro for another ten minutes, splitting more\nchunks, piling them ready to her hand within.\n\nMeanwhile his beneficiary, the old woman, seemed to have got a little\nlight on the surprising situation. Grunting inarticulately, chewing her\nbewilderment between her teeth, she disappeared into a room off the\nkitchen and returned holding forth a ten-cent piece to her knight.\n\n\"No, thanks! I'm a boy scout. We don't take money for doing a good\nturn.\" Leon shook his head. \"Say! this old house is so draughty; you\nburn all the wood you want to-night; I'll run over to-morrow or next day\nan' split some more. Is there anything else I can do for you before I\ngo? You've got enough water in from the well,\" he peered into the\nwater-pail, which winked satisfactorily.\n\nMa'am Baldwin had sunk upon a chair, alternately looking in perplexity\nat the energetic boy, and listening to the frisky gusts: \"My sen-ses!\nWhatever's come over you, Leon?\" she gasped; and then wailingly: \"Deary\nme! if it should blow up a gale to-night, some things in this house'll\nride out.\"\n\n\"No, it isn't going to blow up a storm,\" Leon reassured her. \"The wind's\nnot really high, only it gets such a rake over the marshes. Here, I'll\ntie these old shutters together for you, the fastening is broken,\" and\nthe coil of string was produced from his pocket for a new purpose. \"But\nit must be _awful_ lonely for you, living here by yourself, Ma'am\nBaldwin. You'll be snowed in later on; we'll have to come and dig you\nout.\"\n\nStill chewing the cud of her bewilderment, she stared at him, mumbling,\nnodding, and stroking the gray hair from her forehead with nervous\nfingers. But there was a humid light in the old eyes that spilled over\non the boy as he worked.\n\n\"Why don't you go to live with your daughter an' your grandson in the\ntown?\" went on Leon as he tied together the last pair of flapping\nshutters. \"And you're so fond of little Jack too; he's a nice kid!\"\n\n\"So he is!\" nodded the grandmother; a change overspread her entire face\nnow, she looked tender, grandmotherly, half-hopeful, as if for the\nmoment trouble on behalf of her ne'er-do-well son was forgotten. \"Well!\nperhaps I will move there before the winter sets in hard, Leon. I'm not\nso smart as I was. I'm sure I don't know how to thank you! Good-night!\"\n\n\"Good-night!\" returned the scout. \"You can untie those shutters easily\nenough in the morning.\"\n\nAnd he found himself outside again upon the dark marshland, with the\nobedient terrier who had trotted at his heels during the late\nproceedings, waltzing excitedly at his side.\n\n\"Ah, la! la! as Toiney says, it's too late now, Blink, for us to put\nback to the town to buy our supper--half a pound of beefsteak and two\npotatoes, to be cooked over each one's special fire,\" muttered the boy,\nmomentarily irresolute. \"Well! we'll have to let the grub go, and race\nback across the uplands, over to the Hollow. Stir your trotters, Mr.\nDog!\"\n\nAs the two regained the crest of the hilly uplands, Leon paused for\nbreath. On his left hand stretched the dark, solemn woods, where the\nbreeze hooted weirdly among leafless boughs. On his right, beyond upland\nand broad salt-marsh, wound the silver-spot river in whose now shallow\nripples bathed a rising moon.\n\nQuarter of a mile ahead of him a rosy flush upon the cheek of darkness\ntold that in the sheltered hollow, between a clump of pines that served\nas a windbreak and the woods, the Owls' camp-fires were already blazing.\n\n\"Tooraloo! I feel as if I could start my fire to-night without using a\nmatch at all--just by snapping my fingers at it, or with a piece of damp\nbark and a snowball, as the woodsmen say,\" he confided half-audibly to\nthe dog.\n\nWhence this feeling of prowess, of being a firebrand--a genial\none--capable of kindling other and better lights in the world than a\ncamp-fire?\n\nStarrie Chase did not analyze his sensations of magnificence, which\nbloomed from a discovery back there on the marshes of the secret which\nis at the root of the Boy Scout Movement, at the base of all Christian\nChivalry, at the foundation of golden labor for mankind in every age:\nnamely, that the excitement of helping people is vastly, vitally, and\nblissfully greater than the spurious excitement of hurting them!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nESTU PRETA!\n\n\n\"Hullo! here's Starrie. Well! it's about time you turned up. We waited\nquarter of an hour for you before leaving town.--Hey! Starrie, we've got\nour six cook-fires all going. I only used two matches in lighting mine;\nI've passed one half of to-night's test.--So've I! Whoopee! _I_ 'went\nthe jolly test one better': I lit my fire with a single, solitary\nmatch.\"\n\nStarrie Chase, bounding down the grassy side of Sparrow Hollow, with\nthese lusty cries of his brother Owls greeting him, stood for a moment\nin the brilliant glare of a belt of fires, as if dazed by the ruddy\ncarnival, while his dog, making a wild circuit of the ring, bayed each\nbouquet of flames in turn.\n\n\"Yaas; we'll get heem littal fire light lak' wink--sure! We ar-re de\nboy! We ar-re de scout, you'll bet!\" supplemented the merry voice of\nToiney, the assistant scoutmaster, who, with the tassel of his red cap\nbobbing, and the flame-light flickering on his blue homespun shirt, was\non his knees before Harold's cook-fire, using his lungs as a pair of\nbellows.\n\n\"Hurrah! I'm in this: I'll light my fire with one match, too. Kenjo Red\nshan't get ahead of me: no, sir!\" Corporal Leon Chase was now working\nlike lightning, piling dry leaves, pine splinters, dead twigs into a\ncarefully arranged heap in a gap which had been left for him in the ring\nof half a dozen fires kindled by six tenderfoot scouts, ambitious of\nbeing admitted to a second-class degree.\n\nBut he, the behind-time tenderfoot, was abruptly held up in his tardy\nlabors by the voice of the tall scoutmaster, who with Scout Warren, the\npatrol leader of the Owls, was superintending the tests.\n\n\"I want to speak to you for a minute, Leon,\" said Scoutmaster Estey,\nwith a gravity that dropped like a weighty pebble into the midst of the\nfun.\n\nAnd Corporal Chase, otherwise Scout 2, of the Owls, obediently suspended\nfire-building, approached his superior officer and saluted.\n\n\"I'd like to know where you have been for the last hour,\" began the\nscoutmaster with the dignity of a brigadier-general holding an\ninvestigation, while his keen eyes from under the drab broad-brimmed\nhat searched Leon's face in the sixfold firelight. \"Jimmy Sweet,\"\nnodding toward a squatting Owl, \"said he caught a distant glimpse of you\nnearly an hour ago over on the edge of the salt-marshes near Ma'am\nBaldwin's old house. I hope you haven't been plaguing her again?\"\n\nThe voice of the superior officer was all ready to be stern, as if he\nhad visions of a corporal being requested to hand over his scout-badge\nof chivalry until such time as he should prove himself worthy of wearing\nit.\n\n\"Have you?\"\n\n\"No!\" Leon cleared his throat hesitatingly. \"No,\"--he suddenly lifted\nsteady eyes to the scoutmaster's face,--\"I have been chopping wood and\ndoing a few other little things for her; that made me late!\"\n\nA moment's breathless silence enveloped the six cook-fires. The face of\nthe scoutmaster himself was set in lines of amazement: genially it\nrelaxed.\n\n\"Good for you, Corporal!\" He clapped the late-comer approvingly on the\nshoulder, and in his voice was a moved ring.\n\nFor, as he scanned the boy's face in the sixfold glow, he read from it\nthat, to-night, Leon had really become a scout: that, back there on the\nsalt-marshes, the inner and chivalrous grace of knighthood, of which his\noath was the outward and heralding sign, had been consciously born\nwithin him.\n\nThe scoutmaster was feeling round in his broad approval for other words\nof commendation, when Toiney's sprightly tones broke the momentary\ntension.\n\n\"Ha! dis poor ole oomans,\" he grunted, vivaciously pitying Ma'am\nBaldwin. \"She's lif' all alone en she's burst she's heart for she haf\nsuch a _bad boy_, engh? She's boy, Dave, heem _canaille_,\n_vaurien_--w'at-you-call, good-for-nodings--engh?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid he is,\" agreed the scoutmaster regretfully. \"Yet I pity Dave\ntoo. His elder brother went West when he was a little fellow; his\nfather, who was a deep-sea fisherman, like Harold's father, was away\nnearly all the year round. Dave grew up without any strong man's hand\nover him; out of school-hours he had to work hard on a farm, and I\nsuppose in his craving for fun of some kind he played all sorts of\nfoolish pranks. After he left school and was old enough to know better,\nhe kept them up--ran a locomotive out of the little railway station one\nnight, came near killing a man and was sent to a reformatory!\"\n\n\"Bah! heem jus' vagabond--_errant_--how-you-say-eet--tramp-sonne-of-a-\ngun--_vaurien_, engh?\" declared Toiney, gutturally contemptuous, while\nhe poked Harold's fire with a dry stick.\n\n\"Yes, he's a mere vagrant now, loafing about the Sugarloaf Sand-Dunes\nand the woods; and likely to get into trouble again through petty\nthefts, so people say. When he had served his sentence he seemed to\nthink there wasn't much of a future before him, and didn't stick to the\njob he got. I pity his old mother! I think that every boy scout should\nmake it a point to do a good turn for her when he can.\"\n\n\"Ah! _oui_; shes break in pieces, engh?\" murmured Toiney, the\nirrepressible, still punching up the fire, to prepare it for the cooking\ntests.\n\nSomehow, his eloquent sympathy sent a stab through Leon--whom everybody\nwas at the moment regarding with admiration--for it brought a sharp\nrecollection of an old woman backing away from him in fear, with her\nright arm laid across her breast in piteous self-defense.\n\n\"Gee! I wish I could do something more for her than chopping\nwood--something that would make up for being mean to her,\" thought\nCorporal Chase, as he returned to his fire-building, arranging the fuel\nmethodically so as to allow plenty of draught, and then triumphantly\nrivaling Kenjo's feat by lighting his cook-fire with one match.\n\nThe tiny, snappy laughter of that matchhead, seeming to rejoice that\nanother baby light was born into the world, as he drew it along a dry\nstick, restored his towering good spirits.\n\n\"And now for the cooking test!\" cried the scoutmaster. \"Each scout to\nput his two potatoes to roast in the embers of his fire, and make a\ncontrivance for broiling his beefsteak! And look out that you don't\n'cook the black ox,' boys, as Captain Andy would say!\"\n\n\"What do you mean by 'cooking the black ox'?\" from two or three excited\nand perspiring scouts.\n\n\"Why! that's what the sailors say when their beef is burnt to the color\nof a black-haired ox,\" laughed the superior officer. \"Scout Chase,\nhaven't you brought any beefsteak and potatoes?\"\n\n\"No, I meant to go back to the town for them an' meet you there. Blink\nan' I don't want any supper; we'll get it when we go home,\" returned\nLeon nonchalantly, swallowing his mortification at not being able to\ncomplete the outdoor test, this evening.\n\n\"Oh! I'll share my rations with you, Starrie,\" volunteered Colin Estey.\n\"I shan't 'cook the black ox': I'm too nifty a cook for that; trust me!\"\nColin was concocting a handsome gridiron of peeled twigs as he spoke.\n\n\"Don't mind him, Starrie: I could cook better when I was born than Col\ncan now! I'll divide my beefsteak and 'taters' with you,\" came from\nanother primitive chef, the offer being repeated more or less alluringly\nby every boy scout.\n\n\"Well! you're a generous-hearted bunch,\" put in Nixon, the patrol\nleader, from his over-seer's post. \"But the scout-master and I have more\nthan a pound of raw beefsteak here which we brought along for our\nsupper. As I'm not in these tests\" (Nixon was now a full-fledged\nfirst-class scout) \"I'll cut off a piece for Leon so that he can cook it\nhimself; I guess we can spare him a couple of potatoes too; then he can\npass the test, with the others.\"\n\nDuring the supper which followed while each scout, sitting cross-legged\nby his own cook-fire, partook of the meal in primitive fashion and\nToiney made coffee for the \"crowd,\" more than one Owl shared in the\nopinion once enunciated by Leon that eating in the woods--or in a woodsy\nhollow such as sheltered them now from the breeze that drove keenly\nacross the marshes--was the \"best part of the business.\"\n\nThey modified that opinion later when the seven small fires, which had\nsputtered merrily under the cooking, were reinforced by logs and\nbranches, and stimulated into a belt of vivacious camp-fires, each\nrearing high its topknot of crested flame, and throwing wonderful\nreflections through the stony hollow.\n\n\"I always wanted to be a savage. To-night, I feel nearer to it than ever\nbefore,\" said Colin, listening with an ecstatic shiver to the wind as it\nchanted among the pines that formed their windbreak, capered round the\nhollow, flinging them a gust or two that made the camp-fires roar with\nlaughter, and then, as if unwilling to disturb such a jolly party,\nrushed wildly on to take it out of the trees in the woods. \"And now for\nthe powwow, Mr. Scoutmaster!\" he suggested, looking across the ring of\nfires at his tall brother and superior officer.\n\n\"Hark! that's an owl hooting somewhere,\" broke in Coombsie. \"It's the\nGrand Duke, I think--the big old horned owl! One doesn't hear him often\nat this time of year. He wants to be present at the Owl Powwow.\"\n\n\"Ah, la! la! I'll t'ink he soun' lak' hongree ole wolf, me,\" murmured\nToiney dreamily.\n\nBut the distant hoot, the deep \"Whoo-hoo-hoodoo hoo,\" or\n\"Whoo-hoo-whoo-whah-hoo!\" as some of the boys interpreted it, from the\nfar recesses of the woods, added a final touch of mystic wildness to the\nsevenfold radiance of the firelit scene which was reflected in the\nsevenfold rapture of boyish hearts.\n\nAnd now the heads of human Owls were bent nearer to the golden flames as\nnotebooks were drawn out containing rough pencil jottings, and scouts\ncompared their observations of man, beast, bird, fish, or inanimate\nobject, encountered in the woods, on the uplands or marshes, or upon the\nriver during the past few days!\n\nKenjo Red offered the most important contribution.\n\n\"I went to Ipswich yesterday to spend the day with my uncle,\" he began,\nas he lay, breast downward, gazing reflectively into his fire. \"In the\nafternoon we walked over to the Sugarloaf Sand-Dunes and lounged about\nthere on the white beach, watching the tide go out. We didn't see many\nbirds, only a few herring gulls. But I'll tell you what we did see: two\nbig harbor seals and a young one, lying out on a sand-spit which the\ntide had just left bare. They were sunning themselves an' having a dandy\ntime! One was a monster, a male, or big old dog-seal, my uncle said; he\nmust have been nearly six feet long, and weighed about half a ton.\"\n\n\"More or less?\" threw in the scoutmaster, laughing at Kenjo's jesting\nimagination. \"Generally a big male weighs almost two hundred pounds,\noccasionally something over. Hereabouts, he is indifferently called the\n'dog-seal' or 'bull-seal,' according to the speaker's taste; his head is\nshaped rather like a setter dog's, with the ears laid flat back,--for\nthe seal has no ears to speak of,--but the eyes are bovine,\" he\nexplained to Nixon, who knew less about this sea mammal than did his\nbrother scouts, and who had never seen him at close quarters.\n\n\"Isn't it unusual to find seals high and dry at this time of year?\"\nasked Coombsie. \"In the spring and summer one sees plenty of them down\nnear the mouth of the river, sprawling in the sun on a reef or sandbar.\nBut in the late fall and winter they mostly stay in the water.\"\n\n\"Not when the river is frozen over--or partially frozen,\" threw in\nLeon. \"They love to take a ride on a drifting ice-cake, so Captain Andy\nsays! Is there any bounty on their heads now, Mr. Scoutmaster?\" he\naddressed the troop commander.\n\n\"No, that has been removed. The marbled harbor seal, so called because\nof his spots, was being wiped out, as he was wiping out the fish many\nyears ago, before the Government put a price on his head. Now that he is\nno longer severely persecuted the mottled dotard, as he is sometimes\ncalled,--I'm sure I don't know why, for I see no signs of senility about\nhim,--is becoming tamer and more prevalent again. Still, he's wilder and\nshyer than he used to be.\"\n\n\"Yes, there's an old fisherman's shack on one corner of the Sugarloaf\nDunes, where a clam-digger keeps his pails and a boat,\" said Kenjo. \"He\nlet my uncle take the boat and we rowed across to the sand-spit. The\nseals let us come within thirty yards of them: then they stirred\nthemselves lazily, with that funny wabble they have--just like a person\nwhose hands are tied together, and his feet tied more tightly\nstill--lifting the head and short fore-flippers first and swinging them\nto one side, then the back part of the body and long hind-flippers,\ngiving them a swing to the other side. Say! but it was funny. So they\nflopped off into the water.\"\n\n\"Goodness! I wish that I'd been with you, Kenjo,\" exclaimed Scout\nWarren. \"I haven't seen a harbor seal yet, except just his head as he\nswam round in the water, when Captain Andy took me down the river in his\npower-boat, the Aviator. We rowed ashore in the Aviator's Pill,\"\nlaughingly, \"in that funny little tub of a rowboat which dances\nattendance on the gasolene launch, but though we landed on the white\nsand-dunes and stayed round there for quite a while, not a seal did we\nsee sprawling out on any reef.\"\n\n\"I'll see heem _gros seal_ on reever,\" broke in Toiney gutturally. \"I'll\nsee heem six mont' past on reever _au printemps_--in spring--w'en, he go\nfor kill todder gros seal; he'll hit heem en mak' heem go deaded--engh?\"\n\n\"Yes, the males have bad duels between themselves occasionally. But\nthey're mild enough toward human beings. However, my father had a\nstrange experience with them once,\" said the scoutmaster, pushing back\nhis broad hat, so that the sevenfold glow from the fires danced upon his\nstrong face. \"He's told me about it ever since I was a little boy, and\nColin too. When he was a very young man he rowed down to the mouth of\nthe river one day with some sportsmen who went off to shoot ducks,\nleaving him to dig clams and get a clambake ready for them on the white\ndunes. Well, sir! left alone, he pulled off to the clam-flats, drew up\nhis boat, stepped out, and the tide being at a low ebb, set to work to\ndig up the clams which were here and there thrusting their long necks up\nfrom the wet sand, to feed on the infusoria--their favorite feeding-time\nbeing when it is nearly, but not quite, low water.\n\n\"The tide had receded altogether from the other side of the sand-flats,\nso that they joined the marshy mainland, and as my father landed he saw\nthat there was a big herd of twenty or thirty seals lying out on those\nflats. It was before a bounty was set upon their heads, when they were\nvery plentiful and tame. My father was not in the least afraid of them\nand was proceeding to dig his clams peacefully, when he suddenly saw\nthat the whole herd was thrown into a wild panic by the discovery that\n_he_ was between them and the water. They broke into a floundering\nstampede and came straight for him--or rather for the water behind\nhim--at a fast clip, half sliding, half throwing themselves along. A\nfunny sight they must have been! Father says one big fellow came at him\nwith his mouth wide open: the four sharp white teeth in front, two upper\nand two lower, shining. So Dad just turned tail and ran for the water as\nhe had never run before; not waiting to jump into his boat, he plunged\ninto the channel up to his waist!\"\n\n\"But the seals wouldn't have attacked him, would they?\" incredulously\nfrom Nixon.\n\n\"No; I think not. But he might not have been able to keep his feet. They\nwould, perhaps, have struck him with their heavy bodies and knocked him\ndown. And to feel a dozen or so of damp seals sliding over a fellow,\ntheir weights ranging anywhere from a hundred to two hundred and fifty\npounds, wouldn't be a pleasant sensation, to say the least!\"\n\n\"I guess not!\" chuckled the Owls.\n\n\"I'd like to catch a creamy pup-seal--isn't that what you call the only\nchild, the young one? 'Twould be fun to tame it,\" said Nixon. \"Perhaps\nI'll get a chance to do so when we camp out on the Sugarloaf Dunes next\nsummer. Aren't we going to have a camp there for two weeks during the\nend of August and beginning of September, Mr. Scoutmaster?\"\n\n\"I hope so, if I can get permission from the landlord who owns the\ndunes.\"\n\n\"Maybe we'll run across Dave Baldwin too--the _vaurien_, as Toiney calls\nhim--if he stays round there a part of the time?\" This from Leon.\n\n\"That wouldn't be a desirable encounter, I'm afraid. Now! has any scout\na suggestion to make that would be useful in planning our work for this\nwinter?\" Scoutmaster Estey looked round at the ring of boyish faces,\nreflecting the sevenfold glow, at Harold, lying on his face and hands,\nblinking dreamily under Toiney's wing, while the firelight burnished the\nlatter's swarthy features beneath the tasseled cap.\n\n\"Mr. Scoutmaster!\" Nixon Warren sprang to his feet impulsively, \"Marcoo\nand I have a suggestion to offer,\"--Nixon glanced at his cousin\nCoombsie,--\"it hasn't any direct relation to our work, but we humbly\nsubmit it as an idea that might be useful, not only to our boy scout\norganization here, but to the movement everywhere all over the world.\"\n\n\"Ho! Ho! What do you know about that? Out with it, Nix, if it's worth\nanything,\" came the dubious encouragement of his brother Owls.\n\n\"I must tell a little yarn first. The day before yesterday Marcoo and I\nwere in Boston. We lunched at a fine restaurant. At a table near us was\na gentleman--he looked like a Mexican or Spaniard--who couldn't speak\nany English and addressed the waiter by signs. There was a boy with him,\na classy-looking fellow of about fourteen, his son, I guess. 'I'll wager\nthat boy is a scout!' I whispered to Marcoo. 'His eyes take in\neverything, without seeming to stare about him much--and see the way he\ncarries himself--straight as a string!'\"\n\n\"So I suggested that we should try the scout salute on him as we passed\nout,\" struck in Marcoo. \"We did! And fellows, he was on his feet like a\nflash, holding up his right hand, thumb resting on the little\nfinger-nail, and the other three fingers upright, saluting back! We\nguessed then that he was a Mexican boy scout, traveling with his\nfather.\"\n\n\"He seemed jolly glad to see us,\" Nixon again took up the anecdote;\n\"just beamed! But he didn't apparently understand a word of English\nexcept 'Good-day!' not even when we passed the scout motto to him as a\nwatchword: 'Be Prepared!' We might all three have been mutes saluting\neach other.\n\n\"We talked it over, coming home, Marcoo and I,\" went on the patrol\nleader. \"And we arrived at the conclusion that it would be a great thing\nif our hearty motto, as Captain Andy calls it, could be taught to boy\nscouts all over the world, in some common form understood by all, as\nwell as in their mother tongue. So that when scout meets scout of\nanother country he could pass it on as a kind of bond and\ninspiration--together with the Scout Sign which is understood in almost\nevery land to-day.\"\n\n\"So we looked it up in Esperanto--the only attempt at a world-language\nof which we know, and in which my father is interested.\" Marcoo leaped\nto his feet, too, as he excitedly spoke. \"And it sounded fine! Give it\nto them, Nix!\"\n\n\"_Estu preta!_\"\n\n\"Estu preta! Estu preta! BE PREPARED!\" One and all these present-day\nscouts took it up, shouting it to the seven fires, and to the wind which\ncaught it from their lips like a silver feather to bear it away beyond\nthe hollow, as if it would girdle the world with that hearty motto, in\nsome universal form, as Nixon had suggested.\n\n\"Estu preta!\" it was still on their tongues when, camp-fires\nextinguished, they marched home. They flung it at each other in joyous\nchallenge as they said good-night.\n\nIt entwined itself with the drowsy thoughts of the patrol leader from\nwhom it emanated when he lay down to sleep, eclipsing his interest in\nthe future summer camp, in marbled seals and cooing pup-seals--though\nsuch might not have been the case could he have foreseen how exciting\nwould be his first glimpse of the \"gros seal\" at close quarters.\n\nIt mingled with Leon's dreamy reminiscences too, as the first ripple of\nslumber, like the inflowing tide, invaded his consciousness.\n\n\"Whew! this certainly has been a great day,\" he murmured, after\nrepeating the Lord's Prayer with an elated fervor which he had never put\ninto it before.\n\nYet there was one smirch upon the day's golden face in the sudden memory\nof an old woman shrinking away from him with uplifted arm.\n\n\"Gee! I wish I could do something for her beyond a few good turns.\" His\ndrowsy tongue half-formed the words.\n\nAnd like a silver echo, stealing through his confused consciousness came\nthe automatic answer: \"_Estu preta!_ Live up to your able motto! Be\nPrepared!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE CHRISTMAS BRIGADE\n\n\n\"Estu preta!\" During the days that followed, while the fall season was\nmerged in winter, the Owls who had passed their outdoor tests in Sparrow\nHollow, six of whom were tenderfeet no longer, but second-class scouts,\ndid try to live up to their hearty motto. And this not only in the\ndevelopment of their strong young bodies by exercise and drill, so that\nevery expanding muscle was under control, not only in the training of\ntheir mental faculties toward keen observation and alert action, but\nalso in the chivalrous practice of the little every-day kindness to man\nor beast--almost too trivial to be noticed, perhaps, yet preparing the\nheart for the rendering of a supreme good turn!\n\nThus the Owl Patrol presently began to be recognized as a patriotic and\nprogressive force. The Improvement Society of the little town sought its\ncooperation, and it soon became \"lots more fun\" to the boy scouts to\nlend a hand in making that too staid town a more beautiful and lively\nplace to live in than to pile--as had often been the case\nformerly--destruction on its dullness.\n\nUnder the direction of their energetic young scoutmaster they engaged in\nother crusades too, besides that against things ugly and retarding, in\ncrusades for the rescue of many a needless and undue sufferer of the\nanimal kingdom, their most noted enterprise along these lines being an\nattack upon the use of the steel trap among boys, especially those of\nthe woodland farms, whereby many a little fur-bearing animal met its\nslow end in suffering unspeakable.\n\nThe use of this steel-jawed atrocity was bad enough in the hands of the\none or two adult professional trappers of the neighborhood who visited\ntheir traps regularly. (And it is to be hoped that the Boy Scouts of\nAmerica, who champion the cause of their timid little brothers of the\nwoods, will some day sweep this barbarous contrivance altogether from\nthe earth!) But its use by irresponsible boys who set the traps in copse\nor thicket, and, in the multitudinous interests of boydom, frequently\nforgot all about them for days--leaving the little animal luckless\nenough to be caught to suffer indefinitely--is a cruelty too heinous to\nflourish upon the same free soil that yields such a fair growth of\nchivalry as that embodied in the Scouts of the U.S.A.\n\nOne or two of the Owls, who shall remain incognito, had possessed such\ntraps in the past: now, they took them out into a back yard, shattered\nthem with a hammer, relegated the fragments to a refuse heap, and\ninstituted a zealous crusade against the use of the steel trap by\nnon-scouts of the neighboring farms, such as Godey Peck and his gang.\n\nThere was a hand-to-hand skirmish over this matter before the Owl Patrol\nhad its way; and the result thereof gave Godey cause for reflection.\n\n\"It hasn't made 'softies' of 'em anyhow, this scout movement,\" he\nsoliloquized. \"They got the better _of us_. And they seem to have such\nripping good times, hiking an' trailing! But--\"\n\nThe demurring \"but\" in this boy's mind sprang from the proviso that if\nhe enlisted in the Boy Scouts of America, he would be obliged, like\nLeon, to part with his gun. Also, from a feeling that he would be\ndebarred in future from the planning of such lawless escapades as\nplaying stowaway aboard an unlaunched vessel; a scheme, it may be said,\nwhich was never carried through, being nipped in the bud by watchful\nshipwrights!\n\nGodey Peck was on the fence with regard to the new movement. And he did\nnot yet know on which side he would drop down. Meanwhile from his\nwavering point of indecision, beset with discomfort, he soothed his\nfeelings by renewed and vehement shouts of \"Tin Scouts! Tin Soldiers!\"\nwhenever a khaki uniform and broad drab hat hove in view.\n\nHe had ample opportunity to air his feeble-shafted malice during the\nweek preceding Christmas, for scouts, in uniform and out of it, were\nconstantly to be seen engaged in \"hifalutin stunts,\" according to Godey,\nwhich meant that they had been organized into a brigade by the\nscoutmaster for the doing of sundry and many good turns befitting the\nseason.\n\nIt might be only the carrying of parcels, for a heavy-laden woman, who\nhad visited a distant city on a shopping expedition, from the little\nrailway station on the edge of the yellow wintry salt-marshes to her\nhome! Or the bearing of gifts from a benevolent individual or society to\nsome poor or solitary human brother or sister who otherwise might forget\nthe meaning of Christmas.\n\nIt was on behalf of one such person that Corporal Leon Chase--detailed\nfor duty on this brigade--took counsel with his mother on the afternoon\nof Christmas Eve.\n\n\"You don't suppose that _she'll_ stay alone in that old baldfaced house\nto-day and to-morrow, do you, mother?\" he said, rather ambiguously. \"The\ntown authorities ought to forbid her living on there all by herself;\nshe'll be snowed in pretty soon if this cold snap continues. Why! the\nriver is all frozen over--ice fairly firm too. I'm going skating by an'\nby.\"\n\n\"I'd wait until it is a little more solid, if I were you,\" returned the\nmother anxiously. \"You know our brackish ice is apt to be treacherous;\nthe salt in the water softens it, so your father says, renders it more\nporous and unsafe. I suppose you were speaking of old Ma'am Baldwin. I\ndon't see what the authorities can do. They can't force her into an\ninstitution; she owns that old house. And I don't know that her\ndaughter's husband--little Jack's father--wants her in his home. It's\ntoo bad that her son Dave should have turned out such a\ngood-for-nothing! Trouble about him has aged her, I guess; she's not as\nold as she seems.\"\n\nThen Starrie Chase inveigled his dimpling mother into a pantry and,\nwhile she made passes at him with a rolling-pin, proceeded to whisper\nin her ear--with a measure of embarrassment, for he was not accustomed\nto himself in the role of alms-bearer. But in a shadowy corner within\nhim, once tenanted by Malign Habit, there still lurked a vision which\nsprang out on him at times, of an old woman raising her feeble arm to\nward him off: it caused him to grit his teeth and mutter: \"I wish I\ncould do something more than to chop her wood occasionally!\" And vaguely\nthe mental answer would come: \"_Estu preta!_ At a time when you least\nexpect it, you may find yourself up against the Big Minute!\"\n\nAnd in the mean time Starrie cornered his mother in the pantry--floury\nshrine of Christmas culinary rites!--and presently listened,\nwell-pleased, to her answer:--\n\n\"Yes! I'm glad that you put it into my head, son. I'll pack some things\ninto a basket for her, and you can take it across the marshes now. It\nmust be bitterly lonely for her, poor old woman! And oh! Leon, as you'll\nbe in that direction, could you go on into the woods and get me some red\nberries for Christmas decorations?\"\n\n\"Sure, mum!\" And Leon stepped forth to speak to Colin Estey, who was\nawaiting him at the rear of the Chase homestead, exercising in a\npreliminary canter a new pedalomotor which Santa Claus, masquerading as\nthe expressman, had dropped at his home a little too soon.\n\n\"Take care you don't run into a tree, smash it up, and drive a splinter\nthrough your nose, as Marcoo did when he got his, last year!\" admonished\nStarrie. \"Say! Col, I can't go skating for a little while: I'm bound for\nthe woods first to get some alder-berries for decorations. Want to\ncome?\"\n\n\"Guess so!\"\n\n\"You can leave that 'pedalmobile' here. Wait a minute! Mother's just\nputting some Christmas 'grub,' mince-pies an' things, into a basket for\nold Ma'am Baldwin; we'll deposit it at her door as we go along!\"\n\n\"How'd it be to write on it, 'Merry Christmas from the Owls'?\" suggested\nyoung Colin whimsically: \"that would keep her guessing; she'd maybe\nthink birds had come out o' the woods to feed her as they did Elijah or\nElisha of old.\"\n\nSo a card was tacked to the basket, on which was traced with a stub-end\nof  chalk the outline of a perching owl, highly rufous as to\nplumage, with the proposed salutation beneath it.\n\nBut the two Owls who placed the gift did not find the recipient at home.\nThat baldfaced house beyond the frost-spiked marshes was empty, its\npaintless door, half screened by the icy boughs of the wind-beaten\napple-tree, fast locked.\n\n\"I guess she's gone over to the town to spend Christmas Eve with her\ndaughter,\" suggested Colin. \"She dotes on her gran'son, little Jack\nBarry; he's quite a boy for nine years old! What shall we do with the\nbasket?\"\n\n\"Raise that kitchen window an' slip it inside--the fastening's broken!\"\n\n\"Say! but you're as barefaced as the house.\" Colin hugged himself with a\nsense of having got off a good joke as he watched Leon boldly raise the\nloose window and deposit the present within. \"Let's put for the woods\nnow!\" he added, the deed accomplished.\n\nAnd the two scouts climbed the uplands toward those midwinter woods that\ncrowned the heights in dismantled majesty.\n\nBut they were not robbed of beauty, the December woods: the frosty\nsunshine knew that as it picked out the berry-laden black alders\ndisplaying their coral branches against the velvet background of a pine,\nand embraced the regiment of hemlock bushes, green dwarfs which,\ntogether with their full-sized brothers, held the fort for spring\nagainst all the hosts of winter.\n\n\"Whee-ew! I think the woods are just dandy at this time o' year!\" Leon\nled a whistling onslaught upon the vividly laden black alder bushes,\nwhile the white gusts of the boys' breath floated like incense through\nthe coral and evergreen sanctuary of beauty, guarded by the silvery\npillars of white birch-trees, where, in the bare forest, Nature had not\nleft herself without a witness to joy and color.\n\n\"These berries are as red as Varney's Paintpot,\" laughed Colin by and\nby, as the two scouts retraced their steps across the salt-marshes,\ncrunching underfoot the frozen spikes of yellow marsh-grass. \"Well, we\nhad a great time on that day when we found the old Paintpot--though we\nsucceeded in getting lost!\"\n\n\"We surely did! I wonder if the frost will hold, so that we'll have some\ngood skating after Christmas? It's freezing now.\" Leon's gaze strayed\nahead to the solid white surface of the tidal river, stained with amber\nby the setting sun.\n\nThey were within a hundred yards of it by this time, and caught the\nshrill cries and yells of boyish laughter from youthful skaters who\ncareered and pirouetted at a short, safe distance from the bank. But a\nclear view of what was going on was shut off from the two berry-laden\nscouts, crossing the saffron marshes at a leisurely pace, by some\ntumble-down sheds that intervened between them and the river.\n\n\"Well, the kids seem to be having a good time on the ice anyhow--though\nI don't think it can be very firm yet. Whew! what's that?\" exclaimed\nColin suddenly, as a piercing cry came ringing from the river-bank\nwhereon each blade of the coarse beach-grass glittered like a jeweled\nspike under the waning sunlight.\n\n\"Oh! _somebody_ is blowing off the smoke of his troubles,\" laughed Leon\nunconcernedly.\n\nThe afternoon was so sharply delectable, with the sky all pale gold in\nthe west, flinging them a remote, lukewarm smile like a Christmas\ngreeting from some half-reminiscent friend, the hearts of the two scouts\nreflecting the beauty of the Christmas woods were so elated that they\ncould not all in a moment slide down from Mount Happiness into the\nvalley where danger and pain become realities.\n\nBut _now_ a volley of cries, frenzied and appealing, rang out over the\nsalt-marshes. Mingling with them--outshrilling them--came a call which\nmade each scout jump as if an arrow had struck him.\n\nIt was the weird hoot of an owl uttered by a human throat, shrill with\ndesperation, the signal call of the Owl Patrol--but with a violent note\nof distress in it such as to their ears had never sharpened it before.\n\n\"_Gee whiz!_ Something's wrong--something's up! I'll wager 'twas Nix\nWarren who hooted that time!\"\n\nStarrie Chase dropped his coral-laden branches upon the frozen ground.\n\n\"The Owls to the rescue!\" he cried, and dashed toward the frozen\nriver-bank.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE BIG MINUTE\n\n\nWhen Scouts Chase and Estey reached that frosty bank a confused scene\nmet their eyes.\n\nBefore the tumble-down sheds some wildly terrified small boys were\nstumbling to and fro on the pale brink of the ice, floundering like\nriver seals in their attempts to walk upon the skates which they were\ntoo distracted to remove, and shrieking at intervals:--\n\n\"He's drown-dr-rowning! Oh! he's _drowning_. Jack Barry's drowning in\nthe river!\"\n\n\"Who's drowning? What's the matter, Marcoo? Has anybody gone through the\nice?\" questioned Leon sharply of the one older boy upon the bank, who\nturned upon him over a heaving shoulder the pleasant, ruddy face,\nempurpled by shock, of Coombsie.\n\n\"Yes, the ice gave way out there.\" Marcoo pointed to a wide hole thirty\nyards from the bank, where the dark, imprisoned water bubbled like a\nwhirlpool. \"Little Jack Barry has fallen through. Ice rotten there!\nCouldn't reach him without a rope! Nix gone for it!\" Coombsie flung the\nwords from him like broken twigs. \"Here he comes now!\"\n\nBareheaded, breathless, the patrol leader of the Owls tore toward the\nbank, in his hand a coil of rope. Behind him ran two distracted women\nfrom a near-by house; the drowning boy's mother and his\ngrandmother--whose one unshattered idol he was--old Ma'am Baldwin.\n\nShe looked more like a ragged cornstalk than ever, that little old\nwoman, thought Leon--in the way that trivial reflections have of being\nwhirled to the surface upon the tempest of a moment like this--with all\nher odds and ends of shawls streaming on the icy breeze that skated\nmockingly to meet her. With her long wisps of gray hair outstreaming\ntoo!\n\nAnd as she came she raised her right arm to her breast with that\npathetic gesture familiar to Starrie Chase, as though to shield her\nhalf-broken old heart from the last blow that Fate might deal to it: as\nif she would defend the image it held of the drowning child, and\ntherewith little Jack himself, from the robber Death.\n\nStarrie's brown eyes took one rapid snapshot of the old woman in her\nquaking anguish, and his mind passed two resolutions: that the Big\nMinute had come: and that there wasn't water or ice enough in the tidal\nriver to keep him from saving Ma'am Baldwin's grandson.\n\n\"Tie this rope round me! _Quick!_ Bowline knot! I'll try an' crawl out\nto him!\" Nixon was shrieking in his ear.\n\n\"You can't alone! The ice is too rotten. You'd break through--and we\nmightn't be able to pull you out that way. Must make a chain! I'll go\nfirst. Crawl after me, Nix, and hang on tight to my feet!\"\n\nCorporal Chase was already lying flat on his stomach, working himself\nout over the infirm ice where, here and there, within the white map of\nlines and circles traced by the skates of the small boys, were small\nholes through which the captive water heaved like Ma'am Baldwin's\nbreast, under a thin, glassy fretwork.\n\nAfter him crawled Nixon, grasping his ankles in a strong grip. And,\nperforming a like service for the patrol leader, came Coombsie, and\nafter Coombsie Colin; the four forming a human chain, trusting their\nlives to the unstable, saline ice, and to the grip of each other.\n\n\"Hold on tight, Nix! I see his head. We'll land him--yet!\" Leon flung\nthe last challenge between his set teeth at the white, porous ice and\nthe little dark wells of bubbling water.\n\nWorming his body in and out between those fretting holes, he reached the\nglassy skirts of the larger fissure which imprisoned little Jack. There\nthe nine-year-old victim's hands clutched frantically at the jagged\nedges of the encircling ice, while his screams for help grew weaker. To\nJack himself they seemed not to rise above the cold, pale ring that\nhemmed him in.\n\n\"_Hold--tight!_\" The clenched word was passed along the chain as Leon at\nits head, hearing the tidal current beneath him sobbing, straining to be\nfree, flung his hands out and grasped the victim's collar and shoulder,\ntrying to lift him out of the hole.\n\nBut with a groan the brittle ice surrounding it gave way: the foremost\nrescuer's body was plunged too into the freezing, brackish water.\n\n\"We'll both go now--Jack an' I--unless Nix hangs on to me like a\nbulldog!\" was the thought that stabbed him as an ice-spear while the\ndark tidal current, shot with glints of light like cruel eyes, engulfed\nhis shoulders.\n\nBut Nixon held on to his ankles, like grim death fighting grim Death\nhimself. Not a link in that human chain parted, though the ice cracked\nominously beneath it!\n\nAnd Leon, half submerged, battling for breath, clung steadfastly to\nJack, as if indeed there was not water enough in the seven miles of\ntidal river to sunder them.\n\nPresently, while his comrades backed cautiously, dragging upon the lower\npart of his body, his head and arms reappeared, the latter clasping\nMa'am Baldwin's grandson.\n\nA sob, half hysterical, burst from the gathering spectators on the bank.\n\n\"If--if the Lord hadn't been with him, he couldn't have hung on to him\nthat time!\" muttered Captain Andy, the old life-saver, who had limped to\nthe scene.\n\nAnd, indeed, it did seem as if the Lord was with Leon Chase and made his\nstrength in this desperate minute--like that of one of the famous\nknights of the Round Table--as the strength of ten because his heart was\npure!--Purified of all but the desire to help and save!\n\n\"Starrie's got him! Starrie's holding on to him!\" came in an exultant\ncry from a group of boys rigid upon the river-brink; in their midst\ngleamed the face, pale and fixed as the ice itself, of Godey Peck; and\nfrom Godey's eyes streamed the first ray of ardent hero-worship those\nrather dull eyes had ever known--leveled at the Tin Scouts.\n\n\"Keep cool, boys! Take it easy an' you'll land him now!\" shouted Captain\nAndy.\n\nAfraid, for their sakes, to burden farther the ice with his massive\nbody, he, too, stretched himself, breast downward, on the more solid\ncrust near the bank, and seizing Colin's ankles directly they came\nwithin reach added another link to that human chain by means of which\nJack's half-conscious body was finally drawn ashore and placed in his\nmother's arms.\n\n\"You saved him, Leon. I'll thank you as well--as well as I can--Leon!\"\nquavered the grandmother's broken voice.\n\n\"Aw! that's all right,\" came in an embarrassed shiver from between the\nchattering teeth of the foremost rescuer, from whom the water ran in\nrivulets that would freeze in another minute.\n\n\"I'll forward the names of you four boys to National Headquarters, to\nreceive the scout medal for life-saving!\" proudly cried Scoutmaster\nEstey, who at this minute appeared upon the river-bank, while he plucked\nJack's numbed body from his mother's shaking arms and set off at a run\nwith it toward the nearest house.\n\nLeon was hustled in the same direction by an admiring crowd.\n\nBut whence came that shrill challenge waking the echoes of the Christmas\nEve? Did Godey's lips utter the cry: \"What's the matter with the Boy\nScouts? They're all right!\"\n\nAnd a score of throats gave back the answer:--\n\n\"Three cheers for the Boy Scouts of America! Three cheers--an' a\ntiger--for the Owl Patrol.\"\n\n\"Say, Mister!\" Half an hour later, as Scoutmaster Estey issued from the\ncottage where, with the help of Kenjo Red and another scout, he had been\nturning his first-aid knowledge to account in the resuscitation of\nlittle Jack, he heard himself thus addressed and felt a hand pluck at\nhis sleeve. Looking down, in the twilight, he saw Godey Peck.\n\n\"Say! it hasn't made 'softies' of 'em, this scout business,\" declared\nGodey oracularly. \"I want to be a scout too. Us boys all want to come\nin!\" He glanced behind him at his gang who had constituted him their\nspokesman.\n\n\"Really? Do you _all_ want to enlist in the Boy Scouts of America?\"\n\n\"Sure! We want to come in now at the rate of sixty miles an hour, you\nbet!\" Godey chuckled.\n\n\"Oh! well, if you're in such a hurry as that, come round to my house\nto-night; we're going to have a Christmas celebration there.\" And the\ntall scoutmaster walked off, laughing.\n\nThus on Christmas Eve did Godey drop off the fence on the side of the\nboy scouts, whose code of chivalry is only an elaboration of the first\nChristmas message: \"Peace on earth, good will to men!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nA RIVER DUEL\n\n\nWith the enlisting of Godey and his gang, who mainly represented\nwhatever tendency there might be to youthful rowdyism in the demure\nlittle town, the whole vicinity of the tidal river was won over to the\nBoy Scout Movement.\n\nThe new recruits, those who gave in their names on Christmas Eve as\nwould-be scouts, together with one or two later additions, were formed\ninto a second patrol, of which Godey became patrol leader, called the\nFoxes in honor of the commonest animal of moderate size to be found in\ntheir woods; the red fox being prevalent, too, among the white\nsand-hills, the Sugarloaf Dunes, that formed part of the wild coast near\nthe mouth of the Exmouth River.\n\nThose milky dunes, formed of pale sand which was popularly supposed to\nhave drifted down from New Hampshire to the sea and to have been swept\nin here by the winds and tides of ages, were a sort of El Dorado to the\nboys of the little town far up the tidal river.\n\nPirates' treasure was confidently believed to be buried there; each lad\nwho made the trip by steam launch, motor-boat, or plodding rowboat\ndownstream for several miles to the dunes, was certain that if he could\nonly hit upon the right sand-hill and dig deep enough, he would find its\nwhiteness richly inlaid with gold.\n\nOther wild tales centred about the romantic dunes, of smugglers and\ntheir lawless doings in earlier and less law-enforcing times than the\nbeginning of the twentieth century.\n\nIt was even hinted that within recent years there had been unlawful\nimportations at rare intervals of certain dutiable commodities, such as\nintoxicating liquors and cigars, by means of a rowboat that would lie up\nduring the day in the sandy pocket of some little creek that intersected\nthe marshes near the white dunes, stealing forth at night into the bay\nto meet a mysterious vessel.\n\nThe latest report connected the name of Dave Baldwin, the _vaurien_, as\nToiney contemptuously called him, with this species of petty smuggling.\n\nWiseacres, such as Captain Andy and the doctor, were of opinion that no\nsuch lawless work could be carried on to-day under the Argus eyes of\nrevenue officers. But it was known that Dave spent most of his vagrant\ndays hanging round the milky dunes and their neighborhood, sleeping on\nwinter nights in some empty camp or deserted summer cottage, and\noccasionally varying the pale monotony of the dunes by sojourning in the\nwoods at the opposite side of the river.\n\nThe possibility of running across him during a visit to the Sugarloaf\nSand-Hills, or of seeing his \"pocketed\" boat reposing in some little\ncreek where the mottled mother-seal secreted her solitary young one, had\nlittle interest for the boy scouts.\n\nToiney's contempt for the skulking vagrant who had caused his mother's\nheart to \"break in pieces,\" had communicated itself to them. They were\nmuch more interested in the prospect of pursuing acquaintance with the\nspotted harbor seal, once the floundering despot of the tidal river, now\nscarcer and more shy.\n\nAs winter merged into spring a third patrol of boy scouts was formed,\ncomposed of boys from farms down the river, who had recourse to this\nharbor mammal for a name and called themselves the Seals.\n\nThus when April swelled the buds upon the trees, and the salt-marshes\nwere all feathery with new green, there were three patrols of boy\nscouts who met in the little town hall of Exmouth, forming a complete\nscout troop, to plan for hikes and summer camps; and to go on their\ncheery way out of meeting, ofttimes creating spring in the heart of\nwinter by doing the regulation good turn for somebody.\n\nIn especial, good turns toward the sorrow-bowed old woman, Ma'am\nBaldwin, were in vogue that season, because a first-rate recipe for\nsympathy is to perform a service for its object. The greater and more\nrisky the service, the broader the stream of good will that flows from\nit!\n\nSo it was with the four members of the Owl Patrol who had received the\nboy scout medal for life-saving--the silver cross suspended from a blue\nribbon, awarded to the scout who saves life with considerable risk to\nhimself--for their gallant work in rescuing the old woman's grandson\nfrom the frozen waters of the tidal river. Their own moved feelings at\nthat the finest moment of their young lives were thereafter as a shining\nmantle veiling the peculiarities of her who, solitary and defenseless,\nhad once been regarded as fair game for their most merciless teasing.\n\nShe was not so solitary now. Much shaken by the accident to her\ngrandchild, she was in no fit state to return to her baldfaced house on\nChristmas Eve or for many days after; so Public Opinion at length took\nthe matter into its own hands and decreed that henceforth she must find\na home with her daughter.\n\nThere, in a little dwelling on the outskirts of the town, she often\nwatched the khaki-clad scouts march by. Invariably they saluted her. And\nJack, the rescued nine-year-old, would strut and stretch and stamp in a\nvain attempt to hasten the advent of his twelfth birthday when he might\nenlist as a tenderfoot.\n\nThe Saturday spring hikes were varied by trips down the river when each\npatrol in turn was taken on an excursion in Captain Andy's motor-boat.\nIt was on such an occasion that Nixon Warren, who had begun his scout\nservice as a member of the Peewit Patrol of Philadelphia, obtained his\ncoveted chance of seeing Spotty Seal at close quarters.\n\n\"You stay round Exmouth during the spring an' summer, Nix, and I'll take\nyou where you'll see a seal close enough for you to shake his flipper,\"\npromised the sea-captain; and he kept his word, though the pledge was\nfulfilled after a fashion not in accordance with his intentions.\n\nIt was a glorious day, when the power-boat Aviator, owned by Captain\nAndy, left the town wharf with six of the Owls aboard in charge of the\nassistant scoutmaster, Toiney Leduc, and with the absurd little rowboat\nthat danced attendance upon the Aviator, and which was jocosely named\nthe Pill, bobbing behind them on the tidal ripples at the end of a\nsix-foot towrope.\n\nSpring was on the river to-day. Spring was in the clear call of the\ngreater yellow-legs as it skimmed over the marshes, in the lightning\ndart of the kingfisher, in the wave of the tall black grass fringing\neach marshy bank, showered with diamonds by the advance and retreat of a\nvery high tide tickled into laughter by the April breeze.\n\nAnd spring was in the scouts' hearts, focusing all Nature's joy-thrills,\nas they glided down the river.\n\n\"_Houp-e-la!_ I'll t'ink heem prett' good day for go on reever, me,\"\nannounced Assistant Scoutmaster Toiney, his black eyes dancing.\n\nAnd he presently woke the echoes, while they wound in and out between\nthe feathery marshes, with a gay \"Tra-la!\" or \"Rond'! Rond'! Rond'!\"\nthat seemed the very voice of Spring herself bursting into song.\n\n\"Goodness! I can hardly wait for the end of August when our scoutmaster\nwill get his vacation and we're to camp out on the Sugarloaf Dunes,\"\nsaid Leon Chase. \"You can see the white dunes from here, Nix. It's a\ngreat old Sugarloaf, isn't it?\" pointing across broad, pearly plains of\nwater which at high tide spread out on either side of the central tidal\nchannel, at the crystalline sand-pillar, guarding the mouth of the tidal\nriver.\n\n\"The other sand-hills look like a row of tall, snowy breakers at this\ndistance. Whew! aren't they splendid--with that bright blue sky-line\nbehind them? I expect we'll just have the 'time of our lives' when we\ncamp out there!\" came in blissful accents from the patrol leader.\n\n\"Well! we're not going to land on the dunes to-day,\" said Captain Andy,\nwho was standing up forward, steering the gasolene launch, his keen eyes\nscanning the plains of water from under his visored cap, in search of\nSpotty Seal's sleek dog-like head cleaving the ripples as he swam, with\nhis strong hind-flippers propelling him along.\n\n\"Whoo'! Whoo'! she threw the water a bit that time; didn't she, lads?\"\nalluding to his motor-boat, as the April breeze plucked a crisp sheet of\nspray from the breast of the high tide, like a white leaf from a book,\nand laughingly threw it at the occupants of the launch. \"But that's\nnothing!\" went on the old skipper. \"Bless ye, boys, I've been down this\nriver in a rowboat when the seas would come tumbling in on me from the\nbay, each looking big as a house as it shoved its white comb along!\n'Twould rear itself like a glassy roof over the boat and I'd think it\nmeant 'day, day!' to me, but I'd crawl out somehow. An' I've lived to\ntell the tale.\n\n\"But I'm gettin' too old for such scrapes now,\" went on the old\nsea-fighter. \"I'm going to turn 'Hayseed!' You mayn't believe it, but I\nam!\" glowering at the laughing, incredulous scouts. \"I'm about buying a\npiece o' land that's only half cleared o' timber yet, up Exmouth way;\ngoing to start a farm. But, great sailor! how'll I ever get along with a\ncow. That's what stumps me.\"\n\n\"We'll come out an' milk her for you, Captain Andy,\" volunteered with\none breath the boy scouts, their merry voices ringing out over the\nmother-of-pearl plains of water, bounded on one side by the headlands of\na bold shore, on the other by green peninsulas of salt-marsh, insulated\nat high water by the winding creeks that burrowed among them, and\nfarther on by the radiant dunes.\n\n\"I'll t'ink he no lak' for be tie to cow, me!\" Toiney nodded\nmischievously at the sea-captain. Then, all of a sudden, his voice\nexploded gutturally like a bomb: \"_Gard' donc!_ _Gard' donc_, de gros\nseal! _Sapre tonnere!_ _deux_ gros seal. Two beeg seal! _V'la V'la!_\nshes jomp right out o' reever--engh!\"\n\nThe excited Canadian's gesticulating hands drew every eye in the\ndirection he indicated, which was a little to the left of the central\ntidal channel, between them and the straying creeks.\n\nAnd the scouts' excitement fairly fizzed like a burning fuse as, mingled\nwith Toiney's cry, sounded a hoarse bark, wafted across the plains of\nwater, the harsh \"Beow!\" or \"Weow!\" according as the semi-distant ear\nmight translate it, of an angry bull-seal.\n\nEach boy's heart leaped into his distended throat at the sound, but not\nso high as leaped the bull-seal, to whom the other term significant of\nhis male gender--that of dog-seal--hardly applied, for he outweighed\nhalf a dozen good-sized dogs.\n\nBreathlessly gazing, the scouts saw him jump clear out of the water not\nquarter of a mile from them, his sleek, dark bulk sheathed in crystal\narmor, wrought of brine and sunbeams--his flippers dripping rainbows!\nDown he came again with a wrathful splash that sent the foam flying, and\nstruck his companion, an apparently smaller animal whose head alone was\nvisible, a furious blow on that sleek head with one of his clawed\nflippers.\n\n\"_Gard' donc!_ _Gard' donc_, les gros seal _qui se battent_! De beeg\nseal dat fights--dat strike heem oder, engh?\" exploded Toiney again.\n\n\"So they are--fighting! Goodness! that big fellow is pitching into the\none in the water. Going for him like fury, for some reason!\" broke from\nthe excited boys, as they stared, open-mouthed, while this belligerent\nperformance was repeated, accompanied once or twice by the grunting bark\nof the larger seal.\n\n\"Great guns! he's a snorter, isn't he? You could hear that battle-cry of\nhis nearly a mile off, at night, when the weather is decently calm as\nto-day,\" came from Captain Andy while he slowed down the panting\nmotor-boat in order that the scouts might have a good view of the angry\nsea-calf--another name for the harbor seal--which Nixon yearned to see,\nand which was so absorbed in wreaking vengeance on a flippered rival\nthat it paid no attention at all to the approaching launch.\n\n\"Gee whiz! isn't he a monster?\"--\"Must be five or six feet\nlong!\"--\"Can't he make the foam fly, though?\"--\"You'd think he owned the\nriver!\" came at intervals from the gasping spectators.\n\n\"_Nom-de-tonnerre!_ she's _gros_ seal: shes mak de watere go lak'\nscramble de egg--engh?\" gurgled Toiney, mixing up his pronouns in\nguttural excitement over this river duel, such as he had witnessed once\nbefore, when two male seals contested for the favor of some marbled\nsweetheart.\n\nIn this case the duelists were evidently unevenly matched, for presently\na wild cry came from Scout Nixon:--\n\n\"See! See! he has him by the throat now. That big fellow has his fangs\nin the other seal's throat! Must have! For he's dragging him along to\nthat little creek! He's going to kill him.\"\n\n\"_Mille tonnerres!_ I'll t'ink shes go for choke heem, me: dat's de tam\nhe'll go deaded sure--engh?\" Thus Toiney came gutturally in on the\nexcited duet, as seven strained faces peered over the motor-boat's side\nat the one-sided battle.\n\n\"_Mille tonnerres_\"--\"a thousand thunders\"--were being launched,\nindeed, upon the spotted head of the weaker animal, half stunned by the\nfurious blows rained on him by the clawed hind-flippers of his\nadversary, and now finding himself dragged, willy-nilly, through the\nwater into the secluded creek, like a prisoner to the block.\n\nHe tried diving, to loosen those cruel fangs, but was mercilessly forced\nto the surface again by his big rival.\n\n\"Well! I think this fight has gone on long enough; I'm going to separate\nthem,\" cried Captain Andy. \"I guess the tide is high enough for us to\noverhaul them in that little creek, without danger of being pocketed, or\nhung up aground, there!\"\n\nAnd with a warning _chug! chug!_ the power-boat Aviator made straight\nfor the bubbling mouth of the creek, across the foamy wake left by the\nfighting seals, and dashed in after them.\n\nNot until it was almost upon them did the triumphant male tear his four\nfangs from his rival's throat. Then, startled at last, he swam off a few\nstrokes in a wild flurry, and dove, while Captain Andy drove his\nthrobbing boat in between the combatants.\n\nFor a thrilling minute the scouts found themselves at the centre of a\ngrand old mix-up that churned the waters of the creek; the weaker seal,\nnow half dead, was right beneath the boat. Presently his head appeared\nupon the surface a few yards ahead of it. Swimming feebly a short\ndistance, he crawled out of the water a little higher up the creek and\nlay upon the marshy bank entirely played out.\n\nHis merciless rival reappeared too, to the rear of the boat, strong as\never, swimming rapidly for the creek's mouth and the open water beyond\nit.\n\n\"That seal is 'all in';\" Nixon pointed to the victim. \"If we could go on\nto the head of the creek, we might step out on the bank and have a good\nlook at him.\"\n\n\"I can't land you from the power-boat, but you can get into the little\nPill if you like, an' row up 'longside him.\" Captain Andy pointed to the\ntubby rowboat bobbing astern. \"No! only three of you may go, more might\ncapsize her; she ain't much of a boat, though she's a slick bit o' wood\nfor her size! Easy there now! Steady!\"\n\nThe sturdy Pill was drawn alongside. Scouts Warren and Chase, with one\nbrother Owl, stepped into her, and rowed to the head of the creek,\nwhence they had a near view of the half-throttled creature as he lay,\nmouth open, stretched out upon the marshy bank, his strong hind-flippers\nextended behind him, their brown claws glistening with brine.\n\n\"Whew! he's spotted like a sandpiper's egg,\" said Nixon, looking at the\nhead and back of the marbled seal. \"Seems to me he's of a lighter color\nthan the big fellow who nearly did for him; _he_ looked almost black out\nof water--but then he was all wet. And what a funny little tail this one\nhas, not bigger than a pair of spectacles!\"\n\n\"See his black nose an' short fore-flippers!\" whispered Leon. \"Don't his\neyes stick out? They're a kind o' blue-black an' glazy. There! he's\nnoticing us now. He's trying to flounder off--with that funny, teetering\nkind o' wabble they have! Say! hadn't we better row back to Captain\nAndy, and leave him to recover? He's all used up; that big one gave him\nan awful licking.\"\n\nAnd this merciful consideration from Starrie Chase, who, prior to his\nscout days, would have had no thought save how to finish the cruel work\nof the big bully and put an end to the beaten rival!\n\n\"Well! you did see a harbor seal, Nix, 'most near enough to shake his\nflipper, eh?\" challenged Captain Andy as the three scrambled back aboard\nthe motor-boat, and made the little Pill fast astern by its short\ntowrope, while the Aviator bore out of the blue creek, to head upstream\ntoward the town again.\n\n\"Yes! I'd have tried to do it too, if he hadn't been so completely 'all\nin,'\" laughed the scout. \"I suppose we'll have plenty of opportunities\nto see seals and listen to their barking when we camp out on the white\ndunes during the last days of August and the beginning of September.\nThey say the young ones make a kind of cooing noise, much like a\nturtle-dove, only stronger; I'm bent on capturing a pup-seal, to tame\nhim!\"\n\n\"Oh! you'd have no trouble about the taming, only you couldn't feed him!\nBut you'll see seals a-plenty an' hear 'em, too, next summer. They just\nlove to lie out on a reef o' rocks in the sun, when the tide's low,\nespecially if the wind's a little from the no'thwest,\" said the\nex-skipper. \"A lonely reef, a warm sun, and light no'thwesterly breeze\nmake up the harbor-seal's heaven, I guess!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE CAMP ON THE DUNES\n\n\nAnd when those fervently anticipated last days of August did in due time\ndawn, they brought with them many opportunities to Nixon and his brother\nscouts of watching Spotty Seal and his kindred in the enjoyment of their\nmundane paradise, whose pavement of gold was a wave-washed reef and its\nharpings the mild bluster of a northwesterly breeze.\n\nDuring the final week of August and the first of September their\nscoutmaster, a rising young naval architect, had a respite from\ndesigning wooden vessels, from considering how he could best combine\nspeed and seaworthiness in an up-to-date model; and he arranged to\ndevote the whole of that holiday to camping out with his boy scout troop\nupon the milky Sugarloaf Dunes.\n\nA more ideal camping-ground could scarcely have been found than among\nthe white sand-hills, capped with plumy vegetation which formed the\nbackground for an equally dazzling line of beach, where the\ngray-and-white gulls strutted in feathered rendezvous, and were hardly\nto be scared away by the landing in their midst of the first patrol of\nscouts, put ashore from Captain Andy's motor-boat in a light skiff, a\nmore capacious rowboat than the Pill.\n\nBut they had brought the tubby Pill down the river too, in tow of the\nlaunch; and Captain Andy, who was partial to scouts, had arranged to\nleave that rotund little rowboat with them, so that, two or three at a\ntime, they might explore the tidal river with the creeks that\nintersected the marshes in the neighborhood of the white dunes.\n\n\"Just look at that gray gull, will you?\" laughed Patrol Leader Nixon, as\nhe landed from the skiff. \"He's made up his mind that we Owls have no\nrights here: that this white beach is his stamping-ground, and he won't\nbe frightened away!\"\n\nOther gulls had reluctantly taken wing and wheeled off during the\nprolonged process of landing the eight members of the Owl Patrol, with\ntheir scoutmasters and camp outfit, in various detachments from the\nlaunch, which was too large to run right in to the beach.\n\nBut this one youthful sea-gull, a mere boy in plumage gray, held his\nground, parading the lonely beach with head turning alertly from side\nto side, as if he were admonishing his wheeling brothers with: \"These\nare boy scouts! Look at me: I tell you, you have nothing to fear!\"\n\nSo bold was his mien, so peaceful the attitude of the human invaders,\nthat presently the regiment of sea-gulls fluttered back to a point of\nrendezvous only a little removed from their former one.\n\n\"We won't have much company beyond ourselves and the birds, I guess!\"\nremarked Nixon presently. \"There are no houses in sight except those\nthree fine bungalows about quarter of a mile off on the edge of the\ndunes. And the fisherman's shack on the beach below them!\"\n\n\"Yes, that belongs to an old clam-digger,\" said Kenjo Red. \"He keeps his\npails there. Don't you remember my telling you about his letting us--my\nuncle an' me--have his boat one day last November, so's we could row\nover to the sand-spit opposite, and take a look at some seals that were\nsunning themselves there?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, _we_ remember, Kenjo; you've told about that at half a dozen\ncamp-fire powwows, at least.\" Starrie Chase plucked off Kenjo's cap and\ncombed his ruddy locks with a teasing forefinger. \"They say Dave\nBaldwin, the _vaurien_,\" with guttural mimicry of Toiney's accents,\n\"hangs out among the dunes here, when he isn't loafing in the woods up\nthe river,\" added Corporal Chase, peering off among the white\nsand-hills, capped with biscuit- plumes of dry beach-grass, and\nthe more verdant beach-pea, as if he expected to see young Baldwin's\nhead pop up among them.\n\n\"I wonder if we'll run across him?\" said Nixon. \"He can't 'make camp'\namong the dunes. Nobody is allowed to camp out here, without special\npermission. Boy scouts are privileged persons; they know we won't set\nfire to the brush.\"\n\n\"Oh! when he needs a fire--when he knocks a woodchuck on the head and\nwants to cook it--I suppose he rows over to one of those little islands\nthere; they say he has an old rowboat here.\" Leon pointed to two small\nislets rising from the plains of water a little higher up the river.\n\n\"Well, I don't envy him!\" Marcoo shrugged his shoulders. \"He must have a\nbitter time of it in winter, when the river is frozen over down to the\nbay, an' you don't hear a sound here beyond the occasional pop of a\nsportsman's gun, or the barking of the seals--and even they're pretty\nquiet in midwinter. Hey! Look at that spotted sandpiper. 'Teeter-tail'\nwe call him: see his tail bob up and down!\" exclaimed Coombsie, who was\nan enthusiast about birds.\n\nIn watching the sandpiper rise from the white beach and dart across the\nwater, in listening to his sweet, whistling \"peet-weet!\" note,\nspeculations about the habits of the _vaurien_, the good-for-nothing\nyoung vagrant, were forgotten.\n\nHe, Dave Baldwin, faded completely from the campers' thoughts as the\nnarrow skiff grounded its sharp nose for the fourth time on the beach,\nlanding the remainder of their camp dunnage and commissariat; and the\nwork began of selecting a site for the camp amid the milky sand-hills,\ninterspersed with a few trees, slender and short of stature.\n\nThose gray birches and ash-trees formed pleasant spots of shade amid the\ndazzling whiteness of the dunes. But there was other and more unique\nvegetable growth to be considered.\n\n\"Say! but will you just look at the cranberry patch, growing out of the\nwhite beach?\" shrieked young Colin after an ecstatic interval,\naddressing no one scout in particular.\n\n\"Cranberries there near the tide!\"--\"Growing out of the\nsand!\"--\"Tooraloo!\"--\"Nonsense!\" came from his brother Owls who were\nalready getting busy, erecting tents.\n\nBut cranberries there were, in ripening beauty--as the workers presently\nsaw for themselves--cranberries whose roots underran the dazzling beach,\nwhose crimson creepers trailed delicately over its whiteness, whose\nberries nestled their rosy cheeks daintily, each upon its snowy pillow.\n\n\"_Gee!_\" The one united ejaculation--the little nondescript, uncouth\nmonosyllable which expresses so many emotions of the boyish heart, from\npanic to panegyric--was all that the scouts could find voice for in\npresence of this red-and-white loveliness secreted by Nature upon a\nlonely shore.\n\n\"Hey! fellows, Captain Andy is going,\" the voice of the busy scoutmaster\nbroke in upon their bliss. \"He's to bring the Foxes down to-morrow in\nhis motor-boat,\" alluding to the Fox Patrol, of which Godey was leader.\n\"The Seals will row over, to-morrow forenoon, from the other side of the\nriver; so our scout troop will be complete. We owe a lot to Captain\nAndy. Don't you want to show him that you can make a noise: don't you\nwant to give your yell, with his name at the end? Now, all in line, and\ntogether!\"\n\nAnd each scout with his arm around a comrade upon either side--Leon's\nclasping the back of Harold Greer who, a year ago, had cowered at sight\nof him--all in a welded line, swaying together where the ripples broke\nupon the milky beach, they proved their prowess as chief noise-makers\nand made the welkin ring with:--\n\n        AMERICA\n      Boy Scouts! Boy Scouts!\n        Rah! Rah! Rah!\n    Exmouth! Exmouth! Exmouth!\n  Captain Andy! Captain Andy! _Cap-tain An-dy!_\n\nThe weatherbeaten ex-skipper, standing \"up for'ard\" in his launch, which\nwas just beginning its panting trip up the river, waved his hand in\nacknowledgment, while the Aviator's whistle returned a triple salute to\nthat linked line upon the water's edge.\n\n\"They're fine lads!\" A little moisture gathered in the captain's\nnarrowed blue eye as he gazed back at the beach--moisture which did not\ncome in over the Aviator's rail. \"Some one has spoken of this Boy Scout\nMovement as the 'Salvation of England'--as I've heard! So here's to it\nagain as the Future of America!\" And he sounded three more whistles--and\nyet another three--giving the scouts three times three, until it seemed\nas if his power-boat would burst its steel throat.\n\nThen comparative silence reigned again upon the sands and certain\nstartled birds resumed their feeding avocations, notably that\nwhite-breasted busybody, the sanderling or surf-snipe, called by\nriver-men the \"whitey.\"\n\n\"See! the 'whitey' doesn't believe that 'two is company, three none':\nthey're chasing after their dinner in triplets! They run out into the\nripples and back again, pecking in the sand, so quickly that the larger\nwaves can't catch them: don't they, Greerie?\" said Leon Chase, pointing\nthem out to Harold in the overflowing brotherliness established by that\nyell.\n\nHarold was no longer the \"Hare.\" That nickname had been forbidden by the\npatrol leader of the Owls under pain of dire penalties. The \"poltron,\"\nor coward, as Toiney had once in pity called him, was \"Greerie\" now; and\nwas gradually learning what mere bugaboos were the fears which had\nseparated him from his kind and from boyhood's activities--something\nwhich might never have come home to him thoroughly, save in the\nstimulating society of other boys who aimed earnestly at helping him.\n\n\"We're going to have a splendid time here for the next two weeks,\nGreerie, camping among the dunes,\" Leon assured him. \"To-morrow Nix an'\nyou and I will go out in the little rowboat, the Pill, and hunt up a\ncreamy pup-seal and bring him back to camp for a pet. Now! you must come\nand do your share of the work--help to set up the other tents among the\nsand-hills.\"\n\nOne was already erected, a large canvas shelter, to contain four boys,\nanother went up like unto it for the other four members of the patrol,\nthen a smaller tent for the scoutmaster, and the cook-tent which\nsheltered the \"commissariat,\" stocked with cans of preserved meats,\nvegetables, and all that went to make up the scouts' daily rations.\n\n\"Where are _you_ going to sleep, Toiney?\" asked Patrol Leader Nixon.\n\n\"Me--I'll lak' for sleep out in de air, me--wit' de littal star on top\no' me!\" Toiney shrugged his shoulders complacently at the summer sky,\nnow taking on the hues of evening, as if the firmament were a blanket\nwoven for his comfort.\n\n\"Oh! I'll sleep out with you.--And I!--Me, too!\" Each and every member\nof the patrol, from the leader downward, longed to feel the white sand\nbeneath him as a mattress, to have the stars for canopy, to hear the\nnight-tide as it broke upon the near-by beach crooning his lullaby.\n\n[Illustration: IN CAMP]\n\n\"You may take it in turns, fellows--each sleep out with him one night,\nwhen the weather is fine,\" decided the scoutmaster. \"Now! I'm going to\nappoint Scouts Warren and Chase cooks for to-night.\"\n\nA first-rate supper did those cooks turn out, of flapjacks and scrambled\neggs, the latter stirred with a peeled stick, while the great\ncoffee-pot, brooding upon its rosy nest of birch-logs, grinned\nfacetiously when a stray flame wreathed its spout, then broke into\nbubbling laughter.\n\nNight fell upon the pale dunes that turned to silver monuments under the\nsmile of a moon in its third quarter. A gentle, lowing sound came to the\nscouts' ears from the tide at far ebb upon the silvery beach, as, the\ncook-fire abandoned, they gathered round a blazing camp-fire that cast\nweird reflections upon the surrounding white hillocks.\n\nThe holding of a calm powwow on this first night in camp, when each\nheart was thrilling tumultuously to the novelty of the surroundings, was\nimpossible. Toiney sang wild fragments of songs that found a suitable\naccompaniment in the distant, hoarse barking of the harbor seal, and in\nthe plaintive \"Oo-oo-ooo!\"--the dove-like call of the creamy pup-seal to\nits marbled mother in some lonely tidal creek.\n\nOnce and again from the shore side of the scouts' camp-fire, from among\nthe shimmering sand-hills, came the weaker, more snappy bark of the\nlittle dog-fox, as he prowled the dunes.\n\nThe dazzling Sugarloaf Pillar near the mouth of the river was wrapped in\nnight's mantle. But lights flickered out in two of the handsome summer\nbungalows which the boys had noticed, standing at some distance from\ntheir camping-ground, looming high above the beach, erected upon\nstilt-like props driven into the sandy soil.\n\n\"Those houses were only built last spring; they're occupied for the\nfirst time this summer,\" said Kenjo Red, who was more familiar with this\nregion than the others. \"Say! let's chant our African war-song, fellows.\nThis is just the night for it.\" And the barbaric chant rang weirdly\namong the sand-hills, the leader shouting the first line, his companions\nanswering with the other three, to the accompaniment of the flames'\ncrackle and the night calls of bird and beast:--\n\n  \"Een gonyama--gonyama.\n  Invoboo!\n  Yah bo! Yah bo\n  Invoboo!\"\n\nPresently the bark of the dog-fox was heard farther off. _He_ knew, the\nstealthy slyboots, that he was not the only lone prowler among the pale\ndunes that night who listened intently to the boisterous revelry round\nthe scouts' camp-fire.\n\nHis keen sense of smell informed him that behind one plumed sand-hill,\nbetween his own trotting form and the noisy company in the firelight,\nthere lurked a solitary man-figure.\n\nBut he, the sandy-coated little trotter from burrow to burrow, could\nneither hear nor interpret the sound, half groan, half oath, savagely\nenvious, that escaped from the other night-prowler's lips as he listened\nto the boys' voices.\n\nSilence, broken only by ringing snatches of laughter, reigned\ntemporarily over the dunes. Then once again it blossomed into song:--\n\n  \"Hurrah for the brave, hurrah for the good,\n    Hurrah for the pure in heart!\n  At duty's call, with a smile for all,\n    The Scout will do his part!\"\n\nAnd the soft purr of the low tide, with the breeze skipping among pallid\ndunes that looked like capped haystacks in the darkness, flung back the\ncheer for the \"Scouts of the U.S.A.\"\n\n\"_Aghrr-r!_\" snarled the testy dog-fox, his distant petulant growl much\nresembling that of Leon's terrier, who, unfortunately, was not present\nupon the dunes to-night. Blink had already added the word \"Scout\" to\nhis limited human vocabulary, but the wild fox had no such linguistic\npowers. The foreign music upon the lonely dunes was irritating, alarming\nto him.\n\nIt seemed to have something of the same effect upon his brother-prowler,\nupon the man who skulked among the sand-hills within hearing of the\nsong: at any rate, the semi-articulate sound which from time to time he\nuttered, deepened into an unmixed groan that escaped from his lips again\nlater when the clear notes of a bugle rang over the Sugarloaf Dunes,\nwarning the scouts by the \"first call\" that fun was at an end for\nto-night, and sleep would be next upon the programme.\n\nThen when lights were out, came the sweet sound of \"Taps,\" the wind-up\nof the first day in camp, the expert bugler being Corporal Chase.\n\nFor the Exmouth doctor had kept his word: Leon had been given the\n\"bugle\" literally and figuratively since he enlisted as a scout, symbol\nof the challenge to all the energy in him to advance along new lines,\ninstead of the \"foghorn\" reproofs and warnings that had been showered on\nhim prior to his scouting days.\n\nThen, at last, stillness reigned, indeed, upon the moonlit dunes.\n\nThe bark of the dog-fox melted into distance, becoming indistinguishable\nfrom the voice of the returning tide.\n\nThe man-prowler among the sand-hills slipped away to some lair as lonely\nas the fox's.\n\nAnd Toiney, with Scout Nixon Warren wrapped in his camper's blanket\nbeside him, slept out upon the white sands \"wit' de littal star on top\no' them!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTHE PUP-SEAL'S CREEK\n\n\nThe music of \"Taps\" was eclipsed by the blither music of \"Reveille,\" the\nmorning blast blown by Leon standing in front of the white tents, the\nsands beneath his feet jeweled by the early sunshine, the blue ribbon\nattached to his bugle flirting with the breeze that capered among the\nplumy hillocks.\n\nThe tide which had ebbed and flowed again since midnight--when the last\nexcited scout had fallen asleep lulled by its full purr--broke high upon\nthe beach, where the white sands gleamed through its translucent flood\nlike milk in a crystal vase.\n\nFar away in dim distance, higher up the tidal river upon its other side,\nbeyond the plains of water, the woods which enclosed Varney's Paintpot\nand the cave called the Bear's Den smiled remotely through a pearly veil\nof haze.\n\nAnd all the waking glee of tide, dunes, and woods was personified in the\nboy bugler's face.\n\nThe sight of him as he stood there, face to the tents where his comrades\nscrambled up from cot or ground, his brown eyes snapping and flashing\nunder the scout's broad hat, with the delight of having found an\nabsorbing interest which stimulated and turned to good account every\nbudding activity within him--that sight would have made the veriest old\nSeek-sorrow among men take heart and feel that a new era of chivalry was\nin flower among the Scouts of the U.S.A.\n\nAnd the old religious reverence, that fortifying kernel of knighthood,\nwas not neglected by this boy scout patrol.\n\nBareheaded, and in line with their scoutmasters presently, while their\neyes gazed off over the sparkling dunes and crystal tide-stretches, they\nrepeated in unison the Lord's Prayer, offering morning homage to the\nPower, dimly discerned, of whom and through whom and to whom are all\nthings. Of his, the Father's, presence chamber, gladness and beauty\nstand at the threshold!\n\n\"_Now_, for our early swim! The tide's just right. Come along, Harold;\nI'm going to give _you_ your first swimming-lesson; and I expect you'll\nbe a star pupil!\" cried Nixon, the patrol leader, when the brief\nadoration was over. \"What! you don't want to learn to swim? Nonsense!\nYou _are_ going into that dandy water. Oh! that's not a scout's mouth,\nHarold.\"\n\nAnd the corners of Harold's mouth, which had drooped with fear of this\nnew experience, curled up in a yielding grin.\n\nOnce he was in the invigorating salt water, feeling the boisterous tidal\nripples, fresh and not too cold, rise about his body, the timid lad\nunderwent another lightning change, just as at the moment of his tying\nthe bowline knot, the spirit of his fisherman father became uppermost in\nhim, and he learned to swim almost as easily and naturally as a\npup-seal.\n\nThe improvement in his condition was such that his brother Owls had won\nhis promise to enter school when it should reopen after this jolly\ncamping period was over. \"And if any boy picks on you or teases you,\nHarold, mind you're to let us know at once, because we're your brother\nscouts--and he won't try it a second time!\" So they admonished him.\n\nThus Harold, under the Owls' sheltering wing, was gradually losing his\ninherited and imbibed dread of a crowd, of any gathering of his own\nkind.\n\nAlthough this bugbear fear returned upon him a little when, later on\nthat morning, the Fox Patrol, with Godey Peck as its leader, was landed\nupon the Sugarloaf Dunes from Captain Andy's motor-launch, and still\nlater in the day the Seals rowed across in two large rowboats from\ncertain farms or fishermen's houses upon the opposite side of the river,\nto join the other two patrols. So that the boy scout troop was complete,\nand Harold found himself one of twenty-four boisterous, though\ngood-natured, boys upon this strange white beach.\n\nA little homesickness beset him for the farm-clearing in the woods and\nhis grandfather's staid presence, to cure which Scouts Warren and Chase\ntook him off with them in the little rowboat, the Pill, lent by Captain\nAndy, to explore the tidal river and the little truant creeks that\nescaped from it to burrow among the salt-marshes.\n\n\"We're going to try and hunt up a creamy pup-seal, Harold, and bring it\nback to camp,\" said Nixon; and in the excitement of this quest the still\nshy boy forgot his nervous qualms.\n\nFortune favored the expedition. It was now between one and two o'clock\nin the afternoon. The tide, which had been high at six in the morning\nand again at twelve, was once more on the ebb, as the two elder scouts\nrowing in leisurely fashion, turned the Pill's snub nose into a pearly\ncreek whose shallow water was clear and pellucid, over its sandy bed.\n\nHardly half a dozen strokes had they taken between bold marshy banks\nwhen, from some half-submerged rocks near the head of the creek, they\nheard a prolonged and dulcet \"Oo-oo-oo-ooo\" that might have been the\ncall of a dove, save that it was louder.\n\n\"_Hear him?_\" cried Leon, shipping his oar in blinking excitement.\n\"That's our pup-seal, Nix! We've got him cornered in this little creek;\nif he dives, the water is so shallow that we can pick him up from the\nbottom; and he can't swim fast enough to get away from us--though as\nlikely as not he won't want to!\"\n\nThe last conjecture proved true. The young seal, little more than two\nmonths old, which lay sprawled out, a creamy splotch, upon the low reef\nwhich the tide was forsaking, with his baby flippers clinging to the wet\nrock and his little eyes staring unwinkingly into the sunlight, had not\nthe least objection to human company. He welcomed it.\n\nWhen the scouts rowed up alongside the ledge he suffered Nixon to lift\nhis moist fat body into the boat, where he stretched himself upon the\nbottom planks in perfect contentment, and took all the caresses which\nthe three boys lavished upon him like any other lazy puppy.\n\n\"Isn't he 'cunning', though?\" gasped Harold, trying to lift the youthful\nmammal into his arms, an attempt which failed because he, the weak one\nof the Owls, was not strong enough to do so without capsizing the\nPill--not because the pup-seal objected. \"I thought he'd be a kind of\nwhitish color, eh?\" appealing diffidently to Leon.\n\n\"So he was, when born; his hair is turning darker now, to a dull yellow;\nby and by it will be a brownish drab. See, Greerie! his spots are\nbeginning to appear!\" Leon ran his finger down the seal's dog-like head\nand back, already faintly dotted with those round markings which gain\nfor his family the name of the \"marbled seal.\"\n\n\"Isn't he a 'sprawly' pup, and so friendly? The other scouts will be\n'tickled to death' with him--\" Nixon was beginning, when a shadow\nsuddenly fell across the boat and its three occupants, whose attention\nwas entirely upon the young seal.\n\n\"Hi, there! You'll get pocketed in this little creek, you fellows--hung\nup aground here--if you don't look out! Can't you see that the water is\nleaving you?\" cried a harsh voice from the bold marsh-bank which\noverhung the creek to the right of them, so suddenly that the three\njumped.\n\nLooking up, they saw the unkempt figure of a young man, short of stature\nand showing a hungry leanness about the neck and face. This sudden\napparition which had approached noiselessly over the soft marshes, was\nplainly outlined against the surrounding wildness of salt-marsh and\ntideway.\n\nHad the little dog-fox which prowled among the moonlit dunes been near,\nhe might have recognized in the shabby figure his brother-prowler of the\nnight before.\n\nRecognition was springing from another source. Starrie Chase caught his\nbreath with such a wild gasp that he rocked the Pill as if a gust had\nstruck it. Something about that stocky figure and in the expression of\nthe face, half wistful, half savage, reminded him overwhelmingly of an\nold woman whom he had seen issuing, lantern in hand, from her paintless\nhome, and who had raised her trembling arm to her breast at sight of\nhim, Leon.\n\n\"Forevermore! it's _Dave Baldwin_,\" he ejaculated in a whisper audible\nonly to Nixon. \"That's who it is--Nix!\"\n\n\"Don't you see that the tide is leaving you?\" snapped the stranger\nagain. \"There won't be a teaspoonful of water in this creek presently.\"\n\nHe was looking down at the Pill and its occupants, with a gleam in his\neyes fugitive and phosphorescent as a marsh-light, which revealed a new\nexpression upon his mud-smeared face, one of passionate envy--envy of\nthe boy scouts healthily rejoicing over their captive pup-seal.\n\n\"Tide leaving us! S-so it is!\" Nixon seized an oar as if awakening from\na dream. \"Thank you for warning us! We don't want to be hung up in the\npocket of this little creek--until it rises again!\"\n\n\"Then pull for all you're worth! Your boat--she's a funny one,\" broke\noff the stranger with the ghost of a boyish twinkle in his eye; \"she\nlooks as if she was made from a flat-bottomed dory that had been cut in\ntwo!\"\n\n\"So she was, I guess!\" Leon too found his voice suddenly.\n\n\"Well! luckily for you, she doesn't draw much water; you may scrape by\nan' get out into the open channel while there's tide enough left to\nfloat her!\" And with an inarticulate grunt that might have been\nconstrued into some sort of farewell, the stranger disappeared over the\nmarshes abruptly as he had come.\n\nTheir own plight now engrossed the boys. It was clear that if they did\nnot want to be pocketed in this out-of-the-way creek with their\namphibious prize, grounded in the sand for the next five or six hours,\nwithout a hope of getting back to their camp on the dunes until the tide\nshould rise again, they certainly must row for all they were worth!\n\nEven as it was, the two older scouts, divesting themselves of shoes and\nstockings, rolling up their khaki trousers, had to \"get out and shove\"\nere they could propel the flat-bottomed Pill through the mouth of the\ncreek.\n\n\"If that fellow hadn't warned us just in time, we'd have been in a bad\nscrape,\" said Scout Chase. \"We're not out of the misery yet, Nix! See\nthe old mud-shadow poking its nose up on either side of the main\nchannel!\"\n\n\"Yes, the water on those shallows looks like the inside of an\noyster-shell,--thick and iridescent. 'Shove' is the word again,\nStarrie!\" returned his toiling companion, arduously putting that\nwatchword in practice, pushing the little boat containing Harold and the\npup-seal (the latter being the only member of the party placidly\nunmoved by the situation) through the iridescent opaqueness of the\nebbing ripples that now barely covered vast silvery stretches of tidal\nmud.\n\n[Illustration: \"CAN'T YOU SEE THE TIDE IS LEAVING YOU?\"]\n\n\"Look at that old clam-digger, who has his shack on the white beach,\nabout quarter of a mile from our camp! He's left his boat behind and is\nwading out to the clam-flats.\" Nixon paused, with his breast to the\nboat's stern, in the act of propelling it. \"Goody! I'd like to stop and\ndig clams with him. But we'd never get back to camp! What ho! she sticks\nagain. There! that brings her.\"\n\nBy dint of alternately propelling and rowing the three scouts, with\ntheir prize, finally reached the white beach of the dunes before the\ntide completely deserted them. They brought a full cargo of excitement\ninto camp in their tale of the stranger who had warned them; who, with\nworthless vagrancy stamped all over him, they felt must be the\n_vaurien_, Dave Baldwin; and in their engaging prize, the flippered\npup-seal.\n\nThe latter quite eclipsed the interest felt in the former. Never was\nthere a more docile, fatter, or more amiable puppy. He enjoyed being\nfondled in a scout's arms, under difficulties, as, for a pup, he was\nquite a heavy-weight and slippery too, on account of the amount of\nblubber secreted under his creamy skin. His oily brown eyes were softly\ntrustful.\n\nBut the tug-of-war came with feeding-time. Vainly did the boy scouts\noffer him of their best, vainly did Marcoo and Colin tramp a mile over\nthe dunes to bring back a quart of new milk for him from the nearest\nfarm, and try to pour it gently down his infant throat!\n\nHe set up a dove-like moaning that was plainly a call for his mother as\nhe lay sprawled out on the white sands. And, at nightfall, by order of\nthe scoutmaster, Scouts Warren and Chase rowed out into the channel and\nreturned him to the water in which he was quite at home.\n\nBut he was possessed of a contradictory spirit, for he swam after the\nPill, crying to be taken aboard again. They could hear his dulcet\n\"Oo-oo-ooo!\" as they gathered round their camp-fire in the white hollow\namong the sand-hills.\n\nAt the powwow to-night the encounter with Dave Baldwin, if the vagrant\nof the marshes was really he, came in for its share of discussion.\nGuesses were rife as to the probability of the scouts running across him\nagain, and as to how he might occupy his time in the lazy vagabond life\nwhich he was leading.\n\nIt was here that Harold broke through the semi-shy reserve which still\nencrusted him and contributed a remark, the first as a result of his\nobservations, to the powwow.\n\n\"Well! he had an _awful_ sorry face on him,\" he said impulsively,\nalluding to the vagrant. \"It just made me feel badly for a while!\"\n\n\"You're right, Greerie, he had!\" corroborated Leon. \"Whatever he's\ndoing, it isn't agreeing with him. We'll probably come on him again some\ntime on the marshes or among the dunes.\"\n\nBut eleven days went by, eleven full days for the scout campers, golden\nwith congenial activity, wherein each hour brought its own interesting\n\"stunt,\" as they called it; and they saw no more of the _vaurien_, the\nworthless one, who had caused his mother's heart to \"break in pieces.\"\n\nAnd they gave little thought to him. For those breezy days, the last of\nAugust and the first of September, were spent in observation tours over\nmarsh and dune or on the heaving river, in playing their exciting scout\ngames among the sandhills, in clam-bakes, in practising signaling with\nthe little red-and-white flags according to the semaphore or wig-wag\ncode--one scout transmitting a message to another posted on a distant\nhill--and in the various duties assigned to them in pairs, of cooking,\nand keeping the camp generally in order.\n\nThe more fully one lives, the more joyously one adventures, the more\nquickly flutters the present into the past, like a sunny landscape\nflitting by a train! It had come to be the last night but one in camp.\nWithin another two days the Sugarloaf Dunes would be deserted so far as\ncampers were concerned.\n\nSchool would presently reopen. And at the end of the month the Owls\nwould lose their brother and patrol leader: during the first days of\nOctober Scout Nixon Warren's parents were expected home from Europe, and\nhe would rejoin his former troop in Philadelphia.\n\nTo-night, every one was bent upon making the end of the camping trip a\nseason of befitting jollity. They sang their scout songs as they\ngathered round the camp-fire. They retailed the last good joke from\ntheir magazine. They challenged the darkness with their hearty\nmotto,--both in the strong sweet mother tongue wherein it had been given\nto the world, and in the pretty _Estu preta!_ form, which two of their\nnumber thought might serve as a universal link.\n\nBut the night refused to rejoice with them. It was chilly, colder than\non the same date one year ago when four lost boys camped out in the\nBear's Den. The inflowing tide broke on the beach with sobbing clamor.\nThere was no moon, few stars. The white sand-hills were wild-looking\nsable mounds waving blood-red plumes of beach-grass or beach-pea\nwherever the light of camp-fire or camp-lantern struck them.\n\nThe clusters of gray birches and ash-trees scattered here and there\namong the dunes cowered like ebony shadows fearful of the rising wind.\n\n\"Bah! De night she's as black as one black crow,\" declared Toiney with a\nshrug as he threw another birch log on the camp-fire and set one of the\ntwo bright oil-lanterns on a sand-hill where it spied upon the gusty,\nsecretive darkness like a watchful eye.\n\nWith the exception of a few small carbide lamps attached to tent-posts,\nthose lanterns were the only luminaries in camp.\n\n\"An' de win' she commence for mak' noise lak' mad cat! Saint Ba'tiste!\nI'll t'ink dis iss night for de come-backs--me.\" And Toiney glanced\nhalf-fearfully behind him at the sable mounds so milky in daylight.\n\n\"He means it's a night for spooks--ghosts! He doesn't believe much in\n'come-backs,' though: look at his face!\" Leon pointed at the assistant\nscoutmaster's black eyes dancing in the firelight, at the tassel of his\nred cap capering in the breeze. \"By the way, Nix and I saw one\n'come-back,' about an hour ago--a human one!\" went on Corporal Chase\nsuddenly, after a minute's pause: \"that rough customer, Dave Baldwin, as\nwe suppose him to be, turned up again this evening near the summer\nbungalows away over on the beach. He was acting rather queerly, too!\"\n\n\"He certainly was!\" chimed in Nixon, looking thoughtfully at a little\ntopknot of flame that sprouted upon the blazing log nearest to him as he\nlay, with his brother Owls, prone upon his face and hands, gazing into\nthe fire.\n\n\"What was he doing?\" asked Jesse Taber, a member of the Seal Patrol.\n\n\"Why, he was up on the high piazza of the largest bungalow--that house\nbuilt just on the edge of the dunes which looks as if it was standing on\nstilts, and getting ready to walk off! He seemed to be trying one of the\nwindows when we came along as if attempting to get in.\"\n\n\"The summer people who own that house left there this morning; we saw\nthem going,\" broke in Godey Peck of the Fox Patrol. \"I guess all the\nthree houses are empty now; those dandified 'summer birds' don't like\nstaying round here when the wind 'makes noise like mad cat'!\" Godey\nhugged himself and beamed over the wild noises of the night, and at the\nvoice of the tidal river calling lustily.\n\n\"Well! did he get into the house?\" asked Jemmie Ahern of the Seals.\n\n\"No, as we came along over the dunes he saw us and scooted off!\" Thus\nCorporal Leon Chase again took up the thread of the story. \"But Nix an'\nI looked back as we walked along the beach; it was getting dusk then,\nbut we made out his figure disappearing into a large shed belonging to\nthat bungalow.\"\n\n\"I hope he wasn't up to any mischief,\" said the scoutmaster gravely.\n\"Now! let's forget about him. Haven't any of you other scouts some\ncontribution to make to to-night's powwow about things you've observed\nduring the day?\"\n\n\"Mr. Scoutmaster, I have!\" Marcoo lifted his head upon the opposite side\nof the camp-fire where he lay, breast downward, on the sand. \"Colin and\nI and two members of the Seal Patrol, Howsie and Jemmie Ahern, saw an\n_awfully_ big heap of clam-shells between two sand-hills on the\nshore-edge of the beach. They were partly covered with sand; but we dug\nthem out; and--somehow--they looked as if they had been there for\nages.\"\n\n\"Likely enough, they had! The Indians used to hold clam-bakes here.\" The\nfirelight danced upon the scoutmaster's white teeth; he greatly enjoyed\nthe camp-fire powwow. \"You see, fellows, this fine, white sand is\nsomething like snow--but snow which doesn't harden--the wind blows it\ninto a drift; then, perhaps, another big gale comes along, picks up the\ndrift and deposits it somewhere else. That's what uncovered your\nclam-shells.\"\n\n\"Then how is it these white dunes aren't traveling round the country?\"\nColin waved his arm toward the neighboring sand-hills with a laugh.\n\n\"Because they are held in place by the vegetation that quickly sprang up\non and between them. That beach-grass has very coarse strong roots which\ninterlace under the surface. Now! let's listen to Toiney singing; we\nmust be merry, seeing it's our second last night in camp.\" Scoutmaster\nEstey waved his hand toward his assistant in the blue shirt and tasseled\ncap.\n\nToiney, tiring of the conversation which it was an effort for him to\nfollow, was crooning softly an old French ditty wherewith he had been\nsung to sleep by his grandfather when he was a black-eyed babe in a\nsaffron-hued night-cap and gown:--\n\n  \"A la clair-e fontain-e\n  M'en allant promener,\n  J'ai trouve l'eau si belle,\n  Que je m'y suis baigne!\"\n\n\"Oh! you took a walk near the fountain and found the water so fine that\nyou went in bathing!\" cried one and another of the scouts who were in\ntheir first year in high school. \"Must have been a pretty big fountain!\nGo ahead: what did you do next, Toiney?\"\n\nBut the singer had suddenly sprung to his feet and stood, an alert,\ntense figure, in the flickering twilight.\n\n\"_Gard' donc!_\" he cried gutturally, while the cat-like breeze capered\nround him, flicking his short red tassel, catching at his legs in their\nqueer high boots. \"_Gard' donc!_ de littal light in de sky--engh? _Sapre\ntonnerre!_ I'll t'ink shee's fire, me. No camp-fire, _non_! Beeg\nfire--engh? _V'la! V'la!_\"\n\nHe glanced round sharply at his scout comrades, and pointed, with\nexcited gesticulations, across the sable dunes in the direction of those\nrecently erected summer residences.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE SIGNALMAN\n\n\n\"Patrol leaders and corporals, muster your men!\" The voice of the young\nscoutmaster rang sharply out upon the night.\n\nThe three boy patrols, Owls, Seals, and Foxes, who fell quickly into\nline at his order, were no longer surrounding their camp-fire amid the\ndusky sand-hills. That had been deserted even while Toiney was speaking,\nwhile he was pointing out the claims of a larger fire on their\nattention.\n\nFrom the glare in the sky this was evidently a threatening blaze; its\nfierce reflection overhung like an intangible flaming sword the trio of\nrecently erected summer residences about quarter of a mile from the\nscouts' camp--those handsome bungalows from which the summer birds had\nflown.\n\n\"That's no brush fire,\" Scoutmaster Estey had exclaimed directly he\nsighted the glare. \"It's a building of some kind. Come on, fellows;\nthere's work for us here!\" And snatching one of the two camp-lanterns\nfrom its sandy pedestal he led the way across the dark wilderness of the\ndunes.\n\nNixon caught up the second luminary and followed his chief. In their\nwake raced the three patrols, down in a sandy hollow one moment,\nclimbing wildly the next, tearing their way through the plumed tangle of\nbeach-grass and other vegetation that capped each pale mound now swathed\nin blackness, Toiney keeping Harold by his side.\n\n\"It isn't one of the houses, thank goodness! Only a big shed!\" cried the\nscoutmaster as they neared the scene of the fire, where golden flames\ntore in two the darkness that cowered on either side of them, having\ngained complete mastery of an outbuilding which had been used as a\nmodest garage during the summer.\n\n\"_Whee-ew!_ Gracious!\" Nixon vented a prolonged whistle of\nconsternation. \"Why! 'twas into that very shed that we saw Dave\nBaldwin--or the man whom we took for him--disappear a couple of hours\nago.\"\n\nBut the demands of the moment were such, if the three houses were to be\nsaved, that the remark, tossed at random into the darkness, was lost\nthere amid the reign of fiery motes and rampant sparks that strove to\ncarry the destruction farther.\n\n\"Luckily, the wind isn't setting toward the house--it's mostly in\nanother direction!\" The scoutmaster by a breathless wave of his blinking\nlantern indicated the largest of the three bungalows to which the\nblazing outbuilding belonged. \"No hope of saving that shed! But if the\nlittle wood-shed near-by catches, the house will go too. We may head the\nfire off!\"\n\nIt was then that he issued the ringing order to patrol leaders and those\nsecond in command to muster their men.\n\nAnd as the boy scouts fell into line, while Toiney was muttering,\naghast: \"Ah, _quel gros feu_! She's beeg fire! How we put shes\nout--engh?\" the alert brain of the American scoutmaster had outlined his\nplan of campaign; and the air cracked with his orders:--\n\n\"Toiney, take the Owls and break into that clam-digger's shack on the\nbeach: get his pails! Foxes and Seals form a line to the beach; fill the\npails as you get them an' pass 'em along to me! Tide's high; you need\nonly wade in a little way! Hey! Leon,\"--to Corporal Chase, who was\nobeying the first order with the rest of his patrol,--\"you're good at\nsignaling: take these lanterns, get up on the tallest sand-hill an'\nsignal Annisquam Lighthouse; tell them to get help! Men there can\nprobably read semaphore!\"\n\n\"_We_ may not be able to prevent the fire's spreading. And if it attacks\nthat bungalow, the others will go too--the whole colony! Lighthouse men\nmay take the glare in the sky to mean only a brush-fire,\" added the\nscoutmaster, _sotto voce_, as he stationed himself upon the crest of the\nsandy <DW72> that led from the burning shed to the dim lapping water.\n\nThat doomed shed was now blazing like a mammoth bonfire. The flames\nflung their gleeful arms out, seizing a solemn gray birch-tree for a\npartner in their wild dance, scattering their rosy fire-petals broadcast\nuntil they lodged in the roof of the wood-shed adjacent to the house,\nand upon the piazza of the bungalow itself.\n\nBut they had a trained force to reckon with in the boy scouts. In the\nclam-digger's shack were found more than a dozen pails which their owner\nhad cleaned and set in order before he went home that evening. And among\nthe excited raiders who seized upon them with wild eagerness was Harold\nGreer--Harold who a year ago was called \"poltron\" and \"scaree\" even by\nthe friend who protected him--Harold, with the last wisp of bugbear\nfear that trammeled him burned off by the contagious excitement of the\nmoment--acquitting himself sturdily as a Scout of the U.S.A!\n\nUnder his patrol leader's direction he took his place in the chain of\nboys that formed from the conflagration to the wave-edge of the beach,\nwhere half a dozen of his comrades rushed bare-legged into the howling\ntide, filled the pails and passed them along, up the line, to their\nscoutmaster on the hill.\n\nAnd he held to his place and to his duty stanchly, did the one-time\n\"poltron,\" even when Toiney, his mainstay, was summoned to the hill-top,\nto aid the commander-in-chief in his direct onslaughts upon the fire.\nSeeing which, Scout Warren touched his shoulder once proudly, in\npassing, and said in a voice huskily triumphant: \"Well done, Harold! I\nalways knew you were a boy!\"\n\nThe dragon which had held sway upon that woodland clearing was slain at\nlast, and the scars which he had left upon his victim were being\ncauterized by the fire.\n\n\"Go to it, boys! Good work! That's fine!\" rang out the commanding shout\nof the scoutmaster above the sullen roar of semi-defeated flames and the\nhiss of contending elements.\n\n\"_Houp-la!_ _Ca c'est bien!_ Dat's ver' good!\" screamed Toiney airily\nfrom his perch atop of a ladder which he had found in the wood-shed.\n\nFrom this vantage-point he was deluging with salt water the roof of the\nsmaller shed and also the walls of the bungalow wherever a fire-seed\nlodged, ready to take root. Like a huge monkey he looked, swarming up\nthere, with the flame-light dancing deliriously upon his dingy red cap!\nBut his voice would put merriment into any exigency.\n\n\"_Houp-e-la!_ We arre de boy! We arre de bes' scout ev'ry tam'!\" he\ncarolled gayly, as he launched his hissing pailfuls at each threatened\nspot. \"_Continue cette affaire d'eau_--go on wit' dis watere bizness. We\ndone good work--engh?\"\n\nSo they were, doing very good work! But the issue was still exceedingly\ndoubtful as to whether, without any proper fire-fighting apparatus, they\ncould hold the flames in check, restricting their destruction to the\nlarge shed whose roof toppled in with a resounding crash, and a\nvolcano-like eruption of sparks.\n\nAnd what of Leon? What of Corporal Chase, alone upon the tallest\nsand-hill he could pick out, a solitary scout figure remote from his\ncomrades with the dune breeze shrieking round him?\n\nWhat were his feelings as he shook his two bright signaling lanterns\naloft at arm's length, to attract the attention of the men who kept the\ndistant lighthouse beyond the dunes at the mouth of another tidal river,\nand then spelled out his message with those flashing luminaries, instead\nof the ordinary signal-flags: \"Fire! Get help! House afire! Get help!\"\ncalling assistance out of the black night?\n\nWell! Starrie Chase was conscious of a monster thrill shooting through\nhim to his feet which firmly pressed the sandy soil: breaking up into a\nhundred little thrills, it made most of the sensations which he had\nmisnamed excitement a year ago seem tame, thin, and unboyish.\n\nHe stood there, an isolated, sixteen-year-old boy. But he knew himself a\ntrained force stronger than the \"mad-cat\" wind that clawed at him, than\nthe tide which moaned behind him, even than the fire he combated;\nstronger always in the long run than these, for he was growing into a\nman who could get the better of them ninety-nine times out of a hundred.\n\nHe was a scout, in line with the world's progress, allied with rescue,\nnot ruin, with healing, not harm, with a chivalry that crowned all.\n\n\"Fire! Get help!\" Thus he kept on signaling at intervals, his left arm\nextending one flashing lantern at arm's length, while the companion\nlight was lowered to his knees for the formation of the first letter of\nthe message. And so on, the twin lights held at various angles\nillumining the youthful signalman until he stood out like a black statue\non a pedestal among the lonely dunes.\n\nTo Starrie Chase that sand-peak pedestal seemed to grow into a mountain\nand his uniformed figure to tower with it--become colossal--in the\nexcitement of the moment!\n\nWhile, not twenty yards distant, behind a smaller sand-hillock, crouched\nanother figure whose half-liberated groan the wind caught and tossed\naway like a feather as he gazed between clumps of beach-grass at the\ngesturing form of the scout.\n\nIt was the same figure which had haunted the dunes, listening to the\ncamp-fire revelry upon the boy scouts' first night in camp, the same\nwhich had so suddenly appeared upon the marshes near the pup-seal's\ncreek.\n\nBut distress seemed now to lie heavier upon that vagrant figure,\ninstead of diminishing. For, as he still studied the light-girdled form\nof the signalman, Dave Baldwin vented a groan full and unmistakable, and\nblew upon a pair of burned hands.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE LOG SHANTY AGAIN\n\n\n\"This fire has been the work of some incendiary--that's what I think!\"\nwas the opinion delivered later that night by the captain of the nearest\nfire-brigade, who, with his company, had been summoned by Leon's\nsignaled message, passed on via telephone wires by the lighthouse men.\n\n\"Of course, it may have been a case of accident or spontaneous\ncombustion, but the former seems out of the question, seeing that the\nhouses were empty, and the latter not probable,\" went on the grizzled\nchief. \"Anyhow, I congratulate you on your boys, Mr. Scoutmaster! Under\nyour leadership they certainly did good work in saving this whole summer\ncolony.\"\n\n\"So they did; I'm proud of them!\" returned the scoutmaster impulsively,\nwhich made the three patrol leaders within hearing, Scout Warren of the\nOwls, Godey Peck of the Foxes, and Jesse Taber of the Seals, straighten\ntheir tired bodies, feeling repaid.\n\n\"Well! I expect you'll see one or two officers landing upon these\nSugarloaf Dunes to-morrow, to try and get at the cause of the fire,\"\nsaid the chief again. \"It started in that shed where, so far as we know,\nthere was nothing inflammable.\"\n\n\"I ought to tell you,\" Scoutmaster Estey looked very grave, \"that two of\nmy scouts saw a man entering the shed,\" pointing to what was now a mere\nsmouldering heap of ashes, \"just about an hour, or a little over, before\nthe fire broke out. When they first caught sight of him he was on the\npiazza of the bungalow itself, and seemed trying to get into the house.\"\n\n\"Ho! Ho! I thought so. This is a case for the district police, I guess!\"\nmuttered the grizzled fire-chief.\n\nThat was the opinion also of the police representatives who landed upon\nthe white dunes from a motor-boat early the next morning. And when the\nsharp questioning of one of the officers brought out the fact that the\nindividual who had lurked about the scene of the fire was believed to be\na youthful ne'er-do-weel, Dave Baldwin, with a prison record behind him,\nwhose name was known to the two policemen, though his person was not,\nsuspicion fastened upon that vagrant as possibly the malicious author\nof the fire.\n\n\"That fellow first got into trouble through a morbid craving for\nexcitement,\" said one of the officers. \"The same craving _may_ have led\nhim on from one thing to another until he hasn't stopped at\narson--especially if he had a spiteful motive for it, which is likely\nwith a tramp. That may have been his purpose in trying to enter the\nhouse.\"\n\n\"I can scarcely imagine Dave's having become such an utter degenerate,\"\nanswered the scoutmaster sadly. \"I went to school with him long ago. And\nCaptain Andy Davis knew his father well; they were shipmates on more\nthan one trawling trip to the Grand Banks. Captain Andy speaks of the\nelder David Baldwin as a brave man and a big fisherman. Even if the son\ndid start this fire, it may have been accidental in some way.\"\n\n\"Well! we must get our hands on him, anyhow,\" decided the officer. \"I\nwonder if he's skulking round among the dunes still; that's not\nprobable? I'd like to know whether any one of these observant boy scouts\nof yours saw a boat leave this shore since daybreak?\"\n\nIt transpired that Coombsie had: after a night of unprecedented\nexcitement--like his tossing brother scouts who sought the shelter of\ntheir tents about one o'clock in the morning--he had been unable to\nsleep, had crept out of his tent at daybreak and climbed a white\nsand-hill, to watch the sun rise over the river.\n\n\"I saw a rowboat shoot out of a little creek farther up the river, I\nshould say about half a mile from the dunes,\" said Marcoo. \"There was\nonly one person in it; seemed to me he was acting rather queerly; he'd\nrow for a while, then stand up in the stern and scull a bit, then row\nagain.\"\n\n\"Could you see for what point he was heading?\"\n\n\"For the salt-marshes high up on the other side of the river, I guess! I\nthink he landed there.\"\n\n\"Then, he's probably hiding in the woods beyond the marshes. We must\nsearch them. That French-Canadian, Toiney Leduc, who's camping with you,\nhas worked as a lumberman in those woods; he knows them well, and is a\ngood trailer. I'd like to have him for a guide this morning.\" Here the\nofficer turned to the scoutmaster. \"And if you have no objection I think\nit would be well that those two boys should come with us,\" he nodded\ntoward Scouts Warren and Chase. \"They can identify the man whom they saw\ntrying to enter that bungalow last night.\"\n\nThere is nothing at all inspiriting about a man-hunt; so Nixon and Leon\ndecided when, within an hour, they landed from the police boat on the\nfamiliar salt-marshes high up the river, and silently took their way\nacross them, in company with Toiney and the policemen, over the uplands\ninto the woods.\n\nThey had come upon the fugitive's boat, hidden among a clump of bushes\nnear the river. Using that as a starting-point, Toiney followed Dave\nBaldwin's trail into the maze of woodland; though how he did so was to\nthe boy scouts a problem, for to them it seemed blind work.\n\nBut the guide in the tasseled cap, blue shirt, and heelless high boots,\nwould stop now and again at a soft spot on the marshes or uplands, or\nwhen they came to a swampy patch in the woods; at such times he would\ngenerally drop on all fours with a muttered: \"Ha! _V'la ses pis!_\" in\nhis queer patois. \"Dere's heem step!\" And anon: \"Dere me fin his feets\nagain!\"\n\nWhen there was no footprint to guide him Toiney would stoop down and\nread the story of the dry pine-needles, just faintly disturbed by the\ntoe of a rough boot which had kicked them aside a little in passing.\n\nOr he would carefully examine a broken twig, the wood of which, being\nwhitish and not discolored, showed that it had been recently snapped by\na tread heavier than that of a fox; and again they would hear him mutter\nin his quaint dialect: \"_Tiens! le tzit ramille casse_: de littal stick\nbroke! I'll t'ink hees step jus' here--engh?\"\n\nIt was a lesson in trailing which the two boy scouts never forgot as\nthey took their way through the thick woods, fairly well known to them\nnow, past Varney's Paintpot, Rattlesnake Brook, and other points of\ninterest.\n\nEre they reached the Bear's Den, however, the trail which Toiney had\nbeen following seemed to turn off at an angle and then double backward\nthrough the woods, in an opposite direction to that in which they had\nbeen pursuing it.\n\n\"Mebbe she's no' de same trail?\" pondered the guide aloud. \"Mebbe dere's\noder man's feets, engh?\"\n\nIt was now that a sudden idea, a swift memory, struck Scout Warren.\n\n\"Say! Starrie,\" he exclaimed in a low tone to his brother scout. \"Do you\nremember our looking all over that loggers' camp last year, the shanty\nback there in the woods, with the rusty grindstone trough and mountain\nof sawdust beside it? We found some fresh tobacco ash on the table and\nin one of the bunks which showed that, though the shanty was deserted in\nsummer, somebody was using it for a shelter at night. That somebody may\nhave been Dave Baldwin.\"\n\n\"Yes, they say he has spent his time--or most of it--loafing among the\ndunes or in the woods,\" returned Leon, well recalling the incident and\nhow, too, he had scoffed at the boy scout for taking the trouble to read\nthe sign story told by every article in and about the rough shanty,\nincluding the overturned trough.\n\n\"Eh! what's that, boys?\" asked one of the two policemen, catching part\nof the conversation.\n\nAs in duty bound they told him; and the search party turned in the\ndirection of the log shanty.\n\nAs they surmised it was not empty. On the discolored mattress in the\nlower bunk left there by the lumbermen who once occupied it, was\nstretched the figure of a man, fast asleep. One foot emerging from a\ncharred, torn trouser-leg which looked as if it had come into contact\nwith fire, hung over the edge of the deal crib.\n\nWhen the party filed into the shanty the sleeper started up and rubbed\nhis eyes. At sight of the two policemen his smudged face took on a\npinched pallor.\n\n\"I didn't do it on purpose!\" he cried in the bewilderment of this sudden\nawakening, without time to collect his senses. \"So help me! I never\nmeant to set that shed on fire!\"\n\n\"You were seen hanging round there an hour before the blaze broke out,\nand trying to get into the house too,\" challenged the elder of the\npolicemen.\n\nDave Baldwin slipped from the bunk to the ground; he saw that his best\ncourse lay in making a clean breast of last night's proceedings.\n\n\"So I was!\" he said. \"And these two fellows,\" he pointed to the boy\nscouts, \"saw me up on the piazza of the house, trying a window. I was\nhungry; I'd had nothing to eat all day but the last leg of a woodchuck\nthat I knocked on the head day before yesterday. I thought the summer\npeople who had just gone away might have left some canned stuff or\nremnants o' food behind 'em. I didn't want to steal anything else, or to\ndo mischief!\" he went on with that same passionate frankness of a man\nabruptly startled out of sleep, while the policemen listened patiently.\n\"I didn't, I tell ye! I'd been hangin' round those Sugarloaf Dunes for\nnigh on two weeks, watching the boys who were camping there, having a\nripping good time--doing a lot o' stunts that I knew nothing\nabout--wishing I'd had the chanst they have now!\"\n\n\"How came you to go into the shed that was burned down?\" asked one of\nthe officers.\n\n\"I was hungry, as I tell you, an' I couldn't get into the house, so I\nthought I'd lie down under the nearest cover, that shed, go to sleep an'\nforget it. I guess I knocked the ashes out o' my pipe an' dozed. Smoke\nan' the smell o' wood burning woke me. I found one side o' the shed was\non fire. Maybe, some one had left an oily rag, or one with turpentine on\nit, around, and the spark from my pipe caught it. I don't know! I tried\nto stamp out the fire--to beat it out with my hands!\" He extended\nblistered palms and knuckles. \"I've made a mess o' my life I know! But I\nain't a crazy fire-bug!\"\n\n\"Why didn't you try and get help to fight it?\"\n\n\"I was too scared. I thought, likely as not, nobody would believe me,\nseeing I had a 'reformatory record,'\" the youthful vagrant's face\ntwitched. \"I was afraid o' being 'sent up' again, so I hid among the\ndunes and crossed to the woods this morning.\"\n\n\"Well, you can tell all that to the judge; you must come with me now,\"\nsaid the older policeman inflexibly, not unkindly; he knew that men when\nsuddenly aroused from sleep usually speak the truth; he was impressed by\nthe argument of those blistered palms; on the other hand, the youthful\nvagrant's past record was very much against him.\n\nBut those charred palms were evidence enough for Toiney; though they\nmight leave the officers of the law unconvinced.\n\n\"Ha! _courage_, Dave,\" he cried, feeling an emotion of pity mingle with\nthe contempt which he, honest Antoine, had felt for the _vaurien_ who\nhad caused his old mother's heart to burst. \"_Bon courage_, Dave! I'll\nno t'ink you do dat, for sure, me. Mebbe littal fire fly f'om you' pipe.\nI'll no t'ink you do dat for de fun!\"\n\n\"We don't think you did it on purpose, Dave,\" struck in the two boy\nscouts, seconding their guide.\n\nNevertheless, Dave Baldwin passed that night in a prison cell and\nappeared before the judge next morning with the certainty confronting\nhim that he would be remanded to appear before the higher court on the\ngrave charge of being an incendiary.\n\nAnd it seemed improbable that bail would be offered for the prisoner, so\nthat he would be allowed out of jail in the mean time.\n\nYet bail was forthcoming. A massive, weatherbeaten figure, well known in\nthis part of Essex County, stood up in court declaring that he was ready\nand willing to sign the prisoner's bail bonds. It was Captain Andy\nDavis.\n\nAnd when all formalities had been gone through, when the prisoner was\nliberated until such time as his case should come up for trial, Captain\nAndy took him in tow.\n\n\"You come along home with me, Dave!\" he commanded. \"I'm going to put it\nup to you straight whether you want to live a man's life, or not.\"\n\nAnd so he did that evening.\n\n\"I've been wanting to get hold of you for some time, Dave Baldwin,\" said\nthe sea-captain. \"Your father an' I were shipmates together on more'n\none trip. He was a white man, brave an' hard-working; it's hard for me\nto believe that there isn't some o' the same stuff in his son.\"\n\nThe youthful ne'er-do-weel was silent. Captain Andy slowly went on:--\n\n\"As for the matter of this fire, I don't believe you started it on\npurpose. I doubt if the policemen who arrested you do! It's your past\nrecord that's against you. Now! if I see the district attorney, Dave\nBaldwin,\" Captain Andy's eyes narrowed meditatively under the heavy\nlids, \"and succeed in getting this case against you _nol prossed_--I\nguess that's the term the lawyer used--it means squashed, anyhow, do you\nwant to start over again an' head for some port worth while?\"\n\n\"Nobody would give me the chance,\" muttered the younger man huskily.\n\n\"I will. I've bought a piece of land over there on the edge of the\nwoods, lad; it ain't more'n half cleared yet. I'm intending to start a\nfarm. But I don't know much about farming; that's the truth!\" The grand\nold Viking looked almost pathetically helpless. \"But you've worked on a\nfarm, Dave, when you were a boy and since: if you want to take hold an'\nhelp me--if you want to stick to work an' make good--this is your\nchance!\"\n\nAn inarticulate sound from the _vaurien_; it sounded like a sob bitten\nin two by clenched teeth!\n\n\"The two boys who were with the officers who arrested you told me that\nyou declared you'd been hangin' round the Sugarloaf Dunes lately,\nwatching those scouts at their signaling stunts an' the like, an'\nwishing that you'd had the chance they have now, when you were a boy.\nWell! _theirs_ is a splendid chance--better than boys ever had before,\nit seems to me--of joining the learning o' useful things with fun.\"\nCaptain Andy planted an elbow emphatically upon a little table near him.\n\"Now! Dave, you don't want to let those boy scouts be the ones to do the\ngood turns for your old mother that you should do? If you ain't set on\nbreaking her heart altogether--if you want to be a decent citizen of the\ncountry that raises boys like these scouts--if you want to see your own\nsons scouts some day--well, give us your fin, lad!\"\n\nThe captain's voice dropped upon the last words, the semi-comical\nwind-up of a peroration broken and blustering in its earnestness.\n\nThere was a repetition of the hysterical sound in Dave Baldwin's throat\nwhich failed to pass his gritting teeth. He did not extend his hand at\nCaptain Andy's invitation. But his shoulders heaved as he turned his\nhead away; and the would-be benefactor was satisfied.\n\n\"And so Captain Andy is going to stand back of Dave Baldwin and give him\nanother chance to make good in life!\" said the Exmouth doctor, member of\nthe Local Council of Boy Scouts, when he heard what had come of the\nvagrant's arrest. \"That's like Andy! And I don't think he'll have much\ndifficulty with the district attorney; nobody really believes that\nBaldwin started that fire maliciously, and the district attorney will be\nvery ready to listen to anything Captain Andy has to say!\"\n\nHere the doctor's eye watered. He was recalling an incident which had\noccurred some years before at sea, when the son of that district\nattorney, who did not then occupy his present distinguished position,\nand the doctor's own son, with one or two other young men of Dave\nBaldwin's age, had been wrecked while yachting upon certain ragged rocks\nof Newfoundland, owing to their foolhardiness in putting to sea when a\nstorm was brewing.\n\nAt daybreak upon an October morning their buffeted figures were sighted,\nclinging to the rocks, by the lookout on the able fishing vessel,\nConstellation, of which Captain Andrew Davis was then in command.\n\nThe furious gale had subsided. But as Captain Andy knew, the greatest\ndanger to his own vessel lay in the sullen and terrible swell of the\n\"old sea\" which it had stirred up.\n\nNevertheless, the Constellation bore down upon the shipwrecked men,\ngetting as near to them as possible, without being swept on to the rocks\nherself.\n\nThen Captain Andy gave the order to put over a dory, stepped into it,\nand called for a volunteer. Twice, to and fro through the towering swell\nof the old sea, went that gallant little dory. She was smashed to\nkindling wood on her second trip, but not before the men in her could be\nhauled aboard the Constellation with ropes--not before every member of\nthe yachting party was saved!\n\n\"And I guess if Captain Andy wants a chance to haul Dave Baldwin off the\nrocks where the old sea stirred up by the gusts of his own waywardness\nand wrongdoing have stranded him, the district attorney won't stand in\nthe way!\" said the doctor to himself.\n\nHis surmise proved correct.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was just one month after the fire upon the dunes that the three\npatrols of boy scouts, Owls, Foxes, and Seals, assembled at a point of\nrendezvous upon the outskirts of the town, bound off upon a long\nSaturday hike through the October woods.\n\nBut some hearts in the troop were at bottom heavy to-day, though on the\nsurface they rose above the feeling.\n\nFor it was the last woodland hike, for the present, that Scout Warren of\nthe Owls would take with his patrol. The return of his parents from\nEurope was expected during the coming week; and he--now with two white\nstripes upon his arm, signifying his two years of service in the Boy\nScouts of America, wearing also the patrol leader's bars and first-class\nscout badge--would rejoin his Peewit Patrol in Philadelphia.\n\nHowever, his comrades' regrets were softened by Nixon's promise that he\nwould frequently visit the Massachusetts troop with which he had spent\nan exciting year, and which, unintentionally, he had been instrumental\nin forming.\n\nAnd on this brilliant October Saturday Assistant Scoutmaster Toiney\nLeduc, perceiving that the coming parting was casting a faint shadow\nbefore, exerted himself to banish that cloudlet as the troop started on\nits hike.\n\n\"_Houp-e-la!_ We arre de boy! We arre de stuff! We arre de bes' scout\nev'ry tam'!\" he shouted with an _esprit de corps_ which found its echo\nin one breast at least--that of the terrier, Blink, who to-day capered\nwith the troop as its mascot. \"We arre de bes' scout; _n'est-ce pas_,\nmo' smarty?\" And Toiney embraced Harold, marching at his side--Harold,\nwhose lips turned up to-day and every day now in the scout's smile, for\nsince the night of the dune fire had not each of his comrades and the\nscoutmasters too, kept impressing on him that he had \"behaved like a\nlittle man and a good scout\" at duty's call!\n\nThere were individuals among the onlookers, too, watching the three\npatrols march out of the town that morning, who shared Toiney's\nprimitive conceit that they were the \"best scouts\"; or at least fairly\non the way to being a model troop.\n\nLittle Jack Baldwin, gazing at his rescuers, Scouts Warren and Chase,\nMarcoo and Colin Estey, marching two and two at the head of the leading\npatrol, clapped his hands and almost burst his heart in wishing that he\ncould be twelve years old to-morrow so that he might enlist as a\ntenderfoot scout.\n\nWhereupon his old grandmother smilingly bade him \"take patience,\" for\nthe two years which now separated him from his heart's desire would not\nbe long in passing.\n\nAnd the boy scouts, as they raised their broad-brimmed hats to old Ma'am\nBaldwin, saw a happier look upon her face than it had ever worn before,\nto their knowledge.\n\nFarther on they came upon the explanation of this! They were taking a\ndifferent route to-day from that which they usually followed in entering\nthe woods. About a mile from the town they struck a partial clearing,\nwhere the land, not yet entirely relieved of timber, was evidently being\ngradually converted into a farm.\n\nAs the scouts approached they heard the ringing strokes of a woodsman's\naxe, and presently came upon a perspiring young man, putting all his\nstrength into felling a stubborn oak-tree.\n\n\"Hullo, Dave; how goes it?\" cried the scoutmaster, halting with his\ntroop.\n\n\"Fine!\" came back the panting answer from the individual engaged in this\nscouting or pioneering work, who was the former _vaurien_, Dave Baldwin.\n\n\"Find this better than loafing about the dunes, eh?\"\n\n\"Well! I should say so,\" came the answer with an honest smile.\n\nBut the boy scouts were hardly noticing Dave Baldwin: Owls, Foxes, and\nSeals, they were gazing in transfixed amusement at their hero-in-chief,\nCaptain Andy, owner of this half-cleared land.\n\nHe, who in his seagoing days had been known by such flattering titles as\nthe Grand Bank Horse, the Ocean Patrol, and the like, was seated in the\nmidst of a half-acre of pasture land, holding on like grim death to one\nend of a twenty-foot rope coiled round his hand, the hemp's other\nextremity being hitched to the leg of a very lively red cow which\npresently dragged him the entire length of the pasture and then across\nand across it, in obedience to her feminine whims.\n\n\"She'll be the death o' me, boys!\" he shouted comically to the convulsed\nscouts. \"Great Neptune! I'd rather take a vessel through the breakers on\nSable Island Bar than to be tied to her heels for one day.\"\n\n\"For pity's sake! Hold on to her, Cap!\" Dave Baldwin paused in his\nenergetic tree-felling. \"Yesterday, she got into that little plowed\nfield that I'd just seeded down with winter rye, and thrashed about\nthere!\"\n\n\"Ha! I'll t'ink you go for be good _habitant_--farmer--Dave,\" broke in\nToiney suddenly and genially. \"I'll t'ink you get dere after de w'ile,\nengh?\"\n\nIt was plain to each member of the troop that so far as Dave himself was\nconcerned he was already \"getting there,\"--reaching the goal of an\nhonest, industrious manhood.\n\nThe triple responsibility of starting a farm, directing the energies of\nhis benefactor, and combating the cow, was rapidly making a man of him.\n\nThey heard the virile blows of his axe against the tree-trunk as they\nmarched on their woodland way. And their song floated back to him:--\n\n  \"At duty's call, with a smile for all,\n    The Scout will do his part!\"\n\nDave Baldwin paused for a minute to listen; then, as he swung his axe in\na tremendous, final blow against the tottering oak, he too broke\ntriumphantly into the refrain:--\n\n  \"And we'll shout, shout, shout,\n  For the Scout, Scout, Scout,\n    For the Scouts of the U.S.A!\"\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Scout of To-day, by Isabel Hornibrook\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Curtis Weyant, Josephine Paolucci and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.\n(This book was produced from scanned images of public\ndomain material from the Google Print project.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSOCIAL VALUE\n\nA STUDY IN ECONOMIC THEORY CRITICAL AND CONSTRUCTIVE\n\nBY\n\nB. M. ANDERSON, JR., PH.D.\n\n_Instructor in Political Economy Columbia University_\n\nBOSTON AND NEW YORK\nHOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY\nThe Riverside Press Cambridge\n1911\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HART, SCHAFFNER & MARX\n\nALL RIGHTS RESERVED\n\n_Published November 1911_\n\n\nTO MY FATHER\n\nBENJAMIN M. ANDERSON\n\nOF COLUMBIA, MISSOURI\n\nMY FIRST TEACHER OF\n\nPOLITICAL ECONOMY\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThis series of books owes its existence to the generosity of Messrs. Hart,\nSchaffner, and Marx of Chicago, who have shown a special interest in\ndirecting the attention of American youth to the study of economic and\ncommercial subjects, and in encouraging the systematic investigation of the\nproblems which vitally affect the business world of to-day. For this\npurpose they have delegated to the undersigned Committee the task of\nselecting topics, making all announcements, and awarding prizes annually\nfor those who wish to compete.\n\nIn the year ending June 1, 1910, the following topics were assigned:--\n\n     1. The effect of labor unions on international trade.\n\n     2. The best means of raising the wages of the\n     unskilled.\n\n     3. A comparison between the theory and the actual\n     practice of protectionism in the United States.\n\n     4. A scheme for an ideal monetary system for the United\n     States.\n\n     5. The true relation of the central government to\n     trusts.\n\n     6. How much of J. S. Mill's economic system survives?\n\n     7. A central bank as a factor in a financial crisis.\n\n     8. Any other topic which has received the approval of\n     the Committee.\n\nA first prize of six hundred dollars, and a second prize of four hundred\ndollars, were offered for the best studies presented by class A, composed\nchiefly of graduates of American colleges.\n\nThe present volume was awarded the second prize.\n\nPROFESSOR J. LAURENCE LAUGHLIN,\n_University of Chicago, Chairman_.\n\nPROFESSOR J. B. CLARK,\n_Columbia University_.\n\nPROFESSOR HENRY C. ADAMS,\n_University of Michigan_.\n\nHORACE WHITE, ESQ.,\nNew York City.\n\nPROFESSOR EDWIN F. GAY,\n_Harvard University_.\n\n\n\n\nA NOTE\n\n\nThe following study is the outgrowth of investigations in the \"Quantity\nTheory\" of money, carried on in the seminar of Professor Jesse E. Pope, at\nthe University of Missouri, during the term 1904-5. That a satisfactory\ngeneral theory of value must underlie any adequate treatment of the problem\nof the value of money, and that there is little agreement among monetary\ntheorists concerning the general theory of value, became very evident in\nthe course of this investigation; and that the present writer's conception\nof value, as expressed in a paper written at that time on the \"Quantity\nTheory,\" was not satisfactory, became painfully clear after Professor\nPope's kindly but fundamental criticisms. The problem of value, laid aside\nfor a time, forced itself upon me in the course of my teaching: my students\nseemed to understand the treatment of value in the text-books used quite\nclearly, but I could never convince myself that I understood it, and the\nconviction grew upon me that the value problem really remained unsolved.\nHence the present book. It was begun in Dean Kinley's seminar, at the\nUniversity of Illinois, in the term 1909-10. The first three parts, in\nsubstantially their present form, and an outline sketch of the germ idea of\nthe fourth part, were submitted, in May of 1910, in the Hart, Schaffner &\nMarx Economic Prize Contest of that year. Part IV was elaborated in\ndetail, and minor changes made in the first three parts, during the year\n1910-11, at Columbia University. The book is submitted as a doctor's\ndissertation to the Faculty of Political Science of that institution.\n\nMy obligations to others in connection with this book are numerous. I\ncannot refrain from thanking my old teacher Professor Pope, in this\nconnection. I owe my interest in economic theory, and the greater part of\nmy training in economic method, to the three years I spent in his seminar\nat Missouri. I am also indebted to him for substantial aid in the critical\nrevision of the proofsheets. At the University of Illinois, Dean Kinley and\nProfessors E. L. Bogart and E. C. Hayes were of special service to me, as\nwas also Mr. F. C. Becker, now of the department of philosophy at the\nUniversity of California. Dean Kinley, in particular, criticized several\nsuccessive drafts, and made numerous valuable suggestions. My chief\nobligations at Columbia University are to Professors Seligman, Seager, John\nDewey, and Giddings. My debt to Professors Seligman and Dewey is, in part,\nindicated in the course of the book, so far as points of doctrine are\nconcerned. Both have been kind enough to read and criticize the provisional\ndraft, and Professor Seligman has supervised the revision at every stage.\nMy wife's services, in criticism, in bibliographical work, and in the\nmechanical labors which writing a book involves, have been indispensable.\n\nIt is due Professor J. B. Clark, since I discuss his theories here at\nlength, to mention the fact that, owing to his absence from Columbia\nUniversity during the year 1910-11, I have been unable to talk over my\ncriticisms with him, and so may have misinterpreted him at points. Of\ncourse, there is a similar danger with reference to every other writer\nmentioned in the book, but the reader will not be likely to think, in the\ncase of others, that the interpretations have been passed on by the writers\ndiscussed, in advance of publication. I must also mention here Professor H.\nJ. Davenport, whose name occurs frequently in the following pages. Chiefly\nhe has evoked criticism in this discussion, but it goes without saying that\nhis _Value and Distribution_ is a most significant work in the history of\neconomic theory, and my indebtedness to it will be manifest.\n\nTHE AUTHOR.\n\nCOLUMBIA UNIVERSITY,\nMay, 1911.\n\n\n\n\nANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS\n\n\nPART I. INTRODUCTION\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nPROBLEM AND PLAN OF PROCEDURE\n\n    Social Value concept recently become important, chiefly\n    in America, and primarily through the influence of\n    Professor J. B. Clark--Value and \"social marginal\n    utility\"--Relation of social-value theory to Austrian\n    theory: Professor Clark's view; views of Boehm-Bawerk,\n    Wieser, and Sax--Statement of the author's position:\n    conceptions of social utility and social cost\n    unsatisfactory, but social value concept a necessity for\n    the validation of economic theory--Plan of procedure:\n    study of logical requirements of valid value concept;\n    failure of current theory to justify such a concept;\n    cause of this failure in faulty psychology,\n    epistemology, and sociology presupposed by current\n    economic theory; reconstruction of these\n    presuppositions; on the basis of the reconstruction, a\n    positive theory of social value                             3\n\n\nPART II. CRITIQUE OF CURRENT VALUE THEORY\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nFORMAL AND LOGICAL ASPECTS OF THE VALUE CONCEPT\n\n    Value as ideal, and value as market fact--Value as\n    absolute, and value as relative--Value as\n    quantity--Relation between quantity and\n    quality--Relative conception of value involves a vicious\n    circle, if treated as ultimate--Every \"relative value\"\n    implies two absolute values--Ratios must have\n    quantitative terms--But physical quantities cannot serve\n    as these terms--Value and evaluation: confusion of the\n    two responsible, in part, for doctrine of\n    relativity--Value in current economic usage: value and\n    wealth; money as a \"measure of values\"                     13\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nVALUE AND MARGINAL UTILITY\n\n    Individualistic method of Jevons and the Austrians--Such\n    a method, applied to value problem in concrete social\n    life, yields, not quantities of value, but rather,\n    particular ratios between such quantities--Value cannot\n    be identified with marginal utility of a good to a\n    marginal individual, even though we assume the\n    commensurability and homogeneity of human\n    emotions--Clark's Law                                      28\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nJEVONS, PARETO AND BOeHM-BAWERK\n\n    When individualistic methods and assumptions are pushed\n    to the extreme, the problem of a quantitative value\n    becomes still more hopeless--Jevons' psychological and\n    epistemological assumptions--No objective value quantity\n    for Jevons--The same true of Pareto--Boehm-Bawerk, trying\n    to find law of value in law of price, reaches results no\n    more satisfactory--Austrian analysis, even with\n    Professor Clark's correction, is simply an explanation\n    of the modus operandi of determining particular ratios\n    between values in the market--It tells us nothing of\n    value itself, and assumes a whole system of values\n    predetermined                                              34\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nDEMAND CURVES AND UTILITY CURVES\n\n    Constant confusion of demand curves and utility curves\n    in current economic literature has made necessary much\n    of the foregoing criticism--Confusions in the writings\n    of Jevons, Boehm-Bawerk, Wieser, Pierson, Patten, Hadley,\n    Ely, Schaeffle, Flux, Marshall, and Davenport              40\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE VICIOUS CIRCLE OF THE AUSTRIANS\n\n    Extreme abstractness of the Austrian theory--Abstraction\n    legitimate and necessary, but must not be carried so far\n    that the explanation phenomena are obliged to include\n    the problem phenomenon--Austrians explain value in terms\n    of value,--a vicious circle--Circle explicit in\n    Wieser--Also explicit in Hobson's attempt to combine\n    Austrian theory with cost theory of English School         45\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nPROFESSOR CLARK'S THEORY OF SOCIAL VALUE\n\n    All attempts to explain value in terms of the highly\n    abstract factors of individual utility and individual\n    cost, or any combination of them, must become similarly\n    entangled--Austrians have shown this of English\n    theory--Professor Clark's value theory, set forth in the\n    Distribution of Wealth, intended to justify social value\n    concept, really uses only these abstract individual\n    factors, combined in arithmetical sums, and similarly\n    falls into a circle--Differences between Professor\n    Clark's point of view in his _Philosophy of Wealth_ and\n    that of his later writings--The point of view of the\n    earlier book, supplemented by later studies in social\n    psychology, will afford the basis for an organic\n    conception of society, and a valid doctrine of social\n    value                                                      49\n\n\nPART III. THE PRESUPPOSITIONS OF ECONOMIC\nTHEORY\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE PHILOSOPHICAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL PRESUPPOSITIONS\n\n    Connection between social philosophy and metaphysics and\n    epistemology always close--Three stages in history of\n    philosophy: dogmatic, skeptical, critical--Ancient and\n    modern philosophy have each gone through these three\n    stages--Each philosophic stage characterized by\n    distinctive social philosophy: individualism and\n    sociological monadism go with skeptical philosophy,\n    while organic conception of society goes with critical\n    stage--Economics to-day based on skeptical philosophy of\n    Hume--Doctrine of sociological monadism: Marshall,\n    Pareto, Jevons, Veblen, Davenport--Critique of\n    sociological monadism, from standpoint of epistemology\n    and psychology                                             59\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE SOCIOLOGICAL PRESUPPOSITIONS\n\n    Conceptions of the social unity: mechanical, biological,\n    psychological--DeGreef's criticism of mechanical and\n    biological analogies--Hierarchy of sciences: Comte and\n    Baldwin--Baldwin's psychical abstractionism--Cooley's\n    psychological conception of the nature of society seems\n    most useful for purposes of this study--Cooley's\n    view--Relation between Cooley and Giddings: the Social\n    Mind--Summary of sociological doctrine--Critique of\n    Davenport                                                  72\n\n\nPART IV. A POSITIVE THEORY OF SOCIAL VALUE\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nVALUE AS GENERIC--THE PSYCHOLOGY OF VALUE\n\n    Economic value a species, coordinate with ethical,\n    legal, aesthetic, and other values--Psychology of value,\n    as manifested in individual experience--Values as\n    \"tertiary qualities\"--When we reflectively break up the\n    experience, values thrown from object to subject's\n    emotional life, but this an abstraction from concrete\n    experience--Feeling and desire in relation to value:\n    hedonism; Ehrenfels and Davenport; Urban and\n    Meinong--\"Presuppositions\" of value--Feeling and desire\n    both _phases_ in value, but neither is _the_\n    worth-fundamental, and each may vary in intensity\n    without affecting amount of value--Value and reality\n    judgment: Meinong and Tarde; Urban--On _structural_\n    side, feeling, desire, and \"reality feeling\" are all\n    significant phases in value--But real significance of\n    value lies in its _functional_ aspect: the function of\n    value is the function of _motivation_--Essence of value\n    is _power_ in motivation--For concrete experience, this\n    power a quality of the object--Positive and negative\n    values--Complementary values--Rival values: two cases:\n    qualitatively compatible, and qualitatively incompatible\n    values--In first case, quantitative marginal compromise\n    often possible: generalization of Austrian\n    analysis--So-called \"absolute values\" (\"absolute\" here\n    used as in history of ethics)--No sharp lines between\n    different sorts of values, as ethical, economic,\n    aesthetic--Different sorts of values do not constitute\n    self-complete, separate systems--Generalization of\n    notion of price--Suggestions as to analogues in the\n    field of the social values                                 93\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nRECAPITULATION--THE SOCIAL VALUES--FUNCTIONS OF\nTHE VALUE CONCEPT IN ECONOMICS\n\n    Conclusions reached both in economic analysis and in\n    sociological analysis point to values which correspond\n    to no individual values, great social forces of\n    motivation--To individual, economic, legal, and moral\n    values appear as external forces, over which his control\n    is limited, and to which he must adapt his individual\n    behavior--Economic theory, often unconsciously, has\n    assumed objectively valid, quantitative value, and\n    economic theory valid only on the basis of such a\n    concept: value the homogeneous element among the\n    diversities of physical forms of goods, by virtue of\n    which ratios, sums, and percentages may be obtained\n    among them, and comparisons made--Process of\n    \"imputation\" assumes such a value concept--Value used by\n    economists to explain motivation of economic\n    activity--Such a value concept essential for the theory\n    of money--Implied in the term, \"purchasing power\"--Such\n    a concept has never been justified, but economists, more\n    concerned about practical results than logical\n    consistency, have found it essential, and used\n    it--Impossible to develop a social quantity by synthesis\n    of abstract individual elements--Correct procedure the\n    reverse of this                                           115\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nSOCIAL VALUE: THE THEORIES OF URBAN AND TARDE\n\n    Neither Urban nor Tarde primarily concerned with\n    economic value--Urban's important contributions--Insists\n    on conscious feeling as essential for social value--But\n    feeling may vary in intensity without affecting the\n    power in motivation of the value--Feeling significant\n    when values are to be compared--Social weight of those\n    who feel a value a highly significant phase which Urban\n    ignores--Tarde recognizes this phase, but errs in\n    treating it as an abstract element, which obeys the laws\n    of simple arithmetic                                      124\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nECONOMIC SOCIAL VALUE\n\n    How get out of Austrian circle?--Temporal _regressus_\n    _vs._ logical analysis of the concrete whole of the\n    Social Mind--Even in Wieser's \"natural\" community,\n    psychic elements other than \"marginal utility\"\n    significant for the determination of economic values,\n    especially legal and moral values concerned with\n    distribution--Quotation from Mill--Critique of \"pure\n    economic\" theories of distribution--They presuppose as a\n    \"framework\" a set of legal and moral values which, in\n    modern times, especially, are little more stable than\n    \"pure economic\" forces, and which, in any case, are of\n    same nature as economic forces,--fluid, psychic\n    forces--\"Pure economic\" forces, working in _vacuo_,\n    would lead to anarchy; any concrete economic tendency\n    depends on legal and moral forces quite as much as on\n    \"pure economic\" forces--Illustrations                     132\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nECONOMIC SOCIAL VALUE (_continued_)\n\n    Abstract elements of the Austrian and English schools,\n    individual \"utilities\" and \"costs,\" have their place in\n    the concrete whole of social intermental life--Social\n    causes largely determine them--But this not enough for a\n    theory of social value--Intensity of a man's feelings or\n    desires has no relation whatever to value in market till\n    we know social rankings of _men_--Conflicts of values\n    concerned with these social rankings--Prices express\n    results of court decisions as well as results of\n    changing individual desires for economic goods--We break\n    the circle by turning to the concrete whole of\n    social-mental life--Economics has failed to profit by\n    example of other social sciences here--No social science\n    can explain its phenomena by reference to one or two\n    abstract factors                                          148\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nSOME MECHANICAL ANALOGIES\n\n    Mechanical analogies of limited use in revealing full\n    complexity of social control, but of use for certain\n    purposes--Our argument can be put, in part, in terms of\n    mechanical analogies--Transformations of social\n    forces--Illustrations--Marginal equilibria among social\n    forces--Illustrations--Social forces of control take\n    different forms under different conditions--Mechanical\n    analogies useful enough for economic price-analysis--Our\n    thesis involves no radical revision of economic\n    methodology--It is rather concerned with interpretation\n    and validation of economic methodology                    156\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nPROFESSOR SELIGMAN'S PSYCHOLOGICAL DOCTRINE OF THE\nRELATIVITY OF VALUES\n\n    Professor Seligman's contributions to value\n    theory--Points of difference between his views and those\n    here maintained--His psychological doctrine of\n    relativity--Different from doctrine of English School,\n    which is a matter of logical definition--Values relative\n    because there is fixed sum of values, and increase in\n    one value can come only through decrease in other\n    values--Criticism: psychological difficulties;\n    diminution of all values in times of panics and\n    epidemics; decrease of economic values through increase\n    of religious and other values--Element of truth in\n    Professor Seligman's doctrine--Relation between\n    Professor Seligman's view and that of Professor Clark     162\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE THEORY OF VALUE AND THE THEORY OF PRICES\n\n    Price and _Preis_--Price broadened to include all\n    relations between values, whether money be involved or\n    not--History of price-concept in English\n    economics--Distinction between prices and\n    values--Generalization of notion of price--Measurement\n    of beliefs, etc., in terms of money--\"Qualitative\n    analysis\" and \"quantitative analysis\"--Great bulk of\n    economic theory, and virtually all that is valid and\n    valuable in economic theory, has so far been in theory\n    of prices, and not in theory of value--Methods of price\n    analysis--Abstract units of value--Price theory and\n    practical problems                                        175\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE THEORY OF VALUE AND THE THEORY OF PRICES (_concluded_)\n\n    Great work of Austrians really done in field of price\n    theory--They have, without logical right, but with\n    excellent results, assumed and used a quantitative,\n    objective value concept--Distribution in relation to\n    theory of value and theory of prices--Mill's treatment\n    primarily from standpoint of fundamental value theory;\n    later theories, as a rule, chiefly concerned with more\n    superficial, but also more exact, price analysis of\n    distributive problems--Theory of value not a substitute\n    for detailed price analysis, but, rather, a\n    presupposition of it--Prices have _meanings_, which only\n    theory of value can explain                               188\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE THEORY OF VALUE AND THE SOCIAL OUTLOOK--SUMMARY\n\n    Belief that social optimism and social pessimism are\n    connected with theory of value--Views of Fetter,\n    Schumpeter, Wieser, and Davenport--No such implications,\n    either optimistic or pessimistic, in theory here\n    maintained--Theory of value does not contain\n    justification of existing social order--Summary of main\n    argument of book 194\n\nINDEX OF NAMES                                                201\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\n\n\nSOCIAL VALUE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nPROBLEM AND PLAN OF PROCEDURE\n\n\nRecent economic literature has had much to say about \"social value.\" The\nconception, while not entirely new,[1] has become important only of late\nyears, chiefly through the influence of Professor J. B. Clark, who first\nset it forth in his article in _The New Englander_ in 1881 (since\nreproduced as the chapter on the theory of value in his _Philosophy of\nWealth_). The conception has been found attractive by many other American\nwriters, however, and has become familiar in many text-books, and in\nperiodical literature. Among those who have used the conception may be\nnamed: Professors Seligman, Bullock, Kinley, Merriam, Ross, and C. A.\nTuttle.[2] Gabriel Tarde, the brilliant French sociologist, has\nindependently developed a social value doctrine, different in many respects\nfrom that of the Americans named, which we shall later have occasion to\nconsider.[3]\n\nIn its most definite form, the theory asserts that the value of an economic\ngood is determined by, and precisely accords with, the marginal utility of\nthe good to society, considered as a unitary organism. Professor Clark, as\nis well known, makes use of the analysis of diminishing utility in an\nindividual's consumption of goods in much the same fashion that Jevons\ndoes, but while Jevons makes this simply a step in the analysis of market\nratios of exchanges, Professor Clark treats it as analogical, representing\n_in parvo_ what society does, as an organic whole, on a bigger scale.[4]\n\nThe precise relation of social value to social marginal utility is\nvariously stated by the writers named: for Professor Clark, value is the\n_measure_ of effective, or marginal, utility;[5] for Professor Seligman,\nsocial value is the _expression_ of social marginal utility;[6] for\nProfessors Ross, Merriam, and Kinley, value _is_ that social marginal\nutility itself.[7] These statements are more different in words than in\nideas, though some significance is to be attached to Professor Seligman's\nformulation, as will later appear.\n\nThis conception is a bold one. It has, moreover, never been adequately\ndeveloped or criticized. Its friends have found it a convenient and useful\nworking hypothesis, and Professor Clark, especially, has built a great\nsystem upon it, but, with the exception of an article in the _Yale Review_\nof 1892,[8] has made no serious efforts, either to make clear its full\nmeaning, or to vindicate it--except that, of course, his whole system may\nbe considered such a vindication. Professor Seligman, in an article in the\n_Quarterly Journal of Economics_, vol. XV, and also in his _Principles of\nEconomics_, has espoused the conception, and has shown how, assuming its\ntruth, a great many antagonistic theories may be harmonized; but he, also,\nhas failed to treat it with that detail which full demonstration requires.\nIn particular, he has omitted a treatment of the problem of the relation\nbetween the value of a good for the individual and for society, and the\nrelation between individual and social marginal utility.[9] The most\nsearching investigation of the theory has come from unfriendly critics,\namong whom may be especially named Professor H. J. Davenport, and Professor\nJ. Schumpeter of Vienna.[10]\n\nFor the purposes of this discussion, Professor Clark will be considered as\nthe representative of the Social Value School, for the most part, though\nattention will be given to some of the other writers named as well. It is\nworth while, consequently, to make clear at this point the relation between\nProfessor Clark and the Austrian School, with which he is sometimes\nassociated by economic writers. His extensive use of the marginal\nprinciple, his use of the term, \"utility,\" and his deduction of value from\nutility, seem to place him at one with them. Professor Clark has pointed\nout, however, in the preface to the second edition of his _Philosophy of\nWealth_, that his theory is to be distinguished from that of Jevons by \"the\nanalysis of the part played by society as an organic whole in the valuing\nprocesses of the market.\" And the Austrians, for their part, have rejected\nthe conception that value and social marginal utility coincide, or that\nsociety, as an organic whole, puts a value on goods. Thus, Boehm-Bawerk:--\n\n     Man pflegt den objektiven Tauschwert im Gegensatz zu\n     dem auf individuellen Schaetzungen beruhenden\n     subjektiven Wert haeufig auch als den\n     _volkswirtschaftlichen Wert_ der Gueter zu bezeichnen.\n     Ich halte diesen Gebrauch fuer nicht empfehlenswert.\n     Zwar wenn man durch ihn nichts anders hervorheben\n     wollte, als dass diese Gestalt des Wertes nur in der\n     Gesellschaft und durch die Gesellschaft hervortreten\n     koenne, dass er also das volks- und\n     sozialwirtschaftliche Wertphaenomen _per eminentiam_\n     sei, so waere dagegen nichts zu erinnern. Gewoehnlich\n     mischt sich aber mit jener Benennung auch die\n     Vorstellung, dass der Tauschwert der Wert sei, den ein\n     Gut _fuer_ die Volkswirtschaft habe. Man deutet ihn als\n     ein ueber den subjektiven Urteilen der einzelnen\n     stehendes Urteil der Gesellschaft, welche Bedeutung ein\n     Gut fuer sie im ganzen habe; gewissermassen als\n     Werturteil einer objektiven hoeheren Instanz. Dies ist\n     irrefuehrend.[11]\n\nEqually emphatic is Wieser:--\n\n     The ordinary conception, which makes price the social\n     estimate put upon goods, has to the superficial\n     judgment the attraction of simplicity. A good A whose\n     market price is L100 is not only ten times as dear as B\n     whose market price is L10, but it is also absolutely\n     and for every one ten times as valuable. In our\n     conception the matter is much more complicated....\n     Price alone forms no basis whatever for an estimate of\n     the economic importance of the goods. We must go\n     further and find out their relation to wants. But this\n     relation to wants can only be realised and measured\n     individually.... And the question how it is possible to\n     unite those divergent individual valuations into one\n     social valuation, is one that cannot be answered quite\n     so easily as those imagine who are rash enough to\n     conclude that price represents the social estimate of\n     value.[12]\n\nSax, likewise, expresses his dissent:--\n\n     Da fuer die exacte Forschung die Psyche einer\n     fabelhaften Collectiv-Personlichkeit nicht existirt, so\n     kann der Ausgangspunkt unserer Untersuchung auch wieder\n     nur der Individualwerth sein.[13]\n\nWhatever the worth of the conception of social value, it is not the same as\nthe Austrian theory. It is proper to remark here that these strictures of\nthe Austrian writers are probably directed, not against Professor Clark,\nbut rather against the social use-value concept as it had appeared in\nGermany, in the writings, say, of Rodbertus, and of Adolph Wagner, who\naccepts Rodbertus' notion.[14]\n\nIt may be well, at the outset, for the writer to define his own position\nbriefly. We shall find the notion of social marginal utility, and the\ncompanion notion of social marginal cost (considering the latter as a \"real\ncost,\" or pain-abstinence cost, concept), unsatisfactory and\nunilluminating. Social marginal utility, as a determinant of value, cannot\nbe the marginal utility of a good to some particular individual who stands\nout as _the_ marginal individual in society, nor can it be an average of\nindividual marginal utilities, nor a sum of individual marginal utilities,\nnor any other possible arithmetical combination of individual marginal\nutilities, if our conclusions are true. For the term, social marginal\nutility, we can find only a vague, analogical meaning, if any at all,\nunless we identify it outright with social value, in which case it is a\nsuperfluous term, which itself not only explains nothing, but rather\npresents complications which call for explanation. We shall find no use for\nthe social utility concept in our analysis. On the other hand, we shall\nfind the conception of social value a necessity for the validation of\neconomic analysis, and a conception which present-day psychological and\nsociological theory abundantly warrant us in accepting.\n\nI do not desire, at the outset of a comparatively short book, to anticipate\nmy arguments in detail, but a statement of the plan of procedure may aid\nthe exposition somewhat. I shall first, through an examination of the\nlogical necessities of economic theory, and of the function of the value\nconcept in economics, set up certain logical and formal qualifications for\nan adequate value concept. Then I shall examine the efforts made by current\ntheories of value to attain such a value concept, by means of the elements\nof individual utilities, individual costs, or combinations of the two, and\nshow that such procedure gets into invincible logical difficulties. We\nshall find the source of these difficulties in the faulty epistemology,\npsychology, and sociology which constitute the avowed or implicit\npresuppositions of the economic theory of to-day. Criticizing these faulty\npresuppositions, we shall endeavor to reconstruct them in the light of\nlater epistemological, psychological, and sociological doctrine, and then,\non the basis of the new presuppositions, we shall endeavor to develop a\ntruly organic doctrine of social value, and to link it with what seems\nvaluable--that is to say, the greater part--in the economic theory of\nto-day.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] The value concept of Marx is not, strictly speaking, a social value\nconcept. _Cf._ Pareto, V., _Cours d'Economie Politique_, vol. I, p. 32.\nRodbertus, however, has a doctrine of social use value, based on the\norganic conception of society. \"Nemlich so: es gibt nur Eine Art Werth und\ndas ist der Gebrauchswerth.... Aber dieser Eine Gebrauchswerth ist entweder\nindividueller Gebrauchswerth oder _socialer_ Gebrauchswerth.... Der zweite\nist der Gebrauchswerth, den ein aus vielen individuellen Organismen\nbestehender _socialer Organismus_ hat.... Damit glaube ich also bewiesen zu\nhaben, dass der Tauschwerth nur der historische Um- und Anhang des socialen\nGebrauchswerths aus einer bestimmten Geschichtsperiode ist. Indem man also\ndem Gebrauchswerth einen Tauschwerth als logischen Gegensatz gegenueber\nstellt, stellt man zu einem logischen Begriff einen historischen Begriff in\nlogischem Gegensatz, was logisch nicht angeht.\" From a letter to Adolph\nWagner, published by Wagner in the _Zeitschrift fuer die Gesammte\nStaatswissenschaft_, 1878, pp. 223-24. Wagner indicates his approval of\nthis concept, though he makes little use of it, in his _Grundlegung der\npolitischen Oekonomie_, Leipzig, 1892, pp. 329-30. Ingram, in his _History\nof Political Economy_ (New York, 1888), although he takes no account of\nsocial value theories of other writers, suggests one of his own--which is,\nhowever, a vague one, mixing technological, ethical, and economic\ncategories. See p. 241.\n\n[2] Seligman, E. R. A., _Principles of Economics_, New York, 1905,\nespecially pp. 179-82 and 192-93. Bullock, C. J., _Introduction to the\nStudy of Economics_, especially pp. 162-64. There is no attempt at a\npsychological treatment in this work, and no clear statement of the meaning\nof the concept, social. Kinley, David, _Money_, New York, 1904, pp. 125-26.\nThe social value conception runs through the book. Merriam, L. S., \"The\nTheory of Final Utility in its Relation to Money and the Standard of\nDeferred Payments,\" _Annals of the American Academy_, vol. III; \"Money as a\nMeasure of Value,\" _ibid._, vol. IV; an unfinished study in the same\nvolume, pp. 969-72, described by Professor J. B. Clark. Ross, E. A., \"The\nStandard of Deferred Payments,\" _ibid._, vol. III; \"The Total Utility\nStandard of Deferred Payments,\" _ibid._, vol. IV. These articles by\nProfessors Ross and Merriam were written in the course of an interesting\ncontroversy between the gentlemen named, Tuttle, C. A., \"The Wealth\nConcept,\" ibid., vol. I; \"The Fundamental Economic Principle,\" _Quarterly\nJournal of Economics_, 1901.\n\n[3] See chapter XII.\n\n[4] See especially Professor Clark's _Essentials of Economic Theory_, New\nYork, 1907, pp. 41-42.\n\n[5] See especially _The Philosophy of Wealth_, 1892 ed., pp. 73-74.\n\n[6] _Principles_, pp. 179-82.\n\n[7] The general references for Ross and Merriam have been given _supra._\n_Cf._ p. 62 of Dean Kinley's _Money_.\n\n[8] \"Ultimate Standard of Value.\" This article is substantially the same as\nchap, XXIV of _The Distribution of Wealth_, New York, 1899.\n\n[9] In his discussion of social value in the _Principles_, Professor\nSeligman modifies a statement made in his article, \"Social Elements in the\nTheory of Value\" (_Quarterly Journal of Economics_, vol. XV). The two\ndiscussions are parallel in part, the former being based upon the latter.\nThe passage quoted is from the _Q. J. E._ article, pp. 323-24. The same\npassage is essentially reproduced in the _Principles_ (first edition, p.\n180), with the exception of the passages in italics: \"I not only measure\nthe relative satisfaction that I can get from apples or nuts, but the\nquantity of apples I can get for the nuts depends upon the relative\nestimate put upon them by the rest of society. _Some individuals may prize\na commodity a little more, some a little less; but its real value is the\naverage estimate, the estimate of what society thinks it is worth._ If an\napple is worth twice as much as a nut, it is only because the community,\nafter comparing _and averaging_ individual preferences,\" etc. The\nconception of social value as an _average_ of individual values is\nwithdrawn in the second treatment, and no substitute is offered for it.\n\n[10] Davenport, \"Seligman, 'Social Value,'\" _Journal of Pol. Econ._, 1906;\n_Value and Distribution_, Chicago, 1908. This last work reproduces, in\nabridged form, the article on Professor Seligman, in a footnote, pp. 444\n_et seq._ Schumpeter, \"On the Concept of Social Value,\" _Q. J. E._, Feb.,\n1909; \"Die neuere Wirtschaftslehre in den Vereinigten Staaten,\" _Jahrbuch\nfuer Gesetzgebung, Verwaltung und Volkswirtechaft im Deutschen Reich_, 1910,\npp. 913 _et seq._ In the last-named article (p. 925, n.) Professor\nSchumpeter indicates that his objection to the social value concept relates\nnot so much to the question of fact as to the question of method. The\nEnglish article in the _Quarterly Journal_ contains Schumpeter's fullest\ntreatment of the topic.\n\n[11] Boehm-Bawerk, \"Grundzuege der Theorie des wirtschaftlichen Gueterwerts,\"\nConrad's _Jahrbuecher_, N. F., Bd. XIII, 1886, p. 478.\n\n[12] _Natural Value_, p. 52, n.\n\n[13] Sax, Emil, _Grundlegung Der Theoretischen Staatswirtschaft_, Vienna,\n1887, p. 249.\n\n[14] See _supra_, p. 3, note 1.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\nCRITIQUE OF CURRENT VALUE THEORY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nFORMAL AND LOGICAL ASPECTS OF THE VALUE CONCEPT\n\n\n     The study of wealth is meaningless, unless there be a\n     unit for measuring it. The questions to be answered are\n     quantitative.... Reciprocal comparisons give no\n     sums.... Ratios of exchange alone afford us no answer\n     to the economist's chief inquiries.[15]\n\nThis quotation from Professor Clark raises an issue which we must examine\nin detail. Professor Clark proceeds, pointing out the need for a\nhomogeneous element, among the diversities of the physical forms of goods,\ncapable of absolute measurement, if goods are ever to be added together, or\na sum of wealth obtained. Money, on the surface of things, affords this\ncommon standard, but \"the thought of men runs forward to the power that\nresides in the coins.\" This power is effective social utility, the\nquantitative measure of which is value. Elsewhere in his writings,[16]\nProfessor Clark insists on the conception of value as a quantity, an\nabsolute magnitude, and he consistently makes use of this conception. All\nof the exponents of the social value concept named, except Professor\nSeligman, follow him in this, and it may be considered an essential feature\nof the theory. Marginal utility is a definite quantity, social marginal\nutility is a definite quantity, and value, if conceived as identical with\nsocial marginal utility, or as the quantitative measure of it (the\ndifference is verbal, for present purposes, at least), must be so\nconsidered. A _ratio of exchange_, then, is a ratio between two quantities\nof social marginal utility, or social value, rather than between two\nphysical objects, and _price_, in this view, is a particular sort of ratio\nof exchange, namely, one where one of the terms of the ratio is the social\nmarginal utility, or the social value, of the money unit.\n\nIt is important to contrast value as thus conceived, in its formal and\nlogical aspects, with other historical conceptions of value. In the\nclassification which follows, the writer has by no means attempted an\nexhaustive list. Definitions of value are very numerous, but it is not\nnecessary to list them all, since many differ, not so much in their logical\nor formal aspects, as in the theory of the origin of value which the\ndefinition is made to include. There are two principles of classification\nwhich will be used, however, which, used in a cross-classification, will\nenable us to exhibit the contrasts of most importance for present purposes.\n\nThe first line of cleavage is between the conceptions which treat value as\nan ethical ideal, often different from the market fact, and those which\naccept the value which is expressed in prices in the market as the \"real or\ntrue\" value for economic science. The medieval conception of the _justum\npretium_ belongs to the first class, as does also the conception of\nPresident Hadley: \"The price of an article or service, in the ordinary\ncommercial sense, is the amount of money which is paid, asked, or offered\nfor it. The value of an article or service, is the amount of money which\nmay properly be paid, asked, or offered for it.\"[17] And the value theory\nof Karl Marx, though differing from either of these in points, is yet like\nthem in this one respect: value and price do not necessarily agree for\nMarx. The value of a thing for him depends on the \"socially necessary\"\nlabor embodied in it, while some things, as land, command a price in the\nmarket, even though embodying no labor.[18] Opposed to this group of\ntheories are, doubtless, the greater part of present-day writers, who,\nwhile differing among themselves at many points, would insist that value is\na fact, and not an ideal.\n\nThe second line of division is between the conceptions of value as a\nquantity and value as a ratio, or, to put the thing more generally and more\naccurately, between the value of a thing as a definite magnitude,\nindependent of exchange relations, and that value as a relative thing, not\nonly _measured_ by the process of exchanging, but also caused by it, and\nvarying with the value of the things with which the article is compared.\nProfessor Clark and his followers belong in the second group of the first\nclassification, and in the first group of the second classification. The\nsocial value of which they speak is a fact, and not an ideal (though\nProfessor Clark has often been interpreted as teaching that the fact\ncorresponds closely with an ideal), and social value as treated by them\n(noting the exception of Professor Seligman, who does not follow Professor\nClark closely), is an absolute magnitude.[19] Karl Marx and Henry George\nagree with them upon this latter point. Value is a quantity, and not a mere\nrelation, for both.[20] Wieser would concur here.[21]\n\nProfessor Carver, in a recent article in the _Quarterly Journal of\nEconomics_,[22] insists on the conception of value as a quantity. Gabriel\nTarde states the matter illuminatingly in a passage in his _Psychologie\nEconomique_:[23]--\n\n     Value is a quality which we attribute to things, like\n     color, but which, like color, exists only in\n     ourselves.... This quality is of that peculiar species\n     of qualities which present numerical degrees, and mount\n     or descend a scale without essentially changing their\n     nature, and hence merit the name of quantities.\n\nOn the other hand, the doctrine of relativity has characterized the\nteachings of the English School, of the Austrians (except Wieser), and of\nmany of the more eclectic followers of each in this country. It will appear\nlater that this relative conception follows naturally from their\nindividualistic method of approaching the subject. The essence of the\nrelative conception of value, whether defined as \"power in exchange,\" or\n\"ratio of exchange,\" or, with Professor Fisher,[24] and others, as a\nquantity of goods to be got in exchange, comes out in the statement, so\ncommon in the text-books, that, while there can be a general rise or fall\nof _prices_, there cannot be a general rise or fall of _values_, since a\nrise in the value of one good implies a corresponding fall in the value of\nall other goods. The incompatibility of the two opposing conceptions comes\nout strikingly here: if value be an absolute magnitude, then there _can_ be\na general rise or fall of values without disturbing exchange ratios at\nall--12:6::6:3. All values might be cut in half, or multiplied by any\nfactor, and, provided all decreased or increased in the same degree,\nexchange relations would not change.\n\nNow this difference is fundamental. Vastly more than terminology and\ndefinition is involved. Is value a quantity or a relation? Is value a thing\nwhich determines causally exchange relations, or is value determined\ncausally by them? To the writer, the former conception seems a logical\nnecessity. Value as merely relative is a thing hanging in the air. There is\na vicious circle in reasoning if, when I ask you what the value of wheat\nis, you refer me to corn, and then when I ask you the value of corn, you\nrefer me again to wheat. And if you put in intermediate links, even as many\nlinks as there are different commodities in the market, the circle still\nremains: the value of A is its power over, or its ratio with, B; the value\nof B its relation to C; the value of C ... its relation to Z; and the value\nof Z, the last in the series, must come back to its relation to one of\nthose named before. This circle is noted and sharply criticized by\nWieser:[25]--\n\n     Theorists who have confined themselves to the\n     examination of exchange value, or, what comes to the\n     same thing, of price, may have succeeded in discovering\n     certain empirical laws of changes in amounts of value,\n     but they could never unfold the real nature of value,\n     and discover its true measure. As regards these\n     questions, so long as examination was confined to\n     exchange value, it was impossible to get beyond the\n     formula that value lies in the relation of\n     exchange;--that everything is so much more valuable the\n     more of other things it can be exchanged for....\n     Absolutely and by itself, value was not to be\n     understood. It is significant of this conception to\n     state that one thing cannot be an object of value in\n     itself; that a second must be present before the first\n     can be valued.\n\n     Theory has only very gradually shaken itself free from\n     this misconception, this circle. Where an absolute\n     theory was attempted--such as the labour theory, or\n     that which explained value as usefulness--some logical\n     leap generally reconnected it with the relative\n     conception.\n\nNow the validity of this reasoning might be admitted, in so far as it\napplies to \"Crusoe economics\"--though Professor Seligman, with strict\nconsistency, insists that even there value arises from a comparison in\nCrusoe's mind of apples with nuts[26]--by those who would object to its\napplication to value in society. Value there, it would be insisted, is\ndetermined through exchange, and does not have any meaning except as a\nratio between physical commodities.[27] But even here, it seems to me, the\nsame reasoning must hold. We really do not find a ratio between physical\ncommodities at all. Four gallons of milk exchange for one dollar, or 23.22\ngrains of gold. The exchange ratio is four to one. But milk is in units of\nliquid measure; gold in incommensurable units of Troy weight. The ratio,\n4:1, is not on the basis of any physical commensurability. If any physical\nbasis of comparison be taken, whether weight, or bulk, or length, or more\nsubtle and less easily measurable physical qualities, the ratio would be\nfound very different. But 4:1 _is_ the market ratio. Now a quantitative\nratio is between commensurable quantities. Gold and milk must be, then,\ncommensurable quantities, _i.e._ must have a common _quality_, present in\neach in definite quantitative degree, before comparison is possible, or a\nratio can emerge. This quality is _value_. The difficulty, from the\nstandpoint of logic, is only covered up, and not avoided, if we say with\nProfessor Davenport,[28] \"Value is a ratio of exchange between two goods,\n_quantitatively specified_.\" [Italics mine.] For the quantitative\nspecification depends on the extent to which the homogeneous quality is\npresent in each of the goods, or, if we assume that the quantitative\nspecification is made before the question of exchange ratio is raised, then\nthe exchange ratio will vary with the extent to which the common quality is\npresent in each of the goods. We can have no quantitative ratios between\nunlike things. And yet, we must have terms for our ratios. The situation\nhere is not unlike the situation that arises when we compare two weights.\nWe have no unit of weight in the abstract. Weight never appears as an\nisolated quality, but always along with other qualities, as extension,\ncolor, and the like. And when we compare weights, we really compare two\nheavy objects, and make our weight ratio between the object to be weighed\nand the physical standard of weight. Nor does value ever appear as an\nisolated quality. And we have no unit of abstract value which we can apply\nabstractly in a measurement. Instead, we choose some valuable object, as\n23.22 grains of gold, and make our ratio between the given quantity of gold\nand the object whose value we wish to measure. But we must not forget that\nthis is merely a symbol, a convenient mode of expression, and that the fact\nexpressed is something different--that the real terms of our ratios are so\nmany units of abstract weight, or of abstract value, as the case may be.\nOtherwise conceived, the ratio itself is meaningless: it has no terms. We\nhave four to one up in the air, not four units of something to one unit of\nsomething. The abstract ratio is a thing for pure mathematics, and not a\nthing for economics. An economic ratio must have \"economic quantities\" as\nterms.[29]\n\nThe difficulty with the doctrine we are maintaining arises from the\ndifficulty of isolating and defining this quality of value. It is not a\nquality \"inherent\" in the good (whatever \"inherent\" may mean). It does not\narise from the simple relation between our senses and the object, or even\nfrom an intellectual elaboration thereof. It rather grows out of the\nrelation between our emotional-volitional life and the object, and the\ndefinition of this relation, and the determination of the quality, have\nbeen so difficult, that some writers, as Professor Davenport,[30] have\nexplicitly given it up as a hopeless task, and have determined to content\nthemselves with the surface facts of relativity. But there is no logical\nresting place in those surface facts. Relativity implies _things_ related,\nratios must have quantitative _terms_, additions require _homogeneous_\nquantities to make up a sum.\n\nSome further distinctions are necessary. When we say \"absolute magnitude,\"\nwe do not mean a magnitude which stands out of all relations to other facts\nin the universe. There is no intention of setting up a metaphysical\nabsolute here. The terms \"positive\" and \"relative\" (suggested by Professor\nTaylor)[31] might serve our purpose better, except for the fact that we\nwish to reserve the term \"positive value\" to contrast with \"negative value\"\nat a later stage of our discussion. Our objection to the relative\nconception of value really gives our value more, rather than less\nrelations. Instead of allowing its relation to one particular thing,\nnamely, some other good with which it happens to be compared, to determine\nits amount, we insist that that relation is so much a minor matter that it\ncan generally be ignored, and that the significant relations--a very\nnumerous set of relations indeed, as we shall later see!--are of another\nsort. The contention is that value is absolute only in this sense: its\namount is not determined by the particular exchange ratio in which it\nhappens to be put, and is not changed _eo ipso_ every time a new comparison\nis made.\n\nFurther, it is in the process of exchange, and by the method of comparison,\nthat the value of goods becomes quantitatively _known_, as a rule. That is\nto say, we find out precisely _how much_ value a good has by comparing it\nin exchange with some other good. In this respect, value is again like\nother qualities. We measure lengths, weights, cubic contents of objects,\nall by comparison, direct or indirect, with other objects. But the amount\nof water in a vessel is not changed when we put it into a measure, and\ndetermine how many gallons of it there are. Nor is the amount of value in a\ngood _causally_ determined by the process of exchange.[32] We must\ndistinguish between two confused meanings of the word \"determine.\" It may\nmean \"to cause,\" and it may mean \"to find out\" or \"to measure.\" We must\ndistinguish, in Kantian phrase, between the \"_ratio essendi_\" and the\n\"_ratio cognoscendi_.\" _Value_ and _evaluation_ are two distinct things.\nValue, to anticipate a later part of the study, is primary, and grows out\nof the action of the volitional-emotional side of human-social life;\nevaluation is secondary, and is the intellectual process devoted, not to\n_giving_ value, but to _finding out_ how much value there is in a good.\nThis distinction between the existence of a quantity, and our precise\nknowledge of its amount, is brought out by several writers, among them,\nGeneral F. A. Walker,[33] and the keen mathematical economists, Pareto[34]\nand Edgeworth.[35]\n\nThere are two further arguments for the propriety of this conception,\nconsidered primarily as a question of terminology, to be drawn from usage\nin the treatment of other terms. The first is drawn from a consideration of\nthe function of the value concept in economic science,[36] and of its\nrelation to the concept of wealth. \"The notion of value is to our science\nwhat that of energy is to mechanics,\" says Jevons.[37] It is clear that a\nmere abstract ratio, which Jevons two pages later declares value to be,\ncannot serve such a purpose. Abstract ratios are subject-matter for\nmathematics, not for economics. \"Wealth and value differ as substance and\nattribute,\" (Senior, quoted with approval by F. A. Walker.[38]) With this\nview, Marx[39] would concur. \"Wealth is that which has value,\" Professor\nLaughlin states.[40] Clearly a qualitative attribute, and not a ratio, must\nbe indicated here, even though Professor Laughlin elsewhere in the book\ndefines value as a \"ratio between two objective articles.\"[41] And if we\ntake a definition like that of Professor Seligman, who defines wealth in\nterms which entirely ignore the ideas of comparison and exchange as\nconsisting of those things which are (1) capable of satisfying desire, (2)\nexternal to man, and (3) limited in supply,[42] we find no basis for\ninsisting on relativity, exchange and comparison, as essential to the idea\nof value, which is the essential and distinguishing characteristic of\nwealth. The science loses in coherency from this diversity of definition.\nThe second argument is similar. Current economic usage speaks of money as a\n\"measure\" of values. Professor Seligman uses the expression in the chapter\non money in the book referred to. But the point made by General Walker\nagainst this expression, when value is defined as a ratio, is absolutely\nvalid. He says:--\n\n     I apprehend that this notion of money serving as a\n     common measure of value is wholly fanciful; indeed, the\n     very phrase seems to represent a misconception. Value\n     is a relation. Relations may be expressed, but not\n     measured. You cannot measure the relation of a mile to\n     a furlong; you express it as 8:1.[43]\n\nOnly on the basis of a definition of value as a quantity is it proper to\nspeak of a \"measure of values.\"[44]\n\nI conclude that the value of a thing is a quantity, and not a ratio. It is\na definite magnitude, and not a mere relation. What sort of a quantity\nremains to be seen.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[15] Clark, J. B., \"Ultimate Standard of Value,\" _Yale Review_, 1892. p.\n258.\n\n[16] _E.g._, _The Philosophy of Wealth_, chap. v.\n\n[17] _Economics_, p. 92. See also the article by President Hadley on\n\"Value\" in Baldwin's _Dictionary of Philosophy_, etc., and\n\"Misunderstandings about Economic Terms,\" _Yale Review_, vol. IV, pp.\n156-70. The same ideas are expressed in all.\n\n[18] Some of my socialist friends object to the interpretation of Marx\ngiven above. I feel strengthened in my position here by finding the same\nview expressed by Conrad in his _Grundriss_, etc., 4te Aufl, Bd. I, pp.\n17-18. Professor O. D. Skelton's admirable _Socialism_ (Hart, Schaffner &\nMarx Series, 1911) comes to hand while the proof sheets of the present\nvolume are being revised. _Cf._ his interesting chapter on the Marxian\ntheory of value.\n\n[19] Seligman, _Principles_, pp. 184-85. See also Taylor, W. G. L.,\n\"Values, Positive and Relative,\" _Annals A. A._, vol. IX, pp. 70-106.\nTaylor, who follows Professor Clark largely, accepts the conception of\nsocial value as a quantity.\n\n[20] Marx, _Capital and Capitalistic Production_, London, 1896, pp. 2-4.\nGeorge, _Science of Political Economy_, New York, 1898, chap. XI.\n\n[21] _Natural Value_, p. 53, n.\n\n[22] \"The Concept of an Economic Quantity,\" _Q. J. E._, May, 1907.\nProfessor Carver insists on the quantitative nature of value, taking as his\npoint of departure the point made _infra_, p. 27, with reference to money\nas a measure of values. But it is not clear that he has entirely freed\nhimself from the conception of relativity, for he continues to speak of\nvalue as \"purchasing power\" (pp. 438-39), and this term has usually the\nrelative, rather than the absolute, significance. _Cf._ his use of the term\n\"purchasing power\" in his _Distribution of Wealth_, 1904, pp. 51-52, where\nthe _relativity_ of value is insisted on as a basis for a criticism of\nProfessor Clark's amendment of the Austrian theory.\n\n[23] Paris, 1902, vol. I, p. 63.\n\n[24] Fisher, Irving, _The Nature of Capital and Income_, New York, 1906,\npp. 13 _et seq._ Ely, R. T. (and others). _Outlines of Economics_, New\nYork, 1908, pp. 156-57. Professor Ely uses the term in a different sense on\npp. 99-100; and on the pages first cited indicates that value, defined as a\nquantity of other goods, is to be distinguished from subjective value. But\n\"subjective\" (individual) value would hardly serve as an equivalent for the\nvalue described on pp. 99-100. There are, in fact, four pretty distinct\nuses of the term value to be found in Professor Ely's discussion,\ninadequately distinguished, and often confused in the treatment: (1)\nhomogeneous quality among the diversities of the physical forms of wealth,\nby virtue of which a sum of wealth may be obtained (99-100); (2) ratio of\nexchange (156); (3) quantity of goods obtained in exchange (157); (4)\nsubjective utility (157 and _ante_); and a fifth meaning is indicated for\nmarket value on pp. 358-59, where, in explaining the law of rent for\npleasure grounds and residence sites, the \"general law of value\" is\ndeclared to be that value measures _marginal utility_. _Cf._ the confusions\nof utility and demand pointed out _infra_, chapter v. This loose treatment\nof the value concept, while doubtless accentuated by the fact that four men\nhave cooperated in the production of the book, is too much characteristic\nof most of the text-books. There is even to-day little uniformity or\nagreement as to what value means.\n\n[25] _Natural Value_, p. 53, n.\n\n[26] _Principles of Economics_, p. 183. Professor Seligman in the _Q. J.\nE._ article (_supra_, p. 6, note I) indicates that Pantaleoni expresses a\nsimilar thought (_Pure Economics_, London, 1898, p. 127). This idea is\nelaborated by Professor Georg Simmel, _Philosophie des Geldes, Erster Teil,\nKap. 2_. (A translation of this chapter, under the title, \"A Chapter in the\nPhilosophy of Value,\" appears in the _American Journal of Sociology_, vol.\nv, pp. 577-603. The translation was made from the author's manuscript,\nbefore the publication of the book, and does not exactly correspond with\nthe chapter as published by Simmel.) Simmel's contention is that, even for\nan isolated economy, value arises from exchange, and that exchange is\nessential to it. Every value is relative to some other value. But to\ndevelop this conception, \"exchange\" is distorted into a variety of\nmeanings. In one place, exchange takes place between an isolated man and\nhis environment. It makes no difference to him whether he is exchanging\nwith other men or with the order of nature (_Phil. des Geldes_, p. 34). But\nlater, exchange is declared to be \"a sociological structure _sui generis_\"\n(_ibid._, p. 56). Again, only in the vaguest sort of sense is exchange used\nin this expression, \"_wo wir Liebe um Liebe tauschen_\" (_ibid._, p. 33).\nYet all these meanings are forced in to fit the exigencies of the argument.\nThe doctrine of cost is brought in, and the exchange is between individual\ncost and individual utility, and an equality between them is insisted upon,\ndespite the well-known phenomenon of \"consumer's surplus.\" This emphasis on\n_equality_ in exchanges is stressed especially on p. 31, and economic\nactivity is said to derive its peculiar character from a consideration of\nthese equalities in abstraction.\n\nThe gist of Simmel's argument comes out in the following: \"The object is\nnot for us a thing of value so long as it is dissolved in the subjective\nprocess as an immediate stimulator of feelings.\" Desire must encounter\nobstacles before a value can appear. \"It is only the postponement of an\nobject through obstacles, _the anxiety lest the object escape_ [italics\nmine], the tension of struggle for it, which brings into existence that\naggregate of desire elements which may be designated as intensity or\npassion of volition.\" Value is conditioned upon a \"distance between subject\nand object\" (_A. J. S._, 589-90).--I waive for the moment Simmel's apparent\ninsistence upon the element of conscious desire as essential to value,\nthough I shall attack that doctrine in a later chapter on the psychology of\nvalue. It is enough to point out here that this \"distance between subject\nand object\" is adequately present, that there is surely \"anxiety lest the\nobject escape,\" if only the object be sufficiently limited in supply,\nindependently of the existence of other objects so limited.--Simmel\nundertakes to meet this objection by holding that \"scarcity, purely as\nsuch, is only a negative quantity, an existence characterized by a\nnon-existence. The non-existent, however, cannot be operative\" (_Phil. des\nG._, p. 57).--But the scarcity, I would reply, is not, as he holds, \"the\nquantitative relation in which the object stands to the aggregate of its\nkind\" (_A. J. S._, p. 592), but is rather a relation between the object and\nour wants. A bushel of wheat would be a scarcity, a bushel of diamonds a\nsuperabundance, for a man. There is a positive thing here, not a mere\n\"non-existence,\" and that positive thing is the _unsatisfied want_. _Cf._\nPareto, _Cours d'Economie Politique_, vol. I, p. 34.\n\nSee further, on the psychology of value, chapter X, and on Professor\nSeligman's theory of the relativity of value, chapter XVI, of the present\nvolume.\n\n[27] Laughlin, J. L., _Elements of Political Economy_, rev. ed., copyright\n1902, p. 18: \"Value ... is a ratio between two objective articles.\" See\nalso Professor Laughlin's rejoinder to Clow's \"The Quantity Theory and its\nCritics,\" _Journal of P. E._, 1902, where Professor Laughlin insists that\nexchange value is \"something physical.\" Professor Davenport, _Value and\nDistribution_, Chicago, 1908, p. 569, defines value similarly.\n\n[28] _Value and Distribution_, p. 569.\n\n[29] Professor Davenport, caught between two apparently invincible logical\ndifficulties, accepts this situation frankly, as, seemingly, the only thing\npossible. See _Value and Distribution_, p. 184, n. The ratio has no terms\nfor him.\n\n[30] _Value and Distribution_, pp. 330-31.\n\n[31] \"Values, Positive and Relative.\" _Annals_, vol. IX.\n\n[32] It is, of course, recognized that exchange modifies value in so far as\nexchange is a _productive_ process. But the essential thing here is the\n_transfer_ aspect of exchange, which would hold even in a communistic\nsociety where value relations might be found out by some process other than\nexchange.\n\n[33] _Political Economy_, New York, 1888, p. 84.\n\n[34] _Cours d'Economie Politique_, vol. I, pp. 8-9.\n\n[35] Edgeworth, F. Y., _Mathematical Psychics_, London, 1881, chapter on\n\"Unnumerical Mathematics,\" pp. 83 _et seq._\n\n[36] A fuller discussion of the functions of the value concept is given in\nchapter XI where this argument is materially strengthened. The points here\nmade, however, seem adequate.\n\n[37] Jevons, _Principles of Economics_, 1905 (posthumous), p. 50.\n\n[38] Walker, _op. cit._, p. 5.\n\n[39] Marx, _op. cit._, vol. I, chap. I.\n\n[40] Laughlin, _Elements_, p. 77. _Cf._ also, Ely, _op. cit._, 99-100.\n\n[41] _Ibid._, p. 18. It is interesting to note that Professor Irving Fisher\nso defines wealth and value as to divorce the two concepts. Wealth includes\nfree human beings, who cannot be exchanged, while the idea of value is\nderived from that of price, which, in turn, comes from the ideas of\nexchange and transfer. (_Nature of Capital and Income_, chap. I.)\n\n[42] _Principles_, pp. 8-11.\n\n[43] _Money_, p. 288.\n\n[44] _Cf._ Kinley, _op. cit._, Merriam, _loc. cit._, and Carver, \"The\nConcept of an Economic Quantity,\" _loc. cit._ _Cf._ also, Laughlin,\n_Money_, 1903, pp. 14-16; and Davenport, _Value and Distribution_, p. 181,\nn.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nVALUE AND MARGINAL UTILITY\n\n\nThe method of Jevons and the Austrians, and, for that matter, of the great\nmajority of value theorists, including even the social value school, in\nseeking the determinants of value, is to start with individual \"utilities\"\nor psychic \"costs\" directly connected with the consumption or production of\ngoods. Such a study, if confined to an isolated individual economy, or if\nconfined to an ideal communistic economy, like that for which Wieser works\nout his laws of \"natural value,\" seems to yield us quantities of \"utility,\"\nwhich may properly be called values, or quantities of sacrifice which may\nbe properly treated as exactly measuring values.[45] But when applied to a\ncompetitive society, or to any society where there are inequalities among\nmen in their power to attain the gratification of their wants, it yields\nus, not quantities of value, but only particular ratios between such\nquantities, or prices. An examination of the Austrian procedure will make\nthis clear.\n\nIf the Austrian analysis be taken as meaning anything more than a method of\ndetermining surface ratios of exchange, difficulties at once arise. What\nquantitative relation is there between the satisfaction which an individual\nman gets from a good and the value of that good? What quantitative relation\ndoes the sacrifice, in terms of dissatisfactions endured and satisfactions\nforegone, of the individual producer bear to the value of his product? Now\nin thus positing the problem, I wish to distinguish it clearly from another\nproblem, namely: what is the quantitative relation between psychic\nsatisfaction, subjective individual value, and psychic cost, connected with\nthe commodity, in the mind of some hypothetical \"normal\" man, and market\nvalue in a hypothetical market, where only \"normal\" men are found, and\nwhere there is an equality of wealth among these men? The problem is a\nconcrete one: how are the actual desires and aversions of living men and\nwomen, no one of them \"normal\" perhaps, living in a world where\ninequalities of wealth are everywhere manifest, _quantitatively_ related to\nvalue in the market?\n\nLet us consider the inadequacy of the old Austrian analysis for this\nquantitative determination. I assume, without trying to prove here, the\nhomogeneity and commensurability of human desires and aversions. (The\nAustrians, be it noted, do not explicitly postulate this, and Jevons, as\nwill later be noted, rejects it, but it is necessary for Wieser's argument,\nand Boehm-Bawerk implies it clearly enough in places.[46]) This does not\nmean that any two men have, necessarily, the same desire for any particular\ngood, or the same aversion from any particular piece of work, but simply\nthat the desires and aversions of one man are comparable with those of\nanother, and may be fractions or multiples of them, even though not exactly\nequal. My object in this assumption is to justify the use of the concept of\n_units_ of desires and aversions, which are not the desires and aversions\nof a hypothetical \"normal\" man, but are some particular concrete desire and\nsome particular concrete aversion of any man you choose to take. Now let us\nassume the market as treated in the usual Austrian analysis (somewhat\nsimplified): five men have horses to sell, and five buyers appear in the\nmarket also.\n\n                           A    B    C    D    E\n     Sellers will take:   $20  $30  $40  $50  $60\n     Buyers will give:    $60  $50  $40  $30  $20\n\n_Price_ is then fixed at forty dollars. Now if all these men were \"normal\"\nmen, and if all had equal wealth, we could say here, _marginal utility_ =\n_value_. But such is not the case in real life. Our marginal buyer and\nmarginal seller may be as different as you please. Let us assume that the\nmarginal buyer is a very rich man: forty dollars is to him a bagatelle:\nsurrendering it means one unit of cost to him: he has, further, many\nhorses: he has no special use in mind for the horse he is on the margin of\nbuying: it has one unit of utility to him. The marginal seller, we will\nassume, is a poor country boy: the horse is one he has raised himself: he\nhas a personal affection for it, and it is immensely useful to him: it has\ntwo hundred units of utility to him, and to give it up means two hundred\nunits of sacrifice: but he needs the forty dollars pressingly: it has two\nhundred units of utility to him. Is marginal utility equal to value here?\nIf so, marginal utility to whom? But this does not exhaust the difficulties\nof the analysis--if the analysis be designed to show anything except what a\nparticular _price_ is, and the utility theorists, when very careful, do not\nalways claim to do more than that.[47] But _price_ is not _value_.\n\nWe take up now, as an additional point designed to show that marginal\nutility to an individual is not the same as value, Professor Clark's\nclean-cut analysis amending the Austrian theory which we shall call\n\"Clark's Law.\"[48] A detailed statement of this law is not necessary here,\nbut its main meaning may be outlined, and its demonstration left to\nProfessor Clark himself. Any good, except the poorest and simplest, is a\ncomplex, giving several distinct services. Thus, an automobile gives the\nservice of transportation (a cart would do that); of comfort (a\nspring-buggy, with top, would do that); of elegance and social distinction\n(a carriage would do that); of speed and exhilaration (only an automobile\ncan do this last, and the others as well). Now each of these services\nProfessor Clark considers as a distinct economic good, and he constructs a\ndemand curve for each of them. The service of transportation would be worth\n$5000 to the marginal buyer of automobiles, if he could not get it for\nless, but then, he is not the marginal user of carts, and he gets the cart\nservice for what the marginal buyer of it pays, say $10. The comfort\nelement would be worth $3000 to him, but he is not the marginal buyer\nthere, and he gets it for what the marginal buyer of buggies pays for a\nbuggy, less the $10 for the mere transportation-service of the buggy, say\n$100 less $10, or $90. For the service of elegance and social distinction,\nhe would pay $4000, but then he does not have to do so, for he is not the\nmarginal buyer of carriages, and he gets this additional service for $800,\nless the price of the preceding two services, or less $100. For the\nadditional service of speed and exhilaration he _is_ the marginal demander,\nand his margin fixes the price, say $2000, for that service. Now his\nautomobile--and he is the marginal buyer, and he buys only one--gives him\nsatisfaction far in excess of that measured by the price he pays for it.\nThe automobile, economically considered, is several distinct services\nbundled together, worth to him $5000 plus $3000 plus $4000 plus $2000. But\nhe pays for the automobile only $2800, or less than he would have paid even\nfor the first service. Now by the Austrian definition the price of anything\nis determined by its utility to the marginal user. And marginal utility is\nthe _total_ utility of the marginal unit consumed. The total utility of\nthis marginal automobile, to this marginal user, would balance $14,000 in\nhis mind, and this, by the Austrian analysis, ought to be the price. But\nthe price is $2800. Marginal utility determines price? Marginal utility to\nwhom? Not to the marginal buyer! To whom, then? Professor Clark says, to\n_society_, without further defining what he means by that, except in\ngeneral terms of social organism, etc. But it seems to me clear that,\nexcept on the basis of some such conception, we shall have to give up the\nidea that marginal utility determines price, and say rather that price is\nsomething with which marginal utility has something to do! And the\nquantitative relation between the feeling of any individual and _value_ has\nbecome very uncertain indeed.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[45] This statement must be qualified, as subsequently appears. Even in\nWieser's \"natural\" community, there are psychic factors in value other than\nmere utility. See chap. XIII, _infra_.\n\n[46] For further discussion of this doctrine, see chapters IV and VIII of\nthis book. Boehm-Bawerk, _Positive Theory_, p. 149, n., says: \"One gives\ndonations, charities, and the like, when the importance of such, measured\nby their marginal utility, is very much higher as regards the well-being\nFootnote: of the receiver than as regards that of the giver, and almost\nnever when the converse is the case.\" The assumption that emotional states\nin different minds can be compared is very clear in this passage. _Cf._\nVeblen, Thorstein, \"Professor Clark's Economics,\" _Q. J. E._, Feb., 1908,\np. 170, n.: \"Among modern economic hedonists, including Mr. Clark, there\nstands over from the better days of the order of nature a presumption,\ndisavowed, but often decisive, that the sensational response to the like\nmechanical impact of the stimulating body is the same in different\nindividuals. But, while this presumption stands ever in the background, and\nhelps to many important conclusions,... few modern hedonists would question\nthe statement in the text\" [_i.e._, that comparison of emotional intensity\nin one man's mind with emotional intensity in another man's mind is\nimpossible]. In the light of the psychological doctrine which I shall\nmaintain in the chapter on the psychology of value, this whole question\nwill seem beside the point, considered as a psychological question. But my\ninterest here is in making clear the psychological implications of the\nAustrian theory, as I wish for the present to consider their theory on\ntheir own ground.\n\n[47] Boehm-Bawerk and Wieser are certainly seeking an objective value, but\nJevons and Pareto are concerned simply with the ratio. See Wieser, _Natural\nVal._, p. 53, n. Jevons, Pareto, and Boehm-Bawerk are discussed, with\nreference to this point, in chap. IV.\n\n[48] This law is first set forth by Professor Clark in an article in the\n_Q. J. E._, vol. VIII, \"A Universal Law of Economic Variation.\" See also,\n_The Distribution of Wealth_, pp. 210-45. A brief exposition of the\ndoctrine is found in Seligman, _Principles_, 1905, pp. 185-88.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nJEVONS, PARETO AND BOeHM-BAWERK\n\n\nIn the foregoing analysis, the assumption of the homogeneity and\ncommunicability of human wants was made. Only on this assumption could\nvalue as a quantity of utility appear even in Wieser's \"natural\" community.\nHow hopeless the case becomes when individualistic methods and assumptions\nare pushed to the extreme, will appear from a consideration of Jevons and\nPareto, both of whom insist on the entirely subjective and incommunicable\nnature of human wants. Thus, Jevons:[49]--\n\n     I see no means by which such a comparison [between the\n     motives of one man and those of another] can be\n     accomplished. The susceptibility of one mind may, for\n     what we know, be a thousand times greater than that of\n     another. But, provided that the susceptibility was\n     different in a like ratio in all directions, we should\n     never be able to discover the difference. Every mind is\n     thus inscrutable to every other mind, and no common\n     denominator of feelings seems to be possible.... But\n     the motive in one mind is weighed only against other\n     motives in the same mind, never against the motives in\n     other minds. Each person is to other persons a portion\n     of the outside world--the _non-ego_ as the\n     metaphysicians call it. Thus the motives in the mind of\n     A may give rise to phenomena which may be represented\n     by motives in the mind of B; but between A and B there\n     is a gulf. Hence the weighing of motives must always be\n     confined to the bosom of the individual.\n\nThis question as to the homogeneity and communicability of emotional states\nin different men is one fundamental to any value theory which starts with\nindividual feelings or desires as elements--and, indeed, from a somewhat\ndifferent viewpoint, is fundamental to all value theory. Value, as a\nconcrete quantity of desire or feeling, embodied in a given good at a given\ntime, regardless of who is purchaser and who is seller, can exist only if\nfeelings and desires are homogeneous and can interact--even in Wieser's\nideal society, where the complication of differences in wealth does not\nobtain. And value must have some very different meaning unless this\nassumption be held. In illustration of this, I wish to quote further from\nJevons. Jevons finds for value[50] three distinct meanings, for each of\nwhich he employs both a \"popular\" and a \"scientific\" name: (1) value in use\n(\"popular\" name) = total utility (\"scientific\" name); (2) esteem, or\nurgency of desire (\"popular\" name) = final degree of utility (\"scientific\"\nname); (3) purchasing power (\"popular\" name) = ratio of exchange\n(\"scientific\" name). Now the first two of these are purely subjective,\nindividual facts, varying as to their quantities for each individual. The\nonly one that can have social meaning is the third, and that, as Jevons\nexplicitly states, is a numerical ratio, an abstract number.[51] This is\nbrought out very clearly when he discusses the question of the concrete\ndimensions of these three quantities. Total utility has dimensions, and so\nhas final utility, but ratio of exchange, which he considers the precise\nscientific equivalent for the popular term, purchasing power, has no\ndimension at all. Its dimension is zero. Finding these ambiguities in the\nword value, Jevons proposes to abandon it altogether, and to use instead\neither of the three expressions discussed, depending on which sense of the\nword value is intended.[52] He can find no definite meaning for value as an\nunqualified term. Now in this I believe he is correct. Economic value is\nnot total utility to an individual, nor marginal utility to an individual,\nnor is it a mere ratio of exchange. If no other meaning of the term can be\nfound--and no other meaning _can_ be found on Jevons's psychological\nassumptions--then the term should be abandoned altogether.\n\nPareto's position[53] is essentially similar. \"Ophelimity\" (which he uses\nin place of the more ambiguous \"utility\" to mean what Jevons means by the\nlatter term) \"is an entirely subjective quality.\" (4.) \"On ne doit pas\noublier que le vigneron etablit l'egalite des deux ophelimites pour lui, et\nque le laboureur fait de meme, mais qu'il n'y a aucun rapport entre\nl'ophelimite du vin pour le vigneron et pour le laboureur, ni entre\nl'ophelimite du ble pour le vigneron et pour le laboureur. Il faut toujours\nse rapeller ce caractere subjectif de l'ophelimite.\" (21.) Now no quantity\nof value, irrespective of the particular holder of the good, emerges for\nPareto. Value is either a \"_rapport de convenance_\" between a man and a\ngood, i.e., ophelimity, or is a \"_taux d'echange_,\" a ratio between two\ngoods. (30.) The older term, \"_puissance d'achat_,\" power in exchange,\nwhich John Stuart Mill makes synonymous with value in exchange, is, at\nbottom, nothing but a vague conception of ophelimity. (30.) The two\nconceptions, ratio of exchange and ophelimity, are to be sharply\ndistinguished, power in exchange is ruled out as a vague and confused\nconception, and value as an objective quantity does not appear at all.\n\nDavenport, who recognizes clearly \"the rich-man-poor-man complication,\"[54]\nand avoids, for the most part, the confusion into which others have fallen,\nof mixing a demand-price curve and a utility curve (a confusion dealt with\nin detail in the next chapter), and who accepts the psychological\nassumption of subjective isolation unreservedly,[55] reaches, as already\nindicated, the same conclusion regarding the nature of value. For him there\nis no social validity in value except as a ratio of exchange.[56]\n\nThe same may be said for Boehm-Bawerk, so far as his formal analysis goes.\nIt is true that he recognizes the existence of an \"objective value in\nexchange\"[57] in addition to \"subjective value\" and \"subjective value in\nexchange,\" and in addition to price,[58] but he makes no effort to exhibit\nits nature, or to show its origin. His study has to do with individual\nsubjective ratios, between the marginal utilities of two goods, and the\nmarket ratio, or price, that results from the meeting of these individual\nratios--_not utilities_--in the market. The nature of his objective\nexchange value is expected to become clear, somehow, from this surface\ndetermination of price:--\n\n     Exchange Value is the capacity of a good to obtain in\n     exchange a quantity of other goods. Price is that other\n     quantity of goods. But the laws of these two coincide.\n     So far as the law of price explains that a good\n     actually obtains such and such a price, and why it\n     obtains it, it affords at the same time the explanation\n     that the good is _capable_, and why it is capable, of\n     obtaining a definite price. The law of Price, in fact,\n     contains the law of Exchange Value.[59]\n\nBut (as will be elaborated more fully in chapter VI), Boehm-Bawerk's law of\nprice does not explain the _why_ any more than do those of Jevons and\nPareto, and the assumption that an \"objective value in exchange\" exists, in\naddition to the ratio of exchange and the subjective values, might just as\nlogically be added to their systems as to his, with the assumption that the\nproblem of its nature and causes had been cleared up. The Austrian\nanalysis, even with Professor Clark's correction, is simply an explanation\nof the _modus operandi_ of the determination of _particular_ ratios in the\nmarket. It tells us nothing of quantitative values, and, in fact, assumes a\nwhole system of values already predetermined, before the question of any\nparticular price can be approached.[60]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[49] _Theory of Political Economy_, 3d edition, p. 14.\n\n[50] _Op. cit._, pp. 76-84.\n\n[51] _Ibid._, p. 83.\n\n[52] _Op. cit._, p. 81.\n\n[53] _Cours d'Economie Politique_, vol. I, pp. 1-40. The numerals in the\ntext refer to pages in this volume.\n\n[54] _Value and Distribution_, p. 444.\n\n[55] Professor Davenport's attitude on this point we shall discuss more\nfully in chapter VIII.\n\n[56] _Ibid._, pp. 184, n., and 330-31.\n\n[57] It is not wholly clear whether or not Boehm-Bawerk means his \"objective\nvalue in exchange\" to be considered as an absolute or as a relative\nconcept. His formal definition (\"Grundzuege der Theorie des wirtschaft\nlichen Gueterwerts,\" Conrad's _Jahrbuecher, N. F._, XIII, 1886, p. 5) is as\nfollows: \"Hierunter ist zu verstehen die objective Geltung der Gueter im\nTausch, oder mit anderen Worten, die Moeglichkeit fuer sie im Austausch eine\nQuantitaet anderer wirtschaftlicher Gueter zu erlangen, diese Moeglichkeit als\neine Kraft oder Eigenschaft der ersteren Gueter gedacht.\" The concluding\nphrase would seem to point to an absolute conception, as would also his\ncriticism of the expressions, \"ratio of exchange,\" \"_Austauschverhaeltnis_,\"\nand \"_Tauschfuss_\" (_Ibid._, p. 478, n.): \"Diese Ausdruecke haben naemlich\neine Nueance an sich, die es unmoeglich macht, sie sprachlich den Guetern als\nEigenschaft beizulegen, oder von einer groesseren oder geringeren Hoehe\nderselben zu sprechen.\" But, on the other hand, his identification of the\nconcept, \"objective value in exchange,\" with the term \"power in exchange\"\nof the English economists (in both the passages referred to) would seem to\nmake the relative implication in the concept unavoidable, and perhaps there\nis no point to raising the question. His criticism of Hermann in the\n_Capital and Interest_ (p. 203) is based on the relative conception of\nvalue. _Cf._ our discussion of the practical usage of the Austrians in\nchapters XI and XVIII.\n\n[58] Whether price be defined as a quantity of goods given for a good, or\nas the ratio between the two quantities of goods exchanged, is for present\npurposes immaterial.\n\n[59] _Positive Theory_, p. 132.\n\n[60] See chapter VI, _infra_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nDEMAND CURVES AND UTILITY CURVES\n\n\nMuch of the foregoing would be needless were it not for the fact that there\nhas been, and is, in the writings of the Austrians and those who have\nfollowed them, a confusion of two very different things: on the one hand,\nthe curve of utility for a single individual of a given good, measured in\nterms of money, on the assumption that the marginal utility of money\nremains constant to him; and, on the other hand, the demand-price curve of\nthat commodity for a whole community or a \"trading body,\"[61] made up of\nmany individuals, differing in wealth and in tastes.[62] The former curve\ndoes express a diminishing scale of absolute feeling-magnitudes,[63]\nconcerned with the consumption of the good. The latter does not. The latter\nis not necessarily a diminishing utility curve at all, for the poor man\nwhose price offer is lowest may easily desire the good more intensely than\ndoes the rich man whose demand price is highest. These confusions, in the\nwritings of Boehm-Bawerk and Wieser, especially, have been adequately\ncommented on by Professor Davenport,[64] who adheres pretty carefully\nthroughout to the distinction drawn above, and to the strictly\nindividualistic, subjectivistic conception of price determination, with its\ncorrelate of relativity. Jevons's confusion on this point has been noted by\nMarshall.[65] It is amazing, really, when one sets about to find them, how\nnumerous are the occasions on which leading economists have been guilty of\nthis confusion--a confusion that utterly vitiates very many of the\nconclusions based upon it. In truth, Professor Davenport is not far wrong\nwhen he asserts that \"the general understanding of Austrian theory has come\nto be that it explains market value by marginal utility, and resolves\nmarket value into marginal utility.\"[66]\n\nTo go through the roll of the economists in pointing out this confusion is\na needless task here, but a few representative names must be called, in\naddition to those mentioned above. Thus, Pierson:[67]--\n\n     There is nothing to prevent our treating a group of\n     persons as a unit, and examining the position which\n     commodities occupy in relation to that unit. If we do\n     this, we shall see that the above diagram [the regular\n     diminishing utility diagram of Jevons], depicting the\n     position which they occupy in many cases in relation to\n     the individual, must depict the position which they\n     occupy in a still larger number of cases in relation to\n     the group. And the truth of this statement is greater\n     in proportion to the size of the group.\n\nSimilar confusions appear in Professor Patten's _Theory of Prosperity_, in\na number of places.[68] President Hadley's discussion of \"Speculation\"\nfalls into this confusion, also.[69] Professor Ely's confusion on this\npoint is instanced in his _Outlines of Economics_, 1908 edition, pp.\n358-59.[70] Schaeffle, in his _Quintessence of Socialism_,[71] treats\nutility as if it were demand. With Professor Flux it seems more a\ndeliberate identification than an unconscious confusion, as he recognizes\nvery clearly the complication which differences in wealth bring in, and yet\nnone the less declares, \"The measure of the exchange value is, then, the\nutility which is on the margin of not being realized, or the marginal\nutility,\" and \"The series of marginal-demand-prices, corresponding to all\nthe varied possible scales of supply, register, in fact, the utility of the\nmarginal supply for each such scale.\"[72] It is somewhat disheartening,\nhowever, to find Professor Marshall, who has pointed out the confusion on\nthe part of Jevons, allowing his marginal notes to speak of \"utility and\ncost\" when the body of the text, to which they refer, is discussing demand\nand supply.[73] And still more disheartening to find Professor Davenport,\nat the end of his cautiously written volume, marked throughout by the\ngreatest clearness of thought, and by especially painstaking care in the\ncriticism of this confusion in the writings of others, saying:--\n\n     Limitation upon the supply of goods relatively to the\n     need gives value. Thus value in producible goods is\n     ultimately explained by human desires over against a\n     limitation of supply due either to the shortage of\n     instrumental goods or to the irksomeness of effort, or\n     to both.\n\n     With great esteem for good singing, and with the rarity\n     of good singers, the high gains of prima donnas find\n     sufficient explanation.\n\nThis, as a separate, unqualified proposition in the \"Summary of\nDoctrine,\"[74] is hardly to be counted anything but a _lapsus_, even though\nrecognition is later accorded to the necessity of backing up \"utility\" with\n\"purchasing power.\"\n\nBut it cannot be too strongly insisted, in the first place, that only\nparticular ratios, market relations, can come out of the individualistic\nanalysis of satisfactions of consumption and dissatisfactions of\nproduction, and that, in the second place, these ratios, and this\nrelativity, are but surface explanations, that point to, and are based\nupon, something underlying and definite--without which they would be\nhanging in the air.[75]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[61] See Jevons, _Theory of Pol. Econ._, 3d ed., pp. 88-90; 95-96.\n\n[62] See, especially, Pareto, _op. cit._, vol. I, pp. 36-37.\n\n[63] Our question here is primarily a _logical_, and not a _psychological_,\none, else I should choose a different term from \"feeling-magnitude.\" For\nthe present, I am accepting the Austrian psychology, and attacking the\nAustrian logic. _Cf._ the chapter in this work on the psychology of value.\n\n[64] _Op. cit._, pp. 300, 312, 313 _et seq._, 320, 325, n., 327, 328 n.,\n329, and chap. XVII.\n\n[65] _Principles_, 1898 ed., p. 176.\n\n[66] _Op. cit._, p. 300.\n\n[67] _Principles of Economics_, London, 1902, p. 57.\n\n[68] Page 18, \"The consumption of all the individuals in a community or\nnation can also be represented by this diagram if their feelings,\nsentiments, and habits are nearly enough alike to create a normal type.\"--A\nstatement which is defensible only if \"habits\" be stretched to include\nincomes! See, also, pp. 28 (diagram) and 82.\n\n[69] _Economics_, 1904 ed., pp. 101-104.\n\n[70] See _supra_, p. 17, n.\n\n[71] English edition, London, 1889, pp. 90-91\n\n[72] Flux, A. W., _Economic Principles_, London, 1904. Compare pp. 4, 29,\nand 27.\n\n[73] _Principles_, 1907 ed., pp. 348-50.\n\n[74] _Op. cit._, p. 569.\n\n[75] As shown in chapter II. An interesting illustration of this general\nconclusion as to the significance of the results based on the\nindividualistic analysis is found in the reformulation of the law of\nmarginal utility by Professor Irving Fisher in his \"Mathematical\nInvestigations in the Theory of Value and Prices,\" _Trans. of the\nConnecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences_, vol. IX, p. 37. The theory of\nmarginal utility in relation to prices \"is not, as sometimes stated: 'the\nmarginal utilities to the same individual of all articles are equal,' much\nless is it: 'the marginal utilities of the same article to all consumers\nare equal;' but _the marginal utilities of all articles_ CONSUMED [capitals\nmine] _by a given individual are proportional to the marginal utilities of\nthe same series of articles for each other consumer, and this uniform\ncontinuous ratio is the scale of prices for those articles_.\" This\nconception of Professor Fisher's is clear as far as it goes, but it by no\nmeans explains the action of individual desires upon prices. It rather\nexplains how an already established set of prices controls individual\n_expenditure_ and _consumption_. Compare, however, Boehm-Bawerk's view,\n\"Grundzuege,\" Conrad's _Jahrbuecher, N. F._, XIII, 1886, pp. 516 _et seq._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE VICIOUS CIRCLE OF THE AUSTRIANS\n\n\nThe great and permanent service of the Austrian analysis is in the fact\nthat it looks for the explanation of value--a psychical fact--in human\nminds. Its essential defect is that it takes only a small part of the human\nmind for that explanation. It makes two abstractions, neither of which is\nallowable: first, it abstracts the \"individual mind\" from its vital and\norganic union with the social _milieu_; and second, it abstracts from the\n\"individual mind\" thus abstracted, only those desires and thoughts which\nare immediately concerned with the consumption and production of economic\ngoods--really, in the narrower analysis of \"market price,\" only those\nconcerned with the consumption of economic goods. Now it is at once\nconceded that a science, in explaining its phenomena, must ignore some of\nthe relations which those phenomena bear to other phenomena. No science is\ncalled upon to link its facts with all the other facts in the universe.\nSome abstraction,[76] much abstraction, is legitimate and necessary. Where\nto draw the line is often a perplexing question, and I do not intend to\nlay down a general rule here. But there is one familiar canon which the\nAustrians have violated in drawing the line so narrowly as they have done:\nwe must include enough in our _explanation_ phenomena to enable us to\nexplain our _problem_ phenomenon in terms other than itself. Concretely, in\nexplaining value, we have not solved the problem if the explanation assumes\nvalue. Rather, we are reasoning in a circle. Now have the Austrians done\nthis? Wieser explicitly rejects the older circle in the _definition_ of\nvalue,[77] which made the value of A equal to what it would exchange for,\nB, the value of B being in turn equal to what it would exchange for,\nnamely, A, and does point out that the value of a good must be treated as\nan absolute thing, independent of the particular exchange that happens to\nbe made. He even works out an explanation of value in purely psychical\nterms,[78] as it would exist in a hypothetical individual economy, or in a\nhypothetical \"natural\" communistic society, where all men's wants are\nequally regarded. But when the Austrians come to the explanation of value\nas it exists in society as actually organized, the attempt to explain value\nin terms of individual desires for economic goods (or individual aversions\nin connection with their production) fails, and a circle again emerges: Why\nhas the good, A, value? Because men desire it? No, that is not enough: the\nmen who desire it must have other economic goods, i.e., wealth, with which\nto buy it. And why will these other goods buy it? Because they have\n_value_! For the power is proportioned, not to the quantity of their wealth\nin pounds or yards or other physical units, but simply to its amount in\n_value_.--The explanation of the value of these goods then becomes another\nproblem, for which the Austrian analysis can offer only the same solution,\nwith the same circle in reasoning, and the same problem of value at the\nend. This circle is made explicit in Wieser's treatment:--\n\n     The relation of natural value to exchange value is\n     clear. Natural value is one element in the formation of\n     exchange value. It does not, however, enter simply and\n     thoroughly into exchange value. On the one side, it is\n     disturbed by human imperfection, by error, fraud,\n     force, chance; and on the other, by the present order\n     of society, by the existence of private property, and\n     by the differences between rich and poor,--as a\n     consequence of which latter a second element mingles\n     itself in the formation of exchange value, namely,\n     _purchasing power_.[79] [Italics mine.]\n\nThis _purchasing power_ can only be either the inaccurate name of the\nEnglish School for value itself, or else a consequence of the possession of\ngoods which have value in the sense in which Wieser uses the term value, in\nthe note on page 53 of his _Natural Value_ already quoted.[80] The circle\nbecomes still more explicit in Hobson.[81] Hobson attempts to coordinate\nthe Austrian theory with the older cost theory, and in this connection\ngives a table analyzing the forces that lie back of value, or\n\"importance,\" from the supply side, and from the demand side. And there,\napparently oblivious of the obvious circle, he places \"purchasing power\" as\none of the ultimate factors on the demand side! If the Austrian analysis\nattempt nothing more than the determination of particular prices, one at a\ntime, on the assumption that the transactions are, in each particular case,\nso small as not to disturb the marginal utility of money for each buyer and\nseller, and on the assumption that the values and prices of all the goods\nowned by buyers and sellers are already determined and known, except that\nof the good immediately in question, it is clear that it but plays over the\nsurface of things. If it attempt more it is involved in a circle.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[76] The extreme abstraction of the utility school is made very clear by\nPareto, _op. cit._, introductory chapter. He is concerned only with \"the\nscience of ophelimity\" (p. 6), and ophelimity is a \"wholly subjective\nquality\" (p. 4).\n\n[77] See _supra_, chap. II.\n\n[78] But as later indicated (_infra_, chap. XIII), the apparent simplicity\nof his analysis simply covers up, and does not eliminate, the complexity of\nthe situation.\n\n[79] _Op. cit._, pp. 61-62.\n\n[80] See _supra_, chap. II.\n\n[81] _Economics of Distribution_, p. 81.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nPROFESSOR CLARK'S THEORY OF SOCIAL VALUE\n\n\nAnd all attempts to explain value in terms of these abstract factors must\nbecome similarly entangled. The Austrians themselves have pointed out that\nthe explanation of value from the standpoint of individual costs involves a\ncircle, that costs resolve themselves into value-complexes, and that the\ncost theorists are really explaining value by value.[82] I have shown that\nthe same is true of the Austrian attempt to reduce values to terms of\nindividual utilities. It is also true of Hobson's attempt to combine the\ntwo explanations, as shown, and the same could be shown of at least the\nearlier writings of Professor Marshall.[83] There is another attempt to\nwork out the explanation of value, still in terms of sacrifices in\nproduction and satisfactions in consumption, but no longer from the same\nstandpoint, which deserves special attention here. Professor Clark, in the\n_Yale Review_ for 1892, in the article above referred to, \"The Ultimate\nStandard of Value\" (since reproduced as chapter XXIV of the _Distribution\nof Wealth_), has attempted so to add up individual units of cost and\nindividual units of utility, as to get absolute social units of utility\nand cost either of which might serve as the ultimate standard of value. It\nwill be remembered that I have already quoted from this article with\nreference to the quantitative nature of value, and that Professor Clark\nstands as the leading exponent of the conception that value is a social\nfact, \"is social and subjective,\" the value put on goods by the social\norganism. In this article, he is seeking the unit of social value, the\nmeasure of the importance of a good to society. Either the unit of social\nutility or the unit of social detriment would serve, but it happens, he\nholds, that the unit of detriment is the more available for purposes of\nmeasurement, and so the final unit[84] of value is the sacrifice entailed\nby a quantity of distinctively social labor (p. 261). Professor Clark\navoids the complication that labor and capital work together, by isolating\nlabor at the margin, in the manner made familiar in his _Distribution of\nWealth_. Assume capital constant, introduce or subtract a small quantity of\nlabor, and whatever of product is added or subtracted is due to that labor\nonly (p. 263).\n\n     This virtually unaided labor is the only kind that can\n     measure values. Attempts to use the labor standard have\n     come short of success, because of their failure to\n     isolate from capital the labor to which products are\n     due.\n\nWork, however, is miscellaneous and heterogeneous. There is needed \"a\npervasive element in the actions, and one that can be measured.\" This is\n\"personal sacrifice,\" which is \"common to all varieties of labor.\" An\nisolated worker, making and using his own products, readily finds an\nequilibrium point, where utility and sacrifice are equal, and where he\nstops his day's work (pp. 364-65). If the product of any hour's labor be\ndestroyed (p. 366) he will not suffer the loss of anything more important\nthan the product of the last hour's labor, for he will forego that, and\nre-create the good with the higher utility. The utility of the last hour's\nproduct and the pain of the last hour's labor are equal. Either is his\n_unit of value_.\n\nOf society regarded as a unit the same is true.\n\n     Take away the articles that the society gains by the\n     labor of a morning hour,--the necessary food, clothing\n     and shelter that it absolutely must have,--and it will\n     divert to making good the loss the work performed at\n     the approach of evening, which would otherwise have\n     produced the final luxuries on its list of goods.\n\n(It might be questioned parenthetically here whether _all_ are fed before\n_any_ begin to enjoy luxuries, or, if not, just what is considered the\n\"socially necessary\" amount of food, and whom does social necessity require\nthat we feed before we devote an hour to making luxuries?) Professor Clark\nfinds the final hour of social labor-pain to be a compound, the sum of the\nfinal hour's dissatisfactions of all the laborers. This sum is the\n_ultimate standard of value_. It is in equilibrium with the sum of the\nutilities of the final hour's products to all the laborers considered as\nconsumers. This is illustrated by a diagram on page 271. But the problem\nstill remains as to the value of particular goods. Granted that the sum of\nthe satisfactions got from the total amount--a vast amount--of the final\nhour's product is equal to the sum of the pains incurred in producing this\ngiant composite, and granted that the pain incurred by each man in making\nhis part of the composite is equal to the satisfaction gained by him in\nconsuming his part of the composite--_not the same part_!--the problem\nstill remains as to the connection of the marginal utility and the value of\nthe _particular_ goods that make up the composite, with social labor.\nProfessor Clark concedes at once that there is no necessary connection\nbetween the utility of the good to him who enjoys it, and the pain of\nmaking it to him who makes it. What connection is there than, between the\nvalue of the good and social labour? It is at this point, I venture to\nsuggest, that Professor Clark's argument fails. I shall not follow his\nargument in detail, but shall quote a couple of paragraphs which seem to\nexhibit the failure (pp. 272-73):--\n\n     The burden of labor entailed on the man who makes an\n     article stands in no relation to its market value. The\n     product of one hour's labor of an eminent lawyer, an\n     artist, a business manager, etc., may sell for as much\n     as that of a month's work of an engine stoker, a\n     seamstress or a stonebreaker. Here and there are\n     \"prisoners of poverty,\" putting life itself into\n     products of which a wagon load can literally be bought\n     for a prima donna's song. Wherever there is varying\n     personal power, or different position, giving to some\n     the advantage of a monopoly, there is a divergence of\n     cost and value, if by these terms we mean the cost to\n     the producer, and the value in the market. Compare the\n     labor involved in maintaining telephones with the rates\n     demanded for the use of them. Yet of monopolized\n     products as of others our rule holds good; they sell\n     according to the disutility of the terminal social\n     labor expended in order to acquire them.\n\nBut suppose they are _bought_ with monopolized products, and suppose that a\nmonopoly element enters, at some stage or other, into _every_ product of\nthe market, and in varying degrees in each, either in the form of control\nof raw material, or special native mental or physical aptitude, or patent\nright, or any other of the innumerable forms that monopoly takes? Can these\nmonopoly products then call forth a definite amount of social labor? Or can\nthey merely call out a definite amount of value?[85] \"_Differences in\nwealth between different producers cause the cost of products to vary from\ntheir value._\" (Italics mine.) But surely this is our old circle again. If\ndifferences in wealth, which is the embodiment of value, are to modify the\nworking of the \"pervasive element\" of \"personal sacrifice\" (p. 263), it is\ndifficult to see how that pervasive element can in any way be an ultimate\nexplanation or measure of value.\n\n     The rich worker stops producing early, while the\n     sacrifice entailed is still small; but his product\n     sells as well as if it were costly.\n\n     If we say that the prices of things correspond with the\n     amount and _efficiency_ of the labor that creates them,\n     we say what is equivalent to the above proposition. The\n     efficiency that figures in the case is power and\n     willingness to produce a certain effect. The\n     willingness is as essential as the power.... Moreover,\n     the effect that gauges the efficiency of a worker is\n     the value of what he creates; and this value is\n     measured by the formula that we have attained.\n\nBut surely the circle is very clear here: the price (the expression of the\nvalue) of the good depends on the efficiency of the labor that produces it;\nand the efficiency of the labor depends on the value (of which price is the\nexpression) of the good produced. Our \"pervasive element\" is complicated,\nas a determinant of social value, with several factors, among them _the\nvalue of the wealth of the different producers_, and the efficiency, which\ncan be defined only in terms of _value product_, of the workers. Value is\nan ultimate in the explanation of value, and the effort to make individual\ncosts and utilities an ultimate explanation of value has failed--as it must\nneeds fail--even in the hands of Professor Clark.\n\nThe validity of this criticism, assuming it valid, in no way invalidates\nProfessor Clark's contention that value is, after all, the work of the\nsocial organism, and that the value of a good, at a given time, measures\nits importance to the social organism at that time. The difficulty with\nthe analysis just criticized is that it has not been an analysis of an\norganic process, but rather, a mathematical study of sums. The individuals\nhave been treated, not as interacting in their mental processes, but as\nisolated atoms, each of whom has a definite individual _quantum_ of pain or\npleasure, and the social unit of pain or pleasure has been treated as\nsimply a sum of these. But it is characteristic of an organism that the\nsimple rules of arithmetic do not hold precisely in its activity. The whole\nis more than the sum of its parts, and something different from that sum.\nProfessor Clark elsewhere says:--\n\n     But the owner is a part of the social body, and is the\n     organic whole indifferent to his suffering? If so,\n     society is an imperfect and nerveless organism. It\n     ought to feel, as a whole, the sufferings of every\n     member, and what makes or mars the happiness of every\n     slightest molecule, should make or mar the happiness of\n     all.\n\n     A sympathetic connection between members of society\n     exists, etc.[86]\n\nTrue: and indicative of the true line of study for the conception of value\nas a product of an organic society. But in the foregoing analysis we have\nno hint of \"nerves\" or social sympathy or other manifestation of a\ncollective mental activity. The \"social psychology\" promised on page 261 of\nthe article just reviewed, turns out not a social psychology at all, but\nsimply a summation of the results of many individual psychologies. But the\nline along which the true nature of value is to be found is clearly\nindicated in the general conception of the psychical organic unity of\nsociety, and it remains for the present writer to make use of the studies\nin social psychology of Tarde, Cooley, Baldwin, and others,[87] not\navailable, for the most part, when Professor Clark's article was written,\nin an effort to get nearer the heart of the problem.\n\nThe doubly abstract conceptions of individual costs and individual\nsatisfactions, connected with economic goods,--abstracted first from the\nsocial _milieu_, and second, from the rest of the individual's interests\nand desires,--lead us around in a circle, from value to value, but never to\nanything else. It is the belief of the writer that we get out of the circle\nonly by broadening our explanation phenomena, by giving up these\nabstractions, and getting back to the concrete reality of the total\nintermental life of men in society.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[82] See _inter alia_ Boehm-Bawerk, \"Ultimate Standard of Value,\" _Annals of\nthe American Academy_, vol. V; also his \"Grundzuege,\" p. 516, n.; Wieser,\n_op. cit._, bk. V.\n\n[83] See Laughlin, J. L., \"Marshall's Theory of Value and Distribution,\"\n_Q. J. E._ vol. I, pp. 227-32. See also Marshall's reply in the same\nvolume.\n\n[84] There is a needless complication here. For Professor Clark's purposes\nit is not necessary to seek a _unit_ of value; what is needed is simply a\nvindication of the quantitative social value concept. The unit may then be\narbitrarily chosen--_e.g._, the amount of value in 23.22 grains of gold.\n_Cf._ the discussion of abstract units of value, _infra_, chap. XVII, pp.\n183-84.\n\n[85] The issue appears to be shifted here. If an ultimate _cause_ of value\nis being sought, it is certain that labor does not supply it for the\nmonopolized goods; and if it be simply a _measure_ of the amount of value\nembodied in the monopolized goods that is looked for, then it is clear that\ngoods produced entirely by competitive labor (assuming that such goods\nexist, which I deny) can fulfill this function only by virtue of being\nthemselves _valuable_--and that they serve this purpose no better than\nother goods into which a monopoly element enters. The doctrine here\ncriticized goes back to Ricardo: \"If the state charges a seignorage for\ncoinage, the coined piece of money will generally exceed the value of the\nuncoined piece of metal by the whole seignorage charged, _because it will\nrequire a greater quantity of labour, or, which is the same thing, the\nvalue of the produce of a greater quantity of labour, to procure it_.\"\n(Italics mine.) Ricardo, _Works_, McCulloch edition, 1852, p. 213.\n\n[86] _Philosophy of Wealth_, 1892 ed., p. 83.\n\n[87] Tarde, _The Laws of Imitation_, _Psychologie Economique_, 2 vols.,\nParis, 1902. Cooley, C. H., _Human Nature and the Social Order_, _Social\nOrganisation_. Baldwin, Mark, _Social and Ethical Interpretations_. Elwood,\nC. A., _Some Prolegomena to Social Psychology_, Chicago, 1901; \"The\nPsychological View of Society,\" _American Journal of Sociology_, March,\n1910. Hayden, Edwin Andrew, _The Social Will_, 1909. No attempt is made at\nan exhaustive list here, nor are the writers mentioned to be held\naccountable for the views maintained in the text, though their point of\nview is in general that which I shall maintain.\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\nTHE PRESUPPOSITIONS OF ECONOMIC THEORY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE PHILOSOPHICAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL PRESUPPOSITIONS\n\n\nThe connection between social philosophy, on the one hand, and metaphysics\nand epistemology on the other hand, has always been a close one,--a fact\nnot always adequately recognized by writers in the field of social science,\nin economics, especially. Scientists often \"ignore\" philosophy, holding\nthat their concern is simply with the world of phenomenal \"facts,\" and that\nthe injection of philosophic considerations is illicit and unscientific.\nAnd this is often well enough in the field of the physical, chemical, and\nbiological sciences, where the procedure is primarily inductive, and the\ndata are got from sense observation. But in the social sciences, where the\nprocedure is so largely deductive, and where the data are often principles\nof mind, whose truth is assumed as a starting point for investigation, and\nespecially in economic theory, such an attitude cannot be justified. For\nphilosophical assumptions _will_ creep in, and the scientist has no option\nabout it. The only thing he can do is to be critical, and know definitely\n_what_ philosophical assumptions he is making,--and most of our treatises\non economic theory do not bear evidence that this critical work has been\ndone.\n\nThere may be traced in the history of philosophy, in the ancient world, and\nalso in the modern era, three main stages in philosophic thought, each\naccompanied by a distinctive set of ideas concerning the nature of society.\nIn distinguishing these three stages, in showing the relation of each to\nsocial philosophy, and especially in tracing a parallel between the\nphilosophy of the ancients and that of modern times, I recognize the grave\ndangers of giving a superficial treatment, and of distorting facts to make\nthem fit a schematism. I recognize, further, that a host of details and a\nmultitude of differences must be ignored in tracing the parallel I propose.\nConsiderations of space, moreover, prevent such a detailed justification of\nthe views here presented as would be required were this more than a minor\nphase of my subject. The need for this is lessened, however, by the fact\nthat much of what follows is part of the commonplaces of the history of\nphilosophy,--albeit a repetition of it seems needed in a criticism of\neconomic theory. The three stages are: the dogmatic stage; the skeptical\nstage; and the critical stage. In Greek philosophy, the first stage is\nrepresented by the cosmological philosophers, as Thales, Anaximenes, and\nAnaximander, who, with perfect confidence in the power of their minds to\nsolve the riddles of the universe, or rather, without questioning that\npoint at all, proceeded to spin out poetical accounts of the origin and\nnature of things. The second stage is represented by the Sophists, who,\nstruck by the manifold divergences in the philosophies of the earlier\nschools, and by the lack of harmony between the god-given laws and rules of\nmorality which earlier tradition had handed down, and the needs of the\nsocial conditions among which they lived, found themselves unable to find\ntruth readily, and reached the conclusion that each man is the measure of\ntruth, that there are no universal criteria, or valid standards. The third\nstage begins with Socrates, who sought for a common principle of truth and\njustice in the midst of divergences, and this critical movement, continued\nby Plato and Aristotle, led to conceptions of unity once more.\n\nNow the social philosophy which goes with the first stage is relatively\nundefined. It is for the most part content with the existing order,\nrecognizes a supernatural basis for it, and raises few questions. The\nsocial philosophy of the second period is intensely individualistic. In the\nthird stage, the emphasis upon social solidarity and upon a unified,\norganic conception of society, a society which is paramount to individual\ninterests and rights, comes to the fore again. The extreme poles of thought\nare, on the one hand, an individualism which leaves scant room for any very\nsignificant social relations whatsoever, and, on the other hand, a\nsocialism--like that of the _Republic_--which swallows up the individual.\nThe compromise view, expressed in the Aristotelian doctrine of the relation\nbetween \"form\" and \"matter,\" applied to the social problem, finds the\nindividual very real, to be sure, but still real only in his social\nrelationships. Individual activities are facts, but social activity is more\nthan a mere sum of individual activities. Society and the individual are\nalike abstractions, if viewed separately.\n\nThe mediaeval conflict over realism and nominalism really derives its\ninterest from the practical social issues involved, for the reality of the\nChurch, as more than a mere aggregate of its members, and the validity of\nChristian doctrine, as more than the sum of individual beliefs, are at\nstake.\n\nThe cycle began again in modern times. As representatives of the dogmatic\nperiod in modern philosophy, DesCartes and Spinoza may be chosen. They were\nnot, of course, naively dogmatic, for philosophy had learned much from its\nmany disappointments, and DesCartes, especially, starts out with\nreflections which would seem to make him very much a skeptic. And yet each\nbelieved in the power of the mind to draw absolute truth from itself, and\neach proceeded in a highly rationalistic way to build up his system. The\nvery title of Spinoza's great work indicates this attitude of mind:\n\"_Ethica more geometrico demonstrata_.\" The conception of society which\ncharacterizes this period is, again, not naive, but still has a\nsupernatural, or at least a superhuman, basis, for it is in a Law of Nature\n(capitalized and personified) that social institutions find their origin\nand justification. Critical reflections, starting with Locke, and passing\nthrough Berkeley to the absolute skepticism of Hume, bring in the second,\nor skeptical, period, in which the rationalistic-dogmatic certitude of\nSpinoza and DesCartes is banished. And going with this movement in\nphilosophic thought comes the extreme individualism of Rousseau in\npolitics, and Adam Smith in economics. The movement away from skepticism,\nbeginning with Kant, puts the world, and especially society, back into\norganic connections again, and we have, in Hegel, especially, society to\nthe fore, and the individual real only as a part of society. The organic\nconception, revived by Hegel, and vitalized by the positivistic studies\nwhich applied the Darwinian doctrine to social phenomena, has characterized\nthe greater part of the social philosophy of the last half hundred\nyears--of course, not without protest and highly necessary criticism.\n\nNow all of this is, of course, commonplace. And yet a failure to recognize\nit has vitiated very much thinking in the field of economic theory.\nEconomic thought is to-day very largely based on the philosophic\nconceptions which characterize the period in which economics began to be a\ndifferentiated science,--the skeptical doctrines of David Hume, the close\nfriend of Adam Smith.[88] The individual is all-important; his world of\nthought and feeling is shut off from that of every other man; social\nrelationships are largely mechanical, and grow out of calculating\nself-interest on the part of the individual; social laws are conceived\nafter the analogy of physical laws. Ethics and politics, however, have been\nfar more influenced by later thinking, and the organic conception of\nsociety has largely dominated these sciences of late, while the new\nscience, sociology, free to base itself more largely upon present-day\nepistemological, philosophical, and psychological notions, has gone further\nthan any other in accepting the doctrine of the unity and pervasiveness of\nsocial relations, organically conceived. I think there are few things more\nstrikingly in contrast than the conception of society which the student\nmeets in most works on economic theory, and that which he meets in studying\nthe other social sciences. That this is so is due precisely to the fact\nthat the economists have too largely neglected philosophy and psychology,\nand have accepted uncritically the assumptions of the founders of the\nscience. Doctrines accepted then have become _crystallized_, and still form\npart of the current stock in trade of economic science, even though\nrejected by philosophy itself.\n\nTo one of these faulty doctrines from the earlier time, attention has\nalready been called. It is that the intensities of wants and aversions in\nthe mind of one man stand in no relation to the same phenomena in the mind\nof another man, and that there can be no comparison instituted between\nthem. The individual is an isolated monad,[89] mechanically connected with\nhis fellows, who are to him \"a part of the _non-ego_,\"[90] but spiritually\nself-sufficient and inaccessible. The doctrine appears in Marshall's\nstatement:[91] \"No one can compare and measure accurately against one\nanother even his own mental states at different times, and no one can\nmeasure the mental states of another at all, except indirectly and\nconjecturally, by their effects.\" Pareto I have quoted, as also Jevons, in\nchapter IV. The doctrine appears in Professor Veblen's recent article in\ncriticism of Professor Clark:[92]--\n\n     It is evident, and admitted, that there can be no\n     balance, and no commensurability, between the laborer's\n     disutility (pain) in producing the goods and the\n     consumer's utility (pleasure) in consuming them,\n     inasmuch as these two hedonistic phenomena lie each\n     within the consciousness of a distinct person. There\n     is, in fact, _no continuity of nervous tissue_\n     [italics mine] over the interval between consumer and\n     producer, and a direct comparison, equilibrium,\n     equality, or discrepancy in respect of pleasure and\n     pain can, of course, not be sought except within each\n     self-balanced individual complex of nervous tissue.\n\nIn the recent elaborate study, _Value and Distribution_, by Professor H. J.\nDavenport, the theories based on the conception of the individual as an\nisolated monad, a self-complete whole, with purely mechanical relationships\nwith other men, find their fullest and most self-conscious expression, and\nthe philosophical presuppositions are explicitly premised. The following\nquotation from Thackeray's _Pendennis_ is given as a footnote,[93] in which\nProfessor Davenport's own conception is expressed:--\n\n     Ah, sir, a distinct universe walks about under your hat\n     and under mine--all things in nature are different to\n     each--the woman we look at has not the same features,\n     the dish we eat has not the same taste, to the one and\n     to the other; you and I are but a pair of infinite\n     isolations, with some fellow islands a little more or\n     less near us.\n\nThis is, of course, manifestly the theme of the old subjectivistic\nanalysis, by which all things are reduced to thoughts, sensations, and\ndesires within the individual soul, and in accordance with which we have\nnone save conjectural knowledge of anything outside of our own souls. Now\na general answer might be given that this is an epistemological principle\nwhich holds true only for what Kant calls the \"_Ding an sich_,\"--if such a\nthing there be--and that there is no more reason why it should apply to\nhuman emotions, considered purely as phenomena, than to any other of the\nphenomena with which science busies itself. If this principle be adhered\nto, its effect will be simply to cast doubt on the conclusions of all\nsciences, physical as well as psychical. Certainly psychology would be\nimpossible on this assumption, except in so far as the psychologist claims\nonly to be working out a science of his individual soul, which, so far as\nhe knows, is not true of any other individual. But it is precisely _not_\nthis that psychology attempts. It is concerned with the laws and behavior\nof minds in general, with the \"_typisch und allgemeingueltig_\" and not with\nthe mental idiosyncrasies of the particular individual.\n\nBut the doctrine can be met from the standpoint of epistemology itself. The\nwriters who are responsible for this subjective analysis, have held that\n_mind_ is more nearly capable of being known by mind than is anything else,\nsince we can interpret things only in terms of our own experiences. The\nreal nature of a purely physical thing is far more deeply hidden from our\nview than is the real nature of a mental fact, even though it be in the\nmind of another. And especially would they grant a degree, at least, of\nobjective currency to clearly phrased conceptual thought. Now I base\nmyself upon the present day pragmatic philosophy,[94] which is,\nessentially, concerned with the problem of knowledge. Its principle is that\nwe believe things to be true, not because of any knowledge we have of some\nmystical, absolute truth, but because of our experiences of utilitarian\nsort. That is true which works. That is true which we find will satisfy our\ndesires and needs. In a word, desire, volition, _values_, lie at the basis\nof intellect.[95] Whence it follows, that if our minds are so constituted\nthat we understand each other on the intellectual side, then there must be\na still deeper and more underlying similarity on the desire, feeling,\nvolitional side.[96] Consequently, if there be anything at all, outside of\nour own mind, which we _can_ understand, it must be the feelings and\nemotions of other men.\n\nConsiderations of a practical nature give us the strongest possible grounds\nfor a belief that human desires, feelings, etc., are homogeneous and\ncommunicable. The fact is that we all have back of us many millions of\nyears of evolutionary history in the same general environment. In the past,\nwith relatively minor variations, the same influences have played upon our\nancestors from the beginnings of life on our planet. And then, we are born\ninto the same society, and it has given us, not, to be sure, the power of\nreaction, but certainly all of our most important stimuli.[97] Further, we\ndo get along in society. We laugh together, we play together, we share each\nother's sorrows, we love and hate each other, in a way that would be wholly\nimpossible if we did not in practice assume the correctness of our\n\"inferences\" about one another's motives and desires. And the fact that\nthese \"inferences\" are in the main correct is the one thing that makes\nsocial life possible. We can, and do, understand one another's motives,\ndesires, wants, emotions. We can, and do, constantly communicate our\nfeelings to one another.\n\nIt is only on the basis, further, of an intellectualistic psychology that\nsuch a subjectivistic conception is possible. If the voluntaristic\npsychology and the doctrine of \"the unconscious\" be accepted--and certainly\nthe psychological facts on which the latter is based must be accepted,\nwhether the metaphysical conclusions are or not[98]--we have no basis\nwhatever for this doctrine that clearness holds within the mind, but that\nwithout all is uncertain. Really, only a little part of our mental life is\nin consciousness at any given moment. The \"stream of consciousness\" is but\na narrow thing, and the unity of the individual mind is a unity, not of\nconsciousness, but of _function_. As Goethe somewhere says, we know\nourselves never by reflection, but by action. And often does it happen that\na sympathetic friend, or even an observant enemy, may interpret more\naccurately our actions than we ourselves can do, and may measure more\naccurately the strength of a given motive for us than we can ourselves. In\na certain sense, our knowledge of other minds is inference. We see other\nmen's actions, or hear their voices, or watch the muscles of their faces,\nand so, indirectly, get at their thoughts and feelings. But, in much the\nsame sense, our knowledge of their actions, or of their voices, is\ninference too. For we must interpret the image on the retina, or the sense\nexcitation in the ear. But practically, neither is inference, if by\ninference be meant a consciously made judgment from premises of which we\nare conscious. In a casual walk with a friend, where conversation flows\nsmoothly on easy topics, one is as _immediately_ conscious of his friend's\nthoughts and feelings, expressed in the conversation, as he is of the\nscenes that present themselves by the way, or even of the thoughts that\narise within himself.[99]\n\nThe significance of this conclusion is not quite the same as that which\nmight be expected from the context from which I have taken the doctrine\nunder criticism. The feelings of men with reference to economic goods are\nfacts of definite, tangible nature, and subject-matter of social\nknowledge. But we have not yet reached a standard or source of social\nvalue. No homogeneous \"labor jelly,\" or \"pain jelly,\" or \"utility\njelly,\"[100] made up by averaging arithmetically, or adding arithmetically,\nindividual efforts or pains or pleasures, will solve our problem for us--as\nindeed I have been at pains to show in what has gone before. The purpose of\nthe foregoing criticism is primarily to clear the ground for a conception\nof social organization which is more than mechanical, and in which the\nindividual is both less and more than a self-sufficient monad.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[88] This criticism applies to the teachings of James Mill, J. S. Mill, and\nother sensationalist followers of Hume, even more than to Adam Smith. But\nsee Professor Albion W. Small's _Adam Smith and Modern Sociology_, Chicago,\n1907, esp. p. 51.\n\n[89] It is easy for \"analysis\" to separate society into \"individual\"\nmonads, and impossible for \"synthesis\"--once the validity of the analytic\nprocess is accepted--to put society together again. In fact, once the\nanalytic process is begun, and once its results are accepted as anything\nmore than matters of logical convenience, all unity and all organic\nconnections, whether in the social or in other fields, seem to vanish like\na dissolving show. There is a psychological doctrine of monadism, quite as\nlogical as the sociological monadology here criticized, which finds it\nimpossible to link together even the elements in a single individual's\nmind. (See William James, _Principles of Psychology_, 1905 ed., vol. I, pp.\n179-80.) Into what inextricable difficulties one falls, in pursuing the\nmonadistic logic, is more dramatically illustrated than by anything else I\nknow by Bradley's _Appearance and Reality_, esp. chaps. II and III. The\nmost useful viewpoint seems to be as follows: unity is as much an object of\nimmediate knowledge as is plurality,--both being, in fact, the products of\nreflective thought. And unity is no more called upon to justify itself,\nbefore we recognize its existence, than is plurality. _Cf._ William James,\n_The Meaning of Truth_, New York, 1909, p. xiii; and also his _Psychology_,\nvol. I, pp. 224-25. _Cf._ also the writings of Professor John Dewey.\n\n[90] Jevons, _Theory of Pol. Econ._, 3d ed., p. 14.\n\n[91] _Principles_, 1907, p. 15 (1898 ed., p. 76). See also Marshall's\ncriticism of Cairnes' conception of supply and demand, in the 1898 edition\nof the _Principles_, p. 172.\n\n[92] \"Professor Clark's Economics,\" _Q. J. E._, 1908, p. 170.\n\n[93] Davenport, _op. cit._, p. 300, n. It may seem somewhat unfair to hold\na man responsible for the view of another writer which he throws into a\nfootnote of his own book. One who has read Professor Davenport's book,\nhowever, will recognize, I think, that this quotation does express\nProfessor Davenport's view. His discussion in the text on pages 300-301\naffirms virtually this same doctrine, as a proposition of psychology. See\nalso his discussions in small type on pages 336-37. His whole system is\nbased upon this doctrine.\n\n[94] See, especially, William James, _Pragmatism_, and _The Meaning of\nTruth_; John Dewey, _Essays in Logical Theory_; and F. C. S. Schiller,\n_Humanism_.\n\n[95] The utter impossibility of adequately summing up a philosophic\ndoctrine in two or three sentences will excuse this statement to those\npragmatists who would prefer a somewhat different formulation.\n\n[96] I am indebted for suggestions here to Professor H. W. Stuart's article\non \"Valuation as a Logical Process,\" in Dewey's _Studies in Logical\nTheory_, pp. 322-23.\n\n[97] _Cf._ Baldwin, _Social and Ethical Interpretations_, _passim_, and\nCooley, _Human Nature and the Social Order_, _passim_.\n\n[98] The most interesting discussion of these topics I know is that of\nFriedrich Paulsen, in his _Introduction to Philosophy_ (translated by\nProfessor Frank Thilly).\n\n[99] _Cf._ Perry, R. B., \"The Hiddenness of the Mind,\" _Jour. of Phil.,\nPsy., and Sci. Meth._, Jan. 21, 1909; \"The Mind Within and the Mind\nWithout,\" _Ibid._, April 1, 1909; \"The Mind's Familiarity with Itself,\"\n_Ibid._, March 4, 1909. Urban, W. M., _Valuation_, p. 243.\n\n[100] Davenport, _op. cit._, p. 331.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE SOCIOLOGICAL PRESUPPOSITIONS\n\n\nConceptions of the social unity fall, in the main, into three classes: the\nmechanical, the biological, and the psychological. Each of these\nconceptions recognizes, of course, that the individual has a mind, but the\nfirst thinks of that mind as so shut in that the only connections between\nmen must be of an external sort; the second sees modes of collective action\n_analogous_ to the modes of individual action, and reaches the conception\nof a social mind by analogy; while the third treats the social mind as an\nempirical fact, the phenomena of which can be studied as concrete things in\ndetail. And there are gradations here, and combinations.\n\nThe following extract, freely translated and substantially abridged, is\ntaken from chapter I of DeGreef's _Introduction a la Sociologie_:--\n\n     It is in vain that Spencer protests against the\n     accusation that he has assimilated the laws of biology\n     with those of sociology. The confusion is everywhere\n     complete. He has not indicated a single law, nor a\n     single phenomenon, which has not its correspondent, if\n     not its equivalent, in the antecedent sciences. Draper,\n     in his _History of the Intellectual Development of\n     Europe_, adopts precisely the doctrine that the laws of\n     biology apply equally to sociology. Man is the\n     archetype of society. Nations pass through their\n     periods of infancy, adolescence, maturity, age, death.\n     This sort of thing makes sociology wholly unnecessary.\n     The attempt of Stanley Jevons to explain economic\n     crises by sun-spots, so far from being an effort of\n     genius, is simply a _jeu d'esprit_. It is simply a\n     recognition of the common fact that climate is one of\n     the factors that influence man in society. According to\n     Hesiod, physical forces first engender each other, then\n     in turn the gods and man. Since then, social science\n     has in turn been founded on the laws of astronomy,\n     chemistry and biology. To-day it is the last, vitiated,\n     further, by false psychological notions about the power\n     and unlimited liberty of the reason, and the\n     consciousness of human individuals, and applied by\n     analogy to the collective reason.\n\n     The error consists in looking for the explanation of\n     social phenomena in the most general laws. This is\n     natural within certain limits, but has been pushed to\n     extreme, but logical consequences, by the American,\n     Carey (_Social Science_). He looks, in effect, to one\n     of the oldest sciences, and one, consequently, relating\n     to the most highly general phenomena, those of\n     astronomy, for the universal laws of society. Geometry,\n     he holds, gives us principles equally valid for the\n     chemist, the sociologist, and for him who measures the\n     earth. A system assuming to explain complex phenomena\n     solely by the laws of phenomena more simple, may be\n     compared to the effort to give an account of a book,\n     not by reading it line by line, but by examining the\n     cover and the title-page.\n\nAs DeGreef elsewhere puts it, there is a hierarchy in science, proceeding\nfrom the more general to the less general, depending on the nature of the\nphenomena studied. This hierarchy has been variously stated. Comte puts it\nthus: mathematics, astronomy, physics, chemistry, physiology, social\nphysics (sociology). Baldwin,[101] writing much later, of course, puts it\nthus:--\n\n     So here, as elsewhere, there is a gradation, a\n     hierarchy, in science: chemistry necessary to life, but\n     not itself of life; forces in the environment necessary\n     to evolution, but not themselves vital; life-processes\n     necessary to consciousness, but not themselves mental;\n     consciousness necessary to society, but not all\n     consciousness social; social consciousness necessary to\n     social organization, but not all social consciousness\n     actually in a social organization.\n\nNow the point with DeGreef is that the special laws of each successively\nnarrower group of phenomena are to be explained only by concrete study, and\nthat it is wholly vain to think that the application of principles drawn\nfrom other, more general groups of phenomena give us these laws. Thus the\neconomists talk of \"equilibria\" between various economic forces, just as if\nthey were physical forces;[102] and a whole school of mathematical\neconomists has arisen, who find economic life a thing that will fit into\nequations. This work is valuable, but it is not final. Analogies are\nhelpful, but are not ultimate. Similarly, the biological conception, which\nlikens society to a man, has its contributions. The biological analogy has\nbeen pushed very far: thus Novikow calls the social intellectual _elite_\nthe social _sensorium_; Lilienfeld likens the action of a mob to female\nhysterics; Simiand calls the idle rich the adipose tissue of society, the\npriests also represent fat, while the police are the social phagocytes\nwhich eat up wandering criminal cells.[103] But this, though suggestive, is\nnot an ultimate social philosophy or even an approach to it. Even DeGreef,\nas I shall indicate a little later, errs by trying to trace a too rigid\nparallel between individual structure and social structure. We must\nintroduce a careful study of the peculiarly social phenomena, those\nphenomena which are to be found only in society, before we are privileged\nto talk of a social organism or a social mind.[104]\n\nOn the other hand, it seems to me that Baldwin has erred in the opposite\ndirection. The laws of chemistry do not cease to be operative in the human\nbody, even though more complex biological laws operate there. And the laws\nof biology are not suspended just because an animal organism develops a\nmind. The greatest defect of the older psychology, against which the\nexperimental psychology is a reaction, was its failure to take proper\naccount of physical processes connected with consciousness. Now society,\naccording to Baldwin, is best described as analogous to a psychological\norganization, and such an organization as is found in the individual in\n_ideal thinking_.[105] But surely this is an abstraction, and not a fact.\nSociety does not cease to be physical, chemical, biological, subconscious,\nmerely because it has also attained in part a higher form of psychical\nactivity (to which Professor Baldwin would object on the basis of his\ndistinction between the \"social\" and the \"socionomic\").\n\nDeGreef's conception seems to me better, on this logical point,--though of\ncourse Baldwin's analysis of facts represents a great advance--but it is\nnot satisfactory:[106]--\n\n     Since unconsciousness, instinct, and reflex action\n     characterize the psychic life of inferior beings, and\n     even the greater part of the intellectual activity of\n     those most highly developed, man included, we ought not\n     to be astonished, _a priori_, that the collective force\n     which constitutes the social superorganism presents the\n     same characteristics.\n\n     Consciousness is aroused in the individual, and new\n     activities result, which soon, however, lose their\n     conscious character, and become reflex and automatic.\n     So with society.\n\nThen follows an elaborate analogy between the individual brain and nervous\nsystem and their functions, and the social structure and its functions,\nwhich we need not reproduce here. This analogy seems forced to me. There is\nlittle point to trying to find such exact correspondences. It is enough if\nwe have our general organic principle as a method of study, and then\nproceed to the study of social facts. I shall myself, however, make use of\nsome analogies in what follows, but shall not insist too strongly upon\nthem. I may here express the opinion that society is an organism less\nhighly developed than a man's body or a man's mind, and that its unity is\nprimarily a unity of _function_ rather than of _structure_,[107] though\nthere is some structural unity.\n\nThe conception of the social unity which seems most useful for the purpose\nof our study--and the writer would insist that no social theory is valid\nfor all purposes, and that many social theories have value for some\nparticular purposes--is that of Professor C. H. Cooley, as set forth,\nparticularly, in the opening chapters of his _Social Organization_. As this\nbook, however, presupposes certain doctrines set forth in Professor\nCooley's earlier book, _Human Nature and the Social Order_, a brief account\nof certain points in that study must also be given. It may be noted, at the\noutset, that Professor Cooley neglects the study of the material aspects of\nsociety, and centres his attention upon the mental side. His purpose in\nthis is not to deny the significance of the material factors, as he\nexplains in the preface to _Social Organization_, but simply to narrow the\nscope of his labors. The writer wishes here to make a similar statement\nregarding his own viewpoint. In the following pages, attention will be\ncentred almost exclusively upon the psychical forces involved, upon what we\nshall call the \"social mind.\" In this, however, it is explicitly recognized\nthat the physical environment and the biological individuals are essential\nfactors, and that the forces which are manifested in them must be\nrecognized as coefficients with the psychical forces which we shall study,\nin the determination of any concrete social situation. I have no intention\nwhatever of giving an independent, ontological character to this psychical\nabstraction. For the purposes of this study we shall regard the physical\nfactors as constant,--an assumption justified for purposes of study,\nprovided we subsequently, in handling concrete problems, make allowance\nfor the extent to which it is untrue.\n\nIn his earlier book,[108] Professor Cooley objects to the customary\nantithesis between \"individual\" and \"social.\" They are simply two aspects\nof the same thing. He discriminates three meanings of the word, social,\nnone of which, he says, is properly to be contrasted with \"individual\": (1)\nthat pertaining to the collective aspect of humanity, in its widest and\nvaguest meaning; (2) that pertaining to immediate intercourse; (3)\nconducive to collective welfare, and so nearly equivalent to moral. But\nnone of these meanings has \"individual\" as its natural or logical\nantithesis.\n\nThere are several forms of individualistic views: (1) _Mere_ Individualism.\nThe distributive phase of human life is almost exclusively regarded. Each\nperson is thought of as a separate agent; all social phenomena originate in\nthe action of such agents. This view is much discredited by evolutionary\nscience and philosophy, but is by no means abandoned even in theory, and\npractically it enters as a premise into most common thought of the day. (2)\nDouble Causation,--a partition of power between society and the individual,\nboth thought of as separate causes. This is ordinarily the view met with in\nsocial and ethical discussions. There is here the same premise of the\nindividual as a separate, unrelated agent; but over against him is set a\nvaguely conceived collective interest or force. People are so accustomed to\nthink of themselves as uncaused causes, special creators on a small scale,\nthat when general phenomena are forced on their notice, they think of them\nas something additional, and more or less antithetical. The correction of\nthis error will leave the contest between individualism and socialism,\nconsidered as philosophical notions, rather than as names for social\nprograms, among the forgotten _debris_ of speculation. (3) The third view\nhe calls Primitive Individualism. The individual is prior in time to\nsociety. This view is a variety of the preceding, perhaps formed by\nmingling individualistic preconceptions with a rather crude evolutionary\nphilosophy. Individuality is lower in rank as well as prior in time. The\nsocial is the good, moral, and the individual is the anti-social and bad.\nProfessor Cooley's view is that individuality is neither prior in time, nor\ninferior in rank, to sociality. If social be applied only to the higher\nforms of mental life, it should be opposed, not to individual, but to\nanimal or sensual, or the like. Our remote ancestors were just as inferior\nwhen viewed separately as when viewed collectively. (4) The fourth form of\nindividualism he calls the Social Faculty view. The social includes only a\npart, and often a rather definite part, of the individual. Individual and\nsocial are two different parts of human nature. Love is social; fear and\nanger are unsocial and individualistic. Some writers have treated\nintelligence as an individualistic faculty, and have founded sociality on\nsome form of sentiment. This is well enough if we use social in the second\nsense of pertaining to immediate conversation, or fellow feeling. But that\nthese sociable emotions are essentially higher, or pertain peculiarly to\ncollective life, is very doubtful. Cooley holds that no such division of\nhuman nature is possible. Social or moral progress consists less in the\naggrandizement of certain faculties and suppression of others, than in the\ndiscipline of all with reference to a progressive organization of life.\n\nThe rest of the book is devoted to a study of society in its distributive\naspect, or as we should say ordinarily, using the terms which Professor\nCooley objects to, the study of the social nature of individuals. It is\nbased in large measure upon a study of the development of children.\nPersonality is an essentially social thing. The \"I\" feeling is a thing\nwhich only social influences can develop.[109] The thought process within\nthe \"individual mind\" is a social process,--we think in words, and, indeed,\nin conversations.[110] I shall not develop these notions at length. They\nare of similar nature to those in Professor Baldwin's _Social and Ethical\nInterpretations_, when he discusses the \"dialectic of personal growth.\"\nThey are interesting and pertinent as showing in a concrete way the\ntremendous and comprehensive sweep of social factors in the creation of the\nindividual mind.\n\n_Social Organization_, which appeared in 1909, takes up the collective\naspect of human-mental life.\n\n     Mind is an organic whole, made up of cooperating\n     individualities, in somewhat the same way that the\n     music of an orchestra is made up of divergent but\n     related sounds.[111] No one would think it necessary or\n     reasonable to divide the music into two kinds, that\n     made by the whole, and that of the particular\n     instruments, and no more are there two kinds of mind,\n     the social mind and the individual mind. The view that\n     all mind acts together in a vital whole from which that\n     of the individual is never really separate, flows\n     naturally from our growing knowledge of heredity and\n     suggestion, which makes it increasingly clear that\n     every thought we have is linked with the thought of our\n     ancestors and associates, and through them with that of\n     society at large. It is also the only view consistent\n     with the general standpoint of modern science, which\n     admits nothing isolate in nature.\n\n     The unity of the social mind consists not in agreement\n     but in organization, in the fact of reciprocal\n     influence or causation among its parts, by virtue of\n     which everything that takes place in it is connected\n     with everything else, and so is an outcome of the\n     whole. Whether, like the orchestra, it gives forth\n     harmony may be a matter of dispute, but that its sound,\n     pleasing or otherwise, is the expression of a vital\n     cooperation, cannot well be denied.[112]\n\nProfessor Cooley stresses the unconscious character of many of these social\nrelations. \"Although the growth of social consciousness is perhaps the\ngreatest fact of history, it has still but a narrow and fallible grasp of\nhuman life.\" Cooley objects to the Cartesian postulate, which makes\n\"_cogito_,\" \"I think,\" the fundamental and most absolutely certain fact in\nthe world. He holds that it grows out of the idiosyncrasy of a highly\nspecialized, introspective philosopher's mind, and that, for the normal\nmind, \"_cogitamus_,\" \"we think,\" is just as obvious.[113] The \"I\" feeling,\nand the \"we\" feeling are differentiated together out of the inchoate\nexperience of the child. And \"I\" and \"we\" are alike social in their nature.\nThe self, for Professor Cooley, is not a scholastic \"soul-substance\" or\ntranscendental ego, but simply a relatively differentiated portion of the\nsocial mind. \"'Social organism' using the term in no abstruse sense, but\nmerely to mean a vital unity in human life, is a fact as obvious to\nenlightened common sense as individuality.\"[114]\n\nI pause here to contrast this view of the \"social mind\" with that of some\nother writers, of whom I may take Professor Giddings as representative. I\nquote from page 134 of the 1905 edition of Professor Giddings' _Principles\nof Sociology_:--\n\n     The social mind is the phenomenon of many individual\n     minds in interaction, so playing upon one another that\n     they simultaneously feel the same sensation or emotion,\n     arrive at one judgment and perhaps act in concert. It\n     is, in short, the mental unity of many individuals, or\n     of a crowd.\n\nThe social mind for Professor Giddings is thus made to depend upon an\n_identity of content_ in many individual minds. For Professor Cooley, it is\nan organization and integration of many differentiated and divergent minds,\nin a complementary activity. Professor Cooley's conception, thus, takes in\nall minds, while that of Professor Giddings would exclude the dissenters.\nFurther, Professor Giddings emphasizes the element of consciousness;\nunconscious processes are included by Professor Cooley, whose conception\nreally finds a place for the total psychosis of every individual in\nsociety. It may be noted, however, that Professor Giddings, in the more\ndetailed exposition of the classroom, does not stress either the agreement\nor the consciousness in the absolute fashion that the brief passage quoted\nwould indicate, and readily concedes that for theoretical purposes the more\ninclusive conception of Professor Cooley's is a very useful one. The\ndifference between his viewpoint, as set forth in the classroom, and that\nof Professor Cooley, is primarily a matter of emphasis.[115]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe following propositions are submitted, partly by way of summary, and\npartly by way of addition, as embodying the points essential for present\npurposes as to the nature of society:--\n\n(1) Society is an organism. Organism as here used is a generic term, with\nthe following connotation: (_a_) an organism has different parts, with\ndifferent functions; (_b_) these parts are interdependent; (_c_) an\norganism is alive, in the sense in which Spencer defined life, that is, an\norganism has the power of making appropriate inner adjustments to the\nexternal environment; (_d_) an organism has a central theme, not externally\nimposed, to the working-out of which the different parts contribute; but\nthe organism--or the parts--is not necessarily conscious of this central\ntheme; (_e_) an organism is constantly changing its \"matter\" without\nessential change in \"form.\" (In a biological organism the process of\nmetabolism goes on constantly. In a society, men are constantly passing out\nof society through death, or through lapsing into idiocy, etc., and new\nelements are constantly entering, not through the biological process of\nbirth, but through the process of becoming \"socialized,\" in the manner\ndescribed by Baldwin as the \"dialectic of personal growth,\" or by Cooley,\nin his _Human Nature and the Social Order_.) (_f_) An organism grows, by\nprogressive differentiations and integrations.\n\n(2) There is a mind of society, a psychical organism. The minds of\ndifferent individuals--themselves differentiated into systems of thoughts\nand feelings that are often lacking in harmonious adjustment to each\nother--are in such intimate interrelation that they may be said to\nconstitute one greater mind. The physiological basis of this greater\nmind--if it be thought necessary to locate it--is the brains and nervous\nsystems of individual men, _plus_ that set of physical symbols (e.g.,\nlanguage, literature, gestures, art, music, etc.) which are set in motion\nby the nerve activity of one man, and then stimulate nerve activity on the\npart of another. This unity is primarily a unity of _function_,\nhowever.[116]\n\n(3) The fact of individual differences among the minds of men, does not\nvitiate the conception of a mind of society. It rather proves the _organic_\ncharacter of the social mind, by introducing the fact of _differentiation_.\nThe integrating element is found in the points which individual minds have\nin common.\n\n(4) The mind of society, like the mind of a man, is primarily volitional,\nand not intellectual. (Volition is here used in the wider sense, as\nincluding all motor and affective activities in mind.) Like the individual\nmind, the greater part of it is vaguely conscious or subconscious.\n\n(5) Less highly organized than the individual mind, the mind of society is\nless rational, and less highly conscious, than most, if not all,\nindividual minds. \"Social self-consciousness\" is a rare, if not\nnon-existent phenomenon.\n\n(6) The mind of society, in its entirety, is of necessity not a matter of\nperception for any individual. Each individual sees only that part which is\nin his own mind--not all of that!--and in the minds of other individuals\nwith whom he is in communication.\n\n(7) But the minds of other men may be, and normally are, in part objects of\nperception for any social individual. There may be an \"inferential\" element\nin our perception of mental processes in the minds of other men, but it is\nnot inference.\n\n(8) The individual monad is a myth. His machinery of thought--language and\nlogic--is socially given him, his ideals and interests, his tastes even in\nmatters of food and drink, are socially given,--apart from social\nintercourse his human-mental life would be mere potentiality.\n\n(9) The worth of this conception of social reality, like the worth of other\nscientific hypotheses, is to be determined by a pragmatic test: does it\nrelate phenomena the connection between which was previously obscure,\nwithout introducing greater difficulties of its own? I believe that, for\nthe problem of value theory at least, it will find such a pragmatic\njustification.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis lengthy excursion into a field not commonly counted as part of the\neconomist's territory is to be justified on the ground that the economist\nhas not only failed to take account of the conclusions reached there, but\nhas also, too often, been making and using assumptions which contradict\nthem. It is further necessary, because the conception of \"social value,\"\nwhich forms the subject of this book, assumes a \"social organism\" which can\ngive value to goods, without making it clear what sort of an organism\nsociety is conceived to be. The excursion has at least revealed some of the\nmany meanings that lie behind that term. And it is especially necessary in\nview of the fact that the conception of \"social value\" has been attacked on\nthe ground that the organic conception has been abandoned by the\nsociologists themselves.[117] That this is true of the biological analogy,\nwhich made society an animal, and drew social laws from biological laws,\nrather than from the study of social phenomena, is readily granted. But\nthat sociologists have abandoned the generalized conception which gives us\nprimarily a highly convenient schematism on which to group the social facts\nthat we actually find, is by no means conceded. And the question is really\none as to those facts themselves rather than as to the mode of grouping and\nconceiving them. If social activity be nothing more than a _sum_ of\n_similar_ individual activities, as Professor Davenport seems to think in\nthe article criticizing Professor Seligman,[118] and if the individual be\nan isolated monad, then Professor Davenport's criticisms will hold. But if\nthe individual is in vital psychic relation with other individuals, so\nmuch so that he is impossible apart from those relations, and if social\nactivity is, not a _sum_ of _similar_ individual activities, but an\n_integration_ and _organization_ of _differentiated_ and _complementary_\nindividual activities, spiritual as well as physical, then Professor\nDavenport's criticisms are not valid. And it is on this point that I would\nstrongly insist. The argument of the following chapters may be put--though\nnot so conveniently--in terms of the mechanical analogy, and the psychical\nprocesses treated, not as the action of a unitary, though differentiated,\nmind, but as a balancing and transformation of forces, and practically the\nsame results for value theory will follow.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[101] Baldwin, Mark, _Social and Ethical Interpretations_, 1906 ed., pp.\n8-9.\n\n[102] _Cf._ John Stuart Mill's _Logic_, book VI, on the nature of social\nlaws.\n\n[103] Cited by Baldwin, _op. cit._, p. 495, n.\n\n[104] See Giddings, _Principles of Sociology_, 1905 ed., p. 194.\n\n[105] _Op. cit._, p. 571.\n\n[106] _Op. cit._, chap. XIII.\n\n[107] _Cf._ Elwood, C. A., _Some Prolegomena to Social Psychology_,\nChicago, 1901. _Cf. infra_ in this chapter the note on Professor Elwood's\nview.\n\n[108] _Human Nature, etc._, chap. I.\n\n[109] _Op. cit._, chaps. V and VI.\n\n[110] _Ibid._, pp. 52 _et seq._\n\n[111] This analogy is unhappy, if pushed very far--like most analogies\nbetween physics and psychics. It serves as a useful figure of speech,\nhowever,--which is all Professor Cooley designs it for.\n\n[112] _Social Organization_, pp. 3-4.\n\n[113] _Social Organization_, pp. 6-9.\n\n[114] _Ibid._, p. 9.\n\n[115] Compare Professor Giddings' more detailed and concrete treatment of\nthe subject in his _Readings in Descriptive and Historical Sociology_, New\nYork, 1906, pp. 124-428.\n\n[116] Professor C. A. Elwood, in the essay mentioned _supra_, _Some\nProlegomena to Social Psychology_, is the first, so far as I know, to apply\nProfessor Dewey's psychological viewpoint to the study of the social mind.\nChap. II of his book contains a very excellent brief discussion of this\npoint. Without going into the matter at length, it must suffice to say here\nthat the new viewpoint stresses the significance of mental processes for\n_activity_, for the adjustment of the organism to its environment, rather\nthan the _structure_ or _content_ of the mental process. It stresses\nimpulse, instinct, habit, etc., and refuses to undertake a synthetic\nprocess, which strives to get some sort of mechanical unity by combining\nabstract, structural elements. The unifying principle in mind is\n_activity_, _function_. Professor Elwood holds that, while the individual\nmind has unity both of structure and of function, the social mind has a\nunity of function only. I think the contrast is not so sharp as that. There\nis _some_ structural unity in the social mind, there are points of identity\namong individual minds, common ideals, and a common--even though\nsmall--body of knowledge, especially in very elementary matters. And the\nunity of the individual mind is primarily a unity of _function_.\nCertainly--and there is no issue with Professor Elwood here!--there is no\nunifying \"soul-substance\" lying back of the psychic activities organized in\nthe single individual mind. And the analogy between the mind of an\nindividual and the mind of society is not intended to read into the social\nmind any of the hypothetical character which an absolutistic,\npreevolutionary metaphysics ascribed to the individual mind, but rather--in\nso far as the issue is raised at all--to divest the individual mind of just\nthat hypothetical character. _Cf._ Friedrich Paulsen's _Introduction to\nPhilosophy_, on \"soul-substance,\" and Wundt's _Voelker-Psychologie_, vol. I,\nchap. I.\n\n[117] Davenport, _op. cit._, pp. 467-68.\n\n[118] _Op. cit._, pp. 445-46. (The reference is given to Professor\nDavenport's book for the convenience of the reader. The original article\nappears in the _Journal of Political Economy_ for March, 1906.) \"Some\nlinguistic uses connected with collective nouns will offer a point of\ndeparture. When thought of merely as indicating an aggregate, a unit, the\ncollective noun takes a singular verb; if regarded as a collection of\nunits, it takes the plural verb....\n\n\"Now, in many cases, though the act or the situation asserted is really one\nof each individual by himself, there is no occasion for insisting upon\nthis; no ambiguity or inaccuracy or misapprehension is involved in saying\nthat 'the battalion is eating its dinner'; it is a shorthand fashion of\nspeech, but it is perfectly intelligible; it is common enough to think of a\nbattalion as a unit, and the act of dining is a simple one in which all\njoin, and in which all comport themselves in pretty much the same way; from\nthe point of view adopted, the interest proceeded upon, the purpose in\nhand, no importance attaches to the fundamental separateness of the\nactivities, and to their entire lack either of psychical unity or of\npurposive cooperation; they are simply similar--roughly simultaneous--and\nare thought of in block. True, one man eats rapidly and another slowly,\nsome little and others much, and a few sick ones not at all; but the\nexpression serves, and implies its own limitations of accuracy.... But when\nit comes to asserting that the army is brushing its teeth, or has stubbed\nits toe, or has a stomach ache, there is obvious difficulty. These things\nare not done jointly, cooperatively, by aggregates, and will not bear\nthinking over into this form.\n\n\"And so we may speak of public opinion, the preference, or habit, or\ncustom, or convention, of society; and no harm need come of it, despite the\nfact that some men neither think nor choose in the manner implied, but have\ntheir own peculiar judgments or choices or wishes, and yet are members of\nsociety, entitled to be included in any exact formulation; every one knows\nthat the thought really runs upon majorities of ''most everybodies'; that\nis, no harm need come of it, if only there were not people to take the\nnotion of a 'social mind' seriously, and to import into cases calling for\naccurate analysis, and to accept as sober fact, a mere figure of speech, or\nat best a loose analogy drawn from biological science. For to the biologist\nand the sociologist it is to be charged--or credited--that the\nsociety-as-an-organism formula has found its way into economic thought. And\nthus hereby a doctrine long since abandoned in economic reasonings is in\nthe way of reappearing; for have we not need of normals and averages? Else\nour doctrine in getting accurate and actual will get difficult also. And\nso, by the aid of the sociologist, through the magic of the\nsociety-as-an-organism incantation, a resurrection miracle has lately been\nworked; we salute the average man.\"\n\nWhether any serious advocate of the organic conception of society will\nrecognize in this caricature the doctrine which he maintains may well be\ndoubted. Certainly it would never occur to us to construct an organism by\naveraging its organs! Nor do we try to get a social mind by adding a sum of\nsimilar physical activities, or even similar mental activities. An organism\nis a functional unity of _different_ and _complementary parts_.\n\n\n\n\nPART IV\n\nA POSITIVE THEORY OF SOCIAL VALUE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nVALUE AS GENERIC. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF VALUE\n\n\nWe return, then, to the problem of the nature of value. Value is more than\nthe total utility of a good, or the marginal utility of a good, to an\nindividual, and it is more than a ratio of exchange. Economic value is a\nspecies of the _genus_ value, which runs through other social sciences, as\nethics, aesthetics, jurisprudence, etc. Sometimes these various values are\nso intermingled that it is impossible to tell them apart: thus, what kind\nof value did a human life have in early Germanic jurisprudence, when a\n_wergeld_ was accepted as compensation for killing a man?\n\nEthical and legal values we recognize as something very different from the\nfeelings of single individuals, and also as something very different from\nabstract ratios. In fact, the idea of quantitative ratios in connection\nwith moral values is somewhat startling--though we do apply the \"times\njudgment\" pretty far, and say, \"he's twice the man the other fellow is,\" or\n\"this isn't half as bad as that.\" But we do not go into refinements,\nordinarily, and try to make the ratios more exact, as by saying that the\nvalue of this noble deed is three and three eighths times as great as that.\nThe quantitative measure of legal value is a more familiar idea. Thus, a\nman gets five dollars fine for a plain drunk, and twenty-five dollars for\ngetting drunk and \"cussin' around\" (a scale of \"prices\" recently\nestablished in the court of a Missouri Justice of the Peace), or three\nyears in the penitentiary for one crime, and ten years for another. Here we\nhave quantitative measurements of values, but still it is rather strange to\nour thought to speak of a ratio of exchange between them. We have no\noccasion to exchange them ordinarily, even though it may happen that a\ncriminal, in contemplating the chances of success in two alternative\ndepredations, will weigh the penalties to which he would be liable in the\ntwo cases against each other; and, indeed, the law of supply and demand\nholds here also (though inversely applied, for we are dealing with negative\nvalues). If a particular crime (as \"Black-Handing\") increases rapidly, we\nincrease the penalty on it to bring it to a stop. But this generalization\nof the idea of value ought to make clear one thing: exchange, at least in\nits ordinary meaning,[119] is not the essence of value. Exchange is a\nfactor in estimating value only in economic life. And even there, values\nare often estimated without actual exchange, and the art of accountancy has\narisen for that purpose.\n\nAn exhaustive study of this generic aspect of value lies, of course,\noutside the scope of this book. Ehrenfels, Meinong, and others,[120] have\nmade fruitful investigations in the psychology of value, with primary\nreference to the problems of ethical value, while Gabriel Tarde,\napproaching the subject with a sociological, rather than psychological or\nethical interest, has also made some illuminating suggestions. The most\ncomprehensive work in English, from the psychological point of view, is by\nProfessor W. M. Urban, whose _Valuation_ appeared in 1909. His interest is\nalso chiefly in ethical, rather than economic, value. Reference has been\nmade in an earlier footnote[121] to Simmel's views. There is, in fact, a\nrich literature on the subject. The theory of economic value to be\ndeveloped in this volume, however, is relatively independent of many of the\ntheories treated in this literature, since, as will appear later, the\nquestion I wish to raise is, not so much as to the fundamental nature of\nvalue, in its psychological aspects, but rather, as to _what_ individual\nvalues (and in what _relations_) are significant for the explanation of the\nparticular sort of value with which the economist is concerned. The\nexposition which follows will be clearer, however, if a psychological\ntheory of value be premised, and the discussion of social economic value\nwill gain from a consideration of ethical and other forms of value, in\ntheir sociological aspects, as treated by some of the writers named. The\nrest of this chapter will be concerned with the problem of value as it\npresents itself in individual psychology, and later chapters will treat the\nproblem of social value.\n\n_For_ the experience, and at the time of the experience, a value is a\n_quality_ of the object valued.[122] Values are \"tertiary qualities\" (to\nborrow an expression from Professor Santayana's _Life of Reason_[123]),\njust as real and objective as the \"primary\" and \"secondary\" qualities. We\nspeak of a gloomy day, or a fearful sight, and the gloom is a quality of\nthe day, and the fearfulness is really in the object--for the experience.\nWhen we have sufficiently reflected upon the situation to be able to\nseparate subject and object, and to divest the object of the quality, and\nput the fear in ourselves, or the gloom in our own emotional life, then the\nexperience is already past, and the value, as the value of that object, has\nceased to be. We are already over our fear when we can separate it from\nthe object. These qualities are intensive qualities, may be greater or less\nin degree, i.e., are quantities.[124] And they must first _exist_, as such\nquantities, before any reflective process of evaluation and comparison can\nput them in a scale, and make clear their _relative_ values.[125]\n\nSo much for the experience as an immediate fact. If we break up the\nexperience analytically, however, we of course first distinguish subject\nand object, and we throw the \"tertiary quality,\" of value, over to the side\nof the subject. It is a phase of the subject's emotional life. In this\nanalytical process we necessarily make abstractions,--the elements with\nwhich we finally come out, put together in a synthesis, will not give us\nour concrete experienced value again. But, recognizing this, we may still\ndistinguish what seem to be the more important aspects of the value\nexperience, on its psychological side, and set forth the criteria by which\na value is to be recognized. First of all, then, value has its roots in the\nemotional-volitional side of mind. A pure intellect, if we may imagine it,\nwould understand logical necessity, would contemplate the \"world of\ndescription,\" but could know nothing of the \"world of appreciation,\" or of\nvalues.[126] (It is precisely because intellect is never \"pure,\" because it\nalways has its emotional accompaniment and presuppositions, that we can\nobjectively communicate our values, as urged in chapter VIII.) But what\nphases of the emotional-volitional side of mind are most significant? For\nhedonism, an abstract element, a _feeling_, a pleasure or a pain, is the\nessence of the value,--in fact, _is_ the value. Critics of hedonism, as\nEhrenfels[127] and Professor Davenport,[128] have made _desire_, rather\nthan feeling, the worth-fundamental. The psychology lying back of this\nconception represents a great advance over the passive, associationalistic,\nelement psychology of the hedonists, and is especially significant as\nemphasizing the impulsive, dynamic nature of value, but it is still too\nabstract,--indeed, it abstracts from a very fundamental aspect of the value\nas _experienced_, namely, the feeling itself. Moreover, in many cases,\nvalue may be great with desire at a minimum, else we must say that value\nceases when an object is _possessed_, and desire is satisfied. I may value\nmy friend greatly, may be vividly conscious of that value, and yet, because\nhe _is_ my friend, because I already possess him, may find the element of\ndesire a minor phase in his value, even if it be present at all.[129]\nHedonism abstracts a prominent and important phase of the value experience,\nand while it errs in making that phase the whole of the experience, and\nwhile it has sadly misinterpreted that phase (for feelings of value cannot\nbe reduced to pleasure and pain feelings), still we cannot afford to\ndisregard it. Just because the hedonistic analysis is crude, it has to\nseize on something obvious. If we must choose between feeling and desire\nas _the_ value-fundamental, we must, I think, with Meinong and Urban,[130]\nsettle on feeling rather than desire. Our point will be, however, to\nprotest against the identification of value with either of these, and to\ndistinguish both of them as _moments_, or phases, in value, and value\nitself as a moment or phase in the total psychosis. Value is not to be\nunderstood apart from what Urban calls its \"presuppositions.\"[131] Every\nvalue presupposes a going on of activity, and is intimately linked with the\ntotal psychosis,--a moving focal point of clear consciousness, with a\nsurrounding area of vaguer processes, gradually shading off into the\nsubconscious and unconscious at the borders. Every value is linked with the\nwhole body of ideas, emotions, habits, instincts, impulses, which, in their\norganic totality, we call the personality. Back of the value stands a long\nhistory, which persists into the present in the form of dispositions and\nactivities, of which we are unconscious so long as they are unimpeded, but\nwhich spring into consciousness at once if arrested. If the object be one\nthat appeals to simple biological impulses, we may, as a rule, safely\nabstract from most of these \"presuppositions,\" and centre attention upon\nthe biological impulse and its accompanying feelings and ideas. But as we\nrise to objects that appeal to wider and higher interests, the essential\npresuppositions include more and more till, in vital ethical values,\nvirtually the whole personality is essentially involved. Of these\npresuppositions, or \"funded meaning,\" we need not be conscious in any\ndetail. The value, which is the emotional-volitional aspect of this funded\nmeaning, is, of course, sufficient, so long as it is unchallenged by an\nopposing value, for the motivation of our activity--which is the essential\nfunction of values. The presuppositions tend to become explicit when the\nvalue is challenged by another value, though they never come entirely into\nlight, in the case of the higher values, and to make them even\napproximately clear is the work of long conflict in an introspective mind.\nA frequent result of conflicts among values is a sort of mechanical \"haul\nand strain,\" producing \"more heat than light.\" The question of the\nrelations among values is a separate topic, which will be discussed for its\nown sake later. We are here interested in it as making clearer the nature\nof the \"presuppositions\" of value.\n\nNow in the value, as has been said, we may distinguish both desire and\nfeeling. The feelings, in Professor Dewey's phrase, are \"absolutely\npluralistic\" and cannot be reduced to any one type, or two types, as\npleasure and pain. The desires may be either intense or slight, without\nreference to the amount of the value, depending on circumstances. As\nstated, if we _have_ the object we value, the element of desire must be\nreduced to an _attitude_, to a disposition to desire, in the event the\nobject should be lost. It remains a vague background of concern, of\n\"anxiety lest the object escape,\" capable, of course, of springing into\nfull intensity if need be. In aesthetic values, and in the values of\nmystical repose, we have cases where desire is,[132] thus, at a minimum.\nStrictly speaking, desire, as a conscious fact, has in it always a negative\naspect, a privative aspect,--we desire when we are incomplete, when we\nlack. It is this negative aspect of desire which the Greek philosophers, as\nAristotle, stressed, and which has led absolute idealism to eliminate\ndesire from its conception of the Absolute Spirit. But desire has also a\npositive or active aspect, and in this aspect it remains in all values.\nWhere the activity is perfectly unified,--a situation which we sometimes\napproximate,--we may not be conscious of desire, even though intense\nactivity is going on. Since, however, the human mind is rarely in this\nstate, and never completely in it, we may hold that desire, in its\nprivative aspect, is always to some degree present, if only as a vague\nuneasiness. And as a disposition to activity, if the value should be\nthreatened, desire is always present.\n\nConversely, desire may be at a maximum, and feeling at a minimum. If we do\n_not_ possess the object, if we are striving for it, while there may be and\ndoubtless is feeling in connection with the desire, it cannot, obviously,\nbe the _same_ feeling that we would experience if the object were present\nand quenching the desire. Indeed, it may be held that much of the\nfeeling-accompaniment of intense desire is extraneous to the value-moment:\nthat it is, in fact, kinaesthetic feeling, due to the stress of opposing\nmuscular reactions, etc. The disposition to feel is there, and, if the\nobject of desire be one that is familiar, the mere anticipation of it may\ncall up traces of the feeling that its presence has in the past produced\nand will produce again. But the feeling element in such a situation is a\nminor phase.\n\nFinally, unless we mean to insist that all the objects which one values,\nand whose values motivate one's conduct, are present in consciousness all\nthe time, we must recognize that neither desire nor feeling need be actual,\npresent, conscious facts, for the value to be effective. It may happen that\nthe object of value is one reserved for later use, and that it is not\nthreatened. In such a case we may accord its value intellectual\nrecognition, with desire and feeling both at a minimum, and that\nrecognition may serve as a term in a logical process which may lead to a\npractical conclusion of significance for action. Or, a value may form part\nof the unconscious \"presupposition\" of another value, which is consciously\nfelt at the moment. Mind is economical. Consciousness is not wasted, when\nthere is no function to be served by it. The essential thing about value is\nthat it motivate our conduct. If a satisfactory set of habits be built up\nabout a value, it may serve this purpose perfectly, without coming into\nconsciousness very often. But both desire and feeling must be potentially\nthere.\n\nA further element is necessary. Meinong insists upon an existential\njudgment, a judgment that the object valued is real, as essential to\nvalue.[133] Gabriel Tarde[134] makes a similar contention, holding that\nbelief, as well as desire, is involved in value, and that a diminution of\neither means a lessening of the value. Urban's opinion, which seems to me\nthe correct one, is that we need not and cannot go so far as this.[135] In\nmany cases such judgments are explicit and the value could not exist if the\nobject were explicitly judged unreal. But the mere unconscious assumption\nor presumption of the reality of the object, the mere \"reality-feeling,\" is\nsufficient,--as is obvious enough from the fact that we value the objects\nof our imagination. We shall often find, especially in the field of the\nsocial values to which we shall shortly turn, that Tarde's contention is\nhighly significant, particularly with reference to economic values, and\nthere, particularly in the matter of credit phenomena.[136] But explicit\naffirmation, even there, is not necessary, provided the question of reality\nis not raised at all. A \"reality-feeling,\" however, is essential. It should\nbe noticed, too, that this \"reality-feeling\" is an essentially emotional,\nrather than intellectual, fact. It is the emotional \"tang\" which\ndistinguishes _belief_ from mere ideation, and, if it be present, the\nideation and explicit judgment may be dispensed with.\n\nIn the value experience, as a conscious experience, and from the structural\nside, we may distinguish these phases: feeling, desire, and the\nreality-feeling, each present at least to a minimal degree. And yet it\nseems to me that we have in none of these, considered as phases _in\nconsciousness_, the most essential aspect of value. For our purposes the\nstructural aspect is not the most significant. The _functional_ aspect is\nof more importance. And the function of values is the function of\n_motivation_. That value is greatest which counts for most in motivating\nactivity. A well-established and unquestioned value, which in a concrete\nsituation has the _pas_ over all the others concerned, has little need to\nawaken the emotional intensity that other, less certain, values, whose\nposition in the scale is as yet undetermined, may require. A girl is\narranging a dinner-party. Whom shall she invite? Well, her chum of course\nmust be there. No question arises. There is no need for conscious emotion.\nOne or two others are settled upon almost as readily, and with as little\nemotional intensity. But now comes the problem _at the margin_! For eight\nor ten others are almost equally desirable, and there are only six places.\nThe lower values, compared with each other, must show themselves for what\nthey are, must come vividly into consciousness, must be felt and desired\n_in order that_ they may be _compared_,--not in order that they may be!\nFrom the functional side, then, the test of a value is its influence upon\nactivity. The \"common denominator,\" or, better, the abstract essence, of\nvalues, is, not feeling, nor desire, but power in motivation, and the\nexpression of this is of course the activity itself. The _functional_\nsignificance of the consciously realized desire and feeling aspects of\nvalues comes in when values are to be compared and weighed against one\nanother, and--a phase that was stressed in a preceding section, and will\nagain be adverted to shortly--when values are to be _shared_ consciously by\ndifferent individuals, when they are to be communicated and\ndiscussed,--that is to say, are to become objects of a group consciousness.\n\nThe significant thing about value, then, from this functional point of view\nis its dynamic quality. Value is a _force_, a motivating force. But now we\nmust revert to our original point of view,--the total situation. We have,\nby an analytical process, sundered subject and object, and then, within the\nsubject, have discriminated phases which psychological analysis reveals.\nBut in the course of activity, these elements are not discriminated. The\nvalue is, not in the subject, but in the _object_. The object is an\nembodiment of the force. It has power over us, over our actions. If the\nobject be a person, we are under his control--to the extent of the value.\nIf the object be a thing controlled by another person, we are subject to\nhis control--to the extent of the value. I do not wish to be understood as\npicking out this abstract phase of value as the whole of the story, or\nthinking that it is possible for value to exist in this abstract form.\nQualities are never separate. But I do contend that this is the essential\nand universal element in values, and that for an individual engaged in the\nactive conduct of life, this aspect is so significant that it may often be\nthe sole feature to engage his attention--because it is the sole feature\nthat _need_ engage his attention for the activity to go on in harmony with\nhis values. Here, then, is value \"stripped for racing\": _a quantity of\nmotivating force, power over the actions of a man, embodied in an object_.\nAll the other phases, in the course of the active experience itself, may be\nrelegated to the sphere of the implicit.\n\nA necessary limitation has been definitely indicated in what has gone\nbefore, but, to avoid misunderstanding, it may be well to indicate it more\nexplicitly. Not every form of impulse is to be counted a value. Every state\nof consciousness is motor, and tends to pass into action, even vague,\nundefined feelings, and half-conscious fancies. A value must have its\norganic presuppositions, as indicated before, and must be embodied in an\n_object_. The objects of value may be infinitely various: they may be\neconomic goods, they may be persons, they may be activities, they may be\nother values, they may be ideal objects, the creatures of our imaginations,\nthey may be social utopias or the Kingdom of Heaven. But there must be an\nobject, and the value is a quality of the object. But, functionally, the\nessential thing about this value is its dynamic character.\n\nValues are positive and negative.[137] A \"fearful sight\" repels us, has a\nnegative value, tends, to the extent of its strength, to make us withdraw.\nA bad act, an ugly woman, a cruel man,--here we have negative values.\nLittle need be said further with reference to this point. They alike are\nmotivating forces, the positive values attracting us, the negative values\nrepelling us.\n\nThe question of the relations among values we shall discuss rather briefly,\nnot that it is unimportant, but that much of it is familiar. Values may be\ncomplementary--as when several objects are all essential to one another if\nany of them are to be of use. Values may depend on other values, as the\nvalue of the means depends on the value of the end, which is its essential\n\"presupposition.\" Values may antagonize each other, and here two cases are\nto be distinguished, which differ so much in degree that the difference may\nbe regarded as qualitative. Values may be in their nature quite compatible,\nso that nothing in their character prevents the realization of both, but\nthere may not be _room_ enough for both, owing to the limitation of our\nresources,--as when the young lady of our illustration had only six seats\nat her dinner, and so was obliged to exclude some of her friends. But the\nvalues may be qualitatively incompatible. We may be unable to realize them\nboth because the one involves a different sort of _self_ from the self that\ncould realize the other. This is the typical case in ethical values, where\nthe presuppositions, especially in ethical crises, involve the whole\npersonality. In case of such conflicts, say between the value of Sabbath\nobservance and the allurement of Sunday baseball in the case of an\northodox \"fan,\" we may have, as before indicated, a mere mechanical haul\nand stress, in which one or the other wins by sheer force, to the very\nconsiderable discomfort of the uneasy victim. But the conflict may lead to\na reexamination of the presuppositions of each value, to a process of\nbringing each into more organic relation to the whole system of values. In\nthis process, other values may be called into play, may reenforce one or\nthe other of the two alternative values. And, after such a process, both\nvalues may be different from what they were. There may emerge some higher\nvalue which comprehends them both, or one may be reduced to a minor place,\nand the other may prevail. Values are no more permanent than any other\nphase of the mental life. Constant transformations, even though not always\nfundamental transformations, take place.\n\nThere is another case which is so familiar to economists that it need\nmerely be adverted to. Where objects of value are indivisible, we must take\none _or_ the other, if there be a conflict. But, in the case of\nqualitatively compatible objects, a different situation is the rule. We may\nhave _part_ of one, _and_ part of the other, and the question arises as to\n_how much_ of each. Here the Austrian analysis gives us an answer, which,\nwhen we generalize it, despite its antiquated psychology, may be accepted\nwith little modification.[138] The law of \"diminishing utility\" as we\nincrease the increments of each object, holds, and the problem is that of\na marginal equilibrium. The young lady of our illustration would certainly\nhave her chum if she have only one dinner, but if she have a number of\ndinners, the \"marginal utility\" of her chum's presence may sink so low that\nshe may find the presence of some one hitherto excluded more valuable at\nthe sixth or seventh dinner. And, indeed, our conception of qualitatively\nincompatible values must not be made too absolute. Human nature is\naccommodating and practical, and a little wickedness may be tolerated by a\ngood man for the sake of a value which would not induce him to tolerate\nmore. He may find the \"final increment\" of his Sabbath observance lower\nthan the \"initial increment\" of his Sunday baseball.\n\nTwo antagonistic values may cohere in the same object. Our _fearful_ sight\nmay also be an _interesting_ sight. And the initial increment of the\ninterest may outweigh the initial increment of the fear. But, as the\ninterest is partially satisfied, the fear may grow, until it finally\novercomes the interest, and we flee. Indeed, it may be laid down as the law\nof negative values that as the \"supply\" increases (_caeteris paribus_) the\nnegative value rises--the obverse of the law of \"diminishing (positive)\nutility\"--a doctrine recognized, in one of its aspects, in the economic\ndoctrine of \"increasing (psychic) costs.\"\n\nA further point is to be noted in the case (especially though not\nexclusively) of these qualitatively incompatible values, where a\nquantitative compromise of the sort described is worked out between them.\nThe personality itself may change, through a growing familiarity with the\nnegative value. It may cease to be a negative value, and may become\npositive. And if, as may happen, this change takes place quickly, in the\ncourse of a moral crisis, our process would be, first, a gradually\nincreasing negative value, as the \"supply\" of the objects of negative value\nis increased; next, a sudden shift from a high negative to a high positive\nvalue, as the personality changes, and we come to love what we have hated;\nthen a gradual sinking of the new positive value as the supply is still\nfurther increased.[139]\n\nThe case of the conflict between qualitatively incompatible values is the\ntypical case of the conflict between \"duty and pleasure,\" between\n\"obligation and inclination,\" etc. Certain values present themselves as\n\"categorical imperatives,\" as \"absolute universals,\" and refuse, or tend to\nrefuse, any compromise. Our analysis would tend to cast doubt on the\n\"absolute absoluteness\" of these values (taking absolute in the sense in\nwhich it has been used in the history of ethics, as distinguished from the\nsense in which I have earlier used it in this book[140]). The most\nsignificant thing about these \"absolute\" values from the standpoint of our\npresent inquiry, seems to be the resistance which they offer to the\n\"marginal process.\" They seem to insist that their objects be taken _in\ntoto_ or not at all. They tend to universalize themselves, attaching to the\nremotest possible increment of the \"supply\" quite as strongly as to the\ninitial increments. They refuse to place their objects in a scale of\n\"diminishing utility.\" Such values are those which have been so fortified\nby habit and education that they are vital parts of the personality, and\nthat any compromise where they are involved seems treason to the inmost\nself. If we wish to make precise analogies between our social and our\nindividual values, we shall find here the nearest approach in the\nindividual field to those fundamental legal values which determine the\ninmost character of the state, and which present themselves as \"practical\nabsolutes\" in the legal value system, e.g., democracy, or personal\nliberty--or fundamental sociological values, like the \"color line.\"\n\nIt will be noted, further, that our analysis draws no hard and fast lines\nbetween the different sorts of value, ethical, economic, esthetic,\nreligious, personal, etc., in the sphere of the individual's psychology.\nSuch lines do not exist. There are shadings, gradations, quantitative\ndifferences which become distinct enough to justify a classification of\nvalues. But values never become, on the functional side, so fundamentally\ndifferent in character that there can be no reduction of them to the\n\"common denominator\" of power in motivation. And especially is that a false\nabstraction which would separate the different sorts of value, ethical,\neconomic, etc., into separate, water-tight systems, and let each system\nhave its own equilibrium and its own interactions, uninfluenced by the\nother systems. The fact is, simply, that ethical and esthetic values may\nconstantly reinforce economic values, economic values reinforce ethical\nvalues, or economic and ethical or other values may oppose each other, and\nmarginal equilibria are constantly worked out between them. Or, better,\n_among_ them, for, while in the consciousness of the moment we may have\nonly _two_ opposing values in mind, and may have our equilibrium apparently\nbetween just two, yet in fact the whole system of values is constantly\ntending toward equilibrium, ethical, religious, economic, esthetic, all\nasserting themselves, and finding their place in the scale, and getting\ntheir \"margins\" fixed,--extensive margins and intensive margins. But this\nis so obviously merely a generalization of well-known economic laws, that\nfurther detail is needless. One point may be mentioned, however. _Price_ is\nto be generalized in the same way as value. Since this equilibrium among\nvalues holds, then any object of value may be used to _measure_ the value\nof any other. If the presence of her chum at the fifth dinner is in\nequilibrium with the presence of some hitherto excluded friend, for our\nyoung lady, then the one is the _price_ of the other, and measures her\nvalue. A material good which one takes in return for an immoral act is the\nprice of that act. And if, in a moment of fundamental ethical crisis, a man\nsurrenders a cherished purpose about which his whole life has been built,\nto the allurement of some dazzling temptation, it is much more than a\nmetaphor to speak of \"the price of a soul.\"[141]\n\nThe Austrian analysis was essentially faulty, then, not so much in its\nhedonistic psychology--for it can be freed from that[142]--as in its\nabstraction of the economic from other aspects of the individual's value\nsystem. Equilibria among economic values will not explain even the\nindividual's economic behavior--do not by any means constitute a\nself-complete system. This abstraction has been noted before.[143] The\nother abstraction of the Austrians, the abstraction of the individual from\nhis vital, organic connection with the social whole, we shall treat more\nfully later.\n\nSo far, we have kept pretty strictly within the field of \"individual\npsychology\" and \"individual values.\" But we shall find, when we come to the\nfield of the social values, that essentially the same laws hold. On the\n_functional_ side, the analogy between the individual mind and the social\nmind is a very close one, and the correspondences on the _structural_ side\nare numerous also. While we shall not try to find analogies in the social\nfield for all these laws of individual value, it is not because of any\ndifficulty that the problem presents, but rather, because it is unnecessary\nfor the vindication of our thesis to do so.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[119] See the discussion of Simmel's contention, _supra_, p. 19, n.\n\n[120] Ehrenfels, C., _System der Werttheorie_, Leipzig, 1897; Kreibig, J.\nC., _Psychologische Grundlegung eines Systems der Werttheorie_, Vienna,\n1902; Kallen, H. M., \"Dr. Montague and the Pragmatic Notion of Value,\"\n_Jour. of Philosophy_, etc., Sept., 1909; Montague, W. P., \"The True, the\nGood and the Beautiful, from a Pragmatic Standpoint,\" _Ibid._, April 29,\n1909; Meinong, A., _Psychologisch-ethische Untersuchungen zur Werttheorie_,\nGraz, 1894; Paulsen, Friedrich, _Introduction to Philosophy_, and _System\nof Ethics_; Stuart, H. W., \"The Hedonistic Interpretation of Subjective\nValue,\" _Jour. of Pol. Econ._, vol. IV, \"Valuation as a Logical Process,\"\nin Dewey's _Studies in Logical Theory_, Chicago, 1903; Shaw, C. C., \"The\nTheory of Value, and its Place in the History of Ethics,\" _International\nJour. of Ethics_, vol. XI; Slater, T., \"Value in Moral Theology and\nPolitical Economy,\" _Irish Eccles. Rec._, ser. 4, vol. X, Dublin, 1901;\nTufts, J. H., \"Ethical Value,\" _Jour. of Philosophy_, etc., vol. XIX;\nBaldwin's _Dictionary of Philosophy_, etc., _s. v._ \"Worth\" (article by W.\nM. Urban); Simmel, G., _Philosophie des Geldes_, Leipzig, 1900, \"A Chapter\nin the Philosophy of Value,\" _Amer. Jour. of Sociology_, vol. V; Urban, W.\nM., _Valuation_, London, 1909. These titles are representative of an\nextensive literature on the subject.\n\n[121] _Supra_, p. 19, n.\n\n[122] I am indebted to Professor John Dewey for many valuable suggestions\nand criticisms in connection with this part of my study. My more general\nobligations to him will be manifest to any one who is familiar with his\nepoch-marking point of view. Economic, sociological and political\nphilosophy have, in my judgment, more to learn from him than from any other\ncontemporary philosopher.\n\n[123] Pp. 141-42.\n\n[124] _Cf._ Gabriel Tarde, _Psychologie Economique_, vol. I, p. 63, and\nUrban, _Valuation_, p. 78.\n\n[125] Urban, _op. cit._, p. 32.\n\n[126] Paulsen, Friedrich, _Ethics_, _passim_.\n\n[127] _System der Werttheorie_, vol. I, chap. I.\n\n[128] _Op. cit._, p. 311.\n\n[129] _Cf._ Urban, _op. cit._, p. 36; Meinong, _op. cit._, pp. 15-16.\n\n[130] Meinong, _op. cit._, pt. I, chap. I; Urban, _op. cit._, pp. 38-39.\n\n[131] _Op. cit._, pp. 14-16, and following chapter.\n\n[132] Urban, _op. cit._, p. 39.\n\n[133] _Psychologisch-ethische Untersuchungen zur Werttheorie_, Graz, 1894,\npt. I, chap. I, esp. p. 21.\n\n[134] \"La psychologie en economie politique,\" _Revue Philosophique_, vol.\nXII, pp. 337-38.\n\n[135] _Op. cit._, pp. 41 _et seq._\n\n[136] See chapter XVI, _infra_.\n\n[137] The German, with its facility in compounding, offers a convenient\nnomenclature here: _Wert_ and _Unwert_. _Cf._ Ehrenfels, _op. cit._, for a\nbrief discussion of negative values (pp. 53-54).\n\n[138] For this generalization, see Urban, _op. cit._, chap. VI; Ehrenfels,\n_op. cit._, vol. II, chap. III, esp. p. 86.\n\n[139] An analogue in the field of social values is readily suggested. A new\nheresy starts, opposed by the dominant element in the social will, _i.e._,\nhaving a negative value for the majority. As the heresy increases, the\nnegative value rises till, in a crucial point, the tide turns, and the\nheretics become the dominant element in the society. Then--since their\nposition is far from certain--new recruits to the heresy have a high\npositive value, but, as the heresy still further spreads, additional\nrecruits count for less and less.\n\n[140] _Cf._ Urban, _op. cit._, _passim_; Ehrenfels, _op. cit._, vol. I, pp.\n43 _et seq._; Mackenzie, criticism of Ehrenfels and Meinong in _Mind_,\nOct., 1899. _Cf._ also, Wicksteed, _The Common Sense of Political Economy_,\nLondon, 1910, pp. 402 _et seq._\n\n[141] The generalization of the idea of price, while not original with\nWicksteed, is interestingly developed by him in chaps. I and II of his\n_Common Sense of Political Economy_, London, 1910.\n\n[142] Davenport, _op. cit._, pp. 303-11, gives a good summary of economic\ndiscussions of hedonism. His own view is that the Austrians are not\nessentially bound up with hedonism.\n\n[143] _Supra_, chaps. VI and VII.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nRECAPITULATION. THE SOCIAL VALUES. FUNCTIONS OF THE VALUE CONCEPT IN\nECONOMICS\n\n\nOur conclusions reached in previous chapters, from the standpoint of\neconomic theory, and from the standpoint of sociological theory, alike\nforbid us to stop with the results so far obtained as to the nature of\nvalue. From the standpoint of social theory, we are unable to consider the\nindividual values discussed in the last chapter as completely accounted for\non the psychical side by what goes on in the individual mind: every\nindividual mind is a part of a larger whole; every thing in the individual\nmind has been influenced by processes in the minds of others; every process\nin the individual mind influences, directly or indirectly, processes in the\nminds of others. There is a social mind. And the values in the mind of an\nindividual constitute no self-complete and independent system, either in\ntheir origin, in their interactions, or in their consequences for action.\nIn our psychological phrase, their \"presuppositions\" include elements in\nthe minds of other men, and they themselves constitute part of the\n\"presuppositions\" of the values in the minds of other men. Finally, there\nare values which correspond to the values of no individual mind, great\nsocial values, whose presuppositions are tremendously complex, including\nindividual values in the minds of many men, as well as other factors which\nwe shall have to analyze in considerable detail, great social values whose\nmotivating power directs the activities of nations, of great industries, of\nliterary and artistic \"schools,\" of churches and other social\norganizations, as well as the daily lives of every man and woman--impelling\nthem in paths which no individual man foresaw or purposed. In Urban's\nphrase,--\n\n     between the subjectively desired and the objectively\n     desirable in ethics, between subjective utility and\n     sacrifice and objective value and price in economic\n     reckoning, between the subjectively effective and the\n     objectively beautiful in art, there is a difference for\n     feeling so potent that in naive and unreflective\n     experience the feelings with such objectivity of\n     reference are spoken of as predicates of the objects\n     themselves.[144]\n\nAnd our theory carries us even further than Professor Urban cares to go\nhere. Naive and unreflecting experience is perfectly justified in treating\nthese objective values as qualities of the objects themselves. To the\nindividual man, an objective value, say the value of an economic good, _is_\nas a rule, a quality almost wholly independent of his personal subjective\nfeelings or point of view. The average man, \"by taking thought,\" can no\nmore affect the value of wheat or corn or other big staple than he can \"add\na cubit to his stature.\" For the great mass of men, and the great mass of\ncommodities, this holds true. The individual finds the world of economic\nvalues a part of the brute universe, like the force of gravity, or the\nweather, or the law against murder--less invariable than the force of\ngravity, and less variable, as a rule, than the weather--to which he must\nadapt his individual economy. He is not wholly impotent to change this\nworld of economic values, nor is he wholly without influence on the balance\nof cosmic forces. And, if possessed of enough social _power_ (which we\nshall find to constitute the essence of these social values) he may\nsubstantially modify the action of the law against murder, or the values of\nthose commodities about which the rich may be capricious; or even, if\nintelligent in the use of his power, he may undertake a successful \"bull\"\ncampaign, and force up the value of wheat or cotton. But even in such\ncases, he deals with objective facts,--which often, in the midst of a bull\ncampaign, behave in a most surprising and disconcerting manner![145] The\nexistence of external constraining and directive forces are matters of\nevery day experience. Laws, moral values, social constraints of a thousand\nsubtle and obvious kinds, are facts so well known that education has made\nit its central task to teach the individual how to adjust himself to them.\nThey have been described and elaborated in innumerable books.[146] _That_\nthey exist is certain. Their origin, nature and function we shall study in\nwhat is to follow.\n\nWe were led to a similar conclusion by the analysis of the necessities of\neconomic theory. Economic value as a quality, present in a good in\ndefinite, quantitative degree, regardless of the idiosyncrasy of the\nparticular holder of the good, we found a necessity of economic thought.\nThe argument may be briefly recapitulated, and a few points added. If goods\nare to be added together and a sum of wealth obtained, there must be a\nhomogeneous element in them by virtue of which the addition can be made. We\ndo not add a crop of wheat and a lead-pencil,[147] and a gold watch, and\ntwenty dollars and a theatre ticket, on the basis of length or weight or\nother physical quality. Only by picking out the homogeneous quality, value,\ncan we add them. We cannot compare two economic goods, and put them into a\nratio, except on the basis of such a homogeneous quality. We have no terms\nfor our ratios apart from quantities of value, and yet our ratios must have\nterms. We find economists speaking of value as the essential characteristic\nor quality of wealth. We find theorists speaking of money as a \"measure of\nvalues\"--a conception only possible if value be a quality of the sort of\nwhich we speak, present both in the money measure and in the thing measured\nin definite quantitative degrees. A point or two may be added. We find\neconomists, notably the Austrians, undertaking the problem of\n\"Imputation,\" breaking up the value of a consumption good into different\nparts, one part being assigned to the labor immediately concerned in its\nproduction, and other parts of that value to goods of the next\n\"rank\"--owned by people different from those who consume the good--and this\nvalue further subdivided among goods of remoter ranks,--the whole process\npossible only if the original value be an objective quantity of the sort\ndescribed. We find a differential portion of a crop of wheat compared with\nthe land which produced it, and spoken of as a percentage of the land,\nwhich is true only if the _value_ of each be considered--and indeed is\nmeaningless, else. Or, we find merchants reckoning their gains in the form\nof money at the end of the year, as a certain percentage of their\ncapital--which has consisted throughout the year of goods of various sorts.\nEverywhere in the economic analysis this conception of value has been\nessential for the validity of the analysis, and this is especially true\nwhen we come to the ultimate problems of monetary theory. We may ignore,\nsometimes, the element of value when dealing with non-monetary problems, in\nterms of quantities of money, simply because it is not necessary to refer\nto fundamental principles explicitly all the time. But when we come to the\nproblem of money itself, we must make use of the value concept, and the\nvalue concept is implicit in the whole procedure.\n\nFurther, the value concept has been called upon to explain the motivation\nof the economic activity of society, and value has been conceived of as a\nmotivating force.[148] Schaeffle, especially, has stressed this phase of\nthe matter in his criticism of the socialistic theories of value. \"Utility\nvalue,\" he holds, does direct industry into proper channels, but a value\nbased on labor-time would get supply and needs into a hopeless\ndiscrepancy.[149]\n\nNo ratio \"between objective articles\" will serve these functions which the\neconomists have put upon the value concept. Value as a purely individual\nphenomenon, varying from man to man, will in no way[150] serve these\npurposes of the economists. Value as a mere brute quantity of physical\nobjects given in exchange for other physical objects, could in no way serve\nthese purposes. Value must be an objective quality, a _power_, embodied in\nthe object, independent of the individual judgment or desire. A strong\nfeeling that this is so is manifested in the term which the English School\nso often uses as the equivalent of value, namely, \"purchasing\npower\"[151]--a term which Boehm-Bawerk approves.[152] The notion of\nrelativity which has, historically, been bound up with this term, we have\ncriticized in chapter II, and it is not necessary to repeat the argument\nhere. But the other aspect of it, its recognition of the dynamic character\nof value, and of the quantitative character of value, even though often\nconfusedly and vaguely, seems very much to strengthen the case for the\nthesis I am maintaining.[153]\n\nThe effort of the Austrians, and of other schools of economic theory, to\nexplain and justify this notion of value as an objective quantity, has\nalready been considered, and our conclusion has been that, through a too\nnarrow delimitation of their determinants, they have been led into\ncircular reasoning. A further criticism is now possible, in the light of\nour sociological and psychological conclusions: the picking out of _any_\nabstract elements, however numerous, with the effort, by a synthesis, to\ncombine them into a concrete social quantity, must fail. In the process of\nabstraction we leave out vital elements of the concrete social situation;\nhow shall we expect these vital elements left out to reappear when we put\nthe abstract elements into a synthesis? They cannot, if the synthesis be\nlogically made. And it is precisely because Professor Davenport is so\naccurate in his logic that he fails to get a social quantity out of the\nabstract elements of subjective utility, etc. But the majority of\neconomists, less careful in their formal logic, but more impressed by the\nfacts of social life and by the exigencies of getting a working set of\nconcepts, have assumed and used the quantitative concept, with satisfactory\nresults so far as practical problems are concerned, but without fundamental\ntheoretical consistency. The elements which the abstract theories suppress\npersist, under the guise of economic value itself, in the facts of life,\nand take their vengeance on the theory by forcing it into a circle. Our\nproblem, then, is not to find out certain elements out of which to\nconstruct social value by a synthesis. The proper procedure will be the\nreverse of that: to take social value as we find it--i.e., as it\n_functions_ in economic life,--and then to analyze it, picking out certain\nprominent and significant phases, or moments, in it, which, taken\nabstractly, are not the whole story, but which furnish the criteria of\nsocial value, and control over which is significant for the purpose of\ncontrolling social values.\n\nIn subsequent chapters, we shall, carrying out this plan, try to put\nconcrete meaning into our abstract formulation of the problem.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[144] _Op. cit._, p. 17.\n\n[145] _Cf._ Royce, J., _The World and the Individual_, New York, 1901, vol.\nI, pp. 209-10, and 225.\n\n[146] I may refer here particularly to Durkheim, _De la division du travail\nsocial_, Paris, 1893. In giving this reference, of course, I do not commit\nmyself to the \"mediaeval realism\" of which Durkheim has been, perhaps\njustly, accused. _Cf._, also, Professor Ross's admirable _Social Control_.\n\n[147] _Cf._ Ely, _Outlines of Economics_, 1908 ed., pp. 99-100, and Tarde,\n_Psychologie Economique_, vol. I, p. 85, n. See _supra_, chap. II.\n\n[148] _Cf._ Wieser, _Natural Value_, pp. 65, 162-63, 210-12, and 36; Flux,\n_Economic Principles_, chap. II.\n\n[149] _Quintessence of Socialism_, London, 1898, pp. 55-59, 91 _et seq._,\n123-24.\n\n[150] I take pleasure in availing myself of the privilege which Professor\nW. A. Scott, of the University of Wisconsin, accords me, of quoting him to\nthe effect that \"such a conception of value [a value concept which makes\nthe value of a commodity a quantity, socially valid, regardless of the\nindividual holder of the coin or the commodity, and regardless of the\nparticular exchange ratio into which the value quantity enters as a term]\nis absolutely essential to the working-out of economic problems.\" Professor\nScott has been driven to this conclusion in the course of his studies in\nthe theory of money. Dean Kinley expresses a somewhat similar view in his\n_Money_, p. 62. It is, of course, in the theory of money that the need for\nsuch a concept makes itself most acutely felt. But the same view is\nexpressed by Professor T. S. Adams, from the standpoint of the\nstatistician. See his article, \"Index Numbers and the Standard of Value,\"\n_Jour. of Pol. Econ._, vol. X, 1901-02, pp. 11 and 18-19.\n\n[151] Even Professor H. J. Davenport finds a quantitative value concept\nnecessary in places. For example, on page 573 of his _Value and\nDistribution_, he speaks of capital, considered as a cost concept, as\nstanding \"for the total invested fund of value, inclusive of all\ninstrumental values, and of all the general purchasing power devoted to the\ngain-seeking enterprise.\" It might be unkind to remind him of his\ndefinition of value on page 569, and ask him what a \"fund\" of \"ratio of\nexchange\" might mean! And the notion of value as a quantity, instead of a\nratio, is involved, as indicated in the text, in the term, \"purchasing\npower,\" which he also uses in the passage quoted. This term, \"purchasing\npower,\" as apparently a substitute for value, Professor Davenport uses in\nseveral instances, where the ratio notion clearly will not work: on page\n561, \"distribution of purchasing power,\" page 562, \"redistribution of\npurchasing power,\" and page 571. I say \"apparently,\" for I do not think\nProfessor Davenport anywhere in the volume gives a formal definition of\n\"purchasing power.\"\n\n[152] \"Grundzuege,\" etc., Conrad's _Jahrbuecher_, 1886, pp. 5 and 478, n.\n\n[153] This line of argument, drawn from the usage of the economists in the\ntreatment of other terms, and in the handling of problems, might be almost\nindefinitely expanded. Almost everybody has a quantitative value concept in\nmind when he is reasoning about practical problems. The trouble comes only\nwhen a value theory has to be constructed! _Cf._ the discussion of\nproduction as the \"creation of utilities,\" _infra_ chap. XVIII.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nSOCIAL VALUE: THE THEORIES OF URBAN AND TARDE\n\n\nOur point of view will be more adequately defined if we consider briefly\nthe theories of social value, set forth from the angle of a general (as\nopposed to a specifically economic) conception of value, by Professor W. M.\nUrban and Gabriel Tarde. These theories contain some elements which we\nshall need, and our criticism of them will bring into clearer light the\nneed for the distinctive point of view of this book.\n\nProfessor Urban's conception as to the nature of value, in its individual\nmanifestation, has been already indicated, in part, in chapter X. Stressing\nthe organic nature of the relations of a value to other phases of the\nmental life, insisting on a recognition of the \"presuppositions\" of value,\nand recognizing that both feeling and desire (or desire-disposition) are\ninvolved in value--our cursory account cannot begin to do justice to the\nsubtlety and exhaustiveness of his masterly analysis--he still insists on\nfinding the fundamental nature of value in a phase of its _structure_\n(rather than in its function), namely, in the _feeling_. From this part of\nhis doctrine we have found it necessary to differ. When he comes to the\nproblem of social value, he carries over the same conception of value, and\nhe finds that social values appear when many individuals, through\n\"sympathetic participation,\" _feel_ the same value. With our conclusion\n(chapter VIII) that we can share each other's emotional life he is in\nthorough accord. His argument in this connection is admirable.[154] His\ninterest is primarily in moral social values, and he attempts no detailed\ntreatment of economic social values, seeming to hold that the Austrian\ntreatment of objective value is adequate.[155] Both moral and economic\nvalues are \"objective and social.\"[156]\n\n     Collective desire and feeling, when it has acquired\n     this \"common meaning,\" when the object of desire and\n     feeling is consciously held in common, we may describe\n     as Social Synergy; and the objective, over-individual\n     values may be described as the resultants of social\n     synergies. The introduction of this term has for its\n     purpose the clearest possible distinction between\n     social forces as conscious and as subconscious. It is\n     with the former that we are here concerned.[157]\n\nConscious collective feeling is thus insisted upon as an essential in\nsocial values, and Professor Urban insists[158] that the value ceases to be\na value as this conscious feeling wanes--even though conceding[159] that it\nretains the power of influencing the _felt_ values, after it has passed\ninto the realm of \"things taken for granted.\"\n\nBut this stressing of the conscious element of feeling--which as I have\npreviously shown is a variable element even within the individual\npsychology, and has no necessary quantitative relation to the functional\nsignificance, the amount of _motivating power_, of the value--makes it\nreally impossible for him to resolve the question of how the _strength_ of\na social value is to be determined. He does, indeed, undertake something of\nthe sort[160] (he is speaking of ethical values), making the quantity of\nvalue depend on \"supply and demand,\" the supply depending on the number of\npeople willing to supply a given moral act, and the intensity of their\nwillingness to do it--extension and intention both being recognized. And\ndemand is similarly determined. The thing seems to be nothing more than an\narithmetical sum of intensities of individual feelings, or, most justly,\nindividual values. But this leaves us no wiser than before as to the social\n_weight_, the social _validity_, of these social values. An infinite deal\nwould depend, both in the case of supply and demand, on _who_ the\nindividuals are. A demand for a given act from a poor group of fanatics,\nhowever intense, might count for little, while such a demand coming from a\ngroup with great prestige, with great social _power_, might have a very\ngreat significance. If we are trying to get an objective quantity of social\nvalue, which shall have a definite weight in determining social action--the\nfunction of social values--we are as poorly off as we were with the\nAustrian analysis which, in order to get an objective quantity of economic\nvalue out of individual \"marginal utilities,\" has to assume value in the\nbackground as the validating force behind these individual elements. The\nerror here, as there, comes from an abstraction, from centring attention\nupon the conspicuous conscious elements. And it comes in stressing the\nstructure, the content, of social values, to the exclusion of their\nfunctional _power_. Here is our real problem, if we would determine the\nsocial validity of values. This lurking element of social power remains an\nunexplained residuum.\n\nThis residuum of _power_, backing up the conscious psychological factors,\ngets explicit recognition, even though no real explanation, at the hands of\nGabriel Tarde,[161] to whose theory of social value we now turn. I quote\nchiefly from his _Psychologie Economique_, and the numerals which follow\nrefer to pages in volume I. (63-64) Value understood in its largest sense,\ntakes in the whole of social science. It is a quality which we attribute to\nthings, like color,[162] but which, like color, exists only in\nourselves.... It consists in the accord of the collective judgments ... as\nto the capacity of objects to be more or less, and by a greater or less\nnumber of persons, believed, desired, or admired. This quality is thus of\nthat peculiar species of qualities which present numerical degrees, and\nmount or descend a scale without essentially changing their nature, and\nhence merit the name of quantities.\n\nThere are three great categories of value: \"_valeur-verite_,\"\n\"_valeur-utilite_,\" and \"_valeur-beaute_.\" To ideas, to goods (in a generic\nsense of the term), and to things considered as sources \"_de voluptes\ncollectives_,\" we attribute a truth, a utility, a beauty, greater or less.\nQuite as much as utility, beauty and truth are children of the opinion of\nthe mass, in accord, or at war, with the reason of an _elite_ which\ninfluences it.\n\n(It may be noted in passing that Tarde's \"trinitarian\" conception of value\nis not as artificial as it seems. It is simply a method of classification,\nand there are many subdivisions under each head. Economic value, e.g., is a\nsubspecies within the group of utility values--\"goods\" include\n\"_pouvoirs_,\" \"_droits_,\" \"_merites_,\" and \"_richesses_\" (66). Our own\nconception is, of course, that values are thoroughly \"pluralistic\" as to\ntheir structure, and are \"monistic\" in their function.)\n\n(64) The greater or less truth of a thing signifies three things diversely\ncombined: the greater or smaller number, the greater or less social\nimportance (\"_poids_,\" \"_consideration_,\" \"_competence_,\" \"_reconnue_\") of\nthe people who believe it, and the greater or less intensity of their\nbelief in it. The greater or less utility of an object expresses the\ngreater or less number of people who desire it in a given society at a\ngiven time, the greater or less social \"_poids_\" (\"_ici poids veut dire\npouvoir et droit_\") of the persons who desire it, and the greater or less\nintensity of their desire for it. And so with beauty.\n\nHere is, then, an explicit recognition of the element of the social\n_weight_ of those who create a social value, as a factor coordinate with\ntheir number and the intensity of their desires, etc. Toward resolving it,\nhowever, Tarde makes no real contribution. If enough be read into the\nparenthetical expressions given above, following the word \"_poids_\" in each\ncase, they would be found to harmonize with the theory of the writer,\nshortly to be set forth. As it happens, however, Tarde attempts to resolve\nthis factor of the social weight of a participant in a social value, in an\nanalogous case, and gives us a different sort of explanation. He is seeking\na \"_glorio metre_,\" or measure of glory--for glory is a social value too.\nHe finds that to determine a man's glory we must take account of two\nthings: one his notoriety, and the other, the admiration in which he is\nheld (71-72). The first is simple: we will count the number who watch him\nand talk about what he does. The second is harder, for we must not merely\ncount the number who admire him, but also determine the importance of each\nas an admirer. But how get at this? Tarde suggests that the study of the\ncephalic index will throw light upon the problem--no satisfactory solution,\nI think!--but says that anyhow the problem is practically solved every day\nin university and administrative examinations.\n\nApart from the fact that conscious desire (or conscious belief, etc.),\nrather than functional power, is made the basis of Tarde's social value,\nand apart from the failure to give any real account of the origin of this\n\"social weight,\" of the individuals in the group which creates the social\nvalue, there is a further defect in Tarde's analysis which cannot be\nstrongly objected to. It is his effort to treat organic processes as if\nthey were an arithmetical sum of elements. A sum of abstractions will not\ngive you a concrete reality. A man's social weight is not a thing\nindependent of relations, a thing which can be thrown now here and now\nthere with the same results in each case. And two men, each with a definite\nsocial weight, do not have precisely twice that social weight when they\ncombine with each other. Two great leaders of opposing, evenly balanced\npolitical parties, combining their influence, may secure wonderful results,\nleading both parties to agree on a programme, and carrying it through. Two\nequally great leaders, but both within the same party, may be unable to\naccomplish anything by combining their efforts. And it may happen that two\nmen, each with great weight in his own sphere, would be so incongruous if\nthey tried to cooperate, that their joint weight would be less than the\nweight of either alone. It is not a matter of arithmetical addition. Social\npower can be used in certain ways, and in certain organic connections. If\nwe care to use a mechanical phrase, the effort to use it out of organic\nconnections is apt to result in so much \"friction\" that much of the power\nis lost.\n\nThe objection to the insistence on the amount of conscious desire or\nfeeling as a criterion of the amount of value holds for social values\nquite as much as for individual values. The social value of the gold\nstandard, judging by the amount of desire and feeling involved, by the\ndegree to which it was a factor in consciousness, was vastly greater during\nthe campaign of 1896, while its validity was still in question, than it was\nafter it had been validated, and made a really effective fact. Social value\ndepends, not on conscious intensity, but on motivating power. The social\nconsciousness, as the individual consciousness, is economical. And the need\nfor conscious feeling, for conscious desire, in connection with social, as\nwith individual, values, arises when values must be compared, when they are\nin question, when they must show themselves for what they are, that they\nmay be brought into equilibrium with antagonistic values. And the amount of\nconsciousness will not be greater than the need for it--and, alas, is\nrarely as great as the need! When a value becomes accepted, when its place\nis secure, when the equilibrium is established, conscious feeling and\ndesire with reference to it tend to pass away, and peace comes.\n\nTarde seems to recognize this, indeed, when he says (72, n.):--\n\n     Of nobility, as of glory, it is proper to remark that\n     it is a force, a means of action, for him who possesses\n     it, but that it is a faith, a peace, for the people who\n     accept it, and who, in believing in it, create it.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[154] _Op. cit._, chap. VIII, esp. p. 243.\n\n[155] _Ibid._, p. 319.\n\n[156] _Ibid._, p. 312.\n\n[157] _Ibid._, p. 318.\n\n[158] _Ibid._, pp. 333-36.\n\n[159] _Ibid._, p. 335.\n\n[160] _Op. cit._, pp. 329-30.\n\n[161] \"La croyance et le desir: possibilite de leur mesure,\" _Rev.\nphilosophique_, vol. X (1880), pp. 150, 264. \"La psychologie en economie\npolitique,\" _Ibid._, vol. XII (1881), pp. 232, 401. \"Les deux sens de la\nvaleur,\" _Rev. d'economie politique_, 1888, pp. 526, 561. \"L'idee de\nvaleur,\" _Rev. politique et litteraire (Rev. Bleue)_, vol. XVI, 1901.\n_Psychologie Economique_, Paris, 1902.\n\n[162] _Cf._ Conrad, _Grundriss zum Studium der politischen Oekonomie_,\nJena, 1902, Erster Teil, p. 10.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nECONOMIC SOCIAL VALUE\n\n\nHow are we to get out of our circle:[163] The value of a good, A, depends,\nin part, upon the value embodied in the goods, B, C, and D, possessed by\nthe persons for whom good A has \"utility,\" and whose \"effective demand\" is\na _sine qua non_ of A's value? The most convenient point of departure seems\nto be the simple situation which Wieser has assumed in his _Natural\nValue_.[164] Here the \"artificial\" complications due to private property\nand to the difference between rich and poor are gone, and only \"marginal\nutility\" is left as a regulator of values. But what about value in a\nsituation where there are differences in \"purchasing power\"? How assimilate\nthe one situation to the other?\n\nA temporal _regressus_, back to the first piece of wealth, which, we might\nassume, depended for its value solely upon the facts of utility and\nscarcity, and the existence of which furnished the first \"purchasing power\"\nthat upset the order of \"natural value,\" might be interesting, but\ncertainly would not be convincing. In the first place, there is no unbroken\nsequence of uninterrupted economic causation from that far away\nhypothetical day to the present, in the course of which that original\nquantity of value has exerted its influence. The present situation does not\ndiffer from Wieser's situation simply in the fact that some, more provident\nthan others, have saved where others have consumed, have been industrious\nwhere others have been idle, and so have accumulated a surplus of value,\nwhich, used to back their desires, makes the wants of the industrious and\nprovident count for more than the wants of others. And even if these were\nthe only differences, it is to be noted that private property has somehow\ncrept in in the interval, for Wieser's was a communistic society. And\nfurther, an emotion felt ten thousand years ago could scarcely have any\nvery direct or certain quantitative connection with value in the market\nto-day. Even if there had been no \"disturbing factors\" of a non-economic\nsort, the process of \"economic causation\" could not have carried a value so\nfar. It is the living emotion that counts! Values depend every moment upon\nthe force of live minds, and need to be constantly renewed. And there would\nhave been, of course, many \"non-economic\" disturbances, wars and robberies,\nfrauds and benevolences, political and religious changes--a host of\nhistorical occurrences affecting the weight of different elements in\nsociety in a way that, by historical methods, it is impossible to treat\nquantitatively.[165]\n\nWhat is called for is, not a _temporal regressus_, which, starting with an\nhypothesis, picks up abstractions by the way, and tries to synthesize them\ninto a concrete reality of to-day, but rather a _logical analysis_ of\nexisting psychic forces, which shall abstract from the concrete social\nsituation the phases that are most significant. This method will not give\nus the whole story either. Value will not be completely explained by the\nphases we pick out. But then, we shall be aware of the fact and we shall\nknow that the other phases are there, ready to be picked out as they are\nneeded, for further refinement of the theory, as new problems call for\nfurther refinement. And, indeed, we shall include them in our theory, under\na lump name, namely, the rest of the \"presuppositions\" of value.\n\nOur reason for choosing a logical analysis of existing psychic forces\ninstead of a temporal _regressus_--instead, even, of an accurate historical\nstudy of the past--is a twofold one: first, we wish to coordinate the new\nfactors we are to emphasize with factors already recognized, and to emerge\nwith a value concept which shall serve the economists in the accustomed\nway--it is illogical to mix a logical analysis with a temporal _regressus_.\nBut, more fundamental than this logical point, is this: the forces which\nhave historically _begot_ a social situation are not, necessarily, the\nforces which _sustain_ it. The rule doubtless is that new institutions have\nto win their way against an opposition which grows simply out of the fact\nthat we are, through mental inertia, wedded to what is old and familiar. We\nresist the new _as_ the new. Even those who are most disposed to innovate\nare still conservative, with reference to propaganda that they themselves\nare not concerned with. The great mass of activities of all men, even the\nmost progressive, are rooted in habit, and resist change. When, however, a\nnew value has won its way, has become familiar and established, the very\nforces which once opposed it become its surest support. Or, waiving this\nunreflecting inertia of society, as things become actualized they are seen\nin new relations. What, prior to experiment, we thought might harm us, we\nfind beneficial after it has been tried, and so support it--or the reverse\nmay be true. The psychic forces maintaining and controlling a social\nsituation, therefore, are not necessarily the ones which historically\nbrought it into being.[166]\n\nWe turn, therefore, to a logical analysis of existing social psychic forces\nfor our explanation of social economic value, and for the explanation of\nthe motivation of the economic activity of society. It will still pay us,\nhowever, to halt for a moment in Wieser's hypothetical \"natural\" community,\nfor we shall find there that many of the concrete complexities which he\nsought to eliminate have really persisted in slight disguise. Really there\nis no such simplicity as Wieser supposes. The \"natural\" society has,\nindeed, no private property, or differences between rich and poor, but it\nhas, none the less, _legal_ and _ethical_ standards of _distribution_,\nwhich are just as efficient in the determination of economic values as are\nthe results of our present system of distribution. The term, \"natural,\" has\nmisled Wieser, when it leads him to say that marginal utility alone will\nrule. For \"natural\" here means, not \"simple,\" but \"ethically ideal.\" The\nword has--as Wieser and others who have used it often fail to see--a\npositive connotation of its own: a definite set of legal and ethical values\nare bound up in it in this case. That such a society should exist, and that\nin it \"marginal utility\" should be the only _variable_ affecting value\n(apart from the limitations of physical nature), implies the legal rule of\nequality in distribution, and such a set of moral values actually ruling\nthe behavior of the people as to make this legal rule effective,--or else\nthe most extraordinary activity on the part of the government to maintain\nthe rule. Wieser himself fails to see this, for he concedes that the\n\"moral\" principle of distribution in such a society would recognize the\nsuperior merits of the leaders who furnish ideas and direction, as\nentitling them to a higher reward than the merely mechanical laborers.[167]\nBut this, it is evident, would give them an excess of that same vexatious\n\"purchasing power\"[168]--whether embodied in gold or commodities or\nlabor-checks matters little--and so would destroy the efficiency of the\nprinciple of \"marginal utility\" as the ruler of values.\n\nAs phases in the \"presuppositions\" of economic value, then, coordinate with\n\"marginal utility,\" our theory puts the legal and ethical values concerned\nwith distribution, which rule in a community at a given time. Reinforcing\nand validating the values of _goods_ are the social values of _men_.\nPresident F. A. Walker[169] defines value as \"the power an article confers\nupon its possessor _irrespective of legal authority or personal\nsentiments_, of commanding, in exchange for itself, the labor, or the\nproducts of the labor, of others.\" [Italics are mine.] In our view, this\ndefinition is precisely wrong. A change in laws or in morals respecting the\nsocial ranking of men, respecting property rights, will at once affect\neconomic values. Earlier economists often wrote as if distribution were\nprimarily a physically determined matter, and so we got from them an \"Iron\nLaw of Wages,\" etc. But it is pertinent to quote from one who, though in\nmany ways allied to the older school, and in value theory avowedly their\nfollower, still stands as a bridge between the theories I am criticizing\nand my own. John Stuart Mill[170] says:--\n\n     The laws and conditions of the production of wealth,\n     partake of the character of physical truths. There is\n     nothing optional or arbitrary in them.... It is not so\n     with the Distribution of Wealth. That is a matter of\n     human institution solely. The things once there,\n     mankind, individually or collectively, can do with them\n     as they like. They can place them at the disposal of\n     whomsoever they please, and on whatever terms. Further,\n     in the social state, in every state except total\n     solitude, any disposal whatever of them can only take\n     place by the consent of society, or rather of those who\n     dispose of its active force. Even what a person has\n     produced by his individual toil, unaided by any one, he\n     cannot keep, unless by the permission of society. Not\n     only can society take it from him, but individuals\n     could and would take it from him, if society only\n     remained passive; if it did not either interfere _en\n     masse_, or employ and pay people for the purpose of\n     preventing him from being disturbed in the possession.\n     The distribution of wealth, therefore, depends on the\n     laws and customs of society. The rules by which it is\n     determined, are what the opinions and feelings of the\n     ruling portion of the community make them, and are very\n     different in different ages and countries; and might be\n     still more different, if mankind so chose.\n\nThe distribution of wealth, then, depends on social psychic forces. And\namong these are the social, ethical and legal values of men and of social\nclasses. Economists of an earlier school took these factors for granted,\nwhen they thought of them at all, and assumed that they are constant,\nrelatively unchangeable things, a sort of fixed framework within which the\nforces of a Malthusian biology, or the forces of \"self-interest\" might\nwork. Commonly, indeed, they thought of them not at all, and wrote as if\nthe factors which they allowed to vary told the whole story. Such is,\nindeed, still the procedure, in our present day \"pure economic\" theories of\ndistribution, which either exclude the non-economic factors,[171] or else\nrelegate them to the \"pound of '_caeteris paribus_.'\"[172] If ours were a\nstagnant civilization, this procedure might be safe, but in a highly\n\"dynamic\" society, where laws, morals, class relations, the very\nfundamentals of organization, are being made the subjects of scrutiny,\nagitation, class struggle, etc., are being subjected to \"transvaluations,\"\nand are continually changing them with the principles, machinery and\nresults of distribution, and so one of the biggest factors lying back of\neconomic values, no study of value can afford to ignore them.\n\nIt is of course recognized that a purely ethical and legal theory of\ndistribution would be as much an abstraction as the \"_reinwirtschaftlich_\"\ntheory of distribution--and probably a much less useful abstraction. Either\nabstraction is legitimate, if it do not seek to abolish the other factors.\nWe may safely enough define a set of legal and moral values, concerned with\nthe organization of society and industry, and, assuming them constant, a\nsort of frozen framework, let man's values with reference to the immediate\nconsumption and production of economic goods (\"utilities and costs\" in\ncurrent phrase) vary, and see what the consequences, both on the ranking of\nmen, and the ranking of goods, will be. Or, assuming \"utilities and costs\"\nconstant, we may let the legal and moral values vary, and see what\nconsequences would follow. Or, assuming all other factors constant, we may\nvary the size of the population, or vary the proportions between labor and\nproductive instruments, or between land and population, or pick out any\nother factor of the concrete situation we happen to be interested in, as\nthe \"standard of living,\" and let it change, and see what consequences\nflow therefrom. But, in doing this, we must not forget that the other\nfactors remain essential, equally potent in the general situation with the\none on which we have centred our attention. And we must not forget that\nchanges in one factor, while we may in thought allow it to occur alone,\ncannot occur without bringing in changes in the others as well. An increase\nin the number of laborers, e.g., may also mean an increase of _voters_ of a\ngiven political tendency, and may mean a change in the political power of\nclasses, and a change in the laws. And it may be tremendously significant\nwhether the increased number of laborers consists of Irish Catholics, or of\nRussian Jews, or of native Americans, or of <DW64>s,--significant from the\nstandpoint of distribution, of the values of economic goods, and the\ndirection of economic activity.[173] Reduce your labor force to \"efficiency\nunits,\" so that from the standpoint of productive power of the additions no\ndifference is made whether they be of the one class or the other, and still\nit is a matter of consequence, from the standpoint of distribution, and\nultimately of the values of goods, whether they belong to one class or the\nother. One sort of laborer may be capable of efficient labor-union\norganization, with the result that a large share of the product goes to\nlabor. Another sort of laborer may be incapable of much organization, may\nwork at cross-purposes with the rest of the labor force, and may be an easy\nvictim of exploitation. \"Other things equal,\" we may concede that\nproductive efficiency, or \"standard of living,\" or other abstract\nprinciple, determines the share that goes to labor--but many indeed are\n\"the other things.\" The distribution of wealth is not an \"arbitrary\"\nmatter--if by that it be meant that no scientific laws can be worked out to\ndescribe it. Mill himself would be first to protest against any\nmetaphysical \"freedom of the will\" here. But it is a matter into which law\nand morals and personal friendship and monopoly privilege and charity and\nbenevolence and statesmanlike purpose and selfish struggle--in a word, the\nwhole intermental life of men in society--are involved. And any principle\nof distribution that we may select is only true, not only if other things\nare \"equal,\" but also if other things are in a particular set of relations.\nWe have seen the assumptions of a non-economic sort that are implicit in\nWieser's conception of a \"natural society.\" It may be interesting to note\nwhat is involved in the situation which Professor Clark treats in his\n_Distribution of Wealth_. That his system should hold, we must have, of\ncourse, private property, and personal freedom. We must have perfectly free\ncompetition. We must have absolutely no monopoly privilege of any sort. We\nmust have such rapid and free communication of ideas that no monopoly of\nknowledge should exist. But imagine the moral values that must rule in a\nsociety where such a situation holds! How are men to be prevented from\ngetting monopolies? How prevent laws in the interests of the alert and\ninfluential? How prevent the monopoly of ideas? A very different moral\nsituation must obtain in such a society from that we know. And a very\ndifferent system of laws. In saying this, of course, I say nothing that was\nnot obvious enough to Professor Clark when he constructed his system on the\nbasis of \"heroic abstraction,\" but still it cannot be neglected. Not every\none who has undertaken to interpret Professor Clark, and to make practical\napplication of his theories, has seen these limitations.\n\nOr, again, what does the system of competition mean? Why do we have such\nvaried estimates from different writers? Why do some see in it a benevolent\ninfluence, while for others it is a ghastly nightmare? The answer is, I\nthink, that competition is an abstraction, which each makes in his own way.\nIf we look on competition as a system where each is free to follow his\n\"pure economic\" tendencies in the shortest and simplest manner, I think\nthere can be no question but that we must condemn it. The \"pure economic\nimpulse,\" namely, the impulse to get the maximum of wealth with the\nminimum of effort, left unchecked and unguided by any other social forces,\nwould lead, by the shortest and simplest path, to theft, robbery, and\nmurder. They are easier than work! And more sensible than work, if one be\n\"_reinwirtschaftlich_,\" and live in a society where there is little chance\nthat he who creates wealth will enjoy it. Or, partly checked by social\nconstraints (thinking of these as \"external\" matters solely), the \"economic\ntendency\" may lead--as it has led--to the dynamiting of rival plants, to\nthe securing of preferential rates from common carriers, to the corrupting\nof legislatures and judges, to the spreading of false rumors, etc. On the\nother hand, if the \"rules of the game\" are high, if competition be limited\nto doing things which result in a better commodity with a decreased outlay\nof human effort and physical resources, and with kindly feeling among\ncompetitors (or even without this last), we may see in it a great source of\njustice and progress. It all depends on what Professor Seligman calls the\n\"level of competition.\"[174] That is to say, it depends on the extent to\nwhich the system includes factors of moral, legal and social nature, other\nthan the \"pure economic\"--a thing \"that never was on land or sea.\"\n\nAnd what shall we say of \"inevitable economic tendencies\"? A good many of\nthem--leading in diverse directions--have appeared in the literature of\neconomics. On the one hand, inevitable tendencies towards a divine\n\"economic harmony.\" On the other hand, inevitable tendencies toward\nmonopoly; toward ever more numerous panics; toward greater concentration of\nwealth; toward proletarian misery of an ever more hopeless sort--all\nbringing us finally to a socialistic state. I see no inevitable economic\ntendencies anywhere. The \"economic motive,\" as already indicated, if left\nfree to work in vacuo, would lead us to anarchy. But it doesn't work _in\nvacuo_. And the question as to where the infinite complex of social forces\nmay lead us is not one that can be settled \"_reinwirtschaftlich_.\" We can\nonly say that economic values, at a given moment, are the focal points at\nwhich the laws and moral values and loves and hates, and \"utilities\" and\n\"costs\" directly connected with economic goods, and the multitudinous other\nvalues of concrete social life exert their motivating influence on the\neconomic activities of society. Then, given these economic values, and\nassuming that they alone are of significance for the activity of society,\nwe may see where they would lead us. But we should still be in a world of\nabstractions if we did so. For the economic social values do not exhaust\nthe social forces of motivation. Very much of social activity is\nnon-economic in character. And the force of a given moral value--say that\nof elevating the condition of a degraded class--may be divided, tending\nindirectly by raising the value of a certain sort of economic good, to\nencourage its production, and tending directly to prevent its production.\nLet us assume, for example, that this moral value leads to an increase in\nthe income of the degraded class, and so tends to increase the demand for\nliquor; but assume, further, that this same moral value is the force\nleading to a prohibition law, that forbids the production and sale of\nliquor. Ethical, religious, legal, esthetic, and other values may\nindirectly motivate the economic activity of men through entering into\neconomic values, or they may directly, in their own form, antagonize these\neconomic values, by constraining those who do not \"participate\" in them,\nand by impelling those who do feel them to activities in lines other than\nthose where the greatest surplus of economic value is to be gained. Even,\nthen, though we have a theory of economic value which includes these other\nsocial forces, we have no right to speak of \"inevitable economic\ntendencies.\" Social life is one organic whole. There is no phase of social\nactivity which is wholly directed by one set of values, and there is no one\nset of values that exclusively depends on one sort of motive. And when we\ngive exclusive attention, in our study, to one set of values, as it is\noften necessary to do, we must recognize that we are handling an\nabstraction, that the other forces remain, and must be dealt with before\nour conclusions have any validity for practice.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[163] See chaps. VI and VII, _supra_.\n\n[164] Bk. II, chap. VI.\n\n[165] _Cf._ Davenport, _op. cit._, p. 560. \"For, in truth, not merely the\ndistribution of the landed and other instrumental, income-commanding wealth\nin society, but also the distribution of general purchasing power ... are,\nat any moment in society, to be explained only by appeal to a _long and\ncomplex history_ [italics mine], a distribution resting, no doubt, in part\nupon technological value productivity, past or present, but in part also\ntracing back to bad institutions of property rights and inheritance, to bad\ntaxation, to class privileges, to stock-exchange manipulation ... and, as\nwell, to every sort of vested right in iniquity.... _But there being no\napparent method of bringing this class of facts within the orderly\nsequences of economic law, we shall--perhaps--do well to dismiss them from\nour discussion...._\" [Italics are mine.] It may be questioned if the\n\"orderly sequence\" is worth very much if it ignore facts so decisive as\nthese. It is precisely this sort of abstractionism which has vitiated so\nmuch of value theory. Most economists slur over the omissions; Professor\nDavenport, seeing clearly and speaking frankly, makes the extent of the\nabstraction clear. I venture to suggest that the reason he can find no\nplace for facts like these within the orderly sequence of his economic\ntheory is that he lacks an adequate sociological theory at the basis of his\neconomic theory. A historical _regressus_ will not, of course, fit in in\nany logical manner with a synthetic theory which tries to construct an\nexisting situation out of existing elements. Our plan of a _logical_\nanalysis of existing psychic forces makes it possible to treat these facts\nwhich have come to us from the past, not as facts of different nature from\nthe \"utilities\" with which the value theorists have dealt, but rather as\nfluid psychic forces, of the same nature, and in the same system, as those\n\"utilities.\"\n\n[166] I do not, of course, mean to question the immense light which history\nthrows upon the nature of existing social forces.\n\n[167] Wieser, _op. cit._, pp. 79-80.\n\n[168] _Ibid._, p. 62.\n\n[169] _Pol. Econ._, 1888 edition, p. 5.\n\n[170] _Principles_, bk. II, chap. I.\n\n[171] Professor Clark seems to desire to exclude all phases of social life\nexcept the \"pure economic,\" from his static conception, as indicated by the\nfootnote which follows, taken from page 76 of his _Distribution of Wealth_:\n\"The statement made in the foregoing chapters that a static state excludes\ntrue entrepreneurs' profits does not deny that a legal monopoly might\nsecure to an entrepreneur a profit that would be as permanent as the law\nthat should create it--and that, too, in a social condition which, at first\nglance, might appear to be static. The agents, labor and capital, would be\nprevented from moving into the favored industry, though economic forces, if\nthey had been left unhindered, would have caused them to move to it. This\ncondition, however, is not a true static state, as it has here been\ndefined. Such a genuine static state has been likened to that of a body of\ntranquil water, which is held motionless solely by an equilibrium of\nforces. It is not frozen into fixity; but as each particle is impelled in\nall directions by the same amounts of force, it retains a fixed position.\nThere is a _perfect fluidity, but no flow_; and in like manner the\nindustrial groups are in a truly static state when the industrial agents,\nlabor and capital, show _a perfect mobility, but no motion_. A legal\nmonopoly destroys at a certain point this mobility [so would a law\nforbidding the manufacture of, say, opium or liquor, or any law or moral\nforce that prevents the individual's using his labor and capital in the\nmanner most advantageous to himself regardless of public consequences], and\nis to be treated as an element of obstruction or of friction that is so\npowerful as not merely to <DW44> a movement that an economic force, if\nunhindered, would cause, but to prevent the movement altogether.\" This\nwould seem to leave economic forces working _in vacuo_ in Professor Clark's\nstatic state--if \"unhindered\" is to be taken literally. It is probably a\njuster interpretation, however, to hold that Professor Clark has in mind a\nconstant legal situation, in which absolutely free competition is assured\nby law. But even in his scheme for an economic dynamics, there is no place\nfor legal or ethical changes. There are five general sets of dynamic\nchanges which Professor Clark mentions, whose operation is to constitute\nthe subject matter of economic dynamics. They are (_Essentials_, p. 131,\nand _Distribution_, pp. 56 _et seq._): (1) population increases; (2)\ncapital increases; (3) methods of production change; (4) new modes of\norganizing industry come into vogue; (5) the wants of men change and\nmultiply. These five categories are all, primarily, at least, economic in\ncharacter. While legal and ethical changes would doubtless influence them,\nthey certainly cannot comprehend the full influence of these legal and\nethical changes, especially those affecting the ranking of men, and the\ndistribution of wealth. There seems to be a marked difference between\nProfessor Clark's point of view in his _Distribution of Wealth_ and that of\nhis earlier _Philosophy of Wealth_, and I must confess my preference for\nthe earlier point of view. In saying this, of course, I am far from\nimpeaching the masterly economic analysis which the later book\ncontains--rather, I join heartily in the general estimate which counts that\nbook as of altogether epoch-marking significance. My point is, rather, as\nwill be indicated more fully in the chapters on the relation between\nvalue-theory and price-theory, that the presuppositions and significance of\nsuch a study as Professor Clark's need clarification and interpretation in\nthe light of a theory of value which takes account of the rich complexity\nof social life.\n\nProfessor Joseph Schumpeter, of Vienna, carries out economic abstractionism\nto its logical limits, both in \"statics\" and in \"dynamics.\" For an estimate\nof his statics, _vide_ Professor Alvin S. Johnson's review of Schumpeter's\n_Das Wesen und der Hauptinhalt der theoretischen Nationaloekonomie_\n(Leipzig, 1908), in the _Journal of Political Economy_, 1909, pp. 363 et\nseq. His dynamics is also to be \"_reinwirtschaftlich_.\" An essay in\neconomic dynamics, the introduction to which sets forth his general point\nof view, appears in the Austrian _Zeitschrift fuer Volkswirtschaft_, etc.,\n1910, under the title, \"Das Wesen der Wirtschaftskrisen.\" In this Professor\nSchumpeter narrows, by a process of exclusion, the conception of what would\nconstitute a \"pure economic\" explanation of crises virtually to a\npinpoint--and then fails to carry out his program of giving us a\n\"_reinwirtschaftlich_\" theory. For, in order to get any _periodicity_ into\nhis economic movement, he is obliged to bring in, from the field of\nsociological theory, the factor of _imitation_--he does not use the term,\nimitation, though he does use the verb, \"_kopieren_.\" (_Vide_ esp. pp.\n298-99.) Professor Schumpeter very explicitly recognizes the existence of\nfactors other than the \"_reinwirtschaftlich_,\" but counts them as\n\"external\" factors.\n\n[172] Cf. Professor Marshall's discussions in his sections on economic law\nand method, and Professor Davenport's classification of the factors in the\neconomic environment (_Value and Distribution_, pp. 514-15).\n\n[173] The danger of the abstract individualistic study, from the\nentrepreneur's viewpoint--a useful enough method within limits--is well\nillustrated by Professor Davenport's contention that \"men as employees are\npassive facts, mere agents under the direction of managing producers, and\nare therefore only potentially directing forces. The problem of production\nand of marginalship is, accordingly, an entrepreneur problem.\" (_Op. cit._,\np. 279, n.) This is set forth as a limitation on the doctrine, stated in\nthe paragraph which precedes it, that \"man is to be conceived as the\nsubject and centre of economic science, etc.\" Surely Professor Davenport's\ncontention is an impossible abstraction from the rich facts of social\ncontrol. The managing entrepreneur knows better, when he deals with union\nrules and walking delegates. And the economist, tracing the subtler forces\nthat underlie values, and so motivate the direction of industry, should\nknow more, rather than less, than the entrepreneur.\n\n[174] _Principles_, 1905 ed., pp. 147 _et seq._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nECONOMIC SOCIAL VALUE (_continued_)\n\n\nBack to the concrete whole, then, of social-mental life. The abstract\nelements with which the Austrians and the pain-abstinence cost school\nundertook to solve the value problem, have their place in this whole. The\n\"utility\" of goods to individuals, growing out of the nature of their\nwants, depends very largely on social causes. Mode,[175] fashion,\ncustom--how powerfully they mould our wants. And individual \"cost,\"\nlikewise: a university athlete could dig a ditch far more easily, so far as\nbodily pain is concerned, than could an aged <DW64>, and yet would suffer\nmuch more in doing it than would the <DW64>. A social standard would bring a\nfeeling of shame to him which the <DW64> would not share. If we abstract\nfrom the concrete forms which individual wants and \"costs\" take, and define\nthem in their lowest physical terms, we might leave out a social reference.\nBut men do not desire raw meat, and the skins of beasts, and caves in which\nto live. Their food they wish to eat in accordance with the conventions of\ntheir class, and of a sort that their fellows eat, their water, of late,\nthey wish free from germs, their houses and clothing must be \"in\nstyle,\"--facts well enough recognized, though not in themselves enough for\na theory of \"social value.\" These individual \"utilities\" and \"costs\" have\nlittle meaning till we know the social ranking of the men who feel them,\ntill we know how much the men who have them count for in the scale of\nfundamental _human_ values. And their effect on \"supply price\" and \"demand\nprice\"--the money measures of infinitely complex social forces, to which\nthe entrepreneur immediately looks for his \"cue\"--has absolutely no\nconstant relation to their intensity. The wants of slaves may count for\nlittle. The utterly unattractive and inefficient man may starve. The gilded\nparasite of a prerevolutionary French monarch may command untold resources,\nwhile the useful and productive millions may barely exist. On the other\nhand, with a changed set of legal and moral values, we may have men of\nsocial influence and power striving constantly to increase the incomes and\nrelieve the sufferings of the poor and helpless. Our legislatures may be\nbusy with laws shortening the hours of all labor, laws prohibiting child\nlabor, laws restricting the labor of women, laws for the protection of\nminers, laws relating to the conditions of pay for labor and to\ncompensation for accidents--which promptly reflect themselves in the values\nof the goods produced in the industries affected, and in the increased\nvalues--through increased \"demand\"--of the goods consumed by these classes.\n\nThe ideal of \"no pay without function\" may attain--as I think it is to-day\nattaining--a value of increasing power. And it may lead men to strive for\nthe abolition of monopoly incomes, and the correction of the gross\ninequalities in the distribution of wealth. If it do not succeed--and it\ndoes not by any means succeed--it is because opposing values check it. At\nany given moment, there is an equilibrium, usually unstable, between the\nforces tending to correct, and to perpetuate, these inequalities. And it\nneed not be an evil force that is the real obstacle to the realization of\ngreater justice in distribution. The legal value of private property--one\nof those social \"absolute values\" which do not readily lend themselves to\nthe \"marginal process\"--checks at an early stage many of our well-meant,\nbut badly planned, efforts at justice. Glad as most of us would be to\ndeprive plutocratic pirates of what they have not earned, we still do not\ncare to upset the fundamentals of our social system in the process. But the\nconflict between these values brings them both into clearer light. We see,\nand feel, the significance, the \"presuppositions,\" the \"funded meanings,\"\nof each. And while, for the present, there is a \"mechanical haul and\nstrain\" between them, which, if no more light comes, may ultimately lead to\nthe triumph of one and the complete defeat of the other, still, we may hope\nto get a result like that which often comes in the case of conflicts\nbetween values in the individual psychology--a fuller appreciation of the\nsignificance of both values, which will get us away from the\n\"absoluteness\" of each, and effect a marginal equilibrium between them, or,\nperhaps, get a new value which will comprehend them both. Of course, the\nthing is not so simple as this. It is not a conflict simply between two\nvalues, both of which the same man may \"participate\" in. Our plutocrats are\nalso parts of the social will. They count! The economic value they control\nmay bribe lawmakers, may corrupt judges, may seduce writers and preachers\nand teachers and others who have to do with the making of public sentiment\nand the shaping of social values. And, in subtler ways, through the social\nprestige which their mere wealth too often gives, through the ideals which\nthey themselves honestly feel, and communicate to those about them, do they\ncreate values opposing the values making for a juster distribution of\nwealth. Infinitely complex is the situation, many and varied are the\nvalues, which reinforce each other, oppose each other, and come into\nequilibrium with each other, in a given moment in the social will.\n\nOlder egoistic theories of political economy, which assumed perfect freedom\nof competition, and gloried in the \"harmonies\" which result therefrom,\nwhereby the interests of the individuals and of society converge, and the\nmaximum of social welfare is attained by the individual's attaining his own\ninterests--these theories have been much attacked of late by those who\naccept the premise of egoism, but reject the premise of freedom. To them\neconomic \"friction\" means simply an opportunity for the strong to prey\nupon the weak, and the social outlook is gloomy indeed. The harmonies are\nshattered and gone. If we reject the other premise also, however, as\nnecessarily a dominant principle, the outlook is changed or may be changed.\nIt is true that there are ignorance, helplessness, and passions among men,\nand that wolves prey. But it is also true that there are forces of\nrighteousness alert and militant in the world, not merely in the pulpit and\ncloister and missionary field. And the struggle between these contending\nforces is pregnant with implications for value theory. An astute\ncorporation lawyer argues before a court; an honest attorney-general\ndefends the rights of the people; and the ticker on 'Change records whether\nright or wrong has prevailed. Prices are big with the moral tidings they\nwould speak--shall we read in them only mathematical ratios between\nquantities of physical objects?\n\nIt is by turning, then, to the concrete whole of social-mental life, and\nespecially to the moral and legal values of distribution, that we break the\ncircle[176] of our economic values. Economics has failed to profit by the\nexample of the other social sciences here. Ethics has frankly recognized\nthe tremendous import of economic values for ethical values. Jurisprudence\nhas frankly accepted the fact that law grows, in large part, out of\neconomic needs--even though it remains behind the needs of the present\neconomic situation. But economic theory has sought to make itself too much\na thing apart, to isolate its phenomena from other phases of social life,\nand has busied itself exclusively with \"utility\" and \"cost\" and \"prices,\"\nand the like. And where the economist has consented to consider the\nrelations between his own field and adjacent fields, he has done so with a\npreconception of the priority of his own phenomena, and his results have\nbeen an \"economic\" interpretation of history, ethics, jurisprudence, etc.\nThat the economic interpretation of the other fields has much to commend it\nis certain, but it is equally certain that law and morality react on\neconomic values, especially in the higher stages of civilization. This has\nbeen so fully and convincingly stated by Professor Seligman, in his\n_Economic Interpretation of History_, that I forego further elaboration\nhere. One comment is necessary however: even though we might grant Marx and\nBuckle that the physical environment and the progress of economic\ntechnique are of ultimate ruling significance for the direction of social\nprogress, it is still a far cry from that doctrine to the doctrine that the\n\"utilities\" and \"costs\" directly connected with the production and\nconsumption of economic goods, in the minds of individual men, are an\nadequate explanation of anything.\n\nWere we interested in ethical and political values for their own sake, it\nwould be easy to show that our conception of the nature of society and of\nsocial values has a similar significance for politics and ethics. There is\nno one distinctive emotion, as fear, or the love of domination, that lies\nat the basis of the state; there is no one emotion, as sympathy, or the\nlove of pleasure, which constitutes the essence of the moral values, nor is\nthere any single type of mental activity, as imitation, or consciousness of\nkind, which furnishes the peculiar theme of sociology. Social life is not\nin water-tight compartments. It is one whole, of which the different\nsciences study different aspects. And the principle of division of labor\namong the social sciences is not that one science shall offer one theory of\nsociety and another science another theory, but rather, that each science\nshall take as its problem a phase of society, and explain it by reference\nto a general set of facts which all have in common. The differentiation\ncomes not in the _explanation_ phenomena[177]--no science has any monopoly\non any set of forces which may be used for the purpose of explanation--but\nin the phenomena to be explained, in the _problem_ phenomena.[178]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[175] _Vide_ Ross, _Foundations of Sociology_, chapter on the \"Sociological\nFrontier of Economics,\" and Tarde, _Psychologie Economique_, _passim_.\n\n[176] It may be objected that instead of \"breaking the circle,\" we have\nsimply widened it--that economic values, working through other forms of\nvalue, affect other economic values still. In a sense, of course, this is\ntrue. In any truly _organic_ situation, we have the phenomenon of\n_reciprocal causation_. An organic situation _must_ be circular in this\nsense. The parts are _inter_dependent. And our objection to the theories\ncriticized is based on the fact that they are essentially efforts to\ndescribe a process in _rectilinear causation_--in the case of the\nAustrians, _e.g._, the process is _from_ subjective utility, _to_ objective\nvalue of consumption goods, then _to_ the values of the production goods of\nthe nearest rank, and then on and on to goods of remoter ranks, etc.\nBoehm-Bawerk recognizes very well that the charge of circular reasoning, if\nit could be brought home to the Austrians, would vitiate their system.\n_Vide_ \"Grundzuege,\" Conrad's _Jahrbuecher_, 1886, p. 516. And Professor\nClark likewise recognizes that value theory of the sort he is treating is\nspoiled by circular reasoning, as indicated by his criticism of a certain\nform of the labor theory in his _Distribution of Wealth_, p. 397. Whenever\na small set of abstractions is picked out, as _the source_ and _cause_ of\nthe rest of a movement, such a process of rectilinear causation is implied.\nAnd a rectilinear process has no right to get into a circle!\n\n[177] Pareto, in the introductory chapter of his _Cours d'Economie\nPolitique_, defines economics in terms of the narrow abstraction which he\nhas chosen for the explanation phenomenon, as the \"science of ophelimity\"\n(p. 6), and ophelimity is \"an entirely subjective quality\" (p. 4). There\nare two objections to this procedure: you neither completely explain your\nproblem phenomena, nor do you exhaust the possibilities of your explanation\nphenomena--for the same sort of mental facts have bearing on ethical and\nother social problems as well as on economic problems.\n\n[178] I am indebted to Professor E. C. Hayes, of the Department of\nSociology of the University of Illinois, for this distinction.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nSOME MECHANICAL ANALOGIES\n\n\nIt may help the exposition if we throw the argument, briefly, into terms of\nthe more familiar mechanical analogies, and speak of the equilibria and\ntransformations of social forces. Of course, mechanical analogies have been\nused from time to time already in our discussion--psychologists themselves\noften find it useful to conceive of their phenomena in mechanical terms.\nAnd while, in the exposition, we shall find frequent reason to prefer our\nplan of conceiving society as a psychical organism, and the social forces\nas phases in an organic process, still certain relations may be clearer for\nbeing put into the other form.\n\nSocial values may be transformed into other forms of social value--as heat\nmay be transformed into electricity, or into motion, or motion into heat,\netc. Professor Clark, with his distinction between \"capital\" and \"capital\ngoods,\" has shown how economic value may undergo constant transformation,\nas to its physical embodiment, and yet remain generically the same. But the\npossibilities of transformation are not confined to the economic sphere. We\nmay generalize the notion. A man may use economic value to attain political\npower; having the political power, he may use it to get economic value\nback again, by direct barter and sale, if he wishes to take bribes, or by\nsubtler, but still all too familiar means. Or, the political power may be\ntransformed into personal prestige, if used in ways that please those whose\ngood will means prestige. And personal influence--\"live human power\" (in\nProfessor Cooley's phrase),[179] may be transformed into values of numerous\nsorts, into political power, into moral values--if he who has it wishes to\nmake a propaganda--into prestige for other men, into economic value--for\ncannot an inspiring man command the purses of others in behalf of his plans\nand purposes? And may not popular confidence in a great statesman or\nfinancier in times of panic cause fears to be allayed, and values to return\nto goods that had lost their value? A man who has goods for which no demand\nexists, and which have, hence, little value, may, employing those who\npossess the art of creating demand to make public opinion for him by\nadvertising, find his investment, transformed into public belief and\ninterest, return to him a golden harvest. A religious value may flow into\nthe economic value of religious books. A moral or religious value may be\ntransformed into a law. A legal value--as a franchise right[180]--has often\na definitely recognized economic value as well. Economic value, spent in an\neducational campaign, may result in the establishment of a new moral or\nlegal value. And so on indefinitely. Enough has been said to show that\nthere is some sort of analogy between social and physical forces, in that\nboth can be transformed into other forms of force. The analogy might be\npushed further. It is often difficult to make the transformation in both\ncases--there's lots of \"friction\" if a man starts out publicly and brazenly\nto buy a political office, and a great deal of waste in the process. But\nenough has also been said to show the weakness of such an analogy: in\ncreating personal prestige through the wise use of his political power, an\nofficer may actually increase, instead of exhausting, his political power.\nOr, in the moment of attempting certain transformations, the original power\nmay be suddenly wiped out--as if a great political leader should undertake\nto popularize some form of immorality. There is no law of equivalence, of\nconservation of energy, in social forces. Their nature and their relations\nare organic, and not mechanical.\n\nOr, we may speak of equilibria among social forces. Economists have for a\nlong time been used to this, speaking of equilibria between supply and\ndemand, between labor and capital, between enterprise and the other factors\nof production, between intensive and extensive margins, etc. But we may\nalso have equilibria between, say, demand and moral values, as when moral\nforces oppose the consumption of liquor, or between supply and law, as in\nthe case where regulation, rather than total suppression, of certain\nvicious businesses is the practice, or where the effort at total\nsuppression falls short. And equilibria between enterprise and law and\nmorals are being constantly worked out--entrepreneurs seeking to produce at\nthe minimum expense, even at the cost of the lives and health of their\nemployees, and law and morals[181] drawing limits beyond which they must\nnot go, with a struggle between them at the margin--and the money prices of\nthe products reflect the marginal equilibrium attained. Supply may be in\nequilibrium with a protective tariff, or an internal revenue excise--legal\nvalues which the economists have long been accustomed to treat\nquantitatively by the laws of incidence, and whose strength they measure in\nterms of money prices.[182] Not \"utility and cost,\" but an infinite complex\nof social forces are in equilibrium in the economic situation.\n\nAnd the social forces in equilibrium at focal points are themselves\ncomposites of many forces, cooperating and reinforcing each other, each of\nthese forces having its own equilibria with other minor forces--a net\nresultant sending the unneutralized energy of both in a common direction,\nto form part of a bigger stream of energy. \"Demand\" is a stream of energy\nfed by many springs, among which, no doubt, individual wants for the good\nin question are to be found, but which include the legal and moral values\nof _men_, also, and an infinite host of other forces.\n\nAnd, just as one form of physical energy may be substituted for another,\nunder different systems of technique, electricity taking the place of steam\npower, steam doing the work formerly done by horse or human power, so, in\nparticular forms of social organization, one form of social force may do\nthe work that is better done by some other form of social force under a\ndifferent form of social organization. Thus the regulation of the details\nof conduct, a matter of iron law (or of custom with the force of law) in\ncertain stages, we now leave to the control of subtler social forces. At\none stage we depend on religious values, the curse and the benediction of\nthe church, as a tremendously vital power in social control; now we find\nother modes of social energy frequently more efficacious. Now we depend\nprimarily on economic social values, under a competitive system, to\nmotivate the economic activities of society, to determine whether this\npiece of land shall be planted in wheat, or in some other crop, or\nfertilized in this or that manner; in the mediaeval English manor, many\nquestions like these were settled by vote of the manor court.\n\nBut whatever the form in which the social energy of control and motivation\nmanifests itself, its functional character is the same. It has its origin\nin, and receives its vitality from, the social will--or better is a phase\nof the social will--as steam power, electric power, and the energy in human\nmuscles, are species of the same generic force.\n\nThe effort has not been made to put the whole of our argument into these\nobviously uncongenial terms. The mechanical analogies, often useful for\nparticular purposes, fail to bring out the rich complexity, the organic\nnature, of the social processes, and, by their very simplicity, often lead\nto the ignoring of essential factors. For the purposes of the practical\neconomist, however, concerned with price analysis in a situation which is\nso complex that he can give attention to only one set of forces, or\ntendencies, at a time, and where quantitative measurement is essential, it\nis often highly necessary to abstract from the organic complexity, to\nassume that other forces than those he is measuring are constant, and to\nput his argument into mechanical terms. My conception involves no radical\nrevision of economic methodology in this matter. It is primarily concerned\nwith the interpretation and validation of this methodology. To this topic I\nshall return in the chapters on the relation between the theory of value\nand the theory of prices.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[179] _Social Organization_, p. 264.\n\n[180] Professor J. R. Commons has made some interesting comments in a note\n(\"Political Economy and Business Economy,\" _Quar. Jour. Econ._, Nov.,\n1907), as to the extent to which intangible objects have come to have\neconomic value. The legal and psychical nature of such values is, of\ncourse, very manifest.\n\n[181] Moral values, like economic values, in the sense in which I use the\nterm here, are actual facts, and not mere ideals. A moral value _is_ a\nvalue, to the extent that it is an effective _power in motivation_, to the\nextent that the social will backs it up, and punishes with its disapproval\nand with the subtle penalties which social disapproval involves,\ninfractions of the moral standard in question. I am not here passing\njudgment on moral values themselves in the light of any ideal standard, but\nsimply describing the manner in which moral values function.\n\n[182] Intrinsically, there is no more reason why the economist should\nconcern himself with measuring quantitatively the effect of tariff laws\nthan with a similar treatment of other legal values. Tariffs do not affect\nindustry any more intimately than hosts of other laws. The obvious reason\nwhy the economic laws of taxation have been worked out and the others\nignored, in our economic analyses, is that the tax laws, being themselves\nexpressed in money terms, are more easily handled by the economist.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nPROFESSOR SELIGMAN'S PSYCHOLOGICAL DOCTRINE OF THE RELATIVITY OF VALUES\n\n\nProfessor Seligman's discussion of value theory has been extremely fertile\nin suggestions for me, and I find the spirit of the positive theory\noutlined in this book much closer to the general point of view of his\ndoctrines than to those of any other economic writer. His recognition of\nthe generic character of value, of the fact that economic value is but a\nspecies within a genus,[183] his contention that, while ethical principles\ndepend on economic considerations in primitive life, they still, in later\nand higher stages, attain a relative independence, and react on economic\nlife,[184] his recognition of the essentially social nature of even the\nindividual's wants,[185] his discussion of the legal and moral \"level of\ncompetition,\"[186] and, in general, his insistence upon a sociological\npoint of view, especially in the treatment of all practical problems, have\nbeen of marked assistance to me in freeing my mind from the individualistic\nbias of the narrow price analyses, and in making clear the gap between\nexisting theories of value and the function of the value concept in\neconomic science. At certain stages, as already indicated in part, his\ntheories differ pretty radically from that set forth in the preceding\npages. For one thing, I find no place in my scheme for the notions of\nsocial utility and social cost[187] which are prominent in his discussions,\nas, indeed, in the discussion of most of the adherents of the social value\nschool. There is one further point of difference, however, to which I wish\nespecially to call attention, as criticism of Professor Seligman's view\nbrings to light certain significant points in the theory I am defending.\nThe following quotation is from his article, \"Social Elements in the Theory\nof Value,\" from the _Quarterly Journal_ of May, 1901:[188]--\n\n     Progress consists in reducing costs, so that we\n     gradually approach gratuity. But, in reducing the value\n     of certain things, we necessarily increase the value of\n     other things. By diminishing the efforts required to\n     satisfy one want, we liberate the efforts needed to\n     satisfy a new want; it is only when we can satisfy this\n     new want that the means of satisfaction acquires\n     value. For the pioneer who with difficulty is able to\n     clothe and feed himself a piano has no value. It is\n     only as clothing and food take up less of his\n     energy--that is, become of less value to him--that he\n     will appreciate the new want, until finally in\n     civilized society a piano is worth far more than a suit\n     of clothes. Since value, as we know, is simply an\n     expression for marginal utility, we cannot affirm that\n     value in general ever increases or decreases. As pianos\n     are worth more, clothing is worth less.\n\nThe relativity of value is here made to depend on a ground different from\nthat which lies at the basis of the English School's doctrine of\nrelativity. The ground of the latter is _logical_; the ground for Professor\nSeligman's view is _psychological_. Values considered as mutual relations\nbetween two goods cannot both fall--a fall in one means that it goes lower\n_than the other_, whence inevitably the other must rise, as a matter of\nlogical definition. For Professor Seligman, on the other hand, value is a\nquantity of marginal utility. So far as the logic of the situation is\nconcerned, an increase in the supply of good diminishes _their_ marginal\nutility, and so their value.[189] But, as soon as that is done, a new want\nsprings into existence, a new object receives value therefrom, and the\ntotal quantity of value remains as before. In the article from which the\nquotation is taken, the doctrine is merged to some extent with the English\ndoctrine of logical relativity, as indicated by the discussion on page\n343, and by the footnote on page 344. The English doctrine is also\nsuggested by the treatment in the _Principles of Economics_ (pp. 184-85),\nwhere it is stated that \"prices may rise or fall with reference to this\nstandard, but we cannot speak of a general rise or fall of values, because\nthere is no fixed point.\" It is clear, however, that the argument for\nrelativity in the passage first quoted, is wholly distinct from, and\nindependent of, the logical relativity of definition. Professor Seligman,\nin conversation with the writer, has so distinguished it, and has indicated\nthat, rejecting the logical doctrine of relativity, he now holds this\npsychological doctrine of relativity, as distinct, both from the absolute\nconception of Professor Clark, and the relative conception of the English\nSchool.\n\nAs preliminary to a criticism of Professor Seligman's doctrine, certain\ndistinctions must be made. Values may be relative in Professor Seligman's\nsense without being relative in the sense in which the English School uses\nthe term: the English School thought only of the relations among, say, a\n_unit_ of wheat and a unit of corn, a unit of woolen goods, a unit of wine,\netc.: Professor Seligman is thinking of the _total stocks_ of these various\ncommodities. Assume, for simplicity, that the stocks of all commodities\nwere doubled, and that the demand curves for all the commodities have the\nsame shape, and that form is the rectangular hyperbola,[190] so that the\nabsolute value of each unit of each commodity would be exactly cut in half.\nThe English School would say that there had been no change in the values of\nthe units; Professor Seligman would say that there had been no change in\nthe value of the _stocks_, but would concede at once that every unit has\nhad its value cut in half.[191]\n\nAnother distinction must be made. There is, to be sure, at any given time,\na pretty definitely limited[192] amount of social _productive energy_. This\nenergy can be distributed among only a limited number of products. Hence,\nthere can be only a limited number of objects to receive value from the\nmental energies of society. But does it follow from this that what we may\ncall the social energy of value-giving is a limited thing? Or, granted that\nit is limited, does it necessarily follow that the limits are fixed and\nrigid? Cannot circumstances arise which will make it vary in amount? If a\nnew want arises, does it necessarily follow that all the old wants become\nless intense in the exact degree that the new want is intense? Must a\nquantum of value be withdrawn from the old objects precisely equal to that\nwhich is attached to the new object? This doctrine is deliberately\naffirmed, so far, at least, as the individual is concerned, in the article\non \"Worth\"[193] in Baldwin's _Dictionary of Philosophy_, etc.:--\n\n     The struggle for existence among dispositions, which\n     are at once the objects of ethical valuation and the\n     source of value reactions, springs out of the nervous\n     conditions of these dispositions. While there dwells in\n     each the tendency to utmost activity under the given\n     conditions, yet, since the valuing subject is master of\n     only a limited energy of valuation, i.e., nervous\n     energy, the increase of value of any given disposition\n     must necessarily cause others to decrease. In any case\n     increase of values is always relative.\n\nNow two lines of criticism suggest themselves. In the first place, the\nconcluding sentence of the quotation is a _non-sequitur_. If there be a\ndefinite, absolute quantity of energy, then its distribution among objects\ncan give absolute quantities of value. Reservoirs connected by pipes may\namong them contain a definite quantity of water, and increase in the volume\nof water in one may be at the expense of all the others. But still the\namount of water in each is an absolute amount. This criticism, I may note,\nProfessor Seligman concurs in. Conceding that a definite amount of value\nmay exist in each object, he holds that there is, none the less, a\nrelativity about value in the sense that increase in the value of one item\ncan only come from a decrease in the value of another, and _vice versa_.\nThe other line of criticism calls attention to the identification of\n\"energy of valuation\" with \"nervous energy.\" That the two are identical\nwould be maintained only by the crudest materialism. The one is a physical\nforce; the other is a psychical force. While nervous energy and energy of\nvaluation may be connected, the nature of the connection is surely not so\nwell known as to justify the assumption that definite limitation in the one\nimplies a precisely corresponding limitation in the other.[194] There is no\njustification--at least in the present state of psychological\nknowledge--for holding that the law of the \"conservation of energy\" applies\nto psychical energy.[195]\n\nSome concrete illustrations will make clearer the difficulties of the\ndoctrine, as applied to economic life. Assume a group of men on board a\nwhaling vessel, who suddenly discover that they will be obliged to spend\nthe winter in the ice-zone, instead of reaching home in the fall as they\nhad planned. Will not the value of everything in their store of provisions\nbe increased? Will not their whole stock of wealth have a greater value?\nBut this, Professor Seligman objects, is because they are in a situation\nsuch that opportunity for reproduction is lacking, and he raises the\nquestion as to whether the same situation is possible in economic life on a\nlarge scale, where wealth is being constantly produced. Well, assume that a\ncrop failure on a large scale occurs. Will not the value of the total\nexisting supply of the articles in which there is a failure be raised? And\nwill not other competing articles of food have their values increased also?\nBut, Professor Seligman would retort, these increases would be at the\nexpense of the values of the half-grown fields of grain, and at the expense\nof articles other than food. Granted: but what evidence is there of exact\nequivalence? And further, assume that half of every existing stock of\ncommodities, of every sort, were suddenly wiped out. Would the sum total of\nvalues remain the same? Only on the assumption that the social value curve\nfor this totality of commodities is a rectangular hyperbola.[196] That this\nparticular shape of the curve holds for any particular commodity would be\ndifficult to prove. That it does not hold at all for the necessities of\nlife is one of the commonplaces of economic analysis. Initial items in a\nstock of necessities have a very great value, when there are no other items\nof the stock, and the curve often descends very abruptly. Gregory King has\nundertaken to show, in terms of money, the shape of this curve for wheat in\nthe England of his day. Other commodities have curves which behave very\ndifferently. While the argument from the part to the whole is not a valid\nargument in the presence of specific reasons making the whole obey\ndifferent laws from the parts, it still, in the absence of such special\nconsiderations, does raise a strong presumption. And I must confess that I\nsee no reasons why the curve for the totality of commodities should take\nthe particular form of a rectangular hyperbola, instead of some other form.\n_A priori_, the presumption would seem to be that its form would be\nirregular.\n\nThere is another point of view which seems to support Professor Seligman's\ncontention, and that is the money-price viewpoint. At a given moment, each\nman has a definite quantity of money--or of bank-credit--which he can use\nin purchasing commodities. If he spends it for some commodities, he cannot\nspend it for others. As he joins one group, demanding one commodity, he\nmust--at least to the extent of that amount of money--withdraw from other\ngroups demanding other commodities. At a given instant, therefore, there is\na definite demand-situation with reference to every item of every stock,\nand one can increase its money-price only by drawing upon the demand for\nothers. But let a panic now come. Let these bank credits become unstable:\nlet _social confidence_ be wiped out, and what happens to general prices\nand values? Does the value that leaves the general range of commodities all\nbetake itself to the gold supply? That cannot be, for the supply of gold,\nas compared with the supply of other commodities, is well-nigh\ninfinitesimal, and if the whole of the values that left the commodities\nwent into gold, then every unit of gold would be tremendously increased in\nvalue, and prices in terms of gold would fall, not two-thirds, but a\nthousandfold. What has become of the values? They have simply been wiped\nout. A psychical change has taken place, a malady has afflicted the social\nmind, its integrity is shattered, doubt has taken the place of confidence,\npanic fear has replaced buoyant expectation, demoralization and\ndisorganization have lessened the social psychic energy--or dissipated it\nin inchoate, unorganized individual activities. The sum total of values is\nlessened. Of course, the reverse may happen. Let confidence be restored,\nlet the social psychic organization function normally once more and values\nrise again. As we have indicated in our discussion of the psychology of\nvalue, _belief_, as well as desire and feeling, may often be a very\nsignificant phase in the value situation, and have a motivating power quite\nas great as the other phases. _Credit_, while it exists, is a real addition\nto the sum of values--has, that is to say, a real power in motivating\neconomic activity, calling forth new productive efforts, and directing\nlabor, capital, and enterprise to new channels. This is not, of course,\nasserting the doctrine of John Law. Credit cannot be manufactured out of\nwhole cloth. Beliefs, at least to some extent, follow rational laws, and,\nexcept in moments of hysteria, there must be something for people to\nbelieve in before strong belief can emerge. Sometimes, of course, an\nunstable but momentarily powerful belief, based on nothing rational, may\ndominate a situation, and radically upset the existing scale of\nvalues--with a sad reaction following shortly after. And, in the absence of\nbelief, the most rational justification for belief is impotent. Witness\nthe bankruptcies, in times of panic, of men whose assets turn out later\nperfectly adequate, but who are unable to liquidate them at the time of the\npanic. Note, too, in this connection, the tendency in times of panic to\nturn to government for aid in sustaining values--to substitute for the\nwaning social force of belief the power of a new legal force.\n\nA case parallel to the panic, as inducing a diminution of the total psychic\nenergy of control, is presented by widespread epidemics. Gabriel Tarde,\ncriticizing Mill's contention that all values cannot rise or fall,\ninstances the general fall in all values which an epidemic occasions, and\nthe recovery of values after the epidemic.[197] This criticism of Tarde's\nwill not, of course, hold as against Mill's doctrine (indefensible on other\ngrounds) which bases the relativity of values upon a logical definition,\nbut it will hold as against the psychological doctrine of relativity under\ndiscussion.\n\nA further point is to be noted. Even granting that the sum total of social\npower of motivation is definitely limited, it still does not follow that\nthe sum total of economic value is so limited. For not all of this social\npsychic energy goes into economic values. Religious, aesthetic, patriotic,\nmoral values, all call for their share of this energy, and the amount given\nto each varies from time to time. This phase of the matter is discussed in\ndetail by Professor Ross, in the chapter on \"The Social Forces\" in his\n_Foundations of Sociology_, and I shall not expand the discussion here.\n\nThe doctrine that there is a definite, unchanging sum of economic values,\ntherefore, cannot, in my judgment, be maintained. And yet, it must be\nconceded, there is a substantial element of truth in Professor Seligman's\ncontention. At a given time, or through a considerable period, assuming\nsocial conditions to change slowly, there are fairly definite amounts of\nsocial energy, both of production and of control over production\n(value-giving energy). The surface fact here is that men have definite\nincomes. If this energy is disposed of in one way, it cannot be disposed of\nin another. If men elect to have one good, they must dispense with\nsomething else. And in using their control over social forces to increase\nthe value of one good, they must refrain from using it to increase the\nvalue of another. In the long run, these quantities are subject to change.\nAt a given moment, a sudden disturbance may radically change them. But, as\na statement of tendency, Professor Seligman's doctrine must be admitted.\n\nProfessor Seligman's view differs from that of Professor Clark simply in\nthat it adds an element. On its logical side, it conceives value in the\nsame way. Value is a quality, with degrees, i.e., a quantity. This quantity\nin a particular good is an absolute fraction of an absolute quantity. It is\nnot changed merely in consequence of being compared with some other\ngood--it remains the same, regardless of what price-ratio it is put into.\nOn its formal and logical side, therefore, Professor Seligman's concept is\nto be classed with that of Professor Clark--with which, as indicated in\nchapter II, I am in hearty accord, in so far as the issues raised in that\nchapter are concerned.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[183] _Principles_, 1905, p. 174.\n\n[184] _Economic Interpretation of History_, _passim_.\n\n[185] _Principles_, p. 175.\n\n[186] _Ibid._, pp. 147-48.\n\n[187] It might be possible to put the argument into terms which would give\nan analogical meaning to \"social utility\" and \"social cost.\" The diagram\nrepresenting the intersection of the demand curve and the supply curve,\nfixing price, may be taken equally well to represent the balance of social\nforces which lies back of the market phenomena in the case of a given\ncommodity. The demand curve might then be called a \"social utility\" curve,\nand the supply curve a \"social cost\" curve, if only it be remembered that\ncost and utility here have only a vague, analogical meaning, and cover up a\nhost of factors which, while they fall conveniently into two opposing\ngroups, like the individual's \"cost\" and \"utility,\" are yet much more than\nthe latter. But they are really so very much more than the latter, that it\nseems to me misleading to continue the use of the terms, utility and cost,\nwhen the associations of these terms in economic theory are remembered. The\ntendency would be to make the student feel that value depends on two\nabstract phases of social-mental life, instead of being an outcome of the\norganic whole.\n\n[188] Pp. 342-43.\n\n[189] The reader will understand that I am using accustomed phraseology and\nmaking customary assumptions, not because I approve of them, but because\nthe point at issue here is not affected by the question as to the relations\nbetween value and utility, etc. The distinction between a utility curve and\na price curve does not affect the argument here.\n\n[190] Analytically expressed _xy_ = _c_. This curve, by definition, leaves\nthe \"value area\" (_xy_) constant.\n\n[191] A complication must be noticed here, due to my use of the term,\n\"demand curve.\" I am tacitly assuming that the absolute value of the money\nunit remains the same in this process, and so must say that the English\nSchool would concede that the value of the money unit has doubled even\nthough holding that all the other values remain unchanged, except with\nreference to the money unit. For Professor Seligman, the value of money\n(_i.e._, the total stock) has not changed.\n\n[192] But the limitation is not absolute. New incentives may call out\nsubstantial increases in productive activity.\n\n[193] Written by Professor W. M. Urban, author of _Valuation_, to which\nfrequent reference has been made. _Vide Valuation_, p. 4, n. The article\nwas, of course, written several years before the book.\n\n[194] In this view I am sustained by Professor John Dewey.\n\n[195] _Cf._ Stuart, \"Valuation as a Logical Process,\" in Dewey's _Studies\nin Logical Theory_, pp. 328, n., and 330.\n\n[196] See _supra_, p. 165, n.\n\n[197] \"La psychologie en economie politique,\" _Rev. Philosophique_, vol.\nXII, p. 238.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE THEORY OF VALUE AND THE THEORY OF PRICES\n\n\nIn most English treatises on economics, a price means a sum of money given\nin exchange for a commodity, or the ratio between the money and the\ncommodity, or the ratio between the value of the money and the value of the\ncommodity. In any case, price as a rule involves the idea of money. With\nthe Germans, on the other hand, _Preis_ means any exchange ratio (or a\nquantity of commodities of any sort given in exchange for a good), whether\nor not one of the terms of the ratio involves money, and the distinction\nbetween price and value (_Preis_ and _Wert_) is, commonly, the distinction\nbetween the measure and the thing measured, or between \"relative value\" and\n\"absolute value\" in Ricardian phrase.[198] The conception of price has been\nbroadened by some later writers in English, however, to correspond with the\nGerman usage, notably by Professor Patten,[199] and by Professor\nSchumpeter,[200] in an English article contributed recently to the\n_Quarterly Journal_. I do not care to argue a merely terminological\nquestion, and I readily concede that there are disadvantages in departing\nfrom familiar usage. But, on the other hand, since I am convinced that\nratios of exchange in general, and money prices in particular, are\ngenerically the same, while ratios of exchange and values are generically\nas unlike as it is easily possible for two things to be, I shall use the\nterm price in this wider meaning, and confine the word value, in the\nexposition of my own theory, to the non-relative meaning.\n\nThe distinction between prices in this sense and absolute values appears in\nAdam Smith and in Ricardo. These writers do not adhere very strictly to\neither meaning of the term, value, however.[201] The conception of absolute\nvalues is lost by J. S. Mill, and the distinction which he draws in\nconnection with the problem of the standard of deferred payments (not so\ncalled by Mill) is between values (relative) and _cost of production_.[202]\nIn Cairnes, the two conceptions are hopelessly confused on a single\npage,[203] while Marshall's whole treatment runs in terms of price.\n\nIn what follows, I wish to generalize the conception of price, to show the\nfunction of the price concept in economics, to distinguish carefully\nbetween the theory of value and the theory of prices, and to see what light\nthe theory of value outlined in this book throws upon the problems of the\nprice analysis.\n\nIn chapter II, the distinction between \"absolute and relative values,\" or,\nin our present phrase, between values and prices, was sufficiently\nindicated not to need further elaboration here. The relation between them\nwas made clear--the absolute value must first exist before the price, which\nis the expression of the value of a good in terms of some other valuable\nobject which is chosen as a measure, can be determined. In fact, _two_\nvalues, the value of the good measured, and the value of the good which is\nto serve as the measure, must first exist, as absolute quantities, before a\nprice-ratio can be made between them, and their \"relative values\" shown.\nIn the chapter on the psychology of value, the notion of price was\ngeneralized, and we spoke of the price measure of values of non-economic\nsort. This notion is one of very general application and one of\nsignificance for the whole realm of social and psychical phenomena: not\nmerely where the question of exchanging economic goods is involved, but\nwherever choice among alternative goods, or courses of action, or men, or\ninstitutions, or works of art, or other objects of value, is necessary, we\n_compare_ them with each other, we _measure_ them by each other, we _price_\nthem in terms of each other. We arrange them in _scales_ of value, or in\nseries, seeing which is higher and which lower. Where only two goods are\ninvolved, we may call either the measure, depending on the point of view.\nBut where many goods are to be compared, it is highly convenient to pick\nout some one as the common measure of all, so that they may be reduced to\ncommon terms. For measuring economic goods, money is, of course, the\nstandard, or common measure _par excellence_, for most purposes. If we are\nmeasuring the value of the political institutions of various countries, we\nusually take the institutions of our own country, with which we are most\nfamiliar, as the common measure or standard. Or, in measuring the moral\nsystems, or the literary masterpieces, of other countries, we again find\nthose of our own people the most convenient standard. But it is significant\nof the correctness of our general point of view that values of different\nspecies may be measured in terms of each other. _Money_, in particular, is\na very general measure, which may serve for many values outside the\neconomic sphere. Thus, I have pointed out how legal values may be measured\nin terms of money, as when the fine for one offense is five dollars, and\nthat for another twenty-five. Gabriel Tarde[204] points out that by\ncomparing the theatre receipts of theatres representing different dramatic\nschools we may compare the vogues of each, or that by comparing the income\nof the clergy in different periods we may get some index of the variations\nof religious sentiments. He suggests that while money as a measure of\neconomic values usually functions in exchange, it may, as a measure of\nbeliefs or other social forces, function through gifts, through popular\nsubscriptions to build this or that statue, for the support of scientific\nwork or philanthropies, or even through thefts: \"Quelquefois meme c'est par\ndes vols ou se montre la perversion d'un esprit sectaire, l'aberration et\nla profondeur de ses convictions passionees.\"\n\nCommonly, indeed, money performs even this function, that of measuring\ncurrents of belief, passion, enthusiasms, etc., through the process of\nexchange, and, ordinarily, it is difficult to get any single current\nseparately. We simply get the resultant of an equilibrium of a complex of\nforces in economic values. But sometimes a single factor stands out so\nprominently that we can abstract from the rest, and let money changes\nmeasure changes in it alone. For example, during the three days of the\nbattle of Gettysburg, the premium on gold, as measured in terms of Federal\npaper, fell from forty-five per cent to twenty-three and a fourth per\ncent.[205] For the market, this means simply a change in the economic value\nof Federal paper. But for one who cares to look even superficially behind\nthe scenes, it means an increased volume of belief in the triumph of the\nFederal arms--a belief that at once affected economic values, and was\nmeasured in terms of money. Or, the economist may abstract a single legal\nfactor, as a tax law, and measure its influence on the assumption that the\nrest of the situation is constant, in the well-known laws of shifting and\nincidence.\n\nSuch clean-cut instances are not the rule, however. The organic complexity\nof the social forces lying back of economic values makes it difficult to\ndisentangle single elements, and measure their force. For one thing,\nvariations in one factor usually mean movements in the others. If we may\nborrow terms from chemistry, while the economist may give us a\n_qualitative_ analysis of these forces, it is hard for him to give us a\n_quantitative_ analysis. And the characteristic of pure economic theory has\nbeen its effort to get quantitative, quasi-mathematical laws. The \"pure\ntheorist,\" therefore, does well to start with a quantitative value concept\n(a convenient shorthand or symbol for the infinite complexity that lies\nbehind it), a value quantity in which the net outcome of social\ninteractions does precisely manifest itself, and study the laws which it\nmanifests. His chief interest is, not in the origin of economic value\nitself, but in the changes in quantities in value in different goods and\nservices as these manifest themselves in the market, and submit themselves\nto economic measurement. In a word, his chief interest is, not in value,\nbut in _prices_.[206] And the great bulk of pure economic theory, and\npractically all that is of greatest importance in pure theory, is in the\ntheory of prices, and not in the theory of value. Lest I be misunderstood,\nthe qualification must be repeated: prices here mean, not money-prices, but\nprices in the generic sense. In this sense of the word price, it is just as\naccurate to speak of the price of money in terms of commodities, or of a\ncomposite of commodities, as to speak of prices of commodities in terms of\nmoney.\n\nThat is to say, the economist gives himself little concern, in his\nquasi-mathematical study, as to the ultimate nature of the social forces\nthat manifest themselves in the market. A host of forces lie back of\ndemand, but the economist puts the phenomena of demand into a curve which\nis the function of two variables, one a quantity of money, and the other a\nquantity of goods. Lying back of these quantities of goods and money, and\ngiving meaning to the curve, are the more fundamental quantities, the value\nof the goods and the value of the money. Further than this, for the\npurposes of his quasi-mathematical, pure theory, the pure economist has no\nreal occasion to go--in proof of which it need be remarked simply that the\nmost divergent theories as to the nature of value, none of them adequate if\nthe theory set forth in this book be true, have not prevented the\ndevelopment of a vast, highly organized, and immensely useful body of price\ndoctrine, shared by economists of many schools. If only the economist have\na quantitative value concept, he can do wonders. And, if the question be\nregarding relations between factors where the question of the value of\nmoney may be ignored, he may often safely abstract from the idea of value,\nand speak simply of money quantities, and relative changes in these money\nquantities. Such is, indeed, Professor Marshall's procedure in a large part\nof his great work. Professor Davenport's contention that, from the\nstandpoint of the entrepreneur, the whole thing may be looked at in\npecuniary terms, is true of many problems. Cost for the entrepreneur is\nsimply a money matter. And while, for the more fundamental analysis, we of\ncourse must insist that a host of psychic forces determine what those money\ncosts shall be, our analysis will justify the contention that it is\nimpossible to treat them in any but price terms, in a precise and\nquantitative manner. They are too complex. Certainly labor-pain and\nabstinence, looked on as abstract individual feeling-magnitudes, will not\nexplain the supply-prices of labor and capital, any more than individual\n\"utilities\" will explain demand-schedules. And we may add that the terms\n\"social cost\" and \"social utility\" can, in our scheme, get no meaning that\nwill make them useful. The social value concept seems to us absolutely\nessential for the validation of the whole procedure of the price analysis,\nand to be implied in every step in it, but the only meaning we can find for\nthe concept of social marginal utility would be one which would make it\nidentical with social value; and against that there are two objections:\nfirst, it would be superfluous, and second, it would be misleading. \"Social\nutility\" can get only a vague, analogical meaning in our scheme. Instead of\nexplaining social value, it would itself present a problem.[207] A measure\nof social economic value in terms of a feeling-magnitude which an\nindividual can appreciate is not to be had. Value can be measured and\nquantitatively handled only in terms of _price_.\n\nIn saying this, I do not mean to impeach that more abstract procedure which\nspeaks of abstract units of value, and uses arithmetical numbers which\ndesignate no particular commodities, or algebraic symbols, or even ordinary\nspeech, to indicate quantitative relations among different sums of these\nabstract units. Such procedure is thoroughly correct, and often highly\nconvenient, if one be dealing with highly general laws, or if one wish to\navoid any complications from changes in the value of any concrete\ncommodity which might be chosen as the standard of value. Only, I would\ninsist, such procedure is simply an abstraction from the price concept, and\nso presupposes it. A unit of value, in the concrete, must be the value of\nsome particular concrete good, which is chosen as the standard. _What_ good\nis chosen is a purely arbitrary matter, determined by convenience. Abstract\nvalue, apart from valuable things, is an utter impossibility--only a\nPlatonic idealism or mediaeval realism could hold the contrary view. And, in\norder to show how many units of value there are in a good, we must compare\nit with another good, whose value is the unit, unless, indeed, we\narbitrarily choose as our unit the good in question, and say that its value\nis one unit, or several units, in case we arbitrarily define the unit as a\nfraction of its value. But clearly this latter procedure would tell us\nnothing after all as to the amount of the value in the good. It would be a\npurely formal process--like renaming a \"hocus-pocus\" and calling it two\n\"Abracadabras.\" Any real measuring--and real measuring is essential for any\nquantitative manipulation--implies _two_ things, one of which shall serve\nas the measure of the other. The conception of abstract _units_ of value,\ntherefore, is an abstraction from the price conception, and presupposes\nit.[208]\n\nA valid price procedure, in my view, is essentially this: we take our\nquantitative value concept, summing up the multitudinous social forces\nwhich determine values: then we assume a given set of ethical, legal, and\nsocial values of a non-economic sort,[209] as a sort of frozen framework\nwithin which our economic values are to operate, and which shall remain\nconstant during the investigation: then, measuring the economic values in\nterms of a common unit, we let them exert their influence on the situation,\nand see what results follow. We vary first one and then the other, and see\nwhat readjustments any change involves. Since the situation is so\ninfinitely complex, we bring about this artificial simplicity in thought,\nthat we may study the tendencies one by one. But a given economic change\nwill work out its consequences fully only on the assumption that other\neconomic changes are not occurring. We can in thought let them vary one by\none, but they do in fact all vary at once. And further--and for this fact\nprice theory has made no allowance--the \"frozen framework\" of legal, moral,\nand other non-economic social values, is not \"frozen.\" Changes in economic\nvalues lead to readjustments, not only in the other economic values, but\nalso in the legal, ethical, and other values of the framework. These last\nare fluid, psychic forces, just as truly as are the economic values. They\nchange because of changes in the economic values; they initiate changes in\nthe economic values; and they initiate changes which deflect the tendencies\nof changes in the economic values. So that, even though we premise a\nthoroughly organic theory of social value, in which the influence of the\nnon-economic social values, working _through_ the economic values, is\ncarefully provided for, we still have to correct the results of our price\nanalysis, before applying it to practice, to account for changes in the\nnon-economic values working to deflect the tendencies which the economic\nvalues would lead to if the other values had remained constant.\n\nThis last, of course, most economists in practice constantly try to do.\nPresent day discussions of practical economic problems are rich in data of\na non-economic sort. In practice the economist recognizes that his mission\nis, not to see how far a few abstract factors will go in the explanation of\neconomic life, but rather, to _explain_ that economic life by any means in\nhis power, though he ransack heaven and earth in the process.\n\nOf course, it is but a commonplace to add that the economist, in practice,\ndoes try to take account of the extent to which his assumptions as to the\nlegal and social \"framework\" hold: how far there is real freedom of\ncompetition, how far real \"intelligent self-interest,\" how far mobility of\nlabor and of capital, how far monopoly privilege, etc. Or, at least, he\nusually tries to make himself think that he has done so. It still remains\nlamentably true that a great deal of reasoning even on practical problems\nis an effort to apply theories without any adequate understanding of the\nextent to which the theories grow out of abstractions made for purposes of\nstudy, or any effort to put back the concrete facts from which the\nabstraction was made. The practical business man knows how these various\nforces operate on values. He studies them, tries to estimate their force in\nquantitative price terms, and adjusts his plans to them. If a religious\nwave sweeps over a large section of the country, the wholesaler sends in\nlarger orders for Bibles, and smaller orders for playing cards. If a\nrate-reduction agitation is going on, the manufacturer of steel rails and\nrailroad supplies plans to cut down his output. If trades-unionism grows\nstrong, employers of labor recognize that they must readjust their\nbudgets.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[198] _Cf._ Davenport, _op. cit._, pp. 296-97.\n\n[199] _Theory of Prosperity_, New York, 1902, pp. 16-17, 89.\n\n[200] \"On the Concept of Social Value,\" _Quar. Jour. Econ._, Feb., 1909,\npp. 226-27.\n\n[201] See _Wealth of Nations_, introductory part of chap. VIII of bk. I\n(pp. 66-67 of the Cannan ed.) For Ricardo, see _Works_, McCulloch ed.,\nLondon, 1852, p. 15. Adam Smith seems occasionally to use value in the\nrelative sense, as on p. 183 of vol. II of the Cannan ed. Ricardo, though\nindicating that he is concerned only with relative values on the page cited\n_supra_, still speaks of values as simultaneously falling, in ch. XX, on\n\"Value and Riches,\" which, of course, is impossible on the basis of the\nrelative concept. There is no point to torturing these passages unduly,\nhowever, in the effort to find our distinctions in them.\n\nProfessor Seligman calls my attention to a most interesting forty-page\ndiscussion of the theory of value by W. F. Lloyd, _A Lecture on the Notion\nof Value, as Distinguishable not only from Utility, but also from Value in\nExchange_. The lecture was delivered before the University of Oxford, in\nMichaelmas Term, 1833, and published, in accordance with the rules of the\nfoundation which provided funds for the lecture, in London, 1834. The\nwriter insists on the conception of value as absolute, and devotes pp.\n30-40 to a defense of the absolute conception. He cites the passage in Adam\nSmith referred to _supra_, in which Smith distinguishes real dearness from\napparent dearness (introductory part of chap. VIII of bk. I). The most\nstriking thing about this lecture, however, is its anticipation of Jevons's\ndoctrine of marginal utility, and its emphasis upon the subjective\ncharacter of value. The word, margin, is used in virtually the sense in\nwhich Jevons uses it, on p. 16.\n\nThe book is very rare,--only three copies, one in Professor Seligman's\nlibrary, one in the British Museum, and one in the Goldsmiths' (formerly\nFoxwell) Library in London, are known to exist. It seems to have made no\nimpression upon the economists of the time of its publication. A reprint\nto-day would enable the economic world to do belated justice to a very\nacute and original thinker. _Cf._ Professor Seligman's article \"On Some\nNeglected British Economists\" in the _Economic Journal_, vol. XIII, esp.\npp. 357-63.\n\n[202] _Principles_, bk. III, chap. XV, par. 2.\n\n[203] _Leading Principles_, editions of 1878 and 1900, pp. 12-13.\n\n[204] _Psychologie Economique_, vol. I, pp. 77-78.\n\n[205] Scott, _Money and Banking_, 1903 ed., p. 60.\n\n[206] _Cf._ Schumpeter, _Quar. Jour. Econ._, Feb., 1909, pp. 226-27.\n\n[207] See _supra_, p. 163, n.\n\n[208] _Cf._ p. 50, n. It is sufficiently clear, I trust, that this argument\nis concerned with the relativity of _knowledge_, and not with the\nrelativity of _value_. We can _know_ things only in terms of our\n\"apperceptive mass,\" but that does not mean that things _exist_ only by\nvirtue of our apperceptive mass. And even knowledge is relative only when\nit is \"_Knowledge-about_.\" _Cf._ James, _Principles of Psychology_, vol. I,\np. 221, and _The Meaning of Truth_, p. 4, n.\n\n[209] Marshall accords a limited recognition to our doctrine. See\n_Principles_, 1907 ed., p. 35, where he indicates that certain parts of the\ntheory of value assume the prevailing ethical standards of our Western\ncivilization, and that prices of various stock exchange securities are\n\"normally\" affected by the patriotic feelings of purchasers, and even\nbrokers, etc.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE THEORY OF VALUE AND THE THEORY OF PRICES (_concluded_)\n\n\nMy strictures upon the Austrian, or \"utility\" theory of value in what has\ngone before seem to call for further qualification here. As a theory of\n_value_, as a theory to explain the nature and origin of value, I am\nconvinced that the Austrian theory is utterly and hopelessly inadequate.\nAnd yet, for the work of the Austrian economists, taken by and large, I\nhave the highest admiration. Their treatment of margins, their conception\nof the motivating function of value, and their new stress on the demand\nside of the price-problem, constitute a marked advance over the point of\nview of the earlier English School, even though perhaps too extreme a\nreaction. And their detailed work in the price analysis, despite the\nutterly inadequate basis which the utility theory of value affords for it,\nhas been marvelously accurate, sound, and useful. Having no logical warrant\nfor an objectively valid quantitative value concept, they have none the\nless assumed and used one--and used it marvelously well. Sometimes that\nobjective value is called by the name, \"objective value.\" Sometimes they\ncall it \"marginal utility,\" and yet it is clearly anything but the feeling\nof an individual, for it is broken up into different parts, and reflected\nback and back through different productive goods of remoter and remoter\nrank till it has got very far from the individual who may be supposed to\nfeel it. Production is the production, not of material things, but of\n\"utilities\"--and yet these utilities, as treated in the analysis, are\nanything but individual feeling-magnitudes, and the actual reasoning on the\nbasis of them would not be different if they were called quantities of\nvalue outright. By logical leaps, by confusing \"utility\" with demand, or by\nconfusing \"marginal utility\" with objective value,[210] the Austrians have\ngot what the practical exigencies of price theory demand. A detailed\nestimate of the work of the Austrian School is, of course, out of place\nhere, but I do not wish to be understood as failing to recognize the\nimmense value of the work of men who have given so great an impetus to\neconomic thought as has been the case with the Austrian masters.\n\nThere is a further topic in connection with the relation between value\ntheory and price theory that calls for more explicit attention here, though\nfrequent reference has been made to it already. What is the relation of the\ndistributive problem to value theory and to price theory? Is distribution a\nprice problem or a value problem?\n\nIt may be looked at from either angle, and treated in either way. A\ncomplete theory of distribution involves many of the most fundamental\nsocial values. Indeed, it is through the machinery of distribution that\nthe non-economic values most vitally affect economic values. Wages,\ninterest, competitive profits, are surely legal categories, and are\npossible only in a society where there is free labor and private control of\nindustry. We may agree with Wieser[211] that, as categories of economic\ncausation, interest, rent, and wages will remain even in a communistic\nsociety (and, doubtless, also profit and loss), but that is far from saying\n(as Wieser of course recognizes) that they would remain as distributive\nshares. Each social system has its own distributive scheme.\n\nBut, in a system like that of Western civilization to-day, where human\nservices and the uses of land and instrumental goods are offered in the\nmarket like other commodities, we may treat them in terms of the price\nanalysis with as much propriety as the other commodities. The prices paid\nfor them measure a complex of social forces, but we cannot always\ndisentangle these social forces and measure them separately. It is hard to\ntell precisely how much influence on the price of labor has been exerted by\na speech from Mr. Gompers, or a Federal injunction, or a law for the\nexclusion of certain classes of immigrants. If we wish to handle\ndistribution quantitatively, we must do it superficially, studying in the\nmarket the effects which the underlying social forces manifest there with\nreference to the rewards of the different factors of production. This has\nbeen increasingly the case with later theories of distribution. If, on the\nother hand, we take the discussion which J. S. Mill gives in book II of his\n_Principles_, we shall find that the price analysis plays relatively little\npart, and that he considers chiefly the influence of the more fundamental\nsocial values.[212]\n\nA failure to recognize the distinction between value theory and price\ntheory seems to lie behind the complaint which Professor Davenport makes\nagainst the \"Social Value School\" in his criticism of Professor Seligman:\n\"As soon as we turn from the value problem to the separate treatment of the\ndistributive shares, we find ourselves to have descended from the\ncloud-land mysteries of transcendental economics to the old and beaten\npaths of the traditional analysis.\"[213] To this complaint the obvious\nanswer is that we have turned from fundamental value theory to abstract,\nquantitative price analysis. And the social value theorist has as much\nright to do this as has any other economist--in fact, if our theory be\ntrue, only on the basis of a social value doctrine has any economist a\nright (logically) to take up price analysis.\n\nThe theory of value, as I conceive it, is, then, not a substitute for\ndetailed price analysis, but rather a presupposition of it. The theory of\nvalue is to interpret, validate, and guide the theory of prices. If the\ntheory here outlined be true, it will have significant consequences for the\ntheory of prices, in that it will open up new problems for the price\nanalysis to attack. There are many social forces which can be measured with\nsubstantial accuracy, and many more which can be, for purposes of theory,\ndisentangled from the complex in which they appear, and treated by the\nmethods of price analysis already discussed, which economic theory has not\nyet thought it worth while to attack. The economist must emulate the\npractical business man, in trying to treat in price terms the various\nsocial changes which affect economic values. There is much left for the\ntheory of prices to do. The theory defended here, with its sharp sundering\nof values and prices, will, of course, criticize the mixing of the two. One\nchief criticism of the Austrian theory, and also of the theory of the\nEnglish School in so far as it attempts to give a \"real cost\" doctrine, is\nthat they are attempts to give both a theory of value and a theory of\nprices at the same time. Certainly we must object to Boehm-Bawerk's\ncontention that the solving of the price problem _ipso facto_ solves the\nvalue problem.[214] The purpose of this book is, not _destructive_, but\n_reconstructive_. A detailed criticism of the various economic theories\nthat have appeared, as theories of prices, is manifestly too big a task to\nbe undertaken here. All of them cannot, of course, be accepted _in toto_,\nfor there are, doubtless, irreconcilable differences among them at points.\nBut it is the belief of the writer that the great bulk of what has been\ndone in the study of the quasi-mathematical laws of prices is of\nsubstantial worth, that a recognition of the distinction between value\ntheory and price theory, and of the confusions that result from mixing the\ntwo, will remove many seemingly irreconcilable differences between opposing\nschools, and that existing price theories are less to be criticized for\nwhat they affirm than for what they ignore and deny.\n\nMuch of the significance of the theory of value for the interpretation of\nprice theory has been indicated from time to time, in what has gone before.\nPrices have _meanings_. They express _values_. To understand the meanings\nof prices, we must know what the values mean. There is one further point in\nthis connection which is so important that we shall give a separate chapter\nto it.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[210] _Vide supra_, chaps. V and XI.\n\n[211] _Natural Value_, _passim_.\n\n[212] Mill's self-congratulation on having written two books of his\ntreatise without taking up the theory of value has been commented on by\nmany economists. He was able to do this, because value theory meant price\ntheory for him. Value theory in the sense of the theory of the forces of\nsocial control and motivation does appear in plenty in Mill's first two\nbooks, and also the wealth concept, which he connects with the idea of\nvalue, and a quantitative value concept, not formally defined, but probably\nall the more useful on that account. It was a sound instinct that led Mill\nto take up the problem of distribution before taking up the problem of\n\"value.\" Really, in discussing distribution as he did, he was making a very\nreal contribution to the ultimate value problem.\n\n[213] _Value and Distribution_, p. 451.\n\n[214] _Vide supra_, chap. IV.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE THEORY OF VALUE AND THE SOCIAL OUTLOOK. SUMMARY\n\n\nThe belief that social optimism and social pessimism are in an essential\nway linked with the theory of value is one that finds expression in a good\nmany writers. The socialist theory of value is supposed to serve as a\ncondemnation of the existing social _regime_; Professor Clark's system of\nvalue and distribution is often interpreted as justifying an optimistic\noutlook. This view is expressed by Professor Frank Fetter, for one, who\nespecially stresses this aspect of value theory.[215] Professor Joseph\nSchumpeter, in his article on social value several times mentioned,[216]\nindicates that an optimistic social outlook is a necessary corollary of the\ntheory of social value. Wieser's objection to the doctrine that economic\nvalue signifies social importance[217] seems to be based on the belief that\nthe doctrine means, not merely that society is responsible for the existing\nvalue situation, but also that that situation is consequently a just and\nrighteous one. And the same notion seems to be, in part at least, the\ninspiration of Professor Davenport's attack in his recent article in the\n_Quarterly Journal_.[218]\n\nIt is not necessary to discuss here the question as to whether Professor\nClark means that his theory should be so interpreted.[219] What I wish to\ninsist upon is that no implication, either optimistic or pessimistic, as to\nthe existing social order, can be drawn from the theory defended in this\nbook. Whether or not economic values in particular cases correspond with\nethical values, whether or not goods are ranked on the basis of their\nimport for the ultimate welfare of society, and the extent to which this is\nthe case, will depend on the extent to which the ethical forces in society\nprevail over the anti-ethical forces. The theory as such is neutral. Assume\nour existing society, modified in the one particular that competition shall\nhenceforth be perfectly free, and still the conclusion does not follow.\nIdle sons of our multimillionaires may inherit ill-gotten wealth, may\ninvest it and draw an endless income from it. With this income to back\ntheir desires, they may make the services of panders worth more than the\nservices of statesmen and inventors. The values of goods depend on the more\nfundamental values of men, even though the values of men, under abstract\neconomic laws, depend upon the value productivity of their labor or their\npossessions. The theory is a theory of economic value, even though the\ntremendous influence of ethical and other values be recognized as entering\ninto economic values. They may be overpowered by opposing forces. The\ntheory is a general theory, and holds for a decadent as well as for an\nimproving society; for a society where justice reigns, if such a society\nthere be, and for a society where corruption is rampant, and wolves prey.\nThe justification of the existing social order is to be sought\nelsewhere--the theory of economic value, as such, does not contain it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe main steps of our argument may be briefly recapitulated here: Value is\na quantity, socially valid; value is not logically dependent upon exchange,\nbut is logically antecedent to exchange; a circle in reasoning is involved\nif the relative conception of value be treated as ultimate; the Austrian\ntheory, and the cost theory, and combinations of the two, all fail alike to\nlead us to an ultimate quantity of value; they fall into another circle,\nthat of explaining value in terms of value, if they attempt to do so; the\ndefect is in the highly abstract nature of the determinants of value which\nthese theories start from; they abstract the individual mind from its\nconnection with the social whole, and then abstract from the individual\nmind only those emotions which are directly concerned with the consumption\nand production of economic goods; this abstraction is necessitated by the\nindividualistic, subjectivistic conception of society, which, growing out\nof the skeptical philosophy of Hume, has dominated economic theory ever\nsince; present day sociology has rejected this conception of society, and\nhas reestablished the organic conception of society in psychological\n(rather than biological) terms, which make it possible to treat society as\na whole as the source of the values of goods; this does not obviate the\nnecessity for close analysis, nor does it, in itself, solve the problem,\nbut it does give us an adequate point of view; the determinants of value\ninclude not only the highly abstract factors which the value theories here\ncriticized have undertaken to handle arithmetically, but also all the other\nvolitional factors in the intermental life of men in society--not an\narithmetical synthesis of elements, but an organic whole; legal and ethical\nvalues are especially to be taken into account in a theory of economic\nvalue, particularly those most immediately concerned with distribution; the\ntheory of value and the theory of prices are to be sharply distinguished.\n\nThe function of economic values is the motivation of the economic\nactivities of society. Value as treated by the cost theories, or value as a\nsum of money costs, is a blind thing, a product rather than an end, and\nfails utterly as a guiding, motivating principle for economic activity. It\nis the merit of the Austrian School to have pointed this out. But the\nabstract individual factors which the Austrians have substituted are just\nas helpless in explaining the motivation of social activity. Every man's\ncourse is made for him far more by outside forces than by his own\nindividual motives. Economic activity in society is an intricate, complex\nthing, for the motivation of which no individual's motives can suffice. If\nmotivated at all its guidance comes from something superindividual, and\nthat something is social value. Ends, aims, purposes, desires, of many men,\nmutually interacting and mutually determining each other, modifying,\nstimulating, creating each other, take tangible, determinate shape, as\neconomic values, and the technique of the social economic organization\nresponds and carries them out.\n\nTHE END\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[215] _Principles of Economics_, New York, 1905, pp. 415 _et seq._\n\n[216] \"On the Concept of Social Value,\" _Quar. Jour. Econ._, 1909, pp.\n222-23.\n\n[217] _Nat. Val._, p. 52, n. Quoted _supra_, chap. I.\n\n[218] \"Social Productivity _vs._ Private Acquisition,\" _Quar. Jour. Econ._,\nNov., 1910, pp. 112-13. \"Economic productivity is not a matter of piety or\nmerit or deserving, but only of commanding a price. Actors, teachers,\npreachers, lawyers, prostitutes, all do things that men are content to pay\nfor. So wages may be earned by inditing libels against a rival candidate,\nor by setting fire to a competitor's refinery, or by sinking spices. The\ntest of economic activity in a competitive society is the fact of private\ngain, irrespective of any ethical criteria, and unconcerned with any social\naccountancy.... If whiskey is wealth, distilleries are capital items. If\nPeruna is wealth, the kettle in which it is brewed must be accepted as\ncapital. Then so is the house rented as a dive; and if the house is\nproductive, and is therefore capital, so, also, must the inmates be\nproducers according to their kind. The test of social welfare is invalid to\nstamp as unproductive any form of wealth, or any kind of labor. If jimmies\nare capital, being productive for their purpose, so also is burglary\nproductive; if sandbags, so highway robbery.... Always and everywhere, in\nthe competitive _regime_, the test of productivity is competitive gain.\"\n\nIf only my conception of social value is granted, I may safely enough\nconcede Professor Davenport all the depravity he can find in society, and\nrecognize that that depravity has its part in the determination of the\nconcrete values. Only, I would insist, virtue as well as depravity is a\nfactor in the social will, and plays its role in determining economic\nvalues, and motivating economic activities. Legal values are not \"absolute\"\nvalues, in the sense that everybody obeys the law, but laws as well as\nlawlessness affect economic values.\n\nIt may be well at this point for me to make clear my relation to Professor\nDavenport. Throughout this book, his theories have been subject to frequent\ncriticism. The obvious reason is, of course, that he has made himself the\nleading critic of the social value concept, and hence, if that concept is\nto be defended, his point of view must be met. But, if that were all, he\nwould have occupied far less of our space than has been the case. The fact\nis, in my judgment, that Professor Davenport is one of the commanding\nfigures in economic theory. I think no economist has even approximated the\nclearness and explicitness with which he has set forth the presuppositions\nof the view which this book opposes, and that no economist has ever\nreasoned more clearly upon the basis of these presuppositions. Professor\nDavenport thus presents the very best object of attack, if one is to\njustify the social viewpoint in economic theory. My indebtedness to him is\nmarked, and I have tried to indicate the fact from time to time in notes.\nHis book has aided me greatly in clarifying my own ideas, and has also\nsubstantially abridged my bibliographical labors. With many of his\ncriticisms of existing value theory, those criticisms, especially, which\nare concerned with the internal logical contradictions of existing value\ntheory, I am in hearty accord. The chief difference between us at this\npoint will be, I think, that I try to go further than he has gone. And the\nfundamental differences between his view and mine grow out of the different\npsychological, philosophical, and sociological presuppositions with which\nwe start. I feel that the individualistic method of approaching the value\nproblem is foredoomed, provided it be logically carried out, and I think\nProfessor Davenport has logically carried it out!\n\n[219] I regret exceedingly that Professor Clark's absence from Columbia\nUniversity during the academic year, 1910-11, has prevented my discussing\nthis, and a host of other questions raised in this book, with him.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX OF NAMES\n\n\nAdams, T. S., 120, n.\n\nAnaximander, 60.\n\nAnaximenes, 60.\n\nAristotle, 61, 101.\n\nAustrian School, 7, 8, 16, n., 17, 28, 29, 30, 31, 38, n., 39, 40, 41,\nchap. VI, 49, 108, 113, 119, 121, 125, 126, 152, n., 188-89, 192, 197, 198.\n\n\nBaldwin, M., 15, n., 56, 69, n., 73, 74, n., 75, 80, 84, 95, n., 167.\n\nBerkeley, G., 62.\n\nBoehm-Bawerk, E. von, 7, 29, 31, n., 37-39, 40, 44, n., 49, n., 121,\n152, n., 192.\n\nBradley, F. H., 65, n.\n\nBuckle, H. T., 153.\n\nBullock, C. J., 4.\n\n\nCairnes, J. E., 65, n., 177.\n\nCarey, H. C., 73.\n\nCarver, T. N., 16, 27, n.\n\nClark, J. B., 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 13, 16, 30, n., 31-33, 39, chap. VII,\n65, 139, n., 143-44, 152, n. 156, 165, 173, 174, 194, 196.\n\nClow, F. R., 20, n.\n\nCommons, J. R., 157, n.\n\nComte, A., 73.\n\nConrad, J., 15, n., 127, n.\n\nCooley, C. H., 56, 69, n., 77 _et seq._, 84, 157.\n\n\nDarwin, Charles, 63.\n\nDavenport, H. J., 6, 21, 22, n., 23, 27, n., 37, 41, 42, 66, 71, n., 87-89,\n98, 113, n., 121, n., 122, 133, n., 140, n., 142, n., 175, n., 182, 191,\n194, 195, n.\n\nDeGreef, G., 72-76.\n\nDesCartes, Rene, 62, 63, 81.\n\nDewey, J., 65, n., 68, n., 84, n., 95, n., 96, n., 100, 168, n.\n\nDraper, J. W., 72.\n\nDurkheim, E., 117, n.\n\n\nEdgeworth, F. Y., 25.\n\nEhrenfels, C., 94, 98, 106, n., 108, n., 110, n., 111, n.\n\nElwood, C. A., 56, n., 76, n., 84, n.\n\nEly, R. T., 17, n., 42, 118, n.\n\nEnglish School, 17, 38, n., 47, 121, 164, 165, 166, 188, 192.\n\n\nFetter, F., 194.\n\nFisher, I., 17, 26, n., 43, n.\n\nFlux, A. W., 42, 120, n.\n\n\nGeorge, Henry, 16.\n\nGiddings, F. H., 75, n., 82, 83.\n\nGoethe, J. W. von, 70.\n\nGompers, S., 190.\n\n\nHadley, A. T., 15, 42.\n\nHayden, E. A., 56, n.\n\nHayes, E. C., 155, n.\n\nHegel, G. W. F., 63.\n\nHermann, F. B. W. von., 38, n.\n\nHesiod, 73.\n\nHobson, J. A., 47, 49.\n\nHume, David, 62, 63, 198.\n\n\nIngram, J. K., 3, n.\n\n\nJames, Wm., 65, n., 68, n., 184, n.\n\nJevons, W. S., 4, 7, 25, 28, 29, 31, n., 34-36, 39, 40, 41, 42, 65, 73,\n176, n.\n\nJohnson, A. S., 140, n.\n\n\nKallen, H. M., 94, n.\n\nKant, Immanuel, 25, 63, 67.\n\nKing, Gregory, 169.\n\nKinley, D., 4, 5, 27, n., 120, n.\n\nKreibig, J. C., 94, n.\n\n\nLaughlin, J. L., 20, n., 26, 27, n., 49, n.\n\nLaw, John, 171.\n\nLilienfeld, P. von, 74.\n\nLloyd, W. F., 176, n.\n\nLocke, John, 62.\n\n\nMackenzie, J. S., 111, n.\n\nMalthus, T. R., 139.\n\nMarshall, A., 41, 42, 49, 65, 140, n., 177, 182, 185, n.\n\nMarx, Karl, 3, n., 15, 16, 26, 153.\n\nMeinong, A., 94, 95, n., 98, n., 99, 102, 111, n.\n\nMerriam, L. S., 4, 5, 27, n.\n\nMill, James, 63, n.\n\nMill, J. S., 37, 63, n., 74, n., 138, 143, 172, 177, 191.\n\nMontague, W. P., 94, n.\n\n\nNovikow, J., 74.\n\n\nPantaleoni, M., 19, n.\n\nPareto, V., 3, n., 20, n., 25, 31, n., 34, 36-37, 39, 40, n., 45, n., 65,\n154, n.\n\nPatten, S. N., 42, 175.\n\nPaulsen, Friedrich, 69, n., 85, n., 95, n., 97, n.\n\nPerry, R. B., 70, n.\n\nPierson, N. G., 41.\n\nPlato, 61, 184.\n\n\nRicardo, David, 53, n., 175, 176.\n\nRodbertus, J. K., 3, n., 8, 9.\n\nRoss, E. A., 4, 5, 117, n., 148, n., 173.\n\nRousseau, J. J., 63.\n\nRoyce, J., 117, n.\n\n\nSantayana, G., 96.\n\nSax, E., 8.\n\nSchaeffle, A., 42, 120.\n\nSchiller, F. C. S., 68, n.\n\nSchumpeter, J., 6, 140, n., 175, 181, 194.\n\nScott, W. A., 120, n., 180, n.\n\nSeligman, E. R. A., 4, 5, 6, n., 13, 16, 19, 20, n., 26, 32, n., 87, 145,\n153, chap. XVI, 176, n., 177, n., 191.\n\nSenior, N. W., 26.\n\nShaw, C. C., 95, n.\n\nSimiand, F., 74.\n\nSimmel, G., 19, n., 20, n., 94, n., 95.\n\nSkelton, O. D., 15, n.\n\nSlater, T., 95, n.\n\nSmall, A. W., 63, n.\n\nSmith, Adam, 63, 176.\n\nSocrates, 61.\n\nSophists, 60.\n\nSpencer, Herbert, 72, 83.\n\nSpinoza, Benedict de, 62, 63.\n\nStuart, H. W., 68, n., 95, n., 168, n.\n\n\nTarde, G., 4, 16, 56, 95, 97, n., 103, 118, n., chap. XII, 148, n.,\n172, 179.\n\nTaylor, W. G. L., 16, n., 23.\n\nThackeray, W. M., 66.\n\nThales, 60.\n\nTufts, J. H., 95, n.\n\nTuttle, C. A., 4.\n\n\nUrban, W. M., 70, n., 95, 97, n., 98, n., 99, 101, n., 103, 108, n., 110,\nn., 116, chap. XII, 167, n.\n\n\nVeblen, T., 30, n., 65.\n\n\nWagner, Adolph, 3, n., 9.\n\nWalker, F. A., 25, 26, 137.\n\nWicksteed, P. H., 111, n., 113, n.\n\nWieser, F. von, 8, 16, 17, 18, 28, 29, 31, n., 34, 35, 40, 46, 47, 49, n.,\n120, n., 132, 133, 136, 137, 143, 190, 194.\n\nWundt, W., 85, n.\n\n\nThe Riverside Press\n\nCAMBRIDGE. MASSACHUSETTS\n\nU. S. A\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Social Value, by B. M. Anderson\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by An Anonomous Volunteer\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE TALISMAN\n\nBy Sir Walter Scott\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION TO THE TALISMAN.\n\nThe \"Betrothed\" did not greatly please one or two friends, who thought\nthat it did not well correspond to the general title of \"The Crusaders.\"\nThey urged, therefore, that, without direct allusion to the manners of\nthe Eastern tribes, and to the romantic conflicts of the period, the\ntitle of a \"Tale of the Crusaders\" would resemble the playbill, which\nis said to have announced the tragedy of Hamlet, the character of\nthe Prince of Denmark being left out. On the other hand, I felt the\ndifficulty of giving a vivid picture of a part of the world with which\nI was almost totally unacquainted, unless by early recollections of\nthe Arabian Nights' Entertainments; and not only did I labour under the\nincapacity of ignorance--in which, as far as regards Eastern manners, I\nwas as thickly wrapped as an Egyptian in his fog--but my contemporaries\nwere, many of them, as much enlightened upon the subject as if they had\nbeen inhabitants of the favoured land of Goshen. The love of travelling\nhad pervaded all ranks, and carried the subjects of Britain into all\nquarters of the world. Greece, so attractive by its remains of art, by\nits struggles for freedom against a Mohammedan tyrant, by its very name,\nwhere every fountain had its classical legend--Palestine, endeared\nto the imagination by yet more sacred remembrances--had been of late\nsurveyed by British eyes, and described by recent travellers. Had I,\ntherefore, attempted the difficult task of substituting manners of my\nown invention, instead of the genuine costume of the East, almost every\ntraveller I met who had extended his route beyond what was anciently\ncalled \"The Grand Tour,\" had acquired a right, by ocular inspection, to\nchastise me for my presumption. Every member of the Travellers' Club who\ncould pretend to have thrown his shoe over Edom was, by having done so,\nconstituted my lawful critic and corrector. It occurred, therefore,\nthat where the author of Anastasius, as well as he of Hadji Baba, had\ndescribed the manners and vices of the Eastern nations, not only with\nfidelity, but with the humour of Le Sage and the ludicrous power of\nFielding himself, one who was a perfect stranger to the subject must\nnecessarily produce an unfavourable contrast. The Poet Laureate also,\nin the charming tale of \"Thalaba,\" had shown how extensive might be\nthe researches of a person of acquirements and talent, by dint of\ninvestigation alone, into the ancient doctrines, history, and manners of\nthe Eastern countries, in which we are probably to look for the cradle\nof mankind; Moore, in his \"Lalla Rookh,\" had successfully trod the\nsame path; in which, too, Byron, joining ocular experience to extensive\nreading, had written some of his most attractive poems. In a word, the\nEastern themes had been already so successfully handled by those who\nwere acknowledged to be masters of their craft, that I was diffident of\nmaking the attempt.\n\nThese were powerful objections; nor did they lose force when they\nbecame the subject of anxious reflection, although they did not finally\nprevail. The arguments on the other side were, that though I had no hope\nof rivalling the contemporaries whom I have mentioned, yet it occurred\nto me as possible to acquit myself of the task I was engaged in without\nentering into competition with them.\n\nThe period relating more immediately to the Crusades which I at last\nfixed upon was that at which the warlike character of Richard I., wild\nand generous, a pattern of chivalry, with all its extravagant virtues,\nand its no less absurd errors, was opposed to that of Saladin, in which\nthe Christian and English monarch showed all the cruelty and violence\nof an Eastern sultan, and Saladin, on the other hand, displayed the deep\npolicy and prudence of a European sovereign, whilst each contended\nwhich should excel the other in the knightly qualities of bravery and\ngenerosity. This singular contrast afforded, as the author conceived,\nmaterials for a work of fiction possessing peculiar interest. One of the\ninferior characters introduced was a supposed relation of Richard Coeur\nde Lion--a violation of the truth of history which gave offence to Mr.\nMills, the author of the \"History of Chivalry and the Crusades,\" who was\nnot, it may be presumed, aware that romantic fiction naturally includes\nthe power of such invention, which is indeed one of the requisites of\nthe art.\n\nPrince David of Scotland, who was actually in the host, and was the hero\nof some very romantic adventures on his way home, was also pressed into\nmy service, and constitutes one of my DRAMATIS PERSONAE.\n\nIt is true I had already brought upon the field him of the lion heart.\nBut it was in a more private capacity than he was here to be exhibited\nin the Talisman--then as a disguised knight, now in the avowed character\nof a conquering monarch; so that I doubted not a name so dear to\nEnglishmen as that of King Richard I. might contribute to their\namusement for more than once.\n\nI had access to all which antiquity believed, whether of reality or\nfable, on the subject of that magnificent warrior, who was the proudest\nboast of Europe and their chivalry, and with whose dreadful name the\nSaracens, according to a historian of their own country, were wont to\nrebuke their startled horses. \"Do you think,\" said they, \"that King\nRichard is on the track, that you stray so wildly from it?\" The most\ncurious register of the history of King Richard is an ancient romance,\ntranslated originally from the Norman; and at first certainly having a\npretence to be termed a work of chivalry, but latterly becoming stuffed\nwith the most astonishing and monstrous fables. There is perhaps no\nmetrical romance upon record where, along with curious and genuine\nhistory, are mingled more absurd and exaggerated incidents. We have\nplaced in the Appendix to this Introduction the passage of the romance\nin which Richard figures as an ogre, or literal cannibal.\n\nA principal incident in the story is that from which the title is\nderived. Of all people who ever lived, the Persians were perhaps most\nremarkable for their unshaken credulity in amulets, spells, periapts,\nand similar charms, framed, it was said, under the influence of\nparticular planets, and bestowing high medical powers, as well as the\nmeans of advancing men's fortunes in various manners. A story of this\nkind, relating to a Crusader of eminence, is often told in the west of\nScotland, and the relic alluded to is still in existence, and even yet\nheld in veneration.\n\nSir Simon Lockhart of Lee and Gartland made a considerable figure in the\nreigns of Robert the Bruce and of his son David. He was one of the chief\nof that band of Scottish chivalry who accompanied James, the Good Lord\nDouglas, on his expedition to the Holy Land with the heart of King\nRobert Bruce. Douglas, impatient to get at the Saracens, entered into\nwar with those of Spain, and was killed there. Lockhart proceeded to the\nHoly Land with such Scottish knights as had escaped the fate of their\nleader and assisted for some time in the wars against the Saracens.\n\nThe following adventure is said by tradition to have befallen him:--\n\nHe made prisoner in battle an Emir of considerable wealth and\nconsequence. The aged mother of the captive came to the Christian camp,\nto redeem her son from his state of captivity. Lockhart is said to have\nfixed the price at which his prisoner should ransom himself; and the\nlady, pulling out a large embroidered purse, proceeded to tell down the\nransom, like a mother who pays little respect to gold in comparison of\nher son's liberty. In this operation, a pebble inserted in a coin, some\nsay of the Lower Empire, fell out of the purse, and the Saracen matron\ntestified so much haste to recover it as gave the Scottish knight a\nhigh idea of its value, when compared with gold or silver. \"I will not\nconsent,\" he said, \"to grant your son's liberty, unless that amulet be\nadded to his ransom.\" The lady not only consented to this, but explained\nto Sir Simon Lockhart the mode in which the talisman was to be used,\nand the uses to which it might be put. The water in which it was dipped\noperated as a styptic, as a febrifuge, and possessed other properties as\na medical talisman.\n\nSir Simon Lockhart, after much experience of the wonders which it\nwrought, brought it to his own country, and left it to his heirs, by\nwhom, and by Clydesdale in general, it was, and is still, distinguished\nby the name of the Lee-penny, from the name of his native seat of Lee.\n\nThe most remarkable part of its history, perhaps, was that it so\nespecially escaped condemnation when the Church of Scotland chose to\nimpeach many other cures which savoured of the miraculous, as occasioned\nby sorcery, and censured the appeal to them, \"excepting only that to\nthe amulet, called the Lee-penny, to which it had pleased God to annex\ncertain healing virtues which the Church did not presume to condemn.\" It\nstill, as has been said, exists, and its powers are sometimes resorted\nto. Of late, they have been chiefly restricted to the cure of persons\nbitten by mad dogs; and as the illness in such cases frequently arises\nfrom imagination, there can be no reason for doubting that water which\nhas been poured on the Lee-penny furnishes a congenial cure.\n\nSuch is the tradition concerning the talisman, which the author has\ntaken the liberty to vary in applying it to his own purposes.\n\nConsiderable liberties have also been taken with the truth of history,\nboth with respect to Conrade of Montserrat's life, as well as his death.\nThat Conrade, however, was reckoned the enemy of Richard is agreed both\nin history and romance. The general opinion of the terms upon which they\nstood may be guessed from the proposal of the Saracens that the Marquis\nof Montserrat should be invested with certain parts of Syria, which they\nwere to yield to the Christians. Richard, according to the romance which\nbears his name, \"could no longer repress his fury. The Marquis he said,\nwas a traitor, who had robbed the Knights Hospitallers of sixty thousand\npounds, the present of his father Henry; that he was a renegade, whose\ntreachery had occasioned the loss of Acre; and he concluded by a solemn\noath, that he would cause him to be drawn to pieces by wild horses, if\nhe should ever venture to pollute the Christian camp by his presence.\nPhilip attempted to intercede in favour of the Marquis, and throwing\ndown his glove, offered to become a pledge for his fidelity to the\nChristians; but his offer was rejected, and he was obliged to give way\nto Richard's impetuosity.\"--HISTORY OF CHIVALRY.\n\nConrade of Montserrat makes a considerable figure in those wars, and was\nat length put to death by one of the followers of the Scheik, or Old Man\nof the Mountain; nor did Richard remain free of the suspicion of having\ninstigated his death.\n\nIt may be said, in general, that most of the incidents introduced in\nthe following tale are fictitious, and that reality, where it exists, is\nonly retained in the characters of the piece.\n\nABBOTSFORD, 1st July, 1832\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION.\n\nWhile warring in the Holy Land, Richard was seized with an ague.\n\nThe best leeches of the camp were unable to effect the cure of the\nKing's disease; but the prayers of the army were more successful. He\nbecame convalescent, and the first symptom of his recovery was a violent\nlonging for pork. But pork was not likely to be plentiful in a country\nwhose inhabitants had an abhorrence for swine's flesh; and\n\n     \"Though his men should be hanged,\n     They ne might, in that countrey,\n     For gold, ne silver, ne no money,\n     No pork find, take, ne get,\n     That King Richard might aught of eat.\n     An old knight with Richard biding,\n     When he heard of that tiding,\n     That the king's wants were swyche,\n     To the steward he spake privyliche--\n     \"Our lord the king sore is sick, I wis,\n     After porck he alonged is;\n     Ye may none find to selle;\n     No man be hardy him so to telle!\n     If he did he might die.\n     Now behoves to done as I shall say,\n     Tho' he wete nought of that.\n     Take a Saracen, young and fat;\n     In haste let the thief be slain,\n     Opened, and his skin off flayn;\n     And sodden full hastily,\n     With powder and with spicery,\n     And with saffron of good colour.\n     When the king feels thereof savour,\n     Out of ague if he be went,\n     He shall have thereto good talent.\n     When he has a good taste,\n     And eaten well a good repast,\n     And supped of the BREWIS [Broth] a sup,\n     Slept after and swet a drop,\n     Through Goddis help and my counsail,\n     Soon he shall be fresh and hail.'\n     The sooth to say, at wordes few,\n     Slain and sodden was the heathen shrew.\n     Before the king it was forth brought:\n     Quod his men, 'Lord, we have pork sought;\n     Eates and sups of the brewis SOOTE,[Sweet]\n     Thorough grace of God it shall be your boot.'\n     Before King Richard carff a knight,\n     He ate faster than he carve might.\n     The king ate the flesh and GNEW [Gnawed] the bones,\n     And drank well after for the nonce.\n     And when he had eaten enough,\n     His folk hem turned away, and LOUGH.[Laughed]\n     He lay still and drew in his arm;\n     His chamberlain him wrapped warm.\n     He lay and slept, and swet a stound,\n     And became whole and sound.\n     King Richard clad him and arose,\n     And walked abouten in the close.\"\n\nAn attack of the Saracens was repelled by Richard in person, the\nconsequence of which is told in the following lines:--\n\n     \"When King Richard had rested a whyle,\n     A knight his arms 'gan unlace,\n     Him to comfort and solace.\n     Him was brought a sop in wine.\n     'The head of that ilke swine,\n     That I of ate!' (the cook he bade,)\n     'For feeble I am, and faint and mad.\n     Of mine evil now I am fear;\n     Serve me therewith at my soupere!'\n     Quod the cook, 'That head I ne have.'\n     Then said the king, 'So God me save,\n     But I see the head of that swine,\n     For sooth, thou shalt lesen thine!'\n     The cook saw none other might be;\n     He fet the head and let him see.\n     He fell on knees, and made a cry--\n     'Lo, here the head!  my Lord, mercy!'\"\n\nThe cook had certainly some reason to fear that his master would be\nstruck with horror at the recollection of the dreadful banquet to which\nhe owed his recovery; but his fears were soon dissipated.\n\n     \"The swarte vis [Black face] when the king seeth,\n     His black beard and white teeth,\n     How his lippes grinned wide,\n     'What devil is this?' the king cried,\n     And 'gan to laugh as he were wode.\n     'What!  is Saracen's flesh thus good?\n     That never erst I nought wist!\n     By God's death and his uprist,\n     Shall we never die for default,\n     While we may in any assault,\n     Slee Saracens, the flesh may take,\n     And seethen and roasten and do hem bake,\n     [And] Gnawen her flesh to the bones!\n     Now I have it proved once,\n     For hunger ere I be wo,\n     I and my folk shall eat mo!\"'\n\nThe besieged now offered to surrender, upon conditions of safety to the\ninhabitants; while all the public treasure, military machines, and arms\nwere delivered to the victors, together with the further ransom of\none hundred thousand bezants. After this capitulation, the following\nextraordinary scene took place. We shall give it in the words of the\nhumorous and amiable George Ellis, the collector and the editor of these\nRomances:--\n\n\"Though the garrison had faithfully performed the other articles of\ntheir contract, they were unable to restore the cross, which was not\nin their possession, and were therefore treated by the Christians\nwith great cruelty. Daily reports of their sufferings were carried to\nSaladin; and as many of them were persons of the highest distinction,\nthat monarch, at the solicitation of their friends, dispatched an\nembassy to King Richard with magnificent presents, which he offered\nfor the ransom of the captives. The ambassadors were persons the most\nrespectable from their age, their rank, and their eloquence. They\ndelivered their message in terms of the utmost humility; and without\narraigning the justice of the conqueror in his severe treatment of their\ncountrymen, only solicited a period to that severity, laying at his feet\nthe treasures with which they were entrusted, and pledging themselves\nand their master for the payment of any further sums which he might\ndemand as the price of mercy.\n\n     \"King Richard spake with wordes mild.\n     'The gold to take, God me shield!\n     Among you partes [Divide] every charge.\n     I brought in shippes and in barge,\n     More gold and silver with me,\n     Than has your lord, and swilke three.\n     To his treasure have I no need!\n     But for my love I you bid,\n     To meat with me that ye dwell;\n     And afterward I shall you tell.\n     Thorough counsel I shall you answer,\n     What BODE [Message] ye shall to your lord bear.\n\n\"The invitation was gratefully accepted. Richard, in the meantime, gave\nsecret orders to his marshal that he should repair to the prison,\nselect a certain number of the most distinguished captives, and, after\ncarefully noting their names on a roll of parchment, cause their heads\nto be instantly struck off; that these heads should be delivered to the\ncook, with instructions to clear away the hair, and, after boiling\nthem in a cauldron, to distribute them on several platters, one to\neach guest, observing to fasten on the forehead of each the piece of\nparchment expressing the name and family of the victim.\n\n     \"'An hot head bring me beforn,\n     As I were well apayed withall,\n     Eat thereof fast I shall;\n     As it were a tender chick,\n     To see how the others will like.'\n\n\"This horrible order was punctually executed. At noon the guests were\nsummoned to wash by the music of the waits. The king took his seat\nattended by the principal officers of his court, at the high table, and\nthe rest of the company were marshalled at a long table below him.\nOn the cloth were placed portions of salt at the usual distances, but\nneither bread, wine, nor water. The ambassadors, rather surprised at\nthis omission, but still free from apprehension, awaited in silence\nthe arrival of the dinner, which was announced by the sound of pipes,\ntrumpets, and tabours; and beheld, with horror and dismay, the unnatural\nbanquet introduced by the steward and his officers. Yet their sentiments\nof disgust and abhorrence, and even their fears, were for a time\nsuspended by their curiosity. Their eyes were fixed on the king, who,\nwithout the slightest change of countenance, swallowed the morsels as\nfast as they could be supplied by the knight who carved them.\n\n     \"Every man then poked other;\n     They said, 'This is the devil's brother,\n     That slays our men, and thus hem eats!'\n\n\"Their attention was then involuntarily fixed on the smoking heads\nbefore them. They traced in the swollen and distorted features the\nresemblance of a friend or near relation, and received from the\nfatal scroll which accompanied each dish the sad assurance that this\nresemblance was not imaginary. They sat in torpid silence, anticipating\ntheir own fate in that of their countrymen; while their ferocious\nentertainer, with fury in his eyes, but with courtesy on his lips,\ninsulted them by frequent invitations to merriment. At length this first\ncourse was removed, and its place supplied by venison, cranes, and other\ndainties, accompanied by the richest wines. The king then apologized to\nthem for what had passed, which he attributed to his ignorance of their\ntaste; and assured them of his religious respect for their characters as\nambassadors, and of his readiness to grant them a safe-conduct for their\nreturn. This boon was all that they now wished to claim; and\n\n     \"King Richard spake to an old man,\n     'Wendes home to your Soudan!\n     His melancholy that ye abate;\n     And sayes that ye came too late.\n     Too slowly was your time y-guessed;\n     Ere ye came, the flesh was dressed,\n     That men shoulden serve with me,\n     Thus at noon, and my meynie.\n     Say him, it shall him nought avail,\n     Though he for-bar us our vitail,\n     Bread, wine, fish, flesh, salmon, and conger;\n     Of us none shall die with hunger,\n     While we may wenden to fight,\n     And slay the Saracens downright,\n     Wash the flesh, and roast the head.\n     With 0 [One] Saracen I may well feed\n     Well a nine or a ten\n     Of my good Christian men.\n     King Richard shall warrant,\n     There is no flesh so nourissant\n     Unto an English man,\n     Partridge, plover, heron, ne swan,\n     Cow ne ox, sheep ne swine,\n     As the head of a Sarazyn.\n     There he is fat, and thereto tender,\n     And my men be lean and slender.\n     While any Saracen quick be,\n     Livand now in this Syrie,\n     For meat will we nothing care.\n     Abouten fast we shall rare,\n     And every day we shall eat\n     All as many as we may get.\n     To England will we nought gon,\n     Till they be eaten every one.'\"\n\n\n      ELLIS'S SPECIMENS OF EARLY ENGLISH METRICEL ROMANCES.\n\nThe reader may be curious to know owing to what circumstances so\nextraordinary an invention as that which imputed cannibalism to the King\nof England should have found its way into his history. Mr. James, to\nwhom we owe so much that is curious, seems to have traced the origin of\nthis extraordinary rumour.\n\n\"With the army of the cross also was a multitude of men,\" the same\nauthor declares, \"who made it a profession to be without money. They\nwalked barefoot, carried no arms, and even preceded the beasts of burden\nin their march, living upon roots and herbs, and presenting a spectacle\nboth disgusting and pitiable.\n\n\"A Norman, who, according to all accounts, was of noble birth, but who,\nhaving lost his horse, continued to follow as a foot soldier, took\nthe strange resolution of putting himself at the head of this race\nof vagabonds, who willingly received him as their king. Amongst the\nSaracens these men became well known under the name of THAFURS (which\nGuibert translates TRUDENTES), and were beheld with great horror\nfrom the general persuasion that they fed on the dead bodies of their\nenemies; a report which was occasionally justified, and which the king\nof the Thafurs took care to encourage. This respectable monarch was\nfrequently in the habit of stopping his followers, one by one, in a\nnarrow defile, and of causing them to be searched carefully, lest the\npossession of the least sum of money should render them unworthy of the\nname of his subjects. If even two sous were found upon any one, he\nwas instantly expelled the society of his tribe, the king bidding him\ncontemptuously buy arms and fight.\n\n\"This troop, so far from being cumbersome to the army, was infinitely\nserviceable, carrying burdens, bringing in forage, provisions, and\ntribute; working the machines in the sieges; and, above all, spreading\nconsternation among the Turks, who feared death from the lances of the\nknights less than that further consummation they heard of under the\nteeth of the Thafurs.\" [James's \"History of Chivalry.\"]\n\nIt is easy to conceive that an ignorant minstrel, finding the taste and\nferocity of the Thafurs commemorated in the historical accounts of the\nHoly Wars, has ascribed their practices and propensities to the Monarch\nof England, whose ferocity was considered as an object of exaggeration\nas legitimate as his valour.\n\nABBOTSFORD, 1st July, 1832.\n\n\n\n\n\nTALES OF THE CRUSADERS. TALE II.--THE TALISMAN.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n     They, too, retired\n     To the wilderness, but 'twas with arms.\n         PARADISE REGAINED.\n\nThe burning sun of Syria had not yet attained its highest point in\nthe horizon, when a knight of the Red Cross, who had left his distant\nnorthern home and joined the host of the Crusaders in Palestine, was\npacing slowly along the sandy deserts which lie in the vicinity of the\nDead Sea, or, as it is called, the Lake Asphaltites, where the waves of\nthe Jordan pour themselves into an inland sea, from which there is no\ndischarge of waters.\n\nThe warlike pilgrim had toiled among cliffs and precipices during the\nearlier part of the morning. More lately, issuing from those rocky\nand dangerous defiles, he had entered upon that great plain, where\nthe accursed cities provoked, in ancient days, the direct and dreadful\nvengeance of the Omnipotent.\n\nThe toil, the thirst, the dangers of the way, were forgotten, as the\ntraveller recalled the fearful catastrophe which had converted into an\narid and dismal wilderness the fair and fertile valley of Siddim, once\nwell watered, even as the Garden of the Lord, now a parched and blighted\nwaste, condemned to eternal sterility.\n\nCrossing himself, as he viewed the dark mass of rolling waters, in\ncolour as in duality unlike those of any other lake, the traveller\nshuddered as he remembered that beneath these sluggish waves lay the\nonce proud cities of the plain, whose grave was dug by the thunder of\nthe heavens, or the eruption of subterraneous fire, and whose remains\nwere hid, even by that sea which holds no living fish in its bosom,\nbears no skiff on its surface, and, as if its own dreadful bed were the\nonly fit receptacle for its sullen waters, sends not, like other lakes,\na tribute to the ocean. The whole land around, as in the days of Moses,\nwas \"brimstone and salt; it is not sown, nor beareth, nor any grass\ngroweth thereon.\" The land as well as the lake might be termed dead, as\nproducing nothing having resemblance to vegetation, and even the very\nair was entirely devoid of its ordinary winged inhabitants, deterred\nprobably by the odour of bitumen and sulphur which the burning sun\nexhaled from the waters of the lake in steaming clouds, frequently\nassuming the appearance of waterspouts. Masses of the slimy and\nsulphureous substance called naphtha, which floated idly on the sluggish\nand sullen waves, supplied those rolling clouds with new vapours, and\nafforded awful testimony to the truth of the Mosaic history.\n\nUpon this scene of desolation the sun shone with almost intolerable\nsplendour, and all living nature seemed to have hidden itself from the\nrays, excepting the solitary figure which moved through the flitting\nsand at a foot's pace, and appeared the sole breathing thing on the wide\nsurface of the plain. The dress of the rider and the accoutrements of\nhis horse were peculiarly unfit for the traveller in such a country. A\ncoat of linked mail, with long sleeves, plated gauntlets, and a steel\nbreastplate, had not been esteemed a sufficient weight of armour; there\nwere also his triangular shield suspended round his neck, and his barred\nhelmet of steel, over which he had a hood and collar of mail, which\nwas drawn around the warrior's shoulders and throat, and filled up the\nvacancy between the hauberk and the headpiece. His lower limbs were\nsheathed, like his body, in flexible mail, securing the legs and thighs,\nwhile the feet rested in plated shoes, which corresponded with the\ngauntlets. A long, broad, straight-shaped, double-edged falchion, with\na handle formed like a cross, corresponded with a stout poniard on the\nother side. The knight also bore, secured to his saddle, with one end\nresting on his stirrup, the long steel-headed lance, his own proper\nweapon, which, as he rode, projected backwards, and displayed its little\npennoncelle, to dally with the faint breeze, or drop in the dead calm.\nTo this cumbrous equipment must be added a surcoat of embroidered cloth,\nmuch frayed and worn, which was thus far useful that it excluded the\nburning rays of the sun from the armour, which they would otherwise have\nrendered intolerable to the wearer. The surcoat bore, in several places,\nthe arms of the owner, although much defaced. These seemed to be a\ncouchant leopard, with the motto, \"I sleep; wake me not.\" An outline of\nthe same device might be traced on his shield, though many a blow had\nalmost effaced the painting. The flat top of his cumbrous cylindrical\nhelmet was unadorned with any crest. In retaining their own unwieldy\ndefensive armour, the Northern Crusaders seemed to set at defiance the\nnature of the climate and country to which they had come to war.\n\nThe accoutrements of the horse were scarcely less massive and unwieldy\nthan those of the rider. The animal had a heavy saddle plated with\nsteel, uniting in front with a species of breastplate, and behind with\ndefensive armour made to cover the loins. Then there was a steel axe,\nor hammer, called a mace-of-arms, and which hung to the saddle-bow. The\nreins were secured by chain-work, and the front-stall of the bridle was\na steel plate, with apertures for the eyes and nostrils, having in the\nmidst a short, sharp pike, projecting from the forehead of the horse\nlike the horn of the fabulous unicorn.\n\nBut habit had made the endurance of this load of panoply a second\nnature, both to the knight and his gallant charger. Numbers, indeed,\nof the Western warriors who hurried to Palestine died ere they became\ninured to the burning climate; but there were others to whom that\nclimate became innocent and even friendly, and among this fortunate\nnumber was the solitary horseman who now traversed the border of the\nDead Sea.\n\nNature, which cast his limbs in a mould of uncommon strength, fitted\nto wear his linked hauberk with as much ease as if the meshes had been\nformed of cobwebs, had endowed him with a constitution as strong as his\nlimbs, and which bade defiance to almost all changes of climate, as well\nas to fatigue and privations of every kind. His disposition seemed, in\nsome degree, to partake of the qualities of his bodily frame; and as\nthe one possessed great strength and endurance, united with the power of\nviolent exertion, the other, under a calm and undisturbed semblance, had\nmuch of the fiery and enthusiastic love of glory which constituted the\nprincipal attribute of the renowned Norman line, and had rendered\nthem sovereigns in every corner of Europe where they had drawn their\nadventurous swords.\n\nIt was not, however, to all the race that fortune proposed such tempting\nrewards; and those obtained by the solitary knight during two years'\ncampaign in Palestine had been only temporal fame, and, as he was taught\nto believe, spiritual privileges. Meantime, his slender stock of money\nhad melted away, the rather that he did not pursue any of the ordinary\nmodes by which the followers of the Crusade condescended to recruit\ntheir diminished resources at the expense of the people of Palestine--he\nexacted no gifts from the wretched natives for sparing their possessions\nwhen engaged in warfare with the Saracens, and he had not availed\nhimself of any opportunity of enriching himself by the ransom of\nprisoners of consequence. The small train which had followed him from\nhis native country had been gradually diminished, as the means of\nmaintaining them disappeared, and his only remaining squire was at\npresent on a sick-bed, and unable to attend his master, who travelled,\nas we have seen, singly and alone. This was of little consequence to the\nCrusader, who was accustomed to consider his good sword as his safest\nescort, and devout thoughts as his best companion.\n\nNature had, however, her demands for refreshment and repose even on\nthe iron frame and patient disposition of the Knight of the Sleeping\nLeopard; and at noon, when the Dead Sea lay at some distance on his\nright, he joyfully hailed the sight of two or three palm-trees, which\narose beside the well which was assigned for his mid-day station. His\ngood horse, too, which had plodded forward with the steady endurance of\nhis master, now lifted his head, expanded his nostrils, and quickened\nhis pace, as if he snuffed afar off the living waters which marked the\nplace of repose and refreshment. But labour and danger were doomed to\nintervene ere the horse or horseman reached the desired spot.\n\nAs the Knight of the Couchant Leopard continued to fix his eyes\nattentively on the yet distant cluster of palm-trees, it seemed to him\nas if some object was moving among them. The distant form separated\nitself from the trees, which partly hid its motions, and advanced\ntowards the knight with a speed which soon showed a mounted horseman,\nwhom his turban, long spear, and green caftan floating in the wind, on\nhis nearer approach showed to be a Saracen cavalier. \"In the desert,\"\nsaith an Eastern proverb, \"no man meets a friend.\" The Crusader was\ntotally indifferent whether the infidel, who now approached on his\ngallant barb as if borne on the wings of an eagle, came as friend or\nfoe--perhaps, as a vowed champion of the Cross, he might rather have\npreferred the latter. He disengaged his lance from his saddle, seized\nit with the right hand, placed it in rest with its point half elevated,\ngathered up the reins in the left, waked his horse's mettle with\nthe spur, and prepared to encounter the stranger with the calm\nself-confidence belonging to the victor in many contests.\n\nThe Saracen came on at the speedy gallop of an Arab horseman, managing\nhis steed more by his limbs and the inflection of his body than by any\nuse of the reins, which hung loose in his left hand; so that he was\nenabled to wield the light, round buckler of the skin of the rhinoceros,\nornamented with silver loops, which he wore on his arm, swinging it as\nif he meant to oppose its slender circle to the formidable thrust of the\nWestern lance. His own long spear was not couched or levelled like that\nof his antagonist, but grasped by the middle with his right hand, and\nbrandished at arm's-length above his head. As the cavalier approached\nhis enemy at full career, he seemed to expect that the Knight of the\nLeopard should put his horse to the gallop to encounter him. But the\nChristian knight, well acquainted with the customs of Eastern warriors,\ndid not mean to exhaust his good horse by any unnecessary exertion; and,\non the contrary, made a dead halt, confident that if the enemy advanced\nto the actual shock, his own weight, and that of his powerful charger,\nwould give him sufficient advantage, without the additional momentum\nof rapid motion. Equally sensible and apprehensive of such a probable\nresult, the Saracen cavalier, when he had approached towards the\nChristian within twice the length of his lance, wheeled his steed to the\nleft with inimitable dexterity, and rode twice around his antagonist,\nwho, turning without quitting his ground, and presenting his front\nconstantly to his enemy, frustrated his attempts to attack him on an\nunguarded point; so that the Saracen, wheeling his horse, was fain to\nretreat to the distance of a hundred yards. A second time, like a hawk\nattacking a heron, the heathen renewed the charge, and a second time\nwas fain to retreat without coming to a close struggle. A third time he\napproached in the same manner, when the Christian knight, desirous to\nterminate this illusory warfare, in which he might at length have been\nworn out by the activity of his foeman, suddenly seized the mace which\nhung at his saddle-bow, and, with a strong hand and unerring aim,\nhurled it against the head of the Emir, for such and not less his enemy\nappeared. The Saracen was just aware of the formidable missile in time\nto interpose his light buckler betwixt the mace and his head; but the\nviolence of the blow forced the buckler down on his turban, and though\nthat defence also contributed to deaden its violence, the Saracen was\nbeaten from his horse. Ere the Christian could avail himself of this\nmishap, his nimble foeman sprung from the ground, and, calling on his\nsteed, which instantly returned to his side, he leaped into his seat\nwithout touching the stirrup, and regained all the advantage of which\nthe Knight of the Leopard hoped to deprive him. But the latter had\nin the meanwhile recovered his mace, and the Eastern cavalier, who\nremembered the strength and dexterity with which his antagonist had\naimed it, seemed to keep cautiously out of reach of that weapon of which\nhe had so lately felt the force, while he showed his purpose of waging a\ndistant warfare with missile weapons of his own. Planting his long spear\nin the sand at a distance from the scene of combat, he strung, with\ngreat address, a short bow, which he carried at his back; and putting\nhis horse to the gallop, once more described two or three circles of\na wider extent than formerly, in the course of which he discharged six\narrows at the Christian with such unerring skill that the goodness of\nhis harness alone saved him from being wounded in as many places. The\nseventh shaft apparently found a less perfect part of the armour, and\nthe Christian dropped heavily from his horse. But what was the surprise\nof the Saracen, when, dismounting to examine the condition of his\nprostrate enemy, he found himself suddenly within the grasp of the\nEuropean, who had had recourse to this artifice to bring his enemy\nwithin his reach! Even in this deadly grapple the Saracen was saved by\nhis agility and presence of mind. He unloosed the sword-belt, in which\nthe Knight of the Leopard had fixed his hold, and, thus eluding his\nfatal grasp, mounted his horse, which seemed to watch his motions with\nthe intelligence of a human being, and again rode off. But in the last\nencounter the Saracen had lost his sword and his quiver of arrows, both\nof which were attached to the girdle which he was obliged to abandon. He\nhad also lost his turban in the struggle.\n\nThese disadvantages seemed to incline the Moslem to a truce. He\napproached the Christian with his right hand extended, but no longer in\na menacing attitude.\n\n\"There is truce betwixt our nations,\" he said, in the lingua franca\ncommonly used for the purpose of communication with the Crusaders;\n\"wherefore should there be war betwixt thee and me? Let there be peace\nbetwixt us.\"\n\n\"I am well contented,\" answered he of the Couchant Leopard; \"but what\nsecurity dost thou offer that thou wilt observe the truce?\"\n\n\"The word of a follower of the Prophet was never broken,\" answered the\nEmir. \"It is thou, brave Nazarene, from whom I should demand security,\ndid I not know that treason seldom dwells with courage.\"\n\nThe Crusader felt that the confidence of the Moslem made him ashamed of\nhis own doubts.\n\n\"By the cross of my sword,\" he said, laying his hand on the weapon as\nhe spoke, \"I will be true companion to thee, Saracen, while our fortune\nwills that we remain in company together.\"\n\n\"By Mohammed, Prophet of God, and by Allah, God of the Prophet,\" replied\nhis late foeman, \"there is not treachery in my heart towards thee. And\nnow wend we to yonder fountain, for the hour of rest is at hand, and\nthe stream had hardly touched my lip when I was called to battle by thy\napproach.\"\n\nThe Knight of the Couchant Leopard yielded a ready and courteous assent;\nand the late foes, without an angry look or gesture of doubt, rode side\nby side to the little cluster of palm-trees.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTimes of danger have always, and in a peculiar degree, their seasons\nof good-will and security; and this was particularly so in the ancient\nfeudal ages, in which, as the manners of the period had assigned war\nto be the chief and most worthy occupation of mankind, the intervals\nof peace, or rather of truce, were highly relished by those warriors to\nwhom they were seldom granted, and endeared by the very circumstances\nwhich rendered them transitory. It is not worth while preserving any\npermanent enmity against a foe whom a champion has fought with to-day,\nand may again stand in bloody opposition to on the next morning. The\ntime and situation afforded so much room for the ebullition of violent\npassions, that men, unless when peculiarly opposed to each other,\nor provoked by the recollection of private and individual wrongs,\ncheerfully enjoyed in each other's society the brief intervals of\npacific intercourse which a warlike life admitted.\n\nThe distinction of religions, nay, the fanatical zeal which animated the\nfollowers of the Cross and of the Crescent against each other, was much\nsoftened by a feeling so natural to generous combatants, and especially\ncherished by the spirit of chivalry. This last strong impulse had\nextended itself gradually from the Christians to their mortal enemies\nthe Saracens, both of Spain and of Palestine. The latter were, indeed,\nno longer the fanatical savages who had burst from the centre of Arabian\ndeserts, with the sabre in one hand and the Koran in the other, to\ninflict death or the faith of Mohammed, or, at the best, slavery and\ntribute, upon all who dared to oppose the belief of the prophet of\nMecca. These alternatives indeed had been offered to the unwarlike\nGreeks and Syrians; but in contending with the Western Christians,\nanimated by a zeal as fiery as their own, and possessed of as\nunconquerable courage, address, and success in arms, the Saracens\ngradually caught a part of their manners, and especially of those\nchivalrous observances which were so well calculated to charm the minds\nof a proud and conquering people. They had their tournaments and games\nof chivalry; they had even their knights, or some rank analogous; and\nabove all, the Saracens observed their plighted faith with an accuracy\nwhich might sometimes put to shame those who owned a better religion.\nTheir truces, whether national or betwixt individuals, were faithfully\nobserved; and thus it was that war, in itself perhaps the greatest\nof evils, yet gave occasion for display of good faith, generosity,\nclemency, and even kindly affections, which less frequently occur in\nmore tranquil periods, where the passions of men, experiencing wrongs or\nentertaining quarrels which cannot be brought to instant decision, are\napt to smoulder for a length of time in the bosoms of those who are so\nunhappy as to be their prey.\n\nIt was under the influence of these milder feelings which soften the\nhorrors of warfare that the Christian and Saracen, who had so lately\ndone their best for each other's mutual destruction, rode at a slow pace\ntowards the fountain of palm-trees to which the Knight of the Couchant\nLeopard had been tending, when interrupted in mid-passage by his\nfleet and dangerous adversary. Each was wrapt for some time in his own\nreflections, and took breath after an encounter which had threatened to\nbe fatal to one or both; and their good horses seemed no less to enjoy\nthe interval of repose.\n\nThat of the Saracen, however, though he had been forced into much the\nmore violent and extended sphere of motion, appeared to have suffered\nless from fatigue than the charger of the European knight. The sweat\nhung still clammy on the limbs of the latter, when those of the noble\nArab were completely dried by the interval of tranquil exercise, all\nsaving the foam-flakes which were still visible on his bridle and\nhousings. The loose soil on which he trod so much augmented the distress\nof the Christian's horse, heavily loaded by his own armour and the\nweight of his rider, that the latter jumped from his saddle, and led his\ncharger along the deep dust of the loamy soil, which was burnt in the\nsun into a substance more impalpable than the finest sand, and thus\ngave the faithful horse refreshment at the expense of his own additional\ntoil; for, iron-sheathed as he was, he sunk over the mailed shoes at\nevery step which he placed on a surface so light and unresisting.\n\n\"You are right,\" said the Saracen--and it was the first word that either\nhad spoken since their truce was concluded; \"your strong horse deserves\nyour care. But what do you in the desert with an animal which sinks over\nthe fetlock at every step as if he would plant each foot deep as the\nroot of a date-tree?\"\n\n\"Thou speakest rightly, Saracen,\" said the Christian knight, not\ndelighted at the tone with which the infidel criticized his favourite\nsteed--\"rightly, according to thy knowledge and observation. But my good\nhorse hath ere now borne me, in mine own land, over as wide a lake as\nthou seest yonder spread out behind us, yet not wet one hair above his\nhoof.\"\n\nThe Saracen looked at him with as much surprise as his manners permitted\nhim to testify, which was only expressed by a slight approach to a\ndisdainful smile, that hardly curled perceptibly the broad, thick\nmoustache which enveloped his upper lip.\n\n\"It is justly spoken,\" he said, instantly composing himself to his usual\nserene gravity; \"List to a Frank, and hear a fable.\"\n\n\"Thou art not courteous, misbeliever,\" replied the Crusader, \"to doubt\nthe word of a dubbed knight; and were it not that thou speakest in\nignorance, and not in malice, our truce had its ending ere it is well\nbegun. Thinkest thou I tell thee an untruth when I say that I, one of\nfive hundred horsemen, armed in complete mail, have ridden--ay, and\nridden for miles, upon water as solid as the crystal, and ten times less\nbrittle?\"\n\n\"What wouldst thou tell me?\" answered the Moslem. \"Yonder inland sea\nthou dost point at is peculiar in this, that, by the especial curse of\nGod, it suffereth nothing to sink in its waves, but wafts them away, and\ncasts them on its margin; but neither the Dead Sea, nor any of the\nseven oceans which environ the earth, will endure on their surface the\npressure of a horse's foot, more than the Red Sea endured to sustain the\nadvance of Pharaoh and his host.\"\n\n\"You speak truth after your knowledge, Saracen,\" said the Christian\nknight; \"and yet, trust me, I fable not, according to mine. Heat, in\nthis climate, converts the soil into something almost as unstable\nas water; and in my land cold often converts the water itself into\na substance as hard as rock. Let us speak of this no longer, for\nthe thoughts of the calm, clear, blue refulgence of a winter's lake,\nglimmering to stars and moonbeam, aggravate the horrors of this fiery\ndesert, where, methinks, the very air which we breathe is like the\nvapour of a fiery furnace seven times heated.\"\n\nThe Saracen looked on him with some attention, as if to discover in\nwhat sense he was to understand words which, to him, must have appeared\neither to contain something of mystery or of imposition. At length he\nseemed determined in what manner to receive the language of his new\ncompanion.\n\n\"You are,\" he said, \"of a nation that loves to laugh, and you make sport\nwith yourselves, and with others, by telling what is impossible, and\nreporting what never chanced. Thou art one of the knights of France, who\nhold it for glee and pastime to GAB, as they term it, of exploits that\nare beyond human power. [Gaber. This French word signified a sort of\nsport much used among the French chivalry, which consisted in vying\nwith each other in making the most romantic gasconades. The verb and the\nmeaning are retained in Scottish.] I were wrong to challenge, for the\ntime, the privilege of thy speech, since boasting is more natural to\nthee than truth.\"\n\n\"I am not of their land, neither of their fashion,\" said the Knight,\n\"which is, as thou well sayest, to GAB of that which they dare not\nundertake--or, undertaking, cannot perfect. But in this I have imitated\ntheir folly, brave Saracen, that in talking to thee of what thou canst\nnot comprehend, I have, even in speaking most simple truth, fully\nincurred the character of a braggart in thy eyes; so, I pray you, let my\nwords pass.\"\n\nThey had now arrived at the knot of palm-trees and the fountain which\nwelled out from beneath their shade in sparkling profusion.\n\nWe have spoken of a moment of truce in the midst of war; and this, a\nspot of beauty in the midst of a sterile desert, was scarce less dear\nto the imagination. It was a scene which, perhaps, would elsewhere have\ndeserved little notice; but as the single speck, in a boundless\nhorizon, which promised the refreshment of shade and living water, these\nblessings, held cheap where they are common, rendered the fountain and\nits neighbourhood a little paradise. Some generous or charitable hand,\nere yet the evil days of Palestine began, had walled in and arched over\nthe fountain, to preserve it from being absorbed in the earth, or choked\nby the flitting clouds of dust with which the least breath of wind\ncovered the desert. The arch was now broken, and partly ruinous; but it\nstill so far projected over and covered in the fountain that it excluded\nthe sun in a great measure from its waters, which, hardly touched by a\nstraggling beam, while all around was blazing, lay in a steady repose,\nalike delightful to the eye and the imagination. Stealing from under the\narch, they were first received in a marble basin, much defaced indeed,\nbut still cheering the eye, by showing that the place was anciently\nconsidered as a station, that the hand of man had been there and that\nman's accommodation had been in some measure attended to. The thirsty\nand weary traveller was reminded by these signs that others had suffered\nsimilar difficulties, reposed in the same spot, and, doubtless, found\ntheir way in safety to a more fertile country. Again, the scarce visible\ncurrent which escaped from the basin served to nourish the few trees\nwhich surrounded the fountain, and where it sunk into the ground and\ndisappeared, its refreshing presence was acknowledged by a carpet of\nvelvet verdure.\n\nIn this delightful spot the two warriors halted, and each, after his own\nfashion, proceeded to relieve his horse from saddle, bit, and rein,\nand permitted the animals to drink at the basin, ere they refreshed\nthemselves from the fountain head, which arose under the vault. They\nthen suffered the steeds to go loose, confident that their interest, as\nwell as their domesticated habits, would prevent their straying from the\npure water and fresh grass.\n\nChristian and Saracen next sat down together on the turf, and produced\neach the small allowance of store which they carried for their own\nrefreshment. Yet, ere they severally proceeded to their scanty meal,\nthey eyed each other with that curiosity which the close and doubtful\nconflict in which they had been so lately engaged was calculated to\ninspire. Each was desirous to measure the strength, and form some\nestimate of the character, of an adversary so formidable; and each was\ncompelled to acknowledge that, had he fallen in the conflict, it had\nbeen by a noble hand.\n\nThe champions formed a striking contrast to each other in person and\nfeatures, and might have formed no inaccurate representatives of their\ndifferent nations. The Frank seemed a powerful man, built after the\nancient Gothic cast of form, with light brown hair, which, on the\nremoval of his helmet, was seen to curl thick and profusely over his\nhead. His features had acquired, from the hot climate, a hue much darker\nthan those parts of his neck which were less frequently exposed to view,\nor than was warranted by his full and well-opened blue eye, the colour\nof his hair, and of the moustaches which thickly shaded his upper\nlip, while his chin was carefully divested of beard, after the Norman\nfashion. His nose was Grecian and well formed; his mouth rather large\nin proportion, but filled with well-set, strong, and beautifully white\nteeth; his head small, and set upon the neck with much grace. His age\ncould not exceed thirty, but if the effects of toil and climate were\nallowed for, might be three or four years under that period. His form\nwas tall, powerful, and athletic, like that of a man whose strength\nmight, in later life, become unwieldy, but which was hitherto united\nwith lightness and activity. His hands, when he withdrew the mailed\ngloves, were long, fair, and well-proportioned; the wrist-bones\npeculiarly large and strong; and the arms remarkably well-shaped and\nbrawny. A military hardihood and careless frankness of expression\ncharacterized his language and his motions; and his voice had the tone\nof one more accustomed to command than to obey, and who was in the habit\nof expressing his sentiments aloud and boldly, whenever he was called\nupon to announce them.\n\nThe Saracen Emir formed a marked and striking contrast with the Western\nCrusader. His stature was indeed above the middle size, but he was at\nleast three inches shorter than the European, whose size approached the\ngigantic. His slender limbs and long, spare hands and arms, though well\nproportioned to his person, and suited to the style of his countenance,\ndid not at first aspect promise the display of vigour and elasticity\nwhich the Emir had lately exhibited. But on looking more closely, his\nlimbs, where exposed to view, seemed divested of all that was fleshy or\ncumbersome; so that nothing being left but bone, brawn, and sinew, it\nwas a frame fitted for exertion and fatigue, far beyond that of a bulky\nchampion, whose strength and size are counterbalanced by weight, and\nwho is exhausted by his own exertions. The countenance of the Saracen\nnaturally bore a general national resemblance to the Eastern tribe from\nwhom he descended, and was as unlike as possible to the exaggerated\nterms in which the minstrels of the day were wont to represent the\ninfidel champions, and the fabulous description which a sister art still\npresents as the Saracen's Head upon signposts. His features were small,\nwell-formed, and delicate, though deeply embrowned by the Eastern sun,\nand terminated by a flowing and curled black beard, which seemed trimmed\nwith peculiar care. The nose was straight and regular, the eyes keen,\ndeep-set, black, and glowing, and his teeth equalled in beauty the ivory\nof his deserts. The person and proportions of the Saracen, in short,\nstretched on the turf near to his powerful antagonist, might have been\ncompared to his sheeny and crescent-formed sabre, with its narrow and\nlight but bright and keen Damascus blade, contrasted with the long and\nponderous Gothic war-sword which was flung unbuckled on the same sod.\nThe Emir was in the very flower of his age, and might perhaps have been\ntermed eminently beautiful, but for the narrowness of his forehead and\nsomething of too much thinness and sharpness of feature, or at least\nwhat might have seemed such in a European estimate of beauty.\n\nThe manners of the Eastern warrior were grave, graceful, and decorous;\nindicating, however, in some particulars, the habitual restraint which\nmen of warm and choleric tempers often set as a guard upon their native\nimpetuosity of disposition, and at the same time a sense of his own\ndignity, which seemed to impose a certain formality of behaviour in him\nwho entertained it.\n\nThis haughty feeling of superiority was perhaps equally entertained by\nhis new European acquaintance, but the effect was different; and the\nsame feeling, which dictated to the Christian knight a bold, blunt, and\nsomewhat careless bearing, as one too conscious of his own importance\nto be anxious about the opinions of others, appeared to prescribe to the\nSaracen a style of courtesy more studiously and formally observant of\nceremony. Both were courteous; but the courtesy of the Christian seemed\nto flow rather from a good humoured sense of what was due to others;\nthat of the Moslem, from a high feeling of what was to be expected from\nhimself.\n\nThe provision which each had made for his refreshment was simple, but\nthe meal of the Saracen was abstemious. A handful of dates and a morsel\nof coarse barley-bread sufficed to relieve the hunger of the latter,\nwhose education had habituated them to the fare of the desert, although,\nsince their Syrian conquests, the Arabian simplicity of life frequently\ngave place to the most unbounded profusion of luxury. A few draughts\nfrom the lovely fountain by which they reposed completed his meal. That\nof the Christian, though coarse, was more genial. Dried hog's flesh, the\nabomination of the Moslemah, was the chief part of his repast; and his\ndrink, derived from a leathern bottle, contained something better than\npure element. He fed with more display of appetite, and drank with more\nappearance of satisfaction, than the Saracen judged it becoming to show\nin the performance of a mere bodily function; and, doubtless, the secret\ncontempt which each entertained for the other, as the follower of a\nfalse religion, was considerably increased by the marked difference of\ntheir diet and manners. But each had found the weight of his opponent's\narm, and the mutual respect which the bold struggle had created was\nsufficient to subdue other and inferior considerations. Yet the Saracen\ncould not help remarking the circumstances which displeased him in the\nChristian's conduct and manners; and, after he had witnessed for some\ntime in silence the keen appetite which protracted the knight's banquet\nlong after his own was concluded, he thus addressed him:--\n\n\"Valiant Nazarene, is it fitting that one who can fight like a man\nshould feed like a dog or a wolf? Even a misbelieving Jew would shudder\nat the food which you seem to eat with as much relish as if it were\nfruit from the trees of Paradise.\"\n\n\"Valiant Saracen,\" answered the Christian, looking up with some surprise\nat the accusation thus unexpectedly brought, \"know thou that I exercise\nmy Christian freedom in using that which is forbidden to the Jews,\nbeing, as they esteem themselves, under the bondage of the old law of\nMoses. We, Saracen, be it known to thee, have a better warrant for\nwhat we do--Ave Maria!--be we thankful.\" And, as if in defiance of\nhis companion's scruples, he concluded a short Latin grace with a long\ndraught from the leathern bottle.\n\n\"That, too, you call a part of your liberty,\" said the Saracen; \"and\nas you feed like the brutes, so you degrade yourself to the bestial\ncondition by drinking a poisonous liquor which even they refuse!\"\n\n\"Know, foolish Saracen,\" replied the Christian, without hesitation,\n\"that thou blasphemest the gifts of God, even with the blasphemy of thy\nfather Ishmael. The juice of the grape is given to him that will use it\nwisely, as that which cheers the heart of man after toil, refreshes him\nin sickness, and comforts him in sorrow. He who so enjoyeth it may thank\nGod for his winecup as for his daily bread; and he who abuseth the gift\nof Heaven is not a greater fool in his intoxication than thou in thine\nabstinence.\"\n\nThe keen eye of the Saracen kindled at this sarcasm, and his hand sought\nthe hilt of his poniard. It was but a momentary thought, however, and\ndied away in the recollection of the powerful champion with whom he\nhad to deal, and the desperate grapple, the impression of which still\nthrobbed in his limbs and veins; and he contented himself with pursuing\nthe contest in colloquy, as more convenient for the time.\n\n\"Thy words\" he said, \"O Nazarene, might create anger, did not thy\nignorance raise compassion. Seest thou not, O thou more blind than any\nwho asks alms at the door of the Mosque, that the liberty thou dost\nboast of is restrained even in that which is dearest to man's happiness\nand to his household; and that thy law, if thou dost practise it, binds\nthee in marriage to one single mate, be she sick or healthy, be she\nfruitful or barren, bring she comfort and joy, or clamour and strife,\nto thy table and to thy bed? This, Nazarene, I do indeed call slavery;\nwhereas, to the faithful, hath the Prophet assigned upon earth the\npatriarchal privileges of Abraham our father, and of Solomon, the wisest\nof mankind, having given us here a succession of beauty at our pleasure,\nand beyond the grave the black-eyed houris of Paradise.\"\n\n\"Now, by His name that I most reverence in heaven,\" said the Christian,\n\"and by hers whom I most worship on earth, thou art but a blinded and\na bewildered infidel!--That diamond signet which thou wearest on thy\nfinger, thou holdest it, doubtless, as of inestimable value?\"\n\n\"Balsora and Bagdad cannot show the like,\" replied the Saracen; \"but\nwhat avails it to our purpose?\"\n\n\"Much,\" replied the Frank, \"as thou shalt thyself confess. Take my\nwar-axe and dash the stone into twenty shivers: would each fragment be\nas valuable as the original gem, or would they, all collected, bear the\ntenth part of its estimation?\"\n\n\"That is a child's question,\" answered the Saracen; \"the fragments of\nsuch a stone would not equal the entire jewel in the degree of hundreds\nto one.\"\n\n\"Saracen,\" replied the Christian warrior, \"the love which a true knight\nbinds on one only, fair and faithful, is the gem entire; the affection\nthou flingest among thy enslaved wives and half-wedded slaves is\nworthless, comparatively, as the sparkling shivers of the broken\ndiamond.\"\n\n\"Now, by the Holy Caaba,\" said the Emir, \"thou art a madman who hugs\nhis chain of iron as if it were of gold! Look more closely. This ring\nof mine would lose half its beauty were not the signet encircled and\nenchased with these lesser brilliants, which grace it and set it off.\nThe central diamond is man, firm and entire, his value depending on\nhimself alone; and this circle of lesser jewels are women, borrowing\nhis lustre, which he deals out to them as best suits his pleasure or\nhis convenience. Take the central stone from the signet, and the\ndiamond itself remains as valuable as ever, while the lesser gems are\ncomparatively of little value. And this is the true reading of thy\nparable; for what sayeth the poet Mansour: 'It is the favour of man\nwhich giveth beauty and comeliness to woman, as the stream glitters no\nlonger when the sun ceaseth to shine.'\"\n\n\"Saracen,\" replied the Crusader, \"thou speakest like one who never saw\na woman worthy the affection of a soldier. Believe me, couldst thou\nlook upon those of Europe, to whom, after Heaven, we of the order of\nknighthood vow fealty and devotion, thou wouldst loathe for ever the\npoor sensual slaves who form thy haram. The beauty of our fair ones\ngives point to our spears and edge to our swords; their words are our\nlaw; and as soon will a lamp shed lustre when unkindled, as a knight\ndistinguish himself by feats of arms, having no mistress of his\naffection.\"\n\n\"I have heard of this frenzy among the warriors of the West,\" said the\nEmir, \"and have ever accounted it one of the accompanying symptoms of\nthat insanity which brings you hither to obtain possession of an empty\nsepulchre. But yet, methinks, so highly have the Franks whom I have met\nwith extolled the beauty of their women, I could be well contented to\nbehold with mine own eyes those charms which can transform such brave\nwarriors into the tools of their pleasure.\"\n\n\"Brave Saracen,\" said the Knight, \"if I were not on a pilgrimage to the\nHoly Sepulchre, it should be my pride to conduct you, on assurance of\nsafety, to the camp of Richard of England, than whom none knows better\nhow to do honour to a noble foe; and though I be poor and unattended\nyet have I interest to secure for thee, or any such as thou seemest, not\nsafety only, but respect and esteem. There shouldst thou see several\nof the fairest beauties of France and Britain form a small circle, the\nbrilliancy of which exceeds ten-thousandfold the lustre of mines of\ndiamonds such as thine.\"\n\n\"Now, by the corner-stone of the Caaba!\" said the Saracen, \"I will\naccept thy invitation as freely as it is given, if thou wilt postpone\nthy present intent; and, credit me, brave Nazarene, it were better for\nthyself to turn back thy horse's head towards the camp of thy people,\nfor to travel towards Jerusalem without a passport is but a wilful\ncasting-away of thy life.\"\n\n\"I have a pass,\" answered the Knight, producing a parchment, \"Under\nSaladin's hand and signet.\"\n\nThe Saracen bent his head to the dust as he recognized the seal and\nhandwriting of the renowned Soldan of Egypt and Syria; and having kissed\nthe paper with profound respect, he pressed it to his forehead, then\nreturned it to the Christian, saying, \"Rash Frank, thou hast sinned\nagainst thine own blood and mine, for not showing this to me when we\nmet.\"\n\n\"You came with levelled spear,\" said the Knight. \"Had a troop of\nSaracens so assailed me, it might have stood with my honour to have\nshown the Soldan's pass, but never to one man.\"\n\n\"And yet one man,\" said the Saracen haughtily, \"was enough to interrupt\nyour journey.\"\n\n\"True, brave Moslem,\" replied the Christian; \"but there are few such as\nthou art. Such falcons fly not in flocks; or, if they do, they pounce\nnot in numbers upon one.\"\n\n\"Thou dost us but justice,\" said the Saracen, evidently gratified by\nthe compliment, as he had been touched by the implied scorn of the\nEuropean's previous boast; \"from us thou shouldst have had no wrong. But\nwell was it for me that I failed to slay thee, with the safeguard of\nthe king of kings upon thy person. Certain it were, that the cord or the\nsabre had justly avenged such guilt.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear that its influence shall be availing to me,\" said the\nKnight; \"for I have heard that the road is infested with robber-tribes,\nwho regard nothing in comparison of an opportunity of plunder.\"\n\n\"The truth has been told to thee, brave Christian,\" said the Saracen;\n\"but I swear to thee, by the turban of the Prophet, that shouldst thou\nmiscarry in any haunt of such villains, I will myself undertake thy\nrevenge with five thousand horse. I will slay every male of them, and\nsend their women into such distant captivity that the name of their\ntribe shall never again be heard within five hundred miles of Damascus.\nI will sow with salt the foundations of their village, and there shall\nnever live thing dwell there, even from that time forward.\"\n\n\"I had rather the trouble which you design for yourself were in revenge\nof some other more important person than of me, noble Emir,\" replied the\nKnight; \"but my vow is recorded in heaven, for good or for evil, and I\nmust be indebted to you for pointing me out the way to my resting-place\nfor this evening.\"\n\n\"That,\" said the Saracen, \"must be under the black covering of my\nfather's tent.\"\n\n\"This night,\" answered the Christian, \"I must pass in prayer and\npenitence with a holy man, Theodorick of Engaddi, who dwells amongst\nthese wilds, and spends his life in the service of God.\"\n\n\"I will at least see you safe thither,\" said the Saracen.\n\n\"That would be pleasant convoy for me,\" said the Christian; \"yet might\nendanger the future security of the good father; for the cruel hand of\nyour people has been red with the blood of the servants of the Lord, and\ntherefore do we come hither in plate and mail, with sword and lance, to\nopen the road to the Holy Sepulchre, and protect the chosen saints and\nanchorites who yet dwell in this land of promise and of miracle.\"\n\n\"Nazarene,\" said the Moslem, \"in this the Greeks and Syrians have much\nbelied us, seeing we do but after the word of Abubeker Alwakel, the\nsuccessor of the Prophet, and, after him, the first commander of true\nbelievers. 'Go forth,' he said, 'Yezed Ben Sophian,' when he sent that\nrenowned general to take Syria from the infidels; 'quit yourselves like\nmen in battle, but slay neither the aged, the infirm, the women, nor the\nchildren. Waste not the land, neither destroy corn and fruit-trees; they\nare the gifts of Allah. Keep faith when you have made any covenant,\neven if it be to your own harm. If ye find holy men labouring with their\nhands, and serving God in the desert, hurt them not, neither destroy\ntheir dwellings. But when you find them with shaven crowns, they are of\nthe synagogue of Satan! Smite with the sabre, slay, cease not till\nthey become believers or tributaries.' As the Caliph, companion of the\nProphet, hath told us, so have we done, and those whom our justice has\nsmitten are but the priests of Satan. But unto the good men who, without\nstirring up nation against nation, worship sincerely in the faith of\nIssa Ben Mariam, we are a shadow and a shield; and such being he whom\nyou seek, even though the light of the Prophet hath not reached him,\nfrom me he will only have love, favour, and regard.\"\n\n\"The anchorite whom I would now visit,\" said the warlike pilgrim, \"is, I\nhave heard, no priest; but were he of that anointed and sacred order, I\nwould prove with my good lance, against paynim and infidel--\"\n\n\"Let us not defy each other, brother,\" interrupted the Saracen; \"we\nshall find, either of us, enough of Franks or of Moslemah on whom to\nexercise both sword and lance. This Theodorick is protected both by Turk\nand Arab; and, though one of strange conditions at intervals, yet, on\nthe whole, he bears himself so well as the follower of his own prophet,\nthat he merits the protection of him who was sent--\"\n\n\"Now, by Our Lady, Saracen,\" exclaimed the Christian, \"if thou darest\nname in the same breath the camel-driver of Mecca with--\"\n\nAn electrical shock of passion thrilled through the form of the Emir;\nbut it was only momentary, and the calmness of his reply had both\ndignity and reason in it, when he said, \"Slander not him whom thou\nknowest not--the rather that we venerate the founder of thy religion,\nwhile we condemn the doctrine which your priests have spun from it. I\nwill myself guide thee to the cavern of the hermit, which, methinks,\nwithout my help, thou wouldst find it a hard matter to reach. And,\non the way, let us leave to mollahs and to monks to dispute about the\ndivinity of our faith, and speak on themes which belong to youthful\nwarriors--upon battles, upon beautiful women, upon sharp swords, and\nupon bright armour.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nThe warriors arose from their place of brief rest and simple\nrefreshment, and courteously aided each other while they carefully\nreplaced and adjusted the harness from which they had relieved for the\ntime their trusty steeds. Each seemed familiar with an employment which\nat that time was a part of necessary and, indeed, of indispensable duty.\nEach also seemed to possess, as far as the difference betwixt the animal\nand rational species admitted, the confidence and affection of the horse\nwhich was the constant companion of his travels and his warfare. With\nthe Saracen this familiar intimacy was a part of his early habits; for,\nin the tents of the Eastern military tribes, the horse of the soldier\nranks next to, and almost equal in importance with, his wife and\nhis family; and with the European warrior, circumstances, and indeed\nnecessity, rendered his war-horse scarcely less than his brother in\narms. The steeds, therefore, suffered themselves quietly to be taken\nfrom their food and liberty, and neighed and snuffled fondly around\ntheir masters, while they were adjusting their accoutrements for further\ntravel and additional toil. And each warrior, as he prosecuted his own\ntask, or assisted with courtesy his companion, looked with observant\ncuriosity at the equipments of his fellow-traveller, and noted\nparticularly what struck him as peculiar in the fashion in which he\narranged his riding accoutrements.\n\nEre they remounted to resume their journey, the Christian Knight again\nmoistened his lips and dipped his hands in the living fountain, and said\nto his pagan associate of the journey, \"I would I knew the name of this\ndelicious fountain, that I might hold it in my grateful remembrance; for\nnever did water slake more deliciously a more oppressive thirst than I\nhave this day experienced.\"\n\n\"It is called in the Arabic language,\" answered the Saracen, \"by a name\nwhich signifies the Diamond of the Desert.\"\n\n\"And well is it so named,\" replied the Christian. \"My native valley hath\na thousand springs, but not to one of them shall I attach hereafter\nsuch precious recollection as to this solitary fount, which bestows\nits liquid treasures where they are not only delightful, but nearly\nindispensable.\"\n\n\"You say truth,\" said the Saracen; \"for the curse is still on yonder\nsea of death, and neither man nor beast drinks of its waves, nor of the\nriver which feeds without filling it, until this inhospitable desert be\npassed.\"\n\nThey mounted, and pursued their journey across the sandy waste. The\nardour of noon was now past, and a light breeze somewhat alleviated\nthe terrors of the desert, though not without bearing on its wings\nan impalpable dust, which the Saracen little heeded, though his\nheavily-armed companion felt it as such an annoyance that he hung his\niron casque at his saddle-bow, and substituted the light riding-cap,\ntermed in the language of the time a MORTIER, from its resemblance\nin shape to an ordinary mortar. They rode together for some time in\nsilence, the Saracen performing the part of director and guide of the\njourney, which he did by observing minute marks and bearings of the\ndistant rocks, to a ridge of which they were gradually approaching. For\na little time he seemed absorbed in the task, as a pilot when navigating\na vessel through a difficult channel; but they had not proceeded half\na league when he seemed secure of his route, and disposed, with more\nfrankness than was usual to his nation, to enter into conversation.\n\n\"You have asked the name,\" he said, \"of a mute fountain, which hath the\nsemblance, but not the reality, of a living thing. Let me be pardoned\nto ask the name of the companion with whom I have this day encountered,\nboth in danger and in repose, and which I cannot fancy unknown even here\namong the deserts of Palestine?\"\n\n\"It is not yet worth publishing,\" said the Christian. \"Know, however,\nthat among the soldiers of the Cross I am called Kenneth--Kenneth of\nthe Couching Leopard; at home I have other titles, but they would sound\nharsh in an Eastern ear. Brave Saracen, let me ask which of the tribes\nof Arabia claims your descent, and by what name you are known?\"\n\n\"Sir Kenneth,\" said the Moslem, \"I joy that your name is such as my lips\ncan easily utter. For me, I am no Arab, yet derive my descent from\na line neither less wild nor less warlike. Know, Sir Knight of the\nLeopard, that I am Sheerkohf, the Lion of the Mountain, and that\nKurdistan, from which I derive my descent, holds no family more noble\nthan that of Seljook.\"\n\n\"I have heard,\" answered the Christian, \"that your great Soldan claims\nhis blood from the same source?\"\n\n\"Thanks to the Prophet that hath so far honoured our mountains as to\nsend from their bosom him whose word is victory,\" answered the paynim.\n\"I am but as a worm before the King of Egypt and Syria, and yet in my\nown land something my name may avail. Stranger, with how many men didst\nthou come on this warfare?\"\n\n\"By my faith,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"with aid of friends and kinsmen, I was\nhardly pinched to furnish forth ten well-appointed lances, with maybe\nsome fifty more men, archers and varlets included. Some have deserted\nmy unlucky pennon--some have fallen in battle--several have died of\ndisease--and one trusty armour-bearer, for whose life I am now doing my\npilgrimage, lies on the bed of sickness.\"\n\n\"Christian,\" said Sheerkohf, \"here I have five arrows in my quiver,\neach feathered from the wing of an eagle. When I send one of them to my\ntents, a thousand warriors mount on horseback--when I send another, an\nequal force will arise--for the five, I can command five thousand men;\nand if I send my bow, ten thousand mounted riders will shake the desert.\nAnd with thy fifty followers thou hast come to invade a land in which I\nam one of the meanest!\"\n\n\"Now, by the rood, Saracen,\" retorted the Western warrior, \"thou\nshouldst know, ere thou vauntest thyself, that one steel glove can crush\na whole handful of hornets.\"\n\n\"Ay, but it must first enclose them within its grasp,\" said the Saracen,\nwith a smile which might have endangered their new alliance, had he not\nchanged the subject by adding, \"And is bravery so much esteemed amongst\nthe Christian princes that thou, thus void of means and of men, canst\noffer, as thou didst of late, to be my protector and security in the\ncamp of thy brethren?\"\n\n\"Know, Saracen,\" said the Christian, \"since such is thy style, that the\nname of a knight, and the blood of a gentleman, entitle him to place\nhimself on the same rank with sovereigns even of the first degree, in\nso far as regards all but regal authority and dominion. Were Richard\nof England himself to wound the honour of a knight as poor as I am, he\ncould not, by the law of chivalry, deny him the combat.\"\n\n\"Methinks I should like to look upon so strange a scene,\" said the Emir,\n\"in which a leathern belt and a pair of spurs put the poorest on a level\nwith the most powerful.\"\n\n\"You must add free blood and a fearless heart,\" said the Christian;\n\"then, perhaps, you will not have spoken untruly of the dignity of\nknighthood.\"\n\n\"And mix you as boldly amongst the females of your chiefs and leaders?\"\nasked the Saracen.\n\n\"God forbid,\" said the Knight of the Leopard, \"that the poorest knight\nin Christendom should not be free, in all honourable service, to devote\nhis hand and sword, the fame of his actions, and the fixed devotion of\nhis heart, to the fairest princess who ever wore coronet on her brow!\"\n\n\"But a little while since,\" said the Saracen, \"and you described love as\nthe highest treasure of the heart--thine hath undoubtedly been high and\nnobly bestowed?\"\n\n\"Stranger,\" answered the Christian, blushing deeply as he spoke, \"we\ntell not rashly where it is we have bestowed our choicest treasures. It\nis enough for thee to know that, as thou sayest, my love is highly and\nnobly bestowed--most highly--most nobly; but if thou wouldst hear of\nlove and broken lances, venture thyself, as thou sayest, to the camp of\nthe Crusaders, and thou wilt find exercise for thine ears, and, if thou\nwilt, for thy hands too.\"\n\nThe Eastern warrior, raising himself in his stirrups, and shaking aloft\nhis lance, replied, \"Hardly, I fear, shall I find one with a crossed\nshoulder who will exchange with me the cast of the jerrid.\"\n\n\"I will not promise for that,\" replied the Knight; \"though there be in\nthe camp certain Spaniards, who have right good skill in your Eastern\ngame of hurling the javelin.\"\n\n\"Dogs, and sons of dogs!\" ejaculated the Saracen; \"what have these\nSpaniards to do to come hither to combat the true believers, who, in\ntheir own land, are their lords and taskmasters? with them I would mix\nin no warlike pastime.\"\n\n\"Let not the knights of Leon or Asturias hear you speak thus of them,\"\nsaid the Knight of the Leopard. \"But,\" added he, smiling at the\nrecollection of the morning's combat, \"if, instead of a reed, you were\ninclined to stand the cast of a battle-axe, there are enough of Western\nwarriors who would gratify your longing.\"\n\n\"By the beard of my father, sir,\" said the Saracen, with an approach to\nlaughter, \"the game is too rough for mere sport. I will never shun them\nin battle, but my head\" (pressing his hand to his brow) \"will not, for a\nwhile, permit me to seek them in sport.\"\n\n\"I would you saw the axe of King Richard,\" answered the Western warrior,\n\"to which that which hangs at my saddle-bow weighs but as a feather.\"\n\n\"We hear much of that island sovereign,\" said the Saracen. \"Art thou one\nof his subjects?\"\n\n\"One of his followers I am, for this expedition,\" answered the Knight,\n\"and honoured in the service; but not born his subject, although a\nnative of the island in which he reigns.\"\n\n\"How mean you? \" said the Eastern soldier; \"have you then two kings in\none poor island?\"\n\n\"As thou sayest,\" said the Scot, for such was Sir Kenneth by birth. \"It\nis even so; and yet, although the inhabitants of the two extremities of\nthat island are engaged in frequent war, the country can, as thou seest,\nfurnish forth such a body of men-at-arms as may go far to shake the\nunholy hold which your master hath laid on the cities of Zion.\"\n\n\"By the beard of Saladin, Nazarene, but that it is a thoughtless and\nboyish folly, I could laugh at the simplicity of your great Sultan, who\ncomes hither to make conquests of deserts and rocks, and dispute the\npossession of them with those who have tenfold numbers at command, while\nhe leaves a part of his narrow islet, in which he was born a sovereign,\nto the dominion of another sceptre than his. Surely, Sir Kenneth, you\nand the other good men of your country should have submitted yourselves\nto the dominion of this King Richard ere you left your native land,\ndivided against itself, to set forth on this expedition?\"\n\nHasty and fierce was Kenneth's answer. \"No, by the bright light of\nHeaven! If the King of England had not set forth to the Crusade till\nhe was sovereign of Scotland, the Crescent might, for me, and all\ntrue-hearted Scots, glimmer for ever on the walls of Zion.\"\n\nThus far he had proceeded, when, suddenly recollecting himself, he\nmuttered, \"MEA CULPA! MEA CULPA! what have I, a soldier of the Cross, to\ndo with recollection of war betwixt Christian nations!\"\n\nThe rapid expression of feeling corrected by the dictates of duty did\nnot escape the Moslem, who, if he did not entirely understand all\nwhich it conveyed, saw enough to convince him with the assurance that\nChristians, as well as Moslemah, had private feelings of personal pique,\nand national quarrels, which were not entirely reconcilable. But the\nSaracens were a race, polished, perhaps, to the utmost extent which\ntheir religion permitted, and particularly capable of entertaining high\nideas of courtesy and politeness; and such sentiments prevented his\ntaking any notice of the inconsistency of Sir Kenneth's feelings in the\nopposite characters of a Scot and a Crusader.\n\nMeanwhile, as they advanced, the scene began to change around them. They\nwere now turning to the eastward, and had reached the range of steep and\nbarren hills which binds in that quarter the naked plain, and varies the\nsurface of the country, without changing its sterile character. Sharp,\nrocky eminences began to rise around them, and, in a short time, deep\ndeclivities and ascents, both formidable in height and difficult from\nthe narrowness of the path, offered to the travellers obstacles of a\ndifferent kind from those with which they had recently contended.\n\nDark caverns and chasms amongst the rocks--those grottoes so often\nalluded to in Scripture--yawned fearfully on either side as they\nproceeded, and the Scottish knight was informed by the Emir that these\nwere often the refuge of beasts of prey, or of men still more ferocious,\nwho, driven to desperation by the constant war, and the oppression\nexercised by the soldiery, as well of the Cross as of the Crescent, had\nbecome robbers, and spared neither rank nor religion, neither sex nor\nage, in their depredations.\n\nThe Scottish knight listened with indifference to the accounts of\nravages committed by wild beasts or wicked men, secure as he felt\nhimself in his own valour and personal strength; but he was struck\nwith mysterious dread when he recollected that he was now in the awful\nwilderness of the forty days' fast, and the scene of the actual personal\ntemptation, wherewith the Evil Principle was permitted to assail the Son\nof Man. He withdrew his attention gradually from the light and worldly\nconversation of the infidel warrior beside him, and, however acceptable\nhis gay and gallant bravery would have rendered him as a companion\nelsewhere, Sir Kenneth felt as if, in those wildernesses the waste and\ndry places in which the foul spirits were wont to wander when expelled\nthe mortals whose forms they possessed, a bare-footed friar would have\nbeen a better associate than the gay but unbelieving paynim.\n\nThese feelings embarrassed him the rather that the Saracen's spirits\nappeared to rise with the journey, and because the farther he penetrated\ninto the gloomy recesses of the mountains, the lighter became his\nconversation, and when he found that unanswered, the louder grew his\nsong. Sir Kenneth knew enough of the Eastern languages to be assured\nthat he chanted sonnets of love, containing all the glowing praises\nof beauty in which the Oriental poets are so fond of luxuriating, and\nwhich, therefore, were peculiarly unfitted for a serious or devotional\nstrain of thought, the feeling best becoming the Wilderness of the\nTemptation. With inconsistency enough, the Saracen also sung lays in\npraise of wine, the liquid ruby of the Persian poets; and his gaiety at\nlength became so unsuitable to the Christian knight's contrary train of\nsentiments, as, but for the promise of amity which they had exchanged,\nwould most likely have made Sir Kenneth take measures to change his\nnote. As it was, the Crusader felt as if he had by his side some gay,\nlicentious fiend, who endeavoured to ensnare his soul, and endanger his\nimmortal salvation, by inspiring loose thoughts of earthly pleasure, and\nthus polluting his devotion, at a time when his faith as a Christian and\nhis vow as a pilgrim called on him for a serious and penitential state\nof mind. He was thus greatly perplexed, and undecided how to act; and it\nwas in a tone of hasty displeasure that, at length breaking silence, he\ninterrupted the lay of the celebrated Rudpiki, in which he prefers the\nmole on his mistress's bosom to all the wealth of Bokhara and Samarcand.\n\n\"Saracen,\" said the Crusader sternly, \"blinded as thou art, and plunged\namidst the errors of a false law, thou shouldst yet comprehend that\nthere are some places more holy than others, and that there are some\nscenes also in which the Evil One hath more than ordinary power\nover sinful mortals. I will not tell thee for what awful reason this\nplace--these rocks--these caverns with their gloomy arches, leading as\nit were to the central abyss--are held an especial haunt of Satan and\nhis angels. It is enough that I have been long warned to beware of this\nplace by wise and holy men, to whom the qualities of the unholy region\nare well known. Wherefore, Saracen, forbear thy foolish and\nill-timed levity, and turn thy thoughts to things more suited to the\nspot--although, alas for thee! thy best prayers are but as blasphemy and\nsin.\"\n\nThe Saracen listened with some surprise, and then replied, with\ngood-humour and gaiety, only so far repressed as courtesy required,\n\"Good Sir Kenneth, methinks you deal unequally by your companion, or\nelse ceremony is but indifferently taught amongst your Western tribes.\nI took no offence when I saw you gorge hog's flesh and drink wine, and\npermitted you to enjoy a treat which you called your Christian liberty,\nonly pitying in my heart your foul pastimes. Wherefore, then, shouldst\nthou take scandal, because I cheer, to the best of my power, a gloomy\nroad with a cheerful verse? What saith the poet, 'Song is like the\ndews of heaven on the bosom of the desert; it cools the path of the\ntraveller.'\"\n\n\"Friend Saracen,\" said the Christian, \"I blame not the love of\nminstrelsy and of the GAI SCIENCE; albeit, we yield unto it even too\nmuch room in our thoughts when they should be bent on better things.\nBut prayers and holy psalms are better fitting than LAIS of love, or of\nwine-cups, when men walk in this Valley of the Shadow of Death, full of\nfiends and demons, whom the prayers of holy men have driven forth\nfrom the haunts of humanity to wander amidst scenes as accursed as\nthemselves.\"\n\n\"Speak not thus of the Genii, Christian,\" answered the Saracen, \"for\nknow thou speakest to one whose line and nation drew their origin from\nthe immortal race which your sect fear and blaspheme.\"\n\n\"I well thought,\" answered the Crusader, \"that your blinded race had\ntheir descent from the foul fiend, without whose aid you would never\nhave been able to maintain this blessed land of Palestine against so\nmany valiant soldiers of God. I speak not thus of thee in particular,\nSaracen, but generally of thy people and religion. Strange is it to me,\nhowever, not that you should have the descent from the Evil One, but\nthat you should boast of it.\"\n\n\"From whom should the bravest boast of descending, saving from him that\nis bravest?\" said the Saracen; \"from whom should the proudest trace\ntheir line so well as from the Dark Spirit, which would rather fall\nheadlong by force than bend the knee by his will? Eblis may be hated,\nstranger, but he must be feared; and such as Eblis are his descendants\nof Kurdistan.\"\n\nTales of magic and of necromancy were the learning of the period, and\nSir Kenneth heard his companion's confession of diabolical descent\nwithout any disbelief, and without much wonder; yet not without a secret\nshudder at finding himself in this fearful place, in the company of\none who avouched himself to belong to such a lineage. Naturally\ninsusceptible, however, of fear, he crossed himself, and stoutly\ndemanded of the Saracen an account of the pedigree which he had boasted.\nThe latter readily complied.\n\n\"Know, brave stranger,\" he said, \"that when the cruel Zohauk, one of the\ndescendants of Giamschid, held the throne of Persia, he formed a league\nwith the Powers of Darkness, amidst the secret vaults of Istakhar,\nvaults which the hands of the elementary spirits had hewn out of the\nliving rock long before Adam himself had an existence. Here he fed,\nwith daily oblations of human blood, two devouring serpents, which had\nbecome, according to the poets, a part of himself, and to sustain whom\nhe levied a tax of daily human sacrifices, till the exhausted patience\nof his subjects caused some to raise up the scimitar of resistance, like\nthe valiant Blacksmith and the victorious Feridoun, by whom the tyrant\nwas at length dethroned, and imprisoned for ever in the dismal caverns\nof the mountain Damavend. But ere that deliverance had taken place, and\nwhilst the power of the bloodthirsty tyrant was at its height, the band\nof ravening slaves whom he had sent forth to purvey victims for his\ndaily sacrifice brought to the vaults of the palace of Istakhar seven\nsisters so beautiful that they seemed seven houris. These seven maidens\nwere the daughters of a sage, who had no treasures save those beauties\nand his own wisdom. The last was not sufficient to foresee this\nmisfortune, the former seemed ineffectual to prevent it. The eldest\nexceeded not her twentieth year, the youngest had scarce attained her\nthirteenth; and so like were they to each other that they could not\nhave been distinguished but for the difference of height, in which they\ngradually rose in easy gradation above each other, like the ascent which\nleads to the gates of Paradise. So lovely were these seven sisters when\nthey stood in the darksome vault, disrobed of all clothing saving a\ncymar of white silk, that their charms moved the hearts of those who\nwere not mortal. Thunder muttered, the earth shook, the wall of the\nvault was rent, and at the chasm entered one dressed like a hunter, with\nbow and shafts, and followed by six others, his brethren. They were tall\nmen, and, though dark, yet comely to behold; but their eyes had more the\nglare of those of the dead than the light which lives under the eyelids\nof the living. 'Zeineb,' said the leader of the band--and as he spoke\nhe took the eldest sister by the hand, and his voice was soft, low, and\nmelancholy--'I am Cothrob, king of the subterranean world, and supreme\nchief of Ginnistan. I and my brethren are of those who, created out of\nthe pure elementary fire, disdained, even at the command of Omnipotence,\nto do homage to a clod of earth, because it was called Man. Thou mayest\nhave heard of us as cruel, unrelenting, and persecuting. It is false. We\nare by nature kind and generous; only vengeful when insulted, only cruel\nwhen affronted. We are true to those who trust us; and we have heard the\ninvocations of thy father, the sage Mithrasp, who wisely worships not\nalone the Origin of Good, but that which is called the Source of Evil.\nYou and your sisters are on the eve of death; but let each give to us\none hair from your fair tresses, in token of fealty, and we will carry\nyou many miles from hence to a place of safety, where you may bid\ndefiance to Zohauk and his ministers.' The fear of instant death, saith\nthe poet, is like the rod of the prophet Haroun, which devoured all\nother rods when transformed into snakes before the King of Pharaoh; and\nthe daughters of the Persian sage were less apt than others to be\nafraid of the addresses of a spirit. They gave the tribute which Cothrob\ndemanded, and in an instant the sisters were transported to an enchanted\ncastle on the mountains of Tugrut, in Kurdistan, and were never again\nseen by mortal eye. But in process of time seven youths, distinguished\nin the war and in the chase, appeared in the environs of the castle of\nthe demons. They were darker, taller, fiercer, and more resolute than\nany of the scattered inhabitants of the valleys of Kurdistan; and they\ntook to themselves wives, and became fathers of the seven tribes of the\nKurdmans, whose valour is known throughout the universe.\"\n\nThe Christian knight heard with wonder the wild tale, of which Kurdistan\nstill possesses the traces, and, after a moment's thought, replied,\n\"Verily, Sir Knight, you have spoken well--your genealogy may be dreaded\nand hated, but it cannot be contemned. Neither do I any longer wonder\nat your obstinacy in a false faith, since, doubtless, it is part of the\nfiendish disposition which hath descended from your ancestors, those\ninfernal huntsmen, as you have described them, to love falsehood rather\nthan truth; and I no longer marvel that your spirits become high and\nexalted, and vent themselves in verse and in tunes, when you approach to\nthe places encumbered by the haunting of evil spirits, which must excite\nin you that joyous feeling which others experience when approaching the\nland of their human ancestry.\"\n\n\"By my father's beard, I think thou hast the right,\" said the Saracen,\nrather amused than offended by the freedom with which the Christian had\nuttered his reflections; \"for, though the Prophet (blessed be his name!)\nhath sown amongst us the seed of a better faith than our ancestors\nlearned in the ghostly halls of Tugrut, yet we are not willing, like\nother Moslemah, to pass hasty doom on the lofty and powerful elementary\nspirits from whom we claim our origin. These Genii, according to our\nbelief and hope, are not altogether reprobate, but are still in the way\nof probation, and may hereafter be punished or rewarded. Leave we this\nto the mollahs and the imauns. Enough that with us the reverence for\nthese spirits is not altogether effaced by what we have learned from the\nKoran, and that many of us still sing, in memorial of our fathers' more\nancient faith, such verses as these.\"\n\nSo saying, he proceeded to chant verses, very ancient in the language\nand structure, which some have thought derive their source from the\nworshippers of Arimanes, the Evil Principle.\n\n\n                AHRIMAN.\n\n     Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still\n     Holds origin of woe and ill!\n     When, bending at thy shrine,\n     We view the world with troubled eye,\n     Where see we 'neath the extended sky,\n     An empire matching thine!\n\n     If the Benigner Power can yield\n     A fountain in the desert field,\n     Where weary pilgrims drink;\n     Thine are the waves that lash the rock,\n     Thine the tornado's deadly shock,\n     Where countless navies sink!\n\n     Or if he bid the soil dispense\n     Balsams to cheer the sinking sense,\n     How few can they deliver\n     From lingering pains, or pang intense,\n     Red Fever, spotted Pestilence,\n     The arrows of thy quiver!\n\n     Chief in Man's bosom sits thy sway,\n     And frequent, while in words we pray\n     Before another throne,\n     Whate'er of specious form be there,\n     The secret meaning of the prayer\n     Is, Ahriman, thine own.\n\n     Say, hast thou feeling, sense, and form,\n     Thunder thy voice, thy garments storm,\n     As Eastern Magi say;\n     With sentient soul of hate and wrath,\n     And wings to sweep thy deadly path,\n     And fangs to tear thy prey?\n\n     Or art thou mix'd in Nature's source,\n     An ever-operating force,\n     Converting good to ill;\n     An evil principle innate,\n     Contending with our better fate,\n     And, oh!  victorious still?\n\n     Howe'er it be, dispute is vain.\n     On all without thou hold'st thy reign,\n     Nor less on all within;\n     Each mortal passion's fierce career,\n     Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear,\n     Thou goadest into sin.\n\n     Whene'er a sunny gleam appears,\n     To brighten up our vale of tears,\n     Thou art not distant far;\n     'Mid such brief solace of our lives,\n     Thou whett'st our very banquet-knives\n     To tools of death and war.\n\n     Thus, from the moment of our birth,\n     Long as we linger on the earth,\n     Thou rulest the fate of men;\n     Thine are the pangs of life's last hour,\n     And--who dare answer?--is thy power,\n     Dark Spirit!  ended THEN?\n\n     [The worthy and learned clergyman by whom this species of\n     hymn has been translated desires, that, for fear of\n     misconception, we should warn the reader to recollect that\n     it is composed by a heathen, to whom the real causes of\n     moral and physical evil are unknown, and who views their\n     predominance in the system of the universe as all must view\n     that appalling fact who have not the benefit of the\n     Christian revelation.  On our own part, we beg to add, that\n     we understand the style of the translator is more\n     paraphrastic than can be approved by those who are\n     acquainted with the singularly curious original.  The\n     translator seems to have despaired of rendering into English\n     verse the flights of Oriental poetry; and, possibly, like\n     many learned and ingenious men, finding it impossible to\n     discover the sense of the original, he may have tacitly\n     substituted his own.]\n\nThese verses may perhaps have been the not unnatural effusion of some\nhalf-enlightened philosopher, who, in the fabled deity, Arimanes, saw\nbut the prevalence of moral and physical evil; but in the ears of Sir\nKenneth of the Leopard they had a different effect, and, sung as they\nwere by one who had just boasted himself a descendant of demons, sounded\nvery like an address of worship to the arch-fiend himself. He weighed\nwithin himself whether, on hearing such blasphemy in the very desert\nwhere Satan had stood rebuked for demanding homage, taking an abrupt\nleave of the Saracen was sufficient to testify his abhorrence; or\nwhether he was not rather constrained by his vow as a Crusader to defy\nthe infidel to combat on the spot, and leave him food for the beasts of\nthe wilderness, when his attention was suddenly caught by an unexpected\napparition.\n\nThe light was now verging low, yet served the knight still to discern\nthat they two were no longer alone in the desert, but were closely\nwatched by a figure of great height and very thin, which skipped over\nrocks and bushes with so much agility as, added to the wild and hirsute\nappearance of the individual, reminded him of the fauns and silvans,\nwhose images he had seen in the ancient temples of Rome. As the\nsingle-hearted Scottishman had never for a moment doubted these gods of\nthe ancient Gentiles to be actually devils, so he now hesitated not\nto believe that the blasphemous hymn of the Saracen had raised up an\ninfernal spirit.\n\n\"But what recks it?\" said stout Sir Kenneth to himself; \"down with the\nfiend and his worshippers!\"\n\nHe did not, however, think it necessary to give the same warning of\ndefiance to two enemies as he would unquestionably have afforded to one.\nHis hand was upon his mace, and perhaps the unwary Saracen would have\nbeen paid for his Persian poetry by having his brains dashed out on the\nspot, without any reason assigned for it; but the Scottish Knight was\nspared from committing what would have been a sore blot in his shield\nof arms. The apparition, on which his eyes had been fixed for some time,\nhad at first appeared to dog their path by concealing itself behind\nrocks and shrubs, using those advantages of the ground with great\naddress, and surmounting its irregularities with surprising agility. At\nlength, just as the Saracen paused in his song, the figure, which was\nthat of a tall man clothed in goat-skins, sprung into the midst of\nthe path, and seized a rein of the Saracen's bridle in either hand,\nconfronting thus and bearing back the noble horse, which, unable to\nendure the manner in which this sudden assailant pressed the long-armed\nbit, and the severe curb, which, according to the Eastern fashion, was\na solid ring of iron, reared upright, and finally fell backwards on his\nmaster, who, however, avoided the peril of the fall by lightly throwing\nhimself to one side.\n\nThe assailant then shifted his grasp from the bridle of the horse to the\nthroat of the rider, flung himself above the struggling Saracen, and,\ndespite of his youth and activity kept him undermost, wreathing his\nlong arms above those of his prisoner, who called out angrily, and yet\nhalf-laughing at the same time--\"Hamako--fool--unloose me--this passes\nthy privilege--unloose me, or I will use my dagger.\"\n\n\"Thy dagger!--infidel dog!\" said the figure in the goat-skins, \"hold it\nin thy gripe if thou canst!\" and in an instant he wrenched the Saracen's\nweapon out of its owner's hand, and brandished it over his head.\n\n\"Help, Nazarene!\" cried Sheerkohf, now seriously alarmed; \"help, or the\nHamako will slay me.\"\n\n\"Slay thee!\" replied the dweller of the desert; \"and well hast thou\nmerited death, for singing thy blasphemous hymns, not only to the praise\nof thy false prophet, who is the foul fiend's harbinger, but to that of\nthe Author of Evil himself.\"\n\nThe Christian Knight had hitherto looked on as one stupefied, so\nstrangely had this rencontre contradicted, in its progress and event,\nall that he had previously conjectured. He felt, however, at length,\nthat it touched his honour to interfere in behalf of his discomfited\ncompanion, and therefore addressed himself to the victorious figure in\nthe goat-skins.\n\n\"Whosoe'er thou art,\" he said, \"and whether of good or of evil, know\nthat I am sworn for the time to be true companion to the Saracen whom\nthou holdest under thee; therefore, I pray thee to let him arise, else I\nwill do battle with thee in his behalf.\"\n\n\"And a proper quarrel it were,\" answered the Hamako, \"for a Crusader to\ndo battle in--for the sake of an unbaptized dog, to combat one of his\nown holy faith! Art thou come forth to the wilderness to fight for the\nCrescent against the Cross? A goodly soldier of God art thou to listen\nto those who sing the praises of Satan!\"\n\nYet, while he spoke thus, he arose himself, and, suffering the Saracen\nto rise also, returned him his cangiar, or poniard.\n\n\"Thou seest to what a point of peril thy presumption hath brought thee,\"\ncontinued he of the goat-skins, now addressing Sheerkohf, \"and by what\nweak means thy practised skill and boasted agility can be foiled, when\nsuch is Heaven's pleasure. Wherefore, beware, O Ilderim! for know that,\nwere there not a twinkle in the star of thy nativity which promises for\nthee something that is good and gracious in Heaven's good time, we\ntwo had not parted till I had torn asunder the throat which so lately\ntrilled forth blasphemies.\"\n\n\"Hamako,\" said the Saracen, without any appearance of resenting the\nviolent language and yet more violent assault to which he had been\nsubjected, \"I pray thee, good Hamako, to beware how thou dost again urge\nthy privilege over far; for though, as a good Moslem, I respect those\nwhom Heaven hath deprived of ordinary reason, in order to endow them\nwith the spirit of prophecy, yet I like not other men's hands on the\nbridle of my horse, neither upon my own person. Speak, therefore, what\nthou wilt, secure of any resentment from me; but gather so much sense\nas to apprehend that if thou shalt again proffer me any violence, I will\nstrike thy shagged head from thy meagre shoulders.--and to thee, friend\nKenneth,\" he added, as he remounted his steed, \"I must needs say, that\nin a companion through the desert, I love friendly deeds better than\nfair words. Of the last thou hast given me enough; but it had been\nbetter to have aided me more speedily in my struggle with this Hamako,\nwho had well-nigh taken my life in his frenzy.\"\n\n\"By my faith,\" said the Knight, \"I did somewhat fail--was somewhat tardy\nin rendering thee instant help; but the strangeness of the assailant,\nthe suddenness of the scene--it was as if thy wild and wicked lay had\nraised the devil among us--and such was my confusion, that two or three\nminutes elapsed ere I could take to my weapon.\"\n\n\"Thou art but a cold and considerate friend,\" said the Saracen; \"and,\nhad the Hamako been one grain more frantic, thy companion had been slain\nby thy side, to thy eternal dishonour, without thy stirring a finger in\nhis aid, although thou satest by, mounted, and in arms.\"\n\n\"By my word, Saracen,\" said the Christian, \"if thou wilt have it in\nplain terms, I thought that strange figure was the devil; and being of\nthy lineage, I knew not what family secret you might be communicating to\neach other, as you lay lovingly rolling together on the sand.\"\n\n\"Thy gibe is no answer, brother Kenneth,\" said the Saracen; \"for know,\nthat had my assailant been in very deed the Prince of Darkness, thou\nwert bound not the less to enter into combat with him in thy comrade's\nbehalf. Know, also, that whatever there may be of foul or of fiendish\nabout the Hamako belongs more to your lineage than to mine--this Hamako\nbeing, in truth, the anchorite whom thou art come hither to visit.\"\n\n\"This!\" said Sir Kenneth, looking at the athletic yet wasted figure\nbefore him--\"this! Thou mockest, Saracen--this cannot be the venerable\nTheodorick!\"\n\n\"Ask himself, if thou wilt not believe me,\" answered Sheerkohf; and\nere the words had left his mouth, the hermit gave evidence in his own\nbehalf.\n\n\"I am Theodorick of Engaddi,\" he said--\"I am the walker of the desert--I\nam friend of the Cross, and flail of all infidels, heretics, and\ndevil-worshippers. Avoid ye, avoid ye! Down with Mahound, Termagaunt,\nand all their adherents!\"--So saying, he pulled from under his shaggy\ngarment a sort of flail or jointed club, bound with iron, which he\nbrandished round his head with singular dexterity.\n\n\"Thou seest thy saint,\" said the Saracen, laughing, for the first time,\nat the unmitigated astonishment with which Sir Kenneth looked on the\nwild gestures and heard the wayward muttering of Theodorick, who, after\nswinging his flail in every direction, apparently quite reckless whether\nit encountered the head of either of his companions, finally showed\nhis own strength, and the soundness of the weapon, by striking into\nfragments a large stone which lay near him.\n\n\"This is a madman,\" said Sir Kenneth.\n\n\"Not the worse saint,\" returned the Moslem, speaking according to\nthe well-known Eastern belief, that madmen are under the influence\nof immediate inspiration. \"Know, Christian, that when one eye is\nextinguished, the other becomes more keen; when one hand is cut off,\nthe other becomes more powerful; so, when our reason in human things\nis disturbed or destroyed, our view heavenward becomes more acute and\nperfect.\"\n\nHere the voice of the Saracen was drowned in that of the hermit, who\nbegan to hollo aloud in a wild, chanting tone, \"I am Theodorick of\nEngaddi--I am the torch-brand of the desert--I am the flail of the\ninfidels! The lion and the leopard shall be my comrades, and draw nigh\nto my cell for shelter; neither shall the goat be afraid of their fangs.\nI am the torch and the lantern--Kyrie Eleison!\"\n\nHe closed his song by a short race, and ended that again by three\nforward bounds, which would have done him great credit in a gymnastic\nacademy, but became his character of hermit so indifferently that the\nScottish Knight was altogether confounded and bewildered.\n\nThe Saracen seemed to understand him better. \"You see,\" he said, \"that\nhe expects us to follow him to his cell, which, indeed, is our only\nplace of refuge for the night. You are the leopard, from the portrait\non your shield; I am the lion, as my name imports; and by the goat,\nalluding to his garb of goat-skins, he means himself. We must keep him\nin sight, however, for he is as fleet as a dromedary.\"\n\nIn fact, the task was a difficult one, for though the reverend guide\nstopped from time to time, and waved his hand, as if to encourage them\nto come on, yet, well acquainted with all the winding dells and passes\nof the desert, and gifted with uncommon activity, which, perhaps, an\nunsettled state of mind kept in constant exercise, he led the knights\nthrough chasms and along footpaths where even the light-armed Saracen,\nwith his well-trained barb, was in considerable risk, and where the\niron-sheathed European and his over-burdened steed found themselves in\nsuch imminent peril as the rider would gladly have exchanged for the\ndangers of a general action. Glad he was when, at length, after this\nwild race, he beheld the holy man who had led it standing in front of\na cavern, with a large torch in his hand, composed of a piece of wood\ndipped in bitumen, which cast a broad and flickering light, and emitted\na strong sulphureous smell.\n\nUndeterred by the stifling vapour, the knight threw himself from\nhis horse and entered the cavern, which afforded small appearance of\naccommodation. The cell was divided into two parts, in the outward of\nwhich were an altar of stone and a crucifix made of reeds: this served\nthe anchorite for his chapel. On one side of this outward cave the\nChristian knight, though not without scruple, arising from religious\nreverence to the objects around, fastened up his horse, and arranged him\nfor the night, in imitation of the Saracen, who gave him to understand\nthat such was the custom of the place. The hermit, meanwhile, was busied\nputting his inner apartment in order to receive his guests, and there\nthey soon joined him. At the bottom of the outer cave, a small aperture,\nclosed with a door of rough plank, led into the sleeping apartment of\nthe hermit, which was more commodious. The floor had been brought to a\nrough level by the labour of the inhabitant, and then strewed with white\nsand, which he daily sprinkled with water from a small fountain which\nbubbled out of the rock in one corner, affording in that stifling\nclimate, refreshment alike to the ear and the taste. Mattresses, wrought\nof twisted flags, lay by the side of the cell; the sides, like the\nfloor, had been roughly brought to shape, and several herbs and flowers\nwere hung around them. Two waxen torches, which the hermit lighted,\ngave a cheerful air to the place, which was rendered agreeable by its\nfragrance and coolness.\n\nThere were implements of labour in one corner of the apartment, in\nanother was a niche for a rude statue of the Virgin. A table and two\nchairs showed that they must be the handiwork of the anchorite, being\ndifferent in their form from Oriental accommodations. The former was\ncovered, not only with reeds and pulse, but also with dried flesh, which\nTheodorick assiduously placed in such arrangement as should invite the\nappetite of his guests. This appearance of courtesy, though mute, and\nexpressed by gestures only, seemed to Sir Kenneth something entirely\nirreconcilable with his former wild and violent demeanour. The movements\nof the hermit were now become composed, and apparently it was only a\nsense of religious humiliation which prevented his features, emaciated\nas they were by his austere mode of life, from being majestic and noble.\nHe trod his cell as one who seemed born to rule over men, but who had\nabdicated his empire to become the servant of Heaven. Still, it must\nbe allowed that his gigantic size, the length of his unshaven locks and\nbeard, and the fire of a deep-set and wild eye were rather attributes of\na soldier than of a recluse.\n\nEven the Saracen seemed to regard the anchorite with some veneration,\nwhile he was thus employed, and he whispered in a low tone to Sir\nKenneth, \"The Hamako is now in his better mind, but he will not speak\nuntil we have eaten--such is his vow.\"\n\nIt was in silence, accordingly, that Theodorick motioned to the Scot to\ntake his place on one of the low chairs, while Sheerkohf placed himself,\nafter the custom of his nation, upon a cushion of mats. The hermit then\nheld up both hands, as if blessing the refreshment which he had placed\nbefore his guests, and they proceeded to eat in silence as profound\nas his own. To the Saracen this gravity was natural; and the Christian\nimitated his taciturnity, while he employed his thoughts on the\nsingularity of his own situation, and the contrast betwixt the wild,\nfurious gesticulations, loud cries, and fierce actions of Theodorick,\nwhen they first met him, and the demure, solemn, decorous assiduity with\nwhich he now performed the duties of hospitality.\n\nWhen their meal was ended, the hermit, who had not himself eaten a\nmorsel, removed the fragments from the table, and placing before the\nSaracen a pitcher of sherbet, assigned to the Scot a flask of wine.\n\n\"Drink,\" he said, \"my children\"--they were the first words he had\nspoken--\"the gifts of God are to be enjoyed, when the Giver is\nremembered.\"\n\nHaving said this, he retired to the outward cell, probably for\nperformance of his devotions, and left his guests together in the inner\napartment; when Sir Kenneth endeavoured, by various questions, to\ndraw from Sheerkohf what that Emir knew concerning his host. He was\ninterested by more than mere curiosity in these inquiries. Difficult as\nit was to reconcile the outrageous demeanour of the recluse at his first\nappearance with his present humble and placid behaviour, it seemed yet\nmore impossible to think it consistent with the high consideration in\nwhich, according to what Sir Kenneth had learned, this hermit was held\nby the most enlightened divines of the Christian world. Theodorick, the\nhermit of Engaddi, had, in that character, been the correspondent of\npopes and councils; to whom his letters, full of eloquent fervour,\nhad described the miseries imposed by the unbelievers upon the Latin\nChristians in the Holy Land, in colours scarce inferior to those\nemployed at the Council of Clermont by the Hermit Peter, when he\npreached the first Crusade. To find, in a person so reverend and so\nmuch revered, the frantic gestures of a mad fakir, induced the Christian\nknight to pause ere he could resolve to communicate to him certain\nimportant matters, which he had in charge from some of the leaders of\nthe Crusade.\n\nIt had been a main object of Sir Kenneth's pilgrimage, attempted by\na route so unusual, to make such communications; but what he had that\nnight seen induced him to pause and reflect ere he proceeded to the\nexecution of his commission. From the Emir he could not extract much\ninformation, but the general tenor was as follows:--That, as he had\nheard, the hermit had been once a brave and valiant soldier, wise in\ncouncil and fortunate in battle, which last he could easily believe from\nthe great strength and agility which he had often seen him display; that\nhe had appeared at Jerusalem in the character not of a pilgrim, but in\nthat of one who had devoted himself to dwell for the remainder of his\nlife in the Holy Land. Shortly afterwards, he fixed his residence amid\nthe scenes of desolation where they now found him, respected by the\nLatins for his austere devotion, and by the Turks and Arabs on account\nof the symptoms of insanity which he displayed, and which they ascribed\nto inspiration. It was from them he had the name of Hamako, which\nexpresses such a character in the Turkish language. Sheerkohf himself\nseemed at a loss how to rank their host. He had been, he said, a wise\nman, and could often for many hours together speak lessons of virtue or\nwisdom, without the slightest appearance of inaccuracy. At other\ntimes he was wild and violent, but never before had he seen him so\nmischievously disposed as he had that day appeared to be. His rage was\nchiefly provoked by any affront to his religion; and there was a story\nof some wandering Arabs, who had insulted his worship and defaced his\naltar, and whom he had on that account attacked and slain with the\nshort flail which he carried with him in lieu of all other weapons.\nThis incident had made a great noise, and it was as much the fear of the\nhermit's iron flail as regard for his character as a Hamako which caused\nthe roving tribes to respect his dwelling and his chapel. His fame had\nspread so far that Saladin had issued particular orders that he should\nbe spared and protected. He himself, and other Moslem lords of rank, had\nvisited the cell more than once, partly from curiosity, partly that they\nexpected from a man so learned as the Christian Hamako some insight into\nthe secrets of futurity. \"He had,\" continued the Saracen, \"a rashid, or\nobservatory, of great height, contrived to view the heavenly bodies, and\nparticularly the planetary system--by whose movements and influences,\nas both Christian and Moslem believed, the course of human events was\nregulated, and might be predicted.\"\n\nThis was the substance of the Emir Sheerkohf's information, and it left\nSir Kenneth in doubt whether the character of insanity arose from the\noccasional excessive fervour of the hermit's zeal, or whether it was not\naltogether fictitious, and assumed for the sake of the immunities\nwhich it afforded. Yet it seemed that the infidels had carried their\ncomplaisance towards him to an uncommon length, considering the\nfanaticism of the followers of Mohammed, in the midst of whom he was\nliving, though the professed enemy of their faith. He thought also there\nwas more intimacy of acquaintance betwixt the hermit and the Saracen\nthan the words of the latter had induced him to anticipate; and it\nhad not escaped him that the former had called the latter by a\nname different from that which he himself had assumed. All these\nconsiderations authorized caution, if not suspicion. He determined to\nobserve his host closely, and not to be over-hasty in communicating with\nhim on the important charge entrusted to him.\n\n\"Beware, Saracen,\" he said; \"methinks our host's imagination wanders\nas well on the subject of names as upon other matters. Thy name is\nSheerkohf, and he called thee but now by another.\"\n\n\"My name, when in the tent of my father,\" replied the Kurdman, \"was\nIlderim, and by this I am still distinguished by many. In the field, and\nto soldiers, I am known as the Lion of the Mountain, being the name my\ngood sword hath won for me. But hush, the Hamako comes--it is to warn us\nto rest. I know his custom; none must watch him at his vigils.\"\n\nThe anchorite accordingly entered, and folding his arms on his bosom as\nhe stood before them, said with a solemn voice, \"Blessed be His name,\nwho hath appointed the quiet night to follow the busy day, and the calm\nsleep to refresh the wearied limbs and to compose the troubled spirit!\"\n\nBoth warriors replied \"Amen!\" and, arising from the table, prepared to\nbetake themselves to the couches, which their host indicated by waving\nhis hand, as, making a reverence to each, he again withdrew from the\napartment.\n\nThe Knight of the Leopard then disarmed himself of his heavy panoply,\nhis Saracen companion kindly assisting him to undo his buckler and\nclasps, until he remained in the close dress of chamois leather, which\nknights and men-at-arms used to wear under their harness. The Saracen,\nif he had admired the strength of his adversary when sheathed in steel,\nwas now no less struck with the accuracy of proportion displayed in his\nnervous and well-compacted figure. The knight, on the other hand, as, in\nexchange of courtesy, he assisted the Saracen to disrobe himself of his\nupper garments, that he might sleep with more convenience, was, on his\nside, at a loss to conceive how such slender proportions and slimness of\nfigure could be reconciled with the vigour he had displayed in personal\ncontest.\n\nEach warrior prayed ere he addressed himself to his place of rest. The\nMoslem turned towards his KEBLAH, the point to which the prayer of each\nfollower of the Prophet was to be addressed, and murmured his heathen\norisons; while the Christian, withdrawing from the contamination of the\ninfidel's neighbourhood, placed his huge cross-handled sword upright,\nand kneeling before it as the sign of salvation, told his rosary with\na devotion which was enhanced by the recollection of the scenes through\nwhich he had passed, and the dangers from which he had been rescued, in\nthe course of the day. Both warriors, worn by toil and travel, were soon\nfast asleep, each on his separate pallet.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nKenneth the Scot was uncertain how long his senses had been lost in\nprofound repose, when he was roused to recollection by a sense of\noppression on his chest, which at first suggested a flirting dream of\nstruggling with a powerful opponent, and at length recalled him fully\nto his senses. He was about to demand who was there, when, opening his\neyes, he beheld the figure of the anchorite, wild and savage-looking as\nwe have described him, standing by his bedside, and pressing his right\nhand upon his breast, while he held a small silver lamp in the other.\n\n\"Be silent,\" said the hermit, as the prostrate knight looked up in\nsurprise; \"I have that to say to you which yonder infidel must not\nhear.\"\n\nThese words he spoke in the French language, and not in the lingua\nfranca, or compound of Eastern and European dialects, which had hitherto\nbeen used amongst them.\n\n\"Arise,\" he continued, \"put on thy mantle; speak not, but tread lightly,\nand follow me.\"\n\nSir Kenneth arose, and took his sword.\n\n\"It needs not,\" answered the anchorite, in a whisper; \"we are going\nwhere spiritual arms avail much, and fleshly weapons are but as the reed\nand the decayed gourd.\"\n\nThe knight deposited his sword by the bedside as before, and, armed only\nwith his dagger, from which in this perilous country he never parted,\nprepared to attend his mysterious host.\n\nThe hermit then moved slowly forwards, and was followed by the knight,\nstill under some uncertainty whether the dark form which glided\non before to show him the path was not, in fact, the creation of a\ndisturbed dream. They passed, like shadows, into the outer apartment,\nwithout disturbing the paynim Emir, who lay still buried in repose.\nBefore the cross and altar, in the outward room, a lamp was still\nburning, a missal was displayed, and on the floor lay a discipline, or\npenitential scourge of small cord and wire, the lashes of which were\nrecently stained with blood--a token, no doubt, of the severe penance of\nthe recluse. Here Theodorick kneeled down, and pointed to the knight to\ntake his place beside him upon the sharp flints, which seemed placed for\nthe purpose of rendering the posture of reverential devotion as uneasy\nas possible. He read many prayers of the Catholic Church, and chanted,\nin a low but earnest voice, three of the penitential psalms. These last\nhe intermixed with sighs, and tears, and convulsive throbs, which bore\nwitness how deeply he felt the divine poetry which he recited. The\nScottish knight assisted with profound sincerity at these acts of\ndevotion, his opinion of his host beginning, in the meantime, to be so\nmuch changed, that he doubted whether, from the severity of his penance\nand the ardour of his prayers, he ought not to regard him as a saint;\nand when they arose from the ground, he stood with reverence before\nhim, as a pupil before an honoured master. The hermit was, on his side,\nsilent and abstracted for the space of a few minutes.\n\n\"Look into yonder recess, my son,\" he said, pointing to the farther\ncorner of the cell; \"there thou wilt find a veil--bring it hither.\"\n\nThe knight obeyed, and in a small aperture cut out of the wall, and\nsecured with a door of wicker, he found the veil inquired for. When he\nbrought it to the light, he discovered that it was torn, and soiled in\nsome places with some dark substance. The anchorite looked at it with\na deep but smothered emotion, and ere he could speak to the Scottish\nknight, was compelled to vent his feelings in a convulsive groan.\n\n\"Thou art now about to look upon the richest treasure that the earth\npossesses,\" he at length said; \"woe is me, that my eyes are unworthy to\nbe lifted towards it! Alas! I am but the vile and despised sign, which\npoints out to the wearied traveller a harbour of rest and security, but\nmust itself remain for ever without doors. In vain have I fled to the\nvery depths of the rocks, and the very bosom of the thirsty desert. Mine\nenemy hath found me--even he whom I have denied has pursued me to my\nfortresses.\"\n\nHe paused again for a moment, and turning to the Scottish knight, said,\nin a firmer tone of voice, \"You bring me a greeting from Richard of\nEngland?\"\n\n\"I come from the Council of Christian Princes,\" said the knight;\n\"but the King of England being indisposed, I am not honoured with his\nMajesty's commands.\"\n\n\"Your token?\" demanded the recluse.\n\nSir Kenneth hesitated. Former suspicions, and the marks of insanity\nwhich the hermit had formerly exhibited, rushed suddenly on his\nthoughts; but how suspect a man whose manners were so saintly? \"My\npassword,\" he said at length, \"is this--Kings begged of a beggar.\"\n\n\"It is right,\" said the hermit, while he paused. \"I know you well; but\nthe sentinel upon his post--and mine is an important one--challenges\nfriend as well as foe.\"\n\nHe then moved forward with the lamp, leading the way into the room which\nthey had left. The Saracen lay on his couch, still fast asleep. The\nhermit paused by his side, and looked down on him.\n\n\"He sleeps,\" he said, \"in darkness, and must not be awakened.\"\n\nThe attitude of the Emir did indeed convey the idea of profound repose.\nOne arm, flung across his body, as he lay with his face half turned to\nthe wall, concealed, with its loose and long sleeve, the greater part\nof his face; but the high forehead was yet visible. Its nerves, which\nduring his waking hours were so uncommonly active, were now motionless,\nas if the face had been composed of dark marble, and his long silken\neyelashes closed over his piercing and hawklike eyes. The open and\nrelaxed hand, and the deep, regular, and soft breathing, all gave tokens\nof the most profound repose. The slumberer formed a singular group along\nwith the tall forms of the hermit in his shaggy dress of goat-skins,\nbearing the lamp, and the knight in his close leathern coat--the former\nwith an austere expression of ascetic gloom, the latter with anxious\ncuriosity deeply impressed on his manly features.\n\n\"He sleeps soundly,\" said the hermit, in the same low tone as before;\nand repeating the words, though he had changed the meaning from that\nwhich is literal to a metaphorical sense--\"he sleeps in darkness, but\nthere shall be for him a dayspring.--O Ilderim, thy waking thoughts\nare yet as vain and wild as those which are wheeling their giddy dance\nthrough thy sleeping brain; but the trumpet shall be heard, and the\ndream shall be dissolved.\"\n\nSo saying, and making the knight a sign to follow him, the hermit went\ntowards the altar, and passing behind it, pressed a spring, which,\nopening without noise, showed a small iron door wrought in the side\nof the cavern, so as to be almost imperceptible, unless upon the most\nsevere scrutiny. The hermit, ere he ventured fully to open the door,\ndropped some oil on the hinges, which the lamp supplied. A small\nstaircase, hewn in the rock, was discovered, when the iron door was at\nlength completely opened.\n\n\"Take the veil which I hold,\" said the hermit, in a melancholy tone,\n\"and blind mine eyes; For I may not look on the treasure which thou art\npresently to behold, without sin and presumption.\"\n\nWithout reply, the knight hastily muffled the recluse's head in the\nveil, and the latter began to ascend the staircase as one too much\naccustomed to the way to require the use of light, while at the same\ntime he held the lamp to the Scot, who followed him for many steps up\nthe narrow ascent. At length they rested in a small vault of irregular\nform, in one nook of which the staircase terminated, while in another\ncorner a corresponding stair was seen to continue the ascent. In a\nthird angle was a Gothic door, very rudely ornamented with the usual\nattributes of clustered columns and carving, and defended by a wicket,\nstrongly guarded with iron, and studded with large nails. To this\nlast point the hermit directed his steps, which seemed to falter as he\napproached it.\n\n\"Put off thy shoes,\" he said to his attendant; \"the ground on which\nthou standest is holy. Banish from thy innermost heart each profane and\ncarnal thought, for to harbour such while in this place were a deadly\nimpiety.\"\n\nThe knight laid aside his shoes as he was commanded, and the hermit\nstood in the meanwhile as if communing with his soul in secret prayer,\nand when he again moved, commanded the knight to knock at the wicket\nthree times. He did so. The door opened spontaneously--at least Sir\nKenneth beheld no one--and his senses were at once assailed by a stream\nof the purest light, and by a strong and almost oppressive sense of the\nrichest perfumes. He stepped two or three paces back, and it was the\nspace of a minute ere he recovered the dazzling and overpowering effects\nof the sudden change from darkness to light.\n\nWhen he entered the apartment in which this brilliant lustre was\ndisplayed, he perceived that the light proceeded from a combination of\nsilver lamps, fed with purest oil, and sending forth the richest odours,\nhanging by silver chains from the roof of a small Gothic chapel, hewn,\nlike most part of the hermit's singular mansion, out of the sound and\nsolid rock. But whereas, in every other place which Sir Kenneth had\nseen, the labour employed upon the rock had been of the simplest and\ncoarsest description, it had in this chapel employed the invention and\nthe chisels of the most able architects. The groined roofs rose from six\ncolumns on each side, carved with the rarest skill; and the manner in\nwhich the crossings of the concave arches were bound together, as it\nwere, with appropriate ornaments, were all in the finest tone of the\narchitecture of the age. Corresponding to the line of pillars, there\nwere on each side six richly-wrought niches, each of which contained the\nimage of one of the twelve apostles.\n\nAt the upper and eastern end of the chapel stood the altar, behind\nwhich a very rich curtain of Persian silk, embroidered deeply with gold,\ncovered a recess, containing, unquestionably, some image or relic of no\nordinary sanctity, in honour of which this singular place of worship\nhad been erected, Under the persuasion that this must be the case, the\nknight advanced to the shrine, and kneeling down before it, repeated his\ndevotions with fervency, during which his attention was disturbed by the\ncurtain being suddenly raised, or rather pulled aside, how or by whom he\nsaw not; but in the niche which was thus disclosed he beheld a cabinet\nof silver and ebony, with a double folding-door, the whole formed into\nthe miniature resemblance of a Gothic church.\n\nAs he gazed with anxious curiosity on the shrine, the two folding-doors\nalso flew open, discovering a large piece of wood, on which were\nblazoned the words, VERA CRUX; at the same time a choir of female voices\nsung GLORIA PATRI. The instant the strain had ceased, the shrine was\nclosed, and the curtain again drawn, and the knight who knelt at the\naltar might now continue his devotions undisturbed, in honour of the\nholy relic which had been just disclosed to his view. He did this under\nthe profound impression of one who had witnessed, with his own eyes, an\nawful evidence of the truth of his religion; and it was some time ere,\nconcluding his orisons, he arose, and ventured to look around him for\nthe hermit, who had guided him to this sacred and mysterious spot. He\nbeheld him, his head still muffled in the veil which he had himself\nwrapped around it, crouching, like a rated hound, upon the threshold of\nthe chapel; but, apparently, without venturing to cross it--the holiest\nreverence, the most penitential remorse, was expressed by his posture,\nwhich seemed that of a man borne down and crushed to the earth by the\nburden of his inward feelings. It seemed to the Scot that only the\nsense of the deepest penitence, remorse, and humiliation could have thus\nprostrated a frame so strong and a spirit so fiery.\n\nHe approached him as if to speak; but the recluse anticipated his\npurpose, murmuring in stifled tones, from beneath the fold in which his\nhead was muffled, and which sounded like a voice proceeding from the\ncerements of a corpse,--\"Abide, abide--happy thou that mayest--the\nvision is not yet ended.\" So saying, he reared himself from the ground,\ndrew back from the threshold on which he had hitherto lain prostrate,\nand closed the door of the chapel, which, secured by a spring bolt\nwithin, the snap of which resounded through the place, appeared so much\nlike a part of the living rock from which the cavern was hewn, that\nKenneth could hardly discern where the aperture had been. He was now\nalone in the lighted chapel which contained the relic to which he had\nlately rendered his homage, without other arms than his dagger, or other\ncompanion than his pious thoughts and dauntless courage.\n\nUncertain what was next to happen, but resolved to abide the course of\nevents, Sir Kenneth paced the solitary chapel till about the time of the\nearliest cock-crowing. At this dead season, when night and morning met\ntogether, he heard, but from what quarter he could not discover, the\nsound of such a small silver bell as is rung at the elevation of the\nhost in the ceremony, or sacrifice, as it has been called, of the mass.\nThe hour and the place rendered the sound fearfully solemn, and, bold as\nhe was, the knight withdrew himself into the farther nook of the\nchapel, at the end opposite to the altar, in order to observe, without\ninterruption, the consequences of this unexpected signal.\n\nHe did not wait long ere the silken curtain was again withdrawn, and the\nrelic again presented to his view. As he sunk reverentially on his knee,\nhe heard the sound of the lauds, or earliest office of the Catholic\nChurch, sung by female voices, which united together in the performance\nas they had done in the former service. The knight was soon aware that\nthe voices were no longer stationary in the distance, but approached the\nchapel and became louder, when a door, imperceptible when closed, like\nthat by which he had himself entered, opened on the other side of the\nvault, and gave the tones of the choir more room to swell along the\nribbed arches of the roof.\n\nThe knight fixed his eyes on the opening with breathless anxiety, and,\ncontinuing to kneel in the attitude of devotion which the place and\nscene required, expected the consequence of these preparations. A\nprocession appeared about to issue from the door. First, four beautiful\nboys, whose arms, necks, and legs were bare, showing the bronze\ncomplexion of the East, and contrasting with the snow-white tunics\nwhich they wore, entered the chapel by two and two. The first pair bore\ncensers, which they swung from side to side, adding double fragrance\nto the odours with which the chapel already was impregnated. The second\npair scattered flowers.\n\nAfter these followed, in due and majestic order, the females who\ncomposed the choir--six, who from their black scapularies, and black\nveils over their white garments, appeared to be professed nuns of the\norder of Mount Carmel; and as many whose veils, being white, argued them\nto be novices, or occasional inhabitants in the cloister, who were\nnot as yet bound to it by vows. The former held in their hands large\nrosaries, while the younger and lighter figures who followed carried\neach a chaplet of red and white roses. They moved in procession around\nthe chapel, without appearing to take the slightest notice of Kenneth,\nalthough passing so near him that their robes almost touched him, while\nthey continued to sing. The knight doubted not that he was in one of\nthose cloisters where the noble Christian maidens had formerly openly\ndevoted themselves to the services of the church. Most of them had been\nsuppressed since the Mohammedans had reconquered Palestine, but many,\npurchasing connivance by presents, or receiving it from the clemency\nor contempt of the victors, still continued to observe in private the\nritual to which their vows had consecrated them. Yet, though Kenneth\nknew this to be the case, the solemnity of the place and hour, the\nsurprise at the sudden appearance of these votaresses, and the\nvisionary manner in which they moved past him, had such influence on his\nimagination that he could scarce conceive that the fair procession\nwhich he beheld was formed of creatures of this world, so much did\nthey resemble a choir of supernatural beings, rendering homage to the\nuniversal object of adoration.\n\nSuch was the knight's first idea, as the procession passed him, scarce\nmoving, save just sufficiently to continue their progress; so that,\nseen by the shadowy and religious light which the lamps shed through the\nclouds of incense which darkened the apartment, they appeared rather to\nglide than to walk.\n\nBut as a second time, in surrounding the chapel, they passed the spot on\nwhich he kneeled, one of the white-stoled maidens, as she glided by him,\ndetached from the chaplet which she carried a rosebud, which dropped\nfrom her fingers, perhaps unconsciously, on the foot of Sir Kenneth. The\nknight started as if a dart had suddenly struck his person; for, when\nthe mind is wound up to a high pitch of feeling and expectation,\nthe slightest incident, if unexpected, gives fire to the train\nwhich imagination has already laid. But he suppressed his emotion,\nrecollecting how easily an incident so indifferent might have happened,\nand that it was only the uniform monotony of the movement of the\nchoristers which made the incident in the slightest degree remarkable.\n\nStill, while the procession, for the third time, surrounded the chapel,\nthe thoughts and the eyes of Kenneth followed exclusively the one among\nthe novices who had dropped the rosebud. Her step, her face, her form\nwere so completely assimilated to the rest of the choristers that it\nwas impossible to perceive the least marks of individuality; and yet\nKenneth's heart throbbed like a bird that would burst from its cage, as\nif to assure him, by its sympathetic suggestions, that the female who\nheld the right file on the second rank of the novices was dearer to him,\nnot only than all the rest that were present, but than the whole sex\nbesides. The romantic passion of love, as it was cherished, and indeed\nenjoined, by the rules of chivalry, associated well with the no less\nromantic feelings of devotion; and they might be said much more to\nenhance than to counteract each other. It was, therefore, with a glow\nof expectation that had something even of a religious character that\nSir Kenneth, his sensations thrilling from his heart to the ends of\nhis fingers, expected some second sign of the presence of one who, he\nstrongly fancied, had already bestowed on him the first. Short as\nthe space was during which the procession again completed a third\nperambulation of the chapel, it seemed an eternity to Kenneth. At length\nthe form which he had watched with such devoted attention drew nigh.\nThere was no difference betwixt that shrouded figure and the others,\nwith whom it moved in concert and in unison, until, just as she passed\nfor the third time the kneeling Crusader, a part of a little and\nwell-proportioned hand, so beautifully formed as to give the highest\nidea of the perfect proportions of the form to which it belonged, stole\nthrough the folds of the gauze, like a moonbeam through the fleecy cloud\nof a summer night, and again a rosebud lay at the feet of the Knight of\nthe Leopard.\n\nThis second intimation could not be accidental---it could not be\nfortuitous, the resemblance of that half-seen but beautiful female hand\nwith one which his lips had once touched, and, while they touched it,\nhad internally sworn allegiance to the lovely owner. Had further proof\nbeen wanting, there was the glimmer of that matchless ruby ring on that\nsnow-white finger, whose invaluable worth Kenneth would yet have prized\nless than the slightest sign which that finger could have made; and,\nveiled too, as she was, he might see, by chance or by favour, a stray\ncurl of the dark tresses, each hair of which was dearer to him a hundred\ntimes than a chain of massive gold. It was the lady of his love! But\nthat she should be here--in the savage and sequestered desert--among\nvestals, who rendered themselves habitants of wilds and of caverns, that\nthey might perform in secret those Christian rites which they dared\nnot assist in openly; that this should be so, in truth and in reality,\nseemed too incredible--it must be a dream--a delusive trance of the\nimagination. While these thoughts passed through the mind of Kenneth,\nthe same passage, by which the procession had entered the chapel,\nreceived them on their return. The young sacristans, the sable nuns,\nvanished successively through the open door. At length she from whom he\nhad received this double intimation passed also; yet, in passing, turned\nher head, slightly indeed, but perceptibly, towards the place where he\nremained fixed as an image. He marked the last wave of her veil--it was\ngone--and a darkness sunk upon his soul, scarce less palpable than that\nwhich almost immediately enveloped his external sense; for the last\nchorister had no sooner crossed the threshold of the door than it shut\nwith a loud sound, and at the same instant the voices of the choir were\nsilent, the lights of the chapel were at once extinguished, and Sir\nKenneth remained solitary and in total darkness. But to Kenneth,\nsolitude, and darkness, and the uncertainty of his mysterious situation\nwere as nothing--he thought not of them--cared not for them--cared for\nnought in the world save the flitting vision which had just glided past\nhim, and the tokens of her favour which she had bestowed. To grope on\nthe floor for the buds which she had dropped--to press them to his lips,\nto his bosom, now alternately, now together--to rivet his lips to the\ncold stones on which, as near as he could judge, she had so lately\nstepped--to play all the extravagances which strong affection suggests\nand vindicates to those who yield themselves up to it, were but the\ntokens of passionate love common to all ages. But it was peculiar to the\ntimes of chivalry that, in his wildest rapture, the knight imagined of\nno attempt to follow or to trace the object of such romantic attachment;\nthat he thought of her as of a deity, who, having deigned to show\nherself for an instant to her devoted worshipper, had again returned\nto the darkness of her sanctuary--or as an influential planet, which,\nhaving darted in some auspicious minute one favourable ray, wrapped\nitself again in its veil of mist. The motions of the lady of his love\nwere to him those of a superior being, who was to move without watch or\ncontrol, rejoice him by her appearance, or depress him by her absence,\nanimate him by her kindness, or drive him to despair by her cruelty--all\nat her own free will, and without other importunity or remonstrance than\nthat expressed by the most devoted services of the heart and sword of\nthe champion, whose sole object in life was to fulfil her commands, and,\nby the splendour of his own achievements, to exalt her fame.\n\nSuch were the rules of chivalry, and of the love which was its ruling\nprinciple. But Sir Kenneth's attachment was rendered romantic by other\nand still more peculiar circumstances. He had never even heard the sound\nof his lady's voice, though he had often beheld her beauty with rapture.\nShe moved in a circle which his rank of knighthood permitted him\nindeed to approach, but not to mingle with; and highly as he stood\ndistinguished for warlike skill and enterprise, still the poor Scottish\nsoldier was compelled to worship his divinity at a distance almost as\ngreat as divides the Persian from the sun which he adores. But when was\nthe pride of woman too lofty to overlook the passionate devotion of\na lover, however inferior in degree? Her eye had been on him in the\ntournament, her ear had heard his praises in the report of the battles\nwhich were daily fought; and while count, duke, and lord contended\nfor her grace, it flowed, unwillingly perhaps at first, or even\nunconsciously, towards the poor Knight of the Leopard, who, to support\nhis rank, had little besides his sword. When she looked, and when she\nlistened, the lady saw and heard enough to encourage her in a partiality\nwhich had at first crept on her unawares. If a knight's personal beauty\nwas praised, even the most prudish dames of the military court of\nEngland would make an exception in favour of the Scottish Kenneth;\nand it oftentimes happened that, notwithstanding the very considerable\nlargesses which princes and peers bestowed on the minstrels, an\nimpartial spirit of independence would seize the poet, and the harp was\nswept to the heroism of one who had neither palfreys nor garments to\nbestow in guerdon of his applause.\n\nThe moments when she listened to the praises of her lover became\ngradually more and more dear to the high-born Edith, relieving the\nflattery with which her ear was weary, and presenting to her a subject\nof secret contemplation, more worthy, as he seemed by general report,\nthan those who surpassed him in rank and in the gifts of fortune. As her\nattention became constantly, though cautiously, fixed on Sir Kenneth,\nshe grew more and more convinced of his personal devotion to herself and\nmore and more certain in her mind that in Kenneth of Scotland she beheld\nthe fated knight doomed to share with her through weal and woe--and the\nprospect looked gloomy and dangerous--the passionate attachment to which\nthe poets of the age ascribed such universal dominion, and which its\nmanners and morals placed nearly on the same rank with devotion itself.\n\nLet us not disguise the truth from our readers. When Edith became aware\nof the state of her own sentiments, chivalrous as were her sentiments,\nbecoming a maiden not distant from the throne of England--gratified as\nher pride must have been with the mute though unceasing homage rendered\nto her by the knight whom she had distinguished, there were moments\nwhen the feelings of the woman, loving and beloved, murmured against the\nrestraints of state and form by which she was surrounded, and when she\nalmost blamed the timidity of her lover, who seemed resolved not to\ninfringe them. The etiquette, to use a modern phrase, of birth and rank,\nhad drawn around her a magical circle, beyond which Sir Kenneth might\nindeed bow and gaze, but within which he could no more pass than an\nevoked spirit can transgress the boundaries prescribed by the rod of a\npowerful enchanter. The thought involuntarily pressed on her that she\nherself must venture, were it but the point of her fairy foot, beyond\nthe prescribed boundary, if she ever hoped to give a lover so reserved\nand bashful an opportunity of so slight a favour as but to salute her\nshoe-tie. There was an example--the noted precedent of the \"King's\ndaughter of Hungary,\" who thus generously encouraged the \"squire of low\ndegree;\" and Edith, though of kingly blood, was no king's daughter, any\nmore than her lover was of low degree--fortune had put no such extreme\nbarrier in obstacle to their affections. Something, however, within\nthe maiden's bosom--that modest pride which throws fetters even on love\nitself forbade her, notwithstanding the superiority of her condition, to\nmake those advances, which, in every case, delicacy assigns to the other\nsex; above all, Sir Kenneth was a knight so gentle and honourable, so\nhighly accomplished, as her imagination at least suggested, together\nwith the strictest feelings of what was due to himself and to her,\nthat however constrained her attitude might be while receiving his\nadorations, like the image of some deity, who is neither supposed to\nfeel nor to reply to the homage of its votaries, still the idol feared\nthat to step prematurely from her pedestal would be to degrade herself\nin the eyes of her devoted worshipper.\n\nYet the devout adorer of an actual idol can even discover signs of\napprobation in the rigid and immovable features of a marble image;\nand it is no wonder that something, which could be as favourably\ninterpreted, glanced from the bright eye of the lovely Edith, whose\nbeauty, indeed, consisted rather more in that very power of expression,\nthan an absolute regularity of contour or brilliancy of complexion. Some\nslight marks of distinction had escaped from her, notwithstanding her\nown jealous vigilance, else how could Sir Kenneth have so readily and\nso undoubtingly recognized the lovely hand, of which scarce two fingers\nwere visible from under the veil, or how could he have rested so\nthoroughly assured that two flowers, successively dropped on the spot,\nwere intended as a recognition on the part of his lady-love? By what\ntrain of observation--by what secret signs, looks, or gestures--by what\ninstinctive freemasonry of love, this degree of intelligence came to\nsubsist between Edith and her lover, we cannot attempt to trace; for we\nare old, and such slight vestiges of affection, quickly discovered by\nyounger eyes, defy the power of ours. Enough that such affection\ndid subsist between parties who had never even spoken to one\nanother--though, on the side of Edith, it was checked by a deep sense of\nthe difficulties and dangers which must necessarily attend the further\nprogress of their attachment; and upon that of the knight by a thousand\ndoubts and fears lest he had overestimated the slight tokens of the\nlady's notice, varied, as they necessarily were, by long intervals\nof apparent coldness, during which either the fear of exciting the\nobservation of others, and thus drawing danger upon her lover, or that\nof sinking in his esteem by seeming too willing to be won, made her\nbehave with indifference, and as if unobservant of his presence.\n\nThis narrative, tedious perhaps, but which the story renders necessary,\nmay serve to explain the state of intelligence, if it deserves so strong\na name, betwixt the lovers, when Edith's unexpected appearance in the\nchapel produced so powerful an effect on the feelings of her knight.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n     Their necromantic forms in vain\n     Haunt us on the tented plain;\n     We bid these spectre shapes avaunt,\n     Ashtaroth and Termagaunt.     WARTON.\n\nThe most profound silence, the deepest darkness, continued to brood for\nmore than an hour over the chapel in which we left the Knight of the\nLeopard still kneeling, alternately expressing thanks to Heaven and\ngratitude to his lady for the boon which had been vouchsafed to him.\nHis own safety, his own destiny, for which he was at all times little\nanxious, had not now the weight of a grain of dust in his reflections.\nHe was in the neighbourhood of Lady Edith; he had received tokens of her\ngrace; he was in a place hallowed by relics of the most awful sanctity.\nA Christian soldier, a devoted lover, could fear nothing, think of\nnothing, but his duty to Heaven and his devoir to his lady.\n\nAt the lapse of the space of time which we have noticed, a shrill\nwhistle, like that with which a falconer calls his hawk, was heard to\nring sharply through the vaulted chapel. It was a sound ill suited to\nthe place, and reminded Sir Kenneth how necessary it was he should be\nupon his guard. He started from his knee, and laid his hand upon his\nponiard. A creaking sound, as of a screw or pulleys, succeeded, and a\nlight streaming upwards, as from an opening in the floor, showed that\na trap-door had been raised or depressed. In less than a minute a long,\nskinny arm, partly naked, partly clothed in a sleeve of red samite,\narose out of the aperture, holding a lamp as high as it could stretch\nupwards, and the figure to which the arm belonged ascended step by step\nto the level of the chapel floor. The form and face of the being who\nthus presented himself were those of a frightful dwarf, with a large\nhead, a cap fantastically adorned with three peacock feathers, a\ndress of red samite, the richness of which rendered his ugliness more\nconspicuous, distinguished by gold bracelets and armlets, and a white\nsilk sash, in which he wore a gold-hilted dagger. This singular figure\nhad in his left hand a kind of broom. So soon as he had stepped from\nthe aperture through which he arose, he stood still, and, as if to show\nhimself more distinctly, moved the lamp which he held slowly over\nhis face and person, successively illuminating his wild and fantastic\nfeatures, and his misshapen but nervous limbs. Though disproportioned in\nperson, the dwarf was not so distorted as to argue any want of strength\nor activity. While Sir Kenneth gazed on this disagreeable object, the\npopular creed occurred to his remembrance concerning the gnomes or\nearthly spirits which make their abode in the caverns of the earth; and\nso much did this figure correspond with ideas he had formed of their\nappearance, that he looked on it with disgust, mingled not indeed with\nfear, but that sort of awe which the presence of a supernatural creature\nmay infuse into the most steady bosom.\n\nThe dwarf again whistled, and summoned from beneath a companion. This\nsecond figure ascended in the same manner as the first; but it was\na female arm in this second instance which upheld the lamp from the\nsubterranean vault out of which these presentments arose, and it was a\nfemale form, much resembling the first in shape and proportions,\nwhich slowly emerged from the floor. Her dress was also of red samite,\nfantastically cut and flounced, as if she had been dressed for some\nexhibition of mimes or jugglers; and with the same minuteness which her\npredecessor had exhibited, she passed the lamp over her face and person,\nwhich seemed to rival the male's in ugliness. But with all this most\nunfavourable exterior, there was one trait in the features of both which\nargued alertness and intelligence in the most uncommon degree. This\narose from the brilliancy of their eyes, which, deep-set beneath black\nand shaggy brows, gleamed with a lustre which, like that in the eye\nof the toad, seemed to make some amends for the extreme ugliness of\ncountenance and person.\n\nSir Kenneth remained as if spellbound, while this unlovely pair, moving\nround the chapel close to each other, appeared to perform the duty of\nsweeping it, like menials; but as they used only one hand, the floor was\nnot much benefited by the exercise, which they plied with such oddity of\ngestures and manner as befitted their bizarre and fantastic appearance.\nWhen they approached near to the knight in the course of their\noccupation, they ceased to use their brooms; and placing themselves side\nby side, directly opposite to Sir Kenneth, they again slowly shifted the\nlights which they held, so as to allow him distinctly to survey features\nwhich were not rendered more agreeable by being brought nearer, and to\nobserve the extreme quickness and keenness with which their black and\nglittering eyes flashed back the light of the lamps. They then turned\nthe gleam of both lights upon the knight, and having accurately surveyed\nhim, turned their faces to each other, and set up a loud, yelling laugh,\nwhich resounded in his ears. The sound was so ghastly that Sir Kenneth\nstarted at hearing it, and hastily demanded, in the name of God, who\nthey were who profaned that holy place with such antic gestures and\nelritch exclamations.\n\n\"I am the dwarf Nectabanus,\" said the abortion-seeming male, in a voice\ncorresponding to his figure, and resembling the voice of the night-crow\nmore than any sound which is heard by daylight.\n\n\"And I am Guenevra, his lady and his love,\" replied the female, in tones\nwhich, being shriller, were yet wilder than those of her companion.\n\n\"Wherefore are you here?\" again demanded the knight, scarcely yet\nassured that they were human beings which he saw before him.\n\n\"I am,\" replied the male dwarf, with much assumed gravity and dignity,\n\"the twelfth Imaum. I am Mohammed Mohadi, the guide and the conductor of\nthe faithful. A hundred horses stand ready saddled for me and my train\nat the Holy City, and as many at the City of Refuge. I am he who shall\nbear witness, and this is one of my houris.\"\n\n\"Thou liest!\" answered the female, interrupting her companion, in tones\nyet shriller than his own; \"I am none of thy houris, and thou art no\nsuch infidel trash as the Mohammed of whom thou speakest. May my curse\nrest upon his coffin! I tell thee, thou ass of Issachar, thou art King\nArthur of Britain, whom the fairies stole away from the field of Avalon;\nand I am Dame Guenevra, famed for her beauty.\"\n\n\"But in truth, noble sir,\" said the male, \"we are distressed princes,\ndwelling under the wing of King Guy of Jerusalem, until he was driven\nout from his own nest by the foul infidels--Heaven's bolts consume\nthem!\"\n\n\"Hush,\" said a voice from the side upon which the knight had\nentered--\"hush, fools, and begone; your ministry is ended.\"\n\nThe dwarfs had no sooner heard the command than, gibbering in discordant\nwhispers to each other, they blew out their lights at once, and left the\nknight in utter darkness, which, when the pattering of their retiring\nfeet had died away, was soon accompanied by its fittest companion, total\nsilence.\n\nThe knight felt the departure of these unfortunate creatures a relief.\nHe could not, from their language, manners, and appearance, doubt that\nthey belonged to the degraded class of beings whom deformity of person\nand weakness of intellect recommended to the painful situation of\nappendages to great families, where their personal appearance and\nimbecility were food for merriment to the household. Superior in no\nrespect to the ideas and manners of his time, the Scottish knight might,\nat another period, have been much amused by the mummery of these poor\neffigies of humanity; but now their appearance, gesticulations, and\nlanguage broke the train of deep and solemn feeling with which he was\nimpressed, and he rejoiced in the disappearance of the unhappy objects.\n\nA few minutes after they had retired, the door at which he had entered\nopened slowly, and remaining ajar, discovered a faint light arising from\na lantern placed upon the threshold. Its doubtful and wavering gleam\nshowed a dark form reclined beside the entrance, but without its\nprecincts, which, on approaching it more nearly, he recognized to be the\nhermit, crouching in the same humble posture in which he had at first\nlaid himself down, and which, doubtless, he had retained during the\nwhole time of his guest's continuing in the chapel.\n\n\"All is over,\" said the hermit, as he heard the knight approaching, \"and\nthe most wretched of earthly sinners, with him who should think himself\nmost honoured and most happy among the race of humanity, must retire\nfrom this place. Take the light, and guide me down the descent, for I\nmust not uncover my eyes until I am far from this hallowed spot.\"\n\nThe Scottish knight obeyed in silence, for a solemn and yet ecstatic\nsense of what he had seen had silenced even the eager workings of\ncuriosity. He led the way, with considerable accuracy, through the\nvarious secret passages and stairs by which they had ascended, until at\nlength they found themselves in the outward cell of the hermit's cavern.\n\n\"The condemned criminal is restored to his dungeon, reprieved from one\nmiserable day to another, until his awful Judge shall at length appoint\nthe well-deserved sentence to be carried into execution.\"\n\nAs the hermit spoke these words, he laid aside the veil with which his\neyes had been bound, and looked at it with a suppressed and hollow sigh.\nNo sooner had he restored it to the crypt from which he had caused the\nScot to bring it, than he said hastily and sternly to his companion;\n\"Begone, begone--to rest, to rest. You may sleep--you can sleep--I\nneither can nor may.\"\n\nRespecting the profound agitation with which this was spoken, the knight\nretired into the inner cell; but casting back his eye as he left the\nexterior grotto, he beheld the anchorite stripping his shoulders with\nfrantic haste of their shaggy mantle, and ere he could shut the frail\ndoor which separated the two compartments of the cavern, he heard\nthe clang of the scourge and the groans of the penitent under his\nself-inflicted penance. A cold shudder came over the knight as he\nreflected what could be the foulness of the sin, what the depth of the\nremorse, which, apparently, such severe penance could neither cleanse\nnor assuage. He told his beads devoutly, and flung himself on his rude\ncouch, after a glance at the still sleeping Moslem, and, wearied by the\nvarious scenes of the day and the night, soon slept as sound as infancy.\nUpon his awaking in the morning, he held certain conferences with the\nhermit upon matters of importance, and the result of their intercourse\ninduced him to remain for two days longer in the grotto. He was regular,\nas became a pilgrim, in his devotional exercises, but was not again\nadmitted to the chapel in which he had seen such wonders.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n     Now change the scene--and let the trumpets sound,\n     For we must rouse the lion from his lair.  OLD PLAY.\n\nThe scene must change, as our programme has announced, from the mountain\nwilderness of Jordan to the camp of King Richard of England, then\nstationed betwixt Jean d'Acre and Ascalon, and containing that army with\nwhich he of the lion heart had promised himself a triumphant march\nto Jerusalem, and in which he would probably have succeeded, if not\nhindered by the jealousies of the Christian princes engaged in the same\nenterprise, and the offence taken by them at the uncurbed haughtiness\nof the English monarch, and Richard's unveiled contempt for his brother\nsovereigns, who, his equals in rank, were yet far his inferiors\nin courage, hardihood, and military talents. Such discords, and\nparticularly those betwixt Richard and Philip of France, created\ndisputes and obstacles which impeded every active measure proposed by\nthe heroic though impetuous Richard, while the ranks of the Crusaders\nwere daily thinned, not only by the desertion of individuals, but of\nentire bands, headed by their respective feudal leaders, who withdrew\nfrom a contest in which they had ceased to hope for success.\n\nThe effects of the climate became, as usual, fatal to soldiers from\nthe north, and the more so that the dissolute license of the Crusaders,\nforming a singular contrast to the principles and purpose of their\ntaking up arms, rendered them more easy victims to the insalubrious\ninfluence of burning heat and chilling dews. To these discouraging\ncauses of loss was to be added the sword of the enemy. Saladin, than\nwhom no greater name is recorded in Eastern history, had learned, to\nhis fatal experience, that his light-armed followers were little able to\nmeet in close encounter with the iron-clad Franks, and had been taught,\nat the same time, to apprehend and dread the adventurous character of\nhis antagonist Richard. But if his armies were more than once routed\nwith great slaughter, his numbers gave the Saracen the advantage in\nthose lighter skirmishes, of which many were inevitable.\n\nAs the army of his assailants decreased, the enterprises of the Sultan\nbecame more numerous and more bold in this species of petty warfare. The\ncamp of the Crusaders was surrounded, and almost besieged, by clouds of\nlight cavalry, resembling swarms of wasps, easily crushed when they are\nonce grasped, but furnished with wings to elude superior strength, and\nstings to inflict harm and mischief. There was perpetual warfare of\nposts and foragers, in which many valuable lives were lost, without\nany corresponding object being gained; convoys were intercepted, and\ncommunications were cut off. The Crusaders had to purchase the means\nof sustaining life, by life itself; and water, like that of the well of\nBethlehem, longed for by King David, one of its ancient monarchs, was\nthen, as before, only obtained by the expenditure of blood.\n\nThese evils were in a great measure counterbalanced by the stern\nresolution and restless activity of King Richard, who, with some of his\nbest knights, was ever on horseback, ready to repair to any point where\ndanger occurred, and often not only bringing unexpected succour to the\nChristians, but discomfiting the infidels when they seemed most secure\nof victory. But even the iron frame of Coeur de Lion could not support\nwithout injury the alternations of the unwholesome climate, joined to\nceaseless exertions of body and mind. He became afflicted with one of\nthose slow and wasting fevers peculiar to Asia, and in despite of his\ngreat strength and still greater courage, grew first unfit to mount on\nhorseback, and then unable to attend the councils of war which were from\ntime to time held by the Crusaders. It was difficult to say whether this\nstate of personal inactivity was rendered more galling or more endurable\nto the English monarch by the resolution of the council to engage in a\ntruce of thirty days with the Sultan Saladin; for on the one hand, if he\nwas incensed at the delay which this interposed to the progress of the\ngreat enterprise, he was, on the other, somewhat consoled by knowing\nthat others were not acquiring laurels while he remained inactive upon a\nsick-bed.\n\nThat, however, which Coeur de Lion could least excuse was the general\ninactivity which prevailed in the camp of the Crusaders so soon as his\nillness assumed a serious aspect; and the reports which he extracted\nfrom his unwilling attendants gave him to understand that the hopes of\nthe host had abated in proportion to his illness, and that the interval\nof truce was employed, not in recruiting their numbers, reanimating\ntheir courage, fostering their spirit of conquest, and preparing for a\nspeedy and determined advance upon the Holy City, which was the\nobject of their expedition, but in securing the camp occupied by their\ndiminished followers with trenches, palisades, and other fortifications,\nas if preparing rather to repel an attack from a powerful enemy so soon\nas hostilities should recommence, than to assume the proud character of\nconquerors and assailants.\n\nThe English king chafed under these reports, like the imprisoned lion\nviewing his prey from the iron barriers of his cage. Naturally rash\nand impetuous, the irritability of his temper preyed on itself. He was\ndreaded by his attendants and even the medical assistants feared to\nassume the necessary authority which a physician, to do justice to his\npatient, must needs exercise over him. One faithful baron, who, perhaps,\nfrom the congenial nature of his disposition, was devoutly attached to\nthe King's person, dared alone to come between the dragon and his wrath,\nand quietly, but firmly, maintained a control which no other dared\nassume over the dangerous invalid, and which Thomas de Multon only\nexercised because he esteemed his sovereign's life and honour more than\nhe did the degree of favour which he might lose, or even the risk\nwhich he might incur, in nursing a patient so intractable, and whose\ndispleasure was so perilous.\n\nSir Thomas was the Lord of Gilsland, in Cumberland, and in an age\nwhen surnames and titles were not distinctly attached, as now, to the\nindividuals who bore them, he was called by the Normans the Lord de\nVaux; and in English by the Saxons, who clung to their native language,\nand were proud of the share of Saxon blood in this renowned warrior's\nveins, he was termed Thomas, or, more familiarly, Thom of the Gills,\nor Narrow Valleys, from which his extensive domains derived their\nwell-known appellation.\n\nThis chief had been exercised in almost all the wars, whether waged\nbetwixt England and Scotland, or amongst the various domestic factions\nwhich then tore the former country asunder, and in all had been\ndistinguished, as well from his military conduct as his personal\nprowess. He was, in other respects, a rude soldier, blunt and careless\nin his bearing, and taciturn--nay, almost sullen--in his habits of\nsociety, and seeming, at least, to disclaim all knowledge of policy and\nof courtly art. There were men, however, who pretended to look deeply\ninto character, who asserted that the Lord de Vaux was not less shrewd\nand aspiring than he was blunt and bold, and who thought that, while he\nassimilated himself to the king's own character of blunt hardihood, it\nwas, in some degree at least, with an eye to establish his favour, and\nto gratify his own hopes of deep-laid ambition. But no one cared to\nthwart his schemes, if such he had, by rivalling him in the dangerous\noccupation of daily attendance on the sick-bed of a patient whose\ndisease was pronounced infectious, and more especially when it was\nremembered that the patient was Coeur de Lion, suffering under all the\nfurious impatience of a soldier withheld from battle, and a sovereign\nsequestered from authority; and the common soldiers, at least in the\nEnglish army, were generally of opinion that De Vaux attended on\nthe King like comrade upon comrade, in the honest and disinterested\nfrankness of military friendship contracted between the partakers of\ndaily dangers.\n\nIt was on the decline of a Syrian day that Richard lay on his couch of\nsickness, loathing it as much in mind as his illness made it irksome to\nhis body. His bright blue eye, which at all times shone with uncommon\nkeenness and splendour, had its vivacity augmented by fever and mental\nimpatience, and glanced from among his curled and unshorn locks of\nyellow hair as fitfully and as vividly as the last gleams of the sun\nshoot through the clouds of an approaching thunderstorm, which still,\nhowever, are gilded by its beams. His manly features showed the\nprogress of wasting illness, and his beard, neglected and untrimmed,\nhad overgrown both lips and chin. Casting himself from side to side, now\nclutching towards him the coverings, which at the next moment he flung\nas impatiently from him, his tossed couch and impatient gestures showed\nat once the energy and the reckless impatience of a disposition whose\nnatural sphere was that of the most active exertion.\n\nBeside his couch stood Thomas de Vaux, in face, attitude, and manner\nthe strongest possible contrast to the suffering monarch. His stature\napproached the gigantic, and his hair in thickness might have resembled\nthat of Samson, though only after the Israelitish champion's locks had\npassed under the shears of the Philistines, for those of De Vaux were\ncut short, that they might be enclosed under his helmet. The light of\nhis broad, large hazel eye resembled that of the autumn morn; and it was\nonly perturbed for a moment, when from time to time it was attracted by\nRichard's vehement marks of agitation and restlessness. His features,\nthough massive like his person, might have been handsome before they\nwere defaced with scars; his upper lip, after the fashion of the\nNormans, was covered with thick moustaches, which grew so long and\nluxuriantly as to mingle with his hair, and, like his hair, were dark\nbrown, slightly brindled with grey. His frame seemed of that kind which\nmost readily defies both toil and climate, for he was thin-flanked,\nbroad-chested, long-armed, deep-breathed, and strong-limbed. He had not\nlaid aside his buff-coat, which displayed the cross cut on the shoulder,\nfor more than three nights, enjoying but such momentary repose as the\nwarder of a sick monarch's couch might by snatches indulge. This Baron\nrarely changed his posture, except to administer to Richard the medicine\nor refreshments which none of his less favoured attendants could\npersuade the impatient monarch to take; and there was something\naffecting in the kindly yet awkward manner in which he discharged\noffices so strangely contrasted with his blunt and soldierly habits and\nmanners.\n\nThe pavilion in which these personages were, had, as became the time,\nas well as the personal character of Richard, more of a warlike than a\nsumptuous or royal character. Weapons offensive and defensive, several\nof them of strange and newly-invented construction, were scattered about\nthe tented apartment, or disposed upon the pillars which supported it.\nSkins of animals slain in the chase were stretched on the ground, or\nextended along the sides of the pavilion; and upon a heap of\nthese silvan spoils lay three ALANS, as they were then called\n(wolf-greyhounds, that is), of the largest size, and as white as snow.\nTheir faces, marked with many a scar from clutch and fang, showed their\nshare in collecting the trophies upon which they reposed; and their\neyes, fixed from time to time with an expressive stretch and yawn upon\nthe bed of Richard, evinced how much they marvelled at and regretted the\nunwonted inactivity which they were compelled to share. These were but\nthe accompaniments of the soldier and huntsman; but on a small table\nclose by the bed was placed a shield of wrought steel, of triangular\nform, bearing the three lions passant first assumed by the chivalrous\nmonarch, and before it the golden circlet, resembling much a ducal\ncoronet, only that it was higher in front than behind, which, with\nthe purple velvet and embroidered tiara that lined it, formed then the\nemblem of England's sovereignty. Beside it, as if prompt for defending\nthe regal symbol, lay a mighty curtal-axe, which would have wearied the\narm of any other than Coeur de Lion.\n\nIn an outer partition of the pavilion waited two or three officers of\nthe royal household, depressed, anxious for their master's health, and\nnot less so for their own safety, in case of his decease. Their gloomy\napprehensions spread themselves to the warders without, who paced about\nin downcast and silent contemplation, or, resting on their halberds,\nstood motionless on their post, rather like armed trophies than living\nwarriors.\n\n\"So thou hast no better news to bring me from without, Sir Thomas!\"\nsaid the King, after a long and perturbed silence, spent in the feverish\nagitation which we have endeavoured to describe. \"All our knights turned\nwomen, and our ladies become devotees, and neither a spark of valour nor\nof gallantry to enlighten a camp which contains the choicest of Europe's\nchivalry--ha!\"\n\n\"The truce, my lord,\" said De Vaux, with the same patience with which\nhe had twenty times repeated the explanation--\"the truce prevents us\nbearing ourselves as men of action; and for the ladies, I am no great\nreveller, as is well known to your Majesty, and seldom exchange steel\nand buff for velvet and gold--but thus far I know, that our choicest\nbeauties are waiting upon the Queen's Majesty and the Princess, to a\npilgrimage to the convent of Engaddi, to accomplish their vows for your\nHighness's deliverance from this trouble.\"\n\n\"And is it thus,\" said Richard, with the impatience of indisposition,\n\"that royal matrons and maidens should risk themselves, where the dogs\nwho defile the land have as little truth to man as they have faith\ntowards God?\"\n\n\"Nay, my lord,\" said De Vaux, \"they have Saladin's word for their\nsafety.\"\n\n\"True, true!\" replied Richard; \"and I did the heathen Soldan\ninjustice--I owe him reparation for it. Would God I were but fit\nto offer it him upon my body between the two hosts--Christendom and\nheathenesse both looking on!\"\n\nAs Richard spoke, he thrust his right arm out of bed naked to the\nshoulder, and painfully raising himself in his couch, shook his clenched\nhand, as if it grasped sword or battle-axe, and was then brandished over\nthe jewelled turban of the Soldan. It was not without a gentle degree of\nviolence, which the King would scarce have endured from another, that\nDe Vaux, in his character of sick-nurse, compelled his royal master\nto replace himself in the couch, and covered his sinewy arm, neck, and\nshoulders with the care which a mother bestows upon an impatient child.\n\n\"Thou art a rough nurse, though a willing one, De Vaux,\" said the King,\nlaughing with a bitter expression, while he submitted to the strength\nwhich he was unable to resist; \"methinks a coif would become thy\nlowering features as well as a child's biggin would beseem mine. We\nshould be a babe and nurse to frighten girls with.\"\n\n\"We have frightened men in our time, my liege,\" said De Vaux; \"and, I\ntrust, may live to frighten them again. What is a fever-fit, that we\nshould not endure it patiently, in order to get rid of it easily?\"\n\n\"Fever-fit!\" exclaimed Richard impetuously; \"thou mayest think, and\njustly, that it is a fever-fit with me; but what is it with all the\nother Christian princes--with Philip of France, with that dull Austrian,\nwith him of Montserrat, with the Hospitallers, with the Templars--what\nis it with all them? I will tell thee. It is a cold palsy, a dead\nlethargy, a disease that deprives them of speech and action, a canker\nthat has eaten into the heart of all that is noble, and chivalrous, and\nvirtuous among them--that has made them false to the noblest vow ever\nknights were sworn to--has made them indifferent to their fame, and\nforgetful of their God!\"\n\n\"For the love of Heaven, my liege,\" said De Vaux, \"take it less\nviolently--you will be heard without doors, where such speeches are but\ntoo current already among the common soldiery, and engender discord and\ncontention in the Christian host. Bethink you that your illness mars the\nmainspring of their enterprise; a mangonel will work without screw and\nlever better than the Christian host without King Richard.\"\n\n\"Thou flatterest me, De Vaux,\" said Richard, and not insensible to\nthe power of praise, he reclined his head on the pillow with a more\ndeliberate attempt to repose than he had yet exhibited. But Thomas\nde Vaux was no courtier; the phrase which had offered had risen\nspontaneously to his lips, and he knew not how to pursue the pleasing\ntheme so as to soothe and prolong the vein which he had excited. He was\nsilent, therefore, until, relapsing into his moody contemplations, the\nKing demanded of him sharply, \"Despardieux! This is smoothly said to\nsoothe a sick man; but does a league of monarchs, an assemblage or\nnobles, a convocation of all the chivalry of Europe, droop with the\nsickness of one man, though he chances to be King of England? Why\nshould Richard's illness, or Richard's death, check the march of thirty\nthousand men as brave as himself? When the master stag is struck down,\nthe herd do not disperse upon his fall; when the falcon strikes the\nleading crane, another takes the guidance of the phalanx. Why do not\nthe powers assemble and choose some one to whom they may entrust the\nguidance of the host?\"\n\n\"Forsooth, and if it please your Majesty,\" said De Vaux, \"I hear\nconsultations have been held among the royal leaders for some such\npurpose.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" exclaimed Richard, his jealousy awakened, giving his mental\nirritation another direction, \"am I forgot by my allies ere I have taken\nthe last sacrament? Do they hold me dead already? But no, no, they are\nright. And whom do they select as leader of the Christian host?\"\n\n\"Rank and dignity,\" said De Vaux, \"point to the King of France.\"\n\n\"Oh, ay,\" answered the English monarch, \"Philip of France and\nNavarre--Denis Mountjoie--his most Christian Majesty! Mouth-filling\nwords these! There is but one risk--that he might mistake the words EN\nARRIERE for EN AVANT, and lead us back to Paris, instead of marching to\nJerusalem. His politic head has learned by this time that there is more\nto be gotten by oppressing his feudatories, and pillaging his allies,\nthan fighting with the Turks for the Holy Sepulchre.\"\n\n\"They might choose the Archduke of Austria,\" said De Vaux.\n\n\"What! because he is big and burly like thyself, Thomas--nearly as\nthick-headed, but without thy indifference to danger and carelessness\nof offence? I tell thee that Austria has in all that mass of flesh no\nbolder animation than is afforded by the peevishness of a wasp and the\ncourage of a wren. Out upon him! He a leader of chivalry to deeds\nof glory! Give him a flagon of Rhenish to drink with his besmirched\nbaaren-hauters and lance-knechts.\"\n\n\"There is the Grand Master of the Templars,\" continued the baron, not\nsorry to keep his master's attention engaged on other topics than his\nown illness, though at the expense of the characters of prince and\npotentate. \"There is the Grand Master of the Templars,\" he continued,\n\"undaunted, skilful, brave in battle, and sage in council, having no\nseparate kingdoms of his own to divert his exertions from the recovery\nof the Holy Land--what thinks your Majesty of the Master as a general\nleader of the Christian host?\"\n\n\"Ha, Beau-Seant?\" answered the King. \"Oh, no exception can be taken to\nBrother Giles Amaury; he understands the ordering of a battle, and the\nfighting in front when it begins. But, Sir Thomas, were it fair to take\nthe Holy Land from the heathen Saladin, so full of all the virtues which\nmay distinguish unchristened man, and give it to Giles Amaury, a worse\npagan than himself, an idolater, a devil-worshipper, a necromancer, who\npractises crimes the most dark and unnatural in the vaults and secret\nplaces of abomination and darkness?\"\n\n\"The Grand Master of the Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem is not\ntainted by fame, either with heresy or magic,\" said Thomas de Vaux.\n\n\"But is he not a sordid miser?\" said Richard hastily; \"has he not been\nsuspected--ay, more than suspected--of selling to the infidels those\nadvantages which they would never have won by fair force? Tush, man,\nbetter give the army to be made merchandise of by Venetian skippers and\nLombardy pedlars, than trust it to the Grand Master of St. John.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I will venture but another guess,\" said the Baron de Vaux.\n\"What say you to the gallant Marquis of Montserrat, so wise, so elegant,\nsuch a good man-at-arms?\"\n\n\"Wise?--cunning, you would say,\" replied Richard; \"elegant in a lady's\nchamber, if you will. Oh, ay, Conrade of Montserrat--who knows not the\npopinjay? Politic and versatile, he will change you his purposes as\noften as the trimmings of his doublet, and you shall never be able to\nguess the hue of his inmost vestments from their outward colours. A\nman-at-arms? Ay, a fine figure on horseback, and can bear him well in\nthe tilt-yard, and at the barriers, when swords are blunted at point\nand edge, and spears are tipped with trenchers of wood instead of steel\npikes. Wert thou not with me when I said to that same gay Marquis, 'Here\nwe be, three good Christians, and on yonder plain there pricks a band of\nsome threescore Saracens--what say you to charge them briskly? There are\nbut twenty unbelieving miscreants to each true knight.\"\n\n\"I recollect the Marquis replied,\" said De Vaux, \"that his limbs were\nof flesh, not of iron, and that he would rather bear the heart of a\nman than of a beast, though that beast were the lion, But I see how\nit is--we shall end where we began, without hope of praying at the\nSepulchre until Heaven shall restore King Richard to health.\"\n\nAt this grave remark Richard burst out into a hearty fit of laughter,\nthe first which he had for some time indulged in. \"Why what a thing is\nconscience,\" he said, \"that through its means even such a thick-witted\nnorthern lord as thou canst bring thy sovereign to confess his folly!\nIt is true that, did they not propose themselves as fit to hold my\nleading-staff, little should I care for plucking the silken trappings\noff the puppets thou hast shown me in succession. What concerns it me\nwhat fine tinsel robes they swagger in, unless when they are named as\nrivals in the glorious enterprise to which I have vowed myself? Yes,\nDe Vaux, I confess my weakness, and the wilfulness of my ambition. The\nChristian camp contains, doubtless, many a better knight than Richard of\nEngland, and it would be wise and worthy to assign to the best of them\nthe leading of the host. But,\" continued the warlike monarch, raising\nhimself in his bed, and shaking the cover from his head, while his eyes\nsparkled as they were wont to do on the eve of battle, \"were such a\nknight to plant the banner of the Cross on the Temple of Jerusalem while\nI was unable to bear my share in the noble task, he should, so soon as I\nwas fit to lay lance in rest, undergo my challenge to mortal combat,\nfor having diminished my fame, and pressed in before to the object of my\nenterprise. But hark, what trumpets are those at a distance?\"\n\n\"Those of King Philip, as I guess, my liege,\" said the stout Englishman.\n\n\"Thou art dull of ear, Thomas,\" said the King, endeavouring to start up;\n\"hearest thou not that clash and clang? By Heaven, the Turks are in the\ncamp--I hear their LELIES.\" [The war-cries of the Moslemah.]\n\nHe again endeavoured to get out of bed, and De Vaux was obliged to\nexercise his own great strength, and also to summon the assistance of\nthe chamberlains from the inner tent, to restrain him.\n\n\"Thou art a false traitor, De Vaux,\" said the incensed monarch, when,\nbreathless and exhausted with struggling, he was compelled to submit\nto superior strength, and to repose in quiet on his couch. \"I would I\nwere--I would I were but strong enough to dash thy brains out with my\nbattle-axe!\"\n\n\"I would you had the strength, my liege,\" said De Vaux, \"and would\neven take the risk of its being so employed. The odds would be great in\nfavour of Christendom were Thomas Multon dead and Coeur de Lion himself\nagain.\"\n\n\"Mine honest faithful servant,\" said Richard, extending his hand, which\nthe baron reverentially saluted, \"forgive thy master's impatience of\nmood. It is this burning fever which chides thee, and not thy kind\nmaster, Richard of England. But go, I prithee, and bring me word what\nstrangers are in the camp, for these sounds are not of Christendom.\"\n\nDe Vaux left the pavilion on the errand assigned, and in his absence,\nwhich he had resolved should be brief, he charged the chamberlains,\npages, and attendants to redouble their attention on their sovereign,\nwith threats of holding them to responsibility, which rather added to\nthan diminished their timid anxiety in the discharge of their duty; for\nnext, perhaps, to the ire of the monarch himself, they dreaded that\nof the stern and inexorable Lord of Gilsland. [Sir Thomas Multon of\nGilsland.]\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n     There never was a time on the march parts yet,\n     When Scottish with English met,\n     But it was marvel if the red blood ran not\n     As the rain does in the street.\n     --BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.\n\nA considerable band of Scottish warriors had joined the Crusaders,\nand had naturally placed themselves under the command of the English\nmonarch, being, like his native troops, most of them of Saxon and\nNorman descent, speaking the same languages, possessed, some of them, of\nEnglish as well as Scottish demesnes, and allied in some cases by blood\nand intermarriage. The period also preceded that when the grasping\nambition of Edward I. gave a deadly and envenomed character to the wars\nbetwixt the two nations--the English fighting for the subjugation\nof Scotland, and the Scottish, with all the stern determination and\nobstinacy which has ever characterized their nation, for the defence\nof their independence, by the most violent means, under the most\ndisadvantageous circumstances, and at the most extreme hazard. As yet,\nwars betwixt the two nations, though fierce and frequent, had been\nconducted on principles of fair hostility, and admitted of those\nsoftening shades by which courtesy and the respect for open and generous\nfoemen qualify and mitigate the horrors of war. In time of peace,\ntherefore, and especially when both, as at present, were engaged in war,\nwaged in behalf of a common cause, and rendered dear to them by their\nideas of religion, the adventurers of both countries frequently fought\nside by side, their national emulation serving only to stimulate them to\nexcel each other in their efforts against the common enemy.\n\nThe frank and martial character of Richard, who made no distinction\nbetwixt his own subjects and those of William of Scotland, excepting as\nthey bore themselves in the field of battle, tended much to\nconciliate the troops of both nations. But upon his illness, and the\ndisadvantageous circumstances in which the Crusaders were placed, the\nnational disunion between the various bands united in the Crusade, began\nto display itself, just as old wounds break out afresh in the human body\nwhen under the influence of disease or debility.\n\nThe Scottish and English, equally jealous and high-spirited, and apt to\ntake offence--the former the more so, because the poorer and the weaker\nnation--began to fill up by internal dissension the period when the\ntruce forbade them to wreak their united vengeance on the Saracens.\nLike the contending Roman chiefs of old, the Scottish would admit no\nsuperiority, and their southern neighbours would brook no equality.\nThere were charges and recriminations, and both the common soldiery\nand their leaders and commanders, who had been good comrades in time of\nvictory, lowered on each other in the period of adversity, as if their\nunion had not been then more essential than ever, not only to the\nsuccess of their common cause, but to their joint safety. The same\ndisunion had begun to show itself betwixt the French and English, the\nItalians and the Germans, and even between the Danes and Swedes; but it\nis only that which divided the two nations whom one island bred, and who\nseemed more animated against each other for the very reason, that our\nnarrative is principally concerned with.\n\nOf all the English nobles who had followed their King to Palestine,\nDe Vaux was most prejudiced against the Scottish. They were his near\nneighbours, with whom he had been engaged during his whole life in\nprivate or public warfare, and on whom he had inflicted many calamities,\nwhile he had sustained at their hands not a few. His love and devotion\nto the King was like the vivid affection of the old English mastiff to\nhis master, leaving him churlish and inaccessible to all others even\ntowards those to whom he was indifferent--and rough and dangerous to\nany against whom he entertained a prejudice. De Vaux had never observed\nwithout jealousy and displeasure his King exhibit any mark of courtesy\nor favour to the wicked, deceitful, and ferocious race born on the\nother side of a river, or an imaginary line drawn through waste and\nwilderness; and he even doubted the success of a Crusade in which they\nwere suffered to bear arms, holding them in his secret soul little\nbetter than the Saracens whom he came to combat. It may be added that,\nas being himself a blunt and downright Englishman, unaccustomed\nto conceal the slightest movement either of love or of dislike, he\naccounted the fair-spoken courtesy which the Scots had learned, either\nfrom imitation of their frequent allies, the French, or which might\nhave arisen from their own proud and reserved character, as a false and\nastucious mark of the most dangerous designs against their neighbours,\nover whom he believed, with genuine English confidence, they could, by\nfair manhood, never obtain any advantage.\n\nYet, though De Vaux entertained these sentiments concerning his Northern\nneighbours, and extended them, with little mitigation, even to such as\nhad assumed the Cross, his respect for the King, and a sense of the duty\nimposed by his vow as a Crusader, prevented him from displaying them\notherwise than by regularly shunning all intercourse with his Scottish\nbrethren-at-arms as far as possible, by observing a sullen taciturnity\nwhen compelled to meet them occasionally, and by looking scornfully upon\nthem when they encountered on the march and in camp. The Scottish barons\nand knights were not men to bear his scorn unobserved or unreplied to;\nand it came to that pass that he was regarded as the determined and\nactive enemy of a nation, whom, after all, he only disliked, and in some\nsort despised. Nay, it was remarked by close observers that, if he had\nnot towards them the charity of Scripture, which suffereth long, and\njudges kindly, he was by no means deficient in the subordinate and\nlimited virtue, which alleviates and relieves the wants of others.\nThe wealth of Thomas of Gilsland procured supplies of provisions and\nmedicines, and some of these usually flowed by secret channels into\nthe quarters of the Scottish--his surly benevolence proceeding on the\nprinciple that, next to a man's friend, his foe was of most importance\nto him, passing over all the intermediate relations as too indifferent\nto merit even a thought. This explanation is necessary, in order that\nthe reader may fully understand what we are now to detail.\n\nThomas de Vaux had not made many steps beyond the entrance of the royal\npavilion when he was aware of what the far more acute ear of the English\nmonarch--no mean proficient in the art of minstrelsy--had instantly\ndiscovered, that the musical strains, namely, which had reached their\nears, were produced by the pipes, shalms, and kettle-drums of the\nSaracens; and at the bottom of an avenue of tents, which formed a broad\naccess to the pavilion of Richard, he could see a crowd of idle soldiers\nassembled around the spot from which the music was heard, almost in the\ncentre of the camp; and he saw, with great surprise, mingled amid the\nhelmets of various forms worn by the Crusaders of different nations,\nwhite turbans and long pikes, announcing the presence of armed\nSaracens, and the huge deformed heads of several camels or dromedaries,\noverlooking the multitude by aid of their long, disproportioned necks.\n\nWondering, and displeased at a sight so unexpected and singular--for it\nwas customary to leave all flags of truce and other communications from\nthe enemy at an appointed place without the barriers--the baron looked\neagerly round for some one of whom he might inquire the cause of this\nalarming novelty.\n\nThe first person whom he met advancing to him he set down at once, by\nhis grave and haughty step, as a Spaniard or a Scot; and presently after\nmuttered to himself, \"And a Scot it is--he of the Leopard. I have seen\nhim fight indifferently well, for one of his country.\"\n\nLoath to ask even a passing question, he was about to pass Sir Kenneth,\nwith that sullen and lowering port which seems to say, \"I know thee, but\nI will hold no communication with thee.\" But his purpose was defeated\nby the Northern Knight, who moved forward directly to him, and accosting\nhim with formal courtesy, said, \"My Lord de Vaux of Gilsland, I have in\ncharge to speak with you.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" returned the English baron, \"with me? But say your pleasure, so it\nbe shortly spoken--I am on the King's errand.\"\n\n\"Mine touches King Richard yet more nearly,\" answered Sir Kenneth; \"I\nbring him, I trust, health.\"\n\nThe Lord of Gilsland measured the Scot with incredulous eyes, and\nreplied, \"Thou art no leech, I think, Sir Scot; I had as soon thought of\nyour bringing the King of England wealth.\"\n\nSir Kenneth, though displeased with the manner of the baron's\nreply, answered calmly, \"Health to Richard is glory and wealth to\nChristendom.--But my time presses; I pray you, may I see the King?\"\n\n\"Surely not, fair sir,\" said the baron, \"until your errand be told more\ndistinctly. The sick chambers of princes open not to all who inquire,\nlike a northern hostelry.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said Kenneth, \"the cross which I wear in common with\nyourself, and the importance of what I have to tell, must, for the\npresent, cause me to pass over a bearing which else I were unapt to\nendure. In plain language, then, I bring with me a Moorish physician,\nwho undertakes to work a cure on King Richard.\"\n\n\"A Moorish physician!\" said De Vaux; \"and who will warrant that he\nbrings not poisons instead of remedies?\"\n\n\"His own life, my lord--his head, which he offers as a guarantee.\"\n\n\"I have known many a resolute ruffian,\" said De Vaux, \"who valued his\nown life as little as it deserved, and would troop to the gallows as\nmerrily as if the hangman were his partner in a dance.\"\n\n\"But thus it is, my lord,\" replied the Scot. \"Saladin, to whom none will\ndeny the credit of a generous and valiant enemy, hath sent this\nleech hither with an honourable retinue and guard, befitting the high\nestimation in which El Hakim [The Physician] is held by the Soldan, and\nwith fruits and refreshments for the King's private chamber, and such\nmessage as may pass betwixt honourable enemies, praying him to be\nrecovered of his fever, that he may be the fitter to receive a visit\nfrom the Soldan, with his naked scimitar in his hand, and a hundred\nthousand cavaliers at his back. Will it please you, who are of the\nKing's secret council, to cause these camels to be discharged of\ntheir burdens, and some order taken as to the reception of the learned\nphysician?\"\n\n\"Wonderful!\" said De Vaux, as speaking to himself.--\"And who will vouch\nfor the honour of Saladin, in a case when bad faith would rid him at\nonce of his most powerful adversary?\"\n\n\"I myself,\" replied Sir Kenneth, \"will be his guarantee, with honour,\nlife, and fortune.\"\n\n\"Strange!\" again ejaculated De Vaux; \"the North vouches for the\nSouth--the Scot for the Turk! May I crave of you, Sir Knight, how you\nbecame concerned in this affair?\"\n\n\"I have been absent on a pilgrimage, in the course of which,\" replied\nSir Kenneth \"I had a message to discharge towards the holy hermit of\nEngaddi.\"\n\n\"May I not be entrusted with it, Sir Kenneth, and with the answer of the\nholy man?\"\n\n\"It may not be, my lord,\" answered the Scot.\n\n\"I am of the secret council of England,\" said the Englishman haughtily.\n\n\"To which land I owe no allegiance,\" said Kenneth. \"Though I have\nvoluntarily followed in this war the personal fortunes of England's\nsovereign, I was dispatched by the General Council of the kings,\nprinces, and supreme leaders of the army of the Blessed Cross, and to\nthem only I render my errand.\"\n\n\"Ha! sayest thou?\" said the proud Baron de Vaux. \"But know, messenger\nof the kings and princes as thou mayest be, no leech shall approach the\nsick-bed of Richard of England without the consent of him of Gilsland;\nand they will come on evil errand who dare to intrude themselves against\nit.\"\n\nHe was turning loftily away, when the Scot, placing himself closer, and\nmore opposite to him, asked, in a calm voice, yet not without expressing\nhis share of pride, whether the Lord of Gilsland esteemed him a\ngentleman and a good knight.\n\n\"All Scots are ennobled by their birthright,\" answered Thomas de Vaux,\nsomething ironically; but sensible of his own injustice, and perceiving\nthat Kenneth's colour rose, he added, \"For a good knight it were sin to\ndoubt you, in one at least who has seen you well and bravely discharge\nyour devoir.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said the Scottish knight, satisfied with the frankness of\nthe last admission, \"and let me swear to you, Thomas of Gilsland, that,\nas I am true Scottish man, which I hold a privilege equal to my ancient\ngentry, and as sure as I am a belted knight, and come hither to acquire\nLOS [Los--laus, praise, or renown] and fame in this mortal life, and\nforgiveness of my sins in that which is to come--so truly, and by the\nblessed Cross which I wear, do I protest unto you that I desire but the\nsafety of Richard Coeur de Lion, in recommending the ministry of this\nMoslem physician.\"\n\nThe Englishman was struck with the solemnity of the obtestation, and\nanswered with more cordiality than he had yet exhibited, \"Tell me, Sir\nKnight of the Leopard, granting (which I do not doubt) that thou art\nthyself satisfied in this matter, shall I do well, in a land where the\nart of poisoning is as general as that of cooking, to bring this\nunknown physician to practise with his drugs on a health so valuable to\nChristendom?\"\n\n\"My lord,\" replied the Scot, \"thus only can I reply--that my squire, the\nonly one of my retinue whom war and disease had left in attendance on\nme, has been of late suffering dangerously under this same fever, which,\nin valiant King Richard, has disabled the principal limb of our holy\nenterprise. This leech, this El Hakim, hath ministered remedies to him\nnot two hours since, and already he hath fallen into a refreshing sleep.\nThat he can cure the disorder, which has proved so fatal, I nothing\ndoubt; that he hath the purpose to do it is, I think, warranted by his\nmission from the royal Soldan, who is true-hearted and loyal, so far as\na blinded infidel may be called so; and for his eventual success, the\ncertainty of reward in case of succeeding, and punishment in case of\nvoluntary failure, may be a sufficient guarantee.\"\n\nThe Englishman listened with downcast looks, as one who doubted, yet was\nnot unwilling to receive conviction. At length he looked up and said,\n\"May I see your sick squire, fair sir?\"\n\nThe Scottish knight hesitated and , yet answered at last,\n\"Willingly, my Lord of Gilsland. But you must remember, when you see my\npoor quarter, that the nobles and knights of Scotland feed not so high,\nsleep not so soft, and care not for the magnificence of lodgment which\nis Proper to their southern neighbours. I am POORLY lodged, my Lord of\nGilsland,\" he added, with a haughty emphasis on the word, while, with\nsome unwillingness, he led the way to his temporary place of abode.\n\nWhatever were the prejudices of De Vaux against the nation of his new\nacquaintance, and though we undertake not to deny that some of these\nwere excited by its proverbial poverty, he had too much nobleness\nof disposition to enjoy the mortification of a brave individual\nthus compelled to make known wants which his pride would gladly have\nconcealed.\n\n\"Shame to the soldier of the Cross,\" he said, \"who thinks of worldly\nsplendour, or of luxurious accommodation, when pressing forward to\nthe conquest of the Holy City. Fare as hard as we may, we shall yet be\nbetter than the host of martyrs and of saints, who, having trod these\nscenes before us, now hold golden lamps and evergreen palms.\"\n\nThis was the most metaphorical speech which Thomas of Gilsland was ever\nknown to utter, the rather, perhaps (as will sometimes happen), that it\ndid not entirely express his own sentiments, being somewhat a lover of\ngood cheer and splendid accommodation. By this time they reached the\nplace of the camp where the Knight of the Leopard had assumed his abode.\n\nAppearances here did indeed promise no breach of the laws of\nmortification, to which the Crusaders, according to the opinion\nexpressed by him of Gilsland, ought to subject themselves. A space of\nground, large enough to accommodate perhaps thirty tents, according to\nthe Crusaders' rules of castrametation, was partly vacant--because,\nin ostentation, the knight had demanded ground to the extent of his\noriginal retinue--partly occupied by a few miserable huts, hastily\nconstructed of boughs, and covered with palm-leaves. These habitations\nseemed entirely deserted, and several of them were ruinous. The central\nhut, which represented the pavilion of the leader, was distinguished by\nhis swallow-tailed pennon, placed on the point of a spear, from which\nits long folds dropped motionless to the ground, as if sickening under\nthe scorching rays of the Asiatic sun. But no pages or squires--not even\na solitary warder--was placed by the emblem of feudal power and knightly\ndegree. If its reputation defended it not from insult, it had no other\nguard.\n\nSir Kenneth cast a melancholy look around him, but suppressing his\nfeelings, entered the hut, making a sign to the Baron of Gilsland to\nfollow. He also cast around a glance of examination, which implied pity\nnot altogether unmingled with contempt, to which, perhaps, it is as\nnearly akin as it is said to be to love. He then stooped his lofty\ncrest, and entered a lowly hut, which his bulky form seemed almost\nentirely to fill.\n\nThe interior of the hut was chiefly occupied by two beds. One was empty,\nbut composed of collected leaves, and spread with an antelope's hide. It\nseemed, from the articles of armour laid beside it, and from a crucifix\nof silver, carefully and reverentially disposed at the head, to be the\ncouch of the knight himself. The other contained the invalid, of whom\nSir Kenneth had spoken, a strong-built and harsh-featured man, past, as\nhis looks betokened, the middle age of life. His couch was trimmed\nmore softly than his master's, and it was plain that the more courtly\ngarments of the latter, the loose robe in which the knights showed\nthemselves on pacific occasions, and the other little spare articles\nof dress and adornment, had been applied by Sir Kenneth to the\naccommodation of his sick domestic. In an outward part of the hut,\nwhich yet was within the range of the English baron's eye, a boy,\nrudely attired with buskins of deer's hide, a blue cap or bonnet, and a\ndoublet, whose original finery was much tarnished, sat on his knees by\na chafing-dish filled with charcoal, cooking upon a plate of iron the\ncakes of barley-bread, which were then, and still are, a favourite food\nwith the Scottish people. Part of an antelope was suspended against one\nof the main props of the hut. Nor was it difficult to know how it had\nbeen procured; for a large stag greyhound, nobler in size and appearance\nthan those even which guarded King Richard's sick-bed, lay eyeing\nthe process of baking the cake. The sagacious animal, on their first\nentrance, uttered a stifled growl, which sounded from his deep chest\nlike distant thunder. But he saw his master, and acknowledged his\npresence by wagging his tail and couching his head, abstaining from more\ntumultuous or noisy greeting, as if his noble instinct had taught him\nthe propriety of silence in a sick man's chamber.\n\nBeside the couch sat on a cushion, also composed of skins, the Moorish\nphysician of whom Sir Kenneth had spoken, cross-legged, after the\nEastern fashion. The imperfect light showed little of him, save that\nthe lower part of his face was covered with a long, black beard, which\ndescended over his breast; that he wore a high TOLPACH, a Tartar cap of\nthe lamb's wool manufactured at Astracan, bearing the same dusky colour;\nand that his ample caftan, or Turkish robe, was also of a dark hue.\nTwo piercing eyes, which gleamed with unusual lustre, were the only\nlineaments of his visage that could be discerned amid the darkness in\nwhich he was enveloped.\n\nThe English lord stood silent with a sort of reverential awe; for\nnotwithstanding the roughness of his general bearing, a scene of\ndistress and poverty, firmly endured without complaint or murmur, would\nat any time have claimed more reverence from Thomas de Vaux than would\nall the splendid formalities of a royal presence-chamber, unless that\npresence-chamber were King Richard's own. Nothing was for a time heard\nbut the heavy and regular breathings of the invalid, who seemed in\nprofound repose.\n\n\"He hath not slept for six nights before,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"as I am\nassured by the youth, his attendant.\"\n\n\"Noble Scot,\" said Thomas de Vaux, grasping the Scottish knight's hand,\nwith a pressure which had more of cordiality than he permitted his words\nto utter, \"this gear must be amended. Your esquire is but too evil fed\nand looked to.\"\n\nIn the latter part of this speech he naturally raised his voice to its\nusual decided tone, The sick man was disturbed in his slumbers.\n\n\"My master,\" he said, murmuring as in a dream, \"noble Sir Kenneth, taste\nnot, to you as to me, the waters of the Clyde cold and refreshing after\nthe brackish springs of Palestine?\"\n\n\"He dreams of his native land, and is happy in his slumbers,\" whispered\nSir Kenneth to De Vaux; but had scarce uttered the words, when the\nphysician, arising from the place which he had taken near the couch of\nthe sick, and laying the hand of the patient, whose pulse he had been\ncarefully watching, quietly upon the couch, came to the two knights,\nand taking them each by the arm, while he intimated to them to remain\nsilent, led them to the front of the hut.\n\n\"In the name of Issa Ben Mariam,\" he said, \"whom we honour as you,\nthough not with the same blinded superstition, disturb not the effect\nof the blessed medicine of which he hath partaken. To awaken him now is\ndeath or deprivation of reason; but return at the hour when the muezzin\ncalls from the minaret to evening prayer in the mosque, and if left\nundisturbed until then, I promise you this same Frankish soldier shall\nbe able, without prejudice to his health, to hold some brief converse\nwith you on any matters on which either, and especially his master, may\nhave to question him.\"\n\nThe knights retreated before the authoritative commands of the leech,\nwho seemed fully to comprehend the importance of the Eastern proverb\nthat the sick chamber of the patient is the kingdom of the physician.\n\nThey paused, and remained standing together at the door of the hut--Sir\nKenneth with the air of one who expected his visitor to say farewell,\nand De Vaux as if he had something on his mind which prevented him from\ndoing so. The hound, however, had pressed out of the tent after them,\nand now thrust his long, rough countenance into the hand of his master,\nas if modestly soliciting some mark of his kindness. He had no sooner\nreceived the notice which he desired, in the shape of a kind word and\nslight caress, than, eager to acknowledge his gratitude and joy for his\nmaster's return, he flew off at full speed, galloping in full career,\nand with outstretched tail, here and there, about and around, cross-ways\nand endlong, through the decayed huts and the esplanade we have\ndescribed, but never transgressing those precincts which his sagacity\nknew were protected by his master's pennon. After a few gambols of this\nkind, the dog, coming close up to his master, laid at once aside his\nfrolicsome mood, relapsed into his usual gravity and slowness of gesture\nand deportment, and looked as if he were ashamed that anything should\nhave moved him to depart so far out of his sober self-control.\n\nBoth knights looked on with pleasure; for Sir Kenneth was justly proud\nof his noble hound, and the northern English baron was, of course, an\nadmirer of the chase, and a judge of the animal's merits.\n\n\"A right able dog,\" he said. \"I think, fair sir, King Richard hath not\nan ALAN which may match him, if he be as stanch as he is swift. But let\nme pray you--speaking in all honour and kindness--have you not heard the\nproclamation that no one under the rank of earl shall keep hunting dogs\nwithin King Richard's camp without the royal license, which, I think,\nSir Kenneth, hath not been issued to you? I speak as Master of the\nHorse.\"\n\n\"And I answer as a free Scottish knight,\" said Kenneth sternly. \"For\nthe present I follow the banner of England, but I cannot remember that I\nhave ever subjected myself to the forest-laws of that kingdom, nor have\nI such respect for them as would incline me to do so. When the trumpet\nsounds to arms, my foot is in the stirrup as soon as any--when it clangs\nfor the charge, my lance has not yet been the last laid in the rest. But\nfor my hours of liberty or of idleness King Richard has no title to bar\nmy recreation.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" said De Vaux, \"it is a folly to disobey the King's\nordinance; so, with your good leave, I, as having authority in that\nmatter, will send you a protection for my friend here.\"\n\n\"I thank you,\" said the Scot coldly; \"but he knows my allotted quarters,\nand within these I can protect him myself.--And yet,\" he said, suddenly\nchanging his manner, \"this is but a cold return for a well-meant\nkindness. I thank you, my lord, most heartily. The King's equerries\nor prickers might find Roswal at disadvantage, and do him some injury,\nwhich I should not, perhaps, be slow in returning, and so ill might come\nof it. You have seen so much of my house-keeping, my lord,\" he added,\nwith a smile, \"that I need not shame to say that Roswal is our principal\npurveyor, and well I hope our Lion Richard will not be like the lion\nin the minstrel fable, that went a-hunting, and kept the whole booty to\nhimself. I cannot think he would grudge a poor gentleman, who follows\nhim faithfully, his hour of sport and his morsel of game, more\nespecially when other food is hard enough to come by.\"\n\n\"By my faith, you do the King no more than justice; and yet,\" said the\nbaron, \"there is something in these words, vert and venison, that turns\nthe very brains of our Norman princes.\"\n\n\"We have heard of late,\" said the Scot, \"by minstrels and pilgrims, that\nyour outlawed yeomen have formed great bands in the shires of York and\nNottingham, having at their head a most stout archer, called Robin Hood,\nwith his lieutenant, Little John. Methinks it were better that Richard\nrelaxed his forest-code in England, than endeavour to enforce it in the\nHoly Land.\"\n\n\"Wild work, Sir Kenneth,\" replied De Vaux, shrugging his shoulders, as\none who would avoid a perilous or unpleasing topic--\"a mad world, sir.\nI must now bid you adieu, having presently to return to the King's\npavilion. At vespers I will again, with your leave, visit your quarters,\nand speak with this same infidel physician. I would, in the meantime,\nwere it no offence, willingly send you what would somewhat mend your\ncheer.\"\n\n\"I thank you, sir,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"but it needs not. Roswal hath\nalready stocked my larder for two weeks, since the sun of Palestine, if\nit brings diseases, serves also to dry venison.\"\n\nThe two warriors parted much better friends than they had met; but ere\nthey separated, Thomas de Vaux informed himself at more length of\nthe circumstances attending the mission of the Eastern physician, and\nreceived from the Scottish knight the credentials which he had brought\nto King Richard on the part of Saladin.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n     A wise physician, skilled our wounds to heal,\n     Is more than armies to the common weal.\n       POPE'S ILLIAD.\n\n\n\"This is a strange tale, Sir Thomas,\" said the sick monarch, when he had\nheard the report of the trusty Baron of Gilsland. \"Art thou sure this\nScottish man is a tall man and true?\"\n\n\"I cannot say, my lord,\" replied the jealous Borderer. \"I live a little\ntoo near the Scots to gather much truth among them, having found them\never fair and false. But this man's bearing is that of a true man,\nwere he a devil as well as a Scot; that I must needs say for him in\nconscience.\"\n\n\"And for his carriage as a knight, how sayest thou, De Vaux?\" demanded\nthe King.\n\n\"It is your Majesty's business more than mine to note men's bearings;\nand I warrant you have noted the manner in which this man of the Leopard\nhath borne himself. He hath been full well spoken of.\"\n\n\"And justly, Thomas,\" said the King. \"We have ourselves witnessed him.\nIt is indeed our purpose in placing ourselves ever in the front of\nbattle, to see how our liegemen and followers acquit themselves, and\nnot from a desire to accumulate vainglory to ourselves, as some have\nsupposed. We know the vanity of the praise of man, which is but a\nvapour, and buckle on our armour for other purposes than to win it.\"\n\nDe Vaux was alarmed when he heard the King make a declaration so\ninconsistent with his nature, and believed at first that nothing short\nof the approach of death could have brought him to speak in depreciating\nterms of military renown, which was the very breath of his nostrils. But\nrecollecting he had met the royal confessor in the outer pavilion, he\nwas shrewd enough to place this temporary self-abasement to the effect\nof the reverend man's lesson, and suffered the King to proceed without\nreply.\n\n\"Yes,\" continued Richard, \"I have indeed marked the manner in which this\nknight does his devoir. My leading-staff were not worth a fool's bauble\nhad he escaped my notice; and he had ere now tasted of our bounty, but\nthat I have also marked his overweening and audacious presumption.\"\n\n\"My liege,\" said the Baron of Gilsland, observing the King's countenance\nchange, \"I fear I have transgressed your pleasure in lending some\ncountenance to his transgression.\"\n\n\"How, De Multon, thou?\" said the King, contracting his brows, and\nspeaking in a tone of angry surprise. \"Thou countenance his insolence?\nIt cannot be.\"\n\n\"Nay, your Majesty will pardon me to remind you that I have by mine\noffice right to grant liberty to men of gentle blood to keep them a\nhound or two within camp, just to cherish the noble art of venerie; and\nbesides, it were a sin to have maimed or harmed a thing so noble as this\ngentleman's dog.\"\n\n\"Has he, then, a dog so handsome?\" said the King.\n\n\"A most perfect creature of Heaven,\" said the baron, who was an\nenthusiast in field-sports--\"of the noblest Northern breed--deep in the\nchest, strong in the stern--black colour, and brindled on the breast\nand legs, not spotted with white, but just shaded into grey--strength to\npull down a bull, swiftness to cote an antelope.\"\n\nThe King laughed at his enthusiasm. \"Well, thou hast given him leave to\nkeep the hound, so there is an end of it. Be not, however, liberal of\nyour licenses among those knights adventurers who have no prince or\nleader to depend upon; they are ungovernable, and leave no game in\nPalestine.--But to this piece of learned heathenesse--sayest thou the\nScot met him in the desert?\"\n\n\"No, my liege; the Scot's tale runs thus. He was dispatched to the old\nhermit of Engaddi, of whom men talk so much--\"\n\n\"'Sdeath and hell!\" said Richard, starting up. \"By whom dispatched,\nand for what? Who dared send any one thither, when our Queen was in the\nConvent of Engaddi, upon her pilgrimage for our recovery?\"\n\n\"The Council of the Crusade sent him, my lord,\" answered the Baron de\nVaux; \"for what purpose, he declined to account to me. I think it is\nscarce known in the camp that your royal consort is on a pilgrimage;\nand even the princes may not have been aware, as the Queen has been\nsequestered from company since your love prohibited her attendance in\ncase of infection.\"\n\n\"Well, it shall be looked into,\" said Richard. \"So this Scottish\nman, this envoy, met with a wandering physician at the grotto of\nEngaddi--ha?\"\n\n\"Not so my liege,\" replied De Vaux? \"but he met, I think, near that\nplace, with a Saracen Emir with whom he had some MELEE in the way of\nproof of valour, and finding him worthy to bear brave men company, they\nwent together, as errant knights are wont, to the grotto of Engaddi.\"\n\nHere De Vaux stopped, for he was not one of those who can tell a long\nstory in a sentence.\n\n\"And did they there meet the physician?\" demanded the King impatiently.\n\n\"No, my liege,\" replied De Vaux; \"but the Saracen, learning your\nMajesty's grievous illness, undertook that Saladin should send his own\nphysician to you, and with many assurances of his eminent skill; and he\ncame to the grotto accordingly, after the Scottish knight had tarried a\nday for him and more. He is attended as if he were a prince, with drums\nand atabals, and servants on horse and foot, and brings with him letters\nof credence from Saladin.\"\n\n\"Have they been examined by Giacomo Loredani?\"\n\n\"I showed them to the interpreter ere bringing them hither, and behold\ntheir contents in English.\"\n\nRichard took a scroll, in which were inscribed these words: The blessing\nof Allah and his Prophet Mohammed [\"Out upon the hound!\" said Richard,\nspitting in contempt, by way of interjection], Saladin, king of kings,\nSaldan of Egypt and of Syria, the light and refuge of the earth, to the\ngreat Melech Ric, Richard of England, greeting. Whereas, we have been\ninformed that the hand of sickness hath been heavy upon thee, our royal\nbrother, and that thou hast with thee only such Nazarene and Jewish\nmediciners as work without the blessing of Allah and our holy Prophet\n[\"Confusion on his head!\" again muttered the English monarch], we have\ntherefore sent to tend and wait upon thee at this time the physician\nto our own person, Adonbec el Hakim, before whose face the angel Azrael\n[The Angel of Death.] spreads his wings and departs from the sick\nchamber; who knows the virtues of herbs and stones, the path of the sun,\nmoon, and stars, and can save man from all that is not written on his\nforehead. And this we do, praying you heartily to honour and make use\nof his skill; not only that we may do service to thy worth and valour,\nwhich is the glory of all the nations of Frangistan, but that we may\nbring the controversy which is at present between us to an end, either\nby honourable agreement, or by open trial thereof with our weapons, in a\nfair field--seeing that it neither becomes thy place and courage to die\nthe death of a slave who hath been overwrought by his taskmaster, nor\nbefits it our fame that a brave adversary be snatched from our weapon by\nsuch a disease. And, therefore, may the holy--\"\n\n\"Hold, hold,\" said Richard, \"I will have no more of his dog of a\nprophet! It makes me sick to think the valiant and worthy Soldan should\nbelieve in a dead dog. Yes, I will see his physician. I will put\nmyself into the charge of this Hakim--I will repay the noble Soldan\nhis generosity--I will meet Saladin in the field, as he so worthily\nproposes, and he shall have no cause to term Richard of England\nungrateful. I will strike him to the earth with my battle-axe--I will\nconvert him to Holy Church with such blows as he has rarely endured. He\nshall recant his errors before my good cross-handled sword, and I will\nhave him baptized on the battle-field, from my own helmet, though the\ncleansing waters were mixed with the blood of us both.--Haste, De Vaux,\nwhy dost thou delay a conclusion so pleasing? Fetch the Hakim hither.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said the baron, who perhaps saw some accession of fever in\nthis overflow of confidence, \"bethink you, the Soldan is a pagan, and\nthat you are his most formidable enemy--\"\n\n\"For which reason he is the more bound to do me service in this matter,\nlest a paltry fever end the quarrel betwixt two such kings. I tell thee\nhe loves me as I love him--as noble adversaries ever love each other. By\nmy honour, it were sin to doubt his good faith!\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, my lord, it were well to wait the issue of these\nmedicines upon the Scottish squire,\" said the Lord of Gilsland. \"My own\nlife depends upon it, for worthy were I to die like a dog did I proceed\nrashly in this matter, and make shipwreck of the weal of Christendom.\"\n\n\"I never knew thee before hesitate for fear of life,\" said Richard\nupbraidingly.\n\n\"Nor would I now, my liege,\" replied the stout-hearted baron, \"save that\nyours lies at pledge as well as my own.\"\n\n\"Well, thou suspicious mortal,\" answered Richard, \"begone then, and\nwatch the progress of this remedy. I could almost wish it might either\ncure or kill me, for I am weary of lying here like an ox dying of\nthe murrain, when tambours are beating, horses stamping, and trumpets\nsounding without.\"\n\nThe baron hastily departed, resolved, however, to communicate his errand\nto some churchman, as he felt something burdened in conscience at the\nidea of his master being attended by an unbeliever.\n\nThe Archbishop of Tyre was the first to whom he confided his doubts,\nknowing his interest with his master, Richard, who both loved and\nhonoured that sagacious prelate. The bishop heard the doubts which De\nVaux stated, with that acuteness of intelligence which distinguishes the\nRoman Catholic clergy. The religious scruples of De Vaux he treated\nwith as much lightness as propriety permitted him to exhibit on such a\nsubject to a layman.\n\n\"Mediciners,\" he said, \"like the medicines which they employed, were\noften useful, though the one were by birth or manners the vilest of\nhumanity, as the others are, in many cases, extracted from the basest\nmaterials. Men may use the assistance of pagans and infidels,\" he\ncontinued, \"in their need, and there is reason to think that one cause\nof their being permitted to remain on earth is that they might minister\nto the convenience of true Christians. Thus we lawfully make slaves of\nheathen captives. Again,\" proceeded the prelate, \"there is no doubt that\nthe primitive Christians used the services of the unconverted heathen.\nThus in the ship of Alexandria, in which the blessed Apostle Paul sailed\nto Italy, the sailors were doubtless pagans; yet what said the holy\nsaint when their ministry was needful?--'NISI HI IN NAVI MANSERINT, VOS\nSALVI FIERI NON POTESTIS'--Unless these men abide in the ship, ye\ncannot be saved. Again, Jews are infidels to Christianity, as well as\nMohammedans. But there are few physicians in the camp excepting Jews,\nand such are employed without scandal or scruple. Therefore,\nMohammedans may be used for their service in that capacity--QUOD ERAT\nDEMONSTRANDUM.\"\n\nThis reasoning entirely removed the scruples of Thomas de Vaux, who was\nparticularly moved by the Latin quotation, as he did not understand a\nword of it.\n\nBut the bishop proceeded with far less fluency when he considered the\npossibility of the Saracen's acting with bad faith; and here he came not\nto a speedy decision. The baron showed him the letters of credence. He\nread and re-read them, and compared the original with the translation.\n\n\"It is a dish choicely cooked,\" he said, \"to the palate of King Richard,\nand I cannot but have my suspicions of the wily Saracen. They are\ncurious in the art of poisons, and can so temper them that they shall\nbe weeks in acting upon the party, during which time the perpetrator\nhas leisure to escape. They can impregnate cloth and leather, nay, even\npaper and parchment, with the most subtle venom. Our Lady forgive me!\nAnd wherefore, knowing this, hold I these letters of credence so close\nto my face? Take them, Sir Thomas--take them speedily!\"\n\nHere he gave them at arm's-length, and with some appearance of haste,\nto the baron. \"But come, my Lord de Vaux,\" he continued, \"wend we to the\ntent of this sick squire, where we shall learn whether this Hakim hath\nreally the art of curing which he professeth, ere we consider whether\nthere be safety in permitting him to exercise his art upon King\nRichard.--Yet, hold! let me first take my pouncet-box, for these fevers\nspread like an infection. I would advise you to use dried rosemary\nsteeped in vinegar, my lord. I, too, know something of the healing art.\"\n\n\"I thank your reverend lordship,\" replied Thomas of Gilsland; \"but had\nI been accessible to the fever, I had caught it long since by the bed of\nmy master.\"\n\nThe Bishop of Tyre blushed, for he had rather avoided the presence of\nthe sick monarch; and he bid the baron lead on.\n\nAs they paused before the wretched hut in which Kenneth of the Leopard\nand his follower abode, the bishop said to De Vaux, \"Now, of a surety,\nmy lord, these Scottish Knights have worse care of their followers than\nwe of our dogs. Here is a knight, valiant, they say, in battle, and\nthought fitting to be graced with charges of weight in time of truce,\nwhose esquire of the body is lodged worse than in the worst dog-kennel\nin England. What say you of your neighbours?\"\n\n\"That a master doth well enough for his servant when he lodgeth him in\nno worse dwelling than his own,\" said De Vaux, and entered the hut.\n\nThe bishop followed, not without evident reluctance; for though he\nlacked not courage in some respects, yet it was tempered with a strong\nand lively regard for his own safety. He recollected, however, the\nnecessity there was for judging personally of the skill of the Arabian\nphysician, and entered the hut with a stateliness of manner calculated,\nas he thought, to impose respect on the stranger.\n\nThe prelate was, indeed, a striking and commanding figure. In his youth\nhe had been eminently handsome, and even in age was unwilling to appear\nless so. His episcopal dress was of the richest fashion, trimmed with\ncostly fur, and surrounded by a cope of curious needlework. The rings\non his fingers were worth a goodly barony, and the hood which he wore,\nthough now unclasped and thrown back for heat, had studs of pure gold to\nfasten it around his throat and under his chin when he so inclined. His\nlong beard, now silvered with age, descended over his breast. One of two\nyouthful acolytes who attended him created an artificial shade, peculiar\nthen to the East, by bearing over his head an umbrella of palmetto\nleaves, while the other refreshed his reverend master by agitating a fan\nof peacock-feathers.\n\nWhen the Bishop of Tyre entered the hut of the Scottish knight, the\nmaster was absent, and the Moorish physician, whom he had come to see,\nsat in the very posture in which De Vaux had left him several hours\nbefore, cross-legged upon a mat made of twisted leaves, by the side of\nthe patient, who appeared in deep slumber, and whose pulse he felt from\ntime to time. The bishop remained standing before him in silence for\ntwo or three minutes, as if expecting some honourable salutation, or\nat least that the Saracen would seem struck with the dignity of his\nappearance. But Adonbec el Hakim took no notice of him beyond a passing\nglance, and when the prelate at length saluted him in the lingua\nfranca current in the country, he only replied by the ordinary Oriental\ngreeting, \"SALAM ALICUM--Peace be with you.\"\n\n\"Art thou a physician, infidel?\" said the bishop, somewhat mortified at\nthis cold reception. \"I would speak with thee on that art.\"\n\n\"If thou knewest aught of medicine,\" answered El Hakim, \"thou wouldst be\naware that physicians hold no counsel or debate in the sick chamber of\ntheir patient. Hear,\" he added, as the low growling of the staghound was\nheard from the inner hut, \"even the dog might teach thee reason, Ulemat.\nHis instinct teaches him to suppress his barking in the sick man's\nhearing. Come without the tent,\" said he, rising and leading the way,\n\"if thou hast ought to say with me.\"\n\nNotwithstanding the plainness of the Saracen leech's dress, and his\ninferiority of size when contrasted with the tall prelate and\ngigantic English baron, there was something striking in his manner and\ncountenance, which prevented the Bishop of Tyre from expressing strongly\nthe displeasure he felt at this unceremonious rebuke. When without the\nhut, he gazed upon Adonbec in silence for several minutes before he\ncould fix on the best manner to renew the conversation. No locks were\nseen under the high bonnet of the Arabian, which hid also part of a brow\nthat seemed lofty and expanded, smooth, and free from wrinkles, as were\nhis cheeks, where they were seen under the shade of his long beard. We\nhave elsewhere noticed the piercing quality of his dark eyes.\n\nThe prelate, struck with his apparent youth, at length broke a pause,\nwhich the other seemed in no haste to interrupt, by demanding of the\nArabian how old he was?\n\n\"The years of ordinary men,\" said the Saracen, \"are counted by their\nwrinkles; those of sages by their studies. I dare not call myself older\nthan a hundred revolutions of the Hegira.\" [Meaning that his attainments\nwere those which might have been made in a hundred years.]\n\nThe Baron of Gilsland, who took this for a literal assertion that he was\na century old, looked doubtfully upon the prelate, who, though he better\nunderstood the meaning of El Hakim, answered his glance by mysteriously\nshaking his head. He resumed an air of importance when he again\nauthoritatively demanded what evidence Adonbec could produce of his\nmedical proficiency.\n\n\"Ye have the word of the mighty Saladin,\" said the sage, touching his\ncap in sign of reverence--\"a word which was never broken towards friend\nor foe. What, Nazarene, wouldst thou demand more?\"\n\n\"I would have ocular proof of thy skill,\" said the baron, \"and without\nit thou approachest not to the couch of King Richard.\"\n\n\"The praise of the physician,\" said the Arabian, \"is in the recovery of\nhis patient. Behold this sergeant, whose blood has been dried up by the\nfever which has whitened your camp with skeletons, and against which the\nart of your Nazarene leeches hath been like a silken doublet against a\nlance of steel. Look at his fingers and arms, wasted like the claws and\nshanks of the crane. Death had this morning his clutch on him; but had\nAzrael been on one side of the couch, I being on the other, his soul\nshould not have been left from his body. Disturb me not with further\nquestions, but await the critical minute, and behold in silent wonder\nthe marvellous event.\"\n\nThe physician had then recourse to his astrolabe, the oracle of Eastern\nscience, and watching with grave precision until the precise time of the\nevening prayer had arrived, he sunk on his knees, with his face turned\nto Mecca, and recited the petitions which close the Moslemah's day of\ntoil. The bishop and the English baron looked on each other, meanwhile,\nwith symptoms of contempt and indignation, but neither judged it fit to\ninterrupt El Hakim in his devotions, unholy as they considered them to\nbe.\n\nThe Arab arose from the earth, on which he had prostrated himself, and\nwalking into the hut where the patient lay extended, he drew a sponge\nfrom a small silver box, dipped perhaps in some aromatic distillation,\nfor when he put it to the sleeper's nose, he sneezed, awoke, and looked\nwildly around. He was a ghastly spectacle as he sat up almost naked on\nhis couch, the bones and cartilages as visible through the surface of\nhis skin as if they had never been clothed with flesh. His face was\nlong, and furrowed with wrinkles; but his eye, though it wandered at\nfirst, became gradually more settled. He seemed to be aware of the\npresence of his dignified visitors, for he attempted feebly to pull\nthe covering from his head in token of reverence, as he inquired, in a\nsubdued and submissive voice, for his master.\n\n\"Do you know us, vassal?\" said the Lord of Gilsland.\n\n\"Not perfectly, my lord,\" replied the squire faintly. \"My sleep has been\nlong and full of dreams. Yet I know that you are a great English lord,\nas seemeth by the red cross, and this a holy prelate, whose blessing I\ncrave on me a poor sinner.\"\n\n\"Thou hast it--BENEDICTIO DOMINI SIT VOBISCUM,\" said the prelate, making\nthe sign of the cross, but without approaching nearer to the patient's\nbed.\n\n\"Your eyes witness,\" said the Arabian, \"the fever hath been subdued.\nHe speaks with calmness and recollection--his pulse beats composedly as\nyours--try its pulsations yourself.\"\n\nThe prelate declined the experiment; but Thomas of Gilsland, more\ndetermined on making the trial, did so, and satisfied himself that the\nfever was indeed gone.\n\n\"This is most wonderful,\" said the knight, looking to the bishop; \"the\nman is assuredly cured. I must conduct this mediciner presently to King\nRichard's tent. What thinks your reverence?\"\n\n\"Stay, let me finish one cure ere I commence another,\" said the Arab; \"I\nwill pass with you when I have given my patient the second cup of this\nmost holy elixir.\"\n\nSo saying he pulled out a silver cup, and filling it with water from a\ngourd which stood by the bedside, he next drew forth a small silken\nbag made of network, twisted with silver, the contents of which the\nbystanders could not discover, and immersing it in the cup, continued to\nwatch it in silence during the space of five minutes. It seemed to the\nspectators as if some effervescence took place during the operation; but\nif so, it instantly subsided.\n\n\"Drink,\" said the physician to the sick man--\"sleep, and awaken free\nfrom malady.\"\n\n\"And with this simple-seeming draught thou wilt undertake to cure a\nmonarch?\" said the Bishop of Tyre.\n\n\"I have cured a beggar, as you may behold,\" replied the sage. \"Are\nthe Kings of Frangistan made of other clay than the meanest of their\nsubjects?\"\n\n\"Let us have him presently to the King,\" said the Baron of Gilsland. \"He\nhath shown that he possesses the secret which may restore his health. If\nhe fails to exercise it, I will put himself past the power of medicine.\"\n\nAs they were about to leave the hut, the sick man, raising his voice\nas much as his weakness permitted, exclaimed, \"Reverend father, noble\nknight, and you, kind leech, if you would have me sleep and recover,\ntell me in charity what is become of my dear master?\"\n\n\"He is upon a distant expedition, friend,\" replied the prelate--\"on an\nhonourable embassy, which may detain him for some days.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the Baron of Gilsland, \"why deceive the poor\nfellow?--Friend, thy master has returned to the camp, and you will\npresently see him.\"\n\nThe invalid held up, as if in thankfulness, his wasted hands to Heaven,\nand resisting no longer the soporiferous operation of the elixir, sunk\ndown in a gentle sleep.\n\n\"You are a better physician than I, Sir Thomas,\" said the prelate--\"a\nsoothing falsehood is fitter for a sick-room than an unpleasing truth.\"\n\n\"How mean you, my reverend lord?\" said De Vaux hastily. \"Think you I\nwould tell a falsehood to save the lives of a dozen such as he?\"\n\n\"You said,\" replied the bishop, with manifest symptoms of alarm--\"you\nsaid the esquire's master was returned--he, I mean, of the Couchant\nLeopard.\"\n\n\"And he IS returned,\" said De Vaux. \"I spoke with him but a few hours\nsince. This learned leech came in his company.\"\n\n\"Holy Virgin! why told you not of his return to me?\" said the bishop, in\nevident perturbation.\n\n\"Did I not say that this same Knight of the Leopard had returned\nin company with the physician? I thought I had,\" replied De Vaux\ncarelessly. \"But what signified his return to the skill of the\nphysician, or the cure of his Majesty?\"\n\n\"Much, Sir Thomas--it signified much,\" said the bishop, clenching\nhis hands, pressing his foot against the earth, and giving signs of\nimpatience, as if in an involuntary manner. \"But where can he be gone\nnow, this same knight? God be with us--here may be some fatal errors!\"\n\n\"Yonder serf in the outer space,\" said De Vaux, not without wonder\nat the bishop's emotion, \"can probably tell us whither his master has\ngone.\"\n\nThe lad was summoned, and in a language nearly incomprehensible to\nthem, gave them at length to understand that an officer had summoned his\nmaster to the royal tent some time before their arrival at that of his\nmaster. The anxiety of the bishop appeared to rise to the highest, and\nbecame evident to De Vaux, though, neither an acute observer nor of a\nsuspicious temper. But with his anxiety seemed to increase his wish to\nkeep it subdued and unobserved. He took a hasty leave of De Vaux, who\nlooked after him with astonishment, and after shrugging his shoulders in\nsilent wonder, proceeded to conduct the Arabian physician to the tent of\nKing Richard.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n     This is the prince of leeches; fever, plague,\n     Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look on him,\n     And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews.\n        ANONYMOUS.\n\nThe Baron of Gilsland walked with slow step and an anxious countenance\ntowards the royal pavilion. He had much diffidence of his own capacity,\nexcept in a field of battle, and conscious of no very acute intellect,\nwas usually contented to wonder at circumstances which a man of livelier\nimagination would have endeavoured to investigate and understand, or\nat least would have made the subject of speculation. But it seemed very\nextraordinary, even to him, that the attention of the bishop should have\nbeen at once abstracted from all reflection on the marvellous cure which\nthey had witnessed, and upon the probability it afforded of Richard\nbeing restored to health, by what seemed a very trivial piece of\ninformation announcing the motions of a beggardly Scottish knight, than\nwhom Thomas of Gilsland knew nothing within the circle of gentle\nblood more unimportant or contemptible; and despite his usual habit\nof passively beholding passing events, the baron's spirit toiled with\nunwonted attempts to form conjectures on the cause.\n\nAt length the idea occurred at once to him that the whole might be a\nconspiracy against King Richard, formed within the camp of the allies,\nand to which the bishop, who was by some represented as a politic and\nunscrupulous person, was not unlikely to have been accessory. It was\ntrue that, in his own opinion, there existed no character so perfect as\nthat of his master; for Richard being the flower of chivalry, and the\nchief of Christian leaders, and obeying in all points the commands of\nHoly Church, De Vaux's ideas of perfection went no further. Still, he\nknew that, however unworthily, it had been always his master's fate\nto draw as much reproach and dislike as honour and attachment from the\ndisplay of his great qualities; and that in the very camp, and amongst\nthose princes bound by oath to the Crusade, were many who would have\nsacrificed all hope of victory over the Saracens to the pleasure of\nruining, or at least of humbling, Richard of England.\n\n\"Wherefore,\" said the baron to himself, \"it is in no sense impossible\nthat this El Hakim, with this his cure, or seeming cure, wrought on the\nbody of the Scottish squire, may mean nothing but a trick, to which he\nof the Leopard may be accessory, and wherein the Bishop of Tyre, prelate\nas he is, may have some share.\"\n\nThis hypothesis, indeed, could not be so easily reconciled with the\nalarm manifested by the bishop on learning that, contrary to his\nexpectation, the Scottish knight had suddenly returned to the Crusaders'\ncamp. But De Vaux was influenced only by his general prejudices,\nwhich dictated to him the assured belief that a wily Italian priest,\na false-hearted Scot, and an infidel physician, formed a set of\ningredients from which all evil, and no good, was likely to be\nextracted. He resolved, however, to lay his scruples bluntly before\nthe King, of whose judgment he had nearly as high an opinion as of his\nvalour.\n\nMeantime, events had taken place very contrary to the suppositions which\nThomas de Vaux had entertained. Scarce had he left the royal pavilion,\nwhen, betwixt the impatience of the fever, and that which was natural\nto his disposition, Richard began to murmur at his delay, and express\nan earnest desire for his return. He had seen enough to try to reason\nhimself out of this irritation, which greatly increased his bodily\nmalady. He wearied his attendants by demanding from them amusements, and\nthe breviary of the priest, the romance of the clerk, even the harp of\nhis favourite minstrel, were had recourse to in vain. At length, some\ntwo hours before sundown, and long, therefore, ere he could expect\na satisfactory account of the process of the cure which the Moor or\nArabian had undertaken, he sent, as we have already heard, a messenger\ncommanding the attendance of the Knight of the Leopard, determined to\nsoothe his impatience by obtaining from Sir Kenneth a more particular\naccount of the cause of his absence from the camp, and the circumstances\nof his meeting with this celebrated physician.\n\nThe Scottish knight, thus summoned, entered the royal presence as one\nwho was no stranger to such scenes. He was scarcely known to the King\nof England, even by sight, although, tenacious of his rank, as devout in\nthe adoration of the lady of his secret heart, he had never been absent\non those occasions when the munificence and hospitality of England\nopened the Court of its monarch to all who held a certain rank in\nchivalry. The King gazed fixedly on Sir Kenneth approaching his bedside,\nwhile the knight bent his knee for a moment, then arose, and stood\nbefore him in a posture of deference, but not of subservience or\nhumility, as became an officer in the presence of his sovereign.\n\n\"Thy name,\" said the King, \"is Kenneth of the Leopard--from whom hadst\nthou degree of knighthood?\"\n\n\"I took it from the sword of William the Lion, King of Scotland,\"\nreplied the Scot.\n\n\"A weapon,\" said the King, \"well worthy to confer honour; nor has it\nbeen laid on an undeserving shoulder. We have seen thee bear thyself\nknightly and valiantly in press of battle, when most need there was; and\nthou hadst not been yet to learn that thy deserts were known to us, but\nthat thy presumption in other points has been such that thy services can\nchallenge no better reward than that of pardon for thy transgression.\nWhat sayest thou--ha?\"\n\nKenneth attempted to speak, but was unable to express himself\ndistinctly; the consciousness of his too ambitious love, and the keen,\nfalcon glance with which Coeur de Lion seemed to penetrate his inmost\nsoul, combining to disconcert him.\n\n\"And yet,\" said the King, \"although soldiers should obey command, and\nvassals be respectful towards their superiors, we might forgive a brave\nknight greater offence than the keeping a simple hound, though it were\ncontrary to our express public ordinance.\"\n\nRichard kept his eye fixed on the Scot's face, beheld and beholding,\nsmiling inwardly at the relief produced by the turn he had given to his\ngeneral accusation.\n\n\"So please you, my lord,\" said the Scot, \"your majesty must be good\nto us poor gentlemen of Scotland in this matter. We are far from home,\nscant of revenues, and cannot support ourselves as your wealthy nobles,\nwho have credit of the Lombards. The Saracens shall feel our blows the\nharder that we eat a piece of dried venison from time to time with our\nherbs and barley-cakes.\"\n\n\"It skills not asking my leave,\" said Richard, \"since Thomas de Vaux,\nwho doth, like all around me, that which is fittest in his own eyes,\nhath already given thee permission for hunting and hawking.\"\n\n\"For hunting only, and please you,\" said the Scot. \"But if it please\nyour Majesty to indulge me with the privilege of hawking also, and you\nlist to trust me with a falcon on fist, I trust I could supply your\nroyal mess with some choice waterfowl.\"\n\n\"I dread me, if thou hadst but the falcon,\" said the King, \"thou wouldst\nscarce wait for the permission. I wot well it is said abroad that we of\nthe line of Anjou resent offence against our forest-laws as highly as we\nwould do treason against our crown. To brave and worthy men, however, we\ncould pardon either misdemeanour.--But enough of this. I desire to know\nof you, Sir Knight, wherefore, and by whose authority, you took this\nrecent journey to the wilderness of the Dead Sea and Engaddi?\"\n\n\"By order,\" replied the knight, \"of the Council of Princes of the Holy\nCrusade.\"\n\n\"And how dared any one to give such an order, when I--not the least,\nsurely, in the league--was unacquainted with it?\"\n\n\"It was not my part, please your highness,\" said the Scot, \"to inquire\ninto such particulars. I am a soldier of the Cross--serving, doubtless,\nfor the present, under your highness's banner, and proud of the\npermission to do so, but still one who hath taken on him the holy symbol\nfor the rights of Christianity and the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre,\nand bound, therefore, to obey without question the orders of the\nprinces and chiefs by whom the blessed enterprise is directed. That\nindisposition should seclude, I trust for but a short time, your\nhighness from their councils, in which you hold so potential a voice, I\nmust lament with all Christendom; but, as a soldier, I must obey those\non whom the lawful right of command devolves, or set but an evil example\nin the Christian camp.\"\n\n\"Thou sayest well,\" said King Richard; \"and the blame rests not with\nthee, but with those with whom, when it shall please Heaven to raise me\nfrom this accursed bed of pain and inactivity, I hope to reckon roundly.\nWhat was the purport of thy message?\"\n\n\"Methinks, and please your highness,\" replied Sir Kenneth, \"that were\nbest asked of those who sent me, and who can render the reasons of mine\nerrand; whereas I can only tell its outward form and purport.\"\n\n\"Palter not with me, Sir Scot--it were ill for thy safety,\" said the\nirritable monarch.\n\n\"My safety, my lord,\" replied the knight firmly, \"I cast behind me as a\nregardless thing when I vowed myself to this enterprise, looking rather\nto my immortal welfare than to that which concerns my earthly body.\"\n\n\"By the mass,\" said King Richard, \"thou art a brave fellow! Hark thee,\nSir Knight, I love the Scottish people; they are hardy, though dogged\nand stubborn, and, I think, true men in the main, though the necessity\nof state has sometimes constrained them to be dissemblers. I deserve\nsome love at their hand, for I have voluntarily done what they could not\nby arms have extorted from me any more than from my predecessors, I\nhave re-established the fortresses of Roxburgh and Berwick, which lay\nin pledge to England; I have restored your ancient boundaries; and,\nfinally, I have renounced a claim to homage upon the crown of England,\nwhich I thought unjustly forced on you. I have endeavoured to make\nhonourable and independent friends, where former kings of England\nattempted only to compel unwilling and rebellious vassals.\"\n\n\"All this you have done, my Lord King,\" said Sir Kenneth, bowing--\"all\nthis you have done, by your royal treaty with our sovereign at\nCanterbury. Therefore have you me, and many better Scottish men, making\nwar against the infidels, under your banners, who would else have been\nravaging your frontiers in England. If their numbers are now few, it is\nbecause their lives have been freely waged and wasted.\"\n\n\"I grant it true,\" said the King; \"and for the good offices I have done\nyour land I require you to remember that, as a principal member of\nthe Christian league, I have a right to know the negotiations of my\nconfederates. Do me, therefore, the justice to tell me what I have a\ntitle to be acquainted with, and which I am certain to know more truly\nfrom you than from others.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said the Scot, \"thus conjured, I will speak the truth; for\nI well believe that your purposes towards the principal object of our\nexpedition are single-hearted and honest, and it is more than I dare\nwarrant for others of the Holy League. Be pleased, therefore, to know\nmy charge was to propose, through the medium of the hermit of Engaddi--a\nholy man, respected and protected by Saladin himself--\"\n\n\"A continuation of the truce, I doubt not,\" said Richard, hastily\ninterrupting him.\n\n\"No, by Saint Andrew, my liege,\" said the Scottish knight; \"but the\nestablishment of a lasting peace, and the withdrawing our armies from\nPalestine.\"\n\n\"Saint George!\" said Richard, in astonishment. \"Ill as I have justly\nthought of them, I could not have dreamed they would have humbled\nthemselves to such dishonour. Speak, Sir Kenneth, with what will did you\ncarry such a message?\"\n\n\"With right good will, my lord,\" said Kenneth; \"because, when we had\nlost our noble leader, under whose guidance alone I hoped for victory,\nI saw none who could succeed him likely to lead us to conquest, and I\naccounted it well in such circumstances to avoid defeat.\"\n\n\"And on what conditions was this hopeful peace to be contracted?\" said\nKing Richard, painfully suppressing the passion with which his heart was\nalmost bursting.\n\n\"These were not entrusted to me, my lord,\" answered the Knight of the\nCouchant Leopard. \"I delivered them sealed to the hermit.\"\n\n\"And for what hold you this reverend hermit--for fool, madman, traitor,\nor saint?\" said Richard.\n\n\"His folly, sire,\" replied the shrewd Scottish man, \"I hold to be\nassumed to win favour and reverence from the Paynimrie, who regard\nmadmen as the inspired of Heaven--at least it seemed to me as exhibited\nonly occasionally, and not as mixing, like natural folly, with the\ngeneral tenor of his mind.\"\n\n\"Shrewdly replied,\" said the monarch, throwing himself back on his\ncouch, from which he had half-raised himself. \"Now of his penitence?\"\n\n\"His penitence,\" continued Kenneth, \"appears to me sincere, and the\nfruits of remorse for some dreadful crime, for which he seems, in his\nown opinion, condemned to reprobation.\"\n\n\"And for his policy?\" said King Richard.\n\n\"Methinks, my lord,\" said the Scottish knight, \"he despairs of the\nsecurity of Palestine, as of his own salvation, by any means short of\na miracle--at least, since the arm of Richard of England hath ceased to\nstrike for it.\"\n\n\"And, therefore, the coward policy of this hermit is like that of these\nmiserable princes, who, forgetful of their knighthood and their faith,\nare only resolved and determined when the question is retreat, and\nrather than go forward against an armed Saracen, would trample in their\nflight over a dying ally!\"\n\n\"Might I so far presume, my Lord King,\" said the Scottish knight, \"this\ndiscourse but heats your disease, the enemy from which Christendom\ndreads more evil than from armed hosts of infidels.\"\n\nThe countenance of King Richard was, indeed, more flushed, and his\naction became more feverishly vehement, as, with clenched hand, extended\narm, and flashing eyes, he seemed at once to suffer under bodily pain,\nand at the same time under vexation of mind, while his high spirit led\nhim to speak on, as if in contempt of both.\n\n\"You can flatter, Sir Knight,\" he said, \"but you escape me not. I must\nknow more from you than you have yet told me. Saw you my royal consort\nwhen at Engaddi?\"\n\n\"To my knowledge--no, my lord,\" replied Sir Kenneth, with considerable\nperturbation, for he remembered the midnight procession in the chapel of\nthe rocks.\n\n\"I ask you,\" said the King, in a sterner voice, \"whether you were not in\nthe chapel of the Carmelite nuns at Engaddi, and there saw Berengaria,\nQueen of England, and the ladies of her Court, who went thither on\npilgrimage?\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"I will speak the truth as in the\nconfessional. In a subterranean chapel, to which the anchorite conducted\nme, I beheld a choir of ladies do homage to a relic of the highest\nsanctity; but as I saw not their faces, nor heard their voices, unless\nin the hymns which they chanted, I cannot tell whether the Queen of\nEngland was of the bevy.\"\n\n\"And was there no one of these ladies known to you?\"\n\nSir Kenneth stood silent.\n\n\"I ask you,\" said Richard, raising himself on his elbow, \"as a knight\nand a gentleman--and I shall know by your answer how you value either\ncharacter--did you, or did you not, know any lady amongst that band of\nworshippers?\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said Kenneth, not without much hesitation, \"I might guess.\"\n\n\"And I also may guess,\" said the King, frowning sternly; \"but it is\nenough. Leopard as you are, Sir Knight, beware tempting the lion's paw.\nHark ye--to become enamoured of the moon would be but an act of folly;\nbut to leap from the battlements of a lofty tower, in the wild hope of\ncoming within her sphere, were self-destructive madness.\"\n\nAt this moment some bustling was heard in the outer apartment, and\nthe King, hastily changing to his more natural manner, said,\n\"Enough--begone--speed to De Vaux, and send him hither with the Arabian\nphysician. My life for the faith of the Soldan! Would he but abjure his\nfalse law, I would aid him with my sword to drive this scum of French\nand Austrians from his dominions, and think Palestine as well ruled by\nhim as when her kings were anointed by the decree of Heaven itself.\"\n\nThe Knight of the Leopard retired, and presently afterwards the\nchamberlain announced a deputation from the Council, who had come to\nwait on the Majesty of England.\n\n\"It is well they allow that I am living yet,\" was his reply. \"Who are\nthe reverend ambassadors?\"\n\n\"The Grand Master of the Templars and the Marquis of Montserrat.\"\n\n\"Our brother of France loves not sick-beds,\" said Richard; \"yet, had\nPhilip been ill, I had stood by his couch long since.--Jocelyn, lay me\nthe couch more fairly--it is tumbled like a stormy sea. Reach me yonder\nsteel mirror--pass a comb through my hair and beard. They look, indeed,\nliker a lion's mane than a Christian man's locks. Bring water.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said the trembling chamberlain, \"the leeches say that cold\nwater may be fatal.\"\n\n\"To the foul fiend with the leeches!\" replied the monarch; \"if they\ncannot cure me, think you I will allow them to torment me?--There,\nthen,\" he said, after having made his ablutions, \"admit the worshipful\nenvoys; they will now, I think, scarcely see that disease has made\nRichard negligent of his person.\"\n\nThe celebrated Master of the Templars was a tall, thin, war-worn man,\nwith a slow yet penetrating eye, and a brow on which a thousand dark\nintrigues had stamped a portion of their obscurity. At the head of\nthat singular body, to whom their order was everything, and their\nindividuality nothing--seeking the advancement of its power, even at\nthe hazard of that very religion which the fraternity were originally\nassociated to protect--accused of heresy and witchcraft, although by\ntheir character Christian priests--suspected of secret league with the\nSoldan, though by oath devoted to the protection of the Holy Temple, or\nits recovery--the whole order, and the whole personal character of its\ncommander, or Grand Master, was a riddle, at the exposition of which\nmost men shuddered. The Grand Master was dressed in his white robes\nof solemnity, and he bore the ABACUS, a mystic staff of office, the\npeculiar form of which has given rise to such singular conjectures and\ncommentaries, leading to suspicions that this celebrated fraternity of\nChristian knights were embodied under the foulest symbols of paganism.\n\nConrade of Montserrat had a much more pleasing exterior than the dark\nand mysterious priest-soldier by whom he was accompanied. He was a\nhandsome man, of middle age, or something past that term, bold in the\nfield, sagacious in council, gay and gallant in times of festivity; but,\non the other hand, he was generally accused of versatility, of a narrow\nand selfish ambition, of a desire to extend his own principality,\nwithout regard to the weal of the Latin kingdom of Palestine, and of\nseeking his own interest, by private negotiations with Saladin, to the\nprejudice of the Christian leaguers.\n\nWhen the usual salutations had been made by these dignitaries, and\ncourteously returned by King Richard, the Marquis of Montserrat\ncommenced an explanation of the motives of their visit, sent, as he said\nthey were, by the anxious kings and princes who composed the Council of\nthe Crusaders, \"to inquire into the health of their magnanimous ally,\nthe valiant King of England.\"\n\n\"We know the importance in which the princes of the Council hold our\nhealth,\" replied the English King; \"and are well aware how much they\nmust have suffered by suppressing all curiosity concerning it for\nfourteen days, for fear, doubtless, of aggravating our disorder, by\nshowing their anxiety regarding the event.\"\n\nThe flow of the Marquis's eloquence being checked, and he himself thrown\ninto some confusion by this reply, his more austere companion took up\nthe thread of the conversation, and with as much dry and brief gravity\nas was consistent with the presence which he addressed, informed\nthe King that they came from the Council, to pray, in the name of\nChristendom, \"that he would not suffer his health to be tampered with\nby an infidel physician, said to be dispatched by Saladin, until the\nCouncil had taken measures to remove or confirm the suspicion which they\nat present conceived did attach itself to the mission of such a person.\"\n\n\"Grand Master of the Holy and Valiant Order of Knights Templars, and\nyou, most noble Marquis of Montserrat,\" replied Richard, \"if it please\nyou to retire into the adjoining pavilion, you shall presently see what\naccount we make of the tender remonstrances of our royal and princely\ncolleagues in this religious warfare.\"\n\nThe Marquis and Grand Master retired accordingly; nor had they been\nmany minutes in the outward pavilion when the Eastern physician arrived,\naccompanied by the Baron of Gilsland and Kenneth of Scotland. The baron,\nhowever, was a little later of entering the tent than the other two,\nstopping, perchance, to issue some orders to the warders without.\n\nAs the Arabian physician entered, he made his obeisance, after the\nOriental fashion, to the Marquis and Grand Master, whose dignity was\napparent, both from their appearance and their bearing. The Grand Master\nreturned the salutation with an expression of disdainful coldness, the\nMarquis with the popular courtesy which he habitually practised to men\nof every rank and nation. There was a pause, for the Scottish knight,\nwaiting for the arrival of De Vaux, presumed not, of his own authority,\nto enter the tent of the King of England; and during this interval the\nGrand Master sternly demanded of the Moslem, \"Infidel, hast thou the\ncourage to practise thine art upon the person of an anointed sovereign\nof the Christian host?\"\n\n\"The sun of Allah,\" answered the sage, \"shines on the Nazarene as\nwell as on the true believer, and His servant dare make no distinction\nbetwixt them when called on to exercise the art of healing.\"\n\n\"Misbelieving Hakim,\" said the Grand Master, \"or whatsoever they call\nthee for an unbaptized slave of darkness, dost thou well know that thou\nshalt be torn asunder by wild horses should King Richard die under thy\ncharge?\"\n\n\"That were hard justice,\" answered the physician, \"seeing that I can but\nuse human means, and that the issue is written in the book of light.\"\n\n\"Nay, reverend and valiant Grand Master,\" said the Marquis of\nMontserrat, \"consider that this learned man is not acquainted with our\nChristian order, adopted in the fear of God, and for the safety of His\nanointed.--Be it known to thee, grave physician, whose skill we doubt\nnot, that your wisest course is to repair to the presence of the\nillustrious Council of our Holy League, and there to give account and\nreckoning to such wise and learned leeches as they shall nominate,\nconcerning your means of process and cure of this illustrious patient;\nso shall you escape all the danger which, rashly taking such a high\nmatter upon your sole answer, you may else most likely incur.\"\n\n\"My lords,\" said El Hakim, \"I understand you well. But knowledge hath\nits champions as well as your military art--nay, hath sometimes had its\nmartyrs as well as religion. I have the command of my sovereign, the\nSoldan Saladin, to heal this Nazarene King, and, with the blessing\nof the Prophet, I will obey his commands. If I fail, ye wear swords\nthirsting for the blood of the faithful, and I proffer my body to your\nweapons. But I will not reason with one uncircumcised upon the virtue\nof the medicines of which I have obtained knowledge through the grace\nof the Prophet, and I pray you interpose no delay between me and my\noffice.\"\n\n\"Who talks of delay?\" said the Baron de Vaux, hastily entering the tent;\n\"we have had but too much already. I salute you, my Lord of Montserrat,\nand you, valiant Grand Master. But I must presently pass with this\nlearned physician to the bedside of my master.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said the Marquis, in Norman-French, or the language of\nOuie, as it was then called, \"are you well advised that we came to\nexpostulate, on the part of the Council of the Monarchs and Princes\nof the Crusade, against the risk of permitting an infidel and Eastern\nphysician to tamper with a health so valuable as that of your master,\nKing Richard?\"\n\n\"Noble Lord Marquis,\" replied the Englishman bluntly, \"I can neither use\nmany words, nor do I delight in listening to them; moreover, I am much\nmore ready to believe what my eyes have seen than what my ears have\nheard. I am satisfied that this heathen can cure the sickness of King\nRichard, and I believe and trust he will labour to do so. Time is\nprecious. If Mohammed--may God's curse be on him! stood at the door of\nthe tent, with such fair purpose as this Adonbec el Hakim entertains,\nI would hold it sin to delay him for a minute. So, give ye God'en, my\nlords.\"\n\n\"Nay, but,\" said Conrade of Montserrat, \"the King himself said we should\nbe present when this same physician dealt upon him.\"\n\nThe baron whispered the chamberlain, probably to know whether the\nMarquis spoke truly, and then replied, \"My lords, if you will hold your\npatience, you are welcome to enter with us; but if you interrupt, by\naction or threat, this accomplished physician in his duty, be it known\nthat, without respect to your high quality, I will enforce your absence\nfrom Richard's tent; for know, I am so well satisfied of the virtue of\nthis man's medicines, that were Richard himself to refuse them, by our\nLady of Lanercost, I think I could find in my heart to force him to take\nthe means of his cure whether he would or no.--Move onward, El Hakim.\"\n\nThe last word was spoken in the lingua franca, and instantly obeyed by\nthe physician. The Grand Master looked grimly on the unceremonious old\nsoldier, but, on exchanging a glance with the Marquis, smoothed his\nfrowning brow as well as he could, and both followed De Vaux and the\nArabian into the inner tent, where Richard lay expecting them, with that\nimpatience with which the sick man watches the step of his physician.\nSir Kenneth, whose attendance seemed neither asked nor prohibited, felt\nhimself, by the circumstances in which he stood, entitled to follow\nthese high dignitaries; but, conscious of his inferior power and rank,\nremained aloof during the scene which took place.\n\nRichard, when they entered his apartment, immediately exclaimed, \"So ho!\na goodly fellowship come to see Richard take his leap in the dark.\nMy noble allies, I greet you as the representatives of our assembled\nleague; Richard will again be amongst you in his former fashion, or ye\nshall bear to the grave what is left of him.--De Vaux, lives he or dies\nhe, thou hast the thanks of thy prince. There is yet another--but this\nfever hath wasted my eyesight. What, the bold Scot, who would climb\nheaven without a ladder! He is welcome too.--Come, Sir Hakim, to the\nwork, to the work!\"\n\nThe physician, who had already informed himself of the various symptoms\nof the King's illness, now felt his pulse for a long time, and with deep\nattention, while all around stood silent, and in breathless expectation.\nThe sage next filled a cup with spring water, and dipped into it the\nsmall red purse, which, as formerly, he took from his bosom. When he\nseemed to think it sufficiently medicated, he was about to offer it to\nthe sovereign, who prevented him by saying, \"Hold an instant. Thou hast\nfelt my pulse--let me lay my finger on thine. I too, as becomes a good\nknight, know something of thine art.\"\n\nThe Arabian yielded his hand without hesitation, and his long, slender\ndark fingers were for an instant enclosed, and almost buried, in the\nlarge enfoldment of King Richard's hand.\n\n\"His blood beats calm as an infant's,\" said the King; \"so throbs not\ntheirs who poison princes. De Vaux, whether we live or die, dismiss this\nHakim with honour and safety.--Commend us, friend, to the noble Saladin.\nShould I die, it is without doubt of his faith; should I live, it will\nbe to thank him as a warrior would desire to be thanked.\"\n\nHe then raised himself in bed, took the cup in his hand, and turning\nto the Marquis and the Grand Master--\"Mark what I say, and let my royal\nbrethren pledge me in Cyprus wine, 'To the immortal honour of the first\nCrusader who shall strike lance or sword on the gate of Jerusalem; and\nto the shame and eternal infamy of whomsoever shall turn back from the\nplough on which he hath laid his hand!'\"\n\nHe drained the cup to the bottom, resigned it to the Arabian, and sunk\nback, as if exhausted, upon the cushions which were arranged to receive\nhim. The physician then, with silent but expressive signs, directed\nthat all should leave the tent excepting himself and De Vaux, whom\nno remonstrance could induce to withdraw. The apartment was cleared\naccordingly.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n     And now I will unclasp a secret book,\n     And, to your quick-conceiving discontent,\n     I'll read you matter deep and dangerous.\n       HENRY IV., PART I.\n\nThe Marquis of Montserrat and the Grand Master of the Knights Templars\nstood together in the front of the royal pavilion, within which this\nsingular scene had passed, and beheld a strong guard of bills and bows\ndrawn out to form a circle around it, and keep at distance all which\nmight disturb the sleeping monarch. The soldiers wore the downcast,\nsilent, and sullen looks with which they trail their arms at a funeral,\nand stepped with such caution that you could not hear a buckler ring\nor a sword clatter, though so many men in armour were moving around the\ntent. They lowered their weapons in deep reverence as the dignitaries\npassed through their files, but with the same profound silence.\n\n\"There is a change of cheer among these island dogs,\" said the Grand\nMaster to Conrade, when they had passed Richard's guards. \"What hoarse\ntumult and revel used to be before this pavilion!--nought but pitching\nthe bar, hurling the ball, wrestling, roaring of songs, clattering of\nwine pots, and quaffing of flagons among these burly yeomen, as if they\nwere holding some country wake, with a Maypole in the midst of them\ninstead of a royal standard.\"\n\n\"Mastiffs are a faithful race,\" said Conrade; \"and the King their Master\nhas won their love by being ready to wrestle, brawl, or revel amongst\nthe foremost of them, whenever the humour seized him.\"\n\n\"He is totally compounded of humours,\" said the Grand Master. \"Marked\nyou the pledge he gave us! instead of a prayer, over his grace-cup\nyonder.\"\n\n\"He would have felt it a grace-cup, and a well-spiced one too,\" said\nthe Marquis, \"were Saladin like any other Turk that ever wore turban,\nor turned him to Mecca at call of the muezzin. But he affects faith, and\nhonour, and generosity, as if it were for an unbaptized dog like him to\npractise the virtuous bearing of a Christian knight. It is said he hath\napplied to Richard to be admitted within the pale of chivalry.\"\n\n\"By Saint Bernard!\" exclaimed the Grand Master, \"it were time then\nto throw off our belts and spurs, Sir Conrade, deface our armorial\nbearings, and renounce our burgonets, if the highest honour of\nChristianity were conferred on an unchristened Turk of tenpence.\"\n\n\"You rate the Soldan cheap,\" replied the Marquis; \"yet though he be a\nlikely man, I have seen a better heathen sold for forty pence at the\nbagnio.\"\n\nThey were now near their horses, which stood at some distance from the\nroyal tent, prancing among the gallant train of esquires and pages by\nwhom they were attended, when Conrade, after a moment's pause, proposed\nthat they should enjoy the coolness of the evening breeze which had\narisen, and, dismissing their steeds and attendants, walk homewards to\ntheir own quarters through the lines of the extended Christian camp. The\nGrand Master assented, and they proceeded to walk together accordingly,\navoiding, as if by mutual consent, the more inhabited parts of the\ncanvas city, and tracing the broad esplanade which lay between the tents\nand the external defences, where they could converse in private, and\nunmarked, save by the sentinels as they passed them.\n\nThey spoke for a time upon the military points and preparations for\ndefence; but this sort of discourse, in which neither seemed to take\ninterest, at length died away, and there was a long pause, which\nterminated by the Marquis of Montserrat stopping short, like a man who\nhas formed a sudden resolution, and gazing for some moments on the dark,\ninflexible countenance of the Grand Master, he at length addressed him\nthus: \"Might it consist with your valour and sanctity, reverend Sir\nGiles Amaury, I would pray you for once to lay aside the dark visor\nwhich you wear, and to converse with a friend barefaced.\"\n\nThe Templar half smiled.\n\n\"There are light- masks,\" he said, \"as well as dark visors, and\nthe one conceals the natural features as completely as the other.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" said the Marquis, putting his hand to his chin, and\nwithdrawing it with the action of one who unmasks himself; \"there lies\nmy disguise. And now, what think you, as touching the interests of your\nown order, of the prospects of this Crusade?\"\n\n\"This is tearing the veil from my thoughts rather than exposing your\nown,\" said the Grand Master; \"yet I will reply with a parable told to me\nby a santon of the desert. 'A certain farmer prayed to Heaven for rain,\nand murmured when it fell not at his need. To punish his impatience,\nAllah,' said the santon, 'sent the Euphrates upon his farm, and he was\ndestroyed, with all his possessions, even by the granting of his own\nwishes.'\"\n\n\"Most truly spoken,\" said the Marquis Conrade. \"Would that the ocean had\nswallowed up nineteen parts of the armaments of these Western princes!\nWhat remained would better have served the purpose of the Christian\nnobles of Palestine, the wretched remnant of the Latin kingdom of\nJerusalem. Left to ourselves, we might have bent to the storm; or,\nmoderately supported with money and troops, we might have compelled\nSaladin to respect our valour, and grant us peace and protection on easy\nterms. But from the extremity of danger with which this powerful Crusade\nthreatens the Soldan, we cannot suppose, should it pass over, that the\nSaracen will suffer any one of us to hold possessions or principalities\nin Syria, far less permit the existence of the Christian military\nfraternities, from whom they have experienced so much mischief.\"\n\n\"Ay, but,\" said the Templar, \"these adventurous Crusaders may succeed,\nand again plant the Cross on the bulwarks of Zion.\"\n\n\"And what will that advantage either the Order of the Templars, or\nConrade of Montserrat?\" said the Marquis.\n\n\"You it may advantage,\" replied the Grand Master. \"Conrade of Montserrat\nmight become Conrade King of Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"That sounds like something,\" said the Marquis, \"and yet it rings but\nhollow. Godfrey of Bouillon might well choose the crown of thorns for\nhis emblem. Grand Master, I will confess to you I have caught some\nattachment to the Eastern form of government--a pure and simple\nmonarchy should consist but of king and subjects. Such is the simple and\nprimitive structure--a shepherd and his flock. All this internal chain\nof feudal dependance is artificial and sophisticated; and I would rather\nhold the baton of my poor marquisate with a firm gripe, and wield\nit after my pleasure, than the sceptre of a monarch, to be in effect\nrestrained and curbed by the will of as many proud feudal barons as hold\nland under the Assizes of Jerusalem. [The Assises de Jerusalem were\nthe digest of feudal law, composed by Godfrey of Boulogne, for the\ngovernment of the Latin kingdom of Palestine, when reconquered from the\nSaracens. \"It was composed with advice of the patriarch and barons,\nthe clergy and laity, and is,\" says the historian Gibbon, \"a precious\nmonument of feudatory jurisprudence, founded upon those principles\nof freedom which were essential to the system.\"] A king should tread\nfreely, Grand Master, and should not be controlled by here a ditch, and\nthere a fence-here a feudal privilege, and there a mail-clad baron with\nhis sword in his hand to maintain it. To sum the whole, I am aware that\nGuy de Lusignan's claims to the throne would be preferred to mine, if\nRichard recovers, and has aught to say in the choice.\"\n\n\"Enough,\" said the Grand Master; \"thou hast indeed convinced me of thy\nsincerity. Others may hold the same opinions, but few, save Conrade of\nMontserrat, dared frankly avow that he desires not the restitution of\nthe kingdom of Jerusalem, but rather prefers being master of a portion\nof its fragments--like the barbarous islanders, who labour not for the\ndeliverance of a goodly vessel from the billows, expecting rather to\nenrich themselves at the expense of the wreck.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt not betray my counsel?\" said Conrade, looking sharply and\nsuspiciously. \"Know, for certain, that my tongue shall never wrong my\nhead, nor my hand forsake the defence of either. Impeach me if thou\nwilt--I am prepared to defend myself in the lists against the best\nTemplar who ever laid lance in rest.\"\n\n\"Yet thou start'st somewhat suddenly for so bold a steed,\" said the\nGrand Master. \"However, I swear to thee by the Holy Temple, which our\nOrder is sworn to defend, that I will keep counsel with thee as a true\ncomrade.\"\n\n\"By which Temple?\" said the Marquis of Montserrat, whose love of sarcasm\noften outran his policy and discretion; \"swearest thou by that on the\nhill of Zion, which was built by King Solomon, or by that symbolical,\nemblematical edifice, which is said to be spoken of in the councils\nheld in the vaults of your Preceptories, as something which infers the\naggrandizement of thy valiant and venerable Order?\"\n\nThe Templar scowled upon him with an eye of death, but answered calmly,\n\"By whatever Temple I swear, be assured, Lord Marquis, my oath is\nsacred. I would I knew how to bind THEE by one of equal obligation.\"\n\n\"I will swear truth to thee,\" said the Marquis, laughing, \"by the\nearl's coronet, which I hope to convert, ere these wars are over, into\nsomething better. It feels cold on my brow, that same slight coronal;\na duke's cap of maintenance were a better protection against such a\nnight-breeze as now blows, and a king's crown more preferable still,\nbeing lined with comfortable ermine and velvet. In a word, our interests\nbind us together; for think not, Lord Grand Master, that, were these\nallied princes to regain Jerusalem, and place a king of their own\nchoosing there, they would suffer your Order, any more than my poor\nmarquisate, to retain the independence which we now hold. No, by Our\nLady! In such case, the proud Knights of Saint John must again spread\nplasters and dress plague sores in the hospitals; and you, most puissant\nand venerable Knights of the Temple, must return to your condition of\nsimple men-at-arms, sleep three on a pallet, and mount two upon one\nhorse, as your present seal still expresses to have been your ancient\nmost simple custom.\"\n\n\"The rank, privileges, and opulence of our Order prevent so much\ndegradation as you threaten,\" said the Templar haughtily.\n\n\"These are your bane,\" said Conrade of Montserrat; \"and you, as well\nas I, reverend Grand Master, know that, were the allied princes to be\nsuccessful in Palestine, it would be their first point of policy to\nabate the independence of your Order, which, but for the protection of\nour holy father the Pope, and the necessity of employing your valour in\nthe conquest of Palestine, you would long since have experienced. Give\nthem complete success, and you will be flung aside, as the splinters of\na broken lance are tossed out of the tilt-yard.\"\n\n\"There may be truth in what you say,\" said the Templar, darkly smiling.\n\"But what were our hopes should the allies withdraw their forces, and\nleave Palestine in the grasp of Saladin?\"\n\n\"Great and assured,\" replied Conrade. \"The Soldan would give large\nprovinces to maintain at his behest a body of well-appointed Frankish\nlances. In Egypt, in Persia, a hundred such auxiliaries, joined to his\nown light cavalry, would turn the battle against the most fearful odds.\nThis dependence would be but for a time--perhaps during the life of\nthis enterprising Soldan; but in the East empires arise like mushrooms.\nSuppose him dead, and us strengthened with a constant succession of\nfiery and adventurous spirits from Europe, what might we not hope to\nachieve, uncontrolled by these monarchs, whose dignity throws us at\npresent into the shade--and, were they to remain here, and succeed in\nthis expedition, would willingly consign us for ever to degradation and\ndependence?\"\n\n\"You say well, my Lord Marquis,\" said the Grand Master, \"and your words\nfind an echo in my bosom. Yet must we be cautious--Philip of France is\nwise as well as valiant.\"\n\n\"True, and will be therefore the more easily diverted from an expedition\nto which, in a moment of enthusiasm, or urged by his nobles, he rashly\nbound himself. He is jealous of King Richard, his natural enemy, and\nlongs to return to prosecute plans of ambition nearer to Paris than\nPalestine. Any fair pretence will serve him for withdrawing from a scene\nin which he is aware he is wasting the force of his kingdom.\"\n\n\"And the Duke of Austria?\" said the Templar.\n\n\"Oh, touching the Duke,\" returned Conrade, \"his self-conceit and folly\nlead him to the same conclusions as do Philip's policy and wisdom. He\nconceives himself, God help the while, ungratefully treated, because\nmen's mouths--even those of his own MINNE-SINGERS [The German minstrels\nwere so termed.]--are filled with the praises of King Richard, whom he\nfears and hates, and in whose harm he would rejoice, like those unbred,\ndastardly curs, who, if the foremost of the pack is hurt by the gripe of\nthe wolf, are much more likely to assail the sufferer from behind than\nto come to his assistance. But wherefore tell I this to thee, save to\nshow that I am in sincerity in desiring that this league be broken up,\nand the country freed of these great monarchs with their hosts? And thou\nwell knowest, and hast thyself seen, how all the princes of influence\nand power, one alone excepted, are eager to enter into treaty with the\nSoldan.\"\n\n\"I acknowledge it,\" said the Templar; \"he were blind that had not seen\nthis in their last deliberations. But lift yet thy mask an inch higher,\nand tell me thy real reason for pressing upon the Council that Northern\nEnglishman, or Scot, or whatever you call yonder Knight of the Leopard,\nto carry their proposals for a treaty?\"\n\n\"There was a policy in it,\" replied the Italian. \"His character of\nnative of Britain was sufficient to meet what Saladin required, who knew\nhim to belong to the band of Richard; while his character of Scot, and\ncertain other personal grudges which I wot of, rendered it most unlikely\nthat our envoy should, on his return, hold any communication with the\nsick-bed of Richard, to whom his presence was ever unacceptable.\"\n\n\"Oh, too finespun policy,\" said the Grand Master; \"trust me, that\nItalian spiders' webs will never bind this unshorn Samson of the\nIsle--well if you can do it with new cords, and those of the toughest.\nSee you not that the envoy whom you have selected so carefully hath\nbrought us, in this physician, the means of restoring the lion-hearted,\nbull-necked Englishman to prosecute his Crusading enterprise. And so\nsoon as he is able once more to rush on, which of the princes dare hold\nback? They must follow him for very shame, although they would march\nunder the banner of Satan as soon.\"\n\n\"Be content,\" said Conrade of Montserrat; \"ere this physician, if he\nwork by anything short of miraculous agency, can accomplish Richard's\ncure, it may be possible to put some open rupture betwixt the\nFrenchman--at least the Austrian--and his allies of England, so that\nthe breach shall be irreconcilable; and Richard may arise from his bed,\nperhaps to command his own native troops, but never again, by his sole\nenergy, to wield the force of the whole Crusade.\"\n\n\"Thou art a willing archer,\" said the Templar; \"but, Conrade of\nMontserrat, thy bow is over-slack to carry an arrow to the mark.\"\n\nHe then stopped short, cast a suspicious glance to see that no one\noverheard him, and taking Conrade by the hand, pressed it eagerly as he\nlooked the Italian in the face, and repeated slowly, \"Richard arise from\nhis bed, sayest thou? Conrade, he must never arise!\"\n\nThe Marquis of Montserrat started. \"What! spoke you of Richard of\nEngland--of Coeur de Lion--the champion of Christendom?\"\n\nHis cheek turned pale and his knees trembled as he spoke. The Templar\nlooked at him, with his iron visage contorted into a smile of contempt.\n\n\"Knowest thou what thou look'st like, Sir Conrade, at this moment? Not\nlike the politic and valiant Marquis of Montserrat, not like him\nwho would direct the Council of Princes and determine the fate of\nempires--but like a novice, who, stumbling upon a conjuration in his\nmaster's book of gramarye, has raised the devil when he least thought of\nit, and now stands terrified at the spirit which appears before him.\"\n\n\"I grant you,\" said Conrade, recovering himself, \"that--unless some\nother sure road could be discovered--thou hast hinted at that which\nleads most direct to our purpose. But, blessed Mary! we shall become the\ncurse of all Europe, the malediction of every one, from the Pope on his\nthrone to the very beggar at the church gate, who, ragged and leprous,\nin the last extremity of human wretchedness, shall bless himself that he\nis neither Giles Amaury nor Conrade of Montserrat.\"\n\n\"If thou takest it thus,\" said the Grand Master, with the same composure\nwhich characterized him all through this remarkable dialogue, \"let us\nhold there has nothing passed between us--that we have spoken in our\nsleep--have awakened, and the vision is gone.\"\n\n\"It never can depart,\" answered Conrade.\n\n\"Visions of ducal crowns and kingly diadems are, indeed, somewhat\ntenacious of their place in the imagination,\" replied the Grand Master.\n\n\"Well,\" answered Conrade, \"let me but first try to break peace between\nAustria and England.\"\n\nThey parted. Conrade remained standing still upon the spot, and watching\nthe flowing white cloak of the Templar as he stalked slowly away, and\ngradually disappeared amid the fast-sinking darkness of the Oriental\nnight. Proud, ambitious, unscrupulous, and politic, the Marquis of\nMontserrat was yet not cruel by nature. He was a voluptuary and an\nepicurean, and, like many who profess this character, was averse,\neven upon selfish motives, from inflicting pain or witnessing acts of\ncruelty; and he retained also a general sense of respect for his own\nreputation, which sometimes supplies the want of the better principle by\nwhich reputation is to be maintained.\n\n\"I have,\" he said, as his eyes still watched the point at which he had\nseen the last slight wave of the Templar's mantle--\"I have, in truth,\nraised the devil with a vengeance! Who would have thought this stern,\nascetic Grand Master, whose whole fortune and misfortune is merged in\nthat of his order, would be willing to do more for its advancement than\nI who labour for my own interest? To check this wild Crusade was my\nmotive, indeed, but I durst not think on the ready mode which this\ndetermined priest has dared to suggest. Yet it is the surest--perhaps\neven the safest.\"\n\nSuch were the Marquis's meditations, when his muttered soliloquy was\nbroken by a voice from a little distance, which proclaimed with the\nemphatic tone of a herald, \"Remember the Holy Sepulchre!\"\n\nThe exhortation was echoed from post to post, for it was the duty of\nthe sentinels to raise this cry from time to time upon their periodical\nwatch, that the host of the Crusaders might always have in their\nremembrance the purpose of their being in arms. But though Conrade was\nfamiliar with the custom, and had heard the warning voice on all former\noccasions as a matter of habit, yet it came at the present moment so\nstrongly in contact with his own train of thought, that it seemed a\nvoice from Heaven warning him against the iniquity which his heart\nmeditated. He looked around anxiously, as if, like the patriarch of\nold, though from very different circumstances, he was expecting some\nram caught in a thicket some substitution for the sacrifice which his\ncomrade proposed to offer, not to the Supreme Being, but to the Moloch\nof their own ambition. As he looked, the broad folds of the ensign of\nEngland, heavily distending itself to the failing night-breeze, caught\nhis eye. It was displayed upon an artificial mound, nearly in the midst\nof the camp, which perhaps of old some Hebrew chief or champion had\nchosen as a memorial of his place of rest. If so, the name was now\nforgotten, and the Crusaders had christened it Saint George's\nMount, because from that commanding height the banner of England was\nsupereminently displayed, as if an emblem of sovereignty over the many\ndistinguished, noble, and even royal ensigns, which floated in lower\nsituations.\n\nA quick intellect like that of Conrade catches ideas from the glance of\na moment. A single look on the standard seemed to dispel the uncertainty\nof mind which had affected him. He walked to his pavilion with the hasty\nand determined step of one who has adopted a plan which he is resolved\nto achieve, dismissed the almost princely train who waited to attend\nhim, and, as he committed himself to his couch, muttered his amended\nresolution, that the milder means are to be tried before the more\ndesperate are resorted to.\n\n\"To-morrow,\" he said, \"I sit at the board of the Archduke of Austria. We\nwill see what can be done to advance our purpose before prosecuting the\ndark suggestions of this Templar.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n     One thing is certain in our Northern land--\n     Allow that birth or valour, wealth or wit,\n     Give each precedence to their possessor,\n     Envy, that follows on such eminence,\n     As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck's trace,\n     Shall pull them down each one.\n              SIR DAVID LINDSAY.\n\nLeopold, Grand Duke of Austria, was the first possessor of that noble\ncountry to whom the princely rank belonged. He had been raised to the\nducal sway in the German Empire on account of his near relationship to\nthe Emperor, Henry the Stern, and held under his government the finest\nprovinces which are watered by the Danube. His character has been\nstained in history on account of one action of violence and perfidy,\nwhich arose out of these very transactions in the Holy Land; and yet\nthe shame of having made Richard a prisoner when he returned through\nhis dominions; unattended and in disguise, was not one which flowed from\nLeopold's natural disposition. He was rather a weak and a vain than\nan ambitious or tyrannical prince. His mental powers resembled the\nqualities of his person. He was tall, strong, and handsome, with a\ncomplexion in which red and white were strongly contrasted, and had long\nflowing locks of fair hair. But there was an awkwardness in his gait\nwhich seemed as if his size was not animated by energy sufficient to\nput in motion such a mass; and in the same manner, wearing the richest\ndresses, it always seemed as if they became him not. As a prince, he\nappeared too little familiar with his own dignity; and being often at\na loss how to assert his authority when the occasion demanded it, he\nfrequently thought himself obliged to recover, by acts and expressions\nof ill-timed violence, the ground which might have been easily and\ngracefully maintained by a little more presence of mind in the beginning\nof the controversy.\n\nNot only were these deficiencies visible to others, but the Archduke\nhimself could not but sometimes entertain a painful consciousness that\nhe was not altogether fit to maintain and assert the high rank which he\nhad acquired; and to this was joined the strong, and sometimes the just,\nsuspicion that others esteemed him lightly accordingly.\n\nWhen he first joined the Crusade, with a most princely attendance,\nLeopold had desired much to enjoy the friendship and intimacy of\nRichard, and had made such advances towards cultivating his regard as\nthe King of England ought, in policy, to have received and answered.\nBut the Archduke, though not deficient in bravery, was so infinitely\ninferior to Coeur de Lion in that ardour of mind which wooed danger as a\nbride, that the King very soon held him in a certain degree of contempt.\nRichard, also, as a Norman prince, a people with whom temperance was\nhabitual, despised the inclination of the German for the pleasures of\nthe table, and particularly his liberal indulgence in the use of wine.\nFor these, and other personal reasons, the King of England very soon\nlooked upon the Austrian Prince with feelings of contempt, which he was\nat no pains to conceal or modify, and which, therefore, were speedily\nremarked, and returned with deep hatred, by the suspicious Leopold. The\ndiscord between them was fanned by the secret and politic arts of Philip\nof France, one of the most sagacious monarchs of the time, who, dreading\nthe fiery and overbearing character of Richard, considering him as his\nnatural rival, and feeling offended, moreover, at the dictatorial manner\nin which he, a vassal of France for his Continental domains, conducted\nhimself towards his liege lord, endeavoured to strengthen his own party,\nand weaken that of Richard, by uniting the Crusading princes of inferior\ndegree in resistance to what he termed the usurping authority of the\nKing of England. Such was the state of politics and opinions entertained\nby the Archduke of Austria, when Conrade of Montserrat resolved upon\nemploying his jealousy of England as the means of dissolving, or\nloosening at least, the league of the Crusaders.\n\nThe time which he chose for his visit was noon; and the pretence, to\npresent the Archduke with some choice Cyprus wine which had lately\nfallen into his hands, and discuss its comparative merits with those of\nHungary and of the Rhine. An intimation of his purpose was, of course,\nanswered by a courteous invitation to partake of the Archducal meal, and\nevery effort was used to render it fitting the splendour of a sovereign\nprince. Yet the refined taste of the Italian saw more cumbrous profusion\nthan elegance or splendour in the display of provisions under which the\nboard groaned.\n\nThe Germans, though still possessing the martial and frank character of\ntheir ancestors--who subdued the Roman Empire--had retained withal\nno slight tinge of their barbarism. The practices and principles of\nchivalry were not carried to such a nice pitch amongst them as amongst\nthe French and English knights, nor were they strict observers of the\nprescribed rules of society, which among those nations were supposed\nto express the height of civilization. Sitting at the table of the\nArchduke, Conrade was at once stunned and amused with the clang of\nTeutonic sounds assaulting his ears on all sides, notwithstanding the\nsolemnity of a princely banquet. Their dress seemed equally fantastic to\nhim, many of the Austrian nobles retaining their long beards, and\nalmost all of them wearing short jerkins of various colours, cut, and\nflourished, and fringed in a manner not common in Western Europe.\n\nNumbers of dependants, old and young, attended in the pavilion, mingled\nat times in the conversation, received from their masters the relics of\nthe entertainment, and devoured them as they stood behind the backs\nof the company. Jesters, dwarfs, and minstrels were there in unusual\nnumbers, and more noisy and intrusive than they were permitted to be in\nbetter regulated society. As they were allowed to share freely in the\nwine, which flowed round in large quantities, their licensed tumult was\nthe more excessive.\n\nAll this while, and in the midst of a clamour and confusion which would\nbetter have become a German tavern during a fair than the tent of a\nsovereign prince, the Archduke was waited upon with a minuteness of form\nand observance which showed how anxious he was to maintain rigidly the\nstate and character to which his elevation had entitled him. He was\nserved on the knee, and only by pages of noble blood, fed upon plate of\nsilver, and drank his Tokay and Rhenish wines from a cup of gold. His\nducal mantle was splendidly adorned with ermine, his coronet might have\nequalled in value a royal crown, and his feet, cased in velvet shoes\n(the length of which, peaks included, might be two feet), rested upon\na footstool of solid silver. But it served partly to intimate the\ncharacter of the man, that, although desirous to show attention to the\nMarquis of Montserrat, whom he had courteously placed at his right hand,\nhe gave much more of his attention to his SPRUCH-SPRECHER--that is, his\nman of conversation, or SAYER-OF-SAYINGS--who stood behind the Duke's\nright shoulder.\n\nThis personage was well attired in a cloak and doublet of black velvet,\nthe last of which was decorated with various silver and gold coins\nstitched upon it, in memory of the munificent princes who had conferred\nthem, and bearing a short staff to which also bunches of silver coins\nwere attached by rings, which he jingled by way of attracting attention\nwhen he was about to say anything which he judged worthy of it. This\nperson's capacity in the household of the Archduke was somewhat betwixt\nthat of a minstrel and a counsellor. He was by turns a flatterer, a\npoet, and an orator; and those who desired to be well with the Duke\ngenerally studied to gain the good-will of the SPRUCH-SPRECHER.\n\nLest too much of this officer's wisdom should become tiresome, the\nDuke's other shoulder was occupied by his HOFF-NARR, or court-jester,\ncalled Jonas Schwanker, who made almost as much noise with his fool's\ncap, bells, and bauble, as did the orator, or man of talk, with his\njingling baton.\n\nThese two personages threw out grave and comic nonsense alternately;\nwhile their master, laughing or applauding them himself, yet carefully\nwatched the countenance of his noble guest, to discern what impressions\nso accomplished a cavalier received from this display of Austrian\neloquence and wit. It is hard to say whether the man of wisdom or the\nman of folly contributed most to the amusement of the party, or stood\nhighest in the estimation of their princely master; but the sallies of\nboth seemed excellently well received. Sometimes they became rivals for\nthe conversation, and clanged their flappers in emulation of each other\nwith a most alarming contention; but, in general, they seemed on such\ngood terms, and so accustomed to support each other's play, that the\nSPRUCH-SPRECHER often condescended to follow up the jester's witticisms\nwith an explanation, to render them more obvious to the capacity of\nthe audience, so that his wisdom became a sort of commentary on the\nbuffoon's folly. And sometimes, in requital, the HOFF-NARR, with a pithy\njest, wound up the conclusion of the orator's tedious harangue.\n\nWhatever his real sentiments might be, Conrade took especial care that\nhis countenance should express nothing but satisfaction with what he\nheard, and smiled or applauded as zealously, to all appearance, as the\nArchduke himself at the solemn folly of the SPRUCH-SPRECHER and the\ngibbering wit of the fool. In fact, he watched carefully until the one\nor other should introduce some topic favourable to the purpose which was\nuppermost in his mind.\n\nIt was not long ere the King of England was brought on the carpet by the\njester, who had been accustomed to consider Dickon of the Broom (which\nirreverent epithet he substituted for Richard Plantagenet) as a subject\nof mirth, acceptable and inexhaustible. The orator, indeed, was silent,\nand it was only when applied to by Conrade that he observed, \"The\nGENISTA, or broom-plant, was an emblem of humility; and it would be well\nwhen those who wore it would remember the warning.\"\n\nThe allusion to the illustrious badge of Plantagenet was thus rendered\nsufficiently manifest, and Jonas Schwanker observed that they who\nhumbled themselves had been exalted with a vengeance. \"Honour unto whom\nhonour is due,\" answered the Marquis of Montserrat. \"We have all had\nsome part in these marches and battles, and methinks other princes might\nshare a little in the renown which Richard of England engrosses amongst\nminstrels and MINNE-SINGERS. Has no one of the joyeuse science here\npresent a song in praise of the royal Archduke of Austria, our princely\nentertainer?\"\n\nThree minstrels emulously stepped forward with voice and harp. Two were\nsilenced with difficulty by the SPRUCH-SPRECHER, who seemed to act as\nmaster of the revels, and a hearing was at length procured for the\npoet preferred, who sung, in high German, stanzas which may be thus\ntranslated:--\n\n\"What brave chief shall head the forces, Where the red-cross legions\ngather? Best of horsemen, best of horses, Highest head and fairest\nfeather.\"\n\nHere the orator, jingling his staff, interrupted the bard to intimate to\nthe party--what they might not have inferred from the description--that\ntheir royal host was the party indicated, and a full-crowned goblet went\nround to the acclamation, HOCH LEBE DER HERZOG LEOPOLD! Another stanza\nfollowed:--\n\n\"Ask not Austria why, 'midst princes, Still her banner rises highest;\nAsk as well the strong-wing'd eagle, Why to heaven he soars the\nhighest.\"\n\n\"The eagle,\" said the expounder of dark sayings, \"is the cognizance of\nour noble lord the Archduke--of his royal Grace, I would say--and the\neagle flies the highest and nearest to the sun of all the feathered\ncreation.\"\n\n\"The lion hath taken a spring above the eagle,\" said Conrade carelessly.\n\nThe Archduke reddened, and fixed his eyes on the speaker, while the\nSPRUCH-SPRECHER answered, after a minute's consideration, \"The Lord\nMarquis will pardon me--a lion cannot fly above an eagle, because no\nlion hath got wings.\"\n\n\"Except the lion of Saint Mark,\" responded the jester.\n\n\"That is the Venetian's banner,\" said the Duke; \"but assuredly that\namphibious race, half nobles, half merchants, will not dare to place\ntheir rank in comparison with ours.\"\n\n\"Nay, it was not of the Venetian lion that I spoke,\" said the Marquis of\nMontserrat, \"but of the three lions passant of England. Formerly, it is\nsaid, they were leopards; but now they are become lions at all points,\nand must take precedence of beast, fish, or fowl, or woe worth the\ngainstander.\"\n\n\"Mean you seriously, my lord?\" said the Austrian, now considerably\nflushed with wine. \"Think you that Richard of England asserts any\npre-eminence over the free sovereigns who have been his voluntary allies\nin this Crusade?\"\n\n\"I know not but from circumstances,\" answered Conrade. \"Yonder hangs\nhis banner alone in the midst of our camp, as if he were king and\ngeneralissimo of our whole Christian army.\"\n\n\"And do you endure this so patiently, and speak of it so coldly?\" said\nthe Archduke.\n\n\"Nay, my lord,\" answered Conrade, \"it cannot concern the poor Marquis of\nMontserrat to contend against an injury patiently submitted to by\nsuch potent princes as Philip of France and Leopold of Austria. What\ndishonour you are pleased to submit to cannot be a disgrace to me.\"\n\nLeopold closed his fist, and struck on the table with violence.\n\n\"I have told Philip of this,\" he said. \"I have often told him that it\nwas our duty to protect the inferior princes against the usurpation\nof this islander; but he answers me ever with cold respects of their\nrelations together as suzerain and vassal, and that it were impolitic in\nhim to make an open breach at this time and period.\"\n\n\"The world knows that Philip is wise,\" said Conrade, \"and will judge his\nsubmission to be policy. Yours, my lord, you can yourself alone account\nfor; but I doubt not you have deep reasons for submitting to English\ndomination.\"\n\n\"I submit!\" said Leopold indignantly--\"I, the Archduke of Austria, so\nimportant and vital a limb of the Holy Roman Empire--I submit myself to\nthis king of half an island, this grandson of a Norman bastard! No, by\nHeaven! The camp and all Christendom shall see that I know how to right\nmyself, and whether I yield ground one inch to the English bandog.--Up,\nmy lieges and merry men; up and follow me! We will--and that without\nlosing one instant--place the eagle of Austria where she shall float as\nhigh as ever floated the cognizance of king or kaiser.\"\n\nWith that he started from his seat, and amidst the tumultuous cheering\nof his guests and followers, made for the door of the pavilion, and\nseized his own banner, which stood pitched before it.\n\n\"Nay, my lord,\" said Conrade, affecting to interfere, \"it will blemish\nyour wisdom to make an affray in the camp at this hour; and perhaps it\nis better to submit to the usurpation of England a little longer than\nto--\"\n\n\"Not an hour, not a moment longer,\" vociferated the Duke; and with the\nbanner in his hand, and followed by his shouting guests and attendants,\nmarched hastily to the central mount, from which the banner of England\nfloated, and laid his hand on the standard-spear, as if to pluck it from\nthe ground.\n\n\"My master, my dear master!\" said Jonas Schwanker, throwing his arms\nabout the Duke, \"take heed--lions have teeth--\"\n\n\"And eagles have claws,\" said the Duke, not relinquishing his hold on\nthe banner-staff, yet hesitating to pull it from the ground.\n\nThe speaker of sentences, notwithstanding such was his occupation, had\nnevertheless some intervals of sound sense. He clashed his staff loudly,\nand Leopold, as if by habit, turned his head towards his man of counsel.\n\n\"The eagle is king among the fowls of the air,\" said the\nSPRUCH-SPRECHER, \"as is the lion among the beasts of the field--each has\nhis dominion, separated as wide as England and Germany. Do thou, noble\neagle, no dishonour to the princely lion, but let your banners remain\nfloating in peace side by side.\"\n\nLeopold withdrew his hand from the banner-spear, and looked round for\nConrade of Montserrat, but he saw him not; for the Marquis, so soon as\nhe saw the mischief afoot, had withdrawn himself from the crowd, taking\ncare, in the first place, to express before several neutral persons his\nregret that the Archduke should have chosen the hours after dinner to\navenge any wrong of which he might think he had a right to complain. Not\nseeing his guest, to whom he wished more particularly to have addressed\nhimself, the Archduke said aloud that, having no wish to breed\ndissension in the army of the Cross, he did but vindicate his own\nprivileges and right to stand upon an equality with the King of England,\nwithout desiring, as he might have done, to advance his banner--which he\nderived from emperors, his progenitors--above that of a mere descendant\nof the Counts of Anjou; and in the meantime he commanded a cask of wine\nto be brought hither and pierced, for regaling the bystanders, who,\nwith tuck of drum and sound of music, quaffed many a carouse round the\nAustrian standard.\n\nThis disorderly scene was not acted without a degree of noise, which\nalarmed the whole camp.\n\nThe critical hour had arrived at which the physician, according to the\nrules of his art, had predicted that his royal patient might be awakened\nwith safety, and the sponge had been applied for that purpose; and\nthe leech had not made many observations ere he assured the Baron of\nGilsland that the fever had entirely left his sovereign, and that,\nsuch was the happy strength of his constitution, it would not be even\nnecessary, as in most cases, to give a second dose of the powerful\nmedicine. Richard himself seemed to be of the same opinion, for, sitting\nup and rubbing his eyes, he demanded of De Vaux what present sum of\nmoney was in the royal coffers.\n\nThe baron could not exactly inform him of the amount.\n\n\"It matters not,\" said Richard; \"be it greater or smaller, bestow it\nall on this learned leech, who hath, I trust, given me back again to the\nservice of the Crusade. If it be less than a thousand byzants, let him\nhave jewels to make it up.\"\n\n\"I sell not the wisdom with which Allah has endowed me,\" answered the\nArabian physician; \"and be it known to you, great Prince, that the\ndivine medicine of which you have partaken would lose its effects in my\nunworthy hands did I exchange its virtues either for gold or diamonds.\"\n\n\"The Physician refuseth a gratuity!\" said De Vaux to himself. \"This is\nmore extraordinary than his being a hundred years old.\"\n\n\"Thomas de Vaux,\" said Richard, \"thou knowest no courage but what\nbelongs to the sword, no bounty and virtue but what are used in\nchivalry. I tell thee that this Moor, in his independence, might set an\nexample to them who account themselves the flower of knighthood.\"\n\n\"It is reward enough for me,\" said the Moor, folding his arms on his\nbosom, and maintaining an attitude at once respectful and dignified,\n\"that so great a king as the Melech Ric [Richard was thus called by the\nEastern nations.] should thus speak of his servant.--But now let me pray\nyou again to compose yourself on your couch; for though I think there\nneeds no further repetition of the divine draught, yet injury might\nensue from any too early exertion ere your strength be entirely\nrestored.\"\n\n\"I must obey thee, Hakim,\" said the King; \"yet believe me, my bosom\nfeels so free from the wasting fire which for so many days hath scorched\nit, that I care not how soon I expose it to a brave man's lance.--But\nhark! what mean these shouts, and that distant music, in the camp? Go,\nThomas de Vaux, and make inquiry.\"\n\n\"It is the Archduke Leopold,\" said De Vaux, returning after a minute's\nabsence, \"who makes with his pot-companions some procession through the\ncamp.\"\n\n\"The drunken fool!\" exclaimed King Richard; \"can he not keep his brutal\ninebriety within the veil of his pavilion, that he must needs show\nhis shame to all Christendom?--What say you, Sir Marquis?\" he added,\naddressing himself to Conrade of Montserrat, who at that moment entered\nthe tent.\n\n\"Thus much, honoured Prince,\" answered the Marquis, \"that I delight\nto see your Majesty so well, and so far recovered; and that is a long\nspeech for any one to make who has partaken of the Duke of Austria's\nhospitality.\"\n\n\"What! you have been dining with the Teutonic wine-skin!\" said\nthe monarch. \"And what frolic has he found out to cause all this\ndisturbance? Truly, Sir Conrade, I have still held you so good a\nreveller that I wonder at your quitting the game.\"\n\nDe Vaux, who had got a little behind the King, now exerted himself by\nlook and sign to make the Marquis understand that he should say nothing\nto Richard of what was passing without. But Conrade understood not, or\nheeded not, the prohibition.\n\n\"What the Archduke does,\" he said, \"is of little consequence to any one,\nleast of all to himself, since he probably knows not what he is acting;\nyet, to say truth, it is a gambol I should not like to share in, since\nhe is pulling down the banner of England from Saint George's Mount, in\nthe centre of the camp yonder, and displaying his own in its stead.\"\n\n\"WHAT sayest thou?\" exclaimed the King, in a tone which might have waked\nthe dead.\n\n\"Nay,\" said the Marquis, \"let it not chafe your Highness that a fool\nshould act according to his folly--\"\n\n\"Speak not to me,\" said Richard, springing from his couch, and casting\non his clothes with a dispatch which seemed marvellous--\"Speak not to\nme, Lord Marquis!--De Multon, I command thee speak not a word to\nme--he that breathes but a syllable is no friend to Richard\nPlantagenet.--Hakim, be silent, I charge thee!\"\n\nAll this while the King was hastily clothing himself, and, with the last\nword, snatched his sword from the pillar of the tent, and without any\nother weapon, or calling any attendance, he rushed out of his pavilion.\nConrade, holding up his hands as if in astonishment, seemed willing to\nenter into conversation with De Vaux; but Sir Thomas pushed rudely past\nhim, and calling to one of the royal equerries, said hastily, \"Fly to\nLord Salisbury's quarters, and let him get his men together and follow\nme instantly to Saint George's Mount. Tell him the King's fever has left\nhis blood and settled in his brain.\"\n\nImperfectly heard, and still more imperfectly comprehended, by the\nstartled attendant whom De Vaux addressed thus hastily, the equerry and\nhis fellow-servants of the royal chamber rushed hastily into the tents\nof the neighbouring nobility, and quickly spread an alarm, as general\nas the cause seemed vague, through the whole British forces. The English\nsoldiers, waked in alarm from that noonday rest which the heat of the\nclimate had taught them to enjoy as a luxury, hastily asked each other\nthe cause of the tumult, and without waiting an answer, supplied by the\nforce of their own fancy the want of information. Some said the Saracens\nwere in the camp, some that the King's life was attempted, some that he\nhad died of the fever the preceding night, many that he was assassinated\nby the Duke of Austria. The nobles and officers, at an equal loss with\nthe common men to ascertain the real cause of the disorder, laboured\nonly to get their followers under arms and under authority, lest their\nrashness should occasion some great misfortune to the Crusading army.\nThe English trumpets sounded loud, shrill, and continuously. The\nalarm-cry of \"Bows and bills, bows and bills!\" was heard from quarter\nto quarter, again and again shouted, and again and again answered by the\npresence of the ready warriors, and their national invocation, \"Saint\nGeorge for merry England!\"\n\nThe alarm went through the nearest quarter of the camp, and men of\nall the various nations assembled, where, perhaps, every people in\nChristendom had their representatives, flew to arms, and drew together\nunder circumstances of general confusion, of which they knew neither\nthe cause nor the object. It was, however, lucky, amid a scene so\nthreatening, that the Earl of Salisbury, while he hurried after De\nVaux's summons with a few only of the readiest English men-at-arms,\ndirected the rest of the English host to be drawn up and kept under\narms, to advance to Richard's succour if necessity should require, but\nin fit array and under due command, and not with the tumultuary\nhaste which their own alarm and zeal for the King's safety might have\ndictated.\n\nIn the meanwhile, without regarding for one instant the shouts, the\ncries, the tumult which began to thicken around him, Richard, with\nhis dress in the last disorder, and his sheathed blade under his arm,\npursued his way with the utmost speed, followed only by De Vaux and one\nor two household servants, to Saint George's Mount.\n\nHe outsped even the alarm which his impetuosity only had excited,\nand passed the quarter of his own gallant troops of Normandy, Poitou,\nGascony, and Anjou before the disturbance had reached them, although the\nnoise accompanying the German revel had induced many of the soldiery to\nget on foot to listen. The handful of Scots were also quartered in the\nvicinity, nor had they been disturbed by the uproar. But the King's\nperson and his haste were both remarked by the Knight of the Leopard,\nwho, aware that danger must be afoot, and hastening to share in it,\nsnatched his shield and sword, and united himself to De Vaux, who with\nsome difficulty kept pace with his impatient and fiery master. De Vaux\nanswered a look of curiosity, which the Scottish knight directed towards\nhim, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, and they continued, side by\nside, to pursue Richard's steps.\n\nThe King was soon at the foot of Saint George's Mount, the sides as well\nas platform of which were now surrounded and crowded, partly by those\nbelonging to the Duke of Austria's retinue, who were celebrating, with\nshouts of jubilee, the act which they considered as an assertion of\nnational honour; partly by bystanders of different nations, whom dislike\nto the English, or mere curiosity, had assembled together to witness the\nend of these extraordinary proceedings. Through this disorderly troop\nRichard burst his way, like a goodly ship under full sail, which cleaves\nher forcible passage through the rolling billows, and heeds not that\nthey unite after her passage and roar upon her stern.\n\nThe summit of the eminence was a small level space, on which were\npitched the rival banners, surrounded still by the Archduke's friends\nand retinue. In the midst of the circle was Leopold himself, still\ncontemplating with self-satisfaction the deed he had done, and still\nlistening to the shouts of applause which his partisans bestowed with no\nsparing breath. While he was in this state of self-gratulation, Richard\nburst into the circle, attended, indeed, only by two men, but in his own\nheadlong energies an irresistible host.\n\n\"Who has dared,\" he said, laying his hands upon the Austrian\nstandard, and speaking in a voice like the sound which precedes an\nearthquake--\"Who has dared to place this paltry rag beside the banner of\nEngland?\"\n\nThe Archduke wanted not personal courage, and it was impossible he\ncould hear this question without reply. Yet so much was he troubled\nand surprised by the unexpected arrival of Richard, and affected by the\ngeneral awe inspired by his ardent and unyielding character, that the\ndemand was twice repeated, in a tone which seemed to challenge heaven\nand earth, ere the Archduke replied, with such firmness as he could\ncommand, \"It was I, Leopold of Austria.\"\n\n\"Then shall Leopold of Austria,\" replied Richard, \"presentry see the\nrate at which his banner and his pretensions are held by Richard of\nEngland.\"\n\nSo saying, he pulled up the standard-spear, splintered it to pieces,\nthrew the banner itself on the ground, and placed his foot upon it.\n\n\"Thus,\" said he, \"I trample on the banner of Austria. Is there a knight\namong your Teutonic chivalry dare impeach my deed?\"\n\nThere was a momentary silence; but there are no braver men than the\nGermans.\n\n\"I,\" and \"I,\" and \"I,\" was heard from several knights of the Duke\"s\nfollowers; and he himself added his voice to those which accepted the\nKing of England's defiance.\n\n\"Why do we dally thus?\" said the Earl Wallenrode, a gigantic warrior\nfrom the frontiers of Hungary. \"Brethren and noble gentlemen, this man's\nfoot is on the honour of your country--let us rescue it from violation,\nand down with the pride of England!\"\n\nSo saying, he drew his sword, and struck at the King a blow which might\nhave proved fatal, had not the Scot intercepted and caught it upon his\nshield.\n\n\"I have sworn,\" said King Richard--and his voice was heard above all\nthe tumult, which now waxed wild and loud--\"never to strike one whose\nshoulder bears the cross; therefore live, Wallenrode--but live to\nremember Richard of England.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he grasped the tall Hungarian round the waist, and,\nunmatched in wrestling, as in other military exercises, hurled him\nbackwards with such violence that the mass flew as if discharged from a\nmilitary engine, not only through the ring of spectators who witnessed\nthe extraordinary scene, but over the edge of the mount itself, down\nthe steep side of which Wallenrode rolled headlong, until, pitching at\nlength upon his shoulder, he dislocated the bone, and lay like one dead.\nThis almost supernatural display of strength did not encourage either\nthe Duke or any of his followers to renew a personal contest so\ninauspiciously commenced. Those who stood farthest back did, indeed,\nclash their swords, and cry out, \"Cut the island mastiff to pieces!\"\nbut those who were nearer veiled, perhaps, their personal fears under an\naffected regard for order, and cried, for the most part, \"Peace! Peace!\nthe peace of the Cross--the peace of Holy Church and our Father the\nPope!\"\n\nThese various cries of the assailants, contradicting each other, showed\ntheir irresolution; while Richard, his foot still on the archducal\nbanner, glared round him with an eye that seemed to seek an enemy, and\nfrom which the angry nobles shrunk appalled, as from the threatened\ngrasp of a lion. De Vaux and the Knight of the Leopard kept their places\nbeside him; and though the swords which they held were still sheathed,\nit was plain that they were prompt to protect Richard's person to the\nvery last, and their size and remarkable strength plainly showed the\ndefence would be a desperate one.\n\nSalisbury and his attendants were also now drawing near, with bills and\npartisans brandished, and bows already bended.\n\nAt this moment King Philip of France, attended by one or two of his\nnobles, came on the platform to inquire the cause of the disturbance,\nand made gestures of surprise at finding the King of England raised from\nhis sick-bed, and confronting their common ally, the Duke of Austria, in\nsuch a menacing and insulting posture. Richard himself blushed at being\ndiscovered by Philip, whose sagacity he respected as much as he disliked\nhis person, in an attitude neither becoming his character as a monarch,\nnor as a Crusader; and it was observed that he withdrew his foot, as\nif accidentally, from the dishonoured banner, and exchanged his look of\nviolent emotion for one of affected composure and indifference. Leopold\nalso struggled to attain some degree of calmness, mortified as he was\nby having been seen by Philip in the act of passively submitting to the\ninsults of the fiery King of England.\n\nPossessed of many of those royal qualities for which he was termed by\nhis subjects the August, Philip might be termed the Ulysses, as Richard\nwas indisputably the Achilles, of the Crusade. The King of France was\nsagacious, wise, deliberate in council, steady and calm in action,\nseeing clearly, and steadily pursuing, the measures most for the\ninterest of his kingdom--dignified and royal in his deportment, brave in\nperson, but a politician rather than a warrior. The Crusade would\nhave been no choice of his own; but the spirit was contagious, and the\nexpedition was enforced upon him by the church, and by the unanimous\nwish of his nobility. In any other situation, or in a milder age, his\ncharacter might have stood higher than that of the adventurous Coeur de\nLion. But in the Crusade, itself an undertaking wholly irrational, sound\nreason was the quality of all others least estimated, and the chivalric\nvalour which both the age and the enterprise demanded was considered as\ndebased if mingled with the least touch of discretion. So that the merit\nof Philip, compared with that of his haughty rival, showed like the\nclear but minute flame of a lamp placed near the glare of a huge,\nblazing torch, which, not possessing half the utility, makes ten times\nmore impression on the eye. Philip felt his inferiority in public\nopinion with the pain natural to a high-spirited prince; and it cannot\nbe wondered at if he took such opportunities as offered for placing his\nown character in more advantageous contrast with that of his rival. The\npresent seemed one of those occasions in which prudence and calmness\nmight reasonably expect to triumph over obstinacy and impetuous\nviolence.\n\n\"What means this unseemly broil betwixt the sworn brethren of the\nCross--the royal Majesty of England and the princely Duke Leopold? How\nis it possible that those who are the chiefs and pillars of this holy\nexpedition--\"\n\n\"A truce with thy remonstrance, France,\" said Richard, enraged inwardly\nat finding himself placed on a sort of equality with Leopold, yet not\nknowing how to resent it. \"This duke, or prince, or pillar, if you will,\nhath been insolent, and I have chastised him--that is all. Here is a\ncoil, forsooth, because of spurning a hound!\"\n\n\"Majesty of France,\" said the Duke, \"I appeal to you and every sovereign\nprince against the foul indignity which I have sustained. This King of\nEngland hath pulled down my banner-torn and trampled on it.\"\n\n\"Because he had the audacity to plant it beside mine,\" said Richard.\n\n\"My rank as thine equal entitled me,\" replied the Duke, emboldened by\nthe presence of Philip.\n\n\"Assert such equality for thy person,\" said King Richard, \"and, by Saint\nGeorge, I will treat thy person as I did thy broidered kerchief there,\nfit but for the meanest use to which kerchief may be put.\"\n\n\"Nay, but patience, brother of England,\" said Philip, \"and I will\npresently show Austria that he is wrong in this matter.--Do not think,\nnoble Duke,\" he continued, \"that, in permitting the standard of England\nto occupy the highest point in our camp, we, the independent sovereigns\nof the Crusade, acknowledge any inferiority to the royal Richard. It\nwere inconsistent to think so, since even the Oriflamme itself--the\ngreat banner of France, to which the royal Richard himself, in respect\nof his French possessions, is but a vassal--holds for the present an\ninferior place to the Lions of England. But as sworn brethren of the\nCross, military pilgrims, who, laying aside the pomp and pride of this\nworld, are hewing with our swords the way to the Holy Sepulchre, I\nmyself, and the other princes, have renounced to King Richard, from\nrespect to his high renown and great feats of arms, that precedence\nwhich elsewhere, and upon other motives, would not have been yielded.\nI am satisfied that, when your royal grace of Austria shall have\nconsidered this, you will express sorrow for having placed your banner\non this spot, and that the royal Majesty of England will then give\nsatisfaction for the insult he has offered.\"\n\nThe SPRUCH-SPRECHER and the jester had both retired to a safe distance\nwhen matters seemed coming to blows; but returned when words, their own\ncommodity, seemed again about to become the order of the day.\n\nThe man of proverbs was so delighted with Philip's politic speech that\nhe clashed his baton at the conclusion, by way of emphasis, and forgot\nthe presence in which he was, so far as to say aloud that he himself had\nnever said a wiser thing in his life.\n\n\"It may be so,\" whispered Jonas Schwanker, \"but we shall be whipped if\nyou speak so loud.\"\n\nThe Duke answered sullenly that he would refer his quarrel to the\nGeneral Council of the Crusade--a motion which Philip highly applauded,\nas qualified to take away a scandal most harmful to Christendom.\n\nRichard, retaining the same careless attitude, listened to Philip until\nhis oratory seemed exhausted, and then said aloud, \"I am drowsy--this\nfever hangs about me still. Brother of France, thou art acquainted with\nmy humour, and that I have at all times but few words to spare. Know,\ntherefore, at once, I will submit a matter touching the honour\nof England neither to Prince, Pope, nor Council. Here stands my\nbanner--whatsoever pennon shall be reared within three butts' length\nof it--ay, were it the Oriflamme, of which you were, I think, but now\nspeaking--shall be treated as that dishonoured rag; nor will I yield\nother satisfaction than that which these poor limbs can render in the\nlists to any bold challenge--ay, were it against five champions instead\nof one.\"\n\n\"Now,\" said the jester, whispering his companion, \"that is as complete\na piece of folly as if I myself had said it; but yet, I think, there may\nbe in this matter a greater fool than Richard yet.\"\n\n\"And who may that be?\" asked the man of wisdom.\n\n\"Philip,\" said the jester, \"or our own Royal Duke, should either accept\nthe challenge. But oh, most sage SPRUCH-SPECHER, what excellent kings\nwouldst thou and I have made, since those on whose heads these crowns\nhave fallen can play the proverb-monger and the fool as completely as\nourselves!\"\n\nWhile these worthies plied their offices apart, Philip answered calmly\nto the almost injurious defiance of Richard, \"I came not hither to\nawaken fresh quarrels, contrary to the oath we have sworn, and the holy\ncause in which we have engaged. I part from my brother of England as\nbrothers should part, and the only strife between the Lions of England\nand the Lilies of France shall be which shall be carried deepest into\nthe ranks of the infidels.\"\n\n\"It is a bargain, my royal brother,\" said Richard, stretching out his\nhand with all the frankness which belonged to his rash but generous\ndisposition; \"and soon may we have the opportunity to try this gallant\nand fraternal wager.\"\n\n\"Let this noble Duke also partake in the friendship of this happy\nmoment,\" said Philip; and the Duke approached half-sullenly,\nhalf-willing to enter into some accommodation.\n\n\"I think not of fools, nor of their folly,\" said Richard carelessly; and\nthe Archduke, turning his back on him, withdrew from the ground.\n\nRichard looked after him as he retired.\n\n\"There is a sort of glow-worm courage,\" he said, \"that shows only by\nnight. I must not leave this banner unguarded in darkness; by daylight\nthe look of the Lions will alone defend it. Here, Thomas of Gilsland, I\ngive thee the charge of the standard--watch over the honour of England.\"\n\n\"Her safety is yet more dear to me,\" said De Vaux, \"and the life of\nRichard is the safety of England. I must have your Highness back to your\ntent, and that without further tarriance.\"\n\n\"Thou art a rough and peremptory nurse, De Vaux,\" said the king,\nsmiling; and then added, addressing Sir Kenneth, \"Valiant Scot, I\nowe thee a boon, and I will pay it richly. There stands the banner of\nEngland! Watch it as novice does his armour on the night before he is\ndubbed. Stir not from it three spears' length, and defend it with thy\nbody against injury or insult. Sound thy bugle if thou art assailed by\nmore than three at once. Dost thou undertake the charge?\"\n\n\"Willingly,\" said Kenneth; \"and will discharge it upon penalty of my\nhead. I will but arm me, and return hither instantly.\"\n\nThe Kings of France and England then took formal leave of each other,\nhiding, under an appearance of courtesy, the grounds of complaint which\neither had against the other--Richard against Philip, for what he deemed\nan officious interference betwixt him and Austria, and Philip against\nCoeur de Lion, for the disrespectful manner in which his mediation had\nbeen received. Those whom this disturbance had assembled now drew off in\ndifferent directions, leaving the contested mount in the same solitude\nwhich had subsisted till interrupted by the Austrian bravado. Men judged\nof the events of the day according to their partialities, and while the\nEnglish charged the Austrian with having afforded the first ground of\nquarrel, those of other nations concurred in casting the greater blame\nupon the insular haughtiness and assuming character of Richard.\n\n\"Thou seest,\" said the Marquis of Montserrat to the Grand Master of the\nTemplars, \"that subtle courses are more effective than violence. I\nhave unloosed the bonds which held together this bunch of sceptres and\nlances--thou wilt see them shortly fall asunder.\"\n\n\"I would have called thy plan a good one,\" said the Templar, \"had there\nbeen but one man of courage among yonder cold-blooded Austrians to sever\nthe bonds of which you speak with his sword. A knot that is unloosed may\nagain be fastened, but not so the cord which has been cut to pieces.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n     'Tis woman that seduces all mankind.\n        GAY.\n\nIn the days of chivalry, a dangerous post or a perilous adventure was a\nreward frequently assigned to military bravery as a compensation for its\nformer trials; just as, in ascending a precipice, the surmounting one\ncrag only lifts the climber to points yet more dangerous.\n\nIt was midnight, and the moon rode clear and high in heaven, when\nKenneth of Scotland stood upon his watch on Saint George's Mount, beside\nthe banner of England, a solitary sentinel, to protect the emblem of\nthat nation against the insults which might be meditated among the\nthousands whom Richard's pride had made his enemies. High thoughts\nrolled, one after each other, upon the mind of the warrior. It seemed\nto him as if he had gained some favour in the eyes of the chivalrous\nmonarch, who till now had not seemed to distinguish him among the crowds\nof brave men whom his renown had assembled under his banner, and Sir\nKenneth little recked that the display of royal regard consisted in\nplacing him upon a post so perilous. The devotion of his ambitious and\nhigh-placed affection inflamed his military enthusiasm. Hopeless as that\nattachment was in almost any conceivable circumstances, those which had\nlately occurred had, in some degree, diminished the distance between\nEdith and himself. He upon whom Richard had conferred the distinction\nof guarding his banner was no longer an adventurer of slight note, but\nplaced within the regard of a princess, although he was as far as ever\nfrom her level. An unknown and obscure fate could not now be his. If\nhe was surprised and slain on the post which had been assigned him, his\ndeath--and he resolved it should be glorious--must deserve the praises\nas well as call down the vengeance of Coeur de Lion, and be followed\nby the regrets, and even the tears, of the high-born beauties of the\nEnglish Court. He had now no longer reason to fear that he should die as\na fool dieth.\n\nSir Kenneth had full leisure to enjoy these and similar high-souled\nthoughts, fostered by that wild spirit of chivalry, which, amid its\nmost extravagant and fantastic flights, was still pure from all selfish\nalloy--generous, devoted, and perhaps only thus far censurable, that it\nproposed objects and courses of action inconsistent with the frailties\nand imperfections of man. All nature around him slept in calm moon-shine\nor in deep shadow. The long rows of tents and pavilions, glimmering or\ndarkening as they lay in the moonlight or in the shade, were still and\nsilent as the streets of a deserted city. Beside the banner-staff lay\nthe large staghound already mentioned, the sole companion of Kenneth's\nwatch, on whose vigilance he trusted for early warning of the approach\nof any hostile footstep. The noble animal seemed to understand the\npurpose of their watch; for he looked from time to time at the rich\nfolds of the heavy pennon, and, when the cry of the sentinels came from\nthe distant lines and defences of the camp, he answered them with one\ndeep and reiterated bark, as if to affirm that he too was vigilant in\nhis duty. From time to time, also, he lowered his lofty head, and wagged\nhis tail, as his master passed and repassed him in the short turns which\nhe took upon his post; or, when the knight stood silent and abstracted\nleaning on his lance, and looking up towards heaven, his faithful\nattendant ventured sometimes, in the phrase of romance, \"to disturb his\nthoughts,\" and awaken him from his reverie, by thrusting his large rough\nsnout into the knight's gauntleted hand, to solicit a transitory caress.\n\nThus passed two hours of the knight's watch without anything remarkable\noccurring. At length, and upon a sudden, the gallant staghound bayed\nfuriously, and seemed about to dash forward where the shadow lay\nthe darkest, yet waited, as if in the slips, till he should know the\npleasure of his master.\n\n\"Who goes there?\" said Sir Kenneth, aware that there was something\ncreeping forward on the shadowy side of the mount.\n\n\"In the name of Merlin and Maugis,\" answered a hoarse, disagreeable\nvoice, \"tie up your fourfooted demon there, or I come not at you.\"\n\n\"And who art thou that would approach my post?\" said Sir Kenneth,\nbending his eyes as keenly as he could on some object, which he\ncould just observe at the bottom of the ascent, without being able to\ndistinguish its form. \"Beware--I am here for death and life.\"\n\n\"Take up thy long-fanged Sathanas,\" said the voice, \"or I will conjure\nhim with a bolt from my arblast.\"\n\nAt the same time was heard the sound of a spring or check, as when a\ncrossbow is bent.\n\n\"Unbend thy arblast, and come into the moonlight,\" said the Scot, \"or,\nby Saint Andrew, I will pin thee to the earth, be what or whom thou\nwilt!\"\n\nAs he spoke he poised his long lance by the middle, and, fixing his eye\nupon the object, which seemed to move, he brandished the weapon, as\nif meditating to cast it from his hand--a use of the weapon sometimes,\nthough rarely, resorted to when a missile was necessary. But Sir Kenneth\nwas ashamed of his purpose, and grounded his weapon, when there stepped\nfrom the shadow into the moonlight, like an actor entering upon the\nstage, a stunted, decrepit creature, whom, by his fantastic dress and\ndeformity, he recognized, even at some distance, for the male of the two\ndwarfs whom he had seen in the chapel at Engaddi. Recollecting, at the\nsame moment, the other and far different visions of that extraordinary\nnight, he gave his dog a signal, which he instantly understood, and,\nreturning to the standard, laid himself down beside it with a stifled\ngrowl.\n\nThe little, distorted miniature of humanity, assured of his safety from\nan enemy so formidable, came panting up the ascent, which the shortness\nof his legs rendered laborious, and, when he arrived on the platform at\nthe top, shifted to his left hand the little crossbow, which was just\nsuch a toy as children at that period were permitted to shoot small\nbirds with, and, assuming an attitude of great dignity, gracefully\nextended his right hand to Sir Kenneth, in an attitude as if he expected\nhe would salute it. But such a result not following, he demanded, in a\nsharp and angry tone of voice, \"Soldier, wherefore renderest thou not\nto Nectabanus the homage due to his dignity? Or is it possible that thou\ncanst have forgotten him?\"\n\n\"Great Nectabanus,\" answered the knight, willing to soothe the\ncreature's humour, \"that were difficult for any one who has ever looked\nupon thee. Pardon me, however, that, being a soldier upon my post,\nwith my lance in my hand, I may not give to one of thy puissance the\nadvantage of coming within my guard, or of mastering my weapon. Suffice\nit that I reverence thy dignity, and submit myself to thee as humbly as\na man-at-arms in my place may.\"\n\n\"It shall suffice,\" said Nectabanus, \"so that you presently attend me to\nthe presence of those who have sent me hither to summon you.\"\n\n\"Great sir,\" replied the knight, \"neither in this can I gratify thee,\nfor my orders are to abide by this banner till daybreak--so I pray you\nto hold me excused in that matter also.\"\n\nSo saying, he resumed his walk upon the platform; but the dwarf did not\nsuffer him so easily to escape from his importunity.\n\n\"Look you,\" he said, placing himself before Sir Kenneth, so as to\ninterrupt his way, \"either obey me, Sir Knight, as in duty bound, or I\nwill lay the command upon thee, in the name of one whose beauty could\ncall down the genii from their sphere, and whose grandeur could command\nthe immortal race when they had descended.\"\n\nA wild and improbable conjecture arose in the knight's mind, but he\nrepelled it. It was impossible, he thought, that the lady of his love\nshould have sent him such a message by such a messenger; yet his voice\ntrembled as he said, \"Go to, Nectabanus. Tell me at once, and as a true\nman, whether this sublime lady of whom thou speakest be other than\nthe houri with whose assistance I beheld thee sweeping the chapel at\nEngaddi?\"\n\n\"How! presumptuous Knight,\" replied the dwarf, \"think'st thou the\nmistress of our own royal affections, the sharer of our greatness, and\nthe partner of our comeliness, would demean herself by laying charge on\nsuch a vassal as thou? No; highly as thou art honoured, thou hast not\nyet deserved the notice of Queen Guenevra, the lovely bride of Arthur,\nfrom whose high seat even princes seem but pigmies. But look thou here,\nand as thou knowest or disownest this token, so obey or refuse her\ncommands who hath deigned to impose them on thee.\"\n\nSo saying, he placed in the knight's hand a ruby ring, which, even in\nthe moonlight, he had no difficulty to recognize as that which usually\ngraced the finger of the high-born lady to whose service he had devoted\nhimself. Could he have doubted the truth of the token, he would have\nbeen convinced by the small knot of carnation- ribbon which was\nfastened to the ring. This was his lady's favourite colour, and more\nthan once had he himself, assuming it for that of his own liveries,\ncaused the carnation to triumph over all other hues in the lists and in\nthe battle.\n\nSir Kenneth was struck nearly mute by seeing such a token in such hands.\n\n\"In the name of all that is sacred, from whom didst thou receive\nthis witness?\" said the knight. \"Bring, if thou canst, thy wavering\nunderstanding to a right settlement for a minute or two, and tell me the\nperson by whom thou art sent, and the real purpose of thy message, and\ntake heed what thou sayest, for this is no subject for buffoonery.\"\n\n\"Fond and foolish Knight,\" said the dwarf, \"wouldst thou know more of\nthis matter than that thou art honoured with commands from a princess,\ndelivered to thee by a king? We list not to parley with thee further\nthan to command thee, in the name and by the power of that ring, to\nfollow us to her who is the owner of the ring. Every minute that thou\ntarriest is a crime against thy allegiance.\"\n\n\"Good Nectabanus, bethink thyself,\" said the knight. \"Can my lady know\nwhere and upon what duty I am this night engaged? Is she aware that my\nlife--pshaw, why should I speak of life--but that my honour depends on\nmy guarding this banner till daybreak; and can it be her wish that\nI should leave it even to pay homage to her? It is impossible--the\nprincess is pleased to be merry with her servant in sending him such\na message; and I must think so the rather that she hath chosen such a\nmessenger.\"\n\n\"Oh, keep your belief,\" said Nectabanus, turning round as if to leave\nthe platform; \"it is little to me whether you be traitor or true man to\nthis royal lady--so fare thee well.\"\n\n\"Stay, stay--I entreat you stay,\" said Sir Kenneth. \"Answer me but one\nquestion: is the lady who sent thee near to this place?\"\n\n\"What signifies it?\" said the dwarf. \"Ought fidelity to reckon furlongs,\nor miles, or leagues--like the poor courier, who is paid for his\nlabour by the distance which he traverses? Nevertheless, thou soul\nof suspicion, I tell thee, the fair owner of the ring now sent to so\nunworthy a vassal, in whom there is neither truth nor courage, is not\nmore distant from this place than this arblast can send a bolt.\"\n\nThe knight gazed again on that ring, as if to ascertain that there was\nno possible falsehood in the token. \"Tell me,\" he said to the dwarf, \"is\nmy presence required for any length of time?\"\n\n\"Time!\" answered Nectabanus, in his flighty manner; \"what call you time?\nI see it not--I feel it not--it is but a shadowy name--a succession of\nbreathings measured forth by night by the clank of a bell, by day by\na shadow crossing along a dial-stone. Knowest thou not a true knight's\ntime should only be reckoned by the deeds that he performs in behalf of\nGod and his lady?\"\n\n\"The words of truth, though in the mouth of folly,\" said the knight.\n\"And doth my lady really summon me to some deed of action, in her name\nand for her sake?--and may it not be postponed for even the few hours\ntill daybreak?\"\n\n\"She requires thy presence instantly,\" said the dwarf, \"and without the\nloss of so much time as would be told by ten grains of the sandglass.\nHearken, thou cold-blooded and suspicious knight, these are her very\nwords--Tell him that the hand which dropped roses can bestow laurels.\"\n\nThis allusion to their meeting in the chapel of Engaddi sent a thousand\nrecollections through Sir Kenneth's brain, and convinced him that the\nmessage delivered by the dwarf was genuine. The rosebuds, withered as\nthey were, were still treasured under his cuirass, and nearest to his\nheart. He paused, and could not resolve to forego an opportunity, the\nonly one which might ever offer, to gain grace in her eyes whom he had\ninstalled as sovereign of his affections. The dwarf, in the meantime,\naugmented his confusion by insisting either that he must return the ring\nor instantly attend him.\n\n\"Hold, hold, yet a moment hold,\" said the knight, and proceeded to\nmutter to himself, \"Am I either the subject or slave of King Richard,\nmore than as a free knight sworn to the service of the Crusade? And whom\nhave I come hither to honour with lance and sword? Our holy cause and my\ntranscendent lady!\"\n\n\"The ring! the ring!\" exclaimed the dwarf impatiently; \"false and\nslothful knight, return the ring, which thou art unworthy to touch or to\nlook upon.\"\n\n\"A moment, a moment, good Nectabanus,\" said Sir Kenneth; \"disturb not\nmy thoughts.--What if the Saracens were just now to attack our lines?\nShould I stay here like a sworn vassal of England, watching that her\nking's pride suffered no humiliation; or should I speed to the breach,\nand fight for the Cross? To the breach, assuredly; and next to the cause\nof God come the commands of my liege lady. And yet, Coeur de Lion's\nbehest--my own promise! Nectabanus, I conjure thee once more to say, are\nyou to conduct me far from hence?\"\n\n\"But to yonder pavilion; and, since you must needs know,\" replied\nNectabanus, \"the moon is glimmering on the gilded ball which crowns its\nroof, and which is worth a king's ransom.\"\n\n\"I can return in an instant,\" said the knight, shutting his eyes\ndesperately to all further consequences, \"I can hear from thence the bay\nof my dog if any one approaches the standard. I will throw myself at my\nlady's feet, and pray her leave to return to conclude my watch.--Here,\nRoswal\" (calling his hound, and throwing down his mantle by the side of\nthe standard-spear), \"watch thou here, and let no one approach.\"\n\nThe majestic dog looked in his master's face, as if to be sure that he\nunderstood his charge, then sat down beside the mantle, with ears erect\nand head raised, like a sentinel, understanding perfectly the purpose\nfor which he was stationed there.\n\n\"Come now, good Nectabanus,\" said the knight, \"let us hasten to obey the\ncommands thou hast brought.\"\n\n\"Haste he that will,\" said the dwarf sullenly; \"thou hast not been in\nhaste to obey my summons, nor can I walk fast enough to follow your long\nstrides--you do not walk like a man, but bound like an ostrich in the\ndesert.\"\n\nThere were but two ways of conquering the obstinacy of Nectabanus, who,\nas he spoke, diminished his walk into a snail's pace. For bribes Sir\nKenneth had no means--for soothing no time; so in his impatience\nhe snatched the dwarf up from the ground, and bearing him along,\nnotwithstanding his entreaties and his fear, reached nearly to the\npavilion pointed out as that of the Queen. In approaching it, however,\nthe Scot observed there was a small guard of soldiers sitting on the\nground, who had been concealed from him by the intervening tents.\nWondering that the clash of his own armour had not yet attracted\ntheir attention, and supposing that his motions might, on the present\noccasion, require to be conducted with secrecy, he placed the little\npanting guide upon the ground to recover his breath, and point out what\nwas next to be done. Nectabanus was both frightened and angry; but he\nhad felt himself as completely in the power of the robust knight as an\nowl in the claws of an eagle, and therefore cared not to provoke him to\nany further display of his strength.\n\nHe made no complaints, therefore, of the usage he had received; but,\nturning amongst the labyrinth of tents, he led the knight in silence\nto the opposite side of the pavilion, which thus screened them from\nthe observation of the warders, who seemed either too negligent or too\nsleepy to discharge their duty with much accuracy. Arrived there, the\ndwarf raised the under part of the canvas from the ground, and made\nsigns to Sir Kenneth that he should introduce himself to the inside of\nthe tent, by creeping under it. The knight hesitated. There seemed an\nindecorum in thus privately introducing himself into a pavilion pitched,\ndoubtless, for the accommodation of noble ladies; but he recalled\nto remembrance the assured tokens which the dwarf had exhibited, and\nconcluded that it was not for him to dispute his lady's pleasure.\n\nHe stooped accordingly, crept beneath the canvas enclosure of the tent,\nand heard the dwarf whisper from without, \"Remain here until I call\nthee.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n     You talk of Gaiety and Innocence!\n     The moment when the fatal fruit was eaten,\n     They parted ne'er to meet again; and Malice\n     Has ever since been playmate to light Gaiety,\n     From the first moment when the smiling infant\n     Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with,\n     To the last chuckle of the dying miser,\n     Who on his deathbed laughs his last to hear\n     His wealthy neighbour has become a bankrupt.\n         OLD PLAY.\n\nSir Kenneth was left for some minutes alone and in darkness. Here was\nanother interruption which must prolong his absence from his post, and\nhe began almost to repent the facility with which he had been induced to\nquit it. But to return without seeing the Lady Edith was now not to be\nthought of. He had committed a breach of military discipline, and was\ndetermined at least to prove the reality of the seductive expectations\nwhich had tempted him to do so. Meanwhile his situation was unpleasant.\nThere was no light to show him into what sort of apartment he had\nbeen led--the Lady Edith was in immediate attendance on the Queen\nof England--and the discovery of his having introduced himself thus\nfurtively into the royal pavilion might, were it discovered; lead to\nmuch and dangerous suspicion. While he gave way to these unpleasant\nreflections, and began almost to wish that he could achieve his retreat\nunobserved, he heard a noise of female voices, laughing, whispering, and\nspeaking, in an adjoining apartment, from which, as the sounds gave him\nreason to judge, he could only be separated by a canvas partition. Lamps\nwere burning, as he might perceive by the shadowy light which extended\nitself even to his side of the veil which divided the tent, and he\ncould see shades of several figures sitting and moving in the adjoining\napartment. It cannot be termed discourtesy in Sir Kenneth that, situated\nas he was, he overheard a conversation in which he found himself deeply\ninterested.\n\n\"Call her--call her, for Our Lady's sake,\" said the voice of one of\nthese laughing invisibles. \"Nectabanus, thou shalt be made ambassador to\nPrester John's court, to show them how wisely thou canst discharge thee\nof a mission.\"\n\nThe shrill tone of the dwarf was heard, yet so much subdued that\nSir Kenneth could not understand what he said, except that he spoke\nsomething of the means of merriment given to the guard.\n\n\"But how shall we rid us of the spirit which Nectabanus hath raised, my\nmaidens?\"\n\n\"Hear me, royal madam,\" said another voice. \"If the sage and princely\nNectabanus be not over-jealous of his most transcendent bride and\nempress, let us send her to get us rid of this insolent knight-errant,\nwho can be so easily persuaded that high-born dames may need the use of\nhis insolent and overweening valour.\"\n\n\"It were but justice, methinks,\" replied another, \"that the Princess\nGuenever should dismiss, by her courtesy, him whom her husband's wisdom\nhas been able to entice hither.\"\n\nStruck to the heart with shame and resentment at what he had heard, Sir\nKenneth was about to attempt his escape from the tent at all hazards,\nwhen what followed arrested his purpose.\n\n\"Nay, truly,\" said the first speaker, \"our cousin Edith must first learn\nhow this vaunted wight hath conducted himself, and we must reserve the\npower of giving her ocular proof that he hath failed in his duty. It\nmay be a lesson will do good upon her; for, credit me, Calista, I have\nsometimes thought she has let this Northern adventurer sit nearer her\nheart than prudence would sanction.\"\n\nOne of the other voices was then heard to mutter something of the Lady\nEdith's prudence and wisdom.\n\n\"Prudence, wench!\" was the reply. \"It is mere pride, and the desire to\nbe thought more rigid than any of us. Nay, I will not quit my advantage.\nYou know well that when she has us at fault no one can, in a civil way,\nlay your error before you more precisely than can my Lady Edith. But\nhere she comes.\"\n\nA figure, as if entering the apartment, cast upon the partition a\nshade, which glided along slowly until it mixed with those which\nalready clouded it. Despite of the bitter disappointment which he had\nexperienced--despite the insult and injury with which it seemed he had\nbeen visited by the malice, or, at best, by the idle humour of Queen\nBerengaria (for he already concluded that she who spoke loudest, and in\na commanding tone, was the wife of Richard), the knight felt something\nso soothing to his feelings in learning that Edith had been no partner\nto the fraud practised on him, and so interesting to his curiosity in\nthe scene which was about to take place, that, instead of prosecuting\nhis more prudent purpose of an instant retreat, he looked anxiously,\non the contrary, for some rent or crevice by means of which he might be\nmade eye as well as ear witness to what was to go forward.\n\n\"Surely,\" said he to himself, \"the Queen, who hath been pleased for\nan idle frolic to endanger my reputation, and perhaps my life, cannot\ncomplain if I avail myself of the chance which fortune seems willing to\nafford me to obtain knowledge of her further intentions.\"\n\nIt seemed, in the meanwhile, as if Edith were waiting for the commands\nof the Queen, and as if the other were reluctant to speak for fear of\nbeing unable to command her laughter and that of her companions; for Sir\nKenneth could only distinguish a sound as of suppressed tittering and\nmerriment.\n\n\"Your Majesty,\" said Edith at last, \"seems in a merry mood, though,\nmethinks, the hour of night prompts a sleepy one. I was well disposed\nbedward when I had your Majesty's commands to attend you.\"\n\n\"I will not long delay you, cousin, from your repose,\" said the Queen,\n\"though I fear you will sleep less soundly when I tell you your wager is\nlost.\"\n\n\"Nay, royal madam,\" said Edith, \"this, surely, is dwelling on a jest\nwhich has rather been worn out, I laid no wager, however it was your\nMajesty's pleasure to suppose, or to insist, that I did so.\"\n\n\"Nay, now, despite our pilgrimage, Satan is strong with you, my gentle\ncousin, and prompts thee to leasing. Can you deny that you gaged your\nruby ring against my golden bracelet that yonder Knight of the Libbard,\nor how call you him, could not be seduced from his post?\"\n\n\"Your Majesty is too great for me to gainsay you,\" replied Edith,\n\"but these ladies can, if they will, bear me witness that it was your\nHighness who proposed such a wager, and took the ring from my finger,\neven while I was declaring that I did not think it maidenly to gage\nanything on such a subject.\"\n\n\"Nay, but, my Lady Edith,\" said another voice, \"you must needs grant,\nunder your favour, that you expressed yourself very confident of the\nvalour of that same Knight of the Leopard.\"\n\n\"And if I did, minion,\" said Edith angrily, \"is that a good reason why\nthou shouldst put in thy word to flatter her Majesty's humour? I spoke\nof that knight but as all men speak who have seen him in the field, and\nhad no more interest in defending than thou in detracting from him. In a\ncamp, what can women speak of save soldiers and deeds of arms?\"\n\n\"The noble Lady Edith,\" said a third voice, \"hath never forgiven Calista\nand me, since we told your Majesty that she dropped two rosebuds in the\nchapel.\"\n\n\"If your Majesty,\" said Edith, in a tone which Sir Kenneth could judge\nto be that of respectful remonstrance, \"have no other commands for\nme than to hear the gibes of your waiting-women, I must crave your\npermission to withdraw.\"\n\n\"Silence, Florise,\" said the Queen, \"and let not our indulgence lead\nyou to forget the difference betwixt yourself and the kinswoman of\nEngland.--But you, my dear cousin,\" she continued, resuming her tone\nof raillery, \"how can you, who are so good-natured, begrudge us poor\nwretches a few minutes' laughing, when we have had so many days devoted\nto weeping and gnashing of teeth?\"\n\n\"Great be your mirth, royal lady,\" said Edith; \"yet would I be content\nnot to smile for the rest of my life, rather than--\"\n\nShe stopped, apparently out of respect; but Sir Kenneth could hear that\nshe was in much agitation.\n\n\"Forgive me,\" said Berengaria, a thoughtless but good-humoured princess\nof the House of Navarre; \"but what is the great offence, after all? A\nyoung knight has been wiled hither--has stolen, or has been stolen, from\nhis post, which no one will disturb in his absence--for the sake of a\nfair lady; for, to do your champion justice, sweet one, the wisdom of\nNectabanus could conjure him hither in no name but yours.\"\n\n\"Gracious Heaven! your Majesty does not say so?\" said Edith, in a\nvoice of alarm quite different from the agitation she had previously\nevinced,--\"you cannot say so consistently with respect for your own\nhonour and for mine, your husband's kinswoman! Say you were jesting with\nme, my royal mistress, and forgive me that I could, even for a moment,\nthink it possible you could be in earnest!\"\n\n\"The Lady Edith,\" said the Queen, in a displeased tone of voice,\n\"regrets the ring we have won of her. We will restore the pledge to you,\ngentle cousin; only you must not grudge us in turn a little triumph over\nthe wisdom which has been so often spread over us, as a banner over a\nhost.\"\n\n\"A triumph!\" exclaimed Edith indignantly--\"a triumph! The triumph will\nbe with the infidel, when he hears that the Queen of England can\nmake the reputation of her husband's kinswoman the subject of a light\nfrolic.\"\n\n\"You are angry, fair cousin, at losing your favourite ring,\" said the\nQueen. \"Come, since you grudge to pay your wager, we will renounce our\nright; it was your name and that pledge brought him hither, and we care\nnot for the bait after the fish is caught.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" replied Edith impatiently, \"you know well that your Grace could\nnot wish for anything of mine but it becomes instantly yours. But I\nwould give a bushel of rubies ere ring or name of mine had been used to\nbring a brave man into a fault, and perhaps to disgrace and punishment.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is for the safety of our true knight that we fear!\" said the\nQueen. \"You rate our power too low, fair cousin, when you speak of\na life being lost for a frolic of ours. O Lady Edith, others have\ninfluence on the iron breasts of warriors as well as you--the heart\neven of a lion is made of flesh, not of stone; and, believe me, I have\ninterest enough with Richard to save this knight, in whose fate Lady\nEdith is so deeply concerned, from the penalty of disobeying his royal\ncommands.\"\n\n\"For the love of the blessed Cross, most royal lady,\" said Edith--and\nSir Kenneth, with feelings which it were hard to unravel, heard her\nprostrate herself at the Queen's feet--\"for the love of our blessed\nLady, and of every holy saint in the calendar, beware what you do! You\nknow not King Richard--you have been but shortly wedded to him. Your\nbreath might as well combat the west wind when it is wildest, as your\nwords persuade my royal kinsman to pardon a military offence. Oh, for\nGod's sake, dismiss this gentleman, if indeed you have lured him hither!\nI could almost be content to rest with the shame of having invited him,\ndid I know that he was returned again where his duty calls him!\"\n\n\"Arise, cousin, arise,\" said Queen Berengaria, \"and be assured all will\nbe better than you think. Rise, dear Edith. I am sorry I have played my\nfoolery with a knight in whom you take such deep interest. Nay, wring\nnot thy hands; I will believe thou carest not for him--believe anything\nrather than see thee look so wretchedly miserable. I tell thee I\nwill take the blame on myself with King Richard in behalf of thy fair\nNorthern friend--thine acquaintance, I would say, since thou own'st him\nnot as a friend. Nay, look not so reproachfully. We will send Nectabanus\nto dismiss this Knight of the Standard to his post; and we ourselves\nwill grace him on some future day, to make amends for his wild-goose\nchase. He is, I warrant, but lying perdu in some neighbouring tent.\"\n\n\"By my crown of lilies, and my sceptre of a specially good water-reed,\"\nsaid Nectabanus, \"your Majesty is mistaken, He is nearer at hand than\nyou wot--he lieth ensconced there behind that canvas partition.\"\n\n\"And within hearing of each word we have said!\" exclaimed the Queen, in\nher turn violently surprised and agitated. \"Out, monster of folly and\nmalignity!\"\n\nAs she uttered these words, Nectabanus fled from the pavilion with a\nyell of such a nature as leaves it still doubtful whether Berengaria had\nconfined her rebuke to words, or added some more emphatic expression of\nher displeasure.\n\n\"What can now be done?\" said the Queen to Edith, in a whisper of\nundisguised uneasiness.\n\n\"That which must,\" said Edith firmly. \"We must see this gentleman and\nplace ourselves in his mercy.\"\n\nSo saying, she began hastily to undo a curtain, which at one place\ncovered an entrance or communication.\n\n\"For Heaven's sake, forbear--consider,\" said the Queen--\"my\napartment--our dress--the hour--my honour!\"\n\nBut ere she could detail her remonstrances, the curtain fell, and there\nwas no division any longer betwixt the armed knight and the party of\nladies. The warmth of an Eastern night occasioned the undress of Queen\nBerengaria and her household to be rather more simple and unstudied than\ntheir station, and the presence of a male spectator of rank, required.\nThis the Queen remembered, and with a loud shriek fled from the\napartment where Sir Kenneth was disclosed to view in a compartment of\nthe ample pavilion, now no longer separated from that in which they\nstood. The grief and agitation of the Lady Edith, as well as the deep\ninterest she felt in a hasty explanation with the Scottish knight,\nperhaps occasioned her forgetting that her locks were more dishevelled\nand her person less heedfully covered than was the wont of high-born\ndamsels, in an age which was not, after all, the most prudish or\nscrupulous period of the ancient time. A thin, loose garment of\npink- silk made the principal part of her vestments, with\nOriental slippers, into which she had hastily thrust her bare feet, and\na scarf hurriedly and loosely thrown about her shoulders. Her head had\nno other covering than the veil of rich and dishevelled locks falling\nround it on every side, that half hid a countenance which a mingled\nsense of modesty and of resentment, and other deep and agitated\nfeelings, had covered with crimson.\n\nBut although Edith felt her situation with all that delicacy which is\nher sex's greatest charm, it did not seem that for a moment she placed\nher own bashfulness in comparison with the duty which, as she thought,\nshe owed to him who had been led into error and danger on her account.\nShe drew, indeed, her scarf more closely over her neck and bosom, and\nshe hastily laid from her hand a lamp which shed too much lustre over\nher figure; but, while Sir Kenneth stood motionless on the same spot in\nwhich he was first discovered, she rather stepped towards than retired\nfrom him, as she exclaimed, \"Hasten to your post, valiant knight!--you\nare deceived in being trained hither--ask no questions.\"\n\n\"I need ask none,\" said the knight, sinking upon one knee, with the\nreverential devotion of a saint at the altar, and bending his eyes on\nthe ground, lest his looks should increase the lady's embarrassment.\n\n\"Have you heard all?\" said Edith impatiently. \"Gracious saints! then\nwherefore wait you here, when each minute that passes is loaded with\ndishonour!\"\n\n\"I have heard that I am dishonoured, lady, and I have heard it from\nyou,\" answered Kenneth. \"What reck I how soon punishment follows? I\nhave but one petition to you; and then I seek, among the sabres of the\ninfidels, whether dishonour may not be washed out with blood.\"\n\n\"Do not so, neither,\" said the lady. \"Be wise--dally not here; all may\nyet be well, if you will but use dispatch.\"\n\n\"I wait but for your forgiveness,\" said the knight, still kneeling,\n\"for my presumption in believing that my poor services could have been\nrequired or valued by you.\"\n\n\"I do forgive you--oh, I have nothing to forgive! have been the means of\ninjuring you. But oh, begone! I will forgive--I will value you--that is,\nas I value every brave Crusader--if you will but begone!\"\n\n\"Receive, first, this precious yet fatal pledge,\" said the knight,\ntendering the ring to Edith, who now showed gestures of impatience.\n\n\"Oh, no, no \" she said, declining to receive it. \"Keep it--keep it as a\nmark of my regard--my regret, I would say. Oh, begone, if not for your\nown sake, for mine!\"\n\nAlmost recompensed for the loss even of honour, which her voice had\ndenounced to him, by the interest which she seemed to testify in his\nsafety, Sir Kenneth rose from his knee, and, casting a momentary glance\non Edith, bowed low, and seemed about to withdraw. At the same instant,\nthat maidenly bashfulness, which the energy of Edith's feelings had till\nthen triumphed over, became conqueror in its turn, and she hastened from\nthe apartment, extinguishing her lamp as she went, and leaving, in Sir\nKenneth's thoughts, both mental and natural gloom behind her.\n\nShe must be obeyed, was the first distinct idea which waked him from\nhis reverie, and he hastened to the place by which he had entered the\npavilion. To pass under the canvas in the manner he had entered required\ntime and attention, and he made a readier aperture by slitting the\ncanvas wall with his poniard. When in the free air, he felt rather\nstupefied and overpowered by a conflict of sensations, than able to\nascertain what was the real import of the whole. He was obliged to spur\nhimself to action by recollecting that the commands of the Lady Edith\nhad required haste. Even then, engaged as he was amongst tent-ropes and\ntents, he was compelled to move with caution until he should regain\nthe path or avenue, aside from which the dwarf had led him, in order to\nescape the observation of the guards before the Queen's pavilion; and he\nwas obliged also to move slowly, and with precaution, to avoid giving an\nalarm, either by falling or by the clashing of his armour. A thin cloud\nhad obscured the moon, too, at the very instant of his leaving the tent,\nand Sir Kenneth had to struggle with this inconvenience at a moment when\nthe dizziness of his head and the fullness of his heart scarce left him\npowers of intelligence sufficient to direct his motions.\n\nBut at once sounds came upon his ear which instantly recalled him to the\nfull energy of his faculties. These proceeded from the Mount of Saint\nGeorge. He heard first a single, fierce, angry, and savage bark, which\nwas immediately followed by a yell of agony. No deer ever bounded with\na wilder start at the voice of Roswal than did Sir Kenneth at what he\nfeared was the death-cry of that noble hound, from whom no ordinary\ninjury could have extracted even the slightest acknowledgment of pain.\nHe surmounted the space which divided him from the avenue, and, having\nattained it, began to run towards the mount, although loaded with his\nmail, faster than most men could have accompanied him even if unarmed,\nrelaxed not his pace for the steep sides of the artificial mound, and in\na few minutes stood on the platform upon its summit.\n\nThe moon broke forth at this moment, and showed him that the Standard of\nEngland was vanished, that the spear on which it had floated lay broken\non the ground, and beside it was his faithful hound, apparently in the\nagonies of death.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n     All my long arrear of honour lost,\n     Heap'd up in youth, and hoarded up for age.\n     Hath Honour's fountain then suck'd up the stream?\n     He hath--and hooting boys may barefoot pass,\n     And gather pebbles from the naked ford!\n          DON SEBASTIAN.\n\nAfter a torrent of afflicting sensations, by which he was at first\nalmost stunned and confounded, Sir Kenneth's first thought was to look\nfor the authors of this violation of the English banner; but in no\ndirection could he see traces of them. His next, which to some persons,\nbut scarce to any who have made intimate acquaintances among the canine\nrace, may appear strange, was to examine the condition of his faithful\nRoswal, mortally wounded, as it seemed, in discharging the duty which\nhis master had been seduced to abandon. He caressed the dying animal,\nwho, faithful to the last, seemed to forget his own pain in the\nsatisfaction he received from his master's presence, and continued\nwagging his tail and licking his hand, even while by low moanings he\nexpressed that his agony was increased by the attempts which Sir Kenneth\nmade to withdraw from the wound the fragment of the lance or javelin\nwith which it had been inflicted; then redoubled his feeble endearments,\nas if fearing he had offended his master by showing a sense of the pain\nto which his interference had subjected him. There was something in\nthe display of the dying creature's attachment which mixed as a bitter\ningredient with the sense of disgrace and desolation by which Sir\nKenneth was oppressed. His only friend seemed removed from him, just\nwhen he had incurred the contempt and hatred of all besides. The\nknight's strength of mind gave way to a burst of agonized distress, and\nhe groaned and wept aloud.\n\nWhile he thus indulged his grief, a clear and solemn voice, close beside\nhim, pronounced these words in the sonorous tone of the readers of the\nmosque, and in the lingua franca mutually understood by Christians and\nSaracens:--\n\n\"Adversity is like the period of the former and of the latter\nrain--cold, comfortless, unfriendly to man and to animal; yet from that\nseason have their birth the flower and the fruit, the date, the rose,\nand the pomegranate.\"\n\nSir Kenneth of the Leopard turned towards the speaker, and beheld the\nArabian physician, who, approaching unheard, had seated himself a little\nbehind him cross-legged, and uttered with gravity, yet not without a\ntone of sympathy, the moral sentences of consolation with which the\nKoran and its commentators supplied him; for, in the East, wisdom is\nheld to consist less in a display of the sage's own inventive talents,\nthan in his ready memory and happy application of and reference to \"that\nwhich is written.\"\n\nAshamed at being surprised in a womanlike expression of sorrow, Sir\nKenneth dashed his tears indignantly aside, and again busied himself\nwith his dying favourite.\n\n\"The poet hath said,\" continued the Arab, without noticing the knight's\naverted looks and sullen deportment, \"the ox for the field, and the\ncamel for the desert. Were not the hand of the leech fitter than that of\nthe soldier to cure wounds, though less able to inflict them?\"\n\n\"This patient, Hakim, is beyond thy help,\" said Sir Kenneth; \"and,\nbesides, he is, by thy law, an unclean animal.\"\n\n\"Where Allah hath deigned to bestow life, and a sense of pain and\npleasure,\" said the physician, \"it were sinful pride should the sage,\nwhom He has enlightened, refuse to prolong existence or assuage agony.\nTo the sage, the cure of a miserable groom, of a poor dog and of a\nconquering monarch, are events of little distinction. Let me examine\nthis wounded animal.\"\n\nSir Kenneth acceded in silence, and the physician inspected and handled\nRoswal's wound with as much care and attention as if he had been a human\nbeing. He then took forth a case of instruments, and, by the judicious\nand skilful application of pincers, withdrew from the wounded shoulder\nthe fragment of the weapon, and stopped with styptics and bandages the\neffusion of blood which followed; the creature all the while suffering\nhim patiently to perform these kind offices, as if he had been aware of\nhis kind intentions.\n\n\"The animal may be cured,\" said El Hakim, addressing himself to Sir\nKenneth, \"if you will permit me to carry him to my tent, and treat him\nwith the care which the nobleness of his nature deserves. For know,\nthat thy servant Adonbec is no less skilful in the race and pedigree and\ndistinctions of good dogs and of noble steeds than in the diseases which\nafflict the human race.\"\n\n\"Take him with you,\" said the knight. \"I bestow him on you freely, if\nhe recovers. I owe thee a reward for attendance on my squire, and have\nnothing else to pay it with. For myself, I will never again wind bugle\nor halloo to hound!\"\n\nThe Arabian made no reply, but gave a signal with a clapping of his\nhands, which was instantly answered by the appearance of two black\nslaves. He gave them his orders in Arabic, received the answer that \"to\nhear was to obey,\" when, taking the animal in their arms, they removed\nhim, without much resistance on his part; for though his eyes turned to\nhis master, he was too weak to struggle.\n\n\"Fare thee well, Roswal, then,\" said Sir Kenneth--\"fare thee well, my\nlast and only friend--thou art too noble a possession to be retained\nby one such as I must in future call myself!--I would,\" he said, as the\nslaves retired, \"that, dying as he is, I could exchange conditions with\nthat noble animal!\"\n\n\"It is written,\" answered the Arabian, although the exclamation had not\nbeen addressed to him, \"that all creatures are fashioned for the\nservice of man; and the master of the earth speaketh folly when he would\nexchange, in his impatience, his hopes here and to come for the servile\ncondition of an inferior being.\"\n\n\"A dog who dies in discharging his duty,\" said the knight sternly, \"is\nbetter than a man who survives the desertion of it. Leave me, Hakim;\nthou hast, on this side of miracle, the most wonderful science which man\never possessed, but the wounds of the spirit are beyond thy power.\"\n\n\"Not if the patient will explain his calamity, and be guided by the\nphysician,\" said Adonbec el Hakim.\n\n\"Know, then,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"since thou art so importunate, that\nlast night the Banner of England was displayed from this mound--I was\nits appointed guardian--morning is now breaking--there lies the broken\nbanner-spear, the standard itself is lost, and here sit I a living man!\"\n\n\"How!\" said El Hakim, examining him; \"thy armour is whole--there is no\nblood on thy weapons, and report speaks thee one unlikely to return thus\nfrom fight. Thou hast been trained from thy post--ay, trained by the\nrosy cheek and black eye of one of those houris, to whom you Nazarenes\nvow rather such service as is due to Allah, than such love as may\nlawfully be rendered to forms of clay like our own. It has been thus\nassuredly; for so hath man ever fallen, even since the days of Sultan\nAdam.\"\n\n\"And if it were so, physician,\" said Sir Kenneth sullenly, \"what\nremedy?\"\n\n\"Knowledge is the parent of power,\" said El Hakim, \"as valour supplies\nstrength. Listen to me. Man is not as a tree, bound to one spot of\nearth; nor is he framed to cling to one bare rock, like the scarce\nanimated shell-fish. Thine own Christian writings command thee, when\npersecuted in one city, to flee to another; and we Moslem also know\nthat Mohammed, the Prophet of Allah, driven forth from the holy city of\nMecca, found his refuge and his helpmates at Medina.\"\n\n\"And what does this concern me?\" said the Scot.\n\n\"Much,\" answered the physician. \"Even the sage flies the tempest which\nhe cannot control. Use thy speed, therefore, and fly from the vengeance\nof Richard to the shadow of Saladin's victorious banner.\"\n\n\"I might indeed hide my dishonour,\" said Sir Kenneth ironically, \"in a\ncamp of infidel heathens, where the very phrase is unknown. But had I\nnot better partake more fully in their reproach? Does not thy advice\nstretch so far as to recommend me to take the turban? Methinks I want\nbut apostasy to consummate my infamy.\"\n\n\"Blaspheme not, Nazarene,\" said the physician sternly. \"Saladin makes\nno converts to the law of the Prophet, save those on whom its precepts\nshall work conviction. Open thine eyes to the light, and the great\nSoldan, whose liberality is as boundless as his power, may bestow on\nthee a kingdom; remain blinded if thou will, and, being one whose second\nlife is doomed to misery, Saladin will yet, for this span of present\ntime, make thee rich and happy. But fear not that thy brows shall be\nbound with the turban, save at thine own free choice.\"\n\n\"My choice were rather,\" said the knight, \"that my writhen features\nshould blacken, as they are like to do, in this evening's setting sun.\"\n\n\"Yet thou art not wise, Nazarene,\" said El Hakim, \"to reject this fair\noffer; for I have power with Saladin, and can raise thee high in his\ngrace. Look you, my son--this Crusade, as you call your wild enterprise,\nis like a large dromond [The largest sort of vessels then known were\ntermed dromond's, or dromedaries.] parting asunder in the waves. Thou\nthyself hast borne terms of truce from the kings and princes, whose\nforce is here assembled, to the mighty Soldan, and knewest not,\nperchance, the full tenor of thine own errand.\"\n\n\"I knew not, and I care not,\" said the knight impatiently. \"What avails\nit to me that I have been of late the envoy of princes, when, ere night,\nI shall be a gibbeted and dishonoured corpse?\"\n\n\"Nay, I speak that it may not be so with thee,\" said the physician.\n\"Saladin is courted on all sides. The combined princes of this league\nformed against him have made such proposals of composition and peace,\nas, in other circumstances, it might have become his honour to have\ngranted to them. Others have made private offers, on their own\nseparate account, to disjoin their forces from the camp of the Kings of\nFrangistan, and even to lend their arms to the defence of the standard\nof the Prophet. But Saladin will not be served by such treacherous and\ninterested defection. The king of kings will treat only with the Lion\nKing. Saladin will hold treaty with none but the Melech Ric, and with\nhim he will treat like a prince, or fight like a champion. To Richard he\nwill yield such conditions of his free liberality as the swords of all\nEurope could never compel from him by force or terror. He will permit\na free pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and all the places where the Nazarenes\nlist to worship; nay, he will so far share even his empire with his\nbrother Richard, that he will allow Christian garrisons in the six\nstrongest cities of Palestine, and one in Jerusalem itself, and suffer\nthem to be under the immediate command of the officers of Richard, who,\nhe consents, shall bear the name of King Guardian of Jerusalem.\nYet further, strange and incredible as you may think it, know, Sir\nKnight--for to your honour I can commit even that almost incredible\nsecret--know that Saladin will put a sacred seal on this happy union\nbetwixt the bravest and noblest of Frangistan and Asia, by raising to\nthe rank of his royal spouse a Christian damsel, allied in blood to King\nRichard, and known by the name of the Lady Edith of Plantagenet.\" [This\nmay appear so extraordinary and improbable a proposition that it is\nnecessary to say such a one was actually made. The historians, however,\nsubstitute the widowed Queen of Naples, sister of Richard, for the\nbride, and Saladin's brother for the bridegroom. They appear to have\nbeen ignorant of the existence of Edith of Plantagenet.--See MILL'S\nHistory of the Crusades, vol. ii., p. 61.]\n\n\"Ha!--sayest thou?\" exclaimed Sir Kenneth, who, listening with\nindifference and apathy to the preceding part of El Hakim's speech,\nwas touched by this last communication, as the thrill of a nerve,\nunexpectedly jarred, will awaken the sensation of agony, even in the\ntorpor of palsy. Then, moderating his tone, by dint of much effort he\nrestrained his indignation, and, veiling it under the appearance of\ncontemptuous doubt, he prosecuted the conversation, in order to get as\nmuch knowledge as possible of the plot, as he deemed it, against the\nhonour and happiness of her whom he loved not the less that his passion\nhad ruined, apparently, his fortunes, at once, and his honour.--\"And\nwhat Christian,\" he said, With tolerable calmness, \"would sanction a\nunion so unnatural as that of a Christian maiden with an unbelieving\nSaracen?\"\n\n\"Thou art but an ignorant, bigoted Nazarene,\" said the Hakim. \"Seest\nthou not how the Mohammedan princes daily intermarry with the noble\nNazarene maidens in Spain, without scandal either to Moor or Christian?\nAnd the noble Soldan will, in his full confidence in the blood of\nRichard, permit the English maid the freedom which your Frankish manners\nhave assigned to women. He will allow her the free exercise of her\nreligion, seeing that, in very truth, it signifies but little to which\nfaith females are addicted; and he will assign her such place and rank\nover all the women of his zenana, that she shall be in every respect his\nsole and absolute queen.\"\n\n\"What!\" said Sir Kenneth, \"darest thou think, Moslem, that Richard would\ngive his kinswoman--a high-born and virtuous princess--to be, at best,\nthe foremost concubine in the haram of a misbeliever? Know, Hakim, the\nmeanest free Christian noble would scorn, on his child's behalf, such\nsplendid ignominy.\"\n\n\"Thou errest,\" said the Hakim. \"Philip of France, and Henry of\nChampagne, and others of Richard's principal allies, have heard the\nproposal without starting, and have promised, as far as they may, to\nforward an alliance that may end these wasteful wars; and the wise\narch-priest of Tyre hath undertaken to break the proposal to Richard,\nnot doubting that he shall be able to bring the plan to good issue. The\nSoldan's wisdom hath as yet kept his proposition secret from others,\nsuch as he of Montserrat, and the Master of the Templars, because he\nknows they seek to thrive by Richard's death or disgrace, not by his\nlife or honour. Up, therefore, Sir Knight, and to horse. I will give\nthee a scroll which shall advance thee highly with the Soldan; and deem\nnot that you are leaving your country, or her cause, or her religion,\nsince the interest of the two monarchs will speedily be the same. To\nSaladin thy counsel will be most acceptable, since thou canst make him\naware of much concerning the marriages of the Christians, the treatment\nof their wives, and other points of their laws and usages, which, in\nthe course of such treaty, it much concerns him that he should know. The\nright hand of the Soldan grasps the treasures of the East, and it is the\nfountain or generosity. Or, if thou desirest it, Saladin, when allied\nwith England, can have but little difficulty to obtain from Richard, not\nonly thy pardon and restoration to favour, but an honourable command in\nthe troops which may be left of the King of England's host, to maintain\ntheir joint government in Palestine. Up, then, and mount--there lies a\nplain path before thee.\"\n\n\"Hakim,\" said the Scottish knight, \"thou art a man of peace; also thou\nhast saved the life of Richard of England--and, moreover, of my own poor\nesquire, Strauchan. I have, therefore, heard to an end a matter which,\nbeing propounded by another Moslem than thyself, I would have cut short\nwith a blow of my dagger! Hakim, in return for thy kindness, I advise\nthee to see that the Saracen who shall propose to Richard a union\nbetwixt the blood of Plantagenet and that of his accursed race do put on\na helmet which is capable to endure such a blow of a battle-axe as that\nwhich struck down the gate of Acre. Certes, he will be otherwise placed\nbeyond the reach even of thy skill.\"\n\n\"Thou art, then, wilfully determined not to fly to the Saracen host?\"\nsaid the physician. \"Yet, remember, thou stayest to certain destruction;\nand the writings of thy law, as well as ours, prohibit man from breaking\ninto the tabernacle of his own life.\"\n\n\"God forbid!\" replied the Scot, crossing himself; \"but we are also\nforbidden to avoid the punishment which our crimes have deserved. And\nsince so poor are thy thoughts of fidelity, Hakim, it grudges me that I\nhave bestowed my good hound on thee, for, should he live, he will have a\nmaster ignorant of his value.\"\n\n\"A gift that is begrudged is already recalled,\" said El Hakim; \"only\nwe physicians are sworn not to send away a patient uncured. If the dog\nrecover, he is once more yours.\"\n\n\"Go to, Hakim,\" answered Sir Kenneth; \"men speak not of hawk and hound\nwhen there is but an hour of day-breaking betwixt them and death. Leave\nme to recollect my sins, and reconcile myself to Heaven.\"\n\n\"I leave thee in thine obstinacy,\" said the physician; \"the mist hides\nthe precipice from those who are doomed to fall over it.\"\n\nHe withdrew slowly, turning from time to time his head, as if to observe\nwhether the devoted knight might not recall him either by word or\nsignal. At last his turbaned figure was lost among the labyrinth of\ntents which lay extended beneath, whitening in the pale light of the\ndawning, before which the moonbeam had now faded away.\n\nBut although the physician Adonbec's words had not made that impression\nupon Kenneth which the sage desired, they had inspired the Scot with a\nmotive for desiring life, which, dishonoured as he conceived himself\nto be, he was before willing to part from as from a sullied vestment no\nlonger becoming his wear. Much that had passed betwixt himself and the\nhermit, besides what he had observed between the anchorite and Sheerkohf\n(or Ilderim), he now recalled to recollection, and tended to confirm\nwhat the Hakim had told him of the secret article of the treaty.\n\n\"The reverend impostor!\" he exclaimed to himself; \"the hoary hypocrite!\nHe spoke of the unbelieving husband converted by the believing wife; and\nwhat do I know but that the traitor exhibited to the Saracen, accursed\nof God, the beauties of Edith Plantagenet, that the hound might judge if\nthe princely Christian lady were fit to be admitted into the haram of\na misbeliever? If I had yonder infidel Ilderim, or whatsoever he is\ncalled, again in the gripe with which I once held him fast as ever hound\nheld hare, never again should HE at least come on errand disgraceful\nto the honour of Christian king or noble and virtuous maiden. But\nI--my hours are fast dwindling into minutes--yet, while I have life and\nbreath, something must be done, and speedily.\"\n\nHe paused for a few minutes, threw from him his helmet, then strode down\nthe hill, and took the road to King Richard's pavilion.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n     The feather'd songster, chanticleer,\n     Had wound his bugle-horn,\n     And told the early villager\n     The coming of the morn.\n     King Edward saw the ruddy streaks\n     Of light eclipse the grey,\n     And heard the raven's croaking throat\n     Proclaim the fated day.\n     \"Thou'rt right,\" he said, \"for, by the God\n     That sits enthron'd on high,\n     Charles Baldwin, and his fellows twain,\n     This day shall surely die.\"\n                   CHATTERTON.\n\nOn the evening on which Sir Kenneth assumed his post, Richard, after the\nstormy event which disturbed its tranquillity, had retired to rest in\nthe plenitude of confidence inspired by his unbounded courage and the\nsuperiority which he had displayed in carrying the point he aimed at in\npresence of the whole Christian host and its leaders, many of whom, he\nwas aware, regarded in their secret souls the disgrace of the Austrian\nDuke as a triumph over themselves; so that his pride felt gratified,\nthat in prostrating one enemy he had mortified a hundred.\n\nAnother monarch would have doubled his guards on the evening after such\na scene, and kept at least a part of his troops under arms. But Coeur de\nLion dismissed, upon the occasion, even his ordinary watch, and assigned\nto his soldiers a donative of wine to celebrate his recovery, and to\ndrink to the Banner of Saint George; and his quarter of the camp would\nhave assumed a character totally devoid of vigilance and military\npreparation, but that Sir Thomas de Vaux, the Earl of Salisbury, and\nother nobles, took precautions to preserve order and discipline among\nthe revellers.\n\nThe physician attended the King from his retiring to bed till midnight\nwas past, and twice administered medicine to him during that period,\nalways previously observing the quarter of heaven occupied by the\nfull moon, whose influences he declared to be most sovereign, or most\nbaleful, to the effect of his drugs. It was three hours after midnight\nere El Hakim withdrew from the royal tent, to one which had been pitched\nfor himself and his retinue. In his way thither he visited the tent of\nSir Kenneth of the Leopard, in order to see the condition of his first\npatient in the Christian camp, old Strauchan, as the knight's esquire\nwas named. Inquiring there for Sir Kenneth himself, El Hakim learned\non what duty he was employed, and probably this information led him\nto Saint George's Mount, where he found him whom he sought in the\ndisastrous circumstances alluded to in the last chapter.\n\nIt was about the hour of sunrise, when a slow, armed tread was heard\napproaching the King's pavilion; and ere De Vaux, who slumbered beside\nhis master's bed as lightly as ever sleep sat upon the eyes of a\nwatch-dog, had time to do more than arise and say, \"Who comes?\" the\nKnight of the Leopard entered the tent, with a deep and devoted gloom\nseated upon his manly features.\n\n\"Whence this bold intrusion, Sir Knight?\" said De Vaux sternly, yet in a\ntone which respected his master's slumbers.\n\n\"Hold! De Vaux,\" said Richard, awaking on the instant; \"Sir Kenneth\ncometh like a good soldier to render an account of his guard. To such\nthe general's tent is ever accessible.\" Then rising from his slumbering\nposture, and leaning on his elbow, he fixed his large bright eye upon\nthe warrior--\"Speak, Sir Scot; thou comest to tell me of a vigilant,\nsafe, and honourable watch, dost thou not? The rustling of the folds of\nthe Banner of England were enough to guard it, even without the body of\nsuch a knight as men hold thee.\"\n\n\"As men will hold me no more,\" said Sir Kenneth. \"My watch hath neither\nbeen vigilant, safe, nor honourable. The Banner of England has been\ncarried off.\"\n\n\"And thou alive to tell it!\" said Richard, in a tone of derisive\nincredulity. \"Away, it cannot be. There is not even a scratch on thy\nface. Why dost thou stand thus mute? Speak the truth--it is ill jesting\nwith a king; yet I will forgive thee if thou hast lied.\"\n\n\"Lied, Sir King!\" returned the unfortunate knight, with fierce emphasis,\nand one glance of fire from his eye, bright and transient as the flash\nfrom the cold and stony flint. \"But this also must be endured. I have\nspoken the truth.\"\n\n\"By God and by Saint George!\" said the King, bursting into fury, which,\nhowever, he instantly checked. \"De Vaux, go view the spot. This fever\nhas disturbed his brain. This cannot be. The man's courage is proof. It\nCANNOT be! Go speedily--or send, if thou wilt not go.\"\n\nThe King was interrupted by Sir Henry Neville, who came, breathless, to\nsay that the banner was gone, and the knight who guarded it overpowered,\nand most probably murdered, as there was a pool of blood where the\nbanner-spear lay shivered.\n\n\"But whom do I see here?\" said Neville, his eyes suddenly resting upon\nSir Kenneth.\n\n\"A traitor,\" said the King, starting to his feet, and seizing the\ncurtal-axe, which was ever near his bed--\"a traitor! whom thou shalt see\ndie a traitor's death.\" And he drew back the weapon as in act to strike.\n\nColourless, but firm as a marble statue, the Scot stood before him, with\nhis bare head uncovered by any protection, his eyes cast down to the\nearth, his lips scarcely moving, yet muttering probably in prayer.\nOpposite to him, and within the due reach for a blow, stood King\nRichard, his large person wrapt in the folds of his camiscia, or ample\ngown of linen, except where the violence of his action had flung the\ncovering from his right arm, shoulder, and a part of his breast,\nleaving to view a specimen of a frame which might have merited his Saxon\npredecessor's epithet of Ironside. He stood for an instant, prompt\nto strike; then sinking the head of the weapon towards the ground,\nhe exclaimed, \"But there was blood, Neville--there was blood upon the\nplace. Hark thee, Sir Scot--brave thou wert once, for I have seen\nthee fight. Say thou hast slain two of the thieves in defence of the\nStandard--say but one--say thou hast struck but a good blow in our\nbehalf, and get thee out of the camp with thy life and thy infamy!\"\n\n\"You have called me liar, my Lord King,\" replied Kenneth firmly; \"and\ntherein, at least, you have done me wrong. Know that there was no blood\nshed in defence of the Standard save that of a poor hound, which, more\nfaithful than his master, defended the charge which he deserted.\"\n\n\"Now, by Saint George!\" said Richard, again heaving up his arm. But De\nVaux threw himself between the King and the object of his vengeance, and\nspoke with the blunt truth of his character, \"My liege, this must not\nbe--here, nor by your hand. It is enough of folly for one night and day\nto have entrusted your banner to a Scot. Said I not they were ever fair\nand false?\" [Such were the terms in which the English used to speak of\ntheir poor northern neighbours, forgetting that their own encroachments\nupon the independence of Scotland obliged the weaker nation to defend\nthemselves by policy as well as force. The disgrace must be divided\nbetween Edward I. and Edward III., who enforced their domination over\na free country, and the Scots, who were compelled to take compulsory\noaths, without any purpose of keeping them.]\n\n\"Thou didst, De Vaux; thou wast right, and I confess it,\" said Richard.\n\"I should have known him better--I should have remembered how the fox\nWilliam deceived me touching this Crusade.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"William of Scotland never deceived; but\ncircumstances prevented his bringing his forces.\"\n\n\"Peace, shameless!\" said the King; \"thou sulliest the name of a prince,\neven by speaking it.--And yet, De Vaux, it is strange,\" he added, \"to\nsee the bearing of the man. Coward or traitor he must be, yet he abode\nthe blow of Richard Plantagenet as our arm had been raised to lay\nknighthood on his shoulder. Had he shown the slightest sign of fear,\nhad but a joint trembled or an eyelid quivered, I had shattered his head\nlike a crystal goblet. But I cannot strike where there is neither fear\nnor resistance.\"\n\nThere was a pause.\n\n\"My lord,\" said Kenneth--\n\n\"Ha!\" replied Richard, interrupting him, \"hast thou found thy speech?\nAsk grace from Heaven, but none from me; for England is dishonoured\nthrough thy fault, and wert thou mine own and only brother, there is no\npardon for thy fault.\"\n\n\"I speak not to demand grace of mortal man,\" said the Scot; \"it is in\nyour Grace's pleasure to give or refuse me time for Christian shrift--if\nman denies it, may God grant me the absolution which I would otherwise\nask of His church! But whether I die on the instant, or half an hour\nhence, I equally beseech your Grace for one moment's opportunity to\nspeak that to your royal person which highly concerns your fame as a\nChristian king.\"\n\n\"Say on,\" said the King, making no doubt that he was about to hear some\nconfession concerning the loss of the Banner.\n\n\"What I have to speak,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"touches the royalty of\nEngland, and must be said to no ears but thine own.\"\n\n\"Begone with yourselves, sirs,\" said the King to Neville and De Vaux.\n\nThe first obeyed, but the latter would not stir from the King's\npresence.\n\n\"If you said I was in the right,\" replied De Vaux to his sovereign, \"I\nwill be treated as one should be who hath been found to be right--that\nis, I will have my own will. I leave you not with this false Scot.\"\n\n\"How! De Vaux,\" said Richard angrily, and stamping slightly, \"darest\nthou not venture our person with one traitor?\"\n\n\"It is in vain you frown and stamp, my lord,\" said De Vaux; \"I venture\nnot a sick man with a sound one, a naked man with one armed in proof.\"\n\n\"It matters not,\" said the Scottish knight; \"I seek no excuse to put off\ntime. I will speak in presence of the Lord of Gilsland. He is good lord\nand true.\"\n\n\"But half an hour since,\" said De Vaux, with a groan, implying a mixture\nof sorrow and vexation, \"and I had said as much for thee!\"\n\n\"There is treason around you, King of England,\" continued Sir Kenneth.\n\n\"It may well be as thou sayest,\" replied Richard; \"I have a pregnant\nexample.\"\n\n\"Treason that will injure thee more deeply than the loss of a hundred\nbanners in a pitched field. The--the--\" Sir Kenneth hesitated, and at\nlength continued, in a lower tone, \"The Lady Edith--\"\n\n\"Ha!\" said the King, drawing himself suddenly into a state of haughty\nattention, and fixing his eye firmly on the supposed criminal; \"what of\nher? what of her? What has she to do with this matter?\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said the Scot, \"there is a scheme on foot to disgrace your\nroyal lineage, by bestowing the hand of the Lady Edith on the\nSaracen Soldan, and thereby to purchase a peace most dishonourable to\nChristendom, by an alliance most shameful to England.\"\n\nThis communication had precisely the contrary effect from that which Sir\nKenneth expected. Richard Plantagenet was one of those who, in Iago's\nwords, would not serve God because it was the devil who bade him; advice\nor information often affected him less according to its real import,\nthan through the tinge which it took from the supposed character and\nviews of those by whom it was communicated. Unfortunately, the\nmention of his relative's name renewed his recollection of what he had\nconsidered as extreme presumption in the Knight of the Leopard, even\nwhen he stood high in the roll of chivalry, but which, in his present\ncondition, appeared an insult sufficient to drive the fiery monarch into\na frenzy of passion.\n\n\"Silence,\" he said, \"infamous and audacious! By Heaven, I will have\nthy tongue torn out with hot pincers, for mentioning the very name of\na noble Christian damsel! Know, degenerate traitor, that I was already\naware to what height thou hadst dared to raise thine eyes, and endured\nit, though it were insolence, even when thou hadst cheated us--for thou\nart all a deceit--into holding thee as of some name and fame. But now,\nwith lips blistered with the confession of thine own dishonour--that\nthou shouldst NOW dare to name our noble kinswoman as one in whose fate\nthou hast part or interest! What is it to thee if she marry Saracen or\nChristian? What is it to thee if, in a camp where princes turn cowards\nby day and robbers by night--where brave knights turn to paltry\ndeserters and traitors--what is it, I say, to thee, or any one, if I\nshould please to ally myself to truth and to valour, in the person of\nSaladin?\"\n\n\"Little to me, indeed, to whom all the world will soon be as nothing,\"\nanswered Sir Kenneth boldly; \"but were I now stretched on the rack, I\nwould tell thee that what I have said is much to thine own conscience\nand thine own fame. I tell thee, Sir King, that if thou dost but\nin thought entertain the purpose of wedding thy kinswoman, the Lady\nEdith--\"\n\n\"Name her not--and for an instant think not of her,\" said the King,\nagain straining the curtal-axe in his gripe, until the muscles started\nabove his brawny arm, like cordage formed by the ivy around the limb of\nan oak.\n\n\"Not name--not think of her!\" answered Sir Kenneth, his spirits, stunned\nas they were by self-depression, beginning to recover their elasticity\nfrom this species of controversy. \"Now, by the Cross, on which I place\nmy hope, her name shall be the last word in my mouth, her image the last\nthought in my mind. Try thy boasted strength on this bare brow, and see\nif thou canst prevent my purpose.\"\n\n\"He will drive me mad!\" said Richard, who, in his despite, was once more\nstaggered in his purpose by the dauntless determination of the criminal.\n\nEre Thomas of Gilsland could reply, some bustle was heard without,\nand the arrival of the Queen was announced from the outer part of the\npavilion.\n\n\"Detain her--detain her, Neville,\" cried the King; \"this is no sight\nfor women.--Fie, that I have suffered such a paltry traitor to chafe me\nthus!--Away with him, De Vaux,\" he whispered, \"through the back entrance\nof our tent; coop him up close, and answer for his safe custody with\nyour life. And hark ye--he is presently to die--let him have a ghostly\nfather--we would not kill soul and body. And stay--hark thee--we will\nnot have him dishonoured--he shall die knightlike, in his belt and\nspurs; for if his treachery be as black as hell, his boldness may match\nthat of the devil himself.\"\n\nDe Vaux, right glad, if the truth may be guessed, that the scene ended\nwithout Richard's descending to the unkingly act of himself slaying\nan unresisting prisoner, made haste to remove Sir Kenneth by a private\nissue to a separate tent, where he was disarmed, and put in fetters\nfor security. De Vaux looked on with a steady and melancholy attention,\nwhile the provost's officers, to whom Sir Kenneth was now committed,\ntook these severe precautions.\n\nWhen they were ended, he said solemnly to the unhappy criminal, \"It is\nKing Richard's pleasure that you die undegraded--without mutilation of\nyour body, or shame to your arms--and that your head be severed from the\ntrunk by the sword of the executioner.\"\n\n\"It is kind,\" said the knight, in a low and rather submissive tone of\nvoice, as one who received an unexpected favour; \"my family will not\nthen hear the worst of the tale. Oh, my father--my father!\"\n\nThis muttered invocation did not escape the blunt but kindly-natured\nEnglishman, and he brushed the back of his large hand over his rough\nfeatures ere he could proceed.\n\n\"It is Richard of England's further pleasure,\" he said at length, \"that\nyou have speech with a holy man; and I have met on the passage hither\nwith a Carmelite friar, who may fit you for your passage. He waits\nwithout, until you are in a frame of mind to receive him.\"\n\n\"Let it be instantly,\" said the knight. \"In this also Richard is kind. I\ncannot be more fit to see the good father at any time than now; for life\nand I have taken farewell, as two travellers who have arrived at the\ncrossway, where their roads separate.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" said De Vaux slowly and solemnly; \"for it irks me somewhat\nto say that which sums my message. It is King Richard's pleasure that\nyou prepare for instant death.\"\n\n\"God's pleasure and the King's be done,\" replied the knight patiently.\n\"I neither contest the justice of the sentence, nor desire delay of the\nexecution.\"\n\nDe Vaux began to leave the tent, but very slowly--paused at the door,\nand looked back at the Scot, from whose aspect thoughts of the world\nseemed banished, as if he was composing himself into deep devotion. The\nfeelings of the stout English baron were in general none of the most\nacute, and yet, on the present occasion, his sympathy overpowered him in\nan unusual manner. He came hastily back to the bundle of reeds on which\nthe captive lay, took one of his fettered hands, and said, with as much\nsoftness as his rough voice was capable of expressing, \"Sir Kenneth,\nthou art yet young--thou hast a father. My Ralph, whom I left training\nhis little galloway nag on the banks of the Irthing, may one day attain\nthy years, and, but for last night, would to God I saw his youth bear\nsuch promise as thine! Can nothing be said or done in thy behalf?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" was the melancholy answer. \"I have deserted my charge--the\nbanner entrusted to me is lost. When the headsman and block are\nprepared, the head and trunk are ready to part company.\"\n\n\"Nay, then, God have mercy!\" said De Vaux. \"Yet would I rather than my\nbest horse I had taken that watch myself. There is mystery in it,\nyoung man, as a plain man may descry, though he cannot see through\nit. Cowardice? Pshaw! No coward ever fought as I have seen thee do.\nTreachery? I cannot think traitors die in their treason so calmly. Thou\nhast been trained from thy post by some deep guile--some well-devised\nstratagem--the cry of some distressed maiden has caught thine ear, or\nthe laughful look of some merry one has taken thine eye. Never blush for\nit; we have all been led aside by such gear. Come, I pray thee, make a\nclean conscience of it to me, instead of the priest. Richard is merciful\nwhen his mood is abated. Hast thou nothing to entrust to me?\"\n\nThe unfortunate knight turned his face from the kind warrior, and\nanswered, \"NOTHING.\"\n\nAnd De Vaux, who had exhausted his topics of persuasion, arose and left\nthe tent, with folded arms, and in melancholy deeper than he thought\nthe occasion merited--even angry with himself to find that so simple a\nmatter as the death of a Scottish man could affect him so nearly.\n\n\"Yet,\" as he said to himself, \"though the rough-footed knaves be\nour enemies in Cumberland, in Palestine one almost considers them as\nbrethren.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n     'Tis not her sense, for sure in that\n     There's nothing more than common;\n     And all her wit is only chat,\n     Like any other woman.\n        SONG.\n\nThe high-born Berengaria, daughter of Sanchez, King of Navarre, and\nthe Queen-Consort of the heroic Richard, was accounted one of the most\nbeautiful women of the period. Her form was slight, though exquisitely\nmoulded. She was graced with a complexion not common in her country, a\nprofusion of fair hair, and features so extremely juvenile as to make\nher look several years younger than she really was, though in reality\nshe was not above one-and-twenty. Perhaps it was under the consciousness\nof this extremely juvenile appearance that she affected, or at least\npractised, a little childish petulance and wilfulness of manner, not\nunbefitting, she might suppose, a youthful bride, whose rank and age\ngave her a right to have her fantasies indulged and attended to. She was\nby nature perfectly good-humoured, and if her due share of admiration\nand homage (in her opinion a very large one) was duly resigned to her,\nno one could possess better temper or a more friendly disposition; but\nthen, like all despots, the more power that was voluntarily yielded to\nher, the more she desired to extend her sway. Sometimes, even when all\nher ambition was gratified, she chose to be a little out of health, and\na little out of spirits; and physicians had to toil their wits to invent\nnames for imaginary maladies, while her ladies racked their imagination\nfor new games, new head-gear, and new court-scandal, to pass away those\nunpleasant hours, during which their own situation was scarce to be\ngreatly envied. Their most frequent resource for diverting this malady\nwas some trick or piece of mischief practised upon each other; and\nthe good Queen, in the buoyancy of her reviving spirits, was, to speak\ntruth, rather too indifferent whether the frolics thus practised were\nentirely befitting her own dignity, or whether the pain which those\nsuffered upon whom they were inflicted was not beyond the proportion of\npleasure which she herself derived from them. She was confident in her\nhusband's favour, in her high rank, and in her supposed power to make\ngood whatever such pranks might cost others. In a word, she gambolled\nwith the freedom of a young lioness, who is unconscious of the weight of\nher own paws when laid on those whom she sports with.\n\nThe Queen Berengaria loved her husband passionately, but she feared the\nloftiness and roughness of his character; and as she felt herself not\nto be his match in intellect, was not much pleased to see that he would\noften talk with Edith Plantagenet in preference to herself,\nsimply because he found more amusement in her conversation, a more\ncomprehensive understanding, and a more noble cast of thoughts and\nsentiments, than his beautiful consort exhibited. Berengaria did\nnot hate Edith on this account, far less meditate her any harm; for,\nallowing for some selfishness, her character was, on the whole, innocent\nand generous. But the ladies of her train, sharpsighted in such matters,\nhad for some time discovered that a poignant jest at the expense of\nthe Lady Edith was a specific for relieving her Grace of England's low\nspirits, and the discovery saved their imagination much toil.\n\nThere was something ungenerous in this, because the Lady Edith was\nunderstood to be an orphan; and though she was called Plantagenet, and\nthe fair Maid of Anjou, and admitted by Richard to certain privileges\nonly granted to the royal family, and held her place in the circle\naccordingly, yet few knew, and none acquainted with the Court of England\nventured to ask, in what exact degree of relationship she stood to\nCoeur de Lion. She had come with Eleanor, the celebrated Queen Mother of\nEngland, and joined Richard at Messina, as one of the ladies destined\nto attend on Berengaria, whose nuptials then approached. Richard treated\nhis kinswoman with much respectful observance, and the Queen made her\nher most constant attendant, and, even in despite of the petty jealousy\nwhich we have observed, treated her, generally, with suitable respect.\n\nThe ladies of the household had, for a long time, no further advantage\nover Edith than might be afforded by an opportunity of censuring a less\nartfully disposed head attire or an unbecoming robe; for the lady was\njudged to be inferior in these mysteries. The silent devotion of the\nScottish knight did not, indeed, pass unnoticed; his liveries, his\ncognizances, his feats of arms, his mottoes and devices, were nearly\nwatched, and occasionally made the subject of a passing jest. But then\ncame the pilgrimage of the Queen and her ladies to Engaddi, a journey\nwhich the Queen had undertaken under a vow for the recovery of her\nhusband's health, and which she had been encouraged to carry into effect\nby the Archbishop of Tyre for a political purpose. It was then, and in\nthe chapel at that holy place, connected from above with a Carmelite\nnunnery, from beneath with the cell of the anchorite, that one of the\nQueen's attendants remarked that secret sign of intelligence which Edith\nhad made to her lover, and failed not instantly to communicate it to\nher Majesty. The Queen returned from her pilgrimage enriched with this\nadmirable recipe against dullness or ennui; and her train was at\nthe same time augmented by a present of two wretched dwarfs from the\ndethroned Queen of Jerusalem, as deformed and as crazy (the excellence\nof that unhappy species) as any Queen could have desired. One of\nBerengaria's idle amusements had been to try the effect of the sudden\nappearance of such ghastly and fantastic forms on the nerves of the\nKnight when left alone in the chapel; but the jest had been lost by the\ncomposure of the Scot and the interference of the anchorite. She had now\ntried another, of which the consequences promised to be more serious.\n\nThe ladies again met after Sir Kenneth had retired from the tent, and\nthe Queen, at first little moved by Edith's angry expostulations, only\nreplied to her by upbraiding her prudery, and by indulging her wit\nat the expense of the garb, nation, and, above all the poverty of the\nKnight of the Leopard, in which she displayed a good deal of playful\nmalice, mingled with some humour, until Edith was compelled to carry her\nanxiety to her separate apartment. But when, in the morning, a female\nwhom Edith had entrusted to make inquiry brought word that the Standard\nwas missing, and its champion vanished, she burst into the Queen's\napartment, and implored her to rise and proceed to the King's tent\nwithout delay, and use her powerful mediation to prevent the evil\nconsequences of her jest.\n\nThe Queen, frightened in her turn, cast, as is usual, the blame of her\nown folly on those around her, and endeavoured to comfort Edith's grief,\nand appease her displeasure, by a thousand inconsistent arguments. She\nwas sure no harm had chanced--the knight was sleeping, she fancied,\nafter his night-watch. What though, for fear of the King's displeasure,\nhe had deserted with the Standard--it was but a piece of silk, and he\nbut a needy adventurer; or if he was put under warding for a time,\nshe would soon get the King to pardon him--it was but waiting to let\nRichard's mood pass away.\n\nThus she continued talking thick and fast, and heaping together all\nsorts of inconsistencies, with the vain expectation of persuading both\nEdith and herself that no harm could come of a frolic which in her heart\nshe now bitterly repented. But while Edith in vain strove to intercept\nthis torrent of idle talk, she caught the eye of one of the ladies who\nentered the Queen's apartment. There was death in her look of affright\nand horror, and Edith, at the first glance of her countenance, had sunk\nat once on the earth, had not strong necessity and her own elevation of\ncharacter enabled her to maintain at least external composure.\n\n\"Madam,\" she said to the Queen, \"lose not another word in speaking, but\nsave life--if, indeed,\" she added, her voice choking as she said it,\n\"life may yet be saved.\"\n\n\"It may, it may,\" answered the Lady Calista. \"I have just heard that he\nhas been brought before the King. It is not yet over--but,\" she\nadded, bursting into a vehement flood of weeping, in which personal\napprehensions had some share, \"it will soon, unless some course be\ntaken.\"\n\n\"I will vow a golden candlestick to the Holy Sepulchre, a shrine of\nsilver to our Lady of Engaddi, a pall, worth one hundred byzants, to\nSaint Thomas of Orthez,\" said the Queen in extremity.\n\n\"Up, up, madam!\" said Edith; \"call on the saints if you list, but be\nyour own best saint.\"\n\n\"Indeed, madam,\" said the terrified attendant, \"the Lady Edith speaks\ntruth. Up, madam, and let us to King Richard's tent and beg the poor\ngentleman's life.\"\n\n\"I will go--I will go instantly,\" said the Queen, rising and trembling\nexcessively; while her women, in as great confusion as herself, were\nunable to render her those duties which were indispensable to her levee.\nCalm, composed, only pale as death, Edith ministered to the Queen\nwith her own hand, and alone supplied the deficiencies of her numerous\nattendants.\n\n\"How you wait, wenches!\" said the Queen, not able even then to forget\nfrivolous distinctions. \"Suffer ye the Lady Edith to do the duties of\nyour attendance? Seest thou, Edith, they can do nothing; I shall never\nbe attired in time. We will send for the Archbishop of Tyre, and employ\nhim as a mediator.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no!\" exclaimed Edith. \"Go yourself madam; you have done the\nevil, do you confer the remedy.\"\n\n\"I will go--I will go,\" said the Queen; \"but if Richard be in his mood,\nI dare not speak to him--he will kill me!\"\n\n\"Yet go, gracious madam,\" said the Lady Calista, who best knew her\nmistress's temper; \"not a lion, in his fury, could look upon such a face\nand form, and retain so much as an angry thought, far less a love-true\nknight like the royal Richard, to whom your slightest word would be a\ncommand.\"\n\n\"Dost thou think so, Calista?\" said the Queen. \"Ah, thou little knowest\nyet I will go. But see you here, what means this? You have bedizened\nme in green, a colour he detests. Lo you! let me have a blue robe,\nand--search for the ruby carcanet, which was part of the King of\nCyprus's ransom; it is either in the steel casket, or somewhere else.\"\n\n\"This, and a man's life at stake!\" said Edith indignantly; \"it passes\nhuman patience. Remain at your ease, madam; I will go to King Richard. I\nam a party interested. I will know if the honour of a poor maiden of\nhis blood is to be so far tampered with that her name shall be abused to\ntrain a brave gentleman from his duty, bring him within the compass of\ndeath and infamy, and make, at the same time, the glory of England a\nlaughing-stock to the whole Christian army.\"\n\nAt this unexpected burst of passion, Berengaria listened with an almost\nstupefied look of fear and wonder. But as Edith was about to leave the\ntent, she exclaimed, though faintly, \"Stop her, stop her!\"\n\n\"You must indeed stop, noble Lady Edith,\" said Calista, taking her arm\ngently; \"and you, royal madam, I am sure, will go, and without\nfurther dallying. If the Lady Edith goes alone to the King, he will be\ndreadfully incensed, nor will it be one life that will stay his fury.\"\n\n\"I will go--I will go,\" said the Queen, yielding to necessity; and Edith\nreluctantly halted to wait her movements.\n\nThey were now as speedy as she could have desired. The Queen hastily\nwrapped herself in a large loose mantle, which covered all inaccuracies\nof the toilet. In this guise, attended by Edith and her women, and\npreceded and followed by a few officers and men-at-arms, she hastened to\nthe tent of her lionlike husband.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n     Were every hair upon his head a life,\n     And every life were to be supplicated\n     By numbers equal to those hairs quadrupled,\n     Life after life should out like waning stars\n     Before the daybreak--or as festive lamps,\n     Which have lent lustre to the midnight revel,\n     Each after each are quench'd when guests depart!\n          OLD PLAY\n\n\nThe entrance of Queen Berengaria into the interior of Richard's pavilion\nwas withstood--in the most respectful and reverential manner indeed, but\nstill withstood--by the chamberlains who watched in the outer tent. She\ncould hear the stern command of the King from within, prohibiting their\nentrance.\n\n\"You see,\" said the Queen, appealing to Edith, as if she had exhausted\nall means of intercession in her power; \"I knew it--the King will not\nreceive us.\"\n\nAt the same time, they heard Richard speak to some one within:--\"Go,\nspeed thine office quickly, sirrah, for in that consists thy mercy--ten\nbyzants if thou dealest on him at one blow. And hark thee, villain,\nobserve if his cheek loses colour, or his eye falters; mark me the\nsmallest twitch of the features, or wink of the eyelid. I love to know\nhow brave souls meet death.\"\n\n\"If he sees my blade waved aloft without shrinking, he is the first ever\ndid so,\" answered a harsh, deep voice, which a sense of unusual awe had\nsoftened into a sound much lower than its usual coarse tones.\n\nEdith could remain silent no longer. \"If your Grace,\" she said to the\nQueen, \"make not your own way, I make it for you; or if not for your\nMajesty, for myself at least.--Chamberlain, the Queen demands to see\nKing Richard--the wife to speak with her husband.\"\n\n\"Noble lady,\" said the officer, lowering his wand of office, \"it grieves\nme to gainsay you, but his Majesty is busied on matters of life and\ndeath.\"\n\n\"And we seek also to speak with him on matters of life and death,\" said\nEdith. \"I will make entrance for your Grace.\" And putting aside the\nchamberlain with one hand, she laid hold on the curtain with the other.\n\n\"I dare not gainsay her Majesty's pleasure,\" said the chamberlain,\nyielding to the vehemence of the fair petitioner; and as he gave way,\nthe Queen found herself obliged to enter the apartment of Richard.\n\nThe Monarch was lying on his couch, and at some distance, as awaiting\nhis further commands, stood a man whose profession it was not difficult\nto conjecture. He was clothed in a jerkin of red cloth, which reached\nscantly below the shoulders, leaving the arms bare from about half way\nabove the elbow; and as an upper garment, he wore, when about as at\npresent to betake himself to his dreadful office, a coat or tabard\nwithout sleeves, something like that of a herald, made of dressed bull's\nhide, and stained in the front with many a broad spot and speckle of\ndull crimson. The jerkin, and the tabard over it, reached the knee; and\nthe nether stocks, or covering of the legs, were of the same leather\nwhich composed the tabard. A cap of rough shag served to hide the upper\npart of a visage which, like that of a screech owl, seemed desirous to\nconceal itself from light, the lower part of the face being obscured by\na huge red beard, mingling with shaggy locks of the same colour. What\nfeatures were seen were stern and misanthropical. The man's figure was\nshort, strongly made, with a neck like a bull, very broad shoulders,\narms of great and disproportioned length, a huge square trunk, and thick\nbandy legs. This truculent official leant on a sword, the blade of which\nwas nearly four feet and a half in length, while the handle of twenty\ninches, surrounded by a ring of lead plummets to counterpoise the weight\nof such a blade, rose considerably above the man's head as he rested his\narm upon its hilt, waiting for King Richard's further directions.\n\nOn the sudden entrance of the ladies, Richard, who was then lying on his\ncouch with his face towards the entrance, and resting on his elbow as he\nspoke to his grisly attendant, flung himself hastily, as if displeased\nand surprised, to the other side, turning his back to the Queen and the\nfemales of her train, and drawing around him the covering of his couch,\nwhich, by his own choice, or more probably the flattering selection of\nhis chamberlains, consisted of two large lions' skins, dressed in Venice\nwith such admirable skill that they seemed softer than the hide of the\ndeer.\n\nBerengaria, such as we have described her, knew well--what woman knows\nnot?--her own road to victory. After a hurried glance of undisguised\nand unaffected terror at the ghastly companion of her husband's secret\ncounsels, she rushed at once to the side of Richard's couch, dropped on\nher knees, flung her mantle from her shoulders, showing, as they hung\ndown at their full length, her beautiful golden tresses, and while her\ncountenance seemed like the sun bursting through a cloud, yet bearing\non its pallid front traces that its splendours have been obscured, she\nseized upon the right hand of the King, which, as he assumed his wonted\nposture, had been employed in dragging the covering of his couch, and\ngradually pulling it to her with a force which was resisted, though but\nfaintly, she possessed herself of that arm, the prop of Christendom\nand the dread of Heathenesse, and imprisoning its strength in both her\nlittle fairy hands, she bent upon it her brow, and united to it her\nlips.\n\n\"What needs this, Berengaria?\" said Richard, his head still averted, but\nhis hand remaining under her control.\n\n\"Send away that man, his look kills me!\" muttered Berengaria.\n\n\"Begone, sirrah,\" said Richard, still without looking round, \"What\nwait'st thou for? art thou fit to look on these ladies?\"\n\n\"Your Highness's pleasure touching the head,\" said the man.\n\n\"Out with thee, dog!\" answered Richard--\"a Christian burial!\" The man\ndisappeared, after casting a look upon the beautiful Queen, in her\nderanged dress and natural loveliness, with a smile of admiration more\nhideous in its expression than even his usual scowl of cynical hatred\nagainst humanity.\n\n\"And now, foolish wench, what wishest thou?\" said Richard, turning\nslowly and half reluctantly round to his royal suppliant.\n\nBut it was not in nature for any one, far less an admirer of beauty\nlike Richard, to whom it stood only in the second rank to glory, to\nlook without emotion on the countenance and the tremor of a creature so\nbeautiful as Berengaria, or to feel, without sympathy, that her lips,\nher brow, were on his hand, and that it was wetted by her tears. By\ndegrees, he turned on her his manly countenance, with the softest\nexpression of which his large blue eye, which so often gleamed with\ninsufferable light, was capable. Caressing her fair head, and mingling\nhis large fingers in her beautiful and dishevelled locks, he raised and\ntenderly kissed the cherub countenance which seemed desirous to hide\nitself in his hand. The robust form, the broad, noble brow and majestic\nlooks, the naked arm and shoulder, the lions' skins among which he lay,\nand the fair, fragile feminine creature that kneeled by his side,\nmight have served for a model of Hercules reconciling himself, after a\nquarrel, to his wife Dejanira.\n\n\"And, once more, what seeks the lady of my heart in her knight's\npavilion at this early and unwonted hour?\"\n\n\"Pardon, my most gracious liege--pardon!\" said the Queen, whose fears\nbegan again to unfit her for the duty of intercessor.\n\n\"Pardon--for what?\" asked the King.\n\n\"First, for entering your royal presence too boldly and unadvisedly--\"\n\nShe stopped.\n\n\"THOU too boldly!--the sun might as well ask pardon because his rays\nentered the windows of some wretch's dungeon. But I was busied with work\nunfit for thee to witness, my gentle one; and I was unwilling, besides,\nthat thou shouldst risk thy precious health where sickness had been so\nlately rife.\"\n\n\"But thou art now well?\" said the Queen, still delaying the\ncommunication which she feared to make.\n\n\"Well enough to break a lance on the bold crest of that champion who\nshall refuse to acknowledge thee the fairest dame in Christendom.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt not then refuse me one boon--only one--only a poor life?\"\n\n\"Ha!--proceed,\" said King Richard, bending his brows.\n\n\"This unhappy Scottish knight--\" murmured the Queen.\n\n\"Speak not of him, madam,\" exclaimed Richard sternly; \"he dies--his doom\nis fixed.\"\n\n\"Nay, my royal liege and love, 'tis but a silken banner neglected.\nBerengaria will give thee another broidered with her own hand, and rich\nas ever dallied with the wind. Every pearl I have shall go to bedeck it,\nand with every pearl I will drop a tear of thankfulness to my generous\nknight.\"\n\n\"Thou knowest not what thou sayest,\" said the King, interrupting her in\nanger. \"Pearls! can all the pearls of the East atone for a speck upon\nEngland's honour--all the tears that ever woman's eye wept wash away a\nstain on Richard's fame? Go to, madam, know your place, and your time,\nand your sphere. At present we have duties in which you cannot be our\npartner.\"\n\n\"Thou hearest, Edith,\" whispered the Queen; \"we shall but incense him.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" said Edith, stepping forward.--\"My lord, I, your poor\nkinswoman, crave you for justice rather than mercy; and to the cry of\njustice the ears of a monarch should be open at every time, place, and\ncircumstance.\"\n\n\"Ha! our cousin Edith?\" said Richard, rising and sitting upright on\nthe side of his couch, covered with his long camiscia. \"She speaks\never kinglike, and kinglike will I answer her, so she bring no request\nunworthy herself or me.\"\n\nThe beauty of Edith was of a more intellectual and less voluptuous\ncast than that of the Queen; but impatience and anxiety had given\nher countenance a glow which it sometimes wanted, and her mien had a\ncharacter of energetic dignity that imposed silence for a moment even\non Richard himself, who, to judge by his looks, would willingly have\ninterrupted her.\n\n\"My lord,\" she said, \"this good knight, whose blood you are about to\nspill, hath done, in his time, service to Christendom. He has fallen\nfrom his duty through a snare set for him in mere folly and idleness of\nspirit. A message sent to him in the name of one who--why should I not\nspeak it?--it was in my own--induced him for an instant to leave his\npost. And what knight in the Christian camp might not have thus far\ntransgressed at command of a maiden, who, poor howsoever in other\nqualities, hath yet the blood of Plantagenet in her veins?\"\n\n\"And you saw him, then, cousin?\" replied the King, biting his lips to\nkeep down his passion.\n\n\"I did, my liege,\" said Edith. \"It is no time to explain wherefore. I am\nhere neither to exculpate myself nor to blame others.\"\n\n\"And where did you do him such a grace?\"\n\n\"In the tent of her Majesty the Queen.\"\n\n\"Of our royal consort!\" said Richard. \"Now by Heaven, by Saint George\nof England, and every other saint that treads its crystal floor, this\nis too audacious! I have noticed and overlooked this warrior's insolent\nadmiration of one so far above him, and I grudged him not that one of\nmy blood should shed from her high-born sphere such influence as the\nsun bestows on the world beneath. But, heaven and earth! that you should\nhave admitted him to an audience by night, in the very tent of our royal\nconsort!--and dare to offer this as an excuse for his disobedience and\ndesertion! By my father's soul, Edith, thou shalt rue this thy life long\nin a monastery!\"\n\n\"My liege,\" said Edith, \"your greatness licenses tyranny. My honour,\nLord King, is as little touched as yours, and my Lady the Queen can\nprove it if she think fit. But I have already said I am not here to\nexcuse myself or inculpate others. I ask you but to extend to one, whose\nfault was committed under strong temptation, that mercy, which even you\nyourself, Lord King, must one day supplicate at a higher tribunal, and\nfor faults, perhaps, less venial.\"\n\n\"Can this be Edith Plantagenet?\" said the King bitterly--\"Edith\nPlantagenet, the wise and the noble? Or is it some lovesick woman who\ncares not for her own fame in comparison of the life of her paramour?\nNow, by King Henry's soul! little hinders but I order thy minion's skull\nto be brought from the gibbet, and fixed as a perpetual ornament by the\ncrucifix in thy cell!\"\n\n\"And if thou dost send it from the gibbet to be placed for ever in my\nsight,\" said Edith, \"I will say it is a relic of a good knight, cruelly\nand unworthily done to death by\" (she checked herself)--\"by one of whom\nI shall only say, he should have known better how to reward chivalry.\nMinion callest thou him?\" she continued, with increasing vehemence. \"He\nwas indeed my lover, and a most true one; but never sought he grace from\nme by look or word--contented with such humble observance as men pay to\nthe saints. And the good--the valiant--the faithful must die for this!\"\n\n\"Oh, peace, peace, for pity's sake,\" whispered the Queen, \"you do but\noffend him more!\"\n\n\"I care not,\" said Edith; \"the spotless virgin fears not the raging\nlion. Let him work his will on this worthy knight. Edith, for whom he\ndies, will know how to weep his memory. To me no one shall speak more of\npolitic alliances to be sanctioned with this poor hand. I could not--I\nwould not--have been his bride living--our degrees were too distant. But\ndeath unites the high and the low--I am henceforward the spouse of the\ngrave.\"\n\nThe King was about to answer with much anger, when a Carmelite monk\nentered the apartment hastily, his head and person muffled in the\nlong mantle and hood of striped cloth of the coarsest texture which\ndistinguished his order, and, flinging himself on his knees before the\nKing, conjured him, by every holy word and sign, to stop the execution.\n\n\"Now, by both sword and sceptre,\" said Richard, \"the world is leagued to\ndrive me mad!--fools, women, and monks cross me at every step. How comes\nhe to live still?\"\n\n\"My gracious liege,\" said the monk, \"I entreated of the Lord of Gilsland\nto stay the execution until I had thrown myself at your royal--\"\n\n\"And he was wilful enough to grant thy request,\" said the King; \"but\nit is of a piece with his wonted obstinacy. And what is it thou hast to\nsay? Speak, in the fiend's name!\"\n\n\"My lord, there is a weighty secret, but it rests under the seal of\nconfession. I dare not tell or even whisper it; but I swear to thee\nby my holy order, by the habit which I wear, by the blessed Elias, our\nfounder, even him who was translated without suffering the ordinary\npangs of mortality, that this youth hath divulged to me a secret, which,\nif I might confide it to thee, would utterly turn thee from thy bloody\npurpose in regard to him.\"\n\n\"Good father,\" said Richard, \"that I reverence the church, let the arms\nwhich I now wear for her sake bear witness. Give me to know this secret,\nand I will do what shall seem fitting in the matter. But I am no\nblind Bayard, to take a leap in the dark under the stroke of a pair of\npriestly spurs.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said the holy man, throwing back his cowl and upper vesture,\nand discovering under the latter a garment of goatskin, and from beneath\nthe former a visage so wildly wasted by climate, fast, and penance, as\nto resemble rather the apparition of an animated skeleton than a human\nface, \"for twenty years have I macerated this miserable body in the\ncaverns of Engaddi, doing penance for a great crime. Think you I, who am\ndead to the world, would contrive a falsehood to endanger my own soul;\nor that one, bound by the most sacred oaths to the contrary--one such\nas I, who have but one longing wish connected with earth, to wit,\nthe rebuilding of our Christian Zion--would betray the secrets of the\nconfessional? Both are alike abhorrent to my very soul.\"\n\n\"So,\" answered the King, \"thou art that hermit of whom men speak so\nmuch? Thou art, I confess, like enough to those spirits which walk in\ndry places; but Richard fears no hobgoblins. And thou art he, too, as\nI bethink me, to whom the Christian princes sent this very criminal to\nopen a communication with the Soldan, even while I, who ought to have\nbeen first consulted, lay on my sick-bed? Thou and they may content\nthemselves--I will not put my neck into the loop of a Carmelite's\ngirdle. And, for your envoy, he shall die the rather and the sooner that\nthou dost entreat for him.\"\n\n\"Now God be gracious to thee, Lord King!\" said the hermit, with much\nemotion; \"thou art setting that mischief on foot which thou wilt\nhereafter wish thou hadst stopped, though it had cost thee a limb. Rash,\nblinded man, yet forbear!\"\n\n\"Away, away,\" cried the King, stamping; \"the sun has risen on the\ndishonour of England, and it is not yet avenged.--Ladies and priest,\nwithdraw, if you would not hear orders which would displease you; for,\nby St. George, I swear--\"\n\n\"Swear NOT!\" said the voice of one who had just then entered the\npavilion.\n\n\"Ha! my learned Hakim,\" said the King, \"come, I hope, to tax our\ngenerosity.\"\n\n\"I come to request instant speech with you--instant--and touching\nmatters of deep interest.\"\n\n\"First look on my wife, Hakim, and let her know in you the preserver of\nher husband.\"\n\n\"It is not for me,\" said the physician, folding his arms with an air of\nOriental modesty and reverence, and bending his eyes on the ground--\"it\nis not for me to look upon beauty unveiled, and armed in its\nsplendours.\"\n\n\"Retire, then, Berengaria,\" said the Monarch; \"and, Edith, do you retire\nalso;--nay, renew not your importunities! This I give to them that\nthe execution shall not be till high noon. Go and be pacified--dearest\nBerengaria, begone.--Edith,\" he added, with a glance which struck terror\neven into the courageous soul of his kinswoman, \"go, if you are wise.\"\n\nThe females withdrew, or rather hurried from the tent, rank and ceremony\nforgotten, much like a flock of wild-fowl huddled together, against whom\nthe falcon has made a recent stoop.\n\nThey returned from thence to the Queen's pavilion to indulge in regrets\nand recriminations, equally unavailing. Edith was the only one who\nseemed to disdain these ordinary channels of sorrow. Without a sigh,\nwithout a tear, without a word of upbraiding, she attended upon the\nQueen, whose weak temperament showed her sorrow in violent hysterical\necstasies and passionate hypochondriacal effusions, in the course of\nwhich Edith sedulously and even affectionately attended her.\n\n\"It is impossible she can have loved this knight,\" said Florise to\nCalista, her senior in attendance upon the Queen's person. \"We have been\nmistaken; she is but sorry for his fate, as for a stranger who has come\nto trouble on her account.\"\n\n\"Hush, hush,\" answered her more experienced and more observant comrade;\n\"she is of that proud house of Plantagenet who never own that a hurt\ngrieves them. While they have themselves been bleeding to death, under a\nmortal wound, they have been known to bind up the scratches sustained\nby their more faint-hearted comrades. Florise, we have done frightfully\nwrong, and, for my own part, I would buy with every jewel I have that\nour fatal jest had remained unacted.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n     This work desires a planetary intelligence\n     Of Jupiter and Sol; and those great spirits\n     Are proud, fantastical. It asks great charges\n     To entice them from the guiding of their spheres,\n     To wait on mortals.\n            ALBUMAZAR.\n\nThe hermit followed the ladies from the pavilion of Richard, as shadow\nfollows a beam of sunshine when the clouds are driving over the face of\nthe sun. But he turned on the threshold, and held up his hand towards\nthe King in a warning, or almost a menacing posture, as he said, \"Woe to\nhim who rejects the counsel of the church, and betaketh himself to the\nfoul divan of the infidel! King Richard, I do not yet shake the dust\nfrom my feet and depart from thy encampment; the sword falls not--but it\nhangs but by a hair. Haughty monarch, we shall meet again.\"\n\n\"Be it so, haughty priest,\" returned Richard, \"prouder in thy goatskins\nthan princes in purple and fine linen.\"\n\nThe hermit vanished from the tent, and the King continued, addressing\nthe Arabian, \"Do the dervises of the East, wise Hakim, use such\nfamiliarity with their princes?\"\n\n\"The dervise,\" replied Adonbec, \"should be either a sage or a madman;\nthere is no middle course for him who wears the khirkhah, [Literally,\nthe torn robe. The habit of the dervises is so called.] who watches\nby night, and fasts by day. Hence hath he either wisdom enough to bear\nhimself discreetly in the presence of princes; or else, having no reason\nbestowed on him, he is not responsible for his own actions.\"\n\n\"Methinks our monks have adopted chiefly the latter character,\" said\nRichard. \"But to the matter. In what can I pleasure you, my learned\nphysician?\"\n\n\"Great King,\" said El Hakim, making his profound Oriental obeisance,\n\"let thy servant speak one word, and yet live. I would remind thee\nthat thou owest--not to me, their humble instrument--but to the\nIntelligences, whose benefits I dispense to mortals, a life--\"\n\n\"And I warrant me thou wouldst have another in requital, ha?\"\ninterrupted the King.\n\n\"Such is my humble prayer,\" said the Hakim, \"to the great Melech\nRic--even the life of this good knight, who is doomed to die, and\nbut for such fault as was committed by the Sultan Adam, surnamed\nAboulbeschar, or the father of all men.\"\n\n\"And thy wisdom might remind thee, Hakim, that Adam died for it,\" said\nthe King, somewhat sternly, and then began to pace the narrow space of\nhis tent with some emotion, and to talk to himself. \"Why, God-a-mercy,\nI knew what he desired as soon as ever he entered the pavilion! Here\nis one poor life justly condemned to extinction, and I, a king and a\nsoldier, who have slain thousands by my command, and scores with my own\nhand, am to have no power over it, although the honour of my arms, of\nmy house, of my very Queen, hath been attainted by the culprit. By Saint\nGeorge, it makes me laugh! By Saint Louis, it reminds me of Blondel's\ntale of an enchanted castle, where the destined knight was withstood\nsuccessively in his purpose of entrance by forms and figures the most\ndissimilar, but all hostile to his undertaking! No sooner one sunk than\nanother appeared! Wife--kinswoman--hermit--Hakim-each appears in the\nlists as soon as the other is defeated! Why, this is a single knight\nfighting against the whole MELEE of the tournament--ha! ha! ha!\" And\nRichard laughed aloud; for he had, in fact, begun to change his mood,\nhis resentment being usually too violent to be of long endurance.\n\nThe physician meanwhile looked on him with a countenance of surprise,\nnot unmingled with contempt; for the Eastern people make no allowance\nfor these mercurial changes in the temper, and consider open laughter,\nupon almost any account, as derogatory to the dignity of man, and\nbecoming only to women and children. At length the sage addressed the\nKing when he saw him more composed:--\n\n\"A doom of death should not issue from laughing lips. Let thy servant\nhope that thou hast granted him this man's life.\"\n\n\"Take the freedom of a thousand captives instead,\" said Richard;\n\"restore so many of thy countrymen to their tents and families, and I\nwill give the warrant instantly. This man's life can avail thee nothing,\nand it is forfeited.\"\n\n\"All our lives are forfeited,\" said the Hakim, putting his hand to his\ncap. \"But the great Creditor is merciful, and exacts not the pledge\nrigorously nor untimely.\"\n\n\"Thou canst show me,\" said Richard, \"no special interest thou hast to\nbecome intercessor betwixt me and the execution of justice, to which I\nam sworn as a crowned king.\"\n\n\"Thou art sworn to the dealing forth mercy as well as justice,\" said El\nHakim; \"but what thou seekest, great King, is the execution of thine own\nwill. And for the concern I have in this request, know that many a man's\nlife depends upon thy granting this boon.\"\n\n\"Explain thy words,\" said Richard; \"but think not to impose upon me by\nfalse pretexts.\"\n\n\"Be it far from thy servant!\" said Adonbec. \"Know, then, that the\nmedicine to which thou, Sir King, and many one besides, owe their\nrecovery, is a talisman, composed under certain aspects of the heavens,\nwhen the Divine Intelligences are most propitious. I am but the poor\nadministrator of its virtues. I dip it in a cup of water, observe the\nfitting hour to administer it to the patient, and the potency of the\ndraught works the cure.\"\n\n\"A most rare medicine,\" said the King, \"and a commodious! and, as it may\nbe carried in the leech's purse, would save the whole caravan of camels\nwhich they require to convey drugs and physic stuff; I marvel there is\nany other in use.\"\n\n\"It is written,\" answered the Hakim, with imperturbable gravity, \"'Abuse\nnot the steed which hath borne thee from the battle.' Know that such\ntalismans might indeed be framed, but rare has been the number of adepts\nwho have dared to undertake the application of their virtue. Severe\nrestrictions, painful observances, fasts, and penance, are necessary on\nthe part of the sage who uses this mode of cure; and if, through neglect\nof these preparations, by his love of ease, or his indulgence of sensual\nappetite, he omits to cure at least twelve persons within the course of\neach moon, the virtue of the divine gift departs from the amulet,\nand both the last patient and the physician will be exposed to speedy\nmisfortune, neither will they survive the year. I require yet one life\nto make up the appointed number.\"\n\n\"Go out into the camp, good Hakim, where thou wilt find a-many,\" said\nthe King, \"and do not seek to rob my headsman of HIS patients; it is\nunbecoming a mediciner of thine eminence to interfere with the practice\nof another. Besides, I cannot see how delivering a criminal from the\ndeath he deserves should go to make up thy tale of miraculous cures.\"\n\n\"When thou canst show why a draught of cold water should have cured\nthee when the most precious drugs failed,\" said the Hakim, \"thou mayest\nreason on the other mysteries attendant on this matter. For myself, I\nam inefficient to the great work, having this morning touched an unclean\nanimal. Ask, therefore, no further questions; it is enough that, by\nsparing this man's life at my request, you will deliver yourself, great\nKing, and thy servant, from a great danger.\"\n\n\"Hark thee, Adonbec,\" replied the King, \"I have no objection that\nleeches should wrap their words in mist, and pretend to derive knowledge\nfrom the stars; but when you bid Richard Plantagenet fear that a danger\nwill fall upon HIM from some idle omen, or omitted ceremonial, you speak\nto no ignorant Saxon, or doting old woman, who foregoes her purpose\nbecause a hare crosses the path, a raven croaks, or a cat sneezes.\"\n\n\"I cannot hinder your doubt of my words,\" said Adonbec; \"but yet let my\nLord the King grant that truth is on the tongue of his servant--will he\nthink it just to deprive the world, and every wretch who may suffer by\nthe pains which so lately reduced him to that couch, of the benefit of\nthis most virtuous talisman, rather than extend his forgiveness to one\npoor criminal? Bethink you, Lord King, that, though thou canst slay\nthousands, thou canst not restore one man to health. Kings have the\npower of Satan to torment, sages that of Allah to heal--beware how thou\nhinderest the good to humanity which thou canst not thyself render. Thou\ncanst cut off the head, but not cure the aching tooth.\"\n\n\"This is over-insolent,\" said the King, hardening himself, as the Hakim\nassumed a more lofty and almost a commanding tone. \"We took thee for our\nleech, not for our counsellor or conscience-keeper.\"\n\n\"And is it thus the most renowned Prince of Frangistan repays benefit\ndone to his royal person?\" said El Hakim, exchanging the humble and\nstooping posture in which he had hitherto solicited the King, for an\nattitude lofty and commanding. \"Know, then,\" he said, \"that: through\nevery court of Europe and Asia--to Moslem and Nazarene--to knight and\nlady--wherever harp is heard and sword worn--wherever honour is loved\nand infamy detested--to every quarter of the world--will I denounce\nthee, Melech Ric, as thankless and ungenerous; and even the lands--if\nthere be any such--that never heard of thy renown shall yet be\nacquainted with thy shame!\"\n\n\"Are these terms to me, vile infidel?\" said Richard, striding up to him\nin fury. \"Art weary of thy life?\"\n\n\"Strike!\" said El Hakim; \"thine own deed shall then paint thee more\nworthless than could my words, though each had a hornet's sting.\"\n\nRichard turned fiercely from him, folded his arms, traversed the tent\nas before, and then exclaimed, \"Thankless and ungenerous!--as well be\ntermed coward and infidel! Hakim, thou hast chosen thy boon; and though\nI had rather thou hadst asked my crown jewels, yet I may not, kinglike,\nrefuse thee. Take this Scot, therefore, to thy keeping; the provost will\ndeliver him to thee on this warrant.\"\n\nHe hastily traced one or two lines, and gave them to the physician. \"Use\nhim as thy bond-slave, to be disposed of as thou wilt--only, let him\nbeware how he comes before the eyes of Richard. Hark thee--thou art\nwise--he hath been over-bold among those in whose fair looks and weak\njudgments we trust our honour, as you of the East lodge your treasures\nin caskets of silver wire, as fine and as frail as the web of a\ngossamer.\"\n\n\"Thy servant understands the words of the King,\" said the sage, at once\nresuming the reverent style of address in which he had commenced. \"When\nthe rich carpet is soiled, the fool pointeth to the stain--the wise man\ncovers it with his mantle. I have heard my lord's pleasure, and to hear\nis to obey.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" said the King; \"let him consult his own safety, and never\nappear in my presence more. Is there aught else in which I may do thee\npleasure?\"\n\n\"The bounty of the King hath filled my cup to the brim,\" said the\nsage--\"yea, it hath been abundant as the fountain which sprung up amid\nthe camp of the descendants of Israel when the rock was stricken by the\nrod of Moussa Ben Amram.\"\n\n\"Ay, but,\" said the King, smiling, \"it required, as in the desert, a\nhard blow on the rock ere it yielded its treasures. I would that I knew\nsomething to pleasure thee, which I might yield as freely as the natural\nfountain sends forth its waters.\"\n\n\"Let me touch that victorious hand,\" said the sage, \"in token that if\nAdonbec el Hakim should hereafter demand a boon of Richard of England,\nhe may do so, yet plead his command.\"\n\n\"Thou hast hand and glove upon it, man,\" replied Richard; \"only, if thou\ncouldst consistently make up thy tale of patients without craving me\nto deliver from punishment those who have deserved it, I would more\nwillingly discharge my debt in some other form.\"\n\n\"May thy days be multiplied!\" answered the Hakim, and withdrew from the\napartment after the usual deep obeisance.\n\nKing Richard gazed after him as he departed, like one but half-satisfied\nwith what had passed.\n\n\"Strange pertinacity,\" he said, \"in this Hakim, and a wonderful chance\nto interfere between that audacious Scot and the chastisement he has\nmerited so richly. Yet let him live! there is one brave man the more in\nthe world. And now for the Austrian. Ho! is the Baron of Gilsland there\nwithout?\"\n\nSir Thomas de Vaux thus summoned, his bulky form speedily darkened\nthe opening of the pavilion, while behind him glided as a spectre,\nunannounced, yet unopposed, the savage form of the hermit of Engaddi,\nwrapped in his goatskin mantle.\n\nRichard, without noticing his presence, called in a loud tone to the\nbaron, \"Sir Thomas de Vaux, of Lanercost and Gilsland, take trumpet and\nherald, and go instantly to the tent of him whom they call Archduke of\nAustria, and see that it be when the press of his knights and vassals\nis greatest around him, as is likely at this hour, for the German\nboar breakfasts ere he hears mass--enter his presence with as little\nreverence as thou mayest, and impeach him, on the part of Richard of\nEngland, that he hath this night, by his own hand, or that of others,\nstolen from its staff the Banner of England. Wherefore say to him our\npleasure that within an hour from the time of my speaking he restore\nthe said banner with all reverence--he himself and his principal barons\nwaiting the whilst with heads uncovered, and without their robes of\nhonour. And that, moreover, he pitch beside it, on the one hand, his own\nBanner of Austria reversed, as that which hath been dishonoured by theft\nand felony, and on the other, a lance, bearing the bloody head of him\nwho was his nearest counsellor, or assistant, in this base injury. And\nsay, that such our behests being punctually discharged we will, for\nthe sake of our vow and the weal of the Holy Land, forgive his other\nforfeits.\"\n\n\"And how if the Duke of Austria deny all accession to this act of wrong\nand of felony?\" said Thomas de Vaux.\n\n\"Tell him,\" replied the King, \"we will prove it upon his body--ay, were\nhe backed with his two bravest champions. Knightlike will we prove it,\non foot or on horse, in the desert or in the field, time, place, and\narms all at his own choice.\"\n\n\"Bethink you of the peace of God and the church, my liege lord,\"\nsaid the Baron of Gilsland, \"among those princes engaged in this holy\nCrusade.\"\n\n\"Bethink you how to execute my commands, my liege vassal,\" answered\nRichard impatiently. \"Methinks men expect to turn our purpose by their\nbreath, as boys blow feathers to and fro. Peace of the church! Who, I\nprithee, minds it? The peace of the church, among Crusaders, implies war\nwith the Saracens, with whom the princes have made truce; and the one\nends with the other. And besides, see you not how every prince of them\nis seeking his own several ends? I will seek mine also--and that is\nhonour. For honour I came hither; and if I may not win it upon the\nSaracens, at least I will not lose a jot from any respect to this paltry\nDuke, though he were bulwarked and buttressed by every prince in the\nCrusade.\"\n\nDe Vaux turned to obey the King's mandate, shrugging his shoulders at\nthe same time, the bluntness of his nature being unable to conceal that\nits tenor went against his judgment. But the hermit of Engaddi stepped\nforward, and assumed the air of one charged with higher commands than\nthose of a mere earthly potentate. Indeed, his dress of shaggy skins,\nhis uncombed and untrimmed hair and beard, his lean, wild, and contorted\nfeatures, and the almost insane fire which gleamed from under his\nbushy eyebrows, made him approach nearly to our idea of some seer of\nScripture, who, charged with high mission to the sinful Kings of Judah\nor Israel, descended from the rocks and caverns in which he dwelt in\nabstracted solitude, to abash earthly tyrants in the midst of their\npride, by discharging on them the blighting denunciations of Divine\nMajesty, even as the cloud discharges the lightnings with which it is\nfraught on the pinnacles and towers of castles and palaces. In the\nmidst of his most wayward mood, Richard respected the church and its\nministers; and though offended at the intrusion of the hermit into his\ntent, he greeted him with respect--at the same time, however, making a\nsign to Sir Thomas de Vaux to hasten on his message.\n\nBut the hermit prohibited the baron, by gesture, look, and word, to stir\na yard on such an errand; and holding up his bare arm, from which the\ngoatskin mantle fell back in the violence of his action, he waved it\naloft, meagre with famine, and wealed with the blows of the discipline.\n\n\"In the name of God, and of the most holy Father, the vicegerent of the\nChristian Church upon earth, I prohibit this most profane, bloodthirsty,\nand brutal defiance betwixt two Christian princes, whose shoulders are\nsigned with the blessed mark under which they swore brotherhood. Woe\nto him by whom it is broken!--Richard of England, recall the most\nunhallowed message thou hast given to that baron. Danger and death are\nnigh thee!--the dagger is glancing at thy very throat!--\"\n\n\"Danger and death are playmates to Richard,\" answered the Monarch\nproudly; \"and he hath braved too many swords to fear a dagger.\"\n\n\"Danger and death are near,\" replied the seer, and sinking his voice to\na hollow, unearthly tone, he added, \"And after death the judgment!\"\n\n\"Good and holy father,\" said Richard, \"I reverence thy person and thy\nsanctity--\"\n\n\"Reverence not me!\" interrupted the hermit; \"reverence sooner the vilest\ninsect that crawls by the shores of the Dead Sea, and feeds upon its\naccursed slime. But reverence Him whose commands I speak--reverence Him\nwhose sepulchre you have vowed to rescue--revere the oath of concord\nwhich you have sworn, and break not the silver cord of union\nand fidelity with which you have bound yourself to your princely\nconfederates.\"\n\n\"Good father,\" said the King, \"you of the church seem to me to presume\nsomewhat, if a layman may say so much, upon the dignity of your\nholy character. Without challenging your right to take charge of our\nconscience, methinks you might leave us the charge of our own honour.\"\n\n\"Presume!\" repeated the hermit. \"Is it for me to presume, royal Richard,\nwho am but the bell obeying the hand of the sexton--but the senseless\nand worthless trumpet carrying the command of him who sounds it? See,\non my knees I throw myself before thee, imploring thee to have mercy on\nChristendom, on England, and on thyself!\"\n\n\"Rise, rise,\" said Richard, compelling him to stand up; \"it beseems not\nthat knees which are so frequently bended to the Deity should press the\nground in honour of man. What danger awaits us, reverend father? and\nwhen stood the power of England so low that the noisy bluster of this\nnew-made Duke's displeasure should alarm her or her monarch?\"\n\n\"I have looked forth from my mountain turret upon the starry host of\nheaven, as each in his midnight circuit uttered wisdom to another, and\nknowledge to the few who can understand their voice. There sits an enemy\nin thy House of Life, Lord King, malign at once to thy fame and thy\nprosperity--an emanation of Saturn, menacing thee with instant and\nbloody peril, and which, but thou yield thy proud will to the rule of\nthy duty, will presently crush thee even in thy pride.\"\n\n\"Away, away--this is heathen science,\" said the King. \"Christians\npractise it not--wise men believe it not. Old man, thou dotest.\"\n\n\"I dote not, Richard,\" answered the hermit--\"I am not so happy. I know\nmy condition, and that some portion of reason is yet permitted me, not\nfor my own use, but that of the Church and the advancement of the Cross.\nI am the blind man who holds a torch to others, though it yields no\nlight to himself. Ask me touching what concerns the weal of Christendom,\nand of this Crusade, and I will speak with thee as the wisest counsellor\non whose tongue persuasion ever sat. Speak to me of my own wretched\nbeing, and my words shall be those of the maniac outcast which I am.\"\n\n\"I would not break the bands of unity asunder among the princes of the\nCrusade,\" said Richard, with a mitigated tone and manner; \"but what\natonement can they render me for the injustice and insult which I have\nsustained?\"\n\n\"Even of that I am prepared and commissioned to speak by the Council,\nwhich, meeting hastily at the summons of Philip of France, have taken\nmeasures for that effect.\"\n\n\"Strange,\" replied Richard, \"that others should treat of what is due to\nthe wounded majesty of England!\"\n\n\"They are willing to anticipate your demands, if it be possible,\"\nanswered the hermit. \"In a body, they consent that the Banner of\nEngland be replaced on Saint George's Mount; and they lay under ban\nand condemnation the audacious criminal, or criminals, by whom it was\noutraged, and will announce a princely reward to any who shall denounce\nthe delinquent's guilt, and give his flesh to the wolves and ravens.\"\n\n\"And Austria,\" said Richard, \"upon whom rest such strong presumptions\nthat he was the author of the deed?\"\n\n\"To prevent discord in the host,\" replied the hermit, \"Austria will\nclear himself of the suspicion by submitting to whatsoever ordeal the\nPatriarch of Jerusalem shall impose.\"\n\n\"Will he clear himself by the trial by combat?\" said King Richard.\n\n\"His oath prohibits it,\" said the hermit; \"and, moreover, the Council of\nthe Princes--\"\n\n\"Will neither authorize battle against the Saracens,\" interrupted\nRichard, \"nor against any one else. But it is enough, father--thou hast\nshown me the folly of proceeding as I designed in this matter. You shall\nsooner light your torch in a puddle of rain than bring a spark out of a\ncold-blooded coward. There is no honour to be gained on Austria, and so\nlet him pass. I will have him perjure himself, however; I will insist\non the ordeal. How I shall laugh to hear his clumsy fingers hiss, as he\ngrasps the red-hot globe of iron! Ay, or his huge mouth riven, and\nhis gullet swelling to suffocation, as he endeavours to swallow the\nconsecrated bread!\"\n\n\"Peace, Richard,\" said the hermit--\"oh, peace, for shame, if not for\ncharity! Who shall praise or honour princes who insult and calumniate\neach other? Alas! that a creature so noble as thou art--so accomplished\nin princely thoughts and princely daring--so fitted to honour\nChristendom by thy actions, and, in thy calmer mood, to rule her by thy\nwisdom, should yet have the brute and wild fury of the lion mingled with\nthe dignity and courage of that king of the forest!\"\n\nHe remained an instant musing with his eyes fixed on the ground, and\nthen proceeded--\"But Heaven, that knows our imperfect nature, accepts\nof our imperfect obedience, and hath delayed, though not averted, the\nbloody end of thy daring life. The destroying angel hath stood still, as\nof old by the threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite, and the blade\nis drawn in his hand, by which, at no distant date, Richard, the\nlion-hearted, shall be as low as the meanest peasant.\"\n\n\"Must it, then, be so soon?\" said Richard. \"Yet, even so be it. May my\ncourse be bright, if it be but brief!\"\n\n\"Alas! noble King,\" said the solitary, and it seemed as if a tear\n(unwonted guest) were gathering in his dry and glazened eye, \"short and\nmelancholy, marked with mortification, and calamity, and captivity, is\nthe span that divides thee from the grave which yawns for thee--a grave\nin which thou shalt be laid without lineage to succeed thee--without\nthe tears of a people, exhausted by thy ceaseless wars, to lament\nthee--without having extended the knowledge of thy subjects--without\nhaving done aught to enlarge their happiness.\"\n\n\"But not without renown, monk--not without the tears of the lady of my\nlove! These consolations, which thou canst neither know nor estimate,\nawait upon Richard to his grave.\"\n\n\"DO I not know, CAN I not estimate the value of minstrel's praise and of\nlady's love?\" retorted the hermit, in a tone which for a moment seemed\nto emulate the enthusiasm of Richard himself. \"King of England,\" he\ncontinued, extending his emaciated arm, \"the blood which boils in thy\nblue veins is not more noble than that which stagnates in mine. Few\nand cold as the drops are, they still are of the blood of the royal\nLusignan--of the heroic and sainted Godfrey. I am--that is, I was when\nin the world--Alberick Mortemar--\"\n\n\"Whose deeds,\" said Richard, \"have so often filled Fame's trumpet! Is it\nso?--can it be so? Could such a light as thine fall from the horizon of\nchivalry, and yet men be uncertain where its embers had alighted?\"\n\n\"Seek a fallen star,\" said the hermit, \"and thou shalt only light on\nsome foul jelly, which, in shooting through the horizon, has assumed for\na moment an appearance of splendour. Richard, if I thought that rending\nthe bloody veil from my horrible fate could make thy proud heart stoop\nto the discipline of the church, I could find in my heart to tell thee\na tale, which I have hitherto kept gnawing at my vitals in concealment,\nlike the self-devoted youth of heathenesse. Listen, then, Richard, and\nmay the grief and despair which cannot avail this wretched remnant of\nwhat was once a man be powerful as an example to so noble, yet so wild,\na being as thou art! Yes--I will--I WILL tear open the long-hidden\nwounds, although in thy very presence they should bleed to death!\"\n\nKing Richard, upon whom the history of Alberick of Mortemar had made\na deep impression in his early years, when minstrels were regaling his\nfather's halls with legends of the Holy Land, listened with respect\nto the outlines of a tale, which, darkly and imperfectly sketched,\nindicated sufficiently the cause of the partial insanity of this\nsingular and most unhappy being.\n\n\"I need not,\" he said, \"tell thee that I was noble in birth, high in\nfortune, strong in arms, wise in counsel. All these I was. But while\nthe noblest ladies in Palestine strove which should wind garlands for my\nhelmet, my love was fixed--unalterably and devotedly fixed--on a maiden\nof low degree. Her father, an ancient soldier of the Cross, saw our\npassion, and knowing the difference betwixt us, saw no other refuge\nfor his daughter's honour than to place her within the shadow of the\ncloister. I returned from a distant expedition, loaded with spoils and\nhonour, to find my happiness was destroyed for ever! I too sought the\ncloister; and Satan, who had marked me for his own, breathed into my\nheart a vapour of spiritual pride, which could only have had its source\nin his own infernal regions. I had risen as high in the church as\nbefore in the state. I was, forsooth, the wise, the self-sufficient,\nthe impeccable!--I was the counsellor of councils--I was the director\nof prelates. How should I stumble?--wherefore should I fear temptation?\nAlas! I became confessor to a sisterhood, and amongst that sisterhood\nI found the long-loved--the long-lost. Spare me further confession!--A\nfallen nun, whose guilt was avenged by self-murder, sleeps soundly in\nthe vaults of Engaddi; while, above her very grave, gibbers, moans, and\nroars a creature to whom but so much reason is left as may suffice to\nrender him completely sensible to his fate!\"\n\n\"Unhappy man!\" said Richard, \"I wonder no longer at thy misery. How\ndidst thou escape the doom which the canons denounce against thy\noffence?\"\n\n\"Ask one who is yet in the gall of worldly bitterness,\" said the hermit,\n\"and he will speak of a life spared for personal respects, and from\nconsideration to high birth. But, Richard, I tell thee that Providence\nhath preserved me to lift me on high as a light and beacon, whose ashes,\nwhen this earthly fuel is burnt out, must yet be flung into Tophet.\nWithered and shrunk as this poor form is, it is yet animated with two\nspirits--one active, shrewd, and piercing, to advocate the cause of\nthe Church of Jerusalem; one mean, abject, and despairing, fluctuating\nbetween madness and misery, to mourn over my own wretchedness, and to\nguard holy relics on which it would be most sinful for me even to cast\nmy eye. Pity me not!--it is but sin to pity the loss of such an abject;\npity me not, but profit by my example. Thou standest on the highest,\nand, therefore, on the most dangerous pinnacle occupied by any Christian\nprince. Thou art proud of heart, loose of life, bloody of hand. Put from\nthee the sins which are to thee as daughters--though they be dear to the\nsinful Adam, expel these adopted furies from thy breast--thy pride, thy\nluxury, thy bloodthirstiness.\"\n\n\"He raves,\" said Richard, turning from the solitary to De Vaux, as one\nwho felt some pain from a sarcasm which yet he could not resent; then\nturned him calmly, and somewhat scornfully, to the anchoret, as he\nreplied, \"Thou hast found a fair bevy of daughters, reverend father, to\none who hath been but few months married; but since I must put them\nfrom my roof, it were but like a father to provide them with suitable\nmatches. Therefore, I will part with my pride to the noble canons of the\nchurch--my luxury, as thou callest it, to the monks of the rule--and my\nbloodthirstiness to the Knights of the Temple.\"\n\n\"O heart of steel, and hand of iron,\" said the anchoret, \"upon whom\nexample, as well as advice, is alike thrown away! Yet shalt thou be\nspared for a season, in case it so be thou shouldst turn, and do that\nwhich is acceptable in the sight of Heaven. For me I must return to my\nplace. Kyrie Eleison! I am he through whom the rays of heavenly grace\ndart like those of the sun through a burning-glass, concentrating them\non other objects, until they kindle and blaze, while the glass itself\nremains cold and uninfluenced. Kyrie Eleison!--the poor must be called,\nfor the rich have refused the banquet--Kyrie Eleison!\"\n\nSo saying, he burst from the tent, uttering loud cries.\n\n\"A mad priest!\" said Richard, from whose mind the frantic exclamations\nof the hermit had partly obliterated the impression produced by the\ndetail of his personal history and misfortunes. \"After him, De Vaux, and\nsee he comes to no harm; for, Crusaders as we are, a juggler hath more\nreverence amongst our varlets than a priest or a saint, and they may,\nperchance, put some scorn upon him.\"\n\nThe knight obeyed, and Richard presently gave way to the thoughts which\nthe wild prophecy of the monk had inspired. \"To die early--without\nlineage--without lamentation! A heavy sentence, and well that it is not\npassed by a more competent judge. Yet the Saracens, who are accomplished\nin mystical knowledge, will often maintain that He, in whose eyes the\nwisdom of the sage is but as folly, inspires wisdom and prophecy into\nthe seeming folly of the madman. Yonder hermit is said to read the\nstars, too, an art generally practised in these lands, where the\nheavenly host was of yore the object of idolatry. I would I had asked\nhim touching the loss of my banner; for not the blessed Tishbite, the\nfounder of his order, could seem more wildly rapt out of himself, or\nspeak with a tongue more resembling that of a prophet.--How now, De\nVaux, what news of the mad priest?\"\n\n\"Mad priest, call you him, my lord?\" answered De Vaux. \"Methinks\nhe resembles more the blessed Baptist himself, just issued from the\nwilderness. He has placed himself on one of the military engines, and\nfrom thence he preaches to the soldiers as never man preached since the\ntime of Peter the Hermit. The camp, alarmed by his cries, crowd around\nhim in thousands; and breaking off every now and then from the main\nthread of his discourse, he addresses the several nations, each in their\nown language, and presses upon each the arguments best qualified to urge\nthem to perseverance in the delivery of Palestine.\"\n\n\"By this light, a noble hermit!\" said King Richard. \"But what else could\ncome from the blood of Godfrey? HE despair of safety, because he hath\nin former days lived PAR AMOURS? I will have the Pope send him an ample\nremission, and I would not less willingly be intercessor had his BELLE\nAMIE been an abbess.\"\n\nAs he spoke, the Archbishop of Tyre craved audience, for the purpose of\nrequesting Richard's attendance, should his health permit, on a secret\nconclave of the chiefs of the Crusade, and to explain to him the\nmilitary and political incidents which had occurred during his illness.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n     Must we then sheathe our still victorious sword;\n     Turn back our forward step, which ever trod\n     O'er foemen's necks the onward path of glory;\n     Unclasp the mail, which with a solemn vow,\n     In God's own house, we hung upon our shoulders--\n     That vow, as unaccomplish'd as the promise\n     Which village nurses make to still their children,\n     And after think no more of?\n           THE CRUSADE, A TRAGEDY.\n\nThe Archbishop of Tyre was an emissary well chosen to communicate to\nRichard tidings, which from another voice the lion-hearted King would\nnot have brooked to hear without the most unbounded explosions of\nresentment. Even this sagacious and reverend prelate found difficulty in\ninducing him to listen to news which destroyed all his hopes of gaining\nback the Holy Sepulchre by force of arms, and acquiring the renown which\nthe universal all-hail of Christendom was ready to confer upon him as\nthe Champion of the Cross.\n\nBut, by the Archbishop's report, it appeared that Saladin was assembling\nall the force of his hundred tribes, and that the monarchs of Europe,\nalready disgusted from various motives with the expedition, which had\nproved so hazardous, and was daily growing more so, had resolved to\nabandon their purpose. In this they were countenanced by the example of\nPhilip of France, who, with many protestations of regard, and assurances\nthat he would first see his brother of England in safety, declared his\nintention to return to Europe. His great vassal, the Earl of Champagne,\nhad adopted the same resolution; and it could not excite surprise that\nLeopold of Austria, affronted as he had been by Richard, was glad\nto embrace an opportunity of deserting a cause in which his haughty\nopponent was to be considered as chief. Others announced the same\npurpose; so that it was plain that the King of England was to be left,\nif he chose to remain, supported only by such volunteers as might, under\nsuch depressing circumstances, join themselves to the English army, and\nby the doubtful aid of Conrade of Montserrat and the military orders of\nthe Temple and of Saint John, who, though they were sworn to wage battle\nagainst the Saracens, were at least equally jealous of any European\nmonarch achieving the conquest of Palestine, where, with shortsighted\nand selfish policy, they proposed to establish independent dominions of\ntheir own.\n\nIt needed not many arguments to show Richard the truth of his situation;\nand indeed, after his first burst of passion, he sat him calmly down,\nand with gloomy looks, head depressed, and arms folded on his bosom,\nlistened to the Archbishop's reasoning on the impossibility of his\ncarrying on the Crusade when deserted by his companions. Nay, he forbore\ninterruption, even when the prelate ventured, in measured terms, to hint\nthat Richard's own impetuosity had been one main cause of disgusting the\nprinces with the expedition.\n\n\"CONFITEOR,\" answered Richard, with a dejected look, and something of\na melancholy smile--\"I confess, reverend father, that I ought on some\naccounts to sing CULPA MEA. But is it not hard that my frailties of\ntemper should be visited with such a penance--that, for a burst or two\nof natural passion, I should be doomed to see fade before me ungathered\nsuch a rich harvest of glory to God and honour to chivalry? But it shall\nNOT fade. By the soul of the Conqueror, I will plant the Cross on the\ntowers of Jerusalem, or it shall be planted over Richard's grave!\"\n\n\"Thou mayest do it,\" said the prelate, \"yet not another drop of\nChristian blood be shed in the quarrel.\"\n\n\"Ah, you speak of compromise, Lord Prelate; but the blood of the infidel\nhounds must also cease to flow,\" said Richard.\n\n\"There will be glory enough,\" replied the Archbishop, \"in having\nextorted from Saladin, by force of arms, and by the respect inspired by\nyour fame, such conditions as at once restore the Holy Sepulchre, open\nthe Holy Land to pilgrims, secure their safety by strong fortresses,\nand, stronger than all, assure the safety of the Holy City, by\nconferring on Richard the title of King Guardian of Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"How!\" said Richard, his eyes sparkling with unusual light. \"I--I--I the\nKing Guardian of the Holy City! Victory itself, but that it is victory,\ncould not gain more--scarce so much, when won with unwilling and\ndisunited forces. But Saladin still proposes to retain his interest in\nthe Holy Land?\"\n\n\"As a joint sovereign, the sworn ally,\" replied the prelate, \"of the\nmighty Richard--his relative, if it may be permitted, by marriage.\"\n\n\"By marriage!\" said Richard, surprised, yet less so than the prelate had\nexpected. \"Ha!--ay--Edith Plantagenet. Did I dream this? or did some one\ntell me? My head is still weak from this fever, and has been agitated.\nWas it the Scot, or the Hakim, or yonder holy hermit, that hinted such a\nwild bargain?\"\n\n\"The hermit of Engaddi, most likely,\" said the Archbishop, \"for he hath\ntoiled much in this matter; and since the discontent of the princes has\nbecame apparent, and a separation of their forces unavoidable, he hath\nhad many consultations, both with Christian and pagan, for arranging\nsuch a pacification as may give to Christendom, at least in part, the\nobjects of this holy warfare.\"\n\n\"My kinswoman to an infidel--ha!\" exclaimed Richard, as his eyes began\nto sparkle.\n\nThe prelate hastened to avert his wrath.\n\n\"The Pope's consent must doubtless be first attained, and the holy\nhermit, who is well known at Rome, will treat with the holy Father.\"\n\n\"How?--without our consent first given?\" said the King.\n\n\"Surely no,\" said the Bishop, in a quieting and insinuating tone of\nvoice--\"only with and under your especial sanction.\"\n\n\"My sanction to marry my kinswoman to an infidel!\" said Richard; yet\nhe spoke rather in a tone of doubt than as distinctly reprobating the\nmeasure proposed. \"Could I have dreamed of such a composition when I\nleaped upon the Syrian shore from the prow of my galley, even as a lion\nsprings on his prey! And now--But proceed--I will hear with patience.\"\n\nEqually delighted and surprised to find his task so much easier than he\nhad apprehended, the Archbishop hastened to pour forth before Richard\nthe instances of such alliances in Spain--not without countenance from\nthe Holy See; the incalculable advantages which all Christendom would\nderive from the union of Richard and Saladin by a bond so sacred; and,\nabove all, he spoke with great vehemence and unction on the probability\nthat Saladin would, in case of the proposed alliance, exchange his false\nfaith for the true one.\n\n\"Hath the Soldan shown any disposition to become Christian?\" said\nRichard. \"If so, the king lives not on earth to whom I would grant the\nhand of a kinswoman, ay, or sister, sooner than to my noble Saladin--ay,\nthough the one came to lay crown and sceptre at her feet, and the other\nhad nothing to offer but his good sword and better heart!\"\n\n\"Saladin hath heard our Christian teachers,\" said the Bishop, somewhat\nevasively--\"my unworthy self, and others--and as he listens with\npatience, and replies with calmness, it can hardly be but that he be\nsnatched as a brand from the burning. MAGNA EST VERITAS, ET PREVALEBIT!\nmoreover, the hermit of Engaddi, few of whose words have fallen\nfruitless to the ground, is possessed fully with the belief that there\nis a calling of the Saracens and the other heathen approaching, to which\nthis marriage shall be matter of induction. He readeth the course of\nthe stars; and dwelling, with maceration of the flesh, in those divine\nplaces which the saints have trodden of old, the spirit of Elijah the\nTishbite, the founder of his blessed order, hath been with him as it was\nwith the prophet Elisha, the son of Shaphat, when he spread his mantle\nover him.\"\n\nKing Richard listened to the Prelate's reasoning with a downcast brow\nand a troubled look.\n\n\"I cannot tell,\" he said, \"How, it is with me, but methinks these cold\ncounsels of the Princes of Christendom have infected me too with a\nlethargy of spirit. The time hath been that, had a layman proposed such\nalliance to me, I had struck him to earth--if a churchman, I had spit at\nhim as a renegade and priest of Baal; yet now this counsel sounds not\nso strange in mine ear. For why should I not seek for brotherhood and\nalliance with a Saracen, brave, just, generous--who loves and honours\na worthy foe, as if he were a friend--whilst the Princes of Christendom\nshrink from the side of their allies, and forsake the cause of Heaven\nand good knighthood? But I will possess my patience, and will not think\nof them. Only one attempt will I make to keep this gallant brotherhood\ntogether, if it be possible; and if I fail, Lord Archbishop, we will\nspeak together of thy counsel, which, as now, I neither accept nor\naltogether reject. Wend we to the Council, my lord--the hour calls\nus. Thou sayest Richard is hasty and proud--thou shalt see him humble\nhimself like the lowly broom-plant from which he derives his surname.\"\n\nWith the assistance of those of his privy chamber, the King then hastily\nrobed himself in a doublet and mantle of a dark and uniform colour; and\nwithout any mark of regal dignity, excepting a ring of gold upon his\nhead, he hastened with the Archbishop of Tyre to attend the Council,\nwhich waited but his presence to commence its sitting.\n\nThe pavilion of the Council was an ample tent, having before it the\nlarge Banner of the Cross displayed, and another, on which was portrayed\na female kneeling, with dishevelled hair and disordered dress, meant to\nrepresent the desolate and distressed Church of Jerusalem, and bearing\nthe motto, AFFLICTAE SPONSAE NE OBLIVISCARIS. Warders, carefully\nselected, kept every one at a distance from the neighbourhood of this\ntent, lest the debates, which were sometimes of a loud and stormy\ncharacter, should reach other ears than those they were designed for.\n\nHere, therefore, the princes of the Crusade were assembled awaiting\nRichard's arrival. And even the brief delay which was thus interposed\nwas turned to his disadvantage by his enemies, various instances being\ncirculated of his pride and undue assumption of superiority, of which\neven the necessity of the present short pause was quoted as an instance.\nMen strove to fortify each other in their evil opinion of the King of\nEngland, and vindicated the offence which each had taken, by putting the\nmost severe construction upon circumstances the most trifling; and all\nthis, perhaps, because they were conscious of an instinctive reverence\nfor the heroic monarch, which it would require more than ordinary\nefforts to overcome.\n\nThey had settled, accordingly, that they should receive him on his\nentrance with slight notice, and no more respect than was exactly\nnecessary to keep within the bounds of cold ceremonial. But when they\nbeheld that noble form, that princely countenance, somewhat pale from\nhis late illness--the eye which had been called by minstrels the bright\nstar of battle and victory--when his feats, almost surpassing human\nstrength and valour, rushed on their recollection, the Council of\nPrinces simultaneously arose--even the jealous King of France and the\nsullen and offended Duke of Austria--arose with one consent, and the\nassembled princes burst forth with one voice in the acclamation, \"God\nsave King Richard of England! Long life to the valiant Lion's-heart!\"\n\nWith a countenance frank and open as the summer sun when it rises,\nRichard distributed his thanks around, and congratulated himself on\nbeing once more among his royal brethren of the Crusade.\n\n\"Some brief words he desired to say,\" such was his address to the\nassembly, \"though on a subject so unworthy as himself, even at the\nrisk of delaying for a few minutes their consultations for the weal of\nChristendom and the advancement of their holy enterprise.\"\n\nThe assembled princes resumed their seats, and there was a profound\nsilence.\n\n\"This day,\" continued the King of England, \"is a high festival of the\nchurch, and it well becomes Christian men, at such a tide, to reconcile\nthemselves with their brethren, and confess their faults to each\nother. Noble princes and fathers of this holy expedition, Richard is a\nsoldier--his hand is ever readier than his tongue--and his tongue is\nbut too much used to the rough language of his trade. But do not, for\nPlantagenet's hasty speeches and ill-considered actions, forsake the\nnoble cause of the redemption of Palestine--do not throw away earthly\nrenown and eternal salvation, to be won here if ever they can be won by\nman, because the act of a soldier may have been hasty, and his speech as\nhard as the iron which he has worn from childhood. Is Richard in\ndefault to any of you, Richard will make compensation both by word and\naction.--Noble brother of France, have I been so unlucky as to offend\nyou?\"\n\n\"The Majesty of France has no atonement to seek from that of England,\"\nanswered Philip, with kingly dignity, accepting, at the same time, the\noffered hand of Richard; \"and whatever opinion I may adopt concerning\nthe prosecution of this enterprise will depend on reasons arising out of\nthe state of my own kingdom--certainly on no jealousy or disgust at my\nroyal and most valorous brother.\"\n\n\"Austria,\" said Richard, walking up to the Archduke, with a mixture\nof frankness and dignity, while Leopold arose from his seat, as if\ninvoluntarily, and with the action of an automaton, whose motions\ndepended upon some external impulse--\"Austria thinks he hath reason to\nbe offended with England; England, that he hath cause to complain of\nAustria. Let them exchange forgiveness, that the peace of Europe and the\nconcord of this host may remain unbroken. We are now joint supporters of\na more glorious banner than ever blazed before an earthly prince, even\nthe Banner of Salvation. Let not, therefore, strife be betwixt us for\nthe symbol of our more worldly dignities; but let Leopold restore the\npennon of England, if he has it in his power, and Richard will say,\nthough from no motive save his love for Holy Church, that he repents him\nof the hasty mood in which he did insult the standard of Austria.\"\n\nThe Archduke stood still, sullen and discontented, with his eyes fixed\non the floor, and his countenance lowering with smothered displeasure,\nwhich awe, mingled with awkwardness, prevented his giving vent to in\nwords.\n\nThe Patriarch of Jerusalem hastened to break the embarrassing silence,\nand to bear witness for the Archduke of Austria that he had exculpated\nhimself, by a solemn oath, from all knowledge, direct or indirect, of\nthe aggression done to the Banner of England.\n\n\"Then we have done the noble Archduke the greater wrong,\" said Richard;\n\"and craving his pardon for imputing to him an outrage so cowardly, we\nextend our hand to him in token of renewed peace and amity. But how is\nthis? Austria refuses our uncovered hand, as he formerly refused our\nmailed glove? What! are we neither to be his mate in peace nor his\nantagonist in war? Well, let it be so. We will take the slight esteem in\nwhich he holds us as a penance for aught which we may have done against\nhim in heat of blood, and will therefore hold the account between us\ncleared.\"\n\nSo saying, he turned from the Archduke with an air rather of dignity\nthan scorn, leaving the Austrian apparently as much relieved by the\nremoval of his eye as is a sullen and truant schoolboy when the glance\nof his severe pedagogue is withdrawn.\n\n\"Noble Earl of Champagne--princely Marquis of Montserrat--valiant Grand\nMaster of the Templars--I am here a penitent in the confessional. Do any\nof you bring a charge or claim amends from me?\"\n\n\"I know not on what we could ground any,\" said the smooth-tongued\nConrade, \"unless it were that the King of England carries off from his\npoor brothers of the war all the fame which they might have hoped to\ngain in the expedition.\"\n\n\"My charge, if I am called on to make one,\" said the Master of the\nTemplars, \"is graver and deeper than that of the Marquis of Montserrat.\nIt may be thought ill to beseem a military monk such as I to raise his\nvoice where so many noble princes remain silent; but it concerns our\nwhole host, and not least this noble King of England, that he should\nhear from some one to his face those charges which there are enow to\nbring against him in his absence. We laud and honour the courage and\nhigh achievements of the King of England; but we feel aggrieved that he\nshould on all occasions seize and maintain a precedence and superiority\nover us, which it becomes not independent princes to submit to. Much we\nmight yield of our free will to his bravery, his zeal, his wealth,\nand his power; but he who snatches all as matter of right, and leaves\nnothing to grant out of courtesy and favour, degrades us from allies\ninto retainers and vassals, and sullies in the eyes of our soldiers and\nsubjects the lustre of our authority, which is no longer independently\nexercised. Since the royal Richard has asked the truth from us, he must\nneither be surprised nor angry when he hears one, to whom worldly pomp\nis prohibited, and secular authority is nothing, saving so far as it\nadvances the prosperity of God's Temple, and the prostration of the lion\nwhich goeth about seeking whom he may devour--when he hears, I say, such\na one as I tell him the truth in reply to his question; which truth,\neven while I speak it, is, I know, confirmed by the heart of every one\nwho hears me, however respect may stifle their voices.\"\n\nRichard  very highly while the Grand Master was making this\ndirect and unvarnished attack upon his conduct, and the murmur of\nassent which followed it showed plainly that almost all who were present\nacquiesced in the justice of the accusation. Incensed, and at the\nsame time mortified, he yet foresaw that to give way to his headlong\nresentment would be to give the cold and wary accuser the advantage over\nhim which it was the Templar's principal object to obtain. He therefore,\nwith a strong effort, remained silent till he had repeated a pater\nnoster, being the course which his confessor had enjoined him to pursue\nwhen anger was likely to obtain dominion over him. The King then spoke\nwith composure, though not without an embittered tone, especially at the\noutset:--\n\n\"And is it even so? And are our brethren at such pains to note the\ninfirmities of our natural temper, and the rough precipitance of our\nzeal, which may sometimes have urged us to issue commands when there\nwas little time to hold council? I could not have thought that offences,\ncasual and unpremeditated like mine, could find such deep root in the\nhearts of my allies in this most holy cause; that for my sake they\nshould withdraw their hands from the plough when the furrow was near\nthe end--for my sake turn aside from the direct path to Jerusalem, which\ntheir swords have opened. I vainly thought that my small services\nmight have outweighed my rash errors--that if it were remembered that I\npressed to the van in an assault, it would not be forgotten that I\nwas ever the last in the retreat--that, if I elevated my banner upon\nconquered fields of battle, it was all the advantage that I sought,\nwhile others were dividing the spoil. I may have called the conquered\ncity by my name, but it was to others that I yielded the dominion. If\nI have been headstrong in urging bold counsels, I have not, methinks,\nspared my own blood or my people's in carrying them into as bold\nexecution; or if I have, in the hurry of march or battle, assumed a\ncommand over the soldiers of others, such have been ever treated as my\nown when my wealth purchased the provisions and medicines which their\nown sovereigns could not procure. But it shames me to remind you of what\nall but myself seem to have forgotten. Let us rather look forward to\nour future measures; and believe me, brethren,\" he continued, his face\nkindling with eagerness, \"you shall not find the pride, or the wrath,\nor the ambition of Richard a stumbling-block of offence in the path to\nwhich religion and glory summon you as with the trumpet of an archangel.\nOh, no, no! never would I survive the thought that my frailties and\ninfirmities had been the means to sever this goodly fellowship of\nassembled princes. I would cut off my left hand with my right, could my\ndoing so attest my sincerity. I will yield up, voluntarily, all right to\ncommand in the host--even mine own liege subjects. They shall be led by\nsuch sovereigns as you may nominate; and their King, ever but too apt to\nexchange the leader's baton for the adventurer's lance, will serve\nunder the banner of Beau-Seant among the Templars--ay, or under that of\nAustria, if Austria will name a brave man to lead his forces. Or if\nye are yourselves a-weary of this war, and feel your armour chafe your\ntender bodies, leave but with Richard some ten or fifteen thousand of\nyour soldiers to work out the accomplishment of your vow; and when\nZion is won,\" he exclaimed, waving his hand aloft, as if displaying the\nstandard of the Cross over Jerusalem--\"when Zion is won, we will write\nupon her gates, NOT the name of Richard Plantagenet, but of those\ngenerous princes who entrusted him with the means of conquest!\"\n\nThe rough eloquence and determined expression of the military monarch\nat once roused the drooping spirits of the Crusaders, reanimated their\ndevotion, and, fixing their attention on the principal object of the\nexpedition, made most of them who were present blush for having been\nmoved by such petty subjects of complaint as had before engrossed them.\nEye caught fire from eye, voice lent courage to voice. They resumed, as\nwith one accord, the war-cry with which the sermon of Peter the Hermit\nwas echoed back, and shouted aloud, \"Lead us on, gallant Lion's-heart;\nnone so worthy to lead where brave men follow. Lead us on--to\nJerusalem--to Jerusalem! It is the will of God--it is the will of God!\nBlessed is he who shall lend an arm to its fulfilment!\"\n\nThe shout, so suddenly and generally raised, was heard beyond the ring\nof sentinels who guarded the pavilion of Council, and spread among\nthe soldiers of the host, who, inactive and dispirited by disease and\nclimate, had begun, like their leaders, to droop in resolution; but\nthe reappearance of Richard in renewed vigour, and the well-known shout\nwhich echoed from the assembly of the princes, at once rekindled their\nenthusiasm, and thousands and tens of thousands answered with the same\nshout of \"Zion, Zion! War, war! Instant battle with the infidels! It is\nthe will of God--it is the will of God!\"\n\nThe acclamations from without increased in their turn the enthusiasm\nwhich prevailed within the pavilion. Those who did not actually catch\nthe flame were afraid--at least for the time--to seem colder than\nothers. There was no more speech except of a proud advance towards\nJerusalem upon the expiry of the truce, and the measures to be taken in\nthe meantime for supplying and recruiting the army. The Council broke\nup, all apparently filled with the same enthusiastic purpose--which,\nhowever, soon faded in the bosom of most, and never had an existence in\nthat of others.\n\nOf the latter class were the Marquis Conrade and the Grand Master of\nthe Templars, who retired together to their quarters ill at ease, and\nmalcontent with the events of the day.\n\n\"I ever told it to thee,\" said the latter, with the cold, sardonic\nexpression peculiar to him, \"that Richard would burst through the flimsy\nwiles you spread for him, as would a lion through a spider's web. Thou\nseest he has but to speak, and his breath agitates these fickle fools\nas easily as the whirlwind catcheth scattered straws, and sweeps them\ntogether, or disperses them at its pleasure.\"\n\n\"When the blast has passed away,\" said Conrade, \"the straws, which it\nmade dance to its pipe, will settle to earth again.\"\n\n\"But knowest thou not besides,\" said the Templar, \"that it seems, if\nthis new purpose of conquest shall be abandoned and pass away, and each\nmighty prince shall again be left to such guidance as his own scanty\nbrain can supply, Richard may yet probably become King of Jerusalem by\ncompact, and establish those terms of treaty with the Soldan which thou\nthyself thought'st him so likely to spurn at?\"\n\n\"Now, by Mahound and Termagaunt, for Christian oaths are out of\nfashion,\" said Conrade, \"sayest thou the proud King of England\nwould unite his blood with a heathen Soldan? My policy threw in that\ningredient to make the whole treaty an abomination to him. As bad for us\nthat he become our master by an agreement, as by victory.\"\n\n\"Thy policy hath ill calculated Richard's digestion,\" answered the\nTemplar; \"I know his mind by a whisper from the Archbishop. And then thy\nmaster-stroke respecting yonder banner--it has passed off with no more\nrespect than two cubits of embroidered silk merited. Marquis Conrade,\nthy wit begins to halt; I will trust thy finespun measures no longer,\nbut will try my own. Knowest thou not the people whom the Saracens call\nCharegites?\"\n\n\"Surely,\" answered the Marquis; \"they are desperate and besotted\nenthusiasts, who devote their lives to the advancement of\nreligion---somewhat like Templars, only they are never known to pause in\nthe race of their calling.\"\n\n\"Jest not,\" answered the scowling monk. \"Know that one of these men has\nset down in his bloody vow the name of the Island Emperor yonder, to be\nhewn down as the chief enemy of the Moslem faith.\"\n\n\"A most judicious paynim,\" said Conrade. \"May Mohammed send him his\nparadise for a reward!\"\n\n\"He was taken in the camp by one of our squires, and in private\nexamination frankly avowed his fixed and determined purpose to me,\" said\nthe Grand Master.\n\n\"Now the heavens pardon them who prevented the purpose of this most\njudicious Charegite!\" answered Conrade.\n\n\"He is my prisoner,\" added the Templar, \"and secluded from speech with\nothers, as thou mayest suppose; but prisons have been broken--\"\n\n\"Chains left unlocked, and captives have escaped,\" answered the Marquis.\n\"It is an ancient saying, no sure dungeon but the grave.\"\n\n\"When loose, he resumes his quest,\" continued the military priest; \"for\nit is the nature of this sort of blood hound never to quit the suit of\nthe prey he has once scented.\"\n\n\"Say no more of it,\" said the Marquis; \"I see thy policy--it is\ndreadful, but the emergency is imminent.\"\n\n\"I only told thee of it,\" said the Templar, \"that thou mayest keep\nthyself on thy guard; for the uproar will be dreadful, and there is\nno knowing on whom the English may vent their rage. Ay, and there\nis another risk. My page knows the counsels of this Charegite,\" he\ncontinued; \"and, moreover, he is a peevish, self-willed fool, whom I\nwould I were rid of, as he thwarts me by presuming to see with his own\neyes, not mine. But our holy order gives me power to put a remedy to\nsuch inconvenience. Or stay--the Saracen may find a good dagger in his\ncell, and I warrant you he uses it as he breaks forth, which will be of\na surety so soon as the page enters with his food.\"\n\n\"It will give the affair a colour,\" said Conrade; \"and yet--\"\n\n\"YET and BUT,\" said the Templar, \"are words for fools; wise men neither\nhesitate nor retract--they resolve and they execute.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n     When beauty leads the lion in her toils,\n     Such are her charms, he dare not raise his mane,\n     Far less expand the terror of his fangs.\n     So great Alcides made his club a distaff,\n     And spun to please fair Omphale.\n               ANONYMOUS.\n\nRichard, the unsuspicious object of the dark treachery detailed in the\nclosing part of the last chapter, having effected, for the present at\nleast, the triumphant union of the Crusading princes in a resolution\nto prosecute the war with vigour, had it next at heart to establish\ntranquillity in his own family; and, now that he could judge more\ntemperately, to inquire distinctly into the circumstances leading to\nthe loss of his banner, and the nature and the extent of the connection\nbetwixt his kinswoman Edith and the banished adventurer from Scotland.\n\nAccordingly, the Queen and her household were startled with a visit\nfrom Sir Thomas de Vaux, requesting the present attendance of the Lady\nCalista of Montfaucon, the Queen's principal bower-woman, upon King\nRichard.\n\n\"What am I to say, madam?\" said the trembling attendant to the Queen,\n\"He will slay us all.\"\n\n\"Nay, fear not, madam,\" said De Vaux. \"His Majesty hath spared the life\nof the Scottish knight, who was the chief offender, and bestowed him\nupon the Moorish physician. He will not be severe upon a lady, though\nfaulty.\"\n\n\"Devise some cunning tale, wench,\" said Berengaria. \"My husband hath too\nlittle time to make inquiry into the truth.\"\n\n\"Tell the tale as it really happened,\" said Edith, \"lest I tell it for\nthee.\"\n\n\"With humble permission of her Majesty,\" said De Vaux, \"I would say Lady\nEdith adviseth well; for although King Richard is pleased to believe\nwhat it pleases your Grace to tell him, yet I doubt his having the same\ndeference for the Lady Calista, and in this especial matter.\"\n\n\"The Lord of Gilsland is right,\" said the Lady Calista, much agitated at\nthe thoughts of the investigation which was to take place; \"and besides,\nif I had presence of mind enough to forge a plausible story, beshrew me\nif I think I should have the courage to tell it.\"\n\nIn this candid humour, the Lady Calista was conducted by De Vaux to the\nKing, and made, as she had proposed, a full confession of the decoy by\nwhich the unfortunate Knight of the Leopard had been induced to desert\nhis post; exculpating the Lady Edith, who, she was aware, would not\nfail to exculpate herself, and laying the full burden on the Queen, her\nmistress, whose share of the frolic, she well knew, would appear the\nmost venial in the eyes of Coeur de Lion. In truth, Richard was a fond,\nalmost a uxorious husband. The first burst of his wrath had long since\npassed away, and he was not disposed severely to censure what could\nnot now be amended. The wily Lady Calista, accustomed from her earliest\nchildhood to fathom the intrigues of a court, and watch the indications\nof a sovereign's will, hastened back to the Queen with the speed of\na lapwing, charged with the King's commands that she should expect\na speedy visit from him; to which the bower-lady added a commentary\nfounded on her own observation, tending to show that Richard meant just\nto preserve so much severity as might bring his royal consort to repent\nof her frolic, and then to extend to her and all concerned his gracious\npardon.\n\n\"Sits the wind in that corner, wench?\" said the Queen, much relieved by\nthis intelligence. \"Believe me that, great commander as he is, Richard\nwill find it hard to circumvent us in this matter, and that, as the\nPyrenean shepherds are wont to say in my native Navarre, Many a one\ncomes for wool, and goes back shorn.\"\n\nHaving possessed herself of all the information which Calista could\ncommunicate, the royal Berengaria arrayed herself in her most becoming\ndress, and awaited with confidence the arrival of the heroic Richard.\n\nHe arrived, and found himself in the situation of a prince entering an\noffending province, in the confidence that his business will only be to\ninflict rebuke, and receive submission, when he unexpectedly finds it in\na state of complete defiance and insurrection. Berengaria well knew\nthe power of her charms and the extent of Richard's affection, and\nfelt assured that she could make her own terms good, now that the first\ntremendous explosion of his anger had expended itself without mischief.\nFar from listening to the King's intended rebuke, as what the levity\nof her conduct had justly deserved, she extenuated, nay, defended as a\nharmless frolic, that which she was accused of. She denied, indeed,\nwith many a pretty form of negation, that she had directed Nectabanus\nabsolutely to entice the knight farther than the brink of the Mount on\nwhich he kept watch--and, indeed, this was so far true, that she had not\ndesigned Sir Kenneth to be introduced into her tent--and then, eloquent\nin urging her own defence, the Queen was far more so in pressing upon\nRichard the charge of unkindness, in refusing her so poor a boon as the\nlife of an unfortunate knight, who, by her thoughtless prank, had been\nbrought within the danger of martial law. She wept and sobbed while she\nenlarged on her husband's obduracy on this score, as a rigour which had\nthreatened to make her unhappy for life, whenever she should reflect\nthat she had given, unthinkingly, the remote cause for such a tragedy.\nThe vision of the slaughtered victim would have haunted her dreams--nay,\nfor aught she knew, since such things often happened, his actual spectre\nmight have stood by her waking couch. To all this misery of the mind was\nshe exposed by the severity of one who, while he pretended to dote upon\nher slightest glance, would not forego one act of poor revenge, though\nthe issue was to render her miserable.\n\nAll this flow of female eloquence was accompanied with the usual\narguments of tears and sighs, and uttered with such tone and action as\nseemed to show that the Queen's resentment arose neither from pride nor\nsullenness, but from feelings hurt at finding her consequence with her\nhusband less than she had expected to possess.\n\nThe good King Richard was considerably embarrassed. He tried in vain\nto reason with one whose very jealousy of his affection rendered her\nincapable of listening to argument, nor could he bring himself to use\nthe restraint of lawful authority to a creature so beautiful in the\nmidst of her unreasonable displeasure. He was therefore reduced to the\ndefensive, endeavoured gently to chide her suspicions and soothe her\ndispleasure, and recalled to her mind that she need not look back upon\nthe past with recollections either of remorse or supernatural fear,\nsince Sir Kenneth was alive and well, and had been bestowed by him upon\nthe great Arabian physician, who, doubtless, of all men, knew best how\nto keep him living. But this seemed the unkindest cut of all, and\nthe Queen's sorrow was renewed at the idea of a Saracen--a\nmediciner--obtaining a boon for which, with bare head and on bended\nknee, she had petitioned her husband in vain. At this new charge\nRichard's patience began rather to give way, and he said, in a serious\ntone of voice, \"Berengaria, the physician saved my life. If it is of\nvalue in your eyes, you will not grudge him a higher recompense than the\nonly one I could prevail on him to accept.\"\n\nThe Queen was satisfied she had urged her coquettish displeasure to the\nverge of safety.\n\n\"My Richard,\" she said, \"why brought you not that sage to me, that\nEngland's Queen might show how she esteemed him who could save from\nextinction the lamp of chivalry, the glory of England, and the light of\npoor Berengaria's life and hope?\"\n\nIn a word, the matrimonial dispute was ended; but, that some penalty\nmight be paid to justice, both King and Queen accorded in laying the\nwhole blame on the agent Nectabanus, who (the Queen being by this time\nwell weary of the poor dwarf's humour) was, with his royal consort\nGuenevra, sentenced to be banished from the Court; and the unlucky dwarf\nonly escaped a supplementary whipping, from the Queen's assurances that\nhe had already sustained personal chastisement. It was decreed further\nthat, as an envoy was shortly to be dispatched to Saladin, acquainting\nhim with the resolution of the Council to resume hostilities so soon as\nthe truce was ended, and as Richard proposed to send a valuable present\nto the Soldan, in acknowledgment of the high benefit he had derived from\nthe services of El Hakim, the two unhappy creatures should be added to\nit as curiosities, which, from their extremely grotesque appearance, and\nthe shattered state of their intellect, were gifts that might well pass\nbetween sovereign and sovereign.\n\nRichard had that day yet another female encounter to sustain; but\nhe advanced to it with comparative indifference, for Edith, though\nbeautiful and highly esteemed by her royal relative--nay, although she\nhad from his unjust suspicions actually sustained the injury of which\nBerengaria only affected to complain--still was neither Richard's wife\nnor mistress, and he feared her reproaches less, although founded in\nreason, than those of the Queen, though unjust and fantastical. Having\nrequested to speak with her apart, he was ushered into her apartment,\nadjoining that of the Queen, whose two female Coptish slaves remained on\ntheir knees in the most remote corner during the interview. A thin black\nveil extended its ample folds over the tall and graceful form of the\nhigh-born maiden, and she wore not upon her person any female ornament\nof what kind soever. She arose and made a low reverence when Richard\nentered, resumed her seat at his command, and, when he sat down beside\nher, waited, without uttering a syllable, until he should communicate\nhis pleasure.\n\nRichard, whose custom it was to be familiar with Edith, as their\nrelationship authorized, felt this reception chilling, and opened the\nconversation with some embarrassment.\n\n\"Our fair cousin,\" he at length said, \"is angry with us; and we own that\nstrong circumstances have induced us, without cause, to suspect her\nof conduct alien to what we have ever known in her course of life. But\nwhile we walk in this misty valley of humanity, men will mistake shadows\nfor substances. Can my fair cousin not forgive her somewhat vehement\nkinsman Richard?\"\n\n\"Who can refuse forgiveness to RICHARD,\" answered Edith, \"provided\nRichard can obtain pardon of the KING?\"\n\n\"Come, my kinswoman,\" replied Coeur de Lion, \"this is all too solemn.\nBy Our Lady, such a melancholy countenance, and this ample sable veil,\nmight make men think thou wert a new-made widow, or had lost a betrothed\nlover, at least. Cheer up! Thou hast heard, doubtless, that there is no\nreal cause for woe; why, then, keep up the form of mourning?\"\n\n\"For the departed honour of Plantagenet--for the glory which hath left\nmy father's house.\"\n\nRichard frowned. \"Departed honour! glory which hath left our house!\" he\nrepeated angrily. \"But my cousin Edith is privileged. I have judged her\ntoo hastily; she has therefore a right to deem of me too harshly. But\ntell me at least in what I have faulted.\"\n\n\"Plantagenet,\" said Edith, \"should have either pardoned an offence, or\npunished it. It misbecomes him to assign free men, Christians, and\nbrave knights, to the fetters of the infidels. It becomes him not to\ncompromise and barter, or to grunt life under the forfeiture of liberty.\nTo have doomed the unfortunate to death might have been severity, but\nhad a show of justice; to condemn him to slavery and exile was barefaced\ntyranny.\"\n\n\"I see, my fair cousin,\" said Richard, \"you are of those pretty ones who\nthink an absent lover as bad as none, or as a dead one. Be patient; half\na score of light horsemen may yet follow and redeem the error, if thy\ngallant have in keeping any secret which might render his death more\nconvenient than his banishment.\"\n\n\"Peace with thy scurrile jests!\" answered Edith, colouring deeply.\n\"Think, rather, that for the indulgence of thy mood thou hast lopped\nfrom this great enterprise one goodly limb, deprived the Cross of one of\nits most brave supporters, and placed a servant of the true God in the\nhands of the heathen; hast given, too, to minds as suspicious as thou\nhast shown thine own in this matter, some right to say that Richard\nCoeur de Lion banished the bravest soldier in his camp lest his name in\nbattle might match his own.\"\n\n\"I--I!\" exclaimed Richard, now indeed greatly moved--\"am I one to be\njealous of renown? I would he were here to profess such an equality! I\nwould waive my rank and my crown, and meet him, manlike, in the lists,\nthat it might appear whether Richard Plantagenet had room to fear or to\nenvy the prowess of mortal man. Come, Edith, thou think'st not as thou\nsayest. Let not anger or grief for the absence of thy lover make thee\nunjust to thy kinsman, who, notwithstanding all thy techiness, values\nthy good report as high as that of any one living.\"\n\n\"The absence of my lover?\" said the Lady Edith, \"But yes, he may be\nwell termed my lover, who hath paid so dear for the title. Unworthy as I\nmight be of such homage, I was to him like a light, leading him forward\nin the noble path of chivalry; but that I forgot my rank, or that he\npresumed beyond his, is false, were a king to speak it.\"\n\n\"My fair cousin,\" said Richard, \"do not put words in my mouth which I\nhave not spoken. I said not you had graced this man beyond the favour\nwhich a good knight may earn, even from a princess, whatever be his\nnative condition. But, by Our Lady, I know something of this\nlove-gear. It begins with mute respect and distant reverence; but when\nopportunities occur, familiarity increases, and so--But it skills not\ntalking with one who thinks herself wiser than all the world.\"\n\n\"My kinsman's counsels I willingly listen to, when they are such,\" said\nEdith, \"as convey no insult to my rank and character.\"\n\n\"Kings, my fair cousin, do not counsel, but rather command,\" said\nRichard.\n\n\"Soldans do indeed command,\" said Edith, \"but it is because they have\nslaves to govern.\"\n\n\"Come, you might learn to lay aside this scorn of Soldanrie, when you\nhold so high of a Scot,\" said the King. \"I hold Saladin to be truer to\nhis word than this William of Scotland, who must needs be called a\nLion, forsooth; he hath foully faulted towards me in failing to send the\nauxiliary aid he promised. Let me tell thee, Edith, thou mayest live to\nprefer a true Turk to a false Scot.\"\n\n\"No--never!\" answered Edith--\"not should Richard himself embrace the\nfalse religion, which he crossed the seas to expel from Palestine.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt have the last word,\" said Richard, \"and thou shalt have it.\nEven think of me what thou wilt, pretty Edith. I shall not forget that\nwe are near and dear cousins.\"\n\nSo saying, he took his leave in fair fashion, but very little satisfied\nwith the result of his visit.\n\nIt was the fourth day after Sir Kenneth had been dismissed from the\ncamp, and King Richard sat in his pavilion, enjoying an evening breeze\nfrom the west, which, with unusual coolness on her wings, seemed\nbreathed from merry England for the refreshment of her adventurous\nMonarch, as he was gradually recovering the full strength which was\nnecessary to carry on his gigantic projects. There was no one with\nhim, De Vaux having been sent to Ascalon to bring up reinforcements and\nsupplies of military munition, and most of his other attendants being\noccupied in different departments, all preparing for the re-opening\nof hostilities, and for a grand preparatory review of the army of the\nCrusaders, which was to take place the next day. The King sat listening\nto the busy hum among the soldiery, the clatter from the forges, where\nhorseshoes were preparing, and from the tents of the armourers, who were\nrepairing harness. The voice of the soldiers, too, as they passed\nand repassed, was loud and cheerful, carrying with its very tone an\nassurance of high and excited courage, and an omen of approaching\nvictory. While Richard's ear drank in these sounds with delight, and\nwhile he yielded himself to the visions of conquest and of glory which\nthey suggested, an equerry told him that a messenger from Saladin waited\nwithout.\n\n\"Admit him instantly,\" said the King, \"and with due honour, Josceline.\"\n\nThe English knight accordingly introduced a person, apparently of no\nhigher rank than a Nubian slave, whose appearance was nevertheless\nhighly interesting. He was of superb stature and nobly formed, and his\ncommanding features, although almost jet-black, showed nothing of <DW64>\ndescent. He wore over his coal-black locks a milk-white turban, and over\nhis shoulders a short mantle of the same colour, open in front and at\nthe sleeves, under which appeared a doublet of dressed leopard's skin\nreaching within a handbreadth of the knee. The rest of his muscular\nlimbs, both legs and arms, were bare, excepting that he had sandals\non his feet, and wore a collar and bracelets of silver. A straight\nbroadsword, with a handle of box-wood and a sheath covered with\nsnakeskin, was suspended from his waist. In his right hand he held a\nshort javelin, with a broad, bright steel head, of a span in length, and\nin his left he led by a leash of twisted silk and gold a large and noble\nstaghound.\n\nThe messenger prostrated himself, at the same time partially uncovering\nhis shoulders, in sign of humiliation, and having touched the earth with\nhis forehead, arose so far as to rest on one knee, while he delivered\nto the King a silken napkin, enclosing another of cloth of gold,\nwithin which was a letter from Saladin in the original Arabic, with a\ntranslation into Norman-English, which may be modernized thus:--\n\n\"Saladin, King of Kings, to Melech Ric, the Lion of England. Whereas, we\nare informed by thy last message that thou hast chosen war rather than\npeace, and our enmity rather than our friendship, we account thee as\none blinded in this matter, and trust shortly to convince thee of thine\nerror, by the help of our invincible forces of the thousand tribes, when\nMohammed, the Prophet of God, and Allah, the God of the Prophet, shall\njudge the controversy betwixt us. In what remains, we make noble account\nof thee, and of the gifts which thou hast sent us, and of the two\ndwarfs, singular in their deformity as Ysop, and mirthful as the lute of\nIsaack. And in requital of these tokens from the treasure-house of thy\nbounty, behold we have sent thee a Nubian slave, named Zohauk, of whom\njudge not by his complexion, according to the foolish ones of the earth,\nin respect the dark-rinded fruit hath the most exquisite flavour.\nKnow that he is strong to execute the will of his master, as Rustan of\nZablestan; also he is wise to give counsel when thou shalt learn to hold\ncommunication with him, for the Lord of Speech hath been stricken with\nsilence betwixt the ivory walls of his palace. We commend him to thy\ncare, hoping the hour may not be distant when he may render thee good\nservice. And herewith we bid thee farewell; trusting that our most\nholy Prophet may yet call thee to a sight of the truth, failing which\nillumination, our desire is for the speedy restoration of thy royal\nhealth, that Allah may judge between thee and us in a plain field of\nbattle.\"\n\nAnd the missive was sanctioned by the signature and seal of the Soldan.\n\nRichard surveyed the Nubian in silence as he stood before him, his looks\nbent upon the ground, his arms folded on his bosom, with the appearance\nof a black marble statue of the most exquisite workmanship, waiting\nlife from the touch of a Prometheus. The King of England, who, as it was\nemphatically said of his successor Henry the Eighth, loved to look upon\nA MAN, was well pleased with the thews, sinews, and symmetry of him whom\nhe now surveyed, and questioned him in the lingua franca, \"Art thou a\npagan?\"\n\nThe slave shook his head, and raising his finger to his brow, crossed\nhimself in token of his Christianity, then resumed his posture of\nmotionless humility.\n\n\"A Nubian Christian, doubtless,\" said Richard, \"and mutilated of the\norgan of speech by these heathen dogs?\"\n\nThe mute again slowly shook his head, in token of negative, pointed with\nhis forefinger to Heaven, and then laid it upon his own lips.\n\n\"I understand thee,\" said Richard; \"thou dost suffer under the\ninfliction of God, not by the cruelty of man. Canst thou clean an armour\nand belt, and buckle it in time of need?\"\n\nThe mute nodded, and stepping towards the coat of mail, which hung with\nthe shield and helmet of the chivalrous monarch upon the pillar of the\ntent, he handled it with such nicety of address as sufficiently to show\nthat he fully understood the business of an armour-bearer.\n\n\"Thou art an apt, and wilt doubtless be a useful knave. Thou shalt wait\nin my chamber, and on my person,\" said the King, \"to show how much I\nvalue the gift of the royal Soldan. If thou hast no tongue, it follows\nthou canst carry no tales, neither provoke me to be sudden by any unfit\nreply.\"\n\nThe Nubian again prostrated himself till his brow touched the earth,\nthen stood erect, at some paces distant, as waiting for his new master's\ncommands.\n\n\"Nay, thou shalt commence thy office presently,\" said Richard, \"for I\nsee a speck of rust darkening on that shield; and when I shake it in\nthe face of Saladin, it should be bright and unsullied as the Soldan's\nhonour and mine own.\"\n\nA horn was winded without, and presently Sir Henry Neville entered\nwith a packet of dispatches. \"From England, my lord,\" he said, as he\ndelivered it.\n\n\"From England--our own England!\" repeated Richard, in a tone of\nmelancholy enthusiasm. \"Alas! they little think how hard their Sovereign\nhas been beset by sickness and sorrow--faint friends and forward\nenemies.\" Then opening the dispatches, he said hastily, \"Ha! this comes\nfrom no peaceful land--they too have their feuds. Neville, begone; I\nmust peruse these tidings alone, and at leisure.\"\n\nNeville withdrew accordingly, and Richard was soon absorbed in the\nmelancholy details which had been conveyed to him from England,\nconcerning the factions that were tearing to pieces his native\ndominions--the disunion of his brothers John and Geoffrey, and the\nquarrels of both with the High Justiciary Longchamp, Bishop of Ely--the\noppressions practised by the nobles upon the peasantry, and rebellion of\nthe latter against their masters, which had produced everywhere scenes\nof discord, and in some instances the effusion of blood. Details of\nincidents mortifying to his pride, and derogatory from his authority,\nwere intermingled with the earnest advice of his wisest and most\nattached counsellors that he should presently return to England, as\nhis presence offered the only hope of saving the Kingdom from all the\nhorrors of civil discord, of which France and Scotland were likely to\navail themselves. Filled with the most painful anxiety, Richard read,\nand again read, the ill-omened letters; compared the intelligence which\nsome of them contained with the same facts as differently stated in\nothers; and soon became totally insensible to whatever was passing\naround him, although seated, for the sake of coolness, close to the\nentrance of his tent, and having the curtains withdrawn, so that he\ncould see and be seen by the guards and others who were stationed\nwithout.\n\nDeeper in the shadow of the pavilion, and busied with the task his new\nmaster had imposed, sat the Nubian slave, with his back rather turned\ntowards the King. He had finished adjusting and cleaning the hauberk and\nbrigandine, and was now busily employed on a broad pavesse, or buckler,\nof unusual size, and covered with steel-plating, which Richard often\nused in reconnoitring, or actually storming fortified places, as a more\neffectual protection against missile weapons than the narrow triangular\nshield used on horseback. This pavesse bore neither the royal lions\nof England, nor any other device, to attract the observation of\nthe defenders of the walls against which it was advanced; the care,\ntherefore, of the armourer was addressed to causing its surface to shine\nas bright as crystal, in which he seemed to be peculiarly successful.\nBeyond the Nubian, and scarce visible from without, lay the large dog,\nwhich might be termed his brother slave, and which, as if he felt awed\nby being transferred to a royal owner, was couched close to the side of\nthe mute, with head and ears on the ground, and his limbs and tail drawn\nclose around and under him.\n\nWhile the Monarch and his new attendant were thus occupied, another\nactor crept upon the scene, and mingled among the group of English\nyeomen, about a score of whom, respecting the unusually pensive posture\nand close occupation of their Sovereign, were, contrary to their wont,\nkeeping a silent guard in front of his tent. It was not, however, more\nvigilant than usual. Some were playing at games of hazard with small\npebbles, others spoke together in whispers of the approaching day of\nbattle, and several lay asleep, their bulky limbs folded in their green\nmantles.\n\nAmid these careless warders glided the puny form of a little old Turk,\npoorly dressed like a marabout or santon of the desert--a sort of\nenthusiasts, who sometimes ventured into the camp of the Crusaders,\nthough treated always with contumely, and often with violence. Indeed,\nthe luxury and profligate indulgence of the Christian leaders had\noccasioned a motley concourse in their tents of musicians, courtesans,\nJewish merchants, Copts, Turks, and all the varied refuse of the Eastern\nnations; so that the caftan and turban, though to drive both from\nthe Holy Land was the professed object of the expedition, were,\nnevertheless, neither an uncommon nor an alarming sight in the camp of\nthe Crusaders. When, however, the little insignificant figure we have\ndescribed approached so nigh as to receive some interruption from the\nwarders, he dashed his dusky green turban from his head, showed that his\nbeard and eyebrows were shaved like those of a professed buffoon, and\nthat the expression of his fantastic and writhen features, as well as\nof his little black eyes, which glittered like jet, was that of a crazed\nimagination.\n\n\"Dance, marabout,\" cried the soldiers, acquainted with the manners of\nthese wandering enthusiasts, \"dance, or we will scourge thee with our\nbow-strings till thou spin as never top did under schoolboy's lash.\"\nThus shouted the reckless warders, as much delighted at having a subject\nto tease as a child when he catches a butterfly, or a schoolboy upon\ndiscovering a bird's nest.\n\nThe marabout, as if happy to do their behests, bounded from the earth,\nand spun his giddy round before them with singular agility, which, when\ncontrasted with his slight and wasted figure, and diminutive appearance,\nmade him resemble a withered leaf twirled round and round at the\npleasure of the winter's breeze. His single lock of hair streamed\nupwards from his bald and shaven head, as if some genie upheld him by\nit; and indeed it seemed as if supernatural art were necessary to the\nexecution of the wild, whirling dance, in which scarce the tiptoe of\nthe performer was seen to touch the ground. Amid the vagaries of his\nperformance he flew here and there, from one spot to another, still\napproaching, however, though almost imperceptibly, to the entrance of\nthe royal tent; so that, when at length he sunk exhausted on the earth,\nafter two or three bounds still higher than those which he had yet\nexecuted, he was not above thirty yards from the King's person.\n\n\"Give him water,\" said one yeoman; \"they always crave a drink after\ntheir merry-go-round.\"\n\n\"Aha, water, sayest thou, Long Allen?\" exclaimed another archer, with a\nmost scornful emphasis on the despised element; \"how wouldst like such\nbeverage thyself, after such a morrice dancing?\"\n\n\"The devil a water-drop he gets here,\" said a third. \"We will teach\nthe light-footed old infidel to be a good Christian, and drink wine of\nCyprus.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay,\" said a fourth; \"and in case he be restive, fetch thou Dick\nHunter's horn, that he drenches his mare withal.\"\n\nA circle was instantly formed around the prostrate and exhausted\ndervise, and while one tall yeoman raised his feeble form from the\nground, another presented to him a huge flagon of wine. Incapable of\nspeech, the old man shook his head, and waved away from him with his\nhand the liquor forbidden by the Prophet. But his tormentors were not\nthus to be appeased.\n\n\"The horn, the horn!\" exclaimed one. \"Little difference between a Turk\nand a Turkish horse, and we will use him conforming.\"\n\n\"By Saint George, you will choke him!\" said Long Allen; \"and besides, it\nis a sin to throw away upon a heathen dog as much wine as would serve a\ngood Christian for a treble night-cap.\"\n\n\"Thou knowest not the nature of these Turks and pagans, Long Allen,\"\nreplied Henry Woodstall. \"I tell thee, man, that this flagon of Cyprus\nwill set his brains a-spinning, just in the opposite direction that they\nwent whirling in the dancing, and so bring him, as it were, to himself\nagain. Choke? He will no more choke on it than Ben's black bitch on the\npound of butter.\"\n\n\"And for grudging it,\" said Tomalin Blacklees, \"why shouldst thou grudge\nthe poor paynim devil a drop of drink on earth, since thou knowest he\nis not to have a drop to cool the tip of his tongue through a long\neternity?\"\n\n\"That were hard laws, look ye,\" said Long Allen, \"only for being a Turk,\nas his father was before him. Had he been Christian turned heathen, I\ngrant you the hottest corner had been good winter quarters for him.\"\n\n\"Hold thy peace, Long Allen,\" said Henry Woodstall. \"I tell thee that\ntongue of thine is not the shortest limb about thee, and I prophesy that\nit will bring thee into disgrace with Father Francis, as once about the\nblack-eyed Syrian wench. But here comes the horn. Be active a bit,\nman, wilt thou, and just force open his teeth with the haft of thy\ndudgeon-dagger.\"\n\n\"Hold, hold--he is conformable,\" said Tomalin; \"see, see, he signs for\nthe goblet--give him room, boys! OOP SEY ES, quoth the Dutchman--down\nit goes like lamb's-wool! Nay, they are true topers when once they\nbegin--your Turk never coughs in his cup, or stints in his liquoring.\"\n\nIn fact, the dervise, or whatever he was, drank--or at least seemed to\ndrink--the large flagon to the very bottom at a single pull; and when\nhe took it from his lips after the whole contents were exhausted, only\nuttered, with a deep sigh, the words, ALLAH KERIM, or God is merciful.\nThere was a laugh among the yeomen who witnessed this pottle-deep\npotation, so obstreperous as to rouse and disturb the King, who, raising\nhis finger, said angrily, \"How, knaves, no respect, no observance?\"\n\nAll were at once hushed into silence, well acquainted with the temper of\nRichard, which at some times admitted of much military familiarity, and\nat others exacted the most precise respect, although the latter humour\nwas of much more rare occurrence. Hastening to a more reverent distance\nfrom the royal person, they attempted to drag along with them the\nmarabout, who, exhausted apparently by previous fatigue, or overpowered\nby the potent draught he had just swallowed, resisted being moved from\nthe spot, both with struggles and groans.\n\n\"Leave him still, ye fools,\" whispered Long Allen to his mates; \"by\nSaint Christopher, you will make our Dickon go beside himself, and we\nshall have his dagger presently fly at our costards. Leave him alone; in\nless than a minute he will sleep like a dormouse.\"\n\nAt the same moment the Monarch darted another impatient glance to the\nspot, and all retreated in haste, leaving the dervise on the ground,\nunable, as it seemed, to stir a single limb or joint of his body. In a\nmoment afterward all was as still and quiet as it had been before the\nintrusion.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\n     --and wither'd Murder,\n     Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,\n     Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,\n     With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design\n     Moves like a ghost.\n                MACBETH.\n\nFor the space of a quarter of an hour, or longer, after the incident\nrelated, all remained perfectly quiet in the front of the royal\nhabitation. The King read and mused in the entrance of his pavilion;\nbehind, and with his back turned to the same entrance, the Nubian slave\nstill burnished the ample pavesse; in front of all, at a hundred paces\ndistant, the yeomen of the guard stood, sat, or lay extended on the\ngrass, attentive to their own sports, but pursuing them in silence,\nwhile on the esplanade betwixt them and the front of the tent lay,\nscarcely to be distinguished from a bundle of rags, the senseless form\nof the marabout.\n\nBut the Nubian had the advantage of a mirror from the brilliant\nreflection which the surface of the highly-polished shield now afforded,\nby means of which he beheld, to his alarm and surprise, that the\nmarabout raised his head gently from the ground, so as to survey all\naround him, moving with a well-adjusted precaution which seemed entirely\ninconsistent with a state of ebriety. He couched his head instantly, as\nif satisfied he was unobserved, and began, with the slightest possible\nappearance of voluntary effort, to drag himself, as if by chance, ever\nnearer and nearer to the King, but stopping and remaining fixed at\nintervals, like the spider, which, moving towards her object, collapses\ninto apparent lifelessness when she thinks she is the subject of\nobservation. This species of movement appeared suspicious to the\nEthiopian, who, on his part, prepared himself, as quietly as possible,\nto interfere, the instant that interference should seem to be necessary.\n\nThe marabout, meanwhile, glided on gradually and imperceptibly,\nserpent-like, or rather snail-like, till he was about ten yards distant\nfrom Richard's person, when, starting on his feet, he sprung forward\nwith the bound of a tiger, stood at the King's back in less than an\ninstant, and brandished aloft the cangiar, or poniard, which he had\nhidden in his sleeve. Not the presence of his whole army could have\nsaved their heroic Monarch; but the motions of the Nubian had been as\nwell calculated as those of the enthusiast, and ere the latter could\nstrike, the former caught his uplifted arm. Turning his fanatical wrath\nupon what thus unexpectedly interposed betwixt him and his object, the\nCharegite, for such was the seeming marabout, dealt the Nubian a blow\nwith the dagger, which, however, only grazed his arm, while the far\nsuperior strength of the Ethiopian easily dashed him to the ground.\nAware of what had passed, Richard had now arisen, and with little more\nof surprise, anger, or interest of any kind in his countenance than an\nordinary man would show in brushing off and crushing an intrusive wasp,\ncaught up the stool on which he had been sitting, and exclaiming only,\n\"Ha, dog!\" dashed almost to pieces the skull of the assassin, who\nuttered twice, once in a loud, and once in a broken tone, the words\nALLAH ACKBAR!--God is victorious--and expired at the King's feet.\n\n\"Ye are careful warders,\" said Richard to his archers, in a tone of\nscornful reproach, as, aroused by the bustle of what had passed, in\nterror and tumult they now rushed into his tent; \"watchful sentinels ye\nare, to leave me to do such hangman's work with my own hand. Be silent,\nall of you, and cease your senseless clamour!--saw ye never a dead Turk\nbefore? Here, cast that carrion out of the camp, strike the head from\nthe trunk, and stick it on a lance, taking care to turn the face\nto Mecca, that he may the easier tell the foul impostor on whose\ninspiration he came hither how he has sped on his errand.--For thee, my\nswart and silent friend,\" he added, turning to the Ethiopian--\"but how's\nthis? Thou art wounded--and with a poisoned weapon, I warrant me, for\nby force of stab so weak an animal as that could scarce hope to do\nmore than raze the lion's hide.--Suck the poison from his wound one of\nyou--the venom is harmless on the lips, though fatal when it mingles\nwith the blood.\"\n\nThe yeomen looked on each other confusedly and with hesitation, the\napprehension of so strange a danger prevailing with those who feared no\nother.\n\n\"How now, sirrahs,\" continued the King, \"are you dainty-lipped, or do\nyou fear death, that you daily thus?\"\n\n\"Not the death of a man,\" said Long Allen, to whom the King looked as he\nspoke; \"but methinks I would not die like a poisoned rat for the sake\nof a black chattel there, that is bought and sold in a market like a\nMartlemas ox.\"\n\n\"His Grace speaks to men of sucking poison,\" muttered another yeoman,\n\"as if he said, 'Go to, swallow a gooseberry!'\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Richard, \"I never bade man do that which I would not do\nmyself.\"\n\nAnd without further ceremony, and in spite of the general expostulations\nof those around, and the respectful opposition of the Nubian himself,\nthe King of England applied his lips to the wound of the black\nslave, treating with ridicule all remonstrances, and overpowering all\nresistance. He had no sooner intermitted his singular occupation, than\nthe Nubian started from him, and casting a scarf over his arm, intimated\nby gestures, as firm in purpose as they were respectful in manner,\nhis determination not to permit the Monarch to renew so degrading\nan employment. Long Allen also interposed, saying that, if it were\nnecessary to prevent the King engaging again in a treatment of this\nkind, his own lips, tongue, and teeth were at the service of the <DW64>\n(as he called the Ethiopian), and that he would eat him up bodily,\nrather than King Richard's mouth should again approach him.\n\nNeville, who entered with other officers, added his remonstrances.\n\n\"Nay, nay, make not a needless halloo about a hart that the hounds have\nlost, or a danger when it is over,\" said the King. \"The wound will be a\ntrifle, for the blood is scarce drawn--an angry cat had dealt a deeper\nscratch. And for me, I have but to take a drachm of orvietan by way of\nprecaution, though it is needless.\"\n\n Thus spoke Richard, a little ashamed, perhaps, of his own\ncondescension, though sanctioned both by humanity and gratitude. But\nwhen Neville continued to make remonstrances on the peril to his royal\nperson, the King imposed silence on him.\n\n\"Peace, I prithee--make no more of it. I did it but to show these\nignorant, prejudiced knaves how they might help each other when these\ncowardly caitiffs come against us with sarbacanes and poisoned shafts.\nBut,\" he added, \"take thee this Nubian to thy quarters, Neville--I have\nchanged my mind touching him--let him be well cared for. But hark in\nthine ear; see that he escapes thee not--there is more in him than\nseems. Let him have all liberty, so that he leave not the camp.--And\nyou, ye beef-devouring, wine-swilling English mastiffs, get ye to your\nguard again, and be sure you keep it more warily. Think not you are now\nin your own land of fair play, where men speak before they strike, and\nshake hands ere they cut throats. Danger in our land walks openly, and\nwith his blade drawn, and defies the foe whom he means to assault; but\nhere he challenges you with a silk glove instead of a steel gauntlet,\ncuts your throat with the feather of a turtle-dove, stabs you with the\ntongue of a priest's brooch, or throttles you with the lace of my lady's\nboddice. Go to--keep your eyes open and your mouths shut--drink less,\nand look sharper about you; or I will place your huge stomachs on such\nshort allowance as would pinch the stomach of a patient Scottish man.\"\n\nThe yeomen, abashed and mortified, withdrew to their post, and Neville\nwas beginning to remonstrate with his master upon the risk of passing\nover thus slightly their negligence upon their duty, and the propriety\nof an example in a case so peculiarly aggravated as the permitting one\nso suspicious as the marabout to approach within dagger's length of\nhis person, when Richard interrupted him with, \"Speak not of it,\nNeville--wouldst thou have me avenge a petty risk to myself more\nseverely than the loss of England's banner? It has been stolen--stolen\nby a thief, or delivered up by a traitor, and no blood has been shed\nfor it.--My sable friend, thou art an expounder of mysteries, saith the\nillustrious Soldan--now would I give thee thine own weight in gold, if,\nby raising one still blacker than thyself or by what other means thou\nwilt, thou couldst show me the thief who did mine honour that wrong.\nWhat sayest thou, ha?\"\n\nThe mute seemed desirous to speak, but uttered only that imperfect sound\nproper to his melancholy condition; then folded his arms, looked on the\nKing with an eye of intelligence, and nodded in answer to his question.\n\n\"How!\" said Richard, with joyful impatience. \"Wilt thou undertake to\nmake discovery in this matter?\"\n\nThe Nubian slave repeated the same motion.\n\n\"But how shall we understand each other?\" said the King. \"Canst thou\nwrite, good fellow?\"\n\nThe slave again nodded in assent.\n\n\"Give him writing-tools,\" said the King. \"They were readier in my\nfather's tent than mine; but they be somewhere about, if this scorching\nclimate have not dried up the ink.--Why, this fellow is a jewel--a black\ndiamond, Neville.\"\n\n\"So please you, my liege,\" said Neville, \"if I might speak my poor mind,\nit were ill dealing in this ware. This man must be a wizard, and wizards\ndeal with the Enemy, who hath most interest to sow tares among the\nwheat, and bring dissension into our councils, and--\"\n\n\"Peace, Neville,\" said Richard. \"Hello to your northern hound when he is\nclose on the haunch of the deer, and hope to recall him, but seek not to\nstop Plantagenet when he hath hope to retrieve his honour.\"\n\nThe slave, who during this discussion had been writing, in which art he\nseemed skilful, now arose, and pressing what he had written to his brow,\nprostrated himself as usual, ere he delivered it into the King's hands.\nThe scroll was in French, although their intercourse had hitherto been\nconducted by Richard in the lingua franca.\n\n\"To Richard, the conquering and invincible King of England, this from\nthe humblest of his slaves. Mysteries are the sealed caskets of Heaven,\nbut wisdom may devise means to open the lock. Were your slave stationed\nwhere the leaders of the Christian host were made to pass before him\nin order, doubt nothing that if he who did the injury whereof my King\ncomplains shall be among the number, he may be made manifest in his\niniquity, though it be hidden under seven veils.\"\n\n\"Now, by Saint George!\" said King Richard, \"thou hast spoken most\nopportunely.--Neville, thou knowest that when we muster our troops\nto-morrow the princes have agreed that, to expiate the affront offered\nto England in the theft of her banner, the leaders should pass our new\nstandard as it floats on Saint George's Mount, and salute it with formal\nregard. Believe me, the secret traitor will not dare to absent himself\nfrom an expurgation so solemn, lest his very absence should be matter of\nsuspicion. There will we place our sable man of counsel, and if his art\ncan detect the villain, leave me to deal with him.\"\n\n\"My liege,\" said Neville, with the frankness of an English baron,\n\"beware what work you begin. Here is the concord of our holy league\nunexpectedly renewed--will you, upon such suspicion as a <DW64> slave can\ninstil, tear open wounds so lately closed? Or will you use the solemn\nprocession, adopted for the reparation of your honour and establishment\nof unanimity amongst the discording princes, as the means of again\nfinding out new cause of offence, or reviving ancient quarrels? It were\nscarce too strong to say this were a breach of the declaration your\nGrace made to the assembled Council of the Crusade.\"\n\n\"Neville,\" said the King, sternly interrupting him, \"thy zeal makes thee\npresumptuous and unmannerly. Never did I promise to abstain from taking\nwhatever means were most promising to discover the infamous author of\nthe attack on my honour. Ere I had done so, I would have renounced my\nkingdom, my life. All my declarations were under this necessary and\nabsolute qualification;--only, if Austria had stepped forth and owned\nthe injury like a man, I proffered, for the sake of Christendom, to have\nforgiven HIM.\"\n\n\"But,\" continued the baron anxiously, \"what hope that this juggling\nslave of Saladin will not palter with your Grace?\"\n\n\"Peace, Neville,\" said the King; \"thou thinkest thyself mighty wise, and\nart but a fool. Mind thou my charge touching this fellow; there is\nmore in him than thy Westmoreland wit can fathom.--And thou, smart and\nsilent, prepare to perform the feat thou hast promised, and, by the\nword of a King, thou shalt choose thine own recompense.--Lo, he writes\nagain.\"\n\nThe mute accordingly wrote and delivered to the King, with the same form\nas before, another slip of paper, containing these words, \"The will of\nthe King is the law to his slave; nor doth it become him to ask guerdon\nfor discharge of his devoir.\"\n\n\"GUERDON and DEVOIR!\" said the King, interrupting himself as he read,\nand speaking to Neville in the English tongue with some emphasis on\nthe words. \"These Eastern people will profit by the Crusaders--they are\nacquiring the language of chivalry! And see, Neville, how discomposed\nthat fellow looks! were it not for his colour he would blush. I should\nnot think it strange if he understood what I say--they are perilous\nlinguists.\"\n\n\"The poor slave cannot endure your Grace's eye,\" said Neville; \"it is\nnothing more.\"\n\n\"Well, but,\" continued the King, striking the paper with his finger as\nhe proceeded, \"this bold scroll proceeds to say that our trusty mute is\ncharged with a message from Saladin to the Lady Edith Plantagenet, and\ncraves means and opportunity to deliver it. What thinkest thou of a\nrequest so modest--ha, Neville?\"\n\n\"I cannot say,\" said Neville, \"how such freedom may relish with your\nGrace; but the lease of the messenger's neck would be a short one, who\nshould carry such a request to the Soldan on the part of your Majesty.\"\n\n\"Nay, I thank Heaven that I covet none of his sunburnt beauties,\" said\nRichard; \"and for punishing this fellow for discharging his master's\nerrand, and that when he has just saved my life--methinks it were\nsomething too summary. I'll tell thee, Neville, a secret; for although\nour sable and mute minister be present, he cannot, thou knowest, tell it\nover again, even if he should chance to understand us. I tell thee that,\nfor this fortnight past, I have been under a strange spell, and I would\nI were disenchanted. There has no sooner any one done me good service,\nbut, lo you, he cancels his interest in me by some deep injury; and,\non the other hand, he who hath deserved death at my hands for some\ntreachery or some insult, is sure to be the very person of all others\nwho confers upon me some obligation that overbalances his demerits, and\nrenders respite of his sentence a debt due from my honour. Thus, thou\nseest, I am deprived of the best part of my royal function, since I\ncan neither punish men nor reward them. Until the influence of this\ndisqualifying planet be passed away, I will say nothing concerning the\nrequest of this our sable attendant, save that it is an unusually bold\none, and that his best chance of finding grace in our eyes will be to\nendeavour to make the discovery which he proposes to achieve in our\nbehalf. Meanwhile, Neville, do thou look well to him, and let him\nbe honourably cared for. And hark thee once more,\" he said, in a\nlow whisper, \"seek out yonder hermit of Engaddi, and bring him to\nme forthwith, be he saint or savage, madman or sane. Let me see him\nprivately.\"\n\nNeville retired from the royal tent, signing to the Nubian to follow\nhim, and much surprised at what he had seen and heard, and especially at\nthe unusual demeanour of the King. In general, no task was so easy as to\ndiscover Richard's immediate course of sentiment and feeling, though\nit might, in some cases, be difficult to calculate its duration; for\nno weathercock obeyed the changing wind more readily than the King\nhis gusts of passion. But on the present occasion his manner seemed\nunusually constrained and mysterious; nor was it easy to guess whether\ndispleasure or kindness predominated in his conduct towards his new\ndependant, or in the looks with which, from time to time, he regarded\nhim. The ready service which the King had rendered to counteract the\nbad effects of the Nubian's wound might seem to balance the obligation\nconferred on him by the slave when he intercepted the blow of the\nassassin; but it seemed, as a much longer account remained to be\narranged between them, that the Monarch was doubtful whether the\nsettlement might leave him, upon the whole, debtor or creditor, and\nthat, therefore, he assumed in the meantime a neutral demeanour, which\nmight suit with either character. As for the Nubian, by whatever means\nhe had acquired the art of writing the European languages, the King\nremained convinced that the English tongue at least was unknown to him,\nsince, having watched him closely during the last part of the interview,\nhe conceived it impossible for any one understanding a conversation,\nof which he was himself the subject, to have so completely avoided the\nappearance of taking an interest in it.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n     Who's there!--Approach--'tis kindly done--\n     My learned physician and a friend.\n              SIR EUSTACE GREY.\n\nOur narrative retrogrades to a period shortly previous to the incidents\nlast mentioned, when, as the reader must remember, the unfortunate\nKnight of the Leopard, bestowed upon the Arabian physician by King\nRichard, rather as a slave than in any other capacity, was exiled\nfrom the camp of the Crusaders, in whose ranks he had so often and so\nbrilliantly distinguished himself. He followed his new master--for so\nhe must now term the Hakim--to the Moorish tents which contained his\nretinue and his property, with the stupefied feelings of one who, fallen\nfrom the summit of a precipice, and escaping unexpectedly with life, is\njust able to drag himself from the fatal spot, but without the power of\nestimating the extent of the damage which he has sustained. Arrived at\nthe tent, he threw himself, without speech of any kind, upon a couch of\ndressed buffalo's hide, which was pointed out to him by his conductor,\nand hiding his face betwixt his hands, groaned heavily, as if his heart\nwere on the point of bursting. The physician heard him, as he was giving\norders to his numerous domestics to prepare for their departure the next\nmorning before daybreak, and, moved with compassion, interrupted his\noccupation to sit down, cross-legged, by the side of his couch, and\nadminister comfort according to the Oriental manner.\n\n\"My friend,\" he said, \"be of good comfort; for what saith the poet--it\nis better that a man should be the servant of a kind master than the\nslave of his own wild passions. Again, be of good courage; because,\nwhereas Ysouf Ben Yagoube was sold to a king by his brethren, even to\nPharaoh, King of Egypt, thy king hath, on the other hand, bestowed thee\non one who will be to thee as a brother.\"\n\nSir Kenneth made an effort to thank the Hakim, but his heart was too\nfull, and the indistinct sounds which accompanied his abortive attempts\nto reply induced the kind physician to desist from his premature\nendeavours at consolation. He left his new domestic, or guest, in\nquiet, to indulge his sorrows, and having commanded all the necessary\npreparations for their departure on the morning, sat down upon the\ncarpet of the tent, and indulged himself in a moderate repast. After he\nhad thus refreshed himself, similar viands were offered to the Scottish\nknight; but though the slaves let him understand that the next day would\nbe far advanced ere they would halt for the purpose of refreshment, Sir\nKenneth could not overcome the disgust which he felt against swallowing\nany nourishment, and could be prevailed upon to taste nothing, saving a\ndraught of cold water.\n\nHe was awake long after his Arab host had performed his usual devotions\nand betaken himself to his repose; nor had sleep visited him at the\nhour of midnight, when a movement took place among the domestics, which,\nthough attended with no speech, and very little noise, made him aware\nthey were loading the camels and preparing for departure. In the course\nof these preparations, the last person who was disturbed, excepting the\nphysician himself, was the knight of Scotland, whom, about three in the\nmorning, a sort of major-domo, or master of the household, acquainted\nthat he must arise. He did so, without further answer, and followed him\ninto the moonlight, where stood the camels, most of which were already\nloaded, and one only remained kneeling until its burden should be\ncompleted.\n\nA little apart from the camels stood a number of horses ready bridled\nand saddled, and the Hakim himself, coming forth, mounted on one of them\nwith as much agility as the grave decorum of his character permitted,\nand directed another, which he pointed out, to be led towards Sir\nKenneth. An English officer was in attendance, to escort them through\nthe camp of the Crusaders, and to ensure their leaving it in safety; and\nall was ready for their departure. The pavilion which they had left was,\nin the meanwhile, struck with singular dispatch, and the tent-poles and\ncoverings composed the burden of the last camel--when the physician,\npronouncing solemnly the verse of the Koran, \"God be our guide, and\nMohammed our protector, in the desert as in the watered field,\" the\nwhole cavalcade was instantly in motion.\n\nIn traversing the camp, they were challenged by the various sentinels\nwho maintained guard there, and suffered to proceed in silence, or with\na muttered curse upon their prophet, as they passed the post of some\nmore zealous Crusader. At length the last barriers were left behind\nthem, and the party formed themselves for the march with military\nprecaution. Two or three horsemen advanced in front as a vanguard;\none or two remained a bow-shot in the rear; and, wherever the ground\nadmitted, others were detached to keep an outlook on the flanks. In this\nmanner they proceeded onward; while Sir Kenneth, looking back on the\nmoonlit camp, might now indeed seem banished, deprived at once of honour\nand of liberty, from the glimmering banners under which he had hoped\nto gain additional renown, and the tented dwellings of chivalry, of\nChristianity, and--of Edith Plantagenet.\n\n\nThe Hakim, who rode by his side, observed, in his usual tone of\nsententious consolation, \"It is unwise to look back when the journey\nlieth forward;\" and as he spoke, the horse of the knight made such a\nperilous stumble as threatened to add a practical moral to the tale.\n\nThe knight was compelled by this hint to give more attention to the\nmanagement of his steed, which more than once required the assistance\nand support of the check-bridle, although, in other respects, nothing\ncould be more easy at once, and active, than the ambling pace at which\nthe animal (which was a mare) proceeded.\n\n\"The conditions of that horse,\" observed the sententious physician, \"are\nlike those of human fortune--seeing that, amidst his most swift and easy\npace, the rider must guard himself against a fall, and that it is when\nprosperity is at the highest that our prudence should be awake and\nvigilant to prevent misfortune.\"\n\nThe overloaded appetite loathes even the honeycomb, and it is scarce\na wonder that the knight, mortified and harassed with misfortunes and\nabasement, became something impatient of hearing his misery made, at\nevery turn, the ground of proverbs and apothegms, however just and\napposite.\n\n\"Methinks,\" he said, rather peevishly, \"I wanted no additional\nillustration of the instability of fortune though I would thank thee,\nSir Hakim, for the choice of a steed for me, would the jade but stumble\nso effectually as at once to break my neck and her own.\"\n\n\"My brother,\" answered the Arab sage, with imperturbable gravity, \"thou\nspeakest as one of the foolish. Thou sayest in thy heart that the sage\nshould have given you, as his guest, the younger and better horse, and\nreserved the old one for himself. But know that the defects of the older\nsteed may be compensated by the energies of the young rider, whereas the\nviolence of the young horse requires to be moderated by the cold temper\nof the older.\"\n\nSo spoke the sage; but neither to this observation did Sir Kenneth\nreturn any answer which could lead to a continuance of their\nconversation, and the physician, wearied, perhaps, of administering\ncomfort to one who would not be comforted, signed to one of his retinue.\n\n\"Hassan,\" he said, \"hast thou nothing wherewith to beguile the way?\"\n\nHassan, story-teller and poet by profession, spurred up, upon this\nsummons, to exercise his calling. \"Lord of the palace of life,\" he said,\naddressing the physician, \"thou, before whom the angel Azrael spreadeth\nhis wings for flight--thou, wiser than Solimaun Ben Daoud, upon whose\nsignet was inscribed the REAL NAME which controls the spirits of the\nelements--forbid it, Heaven, that while thou travellest upon the track\nof benevolence, bearing healing and hope wherever thou comest, thine own\ncourse should be saddened for lack of the tale and of the song. Behold,\nwhile thy servant is at thy side, he will pour forth the treasures of\nhis memory, as the fountain sendeth her stream beside the pathway, for\nthe refreshment or him that walketh thereon.\"\n\nAfter this exordium, Hassan uplifted his voice, and began a tale of love\nand magic, intermixed with feats of warlike achievement, and ornamented\nwith abundant quotations from the Persian poets, with whose compositions\nthe orator seemed familiar. The retinue of the physician, such excepted\nas were necessarily detained in attendance on the camels, thronged up\nto the narrator, and pressed as close as deference for their master\npermitted, to enjoy the delight which the inhabitants of the East have\never derived from this species of exhibition.\n\nAt another time, notwithstanding his imperfect knowledge of the\nlanguage, Sir Kenneth might have been interested in the recitation,\nwhich, though dictated by a more extravagant imagination, and\nexpressed in more inflated and metaphorical language, bore yet a strong\nresemblance to the romances of chivalry then so fashionable in Europe.\nBut as matters stood with him, he was scarcely even sensible that a\nman in the centre of the cavalcade recited and sung, in a low tone, for\nnearly two hours, modulating his voice to the various moods of passion\nintroduced into the tale, and receiving, in return, now low murmurs of\napplause, now muttered expressions of wonder, now sighs and tears,\nand sometimes, what it was far more difficult to extract from such an\naudience, a tribute of smiles, and even laughter.\n\nDuring the recitation, the attention of the exile, however abstracted by\nhis own deep sorrow, was occasionally awakened by the low wail of a dog,\nsecured in a wicker enclosure suspended on one of the camels, which, as\nan experienced woodsman, he had no hesitation in recognizing to be that\nof his own faithful hound; and from the plaintive tone of the animal, he\nhad no doubt that he was sensible of his master's vicinity, and, in his\nway, invoking his assistance for liberty and rescue.\n\n\"Alas! poor Roswal,\" he said, \"thou callest for aid and sympathy upon\none in stricter bondage than thou thyself art. I will not seem to heed\nthee or return thy affection, since it would serve but to load our\nparting with yet more bitterness.\"\n\nThus passed the hours of night and the space of dim hazy dawn which\nforms the twilight of a Syrian morning. But when the very first line of\nthe sun's disk began to rise above the level horizon, and when the very\nfirst level ray shot glimmering in dew along the surface of the desert,\nwhich the travellers had now attained, the sonorous voice of El Hakim\nhimself overpowered and cut short the narrative of the tale-teller,\nwhile he caused to resound along the sands the solemn summons, which the\nmuezzins thunder at morning from the minaret of every mosque.\n\n\"To prayer--to prayer! God is the one God.--To prayer--to prayer!\nMohammed is the Prophet of God.--To prayer--to prayer! Time is flying\nfrom you.--To prayer--to prayer! Judgment is drawing nigh to you.\"\n\nIn an instant each Moslem cast himself from his horse, turned his face\ntowards Mecca, and performed with sand an imitation of those ablutions,\nwhich were elsewhere required to be made with water, while each\nindividual, in brief but fervent ejaculations, recommended himself to\nthe care, and his sins to the forgiveness, of God and the Prophet.\n\nEven Sir Kenneth, whose reason at once and prejudices were offended by\nseeing his companions in that which he considered as an act of idolatry,\ncould not help respecting the sincerity of their misguided zeal, and\nbeing stimulated by their fervour to apply supplications to Heaven in a\npurer form, wondering, meanwhile, what new-born feelings could teach\nhim to accompany in prayer, though with varied invocation, those\nvery Saracens, whose heathenish worship he had conceived a crime\ndishonourable to the land in which high miracles had been wrought, and\nwhere the day-star of redemption had arisen.\n\nThe act of devotion, however, though rendered in such strange society,\nburst purely from his natural feelings of religious duty, and had its\nusual effect in composing the spirits which had been long harassed by\nso rapid a succession of calamities. The sincere and earnest approach of\nthe Christian to the throne of the Almighty teaches the best lesson of\npatience under affliction; since wherefore should we mock the Deity with\nsupplications, when we insult him by murmuring under His decrees?\nor how, while our prayers have in every word admitted the vanity and\nnothingness of the things of time in comparison to those of eternity,\nshould we hope to deceive the Searcher of Hearts, by permitting the\nworld and worldly passions to reassume the reins even immediately after\na solemn address to Heaven! But Sir Kenneth was not of these. He felt\nhimself comforted and strengthened, and better prepared to execute or\nsubmit to whatever his destiny might call upon him to do or to suffer.\n\nMeanwhile, the party of Saracens regained their saddles, and continued\ntheir route, and the tale-teller, Hassan, resumed the thread of his\nnarrative; but it was no longer to the same attentive audience. A\nhorseman, who had ascended some high ground on the right hand of\nthe little column, had returned on a speedy gallop to El Hakim, and\ncommunicated with him. Four or five more cavaliers had then been\ndispatched, and the little band, which might consist of about twenty or\nthirty persons, began to follow them with their eyes, as men from whose\ngestures, and advance or retreat, they were to augur good or evil.\nHassan, finding his audience inattentive, or being himself attracted by\nthe dubious appearances on the flank, stinted in his song; and the\nmarch became silent, save when a camel-driver called out to his patient\ncharge, or some anxious follower of the Hakim communicated with his next\nneighbour in a hurried and low whisper.\n\nThis suspense continued until they had rounded a ridge, composed of\nhillocks of sand, which concealed from their main body the object that\nhad created this alarm among their scouts. Sir Kenneth could now see,\nat the distance of a mile or more, a dark object moving rapidly on the\nbosom of the desert, which his experienced eye recognized for a party of\ncavalry, much superior to their own in numbers, and, from the thick and\nfrequent flashes which flung back the level beams of the rising sun, it\nwas plain that these were Europeans in their complete panoply.\n\nThe anxious looks which the horsemen of El Hakim now cast upon their\nleader seemed to indicate deep apprehension; while he, with gravity as\nundisturbed as when he called his followers to prayer, detached two of\nhis best-mounted cavaliers, with instructions to approach as closely as\nprudence permitted to these travellers of the desert, and observe\nmore minutely their numbers, their character, and, if possible, their\npurpose. The approach of danger, or what was feared as such, was like\na stimulating draught to one in apathy, and recalled Sir Kenneth to\nhimself and his situation.\n\n\"What fear you from these Christian horsemen, for such they seem?\" he\nsaid to the Hakim.\n\n\"Fear!\" said El Hakim, repeating the word disdainfully. \"The sage fears\nnothing but Heaven, but ever expects from wicked men the worst which\nthey can do.\"\n\n\"They are Christians,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"and it is the time of\ntruce--why should you fear a breach of faith?\"\n\n\"They are the priestly soldiers of the Temple,\" answered El Hakim,\n\"whose vow limits them to know neither truce nor faith with the\nworshippers of Islam. May the Prophet blight them, both root, branch,\nand twig! Their peace is war, and their faith is falsehood. Other\ninvaders of Palestine have their times and moods of courtesy. The lion\nRichard will spare when he has conquered, the eagle Philip will close\nhis wing when he has stricken a prey, even the Austrian bear will sleep\nwhen he is gorged; but this horde of ever-hungry wolves know neither\npause nor satiety in their rapine. Seest thou not that they are\ndetaching a party from their main body, and that they take an eastern\ndirection? Yon are their pages and squires, whom they train up in their\naccursed mysteries, and whom, as lighter mounted, they send to cut us\noff from our watering-place. But they will be disappointed. I know the\nwar of the desert yet better than they.\"\n\nHe spoke a few words to his principal officer, and his whole demeanour\nand countenance was at once changed from the solemn repose of an Eastern\nsage accustomed more to contemplation than to action, into the prompt\nand proud expression of a gallant soldier whose energies are roused by\nthe near approach of a danger which he at once foresees and despises.\n\nTo Sir Kenneth's eyes the approaching crisis had a different aspect,\nand when Adonbec said to him, \"Thou must tarry close by my side,\" he\nanswered solemnly in the negative.\n\n\"Yonder,\" he said, \"are my comrades in arms--the men in whose society I\nhave vowed to fight or fall. On their banner gleams the sign of our\nmost blessed redemption--I cannot fly from the Cross in company with the\nCrescent.\"\n\n\"Fool!\" said the Hakim; \"their first action would be to do thee to\ndeath, were it only to conceal their breach of the truce.\"\n\n\"Of that I must take my chance,\" replied Sir Kenneth; \"but I wear not\nthe bonds of the infidels an instant longer than I can cast them from\nme.\"\n\n\"Then will I compel thee to follow me,\" said El Hakim.\n\n\"Compel!\" answered Sir Kenneth angrily. \"Wert thou not my benefactor,\nor one who has showed will to be such, and were it not that it is to\nthy confidence I owe the freedom of these hands, which thou mightst have\nloaded with fetters, I would show thee that, unarmed as I am, compulsion\nwould be no easy task.\"\n\n\"Enough, enough,\" replied the Arabian physician, \"we lose time even when\nit is becoming precious.\"\n\nSo saying, he threw his arm aloft, and uttered a loud and shrill cry, as\na signal to his retinue, who instantly dispersed themselves on the face\nof the desert, in as many different directions as a chaplet of beads\nwhen the string is broken. Sir Kenneth had no time to note what ensued;\nfor, at the same instant, the Hakim seized the rein of his steed,\nand putting his own to its mettle, both sprung forth at once with the\nsuddenness of light, and at a pitch of velocity which almost deprived\nthe Scottish knight of the power of respiration, and left him absolutely\nincapable, had he been desirous, to have checked the career of his\nguide. Practised as Sir Kenneth was in horsemanship from his earliest\nyouth, the speediest horse he had ever mounted was a tortoise in\ncomparison to those of the Arabian sage. They spurned the sand from\nbehind them; they seemed to devour the desert before them; miles flew\naway with minutes--and yet their strength seemed unabated, and their\nrespiration as free as when they first started upon the wonderful\nrace. The motion, too, as easy as it was swift, seemed more like flying\nthrough the air than riding on the earth, and was attended with no\nunpleasant sensation, save the awe naturally felt by one who is moving\nat such astonishing speed, and the difficulty of breathing occasioned by\ntheir passing through the air so rapidly.\n\nIt was not until after an hour of this portentous motion, and when all\nhuman pursuit was far, far behind, that the Hakim at length relaxed his\nspeed, and, slackening the pace of the horses into a hand-gallop, began,\nin a voice as composed and even as if he had been walking for the last\nhour, a descant upon the excellence of his coursers to the Scot, who,\nbreathless, half blind, half deaf, and altogether giddy; from the\nrapidity of this singular ride, hardly comprehended the words which\nflowed so freely from his companion.\n\n\"These horses,\" he said, \"are of the breed called the Winged, equal in\nspeed to aught excepting the Borak of the Prophet. They are fed on the\ngolden barley of Yemen, mixed with spices and with a small portion of\ndried sheep's flesh. Kings have given provinces to possess them, and\ntheir age is active as their youth. Thou, Nazarene, art the first, save\na true believer, that ever had beneath his loins one of this noble\nrace, a gift of the Prophet himself to the blessed Ali, his kinsman and\nlieutenant, well called the Lion of God. Time lays his touch so lightly\non these generous steeds, that the mare on which thou now sittest has\nseen five times five years pass over her, yet retains her pristine speed\nand vigour, only that in the career the support of a bridle, managed by\na hand more experienced than thine, hath now become necessary. May the\nProphet be blessed, who hath bestowed on the true believers the means of\nadvance and retreat, which causeth their iron-clothed enemies to be\nworn out with their own ponderous weight! How the horses of yonder dog\nTemplars must have snorted and blown, when they had toiled fetlock-deep\nin the desert for one-twentieth part of the space which these brave\nsteeds have left behind them, without one thick pant, or a drop of\nmoisture upon their sleek and velvet coats!\"\n\nThe Scottish knight, who had now begun to recover his breath and powers\nof attention, could not help acknowledging in his heart the advantage\npossessed by these Eastern warriors in a race of animals, alike proper\nfor advance or retreat, and so admirably adapted to the level and sandy\ndeserts of Arabia and Syria. But he did not choose to augment the pride\nof the Moslem by acquiescing in his proud claim of superiority, and\ntherefore suffered the conversation to drop, and, looking around him,\ncould now, at the more moderate pace at which they moved, distinguish\nthat he was in a country not unknown to him.\n\nThe blighted borders and sullen waters of the Dead Sea, the ragged and\nprecipitous chain of mountains arising on the left, the two or three\npalms clustered together, forming the single green speck on the bosom\nof the waste wilderness--objects which, once seen, were scarcely to be\nforgotten--showed to Sir Kenneth that they were approaching the fountain\ncalled the Diamond of the Desert, which had been the scene of his\ninterview on a former occasion with the Saracen Emir Sheerkohf, or\nIlderim. In a few minutes they checked their horses beside the spring,\nand the Hakim invited Sir Kenneth to descend from horseback and repose\nhimself as in a place of safety. They unbridled their steeds, El Hakim\nobserving that further care of them was unnecessary, since they would be\nspeedily joined by some of the best mounted among his slaves, who would\ndo what further was needful.\n\n\"Meantime,\" he said, spreading some food on the grass, \"eat and drink,\nand be not discouraged. Fortune may raise up or abase the ordinary\nmortal, but the sage and the soldier should have minds beyond her\ncontrol.\"\n\nThe Scottish knight endeavoured to testify his thanks by showing himself\ndocile; but though he strove to eat out of complaisance, the singular\ncontrast between his present situation and that which he had occupied on\nthe same spot when the envoy of princes and the victor in combat,\ncame like a cloud over his mind, and fasting, lassitude, and fatigue\noppressed his bodily powers. El Hakim examined his hurried pulse, his\nred and inflamed eye, his heated hand, and his shortened respiration.\n\n\"The mind,\" he said, \"grows wise by watching, but her sister the body,\nof coarser materials, needs the support of repose. Thou must sleep; and\nthat thou mayest do so to refreshment, thou must take a draught mingled\nwith this elixir.\"\n\nHe drew from his bosom a small crystal vial, cased in silver\nfiligree-work, and dropped into a little golden drinking-cup a small\nportion of a dark- fluid.\n\n\"This,\" he said, \"is one of those productions which Allah hath sent\non earth for a blessing, though man's weakness and wickedness have\nsometimes converted it into a curse. It is powerful as the wine-cup of\nthe Nazarene to drop the curtain on the sleepless eye, and to relieve\nthe burden of the overloaded bosom; but when applied to the purposes of\nindulgence and debauchery, it rends the nerves, destroys the strength,\nweakens the intellect, and undermines life. But fear not thou to use\nits virtues in the time of need, for the wise man warms him by the same\nfirebrand with which the madman burneth the tent.\" [Some preparation of\nopium seems to be intimated.]\n\n\"I have seen too much of thy skill, sage Hakim,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"to\ndebate thine hest;\" and swallowed the narcotic, mingled as it was with\nsome water from the spring, then wrapped him in the haik, or Arab cloak,\nwhich had been fastened to his saddle-pommel, and, according to the\ndirections of the physician, stretched himself at ease in the shade to\nawait the promised repose. Sleep came not at first, but in her stead\na train of pleasing yet not rousing or awakening sensations. A state\nensued in which, still conscious of his own identity and his own\ncondition, the knight felt enabled to consider them not only without\nalarm and sorrow, but as composedly as he might have viewed the story\nof his misfortunes acted upon a stage--or rather as a disembodied spirit\nmight regard the transactions of its past existence. From this state\nof repose, amounting almost to apathy respecting the past, his thoughts\nwere carried forward to the future, which, in spite of all that existed\nto overcloud the prospect, glittered with such hues as, under much\nhappier auspices, his unstimulated imagination had not been able to\nproduce, even in its most exalted state. Liberty, fame, successful love,\nappeared to be the certain and not very distant prospect of the enslaved\nexile, the dishonoured knight, even of the despairing lover who had\nplaced his hopes of happiness so far beyond the prospect of chance, in\nher wildest possibilities, serving to countenance his wishes. Gradually\nas the intellectual sight became overclouded, these gay visions became\nobscure, like the dying hues of sunset, until they were at last lost in\ntotal oblivion; and Sir Kenneth lay extended at the feet of El Hakim, to\nall appearance, but for his deep respiration, as inanimate a corpse as\nif life had actually departed.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n     'Mid these wild scenes Enchantment waves her hand,\n     To change the face of the mysterious land;\n     Till the bewildering scenes around us seem\n     The Vain productions of a feverish dream.\n        ASTOLPHO, A ROMANCE.\n\nWhen the Knight of the Leopard awoke from his long and profound repose,\nhe found himself in circumstances so different from those in which\nhe had lain down to sleep, that he doubted whether he was not still\ndreaming, or whether the scene had not been changed by magic. Instead of\nthe damp grass, he lay on a couch of more than Oriental luxury; and\nsome kind hands had, during his repose, stripped him of the cassock of\nchamois which he wore under his armour, and substituted a night-dress of\nthe finest linen and a loose gown of silk. He had been canopied only by\nthe palm-trees of the desert, but now he lay beneath a silken pavilion,\nwhich blazed with the richest colours of the Chinese loom, while a\nslight curtain of gauze, displayed around his couch, was calculated to\nprotect his repose from the insects, to which he had, ever since his\narrival in these climates, been a constant and passive prey. He looked\naround, as if to convince himself that he was actually awake; and all\nthat fell beneath his eye partook of the splendour of his dormitory.\nA portable bath of cedar, lined with silver, was ready for use, and\nsteamed with the odours which had been used in preparing it. On a small\nstand of ebony beside the couch stood a silver vase, containing sherbet\nof the most exquisite quality, cold as snow, and which the thirst that\nfollowed the use of the strong narcotic rendered peculiarly delicious.\nStill further to dispel the dregs of intoxication which it had left\nbehind, the knight resolved to use the bath, and experienced in doing\nso a delightful refreshment. Having dried himself with napkins of the\nIndian wool, he would willingly have resumed his own coarse garments,\nthat he might go forth to see whether the world was as much changed\nwithout as within the place of his repose. These, however, were\nnowhere to be seen, but in their place he found a Saracen dress of\nrich materials, with sabre and poniard, and all befitting an emir\nof distinction. He was able to suggest no motive to himself for this\nexuberance of care, excepting a suspicion that these attentions were\nintended to shake him in his religious profession--as indeed it was well\nknown that the high esteem of the European knowledge and courage made\nthe Soldan unbounded in his gifts to those who, having become his\nprisoners, had been induced to take the turban. Sir Kenneth, therefore,\ncrossing himself devoutly, resolved to set all such snares at defiance;\nand that he might do so the more firmly, conscientiously determined to\navail himself as moderately as possible of the attentions and luxuries\nthus liberally heaped upon him. Still, however, he felt his head\noppressed and sleepy; and aware, too, that his undress was not fit for\nappearing abroad, he reclined upon the couch, and was again locked in\nthe arms of slumber.\n\nBut this time his rest was not unbroken, for he was awakened by the\nvoice of the physician at the door of the tent, inquiring after his\nhealth, and whether he had rested sufficiently. \"May I enter your tent?\"\nhe concluded, \"for the curtain is drawn before the entrance.\"\n\n\"The master,\" replied Sir Kenneth, determined to show that he was not\nsurprised into forgetfulness of his own condition, \"need demand no\npermission to enter the tent of the slave.\"\n\n\"But if I come not as a master?\" said El Hakim, still without entering.\n\n\"The physician,\" answered the knight, \"hath free access to the bedside\nof his patient.\"\n\n\"Neither come I now as a physician,\" replied El Hakim; \"and therefore I\nstill request permission, ere I come under the covering of thy tent.\"\n\n\"Whoever comes as a friend,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"and such thou hast\nhitherto shown thyself to me, the habitation of the friend is ever open\nto him.\"\n\n\"Yet once again,\" said the Eastern sage, after the periphrastical manner\nof his countrymen, \"supposing that I come not as a friend?\"\n\n\"Come as thou wilt,\" said the Scottish knight, somewhat impatient of\nthis circumlocution; \"be what thou wilt--thou knowest well it is neither\nin my power nor my inclination to refuse thee entrance.\"\n\n\"I come, then,\" said El Hakim, \"as your ancient foe, but a fair and a\ngenerous one.\"\n\nHe entered as he spoke; and when he stood before the bedside of\nSir Kenneth, the voice continued to be that of Adonbec, the Arabian\nphysician, but the form, dress, and features were those of Ilderim\nof Kurdistan, called Sheerkohf. Sir Kenneth gazed upon him as if\nhe expected the vision to depart, like something created by his\nimagination.\n\n\"Doth it so surprise thee,\" said Ilderim, \"and thou an approved warrior,\nto see that a soldier knows somewhat of the art of healing? I say to\nthee, Nazarene, that an accomplished cavalier should know how to dress\nhis steed, as well as how to ride him; how to forge his sword upon the\nstithy, as well as how to use it in battle; how to burnish his arms, as\nwell as how to wear them; and, above all, how to cure wounds, as well as\nhow to inflict them.\"\n\nAs he spoke, the Christian knight repeatedly shut his eyes, and while\nthey remained closed, the idea of the Hakim, with his long, flowing\ndark robes, high Tartar cap, and grave gestures was present to\nhis imagination; but so soon as he opened them, the graceful and\nrichly-gemmed turban, the light hauberk of steel rings entwisted with\nsilver, which glanced brilliantly as it obeyed every inflection of the\nbody, the features freed from their formal expression, less swarthy, and\nno longer shadowed by the mass of hair (now limited to a well-trimmed\nbeard), announced the soldier and not the sage.\n\n\"Art thou still so much surprised,\" said the Emir, \"and hast thou walked\nin the world with such little observance, as to wonder that men are not\nalways what they seem? Thou thyself--art thou what thou seemest?\"\n\n\"No, by Saint Andrew!\" exclaimed the knight; \"for to the whole Christian\ncamp I seem a traitor, and I know myself to be a true though an erring\nman.\"\n\n\"Even so I judged thee,\" said Ilderim; \"and as we had eaten salt\ntogether, I deemed myself bound to rescue thee from death and contumely.\nBut wherefore lie you still on your couch, since the sun is high in\nthe heavens? or are the vestments which my sumpter-camels have afforded\nunworthy of your wearing?\"\n\n\"Not unworthy, surely, but unfitting for it,\" replied the Scot. \"Give\nme the dress of a slave, noble Ilderim, and I will don it with pleasure;\nbut I cannot brook to wear the habit of the free Eastern warrior with\nthe turban of the Moslem.\"\n\n\"Nazarene,\" answered the Emir, \"thy nation so easily entertain suspicion\nthat it may well render themselves suspected. Have I not told thee that\nSaladin desires no converts saving those whom the holy Prophet shall\ndispose to submit themselves to his law? violence and bribery are\nalike alien to his plan for extending the true faith. Hearken to me,\nmy brother. When the blind man was miraculously restored to sight, the\nscales dropped from his eyes at the Divine pleasure. Think'st thou that\nany earthly leech could have removed them? No. Such mediciner might have\ntormented the patient with his instruments, or perhaps soothed him with\nhis balsams and cordials, but dark as he was must the darkened man have\nremained; and it is even so with the blindness of the understanding. If\nthere be those among the Franks who, for the sake of worldly lucre, have\nassumed the turban of the Prophet, and followed the laws of Islam, with\ntheir own consciences be the blame. Themselves sought out the bait; it\nwas not flung to them by the Soldan. And when they shall hereafter be\nsentenced, as hypocrites, to the lowest gulf of hell, below Christian\nand Jew, magician and idolater, and condemned to eat the fruit of the\ntree Yacoun, which is the heads of demons, to themselves, not to the\nSoldan, shall their guilt and their punishment be attributed. Wherefore\nwear, without doubt or scruple, the vesture prepared for you, since, if\nyou proceed to the camp of Saladin, your own native dress will expose\nyou to troublesome observation, and perhaps to insult.\"\n\n\"IF I go to the camp of Saladin?\" said Sir Kenneth, repeating the words\nof the Emir; \"alas! am I a free agent, and rather must I NOT go wherever\nyour pleasure carries me?\"\n\n\"Thine own will may guide thine own motions,\" said the Emir, \"as freely\nas the wind which moveth the dust of the desert in what direction it\nchooseth. The noble enemy who met and well-nigh mastered my sword cannot\nbecome my slave like him who has crouched beneath it. If wealth and\npower would tempt thee to join our people, I could ensure thy possessing\nthem; but the man who refused the favours of the Soldan when the axe was\nat his head, will not, I fear, now accept them, when I tell him he has\nhis free choice.\"\n\n\"Complete your generosity, noble Emir,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"by forbearing\nto show me a mode of requital which conscience forbids me to comply\nwith. Permit me rather to express, as bound in courtesy, my gratitude\nfor this most chivalrous bounty, this undeserved generosity.\"\n\n\"Say not undeserved,\" replied the Emir Ilderim. \"Was it not through thy\nconversation, and thy account of the beauties which grace the court\nof the Melech Ric, that I ventured me thither in disguise, and thereby\nprocured a sight the most blessed that I have ever enjoyed--that I ever\nshall enjoy, until the glories of Paradise beam on my eyes?\"\n\n\"I understand you not,\" said Sir Kenneth, colouring alternately, and\nturning pale, as one who felt that the conversation was taking a tone of\nthe most painful delicacy.\n\n\"Not understand me!\" exclaimed the Emir. \"If the sight I saw in the tent\nof King Richard escaped thine observation, I will account it duller than\nthe edge of a buffoon's wooden falchion. True, thou wert under sentence\nof death at the time; but, in my case, had my head been dropping from\nthe trunk, the last strained glances of my eyeballs had distinguished\nwith delight such a vision of loveliness, and the head would have rolled\nitself towards the incomparable houris, to kiss with its quivering\nlips the hem of their vestments. Yonder royalty of England, who for\nher superior loveliness deserves to be Queen of the universe--what\ntenderness in her blue eye, what lustre in her tresses of dishevelled\ngold! By the tomb of the Prophet, I scarce think that the houri who\nshall present to me the diamond cup of immortality will deserve so warm\na caress!\"\n\n\"Saracen,\" said Sir Kenneth sternly, \"thou speakest of the wife of\nRichard of England, of whom men think not and speak not as a woman to be\nwon, but as a Queen to be revered.\"\n\n\"I cry you mercy,\" said the Saracen. \"I had forgotten your superstitious\nveneration for the sex, which you consider rather fit to be wondered at\nand worshipped than wooed and possessed. I warrant, since thou exactest\nsuch profound respect to yonder tender piece of frailty, whose every\nmotion, step, and look bespeaks her very woman, less than absolute\nadoration must not be yielded to her of the dark tresses and nobly\nspeaking eye. SHE indeed, I will allow, hath in her noble port and\nmajestic mien something at once pure and firm; yet even she, when\npressed by opportunity and a forward lover, would, I warrant thee, thank\nhim in her heart rather for treating her as a mortal than as a goddess.\"\n\n\"Respect the kinswoman of Coeur de Lion!\" said Sir Kenneth, in a tone of\nunrepressed anger.\n\n\"Respect her!\" answered the Emir in scorn; \"by the Caaba, and if I do,\nit shall be rather as the bride of Saladin.\"\n\n\"The infidel Soldan is unworthy to salute even a spot that has been\npressed by the foot of Edith Plantagenet!\" exclaimed the Christian,\nspringing from his couch.\n\n\"Ha! what said the Giaour?\" exclaimed the Emir, laying his hand on his\nponiard hilt, while his forehead glowed like glancing copper, and the\nmuscles of his lips and cheeks wrought till each curl of his beard\nseemed to twist and screw itself, as if alive with instinctive wrath.\nBut the Scottish knight, who had stood the lion-anger of Richard, was\nunappalled at the tigerlike mood of the chafed Saracen.\n\n\"What I have said,\" continued Sir Kenneth, with folded arms and\ndauntless look, \"I would, were my hands loose, maintain on foot or\nhorseback against all mortals; and would hold it not the most memorable\ndeed of my life to support it with my good broadsword against a score\nof these sickles and bodkins,\" pointing at the curved sabre and small\nponiard of the Emir.\n\nThe Saracen recovered his composure as the Christian spoke, so far as\nto withdraw his hand from his weapon, as if the motion had been without\nmeaning, but still continued in deep ire.\n\n\"By the sword of the Prophet,\" he said, \"which is the key both of heaven\nand hell, he little values his own life, brother, who uses the language\nthou dost! Believe me, that were thine hands loose, as thou term'st it,\none single true believer would find them so much to do that thou wouldst\nsoon wish them fettered again in manacles of iron.\"\n\n\"Sooner would I wish them hewn off by the shoulder-blades!\" replied Sir\nKenneth.\n\n\"Well. Thy hands are bound at present,\" said the Saracen, in a more\namicable tone--\"bound by thine own gentle sense of courtesy; nor have\nI any present purpose of setting them at liberty. We have proved each\nother's strength and courage ere now, and we may again meet in a fair\nfield--and shame befall him who shall be the first to part from his\nfoeman! But now we are friends, and I look for aid from thee rather than\nhard terms or defiances.\"\n\n\"We ARE friends,\" repeated the knight; and there was a pause, during\nwhich the fiery Saracen paced the tent, like the lion, who, after\nviolent irritation, is said to take that method of cooling the\ndistemperature of his blood, ere he stretches himself to repose in his\nden. The colder European remained unaltered in posture and aspect; yet\nhe, doubtless, was also engaged in subduing the angry feelings which had\nbeen so unexpectedly awakened.\n\n\"Let us reason of this calmly,\" said the Saracen. \"I am a physician, as\nthou knowest, and it is written that he who would have his wound cured\nmust not shrink when the leech probes and tests it. Seest thou, I am\nabout to lay my finger on the sore. Thou lovest this kinswoman of the\nMelech Ric. Unfold the veil that shrouds thy thoughts--or unfold it not\nif thou wilt, for mine eyes see through its coverings.\"\n\n\"I LOVED her,\" answered Sir Kenneth, after a pause, \"as a man loves\nHeaven's grace, and sued for her favour like a sinner for Heaven's\npardon.\"\n\n\"And you love her no longer?\" said the Saracen.\n\n\"Alas,\" answered Sir Kenneth, \"I am no longer worthy to love her. I pray\nthee cease this discourse--thy words are poniards to me.\"\n\n\"Pardon me but a moment,\" continued Ilderim. \"When thou, a poor and\nobscure soldier, didst so boldly and so highly fix thine affection, tell\nme, hadst thou good hope of its issue?\"\n\n\"Love exists not without hope,\" replied the knight; \"but mine was as\nnearly allied to despair as that of the sailor swimming for his life,\nwho, as he surmounts billow after billow, catches by intervals some\ngleam of the distant beacon, which shows him there is land in sight,\nthough his sinking heart and wearied limbs assure him that he shall\nnever reach it.\"\n\n\"And now,\" said Ilderim, \"these hopes are sunk--that solitary light is\nquenched for ever?\"\n\n\"For ever,\" answered Sir Kenneth, in the tone of an echo from the bosom\nof a ruined sepulchre.\n\n\"Methinks,\" said the Saracen, \"if all thou lackest were some such\ndistant meteoric glimpse of happiness as thou hadst formerly, thy\nbeacon-light might be rekindled, thy hope fished up from the ocean\nin which it has sunk, and thou thyself, good knight, restored to the\nexercise and amusement of nourishing thy fantastic fashion upon a diet\nas unsubstantial as moonlight; for, if thou stood'st tomorrow fair in\nreputation as ever thou wert, she whom thou lovest will not be less the\ndaughter of princes and the elected bride of Saladin.\"\n\n\"I would it so stood,\" said the Scot, \"and if I did not--\"\n\nHe stopped short, like a man who is afraid of boasting under\ncircumstances which did not permit his being put to the test. The\nSaracen smiled as he concluded the sentence.\n\n\"Thou wouldst challenge the Soldan to single combat?\" said he.\n\n\"And if I did,\" said Sir Kenneth haughtily, \"Saladin's would neither be\nthe first nor the best turban that I have couched lance at.\"\n\n\"Ay, but methinks the Soldan might regard it as too unequal a mode of\nperilling the chance of a royal bride and the event of a great war,\"\nsaid the Emir.\n\n\"He may be met with in the front of battle,\" said the knight, his eyes\ngleaming with the ideas which such a thought inspired.\n\n\"He has been ever found there,\" said Ilderim; \"nor is it his wont to\nturn his horse's head from any brave encounter. But it was not of the\nSoldan that I meant to speak. In a word, if it will content thee to be\nplaced in such reputation as may be attained by detection of the\nthief who stole the Banner of England, I can put thee in a fair way of\nachieving this task--that is, if thou wilt be governed; for what says\nLokman, 'If the child would walk, the nurse must lead him; if the\nignorant would understand, the wise must instruct.'\"\n\n\"And thou art wise, Ilderim,\" said the Scot--\"wise though a Saracen, and\ngenerous though an infidel. I have witnessed that thou art both.\nTake, then, the guidance of this matter; and so thou ask nothing of\nme contrary to my loyalty and my Christian faith, I, will obey thee\npunctually. Do what thou hast said, and take my life when it is\naccomplished.\"\n\n\"Listen thou to me, then,\" said the Saracen. \"Thy noble hound is now\nrecovered, by the blessing of that divine medicine which healeth man and\nbeast; and by his sagacity shall those who assailed him be discovered.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" said the knight, \"methinks I comprehend thee. I was dull not to\nthink of this!\"\n\n\"But tell me,\" added the Emir, \"hast thou any followers or retainers in\nthe camp by whom the animal may be known?\"\n\n\"I dismissed,\" said Sir Kenneth, \"my old attendant, thy patient, with a\nvarlet that waited on him, at the time when I expected to suffer death,\ngiving him letters for my friends in Scotland; there are none other to\nwhom the dog is familiar. But then my own person is well known--my very\nspeech will betray me, in a camp where I have played no mean part for\nmany months.\"\n\n\"Both he and thou shalt be disguised, so as to escape even close\nexamination. I tell thee,\" said the Saracen, \"that not thy brother in\narms--not thy brother in blood--shall discover thee, if thou be guided\nby my counsels. Thou hast seen me do matters more difficult--he that can\ncall the dying from the darkness of the shadow of death can easily cast\na mist before the eyes of the living. But mark me: there is still the\ncondition annexed to this service--that thou deliver a letter of Saladin\nto the niece of the Melech Ric, whose name is as difficult to our\nEastern tongue and lips, as her beauty is delightful to our eyes.\"\n\nSir Kenneth paused before he answered, and the Saracen observing his\nhesitation, demanded of him, \"if he feared to undertake this message?\"\n\n\"Not if there were death in the execution,\" said Sir Kenneth. \"I do but\npause to consider whether it consists with my honour to bear the letter\nof the Soldan, or with that of the Lady Edith to receive it from a\nheathen prince.\"\n\n\"By the head of Mohammed, and by the honour of a soldier--by the tomb\nat Mecca, and by the soul of my father,\" said the Emir, \"I swear to thee\nthat the letter is written in all honour and respect. The song of the\nnightingale will sooner blight the rose-bower she loves than will the\nwords of the Soldan offend the ears of the lovely kinswoman of England.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the knight, \"I will bear the Soldan's letter faithfully, as\nif I were his born vassal--understanding, that beyond this simple act\nof service, which I will render with fidelity, from me of all men he can\nleast expect mediation or advice in this his strange love-suit.\"\n\n\"Saladin is noble,\" answered the Emir, \"and will not spur a generous\nhorse to a leap which he cannot achieve. Come with me to my tent,\"\nhe added, \"and thou shalt be presently equipped with a disguise as\nunsearchable as midnight, so thou mayest walk the camp of the Nazarenes\nas if thou hadst on thy finger the signet of Giaougi.\" [Perhaps the same\nwith Gyges.]\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\n     A grain of dust\n     Soiling our cup, will make our sense reject\n     Fastidiously the draught which we did thirst for;\n     A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass,\n     Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argosy.\n     Even this small cause of anger and disgust\n     Will break the bonds of amity 'mongst princes,\n     And wreck their noblest purposes.\n                  THE CRUSADE.\n\nThe reader can now have little doubt who the Ethiopian slave really was,\nwith what purpose he had sought Richard's camp, and wherefore and\nwith what hope he now stood close to the person of that Monarch, as,\nsurrounded by his valiant peers of England and Normandy, Coeur de Lion\nstood on the summit of Saint George's Mount, with the Banner of England\nby his side, borne by the most goodly person in the army, being his own\nnatural brother, William with the Long Sword, Earl of Salisbury, the\noffspring of Henry the Second's amour with the celebrated Rosamond of\nWoodstock.\n\nFrom several expressions in the King's conversation with Neville on the\npreceding day, the Nubian was left in anxious doubt whether his disguise\nhad not been penetrated, especially as that the King seemed to be aware\nin what manner the agency of the dog was expected to discover the thief\nwho stole the banner, although the circumstance of such an animal's\nhaving been wounded on the occasion had been scarce mentioned in\nRichard's presence. Nevertheless, as the King continued to treat him\nin no other manner than his exterior required, the Nubian remained\nuncertain whether he was or was not discovered, and determined not to\nthrow his disguise aside voluntarily.\n\nMeanwhile, the powers of the various Crusading princes, arrayed under\ntheir royal and princely leaders, swept in long order around the base\nof the little mound; and as those of each different country passed by,\ntheir commanders advanced a step or two up the hill, and made a signal\nof courtesy to Richard and to the Standard of England, \"in sign of\nregard and amity,\" as the protocol of the ceremony heedfully expressed\nit, \"not of subjection or vassalage.\" The spiritual dignitaries, who in\nthose days veiled not their bonnets to created being, bestowed on the\nKing and his symbol of command their blessing instead of rendering\nobeisance.\n\nThus the long files marched on, and, diminished as they were by so many\ncauses, appeared still an iron host, to whom the conquest of Palestine\nmight seem an easy task. The soldiers, inspired by the consciousness of\nunited strength, sat erect in their steel saddles; while it seemed that\nthe trumpets sounded more cheerfully shrill, and the steeds, refreshed\nby rest and provender, chafed on the bit, and trod the ground more\nproudly. On they passed, troop after troop, banners waving, spears\nglancing, plumes dancing, in long perspective--a host composed of\ndifferent nations, complexions, languages, arms, and appearances, but\nall fired, for the time, with the holy yet romantic purpose of rescuing\nthe distressed daughter of Zion from her thraldom, and redeeming the\nsacred earth, which more than mortal had trodden, from the yoke of the\nunbelieving pagan. And it must be owned that if, in other circumstances,\nthe species of courtesy rendered to the King of England by so many\nwarriors, from whom he claimed no natural allegiance, had in it\nsomething that might have been thought humiliating, yet the nature and\ncause of the war was so fitted to his pre-eminently chivalrous character\nand renowned feats in arms, that claims which might elsewhere have been\nurged were there forgotten, and the brave did willing homage to the\nbravest, in an expedition where the most undaunted and energetic courage\nwas necessary to success.\n\nThe good King was seated on horseback about half way up the mount, a\nmorion on his head, surmounted by a crown, which left his manly features\nexposed to public view, as, with cool and considerate eye, he perused\neach rank as it passed him, and returned the salutation of the leaders.\nHis tunic was of sky- velvet, covered with plates of silver, and\nhis hose of crimson silk, slashed with cloth of gold. By his side stood\nthe seeming Ethiopian slave, holding the noble dog in a leash, such as\nwas used in woodcraft. It was a circumstance which attracted no notice,\nfor many of the princes of the Crusade had introduced black slaves\ninto their household, in imitation of the barbarous splendour of the\nSaracens. Over the King's head streamed the large folds of the banner,\nand, as he looked to it from time to time, he seemed to regard a\nceremony, indifferent to himself personally, as important, when\nconsidered as atoning an indignity offered to the kingdom which he\nruled. In the background, and on the very summit of the Mount, a wooden\nturret, erected for the occasion, held the Queen Berengaria and the\nprincipal ladies of the Court. To this the King looked from time to\ntime; and then ever and anon his eyes were turned on the Nubian and the\ndog, but only when such leaders approached, as, from circumstances of\nprevious ill-will, he suspected of being accessory to the theft of the\nstandard, or whom he judged capable of a crime so mean.\n\nThus, he did not look in that direction when Philip Augustus of France\napproached at the head of his splendid troops of Gallic chivalry---nay,\nhe anticipated the motions of the French King, by descending the Mount\nas the latter came up the ascent, so that they met in the middle space,\nand blended their greetings so gracefully that it appeared they met in\nfraternal equality. The sight of the two greatest princes in Europe,\nin rank at once and power, thus publicly avowing their concord, called\nforth bursts of thundering acclaim from the Crusading host at many miles\ndistance, and made the roving Arab scouts of the desert alarm the camp\nof Saladin with intelligence that the army of the Christians was in\nmotion. Yet who but the King of kings can read the hearts of monarchs?\nUnder this smooth show of courtesy, Richard nourished displeasure and\nsuspicion against Philip, and Philip meditated withdrawing himself and\nhis host from the army of the Cross, and leaving Richard to accomplish\nor fail in the enterprise with his own unassisted forces.\n\nRichard's demeanour was different when the dark-armed knights and\nsquires of the Temple chivalry approached--men with countenances bronzed\nto Asiatic blackness by the suns of Palestine, and the admirable state\nof whose horses and appointments far surpassed even that of the choicest\ntroops of France and England. The King cast a hasty glance aside; but\nthe Nubian stood quiet, and his trusty dog sat at his feet, watching,\nwith a sagacious yet pleased look, the ranks which now passed before\nthem. The King's look turned again on the chivalrous Templars, as the\nGrand Master, availing himself of his mingled character, bestowed his\nbenediction on Richard as a priest, instead of doing him reverence as a\nmilitary leader.\n\n\"The misproud and amphibious caitiff puts the monk upon me,\" said\nRichard to the Earl of Salisbury. \"But, Longsword, we will let it pass.\nA punctilio must not lose Christendom the services of these experienced\nlances, because their victories have rendered them overweening. Lo you,\nhere comes our valiant adversary, the Duke of Austria. Mark his manner\nand bearing, Longsword--and thou, Nubian, let the hound have full view\nof him. By Heaven, he brings his buffoons along with him!\"\n\nIn fact, whether from habit, or, which is more likely, to intimate\ncontempt of the ceremonial he was about to comply with, Leopold was\nattended by his SPRUCH-SPRECHER and his jester; and as he advanced\ntowards Richard, he whistled in what he wished to be considered as an\nindifferent manner, though his heavy features evinced the sullenness,\nmixed with the fear, with which a truant schoolboy may be seen to\napproach his master. As the reluctant dignitary made, with discomposed\nand sulky look, the obeisance required, the SPRUCH-SPRECHER shook his\nbaton, and proclaimed, like a herald, that, in what he was now doing,\nthe Archduke of Austria was not to be held derogating from the rank and\nprivileges of a sovereign prince; to which the jester answered with a\nsonorous AMEN, which provoked much laughter among the bystanders.\n\nKing Richard looked more than once at the Nubian and his dog; but\nthe former moved not, nor did the latter strain at the leash, so\nthat Richard said to the slave with some scorn, \"Thy success in this\nenterprise, my sable friend, even though thou hast brought thy hound's\nsagacity to back thine own, will not, I fear, place thee high in the\nrank of wizards, or much augment thy merits towards our person.\"\n\nThe Nubian answered, as usual, only by a lowly obeisance.\n\nMeantime the troops of the Marquis of Montserrat next passed in order\nbefore the King of England. That powerful and wily baron, to make the\ngreater display of his forces, had divided them into two bodies. At the\nhead of the first, consisting of his vassals and followers, and levied\nfrom his Syrian possessions, came his brother Enguerrand; and he himself\nfollowed, leading on a gallant band of twelve hundred Stradiots, a kind\nof light cavalry raised by the Venetians in their Dalmatian possessions,\nand of which they had entrusted the command to the Marquis, with whom\nthe republic had many bonds of connection. These Stradiots were clothed\nin a fashion partly European, but partaking chiefly of the Eastern\nfashion. They wore, indeed, short hauberks, but had over them\nparty- tunics of rich stuffs, with large wide pantaloons and\nhalf-boots. On their heads were straight upright caps, similar to those\nof the Greeks; and they carried small round targets, bows and arrows,\nscimitars, and poniards. They were mounted on horses carefully selected,\nand well maintained at the expense of the State of Venice; their saddles\nand appointments resembled those of the Turks, and they rode in the same\nmanner, with short stirrups and upon a high seat. These troops were\nof great use in skirmishing with the Arabs, though unable to engage in\nclose combat, like the iron-sheathed men-at-arms of Western and Northern\nEurope.\n\nBefore this goodly band came Conrade, in the same garb with the\nStradiots, but of such rich stuff that he seemed to blaze with gold\nand silver, and the milk-white plume fastened in his cap by a clasp of\ndiamonds seemed tall enough to sweep the clouds. The noble steed which\nhe reined bounded and caracoled, and displayed his spirit and agility\nin a manner which might have troubled a less admirable horseman than\nthe Marquis, who gracefully ruled him with the one hand, while the other\ndisplayed the baton, whose predominancy over the ranks which he led\nseemed equally absolute. Yet his authority over the Stradiots was more\nin show than in substance; for there paced beside him, on an ambling\npalfrey of soberest mood, a little old man, dressed entirely in black,\nwithout beard or moustaches, and having an appearance altogether mean\nand insignificant when compared with the blaze of splendour around\nhim. But this mean-looking old man was one of those deputies whom the\nVenetian government sent into camps to overlook the conduct of the\ngenerals to whom the leading was consigned, and to maintain that jealous\nsystem of espial and control which had long distinguished the policy of\nthe republic.\n\nConrade, who, by cultivating Richard's humour, had attained a certain\ndegree of favour with him, no sooner was come within his ken than the\nKing of England descended a step or two to meet him, exclaiming, at the\nsame time, \"Ha, Lord Marquis, thou at the head of the fleet Stradiots,\nand thy black shadow attending thee as usual, whether the sun shines or\nnot! May not one ask thee whether the rule of the troops remains with\nthe shadow or the substance?\"\n\nConrade was commencing his reply with a smile, when Roswal, the noble\nhound, uttering a furious and savage yell, sprung forward. The Nubian,\nat the same time, slipped the leash, and the hound, rushing on, leapt\nupon Conrade's noble charger, and, seizing the Marquis by the throat,\npulled him down from the saddle. The plumed rider lay rolling on the\nsand, and the frightened horse fled in wild career through the camp.\n\n\"Thy hound hath pulled down the right quarry, I warrant him,\" said\nthe King to the Nubian, \"and I vow to Saint George he is a stag of ten\ntynes! Pluck the dog off; lest he throttle him.\"\n\nThe Ethiopian, accordingly, though not without difficulty, disengaged\nthe dog from Conrade, and fastened him up, still highly excited, and\nstruggling in the leash. Meanwhile many crowded to the spot, especially\nfollowers of Conrade and officers of the Stradiots, who, as they\nsaw their leader lie gazing wildly on the sky, raised him up amid a\ntumultuary cry of \"Cut the slave and his hound to pieces!\"\n\nBut the voice of Richard, loud and sonorous, was heard clear above all\nother exclamations. \"He dies the death who injures the hound! He hath\nbut done his duty, after the sagacity with which God and nature have\nendowed the brave animal.--Stand forward for a false traitor, thou\nConrade, Marquis of Montserrat! I impeach thee of treason.\"\n\nSeveral of the Syrian leaders had now come up, and Conrade--vexation,\nand shame, and confusion struggling with passion in his manner and\nvoice--exclaimed, \"What means this? With what am I charged? Why this\nbase usage and these reproachful terms? Is this the league of concord\nwhich England renewed but so lately?\"\n\n\"Are the Princes of the Crusade turned hares or deers in the eyes of\nKing Richard that he should slip hounds on them?\" said the sepulchral\nvoice of the Grand Master of the Templars.\n\n\"It must be some singular accident--some fatal mistake,\" said Philip of\nFrance, who rode up at the same moment.\n\n\"Some deceit of the Enemy,\" said the Archbishop of Tyre.\n\n\"A stratagem of the Saracens,\" cried Henry of Champagne. \"It were well\nto hang up the dog, and put the slave to the torture.\"\n\n\"Let no man lay hand upon them,\" said Richard, \"as he loves his own\nlife! Conrade, stand forth, if thou darest, and deny the accusation\nwhich this mute animal hath in his noble instinct brought against thee,\nof injury done to him, and foul scorn to England!\"\n\n\"I never touched the banner,\" said Conrade hastily.\n\n\"Thy words betray thee, Conrade!\" said Richard, \"for how didst thou\nknow, save from conscious guilt, that the question is concerning the\nbanner?\"\n\n\"Hast thou then not kept the camp in turmoil on that and no other\nscore?\" answered Conrade; \"and dost thou impute to a prince and an ally\na crime which, after all, was probably committed by some paltry\nfelon for the sake of the gold thread? Or wouldst thou now impeach a\nconfederate on the credit of a dog?\"\n\nBy this time the alarm was becoming general, so that Philip of France\ninterposed.\n\n\"Princes and nobles,\" he said, \"you speak in presence of those whose\nswords will soon be at the throats of each other if they hear their\nleaders at such terms together. In the name of Heaven, let us draw off\neach his own troops into their separate quarters, and ourselves meet\nan hour hence in the Pavilion of Council to take some order in this new\nstate of confusion.\"\n\n\"Content,\" said King Richard, \"though I should have liked to have\ninterrogated that caitiff while his gay doublet was yet besmirched with\nsand. But the pleasure of France shall be ours in this matter.\"\n\nThe leaders separated as was proposed, each prince placing himself at\nthe head of his own forces; and then was heard on all sides the crying\nof war-cries and the sounding of gathering-notes upon bugles and\ntrumpets, by which the different stragglers were summoned to their\nprince's banner, and the troops were shortly seen in motion, each taking\ndifferent routes through the camp to their own quarters. But although\nany immediate act of violence was thus prevented, yet the accident which\nhad taken place dwelt on every mind; and those foreigners who had that\nmorning hailed Richard as the worthiest to lead their army, now resumed\ntheir prejudices against his pride and intolerance, while the English,\nconceiving the honour of their country connected with the quarrel, of\nwhich various reports had gone about, considered the natives of other\ncountries jealous of the fame of England and her King, and disposed to\nundermine it by the meanest arts of intrigue. Many and various were the\nrumours spread upon the occasion, and there was one which averred that\nthe Queen and her ladies had been much alarmed by the tumult, and that\none of them had swooned.\n\nThe Council assembled at the appointed hour. Conrade had in the\nmeanwhile laid aside his dishonoured dress, and with it the shame and\nconfusion which, in spite of his talents and promptitude, had at first\noverwhelmed him, owing to the strangeness of the accident and suddenness\nof the accusation. He was now robed like a prince; and entered the\ncouncil-chamber attended by the Archduke of Austria, the Grand Masters\nboth of the Temple and of the Order of Saint John, and several other\npotentates, who made a show of supporting him and defending his cause,\nchiefly perhaps from political motives, or because they themselves\nnourished a personal enmity against Richard.\n\nThis appearance of union in favour of Conrade was far from influencing\nthe King of England. He entered the Council with his usual indifference\nof manner, and in the same dress in which he had just alighted from\nhorseback. He cast a careless and somewhat scornful glance on the\nleaders, who had with studied affectation arranged themselves around\nConrade as if owning his cause, and in the most direct terms charged\nConrade of Montserrat with having stolen the Banner of England, and\nwounded the faithful animal who stood in its defence.\n\nConrade arose boldly to answer, and in despite, as he expressed himself,\nof man and brute, king or dog, avouched his innocence of the crime\ncharged.\n\n\"Brother of England,\" said Philip, who willingly assumed the character\nof moderator of the assembly, \"this is an unusual impeachment. We do\nnot hear you avouch your own knowledge of this matter, further than your\nbelief resting upon the demeanour of this hound towards the Marquis of\nMontserrat. Surely the word of a knight and a prince should bear him out\nagainst the barking of a cur?\"\n\n\"Royal brother,\" returned Richard, \"recollect that the Almighty, who\ngave the dog to be companion of our pleasures and our toils, hath\ninvested him with a nature noble and incapable of deceit. He forgets\nneither friend nor foe--remembers, and with accuracy, both benefit and\ninjury. He hath a share of man's intelligence, but no share of man's\nfalsehood. You may bribe a soldier to slay a man with his sword, or a\nwitness to take life by false accusation; but you cannot make a hound\ntear his benefactor. He is the friend of man, save when man justly\nincurs his enmity. Dress yonder marquis in what peacock-robes you will,\ndisguise his appearance, alter his complexion with drugs and washes,\nhide him amidst a hundred men,--I will yet pawn my sceptre that the\nhound detects him, and expresses his resentment, as you have this day\nbeheld. This is no new incident, although a strange one. Murderers\nand robbers have been ere now convicted, and suffered death under such\nevidence, and men have said that the finger of God was in it. In thine\nown land, royal brother, and upon such an occasion, the matter was tried\nby a solemn duel betwixt the man and the dog, as appellant and defendant\nin a challenge of murder. The dog was victorious, the man was punished,\nand the crime was confessed. Credit me, royal brother, that hidden\ncrimes have often been brought to light by the testimony even of\ninanimate substances, not to mention animals far inferior in instinctive\nsagacity to the dog, who is the friend and companion of our race.\"\n\n\"Such a duel there hath indeed been, royal brother,\" answered Philip,\n\"and that in the reign of one of our predecessors, to whom God be\ngracious. But it was in the olden time, nor can we hold it a precedent\nfitting for this occasion. The defendant in that case was a private\ngentleman of small rank or respect; his offensive weapons were only a\nclub, his defensive a leathern jerkin. But we cannot degrade a prince\nto the disgrace of using such rude arms, or to the ignominy of such a\ncombat.\"\n\n\"I never meant that you should,\" said King Richard; \"it were foul play\nto hazard the good hound's life against that of such a double-faced\ntraitor as this Conrade hath proved himself. But there lies our own\nglove; we appeal him to the combat in respect of the evidence we\nbrought forth against him. A king, at least, is more than the mate of a\nmarquis.\"\n\nConrade made no hasty effort to seize on the pledge which Richard cast\ninto the middle of the assembly, and King Philip had time to reply ere\nthe marquis made a motion to lift the glove.\n\n\"A king,\" said he of France, \"is as much more than a match for the\nMarquis Conrade as a dog would be less. Royal Richard, this cannot be\npermitted. You are the leader of our expedition--the sword and buckler\nof Christendom.\"\n\n\"I protest against such a combat,\" said the Venetian proveditore, \"until\nthe King of England shall have repaid the fifty thousand byzants which\nhe is indebted to the republic. It is enough to be threatened with loss\nof our debt, should our debtor fall by the hands of the pagans, without\nthe additional risk of his being slain in brawls amongst Christians\nconcerning dogs and banners.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said William with the Long Sword, Earl of Salisbury, \"protest\nin my turn against my royal brother perilling his life, which is the\nproperty of the people of England, in such a cause. Here, noble brother,\nreceive back your glove, and think only as if the wind had blown it from\nyour hand. Mine shall lie in its stead. A king's son, though with the\nbar sinister on his shield, is at least a match for this marmoset of a\nmarquis.\"\n\n\"Princes and nobles,\" said Conrade, \"I will not accept of King Richard's\ndefiance. He hath been chosen our leader against the Saracens, and if\nhis conscience can answer the accusation of provoking an ally to the\nfield on a quarrel so frivolous, mine, at least, cannot endure the\nreproach of accepting it. But touching his bastard brother, William of\nWoodstock, or against any other who shall adopt or shall dare to stand\ngodfather to this most false charge, I will defend my honour in the\nlists, and prove whosoever impeaches it a false liar.\"\n\n\"The Marquis of Montserrat,\" said the Archbishop of Tyre, \"hath spoken\nlike a wise and moderate gentleman; and methinks this controversy might,\nwithout dishonour to any party, end at this point.\"\n\n\"Methinks it might so terminate,\" said the King of France, \"provided\nKing Richard will recall his accusation as made upon over-slight\ngrounds.\"\n\n\"Philip of France,\" answered Coeur de Lion, \"my words shall never do my\nthoughts so much injury. I have charged yonder Conrade as a thief,\nwho, under cloud of night, stole from its place the emblem of England's\ndignity. I still believe and charge him to be such; and when a day is\nappointed for the combat, doubt not that, since Conrade declines to\nmeet us in person, I will find a champion to appear in support of my\nchallenge--for thou, William, must not thrust thy long sword into this\nquarrel without our special license.\"\n\n\"Since my rank makes me arbiter in this most unhappy matter,\" said\nPhilip of France, \"I appoint the fifth day from hence for the decision\nthereof, by way of combat, according to knightly usage--Richard, King of\nEngland, to appear by his champion as appellant, and Conrade, Marquis of\nMontserrat, in his own person, as defendant. Yet I own I know not where\nto find neutral ground where such a quarrel may be fought out; for it\nmust not be in the neighbourhood of this camp, where the soldiers would\nmake faction on the different sides.\"\n\n\"It were well,\" said Richard, \"to apply to the generosity of the\nroyal Saladin, since, heathen as he is, I have never known knight more\nfulfilled of nobleness, or to whose good faith we may so peremptorily\nentrust ourselves. I speak thus for those who may be doubtful of mishap;\nfor myself, wherever I see my foe, I make that spot my battle-ground.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" said Philip; \"we will make this matter known to Saladin,\nalthough it be showing to an enemy the unhappy spirit of discord\nwhich we would willingly hide from even ourselves, were it possible.\nMeanwhile, I dismiss this assembly, and charge you all, as Christian\nmen and noble knights, that ye let this unhappy feud breed no further\nbrawling in the camp, but regard it as a thing solemnly referred to the\njudgment of God, to whom each of you should pray that He will dispose\nof victory in the combat according to the truth of the quarrel; and\ntherewith may His will be done!\"\n\n\"Amen, amen!\" was answered on all sides; while the Templar whispered the\nMarquis, \"Conrade, wilt thou not add a petition to be delivered from the\npower of the dog, as the Psalmist hath it?\"\n\n\"Peace, thou--!\" replied the Marquis; \"there is a revealing demon abroad\nwhich may report, amongst other tidings, how far thou dost carry the\nmotto of thy order--'FERIATUR LEO'.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt stand the brunt of challenge?\" said the Templar.\n\n\"Doubt me not,\" said Conrade. \"I would not, indeed, have willingly\nmet the iron arm of Richard himself, and I shame not to confess that\nI rejoice to be free of his encounter; but, from his bastard brother\ndownward, the man breathes not in his ranks whom I fear to meet.\"\n\n\"It is well you are so confident,\" continued the Templar; \"and, in that\ncase, the fangs of yonder hound have done more to dissolve this league\nof princes than either thy devices or the dagger of the Charegite. Seest\nthou how, under a brow studiously overclouded, Philip cannot conceal the\nsatisfaction which he feels at the prospect of release from the alliance\nwhich sat so heavy on him? Mark how Henry of Champagne smiles to\nhimself, like a sparkling goblet of his own wine; and see the chuckling\ndelight of Austria, who thinks his quarrel is about to be avenged\nwithout risk or trouble of his own. Hush! he approaches.--A most\ngrievous chance, most royal Austria, that these breaches in the walls of\nour Zion--\"\n\n\"If thou meanest this Crusade,\" replied the Duke, \"I would it were\ncrumbled to pieces, and each were safe at home! I speak this in\nconfidence.\"\n\n\"But,\" said the Marquis of Montserrat, \"to think this disunion should\nbe made by the hands of King Richard, for whose pleasure we have been\ncontented to endure so much, and to whom we have been as submissive as\nslaves to a master, in hopes that he would use his valour against our\nenemies, instead of exercising it upon our friends!\"\n\n\"I see not that he is so much more valorous than others,\" said the\nArchduke. \"I believe, had the noble Marquis met him in the lists, he\nwould have had the better; for though the islander deals heavy blows\nwith the pole-axe, he is not so very dexterous with the lance. I should\nhave cared little to have met him myself on our old quarrel, had the\nweal of Christendom permitted to sovereign princes to breathe themselves\nin the lists; and if thou desirest it, noble Marquis, I will myself be\nyour godfather in this combat.\"\n\n\"And I also,\" said the Grand Master.\n\n\"Come, then, and take your nooning in our tent, noble sirs,\" said the\nDuke, \"and we'll speak of this business over some right NIERENSTEIN.\"\n\nThey entered together accordingly.\n\n\"What said our patron and these great folks together?\" said Jonas\nSchwanker to his companion, the SPRUCH-SPRECHER, who had used the\nfreedom to press nigh to his master when the Council was dismissed,\nwhile the jester waited at a more respectful distance.\n\n\"Servant of Folly,\" said the SPRUCH-SPRECHER, \"moderate thy curiosity;\nit beseems not that I should tell to thee the counsels of our master.\"\n\n\"Man of wisdom, you mistake,\" answered Jonas. \"We are both the constant\nattendants on our patron, and it concerns us alike to know whether thou\nor I--Wisdom or Folly--have the deeper interest in him.\"\n\n\"He told to the Marquis,\" answered the SPRUCH-SPRECHER, \"and to the\nGrand Master, that he was aweary of these wars, and would be glad he was\nsafe at home.\"\n\n\"That is a drawn cast, and counts for nothing in the game,\" said the\njester; \"it was most wise to think thus, but great folly to tell it to\nothers--proceed.\"\n\n\"Ha, hem!\" said the SPRUCH-SPRECHER; \"he next said to them that Richard\nwas not more valorous than others, or over-dexterous in the tilt-yard.\"\n\n\"Woodcock of my side,\" said Schwanker, \"this was egregious folly. What\nnext?\"\n\n\"Nay, I am something oblivious,\" replied the man of wisdom--\"he invited\nthem to a goblet of NIERENSTEIN.\"\n\n\"That hath a show of wisdom in it,\" said Jonas. \"Thou mayest mark it to\nthy credit in the meantime; but an he drink too much, as is most likely,\nI will have it pass to mine. Anything more?\"\n\n\"Nothing worth memory,\" answered the orator; \"only he wished he had\ntaken the occasion to meet Richard in the lists.\"\n\n\"Out upon it--out upon it!\" said Jonas; \"this is such dotage of folly\nthat I am well-nigh ashamed of winning the game by it. Ne'ertheless,\nfool as he is, we will follow him, most sage SPRUCH-SPRECHER, and have\nour share of the wine of NIERENSTEIN.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\n     Yet this inconstancy is such,\n     As thou, too, shalt adore;\n     I could not love thee, love so much,\n     Loved I not honour more.\n            MONTROSE'S LINES.\n\nWhen King Richard returned to his tent, he commanded the Nubian to be\nbrought before him. He entered with his usual ceremonial reverence,\nand having prostrated himself, remained standing before the King in the\nattitude of a slave awaiting the orders of his master. It was perhaps\nwell for him that the preservation of his character required his eyes\nto be fixed on the ground, since the keen glance with which Richard for\nsome time surveyed him in silence would, if fully encountered, have been\ndifficult to sustain.\n\n\"Thou canst well of woodcraft,\" said the King, after a pause, \"and hast\nstarted thy game and brought him to bay as ably as if Tristrem himself\nhad taught thee. [A universal tradition ascribed to Sir Tristrem, famous\nfor his love of the fair Queen Yseult, the laws concerning the practice\nof woodcraft, or VENERIE, as it was called, being those that related to\nthe rules of the chase, which were deemed of much consequence during the\nMiddle Ages.] But this is not all--he must be brought down at force. I\nmyself would have liked to have levelled my hunting-spear at him. There\nare, it seems, respects which prevent this. Thou art about to return to\nthe camp of the Soldan, bearing a letter, requiring of his courtesy to\nappoint neutral ground for the deed of chivalry, and should it consist\nwith his pleasure, to concur with us in witnessing it. Now, speaking\nconjecturally, we think thou mightst find in that camp some cavalier\nwho, for the love of truth and his own augmentation of honour, will do\nbattle with this same traitor of Montserrat.\"\n\nThe Nubian raised his eyes and fixed them on the King with a look of\neager ardour; then raised them to Heaven with such solemn gratitude that\nthe water soon glistened in them; then bent his head, as affirming what\nRichard desired, and resumed his usual posture of submissive attention.\n\n\"It is well,\" said the King; \"and I see thy desire to oblige me in this\nmatter. And herein, I must needs say, lies the excellence of such a\nservant as thou, who hast not speech either to debate our purpose or to\nrequire explanation of what we have determined. An English serving man\nin thy place had given me his dogged advice to trust the combat\nwith some good lance of my household, who, from my brother Longsword\ndownwards, are all on fire to do battle in my cause; and a chattering\nFrenchman had made a thousand attempts to discover wherefore I look for\na champion from the camp of the infidels. But thou, my silent agent,\ncanst do mine errand without questioning or comprehending it; with thee\nto hear is to obey.\"\n\nA bend of the body and a genuflection were the appropriate answer of the\nEthiopian to these observations.\n\n\"And now to another point,\" said the King, and speaking suddenly and\nrapidly--\"have you yet seen Edith Plantagenet?\"\n\nThe mute looked up as in the act of being about to speak--nay, his lips\nhad begun to utter a distinct negative--when the abortive attempt died\naway in the imperfect murmurs of the dumb.\n\n\"Why, lo you there!\" said the King, \"the very sound of the name of a\nroyal maiden of beauty so surpassing as that of our lovely cousin seems\nto have power enough well-nigh to make the dumb speak. What miracles\nthen might her eye work upon such a subject! I will make the experiment,\nfriend slave. Thou shalt see this choice beauty of our Court, and do the\nerrand of the princely Soldan.\"\n\nAgain a joyful glance--again a genuflection--but, as he arose, the King\nlaid his hand heavily on his shoulder, and proceeded with stern gravity\nthus: \"Let me in one thing warn you, my sable envoy. Even if thou\nshouldst feel that the kindly influence of her whom thou art soon to\nbehold should loosen the bonds of thy tongue, presently imprisoned,\nas the good Soldan expresses it, within the ivory walls of its castle,\nbeware how thou changest thy taciturn character, or speakest a word in\nher presence, even if thy powers of utterance were to be miraculously\nrestored. Believe me that I should have thy tongue extracted by\nthe roots, and its ivory palace--that is, I presume, its range of\nteeth--drawn out one by one. Wherefore, be wise and silent still.\"\n\nThe Nubian, so soon as the King had removed his heavy grasp from his\nshoulder, bent his head, and laid his hand on his lips, in token of\nsilent obedience.\n\nBut Richard again laid his hand on him more gently, and added, \"This\nbehest we lay on thee as on a slave. Wert thou knight and gentleman,\nwe would require thine honour in pledge of thy silence, which is one\nespecial condition of our present trust.\"\n\nThe Ethiopian raised his body proudly, looked full at the King, and laid\nhis right hand on his heart.\n\nRichard then summoned his chamberlain.\n\n\"Go, Neville,\" he said, \"with this slave to the tent of our royal\nconsort, and say it is our pleasure that he have an audience--a private\naudience--of our cousin Edith. He is charged with a commission to her.\nThou canst show him the way also, in case he requires thy guidance,\nthough thou mayst have observed it is wonderful how familiar he already\nseems to be with the purlieus of our camp.--And thou, too, friend\nEthiop,\" the King continued, \"what thou dost do quickly, and return\nhither within the half-hour.\"\n\n\"I stand discovered,\" thought the seeming Nubian, as, with downcast\nlooks and folded arms, he followed the hasty stride of Neville towards\nthe tent of Queen Berengaria--\"I stand undoubtedly discovered and\nunfolded to King Richard; yet I cannot perceive that his resentment is\nhot against me. If I understand his words--and surely it is impossible\nto misinterpret them--he gives me a noble chance of redeeming my honour\nupon the crest of this false Marquis, whose guilt I read in his craven\neye and quivering lip when the charge was made against him.--Roswal,\nfaithfully hast thou served thy master, and most dearly shall thy wrong\nbe avenged!--But what is the meaning of my present permission to look\nupon her whom I had despaired ever to see again? And why, or how, can\nthe royal Plantagenet consent that I should see his divine kinswoman,\neither as the messenger of the heathen Saladin, or as the guilty exile\nwhom he so lately expelled from his camp--his audacious avowal of the\naffection which is his pride being the greatest enhancement of his\nguilt? That Richard should consent to her receiving a letter from an\ninfidel lover by the hands of one of such disproportioned rank are\neither of them circumstances equally incredible, and, at the same time,\ninconsistent with each other. But Richard, when unmoved by his heady\npassions, is liberal, generous, and truly noble; and as such I will\ndeal with him, and act according to his instructions, direct or implied,\nseeking to know no more than may gradually unfold itself without my\nofficious inquiry. To him who has given me so brave an opportunity to\nvindicate my tarnished honour, I owe acquiescence and obedience; and\npainful as it may be, the debt shall be paid. And yet\"--thus the proud\nswelling of his heart further suggested--\"Coeur de Lion, as he is\ncalled, might have measured the feelings of others by his own. I urge an\naddress to his kinswoman! I, who never spoke word to her when I took a\nroyal prize from her hand--when I was accounted not the lowest in feats\nof chivalry among the defenders of the Cross! I approach her when in\na base disguise, and in a servile habit--and, alas! when my actual\ncondition is that of a slave, with a spot of dishonour on that which was\nonce my shield! I do this! He little knows me. Yet I thank him for the\nopportunity which may make us all better acquainted with each other.\"\n\nAs he arrived at this conclusion, they paused before the entrance of the\nQueen's pavilion.\n\nThey were of course admitted by the guards, and Neville, leaving the\nNubian in a small apartment, or antechamber, which was but too well\nremembered by him, passed into that which was used as the Queen's\npresence-chamber. He communicated his royal master's pleasure in a\nlow and respectful tone of voice, very different from the bluntness\nof Thomas de Vaux, to whom Richard was everything and the rest of the\nCourt, including Berengaria herself, was nothing. A burst of laughter\nfollowed the communication of his errand.\n\n\"And what like is the Nubian slave who comes ambassador on such an\nerrand from the Soldan?--a <DW64>, De Neville, is he not?\" said a female\nvoice, easily recognized for that of Berengaria. \"A <DW64>, is he not, De\nNeville, with black skin, a head curled like a ram's, a flat nose, and\nblubber lips--ha, worthy Sir Henry?\"\n\n\"Let not your Grace forget the shin-bones,\" said another voice, \"bent\noutwards like the edge of a Saracen scimitar.\"\n\n\"Rather like the bow of a Cupid, since he comes upon a lover's errand,\"\nsaid the Queen.--\"Gentle Neville, thou art ever prompt to pleasure us\npoor women, who have so little to pass away our idle moments. We must\nsee this messenger of love. Turks and Moors have I seen many, but <DW64>\nnever.\"\n\n\"I am created to obey your Grace's commands, so you will bear me out\nwith my Sovereign for doing so,\" answered the debonair knight. \"Yet,\nlet me assure your Grace you will see something different from what you\nexpect.\"\n\n\"So much the better--uglier yet than our imaginations can fancy, yet the\nchosen love-messenger of this gallant Soldan!\"\n\n\"Gracious madam,\" said the Lady Calista, \"may I implore you would permit\nthe good knight to carry this messenger straight to the Lady Edith, to\nwhom his credentials are addressed? We have already escaped hardly for\nsuch a frolic.\"\n\n\"Escaped?\" repeated the Queen scornfully. \"Yet thou mayest be right,\nCalista, in thy caution. Let this Nubian, as thou callest him, first do\nhis errand to our cousin--besides, he is mute too, is he not?\"\n\n\"He is, gracious madam,\" answered the knight.\n\n\"Royal sport have these Eastern ladies,\" said Berengaria, \"attended by\nthose before whom they may say anything, yet who can report nothing.\nWhereas in our camp, as the Prelate of Saint Jude's is wont to say, a\nbird of the air will carry the matter.\"\n\n\"Because,\" said De Neville, \"your Grace forgets that you speak within\ncanvas walls.\"\n\nThe voices sunk on this observation, and after a little whispering, the\nEnglish knight again returned to the Ethiopian, and made him a sign\nto follow. He did so, and Neville conducted him to a pavilion, pitched\nsomewhat apart from that of the Queen, for the accommodation, it seemed,\nof the Lady Edith and her attendants. One of her Coptic maidens received\nthe message communicated by Sir Henry Neville, and in the space of a\nvery few minutes the Nubian was ushered into Edith's presence, while\nNeville was left on the outside of the tent. The slave who introduced\nhim withdrew on a signal from her mistress, and it was with humiliation,\nnot of the posture only but of the very inmost soul, that the\nunfortunate knight, thus strangely disguised, threw himself on one\nknee, with looks bent on the ground and arms folded on his bosom, like a\ncriminal who expects his doom. Edith was clad in the same manner as\nwhen she received King Richard, her long, transparent dark veil hanging\naround her like the shade of a summer night on a beautiful landscape,\ndisguising and rendering obscure the beauties which it could not hide.\nShe held in her hand a silver lamp, fed with some aromatic spirit, which\nburned with unusual brightness.\n\nWhen Edith came within a step of the kneeling and motionless slave,\nshe held the light towards his face, as if to peruse his features more\nattentively, then turned from him, and placed her lamp so as to throw\nthe shadow of his face in profile upon the curtain which hung beside.\nShe at length spoke in a voice composed, yet deeply sorrowful,\n\n\"Is it you? It is indeed you, brave Knight of the Leopard--gallant Sir\nKenneth of Scotland; is it indeed you?--thus servilely disguised--thus\nsurrounded by a hundred dangers.\"\n\nAt hearing the tones of his lady's voice thus unexpectedly addressed\nto him, and in a tone of compassion approaching to tenderness, a\ncorresponding reply rushed to the knight's lips, and scarce could\nRichard's commands and his own promised silence prevent his answering\nthat the sight he saw, the sounds he just heard, were sufficient to\nrecompense the slavery of a life, and dangers which threatened that\nlife every hour. He did recollect himself, however, and a deep and\nimpassioned sigh was his only reply to the high-born Edith's question.\n\n\"I see--I know I have guessed right,\" continued Edith. \"I marked you\nfrom your first appearance near the platform on which I stood with the\nQueen. I knew, too, your valiant hound. She is no true lady, and\nis unworthy of the service of such a knight as thou art, from whom\ndisguises of dress or hue could conceal a faithful servant. Speak, then,\nwithout fear to Edith Plantagenet. She knows how to grace in adversity\nthe good knight who served, honoured, and did deeds of arms in her name,\nwhen fortune befriended him.--Still silent! Is it fear or shame that\nkeeps thee so! Fear should be unknown to thee; and for shame, let it\nremain with those who have wronged thee.\"\n\nThe knight, in despair at being obliged to play the mute in an interview\nso interesting, could only express his mortification by sighing deeply,\nand laying his finger upon his lips. Edith stepped back, as if somewhat\ndispleased.\n\n\"What!\" she said, \"the Asiatic mute in very deed, as well as in attire?\nThis I looked not for. Or thou mayest scorn me, perhaps, for thus boldly\nacknowledging that I have heedfully observed the homage thou hast paid\nme? Hold no unworthy thoughts of Edith on that account. She knows well\nthe bounds which reserve and modesty prescribe to high-born maidens,\nand she knows when and how far they should give place to gratitude--to\na sincere desire that it were in her power to repay services and repair\ninjuries arising from the devotion which a good knight bore towards her.\nWhy fold thy hands together, and wring them with so much passion? Can\nit be,\" she added, shrinking back at the idea, \"that their cruelty\nhas actually deprived thee of speech? Thou shakest thy head. Be it a\nspell--be it obstinacy, I question thee no further, but leave thee to do\nthine errand after thine own fashion. I also can be mute.\"\n\nThe disguised knight made an action as if at once lamenting his own\ncondition and deprecating her displeasure, while at the same time he\npresented to her, wrapped, as usual, in fine silk and cloth of gold, the\nletter of the Soldan. She took it, surveyed it carelessly, then laid it\naside, and bending her eyes once more on the knight, she said in a low\ntone, \"Not even a word to do thine errand to me?\"\n\nHe pressed both his hands to his brow, as if to intimate the pain which\nhe felt at being unable to obey her; but she turned from him in anger.\n\n\"Begone!\" she said. \"I have spoken enough--too much--to one who will not\nwaste on me a word in reply. Begone!--and say, if I have wronged thee, I\nhave done penance; for if I have been the unhappy means of dragging thee\ndown from a station of honour, I have, in this interview, forgotten my\nown worth, and lowered myself in thy eyes and in my own.\"\n\nShe covered her eyes with her hands, and seemed deeply agitated. Sir\nKenneth would have approached, but she waved him back.\n\n\"Stand off! thou whose soul Heaven hath suited to its new station!\nAught less dull and fearful than a slavish mute had spoken a word of\ngratitude, were it but to reconcile me to my own degradation. Why pause\nyou?--begone!\"\n\nThe disguised knight almost involuntarily looked towards the letter as\nan apology for protracting his stay. She snatched it up, saying in a\ntone of irony and contempt, \"I had forgotten--the dutiful slave waits an\nanswer to his message. How's this--from the Soldan!\"\n\nShe hastily ran over the contents, which were expressed both in Arabic\nand French, and when she had done, she laughed in bitter anger.\n\n\"Now this passes imagination!\" she said; \"no jongleur can show so deft\na transmutation! His legerdemain can transform zechins and byzants into\ndoits and maravedis; but can his art convert a Christian knight, ever\nesteemed among the bravest of the Holy Crusade, into the dust-kissing\nslave of a heathen Soldan--the bearer of a paynim's insolent proposals\nto a Christian maiden--nay, forgetting the laws of honourable chivalry,\nas well as of religion? But it avails not talking to the willing slave\nof a heathen hound. Tell your master, when his scourge shall have found\nthee a tongue, that which thou hast seen me do\"--so saying, she threw\nthe Soldan's letter on the ground, and placed her foot upon it--\"and\nsay to him, that Edith Plantagenet scorns the homage of an unchristened\npagan.\"\n\nWith these words she was about to shoot from the knight, when, kneeling\nat her feet in bitter agony, he ventured to lay his hand upon her robe\nand oppose her departure.\n\n\"Heard'st thou not what I said, dull slave?\" she said, turning short\nround on him, and speaking with emphasis. \"Tell the heathen Soldan, thy\nmaster, that I scorn his suit as much as I despise the prostration of a\nworthless renegade to religion and chivalry--to God and to his lady!\"\n\nSo saying, she burst from him, tore her garment from his grasp, and left\nthe tent.\n\nThe voice of Neville, at the same time, summoned him from without.\nExhausted and stupefied by the distress he had undergone during this\ninterview, from which he could only have extricated himself by breach\nof the engagement which he had formed with King Richard, the unfortunate\nknight staggered rather than walked after the English baron, till they\nreached the royal pavilion, before which a party of horsemen had just\ndismounted. There were light and motion within the tent, and when\nNeville entered with his disguised attendant, they found the King,\nwith several of his nobility, engaged in welcoming those who were newly\narrived.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n     \"The tears I shed must ever fall.\n     I weep not for an absent swain;\n     For time may happier hours recall,\n     And parted lovers meet again.\n\n     \"I weep not for the silent dead.\n     Their pains are past, their sorrows o'er;\n     And those that loved their steps must tread,\n     When death shall join to part no more.\"\n\n     But worse than absence, worse than death,\n     She wept her lover's sullied fame,\n     And, fired with all the pride of birth,\n     She wept a soldier's injured name.\n            BALLAD.\n\nThe frank and bold voice of Richard was heard in joyous gratulation.\n\n\"Thomas de Vaux! stout Tom of the Gills! by the head of King Henry, thou\nart welcome to me as ever was flask of wine to a jolly toper! I should\nscarce have known how to order my battle-array, unless I had thy bulky\nform in mine eye as a landmark to form my ranks upon. We shall have\nblows anon, Thomas, if the saints be gracious to us; and had we fought\nin thine absence, I would have looked to hear of thy being found hanging\nupon an elder-tree.\"\n\n\"I should have borne my disappointment with more Christian patience,\nI trust,\" said Thomas de Vaux, \"than to have died the death of an\napostate. But I thank your Grace for my welcome, which is the more\ngenerous, as it respects a banquet of blows, of which, saving your\npleasure, you are ever too apt to engross the larger share. But here\nhave I brought one to whom your Grace will, I know, give a yet warmer\nwelcome.\"\n\nThe person who now stepped forward to make obeisance to Richard was a\nyoung man of low stature and slight form. His dress was as modest as his\nfigure was unimpressive; but he bore on his bonnet a gold buckle, with a\ngem, the lustre of which could only be rivalled by the brilliancy of\nthe eye which the bonnet shaded. It was the only striking feature in his\ncountenance; but when once noticed, it ever made a strong impression on\nthe spectator. About his neck there hung in a scarf of sky-blue silk a\nWREST as it was called--that is, the key with which a harp is tuned, and\nwhich was of solid gold.\n\nThis personage would have kneeled reverently to Richard, but the Monarch\nraised him in joyful haste, pressed him to his bosom warmly, and kissed\nhim on either side of the face.\n\n\"Blondel de Nesle!\" he exclaimed joyfully--\"welcome from Cyprus, my king\nof minstrels!--welcome to the King of England, who rates not his own\ndignity more highly than he does thine. I have been sick, man, and, by\nmy soul, I believe it was for lack of thee; for, were I half way to the\ngate of heaven, methinks thy strains could call me back. And what news,\nmy gentle master, from the land of the lyre? Anything fresh from the\nTROUVEURS of Provence? Anything from the minstrels of merry Normandy?\nAbove all, hast thou thyself been busy? But I need not ask thee--thou\ncanst not be idle if thou wouldst; thy noble qualities are like a fire\nburning within, and compel thee to pour thyself out in music and song.\"\n\n\"Something I have learned, and something I have done, noble King,\"\nanswered the celebrated Blondel, with a retiring modesty which all\nRichard's enthusiastic admiration of his skill had been unable to\nbanish.\n\n\"We will hear thee, man--we will hear thee instantly,\" said the King.\nThen, touching Blondel's shoulder kindly, he added, \"That is, if thou\nart not fatigued with thy journey; for I would sooner ride my best horse\nto death than injure a note of thy voice.\"\n\n\"My voice is, as ever, at the service of my royal patron,\" said Blondel;\n\"but your Majesty,\" he added, looking at some papers on the table,\n\"seems more importantly engaged, and the hour waxes late.\"\n\n\"Not a whit, man, not a whit, my dearest Blondel. I did but sketch an\narray of battle against the Saracens, a thing of a moment, almost as\nsoon done as the routing of them.\"\n\n\"Methinks, however,\" said Thomas de Vaux, \"it were not unfit to inquire\nwhat soldiers your Grace hath to array. I bring reports on that subject\nfrom Ascalon.\"\n\n\"Thou art a mule, Thomas,\" said the King--\"a very mule for dullness\nand obstinacy! Come, nobles--a hall--a hall--range ye around him! Give\nBlondel the tabouret. Where is his harp-bearer?--or, soft, lend him my\nharp, his own may be damaged by the journey.\"\n\n\"I would your Grace would take my report,\" said Thomas de Vaux. \"I have\nridden far, and have more list to my bed than to have my ears tickled.\"\n\n\"THY ears tickled!\" said the King; \"that must be with a woodcock's\nfeather, and not with sweet sounds. Hark thee, Thomas, do thine ears\nknow the singing of Blondel from the braying of an ass?\"\n\n\"In faith, my liege,\" replied Thomas, \"I cannot well say; but setting\nBlondel out of the question, who is a born gentleman, and doubtless of\nhigh acquirements, I shall never, for the sake of your Grace's question,\nlook on a minstrel but I shall think upon an ass.\"\n\n\"And might not your manners,\" said Richard, \"have excepted me, who am a\ngentleman born as well as Blondel, and, like him, a guild-brother of the\njoyeuse science?\"\n\n\"Your Grace should remember,\" said De Vaux, smiling, \"that 'tis useless\nasking for manners from a mule.\"\n\n\"Most truly spoken,\" said the King; \"and an ill-conditioned animal thou\nart. But come hither, master mule, and be unloaded, that thou mayest get\nthee to thy litter, without any music being wasted on thee. Meantime do\nthou, good brother of Salisbury, go to our consort's tent, and tell\nher that Blondel has arrived, with his budget fraught with the newest\nminstrelsy. Bid her come hither instantly, and do thou escort her, and\nsee that our cousin, Edith Plantagenet, remain not behind.\"\n\nHis eye then rested for a moment on the Nubian, with that expression of\ndoubtful meaning which his countenance usually displayed when he looked\nat him.\n\n\"Ha, our silent and secret messenger returned?--Stand up, slave, behind\nthe back of De Neville, and thou shalt hear presently sounds which will\nmake thee bless God that He afflicted thee rather with dumbness than\ndeafness.\"\n\nSo saying, he turned from the rest of the company towards De Vaux, and\nplunged instantly into the military details which that baron laid before\nhim.\n\nAbout the time that the Lord of Gilsland had finished his audience, a\nmessenger announced that the Queen and her attendants were approaching\nthe royal tent.--\"A flask of wine, ho!\" said the King; \"of old King\nIsaac's long-saved Cyprus, which we won when we stormed Famagosta. Fill\nto the stout Lord of Gilsland, gentles--a more careful and faithful\nservant never had any prince.\"\n\n\"I am glad,\" said Thomas de Vaux, \"that your Grace finds the mule a\nuseful slave, though his voice be less musical than horse-hair or wire.\"\n\n\"What, thou canst not yet digest that quip of the mule?\" said Richard.\n\"Wash it down with a brimming flagon, man, or thou wilt choke upon it.\nWhy, so--well pulled!--and now I will tell thee, thou art a soldier\nas well as I, and we must brook each other's jests in the hall as each\nother's blows in the tourney, and love each other the harder we hit.\nBy my faith, if thou didst not hit me as hard as I did thee in our late\nencounter! thou gavest all thy wit to the thrust. But here lies the\ndifference betwixt thee and Blondel. Thou art but my comrade--I might\nsay my pupil--in the art of war; Blondel is my master in the science of\nminstrelsy and music. To thee I permit the freedom of intimacy; to him\nI must do reverence, as to my superior in his art. Come, man, be not\npeevish, but remain and hear our glee.\"\n\n\"To see your Majesty in such cheerful mood,\" said the Lord of Gilsland,\n\"by my faith, I could remain till Blondel had achieved the great romance\nof King Arthur, which lasts for three days.\"\n\n\"We will not tax your patience so deeply,\" said the King. \"But see,\nyonder glare of torches without shows that our consort approaches. Away\nto receive her, man, and win thyself grace in the brightest eyes of\nChristendom. Nay, never stop to adjust thy cloak. See, thou hast let\nNeville come between the wind and the sails of thy galley.\"\n\n\"He was never before me in the field of battle,\" said De Vaux, not\ngreatly pleased to see himself anticipated by the more active service of\nthe chamberlain.\n\n\"No, neither he nor any one went before thee there, my good Tom of the\nGills,\" said the King, \"unless it was ourself, now and then.\"\n\n\"Ay, my liege,\" said De Vaux, \"and let us do justice to the unfortunate.\nThe unhappy Knight of the Leopard hath been before me too, at a season;\nfor, look you, he weighs less on horseback, and so--\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said the King, interrupting him in a peremptory tone, \"not a\nword of him,\" and instantly stepped forward to greet his royal consort;\nand when he had done so, he presented to her Blondel, as king of\nminstrelsy and his master in the gay science. Berengaria, who well knew\nthat her royal husband's passion for poetry and music almost equalled\nhis appetite for warlike fame, and that Blondel was his especial\nfavourite, took anxious care to receive him with all the flattering\ndistinctions due to one whom the King delighted to honour. Yet it was\nevident that, though Blondel made suitable returns to the compliments\nshowered on him something too abundantly by the royal beauty, he owned\nwith deeper reverence and more humble gratitude the simple and graceful\nwelcome of Edith, whose kindly greeting appeared to him, perhaps,\nsincere in proportion to its brevity and simplicity.\n\nBoth the Queen and her royal husband were aware of this distinction, and\nRichard, seeing his consort somewhat piqued at the preference assigned\nto his cousin, by which perhaps he himself did not feel much gratified,\nsaid in the hearing of both, \"We minstrels, Berengaria, as thou mayest\nsee by the bearing of our master Blondel, pay more reverence to a severe\njudge like our kinswoman than to a kindly, partial friend like thyself,\nwho is willing to take our worth upon trust.\"\n\nEdith was moved by this sarcasm of her royal kinsman, and hesitated\nnot to reply that, \"To be a harsh and severe judge was not an attribute\nproper to her alone of all the Plantagenets.\"\n\nShe had perhaps said more, having some touch of the temper of that\nhouse, which, deriving their name and cognizance from the lowly broom\n(PLANTA GENISTA), assumed as an emblem of humility, were perhaps one\nof the proudest families that ever ruled in England; but her eye, when\nkindling in her reply, suddenly caught those of the Nubian, although he\nendeavoured to conceal himself behind the nobles who were present,\nand she sunk upon a seat, turning so pale that Queen Berengaria deemed\nherself obliged to call for water and essences, and to go through the\nother ceremonies appropriate to a lady's swoon. Richard, who better\nestimated Edith's strength of mind, called to Blondel to assume his seat\nand commence his lay, declaring that minstrelsy was worth every other\nrecipe to recall a Plantagenet to life. \"Sing us,\" he said, \"that song\nof the Bloody Vest, of which thou didst formerly give me the argument\nere I left Cyprus. Thou must be perfect in it by this time, or, as our\nyeomen say, thy bow is broken.\"\n\nThe anxious eye of the minstrel, however, dwelt on Edith, and it was\nnot till he observed her returning colour that he obeyed the repeated\ncommands of the King. Then, accompanying his voice with the harp, so as\nto grace, but yet not drown, the sense of what he sung, he chanted in\na sort of recitative one of those ancient adventures of love and\nknighthood which were wont of yore to win the public attention. So soon\nas he began to prelude, the insignificance of his personal appearance\nseemed to disappear, and his countenance glowed with energy and\ninspiration. His full, manly, mellow voice, so absolutely under command\nof the purest taste, thrilled on every ear and to every heart. Richard,\nrejoiced as after victory, called out the appropriate summons for\nsilence, \"Listen, lords, in bower and hall\"; while, with the zeal of a\npatron at once and a pupil, he arranged the circle around, and hushed\nthem into silence; and he himself sat down with an air of expectation\nand interest, not altogether unmixed with the gravity of the professed\ncritic. The courtiers turned their eyes on the King, that they might be\nready to trace and imitate the emotions his features should express, and\nThomas de Vaux yawned tremendously, as one who submitted unwillingly\nto a wearisome penance. The song of Blondel was of course in the Norman\nlanguage, but the verses which follow express its meaning and its\nmanner.\n\n\n                THE BLOODY VEST.\n\n     'Twas near the fair city of Benevent,\n     When the sun was setting on bough and bent,\n     And knights were preparing in bower and tent,\n     On the eve of the Baptist's tournament;\n     When in Lincoln green a stripling gent,\n     Well seeming a page by a princess sent,\n     Wander'd the camp, and, still as he went,\n     Inquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent.\n\n     Far hath he far'd, and farther must fare,\n     Till he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare,--\n     Little save iron and steel was there;\n     And, as lacking the coin to pay armourer's care,\n     With his sinewy arms to the shoulders bare,\n     The good knight with hammer and file did repair\n     The mail that to-morrow must see him wear,\n     For the honour of Saint John and his lady fair.\n\n     \"Thus speaks my lady,\" the page said he,\n     And the knight bent lowly both head and knee,\n     \"She is Benevent's Princess so high in degree,\n     And thou art as lowly as knight may well be--\n     He that would climb so lofty a tree,\n     Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee,\n     Must dare some high deed, by which all men may see\n     His ambition is back'd by his hie chivalrie.\n\n     \"Therefore thus speaks my lady,\" the fair page he said,\n     And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head,\n     \"Fling aside the good armour in which thou art clad,\n     And don thou this weed of her night-gear instead,\n     For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread;\n     And charge, thus attir'd, in the tournament dread,\n     And fight as thy wont is where most blood is shed,\n     And bring honour away, or remain with the dead.\"\n\nUntroubled in his look, and untroubled in his breast, The knight the\nweed hath taken, and reverently hath kiss'd. \"Now blessed be the moment,\nthe messenger be blest! Much honour'd do I hold me in my lady's high\nbehest; And say unto my lady, in this dear night-weed dress'd, To the\nbest armed champion I will not veil my crest; But if I live and bear me\nwell 'tis her turn to take the test.\" Here, gentles, ends the foremost\nfytte of the Lay of the Bloody Vest.\n\n\"Thou hast changed the measure upon us unawares in that last couplet, my\nBlondel,\" said the King.\n\n\"Most true, my lord,\" said Blondel. \"I rendered the verses from the\nItalian of an old harper whom I met in Cyprus, and not having had time\neither to translate it accurately or commit it to memory, I am fain to\nsupply gaps in the music and the verse as I can upon the spur of the\nmoment, as you see boors mend a quickset fence with a fagot.\"\n\n\"Nay, on my faith,\" said the King, \"I like these rattling, rolling\nAlexandrines. Methinks they come more twangingly off to the music than\nthat briefer measure.\"\n\n\"Both are licensed, as is well known to your Grace,\" answered Blondel.\n\n\"They are so, Blondel,\" said Richard, \"yet methinks the scene where\nthere is like to be fighting will go best on in these same thundering\nAlexandrines, which sound like the charge of cavalry, while the other\nmeasure is but like the sidelong amble of a lady's palfrey.\"\n\n\"It shall be as your Grace pleases,\" replied Blondel, and began again to\nprelude.\n\n\"Nay, first cherish thy fancy with a cup of fiery Chios wine,\" said\nthe King. \"And hark thee, I would have thee fling away that new-fangled\nrestriction of thine, of terminating in accurate and similar rhymes.\nThey are a constraint on thy flow of fancy, and make thee resemble a man\ndancing in fetters.\"\n\n\"The fetters are easily flung off, at least,\" said Blondel, again\nsweeping his fingers over the strings, as one who would rather have\nplayed than listened to criticism.\n\n\"But why put them on, man?\" continued the King. \"Wherefore thrust thy\ngenius into iron bracelets? I marvel how you got forward at all. I am\nsure I should not have been able to compose a stanza in yonder hampered\nmeasure.\"\n\nBlondel looked down, and busied himself with the strings of his harp, to\nhide an involuntary smile which crept over his features; but it escaped\nnot Richard's observation.\n\n\"By my faith, thou laughest at me, Blondel,\" he said; \"and, in good\ntruth, every man deserves it who presumes to play the master when he\nshould be the pupil. But we kings get bad habits of self-opinion. Come,\non with thy lay, dearest Blondel--on after thine own fashion, better\nthan aught that we can suggest, though we must needs be talking.\"\n\nBlondel resumed the lay; but as extemporaneous composition was familiar\nto him, he failed not to comply with the King's hints, and was perhaps\nnot displeased to show with how much ease he could new-model a poem,\neven while in the act of recitation.\n\n\n                   THE BLOODY VEST.\n\n                    FYTTE SECOND.\n\n     The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant feats--\n     There was winning of honour and losing of seats;\n     There was hewing with falchions and splintering of staves--\n     The victors won glory, the vanquish'd won graves.\n     Oh, many a knight there fought bravely and well,\n     Yet one was accounted his peers to excel,\n     And 'twas he whose sole armour on body and breast\n     Seem'd the weed of a damsel when bouned for her rest.\n\n     There were some dealt him wounds that were bloody and sore,\n     But others respected his plight, and forbore.\n     \"It is some oath of honour,\" they said, \"and I trow,\n     'Twere unknightly to slay him achieving his vow.\"\n     Then the Prince, for his sake, bade the tournament cease--\n     He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung peace;\n     And the judges declare, and competitors yield,\n     That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the field.\n\n     The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher,\n     When before the fair Princess low looted a squire,\n     And deliver'd a garment unseemly to view,\n     With sword-cut and spear-thrust, all hack'd and pierc'd through;\n     All rent and all tatter'd, all clotted with blood,\n     With foam of the horses, with dust, and with mud;\n     Not the point of that lady's small finger, I ween,\n     Could have rested on spot was unsullied and clean.\n\n     \"This token my master, Sir Thomas a Kent,\n     Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent;\n     He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit,\n     He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit;\n     Through life's utmost peril the prize I have won,\n     And now must the faith of my mistress be shown:\n     For she who prompts knights on such danger to run\n     Must avouch his true service in front of the sun.\n\n     \"'I restore,' says my master, 'the garment I've worn,\n     And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn;\n     For its stains and its rents she should prize it the more,\n     Since by shame 'tis unsullied, though crimson'd with gore.'\"\n     Then deep blush'd the Princess--yet kiss'd she and press'd\n     The blood-spotted robes to her lips and her breast.\n     \"Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall show\n     If I value the blood on this garment or no.\"\n\n     And when it was time for the nobles to pass,\n     In solemn procession to minster and mass,\n     The first walk'd the Princess in purple and pall,\n     But the blood-besmear'd night-robe she wore over all;\n     And eke, in the hall, where they all sat at dine,\n     When she knelt to her father and proffer'd the wine,\n     Over all her rich robes and state jewels she wore\n     That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore.\n\n     Then lords whisper'd ladies, as well you may think,\n     And ladies replied with nod, titter, and wink;\n     And the Prince, who in anger and shame had look'd down,\n     Turn'd at length to his daughter, and spoke with a frown:\n     \"Now since thou hast publish'd thy folly and guilt,\n     E'en atone with thy hand for the blood thou hast spilt;\n     Yet sore for your boldness you both will repent,\n     When you wander as exiles from fair Benevent.\"\n\n     Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where he stood,\n     Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of mood:\n     \"The blood that I lost for this daughter of thine,\n     I pour'd forth as freely as flask gives its wine;\n     And if for my sake she brooks penance and blame,\n     Do not doubt I will save her from suffering and shame;\n     And light will she reck of thy princedom and rent,\n     When I hail her, in England, the Countess of Kent.\"\n\n\nA murmur of applause ran through the assembly, following the example\nof Richard himself, who loaded with praises his favourite minstrel, and\nended by presenting him with a ring of considerable value. The Queen\nhastened to distinguish the favourite by a rich bracelet, and many of\nthe nobles who were present followed the royal example.\n\n\"Is our cousin Edith,\" said the King, \"become insensible to the sound of\nthe harp she once loved?\"\n\n\"She thanks Blondel for his lay,\" replied Edith, \"but doubly the\nkindness of the kinsman who suggested it.\"\n\n\"Thou art angry, cousin,\" said the King; \"angry because thou hast heard\nof a woman more wayward than thyself. But you escape me not. I will walk\na space homeward with you towards the Queen's pavilion. We must have\nconference together ere the night has waned into morning.\"\n\nThe Queen and her attendants were now on foot, and the other guests\nwithdrew from the royal tent. A train with blazing torches, and an\nescort of archers, awaited Berengaria without the pavilion, and she was\nsoon on her way homeward. Richard, as he had proposed, walked beside\nhis kinswoman, and compelled her to accept of his arm as her support, so\nthat they could speak to each other without being overheard.\n\n\"What answer, then, am I to return to the noble Soldan?\" said Richard.\n\"The kings and princes are falling from me, Edith; this new quarrel hath\nalienated them once more. I would do something for the Holy Sepulchre by\ncomposition, if not by victory; and the chance of my doing this depends,\nalas, on the caprice of a woman. I would lay my single spear in the rest\nagainst ten of the best lances in Christendom, rather than argue with a\nwilful wench who knows not what is for her own good. What answer, coz,\nam I to return to the Soldan? It must be decisive.\"\n\n\"Tell him,\" said Edith, \"that the poorest of the Plantagenets will\nrather wed with misery than with misbelief.\"\n\n\"Shall I say with slavery, Edith?\" said the King. \"Methinks that is\nnearer thy thoughts.\"\n\n\"There is no room,\" said Edith, \"for the suspicion you so grossly\ninsinuate. Slavery of the body might have been pitied, but that of the\nsoul is only to be despised. Shame to thee, King of merry England. Thou\nhast enthralled both the limbs and the spirit of a knight, one scarce\nless famed than thyself.\"\n\n\"Should I not prevent my kinswoman from drinking poison, by sullying\nthe vessel which contained it, if I saw no other means of disgusting her\nwith the fatal liquor?\" replied the King.\n\n\"It is thyself,\" answered Edith, \"that would press me to drink poison,\nbecause it is proffered in a golden chalice.\"\n\n\"Edith,\" said Richard, \"I cannot force thy resolution; but beware you\nshut not the door which Heaven opens. The hermit of Engaddi--he whom\nPopes and Councils have regarded as a prophet--hath read in the stars\nthat thy marriage shall reconcile me with a powerful enemy, and that thy\nhusband shall be Christian, leaving thus the fairest ground to hope that\nthe conversion of the Soldan, and the bringing in of the sons of Ishmael\nto the pale of the church, will be the consequence of thy wedding with\nSaladin. Come, thou must make some sacrifice rather than mar such happy\nprospects.\"\n\n\"Men may sacrifice rams and goats,\" said Edith, \"but not honour and\nconscience. I have heard that it was the dishonour of a Christian maiden\nwhich brought the Saracens into Spain; the shame of another is no likely\nmode of expelling them from Palestine.\"\n\n\"Dost thou call it shame to become an empress?\" said the King.\n\n\"I call it shame and dishonour to profane a Christian sacrament by\nentering into it with an infidel whom it cannot bind; and I call it foul\ndishonour that I, the descendant of a Christian princess, should become\nof free will the head of a haram of heathen concubines.\"\n\n\"Well, kinswoman,\" said the King, after a pause, \"I must not quarrel\nwith thee, though I think thy dependent condition might have dictated\nmore compliance.\"\n\n\"My liege,\" replied Edith, \"your Grace hath worthily succeeded to all\nthe wealth, dignity, and dominion of the House of Plantagenet--do\nnot, therefore, begrudge your poor kinswoman some small share of their\npride.\"\n\n\"By my faith, wench,\" said the King, \"thou hast unhorsed me with that\nvery word, so we will kiss and be friends. I will presently dispatch\nthy answer to Saladin. But after all, coz, were it not better to\nsuspend your answer till you have seen him? Men say he is pre-eminently\nhandsome.\"\n\n\"There is no chance of our meeting, my lord,\" said Edith.\n\n\"By Saint George, but there is next to a certainty of it,\" said the\nKing; \"for Saladin will doubtless afford us a free field for the\ndoing of this new battle of the Standard, and will witness it himself.\nBerengaria is wild to behold it also; and I dare be sworn not a feather\nof you, her companions and attendants, will remain behind--least of all\nthou thyself, fair coz. But come, we have reached the pavilion, and must\npart; not in unkindness thou, oh--nay, thou must seal it with thy lip as\nwell as thy hand, sweet Edith--it is my right as a sovereign to kiss my\npretty vassals.\"\n\nHe embraced her respectfully and affectionately, and returned through\nthe moonlit camp, humming to himself such snatches of Blondel's lay as\nhe could recollect.\n\nOn his arrival he lost no time in making up his dispatches for Saladin,\nand delivered them to the Nubian, with a charge to set out by peep of\nday on his return to the Soldan.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\n     We heard the Techir--so these Arabs call\n     Their shout of onset, when, with loud acclaim,\n     They challenge Heaven to give them victory.\n        SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.\n\nOn the subsequent morning Richard was invited to a conference by Philip\nof France, in which the latter, with many expressions of his high esteem\nfor his brother of England, communicated to him in terms extremely\ncourteous, but too explicit to be misunderstood, his positive intention\nto return to Europe, and to the cares of his kingdom, as entirely\ndespairing of future success in their undertaking, with their diminished\nforces and civil discords. Richard remonstrated, but in vain; and when\nthe conference ended he received without surprise a manifesto from the\nDuke of Austria, and several other princes, announcing a resolution\nsimilar to that of Philip, and in no modified terms, assigning, for\ntheir defection from the cause of the Cross, the inordinate ambition and\narbitrary domination of Richard of England. All hopes of continuing\nthe war with any prospect of ultimate success were now abandoned; and\nRichard, while he shed bitter tears over his disappointed hopes of\nglory, was little consoled by the recollection that the failure was\nin some degree to be imputed to the advantages which he had given his\nenemies by his own hasty and imprudent temper.\n\n\"They had not dared to have deserted my father thus,\" he said to De\nVaux, in the bitterness of his resentment. \"No slanders they could have\nuttered against so wise a king would have been believed in Christendom;\nwhereas--fool that I am!--I have not only afforded them a pretext for\ndeserting me, but even a colour for casting all the blame of the rupture\nupon my unhappy foibles.\"\n\nThese thoughts were so deeply galling to the King, that De Vaux was\nrejoiced when the arrival of an ambassador from Saladin turned his\nreflections into a different channel.\n\nThis new envoy was an Emir much respected by the Soldan, whose name\nwas Abdallah el Hadgi. He derived his descent from the family of the\nProphet, and the race or tribe of Hashem, in witness of which genealogy\nhe wore a green turban of large dimensions. He had also three times\nperformed the journey to Mecca, from which he derived his epithet of\nEl Hadgi, or the Pilgrim. Notwithstanding these various pretensions to\nsanctity, Abdallah was (for an Arab) a boon companion, who enjoyed\na merry tale, and laid aside his gravity so far as to quaff a blithe\nflagon when secrecy ensured him against scandal. He was likewise\na statesman, whose abilities had been used by Saladin in various\nnegotiations with the Christian princes, and particularly with Richard,\nto whom El Hadgi was personally known and acceptable. Animated by the\ncheerful acquiescence with which the envoy of Saladin afforded a fair\nfield for the combat, a safe conduct for all who might choose to witness\nit, and offered his own person as a guarantee of his fidelity, Richard\nsoon forgot his disappointed hopes, and the approaching dissolution of\nthe Christian league, in the interesting discussions preceding a combat\nin the lists.\n\nThe station called the Diamond of the Desert was assigned for the place\nof conflict, as being nearly at an equal distance betwixt the Christian\nand Saracen camps. It was agreed that Conrade of Montserrat, the\ndefendant, with his godfathers, the Archduke of Austria and the Grand\nMaster of the Templars, should appear there on the day fixed for the\ncombat, with a hundred armed followers, and no more; that Richard of\nEngland and his brother Salisbury, who supported the accusation, should\nattend with the same number, to protect his champion; and that the\nSoldan should bring with him a guard of five hundred chosen followers,\na band considered as not more than equal to the two hundred Christian\nlances. Such persons of consideration as either party chose to invite to\nwitness the contest were to wear no other weapons than their swords, and\nto come without defensive armour. The Soldan undertook the preparation\nof the lists, and to provide accommodations and refreshments of every\nkind for all who were to assist at the solemnity; and his letters\nexpressed with much courtesy the pleasure which he anticipated in the\nprospect of a personal and peaceful meeting with the Melech Ric, and his\nanxious desire to render his reception as agreeable as possible.\n\nAll preliminaries being arranged and communicated to the defendant\nand his godfathers, Abdullah the Hadgi was admitted to a more private\ninterview, where he heard with delight the strains of Blondel. Having\nfirst carefully put his green turban out of sight, and assumed a\nGreek cap in its stead, he requited the Norman minstrel's music with a\ndrinking song from the Persian, and quaffed a hearty flagon of Cyprus\nwine, to show that his practice matched his principles. On the next day,\ngrave and sober as the water-drinker Mirglip, he bent his brow to the\nground before Saladin's footstool, and rendered to the Soldan an account\nof his embassy.\n\nOn the day before that appointed for the combat Conrade and his friends\nset off by daybreak to repair to the place assigned, and Richard left\nthe camp at the same hour and for the same purpose; but, as had been\nagreed upon, he took his journey by a different route--a precaution\nwhich had been judged necessary, to prevent the possibility of a quarrel\nbetwixt their armed attendants.\n\nThe good King himself was in no humour for quarrelling with any one.\nNothing could have added to his pleasurable anticipations of a desperate\nand bloody combat in the lists, except his being in his own royal\nperson one of the combatants; and he was half in charity again even\nwith Conrade of Montserrat. Lightly armed, richly dressed, and gay as\na bridegroom on the eve of his nuptials, Richard caracoled along by\nthe side of Queen Berengaria's litter, pointing out to her the various\nscenes through which they passed, and cheering with tale and song the\nbosom of the inhospitable wilderness. The former route of the Queen's\npilgrimage to Engaddi had been on the other side of the chain of\nmountains, so that the ladies were strangers to the scenery of the\ndesert; and though Berengaria knew her husband's disposition too well\nnot to endeavour to seem interested in what he was pleased either to\nsay or to sing, she could not help indulging some female fears when she\nfound herself in the howling wilderness with so small an escort, which\nseemed almost like a moving speck on the bosom of the plain, and knew\nat the same time they were not so distant from the camp of Saladin,\nbut what they might be in a moment surprised and swept off by an\noverpowering host of his fiery-footed cavalry, should the pagan be\nfaithless enough to embrace an opportunity thus tempting. But when she\nhinted these suspicions to Richard he repelled them with displeasure and\ndisdain. \"It were worse than ingratitude,\" he said, \"to doubt the good\nfaith of the generous Soldan.\"\n\nYet the same doubts and fears recurred more than once, not to the timid\nmind of the Queen alone, but to the firmer and more candid soul of Edith\nPlantagenet, who had no such confidence in the faith of the Moslem as\nto render her perfectly at ease when so much in their power; and her\nsurprise had been far less than her terror, if the desert around had\nsuddenly resounded with the shout of ALLAH HU! and a band of Arab\ncavalry had pounced on them like vultures on their prey. Nor were these\nsuspicions lessened when, as evening approached, they were aware of\na single Arab horseman, distinguished by his turban and long lance,\nhovering on the edge of a small eminence like a hawk poised in the air,\nand who instantly, on the appearance of the royal retinue, darted\noff with the speed of the same bird when it shoots down the wind and\ndisappears from the horizon.\n\n\"We must be near the station,\" said King Richard; \"and yonder cavalier\nis one of Saladin's outposts--methinks I hear the noise of the Moorish\nhorns and cymbals. Get you into order, my hearts, and form yourselves\naround the ladies soldierlike and firmly.\"\n\nAs he spoke, each knight, squire, and archer hastily closed in upon his\nappointed ground, and they proceeded in the most compact order, which\nmade their numbers appear still smaller. And to say the truth, though\nthere might be no fear, there was anxiety as well as curiosity in the\nattention with which they listened to the wild bursts of Moorish music,\nwhich came ever and anon more distinctly from the quarter in which the\nArab horseman had been seen to disappear.\n\nDe Vaux spoke in a whisper to the King. \"Were it not well, my liege, to\nsend a page to the top of that sand-bank? Or would it stand with your\npleasure that I prick forward? Methinks, by all yonder clash and clang,\nif there be no more than five hundred men beyond the sand-hills, half of\nthe Soldan's retinue must be drummers and cymbal-tossers. Shall I spur\non?\"\n\nThe baron had checked his horse with the bit, and was just about to\nstrike him with the spurs when the King exclaimed, \"Not for the world.\nSuch a caution would express suspicion, and could do little to prevent\nsurprise, which, however, I apprehend not.\"\n\nThey advanced accordingly in close and firm order till they surmounted\nthe line of low sand-hills, and came in sight of the appointed station,\nwhen a splendid, but at the same time a startling, spectacle awaited\nthem.\n\nThe Diamond of the Desert, so lately a solitary fountain, distinguished\nonly amid the waste by solitary groups of palm-trees, was now the centre\nof an encampment, the embroidered flags and gilded ornaments of which\nglittered far and wide, and reflected a thousand rich tints against the\nsetting sun. The coverings of the large pavilions were of the gayest\ncolours--scarlet, bright yellow, pale blue, and other gaudy and gleaming\nhues--and the tops of their pillars, or tent-poles, were decorated\nwith golden pomegranates and small silken flags. But besides these\ndistinguished pavilions, there were what Thomas de Vaux considered as\na portentous number of the ordinary black tents of the Arabs, being\nsufficient, as he conceived, to accommodate, according to the Eastern\nfashion, a host of five thousand men. A number of Arabs and Kurds, fully\ncorresponding to the extent of the encampment, were hastily assembling,\neach leading his horse in his hand, and their muster was accompanied by\nan astonishing clamour of their noisy instruments of martial music, by\nwhich, in all ages, the warfare of the Arabs has been animated.\n\nThey soon formed a deep and confused mass of dismounted cavalry in front\nof their encampment, when, at the signal of a shrill cry, which arose\nhigh over the clangour of the music, each cavalier sprung to his saddle.\nA cloud of dust arising at the moment of this manoeuvre hid from Richard\nand his attendants the camp, the palm-trees, and the distant ridge of\nmountains, as well as the troops whose sudden movement had raised the\ncloud, and, ascending high over their heads, formed itself into the\nfantastic forms of writhed pillars, domes, and minarets. Another shrill\nyell was heard from the bosom of this cloudy tabernacle. It was the\nsignal for the cavalry to advance, which they did at full gallop,\ndisposing themselves as they came forward so as to come in at once on\nthe front, flanks, and rear of Richard's little bodyguard, who were thus\nsurrounded, and almost choked by the dense clouds of dust enveloping\nthem on each side, through which were seen alternately, and lost, the\ngrim forms and wild faces of the Saracens, brandishing and tossing their\nlances in every possible direction with the wildest cries and halloos,\nand frequently only reining up their horses when within a spear's length\nof the Christians, while those in the rear discharged over the heads of\nboth parties thick volleys of arrows. One of these struck the litter in\nwhich the Queen was seated, who loudly screamed, and the red spot was on\nRichard's brow in an instant.\n\n\"Ha! Saint George,\" he exclaimed, \"we must take some order with this\ninfidel scum!\"\n\nBut Edith, whose litter was near, thrust her head out, and with her hand\nholding one of the shafts, exclaimed, \"Royal Richard, beware what you\ndo! see, these arrows are headless!\"\n\n\"Noble, sensible wench!\" exclaimed Richard; \"by Heaven, thou shamest\nus all by thy readiness of thought and eye.--Be not moved, my English\nhearts,\" he exclaimed to his followers; \"their arrows have no heads--and\ntheir spears, too, lack the steel points. It is but a wild welcome,\nafter their savage fashion, though doubtless they would rejoice to see\nus daunted or disturbed. Move onward, slow and steady.\"\n\nThe little phalanx moved forward accordingly, accompanied on all sides\nby the Arabs, with the shrillest and most piercing cries, the bowmen,\nmeanwhile, displaying their agility by shooting as near the crests of\nthe Christians as was possible, without actually hitting them, while the\nlancers charged each other with such rude blows of their blunt weapons\nthat more than one of them lost his saddle, and well-nigh his life,\nin this rough sport. All this, though designed to express welcome, had\nrather a doubtful appearance in the eyes of the Europeans.\n\nAs they had advanced nearly half way towards the camp, King Richard and\nhis suite forming, as it were, the nucleus round which this tumultuary\nbody of horsemen howled, whooped, skirmished, and galloped, creating a\nscene of indescribable confusion, another shrill cry was heard, on which\nall these irregulars, who were on the front and upon the flanks of the\nlittle body of Europeans, wheeled off; and forming themselves into a\nlong and deep column, followed with comparative order and silence in\nthe rear of Richard's troops. The dust began now to dissipate in their\nfront, when there advanced to meet them through that cloudy veil a body\nof cavalry of a different and more regular description, completely armed\nwith offensive and defensive weapons, and who might well have served\nas a bodyguard to the proudest of Eastern monarchs. This splendid troop\nconsisted of five hundred men and each horse which it contained was\nworth an earl's ransom. The riders were Georgian and Circassian slaves\nin the very prime of life. Their helmets and hauberks were formed of\nsteel rings, so bright that they shone like silver; their vestures were\nof the gayest colours, and some of cloth of gold or silver; the sashes\nwere twisted with silk and gold, their rich turbans were plumed and\njewelled, and their sabres and poniards, of Damascene steel, were\nadorned with gold and gems on hilt and scabbard.\n\nThis splendid array advanced to the sound of military music, and when\nthey met the Christian body they opened their files to the right and\nleft, and let them enter between their ranks. Richard now assumed the\nforemost place in his troop, aware that Saladin himself was approaching.\nNor was it long when, in the centre of his bodyguard, surrounded by his\ndomestic officers and those hideous <DW64>s who guard the Eastern\nharam, and whose misshapen forms were rendered yet more frightful by the\nrichness of their attire, came the Soldan, with the look and manners of\none on whose brow Nature had written, This is a King! In his snow-white\nturban, vest, and wide Eastern trousers, wearing a sash of scarlet\nsilk, without any other ornament, Saladin might have seemed the\nplainest-dressed man in his own guard. But closer inspection discerned\nin his turban that inestimable gem which was called by the poets the\nSea of Light; the diamond on which his signet was engraved, and which he\nwore in a ring, was probably worth all the jewels of the English crown;\nand a sapphire which terminated the hilt of his cangiar was not of much\ninferior value. It should be added that, to protect himself from the\ndust, which in the vicinity of the Dead Sea resembles the finest ashes,\nor, perhaps, out of Oriental pride, the Soldan wore a sort of veil\nattached to his turban, which partly obscured the view of his noble\nfeatures. He rode a milk-white Arabian, which bore him as if conscious\nand proud of his noble burden.\n\nThere was no need of further introduction. The two heroic monarchs--for\nsuch they both were--threw themselves at once from horseback, and the\ntroops halting and the music suddenly ceasing, they advanced to meet\neach other in profound silence, and after a courteous inclination on\neither side they embraced as brethren and equals. The pomp and display\nupon both sides attracted no further notice--no one saw aught save\nRichard and Saladin, and they too beheld nothing but each other. The\nlooks with which Richard surveyed Saladin were, however, more intently\ncurious than those which the Soldan fixed upon him; and the Soldan also\nwas the first to break silence.\n\n\"The Melech Ric is welcome to Saladin as water to this desert. I trust\nhe hath no distrust of this numerous array. Excepting the armed slaves\nof my household, those who surround you with eyes of wonder and of\nwelcome are--even the humblest of them--the privileged nobles of my\nthousand tribes; for who that could claim a title to be present would\nremain at home when such a Prince was to be seen as Richard, with the\nterrors of whose name, even on the sands of Yemen, the nurse stills her\nchild, and the free Arab subdues his restive steed!\"\n\n\"And these are all nobles of Araby?\" said Richard, looking around on\nwild forms with their persons covered with haiks, their countenance\nswart with the sunbeams, their teeth as white as ivory, their black eyes\nglancing with fierce and preternatural lustre from under the shade of\ntheir turbans, and their dress being in general simple even to meanness.\n\n\"They claim such rank,\" said Saladin; \"but though numerous, they\nare within the conditions of the treaty, and bear no arms but the\nsabre--even the iron of their lances is left behind.\"\n\n\"I fear,\" muttered De Vaux in English, \"they have left them where they\ncan be soon found. A most flourishing House of Peers, I confess, and\nwould find Westminster Hall something too narrow for them.\"\n\n\"Hush, De Vaux,\" said Richard, \"I command thee.--Noble Saladin,\" he\nsaid, \"suspicion and thou cannot exist on the same ground. Seest thou,\"\npointing to the litters, \"I too have brought some champions with me,\nthough armed, perhaps, in breach of agreement; for bright eyes and fair\nfeatures are weapons which cannot be left behind.\"\n\nThe Soldan, turning to the litters, made an obeisance as lowly as if\nlooking towards Mecca, and kissed the sand in token of respect.\n\n\"Nay,\" said Richard, \"they will not fear a closer encounter, brother;\nwilt thou not ride towards their litters, and the curtains will be\npresently withdrawn?\"\n\n\"That may Allah prohibit!\" said Saladin, \"since not an Arab looks on who\nwould not think it shame to the noble ladies to be seen with their faces\nuncovered.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt see them, then, in private, brother,\" answered Richard.\n\n\"To what purpose?\" answered Saladin mournfully. \"Thy last letter was,\nto the hopes which I had entertained, like water to fire; and wherefore\nshould I again light a flame which may indeed consume, but cannot cheer\nme? But will not my brother pass to the tent which his servant hath\nprepared for him? My principal black slave hath taken order for the\nreception of the Princesses, the officers of my household will attend\nyour followers, and ourself will be the chamberlain of the royal\nRichard.\"\n\nHe led the way accordingly to a splendid pavilion, where was everything\nthat royal luxury could devise. De Vaux, who was in attendance, then\nremoved the chappe (CAPA), or long riding-cloak, which Richard wore, and\nhe stood before Saladin in the close dress which showed to advantage the\nstrength and symmetry of his person, while it bore a strong contrast\nto the flowing robes which disguised the thin frame. of the Eastern\nmonarch. It was Richard's two-handed sword that chiefly attracted\nthe attention of the Saracen--a broad, straight blade, the seemingly\nunwieldy length of which extended well-nigh from the shoulder to the\nheel of the wearer.\n\n\"Had I not,\" said Saladin, \"seen this brand flaming in the front of\nbattle, like that of Azrael, I had scarce believed that human arm could\nwield it. Might I request to see the Melech Ric strike one blow with it\nin peace, and in pure trial of strength?\"\n\n\"Willingly, noble Saladin,\" answered Richard; and looking around for\nsomething whereon to exercise his strength, he saw a steel mace held by\none of the attendants, the handle being of the same metal, and about an\ninch and a half in diameter. This he placed on a block of wood.\n\nThe anxiety of De Vaux for his master's honour led him to whisper in\nEnglish, \"For the blessed Virgin's sake, beware what you attempt, my\nliege! Your full strength is not as yet returned--give no triumph to the\ninfidel.\"\n\n\"Peace, fool!\" said Richard, standing firm on his ground, and casting a\nfierce glance around; \"thinkest thou that I can fail in HIS presence?\"\n\nThe glittering broadsword, wielded by both his hands, rose aloft to the\nKing's left shoulder, circled round his head, descended with the sway\nof some terrific engine, and the bar of iron rolled on the ground in two\npieces, as a woodsman would sever a sapling with a hedging-bill.\n\n\"By the head of the Prophet, a most wonderful blow!\" said the Soldan,\ncritically and accurately examining the iron bar which had been cut\nasunder; and the blade of the sword was so well tempered as to exhibit\nnot the least token of having suffered by the feat it had performed. He\nthen took the King's hand, and looking on the size and muscular strength\nwhich it exhibited, laughed as he placed it beside his own, so lank and\nthin, so inferior in brawn and sinew.\n\n\"Ay, look well,\" said De Vaux in English, \"it will be long ere your long\njackanape's fingers do such a feat with your fine gilded reaping-hook\nthere.\"\n\n\"Silence, De Vaux,\" said Richard; \"by Our Lady, he understands or\nguesses thy meaning--be not so broad, I pray thee.\"\n\nThe Soldan, indeed, presently said, \"Something I would fain\nattempt--though wherefore should the weak show their inferiority in\npresence of the strong? Yet each land hath its own exercises, and this\nmay be new to the Melech Ric.\" So saying, he took from the floor a\ncushion of silk and down, and placed it upright on one end. \"Can thy\nweapon, my brother, sever that cushion?\" he said to King Richard.\n\n\"No, surely,\" replied the King; \"no sword on earth, were it the\nExcalibur of King Arthur, can cut that which opposes no steady\nresistance to the blow.\"\n\n\"Mark, then,\" said Saladin; and tucking up the sleeve of his gown,\nshowed his arm, thin indeed and spare, but which constant exercise had\nhardened into a mass consisting of nought but bone, brawn, and sinew. He\nunsheathed his scimitar, a curved and narrow blade, which glittered not\nlike the swords of the Franks, but was, on the contrary, of a dull blue\ncolour, marked with ten millions of meandering lines, which showed\nhow anxiously the metal had been welded by the armourer. Wielding this\nweapon, apparently so inefficient when compared to that of Richard, the\nSoldan stood resting his weight upon his left foot, which was slightly\nadvanced; he balanced himself a little, as if to steady his aim; then\nstepping at once forward, drew the scimitar across the cushion, applying\nthe edge so dexterously, and with so little apparent effort, that the\ncushion seemed rather to fall asunder than to be divided by violence.\n\n\"It is a juggler's trick,\" said De Vaux, darting forward and snatching\nup the portion of the cushion which had been cut off, as if to assure\nhimself of the reality of the feat; \"there is gramarye in this.\"\n\nThe Soldan seemed to comprehend him, for he undid the sort of veil\nwhich he had hitherto worn, laid it double along the edge of his sabre,\nextended the weapon edgeways in the air, and drawing it suddenly through\nthe veil, although it hung on the blade entirely loose, severed that\nalso into two parts, which floated to different sides of the tent,\nequally displaying the extreme temper and sharpness of the weapon, and\nthe exquisite dexterity of him who used it.\n\n\"Now, in good faith, my brother,\" said Richard, \"thou art even matchless\nat the trick of the sword, and right perilous were it to meet thee!\nStill, however, I put some faith in a downright English blow, and what\nwe cannot do by sleight we eke out by strength. Nevertheless, in truth\nthou art as expert in inflicting wounds as my sage Hakim in curing them.\nI trust I shall see the learned leech. I have much to thank him for, and\nhad brought some small present.\"\n\nAs he spoke, Saladin exchanged his turban for a Tartar cap. He had no\nsooner done so, than De Vaux opened at once his extended mouth and his\nlarge, round eyes, and Richard gazed with scarce less astonishment,\nwhile the Soldan spoke in a grave and altered voice: \"The sick man,\nsaith the poet, while he is yet infirm, knoweth the physician by his\nstep; but when he is recovered, he knoweth not even his face when he\nlooks upon him.\"\n\n\"A miracle!--a miracle!\" exclaimed Richard.\n\n\"Of Mahound's working, doubtless,\" said Thomas de Vaux.\n\n\"That I should lose my learned Hakim,\" said Richard, \"merely by absence\nof his cap and robe, and that I should find him again in my royal\nbrother Saladin!\"\n\n\"Such is oft the fashion of the world,\" answered the Soldan; \"the\ntattered robe makes not always the dervise.\"\n\n\"And it was through thy intercession,\" said Richard, \"that yonder\nKnight of the Leopard was saved from death, and by thy artifice that he\nrevisited my camp in disguise?\"\n\n\"Even so,\" replied Saladin. \"I was physician enough to know that, unless\nthe wounds of his bleeding honour were stanched, the days of his life\nmust be few. His disguise was more easily penetrated than I had expected\nfrom the success of my own.\"\n\n\"An accident,\" said King Richard (probably alluding to the circumstance\nof his applying his lips to the wound of the supposed Nubian), \"let me\nfirst know that his skin was artificially discoloured; and that hint\nonce taken, detection became easy, for his form and person are not to be\nforgotten. I confidently expect that he will do battle on the morrow.\"\n\n\"He is full in preparation, and high in hope,\" said the Soldan. \"I have\nfurnished him with weapons and horse, thinking nobly of him from what I\nhave seen under various disguises.\"\n\n\"Knows he now,\" said Richard, \"to whom he lies under obligation?\"\n\n\"He doth,\" replied the Saracen. \"I was obliged to confess my person when\nI unfolded my purpose.\"\n\n\"And confessed he aught to you?\" said the King of England.\n\n\"Nothing explicit,\" replied the Soldan; \"but from much that passed\nbetween us, I conceive his love is too highly placed to be happy in its\nissue.\"\n\n\"And thou knowest that his daring and insolent passion crossed thine own\nwishes?\" said Richard.\n\n\"I might guess so much,\" said Saladin; \"but his passion had existed ere\nmy wishes had been formed--and, I must now add, is likely to survive\nthem. I cannot, in honour, revenge me for my disappointment on him who\nhad no hand in it. Or, if this high-born dame loved him better than\nmyself, who can say that she did not justice to a knight of her own\nreligion, who is full of nobleness?\"\n\n\"Yet of too mean lineage to mix with the blood of Plantagenet,\" said\nRichard haughtily.\n\n\"Such may be your maxims in Frangistan,\" replied the Soldan. \"Our poets\nof the Eastern countries say that a valiant camel-driver is worthy to\nkiss the lip of a fair Queen, when a cowardly prince is not worthy to\nsalute the hem of her garment. But with your permission, noble brother,\nI must take leave of thee for the present, to receive the Duke of\nAustria and yonder Nazarene knight, much less worthy of hospitality, but\nwho must yet be suitably entreated, not for their sakes, but for mine\nown honour--for what saith the sage Lokman? 'Say not that the food\nis lost unto thee which is given to the stranger; for if his body be\nstrengthened and fattened therewithal, not less is thine own worship and\ngood name cherished and augmented.'\"\n\nThe Saracen Monarch departed from King Richard's tent, and having\nindicated to him, rather with signs than with speech, where the pavilion\nof the Queen and her attendants was pitched, he went to receive the\nMarquis of Montserrat and his attendants, for whom, with less\ngoodwill, but with equal splendour, the magnificent Soldan had provided\naccommodations. The most ample refreshments, both in the Oriental and\nafter the European fashion, were spread before the royal and princely\nguests of Saladin, each in their own separate pavilion; and so attentive\nwas the Soldan to the habits and taste of his visitors, that Grecian\nslaves were stationed to present them with the goblet, which is the\nabomination of the sect of Mohammed. Ere Richard had finished his meal,\nthe ancient Omrah, who had brought the Soldan's letter to the Christian\ncamp, entered with a plan of the ceremonial to be observed on the\nsucceeding day of combat. Richard, who knew the taste of his old\nacquaintance, invited him to pledge him in a flagon of wine of Shiraz;\nbut Abdallah gave him to understand, with a rueful aspect, that\nself-denial in the present circumstances was a matter in which his\nlife was concerned, for that Saladin, tolerant in many respects, both\nobserved and enforced by high penalties the laws of the Prophet.\n\n\"Nay, then,\" said Richard, \"if he loves not wine, that lightener of the\nhuman heart, his conversion is not to be hoped for, and the prediction\nof the mad priest of Engaddi goes like chaff down the wind.\"\n\nThe King then addressed himself to settle the articles of combat, which\ncost a considerable time, as it was necessary on some points to consult\nwith the opposite parties, as well as with the Soldan.\n\nThey were at length finally agreed upon, and adjusted by a protocol in\nFrench and in Arabian, which was subscribed by Saladin as umpire of the\nfield, and by Richard and Leopold as guarantees for the two combatants.\nAs the Omrah took his final leave of King Richard for the evening, De\nVaux entered.\n\n\"The good knight,\" he said, \"who is to do battle tomorrow requests to\nknow whether he may not to-night pay duty to his royal godfather!\"\n\n\"Hast thou seen him, De Vaux?\" said the King, smiling; \"and didst thou\nknow an ancient acquaintance?\"\n\n\"By our Lady of Lanercost,\" answered De Vaux, \"there are so many\nsurprises and changes in this land that my poor brain turns. I scarce\nknew Sir Kenneth of Scotland, till his good hound, that had been for a\nshort while under my care, came and fawned on me; and even then I only\nknew the tyke by the depth of his chest, the roundness of his foot,\nand his manner of baying, for the poor gazehound was painted like any\nVenetian courtesan.\"\n\n\"Thou art better skilled in brutes than men, De Vaux,\" said the King.\n\n\"I will not deny,\" said De Vaux, \"I have found them ofttimes the\nhonester animals. Also, your Grace is pleased to term me sometimes a\nbrute myself; besides that, I serve the Lion, whom all men acknowledge\nthe king of brutes.\"\n\n\"By Saint George, there thou brokest thy lance fairly on my brow,\" said\nthe King. \"I have ever said thou hast a sort of wit, De Vaux; marry, one\nmust strike thee with a sledge-hammer ere it can be made to sparkle. But\nto the present gear--is the good knight well armed and equipped?\"\n\n\"Fully, my liege, and nobly,\" answered De Vaux. \"I know the armour well;\nit is that which the Venetian commissary offered your highness, just ere\nyou became ill, for five hundred byzants.\"\n\n\"And he hath sold it to the infidel Soldan, I warrant me, for a few\nducats more, and present payment. These Venetians would sell the\nSepulchre itself!\"\n\n\"The armour will never be borne in a nobler cause,\" said De Vaux.\n\n\"Thanks to the nobleness of the Saracen,\" said the King, \"not to the\navarice of the Venetians.\"\n\n\"I would to God your Grace would be more cautious,\" said the anxious\nDe Vaux. \"Here are we deserted by all our allies, for points of offence\ngiven to one or another; we cannot hope to prosper upon the land; and we\nhave only to quarrel with the amphibious republic, to lose the means of\nretreat by sea!\"\n\n\"I will take care,\" said Richard impatiently; \"but school me no more.\nTell me rather, for it is of interest, hath the knight a confessor?\"\n\n\"He hath,\" answered De Vaux; \"the hermit of Engaddi, who erst did\nhim that office when preparing for death, attends him on the present\noccasion, the fame of the duel having brought him hither.\"\n\n\"'Tis well,\" said Richard; \"and now for the knight's request. Say to\nhim, Richard will receive him when the discharge of his devoir beside\nthe Diamond of the Desert shall have atoned for his fault beside the\nMount of Saint George; and as thou passest through the camp, let the\nQueen know I will visit her pavilion--and tell Blondel to meet me\nthere.\"\n\nDe Vaux departed, and in about an hour afterwards, Richard, wrapping his\nmantle around him, and taking his ghittern in his hand, walked in the\ndirection of the Queen's pavilion. Several Arabs passed him, but always\nwith averted heads and looks fixed upon the earth, though he could\nobserve that all gazed earnestly after him when he was past. This led\nhim justly to conjecture that his person was known to them; but that\neither the Soldan's commands, or their own Oriental politeness, forbade\nthem to seem to notice a sovereign who desired to remain incognito.\n\nWhen the King reached the pavilion of his Queen he found it guarded by\nthose unhappy officials whom Eastern jealousy places around the zenana.\nBlondel was walking before the door, and touched his rote from time to\ntime in a manner which made the Africans show their ivory teeth, and\nbear burden with their strange gestures and shrill, unnatural voices.\n\n\"What art thou after with this herd of black cattle, Blondel?\" said the\nKing; \"wherefore goest thou not into the tent?\"\n\n\"Because my trade can neither spare the head nor the fingers,\" said\nBlondel, \"and these honest blackamoors threatened to cut me joint from\njoint if I pressed forward.\"\n\n\"Well, enter with me,\" said the King, \"and I will be thy safeguard.\"\n\nThe blacks accordingly lowered pikes and swords to King Richard, and\nbent their eyes on the ground, as if unworthy to look upon him. In the\ninterior of the pavilion they found Thomas de Vaux in attendance on the\nQueen. While Berengaria welcomed Blondel, King Richard spoke for some\ntime secretly and apart with his fair kinswoman.\n\nAt length, \"Are we still foes, my fair Edith?\" he said, in a whisper.\n\n\"No, my liege,\" said Edith, in a voice just so low as not to interrupt\nthe music; \"none can bear enmity against King Richard when he deigns to\nshow himself, as he really is, generous and noble, as well as valiant\nand honourable.\"\n\nSo saying, she extended her hand to him. The King kissed it in token of\nreconciliation, and then proceeded.\n\n\"You think, my sweet cousin, that my anger in this matter was feigned;\nbut you are deceived. The punishment I inflicted upon this knight was\njust; for he had betrayed--no matter for how tempting a bribe, fair\ncousin--the trust committed to him. But I rejoice, perchance as much as\nyou, that to-morrow gives him a chance to win the field, and throw\nback the stain which for a time clung to him upon the actual thief and\ntraitor. No!--future times may blame Richard for impetuous folly, but\nthey shall say that in rendering judgment he was just when he should and\nmerciful when he could.\"\n\n\"Laud not thyself, cousin King,\" said Edith. \"They may call thy justice\ncruelty, thy mercy caprice.\"\n\n\"And do not thou pride thyself,\" said the King, \"as if thy knight,\nwho hath not yet buckled on his armour, were unbelting it in\ntriumph--Conrade of Montserrat is held a good lance. What if the Scot\nshould lose the day?\"\n\n\"It is impossible!\" said Edith firmly. \"My own eyes saw yonder Conrade\ntremble and change colour like a base thief; he is guilty, and the trial\nby combat is an appeal to the justice of God. I myself, in such a cause,\nwould encounter him without fear.\"\n\n\"By the mass, I think thou wouldst, wench,\" said the King, \"and beat him\nto boot, for there never breathed a truer Plantagenet than thou.\"\n\n He paused, and added in a very serious tone, \"See that thou\ncontinue to remember what is due to thy birth.\"\n\n\"What means that advice, so seriously given at this moment?\" said Edith.\n\"Am I of such light nature as to forget my name--my condition?\"\n\n\"I will speak plainly, Edith,\" answered the King, \"and as to a friend.\nWhat will this knight be to you, should he come off victor from yonder\nlists?\"\n\n\"To me?\" said Edith, blushing deep with shame and displeasure. \"What can\nhe be to me more than an honoured knight, worthy of such grace as\nQueen Berengaria might confer on him, had he selected her for his lady,\ninstead of a more unworthy choice? The meanest knight may devote himself\nto the service of an empress, but the glory of his choice,\" she said\nproudly, \"must be his reward.\"\n\n\"Yet he hath served and suffered much for you,\" said the King.\n\n\"I have paid his services with honour and applause, and his sufferings\nwith tears,\" answered Edith. \"Had he desired other reward, he would have\ndone wisely to have bestowed his affections within his own degree.\"\n\n\"You would not, then, wear the bloody night-gear for his sake?\" said\nKing Richard.\n\n\"No more,\" answered Edith, \"than I would have required him to expose his\nlife by an action in which there was more madness than honour.\"\n\n\"Maidens talk ever thus,\" said the King; \"but when the favoured\nlover presses his suit, she says, with a sigh, her stars had decreed\notherwise.\"\n\n\"Your Grace has now, for the second time, threatened me with the\ninfluence of my horoscope,\" Edith replied, with dignity. \"Trust me,\nmy liege, whatever be the power of the stars, your poor kinswoman will\nnever wed either infidel or obscure adventurer. Permit me that I listen\nto the music of Blondel, for the tone of your royal admonitions is\nscarce so grateful to the ear.\"\n\nThe conclusion of the evening offered nothing worthy of notice.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n     Heard ye the din of battle bray,\n     Lance to lance, and horse to horse?\n          GRAY.\n\nIt had been agreed, on account of the heat of the climate, that the\njudicial combat which was the cause of the present assemblage of various\nnations at the Diamond of the Desert should take place at one hour after\nsunrise. The wide lists, which had been constructed under the inspection\nof the Knight of the Leopard, enclosed a space of hard sand, which was\none hundred and twenty yards long by forty in width. They extended\nin length from north to south, so as to give both parties the equal\nadvantage of the rising sun. Saladin's royal seat was erected on the\nwestern side of the enclosure, just in the centre, where the combatants\nwere expected to meet in mid encounter. Opposed to this was a gallery\nwith closed casements, so contrived that the ladies, for whose\naccommodation it was erected, might see the fight without being\nthemselves exposed to view. At either extremity of the lists was a\nbarrier, which could be opened or shut at pleasure. Thrones had been\nalso erected, but the Archduke, perceiving that his was lower than\nKing Richard's, refused to occupy it; and Coeur de Lion, who would have\nsubmitted to much ere any formality should have interfered with the\ncombat, readily agreed that the sponsors, as they were called, should\nremain on horseback during the fight. At one extremity of the lists\nwere placed the followers of Richard, and opposed to them were those\nwho accompanied the defender Conrade. Around the throne destined for\nthe Soldan were ranged his splendid Georgian Guards, and the rest of the\nenclosure was occupied by Christian and Mohammedan spectators.\n\nLong before daybreak the lists were surrounded by even a larger number\nof Saracens than Richard had seen on the preceding evening. When the\nfirst ray of the sun's glorious orb arose above the desert, the sonorous\ncall, \"To prayer--to prayer!\" was poured forth by the Soldan himself,\nand answered by others, whose rank and zeal entitled them to act as\nmuezzins. It was a striking spectacle to see them all sink to earth,\nfor the purpose of repeating their devotions, with their faces turned\nto Mecca. But when they arose from the ground, the sun's rays, now\nstrengthening fast, seemed to confirm the Lord of Gilsland's conjecture\nof the night before. They were flashed back from many a spearhead, for\nthe pointless lances of the preceding day were certainly no longer such.\nDe Vaux pointed it out to his master, who answered with impatience that\nhe had perfect confidence in the good faith of the Soldan; but if De\nVaux was afraid of his bulky body, he might retire.\n\nSoon after this the noise of timbrels was heard, at the sound of which\nthe whole Saracen cavaliers threw themselves from their horses, and\nprostrated themselves, as if for a second morning prayer. This was to\ngive an opportunity to the Queen, with Edith and her attendants, to\npass from the pavilion to the gallery intended for them. Fifty guards of\nSaladin's seraglio escorted them with naked sabres, whose orders were to\ncut to pieces whomsoever, were he prince or peasant, should venture to\ngaze on the ladies as they passed, or even presume to raise his head\nuntil the cessation of the music should make all men aware that they\nwere lodged in their gallery, not to be gazed on by the curious eye.\n\nThis superstitious observance of Oriental reverence to the fair sex\ncalled forth from Queen Berengaria some criticisms very unfavourable\nto Saladin and his country. But their den, as the royal fair called it,\nbeing securely closed and guarded by their sable attendants, she was\nunder the necessity of contenting herself with seeing, and laying aside\nfor the present the still more exquisite pleasure of being seen.\n\nMeantime the sponsors of both champions went, as was their duty, to\nsee that they were duly armed and prepared for combat. The Archduke of\nAustria was in no hurry to perform this part of the ceremony, having\nhad rather an unusually severe debauch upon wine of Shiraz the preceding\nevening. But the Grand Master of the Temple, more deeply concerned\nin the event of the combat, was early before the tent of Conrade\nof Montserrat. To his great surprise, the attendants refused him\nadmittance.\n\n\"Do you not know me, ye knaves?\" said the Grand Master, in great anger.\n\n\"We do, most valiant and reverend,\" answered Conrade's squire; \"but even\nyou may not at present enter--the Marquis is about to confess himself.\"\n\n\"Confess himself!\" exclaimed the Templar, in a tone where alarm mingled\nwith surprise and scorn--\"and to whom, I pray thee?\"\n\n\"My master bid me be secret,\" said the squire; on which the Grand Master\npushed past him, and entered the tent almost by force.\n\nThe Marquis of Montserrat was kneeling at the feet of the hermit of\nEngaddi, and in the act of beginning his confession.\n\n\"What means this, Marquis?\" said the Grand Master; \"up, for shame--or,\nif you must needs confess, am not I here?\"\n\n\"I have confessed to you too often already,\" replied Conrade, with a\npale cheek and a faltering voice. \"For God's sake, Grand Master, begone,\nand let me unfold my conscience to this holy man.\"\n\n\"In what is he holier than I am?\" said the Grand Master.--\"Hermit,\nprophet, madman--say, if thou darest, in what thou excellest me?\"\n\n\"Bold and bad man,\" replied the hermit, \"know that I am like the\nlatticed window, and the divine light passes through to avail others,\nthough, alas! it helpeth not me. Thou art like the iron stanchions,\nwhich neither receive light themselves, nor communicate it to any one.\"\n\n\"Prate not to me, but depart from this tent,\" said the Grand Master;\n\"the Marquis shall not confess this morning, unless it be to me, for I\npart not from his side.\"\n\n\"Is this YOUR pleasure?\" said the hermit to Conrade; \"for think not I\nwill obey that proud man, if you continue to desire my assistance.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said Conrade irresolutely, \"what would you have me say? Farewell\nfor a while---we will speak anon.\"\n\n\"O procrastination!\" exclaimed the hermit, \"thou art a\nsoul-murderer!--Unhappy man, farewell--not for a while, but until we\nshall both meet no matter where. And for thee,\" he added, turning to the\nGrand Master, \"TREMBLE!\"\n\n\"Tremble!\" replied the Templar contemptuously, \"I cannot if I would.\"\n\nThe hermit heard not his answer, having left the tent.\n\n\"Come! to this gear hastily,\" said the Grand Master, \"since thou wilt\nneeds go through the foolery. Hark thee--I think I know most of thy\nfrailties by heart, so we may omit the detail, which may be somewhat\na long one, and begin with the absolution. What signifies counting the\nspots of dirt that we are about to wash from our hands?\"\n\n\"Knowing what thou art thyself,\" said Conrade, \"it is blasphemous to\nspeak of pardoning another.\"\n\n\"That is not according to the canon, Lord Marquis,\" said the Templar;\n\"thou art more scrupulous than orthodox. The absolution of the wicked\npriest is as effectual as if he were himself a saint--otherwise, God\nhelp the poor penitent! What wounded man inquires whether the surgeon\nthat tends his gashes has clean hands or no? Come, shall we to this\ntoy?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Conrade, \"I will rather die unconfessed than mock the\nsacrament.\"\n\n\"Come, noble Marquis,\" said the Templar, \"rouse up your courage, and\nspeak not thus. In an hour's time thou shalt stand victorious in the\nlists, or confess thee in thy helmet, like a valiant knight.\"\n\n\"Alas, Grand Master,\" answered Conrade, \"all augurs ill for this affair,\nthe strange discovery by the instinct of a dog--the revival of this\nScottish knight, who comes into the lists like a spectre--all betokens\nevil.\"\n\n\"Pshaw,\" said the Templar, \"I have seen thee bend thy lance boldly\nagainst him in sport, and with equal chance of success. Think thou art\nbut in a tournament, and who bears him better in the tilt-yard than\nthou?--Come, squires and armourers, your master must be accoutred for\nthe field.\"\n\nThe attendants entered accordingly, and began to arm the Marquis.\n\n\"What morning is without?\" said Conrade.\n\n\"The sun rises dimly,\" answered a squire.\n\n\"Thou seest, Grand Master,\" said Conrade, \"nought smiles on us.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt fight the more coolly, my son,\" answered the Templar; \"thank\nHeaven, that hath tempered the sun of Palestine to suit thine occasion.\"\n\nThus jested the Grand Master. But his jests had lost their influence on\nthe harassed mind of the Marquis, and notwithstanding his attempts to\nseem gay, his gloom communicated itself to the Templar.\n\n\"This craven,\" he thought, \"will lose the day in pure faintness and\ncowardice of heart, which he calls tender conscience. I, whom visions\nand auguries shake not---who am firm in my purpose as the living rock--I\nshould have fought the combat myself. Would to God the Scot may strike\nhim dead on the spot; it were next best to his winning the victory. But\ncome what will, he must have no other confessor than myself--our sins\nare too much in common, and he might confess my share with his own.\"\n\nWhile these thoughts passed through his mind, he continued to assist the\nMarquis in arming, but it was in silence.\n\nThe hour at length arrived; the trumpets sounded; the knights rode\ninto the lists armed at all points, and mounted like men who were to\ndo battle for a kingdom's honour. They wore their visors up, and riding\naround the lists three times, showed themselves to the spectators. Both\nwere goodly persons, and both had noble countenances. But there was an\nair of manly confidence on the brow of the Scot--a radiancy of hope,\nwhich amounted even to cheerfulness; while, although pride and effort\nhad recalled much of Conrade's natural courage, there lowered still on\nhis brow a cloud of ominous despondence. Even his steed seemed to tread\nless lightly and blithely to the trumpet-sound than the noble Arab which\nwas bestrode by Sir Kenneth; and the SPRUCH-SPRECHER shook his head\nwhile he observed that, while the challenger rode around the lists in\nthe course of the sun--that is, from right to left--the defender made\nthe same circuit WIDDERSINS--that is, from left to right--which is in\nmost countries held ominous.\n\nA temporary altar was erected just beneath the gallery occupied by the\nQueen, and beside it stood the hermit in the dress of his order as a\nCarmelite friar. Other churchmen were also present. To this altar the\nchallenger and defender were successively brought forward, conducted by\ntheir respective sponsors. Dismounting before it, each knight avouched\nthe justice of his cause by a solemn oath on the Evangelists, and prayed\nthat his success might be according to the truth or falsehood of what he\nthen swore. They also made oath that they came to do battle in knightly\nguise, and with the usual weapons, disclaiming the use of spells,\ncharms, or magical devices to incline victory to their side. The\nchallenger pronounced his vow with a firm and manly voice, and a bold\nand cheerful countenance. When the ceremony was finished, the Scottish\nKnight looked at the gallery, and bent his head to the earth, as if in\nhonour of those invisible beauties which were enclosed within; then,\nloaded with armour as he was, sprung to the saddle without the use of\nthe stirrup, and made his courser carry him in a succession of caracoles\nto his station at the eastern extremity of the lists. Conrade also\npresented himself before the altar with boldness enough; but his voice\nas he took the oath sounded hollow, as if drowned in his helmet. The\nlips with which he appealed to Heaven to adjudge victory to the just\nquarrel grew white as they uttered the impious mockery. As he turned\nto remount his horse, the Grand Master approached him closer, as if\nto rectify something about the sitting of his gorget, and whispered,\n\"Coward and fool! recall thy senses, and do me this battle bravely,\nelse, by Heaven, shouldst thou escape him, thou escapest not ME!\"\n\nThe savage tone in which this was whispered perhaps completed the\nconfusion of the Marquis's nerves, for he stumbled as he made to horse;\nand though he recovered his feet, sprung to the saddle with his usual\nagility, and displayed his address in horsemanship as he assumed his\nposition opposite to the challenger's, yet the accident did not escape\nthose who were on the watch for omens which might predict the fate of\nthe day.\n\nThe priests, after a solemn prayer that God would show the rightful\nquarrel, departed from the lists. The trumpets of the challenger then\nrung a flourish, and a herald-at-arms proclaimed at the eastern end of\nthe lists--\"Here stands a good knight, Sir Kenneth of Scotland, champion\nfor the royal King Richard of England, who accuseth Conrade, Marquis of\nMontserrat, of foul treason and dishonour done to the said King.\"\n\nWhen the words Kenneth of Scotland announced the name and character\nof the champion, hitherto scarce generally known, a loud and cheerful\nacclaim burst from the followers of King Richard, and hardly,\nnotwithstanding repeated commands of silence, suffered the reply of\nthe defendant to be heard. He, of course, avouched his innocence,\nand offered his body for battle. The esquires of the combatants now\napproached, and delivered to each his shield and lance, assisting to\nhang the former around his neck, that his two hands might remain free,\none for the management of the bridle, the other to direct the lance.\n\nThe shield of the Scot displayed his old bearing, the leopard, but\nwith the addition of a collar and broken chain, in allusion to his late\ncaptivity. The shield of the Marquis bore, in reference to his title,\na serrated and rocky mountain. Each shook his lance aloft, as if to\nascertain the weight and toughness of the unwieldy weapon, and then laid\nit in the rest. The sponsors, heralds, and squires now retired to the\nbarriers, and the combatants sat opposite to each other, face to face,\nwith couched lance and closed visor, the human form so completely\nenclosed, that they looked more like statues of molten iron than\nbeings of flesh and blood. The silence of suspense was now general.\nMen breathed thicker, and their very souls seemed seated in their eyes;\nwhile not a sound was to be heard save the snorting and pawing of the\ngood steeds, who, sensible of what was about to happen, were impatient\nto dash into career. They stood thus for perhaps three minutes, when,\nat a signal given by the Soldan, a hundred instruments rent the air with\ntheir brazen clamours, and each champion striking his horse with the\nspurs, and slacking the rein, the horses started into full gallop,\nand the knights met in mid space with a shock like a thunderbolt. The\nvictory was not in doubt--no, not one moment. Conrade, indeed, showed\nhimself a practised warrior; for he struck his antagonist knightly in\nthe midst of his shield, bearing his lance so straight and true that\nit shivered into splinters from the steel spear-head up to the very\ngauntlet. The horse of Sir Kenneth recoiled two or three yards and fell\non his haunches; but the rider easily raised him with hand and rein.\nBut for Conrade there was no recovery. Sir Kenneth's lance had pierced\nthrough the shield, through a plated corselet of Milan steel, through a\nSECRET, or coat of linked mail, worn beneath the corselet, had wounded\nhim deep in the bosom, and borne him from his saddle, leaving the\ntruncheon of the lance fixed in his wound. The sponsors, heralds, and\nSaladin himself, descending from his throne, crowded around the wounded\nman; while Sir Kenneth, who had drawn his sword ere yet he discovered\nhis antagonist was totally helpless, now commanded him to avow his\nguilt. The helmet was hastily unclosed, and the wounded man, gazing\nwildly on the skies, replied, \"What would you more? God hath decided\njustly--I am guilty; but there are worse traitors in the camp than I. In\npity to my soul, let me have a confessor!\"\n\nHe revived as he uttered these words.\n\n\"The talisman--the powerful remedy, royal brother!\" said King Richard to\nSaladin.\n\n\"The traitor,\" answered the Soldan, \"is more fit to be dragged from the\nlists to the gallows by the heels, than to profit by its virtues. And\nsome such fate is in his look,\" he added, after gazing fixedly upon the\nwounded man; \"for though his wound may be cured, yet Azrael's seal is on\nthe wretch's brow.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" said Richard, \"I pray you do for him what you may, that\nhe may at least have time for confession. Slay not soul and body! To him\none half hour of time may be worth more, by ten thousandfold, than the\nlife of the oldest patriarch.\"\n\n\"My royal brother's wish shall be obeyed,\" said Saladin.--\"Slaves, bear\nthis wounded man to our tent.\"\n\n\"Do not so,\" said the Templar, who had hitherto stood gloomily looking\non in silence. \"The royal Duke of Austria and myself will not permit\nthis unhappy Christian prince to be delivered over to the Saracens, that\nthey may try their spells upon him. We are his sponsors, and demand that\nhe be assigned to our care.\"\n\n\"That is, you refuse the certain means offered to recover him?\" said\nRichard.\n\n\"Not so,\" said the Grand Master, recollecting himself. \"If the Soldan\nuseth lawful medicines, he may attend the patient in my tent.\"\n\n\"Do so, I pray thee, good brother,\" said Richard to Saladin, \"though the\npermission be ungraciously yielded.--But now to a more glorious work.\nSound, trumpets--shout, England--in honour of England's champion!\"\n\nDrum, clarion, trumpet, and cymbal rung forth at once, and the deep and\nregular shout, which for ages has been the English acclamation, sounded\namidst the shrill and irregular yells of the Arabs, like the diapason of\nthe organ amid the howling of a storm. There was silence at length.\n\n\"Brave Knight of the Leopard,\" resumed Coeur de Lion, \"thou hast shown\nthat the Ethiopian may change his skin, and the leopard his spots,\nthough clerks quote Scripture for the impossibility. Yet I have more to\nsay to you when I have conducted you to the presence of the ladies, the\nbest judges and best rewarders of deeds of chivalry.\"\n\nThe Knight of the Leopard bowed assent.\n\n\"And thou, princely Saladin, wilt also attend them. I promise thee our\nQueen will not think herself welcome, if she lacks the opportunity to\nthank her royal host for her most princely reception.\"\n\nSaladin bent his head gracefully, but declined the invitation.\n\n\"I must attend the wounded man,\" he said. \"The leech leaves not his\npatient more than the champion the lists, even if he be summoned to a\nbower like those of Paradise. And further, royal Richard, know that the\nblood of the East flows not so temperately in the presence of beauty as\nthat of your land. What saith the Book itself?--Her eye is as the edge\nof the sword of the Prophet, who shall look upon it? He that would not\nbe burnt avoideth to tread on hot embers--wise men spread not the flax\nbefore a flickering torch. He, saith the sage, who hath forfeited a\ntreasure, doth not wisely to turn back his head to gaze at it.\"\n\nRichard, it may be believed, respected the motives of delicacy which\nflowed from manners so different from his own, and urged his request no\nfurther.\n\n\"At noon,\" said the Soldan, as he departed, \"I trust ye will all accept\na collation under the black camel-skin tent of a chief of Kurdistan.\"\n\nThe same invitation was circulated among the Christians, comprehending\nall those of sufficient importance to be admitted to sit at a feast made\nfor princes.\n\n\"Hark!\" said Richard, \"the timbrels announce that our Queen and her\nattendants are leaving their gallery--and see, the turbans sink on the\nground, as if struck down by a destroying angel. All lie prostrate, as\nif the glance of an Arab's eye could sully the lustre of a lady's\ncheek! Come, we will to the pavilion, and lead our conqueror thither in\ntriumph. How I pity that noble Soldan, who knows but of love as it is\nknown to those of inferior nature!\"\n\nBlondel tuned his harp to his boldest measure, to welcome the\nintroduction of the victor into the pavilion of Queen Berengaria. He\nentered, supported on either side by his sponsors, Richard and Thomas\nLongsword, and knelt gracefully down before the Queen, though more than\nhalf the homage was silently rendered to Edith, who sat on her right\nhand.\n\n\"Unarm him, my mistresses,\" said the King, whose delight was in the\nexecution of such chivalrous usages; \"let Beauty honour Chivalry! Undo\nhis spurs, Berengaria; Queen though thou be, thou owest him what marks\nof favour thou canst give.--Unlace his helmet, Edith;--by this hand\nthou shalt, wert thou the proudest Plantagenet of the line, and he the\npoorest knight on earth!\"\n\nBoth ladies obeyed the royal commands--Berengaria with bustling\nassiduity, as anxious to gratify her husband's humour, and Edith\nblushing and growing pale alternately, as, slowly and awkwardly, she\nundid, with Longsword's assistance, the fastenings which secured the\nhelmet to the gorget.\n\n\"And what expect you from beneath this iron shell?\" said Richard, as the\nremoval of the casque gave to view the noble countenance of Sir Kenneth,\nhis face glowing with recent exertion, and not less so with present\nemotion. \"What think ye of him, gallants and beauties?\" said Richard.\n\"Doth he resemble an Ethiopian slave, or doth he present the face of an\nobscure and nameless adventurer? No, by my good sword! Here terminate\nhis various disguises. He hath knelt down before you unknown, save by\nhis worth; he arises equally distinguished by birth and by fortune. The\nadventurous knight, Kenneth, arises David, Earl of Huntingdon, Prince\nRoyal of Scotland!\"\n\nThere was a general exclamation of surprise, and Edith dropped from her\nhand the helmet which she had just received.\n\n\"Yes, my masters,\" said the King, \"it is even so. Ye know how Scotland\ndeceived us when she proposed to send this valiant Earl, with a bold\ncompany of her best and noblest, to aid our arms in this conquest of\nPalestine, but failed to comply with her engagements. This noble youth,\nunder whom the Scottish Crusaders were to have been arrayed, thought\nfoul scorn that his arm should be withheld from the holy warfare,\nand joined us at Sicily with a small train of devoted and faithful\nattendants, which was augmented by many of his countrymen to whom the\nrank of their leader was unknown. The confidants of the Royal Prince had\nall, save one old follower, fallen by death, when his secret, but\ntoo well kept, had nearly occasioned my cutting off, in a Scottish\nadventurer, one of the noblest hopes of Europe.--Why did you not mention\nyour rank, noble Huntingdon, when endangered by my hasty and passionate\nsentence? Was it that you thought Richard capable of abusing the\nadvantage I possessed over the heir of a King whom I have so often found\nhostile?\"\n\n\"I did you not that injustice, royal Richard,\" answered the Earl of\nHuntingdon; \"but my pride brooked not that I should avow myself Prince\nof Scotland in order to save my life, endangered for default of loyalty.\nAnd, moreover, I had made my vow to preserve my rank unknown till the\nCrusade should be accomplished; nor did I mention it save IN ARTICULO\nMORTIS, and under the seal of confession, to yonder reverend hermit.\"\n\n\"It was the knowledge of that secret, then, which made the good man so\nurgent with me to recall my severe sentence?\" said Richard. \"Well did\nhe say that, had this good knight fallen by my mandate, I should have\nwished the deed undone though it had cost me a limb. A limb! I should\nhave wished it undone had it cost me my life---since the world would\nhave said that Richard had abused the condition in which the heir of\nScotland had placed himself by his confidence in his generosity.\"\n\n\"Yet, may we know of your Grace by what strange and happy chance this\nriddle was at length read?\" said the Queen Berengaria.\n\n\"Letters were brought to us from England,\" said the King, \"in which\nwe learned, among other unpleasant news, that the King of Scotland had\nseized upon three of our nobles, when on a pilgrimage to Saint Ninian,\nand alleged, as a cause, that his heir, being supposed to be fighting in\nthe ranks of the Teutonic Knights against the heathen of Borussia, was,\nin fact, in our camp, and in our power; and, therefore, William proposed\nto hold these nobles as hostages for his safety. This gave me the first\nlight on the real rank of the Knight of the Leopard; and my suspicions\nwere confirmed by De Vaux, who, on his return from Ascalon, brought back\nwith him the Earl of Huntingdon's sole attendant, a thick-skulled slave,\nwho had gone thirty miles to unfold to De Vaux a secret he should have\ntold to me.\"\n\n\"Old Strauchan must be excused,\" said the Lord of Gilsland. \"He knew\nfrom experience that my heart is somewhat softer than if I wrote myself\nPlantagenet.\"\n\n\"Thy heart soft? thou commodity of old iron and Cumberland flint, that\nthou art!\" exclaimed the King.--\"It is we Plantagenets who boast soft\nand feeling hearts. Edith,\" turning to his cousin with an expression\nwhich called the blood into her cheek, \"give me thy hand, my fair\ncousin, and, Prince of Scotland, thine.\"\n\n\"Forbear, my lord,\" said Edith, hanging back, and endeavouring to hide\nher confusion under an attempt to rally her royal kinsman's credulity.\n\"Remember you not that my hand was to be the signal of converting to\nthe Christian faith the Saracen and Arab, Saladin and all his turbaned\nhost?\"\n\n\"Ay, but the wind of prophecy hath chopped about, and sits now in\nanother corner,\" replied Richard.\n\n\"Mock not, lest your bonds be made strong,\" said the hermit stepping\nforward. \"The heavenly host write nothing but truth in their brilliant\nrecords. It is man's eyes which are too weak to read their characters\naright. Know, that when Saladin and Kenneth of Scotland slept in my\ngrotto, I read in the stars that there rested under my roof a prince,\nthe natural foe of Richard, with whom the fate of Edith Plantagenet was\nto be united. Could I doubt that this must be the Soldan, whose rank\nwas well known to me, as he often visited my cell to converse on the\nrevolutions of the heavenly bodies? Again, the lights of the firmament\nproclaimed that this prince, the husband of Edith Plantagenet, should\nbe a Christian; and I--weak and wild interpreter!--argued thence the\nconversion of the noble Saladin, whose good qualities seemed often to\nincline him towards the better faith. The sense of my weakness hath\nhumbled me to the dust; but in the dust I have found comfort! I have not\nread aright the fate of others--who can assure me but that I may\nhave miscalculated mine own? God will not have us break into His\ncouncil-house, or spy out His hidden mysteries. We must wait His time\nwith watching and prayer--with fear and with hope. I came hither the\nstern seer--the proud prophet--skilled, as I thought, to instruct\nprinces, and gifted even with supernatural powers, but burdened with\na weight which I deemed no shoulders but mine could have borne. But\nmy bands have been broken! I go hence humble in mine ignorance,\npenitent--and not hopeless.\"\n\nWith these words he withdrew from the assembly; and it is recorded that\nfrom that period his frenzy fits seldom occurred, and his penances were\nof a milder character, and accompanied with better hopes of the future.\nSo much is there of self-opinion, even in insanity, that the conviction\nof his having entertained and expressed an unfounded prediction with so\nmuch vehemence seemed to operate like loss of blood on the human frame,\nto modify and lower the fever of the brain.\n\nIt is needless to follow into further particulars the conferences at the\nroyal tent, or to inquire whether David, Earl of Huntingdon, was as mute\nin the presence of Edith Plantagenet as when he was bound to act under\nthe character of an obscure and nameless adventurer. It may be well\nbelieved that he there expressed with suitable earnestness the passion\nto which he had so often before found it difficult to give words.\n\nThe hour of noon now approached, and Saladin waited to receive the\nPrinces of Christendom in a tent, which, but for its large size,\ndiffered little from that of the ordinary shelter of the common Kurdman,\nor Arab; yet beneath its ample and sable covering was prepared a banquet\nafter the most gorgeous fashion of the East, extended upon carpets of\nthe richest stuffs, with cushions laid for the guests. But we cannot\nstop to describe the cloth of gold and silver--the superb embroidery in\narabesque--the shawls of Kashmere and the muslins of India, which were\nhere unfolded in all their splendour; far less to tell the different\nsweetmeats, ragouts edged with rice  in various manners, with\nall the other niceties of Eastern cookery. Lambs roasted whole, and\ngame and poultry dressed in pilaus, were piled in vessels of gold, and\nsilver, and porcelain, and intermixed with large mazers of sherbet,\ncooled in snow and ice from the caverns of Mount Lebanon. A magnificent\npile of cushions at the head of the banquet seemed prepared for the\nmaster of the feast, and such dignitaries as he might call to share that\nplace of distinction; while from the roof of the tent in all quarters,\nbut over this seat of eminence in particular, waved many a banner and\npennon, the trophies of battles won and kingdoms overthrown. But amongst\nand above them all, a long lance displayed a shroud, the banner\nof Death, with this impressive inscription--\"SALADIN, KING OF\nKINGS--SALADIN, VICTOR OF VICTORS--SALADIN MUST DIE.\" Amid these\npreparations, the slaves who had arranged the refreshments stood\nwith drooped heads and folded arms, mute and motionless as monumental\nstatuary, or as automata, which waited the touch of the artist to put\nthem in motion.\n\nExpecting the approach of his princely guests, the Soldan, imbued, as\nmost were, with the superstitions of his time, paused over a horoscope\nand corresponding scroll, which had been sent to him by the hermit of\nEngaddi when he departed from the camp.\n\n\"Strange and mysterious science,\" he muttered to himself, \"which,\npretending to draw the curtain of futurity, misleads those whom it seems\nto guide, and darkens the scene which it pretends to illuminate! Who\nwould not have said that I was that enemy most dangerous to Richard,\nwhose enmity was to be ended by marriage with his kinswoman? Yet it now\nappears that a union betwixt this gallant Earl and the lady will bring\nabout friendship betwixt Richard and Scotland, an enemy more dangerous\nthan I, as a wildcat in a chamber is more to be dreaded than a lion\nin a distant desert. But then,\" he continued to mutter to\nhimself, \"the combination intimates that this husband was to be\nChristian.--Christian!\" he repeated, after a pause. \"That gave the\ninsane fanatic star-gazer hopes that I might renounce my faith! But me,\nthe faithful follower of our Prophet--me it should have undeceived.\nLie there, mysterious scroll,\" he added, thrusting it under the pile of\ncushions; \"strange are thy bodements and fatal, since, even when true in\nthemselves, they work upon those who attempt to decipher their meaning\nall the effects of falsehood.--How now! what means this intrusion?\"\n\nHe spoke to the dwarf Nectabanus, who rushed into the tent fearfully\nagitated, with each strange and disproportioned feature wrenched by\nhorror into still more extravagant ugliness--his mouth open, his eyes\nstaring, his hands, with their shrivelled and deformed fingers, wildly\nexpanded.\n\n\"What now?\" said the Soldan sternly.\n\n\"ACCIPE HOC!\" groaned out the dwarf.\n\n\"Ha! sayest thou?\" answered Saladin.\n\n\"ACCIPE HOC!\" replied the panic-struck creature, unconscious,\nperhaps, that he repeated the same words as before.\n\n\"Hence, I am in no vein for foolery,\" said the Emperor.\n\n\"Nor am I further fool,\" said the dwarf, \"than to make my folly help out\nmy wits to earn my bread, poor, helpless wretch! Hear, hear me, great\nSoldan!\"\n\n\"Nay, if thou hast actual wrong to complain of,\" said Saladin, \"fool or\nwise, thou art entitled to the ear of a King. Retire hither with me;\"\nand he led him into the inner tent.\n\nWhatever their conference related to, it was soon broken off by the\nfanfare of the trumpets announcing the arrival of the various Christian\nprinces, whom Saladin welcomed to his tent with a royal courtesy well\nbecoming their rank and his own; but chiefly he saluted the young Earl\nof Huntingdon, and generously congratulated him upon prospects which\nseemed to have interfered with and overclouded those which he had\nhimself entertained.\n\n\"But think not,\" said the Soldan, \"thou noble youth, that the Prince\nof Scotland is more welcome to Saladin than was Kenneth to the solitary\nIlderim when they met in the desert, or the distressed Ethiop to the\nHakim Adonbec. A brave and generous disposition like thine hath a value\nindependent of condition and birth, as the cool draught, which I here\nproffer thee, is as delicious from an earthen vessel as from a goblet of\ngold.\"\n\nThe Earl of Huntingdon made a suitable reply, gratefully acknowledging\nthe various important services he had received from the generous Soldan;\nbut when he had pledged Saladin in the bowl of sherbet which the Soldan\nhad proffered to him, he could not help remarking with a smile, \"The\nbrave cavalier Ilderim knew not of the formation of ice, but the\nmunificent Soldan cools his sherbet with snow.\"\n\n\"Wouldst thou have an Arab or a Kurdman as wise as a Hakim?\" said the\nSoldan. \"He who does on a disguise must make the sentiments of his heart\nand the learning of his head accord with the dress which he assumes.\nI desired to see how a brave and single-hearted cavalier of Frangistan\nwould conduct himself in debate with such a chief as I then seemed; and\nI questioned the truth of a well-known fact, to know by what arguments\nthou wouldst support thy assertion.\"\n\nWhile they were speaking, the Archduke of Austria, who stood a little\napart, was struck with the mention of iced sherbet, and took with\npleasure and some bluntness the deep goblet, as the Earl of Huntingdon\nwas about to replace it.\n\n\"Most delicious!\" he exclaimed, after a deep draught, which the heat of\nthe weather, and the feverishness following the debauch of the preceding\nday, had rendered doubly acceptable. He sighed as he handed the cup to\nthe Grand Master of the Templars. Saladin made a sign to the dwarf, who\nadvanced and pronounced, with a harsh voice, the words, ACCIPE HOC! The\nTemplar started, like a steed who sees a lion under a bush beside the\npathway; yet instantly recovered, and to hide, perhaps, his confusion,\nraised the goblet to his lips. But those lips never touched that\ngoblet's rim. The sabre of Saladin left its sheath as lightning leaves\nthe cloud. It was waved in the air, and the head of the Grand Master\nrolled to the extremity of the tent, while the trunk remained for a\nsecond standing, with the goblet still clenched in its grasp, then fell,\nthe liquor mingling with the blood that spurted from the veins.\n\nThere was a general exclamation of treason, and Austria, nearest to\nwhom Saladin stood with the bloody sabre in his hand, started back as\nif apprehensive that his turn was to come next. Richard and others laid\nhand on their swords.\n\n\"Fear nothing, noble Austria,\" said Saladin, as composedly as if nothing\nhad happened,--\"nor you, royal England, be wroth at what you have seen.\nNot for his manifold treasons--not for the attempt which, as may\nbe vouched by his own squire, he instigated against King Richard's\nlife--not that he pursued the Prince of Scotland and myself in the\ndesert, reducing us to save our lives by the speed of our horses--not\nthat he had stirred up the Maronites to attack us upon this very\noccasion, had I not brought up unexpectedly so many Arabs as rendered\nthe scheme abortive--not for any or all of these crimes does he now lie\nthere, although each were deserving such a doom--but because, scarce\nhalf an hour ere he polluted our presence, as the simoom empoisons\nthe atmosphere, he poniarded his comrade and accomplice, Conrade of\nMontserrat, lest he should confess the infamous plots in which they had\nboth been engaged.\"\n\n\"How! Conrade murdered?--And by the Grand Master, his sponsor and most\nintimate friend!\" exclaimed Richard. \"Noble Soldan, I would not doubt\nthee; yet this must be proved, otherwise--\"\n\n\"There stands the evidence,\" said Saladin, pointing to the terrified\ndwarf. \"Allah, who sends the fire-fly to illuminate the night season,\ncan discover secret crimes by the most contemptible means.\"\n\nThe Soldan proceeded to tell the dwarf's story, which amounted to this.\nIn his foolish curiosity, or, as he partly confessed, with some thoughts\nof pilfering, Nectabanus had strayed into the tent of Conrade, which had\nbeen deserted by his attendants, some of whom had left the encampment\nto carry the news of his defeat to his brother, and others were availing\nthemselves of the means which Saladin had supplied for revelling. The\nwounded man slept under the influence of Saladin's wonderful talisman,\nso that the dwarf had opportunity to pry about at pleasure until he was\nfrightened into concealment by the sound of a heavy step. He skulked\nbehind a curtain, yet could see the motions, and hear the words, of the\nGrand Master, who entered, and carefully secured the covering of the\npavilion behind him. His victim started from sleep, and it would appear\nthat he instantly suspected the purpose of his old associate, for it was\nin a tone of alarm that he demanded wherefore he disturbed him.\n\n\"I come to confess and to absolve thee,\" answered the Grand Master.\n\nOf their further speech the terrified dwarf remembered little, save that\nConrade implored the Grand Master not to break a wounded reed, and that\nthe Templar struck him to the heart with a Turkish dagger, with the\nwords ACCIPE HOC!--words which long afterwards haunted the terrified\nimagination of the concealed witness.\n\n\"I verified the tale,\" said Saladin, \"by causing the body to be\nexamined; and I made this unhappy being, whom Allah hath made the\ndiscoverer of the crime, repeat in your own presence the words which the\nmurderer spoke; and you yourselves saw the effect which they produced\nupon his conscience!\"\n\nThe Soldan paused, and the King of England broke silence.\n\n\"If this be true, as I doubt not, we have witnessed a great act of\njustice, though it bore a different aspect. But wherefore in this\npresence? wherefore with thine own hand?\"\n\n\"I had designed otherwise,\" said Saladin. \"But had I not hastened his\ndoom, it had been altogether averted, since, if I had permitted him to\ntaste of my cup, as he was about to do, how could I, without incurring\nthe brand of inhospitality, have done him to death as he deserved? Had\nhe murdered my father, and afterwards partaken of my food and my bowl,\nnot a hair of his head could have been injured by me. But enough of\nhim--let his carcass and his memory be removed from amongst us.\"\n\nThe body was carried away, and the marks of the slaughter obliterated\nor concealed with such ready dexterity, as showed that the case was not\naltogether so uncommon as to paralyze the assistants and officers of\nSaladin's household.\n\nBut the Christian princes felt that the scene which they had beheld\nweighed heavily on their spirits, and although, at the courteous\ninvitation of the Soldan, they assumed their seats at the banquet, yet\nit was with the silence of doubt and amazement. The spirits of Richard\nalone surmounted all cause for suspicion or embarrassment. Yet he too\nseemed to ruminate on some proposition, as if he were desirous of making\nit in the most insinuating and acceptable manner which was possible.\nAt length he drank off a large bowl of wine, and addressing the Soldan,\ndesired to know whether it was not true that he had honoured the Earl of\nHuntingdon with a personal encounter.\n\nSaladin answered with a smile that he had proved his horse and his\nweapons with the heir of Scotland, as cavaliers are wont to do with each\nother when they meet in the desert; and modestly added that, though the\ncombat was not entirely decisive, he had not on his part much reason to\npride himself on the event. The Scot, on the other hand, disclaimed the\nattributed superiority, and wished to assign it to the Soldan.\n\n\"Enough of honour thou hast had in the encounter,\" said Richard, \"and I\nenvy thee more for that than for the smiles of Edith Plantagenet, though\none of them might reward a bloody day's work.--But what say you, noble\nprinces? Is it fitting that such a royal ring of chivalry should break\nup without something being done for future times to speak of? What is\nthe overthrow and death of a traitor to such a fair garland of honour\nas is here assembled, and which ought not to part without witnessing\nsomething more worthy of their regard?--How say you, princely Soldan?\nWhat if we two should now, and before this fair company, decide the\nlong-contended question for this land of Palestine, and end at once\nthese tedious wars? Yonder are the lists ready, nor can Paynimrie ever\nhope a better champion than thou. I, unless worthier offers, will lay\ndown my gauntlet in behalf of Christendom, and in all love and honour we\nwill do mortal battle for the possession of Jerusalem.\"\n\nThere was a deep pause for the Soldan's answer. His cheek and brow\n highly, and it was the opinion of many present that he\nhesitated whether he should accept the challenge. At length he said,\n\"Fighting for the Holy City against those whom we regard as idolaters\nand worshippers of stocks and stones and graven images, I might confide\nthat Allah would strengthen my arm; or if I fell beneath the sword of\nthe Melech Ric, I could not pass to Paradise by a more glorious death.\nBut Allah has already given Jerusalem to the true believers, and it\nwere a tempting the God of the Prophet to peril, upon my own personal\nstrength and skill, that which I hold securely by the superiority of my\nforces.\"\n\n\"If not for Jerusalem, then,\" said Richard, in the tone of one who would\nentreat a favour of an intimate friend, \"yet, for the love of honour,\nlet us run at least three courses with grinded lances?\"\n\n\"Even this,\" said Saladin, half smiling at Coeur de Lion's affectionate\nearnestness for the combat--\"even this I may not lawfully do. The master\nplaces the shepherd over the flock not for the shepherd's own sake, but\nfor the sake of the sheep. Had I a son to hold the sceptre when I fell,\nI might have had the liberty, as I have the will, to brave this bold\nencounter; but your own Scripture saith that when the herdsman is\nsmitten, the sheep are scattered.\"\n\n\"Thou hast had all the fortune,\" said Richard, turning to the Earl of\nHuntingdon with a sigh. \"I would have given the best year in my life for\nthat one half hour beside the Diamond of the Desert!\"\n\nThe chivalrous extravagance of Richard awakened the spirits of the\nassembly, and when at length they arose to depart Saladin advanced and\ntook Coeur de Lion by the hand.\n\n\"Noble King of England,\" he said, \"we now part, never to meet again.\nThat your league is dissolved, no more to be reunited, and that\nyour native forces are far too few to enable you to prosecute your\nenterprise, is as well known to me as to yourself. I may not yield you\nup that Jerusalem which you so much desire to hold--it is to us, as to\nyou, a Holy City. But whatever other terms Richard demands of Saladin\nshall be as willingly yielded as yonder fountain yields its waters. Ay\nand the same should be as frankly afforded by Saladin if Richard stood\nin the desert with but two archers in his train!\"\n\nThe next day saw Richard's return to his own camp, and in a short\nspace afterwards the young Earl of Huntingdon was espoused by Edith\nPlantagenet. The Soldan sent, as a nuptial present on this occasion, the\ncelebrated TALISMAN. But though many cures were wrought by means of it\nin Europe, none equalled in success and celebrity those which the Soldan\nachieved. It is still in existence, having been bequeathed by the Earl\nof Huntingdon to a brave knight of Scotland, Sir Simon of the Lee, in\nwhose ancient and highly honoured family it is still preserved;\nand although charmed stones have been dismissed from the modern\nPharmacopoeia, its virtues are still applied to for stopping blood, and\nin cases of canine madness.\n\nOur Story closes here, as the terms on which Richard relinquished his\nconquests are to be found in every history of the period.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Talisman, by Sir Walter Scott\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nALEXANDER'S BRIDGE\n\nby Willa Cather\n\n\n\n\nALEXANDER'S BRIDGE  by Willa Cather\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nLate one brilliant April afternoon Professor Lucius Wilson stood at the\nhead of Chestnut Street, looking about him with the pleased air of a man\nof taste who does not very often get to Boston. He had lived there as a\nstudent, but for twenty years and more, since he had been Professor of\nPhilosophy in a Western university, he had seldom come East except to\ntake a steamer for some foreign port. Wilson was standing quite still,\ncontemplating with a whimsical smile the slanting street, with its worn\npaving, its irregular, gravely colored houses, and the row of naked\ntrees on which the thin sunlight was still shining. The gleam of the\nriver at the foot of the hill made him blink a little, not so much\nbecause it was too bright as because he found it so pleasant. The few\npassers-by glanced at him unconcernedly, and even the children who\nhurried along with their school-bags under their arms seemed to find it\nperfectly natural that a tall brown gentleman should be standing there,\nlooking up through his glasses at the gray housetops.\n\nThe sun sank rapidly; the silvery light had faded from the bare boughs\nand the watery twilight was setting in when Wilson at last walked down\nthe hill, descending into cooler and cooler depths of grayish shadow.\nHis nostril, long unused to it, was quick to detect the smell of wood\nsmoke in the air, blended with the odor of moist spring earth and the\nsaltiness that came up the river with the tide. He crossed Charles\nStreet between jangling street cars and shelving lumber drays, and after\na moment of uncertainty wound into Brimmer Street. The street was quiet,\ndeserted, and hung with a thin bluish haze. He had already fixed his\nsharp eye upon the house which he reasoned should be his objective\npoint, when he noticed a woman approaching rapidly from the opposite\ndirection. Always an interested observer of women, Wilson would have\nslackened his pace anywhere to follow this one with his impersonal,\nappreciative glance. She was a person of distinction he saw at once,\nand, moreover, very handsome. She was tall, carried her beautiful head\nproudly, and moved with ease and certainty. One immediately took for\ngranted the costly privileges and fine spaces that must lie in the\nbackground from which such a figure could emerge with this rapid and\nelegant gait. Wilson noted her dress, too,--for, in his way, he had an\neye for such things,--particularly her brown furs and her hat. He got\na blurred impression of her fine color, the violets she wore, her white\ngloves, and, curiously enough, of her veil, as she turned up a flight of\nsteps in front of him and disappeared.\n\nWilson was able to enjoy lovely things that passed him on the wing as\ncompletely and deliberately as if they had been dug-up marvels, long\nanticipated, and definitely fixed at the end of a railway journey. For\na few pleasurable seconds he quite forgot where he was going, and only\nafter the door had closed behind her did he realize that the young woman\nhad entered the house to which he had directed his trunk from the South\nStation that morning. He hesitated a moment before mounting the steps.\n\"Can that,\" he murmured in amazement,--\"can that possibly have been Mrs.\nAlexander?\"\n\nWhen the servant admitted him, Mrs. Alexander was still standing in the\nhallway. She heard him give his name, and came forward holding out her\nhand.\n\n\"Is it you, indeed, Professor Wilson? I was afraid that you might get\nhere before I did. I was detained at a concert, and Bartley telephoned\nthat he would be late. Thomas will show you your room. Had you rather\nhave your tea brought to you there, or will you have it down here with\nme, while we wait for Bartley?\"\n\nWilson was pleased to find that he had been the cause of her rapid walk,\nand with her he was even more vastly pleased than before. He followed\nher through the drawing-room into the library, where the wide back\nwindows looked out upon the garden and the sunset and a fine stretch\nof silver-colored river. A harp-shaped elm stood stripped against the\npale-colored evening sky, with ragged last year's birds' nests in its\nforks, and through the bare branches the evening star quivered in the\nmisty air. The long brown room breathed the peace of a rich and amply\nguarded quiet. Tea was brought in immediately and placed in front of the\nwood fire. Mrs. Alexander sat down in a high-backed chair and began to\npour it, while Wilson sank into a low seat opposite her and took his cup\nwith a great sense of ease and harmony and comfort.\n\n\"You have had a long journey, haven't you?\" Mrs. Alexander asked, after\nshowing gracious concern about his tea. \"And I am so sorry Bartley is\nlate. He's often tired when he's late. He flatters himself that it is\na little on his account that you have come to this Congress of\nPsychologists.\"\n\n\"It is,\" Wilson assented, selecting his muffin carefully; \"and I hope he\nwon't be tired tonight. But, on my own account, I'm glad to have a few\nmoments alone with you, before Bartley comes. I was somehow afraid that\nmy knowing him so well would not put me in the way of getting to know\nyou.\"\n\n\"That's very nice of you.\" She nodded at him above her cup and smiled,\nbut there was a little formal tightness in her tone which had not been\nthere when she greeted him in the hall.\n\nWilson leaned forward. \"Have I said something awkward? I live very far\nout of the world, you know. But I didn't mean that you would exactly\nfade dim, even if Bartley were here.\"\n\nMrs. Alexander laughed relentingly. \"Oh, I'm not so vain! How terribly\ndiscerning you are.\"\n\nShe looked straight at Wilson, and he felt that this quick, frank glance\nbrought about an understanding between them.\n\nHe liked everything about her, he told himself, but he particularly\nliked her eyes; when she looked at one directly for a moment they were\nlike a glimpse of fine windy sky that may bring all sorts of weather.\n\n\"Since you noticed something,\" Mrs. Alexander went on, \"it must have\nbeen a flash of the distrust I have come to feel whenever I meet any of\nthe people who knew Bartley when he was a boy. It is always as if they\nwere talking of someone I had never met. Really, Professor Wilson, it\nwould seem that he grew up among the strangest people. They usually say\nthat he has turned out very well, or remark that he always was a fine\nfellow. I never know what reply to make.\"\n\nWilson chuckled and leaned back in his chair, shaking his left foot\ngently. \"I expect the fact is that we none of us knew him very well,\nMrs. Alexander. Though I will say for myself that I was always confident\nhe'd do something extraordinary.\"\n\nMrs. Alexander's shoulders gave a slight movement, suggestive of\nimpatience. \"Oh, I should think that might have been a safe prediction.\nAnother cup, please?\"\n\n\"Yes, thank you. But predicting, in the case of boys, is not so easy as\nyou might imagine, Mrs. Alexander. Some get a bad hurt early and lose\ntheir courage; and some never get a fair wind. Bartley\"--he dropped his\nchin on the back of his long hand and looked at her admiringly--\"Bartley\ncaught the wind early, and it has sung in his sails ever since.\"\n\nMrs. Alexander sat looking into the fire with intent preoccupation, and\nWilson studied her half-averted face. He liked the suggestion of stormy\npossibilities in the proud curve of her lip and nostril. Without that,\nhe reflected, she would be too cold.\n\n\"I should like to know what he was really like when he was a boy. I\ndon't believe he remembers,\" she said suddenly. \"Won't you smoke, Mr.\nWilson?\"\n\nWilson lit a cigarette. \"No, I don't suppose he does. He was never\nintrospective. He was simply the most tremendous response to stimuli I\nhave ever known. We didn't know exactly what to do with him.\"\n\nA servant came in and noiselessly removed the tea-tray. Mrs. Alexander\nscreened her face from the firelight, which was beginning to throw\nwavering bright spots on her dress and hair as the dusk deepened.\n\n\"Of course,\" she said, \"I now and again hear stories about things that\nhappened when he was in college.\"\n\n\"But that isn't what you want.\" Wilson wrinkled his brows and looked at\nher with the smiling familiarity that had come about so quickly. \"What\nyou want is a picture of him, standing back there at the other end of\ntwenty years. You want to look down through my memory.\"\n\nShe dropped her hands in her lap. \"Yes, yes; that's exactly what I\nwant.\"\n\nAt this moment they heard the front door shut with a jar, and Wilson\nlaughed as Mrs. Alexander rose quickly. \"There he is. Away with\nperspective! No past, no future for Bartley; just the fiery moment. The\nonly moment that ever was or will be in the world!\"\n\nThe door from the hall opened, a voice called \"Winifred?\" hurriedly,\nand a big man came through the drawing-room with a quick, heavy tread,\nbringing with him a smell of cigar smoke and chill out-of-doors air.\nWhen Alexander reached the library door, he switched on the lights\nand stood six feet and more in the archway, glowing with strength\nand cordiality and rugged, blond good looks. There were other\nbridge-builders in the world, certainly, but it was always Alexander's\npicture that the Sunday Supplement men wanted, because he looked as a\ntamer of rivers ought to look. Under his tumbled sandy hair his head\nseemed as hard and powerful as a catapult, and his shoulders looked\nstrong enough in themselves to support a span of any one of his ten\ngreat bridges that cut the air above as many rivers.\n\n\nAfter dinner Alexander took Wilson up to his study. It was a large room\nover the library, and looked out upon the black river and the row of\nwhite lights along the Cambridge Embankment. The room was not at all\nwhat one might expect of an engineer's study. Wilson felt at once\nthe harmony of beautiful things that have lived long together without\nobtrusions of ugliness or change. It was none of Alexander's doing, of\ncourse; those warm consonances of color had been blending and mellowing\nbefore he was born. But the wonder was that he was not out of place\nthere,--that it all seemed to glow like the inevitable background for\nhis vigor and vehemence. He sat before the fire, his shoulders deep in\nthe cushions of his chair, his powerful head upright, his hair rumpled\nabove his broad forehead. He sat heavily, a cigar in his large, smooth\nhand, a flush of after-dinner color in his face, which wind and sun and\nexposure to all sorts of weather had left fair and clear-skinned.\n\n\"You are off for England on Saturday, Bartley, Mrs. Alexander tells me.\"\n\n\"Yes, for a few weeks only. There's a meeting of British engineers, and\nI'm doing another bridge in Canada, you know.\"\n\n\"Oh, every one knows about that. And it was in Canada that you met your\nwife, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes, at Allway. She was visiting her great-aunt there. A most remarkable\nold lady. I was working with MacKeller then, an old Scotch engineer who\nhad picked me up in London and taken me back to Quebec with him. He had\nthe contract for the Allway Bridge, but before he began work on it he\nfound out that he was going to die, and he advised the committee to turn\nthe job over to me. Otherwise I'd never have got anything good so early.\nMacKeller was an old friend of Mrs. Pemberton, Winifred's aunt. He had\nmentioned me to her, so when I went to Allway she asked me to come to\nsee her. She was a wonderful old lady.\"\n\n\"Like her niece?\" Wilson queried.\n\nBartley laughed. \"She had been very handsome, but not in Winifred's way.\nWhen I knew her she was little and fragile, very pink and white, with\na splendid head and a face like fine old lace, somehow,--but perhaps I\nalways think of that because she wore a lace scarf on her hair. She had\nsuch a flavor of life about her. She had known Gordon and Livingstone\nand Beaconsfield when she was young,--every one. She was the first woman\nof that sort I'd ever known. You know how it is in the West,--old people\nare poked out of the way. Aunt Eleanor fascinated me as few young women\nhave ever done. I used to go up from the works to have tea with her, and\nsit talking to her for hours. It was very stimulating, for she couldn't\ntolerate stupidity.\"\n\n\"It must have been then that your luck began, Bartley,\" said Wilson,\nflicking his cigar ash with his long finger. \"It's curious, watching\nboys,\" he went on reflectively. \"I'm sure I did you justice in the\nmatter of ability. Yet I always used to feel that there was a weak spot\nwhere some day strain would tell. Even after you began to climb, I stood\ndown in the crowd and watched you with--well, not with confidence. The\nmore dazzling the front you presented, the higher your facade rose, the\nmore I expected to see a big crack zigzagging from top to bottom,\"--he\nindicated its course in the air with his forefinger,--\"then a crash and\nclouds of dust. It was curious. I had such a clear picture of it. And\nanother curious thing, Bartley,\" Wilson spoke with deliberateness and\nsettled deeper into his chair, \"is that I don't feel it any longer. I am\nsure of you.\"\n\nAlexander laughed. \"Nonsense! It's not I you feel sure of; it's\nWinifred. People often make that mistake.\"\n\n\"No, I'm serious, Alexander. You've changed. You have decided to leave\nsome birds in the bushes. You used to want them all.\"\n\nAlexander's chair creaked. \"I still want a good many,\" he said rather\ngloomily. \"After all, life doesn't offer a man much. You work like the\ndevil and think you're getting on, and suddenly you discover that you've\nonly been getting yourself tied up. A million details drink you dry.\nYour life keeps going for things you don't want, and all the while\nyou are being built alive into a social structure you don't care a rap\nabout. I sometimes wonder what sort of chap I'd have been if I hadn't\nbeen this sort; I want to go and live out his potentialities, too. I\nhaven't forgotten that there are birds in the bushes.\"\n\nBartley stopped and sat frowning into the fire, his shoulders thrust\nforward as if he were about to spring at something. Wilson watched him,\nwondering. His old pupil always stimulated him at first, and then vastly\nwearied him. The machinery was always pounding away in this man, and\nWilson preferred companions of a more reflective habit of mind. He could\nnot help feeling that there were unreasoning and unreasonable activities\ngoing on in Alexander all the while; that even after dinner, when most\nmen achieve a decent impersonality, Bartley had merely closed the door\nof the engine-room and come up for an airing. The machinery itself was\nstill pounding on.\n\nBartley's abstraction and Wilson's reflections were cut short by a\nrustle at the door, and almost before they could rise Mrs. Alexander was\nstanding by the hearth. Alexander brought a chair for her, but she shook\nher head.\n\n\"No, dear, thank you. I only came in to see whether you and Professor\nWilson were quite comfortable. I am going down to the music-room.\"\n\n\"Why not practice here? Wilson and I are growing very dull. We are tired\nof talk.\"\n\n\"Yes, I beg you, Mrs. Alexander,\" Wilson began, but he got no further.\n\n\"Why, certainly, if you won't find me too noisy. I am working on the\nSchumann `Carnival,' and, though I don't practice a great many hours,\nI am very methodical,\" Mrs. Alexander explained, as she crossed to an\nupright piano that stood at the back of the room, near the windows.\n\nWilson followed, and, having seen her seated, dropped into a chair\nbehind her. She played brilliantly and with great musical feeling.\nWilson could not imagine her permitting herself to do anything badly,\nbut he was surprised at the cleanness of her execution. He wondered how\na woman with so many duties had managed to keep herself up to a standard\nreally professional. It must take a great deal of time, certainly, and\nBartley must take a great deal of time. Wilson reflected that he had\nnever before known a woman who had been able, for any considerable\nwhile, to support both a personal and an intellectual passion. Sitting\nbehind her, he watched her with perplexed admiration, shading his eyes\nwith his hand. In her dinner dress she looked even younger than in\nstreet clothes, and, for all her composure and self-sufficiency, she\nseemed to him strangely alert and vibrating, as if in her, too, there\nwere something never altogether at rest. He felt that he knew pretty\nmuch what she demanded in people and what she demanded from life, and he\nwondered how she squared Bartley. After ten years she must know him;\nand however one took him, however much one admired him, one had to admit\nthat he simply wouldn't square. He was a natural force, certainly, but\nbeyond that, Wilson felt, he was not anything very really or for very\nlong at a time.\n\nWilson glanced toward the fire, where Bartley's profile was still\nwreathed in cigar smoke that curled up more and more slowly. His\nshoulders were sunk deep in the cushions and one hand hung large and\npassive over the arm of his chair. He had slipped on a purple velvet\nsmoking-coat. His wife, Wilson surmised, had chosen it. She was clearly\nvery proud of his good looks and his fine color. But, with the glow of\nan immediate interest gone out of it, the engineer's face looked tired,\neven a little haggard. The three lines in his forehead, directly above\nthe nose, deepened as he sat thinking, and his powerful head drooped\nforward heavily. Although Alexander was only forty-three, Wilson thought\nthat beneath his vigorous color he detected the dulling weariness of\non-coming middle age.\n\n\nThe next afternoon, at the hour when the river was beginning to\nredden under the declining sun, Wilson again found himself facing Mrs.\nAlexander at the tea-table in the library.\n\n\"Well,\" he remarked, when he was bidden to give an account of himself,\n\"there was a long morning with the psychologists, luncheon with Bartley\nat his club, more psychologists, and here I am. I've looked forward to\nthis hour all day.\"\n\nMrs. Alexander smiled at him across the vapor from the kettle. \"And do\nyou remember where we stopped yesterday?\"\n\n\"Perfectly. I was going to show you a picture. But I doubt whether I\nhave color enough in me. Bartley makes me feel a faded monochrome. You\ncan't get at the young Bartley except by means of color.\" Wilson paused\nand deliberated. Suddenly he broke out: \"He wasn't a remarkable student,\nyou know, though he was always strong in higher mathematics. His work\nin my own department was quite ordinary. It was as a powerfully equipped\nnature that I found him interesting. That is the most interesting thing\na teacher can find. It has the fascination of a scientific discovery. We\ncome across other pleasing and endearing qualities so much oftener than\nwe find force.\"\n\n\"And, after all,\" said Mrs. Alexander, \"that is the thing we all live\nupon. It is the thing that takes us forward.\"\n\nWilson thought she spoke a little wistfully. \"Exactly,\" he assented\nwarmly. \"It builds the bridges into the future, over which the feet of\nevery one of us will go.\"\n\n\"How interested I am to hear you put it in that way. The bridges into\nthe future--I often say that to myself. Bartley's bridges always seem to\nme like that. Have you ever seen his first suspension bridge in Canada,\nthe one he was doing when I first knew him? I hope you will see it\nsometime. We were married as soon as it was finished, and you will laugh\nwhen I tell you that it always has a rather bridal look to me. It is\nover the wildest river, with mists and clouds always battling about it,\nand it is as delicate as a cobweb hanging in the sky. It really was\na bridge into the future. You have only to look at it to feel that it\nmeant the beginning of a great career. But I have a photograph of it\nhere.\" She drew a portfolio from behind a bookcase. \"And there, you see,\non the hill, is my aunt's house.\"\n\nWilson took up the photograph. \"Bartley was telling me something about\nyour aunt last night. She must have been a delightful person.\"\n\nWinifred laughed. \"The bridge, you see, was just at the foot of the\nhill, and the noise of the engines annoyed her very much at first. But\nafter she met Bartley she pretended to like it, and said it was a good\nthing to be reminded that there were things going on in the world. She\nloved life, and Bartley brought a great deal of it in to her when\nhe came to the house. Aunt Eleanor was very worldly in a frank,\nEarly-Victorian manner. She liked men of action, and disliked young\nmen who were careful of themselves and who, as she put it, were always\ntrimming their wick as if they were afraid of their oil's giving out.\nMacKeller, Bartley's first chief, was an old friend of my aunt, and\nhe told her that Bartley was a wild, ill-governed youth, which really\npleased her very much. I remember we were sitting alone in the dusk\nafter Bartley had been there for the first time. I knew that Aunt\nEleanor had found him much to her taste, but she hadn't said anything.\nPresently she came out, with a chuckle: `MacKeller found him sowing\nwild oats in London, I believe. I hope he didn't stop him too soon. Life\ncoquets with dashing fellows. The coming men are always like that. We\nmust have him to dinner, my dear.' And we did. She grew much fonder\nof Bartley than she was of me. I had been studying in Vienna, and she\nthought that absurd. She was interested in the army and in politics, and\nshe had a great contempt for music and art and philosophy. She used to\ndeclare that the Prince Consort had brought all that stuff over out of\nGermany. She always sniffed when Bartley asked me to play for him. She\nconsidered that a newfangled way of making a match of it.\"\n\nWhen Alexander came in a few moments later, he found Wilson and his wife\nstill confronting the photograph. \"Oh, let us get that out of the way,\"\nhe said, laughing. \"Winifred, Thomas can bring my trunk down. I've\ndecided to go over to New York to-morrow night and take a fast boat. I\nshall save two days.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nOn the night of his arrival in London, Alexander went immediately to the\nhotel on the Embankment at which he always stopped, and in the lobby he\nwas accosted by an old acquaintance, Maurice Mainhall, who fell upon him\nwith effusive cordiality and indicated a willingness to dine with him.\nBartley never dined alone if he could help it, and Mainhall was a good\ngossip who always knew what had been going on in town; especially, he\nknew everything that was not printed in the newspapers. The nephew of\none of the standard Victorian novelists, Mainhall bobbed about among the\nvarious literary cliques of London and its outlying suburbs, careful to\nlose touch with none of them. He had written a number of books himself;\namong them a \"History of Dancing,\" a \"History of Costume,\" a \"Key to\nShakespeare's Sonnets,\" a study of \"The Poetry of Ernest Dowson,\" etc.\nAlthough Mainhall's enthusiasm was often tiresome, and although he was\noften unable to distinguish between facts and vivid figments of his\nimagination, his imperturbable good nature overcame even the people whom\nhe bored most, so that they ended by becoming, in a reluctant manner,\nhis friends. In appearance, Mainhall was astonishingly like the\nconventional stage-Englishman of American drama: tall and thin, with\nhigh, hitching shoulders and a small head glistening with closely\nbrushed yellow hair. He spoke with an extreme Oxford accent, and when he\nwas talking well, his face sometimes wore the rapt expression of a very\nemotional man listening to music. Mainhall liked Alexander because he\nwas an engineer. He had preconceived ideas about everything, and his\nidea about Americans was that they should be engineers or mechanics. He\nhated them when they presumed to be anything else.\n\nWhile they sat at dinner Mainhall acquainted Bartley with the fortunes\nof his old friends in London, and as they left the table he proposed\nthat they should go to see Hugh MacConnell's new comedy, \"Bog Lights.\"\n\n\"It's really quite the best thing MacConnell's done,\" he explained as\nthey got into a hansom. \"It's tremendously well put on, too. Florence\nMerrill and Cyril Henderson. But Hilda Burgoyne's the hit of the piece.\nHugh's written a delightful part for her, and she's quite inexpressible.\nIt's been on only two weeks, and I've been half a dozen times already.\nI happen to have MacConnell's box for tonight or there'd be no chance of\nour getting places. There's everything in seeing Hilda while she's fresh\nin a part. She's apt to grow a bit stale after a time. The ones who have\nany imagination do.\"\n\n\"Hilda Burgoyne!\" Alexander exclaimed mildly. \"Why, I haven't heard of\nher for--years.\"\n\nMainhall laughed. \"Then you can't have heard much at all, my dear\nAlexander. It's only lately, since MacConnell and his set have got hold\nof her, that she's come up. Myself, I always knew she had it in her. If\nwe had one real critic in London--but what can one expect? Do you know,\nAlexander,\"--Mainhall looked with perplexity up into the top of the\nhansom and rubbed his pink cheek with his gloved finger,--\"do you know,\nI sometimes think of taking to criticism seriously myself. In a way, it\nwould be a sacrifice; but, dear me, we do need some one.\"\n\nJust then they drove up to the Duke of York's, so Alexander did not\ncommit himself, but followed Mainhall into the theatre. When they\nentered the stage-box on the left the first act was well under way, the\nscene being the interior of a cabin in the south of Ireland. As they sat\ndown, a burst of applause drew Alexander's attention to the stage. Miss\nBurgoyne and her donkey were thrusting their heads in at the half door.\n\"After all,\" he reflected, \"there's small probability of her recognizing\nme. She doubtless hasn't thought of me for years.\" He felt the\nenthusiasm of the house at once, and in a few moments he was caught up\nby the current of MacConnell's irresistible comedy. The audience\nhad come forewarned, evidently, and whenever the ragged slip of a\ndonkey-girl ran upon the stage there was a deep murmur of approbation,\nevery one smiled and glowed, and Mainhall hitched his heavy chair a\nlittle nearer the brass railing.\n\n\"You see,\" he murmured in Alexander's ear, as the curtain fell on\nthe first act, \"one almost never sees a part like that done without\nsmartness or mawkishness. Of course, Hilda is Irish,--the Burgoynes have\nbeen stage people for generations,--and she has the Irish voice. It's\ndelightful to hear it in a London theatre. That laugh, now, when she\ndoubles over at the hips--who ever heard it out of Galway? She saves\nher hand, too. She's at her best in the second act. She's really\nMacConnell's poetic motif, you see; makes the whole thing a fairy tale.\"\n\nThe second act opened before Philly Doyle's underground still, with\nPeggy and her battered donkey come in to smuggle a load of potheen\nacross the bog, and to bring Philly word of what was doing in the world\nwithout, and of what was happening along the roadsides and ditches with\nthe first gleam of fine weather. Alexander, annoyed by Mainhall's sighs\nand exclamations, watched her with keen, half-skeptical interest. As\nMainhall had said, she was the second act; the plot and feeling alike\ndepended upon her lightness of foot, her lightness of touch, upon the\nshrewdness and deft fancifulness that played alternately, and sometimes\ntogether, in her mirthful brown eyes. When she began to dance, by way of\nshowing the gossoons what she had seen in the fairy rings at night, the\nhouse broke into a prolonged uproar. After her dance she withdrew from\nthe dialogue and retreated to the ditch wall back of Philly's burrow,\nwhere she sat singing \"The Rising of the Moon\" and making a wreath of\nprimroses for her donkey.\n\nWhen the act was over Alexander and Mainhall strolled out into the\ncorridor. They met a good many acquaintances; Mainhall, indeed, knew\nalmost every one, and he babbled on incontinently, screwing his small\nhead about over his high collar. Presently he hailed a tall, bearded\nman, grim-browed and rather battered-looking, who had his opera cloak\non his arm and his hat in his hand, and who seemed to be on the point of\nleaving the theatre.\n\n\"MacConnell, let me introduce Mr. Bartley Alexander. I say! It's going\nfamously to-night, Mac. And what an audience! You'll never do anything\nlike this again, mark me. A man writes to the top of his bent only\nonce.\"\n\nThe playwright gave Mainhall a curious look out of his deep-set faded\neyes and made a wry face. \"And have I done anything so fool as that,\nnow?\" he asked.\n\n\"That's what I was saying,\" Mainhall lounged a little nearer and dropped\ninto a tone even more conspicuously confidential. \"And you'll never\nbring Hilda out like this again. Dear me, Mac, the girl couldn't\npossibly be better, you know.\"\n\nMacConnell grunted. \"She'll do well enough if she keeps her pace and\ndoesn't go off on us in the middle of the season, as she's more than\nlike to do.\"\n\nHe nodded curtly and made for the door, dodging acquaintances as he\nwent.\n\n\"Poor old Hugh,\" Mainhall murmured. \"He's hit terribly hard. He's been\nwanting to marry Hilda these three years and more. She doesn't take up\nwith anybody, you know. Irene Burgoyne, one of her family, told me in\nconfidence that there was a romance somewhere back in the beginning. One\nof your countrymen, Alexander, by the way; an American student whom she\nmet in Paris, I believe. I dare say it's quite true that there's never\nbeen any one else.\" Mainhall vouched for her constancy with a loftiness\nthat made Alexander smile, even while a kind of rapid excitement was\ntingling through him. Blinking up at the lights, Mainhall added in\nhis luxurious, worldly way: \"She's an elegant little person, and quite\ncapable of an extravagant bit of sentiment like that. Here comes Sir\nHarry Towne. He's another who's awfully keen about her. Let me introduce\nyou. Sir Harry Towne, Mr. Bartley Alexander, the American engineer.\"\n\nSir Harry Towne bowed and said that he had met Mr. Alexander and his\nwife in Tokyo.\n\nMainhall cut in impatiently.\n\n\"I say, Sir Harry, the little girl's going famously to-night, isn't\nshe?\"\n\nSir Harry wrinkled his brows judiciously. \"Do you know, I thought the\ndance a bit conscious to-night, for the first time. The fact is, she's\nfeeling rather seedy, poor child. Westmere and I were back after the\nfirst act, and we thought she seemed quite uncertain of herself. A\nlittle attack of nerves, possibly.\"\n\nHe bowed as the warning bell rang, and Mainhall whispered: \"You know\nLord Westmere, of course,--the stooped man with the long gray mustache,\ntalking to Lady Dowle. Lady Westmere is very fond of Hilda.\"\n\nWhen they reached their box the house was darkened and the orchestra\nwas playing \"The Cloak of Old Gaul.\" In a moment Peggy was on the stage\nagain, and Alexander applauded vigorously with the rest. He even leaned\nforward over the rail a little. For some reason he felt pleased and\nflattered by the enthusiasm of the audience. In the half-light he looked\nabout at the stalls and boxes and smiled a little consciously, recalling\nwith amusement Sir Harry's judicial frown. He was beginning to feel a\nkeen interest in the slender, barefoot donkey-girl who slipped in and\nout of the play, singing, like some one winding through a hilly field.\nHe leaned forward and beamed felicitations as warmly as Mainhall himself\nwhen, at the end of the play, she came again and again before the\ncurtain, panting a little and flushed, her eyes dancing and her eager,\nnervous little mouth tremulous with excitement.\n\nWhen Alexander returned to his hotel--he shook Mainhall at the door of\nthe theatre--he had some supper brought up to his room, and it was late\nbefore he went to bed. He had not thought of Hilda Burgoyne for years;\nindeed, he had almost forgotten her. He had last written to her from\nCanada, after he first met Winifred, telling her that everything was\nchanged with him--that he had met a woman whom he would marry if he\ncould; if he could not, then all the more was everything changed for\nhim. Hilda had never replied to his letter. He felt guilty and unhappy\nabout her for a time, but after Winifred promised to marry him he really\nforgot Hilda altogether. When he wrote her that everything was changed\nfor him, he was telling the truth. After he met Winifred Pemberton he\nseemed to himself like a different man. One night when he and Winifred\nwere sitting together on the bridge, he told her that things had\nhappened while he was studying abroad that he was sorry for,--one thing\nin particular,--and he asked her whether she thought she ought to know\nabout them. She considered a moment and then said \"No, I think not,\nthough I am glad you ask me. You see, one can't be jealous about things\nin general; but about particular, definite, personal things,\"--here\nshe had thrown her hands up to his shoulders with a quick, impulsive\ngesture--\"oh, about those I should be very jealous. I should torture\nmyself--I couldn't help it.\" After that it was easy to forget, actually\nto forget. He wondered to-night, as he poured his wine, how many times\nhe had thought of Hilda in the last ten years. He had been in London\nmore or less, but he had never happened to hear of her. \"All the same,\"\nhe lifted his glass, \"here's to you, little Hilda. You've made things\ncome your way, and I never thought you'd do it.\n\n\"Of course,\" he reflected, \"she always had that combination of something\nhomely and sensible, and something utterly wild and daft. But I never\nthought she'd do anything. She hadn't much ambition then, and she was\ntoo fond of trifles. She must care about the theatre a great deal more\nthan she used to. Perhaps she has me to thank for something, after\nall. Sometimes a little jolt like that does one good. She was a daft,\ngenerous little thing. I'm glad she's held her own since. After all,\nwe were awfully young. It was youth and poverty and proximity, and\neverything was young and kindly. I shouldn't wonder if she could laugh\nabout it with me now. I shouldn't wonder-- But they've probably spoiled\nher, so that she'd be tiresome if one met her again.\"\n\nBartley smiled and yawned and went to bed.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nThe next evening Alexander dined alone at a club, and at about nine\no'clock he dropped in at the Duke of York's. The house was sold out\nand he stood through the second act. When he returned to his hotel he\nexamined the new directory, and found Miss Burgoyne's address still\ngiven as off Bedford Square, though at a new number. He remembered that,\nin so far as she had been brought up at all, she had been brought up in\nBloomsbury. Her father and mother played in the provinces most of the\nyear, and she was left a great deal in the care of an old aunt who was\ncrippled by rheumatism and who had had to leave the stage altogether. In\nthe days when Alexander knew her, Hilda always managed to have a lodging\nof some sort about Bedford Square, because she clung tenaciously to such\nscraps and shreds of memories as were connected with it. The mummy\nroom of the British Museum had been one of the chief delights of her\nchildhood. That forbidding pile was the goal of her truant fancy, and\nshe was sometimes taken there for a treat, as other children are taken\nto the theatre. It was long since Alexander had thought of any of\nthese things, but now they came back to him quite fresh, and had a\nsignificance they did not have when they were first told him in his\nrestless twenties. So she was still in the old neighborhood, near\nBedford Square. The new number probably meant increased prosperity. He\nhoped so. He would like to know that she was snugly settled. He looked\nat his watch. It was a quarter past ten; she would not be home for a\ngood two hours yet, and he might as well walk over and have a look at\nthe place. He remembered the shortest way.\n\nIt was a warm, smoky evening, and there was a grimy moon. He went\nthrough Covent Garden to Oxford Street, and as he turned into Museum\nStreet he walked more slowly, smiling at his own nervousness as he\napproached the sullen gray mass at the end. He had not been inside the\nMuseum, actually, since he and Hilda used to meet there; sometimes\nto set out for gay adventures at Twickenham or Richmond, sometimes to\nlinger about the place for a while and to ponder by Lord Elgin's marbles\nupon the lastingness of some things, or, in the mummy room, upon the\nawful brevity of others. Since then Bartley had always thought of the\nBritish Museum as the ultimate repository of mortality, where all the\ndead things in the world were assembled to make one's hour of youth\nthe more precious. One trembled lest before he got out it might somehow\nescape him, lest he might drop the glass from over-eagerness and see it\nshivered on the stone floor at his feet. How one hid his youth under his\ncoat and hugged it! And how good it was to turn one's back upon all that\nvaulted cold, to take Hilda's arm and hurry out of the great door and\ndown the steps into the sunlight among the pigeons--to know that\nthe warm and vital thing within him was still there and had not been\nsnatched away to flush Caesar's lean cheek or to feed the veins of some\nbearded Assyrian king. They in their day had carried the flaming liquor,\nbut to-day was his! So the song used to run in his head those summer\nmornings a dozen years ago. Alexander walked by the place very quietly,\nas if he were afraid of waking some one.\n\nHe crossed Bedford Square and found the number he was looking for. The\nhouse, a comfortable, well-kept place enough, was dark except for the\nfour front windows on the second floor, where a low, even light was\nburning behind the white muslin sash curtains. Outside there were window\nboxes, painted white and full of flowers. Bartley was making a third\nround of the Square when he heard the far-flung hoof-beats of a\nhansom-cab horse, driven rapidly. He looked at his watch, and was\nastonished to find that it was a few minutes after twelve. He turned and\nwalked back along the iron railing as the cab came up to Hilda's number\nand stopped. The hansom must have been one that she employed regularly,\nfor she did not stop to pay the driver. She stepped out quickly and\nlightly. He heard her cheerful \"Good-night, cabby,\" as she ran up the\nsteps and opened the door with a latchkey. In a few moments the lights\nflared up brightly behind the white curtains, and as he walked away\nhe heard a window raised. But he had gone too far to look up without\nturning round. He went back to his hotel, feeling that he had had a good\nevening, and he slept well.\n\nFor the next few days Alexander was very busy. He took a desk in the\noffice of a Scotch engineering firm on Henrietta Street, and was at work\nalmost constantly. He avoided the clubs and usually dined alone at his\nhotel. One afternoon, after he had tea, he started for a walk down the\nEmbankment toward Westminster, intending to end his stroll at Bedford\nSquare and to ask whether Miss Burgoyne would let him take her to the\ntheatre. But he did not go so far. When he reached the Abbey, he turned\nback and crossed Westminster Bridge and sat down to watch the trails of\nsmoke behind the Houses of Parliament catch fire with the sunset. The\nslender towers were washed by a rain of golden light and licked by\nlittle flickering flames; Somerset House and the bleached gray pinnacles\nabout Whitehall were floated in a luminous haze. The yellow light poured\nthrough the trees and the leaves seemed to burn with soft fires. There\nwas a smell of acacias in the air everywhere, and the laburnums were\ndripping gold over the walls of the gardens. It was a sweet, lonely kind\nof summer evening. Remembering Hilda as she used to be, was doubtless\nmore satisfactory than seeing her as she must be now--and, after all,\nAlexander asked himself, what was it but his own young years that he was\nremembering?\n\nHe crossed back to Westminster, went up to the Temple, and sat down to\nsmoke in the Middle Temple gardens, listening to the thin voice of the\nfountain and smelling the spice of the sycamores that came out heavily\nin the damp evening air. He thought, as he sat there, about a great many\nthings: about his own youth and Hilda's; above all, he thought of how\nglorious it had been, and how quickly it had passed; and, when it had\npassed, how little worth while anything was. None of the things he had\ngained in the least compensated. In the last six years his reputation\nhad become, as the saying is, popular. Four years ago he had been called\nto Japan to deliver, at the Emperor's request, a course of lectures\nat the Imperial University, and had instituted reforms throughout the\nislands, not only in the practice of bridge-building but in drainage and\nroad-making. On his return he had undertaken the bridge at Moorlock,\nin Canada, the most important piece of bridge-building going on in\nthe world,--a test, indeed, of how far the latest practice in bridge\nstructure could be carried. It was a spectacular undertaking by reason\nof its very size, and Bartley realized that, whatever else he might do,\nhe would probably always be known as the engineer who designed the great\nMoorlock Bridge, the longest cantilever in existence. Yet it was to him\nthe least satisfactory thing he had ever done. He was cramped in every\nway by a niggardly commission, and was using lighter structural material\nthan he thought proper. He had vexations enough, too, with his work at\nhome. He had several bridges under way in the United States, and they\nwere always being held up by strikes and delays resulting from a general\nindustrial unrest.\n\nThough Alexander often told himself he had never put more into his work\nthan he had done in the last few years, he had to admit that he had\nnever got so little out of it. He was paying for success, too, in the\ndemands made on his time by boards of civic enterprise and committees\nof public welfare. The obligations imposed by his wife's fortune\nand position were sometimes distracting to a man who followed his\nprofession, and he was expected to be interested in a great many worthy\nendeavors on her account as well as on his own. His existence was\nbecoming a network of great and little details. He had expected that\nsuccess would bring him freedom and power; but it had brought only power\nthat was in itself another kind of restraint. He had always meant to\nkeep his personal liberty at all costs, as old MacKeller, his first\nchief, had done, and not, like so many American engineers, to become a\npart of a professional movement, a cautious board member, a Nestor de\npontibus. He happened to be engaged in work of public utility, but he\nwas not willing to become what is called a public man. He found himself\nliving exactly the kind of life he had determined to escape. What, he\nasked himself, did he want with these genial honors and substantial\ncomforts? Hardships and difficulties he had carried lightly; overwork\nhad not exhausted him; but this dead calm of middle life which\nconfronted him,--of that he was afraid. He was not ready for it. It was\nlike being buried alive. In his youth he would not have believed such a\nthing possible. The one thing he had really wanted all his life was to\nbe free; and there was still something unconquered in him, something\nbesides the strong work-horse that his profession had made of him. He\nfelt rich to-night in the possession of that unstultified survival;\nin the light of his experience, it was more precious than honors or\nachievement. In all those busy, successful years there had been nothing\nso good as this hour of wild light-heartedness. This feeling was the\nonly happiness that was real to him, and such hours were the only ones\nin which he could feel his own continuous identity--feel the boy he had\nbeen in the rough days of the old West, feel the youth who had worked\nhis way across the ocean on a cattle-ship and gone to study in Paris\nwithout a dollar in his pocket. The man who sat in his offices in Boston\nwas only a powerful machine. Under the activities of that machine the\nperson who, in such moments as this, he felt to be himself, was fading\nand dying. He remembered how, when he was a little boy and his father\ncalled him in the morning, he used to leap from his bed into the full\nconsciousness of himself. That consciousness was Life itself. Whatever\ntook its place, action, reflection, the power of concentrated thought,\nwere only functions of a mechanism useful to society; things that could\nbe bought in the market. There was only one thing that had an absolute\nvalue for each individual, and it was just that original impulse, that\ninternal heat, that feeling of one's self in one's own breast.\n\nWhen Alexander walked back to his hotel, the red and green lights were\nblinking along the docks on the farther shore, and the soft white stars\nwere shining in the wide sky above the river.\n\nThe next night, and the next, Alexander repeated this same foolish\nperformance. It was always Miss Burgoyne whom he started out to find,\nand he got no farther than the Temple gardens and the Embankment. It\nwas a pleasant kind of loneliness. To a man who was so little given\nto reflection, whose dreams always took the form of definite ideas,\nreaching into the future, there was a seductive excitement in renewing\nold experiences in imagination. He started out upon these walks half\nguiltily, with a curious longing and expectancy which were wholly\ngratified by solitude. Solitude, but not solitariness; for he walked\nshoulder to shoulder with a shadowy companion--not little Hilda\nBurgoyne, by any means, but some one vastly dearer to him than she had\never been--his own young self, the youth who had waited for him upon the\nsteps of the British Museum that night, and who, though he had tried to\npass so quietly, had known him and come down and linked an arm in his.\n\nIt was not until long afterward that Alexander learned that for him this\nyouth was the most dangerous of companions.\n\n\nOne Sunday evening, at Lady Walford's, Alexander did at last meet Hilda\nBurgoyne. Mainhall had told him that she would probably be there. He\nlooked about for her rather nervously, and finally found her at the\nfarther end of the large drawing-room, the centre of a circle of men,\nyoung and old. She was apparently telling them a story. They were\nall laughing and bending toward her. When she saw Alexander, she rose\nquickly and put out her hand. The other men drew back a little to let\nhim approach.\n\n\"Mr. Alexander! I am delighted. Have you been in London long?\"\n\nBartley bowed, somewhat laboriously, over her hand. \"Long enough to have\nseen you more than once. How fine it all is!\"\n\nShe laughed as if she were pleased. \"I'm glad you think so. I like it.\nWon't you join us here?\"\n\n\"Miss Burgoyne was just telling us about a donkey-boy she had in Galway\nlast summer,\" Sir Harry Towne explained as the circle closed up again.\nLord Westmere stroked his long white mustache with his bloodless hand\nand looked at Alexander blankly. Hilda was a good story-teller. She was\nsitting on the edge of her chair, as if she had alighted there for a\nmoment only. Her primrose satin gown seemed like a soft sheath for her\nslender, supple figure, and its delicate color suited her white Irish\nskin and brown hair. Whatever she wore, people felt the charm of her\nactive, girlish body with its slender hips and quick, eager shoulders.\nAlexander heard little of the story, but he watched Hilda intently. She\nmust certainly, he reflected, be thirty, and he was honestly delighted\nto see that the years had treated her so indulgently. If her face had\nchanged at all, it was in a slight hardening of the mouth--still eager\nenough to be very disconcerting at times, he felt--and in an added\nair of self-possession and self-reliance. She carried her head, too, a\nlittle more resolutely.\n\nWhen the story was finished, Miss Burgoyne turned pointedly to\nAlexander, and the other men drifted away.\n\n\"I thought I saw you in MacConnell's box with Mainhall one evening, but\nI supposed you had left town before this.\"\n\nShe looked at him frankly and cordially, as if he were indeed merely an\nold friend whom she was glad to meet again.\n\n\"No, I've been mooning about here.\"\n\nHilda laughed gayly. \"Mooning! I see you mooning! You must be the\nbusiest man in the world. Time and success have done well by you, you\nknow. You're handsomer than ever and you've gained a grand manner.\"\n\nAlexander blushed and bowed. \"Time and success have been good friends to\nboth of us. Aren't you tremendously pleased with yourself?\"\n\nShe laughed again and shrugged her shoulders. \"Oh, so-so. But I want to\nhear about you. Several years ago I read such a lot in the papers about\nthe wonderful things you did in Japan, and how the Emperor decorated\nyou. What was it, Commander of the Order of the Rising Sun? That sounds\nlike `The Mikado.' And what about your new bridge--in Canada, isn't it,\nand it's to be the longest one in the world and has some queer name I\ncan't remember.\"\n\nBartley shook his head and smiled drolly. \"Since when have you\nbeen interested in bridges? Or have you learned to be interested in\neverything? And is that a part of success?\"\n\n\"Why, how absurd! As if I were not always interested!\" Hilda exclaimed.\n\n\"Well, I think we won't talk about bridges here, at any rate.\" Bartley\nlooked down at the toe of her yellow slipper which was tapping the rug\nimpatiently under the hem of her gown. \"But I wonder whether you'd think\nme impertinent if I asked you to let me come to see you sometime and\ntell you about them?\"\n\n\"Why should I? Ever so many people come on Sunday afternoons.\"\n\n\"I know. Mainhall offered to take me. But you must know that I've been\nin London several times within the last few years, and you might very\nwell think that just now is a rather inopportune time--\"\n\nShe cut him short. \"Nonsense. One of the pleasantest things about\nsuccess is that it makes people want to look one up, if that's what you\nmean. I'm like every one else--more agreeable to meet when things are\ngoing well with me. Don't you suppose it gives me any pleasure to do\nsomething that people like?\"\n\n\"Does it? Oh, how fine it all is, your coming on like this! But I didn't\nwant you to think it was because of that I wanted to see you.\" He spoke\nvery seriously and looked down at the floor.\n\nHilda studied him in wide-eyed astonishment for a moment, and then\nbroke into a low, amused laugh. \"My dear Mr. Alexander, you have strange\ndelicacies. If you please, that is exactly why you wish to see me. We\nunderstand that, do we not?\"\n\nBartley looked ruffled and turned the seal ring on his little finger\nabout awkwardly.\n\nHilda leaned back in her chair, watching him indulgently out of her\nshrewd eyes. \"Come, don't be angry, but don't try to pose for me, or to\nbe anything but what you are. If you care to come, it's yourself I'll\nbe glad to see, and you thinking well of yourself. Don't try to wear a\ncloak of humility; it doesn't become you. Stalk in as you are and don't\nmake excuses. I'm not accustomed to inquiring into the motives of my\nguests. That would hardly be safe, even for Lady Walford, in a great\nhouse like this.\"\n\n\"Sunday afternoon, then,\" said Alexander, as she rose to join her\nhostess. \"How early may I come?\"\n\nShe gave him her hand and flushed and laughed. He bent over it a little\nstiffly. She went away on Lady Walford's arm, and as he stood watching\nher yellow train glide down the long floor he looked rather sullen. He\nfelt that he had not come out of it very brilliantly.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nOn Sunday afternoon Alexander remembered Miss Burgoyne's invitation and\ncalled at her apartment. He found it a delightful little place and he\nmet charming people there. Hilda lived alone, attended by a very pretty\nand competent French servant who answered the door and brought in the\ntea. Alexander arrived early, and some twenty-odd people dropped in\nduring the course of the afternoon. Hugh MacConnell came with his\nsister, and stood about, managing his tea-cup awkwardly and watching\nevery one out of his deep-set, faded eyes. He seemed to have made a\nresolute effort at tidiness of attire, and his sister, a robust, florid\nwoman with a splendid joviality about her, kept eyeing his freshly\ncreased clothes apprehensively. It was not very long, indeed, before his\ncoat hung with a discouraged sag from his gaunt shoulders and his hair\nand beard were rumpled as if he had been out in a gale. His dry\nhumor went under a cloud of absent-minded kindliness which, Mainhall\nexplained, always overtook him here. He was never so witty or so sharp\nhere as elsewhere, and Alexander thought he behaved as if he were an\nelderly relative come in to a young girl's party.\n\nThe editor of a monthly review came with his wife, and Lady Kildare,\nthe Irish philanthropist, brought her young nephew, Robert Owen, who had\ncome up from Oxford, and who was visibly excited and gratified by his\nfirst introduction to Miss Burgoyne. Hilda was very nice to him, and he\nsat on the edge of his chair, flushed with his conversational efforts\nand moving his chin about nervously over his high collar. Sarah Frost,\nthe novelist, came with her husband, a very genial and placid old\nscholar who had become slightly deranged upon the subject of the fourth\ndimension. On other matters he was perfectly rational and he was easy\nand pleasing in conversation. He looked very much like Agassiz, and\nhis wife, in her old-fashioned black silk dress, overskirted and\ntight-sleeved, reminded Alexander of the early pictures of Mrs.\nBrowning. Hilda seemed particularly fond of this quaint couple, and\nBartley himself was so pleased with their mild and thoughtful converse\nthat he took his leave when they did, and walked with them over to\nOxford Street, where they waited for their 'bus. They asked him to come\nto see them in Chelsea, and they spoke very tenderly of Hilda. \"She's a\ndear, unworldly little thing,\" said the philosopher absently; \"more like\nthe stage people of my young days--folk of simple manners. There aren't\nmany such left. American tours have spoiled them, I'm afraid. They have\nall grown very smart. Lamb wouldn't care a great deal about many of\nthem, I fancy.\"\n\nAlexander went back to Bedford Square a second Sunday afternoon. He had\na long talk with MacConnell, but he got no word with Hilda alone, and\nhe left in a discontented state of mind. For the rest of the week he was\nnervous and unsettled, and kept rushing his work as if he were preparing\nfor immediate departure. On Thursday afternoon he cut short a committee\nmeeting, jumped into a hansom, and drove to Bedford Square. He sent up\nhis card, but it came back to him with a message scribbled across the\nfront.\n\n     So sorry I can't see you.  Will you come and\n     dine with me Sunday evening at half-past seven?\n\n     H.B.\n\nWhen Bartley arrived at Bedford Square on Sunday evening, Marie,\nthe pretty little French girl, met him at the door and conducted him\nupstairs. Hilda was writing in her living-room, under the light of a\ntall desk lamp. Bartley recognized the primrose satin gown she had worn\nthat first evening at Lady Walford's.\n\n\"I'm so pleased that you think me worth that yellow dress, you know,\" he\nsaid, taking her hand and looking her over admiringly from the toes of\nher canary slippers to her smoothly parted brown hair. \"Yes, it's very,\nvery pretty. Every one at Lady Walford's was looking at it.\"\n\nHilda curtsied. \"Is that why you think it pretty? I've no need for\nfine clothes in Mac's play this time, so I can afford a few duddies for\nmyself. It's owing to that same chance, by the way, that I am able to\nask you to dinner. I don't need Marie to dress me this season, so she\nkeeps house for me, and my little Galway girl has gone home for a visit.\nI should never have asked you if Molly had been here, for I remember you\ndon't like English cookery.\"\n\nAlexander walked about the room, looking at everything.\n\n\"I haven't had a chance yet to tell you what a jolly little place I\nthink this is. Where did you get those etchings? They're quite unusual,\naren't they?\"\n\n\"Lady Westmere sent them to me from Rome last Christmas. She is very\nmuch interested in the American artist who did them. They are all\nsketches made about the Villa d'Este, you see. He painted that group of\ncypresses for the Salon, and it was bought for the Luxembourg.\"\n\nAlexander walked over to the bookcases. \"It's the air of the whole place\nhere that I like. You haven't got anything that doesn't belong. Seems to\nme it looks particularly well to-night. And you have so many flowers. I\nlike these little yellow irises.\"\n\n\"Rooms always look better by lamplight--in London, at least. Though\nMarie is clean--really clean, as the French are. Why do you look at the\nflowers so critically? Marie got them all fresh in Covent Garden market\nyesterday morning.\"\n\n\"I'm glad,\" said Alexander simply. \"I can't tell you how glad I am to\nhave you so pretty and comfortable here, and to hear every one saying\nsuch nice things about you. You've got awfully nice friends,\" he added\nhumbly, picking up a little jade elephant from her desk. \"Those fellows\nare all very loyal, even Mainhall. They don't talk of any one else as\nthey do of you.\"\n\nHilda sat down on the couch and said seriously: \"I've a neat little sum\nin the bank, too, now, and I own a mite of a hut in Galway. It's not\nworth much, but I love it. I've managed to save something every year,\nand that with helping my three sisters now and then, and tiding poor\nCousin Mike over bad seasons. He's that gifted, you know, but he will\ndrink and loses more good engagements than other fellows ever get. And\nI've traveled a bit, too.\"\n\nMarie opened the door and smilingly announced that dinner was served.\n\n\"My dining-room,\" Hilda explained, as she led the way, \"is the tiniest\nplace you have ever seen.\"\n\nIt was a tiny room, hung all round with French prints, above which ran a\nshelf full of china. Hilda saw Alexander look up at it.\n\n\"It's not particularly rare,\" she said, \"but some of it was my\nmother's. Heaven knows how she managed to keep it whole, through all our\nwanderings, or in what baskets and bundles and theatre trunks it hasn't\nbeen stowed away. We always had our tea out of those blue cups when I\nwas a little girl, sometimes in the queerest lodgings, and sometimes on\na trunk at the theatre--queer theatres, for that matter.\"\n\nIt was a wonderful little dinner. There was watercress soup, and sole,\nand a delightful omelette stuffed with mushrooms and truffles, and two\nsmall rare ducklings, and artichokes, and a dry yellow Rhone wine of\nwhich Bartley had always been very fond. He drank it appreciatively and\nremarked that there was still no other he liked so well.\n\n\"I have some champagne for you, too. I don't drink it myself, but I like\nto see it behave when it's poured. There is nothing else that looks so\njolly.\"\n\n\"Thank you. But I don't like it so well as this.\" Bartley held the\nyellow wine against the light and squinted into it as he turned the\nglass slowly about. \"You have traveled, you say. Have you been in Paris\nmuch these late years?\"\n\nHilda lowered one of the candle-shades carefully. \"Oh, yes, I go over to\nParis often. There are few changes in the old Quarter. Dear old Madame\nAnger is dead--but perhaps you don't remember her?\"\n\n\"Don't I, though! I'm so sorry to hear it. How did her son turn out? I\nremember how she saved and scraped for him, and how he always lay abed\ntill ten o'clock. He was the laziest fellow at the Beaux Arts; and\nthat's saying a good deal.\"\n\n\"Well, he is still clever and lazy. They say he is a good architect when\nhe will work. He's a big, handsome creature, and he hates Americans as\nmuch as ever. But Angel--do you remember Angel?\"\n\n\"Perfectly. Did she ever get back to Brittany and her bains de mer?\"\n\n\"Ah, no. Poor Angel! She got tired of cooking and scouring the coppers\nin Madame Anger's little kitchen, so she ran away with a soldier, and\nthen with another soldier. Too bad! She still lives about the Quarter,\nand, though there is always a soldat, she has become a blanchisseuse de\nfin. She did my blouses beautifully the last time I was there, and was\nso delighted to see me again. I gave her all my old clothes, even my old\nhats, though she always wears her Breton headdress. Her hair is still\nlike flax, and her blue eyes are just like a baby's, and she has the\nsame three freckles on her little nose, and talks about going back to\nher bains de mer.\"\n\nBartley looked at Hilda across the yellow light of the candles and broke\ninto a low, happy laugh. \"How jolly it was being young, Hilda! Do you\nremember that first walk we took together in Paris? We walked down to\nthe Place Saint-Michel to buy some lilacs. Do you remember how sweet\nthey smelled?\"\n\n\"Indeed I do. Come, we'll have our coffee in the other room, and you can\nsmoke.\"\n\nHilda rose quickly, as if she wished to change the drift of their talk,\nbut Bartley found it pleasant to continue it.\n\n\"What a warm, soft spring evening that was,\" he went on, as they sat\ndown in the study with the coffee on a little table between them; \"and\nthe sky, over the bridges, was just the color of the lilacs. We walked\non down by the river, didn't we?\"\n\nHilda laughed and looked at him questioningly. He saw a gleam in her\neyes that he remembered even better than the episode he was recalling.\n\n\"I think we did,\" she answered demurely. \"It was on the Quai we met\nthat woman who was crying so bitterly. I gave her a spray of lilac,\nI remember, and you gave her a franc. I was frightened at your\nprodigality.\"\n\n\"I expect it was the last franc I had. What a strong brown face she had,\nand very tragic. She looked at us with such despair and longing, out\nfrom under her black shawl. What she wanted from us was neither our\nflowers nor our francs, but just our youth. I remember it touched me\nso. I would have given her some of mine off my back, if I could. I had\nenough and to spare then,\" Bartley mused, and looked thoughtfully at his\ncigar.\n\nThey were both remembering what the woman had said when she took the\nmoney: \"God give you a happy love!\" It was not in the ingratiating\ntone of the habitual beggar: it had come out of the depths of the poor\ncreature's sorrow, vibrating with pity for their youth and despair\nat the terribleness of human life; it had the anguish of a voice of\nprophecy. Until she spoke, Bartley had not realized that he was in love.\nThe strange woman, and her passionate sentence that rang out so sharply,\nhad frightened them both. They went home sadly with the lilacs, back\nto the Rue Saint-Jacques, walking very slowly, arm in arm. When they\nreached the house where Hilda lodged, Bartley went across the court with\nher, and up the dark old stairs to the third landing; and there he had\nkissed her for the first time. He had shut his eyes to give him the\ncourage, he remembered, and she had trembled so--\n\nBartley started when Hilda rang the little bell beside her. \"Dear me,\nwhy did you do that? I had quite forgotten--I was back there. It was\nvery jolly,\" he murmured lazily, as Marie came in to take away the\ncoffee.\n\nHilda laughed and went over to the piano. \"Well, we are neither of us\ntwenty now, you know. Have I told you about my new play? Mac is writing\none; really for me this time. You see, I'm coming on.\"\n\n\"I've seen nothing else. What kind of a part is it? Shall you wear\nyellow gowns? I hope so.\"\n\nHe was looking at her round slender figure, as she stood by the piano,\nturning over a pile of music, and he felt the energy in every line of\nit.\n\n\"No, it isn't a dress-up part. He doesn't seem to fancy me in fine\nfeathers. He says I ought to be minding the pigs at home, and I suppose\nI ought. But he's given me some good Irish songs. Listen.\"\n\nShe sat down at the piano and sang. When she finished, Alexander shook\nhimself out of a reverie.\n\n\"Sing `The Harp That Once,' Hilda. You used to sing it so well.\"\n\n\"Nonsense. Of course I can't really sing, except the way my mother\nand grandmother did before me. Most actresses nowadays learn to sing\nproperly, so I tried a master; but he confused me, just!\"\n\nAlexander laughed. \"All the same, sing it, Hilda.\"\n\nHilda started up from the stool and moved restlessly toward the window.\n\"It's really too warm in this room to sing. Don't you feel it?\"\n\nAlexander went over and opened the window for her. \"Aren't you afraid\nto let the wind low like that on your neck? Can't I get a scarf or\nsomething?\"\n\n\"Ask a theatre lady if she's afraid of drafts!\" Hilda laughed. \"But\nperhaps, as I'm so warm--give me your handkerchief. There, just in\nfront.\" He slipped the corners carefully under her shoulder-straps.\n\"There, that will do. It looks like a bib.\" She pushed his hand away\nquickly and stood looking out into the deserted square. \"Isn't London a\ntomb on Sunday night?\"\n\nAlexander caught the agitation in her voice. He stood a little behind\nher, and tried to steady himself as he said: \"It's soft and misty. See\nhow white the stars are.\"\n\nFor a long time neither Hilda nor Bartley spoke. They stood close\ntogether, looking out into the wan, watery sky, breathing always more\nquickly and lightly, and it seemed as if all the clocks in the world\nhad stopped. Suddenly he moved the clenched hand he held behind him\nand dropped it violently at his side. He felt a tremor run through the\nslender yellow figure in front of him.\n\nShe caught his handkerchief from her throat and thrust it at him without\nturning round. \"Here, take it. You must go now, Bartley. Good-night.\"\n\nBartley leaned over her shoulder, without touching her, and whispered in\nher ear: \"You are giving me a chance?\"\n\n\"Yes. Take it and go. This isn't fair, you know. Good-night.\"\n\nAlexander unclenched the two hands at his sides. With one he threw down\nthe window and with the other--still standing behind her--he drew her\nback against him.\n\nShe uttered a little cry, threw her arms over her head, and drew his\nface down to hers. \"Are you going to let me love you a little, Bartley?\"\nshe whispered.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nIt was the afternoon of the day before Christmas. Mrs. Alexander had\nbeen driving about all the morning, leaving presents at the houses of\nher friends. She lunched alone, and as she rose from the table she spoke\nto the butler: \"Thomas, I am going down to the kitchen now to see Norah.\nIn half an hour you are to bring the greens up from the cellar and put\nthem in the library. Mr. Alexander will be home at three to hang them\nhimself. Don't forget the stepladder, and plenty of tacks and\nstring. You may bring the azaleas upstairs. Take the white one to Mr.\nAlexander's study. Put the two pink ones in this room, and the red one\nin the drawing-room.\"\n\nA little before three o'clock Mrs. Alexander went into the library to\nsee that everything was ready. She pulled the window shades high, for\nthe weather was dark and stormy, and there was little light, even in\nthe streets. A foot of snow had fallen during the morning, and the wide\nspace over the river was thick with flying flakes that fell and wreathed\nthe masses of floating ice. Winifred was standing by the window when\nshe heard the front door open. She hurried to the hall as Alexander came\nstamping in, covered with snow. He kissed her joyfully and brushed away\nthe snow that fell on her hair.\n\n\"I wish I had asked you to meet me at the office and walk home with me,\nWinifred. The Common is beautiful. The boys have swept the snow off the\npond and are skating furiously. Did the cyclamens come?\"\n\n\"An hour ago. What splendid ones! But aren't you frightfully\nextravagant?\"\n\n\"Not for Christmas-time. I'll go upstairs and change my coat. I shall be\ndown in a moment. Tell Thomas to get everything ready.\"\n\nWhen Alexander reappeared, he took his wife's arm and went with her into\nthe library. \"When did the azaleas get here? Thomas has got the white\none in my room.\"\n\n\"I told him to put it there.\"\n\n\"But, I say, it's much the finest of the lot!\"\n\n\"That's why I had it put there. There is too much color in that room for\na red one, you know.\"\n\nBartley began to sort the greens. \"It looks very splendid there, but I\nfeel piggish to have it. However, we really spend more time there than\nanywhere else in the house. Will you hand me the holly?\"\n\nHe climbed up the stepladder, which creaked under his weight, and\nbegan to twist the tough stems of the holly into the frame-work of the\nchandelier.\n\n\"I forgot to tell you that I had a letter from Wilson, this morning,\nexplaining his telegram. He is coming on because an old uncle up in\nVermont has conveniently died and left Wilson a little money--something\nlike ten thousand. He's coming on to settle up the estate. Won't it be\njolly to have him?\"\n\n\"And how fine that he's come into a little money. I can see him posting\ndown State Street to the steamship offices. He will get a good many\ntrips out of that ten thousand. What can have detained him? I expected\nhim here for luncheon.\"\n\n\"Those trains from Albany are always late. He'll be along sometime this\nafternoon. And now, don't you want to go upstairs and lie down for\nan hour? You've had a busy morning and I don't want you to be tired\nto-night.\"\n\nAfter his wife went upstairs Alexander worked energetically at the\ngreens for a few moments. Then, as he was cutting off a length of\nstring, he sighed suddenly and sat down, staring out of the window at\nthe snow. The animation died out of his face, but in his eyes there was\na restless light, a look of apprehension and suspense. He kept clasping\nand unclasping his big hands as if he were trying to realize something.\nThe clock ticked through the minutes of a half-hour and the afternoon\noutside began to thicken and darken turbidly. Alexander, since he first\nsat down, had not changed his position. He leaned forward, his hands\nbetween his knees, scarcely breathing, as if he were holding himself\naway from his surroundings, from the room, and from the very chair in\nwhich he sat, from everything except the wild eddies of snow above the\nriver on which his eyes were fixed with feverish intentness, as if he\nwere trying to project himself thither. When at last Lucius Wilson was\nannounced, Alexander sprang eagerly to his feet and hurried to meet his\nold instructor.\n\n\"Hello, Wilson. What luck! Come into the library. We are to have a lot\nof people to dinner to-night, and Winifred's lying down. You will\nexcuse her, won't you? And now what about yourself? Sit down and tell me\neverything.\"\n\n\"I think I'd rather move about, if you don't mind. I've been sitting in\nthe train for a week, it seems to me.\" Wilson stood before the fire with\nhis hands behind him and looked about the room. \"You HAVE been busy.\nBartley, if I'd had my choice of all possible places in which to spend\nChristmas, your house would certainly be the place I'd have chosen.\nHappy people do a great deal for their friends. A house like this\nthrows its warmth out. I felt it distinctly as I was coming through\nthe Berkshires. I could scarcely believe that I was to see Mrs. Bartley\nagain so soon.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Wilson. She'll be as glad to see you. Shall we have tea now?\nI'll ring for Thomas to clear away this litter. Winifred says I always\nwreck the house when I try to do anything. Do you know, I am quite\ntired. Looks as if I were not used to work, doesn't it?\" Alexander\nlaughed and dropped into a chair. \"You know, I'm sailing the day after\nNew Year's.\"\n\n\"Again? Why, you've been over twice since I was here in the spring,\nhaven't you?\"\n\n\"Oh, I was in London about ten days in the summer. Went to escape the\nhot weather more than anything else. I shan't be gone more than a month\nthis time. Winifred and I have been up in Canada for most of the autumn.\nThat Moorlock Bridge is on my back all the time. I never had so much\ntrouble with a job before.\" Alexander moved about restlessly and fell to\npoking the fire.\n\n\"Haven't I seen in the papers that there is some trouble about a\ntidewater bridge of yours in New Jersey?\"\n\n\"Oh, that doesn't amount to anything. It's held up by a steel strike. A\nbother, of course, but the sort of thing one is always having to put up\nwith. But the Moorlock Bridge is a continual anxiety. You see, the truth\nis, we are having to build pretty well to the strain limit up there.\nThey've crowded me too much on the cost. It's all very well if\neverything goes well, but these estimates have never been used for\nanything of such length before. However, there's nothing to be done.\nThey hold me to the scale I've used in shorter bridges. The last thing a\nbridge commission cares about is the kind of bridge you build.\"\n\n\nWhen Bartley had finished dressing for dinner he went into his study,\nwhere he found his wife arranging flowers on his writing-table.\n\n\"These pink roses just came from Mrs. Hastings,\" she said, smiling, \"and\nI am sure she meant them for you.\"\n\nBartley looked about with an air of satisfaction at the greens and the\nwreaths in the windows. \"Have you a moment, Winifred? I have just now\nbeen thinking that this is our twelfth Christmas. Can you realize it?\"\nHe went up to the table and took her hands away from the flowers, drying\nthem with his pocket handkerchief. \"They've been awfully happy ones, all\nof them, haven't they?\" He took her in his arms and bent back, lifting\nher a little and giving her a long kiss. \"You are happy, aren't you\nWinifred? More than anything else in the world, I want you to be happy.\nSometimes, of late, I've thought you looked as if you were troubled.\"\n\n\"No; it's only when you are troubled and harassed that I feel worried,\nBartley. I wish you always seemed as you do to-night. But you don't,\nalways.\" She looked earnestly and inquiringly into his eyes.\n\nAlexander took her two hands from his shoulders and swung them back and\nforth in his own, laughing his big blond laugh.\n\n\"I'm growing older, my dear; that's what you feel. Now, may I show you\nsomething? I meant to save them until to-morrow, but I want you to\nwear them to-night.\" He took a little leather box out of his pocket and\nopened it. On the white velvet lay two long pendants of curiously worked\ngold, set with pearls. Winifred looked from the box to Bartley and\nexclaimed:--\n\n\"Where did you ever find such gold work, Bartley?\"\n\n\"It's old Flemish. Isn't it fine?\"\n\n\"They are the most beautiful things, dear. But, you know, I never wear\nearrings.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I know. But I want you to wear them. I have always wanted\nyou to. So few women can. There must be a good ear, to begin with, and\na nose\"--he waved his hand--\"above reproach. Most women look silly in\nthem. They go only with faces like yours--very, very proud, and just a\nlittle hard.\"\n\nWinifred laughed as she went over to the mirror and fitted the delicate\nsprings to the lobes of her ears. \"Oh, Bartley, that old foolishness\nabout my being hard. It really hurts my feelings. But I must go down\nnow. People are beginning to come.\"\n\nBartley drew her arm about his neck and went to the door with her. \"Not\nhard to me, Winifred,\" he whispered. \"Never, never hard to me.\"\n\nLeft alone, he paced up and down his study. He was at home again, among\nall the dear familiar things that spoke to him of so many happy years.\nHis house to-night would be full of charming people, who liked and\nadmired him. Yet all the time, underneath his pleasure and hopefulness\nand satisfaction, he was conscious of the vibration of an unnatural\nexcitement. Amid this light and warmth and friendliness, he sometimes\nstarted and shuddered, as if some one had stepped on his grave.\nSomething had broken loose in him of which he knew nothing except\nthat it was sullen and powerful, and that it wrung and tortured him.\nSometimes it came upon him softly, in enervating reveries. Sometimes it\nbattered him like the cannon rolling in the hold of the vessel. Always,\nnow, it brought with it a sense of quickened life, of stimulating\ndanger. To-night it came upon him suddenly, as he was walking the floor,\nafter his wife left him. It seemed impossible; he could not believe it.\nHe glanced entreatingly at the door, as if to call her back. He heard\nvoices in the hall below, and knew that he must go down. Going over to\nthe window, he looked out at the lights across the river. How could this\nhappen here, in his own house, among the things he loved? What was it\nthat reached in out of the darkness and thrilled him? As he stood\nthere he had a feeling that he would never escape. He shut his eyes and\npressed his forehead against the cold window glass, breathing in the\nchill that came through it. \"That this,\" he groaned, \"that this should\nhave happened to ME!\"\n\n\nOn New Year's day a thaw set in, and during the night torrents of rain\nfell. In the morning, the morning of Alexander's departure for England,\nthe river was streaked with fog and the rain drove hard against the\nwindows of the breakfast-room. Alexander had finished his coffee and\nwas pacing up and down. His wife sat at the table, watching him. She was\npale and unnaturally calm. When Thomas brought the letters, Bartley sank\ninto his chair and ran them over rapidly.\n\n\"Here's a note from old Wilson. He's safe back at his grind, and says he\nhad a bully time. `The memory of Mrs. Bartley will make my whole winter\nfragrant.' Just like him. He will go on getting measureless satisfaction\nout of you by his study fire. What a man he is for looking on at life!\"\nBartley sighed, pushed the letters back impatiently, and went over to\nthe window. \"This is a nasty sort of day to sail. I've a notion to call\nit off. Next week would be time enough.\"\n\n\"That would only mean starting twice. It wouldn't really help you out at\nall,\" Mrs. Alexander spoke soothingly. \"And you'd come back late for all\nyour engagements.\"\n\nBartley began jingling some loose coins in his pocket. \"I wish things\nwould let me rest. I'm tired of work, tired of people, tired of trailing\nabout.\" He looked out at the storm-beaten river.\n\nWinifred came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. \"That's\nwhat you always say, poor Bartley! At bottom you really like all these\nthings. Can't you remember that?\"\n\nHe put his arm about her. \"All the same, life runs smoothly enough with\nsome people, and with me it's always a messy sort of patchwork. It's\nlike the song; peace is where I am not. How can you face it all with so\nmuch fortitude?\"\n\nShe looked at him with that clear gaze which Wilson had so much admired,\nwhich he had felt implied such high confidence and fearless pride. \"Oh,\nI faced that long ago, when you were on your first bridge, up at old\nAllway. I knew then that your paths were not to be paths of peace, but I\ndecided that I wanted to follow them.\"\n\nBartley and his wife stood silent for a long time; the fire crackled in\nthe grate, the rain beat insistently upon the windows, and the sleepy\nAngora looked up at them curiously.\n\nPresently Thomas made a discreet sound at the door. \"Shall Edward bring\ndown your trunks, sir?\"\n\n\"Yes; they are ready. Tell him not to forget the big portfolio on the\nstudy table.\"\n\nThomas withdrew, closing the door softly. Bartley turned away from his\nwife, still holding her hand. \"It never gets any easier, Winifred.\"\n\nThey both started at the sound of the carriage on the pavement outside.\nAlexander sat down and leaned his head on his hand. His wife bent over\nhim. \"Courage,\" she said gayly. Bartley rose and rang the bell. Thomas\nbrought him his hat and stick and ulster. At the sight of these, the\nsupercilious Angora moved restlessly, quitted her red cushion by\nthe fire, and came up, waving her tail in vexation at these ominous\nindications of change. Alexander stooped to stroke her, and then plunged\ninto his coat and drew on his gloves. His wife held his stick, smiling.\nBartley smiled too, and his eyes cleared. \"I'll work like the devil,\nWinifred, and be home again before you realize I've gone.\" He kissed her\nquickly several times, hurried out of the front door into the rain, and\nwaved to her from the carriage window as the driver was starting his\nmelancholy, dripping black horses. Alexander sat with his hands clenched\non his knees. As the carriage turned up the hill, he lifted one hand and\nbrought it down violently. \"This time\"--he spoke aloud and through his\nset teeth--\"this time I'm going to end it!\"\n\n\nOn the afternoon of the third day out, Alexander was sitting well to the\nstern, on the windward side where the chairs were few, his rugs over\nhim and the collar of his fur-lined coat turned up about his ears. The\nweather had so far been dark and raw. For two hours he had been\nwatching the low, dirty sky and the beating of the heavy rain upon\nthe iron-colored sea. There was a long, oily swell that made exercise\nlaborious. The decks smelled of damp woolens, and the air was so humid\nthat drops of moisture kept gathering upon his hair and mustache. He\nseldom moved except to brush them away. The great open spaces made\nhim passive and the restlessness of the water quieted him. He intended\nduring the voyage to decide upon a course of action, but he held all\nthis away from him for the present and lay in a blessed gray\noblivion. Deep down in him somewhere his resolution was weakening and\nstrengthening, ebbing and flowing. The thing that perturbed him went on\nas steadily as his pulse, but he was almost unconscious of it. He was\nsubmerged in the vast impersonal grayness about him, and at intervals\nthe sidelong roll of the boat measured off time like the ticking of a\nclock. He felt released from everything that troubled and perplexed\nhim. It was as if he had tricked and outwitted torturing memories, had\nactually managed to get on board without them. He thought of nothing at\nall. If his mind now and again picked a face out of the grayness, it was\nLucius Wilson's, or the face of an old schoolmate, forgotten for years;\nor it was the slim outline of a favorite greyhound he used to hunt\njack-rabbits with when he was a boy.\n\nToward six o'clock the wind rose and tugged at the tarpaulin and brought\nthe swell higher. After dinner Alexander came back to the wet deck,\npiled his damp rugs over him again, and sat smoking, losing himself in\nthe obliterating blackness and drowsing in the rush of the gale. Before\nhe went below a few bright stars were pricked off between heavily moving\nmasses of cloud.\n\nThe next morning was bright and mild, with a fresh breeze. Alexander\nfelt the need of exercise even before he came out of his cabin. When he\nwent on deck the sky was blue and blinding, with heavy whiffs of white\ncloud, smoke-colored at the edges, moving rapidly across it. The water\nwas roughish, a cold, clear indigo breaking into whitecaps. Bartley\nwalked for two hours, and then stretched himself in the sun until\nlunch-time.\n\nIn the afternoon he wrote a long letter to Winifred. Later, as he walked\nthe deck through a splendid golden sunset, his spirits rose continually.\nIt was agreeable to come to himself again after several days of numbness\nand torpor. He stayed out until the last tinge of violet had faded from\nthe water. There was literally a taste of life on his lips as he\nsat down to dinner and ordered a bottle of champagne. He was late in\nfinishing his dinner, and drank rather more wine than he had meant to.\nWhen he went above, the wind had risen and the deck was almost deserted.\nAs he stepped out of the door a gale lifted his heavy fur coat about\nhis shoulders. He fought his way up the deck with keen exhilaration.\nThe moment he stepped, almost out of breath, behind the shelter of the\nstern, the wind was cut off, and he felt, like a rush of warm air, a\nsense of close and intimate companionship. He started back and tore his\ncoat open as if something warm were actually clinging to him beneath it.\nHe hurried up the deck and went into the saloon parlor, full of women\nwho had retreated thither from the sharp wind. He threw himself upon\nthem. He talked delightfully to the older ones and played accompaniments\nfor the younger ones until the last sleepy girl had followed her mother\nbelow. Then he went into the smoking-room. He played bridge until two\no'clock in the morning, and managed to lose a considerable sum of money\nwithout really noticing that he was doing so.\n\nAfter the break of one fine day the weather was pretty consistently\ndull. When the low sky thinned a trifle, the pale white spot of a sun\ndid no more than throw a bluish lustre on the water, giving it the dark\nbrightness of newly cut lead. Through one after another of those gray\ndays Alexander drowsed and mused, drinking in the grateful moisture. But\nthe complete peace of the first part of the voyage was over. Sometimes\nhe rose suddenly from his chair as if driven out, and paced the deck for\nhours. People noticed his propensity for walking in rough weather, and\nwatched him curiously as he did his rounds. From his abstraction and the\ndetermined set of his jaw, they fancied he must be thinking about his\nbridge. Every one had heard of the new cantilever bridge in Canada.\n\nBut Alexander was not thinking about his work. After the fourth night\nout, when his will suddenly softened under his hands, he had been\ncontinually hammering away at himself. More and more often, when he\nfirst wakened in the morning or when he stepped into a warm place after\nbeing chilled on the deck, he felt a sudden painful delight at being\nnearer another shore. Sometimes when he was most despondent, when he\nthought himself worn out with this struggle, in a flash he was free\nof it and leaped into an overwhelming consciousness of himself. On the\ninstant he felt that marvelous return of the impetuousness, the intense\nexcitement, the increasing expectancy of youth.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nThe last two days of the voyage Bartley found almost intolerable. The\nstop at Queenstown, the tedious passage up the Mersey, were things that\nhe noted dimly through his growing impatience. He had planned to stop in\nLiverpool; but, instead, he took the boat train for London.\n\nEmerging at Euston at half-past three o'clock in the afternoon,\nAlexander had his luggage sent to the Savoy and drove at once to Bedford\nSquare. When Marie met him at the door, even her strong sense of the\nproprieties could not restrain her surprise and delight. She blushed and\nsmiled and fumbled his card in her confusion before she ran upstairs.\nAlexander paced up and down the hallway, buttoning and unbuttoning his\novercoat, until she returned and took him up to Hilda's living-room. The\nroom was empty when he entered. A coal fire was crackling in the grate\nand the lamps were lit, for it was already beginning to grow dark\noutside. Alexander did not sit down. He stood his ground over by the\nwindows until Hilda came in. She called his name on the threshold, but\nin her swift flight across the room she felt a change in him and caught\nherself up so deftly that he could not tell just when she did it.\nShe merely brushed his cheek with her lips and put a hand lightly and\njoyously on either shoulder. \"Oh, what a grand thing to happen on a\nraw day! I felt it in my bones when I woke this morning that something\nsplendid was going to turn up. I thought it might be Sister Kate or\nCousin Mike would be happening along. I never dreamed it would be you,\nBartley. But why do you let me chatter on like this? Come over to the\nfire; you're chilled through.\"\n\nShe pushed him toward the big chair by the fire, and sat down on a stool\nat the opposite side of the hearth, her knees drawn up to her chin,\nlaughing like a happy little girl.\n\n\"When did you come, Bartley, and how did it happen? You haven't spoken a\nword.\"\n\n\"I got in about ten minutes ago. I landed at Liverpool this morning and\ncame down on the boat train.\"\n\nAlexander leaned forward and warmed his hands before the blaze. Hilda\nwatched him with perplexity.\n\n\"There's something troubling you, Bartley. What is it?\"\n\nBartley bent lower over the fire. \"It's the whole thing that troubles\nme, Hilda. You and I.\"\n\nHilda took a quick, soft breath. She looked at his heavy shoulders and\nbig, determined head, thrust forward like a catapult in leash.\n\n\"What about us, Bartley?\" she asked in a thin voice.\n\nHe locked and unlocked his hands over the grate and spread his fingers\nclose to the bluish flame, while the coals crackled and the clock ticked\nand a street vendor began to call under the window. At last Alexander\nbrought out one word:--\n\n\"Everything!\"\n\nHilda was pale by this time, and her eyes were wide with fright. She\nlooked about desperately from Bartley to the door, then to the windows,\nand back again to Bartley. She rose uncertainly, touched his hair with\nher hand, then sank back upon her stool.\n\n\"I'll do anything you wish me to, Bartley,\" she said tremulously. \"I\ncan't stand seeing you miserable.\"\n\n\"I can't live with myself any longer,\" he answered roughly.\n\nHe rose and pushed the chair behind him and began to walk miserably\nabout the room, seeming to find it too small for him. He pulled up a\nwindow as if the air were heavy.\n\nHilda watched him from her corner, trembling and scarcely breathing,\ndark shadows growing about her eyes.\n\n\"It . . . it hasn't always made you miserable, has it?\" Her eyelids fell\nand her lips quivered.\n\n\"Always. But it's worse now. It's unbearable. It tortures me every\nminute.\"\n\n\"But why NOW?\" she asked piteously, wringing her hands.\n\nHe ignored her question. \"I am not a man who can live two lives,\" he\nwent on feverishly. \"Each life spoils the other. I get nothing but\nmisery out of either. The world is all there, just as it used to be,\nbut I can't get at it any more. There is this deception between me and\neverything.\"\n\nAt that word \"deception,\" spoken with such self-contempt, the color\nflashed back into Hilda's face as suddenly as if she had been struck\nby a whiplash. She bit her lip and looked down at her hands, which were\nclasped tightly in front of her.\n\n\"Could you--could you sit down and talk about it quietly, Bartley, as if\nI were a friend, and not some one who had to be defied?\"\n\nHe dropped back heavily into his chair by the fire. \"It was myself I was\ndefying, Hilda. I have thought about it until I am worn out.\"\n\nHe looked at her and his haggard face softened. He put out his hand\ntoward her as he looked away again into the fire.\n\nShe crept across to him, drawing her stool after her. \"When did you\nfirst begin to feel like this, Bartley?\"\n\n\"After the very first. The first was--sort of in play, wasn't it?\"\n\nHilda's face quivered, but she whispered: \"Yes, I think it must have\nbeen. But why didn't you tell me when you were here in the summer?\"\n\nAlexander groaned. \"I meant to, but somehow I couldn't. We had only a\nfew days, and your new play was just on, and you were so happy.\"\n\n\"Yes, I was happy, wasn't I?\" She pressed his hand gently in gratitude.\n\"Weren't you happy then, at all?\"\n\nShe closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if to draw in again the\nfragrance of those days. Something of their troubling sweetness came\nback to Alexander, too. He moved uneasily and his chair creaked.\n\n\"Yes, I was then. You know. But afterward. . .\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" she hurried, pulling her hand gently away from him.\nPresently it stole back to his coat sleeve. \"Please tell me one thing,\nBartley. At least, tell me that you believe I thought I was making you\nhappy.\"\n\nHis hand shut down quickly over the questioning fingers on his sleeves.\n\"Yes, Hilda; I know that,\" he said simply.\n\nShe leaned her head against his arm and spoke softly:--\n\n\"You see, my mistake was in wanting you to have everything. I wanted you\nto eat all the cakes and have them, too. I somehow believed that I could\ntake all the bad consequences for you. I wanted you always to be happy\nand handsome and successful--to have all the things that a great man\nought to have, and, once in a way, the careless holidays that great men\nare not permitted.\"\n\nBartley gave a bitter little laugh, and Hilda looked up and read in the\ndeepening lines of his face that youth and Bartley would not much longer\nstruggle together.\n\n\"I understand, Bartley. I was wrong. But I didn't know. You've only to\ntell me now. What must I do that I've not done, or what must I not do?\"\nShe listened intently, but she heard nothing but the creaking of his\nchair. \"You want me to say it?\" she whispered. \"You want to tell me that\nyou can only see me like this, as old friends do, or out in the world\namong people? I can do that.\"\n\n\"I can't,\" he said heavily.\n\nHilda shivered and sat still. Bartley leaned his head in his hands and\nspoke through his teeth. \"It's got to be a clean break, Hilda. I can't\nsee you at all, anywhere. What I mean is that I want you to promise\nnever to see me again, no matter how often I come, no matter how hard I\nbeg.\"\n\nHilda sprang up like a flame. She stood over him with her hands clenched\nat her side, her body rigid.\n\n\"No!\" she gasped. \"It's too late to ask that. Do you hear me, Bartley?\nIt's too late. I won't promise. It's abominable of you to ask me. Keep\naway if you wish; when have I ever followed you? But, if you come to me,\nI'll do as I see fit. The shamefulness of your asking me to do that! If\nyou come to me, I'll do as I see fit. Do you understand? Bartley, you're\ncowardly!\"\n\nAlexander rose and shook himself angrily. \"Yes, I know I'm cowardly.\nI'm afraid of myself. I don't trust myself any more. I carried it all\nlightly enough at first, but now I don't dare trifle with it. It's\ngetting the better of me. It's different now. I'm growing older, and\nyou've got my young self here with you. It's through him that I've come\nto wish for you all and all the time.\" He took her roughly in his arms.\n\"Do you know what I mean?\"\n\nHilda held her face back from him and began to cry bitterly. \"Oh,\nBartley, what am I to do? Why didn't you let me be angry with you? You\nask me to stay away from you because you want me! And I've got nobody\nbut you. I will do anything you say--but that! I will ask the least\nimaginable, but I must have SOMETHING!\"\n\nBartley turned away and sank down in his chair again. Hilda sat on the\narm of it and put her hands lightly on his shoulders.\n\n\"Just something Bartley. I must have you to think of through the months\nand months of loneliness. I must see you. I must know about you. The\nsight of you, Bartley, to see you living and happy and successful--can\nI never make you understand what that means to me?\" She pressed his\nshoulders gently. \"You see, loving some one as I love you makes the\nwhole world different. If I'd met you later, if I hadn't loved you so\nwell--but that's all over, long ago. Then came all those years without\nyou, lonely and hurt and discouraged; those decent young fellows and\npoor Mac, and me never heeding--hard as a steel spring. And then you\ncame back, not caring very much, but it made no difference.\"\n\nShe slid to the floor beside him, as if she were too tired to sit up any\nlonger. Bartley bent over and took her in his arms, kissing her mouth\nand her wet, tired eyes.\n\n\"Don't cry, don't cry,\" he whispered. \"We've tortured each other enough\nfor tonight. Forget everything except that I am here.\"\n\n\"I think I have forgotten everything but that already,\" she murmured.\n\"Ah, your dear arms!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nDuring the fortnight that Alexander was in London he drove himself hard.\nHe got through a great deal of personal business and saw a great many\nmen who were doing interesting things in his own profession. He disliked\nto think of his visits to London as holidays, and when he was there he\nworked even harder than he did at home.\n\nThe day before his departure for Liverpool was a singularly fine one.\nThe thick air had cleared overnight in a strong wind which brought in a\ngolden dawn and then fell off to a fresh breeze. When Bartley looked\nout of his windows from the Savoy, the river was flashing silver and the\ngray stone along the Embankment was bathed in bright, clear sunshine.\nLondon had wakened to life after three weeks of cold and sodden rain.\nBartley breakfasted hurriedly and went over his mail while the hotel\nvalet packed his trunks. Then he paid his account and walked rapidly\ndown the Strand past Charing Cross Station. His spirits rose with every\nstep, and when he reached Trafalgar Square, blazing in the sun, with\nits fountains playing and its column reaching up into the bright air,\nhe signaled to a hansom, and, before he knew what he was about, told the\ndriver to go to Bedford Square by way of the British Museum.\n\nWhen he reached Hilda's apartment she met him, fresh as the morning\nitself. Her rooms were flooded with sunshine and full of the flowers he\nhad been sending her. She would never let him give her anything else.\n\n\"Are you busy this morning, Hilda?\" he asked as he sat down, his hat and\ngloves in his hand.\n\n\"Very. I've been up and about three hours, working at my part. We open\nin February, you know.\"\n\n\"Well, then you've worked enough. And so have I. I've seen all my men,\nmy packing is done, and I go up to Liverpool this evening. But this\nmorning we are going to have a holiday. What do you say to a drive out\nto Kew and Richmond? You may not get another day like this all winter.\nIt's like a fine April day at home. May I use your telephone? I want to\norder the carriage.\"\n\n\"Oh, how jolly! There, sit down at the desk. And while you are\ntelephoning I'll change my dress. I shan't be long. All the morning\npapers are on the table.\"\n\nHilda was back in a few moments wearing a long gray squirrel coat and a\nbroad fur hat.\n\nBartley rose and inspected her. \"Why don't you wear some of those pink\nroses?\" he asked.\n\n\"But they came only this morning, and they have not even begun to open.\nI was saving them. I am so unconsciously thrifty!\" She laughed as she\nlooked about the room. \"You've been sending me far too many flowers,\nBartley. New ones every day. That's too often; though I do love to open\nthe boxes, and I take good care of them.\"\n\n\"Why won't you let me send you any of those jade or ivory things you are\nso fond of? Or pictures? I know a good deal about pictures.\"\n\nHilda shook her large hat as she drew the roses out of the tall glass.\n\"No, there are some things you can't do. There's the carriage. Will you\nbutton my gloves for me?\"\n\nBartley took her wrist and began to button the long gray suede glove.\n\"How gay your eyes are this morning, Hilda.\"\n\n\"That's because I've been studying. It always stirs me up a little.\"\n\nHe pushed the top of the glove up slowly. \"When did you learn to take\nhold of your parts like that?\"\n\n\"When I had nothing else to think of. Come, the carriage is waiting.\nWhat a shocking while you take.\"\n\n\"I'm in no hurry. We've plenty of time.\"\n\nThey found all London abroad. Piccadilly was a stream of rapidly\nmoving carriages, from which flashed furs and flowers and bright winter\ncostumes. The metal trappings of the harnesses shone dazzlingly, and the\nwheels were revolving disks that threw off rays of light. The parks were\nfull of children and nursemaids and joyful dogs that leaped and yelped\nand scratched up the brown earth with their paws.\n\n\"I'm not going until to-morrow, you know,\" Bartley announced suddenly.\n\"I'll cut off a day in Liverpool. I haven't felt so jolly this long\nwhile.\"\n\nHilda looked up with a smile which she tried not to make too glad. \"I\nthink people were meant to be happy, a little,\" she said.\n\nThey had lunch at Richmond and then walked to Twickenham, where they had\nsent the carriage. They drove back, with a glorious sunset behind them,\ntoward the distant gold-washed city. It was one of those rare afternoons\nwhen all the thickness and shadow of London are changed to a kind of\nshining, pulsing, special atmosphere; when the smoky vapors become\nfluttering golden clouds, nacreous veils of pink and amber; when all\nthat bleakness of gray stone and dullness of dirty brick trembles in\naureate light, and all the roofs and spires, and one great dome, are\nfloated in golden haze. On such rare afternoons the ugliest of cities\nbecomes the most poetic, and months of sodden days are offset by a\nmoment of miracle.\n\n\"It's like that with us Londoners, too,\" Hilda was saying. \"Everything\nis awfully grim and cheerless, our weather and our houses and our ways\nof amusing ourselves. But we can be happier than anybody. We can go mad\nwith joy, as the people do out in the fields on a fine Whitsunday. We\nmake the most of our moment.\"\n\nShe thrust her little chin out defiantly over her gray fur collar, and\nBartley looked down at her and laughed.\n\n\"You are a plucky one, you.\" He patted her glove with his hand. \"Yes,\nyou are a plucky one.\"\n\nHilda sighed. \"No, I'm not. Not about some things, at any rate. It\ndoesn't take pluck to fight for one's moment, but it takes pluck to go\nwithout--a lot. More than I have. I can't help it,\" she added fiercely.\n\nAfter miles of outlying streets and little gloomy houses, they reached\nLondon itself, red and roaring and murky, with a thick dampness coming\nup from the river, that betokened fog again to-morrow. The streets were\nfull of people who had worked indoors all through the priceless day and\nhad now come hungrily out to drink the muddy lees of it. They stood\nin long black lines, waiting before the pit entrances of the\ntheatres--short-coated boys, and girls in sailor hats, all shivering\nand chatting gayly. There was a blurred rhythm in all the dull city\nnoises--in the clatter of the cab horses and the rumbling of the busses,\nin the street calls, and in the undulating tramp, tramp of the crowd. It\nwas like the deep vibration of some vast underground machinery, and like\nthe muffled pulsations of millions of human hearts.\n\n[See \"The Barrel Organ by Alfred Noyes. Ed.] [I have placed it at the\nend for your convenience]\n\n\"Seems good to get back, doesn't it?\" Bartley whispered, as they drove\nfrom Bayswater Road into Oxford Street. \"London always makes me want to\nlive more than any other city in the world. You remember our priestess\nmummy over in the mummy-room, and how we used to long to go and bring\nher out on nights like this? Three thousand years! Ugh!\"\n\n\"All the same, I believe she used to feel it when we stood there and\nwatched her and wished her well. I believe she used to remember,\" Hilda\nsaid thoughtfully.\n\n\"I hope so. Now let's go to some awfully jolly place for dinner before\nwe go home. I could eat all the dinners there are in London to-night.\nWhere shall I tell the driver? The Piccadilly Restaurant? The music's\ngood there.\"\n\n\"There are too many people there whom one knows. Why not that little\nFrench place in Soho, where we went so often when you were here in\nthe summer? I love it, and I've never been there with any one but you.\nSometimes I go by myself, when I am particularly lonely.\"\n\n\"Very well, the sole's good there. How many street pianos there are\nabout to-night! The fine weather must have thawed them out. We've had\nfive miles of `Il Trovatore' now. They always make me feel jaunty. Are\nyou comfy, and not too tired?\"\n\n\"I'm not tired at all. I was just wondering how people can ever die.\nWhy did you remind me of the mummy? Life seems the strongest and most\nindestructible thing in the world. Do you really believe that all those\npeople rushing about down there, going to good dinners and clubs and\ntheatres, will be dead some day, and not care about anything? I don't\nbelieve it, and I know I shan't die, ever! You see, I feel too--too\npowerful!\"\n\nThe carriage stopped. Bartley sprang out and swung her quickly to\nthe pavement. As he lifted her in his two hands he whispered: \"You\nare--powerful!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nThe last rehearsal was over, a tedious dress rehearsal which had lasted\nall day and exhausted the patience of every one who had to do with it.\nWhen Hilda had dressed for the street and came out of her dressing-room,\nshe found Hugh MacConnell waiting for her in the corridor.\n\n\"The fog's thicker than ever, Hilda. There have been a great many\naccidents to-day. It's positively unsafe for you to be out alone. Will\nyou let me take you home?\"\n\n\"How good of you, Mac. If you are going with me, I think I'd rather\nwalk. I've had no exercise to-day, and all this has made me nervous.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't wonder,\" said MacConnell dryly. Hilda pulled down her\nveil and they stepped out into the thick brown wash that submerged St.\nMartin's Lane. MacConnell took her hand and tucked it snugly under his\narm. \"I'm sorry I was such a savage. I hope you didn't think I made an\nass of myself.\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it. I don't wonder you were peppery. Those things are\nawfully trying. How do you think it's going?\"\n\n\"Magnificently. That's why I got so stirred up. We are going to hear\nfrom this, both of us. And that reminds me; I've got news for you. They\nare going to begin repairs on the theatre about the middle of March, and\nwe are to run over to New York for six weeks. Bennett told me yesterday\nthat it was decided.\"\n\nHilda looked up delightedly at the tall gray figure beside her. He\nwas the only thing she could see, for they were moving through a dense\nopaqueness, as if they were walking at the bottom of the ocean.\n\n\"Oh, Mac, how glad I am! And they love your things over there, don't\nthey?\"\n\n\"Shall you be glad for--any other reason, Hilda?\"\n\nMacConnell put his hand in front of her to ward off some dark object. It\nproved to be only a lamp-post, and they beat in farther from the edge of\nthe pavement.\n\n\"What do you mean, Mac?\" Hilda asked nervously.\n\n\"I was just thinking there might be people over there you'd be glad to\nsee,\" he brought out awkwardly. Hilda said nothing, and as they walked\non MacConnell spoke again, apologetically: \"I hope you don't mind my\nknowing about it, Hilda. Don't stiffen up like that. No one else knows,\nand I didn't try to find out anything. I felt it, even before I knew who\nhe was. I knew there was somebody, and that it wasn't I.\"\n\nThey crossed Oxford Street in silence, feeling their way. The busses had\nstopped running and the cab-drivers were leading their horses. When\nthey reached the other side, MacConnell said suddenly, \"I hope you are\nhappy.\"\n\n\"Terribly, dangerously happy, Mac,\"--Hilda spoke quietly, pressing the\nrough sleeve of his greatcoat with her gloved hand.\n\n\"You've always thought me too old for you, Hilda,--oh, of course you've\nnever said just that,--and here this fellow is not more than eight years\nyounger than I. I've always felt that if I could get out of my old case\nI might win you yet. It's a fine, brave youth I carry inside me, only\nhe'll never be seen.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, Mac. That has nothing to do with it. It's because you seem\ntoo close to me, too much my own kind. It would be like marrying Cousin\nMike, almost. I really tried to care as you wanted me to, away back in\nthe beginning.\"\n\n\"Well, here we are, turning out of the Square. You are not angry with\nme, Hilda? Thank you for this walk, my dear. Go in and get dry things on\nat once. You'll be having a great night to-morrow.\"\n\nShe put out her hand. \"Thank you, Mac, for everything. Good-night.\"\n\nMacConnell trudged off through the fog, and she went slowly upstairs.\nHer slippers and dressing gown were waiting for her before the fire. \"I\nshall certainly see him in New York. He will see by the papers that we\nare coming. Perhaps he knows it already,\" Hilda kept thinking as she\nundressed. \"Perhaps he will be at the dock. No, scarcely that; but I may\nmeet him in the street even before he comes to see me.\" Marie placed\nthe tea-table by the fire and brought Hilda her letters. She looked them\nover, and started as she came to one in a handwriting that she did not\noften see; Alexander had written to her only twice before, and he did\nnot allow her to write to him at all. \"Thank you, Marie. You may go\nnow.\"\n\n\nHilda sat down by the table with the letter in her hand, still unopened.\nShe looked at it intently, turned it over, and felt its thickness with\nher fingers. She believed that she sometimes had a kind of second-sight\nabout letters, and could tell before she read them whether they brought\ngood or evil tidings. She put this one down on the table in front of her\nwhile she poured her tea. At last, with a little shiver of expectancy,\nshe tore open the envelope and read:--\n\n\nBoston, February --\n\nMY DEAR HILDA:--\n\nIt is after twelve o'clock. Every one else is in bed and I am sitting\nalone in my study. I have been happier in this room than anywhere else\nin the world. Happiness like that makes one insolent. I used to think\nthese four walls could stand against anything. And now I scarcely know\nmyself here. Now I know that no one can build his security upon the\nnobleness of another person. Two people, when they love each other,\ngrow alike in their tastes and habits and pride, but their moral natures\n(whatever we may mean by that canting expression) are never welded. The\nbase one goes on being base, and the noble one noble, to the end.\n\nThe last week has been a bad one; I have been realizing how things used\nto be with me. Sometimes I get used to being dead inside, but lately it\nhas been as if a window beside me had suddenly opened, and as if all the\nsmells of spring blew in to me. There is a garden out there, with stars\noverhead, where I used to walk at night when I had a single purpose and\na single heart. I can remember how I used to feel there, how beautiful\neverything about me was, and what life and power and freedom I felt in\nmyself. When the window opens I know exactly how it would feel to be out\nthere. But that garden is closed to me. How is it, I ask myself, that\neverything can be so different with me when nothing here has changed?\nI am in my own house, in my own study, in the midst of all these quiet\nstreets where my friends live. They are all safe and at peace with\nthemselves. But I am never at peace. I feel always on the edge of danger\nand change.\n\nI keep remembering locoed horses I used to see on the range when I was\na boy. They changed like that. We used to catch them and put them up in\nthe corral, and they developed great cunning. They would pretend to eat\ntheir oats like the other horses, but we knew they were always scheming\nto get back at the loco.\n\nIt seems that a man is meant to live only one life in this world. When\nhe tries to live a second, he develops another nature. I feel as if\na second man had been grafted into me. At first he seemed only a\npleasure-loving simpleton, of whose company I was rather ashamed, and\nwhom I used to hide under my coat when I walked the Embankment, in\nLondon. But now he is strong and sullen, and he is fighting for his\nlife at the cost of mine. That is his one activity: to grow strong. No\ncreature ever wanted so much to live. Eventually, I suppose, he will\nabsorb me altogether. Believe me, you will hate me then.\n\nAnd what have you to do, Hilda, with this ugly story? Nothing at all.\nThe little boy drank of the prettiest brook in the forest and he became\na stag. I write all this because I can never tell it to you, and because\nit seems as if I could not keep silent any longer. And because I suffer,\nHilda. If any one I loved suffered like this, I'd want to know it. Help\nme, Hilda!\n\nB.A.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nOn the last Saturday in April, the New York \"Times\" published an account\nof the strike complications which were delaying Alexander's New Jersey\nbridge, and stated that the engineer himself was in town and at his\noffice on West Tenth Street.\n\nOn Sunday, the day after this notice appeared, Alexander worked all day\nat his Tenth Street rooms. His business often called him to New York,\nand he had kept an apartment there for years, subletting it when he went\nabroad for any length of time. Besides his sleeping-room and bath, there\nwas a large room, formerly a painter's studio, which he used as a\nstudy and office. It was furnished with the cast-off possessions of his\nbachelor days and with odd things which he sheltered for friends of\nhis who followed itinerant and more or less artistic callings. Over the\nfireplace there was a large old-fashioned gilt mirror. Alexander's big\nwork-table stood in front of one of the three windows, and above the\ncouch hung the one picture in the room, a big canvas of charming color\nand spirit, a study of the Luxembourg Gardens in early spring, painted\nin his youth by a man who had since become a portrait-painter of\ninternational renown. He had done it for Alexander when they were\nstudents together in Paris.\n\n\nSunday was a cold, raw day and a fine rain fell continuously. When\nAlexander came back from dinner he put more wood on his fire, made\nhimself comfortable, and settled down at his desk, where he began\nchecking over estimate sheets. It was after nine o'clock and he was\nlighting a second pipe, when he thought he heard a sound at his door.\nHe started and listened, holding the burning match in his hand; again\nhe heard the same sound, like a firm, light tap. He rose and crossed the\nroom quickly. When he threw open the door he recognized the figure that\nshrank back into the bare, dimly lit hallway. He stood for a moment in\nawkward constraint, his pipe in his hand.\n\n\"Come in,\" he said to Hilda at last, and closed the door behind her. He\npointed to a chair by the fire and went back to his worktable. \"Won't\nyou sit down?\"\n\nHe was standing behind the table, turning over a pile of blueprints\nnervously. The yellow light from the student's lamp fell on his hands\nand the purple sleeves of his velvet smoking-jacket, but his flushed\nface and big, hard head were in the shadow. There was something about\nhim that made Hilda wish herself at her hotel again, in the street\nbelow, anywhere but where she was.\n\n\"Of course I know, Bartley,\" she said at last, \"that after this you\nwon't owe me the least consideration. But we sail on Tuesday. I saw that\ninterview in the paper yesterday, telling where you were, and I thought\nI had to see you. That's all. Good-night; I'm going now.\" She turned and\nher hand closed on the door-knob.\n\nAlexander hurried toward her and took her gently by the arm. \"Sit down,\nHilda; you're wet through. Let me take off your coat--and your boots;\nthey're oozing water.\" He knelt down and began to unlace her shoes,\nwhile Hilda shrank into the chair. \"Here, put your feet on this stool.\nYou don't mean to say you walked down--and without overshoes!\"\n\nHilda hid her face in her hands. \"I was afraid to take a cab. Can't you\nsee, Bartley, that I'm terribly frightened? I've been through this a\nhundred times to-day. Don't be any more angry than you can help. I was\nall right until I knew you were in town. If you'd sent me a note, or\ntelephoned me, or anything! But you won't let me write to you, and I had\nto see you after that letter, that terrible letter you wrote me when you\ngot home.\"\n\nAlexander faced her, resting his arm on the mantel behind him, and began\nto brush the sleeve of his jacket. \"Is this the way you mean to answer\nit, Hilda?\" he asked unsteadily.\n\nShe was afraid to look up at him. \"Didn't--didn't you mean even to say\ngoodby to me, Bartley? Did you mean just to--quit me?\" she asked. \"I\ncame to tell you that I'm willing to do as you asked me. But it's no use\ntalking about that now. Give me my things, please.\" She put her hand out\ntoward the fender.\n\nAlexander sat down on the arm of her chair. \"Did you think I had\nforgotten you were in town, Hilda? Do you think I kept away by accident?\nDid you suppose I didn't know you were sailing on Tuesday? There is a\nletter for you there, in my desk drawer. It was to have reached you on\nthe steamer. I was all the morning writing it. I told myself that if I\nwere really thinking of you, and not of myself, a letter would be better\nthan nothing. Marks on paper mean something to you.\" He paused. \"They\nnever did to me.\"\n\nHilda smiled up at him beautifully and put her hand on his sleeve. \"Oh,\nBartley! Did you write to me? Why didn't you telephone me to let me know\nthat you had? Then I wouldn't have come.\"\n\nAlexander slipped his arm about her. \"I didn't know it before, Hilda,\non my honor I didn't, but I believe it was because, deep down in me\nsomewhere, I was hoping I might drive you to do just this. I've watched\nthat door all day. I've jumped up if the fire crackled. I think I have\nfelt that you were coming.\" He bent his face over her hair.\n\n\"And I,\" she whispered,--\"I felt that you were feeling that. But when I\ncame, I thought I had been mistaken.\"\n\nAlexander started up and began to walk up and down the room.\n\n\"No, you weren't mistaken. I've been up in Canada with my bridge, and\nI arranged not to come to New York until after you had gone. Then, when\nyour manager added two more weeks, I was already committed.\" He dropped\nupon the stool in front of her and sat with his hands hanging between\nhis knees. \"What am I to do, Hilda?\"\n\n\"That's what I wanted to see you about, Bartley. I'm going to do\nwhat you asked me to do when you were in London. Only I'll do it more\ncompletely. I'm going to marry.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Oh, it doesn't matter much! One of them. Only not Mac. I'm too fond of\nhim.\"\n\nAlexander moved restlessly. \"Are you joking, Hilda?\"\n\n\"Indeed I'm not.\"\n\n\"Then you don't know what you're talking about.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know very well. I've thought about it a great deal, and I've\nquite decided. I never used to understand how women did things like\nthat, but I know now. It's because they can't be at the mercy of the man\nthey love any longer.\"\n\nAlexander flushed angrily. \"So it's better to be at the mercy of a man\nyou don't love?\"\n\n\"Under such circumstances, infinitely!\"\n\nThere was a flash in her eyes that made Alexander's fall. He got up and\nwent over to the window, threw it open, and leaned out. He heard Hilda\nmoving about behind him. When he looked over his shoulder she was lacing\nher boots. He went back and stood over her.\n\n\"Hilda you'd better think a while longer before you do that. I don't\nknow what I ought to say, but I don't believe you'd be happy; truly I\ndon't. Aren't you trying to frighten me?\"\n\nShe tied the knot of the last lacing and put her boot-heel down firmly.\n\"No; I'm telling you what I've made up my mind to do. I suppose I\nwould better do it without telling you. But afterward I shan't have an\nopportunity to explain, for I shan't be seeing you again.\"\n\nAlexander started to speak, but caught himself. When Hilda rose he sat\ndown on the arm of her chair and drew her back into it.\n\n\"I wouldn't be so much alarmed if I didn't know how utterly reckless\nyou CAN be. Don't do anything like that rashly.\" His face grew troubled.\n\"You wouldn't be happy. You are not that kind of woman. I'd never have\nanother hour's peace if I helped to make you do a thing like that.\" He\ntook her face between his hands and looked down into it. \"You see, you\nare different, Hilda. Don't you know you are?\" His voice grew softer,\nhis touch more and more tender. \"Some women can do that sort of thing,\nbut you--you can love as queens did, in the old time.\"\n\nHilda had heard that soft, deep tone in his voice only once before. She\nclosed her eyes; her lips and eyelids trembled. \"Only one, Bartley. Only\none. And he threw it back at me a second time.\"\n\nShe felt the strength leap in the arms that held her so lightly.\n\n\"Try him again, Hilda. Try him once again.\"\n\nShe looked up into his eyes, and hid her face in her hands.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\nOn Tuesday afternoon a Boston lawyer, who had been trying a case in\nVermont, was standing on the siding at White River Junction when the\nCanadian Express pulled by on its northward journey. As the day-coaches\nat the rear end of the long train swept by him, the lawyer noticed at\none of the windows a man's head, with thick rumpled hair. \"Curious,\" he\nthought; \"that looked like Alexander, but what would he be doing back\nthere in the daycoaches?\"\n\nIt was, indeed, Alexander.\n\nThat morning a telegram from Moorlock had reached him, telling him that\nthere was serious trouble with the bridge and that he was needed there\nat once, so he had caught the first train out of New York. He had taken\na seat in a day-coach to avoid the risk of meeting any one he knew, and\nbecause he did not wish to be comfortable. When the telegram arrived,\nAlexander was at his rooms on Tenth Street, packing his bag to go to\nBoston. On Monday night he had written a long letter to his wife, but\nwhen morning came he was afraid to send it, and the letter was still in\nhis pocket. Winifred was not a woman who could bear disappointment. She\ndemanded a great deal of herself and of the people she loved; and\nshe never failed herself. If he told her now, he knew, it would be\nirretrievable. There would be no going back. He would lose the thing\nhe valued most in the world; he would be destroying himself and his own\nhappiness. There would be nothing for him afterward. He seemed to see\nhimself dragging out a restless existence on the Continent--Cannes,\nHyeres, Algiers, Cairo--among smartly dressed, disabled men of every\nnationality; forever going on journeys that led nowhere; hurrying to\ncatch trains that he might just as well miss; getting up in the morning\nwith a great bustle and splashing of water, to begin a day that had no\npurpose and no meaning; dining late to shorten the night, sleeping late\nto shorten the day.\n\nAnd for what? For a mere folly, a masquerade, a little thing that he\ncould not let go. AND HE COULD EVEN LET IT GO, he told himself. But he\nhad promised to be in London at mid-summer, and he knew that he would\ngo. . . . It was impossible to live like this any longer.\n\nAnd this, then, was to be the disaster that his old professor had\nforeseen for him: the crack in the wall, the crash, the cloud of dust.\nAnd he could not understand how it had come about. He felt that he\nhimself was unchanged, that he was still there, the same man he had been\nfive years ago, and that he was sitting stupidly by and letting some\nresolute offshoot of himself spoil his life for him. This new force was\nnot he, it was but a part of him. He would not even admit that it was\nstronger than he; but it was more active. It was by its energy that this\nnew feeling got the better of him. His wife was the woman who had made\nhis life, gratified his pride, given direction to his tastes and habits.\nThe life they led together seemed to him beautiful. Winifred still was,\nas she had always been, Romance for him, and whenever he was deeply\nstirred he turned to her. When the grandeur and beauty of the world\nchallenged him--as it challenges even the most self-absorbed people--he\nalways answered with her name. That was his reply to the question put\nby the mountains and the stars; to all the spiritual aspects of life.\nIn his feeling for his wife there was all the tenderness, all the pride,\nall the devotion of which he was capable. There was everything but\nenergy; the energy of youth which must register itself and cut its name\nbefore it passes. This new feeling was so fresh, so unsatisfied and\nlight of foot. It ran and was not wearied, anticipated him everywhere.\nIt put a girdle round the earth while he was going from New York to\nMoorlock. At this moment, it was tingling through him, exultant, and\nlive as quicksilver, whispering, \"In July you will be in England.\"\n\nAlready he dreaded the long, empty days at sea, the monotonous Irish\ncoast, the sluggish passage up the Mersey, the flash of the boat train\nthrough the summer country. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to\nthe feeling of rapid motion and to swift, terrifying thoughts. He was\nsitting so, his face shaded by his hand, when the Boston lawyer saw him\nfrom the siding at White River Junction.\n\nWhen at last Alexander roused himself, the afternoon had waned to\nsunset. The train was passing through a gray country and the sky\noverhead was flushed with a wide flood of clear color. There was a\nrose-colored light over the gray rocks and hills and meadows. Off to the\nleft, under the approach of a weather-stained wooden bridge, a group of\nboys were sitting around a little fire. The smell of the wood smoke blew\nin at the window. Except for an old farmer, jogging along the highroad\nin his box-wagon, there was not another living creature to be seen.\nAlexander looked back wistfully at the boys, camped on the edge of a\nlittle marsh, crouching under their shelter and looking gravely at their\nfire. They took his mind back a long way, to a campfire on a sandbar in\na Western river, and he wished he could go back and sit down with them.\nHe could remember exactly how the world had looked then.\n\nIt was quite dark and Alexander was still thinking of the boys, when it\noccurred to him that the train must be nearing Allway. In going to his\nnew bridge at Moorlock he had always to pass through Allway. The train\nstopped at Allway Mills, then wound two miles up the river, and then the\nhollow sound under his feet told Bartley that he was on his first bridge\nagain. The bridge seemed longer than it had ever seemed before, and he\nwas glad when he felt the beat of the wheels on the solid roadbed again.\nHe did not like coming and going across that bridge, or remembering the\nman who built it. And was he, indeed, the same man who used to walk that\nbridge at night, promising such things to himself and to the stars? And\nyet, he could remember it all so well: the quiet hills sleeping in the\nmoonlight, the slender skeleton of the bridge reaching out into the\nriver, and up yonder, alone on the hill, the big white house; upstairs,\nin Winifred's window, the light that told him she was still awake and\nstill thinking of him. And after the light went out he walked alone,\ntaking the heavens into his confidence, unable to tear himself away from\nthe white magic of the night, unwilling to sleep because longing was so\nsweet to him, and because, for the first time since first the hills were\nhung with moonlight, there was a lover in the world. And always there\nwas the sound of the rushing water underneath, the sound which, more\nthan anything else, meant death; the wearing away of things under the\nimpact of physical forces which men could direct but never circumvent or\ndiminish. Then, in the exaltation of love, more than ever it seemed to\nhim to mean death, the only other thing as strong as love. Under the\nmoon, under the cold, splendid stars, there were only those two things\nawake and sleepless; death and love, the rushing river and his burning\nheart.\n\nAlexander sat up and looked about him. The train was tearing on through\nthe darkness. All his companions in the day-coach were either dozing or\nsleeping heavily, and the murky lamps were turned low. How came he here\namong all these dirty people? Why was he going to London? What did it\nmean--what was the answer? How could this happen to a man who had lived\nthrough that magical spring and summer, and who had felt that the stars\nthemselves were but flaming particles in the far-away infinitudes of his\nlove?\n\nWhat had he done to lose it? How could he endure the baseness of life\nwithout it? And with every revolution of the wheels beneath him, the\nunquiet quicksilver in his breast told him that at midsummer he would be\nin London. He remembered his last night there: the red foggy darkness,\nthe hungry crowds before the theatres, the hand-organs, the feverish\nrhythm of the blurred, crowded streets, and the feeling of letting\nhimself go with the crowd. He shuddered and looked about him at the poor\nunconscious companions of his journey, unkempt and travel-stained, now\ndoubled in unlovely attitudes, who had come to stand to him for the\nugliness he had brought into the world.\n\nAnd those boys back there, beginning it all just as he had begun it; he\nwished he could promise them better luck. Ah, if one could promise any\none better luck, if one could assure a single human being of happiness!\nHe had thought he could do so, once; and it was thinking of that that he\nat last fell asleep. In his sleep, as if it had nothing fresher to work\nupon, his mind went back and tortured itself with something years and\nyears away, an old, long-forgotten sorrow of his childhood.\n\nWhen Alexander awoke in the morning, the sun was just rising through\npale golden ripples of cloud, and the fresh yellow light was vibrating\nthrough the pine woods. The white birches, with their little unfolding\nleaves, gleamed in the lowlands, and the marsh meadows were already\ncoming to life with their first green, a thin, bright color which\nhad run over them like fire. As the train rushed along the trestles,\nthousands of wild birds rose screaming into the light. The sky was\nalready a pale blue and of the clearness of crystal. Bartley caught\nup his bag and hurried through the Pullman coaches until he found the\nconductor. There was a stateroom unoccupied, and he took it and set\nabout changing his clothes. Last night he would not have believed that\nanything could be so pleasant as the cold water he dashed over his head\nand shoulders and the freshness of clean linen on his body.\n\nAfter he had dressed, Alexander sat down at the window and drew into his\nlungs deep breaths of the pine-scented air. He had awakened with all his\nold sense of power. He could not believe that things were as bad with\nhim as they had seemed last night, that there was no way to set them\nentirely right. Even if he went to London at midsummer, what would that\nmean except that he was a fool? And he had been a fool before. That was\nnot the reality of his life. Yet he knew that he would go to London.\n\nHalf an hour later the train stopped at Moorlock. Alexander sprang to\nthe platform and hurried up the siding, waving to Philip Horton, one\nof his assistants, who was anxiously looking up at the windows of the\ncoaches. Bartley took his arm and they went together into the station\nbuffet.\n\n\"I'll have my coffee first, Philip. Have you had yours? And now, what\nseems to be the matter up here?\"\n\nThe young man, in a hurried, nervous way, began his explanation.\n\nBut Alexander cut him short. \"When did you stop work?\" he asked sharply.\n\nThe young engineer looked confused. \"I haven't stopped work yet,\nMr. Alexander. I didn't feel that I could go so far without definite\nauthorization from you.\"\n\n\"Then why didn't you say in your telegram exactly what you thought, and\nask for your authorization? You'd have got it quick enough.\"\n\n\"Well, really, Mr. Alexander, I couldn't be absolutely sure, you know,\nand I didn't like to take the responsibility of making it public.\"\n\nAlexander pushed back his chair and rose. \"Anything I do can be made\npublic, Phil. You say that you believe the lower chords are showing\nstrain, and that even the workmen have been talking about it, and yet\nyou've gone on adding weight.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, Mr. Alexander, but I had counted on your getting here\nyesterday. My first telegram missed you somehow. I sent one Sunday\nevening, to the same address, but it was returned to me.\"\n\n\"Have you a carriage out there? I must stop to send a wire.\"\n\nAlexander went up to the telegraph-desk and penciled the following\nmessage to his wife:--\n\nI may have to be here for some time. Can you come up at once? Urgent.\n\nBARTLEY.\n\n\nThe Moorlock Bridge lay three miles above the town. When they were\nseated in the carriage, Alexander began to question his assistant\nfurther. If it were true that the compression members showed strain,\nwith the bridge only two thirds done, then there was nothing to do\nbut pull the whole structure down and begin over again. Horton kept\nrepeating that he was sure there could be nothing wrong with the\nestimates.\n\nAlexander grew impatient. \"That's all true, Phil, but we never were\njustified in assuming that a scale that was perfectly safe for an\nordinary bridge would work with anything of such length. It's all very\nwell on paper, but it remains to be seen whether it can be done in\npractice. I should have thrown up the job when they crowded me. It's\nall nonsense to try to do what other engineers are doing when you know\nthey're not sound.\"\n\n\"But just now, when there is such competition,\" the younger man\ndemurred. \"And certainly that's the new line of development.\"\n\nAlexander shrugged his shoulders and made no reply.\n\nWhen they reached the bridge works, Alexander began his examination\nimmediately. An hour later he sent for the superintendent. \"I think you\nhad better stop work out there at once, Dan. I should say that the lower\nchord here might buckle at any moment. I told the Commission that we\nwere using higher unit stresses than any practice has established, and\nwe've put the dead load at a low estimate. Theoretically it worked out\nwell enough, but it had never actually been tried.\" Alexander put on\nhis overcoat and took the superintendent by the arm. \"Don't look so\nchopfallen, Dan. It's a jolt, but we've got to face it. It isn't the end\nof the world, you know. Now we'll go out and call the men off quietly.\nThey're already nervous, Horton tells me, and there's no use alarming\nthem. I'll go with you, and we'll send the end riveters in first.\"\n\nAlexander and the superintendent picked their way out slowly over the\nlong span. They went deliberately, stopping to see what each gang was\ndoing, as if they were on an ordinary round of inspection. When\nthey reached the end of the river span, Alexander nodded to the\nsuperintendent, who quietly gave an order to the foreman. The men in the\nend gang picked up their tools and, glancing curiously at each other,\nstarted back across the bridge toward the river-bank. Alexander himself\nremained standing where they had been working, looking about him. It was\nhard to believe, as he looked back over it, that the whole great span\nwas incurably disabled, was already as good as condemned, because\nsomething was out of line in the lower chord of the cantilever arm.\n\nThe end riveters had reached the bank and were dispersing among the\ntool-houses, and the second gang had picked up their tools and were\nstarting toward the shore. Alexander, still standing at the end of the\nriver span, saw the lower chord of the cantilever arm give a little,\nlike an elbow bending. He shouted and ran after the second gang, but by\nthis time every one knew that the big river span was slowly settling.\nThere was a burst of shouting that was immediately drowned by the scream\nand cracking of tearing iron, as all the tension work began to pull\nasunder. Once the chords began to buckle, there were thousands of tons\nof ironwork, all riveted together and lying in midair without support.\nIt tore itself to pieces with roaring and grinding and noises that were\nlike the shrieks of a steam whistle. There was no shock of any kind; the\nbridge had no impetus except from its own weight. It lurched neither\nto right nor left, but sank almost in a vertical line, snapping and\nbreaking and tearing as it went, because no integral part could bear for\nan instant the enormous strain loosed upon it. Some of the men jumped\nand some ran, trying to make the shore.\n\nAt the first shriek of the tearing iron, Alexander jumped from the\ndownstream side of the bridge. He struck the water without injury and\ndisappeared. He was under the river a long time and had great difficulty\nin holding his breath. When it seemed impossible, and his chest was\nabout to heave, he thought he heard his wife telling him that he could\nhold out a little longer. An instant later his face cleared the water.\nFor a moment, in the depths of the river, he had realized what it would\nmean to die a hypocrite, and to lie dead under the last abandonment of\nher tenderness. But once in the light and air, he knew he should live to\ntell her and to recover all he had lost. Now, at last, he felt sure of\nhimself. He was not startled. It seemed to him that he had been through\nsomething of this sort before. There was nothing horrible about it.\nThis, too, was life, and life was activity, just as it was in Boston\nor in London. He was himself, and there was something to be done;\neverything seemed perfectly natural. Alexander was a strong swimmer, but\nhe had gone scarcely a dozen strokes when the bridge itself, which had\nbeen settling faster and faster, crashed into the water behind him.\nImmediately the river was full of drowning men. A gang of French\nCanadians fell almost on top of him. He thought he had cleared them,\nwhen they began coming up all around him, clutching at him and at each\nother. Some of them could swim, but they were either hurt or crazed with\nfright. Alexander tried to beat them off, but there were too many of\nthem. One caught him about the neck, another gripped him about the\nmiddle, and they went down together. When he sank, his wife seemed to be\nthere in the water beside him, telling him to keep his head, that if he\ncould hold out the men would drown and release him. There was something\nhe wanted to tell his wife, but he could not think clearly for the\nroaring in his ears. Suddenly he remembered what it was. He caught his\nbreath, and then she let him go.\n\n\nThe work of recovering the dead went on all day and all the following\nnight. By the next morning forty-eight bodies had been taken out of the\nriver, but there were still twenty missing. Many of the men had fallen\nwith the bridge and were held down under the debris. Early on the\nmorning of the second day a closed carriage was driven slowly along the\nriver-bank and stopped a little below the works, where the river boiled\nand churned about the great iron carcass which lay in a straight line\ntwo thirds across it. The carriage stood there hour after hour, and word\nsoon spread among the crowds on the shore that its occupant was the wife\nof the Chief Engineer; his body had not yet been found. The widows of\nthe lost workmen, moving up and down the bank with shawls over their\nheads, some of them carrying babies, looked at the rusty hired hack many\ntimes that morning. They drew near it and walked about it, but none of\nthem ventured to peer within. Even half-indifferent sightseers dropped\ntheir voices as they told a newcomer: \"You see that carriage over there?\nThat's Mrs. Alexander. They haven't found him yet. She got off the train\nthis morning. Horton met her. She heard it in Boston yesterday--heard\nthe newsboys crying it in the street.\"\n\nAt noon Philip Horton made his way through the crowd with a tray and a\ntin coffee-pot from the camp kitchen. When he reached the carriage\nhe found Mrs. Alexander just as he had left her in the early morning,\nleaning forward a little, with her hand on the lowered window, looking\nat the river. Hour after hour she had been watching the water, the\nlonely, useless stone towers, and the convulsed mass of iron wreckage\nover which the angry river continually spat up its yellow foam.\n\n\"Those poor women out there, do they blame him very much?\" she asked, as\nshe handed the coffee-cup back to Horton.\n\n\"Nobody blames him, Mrs. Alexander. If any one is to blame, I'm afraid\nit's I. I should have stopped work before he came. He said so as soon as\nI met him. I tried to get him here a day earlier, but my telegram missed\nhim, somehow. He didn't have time really to explain to me. If he'd got\nhere Monday, he'd have had all the men off at once. But, you see, Mrs.\nAlexander, such a thing never happened before. According to all human\ncalculations, it simply couldn't happen.\"\n\nHorton leaned wearily against the front wheel of the cab. He had not had\nhis clothes off for thirty hours, and the stimulus of violent excitement\nwas beginning to wear off.\n\n\"Don't be afraid to tell me the worst, Mr. Horton. Don't leave me to the\ndread of finding out things that people may be saying. If he is blamed,\nif he needs any one to speak for him,\"--for the first time her voice\nbroke and a flush of life, tearful, painful, and confused, swept over\nher rigid pallor,--\"if he needs any one, tell me, show me what to do.\"\nShe began to sob, and Horton hurried away.\n\nWhen he came back at four o'clock in the afternoon he was carrying his\nhat in his hand, and Winifred knew as soon as she saw him that they had\nfound Bartley. She opened the carriage door before he reached her and\nstepped to the ground.\n\nHorton put out his hand as if to hold her back and spoke pleadingly:\n\"Won't you drive up to my house, Mrs. Alexander? They will take him up\nthere.\"\n\n\"Take me to him now, please. I shall not make any trouble.\"\n\nThe group of men down under the riverbank fell back when they saw a\nwoman coming, and one of them threw a tarpaulin over the stretcher. They\ntook off their hats and caps as Winifred approached, and although she\nhad pulled her veil down over her face they did not look up at her. She\nwas taller than Horton, and some of the men thought she was the tallest\nwoman they had ever seen. \"As tall as himself,\" some one whispered.\nHorton motioned to the men, and six of them lifted the stretcher\nand began to carry it up the embankment. Winifred followed them the\nhalf-mile to Horton's house. She walked quietly, without once breaking\nor stumbling. When the bearers put the stretcher down in Horton's spare\nbedroom, she thanked them and gave her hand to each in turn. The men\nwent out of the house and through the yard with their caps in their\nhands. They were too much confused to say anything as they went down the\nhill.\n\nHorton himself was almost as deeply perplexed. \"Mamie,\" he said to his\nwife, when he came out of the spare room half an hour later, \"will you\ntake Mrs. Alexander the things she needs? She is going to do everything\nherself. Just stay about where you can hear her and go in if she wants\nyou.\"\n\nEverything happened as Alexander had foreseen in that moment of\nprescience under the river. With her own hands she washed him clean of\nevery mark of disaster. All night he was alone with her in the still\nhouse, his great head lying deep in the pillow. In the pocket of his\ncoat Winifred found the letter that he had written her the night before\nhe left New York, water-soaked and illegible, but because of its length,\nshe knew it had been meant for her.\n\nFor Alexander death was an easy creditor. Fortune, which had smiled\nupon him consistently all his life, did not desert him in the end.\nHis harshest critics did not doubt that, had he lived, he would have\nretrieved himself. Even Lucius Wilson did not see in this accident the\ndisaster he had once foretold.\n\nWhen a great man dies in his prime there is no surgeon who can say\nwhether he did well; whether or not the future was his, as it seemed to\nbe. The mind that society had come to regard as a powerful and reliable\nmachine, dedicated to its service, may for a long time have been sick\nwithin itself and bent upon its own destruction.\n\n\n\nEPILOGUE\n\n\nProfessor Wilson had been living in London for six years and he was just\nback from a visit to America. One afternoon, soon after his return, he\nput on his frock-coat and drove in a hansom to pay a call upon Hilda\nBurgoyne, who still lived at her old number, off Bedford Square. He\nand Miss Burgoyne had been fast friends for a long time. He had first\nnoticed her about the corridors of the British Museum, where he read\nconstantly. Her being there so often had made him feel that he would\nlike to know her, and as she was not an inaccessible person, an\nintroduction was not difficult. The preliminaries once over, they came\nto depend a great deal upon each other, and Wilson, after his day's\nreading, often went round to Bedford Square for his tea. They had much\nmore in common than their memories of a common friend. Indeed, they\nseldom spoke of him. They saved that for the deep moments which do not\ncome often, and then their talk of him was mostly silence. Wilson knew\nthat Hilda had loved him; more than this he had not tried to know.\n\nIt was late when Wilson reached Hilda's apartment on this particular\nDecember afternoon, and he found her alone. She sent for fresh tea\nand made him comfortable, as she had such a knack of making people\ncomfortable.\n\n\"How good you were to come back before Christmas! I quite dreaded the\nHolidays without you. You've helped me over a good many Christmases.\"\nShe smiled at him gayly.\n\n\"As if you needed me for that! But, at any rate, I needed YOU. How well\nyou are looking, my dear, and how rested.\"\n\nHe peered up at her from his low chair, balancing the tips of his long\nfingers together in a judicial manner which had grown on him with years.\n\nHilda laughed as she carefully poured his cream. \"That means that I was\nlooking very seedy at the end of the season, doesn't it? Well, we must\nshow wear at last, you know.\"\n\nWilson took the cup gratefully. \"Ah, no need to remind a man of\nseventy, who has just been home to find that he has survived all his\ncontemporaries. I was most gently treated--as a sort of precious relic.\nBut, do you know, it made me feel awkward to be hanging about still.\"\n\n\"Seventy? Never mention it to me.\" Hilda looked appreciatively at the\nProfessor's alert face, with so many kindly lines about the mouth and\nso many quizzical ones about the eyes. \"You've got to hang about for\nme, you know. I can't even let you go home again. You must stay put, now\nthat I have you back. You're the realest thing I have.\"\n\nWilson chuckled. \"Dear me, am I? Out of so many conquests and the spoils\nof conquered cities! You've really missed me? Well, then, I shall hang.\nEven if you have at last to put ME in the mummy-room with the others.\nYou'll visit me often, won't you?\"\n\n\"Every day in the calendar. Here, your cigarettes are in this drawer,\nwhere you left them.\" She struck a match and lit one for him. \"But you\ndid, after all, enjoy being at home again?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. I found the long railway journeys trying. People live a\nthousand miles apart. But I did it thoroughly; I was all over the place.\nIt was in Boston I lingered longest.\"\n\n\"Ah, you saw Mrs. Alexander?\"\n\n\"Often. I dined with her, and had tea there a dozen different times,\nI should think. Indeed, it was to see her that I lingered on and on.\nI found that I still loved to go to the house. It always seemed as if\nBartley were there, somehow, and that at any moment one might hear his\nheavy tramp on the stairs. Do you know, I kept feeling that he must be\nup in his study.\" The Professor looked reflectively into the grate. \"I\nshould really have liked to go up there. That was where I had my last\nlong talk with him. But Mrs. Alexander never suggested it.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nWilson was a little startled by her tone, and he turned his head so\nquickly that his cuff-link caught the string of his nose-glasses and\npulled them awry. \"Why? Why, dear me, I don't know. She probably never\nthought of it.\"\n\nHilda bit her lip. \"I don't know what made me say that. I didn't mean to\ninterrupt. Go on please, and tell me how it was.\"\n\n\"Well, it was like that. Almost as if he were there. In a way, he really\nis there. She never lets him go. It's the most beautiful and dignified\nsorrow I've ever known. It's so beautiful that it has its compensations,\nI should think. Its very completeness is a compensation. It gives her\na fixed star to steer by. She doesn't drift. We sat there evening after\nevening in the quiet of that magically haunted room, and watched the\nsunset burn on the river, and felt him. Felt him with a difference, of\ncourse.\"\n\nHilda leaned forward, her elbow on her knee, her chin on her hand. \"With\na difference? Because of her, you mean?\"\n\nWilson's brow wrinkled. \"Something like that, yes. Of course, as\ntime goes on, to her he becomes more and more their simple personal\nrelation.\"\n\nHilda studied the droop of the Professor's head intently. \"You didn't\naltogether like that? You felt it wasn't wholly fair to him?\"\n\nWilson shook himself and readjusted his glasses. \"Oh, fair enough. More\nthan fair. Of course, I always felt that my image of him was just a\nlittle different from hers. No relation is so complete that it can\nhold absolutely all of a person. And I liked him just as he was; his\ndeviations, too; the places where he didn't square.\"\n\nHilda considered vaguely. \"Has she grown much older?\" she asked at last.\n\n\"Yes, and no. In a tragic way she is even handsomer. But colder. Cold\nfor everything but him. `Forget thyself to marble'; I kept thinking of\nthat. Her happiness was a happiness a deux, not apart from the world,\nbut actually against it. And now her grief is like that. She saves\nherself for it and doesn't even go through the form of seeing people\nmuch. I'm sorry. It would be better for her, and might be so good for\nthem, if she could let other people in.\"\n\n\"Perhaps she's afraid of letting him out a little, of sharing him with\nsomebody.\"\n\nWilson put down his cup and looked up with vague alarm. \"Dear me, it\ntakes a woman to think of that, now! I don't, you know, think we ought\nto be hard on her. More, even, than the rest of us she didn't choose her\ndestiny. She underwent it. And it has left her chilled. As to her not\nwishing to take the world into her confidence--well, it is a pretty\nbrutal and stupid world, after all, you know.\"\n\nHilda leaned forward. \"Yes, I know, I know. Only I can't help being glad\nthat there was something for him even in stupid and vulgar people. My\nlittle Marie worshiped him. When she is dusting I always know when she\nhas come to his picture.\"\n\nWilson nodded. \"Oh, yes! He left an echo. The ripples go on in all of\nus. He belonged to the people who make the play, and most of us are only\nonlookers at the best. We shouldn't wonder too much at Mrs. Alexander.\nShe must feel how useless it would be to stir about, that she may as\nwell sit still; that nothing can happen to her after Bartley.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Hilda softly, \"nothing can happen to one after Bartley.\"\n\nThey both sat looking into the fire.\n\n\n\n                       *****\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BARREL ORGAN  by  Alfred Noyes\n\n\n\n  There's a barrel-organ caroling across a golden street,\n    In the City as the sun sinks low;\n  And the music's not immortal; but the world has made it sweet\n    And fulfilled it with the sunset glow;\n  And it pulses through the pleasures of the City and the pain\n    That surround the singing organ like a large eternal light;\n  And they've given it a glory and a part to play again\n    In the Symphony that rules the day and the night.\n\n  And now it's marching onward through the realms of old romance,\n    And trolling out a fond familiar tune,\n  And now it's roaring cannon down to fight the King of France,\n    And now it's prattling softly to the moon,\n  And all around the organ there's a sea without a shore\n    Of human joys and wonders and regrets;\n  To remember and to recompense the music evermore\n    For what the cold machinery forgets. . . .\n\n  Yes; as the music changes,\n    Like a prismatic glass,\n  It takes the light and ranges\n    Through all the moods that pass;\n  Dissects the common carnival\n    Of passions and regrets,\n  And gives the world a glimpse of all\n    The colors it forgets.\n\n  And there LA TRAVIATA sights\n    Another sadder song;\n  And there IL TROVATORE cries\n    A tale of deeper wrong;\n  And bolder knights to battle go\n    With sword and shield and lance,\n  Than ever here on earth below\n    Have whirled into--A DANCE!--\n\n  Go down to Kew in lilac time; in lilac time; in lilac time;\n  Go down to Kew in lilac time; (it isn't far from London!)\n  And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland;\n  Go down to Kew in lilac time; (it isn't far from London!)\n\n  The cherry-trees are seas of bloom and soft perfume and sweet perfume,\n  The cherry-trees are seas of bloom (and oh, so near to London!)\n  And there they say, when dawn is high and all the world's a blaze of sky\n  The cuckoo, though he's very shy, will sing a song for London.\n\n  The nightingale is rather rare and yet they say you'll hear him there\n  At Kew, at Kew in lilac time (and oh, so near to London!)\n  The linnet and the throstle, too, and after dark the long halloo\n  And golden-eyed TU-WHIT, TU WHOO of owls that ogle London.\n\n  For Noah hardly knew a bird of any kind that isn't heard\n  At Kew, at Kew in lilac time (and oh, so near to London!)\n  And when the rose begins to pout and all the chestnut spires are out\n  You'll hear the rest without a doubt, all chorusing for London:--\n\n  COME DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC TIME; IN LILAC TIME; IN LILAC TIME;\n  COME DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC TIME; (IT ISN'T FAR FROM LONDON!)\n  AND YOU SHALL WANDER HAND IN HAND WITH LOVE IN SUMMER'S WONDERLAND;\n  COME DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC TIME; (IT ISN'T FAR FROM LONDON!)\n\n  And then the troubadour begins to thrill the golden street,\n    In the City as the sun sinks low;\n  And in all the gaudy busses there are scores of weary feet\n  Marking time, sweet time, with a dull mechanic beat,\n  And a thousand hearts are plunging to a love they'll never meet,\n  Through the meadows of the sunset, through the poppies and the wheat,\n    In the land where the dead dreams go.\n\n  Verdi, Verdi, when you wrote IL TROVATORE did you dream\n    Of the City when the sun sinks low\n  Of the organ and the monkey and the many-colored stream\n  On the Piccadilly pavement, of the myriad eyes that seem\n  To be litten for a moment with a wild Italian gleam\n  As A CHE LA MORTE parodies the world's eternal theme\n    And pulses with the sunset glow?\n\n  There's a thief, perhaps, that listens with a face of frozen stone\n    In the City as the sun sinks low;\n  There's a portly man of business with a balance of his own,\n  There's a clerk and there's a butcher of a soft reposeful tone,\n  And they're all them returning to the heavens they have known:\n  They are crammed and jammed in busses and--they're each of them alone\n    In the land where the dead dreams go.\n\n  There's a very modish woman and her smile is very bland\n    In the City as the sun sinks low;\n  And her hansom jingles onward, but her little jeweled hand\n  Is clenched a little tighter and she cannot understand\n  What she wants or why she wanders to that undiscovered land,\n  For the parties there are not at all the sort of thing she planned,\n    In the land where the dead dreams go.\n\n  There's an Oxford man that listens and his heart is crying out\n    In the City as the sun sinks low;\n  For the barge the eight, the Isis, and the coach's whoop and shout,\n  For the minute gun, the counting and the long disheveled rout,\n  For the howl along the tow-path and a fate that's still in doubt,\n  For a roughened oar to handle and a race to think about\n    In the land where the dead dreams go.\n\n  There's a laborer that listen to the voices of the dead\n    In the City as the sun sinks low;\n  And his hand begins to tremble and his face is rather red\n  As he sees a loafer watching him and--there he turns his head\n  And stares into the sunset where his April love is fled,\n  For he hears her softly singing and his lonely soul is led\n    Through the land where the dead dreams go.\n\n  There's and old and hardened demi-rep, it's ringing in her ears,\n    In the City as the sun sinks low;\n  With the wild and empty sorrow of the love that blights and sears,\n  Oh, and if she hurries onward, then be sure, be sure she hears,\n  Hears and bears the bitter burden of the unforgotten years,\n  And her laugh's a little harsher and her eyes are brimmed with tears\n    For the land where the dead dreams go.\n\n  There's a barrel-organ caroling across a golden street,\n    In the City as the sun sinks low;\n  Though the music's only Verdi there's a world to make it sweet\n  Just as yonder yellow sunset where the earth and heaven meet\n  Mellows all the sooty City!  Hark, a hundred thousand feet\n  Are marching on to glory through the poppies and the wheat\n    In the land where the dead dreams go.\n\n            So it's Jeremiah, Jeremiah,\n              What have you to say\n            When you meet the garland girls\n              Tripping on their way?\n\n            All around my gala hat\n              I wear a wreath of roses\n            (A long and lonely year it is\n              I've waited for the May!)\n\n            If any one should ask you,\n              The reason why I wear it is,\n            My own love, my true love, is coming home to-day.\n\n  It's buy a bunch of violets for the lady\n    (IT'S LILAC TIME IN LONDON; IT'S LILAC TIME IN LONDON!)\n  Buy a bunch of violets for the lady;\n    While the sky burns blue above:\n\n  On the other side of the street you'll find it shady\n    (IT'S LILAC TIME IN LONDON; IT'S LILAC TIME IN LONDON!)\n  But buy a bunch of violets for the lady;\n    And tell her she's your own true love.\n\n  There's a barrel-organ caroling across a golden street,\n    In the City as the sun sinks glittering and slow;\n  And the music's not immortal, but the world has made it sweet\n  And enriched it with the harmonies that make a song complete\n  In the deeper heavens of music where the night and morning meet,\n    As it dies into the sunset glow;\n\n  And it pulses through the pleasures of the City and the pain\n    That surround the singing organ like a large eternal light,\n  And they've given it a glory and a part of play again\n    In the Symphony that rules the day and night.\n\n            And there, as the music changes,\n              The song runs round again;\n            Once more it turns and ranges\n              Through all its joy and pain:\n            Dissects the common carnival\n              Of passions and regrets;\n            And the wheeling world remembers all\n              The wheeling song forgets.\n\n            Once more La TRAVIATA sighs\n              Another sadder song:\n            Once more IL TROVATORE cries\n              A tale of deeper wrong;\n            Once more the knights to battle go\n              With sword and shield and lance,\n            Till once, once more, the shattered foe\n              Has whirled into--A DANCE--\n\n  Come down to Kew in lilac time; in lilac time; in lilac time;\n  Come down to Kew in lilac time; (it isn't far from London!)\n  And you shall wander hand in hand with Love in summer's wonderland;\n  Come down to Kew in lilac time; (it isn't far from London!)\n\n  COME DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC TIME; IN LILAC TIME; IN LILAC TIME;\n  COME DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC TIME; (IT ISN'T FAR FROM LONDON!)\n  AND YOU SHALL WANDER HAND IN HAND WITH LOVE IN SUMMER'S WONDERLAND;\n  COME DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC TIME; (IT ISN'T FAR FROM LONDON!)\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Alexander's Bridge and The Barrel Organ, by \nWilla Cather and Alfred Noyes\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Charles Keller.  HTML version by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n'Hell fer Sartain'\n\nand\n\nOther Stories\n\n\nby\n\nJOHN FOX, JR.\n\n\n\n\n  TO\n  MY BROTHER\n  JAMES\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  ON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK\n  THROUGH THE GAP\n  A TRICK O' TRADE\n  GRAYSON'S BABY\n  COURTIN' ON CUTSHIN\n  THE MESSAGE IN THE SAND\n  THE SENATOR'S LAST TRADE\n  PREACHIN' ON KINGDOM-COME\n  THE PASSING OF ABRAHAM SHIVERS\n  A PURPLE RHODODENDRON\n\n\n\n\nON HELL-FER-SARTAIN CREEK\n\n\nThar was a dancin'-party Christmas night on \"Hell fer Sartain.\"  Jes\ntu'n up the fust crick beyond the bend thar, an' climb onto a stump,\nan' holler about ONCE, an' you'll see how the name come.  Stranger,\nhit's HELL fer sartain!  Well, Rich Harp was thar from the head-waters,\nan' Harve Hall toted Nance Osborn clean across the Cumberlan'.  Fust\none ud swing Nance, an' then t'other.  Then they'd take a pull out'n\nthe same bottle o' moonshine, an'--fust one an' then t'other--they'd\nswing her agin.  An' Abe Shivers a-settin' thar by the fire a-bitin'\nhis thumbs!\n\nWell, things was sorter whoopin', when somebody ups an' tells Harve\nthat Rich had said somep'n' agin Nance an' him, an' somebody ups an'\ntells Rich that Harve had said somep'n' agin Nance an' HIM.  In a\nminute, stranger, hit was like two wild-cats in thar.  Folks got 'em\nparted, though, but thar was no more a-swingin' of Nance that night.\nHarve toted her back over the Cumberlan', an' Rich's kinsfolks tuk him\nup \"Hell fer Sartain\"; but Rich got loose, an' lit out lickety-split\nfer Nance Osborn's.  He knowed Harve lived too fer over Black Mountain\nto go home that night, an' he rid right across the river an' up to\nNance's house, an' hollered fer Harve.  Harve poked his head out'n the\nloft--he knowed whut was wanted--an' Harve says, \"Uh, come in hyeh an'\ngo to bed.  Hit's too late!\" An' Rich seed him a-gapin' like a chicken,\nan' in he walked, stumblin' might' nigh agin the bed whar Nance was\na-layin', listenin' an' not sayin' a word.\n\nStranger, them two fellers slept together plum frien'ly, an' they et\ntogether plum frien'ly next mornin', an' they sa'ntered down to the\ngrocery plum frien'ly.  An' Rich says, \"Harve,\" says he, \"let's have a\ndrink.\"  \"All right, Rich,\" says Harve.  An' Rich says, \"Harve,\" says\nhe, \"you go out'n that door an' I'll go out'n this door.\"  \"All right,\nRich,\" says Harve, an' out they walked, steady, an' thar was two shoots\nshot, an' Rich an' Harve both drapped, an' in ten minutes they was\nstretched out on Nance's bed an' Nance was a-lopin' away fer the yarb\ndoctor.\n\nThe gal nussed 'em both plum faithful.  Rich didn't hev much to say,\nan' Harve didn't hev much to say.  Nance was sorter quiet, an' Nance's\nmammy, ole Nance, jes grinned.  Folks come in to ax atter 'em right\npeart.  Abe Shivers come cl'ar 'cross the river--powerful frien'ly--an'\never' time Nance ud walk out to the fence with him.  One time she\ndidn't come back, an' ole Nance fotched the boys thar dinner, an' ole\nNance fotched thar supper, an' then Rich he axed whut was the matter\nwith young Nance.  An' ole Nance jes snorted.  Atter a while Rich says:\n\"Harve,\" says he, \"who tol' you that I said that word agin you an'\nNance?\" \"Abe Shivers,\" says Harve.  \"An' who tol' you,\" says Harve,\n\"that I said that word agin Nance an' YOU?\"  \"Abe Shivers,\" says Rich.\nAn' both says, \"Well, damn me!\"  An' Rich tu'ned right over an' begun\npullin' straws out'n the bed.  He got two out, an' he bit one off, an'\nhe says:  \"Harve,\" says he, \"I reckon we better draw fer him.  The\nshortes' gits him.\"  An' they drawed.  Well, nobody ever knowed which\ngot the shortes' straw, stranger, but--\n\nThar'll be a dancin'-party comin' Christmas night on \"Hell fer\nSartain.\" Rich Harp 'll be thar from the head-waters.  Harve Hall's\na-goin' to tote the Widder Shivers clean across the Cumberlan'.  Fust\none 'll swing Nance, an' then t'other.  Then they'll take a pull out'n\nthe same bottle o' moonshine, an'--fust one an' then t'other--they'll\nswing her agin, jes the same.  ABE won't be thar.  He's a-settin' by a\nbigger fire, I reckon (ef he ain't in it), a-bitin' his thumbs!\n\n\n\n\nTHROUGH THE GAP\n\n\nWhen thistles go adrift, the sun sets down the valley between the\nhills; when snow comes, it goes down behind the Cumberland and streams\nthrough a great fissure that people call the Gap.  Then the last light\ndrenches the parson's cottage under Imboden Hill, and leaves an\nafter-glow of glory on a majestic heap that lies against the east.\nSometimes it spans the Gap with a rainbow.\n\nStrange people and strange tales come through this Gap from the\nKentucky hills.  Through it came these two, late one day--a man and a\nwoman--afoot.  I met them at the foot-bridge over Roaring Fork.\n\n\"Is thar a preacher anywhar aroun' hyeh?\" he asked.  I pointed to the\ncottage under Imboden Hill.  The girl flushed slightly and turned her\nhead away with a rather unhappy smile.  Without a word, the mountaineer\nled the way towards town.  A moment more and a half-breed Malungian\npassed me on the bridge and followed them.\n\nAt dusk the next day I saw the mountaineer chopping wood at a shanty\nunder a clump of rhododendron on the river-bank.  The girl was cooking\nsupper inside.  The day following he was at work on the railroad, and\non Sunday, after church, I saw the parson.  The two had not been to\nhim.  Only that afternoon the mountaineer was on the bridge with\nanother woman, hideously rouged and with scarlet ribbons fluttering\nfrom her bonnet.  Passing on by the shanty, I saw the Malungian talking\nto the girl.  She apparently paid no heed to him until, just as he was\nmoving away, he said something mockingly, and with a nod of his head\nback towards the bridge.  She did not look up even then, but her face\ngot hard and white, and, looking back from the road, I saw her slipping\nthrough the bushes into the dry bed of the creek, to make sure that\nwhat the half-breed told her was true.\n\nThe two men were working side by side on the railroad when I saw them\nagain, but on the first pay-day the doctor was called to attend the\nMalungian, whose head was split open with a shovel.  I was one of two\nwho went out to arrest his assailant, and I had no need to ask who he\nwas.  The mountaineer was a devil, the foreman said, and I had to club\nhim with a pistol-butt before he would give in.  He said he would get\neven with me; but they all say that, and I paid no attention to the\nthreat.  For a week he was kept in the calaboose, and when I passed the\nshanty just after he was sent to the county-seat for trial, I found it\nempty.  The Malungian, too, was gone.  Within a fortnight the\nmountaineer was in the door of the shanty again.  Having no accuser, he\nhad been discharged.  He went back to his work, and if he opened his\nlips I never knew.  Every day I saw him at work, and he never failed to\ngive me a surly look.  Every dusk I saw him in his door-way, waiting,\nand I could guess for what.  It was easy to believe that the stern\npurpose in his face would make its way through space and draw her to\nhim again.  And she did come back one day.  I had just limped down the\nmountain with a sprained ankle.  A crowd of women was gathered at the\nedge of the woods, looking with all their eyes to the shanty on the\nriver-bank.  The girl stood in the door-way.  The mountaineer was\ncoming back from work with his face down.\n\n\"He hain't seed her yit,\" said one.  \"He's goin' to kill her shore.  I\ntol' her he would.  She said she reckoned he would, but she didn't\nkeer.\"\n\nFor a moment I was paralyzed by the tragedy at hand.  She was in the\ndoor looking at him when he raised his head.  For one moment he stood\nstill, staring, and then he started towards her with a quickened step.\nI started too, then, every step a torture, and as I limped ahead she\nmade a gesture of terror and backed into the room before him.  The door\nclosed, and I listened for a pistol-shot and a scream.  It must have\nbeen done with a knife, I thought, and quietly, for when I was within\nten paces of the cabin he opened the door again.  His face was very\nwhite; he held one hand behind him, and he was nervously fumbling at\nhis chill with the other.  As he stepped towards me I caught the handle\nof a pistol in my side pocket and waited.  He looked at me sharply.\n\n\"Did you say the preacher lived up thar?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, breathlessly.\n\nIn the door-way just then stood the girl with a bonnet in her hand, and\nat a nod from him they started up the hill towards the cottage.  They\ncame down again after a while, he stalking ahead, and she, after the\nmountain fashion, behind.  And after this fashion I saw them at sunset\nnext day pass over the bridge and into the mouth of the Gap whence they\ncame.  Through this Gap come strange people and strange tales from the\nKentucky hills.  Over it, sometimes, is the span of a rainbow.\n\n\n\n\nA TRICK O' TRADE\n\n\nStranger, I'm a separATE man, an' I don't inQUIZite into no man's\nbusiness; but you ax me straight, an' I tell ye straight:  You watch\nole Tom!\n\nNow, I'll take ole Tom Perkins' word agin anybody's 'ceptin' when hit\ncomes to a hoss trade ur a piece o' land.  Fer in the tricks o' sech,\nole Tom 'lows--well, hit's diff'ent; an' I reckon, stranger, as how hit\nsorter is.  He was a-stayin' at Tom's house, the furriner was,\na-dickerin' fer a piece o' lan'--the same piece, mebbe, that you're\natter now--an' Tom keeps him thar fer a week to beat him out'n a\ndollar, an' then won't let him pay nary a cent fer his boa'd.  Now,\nstranger, that's Tom.\n\nWell, Abe Shivers was a-workin' fer Tom--you've heerd tell o' Abe--an'\nthe furriner wasn't more'n half gone afore Tom seed that Abe was up to\nsome of his devilMINT.  Abe kin hatch up more devilMINT in a minit than\nSatan hisself kin in a week; so Tom jes got Abe out'n the stable under\na hoe-handle, an' tol' him to tell the whole thing straight ur he'd\nhave to go to glory right thar.  An' Abe tol'!\n\n'Pears like Abe had foun' a streak o' iron ore on the lan', an' had\nracked his jinny right down to Hazlan an' tol' the furriner, who was\nthar a-buyin' wild lands right an' left.  Co'se, Abe was goin' to make\nthe furriner whack up fer gittin' the lan' so cheap.  Well, brother,\nthe furriner come up to Tom's an' got Tom into one o' them new-fangled\ntrades whut the furriners calls a option--t'other feller kin git out'n\nhit, but you can't.  The furriner 'lowed he'd send his podner up thar\nnext day to put the thing in writin' an' close up the trade.  Hit\nlooked like ole Tom was ketched fer shore, an' ef Tom didn't ra'r, I'd\ntell a man.  He jes let that hoe-handle drap on Abe fer 'bout haffen\nhour, jes to give him time to study, an' next day thar was ole Tom\na-settin' on his orchard fence a-lookin' mighty unknowin', when the\nfurriner's podner come a-prancin' up an' axed ef old Tom Perkins lived\nthar.\n\nOle Tom jes whispers.\n\nNow, I clean fergot to tell ye, stranger, that Abe Shivers nuver could\ntalk out loud.  He tol' so many lies that the Lawd--jes to make things\neven--sorter fixed Abe, I reckon, so he couldn't lie on more'n one side\no' the river at a time.  Ole Tom jes knowed t'other furriner had tol'\nthis un 'bout Abe, an,' shore 'nough, the feller says, sorter soft,\nsays he:\n\n\"Aw, you air the feller whut foun' the ore?\"\n\nOle Tom--makin' like he was Abe, mind ye--jes whispers:  \"Thar hain't\nnone thar.\"\n\nStranger, the feller mos' fell off'n his hoss.  \"Whut?\" says he.  Ole\nTom kep' a-whisperin':  \"Thar hain't no coal--no nothing; ole Tom\nPerkins made me tell t'other furriner them lies.\"\n\nWell, sir, the feller WAS mad.  \"Jes whut I tol' that fool podner of\nmine,\" he says, an' he pull out a dollar an' gives hit to Tom.  Tom jes\nsticks out his han' with his thum' turned in jes so, an' the furriner\nsays, \"Well, ef you can't talk, you kin make purty damn good signs\";\nbut he forks over four mo' dollars (he 'lowed ole Tom had saved him a\npile o' money), an' turns his hoss an' pulls up agin.  He was a-gittin'\nthe land so durned cheap that I reckon he jes hated to let hit go, an'\nhe says, says he: \"Well, hain't the groun' rich?  Won't hit raise no\ntabaccy nur corn nur nothin'?\"\n\nOle Tom jes whispers:\n\n\"To tell you the p'int-blank truth, stranger, that land's so durned\npore that I hain't nuver been able to raise my voice.\"\n\nNow, brother, I'm a separATE man, an' I don't inQUIZite into no man's\nbusiness--but you ax me straight an' I tell ye straight.  Ole Tom\nPerkins kin trade with furriners, fer he have l'arned their ways.  You\nwatch ole Tom!\n\n\n\n\nGRAYSON'S BABY\n\n\nThe first snow sifted in through the Gap that night, and in a \"shack\"\nof one room and a low loft a man was dead, a woman was sick to death,\nand four children were barely alive; and nobody even knew.  For they\nwere hill people, who sicken, suffer, and sometimes die, like animals,\nand make no noise.\n\nGrayson, the Virginian, coming down from the woods that morning, saw\nthe big-hearted little doctor outside the door of the shack, walking up\nand down, with his hands in his pockets.  He was whistling softly when\nGrayson got near, and, without stopping, pointed with his thumb within.\nThe oldest boy sat stolidly on the one chair in the room, his little\nbrother was on the floor hard by, and both were hugging a greasy stove.\nThe little girl was with her mother in the bed, both almost out of\nsight under a heap of quilts.  The baby was in a cradle, with its face\nuncovered, whether dead or asleep Grayson could not tell.  A pine\ncoffin was behind the door.  It would not have been possible to add to\nthe disorder of the room, and the atmosphere made Grayson gasp.  He\ncame out looking white.  The first man to arrive thereafter took away\nthe eldest boy, a woman picked the baby girl from the bed, and a\nchildless young couple took up the pallid little fellow on the floor.\nThese were step-children.  The baby boy that was left was the woman's\nown.  Nobody came for that, and Grayson went in again and looked at it\na long while.  So little, so old a human face he had never seen.  The\nbrow was wrinkled as with centuries of pain, and the little drawn mouth\nlooked as though the spirit within had fought its inheritance without a\nmurmur, and would fight on that way to the end.  It was the pluck of\nthe face that drew Grayson.  \"I'll take it,\" he said.  The doctor was\nnot without his sense of humor even then, but he nodded.  \"Cradle and\nall,\" he said, gravely.  And Grayson put both on one shoulder and\nwalked away.  He had lost the power of giving further surprise in that\ntown, and had he met every man he knew, not one of them would have felt\nat liberty to ask him what he was doing.  An hour later the doctor\nfound the child in Grayson's room, and Grayson still looking at it.\n\n\"Is it going to live, doctor?\"\n\nThe doctor shook his head.  \"Doubtful.  Look at the color.  It's\nstarved.  There's nothing to do but to watch it and feed it.  You can\ndo that.\"\n\nSo Grayson watched it, with a fascination of which he was hardly\nconscious.  Never for one instant did its look change--the quiet,\nunyielding endurance that no faith and no philosophy could ever bring\nto him.  It was ideal courage, that look, to accept the inevitable but\nto fight it just that way.  Half the little mountain town was talking\nnext day--that such a tragedy was possible by the public road-side,\nwith relief within sound of the baby's cry.  The oldest boy was least\nstarved.  Might made right in an extremity like his, and the boy had\ntaken care of himself.  The young couple who had the second lad in\ncharge said they had been wakened at daylight the next morning by some\nnoise in the room.  Looking up, they saw the little fellow at the\nfireplace breaking an egg.  He had built a fire, had got eggs from the\nkitchen, and was cooking his breakfast.  The little girl was\nmischievous and cheery in spite of her bad plight, and nobody knew of\nthe baby except Grayson and the doctor.  Grayson would let nobody else\nin.  As soon as it was well enough to be peevish and to cry, he took it\nback to its mother, who was still abed.  A long, dark mountaineer was\nthere, of whom the woman seemed half afraid.  He followed Grayson\noutside.\n\n\"Say, podner,\" he said, with an unpleasant smile, \"ye don't go up to\nCracker's Neck fer nothin', do ye?\"\n\nThe woman had lived at Cracker's Neck before she appeared at the Gap,\nand it did not come to Grayson what the man meant until he was half-way\nto his room.  Then he flushed hot and wheeled back to the cabin, but\nthe mountaineer was gone.\n\n\"Tell that fellow he had better keep out of my way,\" he said to the\nwoman, who understood, and wanted to say something, but not knowing\nhow, nodded simply.  In a few days the other children went back to the\ncabin, and day and night Grayson went to see the child, until it was\nout of danger, and afterwards.  It was not long before the women in\ntown complained that the mother was ungrateful.  When they sent things\nto eat to her the servant brought back word that she had called out,\n\"'Set them over thar,' without so much as a thanky.\"  One message was\nthat \"she didn' want no second-hand victuals from nobody's table.\"\nSomebody suggested sending the family to the poor-house.  The mother\nsaid \"she'd go out on her crutches and hoe corn fust, and that the\npeople who talked 'bout sendin' her to the po'-house had better save\ntheir breath to make prayers with.\"  One day she was hired to do some\nwashing.  The mistress of the house happened not to rise until ten\no'clock.  Next morning the mountain woman did not appear until that\nhour.  \"She wasn't goin' to work a lick while that woman was a-layin'\nin bed,\" she said, frankly.  And when the lady went down town, she too\ndisappeared.  Nor would she, she explained to Grayson, \"while that\nwoman was a-struttin' the streets.\"\n\nAfter that, one by one, they let her alone, and the woman made not a\nword of complaint.  Within a week she was working in the fields, when\nshe should have been back in bed.  The result was that the child\nsickened again.  The old look came back to its face, and Grayson was\nthere night and day.  He was having trouble out in Kentucky about this\ntime, and he went to the Blue Grass pretty often.  Always, however, he\nleft money with me to see that the child was properly buried if it\nshould die while he was gone; and once he telegraphed to ask how it\nwas.  He said he was sometimes afraid to open my letters for fear that\nhe should read that the baby was dead.  The child knew Grayson's voice,\nhis step.  It would go to him from its own mother.  When it was sickest\nand lying torpid it would move the instant he stepped into the room,\nand, when he spoke, would hold out its thin arms, without opening its\neyes, and for hours Grayson would walk the floor with the troubled\nlittle baby over his shoulder.  I thought several times it would die\nwhen, on one trip, Grayson was away for two weeks.  One midnight,\nindeed, I found the mother moaning, and three female harpies about the\ncradle.  The baby was dying this time, and I ran back for a flask of\nwhiskey.  Ten minutes late with the whiskey that night would have been\ntoo late.  The baby got to know me and my voice during that fortnight,\nbut it was still in danger when Grayson got back, and we went to see it\ntogether.  It was very weak, and we both leaned over the cradle, from\neither side, and I saw the pity and affection--yes, hungry, half-shamed\naffection--in Grayson's face.  The child opened its eyes, looked from\none to the other, and held out its arms to ME.  Grayson should have\nknown that the child forgot--that it would forget its own mother.  He\nturned sharply, and his face was a little pale.  He gave something to\nthe woman, and not till then did I notice that her soft black eyes\nnever left him while he was in the cabin.  The child got well; but\nGrayson never went to the shack again, and he said nothing when I came\nin one night and told him that some mountaineer--a long, dark\nfellow-had taken the woman, the children, and the household gods of the\nshack back into the mountains.\n\n\"They don't grieve long,\" I said, \"these people.\"\n\nBut long afterwards I saw the woman again along the dusty road that\nleads into the Gap.  She had heard over in the mountains that Grayson\nwas dead, and had walked for two days to learn if it was true.  I\npointed back towards Bee Rock, and told her that he had fallen from a\ncliff back there.  She did not move, nor did her look change.\nMoreover, she said nothing, and, being in a hurry, I had to ride on.\n\nAt the foot-bridge over Roaring Fork I looked back.  The woman was\nstill there, under the hot mid-day sun and in the dust of the road,\nmotionless.\n\n\n\n\nCOURTIN' ON CUTSHIN\n\n\nHit was this way, stranger.  When hit comes to handlin' a right peert\ngal, Jeb Somers air about the porest man on Fryin' Pan, I reckon; an'\nPolly Ann Sturgill have got the vineg'rest tongue on Cutshin or any\nother crick.\n\nSo the boys over on Fryin' Pan made it up to git 'em together.  Abe\nShivers--you've heerd tell o' Abe--tol' Jeb that Polly Ann had seed him\nin Hazlan (which she hadn't, of co'se), an' had said p'int-blank that\nhe was the likeliest feller she'd seed in them mountains.  An' he tol'\nPolly Ann that Jeb was ravin' crazy 'bout her.  The pure misery of it\njes made him plumb delirious, Abe said; an' 'f Polly Ann wanted to find\nher match fer languige an' talkin' out peert--well, she jes ought to\nstrike Jeb Somers.  Fact is, stranger, Jeb Somers air might' nigh a\nidgit; but Jeb 'lowed he'd rack right over on Cutshin an' set up with\nPolly Ann Sturgill; an' Abe tells Polly Ann the king bee air comin'.\nAn' Polly Ann's cousin, Nance Osborn, comes over from Hell fer Sartain\n(whut runs into Kingdom-Come) to stay all night an' see the fun.\n\nNow, I hain't been a-raftin' logs down to the settlemints o' Kaintuck\nfer nigh on to twenty year fer nothin', An' I know gallivantin' is\ndiff'ent with us mountain fellers an' you furriners, in the premises,\nanyways, as them lawyers up to court says; though I reckon hit's purty\nmuch the same atter the premises is over.  Whar you says \"courtin',\"\nnow, we says \"talkin' to.\"  Sallie Spurlock over on Fryin' Pan is\na-talkin' to Jim Howard now.  Sallie's sister hain't nuver talked to no\nman.  An' whar you says \"makin' a call on a young lady,\" we says\n\"settin' up with a gal\"!  An', stranger, we does it.  We hain't got\nmore'n one room hardly ever in these mountains, an' we're jes obleeged\nto set up to do any courtin' at all.\n\nWell, you go over to Sallie's to stay all night some time, an' purty\nsoon atter supper Jim Howard comes in.  The ole man an' the ole woman\ngoes to bed, an' the chil'un an' you go to bed, an' ef you keeps one\neye open you'll see Jim's cheer an' Sallie's cheer a-movin' purty soon,\ntill they gets plumb together.  Then, stranger, hit begins.  Now I want\nye to understand that settin' up means business.  We don't 'low no\nfoolishness in these mountains; an' 'f two fellers happens to meet at\nthe same house, they jes makes the gal say which one she likes best,\nan' t'other one gits!  Well, you'll see Jim put his arm 'round Sallie's\nneck an' whisper a long while--jes so.  Mebbe you've noticed whut\nfellers us mountain folks air fer whisperin'.  You've seed fellers\na-whisperin' all over Hazlan on court day, hain't ye?  Ole Tom Perkins\n'll put his arm aroun' yo' neck an' whisper in yo' year ef he's ten\nmile out'n the woods.  I reckon thar's jes so much devilmint a-goin' on\nin these mountains, folks is naturely afeerd to talk out loud.\n\nWell, Jim let's go an' Sallie puts her arm aroun' Jim's neck an'\nwhispers a long while--jes so; an' 'f you happen to wake up anywhar to\ntwo o'clock in the mornin' you'll see jes that a-goin' on.  Brother,\nthat's settin' up.\n\nWell, Jeb Somers, as I was a-sayin' in the premises, 'lowed he'd rack\nright over on Cutshin an' set up with Polly Ann comin' Christmas night.\nAn' Abe tells Polly Ann Jeb says he aims to have her fer a Christmas\ngift afore mornin'.  Polly Ann jes sniffed sorter, but you know women\nfolks air always mighty ambitious jes to SEE a feller anyways, 'f he's\na-pinin' fer 'em.  So Jeb come, an' Jeb was fixed up now fittin' to\nkill.  Jeb had his hair oiled down nice an' slick, and his mustache was\njes black as powder could make hit.  Naturely hit was red; but a feller\ncan't do nothin' in these mountains with a red mustache; an' Jeb had a\nbig black ribbon tied in the butt o' the bigges' pistol Abe Shivers\ncould borrer fer him--hit was a badge o' death an' deestruction to his\nenemies, Abe said, an' I tell ye Jeb did look like a man.  He never\nopened his mouth atter he says \"howdy\"--Jeb never does say nothin';\nJeb's one o' them fellers whut hides thar lack o' brains by a-lookin'\nsolemn an' a-keepin' still, but thar don't nobody say much tell the ole\nfolks air gone to bed, an' Polly Ann jes 'lowed Jeb was a-waitin'.\nFact is, stranger, Abe Shivers had got Jeb a leetle disguised by\nliquer, an' he did look fat an' sassy, ef he couldn't talk, a-settin'\nover in the corner a-plunkin' the banjer an' a-knockin' off \"Sour-wood\nMountain\" an' \"Jinny git aroun'\" an' \"Soapsuds over the Fence.\"\n\n  \"Chickens a-crowin' on Sour-wood Mountain,\n     Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!\n   Git yo' dawgs an' we'll go huntin',\n     Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!\"\n\nAn' when Jeb comes to\n\n  \"I've got a gal at the head o' the holler,\n     Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!\"\n\nhe jes turns one eye 'round on Polly Ann, an' then swings his chin\naroun' as though he didn't give a cuss fer nothin'.\n\n  \"She won't come, an' I won't foller,\n     Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!\"\n\n\nWell, sir, Nance seed that Polly Ann was a-eyin' Jeb sort o' flustered\nlike, an' she come might' nigh splittin' right thar an' a-sp'ilin' the\nfun, fer she knowed what a skeery fool Jeb was.  An' when the ole folks\ngoes to bed, Nance lays thar under a quilt a-watchin' an' a-listenin'.\nWell, Jeb knowed the premises, ef he couldn't talk, an' purty soon\nNance heerd Jeb's cheer creak a leetle, an' she says, Jeb's a-comin',\nand Jeb was; an' Polly Ann 'lowed Jeb was jes a leetle TOO resolute an'\nquick-like, an' she got her hand ready to give him one lick anyways fer\nbein' so brigaty.  I don't know as she'd 'a' hit him more'n ONCE.  Jeb\nhad a farm, an' Polly Ann--well, Polly Ann was a-gittin' along.  But\nPolly Ann sot thar jes as though she didn't know Jeb was a-comin', an'\nJeb stopped once an' says,\n\n\"You hain't got nothin' agin me, has ye?\"\n\nAn' Polly Ann says, sorter quick,\n\n\"Naw; ef I had, I'd push it.\"\n\nWell, Jeb mos' fell off his cheer, when, ef he hadn't been sech a\nskeery idgit, he'd 'a' knowed that Polly Ann was plain open an' shet\na-biddin' fer him.  But he sot thar like a knot on a log fer haffen\nhour, an' then he rickollected, I reckon, that Abe had tol' him Polly\nAnn was peppery an' he mustn't mind, fer Jeb begun a-movin' ag'in till\nhe was slam-bang agin Polly Ann's cheer.  An' thar he sot like a\npunkin, not sayin' a word nur doin' nothin'.  An' while Polly Ann was\na-wonderin' ef he was gone plumb crazy, blame me ef that durned fool\ndidn't turn roun' to that peppery gal an' say,\n\n\"Booh, Polly Ann!\"\n\nWell, Nance had to stuff the bedquilt in her mouth right thar to keep\nfrom hollerin' out loud, fer Polly Ann's hand was a-hangin' down by the\ncheer, jes a-waitin' fer a job, and Nance seed the fingers a-twitchin'.\nAn' Jeb waits another haffen hour an' Jeb says,\n\n\"Ortern't I be killed?\"\n\n\"Whut fer?\" says Polly Ann, sorter sharp.\n\nAn' Jeb says, \"Fer bein' so devilish.\"\n\nWell, brother, Nance snorted right out thar, an' Polly Ann Sturgill's\nhand riz up jes once; an' I've heerd Jeb Somers say the next time he\njumps out o' the Fryin' Pan he's a-goin' to take hell-fire 'stid o'\nCutshin fer a place to light.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MESSAGE IN THE SAND\n\n\nStranger, you furriners don't nuver seem to consider that a woman has\nalways got the devil to fight in two people at once!  Hit's two agin\none, I tell ye, an' hit hain't fa'r.\n\nThat's what I said more'n two year ago, when Rosie Branham was a-layin'\nup thar at Dave Hall's, white an' mos' dead.  An', GOD, boys, I says,\nthat leetle thing in thar by her shorely can't be to blame.\n\nThar hain't been a word agin Rosie sence; an', stranger, I reckon thar\nnuver will be.  Fer, while the gal hain't got hide o' kith or kin, thar\nair two fellers up hyeh sorter lookin' atter Rosie; an' one of 'em is\nthe shootin'es' man on this crick, I reckon, 'cept one; an', stranger,\nthat's t'other.\n\nRosie kep' her mouth shet fer a long while; an' I reckon as how the\nfeller 'lowed she wasn't goin' to tell.  Co'se the woman folks got hit\nout'n her--they al'ays gits whut they want, as you know--an' thar the\nsorry cuss was--a-livin' up thar in the Bend, jes aroun' that bluff o'\nlorrel yander, a-lookin' pious, an' a-singin', an' a-sayin' Amen louder\n'n anybody when thar was meetin'.\n\nWell, my boy Jim an' a lot o' fellers jes went up fer him right away.\nI don't know as the boys would 'a' killed him EXACTLY ef they had\nkotched him, though they mought; but they got Abe Shivers, as tol' the\nfeller they was a-comin'--you've heard tell o' Abe-an' they mos' beat\nAbraham Shivers to death.  Stranger, the sorry cuss was Dave.  Rosie\nhadn't no daddy an' no mammy; an' she was jes a-workin' at Dave's fer\nher victuals an' clo'es.  'Pears like the pore gal was jes tricked into\nevil.  Looked like she was sorter 'witched--an' anyways, stranger, she\nwas a fightin' Satan in HERSELF, as well as in Dave.  Hit was two agin\none, I tell ye, an' hit wasn't fa'r.\n\nCo'se they turned Rosie right out in the road I hain't got a word to\nsay agin Dave's wife fer that; an' atter a while the boys lets Dave\ncome back, to take keer o' his ole mammy, of co'se, but I tell ye\nDave's a-playin' a purty lonesome tune.  He keeps purty shy YIT.  He\ndon't nuver sa'nter down this way.  'Pears like he don't seem to think\nhit's healthy fer him down hyeh, an' I reckon Dave's right.\n\nRosie?  Oh, well, I sorter tuk Rosie in myself.  Yes, she's been livin'\nthar in the shack with me an' my boy Jim, an' the--  Why, thar he is\nnow, stranger.  That's him a-wallerin' out thar in the road.  Do you\nreckon thar'd be a single thing agin that leetle cuss ef he had to\nstan' up on Jedgment Day jes as he is now?\n\nLook hyeh, stranger, whut you reckon the Lawd kep' a-writin' thar on\nthe groun' that day when them fellers was a-pesterin' him 'bout that\npore woman?  Don't you jes know he was a writin' 'bout sech as HIM--an'\nRosie?  I tell ye, brother, he writ thar jes what I'm al'ays a-sayin'.\n\nHit hain't the woman's fault.  I said it more'n two year ago, when\nRosie was up thar at ole Dave's, an' I said it yestiddy, when my boy\nJim come to me an' 'lowed as how he aimed to take Rosie down to town\nto-day an' git married.\n\n\"You ricollect, dad,\" says Jim, \"her mammy?\"\n\n\"Yes, Jim,\" I says; \"all the better reason not to be too hard on Rosie.\"\n\nI'm a-lookin' fer 'em both back right now, stranger; an' ef you will,\nI'll be mighty glad to have ye stay right hyeh to the infair this very\nnight.  Thar nuver was a word agin Rosie afore, thar hain't been sence,\nan' you kin ride up an' down this river till the crack o' doom an'\nyou'll nuver hear a word agin her ag'in.  Fer, as I tol' you, my boy,\nJim is the shootin'es' feller on this crick, I reckon, 'cept ONE, an',\nstranger, that's ME!\n\n\n\n\nTHE SENATOR'S LAST TRADE\n\n\nA drove of lean cattle were swinging easily over Black Mountain, and\nbehind them came a big man with wild black hair and a bushy beard.  Now\nand then he would gnaw at his mustache with his long, yellow teeth, or\nwould sit down to let his lean horse rest, and would flip meaninglessly\nat the bushes with a switch.  Sometimes his bushy head would droop over\non his breast, and he would snap it up sharply and start painfully on.\nRobber, cattle-thief, outlaw he might have been in another century; for\nhe filled the figure of any robber hero in life or romance, and yet he\nwas only the Senator from Bell, as he was known in the little Kentucky\ncapital; or, as he was known in his mountain home, just the Senator,\nwho had toiled and schemed and grown rich and grown poor; who had\nsuffered long and was kind.\n\nOnly that Christmas he had gutted every store in town.  \"Give me\neverything you have, brother,\" he said, across each counter; and next\nday every man, woman, and child in the mountain town had a present from\nthe Senator's hands.  He looked like a brigand that day, as he looked\nnow, but he called every man his brother, and his eye, while black and\nlustreless as night, was as brooding and just as kind.\n\nWhen the boom went down, with it and with everybody else went the\nSenator.  Slowly he got dusty, ragged, long of hair.  He looked\ntortured and ever-restless.  You never saw him still; always he swept\nby you, flapping his legs on his lean horse or his arms in his rickety\nbuggy here, there, everywhere--turning, twisting, fighting his way back\nto freedom--and not a murmur.  Still was every man his brother, and if\nsome forgot his once open hand, he forgot it no more completely than\ndid the Senator.  He went very far to pay his debts.  He felt honor\nbound, indeed, to ask his sister to give back the farm that he had\ngiven her, which, very properly people said, she declined to do.\nNothing could kill hope in the Senator's breast; he would hand back the\nfarm in another year, he said; but the sister was firm, and without a\nword still, the Senator went other ways and schemed through the nights,\nand worked and rode and walked and traded through the days, until now,\nwhen the light was beginning to glimmer, his end was come.\n\nThis was the Senator's last trade, and in sight, down in a Kentucky\nvalley, was home.  Strangely enough, the Senator did not care at all,\nand he had just enough sanity left to wonder why, and to be worried.\nIt was the \"walking typhoid\" that had caught up with him, and he was\nlistless, and he made strange gestures and did foolish things as he\nstumbled down the mountain.  He was going over a little knoll now, and\nhe could see the creek that ran around his house, but he was not\ntouched.  He would just as soon have lain down right where he was, or\nhave turned around and gone back, except that it was hot and he wanted\nto get to the water.  He remembered that it was nigh Christmas; he saw\nthe snow about him and the cakes of ice in the creek.  He knew that he\nought not to be hot, and yet he was--so hot that he refused to reason\nwith himself even a minute, and hurried on.  It was odd that it should\nbe so, but just about that time, over in Virginia, a cattle dealer,\nnearing home, stopped to tell a neighbor how he had tricked some\nblack-whiskered fool up in the mountains.  It may have been just when\nhe was laughing aloud over there, that the Senator, over here, tore his\nwoollen shirt from his great hairy chest and rushed into the icy\nstream, clapping his arms to his burning sides and shouting in his\nfrenzy.\n\n\"If he had lived a little longer,\" said a constituent, \"he would have\nlost the next election.  He hadn't the money, you know.\"\n\n\"If he had lived a little longer,\" said the mountain preacher high up\non Yellow Creek, \"I'd have got that trade I had on hand with him\nthrough.  Not that I wanted him to die, but if he had to--why--\"\n\n\"If he had lived a little longer,\" said the Senator's lawyer, \"he would\nhave cleaned off the score against him.\"\n\n\"If he had lived a little longer,\" said the Senator's sister, not\nmeaning to be unkind, \"he would have got all I have.\"\n\nThat was what life held for the Senator.  Death was more kind.\n\n\n\n\nPREACHIN' ON KINGDOM-COME\n\n\nI've told ye, stranger, that Hell fer Sartain empties, as it oughter,\nof co'se, into Kingdom-Come.  You can ketch the devil 'most any day in\nthe week on Hell fer Sartain, an' sometimes you can git Glory\neverlastin' on Kingdom-Come.  Hit's the only meetin'-house thar in\ntwenty miles aroun'.\n\nWell, the reg'lar rider, ole Jim Skaggs, was dead, an' the bretherin\nwas a-lookin' aroun' fer somebody to step into ole Jim's shoes.  Thar'd\nbeen one young feller up thar from the settlemints, a-cavortin' aroun',\nan' they was studyin' 'bout gittin' him.\n\n\"Bretherin' an' sisteren,\" I says, atter the leetle chap was gone,\n\"he's got the fortitood to speak an' he shorely is well favored.  He's\ngot a mighty good hawk eye fer spyin' out evil--an' the gals; he can\noutholler ole Jim; an' IF,\" I says, \"any IDEES ever comes to him, he'll\nbe a hell-rouser shore--but they ain't comin'!\" An', so sayin', I takes\nmy foot in my hand an' steps fer home.\n\nStranger, them fellers over thar hain't seed much o' this world.  Lots\nof 'em nuver seed the cyars; some of 'em nuver seed a wagon.  An' atter\njowerin' an' noratin' fer 'bout two hours, what you reckon they said\nthey aimed to do?  They believed they'd take that ar man Beecher, ef\nthey could git him to come.  They'd heerd o' Henry endurin' the war,\nan' they knowed he was agin the rebs, an' they wanted Henry if they\ncould jes git him to come.\n\nWell, I snorted, an' the feud broke out on Hell fer Sartain betwixt the\nDays an' the Dillons.  Mace Day shot Daws Dillon's brother, as I\nrickollect--somep'n's al'ays a-startin' up that plaguey war an'\na-makin' things frolicsome over thar--an' ef it hadn't a-been fer a\ntall young feller with black hair an' a scar across his forehead, who\nwas a-goin' through the mountains a-settlin' these wars, blame me ef I\nbelieve thar ever would 'a' been any mo' preachin' on Kingdom-Come.\nThis feller comes over from Hazlan an' says he aims to hold a meetin'\non Kingdom-Come.  \"Brother,\" I says, \"that's what no preacher have ever\ndid whilst this war is a-goin' on.\" An' he says, sort o' quiet, \"Well,\nthen, I reckon I'll have to do what no preacher have ever did.\"  An' I\nups an' says: \"Brother, an ole jedge come up here once from the\nsettlemints to hold couht.  'Jedge,' I says, 'that's what no jedge have\never did without soldiers since this war's been a-goin' on.'  An',\nbrother, the jedge's words was yours, p'int-blank.  'All right,' he\nsays, 'then I'll have to do what no other jedge have ever did.' An',\nbrother,\" says I to the preacher, \"the jedge done it shore.  He jes\nlaid under the couht-house fer two days whilst the boys fit over him.\nAn' when I sees the jedge a-makin' tracks fer the settlemints, I says,\n'Jedge,' I says, 'you spoke a parable shore.'\"\n\nWell, sir, the long preacher looked jes as though he was a-sayin' to\nhisself, \"Yes, I hear ye, but I don't heed ye,\" an' when he says, \"Jes\nthe same, I'm a-goin' to hold a meetin' on Kingdom-Come,\" why, I jes\ntakes my foot in my hand an' ag'in I steps fer home.\n\nThat night, stranger, I seed another feller from Hazlan, who was\na-tellin' how this here preacher had stopped the war over thar, an' had\ngot the Marcums an' Braytons to shakin' hands; an' next day ole Tom\nPerkins stops in an' says that WHARAS there mought 'a' been preachin'\nsomewhar an' sometime, thar nuver had been PREACHIN' afore on\nKingdom-Come.  So I goes over to the meetin' house, an' they was all\nthar--Daws Dillon an' Mace Day, the leaders in the war, an' Abe Shivers\n(you've heerd tell o' Abe) who was a-carryin' tales from one side to\nt'other an' a-stirrin' up hell ginerally, as Abe most al'ays is; an'\nthar was Daws on one side o' the meetin'-house an' Mace on t'other, an'\nboth jes a-watchin' fer t'other to make a move, an' thar'd 'a' been\nbilly-hell to pay right thar!  Stranger, that long preacher talked jes\nas easy as I'm a-talkin' now, an' hit was p'int-blank as the feller\nfrom Hazlan said.  You jes ought 'a' heerd him tellin' about the Lawd\na-bein' as pore as any feller thar, an' a-makin' barns an' fences an'\nox-yokes an' sech like; an' not a-bein' able to write his own\nname--havin' to make his mark mebbe--when he started out to save the\nworld.  An' how they tuk him an' nailed him onto a cross when he'd come\ndown fer nothin' but to save 'em; an' stuck a spear big as a corn-knife\ninto his side, an' give him vinegar; an' his own mammy a-standin' down\nthar on the ground a-cryin' an' a-watchin' him an' he a-fergivin' all\nof 'em then an' thar!\n\nThar nuver had been nothin' like that afore on Kingdom-Come, an' all\nalong I heerd fellers a-layin' thar guns down; an when the preacher\ncalled out fer sinners, blame me ef the fust feller that riz wasn't\nMace Day.  An' Mace says, \"Stranger, 'f what you say is true, I reckon\nthe Lawd 'll fergive me too, but I don't believe Daws Dillon ever\nwill,\" an' Mace stood thar lookin' around fer Daws.  An' all of a\nsudden the preacher got up straight an' called out, \"Is thar a human in\nthis house mean an' sorry enough to stand betwixt a man an' his Maker\"?\nAn' right thar, stranger, Daws riz.  \"Naw, by God, thar hain' t!\" Daws\nsays, an' he walks up to Mace a-holdin' out his hand, an' they all\nbusts out cryin' an' shakin' hands--Days an' Dillons--jes as the\npreacher had made 'em do over in Hazlan.  An' atter the thing was over,\nI steps up to the preacher an' I says:\n\n\"Brother,\" I says, \"YOU spoke a parable, shore.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE PASSING OF ABRAHAM SHIVERS\n\n\n\"I tell ye, boys, hit hain t often a feller has the chance o' doin' so\nmuch good jes by DYIN'.  Fer 'f Abe Shivers air gone, shorely gone, the\nrest of us--every durn one of us--air a-goin' to be saved.  Fer Abe\nShivers--you hain't heerd tell o' ABE?  Well, you must be a stranger in\nthese mountains o' Kaintuck, shore.\n\n\"I don't know, stranger, as Abe ever was borned; nobody in these\nmountains knows it 'f he was.  The fust time I ever heerd tell o' Abe\nhe was a-hollerin' fer his rights one mawnin' at daylight, endurin' the\nwar, jes outside o' ole Tom Perkins' door on Fryin' Pan.  Abe was left\nthar by some home-gyard, I reckon.  Well, nobody air ever turned out'n\ndoors in these mountains, as you know, an' Abe got his rights that\nmawin', an' he's been a-gittin' 'em ever sence.  Tom already had a\nhouseful, but 'f any feller got the bigges' hunk o' corn-bread, that\nfeller was Abe; an' ef any feller got a-whalin', hit wasn't Abe.\n\n\"Abe tuk to lyin' right naturely--looked like--afore he could talk.\nFact is, Abe nuver could do nothin' but jes whisper.  Still, Abe could\nmanage to send a lie furder with that rattlin' whisper than ole Tom\ncould with that big horn o' hisn what tells the boys the revenoos air\ncomin' up Fryin' Pan.'\n\n\"Didn't take Abe long to git to braggin' an' drinkin' an' naggin' an'\nhectorin'--everything, 'mos', 'cept fightin'.  Nobody ever drawed Abe\nShivers into a fight.  I don't know as he was afeerd; looked like Abe\nwas a-havin' sech a tarnation good time with his devilmint he jes\ndidn't want to run no risk o' havin' hit stopped.  An' sech devilmint!\nHit ud take a <DW53>'s age, I reckon, to tell ye.\n\n\"The boys was a-goin' up the river one night to git ole Dave Hall fer\ntrickin' Rosie Branham into evil.  Some feller goes ahead an' tells ole\nDave they's a-comin.'  Hit was Abe.  Some feller finds a streak o' ore\non ole Tom Perkins' land, an' racks his jinny down to town, an' tells a\nfurriner thar, an' Tom comes might' nigh sellin' the land fer nothin'.\nNow Tom raised Abe, but, jes the same, the feller was Abe.\n\n\"One night somebody guides the revenoos in on Hell fer Sartain, an'\nthey cuts up four stills.  Hit was Abe.  The same night, mind ye, a\nfeller slips in among the revenoos while they's asleep, and cuts off\ntheir hosses' manes an' tails--muled every durned critter uv 'em.\nStranger, hit was Abe.  An' as fer women-folks--well, Abe was the ill\nfavoredest feller I ever see, an' he couldn't talk; still, Abe was\nsassy, an' you know how sass counts with the gals; an' Abe's whisperin'\ncome in jes as handy as any feller's settin' up; so 'f ever you seed a\nman with a Winchester a-lookin' fer the feller who had cut him out,\nstranger, he was a-lookin' fer Abe.\n\n\"Somebody tells Harve Hall, up thar at a dance on Hell-fer-Sartain one\nChristmas night, that Rich Harp had said somep'n' agin him an' Nance\nOsborn.  An' somebody tells Rich that Harve had said sompe'n' agin\nNance an' HIM.  Hit was one an' the same feller, stranger, an' the\nfeller was Abe.  Well, while Rich an' Harve was a-gittin' well,\nsomebody runs off with Nance.  Hit was Abe.  Then Rich an' Harve jes\ndraws straws fer a feller.  Stranger, they drawed fer Abe.  Hit's purty\nhard to believe that Abe air gone, 'cept that Rich Harp an' Harve Hall\ndon't never draw no straws fer nothin'; but 'f by the grace o'\nGoddle-mighty Abe air gone, why, as I was a-sayin', the rest of\nus--every durned one of us air a-goin' to be saved, shore.  Fer Abe's\ngone fust, an' ef thar's only one Jedgment Day, the Lawd 'll nuver git\nto us.\"\n\n\n\n\nA PURPLE RHODODENDRON\n\n\nThe purple rhododendron is rare.  Up in the Gap here, Bee Rock, hung\nout over Roaring Rock, blossoms with it--as a gray cloud purples with\nthe sunrise.  This rock was tossed lightly on edge when the earth was\nyoung, and stands vertical.  To get the flowers you climb the mountain\nto one side, and, balancing on the rock's thin edge, slip down by roots\nand past rattlesnake dens till you hang out over the water and reach\nfor them.  To avoid snakes it is best to go when it is cool, at\ndaybreak.\n\nI know but one other place in this southwest corner of Virginia where\nthere is another bush of purple rhododendron, and one bush only is\nthere.  This hangs at the throat of a peak not far away, whose ageless\ngray head is bent over a ravine that sinks like a spear thrust into the\nside of the mountain.  Swept only by high wind and eagle wings as this\nis, I yet knew one man foolhardy enough to climb to it for a flower.\nHe brought one blossom down: and to this day I do not know that it was\nnot the act of a coward; yes, though Grayson did it, actually smiling\nall the way from peak to ravine, and though he was my best friend--best\nloved then and since.  I believe he was the strangest man I have ever\nknown, and I say this with thought; for his eccentricities were\nsincere.  In all he did I cannot remember having even suspected\nanything theatrical but once.\n\nWe were all Virginians or Kentuckians at the Gap, and Grayson was a\nVirginian.  You might have guessed that he was a Southerner from his\nvoice and from the way he spoke of women--but no more.  Otherwise, he\nmight have been a Moor, except for his color, which was about the only\nracial characteristic he had.  He had been educated abroad and, after\nthe English habit, had travelled everywhere.  And yet I can imagine no\nmore lonely way between the eternities than the path Grayson trod alone.\n\nHe came to the Gap in the early days, and just why he came I never\nknew.  He had studied the iron question a long time, he told me, and\nwhat I thought reckless speculation was, it seems, deliberate judgment\nto him.  His money \"in the dirt,\" as the phrase was, Grayson got him a\nhorse and rode the hills and waited.  He was intimate with nobody.\nOccasionally he would play poker with us and sometimes he drank a good\ndeal, but liquor never loosed his tongue.  At poker his face told as\nlittle as the back of his cards, and he won more than admiration--even\nfrom the Kentuckians, who are artists at the game; but the money went\nfrom a free hand, and, after a diversion like this, he was apt to be\nmoody and to keep more to himself than ever.  Every fortnight or two he\nwould disappear, always over Sunday.  In three or four days he would\nturn up again, black with brooding, and then he was the last man to\nleave the card-table or he kept away from it altogether.  Where he went\nnobody knew; and he was not the man anybody would question.\n\nOne night two of us Kentuckians were sitting in the club, and from a\nhome paper I read aloud the rumored engagement of a girl we both\nknew--who was famous for beauty in the Bluegrass, as was her mother\nbefore her and the mother before her--to an unnamed Virginian.  Grayson\nsat near, smoking a pipe; and when I read the girl's name I saw him\ntake the meerschaum from his lips, and I felt his eyes on me.  It was a\nmystery how, but I knew at once that Grayson was the man.  He sought me\nout after that and seemed to want to make friends.  I was willing, or,\nrather he made me more than willing; for he was irresistible to me, as\nI imagine he would have been to anybody.  We got to walking together\nand riding together at night, and we were soon rather intimate; but for\na long time he never so much as spoke the girl's name.  Indeed, he kept\naway from the Bluegrass for nearly two months; but when he did go he\nstayed a fortnight.\n\nThis time he came for me as soon as he got back to the Gap.  It was\njust before midnight, and we went as usual back of Imboden Hill,\nthrough moon-dappled beeches, and Grayson turned off into the woods\nwhere there was no path, both of us silent.  We rode through tremulous,\nshining leaves--Grayson's horse choosing a way for himself--and,\nthreshing through a patch of high, strong weeds, we circled past an\namphitheatre of deadened trees whose crooked arms were tossed out into\nthe moonlight, and halted on the spur.  The moon was poised over\nMorris's farm; South Fork was shining under us like a loop of gold, the\nmountains lay about in tranquil heaps, and the moon-mist rose luminous\nbetween them.  There Grayson turned to me with an eager light in his\neyes that I had never seen before.\n\n\"This has a new beauty to-night!\" he said; and then \"I told her about\nyou, and she said that she used to know you--well.\"  I was glad my face\nwas in shadow--I could hardly keep back a brutal laugh--and Grayson,\nunseeing, went on to speak of her as I had never heard any man speak of\nany woman.  In the end, he said that she had just promised to be his\nwife.  I answered nothing.  Other men, I knew, had said that with the\nsame right, perhaps, and had gone from her to go back no more.  And I\nwas one of them.  Grayson had met her at White Sulphur five years\nbefore, and had loved her ever since.  She had known it from the first,\nhe said, and I guessed then what was going to happen to him.  I\nmarvelled, listening to the man, for it was the star of constancy in\nher white soul that was most lustrous to him--and while I wondered the\nmarvel became a commonplace.  Did not every lover think his loved one\nexempt from the frailty that names other women?  There is no ideal of\nfaith or of purity that does not live in countless women to-day.  I\nbelieve that; but could I not recall one friend who walked with\nDivinity through pine woods for one immortal spring, and who, being\nsick to death, was quite finished--learning her at last?  Did I not\nknow lovers who believed sacred to themselves, in the name of love,\nlips that had been given to many another without it?  And now did I not\nknow--but I knew too much, and to Grayson I said nothing.\n\nThat spring the \"boom\" came.  Grayson's property quadrupled in value\nand quadrupled again.  I was his lawyer, and I plead with him to sell;\nbut Grayson laughed.  He was not speculating; he had invested on\njudgment; he would sell only at a certain figure.  The figure was\nactually reached, and Grayson let half go.  The boom fell, and Grayson\ntook the tumble with a jest.  It would come again in the autumn, he\nsaid, and he went off to meet the girl at White Sulphur.\n\nI worked right hard that summer, but I missed him, and I surely was\nglad when he came back.  Something was wrong; I saw it at once.  He did\nnot mention her name, and for a while he avoided even me.  I sought him\nthen, and gradually I got him into our old habit of walking up into the\nGap and of sitting out after supper on a big rock in the valley,\nlistening to the run of the river and watching the afterglow over the\nCumberland, the moon rise over Wallen's Ridge and the stars come out.\nWaiting for him to speak, I learned for the first time then another\nsecret of his wretched melancholy.  It was the hopelessness of that\ntime, perhaps, that disclosed it.  Grayson had lost the faith of his\nchildhood.  Most men do that at some time or other, but Grayson had no\nbusiness, no profession, no art in which to find relief.  Indeed, there\nwas but one substitute possible, and that came like a gift straight\nfrom the God whom he denied.  Love came, and Grayson's ideals of love,\nas of everything else, were morbid and quixotic.  He believed that he\nowed it to the woman he should marry never to have loved another.  He\nhad loved but one woman, he said, and he should love but one.  I\nbelieved him then literally when he said that his love for the Kentucky\ngirl was his religion now--the only anchor left him in his sea of\ntroubles, the only star that gave him guiding light.  Without this\nlove, what then?\n\nI had a strong impulse to ask him, but Grayson shivered, as though he\ndivined my thought, and, in some relentless way, our talk drifted to\nthe question of suicide.  I was not surprised that he rather defended\nit.  Neither of us said anything new, only I did not like the way he\ntalked.  He was too deliberate, too serious, as though he were really\nfacing a possible fact.  He had no religious scruples, he said, no\nfamily ties; he had nothing to do with bringing himself into life;\nwhy--if it was not worth living, not bearable--why should he not end\nit?  He gave the usual authority, and I gave the usual answer.\nReligion aside, if we did not know that we were here for some purpose,\nwe did not know that we were not; and here we were anyway, and our duty\nwas plain.  Desertion was the act of a coward, and that Grayson could\nnot deny.\n\nThat autumn the crash of '91 came across the water from England, and\nGrayson gave up.  He went to Richmond, and came back with money enough\nto pay off his notes, and I think it took nearly all he had.  Still, he\nplayed poker steadily now--for poker had been resumed when it was no\nlonger possible to gamble in lots--he drank a good deal, and he began\njust at this time to take a singular interest in our volunteer police\nguard.  He had always been on hand when there was trouble, and I\nsha'n't soon forget him the day Senator Mahone spoke, when we were\npunching a crowd of mountaineers back with cocked Winchesters.  He had\nlost his hat in a struggle with one giant; he looked half crazy with\nanger, and yet he was white and perfectly cool, and I noticed that he\nnever had to tell a man but once to stand back.  Now he was the first\nman to answer a police whistle.  When we were guarding Talt Hall, he\nalways volunteered when there was any unusual risk to run.  When we\nraided the Pound to capture a gang of desperadoes, he insisted on going\nahead as spy; and when we got restless lying out in the woods waiting\nfor daybreak, and the captain suggested a charge on the cabin, Grayson\nwas by his side when it was made.  Grayson sprang through the door\nfirst, and he was the man who thrust his reckless head up into the loft\nand lighted a match to see if the murderers were there.  Most of us did\nfoolish things in those days under stress of excitement, but Grayson, I\nsaw, was weak enough to be reckless.  His trouble with the girl,\nwhatever it was, was serious enough to make him apparently care little\nwhether he were alive or dead.  And still I saw that not yet even had\nhe lost hope.  He was having a sore fight with his pride, and he got\nbody-worn and heart-sick over it.  Of course he was worsted, and in the\nend, from sheer weakness, he went back to her once more.\n\nI shall never see another face like his when Grayson came back that\nlast time.  I never noticed before that there were silver hairs about\nhis temples.  He stayed in his room, and had his meals sent to him.  He\ncame out only to ride, and then at night.  Waking the third morning at\ndaybreak, I saw him through the window galloping past, and I knew he\nhad spent the night on Black Mountain.  I went to his room as soon as I\ngot up, and Grayson was lying across his bed with his face down, his\nclothes on, and in his right hand was a revolver.  I reeled into a\nchair before I had strength enough to bend over him, and when I did I\nfound him asleep.  I left him as he was, and I never let him know that\nI had been to his room; but I got him out on the rock again that night,\nand I turned our talk again to suicide.  I said it was small, mean,\ncowardly, criminal, contemptible!  I was savagely in earnest, and\nGrayson shivered and said not a word.  I thought he was in better mind\nafter that.  We got to taking night rides again, and I stayed as\nclosely to him as I could, for times got worse and trouble was upon\neverybody.  Notes fell thicker than snowflakes, and, through the\nfoolish policy of the company, foreclosures had to be made.  Grayson\nwent to the wall like the rest of us.  I asked him what he had done\nwith the money he had made.  He had given away a great deal to poorer\nkindred; he had paid his dead father's debts; he had played away a good\ndeal, and he had lost the rest.  His faith was still imperturbable.  He\nhad a dozen rectangles of \"dirt,\" and from these, he said, it would all\ncome back some day.  Still, he felt the sudden poverty keenly, but he\nfaced it as he did any other physical fact in life--dauntless.  He used\nto be fond of saying that no one thing could make him miserable.  But\nhe would talk with mocking earnestness about some much-dreaded\ncombination; and a favorite phrase of his--which got to have peculiar\nsignificance--was \"the cohorts of hell,\" who closed in on him when he\nwas sick and weak, and who fell back when he got well.  He had one\nstrange habit, too, from which I got comfort.  He would deliberately\nwalk into and defy any temptation that beset him.  That was the way he\nstrengthened himself, he said.  I knew what his temptation was now, and\nI thought of this habit when I found him asleep with his revolver, and\nI got hope from it now, when the dreaded combination (whatever that\nwas) seemed actually to have come.\n\nI could see now that he got worse daily.  He stopped his mockeries, his\noccasional fits of reckless gayety.  He stopped poker--resolutely--he\ncouldn't afford to lose now; and, what puzzled me, he stopped drinking.\nThe man simply looked tired, always hopelessly tired; and I could\nbelieve him sincere in all his foolish talk about his blessed Nirvana:\nwhich was the peace he craved, which was end enough for him.\n\nWinter broke.  May drew near; and one afternoon, when Grayson and I\ntook our walk up through the Gap, he carried along a huge spy-glass of\nmine, which had belonged to a famous old desperado, who watched his\nenemies with it from the mountain-tops.  We both helped capture him,\nand I defended him.  He was sentenced to hang--the glass was my fee.\nWe sat down opposite Bee Rock, and for the first time Grayson told me\nof that last scene with her.  He spoke without bitterness, and he told\nme what she said, word for word, without a breath of blame for her.  I\ndo not believe that he judged her at all; she did not know--he always\nsaid; she did not KNOW; and then, when I opened my lips, Grayson\nreached silently for my wrist, and I can feel again the warning crush\nof his fingers, and I say nothing against her now.\n\nI asked Grayson what his answer was.\n\n\"I asked her,\" he said, solemnly, \"if she had ever seen a purple\nrhododendron.\"\n\nI almost laughed, picturing the scene--the girl bewildered by his\nabsurd question--Grayson calm, superbly courteous.  It was a mental\npeculiarity of his--this irrelevancy--and it was like him to end a\nmatter of life and death in just that way.\n\n\"I told her I should send her one.  I am waiting for them to come out,\"\nhe added; and he lay back with his head against a stone and sighted the\ntelescope on a dizzy point, about which buzzards were circling.\n\n\"There is just one bush of rhododendron up there,\" he went on.  \"I saw\nit looking down from the Point last spring.  I imagine it must blossom\nearlier than that across there on Bee Rock, being always in the sun.\nNo, it's not budding yet,\" he added, with his eye to the glass.\n\n\"You see that ledge just to the left?  I dropped a big rock from the\nPoint square on a rattler who was sunning himself there last spring.  I\ncan see a foothold all the way up the cliff.  It can be done,\" he\nconcluded, in a tone that made me turn sharply upon him.\n\n\"Do you really mean to climb up there?\" I asked, harshly.\n\n\"If it blossoms first up there--I'll get it where it blooms first.\"  In\na moment I was angry and half sick with suspicion, for I knew his\nobstinacy; and then began what I am half ashamed to tell.\n\nEvery day thereafter Grayson took that glass with him, and I went along\nto humor him.  I watched Bee Rock, and he that one bush at the throat\nof the peak--neither of us talking over the matter again.  It was\nuncanny, that rivalry--sun and wind in one spot, sun and wind in\nanother--Nature herself casting the fate of a half-crazed fool with a\nflower.  It was utterly absurd, but I got nervous over\nit--apprehensive, dismal.\n\nA week later it rained for two days, and the water was high.  The next\nday the sun shone, and that afternoon Grayson smiled, looking through\nthe glass, and handed it to me.  I knew what I should see.  One purple\ncluster, full blown, was shaking in the wind.  Grayson was leaning back\nin a dream when I let the glass down.  A cool breath from the woods\nbehind us brought the odor of roots and of black earth; up in the\nleaves and sunlight somewhere a wood-thrush was singing, and I saw in\nGrayson's face what I had not seen for a long time, and that was\npeace--the peace of stubborn purpose.  He did not come for me the next\nday, nor the next; but the next he did, earlier than usual.\n\n\"I am going to get that rhododendron,\" he said.  \"I have been half-way\nup--it can be reached.\"  So had I been half-way up.  With nerve and\nagility the flower could be got, and both these Grayson had.  If he had\nwanted to climb up there and drop, he could have done it alone, and he\nwould have known that I should have found him.  Grayson was testing\nhimself again, and, angry with him for the absurdity of the thing and\nwith myself for humoring it, but still not sure of him, I picked up my\nhat and went.  I swore to myself silently that it was the last time I\nshould pay any heed to his whims.  I believed this would be the last.\nThe affair with the girl was over.  The flower sent, I knew Grayson\nwould never mention her name again.\n\nNature was radiant that afternoon.  The mountains had the leafy\nluxuriance of June, and a rich, sunlit haze drowsed on them between the\nshadows starting out over the valley and the clouds so white that the\nblue of the sky looked dark.  Two eagles shot across the mouth of the\nGap as we neared it, and high beyond buzzards were sailing over\nGrayson's rhododendron.\n\nI went up the ravine with him and I climbed up behind him--Grayson\ngoing very deliberately and whistling softly.  He called down to me\nwhen he reached the shelf that looked half-way.\n\n\"You mustn't come any farther than this,\" he said.  \"Get out on that\nrock and I'll drop them down to you.\"\n\nThen he jumped from the ledge and caught the body of a small tree close\nto the roots, and my heart sank at such recklessness and all my fears\nrose again.  I scrambled hastily to the ledge, but I could get no\nfarther.  I might possibly make the jump he had made--but how should I\never get back?  How would he?  I called angrily after him now, and he\nwouldn't answer me.  I called him a fool, a coward; I stamped the ledge\nlike a child--but Grayson kept on, foot after hand, with stealthy\ncaution, and the purple cluster nodding down at him made my head whirl.\nI had to lie down to keep from tumbling from the ledge; and there on my\nside, gripping a pine bush, I lay looking up at him.  He was close to\nthe flowers now, and just before he took the last upward step he turned\nand looked down that awful height with as calm a face as though he\ncould have dropped and floated unhurt to the ravine beneath.\n\nThen with his left hand he caught the ledge to the left, strained up,\nand, holding thus, reached out with his right.  The hand closed about\nthe cluster, and the twig was broken.  Grayson gave a great shout then.\nHe turned his head as though to drop them, and, that far away, I heard\nthe sibilant whir of rattles.  I saw a snake's crest within a yard of\nhis face, and, my God!  I saw Grayson loose his left hand to guard it!\nThe snake struck at his arm, and Grayson reeled and caught back once at\nthe ledge with his left hand.  He caught once, I say, to do him full\njustice; then, without a word, he dropped--and I swear there was a\nsmile on his face when he shot down past me into the trees.\n\n\nI found him down there in the ravine with nearly every bone in his body\ncrushed.  His left arm was under him, and outstretched in his right\nhand was the shattered cluster, with every blossom gone but one.  One\nwhite half of his face was unmarked, and on it was still the shadow of\na smile.  I think it meant more than that Grayson believed that he was\nnear peace at last.  It meant that Fate had done the deed for him and\nthat he was glad.  Whether he would have done it himself, I do not\nknow; and that is why I say that though Grayson brought the flower\ndown--smiling from peak to ravine--I do not know that he was not, after\nall, a coward.\n\nThat night I wrote to the woman in Kentucky.  I told her that Grayson\nhad fallen from a cliff while climbing for flowers; and that he was\ndead.  Along with these words, I sent a purple rhododendron.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Hell fer Sartain' and Other Stories, by \nJohn Fox, Jr.\n\n*** "}
{"text": "PAPERS OF THE PRESIDENTS, VOLUME V, PART 1; PRESIDENTS TAYLOR AND\nFILLMORE***\n\n\nE-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, David Garcia, and the Project\nGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team\n\n\n\nA COMPILATION OF THE MESSAGES AND PAPERS OF THE PRESIDENTS,\n\nVOLUME V, PART 1\n\nBY JAMES D. RICHARDSON\n\nA REPRESENTATIVE FROM THE STATE OF TENNESSEE\n\n1902\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThis volume, the fifth of the series, comprises a period of twelve\nyears. It includes the four years' term of the Taylor-Fillmore\nAdministration and the full terms of Presidents Pierce and Buchanan.\nThis brings the history down to March 4, 1861, the beginning of the late\nwar between the States. These twelve years form an important and\neventful epoch in the affairs of our country, as they immediately\nprecede the war and cover the official utterances of the Executives\nduring this period. Some of the more important events and incidents of\nthese twelve years are the Bulwer-Clayton treaty with Great Britain for\na joint occupancy of the proposed ship canal through Central America;\nthe compromise measures of 1850; the admission of California, Minnesota,\nOregon, and Kansas as States; the Gadsden purchase, by which the United\nStates acquired 45,535 square miles of territory, being portions of\nArizona and New Mexico; the Kansas-Nebraska legislation; the famous Dred\nScott decision; the John Brown insurrection, and the disruption of the\nDemocratic party in the national campaign of 1860.\n\nThis volume contains several veto messages which are interesting. By\nPresident Pierce, vetoes of \"An act making a grant of public lands to\nthe several States for the benefit of indigent insane persons;\" of six\nacts relating to internal improvements; of an act for a subsidy for\nocean mails, and of an act for the ascertainment and allowance of French\nspoliation claims. By President Buchanan, vetoes of an act granting\nlands for agricultural purposes; of two acts relating to internal\nimprovements, and of a homestead act.\n\nInteresting reading is furnished in the protests of President Buchanan\nagainst the action of the House of Representatives in ordering the\nappointment of a committee to investigate the conduct of the President.\n The careful reader will find in this volume errors which the compiler\ncould not correct. For instance, on page 410 certain figures are given\nfrom a report of the Postmaster-General, which when added do not produce\nthe total given. The error may arise from the failure to make the proper\naddition, or it may be that the total is correct and that the figures\nfirst given are incorrect. The original message contains the same error.\nSimilar errors occur elsewhere in the compilation. These matters are,\nhowever, trivial and perhaps need not have been mentioned.\n\nJAMES D. RICHARDSON.\nJULY 4, 1897.\n\n\n\n\n\nZachary Taylor\n\nMarch 5, 1849, to July 9, 1850\n\n\n\n\n\n\nZachary Taylor\n\nZachary Taylor was born in Orange County, Va., November 24, 1784. He was\nthe third son of Richard Taylor, a colonel in the War of the Revolution,\nwho was conspicuous for his zeal and courage. In 1785 his father removed\nto Kentucky, then a sparsely occupied county of Virginia, and made his\nhome near the present city of Louisville, where he died. Zachary had but\nlittle opportunity for attending school in this new settlement, but was\nsurrounded during all the years of his childhood and early manhood by\nconditions and circumstances well adapted to form the character\nillustrated by his eventful career. In 1808 he was appointed a\nLieutenant in the Seventh Infantry, and in 1810 was promoted to the\ngrade of captain in the same regiment. The same year was married to Miss\nMargaret Smith, of Maryland. For meritorious conduct in defending Fort\nHarrison, on the Wabash River, against the Indians received the brevet\nof major. In 1814 commanded in a campaign against hostile Indians and\ntheir British allies on Rock River. Was made lieutenant-colonel of the\nFirst Infantry in 1819, and in 1832 became full colonel of that\nregiment, with headquarters at Fort Crawford, Prairie du Chien. Was\noccupied with his regiment fighting the Indians in the Black Hawk and\nother campaigns until 1836, when he was transferred to Florida for\nservice in the Seminole War. For gallant conduct there the next year\nreceived the brevet of brigadier-general, and in 1838 was appointed to\nthe chief command in Florida. In 1840 was assigned to command the\nsouthern division of the western department of the Army. About this time\nhe made his family home at Baton Rouge, La. In 1845 was ordered to the\ndefense of Texas, which had been annexed to the United States. He went\nto Corpus Christi, and on March 8, 1846, advanced, and after some\nfighting, in which he routed and drove the enemy across the Rio Grande,\non May 18 occupied Matamoras. He remained there for a short period,\nobtaining reenforcements. In September fought the enemy at Monterey and\ncaptured that town. The following February fought and won the battle of\nBuena Vista. In the meantime, besides engagements less important, he had\nwon the victories of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, which created\ngreat enthusiasm throughout the Union. The terms of capitulation granted\nby him to the enemy at Monterey were not approved by the Government at\nWashington. Soon after the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma\nhe received the rank of brevet major-general, and on June 27, 1846, was\nappointed major-general and was commander in chief of all the American\nforces in Mexico until Major-General Scott was ordered there in 1846.\nThe latter part of November returned to his home in Louisiana. Upon his\nreturn to the United States he was received wherever he went with\npopular demonstrations. Was nominated for President by the national\nconvention of the Whig party at Philadelphia on June 7, 1848, on the\nfourth ballot, defeating General Scott, Mr. Clay, and Mr. Webster. At\nthe election on November 7 the Whig ticket (Taylor and Fillmore) was\nsuccessful, receiving 163 electoral votes, while the Democratic\ncandidates (Cass and Butler) each received 127 votes. He was inaugurated\nMarch 5, 1849, and died in Washington City July 9, 1850. Was buried in\nCave Hill Cemetery, Louisville, Ky.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nINAUGURAL ADDRESS.\n\nElected by the American people to the highest office known to our laws,\nI appear here to take the oath prescribed by the Constitution, and, in\ncompliance with a time-honored custom, to address those who are now\nassembled.\n\nThe confidence and respect shown by my countrymen in calling me to be\nthe Chief Magistrate of a Republic holding a high rank among the nations\nof the earth have inspired me with feelings of the most profound\ngratitude; but when I reflect that the acceptance of the office which\ntheir partiality has bestowed imposes the discharge of the most arduous\nduties and involves the weightiest obligations, I am conscious that the\nposition which I have been called to fill, though sufficient to satisfy\nthe loftiest ambition, is surrounded by fearful responsibilities.\nHappily, however, in the performance of my new duties I shall not be\nwithout able cooperation. The legislative and judicial branches of the\nGovernment present prominent examples of distinguished civil attainments\nand matured experience, and it shall be my endeavor to call to my\nassistance in the Executive Departments individuals whose talents,\nintegrity, and purity of character will furnish ample guaranties for the\nfaithful and honorable performance of the trusts to be committed to\ntheir charge. With such aids and an honest purpose to do whatever is\nright, I hope to execute diligently, impartially, and for the best\ninterests of the country the manifold duties devolved upon me.\n\nIn the discharge of these duties my guide will be the Constitution,\nwhich I this day swear to \"preserve, protect, and defend.\" For the\ninterpretation of that instrument I shall look to the decisions of the\njudicial tribunals established by its authority and to the practice of\nthe Government under the earlier Presidents, who had so large a share in\nits formation. To the example of those illustrious patriots I shall\nalways defer with reverence, and especially to his example who was by so\nmany titles \"the Father of his Country.\"\n\nTo command the Army and Navy of the United States; with the advice and\nconsent of the Senate, to make treaties and to appoint ambassadors and\nother officers; to give to Congress information of the state of the\nUnion and recommend such measures as he shall judge to be necessary; and\nto take care that the laws shall be faithfully executed--these are the\nmost important functions intrusted to the President by the Constitution,\nand it may be expected that I shall briefly indicate the principles\nwhich will control me in their execution.\n\nChosen by the body of the people under the assurance that my\nAdministration would be devoted to the welfare of the whole country, and\nnot to the support of any particular section or merely local interest, I\nthis day renew the declarations I have heretofore made and proclaim my\nfixed determination to maintain to the extent of my ability the\nGovernment in its original purity and to adopt as the basis of my public\npolicy those great republican doctrines which constitute the strength of\nour national existence.\n\nIn reference to the Army and Navy, lately employed with so much\ndistinction on active service, care shall be taken to insure the highest\ncondition of efficiency, and in furtherance of that object the military\nand naval schools, sustained by the liberality of Congress, shall\nreceive the special attention of the Executive.\n\nAs American freemen we can not but sympathize in all efforts to extend\nthe blessings of civil and political liberty, but at the same time we\nare warned by the admonitions of history and the voice of our own\nbeloved Washington to abstain from entangling alliances with foreign\nnations. In all disputes between conflicting governments it is our\ninterest not less than our duty to remain strictly neutral, while our\ngeographical position, the genius of our institutions and our people,\nthe advancing spirit of civilization, and, above all, the dictates of\nreligion direct us to the cultivation of peaceful and friendly relations\nwith all other powers. It is to be hoped that no international question\ncan now arise which a government confident in its own strength and\nresolved to protect its own just rights may not settle by wise\nnegotiation; and it eminently becomes a government like our own, founded\non the morality and intelligence of its citizens and upheld by their\naffections, to exhaust every resort of honorable diplomacy before\nappealing to arms. In the conduct of our foreign relations I shall\nconform to these views, as I believe them essential to the best\ninterests and the true honor of the country.\n\nThe appointing power vested in the President imposes delicate and\nonerous duties. So far as it is possible to be informed, I shall make\nhonesty, capacity, and fidelity indispensable prerequisites to the\nbestowal of office, and the absence of either of these qualities shall\nbe deemed sufficient cause for removal.\n\nIt shall be my study to recommend such constitutional measures to\nCongress as may be necessary and proper to secure encouragement and\nprotection to the great interests of agriculture, commerce, and\nmanufactures, to improve our rivers and harbors, to provide for the\nspeedy extinguishment of the public debt, to enforce a strict\naccountability on the part of all officers of the Government and the\nutmost economy in all public expenditures; but it is for the wisdom of\nCongress itself, in which all legislative powers are vested by the\nConstitution, to regulate these and other matters of domestic policy. I\nshall look with confidence to the enlightened patriotism of that body to\nadopt such measures of conciliation as may harmonize conflicting\ninterests and tend to perpetuate that Union which should be the\nparamount object of our hopes and affections. In any action calculated\nto promote an object so near the heart of everyone who truly loves his\ncountry I will zealously unite with the coordinate branches of the\nGovernment.\n\nIn conclusion I congratulate you, my fellow-citizens, upon the high\nstate of prosperity to which the goodness of Divine Providence has\nconducted our common country. Let us invoke a continuance of the same\nprotecting care which has led us from small beginnings to the eminence\nwe this day occupy, and let us seek to deserve that continuance by\nprudence and moderation in our councils, by well-directed attempts to\nassuage the bitterness which too often marks unavoidable differences of\nopinion, by the promulgation and practice of just and liberal\nprinciples, and by an enlarged patriotism, which shall acknowledge no\nlimits but those of our own widespread Republic.\n\nMARCH 5, 1849.\n\n\n\n\n\nSPECIAL MESSAGES.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 13, 1849_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI herewith communicate to the Senate, in confidence, a report and\naccompanying papers[1a] from the Secretary of State, in answer to its\nresolution of the 12th instant.\n\n[Footnote 1a: Instructions to United States minister at London relative\nto further extension of reciprocity and equality in the laws of\nnavigation, and contemplating the opening of the coasting trade of the\nUnited States to the vessels of other nations.]\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 20, 1849_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of yesterday, passed in\nexecutive session, requesting a communication of certain papers relative\nto the amendments made by the Senate to the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo,\nI transmit a report from the Secretary of State and the documents by\nwhich it was accompanied. It is desirable that the latter should be\nreturned to the Department of State.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 22, 1849_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nIn compliance with the request contained in the resolution of the Senate\nyesterday, adopted in executive session, calling for certain papers in\nrelation to the amendments made by the Senate in the treaty of Guadalupe\nHidalgo, I transmit a report from the Secretary of State and the\ndocuments by which it was accompanied.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\n\nPROCLAMATION.\n\nBY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.\n\nA PROCLAMATION.\n\n\nThere is reason to believe that an armed expedition is about to be\nfitted out in the United States with an intention to invade the island\nof Cuba or some of the Provinces of Mexico. The best information which\nthe Executive has been able to obtain points to the island of Cuba as\nthe object of this expedition. It is the duty of this Government to\nobserve the faith of treaties and to prevent any aggression by our\ncitizens upon the territories of friendly nations. I have therefore\nthought it necessary and proper to issue this my proclamation to warn\nall citizens of the United States who shall connect themselves with an\nenterprise so grossly in violation of our laws and our treaty\nobligations that they will thereby subject themselves to the heavy\npenalties denounced against them by our acts of Congress and will\nforfeit their claim to the protection of their country. No such persons\nmust expect the interference of this Government in any form on their\nbehalf, no matter to what extremities they may be reduced in consequence\nof their conduct. An enterprise to invade the territories of a friendly\nnation, set on foot and prosecuted within the limits of the United\nStates, is in the highest degree criminal, as tending to endanger the\npeace and compromit the honor of this nation; and therefore I exhort all\ngood citizens, as they regard our national reputation, as they respect\ntheir own laws and the laws of nations, as they value the blessings of\npeace and the welfare of their country, to discountenance and prevent by\nall lawful means any such enterprise; and I call upon every officer of\nthis Government, civil or military, to use all efforts in his power to\narrest for trial and punishment every such offender against the laws\nproviding for the performance of our sacred obligations to friendly\npowers.\n\nGiven under my hand the 11th day of August, A.D. 1849, and the\nseventy-fourth of the Independence of the United States.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\nBy the President:\n  J.M. CLAYTON,\n    _Secretary of State_.\n\n\n\n\n\nEXECUTIVE ORDER.\n\n\nGENERAL ORDERS, No. 34.\n\nWAR DEPARTMENT,\n\nADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE,\n\n_Washington, June 19, 1849_.\n\nI. The following orders of the President of the United States and\nSecretary of War communicate to the Army the death of the late\nex-President, James K. Polk:\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 19, 1849_.\n\nThe President with deep regret announces to the American people the\ndeath of James K. Polk, late President of the United States, which\noccurred at Nashville on the 15th instant.\n\nA nation is suddenly called upon to mourn the loss of one the\nrecollection of whose long services in its councils will be forever\npreserved on the tablets of history.\n\nAs a mark of respect to the memory of a citizen who has been\ndistinguished by the highest honors which his country could bestow, it\nis ordered that the Executive Mansion and the several Departments at\nWashington be immediately placed in mourning and all business be\nsuspended during to-morrow.\n\nIt is further ordered that the War and Navy Departments cause suitable\nmilitary and naval honors to be paid on this occasion to the memory of\nthe illustrious dead.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWAR DEPARTMENT, _June 19, 1849_.\n\nThe President of the United States with deep regret announces to the\nArmy the death of James K. Polk, our distinguished and honored\nfellow-citizen.\n\nHe died at Nashville the 15th instant, having but recently left the\ntheater of his high public duties at this capital and retired to his\nhome amid the congratulations of his fellow-citizens. He died in the\nprime of life, after having received and enjoyed the highest honors of\nthe Republic.\n\nHis Administration was eventful. No branch of the Government will be\nmore intimately associated with it in history than the Army and its\nglorious achievements. Accordingly, the President orders that\nappropriate military honors shall be paid to his memory by the Army of\nthe United States.\n\nThe Adjutant-General will give the necessary instructions for carrying\ninto effect the foregoing orders.\n\nG.W. CRAWFORD,\n\n_Secretary of War_.\n\n\nII. On the day succeeding the arrival of this general order at each\nmilitary post the troops will be paraded at 10 o'clock a.m. and the\norder read to them, after which all labors for the day will cease.\n\nThe national flag will be displayed at half-staff.\n\nAt dawn of day thirteen guns will be fired, and afterwards at intervals\nof thirty minutes between the rising and setting sun a single gun, and\nat the close of the day a national salute of thirty guns.\n\nThe officers of the Army will wear crape on the left arm and on their\nswords and the colors of the several regiments will be put in mourning\nfor the period of six months.\n\nBy order:\n\nR. JONES,\n\n_Adjutant-General_.\n\n\n\n\nFIRST ANNUAL MESSAGE.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 4, 1849_.\n\n_Fellow-Citizens of the Senate and House of Representatives:_\n\nSixty years have elapsed since the establishment of this Government, and\nthe Congress of the United States again assembles to legislate for an\nempire of freemen. The predictions of evil prophets, who formerly\npretended to foretell the downfall of our institutions, are now\nremembered only to be derided, and the United States of America at this\nmoment present to the world the most stable and permanent Government on\nearth.\n\nSuch is the result of the labors of those who have gone before us. Upon\nCongress will eminently depend the future maintenance of our system of\nfree government and the transmission of it unimpaired to posterity.\n\nWe are at peace with all the other nations of the world, and seek to\nmaintain our cherished relations of amity with them. During the past\nyear we have been blessed by a kind Providence with an abundance of the\nfruits of the earth, and although the destroying angel for a time\nvisited extensive portions of our territory with the ravages of a\ndreadful pestilence, yet the Almighty has at length deigned to stay his\nhand and to restore the inestimable blessing of general health to a\npeople who have acknowledged His power, deprecated His wrath, and\nimplored His merciful protection.\n\nWhile enjoying the benefits of amicable intercourse with foreign\nnations, we have not been insensible to the distractions and wars which\nhave prevailed in other quarters of the world. It is a proper theme of\nthanksgiving to Him who rules the destinies of nations that we have been\nable to maintain amidst all these contests an independent and neutral\nposition toward all belligerent powers.\n\nOur relations with Great Britain are of the most friendly character. In\nconsequence of the recent alteration of the British navigation acts,\nBritish vessels, from British and other foreign ports, will under our\nexisting laws, after the 1st day of January next, be admitted to entry\nin our ports with cargoes of the growth, manufacture, or production of\nany part of the world on the same terms as to duties, imposts, and\ncharges as vessels of the United States with their cargoes, and our\nvessels will be admitted to the same advantages in British ports,\nentering therein on the same terms as British vessels. Should no order\nin council disturb this legislative arrangement, the late act of the\nBritish Parliament, by which Great Britain is brought within the terms\nproposed by the act of Congress of the 1st of March, 1817, it is hoped\nwill be productive of benefit to both countries.\n\nA slight interruption of diplomatic intercourse which occurred between\nthis Government and France, I am happy to say, has been terminated, and\nour minister there has been received. It is therefore unnecessary to\nrefer now to the circumstances which led to that interruption. I need\nnot express to you the sincere satisfaction with which we shall welcome\nthe arrival of another envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary\nfrom a sister Republic to which we have so long been, and still remain,\nbound by the strongest ties of amity.\n\nShortly after I had entered upon the discharge of the Executive duties I\nwas apprised that a war steamer belonging to the German Empire was being\nfitted out in the harbor of New York with the aid of some of our naval\nofficers, rendered under the permission of the late Secretary of the\nNavy. This permission was granted during an armistice between that\nEmpire and the Kingdom of Denmark, which had been engaged in the\nSchleswig-Holstein war. Apprehensive that this act of intervention on\nour part might be viewed as a violation of our neutral obligations\nincurred by the treaty with Denmark and of the provisions of the act of\nCongress of the 20th of April, 1818, I directed that no further aid\nshould be rendered by any agent or officer of the Navy; and I instructed\nthe Secretary of State to apprise the minister of the German Empire\naccredited to this Government of my determination to execute the law of\nthe United States and to maintain the faith of treaties with all\nnations. The correspondence which ensued between the Department of State\nand the minister of the German Empire is herewith laid before you. The\nexecution of the law and the observance of the treaty were deemed by me\nto be due to the honor of the country, as well as to the sacred\nobligations of the Constitution. I shall not fail to pursue the same\ncourse should a similar case arise with any other nation. Having avowed\nthe opinion on taking the oath of office that in disputes between\nconflicting foreign governments it is our interest not less than our\nduty to remain strictly neutral, I shall not abandon it. You will\nperceive from the correspondence submitted to you in connection with\nthis subject that the course adopted in this case has been properly\nregarded by the belligerent powers interested in the matter.\n\nAlthough a minister of the United States to the German Empire was\nappointed by my predecessor in August, 1848, and has for a long time\nbeen in attendance at Frankfort-on-the-Main, and although a minister\nappointed to represent that Empire was received and accredited here, yet\nno such government as that of the German Empire has been definitively\nconstituted. Mr. Donelson, our representative at Frankfort, remained\nthere several months in the expectation that a union of the German\nStates under one constitution or form of government might at length be\norganized. It is believed by those well acquainted with the existing\nrelations between Prussia and the States of Germany that no such union\ncan be permanently established without her cooperation. In the event of\nthe formation of such a union and the organization of a central power in\nGermany of which she should form a part, it would become necessary to\nwithdraw our minister at Berlin; but while Prussia exists as an\nindependent kingdom and diplomatic relations are maintained with her\nthere can be no necessity for the continuance of the mission to\nFrankfort. I have therefore recalled Mr. Donelson and directed the\narchives of the legation at Frankfort to be transferred to the American\nlegation at Berlin.\n\nHaving been apprised that a considerable number of adventurers were\nengaged in fitting out a military expedition within the United States\nagainst a foreign country, and believing from the best information I\ncould obtain that it was destined to invade the island of Cuba, I deemed\nit due to the friendly relations existing between the United States and\nSpain, to the treaty between the two nations, to the laws of the United\nStates, and, above all, to the American honor to exert the lawful\nauthority of this Government in suppressing the expedition and\npreventing the invasion. To this end I issued a proclamation enjoining\nit upon the officers of the United States, civil and military, to use\nall lawful means within their power. A copy of that proclamation is\nherewith submitted. The expedition has been suppressed. So long as the\nact of Congress of the 20th of April, 1818, which owes its existence to\nthe law of nations and to the policy of Washington himself, shall remain\non our statute books, I hold it to be the duty of the Executive\nfaithfully to obey its injunctions.\n\nWhile this expedition was in progress I was informed that a foreigner\nwho claimed our protection had been clandestinely and, as was supposed,\nforcibly carried off in a vessel from New Orleans to the island of Cuba.\nI immediately caused such steps to be taken as I thought necessary, in\ncase the information I had received should prove correct, to vindicate\nthe honor of the country and the right of every person seeking an asylum\non our soil to the protection of our laws. The person alleged to have\nbeen abducted was promptly restored, and the circumstances of the case\nare now about to undergo investigation before a judicial tribunal. I\nwould respectfully suggest that although the crime charged to have been\ncommitted in this case is held odious, as being in conflict with our\nopinions on the subject of national sovereignty and personal freedom,\nthere is no prohibition of it or punishment for it provided in any act\nof Congress. The expediency of supplying this defect in our criminal\ncode is therefore recommended to your consideration.\n\nI have scrupulously avoided any interference in the wars and contentions\nwhich have recently distracted Europe. During the late conflict between\nAustria and Hungary there seemed to be a prospect that the latter might\nbecome an independent nation. However faint that prospect at the time\nappeared, I thought it my duty, in accordance with the general sentiment\nof the American people, who deeply sympathized with the Magyar patriots,\nto stand prepared, upon the contingency of the establishment by her of a\npermanent government, to be the first to welcome independent Hungary\ninto the family of nations. For this purpose I invested an agent then in\nEurope with power to declare our willingness promptly to recognize her\nindependence in the event of her ability to sustain it. The powerful\nintervention of Russia in the contest extinguished the hopes of the\nstruggling Magyars. The United States did not at any time interfere in\nthe contest, but the feelings of the nation were strongly enlisted in\nthe cause, and by the sufferings of a brave people, who had made a\ngallant, though unsuccessful, effort to be free.\n\nOur claims upon Portugal have been during the past year prosecuted with\nrenewed vigor, and it has been my object to employ every effort of\nhonorable diplomacy to procure their adjustment. Our late charge\nd'affaires at Lisbon, the Hon. George W. Hopkins, made able and\nenergetic, but unsuccessful, efforts to settle these unpleasant matters\nof controversy and to obtain indemnity for the wrongs which were the\nsubjects of complaint. Our present charge d'affaires at that Court will\nalso bring to the prosecution of these claims ability and zeal. The\nrevolutionary and distracted condition of Portugal in past times has\nbeen represented as one of the leading causes of her delay in\nindemnifying our suffering citizens.\n\nBut I must now say it is matter of profound regret that these claims\nhave not yet been settled. The omission of Portugal to do justice to the\nAmerican claimants has now assumed a character so grave and serious that\nI shall shortly make it the subject of a special message to Congress,\nwith a view to such ultimate action as its wisdom and patriotism may\nsuggest.\n\nWith Russia, Austria, Prussia, Sweden, Denmark, Belgium, the\nNetherlands, and the Italian States we still maintain our accustomed\namicable relations.\n\nDuring the recent revolutions in the Papal States our charge d'affaires\nat Rome has been unable to present his letter of credence, which,\nindeed, he was directed by my predecessor to withhold until he should\nreceive further orders. Such was the unsettled condition of things in\nthose States that it was not deemed expedient to give him any\ninstructions on the subject of presenting his credential letter\ndifferent from those with which he had been furnished by the late\nAdministration until the 25th of June last, when, in consequence of the\nwant of accurate information of the exact state of things at that\ndistance from us, he was instructed to exercise his own discretion in\npresenting himself to the then existing Government if in his judgment\nsufficiently stable, or, if not, to await further events. Since that\nperiod Rome has undergone another revolution, and he abides the\nestablishment of a government sufficiently permanent to justify him in\nopening diplomatic intercourse with it.\n\nWith the Republic of Mexico it is our true policy to cultivate the most\nfriendly relations. Since the ratification of the treaty of Guadalupe\nHidalgo nothing has occurred of a serious character to disturb them. A\nfaithful observance of the treaty and a sincere respect for her rights\ncan not fail to secure the lasting confidence and friendship of that\nRepublic. The message of my predecessor to the House of Representatives\nof the 8th of February last, communicating, in compliance with a\nresolution of that body, a copy of a paper called a protocol, signed at\nQueretaro on the 30th of May, 1848, by the commissioners of the United\nStates and the minister of foreign affairs of the Mexican Government,\nhaving been a subject of correspondence between the Department of State\nand the envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary of that\nRepublic accredited to this Government, a transcript of that\ncorrespondence is herewith submitted.\n\nThe commissioner on the part of the United States for marking the\nboundary between the two Republics, though delayed in reaching San Diego\nby unforeseen obstacles, arrived at that place within a short period\nafter the time required by the treaty, and was there joined by the\ncommissioner on the part of Mexico. They entered upon their duties, and\nat the date of the latest intelligence from that quarter some progress\nhad been made in the survey. The expenses incident to the organization\nof the commission and to its conveyance to the point where its\noperations were to begin have so much reduced the fund appropriated by\nCongress that a further sum, to cover the charges which must be incurred\nduring the present fiscal year, will be necessary. The great length of\nfrontier along which the boundary extends, the nature of the adjacent\nterritory, and the difficulty of obtaining supplies except at or near\nthe extremes of the line render it also indispensable that a liberal\nprovision should be made to meet the necessary charges during the fiscal\nyear ending on the 30th of June, 1851. I accordingly recommend this\nsubject to your attention.\n\nIn the adjustment of the claims of American citizens on Mexico, provided\nfor by the late treaty, the employment of counsel on the part of the\nGovernment may become important for the purpose of assisting the\ncommissioners in protecting the interests of the United States. I\nrecommend this subject to the early and favorable consideration of\nCongress.\n\nComplaints have been made in regard to the inefficiency of the means\nprovided by the Government of New Granada for transporting the United\nStates mail across the Isthmus of Panama, pursuant to our postal\nconvention with that Republic of the 6th of March, 1844. Our charge\nd'affaires at Bogota has been directed to make such representations to\nthe Government of New Granada as will, it is hoped, lead to a prompt\nremoval of this cause of complaint.\n\nThe sanguinary civil war with which the Republic of Venezuela has for\nsome time past been ravaged has been brought to a close. In its progress\nthe rights of some of our citizens resident or trading there have been\nviolated. The restoration of order will afford the Venezuelan Government\nan opportunity to examine and redress these grievances and others of\nlonger standing which our representatives at Caracas have hitherto\nineffectually urged upon the attention of that Government.\n\nThe extension of the coast of the United States on the Pacific and the\nunexampled rapidity with which the inhabitants of California especially\nare increasing in numbers have imparted new consequence to our relations\nwith the other countries whose territories border upon that ocean. It is\nprobable that the intercourse between those countries and our\npossessions in that quarter, particularly with the Republic of Chili,\nwill become extensive and mutually advantageous in proportion as\nCalifornia and Oregon shall increase in population and wealth. It is\ndesirable, therefore, that this Government should do everything in its\npower to foster and strengthen its relations with those States, and that\nthe spirit of amity between us should be mutual and cordial.\n\nI recommend the observance of the same course toward all other American\nStates. The United States stand as the great American power, to which,\nas their natural ally and friend, they will always be disposed first to\nlook for mediation and assistance in the event of any collision between\nthem and any European nation. As such we may often kindly mediate in\ntheir behalf without entangling ourselves in foreign wars or unnecessary\ncontroversies. Whenever the faith of our treaties with any of them shall\nrequire our interference, we must necessarily interpose.\n\nA convention has been negotiated with Brazil providing for the\nsatisfaction of American claims on that Government, and it will be\nsubmitted to the Senate. Since the last session of Congress we have\nreceived an envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary from that\nEmpire, and our relations with it are founded upon the most amicable\nunderstanding.\n\nYour attention is earnestly invited to an amendment of our existing laws\nrelating to the African slave trade with a view to the effectual\nsuppression of that barbarous traffic. It is not to be denied that this\ntrade is still in part carried on by means of vessels built in the\nUnited States and owned or navigated by some of our citizens. The\ncorrespondence between the Department of State and the minister and\nconsul of the United States at Rio de Janeiro, which has from time to\ntime been laid before Congress, represents that it is a customary device\nto evade the penalties of our laws by means of sea letters. Vessels sold\nin Brazil, when provided with such papers by the consul, instead of\nreturning to the United States for a new register proceed at once to the\ncoast of Africa for the purpose of obtaining cargoes of slaves. Much\nadditional information of the same character has recently been\ntransmitted to the Department of State. It has not been considered the\npolicy of our laws to subject an American citizen who in a foreign\ncountry purchases a vessel built in the United States to the\ninconvenience of sending her home for a new register before permitting\nher to proceed on a voyage. Any alteration of the laws which might have\na tendency to impede the free transfer of property in vessels between\nour citizens, or the free navigation of those vessels between different\nparts of the world when employed in lawful commerce, should be well and\ncautiously considered; but I trust that your wisdom will devise a method\nby which our general policy in this respect may be preserved, and at the\nsame time the abuse of our flag by means of sea letters, in the manner\nindicated, may be prevented.\n\nHaving ascertained that there is no prospect of the reunion of the five\nStates of Central America which formerly composed the Republic of that\nname, we have separately negotiated with some of them treaties of amity\nand commerce, which will be laid before the Senate.\n\nA contract having been concluded with the State of Nicaragua by a\ncompany composed of American citizens for the purpose of constructing a\nship canal through the territory of that State to connect the Atlantic\nand Pacific oceans, I have directed the negotiation of a treaty with\nNicaragua pledging both Governments to protect those who shall engage\nin and perfect the work. All other nations are invited by the State of\nNicaragua to enter into the same treaty stipulations with her; and the\nbenefit to be derived by each from such an arrangement will be the\nprotection of this great interoceanic communication against any power\nwhich might seek to obstruct it or to monopolize its advantages. All\nStates entering into such a treaty will enjoy the right of passage\nthrough the canal on payment of the same tolls. The work, if constructed\nunder these guaranties, will become a bond of peace instead of a subject\nof contention and strife between the nations of the earth. Should the\ngreat maritime States of Europe consent to this arrangement (and we have\nno reason to suppose that a proposition so fair and honorable will be\nopposed by any), the energies of their people and ours will cooperate in\npromoting the success of the enterprise. I do not recommend any\nappropriation from the National Treasury for this purpose, nor do I\nbelieve that such an appropriation is necessary. Private enterprise, if\nproperly protected, will complete the work should it prove to be\nfeasible. The parties who have procured the charter from Nicaragua for\nits construction desire no assistance from this Government beyond its\nprotection; and they profess that, having examined the proposed line of\ncommunication, they will be ready to commence the undertaking whenever\nthat protection shall be extended to them. Should there appear to be\nreason, on examining the whole evidence, to entertain a serious doubt of\nthe practicability of constructing such a canal, that doubt could be\nspeedily solved by an actual exploration of the route.\n\nShould such a work be constructed under the common protection of all\nnations, for equal benefits to all, it would be neither just nor\nexpedient that any great maritime state should command the\ncommunication. The territory through which the canal may be opened ought\nto be freed from the claims of any foreign power. No such power should\noccupy a position that would enable it hereafter to exercise so\ncontrolling an influence over the commerce of the world or to obstruct a\nhighway which ought to be dedicated to the common uses of mankind.\n\nThe routes across the Isthmus at Tehuantepec and Panama are also worthy\nof our serious consideration. They did not fail to engage the attention\nof my predecessor. The negotiator of the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was\ninstructed to offer a very large sum of money for the right of transit\nacross the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. The Mexican Government did not accede\nto the proposition for the purchase of the right of way, probably\nbecause it had already contracted with private individuals for the\nconstruction of a passage from the Guasacualco River to Tehuantepec. I\nshall not renew any proposition to purchase for money a right which\nought to be equally secured to all nations on payment of a reasonable\ntoll to the owners of the improvement, who would doubtless be well\ncontented with that compensation and the guaranties of the maritime\nstates of the world in separate treaties negotiated with Mexico, binding\nher and them to protect those who should construct the work. Such\nguaranties would do more to secure the completion of the communication\nthrough the territory of Mexico than any other reasonable consideration\nthat could be offered; and as Mexico herself would be the greatest\ngainer by the opening of this communication between the Gulf and the\nPacific Ocean, it is presumed that she would not hesitate to yield her\naid in the manner proposed to accomplish an improvement so important to\nher own best interests.\n\nWe have reason to hope that the proposed railroad across the Isthmus at\nPanama will be successfully constructed under the protection of the late\ntreaty with New Granada, ratified and exchanged by my predecessor on the\n10th day of June, 1848, which guarantees the perfect neutrality of the\nIsthmus and the rights of sovereignty and property of New Granada over\nthat territory, \"with a view that the free transit from ocean to ocean\nmay not be interrupted or embarrassed\" during the existence of the\ntreaty. It is our policy to encourage every practicable route across the\nisthmus which connects North and South America, either by railroad or\ncanal, which the energy and enterprise of our citizens may induce them\nto complete, and I consider it obligatory upon me to adopt that policy,\nespecially in consequence of the absolute necessity of facilitating\nintercourse with our possessions on the Pacific.\n\nThe position of the Sandwich Islands with reference to the territory of\nthe United States on the Pacific, the success of our persevering and\nbenevolent citizens who have repaired to that remote quarter in\nChristianizing the natives and inducing them to adopt a system of\ngovernment and laws suited to their capacity and wants, and the use made\nby our numerous whale ships of the harbors of the islands as places of\nresort for obtaining refreshments and repairs all combine to render\ntheir destiny peculiarly interesting to us. It is our duty to encourage\nthe authorities of those islands in their efforts to improve and elevate\nthe moral and political condition of the inhabitants, and we should make\nreasonable allowances for the difficulties inseparable from this task.\nWe desire that the islands may maintain their independence and that\nother nations should concur with us in this sentiment. We could in no\nevent be indifferent to their passing under the dominion of any other\npower. The principal commercial states have in this a common interest,\nand it is to be hoped that no one of them will attempt to interpose\nobstacles to the entire independence of the islands.\n\nThe receipts into the Treasury for the fiscal year ending on the 30th of\nJune last were, in cash, $48,830,097.50, and in Treasury notes funded\n$10,833,000, making an aggregate of $59,663,097.50; and the expenditures\nfor the same time were, in cash, $46,798,667.82, and in Treasury notes\nfunded $10,833,000, making an aggregate of $57,631,667.82.\n\nThe accounts and estimates which will be submitted to Congress in the\nreport of the Secretary of the Treasury show that there will probably\nbe a deficit occasioned by the expenses of the Mexican War and treaty on\nthe 1st day of July next of $5,828,121.66, and on the 1st day of July,\n1851, of $10,547,092.73, making in the whole a probable deficit to be\nprovided for of $16,375,214.39. The extraordinary expenses of the war\nwith Mexico and the purchase of California and New Mexico exceed in\namount this deficit, together with the loans heretofore made for those\nobjects. I therefore recommend that authority be given to borrow\nwhatever sum may be necessary to cover that deficit. I recommend the\nobservance of strict economy in the appropriation and expenditure of\npublic money.\n\nI recommend a revision of the existing tariff and its adjustment on a\nbasis which may augment the revenue. I do not doubt the right or duty of\nCongress to encourage domestic industry, which is the great source of\nnational as well as individual wealth and prosperity. I look to the\nwisdom and patriotism of Congress for the adoption of a system which may\nplace home labor at last on a sure and permanent footing and by due\nencouragement of manufactures give a new and increased stimulus to\nagriculture and promote the development of our vast resources and the\nextension of our commerce. Believing that to the attainment of these\nends, as well as the necessary augmentation of the revenue and the\nprevention of frauds, a system of specific duties is best adapted, I\nstrongly recommend to Congress the adoption of that system, fixing the\nduties at rates high enough to afford substantial and sufficient\nencouragement to our own industry and at the same time so adjusted as to\ninsure stability.\n\nThe question of the continuance of the subtreasury system is\nrespectfully submitted to the wisdom of Congress. If continued,\nimportant modifications of it appear to be indispensable.\n\nFor further details and views on the above and other matters connected\nwith commerce, the finances, and revenue I refer to the report of the\nSecretary of the Treasury.\n\nNo direct aid has been given by the General Government to the\nimprovement of agriculture except by the expenditure of small sums for\nthe collection and publication of agricultural statistics and for some\nchemical analyses, which have been thus far paid for out of the patent\nfund. This aid is, in my opinion, wholly inadequate. To give to this\nleading branch of American industry the encouragement which it merits, I\nrespectfully recommend the establishment of an agricultural bureau, to\nbe connected with the Department of the Interior. To elevate the social\ncondition of the agriculturist, to increase his prosperity, and to\nextend his means of usefulness to his country, by multiplying his\nsources of information, should be the study of every statesman and a\nprimary object with every legislator.\n\nNo civil government having been provided by Congress for California, the\npeople of that Territory, impelled by the necessities of their political\ncondition, recently met in convention for the purpose of forming a\nconstitution and State government, which the latest advices give me\nreason to suppose has been accomplished; and it is believed they will\nshortly apply for the admission of California into the Union as a\nsovereign State. Should such be the case, and should their constitution\nbe conformable to the requisitions of the Constitution of the United\nStates, I recommend their application to the favorable consideration of\nCongress.\n\nThe people of New Mexico will also, it is believed, at no very distant\nperiod present themselves for admission into the Union. Preparatory to\nthe admission of California and New Mexico the people of each will have\ninstituted for themselves a republican form of government, \"laying its\nfoundation in such principles and organizing its powers in such form as\nto them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.\" By\nawaiting their action all causes of uneasiness may be avoided and\nconfidence and kind feeling preserved. With a view of maintaining the\nharmony and tranquillity so dear to all, we should abstain from the\nintroduction of those exciting topics of a sectional character which\nhave hitherto produced painful apprehensions in the public mind; and I\nrepeat the solemn warning of the first and most illustrious of my\npredecessors against furnishing \"any ground for characterizing parties\nby geographical discriminations.\"\n\nA collector has been appointed at San Francisco under the act of\nCongress extending the revenue laws over California, and measures have\nbeen taken to organize the custom-houses at that and the other ports\nmentioned in that act at the earliest period practicable. The collector\nproceeded overland, and advices have not yet been received of his\narrival at San Francisco. Meanwhile, it is understood that the customs\nhave continued to be collected there by officers acting under the\nmilitary authority, as they were during the Administration of my\npredecessor. It will, I think, be expedient to confirm the collections\nthus made, and direct the avails (after such allowances as Congress may\nthink fit to authorize) to be expended within the Territory or to be\npaid into the Treasury for the purpose of meeting appropriations for the\nimprovement of its rivers and harbors.\n\nA party engaged on the coast survey was dispatched to Oregon in January\nlast. According to the latest advices, they had not left California; and\ndirections have been given to them, as soon as they shall have fixed on\nthe sites of the two light-houses and the buoys authorized to be\nconstructed and placed in Oregon, to proceed without delay to make\nreconnoissances of the most important points on the coast of California,\nand especially to examine and determine on sites for light-houses on\nthat coast, the speedy erection of which is urgently demanded by our\nrapidly increasing commerce.\n\nI have transferred the Indian agencies from upper Missouri and Council\nBluffs to Santa Fe and Salt Lake, and have caused to be appointed\nsub-agents in the valleys of the Gila, the Sacramento, and the San\nJoaquin rivers. Still further legal provisions will be necessary for the\neffective and successful extension of our system of Indian intercourse\nover the new territories.\n\nI recommend the establishment of a branch mint in California, as it\nwill, in my opinion, afford important facilities to those engaged in\nmining, as well as to the Government in the disposition of the mineral\nlands.\n\nI also recommend that commissions be organized by Congress to examine\nand decide upon the validity of the present subsisting land titles in\nCalifornia and New Mexico, and that provision be made for the\nestablishment of offices of surveyor-general in New Mexico, California,\nand Oregon and for the surveying and bringing into market the public\nlands in those Territories. Those lands, remote in position and\ndifficult of access, ought to be disposed of on terms liberal to all,\nbut especially favorable to the early emigrants.\n\nIn order that the situation and character of the principal mineral\ndeposits in California may be ascertained, I recommend that a geological\nand mineralogical exploration be connected with the linear surveys, and\nthat the mineral lands be divided into small lots suitable for mining\nand be disposed of by sale or lease, so as to give our citizens an\nopportunity of procuring a permanent right of property in the soil. This\nwould seem to be as important to the success of mining as of\nagricultural pursuits.\n\nThe great mineral wealth of California and the advantages which its\nports and harbors and those of Oregon afford to commerce, especially\nwith the islands of the Pacific and Indian oceans and the populous\nregions of eastern Asia, make it certain that there will arise in a few\nyears large and prosperous communities on our western coast. It\ntherefore becomes important that a line of communication, the best and\nmost expeditious which the nature of the country will admit, should be\nopened within the territory of the United States from the navigable\nwaters of the Atlantic or the Gulf of Mexico to the Pacific. Opinion, as\nelicited and expressed by two large and respectable conventions lately\nassembled at St. Louis and Memphis, points to a railroad as that which,\nif practicable, will best meet the wishes and wants of the country. But\nwhile this, if in successful operation, would be a work of great\nnational importance and of a value to the country which it would be\ndifficult to estimate, it ought also to be regarded as an undertaking of\nvast magnitude and expense, and one which must, if it be indeed\npracticable, encounter many difficulties in its construction and use.\nTherefore, to avoid failure and disappointment; to enable Congress to\njudge whether in the condition of the country through which it must pass\nthe work be feasible, and, if it be found so, whether it should be\nundertaken as a national improvement or left to individual enterprise,\nand in the latter alternative what aid, if any, ought to be extended to\nit by the Government, I recommend as a preliminary measure a careful\nreconnoissance of the several proposed routes by a scientific corps and\na report as to the practicability of making such a road, with an\nestimate of the cost of its construction and support.\n\nFor further views on these and other matters connected with the duties\nof the home department I refer you to the report of the Secretary of the\nInterior.\n\nI recommend early appropriations for continuing the river and harbor\nimprovements which have been already begun, and also for the\nconstruction of those for which estimates have been made, as well as for\nexaminations and estimates preparatory to the commencement of such\nothers as the wants of the country, and especially the advance of our\npopulation over new districts and the extension of commerce, may render\nnecessary. An estimate of the amount which can be advantageously\nexpended within the next fiscal year under the direction of the Bureau\nof Topographical Engineers accompanies the report of the Secretary of\nWar, to which I respectfully invite the attention of Congress.\n\nThe cession of territory made by the late treaty with Mexico has greatly\nextended our exposed frontier and rendered its defense more difficult.\nThat treaty has also brought us under obligations to Mexico, to comply\nwith which a military force is requisite. But our military establishment\nis not materially changed as to its efficiency from the condition in\nwhich it stood before the commencement of the Mexican War. Some addition\nto it will therefore be necessary, and I recommend to the favorable\nconsideration of Congress an increase of the several corps of the Army\nat our distant Western posts, as proposed in the accompanying report of\nthe Secretary of War.\n\nGreat embarrassment has resulted from the effect upon rank in the Army\nheretofore given to brevet and staff commissions. The views of the\nSecretary of War on this subject are deemed important, and if carried\ninto effect will, it is believed, promote the harmony of the service.\nThe plan proposed for retiring disabled officers and providing an asylum\nfor such of the rank and file as from age, wounds, and other infirmities\noccasioned by service have become unfit to perform their respective\nduties is recommended as a means of increasing the efficiency of the\nArmy and as an act of justice due from a grateful country to the\nfaithful soldier.\n\nThe accompanying report of the Secretary of the Navy presents a full and\nsatisfactory account of the condition and operations of the naval\nservice during the past year. Our citizens engaged in the legitimate\npursuits of commerce have enjoyed its benefits. Wherever our national\nvessels have gone they have been received with respect, our officers\nhave been treated with kindness and courtesy, and they have on all\noccasions pursued a course of strict neutrality, in accordance with the\npolicy of our Government.\n\nThe naval force at present in commission is as large as is admissible\nwith the number of men authorized by Congress to be employed.\n\nI invite your attention to the recommendation of the Secretary of the\nNavy on the subject of a reorganization of the Navy in its various\ngrades of officers, and the establishing of a retired list for such of\nthe officers as are disqualified for active and effective service.\nShould Congress adopt some such measure as is recommended, it will\ngreatly increase the efficiency of the Navy and reduce its expenditures.\n\nI also ask your attention to the views expressed by him in reference to\nthe employment of war steamers and in regard to the contracts for the\ntransportation of the United States mails and the operation of the\nsystem upon the prosperity of the Navy.\n\nBy an act of Congress passed August 14, 1848, provision was made for\nextending post-office and mail accommodations to California and Oregon.\nExertions have been made to execute that law, but the limited provisions\nof the act, the inadequacy of the means it authorizes, the ill\nadaptation of our post-office laws to the situation of that country, and\nthe measure of compensation for services allowed by those laws, compared\nwith the prices of labor and rents in California, render those exertions\nin a great degree ineffectual. More particular and efficient provision\nby law is required on this subject.\n\nThe act of 1845 reducing postage has now, by its operation during four\nyears, produced results fully showing that the income from such reduced\npostage is sufficient to sustain the whole expense of the service of the\nPost-Office Department, not including the cost of transportation in mail\nsteamers on the lines from New York to Chagres and from Panama to\nAstoria, which have not been considered by Congress as properly\nbelonging to the mail service.\n\nIt is submitted to the wisdom of Congress whether a further reduction of\npostage should not now be made, more particularly on the letter\ncorrespondence. This should be relieved from the unjust burden of\ntransporting and delivering the franked matter of Congress, for which\npublic service provision should be made from the Treasury. I confidently\nbelieve that a change may safely be made reducing all single-letter\npostage to the uniform rate of 5 cents, regardless of distance, without\nthereby imposing any greater tax on the Treasury than would constitute a\nvery moderate compensation for this public service; and I therefore\nrespectfully recommend such a reduction. Should Congress prefer to\nabolish the franking privilege entirely, it seems probable that no\ndemand on the Treasury would result from the proposed reduction of\npostage. Whether any further diminution should now be made, or the\nresult of the reduction to 5 cents, which I have recommended, should be\nfirst tested, is submitted to your decision.\n\nSince the commencement of the last session of Congress a postal treaty\nwith Great Britain has been received and ratified, and such relations\nhave been formed by the post-office departments of the two countries in\npursuance of that treaty as to carry its provisions into full operation.\nThe attempt to extend this same arrangement through England to France\nhas not been equally successful, but the purpose has not been abandoned.\n\nFor a particular statement of the condition of the Post-Office\nDepartment and other matters connected with that branch of the public\nservice I refer you to the report of the Postmaster-General.\n\nBy the act of the 3d of March, 1849, a board was constituted to make\narrangements for taking the Seventh Census, composed of the Secretary\nof State, the Attorney-General, and the Postmaster-General; and it was\nmade the duty of this board \"to prepare and cause to be printed such\nforms and schedules as might be necessary for the full enumeration of\nthe inhabitants of the United States, and also proper forms and\nschedules for collecting in statistical tables, under proper heads, such\ninformation as to mines, agriculture, commerce, manufactures, education,\nand other topics as would exhibit a full view of the pursuits, industry,\neducation, and resources of the country.\" The duties enjoined upon the\ncensus board thus established having been performed, it now rests with\nCongress to enact a law for carrying into effect the provision of the\nConstitution which requires an actual enumeration of the people of the\nUnited States within the ensuing year.\n\nAmong the duties assigned by the Constitution to the General Government\nis one of local and limited application, but not on that account the\nless obligatory. I allude to the trust committed to Congress as the\nexclusive legislator and sole guardian of the interests of the District\nof Columbia. I beg to commend these interests to your kind attention. As\nthe national metropolis the city of Washington must be an object of\ngeneral interest; and founded, as it was, under the auspices of him\nwhose immortal name it bears, its claims to the fostering care of\nCongress present themselves with additional strength. Whatever can\ncontribute to its prosperity must enlist the feelings of its\nconstitutional guardians and command their favorable consideration.\n\nOur Government is one of limited powers, and its successful\nadministration eminently depends on the confinement of each of its\ncoordinate branches within its own appropriate sphere. The first section\nof the Constitution ordains that--\n\n   All legislative powers herein granted shall be vested in a Congress\nof the United States, which shall consist of a Senate and House of\nRepresentatives.\n\nThe Executive has authority to recommend (not to dictate) measures to\nCongress. Having performed that duty, the executive department of the\nGovernment can not rightfully control the decision of Congress on any\nsubject of legislation until that decision shall have been officially\nsubmitted to the President for approval. The check provided by the\nConstitution in the clause conferring the qualified veto will never be\nexercised by me except in the cases contemplated by the fathers of the\nRepublic. I view it as an extreme measure, to be resorted to only in\nextraordinary cases, as where it may become necessary to defend the\nexecutive against the encroachments of the legislative power or to\nprevent hasty and inconsiderate or unconstitutional legislation. By\ncautiously confining this remedy within the sphere prescribed to it in\nthe cotemporaneous expositions of the framers of the Constitution, the\nwill of the people, legitimately expressed on all subjects of\nlegislation through their constitutional organs, the Senators and\nRepresentatives of the United States, will have its full effect. As\nindispensable to the preservation of our system of self-government, the\nindependence of the representatives of the States and the people is\nguaranteed by the Constitution, and they owe no responsibility to any\nhuman power but their constituents. By holding the representative\nresponsible only to the people, and exempting him from all other\ninfluences, we elevate the character of the constituent and quicken his\nsense of responsibility to his country. It is under these circumstances\nonly that the elector can feel that in the choice of the lawmaker he is\nhimself truly a component part of the sovereign power of the nation.\nWith equal care we should study to defend the rights of the executive\nand judicial departments. Our Government can only be preserved in its\npurity by the suppression and entire elimination of every claim or\ntendency of one coordinate branch to encroachment upon another. With the\nstrict observance of this rule and the other injunctions of the\nConstitution, with a sedulous inculcation of that respect and love for\nthe Union of the States which our fathers cherished and enjoined upon\ntheir children, and with the aid of that overruling Providence which has\nso long and so kindly guarded our liberties and institutions, we may\nreasonably expect to transmit them, with their innumerable blessings, to\nthe remotest posterity.\n\nBut attachment to the Union of the States should be habitually fostered\nin every American heart. For more than half a century, during which\nkingdoms and empires have fallen, this Union has stood unshaken. The\npatriots who formed it have long since descended to the grave; yet still\nit remains, the proudest monument to their memory and the object of\naffection and admiration with everyone worthy to bear the American name.\nIn my judgment its dissolution would be the greatest of calamities, and\nto avert that should be the study of every American. Upon its\npreservation must depend our own happiness and that of countless\ngenerations to come. Whatever dangers may threaten it, I shall stand by\nit and maintain it in its integrity to the full extent of the\nobligations imposed and the powers conferred upon me by the\nConstitution.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\n\nSPECIAL MESSAGES.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 17, 1849_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a convention between the United States and His Majesty the\nEmperor of Brazil, signed at Rio de Janeiro on the 27th of January last,\nproviding for the adjustment of claims of citizens of the United States\non the Brazilian Government. A copy of a dispatch from Mr. Tod, the\nUnited States minister at Rio de Janeiro, relative to the convention is\nalso herewith communicated. As it is understood that the Emperor's\nratification is ready to be exchanged for that of the United States, and\nas the period limited for the exchange will expire on the 27th of next\nmonth, it is desirable that the decision of the Senate in regard to the\ninstrument should be known as soon as may be convenient.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 21, 1849_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a treaty between the United States and His Majesty the\nKing of the Hawaiian Islands, yesterday concluded and signed in this\ncity on the part of the respective Governments by the Secretary of State\nof the United States and by James Jackson Jarves, His Hawaiian Majesty's\nspecial commissioner.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 27, 1849_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives:_\n\nIn consequence of the unexpected delay in proceeding to business, I deem\nit necessary to invite the immediate attention of Congress to so much of\nthe report of the Secretary of the Treasury as relates to the\nappropriations required for the expenses of collecting the revenue for\nthe second half of the current fiscal year.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 4, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States:_\n\nI herewith submit to you copies of a correspondence with the lady of Sir\nJohn Franklin, relative to the well-known expedition under his command\nto the arctic regions for the discovery of a northwest passage. On the\nreceipt of her first letter imploring the aid of the American Government\nin a search for the missing ships engaged in an enterprise which\ninterested all civilized nations, I anxiously sought the means of\naffording that assistance, but was prevented from accomplishing the\nobject I had in view in consequence of the want of vessels suitable to\nencounter the perils of a proper exploration, the lateness of the\nseason, and the want of an appropriation by Congress to enable me to\nfurnish and equip an efficient squadron for that object. All that I\ncould do in compliance with a request which I was deeply anxious to\ngratify was to cause the advertisements of reward promulged by the\nBritish Government and the best information I could obtain as to the\nmeans of finding the vessels under the command of Sir John Franklin to\nbe widely circulated among our whalers and seafaring men whose spirit\nof enterprise might lead them to the inhospitable regions where that\nheroic officer and his brave followers, who periled their lives in the\ncause of science and for the benefit of the world, were supposed to be\nimprisoned among the icebergs or wrecked upon a desert shore.\n\nCongress being now in session, the propriety and expediency of an\nappropriation for fitting out an expedition to proceed in search of the\nmissing ships, with their officers and crews, is respectfully submitted\nto your consideration.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nEXECUTIVE OFFICE, _January 14, 1850_.\n\nTHE PRESIDENT OF THE SENATE OF THE UNITED STATES.\n\nSIR: I transmit herewith, to be laid before the Senate for its\nconstitutional action thereon, a treaty concluded with the half-breeds\nof the Dacotah or Sioux Indians for lands reserved for them in the\ntreaty of July 15, 1830, with the Sioux and other Indians, with\naccompanying papers.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 14, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI herewith transmit reports from the Secretary of State and the\nSecretary of the Navy, containing the information called for by the\nresolution of the Senate of the 7th instant, in relation to the\nabduction[2a] of Rey, _alias_ Garcia, from New Orleans.\n\n[Footnote 2a: By the Spanish consul at New Orleans.]\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 14, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for their consideration, a copy of a\ncorrespondence between the Department of State and the charge d'affaires\nof Austria near this Government, on the subject of the convention for\nthe extension of certain stipulations contained in the treaty of\ncommerce and navigation of August 27, 1829, between the United States\nand Austria, concluded and signed on the 8th of May, 1848, and submitted\nto the Senate on the same day by my predecessor.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 23, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI transmit to the Senate, in answer to a resolution of that body\npassed on the 17th instant, the accompanying reports of heads of\nDepartments, which contain all the official information in the\npossession of the Executive asked for by the resolution.\n\nOn coming into office I found the military commandant of the Department\nof California exercising the functions of civil governor in that\nTerritory, and left, as I was, to act under the treaty of Guadalupe\nHidalgo, without the aid of any legislative provision establishing a\ngovernment in that Territory, I thought it best not to disturb that\narrangement, made under my predecessor, until Congress should take some\naction on that subject. I therefore did not interfere with the powers of\nthe military commandant, who continued to exercise the functions of\ncivil governor as before; but I made no such appointment, conferred no\nsuch authority, and have allowed no increased compensation to the\ncommandant for his services.\n\nWith a view to the faithful execution of the treaty so far as lay in the\npower of the Executive, and to enable Congress to act at the present\nsession with as full knowledge and as little difficulty as possible on\nall matters of interest in these Territories, I sent the Hon. Thomas\nButler King as bearer of dispatches to California, and certain officers\nto California and New Mexico, whose duties are particularly defined in\nthe accompanying letters of instruction addressed to them severally by\nthe proper Departments.\n\nI did not hesitate to express to the people of those Territories my\ndesire that each Territory should, if prepared to comply with the\nrequisitions of the Constitution of the United States, form a plan of a\nState constitution and submit the same to Congress with a prayer for\nadmission into the Union as a State, but I did not anticipate, suggest,\nor authorize the establishment of any such government without the assent\nof Congress, nor did I authorize any Government agent or officer to\ninterfere with or exercise any influence or control over the election of\ndelegates or over any convention in making or modifying their domestic\ninstitutions or any of the provisions of their proposed constitution. On\nthe contrary, the instructions given by my orders were that all measures\nof domestic policy adopted by the people of California must originate\nsolely with themselves; that while the Executive of the United States\nwas desirous to protect them in the formation of any government\nrepublican in its character, to be at the proper time submitted to\nCongress, yet it was to be distinctly understood that the plan of such a\ngovernment must at the same time be the result of their own deliberate\nchoice and originate with themselves, without the interference of the\nExecutive.\n\nI am unable to give any information as to laws passed by any supposed\ngovernment in California or of any census taken in either of the\nTerritories mentioned in the resolution, as I have no information on\nthose subjects.\n\nAs already stated, I have not disturbed the arrangements which I found\nhad existed under my predecessor.\n\nIn advising an early application by the people of these Territories for\nadmission as States I was actuated principally by an earnest desire to\nafford to the wisdom and patriotism of Congress the opportunity of\navoiding occasions of bitter and angry dissensions among the people of\nthe United States.\n\nUnder the Constitution every State has the right of establishing and\nfrom time to time altering its municipal laws and domestic institutions\nindependently of every other State and of the General Government,\nsubject only to the prohibitions and guaranties expressly set forth in\nthe Constitution of the United States. The subjects thus left\nexclusively to the respective States were not designed or expected to\nbecome topics of national agitation. Still, as under the Constitution\nCongress has power to make all needful rules and regulations respecting\nthe Territories of the United States, every new acquisition of territory\nhas led to discussions on the question whether the system of involuntary\nservitude which prevails in many of the States should or should not be\nprohibited in that territory. The periods of excitement from this cause\nwhich have heretofore occurred have been safely passed, but during the\ninterval, of whatever length, which may elapse before the admission of\nthe Territories ceded by Mexico as States it appears probable that\nsimilar excitement will prevail to an undue extent.\n\nUnder these circumstances I thought, and still think, that it was my\nduty to endeavor to put it in the power of Congress, by the admission of\nCalifornia and New Mexico as States, to remove all occasion for the\nunnecessary agitation of the public mind.\n\nIt is understood that the people of the western part of California have\nformed a plan of a State constitution and will soon submit the same to\nthe judgment of Congress and apply for admission as a State. This course\non their part, though in accordance with, was not adopted exclusively in\nconsequence of, any expression of my wishes, inasmuch as measures\ntending to this end had been promoted by the officers sent there by my\npredecessor, and were already in active progress of execution before any\ncommunication from me reached California. If the proposed constitution\nshall, when submitted to Congress, be found to be in compliance with the\nrequisitions of the Constitution of the United States, I earnestly\nrecommend that it may receive the sanction of Congress.\n\nThe part of California not included in the proposed State of that name\nis believed to be uninhabited, except in a settlement of our countrymen\nin the vicinity of Salt Lake.\n\nA claim has been advanced by the State of Texas to a very large portion\nof the most populous district of the Territory commonly designated by\nthe name of New Mexico. If the people of New Mexico had formed a plan of\na State government for that Territory as ceded by the treaty of\nGuadalupe Hidalgo, and had been admitted by Congress as a State, our\nConstitution would have afforded the means of obtaining an adjustment of\nthe question of boundary with Texas by a judicial decision. At present,\nhowever, no judicial tribunal has the power of deciding that question,\nand it remains for Congress to devise some mode for its adjustment.\nMeanwhile I submit to Congress the question whether it would be\nexpedient before such adjustment to establish a Territorial government,\nwhich by including the district so claimed would practically decide the\nquestion adversely to the State of Texas, or by excluding it would\ndecide it in her favor. In my opinion such a course would not be\nexpedient, especially as the people of this Territory still enjoy the\nbenefit and protection of their municipal laws originally derived from\nMexico and have a military force stationed there to protect them against\nthe Indians. It is undoubtedly true that the property, lives, liberties,\nand religion of the people of New Mexico are better protected than they\never were before the treaty of cession.\n\nShould Congress, when California shall present herself for incorporation\ninto the Union, annex a condition to her admission as a State affecting\nher domestic institutions contrary to the wishes of her people, and even\ncompel her temporarily to comply with it, yet the State could change her\nconstitution at any time after admission when to her it should seem\nexpedient. Any attempt to deny to the people of the State the right of\nself-government in a matter which peculiarly affects themselves will\ninfallibly be regarded by them as an invasion of their rights, and, upon\nthe principles laid down in our own Declaration of Independence, they\nwill certainly be sustained by the great mass of the American people. To\nassert that they are a conquered people and must as a State submit to\nthe will of their conquerors in this regard will meet with no cordial\nresponse among American freemen. Great numbers of them are native\ncitizens of the United States, not inferior to the rest of our\ncountrymen in intelligence and patriotism, and no language of menace to\nrestrain them in the exercise of an undoubted right, substantially\nguaranteed to them by the treaty of cession itself, shall ever be\nuttered by me or encouraged and sustained by persons acting under my\nauthority. It is to be expected that in the residue of the territory\nceded to us by Mexico the people residing there will at the time of\ntheir incorporation into the Union as a State settle all questions of\ndomestic policy to suit themselves.\n\nNo material inconvenience will result from the want for a short period\nof a government established by Congress over that part of the territory\nwhich lies eastward of the new State of California; and the reasons for\nmy opinion that New Mexico will at no very distant period ask for\nadmission into the Union are founded on unofficial information which, I\nsuppose, is common to all who have cared to make inquiries on that\nsubject.\n\nSeeing, then, that the question which now excites such painful\nsensations in the country will in the end certainly be settled by the\nsilent effect of causes independent of the action of Congress, I again\nsubmit to your wisdom the policy recommended in my annual message of\nawaiting the salutary operation of those causes, believing that we shall\nthus avoid the creation of geographical parties and secure the harmony\nof feeling so necessary to the beneficial action of our political\nsystem. Connected, as the Union is, with the remembrance of past\nhappiness, the sense of present blessings, and the hope of future peace\nand prosperity, every dictate of wisdom, every feeling of duty, and\nevery emotion of patriotism tend to inspire fidelity and devotion to it\nand admonish us cautiously to avoid any unnecessary controversy which\ncan either endanger it or impair its strength, the chief element of\nwhich is to be found in the regard and affection of the people for each\nother.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n[A similar message, dated January 21, 1850, was sent to the House of\nRepresentatives, in answer to a resolution of that body.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 23, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI transmit to the Senate a copy of the convention between the United\nStates and His Majesty the Emperor of Brazil, providing for the\nsatisfaction of claims of citizens of the United States against the\nBrazilian Government, signed at Rio de Janeiro on the 27th of January\nlast, and the ratifications of which were exchanged in this city on the\n18th instant. It is desirable that Congress should prescribe the mode in\nwhich the claims referred to are to be adjusted and the money stipulated\nto be paid by Brazil shall be distributed amongst the claimants.\nExtracts from dispatches of the minister of the United States at Rio de\nJaneiro and a copy of a letter from an agent of claimants there are also\nherewith communicated, to which your attention is invited. I have\nauthorized our minister to demand, receive, and give acquittances for\nthe amount payable by Brazil, and have caused him to be instructed to\nremit the same to the Treasury of the United States.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n[The same message was sent to the House of Representatives.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 30, 1850 _.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nIn reply to the resolution of the Senate of the 7th instant, requesting\nof me all the official correspondence since the 4th of March last\nbetween this Government and its military authorities at Santa Fe or with\nthe authorities of the State of Texas relating to the boundary or\noccupation of Texas, and the reasons why the judicial authority of Texas\nhas not been recognized by the military authority at Santa Fe, I\nherewith submit the accompanying reports, which contain the information\ncalled for by the resolution.\n\nI have not been informed of any acts of interference by the military\nforces stationed at Santa Fe with the judicial authority of Texas\nestablished or sought to be established there. I have received no\ncommunication from the governor of Texas on any of the matters referred\nto in the resolution. And I concur in the opinion expressed by my\npredecessor in the letter addressed by the late Secretary of State to\nthe governor of Texas on the 12th day of February, 1847, that the\nboundary between the State of Texas and the Territory of New Mexico \"is\na subject which more properly belongs to the legislative than to the\nexecutive branch of the Government.\"\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 6, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nIn reply to the resolution of the Senate of the 28th ultimo, I have to\nstate that the resolution of the Senate of the 2d of March, 1849,\nrespecting James W. Schaumburg, was in April of that year submitted for\nthe opinion of the Attorney-General upon questions arising in the case.\nNo opinion had been given by him when it became necessary, prior to the\nmeeting of the Senate, to prepare the nominations for promotions in the\nArmy. The nomination of Lieutenant Ewell was then decided upon, after\ndue consideration was given to the resolution of the Senate of the 2d of\nMarch, 1849.\n\nI herewith submit a report from the Secretary of War, showing the\ngrounds upon which the decision above referred to was made.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 13, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI have received a resolution of the Senate of the 28th ultimo,\nrequesting the President of the United States \"to cause to be laid\nbefore the Senate, in open session if in his opinion consistent with the\npublic interest, otherwise in executive session, copies of all\ninstructions and communications of the late Secretary of State to our\nlate charge d'affaires to Guatemala and all dispatches and\ncommunications from said charge d'affaires to the Department of State,\nincluding any conventions or treaties he may have concluded with either\nof the States composing the late Republic of Central America; and also\nall correspondence between our said charge d'affaires and the Government\nor representatives of either of said States; and also all instructions\nand communications from the present Secretary of State to our late\ncharge d'affaires or our present charge d'affaires to either of said\nStates and all dispatches or communications from our charge d'affaires\nto the Department of State, including any conventions or treaties he may\nhave concluded with either of said States; and also all correspondence\nbetween the Department of State and either of said charges d'affaires\ntouching the so-called Kingdom of the Mosquitos and the right of way\nfrom the Atlantic to the Pacific through Lake Nicaragua.\"\n\nThe information called for by this resolution will be cheerfully\ncommunicated to the Senate as soon as it shall be found to be compatible\nwith the public interest.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 13, 1850_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States:_\n\nI have received a resolution of the House of Representatives of the 24th\nultimo, requesting the President of the United States \"to communicate to\nthat body (provided the publication thereof be not prejudicial to the\npublic interest) all such information as may be within the knowledge of\nthe executive department relative to the alleged extraordinary\nproceedings of the English Government in the forcible seizure and\noccupation of the island of Tigre, in the State of Nicaragua, Central\nAmerica; also all facts, circumstances, or communications within the\nknowledge of the Executive relative to any seizure, occupation, or\nattempted seizure or occupation, by the English Government of any port,\nriver, town, territory, or island belonging to or claimed by any of the\nStates of Central America; also that he be requested to communicate to\nthis House, if not incompatible with the public interest, all treaties\nnot heretofore published which may have been negotiated with any of the\nStates of Central America by any person acting by authority from the\nlate Administration or under the auspices of the present Executive.\" The\ninformation called for by this resolution will be cheerfully\ncommunicated to the House as soon as it shall be found compatible with\nthe public interest.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 13, 1850_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States:_\n\nI transmit herewith to the House of Representatives, for the information\nof that body, an authenticated copy of the constitution of the State of\nCalifornia, received by me from General Riley.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 13, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI transmit herewith to the Senate, for the information of that body, an\nauthenticated copy of the constitution of California, received by me\nfrom the Hon. William M. Gwyn.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 1, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nIn reply to the resolution of the Senate of the 12th ultimo, requesting\nthe President of the United States \"to inform the Senate of the amount\nof prize money paid into the Treasury in conformity with the eighteenth\nsection of the act of March 3, 1849,\" etc., I transmit herewith a report\nfrom the Secretary of the Navy, with accompanying documents.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 4, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States:_\n\nI herewith transmit to Congress copies of a recent correspondence\nbetween the Department of State and the British minister at Washington,\nrelating to subjects[3a] which seem to require the consideration of the\nlegislative rather than the executive branch of the Government.\n\n[Footnote 3a: Navigation laws and tariff on British productions.]\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 6, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nIn answer to the inquiries contained in the resolution of the Senate of\nthe 4th instant, in relation to the appointment of postmasters by the\nPostmaster-General, I send to the Senate herewith the letter of the\nPostmaster-General furnishing the desired information.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nMARCH 8, 1850.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nThe Postmaster-General has this day communicated to me the letter\nherewith transmitted, in addition to his communication by me sent to the\nSenate on the 6th instant, in relation to the inquiries contained in the\nresolution of the Senate as to the appointment of postmasters.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 19, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI transmit herewith, for the consideration and constitutional action of\nthe Senate, a communication from the Secretary of the Interior, covering\ntwo treaties with Indians of New Mexico, one negotiated with the Navajo\ntribe on the 9th of September last by Colonel John Washington, of the\nArmy, and J.S. Calhoun, United States Indian agent at Santa Fe, and the\nother with the Utah tribe, negotiated by J.S. Calhoun on the 13th of\nDecember last.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 19, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI herewith transmit to the Senate, for their advice in regard to its\nratification, \"a general treaty of amity, navigation, and commerce\"\nbetween the United States of America and the State of Nicaragua,\nconcluded at Leon by E. George Squier, charge d'affaires of the United\nStates, on their part, and Senor Zepeda, on the part of the Republic of\nNicaragua.\n\nI also transmit, for the advice of the Senate in regard to its\nratification, \"a general treaty of amity, navigation, and commerce\"\nnegotiated by Mr. Squier with the Republic of San Salvador.\n\nI also transmit to the Senate a copy of the instructions to and\ncorrespondence with the said charge d'affaires relating to those\ntreaties.\n\nI also transmit, for the advice of the Senate in regard to its\nratification, \"a general treaty of peace, amity, commerce, and\nnavigation\" negotiated by Elijah Hise, our late charge d'affaires, with\nthe State of Guatemala.\n\nI also transmit, for the information of the Senate, a copy of a treaty\nnegotiated by Mr. Hise with the Government of Nicaragua on the 21st of\nJune last, accompanied by copies of his instructions from and\ncorrespondence with the Department of State.\n\nOn the 12th day of November, 1847, Senor Buetrago, secretary of state\nand of the affairs of war and foreign relations and domestic\nadministration of the Supreme Government of the State of Nicaragua,\naddressed a letter from the Government House at Leon to Mr. Buchanan,\nthen Secretary of State of the United States, asking the friendly\noffices of this Government to prevent an attack upon the town of San\nJuan de Nicaragua, then contemplated by the British authorities as the\nallies of the Mosquito King. That letter, a translation of which is\nherewith sent, distinctly charges that--\n\n   The object of the British in taking this key of the continent is not\nto protect the small tribe of the Mosquitos, but to establish their own\nempire over the Atlantic extremity of the line, by which a canal\nconnecting the two oceans is most practicable, insuring to them the\npreponderance on the American continent, as well as their direct\nrelations with Asia, the East Indies, and other important countries in\nthe world.\n\nNo answer appears to have been returned to this letter.\n\nA communication was received by my predecessor from Don Jose Guerrero,\nPresident and Supreme Director of the State of Nicaragua, dated the 15th\nday of December, 1847, expressing his desire to establish relations of\namity and commerce with the United States, a translation of which\nis herewith inclosed. In this the President of Nicaragua says:\n\n  My desire was carried to the utmost on seeing in your message at\n  the opening of the Twenty-ninth Congress of your Republic a sincere\n  profession of political faith in all respects conformable with the\n  principles professed by these States, determined, as they are, to\n  sustain with firmness the continental cause, the rights of Americans in\n  general, and the noninterference of European powers in their concerns.\n\nThis letter announces the critical situation in which Nicaragua was\nplaced and charges upon the Court of St. James a \"well-known design to\nestablish colonies on the coast of Nicaragua and to render itself master\nof the interoceanic canal, for which so many facilities are presented by\nthe isthmus in that State.\" No reply was made to this letter.\n\nThe British ships of war _Alarm_ and _Vixen_ arrived at San Juan de\nNicaragua on the 8th day of February, 1848, and on the 12th of that\nmonth the British forces, consisting of 260 officers and men, attacked\nand captured the post of Serapaqui, garrisoned, according to the British\nstatements, by about 200 soldiers, after a sharp action of one hour and\nforty minutes.\n\nOn the 7th day of March, 1848, articles of agreement were concluded by\nCaptain Locke, on the part of Great Britain, with the commissioners of\nthe State of Nicaragua in the island of Cuba, in the Lake of Nicaragua,\na copy of which will be found in the correspondence relating to the\nMosquito Territory presented to and published by the House of Commons of\nGreat Britain on the 3d day of July, 1848, herewith submitted. A copy of\nthe same document will also be found accompanying the note of the\nminister for foreign affairs of Nicaragua to the Secretary of State of\nthe United States under date the 17th March, 1848.\n\nBy the third article of the agreement it is provided that Nicaragua\n\"shall not disturb the inhabitants of San Juan, understanding that any\nsuch act will be considered by Great Britain as a declaration of open\nhostilities.\" By the sixth article it is provided that these articles of\nagreement will not \"hinder Nicaragua from soliciting by means of a\ncommissioner to Her Britannic Majesty a final arrangement of these\naffairs.\"\n\nThe communication from Senor Sebastian Salinas, the secretary of foreign\naffairs of the State of Nicaragua, to Mr. Buchanan, the Secretary of\nState of the United States, dated 17th March, 1848, a translation of\nwhich is herewith submitted, recites the aggressions of Great Britain\nand the seizure of a part of the Nicaraguan territory in the name of the\nMosquito King. No answer appears to have been given to this letter.\n\nOn the 28th day of October, 1847, Joseph W. Livingston was appointed by\nthis Government consul of the United States for the port of San Juan de\nNicaragua. On the 16th day of December, 1847, after having received his\nexequatur from the Nicaraguan Government, he addressed a letter to Mr.\nBuchanan, Secretary of State, a copy of which is herewith submitted,\nrepresenting that he had been informed that the English Government would\ntake possession of San Juan de Nicaragua in January, 1848.\n\nIn another letter, dated the 8th of April, 1848, Mr. Livingston states\nthat \"at the request of the minister for foreign affairs of Nicaragua\nhe transmits a package of papers containing the correspondence relative\nto the occupation of the port of San Juan by British forces in the name\nof the Mosquito nation.\"\n\nOn the 3d day of June, 1848, Elijah Hise, being appointed charge\nd'affaires of the United States to Guatemala, received his instructions,\na copy of which is herewith submitted. In these instructions the\nfollowing passages occur:\n\n  The independence as well as the interests of the nations on this\n  continent require that they should maintain the American system of\n  policy entirely distinct from that which prevails in Europe. To\n  suffer any interference on the part of the European Governments with\n  the domestic concerns of the American Republics and to permit them\n  to establish new colonies upon this continent would be to jeopard\n  their independence and to ruin their interests. These truths ought\n  everywhere throughout this continent to be impressed on the public\n  mind. But what can the United States do to resist such European\n  interference whilst the Spanish American Republics continue to weaken\n  themselves by division and civil war and deprive themselves of the\n  ability of doing anything for their own protection?\n\nThis last significant inquiry seems plainly to intimate that the United\nStates could do nothing to arrest British aggression while the Spanish\nAmerican Republics continue to weaken themselves by division and civil\nwar and deprive themselves of the ability of doing anything for their\nprotection.\n\nThese instructions, which also state the dissolution of the Central\nAmerican Republic, formerly composed of the five States of Nicaragua,\nCosta Rica, Honduras, San Salvador, and Guatemala, and their continued\nseparation, authorize Mr. Hise to conclude treaties of commerce with the\nRepublics of Guatemala and San Salvador, but conclude with saying that\nit was not deemed advisable to empower Mr. Hise to conclude a treaty\nwith either Nicaragua, Honduras, or Costa Rica until more full and\nstatistical information should have been communicated by him to the\nDepartment in regard to those States than that which it possesses.\n\nThe States of Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Honduras are the only Central\nAmerican States whose consent or cooperation would in any event be\nnecessary for the construction of the ship canal contemplated between\nthe Pacific and Atlantic oceans by the way of Lake Nicaragua.\n\nIn pursuance of the sixth article of the agreement of the 7th of March,\n1848, between the forces of Great Britain and the authorities of\nNicaragua, Senor Francisco Castillon was appointed commissioner from\nNicaragua to Great Britain, and on the 5th day of November, 1848, while\nat Washington on his way to London, addressed a letter to the Secretary\nof State, a translation of which is herewith submitted, asking this\nGovernment to instruct its minister plenipotentiary residing in London\nto sustain the right of Nicaragua to her territory claimed by Mosquito,\nand especially to the port of San Juan, expressing the hope of Nicaragua\n\"that the Government of the Union, firmly adhering to its principle of\nresisting all foreign intervention in America, would not hesitate to\norder such steps to be taken as might be effective before things reached\na point in which the intervention of the United States would prove of no\navail.\"\n\nTo this letter also no answer appears to have been returned, and no\ninstructions were given to our minister in London in pursuance of the\nrequest contained in it.\n\nOn the 3d day of March, 1847, Christopher Hempstead was appointed consul\nat Belize, and an application was then made for his exequatur through\nour minister in London, Mr. Bancroft. Lord Palmerston referred Mr.\nBancroft's application for an exequatur for Mr. Hempstead to the\ncolonial office. The exequatur was granted, and Mr. Hempstead, in a\nletter to the Department of State bearing date the 12th day of February,\n1848, a copy of which is herewith submitted, acknowledged the receipt of\nhis exequatur from Her Britannic Majesty, by virtue of which he has\ndischarged his consular functions. Thus far this Government has\nrecognized the existence of a British colony at Belize, within the\nterritory of Honduras. I have recalled the consul, and have appointed no\none to supply his place.\n\nOn the 26th day of May, 1848, Mr. Hempstead represented in a letter to\nthe Department of State that the Indians had \"applied to Her Majesty's\nsuperintendent at Belize for protection, and had desired him to take\npossession of the territory which they occupied and take them under his\nprotection as British subjects;\" and he added that in the event of the\nsuccess of their application \"the British Government would then have\npossession of the entire coast from Cape Conte to San Juan de\nNicaragua.\" In another letter, dated the 29th day of July, 1848, he\nwrote:\n\n  I have not a doubt but the designs of Her Majesty's officers here and\n  on the Mosquito shore are to obtain territory on this continent.\n\nThe receipt of this letter was regularly acknowledged on the 29th day of\nAugust, 1848.\n\nWhen I came into office I found the British Government in possession of\nthe port of San Juan, which it had taken by force of arms after we had\ntaken possession of California and while we were engaged in the\nnegotiation of a treaty for the cession of it, and that no official\nremonstrance had been made by this Government against the aggression,\nnor any attempt to resist it. Efforts were then being made by certain\nprivate citizens of the United States to procure from the State of\nNicaragua by contract the right to cut the proposed ship canal by the\nway of the river San Juan and the lakes of Nicaragua and Managua to\nRealejo, on the Pacific Ocean. A company of American citizens entered\ninto such a contract with the State of Nicaragua. Viewing the canal as a\nmatter of great importance to the people of the United States, I\nresolved to adopt the policy of protecting the work and binding the\nGovernment of Nicaragua, through whose territory it would pass, also to\nprotect it. The instructions to E. George Squier, appointed by me charge\nd'affaires to Guatemala on the 2d day of April, 1849, are herewith\nsubmitted, as fully indicating the views which governed me in directing\na treaty to be made with Nicaragua. I considered the interference of the\nBritish Government on this continent in seizing the port of San Juan,\nwhich commanded the route believed to be the most eligible for the canal\nacross the Isthmus, and occupying it at the very moment when it was\nknown, as I believe, to Great Britain that we were engaged in the\nnegotiation for the purchase of California, as an unfortunate\ncoincidence, and one calculated to lead to the inference that she\nentertained designs by no means in harmony with the interests of the\nUnited States.\n\nSeeing that Mr. Hise had been positively instructed to make no treaty,\nnot even a treaty of commerce, with Nicaragua, Costa Rica, or Honduras,\nI had no suspicion that he would attempt to act in opposition to his\ninstructions, and in September last I was for the first time informed\nthat he had actually negotiated two treaties with the State of\nNicaragua, the one a treaty of commerce, the other a treaty for the\nconstruction of the proposed ship canal, which treaties he brought with\nhim on his return home. He also negotiated a treaty of commerce with\nHonduras; and in each of these treaties it is recited that he had full\npowers for the purpose. He had no such powers, and the whole proceeding\non his part with reference to those States was not only unauthorized by\ninstructions, but in opposition to those he had received from my\npredecessor and after the date of his letter of recall and the\nappointment of his successor. But I have no evidence that Mr. Hise,\nwhose letter of recall (a copy of which is herewith submitted) bears\ndate the 2d day of May, 1849, had received that letter on the 21st day\nof June, when he negotiated the treaty with Nicaragua. The difficulty of\ncommunicating with him was so great that I have reason to believe he had\nnot received it. He did not acknowledge it.\n\nThe twelfth article of the treaty negotiated by Mr. Hise in effect\nguarantees the perfect independence of the State of Nicaragua and her\nsovereignty over her alleged limits from the Caribbean Sea to the\nPacific Ocean, pledging the naval and military power of the United\nStates to support it. This treaty authorizes the chartering of a\ncorporation by this Government to cut a canal outside of the limits of\nthe United States, and gives to us the exclusive right to fortify and\ncommand it. I have not approved it, nor have I now submitted it for\nratification; not merely because of the facts already mentioned, but\nbecause on the 31st day of December last Senor Edwardo Carcache, on\nbeing accredited to this Government as charge d'affaires from the State\nof Nicaragua, in a note to the Secretary of State, a translation of\nwhich is herewith sent, declared that he was \"only empowered to exchange\nratifications of the treaty concluded with Mr. Squier, and that the\nspecial convention concluded at Guatemala by Mr. Hise, the charge\nd'affaires of the United States, and Senor Selva, the commissioner of\nNicaragua, had been, as was publicly and universally known, disapproved\nby his Government.\"\n\nWe have no precedent in our history to justify such a treaty as that\nnegotiated by Mr. Hise since the guaranties we gave to France of her\nAmerican possessions. The treaty negotiated with New Granada on the 12th\nday of December, 1846, did not guarantee the sovereignty of New Granada\non the whole of her territory, but only over \"the single Province of the\nIsthmus of Panama,\" immediately adjoining the line of the railroad, the\nneutrality of which was deemed necessary by the President and Senate to\nthe construction and security of the work.\n\nThe thirty-fifth article of the treaty with Nicaragua, negotiated by Mr.\nSquier, which is submitted for your advice in regard to its\nratification, distinctly recognizes the rights of sovereignty and\nproperty which the State of Nicaragua possesses in and over the line of\nthe canal therein provided for. If the Senate doubt on that subject, it\nwill be clearly wrong to involve us in a controversy with England by\nadopting the treaty; but after the best consideration which I have been\nable to give to the subject my own judgment is convinced that the claims\nof Nicaragua are just, and that as our commerce and intercourse with the\nPacific require the opening of this communication from ocean to ocean it\nis our duty to ourselves to assert their justice.\n\nThis treaty is not intended to secure to the United States any monopoly\nor exclusive advantage in the use of the canal. Its object is to\nguarantee protection to American citizens and others who shall construct\nthe canal, and to defend it when completed against unjust confiscations\nor obstructions, and to deny the advantages of navigation through it to\nthose nations only which shall refuse to enter into the same guaranties.\nA copy of the contract of the canal company is herewith transmitted,\nfrom which, as well as from the treaty, it will be perceived that the\nsame benefits are offered to all nations in the same terms.\n\nThe message of my predecessor to the Senate of the 10th February, 1847,\ntransmitting for ratification the treaty with New Granada, contains in\ngeneral the principles by which I have been actuated in directing the\nnegotiation with Nicaragua. The only difference between the two cases\nconsists in this: In that of Nicaragua the British Government has seized\nupon part of her territory and was in possession of it when we\nnegotiated the treaty with her. But that possession was taken after our\noccupation of California, when the effect of it was to obstruct or\ncontrol the most eligible route for a ship communication to the\nterritories acquired by us on the Pacific. In the case of New Granada,\nher possession was undisturbed at the time of the treaty, though the\nBritish possession in the right of the Mosquito King was then extended\ninto the territories claimed by New Granada as far as Boca del Toro. The\nprofessed objects of both the treaties are to open communications across\nthe Isthmus to all nations and to invite their guaranties on the same\nterms. Neither of them proposes to guarantee territory to a foreign\nnation in which the United States will not have a common interest with\nthat nation. Neither of them constitutes an alliance for any political\nobject, but for a purely commercial purpose, in which all the navigating\nnations of the world have a common interest. Nicaragua, like New\nGranada, is a power which will not excite the jealousy of any nation.\n\nAs there is nothing narrow, selfish, illiberal, or exclusive in the\nviews of the United States as set forth in this treaty, as it is\nindispensable to the successful completion of the contemplated canal to\nsecure protection to it from the local authorities and this Government,\nand as I have no doubt that the British pretension to the port of San\nJuan in right of the Mosquito King is without just foundation in any\npublic law ever before recognized in any other instance by Americans or\nEnglishmen as applicable to Indian titles on this continent, I shall\nratify this treaty in case the Senate shall advise that course. Its\nprincipal defect is taken from the treaty with New Granada, the\nnegotiator having made it liable to be abrogated on notice after twenty\nyears. Both treaties should have been perpetual or limited only by the\nduration of the improvements they were intended to protect. The\ninstructions to our charge d'affaires, it will be seen, prescribe no\nlimitation for the continuance of the treaty with Nicaragua. Should the\nSenate approve of principle of the treaty, an amendment in this respect\nis deemed advisable; and it will be well to invite by another amendment\nthe protection of other nations, by expressly offering them in the\ntreaty what is now offered by implication only--the same advantages\nwhich we propose for ourselves on the same conditions upon which we\nshall have acquired them. The policy of this treaty is not novel, nor\ndoes it originate from any suggestion either of my immediate predecessor\nor myself. On the 3d day of March, 1835, the following resolution,\nreferred to by the late President in his message to the Senate relative\nto the treaty with New Granada, was adopted in executive session by the\nSenate without division:\n\n  _Resolved_, That the President of the United States be respectfully\n  requested to consider the expediency of opening negotiations with the\n  Governments of Central America and New Granada for the purpose of\n  effectually protecting, by suitable treaty stipulations with them,\n  such individuals or companies as may undertake to open a communication\n  between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans by the construction of a ship\n  canal across the isthmus which connects North and South America, and\n  of securing forever by such stipulations the free and equal rights\n  of navigating such a canal to all such nations on the payment of such\n  reasonable tolls as may be established to compensate the capitalists\n  who may engage in such undertaking and complete the work.\n\nPresident Jackson accorded with the policy suggested in this resolution,\nand in pursuance of it sent Charles Biddle as agent to negotiate with\nthe Governments of Central America and New Granada. The result is fully\nset forth in the report of a select committee of the House of\nRepresentatives of the 20th of February, 1849, upon a joint resolution\nof Congress to authorize the survey of certain routes for a canal or\nrailroad between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. The policy indicated\nin the resolution of the 3d March, 1835, then adopted by the President\nand Senate, is that now proposed for the consideration and sanction of\nthe Senate. So far as my knowledge extends, such has ever been the\nliberal policy of the leading statesmen of this country, and by no one\nhas it been more earnestly recommended than by my lamented predecessor.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 26, 1850_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States:_\n\nI herewith transmit, for the information of Congress, a copy of the\nreport[4a] of Thomas Butler King, esq., appointed bearer of dispatches\nand special agent to California, made in pursuance of instructions\nissued from the Department of State on the 3d day of April last.\n\n[Footnote 4a: On California affairs.]\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 28, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nIn compliance with a resolution of the Senate of the 22d instant,\nrequesting the President of the United States to communicate to that\nbody a copy of the instructions given to the agent of the United States\nwho was employed to visit Hungary during the recent war between that\ncountry and Austria, and of the correspondence by and with such agent,\nso far as the publication of the same may be consistent with the public\ninterest, I herewith transmit to the Senate a copy of the instructions\nto A. Dudley Mann, esq., relating to Hungary, he having been appointed\nby me special agent to that country on the 18th day of June last,\ntogether with a copy of the correspondence with our late charge\nd'affaires to Austria referred to in those instructions and of other\npapers disclosing the policy of this Government in reference to Hungary\nand her people. I also transmit, in compliance with the resolution of\nthe Senate, but in a separate packet, a copy of the correspondence of\nMr. Mann with the Department of State. The latter I have caused to be\nmarked \"_executive_\"--the information contained in it being such as will\nbe found on examination most appropriately to belong to the Senate in\nthe exercise of its executive functions. The publication of this\ncorrespondence of the agent sent by me to Hungary is a matter referred\nentirely to the judgment and discretion of the Senate.\n\nIt will be seen by the documents now transmitted that no minister or\nagent was accredited by the Government of Hungary to this Government at\nany period since I came into office, nor was any communication ever\nreceived by this Government from the minister of foreign affairs of\nHungary or any other executive officer authorized to act in her behalf.\n\nMy purpose, as freely avowed in this correspondence, was to have\nacknowledged the independence of Hungary had she succeeded in\nestablishing a government _de facto_ on a basis sufficiently permanent\nin its character to have justified me in doing so according to the\nusages and settled principles of this Government; and although she is\nnow fallen and many of her gallant patriots are in exile or in chains, I\nam free still to declare that had she been successful in the\nmaintenance of such a government as we could have recognized we should\nhave been the first to welcome her into the family of nations.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _April 3, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States:_\n\nI transmit a translation of a note, under date the 20th of last month,\naddressed to the Secretary of State by the minister of the Mexican\nRepublic accredited to this Government, expressing the views of that\nGovernment with reference to the control of the wild Indians of the\nUnited States on the frontier of Mexico, as stipulated for in the\neleventh article of the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _April 22, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI herewith transmit to the Senate, for their advice with regard to its\nratification, a convention between the United States and Great Britain,\nconcluded at Washington on the 19th instant by John M. Clayton,\nSecretary of State, on the part of the United States, and by the Right\nHon. Sir Henry Lytton Bulwer, on the part of Great Britain.\n\nThis treaty has been negotiated in accordance with the general views\nexpressed in my message to Congress in December last. Its object is to\nestablish a commercial alliance with all great maritime states for the\nprotection of a contemplated ship canal through the territory of\nNicaragua to connect the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, and at the same\ntime to insure the same protection to the contemplated railways or\ncanals by the Tehuantepec and Panama routes, as well as to every other\ninteroceanic communication which may be adopted to shorten the transit\nto or from our territories on the Pacific.\n\nIt will be seen that this treaty does not propose to take money from the\npublic Treasury to effect any object contemplated by it. It yields\nprotection to the capitalists who may undertake to construct any canal\nor railway across the Isthmus, commencing in the southern part of Mexico\nand terminating in the territory of New Granada. It gives no preference\nto any one route over another, but proposes the same measure of\nprotection for all which ingenuity and enterprise can construct. Should\nthis treaty be ratified, it will secure in future the liberation of all\nCentral America from any kind of foreign aggression.\n\nAt the time negotiations were opened with Nicaragua for the construction\nof a canal through her territory I found Great Britain in possession of\nnearly half of Central America, as the ally and protector of the\nMosquito King. It has been my object in negotiating this treaty not only\nto secure the passage across the Isthmus to the Government and citizens\nof the United States by the construction of a great highway dedicated to\nthe use of all nations on equal terms, but to maintain the independence\nand sovereignty of all the Central American Republics. The Senate will\njudge how far these objects have been effected.\n\nIf there be any who would desire to seize and annex any portion of the\nterritories of these weak sister republics to the American Union, or to\nextend our dominion over them, I do not concur in their policy; and I\nwish it to be understood in reference to that subject that I adopt the\nviews entertained, so far as I know, by all my predecessors.\n\nThe principles by which I have been regulated in the negotiation of this\ntreaty are in accordance with the sentiments well expressed by my\nimmediate predecessor on the 10th of February, 1847, when he\ncommunicated to the Senate the treaty with New Granada for the\nprotection of the railroad at Panama. It is in accordance with the whole\nspirit of the resolution of the Senate of the 3d of March, 1835,\nreferred to by President Polk, and with the policy adopted by President\nJackson immediately after the passage of that resolution, who dispatched\nan agent to Central America and New Granada \"to open negotiations with\nthose Governments for the purpose of effectually protecting, by suitable\ntreaty stipulations with them, such individuals or companies as might\nundertake to open a communication between the Atlantic and Pacific\noceans by the construction of a ship canal across the isthmus which\nconnects North and South America, and of securing forever by such\nstipulations the free and equal right of navigating such canal to all\nsuch nations on the payment of such reasonable tolls as might be\nestablished to compensate the capitalists who should engage in such\nundertaking and complete the work.\"\n\nI also communicate herewith a copy of the correspondence between the\nAmerican Secretary of State and the British plenipotentiary at the time\nof concluding the treaty. Whatever honor may be due to the party first\nproposing such a treaty justly belongs to the United States. My\npredecessor, in his message of the 10th of February, 1847, referring to\nthe treaty with New Granada for the protection of the Panama Railroad,\nobserves that--\n\n   Should the proposition thus tendered be rejected we may deprive the\nUnited States of the just influence which its acceptance might secure to\nthem, and confer the glory and benefits of being the first among the\nnations in concluding such an arrangement upon the Government either of\nGreat Britain or France. That either of these Governments would embrace\nthe offer can not be doubted, because there does not appear to be any\nother effectual means of securing to all nations the advantages of this\nimportant passage but the guaranty of great commercial powers that the\nIsthmus shall be neutral territory. The interests of the world at stake\nare so important that the security of this passage between the two\noceans can not be suffered to depend upon the wars and revolutions which\nmay arise among different nations.\n\nShould the Senate in its wisdom see fit to confirm this treaty, and the\ntreaty heretofore submitted by me for their advice in regard to its\nratification, negotiated with the State of Nicaragua on the 3d day of\nSeptember last, it will be necessary to amend one or both of them, so\nthat both treaties may stand in conformity with each other in their\nspirit and intention. The Senate will discover by examining them both\nthat this is a task of no great difficulty.\n\nI have good reason to believe that France and Russia stand ready to\naccede to this treaty, and that no other great maritime state will\nrefuse its accession to an arrangement so well calculated to diffuse the\nblessings of peace, commerce, and civilization, and so honorable to all\nnations which may enter into the engagement.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _May 6, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a consular convention between the United States and the\nRepublic of New Granada, signed in this city on the 4th of this month by\nthe Secretary of State on the part of the United States, and by Senor\nDon Rafael Rivas, charge d'affaires of New Granada, on the part of that\nRepublic.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _May 7, 1850_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States:_\n\nI herewith transmit to the House of Representatives copies of a\ncorrespondence between the Department of State and the British legation\nin this city, relative to the reciprocal admission of the natural\nproducts of the United States and Canada free of duty into the\nterritories of both countries. It will be seen by the accompanying\ndocuments that the late Secretary of the Treasury recommended, in his\ncorrespondence with the Committee on Commerce in the House of\nRepresentatives, reciprocal free trade in the natural products of the\nUnited States and Canada; that in March and June, 1849, a correspondence\nwas opened between the British charge d'affaires then residing in\nWashington and the Secretary of State upon the subject of a commercial\nconvention or treaty to carry out the views of Her Majesty's Government\nin relation thereto, and that the proposition for such a convention or\ntreaty was declined on the part of the American Government for reasons\nwhich are fully set forth in the note of the Secretary of State to Mr.\nCrampton of the 26th of June last. During the negotiations connected\nwith this correspondence, not considering the markets of Canada as an\nequivalent for those of the United States, I directed the Secretary of\nState to inquire what other benefits of trade and commerce would be\nyielded by the British authorities in connection with such a measure,\nand particularly whether the free navigation of the St. Lawrence would\nbe conceded to us. That subject has accordingly been presented to the\nBritish Government, and the result was communicated by Her Majesty's\nminister in Washington on the 27th of March last in reply to a note from\nthe Secretary of State of the 26th of that month. From these papers it\nwill be perceived that the navigation of the St. Lawrence and of the\ncanals connecting it with the Western lakes will be opened to the\ncitizens of the United States in the event that the bill referred to in\nthe correspondence, providing for the admission of their natural\nproducts, should become a law. The whole subject is now submitted to the\nconsideration of Congress, and especially whether the concession\nproposed by Great Britain is an equivalent for the reciprocity desired\nby her.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _May 8, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nWith reference to the convention between the United States and Her\nBritannic Majesty relative to interoceanic communication by the way of\nNicaragua, recently submitted to the Senate, I transmit a copy of a\nnote, under date the 29th ultimo, addressed to the Secretary of State by\nSir Henry L. Bulwer, Her Britannic Majesty's minister here, and of Mr.\nClayton's reply, under date the 30th ultimo. Intelligence received from\nthe charge d'affaires of the United States in Central America and from\nother quarters having led to an apprehension that Mr. Chatfield, Her\nBritannic Majesty's minister in that country, had concluded a treaty\nwith the Government of Costa Rica placing that State under the\nprotection of the British Government, I deemed it my duty to cause\ninquiries upon the subject to be addressed to Her Majesty's Government\nthrough Sir Henry L. Bulwer. The note of that functionary communicates\nthe answer to those inquiries, and may be deemed satisfactory, both from\nthe denial of the fact that any such treaty has been concluded and from\nits positive disavowal on behalf of the British Government of the policy\nintended to be subserved by such treaties.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _May 18, 1850_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States:_\n\nI herewith transmit to the House of Representatives a report of the\nSecretary of State, with accompanying papers,[5a] in answer to its\nresolution of the 28th of March last.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n[Footnote 5a: Communications from the United States consul at Vienna.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _May 20, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI transmit herewith reports from the Secretary of the Interior and\nSecretary of War, in reply to the resolution of the Senate of the 30th\nultimo, calling for information in relation to the hostilities and\noutrages committed during the past year by the Seminole Indians in\nFlorida, the steps taken for their removal west of the Mississippi, the\narea now occupied by them, etc.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _May 22, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI herewith transmit to the Senate reports of the several heads of\nDepartments, to whom were referred the resolutions of the Senate of the\n9th instant, \"requesting the President of the United States to furnish\nto the Senate copies of all correspondence between any of the Executive\nDepartments and General Persifor F. Smith and Brigadier-General B.\nRiley, or either of them, relative to affairs in California, which had\nnot been communicated to the Senate; and also all information existing\nin any of the Executive Departments respecting the transactions of the\nconvention in California by which the project of a State government was\nprepared, and particularly a copy of the journals of said convention and\nof such of the ordinances adopted by it as may in any way have been\ncommunicated to any of the said Departments; and likewise to inform the\nSenate if the surrender of General Riley to the jurisdiction and civil\nauthority of the government made by the aforesaid convention was by\norder of the Executive of the United States, and, if not, whether the\nproclamation of General Riley recognizing the said State government and\nsubmitting to its jurisdiction has received the sanction of the\nExecutive; and also that he furnish to the Senate whatever intelligence\nmay have been received in the executive department respecting the\ncondition of civil affairs in the Oregon Territory.\"\n\nThe reports, with the official correspondence accompanying them, it is\nbelieved, embrace all the information in the Departments called for by\nthe resolutions.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _May 24, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nIn the month of January last I nominated Thomas Sewall to be consul of\nthe United States for the port of Santiago de Cuba, to which office he\nhad been appointed by me during the recess of the Senate. The Spanish\nGovernment having refused to recognize Mr. Sewall as consul for that\nport, I now withdraw that nomination and nominate William N. Adams to\nfill the vacancy thus occasioned.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _May 29, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI transmit to the Senate a copy of a dispatch from the minister of the\nUnited States at London, together with the memorial and other documents\naddressed to the Senate and House of Representatives of the United\nStates by Count de Bronno Bronski which accompanied it, relative to an\nimproved breed of silkworms which he desires to have introduced into\nthis country.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 3, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI transmit to the Senate herewith reports from the several heads of\nDepartments, which contain all the information in possession of the\nExecutive relative to the subject of the resolution of the 23d instant\n[ultimo].\n\nNo information has been received establishing the existence of any\nrevolutionary movement in the island of Cuba among the inhabitants of\nthat island. The correspondence submitted discloses, however, the fact\nthat repeated attempts have been made under the direction of foreigners\nenjoying the hospitality of this country to get up armed expeditions in\nthe United States for the purpose of invading Cuba. It will be seen by\nthat correspondence that this Government has been faithful in the\ndischarge of its treaty obligations with Spain and in the execution of\nthe acts of Congress which have for their object the maintenance in this\nregard of the peace and honor of this country.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 10, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI submit herewith, in reply to a resolution of the Senate of the 3d\ninstant, calling for \"copies of the instructions given and orders issued\nin relation to the assemblage of persons on Round Island, coast of\nMississippi, during the summer of 1849, and of the correspondence\nbetween the President or heads of Departments and the governor of\nMississippi and the officers, naval or military, of the United States in\nreference to the observation, investment, and dispersion of said\nassemblage upon said island,\" a report from the Secretary of the Navy\nand accompanying documents, which contain all the information on the\nsubject not heretofore communicated to the Senate.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 13, 1850_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States:_\n\nI transmit to the House of Representatives a copy of a dispatch\naddressed by the minister of the United States at Paris to the Secretary\nof State, with a translation of the documents which accompanied it,\nrelative to the memorial of Pierre Piron, a citizen of the French\nRepublic, who, it will be perceived, presents a just claim to pecuniary\nremuneration from this Government on account of services rendered to\ncitizens of the United States.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 17, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI have received a copy of the resolution of the Senate of the 11th June\ninstant, requesting me \"to inform the Senate whether any orders have\nbeen issued to any military officer or officers at Santa Fe to hold\npossession against the authority of Texas, or in any way to embarrass or\nprevent the exercise of her jurisdiction over that country, and to\nfurnish the Senate with copies of any correspondence which may have\ntaken place between the War Department and the military stationed at\nSanta Fe since the date of my last communication to the Senate on that\nsubject.\"\n\nIn reply to that resolution I state that no such orders have been given.\n\nI herewith present to the Senate copies of all the correspondence\nreferred to in the resolution. All the other orders relating to the\nsubject-matter of the resolution have been heretofore communicated to\nthe Senate.\n\nI have already, in a former message, referred to the fact that the\nboundary between Texas and New Mexico is disputed. I have now to state\nthat information has been recently received that a certain Robert S.\nNeighbors, styling himself commissioner of the State of Texas, has\nproceeded to Santa Fe with a view of organizing counties in that\ndistrict under the authority of Texas. While I have no power to decide\nthe question of boundary, and no desire to interfere with it, as a\nquestion of title, I have to observe that the possession of the\nterritory into which it appears that Mr. Neighbors has thus gone was\nactually acquired by the United States from Mexico, and has since been\nheld by the United States, and, in my opinion, ought so to remain until\nthe question of boundary shall have been determined by some competent\nauthority. Meanwhile, I think there is no reason for seriously\napprehending that Texas will practically interfere with the possession\nof the United States.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 26, 1850_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States:_\n\nI herewith transmit a report of the Secretary of War, communicating the\ninformation, as far as it can be furnished, required by the resolution\nof the House of Representatives of the 17th instant, respecting the\namount of money collected from customs in California from the conclusion\nof the war until the collector appointed under the act of March 3, 1849,\nentered upon his duties, the objects for which said money has been\nexpended, and the authority under which the collections and\ndisbursements were made.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 27, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nIn compliance with the resolution of the Senate of the 3d instant,\nrequesting information in regard to the indemnity stipulated to be paid\nby the Government of Peru to the Government of the United States\npursuant to the modified convention of the 17th of March, 1841, I\ntransmit a report from the Secretary of State and the documents by which\nit was accompanied. The sums paid by that Government under the\nconvention are mentioned in the letters of Messrs. E. McCall & Co., of\nLima, who were appointed by my predecessor the agents to receive the\ninstallments as they might fall due.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 1, 1850_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States:_\n\nIn reply to the resolution of the House of Representatives of the 17th\nultimo, in regard to the number of vessels, guns, and men constituting\nthe African squadron, the annual expenses of that squadron, etc., I\nsubmit herewith a report from the Secretary of the Navy, with\naccompanying documents.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 1, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nI herewith transmit a report from the Secretary of War, prepared in\nanswer to a resolution of the Senate of the 27th ultimo, requesting\ninformation of the proceedings of the Executive in regard to the\nappointment of the officer now commanding in New Mexico, the orders and\ninstructions given to and correspondence with him, and upon other\nsubjects mentioned in the resolution.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 2, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nIn the month of March last I nominated William McNeir to be a justice of\nthe peace in and for the county of Washington, in the District of\nColumbia, and on the 24th day of June the Senate advised and consented\nto the nomination. Since then I have learned from the late mayor of the\ncity of Washington, upon whose recommendation the nomination was made,\nthat the person whom he intended to recommend for that office was George\nMcNeir, whom I now nominate to be a justice of the peace in and for the\ncounty of Washington, in the District of Columbia.\n\nIn the month of February last I nominated Benjamin Riddells as consul of\nthe United States for Chihuahua, and on the 10th day of June last the\nSenate advised and consented to that nomination. I have since learned\nthat the persons recommending the appointment of Mr. Riddells by the\npraenomen of Benjamin intended to recommend Bennet Riddells, whom I now\nnominate to be consul of the United States for Chihuahua in order to\ncorrect the mistake thus inadvertently made.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\n\n\n\nPROCLAMATIONS.\n\n\nZACHARY TAYLOR, PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.\n\n_To all whom it may concern:_\n\nAn exequatur having been granted to Senor Carlos de Espana, bearing date\nthe 29th October, 1846, recognizing him as the consul of Her Catholic\nMajesty at the port of New Orleans and declaring him free to exercise\nand enjoy such functions, powers, and privileges as are allowed to the\nconsuls of the most favored nations in the United States:\n\nThese are now to declare that I do no longer recognize the said Carlos\nde Espana as consul of Her Catholic Majesty in any part of the United\nStates, nor permit him to exercise and enjoy any of the functions,\npowers, or privileges allowed to the consuls of Spain; and I do hereby\nwholly revoke and annul the said exequatur heretofore given, and do\ndeclare the same to be absolutely null and void from this day forward.\n\nIn testimony whereof I have caused these letters to be made patent and\nthe seal of the United States of America to be hereunto affixed.\n\n[SEAL.]\n\nGiven under my hand this 4th day of January, A.D. 1850, and of the\nIndependence of the United States the seventy-fourth.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\nBy the President:\n  JOHN M. CLAYTON,\n    _Secretary of State_.\n\n\n\nBY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.\n\nA PROCLAMATION.\n\n\nWhereas by an act of the Congress of the United States of the 14th of\nAugust, 1848, entitled \"An act to establish the Territorial government\nof Oregon,\" the President of the United States is authorized to\nestablish such ports of delivery in the collection district created by\nthat act, not exceeding two in number (one of which shall be located on\nPugets Sound), as he may deem proper:\n\nNow, therefore, I, Zachary Taylor, President of the United States of\nAmerica, do hereby declare and proclaim the ports of Nesqually (on\nPugets Sound) and Portland, in the collection district of Oregon, in the\nTerritory of Oregon, to be constituted ports of delivery, with all the\nprivileges authorized by law to such ports.\n\nIn witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of\nthe United States to be affixed.\n\n[SEAL.]\n\nDone at the city of Washington, this 10th day of January, A.D. 1850, and\nof the Independence of the United States the seventy-fourth.\n\nZ. TAYLOR.\n\nBy the President:\n  J.M. CLAYTON,\n    _Secretary of State_.\n\n\n\n\nDEATH OF PRESIDENT TAYLOR.\n\n\nANNOUNCEMENT TO MR. FILLMORE.\n\n[From official records in the State Department.]\n\nDEPARTMENT OF STATE,\n\n_Washington, July 9, 1850_.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE,\n\n_President of the United States_.\n\nSIR: The melancholy and most painful duty devolves on us to announce to\nyou that Zachary Taylor, late President of the United States, is no\nmore. He died at the President's mansion this evening at half-past 10\no'clock.\n\nWe have the honor to be, etc.,\n\nJOHN M. CLAYTON,\n  _Secretary of State_.\n\nW.M. MEREDITH,\n  _Secretary of the Treasury_.\n\nT. EWING,\n  _Secretary of the Interior_.\n\nGEO. W. CRAWFORD,\n  _Secretary of War_.\n\nWM. BALLARD PRESTON,\n  _Secretary of the Navy_.\n\nJ. COLLAMER,\n  _Postmaster-General_.\n\n[The announcement as published in the Daily National Intelligencer of\nJuly 11, 1850, contains also the signature of Reverdy Johnson,\nAttorney-General.]\n\n\n\nREPLY OF MR. FILLMORE.\n\n[From official records in the State Department.]\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 9, 1850_.\n\nTo the Hons. JOHN M. CLAYTON, Secretary of State; W.M. MEREDITH,\nSecretary of the Treasury; T. EWING, Secretary of the Interior; GEO. W.\nCRAWFORD, Secretary of War; WM. BALLARD PRESTON, Secretary of the Navy;\nJ. COLLAMER, Postmaster-General; REVERDY JOHNSON, Attorney-General.\n\nGENTLEMEN: I have just received your note conveying the melancholy and\npainful intelligence of the decease of Zachary Taylor, late President of\nthe United States. I have no language to express the emotions of my\nheart. The shock is so sudden and unexpected that I am overwhelmed with\ngrief.\n\nI shall avail myself of the earliest moment to communicate this sad\nintelligence to Congress, and shall appoint a time and place for taking\nthe oath of office prescribed to the President of the United States. You\nare requested to be present and witness the ceremony.\n\nI am, gentlemen, etc.,\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nCOMMUNICATION TO THE SENATE FROM MR. FILLMORE.\n\n[From Senate Journal, Thirty-first Congress, first session, p. 443.]\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 10, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States:_\n\nIn consequence of the lamented death of Zachary Taylor, late President\nof the United States, I shall no longer occupy the chair of the Senate,\nand I have thought that a formal communication to the Senate to that\neffect, through your Secretary, might enable you the more promptly to\nproceed to the choice of a presiding officer.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE\n\n\n\nANNOUNCEMENT TO CONGRESS.\n\n[From Senate Journal, Thirty-first Congress, first session, p. 443.]\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 10, 1850_.\n\n_Fellow-Citizens of the Senate and House of Representatives:_\n\nI have to perform the melancholy duty of announcing to you that it has\npleased Almighty God to remove from this life Zachary Taylor, late\nPresident of the United States. He deceased last evening at the hour of\nhalf-past 10 o'clock, in the midst of his family and surrounded by\naffectionate friends, calmly and in the full possession of all his\nfaculties. Among his last words were these, which he uttered with\nemphatic distinctness:\n\n  I have always done my duty. I am ready to die. My only regret is\n  for the friends I leave behind me.\n\nHaving announced to you, fellow-citizens, this most afflicting\nbereavement, and assuring you that it has penetrated no heart with\ndeeper grief than mine, it remains for me to say that I propose this day\nat 12 o'clock, in the Hall of the House of Representatives, in the\npresence of both Houses of Congress, to take the oath prescribed by the\nConstitution, to enable me to enter on the execution of the office which\nthis event has devolved on me.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nANNOUNCEMENT TO REPRESENTATIVES OF THE UNITED STATES ABROAD.\n\n[From official records in the State Department]\n\nCIRCULAR.\n\nDEPARTMENT OF STATE,\n\n_Washington, July 10, 1850._\n\nSir: It has become my most painful duty to announce to you the decease\nof Zachary Taylor, late President of the United States.\n\nThis afflicting event took place on the 9th instant at the Executive\nMansion in this city, at thirty minutes after 10 o'clock in the evening.\n\nI am, sir, respectfully, your obedient servant,\n\nJOHN M. CLAYTON.\n\n\n\nANNOUNCEMENT TO REPRESENTATIVES OF FOREIGN GOVERNMENTS IN THE UNITED\nSTATES.\n\n[From official records in the State Department.]\n\nCIRCULAR.\n\nDEPARTMENT OF STATE,\n\n_Washington, July 10, 1850._\n\nSIR: It is my great misfortune to be obliged to inform you of an event\nnot less afflicting to the people of the United States than distressing\nto my own feelings and the feelings of all those connected with the\nGovernment.\n\nThe President, Zachary Taylor, departed this life yesterday at half-past\n10 o'clock in the evening.\n\nYou are respectfully invited to attend the funeral ceremonies, which\nwill take place on Saturday next, and with the particular arrangements\nfor which you will be made acquainted in due time.\n\nNot doubting your sympathy and condolence with the Government and people\nof the country on this bereavement, I have the honor to be, sir, with\nhigh consideration, your obedient servant,\n\nJOHN M. CLAYTON.\n\n\n\nANNOUNCEMENT TO THE ARMY.\n\n[From official records in the War Department.]\n\nGENERAL ORDERS, No. 21.\n\nWAR DEPARTMENT, ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE,\n\n_Washington July 11, 1850_.\n\nI. The following order of the President of the United States announces\nto the Army the lamented death of the illustrious General Zachary\nTaylor, late President of the United States:\n\n\nWAR DEPARTMENT, _July 11, 1850_.\n\nThe President of the United States with profound sorrow announces to the\nArmy, the Navy, and Marine Corps the death of Zachary Taylor, late\nPresident of the United States. He died at the Executive Mansion on the\nnight of the 9th instant at half-past 10 o'clock.\n\nHis last public appearance was in participating in the ceremonies of our\nnational anniversary at the base of the monument now rearing to the\nmemory of Washington. His last official act was to affix his signature\nto the convention recently concluded between the United States and Great\nBritain.\n\nThe vigor of a constitution strong by nature and confirmed by active and\ntemperate habits had in later years become impaired by the arduous toils\nand exposures of his military life.\n\nSolely engrossed in maintaining the honor and advancing the glory of his\ncountry, in a career of forty years in the Army of the United States he\nrendered himself signal and illustrious. An unbroken current of success\nand victory, terminated by an achievement unsurpassed in our annals,\nleft nothing to be accomplished for his military fame.\n\nHis conduct and courage gave him this career of unexampled fortune, and\nwith the crowning virtues of moderation and humanity under all\ncircumstances, and especially in the moment of victory, revealed to his\ncountrymen those great and good qualities which induced them unsolicited\nto call him from his high military command to the highest civil office\nof honor and trust in the Republic; not that he desired to be first, but\nthat he was felt to be worthiest.\n\nThe simplicity of his character, the singleness of his purpose, the\nelevation and patriotism of his principles, his moral courage, his\njustice, magnanimity and benevolence, his wisdom, moderation, and power\nof command, while they have endeared him to the heart of the nation, add\nto the deep sense of the national calamity in the loss of a Chief\nMagistrate whom death itself could not appall in the consciousness of\n\"having always done his duty.\"\n\nThe officers of the Army, of the Navy, and Marine Corps will, as a\nmanifestation of their respect for the exalted character and eminent\npublic services of the illustrious dead, and of their sense of the\ncalamity the country has sustained by this afflicting dispensation of\nProvidence, wear crape on the left arm and upon the hilt of the sword\nfor six months.\n\nIt is further directed that funeral honors be paid at\neach of the military posts according to general regulations, and at\nnavy-yards and on board all public vessels in commission, by firing\nthirty minute guns, commencing at meridian, on the day after the receipt\nof this order, and by wearing their flags at half-mast.\n\nBy order of the President:\n\nGEORGE W. CRAWFORD,\n\n_Secretary of War_.\n\n\nII. The day after the receipt of this general order at each military\npost the troops will be paraded at 10 o'clock a.m. and the order read to\nthem, after which all labors for the day will cease.\n\nThe national flag will be displayed at half-staff.\n\nAt dawn of day thirteen guns will be fired, and afterwards at intervals\nof thirty minutes between the rising and setting sun a single gun, and\nat the close of the day a national salute of thirty guns.\n\nThe officers of the Army will wear the badge of mourning on the left arm\nand on their swords and the colors of the several regiments will be put\nin mourning for the period of six months.\n\nBy order: R. JONES,\n\n_Adjutant-General._\n\n[The Secretary of the Navy made the same announcement to the Navy as\nthat portion of the above signed by the Secretary of War.]\n\n\n\nORDER OF THE PRESIDENT.\n\n[From the Daily National Intelligencer, July 12, 1850.]\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 10, 1850_.\n\nIn consequence of the death of the President of the United States, I\ndirect that the several Executive Departments be closed until after the\nfuneral of the illustrious deceased, and that they, as well as the\nExecutive Mansion, be placed in mourning, and that the several officers\nof the Government wear the usual badge of mourning for the term of six\nmonths.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nACTION OF CONGRESS.\n\n[From Senate Journal, Thirty-first Congress, first session, p. 445.]\n\nRESOLUTION OF THE SENATE.\n\nWhereas it has pleased Divine Providence to remove from this life\nZachary Taylor, late President of the United States, the Senate,\nsharing in the general sorrow which this melancholy event must produce,\nis desirous of manifesting its sensibility on this occasion: Therefore\n\n_Resolved_, That a committee consisting of Messrs. Webster, Cass, and\nKing be appointed on the part of the Senate to meet such committee as\nmay be appointed on the part of the House of Representatives to consider\nand report what measures it may be deemed proper to adopt to show the\nrespect and affection of Congress for the memory of the illustrious\ndeceased and to make the necessary arrangements for his funeral.\n\n[From House Journal, Thirty-first Congress, first session, p. 1121.]\n\nRESOLUTION OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES.\n\nWhereas it has pleased Divine Providence to remove from this life\nZachary Taylor, late President of the United States, the House of\nRepresentatives, sharing in the general sorrow which this melancholy\nevent must produce, is desirous of manifesting its sensibility on the\noccasion: Therefore\n\n_Resolved_, That a committee consisting of thirteen members be appointed\non the part of this House to meet such committee as may be appointed on\nthe part of the Senate to consider and report what measures it may be\ndeemed proper to adopt in order to show the respect and affection of\nCongress for the memory of the illustrious deceased and to make the\nnecessary arrangements for his funeral.\n\n[The committee consisted of Messrs. Conrad, of Louisiana; McDowell, of\nVirginia; Winthrop, of Massachusetts; Bissell, of Illinois; Duer, of New\nYork; Orr, of South Carolina; Breck, of Kentucky; Strong, of\nPennsylvania; Vinton, of Ohio; Cabell, of Florida; Kerr, of Maryland;\nStanly, of North Carolina; Littlefield, of Maine.]\n\n\n\nOFFICIAL ARRANGEMENTS FOR THE FUNERAL.\n\n[From the Daily National Intelligencer, July 13, 1850.]\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 11, 1850_.\n\nThe Committee of Arrangements of the two Houses of Congress, having\nconsulted with the family of the deceased, have concluded that the\nfuneral of the late President be solemnized on Saturday, the 13th of\nJuly, at 12 o'clock; the religious services to be performed by the Rev.\nDr. Pyne at the Executive Mansion, according to the usage of the\nEpiscopal Church, in which church the deceased most usually worshiped;\nthe body to be afterwards taken from the President's house to the\nCongress Burying Ground, accompanied by a military escort and civic\nprocession, and deposited in the receiving tomb.\n\nThe military arrangements to be under the direction of Major-General\nScott, the General Commanding in Chief of the Army of the United States,\nand Major-General Walter Jones, of the militia of the District of\nColumbia.\n\nCommodore Warrington, the senior naval officer now in the city, to have\nthe direction of the naval arrangements.\n\nThe marshal of the District of Columbia to have the direction of the\ncivic procession.\n\nAll the members of the diplomatic corps, all officers of Government, the\nclergy of the District and elsewhere, all associations and fraternities,\nand citizens generally are invited to attend.\n\nAnd it is respectfully recommended to the officers of the Government\nthat they wear the usual badge of mourning.\n\nORDER OF THE PROCESSION.\n\nFUNERAL ESCORT.\n\n(In column of march.)\n\nComposed of such corps of the Army and the militia as may be ordered or\nas may report themselves for duty on the occasion.\n\nCIVIC PROCESSION.\n\nThe United States marshal of the District of Columbia and his aids.\n\nThe mayors of Washington and Georgetown.\n\nThe Committee of Arrangements of the two Houses of Congress.\n\nThe chaplains of the two Houses of Congress and the officiating\nclergyman of the occasion.\n\nAttending physicians to the late President.\n\n_Pallbearers_.--Hon. Henry Clay, Hon. T.H. Benton, Hon. Lewis Cass, Hon.\nDaniel Webster, Hon. J.M. Berrien, Hon. Truman Smith, Hon. R.C.\nWinthrop, Hon. Linn Boyd, Hon. James McDowell, Hon. S.F. Vinton, Hon.\nHugh White, Hon. Isaac E. Holmes, G.W.P. Custis, esq., Hon. R.J. Walker,\nChief Justice Cranch, Joseph Gales, esq., Major-General Jesup,\nMajor-General Gibson, Commodore Ballard, Brigadier-General Henderson.\n\nThe horse used by General Taylor in the late war.\n\nFamily and relatives of the late President.\n\nThe President of the United States and the heads of Departments.\n\nThe Sergeant-at-Arms of the Senate.\n\nThe Senate of the United States, preceded by the President _pro tempore_\nand Secretary.\n\nThe Sergeant-at-Arms of the House of Representatives.\n\nThe House of Representatives, preceded by their Speaker and Clerk.\n\nThe Chief Justice and associate justices of the Supreme Court of the\nUnited States and its officers.\n\nThe diplomatic corps.\n\nGovernors of States and Territories.\n\nEx-members of Congress.\n\nMembers of State legislatures.\n\nDistrict judges of the United States.\n\nJudges of the circuit and criminal courts of the District of Columbia,\nwith the members of the bar and officers of the courts.\n\nThe judges of the several States.\n\nThe Comptroller of the Treasury, Auditors, Treasurer, Register,\nSolicitor, and Commissioners of Land Office, Pensions, Indian Affairs,\nPatents, and Public Buildings.\n\nThe clerks, etc., of the several Departments, preceded by their\nrespective chief clerks, and all other civil officers of the Government.\n\nClergy of the District of Columbia and elsewhere.\n\nOfficers and soldiers of the Revolution.\n\nCorporate authorities of Washington.\n\nCorporate authorities of Georgetown.\n\nOfficers and soldiers who served in the War of 1812 and in the late war.\n\nPresidents, professors, and students of the colleges of the District of\nColumbia.\n\nSuch societies and fraternities as may wish to join the procession, to\nreport to the marshal of the District, who will assign them their\nrespective positions.\n\nCitizens and strangers.\n\nThe procession will move from the President's house at 1 o'clock\nprecisely, or on the conclusion of the religious services.\n\nDANIEL WEBSTER,\n_Chairman of the Committee on the part of the Senate_.\n\nCHAS. M. CONRAD,\n_Chairman of the Committee on the part of the House of Representatives_.\n\n\n\n[From official records in the War Department.]\n\nGENERAL ORDERS, No. 22.\n\nWAR DEPARTMENT, ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE,\n\n_Washington, July 11, 1850_.\n\nThe joint committees of the Congress of the United States having\ndesignated the General in Chief, Major-General Scott, to take charge of\nthe military arrangements for the funeral ceremonies of the late\nPresident of the United States, the Secretary of War directs that the\nCommanding General of the Army give the necessary orders and\ninstructions accordingly. The military arrangements will conform to the\ndirections found in the reports of the special committees of the Senate\nand House of Representatives.\n\nBy order of the Secretary of War:\n\nR. JONES,\n\n_Adjutant-General._\n\n\n\nGENERAL ORDERS.\n\nHEADQUARTERS OF THE ARMY,\n\nADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE,\n\n_Washington, July 12, 1850_.\n\nThe Major-General Commanding the Army of the United States, having been\ncharged by the joint committees of Congress with the military\npreparations for the funeral honors to be paid to the illustrious\nstatesman, soldier, and citizen, Zachary Taylor, late President of the\nUnited States, directs the following order of arrangement:\n\nORDER OF THE MILITARY PROCESSION.\n\nFUNERAL ESCORT.\n\n(In column of march.)\n\n_Infantry_.--Maryland volunteers; volunteer troops from other States;\nbattalion of volunteers from the District of Columbia.\n\n_Firing party_ (to be commanded by an officer of the Army).--Two\ncompanies of volunteers from Washington; two companies of volunteers\nfrom Baltimore; battalion of United States marines; battalion of United\nStates artillery, as infantry; troop of United States light artillery.\n\nDismounted officers of volunteers, Marine Corps, Navy, and Army, in the\norder named.\n\nMounted officers of volunteers, Marine Corps, Navy, and Army, in the\norder named.\n\nMajor-General Walter Jones, commanding the militia; aids-de-camp.\n\nMajor-General Winfield Scott, commanding the Army; aids-de-camp.\n\nThe troops will be formed in line in the Avenue, north of the\nPresident's mansion, precisely at 11 o'clock a.m., Saturday, the 13th\ninstant, with the right (Brevet Major Sedgwick's troop of light\nartillery) resting opposite the War Department.\n\nThe procession will move at 1 o'clock p.m., when minute guns will be\nfired by detachments of artillery stationed near St. John's church, the\nCity Hall, and the Capitol, respectively.\n\nOn arriving on the north front of the Congressional Burial Ground the\nescort will be formed in two lines, the first consisting of the firing\nparty, facing the cemetery and 30 paces from it; the second composed of\nthe rest of the infantry, 20 paces in rear; the battery of artillery to\ntake position on the rising ground 100 paces in rear of the second line.\n\nAt sunrise to-morrow (the 13th instant) a Federal salute will be fired\nfrom the military stations in the vicinity of Washington, minute guns\nbetween the hours of 1 and 3, and a national salute at the setting of\nthe sun.\n\nThe usual badge of mourning will be worn on the left arm and on the hilt\nof the sword.\n\nThe Adjutant-General of the Army is charged with the details of the\nmilitary arrangements of the day, aided by the Assistant\nAdjutants-General on duty at Washington, by Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel\nSwords, of the staff, and Lieutenant W.T. Sherman, Third Artillery.\n\nThe United States marshal of the District of Columbia having been\ncharged with the direction of the civic procession, the military will\ncooperate in the general order of arrangements.\n\nBy command of Major-General Scott:\n\nR. JONES,\n\n_Adjutant-General_.\n\n\n\n[From the Daily National Intelligencer, July 12, 1850.]\n\nGENERAL ORDER.\n\nThe major-general, zealous to execute the honorable commission in which\nthe joint committees of Congress have associated him with the General in\nChief of the Army, deems it proper and conducive to the end in view to\nmake the best preparation in his power for carrying into effect the\nfield arrangements of the military movements in the procession of the\nfuneral of the late President, arrangements which must necessarily await\nthe arrival of the General in Chief. For that purpose he thinks it\nexpedient to appoint a general rendezvous where all the corps and\ncompanies of militia, including all who may march from any of the\nStates with those of this District, may assemble at an early hour in the\nmorning of Saturday, the 13th instant, and there receive final orders\nfor being formed and posted. They are therefore requested to take notice\nthat such rendezvous is in front of the City Hall. The corps and\ncompanies from the States are requested to repair to this general\nrendezvous immediately on arrival; those of the District not later than\n9 o'clock a.m. The commandants of corps and companies are expected to\nreport, immediately on arriving at the rendezvous, to the major-general\nor such staff officer as may be detailed for the purpose, the strength\nof their respective commands.\n\nAll officers not on duty in their respective corps or companies are\nrequested to appear in full uniform and mounted. The post intended for\nthem is in the personal suite of the General in Chief. The major-general\nknows of no more honorable or more interesting post that he could assign\nthem in time of peace than that of following the lead of the renowned\nScott in the procession of the funeral of the renowned Taylor.\n\nWALTER JONES,\n_Major-General Militia District of Columbia_.\n\n\n\nRESOLUTION OF CONDOLENCE BY CONGRESS.\n\n[From original in the State Department.]\n\nA RESOLUTION expressing the condolence of Congress for Mrs. Margaret S.\nTaylor.\n\n_Resolved by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United\nStates of America in Congress assembled,_ That the President of the\nUnited States be requested to transmit a copy of the proceedings of the\ntwo Houses on the 10th instant in relation to the death of the late\nPresident of the United States to Mrs. Margaret S. Taylor, and to assure\nher of the profound respect of the two Houses of Congress for her person\nand character and of their sincere condolence on the late afflicting\ndispensation of Providence.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMillard Fillmore\n\nJuly 10, 1850, to March 4, 1853\n\n\n\n\nMillard Fillmore\n\nMillard Fillmore was born February 7, 1800, in the township of Locke\n(now Summerhill), Cayuga County, N.Y. He was the second son of\nNathaniel Fillmore and Phoebe Millard. His ancestors served with\ndistinction in the French and Revolutionary wars. He attended the\nprimitive schools in the neighborhood three months in the year,\ndevoting the other nine to working on his father's farm. His father,\nhaving formed a distaste for farming, was desirous that his sons\nshould follow other occupations. Accordingly, Millard, after serving\nan apprenticeship for a few months, began in 1815 the business of\ncarding and dressing cloth. Was afterwards a school-teacher. In 1819\ndecided to become a lawyer, and in 1823, although he had not completed\nthe usual course required, was admitted as an attorney by the court of\ncommon pleas of Erie County. February 5, 1826, was married to Miss\nAbigail Powers, daughter of a clergyman. In 1827 was admitted as an\nattorney and two years later as counselor before the supreme court. In\n1830 removed to Buffalo and became a successful lawyer. His political\ncareer began and ended with the birth and extinction of the Whig\nparty. Was elected to the legislature of his State in 1828, and served\nthree terms; while there he was distinguished by his advocacy of the\nact to abolish imprisonment for debt, which passed in 1831. In 1832\nwas elected to Congress, and after serving one term retired till 1836,\nwhen he was reelected, and again returned in 1838 and 1840, declining\na renomination in 1842. Was the author of the tariff of 1842. He\nretired from Congress in 1843. Was an unsuccessful candidate for\nVice-President before the Whig convention at Baltimore in 1844. Was\nnominated by acclamation for governor of New York in the following\nSeptember, but was defeated by Silas Wright. In 1847 was elected\ncomptroller of the State. In 1848 was nominated by the Whigs for\nVice-President on the ticket with General Taylor and was elected in\nthe following November. He presided as Vice-President with strict\nimpartiality during exciting debates in the Senate. By the death of\nPresident Taylor became President July 10, 1850. Was a candidate for\nPresident at the Whig convention in 1852, but General Scott received\nthe nomination. Three weeks after the close of his Administration his\nwife died. Afterwards married Caroline C. McIntosh, who survived him.\nIn 1856, while in Rome, he was nominated for the Presidency by the\nAmerican (Whig) party, but was defeated by Mr. Buchanan. After his\nretirement from office he resided in Buffalo the remainder of his\nlife. He established the Buffalo Historical Society. Was called upon\nto welcome distinguished visitors to his city, and frequently presided\nover conventions and other public meetings, but held no office after\nretiring from the Presidency. He again visited Europe in 1866. Died at\nBuffalo, N.Y., March 8, 1874, and was buried in that city in Forest\nLawn Cemetery.\n\n\n\n\nSPECIAL MESSAGES.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 10, 1850_.\n\n_Fellow-Citizens of the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nA great man has fallen among us, and a whole country is called to an\noccasion of unexpected, deep, and general mourning.\n\nI recommend to the two Houses of Congress to adopt such measures as in\ntheir discretion may seem proper to perform with due solemnities the\nfuneral obsequies of Zachary Taylor, late President of the United\nStates, and thereby to signify the great and affectionate regard of\nthe American people for the memory of one whose life has been devoted\nto the public service, whose career in arms has not been surpassed in\nusefulness or brilliancy, who has been so recently raised by the\nunsolicited voice of the people to the highest civil authority in the\nGovernment, which he administered with so much honor and advantage to\nhis country, and by whose sudden death so many hopes of future\nusefulness have been blighted forever.\n\nTo you, Senators and Representatives of a nation in tears, I can say\nnothing which can alleviate the sorrow with which you are oppressed. I\nappeal to you to aid me, under the trying circumstances which surround\nme, in the discharge of the duties from which, however much I may be\noppressed by them, I dare not shrink; and I rely upon Him who holds in\nHis hands the destinies of nations to endow me with the requisite\nstrength for the task and to avert from our country the evils\napprehended from the heavy calamity which has befallen us.\n\nI shall most readily concur in whatever measures the wisdom of the two\nHouses may suggest as befitting this deeply melancholy occasion.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 15, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a treaty between the United States and the Republic of\nPeru, signed in this city on the 13th instant by the plenipotentiaries\nof the parties. A report from the Secretary of State relative to the\ntreaty, and the documents therein referred to, are also herewith\ntransmitted.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 17, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn further answer to a resolution of the Senate of the 27th ultimo, in\nreference to a proclamation issued by the military officer commanding\nin New Mexico and other matters, I herewith transmit a report from\nthe Secretary of War, communicating information not received at the\nDepartment until after the date of his report of the 1st instant on\nthis subject.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 17, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to a resolution of the Senate of the 1st instant, requesting\nthe President to furnish the Senate with \"the report and map of\nLieutenant J.D. Webster, Corps of Topographical Engineers, of a survey\nof the Gulf coast at the mouth of the Rio Grande and its vicinity,\"\nand in compliance therewith, I transmit herewith a report from the\nSecretary of War, accompanied by the report and map above referred to.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 18, 1850_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nI herewith transmit to the House of Representatives, in compliance with\nthe request contained in their resolution of the 24th day of January\nlast, the information asked for by that resolution, relating to certain\nproceedings of the British Government in the forcible seizure and\noccupation of the island of Tigre; also all the \"facts, circumstances,\nand communications within the knowledge of the Executive relative to any\nseizure or occupation, or attempted seizure or occupation, by the\nBritish Government of any port, river, town, territory, or island\nbelonging to or claimed by any of the States of Central America.\"\n\nThe resolution of the House speaks of the island of Tigre, in the\nState of Nicaragua. I am not aware of the existence of any such island\nin that State, and presume that the resolution refers to the island of\nthe same name in the Gulf of Fonseca, in the State of Honduras.\n\nThe concluding part of the resolution, requesting the President to\ncommunicate to the House all treaties not heretofore published which\nmay have been negotiated with any of the States of Central America \"by\nany person acting by authority of the late Administration or under the\nauspices of the present Administration,\" so far as it has reference to\ntreaties negotiated with any of those States by instructions from this\nGovernment, can not be complied with, inasmuch as those treaties have\nnot been acted upon by the Senate of the United States, and are now in\nthe possession of that body, to whom by the Constitution they are\ndirected to be transmitted for advice in regard to their ratification.\n\nBut as its communication is not liable to the same objection, I\ntransmit for the information of the House a copy of a treaty in regard\nto a ship canal across the Isthmus, negotiated by Elijah Hise, our\nlate charge d'affaires in Guatemala, with the Government of Nicaragua\non the 21st day of June, 1849, accompanied by copies of his\ninstructions from and correspondence with the Department of State.\n\nI shall cheerfully comply with the request of the House of\nRepresentatives to lay before them the treaties negotiated with the\nStates of Central America, now before the Senate, whenever it shall be\ncompatible with the public interest to make the communication. For the\npresent I communicate herewith a copy of the treaty with Great Britain\nand of the correspondence between the American Secretary of State\nand the British plenipotentiary at the time it was concluded. The\nratifications of it were exchanged at Washington on the 4th day of\nJuly instant.\n\nI also transmit the report of the Secretary of State, to whom the\nresolution of the House was referred, and who conducted the\nnegotiations relative to Central America, under the direction of\nmy lamented predecessor.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 20, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith transmit to the Senate, with a view to its ratification, a\nconvention between the United States and the Mexican Republic for the\nextradition of fugitives from justice. This convention was negotiated\nunder the directions of my predecessor, and was signed this day by\nJohn M. Clayton, Secretary of State, on the part of the United States,\nand by Senor Don Luis de la Rosa, envoy extraordinary and minister\nplenipotentiary of Mexico, on the part of that Republic. The length of\nthe boundary line between the two countries, extending, as it does,\nfrom the Pacific to the Gulf, renders such a convention indispensable\nto the maintenance of good order and the amicable relations now so\nhappily subsisting between the sister Republics.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 23, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI lay before the Senate, for their consideration and advice as to its\nratification, a treaty concluded in the city of Washington on the 1st\nday of April, 1850, by and between Ardavan S. Loughery, commissioner\non the part of the United States, and delegates of the Wyandott tribe\nof Indians.\n\nI also lay before the Senate a letter from the Secretary of the Interior\nand the papers therein referred to.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 30, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith transmit to the Senate, in answer to its resolution of the\n5th instant, requesting the President to communicate to that body \"any\ninformation, if any has been received by the Government, showing that\nan American vessel has been recently stopped upon the high seas and\nsearched by a British ship of war,\" the accompanying copies of papers.\nThe Government has no knowledge of any alleged stopping or searching\non the high seas of American vessels by British ships of war except in\nthe cases therein mentioned. The circumstances of these cases will\nappear by the inclosed correspondence, taken from the files of the\nNavy Department. No remonstrance or complaint by the owners of these\nvessels has been presented to the Government of the United States.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 2, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI have the honor to transmit herewith a report of the Secretary of\nWar, in answer to a resolution of the Senate passed on the 8th of July\nlast, calling for information in relation to the removal of Fort Polk,\netc. The documents accompanying the report contain all the information\nrequired by the resolution.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 6, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nI herewith transmit to the two Houses of Congress a letter from his\nexcellency the governor of Texas, dated on the 14th day of June last,\naddressed to the late President of the United States, which, not\nhaving been answered by him, came to my hands on his death; and I also\ntransmit a copy of the answer which I have felt it to be my duty to\ncause to be made to that communication.\n\nCongress will perceive that the governor of Texas officially states\nthat by authority of the legislature of that State he dispatched a\nspecial commissioner with full power and instructions to extend the\ncivil jurisdiction of the State over the unorganized counties of El\nPaso, Worth, Presidio, and Santa Fe, situated on its northwestern\nlimits.\n\nHe proceeds to say that the commissioner had reported to him in an\nofficial form that the military officers employed in the service of\nthe United States stationed at Santa Fe interposed adversely with\nthe inhabitants to the fulfillment of his object in favor of the\nestablishment of a separate State government east of the Rio Grande,\nand within the rightful limits of the State of Texas. These four\ncounties, which Texas thus proposes to establish and organize as being\nwithin her own jurisdiction, extend over the whole of the territory\neast of the Rio Grande, which has heretofore been regarded as an\nessential and integral part of the department of New Mexico, and\nactually governed and possessed by her people until conquered and\nsevered from the Republic of Mexico by the American arms.\n\nThe legislature of Texas has been called together by her governor\nfor the purpose, as is understood, of maintaining her claim to the\nterritory east of the Rio Grande and of establishing over it her own\njurisdiction and her own laws by force.\n\nThese proceedings of Texas, may well arrest the attention of all\nbranches of the Government of the United States, and I rejoice that\nthey occur while the Congress is yet in session. It is, I fear, far\nfrom being impossible that, in consequence of these proceedings of\nTexas, a crisis may be brought on which shall summon the two Houses of\nCongress, and still more emphatically the executive government, to an\nimmediate readiness for the performance of their respective duties.\n\nBy the Constitution of the United States the President is constituted\nCommander in Chief of the Army and Navy, and of the militia of the\nseveral States when called into the actual service of the United\nStates. The Constitution declares also that he shall take care that\nthe laws be faithfully executed and that he shall from time to time\ngive to the Congress information of the state of the Union.\n\nCongress has power by the Constitution to provide for calling forth\nthe militia to execute the laws of the Union, and suitable and\nappropriate acts of Congress have been passed as well for providing\nfor calling forth the militia as for placing other suitable and\nefficient means in the hands of the President to enable him to\ndischarge the constitutional functions of his office.\n\nThe second section of the act of the 28th of February, 1795, declares\nthat whenever the laws of the United States shall be opposed or their\nexecution obstructed in any State by combinations too powerful to be\nsuppressed by the ordinary course of judicial proceedings or the power\nvested in the marshals, the President may call forth the militia, as\nfar as may be necessary, to suppress such combinations and to cause\nthe laws to be duly executed.\n\nBy the act of March 3, 1807, it is provided that in all cases of\nobstruction to the laws either of the United States or any individual\nState or Territory, where it is lawful for the President to call forth\nthe militia for the purpose of causing the laws to be duly executed,\nit shall be lawful for him to employ for the same purposes such part\nof the land or naval force of the United States as shall be judged\nnecessary.\n\nThese several enactments are now in full force, so that if the laws of\nthe United States are opposed or obstructed in any State or Territory\nby combinations too powerful to be suppressed by the judicial or civil\nauthorities it becomes a case in which it is the duty of the President\neither to call out the militia or to employ the military and naval\nforce of the United States, or to do both if in his judgment the\nexigency of the occasion shall so require, for the purpose of\nsuppressing such combinations. The constitutional duty of the\nPresident is plain and peremptory and the authority vested in him by\nlaw for its performance clear and ample.\n\nTexas is a State, authorized to maintain her own laws so far as they\nare not repugnant to the Constitution, laws, and treaties of the\nUnited States; to suppress insurrections against her authority, and to\npunish those who may commit treason against the State according to the\nforms provided by her own constitution and her own laws.\n\nBut all this power is local and confined entirely within the limits\nof Texas herself. She can possibly confer no authority which can be\nlawfully exercised beyond her own boundaries.\n\nAll this is plain, and hardly needs argument or elucidation. If Texas\nmilitia, therefore, march into any one of the other States or into any\nTerritory of the United States, there to execute or enforce any law of\nTexas, they become at that moment trespassers; they are no longer\nunder the protection of any lawful authority, and are to be regarded\nmerely as intruders; and if within such State or Territory they\nobstruct any law of the United States, either by power of arms or mere\npower of numbers, constituting such a combination as is too powerful\nto be suppressed by the civil authority, the President of the United\nStates has no option left to him, but is bound to obey the solemn\ninjunction of the Constitution and exercise the high powers vested in\nhim by that instrument and by the acts of Congress.\n\nOr if any civil posse, armed or unarmed, enter into any Territory of\nthe United States, under the protection of the laws thereof, with\nintent to seize individuals, to be carried elsewhere for trial for\nalleged offenses, and this posse be too powerful to be resisted by the\nlocal civil authorities, such seizure or attempt to seize is to be\nprevented or resisted by the authority of the United States.\n\nThe grave and important question now arises whether there be in\nthe Territory of New Mexico any existing law of the United States\nopposition to which or the obstruction of which would constitute a\ncase calling for the interposition of the authority vested in the\nPresident.\n\nThe Constitution of the United States declares that--\n\n  This Constitution, and the laws of the United States which shall be\n  made in pursuance thereof, and all treaties made, or which shall be\n  made, under the authority of the United States, shall be the supreme\n  law of the land.\n\n\nIf, therefore, New Mexico be a Territory of the United States, and if\nany treaty stipulation be in force therein, such treaty stipulation\nis the supreme law of the land, and is to be maintained and upheld\naccordingly.\n\nIn the letter to the governor of Texas my reasons are given for\nbelieving that New Mexico is now a Territory of the United States,\nwith the same extent and the same boundaries which belonged to it\nwhile in the actual possession of the Republic of Mexico, and before\nthe late war. In the early part of that war both California and New\nMexico were conquered by the arms of the United States, and were\nin the military possession of the United States at the date of the\ntreaty of peace.\n\nBy that treaty the title by conquest was confirmed and these\nterritories, provinces, or departments separated from Mexico forever,\nand by the same treaty certain important rights and securities were\nsolemnly guaranteed to the inhabitants residing therein.\n\nBy the fifth article of the treaty it is declared that--\n\n  The boundary line between the two Republics shall commence in the Gulf\n  of Mexico 3 leagues from land, opposite the mouth of the Rio Grande,\n  otherwise called Rio Bravo del Norte, or opposite the mouth of its\n  deepest branch if it should have more than one branch emptying\n  directly into the sea; from thence up the middle of that river,\n  following the deepest channel where it has more than one, to the point\n  where it strikes the southern boundary of New Mexico; thence\n  westwardly, along the whole southern boundary of New Mexico (which\n  runs north of the town called Paso) to its western termination; thence\n  northward along the western line of New Mexico until it intersects the\n  first branch of the river Gila (or, if it should not intersect any\n  branch of that river, then to the point on the said line nearest to\n  such branch, and thence in a direct line to the same); thence down the\n  middle of the said branch and of the said river until it empties into\n  the Rio Colorado; thence across the Rio Colorado, following the\n  division line between Upper and Lower California, to the Pacific\n  Ocean.\n\n\nThe eighth article of the treaty is in the following terms:\n\n  Mexicans now established in territories previously belonging to\n  Mexico, and which remain for the future within the limits of the\n  United States as defined by the present treaty, shall be free to\n  continue where they now reside or to remove at any time to the Mexican\n  Republic, retaining the property which they possess in the said\n  territories, or disposing thereof and removing the proceeds wherever\n  they please without their being subjected on this account to any\n  contribution, tax, or charge whatever.\n\n  Those who shall prefer to remain in the said territories may either\n  retain the title, and rights of Mexican citizens or acquire those of\n  citizens of the United States; but they shall be under the obligation\n  to make their election within one year from the date of the exchange\n  of ratifications of this treaty; and those who shall remain in the\n  said territories after the expiration of that year without having\n  declared their intention to retain the character of Mexicans shall be\n  considered to have elected to become citizens of the United States.\n\n  In the said territories property of every kind now belonging to\n  Mexicans not established there shall be inviolably respected. The\n  present owners, the heirs of these, and all Mexicans who may hereafter\n  acquire said property by contract shall enjoy with respect to it\n  guaranties equally ample as if the same belonged to citizens of the\n  United States.\n\n\nThe ninth article of the treaty is in these words:\n\n  The Mexicans who, in the territories aforesaid, shall not preserve the\n  character of citizens of the Mexican Republic, conformably with what\n  is stipulated in the preceding article, shall be incorporated into the\n  Union of the United States and be admitted at the proper time (to be\n  judged of by the Congress of the United States) to the enjoyment of\n  all the rights of citizens of the United States according to the\n  principles of the Constitution, and in the meantime shall be\n  maintained and protected in the free enjoyment of their liberty and\n  property and secured in the free exercise of their religion without\n  restriction.\n\n\nIt is plain, therefore, on the face of these treaty stipulations that\nall Mexicans established in territories north or east of the line of\ndemarcation already mentioned come within the protection of the ninth\narticle, and that the treaty, being a part of the supreme law of the\nland, does extend over all such Mexicans, and assures to them perfect\nsecurity in the free enjoyment of their liberty and property, as well\nas in the free exercise of their religion; and this supreme law of\nthe land, being thus in actual force over this territory, is to be\nmaintained until it shall be displaced or superseded by other legal\nprovisions; and if it be obstructed or resisted by combinations too\npowerful to be suppressed by the civil authority the case is one which\ncomes within the provisions of law and which obliges the President to\nenforce those provisions. Neither the Constitution nor the laws nor my\nduty nor my oath of office leave me any alternative or any choice in\nmy mode of action.\n\nThe executive government of the United States has no power or\nauthority to determine what was the true line of boundary between\nMexico and the United States before the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo,\nnor has it any such power now, since the question has become a\nquestion between the State of Texas and the United States. So far as\nthis boundary is doubtful, that doubt can only be removed by some\nact of Congress, to which the assent of the State of Texas may be\nnecessary, or by some appropriate mode of legal adjudication; but\nin the meantime, if disturbances or collisions arise or should be\nthreatened, it is absolutely incumbent on the executive government,\nhowever painful the duty, to take care that the laws be faithfully\nmaintained; and he can regard only the actual state of things as\nit existed at the date of the treaty, and is bound to protect all\ninhabitants who were then established and who now remain north and\neast of the line of demarcation in the full enjoyment of their liberty\nand property, according to the provisions of the ninth article of the\ntreaty. In other words, all must be now regarded as New Mexico which\nwas possessed and occupied as New Mexico by citizens of Mexico at the\ndate of the treaty until a definite line of boundary shall be\nestablished by competent authority.\n\nThis assertion of duty to protect the people of New Mexico from\nthreatened violence, or from seizure to be carried into Texas for\ntrial for alleged offenses against Texan laws, does not at all include\nany claim of power on the part of the Executive to establish any civil\nor military government within that Territory. _That power_ belongs\nexclusively to the legislative department, and Congress is the sole\njudge of the time and manner of creating or authorizing any such\ngovernment.\n\nThe duty of the Executive extends only to the execution of laws and\nthe maintenance of treaties already in force and the protection of all\nthe people of the United States in the enjoyment of the rights which\nthose treaties and laws guarantee.\n\nIt is exceedingly desirable that no occasion should arise for\nthe exercise of the powers thus vested in the President by the\nConstitution and the laws. With whatever mildness those powers might\nbe executed, or however clear the case of necessity, yet consequences\nmight, nevertheless, follow of which no human sagacity can foresee\neither the evils or the end.\n\nHaving thus laid before Congress the communication of his excellency\nthe governor of Texas and the answer thereto, and having made such\nobservations as I have thought the occasion called for respecting\nconstitutional obligations which may arise in the further progress of\nthings and may devolve on me to be performed, I hope I shall not be\nregarded as stepping aside from the line of my duty, notwithstanding\nthat I am aware that the subject is now before both Houses, if I\nexpress my deep and earnest conviction of the importance of an immediate\ndecision or arrangement or settlement of the question of boundary\nbetween Texas and the Territory of New Mexico. All considerations of\njustice, general expediency, and domestic tranquillity call for this.\nIt seems to be in its character and by position the first, or one of\nthe first, of the questions growing out of the acquisition of California\nand New Mexico, and now requiring decision.\n\nNo government can be established for New Mexico, either State or\nTerritorial, until it shall be first ascertained what New Mexico\nis, and what are her limits and boundaries. These can not be fixed\nor known till the line of division between her and Texas shall be\nascertained and established; and numerous and weighty reasons\nconspire, in my judgment, to show that this divisional line should be\nestablished by Congress with the assent of the government of Texas. In\nthe first place, this seems by far the most prompt mode of proceeding\nby which the end can be accomplished. If judicial proceedings were\nresorted to, such proceedings would necessarily be slow, and years\nwould pass by, in all probability, before the controversy could be\nended. So great a delay in this case is to be avoided if possible.\nSuch delay would be every way inconvenient, and might be the occasion\nof disturbances and collisions. For the same reason I would, with the\nutmost deference to the wisdom of Congress, express a doubt of the\nexpediency of the appointment of commissioners, and of an examination,\nestimate, and an award of indemnity to be made by them. This would be\nbut a species of arbitration, which might last as long as a suit at\nlaw.\n\nSo far as I am able to comprehend the case, the general facts are\nnow all known, and Congress is as capable of deciding on it justly\nand properly now as it probably would be after the report of the\ncommissioners. If the claim of title on the part of Texas appears\nto Congress to be well founded in whole or in part, it is in the\ncompetency of Congress to offer her an indemnity for the surrender of\nthat claim. In a case like this, surrounded, as it is, by many cogent\nconsiderations, all calling for amicable adjustment and immediate\nsettlement, the Government of the United States would be justified,\nin my opinion, in allowing an indemnity to Texas, not unreasonable\nor extravagant, but fair, liberal, and awarded in a just spirit of\naccommodation.\n\nI think no event would be hailed with more gratification by the people\nof the United States than the amicable adjustment of questions of\ndifficulty which have now for a long time agitated the country and\noccupied, to the exclusion of other subjects, the time and attention\nof Congress.\n\nHaving thus freely communicated the results of my own reflections on\nthe most advisable mode of adjusting the boundary question, I shall\nnevertheless cheerfully acquiesce in any other mode which the wisdom\nof Congress may devise. And in conclusion I repeat my conviction that\nevery consideration of the public interest manifests the necessity of\na provision by Congress for the settlement of this boundary question\nbefore the present session be brought to a close. The settlement of\nother questions connected with the same subject within the same period\nis greatly to be desired, but the adjustment of this appears to me to\nbe in the highest degree important. In the train of such an adjustment\nwe may well hope that there will follow a return of harmony and good\nwill, an increased attachment to the Union, and the general\nsatisfaction of the country.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 8, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nIt has been suggested that the language in the first paragraph of my\nmessage to the two Houses of Congress of the 6th instant may convey\nthe idea that Governor Bell's letter to my predecessor was received by\nhim before his death. It was addressed to him, but appears, in point\nof fact, to have been sent to me from the post-office after his death.\n\nI make this communication to accompany the message and prevent\nmisapprehension.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 10, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit herewith a communication from the Department of the\nInterior and the papers which accompanied it, being the first part of\nthe results of investigations by Henry R. Schoolcraft, esq., under the\nprovisions of an act of Congress approved March 3, 1847, requiring the\nSecretary of War \"to collect and digest such statistics and materials\nas may illustrate the history, the present condition, and future\nprospects of the Indian tribes of the United States,\"\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 24, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\n\nI have the honor to transmit herewith a report submitted by the\nSecretary of the Treasury, to whom was referred the resolution of the\nSenate of the 3ist July last, requesting to be furnished with certain\ninformation in relation to the commerce, etc., of the district of\nBrazos Santiago, in Texas.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 26, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI have the honor to inclose herewith a letter just received from the\nSecretary of War, transmitting a communication from the Colonel of\nthe Corps of Topographical Engineers, with accompanying papers, which\nhe requests may be taken as a supplement to the \"report and map of\nLieutenant J.D. Webster, Corps of Topographical Engineers, of a survey\nof the Gulf coast at the mouth of the Rio Grande and its vicinity,\"\ncalled for by a resolution of the Senate of the 1st of July last.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _September 2, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI have the honor herewith to transmit to your honorable body a\nreport from the Secretary of the Navy, accompanied by copies of the\ncorrespondence relating to the resignation of Edward C. Anderson, a\nlieutenant in the Navy, in answer to a resolution of the Senate of\nAugust 28, 1850, adopted in executive session.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _September 9, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to a resolution of the Senate of the 5th instant, I have the\nhonor herewith to transmit to the Senate a letter from the Secretary\nof State, accompanied by a copy of the report of the commissioner to\nChina made in pursuance of the provisions of the act to carry into\neffect certain provisions of the treaties between the United States\nand China and the Ottoman Porte, giving certain judicial powers, etc.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _September 9, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with the request of the Hon. Manuel Alvarez, acting\ngovernor, etc., I have the honor to transmit to the Senate herewith a\ncopy of the constitution recently adopted by the inhabitants of New\nMexico, together with a digest of the votes for and against it.\n\nCongress having just passed a bill providing a Territorial government\nfor New Mexico, I do not deem it advisable to submit any recommendation\non the subject of a State government.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _September 12, 1850_.\n\nThe SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES.\n\nSIR: In answer to a resolution of the House of Representatives adopted\nSeptember 2, 1850, calling upon me to communicate the full and exact\ncost of each of the lines of mail steamers now in service, etc., I\nhave the honor to transmit herewith reports from the Secretary of\nthe Navy and Postmaster-General, containing the desired information.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _September 16, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to a resolution of the Senate of the 9th instant, adopted in\nexecutive session, asking information in reference to the nomination\nof John Howard Payne as consul to Tunis, I have the honor to transmit\na report from the Secretary of State, giving the desired information.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _September 23, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nHaving been informed that it is the wish of the family and relatives\nof the late lamented President of the United States that his remains\nshould be removed to the State of Kentucky, and being desirous of\nmanifesting the most sincere and profound respect for the character of\nthe deceased, in which I doubt not Congress will fully concur, I have\nfelt it to be my duty to make known to you the wishes of the family,\nthat you might previous to your adjournment adopt such proceedings and\ntake such order on the subject as in your wisdom may seem meet and\nproper on the occasion.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[The remains of the late President of the United States were removed\nfrom Washington to Louisville, Ky., October 25, 1850.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _September 27, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith transmit to the Senate, in answer to their resolution of\nthe 23d instant, a report from the Secretary of State, with the\npapers[1] therein referred to.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 1: Communications from the United States minister to Turkey\nrelative to the Hungarian exiles.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _September 28, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to your resolution of the 24th instant, expressing an\nopinion adverse to the alleged resignation of Lieutenant Anderson,\nof the Navy, I have the honor herewith to transmit a report from the\nSecretary of the Navy, accompanied by the correspondence in reference\nto such resignation.\n\nRegarding the opinion of the Senate in this matter with the most\nprofound respect, I have given to the subject the most anxious\nconsideration, and submitted the question to the deliberation of my\nCabinet, and after a careful examination of the whole correspondence\nthey are unanimously of opinion that Lieutenant Anderson tendered\nhis resignation, which was duly accepted, and that he was therefore\nrightfully dropped from the Register. I concur fully in this opinion.\nWith these convictions I feel compelled to adhere to the decision\nof my lamented predecessor, and can only regret that I have the\nmisfortune in this instance to differ from those for whom,\nindividually and collectively, I entertain the highest respect.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\n\nPROCLAMATION.\n\nBY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.\n\nA PROCLAMATION.\n\n\nWhereas by an act of the Congress of the United States of the 24th\nof May, 1828, entitled \"An act in addition to an act entitled 'An\nact concerning discriminating duties of tonnage and impost' and to\nequalize the duties on Prussian vessels and their cargoes,\" it is\nprovided that upon satisfactory evidence being given to the President\nof the United States by the government of any foreign nation that no\ndiscriminating duties of tonnage or impost are imposed or levied\nin the ports of the said nation upon vessels wholly belonging to\ncitizens of the United States, or upon the produce, manufactures, or\nmerchandise imported in the same from the United States or from any\nforeign country, the President is thereby authorized to issue his\nproclamation declaring that the foreign discriminating duties of\ntonnage and impost within the United States are and shall be suspended\nand discontinued so far as respects the vessels of the said foreign\nnation and the produce, manufactures, or merchandise imported into the\nUnited States in the same from the said foreign nation or from any\nother foreign country, the said suspension to take effect from the\ntime of such notification being given to the President of the United\nStates and to continue so long as the reciprocal exemption of vessels\nbelonging to citizens of the United States and their cargoes, as\naforesaid, shall be continued, and no longer; and\n\nWhereas satisfactory evidence has lately been received by me from the\nGovernment of the Republic of Chile, through an official communication\nof Senor Don Manuel Carvallo, accredited to this Government as envoy\nextraordinary and minister plenipotentiary of that Republic, under\ndate of the 31st of October, 1850, that no other or higher duties of\ntonnage and impost are imposed or levied in the ports of Chile upon\nvessels wholly belonging to citizens of the United States and upon the\nproduce, manufactures, or merchandise imported in the same from the\nUnited States and from any foreign country whatever than are levied on\nChilean ships and their cargoes in the same ports and under like\ncircumstances:\n\nNow, therefore, I, Millard Fillmore, President of the United States of\nAmerica, do hereby declare and proclaim that so much of the several\nacts imposing discriminating duties of tonnage and impost within the\nUnited States are and shall be suspended and discontinued so far as\nrespects the vessels of Chile and the produce, manufactures, and\nmerchandise imported into the United States in the same from Chile and\nfrom any other foreign country whatever, the said suspension to take\neffect from the day above mentioned and to continue thenceforward so\nlong as the reciprocal exemption of the vessels of the United States\nand the produce, manufactures, and merchandise imported into Chile in\nthe same, as aforesaid, shall be continued on the part of the\nGovernment of Chile.\n\nGiven under my hand, at the city of Washington, this 1st day of\nNovember, A.D. 1850, and the seventy-fifth of the Independence of the\nUnited States.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\nBy the President:\n  W.S. DERRICK,\n    _Acting Secretary of State_.\n\n\n\n\nFIRST ANNUAL MESSAGE.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 2, 1850_.\n\n_Fellow-Citizens of the Senate and of the House of Representatives_:\n\n\nBeing suddenly called in the midst of the last session of Congress by\na painful dispensation of Divine Providence to the responsible station\nwhich I now hold, I contented myself with such communications to the\nlegislature as the exigency of the moment seemed to require. The\ncountry was shrouded in mourning for the loss of its venerable Chief\nMagistrate and all hearts were penetrated with grief. Neither the time\nnor the occasion appeared to require or to justify on my part any\ngeneral expression of political opinions or any announcement of the\nprinciples which would govern me in the discharge of the duties to the\nperformance of which I had been so unexpectedly called. I trust,\ntherefore, that it may not be deemed inappropriate if I avail myself\nof this opportunity of the reassembling of Congress to make known my\nsentiments in a general manner in regard to the policy which ought to\nbe pursued by the Government both in its intercourse with foreign\nnations and its management and administration of internal affairs.\n\nNations, like individuals in a state of nature, are equal and\nindependent, possessing certain rights and owing certain duties to\neach other, arising from their necessary and unavoidable relations;\nwhich rights and duties there is no common human authority to protect\nand enforce. Still, they are rights and duties, binding in morals, in\nconscience, and in honor, although there is no tribunal to which an\ninjured party can appeal but the disinterested judgment of mankind,\nand ultimately the arbitrament of the sword.\n\nAmong the acknowledged rights of nations is that which each possesses\nof establishing that form of government which it may deem most\nconducive to the happiness and prosperity of its own citizens, of\nchanging that form as circumstances may require, and of managing its\ninternal affairs according to its own will. The people of the United\nStates claim this right for themselves, and they readily concede it to\nothers. Hence it becomes an imperative duty not to interfere in the\ngovernment or internal policy of other nations; and although we may\nsympathize with the unfortunate or the oppressed everywhere in their\nstruggles for freedom, our principles forbid us from taking any part\nin such foreign contests. We make no wars to promote or to prevent\nsuccessions to thrones, to maintain any theory of a balance of power,\nor to suppress the actual government which any country chooses to\nestablish for itself. We instigate no revolutions, nor suffer any\nhostile military expeditions to be fitted out in the United States\nto invade the territory or provinces of a friendly nation. The great\nlaw of morality ought to have a national as well as a personal and\nindividual application. We should act toward other nations as we wish\nthem to act toward us, and justice and conscience should form the rule\nof conduct between governments, instead of mere power, self-interest,\nor the desire of aggrandizement. To maintain a strict neutrality in\nforeign wars, to cultivate friendly relations, to reciprocate every\nnoble and generous act, and to perform punctually and scrupulously\nevery treaty obligation--these are the duties which we owe to other\nstates, and by the performance of which we best entitle ourselves to\nlike treatment from them; or, if that, in any case, be refused, we can\nenforce our own rights with justice and a clear conscience.\n\nIn our domestic policy the Constitution will be my guide, and in\nquestions of doubt I shall look for its interpretation to the judicial\ndecisions of that tribunal which was established to expound it and to\nthe usage of the Government, sanctioned by the acquiescence of the\ncountry. I regard all its provisions as equally binding. In all its\nparts it is the will of the people expressed in the most solemn form,\nand the constituted authorities are but agents to carry that will into\neffect. Every power which it has granted is to be exercised for the\npublic good; but no pretense of utility, no honest conviction, even,\nof what might be expedient, can justify the assumption of any power\nnot granted. The powers conferred upon the Government and their\ndistribution to the several departments are as clearly expressed in\nthat sacred instrument as the imperfection of human language will\nallow, and I deem it my first duty not to question its wisdom, add to\nits provisions, evade its requirements, or nullify its commands.\n\nUpon you, fellow-citizens, as the representatives of the States and\nthe people, is wisely devolved the legislative power. I shall comply\nwith my duty in laying before you from time to time any information\ncalculated to enable you to discharge your high and responsible trust\nfor the benefit of our common constituents.\n\nMy opinions will be frankly expressed upon the leading subjects of\nlegislation; and if--which I do not anticipate--any act should pass\nthe two Houses of Congress which should appear to me unconstitutional,\nor an encroachment on the just powers of other departments, or with\nprovisions hastily adopted and likely to produce consequences\ninjurious and unforeseen, I should not shrink from the duty of\nreturning it to you, with my reasons, for your further consideration.\nBeyond the due performance of these constitutional obligations, both\nmy respect for the Legislature and my sense of propriety will restrain\nme from any attempt to control or influence your proceedings. With you\nis the power, the honor, and the responsibility of the legislation of\nthe country.\n\nThe Government of the United States is a limited Government. It is\nconfined to the exercise of powers expressly granted and such others\nas may be necessary for carrying those powers into effect; and it is\nat all times an especial duty to guard against any infringement on the\njust rights of the States. Over the objects and subjects intrusted to\nCongress its legislative authority is supreme. But here that authority\nceases, and every citizen who truly loves the Constitution and desires\nthe continuance of its existence and its blessings will resolutely and\nfirmly resist any interference in those domestic affairs which the\nConstitution has clearly and unequivocally left to the exclusive\nauthority of the States. And every such citizen will also deprecate\nuseless irritation among the several members of the Union and all\nreproach and crimination tending to alienate one portion of the\ncountry from another. The beauty of our system of government consists,\nand its safety and durability must consist, in avoiding mutual\ncollisions and encroachments and in the regular separate action of\nall, while each is revolving in its own distinct orbit.\n\nThe Constitution has made it the duty of the President to take care\nthat the laws be faithfully executed. In a government like ours, in\nwhich all laws are passed by a majority of the representatives of the\npeople, and these representatives are chosen for such short periods\nthat any injurious or obnoxious law can very soon be repealed, it\nwould appear unlikely that any great numbers should be found ready\nto resist the execution of the laws. But it must be borne in mind\nthat the country is extensive; that there may be local interests or\nprejudices rendering a law odious in one part which is not so in\nanother, and that the thoughtless and inconsiderate, misled by their\npassions or their imaginations, may be induced madly to resist such\nlaws as they disapprove. Such persons should recollect that without\nlaw there can be no real practical liberty; that when law is trampled\nunder foot tyranny rules, whether it appears in the form of a military\ndespotism or of popular violence. The law is the only sure protection\nof the weak and the only efficient restraint upon the strong. When\nimpartially and faithfully administered, none is beneath its\nprotection and none above its control. You, gentlemen, and the country\nmay be assured that to the utmost of my ability and to the extent of\nthe power vested in me I shall at all times and in all places take\ncare that the laws be faithfully executed. In the discharge of this\nduty, solemnly imposed upon me by the Constitution and by my oath of\noffice, I shall shrink from no responsibility, and shall endeavor to\nmeet events as they may arise with firmness, as well as with prudence\nand discretion.\n\nThe appointing power is one of the most delicate with which the\nExecutive is invested. I regard it as a sacred trust, to be exercised\nwith the sole view of advancing the prosperity and happiness of the\npeople. It shall be my effort to elevate the standard of official\nemployment by selecting for places of importance individuals fitted\nfor the posts to which they are assigned by their known integrity,\ntalents, and virtues. In so extensive a country, with so great a\npopulation, and where few persons appointed to office can be known to\nthe appointing power, mistakes will sometimes unavoidably happen and\nunfortunate appointments be made notwithstanding the greatest care.\nIn such cases the power of removal may be properly exercised; and\nneglect of duty or malfeasance in office will be no more tolerated\nin individuals appointed by myself than in those appointed by others.\n\nI am happy in being able to say that no unfavorable change in our\nforeign relations has taken place since the message at the opening of\nthe last session of Congress. We are at peace with all nations and we\nenjoy in an eminent degree the blessings of that peace in a prosperous\nand growing commerce and in all the forms of amicable national\nintercourse. The unexampled growth of the country, the present amount\nof its population, and its ample means of self-protection assure for\nit the respect of all nations, while it is trusted that its character\nfor justice and a regard to the rights of other States will cause that\nrespect to be readily and cheerfully paid.\n\nA convention was negotiated between the United States and Great\nBritain in April last for facilitating and protecting the construction\nof a ship canal between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans and for other\npurposes. The instrument has since been ratified by the contracting\nparties, the exchange of ratifications has been effected, and\nproclamation thereof has been duly made.\n\nIn addition to the stipulations contained in this convention, two\nother objects remain to be accomplished between the contracting\npowers:\n\nFirst. The designation and establishment of a free port at each end of\nthe canal.\n\nSecond. An agreement fixing the distance from the shore within which\nbelligerent maritime operations shall not be carried on.\n\nOn these points there is little doubt that the two Governments will\ncome to an understanding.\n\nThe company of citizens of the United States who have acquired from\nthe State of Nicaragua the privilege of constructing a ship canal\nbetween the two oceans through the territory of that State have made\nprogress in their preliminary arrangements. The treaty between the\nUnited States and Great Britain of the 19th of April last, above\nreferred to, being now in operation, it is to be hoped that the\nguaranties which it offers will be sufficient to secure the completion\nof the work with all practicable expedition. It is obvious that this\nresult would be indefinitely postponed if any other than peaceful\nmeasures for the purpose of harmonizing conflicting claims to\nterritory in that quarter should be adopted. It will consequently be\nmy endeavor to cause any further negotiations on the part of this\nGovernment which may be requisite for this purpose to be so conducted\nas to bring them to a speedy and successful close.\n\nSome unavoidable delay has occurred, arising from distance and the\ndifficulty of intercourse between this Government and that of\nNicaragua, but as intelligence has just been received of the\nappointment of an envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary of\nthat Government to reside at Washington, whose arrival may soon be\nexpected, it is hoped that no further impediments will be experienced\nin the prompt transaction of business between the two Governments.\n\nCitizens of the United States have undertaken the connection of the\ntwo oceans by means of a railroad across the Isthmus of Tehuantepec,\nunder grants of the Mexican Government to a citizen of that Republic.\nIt is understood that a thorough survey of the course of the\ncommunication is in preparation, and there is every reason to expect\nthat it will be prosecuted with characteristic energy, especially when\nthat Government shall have consented to such stipulations with the\nGovernment of the United States as may be necessary to impart a\nfeeling of security to those who may embark their property in the\nenterprise. Negotiations are pending for the accomplishment of that\nobject, and a hope is confidently entertained that when the Government\nof Mexico shall become duly sensible of the advantages which that\ncountry can not fail to derive from the work, and learn that the\nGovernment of the United States desires that the right of sovereignty\nof Mexico in the Isthmus shall remain unimpaired, the stipulations\nreferred to will be agreed to with alacrity.\n\nBy the last advices from Mexico it would appear, however, that that\nGovernment entertains strong objections to some of the stipulations\nwhich the parties concerned in the project of the railroad deem\nnecessary for their protection and security. Further consideration, it\nis to be hoped, or some modification of terms, may yet reconcile the\ndifferences existing between the two Governments in this respect.\n\nFresh instructions have recently been given to the minister of the\nUnited States in Mexico, who is prosecuting the subject with\npromptitude and ability.\n\nAlthough the negotiations with Portugal for the payment of claims of\ncitizens of the United States against that Government have not yet\nresulted in a formal treaty, yet a proposition, made by the Government\nof Portugal for the final adjustment and payment of those claims, has\nrecently been accepted on the part of the United States. It gives me\npleasure to say that Mr. Clay, to whom the negotiation on the part of\nthe United States had been intrusted, discharged the duties of his\nappointment with ability and discretion, acting always within the\ninstructions of his Government.\n\nIt is expected that a regular convention will be immediately\nnegotiated for carrying the agreement between the two Governments into\neffect.\n\nThe commissioner appointed under the act of Congress for carrying into\neffect the convention with Brazil of the 27th of January, 1849, has\nentered upon the performance of the duties imposed upon him by that\nact. It is hoped that those duties may be completed within the time\nwhich it prescribes. The documents, however, which the Imperial\nGovernment, by the third article of the convention, stipulates to\nfurnish to the Government of the United States have not yet been\nreceived. As it is presumed that those documents will be essential for\nthe correct disposition of the claims, it may become necessary for\nCongress to extend the period limited for the duration of the\ncommission. The sum stipulated by the fourth article of the convention\nto be paid to this Government has been received.\n\nThe collection in the ports of the United States of discriminating\nduties upon the vessels of Chili and their cargoes has been suspended,\npursuant to the provisions of the act of Congress of the 24th of\nMay, 1828. It is to be hoped that this measure will impart a fresh\nimpulse to the commerce between the two countries, which of late, and\nespecially since our acquisition of California, has, to the mutual\nadvantage of the parties, been much augmented.\n\nPeruvian guano has become so desirable an article to the agricultural\ninterest of the United States that it is the duty of the Government to\nemploy all the means properly in its power for the purpose of causing\nthat article to be imported into the country at a reasonable price.\nNothing will be omitted on my part toward accomplishing this desirable\nend. I am persuaded that in removing any restraints on this traffic\nthe Peruvian Government will promote its own best interests, while it\nwill afford a proof of a friendly disposition toward this country,\nwhich will be duly appreciated.\n\nThe treaty between the United States and His Majesty the King of the\nHawaiian Islands, which has recently been made public, will, it is\nbelieved, have a beneficial effect upon the relations between the two\ncountries.\n\nThe relations between those parts of the island of St. Domingo which\nwere formerly colonies of Spain and France, respectively, are still in\nan unsettled condition. The proximity of that island to the United\nStates and the delicate questions involved in the existing controversy\nthere render it desirable that it should be permanently and speedily\nadjusted. The interests of humanity and of general commerce also\ndemand this; and as intimations of the same sentiment have been\nreceived from other governments, it is hoped that some plan may soon\nbe devised to effect the object in a manner likely to give general\nsatisfaction. The Government of the United States will not fail, by\nthe exercise of all proper friendly offices, to do all in its power\nto put an end to the destructive war which has raged between the\ndifferent parts of the island and to secure to them both the benefits\nof peace and commerce.\n\nI refer you to the report of the Secretary of the Treasury for a\ndetailed statement of the finances.\n\nThe total receipts into the Treasury for the year ending 30th of June\nlast were $47,421,748.90.\n\nThe total expenditures during the same period were $43,002,168.90.\n\nThe public debt has been reduced since the last annual report from the\nTreasury Department $495,276.79.\n\nBy the nineteenth section of the act of 28th January, 1847, the\nproceeds of the sales of the public lands were pledged for the\ninterest and principal of the public debt. The great amount of those\nlands subsequently granted by Congress for military bounties will, it\nis believed, very nearly supply the public demand for several years\nto come, and but little reliance can, therefore, be placed on that\nhitherto fruitful source of revenue. Aside from the permanent annual\nexpenditures, which have necessarily largely increased, a portion of\nthe public debt, amounting to $8,075,986.59, must be provided for\nwithin the next two fiscal years. It is most desirable that these\naccruing demands should be met without resorting to new loans.\n\nAll experience has demonstrated the wisdom and policy of raising a\nlarge portion of revenue for the support of Government from duties on\ngoods imported. The power to lay these duties is unquestionable, and\nits chief object, of course, is to replenish the Treasury. But if in\ndoing this an incidental advantage may be gained by encouraging the\nindustry of our own citizens, it is our duty to avail ourselves of\nthat advantage.\n\nA duty laid upon an article which can not be produced in this country,\nsuch as tea or coffee, adds to the cost of the article, and is chiefly\nor wholly paid by the consumer. But a duty laid upon an article which\nmay be produced here stimulates the skill and industry of our own\ncountry to produce the same article, which is brought into the market\nin competition with the foreign article, and the importer is thus\ncompelled to reduce his price to that at which the domestic article\ncan be sold, thereby throwing a part of the duty upon the producer of\nthe foreign article. The continuance of this process creates the skill\nand invites the capital which finally enable us to produce the article\nmuch cheaper than it could have been procured from abroad, thereby\nbenefiting both the producer and the consumer at home. The consequence\nof this is that the artisan and the agriculturist are brought\ntogether, each affords a ready market for the produce of the other,\nthe whole country becomes prosperous, and the ability to produce every\nnecessary of life renders us independent in war as well as in peace.\n\nA high tariff can never be permanent. It will cause dissatisfaction,\nand will be changed. It excludes competition, and thereby invites the\ninvestment of capital in manufactures to such excess that when changed\nit brings distress, bankruptcy, and ruin upon all who have been misled\nby its faithless protection. What the manufacturer wants is uniformity\nand permanency, that he may feel a confidence that he is not to be\nruined by sudden changes. But to make a tariff uniform and permanent\nit is not only necessary that the laws should not be altered, but that\nthe duty should not fluctuate. To effect this all duties should be\nspecific wherever the nature of the article is such as to admit of it.\n_Ad valorem_ duties fluctuate with the price and offer strong\ntemptations to fraud and perjury. Specific duties, on the contrary,\nare equal and uniform in all ports and at all times, and offer a\nstrong inducement to the importer to bring the best article, as he\npays no more duty upon that than upon one of inferior quality. I\ntherefore strongly recommend a modification of the present tariff,\nwhich has prostrated some of our most important and necessary\nmanufactures, and that specific duties be imposed sufficient to raise\nthe requisite revenue, making such discriminations in favor of the\nindustrial pursuits of our own country as to encourage home production\nwithout excluding foreign competition. It is also important that an\nunfortunate provision in the present tariff, which imposes a much\nhigher duty upon the raw material that enters into our manufactures\nthan upon the manufactured article, should be remedied.\n\nThe papers accompanying the report of the Secretary of the Treasury\nwill disclose frauds attempted upon the revenue, in variety and amount\nso great as to justify the conclusion that it is impossible under\nany system of _ad valorem_ duties levied upon the foreign cost or\nvalue of the article to secure an honest observance and an effectual\nadministration of the laws. The fraudulent devices to evade the law\nwhich have been detected by the vigilance of the appraisers leave no\nroom to doubt that similar impositions not discovered, to a large\namount, have been successfully practiced since the enactment of the\nlaw now in force. This state of things has already had a prejudicial\ninfluence upon those engaged in foreign commerce. It has a tendency to\ndrive the honest trader from the business of importing and to throw\nthat important branch of employment into the hands of unscrupulous and\ndishonest men, who are alike regardless of law and the obligations of\nan oath. By these means the plain intentions of Congress, as expressed\nin the law, are daily defeated. Every motive of policy and duty,\ntherefore, impels me to ask the earnest attention of Congress to this\nsubject. If Congress should deem it unwise to attempt any important\nchanges in the system of levying duties at this session, it will\nbecome indispensable to the protection of the revenue that such\nremedies as in the judgment of Congress may mitigate the evils\ncomplained of should be at once applied.\n\nAs before stated, specific duties would, in my opinion, afford the\nmost perfect remedy for this evil; but if you should not concur in\nthis view, then, as a partial remedy, I beg leave respectfully to\nrecommend that instead of taking the invoice of the article abroad\nas a means of determining its value here, the correctness of which\ninvoice it is in many cases impossible to verify, the law be so\nchanged as to require a home valuation or appraisal, to be regulated\nin such manner as to give, as far as practicable, uniformity in the\nseveral ports.\n\nThere being no mint in California, I am informed that the laborers\nin the mines are compelled to dispose of their gold dust at a large\ndiscount. This appears to me to be a heavy and unjust tax upon the\nlabor of those employed in extracting this precious metal, and I doubt\nnot you will be disposed at the earliest period possible to relieve\nthem from it by the establishment of a mint. In the meantime, as an\nassayer's office is established there, I would respectfully submit for\nyour consideration the propriety of authorizing gold bullion which has\nbeen assayed and stamped to be received in payment of Government dues.\nI can not conceive that the Treasury would suffer any loss by such\na provision, which will at once raise bullion to its par value, and\nthereby save (if I am rightly informed) many millions of dollars to\nthe laborers which are now paid in brokerage to convert this precious\nmetal into available funds. This discount upon their hard earnings is\na heavy tax, and every effort should be made by the Government to\nrelieve them from so great a burden.\n\nMore than three-fourths of our population are engaged in the\ncultivation of the soil. The commercial, manufacturing, and navigating\ninterests are all to a great extent dependent on the agricultural.\nIt is therefore the most important interest of the nation, and has\na just claim to the fostering care and protection of the Government\nso far as they can be extended consistently with the provisions of\nthe Constitution. As this can not be done by the ordinary modes of\nlegislation, I respectfully recommend the establishment of an\nagricultural bureau, to be charged with the duty of giving to this\nleading branch of American industry the encouragement which it so well\ndeserves. In view of the immense mineral resources of our country,\nprovision should also be made for the employment of a competent\nmineralogist and chemist, who should be required, under the direction\nof the head of the bureau, to collect specimens of the various\nminerals of our country and to ascertain by careful analysis their\nrespective elements and properties and their adaptation to useful\npurposes. He should also be required to examine and report upon the\nqualities of different soils and the manures best calculated to\nimprove their productiveness. By publishing the results of such\nexperiments, with suitable explanations, and by the collection and\ndistribution of rare seeds and plants, with instructions as to the\nbest system of cultivation, much may be done to promote this great\nnational interest.\n\nIn compliance with the act of Congress passed on the 23d of May,\n1850, providing, among other things, for taking the Seventh Census,\na superintendent was appointed and all other measures adopted which\nwere deemed necessary to insure the prompt and faithful performance\nof that duty. The appropriation already made will, it is believed,\nbe sufficient to defray the whole expense of the work, but further\nlegislation may be necessary in regard to the compensation of some\nof the marshals of the Territories. It will also be proper to make\nprovision by law at an early day for the publication of such abstracts\nof the returns as the public interests may require.\n\nThe unprecedented growth of our territories on the Pacific in wealth\nand population and the consequent increase of their social and\ncommercial relations with the Atlantic States seem to render it the\nduty of the Government to use all its constitutional power to improve\nthe means of intercourse with them. The importance of opening \"a line\nof communication, the best and most expeditious of which the nature of\nthe country will admit,\" between the Valley of the Mississippi and the\nPacific was brought to your notice by my predecessor in his annual\nmessage; and as the reasons which he presented in favor of the measure\nstill exist in full force, I beg leave to call your attention to them\nand to repeat the recommendations then made by him.\n\nThe uncertainty which exists in regard to the validity of land titles\nin California is a subject which demands your early consideration.\nLarge bodies of land in that State are claimed under grants said to\nhave been made by authority of the Spanish and Mexican Governments.\nMany of these have not been perfected, others have been revoked, and\nsome are believed to be fraudulent. But until they shall have been\njudicially investigated they will continue to <DW44> the settlement\nand improvement of the country. I therefore respectfully recommend\nthat provision be made by law for the appointment of commissioners to\nexamine all such claims with a view to their final adjustment.\n\nI also beg leave to call your attention to the propriety of extending\nat an early day our system of land laws, with such modifications as\nmay be necessary, over the State of California and the Territories of\nUtah and New Mexico. The mineral lands of California will, of course,\nform an exception to any general system which may be adopted. Various\nmethods of disposing of them have been suggested. I was at first\ninclined to favor the system of leasing, as it seemed to promise the\nlargest revenue to the Government and to afford the best security\nagainst monopolies; but further reflection and our experience in\nleasing the lead mines and selling lands upon credit have brought\nmy mind to the conclusion that there would be great difficulty in\ncollecting the rents, and that the relation of debtor and creditor\nbetween the citizens and the Government would be attended with many\nmischievous consequences. I therefore recommend that instead of\nretaining the mineral lands under the permanent control of the\nGovernment they be divided into small parcels and sold, under such\nrestrictions as to quantity and time as will insure the best price and\nguard most effectually against combinations of capitalists to obtain\nmonopolies.\n\nThe annexation of Texas and the acquisition of California and New\nMexico have given increased importance to our Indian relations. The\nvarious tribes brought under our jurisdiction by these enlargements of\nour boundaries are estimated to embrace a population of 124,000.\n\nTexas and New Mexico are surrounded by powerful tribes of Indians,\nwho are a source of constant terror and annoyance to the inhabitants.\nSeparating into small predatory bands, and always mounted, they\noverrun the country, devastating farms, destroying crops, driving off\nwhole herds of cattle, and occasionally murdering the inhabitants or\ncarrying them into captivity. The great roads leading into the country\nare infested with them, whereby traveling is rendered extremely\ndangerous and immigration is almost entirely arrested. The Mexican\nfrontier, which by the eleventh article of the treaty of Guadalupe\nHidalgo we are bound to protect against the Indians within our border,\nis exposed to these incursions equally with our own. The military\nforce stationed in that country, although forming a large proportion\nof the Army, is represented as entirely inadequate to our own\nprotection and the fulfillment of our treaty stipulations with Mexico.\nThe principal deficiency is in cavalry, and I recommend that Congress\nshould, at as early a period as practicable, provide for the raising\nof one or more regiments of mounted men.\n\nFor further suggestions on this subject and others connected with our\ndomestic interests and the defense of our frontier, I refer you to the\nreports of the Secretary of the Interior and of the Secretary of War.\n\nI commend also to your favorable consideration the suggestion\ncontained in the last-mentioned report and in the letter of the\nGeneral in Chief relative to the establishment of an asylum for the\nrelief of disabled and destitute soldiers. This subject appeals so\nstrongly to your sympathies that it would be superfluous in me to say\nanything more than barely to express my cordial approbation of the\nproposed object.\n\nThe Navy continues to give protection to our commerce and other\nnational interests in the different quarters of the globe, and, with\nthe exception of a single steamer on the Northern lakes, the vessels\nin commission are distributed in six different squadrons.\n\nThe report of the head of that Department will exhibit the services of\nthese squadrons and of the several vessels employed in each during the\npast year. It is a source of gratification that, while they have been\nconstantly prepared for any hostile emergency, they have everywhere\nmet with the respect and courtesy due as well to the dignity as to the\npeaceful dispositions and just purposes of the nation.\n\nThe two brigantines accepted by the Government from a generous citizen\nof New York and placed under the command of an officer of the Navy to\nproceed to the Arctic Seas in quest of the British commander Sir John\nFranklin and his companions, in compliance with the act of Congress\napproved in May last, had when last heard from penetrated into a high\nnorthern latitude; but the success of this noble and humane enterprise\nis yet uncertain.\n\nI invite your attention to the view of our present naval establishment\nand resources presented in the report of the Secretary of the Navy,\nand the suggestions therein made for its improvement, together with\nthe naval policy recommended for the security of our Pacific Coast and\nthe protection and extension of our commerce with eastern Asia. Our\nfacilities for a larger participation in the trade of the East, by\nmeans of our recent settlements on the shores of the Pacific, are too\nobvious to be overlooked or disregarded.\n\nThe questions in relation to rank in the Army and Navy and relative\nrank between officers of the two branches of the service, presented to\nthe Executive by certain resolutions of the House of Representatives\nat the last session of Congress, have been submitted to a board of\nofficers in each branch of the service, and their report may be\nexpected at an early day.\n\nI also earnestly recommend the enactment of a law authorizing officers\nof the Army and Navy to be retired from the service when incompetent\nfor its vigorous and active duties, taking care to make suitable\nprovision for those who have faithfully served their country and\nawarding distinctions by retaining in appropriate commands those who\nhave been particularly conspicuous for gallantry and good conduct.\nWhile the obligation of the country to maintain and honor those who,\nto the exclusion of other pursuits, have devoted themselves to its\narduous service is acknowledged, this obligation should not be\npermitted to interfere with the efficiency of the service itself.\n\nI am gratified in being able to state that the estimates of\nexpenditure for the Navy in the ensuing year are less by more than\n$1,000,000 than those of the present, excepting the appropriation\nwhich may become necessary for the construction of a dock on the coast\nof the Pacific, propositions for which are now being considered and on\nwhich a special report may be expected early in your present session.\n\nThere is an evident justness in the suggestion of the same report that\nappropriations for the naval service proper should be separated from\nthose for fixed and permanent objects, such as building docks and\nnavy-yards and the fixtures attached, and from the extraordinary\nobjects under the care of the Department which, however important,\nare not essentially naval.\n\nA revision of the code for the government of the Navy seems to require\nthe immediate consideration of Congress. Its system of crimes and\npunishments had undergone no change for half a century until the last\nsession, though its defects have been often and ably pointed out;\nand the abolition of a particular species of corporal punishment,\nwhich then took place, without providing any substitute, has left the\nservice in a state of defectiveness which calls for prompt correction.\nI therefore recommend that the whole subject be revised without delay\nand such a system established for the enforcement of discipline as\nshall be at once humane and effectual.\n\nThe accompanying report of the Postmaster-General presents a\nsatisfactory view of the operations and condition of that Department.\n\nAt the close of the last fiscal year the length of the inland mail\nroutes in the United States (not embracing the service in Oregon and\nCalifornia) was 178,672 miles, the annual transportation thereon\n46,541,423 miles, and the annual cost of such transportation $2,724,426.\n\nThe increase of the annual transportation over that of the preceding\nyear was 3,997,354 miles and the increase in cost was $342,440.\n\nThe number of post-offices in the United States on the 1st day of July\nlast was 18,417, being an increase of I,670 during the preceding year.\n\nThe gross revenues of the Department for the fiscal year ending June 30,\n1850, amounted to $5,552,971.48, including the annual appropriation of\n$200,000 for the franked matter of the Departments and excluding the\nforeign postages collected for and payable to the British Government.\n\nThe expenditures for the same period were $5,212,953.43, leaving a\nbalance of revenue over expenditures of $340,018.05.\n\nI am happy to find that the fiscal condition of the Department is such\nas to justify the Postmaster-General in recommending the reduction of\nour inland letter postage to 3 cents the single letter when prepaid and\n5 cents when not prepaid. He also recommends that the prepaid rate shall\nbe reduced to 2 cents whenever the revenues of the Department, after the\nreduction, shall exceed its expenditures by more than 5 per cent for two\nconsecutive years; that the postage upon California and other letters\nsent by our ocean steamers shall be much reduced, and that the rates of\npostage on newspapers, pamphlets, periodicals, and other printed matter\nshall be modified and some reduction thereon made.\n\nIt can not be doubted that the proposed reductions will for the present\ndiminish the revenues of the Department. It is believed that the\ndeficiency, after the surplus already accumulated shall be exhausted,\nmay be almost wholly met either by abolishing the existing privileges of\nsending free matter through the mails or by paying out of the Treasury\nto the Post-Office Department a sum equivalent to the postage of which\nit is deprived by such privileges. The last is supposed to be the\npreferable mode, and will, if not entirely, so nearly supply that\ndeficiency as to make any further appropriation that may be found\nnecessary so inconsiderable as to form no obstacle to the proposed\nreductions.\n\nI entertain no doubt of the authority of Congress to make appropriations\nfor leading objects in that class of public works comprising what are\nusually called works of internal improvement. This authority I suppose\nto be derived chiefly from the power of regulating commerce with foreign\nnations and among the States and the power of laying and collecting\nimposts. Where commerce is to be carried on and imposts collected there\nmust be ports and harbors as well as wharves and custom-houses. If ships\nladen with valuable cargoes approach the shore or sail along the coast,\nlight-houses are necessary at suitable points for the protection of\nlife and property. Other facilities and securities for commerce and\nnavigation are hardly less important; and those clauses of the\nConstitution, therefore, to which I have referred have received from the\norigin of the Government a liberal and beneficial construction. Not only\nhave light-houses, buoys, and beacons been established and floating\nlights maintained, but harbors have been cleared and improved, piers\nconstructed, and even breakwaters for the safety of shipping and sea\nwalls to protect harbors from being filled up and rendered useless by\nthe action of the ocean, have been erected at very great expense. And\nthis construction of the Constitution appears the more reasonable from\nthe consideration that if these works, of such evident importance\nand utility, are not to be accomplished by Congress they can not be\naccomplished at all. By the adoption of the Constitution the several\nStates voluntarily parted with the power of collecting duties of imposts\nin their own ports, and it is not to be expected that they should raise\nmoney by internal taxation, direct or indirect, for the benefit of that\ncommerce the revenues derived from which do not, either in whole or in\npart, go into their own treasuries. Nor do I perceive any difference\nbetween the power of Congress to make appropriations for objects of this\nkind on the ocean and the power to make appropriations for similar\nobjects on lakes and rivers, wherever they are large enough to bear on\ntheir waters an extensive traffic. The magnificent Mississippi and its\ntributaries and the vast lakes of the North and Northwest appear to me\nto fall within the exercise of the power as justly and as clearly as the\nocean and the Gulf of Mexico. It is a mistake to regard expenditures\njudiciously made for these objects as expenditures for local purposes.\nThe position or sight of the work is necessarily local, but its utility\nis general. A ship canal around the Falls of St. Mary of less than a\nmile in length, though local in its construction, would yet be national\nin its purpose and its benefits, as it would remove the only obstruction\nto a navigation of more than 1,000 miles, affecting several States, as\nwell as our commercial relations with Canada. So, too, the breakwater at\nthe mouth of the Delaware is erected, not for the exclusive benefit of\nthe States bordering on the bay and river of that name, but for that\nof the whole coastwise navigation of the United States and, to a\nconsiderable extent, also of foreign commerce. If a ship be lost on the\nbar at the entrance of a Southern port for want of sufficient depth of\nwater, it is very likely to be a Northern ship; and if a steamboat be\nsunk in any part of the Mississippi on account of its channel not having\nbeen properly cleared of obstructions, it may be a boat belonging to\neither of eight or ten States. I may add, as somewhat remarkable, that\namong all the thirty-one States there is none that is not to a greater\nor less extent bounded on the ocean, or the Gulf of Mexico, or one of\nthe Great Lakes, or some navigable river.\n\nIn fulfilling our constitutional duties, fellow-citizens, on this\nsubject, as in carrying into effect all other powers conferred by the\nConstitution, we should consider ourselves as deliberating and acting\nfor one and the same country, and bear constantly in mind that our\nregard and our duty are due not to a particular part only, but to the\nwhole.\n\nI therefore recommend that appropriations be made for completing such\nworks as have been already begun and for commencing such others as may\nseem to the wisdom of Congress to be of public and general importance.\n\nThe difficulties and delays incident to the settlement of private claims\nby Congress amount in many cases to a denial of justice. There is reason\nto apprehend that many unfortunate creditors of the Government have\nthereby been unavoidably ruined. Congress has so much business of a\npublic character that it is impossible it should give much attention to\nmere private claims, and their accumulation is now so great that many\nclaimants must despair of ever being able to obtain a hearing. It may\nwell be doubted whether Congress, from the nature of its organization,\nis properly constituted to decide upon such cases. It is impossible that\neach member should examine the merits of every claim on which he is\ncompelled to vote, and it is preposterous to ask a judge to decide a\ncase which he has never heard. Such decisions may, and frequently must,\ndo injustice either to the claimant or the Government, and I perceive\nno better remedy for this growing evil than the establishment of some\ntribunal to adjudicate upon such claims. I beg leave, therefore,\nmost respectfully to recommend that provision be made by law for the\nappointment of a commission to settle all private claims against the\nUnited States; and as an _ex parte_ hearing must in all contested\ncases be very unsatisfactory, I also recommend the appointment of a\nsolicitor, whose duty it shall be to represent the Government before\nsuch commission and protect it against all illegal, fraudulent, or\nunjust claims which may be presented for their adjudication.\n\nThis District, which has neither voice nor vote in your deliberations,\nlooks to you for protection and aid, and I commend all its wants to your\nfavorable consideration, with a full confidence that you will meet them\nnot only with justice, but with liberality. It should be borne in mind\nthat in this city, laid out by Washington and consecrated by his name,\nis located the Capitol of our nation, the emblem of our Union and the\nsymbol of our greatness. Here also are situated all the public buildings\nnecessary for the use of the Government, and all these are exempt from\ntaxation. It should be the pride of Americans to render this place\nattractive to the people of the whole Republic and convenient and safe\nfor the transaction of the public business and the preservation of\nthe public records. The Government should therefore bear a liberal\nproportion of the burdens of all necessary and useful improvements. And\nas nothing could contribute more to the health, comfort, and safety of\nthe city and the security of the public buildings and records than an\nabundant supply of pure water, I respectfully recommend that you make\nsuch provisions for obtaining the same as in your wisdom you may deem\nproper.\n\nThe act, passed at your last session, making certain propositions to\nTexas for settling the disputed boundary between that State and the\nTerritory of New Mexico was, immediately on its passage, transmitted by\nexpress to the governor of Texas, to be laid by him before the general\nassembly for its agreement thereto. Its receipt was duly acknowledged,\nbut no official information has yet been received of the action of the\ngeneral assembly thereon. It may, however, be very soon expected, as,\nby the terms of the propositions submitted they were to have been acted\nupon on or before the first day of the present month.\n\nIt was hardly to have been expected that the series of measures passed\nat your last session with the view of healing the sectional differences\nwhich had sprung from the slavery and territorial questions should at\nonce have realized their beneficent purpose. All mutual concession in\nthe nature of a compromise must necessarily be unwelcome to men of\nextreme opinions. And though without such concessions our Constitution\ncould not have been formed, and can not be permanently sustained, yet we\nhave seen them made the subject of bitter controversy in both sections\nof the Republic, It required many months of discussion and deliberation\nto secure the concurrence of a majority of Congress in their favor. It\nwould be strange if they had been received with immediate approbation by\npeople and States prejudiced and heated by the exciting controversies of\ntheir representatives. I believe those measures to have been required\nby the circumstances and condition of the country. I believe they\nwere necessary to allay asperities and animosities that were rapidly\nalienating one section of the country from another and destroying\nthose fraternal sentiments which are the strongest supports of the\nConstitution. They were adopted in the spirit of conciliation and for\nthe purpose of conciliation. I believe that a great majority of our\nfellow-citizens sympathize in that spirit and that purpose, and in\nthe main approve and are prepared in all respects to sustain these\nenactments. I can not doubt that the American people, bound together by\nkindred blood and common traditions, still cherish a paramount regard\nfor the Union of their fathers, and that they are ready to rebuke any\nattempt to violate its integrity, to disturb the compromises on which\nit is based, or to resist the laws which have been enacted under its\nauthority.\n\nThe series of measures to which I have alluded are regarded by me as\na settlement in principle and substance--a final settlement of the\ndangerous and exciting subjects which they embraced. Most of these\nsubjects, indeed, are beyond your reach, as the legislation which\ndisposed of them was in its character final and irrevocable. It may\nbe presumed from the opposition which they all encountered that none\nof those measures was free from imperfections, but in their mutual\ndependence and connection they formed a system of compromise the most\nconciliatory and best for the entire country that could be obtained\nfrom conflicting sectional interests and opinions.\n\nFor this reason I recommend your adherence to the adjustment established\nby those measures until time and experience shall demonstrate the\nnecessity of further legislation to guard against evasion or abuse.\n\nBy that adjustment we have been rescued from the wide and boundless\nagitation that surrounded us, and have a firm, distinct, and legal\nground to rest upon. And the occasion, I trust, will justify me in\nexhorting my countrymen to rally upon and maintain that ground as the\nbest, if not the only, means of restoring peace and quiet to the country\nand maintaining inviolate the integrity of the Union.\n\nAnd now, fellow-citizens, I can not bring this communication to a close\nwithout invoking you to join me in humble and devout thanks to the Great\nRuler of Nations for the multiplied blessings which He has graciously\nbestowed upon us. His hand, so often visible in our preservation, has\nstayed the pestilence, saved us from foreign wars and domestic\ndisturbances, and scattered plenty throughout the land.\n\nOur liberties, religious and civil, have been maintained, the fountains\nof knowledge have all been kept open, and means of happiness widely\nspread and generally enjoyed greater than have fallen to the lot of any\nother nation. And while deeply penetrated with gratitude for the past,\nlet us hope that His all-wise providence will so guide our counsels as\nthat they shall result in giving satisfaction to our constituents,\nsecuring the peace of the country, and adding new strength to the united\nGovernment under which we live.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\n\nSPECIAL MESSAGES.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 9, 1850_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nI communicate to the House of Representatives a translation of a note\nof the 5th instant addressed to the Secretary of State by the minister\nof the Mexican Republic accredited to this Government, relative to a\nsubject[2] to which the attention of Congress was invited in my message\nat the opening of the present session.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[The same message was sent to the Senate.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Incursions of Indians of the United States upon the\npopulation of the Mexican frontier.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 12, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith transmit a report of the Secretary of State, with accompanying\ndocuments, relating to the African slave trade, in answer to the\nresolution of the Senate of the 28th of August last.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 13, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\n\nI have the pleasure of announcing to Congress the agreement on the part\nof Texas to the propositions offered to that State by the act of\nCongress approved on the 9th day of September last, entitled \"An act\nproposing to the State of Texas the establishment of her northern\nand western boundaries, the relinquishment by the said State of all\nterritory claimed by her exterior to said boundaries and of all her\nclaims upon the United States, and to establish a Territorial government\nfor New Mexico.\"\n\nBy the terms of that act it was required that the agreement of Texas to\nthe propositions contained in it should be given on or before the 1st\nday of December, 1850. An authenticated transcript of a law passed by\nthe legislature of Texas on the 25th day of November, agreeing to and\naccepting the propositions contained in the act of Congress, has been\nreceived. This law, after reciting the provisions of the act of Congress,\nproceeds to enact and declare as follows, viz:\n\n  Therefore, first. _Be it enacted by the legislature of the State of\n  Texas_, That the State of Texas hereby agrees to and accepts said\n  propositions; and it is hereby declared that the said State shall be\n  bound by the terms thereof according to their true import and meaning.\n\n  Second. That the governor of this State be, and is hereby, requested to\n  cause a copy of this act, authenticated under the seal of the State, to\n  be furnished to the President of the United States by mail as early as\n  practicable, and also a copy thereof, certified in like manner, to be\n  transmitted to each of the Senators and Representatives of Texas in\n  Congress. And that this act take effect from and after its passage.\n\n  C. G. KEENAN,\n  _Speaker of the House of Representatives_.\n\n  JOHN A. GREER,\n  _President of the Senate_.\n\nApproved, November 25, 1850.\n\nP.H. BELL.\n\n\nFrom the common sources of public information it would appear that\na very remarkable degree of unanimity prevailed, not only in the\nlegislature, but among the people of Texas, in respect to the agreement\nof the State to that which had been proposed by Congress.\n\nI can not refrain from congratulating Congress and the country on the\nsuccess of this great and leading measure of conciliation and peace. The\ndifficulties felt and the dangers apprehended from the vast acquisitions\nof territory under the late treaty with Mexico seem now happily overcome\nby the wisdom of Congress. Within that territory there already exists\none State, respectable for the amount of her population, distinguished\nfor singular activity and enterprise, and remarkable in many respects\nfrom her condition and history. This new State has come into the Union\nwith manifestations not to be mistaken of her attachment to that\nConstitution and that Government which now embrace her and her interests\nwithin their protecting and beneficent control.\n\nOver the residue of the acquired territories regular Territorial\ngovernments are now established in the manner which has been most usual\nin the history of this Government. Various other acts of Congress may\nundoubtedly be requisite for the benefit as well as for the proper\ngovernment of these so distant parts of the country. But the same\nlegislative wisdom which has triumphed over the principal difficulties\nand accomplished the main end may safely be relied on for whatever\nmeasures may yet be found necessary to perfect its work, so that the\nacquisition of these vast regions to the United States may rather\nstrengthen than weaken the Constitution, which is over us all, and the\nUnion, which affords such ample daily proofs of its inestimable value.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 17, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith transmit a letter from the Secretary of War, communicating a\nreport of a board of officers to which, in pursuance of a resolution of\nthe Senate passed on the 30th of September last, were submitted the\nquestions proposed therein, relative to the expediency and necessity of\ncreating additional grades of commissioned officers in the Army and of\nenacting provisions authorizing officers of the Army to exercise civil\nfunctions in emergencies to be enumerated and restraining them from\nusurping the powers of civil functionaries.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 30, 1850_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith transmit to the Senate, in reply to their resolution of the\n26th instant, a report from the Secretary of State, with accompanying\npapers.[3]\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 3: Correspondence with the Austrian charge d'affaires\nrespecting the appointment or proceedings of the agent sent to examine\nand report upon the condition and prospects of the Hungarian people\nduring their struggle for independence.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 3, 1851_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nBy a resolution passed by the House of Representatives on the 24th day\nof July, 1850, the President was requested to cause to be prepared and\ncommunicated to the House certain opinions of the Attorneys-General\ntherein specified. On inquiry I learned that the force employed in the\nAttorney-General's Office was not sufficient to perform this work;\nconsequently, I employed Benjamin F. Hall, esq., a counselor at law,\non the 9th day of September last, to execute it, and requested him to\ncommence it immediately. I informed him that I was not authorized to\ngive any other assurances as to compensation than that it rested with\nCongress to provide and fix it. I believe Mr. Hall to be in all respects\ncompetent and well fitted for the task which he has undertaken, and\ndiligent in the performance of it; and it appears to me that the most\njust mode of compensation will be to make a per diem allowance of $8 per\nday for the time actually employed, to be paid on the certificate of the\nAttorney-General.\n\nI also transmit herewith a portion of the manuscript prepared in\npursuance of said resolution, with a letter from Mr. Hall to me\nindicating the mode in which he thinks the work should be prepared and\nprinted, which appears to me worthy of consideration and adoption by the\nHouse.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 10, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI have the honor herewith to transmit to the Senate a communication from\nthe Secretary of the Navy on the subject of the discipline of the Navy,\nsuggesting such amendments of the law as may be necessary in consequence\nof the recent act abolishing flogging; to which I respectfully invite\nthe immediate attention of Congress.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 14, 1851_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with the resolution of the House of Representatives\nadopted July 18, 1850, requesting the President to communicate his views\non sundry questions of rank, precedence, and command among officers of\nthe Army and officers of the Navy, respectively, and of relative rank\nbetween officers of the Army and Navy when brought into cooperation, I\ncaused to be convened a board of intelligent and experienced officers in\neach branch of the service to consider the matters involved in said\nresolutions and to report their opinion for my advice and information.\n\nTheir reports have been made, and I have the honor herewith to submit\ncopies of them, together with bills drafted substantially in accordance\ntherewith, on the subject of rank in each branch of the service.\n\nThe subject is one of great interest, and it is highly important that it\nshould be settled by legislative authority and with as little delay as\npossible consistently with its proper examination.\n\nThe points on which it will be perceived that the two boards disagree in\nregard to relative rank between officers of the Army and Navy are not\nesteemed of very great practical importance, and the adoption of the\nrule proposed by either would be acceptable to the Executive.\n\nBut even if a decision on these shall be suspended, it is hoped that the\nbills which are designed to regulate rank, precedence, and command in\nthe Army and Navy as separate branches of service may receive the\nsanction of Congress, with such amendments as may be deemed appropriate,\nin the course of the present session.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 3, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate a report from the Secretary of State, with\naccompanying papers,[4] in answer to their resolution of the 30th\nultimo.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 4: Correspondence relative to the possessory rights of the\nBritish Hudsons Bay Company in Oregon.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 12, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit herewith a report from the Secretary of State, with accompanying\ndocuments,[5] in answer to the Senate's resolution of the 1st\ninstant.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 5: Correspondence with Spain relative to the claim of the\nowners of the schooner _Amistad_ for compensation on account of the\nliberation of <DW64>s on board said vessel.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 13, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith communicate to the Senate, for its consideration, a general\nconvention between the United States and the Swiss Confederation,\nconcluded and signed at Berne on the 25th day of November last by Mr. A.\nDudley Mann on the part of the United States and by Messrs. Druey and\nFrey-Herosee on the part of the Swiss Confederation. I communicate at\nthe same time a copy of the instructions under which Mr. Mann acted and\nhis dispatch of the 30th November last, explanatory of the articles of\nthe convention.\n\nIn submitting this convention to the consideration of the Senate I\nfeel it my duty to invite its special attention to the first and\nfifth articles. These articles appear to contain provisions quite\nobjectionable, if, indeed, they can be considered as properly embraced\nin the treaty-making power.\n\nThe second clause of the first article is in these words:\n\n  In the United States of America citizens of Switzerland shall be\n  received and treated in each State upon the same footing and upon the\n  same conditions as citizens of the United States born in or belonging to\n  other States of the Union.\n\n\nIt is well known that according to the Constitution of the United States\na citizen of one State may hold lands in any other State; and States\nhave, sometimes by general, sometimes by special, laws, removed the\ndisabilities attaching to foreigners not naturalized in regard to the\nholding of land. But this is not supposed to be a power properly to be\nexercised by the President and Senate in concluding and ratifying a\ntreaty with a foreign state. The authority naturally belongs to the\nState within whose limits the land may lie. The naturalization of\nforeigners is provided for by the laws of the United States, in\npursuance of the provision of the Constitution; but when, under the\noperation of these laws, foreigners become citizens of the United\nStates, all would seem to be done which it is in the power of this\nGovernment to do to enable foreigners to hold land. The clause referred\nto, therefore, appears to me inadmissible.\n\nThe fourth clause of the same article provides, among other things, that\ncitizens of Switzerland may, within the United States, acquire, possess,\nand alienate personal and real estate, and the fifth article grants them\nthe power of disposing of their real estate, which, perhaps, would be no\notherwise objectionable, if it stood by itself, than as it would seem to\nimply a power to hold that of which they are permitted to dispose.\n\nThese objections, perhaps, may be removed by striking out the second\nclause of the first article and the words \"and real\" in the fourth\nclause. An amendment similar to the last here suggested was made by the\nSenate in the convention between the United States and the King of\nBavaria, the ratification of which, as amended, the Senate advised and\nconsented to on the 15th day of March, 1845.\n\nBut there is another and a decisive objection, arising from the last\nclause in the first article. That clause is in these words:\n\n  On account of the tenor of the federal constitution of Switzerland,\n  Christians alone are entitled to the enjoyment of the privileges\n  guaranteed by the present article in the Swiss Cantons. But said\n  Cantons are not prohibited from extending the same privileges to\n  citizens of the United States of other religious persuasions.\n\n\nIt appears from this that Christians alone are, in some of the Swiss\nCantons, entitled to the enjoyment of privileges guaranteed by the first\narticle, although the Cantons themselves are not prohibited from\nextending the same privileges to citizens of the United States of other\nreligious persuasions.\n\nIt is quite certain that neither by law, nor by treaty, nor by any other\nofficial proceeding is it competent for the Government of the United\nStates to establish any distinction between its citizens founded on\ndifferences in religious beliefs. Any benefit or privilege conferred by\nlaw or treaty on one must be common to all, and we are not at liberty,\non a question of such vital interest and plain constitutional duty,\nto consider whether the particular case is one in which substantial\ninconvenience or injustice might ensue. It is enough that an inequality\nwould be sanctioned hostile to the institutions of the United States and\ninconsistent with the Constitution and the laws.\n\nNor can the Government of the United States rely on the individual\nCantons of Switzerland for extending the same privileges to other\ncitizens of the United States as this article extends to Christians. It\nis indispensable not only that every privilege granted to any of the\ncitizens of the United States should be granted to all, but also that\nthe grant of such privilege should stand upon the same stipulation and\nassurance by the whole Swiss Confederation as those of other articles of\nthe convention.\n\nThere have been instances, especially some of recent occurrence,\nin which the Executive has transmitted treaties to the Senate with\nsuggestions of amendment, and I have therefore thought it not improper\nto send the present convention to the Senate, inviting its attention\nto such amendments as appeared to me to be important, although I have\nentertained considerable doubt whether it would not be better to send\nback the convention for correction in the objectionable particulars\nbefore laying it before the Senate for ratification.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 13, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 10th instant, calling\nfor information relative to a contract alleged to have been made by Mr.\nI.D. Marks with the Mexican Government, I transmit a report from the\nSecretary of State and the documents[6] which accompanied it.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 6: Relating to drafts upon the Treasury of the United States\nby Mexico on account of indemnity due that Government in pursuance of\nthe treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 13, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with the resolution of the Senate of the 28th of January,\n1851, I have the honor to transmit herewith reports from the Secretary\nof State and Secretary of the Treasury, giving the required\ncorrespondence in the case of the British ship _Albion_, seized in\nOregon for an alleged violation of the revenue laws.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 15, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn addition to the information heretofore communicated, I now transmit\nto the Senate a report from the Secretary of State, with accompanying\npapers,[7] in answer to their resolution of the 28th ultimo.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 7: Additional correspondence relative to the seizure of the\nBritish ship _Albion_.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 15, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith transmit to the Senate a report[8] from the Secretary of\nState, in answer to their resolution of the 10th instant.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 8: Relating to taxation by New Granada on United States\ncitizens when _in transitu_ across the Isthmus of Panama, and to\nthe United States mail service at said Isthmus.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 18, 1851_.\n\nThe PRESIDENT OF THE SENATE:\n\nIn addition to the papers already transmitted to the Senate in\ncompliance with its resolution of the 28th ultimo, I have the honor\nherewith to transmit an additional report[9] from the Secretary of the\nTreasury.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 9: Relating to the seizure of the British ship _Albion_.]\n\n\n\nEXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT, _February 19, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI have received the resolution of the Senate of the 18th instant,\nrequesting me to lay before that body, if not incompatible with the\npublic interest, any information I may possess in regard to an alleged\nrecent case of a forcible resistance to the execution of the laws of the\nUnited States in the city of Boston, and to communicate to the Senate,\nunder the above conditions, what means I have adopted to meet the\noccurrence, and whether in my opinion any additional legislation is\nnecessary to meet the exigency of the case and to more vigorously\nexecute existing laws.\n\nThe public newspapers contain an affidavit of Patrick Riley, a\ndeputy marshal for the district of Massachusetts, setting forth the\ncircumstances of the case, a copy of which affidavit is herewith\ncommunicated. Private and unofficial communications concur in\nestablishing the main facts of this account, but no satisfactory\nofficial information has as yet been received; and in some important\nrespects the accuracy of the account has been denied by persons whom it\nimplicates. Nothing could be more unexpected than that such a gross\nviolation of law, such a high-handed contempt of the authority of the\nUnited States, should be perpetrated by a band of lawless confederates\nat noonday in the city of Boston, and in the very temple of justice. I\nregard this flagitious proceeding as being a surprise not unattended by\nsome degree of negligence; nor do I doubt that if any such act of\nviolence had been apprehended thousands of the good citizens of Boston\nwould have presented themselves voluntarily and promptly to prevent it.\nBut the danger does not seem to have been timely made known or duly\nappreciated by those who were concerned in the execution of the process.\nIn a community distinguished for its love of order and respect for the\nlaws, among a people whose sentiment is liberty and law, and not liberty\nwithout law nor above the law, such an outrage could only be the result\nof sudden violence, unhappily too much unprepared for to be successfully\nresisted. It would be melancholy indeed if we were obliged to regard\nthis outbreak against the constitutional and legal authority of the\nGovernment as proceeding from the general feeling of the people in a\nspot which is proverbially called \"the Cradle of American Liberty.\"\nSuch, undoubtedly, is not the fact. It violates without question the\ngeneral sentiment of the people of Boston and of a vast majority of the\nwhole people of Massachusetts, as much as it violates the law, defies\nthe authority of the Government, and disgraces those concerned in it,\ntheir aiders and abettors.\n\nIt is, nevertheless, my duty to lay before the Senate, in answer to its\nresolution, some important facts and considerations connected with the\nsubject.\n\nA resolution of Congress of September 23, 1789, declared:\n\n  That it be recommended to the legislatures of the several States to\n  pass laws making it expressly the duty of the keepers of their jails\n  to receive and safe keep therein all prisoners committed under the\n  authority of the United States until they shall be discharged by the\n  course of the laws thereof, under the like penalties as in the case of\n  prisoners committed under the authority of such States respectively;\n  the United States to pay for the use and keeping of such jails at the\n  rate of 50 cents per month for each prisoner that shall, under their\n  authority, be committed thereto during the time such prisoner shall be\n  therein confined, and also to support such of said prisoners as shall\n  be committed for offenses.\n\n\nA further resolution of Congress, of the 3d of March, 1791, provides\nthat--\n\n  Whereas Congress did, by a resolution of the 23d day of September, 1789,\n  recommend to the several States to pass laws making it expressly the\n  duty of the keepers of their jails to receive and safe keep therein all\n  prisoners committed under the authority of the United States: In order,\n  therefore, to insure the administration of justice--\n\n  _Resolved by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United\n  States of America in Congress assembled_, That in case any State shall\n  not have complied with the said recommendation the marshal in such\n  State, under the direction of the judge of the district, be authorized\n  to hire a convenient place to serve as a temporary jail, and to make the\n  necessary provision for the safe-keeping of prisoners committed under\n  the authority of the United States until permanent provision shall be\n  made by law for that purpose; and the said marshal shall be allowed his\n  reasonable expenses incurred for the above purposes, to be paid out of\n  the Treasury of the United States.\n\n\nAnd a resolution of Congress of March 3, 1821, provides that--\n\n  Where any State or States, having complied with the recommendation of\n  Congress in the resolution of the 23d day of September, 1789, shall have\n  withdrawn, or shall hereafter withdraw, either in whole or in part, the\n  use of their jails for prisoners committed under the authority of the\n  United States, the marshal in such State or States, under the direction\n  of the judge of the district, shall be, and hereby is, authorized and\n  required to hire a convenient place to serve as a temporary jail, and to\n  make the necessary provision for the safe-keeping of prisoners committed\n  under the authority of the United States until permanent provision shall\n  be made by law for that purpose; and the said marshal shall be allowed\n  his reasonable expenses incurred for the above purposes, to be paid out\n  of the Treasury of the United States.\n\n\nThese various provisions of the law remain unrepealed.\n\nBy the law of Massachusetts, as that law stood before the act of the\nlegislature of that State of the 24th of March, 1843, the common jails\nin the respective counties were to be used for the detention of any\npersons detained or committed by the authority of the courts of the\nUnited States, as well as by the courts and magistrates of the State.\nBut these provisions were abrogated and repealed by the act of the\nlegislature of Massachusetts of the 24th of March, 1843.\n\nThat act declares that--\n\n  No judge of any court of record of this Commonwealth and no justice of\n  the peace shall hereafter take cognizance or grant a certificate in\n  cases that may arise under the third section of an act of Congress\n  passed February 12, 1793, and entitled \"An act respecting fugitives\n  from justice and persons escaping from the service of their masters,\"\n  to any person who claims any other person as a fugitive slave within\n  the jurisdiction of the Commonwealth.\n\n\nAnd it further declares that--\n\n  No sheriff, deputy sheriff, coroner, constable, jailer, or other officer\n  of this Commonwealth shall hereafter arrest or detain, or aid in the\n  arrest or detention or imprisonment, in any jail or other building\n  belonging to this Commonwealth, or to any county, city, or town thereof,\n  of any person for the reason that he is claimed as a fugitive slave.\n\n\nAnd it further declares that--\n\n  Any justice of the peace, sheriff, deputy sheriff, coroner, constable,\n  or jailer who shall offend against the provisions of this law by in any\n  way acting, directly or indirectly, under the power conferred by the\n  third section of the act of Congress aforementioned shall forfeit a sum\n  not exceeding $1,000 for every such offense to the use of the county\n  where said offense is committed, or shall be subject to imprisonment\n  not exceeding one year in the county jail.\n\n\nThis law, it is obvious, had two objects. The first was to make it a\npenal offense in all officers and magistrates of the Commonwealth to\nexercise the powers conferred on them by the act of Congress of the 12th\nof February, 1793, entitled \"An act respecting fugitives from justice\nand persons escaping from the service of their masters,\" and which\npowers they were fully competent to perform up to the time of this\ninhibition and penal enactment; second, to refuse the use of the jails\nof the State for the detention of any person claimed as a fugitive\nslave.\n\nIt is deeply to be lamented that the purpose of these enactments is\nquite apparent. It was to prevent, as far as the legislature of the\nState could prevent, the laws of Congress passed for the purpose of\ncarrying into effect that article of the Constitution of the United\nStates which declares that \"no person held to service or labor in\none State, under the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall in\nconsequence of any law or regulation therein be discharged from such\nservice or labor, but shall be delivered up on claim of the party\nto whom such service or labor may be due\" from being carried into\neffect. But these acts of State legislation, although they may cause\nembarrassment and create expense, can not derogate either from the duty\nor the authority of Congress to carry out fully and fairly the plain and\nimperative constitutional provision for the delivery of persons bound to\nlabor in one State and escaping into another to the party to whom such\nlabor may be due. It is quite clear that by the resolution of Congress\nof March 3, 1821, the marshal of the United States in any State in which\nthe use of the jails of the State has been withdrawn, in whole or in\npart, from the purpose of the detention of persons committed under the\nauthority of the United States is not only empowered, but expressly\nrequired, under the direction of the judge of the district, to hire\na convenient place for the safe-keeping of prisoners committed under\nauthority of the United States. It will be seen from papers accompanying\nthis communication that the attention of the marshal of Massachusetts\nwas distinctly called to this provision of the law by a letter from\nthe Secretary of the Navy of the date of October 28 last. There is no\nofficial information that the marshal has provided any such place for\nthe confinement of his prisoners. If he has not, it is to be regretted\nthat this power was not exercised by the marshal under the direction\nof the district judge immediately on the passage of the act of the\nlegislature of Massachusetts of the 24th of March, 1843, and especially\nthat it was not exercised on the passage of the fugitive-slave law of\nthe last session, or when the attention of the marshal was afterwards\nparticularly drawn to it.\n\nIt is true that the escape from the deputy marshals in this case was not\nowing to the want of a prison or place of confinement, but still it is\nnot easy to see how the prisoner could have been safely and conveniently\ndetained during an adjournment of the hearing for some days without such\nplace of confinement. If it shall appear that no such place has been\nobtained, directions to the marshal will be given to lose no time in the\ndischarge of this duty.\n\nI transmit to the Senate the copy of a proclamation issued by me on the\n18th instant in relation to these unexpected and deplorable occurrences\nin Boston, together with copies of instructions from the Departments of\nWar and Navy relative to the general subject. And I communicate also\ncopies of telegraphic dispatches transmitted from the Department of\nState to the district attorney and marshal of the United States for\nthe district of Massachusetts and their answers thereto.\n\nIn regard to the last branch of the inquiry made by the resolution of\nthe Senate, I have to observe that the Constitution declares that \"the\nPresident shall take care that the laws be faithfully executed,\" and\nthat \"he shall be Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy of the United\nStates, and of the militia of the several States when called into the\nactual service of the United States,\" and that \"Congress shall have\npower to provide for calling forth the militia to execute the laws of\nthe Union, suppress insurrections, and repel invasions.\" From which it\nappears that the Army and Navy are by the Constitution placed under the\ncontrol of the Executive; and probably no legislation of Congress could\nadd to or diminish the power thus given but by increasing or diminishing\nor abolishing altogether the Army and Navy. But not so with the militia.\nThe President can not call the militia into service, even to execute the\nlaws or repel invasions, but by the authority of acts of Congress passed\nfor that purpose. But when the militia are called into service in the\nmanner prescribed by law, then the Constitution itself gives the command\nto the President. Acting on this principle, Congress, by the act of\nFebruary 28, 1795, authorized the President to call forth the militia to\nrepel invasion and \"suppress insurrections against a State government,\nand to suppress combinations against the laws of the United States, and\ncause the laws to be faithfully executed.\" But the act proceeds to\ndeclare that whenever it may be necessary, in the judgment of the\nPresident, to use the military force thereby directed to be called\nforth, the President shall forthwith, by proclamation, command such\ninsurgents to disperse and retire peaceably to their respective abodes\nwithin a limited time. These words are broad enough to require a\nproclamation in all cases where militia are called out under that act,\nwhether to repel invasion or suppress an insurrection or to aid in\nexecuting the laws. This section has consequently created some doubt\nwhether the militia could be called forth to aid in executing the laws\nwithout a previous proclamation. But yet the proclamation seems to be in\nwords directed only against insurgents, and to require them to disperse,\nthereby implying not only an insurrection, but an organized, or at least\nan embodied, force. Such a proclamation in aid of the civil authority\nwould often defeat the whole object by giving such notice to persons\nintended to be arrested that they would be enabled to fly or secrete\nthemselves. The force may be wanted sometimes to make the arrest, and\nalso sometimes to protect the officer after it is made, and to prevent\na rescue. I would therefore suggest that this section be modified by\ndeclaring that nothing therein contained shall be construed to require\nany previous proclamation when the militia are called forth, either to\nrepel invasion, to execute the laws, or suppress combinations against\nthem, and that the President may make such call and place such militia\nunder the control of any civil officer of the United States to aid him\nin executing the laws or suppressing such combinations; and while so\nemployed they shall be paid by and subsisted at the expense of the\nUnited States.\n\nCongress, not probably adverting to the difference between the militia\nand the Regular Army, by the act of March 3, 1807, authorized the\nPresident to use the land and naval forces of the United States for the\nsame purposes for which he might call forth the militia, and subject\nto the same proclamation. But the power of the President under the\nConstitution, as Commander of the Army and Navy, is general, and his\nduty to see the laws faithfully executed is general and positive; and\nthe act of 1807 ought not to be construed as evincing any disposition in\nCongress to limit or restrain this constitutional authority. For greater\ncertainty, however, it may be well that Congress should modify or\nexplain this act in regard to its provisions for the employment of the\nArmy and Navy of the United States, as well as that in regard to calling\nforth the militia. It is supposed not to be doubtful that all citizens,\nwhether enrolled in the militia or not, may be summoned as members of\nthe _posse comitatus_, either by the marshal or a commissioner\naccording to law, and that it is their duty to obey such summons. But\nperhaps it may be doubted whether the marshal or a commissioner can\nsummon as the _posse comitatus_ an organized militia force, acting\nunder its own appropriate officers, without the consent of such\nofficers. This point may deserve the consideration of Congress.\n\nI use this occasion to repeat the assurance that so far as depends on me\nthe laws shall be faithfully executed and all forcible opposition to\nthem suppressed; and to this end I am prepared to exercise, whenever\nit may become necessary, the power constitutionally vested in me to\nthe fullest extent. I am fully persuaded that the great majority of\nthe people of this country are warmly and strongly attached to the\nConstitution, the preservation of the Union, the just support of the\nGovernment, and the maintenance of the authority of law. I am persuaded\nthat their earnest wishes and the line of my constitutional duty\nentirely concur, and I doubt not firmness, moderation, and prudence,\nstrengthened and animated by the general opinion of the people, will\nprevent the repetition of occurrences disturbing the public peace and\nreprobated by all good men.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 25, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a convention between the United States and the Mexican\nRepublic for the protection of a transit way across the Isthmus of\nTehuantepec, signed in the City of Mexico on the 25th ultimo.\n\nAccompanying the treaty is a letter from Mr. P.A. Hargous, the present\nproprietor and holder of the privileges granted by Mexico, signifying\nhis assent to and acceptance of the terms of its provisions. There is\nalso an abstract of title to him from the original grantee and copies\nof the several powers and conveyances by which that title is derived to\nhim. It may be well that these papers should be returned to be deposited\namong the archives of the Department of State.\n\nThe additional article of the treaty makes an unnecessary reference to\nthe eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth articles of the treaty of the 22d\nof June last, because the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth articles\nof the present treaty contain exactly the same provisions as those\ncontained in the same articles of that treaty, as will appear from the\ncopy of the treaty of the 22d of June last, herewith communicated.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 26, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith communicate to the Senate, for its consideration, a\nconvention for the adjustment of certain claims of citizens of the\nUnited States against Her Most Faithful Majesty's Government,[10]\nconcluded and signed this day in the city of Washington by the\nrespective plenipotentiaries.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 10: Portugal.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 27, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit herewith a report of the Secretary of State, with\naccompanying documents,[11] in compliance with the resolution of the\nSenate of the 17th ultimo.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 11: Correspondence relative to prisoners captured by Spanish\nauthorities at or near the island of Contoy, and to projected\nexpeditions to Cuba.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 28, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 16th ultimo, requesting\ninformation touching the difficulties between the British authorities\nand San Salvador, I transmit a report from the Secretary of State and\nthe documents which accompanied it.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 1, 1851_.\n\nHon. Howell Cobb,\n\n_Speaker of the House of Representatives_:\n\nI have the honor herewith to transmit to the House of Representatives\nmanuscript No. 2 of the opinions of the Attorneys-General, prepared in\npursuance of its resolution.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 3, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 26th ultimo, calling\nfor information respecting a forcible abduction of any citizen of the\nUnited States from the Territory of New Mexico and his conveyance within\nthe limits of the Mexican Republic, I transmit a report from the\nSecretary of State and the documents which accompanied it.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\n\nPROCLAMATIONS.\n\n\nBY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.\n\nA PROCLAMATION.\n\n\nWhereas by an act of the Congress of the United States of the 9th of\nSeptember, 1850, entitled \"An act proposing to the State of Texas the\nestablishment of her northern and western boundaries, the relinquishment\nby the said State of all territory claimed by her exterior to said\nboundaries and of all her claims upon the United States, and to\nestablish a Territorial government for New Mexico,\" it was provided that\nthe following propositions should be, and the same were thereby, offered\nto the State of Texas, which, when agreed to by the said State in an act\npassed by the general assembly, should be binding and obligatory upon\nthe United States and upon the said State of Texas, provided the said\nagreement by the said general assembly should be given on or before the\n1st day of December, 1850, namely:\n\n\"First. The State of Texas will agree that her boundary on the north\nshall commence at the point at which the meridian of 100 deg. west from\nGreenwich is intersected by the parallel of 36 deg. 30' north latitude, and\nshall run from said point due west to the meridian of 103 deg. west from\nGreenwich; thence her boundary shall run due south to the thirty-second\ndegree of north latitude; thence on the said parallel of 32 deg. of north\nlatitude to the Rio Bravo del Norte, and thence with the channel of said\nriver to the Gulf of Mexico.\n\n\"Second. The State of Texas cedes to the United States all her claim to\nterritory exterior to the limits and boundaries which she agrees to\nestablish by the first article of this agreement.\n\n\"Third. The State of Texas relinquishes all claim upon the United States\nfor liability of the debts of Texas and for compensation or indemnity\nfor the surrender to the United States of her ships, forts, arsenals,\ncustom-houses, custom-house revenue, arms and munitions of war, and\npublic buildings with their sites, which became the property of the\nUnited States at the time of the annexation.\n\n\"Fourth. The United States, in consideration of said establishment of\nboundaries, cession of claim to territory, and relinquishment of claims,\nwill pay to the State of Texas the sum of $10,000,000 in a stock bearing\n5 per cent interest, and redeemable at the end of fourteen years, the\ninterest payable half-yearly at the Treasury of the United States.\n\n\"Fifth. Immediately after the President of the United States shall have\nbeen furnished with an authentic copy of the act of the general assembly\nof Texas accepting these propositions, he shall cause the stock to be\nissued in favor of the State of Texas, as provided for in the fourth\narticle of this agreement: _Provided also_, That no more than $5,000,000\nof said stock shall be issued until the creditors of the State holding\nbonds and other certificates of stock of Texas for which duties on\nimports were specially pledged shall first file at the Treasury of\nthe United States releases of all claim against the United States\nfor or on account of said bonds or certificates in such form as\nshall be prescribed by the Secretary of the Treasury and approved by\nthe President of the United States: _Provided_, That nothing herein\ncontained shall be construed to impair or qualify anything contained in\nthe third article of the second section of the 'Joint resolution for\nannexing Texas to the United States,' approved March 1, 1845, either as\nregards the number of States that may hereafter be formed out of the\nState of Texas or otherwise;\" and\n\nWhereas it was further provided by the eighteenth section of the same\nact of Congress \"that the provisions of this act be, and they are\nhereby, suspended until the boundary between the United States and the\nState of Texas shall be adjusted, and when such adjustment shall have\nbeen effected the President of the United States shall issue his\nproclamation declaring this act to be in full force and operation;\" and\n\nWhereas the legislature of the State of Texas, by an act approved the\n25th of November last, entitled \"An act accepting the propositions made\nby the United States to the State of Texas in an act of the Congress of\nthe United States approved the 9th day of September, A.D. 1850, and\nentitled 'An act proposing to the State of Texas the establishment of\nher northern and western boundaries, the relinquishment by the said\nState of all territory claimed by her exterior to said boundaries and of\nall her claims upon the United States, and to establish a Territorial\ngovernment for New Mexico,'\" of which act a copy, authenticated under\nthe seal of the State, has been furnished to the President, enacts \"that\nthe State of Texas hereby agrees to and accepts said propositions, and\nit is hereby declared that the said State shall be bound by the terms\nthereof, according to their true import and meaning.\"\n\nNow, therefore, I, Millard Fillmore, President of the United States\nof America, do hereby declare and proclaim that the said act of the\nCongress of the United States of the 9th of September last is in full\nforce and operation.\n\n[SEAL.]\n\nGiven under my hand, at the city of Washington, this 13th day of\nDecember, A.D. 1850, and the seventy-fifth of the Independence of these\nUnited States.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\nBy the President:\n  DANL. WEBSTER,\n    _Secretary of State_.\n\n\n\nBY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.\n\nA PROCLAMATION.\n\n\nWhereas information has been received that sundry lawless persons,\nprincipally persons of color, combined and confederated together for the\npurpose of opposing by force the execution of the laws of the United\nStates, did, at Boston, in Massachusetts, on the 15th of this month,\nmake a violent assault on the marshal or deputy marshals of the United\nStates for the district of Massachusetts, in the court-house, and did\novercome the said officers, and did by force rescue from their custody\na person arrested as a fugitive slave, and then and there a prisoner\nlawfully holden by the said marshal or deputy marshals of the United\nStates, and other scandalous outrages did commit in violation of law:\n\nNow, therefore, to the end that the authority of the laws may be\nmaintained and those concerned in violating them brought to immediate\nand condign punishment, I have issued this my proclamation, calling on\nall well-disposed citizens to rally to the support of the laws of their\ncountry, and requiring and commanding all officers, civil and military,\nand all other persons, civil or military, who shall be found within the\nvicinity of this outrage, to be aiding and assisting by all means in\ntheir power in quelling this and other such combinations and assisting\nthe marshal and his deputies in recapturing the above-mentioned\nprisoner; and I do especially direct that prosecutions be commenced\nagainst all persons who shall have made themselves aiders or abettors\nin or to this flagitious offense; and I do further command that the\ndistrict attorney of the United States and all other persons concerned\nin the administration or execution of the laws of the United States\ncause the foregoing offenders and all such as aided, abetted, or\nassisted them or shall be found to have harbored or concealed such\nfugitive contrary to law to be immediately arrested and proceeded with\naccording to law.\n\nGiven under my hand and the seal of the United States this 18th day of\nFebruary, 1851.\n\n[SEAL.]\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\nDANL. WEBSTER,\n  _Secretary of State_.\n\n\n\n\n[From Executive Journal of the Senate, Vol. VIII, p. 299.]\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 3, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senators of the United States, respectively_.\n\nSIR: Whereas divers and weighty causes connected with executive business\nnecessary to be transacted create an extraordinary occasion requiring\nthat the Senate be convened, you are therefore requested, as a member of\nthat body, to attend a meeting thereof to be holden at the Capitol, in\nthe city of Washington, on the 4th day of March instant.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\n\nSPECIAL MESSAGES.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 4, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nSundry nominations having been made during the last session of the\nSenate which were not finally disposed of, I hereby nominate anew each\nperson so nominated at the last session whose nomination was not finally\nacted on before the termination of that session to the same office for\nwhich he was nominated as aforesaid.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 10, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit herewith a report of the Secretary of State, with the\naccompanying documents,[12] in compliance with the resolution of the\nSenate of the 8th instant.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 12: Correspondence with the United States minister at\nConstantinople respecting the liberation of Kossuth and his companions.]\n\n\n\n\nPROCLAMATIONS.\n\n\nBY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.\n\nA PROCLAMATION.\n\n\nWhereas there is reason to believe that a military expedition is about\nto be fitted out in the United States with intention to invade the\nisland of Cuba, a colony of Spain, with which this country is at\npeace; and\n\nWhereas it is believed that this expedition is instigated and set on\nfoot chiefly by foreigners who dare to make our shores the scene of\ntheir guilty and hostile preparations against a friendly power and\nseek by falsehood and misrepresentation to seduce our own citizens,\nespecially the young and inconsiderate, into their wicked schemes--an\nungrateful return for the benefits conferred upon them by this people\nin permitting them to make our country an asylum from oppression and\nin flagrant abuse of the hospitality thus extended to them; and\n\nWhereas such expeditions can only be regarded as adventures for plunder\nand robbery, and must meet the condemnation of the civilized world,\nwhilst they are derogatory to the character of our country, in violation\nof the laws of nations, and expressly prohibited by our own. Our\nstatutes declare \"that if any person shall, within the territory or\njurisdiction of the United States, begin or set on foot or provide or\nprepare the means for any military expedition or enterprise to be\ncarried on from thence against the territory or dominions of any foreign\nprince or state or of any colony, district, or people with whom the\nUnited States are at peace, every person so offending shall be deemed\nguilty of a high misdemeanor and shall be fined not exceeding $3,000 and\nimprisoned not more than three years:\"\n\nNow, therefore, I have issued this my proclamation, warning all persons\nwho shall connect themselves with any such enterprise or expedition in\nviolation of our laws and national obligations that they will thereby\nsubject themselves to the heavy penalties denounced against such\noffenses and will forfeit their claim to the protection of this\nGovernment or any interference on their behalf, no matter to what\nextremities they may be reduced in consequence of their illegal conduct.\nAnd therefore I exhort all good citizens, as they regard our national\nreputation, as they respect their own laws and the laws of nations, as\nthey value the blessings of peace and the welfare of their country, to\ndiscountenance and by all lawful means prevent any such enterprise; and\nI call upon every officer of this Government, civil or military, to use\nall efforts in his power to arrest for trial and punishment every such\noffender against the laws of the country.\n\nGiven under my hand the 25th day of April, A.D. 1851, and the\nseventy-fifth of the Independence of the United States.\n\n[SEAL.]\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\nBy the President:\n  W.S. DERRICK,\n    _Acting Secretary of State_.\n\n\n\n\nBY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.\n\nA PROCLAMATION.\n\n\nWhereas there is reason to believe that a military expedition is about\nto be fitted out in the United States for the purpose of invading the\nMexican Republic, with which this country is at peace; and\n\nWhereas there is reason to apprehend that a portion of the people of\nthis country, regardless of their duties as good citizens, are concerned\nin or may be seduced to take part in the same; and\n\nWhereas such enterprises tend to degrade the character of the United\nStates in the opinion of the civilized world and are expressly\nprohibited by law:\n\nNow, therefore, I have issued this my proclamation, warning all persons\nwho shall connect themselves with any such enterprise in violation of\nthe laws and national obligations of the United States that they will\nthereby subject themselves to the heavy penalties denounced against such\noffenses; that if they should be captured within the jurisdiction of the\nMexican authorities they must expect to be tried and punished according\nto the laws of Mexico and will have no right to claim the interposition\nof this Government in their behalf.\n\nI therefore exhort all well-disposed citizens who have at heart the\nreputation of their country and are animated with a just regard for its\nlaws, its peace, and its welfare to discountenance and by all lawful\nmeans prevent any such enterprise; and I call upon every officer of this\nGovernment, civil or military, to be vigilant in arresting for trial and\npunishment every such offender.\n\nGiven under my hand the 22d day of October, A.D. 1851, and the\nseventy-sixth of the Independence of the United States.\n\n[SEAL.]\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\nBy the President:\n  J.J. CRITTENDEN,\n    _Acting Secretary of State_.\n\n\n\n\nSECOND ANNUAL MESSAGE.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 2, 1851_.\n\n_Fellow-Citizens of the Senate and of the House of Representatives_:\n\nI congratulate you and our common constituency upon the favorable\nauspices under which you meet for your first session. Our country is\nat peace with all the world. The agitation which for a time threatened\nto disturb the fraternal relations which make us one people is fast\nsubsiding, and a year of general prosperity and health has crowned the\nnation with unusual blessings. None can look back to the dangers which\nare passed or forward to the bright prospect before us without feeling a\nthrill of gratification, at the same time that he must be impressed with\na grateful sense of our profound obligations to a beneficent Providence,\nwhose paternal care is so manifest in the happiness of this highly\nfavored land.\n\nSince the close of the last Congress certain Cubans and other foreigners\nresident in the United States, who were more or less concerned in the\nprevious invasion of Cuba, instead of being discouraged by its failure\nhave again abused the hospitality of this country by making it the scene\nof the equipment of another military expedition against that possession\nof Her Catholic Majesty, in which they were countenanced, aided, and\njoined by citizens of the United States. On receiving intelligence\nthat such designs were entertained, I lost no time in issuing such\ninstructions to the proper officers of the United States as seemed to\nbe called for by the occasion. By the proclamation a copy of which\nis herewith submitted I also warned those who might be in danger of\nbeing inveigled into this scheme of its unlawful character and of the\npenalties which they would incur. For some time there was reason to hope\nthat these measures had sufficed to prevent any such attempt. This hope,\nhowever, proved to be delusive. Very early in the morning of the 3d of\nAugust a steamer called the _Pampero_ departed from New Orleans for\nCuba, having on board upward of 400 armed men with evident intentions\nto make war upon the authorities of the island. This expedition was\nset on foot in palpable violation of the laws of the United States.\nIts leader was a Spaniard, and several of the chief officers and some\nothers engaged in it were foreigners. The persons composing it, however,\nwere mostly citizens of the United States.\n\nBefore the expedition set out, and probably before it was organized,\na slight insurrectionary movement, which appears to have been soon\nsuppressed, had taken place in the eastern quarter of Cuba. The\nimportance of this movement was, unfortunately, so much exaggerated in\nthe accounts of it published in this country that these adventurers seem\nto have been led to believe that the Creole population of the island not\nonly desired to throw off the authority of the mother country, but had\nresolved upon that step and had begun a well-concerted enterprise for\neffecting it. The persons engaged in the expedition were generally young\nand ill informed. The steamer in which they embarked left New Orleans\nStealthily and without a clearance. After touching at Key West, she\nproceeded to the coast of Cuba, and on the night between the 11th and\n12th of August landed the persons on board at Playtas, within about 20\nleagues of Havana.\n\nThe main body of them proceeded to and took possession of an inland\nvillage 6 leagues distant, leaving others to follow in charge of the\nbaggage as soon as the means of transportation could be obtained. The\nlatter, having taken up their line of march to connect themselves with\nthe main body, and having proceeded about 4 leagues into the country,\nwere attacked on the morning of the 13th by a body of Spanish troops,\nand a bloody conflict ensued, after which they retreated to the place of\ndisembarkation, where about 50 of them obtained boats and reembarked\ntherein. They were, however, intercepted among the keys near the shore\nby a Spanish steamer cruising on the coast, captured and carried to\nHavana, and after being examined before a military court were sentenced\nto be publicly executed, and the sentence was carried into effect on the\n16th of August.\n\nOn receiving information of what had occurred Commodore Foxhall A.\nParker was instructed to proceed in the steam frigate _Saranac_ to\nHavana and inquire into the charges against the persons executed, the\ncircumstances under which they were taken, and whatsoever referred to\ntheir trial and sentence. Copies of the instructions from the Department\nof State to him and of his letters to that Department are herewith\nsubmitted.\n\nAccording to the record of the examination, the prisoners all admitted\nthe offenses charged against them, of being hostile invaders of the\nisland. At the time of their trial and execution the main body of the\ninvaders was still in the field making war upon the Spanish authorities\nand Spanish subjects. After the lapse of some days, being overcome by\nthe Spanish troops, they dispersed on the 24th of August. Lopez, their\nleader, was captured some days after, and executed on the 1st of\nSeptember. Many of his remaining followers were killed or died of hunger\nand fatigue, and the rest were made prisoners. Of these none appear\nto have been tried or executed. Several of them were pardoned upon\napplication of their friends and others, and the rest, about 160 in\nnumber, were sent to Spain. Of the final disposition made of these we\nhave no official information.\n\nSuch is the melancholy result of this illegal and ill-fated expedition.\nThus thoughtless young men have been induced by false and fraudulent\nrepresentations to violate the law of their country through rash and\nunfounded expectations of assisting to accomplish political revolutions\nin other states, and have lost their lives in the undertaking. Too\nsevere a judgment can hardly be passed by the indignant sense of the\ncommunity upon those who, being better informed themselves, have yet led\naway the ardor of youth and an ill-directed love of political liberty.\nThe correspondence between this Government and that of Spain relating\nto this transaction is herewith communicated.\n\nAlthough these offenders against the laws have forfeited the protection\nof their country, yet the Government may, so far as consistent with its\nobligations to other countries and its fixed purpose to maintain and\nenforce the laws, entertain sympathy for their unoffending families and\nfriends, as well as a feeling of compassion for themselves. Accordingly,\nno proper effort has been spared and none will be spared to procure the\nrelease of such citizens of the United States engaged in this unlawful\nenterprise as are now in confinement in Spain; but it is to be hoped\nthat such interposition with the Government of that country may not be\nconsidered as affording any ground of expectation that the Government of\nthe United States will hereafter feel itself under any obligation of\nduty to intercede for the liberation or pardon of such persons as are\nflagrant offenders against the law of nations and the laws of the United\nStates. These laws must be executed. If we desire to maintain our\nrespectability among the nations of the earth, it behooves us to enforce\nsteadily and sternly the neutrality acts passed by Congress and to\nfollow as far as may be the violation of those acts with condign\npunishment.\n\nBut what gives a peculiar criminality to this invasion of Cuba is that,\nunder the lead of Spanish subjects and with the aid of citizens of the\nUnited States, it had its origin with many in motives of cupidity. Money\nwas advanced by individuals, probably in considerable amounts, to\npurchase Cuban bonds, as they have been called, issued by Lopez, sold,\ndoubtless, at a very large discount, and for the payment of which the\npublic lands and public property of Cuba, of whatever kind, and the\nfiscal resources of the people and government of that island, from\nwhatever source to be derived, were pledged, as well as the good faith\nof the government expected to be established. All these means of\npayment, it is evident, were only to be obtained by a process of\nbloodshed, war, and revolution. None will deny that those who set on\nfoot military expeditions against foreign states by means like these\nare far more culpable than the ignorant and the necessitous whom they\ninduce to go forth as the ostensible parties in the proceeding. These\noriginators of the invasion of Cuba seem to have determined with\ncoolness and system upon an undertaking which should disgrace their\ncountry, violate its laws, and put to hazard the lives of ill-informed\nand deluded men. You will consider whether further legislation be\nnecessary to prevent the perpetration of such offenses in future.\n\nNo individuals have a right to hazard the peace of the country or to\nviolate its laws upon vague notions of altering or reforming governments\nin other states. This principle is not only reasonable in itself and in\naccordance with public law, but is ingrafted into the codes of other\nnations as well as our own. But while such are the sentiments of this\nGovernment, it may be added that every independent nation must be\npresumed to be able to defend its possessions against unauthorized\nindividuals banded together to attack them. The Government of the United\nStates at all times since its establishment has abstained and has sought\nto restrain the citizens of the country from entering into controversies\nbetween other powers, and to observe all the duties of neutrality. At an\nearly period of the Government, in the Administration of Washington,\nseveral laws were passed for this purpose. The main provisions of these\nlaws were reenacted by the act of April, 1818, by which, amongst other\nthings, it was declared that--\n\n  If any person shall, within the territory or jurisdiction of the United\n  States, begin, or set on foot, or provide or prepare the means for, any\n  military expedition or enterprise to be carried on from thence against\n  the territory or dominions of any foreign prince or state, or of any\n  colony, district, or people, with whom the United States are at peace,\n  every person so offending shall be deemed guilty of a high misdemeanor,\n  and shall be fined not exceeding $3,000 and imprisoned not more than\n  three years.\n\n\nAnd this law has been executed and enforced to the full extent of the\npower of the Government from that day to this.\n\nIn proclaiming and adhering to the doctrine of neutrality and\nnonintervention, the United States have not followed the lead of other\ncivilized nations; they have taken the lead themselves and have been\nfollowed by others. This was admitted by one of the most eminent of\nmodern British statesmen, who said in Parliament, while a minister of\nthe Crown, \"that if he wished for a guide in a system of neutrality he\nshould take that laid down by America in the days of Washington and the\nsecretaryship of Jefferson;\" and we see, in fact, that the act of\nCongress of 1818 was followed the succeeding year by an act of the\nParliament of England substantially the same in its general provisions.\nUp to that time there had been no similar law in England, except certain\nhighly penal statutes passed in the reign of George II, prohibiting\nEnglish subjects from enlisting in foreign service, the avowed object\nof which statutes was that foreign armies, raised for the purpose of\nrestoring the house of Stuart to the throne, should not be strengthened\nby recruits from England herself.\n\nAll must see that difficulties may arise in carrying the laws referred\nto into execution in a country now having 3,000 or 4,000 miles of\nseacoast, with an infinite number of ports and harbors and small inlets,\nfrom some of which unlawful expeditions may suddenly set forth, without\nthe knowledge of Government, against the possessions of foreign states.\n\n\"Friendly relations with all, but entangling alliances with none,\" has\nlong been a maxim with us. Our true mission is not to propagate our\nopinions or impose upon other countries our form of government by\nartifice or force, but to teach by example and show by our success,\nmoderation, and justice the blessings of self-government and the\nadvantages of free institutions. Let every people choose for itself and\nmake and alter its political institutions to suit its own condition\nand convenience. But while we avow and maintain this neutral policy\nourselves, we are anxious to see the same forbearance on the part of\nother nations whose forms of government are different from our own. The\ndeep interest which we feel in the spread of liberal principles and the\nestablishment of free governments and the sympathy with which we witness\nevery struggle against oppression forbid that we should be indifferent\nto a case in which the strong arm of a foreign power is invoked to\nstifle public sentiment and repress the spirit of freedom in any\ncountry.\n\nThe Governments of Great Britain and France have issued orders to their\nnaval commanders on the West India station to prevent, by force if\nnecessary, the landing of adventurers from any nation on the island of\nCuba with hostile intent. The copy of a memorandum of a conversation on\nthis subject between the charge d'affaires of Her Britannic Majesty and\nthe Acting Secretary of State and of a subsequent note of the former to\nthe Department of State are herewith submitted, together with a copy of\na note of the Acting Secretary of State to the minister of the French\nRepublic and of the reply of the latter on the same subject. These\npapers will acquaint you with the grounds of this interposition of two\nleading commercial powers of Europe, and with the apprehensions, which\nthis Government could not fail to entertain, that such interposition, if\ncarried into effect, might lead to abuses in derogation of the maritime\nrights of the United States. The maritime rights of the United States\nare founded on a firm, secure, and well-defined basis; they stand\nupon the ground of national independence and public law, and will be\nmaintained in all their full and just extent. The principle which this\nGovernment has heretofore solemnly announced it still adheres to, and\nwill maintain under all circumstances and at all hazards. That principle\nis that in every regularly documented merchant vessel the crew who\nnavigate it and those on board of it will find their protection in the\nflag which is over them. No American ship can be allowed to be visited\nor searched for the purpose of ascertaining the character of individuals\non board, nor can there be allowed any watch by the vessels of any\nforeign nation over American vessels on the coast of the United States\nor the seas adjacent thereto. It will be seen by the last communication\nfrom the British charge d'affaires to the Department of State that he\nis authorized to assure the Secretary of State that every care will be\ntaken that in executing the preventive measures against the expeditions\nwhich the United States Government itself has denounced as not being\nentitled to the protection of any government no interference shall take\nplace with the lawful commerce of any nation.\n\nIn addition to the correspondence on this subject herewith submitted,\nofficial information has been received at the Department of State of\nassurances by the French Government that in the orders given to the\nFrench naval forces they were expressly instructed, in any operations\nthey might engage in, to respect the flag of the United States wherever\nit might appear, and to commit no act of hostility upon any vessel or\narmament under its protection.\n\nMinisters and consuls of foreign nations are the means and agents of\ncommunication between us and those nations, and it is of the utmost\nimportance that while residing in the country they should feel a perfect\nsecurity so long as they faithfully discharge their respective duties\nand are guilty of no violation of our laws. This is the admitted law of\nnations and no country has a deeper interest in maintaining it than the\nUnited States. Our commerce spreads over every sea and visits every\nclime, and our ministers and consuls are appointed to protect the\ninterests of that commerce as well as to guard the peace of the country\nand maintain the honor of its flag. But how can they discharge these\nduties unless they be themselves protected? And if protected it must be\nby the laws of the country in which they reside. And what is due to our\nown public functionaries residing in foreign nations is exactly the\nmeasure of what is due to the functionaries of other governments\nresiding here. As in war the bearers of flags of truce are sacred,\nor else wars would be interminable, so in peace ambassadors, public\nministers, and consuls, charged with friendly national intercourse,\nare objects of especial respect and protection, each according to the\nrights belonging to his rank and station. In view of these important\nprinciples, it is with deep mortification and regret I announce to you\nthat during the excitement growing out of the executions at Havana the\noffice of Her Catholic Majesty's consul at New Orleans was assailed by\na mob, his property destroyed, the Spanish flag found in the office\ncarried off and torn in pieces, and he himself induced to flee for\nhis personal safety, which he supposed to be in danger. On receiving\nintelligence of these events I forthwith directed the attorney of the\nUnited States residing at New Orleans to inquire into the facts and the\nextent of the pecuniary loss sustained by the consul, with the intention\nof laying them before you, that you might make provision for such\nindemnity to him as a just regard for the honor of the nation and the\nrespect which is due to a friendly power might, in your judgment, seem\nto require. The correspondence upon this subject between the Secretary\nof State and Her Catholic Majesty's minister plenipotentiary is herewith\ntransmitted.\n\nThe occurrence at New Orleans has led me to give my attention to the\nstate of our laws in regard to foreign ambassadors, ministers, and\nconsuls. I think the legislation of the country is deficient in not\nproviding sufficiently either for the protection or the punishment of\nconsuls. I therefore recommend the subject to the consideration of\nCongress.\n\nYour attention is again invited to the question of reciprocal trade\nbetween the United States and Canada and other British possessions near\nour frontier. Overtures for a convention upon this subject have been\nreceived from Her Britannic Majesty's minister plenipotentiary, but\nit seems to be in many respects preferable that the matter should be\nregulated by reciprocal legislation. Documents are laid before you\nshowing the terms which the British Government is willing to offer and\nthe measures which it may adopt if some arrangement upon this subject\nshall not be made.\n\nFrom the accompanying copy of a note from the British legation at\nWashington and the reply of the Department of State thereto it will\nappear that Her Britannic Majesty's Government is desirous that a part\nof the boundary line between Oregon and the British possessions should\nbe authoritatively marked out, and that an intention was expressed to\napply to Congress for an appropriation to defray the expense thereof\non the part of the United States. Your attention to this subject is\naccordingly invited and a proper appropriation recommended.\n\nA convention for the adjustment of claims of citizens of the United\nStates against Portugal has been concluded and the ratifications have\nbeen exchanged. The first installment of the amount to be paid by\nPortugal fell due on the 30th of September last and has been paid.\n\nThe President of the French Republic, according to the provisions of the\nconvention, has been selected as arbiter in the case of the _General\nArmstrong_, and has signified that he accepts the trust and the high\nsatisfaction he feels in acting as the common friend of two nations with\nwhich France is united by sentiments of sincere and lasting amity.\n\nThe Turkish Government has expressed its thanks for the kind reception\ngiven to the Sultan's agent, Amin Bey, on the occasion of his recent\nvisit to the United States. On the 28th of February last a dispatch was\naddressed by the Secretary of State to Mr. Marsh, the American minister\nat Constantinople, instructing him to ask of the Turkish Government\npermission for the Hungarians then imprisoned within the dominions of\nthe Sublime Porte to remove to this country. On the 3d of March last\nboth Houses of Congress passed a resolution requesting the President to\nauthorize the employment of a public vessel to convey to this country\nLouis Kossuth and his associates in captivity.\n\nThe instruction above referred to was complied with, and the Turkish\nGovernment having released Governor Kossuth and his companions from\nprison, on the 10th of September last they embarked on board of the\nUnited States steam frigate _Mississippi_, which was selected to carry\ninto effect the resolution of Congress. Governor Kossuth left the\n_Mississippi_ at Gibraltar for the purpose of making a visit to England,\nand may shortly be expected in New York. By communications to the\nDepartment of State he has expressed his grateful acknowledgments for\nthe interposition of this Government in behalf of himself and his\nassociates. This country has been justly regarded as a safe asylum for\nthose whom political events have exiled from their own homes in Europe,\nand it is recommended to Congress to consider in what manner Governor\nKossuth and his companions, brought hither by its authority, shall be\nreceived and treated.\n\nIt is earnestly to be hoped that the differences which have for some\ntime past been pending between the Government of the French Republic and\nthat of the Sandwich Islands may be peaceably and durably adjusted so\nas to secure the independence of those islands. Long before the events\nwhich have of late imparted so much importance to the possessions of the\nUnited States on the Pacific we acknowledged the independence of the\nHawaiian Government. This Government was first in taking that step, and\nseveral of the leading powers of Europe immediately followed. We were\ninfluenced in this measure by the existing and prospective importance of\nthe islands as a place of refuge and refreshment for our vessels engaged\nin the whale fishery, and by the consideration that they lie in the\ncourse of the great trade which must at no distant day be carried on\nbetween the western coast of North America and eastern Asia.\n\nWe were also influenced by a desire that those islands should not pass\nunder the control of any other great maritime state, but should remain\nin an independent condition, and so be accessible and useful to the\ncommerce of all nations. I need not say that the importance of these\nconsiderations has been greatly enhanced by the sudden and vast\ndevelopment which the interests of the United States have attained in\nCalifornia and Oregon, and the policy heretofore adopted in regard to\nthose islands will be steadily pursued.\n\nIt is gratifying, not only to those who consider the commercial interests\nof nations, but also to all who favor the progress of knowledge and the\ndiffusion of religion, to see a community emerge from a savage state and\nattain such a degree of civilization in those distant seas.\n\nIt is much to be deplored that the internal tranquillity of the Mexican\nRepublic should again be seriously disturbed, for since the peace\nbetween that Republic and the United States it had enjoyed such\ncomparative repose that the most favorable anticipations for the future\nmight with a degree of confidence have been indulged. These, however,\nhave been thwarted by the recent outbreak in the State of Tamaulipas,\non the right bank of the Rio Bravo. Having received information that\npersons from the United States had taken part in the insurrection,\nand apprehending that their example might be followed by others, I\ncaused orders to be issued for the purpose of preventing any hostile\nexpeditions against Mexico from being set on foot in violation of the\nlaws of the United States. I likewise issued a proclamation upon the\nsubject, a copy of which is herewith laid before you. This appeared to\nbe rendered imperative by the obligations of treaties and the general\nduties of good neighborhood.\n\nIn my last annual message I informed Congress that citizens of the\nUnited States had undertaken the connection of the two oceans by means\nof a railroad across the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, under a grant of\nthe Mexican Government to a citizen of that Republic, and that this\nenterprise would probably be prosecuted with energy whenever Mexico\nshould consent to such stipulations with the Government of the United\nStates as should impart a feeling of security to those who should invest\ntheir property in the enterprise.\n\nA convention between the two Governments for the accomplishment of that\nend has been ratified by this Government, and only awaits the decision\nof the Congress and the Executive of that Republic.\n\nSome unexpected difficulties and delays have arisen in the ratification\nof that convention by Mexico, but it is to be presumed that her decision\nwill be governed by just and enlightened views, as well of the general\nimportance of the object as of her own interests and obligations.\n\nIn negotiating upon this important subject this Government has had\nin view one, and only one, object. That object has been, and is,\nthe construction or attainment of a passage from ocean to ocean, the\nshortest and the best for travelers and merchandise, and equally open to\nall the world. It has sought to obtain no territorial acquisition, nor\nany advantages peculiar to itself; and it would see with the greatest\nregret that Mexico should oppose any obstacle to the accomplishment of\nan enterprise which promises so much convenience to the whole commercial\nworld and such eminent advantages to Mexico herself. Impressed with\nthese sentiments and these convictions, the Government will continue to\nexert all proper efforts to bring about the necessary arrangement with\nthe Republic of Mexico for the speedy completion of the work.\n\nFor some months past the Republic of Nicaragua has been the theater of\none of those civil convulsions from which the cause of free institutions\nand the general prosperity and social progress of the States of Central\nAmerica have so often and so severely suffered. Until quiet shall have\nbeen restored and a government apparently stable shall have been\norganized, no advance can prudently be made in disposing of the\nquestions pending between the two countries.\n\nI am happy to announce that an interoceanic communication from the\nmouth of the St. John to the Pacific has been so far accomplished as\nthat passengers have actually traversed it and merchandise has been\ntransported over it, and when the canal shall have been completed\naccording to the original plan the means of communication will be\nfurther improved. It is understood that a considerable part of the\nrailroad across the Isthmus of Panama has been completed, and that\nthe mail and passengers will in future be conveyed thereon.\n\nWhichever of the several routes between the two oceans may ultimately\nprove most eligible for travelers to and from the different States on\nthe Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico and our coast on the Pacific, there is\nlittle reason to doubt that all of them will be useful to the public,\nand will liberally reward that individual enterprise by which alone they\nhave been or are expected to be carried into effect.\n\nPeace has been concluded between the contending parties in the island of\nSt. Domingo, and, it is hoped, upon a durable basis. Such is the extent\nof our commercial relations with that island that the United States can\nnot fail to feel a strong interest in its tranquillity.\n\nThe office of commissioner to China remains unfilled. Several persons\nhave been appointed, and the place has been offered to others, all of\nwhom have declined its acceptance on the ground of the inadequacy of the\ncompensation. The annual allowance by law is $6,000, and there is no\nprovision for any outfit. I earnestly recommend the consideration of\nthis subject to Congress. Our commerce with China is highly important,\nand is becoming more and more so in consequence of the increasing\nintercourse between our ports on the Pacific Coast and eastern Asia.\nChina is understood to be a country in which living is very expensive,\nand I know of no reason why the American commissioner sent thither\nshould not be placed, in regard to compensation, on an equal footing\nwith ministers who represent this country at the Courts of Europe.\n\nBy reference to the report of the Secretary of the Treasury it will be\nseen that the aggregate receipts for the last fiscal year amounted to\n$52,312,979.87, which, with the balance in the Treasury on the 1st July,\n1850, gave as the available means for the year the sum of\n$58,917,524.36.\n\nThe total expenditures for the same period were $48,005,878.68. The\ntotal imports for the year ending June 30, 1851, were $215,725,995,\nof which there were in specie $4,967,901. The exports for the same\nperiod were $217,517,130, of which there were of domestic products\n$178,546,555; foreign goods reexported, $9,738,695; specie, $29,231,880.\n\nSince the 1st of December last the payments in cash on account of the\npublic debt, exclusive of interest, have amounted to $7,501,456.56,\nwhich, however, includes the sum of $3,242,400, paid under the twelfth\narticle of the treaty with Mexico, and the further sum of $2,591,213.45,\nbeing the amount of awards to American citizens under the late treaty\nwith Mexico, for which the issue of stock was authorized, but which was\npaid in cash from the Treasury.\n\nThe public debt on the 20th ultimo, exclusive of the stock authorized\nto be issued to Texas by the act of 9th September, 1850, was\n$62,560,395.26.\n\nThe receipts for the next fiscal year are estimated at $51,800,000,\nwhich, with the probable unappropriated balance in the Treasury on the\n30th June next, will give as the probable available means for that year\nthe sum of $63,258,743.09.\n\nIt has been deemed proper, in view of the large expenditures consequent\nupon the acquisition of territory from Mexico, that the estimates for\nthe next fiscal year should be laid before Congress in such manner as\nto distinguish the expenditures so required from the otherwise ordinary\ndemands upon the Treasury.\n\nThe total expenditures for the next fiscal year are estimated at\n$42,892,299.19, of which there is required for the ordinary purposes of\nthe Government, other than those consequent upon the acquisition of our\nnew territories, and deducting the payments on account of the public\ndebt, the sum of $33,343,198.08, and for the purposes connected,\ndirectly or indirectly, with those territories and in the fulfillment of\nthe obligations of the Government contracted in consequence of their\nacquisition the sum of $9,549,101.11.\n\nIf the views of the Secretary of the Treasury in reference to the\nexpenditures required for these territories shall be met by\ncorresponding action on the part of Congress, and appropriations made in\naccordance therewith, there will be an estimated unappropriated balance\nin the Treasury on the 30th June, 1853, of $20,366,443.90 wherewith to\nmeet that portion of the public debt due on the 1st of July following,\namounting to $6,237,931.35, as well as any appropriations which may be\nmade beyond the estimates.\n\nIn thus referring to the estimated expenditures on account of our newly\nacquired territories, I may express the hope that Congress will concur\nwith me in the desire that a liberal course of policy may be pursued\ntoward them, and that every obligation, express or implied, entered into\nin consequence of their acquisition shall be fulfilled by the most\nliberal appropriations for that purpose.\n\nThe values of our domestic exports for the last fiscal year, as compared\nwith those of the previous year, exhibit an increase of $43,646,322. At\nfirst view this condition of our trade with foreign nations would seem\nto present the most flattering hopes of its future prosperity. An\nexamination of the details of our exports, however, will show that the\nincreased value of our exports for the last fiscal year is to be found\nin the high price of cotton which prevailed during the first half of\nthat year, which price has since declined about one-half.\n\nThe value of our exports of breadstuffs and provisions, which it was\nsupposed the incentive of a low tariff and large importations from\nabroad would have greatly augmented, has fallen from $68,701,921 in\n1847 to $26,051,373 in 1850 and to $21,948,653 in 1851, with a strong\nprobability, amounting almost to a certainty, of a still further\nreduction in the current year.\n\nThe aggregate values of rice exported during the last fiscal year, as\ncompared with the previous year, also exhibit a decrease, amounting to\n$460,917, which, with a decline in the values of the exports of tobacco\nfor the same period, make an aggregate decrease in these two articles of\n$1,156,751.\n\nThe policy which dictated a low rate of duties on foreign merchandise,\nit was thought by those who promoted and established it, would tend to\nbenefit the farming population of this country by increasing the demand\nand raising the price of agricultural products in foreign markets.\n\nThe foregoing facts, however, seem to show incontestably that no such\nresult has followed the adoption of this policy. On the contrary,\nnotwithstanding the repeal of the restrictive corn laws in England, the\nforeign demand for the products of the American farmer has steadily\ndeclined, since the short crops and consequent famine in a portion\nof Europe have been happily replaced by full crops and comparative\nabundance of food.\n\nIt will be seen by recurring to the commercial statistics for the past\nyear that the value of our domestic exports has been increased in the\nsingle item of raw cotton by $40,000,000 over the value of that export\nfor the year preceding. This is not due to any increased general demand\nfor that article, but to the short crop of the preceding year, which\ncreated an increased demand and an augmented price for the crop of last\nyear. Should the cotton crop now going forward to market be only equal\nin quantity to that of the year preceding and be sold at the present\nprices, then there would be a falling off in the value of our exports\nfor the present fiscal year of at least $40,000,000 compared with the\namount exported for the year ending 30th June, 1851.\n\nThe production of gold in California for the past year seems to promise\na large supply of that metal from that quarter for some time to come.\nThis large annual increase of the currency of the world must be attended\nwith its usual results. These have been already partially disclosed\nin the enhancement of prices and a rising spirit of speculation and\nadventure, tending to overtrading, as well at home as abroad. Unless\nsome salutary check shall be given to these tendencies it is to be\nfeared that importations of foreign goods beyond a healthy demand in\nthis country will lead to a sudden drain of the precious metals from us,\nbringing with it, as it has done in former times, the most disastrous\nconsequences to the business and capital of the American people.\n\nThe exports of specie to liquidate our foreign debt during the past\nfiscal year have been $24,263,979 over the amount of specie imported.\nThe exports of specie during the first quarter of the present fiscal\nyear have been $14,651,827. Should specie continue to be exported at\nthis rate for the remaining three quarters of this year, it will drain\nfrom our metallic currency during the year ending 30th June, 1852, the\nenormous amount of $58,607,308.\n\nIn the present prosperous condition of the national finances it will\nbecome the duty of Congress to consider the best mode of paying off the\npublic debt. If the present and anticipated surplus in the Treasury\nshould not be absorbed by appropriations of an extraordinary character,\nthis surplus should be employed in such way and under such restrictions\nas Congress may enact in extinguishing the outstanding debt of the\nnation.\n\nBy reference to the act of Congress approved 9th September, 1850, it\nwill be seen that, in consideration of certain concessions by the State\nof Texas, it is provided that--\n\n  The United States shall pay to the State of Texas the sum of $10,000,000\n  in a stock bearing 5 per cent interest and redeemable at the end of\n  fourteen years, the interest payable half-yearly at the Treasury of\n  the United States.\n\nIn the same section of the law it is further provided--\n\n  That no more than five millions of said stock shall be issued until the\n  creditors of the State holding bonds and other certificates of stock of\n  Texas, _for which duties on imports were specially_ pledged, shall first\n  file at the Treasury of the United States releases of all claims against\n  the United States for or on account of said bonds or certificates, in\n  such form as shall be prescribed by the Secretary of the Treasury and\n  approved by the President of the United States.\n\nThe form of release thus provided for has been prescribed by the\nSecretary of the Treasury and approved. It has been published in all\nthe leading newspapers in the commercial cities of the United States,\nand all persons holding claims of the kind specified in the foregoing\nproviso were required to file their releases (in the form thus\nprescribed) in the Treasury of the United States on or before the 1st\nday of October, 1851. Although this publication has been continued\nfrom the 25th day of March, 1851, yet up to the 1st of October last\ncomparatively few releases had been filed by the creditors of Texas.\n\nThe authorities of the State of Texas, at the request of the Secretary\nof the Treasury, have furnished a schedule of the public debt of that\nState created prior to her admission into the Union, with a copy of the\nlaws under which each class was contracted.\n\nI have, from the documents furnished by the State of Texas, determined\nthe classes of claims which in my judgment fall within the provisions of\nthe act of Congress of the 9th of September, 1850.\n\nOn being officially informed of the acceptance by Texas of the\npropositions contained in the act referred to I caused the stock to be\nprepared, and the five millions which are to be issued unconditionally,\nbearing an interest of 5 per cent from the 1st day of January, 1851,\nhave been for some time ready to be delivered to the State of Texas. The\nauthorities of Texas up to the present time have not authorized anyone\nto receive this stock, and it remains in the Treasury Department subject\nto the order of Texas.\n\nThe releases required by law to be deposited in the Treasury not having\nbeen filed there, the remaining five millions have not been issued.\nThis last amount of the stock will be withheld from Texas until the\nconditions upon which it is to be delivered shall be complied with by\nthe creditors of that State, unless Congress shall otherwise direct by\na modification of the law.\n\nIn my last annual message, to which I respectfully refer, I stated\nbriefly the reasons which induced me to recommend a modification of\nthe present tariff by converting the _ad valorem_ into a specific duty\nwherever the article imported was of such a character as to permit it,\nand that such a discrimination should be made in favor of the industrial\npursuits of our own country as to encourage home production without\nexcluding foreign competition.\n\nThe numerous frauds which continue to be practiced upon the revenue by\nfalse invoices and undervaluations constitute an unanswerable reason for\nadopting specific instead of _ad valorem_ duties in all cases where the\nnature of the commodity does not forbid it. A striking illustration of\nthese frauds will be exhibited in the report of the Secretary of the\nTreasury, showing the custom-house valuation of articles imported under\na former law, subject to specific duties, when there was no inducement\nto undervaluation, and the custom-house valuations of the same articles\nunder the present system of _ad valorem_ duties, so greatly reduced\nas to leave no doubt of the existence of the most flagrant abuses under\nthe existing laws. This practical evasion of the present law, combined\nwith the languishing condition of some of the great interests of the\ncountry, caused by overimportations and consequent depressed prices,\nand with the failure in obtaining a foreign market for our increasing\nsurplus of breadstuffs and provisions, has induced me again to recommend\na modification of the existing tariff.\n\nThe report of the Secretary of the Interior, which accompanies this\ncommunication, will present a condensed statement of the operations\nof that important Department of the Government.\n\nIt will be seen that the cash sales of the public lands exceed those\nof the preceding year, and that there is reason to anticipate a still\nfurther increase, notwithstanding the large donations which have been\nmade to many of the States and the liberal grants to individuals as\na reward for military services. This fact furnishes very gratifying\nevidence of the growing wealth and prosperity of our country.\n\nSuitable measures have been adopted for commencing the survey of the\npublic lands in California and Oregon. Surveying parties have been\norganized and some progress has been made in establishing the principal\nbase and meridian lines. But further legislation and additional\nappropriations will be necessary before the proper subdivisions can\nbe made and the general land system extended over those remote parts\nof our territory.\n\nOn the 3d of March last an act was passed providing for the appointment\nof three commissioners to settle private land claims in California.\nThree persons were immediately appointed, all of whom, however,\ndeclined accepting the office in consequence of the inadequacy of the\ncompensation. Others were promptly selected, who for the same reason\nalso declined, and it was not until late in the season that the services\nof suitable persons could be secured. A majority of the commissioners\nconvened in this city on the 10th of September last, when detailed\ninstructions were given to them in regard to their duties. Their first\nmeeting for the transaction of business will be held in San Francisco\non the 8th day of the present month.\n\nI have thought it proper to refer to these facts, not only to explain\nthe causes of the delay in filling the commission, but to call your\nattention to the propriety of increasing the compensation of the\ncommissioners. The office is one of great labor and responsibility,\nand the compensation should be such as to command men of a high order\nof talents and the most unquestionable integrity.\n\nThe proper disposal of the mineral lands of California is a subject\nsurrounded by great difficulties. In my last annual message I\nrecommended the survey and sale of them in small parcels under\nsuch restrictions as would effectually guard against monopoly and\nspeculation; but upon further information, and in deference to the\nopinions of persons familiar with the subject, I am inclined to change\nthat recommendation and to advise that they be permitted to remain as at\npresent, a common field, open to the enterprise and industry of all our\ncitizens, until further experience shall have developed the best policy\nto be ultimately adopted in regard to them. It is safer to suffer the\ninconveniences that now exist for a short period than by premature\nlegislation to fasten on the country a system founded in error, which\nmay place the whole subject beyond the future control of Congress.\n\nThe agricultural lands should, however, be surveyed and brought into\nmarket with as little delay as possible, that the titles may become\nsettled and the inhabitants stimulated to make permanent improvements\nand enter on the ordinary pursuits of life. To effect these objects\nit is desirable that the necessary provision be made by law for the\nestablishment of land offices in California and Oregon and for the\nefficient prosecution of the surveys at an early day.\n\nSome difficulties have occurred in organizing the Territorial\ngovernments of New Mexico and Utah, and when more accurate information\nshall be obtained of the causes a further communication will be made on\nthat subject.\n\nIn my last annual communication to Congress I recommended the\nestablishment of an agricultural bureau, and I take this occasion\nagain to invoke your favorable consideration of the subject.\n\nAgriculture may justly be regarded as the great interest of our people.\nFour-fifths of our active population are employed in the cultivation of\nthe soil, and the rapid expansion of our settlements over new territory\nis daily adding to the number of those engaged in that vocation. Justice\nand sound policy, therefore, alike require that the Government should\nuse all the means authorized by the Constitution to promote the\ninterests and welfare of that important class of our fellow-citizens.\nAnd yet it is a singular fact that whilst the manufacturing and\ncommercial interests have engaged the attention of Congress during a\nlarge portion of every session and our statutes abound in provisions for\ntheir protection and encouragement, little has yet been done directly\nfor the advancement of agriculture. It is time that this reproach to our\nlegislation should be removed, and I sincerely hope that the present\nCongress will not close their labors without adopting efficient means\nto supply the omissions of those who have preceded them.\n\nAn agricultural bureau, charged with the duty of collecting and\ndisseminating correct information as to the best modes of cultivation\nand of the most effectual means of preserving and restoring the\nfertility of the soil and of procuring and distributing seeds and plants\nand other vegetable productions, with instructions in regard to the\nsoil, climate, and treatment best adapted to their growth, could not\nfail to be, in the language of Washington in his last annual message\nto Congress, a \"very cheap instrument of immense national benefit.\"\n\nRegarding the act of Congress approved 28th September, 1850, granting\nbounty lands to persons who had been engaged in the military service of\nthe country, as a great measure of national justice and munificence,\nan anxious desire has been felt by the officers intrusted with its\nimmediate execution to give prompt effect to its provisions. All the\nmeans within their control were therefore brought into requisition\nto expedite the adjudication of claims, and I am gratified to be\nable to state that near 100,000 applications have been considered\nand about 70,000 warrants issued within the short space of nine\nmonths. If adequate provision be made by law to carry into effect\nthe recommendations of the Department, it is confidently expected\nthat before the close of the next fiscal year all who are entitled\nto the benefits of the act will have received their warrants.\n\nThe Secretary of the Interior has suggested in his report various\namendments of the laws relating to pensions and bounty lands for the\npurpose of more effectually guarding against abuses and frauds on the\nGovernment, to all of which I invite your particular attention.\n\nThe large accessions to our Indian population consequent upon the\nacquisition of New Mexico and California and the extension of our\nsettlements into Utah and Oregon have given increased interest and\nimportance to our relations with the aboriginal race.\n\nNo material change has taken place within the last year in the condition\nand prospects of the Indian tribes who reside in the Northwestern\nTerritory and west of the Mississippi River. We are at peace with all of\nthem, and it will be a source of pleasure to you to learn that they are\ngradually advancing in civilization and the pursuits of social life.\n\nAlong the Mexican frontier and in California and Oregon there have been\noccasional manifestations of unfriendly feeling and some depredations\ncommitted. I am satisfied, however, that they resulted more from the\ndestitute and starving condition of the Indians than from any settled\nhostility toward the whites. As the settlements of our citizens progress\ntoward them, the game, upon which they mainly rely for subsistence,\nis driven off or destroyed, and the only alternative left to them\nis starvation or plunder. It becomes us to consider, in view of this\ncondition of things, whether justice and humanity, as well as an\nenlightened economy, do not require that instead of seeking to punish\nthem for offenses which are the result of our own policy toward them\nwe should not provide for their immediate wants and encourage them to\nengage in agriculture and to rely on their labor instead of the chase\nfor the means of support.\n\nVarious important treaties have been negotiated with different tribes\nduring the year, by which their title to large and valuable tracts of\ncountry has been extinguished, all of which will at the proper time be\nsubmitted to the Senate for ratification.\n\nThe joint commission under the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo has been\nactively engaged in running and marking the boundary line between the\nUnited States and Mexico. It was stated in the last annual report of\nthe Secretary of the Interior that the initial point on the Pacific\nand the point of junction of the Gila with the Colorado River had been\ndetermined and the intervening line, about 150 miles in length, run and\nmarked by temporary monuments. Since that time a monument of marble has\nbeen erected at the initial point, and permanent landmarks of iron have\nbeen placed at suitable distances along the line.\n\nThe initial point on the Rio Grande has also been fixed by the\ncommissioners, at latitude 32 deg. 22', and at the date of the last\ncommunication the purvey of the line had been made thence westward\nabout 150 miles to the neighborhood of the copper mines.\n\nThe commission on our part was at first organized on a scale which\nexperience proved to be unwieldy and attended with unnecessary expense.\nOrders have therefore been issued for the reduction of the number of\npersons employed within the smallest limits consistent with the safety\nof those engaged in the service and the prompt and efficient execution\nof their important duties.\n\nReturns have been received from all the officers engaged in taking\nthe census in the States and Territories except California. The\nsuperintendent employed to make the enumeration in that State has\nnot yet made his full report, from causes, as he alleges, beyond his\ncontrol. This failure is much to be regretted, as it has prevented the\nSecretary of the Interior from making the decennial apportionment of\nRepresentatives among the States, as required by the act approved May\n23, 1850. It is hoped, however, that the returns will soon be received,\nand no time will then be lost in making the necessary apportionment and\nin transmitting the certificates required by law.\n\nThe Superintendent of the Seventh Census is diligently employed, under\nthe direction of the Secretary of the Interior, in classifying and\narranging in tabular form all the statistical information derived from\nthe returns of the marshals, and it is believed that when the work shall\nbe completed it will exhibit a more perfect view of the population,\nwealth, occupations, and social condition of a great country than has\never been presented to the world. The value of such a work as the basis\nof enlightened legislation can hardly be overestimated, and I earnestly\nhope that Congress will lose no time in making the appropriations\nnecessary to complete the classifications and to publish the results\nin a style worthy of the subject and of our national character.\n\nThe want of a uniform fee bill, prescribing the compensation to be\nallowed district attorneys, clerks, marshals, and commissioners in civil\nand criminal cases, is the cause of much vexation, injustice, and\ncomplaint. I would recommend a thorough revision of the laws on the\nwhole subject and the adoption of a tariff of fees which, as far as\npracticable, should be uniform, and prescribe a specific compensation\nfor every service which the officer may be required to perform. This\nsubject will be fully presented in the report of the Secretary of the\nInterior.\n\nIn my last annual message I gave briefly my reasons for believing that\nyou possessed the constitutional power to improve the harbors of our\nGreat Lakes and seacoast and the navigation of our principal rivers, and\nrecommended that appropriations should be made for completing such works\nas had already been commenced and for commencing such others as might\nseem to the wisdom of Congress to be of public and general importance.\nWithout repeating the reasons then urged, I deem it my duty again to\ncall your attention to this important subject. The works on many of the\nharbors were left in an unfinished state, and consequently exposed to\nthe action of the elements, which is fast destroying them. Great numbers\nof lives and vast amounts of property are annually lost for want of\nsafe and convenient harbors on the Lakes. None but those who have been\nexposed to that dangerous navigation can fully appreciate the importance\nof this subject. The whole Northwest appeals to you for relief, and\nI trust their appeal will receive due consideration at your hands.\n\nThe same is in a measure true in regard to some of the harbors and\ninlets on the seacoast.\n\nThe unobstructed navigation of our large rivers is of equal importance.\nOur settlements are now extending to the sources of the great rivers\nwhich empty into and form a part of the Mississippi, and the value of\nthe public lands in those regions would be greatly enhanced by freeing\nthe navigation of those waters from obstructions. In view, therefore,\nof this great interest, I deem it my duty again to urge upon Congress\nto make such appropriations for these improvements as they may deem\nnecessary.\n\nThe surveys of the Delta of the Mississippi, with a view to the\nprevention of the overflows that have proved so disastrous to that\nregion of country, have been nearly completed, and the reports thereof\nare now in course of preparation and will shortly be laid before you.\n\nThe protection of our southwestern frontier and of the adjacent Mexican\nStates against the Indian tribes within our border has claimed my\nearnest and constant attention. Congress having failed at the last\nsession to adopt my recommendation that an additional regiment of\nmounted men specially adapted to that service should be raised, all\nthat remained to be done was to make the best use of the means at my\ndisposal. Accordingly, all the troops adapted to that service that could\nproperly be spared from other quarters have been concentrated on that\nfrontier and officers of high reputation selected to command them. A new\narrangement of the military posts has also been made, whereby the troops\nare brought nearer to the Mexican frontier and to the tribes they are\nintended to overawe.\n\nSufficient time has not yet elapsed to realize all the benefits that are\nexpected to result from these arrangements, but I have every reason to\nhope that they will effectually check their marauding expeditions. The\nnature of the country, which furnishes little for the support of an army\nand abounds in places of refuge and concealment, is remarkably well\nadapted to this predatory warfare, and we can scarcely hope that any\nmilitary force, combined with the greatest vigilance, can entirely\nsuppress it.\n\nBy the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo we are bound to protect the territory\nof Mexico against the incursions of the savage tribes within our border\n\"with equal diligence and energy\" as if the same were made within our\nterritory or against our citizens. I have endeavored to comply as far\nas possible with this provision of the treaty. Orders have been given\nto the officers commanding on that frontier to consider the Mexican\nterritory and its inhabitants as equally with our own entitled to their\nprotection, and to make all their plans and arrangements with a view\nto the attainment of this object. Instructions have also been given to\nthe Indian commissioners and agents among these tribes in all treaties\nto make the clauses designed for the protection of our own citizens\napply also to those of Mexico. I have no reason to doubt that these\ninstructions have been fully carried into effect; nevertheless, it is\nprobable that in spite of all our efforts some of the neighboring States\nof Mexico may have suffered, as our own have, from depredations by the\nIndians.\n\nTo the difficulties of defending our own territory, as above mentioned,\nare superadded, in defending that of Mexico, those that arise from its\nremoteness, from the fact that we have no right to station our troops\nwithin her limits and that there is no efficient military force on the\nMexican side to cooperate with our own. So long as this shall continue\nto be the case the number and activity of our troops will rather\nincrease than diminish the evil, as the Indians will naturally turn\ntoward that country where they encounter the least resistance. Yet these\ntroops are necessary to subdue them and to compel them to make and\nobserve treaties. Until this shall have been done neither country will\nenjoy any security from their attacks.\n\nThe Indians in California, who had previously appeared of a peaceable\ncharacter and disposed to cultivate the friendship of the whites, have\nrecently committed several acts of hostility. As a large portion of the\nreenforcements sent to the Mexican frontier were drawn from the Pacific,\nthe military force now stationed there is considered entirely inadequate\nto its defense. It can not be increased, however, without an increase of\nthe Army, and I again recommend that measure as indispensable to the\nprotection of the frontier.\n\nI invite your attention to the suggestions on this subject and on others\nconnected with his Department in the report of the Secretary of War.\n\nThe appropriations for the support of the Army during the current fiscal\nyear ending 30th June next were reduced far below the estimate submitted\nby the Department. The consequence of this reduction is a considerable\ndeficiency, to which I invite your early attention.\n\nThe expenditures of that Department for the year ending 30th June last\nwere $9,060,268.58. The estimates for the year commencing 1st July next\nand ending June 30, 1853, are $7,898,775.83, showing a reduction of\n$1,161,492.75.\n\nThe board of commissioners to whom the management of the affairs of the\nmilitary asylum created by the act of 3d March last was intrusted have\nselected a site for the establishment of an asylum in the vicinity of\nthis city, which has been approved by me subject to the production of\na satisfactory title.\n\nThe report of the Secretary of the Navy will exhibit the condition of\nthe public service under the supervision of that Department. Our naval\nforce afloat during the present year has been actively and usefully\nemployed in giving protection to our widely extended and increasing\ncommerce and interests in the various quarters of the globe, and our\nflag has everywhere afforded the security and received the respect\ninspired by the justice and liberality of our intercourse and the\ndignity and power of the nation.\n\nThe expedition commanded by Lieutenant De Haven, dispatched in search\nof the British commander Sir John Franklin and his companions in the\nArctic Seas, returned to New York in the month of October, after having\nundergone great peril and suffering from an unknown and dangerous\nnavigation and the rigors of a northern climate, without any satisfactory\ninformation of the objects of their search, but with new contributions\nto science and navigation from the unfrequented polar regions. The\nofficers and men of the expedition having been all volunteers for this\nservice and having so conducted it as to meet the entire approbation\nof the Government, it is suggested, as an act of grace and generosity,\nthat the same allowance of extra pay and emoluments be extended to them\nthat were made to the officers and men of like rating in the late\nexploring expedition to the South Seas.\n\nI earnestly recommend to your attention the necessity of reorganizing\nthe naval establishment, apportioning and fixing the number of officers\nin each grade, providing some mode of promotion to the higher grades of\nthe Navy having reference to merit and capacity rather than seniority or\ndate of entry into the service, and for retiring from the effective list\nupon reduced pay those who may be incompetent to the performance of\nactive duty. As a measure of economy, as well as of efficiency, in this\narm of the service, the provision last mentioned is eminently worthy of\nyour consideration.\n\nThe determination of the questions of relative rank between the sea\nofficers and civil officers of the Navy, and between officers of\nthe Army and Navy, in the various grades of each, will also merit\nyour attention. The failure to provide any substitute when corporal\npunishment was abolished for offenses in the Navy has occasioned the\nconvening of numerous courts-martial upon the arrival of vessels\nin port, and is believed to have had an injurious effect upon the\ndiscipline and efficiency of the service. To moderate punishment from\none grade to another is among the humane reforms of the age, but to\nabolish one of severity, which applied so generally to offenses on\nshipboard, and provide nothing in its stead is to suppose a progress of\nimprovement in every individual among seamen which is not assumed by\nthe Legislature in respect to any other class of men. It is hoped that\nCongress, in the ample opportunity afforded by the present session, will\nthoroughly investigate this important subject, and establish such modes\nof determining guilt and such gradations of punishment as are consistent\nwith humanity and the personal rights of individuals, and at the same\ntime shall insure the most energetic and efficient performance of duty\nand the suppression of crime in our ships of war.\n\nThe stone dock in the navy-yard at New York, which was ten years in\nprocess of construction, has been so far finished as to be surrendered\nup to the authorities of the yard. The dry dock at Philadelphia is\nreported as completed, and is expected soon to be tested and delivered\nover to the agents of the Government. That at Portsmouth, N.H., is also\nnearly ready for delivery; and a contract has been concluded, agreeably\nto the act of Congress at its last session, for a floating sectional\ndock on the Bay of San Francisco. I invite your attention to the\nrecommendation of the Department touching the establishment of a\nnavy-yard in conjunction with this dock on the Pacific. Such a station\nis highly necessary to the convenience and effectiveness of our fleet\nin that ocean, which must be expected to increase with the growth of\ncommerce and the rapid extension of our whale fisheries over its waters.\n\nThe Naval Academy at Annapolis, under a revised and improved system of\nregulations, now affords opportunities of education and instruction to\nthe pupils quite equal, it is believed, for professional improvement, to\nthose enjoyed by the cadets in the Military Academy. A large class of\nacting midshipmen was received at the commencement of the last academic\nterm, and a practice ship has been attached to the institution to afford\nthe amplest means for regular instruction in seamanship, as well as for\ncruises during the vacations of three or four months in each year.\n\nThe advantages of science in nautical affairs have rarely been more\nstrikingly illustrated than in the fact, stated in the report of the\nNavy Department, that by means of the wind and current charts projected\nand prepared by Lieutenant Maury, the Superintendent of the Naval\nObservatory, the passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific ports of\nour country has been shortened by about forty days.\n\nThe estimates for the support of the Navy and Marine Corps the ensuing\nfiscal year will be found to be $5,856,472.19, the estimates for the\ncurrent year being $5,900,621.\n\nThe estimates for special objects under the control of this Department\namount to $2,684,220.89, against $2,210,980 for the present year, the\nincrease being occasioned by the additional mail service on the Pacific\nCoast and the construction of the dock in California, authorized at the\nlast session of Congress, and some slight additions under the head of\nimprovements and repairs in navy-yards, buildings, and machinery.\n\nI deem it of much importance to a just economy and a correct\nunderstanding of naval expenditures that there should be an entire\nseparation of the appropriations for the support of the naval service\nproper from those for permanent improvements at navy-yards and stations\nand from ocean steam mail service and other special objects assigned to\nthe supervision of this Department.\n\nThe report of the Postmaster-General, herewith communicated, presents\nan interesting view of the progress, operations, and condition of his\nDepartment.\n\nAt the close of the last fiscal year the length of mail routes within\nthe United States was 196,290 miles, the annual transportation thereon\n53,272,252 miles, and the annual cost of such transportation $3,421,754.\n\nThe length of the foreign mail routes is estimated at 18,349 miles\nand the annual transportation thereon at 615,206 miles. The annual\ncost of this service is $1,472,187, of which $448,937 are paid by\nthe Post-Office Department and $1,023,250 are paid through the Navy\nDepartment.\n\nThe annual transportation within the United States, excluding the\nservice in California and Oregon, which is now for the first time\nreported and embraced in the tabular statements of the Department,\nexceeds that of the preceding year 6,162,855 miles, at an increased\ncost of $547,110.\n\nThe whole number of post-offices in the United States on the 30th day of\nJune last was 19,796. There were 1,698 post-offices established and 256\ndiscontinued during the year.\n\nThe gross revenues of the Department for the fiscal year, including the\nappropriations for the franked matter of Congress, of the Departments,\nand officers of Government, and excluding the foreign postages collected\nfor and payable to the British post-office, amounted to $6,727,866.78.\n\nThe expenditures for the same period, excluding $20,599.49, paid under\nan award of the Auditor, in pursuance of a resolution of the last\nCongress, for mail service on the Ohio and Mississippi rivers in 1832\nand 1833, and the amount paid to the British post-office for foreign\npostages collected for and payable to that office, amounted to\n$6,024,566.79, leaving a balance of revenue over the proper expenditures\nof the year of $703,299.99.\n\nThe receipts for postages during the year, excluding the foreign\npostages collected for and payable to the British post-office, amounted\nto $6,345,747.21, being an increase of $997,610.79, or 18.65 per cent,\nover the like receipts for the preceding year.\n\nThe reduction of postage under the act of March last did not take effect\nuntil the commencement of the present fiscal year. The accounts for\nthe first quarter under the operation of the reduced rates will not be\nsettled before January next, and no reliable estimate of the receipts\nfor the present year can yet be made. It is believed, however, that\nthey will fall far short of those of the last year. The surplus of the\nrevenues now on hand is, however, so large that no further appropriation\nfrom the Treasury in aid of the revenues of the Department is required\nfor the current fiscal year, but an additional appropriation for the\nyear ending June 30, 1853, will probably be found necessary when the\nreceipts of the first two quarters of the fiscal year are fully\nascertained.\n\nIn his last annual report the Postmaster-General recommended a reduction\nof postage to rates which he deemed as low as could be prudently adopted\nunless Congress was prepared to appropriate from the Treasury for\nthe support of the Department a sum more than equivalent to the mail\nservices performed by it for the Government. The recommendations of the\nPostmaster-General in respect to letter postage, except on letters from\nand to California and Oregon, were substantially adopted by the last\nCongress. He now recommends adherence to the present letter rates and\nadvises against a further reduction until justified by the revenue of\nthe Department.\n\nHe also recommends that the rates of postage on printed matter be so\nrevised as to render them more simple and more uniform in their operation\nupon all classes of printed matter. I submit the recommendations of the\nreport to your favorable consideration.\n\nThe public statutes of the United States have now been accumulating\nfor more than sixty years, and, interspersed with private acts, are\nscattered through numerous volumes, and, from the cost of the whole,\nhave become almost inaccessible to the great mass of the community.\nThey also exhibit much of the incongruity and imperfection of hasty\nlegislation. As it seems to be generally conceded that there is no\n\"common law\" of the United States to supply the defects of their\nlegislation, it is most important that that legislation should be as\nperfect as possible, defining every power intended to be conferred,\nevery crime intended to be made punishable, and prescribing the\npunishment to be inflicted. In addition to some particular cases spoken\nof more at length, the whole criminal code is now lamentably defective.\nSome offenses are imperfectly described and others are entirely omitted,\nso that flagrant crimes may be committed with impunity. The scale\nof punishment is not in all cases graduated according to the degree\nand nature of the offense, and is often rendered more unequal by the\ndifferent modes of imprisonment or penitentiary confinement in the\ndifferent States.\n\nMany laws of a permanent character have been introduced into\nappropriation bills, and it is often difficult to determine whether the\nparticular clause expires with the temporary act of which it is a part\nor continues in force. It has also frequently happened that enactments\nand provisions of law have been introduced into bills with the title or\ngeneral subject of which they have little or no connection or relation.\nIn this mode of legislation so many enactments have been heaped upon\neach other, and often with but little consideration, that in many\ninstances it is difficult to search out and determine what is the law.\n\nThe Government of the United States is emphatically a government of\nwritten laws. The statutes should therefore, as far as practicable, not\nonly be made accessible to all, but be expressed in language so plain\nand simple as to be understood by all and arranged in such method as\nto give perspicuity to every subject. Many of the States have revised\ntheir public acts with great and manifest benefit, and I recommend that\nprovision be made by law for the appointment of a commission to revise\nthe public statutes of the United States, arranging them in order,\nsupplying deficiencies, correcting incongruities, simplifying their\nlanguage, and reporting them to Congress for its action.\n\nAn act of Congress approved 30th September, 1850, contained a provision\nfor the extension of the Capitol according to such plan as might be\napproved by the President, and appropriated $100,000 to be expended\nunder his direction by such architect as he should appoint to execute\nthe same. On examining the various plans which had been submitted by\ndifferent architects in pursuance of an advertisement by a committee\nof the Senate no one was found to be entirely satisfactory, and it\nwas therefore deemed advisable to combine and adopt the advantages\nof several.\n\nThe great object to be accomplished was to make such an addition as\nwould afford ample and convenient halls for the deliberations of the two\nHouses of Congress, with sufficient accommodations for spectators and\nsuitable apartments for the committees and officers of the two branches\nof the Legislature. It was also desirable not to mar the harmony and\nbeauty of the present structure, which, as a specimen of architecture,\nis so universally admired. Keeping these objects in view, I concluded\nto make the addition by wings, detached from the present building, yet\nconnected with it by corridors. This mode of enlargement will leave the\npresent Capitol uninjured and afford great advantages for ventilation\nand the admission of light, and will enable the work to progress without\ninterrupting the deliberations of Congress. To carry this plan into\neffect I have appointed an experienced and competent architect. The\ncorner stone was laid on the 4th day of July last with suitable\nceremonies, since which time the work has advanced with commendable\nrapidity, and the foundations of both wings are now nearly complete.\n\nI again commend to your favorable regard the interests of the District\nof Columbia, and deem it only necessary to remind you that although its\ninhabitants have no voice in the choice of Representatives in Congress,\nthey are not the less entitled to a just and liberal consideration in\nyour legislation. My opinions on this subject were more fully expressed\nin my last annual communication.\n\nOther subjects were brought to the attention of Congress in my last\nannual message, to which I would respectfully refer. But there was one\nof more than ordinary interest, to which I again invite your special\nattention. I allude to the recommendation for the appointment of a\ncommission to settle private claims against the United States. Justice\nto individuals, as well as to the Government, imperatively demands that\nsome more convenient and expeditious mode than an appeal to Congress\nshould be adopted.\n\nIt is deeply to be regretted that in several instances officers of the\nGovernment, in attempting to execute the law for the return of fugitives\nfrom labor, have been openly resisted and their efforts frustrated and\ndefeated by lawless and violent mobs; that in one case such resistance\nresulted in the death of an estimable citizen, and in others serious\ninjury ensued to those officers and to individuals who were using their\nendeavors to sustain the laws. Prosecutions have been instituted against\nthe alleged offenders so far as they could be identified, and are still\npending. I have regarded it as my duty in these cases to give all aid\nlegally in my power to the enforcement of the laws, and I shall continue\nto do so wherever and whenever their execution may be resisted.\n\nThe act of Congress for the return of fugitives from labor is one\nrequired and demanded by the express words of the Constitution.\n\nThe Constitution declares that--\n\n  No person held to service or labor in one State, under the laws thereof,\n  escaping into another, shall, in consequence of any law or regulation\n  therein, be discharged from such service or labor, but shall be\n  delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labor may\n  be due.\n\n\nThis constitutional provision is equally obligatory upon the legislative,\nthe executive, and judicial departments of the Government, and upon every\ncitizen of the United States.\n\nCongress, however, must from necessity first act upon the subject by\nprescribing the proceedings necessary to ascertain that the person is a\nfugitive and the means to be used for his restoration to the claimant.\nThis was done by an act passed during the first term of President\nWashington, which was amended by that enacted by the last Congress,\nand it now remains for the executive and judicial departments to take\ncare that these laws be faithfully executed. This injunction of the\nConstitution is as peremptory and as binding as any other; it stands\nexactly on the same foundation as that clause which provides for the\nreturn of fugitives from justice, or that which declares that no bill of\nattainder or _ex post facto_ law shall be passed, or that which provides\nfor an equality of taxation according to the census, or the clause\ndeclaring that all duties shall be uniform throughout the United States,\nor the important provision that the trial of all crimes shall be by\njury. These several articles and clauses of the Constitution, all\nresting on the same authority, must stand or fall together. Some\nobjections have been urged against the details of the act for the return\nof fugitives from labor, but it is worthy of remark that the main\nopposition is aimed against the Constitution itself, and proceeds from\npersons and classes of persons many of whom declare their wish to see\nthat Constitution overturned. They avow their hostility to any law\nwhich shall give full and practical effect to this requirement of the\nConstitution. Fortunately, the number of these persons is comparatively\nsmall, and is believed to be daily diminishing; but the issue which they\npresent is one which involves the supremacy and even the existence of\nthe Constitution.\n\nCases have heretofore arisen in which individuals have denied the\nbinding authority of acts of Congress, and even States have proposed to\nnullify such acts upon the ground that the Constitution was the supreme\nlaw of the land, and that those acts of Congress were repugnant to\nthat instrument; but nullification is now aimed not so much against\nparticular laws as being inconsistent with the Constitution as against\nthe Constitution itself, and it is not to be disguised that a spirit\nexists, and has been actively at work, to rend asunder this Union,\nwhich is our cherished inheritance from our Revolutionary fathers.\n\nIn my last annual message I stated that I considered the series of\nmeasures which had been adopted at the previous session in reference\nto the agitation growing out of the Territorial and slavery questions\nas a final settlement in principle and substance of the dangerous and\nexciting subjects which they embraced, and I recommended adherence to\nthe adjustment established by those measures until time and experience\nshould demonstrate the necessity of further legislation to guard against\nevasion or abuse. I was not induced to make this recommendation because\nI thought those measures perfect, for no human legislation can be\nperfect. Wide differences and jarring opinions can only be reconciled by\nyielding something on all sides, and this result had been reached after\nan angry conflict of many months, in which one part of the country was\narrayed against another, and violent convulsion seemed to be imminent.\nLooking at the interests of the whole country, I felt it to be my duty\nto seize upon this compromise as the best that could be obtained amid\nconflicting interests and to insist upon it as a final settlement, to\nbe adhered to by all who value the peace and welfare of the country.\nA year has now elapsed since that recommendation was made. To that\nrecommendation I still adhere, and I congratulate you and the country\nupon the general acquiescence in these measures of peace which has been\nexhibited in all parts of the Republic. And not only is there this\ngeneral acquiescence in these measures, but the spirit of conciliation\nwhich has been manifested in regard to them in all parts of the country\nhas removed doubts and uncertainties in the minds of thousands of good\nmen concerning the durability of our popular institutions and given\nrenewed assurance that our liberty and our Union may subsist together\nfor the benefit of this and all succeeding generations.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\n\nSPECIAL MESSAGES.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 12, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a treaty of friendship, commerce, and navigation between\nthe United States and the Republic of Costa Rica, signed in this city\non the 10th day of July last.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 15, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate a report[13] of the Secretary of State, in\nanswer to their resolution of the 8th of March last.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 13: Relating to the free navigation of the St. Lawrence, St.\nJohn, and other large rivers, and to the free enjoyment of the British\nNorth American fisheries by United States citizens.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 15, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI have received a resolution of the Senate, adopted on the 12th instant,\nin the following terms:\n\n  _Resolved_, That the President of the United States be requested to\n  communicate to the Senate, if not inconsistent with the public interest,\n  any information the Executive may have received respecting the firing\n  into and seizure of the American steamship _Prometheus_ by a British\n  vessel of war in November last near Greytown, on the Mosquito Coast,\n  and also what measures have been taken by the Executive to ascertain\n  the state of the facts and to vindicate the honor of the country.\n\nIn answer to this request I submit to the Senate the accompanying\nextracts from a communication addressed to the Department of State by\nMr. Joseph L. White, as counsel of the American, Atlantic and Pacific\nShip Canal Company, dated 2d instant.\n\nThis communication is the principal source of the information received\nby the Executive in relation to the subject alluded to, and is presumed\nto be essentially correct in its statement of the facts. Upon receiving\nthis communication instructions such as the occasion seemed to demand\nwere immediately dispatched to the minister of the United States in\nLondon. Sufficient time has not elapsed for the return of any answer\nto this dispatch from him, and in my judgment it would at the present\nmoment be inconsistent with the public interest to communicate those\ninstructions. A communication, however, of all the correspondence will\nbe made to the Senate at the earliest moment at which a proper regard\nto the public interest will permit.\n\nAt the same time instructions were given to Commodore Parker, commanding\nthe Home Squadron, a copy of which, so far as they relate to the case of\nthe _Prometheus_, is herewith transmitted to the Senate.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 16, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 9th instant, requesting\ninformation in regard to the imprisonment of John S. Thrasher at Havana,\nI transmit a report from the Secretary of State and the documents which\naccompanied it.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 16, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 8th instant, requesting\nthe communication of a dispatch[14] addressed to the Department of State\nby Mr. Niles, late charge d'affaires of the United States at Turin, I\ntransmit a report from the Secretary of State, which is accompanied by\na copy of the dispatch.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 14: On the subject of a ship canal between the Atlantic and\nPacific oceans.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 23, 1851_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nI transmit to the House of Representatives a report from the Secretary\nof State, in answer to the first part[15] of a resolution of the 15th\nDecember, 1851, and also a report from the Secretary of the Navy, in\nanswer to the remaining part[16] of the same resolution.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 15: Relating to the conclusion of a treaty between Spain,\nFrance, and Great Britain in respect to the island of Cuba.]\n\n[Footnote 16: Pertaining to the relative strength of the British, French,\nand United States squadrons in the West India seas, and whether\nadditional appropriations are necessary to increase the United States\nforce on that station.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 23, 1851_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nIn answer to a resolution of the House of Representatives of the 15th\ninstant, requesting information in regard to the imprisonment, trial,\nand sentence of John S. Thrasher in the island of Cuba, I transmit a\nreport from the Secretary of State and the documents which accompanied\nit.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 29, 1851_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nI transmit herewith a copy of a letter of the 26th instant, addressed\nto the Secretary of State by the contractors for paying the next\ninstallment due to Mexico pursuant to the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo,\nrepresenting the necessity of an immediate appropriation by Congress\nof the money necessary for that purpose.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 2, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nAs a further answer to the resolution of the House of Representatives\nof the 15th ultimo, calling for information respecting the imprisonment,\ntrial, and sentence of John S. Thrasher in the island of Cuba, I transmit\nanother report from the Secretary of State.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 2, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the House of Representatives a copy of the resolution\nadopted by the Legislative Council of Canada, together with the copy of\nthe note by which the resolution was communicated to this Government,\nexpressing the satisfaction of that Council at receiving intelligence\nof certain donations in aid of the reconstruction of the library of\nthe Canadian Parliament.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[The same message, dated January 6, 1852, was sent to the Senate.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 3, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI nominate Elisha Whittlesey and Elias S. Terry to be commissioners\nunder the seventeenth article of the treaty concluded with the Cherokee\ntribe of Indians at New Echota on the 29th day of December, 1835, to\nadjudicate the claim of David Taylor for 640 acres of land, which has\nbeen duly appraised in accordance with the terms of the ninth article\nof said treaty, but not paid for. The facts of the case will more fully\nappear in the accompanying papers from the Department of the Interior.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 5, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nI transmit to the House of Representatives a report of the Secretary of\nState, relative to the persons belonging to the expedition of Lopez who\nwere taken prisoners in Cuba and afterwards sent to Spain, and who have\nnow been pardoned and released by Her Catholic Majesty. The appropriation\nthe expediency of which is suggested in the report I cordially commend\nto the consideration of Congress, with the single additional suggestion\nthat to be available it should be promptly made.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[The same message was sent to the Senate.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 9, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nIn answer to a resolution of the House of Representatives of the 15th\nultimo, requesting information in regard to the Territory of Utah, I\ntransmit a report from the Secretary of State, to whom the resolution\nwas referred.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 12, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the House of Representatives of the 5th\ninstant, I herewith transmit to it a report and accompanying papers[17]\nfrom the Secretary of State.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 17: Relating to a circular issued by the secretary of state\nfor the British colonial department relative to the employment in the\nBritish West India colonies of free blacks and liberated slaves from\nthe United States.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 16, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nI transmit a copy of a letter which has been addressed to me by the\nsecretary of the Territory of Utah since my recent message to the House\nof Representatives in answer to its resolution requesting information\nin regard to the affairs of that Territory.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 19, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to Congress a report from the Secretary of State, accompanied\nby a letter to him from the contractors for paying the installment of\nMexican indemnity due on the 31st May next, and respectfully invite\nattention to the subject.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 20, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nI communicate to both Houses of Congress a report from the Department\nof State, containing copies of the correspondence which has taken place\nbetween that Department and the minister of the United States in Paris\nrespecting the political occurrences which have recently taken place\nin France.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 22, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with a resolution of the Senate passed March 13, 1851,\nI herewith transmit a report of the Secretary of War, containing\ninformation in regard to the claims of citizens of California for\nservices rendered and for money and for property furnished in 1846\nand 1847 in the conquest of that country.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 23, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nI transmit a report from the Secretary of State and the documents\nwhich accompanied it, upon the subject of a resolution of the House\nof Representatives of yesterday, relative to the Mexican indemnity.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 28, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the House of Representatives of the\n15th ultimo, requesting information respecting the seizure and\nconfiscation of the bark _Georgiana_, of Maine, and brig _Susan Loud_,\nof Massachusetts,[18] I transmit a report from the Secretary of State\nand the documents which accompanied it.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 18: By the Spanish or Cuban authorities]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 28, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the House of Representatives of the\n7th August, 1850, and the 17th December, 1851, requesting information\ntouching the claims of citizens of the United States on the Government\nof Portugal, I transmit a report from the Secretary of State and the\ndocuments which accompanied the same.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 9, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a treaty of friendship, commerce, and navigation between\nthe United States and the Republic of Peru, concluded and signed at\nLima on the 26th day of July last.\n\nA copy of a dispatch of Mr. J.R. Clay, the charge d'affaires of the\nUnited States at Lima, to the Secretary of State, bearing date the 6th\nDecember last, is also transmitted for the information of the Senate.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 10, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nI transmit to Congress a copy of the instruction dispatched from the\nDepartment of State to the minister of the United States at London\nrespecting the attack on the United States steamer _Prometheus_ in the\nharbor of San Juan de Nicaragua by the British brig of war _Express_,\nand also a copy of the dispatches of Mr. Lawrence to that Department and\nof his correspondence with Her Britannic Majesty's principal secretary\nof state for foreign affairs on the same subject.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nEXECUTIVE CHAMBER,\n\n_Washington City, February 10, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nI transmit herewith a report from the Secretary of the Interior,\ncontaining a report from Thomas U. Walter, architect for the extension\nof the Capitol.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 12, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the House of Representatives of the 26th\nof December last, requesting information in regard to the seizure of the\nbrig _Arve_[19] at Jeremie, in the island of St. Domingo, I transmit a\nreport from the Secretary of State and the documents by which it was\naccompanied.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 19: By Haytien authorities.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 12, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with the resolution of the Senate of the 26th ultimo,\nrequesting information upon the subject of the mission of Mr. Balistier,\nlate consul at Singapore, to eastern Asia, I transmit a report from the\nSecretary of State and the documents which accompanied it.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 13, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit herewith, for the constitutional action of the Senate,\ntreaties recently concluded with certain Indian tribes at Traverse des\nSioux, Mendota, Pembina, and Fort Laramie, together with communications\nfrom the Department of the Interior and other documents connected\ntherewith.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 14, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nI communicate to the House of Representatives herewith a report to me,\ndated the 13th instant, from the Secretary of the Interior, respecting\nthe delay and difficulty in making the apportionment among the several\nStates of the Representatives in the Thirty-third Congress, as required\nby the act of 23d May, 1850, in consequence of the want of full returns\nof the population of the State of California, and suggesting the\nnecessity for remedial legislation.\n\nThe subject is one of much importance, and I earnestly commend it to\nthe early consideration of Congress.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[The same message was sent to the Senate.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 16, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to Congress a letter addressed to the Secretary of State by\nthe commissioner of the United States under the convention with Brazil,\nsetting forth the obstacles which have impeded the conclusion of the\nbusiness of that commission.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 16, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith communicate to the Senate, for its consideration with a view\nto ratification, a treaty of commerce and navigation concluded by the\nminister resident of the United States at Constantinople with the charge\nd'affaires of the Shah of Persia at the same place. The treaty is in\nthe Persian and French languages, but is accompanied by an English\ntranslation. A copy of the correspondence between the Department of\nState and the legation of the United States at Constantinople on the\nsubject is also herewith communicated.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 18, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the House of Representatives requesting\nthe official correspondence respecting an alleged misunderstanding\nbetween Captain Long, of the Navy of the United States, and Louis\nKossuth, I transmit reports from the Secretaries of State and of the\nNavy and the papers which accompanied them.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 1, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with the provisions of the act of Congress of the 11th\nAugust, 1848, I transmit to that body the copy of a dispatch from the\ncommissioner _ad interim_ of the United States at Canton, together with\nthe copy of certain rules and regulations for masters, officers, and\nseamen of vessels of the United States of America at the free ports of\nChina, which accompanied said dispatch, and which are submitted for the\nrevision of Congress.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 4, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with the resolution of the House of Representatives of the\n17th ultimo, I transmit herewith a report from the Secretary of the Navy\nand a report from the Solicitor of the Treasury Department in relation\nto the accounts of Prosper M. Wetmore, late navy agent in the city of\nNew York.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 4, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to Congress a letter addressed to me by the governor of the\nTerritory of Minnesota, with the statements to which it refers, of the\ndisbursements up to the 1st of January last of the money appropriated by\nthe act approved June 11, 1850, for the erection of public buildings in\nthat Territory.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 4, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to Congress a dispatch addressed to the Secretary of State\nby the minister of the United States at Mexico, and the papers therein\nreferred to, relative to the cemetery which has been constructed in the\nneighborhood of that city as a place of sepulture for the remains of the\nofficers and soldiers of the United States who died or were killed in\nthat vicinity during the late war, and for such citizens of the United\nStates as may hereafter die there. A copy of the report of the agent who\nwas sent for the purpose of superintending the work is also herewith\ntransmitted. It will be seen that a sum of $2,500 or $3,000, in addition\nto the amount appropriated by the act of Congress approved September 28,\n1850, is represented to be necessary to carry the objects of that\nappropriation into full effect. I accordingly recommend that provision\ntherefor may be made.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 25, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nAs a further answer to the resolution of the House of Representatives of\nthe 5th of January last, requesting information in regard to a circular\nof Her Britannic Majesty's secretary of state for colonial affairs in\nrespect to the encouragement of the emigration of  laborers from\nthe United States to the British West India islands, I transmit another\ndispatch addressed to the Department of State by the minister of the\nUnited States at London.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 26, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nAt the close of the commission to adjudicate upon the claims of citizens\nof the United States under the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo I directed a\nlist to be made of papers which had been presented to that commission,\nand, pursuant to the act of Congress approved 3d March, 1849, the papers\nthemselves to be carefully arranged and deposited for safe-keeping in\nthe Department of State. I deemed all this necessary as well for the\ninterest of the claimants as to secure the Government against fraudulent\nclaims which might be preferred hereafter. A few days since I was\nsurprised to learn that some of these papers had been fraudulently\nabstracted by one of the claimants, and upon the case being made known\nto me by the Secretary of State I referred it to the Attorney-General\nfor the purpose of ascertaining what punishment could be inflicted upon\nthe person who had been guilty of this offense.\n\nI now communicate to you his opinion and that of the attorney of the\nUnited States for this District, by which you will perceive that it\nis doubtful whether there be any law for punishing the very grave\noffense of fraudulently abstracting or mutilating the papers and public\ndocuments in the several Departments of this Government. It appears to\nme that the protection of the public records and papers requires that\nsuch acts should be made penal and a suitable punishment inflicted upon\nthe offender, and I therefore bring the subject to your consideration,\nto enable you to act upon it should you concur with me in this opinion.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 26, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nIn compliance with the resolution of the House of Representatives of\nthe 18th instant, I transmit a copy of the correspondence with John P.\nGaines, governor of the Territory of Oregon, relative to the seat of\ngovernment of said Territory.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _March 29, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with the resolution of the Senate of the 24th instant,\nrelating to the extension of the Capitol, I have the honor to submit\nherewith a report from the Secretary of the Interior, which furnishes,\nit is believed, the required information.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON CITY, _March 29, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI have the resolution of your honorable body adopted in executive\nsession March 24, 1852, by which I am requested to return to the Senate\nthe resolution advising and consenting to the appointment of George C.\nLaurason as collector of the customs for the district of New Orleans,\nprovided a commission had not been issued to him, and in reply thereto\nI would respectfully state that prior to the receipt of said resolution\nI had signed the commission to Mr. Laurason and transmitted it to the\nSecretary of the Treasury, to whom your resolution was immediately\nreferred; and I have the honor now to transmit his reply, by which\nit will be seen that the commission, after having been duly executed,\nwas sent to the First Comptroller, where it still remains. I suppose,\naccording to the doctrine laid down in the case of Marbury _v._ Madison\n(1 Cranch R., 137), the appointment must be deemed complete, and nothing\nshort of the removal of Mr. Laurason can enable me again to submit his\nnomination to the consideration of the Senate; but as the commission has\nnot been technically issued to Mr. Laurason, I deem it most respectful\nto comply with your request by returning the copy of the resolution\nwhich notified me that the Senate advised and consented to his\nappointment.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON CITY, _April 6, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nIn compliance with the resolution of the House of the 31st ultimo,\nI have the honor herewith to transmit a report from the Secretary\nof War, accompanied by the original manuscript report of Captain\nThomas J. Crane, dated February 3, 1844, on the best mode of improving\nthe navigation of the Ohio River at the Falls of Louisville, together\nwith the original maps accompanying the same.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _April 8, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith transmit to the Senate, in reply to their resolution of the\n4th ultimo, a report from the Secretary of State, with accompanying\npapers.[20]\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 20: Relating to the relations between the United States and\nJapan.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _April 19, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nI invite the attention of Congress to the state of affairs in the\nTerritory of Oregon, growing out of a conflict of opinion among the\nauthorities of that Territory in regard to a proper construction of the\nacts of Congress approved the 14th August, 1848, and 11th June, 1850,\nthe former entitled \"An act to establish a Territorial government of\nOregon,\" and the latter entitled \"An act to make further appropriations\nfor public buildings in the Territories of Minnesota and Oregon.\" In\norder to enable Congress to understand the controversy and apply such\nremedy with a view to adjust it as may be deemed expedient, I transmit--\n\n1. An act of the legislative assembly of that Territory, passed February\n1, 1851, entitled \"An act to provide for the selection of places for the\nlocation and erection of public buildings of the Territory of Oregon.\"\n\n2. Governor Gaines's message to the legislative assembly of the 3d\nFebruary, 1851.\n\n3. The opinion of the Attorney-General of the United States of 23d\nApril, in regard to the act of the legislative assembly of the 1st\nFebruary, 1851.\n\n4. The opinion of the supreme court of Oregon, pronounced on the 9th\nDecember, 1851.\n\n5. A letter of Judge Pratt of the 15th December, 1851, dissenting from\nthat opinion.\n\n6. Governor Gaines's letter to the President of the 1st January, 1852.\n\n7. Report of the Attorney-General of the United States on that letter,\ndated 22d March, 1852.\n\nIf it should be the sense of Congress that the seat of government\nof Oregon has not already been established by the local authorities\npursuant to the law of the United States for the organization of that\nTerritory, or, if so established, should be deemed objectionable, in\norder to appease the strife upon the subject which seems to have arisen\nin that Territory I recommend that the seat of government be either\npermanently or temporarily ordained by act of Congress, and that that\nbody should in the same manner express its approval or disapproval\nof such laws as may have been enacted in the Territory at the place\nalleged to be its seat of government, and which may be so enacted\nuntil intelligence of the decision of Congress shall reach there.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _May 1, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for their consideration and advice with regard\nto its ratification, a convention between the United States and the Free\nand Hanseatic Republics of Hamburg, Bremen, and Lubeck, signed in this\ncity by their respective plenipotentiaries on the 30th day of April,\nA.D. 1852, for the mutual extension of the jurisdiction of consuls. A\ncopy of a note from the special plenipotentiary of Hamburg, Bremen, and\nLubeck accompanies the convention.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _May 5, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nOn the 3d of March, 1849, a general convention of peace, amity,\ncommerce, and navigation between the United States and the Republic of\nGuatemala, by Elijah Hise, the charge d'affaires of the United States\nto that Republic, on the part of this Government, and by Senor Don Jose\nMariano Rodriguez, minister for foreign affairs, on the part of the\nGovernment of Guatemala. This convention was approved by the Senate\non the 24th of September, 1850, and by a resolution of the 27th of\nthat month that body authorized the ratification of this Government\nto be exchanged for the ratification of the Government of Guatemala at\nany time prior to the 1st of April, 1851. I accordingly ratified the\nconvention on the 14th of November, 1850, but there was then no person\nin this country authorized to effect the exchange of ratifications on\nthe part of the Guatemalan Government, and the United States had no\ndiplomatic representative there. When, however, in the summer of 1851,\nMr. J. Bozman Kerr proceeded to Nicaragua as the charge d'affaires of\nthe United States, he was empowered and instructed, when he should have\nconcluded the business, which it was presumed would not have detained\nhim long, in Nicaragua, to repair to Guatemala and effect the exchange\non the part of this Government. Circumstances, however, have hitherto\nprevented him from accomplishing this object. Meanwhile Senor Don Felipe\nMolina has been received as charge d'affaires of Guatemala here, and has\nbeen empowered to effect the exchange on the part of that Government.\n\nI accordingly recommend that the Senate authorize a further extension\nof the period for exchanging the ratifications, in order that the\nconvention may go into operation. It is presumed that if this\nrecommendation should be adopted a few weeks from the date of the\ndecision of the Senate upon the subject would be necessary to complete\nthe preparations for carrying it into effect.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _May 29, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nThe resolution of the Senate of the 6th instant, requesting the \"papers\nand proofs on file in any of the Executive Departments touching the\nclaim of Samuel A. Belden & Co., of Brownsville, Tex., against the\nMexican Government for injuries inflicted upon said Belden & Co., as\nalleged by them in violation of the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo,\" was\nreferred to the heads of those Departments, and the documents herewith\ntransmitted have been reported to me from the Department of State\nas comprising all on the files of that Department called for by the\nresolution, with the exception of those of a diplomatic character. As\nthe claim referred to is a subject of negotiation with the Mexican\nGovernment, it is not deemed expedient at this juncture to make public\nthe documents which have been reserved. According to the reports of\nthe Secretary of the Treasury, of the Secretary of the Interior,\nof the Secretary of War, of the Secretary of the Navy, and of the\nPostmaster-General, there are no papers in their respective Departments\nrelative to the claim of Messrs. Belden & Co.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 1, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI communicate to the Senate herewith, for its constitutional action\nthereon, eighteen treaties negotiated with Indian tribes in California,\nas described in the accompanying letter of the Secretary of the\nInterior, dated the 22d ultimo, with a copy of the report of the\nsuperintendent of Indian affairs for the State of California and other\ncorrespondence in relation thereto.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 11, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a convention between the United States and the Sultan\nof Borneo, signed at Bruni on the 23d of June, 1850. A copy of two\ndispatches to this department from Mr. Balestier, who concluded the\nconvention on the part of this Government, one dated the 22d of April\nand the other the 24th June, 1851, is also transmitted for the\ninformation of the Senate. As the period limited for the exchange of the\nratifications, which is to be effected at Bruni, will expire on the 23d\ninstant, I recommend that if the Senate should approve the convention\nauthority may be given to perform that ceremony within a year from that\ndate. The instrument would have been submitted to the Senate in season\nfor the ratification to be exchanged within the stipulated time had not\nMr. Balestier's arrival with it in the United States been unavoidably\ndelayed.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 11, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nI transmit to Congress a report from the Secretary of State, on the\nsubject of the disorders on the Rio Grande frontier, and recommend the\nlegislation which it suggests, in order that the duties and obligations\nof this Government occasioned thereby may be more effectually discharged\nand the peace and security of the inhabitants of the United States in\nthat quarter more efficiently maintained.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 14, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nI transmit herewith, for your consideration, a report from the\nSecretary of State, accompanied by a communication from His Excellency\nSenor Don A. Calderon de la Barca, envoy extraordinary and minister\nplenipotentiary of Her Catholic Majesty, claiming indemnity for those\nSpanish subjects in New Orleans who sustained injury from the unlawful\nviolence of the mob in that city consequent upon hearing the news of the\nexecution of those persons who unlawfully invaded Cuba in August, 1851.\nMy own views of the national liability upon this subject were expressed\nin the note of the Secretary of State to Mr. Calderon of the 13th\nNovember, 1851, and I do not understand that Her Catholic Majesty's\nminister controverts the correctness of the position there taken. He,\nhowever, insists that the thirteenth article of the treaty of 1795\npromises indemnity for such injuries sustained within one year after\nthe commencement of war between the two nations, and although he admits\nthis is not within the letter of the treaty, yet he conceives that, as\nbetween two friendly nations, it is within the spirit of it.\n\nThis view of the case is at his request submitted for your\nconsideration, but whether you may deem it correct or not, there is,\nperhaps, one ground upon which this indemnity, which can not be large in\namount, may be granted without establishing a dangerous precedent, and\nthe granting of which would commend itself to the generous feelings\nof the entire country, and that is this: The Queen of Spain, with a\nmagnanimity worthy of all commendation, in a case where we had no legal\nright to solicit the favor, granted a free pardon to all the persons who\nhad so unjustifiably invaded her dominions and murdered her subjects in\nCuba, in violation of her own laws as well as those of the United States\nand the public law of nations. Such an act of mercy, which restored many\nmisguided and unfortunate youth of this country to their parents and\nfriends, seems to me to merit some corresponding act of magnanimity\nand generosity on the part of the Government of this country, and I\nthink that there can be none more appropriate than to grant an indemnity\nto those Spanish subjects who were resident among us and who suffered\nby the violence of the mob, not on account of any fault which they\nthemselves had committed, but because they were the subjects of the\nQueen of Spain. Such an act would tend to confirm that friendship which\nhas so long existed between the two nations and to perpetuate it as a\nblessing to both, and I therefore recommend it to your favorable\nconsideration.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 22, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit herewith a report from the Secretary of State, with the\naccompanying documents,[21] in compliance with the Senate's resolution\nof the 29th of April last.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 21: Correspondence of the American charge at Vienna on the\nsubject of the apprehension and imprisonment by the Austrian authorities\nof Rev. Charles L. Brace, an American citizen.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 22, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a convention for the mutual delivery of criminals\nfugitives from justice in certain cases between the United States on\nthe one part and Prussia and other States of the Germanic Confederation\non the other part, signed in this city on the 16th instant.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 23, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit herewith a report from the Secretary of State, with the\naccompanying documents,[22] in compliance with the Senate's resolution\nof the 3d instant.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 22: Correspondence relative to the withdrawal of Mr. Huelsemann,\ncharge d'affaires from Austria to the United States.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 26, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit and commend to the consideration of the Senate a report from\nthe Secretary of State, touching the convention between the United\nStates and the Mexican Republic for the mutual extradition of fugitives\nfrom justice in certain cases, which convention I submitted to the\nSenate soon after I entered upon the office of President of the United\nStates.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nDEPARTMENT OF STATE,\n\n_Washington, June 26, 1852_.\n\nThe PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES:\n\nIt was understood that at the close of the Administration of your\npredecessor an extradition treaty was concluded in this city between the\nUnited States and the Mexican Republic, which, however, was submitted to\nthe Senate by yourself, but before I entered upon my present office.\n\nIt is presumed that as the treaty has not been returned to this\nDepartment the Senate has made no decision in regard to it.\n\nThe necessity for a compact upon that subject between the two\nGovernments, whose territories, being conterminous, afford great\nfacilities for wrongdoers in the one to screen themselves from\npunishment by seeking refuge in the other, would at all times be\nobvious, but at the present juncture may be considered as urgent.\n\nI would consequently suggest that the attention of the Senate be\nrespectfully invited to the matter, in order that if the treaty before\nthem should be deemed objectionable another, embodying such amendments\nas may be supposed to be necessary, may be proposed to the Mexican\nGovernment.\n\nRespectfully submitted,\n\nDANL. WEBSTER.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 26, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI have received and taken into respectful consideration the resolution\nof the Senate of yesterday, adopted in executive session, requesting\ninformation in regard to supposed negotiations between the United States\nand Great Britain and between the United States and the Republics of\nNicaragua and Costa Rica, respectively. Any information which may be in\nthe possession of the Executive on these subjects shall in due time be\nlaid before the Senate, but it is apprehended that it would not comport\nwith the public interests to communicate it under existing\ncircumstances.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _June 26, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI have received the resolution of the Senate of the 11th instant, passed\nin executive session, making inquiry respecting supposed propositions\nof the King of the Sandwich Islands to convey the sovereignty of those\nislands to the United States and requesting all official information in\nmy possession touching the subject.\n\nThis request has been taken into the most respectful consideration, but\nthe conclusion at which I have arrived is that the public interest would\nnot be promoted, but, on the contrary, might under circumstances of\npossible occurrence, be seriously endangered if it were now to be\ncomplied with.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON CITY, _July 1, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nOn the 26th ultimo I received a resolution of the Senate, passed in\nexecutive session, in the following words:\n\n  _Resolved,_ That the President of the United States be requested to\n  inform the Senate, if not in his opinion incompatible with the public\n  interest, whether any convention or compact has been entered into on the\n  part of the United States and the Government of Great Britain whereby\n  the two Governments jointly recommend or advise the Republics of Costa\n  Rica and Nicaragua, or either of those Republics, and the Mosquito\n  Indians, inhabiting the Mosquito Coast, in Central America, on matters\n  affecting their several and respective boundaries, or whereby any\n  recommendation or advice is given to either of said Republics or said\n  Indians respecting the territorial rights thereafter to be enjoyed or\n  observed by them respectively, or in any other manner affecting or\n  regulating the relations hereafter to be maintained between said\n  Republics themselves, or either of them, and the said Indians concerning\n  their territorial boundaries or other matters thereto appertaining. And\n  if there be any such convention or compact, then that the President be\n  requested to communicate the same, or a copy thereof, to the Senate, and\n  to inform the Senate whether the same was made at the request or\n  invitation of either of said Republics or of said Indians, or with their\n  privity, approbation, or consent. And that the President be further\n  requested to communicate to the Senate copies of all correspondence\n  between the Executive and Great Britain, or with either of said\n  Republics of Central America, touching said convention, and of all\n  documents connected therewith. And if such convention or compact has\n  been made, that the President be further requested to inform the Senate\n  whether the same has been formally communicated to the respective\n  Governments of Nicaragua and Costa Rica and the Mosquito Indians on the\n  part of the Governments of Great Britain and the United States, and in\n  what form such communications have been made to them, and that he lay\n  before the Senate copies of any instructions that have been given to the\n  representatives or agents of the United States at Nicaragua and Costa\n  Rica touching such convention and the matters therein contained, with\n  copies of like instructions to any naval officer of the United States\n  relating to or in any manner concerning the said convention or its\n  communication to said Republics or said Indians.\n\n\nOn the same day I returned the following answer to that resolution:\n\n  I have received and taken into respectful consideration the resolution\n  of the Senate of yesterday, adopted in executive session, requesting\n  information in regard to supposed negotiations between the United States\n  and Great Britain and between the United States and the Republics of\n  Nicaragua and Costa Rica, respectively. Any information which may be in\n  the possession of the Executive on these subjects shall in due time be\n  laid before the Senate, but it is apprehended that it would not comport\n  with the public interests to communicate it under existing\n  circumstances.\n\n\nGreat was my surprise to observe this morning in one of the public\njournals a statement of what purports to be a proposition, jointly\nsigned by Her Britannic Majesty's minister here and the Secretary of\nState, for the adjustment of certain claims to territory between\nNicaragua, Costa Rica, and the Mosquito Indians. I have caused immediate\ninquiry to be made into the origin of this highly improper publication,\nand shall omit no proper or legal means for bringing it to light.\nWhether it shall turn out to have been caused by unfaithfulness or\nbreach of duty in any officer of this Government, high or low, or by\na violation of diplomatic confidence, the appropriate remedy will be\nimmediately applied, as being due not only to this Government, but to\nother governments. And I hold this communication to be especially proper\nto be made immediately by me to the Senate, after what has transpired\non this subject, that the Senate may be perfectly assured that no\ninformation asked by it has been withheld and at the same time permitted\nto be published to the world.\n\nThis publication can not be considered otherwise than as a breach of\nofficial duty by some officer of the Government or a gross violation of\nthe confidence necessary always to be reposed in the representatives of\nother nations. An occurrence of this kind can not but weaken the faith\nso desirable to be preserved between different governments and to injure\nthe negotiations now pending, and it merits the severest reprobation.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON CITY, _July 2, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith transmit, for the advice and consent of the Senate, a treaty\nrecently negotiated with the Chickasaw Nation of Indians.\n\nThe nature and objects of the treaty are fully explained by the report\nof Mr. Harper, who negotiated it in behalf of the United States.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 2, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nBy an act of Congress approved on the 10th day of February, 1852, an\nappropriation of $6,000 was made for the relief of _American citizens_\nthen lately imprisoned and pardoned by the Queen of Spain, intended\nto provide for the return of such of the Cuban prisoners as were\ncitizens of the United States who had been transported to Spain and\nthere pardoned by the Spanish Government. It will be observed that no\nprovision was made for such foreigners or aliens as were engaged in the\nCuban expedition, and who had shared the fate of American citizens, for\nwhose relief the said act was intended to provide. I now transmit a\nreport from the First Comptroller, with accompanying papers, from which\nit will be perceived that fifteen foreigners were connected with that\nexpedition, who were also pardoned by the Queen of Spain, and have been\ntransported to the United States under a contract made with our consul,\nat an expense of $1,013.34, for the payment of which no provision\nhas been made by law. The consul having evidently acted with good\nintentions, the claim is submitted for the consideration of Congress.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 13, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the House of Representatives requesting\ninformation relative to the policy of the Government in regard to the\nisland of Cuba, I transmit a report from the Department of State and\nthe documents by which it was accompanied.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nEXECUTIVE MANSION,\n\n_Washington City, July 26, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn obedience to your resolution adopted in executive session June 11,\n1852, I have the honor herewith to communicate a report[23] from the\nSecretary of the Interior, containing the information called for by that\nresolution.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 23: Relating to the boundary line between the United States\nand Mexico.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 27, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 19th instant,\nrequesting the correspondence between the Government of the United\nStates and that of the Mexican Republic respecting a right of way\nacross the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, I transmit a report from the\nDepartment of State and the documents by which it was accompanied.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 29, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with the resolution of the Senate of the 27th instant,\nI transmit the copy of the notes[24] of Mr. Luis de la Rosa and Mr.\nJ.M. Gonzales de la Vega, which it requests.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 24: Upon the subject of the American and Mexican boundary\ncommission.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _July 31, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI communicate to the Senate herewith, for its constitutional action\nthereon, nineteen treaties negotiated by commissioners on the part of\nthe United States with various tribes of Indians in the Territory of\nOregon, accompanied by a letter to me from the Secretary of the Interior\nand certain documents having reference thereto.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 2, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 23d ultimo, requesting\ninformation in regard to the fisheries on the coasts of the British\npossessions in North America, I transmit a report from the Acting\nSecretary of State and the documents by which it was accompanied.\nCommodore M.C. Perry, with the United States steam frigate _Mississippi_\nunder his command, has been dispatched to that quarter for the purpose\nof protecting the rights of American fishermen under the convention of\n1818.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 9, 1852_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nI transmit a report from the Acting Secretary of State and the documents\nby which it was accompanied, in answer to a resolution of the House of\nRepresentatives of the 22d ultimo, on the subject of the fisheries, and\nstate for the information of that House that the United States steam\nfrigate _Mississippi_ has been dispatched to the fishing grounds on the\ncoasts of the British possessions in North America for the purpose of\nprotecting the rights of American fishermen under the convention between\nthe United States and Great Britain of the 20th of October, 1818.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 10, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit a copy of the certificate of the exchange of the\nratifications of the general convention of peace, amity, commerce, and\nnavigation between the United States and the Republic of San Salvador,\nsigned at Leon, in Nicaragua, on the 2d of January, 1850. It will be\nseen that the exchange was not effected until the 2d of June last, but\nthat it was stipulated that the convention was not to be binding upon\neither of the parties thereto until the Senate of the United States\nshould have duly sanctioned the exchange.\n\nThe Senate by its resolution of the 27th of September, 1850, authorized\nthe exchange to take place at any time prior to the 1st of April, 1851.\n\nMr. Kerr, the charge d'affaires of the United States to Nicaragua,\nhowever, who was authorized to make the exchange on the part of this\nGovernment, was unavoidably detained in that Republic, in consequence of\nwhich the exchange could not be effected within the period referred to.\n\nThe expediency of sanctioning the exchange which has been made by\nMr. Kerr, and of authorizing the convention to go into effect, is\naccordingly submitted to the consideration of the Senate.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 12, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate dated the 20th ultimo,\nrequesting information in regard to controversies between the consul of\nthe United States at Acapulco and the Mexican authorities, I transmit\na report from the Secretary of State and the documents by which it was\naccompanied.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 13, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit a report from the Secretary of State upon the subject of the\nrelations between the United States and the Republics of Nicaragua and\nCosta Rica, in Central America, which has been delayed longer than I\ndesired in consequence of the ill health of the Secretary of State.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 14, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI have received a resolution from your honorable body of the 6th\ninstant, appearing to have been adopted in open legislative session,\nrequesting me \"to inform the Senate, if not incompatible with the public\ninterests, whether any propositions have been made by the King of the\nSandwich Islands to transfer the sovereignty of these islands to the\nUnited States, and to communicate to the Senate all the official\ninformation on that subject in my possession;\" in reply to which I have\nto state that on or about the 12th day of June last I received a similar\nresolution from the Senate adopted in executive or secret session, to\nwhich I returned an answer stating that in my opinion a communication of\nthe information requested at that juncture would not comport with the\npublic interest. Nothing has since transpired to change my views on that\nsubject, and I therefore feel constrained again to decline giving the\ninformation asked.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 21, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 9th instant, requesting\ninformation touching the Lobos Islands, I transmit a report from the\nSecretary of State and the documents by which it was accompanied. The\ninstructions to the squadron of the United States called for by the\nresolution will be communicated on an early future occasion.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 27, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 14th ultimo, requesting\na copy of the correspondence of Mr. R.M. Walsh while he was employed\nas a special agent of this Government in the island of St. Domingo,\nI transmit a report from the Secretary of State and the documents by\nwhich it was accompanied.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 27, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit a further report from the Secretary of State relative to the\nLobos Islands. This report is accompanied by a copy of the orders of the\nNavy Department to Commodore McCauley, requested by the resolution of\nthe Senate of the 9th instant.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 27, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nAs it is not deemed advisable that the instruction to Mr. R.M. Walsh,[25]\na copy of which is herewith transmitted, should be published at this\ntime, I communicate it confidentially to the Senate in executive\nsession.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 25: Special agent of the United States in the island of St.\nDomingo.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 27, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a supplementary convention relative to commerce and\nnavigation between the United States and the Netherlands, signed\nin this city on the 26th instant.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 27, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a convention between the United States and Belgium for\nregulating the right of inheriting and acquiring property, signed in\nthis city on the 25th instant.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _August 31, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 21st instant,\nrequesting information in respect to foreign postal arrangements, and\nespecially cheap ocean postage, I transmit a report of the Secretary\nof State and the documents by which it was accompanied.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\n\nEXECUTIVE ORDERS.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON CITY,\n\n_May 17, 1852_.\n\nThe SECRETARY OF WAR.\n\nMY DEAR SIR: I have just issued an authority to Hugh Maxwell, collector\nat New York, under the eighth section of the act of April 20, 1818,\nto arrest any unlawful expedition that may be attempted to be fitted\nout within his district, and I have given him power to call upon\nany military and naval officers that may be there to aid him in the\nexecution of this duty; and I will thank you to issue the necessary\ninstructions to the proper military officer in that district.\n\nI am, your obedient servant,\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON CITY,\n\n_Tuesday, June 29, 1852--12.30 o'clock p.m._\n\nSIR:[26] The tolling bells announce the death of the Hon. Henry Clay.\nThough this event has been long anticipated, yet the painful bereavement\ncould never be fully realized. I am sure all hearts are too sad at this\nmoment to attend to business, and I therefore respectfully suggest that\nyour Department be closed for the remainder of the day.\n\nI have the honor to be, your obedient servant,\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 26: Addressed to the heads of the several Executive\nDepartments.]\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _September 13, 1852_.\n\nGeneral Jos. G. TOTTEN.\n\nSIR: I have to acknowledge the receipt of your favor of the 11th instant\nand to say that I shall be pleased if you will cause the necessary\nsurveys, projects, and estimates for determining the best means of\naffording the cities of Washington and Georgetown an unfailing and\nabundant supply of good and wholesome water to be made as soon as\npossible.\n\nI am, very respectfully, your obedient servant,\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\n[From the Daily National Intelligencer, October 26, 1852.]\n\nEXECUTIVE MANSION,\n\n_Washington, Monday Morning, October 25, 1852_.\n\nThe ACTING SECRETARY OF STATE and the SECRETARIES OF THE TREASURY,\nINTERIOR, WAR, NAVY, the ATTORNEY-GENERAL and POSTMASTER-GENERAL.\n\nGENTLEMEN: The painful intelligence received yesterday enforces upon me\nthe sad duty of announcing to the Executive Departments the death of the\nSecretary of State. Daniel Webster died at Marshfield, in Massachusetts,\non Sunday, the 24th of October, between 2 and 3 o'clock in the morning.\n\nWhilst this irreparable loss brings its natural sorrow to every American\nheart and will be heard far beyond our borders with mournful respect\nwherever civilization has nurtured men who find in transcendent\nintellect and faithful, patriotic service a theme for praise, it\nwill visit with still more poignant emotion his colleagues in the\nAdministration, with whom his relations have been so intimate and\nso cordial.\n\nThe fame of our illustrious statesman belongs to his country, the\nadmiration of it to the world. The record of his wisdom will inform\nfuture generations not less than its utterance has enlightened the\npresent. He has bequeathed to posterity the richest fruits of the\nexperience and judgment of a great mind conversant with the greatest\nnational concerns. In these his memory will endure as long as our\ncountry shall continue to be the home and guardian of freemen.\n\nThe people will share with the Executive Departments in the common\ngrief which bewails his departure from amongst us.\n\nIn the expression of individual regret at this afflicting event the\nExecutive Departments of the Government will be careful to manifest\nevery observance of honor which custom has established as appropriate\nto the memory of one so eminent as a public functionary and so\ndistinguished as a citizen.\n\nThe Acting Secretary of State will communicate this sad intelligence to\nthe diplomatic corps near this Government and, through our ministers\nabroad, to foreign governments.\n\nThe members of the Cabinet are requested, as a further testimony of\nrespect for the deceased, to wear the usual badges of mourning for\nthirty days.\n\nI am, gentlemen, your obedient servant,\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\n\nTHIRD ANNUAL MESSAGE.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 6, 1852_.\n\n_Fellow-Citizens of the Senate and of the House of Representatives_:\n\nThe brief space which has elapsed since the close of your last session\nhas been marked by no extraordinary political event. The quadrennial\nelection of Chief Magistrate has passed off with less than the usual\nexcitement. However individuals and parties may have been disappointed\nin the result, it is, nevertheless, a subject of national congratulation\nthat the choice has been effected by the independent suffrages of a free\npeople, undisturbed by those influences which in other countries have\ntoo often affected the purity of popular elections.\n\nOur grateful thanks are due to an all-merciful Providence, not only\nfor staying the pestilence which in different forms has desolated some\nof our cities, but for crowning the labors of the husbandman with an\nabundant harvest and the nation generally with the blessings of peace\nand prosperity.\n\nWithin a few weeks the public mind has been deeply affected by the\ndeath of Daniel Webster, filling at his decease the office of Secretary\nof State. His associates in the executive government have sincerely\nsympathized with his family and the public generally on this mournful\noccasion. His commanding talents, his great political and professional\neminence, his well-tried patriotism, and his long and faithful services\nin the most important public trusts have caused his death to be lamented\nthroughout the country and have earned for him a lasting place in our\nhistory.\n\nIn the course of the last summer considerable anxiety was caused for\na short time by an official intimation from the Government of Great\nBritain that orders had been given for the protection of the fisheries\nupon the coasts of the British Provinces in North America against the\nalleged encroachments of the fishing vessels of the United States and\nFrance. The shortness of this notice and the season of the year seemed\nto make it a matter of urgent importance. It was at first apprehended\nthat an increased naval force had been ordered to the fishing grounds\nto carry into effect the British interpretation of those provisions in\nthe convention of 1818 in reference to the true intent of which the two\nGovernments differ. It was soon discovered that such was not the design\nof Great Britain, and satisfactory explanations of the real objects of\nthe measure have been given both here and in London.\n\nThe unadjusted difference, however, between the two Governments as to\nthe interpretation of the first article of the convention of 1818 is\nstill a matter of importance. American fishing vessels, within nine or\nten years, have been excluded from waters to which they had free access\nfor twenty-five years after the negotiation of the treaty. In 1845 this\nexclusion was relaxed so far as concerns the Bay of Fundy, but the just\nand liberal intention of the home Government, in compliance with what\nwe think the true construction of the convention, to open all the\nother outer bays to our fishermen was abandoned in consequence of the\nopposition of the colonies. Notwithstanding this, the United States\nhave, since the Bay of Fundy was reopened to our fishermen in 1845,\npursued the most liberal course toward the colonial fishing interests.\nBy the revenue law of 1846 the duties on colonial fish entering our\nports were very greatly reduced, and by the warehousing act it is\nallowed to be entered in bond without payment of duty. In this way\ncolonial fish has acquired the monopoly of the export trade in our\nmarket and is entering to some extent into the home consumption. These\nfacts were among those which increased the sensibility of our fishing\ninterest at the movement in question.\n\nThese circumstances and the incidents above alluded to have led me to\nthink the moment favorable for a reconsideration of the entire subject\nof the fisheries on the coasts of the British Provinces, with a view to\nplace them upon a more liberal footing of reciprocal privilege. A\nwillingness to meet us in some arrangement of this kind is understood to\nexist on the part of Great Britain, with a desire on her part to include\nin one comprehensive settlement as well this subject as the commercial\nintercourse between the United States and the British Provinces. I have\nthought that, whatever arrangements may be made on these two subjects,\nit is expedient that they should be embraced in separate conventions.\nThe illness and death of the late Secretary of State prevented the\ncommencement of the contemplated negotiation. Pains have been taken to\ncollect the information required for the details of such an arrangement.\nThe subject is attended with considerable difficulty. If it is found\npracticable to come to an agreement mutually acceptable to the two\nparties, conventions may be concluded in the course of the present\nwinter. The control of Congress over all the provisions of such an\narrangement affecting the revenue will of course be reserved.\n\nThe affairs of Cuba formed a prominent topic in my last annual message.\nThey remain in an uneasy condition, and a feeling of alarm and\nirritation on the part of the Cuban authorities appears to exist. This\nfeeling has interfered with the regular commercial intercourse between\nthe United States and the island and led to some acts of which we have\na right to complain. But the Captain-General of Cuba is clothed with no\npower to treat with foreign governments, nor is he in any degree under\nthe control of the Spanish minister at Washington. Any communication\nwhich he may hold with an agent of a foreign power is informal and\nmatter of courtesy. Anxious to put an end to the existing inconveniences\n(which seemed to rest on a misconception), I directed the newly\nappointed minister to Mexico to visit Havana on his way to Vera Cruz.\nHe was respectfully received by the Captain-General, who conferred with\nhim freely on the recent occurrences, but no permanent arrangement was\neffected.\n\nIn the meantime the refusal of the Captain-General to allow passengers\nand the mail to be landed in certain cases, for a reason which does not\nfurnish, in the opinion of this Government, even a good presumptive\nground for such prohibition, has been made the subject of a serious\nremonstrance at Madrid, and I have no reason to doubt that due respect\nwill be paid by the Government of Her Catholic Majesty to the\nrepresentations which our minister has been instructed to make on the\nsubject.\n\nIt is but justice to the Captain-General to add that his conduct toward\nthe steamers employed to carry the mails of the United States to Havana\nhas, with the exceptions above alluded to, been marked with kindness and\nliberality, and indicates no general purpose of interfering with the\ncommercial correspondence and intercourse between the island and this\ncountry.\n\nEarly in the present year official notes were received from the\nministers of France and England inviting the Government of the United\nStates to become a party with Great Britain and France to a tripartite\nconvention, in virtue of which the three powers should severally and\ncollectively disclaim now and for the future all intention to obtain\npossession of the island of Cuba, and should bind themselves to\ndiscountenance all attempts to that effect on the part of any power or\nindividual whatever. This invitation has been respectfully declined, for\nreasons which it would occupy too much space in this communication to\nstate in detail, but which led me to think that the proposed measure\nwould be of doubtful constitutionality, impolitic, and unavailing. I\nhave, however, in common with several of my predecessors, directed the\nministers of France and England to be assured that the United States\nentertain no designs against Cuba, but that, on the contrary, I should\nregard its incorporation into the Union at the present time as fraught\nwith serious peril.\n\nWere this island comparatively destitute of inhabitants or occupied by a\nkindred race, I should regard it, if voluntarily ceded by Spain, as a\nmost desirable acquisition. But under existing circumstances I should\nlook upon its incorporation into our Union as a very hazardous measure.\nIt would bring into the Confederacy a population of a different national\nstock, speaking a different language, and not likely to harmonize with\nthe other members. It would probably affect in a prejudicial manner the\nindustrial interests of the South, and it might revive those conflicts\nof opinion between the different sections of the country which lately\nshook the Union to its center, and which have been so happily\ncompromised.\n\nThe rejection by the Mexican Congress of the convention which had been\nconcluded between that Republic and the United States for the protection\nof a transit way across the Isthmus of Tehuantepec and of the interests\nof those citizens of the United States who had become proprietors of\nthe rights which Mexico had conferred on one of her own citizens in\nregard to that transit has thrown a serious obstacle in the way of the\nattainment of a very desirable national object. I am still willing to\nhope that the differences on the subject which exist, or may hereafter\narise, between the Governments will be amicably adjusted. This subject,\nhowever, has already engaged the attention of the Senate of the United\nStates, and requires no further comment in this communication.\n\nThe settlement of the question respecting the port of San Juan de\nNicaragua and of the controversy between the Republics of Costa Rica and\nNicaragua in regard to their boundaries was considered indispensable to\nthe commencement of the ship canal between the two oceans, which was the\nsubject of the convention between the United States and Great Britain\nof the 19th of April, 1850. Accordingly, a proposition for the same\npurposes, addressed to the two Governments in that quarter and to the\nMosquito Indians, was agreed to in April last by the Secretary of State\nand the minister of Her Britannic Majesty. Besides the wish to aid in\nreconciling the differences of the two Republics, I engaged in the\nnegotiation from a desire to place the great work of a ship canal\nbetween the two oceans under one jurisdiction and to establish the\nimportant port of San Juan de Nicaragua under the government of a\ncivilized power. The proposition in question was assented to by Costa\nRica and the Mosquito Indians. It has not proved equally acceptable\nto Nicaragua, but it is to be hoped that the further negotiations on\nthe subject which are in train will be carried on in that spirit of\nconciliation and compromise which ought always to prevail on such\noccasions, and that they will lead to a satisfactory result.\n\nI have the satisfaction to inform you that the executive government of\nVenezuela has acknowledged some claims of citizens of the United States\nwhich have for many years past been urged by our charge d'affaires at\nCaracas. It is hoped that the same sense of justice will actuate the\nCongress of that Republic in providing the means for their payment.\n\nThe recent revolution in Buenos Ayres and the Confederated States having\nopened the prospect of an improved state of things in that quarter, the\nGovernments of Great Britain and France determined to negotiate with the\nchief of the new confederacy for the free access of their commerce to\nthe extensive countries watered by the tributaries of the La Plata; and\nthey gave a friendly notice of this purpose to the United States, that\nwe might, if we thought proper, pursue the same course. In compliance\nwith this invitation, our minister at Rio Janeiro and our charge\nd'affaires at Buenos Ayres have been fully authorized to conclude\ntreaties with the newly organized confederation or the States composing\nit. The delays which have taken place in the formation of the new\ngovernment have as yet prevented the execution of those instructions,\nbut there is every reason to hope that these vast countries will be\neventually opened to our commerce.\n\nA treaty of commerce has been concluded between the United States and\nthe Oriental Republic of Uruguay, which will be laid before the Senate.\nShould this convention go into operation, it will open to the commercial\nenterprise of our citizens a country of great extent and unsurpassed in\nnatural resources, but from which foreign nations have hitherto been\nalmost wholly excluded.\n\nThe correspondence of the late Secretary of State with the Peruvian\ncharge d'affaires relative to the Lobos Islands was communicated to\nCongress toward the close of the last session. Since that time, on\nfurther investigation of the subject, the doubts which had been\nentertained of the title of Peru to those islands have been removed,\nand I have deemed it just that the temporary wrong which had been\nunintentionally done her from want of information should be repaired\nby an unreserved acknowledgment of her sovereignty.\n\nI have the satisfaction to inform you that the course pursued by Peru\nhas been creditable to the liberality of her Government. Before it was\nknown by her that her title would be acknowledged at Washington, her\nminister of foreign affairs had authorized our charge d'affaires at Lima\nto announce to the American vessels which had gone to the Lobos for\nguano that the Peruvian Government was willing to freight them on its\nown account. This intention has been carried into effect by the Peruvian\nminister here by an arrangement which is believed to be advantageous to\nthe parties in interest.\n\nOur settlements on the shores of the Pacific have already given a great\nextension, and in some respects a new direction, to our commerce in that\nocean. A direct and rapidly increasing intercourse has sprung up with\neastern Asia. The waters of the Northern Pacific, even into the Arctic\nSea, have of late years been frequented by our whalemen. The application\nof steam to the general purposes of navigation is becoming daily more\ncommon, and makes it desirable to obtain fuel and other necessary\nsupplies at convenient points on the route between Asia and our Pacific\nshores. Our unfortunate countrymen who from time to time suffer\nshipwreck on the coasts of the eastern seas are entitled to protection.\nBesides these specific objects, the general prosperity of our States on\nthe Pacific requires that an attempt should be made to open the opposite\nregions of Asia to a mutually beneficial intercourse. It is obvious that\nthis attempt could be made by no power to so great advantage as by\nthe United States, whose constitutional system excludes every idea of\ndistant colonial dependencies. I have accordingly been led to order an\nappropriate naval force to Japan, under the command of a discreet and\nintelligent officer of the highest rank known to our service. He is\ninstructed to endeavor to obtain from the Government of that country\nsome relaxation of the inhospitable and antisocial system which it has\npursued for about two centuries. He has been directed particularly to\nremonstrate in the strongest language against the cruel treatment to\nwhich our shipwrecked mariners have often been subjected and to insist\nthat they shall be treated with humanity. He is instructed, however,\nat the same time, to give that Government the amplest assurances that\nthe objects of the United States are such, and such only, as I have\nindicated, and that the expedition is friendly and peaceful.\nNotwithstanding the jealousy with which the Governments of eastern\nAsia regard all overtures from foreigners, I am not without hopes of a\nbeneficial result of the expedition. Should it be crowned with success,\nthe advantages will not be confined to the United States, but, as in the\ncase of China, will be equally enjoyed by all the other maritime powers.\nI have much satisfaction in stating that in all the steps preparatory to\nthis expedition the Government of the United States has been materially\naided by the good offices of the King of the Netherlands, the only\nEuropean power having any commercial relations with Japan.\n\nIn passing from this survey of our foreign relations, I invite the\nattention of Congress to the condition of that Department of the\nGovernment to which this branch of the public business is intrusted. Our\nintercourse with foreign powers has of late years greatly increased,\nboth in consequence of our own growth and the introduction of many new\nstates into the family of nations. In this way the Department of State\nhas become overburdened. It has by the recent establishment of the\nDepartment of the Interior been relieved of some portion of the domestic\nbusiness. If the residue of the business of that kind--such as the\ndistribution of Congressional documents, the keeping, publishing, and\ndistribution of the laws of the United States, the execution of the\ncopyright law, the subject of reprieves and pardons, and some other\nsubjects relating to interior administration--should be transferred from\nthe Department of State, it would unquestionably be for the benefit of\nthe public service. I would also suggest that the building appropriated\nto the State Department is not fireproof; that there is reason to think\nthere are defects in its construction, and that the archives of the\nGovernment in charge of the Department, with the precious collections of\nthe manuscript papers of Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, Madison, and\nMonroe, are exposed to destruction by fire. A similar remark may be made\nof the buildings appropriated to the War and Navy Departments.\n\nThe condition of the Treasury is exhibited in the annual report from\nthat Department.\n\nThe cash receipts into the Treasury for the fiscal year ending the\n30th June last, exclusive of trust funds, were $49,728,386.89, and\nthe expenditures for the same period, likewise exclusive of trust\nfunds, were $46,007,896.20, of which $9,455,815.83 was on account\nof the principal and interest of the public debt, including the last\ninstallment of the indemnity to Mexico under the treaty of Guadalupe\nHidalgo, leaving a balance of $14,632,136.37 in the Treasury on the\n1st day of July last. Since this latter period further purchases\nof the principal of the public debt have been made to the extent of\n$2,456,547.49, and the surplus in the Treasury will continue to be\napplied to that object whenever the stock can be procured within the\nlimits as to price authorized by law.\n\nThe value of foreign merchandise imported during the last fiscal year\nwas $207,240,101, and the value of domestic productions exported was\n$149,861,911, besides $17,204,026 of foreign merchandise exported,\nmaking the aggregate of the entire exports $167,065,937. Exclusive of\nthe above, there was exported $42,507,285 in specie, and imported from\nforeign ports $5,262,643.\n\nIn my first annual message to Congress I called your attention to what\nseemed to me some defects in the present tariff, and recommended such\nmodifications as in my judgment were best adapted to remedy its evils\nand promote the prosperity of the country. Nothing has since occurred\nto change my views on this important question.\n\nWithout repeating the arguments contained in my former message in favor\nof discriminating protective duties, I deem it my duty to call your\nattention to one or two other considerations affecting this subject.\nThe first is the effect of large importations of foreign goods upon\nour currency. Most of the gold of California, as fast as it is coined,\nfinds its way directly to Europe in payment for goods purchased.\nIn the second place, as our manufacturing establishments are broken\ndown by competition with foreigners, the capital invested in them is\nlost, thousands of honest and industrious citizens are thrown out of\nemployment, and the farmer, to that extent, is deprived of a home market\nfor the sale of his surplus produce. In the third place, the destruction\nof our manufactures leaves the foreigner without competition in our\nmarket, and he consequently raises the price of the article sent here\nfor sale, as is now seen in the increased cost of iron imported from\nEngland. The prosperity and wealth of every nation must depend upon its\nproductive industry. The farmer is stimulated to exertion by finding a\nready market for his surplus products, and benefited by being able to\nexchange them without loss of time or expense of transportation for the\nmanufactures which his comfort or convenience requires. This is always\ndone to the best advantage where a portion of the community in which\nhe lives is engaged in other pursuits. But most manufactures require\nan amount of capital and a practical skill which can not be commanded\nunless they be protected for a time from ruinous competition from\nabroad. Hence the necessity of laying those duties upon imported goods\nwhich the Constitution authorizes for revenue in such a manner as to\nprotect and encourage the labor of our own citizens. Duties, however,\nshould not be fixed at a rate so high as to exclude the foreign article,\nbut should be so graduated as to enable the domestic manufacturer\nfairly to compete with the foreigner in our own markets, and by this\ncompetition to reduce the price of the manufactured article to the\nconsumer to the lowest rate at which it can be produced. This policy\nwould place the mechanic by the side of the farmer, create a mutual\ninterchange of their respective commodities, and thus stimulate the\nindustry of the whole country and render us independent of foreign\nnations for the supplies required by the habits or necessities of\nthe people.\n\nAnother question, wholly independent of protection, presents itself,\nand that is, whether the duties levied should be upon the value of\nthe article at the place of shipment, or, where it is practicable,\na specific duty, graduated according to quantity, as ascertained by\nweight or measure. All our duties are at present _ad valorem_. A\ncertain percentage is levied on the price of the goods at the port\nof shipment in a foreign country. Most commercial nations have found it\nindispensable, for the purpose of preventing fraud and perjury, to make\nthe duties specific whenever the article is of such a uniform value in\nweight or measure as to justify such a duty. Legislation should never\nencourage dishonesty or crime. It is impossible that the revenue\nofficers at the port where the goods are entered and the duties paid\nshould know with certainty what they cost in the foreign country. Yet\nthe law requires that they should levy the duty according to such cost.\nThey are therefore compelled to resort to very unsatisfactory evidence\nto ascertain what that cost was. They take the invoice of the importer,\nattested by his oath, as the best evidence of which the nature of the\ncase admits. But everyone must see that the invoice may be fabricated\nand the oath by which it is supported false, by reason of which the\ndishonest importer pays a part only of the duties which are paid by the\nhonest one, and thus indirectly receives from the Treasury of the United\nStates a reward for his fraud and perjury. The reports of the Secretary\nof the Treasury heretofore made on this subject show conclusively that\nthese frauds have been practiced to a great extent. The tendency is to\ndestroy that high moral character for which our merchants have long been\ndistinguished, to defraud the Government of its revenue, to break down\nthe honest importer by a dishonest competition, and, finally, to\ntransfer the business of importation to foreign and irresponsible\nagents, to the great detriment of our own citizens. I therefore again\nmost earnestly recommend the adoption of specific duties wherever it\nis practicable, or a home valuation, to prevent these frauds.\n\nI would also again call your attention to the fact that the present\ntariff in some cases imposes a higher duty upon the raw material\nimported than upon the article manufactured from it, the consequence of\nwhich is that the duty operates to the encouragement of the foreigner\nand the discouragement of our own citizens.\n\nFor full and detailed information in regard to the general condition\nof our Indian affairs, I respectfully refer you to the report of the\nSecretary of the Interior and the accompanying documents.\n\nThe Senate not having thought proper to ratify the treaties which have\nbeen negotiated with the tribes of Indians in California and Oregon, our\nrelations with them have been left in a very unsatisfactory condition.\n\nIn other parts of our territory particular districts of country have\nbeen set apart for the exclusive occupation of the Indians, and their\nright to the lands within those limits has been acknowledged and\nrespected. But in California and Oregon there has been no recognition by\nthe Government of the exclusive right of the Indians to any part of the\ncountry. They are therefore mere tenants at sufferance, and liable to be\ndriven from place to place at the pleasure of the whites.\n\nThe treaties which have been rejected proposed to remedy this evil\nby allotting to the different tribes districts of country suitable\nto their habits of life and sufficient for their support. This provision,\nmore than any other, it is believed, led to their rejection; and as\nno substitute for it has been adopted by Congress, it has not been\ndeemed advisable to attempt to enter into new treaties of a permanent\ncharacter, although no effort has been spared by temporary arrangements\nto preserve friendly relations with them.\n\nIf it be the desire of Congress to remove them from the country\naltogether, or to assign to them particular districts more remote from\nthe settlements of the whites, it will be proper to set apart by law the\nterritory which they are to occupy and to provide the means necessary\nfor removing them to it. Justice alike to our own citizens and to the\nIndians requires the prompt action of Congress on this subject.\n\nThe amendments proposed by the Senate to the treaties which were\nnegotiated with the Sioux Indians of Minnesota have been submitted to\nthe tribes who were parties to them, and have received their assent.\nA large tract of valuable territory has thus been opened for settlement\nand cultivation, and all danger of collision with these powerful and\nwarlike bands has been happily removed.\n\nThe removal of the remnant of the tribe of Seminole Indians from Florida\nhas long been a cherished object of the Government, and it is one to\nwhich my attention has been steadily directed. Admonished by past\nexperience of the difficulty and cost of the attempt to remove them\nby military force, resort has been had to conciliatory measures.\nBy the invitation of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs, several of\nthe principal chiefs recently visited Washington, and whilst here\nacknowledged in writing the obligation of their tribe to remove with\nthe least possible delay. Late advices from the special agent of the\nGovernment represent that they adhere to their promise, and that a\ncouncil of their people has been called to make their preliminary\narrangements. A general emigration may therefore be confidently\nexpected at an early day.\n\nThe report from the General Land Office shows increased activity in\nits operations. The survey of the northern boundary of Iowa has been\ncompleted with unexampled dispatch. Within the last year 9,522,953\nacres of public land have been surveyed and 8,032,463 acres brought\ninto market.\n\n                                                            Acres.\n  In the last fiscal year there were sold..............  1,553,071\n  Located with bounty-land warrants....................  3,201,314\n  Located with other certificates......................    115,682\n                                                         ---------\n  Making a total of....................................  4,870,067\n  In addition there were--\n  Reported under swamp-land grants.....................  5,219,188\n  For internal improvements, railroads, etc............  3,025,920\n                                                         ---------\n  Making an aggregate of............................... 13,115,175\n\n\nBeing an increase of the amount sold and located under land warrants of\n569,220 acres over the previous year.\n\nThe whole amount thus sold, located under land warrants, reported under\nswamp-land grants, and selected for internal improvements exceeds that\nof the previous year by 3,342,372 acres; and the sales would without\ndoubt have been much larger but for the extensive reservations for\nrailroads in Missouri, Mississippi, and Alabama.\n\n                                                            Acres.\n  For the quarter ending 30th September, 1852, there\n                                          were sold.....   243,255\n  Located with bounty-land warrants..................... 1,387,116\n  Located with other certificates.......................    15,649\n  Reported under swamp-land grants...................... 2,485,233\n                                                         ---------\n  Making an aggregate for the quarter of................ 4,131,253\n\n\nMuch the larger portion of the labor of arranging and classifying the\nreturns of the last census has been finished, and it will now devolve\nupon Congress to make the necessary provision for the publication of\nthe results in such form as shall be deemed best. The apportionment\nof representation on the basis of the new census has been made by the\nSecretary of the Interior in conformity with the provisions of law\nrelating to that subject, and the recent elections have been made in\naccordance with it.\n\nI commend to your favorable regard the suggestion contained in the\nreport of the Secretary of the Interior that provision be made by law\nfor the publication and distribution, periodically, of an analytical\ndigest of all the patents which have been or may hereafter be granted\nfor useful inventions and discoveries, with such descriptions and\nillustrations as may be necessary to present an intelligible view of\ntheir nature and operation. The cost of such publication could easily\nbe defrayed out of the patent fund, and I am persuaded that it could be\napplied to no object more acceptable to inventors and beneficial to the\npublic at large.\n\nAn appropriation of $100,000 having been made at the last session for\nthe purchase of a suitable site and for the erection, furnishing, and\nfitting up of an asylum for the insane of the District of Columbia and\nof the Army and Navy of the United States, the proper measures have been\nadopted to carry this beneficent purpose into effect.\n\nBy the latest advices from the Mexican boundary commission it appears\nthat the survey of the river Gila from its confluence with the Colorado\nto its supposed intersection with the western line of New Mexico has\nbeen completed. The survey of the Rio Grande has also been finished from\nthe point agreed on by the commissioners as \"the point where it strikes\nthe southern boundary of New Mexico\" to a point 135 miles below Eagle\nPass, which is about two-thirds of the distance along the course of the\nriver to its mouth.\n\nThe appropriation which was made at the last session of Congress for the\ncontinuation of the survey is subject to the following proviso:\n\n  _Provided_, That no part of this appropriation shall be used or\n  expended until it shall be made satisfactorily to appear to the\n  President of the United States that the southern boundary of New\n  Mexico is not established by the commissioner and surveyor of the\n  United States farther north of the town called \"Paso\" than the same\n  is laid down in Disturnell's map, which is added to the treaty.\n\n\nMy attention was drawn to this subject by a report from the Department\nof the Interior, which reviewed all the facts of the case and submitted\nfor my decision the question whether under existing circumstances any\npart, of the appropriation could be lawfully used or expended for the\nfurther prosecution of the work. After a careful consideration of the\nsubject I came to the conclusion that it could not, and so informed\nthe head of that Department. Orders were immediately issued by him to\nthe commissioner and surveyor to make no further requisitions on the\nDepartment, as they could not be paid, and to discontinue all operations\non the southern line of New Mexico. But as the Department had no exact\ninformation as to the amount of provisions and money which remained\nunexpended in the hands of the commissioner and surveyor, it was left\ndiscretionary with them to continue the survey down the Rio Grande as\nfar as the means at their disposal would enable them or at once to\ndisband the commission. A special messenger has since arrived from the\nofficer in charge of the survey on the river with information that the\nfunds subject to his control were exhausted and that the officers and\nothers employed in the service were destitute alike of the means of\nprosecuting the work and of returning to their homes.\n\nThe object of the proviso was doubtless to arrest the survey of the\nsouthern and western lines of New Mexico, in regard to which different\nopinions have been expressed; for it is hardly to be supposed that there\ncould be any objection to that part of the line which extends along the\nchannel of the Rio Grande. But the terms of the law are so broad as to\nforbid the use of any part of the money for the prosecution of the work,\nor even for the payment to the officers and agents of the arrearages of\npay which are justly due to them.\n\nI earnestly invite your prompt attention to this subject, and recommend\na modification of the terms of the proviso, so as to enable the\nDepartment to use as much of the appropriation as will be necessary\nto discharge the existing obligations of the Government and to complete\nthe survey of the Rio Grande to its mouth.\n\nIt will also be proper to make further provision by law for the\nfulfillment of our treaty with Mexico for running and marking the\nresidue of the boundary line between the two countries.\n\nPermit me to invite your particular attention to the interests of the\nDistrict of Columbia, which are confided by the Constitution to your\npeculiar care.\n\nAmong the measures which seem to me of the greatest importance to its\nprosperity are the introduction of a copious supply of water into the\ncity of Washington and the construction of suitable bridges across the\nPotomac to replace those which were destroyed by high water in the early\npart of the present year.\n\nAt the last session of Congress an appropriation was made to defray\nthe cost of the surveys necessary for determining the best means of\naffording an unfailing supply of good and wholesome water. Some progress\nhas been made in the survey, and as soon as it is completed the result\nwill be laid before you.\n\nFurther appropriations will also be necessary for grading and paving the\nstreets and avenues and inclosing and embellishing the public grounds\nwithin the city of Washington.\n\nI commend all these objects, together with the charitable institutions\nof the District, to your favorable regard.\n\nEvery effort has been made to protect our frontier and that of the\nadjoining Mexican States from the incursions of the Indian tribes.\nOf about 11,000 men of which the Army is composed, nearly 8,000 are\nemployed in the defense of the newly acquired territory (including\nTexas) and of emigrants proceeding thereto. I am gratified to say that\nthese efforts have been unusually successful. With the exception of some\npartial outbreaks in California and Oregon and occasional depredations\non a portion of the Rio Grande, owing, it is believed, to the disturbed\nstate of that border region, the inroads of the Indians have been\neffectually restrained.\n\nExperience has shown, however, that whenever the two races are brought\ninto contact collisions will inevitably occur. To prevent these\ncollisions the United States have generally set apart portions of\ntheir territory for the exclusive occupation of the Indian tribes. A\ndifficulty occurs, however, in the application of this policy to Texas.\nBy the terms of the compact by which that State was admitted into the\nUnion she retained the ownership of all the vacant lands within her\nlimits. The government of that State, it is understood, has assigned no\nportion of her territory to the Indians, but as fast as her settlements\nadvance lays it off into counties and proceeds to survey and sell it.\nThis policy manifestly tends not only to alarm and irritate the Indians,\nbut to compel them to resort to plunder for subsistence. It also\ndeprives this Government of that influence and control over them without\nwhich no durable peace can ever exist between them and the whites. I\ntrust, therefore, that a due regard for her own interests, apart from\nconsiderations of humanity and justice, will induce that State to assign\na small portion of her vast domain for the provisional occupancy of the\nsmall remnants of tribes within her borders, subject, of course, to her\nownership and eventual jurisdiction. If she should fail to do this, the\nfulfillment of our treaty stipulations with Mexico and our duty to the\nIndians themselves will, it is feared, become a subject of serious\nembarrassment to the Government. It is hoped, however, that a timely\nand just provision by Texas may avert this evil.\n\nNo appropriations for fortifications were made at the two last sessions\nof Congress. The cause of this omission is probably to be found in a\ngrowing belief that the system of fortifications adopted in 1816, and\nheretofore acted on, requires revision.\n\nThe subject certainly deserves full and careful investigation, but\nit should not be delayed longer than can be avoided. In the meantime\nthere are certain works which have been commenced, some of them nearly\ncompleted, designed to protect our principal seaports from Boston to New\nOrleans and a few other important points. In regard to the necessity for\nthese works, it is believed that little difference of opinion exists\namong military men. I therefore recommend that the appropriations\nnecessary to prosecute them be made.\n\nI invite your attention to the remarks on this subject and on others\nconnected with his Department contained in the accompanying report of\nthe Secretary of War.\n\nMeasures have been taken to carry into effect the law of the last\nsession making provision for the improvement of certain rivers and\nharbors, and it is believed that the arrangements made for that purpose\nwill combine efficiency with economy. Owing chiefly to the advanced\nseason when the act was passed, little has yet been done in regard\nto many of the works beyond making the necessary preparations. With\nrespect to a few of the improvements, the sums already appropriated\nwill suffice to complete them; but most of them will require additional\nappropriations. I trust that these appropriations will be made, and\nthat this wise and beneficent policy, so auspiciously resumed, will be\ncontinued. Great care should be taken, however, to commence no work\nwhich is not of sufficient importance to the commerce of the country\nto be viewed as national in its character. But works which have been\ncommenced should not be discontinued until completed, as otherwise the\nsums expended will in most cases be lost.\n\nThe report from the Navy Department will inform you of the prosperous\ncondition of the branch of the public service committed to its charge.\nIt presents to your consideration many topics and suggestions of which\nI ask your approval. It exhibits an unusual degree of activity in the\noperations of the Department during the past year. The preparations for\nthe Japan expedition, to which I have already alluded; the arrangements\nmade for the exploration and survey of the China Seas, the Northern\nPacific, and Behrings Straits; the incipient measures taken toward a\nreconnaissance of the continent of Africa eastward of Liberia; the\npreparation for an early examination of the tributaries of the river La\nPlata, which a recent decree of the provisional chief of the Argentine\nConfederation has opened to navigation--all these enterprises and the\nmeans by which they are proposed to be accomplished have commanded my\nfull approbation, and I have no doubt will be productive of most useful\nresults.\n\nTwo officers of the Navy were heretofore instructed to explore the whole\nextent of the Amazon River from the confines of Peru to its mouth. The\nreturn of one of them has placed in the possession of the Government an\ninteresting and valuable account of the character and resources of a\ncountry abounding in the materials of commerce, and which if opened to\nthe industry of the world will prove an inexhaustible fund of wealth.\nThe report of this exploration will be communicated to you as soon as\nit is completed.\n\nAmong other subjects offered to your notice by the Secretary of the\nNavy, I select for special commendation, in view of its connection\nwith the interests of the Navy, the plan submitted by him for the\nestablishment of a permanent corps of seamen and the suggestions he\nhas presented for the reorganization of the Naval Academy.\n\nIn reference to the first of these, I take occasion to say that I think\nit will greatly improve the efficiency of the service, and that I regard\nit as still more entitled to favor for the salutary influence it must\nexert upon the naval discipline, now greatly disturbed by the increasing\nspirit of insubordination resulting from our present system. The plan\nproposed for the organization of the seamen furnishes a judicious\nsubstitute for the law of September, 1850, abolishing corporal\npunishment, and satisfactorily sustains the policy of that act under\nconditions well adapted to maintain the authority of command and the\norder and security of our ships. It is believed that any change which\nproposes permanently to dispense with this mode of punishment should be\npreceded by a system of enlistment which shall supply the Navy with\nseamen of the most meritorious class, whose good deportment and pride\nof character may preclude all occasion for a resort to penalties of a\nharsh or degrading nature. The safety of a ship and her crew is often\ndependent upon immediate obedience to a command, and the authority to\nenforce it must be equally ready. The arrest of a refractory seaman\nin such moments not only deprives the ship of indispensable aid, but\nimposes a necessity for double service on others, whose fidelity to\ntheir duties may be relied upon in such an emergency. The exposure to\nthis increased and arduous labor since the passage of the act of 1850\nhas already had, to a most observable and injurious extent, the effect\nof preventing the enlistment of the best seamen in the Navy. The plan\nnow suggested is designed to promote a condition of service in which\nthis objection will no longer exist. The details of this plan may be\nestablished in great part, if not altogether, by the Executive under the\nauthority of existing laws, but I have thought it proper, in accordance\nwith the suggestion of the Secretary of the Navy, to submit it to your\napproval.\n\nThe establishment of a corps of apprentices for the Navy, or boys to\nbe enlisted until they become of age, and to be employed under such\nregulations as the Navy Department may devise, as proposed in the\nreport, I cordially approve and commend to your consideration; and\nI also concur in the suggestion that this system for the early training\nof seamen may be most usefully ingrafted upon the service of our merchant\nmarine.\n\nThe other proposition of the report to which I have referred--the\nreorganization of the Naval Academy--I recommend to your attention as a\nproject worthy of your encouragement and support. The valuable services\nalready rendered by this institution entitle it to the continuance of\nyour fostering care.\n\nYour attention is respectfully called to the report of the\nPostmaster-General for the detailed operation of his Department during\nthe last fiscal year, from which it will be seen that the receipts from\npostages for that time were less by $1,431,696 than for the preceding\nfiscal year, being a decrease of about 23 per cent.\n\nThis diminution is attributable to the reduction in the rates of postage\nmade by the act of March 3, 1851, which reduction took effect at the\ncommencement of the last fiscal year.\n\nAlthough in its operation during the last year the act referred to\nhas not fulfilled the predictions of its friends by increasing the\ncorrespondence of the country in proportion to the reduction of postage,\nI should, nevertheless, question the policy of returning to higher\nrates. Experience warrants the expectation that as the community becomes\naccustomed to cheap postage correspondence will increase. It is believed\nthat from this cause and from the rapid growth of the country in\npopulation and business the receipts of the Department must ultimately\nexceed its expenses, and that the country may safely rely upon the\ncontinuance of the present cheap rate of postage.\n\nIn former messages I have, among other things, respectfully recommended\nto the consideration of Congress the propriety and necessity of further\nlegislation for the protection and punishment of foreign consuls\nresiding in the United States; to revive, with certain modifications,\nthe act of 10th March, 1838, to restrain unlawful military expeditions\nagainst the inhabitants of conterminous states or territories; for the\npreservation and protection from mutilation or theft of the papers,\nrecords, and archives of the nation; for authorizing the surplus revenue\nto be applied to the payment of the public debt in advance of the time\nwhen it will become due; for the establishment of land offices for the\nsale of the public lands in California and the Territory of Oregon;\nfor the construction of a road from the Mississippi Valley to the\nPacific Ocean; for the establishment of a bureau of agriculture for the\npromotion of that interest, perhaps the most important in the country;\nfor the prevention of frauds upon the Government in applications for\npensions and bounty lands; for the establishment of a uniform fee bill,\nprescribing a specific compensation for every service required of\nclerks, district attorneys, and marshals; for authorizing an additional\nregiment of mounted men for the defense of our frontiers against the\nIndians and for fulfilling our treaty stipulations with Mexico to defend\nher citizens against the Indians \"with equal diligence and energy as our\nown;\" for determining the relative rank between the naval and civil\nofficers in our public ships and between the officers of the Army\nand Navy in the various grades of each; for reorganizing the naval\nestablishment by fixing the number of officers in each grade, and\nproviding for a retired list upon reduced pay of those unfit for active\nduty; for prescribing and regulating punishments in the Navy; for the\nappointment of a commission to revise the public statutes of the United\nStates by arranging them in order, supplying deficiencies, correcting\nincongruities, simplifying their language, and reporting them to\nCongress for its final action; and for the establishment of a commission\nto adjudicate and settle private claims against the United States. I am\nnot aware, however, that any of these subjects have been finally acted\nupon by Congress. Without repeating the reasons for legislation on these\nsubjects which have been assigned in former messages, I respectfully\nrecommend them again to your favorable consideration.\n\nI think it due to the several Executive Departments of this Government\nto bear testimony to the efficiency and integrity with which they are\nconducted. With all the careful superintendence which it is possible for\nthe heads of those Departments to exercise, still the due administration\nand guardianship of the public money must very much depend on the\nvigilance, intelligence, and fidelity of the subordinate officers and\nclerks, and especially on those intrusted with the settlement and\nadjustment of claims and accounts. I am gratified to believe that they\nhave generally performed their duties faithfully and well. They are\nappointed to guard the approaches to the public Treasury, and they\noccupy positions that expose them to all the temptations and seductions\nwhich the cupidity of peculators and fraudulent claimants can prompt\nthem to employ. It will be but a wise precaution to protect the\nGovernment against that source of mischief and corruption, as far as it\ncan be done, by the enactment of all proper legal penalties. The laws\nin this respect are supposed to be defective, and I therefore deem it\nmy duty to call your attention to the subject and to recommend that\nprovision be made by law for the punishment not only of those who shall\naccept bribes, but also of those who shall either promise, give, or\noffer to give to any of those officers or clerks a bribe or reward\ntouching or relating to any matter of their official action or duty.\n\nIt has been the uniform policy of this Government, from its foundation\nto the present day, to abstain from all interference in the domestic\naffairs of other nations. The consequence has been that while the\nnations of Europe have been engaged in desolating wars our country has\npursued its peaceful course to unexampled prosperity and happiness. The\nwars in which we have been compelled to engage in defense of the rights\nand honor of the country have been, fortunately, of short duration.\nDuring the terrific contest of nation against nation which succeeded\nthe French Revolution we were enabled by the wisdom and firmness of\nPresident Washington to maintain our neutrality. While other nations\nwere drawn into this wide-sweeping whirlpool, we sat quiet and unmoved\nupon our own shores. While the flower of their numerous armies was\nwasted by disease or perished by hundreds of thousands upon the\nbattlefield, the youth of this favored land were permitted to enjoy the\nblessings of peace beneath the paternal roof. While the States of Europe\nincurred enormous debts, under the burden of which their subjects still\ngroan, and which must absorb no small part of the product of the honest\nindustry of those countries for generations to come, the United States\nhave once been enabled to exhibit the proud spectacle of a nation free\nfrom public debt, and if permitted to pursue our prosperous way for a\nfew years longer in peace we may do the same again.\n\nBut it is now said by some that this policy must be changed. Europe is\nno longer separated from us by a voyage of months, but steam navigation\nhas brought her within a few days' sail of our shores. We see more of\nher movements and take a deeper interest in her controversies. Although\nno one proposes that we should join the fraternity of potentates who\nhave for ages lavished the blood and treasure of their subjects in\nmaintaining \"the balance of power,\" yet it is said that we ought to\ninterfere between contending sovereigns and their subjects for the\npurpose of overthrowing the monarchies of Europe and establishing\nin their place republican institutions. It is alleged that we have\nheretofore pursued a different course from a sense of our weakness, but\nthat now our conscious strength dictates a change of policy, and that it\nis consequently our duty to mingle in these contests and aid those who\nare struggling for liberty.\n\nThis is a most seductive but dangerous appeal to the generous sympathies\nof freemen. Enjoying, as we do, the blessings of a free Government,\nthere is no man who has an American heart that would not rejoice to see\nthese blessings extended to all other nations. We can not witness the\nstruggle between the oppressed and his oppressor anywhere without the\ndeepest sympathy for the former and the most anxious desire for his\ntriumph. Nevertheless, is it prudent or is it wise to involve ourselves\nin these foreign wars? Is it indeed true that we have heretofore\nrefrained from doing so merely from the degrading motive of a conscious\nweakness? For the honor of the patriots who have gone before us, I can\nnot admit it. Men of the Revolution, who drew the sword against the\noppressions of the mother country and pledged to Heaven \"their lives,\ntheir fortunes, and their sacred honor\" to maintain their freedom, could\nnever have been actuated by so unworthy a motive. They knew no weakness\nor fear where right or duty pointed the way, and it is a libel upon\ntheir fair fame for us, while we enjoy the blessings for which they so\nnobly fought and bled, to insinuate it. The truth is that the course\nwhich they pursued was dictated by a stern sense of international\njustice, by a statesmanlike prudence and a far-seeing wisdom, looking\nnot merely to the present necessities but to the permanent safety and\ninterest of the country. They knew that the world is governed less by\nsympathy than by reason and force; that it was not possible for this\nnation to become a \"propagandist\" of free principles without arraying\nagainst it the combined powers of Europe, and that the result was\nmore likely to be the overthrow of republican liberty here than its\nestablishment there. History has been written in vain for those who\ncan doubt this. France had no sooner established a republican form of\ngovernment than she manifested a desire to force its blessings on all\nthe world. Her own historian informs us that, hearing of some petty\nacts of tyranny in a neighboring principality, \"the National Convention\ndeclared that she would afford succor and fraternity to all nations\nwho wished to recover their liberty, and she gave it in charge to the\nexecutive power to give orders to the generals of the French armies\nto aid all citizens who might have been or should be oppressed in the\ncause of liberty.\" Here was the false step which led to her subsequent\nmisfortunes. She soon found herself involved in war with all the rest\nof Europe. In less than ten years her Government was changed from a\nrepublic to an empire, and finally, after shedding rivers of blood,\nforeign powers restored her exiled dynasty and exhausted Europe sought\npeace and repose in the unquestioned ascendency of monarchical\nprinciples. Let us learn wisdom from her example. Let us remember that\nrevolutions do not always establish freedom. Our own free institutions\nwere not the offspring of our Revolution. They existed before. They\nwere planted in the free charters of self-government under which the\nEnglish colonies grew up, and our Revolution only freed us from the\ndominion of a foreign power whose government was at variance with\nthose institutions. But European nations have had no such training for\nself-government, and every effort to establish it by bloody revolutions\nhas been, and must without that preparation continue to be, a failure.\nLiberty unregulated by law degenerates into anarchy, which soon becomes\nthe most horrid of all despotisms. Our policy is wisely to govern\nourselves, and thereby to set such an example of national justice,\nprosperity, and true glory as shall teach to all nations the blessings\nof self-government and the unparalleled enterprise and success of a free\npeople.\n\nWe live in an age of progress, and ours is emphatically a country of\nprogress. Within the last half century the number of States in this\nUnion has nearly doubled, the population has almost quadrupled, and our\nboundaries have been extended from the Mississippi to the Pacific. Our\nterritory is checkered over with railroads and furrowed with canals. The\ninventive talent of our country is excited to the highest pitch, and the\nnumerous applications for patents for valuable improvements distinguish\nthis age and this people from all others. The genius of one American has\nenabled our commerce to move against wind and tide and that of another\nhas annihilated distance in the transmission of intelligence. The\nwhole country is full of enterprise. Our common schools are diffusing\nintelligence among the people and our industry is fast accumulating the\ncomforts and luxuries of life. This is in part owing to our peculiar\nposition, to our fertile soil and comparatively sparse population;\nbut much of it is also owing to the popular institutions under which\nwe live, to the freedom which every man feels to engage in any useful\npursuit according to his taste or inclination, and to the entire\nconfidence that his person and property will be protected by the laws.\nBut whatever may be the cause of this unparalleled growth in population,\nintelligence, and wealth, one thing is clear--that the Government must\nkeep pace with the progress of the people. It must participate in their\nspirit of enterprise, and while it exacts obedience to the laws and\nrestrains all unauthorized invasions of the rights of neighboring\nstates, it should foster and protect home industry and lend its powerful\nstrength to the improvement of such means of intercommunication as are\nnecessary to promote our internal commerce and strengthen the ties which\nbind us together as a people.\n\nIt is not strange, however much it may be regretted, that such an\nexuberance of enterprise should cause some individuals to mistake change\nfor progress and the invasion of the rights of others for national\nprowess and glory. The former are constantly agitating for some change\nin the organic law, or urging new and untried theories of human rights.\nThe latter are ever ready to engage in any wild crusade against a\nneighboring people, regardless of the justice of the enterprise and\nwithout looking at the fatal consequences to ourselves and to the cause\nof popular government. Such expeditions, however, are often stimulated\nby mercenary individuals, who expect to share the plunder or profit of\nthe enterprise without exposing themselves to danger, and are led on by\nsome irresponsible foreigner, who abuses the hospitality of our own\nGovernment by, seducing the young and ignorant to join in his scheme of\npersonal ambition or revenge under the false and delusive pretense of\nextending the area of freedom. These reprehensible aggressions but\n<DW44> the true progress of our nation and tarnish its fair fame. They\nshould therefore receive the indignant frowns of every good citizen who\nsincerely loves his country and takes a pride in its prosperity and\nhonor.\n\nOur Constitution, though not perfect, is doubtless the best that ever\nwas formed. Therefore let every proposition to change it be well weighed\nand, if found beneficial, cautiously adopted. Every patriot will rejoice\nto see its authority so exerted as to advance the prosperity and honor\nof the nation, whilst he will watch with jealousy any attempt to\nmutilate this charter of our liberties or pervert its powers to acts\nof aggression or injustice. Thus shall conservatism and progress blend\ntheir harmonious action in preserving the form and spirit of the\nConstitution and at the same time carry forward the great improvements\nof the country with a rapidity and energy which freemen only can\ndisplay.\n\nIn closing this my last annual communication, permit me,\nfellow-citizens, to congratulate you on the prosperous condition of\nour beloved country. Abroad its relations with all foreign powers are\nfriendly, its rights are respected, and its high place in the family of\nnations cheerfully recognized. At home we enjoy an amount of happiness,\npublic and private, which has probably never fallen to the lot of\nany other people. Besides affording to our own citizens a degree of\nprosperity of which on so large a scale I know of no other instance,\nour country is annually affording a refuge and a home to multitudes,\naltogether without example, from the Old World.\n\nWe owe these blessings, under Heaven, to the happy Constitution and\nGovernment which were bequeathed to us by our fathers, and which it is\nour sacred duty to transmit in all their integrity to our children. We\nmust all consider it a great distinction and privilege to have been\nchosen by the people to bear a part in the administration of such a\nGovernment. Called by an unexpected dispensation to its highest trust at\na season of embarrassment and alarm, I entered upon its arduous duties\nwith extreme diffidence. I claim only to have discharged them to the\nbest of an humble ability, with a single eye to the public good, and\nit is with devout gratitude in retiring from office that I leave the\ncountry in a state of peace and prosperity.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\n\nSPECIAL MESSAGES.\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 7, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a treaty of friendship, commerce, and navigation, between\nthe United States and the Oriental Republic of Uruguay, signed at\nMontevideo on the 28th of August last.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _December 8, 1852_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, an additional article, signed in this city on the 16th\nultimo, to the convention for the mutual delivery of criminals fugitives\nfrom justice in certain cases between the United States on the one part\nand Prussia and other States of the Germanic Confederation on the other\npart, concluded on the 15th of June, 1852.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 4, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 30th ultimo, requesting\ninformation in regard to the establishment of a new British colony in\nCentral America, I transmit a report from the Secretary of State and\nthe documents by which it was accompanied.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 4, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the Senate's resolution of the 3d instant, calling for\ninformation relative to a proposed tripartite convention on the subject\nof the island of Cuba, I transmit to the Senate a report from the\nSecretary of State and the papers which accompanied it.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 12, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn pursuance of the eleventh article of the treaty with the Chickasaw\nIndians signed on the 20th day of October, 1832, I herewith transmit a\nrecommendation from the Secretary of the Treasury for the investment\nof a portion of the funds belonging to said nation, for the purpose of\nobtaining the advice and consent of the Senate to make the investment\nas therein recommended.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 12, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn reply to the resolution of your honorable body of the 5th instant,\nI herewith communicate a report of the Secretary of the Interior giving\nthe information[27] required.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n[Footnote 27: Relating to the Mexican boundary commission.]\n\n\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate dated the 13th ultimo,\nrequesting further information in regard to the imprisonment of the\nUnited States consul and of other American citizens in the castle at\nAcapulco, I transmit a report from the Secretary of State and the\ndocuments by which it is accompanied.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\nJANUARY 17, 1853.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 17, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nI transmit herewith a communication lately received at the Department of\nState from the minister of Her Most Catholic Majesty, accompanied by a\nletter of instructions from the Spanish Government relative to the case\nof the _Amistad_. In Mr. Calderon's communication reference is had to\nformer letters addressed by him to the Department of State on the same\nsubject, copies of which are herewith transmitted, and an earnest wish\nis expressed that a final settlement of this long-pending claim should\nbe made. The tone of the letter of instructions from Mr. Manuel Bertran\nde Lis is somewhat more peremptory than could be wished, but this\ncircumstance will not, probably, prevent Congress from giving his\nsuggestions the attention to which they may be entitled.\n\nThe claim of the Spanish Government on behalf of its subjects interested\nin the _Amistad_ was the subject of discussion during the Administration\nof President Tyler between the Spanish minister and Mr. Webster, then\nSecretary of State. In an elaborate letter of the latter, addressed to\nthe Chevalier d'Argais on the 1st of September, 1841, the opinion is\nconfidently maintained that the claim is unfounded. The Administration\nof President Polk took a different view of the matter. The justice of\nthe claim was recognized in a letter from the Department of State to the\nSpanish minister of the 19th of March, 1847, and in his annual message\nof the same year the President recommended its payment.\n\nUnder these circumstances the attention of Congress is again invited to\nthe subject. Respect to the Spanish Government demands that its urgent\nrepresentation should be candidly and impartially weighed. If Congress\nshould be of opinion that the claim is just, every consideration points\nto the propriety of its prompt recognition and payment, and if the two\nHouses should come to the opposite conclusion it is equally desirable\nthat the result should be announced without unnecessary delay.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 18, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nI have the honor herewith to transmit a report from the Secretary of\nthe Interior, from which it appears that the efforts of that Department\nto induce the Indians remaining in Florida to migrate to the country\nassigned to their tribe west of the Mississippi have been entirely\nunsuccessful. The only alternative that now remains is either to compel\nthem by force to comply with the treaty made with the tribe in May,\n1832, by which they agreed to migrate within three years from that\ndate, or allow the arrangement made with them in 1842, referred to in\nthe Secretary's report, by which they were permitted to remain in the\ntemporary occupancy of a portion of the peninsula until the Government\nshould see fit to remove them, to continue.\n\nIt can not be denied that the withholding so large a portion of her\nterritory from settlement is a source of injury to the State of Florida;\nand although, ever since the arrangement above referred to, the Indians\nhave manifested a desire to remain at peace with the whites, the\npresence of a people who may at any time and upon any real or fancied\nprovocation be driven to acts of hostility is a source of constant\nanxiety and alarm to the inhabitants on that border.\n\nThere can be no doubt, also, that the welfare of the Indians would be\npromoted by their removal from a territory where frequent collisions\nbetween them and their more powerful neighbors are daily becoming more\ninevitable.\n\nOn the other hand, there is every reason to believe that any\nmanifestation of a design to remove them by force or to take possession\nof the territory allotted to them would be immediately retaliated by\nacts of cruelty on the defenseless inhabitants.\n\nThe number of Indians now remaining in the State is, it is true, very\ninconsiderable (not exceeding, it is believed, 500), but owing to the\nextent of the country occupied by them and its adaptation to their\npeculiar mode of warfare, a force very disproportioned to their numbers\nwould be necessary to capture them, or even to protect the white\nsettlements from their incursions. The military force now stationed in\nthat State would be inadequate to these objects, and if it should be\ndetermined to enforce their removal or to survey the territory allotted\nto them some addition to it would be necessary, as the Government has\nbut a small force available for that service. Additional appropriations\nfor the support of the Army would also, in that event, be necessary.\n\nFor these reasons I have deemed it proper to submit the whole matter to\nCongress, for such action as they may deem best.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 19, 1853_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the House of Representatives of the 27th\nultimo, requesting information relative to the claims on Spain in the\ncases of the bark _Georgiana_ and the brig _Susan Loud, I_ transmit a\nreport from the Secretary of State, to whom the resolution was referred.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 21, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with the resolution of the Senate of the 10th instant,\nrequesting certain correspondence relative to Central America, I\ntransmit a report from the Secretary of State and the documents by\nwhich it was accompanied.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 24, 1853_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives of the United States_:\n\nIn obedience to a resolution of your honorable body of December 27,\n1852, in reference to claims of custom-house officers for additional\npay, I have the honor herewith to transmit a report from the Secretary\nof the Treasury giving the desired information; and in answer to the\nseventh interrogatory, asking \"whether in my opinion further legislation\nis necessary or advisable either to protect the Treasury from unjust\nclaims or to secure to the claimants their just rights,\" I would state\nthat in my opinion no further legislation is necessary to effect either\nobject. My views on this subject will be more fully seen on reference to\nan opinion given by me to the Secretary of the Treasury, a copy of which\nis annexed to his report.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 24, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 14th instant, relative\nto the award of the Emperor Louis Napoleon, of France, in the case of\nthe brig _General Armstrong_, I transmit a report from the Secretary of\nState and the documents by which it was accompanied.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 27, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 13th instant,\nrequesting a copy of correspondence and other documents relative\nto Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and the territory claimed by the Mosquito\nIndians, I transmit a report of the Secretary of State, to whom the\nresolution was referred.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _January 27, 1853_.\n\n_To the House of Representatives_:\n\nSince my last message to your honorable body, communicating a report\nfrom the Treasury Department, in answer to your resolution of the 3d\ninstant [27th ultimo?], in reference to the compensation of weighers and\ngangers, further communications on that subject have been received from\nNew Orleans, which have just been reported to me by the Secretary of the\nTreasury and which I deem it my duty to communicate to the House.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 3, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit herewith to the Senate in a new draft the convention with the\nSwiss Confederation, originally negotiated at Berne and concluded in\nthat city on the 25th of November, 1850. On the 7th of March, 1851, it\nwas considered by the Senate of the United States, whose assent was\ngiven to it with certain amendments, as will appear from the Journal of\nthe Senate of that day. The convention was sent back to Switzerland with\nthese alterations, which were taken into consideration by the Government\nof that Confederation, whose action in the premises will be learned by a\nletter from its President of the 5th of July, 1852.\n\nThe modifications which the Government of the Swiss Confederation are\ndesirous of introducing into the amendments made by the Senate of the\nUnited States and the articles affected by them are not inconsistent\nwith the object and spirit of those amendments, and appear to me to\nproceed upon a reasonable principle of compromise.\n\nI have thought it expedient, in submitting them to the Senate with a\nview to their advice and consent to the ratification of the treaty in\nits present form, to have the entire instrument taken into a continuous\ndraft, as well the portions--by far the greater part--already assented\nto by the Senate as the modifications proposed by the Government of the\nSwiss Confederation in reference to these amendments. In preparing the\nnew draft a few slight alterations have been made in the modifications\nproposed by the Swiss Government.\n\nShould the convention receive the approbation of the Senate in its\npresent form, it will be immediately transmitted to Switzerland for\nratification by the Swiss Confederation.\n\nThe delays which have taken place in the negotiation of this treaty have\nbeen principally caused by the want of a resident diplomatic agent of\nthe United States at Berne, and are among the reasons for which an\nappropriation for a charge d'affaires to that Government has recently,\nby my direction, been recommended in a letter from the Department of\nState to the chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations of the\nSenate.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 3, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with the resolution of the Senate of the 11th ultimo,\nasking for information with regard to the execution of the postal\nconvention between the United States and Great Britain, I transmit a\nreport from the Secretary of State and the documents which accompanied\nit.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 7, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nHaving in my message to Congress at the opening of the session adverted\nto the pending negotiations between this Government and that of Great\nBritain relative to the fisheries and commercial reciprocity with the\nBritish American Provinces, I transmit for the information of Congress\nthe accompanying report from the Department of State on the present\nstate of the negotiations, and I respectfully invite the attention of\nthe two Houses to the suggestion in the latter part of the report.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 9, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nI herewith transmit a communication from the Secretary of the Navy,\naccompanied by the first part of Lieutenant Herndon's report of the\nexploration of the valley of the Amazon and its tributaries, made by him\nin connection with lieutenant Gardner Gibbon, under instructions from\nthe Navy Department.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 14, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith communicate to the Senate, for its consideration with a\nview to ratification, a convention on the subject of the extradition\nof fugitives from justice between the United States and Belgium,\nconcluded and signed in this city on the 11th instant by the respective\nplenipotentiaries.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 18, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:\n\nI transmit a report from the Secretary of State, embodying the substance\nof recent communications made by the minister of Her Britannic Majesty\nto the Department of State on the subject of the interoceanic canal by\nthe Nicaragua route, which formed the chief object of the treaty between\nthe United States and Great Britain of the 19th April, 1850, and the\nrelations of Great Britain to the protectorate of Mosquito, which she\nexpresses herself desirous of relinquishing on terms consistent with\nher honorable engagements to the Indians of that name.\n\nIn consequence of these communications and other considerations stated\nin the report, it is deemed advisable by the Department that our\ndiplomatic relations with the States of Central America should be placed\non a higher and more efficient footing, and this measure meets my\napprobation. The whole subject is one of so much delicacy and importance\nthat I should have preferred, so near the close of my Administration,\nnot to make it the subject of an Executive communication. But inasmuch\nas the measure proposed can not, even if deemed expedient by my\nsuccessor, take effect for near a twelvemonth unless an appropriation is\nmade by this Congress, I have thought it my duty to submit the report of\nthe Department to the two Houses. The importance of the measure seemed\nto require an exposition somewhat in detail of the grounds on which it\nis recommended.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 18, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, with the view to its ratification, a\nconvention which was yesterday concluded between the United States\nand Great Britain for the establishment of international copyright.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 19, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 14th instant, relative\nto the fisheries on the coasts of Florida, I transmit herewith a report\nfrom the Secretary of State and the documents which accompanied it.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 21, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn compliance with your resolution of the 19th of February instant,\nI herewith communicate a report from the Secretary of War, containing\nthe report of Lieutenant Meigs, of the Engineer Corps, on the surveys,\nprojects, and estimates for supplying the cities of Washington and\nGeorgetown with an unfailing and abundant supply of water.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 21, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI have the honor to transmit herewith a report from the Secretary of\nthe Treasury of the 21st instant, in reference to the reinvestment of\ncertain moneys belonging to the Chickasaw Nation of Indians which will\ncome into the Treasury during the succeeding vacation of the Senate,\nand I respectfully concur in the recommendation made by the Secretary.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 23, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for advice and consent with a view to\nratification, a convention between the United States and Her Britannic\nMajesty for the adjustment of certain claims of citizens of the United\nStates on the British Government and of British subjects on the\nGovernment of the United States, signed in London on the 8th instant.\nAlthough it is stipulated by the terms of the first article of the\nconvention that the commissioner on the part of this Government shall be\nappointed by the President of the United States, it is not understood\nthat this stipulation was intended to dispense with the concurrence of\nthe Senate in such appointment.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 25, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit to the Senate, for its consideration with a view to\nratification, a consular convention concluded in this city on the\n23d instant between the United States and His Majesty the Emperor\nof the French.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 26, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI transmit a copy of a proclamation of yesterday, which I deemed it\nadvisable to issue, relative to an extraordinary session of the Senate\non the 4th of March next.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 28, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nIn answer to the resolution of the Senate of the 17th January last,\nrequesting information in regard to the fisheries on the coasts of the\nBritish North American Provinces, I transmit a report from the Secretary\nof State and the documents which accompanied it.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\nWASHINGTON, _February 28, 1853_.\n\n_To the Senate of the United States_:\n\nI herewith transmit, for the consideration and advice of the Senate, a\ntreaty recently entered into with the Apache Indians in New Mexico by\nColonel Stunner and Mr. Greiner, acting on behalf of the United States,\ntogether with the letter of Colonel Sumner on the subject of the treaty\nand reports thereon from the Commissioner of Indian Affairs and the\nSecretary of the Interior.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\n\n\n\nPROCLAMATION.\n\n\nBY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.\n\nA PROCLAMATION.\n\n\nThe attention of the President having been called to the proceedings of\nCongress at the close of its session on the 4th of March, 1851, from\nwhich it appears that the constitutional term of that body was held\nnot to have expired until 12 o'clock at noon of that day, and a notice\nhaving been issued, agreeably to former usage, to convene the Senate at\n11 o'clock a. m. on the 4th of March next, it is apparent that such call\nis in conflict with the decision aforesaid:\n\nNow, therefore, as well for the purpose of removing all doubt as to the\nlegality of such call as of establishing a precedent of what is deemed\na proper mode of convening the Senate, I, Millard Fillmore, President\nof the United States, have considered it to be my duty to issue this\nmy proclamation, revoking said call and hereby declaring that an\nextraordinary occasion requires the Senate of the United States to\nconvene for the transaction of business at the Capitol, in the city of\nWashington, on Friday, the 4th day of March next, at 12 o'clock at noon\nof that day, of which all who shall at that time be entitled to act as\nmembers of that body are hereby required to take notice.\n\n[SEAL.]\n\nGiven under my hand and the seal of the United States, at Washington,\nthis 25th day of February, A.D. 1853, and of the Independence Of the\nUnited States the seventy-seventh.\n\nMILLARD FILLMORE.\n\nBy the President:\n  EDWARD EVERETT,\n    _Secretary of State_.\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "ARITHMETIC***\n\n\nTranscribed from the Cassell & Co. edition by David Price, email\nccx074@pglaf.org\n\n                          [Picture: Book cover]\n\n\n\n\n\n                ESSAYS ON MANKIND AND POLITICAL ARITHMETIC\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nWILLIAM PETTY, born on the 26th of May, 1623, was the son of a clothier\nat Romsey in Hampshire.  After education at the Romsey Grammar School, he\ncontinued his studies at Caen in Normandy.  There he supported himself by\na little trade while learning French, and advancing his knowledge of\nGreek, Latin, Mathematics, and much else that belonged to his idea of a\nliberal education.  His idea was large.  He came back to England, and had\nfor a short time a place in the Navy; but at the age of twenty he went\nabroad again, and was away three years, studying actively at Utrecht,\nLeyden, and Amsterdam, and also in Paris.  In Paris he assisted Thomas\nHobbes in drawing diagrams for his treatise on optics.  At the age of\ntwenty-four Petty took out a patent for the invention of a copying\nmachine.  It was described in a folio pamphlet “On Double Writing.”  That\nwas in 1647, in Civil War time, and although Petty followed Hobbes in his\nstudies, he did not share the philosopher’s political opinions, but held\nwith the Parliament.  In 1648 he added to his former pamphlet a\n“Declaration concerning the newly invented Art of Double Writing.”\n\nSamuel Hartlib, the large-hearted Pole, who in those days spent his\nworldly means in England for the advancement of agriculture and of\neducation, and other aids to the well-being of a nation, had caused\nMilton to write his letter on education, as has been shown in the\nIntroduction to the hundred and twenty-first volume of this Library,\nwhich contains that Letter together with Milton’s Areopagitica.  Young\nPetty’s first published writing was a Letter to Hartlib on Education,\nentitled “The Advice of W. P. to Mr. Samuel Hartlib for the Advancement\nof some Particular Parts of Learning.”  This appeared in 1648, when\nPetty’s age was twenty-five, and its aim was to suggest a wider view of\nthe whole field of education than had been possible in the Middle Ages,\nof which schools and colleges were then preserving the traditions, as\nthey do still here and there to some extent.  This pamphlet has been\nreprinted in the sixth volume of the “Harleian Miscellany.”  William\nPetty wished the training of the young to be in several respects more\npractical.\n\nHis own activity of mind caused him to settle at Oxford, where he taught\nanatomy and chemistry, which he had been studying abroad.  He had read\nwith Hobbes the writings of Vesalius, the great founder of modern\npractical anatomy.  In 1649 William Petty graduated at Oxford as Doctor\nof Medicine, obtained a fellowship at Brasenose, and practised.  In 1650\nhe surprised the public by restoring the action of the lungs in a woman\nwho had been hanged for infanticide, and so restoring her to life.\n\nDr. Petty now took his place at Oxford among the energetic men of science\nwho had been inspired by the teaching of Francis Bacon to seek knowledge\nby direct experiment, and to value knowledge above all things for its\npower of advancing the welfare of man.  The headquarters of these workers\nwere at Oxford, and in London at Gresham College.\n\nIn 1650 Petty was made Professor of Anatomy at Oxford, and it is a\ncharacteristic illustration of his great activity of mind that he was at\nthe same time Professor of Music at Gresham College.  Music had then a\nhigh place in the Seven Sciences, as that use of regulated numbers which\nexpressed the harmonies of the created world.  The Seven Sciences were\ndivided into three of the Trivium, and four of the Quadrivium.  The three\nof the Trivium concerned the use of speech; they were Grammar, Rhetoric,\nand Logic.  The four of the Quadrivium concerned number and measure; they\nwere Arithmetic, Geometry, Music; and Astronomy, which led up straight to\nGod.  Advance to Music might be represented in the student’s mind by his\nreaching to a sense of the harmonious relation of all his studies, which,\nso to speak, lived in his mind as a single well-proportioned thought.\n\nIn 1652 Dr. Petty was sent to Ireland as physician to the army of the\nCommonwealth.  While there his active mind observed that the Survey on\nwhich the Government had based its distribution of fortified lands to the\nsoldiers had been “most inefficiently and absurdly managed.”  He obtained\nthe commission to make a fresh Survey, which he completed accurately in\nthirteen months, and by which he obtained in payments from the Government\nand from other persons interested ten thousand pounds.  By investing this\nin the purchase of soldiers’ claims, he secured for himself an Irish\nestate of fifty thousand acres in the county of Kerry, opened upon it\nmines and quarries, developed trade in timber, and set up a fishery.\nJohn Evelyn said of him “that he had never known such another genius, and\nthat if Evelyn were a prince he would make Petty his second councillor at\nleast.”  Henry Cromwell as Lord Deputy in Ireland made Petty his\nsecretary.\n\nPetty’s Maps were printed in 1685, two years before his death, as\n“Hiberniæ Delineatio quoad hactenus licuit perfectissima;” a collection\nof thirty-six maps, with a portrait of Sir William Petty, a work\nanswering to its description as the most perfect delineation of Ireland\nthat had up to that time been obtained.  There is a  copy of\nPetty’s maps in the British Museum, and also an uncoloured copy, with the\nfirst five maps varying from those in the  copy, and giving a\nGeneral Map of Ireland, followed by Maps of Leinster, Munster, Ulster,\nand Connaught.  There was afterwards published in duodecimo, without\ndate, “A Geographical Description of ye Kingdom of Ireland, collected\nfrom ye actual Survey made by Sir William Petty, corrected and amended,\nengraven and published by Fra. Lamb.”  This volume gives as its contents,\n“one general mapp, four provincial mapps, and thirty-two county mapps; to\nwhich is added a mapp of Great Brittaine and Ireland, together with an\nIndex of the whole.”\n\nAt the Restoration William Petty accepted the inevitable change, and\ncontinued his service to the country.  He was knighted by Charles the\nSecond, and appointed in 1661 Inspector-General of Ireland.  He entered\nParliament.  He was one of the first founders of the Royal Society,\nestablished at the beginning of the reign of Charles the Second; and the\noutcome of these scientific studies along the line marked out by Francis\nBacon, which had been actively pursued in Oxford and at Gresham College.\nIn 1663 he applied his ingenuity to the invention of a swift\ndouble-bottomed ship, that made one or two passages between England and\nIreland, but was then lost in a storm.\n\nIn 1670 Sir William Petty established on his lands at Kerry the English\nsettlement at the head of the bay of Kenmare.  The building of forty-two\nhouses for the English settlers first laid the foundations of the present\ntown of Kenmare.  “The population,” writes Lord Macaulay, “amounted to a\nhundred and eighty.  The land round the town was well cultivated.  The\ncattle were numerous.  Two small barks were employed in fishing and\ntrading along the coast.  The supply of herrings, pilchards, mackerel,\nand salmon, was plentiful, and would have been still more plentiful had\nnot the beach been, in the finest part of the year, covered by multitudes\nof seals, which preyed on the fish of the bay.  Yet the seal was not an\nunwelcome visitor: his fur was valuable; and his oil supplied light\nthrough the long nights of winter.  An attempt was made with great\nsuccess to set up ironworks.  It was not yet the practice to employ coal\nfor the purpose of smelting; and the manufacturers of Kent and Sussex had\nmuch difficulty in procuring timber at a reasonable price.  The\nneighbourhood of Kenmare was then richly wooded; and Petty found it a\ngainful speculation to send ore thither.”  He looked also for profit from\nthe variegated marbles of adjacent islands.  Distant two days’ journey\nover the mountains from the nearest English, Petty’s English settlement\nof Kenmare withstood all surrounding dangers, and in 1688, a year after\nits founder’s death, defended itself successfully against a fierce and\ngeneral attack.\n\nSir William Petty died at London, on the 16th of December, 1687, and was\nburied in his native town of Romsey.  He had added to his great wealth by\nmarriage, and was the founder of the family in which another Sir William\nPetty became Earl of Shelburne and first Marquis of Lansdowne.  The son\nof that first Marquis was Henry third Marquis of Lansdowne, who took a\nconspicuous part in our political history during the present century.\n\nSir William Petty’s survey of the land in Ireland, called the Down\nSurvey, because its details were set down in maps, remains the legal\nrecord of the title on which half the land in Ireland is held.  The\noriginal maps are preserved in the Public Record Office at Dublin, and\nmany of Petty’s MSS. are in the Bodleian Library at Oxford.\n\nHe published in 1662 and 1685 a “Treatise of Taxes and Contributions, the\nsame being frequently to the present state and affairs of Ireland,” of\nwhich his view started from the general opinion that men should\ncontribute to the public charge according to their interest in the public\npeace—that is, according to their riches.  “Now,” he said, “there are two\nsorts of riches—one actual, and the other potential.  A man is actually\nand truly rich according to what he eateth, drinketh, weareth, or in any\nother way really and actually enjoyeth.  Others are but potentially and\nimaginatively rich, who though they have power over much, make little use\nof it, these being rather stewards and exchangers for the other sort than\nowners for themselves.”  He then showed how he considered that “every man\nought to contribute according to what he taketh to himself, and actually\nenjoyeth.”\n\nIn 1674 Sir William Petty published a paper on “Duplicate Proportion,”\nand in 1679 he published in Latin a “Colloquy of David with his Own\nSoul.”  In 1682 he published a tract called “Quantulumcunque, concerning\nMoney;” and “England’s Guide to Industry,” in 1686.  From 1682 to 1687,\nthe year of his death, Sir William Petty was drawing great attention to\nthe “Essays on Political Arithmetic,” which are here reprinted.  There\nwas the little “Essay in Political Arithmetic, concerning the People,\nHousings, Hospitals of London and Paris;” published in 1682, again in\nFrench in 1686, and again in English in 1687.  There was the little\n“Essay concerning the Multiplication of Mankind, together with an Essay\non the Growth of London,” published in 1682, and again in 1683 and 1686.\nThere was in 1683, “Another Essay in Political Arithmetic concerning the\ngrowth of the City of London.”  There were “Farther Considerations on the\nDublin Bills of Mortality,” in 1686; and “Five Essays on Political\nArithmetic” (in French and English), “Observations upon the Cities of\nLondon and Rome,” in 1687, the last year of Sir William Petty’s life.\nOther writings of his were published in his lifetime, or have been\npublished since his death.  He was in the study of political economy one\nof the most ingenious and practical thinkers before the days of Adam\nSmith.\n\nBut the interest of those “Essays in Political Arithmetic” lies chiefly\nin the facts presented by so trustworthy an authority.  London had become\nin the time of the Stuarts the most populous city in Europe, if not in\nthe world.  This Sir William Petty sought to prove against the doubts of\nforeign and other critics, and his “Political Arithmetic” was an\nendeavour to determine the relative strength in population of the chief\ncities of England, France, and Holland.  His application of arithmetic in\nthe first of these essays to a census of the population at the Day of\nJudgment he himself spoke of slightingly.  It is a curious example of a\nbygone form of theological discussion.  But his tables and his reasonings\nupon them grow in interest as he attempts his numbering of the people in\nthe reign of James II. by collecting facts upon which his deductions\nmight be founded.  The references to the deaths by Plague in London\nbefore the cleansing of the town by the great fire of 1666 are very\nsuggestive; and in one passage there is incidental note of delay in the\ncoming of the Plague then due, without reckoning the change made in\nconditions of health by the rebuilding.  Nobody knew, and no one even now\ncan calculate, how many lives the Fire of London saved.\n\nThere was in Petty’s time no direct numbering of the people.  The first\ncensus in this country was not until more than a hundred years after Sir\nWilliam Petty’s death, although he points out in these essays how easily\nit could be established, and what useful information it would give.\nThere was a census taken at Rome 566 years before Christ.  But the first\ncensus in Great Britain was taken in 1801, under provision of an Act\npassed on the last day of the year 1800, to secure a numbering of the\npopulation every ten years.  Ireland was not included in the return; the\nfirst census in Ireland was not until the year 1813.\n\nSir William Petty had to base his calculations partly upon the Bills of\nMortality, which had been imperfectly begun under Elizabeth, but fell\ninto disuse, and were revived, as a weekly record of the number of\ndeaths, beginning on the 29th of October, 1603; notices of diseases first\nappeared in them in 1629.  The weekly bills were published every\nThursday, and any householder could have them supplied to him for four\nshillings a year.  These essays will show how inferences as to the number\nof the living were drawn from the number of the dead.  And even now our\nPolitical Arithmetic depends too much upon rough calculations made from\nthe death register.  It is seven years since the last census; we have\nlost count of the changes in our population to a very great extent, and\nhave to wait three years before our reckoning can be made sure.  The\ninterval should be reduced to five years.\n\nAnother of Sir William Petty’s helps in the arithmetic of population was\nthe Chimney Tax, a revival of the old fumage or hearth-money—smoke\nfarthings, as the people called them—once paid, according to Domesday\nBook, for every chimney in a house.  Charles the Second had set up a\nchimney tax in the year 1662; the statistics of the collection were at\nthe service of Sir William Petty.  The tax outlived him but two years.\nIt was promptly abolished in the first year of William and Mary.\n\nThe interest taken at home and abroad in these calculations of Political\nArithmetic set other men calculating, and reasoning upon their\ncalculations.  The next worker in that direction was Gregory King,\nLancaster Herald, whose calculations immediately followed those of Sir\nWilliam Petty.  Sir William Petty’s essays extended from 1682 until his\ndeath in 1687.  Gregory King’s estimates were made in 1689.  They were a\nstudy of the number population and distribution of wealth among us at the\ntime of the English Revolution, and the unpublished results were first\nprinted in a chapter on “The People of England,” which formed part a\nvolume published in 1699 as “An Essay upon the Probable Methods of making\na People Gainers in the Balance of Trade, by the Author of the Essay on\nWays and Means.”  The volume was written by a member of Parliament in the\ndays of William and Mary, who desired to apply principles of political\neconomy to the maintenance of English wealth and liberty.  It has been\nwrongly scribed to Defoe; and its suggestion of the plan a trading\nCorporation for solution of the whole problem of relief to the poor who\ncannot work, and relief from the poor who can, might indeed make another\nchapter in Defoe’s “Essay on Projects.”  The chapter, which gives the\nPolitical Arithmetic of Gregory King, with such comment and suggestions\nas might be expected from a liberal supporter of the Revolution, and with\nthis suggestion of a Corporation, is in itself a complete essay.  It\nfollows naturally upon the Political Arithmetic of Sir William Petty in\nclose sequence of time, and in carrying a like method of inquiry forward\nuntil it reaches a few more conclusions.  I have, therefore, added it to\nthis volume.  It seems, at any rate, to show how Sir William Petty’s\nbooks, of which the very small size grieved the stationer, had a large\ninfluence on other minds; his figures bearing fruit in a new search for\nfacts and careful reasoning on the condition of the country at one of the\nmost critical times in English history.\n\n                                                                     H. M.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STATIONER TO THE READER.\n\n\nTHE ensuing essay concerning the growth of the city of London was\nentitled “Another Essay,” intimating that some other essay had preceded\nit, which was not to be found.  I having been much importuned for that\nprecedent essay, have found that the same was about the growth, increase,\nand multiplication of mankind, which subject should in order of nature\nprecede that of the growth of the city of London, but am not able to\nprocure the essay itself, only I have obtained from a gentleman, who\nsometimes corresponded with Sir W. Petty, an extract of a letter from Sir\nWilliam to him, which I verily believe containeth the scope thereof;\nwherefore, I must desire the reader to be content therewith, till more\ncan be had.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n_The extract of a letter concerning the scope of an essay intended to\nprecede another essay concerning the growth of the City of London_, _&c._\n_An Essay in Political Arithmetic_, _concerning the value and increase of\nPeople and Colonies_.\n\nTHE scope of this essay is concerning people and colonies, and to make\nway for “Another Essay” concerning the growth of the city of London.  I\ndesire in this first essay to give the world some light concerning the\nnumbers of people in England, with Wales, and in Ireland; as also of the\nnumber of houses and families wherein they live, and of acres they\noccupy.\n\n2.  How many live upon their lands, how many upon their personal estates\nand commerce, and how many upon art, and labour; how many upon alms, how\nmany upon offices and public employments, and how many as cheats and\nthieves; how many are impotents, children, and decrepit old men.\n\n3.  How many upon the poll-taxes in England, do pay extraordinary rates,\nand how many at the level.\n\n4.  How many men and women are prolific, and how many of each are married\nor unmarried.\n\n5.  What the value of people are in England, and what in Ireland at a\nmedium, both as members of the Church or Commonwealth, or as slaves and\nservants to one another; with a method how to estimate the same, in any\nother country or colony.\n\n6.  How to compute the value of land in colonies, in comparison to\nEngland and Ireland.\n\n7.  How 10,000 people in a colony may be planted to the best advantage.\n\n8.  A conjecture in what number of years England and Ireland may be fully\npeopled, as also all America, and lastly the whole habitable earth.\n\n9.  What spot of the earth’s globe were fittest for a general and\nuniversal emporium, whereby all the people thereof may best enjoy one\nanother’s labours and commodities.\n\n10.  Whether the speedy peopling of the earth would make\n\n  (1) For the good of mankind.\n\n  (2) To fulfil the revealed will of God.\n\n  (3) To what prince or State the same would be most advantageous.\n\n11.  An exhortation to all thinking men to solve the Scriptures and other\ngood histories, concerning the number of people in all ages of the world,\nin the great cities thereof, and elsewhere.\n\n12.  An appendix concerning the different number of sea-fish and\nwild-fowl at the end of every thousand years since Noah’s Flood.\n\n13.  An hypothesis of the use of those spaces (of about 8,000 miles\nthrough) within the globe of our earth, supposing a shell of 150 miles\nthick.\n\n14.  What may be the meaning of glorified bodies, in case the place of\nthe blessed shall be without the convex of the orb of the fixed stars, if\nthat the whole system of the world was made for the use of our earth’s\nmen.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRINCIPAL POINTS OF THIS DISCOURSE.\n\n\n1.  THAT London doubles in forty years, and all England in three hundred\nand sixty years.\n\n2.  That there be, A.D. 1682, about 670,000 souls in London, and about\n7,400,000 in all England and Wales, and about 28,000,000 of acres of\nprofitable land.\n\n3.  That the periods of doubling the people are found to be, in all\ndegrees, from between ten to twelve hundred years.\n\n4.  That the growth of London must stop of itself before the year 1800.\n\n5.  A table helping to understand the Scriptures, concerning the number\nof people mentioned in them.\n\n6.  That the world will be fully peopled within the next two thousand\nyears.\n\n7.  Twelve ways whereby to try any proposal pretended for the public\ngood.\n\n8.  How the city of London may be made (morally speaking) invincible.\n\n9.  A help to uniformity in religion.\n\n10.  That it is possible to increase mankind by generation four times\nmore than at present.\n\n11.  The plagues of London is the chief impediment and objection against\nthe growth of the city.\n\n12.  That an exact account of the people is necessary in this matter.\n\n\n\n\nOF THE GROWTH OF THE CITY OF LONDON:\n\n\n _And of the Measures_, _Periods_, _Causes_, _and Consequences thereof_.\n\nBY the city of London we mean the housing within the walls of the old\ncity, with the liberties thereof, Westminster, the Borough of Southwark,\nand so much of the built ground in Middlesex and Surrey, whose houses are\ncontiguous unto, or within call of those aforementioned.  Or else we mean\nthe housing which stand upon the ninety-seven parishes within the walls\nof London; upon the sixteen parishes next without them; the six parishes\nof Westminster, and the fourteen out-parishes in Middlesex and Surrey,\ncontiguous to the former, all which, 133 parishes, are comprehended\nwithin the weekly bills of mortality.\n\nThe growth of this city is measured.  (1) By the quantity of ground, or\nnumber of acres upon which it stands.  (2) By the number of houses, as\nthe same appears by the hearth-books and late maps. (3) By the cubical\ncontent of the said housing.  (4) By the flooring of the same.  (5) By\nthe number of days’ work, or charge of building the said houses.  (6) By\nthe value of the said houses, according to their yearly rent, and number\nof years’ purchase.  (7) By the number of inhabitants; according to which\nlatter sense only we make our computations in this essay.\n\nTill a better rule can be obtained, we conceive that the proportion of\nthe people may be sufficiently measured by the proportion of the burials\nin such years as were neither remarkable for extraordinary healthfulness\nor sickliness.\n\nThat the city hath increased in this latter sense appears from the bills\nof mortality represented in the two following tables, viz., one whereof\nis a continuation for eighteen years, ending 1682, of that table which\nwas published in the 117th page of the book of the observations upon the\nLondon bills of mortality, printed in the year 1676.  The other showeth\nwhat number of people died at a medium of two years, indifferently taken,\nat about twenty years’ distance from each other.\n\nThe first of the said two tables.\n\n  A.D.    97 Parishes.   16 Parishes.   Out Parishes.    Buried in     Besides of   Christened.\n                                                            all.      the Plague.\n    1665          5,320         12,463          10,925        28,708        68,596         9,967\n    1666          1,689          3,969           5,082        10,740         1,998         8,997\n    1667            761          6,405           8,641        15,807            35        10,938\n    1668            796          6,865           9,603        17,267            14        11,633\n    1669          1,323          7,500          10,440        19,263             3        12,335\n    1670          1,890          7,808          10,500        20,198                      11,997\n    1671          1,723          5,938           8,063        15,724             5        12,510\n    1672          2,237          6,788           9,200        18,225             5        12,593\n    1673          2,307          6,302           8,890        17,499             5        11,895\n    1674          2,801          7,522          10,875        21,198             3        11,851\n    1675          2,555          5,986           8,702        17,243             1        11,775\n    1676          2,756          6,508           9,466        18,730             2        12,399\n    1677          2,817          6,632           9,616        19,065             2        12,626\n    1678          3,060          6,705          10,908        20,673             5        12,601\n    1679          3,074          7,481          11,173        21,728             2        12,288\n    1680          3,076          7,066          10,911        21,053                      12,747\n    1681          3,669          8,136          12,166        23,971                      13,355\n    1682          2,975          7,009          10,707        20,691                      12,653\n\nAccording to which latter table there died as follows:—\n\n                    THE LATTER OF THE SAID TWO TABLES.\n\n         _There died in London at the medium between the years_—\n\n1604 and 1605           5,135.  A.\n1621 and 1622            8,527  B.\n1641 and 1642           11,883  C.\n1661 and 1662          15,148.  D.\n1681 and 1682          22,331.  E.\n\nWherein observe, that the number C is double to A and 806 over.  That D\nis double to B within 1,906.  That C and D is double to A and B within\n293.  That E is double to C within 1,435.  That D and E is double to B\nand C within 3,341; and that C and D and E are double to A and B and C\nwithin 1,736; and that E is above quadruple to A.  All which differences\n(every way considered) do allow the doubling of the people of London in\n40 years to be a sufficient estimate thereof in round numbers, and\nwithout the trouble of fractions.  We also say that 669,930 is near the\nnumber of people now in London, because the burials are 22,331, which,\nmultiplied by 30 (one dying yearly out of 30, as appears in the 94th page\nof the aforementioned observations), maketh the said number; and because\nthere are 84,000 tenanted houses (as we are credibly informed), which, at\n8 in each, makes 672,000 souls; the said two accounts differing\ninconsiderably from each other.\n\nWe have thus pretty well found out in what number of years (viz., in\nabout 40) that the city of London hath doubled, and the present number of\ninhabitants to be about 670,000.  We must now also endeavour the same for\nthe whole territory of England and Wales.  In order whereunto, we first\nsay that the assessment of London is about an eleventh part of the whole\nterritory, and, therefore, that the people of the whole may well be\neleven times that of London, viz., about 7,369,000 souls; with which\naccount that of the poll-money, hearth-money, and the bishop’s late\nnumbering of the communicants, do pretty well agree; wherefore, although\nthe said number of 7,369,000 be not (as it cannot be) a demonstrated\ntruth, yet it will serve for a good supposition, which is as much as we\nwant at present.\n\nAs for the time in which the people double, it is yet more hard to be\nfound.  For we have good experience (in the said page 94 of the\naforementioned observations) that in the country but 1 of 50 die per\nannum; and by other late accounts, that there have been sometimes but 24\nbirths for 23 burials.  The which two points, if they were universally\nand constantly true, there would be colour enough to say that the people\ndoubled but in about 1,200 years.  As, for example, suppose there be 600\npeople, of which let a fiftieth part die per annum, then there shall die\n12 per annum; and if the births be as 24 to 23, then the increase of the\npeople shall be somewhat above half a man per annum, and consequently the\nsupposed number of 600 cannot be doubled but in 1,126 years, which, to\nreckon in round numbers, and for that the aforementioned fractions were\nnot exact, we had rather call 1,200.\n\nThere are also other good observations, that even in the country one in\nabout 30 or 32 per annum hath died, and that there have been five births\nfor four burials.  Now, according to this doctrine, 20 will die per annum\nout of the above 600, and 25 will be born, so as the increase will be\nfive, which is a hundred and twentieth part of the said 600.  So as we\nhave two fair computations, differing from each other as one to ten; and\nthere are also several other good observations for other measures.\n\nI might here insert, that although the births in this last computation be\n25 of 600, or a twenty-fourth part of the people, yet that in natural\npossibility they may be near thrice as many, and near 75.  For that by\nsome late observations, the teeming females between 15 and 44 are about\n180 of the said 600, and the males of between 18 and 59 are about 180\nalso, and that every teeming woman can bear a child once in two years;\nfrom all which it is plain that the births may be 90 (and abating 15 for\nsickness, young abortions, and natural barrenness), there may remain 75\nbirths, which is an eighth of the people, which by some observations we\nhave found to be but a two-and-thirtieth part, or but a quarter of what\nis thus shown to be naturally possible.  Now, according to this\nreckoning, if the births may be 75 of 600, and the burials but 15, then\nthe annual increase of the people will be 60; and so the said 600 people\nmay double in ten years, which differs yet more from 1,200\nabove-mentioned.  Now, to get out of this difficulty, and to temper those\nvast disagreements, I took the medium of 50 and 30 dying per annum, and\npitched upon 40; and I also took the medium between 24 births and 23\nburials, and 5 births for 4 burials, viz., allowing about 10 births for 9\nburials; upon which supposition there must die 15 per annum out of the\nabove-mentioned 600, and the births must be 16 and two-thirds, and the\nincrease one and two-thirds, or five-thirds of a man, which number,\ncompared with 1,800 thirds, or 600 men, gives 360 years for the time of\ndoubling (including some allowance for wars, plagues, and famines, the\neffects thereof), though they be terrible at the times and places where\nthey happen, yet in a period of 360 years is no great matter in the whole\nnation.  For the plagues of England in twenty years have carried away\nscarce an eightieth part of the people of the whole nation; and the late\nten years’ civil wars (the like whereof hath not been in several ages\nbefore) did not take away above a fortieth part of the whole people.\n\nAccording to which account or measure of doubling, if there be now in\nEngland and Wales 7,400,000 people, there were about 5,526,000 in the\nbeginning of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, A.D. 1560, and about 2,000,000 at\nthe Norman Conquest, of which consult the Doomsday Book, and my Lord\nHale’s “Origination of Mankind.”\n\nMemorandum.—That if the people double in 360 years, that the present\n320,000,000 computed by some learned men (from the measures of all the\nnations of the world, their degrees of being peopled, and good accounts\nof the people in several of them) to be now upon the face of the earth,\nwill within the next 2,000 years so increase as to give one head for\nevery two acres of land in the habitable part of the earth.  And then,\naccording to the prediction of the Scriptures, there must be wars, and\ngreat slaughter, &c.\n\nWherefore, as an expedient against the above-mentioned difference between\n10 and 1,200 years, we do for the present, and in this country, admit of\n360 years to be the time wherein the people of England do double,\naccording to the present laws and practice of marriages.\n\nNow, if the city double its people in 40 years, and the present number be\n670,000, and if the whole territory be 7,400,000, and double in 360\nyears, as aforesaid, then by the underwritten table it appears that A.D.\n1840 the people of the city will be 10,718,880, and those of the whole\ncountry but 10,917,389, which is but inconsiderably more.  Wherefore it\nis certain and necessary that the growth of the city must stop before the\nsaid year 1840, and will be at its utmost height in the next preceding\nperiod, A.D. 1800, when the number of the city will be eight times its\npresent number, 5,359,000.  And when (besides the said number) there will\nbe 4,466,000 to perform the tillage, pasturage, and other rural works\nnecessary to be done without the said city, as by the following table,\nviz.:—\n\n                    A.D.      Burials.     People in     People in\n                                            London.       England.\n                      1565         2,568        77,040     5,526,929\nAs in the             1605         5,135\nformer table.\n                      1642        11,883\n                      1682        22,331       669,930     7,369,230\n                      1722        44,662\n                      1762        89,324\n                      1802       178,648     5,359,440     9,825,650\n                      1842       357,296    10,718,889    10,917,389\n\nNow, when the people of London shall come to be so near the people of all\nEngland, then it follows that the growth of London must stop before the\nsaid year 1842, as aforesaid, and must be at its greatest height A.D.\n1800, when it will be eight times more than now, with above 4,000,000 for\nthe service of the country and ports, as aforesaid.\n\nOf the aforementioned vast difference between 10 years and 1,200 years\nfor doubling the people, we make this use, viz.:—To justify the\nScriptures and all other good histories concerning the number of the\npeople in ancient time.  For supposing the eight persons who came out of\nthe Ark, increased by a progressive doubling in every ten years, might\ngrow in the first 100 years after the Flood from 8 to 8,000, and that in\n350 years after the Flood (whereabouts Noah died) to 1,000,000 and by\nthis time, 1682, to 320,000,000 (which by rational conjecture are thought\nto be now in the world), it will not be hard to compute how, in the\nintermediate years, the growths may be made, according to what is set\ndown in the following table, wherein making the doubling to be ten years\nat first, and within 1,200 years at last, we take a discretionary\nliberty, but justifiable by observations and the Scriptures for the rest,\nwhich table we leave to be corrected by historians who know the bigness\nof ancient cities, armies, and colonies in the respective ages of the\nworld, in the meantime affirming that without such difference in the\nmeasures and periods for doubling (the extremes whereof we have\ndemonstrated to be real and true) it is impossible to solve what is\nwritten in the Holy Scriptures and other authentic books.  For if we\npitch upon any one number throughout for this purpose, 150 years is the\nfittest of all round numbers; according to which there would have been\nbut 512 souls in the whole world in Moses’ time (being 800 years after\nthe Flood), when 603,000 Israelites of above twenty years old (besides\nthose of other ages, tribes, and nations) were found upon an exact survey\nappointed by God, whereas our table makes 12,000,000.  And there would\nhave been about 8,000 in David’s time, when were found 1,100,000, of\nabove twenty years old (besides others, as aforesaid) in Israel, upon the\nsurvey instigated by Satan, whereas our table makes 32,000,000.  And\nthere would have been but a quarter of a million about the birth of\nChrist, or Augustus’s time, when Rome and the Roman Empire were so great,\nwhereas our table makes 100,000,000.  Where note, that the Israelites in\nabout 500 years, between their coming out of Egypt to David’s reign,\nincreased from 603,000 to 1,100,000.\n\nOn the other hand, if we pitch upon a less number, as 100 years, the\nworld would have been over-peopled 700 years since.  Wherefore no one\nnumber will solve the phenomena, and therefore we have supposed several,\nin order to make the following table, which we again desire historians to\ncorrect, according to what they find in antiquity concerning the number\nof the people in each age and country of the world.\n\nWe did (not long since) assist a worthy divine, writing against some\nsceptics, who would have baffled our belief of the resurrection, by\nsaying, that the whole globe of the earth could not furnish matter enough\nfor all the bodies that must rise at the last day, much less would the\nsurface of the earth furnish footing for so vast a number; whereas we did\n(by the method afore mentioned) assert the number of men now living, and\nalso of those that had died since the beginning of the world, and did\nwithal show, that half the island of Ireland would afford them all, not\nonly footing to stand upon, but graves to lie down in, for that whole\nnumber; and that two mountains in that country were as weighty as all the\nbodies that had ever been from the beginning of the world to the year\n1680, when this dispute happened.  For which purpose I have digressed\nfrom my intended purpose to insert this matter, intending to prosecute\nthis hint further upon some more proper occasion.\n\n A TABLE SHOWING HOW THE PEOPLE MIGHT HAVE DOUBLED IN THE SEVERAL AGES OF\n                                THE WORLD.\n\n Periods of doubling       A.D., after the             Persons.\n                                Flood.\nIn 10 years                                  1  8\n                                            10  16\n                                            20  32\n                                            30  64\n                                            40  128\n                                            50  256\n                                            60  512\n                                            70  1,024\n                                            80  2,048\n                                            90  4,096\n                                           100  8,000 and more.\n                                           120  16,000\nIn 20 years                                140  32,000\nIn 30 years                                170  64,000\n                                           200  128,000\n40                                         240  256,000\n50                                         290  512,000\n60                                         350  1,000,000 and more.\n70                                         420  2,000,000\n100                                        520  4,000,000\n190                                        710  8,000,000\n290                                      1,000  16,000,000 in Moses’\n                                                time.\n400                                      1,400  32,000,000 about\n                                                David’s time.\n550                                      1,950  64,000,000\n750                                      2,700  128,000,000 about the\n                                                birth of Christ.\n1,000                                    3,700  256,000,000\n                                           300\nIn 300 / 1,200                           4,000  320,000,000\n\nIt is here to be noted, that in this table we have assigned a different\nnumber of years for the time of doubling the people in the several ages\nof the world, and might have done the same for the several countries of\nthe world, and therefore the said several periods assigned to the whole\nworld in the lump may well enough consist with the 360 years especially\nassigned to England, between this day and the Norman Conquest; and the\nsaid 360 years may well enough serve for a supposition between this time\nand that of the world’s being fully peopled; nor do we lay any stress\nupon one or the other in this disquisition concerning the growth of the\ncity of London.\n\nWe have spoken of the growth of London, with the measures and periods\nthereof; we come next to the causes and consequences of the same.\n\nThe causes of its growth from 1642 to 1682 may be said to have been as\nfollows, viz.:—From 1642 to 1650, that men came out of the country to\nLondon, to shelter themselves from the outrages of the Civil Wars during\nthat time; from 1650 to 1660, the royal party came to London for their\nmore private and inexpensive living; from 1660 to 1670, the king’s\nfriends and party came to receive his favours after his happy\nrestoration; from 1670 to 1680, the frequency of plots and parliaments\nmight bring extraordinary numbers to the city; but what reasons to assign\nfor the like increase from 1604 to 1642 I know not, unless I should pick\nout some remarkable accident happening in each part of the said period,\nand make that to be the cause of this increase (as vulgar people make the\ncause of every man’s sickness to be what he did last eat), wherefore,\nrather than so to say _quidlibet de quolibet_, I had rather quit even\nwhat I have above said to be the cause of London’s increase from 1642 to\n1682, and put the whole upon some natural and spontaneous benefits and\nadvantages that men find by living in great more than in small societies,\nand shall therefore seek for the antecedent causes of this growth in the\nconsequences of the like, considered in greater characters and\nproportions.\n\nNow, whereas in arithmetic, out of two false positions the truth is\nextracted, so I hope out of two extravagant contrary suppositions to draw\nforth some solid and consistent conclusion, viz.:—\n\nThe first of the said two suppositions is, that the city of London is\nseven times bigger than now, and that the inhabitants of it are 4,690,000\npeople, and that in all the other cities, ports, towns, and villages,\nthere are but 2,710,000 more.\n\nThe other supposition is, that the city of London is but a seventh part\nof its present bigness, and that the inhabitants of it are but 96,000,\nand that the rest of the inhabitants (being 7,304,000) do cohabit thus:\n104,000 of them in small cities and towns, and that the rest, being\n7,200,000, do inhabit in houses not contiguous to one another, viz., in\n1,200,000 houses, having about twenty-four acres of ground belonging to\neach of them, accounting about 28,000,000 of acres to be in the whole\nterritory of England, Wales, and the adjacent islands, which any man that\npleases may examine upon a good map.\n\nNow, the question is, in which of these two imaginary states would be the\nmost convenient, commodious, and comfortable livings?\n\nBut this general question divides itself into the several questions,\nrelating to the following particulars, viz.:—\n\n1.  For the defence of the kingdom against foreign powers.\n\n2.  For preventing the intestine commotions of parties and factions.\n\n3.  For peace and uniformity in religion.\n\n4.  For the administration of justice.\n\n5.  For the proportionably taxing of the people, and easy levying the\nsame.\n\n6.  For gain by foreign commerce.\n\n7.  For husbandry, manufacture, and for arts of delight and ornament.\n\n8.  For lessening the fatigue of carriages and travelling.\n\n9.  For preventing beggars and thieves.\n\n10.  For the advancement and propagation of useful learning.\n\n11.  For increasing the people by generation.\n\n12.  For preventing the mischiefs of plagues and contagious.  And withal,\nwhich of the said two states is most practicable and natural, for in\nthese and the like particulars do lie the tests and touchstones of all\nproposals that can be made for the public good.\n\nFirst, as to practicable, we say, that although our said extravagant\nproposals are both in nature possible, yet it is not obvious to every man\nto conceive how London, now seven times bigger than in the beginning of\nQueen Elizabeth’s reign, should be seven times bigger than now it is, and\nforty-nine times bigger than A.D. 1560.  To which I say, 1.  That the\npresent city of London stands upon less than 2,500 acres of ground,\nwherefore a city seven times as large may stand upon 10,500 acres, which\nis about equivalent to a circle of four miles and a half in diameter, and\nless than fifteen miles in circumference. 2.  That a circle of ground of\nthirty-five miles semidiameter will bear corn, garden-stuff, fruits, hay,\nand timber, for the 4,690,000 inhabitants of the said city and circle, so\nas nothing of that kind need be brought from above thirty-five miles\ndistance from the said city; for the number of acres within the said\ncircle, reckoning two acres sufficient to furnish bread and drink-corn\nfor every head, and two acres will furnish hay for every necessary horse;\nand that the trees which may grow in the hedgerows of the fields within\nthe said circle may furnish timber for 600,000 houses. 3.  That all live\ncattle and great animals can bring themselves to the said city; and that\nfish can be brought from the Land’s End and Berwick as easily as now. 4.\nOf coals there is no doubt: and for water, 20s. per family (or £600,000\nper annum in the whole) will serve this city, especially with the help of\nthe New River.  But if by practicable be understood that the present\nstate may be suddenly changed into either of the two above-mentioned\nproposals, I think it is not practicable.  Wherefore the true question\nis, unto or towards which of the said two extravagant states it is best\nto bend the present state by degrees, viz., Whether it be best to lessen\nor enlarge the present city?  In order whereunto, we inquire (as to the\nfirst question) which state is most defensible against foreign powers,\nsaying, that if the above-mentioned housing, and a border of ground, of\nthree-quarters of a mile broad, were encompassed with a wall and ditch of\ntwenty miles about (as strong as any in Europe, which would cost but a\nmillion, or about a penny in the shilling of the house-rent for one year)\nwhat foreign prince could bring an army from beyond seas, able to beat—1.\nOur sea-forces, and next with horse harassed at sea, to resist all the\nfresh horse that England could make, and then conquer above a million of\nmen, well united, disciplined, and guarded within such a wall, distant\neverywhere three-quarters of a mile from the housing, to elude the\ngranadoes and great shot of the enemy? 2.  As to intestine parties and\nfactions, I suppose that 4,690,000 people united within this great city\ncould easily govern half the said number scattered without it, and that a\nfew men in arms within the said city and wall could also easily govern\nthe rest unarmed, or armed in such a manner as the Sovereign shall think\nfit. 3.  As to uniformity in religion, I conceive, that if St. Martin’s\nparish (may as it doth) consist of about 40,000 souls, that this great\ncity also may as well be made but as one parish, with seven times 130\nchapels, in which might not only be an uniformity of common prayer, but\nin preaching also; for that a thousand copies of one judiciously and\nauthentically composed sermon might be every week read in each of the\nsaid chapels without any subsequent repetition of the same, as in the\ncase of homilies.  Whereas in England (wherein are near 10,000 parishes,\nin each of which upon Sundays, holy days, and other extraordinary\noccasions there should be about 100 sermons annum, making about a million\nof sermons per annum in the whole) it were a miracle, if a million of\nsermons composed by so many men, and of so many minds and methods, should\nproduce uniformity upon the discomposed understandings of about 8,000,000\nof hearers.\n\n4.  As to the administration of justice.  If in this great city shall\ndwell the owners of all the lands, and other valuable things in England;\nif within it shall be all the traders, and all the courts, offices,\nrecords, juries, and witnesses; then it follows that justice may be done\nwith speed and ease.\n\n5.  As to the equality and easy levying of taxes.  It is too certain that\nLondon hath at some time paid near half the excise of England, and that\nthe people pay thrice as much for the hearths in London as those in the\ncountry, in proportion to the people of each, and that the charge of\ncollecting these duties have been about a sixth part of the duty itself.\nNow in this great city the excise alone according to the present laws\nwould not only be double to the whole kingdom, but also more equal.  And\nthe duty of hearths of the said city would exceed the present proceed of\nthe whole kingdom.  And as for the customs we mention them not at\npresent.\n\n6.  Whether more would be gained by foreign commerce?  The gain which\nEngland makes by lead, coals, the freight of shipping, &c., may be the\nsame, for aught I see, in both cases.  But the gain which is made by\nmanufactures will be greater as the manufacture itself is greater and\nbetter.  For in so vast a city manufactures will beget one another, and\neach manufacture will be divided into as many parts as possible, whereby\nthe work of each artisan will be simple and easy.  As, for example, in\nthe making of a watch, if one man shall make the wheels, another the\nspring, another shall engrave the dial-plate, and another shall make the\ncases, then the watch will be better and cheaper than if the whole work\nbe put upon any one man.  And we also see that in towns, and in the\nstreets of a great town, where all the inhabitants are almost of one\ntrade, the commodity peculiar to those places is made better and cheaper\nthan elsewhere.  Moreover, when all sorts of manufactures are made in one\nplace, there every ship that goeth forth can suddenly have its loading of\nso many several particulars and species as the port whereunto she is\nbound can take off.  Again, when the several manufactures are made in one\nplace, and shipped off in another, the carriage, postage, and travelling\ncharges, will enhance the price of such manufacture, and lessen the gain\nupon foreign commerce.  And lastly, when the imported goods are spent in\nthe port itself, where they are landed, the carriage of the same into\nother places will create no further charge upon such commodity; all which\nparticulars tend to the greater gain by foreign commerce.\n\n7.  As for arts of delight and ornament.  They are best promoted by the\ngreatest number of emulators.  And it is more likely that one ingenious\ncurious man may rather be found out amongst 4,000,000 than 400 persons.\nBut as for husbandry, viz., tillage and pasturage, I see no reason, but\nthe second state (when each family is charged with the culture of about\ntwenty-four acres) will best promote the same.\n\n8.  As for lessening the fatigue of carriage and travelling.\n\nThe thing speaks for itself, for if all the men of business, and all\nartisans, do live within five miles of each other, and if those who live\nwithout the great city do spend only such commodities as grow where they\nlive, then the charge of carriage and travelling could be little.\n\n9.  As to the preventing of beggars and thieves.\n\nI do not find how the differences of the said two states should make much\ndifference in this particular; for impotents (which are but one in about\n600) ought to be maintained by the rest. 2.  Those who are unable to\nwork, through the evil education of their parents, ought (for aught I\nknow) to be maintained by their nearest kindred, as a just punishment\nupon them. 3.  And those who cannot find work (though able and willing to\nperform it), by reason of the unequal application of hands to lands,\nought to be provided for by the magistrate and landlord till that can be\ndone; for there need be no beggars in countries where there are many\nacres of unimproved improvable land to every head, as there are in\nEngland.  As for thieves, they are for the most part begotten from the\nsame cause; for it is against Nature that any man should venture his\nlife, limb, or liberty, for a wretched livelihood, whereas moderate\nlabour will produce a better.  But of this see Sir Thomas More, in the\nfirst part of his “Utopia.”\n\n10.  As to the propagation and improvement of useful learning.\n\nThe same may be said concerning it as was above said concerning\nmanufactures, and the arts of delight and ornaments; for in the great\nvast city there can be no so odd a conceit or design whereunto some\nassistance may not be found, which in the thin, scattered way of\nhabitation may not be.\n\n11.  As for the increase of people by generation.  I see no great\ndifference from either of the two states, for the same may be hindered or\npromoted in either from the same causes.\n\n12.  As to the plague.\n\nIt is to be remembered that one time with another a plague happeneth in\nLondon once in twenty years, or thereabouts; for in the last hundred\nyears, between the years 1582 and 1682, there have been five great\nplagues—viz., A.D. 1592, 1603, 1625, 1636, and 1665.  And it is also to\nbe remembered that the plagues of London do commonly kill one-fifth part\nof the inhabitants.  Now if the whole people of England do double but in\n360 years, then the annual increase of the same is but 20,000, and in\ntwenty years 400,000.  But if in the city of London there should be\n2,000,000 of people (as there will be about sixty years hence), then the\nplague (killing one-fifth of them, namely, 400,000 once in twenty years)\nwill destroy as many in one year as the whole nation can re-furnish in\ntwenty; and consequently the people of the nation shall never increase.\nBut if the people of London shall be above 4,000,000 (as in the first of\nour two extravagant suppositions is premised), then the people of the\nwhole nation shall lessen above 20,000 per annum.  So as if people be\nworth £70 per head (as hath elsewhere been shown), then the said\ngreatness of the city will be a damage to itself and the whole nation of\n£1,400,000 per annum, and so _pro rata_ for a greater or lesser number;\nwherefore to determine which of the two states is best—that is to say,\ntowards which of the said two states authority should bend the present\nstate, a just balance ought to be made between the disadvantages from the\nplague, with the advantages accruing from the other particulars above\nmentioned, unto which balance a more exact account of the people, and a\nbetter rule for the measure of its growth is necessary than what we have\nhere given, or are yet able to lay down.\n\n\n\nPOSTSCRIPT.\n\n\nIT was not very pertinent to a discourse concerning the growth of the\ncity of London to thrust in considerations of the time when the whole\nworld will be fully peopled; and how to justify the Scriptures concerning\nthe number of people mentioned in them; and concerning the number of the\nquick and the dead that may rise at the last day, &c.  Nevertheless,\nsince some friends, liking the said digressions and impertinences\n(perhaps as sauce to a dry discourse) have desired that the same might be\nexplained and made out, I, therefore, say as followeth:—\n\n1.  If the number of acres in the habitable part of the earth be under\n50,000,000,000; if 20,000,000,000 of people are more than the said number\nof acres will feed (few or no countries being so fully peopled), and for\nthat in six doublings (which will be in 2,000 years) the present\n320,000,000 will exceed the said 20,000,000,000.\n\n2.  That the number of all those who have died since the Flood is the sum\nof all the products made by multiplying the number of the doubling\nperiods mentioned in the first column of the last table, by the number of\npeople respectively affixed to them in the third column of the same\ntable, the said sum being divided by 40 (one dying out of 40 per annum\nout of the whole mass of mankind), which quotient is 12,570,000,000;\nwhereunto may be added, for those that died before the Flood, enough to\nmake the last-mentioned number 20,000,000,000, as the full number of all\nthat died from the beginning of the world to the year 1682, unto which,\nif 320,000,000, the number of those who are now alive, be added, the\ntotal of the quick and the dead will amount but unto one fifth part of\nthe graves which the surface of Ireland will afford, without ever putting\ntwo bodies into any one grave; for there be in Ireland 28,000 square\nEnglish miles, each whereof will afford about 4,000,000 of graves, and\nconsequently above 114,000,000,000 of graves, viz., about five times the\nnumber of the quick and the dead which should arise at the last day, in\ncase the same had been in the year 1682.\n\n3.  Now, if there may be place for five times as many graves in Ireland\nas are sufficient for all that ever died, and if the earth of one grave\nweigh five times as much as the body interred therein, then a turf less\nthan a foot thick pared off from a fifth part of the surface of Ireland,\nwill be equivalent in bulk and weight to all the bodies that ever were\nburied, and may serve as well for that purpose as the two mountains\naforementioned in the body of this discourse.  From all which it is plain\nhow madly they were mistaken who did so petulantly vilify what the Holy\nScriptures have delivered.\n\n\n\n\nFURTHER OBSERVATION UPON THE DUBLIN BILLS;\n\n\n  _Or_, _Accounts of the Houses_, _Hearths_, _Baptisms_, _and Burials in\n                               that City_.\n\n\n\nTHE STATIONER TO THE READER.\n\n\nI HAVE not thought fit to make any alteration of the first edition, but\nhave only added a new table, with observation upon it, placing the same\nin the front of what was before, which, perhaps, might have been as well\nplaced after the like table at the eighth page of the first edition.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                              DUBLIN, 1682.\n\nParishes.     Houses.       Fireplaces.   Baptised.     Buried.\nSt. James’s            272         836 }           122           306\nSt.                    540       2,198 }\nKatherine’s\nSt.                  1,064         4,082           145           414\nNicholas\nWithout and\nSt.\nPatrick’s\nSt.                    395         1,903            68           149\nBridget’s\nSt.                    276         1,510            56           164\nAudone’s\nSt.                    174           884            34            50\nMichael’s\nSt. John’s             302         1,636            74           101\nSt.                    153           902            26            52\nNicholas\nWithin and\nChrist\nChurch Lib.\nSt.                    240         1,638            45           105\nWarburgh’s\nSt.                    938         3,516           124           389\nMichan’s\nSt.                    864         3,638           131           300\nAndrew’s\nSt. Kevin’s            554       2,120 }            87           233\nDonnybrook             253         506 }\n                     6,025        25,369           912         2,263\n\nThe table hath been made for the year 1682, wherein is to be noted—\n\n1.  That the houses which A.D. 1671 were but 3,850 are, A.D. 1682, 6,025;\nbut whether this difference is caused by the real increase of housing, or\nby fraud and defect in the former accounts, is left to consideration.\nFor the burials of people have increased but from 1,696 to 2,263,\naccording to which proportion the 3,850 houses A.D. 1671 should A.D. 1682\nhave been but 5,143, wherefore some fault may be suspected as aforesaid,\nwhen farming the hearth-money was in agitation.\n\n2.  The hearths have increased according to the burials, and one-third of\nthe said increase more, viz., the burials A.D. 1671 were 1,696, the\none-third whereof is 563, which put together makes 2,259, which is near\nthe number of burials A.D. 1682.  But the hearths A.D. 1671 were 17,500,\nwhereof the one-third is 5,833, making in all but 23,333; whereas the\nwhole hearths A.D. 1682 were 25,369, viz., one-third and better of the\nsaid 5,833 more.\n\n3.  The housing were A.D. 1671 but 3,850, which if they had increased\nA.D. 1682 but according to the burials, they had been but 5,143, or,\naccording to the hearths, had been but 5,488, whereas they appear 6,025,\nincreasing double to the hearths.  So as it is likely there hath been\nsome error in the said account of the housing, unless the new housing be\nvery small, and have but one chimney apiece, and that one-fourth part of\nthem are untenanted.  On the other hand, it is more likely that when\n1,696 died per annum there were near 6,000; for 6,000 houses at 8\ninhabitants per house, would make the number of the people to be 48,000,\nand the number of 1,696 that died according to the rule of one out of 30,\nwould have made the number of inhabitants about 50,000: for which reason\nI continue to believe there was some error in the account of 3,850 houses\nas aforesaid, and the rather because there is no ground from experience\nto think that in eleven years the houses in Dublin have increased from\n3,850 to 6,025.\n\nMoreover, I rather think that the number of 6,025 is yet short, because\nthat number at 8 heads per house makes the inhabitants to be but 48,200;\nwhereas the 2,263 who died in the year 1682, according to the\naforementioned rule of one dying out of 30 makes the number of people to\nbe 67,890, the medium betwixt which number and 48,200 is 58,045, which is\nthe best estimate I can make of that matter, which I hope authority will\nere long rectify, by direct and exact inquiries.\n\n4.  As to the births, we say that A.D. 1640, 1641, and 1642, at London,\njust before the troubles in religion began, the births were five-sixths\nof the burials, by reason I suppose of the greaterness of families in\nLondon above the country, and the fewer breeders, and not for want of\nregistering.  Wherefore, deducting one-sixth of 2,263, which is 377,\nthere remains 1,886 for the probable number of births in Dublin for the\nyear 1682; whereas but 912 are represented to have been christened in\nthat year, though 1,023 were christened A.D. 1671, when there died but\n1,696, which decreasing of the christening, and increasing of the\nburials, shows the increase of non-registering in the legal books, which\nmust be the increase of Roman Catholics at Dublin.\n\nThe scope of this whole paper therefore is, that the people of Dublin are\nrather 58,000 than 32,000, and that the dissenters, who do not register\ntheir baptisms, have increased from 391 to 974: but of dissenters, none\nhave increased but the Roman Catholics, whose numbers have increased from\nabout two to five in the said years.  The exacter knowledge whereof may\nalso be better had from direct inquiries.\n\n\n\n\nOBSERVATIONS UPON THE DUBLIN BILLS OF MORTALITY, 1681: AND THE STATE OF\nTHAT CITY.\n\n\nTHE observations upon the London bills of mortality have been a new light\nto the world, and the like observation upon those of Dublin may serve as\nsnuffers to make the same candle burn clearer.\n\nThe London observations flowed from bills regularly kept for near one\nhundred years, but these are squeezed out of six straggling London bills,\nout of fifteen Dublin bills, and from a note of the families and hearths\nin each parish of Dublin, which are all digested into the one table or\nsheet annexed, consisting of three parts, marked A, B, C; being indeed\nthe A, B, C of public economy, and even of that policy which tends to\npeace and plenty.\n\n\n_Observations upon the Table A_.\n\n\n1.  The total of the burials in London (for the said six straggling years\nmentioned in the Table A) is 120,170, whereof the medium or sixth part is\n20,028, and exceeds the burials of Paris, as may appear by the late bills\nof that city.\n\n2.  The births, for the same time, are 73,683, the medium or sixth part\nwhereof is 12,280, which is about five-eighth parts of the burials, and\nshows that London would in time decrease quite away, were it not supplied\nout of the country, where are about five births for four burials, the\nproportion of breeders in the country being greater than in the city.\n\n3.  The burials in Dublin for the said six years were 9,865, the sixth\npart or medium whereof is 1,644, which is about the twelfth part of the\nLondon burials, and about a fifth part over.  So as the people of London\ndo hereby seem to be above twelve times as many as those of Dublin.\n\n4.  The births in the same time at Dublin are 6,157, the sixth part or\nmedium whereof is 1,026, which is also about five-eighth parts of the\n1,644 burials, which shows that the proportion between burials and births\nare alike at London and Dublin, and that the accounts are kept alike, and\nconsequently are likely to be true, there being no confederacy for that\npurpose; which, if they be true, we then say—\n\n5.  That the births are the best way (till the accounts of the people\nshall be purposely taken) whereby to judge of the increase and decrease\nof people, that of burials being subject to more contingencies and\nvariety of causes.\n\n6.  If births be as yet the measure of the people, and that the births\n(as has been shown) are as five to eight, then eight-fifths of the births\nis the number of the burials, where the year was not considerable for\nextraordinary sickness or salubrity, and is the rule whereby to measure\nthe same.  As for example, the medium of births in Dublin was 1,026, the\neight-fifths whereof is 1,641, but the real burials were 1,644; so as in\nthe said years they differed little from the 1,641, which was the\nstandard of health, and consequently the years 1680, 1674, and 1668 were\nsickly years, more or less, as they exceeded the said number, 1,641; and\nthe rest were healthful years, more or less, as they fell short of the\nsame number.  But the city was more or less populous, as the births\ndiffered from the number 1,026, viz., populous in the years 1680, 1679,\n1678, and 1668, for other causes of this difference in births are very\noccult and uncertain.\n\n7.  What hath been said of Dublin, serves also for London.\n\n8.  It hath already been observed by the London bills that there are more\nmales than females.  It is to be further noted, that in these six London\nbills, also, there is not one instance either in the births or burials to\nthe contrary.\n\n9.  It hath been formerly observed that in the years wherein most die\nfewest are born, and _vice versa_.  The same may be further observed in\nmales and females, viz., when fewest males are born then most die: for\nhere the males died as twelve to eleven, which is above the mean\nproportion of fourteen to thirteen, but were born but as nineteen to\neighteen, which is below the same.\n\n\n_Observations upon the Table B_.\n\n\n1.  From the Table B it appears that the medium of the fifteen years’\nburials (being 24,199) is 1,613, whereas the medium of the other six\nyears in the Table A was 1,644, and that the medium of the fifteen years’\nbirths (being in all 14,765) is 984, whereas the medium of the said other\nsix years was 1,026.  That is to say, there were both fewer births and\nburials in these fifteen years than in the other six years, which is a\nprobable sign that at a medium there were fewer people also.\n\n2.  The medium of births for the fifteen years being 984, whereof\neight-fifths (being 1,576) is the standard of health for the said fifteen\nyears; and the triple of the said 1,576 being 4,728, is the standard for\neach of the ternaries of the fifteen years within the said table.\n\n3.  That 2,952, the triple of 984 births, is for each ternary the\nstandard of people’s increase and decrease from the year 1666 to 1680\ninclusive, viz., the people increased in the second ternary, and\ndecreased from the same in the third and fourth ternaries, but\nre-increased in the fifth ternary beyond any other.\n\n4.  That the last ternary was withal very healthful, the burials being\nbut 4,624, viz., below 4,728, the standard.\n\n5.  That according to this proportion of increase, the housing of Dublin\nhave probably increased also.\n\n\n_Observations upon the Table C_.\n\n\n1.  First, from the Table C it appears, 1.  That the housing of Dublin is\nsuch, as that there are not five hearths in each house one with another,\nbut nearer five than four.\n\n2.  That in St. Warburgh’s parish are near six hearths to a house.  In\nSt. John’s five.  In St. Michael’s above five.  In St. Nicholas Within\nabove six.  In Christ Church above seven.  In St. James’s and St.\nKatherine’s, and in St. Michan’s, not four.  In St. Kevin’s about four.\n\n3.  That in St. James’s, St. Michan’s, St. Bride’s, St. Warburgh’s, St.\nAndrew’s, St. Michael’s, and St. Patrick’s, all the christenings were but\n550, and the burials 1,055, viz., near double; and that in the rest of\nthe parishes the christenings were five, and the burials seven, viz., as\n457 to 634.  Now whether the cause of this difference was negligence in\naccounts, or the greaterness of the families, &c., is worth inquiring.\n\n4.  It is hard to say in what order (as to greatness) these parishes\nought to stand, some having most families, some most hearths, some most\nbirths, and others most burials.  Some parishes exceeding the rest in\ntwo, others in three of the said four particulars, but none in all four.\nWherefore this table ranketh them according to the plurality of the said\nfour particulars wherein each excelleth the other.\n\n5.  The London observations reckon eight heads in each family, according\nto which estimation, there are 32,000 souls in the 4,000 families of\nDublin, which is but half of what most men imagine, of which but about\none sixth part are able to bear arms, besides the royal regiment.\n\n6.  Without the knowledge of the true number of people, as a principle,\nthe whole scope and use of the keeping bills of births and burials is\nimpaired; wherefore by laborious conjectures and calculations to deduce\nthe number of people from the births and burials, may be ingenious, but\nvery preposterous.\n\n7.  If the number of families in Dublin be about 4,000, then ten men in\none week (at the charge of about £5 surveying eight families in an hour)\nmay directly, and without algebra, make an account of the whole people,\nexpressing their several ages, sex, marriages, title, trade, religion,\n&c., and those who survey the hearths, or the constables or the parish\nclerks (may, if required) do the same ex officio, and without other\ncharge, by the command of the chief governor, the diocesan, or the mayor.\n\n8.  The bills of London have since their beginning admitted several\nalterations and improvements, and £8 or £10 per annum surcharge, would\nmake the bills of Dublin to exceed all others, and become an excellent\ninstrument of Government.  To which purpose the forms for weekly,\nquarterly, and yearly bills are humbly recommended, viz.\n\n\n\nTABLE A—YEARLY BILLS OF MORTALITY FOR\n\n                       LONDON                              DUBLIN                                           LONDON\nA.D.     Burials           Births            Burials           Births            Male              Female            Male              Female\n   1680            21,053            12,747             1,826             1,096            11,039            10,044             6,543    6,041\n   1679            21,730            12,288             1,397             1,061            11,154            10,576             6,247    6,041\n   1678            20,678            12,601             1,401             1,045            10,681             9,977             6,568    6,033\n   1674            21,201            11,851             2,106               942            11,000            10,196             6,113    5,738\n   1672            18,230            12,563             1,436               987             9,560             8,070             6,443    6,120\n   1668            17,278            11,633             1,699             1,026             9,111             8,167             6,073    5,566\n                  120,170            73,683             9,865             6,157            62,545            57,030            37,992   35,697\n                                              The medium or 6th part whereof is part whereof is\n          20,028            12,280             1,644             1,026            10,424             9,505             6,332             5,949\n\nTABLE B.—DUBLIN.\n\n  A.D.      Burials.      Births.       In Ternaries of Years\n    1666         1,480           952         4,821         2,979\n    1667         1,642         1,001\n    1668         1,699         1,026\n    1669         1,666         1,000         5,353         3,070\n    1670         1,713         1,067\n    1671         1,974         1,003\n    1672         1,436           967         5,073         2,842\n    1673         1,531           933\n    1674         2,106           942\n    1675         1,578           823         4,328         2,672\n    1676         1,391           952\n    1677         1,359           897\n    1678         1,401         1,045         4,624         3,202\n    1679         1,397         1,061\n    1680         1,826         1,096\n                24,199        14,765        24,199        14,765\n               The medium or 15th part whereof is\n                 1,613           984         1,613           984\n\nTABLE C.\n\n    THE               A.D. 1671.            A.D., 1670–71–72 at a\nPARISHES OF                                         medium\n   DUBLIN\n              Families      Hearths       Births        Burials\nSt.                    661         2,399           161           290\nKatherine’s\nand St.\nJames’s\nSt.                    490         2,348           207           262\nNicholas\nWithout\nSt.                    656         2,301           127           221\nMichan’s\nSt.                    483         2,123           108           178\nAndrew’s\nwith\nDonnybrook\nSt.                    416         1,989            70           100\nBridget’s\nSt. John’s             244         1,337            70           138\nSt.                    267         1,650            54           103\nWarburgh’s\nSt.                    216         1,081            53           121\nAudaen’s\nSt.                    140           793            44            59\nMichael’s\nSt. Kevin’s            106           433            64           133\nSt.                     93           614            28            34\nNicholas\nWithin\nSt.                     52           255            21            44\nPatrick’s\nLiberties\nChrist                  26           197       —                   1\nChurch and\nTrinity\nCollege,\nper\nestimate\n                     3,850        17,500         1,013         1,696\nHouses                 150           550\nbuilt\nbetween\n1671 and\n1681, per\nestimate\n                     4,000        18,150\n\nA WEEKLY BILL OF MORTALITY FOR THE CITY OF DUBLIN, Ending the XXX day of\nXXX 1681. {75}\n\n   PARISHES’ NAMES.        Births      Males       Females        Burials       Under 16       Plague      Small Pox       Measles        Spotted\n                                                                                years old                                                  Fever\nSt. Katharine’s and\nSt. James’s\nSt. Nicholas Without\nSt. Michan’s\nSt. Andrew’s with\nDonnybrook\nSt. Bridget’s\nSt. John’s\nSt. Warburgh’s\nSt. Audaen’s\nSt. Michael’s\nSt. Kevin’s\nSt. Nicholas Within\nSt. Patrick’s\nLiberties\nChrist Church and\nTrinity College\nTotals\n\nA QUARTERLY BILL OF MORTALITY, Beginning XXX and ending XXX for the City\nof DUBLIN {76}\n\nPARISHES’ NAMES.       Births 1.      Marriages 2.    Buried under 16   Buried above 60       Measles,        Consumption,         Fever,        Aged above 70    Infants under 2      All other\n                                                         years olds        years old       Spotted Fever,    Dropsy, Gout,       Pleurisy,         years old         years old         Casualties\n                                                                                             Small Pox,          Stone         Quinsy, Sudden\n                                                                                               Plague                              Death\nSt. Katharine’s\nand St. James’s\nSt. Nicholas\nWithout\nSt. Michan’s\nSt. Andrew’s with\nDonnybrook\nSt. Bridget’s\nSt. John’s\nSt. Warburgh’s\nSt. Audaen’s\nSt. Michael’s\nSt. Kevin’s\nSt. Nicholas\nWithin\nSt. Patrick’s\nLiberties\nChrist Church and\nTrinity College\nTotals\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n\n\nAN ACCOUNT OF THE PEOPLE OF DUBLIN FOR ONE YEAR, Ending the 24th of\nMarch, 1681. {77}\n\nPARISHES’ NAMES.      Number of      Whereof                   Married        Persons of                    Protestants    <DW7>s        Of all other   Births      Burials        Marriages\n                      person                                   Persons                                                                    religions\n                                     Males      Females                       Under 16       Above 60       of above 16 years old\n                                                                              years old      years old\nSt. Katharine’s and\nSt. James’s\nSt. Nicholas\nWithout\nSt. Michan’s\nSt. Andrew’s with\nDonnybrook\nSt. Bridget’s\nSt. John’s\nSt. Warburgh’s\nSt. Audaen’s\nSt. Michael’s\nSt. Kevin’s\nSt. Nicholas Within\nSt. Patrick’s\nLiberties\nChrist Church and\nTrinity College\nTotals\n\nCASUALTIES AND DISEASES.\n\nAged above 70 years             Epilepsy and planet\nAbortive and still-born         Fever and ague\nChildbed women                  Pleurisy\nConvulsion                      Quinsy\nTeeth                           Executed, murdered, drowned\nWorms                           Plague and spotted fever\nGout and sciatica               Griping of the guts\nStone                           Scouring, vomiting bleeding\nPalsy                           Small pox\nConsumption and French pox      Measles\nDropsy and tympany              Neither of all the other sorts\nRickets and livergrown\nHeadache and megrim\n\nA POSTSCRIPT TO THE STATIONER.\n\n\nWHEREAS you complain that these observations make no sufficient bulk, I\ncould answer you that I wish the bulk of all books were less; but do\nnevertheless comply with you in adding what follows, viz.:\n\n1.  That the parishes of Dublin are very unequal; some having in them\nabove 600 families, and others under thirty.\n\n2.  That thirteen parishes are too few for 4,000 families; the middling\nparishes of London containing 120 families; according to which rate there\nshould be about thirty-three parishes in Dublin.\n\n3.  It is said that there are 84,000 houses or families in London, which\nis twenty-one times more than are in Dublin, and yet the births and\nburials of London are but twelve times those of Dublin, which shows that\nthe inhabitants of Dublin are more crowded and straitened in their\nhousing than those of London; and consequently that to increase the\nbuildings of Dublin will make that city more conformable to London.\n\n4.  I shall also add some reasons for altering the present forms of the\nDublin bills of mortality, according to what hath been here\nrecommended—viz.:\n\n1.  We give the distinctions of males and females in the births only; for\nthat the burials must, at one time or another, be in the same proportion\nwith the births.\n\n2.  We do in the weekly and quarterly bills propose that notice be taken\nin the burials of what numbers die above sixty and seventy, and what\nunder sixteen, six, and two years old, foreseeing good uses to be made of\nthat distinction.\n\n3.  We do in the yearly bill reduce the casualties to about twenty-four,\nbeing such as may be discerned by common sense, and without art,\nconceiving that more will but perplex and imbroil the account.  And in\nthe quarterly bills we reduce the diseases to three heads—viz.,\ncontagious, acute, and chronical, applying this distinction to parishes,\nin order to know how the different situation, soil, and way of living in\neach parish doth dispose men to each of the said three species; and in\nthe weekly bills we take notice not only of the plague, but of the other\ncontagious diseases in each parish, that strangers and fearful persons\nmay thereby know how to dispose of themselves.\n\n4.  We mention the number of the people, as the fundamental term in all\nour proportions; and without which all the rest will be almost fruitless.\n\n5.  We mention the number of marriages made in every quarter, and in\nevery year, as also the proportion which married persons bear to the\nwhole, expecting in such observations to read the improvement of the\nnation.\n\n6.  As for religions, we reduce them to three—viz.: (1) those who have\nthe Pope of Rome for their head; (2) who are governed by the laws of\ntheir country; (3) those who rely respectively upon their own private\njudgments.  Now, whether these distinctions should be taken notice of or\nnot, we do but faintly recommend, seeing many reasons _pro_ and _con_ for\nthe same; and, therefore, although we have mentioned it as a matter fit\nto be considered, yet we humbly leave it to authority.\n\n\n\n\nTWO ESSAYS IN POLITICAL ARITHMETIC,\n\n\n  _Concerning the People_, _Housing_, _Hospitals_, _&c._, _of London and\n                                 Paris_.\n\n\n\nTO THE KING’S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY.\n\n\nI DO presume, in a very small paper, to show your Majesty that your City\nof London seems more considerable than the two best cities of the French\nmonarchy, and for aught I can find, greater than any other of the\nuniverse, which because I can say without flattery, and by such\ndemonstration as your Majesty can examine, I humbly pray your Majesty to\naccept from\n\n                              Your Majesty’s\n\n                                 Most humble, loyal, and obedient subject,\n                                                            WILLIAM PETTY.\n\n\n\nAN ESSAY IN POLITICAL ARITHMETIC\n\n\n_Tending to prove that London hath more people and housing than the\ncities of Paris and Rouen put together_, _and is also more considerable\nin several other respects_.\n\n1.  THE medium of the burials at London in the three last years—viz.,\n1683, 1684, and 1685, wherein there was no extraordinary sickness, and\nwherein the christenings do correspond in their ordinary proportions with\nthe burials and christenings of each year one with another, was 22,337,\nand the like medium of burials for the three last Paris bills we could\nprocure—viz., for the years 1682, 1683, and 1684 (whereof the last as\nappears by the christenings to have been very sickly), is 19,887.\n\n2.  The city of Bristol in England appears to be by good estimate of its\ntrade and customs as great as Rouen in France, and the city of Dublin in\nIreland appears to have more chimneys than Bristol, and consequently more\npeople, and the burials in Dublin were, A.D. 1682 (being a sickly year)\nbut 2,263.\n\n3.  Now the burials of Paris (being 19,887) being added to the burials of\nDublin (supposed more than at Rouen) being 2,263, makes but 22,150,\nwhereas the burials of London were 187 more, or 22,337, or as about 6 to\n7.\n\n4.  If those who die unnecessarily, and by miscarriage in L’Hôtel Dieu in\nParis (being above 3,000), as hath been elsewhere shown, or any part\nthereof, should be subtracted out of the Paris burials aforementioned,\nthen our assertion will be stronger, and more proportionable to what\nfollows concerning the housing of those cities, viz.:\n\n5.  There were burnt at London, A.D. 1666, above 13,000 houses, which\nbeing but a fifth part of the whole, the whole number of houses in the\nsaid year were above 65,000; and whereas the ordinary burials of London\nhave increased between the years 1666 and 1686, above one-third the total\nof the houses at London, A.D. 1686, must be about 87,000, which A.D.\n1682, appeared by account to have been 84,000.\n\n6.  Monsieur Moreri, the great French author of the late geographical\ndictionaries, who makes Paris the greatest city in the world, doth reckon\nbut 50,000 houses in the same, and other authors and knowing men much\nless; nor are there full 7,000 houses in the city of Dublin, so as if the\n50,000 houses of Paris, and the 7,000 houses in the city of Dublin were\nadded together, the total is but 57,000 houses, whereas those of London\nare 87,000 as aforesaid, or as 6 to 9.\n\n7.  As for the shipping and foreign commerce of London, the common sense\nof all men doth judge it to be far greater than that of Paris and Rouen\nput together.\n\n8.  As to the wealth and gain accruing to the inhabitants of London and\nParis by law-suits (or _La chicane_) I only say that the courts of London\nextend to all England and Wales, and affect seven millions of people,\nwhereas those of Paris do not extend near so far.  Moreover, there is no\npalpable conspicuous argument at Paris for the number and wealth of\nlawyers like the buildings and chambers in the two Temples, Lincoln’s\nInn, Gray’s Inn, Doctors’ Commons, and the seven other inns in which are\nchimneys, which are to be seen at London, besides many lodgings, halls,\nand offices, relating to the same.\n\n9.  As to the plentiful and easy living of the people we say,\n\n(a.) That the people of Paris to those of London, being as about 6 to 7,\nand the housing of the same as about 6 to 9, we infer that the people do\nnot live at London so close and crowded as at Paris, but can afford\nthemselves more room and liberty.\n\n(b.) That at London the hospitals are better and more desirable than\nthose of Paris, for that in the best at Paris there die two out of\nfifteen, whereas at London there die out of the worst scarce 2 out of 16,\nand yet but a fiftieth part of the whole die out of the hospitals at\nLondon, and two-fifths, or twenty times that proportion die out of the\nParis hospitals which are of the same kind; that is to say, the number of\nthose at London, who choose to lie sick in hospitals rather than in their\nown houses, are to the like people of Paris as one to twenty; which shows\nthe greater poverty or want of means in the people of Paris than those of\nLondon.\n\n(c.) We infer from the premises, viz., the dying scarce two of sixteen\nout of the London hospitals, and about two of fifteen in the best of\nParis, to say nothing of L’Hôtel Dieu, that either the physicians and\nchirurgeons of London are better than those of Paris, or that the air of\nLondon is more wholesome.\n\n10.  As for the other great cities of the world, if Paris were the\ngreatest we need say no more in behalf of London.  As for Pekin in China,\nwe have no account fit to reason upon; nor is there anything in the\ndescription of the two late voyages of the Chinese emperor from that city\ninto East and West Tartary, in the years 1682 and 1683, which can make us\nrecant what we have said concerning London.  As for Delhi and Agra,\nbelonging to the Mogul, we find nothing against our position, but much to\nshow the vast numbers which attend that emperor in his business and\npleasures.\n\n11.  We shall conclude with Constantinople and Grand Cairo; as for\nConstantinople it hath been said by one who endeavoured to show the\ngreatness of that city, and the greatness of the plague which raged in\nit, that there died 1,500 per diem, without other circumstances; to which\nwe answer, that in the year 1665 there died in London 1,200 per diem, and\nit hath been well proved that the Plague of London never carried away\nabove one-fifth of the people, whereas it is commonly believed that in\nConstantinople, and other eastern cities, and even in Italy and Spain,\nthat the plague takes away two-fifths, one half, or more; wherefore where\n1,200 is but one-fifth of the people it is probable that the number was\ngreater, than where 1,500 was two-fifths or one half, &c.\n\n12.  As for Grand Cairo it is reported, that 73,000 died in ten weeks, or\n1,000 per diem, where note, that at Grand Cairo the plague comes and goes\naway suddenly, and that the plague takes away two or three-fifths parts\nof the people as aforesaid; so as 73,000 was probably the number of those\nthat died of the plague in one whole year at Grand Cairo, whereas at\nLondon, A.D. 1665, 97,000 were brought to account to have died in that\nyear.  Wherefore it is certain, that that city wherein 97,000 was but\none-fifth of the people, the number was greater than where 73,000 was\ntwo-fifths or the half.\n\nWe therefore conclude, that London hath more people, housing, shipping,\nand wealth, than Paris and Rouen put together; and for aught yet appears,\nis more considerable than any other city in the universe, which was\npropounded to be proved.\n\n\n\nAN ESSAY IN POLITICAL ARITHMETIC,\n\n\n_Tending to prove that in the hospital called L’Hôtel Dieu at Paris_,\n_there die above 3,000 per annum by reason of ill accommodation_.\n\n1.  IT appears that A.D. 1678 there entered into the Hospital of La\nCharité 2,647 souls, of which there died there within the said year 338,\nwhich is above an eighth part of the said 2,647; and that in the same\nyear there entered into L’Hôtel Dieu 21,491, and that there died out of\nthat number 5,630, which is above one quarter, so as about half the said\n5,630, being 2,815, seem to have died for want of as good usage and\naccommodation as might have been had at La Charité.\n\n2.  Moreover, in the year 1679 there entered into La Charité 3,118, of\nwhich there died 452, which is above a seventh part, and in the same year\nthere entered into L’Hôtel Dieu 28,635, of which there died 8,397; and in\nboth the said years 1678 and 1679 (being very different in their degrees\nof mortality) there entered into L’Hôtel Dieu 28,635 and 2l,491—in all\n50,126, the medium whereof is 25,063; and there died out of the same in\nthe said two years, 5,630 and 8,397—in all 14,027, the medium whereof is\n7,013.\n\n3.  There entered in the said years into La Charité 2,647 and 3,118, in\nall 5,765, the medium whereof is 2,882, whereof there died 338 and 452,\nin all 790, the medium whereof is 395.\n\n4.  Now, if there died out of L’Hôtel Dieu 7,013 per annum, and that the\nproportion of those that died out of L’Hôtel Dieu is double to those that\ndied out of La Charité (as by the above numbers it appears to be near\nthereabouts), then it follows that half the said numbers of 7,013, being\n3,506, did not die by natural necessity, but by the evil administration\nof that hospital.\n\n5.  This conclusion seemed at the first sight very strange, and rather to\nbe some mistake or chance than a solid and real truth; but considering\nthe same matter as it appeared at London, we were more reconciled to the\nbelief of it, viz.:—\n\n(_a_.) In the Hospital of St. Bartholomew in London, there was sent out\nand cured in the year 1685, 1,764 persons, and there died out of the said\nhospital 252.  Moreover, there were sent out and cured out of St.\nThomas’s Hospital 1,523, and buried, 209—that is to say, there were cured\nin both hospitals 3,287, and buried out of both hospitals 461, and\nconsequently cured and buried 3,748, of which number the 461 buried is\nless than an eighth part; whereas at La Charité the part that died was\nmore than an eighth part; which shows that out of the most poor and\nwretched hospitals of London there died fewer in proportion than out of\nthe best in Paris.\n\n(_b_.) Furthermore, it hath been above shown that there died out of La\nCharité at a medium 395 per annum, and 141 out of Les Incurables, making\nin all 536; and that out of St. Bartholomew’s and St. Thomas’s Hospitals,\nLondon, there died at a medium but 461, of which Les Incurables are part;\nwhich shows that although there be more people in London than in Paris,\nyet there went at London not so many people to hospitals as there did at\nParis, although the poorest hospitals at London were better than the best\nat Paris; which shows that the poorest people at London have better\naccommodation in their own houses than the best hospital of Paris\naffordeth.\n\n6.  Having proved that there die about 3,506 persons at Paris\nunnecessarily, to the damage of France, we come next to compute the value\nof the said damage, and of the remedy thereof, as follows, viz., the\nvalue of the said 3,506 at 60 livres sterling per head, being about the\nvalue of Argier slaves (which is less than the intrinsic value of people\nat Paris), the whole loss of the subjects of France in that hospital\nseems to be 60 times 3,506 livres sterling per annum, viz., 210,360\nlivres sterling, equivalent to about 2,524,320 French livres.\n\n7.  It hath appeared that there came into L’Hôtel Dieu at a medium 25,063\nper annum, or 2,089 _per mensem_, and that the whole stock of what\nremained in the precedent months is at a medium about 2,108 (as may\nappear by the third line of the Table No. 5, which shall be shortly\npublished), viz., the medium of months is 2,410 for the sickly year 1679,\nwhereunto 1,806 being added as the medium of months for the year 1678,\nmakes 4,216, the medium whereof is the 2,108 above mentioned; which\nnumber being added to the 2,089 which entered each month, makes 4,197 for\nthe number of sick which are supposed to be always in L’Hôtel Dieu one\ntime with another.\n\n8.  Now, if 60 French livres per annum for each of the said 4,197 sick\npersons were added to the present ordinary expense of that hospital\n(amounting to an addition of 251,820 livres), it seems that so many lives\nmight be saved as are worth above ten times that sum, and this by doing a\nmanifest deed of charity to mankind.\n\n_Memorandum_.—That A.D. 1685, the burials of London were 23,222, and\nthose of Amsterdam 6,245; from whence, and the difference of air, it is\nprobable that the people of London are quadruple to those of Amsterdam.\n\n\n\n\nOBSERVATIONS UPON THE CITIES OF LONDON AND ROME.\n\n\n1.  THAT before the year 1630 the christenings at London exceeded the\nburials of the same, but about the year 1655 they were scarce half; and\nnow about two-thirds.\n\n2.  Before the restoration of monarchy in England, A.D. 1660, the people\nof Paris were more than those of London and Dublin put together, whereas\nnow, the people of London are more than those of Paris and Rome, or of\nParis and Rouen.\n\n3.  A.D. 1665 one fifth part of the then people of London, or 97,000,\ndied of the plague, and in the next year, 1666, 13,000 houses, or one\nfifth part of all the housing of London, were burnt also.\n\n4.  At the birth of Christ old Rome was the greatest city of the world,\nand London the greatest at the coronation of King James II., and near six\ntimes as great as the present Rome, wherein are 119,000 souls besides\nJews.\n\n5.  In the years of King Charles II.’s death, and King James II.’s\ncoronation (which were neither of them remarkable for extraordinary\nsickliness or healthfulness) the burials did wonderfully agree, viz.,\nA.D. 1684, they were 23,202, and A.D. 1685, they were 23,222, the medium\nwhereof is 23,212.  And the christenings did very wonderfully agree also,\nhaving been A.D. 1684, 14,702, and A.D. 1685, 14,732, the medium whereof\nis 14,716, which consistence was never seen before, the said number of\n23,212 burials making the people of London to be 696,360, at the rate of\none dying per annum out of 30.\n\n6.  Since the great Fire of London, A.D. 1666, about 7 parts of 15 of the\npresent vast city hath been new built, and is with its people increased\nnear one half, and become equal to Paris and Rome put together, the one\nbeing the seat of the great French Monarchy, and the other of the Papacy.\n\n\n\n\nFIVE ESSAYS IN POLITICAL ARITHMETIC.\n\n\nI.  Objections from the city of Ray in Persia, and from Monsier Auzout,\nagainst two former essays, answered, and that London hath as many people\nas Paris, Rome, and Rouen put together.\n\nII.  A comparison between London and Paris in 14 particulars.\n\nIII.  Proofs that at London, within its 134 parishes named in the bills\nof mortality, there live about 696,000 people.\n\nIV.  An estimate of the people in London, Paris, Amsterdam, Venice, Rome,\nDublin, Bristol, and Rouen, with several observations upon the same.\n\nV.  Concerning Holland and the rest of the Seven United Provinces.\n\n\n\nTO THE KING’S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY\n\n\nSIR,\n\nYOUR MAJESTY having graciously accepted my two late essays, about the\ncities and hospitals of London and Paris, as also my observations on Rome\nand Rouen; I do (after six months’ waiting for what may be said against\nmy several doctrines by the able men of Europe) humbly present your\nMajesty with a few other papers upon the same subject, to strengthen,\nexplain, and enlarge the former; hoping by such real arguments, better to\npraise and magnify your Majesty, than by any other the most specious\nwords and eulogies that can be imagined by\n\n                              Your Majesty’s\n\n                                                        Most humble, loyal\n                                                     And obedient subject,\n                                                            WILLIAM PETTY.\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST ESSAY.\n\n\nIT could not be expected that an assertion of London’s being bigger than\nParis and Rouen, or than Paris and Rome put together, and bigger than any\ncity of the world, should escape uncontradicted; and ’tis also expected\nthat I (if continuing in the same persuasion), should make some reply to\nthose contradictions.  In order whereunto,\n\nI begin with the ingenious author of the “_République des Lettres_,” who\nsaith that Rey in Persia is far bigger than London, for that in the sixth\ncentury of Christianity (I suppose, A.D. 550 the middle of that century),\nit had 15,000, or rather 44,000 mosques or Mahometan temples; to which I\nreply, that I hope this objector is but in jest, for that Mahomet was not\nborn till about the year 570, and had no mosques till about 50 years\nafter.\n\nIn the next place I reply to the excellent Monsieur Auzout’s “Letters\nfrom Rome,” who is content that London, Westminster, and Southwark may\nhave as many people as Paris and its suburbs; and but faintly denieth,\nthat all the housing within the bills may have almost as many people as\nParis and Rouen, but saith that several parishes inserted into these\nbills are distant from, and not contiguous with London, and that Grant so\nunderstood it.\n\nTo which (as his main if not his only objection) we answer:—(l) That the\nLondon bills appear in Grant’s book to have been always, since the year\n1636; as they now are; (2) That about fifty years since, three or four\nparishes, formerly somewhat distant, were joined by interposed buildings\nto the bulk of the city, and therefore then inserted into the bills; (3)\nThat since fifty years the whole buildings being more than double have\nperfected that union, so as there is no house within the said bills from\nwhich one may not call to some other house; (4) All this is confirmed by\nauthority of the king and city, and the custom of fifty years; (5) That\nthere are but three parishes under any colour of this exception which are\nscarce one-fifty-second part of the whole.\n\nUpon the whole matter, upon sight of Monsieur Auzout’s large letter,\ndated the 19th of November, from Rome, I made remarks upon every\nparagraph thereof, but suppressing it (because it looked like a war\nagainst a worthy person with whom I intended none, whereas, in truth, it\nwas but a reconciling explication of some doubts) I have chosen the\nshorter and softer way of answering Monsieur Auzout as followeth, viz.:—\n\nConcerning the number of people in London, as also in Paris, Rouen, and\nRome, viz.:—\n\nMonsieur Auzout allegeth an authentic account that there are 23,223\nhouses in Paris, wherein do live about eighty thousand families, and\ntherefore supposing three and a half families to live in every of the\nsaid houses, one with another, the number of families will be 81,280; and\nMonsier Auzout also allowing six heads to each family, the utmost number\nof people in Paris, according to that opinion, will be 487,680.\n\nThe medium of the Paris burials was not denied by Monsier Auzout to be\n19,887, nor that there died 3,506 unnecessarily out of the L’Hôtel Dieu;\nwherefore deducting the said last number out of the former, the net\nstandard for burials at Paris will be 16,381, so, as the number of people\nthere, allowing but one to die out of thirty (which is more advantageous\nto Paris than Monsieur Auzout’s opinion of one to die out of twenty-five)\nthe number of people at Paris will be 491,430 more than by Monsier\nAuzout’s own last-mentioned account 491,430.\n\nAnd the medium of the said two Paris accounts is 488,055.\n\nThe medium of the London burials is really 23,212, which, multiplied by\nthirty (as hath been done for Paris), the number of the people there will\nbe 696,360.\n\nThe number of houses at London appears by the register to be 105,315,\nwhereunto adding one-tenth part of the same, or 10,315, as the least\nnumber of double families that can be supposed in London, the total of\nfamilies will be 115,840, and allowing six heads for each family, as was\ndone for Paris, the total of the people at London will be 695,076.\n\nThe medium of the two last London accounts is                 695,718.\nSo, as the people of Paris, according to the above            488,055.\naccount, is\nOf Rouen, according to Monsieur Auzout’s utmost demands        80,000.\nOf Rome, according to his own report thereof in a             125,000.\nformer letter\nTotal                                                         693,055.\n\nSo as there are more people at London than at Paris, Rouen, and Rome by\n2,663.\n\nMemorandum.—That the parishes of Islington, Newington, and Hackney, for\nwhich only there is any colour of non-contiguity, is not one-fifty-second\npart of what is contained in the bills of mortality, and consequently\nLondon, without the said three parishes, hath more people than Paris and\nRouen put together, by 114,284.\n\nWhich number of 114,284 is probably more people than any other city of\nFrance contains.\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND ESSAY.\n\n\nAs for other comparisons of London with Paris, we farther repeat and\nenlarge what hath been formerly said upon those matters, as followeth,\nviz.:—\n\n1.  That forty per cent. die out of the hospitals at Paris where so many\ndie unnecessarily, and scarce one-twentieth of that proportion out of the\nhospitals of London, which have been shown to be better than the best of\nParis.\n\n2.  That at Paris 81,280 kitchens are within less than 24,000\nstreet-doors, which makes less cleanly and convenient way of living than\nat London.\n\n3.  Where the number of christenings are near unto, or exceed the\nburials, the people are poorer, having few servants and little equipage.\n\n4.  The river Thames is more pleasant and navigable than the Seine, and\nits waters better and more wholesome; and the bridge of London is the\nmost considerable of all Europe.\n\n5.  The shipping and foreign trade of London is incomparably greater than\nthat at Paris and Rouen.\n\n6.  The lawyers’ chambers at London have 2,772 chimnies in them, and are\nworth £140,000 sterling, or 3,000,000 of French livres, besides the\ndwellings of their families elsewhere.\n\n7.  The air is more wholesome, for that at London scarce two of sixteen\ndie out of the worst hospitals, but at Paris above two of fifteen out of\nthe best.  Moreover the burials of Paris are one-fifth part above and\nbelow the medium, but at London not above one-twelfth, so as the\nintemperies of the air at Paris is far greater than at London.\n\n8.  The fuel cheaper, and lies in less room, the coals being a wholesome\nsulphurous bitumen.\n\n9.  All the most necessary sorts of victuals, and of fish, are cheaper,\nand drinks of all sorts in greater variety and plenty.\n\n10.  The churches of London we leave to be judged by thinking that\nnothing at Paris is so great as St. Paul’s was, and is like to be, nor so\nbeautiful as Henry the Seventh’s chapel.\n\n11.  On the other hand, it is probable, that there is more money in Paris\nthan London, if the public revenue (grossly speaking, quadruple to that\nof England) be lodged there.\n\n12.  Paris hath not been for these last fifty years so much infested with\nthe plague as London; now that at London the plague (which between the\nyears 1591 and 1666 made five returns, viz., every fifteen years, at a\nmedium, and at each time carried away one-fifth of the people) hath not\nbeen known for the 21 years last past, and there is a visible way by\nGod’s ordinary blessing to lessen the same by two-thirds when it next\nappeareth.\n\n13.  As to the ground upon which Paris stands in respect of London, we\nsay, that if there be five stories or floors of housing at Paris, for\nfour at London, or in that proportion, then the 82,000 families of Paris\nstand upon the equivalent of 65,000 London housteds, and if there be\n115,000 families at London, and but 82,000 at Paris, then the proportion\nof the London ground to that of Paris is as 115 to sixty-five, or as\ntwenty-three to thirteen.\n\n14.  Moreover Paris is said to be an oval of three English miles long and\ntwo and a half broad, the area whereof contains but five and a half\nsquare miles; but London is seven miles long, and one and a quarter broad\nat a medium, which makes an area of near nine square miles, which\nproportion of five and half to nine differs little from that of thirteen\nto twenty-three.\n\n15.  Memorandum, that in Nero’s time, as Monsieur Chivreau reporteth,\nthere died 300,000 people of the plague in old Rome; now if there died\nthree of ten then and there, being a hotter country, as there dies two of\nten at London, the number of people at that time, was but a million,\nwhereas at London they are now about 700,000.  Moreover the ground within\nthe walls of old Rome was a circle but of three miles diameter, whose\narea is about seven square miles, and the suburbs scarce as much more, in\nall about thirteen square miles, whereas the built ground at London is\nabout nine square miles as aforesaid; which two sorts of proportions\nagree with each other, and consequently old Rome seems but to have been\nhalf as big again as the present London, which we offer to antiquaries.\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD ESSAY.\n\n\nPROOFS that the number of people in the 134 parishes of the London bills\nof mortality, without reference to other cities, is about 696,000, viz.—\n\nI know but three ways of finding the same.\n\n1.  By the houses, and families, and heads living in each.\n\n2.  By the number of burials in healthful times, and by the proportion of\nthose that live, to those that die.\n\n3.  By the number of those who die of the plague in pestilential years,\nin proportion to those that escape.\n\n\n_The First Way_.\n\n\nTo know the number of houses, I used three methods, viz.—\n\n1.  The number of houses which were burnt A.D. 1666, which by authentic\nreport was 13,200; next what proportion the people who died out of those\nhouses, bore to the whole; which I find A.D. 1686, to be but one seventh\npart, but A.D. 1666 to be almost one-fifth, from whence I infer the whole\nhousing of London A.D. 1666 to have been 66,000, then finding the burials\nA.D. 1666 to be to those of 1686 as 3 to 4,I pitch upon 88,000 to be the\nnumber of housing A.D. 1686.\n\n2.  Those who have been employed in making the general map of London, set\nforth in the year 1682, told me that in that year they had found above\n84,000 houses to be in London, wherefore A.D. 1686, or in four years\nmore, there might be one-tenth or 8,400 houses more (London doubling in\nforty years) so as the whole, A.D. 1686 might be 92,400.\n\n3.  I found that A.D. 1685, there were 29,325 hearths in Dublin, and\n6,400 houses, and in London 388 thousand hearths, whereby there must have\nbeen at that rate 87,000 houses in London.  Moreover I found that in\nBristol there were in the same year 16,752 hearth; and 5,307 houses, and\nin London 388,000 hearths as aforesaid; at which rate there must have\nbeen 123,000 houses in London, and at a medium between Dublin and Bristol\nproportions 105,000 houses.\n\nLastly, by certificate from the hearth office, I find the houses within\nthe bills of mortality to be 105,315.\n\nHaving thus found the houses, I proceed next to the number of families in\nthem, and first I thought that if there were three or four families or\nkitchens in every house of Paris, there might be two families in\none-tenth of the housing of London; unto which supposition, the common\nopinion of several friends doth concur with my own conjectures.\n\nAs to the number of heads in each family, I stick to Grant’s observation\nin page — of his fifth edition, that in tradesmen of London’s families\nthere be eight heads one with another, in families of higher ranks, above\nten, and in the poorest near live, according to which proportions, I had\nupon another occasion pitched the medium of heads in all the families of\nEngland to be six and one-third, but quitting the fraction in this case,\nI agree with Monsieur Auzout for six.\n\nTo conclude, the houses of London being 105,315 and the addition of\ndouble families 10,531 more, in all 115,846; I multiplied the same by\nsix, which produced 695,076 for the number of the people.\n\n\n_The Second Way_.\n\n\nI found that the years 1684 and 1685, being next each other, and both\nhealthful, did wonderfully agree in their burials, viz., 1684 they were\n23,202, and A.D. 1685 23,222, the medium whereof is 23,212; moreover that\nthe christenings 1684 were 14,702, and those A.D. 1685 were 14,730,\nwherefore I multiplied the medium of burials 23,212 by 30, supposing that\none dies out of 30 at London, which made the number of people 696,360\nsouls.\n\nNow to prove that one dies out of 30 at London or thereabouts, I say—\n\n1.  That Grant in the — page of his fifth edition, affirmeth from\nobservation, that 3 died of 88 per annum which is near the same\nproportion.\n\n2.  I found that out of healthful places, and out of adult persons, there\ndies much fewer, as but one out of 50 among our parliament men, and that\nthe kings of England having reigned 24 years one with another, probably\nlived above 30 years each.\n\n3.  Grant, page — hath shown that but about one of 20 die per annum out\nof young children under 10 years old, and Monsieur Auzout thinks that but\n1 of 40 die at Rome, out of the greater proportion of adult persons\nthere, wherefore we still stick as a medium to the number 30.\n\n4.  In nine country parishes lying in several parts of England, I find\nthat but one of 37 hath died per annum, or 311 out of 11,507, wherefore\ntill I see another round number, grounded upon many observations, nearer\nthan 30, I hope to have done pretty well in multiplying our burials by 30\nto find the number of the people, the product being 696,360, and what we\nfind by the families they are 695,076, as aforesaid.\n\n\n_The Third Way_.\n\n\nIt was proved by Grant, that one-fifth of the people died of the plague,\nbut A.D. 1665 there died of the plague near 98,000 persons, the quintuple\nwhereof is 490,000 as the number of people in the year 1665, whereunto\nadding above one-third, as the increase between 1665 and 1686, the total\nis 653,000, agreeing well enough with the other two computations above\nmentioned.\n\nWherefore let the proportion of 1 to 30 continue till a better be put in\nits place.\n\n_Memorandum_.  That two or three hundred new houses would make a\ncontiguity of two or three other great parishes, with the 134 already\nmentioned in the bills of mortality: and that an oval wall of about\ntwenty miles in compass would enclose the same, and all the shipping at\nDeptford and Blackwall, and would also fence in 20,000 acres of land, and\nlay the foundation or designation of several vast advantages to the\nowners, and inhabitants of that ground, as also to the whole nation and\ngovernment.\n\n\n\nTHE FOURTH ESSAY.\n\n\n_Concerning the proportions of People in the eight eminent Cities of\nChristendom undernamed_, viz.:—\n\n1.  WE have by the number of burials in healthful years, and by the\nproportion of the living to those who die yearly, as also by the number\nof houses and families within the 134 parishes called London, and the\nestimate of the heads in each, pitched upon the number of people in that\ncity to be at a medium 695,718.\n\n2.  We have, by allowing that at Paris above 80,000 families, viz.,\n81,280, do live in 23,223 houses, 32 palaces, and 38 colleges, or that\nthere are 81,280 kitchens within less than 24,000 street doors; as also\nby allowing 30 heads for every one that died necessarily there; we have\npitched upon the number of people there at a medium to be 488,055, nor\nhave we restrained them to 300,000, by allowing with Monsieur Auzout 6\nheads for each of Moreri’s 50,000 houses or families.\n\n3.  To Amsterdam we allow 187,350 souls, viz., 30 times the number of\ntheir burials, which were 6,245 in the year 1685.\n\n4.  To Venice we allow 134,000 souls, as found there in a special account\ntaken by authority, about ten years since, when the city abounded with\nsuch as returned from Candia, then surrendered to the Turks.\n\n5.  To Rome we allow 119,000 Christians, and 6,000 Jews, in all 125,000\nsouls, according to an account sent thither of the same by Monsieur\nAuzout.\n\n6.  To Dublin we allow (as to Amsterdam) 30 times its burials, the medium\nwhereof for the last two years is 2,303, viz., 69,090 souls.\n\n7.  As to Bristol, we say that if the 6,400 houses of Dublin give 69,090\npeople, that the 5,307 houses of Bristol must give above 56,000 people.\nMoreover, if the 29,325 hearths of Dublin give 69,090 people, the 16,752\nhearths of Bristol must give about 40,000; but the medium of 56,000 and\n40,000 is 48,000.\n\n8.  As for Rouen, we have no help, but Monsieur Auzout’s fancy of 80,000\nsouls to be in that city, and the conjecture of knowing men that Rouen is\nbetween the one-seventh and one-eighth part of Paris, and also that it is\nby a third bigger than Bristol; by all which, we estimate, till farther\nlight, that Rouen hath at most but 66,000 people in it.\n\nNow it may be wondered why we mentioned Rouen at all, having had so\nlittle knowledge of it; whereunto we answer, that we did not think it\njust to compare London with Paris, as to shipping and foreign trade,\nwithout adding Rouen thereunto, Rouen being to Paris as that part of\nLondon which is below the bridge, is to what is above it.\n\nAll which we heartily submit to the correction of the curious and candid,\nin the meantime observing according to the gross numbers under-mentioned.\n\nLondon             696,000\nParis              488,000\nAmsterdam          187,000\nVenice             134,000\nRome               125,000\nDublin              69,000\nBristol             48,000\nRouen               66,000\n\n_Observations on the said Eight Cities_.\n\n\n1.  That the people of\n\nParis being                 488,000\nRome                        125,000\nRouen                        66,000\ndo make in all but          679,000\n\nor 17,000 less than the 696,000 of London alone.\n\n2.  That the people of the two English cities and emporiums—viz., of\nLondon, 696,000, and Bristol, 48,000—do make 744,000, or more than\n\nIn Paris              488,000\nAmsterdam             187,090\nRouen                  66,000\nBeing in all          741,000\n\n3.  That the same two English cities seem equivalent\n\nTo Paris, which hath          488,000 souls.\n   Rouen                              66,000\n   Lyons                             100,000\n   Toulouse                           90,000\nIn all                               744,000\n\nIf there be any error in these conjectures concerning these cities of\nFrance, we hope they will be mended by those whom we hear to be now at\nwork upon that matter.\n\n4.  That the King of England’s three cities, viz.:\n\n     King’s Cities                  Exceed\nLondon       696,000      Paris          488,000\nDublin       69,000       Amsterdam      187,000\nBristol      48,000       Venice         134,000\nIn all       813,000      Being but      809,000\n\n5.  That of the four great emporiums, London, Amsterdam, Venice, and\nRouen, London alone is near double to the other three, viz., above 7 to\n4.\n\nAmsterdam          187,000\nVenice             134,000\nRouen               66,000      387,000\n                                    × 2\n                                774,000  London 696,000\n\n6.  That London, for aught appears, is the greatest and most considerable\ncity of the world, but manifestly the greatest emporium.\n\nWhen these assertions have passed the examen of the critics, we shall\nmake another essay, showing how to apply those truths to the honour and\nprofit of the King and Kingdom of England.\n\n\n\nTHE FIFTH ESSAY.\n\n\n        _Concerning Holland and the rest of the United Provinces_.\n\nSINCE the close of this paper, it hath been objected from Holland, that\nwhat hath been said of the number of houses and people in London is not\nlike to be true; for that if it were, then London would be the two-thirds\nof the whole Province of Holland.  To which is answered, that London is\nthe two-thirds of all Holland, and more, that province having not\n1,044,000 inhabitants (whereof 696,000 is the two-thirds), nor above\n800,000, as we have credibly and often heard.  For suppose Amsterdam\nhath—as we have elsewhere noted—187,000, the seven next great cities at\n30,000 each, one with another, 210,000, the ten next at 15,000 each\n150,000, the ten smallest at 6,000 each 60,000—in all, the twenty-eight\nwalled cities and towns of Holland 607,000; in the dorps and villages\n193,000, which is about one head for every four acres of land; whereas in\nEngland there is eight acres for every head, without the cities and\nmarket-towns.\n\nNow, suppose London, having 116,000 families, should have seven heads in\neach—the medium between MM. Auzout’s and Grant’s reckonings—the total of\nthe people would be 812,000; or if we reckon that there dies one out of\nthirty-four—the medium between thirty and thirty-seven above\nmentioned—the total of the people would be thirty-four times 23,212,\nviz., 789,208, the medium between which number and the above 812,000 is\n800,604, somewhat exceeding 800,000, the supposed number of Holland.\n\nFurthermore, I say that upon former searches into the peopling of the\nworld, I never found that in any country—not in China itself—there was\nmore than one man to every English acre of land: many territories passing\nfor well-peopled where there is but one man for ten such acres.  I found\nby measuring Holland and West Frisia (_alias_ North Holland) upon the\nbest maps, that it contained but as many such acres as London doth of\npeople, viz., about 696,000 acres.  I therefore venture to pronounce\n(till better informed) that the people of London are as many as those of\nHolland, or at least above two-thirds of the same, which is enough to\ndisable the objection above mentioned; nor is there any need to strain up\nLondon from 696,000 to 800,000, though competent reasons have been given\nto that purpose, and though the author of the excellent map of London,\nset forth A.D. 1682, reckoned the people thereof (as by the said map\nappears) to be 1,200,000, even when he thought the houses of the same to\nbe but 85,000.\n\nThe worthy person who makes this objection in the same letter also saith—\n\n1.  That the province of Holland hath as many people as the other six\nunited provinces together, and as the whole kingdom of England, and\ndouble to the city of Paris and its suburbs; that is to say, 2,000,000\nsouls.  2.  He says that in London and Amsterdam, and other trading\ncities, there are ten heads to every family, and that in Amsterdam there\nare not 22,000 families.  3.  He excepteth against the register alleged\nby Monsieur Auzout, which makes 23,223 houses and above 80,000 families\nto be in Paris; as also against the register alleged by Petty, making\n105,315 houses to be in London, with a tenth part of the same to be of\nfamilies more than houses; and probably will except against the register\nof 1,163 houses to be in all England, that number giving, at six and\none-third heads to each family, about 7,000,000 people, upon all which we\nremark as follows, viz.:—\n\n1.  That if Paris doth contain but 488,000 souls, that then all Holland\ncontaineth but the double of that number, or 976,000, wherefore London,\ncontaining 696,000 souls, hath above two-thirds of all Holland by 46,000.\n\n2.  If Paris containeth half as many people as there are in all England,\nit must contain 3,500,000 souls, or above seven times 488,000; and\nbecause there do not die 20,000 per annum out of Paris, there must die\nbut one out of 175; whereas Monsieur Auzout thinks that there dies one\nout of 25, and there must live 149 heads in every house of Paris\nmentioned in the register, but there must be scarce two heads in every\nhouse of England, all which we think fit to be reconsidered.\n\nI must, as an Englishman, take notice of one point more, which is, that\nthese assertions do reflect upon the empire of England, for that it is\nsaid that England hath but 2,000,000 inhabitants, and it might as well\nhave been added, that Scotland and Ireland, with the Islands of Man,\nJersey, and Guernsey, have but two-fifths of the same number, or 800,000\nmore, or that all the King of England’s subjects in Europe are but\n2,800,000 souls, whereas he saith that the subjects of the seven united\nprovinces are 4,000,000.  To which we answer that the subjects of the\nsaid seven provinces are, by this objector’s own showing, but the\nquadruple of Paris, or 1,932,000 souls, Paris containing but 488,000, as\nafore hath been proved, and we do here affirm that England hath 7,000,000\npeople, and that Scotland, Ireland, with the Islands of Man, Jersey, and\nGuernsey, hath two-fifths of the said number, or 2,800,000 more, in all\n9,800,000; whereas by the objector’s doctrine, if the seven provinces\nhave 1,932,000 people, the King of England’s territories should have but\nseven-tenths of the same number, viz., 1,351,000, whereas we say\n9,800,000, as aforesaid, which difference is so gross as that it deserves\nto be thus reflected upon.\n\nTo conclude, we expect from the concerned critics of the world that they\nwould prove—\n\n1.  That Holland, and West Frisia, and the twenty-eight towns and cities\nthereof, hath more people than London alone.\n\n2.  That any three of the best cities of France, any two of all\nChristendom, or any one of the world, hath the same, or better housing,\nand more foreign trade than London, even in the year that King James the\nSecond came to the empire thereof.\n\n\n\n\nOF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND.\n\n\n_Founded upon the Calculations of Gregory King_, _Lancaster Herald_, _and\nforming part of_ “_An Essay upon the Probable Methods of making a People\ngainers in the Balance of Trade_.”  _Published in 1699_.\n\nTHE writer of these papers has seen the natural and political\nobservations and conclusions upon the state and condition of England by\nGregory King, Esq., Lancaster Herald, in manuscript.  The calculations\ntherein contained are very accurate, and more perhaps to be relied upon\nthan anything that has been ever done of the like kind.  This skilful and\nlaborious gentleman has taken the right course to form his several\nschemes about the numbers of the people, for besides many different ways\nof working, he has very carefully inspected the poll-books, and the\ndistinctions made by those acts, and the produce in many of the\nrespective polls, going everywhere by reasonable and discreet mediums:\nbesides which pains, he has made observations of the very facts in\nparticular towns and places, from which he has been able to judge and\nconclude more safely of others, so that he seems to have looked further\ninto this mystery than any other person.\n\nWith his permission, we shall offer to the public such of his\ncomputations as may be of use, and enlighten in the matter before us.\n\nHe lays down that if the first peopling of England was by a colony or\ncolonies, consisting of a number between 100 and 1,000 people (which\nseems probable), such colony or colonies might be brought over between\nthe year of the world 2400 and 2600, viz., about 800 or 900 years after\nthe Flood, and 1,400 or 1,500 years before the birth of Christ, at which\ntime the world might have about 1,000,000 families, and 4,000,000 or\n5,000,000 people.\n\nFrom which hypothesis it will follow by an orderly series of increase—\n\nThat when the Romans invaded England fifty-three years before Christ’s\ntime, the kingdom might have about 360,000 people, and at Christ’s birth\nabout 400,000.\n\nThat at the Norman Conquest, A.D. 1066, the kingdom might contain\nsomewhat above 2,000,000.\n\nThat A.D. 1260, or about 200 years after the Norman Conquest, it might\ncontain about 2,750,000 people, or half the present number: so that the\npeople of England may have doubled in about 435 years last past.\n\nThat in all probability the next doubling will be in about 600 years to\ncome, viz., by the year 2300, at which time it may have about 11,000,000\npeople, and the kingdom containing about 39,000,000 of acres, there will\nbe then about three acres and a half per head.\n\nThat the increase of the kingdom for every hundred years of the last\npreceding term of doubling, and the subsequent term of doubling, may have\nbeen and in all probability may be, according to the following scheme:—\n\n  Anno Domini.      Number of people.        Increase every hundred\n                                                     years.\n            1300               2,800,000\n            1400               3,300,000                      440,000.\n            1500               3,840,000                      540,000.\n            1600               4,620,000                      780,000.\n            1700               5,500,000                      880,000.\n            1800               6,420,000                      920,000.\n            1900               7,350,000                      930,000.\n            2000               8,280,000                      930,000.\n            2100               9,205,000                      925,000.\n            2200              10,115,000                      910,000.\n            2300              11,000,000                      885,000.\n\nWhereby it may appear that the increase of the kingdom being 880,000\npeople in the last hundred years, and 920,000 in the next succeeding\nhundred years, the annual increase at this time may be about 9,000 souls\nper annum.\n\nBut whereas the yearly births of the kingdom are      190,000 souls.\nabout 1 in 28.95, or\nAnd the yearly burials 1 in 32.35 or                  170,000 souls.\nWhereby the yearly increase would be                  20,000 souls.\nIt is to be noted—                          Per ann.\n1.      That the allowance for                 4,000\n        plagues and great mortalities\n        may come to at a medium\n2.      Foreign or civil wars at a             3,500\n        medium\n3.      The sea constantly employing           2,500\n        about 40,000, may precipitate\n        the death of about\n4.      The plantations (over and              1,000\n        above the accession of\n        foreigners) may carry away\n                                                      11,000 per\n                                                      annum.\nWhereby the net annual increase may be but            9,000 souls.\n\nThat of these 20,000 souls, which would be the annual increase of the\nkingdom by procreation, were it not for the before-mentioned abatements.\n\nThe country increases annually by procreation            20,000 souls.\nThe cities and towns, exclusive of London, by             2,000 souls.\nprocreation\nBut London and the bills of mortality decrease            2,000 souls.\nannually\n\nSo that London requires a supply of 2,000 souls per annum to keep it from\ndecreasing, besides a further supply of about 3,000 per annum for its\nincrease at this time.  In all 5,000, or above a half of the kingdom’s\nnet increase.\n\nMr. King further observes that by the assessments on marriages, births,\nand burials, and the collectors’ returns thereupon, and by the parish\nregisters, it appears that the proportions of marriages, births, and\nburials are according to the following scheme\n\n\n\n_Vide_ Scheme A.\n\n\nWhence it may be observed that in 10,000 coexisting persons there are 71\nor 72 marriages in the country, producing 343 children; 78 marriages in\ntowns producing 351 children; 94 marriages in London, producing 376\nchildren.\n\nWhereby it follows—\n\n1.  That though each marriage in London produces fewer people than in the\ncountry, yet London in general having a greater proportion of breeders,\nis more prolific than the other great towns, and the great towns are more\nprolific than the country.\n\n2.  That if the people of London of all ages were as long-lived as those\nin the country, London would increase in people much faster _pro rata_\nthan the country.\n\n3.  That the reasons why each marriage in London produces fewer children\nthan the country marriages seem to be—\n\n  (1) From the more frequent fornications and adulteries.\n\n  (2) From a greater luxury and intemperance.\n\n  (3) From a greater intentness on business.\n\n  (4) From the unhealthfulness of the coal smoke.\n\n  (5) From a greater inequality of age between the husbands and wives.\n\n  (6) From the husbands and wives not living so long as in the country.\n\nHe further observes, accounting the people to be 5,500,000, that the said\nfive millions and a half (including the transitory people and vagrants)\nappear by the assessments on marriages, births, and burials, to bear the\nfollowing proportions in relation to males and females, and other\ndistinctions of the people, viz.:—\n\n\n\nSCHEME A.\n\n  People.                                    Annual      Producing\n                                           Marriages.     children\n                                            In all.         each\n     530,000  London and        1 in 106         5,000           4.0\n              bills of\n              mortality\n     870,000  The cities        1 in 128         6,800           4.5\n              and market\n              towns\n   4,100,000  The               1 in 141        29,200           4.8\n              villages\n              and hamlets\n   5,500,000                    1 in 134        41,000          4.64\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                    Annual Births.             Annual Burials.\n                                 In all.                     In all.\nLondon and        1 in 26½        20,000     1 in 24.1        22,000\nbills of\nmortality\nThe cities        1 in 28½        30,600     1 in 30.4        28,600\nand market\ntowns\nThe              1 in 29.4        29,200     1 in 34.4       119,400\nvillages\nand hamlets\n                1 in 28.95       190,000    1 in 32.35       170,000\n\n_Vide_ Scheme B.\n\n\nSo that the number of communicants is in all 3,260,000 souls; and the\nnumber of fighting men between sixteen and sixty is 1,308,000.\n\n\n\nSCHEME B.\n\n                 Males.        Males.       Females.       Both.\n                Females.\nIn London         10 to 13       230,000       300,000       530,000\nand bills\nof\nmortality\nIn the              8 to 9       410,000       460,000       870,000\nother\ncities and\nmarket-\ntowns\nIn the           100 to 99     2,060,000     2,040,000     4,100,000\nvillages\nand hamlets\n                  27 to 28     2,700,000     2,800,000     5,500,000\n\n_That as to other distinctions they appear by the said assessments to\nbear these proportions_.\n\n                              People.        Males.       Females.\nHusbands and          34½%     1,900,000       950,000       950,000\nwives at above\nWidowers at            1½%        90,000        90,000\nabove\nWidows at about        4½%       240,000                     240,000\nChildren at            45%     2,500,000     1,300,000     1,200,000\nabove\nServants at           10½%       560,000       260,000       300,000\nabout\nSojourners and          4%       210,000       100,000       110,000\nsingle persons\n                      100%     5,500,000     2,700,000     2,800,000\n\n_And that the different proportions in each of the said articles between\nLondon_, _the great towns_, _and the villages_, _may the better appear_,\n_he has formed the following scheme_:—\n\n                      London and Bills of     The other Cities and      The Villages and\n                       Mortality.  Souls.     great Towns.  Souls.      Hamlets.  Souls.\nHusbands and Wives        37%       196,100       36%       313,200       34%     1,394,000\nWidowers                   2%        10,600        2%        17,400       1½%        61,500\nWidows                     7%        37,100        6%        52,200       4½%       184,500\nChildren                  33%       174,900       40%       348,000       47%     1,927,000\nServants                  13%        68,900       11%        95,700       10%       410,000\nSojourners                 8%        42,400        5%        43,500        3%       123,000\n                         100%       530,000      100%       870,000      100%     4,100,000\n\nSCHEME B (_continued_).\n\n\n_He further observes_, _supposing the people to be 5,500,000_, _that the\nyearly births of the Kingdom may be 190,000_, _and that the several ages\nof the people may be as follows_:\n\n                              In all.        Males.        Females.\nThose under 1 years old          170,000         88,500         81,500\nThose under 5 years old          820,000        413,300        406,700\nThose under 10 years old       1,520,000        762,900        757,100\nThose above 16 years old       3,260,000      1,578,000      1,682,000\nThose above 21 years old       2,700,000      1,300,000      1,400,000\nThose above 25 years old       2,400,000      1,152,000      1,248,000\nThose above 60 years old         600,000        270,000        330,000\nThose under 16 years old       2,240,000\nThose above 16 years old       3,260,000\n      Total of the people      5,500,000\n\nThat the bachelors are about 28 per cent. of the whole, whereof those\nunder twenty-five years are 25½ per cent., and those above twenty-five\nyears are 2½ per cent.\n\nThat the maidens are about 28½ per cent. of the whole.\n\nWhereof those under 25 years are 26½ per cent.\n\nAnd those above 25 years are 2 per cent.\n\nThat the males and females in the kingdom in general are aged, one with\nanother, 27 years and a half.\n\nThat in the kingdom in general there is near as many people living under\n20 years of age as there is above 20, whereof half of the males are under\n19, and one half of the females are under 21 years.\n\nThat the ages of the people, according to their several distinctions, are\nas follows, viz.:—\n\n\n\n_Vide_ Scheme C.\n\n\nHaving thus stated the numbers of the people, he gives a scheme of the\nincome and expense of the several families of England, calculated for the\nyear 1688.\n\n\n\nSCHEME C.\n\n                             At a Medium\nThe husbands      43 years          17¼ per cent.,    742 years.\nare aged          apiece, which,    makes\n                  at\nThe wives         40                             17¼  690\nThe widowers      56                              1½  84\nThe widows        60                              4½  270\nThe children      12                              45  540\nThe servants      27                             10½  284\nThe sojourners    35                               4  140\nAt a medium       27½                            100  2,750\n\n_Vide_ Scheme D.\n\n\nMr. King’s modesty has been so far overruled as to suffer us to\ncommunicate these his excellent computations, which we can the more\nsafely commend, having examined them very carefully, tried them by some\nlittle operations of our own upon the same subject, and compared them\nwith the schemes of other persons, who take pleasure in the like studies.\n\nWhat he says concerning the number of the people to be 5,500,000 is no\npositive assertion, nor shall we pretend anywhere to determine in that\nmatter; what he lays down is by way of hypothesis, that supposing the\ninhabitants of England to have been, A.D. 1300, 2,860,000 heads, by the\norderly series of increase allowed of by all writers they may probably be\nabout A.D. 1700, 5,500,000 heads; but if they were A.D. 1300 either less\nor more, the case must proportionably alter; for as to his allowances for\nplagues, great mortalities, civil wars, the sea, and the plantations,\nthey seem very reasonable, and not well to be controverted.\n\nUpon these schemes of Mr. King we shall make several remarks, though the\ntext deserves much a better comment.\n\n\n\nSCHEME D.—A SCHEME OF THE INCOME AND EXPENSE OF THE SEVERAL FAMILIES OF\nENGLAND, CALCULATED FOR THE YEAR 1688. {148}\n\n Number of Families.       RANKS, DEGREES,        Heads per Family.\n                             TITLES, AND\n                           QUALIFICATIONS.\n                   160  Temporal Lords                              40\n                    26  Spiritual Lords                             20\n                   800  Baronets                                    16\n                   600  Knights                                     13\n                 3,000  Esquires                                    10\n                12,000  Gentlemen                                    8\n                 5,000  Persons in greater                           8\n                        offices and places\n                 5,000  Persons in lesser                            6\n                        offices and places\n                 2,000  Eminent merchants and                        8\n                        traders by sea\n                 8,000  Lesser merchants and                         6\n                        traders by sea\n                10,000  Persons in the law                           7\n                 2,000  Eminent clergymen                            6\n                 8,000  Lesser clergymen                             5\n                40,000  Freeholders of the                           7\n                        better sort\n               120,000  Freeholders of the                          5½\n                        lesser sort\n               150,000  Farmers                                      5\n                15,000  Persons in liberal                           5\n                        arts and sciences\n                50,000  Shopkeepers and                             4½\n                        tradesmen\n                60,000  Artisans and                                 4\n                        handicrafts\n                 5,000  Naval officers                               4\n                 4,000  Military officers                            4\n               500,586                                              5⅓\n                50,000  Common seamen                                3\n               364,000  Labouring people and                        3½\n                        out-servants\n               400,000  Cottagers and paupers                       3¼\n                35,000  Common soldiers                              2\n               849,000  Vagrants, as gipsies,                       3¼\n                        thieves, beggars, &c.\n               500,586  Increasing the wealth                       5⅓\n                        of the kingdom\n               849,000  Decreasing the wealth                       3¼\n                        of the kingdom\n             1,349,586  Net totals                              4 1/13\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n    Number of Persons.      Yearly Income per. Family.     Yearly Income in                               Yearly Income per. Hd.                                          Yearly Expense per Hd.                   Yearly          Yearly\n                                                               general.                                                                                                                                         Increase per.     Incr. in\n                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Hd.          General.\n     £             s.                    £                    £          s.             £                        s.                          d.                          £                 s.         d.              £\n       6,400         3,200                            0       512,000      80                     0                          70                           0                           0      10             0                0        64,000\n         520         1,300                            0        33,800      65                     0                          45                           0                           0      20             0                0        10,400\n      12,800           880                            0       704,000      55                     0                          49                           0                           0       6             0                0        76,800\n       7,800           650                            0       390,000      50                     0                          45                           0                           0       5             0                0        39,000\n      30,000           450                            0     1,200,000      45                     0                          41                           0                           0       4             0                0       120,000\n      96,000           280                            0     2,880,000      35                     0                          32                           0                           0       3             0                0       288,000\n      40,000           240                            0     1,200,000      30                     0                          26                           0                           0       4             0                0       160,000\n      30,000           120                            0       600,000      20                     0                          17                           0                           0       3             0                0        90,000\n      16,000           400                            0       800,000      50                     0                          37                           0                           0      13             0                0       208,000\n      48,000           198                            0     1,600,000      33                     0                          27                           0                           0       6             0                0       288,000\n      70,000           154                            0     1,540,000      22                     0                          18                           0                           0       4             0                0       280,000\n      12,000            72                            0       144,000      12                     0                          10                           0                           0       2             0                0        24,000\n      40,000            50                            0       400,000      10                     0                           9                           4                           0       0            16                0        32,000\n     280,000            91                            0     3,640,000      13                     0                          11                          15                           0       1             5                0       350,000\n     660,000            55                            0     6,600,000      10                     0                           9                          10                           0       0            10                0       330,000\n     750,000            42                           10     6,375,000       8                    10                           8                           5                           0       0             5                0       187,500\n      75,000            60                            0       900,000      12                     0                          11                           0                           0       1             0                0        75,000\n     225,000            45                            0     2,250,000      10                     0                           9                           0                           0       1             0                0       225,000\n     240,000            38                            0     2,280,000       9                    10                           9                           0                           0       0            10                0       120,000\n      20,000            80                            0       400,000      20                     0                          18                           0                           0       2             0                0        40,000\n      16,000            60                            0       240,000      15                     0                          14                           0                           0       1             0                0        16,000\n   2,675,520            68                           18    34,488,800      12                    18                          11                          15                           4       1             2                8     3,023,700\n                                                                                                                                                                                                       Decrease.                 Decrease.\n     150,000            20                            0     1,000,000       7       0                           7                          10                                         0       0            10                0        75,000\n   1,275,000            15                            0     5,460,000       4      10                           4                          12                                         0       0             2                0       127,500\n   1,300,000             6                           10     2,000,000       2       0                           2                           5                                         0       0             5                0       325,000\n      70,000            14                            0       490,000       7       0                           7                          10                                         0       0            10                0        35,000\n   2,795,000            10                           10     8,950,000       3       5                           3                           9                                         0       0             4                0       562,500\n      30,000        60,000                            2             0       4       0                           0                           2                                         0       0        60,000\nSo the General Account is\n   2,675,520            68                           18    34,488,800      12      18                          11                          15                           4                     1             2                8     3,023,700\n   2,825,000            10                           10     9,010,000       3       3                           3                           7                           6                     0             4                6       622,500\n   5,500,520            32                            5    43,491,800       7      18                           7                           9                           3                     0             8                9     2,401,200\n\nThe people being the first matter of power and wealth, by whose labour\nand industry a nation must be gainers in the balance, their increase or\ndecrease must be carefully observed by any government that designs to\nthrive; that is, their increase must be promoted by good conduct and\nwholesome laws, and if they have been decreased by war, or any other\naccident, the breach is to be made up as soon as possible, for it is a\nmaim in the body politic affecting all its parts.\n\nAlmost all countries in the world have been more or less populous, as\nliberty and property have been there well or ill secured.  The first\nconstitution of Rome was no ill-founded government, a kingly power\nlimited by laws; and the people increased so fast, that, from a small\nbeginning, in the reign of their sixth king were they able to send out an\narmy of 80,000 men.  And in the time of the commonwealth, in that\ninvasion which the Gauls made upon Italy, not long before Hannibal came\nthither, they were grown so numerous, as that their troops consisted of\n700,000 foot and 70,000 horse; it is true their allies were comprehended\nin this number, but the ordinary people fit to bear arms being mustered\nin Rome and Campania, amounted to 250,000 foot and 23,000 horse.\n\nNothing, therefore, can more contribute to the rendering England populous\nand strong than to have liberty upon a right footing, and our legal\nconstitution firmly preserved.  A nation may be as well called free under\na limited kingship as in a commonwealth, and it is to this good form of\nour government that we partly owe that doubling of the people which has\nprobably happened here in the 435 years last past.  And if the ambition\nof some, and the mercenary temper of others, should bring us at any time\nto alter our constitution, and to give up our ancient rights, we shall\nfind our numbers diminish visibly and fast.  For liberty encourages\nprocreation, and not only keeps our own inhabitants among us, but invites\nstrangers to come and live under the shelter of our laws.\n\nThe Romans, indeed, made use of an adventitious help to enlarge their\ncity, which was by incorporating foreign cities and nations into their\ncommonwealth; but this way is not without its mischiefs.  For the\nstrangers in Rome by degrees had grown so numerous, and to have so great\na vote in the councils, that the whole Government began to totter, and\ndecline from its old to its new inhabitants, which Fabius the censor\nobserving, he applied a remedy in time by reducing all the new citizens\ninto four tribes, that being contracted into so narrow a space, they\nmight not have so malignant an influence upon the city.\n\nAn Act of general naturalisation would likewise probably increase our\nnumbers very fast, and repair what loss we may have suffered in our\npeople by the late war.  It is a matter that has been very warmly\ncontended for by many good patriots; but peradventure it carries also its\ndanger with it, which perhaps would have the less influence by this\nexpedient, namely, if an Act of Parliament were made, that no heads of\nfamilies hereafter to be naturalised for the first generation, should\nhave votes in any of our elections.  But as the case stands, it seems\nagainst the nature of right government that strangers (who may be spies,\nand who may have an interest opposite to that of England, and who at best\never join in one link of obsequiousness to the Ministers) should be\nsuffered to intermeddle in that important business of sending members to\nParliament.  From their sons indeed there is less to fear, who by birth\nand nature may come to have the same interest and inclinations as the\nnatives.\n\nAnd though the expedient of Fabius Maximus, to contract the strangers\ninto four tribes, might be reasonable where the affairs of a whole empire\nwere transacted by magistrates chosen in one city, yet the same policy\nmay not hold good in England; foreigners cannot influence elections here\nby being dispersed about in the several counties of the kingdom, where\nthey can never come to have any considerable strength.  But some time or\nother they may endanger the government by being suffered to remain, such\nvast numbers of them here in London where they inhabit altogether, at\nleast 30,000 persons in two quarters of the town, without intermarrying\nwith the English, or learning our language, by which means for several\nyears to come they are in a way still to continue foreigners, and perhaps\nmay have a foreign interest and foreign inclinations; to permit this\ncannot be advisable or safe.  It may therefore be proper to limit any new\nActs of naturalisation with such restrictions as may make the accession\nof strangers not dangerous to the public.\n\nAn accession of strangers, well regulated, may add to our strength and\nnumbers; but then it must be composed of labouring men, artificers,\nmerchants, and other rich men, and not of foreign soldiers, since such\nfright and drive away from a nation more people than their troops can\nwell consist of: for if it has been ever seen that men abound most where\nthere is most freedom (China excepted, whose climate excels all others,\nand where the exercise of the tyranny is mild and easy) it must follow\nthat people will in time desert those countries whose best flower is\ntheir liberties, if those liberties are thought precarious or in danger.\nThat foreign soldiers are dangerous to liberty, we may produce examples\nfrom all countries and all ages; but we shall instance only one, because\nit is eminent above all the rest.\n\nThe Carthaginians, in their wars, did very much use mercenary and foreign\ntroops; and when the peace was made between them and the Romans, after a\nlong dispute for the dominion of Sicily, they brought their army home to\nbe paid and disbanded, which Gesco, their General, had the charge of\nembarking, who did order all his part with great dexterity and wisdom.\nBut the State of Carthage wanting money to clear arrears, and satisfy the\ntroops, was forced to keep them up longer than was designed.  The army\nconsisted of Gauls, Ligurians, Baleareans, and Greeks.  At first they\nwere insolent in their quarters in Carthage, and were prevailed upon to\nremove to Sicca, where they were to remain and expect their pay.  There\nthey grew presently corrupted with ease and pleasure, and fell into\nmutinies and disorder, and to making extravagant demands of pay and\ngratuities; and in a rage, with their arms in their hands, they marched\n20,000 of them towards Carthage, encamping within fifteen miles of the\ncity; and chose Spendius and Matho, two profligate wretches, for their\nleaders, and imprisoned Gesco, who was deputed to them from the\ncommonwealth.  Afterwards they caused almost all the Africans, their\ntributaries, to revolt; they grew in a short time to be 70,000 strong;\nthey fought several battles with Hanno and Hamilcar Barcas.  During these\ntransactions, the mercenaries that were in garrison in Sardinia mutinied\nlikewise, murdering their commander and all the Carthaginians; while\nSpendius and Matho, to render their accomplices more desperate, put Gesco\nto a cruel death, presuming afterwards to lay siege to Carthage itself.\nThey met with a shock indeed at Prion, where 40,000 of them were\nslaughtered; but soon after this battle, in another they took one of the\nCarthaginian generals prisoner, whom they fixed to a cross, crucifying\nthirty of the principal senators round about him.  Spendius and Matho\nwere at last taken, the one crucified and the other tormented to death:\nbut the war lasted three years and near four months with excessive\ncruelty; in which the State of Carthage lost several battles, and was\noften brought within a hair’s-breadth of utter ruin.\n\nIf so great a commonwealth as Carthage, though assisted at that time by\nHiero, King of Syracuse, and by the Romans, ran the hazard of losing\ntheir empire, city, and liberties, by the insurrection of a handful of\nmercenaries, whose first strength was but 20,000 men; it should be a\nwarning to all free nations how they suffer armies so composed to be\namong them, and it should frighten a wise State from desiring such an\nincrease of people as may be had by the bringing over foreign soldiers.\n\nIndeed, all armies whatsoever, if they are over-large, tend to the\ndispeopling of a country, of which our neighbour nation is a sufficient\nproof, where in one of the best climates in Europe men are wanting to\ntill the ground.  For children do not proceed from the intemperate\npleasures taken loosely and at random, but from a regular way of living,\nwhere the father of the family desires to rear up and provide for the\noffspring he shall beget.\n\nSecuring the liberties of a nation may be laid down as a fundamental for\nincreasing the numbers of its people; but there are other polities\nthereunto conducing which no wise State has ever neglected.\n\nNo race of men did multiply so fast as the Jews, which may be attributed\nchiefly to the wisdom of Moses their Lawgiver, in contriving to promote\nthe state of marriage.\n\nThe Romans had the same care, paying no respect to a man childless by his\nown fault, and giving great immunities and privileges, both in the city\nand provinces, to those who had such and such a number of children.\nEncouragements of the like kind are also given in France to such as\nenrich the commonwealth by a large issue.\n\nBut we in England have taken another course, laying a fine upon the\nmarriage bed, which seems small to those who only contemplate the pomp\nand wealth round about them, and in their view; but they who look into\nall the different ranks of men are well satisfied that this duty on\nmarriages and births is a very grievous burden upon the poorer sort,\nwhose numbers compose the strength and wealth of any nation.  This tax\nwas introduced by the necessity of affairs.  It is difficult to say what\nmay be the event of a new thing; but if we are to take measures from past\nwisdom, which exempted prolific families from public duties, we should\nnot lay impositions upon those who find it hard enough to maintain\nthemselves.  If this tax be such a weight upon the poor as to discourage\nmarriage and hinder propagation, which seems the truth, no doubt it ought\nto be abolished; and at a convenient time we ought to change it for some\nother duty, if there were only this single reason, that it is so directly\nopposite to the polity of all ages and all countries.\n\nIn order to have hands to carry on labour and manufactures, which must\nmake us gainers in the balance of trade, we ought not to deter, but\nrather invite men to marry, which is to be done by privileges and\nexemptions for such a number of children, and by denying certain offices\nof trust and dignities to all unmarried persons; and where it is once\nmade a fashion among those of the better sort, it will quickly obtain\nwith the lower degree.\n\nMr. King, in his scheme (for which he has as authentic grounds as perhaps\nthe matter is capable of) lays down that the annual marriages of England\nare about 41,000, which is one marriage out of every 134 persons.  Upon\nwhich, we observe, that this is not a due proportion, considering how few\nof our adult males (in comparison with other countries) perish by war or\nany other accident; from whence may be inferred that our polity is some\nway or other defective, or the marriages would bear a nearer proportion\nwith the gross number of our people; for which defect, if a remedy can be\nfound, there will be so much more strength added to the kingdom.\n\nFrom the books of assessment on births, marriages, &c., by the nearest\nview he can make, he divides the 5,500,000 people into 2,700,000 males\nand 2,800,000 females; from whence (considering the females exceed the\nmales in number, and considering that the men marry later than women, and\nthat many of the males are of necessity absent in the wars, at sea, and\nupon other business) it follows that a large proportion of the females\nremain unmarried, though at an adult age, which is a dead loss to the\nnation, every birth being as so much certain treasure, upon which account\nsuch laws must be for the public good, as induce all men to marry whose\ncircumstances permit it.\n\nFrom his division of the people it may be likewise observed, that the\nnear proportion there is between the males and females (which is said to\nhold also in other places) is an argument (and the strongest that can be\nproduced) against polygamy, and the increase of mankind which some think\nmight be from thence expected; for if Nature had intended to one man a\nplurality of wives, she would have ordered a great many more female\nbirths than male, her designments being always right and wise.\n\nThe securing the parish for bastard children is become so small a\npunishment and so easily compounded, that it very much hinders marriage.\nThe Dutch compel men of all ranks to marry the woman whom they have got\nwith child, and perhaps it would tend to the further peopling of England\nif the common people here, under such a certain degree, were condemned by\nsome new law to suffer the same penalty.\n\nA country that makes provision to increase in inhabitants, whose\nsituation is good, and whose people have a genius adapted to trade, will\nnever fail to be gainers in the balance, provided the labour and industry\nof their people be well managed and carefully directed.\n\nThe more any man contemplates these matters the more he will come to be\nof opinion, that England is capable of being rendered one of the\nstrongest nations, and the richest spot of ground in Europe.\n\nIt is not extent of territory that makes a country powerful, but numbers\nof men well employed, convenient ports, a good navy, and a soil producing\nall sort of commodities.  The materials for all this we have, and so\nimprovable, that if we did but second the gifts of Nature with our own\nindustry we should soon arrive to a pitch of greatness that would put us\nat least upon an equal footing with any of our neighbours.\n\nIf we had the complement of men our land can maintain and nourish; if we\nhad as much trade as our stock and knowledge in sea affairs is capable of\nembracing; if we had such a naval strength as a trade so extended would\neasily produce; and, if we had those stores and that wealth which is the\ncertain result of a large and well-governed traffic, what human strength\ncould hurt or invade us?  On the contrary, should we not be in a posture\nnot only to resist but to give the law to others?\n\nOur neighbouring commonwealth has not in territory above 8,000,000 acres,\nand perhaps not much above 2,200,000 people, and yet what a figure have\nthey made in Europe for these last 100 years?  What wars have they\nmaintained?  What forces have they resisted? and to what a height of\npower are they now come, and all by good order and wise government?\n\nThey are liable to frequent invasions; they labour under the\ninconvenience and danger of bad ports; they consume immense sums every\nyear to defend their land against the sea; all which difficulties they\nhave subdued by an unwearied industry.\n\nWe are fenced by nature against foreign enemies, our ports are safe, we\nfear no irruptions of the sea, our land territory at home is at least\n39,000,000 acres.  We have in all likelihood not less than 5,500,000\npeople.  What a nation might we then become, if all these advantages were\nthoroughly improved, and if a right application were made of all this\nstrength and of these numbers?\n\nThey who apprehend the immoderate growth of any prince or State may,\nperhaps, succeed by beginning first, and by attempting to pull down such\na dangerous neighbour, but very often their good designs are\ndisappointed.  In all appearance they proceed more safely, who, under\nsuch a fear, make themselves strong and powerful at home.  And this was\nthe course which Philip, King of Macedon, the father of Perseus, took,\nwhen he thought to be invaded by the Romans.\n\nThe greatness of Rome gave Carthage very anxious thoughts, and it rather\nseems that they entered into the second Punic War more for fear the\nRomans should have the universal empire, than out of any ambition to lord\nit themselves over the whole world.  Their design was virtuous, and\nperadventure wise to endeavour at some early interruption to a rival that\ngrew so fast.  However, we see they miscarried, though their armies were\nled by Hannibal.  But fortune which had determined the dominion of the\nearth for Rome, did, perhaps, lead them into the fatal counsel of passing\nthe Eber contrary to the articles of peace concluded with Asdrubal, and\nof attacking Saguntum before they had sufficiently recovered of the\nwounds they had suffered in the wars about Sicily, Sardinia, and with\ntheir own rebels.  If the high courage of Hannibal had not driven the\ncommonwealth into a new war while it was yet faint and weak, and if they\nhad been suffered to pursue their victories in Spain, and to get firm\nfooting in that rich, warlike, and then populous country, very probably\nin a few years they might have been a more equal match for the Roman\npeople.  It is true, if the Romans had endeavoured, at the conquest of\nSpain, and if they had disturbed the Carthaginians in that country, the\nwar must have been unavoidable, because it was evident in that age, and\nwill be apparent in the times we live in, that whatever foreign power,\nalready grown great, can add to its dominion the possession of Spain,\nwill stand fair for universal empire.\n\nBut unless some such cogent reason of state, as is here instanced,\nintervene, in all appearance the best way for a nation that apprehends\nthe growing power of any neighbour is to fortify itself within; we do not\nmean by land armies, which rather debilitate than strengthen a country,\nbut by potent navies, by thrift in the public treasure, care of the\npeople’s trade, and all the other honest and useful arts of peace.\n\nBy such an improvement of our native strength, agreeable to the laws and\nto the temper of a free nation, England without doubt may be brought to\nso good a posture and condition of defending itself, as not to apprehend\nany neighbour jealous of its strength or envious of its greatness.\n\nAnd to this end we open these schemes, that a wise Government under which\nwe live, not having any designs to become arbitrary, may see what\nmaterials they have to work upon, and how far our native wealth is able\nto second their good intentions of preserving us a rich and a free\npeople.\n\nHaving said something of the number of our inhabitants, we shall proceed\nto discourse of their different degrees and ranks, and to examine who are\na burden and who are a profit to the public, for by how much every part\nand member of the commonwealth can be made useful to the whole, by so\nmuch a nation will be more and more a gainer in this balance of trade\nwhich we are to treat of.\n\nMr. King, from the assessments on births and marriages, and from the\npolls, has formed the scheme here inserted, of the ranks, degrees, titles\nand qualifications of the people.  He has done it so judiciously, and\nupon such grounds, that is well worth the careful perusal of any curious\nperson, from thence we shall make some observations in order to put our\npresent matter in a clearer light.\n\nFirst, this scheme detects their error, who in the calculation they frame\ncontemplate nothing but the wealth and plenty they see in rich cities and\ngreat towns, and from thence make a judgment of the kingdom’s remaining\npart, and from this view conclude that taxes and payments to the public\ndo mostly arise from the gentry and better sort, by which measures they\nneither contrive their imposition aright, nor are they able to give a\ntrue estimate what it shall produce; but when we have divided the\ninhabitants of England into their proper classes, it will appear that the\nnobility and gentry are but a small part of the whole body of the people.\n\nBelieving that taxes fell chiefly upon the better sort, they care not\nwhat they lay, as thinking they will not be felt; but when they come to\nbe levied, they either fall short, and so run the public into an immense\ndebt, or they light so heavily upon the poorer sort, as to occasion\ninsufferable clamours; and they, whose proper business it was to contrive\nthese matters better have been so unskilful, that the legislative power\nhas been more than once compelled for the peoples’ ease to give new\nfunds, instead of others that had been ill projected.\n\nThis may be generally said, that all duties whatsoever upon the\nconsumption of a large produce, fall with the greatest weight upon the\ncommon sort, so that such as think in new duties that they chiefly tax\nthe rich will find themselves quite mistaken; for either their fund must\nyield little, or it must arise from the whole body of the people, of\nwhich the richer sort are but a small proportion.\n\nAnd though war, and national debts and engagements, might heretofore very\nrationally plead for excises upon our home consumption, yet now there is\na peace, it is the concern of every man that loves his country to proceed\nwarily in laying new ones, and to get off those which are already laid as\nfast as ever he can.  High customs and high excises both together are\nincompatible, either of them alone are to be endured, but to have them\nco-exist is suffered in no well-governed nation.  If materials of foreign\ngrowth were at an easy rate, a high price might be the better borne in\nthings of our own product, but to have both dear at once (and by reason\nof the duties laid upon them) is ruinous to the inferior rank of men, and\nthis ought to weigh more with us, when we consider that even of the\ncommon people a subdivision is to be made, of which one part subsist from\ntheir own havings, arts, labour, and industry; and the other part subsist\na little from their own labour, but chiefly from the help and charity of\nthe rank that is above them.  For according to Mr. King’s scheme—\n\nThe nobility and gentry, with their families and retainers, the persons\nin offices, merchants, persons in the law, the clergy, freeholders,\nfarmers, persons in sciences and liberal arts, shopkeepers, and\ntradesmen, handicrafts, men, naval officers, with the families and\ndependants upon all these altogether, make up the number of 2,675,520\nheads.\n\nThe common seamen, common soldiers, labouring people, and out-servants,\ncottagers, paupers, and their families, with the vagrants, make up the\nnumber of 2,825,000 heads.\n\nIn all 5,500,520 heads.\n\nSo that here seems a majority of the people, whose chief dependence and\nsubsistence is from the other part, which majority is much greater, in\nrespect of the number of families, because 500,000 families contribute to\nthe support of 850,000 families.  In contemplation of which, great care\nshould be taken not to lay new duties upon the home consumption, unless\nupon the extremest necessities of the State; for though such impositions\ncannot be said to fall directly upon the lower rank, whose poverty\nhinders them from consuming such materials (though there are few excises\nto which the meanest person does not pay something), yet indirectly, and\nby unavoidable consequences, they are rather more affected by high duties\nupon our home-consumption than the wealthier degree of people, and so we\nshall find the case to be, if we look carefully into all the distinct\nranks of men there enumerated.\n\nFirst, as to the nobility and gentry, they must of necessity retrench\ntheir families and expenses, if excessive impositions are laid upon all\nsorts of materials for consumption, from whence follows, that the degree\nbelow them of merchants, shopkeepers, tradesmen, and artisans, must want\nemployment.\n\nSecondly, as to the manufactures, high excises in time of peace are\nutterly destructive to that principal part of England’s wealth; for if\nmalt, coals, salt, leather, and other things, bear a great price, the\nwages of servants, workmen, and artificers, will consequently rise, for\nthe income must bear some proportion with the expense; and if such as set\nthe poor to work find wages for labour or manufacture advance upon them,\nthey must rise in the price of their commodity, or they cannot live, all\nwhich would signify little, if nothing but our own dealings among one\nanother were thereby affected; but it has a consequence far more\npernicious in relation to our foreign trade, for it is the exportation of\nour own product that must make England rich; to be gainers in the balance\nof trade, we must carry out of our own product what will purchase the\nthings of foreign growth that are needful for our own consumption, with\nsome overplus either in bullion or goods to be sold in other countries,\nwhich overplus is the profit a nation makes by trade, and it is more or\nless according to the natural frugality of the people that export, or as\nfrom the low price of labour and manufacture they can afford the\ncommodity cheap, and at a rate not to be undersold in foreign markets.\nThe Dutch, whose labour and manufactures are dear by reason of home\nexcises, can notwithstanding sell cheap abroad, because this disadvantage\nthey labour under is balanced by the parsimonious temper of their people;\nbut in England, where this frugality is hardly to be introduced, if the\nduties upon our home consumption are so large as to raise considerably\nthe price of labour and manufacture, all our commodities for exportation\nmust by degrees so advance in the prime value, that they cannot be sold\nat a rate which will give them vent in foreign markets, and we must be\neverywhere undersold by our wiser neighbours.  But the consequence of\nsuch duties in times of peace will fall most heavily upon our woollen\nmanufactures, of which most have more value from the workmanship than the\nmaterial; and if the price of this workmanship be enhanced, it will in a\nshort course of time put a necessity upon those we deal with of setting\nup manufactures of their own, such as they can, or of buying goods of the\nlike kind and use from nations that can afford them cheaper.  And in this\npoint we are to consider, that the bulk of our woollen exports does not\nconsist in draperies made of the fine wool, peculiar to our soil, but is\ncomposed of coarse broad cloths, such as Yorkshire cloths, kerseys, which\nmake a great part of our exports, and may be, and are made of a coarser\nwool, which is to be had in other countries.  So that we are not singly\nto value ourselves upon the material, but also upon the manufacture,\nwhich we should make as easy as we can, by not laying over-heavy burdens\nupon the manufacturer.  And our woollen goods being two-thirds of our\nforeign exports, it ought to be the chief object of the public care, if\nwe expect to be gainers in the balance of trade, which is what we hunt\nafter in these inquiries.\n\nThirdly, as to the lower rank of all, which we compute at 2,825,000\nheads, a majority of the whole people, their principal subsistence is\nupon the degrees above them, and if those are rendered uneasy these must\nshare in the calamity, but even of this inferior sort no small proportion\ncontribute largely to excises, as labourers and out-servants, which\nlikewise affect the common seamen, who must thereupon raise their wages\nor they will not have wherewithal to keep their families left at home,\nand the high wages of seamen is another burden upon our foreign traffic.\nAs to the cottagers, who are about a fifth part of the whole people, some\nduties reach even them, as those upon malt, leather, and salt, but not\nmuch because of their slender consumption, but if the gentry, upon whose\nwoods and gleanings they live, and who employ them in day labour, and if\nthe manufacturers, for whom they card and spin, are overburdened with\nduties, they cannot afford to give them so much for their labour and\nhandiwork, nor to yield them those other reliefs which are their\nprincipal subsistence, for want of which these miserable wretches must\nperish with cold and hunger.\n\nThus we see excises either directly or indirectly fall upon the whole\nbody of the people, but we do not take notice of these matters as\nreceding from our former opinion.  On the contrary, we still think them\nthe most easy and equal way of taxing a nation, and perhaps it is\ndemonstrable that if we had fallen into this method at the beginning of\nthe war of raising the year’s expense within the year by excises, England\nhad not been now indebted so many millions, but what was advisable under\nsuch a necessity and danger is not to be pursued in times of peace,\nespecially in a country depending so much upon trade and manufactures.\n\nOur study now ought to be how those debts may be speedily cleared off,\nfor which these new revenues are the funds, that trade may again move\nfreely as it did heretofore, without such a heavy clog; but this point we\nshall more amply handle when we come to speak of our payments to the\npublic.\n\nMr. King divides the whole body of the people into two principal classes,\nviz.:—\n\nIncreasing the wealth of the kingdom       2,675,520 heads.\nDecreasing the wealth of the kingdom       2,825,000 heads.\n\nBy which he means that the first class of the people from land, arts, and\nindustry maintain themselves, and add every year something to the\nnation’s general stock, and besides this, out of their superfluity,\ncontribute every year so much to the maintenance of others.\n\nThat of the second class some partly maintain themselves by labour (as\nthe heads of the cottage families), but that the rest, as most of the\nwives and children of these, sick and impotent people, idle beggars and\nvagrants, are nourished at the cost of others, and are a yearly burden to\nthe public, consuming annually so much as would be otherwise added to the\nnation’s general stock.\n\nThe bodies of men are, without doubt, the most valuable treasure of a\ncountry, and in their sphere the ordinary people are as serviceable to\nthe commonwealth as the rich if they are employed in honest labour and\nuseful arts, and such being more in number do more contribute to increase\nthe nation’s wealth than the higher rank.\n\nBut a country may be populous and yet poor (as were the ancient Gauls and\nScythians), so that numbers, unless they are well employed, make the body\npolitic big but unwieldy, strong but unactive, as to any uses of good\ngovernment.\n\nTheirs is a wrong opinion who think all mouths profit a country that\nconsume its produce, and it may be more truly affirmed, that he who does\nnot some way serve the commonwealth, either by being employed or by\nemploying others, is not only a useless, but a hurtful member to it.\n\nAs it is charity, and what we indeed owe to human kind, to make provision\nfor the aged, the lame, the sick, blind, and impotent, so it is a justice\nwe owe to the commonwealth not to suffer such as have health, and who\nmight maintain themselves, to be drones and live upon the labour of\nothers.\n\nThe bulk of such as are a burden to the public consists in the cottagers\nand paupers, beggars in great cities and towns, and vagrants.\n\nUpon a survey of the hearth books, made in Michaelmas, 1685, it was found\nthat of the 1,300,000 houses in the whole kingdom, those of one chimney\namounted to 554,631, but some of these having land about them, in all our\ncalculations, we have computed the cottagers but at 500,000 families; but\nof these, a large number may get their own livelihood, and are no charge\nto the parish, for which reason Mr. King very judiciously computes his\ncottagers and paupers, decreasing the wealth of the nation but at 400,000\nfamilies, in which account he includes the poor-houses in cities, towns,\nand villages, besides which he reckons 30,000 vagrants, and all these\ntogether to make up 1,330,000 heads.\n\nThis is a very great proportion of the people to be a burden upon the\nother part, and is a weight upon the land interest, of which the landed\ngentlemen must certainly be very sensible.\n\nIf this vast body of men, instead of being expensive, could be rendered\nbeneficial to the commonwealth, it were a work, no doubt, highly to be\npromoted by all who love their country.\n\nIt seems evident, to such as have considered these matters, and who have\nobserved how they are ordered in nations under a good polity, that the\nnumber of such who through age or impotence stand in real need of relief,\nis but small and might be maintained for very little, and that the poor\nrates are swelled to the extravagant degree we now see them at by two\nsorts of people, one of which, by reason of our slack administration, is\nsuffered to remain in sloth, and the other, through a defect in our\nconstitution, continue in wretched poverty for want of employment, though\nwilling enough to undertake it.\n\nAll this seems capable of a remedy, the laws may be armed against\nvoluntary idleness, so as to prevent it, and a way may probably be found\nout to set those to work who are desirous to support themselves by their\nown labour; and if this could be brought about, it would not only put a\nstop to the course of that vice which is the consequence of an idle life,\nbut it would greatly tend to enrich the commonwealth, for if the industry\nof not half the people maintain in some degree the other part, and,\nbesides, in times of peace did add every year near two million and a half\nto the general stock of England, to what pitch of wealth and greatness\nmight we not be brought, if one limb were not suffered to draw away the\nnourishment of the other, and if all the members of the body politic were\nrendered useful to it?\n\nNature, in her contrivances, has made every part of a living creature\neither for ornament or use; the same should be in a politic institution\nrightly governed.\n\nIt may be laid down for an undeniable truth, that where all work nobody\nwill want, and to promote this would be a greater charity and more\nmeritorious than to build hospitals, which very often are but so many\nmonuments of ill-gotten riches attended with late repentance.\n\nTo make as many as possible of these 1,330,000 persons (whereof not above\n330,000 are children too young to work) who now live chiefly upon others\nget themselves a large share of their maintenance would be the opening a\nnew vein of treasure of some millions sterling per annum; it would be a\npresent ease to every particular man of substance, and a lasting benefit\nto the whole body of the kingdom, for it would not only nourish but\nincrease the numbers of the people, of which many thousands perish every\nyear by those diseases contracted under a slothful poverty.\n\nOur laws relating to the poor are very numerous, and this matter has\nemployed the care of every age for a long time, though but with little\nsuccess, partly through the ill execution, and partly through some defect\nin the very laws.\n\nThe corruptions of mankind are grown so great that, now-a-days, laws are\nnot much observed which do not in a manner execute themselves; of this\nnature are those laws which relate to bringing in the Prince’s revenue,\nwhich never fail to be put in execution, because the people must pay, and\nthe Prince will be paid; but where only one part of the constitution, the\npeople, are immediately concerned, as in laws relating to the poor, the\nhighways, assizes, and other civil economy, and good order in the state,\nthose are but slenderly regarded.\n\nThe public good being therefore, very often, not a motive strong enough\nto engage the magistrate to perform his duty, lawgivers have many times\nfortified their laws with penalties, wherein private persons may have a\nprofit, thereby to stir up the people to put the laws in execution.\n\nIn countries depraved nothing proceeds well wherein particular men do not\none way or other find their account; and rather than a public good should\nnot go on at all, without doubt, it is better to give private men some\ninterest to set it forward.\n\nFor which reason it may be worth the consideration of such as study the\nprosperity and welfare of England, whether this great engine of\nmaintaining the poor, and finding them work and employment, may not be\nput in motion by giving some body of undertakers a reasonable gain to put\nthe machine upon its wheels.\n\nIn order to which, we shall here insert a proposal delivered to the House\nof Commons last session of Parliament, for the better maintaining the\nimpotent, and employing and setting to work the other poor of this\nkingdom.\n\nIn matters of this nature, it is always good to have some model or plan\nlaid down, which thinking men may contemplate, alter, and correct, as\nthey see occasion; and the writer of these papers does rather choose to\noffer this scheme, because he is satisfied it was composed by a gentleman\nof great abilities, and who has made both the poor rates, and their\nnumber, more his study than any other person in the nation.  The proposal\nis as follows\n\n\n\n_A Scheme for Setting the Poor to Work_.\n\n\nFirst, that such persons as shall subscribe and pay the sum of £300,000\nas a stock for and towards the better maintaining the impotent poor, and\nfor buying commodities and materials to employ and set at work the other\npoor, be incorporated and made one body politic, &c.  By the name of the\nGovernor and Company for Maintaining and Employing the Poor of this\nKingdom.\n\nBy all former propositions, it was intended that the parishes should\nadvance several years’ rates to raise a stock, but by this proposal the\nexperiment is to be made by private persons at their risk; and £300,000\nmay be judged a very good stock, which, added to the poor rates for a\ncertain number of years, will be a very good fund for buying commodities\nand materials for a million of money at any time.  This subscription\nought to be free for everybody, and if the sum were subscribed in the\nseveral counties of England and Wales, in proportion to their poor rates,\nor the monthly assessment, it would be most convenient; and provision may\nbe made that no person shall transfer his interest but to one of the same\ncounty, which will keep the interest there during the term; and as to its\nbeing one Corporation, it is presumed this will be most beneficial to the\npublic.  For first, all disputes on removes, which are very chargeable\nand burthensome, will be at an end—this proposal intending, that wherever\nthe poor are, they shall be maintained or employed.  Secondly, it will\nprevent one county which shall be diligent, imposing on their neighbours\nwho may be negligent, or getting away their manufactures from them.\nThirdly, in case of fire, plague, or loss of manufacture, the stock of\none county may not be sufficient to support the places where such\ncalamities may happen; and it is necessary the whole body should support\nevery particular member, so that hereby there will be a general care to\nadminister to every place according to their necessities.\n\nSecondly, that the said Corporation be established for the term of\none-and-twenty years.\n\nThe Corporation ought to be established for one-and-twenty years, or\notherwise it cannot have the benefit the law gives in case of infants,\nwhich is their service for their education; besides, it will be some\nyears before a matter of this nature can be brought into practice.\n\nThirdly, that the said sum of £300,000 be paid in, and laid out for the\npurposes aforesaid, to remain as a stock for and during the said term of\none-and-twenty years.\n\nThe subscription ought to be taken at the passing of the Act, but the\nCorporation to be left at liberty to begin either the Michaelmas or the\nLady Day after, as they shall think fit.  And XXX per cent. to be paid at\nthe subscribing to persons appointed for that purpose, and the remainder\nbefore they begin to act; but so as £300,000 shall be always in stock\nduring the term, notwithstanding any dividends or other disposition: and\nan account thereof to be exhibited twice in every year upon oath, before\nthe Lord Chancellor for the time being.\n\nFourthly, that the said corporation do by themselves, or agents in every\nparish of England, from and after the XXX day of XXX during the said term\nof one-and-twenty years, provide for the real impotent poor good and\nsufficient maintenance and reception, as good or better than hath at any\ntime within the space of XXX years before the said XXX day of XXX been\nprovided or allowed to such impotent poor, and so shall continue to\nprovide for such impotent poor, and what other growing impotent poor\nshall happen in the said parish during the said term.\n\nBy impotent poor is to be understood all infants and old and decrepid\npersons not able to work; also persons who by sickness or any accident\nare for the time unable to labour for themselves or families; and all\npersons (not being fit for labour) who were usually relieved by the money\nraised for the use of the poor; they shall have maintenance, as good or\nbetter, as within XXX years they used to have.\n\nThis does not directly determine what that shall be, nor is it possible,\nby reason a shilling in one county is as much as two in another; but it\nwill be the interest of the Corporation that such poor be well provided\nfor, by reason the contrary will occasion all the complaints or clamour\nthat probably can be made against the Corporation.\n\nFifthly, that the Corporation do provide (as well for all such poor which\non the said XXX day of XXX shall be on the poor books, as for what other\ngrowing poor shall happen in the said term who are or shall be able to\nlabour or do any work) sufficient labour and work proper for such persons\nto be employed in.  And that provision shall be made for such labouring\npersons according to their labour, so as such provision doth not exceed\nthree-fourth parts as much as any other person would have paid for such\nlabour.  And in case they are not employed and set to work, then such\npersons shall, until materials or labour be provided for them, be\nmaintained as impotent poor; but so as such persons who shall hereafter\nenter themselves on the poor’s book, being able to labour, shall not quit\nthe service of the corporation, without leave, for the space of six\nmonths.\n\nThe Corporation are to provide materials and labour for all that can\nwork, and to make provision for them not exceeding three-fourth parts as\nmuch as any other person would give for such labour.  For example, if\nanother person would give one of these a shilling, the Corporation ought\nto give but ninepence.  And the reason is plain, first, because the\nCorporation will be obliged to maintain them and their families in all\nexigences, which others are not obliged to do, and consequently they\nought not to allow so much as others.  Secondly, in case any persons able\nto labour, shall come to the Corporation, when their agents are not\nprepared with materials to employ them, by this proposal they are to\nallow them full provision as impotent poor, until they find them work,\nwhich is entirely in favour of the poor.  Thirdly, it is neither\nreasonable nor possible for the Corporation to provide materials upon\nevery occasion, for such persons as shall be entered with them, unless\nthey can be secure of such persons to work up those materials; besides,\nwithout this provision, all the labouring people of England will play\nfast and loose between their employers and the Corporation, for as they\nare disobliged by one, they will run to the other, and so neither shall\nbe sure of them.\n\nSixthly, that no impotent poor shall be removed out of the parish where\nthey dwell, but upon notice in writing given to the churchwardens or\noverseers of the said parish, to what place of provision he or she is\nremoved.\n\nIt is judged the best method to provide for the impotent poor in houses\nprepared for that purpose, where proper provision may be made for\nseveral, with all necessaries of care and maintenance.  So that in some\nplaces one house will serve the impotent poor of several parishes, in\nwhich case the parish ought to know where to resort, to see if good\nprovision be made for them.\n\nSeventhly, that in case provision be not made for the poor of each\nparish, in manner as aforesaid (upon due notice given to the agents of\nthe Corporation) the said parish may order their poor to be maintained,\nand deduct the sum by them expended out of the next payments to be made\nto the said corporation by the said parish.\n\nIn case any accident happens in a parish, either by sickness, fall,\ncasualty of fire, or other ways; and that the agent of the Corporation is\nnot present to provide for them, or having notice doth not immediately do\nit, the parish may do it, and deduct so much out of the next payment; but\nthere must be provision made for the notice, and in what time the\nCorporation shall provide for them.\n\nEighthly, that the said Corporation shall have and receive for the said\none-and-twenty years, that is to say, from every parish yearly, so much\nas such parish paid in any one year, to be computed by a medium of seven\nyears; namely, from the 25th of March, 1690, to the 25th of March 1697,\nand to be paid half-yearly; and besides, shall receive the benefit of the\nrevenues of all donations given to any parish, or which shall be given\nduring the said term, and all forfeitures which the law gives to the use\nof the poor; and to all other sums which were usually collected by the\nparish, for the maintenance of the poor.\n\nWhatever was raised for or applied to the use of the poor, ought to be\npaid over to the Corporation; and where there are any donations for\nmaintaining the poor, it will answer the design of the donor, by reason\nthere will be better provision for the maintenance of the poor than ever;\nand if that maintenance be so good, as to induce further charities, no\ndoubt the Corporation ought to be entitled to them.  But there are two\nobjections to this article; first that to make a medium by a time of war\nis unreasonable.  Secondly, to continue the whole tax for one-and-twenty\nyears, does not seem to give any benefit to the kingdom in that time.  To\nthe first, it is true, we have a peace, but trade is lower now than at\nany time during the war, and the charge of the poor greater; and when\ntrade will mend is very uncertain.  To the second, it is very plain, that\nalthough the charge may be the same to a parish in the total, yet it will\nbe less to particular persons, because those who before received alms,\nwill now be enabled to be contributors; but besides, the turning so many\nhundred thousand pounds a year (which in a manner have hitherto been\napplied only to support idleness) into industry; and the employing so\nmany other idle vagrants and sturdy beggars, with the product of their\nlabour, will altogether be a present benefit to the lands of England, as\nwell in the rents as in the value; and further the accidental charities\nin the streets and at doors, is, by a very modest computation, over and\nabove the poor rates, at least £300,000 per annum, which will be entirely\nsaved by this proposal, and the persons set at work; which is a further\nconsideration for its being well received, since the Corporation are not\nallowed anything for this service.\n\nThe greater the encouragement is, the better the work will be performed;\nand it will become the wisdom of the parliament in what they do, to make\nit effectual; for should such an undertaking as this prove ineffectual,\ninstead of remedying, it will increase the mischief.\n\nNinthly, that all the laws made for the provision of the poor, and for\npunishing idle vagrant persons, be repealed, and one law made to continue\nsuch parts as are found useful, and to add such other restrictions,\npenalties, and provisions, as may effectually attain the end of this\ngreat work.\n\nThe laws hereunto relating are numerous, but the judgment and opinions\ngiven upon them are so various and contradictory, and differ so in sundry\nplaces, as to be inconsistent with any one general scheme of management.\n\nTenthly, that proper persons be appointed in every county to determine\nall matters and differences which may arise between the corporation and\nthe respective parishes.\n\nTo prevent any ill usage, neglect or cruelty, it will be necessary to\nmake provision that the poor may tender their complaints to officers of\nthe parish; and that those officers having examined the same, and not\nfinding redress, may apply to persons to be appointed in each county and\neach city for that purpose, who may be called supervisors of the poor,\nand may have allowance made them for their trouble; and their business\nmay be to examine the truth of such complaints; and in case either the\nparish or corporation judge themselves aggrieved by the determination of\nthe said supervisors, provision may be made that an appeal lie to the\nquarter sessions.\n\nEleventhly, that the corporation be obliged to provide for all public\nbeggars, and to put the laws into execution against public beggars and\nidle vagrant persons.\n\nSuch of the public beggars as can work must be employed, the rest to be\nmaintained as impotent poor, but the laws to be severely put in execution\nagainst those who shall ask any public alms.\n\nThis proposal, which in most parts of it seems to be very maturely\nweighed, may be a foundation for those to build upon who have a public\nspirit large enough to embrace such a noble undertaking.\n\nBut the common obstruction to anything of this nature is a malignant\ntemper in some who will not let a public work go on if private persons\nare to be gainers by it.  When they are to get themselves, they abandon\nall sense of virtue; but are clothed in her whitest robe when they smell\nprofit coming to another, masking themselves with a false zeal to the\ncommonwealth, where their own turn is not to be served.  It were better,\nindeed, that men would serve their country for the praise and honour that\nfollow good actions, but this is not to be expected in a nation at least\nleaning towards corruption, and in such an age it is as much as we can\nhope for if the prospect of some honest gain invites people to do the\npublic faithful service.  For which reason, in any undertaking where it\ncan be made apparent that a great benefit will accrue to the commonwealth\nin general, we ought not to have an evil eye upon what fair advantages\nparticular men may thereby expect to reap, still taking care to keep\ntheir appetite of getting within moderate bounds, laying all just and\nreasonable restraints upon it, and making due provision that they may not\nwrong or oppress their fellow subjects.\n\nIt is not to be denied, but that if fewer hands were suffered to remain\nidle, and if the poor had full employment, it would greatly tend to the\ncommon welfare, and contribute much towards adding every year to the\ngeneral stock of England.\n\nAmong the methods that we have here proposed of employing the poor, and\nmaking the whole body of the people useful to the public, we think it our\nduty to mind those who consider the common welfare of looking with a\ncompassionate eye into the prisons of this kingdom, where many thousands\nconsume their time in vice and idleness, wasting the remainder of their\nfortunes, or lavishing the substance of their creditors, eating bread and\ndoing no work, which is contrary to good order, and pernicious to the\ncommonwealth.\n\nWe cannot therefore but recommend the thoughts of some good bill that may\neffectually put an end to this mischief so scandalous in a trading\ncountry, which should let no hands remain useless.\n\nIt is not at all difficult to contrive such a bill as may relieve and\nrelease the debtor, and yet preserve to his creditors all their fair,\njust, and honest rights and interest.\n\nAnd so we have in this matter endeavoured to show that to preserve and\nincrease the people, and to make their numbers useful, are methods\nconducing to make us gainers in the balance of trade.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES.\n\n\n{75}  In the book there are no figures in the table at all.—DP.\n\n{76}  In the book there are no figures in the table at all.—DP.\n\n{77}  In the book there are no figures in the table at all.—DP.\n\n{148}  This table spreads over two opposite pages in the book.  It has\nbeen split down the middle for this eBook.—DP.]\n\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Christian\nBoissonnas and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team\nat http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  BIRDS AND ALL NATURE.\n\n  ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.\n\n  VOL. V. APRIL, 1899. NO. 4\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                   Page\n  THE NUTMEG.                                       145\n  AN ABANDONED HOME.                                150\n  THE AMERICAN BARN OWL.                            155\n  A SPRINGTIME.                                     156\n  THE KANGAROO.                                     157\n  INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST.                      158\n  FEATHERS.                                         161\n  VISION AND SCENT OF VULTURES.                     163\n  THE HOARY BAT.                                    167\n  THE COMING OF SPRING.                             168\n  THE NASHVILLE WARBLER.                            169\n  CHIEF SIMON POKAGON.                              173\n  NATURE AT FIRST HAND.                             175\n  THE QUAILS' QUADRILLE.                            176\n  THE GRAPE.                                        179\n  PROSE POEMS OF IVAN TURGENIEF.                    180\n  THE BLUEBIRD.                                     181\n  THE FIRST BLUEBIRD.                               181\n  THE KIT FOX.                                      182\n  AMONG ANIMALS.                                    185\n  SPRING FASHIONS.                                  186\n  BIRDS THAT DO NOT SING.                           188\n  THE HYACINTH.                                     191\n  A QUARREL BETWEEN JENNY WREN AND THE FLYCATCHERS. 192\n\n\n\n\nTHE NUTMEG.\n(_Myristica fragrans Hauthryn._)\n\nDR. ALBERT SCHNEIDER.\nNorthwestern University School of Pharmacy.\n\n_Dum_: A gilt nutmeg.\n_Biron_: A lemon.\n_Long_: Stuck with cloves.\n\n--_Shakespeare, \"Love's Labor Lost,\" V. 2._\n\n\nThe nutmeg is the spice obtained from a medium-sized evergreen tree\nreaching a height of from twenty-five to forty feet. This tree is\ndioecious, that is the male flowers and the female flowers are borne\nupon different plants. The male flower consists of a column of from\nsix to ten stamens enclosed by a pale yellow tubular perianth. The\nfemale flowers occur singly, in twos or threes, in the axils of the\nleaves; they also have a pale yellow perianth. The ovary has a single\nseed which finally matures into the nutmeg and mace. The mature seed is\nabout one and one-fourth inches long and somewhat less in transverse\ndiameter, so that it is somewhat oval in outline. It is almost entirely\nenveloped by a fringed scarlet covering known as arillus or arillode\n(mace). The entire fruit, nut, mace, and all, is about the size of a\nwalnut and like that nut has a thick outer covering, the pericarp,\nwhich is fibrous and attains a thickness of about half an inch. At\nmaturity the pericarp splits in halves from the top to the base or\npoint of attachment. The leaves of the nutmeg tree are simple, entire,\nand comparatively large.\n\nThe English word nutmeg and the apparently wholly different German\n_Muskatnuss_, are etymologically similar. The \"meg\" of nutmeg is\nsaid to be derived from the old English \"muge,\" which is from the\nLatin \"muscus,\" meaning musk, in reference to the odor. \"Muskat\"\nof the German name is also derived from \"muscus\" and \"nuss\" means\nnut, so we have in both instances \"musk nut.\" The arillus was named\n_Muscatenbluome_ (nutmeg flower) by the early Dutch because of its\nbright red color.\n\nIt is generally believed that nutmeg and mace were not used in ancient\ntimes. Martius maintains that the word _macis_ mentioned in a comedy\nby Plautus (260-180 B. C.) refers to mace. Flückiger, however, is\ninclined to believe that this word refers to the bark of some tree of\nIndia, as the word is frequently used in that sense by noted writers,\nas Scribonius, Largus, Dioscorides, Galenus, Plinius, and others. About\n800 or 900 A. D., the Arabian physicians were familiar with nutmeg\nand were instrumental in introducing it into western countries. The\nEuropeans first used nutmegs in church ceremonies as incense. Previous\nto 1200 nutmegs were quite expensive, but soon became cheaper as\nthe plant was more and more extensively cultivated. About 1214 they\nfound their way into pharmacy and began to be used among cosmetics.\nHildegard described nutmegs in 1150, and Albertus Magnus (1193-1280)\ndescribed the tree and fruit. Not until about 1500 did European writers\nlearn the home of the nutmeg. Ludovico Barthema designates the island\nBanda as its habitat.\n\nThe Portuguese monopolized the spice trade, including nutmegs, for a\ntime, but as stated in a previous paper, they were driven out by the\nDutch, who regulated the nutmeg trade as they did the clove trade.\nThat is, they destroyed all nutmeg trees not under the control of\nthe government and burned all nutmegs which could not be sold. The\ngovernment nutmeg plantations were in charge of army officials and\nworked by slaves. In 1769 the French succeeded in transplanting the\nnutmeg to the Isle de France. From 1796 to 1802 the spice islands\nwere under the control of the English, who transplanted the nutmeg to\nBencoolen, Penang, and, later, to Singapore. In 1860 the Singapore\nplantations were destroyed by a disease of the tree. The nutmeg is now\ncultivated in the Philippines, West Indies, South America, and other\ntropical islands and countries. The botanic gardens have been largely\ninstrumental in extending nutmeg cultivation in the tropical English\npossessions. Besides _Myristica fragrans_ there are several other\nspecies which are found useful. _M. Otoba_ of the U. S. of Colombia\nyields an edible article known as Santa Fé nutmeg. The seeds of the\ntropical _M. sebifera_ (tallow nutmeg) yield a fixed oil or fat used in\nmaking soap and candles. This oil is also known as American nutmeg oil.\n\nThe trees are produced from seeds. After sprouting the plants are\ntransferred to pots, in which they are kept until ready for the nutmeg\nplantation. Transferring from the pots to the soil must be done\ncarefully, as any considerable injury to the terminal rootlets kills\nthe plants. A rich, loamy soil with considerable moisture is required\nfor the favorable and rapid growth of the plants. They thrive best\nin river valleys, from sea-level to 300 and 400 feet or even to an\nelevation of 2,000 feet. The trees are usually planted twenty-five or\nthirty feet apart, in protected situations, so as to shelter them from\nstrong winds and excessive sunlight.\n\nThe trees do not yield a crop until about the ninth year and continue\nproductive for seventy or eighty years. Each tree yields on an average\nabout ten pounds of nutmegs and about one pound of mace annually. If\nthe trees are well cared for and the soil well fertilized, the yield is\nmuch greater, even tenfold.\n\nAs already stated the nutmeg plant is dioecious. A seed may therefore\ndevelop into a male or female plant; if a male plant it will of course\nnot produce nutmegs. The only way to learn whether it is one or the\nother is to wait until the first flowers are formed during the fifth or\nsixth year. The planter does, however, not sit by and wait; he simply\ngrafts the young shoots with branches of the female tree. Some male\ntrees, about one to twenty female trees, are allowed to mature in order\nthat pollination, by insects, may be possible, as without pollination\nand subsequent fertilization the seed could not develop.\n\nThe tree bears fruit all the year round, so that nutmegs may be\ncollected at all times. It is, however, customary to collect two\nprincipal crops, one during October, November, and December, and\nanother during April, May, and June. The nuts are picked by hand or\ngathered by means of long hooks and the thick pericarp removed. The\nred arillus is also carefully removed and flattened between blocks of\nwood so as to reduce the danger of breaking as much as possible. Mace\nand nuts are then dried separately. The nuts are placed upon hurdles\nfor several weeks until the kernels, nutmegs, rattle inside of the\nthin, tasteless, and odorless hard shell. This shell is now carefully\nbroken and removed; the worm-eaten nutmegs are thrown away and the\nsound ones are rolled in powdered lime and again dried for several\nweeks. Generally the drying is done over a smoldering fire so that the\nnuts are really smoke dried. For shipment they are packed in air-tight\nboxes which have been smoked and dusted with lime on the inside. Liming\ngives the nuts a peculiar mottled appearance and tends to destroy\nparasites which may be present.\n\nMace loses its carmine color upon drying and becomes reddish-brown\nand very brittle. It has an odor and taste similar to those of the\nnut, but is more delicately aromatic. Wild or Bombay mace is obtained\nfrom _Myristica fatua_ and is frequently used to adulterate the true\nmace or Banda mace. The nuts of _M. fatua_ are longer than those of\n_M. fragrans_ and are therefore designated as long nutmegs; the term\n\"male nutmegs\" applied to them is incorrect. The long nutmeg is greatly\ninferior to the true nutmeg, or round nutmeg as it is sometimes called.\n\nBanda supplies by far the most nutmegs at the present time. Penang\nnutmegs are of excellent quality and are always placed upon the\nmarket unlimed, but they are frequently limed subsequently in foreign\nports and markets. Singapore nutmegs are usually unlimed. Nutmegs are\ngenerally designated by the name of the country from which they are\nobtained, as Dutch or Batavian, Sumatra, Penang, Singapore, Java, and\nBanda nutmegs.\n\nThere are a number of so-called nutmegs which are derived from plants\nnot even remotely related to _Myristica_. Ackawai, Camara, or Camaru\nnutmeg is the nut of a tree growing in Guiana highly valued as a cure\nfor colic and dysentery. American, Jamaica, Mexican, or Calabash nutmeg\nis the spicy seed of _Monodora Myristica_. Brazilian nutmeg is the seed\nof _Cryptocarya moschata_, which serves as a very inferior substitute\nfor nutmeg. California nutmeg is the fruit of a conifer (_Torreya_),\nwhich resembles nutmeg so closely in appearance that it has been\nsupposed that _Myristica fragrans_ was a native of California. This\nfruit has, however, a very camphoraceous odor. Clove or Madagascar\nnutmeg is the fruit of _Ravensara aromatica_, a tree native in\nMadagascar. Peruvian nutmeg is the seed of _Laurelia sempervirens_.\n\nThe nutmeg has a peculiar mottled appearance, ranging from grayish\nbrown to light gray or white in the limed article, the depressions and\ngrooves holding the lime while the ridges and elevations are free from\nit. In Shakespeare's Henry V. the Duke of Orleans, in speaking of the\ndauphin's dapple-gray horse, says: \"He's of the color of nutmeg.\" The\ntaste of nutmeg is peculiarly aromatic, pungent, and somewhat bitter.\n\nThe principal use of nutmeg is that of a spice, although not so\ncommonly employed or so well liked as some other spices. It contains a\nfat which forms the nutmeg butter; this is an unctuous solid substance\nof an orange-brown or yellowish-brown color, with the odor and taste of\nnutmeg. This fat is used as a stimulating application in rheumatism,\nsprains, and paralysis. Nutmegs also contain some volatile oil, which\nis said to be poisonous; at least some persons are very susceptible\nto the effects of the volatile oil of nutmeg. In this connection it\nmight be stated that the frequent and long-continued use of spices\nis injurious, producing dyspepsia, functional heart trouble, and\nnervousness, and seems to have a special action upon the liver, causing\nan excessive development of connective tissue and a reduction in the\nfunctional activity of the liver cells: \"Nutmeg liver\" is a condition\nresulting from passive venous congestion of that organ, and refers to\nits mottled or nut-meggy appearance only.\n\nMace is comparatively rich in volatile oil. Nutmeg and mace are both\nextensively employed as condiments. They are frequently given in the\nform of a powder to stimulate and aid digestion. Nutmeg flavor consists\nof nutmeg, oil of nutmeg, and alcohol. Mace-ale is ale sweetened and\nspiced with mace.\n\nIt is stated that whole nutmegs have been adulterated with wooden\nimitations. Connecticut is known as the Wooden Nutmeg State because it\nis facetiously said that such nutmegs were manufactured there.\n\n  [Illustration: FROM KOEHLER'S MEDICINAL-PFLANZEN.\n                 NUTMEG.]\n\nDescription of plate:\n\n     _A_, branch with staminate flowers; 1, stamens magnified; 2,\n      longitudinal view of stamens; 3, transverse section of\n     stamens; 4, pollen-grains; 5, pistillate flower; 6, pistil; 7,\n     fruit; 8, half of pericarp removed; 9, nut with arillus (mace);\n     10, nut without mace; 11, nut in longitudinal section; 12,\n     embryo.\n\n\n\n\nAN ABANDONED HOME.\n\nELANORA KINSLEY MARBLE.\n\n\n\"Well,\" said Jenny Sparrow one fine day in April, as she fluttered\nfrom bough to bough in a maple tree near my study-window, \"spring is\nadvancing and already the housewives are bustling about busy from\nmorning till night. Such fetching and carrying of grass and straw and\nfeathers! Mamma concluded to build a new house this spring but papa\nsaid the old homestead would do, with new furnishings. Papa always\nhas his way; he's such a tyrant. I'm a fortunate creature that I have\nno such cares, I'm sure. Mamma says I may as well sing and fly high\nwhile youth and beauty last, for my troubles will begin soon enough.\nTroubles! The idea of my having trouble! Old people must croak, I\nsuppose, and would really be disappointed if their children failed to\nexperience the trials they have.\n\n\"I often wonder if papa strutted and bowed and swelled himself out as\nmy suitors do, when he courted mamma. Now he does nothing but scold,\nand I never make an unusually fine toilet but he shakes his head,\nand lectures mamma on the sin of idleness and vanity. I'm not vain,\nI'm sure. I only feel strong and happy, and when I'm challenged by a\nneighbor's sons and their ugly sisters for a long flight or graceful\ncurve, I would be a silly creature indeed if I didn't display my\naccomplishments to good advantage.\n\n\"There, now, is the son of our nearest neighbor twittering on that\nroof opposite and trying to attract my attention. He prides himself\non being a direct descendant of one of the sparrows first imported\ninto this country from England, so we call him Mr. Britisher. He has\nthe most affected way of turning his head on one side and glancing at\nme. I can't help admiring his engaging manners, though, and there is\na certain boldness in his address which the rest of my admirers lack,\nmuch to their disadvantage. He's going to fly over here presently, I\nknow by the way he is strutting about and fluttering his wings. Talk\nabout the vanity of my sex! Gracious! He is priding himself now on the\nmanner in which his toes turn out, and the beauty of his plumage, and\nhow much broader is that black ring about his throat than those on some\nof his neighbors. Here he comes. I'll pretend to be looking another way.\n\n\"Ah, is that you, Mr. Britisher? How you startled me. Yes, 'tis a\nlovely day. After the storms of winter, the warm sunshine is a blessing\nto us little creatures who live under the eaves.\"\n\n\"True, Miss Jenny, true. But with companionship even the storms of\nwinter can be borne cheerfully. Don't you agree with me that a loving\nhome is a very desirable thing?\"\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Britisher, how you talk! Have your parents been away from\nhome, that you are so lonesome?\"\n\n\"You know they have not, Miss Jenny. You know full well that I was\nnot speaking of _that_ kind of companionship. Permit me to sit beside\nyou on that bough, for I have that to say which I desire shall not be\noverheard. The leaves even seem to have ears at this season of the\nyear, and do a deal of whispering about the numerous courtships which\nthey hear and see going on.\"\n\n\"True, very true, Mr. Britisher,\" returned Miss Jenny, making room for\nhim beside her on the limb. \"There is a great amount of gossip going\non just now in bird-land, I understand. Why, only the other day I\nheard--but ah--there is Mrs. Cowbird skulking below us, and no meaner\nbird flies, I think, than she. Fancy her laying her eggs in another\nbird's nest, because she is too lazy to make one of her own! A tramp\nbird must do a great deal of gossiping, so be careful what you say.\"\n\n\"She is not nearly such a mischief-maker as Mr. Blue Jay,\" replied\nMr. Britisher, \"nor half so impertinent. I heard him chattering with\nMr. Blackbird the other day and he said all sparrows were alike to\nhim. Fancy it! A field sparrow, vesper sparrow, swamp sparrow,\nwhite-throated sparrow, yellow-winged sparrow, fox sparrow, and dear\nknows how many other common American sparrows, the same to him as a\nblue-blooded English one. Why, my ancestors lived under the roof of\nWindsor Castle, and flew over the head of Queen Victoria many, many a\ntime.\"\n\n\"You don't say?\" returned Miss Jenny, very much impressed. \"Why, you\nare a member of the royal family, you may say. Our family, I have heard\nmother tell, always made their home in the city--London proper, you\nknow, right under the eaves of the Bank of England. But come, that is\nnot what you flew over here to say, surely,\" demurely casting her eyes\nupon the ground.\n\n\"How charmingly you coquette with me,\" said Mr. Britisher, moving\ncloser to her on the limb. \"Have you not seen for weeks past that I\nhave had no thoughts for any girl-sparrow but you, Miss Jenny?\"\n\n\"La, Mr. Britisher, I really have had so much attention from your sex\nthis spring that I----\"\n\n\"But none of them have been so devoted as I,\" interrupted her\ncompanion. \"Think of the many delicious morsels I have laid at your\nfeet, and all I ask in return is----\"\n\n\"What?\" coyly asked Miss Jenny, pretending she was about to fly away.\n\n\"This little hand,\" stooping and pecking her dainty claws with his\nbill. \"Will you be my wife, Miss Jenny, the queen of my heart and home?\"\n\n\"The queen of your heart and home,\" repeated Miss Jenny. \"That sounds\nvery nice, indeed. But when one gets married, my mamma says, then one's\ntroubles begin.\"\n\n\"No, no, my dear one. Your husband will hold it his dearest privilege\nto guard you from every care. Life will be one long dream of bliss for\nus both. Say you will be mine.\"\n\n\"Well, I suppose I may as well say yes. Mamma says girls must be\nsettled in life some time, and I am sure I fancy you infinitely\nmore than any of the young sparrows hereabouts. So you can ask papa\nand--there, there! You will twist my bill off, and Mr. Woodpecker over\nthere, I am sure is watching us. Really you put me in such a flutter\nwith your fervor. There, you naughty boy; you mustn't any more. My! I\nam so nervous. I'll fly home now and quiet my nerves with a nap. I'm\noff. By-by.\"\n\nThe courtship was brief, as is the custom with our feathered friends,\nand so the wedding took place in a few days. The bride received\nthe blessing of her parents for a dot and the groom a shrug of the\nshoulders and the comforting assurance from his father that he was a\n\"ninny\" and not aware when he was well off.\n\nAll went merry as a marriage bell for a season, Mr. Britisher\ntwittering daily in soft low tones his prettiest love songs and his\nspouse listening in proud complacency as she oiled her feathers and\ncurled them prettily with her bill.\n\n\"O,\" she said one day, when making a call upon a neighbor, \"I'm quite\nthe happiest creature in the world. _Such_ a husband, and how he dotes\non me! I had no idea I was such a piece of perfection, really. I wish\nall my friends were as well and happily mated. Those who have no such\nprospects are to be pitied indeed. Ah! you needn't bridle that way,\nMiss Brownie, for I had no particular individual in mind when I made\nthat remark, believe me. Well, I must cut my visit short, for hubby\nwill be looking for me, and he grows so impatient when I am out of\nhis sight a moment. By-by. Run in and see us, do, all of you. We are\nstopping, you know, with papa and mamma for awhile.\"\n\n\"Did you ever see such a vain, silly thing?\" said the mother of a large\nbrood of very homely sparrows. \"If my girls had no more sense than she,\nI'd strip every feather off 'em and keep 'em at home, I would!\"\n\n\"She makes me sick,\" said a pert young thing in the group.\n\"_Perfection_ indeed! Why, when she laughs I'm always uneasy for fear\nher face will disappear down her throat. Such a mouth!\"\n\n\"Hubby,\" mimicked another, \"I thought I should collapse when she said\nthat with her sickening simper.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" smilingly said an old mother sparrow, \"she'll sing\nanother song before long. I predict she'll be a shiftless sort of a\nthing when it comes to housekeeping. Mr. Britisher will repent him of\nhis bargain ere many days, mark my words! Dearie,\" turning to her only\ndaughter, \"sing that dear little note you learned of Mr. Lark for the\ncompany. Thank heaven,\" stroking her darling's ugly feathers, \"I have\nmy precious child still with me. She is not in a hurry to leave her\npoor mamma, is she?\"\n\nMany sly winks and smiles were exchanged among the matron's friends at\nthis remark, for \"dearie\" had chirped that little note many summers and\nwinters, and many a snare had mother and daughter set to entrap the\nsons of more than one lady sparrow there.\n\n\"My dear,\" said Mr. Britisher the very next morning, \"we must begin to\nbuild a nest and make a home like other people. I think we may as well\nbegin to-day.\"\n\n\"Build our nest?\" responded Mrs. B. \"Well, do as you think best, my\ndear. I intend to make a few calls to-day, so you may as well employ\nyour time whilst I am away. I presume some of your folks will help you.\"\n\n\"I suppose nothing of the sort,\" replied Mr. B., curtly. \"Do you think\nyou are to do nothing but make calls from morning till night? I chose\nyou for a helpmate, madam, and not a figurehead, let me tell you, and\nthe sooner you settle down to your duties the better it will be for us\nboth.\"\n\n\"Duties?\" retorted Mrs. B., \"the idea! Who was it that promised me that\nif I would marry him I should not have a care in the world?\"\n\n\"Oh, all lovers say such things,\" replied Mr. B., with a contemptuous\nlaugh. \"They expect their lady-loves to have better sense than to\nbelieve them.\"\n\n\"Better sense than to believe them!\" repeated Mrs. B., angrily. \"So you\nadmit your sex are all gay deceivers, do you? Oh, dear,\" tears coursing\ndown her pretty feathered cheeks, \"that I should be brought to this!\nWoe is me, woe is me!\"\n\nMr. Britisher immediately flew to her side, and by caresses and fond\nwords endeavored to tranquillize his spouse, for what husband can look\nupon the first tears of his bride and not upbraid himself for bringing\na cloud over the heaven of her smiles?\n\nMrs. B. flew and hopped about with her wonted gaiety the remainder\nof the day, whilst Mr. B.'s preoccupation and downcast air was the\ncause of much comment and many wise \"I told you so's,\" among the old\nlady-birds of the neighborhood.\n\nThe subject of nest-building was, of course, next day resumed; but Mrs.\nB. proved as indifferent and indisposed to participate in the labor as\never.\n\n\"Very well,\" said Mr. B., at last, resolutely disregarding her tears,\n\"you will do as other wives do or else return to your mother. When a\nsparrow marries he expects his mate to do her share in making a home,\nand rearing a family. There is something to do in this world, madame,\nbesides rollicking, singing, and visiting from post to pillar. Indeed,\nit is a wild scramble we have to make for a living, and you can no\nlonger expect me to be furnishing you with tid-bits and insects out of\nseason, while you gossip and idle your time away. You will have to-day\nto decide upon the matter,\" and off Mr. Britisher flew, with a heavy\nfrown upon his face.\n\n\"Oh! I wish I had never been born,\" wailed Mrs. B., as the gentle wind\nstirred the leaves and swayed the branch upon which she was perched.\n\"Already I begin to experience the troubles which old folks talk about.\nOh, dear! Oh, dear! I'll fly over to mother and tell her how shamefully\nMr. B. is treating me. I won't stand it, there! Gracious! there is\nthat meddlesome Mr. Blue Jay sneaking around as usual. He has heard me\nsobbing, I'm afraid, and all the neighbors will be gossiping before\nnight of our affairs. There! how cheerily I sang when I flew off! He\nwill think my sobs were a new song, perhaps. To think that I should be\nmaking believe I'm happy already. Happy! I shall never be happy again.\nMy heart is broken. Mother will give Mr. Britisher a piece of her mind,\nI hope, and let him know I was never brought up to work, much less to\nbe any man's slave.\"\n\n(_To be concluded._)\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.\n                 AMERICAN BARN OWL.\n                 1/2 Life-size.\n                 COPYRIGHT 1899,\n                 NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]\n\nTHE AMERICAN BARN OWL.\n\n(_Strix pratincola_).\n\nLYNDS JONES.\n\n\nOur barn owl belongs to the tropical and warm temperate genus _Strix_,\nwhich is scattered widely over the greater part of the earth in the\ntropical and subtropical parts of both hemispheres, and scatteringly\ninto the temperate zones. In Europe one species is common as far\nnorth as the British Isles, while our own bird is found as far north\nas southern New England in the East, Ontario, Michigan, Wisconsin,\nand southern Minnesota in the interior, and Oregon and Washington on\nthe Pacific coast. It is hardly common anywhere except in the extreme\nsouthwestern part of the United States, where it is the most abundant\nowl in California. It is rare or casual north of about the fortieth\nparallel. But two specimens have been brought to the Oberlin College\nMuseum in twenty years, one of which was found dead in a barn a mile\neast of Oberlin in December of 1898.\n\nThe barn owl is the most nocturnal of all our owls, although he can\nsee perfectly in the brightest day. Not until twilight does he issue\nfrom his secure hiding-place to do battle with the farm and orchard\npests. Then he may be seen sailing noiselessly over orchard and\nmeadow in quest of any mischievous rodent that may be menacing the\nfarmer's prospects. He seems to single out intelligently the ones\nthat do the most injury, destroying large numbers of pouched gophers\nand other annoying and destructive creatures, asking only in return\nto be left in peace in his hiding-place. The farmer certainly has\nno better friend than this owl, for he destroys poultry only when\ndriven to it by the direst necessity. In the East, his food consists\nlargely of rats and mice; in some parts of the South the cotton rat\nis the chief diet; while in the West he feeds principally upon the\ngopher (_Thomomys talpoides bulbivorus_) and the California ground\nsquirrel (_Spermophilus grammurus beecheyi_), according to Prof. B. W.\nEvermann. It seems pretty certain that fish are sometimes captured and\neaten.\n\nThis owl undoubtedly breeds, though sparingly, in all suitable\nlocalities wherever it is found, and probably migrates more or less\nin the northern part of its range. In Europe it nests in old ruins,\ntowers, and abutments of bridges, but our American species finds few\nsuch places, so he resorts to hollow trees, caves, crevices in rocks,\nand banks, and even to burrows in the level ground, as we find to be\nthe case in parts of the West. The burrows are undoubtedly the deserted\nburrows of some other animal. In the eastern parts of the country\nthe owls frequently nest in buildings. It is well known that a pair\noccupied one of the towers of the Smithsonian building in the city of\nWashington in 1890, raising a brood of seven young. It is stated that\nthe period of incubation is from three to three and a half weeks, and\nthat brooding begins with the deposit of the first egg; thus there may\nbe fresh eggs and young in the same nest. This accounts for the long\nperiod of incubation.\n\nThe eggs are pure white, usually from four to seven in number, rarely\ntwelve. They are rather longer in proportion than those of the other\nowls--in about the proportion of 1.30 × 1.70. But the average size is\nvariously given by the various authors.\n\nIt seems a little curious that there should be such a marked difference\nbetween the hawks and owls as regards nest material. They belong to\nthe same order of birds, and yet the hawks build their own nests,\ncollecting the material and arranging it much after the fashion of\nhigher birds, while the owls make practically no nest, at the most\ncollecting a little material and scattering it about with little\nregard for arrangement. But the difficulty disappears when we realize\nthat the owls have probably always nested in hollows which require\nno nest material, while the hawks, if they ever nested in hollows,\nhave long ceased to do so, building their nests among the branches of\ntrees, where a relatively large amount of material is necessary. The\nfew species of hawks which now nest in hollows have gone back to that\nmethod after a long period of open nesting and have retained the nest\nmaterial even here where it seems unnecessary.\n\nThe monkey-like appearance of this owl, emphasized by his tawny color\nand screeching voice, gives him a decidedly uncanny appearance. His\nplumage is unusually soft and fluffy, but is too thin to enable him\nto withstand the rigors of a northern winter. Curiously enough, the\nfeathers on the back of his tarsus grow up instead of down, giving that\npart of his plumage a rather ungroomed appearance. One edge of his\nmiddle toe-nail is toothed like a comb.\n\nDuring the nesting season only a single pair can be found in a place,\nbut at other times the species is more or less gregarious in the\nregions in which it is numerous. Often a dozen individuals may be\nfound in a company. The extreme seclusiveness of the birds during the\nday makes it very difficult to find them, and they are undoubtedly\nmore numerous than generally reported, and are likely to be present\nin many places where their presence is not now suspected. They seek\nthe darkest and most secluded corner possible and remain quiet all\nday. Their noiseless flight might easily be mistaken for that of the\nwhippoorwill. Let us hope that the good qualities of this owl will be\nfully recognized before his hiding-place is discovered.\n\n\n\n\nA SPRINGTIME.\n\n\n    One knows the spring is coming;\n      There are birds; the fields are green;\n    There is balm in the sunlight and moonlight,\n      A dew in the twilights between.\n\n    But ever there is a silence,\n      A rapture great and dumb,\n    That day when the doubt is ended,\n      And at last the spring is come.\n\n    Behold the wonder, O silence!\n      Strange as if wrought in a night,--\n    The waited and lingering glory,\n      The world-old fresh delight!\n\n    O blossoms that hang like winter,\n      Drifted upon the trees,\n    O birds that sing in the blossoms,\n      O blossom-haunting bees,--\n\n    O green leaves on the branches,\n      O shadowy dark below,\n    O cool of the aisles of orchards,\n      Woods that the wild flowers know,--\n\n    O air of gold and perfume,\n      Wind, breathing sweet, and sun,\n    O sky of perfect azure--\n      Day, Heaven and Earth in one!\n\n    Let me draw near thy secret,\n      And in thy deep heart see\n    How fared, in doubt and dreaming,\n      The spring that is come in me.\n\n    For my soul is held in silence,\n      A rapture, great and dumb,--\n    For the mystery that lingered,\n      The glory that is come!\n\n                                        --_W. D. Howells._\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.\n                 KANGAROO.\n                 1/8 Life-size.\n                 COPYRIGHT 1899,\n                 NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]\n\nTHE KANGAROO.\n\nC. C. M.\n\n\nThe Kangaroos are regarded as among the most remarkable of mammals.\nEverything about them is extraordinary; their movements and their\nattitudes when at rest, the way they seek their food, their\nreproduction, their development, and their mental qualities. Twenty\nand thirty years ago, it is said, the visitor to Australia could see\nmore Kangaroos to the square mile than there are jack rabbits to-day,\nand it was literally impossible to avoid the countless flocks that\nswarmed over the whole island. Walsh says that, with a good rifle, he\ncould take a position on a rock and shoot all day long, until tired of\nthe monotony of the slaughter, or until some \"old man\" kangaroo became\ndesperate at his killing and decided to turn the table upon him. In\nthose days men were paid liberally by the sheepowners to kill off the\nkangaroos, and it is stated that one hunter would kill several hundred\na day, and one man is known to have cleared $4,500, free of living\nexpenses, in a single year. The visitor to Australia to-day discovers\na decided change in many ways, but not more so than in the comparative\nscarcity of this animal. He may reside on the island for a month or\ntwo and not see one kangaroo. There are still large numbers of them,\nbut they must be hunted up and their favorite feeding-places located\nby guides. The sheepherders caused the creatures to be destroyed in\nsuch numbers before they became of any commercial value that they are\nnow rarely found outside of the \"bush.\" About three hundred miles\nback from the coast thousands can still be found. The country abounds\nin straggling bushes, with very few tall trees or woods to obstruct\ntravel; but the bushes, while in the open country, are tall enough to\nmake good hiding-places for the marsupials. They feed on the grass,\nroots, and leaves, and when startled by a hunter, leap over the bushes\nas easily as a rabbit jumps over the tufts of grass.\n\nThe hind legs of the kangaroo are powerful weapons. One long claw,\nhard as bone or steel, and sharp as a knife at the point, gives the\nkangaroo an implement, says a writer in the _Scientific American_,\nthat can kill a man or beast with one blow. The front paws are not so\nstrong, but an old fellow has strength enough in them to seize a dog\nand hold him under the water until dead. On land they will seize an\nenemy and hold him until the hind claws can cut him nearly in two. They\nare also good boxers, and when the natives attempt to kill them with\nclubs they dodge the implements with all the skill of a professional\npugilist, and unless the man is an expert he may get the worst of the\nencounter. Quite a number of hunters have been severely injured, and\nsome killed, by attempting to corner a wounded kangaroo when enraged\nby a bullet wound. The fleetest horse cannot keep pace with any of\nthe larger kangaroos, but with a little tact the hunters are enabled\nto capture them whenever they are sighted. When the creatures are\nonce started on a run, they will not swerve from their course, but\ncontinue straight onward, leaping over bushes, rocks, and all ordinary\nobstacles. The hunters generally station themselves in the line that\nthe animals are most likely to pursue, and then wait until the dogs or\nthe rest of the party start them up.\n\nThe ordinary gait of the kangaroo, which it assumes principally when\ngrazing, is a heavy, awkward hobble. It supports its fore feet on the\nground and then pushes the hinder legs on between them. While doing so\nit must also support itself on its tail, as else it could not lift its\nlong hinder legs high enough to render such movements possible. But\nit remains in this position no longer than is absolutely necessary.\nWhenever it has plucked some favorite plant, it assumes the erect\nposition to consume it. In their sleep the smaller species adopt a\nposition similar to that of a hare in its form. Closely crouched to\nthe ground, they squat down on all fours, the tail being extended\nat length behind the body. This position enables them to take flight\ninstantly.\n\nThe kangaroo leaps only on its hinder legs, but its bounds surpass\nthose of any other animal in length. It presses its fore limbs tightly\nagainst the chest, stretches the tail straight out backwards, thrusts\nthe long and slender hind legs against the ground with all the force of\nthe powerful thigh muscles, and darts like an arrow through the air in\na low curve. The leaps follow in immediate succession, and each is at\nleast nine feet, but the larger species cover, not infrequently, from\ntwenty to thirty-three feet at a bound, the height of each leap being\nfrom six to ten feet. Few hounds can keep pace with a kangaroo.\n\nThe kangaroo rarely gives birth to more than one young at a time. When\nthe young one is born the mother takes it up with her mouth, opens the\npouch with both fore feet, and attaches the little creature to the\nbreast. Twelve hours after birth it has a length of only a little over\none and one-fifth inches. Its eyes are closed, its ears and nostrils\nare only indicated, the limbs yet unformed. There is not the slightest\nresemblance between it and the mother. For nearly eight months it is\nnourished exclusively in the pouch. A considerable time after it first\npeeps out of the pouch the young one occasionally leaves its refuge and\nroams about near its mother, but for a long time it flees back to the\npouch whenever it apprehends any danger. It approaches its mother with\nlong bounds and dives headlong into the half-open pouch of the quietly\nsitting female.\n\nNumerous methods are employed to exterminate the animals; they are\nshot with fire-arms or coursed to death by hounds, and that for very\nwantonness, for the slain bodies are left to rot in the woods. \"That is\nthe reason,\" says an anonymous writer, \"why the kangaroos are already\nexterminated in the environs of all larger cities and settlements; and\nif this savage chase is permitted to continue, it will not be long ere\nthey will be numbered among the rarer animals in the interior also.\"\n\nThe kangaroo readily resigns itself to confinement, and is easily\nmaintained on hay, green fodder, turnips, grain, bread, and similar\narticles of food. It does not require a specially warm shelter in\nwinter and breeds readily if given proper care. At present it is more\nrarely seen in confinement in Europe and America than when it was\nmore numerous and easier to capture in its native country. With good\ntreatment it survives a long time; specimens have lived in Europe from\nten to twenty-five years.\n\nThe kangaroos are very dull in intellect, even sheep being far\nsuperior to them in this respect. Anything out of the accustomed order\nconfuses them, for they are not capable of a rapid comprehension of\nnew surroundings. Every impression they receive becomes clear to them\nonly gradually. Brehm says a captive kangaroo becomes used to man in\ngeneral, but expresses doubt whether it discriminates between its\nkeeper and other people.\n\n\n\n\nINVITATION TO THE REDBREAST.\n\n\n    Sweet bird, whom the winter constrains--\n      And seldom another it can--\n    To seek a retreat--while he reigns\n      In the well-shelter'd dwellings of man,\n    Who never can seem to intrude,\n      Though in all places equally free,\n    Come, oft as the season is rude,\n      Thou art sure to be welcome to me.\n\n    At sight of the first feeble ray,\n      That pierces the clouds of the east,\n    To inveigle thee every day\n      My windows shall show thee a feast.\n    For, taught by experience, I know\n      Thee mindful of benefit long;\n    And that, thankful for all I bestow,\n      Thou wilt pay me with many a song.\n\n    Then, soon as the swell of the buds\n      Bespeaks the renewal of spring,\n    Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods,\n      Or where it shall please thee to sing:\n    And shouldst thou, compell'd by a frost,\n      Come again to my window or door,\n    Doubt not an affectionate host,\n      Only pay, as thou pay'dst me before.\n\n    Thus music must needs be confest\n      To flow from a fountain above;\n    Else how should it work in the breast\n      Unchangeable friendship and love?\n    And who on the globe can be found,\n      Save your generation and ours,\n    That can be delighted by sound,\n      Or boasts any musical powers?\n\n                                        --_Cowper._\n\n\n\n\nFEATHERS.\n\nW. E. WATT.\n\n\n    A splendid young blackbird built in a tree;\n    A spruce little fellow as ever could be;\n    His bill was so yellow, his feathers so black,\n    So long was his tail, and so glossy his back,\n    That good Mrs. B., who sat hatching her eggs,\n    And only just left them to stretch her poor legs,\n    And pick for a minute the worm she preferred,\n    Thought there never was seen such a beautiful bird.\n\n                                        --_D. M. Mulock._\n\n    Oh! Nature's noblest gift--my gray-goose quill!\n    Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,\n    Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen,\n    The mighty instrument of little men!\n\n                                        --_Byron._\n\nFeathers have played an important part in the history of mankind. Henry\nof Navarre won the battle of Ivry after electrifying his men with the\nfollowing words: \"Fellow soldiers, you are Frenchmen; behold the enemy!\nIf you lose sight of your ensigns, rally round my plume; you will\nalways find it on the high road to honor!\"\n\nNo doubt the templars carried the hearts of many with them in the\ncrusades more effectually because their waving plumes gave them a\npicturesqueness which inspired brave men with courage and pious ones\nwith holy zeal.\n\nSavages delight in adorning themselves with feathers, and civilized\nwomen have found their charms enhanced by the placing of feathers\nagainst fair skins until the close of the nineteenth century finds a\nsocial struggle raging through fear that the demands of fashion may yet\ndestroy from the face of the earth its sweetest songsters and its most\nbeautifully plumed creatures.\n\nFans of feathers are admired the world over. In warm countries huge\nfans or screens made of beautiful feathers are often carried to\nshade royalty. In great processions the Pope is followed by bearers\nof magnificent fans of ostrich plumes. In the Sandwich Islands for\na long time the enthroning of a new king was made gorgeous by his\nwearing a garment of many thousands of feathers; but recently, as if in\npreparation for a union with the United States, this state garment was\nburied with the king and the ceremony became simpler.\n\nThe noblest use to which feathers have been adapted has been in\nthe production of writing instruments. The antiquity of the pen,\nregarded as a feather, is shown in the proof recently set forth by\nthe philologists. _Penna_ is the Latin for feather; farther back an\ninstrument for flying is called _patna_; the Sanskrit which became\n_penna_ in the Latin tongue became _phathra_ in the mouths of the\nTeutonic peoples. So the English language, which is formed from both\nLatin and Teutonic elements, possesses two words, _pen_, and _feather_,\nwhich were one in their origin, have been widely separated during\nthe ages, and now are united, but in such a way that only under the\nmicroscope of comparative grammar are we able to discover that they\nhave the same blood in their veins.\n\nAlthough the people living in warm countries wrote with the reed, the\nChinese with a brush, and we have learned to fashion steel so it will\ndo the work to better advantage, yet the feather has been a mighty\nagency in the civilization of the world.\n\nEvery teacher used to consider it one of the essentials of his\nequipment to possess a good penknife and know how to use it in making\nor mending pens for his pupils. Quills were first carefully cleansed\nfrom all oily or fatty matter and then dried. A gentle heat was applied\nto secure the brittleness which made it possible to split the pen point\nwithout spoiling the quill.\n\nIn Russia and in Holland quills were dipped in boiling alum-water or\ndiluted nitric acid and then dried and clarified in a bath of hot sand.\nGoose quills were most used, turkey quills were prized by many, and\nswan quills were considered the best of all. Pens well made from swan\nquills often sold as high as four guineas a thousand, while goose quill\npens were to be had at twenty shillings. For fine writing, crow-quills\nwere considered best, and pen-and-ink drawings were generally produced\nwith the black-plumed article.\n\nIn 1832, to supplement the domestic products in the manufacture of\npens, 33,668,000 quills were imported into England. The trade has not\nbeen entirely killed by the advent of the steel pen, for there are yet\namong us representatives of the people of the olden time who delight in\nthe pretty little squeak of the quill pen as it assists them in their\nliterary labors.\n\nMan early learned to rob the birds of their coverings, not only for\nadornment, but also for warmth. Feather beds were once reckoned as\nevidences of wealth. Modern science has pointed out the unhealthful\ncondition of a bed made soft and gaseous with feathers. Few beds are\nnow found of this sort among the better-informed people of America, but\nthe traveler in the northern countries of Europe not only has to sleep\non feathers but also under them. The down coverlet is as essential to a\nDanish bed as is clean linen.\n\nThe newest palace of the German emperor is furnished in accordance with\nthe Teutonic idea, and the visitor to the palace at Strasburg, when his\nmajesty is not there, is shown his royal bed room with its single bed\nand double featherings.\n\nDowny feathers grow most abundantly on birds inhabiting cold regions.\nMany young birds have an abundance of downy feathers when first\nhatched. In some cases it is well formed before the egg is broken,\nfirmly enclosed in a tight roll of membrane to keep it dry. On exposure\nto the air the membrane bursts and the down wraps the nestling in a\ncomfortable coat.\n\nThe stronger feather sometimes grows out of the same place as the downy\none in such a way that it pushes out the down to the outside of the\nplumage and the bird appears to have his underwear outside his overcoat.\n\nThe best eider-down is so light that three-quarters of an ounce of it\nwill fill a large hat. It is so elastic that two or three pounds may be\ncompressed into a ball that may be held in the hand.\n\nSome feathers have a second shaft growing out of the end of the quill\nso as to form a double feather, and in rare instances there are two of\nthese growths from one quill, making a triple feather.\n\nBirds are warmer blooded than other animals. What is a dangerous fever\ntemperature in the blood of man, is natural and ordinary in a bird.\nAs birds fly rapidly, they could not live if they were perspiring\ncreatures because they would lose heat so fast. Feathers protect them\nfrom the sudden changes of temperature and loss of heat and strength.\n\nFeathers are important to the bird to fly with; but even for this\npurpose they are not absolutely necessary. There are forms of animals\nthat fly, as the bat does, with their skin to beat the air. There were\nonce on the earth many more skin-flying animals than there are to-day.\n\nFeathers are modifications of the scarf-skin. Wherever the skin is\nexposed to sun, wind, or water it is modified in some way to contribute\nto the well-being of the animal. The many forms of feathers make a most\nfascinating study.\n\nA peculiar thing about them is that they are not vascular. Vascular\nmeans full of vessels. Almost everything that grows is vascular. It has\ntubes to carry in new material and little sacs or large ones to store\nsubstance for new growths. But dermal appendages, the forms that grow\nout of the scarf-skin and are modifications of it, are not vascular.\nTake a feather two feet long, and examine it to see how the feather\nmaterial was carried from the beginning of the quill to the tip. You\nfind no veins and no circulation. Yet feathers grow and their growth is\nquite mysterious and not understood by the wisest people.\n\nThe material of a feather consists of cells that push each other out\nto their destination. They change their forms as they travel along,\nand their colors and degrees of hardness change with their going. They\nare composed of about the same stuff that makes horns and hoofs. Your\nfinger nail is like a feather in its growth and composition. It is\nmostly albumen with some lime in it. Albumen is the substance which\nmakes the white of eggs.\n\nWhen the Mexican motmot trims his two tail feathers with his beak,\nhe merely makes diamond cut diamond. The material of the cutting\ninstrument is the same as that of the thing cut, only somewhat harder.\n\nWhen you consider how a feather grows by pushing out its cells you\nmust wonder at the intelligence which guides the cells to change their\nnature so as to form the quill, the shaft, the after-shaft, the barb,\nthe barbules, and the little hooks which hold them together. More than\nthis is the cause for admiration seen in the regular change of pigment\ncontained in the cells, so the feather shall have its beautiful colors\nand accurate markings.\n\nAlong with the materials of the feather is carried a little oil which\nturns the water from the duck's back and gives the feather its gloss.\nIt is thought by some that the fading of feathers in museums where\nmounted specimens are exposed to the action of light is largely due\nto the loss of this delicate oil. No enterprising Yankee has come\nforward yet with a patent for restoring this oil and giving back to\nthe thousands of musty and dusty skins in our museums their original\nbrilliancy.\n\nEvery one wonders at the way feathers keep their shape instead of\ngetting hopelessly ruffled. The little hooks which hold the barbules\ntogether are exceedingly strong and flexible. They will yield and bend,\nbut never break. Even when torn apart from their hold they can grasp\nagain so as to restore the injured feather to its former shape.\n\n\n\n\nVISION AND SCENT OF VULTURES.\n\nREV. R. T. NICHOL.\n\n\n_To the Editor of Birds and All Nature_:\n\nSIR: Are you not mistaken in the assertion in your October number that\nvultures, carrion-crows, etc., have such keen scent that they can\ndetect carcasses and offal at a very great distance?\n\nI was under the impression that Wilson[1] had decided this forever,\nand proved conclusively that their apparently miraculous power of\ndiscovering their proper food, was due to keenness of vision, and not\nof the sense of smell.\n\nThe following extracts may be new to some and interesting to all of\nyour readers: Under the head \"_Vultur aura_, Turkey Vulture,\" etc., I\nfind:\n\n\"Observations on the supposed power which vultures such as the turkey\nvulture, are said to possess of scenting carrion at a great distance.\n\n\"It has always appeared to us unaccountable that birds of prey, as\nvultures, could scent carcasses at such immense distances, as they\nare said to do. We were led to call in question the accuracy of this\nopinion, on recollecting the observations of some travelers, who have\nremarked birds of prey directing their course towards dead animals\nfloating in the rivers in India, where the wind blows steadily from\none point of the compass for months in succession. It was not easy to\nconceive that the effluvium from a putrid carcass in the water, could\nproceed in direct opposition to the current of air, and affect the\nolfactory nerves of birds at so many miles distant. We were disposed to\nbelieve that these birds were directed towards the carrion rather by\nthe sense of seeing than by that of smelling. This opinion is confirmed\nby the following observations of our friend Audubon, communicated to us\nby him some time ago for our _Philosophical Journal_.\"\n\nHere follows at length Audubon's communication, from which I extract\nthe following passages:\n\n\"My _First Experiment_ was as follows: I procured a skin of our common\ndeer, entire to the hoofs, and stuffed it carefully with dried grass\nuntil filled rather above the natural size,--suffered the whole to\nbecome perfectly dry and as hard as leather--took it to the middle of a\nlarge open field, and laid it down upon its back with the legs up and\napart, as if the animal were dead and putrid. I then retired about a\nfew hundred yards, and in the lapse of some minutes a vulture coursing\naround the field, tolerably high, espied the skin, sailed directly\ntowards it, and alighted within a few yards of it. I ran immediately,\ncovered by a large tree, until within about forty yards, and from that\nplace could spy the bird with ease. He approached the skin, looked at\nit without apparent suspicion, raised his tail and voided itself freely\n(as you well know all birds of prey in a wild state generally do before\nfeeding), then approaching the eyes, that were here solid globes of\nhard, dried, and painted clay, attacked first one and then the other,\nwith, however, no farther advantage than that of disarranging them.\nThis part was abandoned; the bird walked to the other extremity of the\npretended animal, and there, with much exertion, tore the stitches\napart, until much fodder and hay were pulled out; but no flesh could\nthe bird find or smell; he was intent on finding some where none\nexisted, and, after reiterated efforts, all useless, he took flight,\ncoursed round the field, when, suddenly turning and falling, I saw him\nkill a small garter snake and swallow it in an instant. The vulture\nrose again, sailed about, and passed several times quite low over the\nstuffed deer-skin, as if loth to abandon so good-looking a prey.\n\n\"Judge of my feelings when I plainly saw that the vulture, which could\nnot discover through its extraordinary sense of smell that no flesh,\neither fresh or putrid, existed about that skin, could at a glance see\na snake scarcely as large as a man's finger, alive, and destitute of\nodor, hundreds of yards distant. I concluded that, at all events, his\nocular powers were much better than his sense of smell.\n\n\"_Second Experiment._--I had a large dead hog hauled some distance from\nthe house and put into a ravine, about twenty feet deeper than the\nsurface of the earth around it, narrow and winding much, filled with\nbriars and high cane. In this I made the <DW64>s conceal the hog, by\nbinding cane over it, until I thought it would puzzle either buzzards,\ncarrion-crows, or any other birds to see it, and left it for two days.\nThis was early in the month of July, when, in this latitude, a body\nbecomes putrid and extremely fetid in a short time. I saw from time to\ntime many vultures, in search of food, sail over the field and ravine\nin all directions, but none discovered the carcass, although during\nthis time several dogs had visited it and fed plentifully on it. I\ntried to go near it, but the smell was so insufferable when within\nthirty yards of it that I abandoned it, and the remnants were entirely\ndestroyed at last through natural decay.\n\n\"I then took a young pig, put a knife through its neck, and made it\nbleed on the earth and grass about the same, and, having covered it\nclosely with leaves, also watched the result. The vultures saw the\nfresh blood, alighted about it, followed it down into the ravine,\ndiscovered by the blood of the pig, and devoured it, when yet quite\nfresh, within my sight.\"\n\nHe pursues the subject at some length, recounting other experiments;\nbut these, were they not even given on the authority of\nAudubon--_clarum et venerabile nomen_--seem to me to be conclusive.\n\n                                        _22 Irving place, New York_\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[1] When I said \"Wilson\" above I find I was slightly mistaken. I\nremembered reading it long ago in the first edition I possessed of this\nwriter's works--the little four-volume set edited by Prof. Jameson\nfor \"Constable's Miscellany,\" Edinburgh, 1831, and taking down the\nbook now, which I have not opened for years, I find the passages in\nquestion (Vol. iv, pp. 245 _et seq._) form part of an appendix drawn\nfrom Richardson and Swainson's \"Northern Zoology,\" and that the real\nauthority is Audubon.\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.\n                 HOARY BAT.\n                 1/2 Life-size.\n                 COPYRIGHT 1899,\n                 NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]\n\nTHE HOARY BAT.\n\nC. C. M.\n\n\nA very singular animal is the bat, and seems to belong to several\nclasses and orders. The specimen we present here (_Atalapha cinerea_)\nis very rare in this part of the country, and was taken in Lincoln\nPark, Chicago. It flies through the air like a bird and, possessing\nmammæ like the quadrupeds, suckles its young. The double jaw is\nprovided with three kinds of teeth. With the canines and incisors\nit tears its prey like carnivorous animals, and with the molars or\ngrinders it cracks nuts like rodents, which it resembles in the narrow,\noval form of its head. An imperfect quadruped when on the ground, it\ndrags itself along, embarrassed by the mantle of its wings, which fold\nup around its legs like an umbrella when closed. When it undertakes to\nfly it does so in an awkward manner. It first crawls painfully along,\nand with great difficulty extends its long fingers, spreading out the\nmembrane which covers and binds them together. The ungainly creature\nthen quickly flaps its broad wings, tough as leather, but thin and\ntransparent; a bird without plumage, it now flies abroad in pursuit of\ninsects--nocturnal like itself--or in search of ripe fruit, to which\nsome species are particularly destructive.\n\nNone of the bats like to raise themselves into the air from a perfectly\nlevel surface, and, therefore, use all their endeavors to climb to\nsome elevated spot, from whence they may launch themselves into the\nair. They climb with great ease and rapidity, being able to hitch\ntheir sharp and curved claws into the least roughness that may present\nitself, and can thus ascend a perpendicular wall with perfect ease and\nsecurity. In so doing they crawl backward, raising their bodies against\nthe tree or wall which they desire to scale, and drawing themselves\nup by the alternate use of the hinder feet. When they have attained\na moderate height, they are able to fling themselves easily into the\nair and to take immediate flight. They have the power of rising at\nonce from the ground, but always prefer to let themselves fall from\nsome elevated spot. One reason why bats take their repose suspended\nby their hind feet is said to be that they are then in the most\nfavorable position for taking to the air. There may be, and probably\nare, other reasons for the curious reversed attitude. Even among the\nbirds examples are found of a similar mode of repose. Members of the\ngenus _Colius_, an African group of birds, sleep suspended like the\nbats, clinging with their feet and hanging with their heads downward.\nBut these birds cannot assume this attitude for the purpose of taking\nflight, as their wings are used as readily as those of most other\nfeathered creatures, and, therefore, there must be other reasons to\naccount for the strange attitude.\n\nThe more closely we approach the torrid zone, it is said, the greater\nis the number of bats and the richer their variety. The South is the\nnative country of the majority of wing-handed animals. Even in Italy,\nGreece, and Spain, the number of bats is surprising. There, according\nto Brehm, who studied them industriously, as evening draws nigh they\ncome out of their nooks and corners not by hundreds but by thousands.\nOut of every house, every old stone wall, every rocky hollow they\nflutter, as if a great army were preparing for a parade, and the entire\nhorizon is literally filled with them. The swarms of bats one sees in a\nhot country are astonishing. They darken the sky. Everywhere there is a\nliving and moving mass flying through the trees or gardens and groves.\nThrough the streets of the town, through houses and rooms flits the\nmoving train. Hundreds are constantly appearing and disappearing and\none is always surrounded by a hovering swarm.\n\nA feature of the wings of bats, is a highly elastic skin. The outer\nlayer is constantly kept pliable by anointing with an oily liquid,\nsecreted by glands in the animal's face. The structure of the hair\nis also remarkable, as each thread presents under the microscope a\nscrew-like appearance.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMING OF SPRING.\n\nE. E. BENTON.\n\n\nNo one perhaps ever lived who excelled Henry D. Thoreau as a general\nobserver of nature. He patiently and with minute care examined both\nanimate and inanimate creation, and wrote down an accurate account\nof his observations, noting particularly the effects produced by the\nchanges in the seasons. He worked diligently to discover the first sign\nof spring, with results not wholly satisfactory. In one place he asks:\n\"What is the earliest sign of spring? The motions of worms and insects?\nThe flow of sap in trees and the swelling of buds? Do not the insects\nawake with the flow of the sap? Bluebirds, etc., probably do not come\ntill the insects come out. Or are there earlier signs in the water, the\ntortoises, frogs, etc.?\"\n\nHe found that whenever there was a warm spell during the winter some\nforms of vegetation, particularly the grasses and water plants, would\nbegin to grow, and some would even bloom in favorable locations, as the\nskunk cabbage. He did not fully settle the question as to what would\nbegin to grow first in the spring, whether it was the catkins of the\nswamp willow or the stems and leaves of the equisetum in the pool, or\nsomething else.\n\nA list of the most striking phenomena observed by Thoreau in early\nspring is given below, and is extracted from his journals, written when\nhe lived near Boston, during the years 1840 to 1860. In each case the\nearliest date mentioned by Thoreau is given, there being a difference\nof about a month between the earliest and latest spring. Many of these\nphenomena and the order in which they occur are common to a large\nextent of country, including the eastern and northern central states.\nThus, the skunk cabbage is the first flower in all this region. A few\nnotes are added, showing variations.\n\nFebruary 21--Sap of the red maple flowing. This was in 1857. It does\nnot usually flow until the second week in March.\n\nFebruary 23--Yellow-spotted tortoise seen.\n\nFebruary 24--The bluebird, \"angel of the spring,\" arrives; also the\nsong-sparrow. The _phebe_ or spring note of the chickadee, a winter\nbird, heard.\n\n\"The bluebird and song-sparrow sing immediately on their arrival, and\nhence deserve to enjoy some preëminence. They give expression to the\njoy which the season inspires, but the robin and blackbird only peep\nand _tchuck_ at first, commonly, and the lark is silent and flitting.\nThe bluebird at once fills the air with his sweet warbling, and the\nsong-sparrow, from the top of a rail, pours forth his most joyous\nstrain.\"\n\nMarch 1--The catkins of the willow and aspen appear to have started to\ngrow.\n\nMarch 2--The caltha, or cowslip, found growing in water.\n\nThe skunk cabbage in bloom in warm, moist grounds.\n\nMarch 5--The red maple and elm buds expanded.\n\nThe spring note of the nut-hatch heard: _To-what, what, what, what,\nwhat_, rapidly repeated, instead of the usual _quah quah_ of this\nwinter bird.\n\nMarch 6--The gyrinus (water-bug) seen in the brook.\n\nFirst blackbird seen.\n\nGreen sprouts of the sassafras, hazel, blueberry, and swamp-pink found.\n\nMarch 7--Fuzzy gnats in the air.\n\nFirst robins.\n\nSpring note of the shrike heard, probably silent during the winter.\n\nMarch 8--Willow buds expanded. Sap flowing in the white pine.\n\nFlock of grackles seen.\n\nRadical leaves of the golden-rods and asters in water, growing\ndecidedly.\n\nMarch 9--Ducks seen.\n\nMarch 10--Poplar and willow catkins started; also equisetum\n(horse-tail), saxifrage, and probably other water plants. The\nbutter-cup found growing.\n\nShimmering in the air noticed, caused by evaporation; water in the\nbrooks, \"clear, placid, and silvery,\" both phenomena of spring.\n\nMarch 12--Poplar catkins in bloom.\n\nFirst meadow-lark seen.\n\nMarch 14--Wild geese seen.\n\nFox- sparrows seen.\n\nMarch 15--Grass growing in water.\n\nWood, or croaking frog heard; \"the earliest voice of the liquid pools.\"\n\nMarch 16--The first phebe bird heard. Gulls and sheldrakes seen.\n\nMarch 17--Grass green on south bank-sides.\n\nThe first flicker and red-wing seen; also a striped squirrel; also some\nkind of fly.\n\nMarch 18--The skunk cabbage, in moist grounds, abundantly in bloom,\nattracting the first honey-bees, who, directed by a wonderful instinct,\nleave their homes and wing their way, perhaps for miles, to find this\nfirst flower. This seems all the more remarkable when it is considered\nthat the honey-bee is an introduced, not a native insect.\n\nMarch 19--The first shiners seen in the brook.\n\nMarch 20--Pussy-willow catkins in full bloom.\n\n\"The tree-sparrow is perhaps the sweetest and most melodious warbler at\npresent.\"\n\n\"The fishes are going up the brooks as they open.\"\n\nMarch 21--The garden chickweed in bloom.\n\nThe ground-squirrel's first chirrup heard, a sure sign, according to\nsome old worthies, of decided spring weather.\n\nThe hyla, or tree-frog, begins to peep.\n\n\"The woods are comparatively silent. Not yet the woodland birds, except\n(perhaps the woodpecker, so far as it migrates) only the orchard and\nriver birds have arrived.\"\n\nMarch 23--The white maple in bloom and the aspen nearly so; the alders\nare generally in full bloom. \"The crimson-starred flowers of the hazel\nbegin to peep out.\"\n\nMarch 24--Shore-larks seen.\n\nMarch 28--Buff-edged butterflies seen.\n\nMarch 31--The small red butterfly seen.\n\nApril 5--Swallows appear, pewee heard, and snipe seen.\n\nApril 6--Cowslips nearly in bloom.\n\nApril 7--Gold-finches seen; also the purple finch.\n\nApril 8--Pine warbler seen.\n\nThe epigæa (trailing arbutus) nearly in bloom. \"The earliest peculiarly\nwoodland,[2] herbaceous flowers are epigæa, anemone, thalictrum (or\nmeadow rue), and, by the first of May, the violet.\"\n\nApril 9--Cowslips[3] (not a woodland flower) in bloom, \"the first\nconspicuous herbaceous flower, for that of the skunk cabbage is\nconcealed in its spathe.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] NOTE.--Further to the west and extending at least to Wisconsin,\nthe following list of early woodland flowers may take the place of the\nabove, blooming in the order given: Erigenia (or harbinger of spring),\nhepatica, bloodroot, and dog-tooth violet, or perhaps the dicentra\n(Dutchman's breeches) may come before the last.\n\nThe skunk cabbage, which is not a woodland flower, and therefore not\nincluded in the above list, is the first flower probably in all New\nEngland and the northern states.\n\n[3] NOTE.--In the West several conspicuous flowers, particularly the\npretty hepatica, precede the cowslip.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NASHVILLE WARBLER.\n\n(_Helminthophila rubricapilla._)\n\nLYNDS JONES.\n\n\nThe Nashville warbler is common during the migrations in many parts of\nthe country, but seems to be scarce or entirely wanting locally. Thus,\nin Lorain county, Ohio, as well as in Poweshiek county, Iowa, it is\nalways one of the commonest warblers during the first and second weeks\nof May, and again during the second and third weeks of September, while\nit is not reported from Wayne county, Ohio, by Mr. Harry C. Oberholser\nin his \"List of the Birds of Wayne county, Ohio.\" There are other\ninstances of its rarity or absence from restricted localities. Its\nrange extends from the Atlantic ocean west to eastern Nebraska, and\nnorth into Labrador and the fur countries, occasionally wandering even\nto Greenland. It winters in the tropics south of the United States.\n\nIn the northward migration it reaches Texas about the third week\nin April and Manitoba near the end of the first week in May, thus\npassing completely across the country in about three weeks. A careful\ncomputation proves that the average rate at which this warbler traveled\nacross the country, in the spring of 1885, was nearly forty miles a\nday. A single year, however, might show a considerable departure from\nthe normal rate of migration. This instance is given to show any who\nmay not be familiar with the phenomena of bird migration that small\nbirds, at least, do not perform their whole migration in a single\nflight, but rest a good deal by the way.\n\nThe migrating Nashville warblers, in my experience, prefer the\noutskirts of the larger woods, but may be found anywhere in the\nsmaller woods, preferring the middle branches, rarely ascending to the\ntree-tops, not seldom gleaning near the ground in the underbrush, or\neven among the leaves on the ground. They are by no means confined to\nthe woods, but glean as boldly and sing as cheerfully among the fruit\nand shade trees in town, but they are more numerous in the woods.\n\nThe song has been compared to that of the chestnut-sided warbler and\nthe chipping sparrow combined. To my ear the Nashville warbler's song\nis enough unlike the song of any other bird to be easily recognized\nafter a single hearing. Rev. J. H. Langille's rendering: \"_Ke tsee,\nke tsee, ke tsee, chip ee, chip ee, chip ee, chip_,\" is a close\napproximation, but seems somewhat lacking in the true expression of\nthe first part of the song. My note book renders it thus: \"_K tsip, k\ntsip, k tsip, k tsip, chip ee, chip ee, chip ee, chip_.\" The first part\nof the song is thus halting, with a considerable pause between the\nphrases, while the last part is uttered more rapidly and with little\neffort. This song, issuing from the trees in every direction, is always\nclosely associated in the writer's mind with the early morning hours,\nthe dripping trees and the sweet incense of the flower-decked woods and\nbursting buds.\n\nWhile feeding, these warblers often gather into groups of a dozen or\ntwenty individuals, and may be associated with other species, thus\nforming a considerable company. The warbler student is familiar with\nthe waves of warblers and other small birds which range through the\nwoods, now appearing in a bewildering flutter of a hundred wings, now\ndisappearing in their eager quest for a lunch of insects.\n\nThe breeding-range of this warbler extends as far south as Connecticut\nin the East, and Michigan and Minnesota, if not northern Iowa in the\nWest, and north to the limit of its range. In common with the other\nmembers of this genus, the Nashville warbler nests on the ground,\nusually in a spot well protected by dried grasses and other litter of\nthe previous year's growth, often in a tangle of shrubs, ferns and\nbushes. The nest is sometimes sunk flush with the surface, and is\ncomposed of grasses, mosses, pine needles, strips of bark and leaves,\nlined with finer material of the same sort and with hair-like rootlets,\nthe composition varying with the locality. The eggs are pure white or\ncreamy-white, marked with spots and dots of reddish-brown and the usual\nlilac shell-markings, which are grouped more or less around the larger\nend. They are four or five in number, and average about .61 × .48 of an\ninch.\n\nThe spring males may readily be recognized in the bush by their small\nsize, by the bright yellow underparts, by their ashy heads and back,\nand by their habit of feeding in the middle branches of the trees down\nto the underbrush. The concealed rufous spot on the crown, from which\nthe bird takes its scientific specific name, can rarely be seen in the\nlive bird, no doubt chiefly because the bird is perpetually above you.\n\n  [Illustration: FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.\n                 NASHVILLE WARBLER.\n                 Life-size.\n                 COPYRIGHT 1899,\n                 NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]\n\n\n\n\nCHIEF SIMON POKAGON.\n\nC. C. MARBLE.\n\n    Gather him to his grave again,\n        And solemnly and softly lay\n    Beneath the verdure of the plain,\n        The warrior's scattered bones away.\n\n                                        --_Bryant._\n\n\nThe subject of this brief sketch died, January --, 1899, at an\nadvanced age. He was a full-blood Indian, and a hereditary chief of\nthe Pottowattomies. As author of \"The Red Man's Greeting,\" a booklet\nmade of white birch bark and entitled by the late Prof. Swing, \"The Red\nMan's Book of Lamentations,\" he has been called the \"Red-skin poet,\nbard, and Longfellow of his race.\" He himself said that his object in\nhaving the book printed on the bark of the white birch tree was out of\nloyalty to his people, and \"gratitude to the Great Spirit, who in his\nwisdom provided for our use for untold generations this remarkable tree\nwith manifold bark used by us instead of paper, being of greater value\nto us as it could not be injured by sun or water.\" Out of the bark of\nthis wonderful tree were made hats, caps, and dishes for domestic use,\n\"while our maidens tied with it the knot that sealed their marriage\nvow.\" Wigwams were made of it, as well as large canoes that out-rode\nthe violent storms on lake and sea. It was also used for light and fuel\nat the Indian war councils and spirit dances. Originally the shores of\nthe northern lakes and streams were fringed with it and evergreen, and\nthe \"white charmingly contrasted with the green mirrored from the water\nwas indeed beautiful, but like the red man, this tree is vanishing from\nour forests.\" He quotes the sad truth:\n\n    \"Alas for us! Our day is o'er,\n    Our fires are out from shore to shore;\n    No more for us the wild deer bounds--\n    The plow is on our hunting grounds.\n    The pale-man's sail skims o'er the floods;\n    Our pleasant springs are dry;\n    Our children look, by power oppressed,\n    Beyond the mountains of the west--\n    Our children go--to die.\"\n\nThe dedication of the little book is characteristic of the grateful\nappreciation of a man of lofty spirit, who was acquainted with the\nhistory and traditions of his race. It is: \"To the memory of William\nPenn, Roger Williams, the late lamented Helen Hunt Jackson, and many\nothers now in heaven, who conceived that noble spirit of justice which\nrecognizes the brotherhood of the red man, and to all others now living\ndefenders of our race, I most gratefully dedicate this tribute of the\nforest.\"\n\nChief Pokagon's father sold the site of Chicago and the surrounding\ncountry to the United States in 1833 for three cents an acre. Chief\nSimon was the first red man to visit Mr. Lincoln after his inauguration\nas president. In a letter written home at the time, he said: \"I have\nmet Lincoln, the great chief; he is very tall, has a sad face, but he\nis a good man; I saw it in his eyes and felt it in his hand-grasp. He\nwill help us get payment for Chicago land.\" Soon after this visit to\nWashington a payment of $39,000 was made by the government.\n\nIn 1874 he visited President Grant, of whom he said: \"I expected he\nwould put on military importance, but he treated me kindly, gave me a\ncigar, and we smoked the pipe of peace together.\"\n\nIn 1893 the chief secured judgment against the United States for over\n$100,000, which still remained due on the sale of Chicago land by his\nfather. This judgment was paid and the money divided pro rata among\nmembers of the tribe, who soon dissipated it, however, and became as\ngreat a charge upon the chief as ever.\n\nPokagon was honored on Chicago Day at the World's Fair by first ringing\nthe new Bell of Liberty and speaking in behalf of his race to the\ngreatest multitude, it is believed, ever assembled in one inclosure.\nAfter his speech, \"Glory Hallelujah\" was sung before the bell for\nthe first time on the fair grounds. The little book, \"The Red Man's\nGreeting,\" above referred to, was prepared for this occasion and read\nfor the first time. It was well received, and many papers referred\nto it in terms of extravagance. It was undoubtedly full of eloquence\ncharacteristic of the aborigines.\n\nChief Pokagon's contributions to bird literature have been numerous and\noriginal. That he was a lover of nature is manifest through all his\nwritings. And he was a humane man, like Johnny Appleseed, after quoting:\n\n    \"An inadvertent step may crush the snail\n    That crawls at evening in the public path;\n    But he that hath humanity, forewarn'd,\n    Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.\"\n\n\"In early life,\" he says, \"I was deeply mortified as I witnessed the\ngrand old forests of Michigan, under whose shades my forefathers lived\nand died, falling before the cyclone of civilization as before the\nprairie fire. In those days I traveled thousands of miles along our\nwinding trails, through the wild solitude of the unbroken forest,\nlistening to the song of the woodland birds, as they poured forth their\nmelodies from the thick foliage above and about me. Very seldom now\ndo I catch one familiar note from those early warblers of the woods.\nThey have all passed away, but with feelings of the deepest gratitude\nI now listen to the songs of other birds which have come with the\nadvance of civilization. They are with us all about our homes and,\nlike the wild-wood birds which our fathers used to hold their breath\nto hear, they sing in concert, without pride, without envy, without\njealousy--alike in forest and field; alike before the wigwam and the\ncastle; alike for savage and for sage; alike for beggar and for prince;\nalike for chief and for king.\"\n\nWriting of the wild goose, he says: \"I begged my father to try and\ncatch me a pair of these birds alive, that I might raise a flock of\nthem. He finally promised me he would try, and made me pledge myself\nto kindly care for them. He made me a stockade park to put them in,\nenclosing one-half acre of land. One corner ran into the lake, so as\nto furnish plenty of water for the prospective captives. He then made\na brush box, three feet square, trimming it with rice straw from the\nlake and left it at the water's edge for future use. He then waded\ninto the lake where geese were in the habit of feeding, finding the\nwater nowhere above his chin. On the following morning a flock was\nseen feeding in the lake. We went quietly to the shore; father placed\nthe box over his head and waded carefully into the water. Soon I could\nsee only the box; it appeared to be floating and drifted by the wind\ntoward the geese. At length it moved in among the great birds. I held\nmy breath, fearing they would fly away. Soon I saw one disappear, then\nanother, both sinking like lead into the water. Not a sound could I\nhear. The rice box began to slowly drift back. On nearing the shore\nfather emerged from it with a live goose under each arm. They seemed\nthe most beautiful creatures I had ever seen.\" The young chief in three\nyears raised a fine flock of geese, which, he says, he treated as\nprisoners of war, and was as kind to as a mother to her children. He\ntaught them to eat corn from his hand and each one to recognize a name\ngiven to it. After the first year he gave them their liberty, except in\nfall and spring, when they were determined to migrate. If he let them\nout with wings clipped, so they could not fly, they would start on the\njourney afoot for the south or northland according to the time of year.\n\nIt is believed that the old chief left behind him many interesting\nmanuscripts. One of thirty thousand words is known to the present\nwriter. It is autobiographical and historical of the Pottowattomie\ntribe of Indians, and will doubtless be printed, sooner or later, if\nnot on white birch bark, then on good white paper.\n\n\n\n\nNATURE AT FIRST HAND.\n\n    When beauty, blushing, from her bed\n      Arose to bathe in morning dew,\n    The sun, just lifting up his head,\n      The vision saw and back withdrew\n    Behind a cloud, with edges red:\n      \"Till beauty,\" then he coyly said,\n    \"Shall veil her peerless form divine\n      I may not let my glory shine.\"\n\n                                        C. C. M.\n\n\nAs to the pleasures derived from pursuing the science of ornithology in\nnature's interminable range, there are delights the field ornithologist\nexperiences quite unknown to his stay-at-home namesake. For instance,\nwhat a thrill of pride courses through him as he clings to the topmost\nbranches of the tallest pine tree, making himself acquainted with\nthe rude cradle of the sparrow-hawk; or when examining the beautiful\nand richly marked eggs of the windhover, laid bare and nestless in\nthe magpie's old abode, some sixty feet or more in the branches of a\ntowering oak. When, if ever, do our closet naturalists inspect these\nlovely objects in their elevated cradle? Again, how elated the field\nnaturalist will feel when, after hours of patient watching, he gets a\nsight of a troop of timid jays, or the woodpecker, busy in his search\nfor food on some noble tree! How elated when, scaling the cliff's\nrugged side in search of sea birds' eggs, or tramping over the wild\nand barren moor, he flushes the snipe or ring ousel from its heathery\nbed, or startles the curlew from its meal in the fathomless marsh!\nWe might enlarge upon this subject _ad infinitum_, but to a field\nnaturalist these pleasures are well known, and to the closet personage\nuncared for. Suffice it to say, that he who takes nature for his\ntutor will experience delights indescribable from every animate and\ninanimate object of the universe; from the tiny blade of grass to the\nlargest forest tree--the tiniest living atom, seemingly without form\nor purpose, to its gigantic relation of much higher development. The\npages of nature's mighty book are unrolled to the view of every man who\ncares to haunt her sanctuaries. The doctrine it teaches is universal,\npregnant with truth, endless in extent, eternal in duration, and full\nof the widest variety: Upon the earth it is illustrated by endless\nforms beautiful and grand, and in the trackless ether above, the stars\nand suns and moons gild its immortal pages.--_Rural Bird-Life in\nEngland._\n\nThe aspects of nature change ceaselessly, by day and by night, through\nthe seasons of the year, with every difference in latitude and\nlongitude; and endless are the profusion and variety of the results\nwhich illustrate the operation of her laws. But, let the productions\nof different climes and countries be never so unlike, she works by the\nsame methods; the spirit of her teachings never changes; nature herself\nis always the same, and the same wholesome, satisfying lessons are to\nbe learned in the contemplation of any of her works. We may change our\nskies, but not our minds, in crossing the sea to gain a glimpse of\nthat bird-life which finds its exact counterpart in our own woods and\nfields, at the very threshold of our own homes.--_Coues._\n\nThe boy was right, in a certain sense, when he said that he knew\nnature when she passed. Alone, he had hunted much in the woods day and\nnight. He knew the tall trees that were the <DW53>s' castles, and the\nhigh hills of the 'possum's rambles. He had a quick eye for the smooth\nholes where the squirrels hid or the leafy hammocks where they dozed\nthe heated hours away. The tangles where the bob-whites would stand and\nsun themselves stood out to him at a glance, and when the ruffed grouse\ndrummed he knew his perch and the screens to dodge behind as he crept\nup on him.--_Baskett._\n\n\n\n\nTHE QUAILS' QUADRILLE.\n\nBY MRS. A. S. HARDY.\n\n\nOne who loves the birds and is so much in sympathy with them as to make\nit appear sometimes that they have taken her into their \"order,\" had a\ncharming glimpse, a few years ago, of a covey of quails in one of their\nfrolics. She described it as follows:\n\n\"I never hear the call of 'Ah, Bob White!' or catch a glimpse of those\nshy little vocalists, that I do not think of how I once surprised\nthem in the prettiest dance I ever saw. I had heard of the games and\nthe frolics of birds and have often watched them with delight, but I\nnever saw any bird-play that interested me as this, that seemed like a\nquadrille of a little company of quails.\n\n\"They were holding their pretty carnival at the side of a country road\nalong which I was slowly strolling, and I came in sight of them so\nquietly as to be for a time unobserved, although they had two little\nsentinels posted--one at each end of the company.\n\n\"Between these bright-eyed little watchers, always on the alert, a\ndozen or more birds were tip-toeing in a square. Every motion was\nwith all the grace and harmony which are nature's own. At some little\nbird-signal which I didn't see, two birds advanced from diagonal\ncorners of the square, each bird tripping along with short, airy and\ngraceful steps, something like what we imagine characterized the\nold-time 'minuet.' Each bird, as the partners came near each other,\nbobbed its head in a graceful little bow, and both tripped back as they\ncame to their places in the square. Immediately the birds from the\ntwo other corners advanced with the same airy grace, the same short,\nquick, and tripping steps, saluting and retreating as the others had\ndone.\n\n\"A wagon driven along the road disturbed the band of dancers, who\nscudded away under leaves, through the fence, into the deep grass\nof the field beyond. When the team had passed out of sight and\nthe ball-room was again their own, back came the pretty revelers\nstealthily, their brown heads uplifted as their bright eyes scanned the\nlandscape. Seeing no intruder, they again took their places the same as\nbefore and began again the same quadrille--advancing, meeting, bowing,\nand retreating.\n\n\"It was the prettiest and most graceful little 'society affair' you\ncan imagine! There was no music--no song that I could hear--yet every\nlittle bird in every turn and step while the dance was on, moved as to\na measured harmony.\n\n\"Did the birds keep 'time--time, in a sort of runic rhyme' to melody\nin their hearts, or to a symphony, I could not hear, but which goes\nup unceasingly like a hymn of praise from nature's great orchestra? I\nlonged to know.\n\n\"In my delight and desire to learn more of the bewitching bird-play, I\nhalf forgot I was a clumsy woman, and an unconscious movement betrayed\nmy presence. The little sentinel nearest me quickly lifted his brown\nhead, and spying me gave his signal--how, I could not guess, for not\na sound was uttered; but all the dancers stretched their little necks\nan instant and sped away. In a moment the ground was cleared and the\ndancers came not back.\"\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: PRESENTED BY LOUIS G. KUNZE.\n                 ENGLISH GRAPES.\n                 2/3 Life-size.\n                 COPYRIGHT 1899,\n                 NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]\n\nTHE GRAPE.\n\nC. C. M.\n\n\nThe name grape is from the French _grappe_, a bunch of grapes; from\nthe same root as _gripe_ or _grab_, to grasp. It is one of the most\nvaluable fruits, not only because of its use in the manufacture of\nwine, and is the source also from which brandy, vinegar, and tartaric\nacid are obtained, but because, both in a fresh and dried state, it\nforms not a mere article of luxury, but a great part of the food of the\ninhabitants of some countries.\n\nThe cultivation of the vine was introduced into England by the Romans,\nand of late years its cultivation has much increased in gardens, on\nthe walls of suburban villas and of cottages, but chiefly for the sake\nof the fresh fruit, although wine is also made in small quantities for\ndomestic use.\n\nThe first attempt at the culture of the vine in the United States for\nwine-making was in Florida in 1564; and another was made by the British\ncolonist in 1620. In Delaware wine was made from native grapes as early\nas 1648. In 1683 William Penn engaged in the cultivation of the vine\nnear Philadelphia, but with only partial success. In 1825 the Catawba\nvine, a native of North Carolina, came into prominence; and it was\nafterward cultivated extensively near Cincinnati by Nicholas Longworth,\nwho has been called the father of this culture in the United States. In\n1858 the entire production of Catawba wine in Ohio amounted to 400,000\ngallons. In the states east of the Rocky mountains the greatest\nextent of territory in vineyards occurs in Ohio, New York, Missouri,\nPennsylvania, Illinois, Iowa, and Kansas, but at present they exist\nin nearly every state in the Union. Of all of the states, however,\nCalifornia is the most important for vine-growing. The vineyards were\nfirst cultivated there during the middle of the last century, the first\ngrape planted being the Los Angeles, which was the only one grown till\n1820.\n\nThe cultivation of the vine varies much in different countries. In the\nvineries of Britain the vines are carefully trained in various ways\nso as most completely to cover the walls and trellises and to turn\nthe whole available space to the utmost account. The luxuriant growth\nof the plant renders the frequent application of the pruning-knife\nnecessary during the summer. The bunches of grapes are generally\nthinned out with great care, in order that finer fruit may be produced.\nBy such means, and the aid of artificial heat, grapes are produced\nequal to those of the most favored climates, and the vine attains to a\nlarge size and a great age. The famous vine at Hampton Court has a stem\nmore than a foot in circumference, one branch measuring one hundred and\nfourteen feet in length, and has produced in one season two thousand\ntwo hundred bunches of grapes, weighing on an average one pound each,\nor in all about a ton.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAbout 250 years ago Dr. Power attributed the fly's locomotive power\nto \"a furry kind of substance like little sponges with which she hath\nlined the soles of her feet, which substance is also repleated with a\nwhitish viscous liquor, which she can at pleasure squeeze out, and so\nsodder and be-glue herself to the place she walks on, which otherwise\nher gravity would hinder, especially when she walks in those inverted\npositions.\" Scientific men refused to believe this explanation, and\ntaught that the bottom of a fly's foot resembled the leather sucker\nused by boys to lift stones, and that this formation enabled it to move\nback downwards. However it has been proved that Dr. Power was right in\nevery point but the sticky nature of the liquid that exudes from the\nfly's foot. This substance is not sticky, and the attachment which it\ncauses is brought about by capillary attraction.\n\n\n\n\nPROSE POEMS OF IVAN TURGENIEF.\n\n\nI dreamed that I stepped into a vast, subterranean, highly arched hall.\nA brilliant light illuminated it. In the middle of this hall was seated\nthe majestic figure of a woman, clothed in a green robe that fell in\nmany folds around her. Her head rested upon her hand; she seemed to be\nsunk in deep meditation. Instantly I comprehended that this woman must\nbe nature herself, and a sudden feeling of respectful terror stole into\nmy awed soul. I approached the woman, and, saluting her with reverence,\nsaid:\n\n\"O mother of us all, on what dost thou meditate? Thinkest thou,\nperchance, on the future fate of humanity, or of the path along\nwhich mankind must journey in order to attain the highest possible\nperfection--the highest happiness?\"\n\nThe woman slowly turned her dark, threatening eyes upon me. Her lips\nmoved and, in a tremendous, metallic voice she replied:\n\n\"I was pondering how to bestow greater strength upon the muscles of the\nflea's legs, so that it may more rapidly escape from its enemies. The\nbalance between attack and flight is deranged; it must be readjusted.\"\n\n\"What!\" I answered, \"is that thy only meditation? Are not we, mankind,\nthy best-loved and most precious children?\"\n\nThe woman slightly bent her brows and replied: \"All living creatures\nare my children; I cherish all equally, and annihilate all without\ndistinction.\"\n\n\"But Virtue, Reason, Justice!\" I faltered.\n\n\"Those are human words,\" replied the brazen voice. \"I know neither good\nnor evil. Reason to me is no law. And what is justice? I gave thee\nlife; I take it from thee and give it unto others; worms and men are\nall the same to me.... And thou must maintain thyself meanwhile, and\nleave me in peace.\"\n\nI would have replied, but the earth quaked and trembled, and I awoke.\n\nI was returning from hunting, and walking along an avenue of the\ngarden, my dog running in front of me.\n\nSuddenly he took shorter steps, and began to steal along as though\ntracking game.\n\nI looked along the avenue, and saw a young sparrow, with yellow about\nits beak and down on its head. It had fallen out of the nest (the wind\nwas violently shaking the birch trees in the avenue) and sat unable to\nmove, helplessly flapping its half-grown wings.\n\nMy dog was slowly approaching it, when, suddenly darting from a tree\nclose by, an old dark-throated sparrow fell like a stone right before\nhis nose, and all ruffled up, terrified, with despairing and pitiful\nchirps, it flung itself twice towards the open jaws of shining teeth.\nIt sprang to save; it cast itself before its nestling, but all its tiny\nbody was shaking with terror; its note was harsh and strange. Swooning\nwith fear, it offered itself up!\n\nWhat a huge monster must the dog have seemed to it! And yet it could\nnot stay on its high branch out of danger.... A force stronger than its\nwill flung it down.\n\nMy Tresor stood still, drew back.... Clearly he, too, recognized this\nforce.\n\nI hastened to call off the disconcerted dog, and went away full of\nreverence.\n\nYes; do not laugh. I felt reverence for that tiny heroic bird for its\nimpulse of love.\n\nLove, I thought, is stronger than death or the fear of death. Only by\nit, by love, life holds together and advances.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLUEBIRD.\n\n        Soft warbling note\n        From azure throat,\n    Float on the gentle air of spring;\n        To my quick ear\n        It doth appear\n    The sweetest of the birds that sing.\n\n                                        --_C. C. M._\n\n\nA bit of heaven itself.--_Spofford._\n\nThe bluebird carries the sky on his back.--_Thoreau._\n\nWinged lute that we call a bluebird.--_Rexford._\n\nThe bluebird is the color-bearer of the spring brigade.--_Wright._\n\n    A wise bluebird\n    Puts in his little heavenly word.\n\n                                        --_Lanier._\n\n    The bluebird, shifting his light load of song\n    From post to post along the cheerless fence.\n\n                                        --_Lowell._\n\nIt is his gentle, high-bred manner and not his azure coat which makes\nthe bluebird.--_Torrey._\n\nHow can we fail to regard its azure except as a fragment from the blue\nof the summer noonday arch?--_Silloway._\n\nThe bluebird always bears the national colors--red, white, and\nblue--and in its habits is a model of civilized bird-life.--_Dr.\nCooper._\n\nAt the first flash of vernal sun among the bare boughs of his old home\nhe hies northward to greet it with his song, and seems, unlike the\noriole, to help nature make the spring.--_Baskett._\n\nAs he sits on a branch lifting his wings there is an elusive charm\nabout his sad, quivering _tru-al-ly_, _tru-al-ly_. Ignoring our\npresence, he seems preoccupied with unfathomable thoughts of field and\nsky.--_Merriam._\n\nAnd yonder bluebird, with the earth tinge on his breast and the sky\ntinge on his back, did he come down out of heaven on that bright March\nmorning when he told us so softly and plaintively that if we pleased,\nspring had come?--_Burroughs._\n\nHe is \"true blue,\" which is as rare a color among birds as it is among\nflowers. He is the banner-bearer of bird-land also, and loyally floats\nthe tricolor from our trees and telegraph wires; for, besides being\nblue, is he not also red and white?--_Coues._\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST BLUEBIRD.\n\n    Jest rain and snow! and rain again!\n      And dribble! drip! and blow!\n    Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then\n      Some more rain and snow!\n\n    This morning I was 'most afeared\n      To wake up--when, I jing!\n    I seen the sun shine out and heerd\n      The first bluebird of spring!\n\n    Mother she'd raised the winder some;\n    And in acrost the orchard come,\n      Soft as an angel's wing,\n    A breezy, treesy, beesy hum,\n      Too sweet fer anything!\n\n    The winter's shroud was rent apart--\n      The sun burst forth in glee--\n    And when _that bluebird_ sung, my heart\n      Hopped out o' bed with me!\n\n                                        --_Riley._\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.\n                 SWIFT FOX.\n                 1/4 Life-size.\n                 COPYRIGHT 1899,\n                 NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]\n\nTHE KIT FOX.\n\nC. C. M.\n\n\nOne of the smallest of the foxes is the kit fox (_Vulpes velox_),\nsometimes called the swift fox and also the burrowing fox, getting\nthe latter name for the ability and rapidity with which it digs the\nholes in the ground in which it lives. It is an inhabitant of the\nnorthwestern states and of the western Canadian provinces, covering the\nregion from southeastern Nebraska northwest to British Columbia. Its\nlength is about twenty inches, exclusive of the tail, which is about\ntwelve inches long. The overhair is fine, the back is a pure gray, the\nsides yellow, and the under parts white. The ears are small and covered\nwith hair and the soles are also hairy. The kit fox is much smaller in\nsize than either the gray or red fox, but has proportionately longer\nlimbs than either of them.\n\nReynard, of all animals, in spite of the fact that he is accepted as\nthe emblem of cunning, slyness, deceit, and mischief, is praised by\nproverb and tradition, and the greatest of German poets, Goethe, made\nhim the subject of an epic. Pechuel-Loesche says:\n\n\"The fox of tradition and poetry and the fox in real life are really\ntwo very different animals. Whoever observes him with an unprejudiced\nmind fails to discover any extraordinary degree of that much-praised\npresence of mind, cleverness, cunning, and practical sense, or even an\nunusually keen development of the senses. In my opinion he is by no\nmeans superior in his endowments to other beasts of prey, especially\nthe wolf. The most that can be truly said in his praise is to admit\nthat, when he is pursued, he knows how to adapt himself to the\nsurrounding circumstances, but scarcely more so than other sagacious\nanimals. Like many other animals, including the harmless species, some\nold foxes may have their wits unusually sharpened by experience, but\nevery huntsman who has had much to do with foxes will admit that there\nare a great many which are not ingenious, and some which may even be\ncalled stupid, and this refers not only to young, inexperienced foxes,\nbut also to many old ones. The fox is a rascal and knows his trade,\nbecause he has to make a living somehow. He is impudent, but only when\ndriven by hunger or when he has to provide for his little family; and\nin bad plights he shows neither presence of mind nor deliberation, but\nloses his head completely. He is caught in clumsy traps, and this even\nrepeatedly. In the open country he allows a sled to approach him within\ngunshot; he permits himself to be surrounded in a hunt in spite of the\nnoise and shots, instead of wisely taking to his heels; in short, this\nanimal, which is more relentlessly pursued than any other inhabitant of\nthe woods, still has not learned to see through all the tricks of men\nand shape his actions accordingly.\"\n\nAll of which may be literally true, nevertheless Reynard is the hero of\na hundred stories and pictures and he will continue to be regarded as a\nremarkably clever and interesting animal.\n\nThe coat of the fox corresponds closely to his surroundings. Those\nspecies living on plains and deserts show the similarity of their color\nwith that of the ground; the southern fox differs considerably from the\nnorthern and the fox of the mountains from that of the plains.\n\nThe fox usually selects his home in deep hollows, between rocks covered\nwith branches, or between roots of trees. Whenever he can avoid doing\nso he does not dig a burrow himself, but establishes himself in some\nold, deserted badger's hole, or shares it with the badger in spite\nof the latter's objections. If it is possible, the fox excavates\nhis burrows in mountain walls, so that the conduits lead upwards,\nwithout running close to the surface. In his prowlings he regards his\nsecurity as paramount to every other consideration, according to\nfox hunters. He is suspicious, and only the pangs of hunger can goad\nhim into reckless actions. Then he becomes bold. Once a fox, which\nwas being hunted by hounds and had twice heard the shot whizzing by,\nseized a sick hare in his flight and carried it with him a considerable\ndistance. Another was surrounded in a field; he came out, attacked a\nwounded hare, killed it before the eyes of the huntsmen, rapidly buried\nit in the snow, and then fled directly through the line formed by the\nsportsmen.\n\nLitters of young foxes are born about the end of April or the beginning\nof May. Their number varies between three and twelve.\n\nLenz had a tame female fox which he received just as she was beginning\nto eat solid food, but had already become so vicious and so much\naddicted to biting that she always growled when eating her favorite\nfood and bit right and left into straw and wood, even when nobody was\ndisturbing her. Kind treatment soon made her so tame that she would\nallow him to take a freshly-killed rabbit out of her bloody mouth and\ninsert his fingers instead. Even when grown up she liked to play with\nhim, was demonstrative in her joy when he visited her, wagged her\ntail, whined, and jumped around. She was just as much pleased to see a\nstranger, and she distinguished strangers at a distance of fifty paces,\nwhen they were turning the corner of the house, and with loud cries\nwould invite them to come up to her, an honor which she never accorded\neither to him or his brother, who usually fed her, probably because she\nknew they would do so anyway.\n\nReynard has been known to attack and kill young calves and lambs, and\nif the seashore is near will revel in oysters and shellfish. A group\nof rabbits are feeding in a clover-patch. He'll crawl along, nibbling\nthe juicy flowers until near enough to make a grab. He'll stalk a bird,\nwith his hind legs dragging behind him, until near enough to spring.\nHow farmers dread his inroads in the poultry yard! Fasten the yard up\ntight and he will burrow a winding passage into the ground beneath\nand suddenly appear among the drowsy chickens and stupid geese, whose\nshrill and alarmed cries arouse the farmer from his bed to sally forth,\nfinding all safe. Then the fox will sneak back and pack away with the\nplumpest pullet or the fattest goose.\n\n\n\n\nAMONG ANIMALS.\n\n\nThe deer really weeps, its eyes being provided with lachrymal glands.\n\nAnts have brains larger in proportion to the size of their bodies than\nany other living creature.\n\nThere are three varieties of the dog that never bark--the Australian\ndog, the Egyptian shepherd dog and the \"lion-headed\" dog of Tibet.\n\nThe insect known as the water boatman has a regular pair of oars, his\nlegs being used as such. He swims on his back, as in this position\nthere is less resistance to his progress.\n\nSeventeen parcels of ants' eggs from Russia, weighing 550 pounds, were\nsold in Berlin recently for 20 cents a pound.\n\nThe peacock is now kept entirely, it would seem, for ornament--for\nthe ornament of garden terraces (among old-fashioned and trim-kept\nyew hedges he is specially in place)--in his living state, and for\nvarious æsthetic uses to which his brilliant plumage and hundred-eyed\ntailfeathers are put when he is dead or moulting. But we seldom eat him\nnow, though he used to figure with the boar's head, the swan and the\nbaron of beef on those boards which were beloved by our forefathers,\nmore valiant trenchermen than ourselves. Yet young peahen is uncommonly\ngood eating, even now, at the end of the nineteenth century, and in the\ncraze that some people have for new birds--Argus pheasants, Reeve's\npheasants, golden pheasants and what not--to stock their coverts, it is\na wonder that some one has not tried a sprinkling of peacocks.\n\n\n\n\nSPRING FASHIONS.\n\nELLA GILBERT IVES.\n\n\nEven in birddom some of the styles come from Paris, where the _rouge\ngorge_ smartens up his red waistcoat as regularly as the spring comes\nround. Our staid American robin tries to follow suit, though he never\ncan equal his old-world models. Even the English redbreast excels him\nin beauty and song. I must tell the truth, as an honest reporter,\nthough I am not a bit English, and would not exchange our _Merula\nmigratoria_ for a nightingale; for beauty is but feather-deep, and when\nour robin shines up his yellow bill--a spring fashion of his own--the\nsong that comes from it is dearer than the pot of gold at the end of\nthe rainbow. That little relative of his whom our forefathers called\nthe \"blue robin,\" has the same rufous color in his waistcoat, though\nit stops so short it always seems as if the stuff must have given out.\nNo Parisian or London dandy set the style for his lovely coat. If ever\na fashion came down from heaven, that did; and it came to the fresh,\nnew world and stopped here. No blue-coats perch on the rails in old\nEngland; perhaps because there is never clear sky enough to spare for a\nbird's back. We have so much on this continent, that half a dozen birds\ndress in the celestial hue; some of them, like the jay, all the year\nround.\n\nBut indigo bunting, whose summer coat and vest seem interwoven of blue\nsky and a thunder cloud, and then dipped in a sea-wave of foamy green,\nis not so lavish of his beauty. His plain wife and children, who dress\nalmost like common sparrows, have only shreds and patches of blue in\ntheir attire, and indigo _pater_ puts on the same dull shade for his\nwinter overcoat. But in spring, what a spruce old beau he is!--and\nhow he does like to show off in the tasseled oaks! So beautiful is\nhis changeable silk that one half suspects him of borrowing from the\npeacock's wardrobe. A grain of that lordly fowl's disposition may have\nmixed with the dye; for if there is a pointed spruce tree near, indigo\nis sure to perch on the tip-top and sing until you look at him. Still,\nhe loves beauty for beauty's sake, and is not really vain like the\ntanager.\n\nThat gorgeous bird actually sings, \"_Here pretty, pretty here!_\" with\nvariations, as if all loveliness focused in his feathers. He arrives\njust when the tender young foliage of May will half veil his vivid\nscarlet coat; and as it is less dependent on light than the indigo's,\nhe does not affect tree-tops, but perches under a spray of golden\noak leaves or the delicate green of an elm, and shines like a live\ncoal in a bed of leaves. If he were a British trooper he could not be\nmore resplendent in scarlet and black. Tanager is uniformed first for\nconquest, then for guard duty. He wears his bright trappings during\ncourting and nesting time, and the rest of the year doffs his scarlet\nand wears olive-green like that of his modest mate. He still carries\nblack wings and tail, however, to mark his sex.\n\nSo does gay little goldfinch, bird of winsome ways and a happy heart.\nHe, too, dresses up for courting; and how do you think he does it? All\nwinter long he has worn an olive-brown coat, as subdued as any finch's\nneeds to be; but when the willows begin to hint at the fashionable\nspring color, and the spice bush breathes its name, and the dandelions\nprint the news on the grass and the forsythia emblazons it on every\nlawn, and the sunset sky is a great bulletin board to announce it--then\nthis dainty bird peels off his dull winter overcoat, each tiny feather\ndropping a tip, and lo! underneath a garb that a Chinese Chang might\ncovet. To match his wings and tail, he puts on a black cap, and then\nyou never saw a more perfect \"glass of fashion and mold of form\"--at\nleast that is Mme. Goldfinch's opinion.\n\n\"_No dis-pu-ting a-bout tastes!_\" chirps chipping sparrow. He prefers\na dress of sober tints and thinks nothing so durable as gray and\nblack and brown. Though not a slave to fashion, he does freshen up a\nbit in the spring and puts on a new cap of chestnut, not to be too\nold fogyish. But he believes in wearing courting clothes all the year\nround. Young chippies put on striped bibs until they are out of the\nnursery, but the old folks like a plain shirt front.\n\nNo such notion has the barn-swallow. He believes in family equality,\neven in the matter of clothes; and having been born in a pretty and\nbecoming suit, wears it all the time. When the cinquefoil fingers the\ngrass, you may look for his swallow-tailed coat in the air; and if\nthe April sun strikes its steel-blue broadcloth, and discloses the\nbright chestnut muffler and the pale-tinted vest, you will rejoice that\nold fashions prevail in swallow-land. These swift-flying birds have\nsomething higher to think about than changing their clothes.\n\nIt seems otherwise with some birds of the meadow. That gay dandy,\nthe bobolink, for instance, lays himself out to make a sensation in\nthe breast of his fair one. When he started on his southern trip\nlast autumn, he wore a traveling-suit of buff and brown, not unlike\nMistress Bobolink's and the little Links'. No doubt he knew the danger\nlurking in the reeds of Pennsylvania and the rice-fields of Carolina,\nand hoped to escape observation while fattening there. In the spring,\nif fortunate enough to have escaped the gunner, he flies back to his\nnorthern home, \"dressed to kill,\" in human phrase, happily not, in bird\nlanguage. Robert o'Lincoln is a funny fellow disguised as a bishop.\nRichard Steele, the rollicking horse-guardsman, posing as a Christian\nhero, is a human parallel. With a black vest buttoned to the throat, a\nblack cap and choker, bobolink's front is as solemn as the end-man's at\na minstrel show. But what a coat! Buff, white and black in eccentric\ncombination; and at the nape of the neck, a yellow posy, that deepens\nwith the buttercups and fades almost as soon. Bobby is original, but\nhe conforms to taste, and introduces no discordant color-tone into his\nfield of buttercups and clover. In his ecstatic flight he seems to\nhave caught a field flower on his back; and if a golden-hearted daisy\nwere to speak, surely it would be in such a joyous tongue.\n\nA red, red rose never blooms in a clover meadow, and the grosbeak\ndoes not go there for his chief spring adornment. Red roses do bloom\nall the year, though none so lovely as the rose of June; and so the\ngrosbeak wears his distinctive flower at his throat the round year, but\nit is loveliest in early summer. I do not know a prettier fashion--do\nyou?--for human kind or bird, than a flower over the heart. I fancy\nthat a voice is sweeter when a breast is thus adorned. If ever the rich\npassion of a red, red rose finds expression, it is in the caressing,\nexultant love-song of the rose-breasted grosbeak. The one who inspires\nit looks like an overgrown sparrow; but grosbeak knows the difference,\nif you do not. If that wise parent should ever be in doubt as to his\nown son, who always favors the mother at the start, he has but to lift\nup the youngster's wings, and the rose-red lining will show at once\nthat he is no common sparrow.\n\nThat pretty fashion of a contrast in linings is not confined to the\ngrosbeak. The flicker, too, has his wings delicately lined with--a\nscrap of sunset sky. I do not know whether he found his material there\nor lower down in a marsh of marigolds; but when he flies over your\nhead into the elm tree and plies his trade, you will see that he is\nfitly named, golden-winged woodpecker. He makes no fuss over his spring\nclothes. A fresh red tie, which, oddly enough, he wears on the back of\nhis neck, a retinting of his bright lining, a new gloss on his spotted\nvest and striped coat, and his toilet is made. Madame Flicker is so\nlike her spouse that you would be puzzled to tell them apart, but for\nhis black mustache.\n\nThe flicker fashion of dressing alike may come from advanced notions\nof equality; whatever its source, the purple finch is of another mind.\nHe sacrifices much, almost his own identity, to love of variety; and\nyet he is never purple. His name simply perpetuates a blunder for which\nno excuse can be offered. Pokeberry is his prevailing hue, but so\nvariously is it intermingled with brown at different times and seasons\nand ages, that scarcely two finches look alike. The mother-bird wears\nthe protective colors of the sparrow, while young males seem to be\nof doubtful mind which parent to copy; and so a purple finch family\npresents diversity of attire puzzling to a novice.\n\nBut why, pray, should a bird family wear a uniform, as if a charity\nschool or a foundling hospital? The gay little warblers are not\ninstitutional to that degree. An example of their originality is\nredstart--another misnamed bird. He wears the colors of Princeton\nCollege, or rather, the college wears his; and a lordly male privilege\nit is, in both cases. His mate contents herself with pale yellow and\ngray, while the young male waits three years before putting on his\nfather's coat. The first year he wears his mother's dress; the second,\na motley betwixt and between; the third, he is a tree \"_candelita_,\"\nor little torch, lighting up his winter home in a Cuban forest, and\nbringing Spanish fashions to New England with the May blossoms.\n\n      When dame nature in the spring\n      For her annual opening\n    Has her doors and windows washed by April showers;\n      When the sun has turned the key,\n      And the loosened buds are free\n    To come out and pile the shelving rocks with flowers;\n\n      When the maple wreathes her head\n      With a posy-garland red,\n    And the grass-blade sticks a feather in his cap;\n      When the tassels trim the birch,\n      And the oak-tree in the lurch\n    Hurries up to get some fringes for his wrap;\n\n      When the willow's yellow sheen\n      And the meadow's emerald green\n    Are the fashionable colors of the day;\n      When the bank its pledges old\n      Pays in dandelion gold,\n    And horse-chestnut folds its baby hands to pray--\n\n      Then from Cuba and the isles\n      Where a tropic sun beguiles,\n    And from lands beyond the Caribbean sea,\n      Every dainty warbler flocks\n      With a tiny music-box\n    And a trunk of pretty feathers duty-free.\n\n      And in colors manifold,\n      Orange, scarlet, blue, and gold,\n    Green and yellow, black, and brown and grays galore,\n      They will thread the forest aisles\n      With the very latest styles,\n    And a tune apiece to open up the score.\n\n      But they do not care to part\n      With their decorative art,\n    Which must always have the background of a tree;\n      And will surely bring a curse\n      To a grasping mind or purse,\n    Since God loves the birds as well as you and me.\n\n\n\n\nBIRDS THAT DO NOT SING.\n\n\nSinging is applied to birds in the same sense that it is to human\nbeings--the utterance of musical notes. Every person makes vocal sounds\nof some kind, but many persons never attempt to sing. So it is with\nbirds. The eagle screams, the owl hoots, the wild goose honks, the crow\ncaws, but none of these discordant sounds can be called singing.\n\nWith the poet, the singing of birds means merry, light-hearted\njoyousness, and most of us are poetic enough to view it in the same\nway. Birds sing most in the spring and the early summer, those happiest\nseasons of the year, while employed in nest-building and in rearing\ntheir young. Many of our musical singers are silent all the rest of the\nyear; at least they utter only low chirpings.\n\nOutside of what are properly classed as song birds there are many\nspecies that never pretend to sing; in fact, these far outnumber the\nmusicians. They include the water birds of every kind, both swimmers\nand waders; all the birds of prey, eagles, hawks, owls, and vultures;\nand all the gallinaceous tribes, comprising pheasants, partridges,\nturkeys, and chickens. The gobble of the turkey cock, the defiant crow\nof the \"bob-white,\" are none of them true singing; yet it is quite\nprobable that all of these sounds are uttered with precisely similar\nmotives to those that inspire the sweet warbling of the song-sparrow,\nthe clear whistle of the robin, or the thrilling music of the\nwood-thrush.--_Philadelphia Times._\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: CHICAGO COLORTYPE CO., CHIC. & NEW YORK.\n                 HYACINTH.\n                 Life-size\n                 COPYRIGHT 1899,\n                 NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]\n\nTHE HYACINTH.\n\n    I sometimes think that never blows so red\n    The rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;\n    That every hyacinth the garden wears\n    Dropt in her lap from some once lovely head.\n\n                                        --_Omar Khayyam._\n\n\nHyacinth, also called Jacinth, is said to be \"supreme amongst the\nflowers of spring.\" It was in cultivation before 1597, and is therefore\nnot a new favorite. Gerard, at the above date, records the existence\nof six varieties. Rea, in 1676, mentions several single and double\nvarieties as being then in English gardens, and Justice, in 1754,\ndescribes upwards of fifty single-flowered varieties, and nearly one\nhundred double-flowered ones, as a selection of the best from the\ncatalogues of two then celebrated Dutch growers. One of the Dutch\nsorts, called _La Reine de Femmes_, is said to have produced from\nthirty-four to thirty-eight flowers in a spike, and on its first\nappearance to have sold for fifty guilders a bulb. Others sold for\neven larger sums. Justice relates that he himself raised several very\nvaluable double-flowered kinds from seeds, which many of the sorts he\ndescribes are noted for producing freely.\n\nIt is said that the original of the cultivated hyacinth (_Hyacinthus\norientalis_) is by comparison an insignificant plant, bearing on a\nspike only a few small, narrow-lobed, wash, blue flowers. So great has\nbeen the improvement effected by the florists that the modern hyacinth\nwould hardly be recognized as the descendant of the type above referred\nto, the spikes being long and dense, composed of a large number of\nflowers; the spikes not infrequently measure six or seven inches in\nlength and from seven to nine inches in circumference, with the flowers\nclosely set on from bottom to top. Of late years much improvement has\nbeen effected in the size of the individual flowers and the breadth\nof their recurving lobes, as well as in securing increased brilliancy\nand depth of color. The names of hyacinths are now almost legion, and\nof all colors, carmine red, dark blue, lilac-pink, bluish white,\nindigo-blue, silvery-pink, rose, yellow, snow-white, azure-blue. The\nbulbs of the hyacinths are said to be as near perfection as can be;\nand if set early in well-prepared soil, free from all hard substances,\ngiven plenty of room, and mulched with leaves and trash, which should\nbe removed in the spring, they will be even more beautiful than any\ndescription can indicate. When potted for winter bloom in the house,\ngood soil, drainage, and space must be given to them and they must\nbe kept moist and cool, as well as in the dark while forming roots\npreparatory to blooming. After they are ready to bloom they do best in\nrooms having a southern exposure, as they will need only the warmth of\nthe sunlight to perfect them. The hyacinth does not tolerate gas and\nartificial heat.\n\nThere is a pretty legend connected with the hyacinth. Hyacinthus was\na mythological figure associated with the hyacinthia, a festival\ncelebrated by the Spartans in honor of Apollo of Amyclæ, whose\nprimitive image, standing on a throne, is described by Pausanias. The\nlegend is to the effect that Hyacinthus, a beautiful youth beloved by\nthe god, was accidentally killed by him with a discus. From his blood\nsprang a dark- flower called after him hyacinth, on whose petals\nis the word \"alas.\" The myth is one of the many popular representations\nof the beautiful spring vegetation slain by the hot sun of summer. The\nsister of Hyacinthus is Polyboca, the much-nourishing fertility of the\nrich Amyclæan valley; while his brother is Cynortas, the rising of the\ndog (the hot) star. But with the death of the spring is united the idea\nof its certain resuscitation in a new year. The festival took place\non the three hottest days of summer, and its rites were a mixture of\nmourning and rejoicing.\n\n                                        C. C. M.\n\n\n\n\nA QUARREL BETWEEN JENNY WREN AND THE FLYCATCHERS.\n\nC. L. GRUBER,\n\nState Normal School, Kutztown, Pa.\n\n\nFor a number of years a crested flycatcher has built his nest in a\nhole in an apple tree in my yard, about twenty feet from a house\nconstructed for the habitation of the wrens. Jenny usually showed no\nanimosity toward her neighbor; but one spring, while nest-building was\nin progress, she suddenly seemed to have decided that the flycatcher's\nabode was in too close proximity to her own domicile and deliberately\ninvaded the flycatcher's domains and dumped the materials of his nest\non the walk beneath the tree. When the flycatcher returned the air was\nfilled with his protests, while the wren saucily and defiantly answered\nhim from the roof of her own dwelling. The flycatcher immediately\nproceeded to build anew, but before he had fairly commenced, the\npugnacious wren made another raid and despoiled his nest again. This\nhappened a third time; then the flycatcher and his mate took turns\nin watching and building. While one went out in search of building\nmaterial the other remained on guard just inside the door. The\nsituation now became exceedingly interesting, and at times ludicrous.\nJenny Wren is a born fighter, and can whip most birds twice her size,\nbut she seemed to consider the flycatcher more than a match for her.\nThe first few times after the flycatcher made it his business to stay\non guard, the wren would fly boldly to the opening, but would flee\njust as precipitately on the appearance of the enemy from the inside.\nAfter each retreat there was a great deal of threatening, scolding,\nand parleying, and Jenny several times seemed fairly beside herself\nwith rage, while the flycatcher coolly whistled his challenge on the\nother side of the line of neutrality. The wren now adopted different\nstrategy. She flew to the tree from a point where the flycatcher could\nnot see her, then hurried along the limb in which the flycatcher lay\nconcealed and circled around the hole, all the time endeavoring to take\na peep on the inside without herself being observed, in the vain hope\nthat her enemy might not be at home. Suddenly there would be a flutter\nof wings and a brown streak through the air, followed by another as the\nflycatcher, shot like a bullet from the opening in the tree; but the\nactive marauder was safely hidden amid the grapevines, and the baffled\nflycatcher returned to his picket line, hurling back epithets and\ntelling Jenny that he would surely catch her next time. In this manner\nthe strife continued for several days. Then a truce seemed to have been\narranged. Certainly the flycatcher was still on guard, but the wrens\nwent about their work and did not molest the flycatchers except at long\nintervals. I thought the flycatchers had conquered; but one morning\nwhen I came out, there on the walk were three broken, brown-penciled\neggs, nest, snakeskin, and all. The flycatcher had put too much trust\nin the wren's unconcernedness, and came back to find himself once more\nwithout a nest. But Jenny seemed to have desired only one more stroke\nof revenge, and the flycatchers finally succeeded in raising their\nfamily in front of the home of Jenny Wren.\n\n\n\n\n  +----------------------------------------------------------------- +\n  | Transcriber's Note:                                              |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.     |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant |\n  | form was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.    |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.            |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | Mid-paragraph illustrations have been moved between paragraphs   |\n  | and some illustrations have been moved closer to the text that   |\n  | references them.                                                 |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | Italicized words are surrounded by underline characters,         |\n  | _like this_.                                                     |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | The Contents table was added by the transcriber.                 |\n  |                                                                  |\n  | The chapter on \"An Abandonned Home\" is continued in              |\n  | Vol. V., No. 5, page 198.                                        |\n  +------------------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Birds and All Nature, Vol. V, No. 4,\nApril 1899, by Various\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPETTICOAT RULE\n\nBY\n\nBARONESS ORCZY\n\nAUTHOR OF \"THE ELUSIVE PIMPERNEL,\" \"I WILL REPAY,\" \"THE SCARLET\nPIMPERNEL,\" ETC.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nHODDER & STOUGHTON\nNEW YORK\nGEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY\n\n_Copyright, 1909,_\nBy Baroness Orczy\n\n_Copyright, 1910,_\nBy George H. Doran Company\n\n\n\n\nTO\n\nTHEODORE WATTS-DUNTON\n\nTHE KIND FRIEND WHOSE APPRECIATION HAS CHEERED ME, THE\nIDEALIST WHOSE WORK HAS GUIDED ME, THE BRILLIANT\nINTELLECT WHOSE PRAISE HAS ENCOURAGED ME\n\nTHIS BOOK IS DEDICATED\n\nIN TOKEN OF ADMIRATION, REGARD, AND FRIENDSHIP\n\nEMMUSKA ORCZY\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nPART I\n\nTHE GIRL\n\nCHAPTER                                     PAGE\n      I.--A FAREWELL BANQUET                   3\n     II.--THE RULERS OF FRANCE                10\n    III.--POMPADOUR'S CHOICE                  23\n     IV.--A WOMAN'S SURRENDER                 32\n      V.--THE FIRST TRICK                     45\n     VI.--A FALSE POSITION                    51\n    VII.--THE YOUNG PRETENDER                 58\n   VIII.--THE LAST TRICK                      72\n     IX.--THE WINNING HAND                    82\n\n\nPART II\n\nTHE STATESMAN\n\n      X.--THE BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK             95\n     XI.--LA BELLE IRENE                     103\n    XII.--THE PROMISES OF FRANCE             112\n   XIII.--THE WEIGHT OF ETIQUETTE            127\n    XIV.--ROYAL FAVOURS                      136\n     XV.--DIPLOMACY                          148\n    XVI.--STRANGERS                          160\n\n\nPART III\n\nTHE WOMAN\n\n   XVII.--SPLENDID ISOLATION                 179\n  XVIII.--CLEVER TACTICS                     185\n    XIX.--A CRISIS                           201\n     XX.--A FAREWELL                         212\n    XXI.--ROYAL THANKS                       215\n   XXII.--PATERNAL ANXIETY                   221\n  XXIII.--THE QUEEN'S SOIREE                 228\n   XXIV.--GOSSIP                             233\n    XXV.--THE FIRST DOUBT                    238\n   XXVI.--THE AWFUL CERTITUDE                245\n  XXVII.--A FALL                             267\n XXVIII.--HUSBAND AND WIFE                   276\n   XXIX.--THE FATE OF THE STUART PRINCE      294\n    XXX.--M. DE STAINVILLE'S SECONDS         308\n   XXXI.--THE FINAL DISAPPOINTMENT           321\n  XXXII.--THE DAWN                           328\n XXXIII.--THE RIDE                           333\n  XXXIV.--\"LE MONARQUE\"                      338\n   XXXV.--THE STRANGER                       349\n  XXXVI.--REVENGE                            359\n XXXVII.--THE LETTER                         370\nXXXVIII.--THE HOME IN ENGLAND                375\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\nTHE GIRL\n\n\n\n\nPETTICOAT RULE\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nA FAREWELL BANQUET\n\n\n\"D'Aumont!\"\n\n\"Eh? d'Aumont!\"\n\nThe voice, that of a man still in the prime of life, but already\nraucous in its tone, thickened through constant mirthless laughter,\nrendered querulous too from long vigils kept at the shrine of\npleasure, rose above the incessant babel of women's chatter, the din\nof silver, china and glasses passing to and fro.\n\n\"Your commands, sire?\"\n\nM. le Duc d'Aumont, Marshal of France, prime and sole responsible\nMinister of Louis the Well-beloved, leant slightly forward, with\nelbows resting on the table, and delicate hands, with fingers\ninterlaced, white and carefully tended as those of a pretty woman,\nsupporting his round and somewhat fleshy chin.\n\nA handsome man M. le Duc, still on the right side of fifty, courtly\nand pleasant-mannered to all. Has not Boucher immortalized the\ngood-natured, rather weak face, with that perpetual smile of unruffled\namiability forever lurking round the corners of the full-lipped mouth?\n\n\"Your commands, sire?\"\n\nHis eyes--gray and prominent--roamed with a rapid movement of enquiry\nfrom the face of the king to that of a young man with fair, curly\nhair, worn free from powder, and eyes restless and blue, which stared\nmoodily into a goblet full of wine.\n\nThere was a momentary silence in the vast and magnificent dining hall,\nthat sudden hush which--so the superstitious aver--descends three\ntimes on every assembly, however gay, however brilliant or\nthoughtless: the hush which to the imaginative mind suggests the\nflutter of unseen wings.\n\nThen the silence was broken by loud laughter from the King.\n\n\"They are mad, these English, my friend! What?\" said Louis the\nWell-beloved with a knowing wink directed at the fair-haired young man\nwho sat not far from him.\n\n\"Mad, indeed, sire?\" replied the Duke. \"But surely not more\nconspicuously so to-night than at any other time?\"\n\n\"Of a truth, a hundred thousand times more so,\" here interposed a\nsomewhat shrill feminine voice--\"and that by the most rigid rules of\nbrain-splitting arithmetic!\"\n\nEveryone listened. Conversations were interrupted; glasses were put\ndown; eager, attentive faces turned toward the speaker; this was no\nless a personage than Jeanne Poisson now Marquise de Pompadour; and\nwhen she opened her pretty mouth Louis the Well-beloved, descendant of\nSaint Louis, King of France and of all her dominions beyond the seas,\nhung breathless upon those well-rouged lips, whilst France sat silent\nand listened, eager for a share of that smile which enslaved a King\nand ruined a nation.\n\n\"Let us have that rigid rule of arithmetic, fair one,\" said Louis\ngaily, \"by which you can demonstrate to us that M. le Chevalier here\nis a hundred thousand times more mad than any of his accursed\ncountrymen.\"\n\n\"Nay, sire, 'tis simple enough,\" rejoined the lady. \"M. le Chevalier\nhath need of a hundred thousand others in order to make his insanity\ncomplete, a hundred thousand Englishmen as mad as April fishes, to\nhelp him conquer a kingdom of rain and fogs. Therefore I say he is a\nhundred thousand times more mad than most!\"\n\nLoud laughter greeted this sally. Mme. la Marquise de Pompadour, so\nlittle while ago simply Jeanne Poisson or Mme. d'Etioles, was not yet\n_blasee_ to so much adulation and such fulsome flattery; she looked a\nveritable heaven of angelic smiles; her eyes blue--so her dithyrambic\nchroniclers aver--as the dark-toned myosotis, wandered from face to\nface along the length of that gorgeously spread supper table, round\nwhich was congregated the flower of the old aristocracy of France.\n\nShe gleaned an admiring glance here, an unspoken murmur of flattery\nthere, even the women--and there were many--tried to look approvingly\nat her who ruled the King and France. One face alone remained\ninscrutable and almost severe, the face of a woman--a mere girl--with\nstraight brow and low, square forehead, crowned with a wealth of soft\nbrown hair, the rich tones of which peeped daringly through the\nconventional mist of powder.\n\nMme. de Pompadour's sunny smile disappeared momentarily when her eyes\nrested on this girl's face; a frown--oh! hardly that; but a shadow,\nshall we say?--marred the perfect purity of her brow. The next moment\nshe had yielded her much-beringed hand to her royal worshipper's\neager grasp and he was pressing a kiss on each rose-tipped finger,\nwhilst she shrugged her pretty shoulders.\n\n\"Brrr!\" she said, with a mock shiver, \"here is Mlle. d'Aumont frowning\nstern disapproval at me. Surely, Chevalier,\" she asked, turning to the\nyoung man beside her, \"a comfortable armchair in your beautiful palace\nof St. Germain is worth a throne in mist-bound London?\"\n\n\"Not when that throne is his by right,\" here interposed Mlle. d'Aumont\nquietly. \"The palace of St. Germain is but a gift to the King of\nEngland, for which he owes gratitude to the King of France.\"\n\nA quick blush now suffused the cheeks of the young man, who up to now\nhad seemed quite unconscious of Mme. de Pompadour's sallies or of the\nhilarity directed against himself. He gave a rapid glance at Mlle.\nd'Aumont's haughty, somewhat imperious face and at the delicate mouth,\nround which an almost imperceptible curl of contempt seemed still to\nlinger.\n\n\"La! Mademoiselle,\" rejoined the Marquise, with some acerbity, \"do we\nnot all hold gifts at the hands of the King of France?\"\n\n\"We have no sovereignty of our own, Madame,\" replied the young girl\ndrily.\n\n\"As for me,\" quoth King Louis, hastily interposing in this feminine\npassage of arms, \"I drink to our gallant Chevalier de St. George, His\nMajesty King Charles Edward Stuart of England, Scotland, Wales, and of\nthe whole of that fog-ridden kingdom. Success to your cause,\nChevalier,\" he added, settling his fat body complacently in the\ncushions of his chair; and raising his glass, he nodded benignly\ntoward the young Pretender.\n\n\"To King Charles Edward of England!\" rejoined Mme. de Pompadour gaily.\n\nAnd \"To King Charles Edward of England!\" went echoing all around the\nvast banqueting-hall.\n\n\"I thank you all,\" said the young man, whose sullen mood seemed in no\nway dissipated at these expressions of graciousness and friendship.\n\"Success to my cause is assured if France will lend me the aid she\npromised.\"\n\n\"What right have you to doubt the word of France, Monseigneur?\"\nretorted Mlle. d'Aumont earnestly.\n\n\"A truce! a truce! I entreat,\" here broke in King Louis with mock\nconcern. \"_Par Dieu_, this is a banquet and not a Council Chamber! Joy\nof my life,\" he added, turning eyes replete with admiration on the\nbeautiful woman beside him, \"do not allow politics to mar this\npleasant entertainment. M. le Duc, you are our host, I pray you direct\nconversation into more pleasing channels.\"\n\nNothing loth, the brilliant company there present quickly resumed the\nirresponsible chatter which was far more to its liking than talk of\nthrones and doubtful causes. The flunkeys in gorgeous liveries made\nthe round of the table, filling the crystal glasses with wine. The\natmosphere was heavy with the fumes of past good cheer, and the scent\nof a thousand roses fading beneath the glare of innumerable\nwax-candles. An odour of perfume, of powder and cosmetics hovered in\nthe air; the men's faces looked red and heated; on one or two heads\nthe wig stood awry, whilst trembling fingers began fidgeting with the\nlace-cravats at the throat.\n\nCharles Edward's restless blue eyes searched keenly and feverishly the\nfaces around him; morose, gloomy, he was still reckoning in his mind\nhow far he could trust these irresponsible pleasure-lovers, that\ndescendant of the great Louis over there, fat of body and heavy of\nmind, lost to all sense of kingly dignity whilst squandering the\nnation's money on the whims and caprices of the ex-wife of a Parisian\nvictualler, whom he had created Marquise de Pompadour.\n\nThese men who lived only for good cheer, for heady wines, games of\ndice and hazard, nights of debauch and illicit pleasures, what help\nwould they be to him in the hour of need? What support in case of\nfailure?\n\n\"What right have you to doubt the word of France?\" was asked of him by\none pair of proud lips--a woman's, only a girl's.\n\nCharles Edward looked across the table at Mlle. d'Aumont. Like\nhimself, she sat silent in the midst of the noisy throng, obviously\nlending a very inattentive ear to the whisperings of the handsome\ncavalier beside her.\n\nAh! if they were all like her, if she were a representative of the\nwhole nation of France, the young adventurer would have gone to his\nhazardous expedition with a stauncher and a lighter heart. But, as\nmatters stood, what could he expect? What had he got as a serious\nasset in this gamble for life and a throne? A few vague promises from\nthat flabby, weak-kneed creature over there on whom the crown of Saint\nLouis sat so strangely and so ill; a few smiles from that frivolous\nand vain woman, who drained the very heart's blood of an impoverished\nnation to its last drop, in order to satisfy her costly whims or chase\naway the frowns of ennui from the brow of an effete monarch.\n\nAnd what besides?\n\nA farewell supper, ringing toasts, good wine, expensive food offered\nby M. le Duc d'Aumont, the Prime Minister of France--a thousand roses,\nnow fading, which had cost a small fortune to coax into bloom; a\nhandshake from his friends in France; a \"God-speed\" and \"_Dieu vous\ngarde_, Chevalier!\" and a few words of stern encouragement from a\ngirl.\n\nWith all that in hand, Chevalier St. George, go and conquer your\nkingdom beyond the sea!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE RULERS OF FRANCE\n\n\nGreat activity reigned in the corridors and kitchens of the old\nchateau. M. le Chef--the only true rival the immortal Vatel ever\nhad--in white cap and apron, calm and self-possessed as a\nfield-marshal in the hour of victory, and surrounded by an army of\nscullions and wenches, was directing the operations of dishing-up--the\ncrowning glory of his arduous labours. Pies and patties, haunches of\nvenison, trout and carp from the Rhine were placed on gold and silver\ndishes and adorned with tasteful ornaments of truly architectural\nbeauty and monumental proportions. These were then handed over to the\nfootmen, who, resplendent in gorgeous liveries of scarlet and azure,\nhurried along the marble passages carrying the masterpieces of\nculinary art to the banqueting-hall beyond, whilst the butlers, more\nsedate and dignified in sober garb of puce or brown, stalked along in\nstately repose bearing the huge tankards and crystal jugs.\n\nAll of the best that the fine old Chateau d'Aumont could provide was\nbeing requisitioned to-night, since M. le Duc and Mlle. Lydie, his\ndaughter, were giving a farewell banquet to Charles Edward Stuart by\nthe grace of God--if not by the will of the people--King of Great\nBritain and Ireland and all her dependencies beyond the seas.\n\nFor him speeches were made, toasts drunk and glasses raised; for him\nthe ducal veneries had been ransacked, the ducal cellars shorn of\ntheir most ancient possessions; for him M. le Chef had raged and\nstormed for five hours, had expended the sweat of his brow and the\nintricacies of his brain; for him the scullions' backs had smarted,\nthe wenches' cheeks had glowed, all to do honour to the only rightful\nKing of England about to quit the hospitable land of France in order\nto conquer that island kingdom which his grandfather had lost.\n\nBut in the noble _salle d'armes_, on the other hand, there reigned a\npompous and dignified silence, in strange contrast to the bustle and\nagitation of the kitchens and the noise of loud voices and laughter\nthat issued from the banqueting hall whenever a door was opened and\nquickly shut again.\n\nHere perfumed candles flickered in massive candelabra, shedding dim\ncircles of golden light on carved woodwork, marble floor, and\ndull-toned tapestries. The majestic lions of D'Aumont frowned stolidly\nfrom their high pedestals on this serene abode of peace and dignity,\none foot resting on the gilded shield with the elaborate coat-of-arms\nblazoned thereon in scarlet and azure, the other poised aloft as if in\nsolemn benediction.\n\nM. Joseph, own body servant to M. le Duc, in magnificent D'Aumont\nlivery, his cravat a marvel of costly simplicity, his elegant,\nwell-turned calves--encased in fine silk stockings--stretched lazily\nbefore him, was sprawling on the brocade-covered divan in the centre\nof the room.\n\nM. Benedict, equally resplendent in a garb of motley that recalled the\nheraldic colours of the Comte de Stainville, stood before him, not in\nan attitude of deference of course, but in one of easy friendship;\nwhilst M. Achille--a blaze of scarlet and gold--was holding out an\nelegant silver snuff-box to M. Joseph, who, without any superfluous\nmotion of his dignified person, condescended to take a pinch.\n\nWith arm and elbow held at a graceful angle, M. Joseph paused in the\nvery act of conveying the snuff to his delicate nostrils. He seemed to\nthink that the occasion called for a remark from himself, but\nevidently nothing very appropriate occurred to him for the moment, so\nafter a few seconds of impressive silence he finally partook of the\nsnuff, and then flicked off the grains of dust from his immaculate\nazure waistcoat with a lace-edged handkerchief.\n\n\"Where does your Marquis get his snuff?\" he asked with an easy\ngraciousness of manner.\n\n\"We get it direct from London,\" replied M. Achille sententiously. \"I\nam personally acquainted with Mme. Veronique, who is cook to Mme. de\nla Beaume and the sweetheart of Jean Laurent, own body-servant to\nGeneral de Puisieux. The old General is Chief of Customs at Havre, so\nyou see we pay no duty and get the best of snuff at a ridiculous\nprice.\"\n\n\"Ah! that's lucky for you, my good Eglinton,\" said M. Benedict, with a\nsigh. \"Your Marquis is a good sort, and as he is not personally\nacquainted with Mme. Veronique, I doubt not but he pays full price for\nhis snuff.\"\n\n\"One has to live, friend Stainville,\" quoth Achille solemnly--\"and I\nam not a fool!\"\n\n\"Exactly so; and with an English milor your life is an easy one,\nMonsieur.\"\n\n\"Comme-ci! comme-ca!\" nodded Achille deprecatingly.\n\n\"Le petit Anglais is very rich?\" suggested Benedict.\n\n\"Boundlessly so!\" quoth the other, with conscious pride.\n\n\"Now, if perchance you could see your way to introducing me to Mme.\nVeronique. Eh? I have to pay full price for my Count's snuff, and he\nwill have none but the best; but if I could get Mme. Veronique's\nprotection----\"\n\nAchille's manner immediately changed at this suggestion, made with\nbecoming diffidence; he drew back a few steps as if to emphasize the\ndistance which must of necessity lie between supplicant and patron. He\ntook a pinch of snuff, he blew his nose with stately deliberation--all\nin order to keep the petitioner waiting on tenterhooks.\n\nFinally he drew up his scarlet and gold shoulders until they almost\ntouched his ears.\n\n\"It will be difficult, very, very difficult my good Stainville,\" he\nsaid at last, speaking in measured tones. \"You see, Mme. Veronique is\nin a very delicate position; she has a great deal of influence of\ncourse, and it is not easy to obtain her protection. Still, I will see\nwhat I can do, and you can place your petition before her.\"\n\n\"Do not worry yourself, my good Eglinton,\" here interposed M. Benedict\nwith becoming hauteur. \"I thought as you had asked me yesterday to use\nmy influence with our Mlle. Mariette, the fiancee of Colonel\nJauffroy's third footman, with regard to your nephew's advancement in\nhis regiment, that perhaps---- But no matter--no matter!\" he added,\nwith a deprecatory wave of the hand.\n\n\"You completely misunderstood me, my dear Stainville,\" broke in M.\nAchille, eagerly. \"I said that the matter was difficult; I did not say\nthat it was impossible. Mme. Veronique is beset with petitions, but\nyou may rely on my friendship. I will obtain the necessary\nintroduction for you if you, on the other hand, will bear my nephew's\ninterests in mind.\"\n\n\"Say no more about it, my good Eglinton,\" said Benedict, with easy\ncondescension; \"your nephew will get his promotion on the word of a\nStainville.\"\n\nPeace and amity being once more restored between the two friends, M.\nJoseph thought that he had now remained silent far longer than was\ncompatible with his own importance.\n\n\"It is very difficult, of course, in our position,\" he said pompously,\n\"to do justice to the many demands which are made on our influence and\npatronage. Take my own case, for instance--my Duke leaves all\nappointments in my hands. In the morning, whilst I shave him, I have\nbut to mention a name to him in connection with any post under\nGovernment that happens to be vacant, and immediately the favoured\none, thus named by me, receives attention, nearly always followed by a\nnomination.\"\n\n\"Hem! hem!\" came very discreetly from the lips of M. Benedict.\n\n\"You said?\" queried Joseph, with a slight lifting of the right\neyebrow.\n\n\"Oh! nothing--nothing! I pray you continue; the matter is vastly\nentertaining.\"\n\n\"At the present moment,\" continued M. Joseph, keeping a suspicious eye\non the other man, \"I am deeply worried by this proposal which comes\nfrom the Parliaments of Rennes and Paris.\"\n\n\"A new Ministry of Finance to be formed,\" quoth M. Achille. \"We know\nall about it.\"\n\n\"With direct control of the nation's money and responsible to the\nParliaments alone,\" assented Joseph. \"The Parliaments! Bah!\" he added\nin tones of supreme contempt, \"_bourgeois_ the lot of them!\"\n\n\"Their demands are preposterous, so says my milor. 'Tis a marvel His\nMajesty has given his consent.\"\n\n\"I have advised my Duke not to listen to the rabble,\" said Joseph, as\nhe readjusted the set of his cravat. \"A Ministry responsible to the\nParliaments! Ridiculous, I say!\"\n\n\"I understand, though,\" here interposed M. Achille, \"that the\nParliaments, out of deference for His Majesty are willing that the\nKing himself shall appoint this new Comptroller of Finance.\"\n\n\"The King, my good Eglinton,\" calmly retorted M. Joseph--\"the King\nwill leave this matter to us. You may take it from me that we shall\nappoint this new Minister, and an extremely pleasant post it will be.\nComptroller of Finance! All the taxes to pass through the Minister's\nhands! Par Dieu! does it not open out a wide field for an ambitious\nman?\"\n\n\"Hem! hem!\" coughed M. Benedict again.\n\n\"You seem to be suffering from a cold, sir,\" said M. Joseph irritably.\n\n\"Not in the least,\" rejoined Benedict hastily--\"a slight tickling in\nthe throat. You were saying, M. Joseph, that you hoped this new\nappointment would fall within your sphere of influence.\"\n\n\"Nay! If you doubt me, my good Stainville----\" And M. Joseph rose with\nslow and solemn majesty from the divan, where he had been reclining,\nand walking across the room with a measured step, he reached an\nescritoire whereon ink and pens, letters tied up in bundles, loose\npapers, and all the usual paraphernalia commonly found on the desk of\na busy man. M. Joseph sat down at the table and rang a handbell.\n\nThe next moment a young footman entered, silent and deferential.\n\n\"Is any one in the ante-room, Paul?\" asked Joseph.\n\n\"Yes, M. Joseph.\"\n\n\"How many?\"\n\n\"About thirty persons.\"\n\n\"Go tell them, then, that M. Joseph is not receiving to-night. He is\nentertaining a circle of friends. Bring me all written petitions. I\nshall be visible in my dressing room to those who have a personal\nintroduction at eleven o'clock to-morrow. You may go!\"\n\nSilently as he had entered, the young man bowed and withdrew.\n\nM. Joseph wheeled round in his chair and turned to his friends with a\nlook of becoming triumph.\n\n\"Thirty persons!\" he remarked simply.\n\n\"All after this appointment?\" queried Achille.\n\n\"Their representatives, you see,\" explained M. Joseph airily. \"Oh! my\nante-chamber is always full--You understand? I shave my Duke every\nmorning; and every one, it seems to me, is wanting to control the\nfinances of France.\"\n\n\"Might one inquire who is your special _protege_?\" asked the other.\n\n\"Time will show,\" came with cryptic vagueness from the lips of M.\nJoseph.\n\n\"Hem! hem!\"\n\nIn addition to a slight tickling of the throat, M. Benedict seemed to\nbe suffering from an affection of the left eye which caused him to\nwink with somewhat persistent emphasis:\n\n\"This is the third time you have made that remark, Stainville,\" said\nJoseph severely.\n\n\"I did not remark, my dear D'Aumont,\" rejoined Benedict\npleasantly--\"that is, I merely said 'Hem! hem!'\"\n\n\"Even so, I heard you,\" said Joseph, with some acerbity; \"and I would\nwish to know precisely what you meant when you said 'Hem! hem!' like\nthat.\"\n\n\"I was thinking of Mlle. Lucienne,\" said Benedict, with a sentimental\nsigh.\n\n\"Indeed!\"\n\n\"Yes! I am one of her sweethearts--the fourth in point of favour.\nMlle. Lucienne has your young lady's ear, my good D'Aumont, and we all\nknow that your Duke governs the whole of France exactly as his\ndaughter wishes him to do.\"\n\n\"And you hope through Mlle. Lucienne's influence to obtain the new\npost of Comptroller for your own Count?\" asked M. Joseph, with assumed\ncarelessness, as he drummed a devil's tattoo on the table before him.\n\nA slight expression of fatuity crept into the countenance of M.\nBenedict. He did not wish to irritate the great man; at the same time\nhe felt confident in his own powers of blandishments where Mlle.\nLucienne was concerned, even though he only stood fourth in point of\nfavour in that influential lady's heart.\n\n\"Mlle. Lucienne has promised us her support,\" he said, with a\ncomplacent smile.\n\n\"I fear me that will be of little avail,\" here interposed M. Achille.\n\"We have on our side, the influence of Mme. Auguste Baillon, who is\nhousekeeper to M. le Docteur Dubois, consulting physician to Mlle.\nd'Aumont. M. le Docteur is very fond of haricots cooked in lard--a\ndish in the preparation of which Mme. Baillon excels--whilst, on the\nother hand, that lady's son is perruquier to my Eglinton. I think\nthere is no doubt that ours is the stronger influence, and that if\nthis Ministry of Finance comes into being, we shall be the Chief\nComptroller.\"\n\n\"Oh, it will come into being, without any doubt,\" said Benedict. \"I\nhave it from my cousin Francois, who is one of the sweethearts of\nMlle. Duprez, confidential maid to Mme. Aremberg, the jeweller's wife,\nthat the merchants of Paris and Lyons are not at all pleased with the\namount of money which the King and Mme. de Pompadour are spending.\"\n\n\"Exactly! People of that sort are a veritable pestilence. They want us\nto pay some of the taxes--the _corvee_ or the _taille_. As if a Duke\nor a Minister is going to pay taxes! Ridiculous!\"\n\n\"Ridiculous, I say,\" assented Achille, \"though my Marquis says that in\nEngland even noblemen pay taxes.\"\n\n\"Then we'll not go to England, friend Eglinton. Imagine shaving a Duke\nor a Marquis who had paid taxes like a shopkeeper!\"\n\nA chorus of indignation from the three gentleman rose at the\nsuggestion.\n\n\"Preposterous indeed!\"\n\n\"We all know that England is a nation of shopkeepers. M. de Voltaire,\nwho has been there, said so to us on his return.\"\n\nM. Achille, in view of the fact that he represented the Marquis of\nEglinton, commonly styled \"le petit Anglais,\" was not quite sure\nwhether his dignity demanded that he should resent this remark of M.\nde Voltaire's or not.\n\nFortunately he was saved from having to decide this delicate question\nimmediately by the reentry of Paul into the room.\n\nThe young footman was carrying a bundle of papers, which he\nrespectfully presented to M. Joseph on a silver tray. The great man\nlooked at Paul somewhat puzzled, rubbed his chin, and contemplated the\npapers with a thoughtful eye.\n\n\"What are these?\" he asked.\n\n\"The petitions, M. Joseph,\" replied the young man.\n\n\"Oh! Ah, yes!\" quoth the other airily. \"Quite so; but--I have no time\nto read them now. You may glance through them, Paul, and let me know\nif any are worthy of my consideration.\"\n\nM. Joseph was born in an epoch when reading was not considered an\nindispensable factor in a gentleman's education. Whether the petitions\nof the thirty aspirants to the new post of Comptroller of Finance\nwould subsequently be read by M. Paul or not it were impossible to\nsay; for the present he merely took up the papers again, saying quite\nrespectfully:\n\n\"Yes, M. Joseph.\"\n\n\"Stay! you may take cards, dice, and two flagons of Bordeaux into my\nboudoir.\"\n\n\"Yes, M. Joseph.\"\n\n\"Have you dismissed every one from the ante-chamber?\"\n\n\"All except an old man, who refuses to go.\"\n\n\"Who is he?\"\n\n\"I do not know; he----\"\n\nFurther explanation was interrupted by a timid voice issuing from the\nopen door.\n\n\"I only desire five minutes' conversation with M. le Duc d'Aumont.\"\n\nAnd a wizened little figure dressed in seedy black, with lean shanks\nencased in coarse woollen stockings, shuffled into the room. He seemed\nto be carrying a great number of papers and books under both arms, and\nas he stepped timidly forward some of these tumbled in a heap at his\nfeet.\n\n\"Only five minutes' conversation with M. le Duc.\"\n\nHis eyes were very pale, and very watery, and his hair was of a pale\nstraw colour. He stooped to pick up his papers, and dropped others in\nthe process.\n\n\"M. le Duc is not visible,\" said M. Joseph majestically.\n\n\"Perhaps a little later----\" suggested the lean individual.\n\n\"The Duke will not be visible later either.\"\n\n\"Then to-morrow perhaps; I can wait--I have plenty of time on my\nhands.\"\n\n\"You may have, but the Duke hasn't.\"\n\nIn the meanwhile the wizened little man had succeeded in once more\ncollecting his papers together. With trembling eager hands he now\nselected a folded note, which evidently had suffered somewhat through\nfrequent falls on dusty floors; this he held out toward M. Joseph.\n\n\"I have a letter to Monsieur le valet de chambre of the Duke,\" he said\nhumbly.\n\n\"A letter of introduction?--to me?\" queried Joseph, with a distinct\nchange in his manner and tone. \"From whom?\"\n\n\"My daughter Agathe, who brings Monsieur's chocolate in to him every\nmorning.\"\n\n\"Ah, you are Mlle. Agathe's father!\" exclaimed Joseph with pleasant\ncondescension, as he took the letter of introduction, and, without\nglancing at it, slipped it into the pocket of his magnificent coat.\nPerhaps a thought subsequently crossed his mind that the timorous\nperson before him was not quite so simple-minded as his watery blue\neyes suggested, and that the dusty and crumpled little note might be a\ndaring fraud practised on his own influential personality, for he\nadded with stern emphasis: \"I will see Mlle. Agathe to-morrow, and\nwill discuss your affair with her.\"\n\nThen, as the little man did not wince under the suggestion, M. Joseph\nsaid more urbanely:\n\n\"By the way, what is your affair? These gentlemen\"--and with a\ngraceful gesture he indicated his two friends--\"these gentlemen will\npardon the liberty you are taking in discussing it before them.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Monsieur; thank you, gentlemen,\" said the wizened\nindividual humbly; \"it is a matter of--er--figures.\"\n\n\"Figures!\"\n\n\"Yes! This new Ministry of Finance--there will be an auditor of\naccounts wanted--several auditors, I presume--and--and I thought----\"\n\n\"Yes?\" nodded M. Joseph graciously.\n\n\"My daughter does bring you in your chocolate nice and hot, M. Joseph,\ndoes she not?--and--and I do know a lot about figures. I studied\nmathematics with the late M. Descartes; I audited the books of the\nSociete des Comptables of Lyons for several years; and--and I have\ndiplomas and testimonials----\"\n\nAnd, carried away by another wave of anxiety, he began to fumble among\nhis papers and books, which with irritating perversity immediately\ntumbled pell-mell on to the floor.\n\n\"What in the devil's name is the good of testimonials and diplomas to\nus, my good man?\" said M. Joseph haughtily. \"If, on giving the matter\nmy serious consideration, I come to the conclusion that you will be a\nsuitable accountant in the new Ministerial Department, _ma foi_! my\ngood man, your affair is settled. No thanks, I pray!\" he added, with a\ngracious flourish of the arm; \"I have been pleased with Mlle. Agathe,\nand I may mention your name whilst I shave M. le Duc to-morrow. Er--by\nthe way, what is your name?\"\n\n\"Durand, if you please, M. Joseph.\"\n\nThe meagre little person with the watery blue eyes tried to express\nhis gratitude by word and gesture, but his books and papers encumbered\nhis movements, and he was rendered doubly nervous by the presence of\nthese gorgeous and stately gentlemen, and by the wave of voices and\nlaughter which suddenly rose from the distance, suggesting that\nperhaps a brilliant company might be coming this way.\n\nThe very thought seemed to completely terrify him; with both arms he\nhugged his various written treasures, and with many sideway bows and\nmurmurs of thanks he finally succeeded in shuffling his lean figure\nout of the room, closely followed by M. Paul.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nPOMPADOUR'S CHOICE\n\n\nM. Durand's retreat had fortunately occurred just in time; men's\nvoices and women's laughter sounded more and more distinct, as if\napproaching toward the _salle d'armes_.\n\nIn a moment, with the swiftness born of long usage, the demeanour of\nthe three gentlemen underwent a quick and sudden change. They seemed\nto pull their gorgeous figures together; with practised fingers each\nreadjusted the lace of his cravat, reestablished the correct set of\nhis waistcoat, and flickered the last grain of dust or snuff from the\nsatin-like surface of his coat.\n\nTen seconds later the great doors at the east end of the hall were\nthrown open, and through the embrasure and beyond the intervening\nmarble corridor could be seen the brilliantly lighted supper-room,\nwith its glittering company broken up into groups.\n\nSilent, swift and deferential, MM. Joseph, Benedict, and Achille\nglided on flat-heeled shoes along the slippery floors, making as\nlittle noise as possible, effacing their gorgeous persons in window\nrecesses or carved ornaments whenever a knot of gentlemen or ladies\nhappened to pass by.\n\nQuite a different trio now, MM. Joseph, Benedict, and Achille--just\nthree automatons intent on their duties.\n\nFrom the supper-room there came an incessant buzz of talk and\nlaughter. M. Joseph sought his master's eye, but M. le Duc was busy\nwith the King of England and wanted no service; M. Achille found his\nEnglish milor, \"le petit Anglais,\" engaged in conversation with his\nportly and somewhat overdressed mamma; whilst M. Benedict's master was\nnowhere to be found.\n\nThe older ladies were beginning to look wearied and hot, smothering\nyawns behind their painted fans. Paniers assumed a tired and crumpled\nappearance, and feathered aigrettes nodded dismally above the high\ncoiffures.\n\nNot a few of the guests had taken the opportunity of bringing cards or\ndice from a silken pocket, whilst others in smaller groups, younger\nand not yet wearied of desultory talk, strolled toward the _salle\nd'armes_ or the smaller boudoirs which opened out of the corridor.\n\nOne or two gentlemen had succumbed to M. le Duc's lavish hospitality;\nthe many toasts had proved too exacting, the copious draughts\naltogether too heady, and they had, somewhat involuntarily, exchanged\ntheir chairs for the more reliable solidity of the floor, where their\nfaithful attendants, stationed under the table for the purpose, deftly\nuntied a cravat which might be too tight or administered such cooling\nantidotes as might be desirable.\n\nThe hot air vibrated with the constant babel of voices, the frou-frou\nof silk paniers, and brocaded skirts, mingled with the clink of swords\nand the rattle of dice in satinwood boxes.\n\nThe atmosphere, surcharged with perfumes, had become overpoweringly\nclose.\n\nHis Majesty, flushed with wine, and with drowsy lids drooping over his\ndulled eyes, had pushed his chair away from the table and was\nlounging lazily toward Mme. de Pompadour, his idle fingers toying with\nthe jewelled girdle of her fan. She amused him; she had quaint sayings\nwhich were sometimes witty, always daring, but which succeeded in\ndissipating momentarily that mortal ennui of which he suffered.\n\nEven now her whispered conversation, interspersed with profuse\ngiggles, brought an occasional smile to the lips of the sleepy\nmonarch. She chatted and laughed, flirting her fan, humouring the\neffeminate creature beside her by yielding her hand and wrist to his\nflabby kisses. But her eyes did not rest on him for many seconds at a\ntime; she talked to Louis, but her mind had gone a-wandering about the\nroom trying to read thoughts, to search motives or divine hidden\nhatreds and envy as they concerned herself.\n\nThis glitter was still new to her; the power which she wielded seemed\nas yet a brittle toy which a hasty movement might suddenly break. It\nwas but a very little while ago that she had been an insignificant\nunit in a third-rate social circle of Paris--always beautiful, but\nlost in the midst of a drabby crowd, her charms, like those of a\nprecious stone, unperceived for want of proper setting. Her ambition\nwas smothered in her heart, which at times it almost threatened to\nconsume. But it was always there, ever since she had learnt to\nunderstand the power which beauty gives.\n\nAn approving smile from the King of France, and the world wore a\ndifferent aspect for Jeanne Poisson. Her whims and caprices became the\nreins with which she drove France and the King. Why place a limit to\nher own desires, since the mightiest monarch in Europe was ready to\ngratify them?\n\nMoney became her god.\n\nSpend! spend! spend! Why not? The nation, the bourgeoisie--of which\nshe had once been that little insignificant unit--was now the\nwell-spring whence she drew the means of satisfying her\never-increasing lust for splendour.\n\nJewels, dresses, palaces, gardens--all and everything that was rich,\nbeautiful, costly, she longed for it all!\n\nPictures and statuary; music, and of the best; constant noise around\nher, gaiety, festivities, laughter; the wit of France and the science\nof the world all had been her helpmeets these past two years in this\nwild chase after pleasure, this constant desire to kill her Royal\npatron's incurable ennui.\n\nTwo years, and already the nation grumbled! A check was to be put on\nher extravagance--hers and that of King Louis! The parliaments\ndemanded that some control be exercised over Royal munificence. Fewer\njewels for Madame! And that palace at Fontainebleau not yet completed,\nthe Parc aux Cerfs so magnificently planned and not even begun! Would\nthe new Comptroller put a check on that?\n\nAt first she marvelled that Louis should consent. It was a humiliation\nfor him as well as for her. The weakness in him which had served her\nown ends seemed monstrous when it yielded to pressure from others.\n\nHe had assured her that she should not suffer; jewels, palaces,\ngardens, she should have all as heretofore. Let Parliament insist and\ngrumble, but the Comptroller would be appointed by D'Aumont, and\nD'Aumont was her slave.\n\nD'Aumont, yes! but not his daughter--that arrogant girl with the\nsevere eyes, unwomanly and dictatorial, who ruled her father just as\nshe herself, Pompadour, ruled the King.\n\nAn enemy, that Lydie d'Aumont! Mme. la Marquise, whilst framing a\nwitticism at which the King smiled, frowned because in a distant\nalcove she spied the haughty figure of Lydie.\n\nAnd there were others! The friends of the Queen and her clique, of\ncourse; they were not here to-night; at least not in great numbers;\nstill, even the present brilliant company, though smiling and\nobsequious in the presence of the King, was not by any means a close\nphalanx of friends.\n\nM. d'Argenson, for instance--he was an avowed enemy; and Marshal de\nNoailles, too--oh! and there were others.\n\nOne of them, fortunately, was going away; Charles Edward Stuart,\naspiring King of England; he had been no friend of Pompadour. Even\nnow, as he stood close by, lending an obviously inattentive ear to M.\nle Duc d'Aumont, she could see that he still looked gloomy and out of\nhumour, and that whenever his eyes rested upon her and the King he\nfrowned with wrathful impatience.\n\n\"You are distraite, ma mie!\" said Louis, with a yawn.\n\n\"I was thinking, sire,\" she replied, smiling into his drowsy eyes.\n\n\"For God's sake, I entreat, do not think!\" exclaimed the King, with\nmock alarm. \"Thought produces wrinkles, and your perfect mouth was\nonly fashioned for smiles.\"\n\n\"May I frame a suggestion?\" she queried archly.\n\n\"No, only a command.\"\n\n\"This Comptroller of Finance, your future master, Louis, and mine----\"\n\n\"Your slave,\" he interrupted lazily, \"and he values his life.\"\n\n\"Why not milor Eglinton?\"\n\n\"Le petit Anglais?\" and Louis's fat body was shaken with sudden\nimmoderate laughter. \"Par Dieu, ma mie! Of all your witty sallies this\none hath pleased us most.\"\n\n\"Why?\" she asked seriously.\n\n\"Le petit Anglais!\" again laughed the King. \"I'd as soon give the\nappointment to your lapdog, Marquise. Fido would have as much capacity\nfor the post as the ornamental cypher that hangs on his mother's\nskirts.\"\n\n\"Milor Eglinton is very rich,\" she mused.\n\n\"Inordinately so, curse him! I could do with half his revenue and be a\nsatisfied man.\"\n\n\"Being a cypher he would not trouble us much; being very rich he would\nneed no bribe for doing as we wish.\"\n\n\"His lady mother would trouble us, ma mie.\"\n\n\"Bah! we would find him a wife.\"\n\n\"Nay! I entreat you do not worry your dainty head with these matters,\"\nsaid the King, somewhat irritably. \"The appointment rests with\nD'Aumont; an you desire the post for your protege, turn your bright\neyes on the Duke.\"\n\nPompadour would have wished to pursue the subject, to get something of\na promise from Louis, to turn his inveterate weakness then and there\nto her own account, but Louis the Well-beloved yawned, a calamity\nwhich the fair lady dared not risk again. Witty and brilliant, forever\ngay and unfatigued, she knew that her power over the monarch would\nonly last whilst she could amuse him.\n\nTherefore now with swift transition she turned the conversation to\nmore piquant channels. An anecdote at the expense of the old Duchesse\nde Pontchartrain brought life once more into the eyes of the King. She\nwas once more untiring in her efforts, her cheeks glowed even through\nthe powder and the rouge, her lips smiled without intermission, but\nher thoughts drifted back to the root idea, the burden of that control\nto be imposed on her caprices.\n\nShe would not have minded Milor Eglinton, the courteous, amiable\ngentleman, who had no will save that expressed by any woman who\nhappened to catch his ear. She felt that she could, with but very\nlittle trouble, twist him round her little finger. His dictatorial\nmamma would either have to be got out of the way, or won over to Mme.\nla Marquise's own views of life, whilst Milor could remain a bachelor,\nlest another feminine influence prove antagonistic.\n\nPompadour's bright eyes, whilst she chatted to the King, sought amidst\nthe glittering throng the slim figure of \"le petit Anglais.\"\n\nYes, he would suit her purpose admirably! She could see his handsome\nprofile clearly outlined against the delicate tones of the wall;\nhandsome, yes! clear-cut and firm, with straight nose and the low,\nsquare brow of the Anglo-Saxon race, but obviously weak and yielding;\na perfect tool in the hands of a clever woman.\n\nElegant too, always immaculately, nay daintily dressed, he wore with\nthat somewhat stiff grace peculiar to the English gentleman the showy\nand effeminate costume of the time. But there was weakness expressed\nin his very attitude as he stood now talking to Charles Edward Stuart:\nthe kindly, pleasant expression of his good-looking face in strange\ncontrast to the glowering moodiness of his princely friend.\n\nOne Lord Eglinton had followed the deposed James II into exile. His\nson had risked life and fortune for the restoration of the old\nPretender, and having managed by sheer good luck to save both, he felt\nthat he had done more than enough for a cause which he knew was doomed\nto disaster. But he hated the thought of a German monarch in England,\nand in his turn preferred exile to serving a foreigner for whom he had\nscant sympathy.\n\nImmensely wealthy, a brilliant conversationalist, a perfect gentleman,\nhe soon won the heart of one of the daughters of France. Mlle. de\nMaille brought him, in addition to her own elaborate trousseau and a\ndowry of three thousand francs yearly pin-money, the historic and\ngorgeous chateau of Beaufort which Lord Eglinton's fortune rescued\nfrom the hands of the bailiffs.\n\nVaguely he thought that some day he would return to his own ancestral\nhome in Sussex, when England would have become English once again; in\nthe meanwhile he was content to drift on the placid waters of life,\nhis luxurious craft guided by the domineering hand of his wife.\nIndependent owing to his nationality and his wealth, a friend alike of\nthe King of France and the Stuart Pretender, he neither took up arms\nin any cause, nor sides in any political intrigue.\n\nLady Eglinton brought up her son in affluence and luxury, but detached\nfrom all partisanship. Her strong personality imposed something of her\nown national characteristics on the boy, but she could not break the\nfriendship that existed between the royal Stuarts and her husband's\nfamily. Although Charles Edward was her son's playmate in the gardens\nand castle of Beaufort, she nevertheless succeeded in instilling into\nthe latter a slight measure of disdain for the hazardous attempts at\nsnatching the English crown which invariably resulted in the betrayal\nof friends, the wholesale slaughter of adherents, and the ignominious\nflight of the Pretender.\n\nNo doubt it was this dual nationality in the present Lord Eglinton,\nthis detachment from political conflicts, that was the real cause of\nthat inherent weakness of character which Mme. de Pompadour now wished\nto use for her own ends. She was glad, therefore, to note that whilst\nCharles Edward talked earnestly to him, the eyes of \"le petit Anglais\"\nroamed restlessly about the room, as if seeking for support in an\nargument, or help from a personality stronger than his own.\n\nLady Eglinton's voice, harsh and domineering, often rose above the\ngeneral hum of talk. Just now she had succeeded in engaging the Prime\nMinister in serious conversation.\n\nThe King in the meanwhile had quietly dropped asleep, lulled by the\neven ripple of talk of the beautiful Marquise and the heavily scented\natmosphere of the room. Pompadour rose from her chair as noiselessly\nas her stiff brocaded skirt would allow; she crossed the room and\njoined Lady Eglinton and M. le Duc d'Aumont.\n\nShe was going to take King Louis's advice and add the weighty\ninfluence of her own bright eyes to that of my lady's voluble talk in\nfavour of the appointment of Lord Eglinton to the newly created\nMinistry of Finance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nA WOMAN'S SURRENDER\n\n\nIn a small alcove, which was raised above the level of the rest of the\nfloor by a couple of steps and divided from the main banqueting hall\nby a heavy damask curtain now partially drawn aside, Mlle. d'Aumont\nsat in close conversation with M. le Comte de Stainville.\n\nFrom this secluded spot these two dominated the entire length and\nbreadth of the room; the dazzling scene was displayed before them in a\ngorgeous kaleidoscope of moving figures, in an ever-developing\npanorama of vividly <DW52> groups, that came and went, divided and\nreunited; now forming soft harmonies of delicate tones that suggested\nthe subtle blending on the palette of a master, anon throwing on to\nthe canvas daring patches of rich magentas or deep purples, that set\noff with cunning artfulness the masses of pale primrose and gold.\n\nGaston de Stainville, however, did not seem impressed with the\npicturesqueness of the scene. He sat with his broad back turned toward\nthe brilliant company, one elbow propped on a small table beside him,\nhis hand shielding his face against the glare of the candles. But\nLydie d'Aumont's searching eyes roamed ceaselessly over the gaily\nplumaged birds that fluttered uninterruptedly before her gaze.\n\nWith one delicate hand holding back the rich damask curtain, the other\nlying idly in her lap, her white brocaded gown standing out in stiff\nfolds round her girlish figure, she was a picture well worth looking\nat.\n\nLydie was scarcely twenty-one then, but already there was a certain\nsomething in the poise of her head, in every movement of her graceful\nbody, that suggested the woman accustomed to dominate, the woman of\nthought and action, rather than of sentiment and tender emotions.\n\nThose of her own sex said at that time that in Lydie's haughty eyes\nthere was the look of the girl who has been deprived early in life of\na mother's gentle influence, and who has never felt the gentle yet\nfirm curb of a mother's authority on her childish whims and caprices.\n\nM. le Duc d'Aumont, who had lost his young wife after five years of an\nexceptionally happy married life, had lavished all the affection of\nhis mature years on the girl, who was the sole representative of his\nname. The child had always been headstrong and self-willed from the\ncradle; her nurses could not cope with her babyish tempers; her\ngovernesses dreaded her domineering ways. M. le Duc was deaf to all\ncomplaints; he would not have the child thwarted, and as she grew up\nlovable in the main, she found her father's subordinates ready enough\nto bend to her yoke.\n\nFrom the age of ten she had been the acknowledged queen of all her\nplaymates, and the autocrat of her father's house. Little by little\nshe obtained an extraordinary ascendancy over the fond parent, who\nadmired almost as much as he loved her.\n\nHe was deeply touched when, scarce out of the school room, she tried\nto help him in the composition of his letters, and more than\nastonished to see how quick was her intelligence and how sharp her\nintuition. Instinctively, at first he took to explaining to her the\nvarious political questions of the day, listening with paternal\ngood-humour, to her acute and sensitive remarks on several important\nquestions.\n\nThen gradually his confidence in her widened. Many chroniclers aver\nthat it was Lydie d'Aumont who wrote her father's celebrated memoirs,\nand those who at that time had the privilege of knowing her intimately\ncould easily trace her influence in most of her father's political\nmoves. There is no doubt that the Duc himself, when he finally became\nPrime Minister of France, did very little without consulting his\ndaughter, and even l'Abbe d'Alivet, in his \"Chroniques de Louis XV,\"\nadmits that the hot partisanship of France for the Young Pretender's\nill-conceived expeditions was mainly due to Mlle. d'Aumont's\ninfluence.\n\nWhen Vanloo painted her a little later on, he rendered with consummate\nand delicate skill the haughty look of command which many of Lydie's\nmost ardent admirers felt to be a blemish on the exquisite purity and\ncharm of her face.\n\nThe artist, too, emphasized the depth and earnestness of her dark\neyes, and that somewhat too severe and self-reliant expression which\nmarked the straight young brow.\n\nPerhaps it was this same masterful trait in the dainty form before him\nthat Gaston de Stainville studied so attentively just now; there had\nbeen silence for some time between the elegant cavalier and the\nidolized daughter of the Prime Minister of France. She seemed restless\nand anxious, even absent-minded, when he spoke. She was studying the\nvarious groups of men and women as they passed, frowning when she\nlooked on some faces, smiling abstractedly when she encountered a pair\nof friendly eyes.\n\n\"I did not know that you were such a partisan of that young\nadventurer,\" said Gaston de Stainville at last, as if in answer to her\nthoughts, noting that her gaze now rested with stern intentness on\nCharles Edward Stuart.\n\n\"I must be on the side of a just cause,\" she rejoined quietly, as with\na very characteristic movement of hers she turned her head slowly\nround and looked M. de Stainville full in the face.\n\nShe could not see him very well, for his head was silhouetted against\nthe dazzling light beyond, and she frowned a little as she tried to\ndistinguish his features more clearly in the shadow.\n\n\"You do believe, Gaston, that his cause is just?\" she asked earnestly.\n\n\"Oh!\" he replied lightly; \"I'll believe in the justice of any cause to\nwhich you give your support.\"\n\nShe shrugged her shoulders, whilst a slightly contemptuous curl\nappeared at the corner of her mouth.\n\n\"How like a man!\" she said impatiently.\n\n\"What is like a man?\" he retorted. \"To love--as I love you?\"\n\nHe had whispered this, hardly above his breath lest he should be\noverheard by some one in that gay and giddy throng who passed\nlaughingly by. The stern expression in her eyes softened a little as\nthey met his eager gaze, but the good-humoured contempt was still\napparent, even in her smile; she saw that as he spoke he looked\nthrough the outspread fingers of his hand to see if he was being\nwatched, and noted that one pair of eyes, distant the whole length of\nthe room, caught the movement, then was instantly averted.\n\n\"Mlle. de Saint Romans is watching you,\" she said quietly.\n\nHe seemed surprised and not a little vexed that she had noticed, and\nfor a moment looked confused; then he said carelessly:\n\n\"Why should she not? Why should not the whole world look on, and see\nthat I adore you?\"\n\n\"Meseems you protest over-much, Gaston,\" she said, with a sigh.\n\n\"Impossible!\"\n\n\"You talk of love too lightly.\"\n\n\"I am in earnest, Lydie. Why should you doubt? Are you not beautiful\nenough to satisfy any man's ardour?\"\n\n\"Am I not influential enough, you mean,\" she said, with a slight\ntremor in her rich young voice, \"to satisfy any man's ambition?\"\n\n\"Is ambition a crime in your eyes, Lydie?\"\n\n\"No; but----\"\n\n\"I am ambitious; you cannot condemn me for that,\" he said, now\nspeaking in more impressive tone. \"When we were playmates together,\nyears ago, you remember? in the gardens at Cluny, if other lads were\nthere, was I not always eager to be first in the race, first in the\nfield--first always, everywhere?\"\n\n\"Even at the cost of sorrow and humiliation to the weaker ones.\"\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders with easy unconcern.\n\n\"There is no success in life for the strong,\" he said, \"save at the\ncost of sorrow and humiliation for the weak. Lydie,\" he added more\nearnestly, \"if I am ambitious it is because my love for you has made\nme humble. I do not feel that as I am, I am worthy of you; I want to\nbe rich, to be influential, to be great. Is that wrong? I want your\npride in me, almost as much as your love.\"\n\n\"You were rich once, Gaston,\" she said, a little coldly. \"Your father\nwas rich.\"\n\n\"Is it my fault if I am poor now?\"\n\n\"They tell me it is; they say that you are over-fond of cards, and of\nother pleasures which are less avowable.\"\n\n\"And you believe them?\"\n\n\"I hardly know,\" she whispered.\n\n\"You have ceased to love me, then?\"\n\n\"Gaston!\"\n\nThere as a tone of tender reproach there, which the young man was\nswift enough to note; the beautiful face before him was in full light;\nhe could see well that a rosy blush had chased away the usual matt\npallor of her cheeks, and that the full red lips trembled a little\nnow, whilst the severe expression of the eyes was veiled in delicate\nmoisture.\n\n\"Your face has betrayed you, Lydie!\" he said, with sudden vehemence,\nthough his voice even now hardly rose above a whisper. \"If you have\nnot forgotten your promises made to me at Cluny--in the shadow of\nthose beech trees, do you remember? You were only thirteen--a mere\nchild--yet already a woman, the soft breath of spring fanned your\nglowing cheeks, your loose hair blew about your face, framing your\nproud little head in a halo of gold--you remember, Lydie?\"\n\n\"I have not forgotten,\" she said gently.\n\n\"Your hand was in mine--a child's hand, Lydie, but yours for all\nthat--and you promised--you remember? And if you have not\nforgotten--if you do love me, not, Heaven help me! as I love you, but\nonly just a little better than any one else in the world; well, then,\nLydie, why these bickerings, why these reproaches? I am poor now, but\nsoon I will be rich! I have no power, but soon I will rule France,\nwith you to help me if you will!\"\n\nHe had grown more and more vehement as he spoke, carried along by the\ntorrent of his own eloquence. But he had not moved; he still sat with\nhis back to the company, and his face shaded by his hand; his voice\nwas still low, impressive in its ardour. Then, as the young girl's\ngraceful head drooped beneath the passionate expression of his gaze,\nbending, as it were, to the intensity of his earnest will, his eyes\nflashed a look of triumph, a premonition of victory close at hand.\nLydie's strong personality was momentarily weakened by the fatigue of\na long and arduous evening, by the heavy atmosphere of the room; her\nsenses were dulled by the penetrating odours of wine and perfumes\nwhich fought with those of cosmetics.\n\nShe seemed to be yielding to the softer emotions, less watchful of her\nown dignity, less jealous of her own power. The young man felt that at\nthis moment he held her just as he wished; did he stretch out his hand\nshe would place hers in it. The recollections of her childhood had\nsmothered all thoughts of present conflicts and of political\nintrigues. Mlle. d'Aumont, the influential daughter of an all-powerful\nMinister, had momentarily disappeared, giving way to madcap little\nLydie, with short skirts and flying chestnut curls, the comrade of the\nhandsome boy in the old gardens at Cluny.\n\n\"Lydie, if you loved me!\" whispered Stainville.\n\n\"If I loved you!\" and there was a world of pathos in that girlish\n\"if.\"\n\n\"You would help me instead of reproaching.\"\n\n\"What do you want me to do, Gaston?\"\n\n\"Your word is law with your father,\" he said persuasively. \"He denies\nyou nothing. You said I was ambitious; one word from you--this new\nMinistry----\"\n\nHe realized his danger, bit his lip lest he had been too precipitate.\nLydie was headstrong, she was also very shrewd; the master-mind that\nguided the destinies of France through the weak indulgence of a father\nwas not likely to be caught in a snare like any love-sick maid. Her\nwoman's instinct--he knew that--was keen to detect self-interest; and\nif he aroused the suspicions of the wealthy and influential woman\nbefore he had wholly subjugated her heart, he knew that he would lose\nthe biggest stake of his life.\n\nLately she had held aloof from him, the playmates had become somewhat\nestranged; the echoes of his reckless life must, he thought, have\nreached her ears, and he himself had not been over-eager for the\ncompanionship of this woman, who seemed to have thrown off all the\nlight-heartedness of her sex for the sake of a life of activity and\ndomination.\n\nShe was known to be cold and unapproachable, rigidly conscientious in\ntransacting the business of the State, which her father with easy\ncarelessness gradually left on her young shoulders, since she seemed\nto find pleasure in it.\n\nBut her influence, of which she was fully conscious, had rendered her\nsuspicious. Even now, when the call of her youth, of her beauty, of\nthe happy and tender recollections of her childhood loudly demanded\nto be heard, she cast a swift, inquiring glance at Gaston.\n\nHe caught the glance, and, with an involuntary movement of impatience,\nhis hand, which up to now had so carefully masked the expression of\nhis face, came crashing down upon the table.\n\n\"Lydie,\" he said impetuously, \"in the name of God throw aside your\narmour for one moment! Is life so long that you can afford to waste\nit? Have you learned the secret of perpetual youth that you\ndeliberately fritter away its golden moments in order to rush after\nthe Dead Sea fruit of domination and power? Lydie!\" he whispered with\npassionate tenderness; \"my little Lydie of the crisp chestnut hair, of\nthe fragrant woods around Cluny, leave those giddy heights of\nambition; come down to earth, where my arms await you! I will tell you\nof things, my little Lydie, which are far more beautiful, far more\ndesirable, than the sceptre and kingdom of France; and when I press\nyou close to my heart you will taste a joy far sweeter than that which\na crown of glory can give. Will you not listen to me, Lydie? Will you\nnot share with me that joy which renders men the equal of God?\"\n\nHis hand had wandered up the damask curtain, gently drawing its heavy\nfolds from out her clinging fingers. The rich brocade fell behind him\nwith a soft and lingering sound like the murmured \"Hush--sh--sh!\" of\nangels' wings shutting out the noise and glare beyond, isolating them\nboth from the world and its conflicts, its passions, and its ceaseless\nstrife.\n\nSecure from prying eyes, Gaston de Stainville threw all reserve from\nhim with a laugh of pride and of joy. Half kneeling, wholly leaning\ntoward her, his arms encircled her young figure, almost pathetic now\nin its sudden and complete abandonment. With his right hand he drew\nthat imperious little head down until his lips had reached her ear.\n\n\"Would you have me otherwise, my beautiful proud queen?\" he whispered\nsoftly. \"Should I be worthy of the cleverest woman in France if my\nambition and hopes were not at least as great as hers? Lydie,\" he\nadded, looking straight into her eyes, \"if you asked me for a kingdom\nin the moon, I swear to God that I would make a start in order to\nconquer it for you! Did you, from sheer caprice, ask to see my life's\nblood ebbing out of my body, I would thrust this dagger without\nhesitation into my heart.\"\n\n\"Hush! hush!\" she said earnestly; \"that is extravagant talk, Gaston.\nDo not desecrate love by such folly.\"\n\n\"'Tis not folly, Lydie. Give me your lips and you, too, will\nunderstand.\"\n\nShe closed her eyes. It was so strange to feel this great gladness in\nher heart, this abasement of all her being; she, who had so loved to\ndictate and to rule, she savoured the inexpressible delight of\nyielding.\n\nHe demanded a kiss and she gave it because he had asked it of her,\nshyly wondering in her own mind how she came to submit so easily, and\nwhy submission should be so sweet.\n\nUp to now she had only tasted the delights of power; now she felt that\nif Gaston willed she would deem it joy to obey. There was infinite\nhappiness, infinite peace in that kiss, the first her vestal lips had\never granted to any man. He was again whispering to her now with that\nsame eager impetuosity which had subjugated her. She was glad to\nlisten, for he talked much of his love, of the beautiful days at\nCluny, which she had feared that he had wholly forgotten.\n\nIt was sweet to think that he remembered them. During the past year or\ntwo when evil tongues spoke of him before her, of his recklessness,\nhis dissipations, his servility to the growing influence of the\nPompadour, she had not altogether believed, but her heart, faithful to\nthe child-lover, had ached and rebelled against his growing neglect.\n\nNow he was whispering explanations--not excuses, for he needed none,\nsince he had always loved her and only jealousies and intrigues had\nkept him from her side. As he protested, she still did not altogether\nbelieve--oh, the folly of it all! the mad, glad folly!--but he said\nthat with a kiss she would understand.\n\nHe was right. She did understand.\n\nAnd he talked much of his ambitions. Was it not natural? Men were so\ndifferent to women! He, proud of his love for her, was longing to show\nher his power, to rule and to command; she, half-shy of her love for\nhim, felt her pride in submitting to his wish, in laying down at his\nfeet the crown and sceptre of domination which she had wielded up to\nnow with so proud and secure a hand.\n\nMen were so different. That, too, she understood with the first touch\nof a man's kiss on her lips.\n\nShe chided herself for her mistrust of him; was it not natural that he\nshould wish to rule? How proud was she now that her last act of\nabsolute power should be the satisfaction of his desire.\n\nThat new Ministry? Well, he should have it as he wished. One word from\nher, and her father would grant it. Her husband must be the most\npowerful man in France; she would make him that, since she could: and\nthen pillow her head on his breast and forget that she ever had other\nambitions save to see him great.\n\nSmiling through her tears, she begged his forgiveness for her mistrust\nof him, her doubts of the true worth of his love.\n\n\"It was because I knew so little,\" she said shyly as her trembling\nfingers toyed nervously with the lace of his cravat; \"no man has ever\nloved me, Gaston--you understand? There were flatterers round me and\nsycophants--but love----\"\n\nShe shook her head with a kind of joyous sadness for the past. It was\nso much better to be totally ignorant of love, and then to learn\nit--like this!\n\nThen she became grave again.\n\n\"My father shall arrange everything this evening,\" she said, with a\nproud toss of her head. \"To-morrow you may command, but to-night you\nshall remain a suppliant; grant me, I pray you, this fond little\ngratification of my overburdened vanity. Ask me again to grant your\nrequest, to be the means of satisfying your ambition. Put it into\nwords, Gaston, tell me what it is you want!\" she insisted, with a\npretty touch of obstinacy; \"it is my whim, and remember I am still the\narbiter of your fate.\"\n\n\"On my knees, my queen,\" he said, curbing his impatience at her\nchildish caprice; and, striving to hide the note of triumph in his\nvoice, he put both knees to the ground and bent his head in\nsupplication. \"I crave of your bountiful graciousness to accord me the\npower to rule France by virtue of my office as Chief Comptroller of\nher revenues.\"\n\n\"Your desire is granted, sir,\" she said with a final assumption of\npride; \"the last favour I shall have the power to bestow I now confer\non you. To-morrow I abdicate,\" she continued, with a strange little\nsigh, half-tearful, half-joyous, \"to-morrow I shall own a master. M.\nle Comte de Stainville, Minister of the Exchequer of France, behold\nyour slave, Lydie, bought this night with the priceless currency of\nyour love! Oh, Gaston, my lord, my husband!\" she said, with a sudden\nuncontrollable outburst of tears, \"be a kind master to your slave--she\ngives up so much for your dear sake!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE FIRST TRICK\n\n\nA shrill laugh suddenly broke on their ears. So absorbed had Lydie\nbeen in her dream that she had completely forgotten the other world,\nthe one that laughed and talked, that fought and bickered on the other\nside of the damask curtain which was the boundary of her own universe.\n\nGaston de Stainville, we may assume, was not quite so unprepared for\ninterruption as the young girl, for even before the shrill laugh had\nexpended itself, he was already on his feet, and had drawn the damask\ncurtain back again, interposing the while his broad figure between\nLydie d'Aumont and the unwelcome intruder on their privacy.\n\n\"Ah! at last you are tracked to earth, _mauvais sujet_,\" said Mme. de\nPompadour, as soon as the Comte de Stainville stood fully revealed\nbefore her. \"Faith! I have had a severe task. His Majesty demanded\nyour presence a while ago, sir, and hath gone to sleep in the interval\nof waiting. Nay! nay! you need make neither haste nor excuses. The\nKing sleeps, Monsieur, else I were not here to remind you of duty.\"\n\nShe stood at the bottom of the steps looking up with keen, malicious\neyes at Gaston's figure framed in the opening of the alcove, and\npeering inquisitively into the sombre recesses, wherein already she\nhad caught a glimpse of a white satin skirt and the scintillation of\nmany diamonds.\n\n\"What say you, milady?\" she added, turning to the florid, somewhat\nover-dressed woman who stood by her side. \"Shall we listen to the\nexcuses M. de Stainville seems anxious to make; meseems they are clad\nin white satin and show a remarkably well-turned ankle.\"\n\nBut before Lady Eglinton could frame a reply, Lydie d'Aumont had\nrisen, and placing her hand on Stainville's shoulder, she thrust him\ngently aside and now stood smiling beside him, perfectly\nself-possessed, a trifle haughty, looking down on Jeanne de\nPompadour's pert face and on the older lady's obviously ill-humoured\ncountenance.\n\n\"Nay, Mme. la Marquise,\" she said, in her own quiet way, \"M. le Comte\nde Stainville's only excuse for his neglect of courtly duties stands\nbefore you now.\"\n\n\"_Ma foi_, Mademoiselle!\" retorted the Marquise somewhat testily. \"His\nMajesty, being over-gallant, would perhaps be ready enough to accept\nit, and so, no doubt, would the guests of M. le Duc, your\nfather--always excepting Mlle, de St. Romans,\" she added, with more\nthan a point of malice, \"and she is not like to prove indulgent.\"\n\nBut Lydie was far too proud, far too conscious also of her own worth,\nto heed the petty pinpricks which the ladies of the Court of Louis XV\nwere wont to deal so lavishly to one another. She knew quite well that\nGaston's name had oft been coupled with that of Mlle. de St.\nRomans--\"_la belle brune de Bordeaux_,\" as she was universally\ncalled--daughter of the gallant Marechal just home from Flanders. This\ngossip was part and parcel of that multifarious scandal to which she\nhad just assured her lover that she no longer would lend an ear.\n\nTherefore she met Mme. de Pompadour's malicious look with one of\ncomplete indifference, and ignoring the remark altogether, she said\ncalmly, without the slightest tremor in her voice or hint of annoyance\nin her face:\n\n\"Did I understand you to say, Madame, that His Majesty was tired and\ndesired to leave?\"\n\nThe Marquise looked vexed, conscious of the snub; she threw a quick\nlook of intelligence to Lady Eglinton, which Lydie no doubt would have\ncaught had she not at that moment turned to her lover in order to give\nhim a smile of assurance and trust.\n\nHe, however, seemed self-absorbed just now, equally intent in avoiding\nher loving glance and Mme. de Pompadour's mocking gaze.\n\n\"The King certainly asked for M. de Stainville a while ago,\" here\ninterposed Lady Eglinton, \"and M. le Chevalier de Saint George has\nbegun to make his adieux.\"\n\n\"We'll not detain Mlle. d'Aumont, then,\" said Mme. de Pompadour. \"She\nwill wish to bid our young Pretender an encouraging farewell! Come, M.\nde Stainville,\" she added authoritatively, \"we'll to His Majesty, but\nonly for two short minutes, then you shall be released man, have no\nfear, in order to make your peace with _la belle brune de Bordeaux_.\nBrrr! I vow I am quite frightened; the minx's black eyes anon shot\ndaggers in this direction.\"\n\nShe beckoned imperiously to Gaston, who still seemed ill at ease, and\nready enough to follow her. Lydie could not help noting with a slight\ntightening of her heartstrings with what alacrity he obeyed.\n\n\"Men are so different!\" she sighed.\n\nShe would have allowed the whole world to look on and to sneer whilst\nshe spent the rest of the evening beside her lover, talking foolish\nnonsense, planning out the future, or sitting in happy silence,\nheedless of sarcasm, mockery, or jests.\n\nHer eyes followed him somewhat wistfully as he descended the two steps\nwith easy grace, and with a flourishing bow and a \"_Mille graces_,\nMlle. Lydie!\" he turned away without another backward look, and became\nmerged with the crowd.\n\nHer master and future lord, the man whose lips had touched her own!\nHow strange!\n\nShe herself could not thus have become one of the throng. Not just\nyet. She could not have detached herself from him so readily. For some\nfew seconds--minutes perhaps--her earnest eyes tried to distinguish\nthe pale mauve of his coat in the midst of that ever-changing\nkaleidoscope of dazzling colours. But the search made her eyes burn,\nand she closed them with the pain.\n\nMen were so different!\n\nAnd though she had learned much, understood much, with that first\nkiss, she was still very ignorant, very inexperienced, and quite at\nsea in those tortuous paths wherein Gaston and Mme. de Pompadour and\nall the others moved with such perfect ease.\n\nIn the meanwhile, M. de Stainville and the Marquise had reached the\ncorridor. From where they now stood they could no longer see the\nalcove whence Lydie's aching eyes still searched for them in vain;\nwith a merry little laugh Madame drew her dainty hand away from her\ncavalier's arm.\n\n\"There! am I not the beneficent fairy, you rogue?\" she said, giving\nhim a playful tap with her fan. \"Fie! Will you drive in double\nharness? You'll come to grief, fair sir, and meseems 'twere not good\nto trifle with either filly.\"\n\n\"Madame, I entreat!\" he protested feebly, wearied of the jest. But he\ntried not to scowl or to seem impatient, for he was loth to lose the\ngood graces of a lady whose power and influence were unequalled even\nby Lydie d'Aumont.\n\nPompadour had favoured him from the very day of her first entry in the\nbrilliant Court of Versailles. His handsome face, his elegant manners,\nand, above all, his reputation as a consummate _mauvais sujet_ had\npleased Mme. la Marquise. Gaston de Stainville was never so occupied\nwith pleasures or amours, but he was ready to pay homage to one more\nbeautiful woman who was willing to smile upon him.\n\nBut though she flirted with Gaston, the wily Marquise had no wish to\nsee him at the head of affairs, the State-appointed controller of her\ncaprices and of the King's munificence. He was pleasant enough as an\nadmirer, unscrupulous and daring; but as a master? No.\n\nThe thought of a marriage between Mlle. d'Aumont and M. de Stainville,\nwith its obvious consequences on her own future plans, was not to be\ntolerated for a moment; and Madame wondered greatly how far matters\nhad gone between these two, prior to her own timely interference.\n\n\"There!\" she said, pointing to an arched doorway close at hand; \"go\nand make your peace whilst I endeavour to divert His Majesty's\nthoughts from your own wicked person; and remember,\" she added\ncoquettishly as she bobbed him a short, mocking curtsey, \"when you\nhave reached the blissful stage of complete reconciliation, that you\nowe your happiness to Jeanne de Pompadour.\"\n\nEtiquette demanded that he should kiss the hand which she now held\nextended toward him; this he did with as good a grace as he could\nmuster. In his heart of hearts he was wishing the interfering lady\nback in the victualler's shop of Paris; he was not at all prepared at\nthis moment to encounter the jealous wrath of \"la Belle _brune de\nBordeaux_.\"\n\nVaguely he thought of flight, but Mme. de Pompadour would not let him\noff quite so easily. With her own jewelled hand she pushed aside the\ncurtain which masked the doorway, and with a nod of her dainty head\nshe hinted to Gaston to walk into the boudoir.\n\nThere was nothing for it but to obey.\n\n\"Mlle. de Saint Romans,\" said the Marquise, peeping into the room in\norder to reassure herself that the lady was there and alone, \"see, I\nbring the truant back to you. Do not be too severe on him; his\nindiscretion has been slight, and he will soon forget all about it, if\nyou will allow him to make full confession and to do penance at your\nfeet.\"\n\nThen she dropped the curtain behind Gaston de Stainville, and, as an\nadditional precaution, lest those two in there should be interrupted\ntoo soon, she closed the heavy folding doors which further divided the\nboudoir from the corridor.\n\n\"Now, if milady plays her cards cleverly,\" she murmured, \"she and I\nwill have done a useful evening's work.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nA FALSE POSITION\n\n\n\"Gaston!\"\n\nM. de Stainville shook off his moodiness. The vision of la belle Irene\nstanding there in the satin-hung boudoir, the soft glow of well-shaded\ncandles shedding an elusive, rosy light on the exquisite figure, with\nhead thrown back and arms stretched out in a gesture of passionate\nappeal, was too captivating to permit of any other thought having sway\nover his brain, for the next second or two at any rate.\n\n\"I thought you had completely forgotten me to-night,\" she said as he\ncame rapidly toward her, \"and that I should not even get speech of\nyou.\"\n\nShe took his hand and led him gently to a low divan; forcing him to\nsit down beside her, she studied his face intently for a moment or\ntwo.\n\n\"Was it necessary?\" she asked abruptly.\n\n\"You know it was, Irene,\" he said, divining her thoughts, plunging\nreadily enough now into the discussion which he knew was inevitable.\nHis whole nature rebelled against this situation; he felt a distinct\nlowering of his manly pride; his masterful spirit chafed at the\nthought of an explanation which Irene claimed the right to demand.\n\n\"I told you, Irene,\" he continued impatiently, \"that I would speak to\nMlle. d'Aumont to-night, and if possible obtain a definite promise\nfrom her.\"\n\n\"And have you obtained that definite promise?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Lydie d'Aumont promised you that you should be the new\nState-appointed Minister of Finance?\" she insisted.\n\n\"Yes! I have her word.\"\n\n\"And--what was the cost?\"\n\n\"The cost?\"\n\n\"Yes, the cost,\" she said, with what was obviously enforced calm.\n\"Lydie d'Aumont did not give you that promise for nothing; you gave\nher or promised her something in return. What was it?\"\n\nHer lips were trembling, and she had some difficulty in preventing her\nnervous fingers from breaking into pieces the delicate mother-of-pearl\nfan which they held. But she was determined to appear perfectly calm,\nand that he should in no way suspect her of working up to a vulgar\nscene of jealousy.\n\n\"You are foolish, Irene!\" he said, with his characteristic nonchalant\nshrug of the shoulders.\n\n\"Foolish?\" she repeated, still keeping her temper well under control,\nthough it was her voice which was shaking now. \"Foolish? Ma foi! when\nmy husband obtains----\"\n\n\"'Sh! 'sh! 'sh!\" he said quickly, as with rough gesture he grasped her\nwrist, and gave it a warning pressure.\n\n\"Bah!\" she retorted; \"no one can hear.\"\n\n\"The walls have ears!\"\n\n\"And if they have? I cannot keep up this deception for ever, Gaston.\"\n\n\"'Twere worse than foolish to founder within sight of port.\"\n\n\"You trust Lydie d'Aumont's word then?\"\n\n\"If you will do nothing to spoil the situation!\" he retorted grimly.\n\"Another word such as you said just now, too long a prolongation of\nthis charming _tete-a-tete_, and Mlle. d'Aumont will make a fresh\npromise to some one else.\"\n\n\"I was right, then?\"\n\n\"Right in what?\"\n\n\"Mlle. d'Aumont promised you the appointment because you made love to\nher.\"\n\n\"Irene!\"\n\n\"Why don't you tell me?\" she said with passionate vehemence. \"Can't\nyou see that I have been torturing myself with jealous fears? I am\njealous--can I help it? I suffered martyrdom when I saw you there with\nher! I could not hear your words, but I could see the earnestness of\nyour attitude. Do I not know every line of your figure, every gesture\nof your hand? Then the curtain fell at your touch, and I could no\nlonger see--only divine--only tremble and fear. Mon Dieu! did I not\nlove you as I do, were my love merely foolish passion, would I not\nthen have screamed out the truth to all that jabbering crowd that\nstood between me and you, seeming to mock me with its prattle, and its\nirresponsible laughter? I am unnerved, Gaston,\" she added, with a\nsudden breakdown of her self-control, her voice trembling with sobs,\nthe tears welling to her eyes, and her hands beating against one\nanother with a movement of petulant nervosity. \"I could bear it, you\nknow, but for this secrecy, this false position; it is humiliating to\nme, and--Oh, be kind to me--be kind to me!\" she sobbed, giving finally\nway to a fit of weeping. \"I have spent such a miserable evening, all\nalone.\"\n\nStainville's expressive lips curled into a smile. \"Be kind to\nme!\"--the same pathetic prayer spoken to him by Lydie a very short\nwhile ago. Bah! how little women understood ambition! Even Lydie! Even\nIrene!\n\nAnd these two women were nothing to him. Lydie herself was only a\nstepping-stone; the statuesque and headstrong girl made no appeal to\nthe essentially masculine side of his nature, and he had little love\nleft now for the beautiful passionate woman beside him, whom in a\nmoment of unreasoning impulse he had bound irrevocably to him.\n\nGaston de Stainville aspired to military honours a couple of years\nago; the Marechal de Saint Romans, friend and mentor of the Dauphin,\nconfidant of the Queen, seemed all-powerful then. Unable to win the\nfather's consent to his union with Irene--for the Marechal had more\nambitious views for his only daughter and looked with ill-favour on\nthe young gallant who had little to offer but his own handsome person,\nan ancient name, and a passionate desire for advancement--Gaston, who\nhad succeeded in enchaining the young girl's affections, had no\ndifficulty in persuading her to agree to a secret marriage.\n\nBut the wheel of fate proved as erratic in its movements as the\nflights of Stainville's ambition. With the appearance of Jeanne\nPoisson d'Etioles at the Court of Versailles, the Queen's gentle\ninfluence over Louis XV waned, and her friends fell into disfavour and\nobscurity. The Marechal de Saint Romans was given an unimportant\ncommand in Flanders; there was nothing to be gained for the moment\nfrom an open alliance with his daughter. Gaston de Stainville, an\navowed opportunist, paid his court to the newly risen star and was\nreceived with smiles, but he could not shake himself from the\nmatrimonial fetters which he himself had forged.\n\nThe rapid rise of the Duc d'Aumont to power and the overwhelming\nascendancy of Lydie in the affairs of State had made the young man\nchafe bitterly against the indestructible barrier which he himself had\nerected between his desires and their fulfilment. His passion for\nIrene did not yield to the early love of his childhood's days; it was\ndrowned in the newly risen flood of more boundless ambition. It was\nmerely the casting aside of one stepping-stone for another more firm\nand more prominent.\n\nJust now in the secluded alcove, when the proud, reserved girl had\nlaid bare before him the secrets of her virginal soul, when with\npathetic abandonment she laid the sceptre of her influence and power\nat his feet, he had felt neither compunction nor remorse; now, when\nthe woman who had trusted and blindly obeyed him asked for his help\nand support in a moral crisis, he was conscious only of a sense of\nirritation and even of contempt, which he tried vainly to disguise.\n\nAt the same time he knew well that it is never wise to tax a woman's\nsubmission too heavily. Irene had yielded to his wish that their\nmarriage be kept a secret for the present only because she, too, was\ntainted with a touch of that unscrupulous ambition which was the chief\ncharacteristic of the epoch. She was shrewd enough to know that her\nhusband would have but little chance in elbowing his way up the ladder\nof power--\"each rung of which was wrapped in a petticoat,\" as M. de\nVoltaire had pertinently put it--if he was known to be dragging a wife\nat his heels; Gaston had had no difficulty in making her understand\nthat his personality as a gay and irresponsible butterfly, as a man\nof fashion, and a squire of dames, was the most important factor in\nthe coming fight for the virtual dominion of France.\n\nShe had accepted the position at first with an easy grace; she knew\nher Gaston, and knew that he must not be handled with too tight a\ncurb; moreover, her secret status pleased her, whilst he remained\navowedly faithful to her she liked to see him court and smile, a\n_preux chevalier_ with the ladies; she relished the thought of being\nthe jailer to that gaily-plumaged bird, whom bright eyes and smiling\nlips tried to entice and enchain.\n\nBut to-night a crisis had come; something in Gaston's attitude toward\nLydie had irritated her beyond what she was prepared to endure. His\nlove for her had begun to wane long ago; she knew that, but she was\nnot inclined to see it bestowed on another. Stainville feared that she\nwas losing self-control, and that she might betray all and lose all if\nhe did not succeed in laying her jealous wrath to rest. He was past\nmaster in the art of dealing with a woman's tears.\n\n\"Irene,\" he said earnestly, \"I have far too much respect for you to\nlook upon this childish outburst of tears as representing the true\nstate of your feelings. You are unnerved--you own it yourself. Will\nyou allow me to hold your hand?\" he said with abrupt transition.\n\nThen as she yielded her trembling hand to him he pressed a lingering\nkiss in the icy cold palm.\n\n\"Will you not accept with this kiss the assurance of my unswerving\nfaith and loyalty?\" he said, speaking in that low, deep-toned voice of\nhis which he knew so well how to make tender and appealing to the\nheart of women. \"Irene, if I have committed an indiscretion to-night,\nif I allowed my ambition to soar beyond the bounds of prudence, will\nyou not believe that with my ambition my thoughts flew up to you and\nonly came down to earth in order to rest at your feet?\"\n\nHe had drawn her close to him, ready to whisper in her ear, as he had\nwhispered half an hour ago in those of Lydie. He wanted this woman's\ntrust and confidence just a very little while longer, and he found\nwords readily enough with which to hoodwink and to cajole. Irene was\nan easier prey than Lydie. She was his wife and her ambitions were\nbound up with his; her mistrust only came from jealousy, and jealousy\nin a woman is so easily conquered momentarily, if she be beautiful and\nyoung and the man ardent and unscrupulous.\n\nGaston as yet had no difficult task; but every day would increase\nthose difficulties, until he had finally grasped the aim of his\nambitious desires and had rid himself of Lydie.\n\n\"Irene!\" he whispered now, for he felt that she was consoled, and\nbeing consoled, she was ready to yield. \"Irene, my wife, a little more\npatience, a little more trust. Two days--a week--what matter? Shut\nyour eyes to all save this one moment to-night, when your husband is\nat your feet and when his soul goes out to yours in one long, and\ntender kiss. Your lips, ma mie!\"\n\nShe bent her head to him. Womanlike, she could not resist. Memory came\nto his aid as he pleaded, the memory of those early days on the\nvine-clad hills near Bordeaux, when he had wooed and won her with the\nsavour of his kiss.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE YOUNG PRETENDER\n\n\nAnd Lydie d'Aumont's eyes had watched his disappearing figure through\nthe crowd, until she could bear the sight no longer, and closed them\nwith the pain.\n\nAn even, pleasant, very courteous voice roused her from her reverie.\n\n\"You are tired, Mlle. d'Aumont. May I--that is, I should be very proud\nif you would allow me to--er----\"\n\nShe opened her eyes and saw the handsome face of \"le petit Anglais\"\nturned up to her with a look of humility, a deprecatory offer of\nservice, and withal a strange mingling of compassion which somehow at\nthis moment, in her sensitive and nervous state, seemed to wound and\nsting her.\n\n\"I'm not the least tired,\" she said coldly; \"I thank you, milor. The\ncolours and the light were so dazzling for the moment, my eyes closed\ninvoluntarily.\"\n\n\"I humbly beg your pardon,\" said Eglinton with nervous haste; \"I\nthought that perhaps a glass of wine----\"\n\n\"Tush child!\" interposed Lady Eglinton in her harsh dry voice; \"have\nyou not heard that Mlle. d'Aumont is not fatigued. Offer her the\nsupport of your arm and take her to see the Chevalier de Saint George,\nwho is waiting to bid her 'good-bye.'\"\n\n\"Nay! I assure you I can walk alone,\" rejoined Lydie, taking no heed\nto the proffered arm which Lord Eglinton, in obedience to his mother's\nsuggestion, was holding out toward her. \"Where is His Majesty the King\nof England?\" emphasizing the title with marked reproof, and looking\nwith somewhat good-natured contempt at the young Englishman who, with\na crestfallen air, had already dropped the arm which she had disdained\nand stepped quickly out of her way, whilst a sudden blush spread over\nhis good-looking face.\n\nHe looked so confused and sheepish, so like a chidden child, that she\nwas instantly seized with remorse, as if she had teased a defenseless\nanimal, and though the touch of contempt was still apparent in her\nattitude, she said more kindly:\n\n\"I pray you forgive me, milor. I am loth to think that perhaps our\ngallant Chevalier will never bear his rightful title in his own\ncountry. I feel that it cheers him to hear us--who are in true\nsympathy with him--calling him by that name. Shall we go find the King\nof England and wish him 'God-speed'?\"\n\nShe beckoned to Lord Eglinton, but he had probably not yet\nsufficiently recovered from the snub administered to him to realize\nthat the encouraging glance was intended for him, and he hung back,\nnot daring to follow, instinctively appealing to his mother for\nguidance as to what he should do.\n\n\"He is modest,\" said Lady Eglinton, with the air of a proud mother\nlauding her young offspring. \"A heart of gold, my dear Mlle.\nd'Aumont!\" she whispered behind her fan, \"under a simple exterior.\"\n\nLydie shrugged her shoulders with impatience. She knew whither Lady\nEglinton's praises of her son would drift presently. The pompous lady\nlooked for all the world like a fussy hen, her stiff brocaded gown and\nvoluminous paniers standing out in stiff folds each side of her portly\nfigure like a pair of wings, and to Lydie d'Aumont's proud spirit it\nseemed more than humiliating for a man, rich, young, apparently in\nperfect health, to allow himself to be domineered over by so vapid a\npersonality as was milady Eglinton.\n\nInstinctively her thoughts flew back to Gaston; very different\nphysically to \"le petit Anglais;\" undoubtedly not so attractive from\nthe point of view of manly grace and bearing, but a man for all that!\nwith a man's weaknesses and failings, and just that spice of devilry\nand uncertainty in him which was pleasing to a woman.\n\n\"So unreliable, my dear Mlle. d'Aumont,\" came in insinuating accents\nfrom Lady Eglinton. \"Look at his lengthy entanglement with Mlle. de\nSaint Romans.\"\n\nLydie gave a start sudden; had she spoken her thoughts out loudly\nwhilst her own mind was buried in happy retrospect? She must have been\ndreaming momentarily certainly, and must have been strangely\nabsent-minded, for she was quite unconscious of having descended the\nalcove steps until she found herself walking between Lord Eglinton and\nhis odious mother, in the direction of the corridors, whilst milady\nwent prattling on with irritating monotony:\n\n\"You would find such support in my son. The Chevalier de Saint\nGeorge--er--I mean the King of England--trusts him absolutely, you\nunderstand--they have been friends since boyhood. Harry would do more\nfor him if he could, but he has not the power. Now as Comptroller of\nFinance--you understand? You have such sympathy with the Stuart\npretensions, Mademoiselle, and a union of sympathies would do much\ntowards furthering the success of so just a cause; and if my son--you\nunderstand----\"\n\nLydie's ears were buzzing with the incessant chatter. Had she not been\nso absorbed in her thoughts she would have laughed at the absurdity of\nthe whole thing. This insignificant nonentity beside her, with the\nstrength and character of a chicken, pushed into a place of influence\nand power by that hen-like mother, and she--Lydie--lending a hand to\nthis installation of a backboneless weakling to the highest position\nof France!\n\nThe situation would have been supremely ridiculous were it not for the\nelement of pathos in it--the pathos of a young life which might have\nbeen so brilliant, so full of activity and interest, now tied to the\napron-strings of an interfering mother.\n\nLydie herself, though accustomed to rule in one of the widest spheres\nthat ever fell to woman's lot, wielded her sceptre with discretion and\ntact. In these days when the King was ruled by Pompadour, when Mme. du\nChatelet swayed the mind of Voltaire, and Marie Therese subjugated the\nHungarians, there was nothing of the blatant petticoat government in\nLydie's influence over her father. The obtrusive domination of a woman\nlike milady was obnoxious and abhorrent to her mind, proud of its\nfeminity, gentle in the consciousness of its strength.\n\nNow she feared that, forgetful of courtly manners, she might say or do\nsomething which would offend the redoubtable lady. There was still the\nwhole length of the banqueting-hall to traverse, also the corridor,\nbefore she could hope to be released from so unwelcome a\ncompanionship.\n\nApparently unconscious of having roused Lydie's disapproval, milady\ncontinued to prattle. Her subject of conversation was still her son,\nand noting that his attention seemed to be wandering, she called to\nhim in her imperious voice:\n\n\"Harry! Harry!\" she said impatiently. \"Am I to to be your spokesman\nfrom first to last? Ah!\" she added, with a sigh, \"men are not what\nthey were when I was wooed and won. What say you, my dear Mlle. Lydie?\nThe age of chivalry, of doughty deeds and bold adventures, is indeed\npast and gone, else a young man of Lord Eglinton's advantages would\nnot depute his own mother to do his courting for him.\"\n\nA shriek of laughter which threatened to be hysterical rose to Lydie's\nthroat. How gladly would she have beaten a precipitate retreat.\nUnfortunately the room was crowded with people, who unconsciously\nimpeded progress. She turned and looked at \"le petit Anglais,\" the\nsorry hero of this prosaic wooing, wondering what was his _role_ in\nthis silly, childish intrigue. She met his gentle eyes fixed upon hers\nwith a look which somehow reminded her of a St. Bernard dog that she\nhad once possessed; there was such a fund of self-deprecation, such\nabject apology in the look, that she felt quite unaccountably sorry\nfor him, and the laughter died before it reached her lips.\n\nSomething prompted her to try and reassure him; the same feeling would\nhave caused her to pat the head of her dog.\n\n\"I feel sure,\" she said kindly, \"that Lord Eglinton will have no need\nof a proxy once he sets his mind on serious wooing.\"\n\n\"But this is serious!\" retorted Lady Eglinton testily. Lydie shook her\nhead:\n\n\"As little serious as his lordship's desire to control the finances of\nFrance.\"\n\n\"Oh! but who better fitted for the post than my son. He is so\nrich--the richest man in France, and in these days of bribery and\ncorruption--you understand, and--and being partly English--not wholly,\nI am thankful to say--for I abominate the English myself; but we must\nown that they are very shrewd where money is concerned--and----\"\n\n\"In the name of Heaven, milady,\" said Lydie irritably, \"will you not\nallow your son to know his own mind? If he has a request to place\nbefore M. le Duc my father or before me, let him do so for himself.\"\n\n\"I think--er--perhaps Mlle. d'Aumont is right,\" here interposed Lord\nEglinton gently. \"You will--er--I hope, excuse my mother,\nMademoiselle; she is so used to my consulting her in everything that\nperhaps---- You see,\" he continued in his nervous halting, way, \"I--I\nam rather stupid and I am very lazy; she thinks I should understand\nfinance, because I--but I don't believe I should; I----\"\n\nHer earnest eyes, fixed with good-humoured indulgence upon his anxious\nface, seemed to upset him altogether. His throat was dry, and his\ntongue felt as if it were several sizes too large for his parched\nmouth. For the moment it looked as if the small modicum of courage\nwhich he possessed would completely give out, but noting that just for\nthe moment his mother was engaged in exchanging hasty greetings with\na friend, he seemed to make a violent and sudden effort, and with the\naudacity which sometimes assails the preternaturally weak, he plunged\nwildly into his subject.\n\n\"I have no desire for positions which I am too stupid to fill,\" he\nsaid, speaking so rapidly that Lydie could hardly follow him; \"but,\nMademoiselle, I entreat you do not believe that my admiration for you\nis not serious. I know I am quite unworthy to be even your lacquey,\nthough I wouldn't mind being that, since it would bring me sometimes\nnear you. Please, please, don't look at me--I am such a clumsy fool,\nand I daresay I am putting things all wrong! My mother says,\" he\nadded, with a pathetic little sigh, \"that I shall spoil everything if\nI open my mouth, and now I have done it, and you are angry, and I wish\nto God somebody would come and give me a kick!\"\n\nHe paused, flushed, panting and excited, having come to the end of his\ncourage, whilst Lydie did not know if she should be angry or sorry. A\nsmile hovered round her lips, yet she would gladly have seen some\nmanlike creature administer chastisement to this foolish weakling. Her\nkeenly analytical mind flew at once to comparisons.\n\nGaston de Stainville--and now this poor specimen of manhood! She had\ntwice been wooed in this self-same room within half an hour; but how\ndifferent had been the methods of courting. A look of indulgence for\nthe weak, a flash of pride for the strong, quickly lit up her\nstatuesque face. It was the strong who had won, though womanlike, she\nfelt a kindly pity for him who did not even dare to ask for that which\nthe other had so boldly claimed as his right--her love.\n\nFortunately, the _tete-a-tete_, which was rapidly becoming\nembarrassing--for she really did not know how to reply to this strange\nand halting profession of love--was at last drawing to a close. At the\nend of the corridor Charles Edward Stuart, surrounded by a group of\nfriends, had caught sight of her, and with gracious courtesy he\nadvanced to meet her.\n\n\"Ah! the gods do indeed favour us,\" he said gallantly in answer to her\nrespectful salute, and nodding casually to Lady Eglinton, who had\nbobbed him a grudging curtsey, \"We feared that our enemy, Time,\ntreading hard on our heels, would force us to depart ere we had\ngreeted our Muse.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty is leaving us?\" she asked. \"So soon?\"\n\n\"Alas! the hour is late. We start to-morrow at daybreak.\"\n\n\"God speed you, Sire!\" she said fervently.\n\n\"To my death,\" he rejoined gloomily.\n\n\"To victory, Sire, and your Majesty's own kingdom!\" she retorted\ncheerily. \"Nay! I, your humble, yet most faithful adherent, refuse to\nbe cast down to-night. See,\" she added, pointing to the group of\ngentlemen who had remained discreetly in the distance, \"you have brave\nhearts to cheer you, brave swords to help you!\"\n\n\"Would I were sure of a brave ship to rescue me and them if I fail!\"\nhe murmured.\n\nShe tossed her head with a characteristic movement of impatience.\n\n\"Nay! I was determined not to speak of failure to-night, Sire.\"\n\n\"Yet must I think of it,\" he rejoined, \"since the lives of my friends\nare dependent on me.\"\n\n\"They give their lives gladly for your cause.\"\n\n\"I would prefer to think that a good ship from France was ready to\ntake them aboard if evil luck force us to flee.\"\n\n\"France has promised you that ship, Monseigneur,\" she said earnestly:\n\n\"If France meant you, Mademoiselle,\" he said firmly, \"I would believe\nin her.\"\n\n\"She almost means Lydie d'Aumont!\" retorted the young girl, with\nconscious pride.\n\n\"Only for a moment,\" broke in Lady Eglinton spitefully; \"but girls\nmarry,\" she added, \"and every husband may not be willing to be held\nunder the sway of satin petticoats.\"\n\n\"If France fails you, Monseigneur,\" here interposed a gentle voice, \"I\nhave already had the honour of assuring you that there is enough\nEglinton money still in the country to fit out a ship for your safety;\nand--er----\"\n\nThen, as if ashamed of this outburst, the second of which he had been\nguilty to-night, \"le petit Anglais\" once more relapsed into silence.\nBut Lydie threw him a look of encouragement.\n\n\"Well spoken, milor!\" she said approvingly.\n\nWith her quick intuition she had already perceived that milady was\ndispleased, and she took a malicious pleasure in dragging Lord\nEglinton further into the conversation. She knew quite well that\nmilady cared naught about the Stuarts or their fate. From the day of\nher marriage she had dissociated herself from the cause, for the\nfurtherance of which her husband's father had given up home and\ncountry.\n\nIt was her influence which had detached the late Lord Eglinton from\nthe fortunes of the two Pretenders; justly, perhaps, since the\nexpeditions were foredoomed to failure, and Protestant England rightly\nor wrongly mistrusted all the Stuarts. But Lydie's romantic instincts\ncould not imagine an Englishman in any other capacity save as the\nchampion of the forlorn cause; one of the principal reasons why she\nhad always disliked the Eglintons was because they held themselves\naloof from the knot of friends who gathered round Charles Edward.\n\nShe was, therefore, not a little surprised to hear \"le petit Anglais\"\npromising at least loyal aid and succour in case of disaster, since he\ncould not give active support to the proposed expedition. That he had\nmade no idle boast when he spoke of Eglinton money she knew quite\nwell, nor was it said in vain arrogance, merely as a statement of\nfact. Milady's vexation proved that it was true.\n\nDelighted and eager, she threw herself with all the ardour of her\nromantic impulses into this new train of thought suggested by Lord\nEglinton's halting speech.\n\n\"Ah, milor,\" she said joyously, and not heeding Lady Eglinton's scowl,\n\"now that I have an ally in you my dream can become a reality. Nay,\nSire, you shall start for England with every hope, every assurance of\nsuccess, but if you fail, you and those you care for shall be safe.\nWill you listen to my plan?\"\n\n\"Willingly.\"\n\n\"Lord Eglinton is your friend--at least, you trust him, do you not?\"\n\n\"I trust absolutely in the loyalty of his house toward mine,\" replied\nCharles Edward unhesitatingly.\n\n\"Then do you agree with him, and with him alone, on a spot in England\nor Scotland where a ship would find you in case of failure.\"\n\n\"That has been done already,\" said Eglinton simply.\n\n\"And if ill-luck pursues us, we will make straight for that spot and\nawait salvation from France.\"\n\nLydie said no more; she was conscious of a distinct feeling of\ndisappointment that her own plan should have been forestalled. She had\nfondled the notion, born but a moment ago, that if her own influence\nwere not sufficiently great in the near future to induce King Louis to\nsend a rescue ship for the Young Pretender if necessary, she could\nthen, with Lord Eglinton's money, fit out a private expedition and\nsnatch the last of the Stuarts from the vengeance of his enemies. The\nromantic idea had appealed to her, and she had been forestalled. She\ntried to read the thoughts of those around her. Lady Eglinton was\nevidently ignorant of the details of the plan; she seemed surprised\nand vastly disapproving. Charles Edward was whispering a few hasty\nwords in the ear of his friend, whom obviously he trusted more than he\ndid the word of France or the enthusiasm of Mlle. d'Aumont.\n\n\"Le petit Anglais\" had relapsed into his usual state of nervousness,\nand his eyes wandered uneasily from Lydie's face to that of his royal\ncompanion, whilst with restless fingers he fidgeted the signet ring\nwhich adorned his left hand. Suddenly he slipped the ring off and\nCharles Edward Stuart examined it very attentively, then returned it\nto its owner with a keen look of intelligence and a nod of approval.\n\nLydie was indeed too late with her romantic plan; these two men had\nthought it all out before her in every detail--even to the ring. She,\ntoo, had thought of a token which would be an assurance to the\nfugitives that they might trust the bearer thereof. She felt quite\nchildishly vexed at all this. It was an unusual thing in France these\ndays to transact serious business without consulting Mlle. d'Aumont.\n\n\"You are taking it for granted, Sire, that France will fail you?\" she\nsaid somewhat testily.\n\n\"Nay! why should you say that?\" he asked.\n\n\"Oh! the ring--the obvious understanding between you and milor.\"\n\n\"Was it not your wish, Mademoiselle?\"\n\n\"Oh! a mere suggestion--in case France failed you, and I were\npowerless to remind her of her promise.\"\n\n\"Pa ma foi,\" he rejoined gallantly, \"and you'll command me, I'll\nbelieve that contingency to be impossible. The whole matter of the\nring is a whim of Eglinton's, and I swear that I'll only trust to\nFrance and to you.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" she said quickly, her own sound common sense coming to the\nrescue just in time to rout the unreasoning petulance of a while ago,\nwhich truly had been unworthy of her. \"It was foolish of me to taunt,\nand I pray your Majesty's forgiveness. It would have been joy and\npride to me to feel that the plans for your Majesty's safety had been\ndevised by me, but I gladly recognize that milor Eglinton hath in this\nmatter the prior claim.\"\n\nHer little speech was delivered so simply and with such a noble air of\nself-effacement that it is small wonder that Charles Edward could but\nstand in speechless admiration before her. She looked such an\nexquisite picture of proud and self-reliant womanhood, as she stood\nthere, tall and erect, the stiff folds of her white satin gown\nsurrounding her like a frame of ivory round a dainty miniature. Tears\nof enthusiasm were in her eyes, her lips were parted with a smile of\nencouragement, her graceful head, thrown slightly back and crowned\nwith the burnished gold of her hair, stood out in perfect relief\nagainst the soft-toned gold and veined marble of the walls.\n\n\"I entreat you, Mademoiselle,\" said the Young Pretender at last, \"do\nnot render my departure too difficult by showing me so plainly all\nthat I relinquish when I quit the fair shores of France.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty leaves many faithful hearts in Versailles, none the less\ntrue because they cannot follow you. Nay! but methinks Lord Eglinton\nand I will have to make a pact of friendship, so that when your\nMajesty hath gone we might often speak of you.\"\n\n\"Speak of me often and to the King,\" rejoined Charles Edward, with a\nquick return to his former mood. \"I have a premonition that I shall\nhave need of his help.\"\n\nThen he bowed before her, and she curtsyed very low until her young\nhead was almost down to the level of his knees. He took her hand and\nkissed it with the respect due to an equal.\n\n\"Farewell, Sire, and God speed you!\" she murmured. He seemed quite\nreluctant to go. Gloom had once more completely settled over his\nspirits, and Lydie d'Aumont, clad all in white like some graceful\nstatue carved in marble, seemed to him the figure of Hope on which a\nrelentless fate forced him to turn his back.\n\nHis friends now approached and surrounded him. Some were leaving\nVersailles and France with him on the morrow, others accompanied him\nin spirit only with good wishes and anxious sighs. Charles Edward\nStuart, the unfortunate descendant of an unfortunate race, turned with\na final appealing look to the man he trusted most.\n\n\"Be not a broken reed to me, Eglinton,\" he said sadly. \"Try and\nprevent France from altogether forgetting me.\"\n\nLydie averted her head in order to hide the tears of pity which had\nrisen to her eyes.\n\n\"Oh, unfortunate Prince! if thine only prop is this poor weakling\nwhose dog-like affection has no moral strength to give it support!\"\n\nWhen she turned once more toward him, ready to bid him a final adieu,\nhe was walking rapidly away from her down the long narrow corridor,\nleaning on Eglinton's arm and closely surrounded by his friends. In\nthe far distance King Louis the Well-beloved strolled leisurely toward\nhis departing guest, leaning lightly on the arm of Mme. la Marquise de\nPompadour.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE LAST TRICK\n\n\nThe noise of talk and laughter still filled the old chateau from end\nto end. Though the special guest of the evening had departed and\nroyalty no longer graced the proceedings, since His Majesty had driven\naway to Versailles after having bidden adieu to the Chevalier de Saint\nGeorge, M. le Duc d'Aumont's less important visitors showed no signs\nas yet of wishing to break up this convivial night.\n\nThe sound of dance music filled the air, and from the _salle d'armes_\nthe merry strains of the gavotte, the tripping of innumerable feet,\nthe incessant buzz of young voices, reached the more distant corridor\nlike an echo from fairyland.\n\nLydie had remained quite a little while leaning against the cool\nmarble wall, watching with eager intentness the group of gallant\nEnglish and Scotch gentlemen congregated round their young Prince.\nLouis the Well-beloved, with that graciousness peculiar to all the\nBourbons, had, severally and individually bidden \"good-bye\" to all.\nEach in turn had kissed the podgy white hand of the King of France,\nwho had been so benignant a host to them all. None understood better\nthan Louis XV, the art of leaving a pleasing impression on the mind of\na departing friend. He had a smile, a jest, a word of encouragement\nfor each whilst Jeanne de Pompadour, with one dainty hand on the\nKing's shoulder, the other flirting her fan, emphasized each token of\nroyal goodwill and of royal favour.\n\n\"Ah! milor Dunkeld, a pleasing journey to you. M. le Marquis de Perth,\nI pray you do not, amidst the fogs of England, forget the sunshine of\nFrance. Sir Andre Seafield, your absence will bring many tears to a\npair of blue eyes I wot of.\"\n\nShe pronounced the foreign names with dainty affectation, and Louis\nhad much ado to keep his eyes away from that bright, smiling face, and\nthose ever-recurring dimples. Lydie felt a strange nausea at sight of\nthese noble, high-born gentlemen paying such reverential homage to the\nlow-born adventuress, and a deep frown appeared between her eyes when\nshe saw Charles Edward Stuart bending as low before Jeanne Poisson as\nhe had done just now before her--Lydie, daughter of the Duc d'Aumont.\n\nBah! what did it matter, after all? This world of irresponsible\nbutterflies, of petty machinations and self-seeking intrigues: would\nshe not quit it to-morrow for a land of poetry and romance, where\nwomen wield no sceptre save that of beauty, and where but one ruler is\nacknowledged and his name is Love?\n\nShe made a strenuous attempt to detach herself mentally from her\nsurroundings; with a great effort of her will she succeeded in losing\nsight of the individuality of all these people round her. Lady\nEglinton still talking at random beside her, Mme. de Pompadour\nyielding her hand to the kiss of a Stuart Prince, that fat and pompous\nman, whom duty bade her call \"Your Majesty,\" all became mere\npuppets--dolls that laughed and chatted and danced, hanging on\ninvisible strings, which the mighty hand of some grim giant was\ndangling for the amusement of his kind.\n\nHow paltry it seemed all at once! What did it matter if France was\nruled by that vapid King or by that brainless, overdressed woman\nbeside him? What did it matter if that young man with the shifty blue\neyes and the fair, curly hair succeeded in ousting another man from\nthe English throne?\n\nWhat did matter was that Gaston was not faithless, that he loved her,\nand that she had felt the sweetness of a first kiss!\n\nHappily back in dreamland now, she could once more afford to play her\npart amongst the marionettes. She was willing to yield the string\nwhich made her dance and talk and move into the hands of the fiercely\nhumorous giant up aloft. No doubt it was he who pulled her along the\ncorridor, made her join the group that congregated round departing\nroyalty.\n\nM. le Duc d'Aumont--the perfect courtier and gentleman--was already\nformulating his adieux. His Majesty the King of France would, by the\nrigid rule of etiquette, be the first to leave. Accompanied by Mme. de\nPompadour and followed by M. le Duc, he was commencing his progress\ndown the monumental staircase which led to the great entrance hall\nbelow.\n\nLydie, still made to move no doubt by that invisible giant hand, found\nit quite simple and easy to mingle with the crowd, to take the King's\narm, being his hostess, whilst M. le Duc her father and Mme. de\nPompadour followed close behind.\n\nWith her spirit wandering in dreamland, she was naturally somewhat\ndistraite--not too much so, only sufficiently to cause Louis XV to\nmake comparisons betwixt his sprightly Jeanne and this animated\nstatue, whose cold little hand rested so impassively on the satin of\nhis coat.\n\nAt the foot of the perron the King's Flemish horses, as round of body\nand heavy of gait as himself, were impatiently pawing the ground. The\nopening of the great gates sent a wave of sweet-scented air into the\noverheated chateau. Lydie was glad that her duty demanded that she\nshould accompany the King down the steps to the door of his coach. The\ncool night breeze fanned her cheeks most pleasingly, the scent of June\nroses and of clove carnations filled the air, and from below the\nterraced gardens there came the softly-murmuring ripple of the Seine,\nwinding her graceful curves toward the mighty city of Paris beyond.\n\nFar away to the east, beyond the grim outline of cedar and poplar\ntrees, a fair crescent moon appeared, chaste and cold.\n\n\"An emblem of our fair hostess to-night,\" said Louis with clumsy\ngallantry and pointing up to the sky, as Lydie bent her tall figure\nand kissed the royal hand.\n\nThen she stood aside, having made a cold bow to Mme. de Pompadour; the\nfair Marquise was accompanying His Majesty to Versailles; she stepped\ninto the coach beside him, surrounded by murmurs of flattery and\nadulation. Even Charles Edward made her a final speech of somewhat\nforced gallantry; he was the last to kiss her hand, and Lydie could\nalmost hear the softly whispered words of entreaty with which he bade\nher not to forget.\n\nAnd Jeanne Poisson--daughter of a kitchen wench--was condescendingly\ngracious to a Stuart Prince; then she calmly waved him aside, whilst\nthe King apparently was content to wait, and called Lady Eglinton to\nthe door of the coach.\n\n\"You are wasting too much time,\" she whispered quickly; \"an you don't\nhurry now, you will be too late.\"\n\nAt last the departure was effected; the crowd, with backbone bent and\ntricornes sweeping the ground, waited in that uncomfortable position\nuntil the gilded coach and the men in gorgeous blue and gold liveries\nwere swallowed in the gloom of the chestnut avenue; then it broke up\ninto isolated groups. Lydie had done her duty as hostess; she had\ntaken such leave as etiquette demanded from Charles Edward Stuart and\nhis friends. Coaches and chairs came up to the perron in quick\nsuccession now, bearing the adventurers away on this, the first stage\nof their hazardous expedition. When would they sup again in such\nluxury? when would the frou-frou of silk, the flutter of fans, the\nsound of dance music once more pleasantly tickle their ears?\nTo-morrow, and for many a long day to come it would be hurried meals\nin out-of-the-way places, the call to horse, the clink of arms.\n\nPuppets! puppets all! for what did it matter?\n\nLydie would have loved to have lingered out on the terrace awhile\nlonger. The oak-leaved geraniums down at the foot of the terrace steps\nthrew an intoxicating lemon-scented fragrance in the air, the row of\nstunted orange trees still bore a few tardy blossoms, and in the copse\nyonder, away from the din and the bustle made by the marionettes, it\nmust be delicious to wander on the carpet of moss and perchance to\nhear the melancholy note of a nightingale.\n\n\"Do you think not, Mademoiselle, that this night air is treacherous?\"\nsaid Lord Eglinton, with his accustomed diffidence. \"You seem to be\nshivering; will you allow me the honour of bringing your cloak?\"\n\nShe thanked him quite kindly. Somehow his gentle voice did not jar on\nher mood. Since Gaston was not there, she felt that she would sooner\nhave this unobtrusive, pleasant man beside her than any one else. He\nseemed to have something womanish and tender in his feeble nature\nwhich his mother lacked. Perhaps milady had divested herself of her\nnatural attributes in order to grace her son with them, since she had\nbeen unable to instil more manly qualities into him.\n\nBut Lydie's heart ached for a sight of Gaston. The clock in the tower\nof the old chateau chimed the hour before midnight. It was but half an\nhour since she had parted from him on the steps of the alcove; she\nremembered quite distinctly hearing the bracket clock close by strike\nhalf-past ten, at the same moment as Pompadour's shrill laugh broke\nupon her ear.\n\nHalf an hour? Why, it seemed a lifetime since then; and while she had\nmade her bow to the Stuart Prince and then to King Louis, while she\nhad allowed the unseen giant to move her from place to place on a\nstring, perhaps Gaston had been seeking for her, perhaps his heart had\nlonged for her too, and a sting of jealousy of her multifarious social\nduties was even now marring the glory of happy memories.\n\nWithout another moment's hesitation she turned her back on the\npeaceful gloom of the night, on the silver crescent moon, the\nfragrance of carnations and orange-blossoms, and walked quickly up the\nperron steps with a hasty: \"You are right, milor, the night air is\nsomewhat chilling and my guests will be awaiting me,\" thrown over her\nshoulder at her bashful cavalier.\n\nBeyond the noble entrance doors the vast hall was now practically\ndeserted, save for a group of flunkeys, gorgeous and solemn, who stood\nawaiting the departure of their respective masters. At the farther end\nwhich led to the main corridor, Lydie, to her chagrin, caught sight of\nLady Eglinton's brobdingnagian back.\n\n\"What an obsession!\" she sighed, and hoped that milady would fail to\nnotice her. Already she was planning hasty flight along a narrow\npassage, when a question authoritatively put by her ladyship to a\nmagnificent person clad in a purple livery with broad white facings\narrested her attention.\n\n\"Is your master still in the boudoir, do you know?\"\n\n\"I do not know, Mme. la Marquise,\" the man replied. \"I have not seen\nM. le Comte since half an hour.\"\n\nThe purple livery with broad white facings was that of the Comte de\nStainville.\n\n\"I have a message for M. le Comte from Mme. de Pompadour,\" said Lady\nEglinton carelessly. \"I'll find him, I daresay.\"\n\nAnd she turned into the great corridor.\n\nLydie no longer thought of flight; an unexplainable impulse caught her\nto change her mind, and to follow in Lady Eglinton's wake. She could\nnot then have said if \"le petit Anglais\" was still near her not. She\nhad for the moment forgotten his insignificant existence.\n\nThere was an extraordinary feeling of unreality about herself and her\nmovements, about the voluminous person ahead clad in large-flowered\nazure brocade and closely followed by a stiff automaton in purple and\nwhite; they seemed to be leading her along some strange and unexpected\npaths, at the end of which Lydie somehow felt sure that grinning apes\nwould be awaiting her.\n\nAnon Lady Eglinton paused, with her hand on the handle of a door; she\ncaught sight of Mlle. d'Aumont and seemed much surprised to see her\nthere. She called to her by name, in that harsh voice which Lydie\ndetested, whilst the obsequious automaton came forward and relieved\nher from the trouble of turning that handle herself.\n\n\"Allow me, milady.\"\n\nThe door flew open, the flunkey at the same moment also drew a heavy\ncurtain aside.\n\nLydie had just come up quite close, in answer to Lady Eglinton's call.\nShe was standing facing the door when Benedict threw it open,\nannouncing with mechanical correctness of attitude:\n\n\"Mme. la Marquise d'Eglinton, M. le Comte!\"\n\nAt first Lydie only saw Gaston as he turned to face the intruders. His\nface was flushed, and he muttered a quickly-suppressed oath. But\nalready she had guessed, even before Lady Eglinton's strident voice\nhad set her every nerve a-tingling.\n\n\"Mlle. de Saint Romans!\" said milady, with a shrill laugh, \"a thousand\npardons! I had a message from Mme. de Pompadour for M. le Comte de\nStainville, and thought to find him alone. A thousand pardons, I\nbeg--the intrusion was involuntary--and the message unimportant--I'll\ndeliver it when Monsieur is less pleasantly engaged.\"\n\nLydie at that moment could not have stirred one limb, if her very\nlife had depended on a movement from her. The feeling of unreality had\ngone. It was no longer that. It was a grim, hideous, awful reality.\nThat beautiful woman there was reality, and real, too, were the\nglowing eyes that flashed defiance at milady, the lips parted for that\nlast kiss which the flunkey's voice had interrupted, the stray black\ncurls which had escaped from the trammels of the elaborate coiffure\nand lay matted on the damp forehead.\n\nAnd those roses, too, which had adorned her corsage, now lying broken\nand trampled on the floor, the candles burning dimly in their sockets,\nand Gaston's look of wrath, quickly followed by one of fear--all--all\nthat was real!\n\nReal to the awful shame of it all--milady's sneer of triumph, the oath\nwhich had risen to Gaston's lips, the wooden figure of the lacquey\nstanding impassive at the door!\n\nInstinctively Lydie's hand flew to her lips; oh, that she could have\nwiped out the last, lingering memory of that kiss. She, the proud and\nreserved vestal, a Diana chaste and cold, with lips now for ever\npolluted by contact with those of a liar. A liar, a traitor, a\nsycophant! She lashed her haughty spirit into fury, the better to feel\nthe utter degradation of her own abasement.\n\nShe did not speak. What could she say! One look at Gaston's face and\nshe understood that her humiliation was complete; his eyes did not\neven seek her pardon, they expressed neither sorrow nor shame, only\nimpotent wrath and fear of baffled ambition. Not before all these\npeople would she betray herself, before that beautiful rival, or that\nvulgar _intrigante_, not before Gaston or his lacquey, and beyond that\nmechanical movement of hand to lips, beyond one short flash of\nunutterable pride and contempt, she remained silent and rigid, whilst\nher quick eyes took in a complete mental vision of that never\nto-be-forgotten picture--the dimly-lighted boudoir, the defiant figure\nof Irene de Saint Romans, the crushed roses on the floor.\n\nThen with a heart-broken sigh unheard by the other actors in this\nmoving tableaux, and covering her face with her hands, she began to\nwalk rapidly down the corridor.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE WINNING HAND\n\n\nBut Lydie d'Aumont had not gone five paces before she heard a quick,\nsharp call, followed by the rustle of silk on the marble floor.\n\nThe next moment she felt a firm, hot grip on her wrist, and her left\nhand was forcibly drawn away from her face, whilst an eager voice\nspoke quick, vehement words, the purport of which failed at first to\nreach her brain.\n\n\"You shall not go, Mlle. d'Aumont,\" were the first coherent words\nwhich she seemed to understand--\"you cannot--it is not just, not fair\nuntil you have heard!\"\n\n\"There is nothing which I need hear,\" interrupted Lydie coldly, the\nmoment she realized that it was Irene de Saint Romans who was\naddressing her; \"and I pray you to let me go.\"\n\n\"Nay! but you shall hear, you must!\" rejoined the other without\nreleasing her grasp on the young girl's wrist. Her hand was hot, and\nher fingers had the strength of intense excitement. Lydie could not\nfree herself, strive how she might.\n\n\"Do you not see that this is most unfair?\" continued Irene with great\nvolubility. \"Am I to be snubbed like some kitchen wench caught kissing\nbehind doorways? Look at milady Eglinton and her ill-natured sneer.\nI'll not tolerate it, nor your looks of proud contempt! I'll\nnot--I'll not! Gaston! Gaston!\" she now exclaimed, turning to de\nStainville, who was standing, silent and sullen, whilst he saw his\nwife gradually lashing herself into wrathful agitation at his own\nindifference and Lydie's cold disdain. \"If you have a spark of courage\nleft in you, tell that malicious _intrigante_ and this scornful minx\nthat if I were to spend the whole evening in the boudoir _en\ntete-a-tete_ with you, aye! and behind closed doors if I chose who\nshall have a word to say, when I am in the company of my own husband?\"\n\n\"Your husband!\"\n\nThe ejaculation came from Lady Eglinton's astonished lips. Lydie had\nnot stirred. She did not seem to have heard, and certainly Irene's\ntriumphant announcement left her as cold, as impassive as before. What\ndid it matter, after all, what special form Gaston's lies to her had\nassumed? Nothing that he or Irene said or did could add to his\nbaseness and infamy.\n\n\"Aye, my husband, milady!\" continued the other more calmly, as she\nfinally released Lydie's wrist and cast it, laughing, from her. \"I am\ncalled Mme. la Comtesse de Stainville, and will be called so in the\nfuture openly. Now you may rejoin your guests, Mlle. d'Aumont; my\nreputation stands as far beyond reproach as did your own before you\nspent a mysterious half hour with my husband behind the curtains of an\nalcove.\"\n\nShe turned to de Stainville, who, in spite of his wife's provocative\nattitude, had remained silent, cursing the evil fate which had played\nhim this trick, cursing the three women who were both the cause and\nthe witnesses of his discomfiture.\n\n\"Your arm, Gaston!\" she said peremptorily; \"and you, Benedict, call\nyour master's coach and my chair. Mlle. d'Aumont, your servant. If I\nhave been the means of dissipating a happy illusion, you may curse me\nnow, but you will bless me to-morrow. Gaston has been false to you--he\nis not over true to me--but he is my husband, and as such I must claim\nhim. For the sake of his schemes, of his ambitions, I kept our\nmarriage a secret so that he might rise to higher places than I had\nthe power to give him. When your disdainful looks classed me with a\nflirty kitchen-wench I rebelled at last. I trust that you are proud\nenough not to vent your disappointment on Gaston; but if you do, 'tis\nno matter; I'll find means of consoling him.\"\n\nShe made the young girl a low and sweeping curtesy in the most\napproved style demanded by the elabourate etiquette of the time. There\nwas a gleam of mocking triumph in her eyes, which she did not attempt\nto conceal, and which suddenly stung Lydie's pride to the quick.\n\nIt is strange indeed that often at a moment when a woman's whole\nhappiness is destroyed with one blow, when a gigantic cataclysm\nrevolutionises with one fell swoop her entire mode of thought, dispels\nall her dreams and shatters her illusions, it is always the tiny final\npin-prick which causes her the most acute pain and influences the\nwhole of her subsequent conduct.\n\nIt was Irene's mocking curtsey which roused Lydie from her mental\ntorpor, because it brought her--as it were--in actual physical contact\nwith all that she would have to endure openly in the future, as apart\nfrom the hidden misery of her heart.\n\nGaston's shamed face was no longer the only image which seared her\neyes and brain. The world, her own social world, seemed all at once to\nreawaken before her. That world would sneer even as Irene de\nStainville sneered; it would laugh at and enjoy her own discomfiture.\nShe--Lydie d'Aumont--the proud and influential daughter of the Prime\nMinister of France, whom flatterers and sycophants approached mentally\non bended knees, for whom suitors hardly dared even to sigh, she had\nbeen tricked and fooled like any silly country mouse whose vanity had\nled to her own abasement.\n\nHalf an hour ago in the fullness of her newly-found happiness she had\nflaunted her pride and her love before those who hated and envied her.\nTo-morrow--nay, within an hour--this humiliating scene would be the\ntalk of Paris and Versailles. Lydie's burning ears seemed even now to\nhear the Pompadour retailing it with many embellishments, which would\nbring a coarse laugh to the lips of the King and an ill-natured jest\nto those of her admirers; she could hear the jabbering crowd, could\nfeel the looks of compassion or sarcasm aimed at her as soon at this\ntit-bit of society scandal had been bruited abroad.\n\nThe scene itself had become real and vivid to her; the marble\ncorridor, the flickering candles, the flunkey's impassive face; she\nunderstood that the beautiful woman before her was in fact and deed\nthe wife of Gaston de Stainville. She even contrived to perceive the\nhumour of Lady Eglinton's completely bewildered expression, the blank\nastonishment of her round, bulgy eyes, and close to her she saw \"le\npetit Anglais,\" self-effaced as usual, and looking almost as guilty,\nas shamefaced as Gaston.\n\nLydie turned to him and placed a cool, steady hand upon his sleeve.\n\n\"Madame la Comtesse de Stainville,\" she then said with perfect calm,\n\"I fear me I must beg of your courtesy to tarry awhile longer, whilst\nI offer you an explanation to which I feel you are entitled. Just now\nI was somewhat surprised because your news was sudden--and it is my\nturn to ask your pardon, although my fault--if fault there be--rests\non a misapprehension. M. le Comte de Stainville's amours or his\nmarriage are no concern of mine. True, he begged for my influence and\nfawned upon my favour just now, for his ambition soared to the post of\nHigh Controller of the Finances of France. That appointment rests with\nthe Duc, my father, who no doubt will bestow it on him whom he thinks\nmost worthy. But it were not fair to me, if you left me now thinking\nthat the announcement of your union with a gentleman whose father was\nthe friend of mine could give me aught but pleasure. Permit me to\ncongratulate you, Madame, on the choice of a lord and master, a\nhelpmeet no doubt. You are indeed well matched. I am all the more\neager to offer you my good wishes as I have been honoured to-night\nwith a proposal which has greatly flattered me. My lord the Marquis of\nEglinton has asked me to be his wife!\"\n\nOnce more she turned her head toward the young Englishman and\nchallenged a straight look from his eyes. He did not waver and she was\nsatisfied. Her instinct had not misled her, for he expressed no\nastonishment, only a sort of dog-like gratitude and joy as, having\nreturned her gaze quite firmly, he now slowly raised his arm bringing\nher hand on a level with his lips.\n\nLady Eglinton also displayed sufficient presence of mind not to show\nany surprise. She perhaps alone of all those present fully realized\nthat Lydie had been wounded to the innermost depths of her heart, and\nthat she herself owed her own and her son's present triumph to the\nrevolt of mortified pride.\n\nWhat Gaston thought and felt exactly it were difficult to say. He held\nwomen in such slight esteem, and his own vanity was receiving so\nsevere a blow, that, no doubt, he preferred to think that Lydie, like\nhimself, had no power of affection and merely bestowed her heart there\nwhere self-interest called.\n\nIrene, on the other hand, heaved a sigh of relief; the jealous\nsuspicions which had embittered the last few days were at last\ndispelled. Hers was a simple, shallow nature that did not care to look\nbeyond the obvious. She certainly appeared quite pleased at Lydie's\nannouncement, and if remorse at her precipitancy did for one brief\nsecond mar the fullness of her joy, she quickly cast it from her, not\nhaving yet had time to understand the future and more serious\nconsequences of her impulsive avowal.\n\nShe wanted to go up to Lydie and to offer her vapid expressions of\ngoodwill, but Gaston, heartily tired of the prolongation of this\nscene, dragged her somewhat roughly away.\n\nFrom the far distance there came the cry of the flunkeys.\n\n\"The chair of Mlle. de Saint Romans!\"\n\n\"The coach of M. le Comte de Stainville!\"\n\nM. Benedict, resplendent in purple and white, reappeared at the end of\nthe corridor, with Irene's hood and cloak. Gaston, with his wife on\nhis arm, turned on his heel and quickly walked down the corridor.\n\nMilady, puzzled, bewildered, boundlessly overjoyed yet fearing to\ntrust her luck too far, had just a sufficient modicum of tact left in\nher to retire discreetly within the boudoir.\n\nLydie suddenly found herself alone in this wide corridor with the man\nwhom she had so impulsively dragged into her life. She looked round\nher somewhat helplessly, and her eyes encountered those of her future\nlord fixed upon hers with that same air of dog-like gentleness which\nshe knew so well and which always irritated her.\n\n\"Milor,\" she said very coldly, \"I must thank you for your kind\ncooperation just now. That you expressed neither surprise nor\nresentment does infinite credit to your chivalry.\"\n\n\"If I was a little surprised, Mademoiselle,\" he said, haltingly, \"I\nwas too overjoyed to show it, and--and I certainly felt no\nresentment.\"\n\nHe came a step nearer to her. But for this she was not prepared, and\ndrew back with a quick movement and a sudden stiffening of her figure.\n\n\"I hope you quite understood milor, that there is no desire on my part\nto hold you to this bond,\" she said icily. \"I am infinitely grateful\nto you for the kind way in which you humoured my impulse to-night, and\nif you will have patience with me but a very little while, I promise\nyou that I will find an opportunity for breaking, without too great a\nloss of dignity, these bonds which already must be very irksome to\nyou.\"\n\n\"Nay, Mademoiselle,\" he said gently, \"you are under a misapprehension.\nBelieve me, you would find it well-nigh impossible to--to--er--to\nalter your plans now without loss of dignity, and--er--er--I assure\nyou that the bonds are not irksome to me.\"\n\n\"You would hold me to this bargain, then?\"\n\n\"For your sake, Mademoiselle, as well as mine, we must now both be\nheld to it.\"\n\n\"It seems unfair on you, milor.\"\n\n\"On me, Mademoiselle?\"\n\n\"Yes, on you,\" she repeated, with a thought more gentleness in her\nvoice; \"you are young, milor; you are rich--soon you will regret the\nsense of honour which ties you to a woman who has only yielded her\nhand to you out of pique! Nay, I'll not deceive you,\" she added\nquickly, noting the sudden quiver of the kind little face at her\nstinging words. \"I have no love for you, milor--all that was young and\nfresh, womanly and tender in my heart was buried just here to-night.\"\n\nAnd with a mournful look she glanced round at the cold marble of the\nwalls, the open door to that boudoir beyond, the gilded sconces which\nsupported the dimly-burning candles. Then, smitten with sudden\nremorse, she said eagerly, with one of those girlish impulses which\nrendered her domineering nature so peculiarly attractive:\n\n\"But if I can give you no love, milor, Heaven and my father's\nindulgence have given me something which I know men hold far greater\nof importance than a woman's heart. I have influence, boundless\ninfluence, as you know--the State appointed Controller of Finance will\nbe the virtual ruler of France, his position will give him power\nbeyond the dreams of any man's ambition. My father will gladly give\nthe post to my husband and--\"\n\nBut here a somewhat trembling hand was held deprecatingly toward her.\n\n\"Mademoiselle, I entreat you,\" said Lord Eglinton softly, \"for the\nsake of your own dignity and--and mine, do not allow your mind to\ndwell on such matters. Believe me, I am fully conscious of the honour\nwhich you did me just now in deigning to place your trust in me. That\nI have--have loved you, Mlle. Lydie,\" he added, with a nervous quiver\nin his young voice, \"ever since I first saw you at this Court I--I\ncannot deny; but\"--and here he spoke more firmly, seeing that once\nagain she seemed to draw away from him, to stiffen at his approach,\n\"but that simple and natural fact need not trouble you. I could not\nhelp loving you, for you are more beautiful than anything on earth,\nand you cannot deem my adoration an offence, though you are as cold\nand pure as the goddess of chastity herself. I have seen Catholics\nkneeling at the shrine of the Virgin Mary; their eyes were fixed up to\nher radiant image, their lips murmured an invocation or sometimes a\nhymn of praise. But their hands were clasped together; they never even\nraised them once toward that shrine which they had built for her, and\nfrom which she smiled whilst listening coldly to their prayers. Mlle.\nd'Aumont, you need have no mistrust of my deep respect for you; you\nare the Madonna and I the humblest of your worshippers. I am proud to\nthink that the name I bear will be the shrine wherein your pride will\nremain enthroned. If you have need of me in the future you must\ncommand me, but though the law of France will call me your husband and\nyour lord, I will be your bondsman and serve you on my knees; and\nthough my very soul aches for the mere touch of your hand, my lips\nwill never pollute even the hem of your gown.\" His trembling voice had\nsunk down to a whisper. If she heard or not he could not say. From far\naway there came to his ears the tender melancholy drone of the\ninstruments playing the slow movement of the gavotte. His Madonna had\nnot stirred, only her hand which he so longed to touch trembled a\nlittle as she toyed with her fan.\n\nAnd, like the worshippers at the Virgin's shrine, he bent his knee and\nknelt at her feet.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\nTHE STATESMAN\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK\n\n\nMonsieur le Marquis d'Eglinton, Comptroller-General of Finance,\nChevalier of the Order of St. Louis, Peer of England and of France,\noccupied the west wing of the Chateau of Versailles. His Majesty the\nKing had frequent and urgent need of him; Mme. de Pompadour could\nscarce exist a day without an interview behind closed doors with the\nmost powerful man in France: with him, who at the bidding of the\nnation, was set up as a bar to the extravagances of her own caprice.\n\nAnd _le petit lever_ of M. le Controleur was certainly more largely\nattended than that of M. le Duc d'Aumont, or even--softly be it\nwhispered--than that of His Majesty himself. For although every one\nknew that M. le Marquis was but a figurehead, and that all graces and\nfavours emanated direct from the hand of Mme. la Marquise Lydie, yet\nevery one waited upon his good pleasure, for very much the same reason\nthat those who expected or hoped something from the King invariably\nkissed the hand of Mme. de Pompadour.\n\nM. le Controleur very much enjoyed these _petits levers_ of his, which\nwere considered the most important social events in Versailles. He was\nvery fond of chocolate in the morning, and M. Achille--that prince of\nvalets--brought it to his bedside with such inimitable grace and\nwithal the beverage itself so aromatic and so hot, that this hour\nbetween ten and eleven each day had become extremely pleasant.\n\nHe had no idea that being Comptroller-General of Finance was quite so\neasy and agreeable an occupation, else he had not been so diffident in\naccepting the post. But in reality it was very simple. He governed\nFrance from the depths of his extremely comfortable bed, draped all\nround with rich satin hangings of a soft azure colour, embroidered\nwith _motifs_ of dull gold, which were vastly pleasing to the eye.\nHere he was conscious of naught save fine linen of a remarkably silken\ntexture, of a lace coverlet priceless in value, of the scent of his\nsteaming chocolate, and incidentally of a good many pleasant faces,\nand some unamiable ones, and of a subdued hive-like buzz of talk,\nwhich went on at the further end of the room, whilst M. Achille\nadministered to his comforts and Mme. de Pompadour or Mme. la Comtesse\nde Stainville told him piquant anecdotes.\n\nYes, it was all very pleasant, and not at all difficult. A wave of the\nhand in the direction of Mme. la Marquise, his wife, who usually sat\nin a window embrasure overlooking the park, was all that was needed\nwhen petitioners were irksome or subjects too abstruse.\n\nLydie was so clever with all that sort of thing. She had the mind of a\npolitician and the astuteness of an attorney, and she liked to govern\nFrance in an energetic way of her own which left milor free of all\nresponsibility if anything happened to go wrong.\n\nBut then nothing ever did go wrong. France went on just the same as\nshe had done before some of her more meddlesome Parliaments insisted\non having a Comptroller of Finance at the head of affairs. Mme. de\nPompadour still spent a great deal of money, and the King still\ninvariably paid her debts; whereupon, his pockets being empty, he\napplied to M. le Controleur for something with which to replenish\nthem. M. le Controleur thereupon ordered M. Achille to bring one more\ncup of aromatic chocolate for Mme. de Pompadour, whilst His Majesty\nthe King spent an uncomfortable quarter of an hour with Mme. la\nMarquise d'Eglinton.\n\nThe usual result of this quarter of an hour was that His Majesty was\nexcessively wrathful against Mme. Lydie for quite a fortnight; but no\none could be angry with \"le petit Anglais,\" for he was so very amiable\nand dispensed such exceedingly good chocolate.\n\nPar ma foi! it is remarkably easy to govern a country if one happen to\nhave a wife--that, at least, had been milor's experience--a wife and a\nperfect valet-de-chambre.\n\nM. Achille, since his Marquis's elevation to the most important\nposition in France, had quite surpassed himself in his demeanour. He\nstood on guard beside the azure and gold hangings of his master's bed\nlike a veritable gorgon, turning the most importunate petitioners to\nstone at sight of his severe and repressive visage.\n\nOh! Achille was an invaluable asset in the governing of this kingdom\nof France. Achille knew the reason of each and every individual's\npresence at the _petit lever_ of milor. He knew who was the most\nlikely and most worthy person to fill any post in the country that\nhappened to be vacant, from that of examiner of stars and planets to\nHis Majesty the King down to that of under-scullion in the kitchen of\nVersailles.\n\nHad he not been the means of introducing Baptiste Durand to the\nspecial notice of M. le Marquis? Durand's daughter being\ngirl-in-waiting to M. Joseph, valet-de-chambre to M. le Duc d'Aumont,\nand personal friend of M. Achille, what more natural than, when milor\nwanted a secretary to make notes for him, and to--well, to be present\nif he happened to be wanted--that the worthy Baptiste should with\nperfect ease slip into the vacant post?\n\nAnd Baptiste Durand was remarkably useful.\n\nA small ante-chamber had been allotted for his occupation, through\nwhich all those who were on their way to the _petit lever_ held in\nmilor's own bedchamber had of necessity to pass; and Baptiste knew\nexactly who should be allowed to pass and who should not. Without\nventuring even to refer to His Majesty, to Mme. de Pompadour, to\nMonseigneur le Dauphin, or persons of equally exalted rank, the\nfaithful chroniclers of the time tell us that no gentleman was allowed\na private audience with M. le Controleur-General if his\nvalet-de-chambre was not a personal friend of Monsieur Durand.\n\nThere sat the worthy Baptiste enthroned behind a secretaire which was\nalways littered with papers, petitions, letters, the usual\nparaphernalia that pertains to a man of influence. His meagre person\nwas encased in a coat and breeches of fine scarlet cloth, whereon a\ntiny fillet of gold suggested without unduly flaunting the heraldic\ncolours of the house of Eglinton. He wore silk stockings--always; and\nshoes with cut-steel buckles, whilst frills of broidered lawn\nencircled his wrists and cascaded above his waistcoat.\n\nHe invariably partook of snuff when an unknown and unrecommended\napplicant presented himself in his sanctum. \"My good friend, it is\nimpossible,\" he was saying on this very morning of August 13, 1746,\nwith quiet determination to a petitioner who was becoming too\ninsistent. \"Milor's chamber is overcrowded as it is.\"\n\n\"I'll call again--another day perhaps; my master is anxious for a\npersonal interview with yours.\"\n\nWhereupon M. Durand's eyebrows were lifted upward until they almost\ncame in contact with his perruque; he fetched out a voluminous\nhandkerchief from his pocket and carefully removed a few grains of\ndust from his cravat. Then he said, without raising his voice in the\nslightest degree or showing impatience in any way at the man's\nignorance and stupidity--\n\n\"My good---- What is your name? I forgot.\"\n\n\"I am Hypolite Francois, confidential valet to M. le Marechal de\nCoigni and----\"\n\nM. Durand's thin and delicately veined hand went up in gentle\ndeprecation.\n\n\"Ma foi! my worthy Coigni, 'tis all the same to me if you are a\nmarechal or a simple lieutenant. As for me, young man,\" he added, with\ndignified severity, \"remember in future that I serve no one. I assist\nM. le Controleur-General des Finances to--to----\"--he paused a second,\nwaving his hand and turning the phrase over in his mouth, whilst\nseeking for its most appropriate conclusion--\"to, in fact, make a\nworthy selection amidst the hundreds and thousands of petitions which\nare presented to him.\"\n\nAnd with a vague gesture he indicated the papers which lay in a\ndisordered heap on his secretaire.\n\n\"For the rest, my good Coigni,\" he added, with the same impressive\ndignity, \"let me assure you once again that M. le Marquis's bedchamber\nis overcrowded, that he is busily engaged at the present moment, and\nis likely to be so for some considerable time to come. What is it your\nmarechal wants?\"\n\n\"His pension,\" replied Hypolite curtly, \"and the vacant post in the\nMinistry of War.\"\n\n\"Impossible! We have fourteen likely applicants already.\"\n\n\"M. le Marechal is sure that if he could speak with M. le\nControleur----\"\n\n\"M. le Controleur is busy.\"\n\n\"To-morrow, then----\"\n\n\"To-morrow he will be even more busy than to-day.\"\n\n\"M. Durand!\" pleaded Hypolite.\n\n\"Impossible! You are wasting my time, my good Coigni; I have hundreds\nto see to-day.\"\n\n\"Not for your daughter's sake?\"\n\n\"My daughter?\"\n\n\"Yes; didn't you know? You remember Henriette, her great friend?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--little Henriette Dessy, the milliner,\" assented M. Durand\nwith vast condescension. \"A pretty wench; she was at the Ursulines\nconvent school with my daughter; they have remained great friends ever\nsince. What about little Henriette?\"\n\n\"Mlle. Henriette is my _fiancee_,\" quoth the other eagerly, \"and I\nthought----\"\n\n\"Your _fiancee_? Little Henriette Dessy?\" said M. Durand gaily.\n\"Pardieu my good Coigni, why did you not tell me so before? My\ndaughter is very fond of Henriette--a pretty minx, par ma foi! He!\nhe!\"\n\n\"You are very kind, M. Durand.\"\n\n\"Mais non, mais non,\" said the great man, with much affability; \"one\nis always ready to oblige a friend. He, now! give me your hand, friend\nCoigni. Shoot your rubbish along--quoi!--your Marechal; he may pass\nthis way. Anything one can do to oblige a friend.\"\n\nWith the affairs of M. le Marechal de Coigni the present chronicle\nhath no further concern; but we know that some ten minutes later on\nthis same August 13, 1746, he succeeded in being present at the _petit\nlever_ of M. le Controleur-General des Finances. Once within the\nsecret precincts of the bedchamber he, like so many other petitioners\nand courtiers, was duly confronted by the stony stare of M. Achille,\nand found himself face to face with an enormous bedstead of delicately\npainted satinwood and ormulu mounts, draped with heavy azure silk\ncurtains which hung down from a gilded baldachin, the whole a\nmasterpiece of the furniture-maker's art.\n\nThe scent of chocolate filled his nostrils, and he vaguely saw a\ngood-looking young man reclining under a coverlet of magnificent\nVenetian lace, and listening placidly to what was obviously a very\namusing tale related to him by well-rouged lips. From the billowy\nsatins and laces of the couch a delicate hand was waved toward him as\nhe attempted to pay his respects to the most powerful man in France;\nthe next moment the same stony-faced gorgon clad in scarlet and gold\nbeckoned to him to follow, and he found himself being led through the\nbrilliantly dressed crowd toward a compact group of backs, which\nformed a sort of living wall, painted in delicate colours of green and\nmauve and gray, and duly filled up the approach to the main window\nembrasure.\n\nIt is interesting to note from the memoirs of M. le Comte d'Argenson\nthat the Marechal de Coigni duly filled the post of State Secretary to\nthe Minister of War from the year 1746 onward. We may, therefore,\npresume that he succeeded in piercing that wall of respectful backs\nand in reaching sufficiently far within the charmed circle to attract\nthe personal attention of Mme. la Marquise Lydie d'Eglinton _nee_\nd'Aumont.\n\nHe had, therefore, cause to bless the day when his valet-de-chambre\nbecame the _fiance_ of Mlle. Henriette Dessy, the intimate friend of\nM. Baptiste Durand's dearly beloved daughter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nLA BELLE IRENE\n\n\nMonsieur Durand had indeed not exaggerated when he spoke of M. le\nControleur's bedchamber being overcrowded this same eventful morning.\n\nAll that France possessed of nobility, of wit and of valour, seemed to\nhave found its way on this beautiful day in August past the magic\nportal guarded by Baptiste, the dragon, to the privileged enclosure\nbeyond, where milor in elegant _robe de chambre_ reclined upon his\ngorgeous couch, whilst Madame, clad in hooped skirt and panniers of\ndove-gray silk, directed the affairs of France from the embrasure of a\nwindow.\n\n\"Achille, my shoes!\"\n\nWe must surmise that his lordship had been eagerly awaiting the\nstriking of the bracket clock which immediately faced the bed, for the\nmoment the musical chimes had ceased to echo in the crowded room he\nhad thrown aside the lace coverlet which had lain across his legs and\ncalled peremptorily for his valet.\n\n\"Only half-past ten, milor!\" came in reproachful accents from a pair\nof rosy lips.\n\n\"Ma foi, so it is!\" exclaimed Lord Eglinton, with well-feigned\nsurprise, as he once more glanced up at the clock.\n\n\"Were you then so bored in my company,\" rejoined the lady, with a\npout, \"that you thought the hour later?\"\n\n\"Bored!\" he exclaimed. \"Bored, did you say, Madame? Perish the very\nthought of boredom in the presence of Mme. la Comtesse de Stainville!\"\n\nBut in spite of this gallant assertion, M. le Controleur seemed in a\nvast hurry to quit the luxuriance of his azure-hung throne. M.\nAchille--that paragon among flunkeys--looked solemnly reproachful.\nSurely milor should have known by now that etiquette demanded that he\nshould stay in bed until he had received every person of high rank who\ndesired an intimate audience.\n\nThere were still some high-born, exalted, and much beribboned\ngentlemen who had not succeeded in reaching the inner precincts of\nthat temple and fount of honours and riches--the bedside of M. le\nControleur. But Monseigneur le Prince de Courtenai was there--he in\nwhose veins flowed royal blood, and who spent a strenuous life in\nendeavouring to make France recognize this obvious fact. He sat in an\narm-chair at the foot of the bed, discussing the unfortunate events of\nJune 16th at Piacenza and young Comte de Maillebois's subsequent\nmasterly retreat on Tortone, with Christian Louis de Montmorenci, Duc\nde Luxembourg, the worthy son of an able father and newly created\nMarshal of France.\n\nClose to them, Monsieur le Comte de Vermandois, Grand Admiral of\nFrance, was intent on explaining to M. le Chancelier d'Aguesseau why\nEngland just now was supreme mistress of the seas. M. d'Isenghien\ntalked poetry to Jolyot Crebillon, and M. le Duc d'Harcourt discussed\nVoltaire's latest play with ex-comedian and ex-ambassador\nNericault-Destouche, whilst Mme. la Comtesse de Stainville, still\ncalled \"la belle brune de Bordeaux\" by her many admirers, had been\nendeavouring to divert M. le Controleur's attention from this\nmultiplicity of abstruse subjects.\n\nOutside this magic circle there was a gap, a barrier of parquet\nflooring which no one would dare to traverse without a distinct look\nof encouragement from M. Achille. His Majesty had not yet arrived, and\ntongues wagged freely in the vast and gorgeous room, with its row of\ntall windows which gave on the great <DW72>s of the Park of Versailles.\nThrough them came the pleasing sound of the perpetual drip from the\nmonumental fountains, the twitter of sparrows, the scent of lingering\nroses and of belated lilies. No other sound from that outside world,\nno other life save the occasional footstep of a gardener along the\nsanded walks. But within all was chatter and bustle; women talked, men\nlaughed and argued, society scandals were commented upon and the\nnewest fashions in coiffures discussed. The men wore cloth coats of\nsober hues, but the women had donned light- dresses, for the\nsummer was at its height and this August morning was aglow with\nsunshine.\n\nMme. de Stainville's rose- gown was the one vivid patch of\ncolour in the picture of delicate hues. She stood close to M. le\nControleur's bedside and unceremoniously turned her back on the rest\nof the company; we must presume that she was a very privileged\nvisitor, for no one--not even Monseigneur le Prince de\nCourtenai--ventured to approach within earshot. It was understood that\nin milor's immediate entourage la belle Irene alone was allowed to be\nfrivolous, and we are told that she took full advantage of this\npermission.\n\nAll chroniclers of the period distinctly aver that the lady was vastly\nentertaining; even M. de Voltaire mentions her as one of the\nsprightliest women of that light-hearted and vivacious Court.\nBeautiful, too, beyond cavil, her position as the wife of one of the\nmost brilliant cavaliers that e'er graced the entourage of Mme. de\nPompadour gave her a certain dignity of bearing, a self-conscious gait\nand proud carriage of the head which had considerably added to the\ncharms which she already possessed. The stiff, ungainly mode of the\nperiod suited her somewhat full figure to perfection; the tight\ncorslet bodice, the wide panniers, the ridiculous hooped skirt--all\nseemed to have been specially designed to suit the voluptuous beauty\nof Irene de Stainville.\n\nM. d'Argenson when speaking of her has described her very fully. He\nspeaks of her abnormally small waist, which seemed to challenge the\nsupport of a masculine arm, and of her creamy skin which she knew so\nwell how to veil in transparent folds of filmy lace. She made of dress\na special study, and her taste, though daring, was always sure. Even\nduring these early morning receptions, when soft-toned mauves, tender\ndrabs or grays were mostly in evidence, Irene de Stainville usually\nappeared in brocade of brilliant rosy-red, turquoise blue, or emerald\ngreen; she knew that these somewhat garish tones, mellowed only\nthrough the richness of the material, set off to perfection the matt\nivory tint of her complexion, and detached her entire person from the\nrest of the picture.\n\nYet even her most ardent admirers tell us that Irene de Stainville's\nvanity went almost beyond the bounds of reason in its avidity for\nfulsome adulation. Consciousness of her own beauty was not sufficient;\nshe desired its acknowledgment from others. She seemed to feed on\nflattery, breathing it in with every pore of her delicate skin,\ndrooping like a parched flower when full measure was denied to her.\nMany aver that she marred her undoubted gifts of wit through this\ninsatiable desire for one sole topic of conversation--her own beauty\nand its due meed of praise. At the same time her love of direct and\nobsequious compliments was so ingenuous, and she herself so undeniably\nfascinating, that, in the hey-day of her youth and attractions, she\nhad no difficulty in obtaining ready response to her wishes from the\nhighly susceptible masculine element at the Court of Louis XV.\n\nM. le Controleur-General--whom she specially honoured with her\nsmiles--had certainly no intention of shirking the pleasing duty\nattached to this distinction, and, though he was never counted a\nbrilliant conversationalist, he never seemed at a loss for the exact\nword of praise which would tickle la belle Irene's ears most\npleasantly.\n\nAnd truly no man's heart could be sufficiently adamant to deny to that\nbrilliantly-plumaged bird the tit-bits which it loved the best. Milor\nhimself had all the sensitiveness of his race where charms--such as\nIrene freely displayed before him--were concerned, and when her\nsmiling lips demanded acknowledgment of her beauty from him he was\nready enough to give it.\n\n\"Let them settle the grave affairs of State over there,\" she had said\nto him this morning, when first she made her curtsey before him. And\nwith a provocative smile she pointed to the serious-looking group of\ngrave gentlemen that surrounded his bedside, and also to the compact\nrow of backs which stood in serried ranks round Mme. la Marquise\nd'Eglinton in the embrasure of the central window. \"Life is too short\nfor such insignificant trifles.\"\n\n\"We only seem to last long enough to make love thoroughly to half a\ndozen pretty women in a lifetime,\" replied M. le Controleur, as he\ngallantly raised her fingers to his lips.\n\n\"Half a dozen!\" she retorted, with a pout. \"Ah, milor, I see that your\ncountrymen are not maligned! The English have such a reputation for\nperfidy!\"\n\n\"But I have become so entirely French!\" he protested. \"England would\nscarce know me now.\"\n\nAnd with a whimsical gesture he pointed to the satin hangings of his\nbed, the rich point lace coverlet, and to his own very elaborate and\nelegant _robe de chambre_.\n\n\"Is that said in regret?\" she asked.\n\n\"Nay,\" he replied, \"there is no more place for regret than there is\nfor boredom in sight of smiles from those perfect lips.\"\n\nShe blushed, and allowed her hands--which were particularly\nbeautiful--to finger idly the silks and laces which were draped so\ntastefully about his person. As her eyes were downcast in dainty and\nbecoming confusion, she failed to notice that M. le Controleur was\nsomewhat absent-minded this morning, and that, had he dared, he would\nat this juncture undoubtedly have yawned. But of this she was\nobviously unconscious, else she had not now murmured so persuasively.\n\n\"Am I beautiful?\"\n\n\"What a question!\" he replied.\n\n\"The most beautiful woman here present?\" she insisted.\n\n\"Par ma foi!\" he protested gaily. \"Was ever married man put in so\nawkward a predicament?\"\n\n\"Married man? Bah!\" and she shrugged her pretty shoulders.\n\n\"I am a married man, fair lady, and the law forbids me to answer so\nprovoking a question.\"\n\n\"This is cowardly evasion,\" she rejoined. \"Mme. la Marquise, your\nwife, only acknowledges one supremacy--that of the mind. She would\nscorn to be called the most beautiful woman in the room.\"\n\n\"And M. le Comte de Stainville, your lord, would put a hole right\nthrough my body were I now to speak the unvarnished truth.\"\n\nIrene apparently chose to interpret milor's equivocal speech in the\nmanner most pleasing to her self-love. She looked over her shoulder\ntoward the window embrasure. She saw that Mme. la Marquise\nd'Eglinton's court was momentarily dismissed, and that M. le Duc\nd'Aumont had just joined his daughter. She also saw that Lydie looked\ntroubled, and that she threw across the room a look of haughty\nreproof.\n\nNothing could have pleased Irene de Stainville more.\n\nApart from the satisfaction which her own inordinate vanity felt at\nthe present moment by enchaining milor's attention and receiving his\nundivided homage in full sight of the _elite_ of aristocratic\nVersailles, there was the additional pleasure of dealing a pin-prick\nor so to a woman who had once been her rival, and who was undoubtedly\nnow the most distinguished as she was the most adulated personality in\nFrance.\n\nIrene had never forgiven Lydie Gaston's defalcations on that memorable\nnight, when a humiliating exposure and subsequent scene led to the\ndisclosure of her own secret marriage, and thus put a momentary check\non her husband's ambitious schemes.\n\nFrom that check he had since then partially recovered. Mme. de\nPompadour's good graces which she never wholly withdrew from him had\ngiven him a certain position of influence and power, from which his\nlack of wealth would otherwise have debarred him. But even with the\nuncertain and fickle Marquise's help Gaston de Stainville was far from\nattaining a position such as his alliance with Lydie would literally\nhave thrown into his lap, such, of course, as fell to the share of the\namiable milor, who had succeeded in capturing the golden prey. In\nthese days of petticoat government feminine protection was the chief\nleverage for advancement; Irene, however, could do nothing for her\nhusband without outside help; conscious of her own powers of\nfascination, she had cast about for the most likely prop on which she\ncould lean gracefully whilst helping Gaston to climb upward.\n\nThe King himself was too deeply in the toils of his fair Jeanne to\nhave eyes for any one save for her. M. le Duc d'Aumont, Prime Minister\nof France, was his daughter's slave; there remained M. le\nControleur-General himself--a figure-head as far as the affairs of\nState were concerned, but wielding a great deal of personal power\nthrough the vastness of his wealth which Lydie rather affected to\ndespise.\n\nIrene, therefore--_faute de mieux_--turned her languishing eyes upon\nM. le Controleur. Her triumph was pleasing to herself, and might in\ndue course prove useful to Gaston, if she succeeded presently in\ncounterbalancing Lydie's domineering influence over milor. For the\nmoment her vanity was agreeably soothed, although \"la belle brune de\nBordeaux\" herself was fully alive to the fact that, while her\nwhispered conversations at milor's _petits levers_, her sidelong\nglances and conscious blushes called forth enough mischievous oglings\nand equivocal jests from the more frivolous section of society\nbutterflies, Lydie only viewed her and her machinations with cold and\nsomewhat humiliating indifference.\n\n\"And,\" as M. d'Argenson very pertinently remarked that self-same\nmorning, \"would any beautiful woman care to engage the attentions of a\nman unless she aroused at the same time the jealousy or at least the\nannoyance of a rival?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE PROMISES OF FRANCE\n\n\nIndeed, if Irene de Stainville had possessed more penetration, or had\nat any rate studied Lydie's face more closely, she would never have\nimagined for a moment that thoughts of petty spite or of feminine\npique could find place in the busiest brain that ever toiled for the\nwelfare of France.\n\nHistory has no doubt said the last word on the subject of that brief\ninterregnum, when a woman's masterful hand tried to check the\nextravagances of a King and the ruinous caprices of a wanton, and when\na woman's will tried to restrain a nation in its formidable onrush\ndown the steep incline which led to the abyss of the Revolution.\n\nMany historians have sneered--perhaps justly so--at this apotheosis of\nfeminity, and pointed to the fact that, while that special era of\npetticoat government lasted, Louis XV in no way stopped his excesses\nnor did Pompadour deny herself the satisfaction of a single whim,\nwhilst France continued uninterruptedly to groan under the yoke of\noppressive taxation, of bribery and injustice, and to suffer from the\narrogance of her nobles and the corruption of her magistrates.\n\nThe avowed partisans of Lydie d'Eglinton contend on the other hand\nthat her rule lasted too short a time to be of real service to the\ncountry, and that those who immediately succeeded her were either too\nweak or too self-seeking to continue this new system of government\ninstituted by her, and based on loftiness of ideals and purity of\nmotives, a system totally unknown hitherto. They also insist on the\nfact that while she virtually held the reins of government over the\nheads of her indolent lord and her over-indulgent father, she brought\nabout many highly beneficent social reforms which would have become\nfirmly established had she remained several years in power; there is\nno doubt that she exercised a wholesome influence over the existing\nadministration of justice and the distribution of the country's money;\nand this in spite of endless cabals and the petty intrigues and\njealousies of numberless enemies.\n\nBe that as it may, the present chronicler is bound to put it on record\nthat, at the moment when Irene de Stainville vaguely wondered whether\nMadame la Marquise was looking reprovingly at her, when she hoped that\nshe had at last succeeded in rousing the other woman's jealousy, the\nlatter's mind was dwelling with more than usual anxiousness on the sad\nevents of the past few months.\n\nHer severe expression was only the outcome of a more than normal sense\nof responsibility. The flattering courtiers and meddlesome women who\nsurrounded her seemed to Lydie this morning more than usually\nbrainless and vapid. Her own father, to whose integrity and keen sense\nof honour she always felt that she could make appeal, was unusually\nabsent and morose to-day; and she felt unspeakably lonely here in the\nmidst of her immediate _entourage_--lonely and oppressed. She wanted\nto mix more with the general throng, the men and women of France,\narrogant nobles or obsequious churls, merchants, attorneys,\nphysicians, savants, she cared not which; the nation, in fact, the\npeople who had sympathy and high ideals, and a keener sense of the\ndignity of France.\n\nWhile these sycophants were for ever wanting, wanting, wanting,\nstanding before her, as it were, with hands outstretched ready to\nreceive bribes, commissions, places of influence or affluence, Charles\nEdward Stuart, lately the guest of the nation, the friend of many,\nwhom France herself little more than a year ago had feasted and\ntoasted, to whom she had wished \"God-speed!\" was now a miserable\nfugitive, hiding in peasants' huts, beneath overhanging crags on the\ndeserted shores of Scotland, a price put upon his head, and the\ndevotion of a few helpless enthusiasts, a girl, an old retainer, as\nsole barrier 'twixt him and death.\n\nAnd France had promised that she would help him. She promised that she\nwould succour him if he failed, that she would not abandon him in his\ndistress--neither him nor his friends.\n\nAnd now disaster had come--disaster so overwhelming, so appalling,\nthat France at first had scarce liked to believe. Every one was so\nastonished; had they not thought that England, Scotland and Ireland\nwere clamouring for a Stuart? That the entire British nation was\nwanting him, waiting for him, ready to acclaim him with open arms? The\nfirst successes--Falkirk, Prestonpans--had surprised no one. The young\nPretender's expedition was bound to be nothing but a triumphal\nprocession through crowded streets, decorated towns and beflagged\nvillages, with church bells ringing, people shouting, deputations,\nboth civic and military, waiting hat in hand, with sheaves of loyal\naddresses.\n\nInstead of this, Culloden, Derby, the hasty retreat, treachery, and\nthe horrible reprisals. All that was common property now.\n\nFrance knew that the young prince whom she had _feted_ was perhaps at\nthis moment dying of want, and yet these hands which had grasped his\nwere not stretched out to help him, the lips which had encouraged and\ncheered him, which had even gently mocked his gloomy mood, still\nsmiled and chatted as irresponsibly as of yore, and spoke the\nfugitive's name at careless moments 'twixt a laugh and a jest.\n\nAnd this in spite of promises.\n\nShe had dismissed her _entourage_ with a curt nod just now, when her\nfather first joined her circle. At any rate, her position of splendid\nisolation should give her the right this morning to be alone with him,\nsince she so wished it. At first glance she saw that he was troubled,\nand her anxious eyes closely scanned his face. But he seemed\ndetermined not to return her scrutinizing glance, and anon, when one\nby one M. de Coigni, the Count de Bailleul, and others who had been\ntalking to Lydie, discreetly stepped aside, he seemed anxious to\ndetain them, eager not to be left quite alone with his daughter.\n\nSeeing his manoeuvres, Lydie's every suspicion was aroused; something\nhad occurred to disturb her father this morning, something which he\ndid not intend to tell her. She drew him further back into the window\nembrasure and made room for him close to her on the settee. She looked\nup impatiently at the Dowager Lady Eglinton, who had calmly stood her\nground whilst the other intimates were being so summarily dismissed.\nMiladi appeared determined to ignore her daughter-in-law's desire to\nbe alone with her father, and it even seemed to Lydie as if a look of\nunderstanding had passed between the Duke and the old lady when first\nthey met.\n\nShe felt her nervous system on the jar. Thoroughly frank and open in\nall political dealings herself, she loathed the very hint of a secret\nunderstanding. Yet she trusted her father, even though she feared his\nweakness.\n\nShe talked of Charles Edward Stuart, for that was her chief\npreoccupation. She lauded him and pitied him in turn, spoke of his\npredicament, his flight, the devotion of his Scotch adherents, and\nfinally of France's promise to him.\n\n\"God grant,\" she said fervently, \"that France may not be too late in\ndoing her duty by that ill-starred prince.\"\n\n\"Nay, my dear child, it is sheer madness to think of such a thing,\"\nsaid the Duke, speaking in tones of gentle reproof and soothingly, as\nif to a wilful child.\n\n\"He! pardieu!\" broke in miladi's sharp, high-pitched voice: \"that is\nprecisely what I have been trying to explain to Lydie these past two\nweeks, but she will not listen and is not even to be spoken to on that\nsubject now. Do you scold her well, M. le Duc, for I have done my\nbest--and her obstinacy will lead my son into dire disgrace with His\nMajesty, who doth not favour her plans.\"\n\n\"Miladi is right, Lydie,\" said the Duke, \"and if I thought that your\nhusband----\"\n\n\"Nay, my dear father!\" interrupted Lydie calmly; \"I pray you do not\nvent your displeasure on Lord Eglinton. As you see, Mme. la Comtesse\nde Stainville is doing her best to prevent his thoughts from dwelling\non the fate of his unfortunate friend.\"\n\nIt was the Duke's turn to scrutinize his daughter's face, vaguely\nwondering if she had spoken in bitterness, not altogether sorry if\nthis new train of thought were to divert her mind from that eternal\nsubject of the moribund Stuart cause, which seemed to have become an\nobsession with her. He half-turned in the direction where Lydie's eyes\nwere still fixed, and saw a patch of bright rose colour, clear and\nvivid against the dull hangings of M. le Controleur's couch, whilst\nthe elegant outline of a woman's stately form stood between his line\nof vision and the face of his son-in-law.\n\nThe Duc d'Aumont dearly loved his daughter, but he also vastly admired\nher intellectual power, therefore at sight of that graceful, rose-clad\nfigure he shrugged his shoulders in amiable contempt. Bah! Lydie was\nfar too clever to dwell on such foolish matters as the vapid\nflirtations of a brainless doll, even if the object of such\nflirtations was the subjugation of milor.\n\nLady Eglinton had also perceived Lydie's fixity of expression just now\nwhen she spoke of Irene, but whilst M. le Duc carelessly shrugged his\nshoulders and dismissed the matter from his mind, miladi boldly threw\nherself across her daughter-in-law's new trend of thought.\n\n\"My son for once shows sound common sense,\" she said decisively; \"why\nshould France be led into further extravagance and entangle herself,\nperhaps, in the meshes of a hopeless cause by----\"\n\n\"By fulfilling a solemn promise,\" interrupted Lydie quietly, whilst\nshe turned her earnest eyes on her mother-in-law in the manner so\ncharacteristic of her--\"a promise which the very hopelessness of which\nyou speak has rendered doubly sacred.\"\n\n\"His Majesty is not of that opinion,\" retorted the older woman\ntestily, \"and we must concede that he is the best judge of what France\nowes to her own honour.\"\n\nTo this challenge it was obviously impossible to reply in the\nnegative, and if Lydie's heart whispered \"Not always!\" her lips\ncertainly did not move.\n\nShe looked appealingly at her father; she wanted more than ever to be\nalone with him, to question him, to reassure herself as to certain\nvague suspicions which troubled her and which would not be stilled.\nShe longed, above all, to be rid of her mother-in-law's interfering\ntongue, of the platitudes, which she uttered, and which had the knack\nof still further jarring on Lydie's over-sensitive nerves.\n\nBut the Duke did not help her. Usually he, too, was careful to avoid\ndirect discussions with Lady Eglinton, whose rasping voice was wont to\nirritate him, but this morning he seemed disinclined to meet Lydie's\nappealing eyes. He fidgeted in his chair, and anon he crossed one\nshapely leg over the other and thoughtfully stroked his well-turned\ncalf.\n\n\"There are moments in diplomacy, my dear child----\" he began, after a\nmoment of oppressive silence.\n\n\"My dear father,\" interrupted Lydie, with grave determination, \"let me\ntell you once for all that over this matter my mind is fully made up.\nWhile I have a voice in the administration of this Kingdom of France,\nI will not allow her to sully her fair name by such monstrous\ntreachery as the abandonment of a friend who trusted in her honour and\nthe promises she made him.\"\n\nHer voice had shaken somewhat as she spoke. Altogether she seemed\nunlike herself, less sure, less obstinately dominant. That look of\nunderstanding between her father and Lady Eglinton had troubled her in\na way for which she could not account. Yet she knew that the whole\nmatter rested in her own hands. No one--not even His Majesty--had ever\nquestioned her right to deal with Treasury money. And money was all\nthat was needed. Though the final word nominally rested with milor, he\nleft her perfectly free, and she could act as she thought right,\nwithout let or hindrance.\n\nYet, strangely enough, she felt as if she wanted support in this\nmatter. It was a purely personal feeling, and one she did not care to\nanalyse. She had no doubt whatever as to the justice and righteousness\nof her desire, but in this one solitary instance of her masterful\nadministration she seemed to require the initiative, or at least the\napproval, of her father or of the King.\n\nInstead of this approval she vaguely scented intrigue.\n\nShe rose from the settee and went to the window behind it. The\natmosphere of the room had suddenly become stifling. Fortunately the\ntall casements were unlatched. They yielded to a gentle push, and\nLydie stepped out on to the balcony. Already the air was hot, and the\nsun shone glaringly on the marble fountains, and drew sparks of fire\nfrom the dome of the conservatories. The acrid, pungent smell of\ncannas and of asters rose to her nostrils, drowning the subtler aroma\nof tea roses and of lilies; the monotonous drip of the fountains was a\nsoothing contrast in her ear to the babel of voices within.\n\nAt her feet the well-sanded walks of the park stretched out like\nribbons of pale gold to the dim, vast distance beyond; the curly heads\nof Athenian athletes peeped from among the well-trimmed bosquets,\nshowing the immaculate whiteness of the polished marble in the sun. A\ncouple of gardeners clad in shirts of vivid blue linen were stooping\nover a bed of monthly roses, picking off dead leaves and twigs that\nspoilt the perfect symmetry of the shrubs, whilst two more a few\npaces away were perfecting the smoothness of a box hedge, lest a tiny\nleaflet were out of place.\n\nLydie sighed impatiently. Even in this vastness and this peace, man\nbrought his artificiality to curb the freedom of nature. Everything in\nthis magnificent park was affected, stilted and forced; every tree was\nfashioned to a shape not its own, every flower made to be a\ncounterpart of its fellow.\n\nThis sense of unreality, of fighting nature in its every aspect, was\nwhat had always oppressed her, even when she worked at first in\nperfect harmony with her father, when she still had those utopian\nhopes of a regenerate France, with a wise and beneficent monarch, an\nera of truth and of fraternity, every one toiling hand-in-hand for the\ngood of the nation.\n\nWhat a child she had been in those days! How little she had understood\nthis hydra-headed monster of self-seeking ambition, of political\nwire-pulling, of petty cabals and personal animosities which fought\nand crushed and trampled on every lofty ideal, on every clean thought\nand high-minded aspiration.\n\nShe knew and understood better now. She had outgrown her childish\nideals: those she now kept were a woman's ideals, no less pure, no\nless high or noble, but lacking just one great quality--that of hope.\nShe had continued to work and to do her best for this country which\nshe loved--her own beautiful France. She had--with no uncertain\nhand--seized the reins of government from the diffident fingers of her\nlord, she still strove to fight corruption, to curb excesses and to\ncheck arrogance, and made vain endeavours to close her eyes to the\nfutility of her noblest efforts.\n\nThis attitude of King Louis toward the Young Pretender had brought it\nall home to her; the intrigues, the lying, the falseness of\neverything, the treachery which lurked in every corner of this\nsumptuous palace, the egoism which was the sole moving power of those\noverdressed dolls.\n\nPerhaps for the first time since--in all the glory and pride of her\nyoung womanhood--she became conscious of its power over the weaker and\nsterner vessel, she felt a sense of discouragement, the utter\nhopelessness of her desires. Her heart even suggested contempt of\nherself, of her weak-minded foolishness in imagining that all those\nempty heads in the room yonder could bring forth one single serious\nthought from beneath their powdered perruques, one single wholly\nselfless aspiration for the good of France; any more than that\nstultified rose-tree could produce a bloom of splendid perfection or\nthat stunted acacia intoxicate the air with the fragrance of its\nbloom.\n\nSolitude had taken hold of Lydie's fancy. She had allowed her mind to\ngo roaming, fancy-free. Her thoughts were melancholy and anxious, and\nshe sighed or frowned more than once. The air was becoming hotter and\nhotter every moment, and a gigantic bed of scarlet geraniums sent a\ncurious acrid scent to her nostrils, which she found refreshing. Anon\nshe succeeded in shutting out from her eyes the picture of those\ngardeners maiming the rose-trees and bosquets, and in seeing only that\ndistant horizon with the vague, tiny fleecy clouds which were hurrying\nquite gaily and freely to some unknown destination, far, no doubt,\nfrom this world of craft and affectation. She shut her ears to the\nsound of miladi's shrill laugh and the chatter of senseless fools\nbehind her, and only tried to hear the rippling murmur of the water in\nthe fountains, the merry chirrup of the sparrows, and far, very far\naway, the sweet, sad note of a lark soaring upward to the serene\nmorning sky.\n\nThe sound of a footstep on the flag-stones of the balcony broke in on\nher meditations. Her father, still wearing that troubled look, was\ncoming out to join her. Fortunately miladi had chosen to remain\nindoors.\n\nImpulsively now, for her nerves were still quivering with the tension\nof recent introspection, she went straight up to this man whom she\nmost fully trusted in all the world, and took his hands in both hers.\n\n\"My dear, dear father,\" she pleaded, with her wonted earnestness, \"you\n_will_ help me, will you not?\"\n\nHe looked more troubled than ever at her words, almost pathetic in his\nobvious helplessness, as he ejaculated feebly:\n\n\"But what can we do, my dear child?\"\n\n\"Send _Le Monarque_ to meet Prince Charles Edward,\" she urged; \"it is\nso simple.\"\n\n\"It is very hazardous, and would cost a vast amount of money. In the\npresent state of the Treasury----\"\n\n\"My dear father, France can afford the luxury of not selling her\nhonour.\"\n\n\"And the English will be furious with us.\"\n\n\"The English cannot do more than fight us, and they are doing that\nalready!\" she retorted.\n\n\"The risks, my dear child, the risks!\" he protested again.\n\n\"What risks, father dear?\" she said eagerly. \"Tell me, what do we risk\nby sending _Le Monarque_ with secret orders to the Scottish coast, to\na spot known to no one save to Lord Eglinton and myself, confided to\nmy husband by the unfortunate young Prince before he started on this\nmiserable expedition? Captain Barre will carry nothing that can in\nany way betray the secret of his destination nor the object of his\njourney--my husband's seal-ring on his finger, nothing more; this\ntoken he will take on shore himself--not even the ship's crew will\nknow aught that would be fatal if betrayed.\"\n\n\"But the English can intercept _Le Monarque_!\"\n\n\"We must run that risk,\" she retorted. \"Once past the coast of\nEngland, Scotland is lonely enough. _Le Monarque_ will meet no other\ncraft, and Captain Barre knows the secrets of his own calling--he has\nrun a cargo before now.\"\n\n\"This is childish obstinacy, Lydie, and I do not recognize the\nstatesman in this sentimental chit, who prates nonsense like a\nschoolgirl imbued with novel-reading,\" said the Duke now with marked\nimpatience; \"and pray, if His Majesty should put a veto on your using\none of his ships for this privateering expedition?\"\n\n\"I propose sending _Le Monarque_ to-morrow,\" rejoined Lydie quietly.\n\"Captain Barre will have his orders direct from the Ministry of\nFinance; and then we'll obtain His Majesty's sanction on the following\nday.\"\n\n\"But this is madness, my child!\" exclaimed the Duke. \"You cannot\nopenly set at defiance the wishes of the King!\"\n\n\"The wishes of the King?\" she cried, with sudden vehemence. \"Surely,\nsurely, my dear, dear father, you cannot mean what you suggest! Think!\noh, think just for one moment! That poor young man, who was our guest,\nwhom we all liked--he broke bread with us in our own house, our\nbeautiful chateau de la Tour d'Aumont, which has never yet been\ndefiled by treachery. And you talk of leaving him there in that\nfar-off land which has proved so inhospitable to him? Of leaving him\nthere either to perish miserably of want and starvation or to fall\ninto the hands of that Hanoverian butcher whose name has become a\nby-word for unparalleled atrocities?\"\n\nShe checked herself, and then resumed more calmly:\n\n\"Nay, my dear father, I pray you let us cease this argument; for once\nin the history of our happy life together you and I look at honour\nfrom opposite points of view.\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear, I see that, too,\" he rejoined, speaking now with some\nhesitation. \"I wish I could persuade you to abandon the idea.\"\n\n\"To abandon the unfortunate young Prince, you mean, to break every\npromise we ever made to him--to become the by-word in our turn for\ntreachery and cowardice in every country in Europe--and why?\" she\nadded, with helpless impatience, trying to understand, dreading almost\nto question. \"Why? Why?\"\n\nThen, as her father remained silent, with eyes persistently fixed on\nsome vague object in the remote distance, she said, as if acting on a\nsudden decisive thought:\n\n\"Father, dear, is it solely a question of cost?\"\n\n\"Partly,\" he replied, with marked hesitation.\n\n\"Partly? Well, then, dear, we will remove one cause of your\nunexplainable opposition. You may assure His Majesty in my name that\nthe voyage of _Le Monarque_ shall cost the Treasury nothing.\"\n\nThen as her father made no comment, she continued more eagerly:\n\n\"Lord Eglinton will not deny me, as you know; he is rich and Charles\nEdward Stuart is his friend. What _Le Monarque_ has cost for\nprovisioning, that we will immediately replace. For the moment we\nwill borrow this ship from His Majesty's navy. _That_ he _cannot_\nrefuse! and I give you and His Majesty my word of honour that _Le\nMonarque_ shall not cost the Treasury one single sou--even the pay of\nher crew shall be defrayed by us from the moment that she sails out of\nLe Havre until the happy moment when she returns home with Prince\nCharles Edward Stuart and his friends safe and sound aboard.\"\n\nThere was silence between them for awhile. The Duc d'Aumont's eyes\nwere fixed steadily on a distant point on the horizon, but Lydie's\neyes never for a second strayed away from her father's face.\n\n\"Will _Le Monarque_ have a long journey to make?\" asked the Duke\nlightly.\n\n\"Yes!\" she replied.\n\n\"To the coast of Scotland?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The west coast, of course?\"\n\n\"Why should you ask, dear?\"\n\nShe asked him this question quite casually, then, as he did not reply,\nshe asked it again, this time with a terrible tightening of her\nheart-strings. Suddenly she remembered her suspicions, when first she\ncaught the glance of intelligence which passed swiftly from him to\nmiladi.\n\nWith a quick gesture of intense agitation she placed a hand on his\nwrist.\n\n\"Father!\" she said in a scarce audible murmur.\n\n\"Yes, my dear. What is it?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I--I have been much troubled of late. I do not think\nthat my perceptions are perhaps as keen as they were--and as you say,\nthis matter of the Stuart Prince has weighed heavily on my mind.\nTherefore, will you forgive me, dear, if--if I ask you a question\nwhich may sound undutiful, disloyal to you?\"\n\n\"Of course I will forgive you, dear,\" he said, after a slight moment\nof hesitation. \"What is it?\"\n\nHe had pulled himself together, and now met his daughter's glance with\nsufficient firmness, apparently to reassure her somewhat, for she said\nmore quietly:\n\n\"Will you give me your word of honour that you personally know of no\nact of treachery which may be in contemplation against the man who\ntrusts in the honour of France?\"\n\nHer glowing eyes rested upon his; they seemed desirous of penetrating\nto the innermost recesses of his soul. M. le Duc d'Aumont tried to\nbear the scrutiny without flinching but he was no great actor, nor was\nhe in the main a dishonourable man, but he thought his daughter unduly\nchivalrous, and he held that political considerations were outside the\nordinary standards of honour and morality.\n\nAnyway he could not bring himself to give her a definite reply; her\nhand still grasped his wrist--he took it in his own and raised it to\nhis lips.\n\n\"My father!\" she pleaded, her voice trembling, her eyes still fixed\nupon him, \"will you not answer my question?\"\n\n\"It is answered, my dear,\" he replied evasively. \"Do you think it\nworthy of me--your father--to protest mine honesty before my own\nchild?\"\n\nShe looked at him no longer, and gently withdrew her hand from his\ngrasp. She understood that, indeed, he had answered her question.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE WEIGHT OF ETIQUETTE\n\n\nPerhaps certain characteristics which milor the Marquis of Eglinton\nhad inherited from his English grandfather caused him to assume a more\nelaborate costume for his _petit lever_ than the rigid court etiquette\nof the time had prescribed.\n\nAccording to every mandate of usage and fashion, when, at exactly\nhalf-past ten o'clock, he had asked M. Achille so peremptorily for his\nshoes and then sat on the edge of his bed, with legs dangling over its\nsides, he should have been attired in a flowered dressing gown over a\nlace-ruffled _chemise de nuit_, and a high-peaked _bonnet-de-coton_\nwith the regulation tassel should have taken the place of the still\nabsent perruque.\n\nThen all the distinguished gentlemen who stood nearest to him would\nhave known what to do. They had all attended _petits levers_ of kings,\ncourtisanes, and Ministers, ever since their rank and dignities\nentitled them so to do. Mme. la Comtesse de Stainville, for instance,\nwould have stepped aside at this precise juncture with a deep curtsey\nand mayhap a giggle or a smirk--since she was privileged to be\nfrivolous--whereupon M. Achille would with the proper decorum due to\nso solemn a function have handed M. le Controleur's day shirt to the\nvisitor of highest rank there present, who was privileged to pass it\nover milor's head.\n\nThat important formality accomplished, the great man's toilet could be\ncompleted by _M. le valet-de-chambre_ himself. But who had ever heard\nof a Minister's _petit-lever_ being brought to a close without the\nceremony of his being helped on with his shirt by a prince of the\nblood, or at least a marshal of France?\n\nHowever, _le petit Anglais_ had apparently some funny notions of his\nown--heirlooms, no doubt, from that fog-ridden land beyond the seas,\nthe home of his ancestors--and vainly had Monsieur Achille, that\nparagon among flunkeys, tried to persuade his Marquis not to set the\nhitherto inviolate etiquette of the Court of France quite so\nflagrantly at defiance.\n\nAll his efforts had been in vain.\n\nMonsieur d'Argenson, who was present on this 13th of August, 1746,\ntells us that when milor did call for his shoes at least ten minutes\ntoo soon, and was thereupon tenderly reproached by Madame la Comtesse\nde Stainville for this ungallant haste, he was already more than half\ndressed.\n\nTrue, the flowered _robe-de-chambre_ was there--and vastly becoming,\ntoo, with its braided motifs and downy lining of a contrasting\nhue--but when milor threw off the coverlet with a boyish gesture of\nimpatience, he appeared clad in a daintily frilled day-shirt, breeches\nof fine faced cloth, whilst a pair of white silk stockings covered his\nwell-shaped calves.\n\nTrue, the perruque was still absent, but so was the regulation cotton\nnight-cap; instead of these, milor, with that eccentricity peculiar to\nthe entire British race, wore his own hair slightly powdered and tied\nat the nape of the neck with a wide black silk bow.\n\nMonsieur Achille looked extremely perturbed, and, had his rigorous\nfeatures ventured to show any expression at all, they would\nundoubtedly have displayed one of respectful apology to all the\nhigh-born gentlemen who witnessed this unedifying spectacle. As it\nwas, the face of _Monsieur le valet-de-chambre_ was set in marble-like\nrigidity; perhaps only the slightest suspicion of a sigh escaped his\nlips as he noted milor's complete unconsciousness of the enormity of\nhis offense.\n\nMonsieur le Controleur had been in the very midst of an animated\nargument with Madame de Stainville anent the respective merits of rose\nred and turquoise blue as a foil to a mellow complexion. This argument\nhe had broken off abruptly by calling for his shoes. No wonder Irene\npouted, her pout being singularly becoming.\n\n\"Had I been fortunate enough in pleasing your lordship with my poor\nwit,\" she said, \"you had not been in so great a hurry to rid yourself\nof my company.\"\n\n\"Nay, madame, permit me to explain,\" he protested gently. \"I pray you\ntry and remember that for the last half-hour I have been the happy yet\nfeeble target for the shafts aimed at me by your beauty and your wit.\nNow I always feel singularly helpless without my waistcoat and my\nshoes. I feel like a miserable combatant who, when brought face to\nface with a powerful enemy, hath been prevented from arming himself\nfor the fray.\"\n\n\"But etiquette----\" she protested.\n\n\"Etiquette is a jade, madame,\" he retorted; \"shall not you and I turn\nour backs on her?\"\n\nIn the meantime M. Achille had, with becoming reverence, taken M. le\nControleur's coat and waistcoat in his august hands, and stood there\nholding them with just that awed expression of countenance which a\nvillage cure would wear when handling a reliquary.\n\nWith that same disregard for ceremony which had characterized him all\nalong, Lord Eglinton rescued his waistcoat from those insistent hands,\nand, heedless of Achille's look of horror, he slipped it on and\nbuttoned it himself with quick, dexterous fingers, as if he had never\ndone anything else in all his life.\n\nFor a moment Achille was speechless. For the first time perhaps in the\nhistory of France a Minister of Finance had put his waistcoat on\nhimself, and this under his--Achille's--administration. The very\nfoundations of his belief were tottering before his eyes; desperately\nnow he clung to the coat, ready to fight for its possession and shed\nhis blood if need be for the upkeep of the ancient traditions of the\nland.\n\n\"Will milor take his coat from the hands of Monseigneur le Prince de\nCourtenai--prince of the blood?\" he asked, with a final supreme effort\nfor the reestablishment of those traditions, which were being so\nwantonly flouted.\n\n\"His Majesty will be here directly,\" interposed Irene hastily.\n\n\"His Majesty never comes later than half-past ten,\" protested milor\nfeebly, \"and he has not the vaguest idea how to help a man on with his\ncoat. He has had no experience and I feel that mine would become a\nheap of crumpled misery if his gracious hands were to insinuate it\nover my unworthy shoulders.\"\n\nHe made a desperate effort to gain possession of his coat, but this\ntime M. Achille was obdurate. It seemed as if he would not yield that\ncoat to any one save at the cost of his own life.\n\n\"Then it is the privilege of Monseigneur le Prince de Courtenai,\" he\nsaid firmly.\n\n\"But M. de Courtenai has gone to flirt with my wife!\" ejaculated Lord\nEglinton in despair.\n\n\"In that case no doubt M. le Duc de Luxembourg will claim the\nright----\"\n\n\"_Mais comment donc?_\" said the Duke with great alacrity, as, in spite\nof milor's still continued feeble protests, he took the coat from the\nhands of M. Achille.\n\nM. de Luxembourg was very pompous and very slow, and there was nothing\nthat Lord Eglinton hated worse than what he called amateur valeting.\nBut now there was nothing for it but forbearance and resignation;\npatience, too, of which _le petit Anglais_ had no more than a just\nshare. He gathered the frills of his shirt sleeves in his hands and\ntried not to look as if he wished M. de Luxembourg at the bottom of\nthe nearest pond; but at this very moment Monseigneur le Prince de\nCourtenai, who, it appeared, had not gone to flirt with Madame la\nMarquise, since the latter was very much engaged elsewhere, but had\nmerely been absorbed in political discussions with M. de Vermandois,\nsuddenly realized that one of his numerous privileges was being\nencroached upon.\n\nNot that he had any special desire to help M. le Controleur-General on\nwith his coat, but because he was ever anxious that his proper\nprecedence as quasi prince of the blood should always be fully\nrecognized. So he gave a discreet cough just sufficiently loud to\nattract M. Achille's notice, and to warn M. le Duc de Luxembourg that\nhe was being presumptuous.\n\nWithout another word the coat was transferred from the hands of the\nMarechal to those of the quasi-royal Prince, whilst Eglinton, wearing\nan air of resigned martyrdom, still waited for his coat, the frills of\nhis shirt sleeves gripped tightly in his hands.\n\nMonseigneur advanced. His movements were always sedate, and he felt\npleased that every one who stood close by had noticed that the rank\nand precedence, which were rightfully his, had been duly accorded him,\neven in so small a matter, by no less a personage than M. le\nControleur-General des Finances.\n\nHe now held the coat in perfect position, and Lord Eglinton gave a\nsigh of relief, when suddenly the great doors at the end of the long\nroom were thrown wide open, and the stentorian voices of the royal\nflunkeys announced:\n\n\"Messieurs, Mesdames! His Majesty the King!\"\n\nThe buzz of talk died down, giving place to respectful murmurs. There\nwas a great rustle of silks and brocades, a clink of dress swords\nagainst the parquet floor, as the crowd parted to make way for Louis\nXV. The various groups of political disputants broke up, as if\nscattered by a fairy wand; soon all the butterflies that had hovered\nin the further corners of the room fluttered toward the magic centre.\n\nHere an avenue seemed suddenly to form itself of silken gowns, of\nbrocaded panniers, of gaily embroidered coats, topped by rows of\npowdered perruques that bent very low to the ground as, fat, smiling,\npompous, and not a little bored, His Majesty King Louis XV made slow\nprogress along the full length of the room, leaning lightly on the\narm of the inevitable Marquise de Pompadour, and nodding with great\ncondescension to the perruqued heads as he passed.\n\nNear the window embrasure he met la Marquise d'Eglinton and M. le Duc\nd'Aumont, her father. To Lydie he extended a gracious hand, and\nengaged her in conversation with a few trivial words. This gave Mme.\nde Pompadour the opportunity of darting a quick glance, that implied\nan anxious query, at the Duc d'Aumont, to which he responded with an\nalmost imperceptible shake of the head.\n\nAll the while M. le Controleur-General des Finances was still\nstanding, shirt frills in hand, his face a picture of resigned\ndespair, his eyes longingly fixed on his own coat, which Monseigneur\nde Courtenai no longer held up for him.\n\nIndeed, Monseigneur, a rigid stickler for etiquette himself, would\nnever so far have forgotten what was due to the house of Bourbon as to\nindulge in any pursuit--such as helping a Minister on with his\ncoat--at the moment when His Majesty entered a room.\n\nHe bowed with the rest of them, and thus Louis XV at the end of his\nprogress, found the group around milor's bedside; his cousin de\nCourtenai bowing, Monsieur Achille with his nose almost touching his\nknees, and milor Eglinton in shirt sleeves looking supremely\nuncomfortable, and not a little sheepish.\n\n\"Ah! ce cher milor!\" said the King with charming bonhomie, as he took\nthe situation in at a glance. \"Nay, cousin, I claim an ancient\nprivilege! Monsieur le Controleur-General, have you ever been waited\non by a King of France?\"\n\n\"Never to my knowledge, Sire,\" stammered _le petit Anglais_.\n\nLouis XV was quite delightful to-day; so fresh and boyish in his\nmovements, and with an inimitable _laisser aller_ and friendliness in\nhis manner which caused many pairs of eyes to stare, and many hearts\nto ponder.\n\n\"Let this be an epoch-making experience in your life, then,\" he said\ngaily. \"Is this your coat?\"\n\nAnd without more ado he took that much-travelled garment from\nMonseigneur de Courtenai's hands.\n\nSuch condescension, such easy graciousness had not been witnessed for\nyears! And His Majesty was not overfond of that State-appointed\nMinistry of Finance of which milor was the nominal head.\n\n\"His Majesty must be sorely in need of money!\" was a whispered comment\nwhich ran freely enough round the room.\n\nWithal the King himself seemed quite unconscious of the wave of\ninterest to which his gracious behaviour was giving rise. He was\nholding up the coat, smiling benevolently at M. le Controleur, who\nappeared to be more than usually nervous, and now made no movement\ntoward that much-desired portion of his attire.\n\n\"Allons, milor, I am waiting,\" said King Louis at last.\n\n\"Er--that is,\" murmured Lord Eglinton pitiably, \"could I have my coat\nright side out?\"\n\n\"_Ohe! par ma foi!_\" quoth the King with easy familiarity, \"your\npardon, milor, but 'tis seldom I hold such an article in my hands, and\nI believe, by all the saints in the calendar, that I was holding it\nupside down, wrong side out, sleeves foremost, and collar awry!\"\n\nHe laughed till his fat sides ached, and tears streamed from his eyes;\nthen, amidst discreet murmurs of admiration at so much condescension,\nsuch gracious good humour, the ceremony of putting on M. le\nControleur's coat was at last performed by the King of France, and\nmilor, now fully clothed and apparently much relieved in his mind, was\nable to present his respects to Madame de Pompadour.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nROYAL FAVOURS\n\n\nApparently there was to be no end to royal graciousness this morning,\nas every one who looked could see. Hardly was the coat on M. le\nControleur's shoulders than the King engaged him in conversation,\nwhilst Mme. de Pompadour dropped into the armchair lately vacated by\nMonseigneur de Courtenai. The well-drilled circle of courtiers and\nladies, including la belle Irene herself, retired discreetly. Once\nmore there was a barrier of emptiness and parquet flooring round the\ninner group, now composed of His Majesty, of M. le Controleur-General,\nand of Mme. de Pompadour. Into these sacred precincts no one would\nhave dared to step. Lydie, having paid her respects to His Majesty,\nhad not joined that intimate circle, and it seemed as if Louis XV had\nnoted her absence, and was duly relieved thereat.\n\nAnon M. le Duc d'Aumont approached the King, offering him a chair.\nLouis took it, and in the act of so doing he contrived to whisper four\nquick words in his Prime Minister's ear.\n\n\"Eh bien! Your daughter?\"\n\nLord Eglinton just then was busy trying to find a suitable place\nwhereon to deposit his own insignificant person, and blushing\nviolently because Mme. de Pompadour had laughingly waved her fan in\nthe direction of his monumental bed; M. le Duc, therefore, whilst\nadjusting a cushion behind the King's back, was able to reply\nhurriedly:\n\n\"Impossible, Sire!\"\n\n\"And l'Anglais?\"\n\n\"I have not yet tried.\"\n\n\"Ah! ah! ah!\" laughed Pompadour merrily. \"M. le Controleur-General des\nFinances, are all Englishmen as modest as you?\"\n\n\"I--I don't know, Madame. I don't know very many,\" he replied.\n\n\"Here is M. le Controleur too bashful to sit on the edge of his own\nbed in my presence,\" she continued, still laughing. \"Nay, milor, I'll\nwager that you were reclining on those downy cushions when you were\nflirting with Mme. de Stainville.\"\n\n\"Only under the compulsion of my valet-de-chambre, Madame,\" he\nprotested, \"or I'd have got up hours ago.\"\n\n\"Is he such a tyrant, then?\" asked Louis.\n\n\"Terrible, your Majesty.\"\n\n\"You are afraid of him?\"\n\n\"I tremble at his look.\"\n\n\"Ah! it is well M. le Controleur-General des Finances should tremble\nsometimes, even if only before his valet-de-chambre,\" sighed Louis XV\nwith comic pathos.\n\n\"But, Sire, I tremble very often!\" protested Lord Eglinton.\n\n\"I' faith he speaks truly,\" laughed Mme. de Pompadour, \"since he\ntrembles before his wife.\"\n\n\"And we tremble before M. le Controleur,\" concluded the King gaily.\n\n\"Before me, Sire?\"\n\n\"Aye, indeed, since our Parliaments have made you our dragon.\"\n\n\"A good-tempered, meek sort of dragon, Sire, you'll graciously admit.\"\n\n\"That we will, milor, and gladly!\" said Louis XV, now with somewhat\ntoo exuberant good-humour; \"and you'll not have cause to regret that\nmeekness, for your King hath remained your friend.\"\n\nThen, as Lord Eglinton seemed either too much overcome by the amazing\ncondescension, or too bashful to respond, his Majesty continued more\nsedately:\n\n\"We are about to prove our friendship, milor.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty--finds me--er--quite unprepared--er----\" stammered\nmilor, who in verity appeared distinctly confused, for his eyes roamed\nround the room as if in search of help or support in this interesting\ncrisis.\n\n\"Nay! nay!\" rejoined the King benignly, \"this we understand, milor. It\nis not often the King of France chooses a friend amongst his subjects.\nFor we look upon you as our subject now, M. le Controleur, since we\nhave accepted your oath of allegiance. You have only just enough\nEnglish blood left in your veins to make you doubly loyal and true to\nyour King. Nay! nay! no thanks--we speak as our royal heart moves us.\nJust now we spoke of proofs of our friendship. Milor, tell us frankly,\nare you so very rich?\"\n\nThe question came so abruptly at the end of the sentimental peroration\nthat Lord Eglinton was completely thrown off his balance. He was not\nused to private and intimate conversations with King Louis; his wife\nsaw to all affairs of State, and the present emergency found him\nunprepared.\n\n\"I--I believe so, Sire,\" he stammered.\n\n\"But surely not _so_ rich,\" insisted the King, \"that a million or so\nlivres would come amiss? He!\"?\n\n\"I don't rightly know, Sire; it a little depends.\"\n\n\"On what?\"\n\n\"On the provenance of the million.\"\n\n\"More than one, good milor--two, mayhap,\" said the King exultantly.\n\nThen he drew his chair in somewhat closer. Lord Eglinton had taken\nMme. de Pompadour's advice and was sitting on the edge of the bed. We\nmay presume that that edge was very hard and uncomfortable, for milor\nfidgeted and looked supremely unhappy. Anon the King's knees were\nclose to his own, and Madame's brocaded skirt got entangled with his\nfeet. The buzz of talk in the large room drowned the King's whispers\neffectually, the wide barrier of empty floor was an effectual check on\neavesdropping. Obviously no one would hear what Louis was about to\nconfide to his Minister; he leaned forward and dropped his voice so\nthat Eglinton himself could scarcely hear, and had to bend his head so\nthat he got Louis's hot, excited breath full on the cheek. Being\nGeneral Comptroller of Finance and receiving the confidences of a King\nhad its drawbacks at times.\n\n\"Milor,\" whispered his Majesty, \"'tis a good affair we would propose,\none which we could carry through without your help, but in which we\nwould wish to initiate you, seeing that you are our friend.\"\n\n\"I listen, Sire.\"\n\n\"The Duke of Cumberland--you know him?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"He has quelled the rebellion and humbled the standard of that\narrogant Stuart Pretender.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty's friend--yes,\" said Eglinton innocently.\n\n\"Bah! our friend!\" and Louis XV shrugged his shoulders, whilst Mme. de\nPompadour gave a short contemptuous laugh.\n\n\"Oh! I am sorry! I thought----\" said milor gently. \"I pray your\nMajesty to continue.\"\n\n\"Charles Edward Stuart was no friend to us, milor,\" resumed Louis\ndecisively: \"observe, I pray you, the trouble which he hath brought\nabout our ears. We had had peace with England ere now, but for that\naccursed adventurer and his pretensions; and now that he has come to\ndisaster and ruin----\"\n\n\"I understand,\" said Eglinton, with a little sigh of sympathy. \"It is\nindeed awkward for your Majesty; the solemn promise you gave him----\"\n\n\"Bah, man! prate not to me of promises,\" interrupted Louis irritably.\n\"I promised him nothing; he knows that well enough--the young fool!\"\n\n\"Do not let us think of him, Sire; it seems to upset your Majesty.\"\n\n\"It does, milor, it does; for even my worst enemies concede that Louis\nthe Well-beloved is a creature of sympathy.\"\n\n\"A heart of gold, Sire--a heart of gold--er--shall we join the\nladies?\"\n\n\"Milor,\" said the King abruptly, putting a firm hand on Eglinton's\nwrist, \"we must not allow that young fool to thwart the external\npolitics of France any longer. The Duke of Cumberland, though our own\nenemy on the field of battle, has shown that England trusts in our\nhonour and loyalty even in the midst of war, but she wants a proof\nfrom us.\"\n\n\"Oh, let us give it, Sire, by all means. Prince Charles Edward\nStuart----\"\n\n\"Exactly, milor,\" said Louis XV quietly; \"that is the proof which\nEngland wants.\"\n\n\"I am afraid I don't quite understand,\" said Lord Eglinton, a little\nbewildered. \"You see, I am very stupid; and--and perhaps my wife----\"\n\nThen, as King Louis gave a sharp ejaculation of impatience, Mme. de\nPompadour broke in, in tones which she knew how to render velvety and\nsoothing to the ear, whilst her delicate fingers rested lightly on M.\nle Controleur's hand.\n\n\"It is quite simple, milor,\" she whispered just as confidentially as\nthe King had done. \"This Charles Edward Stuart is a perpetual worry to\nEngland. His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland has been accused of\nunnecessary cruelty because he has been forced to take severe measures\nfor the suppression of that spirit of rebellion, which is only being\nfostered in Scotland because of that young Pretender's perpetual\npresence there. He fans smouldering revolt into flame, he incites\npassions, and creates misguided enthusiasms which lead to endless\ntrouble to all!\"\n\nThen as she paused, somewhat breathless and eager, her bright\nmyosotis- eyes anxiously scanning his face he said mildly:\n\n\"How beautifully you put things, Mme. la Marquise. I vow I have never\nheard such a perfect flood of eloquence.\"\n\n\"'Tis not a matter of Madame's eloquence,\" interposed Louis, with\nimpatience, \"though she hath grasped the subject with marvellous\nclearness of judgment.\"\n\n\"Then 'tis a matter of what, Sire?\"\n\n\"The Duke of Cumberland has appealed to our loyalty. Though we are at\nwar with England we bear no animus toward her reigning house, and have\nno wish to see King George's crown snatched from him by that beardless\nyoung adventurer, who has no more right to the throne of England than\nyou, milor, to that of France.\"\n\n\"And his Grace of Cumberland has asked his Majesty's help,\" added Mme.\nde Pompadour.\n\n\"How strange! Just as Prince Charles Edward himself hath done.\"\n\n\"The Duke of Cumberland desires the person of the Pretender,\" she\nsaid, without heeding the interruption, \"so that he may no longer\nincite misguided enthusiasts to rebellion, and cease to plunge\nScotland and England into the throes of civil war.\"\n\n\"His Grace asks but little, methinks!\" said Lord Eglinton slowly.\n\n\"Oh, England is always ready to pay for what she wants,\" said the\nMarquise.\n\n\"And on this occasion?\" asked milor mildly.\n\n\"His Grace hath offered us, as man to man, fifteen millions livres for\nthe person of the Pretender,\" said the King, with sudden decision, and\nlooking M. le Controleur straight in the face.\n\n\"Ah! as man to man?\"\n\nLouis XV and Mme. la Marquise de Pompadour both drew a quick sigh of\nrelief. M. le Controleur had taken the proposal with perfect quietude.\nHe had not seemed startled, and his kindly face expressed nothing but\ngentle amazement, very natural under the circumstances, whilst his\nvoice--even and placid as usual--was not above a whisper.\n\n\"As man to man,\" he repeated, and nodded his head several times, as if\npondering over the meaning of this phrase.\n\nHow extremely fortunate! Milor had raised no objection! What a pity to\nhave wasted quite so much thought, anxiety, and a wealth of eloquence\nover a matter which was so easily disposed of! Jeanne de Pompadour\ngave her royal patron an encouraging nod.\n\nThere was a world of wisdom in that nod and in the look which\naccompanied it. \"He takes it so easily,\" that look seemed to say; \"he\nthinks it quite natural. We must have his help, since we do not know\nwhere the fugitive Prince is in hiding. This little milor alone can\ntell us that, and give us a token by which Charles Edward would\ntrustingly fall into the little ambush which we have prepared for him.\nBut he thinks the affair quite simple. We need not offer him quite so\nlarge a share in the pleasant millions as we originally had intended.\"\n\nAll this and more Mme. de Pompadour's nod conveyed to the mind of\nLouis the Well-beloved, and he too nodded in response before he\ncontinued, speaking now more casually, in a calmer, more business-like\ntone.\n\n\"'Tis a fair offer,\" he said at last; \"though the affair will not be\nquite so easy to conduct as his Grace supposes. He suggests our\nsending a ship to the coast of Scotland to meet the young adventurer\nand his friends, take them on board and convey them to an English\nport, where they will be handed over to the proper authorities. 'Tis\nfairly simple, methinks.\"\n\n\"Remarkably simple, your Majesty.\"\n\n\"Of course, we need a little help from you, milor. Oh, nothing\nmuch--advice as to the spot where our good ship will be most like to\nfind Charles Edward Stuart--a token which if shown to that young\nfirebrand will induce him to trust its bearer, and come on board\nhimself with at least some of his friends. You follow me, milor?\"\n\nThe question seemed necessary, for Lord Eglinton's face wore such a\nlook of indifference as to astonish even the King, who had been\nprepared for some measure of protest, at any rate from this man who\nwas being asked to betray his friend. Although Louis was at this\nperiod of his life quite deaf to every call of honour and loyalty\nthrough that constant, ever-present and exasperating want of money for\nthe satisfaction of his extravagant caprices, nevertheless, there was\nBourbon blood in him, and this cried out loudly now, that he was\nsuggesting--nay, more, contemplating--a deed which would have put any\nof his subjects to shame, and which would have caused some of his most\nunscrupulous ancestors in mediaeval times to writhe with humiliation in\ntheir graves. Therefore he had expected loud protest from Lord\nEglinton, arguments more or less easy to combat, indignation of\ncourse; but this ready acceptance of this ignoble bargain--so strange\nis human nature!--for the moment quite horrified Louis. Milor took the\nselling of his friend as calmly as he would that of a horse.\n\n\"You follow me, milor?\" reiterated the King.\n\n\"Yes, yes, Sire,\" replied Eglinton readily enough. \"I follow you.\"\n\n\"You understand the service we ask of you?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I understand.\"\n\n\"For these services, milor, you shall be amply rewarded. We would\ndeem one million livres a fair amount to fall to your share.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty is generous,\" said Eglinton quite passively.\n\n\"We are just, milor,\" said the King, with a sigh of satisfaction.\n\nM. le Controleur seemed satisfied, and there was little else to say.\nLouis XV began to regret that he had offered him quite so much.\nApparently five hundred thousand would have been enough.\n\n\"Then we'll call that settled,\" concluded his Majesty, pushing back\nhis chair preparatory to ending this conversation, which he had so\ndreaded and which had turned out so highly satisfactory. Pity about\nthat million livres, of course! five hundred thousand might have done,\ncertainly seven! Nathless, M. le Controleur's private fortune was not\nso large as popular rumour had it, or did Mme. Lydie actually hold the\npurse strings?\n\n\"_C'est entendu_, milor,\" repeated Louis once more. \"We will see to\ncommissioning the ship and to her secret orders. As you see, there is\nno risk--and we shall be glad to be in the good graces of M. le Duc de\nCumberland. To oblige an enemy, eh, milor? an act of peace and\ngood-will in the midst of war. Chivalry, what?--worthy of our ancestor\nHenri of Navarre! Methinks it will make history.\"\n\n\"I think so, too, Sire,\" said Eglinton, with obvious conviction.\n\n\"Ah! then we'll see to the completion of the affair; we--the King and\nM. le Duc d'Aumont. You are lucky, milor, your share of the work is so\nsimple; as soon as the ship is ready to sail we'll call on you for the\nnecessary instructions. Par ma foi! 'tis a fine business for us all,\nmilor; one million in your pocket for a word and a token, the residue\nof the fifteen millions in our royal coffers, and the thanks of his\nGrace of Cumberland to boot, not to mention the moral satisfaction of\nhaving helped to quell an unpleasant rebellion, and of placing one's\nenemy under lasting obligation. All for the good of France!\"\n\nLouis the Well-beloved had risen; he was more than contented; an\nunctuous smile, a beaming graciousness of expression pervaded his\nentire countenance. He groped in the wide pocket of his coat, bringing\nforth a letter which bore a large red seal.\n\n\"His Grace's letter, milor,\" he said with final supreme condescension,\nand holding the document out to M. le Controleur, who took it without\na word. \"Do you glance through it, and see that we have not been\nmistaken, that the whole thing is clear, straightforward and----\"\n\n\"And a damned, accursed, dirty piece of business, Sire!\"\n\nIt was undoubtedly Lord Eglinton who had spoken, for his right hand,\nas if in response to his thoughts, was even now crushing the paper\nwhich it held, whilst the left was raised preparatory to tearing the\ninfamous proposal to pieces. Yes, it had been milor's even, gentle\nvoice which had uttered this sudden decisive condemnation in the same\nimpassive tones, and still scarce audible even to these two people\nnear him, without passion, without tremor, seemingly without emotion.\nJust a statement of an undisputable fact, a personal opinion in answer\nto a question put to him.\n\nLouis, completely thrown off his balance, stared at milor as if he had\nbeen suddenly shaken out of a dream; for the moment he thought that\nhis ears must have played him a trick, that he must have misunderstood\nthe words so calmly uttered; instinctively his hand sought the\nsupport of the chair which he had just vacated. It seemed as if he\nneeded a solid, a materialistic prop, else his body would have reeled\nas his brain was doing now. Mme. de Pompadour, too, had jumped to her\nfeet, pushing her chair away with an angry, impatient movement. The\ndisappointment was so keen and sudden, coming just at the moment when\ntriumph seemed so complete. But whilst Louis stared somewhat blankly,\nat M. le Controleur, she, the woman, flashed rage, contempt, vengeance\nupon him.\n\nHe had tricked and fooled her, her as well as the King, leading them\non to believe that he approved, the better to laugh at them both in\nhis sleeve.\n\nThe contemptible, arrogant wretch!\n\nHe was still half sitting, half leaning against the edge of his bed,\nand staring straight out before him through the big bay window which\ngave on to the park, passively, gently, as if the matter had ceased to\nconcern him, as if he were quite unconscious of the enormity of his\naction.\n\n\"A--a damned--what?--accursed!--what?----\" stammered the King; \"but,\nmilor----\"\n\n\"Nay, Sire, I pray you!\" broke in a grave voice suddenly; \"my lord\nseems to have angered your Majesty. Will you deign to explain?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nDIPLOMACY\n\n\nThe buzz of talk was going on as loudly and incessantly as before. The\nwhispered conversation around M. le Controleur's bedside had excited\nno violent curiosity. The first surprise occasioned by His Majesty's\nunparalleled condescension soon gave way to indifference; it was\nobvious that the King's assiduity beside the Minister of Finance was\nsolely due to a more than normal desire for money, and these royal\ndemands for renewed funds were too numerous to cause more than passing\ninterest.\n\nEavesdropping was impossible without gross disrespect, the latter far\nmore unpardonable than the most insatiable curiosity. Lydie alone,\nprivileged above all, had apparently not heeded the barrier which\nisolated Louis XV, Pompadour and milor from the rest of the vast\napartment, for she now stood at the foot of the bed--a graceful,\nimposing figure dressed in somewhat conventual gray, with one hand\nresting on the delicate panelling, her grave, luminous eyes fixed on\nthe King's face.\n\nLouis shook himself free from the stupor in which milor's unexpected\nwords had plunged him. Surprise yielded now to vexation. Lydie's\nappearance, her interference in this matter, would be the final\ndeath-blow to his hopes. Those tantalizing millions had dangled close\nbefore his eyes, his royal hands had almost grasped them, his ears\nheard their delicious clink; milor's original attitude had brought\nthem seemingly within his grasp. Now everything was changed. The whole\naffair would have to be argued out again at full length, and though\n_le petit Anglais_ might prove amenable, Mme. Lydie was sure to be\nobdurate.\n\nLouis XV scowled at the picture of youth and beauty presented by that\nelegant figure in dove-gray silk, with the proud head carried high,\nthe unconscious look of power and of strength in the large gray eyes,\nso grave and so fixed. In his mind there had already flashed the\nthought that milor's sudden change of attitude--for it was a change,\nof that his Majesty had no doubt--was due to a subtle sense of fear\nwhich had made him conscious of his wife's presence, although from her\nposition and his own he could not possibly have seen her approach.\n\nThis made him still more vexed with Lydie, and as she seemed calmly to\nbe waiting for an explanation, he replied quite gruffly:\n\n\"Nay, madame, you mistake; I assure you milor and ourselves are\nperfectly at one--we were so until a few moments ago.\"\n\n\"Until I came,\" she said quietly. \"I am glad of that, for 'twill be\neasy enough, I hope, to convince your Majesty that my presence can\nhave made no difference to M. le Controleur's attitude of deep\nrespect.\"\n\n\"Pardi, we hope not!\" interposed Mme. de Pompadour acidly; \"but we\nhope milor hath found his tongue at last and will do the convincing\nhimself.\"\n\nBut Louis XV was not prepared to reopen the discussion in the presence\nof Mme. Lydie. He knew, quite as well as M. le Duc d'Aumont himself,\nthat she would have nothing but contempt and horror for that infamous\nproposal, which he was more determined than ever to accept.\n\nIt was tiresome of course not to have the cooperation of Lord\nEglinton; that weak fool now would, no doubt, be overruled by his\nwife. At the same time--and Louis hugged the thought as it sprang to\nhis mind--there were other ways of obtaining possession of Charles\nEdward Stuart's person than the direct one which he had proposed to\nmilor just now. The young Pretender was bound sooner or later to leave\nthe shores of Scotland. Unbeknown to King Louis a ship might be sent\nby private friends to rescue the fugitive, but that ship could be\nintercepted on her way home, and, after all, Charles Edward was bound\nto land in France some day!--and then----\n\nAnd there were other means besides of earning the tempting millions.\nBut these would have to be thought out, planned and arranged; they\nwould be difficult and not nearly so expeditious, which was a drawback\nwhen royal coffers were clamouring to be filled. Still, it would be\ndistinctly unadvisable to broach the subject with Mme. la Marquise\nd'Eglinton, and unnecessarily humiliating, since a rebuff was sure to\nbe the result.\n\nTherefore, when--as if in placid defiance of Pompadour's\nchallenge--Lord Eglinton handed the Duke of Cumberland's letter\nsilently back to the King, the latter slipped it into his pocket with\na gesture of ostentatious indifference.\n\n\"Nay! we need not trouble Mme. la Marquise with the discussion now,\"\nhe said; \"she is unacquainted with the subject of our present\nconversation, and it would be tedious to reiterate.\"\n\n\"I crave your pardon, Sire,\" rejoined Lydie, \"if I have transgressed,\nbut my zeal in the service of France and in that of your Majesty has\nrendered my senses preternaturally acute. My eyes see in the gloom, my\nears hear across vast spaces.\"\n\n\"In a word, Mme. la Marquise has been listening!\" said Pompadour, with\na sneer.\n\n\"I did not listen,\" said Lydie quietly. \"I only heard.\"\n\n\"Then you know?\" said Louis, with well-assumed indifference.\n\n\"Oh, yes!\"\n\nShe smiled at him as she replied. This was apparently a day of\nsurprises, for the smile seemed distinctly encouraging.\n\n\"And--and what do you say?\" asked his Majesty somewhat anxiously, yet\nemboldened by that encouraging smile.\n\nOf a truth! was he about to find an ally there, where he expected most\nbitter opposition?\n\n\"Meseems that milor was somewhat hasty,\" replied Lydie quietly.\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\nIt was a sigh of intense, deep, heartfelt, satisfaction breathed by\nLouis the Well-beloved, and unrestrainedly echoed by Mme. de\nPompadour.\n\n\"This proposal, Sire,\" continued Lydie; \"'tis from England, I\nunderstand?\"\n\n\"From his Grace of Cumberland himself, Madame,\" assented the King,\nonce more drawing the letter from out his pocket.\n\n\"May I be permitted to see it?\" she asked.\n\nFor a moment Louis hesitated, then he gave her the letter. There was\nno risk in this, since she practically owned to knowing its contents.\n\nAnd the whole affair would be so much easier, so much more expeditious\nwith the cooperation of the Eglintons.\n\nLydie read the letter through, seemingly deeply engrossed in its\ncontents. She never once raised her eyes to see how she was being\nwatched. She knew quite well that the King's eyes were fixed eagerly\nupon her face, that Pompadour's cupidity and greed for the proposed\nmillions were plainly writ upon her face. But she had not once looked\nat her husband. She did not look at him now. He had not spoken since\nthat sudden burst of indignation, when his slender hand crushed the\ninfamous document which she now studied so carefully, crushed it and\nwould have torn it to ribbons in loathing and contempt.\n\nWhen first she interposed he had turned and faced her. Since then she\nknew that his eyes had remained fixed on her face. She felt the gaze,\nyet cared not to return it. He was too weak, too simple to understand,\nand of her own actions she would be sole mistress; that had been the\nchief clause in the contract when she placed her hand in his.\n\nHer intuitive knowledge of this Court in which she moved, her\nsuspicions of this feeble monarch, whose extravagant caprices had led\nhim to deeds at which in his earlier days he had been the first to\nblush, her dread of intrigues and treachery, all had whispered in her\near the word of prudence--\"Temporize.\"\n\nThe whole infamous plan had been revealed to her through those same\nsupernaturally keen senses, which her strong domineering nature had\ncoerced, until they became the slaves of her will. Mingling with the\ncrowd, her graceful body present in the chattering throng, her mind\nhad remained fixed on that group beside the bed. She had noticed the\nKing's expression of face when he engaged milor in conversation, his\nextraordinary _bonhomie_, his confidential attitude, his whispers, all\nbacked and seconded by Pompadour. Gradually she manoeuvred and, still\nforming a unit with the rest of the crowd, she had by degrees drawn\nnearer and nearer, until she saw her husband's movement, his almost\nimperceptible change of expression, as he clutched the letter which\nwas handed him by the King.\n\nThen she boldly entered the inner precincts; being privileged, she\ncould do even that, without creating attention. Milor's words of\ncontempt, the royal arms of England on the seal of the letter, coupled\nwith her father's attitude with her just now, and his veiled\nsuggestions, told her all she wanted to know. And quick as flashes of\nsummer lightning her woman's intuition whispered words of wisdom in\nher ear.\n\n\"Know everything first--then temporize! Diplomacy will do more than\ndefiance.\"\n\nHaving read the letter through, she of course knew all. It was simple\nenough--a monstrous proposal which the King of France was ready to\nadopt. She felt real physical nausea at contact with so much infamy.\n\nBut she folded the document neatly and carefully, then looked quietly\nat the King.\n\n\"The Duke of Cumberland is generous,\" she said, forcing herself to\nsmile.\n\n\"Heu, heu!\" assented Louis lightly, with a return of his wonted\n_bonhomie_. Matters were shaping themselves to a truly satisfactory\nend.\n\n\"Do I understand that your Majesty would desire us to accept his\nGrace's proposal?\"\n\n\"What think you yourself, Madame?\"\n\n\"It is worth considering,\" she mused.\n\n\"Parbleu! And you are a true woman!\" exclaimed Louis XV, beaming with\ndelight. \"Full of wisdom as a statesman should be. To think that we\ncould ever have mistrusted so clear a head and so sound a judgment.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty, I hope, will always remember that my sole desire is to\nserve France and her King!\"\n\n\"Par ma foi! We'll not forget your help in this, Madame,\" he exclaimed\nwhole-heartedly. \"Then we may rely on your help?\"\n\n\"What does your Majesty desire me to do?\"\n\nHe came quite close to her, and she forced herself not to draw back\none inch. For the sake of the fugitive prince and his friends, who had\ntrusted in the honour of France; for the sake of that honour which, in\nher peculiar position, was as dear to her as her own, she would not\nflinch now; she would show no repulsion, no fear, though her whole\nbeing rose in revolt at contact with this man.\n\nA man, not a king! Par Dieu, not a King of France!\n\nHis face to her looked hideous, the eyes seemed to leer, and there was\nlust for money, and ignoble treachery writ on every feature.\n\n\"We have explained it all to milor,\" whispered Louis under his breath;\n\"a ship to be commissioned and sent to meet the Stuart. She will have\nsecret orders--no one shall know but her captain--and he will be a man\nwhom we can trust--a man whom we shall have to pay--you understand?\"\n\n\"I understand.\"\n\n\"Then from you we want to know the place in Scotland where we will\nfind Charles Edward--eh? And also a token--a ring, a word perhaps, by\nwhich that young adventurer will be made to trust his own person and\nthat of his friends to our good ship. It is very simple, you see.\"\n\n\"Quite simple, your Majesty.\"\n\n\"The ship's orders will be that once the Stuart and his faction are on\nboard, she shall make straight for the first English\nport--and--and--that is all!\" he added complacently.\n\n\"Yes, that is all, your Majesty.\"\n\n\"And on the day that Charles Edward Stuart is handed over to the\nEnglish authorities, there will be fifteen millions for your King,\nMadame, and a million livres pin money for the most able statesman in\nEurope.\"\n\nAnd with consummate gallantry, Louis bowed very low and took her hand\nin his. It rested cold and inert between his hot fingers, but he was\nfar too eager, far too triumphant to notice anything beyond the fact\nthat he had succeeded in enlisting the help of Lydie d'Eglinton,\nwithout whom his project was bound to have been considerably delayed,\nif not completely frustrated. He had indeed not wasted this glorious\nmorning.\n\n\"I am eternally your debtor, Madame!\" he said gaily; \"and 'tis well,\nbelieve me, to serve the King of France.\"\n\n\"I have done nothing as yet, Sire,\" she rejoined.\n\n\"Nay, but you will,\" he said confidently.\n\nShe bowed her head and he interpreted the movement according to his\nwill. But he was impatient, longing to see this matter finally settled\nto his entire satisfaction.\n\n\"Will you not give me a definite answer now?\"\n\n\"In the midst of so much chatter, Sire?\" she said, forcing herself to\nsmile gaily. \"Nay, but 'tis a serious matter--and I must consult with\nmy father.\"\n\nLouis smiled contentedly. M. le Duc d'Aumont was at one with him in\nthis. The letter had been originally sent to the Prime Minister, and\nthe Duke, who was weak, who was a slave to the Bourbon dynasty, and\nwho, alas! was also tainted with that horrible canker which was\ngradually affecting the whole of the aristocracy of France, the\ninsatiable greed for money, had been bribed to agree with the King.\n\nTherefore Louis was content. It was as well that Lydie should speak\nwith the Duke. The worthy D'Aumont would dissipate her last lingering\nscruples.\n\n\"And your husband?\" he added, casting a quick glance over his shoulder\nat milor, and smiling with good-natured sarcasm.\n\n\"Oh, my husband will think as I do,\" she replied evasively.\n\nAt thought of her father and the King's complacent smile, Lydie had\nwinced. For a moment her outward calm threatened to forsake her. She\nfelt as if she could not keep up this hideous comedy any longer. She\nwould have screamed aloud with horror or contempt, aye! and deep\nsorrow, too, to think that her father wallowed in this mire.\n\nShe too cast a quick glance at milor. His eyes were no longer fixed on\nher face. He stood quietly beside Madame de Pompadour, who, leaving\nthe King to settle with Lydie, had engaged Lord Eglinton in frivolous\nconversation. He was quite placid again, and in his face, gentle and\ndiffident as usual, there was no longer the faintest trace of that\nsudden outburst of withering contempt.\n\nThe Duke of Cumberland's letter was still in her hand. It seemed to\nscorch her fingers with its loathsome pollution. But she clung to it,\nand after a violent effort at self control, she contrived to look\nLouis straight in the face and to give him a reassuring smile, as she\nslipped the letter into the bosom of her gown.\n\n\"I will consult with my father, Sire,\" she repeated, \"and will read\nthe letter when I am alone and undisturbed.\"\n\n\"And you will give me a final answer?\"\n\n\"The day after to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Why not sooner?\" he urged impatiently.\n\n\"The day after to-morrow,\" she reiterated with a smile. \"I have much\nto think about, and--the only token which Charles Edward would trust\nwithout demur must come from Lord Eglinton.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" said the King knowingly. \"Par ma foi! But we shall\nwant patience. Two whole days! In the meanwhile we'll busy ourselves\nwith preparations for the expedition. We had thought of _Le Monarque_.\nWhat say you?\"\n\n\"_Le Levantin_ would be swifter.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes! _Le Levantin_--and we can trust her captain. He is under\ndeep obligation to Madame de Pompadour. And M. de Lugeac, Madame's\nnephew, you know--we had thought of him to carry the secret orders to\nBrest to the captain of _Le Levantin_ directly she is ready to sail.\nMethinks we could trust him. His interests are bound up with ours. And\nthere is another, too; but more of that anon. The secret orders will\nbear our own royal signature, and you might place them yourself, with\nthe token, in our chosen messenger's hands.\"\n\nOnce more he gave her a gracious nod, and she curtseyed with all the\ndeference, all the formality which the elaborate etiquette of the\ntime demanded. Louis looked at her long and searchingly, but\napparently there was nothing in the calm, serene face to disturb his\npresent mood of complacent satisfaction. He put out his podgy hand to\nher; the short, thick fingers were covered with rings up to their\nfirst joint, and Lydie contrived to kiss the large signet--an emblem\nof that kingship to which she was true and loyal--without letting her\nlips come in contact with his flesh.\n\nWhat happened during the next ten minutes she could not afterward have\nsaid. Her whole mind was in a turmoil of thought, and every time the\ninfamous letter crackled beneath her corselet, she shuddered as with\nfear. Quite mechanically she saw the King's departure, and apparently\nshe acted with perfect decorum and correctness. Equally, mechanically\nshe saw the chattering throng gradually disperse. The vast room became\nmore and more empty, the buzz less and less loud. She saw milor as\nthrough a mist, mostly with back bent, receiving the _adieux_ of\nsycophants; she heard various murmurs in her own ears, mostly requests\nthat she should remember and be ready to give, or at least to promise.\nShe saw the procession of courtiers, of flatterers, of friends and\nenemies pass slowly before her; in the midst of them she vaguely\ndistinguished Mme. de Stainville's brightly  gown.\n\nLa belle Irene lingered a long time beside milor. She was one of the\nlast to leave, and though Lydie forced herself not to look in that\ndirection, she could not help hearing the other woman's irritating\ngiggle, and Lord Eglinton's even, pleasant voice framing compliments,\nthat pandered to that brainless doll's insatiable vanity.\n\nAnd this when he knew that his friend was about to be betrayed.\n\nThe taint! The horror! The pollution of it all!\n\nFortunately she had not seen her father, for her fortitude might have\nbroken down if she read that same awful thought of treachery in his\nface that had so disgusted her when Louis stood beside her.\n\nThe last of that senseless, indifferent crowd had gone. The vast room\nwas empty. Milor had accompanied Mme. de Stainville as far as the\ndoor. The murmur of talk and laughter came now only as a faint and\nlingering echo. Anon it died away in the distant corridors.\n\nLydie shivered as if with cold.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nSTRANGERS\n\n\nAnd now she was alone.\n\nTorpor had left her; even that intensity of loathing had gone, which\nfor the past half-hour had numbed her very senses and caused her to\nmove and speak like an irresponsible automaton. She felt as if she had\nindeed seen and touched a filthy, evil reptile, but that for the\nmoment it had gone out of her sight. Presently it would creep out of\nits lair again, but by that time she would be prepared.\n\nShe must be prepared; therefore she no longer shuddered at the horror\nof it, but called her wits to her aid, her cool judgment and habitual\nquick mode of action, to combat the monster and render it powerless.\n\nShe knew of course that the King would not allow himself to be put off\nwith vague promises. Within the two days' delay which she had asked of\nhim he would begin to realize that she had only meant to temporise,\nand never had any intention of helping him in his nefarious schemes.\nThen he would begin to act for himself.\n\nHaving understood that she meant to circumvent him if she could, he\nwas quite shrewd enough to devise some means of preventing those\ntempting millions from eluding his grasp. Though he did not know at\nthe present moment where or how to lay his hands on Prince Charles\nEdward and his friends, he knew that they would of necessity seek the\nloneliness of the west coast of Scotland.\n\nVaguely that particular shore had always been spoken of in connection\nwith any expedition for the succour of the unfortunate prince, and\nalthough the commissioning of ships was under the direct\nadministration of the Comptrolleur-General of Finance, Louis, with the\nprospective millions dangling before him, could easily enough equip\n_Le Levantin_, and send her on a searching expedition without having\nrecourse to State funds; whilst it was more than likely that Charles\nEdward, wearied of waiting, and in hourly fear of detection and\ncapture, would be quite ready to trust himself and his friends to any\nFrench ship that happened to come on his track, whether her captain\nbrought him a token from his friend or not.\n\nAll this and more would occur to King Louis, of course, in the event\nof her finally refusing him cooperation, or trying to put him off\nlonger than a few days. Just as she had thought it all out, visualized\nhis mind, as it were, so these various plans would present themselves\nto him sooner of later. It was a great thing to have gained two days.\nForty-eight hours' start of that ignoble scheme would, she hoped,\nenable her to counteract it yet.\n\nSo much for King Louis and his probable schemes! Now her own plans.\n\nTo circumvent this awful treachery, to forestall it, that of course\nhad become her task, and it should not be so difficult, given that two\ndays' start and some one whom she could trust.\n\nPlans now became a little clearer in her head; they seemed gradually\nto disentangle themselves from a maze of irrelevant thoughts.\n\n_Le Monarque_ was ready to start at any moment. Captain Barre, her\ncommander, was the soul of honour. A messenger swift and sure and\ntrustworthy must ride to Le Havre forthwith with orders to the captain\nto set sail at once, to reach that lonely spot on the west coast of\nScotland known only to herself and to her husband, where Charles\nEdward Stuart and his friends were even now waiting for succour.\n\nThe signet-ring--Lord Eglinton's--entrusted to Captain Barre should\nensure the fugitives' immediate confidence. There need be no delay,\nand with favourable wind and weather _Le Monarque_ should have the\nPrince and his friends on board her before _Le Levantin_ had been got\nready to start.\n\nThen _Le Monarque_ should not return home direct; she should skirt the\nIrish coast and make for Brittany by a circuitous route; a grave delay\nperhaps, but still the risks of being intercepted must be minimised at\nall costs.\n\nA lonely village inland would afford shelter to the Young Pretender\nand his adherents for a while, until arrangements could be made for\nthe final stage of their journey into safety--Austria, Spain, or any\ncountry in fact where Louis' treachery could not overtake them.\n\nIt was a big comprehensive scheme, of course; one which must be\ncarried to its completion in defiance of King Louis. It was never good\nto incur the wrath of a Bourbon, and, unless the nation and the\nparliaments ranged themselves unequivocally on her side, it would\nprobably mean the sudden ending of her own and her husband's career,\nthe finality of all her dreams. But to this she hardly gave a\nthought.\n\nThe project itself was not difficult of execution, provided she had\nthe cooperation of a man whom she could absolutely trust. This was the\nmost important detail in connection with her plans, and it alone could\nensure their success.\n\nHer ally, whoever he might be, would have to start this very afternoon\nfor Le Havre, taking with him the orders for Captain Barre and the\nsignet ring which she would give him.\n\nThere were one hundred and fifty leagues between Versailles and Le\nHavre as the crow flies, and Lydie was fully aware of the measure of\nstrength and endurance which a forced ride across country and without\ndrawing rein would entail.\n\nIt would mean long gallops at breakneck speed, whilst slowly the\nsummer's day yielded to the embrace of evening, and anon the glowing\ndusk paled and swooned into the arms of night. It would mean a swift\nand secret start at the hour when the scorching afternoon sun had not\nyet lifted its numbing weight from the journeyman's limbs and still\nlulled the brain of the student to drowsiness and the siesta; the hour\nwhen the luxurious idler was just waking from sleep, and the labourer\nout in the field stretched himself after the noonday rest.\n\nIt would mean above all youth and enthusiasm; for Le Havre must be\nreached ere the rising sun brought the first blush of dawn on cliffs,\nand crags, and sea; _Le Monarque_ must set sail for Scotland ere\nFrance woke from her sleep.\n\nTwelve hours in the saddle, a good mount, the strength of a young\nbullock, and the astuteness of a fox!\n\nLydie still sat in the window embrasure, her eyes closed, her graceful\nhead with its wealth of chestnut hair resting against the delicate\n cushions of her chair, her perfectly modelled arms bared to\nthe elbow lying listlessly in her lap, one hand holding the infamous\nletter, written by the Duke of Cumberland to King Louis. She herself a\npicture of thoughtful repose, statuesque and cool.\n\nIt was characteristic of her whole personality that she sat thus quite\ncalmly, thinking out the details of her plan, apparently neither\nflustered nor excited. The excitement was within, the desire to be up\nand doing, but she would have despised herself if she had been unable\nto conquer the outward expressions of her agitation, the longing to\nwalk up and down, to tear up that ignoble letter, or to smash some\ninoffensive article that happened to be lying by.\n\nHer thoughts then could not have been so clear. She could not have\nvisualized the immediate future; the departure of _Le Monarque_ at\ndawn--Captain Barre receiving the signet-ring--that breakneck ride to\nLe Havre.\n\nThen gradually from out the rest of the picture one figure detached\nitself from her mind--her husband.\n\n\"Le petit Anglais,\" the friend of Charles Edward Stuart; weak,\nluxurious, tactless, but surely loyal.\n\nLydie half smiled when the thought first took shape. She knew so\nlittle of her husband. Just now, when she heard him condemn the King's\ntreacherous proposals with such unequivocal words of contempt, she had\nhalf despised him for this blundering want of diplomatic art. Manlike\nhe had been unable to disguise his loathing for Louis' perfidy, and by\ntrying to proclaim his loyalty to his friend, all but precipitated\nthe catastrophe that would have delivered Charles Edward Stuart into\nthe hands of the English. But for Lydie's timely interference the\nKing, angered and huffed, would have departed then and there and\nmatured his own schemes before anything could be done to foil them.\n\nBut with her feeling of good-natured disdain, there had even then\nmingled a sensation of trust; this she recalled now when her mind went\nin search of the man in whom she could confide. She would in any case\nhave to ask her husband for the token agreed on between him and the\nStuart Prince, and also for final directions as to the exact spot\nwhere the fugitives would be most surely found by Captain Barre.\n\nThen why should he not himself take both to Le Havre?\n\nAgain she smiled at the thought. The idea had occurred to her that she\ndid not even know if milor could ride. And if perchance he did sit a\nhorse well, had he the physical strength, the necessary endurance, for\nthat flight across country, without a halt, with scarce a morsel of\nfood on the way?\n\nShe knew so little about him. Their lives had been spent apart. One\nbrief year of wedded life, and they were more strange to one another\nthan even they had been before their marriage. He no doubt thought her\nhard and unfeminine, she of a truth deemed him weak and unmanly.\n\nStill there was no one else, and with her usual determination she\nforced her well-schooled mind to dismiss all those thoughts of her\nhusband which were disparaging to him. She tried not to see him as she\nhad done a little while ago, giving himself over so readily to the\nartificial life of this Court of Versailles and its enervating\netiquette, yielding to the whispered flatteries of Irene de\nStainville, pandering to her vanity, admiring her femininity no doubt\nin direct contrast to his wife's more robust individuality.\n\nAfterward, whenever she thought the whole matter over, she never could\ndescribe accurately the succession of events just as they occurred on\nthat morning. She seemed after a while to have roused herself from her\nmeditations, having fully made up her mind to carry her project\nthrough from beginning to end, and with that infamous letter still in\nher hand she rose from her chair and walked across the vast audience\nchamber, with the intention of going to her own study, there to think\nout quietly the final details of her plans.\n\nHer mind was of course intent on the Stuart Prince and his friends: on\n_Le Monarque_ and Captain Barre, and also very much now on her\nhusband; but she could never recollect subsequently at what precise\nmoment the actual voice of Lord Eglinton became mingled with her\nthoughts of him.\n\nCertain it is that, when in crossing the room she passed close to the\nthronelike bedstead, whereupon her strangely perturbed imagination\nwilfully conjured up the picture of milor holding his court, with la\nbelle Irene in a brilliant rose- gown complacently receiving\nhis marked attentions, she suddenly heard him speak:\n\n\"One second, I entreat you, Madame, if you can spare it!\"\n\nHer own hand at the moment was on that gilded knob of the door,\nthrough which she had been about to pass. His voice came from\nsomewhere close behind her.\n\nShe turned slightly toward him, and saw him standing there, looking\nvery fixedly at her, with a gaze which had something of entreaty in\nit, and also an unexplainable subtle something which at first she\ncould not quite understand.\n\n\"I was going to my study, milor,\" she said, a little taken aback, for\nshe certainly had not thought him in the room.\n\n\"Therefore I must crave your indulgence if I intrude,\" he said simply.\n\n\"Can I serve you in any way?\"\n\n\"Your ladyship is pleased to be gracious----\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\nShe was accustomed to his diffident manner and to his halting speech,\nwhich usually had the knack of irritating her. But just now she seemed\ninclined to be kind. She felt distinctly pleased that he was here. To\nher keenly sensitive nature it seemed as if it had been her thoughts\nwhich had called to him, and that something in him responded to her\nwish that he should be the man to take her confidential message to the\ncommander of _Le Monarque_.\n\nNow his eyes dropped from her face and fixed themselves on the hand\nwhich had fallen loosely to her side.\n\n\"That paper which you hold, Madame----\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"I pray you give it to me.\"\n\n\"To you? Why?\" she asked, as the encouraging smile suddenly vanished\nfrom her face.\n\n\"Because I cannot bear the sight of Mme. la Marquise d'Eglinton, my\nwife, sullying her fingers one second longer by contact with this\ninfamy.\"\n\nHe spoke very quietly, in that even, gentle, diffident voice of his,\nwhilst his eyes once more riveted themselves on her face.\n\nInstinctively she clutched the letter tighter, and her whole figure\nseemed to stiffen as she looked at him full now, a deep frown between\nher eyes, her whole attitude suggestive of haughty surprise and of\nlofty contempt. There was dead silence in the vast room save for the\ncrackling of that paper, which to a keenly sensitive ear would have\nsuggested the idea that the dainty hand which held it was not as\nsteady as its owner would have wished.\n\nIt seemed suddenly as if with the speaking of a few words these two\npeople, who had been almost strangers, had by a subtle process become\nantagonists, and were unconsciously measuring one another's strength,\nmistrustful of one another's hidden weapons. But already the woman was\nprepared for a conflict of will, a contest for that hitherto\nundisputed mastery, which she vaguely feared was being attacked, and\nwhich she would not give up, be the cost of defence what it may,\nwhilst the man was still diffident, still vaguely hopeful that she\nwould not fight, for his armour was vulnerable where hers was not, and\nshe owned certain weapons which he knew himself too weak to combat.\n\n\"Therefore I proffer my request again, Madame,\" he said after a pause.\n\"That paper----\"\n\n\"A strong request, milor,\" said Lydie coldly.\n\n\"It is more than a request, Madame.\"\n\n\"A command perhaps?\"\n\nHe did not reply; obviously he had noted the sneer, for a very slight\nblush rose to his pale cheeks. Lydie, satisfied that the shaft had\ngone home, paused awhile, just long enough to let the subtle poison of\nher last words sink well in, then she resumed with calm indifference:\n\n\"You will forgive me, milor, when I venture to call your attention to\nthe fact that hitherto I have considered myself to be the sole judge\nand mentor of my own conduct.\"\n\n\"Possibly this has worked very well in all matters, Madame,\" he\nreplied, quite unruffled by her sarcasm, \"but in this instance you see\nme compelled to ask you--reluctantly I admit--to give me that letter\nand then to vouchsafe me an explanation as to what you mean to do.\"\n\n\"You will receive it in due course, milor,\" she said haughtily; \"for\nthe moment I must ask you to excuse me. I am busy, and----\"\n\nShe was conscious of an overwhelming feeling of irritation at his\ninterference and, fearing to betray it beyond the bounds of courtesy,\nshe wished to go away. But now he deliberately placed his hand on the\nknob, and stood between her and the door.\n\n\"Milor!\" she protested.\n\n\"Yes, I am afraid I am very clumsy, Madame,\" he said quite gently.\n\"Let us suppose that French good manners have never quite succeeded in\ngetting the best of my English boorishness. I know it is against every\nrule of etiquette that I should stand between you and the door through\nwhich you desire to pass, but I have humbly asked for an explanation\nand also for that letter, and I cannot allow your ladyship to go until\nI have had it.\"\n\n\"Allow?\" she said, with a short mocking laugh. \"Surely, milor, you\nwill not force me to refer to the compact to which you willingly\nsubscribed when you asked me to be your wife?\"\n\n\"'Tis not necessary, Madame, for I well remember it. I gave you a\npromise not to interfere with your life, such as you had chosen to\norganize it. I promised to leave you free in thought, action, and\nconduct, just as you had been before you honoured me by consenting to\nbear my name.\"\n\n\"Well, then, milor?\" she asked.\n\n\"This is a different matter, Mme. la Marquise,\" he replied calmly,\n\"since it concerns mine own honour and that of my name. Of that honour\nI claim to be the principal guardian.\"\n\nThen as she seemed disinclined to vouchsafe a rejoinder he continued,\nwith just a shade more vehemence in his tone:\n\n\"The proposal which His Majesty placed before me awhile ago, that same\nletter which you still hold in your hand, are such vile and noisome\nthings that actual contact with them is pollution. As I see you now\nwith that infamous document between those fingers which I have had the\nhonour to kiss, it seems to me as if you were clutching a hideous and\nvenomous reptile, the very sight of which should have been loathsome\nto you, and from which I should have wished to see you turn as you\nwould from a slimy toad.\"\n\n\"As you did yourself, milor?\" she said with a contemptuous shrug of\nthe shoulders, thinking of his blunder, of the catastrophe which he\nall but precipitated, and which her more calm diplomacy had perhaps\naverted.\n\n\"As I did, though no doubt very clumsily,\" he admitted simply, \"the\nmoment I grasped its purport to the full. To see you, my wife--yes, my\nwife,\" he repeated with unusual firmness in answer to a subtle,\nindefinable expression which at his words had lit up her face, \"to see\nyou pause if only for one brief half hour with that infamy before your\neyes, with that vile suggestion reaching and dwelling in your brain\nthe man who made it--be he King of France, I care not--kissing those\nsame fingers which held the abominable thing, was unspeakably horrible\nin my sight; it brought real physical agony to every one of my senses.\nI endured it only for so long as etiquette demanded, hoping against\nhope that every second which went by would witness your cry of\nindignation, your contempt for that vile and execrable letter which,\nhad you not interposed, I myself would have flung in the lying face of\nthat kingly traitor. But you smiled at him in response; you took the\nletter from him! My God, I saw you put it in the bosom of your gown!\"\n\nHe paused a moment, as if ashamed of this outburst of passion, so\ndifferent to his usual impassiveness. It seemed as if her haughty\nlook, her ill-concealed contempt, was goading him on, beyond the\nbounds of restraint which he had meant to impose on himself. She no\nlonger now made an attempt to go. She was standing straight before\nhim, leaning slightly back against the portiere--a curtain of rich,\nheavy silk of that subtle brilliant shade, 'twixt a scarlet and a\ncrimson, which is only met with in certain species of geranium.\n\nAgainst this glowing background her slim, erect figure, stiff with\nunbendable pride, stood out in vivid relief. The red of the silk cast\nardent reflections into her chestnut hair, and against the creamy\nwhiteness of her neck and ear. The sober, almost conventual gray of\nher gown, the primly folded kerchief at her throat, the billows of\nlace around the graceful arm formed an exquisite note of tender colour\nagainst that glaring geranium red. In one hand she still held the\nletter, the other rested firmly against the curtain. The head was\nthrown back, the lips slightly parted and curled in disdain, the\neyes--half veiled--looked at him through long fringed lashes.\n\nA picture worthy to inflame the passion of any man. Lord Eglinton,\nwith a mechanical movement of the hand across his forehead, seemed to\nbrush away some painful and persistent thought.\n\n\"Nay, do not pause, milor,\" she said quietly. \"Believe me, you\ninterest me vastly.\"\n\nHe frowned and bit his lip.\n\n\"Your pardon, Madame,\" he rejoined more calmly now. \"I was forgetting\nthe limits of courtly manners. I have little more to say. I would not\nhave troubled you with so much talk, knowing that my feeling in such\nmatters can have no interest for your ladyship. When awhile ago this\ngreat bare room was at last free from the bent-backed, mouthing\nflatterers that surround you, I waited patiently for a spontaneous\nword from you, something to tell me that the honour of my name, one of\nthe oldest in England, was not like to be stained by contact with the\ndiplomatic by-ways of France. I had not then thought of asking for an\nexplanation; I waited for you to speak. Instead of which I saw you\ntake that miserable letter once more in your hand, sit and ponder over\nit without a thought or look for me. I saw your face, serene and\nplacid, your attitude one of statesmanlike calm, as without a word or\nnod you prepared to pass out of my sight.\"\n\n\"Then you thought fit to demand from me an explanation of my conduct\nin a matter in which you swore most solemnly a year ago that you would\nnever interfere?\"\n\n\"Demand is a great word, Madame,\" he said, now quite gently. \"I do\nnot demand; I ask for an explanation on my knees.\"\n\nAnd just as he had done a year ago when first she laid her hand in his\nand he made his profession of faith, he dropped on one knee and bent\nhis head, until his aching brow almost touched her gown.\n\nShe looked down on him from the altitude of her domineering pride; she\nsaw his broad shoulders, bent in perfect humility, his chestnut hair\nfree from the conventional powder, the slender hands linked together\nnow in a strangely nervous clasp, and she drew back because her skirt\nseemed perilously near his fingers.\n\nWill the gods ever reveal the secret of a woman's heart? Lydie loathed\nthe King's proposal, the letter which she held, just as much as Lord\nEglinton did himself. Awhile ago she had hardly been able to think or\nto act coherently while she felt the contact of that noisome paper\nagainst her flesh. If she had smiled on Louis, if she had taken the\nletter away from him with vague promises that she would think the\nmatter over, it had been solely because she knew the man with whom she\nhad to deal better than did milor Eglinton, who had but little\nexperience of the Court of Versailles, since he had kept away from it\nduring the major part of his life. She had only meant to temporize\nwith the King, because she felt sure that that was the only way to\nserve the Stuart Prince and to avert the treachery.\n\nNay, more, in her heart she felt that milor was right; she knew that\nwhen a thing is so vile and so abominable as Louis' proposed scheme,\nall contact with it _is_ a pollution, and that it is impossible to\nfinger slimy mud without some of it clinging to flesh or gown.\n\nYet with all that in her mind, a subtle perversity seemed suddenly to\nhave crept into her heart, a perversity and also a bitter sense of\ninjustice. She and her husband had been utter strangers since the day\nof their marriage, she had excluded him from her counsels, just as she\nhad done from her heart and mind. She had never tried to understand\nhim, and merely fostered that mild contempt which his diffidence and\nhis meekness had originally roused in her. Yet at this moment when he\nso obviously misunderstood her, when he thought that her attitude with\nregard to the King's proposals was one of acceptance, or at least not\nof complete condemnation, her pride rose in violent revolt.\n\nHe had no right to think her so base. He had invaded her thoughts at\nthe very moment when they dwelt on his friend and the best mode to\nsave him; nay, more, was she not proposing to associate him, who now\naccused her so groundlessly, with her work of devotion and loyalty?\n\nHe should have known, he should have guessed, and now she hated him\nfor his thoughts of her; she who had kept herself untainted in the\nmidst of the worst corruption that ever infested a Court, whose purity\nof motives, whose upright judgments had procured her countless enemies\namongst the imbecile and the infamous, she to be asked and begged to\nbe loyal and to despise treachery!\n\nNay, she was too proud now to explain. An explanation would seem like\na surrender, an acknowledgment--_par Dieu_ of what? and certainly a\nhumiliation.\n\nAccording to milor, her husband, was there not one single upright and\nloyal soul in France except his own? No honour save that of his own\nname?\n\nShe laughed suddenly, laughed loudly and long. Manlike, he did not\nnotice the forced ring of that merriment. He had blundered, of course,\nbut this he did not know. In the simplicity of his heart he thought\nthat she would have been ready to understand, that she would have\nexplained and then agreed with him as to the best means of throwing\nthe nefarious proposal back into the King's teeth.\n\nAt her laugh he sprang to his feet; every drop of blood seemed to have\nleft his cheeks, which were now ashy pale.\n\n\"Nay, milor,\" she said with biting sarcasm, \"but 'tis a mountain full\nof surprises that you display before my astonished fancy. Who had e'er\nsuspected you of so much eloquence? I vow I do not understand how your\nlordship could have seen so much of my doings just now, seeing that at\nthat moment you had eyes and ears only for Irene de Stainville.\"\n\n\"Mme. de Stainville hath naught to do with the present matter,\nMadame,\" he rejoined, \"nor with my request for an explanation from\nyou.\"\n\n\"I refuse to give it, milor,\" she said proudly, \"and as I have no wish\nto spoil or mar your pleasures, so do I pray you to remember our bond,\nwhich is that you leave me free to act and speak, aye, and to guide\nthe destinies of France if she have need of me, without interference\nfrom you.\"\n\nAnd with that refinement of cruelty of which a woman's heart is\nsometimes capable at moments of acute crises, she carefully folded the\nEnglish letter and once more slipped it into the bosom of her gown.\nShe vouchsafed him no other look, but gathering her skirts round her\nshe turned and left him. Calm and erect she walked the whole length of\nthe room and then passed through another doorway finally out of his\nsight.\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\nTHE WOMAN\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nSPLENDID ISOLATION\n\n\nM. Durand looked flustered when Lydie suddenly entered his sanctum.\nBut she was hardly conscious of his presence, or even of where she\nwas.\n\nThe vast audience chamber which she had just quitted so abruptly had\nonly the two exits; the one close to which she had left milor\nstanding, and the other which gave into this antechamber, where M.\nDurand usually sat for the express purpose of separating the wheat\nfrom the chaff--or, in other words, the suppliants who had letters of\nintroduction or passports to \"le petit lever\" of M. le\nControleur-General, from those who had not.\n\nIt was not often that Mme. la Marquise came this way at all; no doubt\nthis accounted in some measure for M. Durand's agitation when she\nopened the door so suddenly. Had Lydie been less absorbed in her own\nthoughts she would have noticed that his hands fidgeted quite\nnervously with the papers on his bureau, and that his pale watery eyes\nwandered with anxious restlessness from her face to the heavy portiere\nwhich masked one of the doors. But, indeed, at this moment neither M.\nDurand nor his surroundings existed for her; she crossed the\nantechamber rapidly without seeing him. She only wanted to get away,\nto put the whole enfilade of the next reception rooms between herself\nand the scene which had just taken place.\n\nSomething was ringing in her ears. She could not say for certain\nwhether she had really heard it, or whether her quivering nerves were\nplaying her a trick; but a cry had come to her across the vastness of\nthe great audience-chamber, and rang now even through the closed door.\n\nA cry of acute agony; a cry as of an animal in pain. The word:\n\"Lydie!\" The tone: one of reproach, of appeal, of aching, wounded\npassion!\n\nShe fled from it, unwilling to admit its reality, unwilling to believe\nher ears. She felt too deeply wounded herself to care for the pain of\nanother. She hoped, indeed, that she had grievously hurt his pride,\nhis self-respect, that very love which he had once professed for her,\nand which apparently had ceased to be.\n\nOnce he had knelt at her feet, comparing her to the Madonna, to the\nsaints whom Catholics revered yet dared not approach; then he talked\nof worship, and now he spoke of pollution, of stained honour, and\nasked her to keep herself free from taint. What right had he not to\nunderstand? If he still loved her, he would have understood. But\nconstant intercourse with Irene de Stainville had blurred his inward\nvision; the image of the Madonna, serene and unapproachable, had\nbecome faded and out of focus, and he now groped earthwards for less\nunattainable ideals.\n\nThat this was in any way her fault Lydie would not admit. She had\nbecome his wife because he had asked her, and because he had been\nwilling to cover her wounded vanity with the mantle of his adoration,\nand the glamour of his wealth and title. He knew her for what she was:\nstatuesque and cold, either more or less than an ordinary woman, since\nshe was wholly devoid of sentimentality; but with a purpose in her\nmind and a passion for work, for power and influence. Work for the\ngood of France! Power to attain this end!\n\nThus he had found her, thus he had first learned to love her! She had\ndenied him nothing that he had ever dared to ask. This had been a bond\nbetween them, which now he had tried to break; but if he had loved her\nas heretofore he would not have asked, he would have known. How, and\nby what subtle process of his mind Lydie did not care to analyze.\n\nHe would have known: he would have understood, if he still loved her.\n\nThese two phrases went hammering in her brain, a complement to that\ncry which still seemed to reach her senses, although the whole\nenfilade of reception rooms now stretched their vastness between her\nand that persistent echo.\n\nOf course his love had been naught to her. It was nothing more at best\nthan mute, somewhat dog-like adoration: a love that demanded nothing,\nthat was content to be, to exist passively and to worship from afar.\n\nWomanlike, she apprised it in inverse ratio to its obtrusiveness; the\nless that was asked of her, the less she thought it worth while to\ngive. But the love had always been there. At great social functions,\nin the midst of a crowd or in the presence of royalty, whenever she\nlooked across a room or over a sea of faces, she saw a pair of eyes\nwhich rested on her every movement with rapt attention and unspoken\nadmiration.\n\nNow she would have to forego that. The love was no longer there. On\nthis she insisted, repeating it to herself over and over again, though\nthis seemed to increase both the tension of her nerves, and the\nstrange tendency to weakness, from which her proud spirit shrank in\nrebellion.\n\nShe was walking very rapidly now, and as she reached the monumental\nstaircase, she ran down the steps without heeding the astonished\nglances of the army of flunkeys that stood about on landing and\ncorridors. In a moment she was out on the terrace, breathing more\nfreely as soon as she filled her lungs with the pure air of this\nglorious summer's day.\n\nAt first the light, the glare, the vibration of water and leaves under\nthe kiss of the midday sun dazzled her eyes so that she could not see.\nBut she heard the chirrup of the sparrows, the call of thrush and\nblackbird, and far away the hymn of praise of the skylark. Her\nnostrils drew in with glad intoxication the pungent fragrance of\noak-leaved geraniums, and her heart called out joyfully to the\nsecluded plantation of young beech trees there on her left, where she\noften used to wander.\n\nThither now she bent her steps. It was a favourite walk of hers, and a\ncherished spot, for she had it always before her when she sat in her\nown study at the angle of the West Wing. The tall windows of her\nprivate sanctum gave on this plantation, and whenever she felt wearied\nor disheartened with the great burden which she had taken on her\nshoulders, she would sit beside the open casements and rest her eyes\non the brilliant emerald or copper of the leaves, and find rest and\nsolace in the absolute peace they proclaimed.\n\nAnd, at times like the present one, when the park was still deserted,\nshe liked to wander in that miniature wood, crushing with delight the\nmoist bed of moss under her feet, letting the dew-covered twigs fall\nback with a swish against her hands. She found her way to a tiny\nglade, where a rough garden seat invited repose. The glade was\ncircular in shape, a perfect audience chamber, wherein to review a\nwhole army of fancies. On the ground a thick carpet of brilliant green\nwith designs of rich sienna formed by last year's leaves, and flecks\nof silver of young buds not yet scorched by the midday sun; all\naround, walls of parallel, slender trunks of a tender gray-green\ncolour, with bold patches of glaring viridian and gold intermixed with\ndull blue shadows. And then a dado of tall bracken fantastic in shape\nand almost weird in outline, through which there peeped here and\nthere, with insolent luxuriance, clumps of purple and snow-white\nfoxgloves.\n\nLydie sank on to the rough bench, leaning well back and resting her\nhead against the hard, uneven back of the seat. Her eyes gazed\nstraight upwards to a patch of vivid blue sky, almost crude and\nartificial-looking above the canopy of the beeches.\n\nShe felt unspeakably lonely, unspeakably forsaken. The sense of\ninjustice oppressed her even more than the atmosphere of treachery.\n\nHer father false and weak; her husband fickle and unjust! Prince\nCharles Edward abandoned, and she now powerless, probably, to carry\nthrough the work of rescue which she had planned! Until this moment\nshe had not realized how much she had counted on her husband to help\nher. Now that she could no longer ask him to ride to Le Havre, and\ntake her message to the commander of _Le Monarque_, she cast about her\nin vain for a substitute: some one whom she could trust. Her world was\nmade up of sycophants, of flatterers, of pleasure-loving <DW2>s. Where\nwas the man who would cover one hundred and eighty leagues in one\nnight in order to redeem a promise made by France?\n\nHer head ached with the agony of this thought. It was terrible to see\nher most cherished hope threatened with annihilation. Oh! had she been\na man! . . .\n\nTears gathered in her eyes. At other times she would have scorned the\nweakness, now she welcomed it, for it seemed to lift the load of\noppression from her heart. The glare of that vivid blue sky above\nweighed down her lids. She closed her eyes and for the space of a few\nseconds she seemed to forget everything; the world, and its treachery,\nthe palace of Versailles, the fugitives in Scotland.\n\nEverything except her loneliness, and the sound of that cry: \"Lydie!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nCLEVER TACTICS\n\n\nAs soon as M. Durand had recovered from the shock of Madame la\nMarquise's sudden invasion of his sanctum, he ran to the portiere\nwhich he had been watching so anxiously, and, pushing it aside, he\ndisclosed the door partially open.\n\n\"Monsieur le Comte de Stainville!\" he called discreetly.\n\n\"Has she gone?\" came in a whisper from the inner room.\n\n\"Yes! yes! I pray you enter, M. le Comte,\" said M. Durand,\nobsequiously holding the portiere aside. \"Madame la Marquise only\npassed through very quickly; she took notice of nothing, I assure\nyou.\"\n\nGaston de Stainville cast a quick searching glance round the room as\nhe entered, and fidgeted nervously with a lace handkerchief in his\nhand. No doubt his enforced sudden retreat at Lydie's approach had\nbeen humiliating to his pride. But he did not want to come on her too\nabruptly, and was chafing now because he needed a menial's help to\nfurther his desires.\n\n\"You were a fool, man, to place me in this awkward position,\" he said\nwith a scowl directed at M. Durand's meek personality, \"or else a\nknave, in which case . . .\"\n\n\"Ten thousand pardons, M. le Comte,\" rejoined the little man\napologetically. \"Madame la Marquise scarcely ever comes this way\nafter _le petit lever_. She invariably retires to her study, and\nthither I should have had the honour to conduct you, according to your\nwish.\"\n\n\"You seem very sure that Madame la Marquise would have granted me a\nprivate audience.\"\n\n\"I would have done my best to obtain one for M. Le Comte,\" said M.\nDurand with becoming modesty, \"and I think I should have succeeded\n. . . with tact and diplomacy, Monsieur le Comte, we, who are\nprivileged to . . .\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" interrupted Gaston impatiently, \"but now?\"\n\n\"Ah! now it will be much more difficult. Madame la Marquise is not in\nher study, and . . .\"\n\n\"And you will want more pay,\" quoth Gaston with a sneer.\n\n\"Oh! Monsieur le Comte . . .\" protested Durand.\n\n\"Well! how much more?\" said the Comte impatiently.\n\n\"What does M. le Comte desire?\"\n\n\"To speak with Madame la Marquise quite alone.\"\n\n\"Heu! . . . heu! . . . it is difficult. . . .\"\n\nBut Gaston de Stainville's stock of patience was running low. He never\nhad a great deal. With a violent oath he seized the little man by the\ncollar.\n\n\"Two louis, you knave, for getting me that audience now, at once, or\nmy flunkey's stick across your shoulders if you fool me any longer.\"\n\nM. Durand apparently was not altogether unprepared for this outburst:\nperhaps his peculiar position had often subjected him to similar\nonslaughts on the part of irate and aristocratic supplicants. Anyway,\nhe did not seem at all disturbed, and, as soon as the Comte's grip on\nhis collar relaxed, he readjusted his coat and his cravat, and holding\nout his thin hand, he said meekly:\n\n\"The two louis I pray you, Monsieur le Comte. And,\" he added, when\nGaston, with another oath, finally placed the two gold pieces on the\nmeagre palm, \"will you deign to follow me?\"\n\nHe led the way through the large folding doors and thence along the\nenfilade of gorgeous reception rooms, the corridors, landings and\nstaircase which Lydie herself had traversed just now. Gaston de\nStainville followed him at a close distance, acknowledging with a curt\nnod here and there the respectful salutations of the many lackeys whom\nhe passed.\n\nM. le Comte de Stainville was an important personage at Court: Madame\nde Pompadour's predilection for him was well known, and His Majesty\nhimself was passing fond of the gallant gentleman's company, whilst\nMadame la Comtesse was believed to hold undisputed sway over M. le\nControleur-General des Finances.\n\nThus Gaston met with obsequiousness wherever he went, and this despite\nthe fact that he was not lavish with money. M. Durand would have\nexpected a much heavier bribe from any one else for this service which\nhe was now rendering to the Comte.\n\nAnon the two men reached the terrace. M. Durand then pointed with one\nclaw-like finger to the spinney on the left.\n\n\"M. le Comte will find Madame la Marquise in yonder plantation,\" he\nsaid; \"as for me, I dare not vacate my post any longer, for M. le\nControleur might have need of me, nor would Monsieur le Comte care\nmayhap to be seen by Madame la Marquise in my company.\"\n\nGaston assented. He was glad to be rid of the mealy-mouthed creature,\nof whose necessary help in this matter he was heartily ashamed. Unlike\nLydie, he was quite unconscious of the beauty of this August day:\nneither the birds nor the acrid scent of late summer flowers appealed\nto his fancy, and the clump of young beech trees only interested him\nin so far as he hoped to find Lydie there, alone.\n\nWhen he reached the little glade, he caught sight of the graceful\nfigure, half-sitting, half-reclining in the unconscious charm of\nsleep. Overcome by the heat and the glare, Lydie had dozed off\nmomentarily.\n\nPresently something caused her to open her eyes and she saw Gaston de\nStainville standing there looking at her intently.\n\nShe was taken at a disadvantage, since she had undoubtedly been\nasleep--if only for a moment--and she was not quite sure if her pose,\nwhen Gaston first caught sight of her, was sufficiently dignified.\n\n\"I am afraid I have disturbed you,\" he said humbly.\n\n\"I was meditating,\" she replied coldly, as she smoothed down her\nskirts and mechanically put a hand to her hair, lest a curl had gone\nastray.\n\nThen she made as if she would rise.\n\n\"Surely you are not going?\" he pleaded.\n\n\"I have my work to do. I only stayed here a moment, in order to rest.\"\n\n\"And I am intruding?\"\n\n\"Oh, scarcely,\" she replied quietly. \"I was about to return to my\nwork.\"\n\n\"Is it so urgent?\"\n\n\"The business of a nation, M. le Comte, is always urgent.\"\n\n\"So urgent that you have no time now to give to old friends,\" he said\nbitterly.\n\nShe shrugged her shoulders with a quick, sarcastic laugh.\n\n\"Old friends? . . . Oh! . . .\"\n\n\"Yes, old friends,\" he rejoined quietly. \"We were children together,\nLydie.\"\n\n\"Much has occurred since then, Monsieur le Comte.\"\n\n\"Only one great and awful fault, which meseems hath been its own\nexpiation.\"\n\n\"Need we refer to that now?\" she asked calmly.\n\n\"Indeed, indeed, we must,\" he replied earnestly. \"Lydie, am I never to\nbe forgiven?\"\n\n\"Is there aught for me to forgive?\"\n\n\"Yes. An error, a grave error . . . a fault, if you will call it so\n. . .\"\n\n\"I prefer to call it a treachery,\" she said.\n\n\"Without one word of explanation, without listening to a single word\nfrom me. Is that just?\"\n\n\"There is nothing that you could say now, Monsieur le Comte, that I\nshould have the right to hear.\"\n\n\"Why so?\" he said with sudden vehemence, as he came nearer to her, and\nin a measure barred the way by which she might have escaped. \"Even a\ncriminal at point of death is allowed to say a few words in\nself-defence. Yet I was no criminal. If I loved you, Lydie, was that\nwrong? . . . I was an immeasurable fool, I own that,\" he added more\ncalmly, being quick to note that he only angered her by his violence,\n\"and it is impossible for a high-minded woman like yourself to\nunderstand the pitfalls which beset the path of a man, who has riches,\ngood looks mayhap and a great name, all of which will tempt the\ncupidity of certain designing women, bent above all on matrimony, on\ninfluence and independence. Into one of these pitfalls I fell, Lydie\n. . . fell clumsily, stupidly, I own, but not inexcusably.\"\n\n\"You seem to forget, M. le Comte,\" she said stiffly, \"that you are\nspeaking of your wife.\"\n\n\"Nay!\" he said with a certain sad dignity, \"I try not to forget it. I\ndo not accuse, I merely state a fact, and do so before the woman whom\nI most honour in the world, who was the first recipient of my childish\nconfidences, the first consoler of my boyhood's sorrows.\"\n\n\"That was when you were free, M. le Comte, and could bring your\nconfidences to me; now they justly belong to another and . . .\"\n\n\"And by the heavens above me,\" he interrupted eagerly, \"I do that\nother no wrong by bringing my sorrows to you and laying them with a\nprayer for consolation at your feet.\"\n\nHe noted that since that first desire to leave him, Lydie had made no\nother attempt to go. She was sitting in the angle of the rough garden\nseat, her graceful arm resting on the back, her cheek leaning against\nher hand. A gentle breeze stirred the little curls round her head, and\nnow, when he spoke so earnestly and so sadly about his sorrow, a swift\nlook of sympathy softened the haughty expression of her mouth.\n\nQuick to notice it, Gaston nevertheless in no way relaxed his attitude\nof humble supplication; he stood before her with head bent, his eyes\nmostly riveted on the ground.\n\n\"There is so little consolation that I can give,\" she said more\ngently.\n\n\"There is a great one, if you will but try.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Do not cast me out from your life altogether. Am I such a despicable\ncreature that you cannot now and then vouchsafe me one kind look?\n. . . I did wrong you . . . I know it. . . . Call it treachery if you\nmust, yet when I look back on that night, meseems I am worthy of your\npity. Blinded by my overwhelming love for you, I forgot everything for\none brief hour . . . forgot that I had sunk deeply in a pitfall--by\nHeaven through no fault of mine own! . . . forgot that another now had\na claim on that love which never was mine to give, since it had always\nbeen wholly yours. . . . Yes! I forgot! . . . the music, the noise,\nthe excitement of the night, your own beauty, Lydie, momentarily\naddled my brain. . . . I forgot the past, I only lived for the\npresent. Am I to blame because I am a man and that you are exquisitely\nfair?\"\n\nHe forced himself not to raise his voice, not to appear eager or\nvehement. Lydie only saw before her a man whom she had once loved, who\nhad grievously wronged her, but who now stood before her ashamed and\nhumbled, asking with utmost respect for her forgiveness of the past.\n\n\"Let us speak of it no longer,\" she said, \"believe me, Gaston, I have\nnever borne you ill-will.\"\n\nFor the first time she had used his Christian name. The layer of ice\nwas broken through, but the surface of the lake was still cold and\nsmooth.\n\n\"Nay! but you avoid me,\" he rejoined seeking to meet her eyes, \"you\ntreat me with whole-hearted contempt, whilst I would lay down my life\nto serve you, and this in all deference and honour, as the martyrs of\nold laid down their life for their faith.\"\n\n\"Protestations, Gaston,\" she said with a quick sigh.\n\n\"Let me prove them true,\" he urged. \"Lydie, I watched you just now,\nwhile you slept; it was some minutes and I saw much. Your lips were\nparted with constant sighs; there were tears at the points of your\nlashes. At that moment I would have gladly died if thereby I could\nhave eased your heart from the obvious burden which it bore.\"\n\nEmboldened by her silence, and by the softer expression of her face,\nhe sat down close beside her, and anon placed his hand on hers. She\nwithdrew it quietly and serenely as was her wont, but quite without\nanger.\n\nShe certainly felt no anger toward him. Strangely enough, the anger\nshe did feel was all against her husband. That Gaston had seen her\ngrief was in a measure humiliating to her pride, and this humiliation\nshe owed to the great wrong done her by milor. And Gaston had been\nclever at choosing his words; he appealed to her pity and asked for\nforgiveness. There was no attempt on his part to justify himself, and\nhis self-abasement broke down the barrier of resentment which up to\nnow she had set up against him. His respectful homage soothed her\nwounded pride, and she felt really, sincerely sorry for him.\n\nThe fact that her own actions had been so gravely misunderstood also\nhelped Gaston's cause; she felt that, after all, she too might have\npassed a hasty, unconsidered judgment on him, and knew now how acutely\nsuch a judgment can hurt.\n\nAnd he spoke very earnestly, very simply: remember that she had loved\nhim once, loved and trusted him. He had been the ideal of her\ngirlhood, and though she had remorselessly hurled him down from his\nhigh pedestal since then, there remained nevertheless, somewhere in\nthe depths of her heart, a lingering thought of tenderness for him.\n\n\"Lydie!\" he now said appealingly.\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Let me be the means of easing your heart from its load of sorrow. You\nspoke of my wife just now. See, I do not shirk the mention of her\nname. I swear to you by that early love for you which was the noblest,\npurest emotion of my life, that I do not wrong her by a single thought\nwhen I ask for your friendship. You are so immeasurably superior to\nall other women, Lydie, that in your presence passion itself becomes\nexalted and desire transformed into a craving for sacrifice.\"\n\n\"Oh! how I wish I could believe you, Gaston,\" she sighed.\n\n\"Try me!\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Let me guess what troubles you now. Oh! I am not the empty-headed <DW2>\nthat you would believe. I have ears and eyes, and if I hold aloof from\nCourt intrigues, it is only because I see too much of their inner\nworkings. Do you really believe that I do not see what goes on around\nme now? Do I not know how your noble sympathy must at this very moment\nbe going out to the unfortunate young prince whom you honour with your\nfriendship? Surely, surely, you cannot be a party to the criminal\nsupineness which at this very moment besets France, and causes her to\nabandon him to his fate?\"\n\n\"Not France, Gaston,\" she protested.\n\n\"And not you, surely. I would stake my life on your loyalty to a\nfriend.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" she said simply.\n\n\"I knew it,\" he ejaculated triumphantly, as if this discovery had\nindeed caused him joyful surprise. \"Every fibre in my soul told me\nthat I would not appeal to you in vain. You are clever, Lydie, you are\nrich, you are powerful. I feel as if I could turn to you as to a man.\nPrince Charles Edward Stuart honoured me with his friendship: I am not\npresumptuous when I say that I stood in his heart second only to Lord\nEglinton. . . . But because I hold a secondary place I dared not\nthrust my advice, my prayers, my help forward, whilst I firmly\nbelieved that his greater friend was at work on his behalf. But now I\ncan bear the suspense no longer. The crisis has become over-acute. The\nStuart prince is in deadly danger, not only from supineness but from\ntreachery.\"\n\nClever Gaston! how subtle and how shrewd! she would never have to come\nto meet him on this ground, but he called to her. He came to fetch\nher, as it were, and led her along the road. He did not offer to guide\nher faltering footsteps, he simulated lameness, and asked for\nassistance instead of offering it.\n\nSo clever was this move that Lydie was thrown off her guard. At the\nword \"treachery\" she looked eagerly into his eyes.\n\n\"What makes you think . . . ?\" she asked.\n\n\"Oh! I have scented it in the air for some days. The King himself\nwears an air of shamefacedness when the Stuart prince is mentioned.\nMadame de Pompadour lately hath talked freely of the completion of her\nchateau in the Parc aux Cerfs, as if money were forthcoming from some\nunexpected source; then a letter came from England, which His Majesty\nkeeps hidden in his pocket, whilst whispered conversations are carried\non between the King and Madame, which cease abruptly if any one comes\nwithin earshot. Then to-day . . .\"\n\n\"Yes? . . . to-day?\" she asked eagerly.\n\n\"I hardly dare speak of it.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I fear it might give you pain.\"\n\n\"I am used to pain,\" she said simply, \"and I would wish to know.\"\n\n\"I was in the antechamber when His Majesty arrived for _le petit\nlever_ of M. le Controleur. I had had vague hopes of seeing you this\nmorning, and lingered about the reception rooms somewhat listlessly,\nmy thoughts dwelling on all the sad news which has lately come from\nScotland. In the antechamber His Majesty was met by M. le Duc\nd'Aumont, your father.\"\n\nHe paused again as if loth to speak, but she said quite calmly:\n\n\"And you overheard something which the Duke, my father, said to the\nKing, and which confirmed your suspicions. What was it?\"\n\n\"It was His Majesty who spoke, obviously not aware that I was within\nearshot. He said quite airily: 'Oh! if we cannot persuade milor we\nmust act independently of him. The Stuart will be tired by now of\nliving in crags and will not be so chary of entrusting his valuable\nperson to a comfortable French ship.' Then M. le Duc placed a hand on\nHis Majesty's arm warning him of my presence and nothing more was\nsaid.\"\n\n\"Then you think that the King of France is about to deliver Prince\nCharles Edward Stuart to his enemies?\" she asked calmly.\n\n\"I am sure of it: and the thought is more than I can bear. And I am\nnot alone in this, Lydie. The whole of France will cry out in shame at\nsuch perfidy. Heaven knows what will come of it ultimately, but\nsurely, surely we cannot allow that unfortunate young prince whom we\nall loved and _feted_ to be thus handed over to the English\nauthorities! That is why I have dared intrude on you to-day. Lydie,\"\nhe added now in a passionate appeal; \"for the sake of that noble if\nmisguided young prince, will you try and forget the terrible wrong\nwhich I in my madness and blindness once did you? Do not allow my sin\nto be expiated by him! . . . I crave your help for him on my knees.\n. . . Hate me an you will! despise me and punish me, but do not deny\nme your help for him!\"\n\nHis voice, though sunk now almost to a whisper, was vibrating with\npassion. He half dropped on his knees, took the edge of her skirt\nbetween his fingers and raised it to his lips.\n\nClever, clever Gaston! he had indeed moved her. Her serenity had gone,\nand her cold impassiveness. She sat up, erect, palpitating with\nexcitement, her eyes glowing, her lips parted, all her senses awake\nand thrilling with this unexpected hope.\n\n\"In what manner do you wish for my help, Gaston?\"\n\n\"I think the King and M. le Duc will do nothing for a day or two at\nany rate. I hoped I could forestall them, with your help, Lydie, if\nyou will give it. I am not rich, but I have realized some of my\nfortune: my intention was to charter a seaworthy boat, equip her as\nwell as my means allowed and start for Scotland immediately, and then\nif possible to induce the prince to cross over with me to Ireland, or,\nwith great good luck I might even bring him back as far as Brittany.\nBut you see how helpless I was, for I dared not approach you, and I do\nnot know where I can find the prince.\"\n\n\"And if I do not give you that help which you need?\" she asked.\n\n\"I would still charter the vessel and start for Scotland,\" he replied\nquietly. \"I cannot stay here, in inactivity whilst I feel that\ninfamous treachery is being planned against a man with whom I have\noften broken bread. If you will not tell me where I can find Charles\nEdward Stuart, I will still equip a vessel and try and find him\nsomehow. If I fail, I will not return, but at any rate I shall then\nnot be a party or a witness to the everlasting shame of France!\"\n\n\"Your expedition would require great pluck and endurance.\"\n\n\"I have both, and boundless enthusiasm to boot. Two or three friends\nwill accompany me, and my intention was to start for Brest or Le Havre\nto-night. But if you will consent to help me, Lydie . . .\"\n\n\"Nay!\" she interrupted eagerly. \"I'll not help you. 'Tis you who shall\nhelp me!\"\n\n\"Lydie!\"\n\n\"The plan which you have formed I too had thought on it: the treachery\nof the King of France, my God! I knew it too. But my plans are more\nmature than yours, less noble and self-sacrificing, for, as you say, I\nhave power and influence; yet with all that power I could not serve\nPrince Charles Edward as I would wish to do, because though I have\npluck and endurance I am not a man.\"\n\n\"And you want me to help you? Thank God! thank God for that! Tell me\nwhat to do.\"\n\n\"To start for Le Havre--not Brest.\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"This afternoon . . . reaching Le Havre before dawn.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"There to seek out _Le Monarque_. She lies in the harbour, and her\ncommander is Captain Barre.\"\n\n\"Yes! yes!\"\n\n\"You will hand him over a packet, which I will give you anon, and then\nreturn here as swiftly as you went.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\" he asked in obvious disappointment, \"and I who had\nhoped that you would ask me to give my life for you!\"\n\n\"The faithful and speedy performance of this errand, Gaston, is worth\nthe most sublime self-sacrifice, if this be purposeless. The packet\nwill contain full instructions for Captain Barre how and where to find\nPrince Charles Edward. _Le Monarque_ is ready equipped for the\nexpedition, but . . .\" she paused a moment as if half ashamed of the\nadmission, \"I had no one whom I could entrust with the message.\"\n\nGaston de Stainville was too keen a diplomatist to venture on this\ndelicate ground. He had never once mentioned her husband's name,\nfearing to scare her, or to sting her pride. He knew her to be far too\nloyal to allow condemnation of her lord by the lips of another man;\nall he said now was a conventional:\n\n\"I am ready!\"\n\nThen she rose and held out her hand to him. He bowed with great\ndeference, and kissed the tips of her fingers. His face expressed\nnothing but the respectful desire to be of service, and not one\nthought of treachery disturbed Lydie's serenity. Historians have, we\nknow, blamed her very severely for this unconditional yielding of\nanother's secret into the keeping of a man who had already deceived\nher once; but it was the combination of circumstances which caused her\nto act thus, and Gaston's masterly move in asking for her help had\ncompletely subjugated her. She would have yielded to no other emotion,\nbut that of compassion for him, and the desire to render him\nassistance in a cause which she herself had so deeply at heart. She\nhad no love for Gaston and no amount of the usual protestations would\nhave wrung a confidence from her. But he had so turned the tables that\nit appeared that he was confiding in her; and her pride, which had\nbeen so deeply humiliated that self-same morning, responded to his\nappeal. If she had had the least doubt or fear in her mind, she would\nnot have given up her secret, but as he stood so coldly and\nimpassively before her, without a trace of passion in his voice or\nlook, she had absolutely no misgivings.\n\n\"I can be in the saddle at four o'clock,\" he said in the same\nunemotional tones, \"when and how can I receive the packet from you?\"\n\n\"Will you wait for me here?\" she replied. \"The packet is quite ready,\nand the walls of the palace have eyes and ears.\"\n\nThus they parted. She full of confidence and hope, not in any way\nattempting to disguise before him the joy and gratitude which she\nfelt, he the more calm of the two, fearing to betray his sense of\ntriumph, still trembling lest her present mood should change.\n\nHer graceful figure quickly disappeared among the trees. He gave a\nsigh of intense satisfaction. His Majesty would be pleased, and Madame\nde Pompadour would be more than kind. Never for a moment did the least\nfeeling of remorse trouble his complacent mind; the dominant thought\nin him was one of absolute triumph and pride at having succeeded in\nhoodwinking the keenest statesman in France. He sat down on the garden\nseat whereon had been fought that close duel between himself and the\nwoman whom he had once already so heartlessly betrayed. He thought\nover every stage of the past scene and smiled somewhat grimly. He felt\nquite sure that he individually would never have trusted for the\nsecond time a woman who had once deceived him. But Lydie had no such\nmisgivings; as she now sped through the park, she no longer saw its\nartificiality, its stunted rose trees and the stultified plantations.\nThe air was invigorating to breathe, the fragrance of the flowers was\nsweet, the birds' twitter was delicious to the ear. There were good\nand beautiful things in this world, but the best of all was the\nloyalty of a friend.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nA CRISIS\n\n\nLydie returned to the palace in a very different frame of mind than\nwhen, half an hour ago, she had run along corridor and staircase, her\nnerves on the jar, her whole being smarting under the sense of wrong\nand of injustice.\n\nHope had consoled her since then, and the thought that her own\ncherished plan need not fail for want of a loyal man's help had in a\nmeasure eased that strange obsession which had weighed on her heart,\nand caused foolish tears to start to her eyes. She was also conscious\nof a certain joy in thinking that the companion of her childhood, the\nman who had been her earliest ideal was not so black a traitor as she\nhad believed.\n\nGaston had spoken of pitfalls, he owned to having been deceived, and\nthere is no woman living who will not readily admit that her\nsuccessful rival is naught but a designing minx. Gaston had always\nbeen weak where women were concerned, and Lydie forgave him his\nweakness, simply because he had owned to it and because she liked to\nthink of his fault as a weakness rather than as a deliberate\ntreachery.\n\nNow she only thought of her project. When first she had talked of\ncommissioning _Le Monarque_, milor had entrusted her with all\nnecessary directions by which Captain Barre could most easily reach\nthe Stuart prince and his friends. It was but a very few weeks, nay\ndays ago, that she had been quite convinced that the King himself\nwould be foremost in the general desire to fit out an expedition for\nthe rescue of the unfortunate Jacobites, and naturally the fitting-out\nof such an expedition would have been entrusted primarily to herself\nand incidentally to her husband.\n\nThese directions she still had. All she had to do now was to embody\nthem in the secret orders which Gaston de Stainville would hand over\nto the Commander of _Le Monarque_. Further orders would be anent\ngetting the prince and his friends on board, and the route to be taken\nhomeward, the better to ensure their safety.\n\nBeyond that she would need some sort of token which, when shown to\nCharles Edward Stuart by Captain Barre, would induce the young prince\nto trust himself and his friends unconditionally to _Le Monarque_.\nLord Eglinton's signet ring had been spoken of for this object the day\nof the Young Pretender's departure, but now of course she could not\nask milor for it. On the other hand she felt quite sure that a written\nword from her would answer the necessary purpose, a brief note sealed\nwith the Eglinton arms.\n\nThe thought of the seal as an additional message of good faith first\noccurred to her when she once more reached the West Wing of the\npalace.\n\nFrom the great square landing where she now stood, a monumental door\non her right gave on her own suite of apartments. On the left was the\nlong enfilade of reception rooms, with the vast audience chamber and\nmilor's own withdrawing room beyond.\n\nShe deliberately turned to the left, and once more traversed the vast\nand gorgeous halls where, half an hour ago, she had suffered such keen\nhumiliation and such overwhelming disappointment. She forced herself\nnot to dwell on that scene again, and even closed her eyes with a\nvague fear that the mental vision might become materialized.\n\nBeyond the audience chamber there were two or three more reception\nrooms, and from the last of these a door masked by a heavy portiere,\ngave on milor's study. All these apartments were now deserted, save\nfor a few flunkeys who stood about desultorily in the window\nembrasures. From one of them Lydie asked if M. le Controleur des\nFinances was within, but no one remembered having seen milor since the\n_petit lever_, and it was generally thought that he had gone to\nTrianon. Lydie hesitated a moment before she opened the door; she\nscarcely ever entered this portion of the palace and had never once\nbeen in milor's private rooms. But she wanted that seal with the\nEglinton arms, and would not admit, even to herself, that her\nhusband's presence or absence interested her in the least.\n\nBut on the threshold she paused. Milor was sitting at a gigantic\nescritoire placed squarely in front of the window. He had obviously\nbeen writing; at the slight sound of the creaking door and the swish\nof Lydie's skirts, he raised his head from his work and turned to look\nat her.\n\nImmediately he rose.\n\n\"Your pardon for this intrusion, milor,\" she said coldly, \"your\nlacqueys gave me to understand that you were from home.\"\n\n\"Is there anything that you desire?\"\n\n\"Only a seal with the Eglinton arms,\" she replied quite casually, \"I\nhave need of it for a private communication.\"\n\nHe sought for the seal among the many costly objects which littered\nhis table and handed it to her.\n\n\"I am sorry that you should have troubled to come so far for it,\" he\nsaid coldly, \"one of my men would have taken it to your study.\"\n\n\"And I am sorry that I should have disturbed you,\" she rejoined. \"I\nwas told that you had gone to Trianon.\"\n\n\"I shall be on my way thither in a few moments, to place my\nresignation in the hands of His Majesty.\"\n\n\"Your resignation?\"\n\n\"As I have had the honour to tell you.\"\n\n\"Then you will leave Versailles?\"\n\n\"To make way for my successor, as soon as His Majesty hath appointed\none.\"\n\n\"And you go . . . whither?\" she asked.\n\n\"Oh! what matter?\" he replied carelessly, \"so long as I no longer\ntrouble your ladyship with my presence.\"\n\n\"Then you will have no objection if I return to my father until your\nfuture plans are more mature?\"\n\n\"Objection?\" he said with a pleasant little laugh. \"Nay, Madame, you\nare pleased to joke.\"\n\nShe felt a little bewildered: this unexpected move on his part had\nsomehow thrown all her plans out of gear. For the moment she scarcely\nhad time to conjecture, even vaguely, what her own future actions\nwould be if her husband no longer chose to hold an important position\nin the Ministry. The thought that his resignation would of necessity\nmean her own, suddenly rushed into her mind with overwhelming\nviolence, but she was too confused at present to disentangle herself\nfrom the maze of conflicting emotions which assailed her, when first\nshe realized the unexpected possibility.\n\nShe was toying with the seal, forgetful somehow of the purpose and the\nplans which it represented. These not being in jeopardy through\nmilor's extraordinary conduct, she could afford to dismiss them from\nher mind.\n\nIt was the idea of her husband's resignation and her own future which\ntroubled her, and strangely enough there was such an air of finality\nabout his attitude that, for the moment, she was somewhat at a loss\nhow to choose a line of argument with which to influence him. That she\ncould make him alter his decision she never doubted for a moment, but\nsince the first day of their married life he had never taken any\ninitiative in an important matter, and his doing so at this moment\nfound her at first wholly unprepared.\n\n\"Am I to understand that my wishes in so vital a decision are not to\nbe consulted in any way?\" she asked after a momentary pause.\n\n\"You will honour me, Madame, by making me acquainted with them,\" he\nreplied.\n\n\"You must reconsider your resignation,\" she said decisively.\n\n\"That is not possible.\"\n\n\"I have much important business of the nation in hand which I could\nnot hand over to your successor in an incomplete state,\" she said\nhaughtily.\n\n\"There is no necessity for that, Madame, nor for depriving the nation\nof your able, guiding hand. The post of Comptroller of Finance need\nnot be filled immediately. It can remain in abeyance and under your\nown matchless control, at the pleasure of His Majesty and M. le Duc\nd'Aumont, neither of whom will, I am sure, desire to make a change in\nan administration, which is entirely for the benefit of France.\"\n\nShe looked at him very keenly, through narrowed lids scanning his face\nand trying to read his intent. But there was obviously no look of\nsarcasm in his eyes, nor the hint of a sneer in the even placidity of\nhis voice. Once more that unaccountable feeling of irritation seemed\nto overmaster her, the same sense of wrath and of injustice which had\nassailed her when she first spoke to him.\n\n\"But this is senseless, milor,\" she said impatiently. \"You seem to\nforget that I am your wife, and that I have a right to your\nprotection, and to a fitting home if I am to leave Versailles.\"\n\n\"I am not forgetting that you are my wife, Madame, but my protection\nis worth so little, scarcely worthy of your consideration. As for the\nrest, my chateau of Vincennes is entirely at your disposal; a retinue\nof servants is there awaiting your orders, and my notary will this day\nprepare the deed which I have commanded wherein I humbly ask you to\naccept the chateau, its lands and revenues as a gift from me, albeit\nthese are wholly unworthy of your condescension.\"\n\n\"It is monstrous, milor, and I'll not accept it,\" she retorted. \"Think\nyou perchance I am so ready to play the _role_ of a forsaken wife?\"\n\nA strange thought had been gradually creeping into her mind: a weird\nkind of calculation whereby she put certain events in juxtaposition to\none another: the departure of Gaston de Stainville, for he had told\nher that he was prepared to go to Scotland whether she helped him in\nhis expedition or not: then Irene would be temporarily free, almost a\nwidow since Gaston's return under those circumstances would have been\nmore than problematical; and now milor calmly expressing the\ndetermination to quit Versailles, and to give away his chateau and\nlands of Vincennes, forsooth, as a sop to the forsaken wife, whilst\nMadame de Stainville's provocative attitude this morning more than\nbore out this conclusion.\n\nLydie felt as if every drop of blood in her body rushed up violently\nto her cheeks, which suddenly blazed with anger, whilst his, at her\nsuggestion, had become a shade more pale.\n\n\"I am free to suppose, milor, that Madame de Stainville has something\nto do with your sudden decision!\" she said haughtily; \"therefore,\nbelieve me, I have no longer a wish to combat it. As the welfare of\nFrance, the work which I have in hand, interests you so little, I will\nnot trouble you by referring to such matters again. By all means place\nyour resignation in His Majesty's hands. I understand that you desire\nto be free. I only hope that you will assist me in not washing too\nmuch of our matrimonial linen in public. I have many enemies and I\nmust refuse to allow your whims and fantasies to annihilate the fruits\nof my past labours, for the good of my country. I will confer with\nMonsieur le Duc, my father; you will hear my final decision from him.\"\n\nShe turned once more toward the door. He had not spoken one word in\ninterruption, as with a harsh and trenchant voice she thus hurled\ninsult upon insult at him. She only saw that he looked very pale,\nalthough his face seemed to her singularly expressionless: whilst she\nherself was conscious of such unendurable agony, that she feared she\nmust betray it in the quiver of her mouth, and the tears which\nthreatened to come to her eyes.\n\nWhen she ceased speaking, he bowed quite stiffly, but made no sign of\nwishing to defend himself. She left the room very hurriedly: in\nanother second and she would have broken down. Sobs were choking her,\nan intolerable anguish wrung her heartstrings to that extent, that if\nshe had had the power, she would have wounded him physically, as she\nhoped that she had done now mentally. Oh! if she had had the strength,\nif those sobs that would not be denied had not risen so persistently\nin her throat, she would have found words of such deadly outrage, as\nwould at least have stung him and made him suffer as she was suffering\nnow.\n\nThere are certain pains of the heart that are so agonizing, that only\ncruelty will assuage them. Lydie's strong, passionate nature\nperpetually held in check by the force of her great ambition and by\nher will to be masculine and firm in the great purpose of her life,\nhad for once broken through the trammels which her masterful mind had\nfashioned round it. It ran riot now in her entire being. She was\nconscious of overwhelming, of indomitable hate.\n\nWith burning eyes and trembling lips she hurried through the rooms,\nand along the interminable corridors. The flunkeys stared at her as\nshe passed, she looked so different to her usual composed and haughty\nself: her cheeks were flaming, her bosom heaving beneath the\nprimly-folded kerchief, and at intervals a curious moan-like sound\nescaped her lips.\n\nThus she reached her own study, a small square room at the extreme end\nof the West Wing, two of its walls formed an angle of the structure,\nwith great casement windows which gave on that secluded spinney, with\nits peaceful glade which she loved.\n\nAs soon as she entered the room her eyes fell on that distant beech\nplantation. A great sigh rose from her oppressed heart, for suddenly\nshe had remembered her great purpose, the one project which was\ninfinitely dear to her.\n\nThe graceful beech trees far away, with their undergrowth of bracken\nand foxgloves gleaming in the sun, recalled to her that Gaston was\nwaiting in their midst for her message to _Le Monarque_.\n\nThank God, this great joy at least was not denied her. She still had\nthe power and the will to accomplish this all-pervading object of her\nlife: the rescue of the Stuart prince from the hands of his enemies\nand from the perfidy of his whilom friends.\n\nThis thought, the recollection of her talk with Gaston, the work which\nstill remained for her to do, eased the tension of her nerves and\nstilled the agonizing pain of her heart.\n\nWith a tremendous effort of will she chased away from her mental\nvision the picture of that pale, expressionless face, which seemed to\nhaunt her. She forced herself to forget the humiliation, the\ninjustice, the affront which she had suffered to-day, and not to hear\nthe persistent echo of the deadly insults which she had uttered in\nresponse.\n\nHer study was cool and dark; heavy curtains of soft-toned lavender\nfell beside the windows, partially shutting out the glare of the\nmidday sun. Her secretaire stood in the centre of the room. She sat\ndown near it and unlocked a secret drawer. For the next quarter of an\nhour her pen flew across two sheets of paper. She had in front of her\na map of a certain portion of the West Coast of Scotland, with\ndirections and other sundry notes carefully written in the margins,\nand she was writing out the orders for the commander of _Le Monarque_\nto reach that portion of the coast as quickly as possible, to seek out\nPrince Charles Stuart, who would probably be on the look-out for a\nFrench vessel, and having got him, and as many friends of his as\naccompanied him, safely aboard, to skirt the West Coast of Ireland and\nsubsequently to reach Morlaix in Brittany, where the prince would\ndisembark.\n\nThere was nothing flustered or undetermined about her actions, she\nnever paused a moment to collect her thoughts for obedient to her will\nthey were already arrayed in perfect order in her mind: she had only\nto transfer them to paper.\n\nHaving written out the orders for Captain Barre she carefully folded\nthem, together with the map, and fastened and sealed them with the\nofficial seal of the Ministry of Finance: then she took one more sheet\nof paper and wrote in a bold clear hand:\n\n      \"The bearer of this letter is sent to meet you by your\n      true and faithful friends. You may trust yourself and\n      those you care for unconditionally to him.\"\n\nTo this note she affixed a seal stamped with the Eglinton arms: and\nacross the words themselves she wrote the name \"Eglinton!\"\n\nThere was no reason to fear for a moment that the Stuart prince would\nhave any misgivings when he received this message of comfort and of\nhope.\n\nThen with all the papers safely tied together and hidden in the folds\nof her corselet, she once more found her way down the great staircase\nand terraces and into the beech wood where M. de Stainville awaited\nher.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nA FAREWELL\n\n\nGaston de Stainville had been sitting idly on the garden seat, vaguely\nwondering why Lydie was so long absent, ignorant of course of the\nacute crisis through which she had just passed. For the last quarter\nof an hour of this weary waiting, anxiety began to assail him.\n\nWomen were so fickle and so capricious! which remark inwardly muttered\ncame with singular inappropriateness from Gaston de Stainville. His\nkeen judgment, however, fought his apprehensions. He knew quite well\nthat Lydie was unlike other women, at once stronger and weaker than\nthose of her own sex, more firm in her purpose, less bendable in her\nobstinacy. And he knew also that nothing could occur within the\ngorgeous walls of that palace to cause her to change her mind.\n\nBut as the moments sped on, his anxiety grew apace. He no longer could\nsit still, and began walking feverishly up and down the little glade,\nlike an animal caged within limits too narrow for its activity. He\ndared not wander out of the wood, lest she should return and, not\nfinding him there, think at once of doubting.\n\nThus when she once more appeared before him, he was not so calm as he\nwould have wished, nor yet so keen in noting the subtle, indefinable\nchange which had come over her entire personality. Desirous of masking\nhis agitation, he knelt when she approached, and thus took the packet\nfrom her hand.\n\nThe action struck her as theatrical, her mind being filled with\nanother picture, that of a man motionless and erect, with pale,\nexpressionless face, which yet had meant so much more of reality to\nher.\n\nAnd because of this theatricality in Gaston's attitude, she lost\nsomething of the fullness of joy of this supreme moment. She ought to\nhave been happier, more radiant with hope for the future and with\ngratitude to him. She tried to say something enthusiastic, something\nmore in keeping with the romance of this sudden and swift departure,\nthe prospective ride to Le Havre, the spirit of self-sacrifice and\ncourage which caused him to undertake this task, so different to his\nusual avocation of ease and luxury.\n\n\"I pray you, Gaston,\" she said, \"guard the packet safely, and use your\nbest endeavours to reach Le Havre ere the night hath yielded to a new\ndawn.\"\n\nShe could not say more just now, feeling that if she added words of\nencouragement or of praise, they would not ring true, and would seem\nas artificial as his posture at her feet.\n\n\"I will guard the packet with my life,\" he said earnestly, \"and if\nperchance you wake to-night from dreams of the unfortunate prince,\nwhom your devotion will save from death, send one thought wandering\nfar away across the rich fields of Normandy, for they will be behind\nme by that time, and I will sight the port of Le Havre long before its\nchurch spires are tipped with gold.\"\n\n\"God speed you then!\" she rejoined. \"I'll not detain you!\"\n\nShe chided herself for her coldness, noting that Gaston on the other\nhand seemed aglow now with excitement, as he unbuttoned his coat and\nslipped the papers into an inner pocket. Then he sprang to his feet\nand seemed ready to go.\n\nJust at the moment of actual parting, when he asked for her hand to\nkiss, and she, giving it to him felt his lips trembling on her\nfingers, some measure of his excitement communicated itself to her,\nand she repeated more warmly:\n\n\"God speed you, Gaston, and farewell!\"\n\n\"God bless you, Lydie, for this trust which you have deigned to place\nin me! Two days hence at even I shall have returned. Where shall I see\nyou then?\"\n\n\"In my study. Ask for an audience. I will see that it is granted.\"\n\nThe next moment he had gone; she saw the rich purple of his coat\ngradually vanish behind the tall bracken. Even then she had no\nmisgivings. She thought that she had done right, and that she had\ntaken the only course by which she could ensure the safety of the\nStuart prince, to whom France, whom she guided through the tortuous\npaths of diplomacy, and for whose honour she felt herself to be\nprimarily responsible, had pledged her word and her faith.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nROYAL THANKS\n\n\nIn one of the smaller rooms of the palace of Trianon, His Majesty King\nLouis XV received M. le Comte de Stainville in private audience.\nMadame la Marquise de Pompadour was present. She sat in an armchair,\nclose beside the one occupied by His Majesty, her dainty feet resting\non a footstool, her hand given up to her royal patron, so that he\nmight occasionally imprint a kiss upon it.\n\nGaston de Stainville sat on a tabouret at a respectful distance. He\nhad in his hand a letter with a seal attached to it and a map, which\nhad a number of notes scribbled in the margin. His Majesty seemed in a\nsuperlatively good humour, and sat back in his chair, his fat body\nshaking now and again with bursts of merriment.\n\n\"Eh! eh! this gallant Count!\" he said jovially, \"par ma foi! to think\nthat the minx deceived us and our Court all these years, with her prim\nways and prudish manner. Even Her Majesty the Queen looks upon Madame\nLydie as a pattern of all the virtues.\"\n\nHe leaned forward and beckoned to Gaston to draw his chair nearer.\n\n\"Voyons, M. le Comte,\" continued Louis with a humorous leer, \"there is\nno need for quite so much discretion. We are all friends together\n. . . eh? Tell us how you did it.\"\n\nGaston de Stainville did draw his chair nearer to His Majesty, such a\nproffered honour was not to be ignored. His face wore an air of\nprovocative discretion and a fatuous smile curled his sensual lips.\n\n\"Nay,\" he said unctuously, \"your Majesty who is _galant homme_ par\nexcellence will deign to grant me leave to keep inviolate the secret\nof how I succeeded in breaking through the barrier of prudery, set up\nby the most unapproachable woman in France. Enough that I did succeed:\nand that I have been made thrice happy by being allowed to place the\nresult, with mine own hands, at the feet of the most adored of her\nsex.\"\n\nAnd with an elegant and graceful flourish of the arm, he rose from his\ntabouret and immediately dropped on one knee at Madame's feet,\noffering her the letter and the map which he held. She took them from\nhim, regarding him with a smile, which fortunately the amorous but\nhighly jealous monarch failed to see; he had just taken the papers\nfrom Pompadour and was gloating over their contents.\n\n\"You had best see M. le Duc d'Aumont at once,\" said His Majesty with a\nquick return to gravity, as soon as Gaston de Stainville had once more\nresumed his seat. \"Go back to the palace now, Monsieur le Comte,\nMadame will allow you to take her chair, and then by using our own\nprivate entrance on the South side, you will avoid being seen from the\nWest Wing. Needless to say, I hope, that discretion and wariness must\nbe your watchword until the affair is brought to a successful\nconclusion.\"\n\nGaston de Stainville bent himself nearly double, and placed one hand\nthere, where his heart was supposed to be, all in token that he would\nbe obedient to the letter and the spirit of every royal command.\n\n\"We do not think,\" said Louis, with somewhat forced carelessness,\n\"that our subjects need know anything about this transaction.\"\n\n\"Certainly not, Sire,\" rejoined De Stainville most emphatically,\nwhilst Madame too nodded very decisively.\n\n\"Most people have strange ideas about politics and diplomacy,\"\ncontinued the King. \"Just as if those complicated arts could be\nconducted on lines of antiquated mediaeval codes: therefore the whole\nbusiness must be kept between our three selves now present, M. le\nComte, and of course M. le Duc d'Aumont, who has helped us throughout,\nand without whom we could not now proceed.\"\n\n\"I quite understand, Sire,\" assented Gaston.\n\n\"We are of course presuming that your happy influence over Madame\nLydie will not cease with her giving you those papers,\" said Louis\nwith another of his unpleasant leers.\n\n\"I think not your Majesty.\"\n\n\"She will hold her tongue, I should imagine . . . for very obvious\nreasons,\" said Madame with a malicious sneer.\n\n\"Anyhow you had best make our recommendations known to Monsieur le Duc\nd'Aumont. Tell him that we suggest not relying on _Le Monarque_ even\nthough she be ready to put to sea, as her commander may be, for aught\nwe know a secret adherent of the Stuart. We should not care to trust\nhim, since the Eglintons seem to have been already to do so. A delay\nof five or six days while _Le Levantin_ is being commissioned is\nbetter than the taking of any risk. Though we are doing nothing that\nwe are ashamed of,\" added Louis the Well-beloved airily, \"we have no\nwish that the matter be bruited abroad, lest we be misunderstood.\"\n\nWe must suppose that Monsieur le Comte de Stainville had been denied\nat his birth the saving gift of a sense of humour, for in reply to\nthis long tirade from the King, he said quite seriously and\nemphatically:\n\n\"Your Majesty need not be under the slightest apprehension. Neither M.\nle Duc d'Aumont, I feel sure, nor I myself will in any way endanger\nthe absolute secrecy of the transaction, lest we be misunderstood. As\nfor Madame Lydie . . .\" He paused a moment, whilst carefully examining\nhis well-trimmed nails: a smile, wherein evil intent now fought with\nfatuity, played round the corners of his lips. \"Madame Lydie will also\nhold her tongue,\" he concluded quietly.\n\n\"That is well!\" assented the King. \"M. le Duc d'Aumont will see to the\nrest. In five or six days, _Le Levantin_ should be ready. Her secret\norders have been drafted and already bear our royal signature. Now\nwith this map and directions, and the private note for the Stuart, all\nso kindly furnished by Madame Lydie, the expedition should be easy,\nand above all quite swift. The sooner the affair is concluded and the\nmoney paid over, the less likelihood there is of our subjects getting\nwind thereof. We must stipulate, M. le Comte, since you are the\nyoungest partner in this undertaking and the least prominent in the\npublic eye, that you take the secret orders yourself to _Le Levantin_.\nWe should not feel safe if they were in any one else's hands.\"\n\n\"I thank your Majesty for this trust.\"\n\n\"For this special task, and for your work this afternoon, you shall be\nrewarded with two out of the fifteen millions promised by His Grace of\nCumberland. M. le Duc d'Aumont will receive three, whilst we shall\nhave the honour and pleasure of laying the remainder at the feet of\nMadame la Marquise de Pompadour.\"\n\nHe cast an amorous glance at Madame, who promptly rewarded him with a\ngracious smile.\n\n\"I think that is all which we need say for the present M. le Comte,\"\nconcluded His Majesty; \"within six days from now you should be on your\nway to Brest where _Le Levantin_ should by then be waiting her orders\nand ready to put to sea. A month later, if wind, weather and\ncircumstances favour us, that young adventurer will have been handed\nover to the English authorities and we, who had worked out the\ndifficult diplomatic problems so carefully, will have shared between\nus the English millions.\"\n\nWith his habitual airy gesture, Louis now intimated that the audience\nwas at an end. He was obviously more highly elated than he cared to\nshow before Gaston, and was longing to talk over plans and projects\nfor future pleasures and extravagances with the fair Marquise. Madame,\nwho had the knack of conveying a great deal by a look, succeeded in\nintimating to Gaston that she would gladly have availed herself a\nlittle longer of his pleasant company, but that royal commands must\nprevail.\n\nGaston therefore rose and kissed each hand, as it was graciously\nextended to him.\n\n\"We are pleased with what you have done, Monsieur le Comte,\" said the\nKing as M. de Stainville finally took his leave, \"but tell me,\" he\nwhispered slily, \"did the unapproachable Lydie yield with the first\nkiss, or did she struggle much? . . . eh? . . . B-r-r . . . my dear\nComte, are your lips not frozen by contact with such an icicle?\"\n\n\"Nay, your Majesty! all icicles are bound to melt sooner or later!\"\nsaid Gaston de Stainville with a smile which--had Lydie seen it--would\nhave half killed her with shame.\n\nAnd with that same smile of fatuity still lurking round his lips, he\nbowed himself out of the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nPATERNAL ANXIETY\n\n\nM. le Duc d'Aumont, Prime Minister of His Majesty King Louis XV of\nFrance, was exceedingly perturbed. He had just had two separate\ninterviews, each of half an hour's duration, and he was now busy\ntrying to dissociate what his daughter had told him in the first\ninterview, from that which M. de Stainville had imparted to him in the\nsecond. And he was not succeeding.\n\nThe two sets of statements seemed inextricably linked together.\n\nLydie, certainly had been very strange and agitated in her manner,\ntotally unlike herself: but this mood of course, though so very\nunusual in her, did not astonish M. le Duc so much, once he realized\nits cause.\n\nIt was the cause which was so singularly upsetting.\n\nMilor Eglinton, his son-in-law, had sent in his resignation as\nComptroller-General of Finance, and this without giving any reason for\nso sudden and decisive a step. At any rate Lydie herself professed to\nbe ignorant of milor's motives for this extraordinary line of action\nas she was of his future purpose. All she knew--or all that she cared\nto tell her father--was that her husband had avowedly the intention of\ndeserting her: he meant to quit Versailles immediately, thus vacating\nhis post without a moment's notice, and leaving his wife, whom he had\nallowed to conduct all State affairs for him for over a year, to\nextricate herself, out of a tangle of work and an anomalous position,\nas best she might.\n\nThe only suggestion which milor had cared to put forward, with regard\nto her future, was that he was about to make her a free gift of his\nchateau and lands of Vincennes, the yearly revenues of which were\nclose upon a million livres. This gift she desired not to accept.\n\nIn spite of strenuous and diplomatic efforts on his part, M. le Duc\nd'Aumont had been unable to obtain any further explanation of these\nextraordinary events from his daughter. Lydie had no intention\nwhatever of deceiving her father and she had given him what she\nbelieved to be a perfectly faithful _expose_ of the situation. All\nthat she had kept back from him was the immediate cause of the grave\nmisunderstanding between herself and her husband, and we must do her\nthe justice to state that she did not think that this was relevant to\nthe ultimate issue.\n\nMoreover, she was more than loath to mention the Stuart prince and his\naffairs again before M. le Duc. She knew that he was not in sympathy\nwith her over this matter and she dreaded to know with absolute\ncertainty that there was projected treachery afoot, and that he\nperhaps would have a hand in it. What Gaston de Stainville had\nconjectured, had seen and overheard, what she herself had guessed, was\nnot to her mind quite conclusive as far as her father's share in the\nscheme was concerned.\n\nShe was deeply attached to her father, and her heart found readily\nenough a sufficiency of arguments which exonerated him from actual\nparticipation in such wanton perfidy. At any rate in this instance she\nchose ignorance rather than heartrending certainty, and as by her\nquick action and Gaston's timely and unexpected help, the actual\ntreachery would be averted, she preferred to dismiss her father's\nproblematical participation in it entirely from her mind.\n\nThus she told him nothing of milor's attitude with regard to the Duke\nof Cumberland's letter; in fact, she never once referred to the letter\nor to the Young Pretender; she merely gave M. le Duc to understand\nthat her husband seemed desirous of living his future life altogether\napart from hers.\n\nM. le Duc d'Aumont was sorely disquieted: two eventualities presented\nthemselves before him, and both were equally distasteful. One was the\nscandal which would of necessity spread around his daughter's name the\nmoment her matrimonial differences with her husband became generally\nknown. M. le Duc d'Aumont was too well acquainted with this Court of\nVersailles not to realize that Lydie's position, as a neglected wife,\nwould subject her to a series of systematic attentions, which she\ncould but regard in the light of insults.\n\nOn the other hand M. le Duc could not even begin to think of having to\nforego his daughter's help in the various matters relating to his own\nadministration. He had been accustomed for some years now to consult\nher in all moments of grave crises, to rely on her judgment, on her\nable guidance, worth ten thousand times more to him than an army of\nmasculine advisers.\n\nIn spite of the repeated sneers hurled at this era of \"petticoat\ngovernment,\" Lydie had been of immense service to him, and if she were\nsuddenly to be withdrawn from his official life, he would feel very\nlike Louis XIII had done on that memorable Journee des Dupes, when\nRichelieu left him for twenty-four hours to conduct the affairs of\nState alone. He would not have known where to begin.\n\nBut Lydie told him that her decision was irrevocable, or what was more\nto the point, milor had left her no alternative: his resignation was\nby now in His Majesty's hands, and he had not even suggested that\nLydie should accompany him, when he quitted Versailles, in order to\ntake up life as a private gentleman.\n\nIt was all very puzzling and very difficult. M. le Duc d'Aumont\nstrongly deprecated the idea of his daughter vacating her official\npost, because of this sudden caprice of milor. He had need of her, and\nso had France, and the threads of national business could not be\nsnapped in a moment. The post of Comptroller-General of Finance could\nremain in abeyance for awhile. After that one would see.\n\nThen with regard to the proposed gifts of the chateau and revenues of\nVincennes, M. le Duc d'Aumont would not hear of a refusal. Madame la\nMarquise d'Eglinton must have a private establishment worthy of her\nrank, and an occasional visit from milor would help to keep up an\noutward appearance of decorum, and to throw dust in the eyes of the\nscandal-mongers.\n\nThe interview with his daughter had upset M. le Duc d'Aumont very\nconsiderably. The whole thing had been so unexpected: it was difficult\nto imagine his usually so impassive and yielding son-in-law displaying\nany initiative of his own. M. le Duc was still puzzling over the\nsituation when M. le Comte de Stainville, specially recommended by His\nMajesty himself, asked for a private audience.\n\nAnd the next half-hour plunged M. le Duc into a perfect labyrinth of\nsurmises, conjectures, doubts and fears. That Gaston de Stainville was\npossessed not only of full knowledge with regard to the Stuart\nprince's hiding-place, but also of a letter in Lydie's handwriting,\naddressed to the prince and sealed with her private seal, was\nsufficiently astonishing in itself, but the young man's thinly veiled\ninnuendoes, his fatuous smiles, his obvious triumph, literally\nstaggered M. le Duc, even though his palm itched with longing for\ncontact with the insolent braggart's cheek. Every one of his beliefs\nwas being forcibly uprooted; his daughter whom he had thought so\nunapproachable, so pure and so loyal! who had this very morning shamed\nhim by her indignation at the very thought of this treachery, which\nshe now so completely condoned! that she should have renounced her\nopinions, her enthusiasm for the sake of a man who had already\nbetrayed her once, was more than M. le Duc could and would believe at\nfirst.\n\nYet the proofs were before him at this very moment. They had been\nplaced in his hand by Gaston de Stainville: the map with the marginal\nnotes, which Lydie had so often refused to show even to her own\nfather, and the letter in her handwriting with the bold signature\nright across the contents, bidding the unfortunate young prince trust\nthe traitor who would deliver him into the hands of his foes.\n\nBut M. le Duc would have had to be more than human not to be satisfied\nin a measure at the result of Gaston de Stainville's diplomacy; he\nstood in for a goodly share of the millions promised by England. But\nit was the diplomacy itself which horrified him. He had vainly tried\nto dissuade Lydie from chivalrous and misguided efforts on behalf of\nthe young prince, or at any rate from active interference, if His\nMajesty had plans other than her own; but whilst she had rejected his\nmerest suggestions on that subject with unutterable contempt, she had\nnot only listened to Gaston de Stainville, but actually yielded her\nwill and her enthusiasms to his pleadings.\n\nM. le Duc sighed when he thought it all out. Though Lydie had done\nexactly what he himself wanted her to do, he hated the idea that she\nshould have done it because Gaston de Stainville had persuaded her.\n\nLater on in the afternoon when an excellently cooked dinner had\nsoftened his mood, he tried to put together the various pieces of the\nmental puzzle which confronted him.\n\nGaston de Stainville had obtained a certain ascendancy over Lydie, and\nLydie had irretrievably quarrelled with her husband. Milor was\ndetermined to quit Versailles immediately; Lydie was equally bent on\nnot relinquishing her position yet. Gaston de Stainville was obviously\ntriumphant and somewhat openly bragged of his success, whilst milor\nkept to his own private apartments, and steadily forbade his door to\nevery one.\n\nIt was indeed a very difficult problem for an indulgent father to\nsolve. Fortunately for his own peace of mind, M. le Duc d'Aumont was\nnot only indulgent to his own daughter whom he adored, but also to\nevery one of her sex. He was above all a _preux chevalier_, who held\nthat women were beings of exceptional temperament, not to be judged by\nthe same standards as the coarser fibred male creatures; their beauty,\ntheir charm, the pleasure they afforded to the rest of mankind, placed\nthem above criticism or even comment.\n\nAnd of course Lydie was very beautiful . . . and milor a fool . . .\nand . . . Gaston. . . . Well! who could blame Gaston?\n\nAnd it was most amazingly lucky that Lydie had given up her absurd\nideas about that Stuart prince, and had thus helped those English\nmillions to find their way comfortably across the Channel, into the\npockets of His Majesty the King of France, and of one or two others,\nincluding her own doting father.\n\nAnd after that M. le Duc d'Aumont gave up worrying any more about the\nmatter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nTHE QUEEN'S SOIREE\n\n\nWhat chronicler of true events will ever attempt to explain exactly\nhow rumour succeeds in breaking through every bond with which privacy\nwould desire to fetter her, and having obtained a perch on the\nswiftest of all currents of air, travels through infinite space, and\nanon, observing a glaringly public spot wherein to alight, she\ndescends with amazing rapidity and mingles with the crowd.\n\nThus with the news anent milor Eglinton's resignation of the General\nControl of Finance.\n\nBy the time the Court assembled that evening for the Queen's\nreception, every one had heard of it, and also that milor, having had\na violent quarrel with his wife, had quitted or was about to quit\nVersailles without further warning.\n\nThe news was indeed exceedingly welcome. Not from any ill-will toward\nLord Eglinton, of course, who was very popular with the ladies and\nmore than tolerated by the men, nor from any sense of triumph over\nMadame Lydie, although she had not quite so many friends as milor, but\nbecause it happened to be Thursday, and every Thursday Her Majesty the\nQueen held her Court from seven o'clock till nine o'clock: which\nfunction was so deadly dull, that there was quite an epidemic of\ndislocated jaws--caused by incessant yawning--among the favoured few\nwho were both privileged and obliged to attend. A piece of real\ngossip, well-authenticated, and referring to a couple so highly\nplaced as Lord and Lady Eglinton, was therefore a great boon. Even Her\nMajesty could not fail to be interested, as Lydie had always stood\nvery highly in the good graces of the prim and melancholy Queen,\nwhilst milor was one of that very small and very select circle which\nthe exalted lady honoured with her conversation on public occasions.\n\nNow on this same Thursday evening, Queen Marie Leszcynska entered her\nthrone-room precisely at seven o'clock. Madame Lydie was with her as\nshe entered, and it was at once supposed that Her Majesty was already\nacquainted with Lord Eglinton's decision, for she conversed with the\nneglected wife with obvious kindliness and sympathy.\n\nHis Majesty was expected in about a quarter of an hour. As Madame de\nPompadour and her immediate entourage were excluded from these solemn\nfunctions, the King showed his disapproval of the absence of his\nfriends by arriving as late as etiquette allowed, and by looking on at\nthe presentations, and other paraphernalia of his wife's receptions,\nin morose and silent _ennui_.\n\nThis evening, however, the proceedings were distinctly enlivened by\nthat subtle and cheerful breath of scandal, which hovered all over the\nroom. Whilst noble dowagers presented debutante daughters to Her\nMajesty, and grave gentlemen explained to fledgling sons how to make a\nfirst bow to the King, groups of younger people congregated in distant\ncorners, well away from the royal dais and discussed the great news of\nthe day.\n\nLydie did not mingle with these groups. In addition to her many other\ndignities and functions, she was Grande Marechale de la Cour to Queen\nMarie Leszcynska and on these solemn Thursday evenings her place was\nbeside Her Majesty, and her duty to present such ladies of high rank\nwho had either just arrived at Court from the country or who, for some\nother reason, had not yet had the honour of a personal audience.\n\nChief among these reasons was the Queen's own exclusiveness. The proud\ndaughter of Stanislaus of Poland with her semi-religious education,\nher narrow outlook on life, her unfortunate experience of matrimony,\nhad a wholesome horror of the frisky matrons and flirtatious minxes\nwhom Louis XIV's taste had brought into vogue at the Court of France;\nand above all, she had an unconquerable aversion for the various\nscions of that mushroom nobility dragged from out the gutter by the\ncatholic fancies of le Roi Soleil.\n\nThough she could not help but receive some of these people at the\nmonster Court functions, which the elaborate and rigid etiquette of\nthe time imposed upon her, and whereat all the tatterdemalions that\nhad e'er filched a handle for their name had, by that same unwritten\ndictum, the right of entry, she always proudly refused subsequently to\nrecognize in private a presentation to herself, unless it was made by\nher special leave, at one of her own intimate audiences, and through\nthe mediation either of her own Grande Marechale de la Cour, or of one\nof her privileged lady friends.\n\nThus Madame la Comtesse de Stainville, though formally presented at\nthe general Court by virtue of her husband's title and position, had\nnever had the honour of an invitation to Her Majesty's private\nthrone-room. Queen Marie had heard vague rumours anent the early\nreputation of \"la belle brune de Bordeaux\"; this very nick-name,\nfreely bandied about, grated on her puritanic ear. Irene de\nStainville, chafing under the restrictions which placed her on a level\nwith the Pompadours of the present and the Montespans or La Vallieres\nof the past, had more than once striven to enlist Lydie's help and\nprotection in obtaining one of the coveted personal introductions to\nHer Majesty.\n\nLydie, however, had always put her off with polite but ambiguous\npromises, until to-day, when her heart, overfilled with gratitude for\nGaston de Stainville, prompted her to do something which she knew must\nplease him, and thus prove to him that she was thinking of him at the\nvery time when he was risking his entire future and probably his life\nin an attempt to serve her.\n\nHer own troubles and sorrows in no way interfered with the discharge\nof her social duties. Whilst she still occupied certain official\npositions at Court, she was determined to fill them adequately and\nwith perfect dignity. A brief note to Irene de Stainville acquainted\nthe latter lady with the pleasing fact, that Madame la Grande\nMarechale would have much pleasure in introducing her personally to\nHer Majesty the Queen that very same evening, and \"la belle brune de\nBordeaux\" was therefore present at this most exclusive of all\nfunctions on Thursday, August 13, 1746, and duly awaited the happy\nmoment when she could make her curtsey before the proudest princess in\nall Europe, in the magnificent gown which had been prepared some time\nago in view of this possible and delightful eventuality.\n\nShe stood somewhat isolated from the rest of the throng, between two\nor three of her most faithful admirers, holding herself aloof from the\nfrivolity of the surrounding gossip and wearing a sphinx-like air of\ndetachment and of hidden and sorrowful knowledge.\n\nTo every comment as to the non-appearance of her lord at the soiree,\nshe had mutely replied by a slight shrug of the shoulders.\n\nUp in the gallery, behind a screen of exotic plants, the band of\nmusicians was playing one of M. Lulli's most famous compositions, the\nbeautiful motet in E flat which, alone amongst the works of that\nmaster of melody, was sufficiently serious and sedate for the Queen's\ntaste. Anon Her Majesty gave the signal that dancing might begin. She\nliked to watch it, if it was decorously performed, though she never\njoined in it herself. Therefore a measured and stately gavotte was\ndanced by the young people every Thursday, and perhaps a majestic\npavane afterward. But the minuet was thought unbecoming. Her Majesty\nsat in one of the heavy gilded chairs underneath the canopy, the other\nbeing reserved for King Louis.\n\nLydie watched the gavotte with dreamy, abstracted eyes; every now and\nthen the Queen spoke to her, and the force of habit caused her to\nreply coherently and with that formality of expression, which Her\nMajesty liked to hear. But her mind was very far from her\nsurroundings. It was accompanying Gaston de Stainville on his reckless\nride through the rich plains of Normandy; her wishes sped him on his\nway, her gratitude for his noble self-sacrifice would have guarded him\nfrom the perils of the road.\n\nThe monotonous tune of the gavotte with its distinct and sharply\ndefined beat, sounded to her like the measured clink of a horse's\nhoofs on rough hard ground. She was quite unconscious that, from every\ncorner of the room, inquisitive and sarcastic eyes were watching all\nher movements.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nGOSSIP\n\n\nWhilst the younger people danced, the older ones gossiped, and the\nabsence of any known facts rendered the gossip doubly interesting.\n\nThere was one group most especially so engaged; at the further corner\nof the room, and with sixteen dancing pairs intervening between it and\nthe royal dais, there was little fear of Her Majesty overhearing any\nfrivolous comments on the all-absorbing topic of the day, or of Madame\nLydie herself being made aware of their existence.\n\nHere Madame de la Beaume, a young and pretty matron, possessed of a\ngood-looking husband who did not trouble her much with his company,\nwas the centre of a gaily cackling little crowd, not unlike an\nassemblage of geese beside a stream at eventide. Young M. de Louvois\nwas there and the old Duchesse de Pontchartrain, also M. Crebillon,\nthe most inveterate scandal-monger of his time, and several others.\n\nThey all talked in whispers, glad that the music drowned every echo of\nthis most enjoyable conversation.\n\n\"I have it from my coiffeur, whose son was on duty in an adjacent\nroom, that there was a violent quarrel between them,\" said Madame de\nla Beaume with becoming mystery. \"The man says that Madame Lydie\nscreamed and raged for half an hour, then flew out of the room and\nalong the passages like one possessed.\"\n\n\"These English are very peculiar people,\" said M. Crebillon\nsententiously. \"I have it on M. de Voltaire's own authority that\nEnglish husbands always beat their wives, and he spent some\nconsiderable time in England recently studying their manners and\ncustoms.\"\n\n\"We may take it for granted that milor Eglinton, though partly\ncivilized through his French parentage, hath retained some of his\nnative brutality,\" added another cavalier gravely.\n\n\"And it is quite natural that Madame Lydie would not tolerate his\ntreatment of her,\" concluded the old Duchess.\n\n\"Ah!\" sighed Madame de la Beaume pathetically, \"I believe that English\nhusbands beat their wives only out of jealousy. At least, so I have\nbeen told, whereas ours are too often unfaithful to feel any such\nviolent and uncomfortable pangs.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" quoth young M. de Louvois, casting an admiring glance at\nMadame's bold decolletage, \"you would not wish M. de la Beaume to lay\nhands on those beautiful shoulders.\"\n\n\"Heu! heu!\" nodded Madame enigmatically.\n\nM. Crebillon cast an inquisitorial look at Madame de Stainville, who\nwas standing close by.\n\n\"Nay! from what I hear,\" he said mysteriously, \"milor Eglinton had\nquite sufficient provocation for his jealousy, and like an Englishman\nhe availed himself of the privileges which the customs of his own\ncountry grant him, and he frankly beat his wife.\"\n\nEvery one rallied round him, for he seemed to have fuller details than\nany one else, and Madame de la Beaume whispered eagerly:\n\n\"You mean M. de Stainville. . . .\"\n\n\"Hush--sh--sh,\" interrupted the old Duchess quickly, \"here comes\nmiladi.\"\n\nThe Dowager Marchioness of Eglinton, \"miladi,\" as she was always\ncalled, was far too shrewd and too well versed in the manners and\ncustoms of her friends not to be fully aware of the gossip that was\ngoing on all round the room. Very irate at having been kept in\nignorance of the facts which had caused her son's sudden decision, and\nLydie's strange attitude, she was nevertheless determined that,\nwhatever scandal was being bruited abroad, it should prove primarily\nto the detriment of her daughter-in-law's reputation.\n\nTherefore, whenever, to-night, she noted groups congregated in\ncorners, and conversations being obviously carried on in whispers, she\nboldly approached and joined in the gossip, depositing a poisoned\nshaft here and there with great cleverness, all the more easily as it\nwas generally supposed that she knew a great deal more than she cared\nto say.\n\n\"Nay! I beg of you, Mesdames and Messieurs,\" she now said quite\ncheerfully, \"do not let me interrupt your conversation. Alas! do I not\nknow its subject? . . . My poor son cannot be to blame in the\nunfortunate affair. Lydie, though she may be wholly innocent in the\nmatter, is singularly obstinate.\"\n\n\"Then you really think that?----\" queried Madame de la Beaume eagerly,\nand then paused, half afraid that she had said too much.\n\n\"Alas! what can I say?\" rejoined miladi with a sigh. \"I was brought up\nin the days when we women were taught obedience to our husband's\nwishes.\"\n\n\"Madame Lydie was not like to have learnt the first phrase of that\nwholesome lesson,\" quoth M. de Louvois with a smile.\n\n\"Exactly, cher Monsieur,\" assented miladi, as she sailed majestically\non to another group.\n\n\"What did miladi mean exactly?\" asked M. Crebillon.\n\n\"Oh! she is so kind-hearted, such an angel!\" sighed pretty Madame de\nla Beaume, \"she wanted to palliate Madame Lydie's conduct by\nsuggesting that milor merely desired to forbid her future intercourse\nwith M. de Stainville. . . . I have heard that version of the quarrel\nalready, but I must own that it bears but little resemblance to truth.\nWe all know that so simple a request would not have led to a really\nserious breach between milor and his wife.\"\n\n\"It was more than that, of course, or milor would not have beaten\nher,\" came in unanswerable logic from M. Crebillon.\n\n\"Hush--sh--sh!\" admonished the old Duchess, \"here comes His Majesty.\"\n\n\"He looks wonderfully good-humoured,\" said Madame de la Beaume, \"and\ndoth not wear at all his usual Thursday's scowl.\"\n\n\"Then we may all be sure, Mesdames and Messieurs,\" said the\nirrepressible Crebillon, \"that rumour hath not lied again.\"\n\n\"What rumour?\"\n\n\"You have not heard?\"\n\n\"No!\" came from half a dozen eager and anxious lips.\n\n\"They say that His Majesty the King of France has agreed to deliver\nthe Chevalier de Saint George to the English in consideration of a\nlarge sum of money.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\"\n\n\"That cannot be true!\"\n\n\"My valet had it from Monsieur de Stainville's man,\" protested M.\nCrebillon, \"and he declares the rumour true.\"\n\n\"A King of France would never do such a thing.\"\n\n\"A palpable and clumsy lie!\"\n\nAnd the same people, who, five minutes ago, had hurled the mud of\nscandal at the white robes of an exceptionally high-minded and\nvirtuous woman, recoiled with horror at the thought of any of it\nclinging to the person of that fat and pompous man, whom an evil fate\nhad placed on the throne of France.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nTHE FIRST DOUBT\n\n\nHis Majesty certainly looked far less bored than he usually did on his\nroyal consort's reception evenings. He entered the room with a\ngood-natured smile on his face, which did not leave him, even whilst\nhe kissed the frigid Queen's hand, and nodded to her entourage, every\none of whom he cordially detested.\n\nBut when he caught sight of Lydie, he positively beamed at her, and\nastonished all the scandal-mongers by the surfeit of attentions which\nhe bestowed on her. Directly after he had paid his respects to his\nwife and received the young scions of ancient aristocratic houses,\nthat were being presented to him, he turned with great alacrity to\nLydie and engaged her in close conversation.\n\n\"Will you honour us by stepping the pavane with us, Marquise?\" he\nasked in sugary tones. \"Alas! our dancing days should be over, yet par\nma foi! we could yet tread another measure beside the tiniest feet in\nFrance.\"\n\nLydie would perhaps have been taken aback at the King's superlative\namiability, but instinctively her mind reverted to the many occasions\nwhen he had thus tried to win her good graces, in the hope of\nobtaining concessions of money from the virtual chief of the\nDepartment of Finance. She saw that inquisitive eyes were watching her\nover-keenly as--unable to refuse the King's invitation--she placed a\nreluctant hand in his, and took her position beside him for the\nopening of the pavane.\n\nShe was essentially graceful even in the studied stiffness of her\nmovements; a stiffness which she had practised and then made entirely\nher own, and which was somehow expressive of the unbendable hauteur of\nher moral character.\n\nThe stately pavane suited the movements of her willowy figure, which\nappeared quite untrammelled, easy and full of spring, even within the\nnarrow confines of the fashionable corslet. She was dressed in white\nto-night and her young shoulders looked dazzling and creamy beside the\nmatt tone of her brocaded gown. She never allowed the ridiculous\ncoiffure, which had lately become the mode, to hide entirely the glory\nof her own chestnut hair, and its rich, warm colour gleamed through\nthe powder, scantily sprinkled over it by an artist's hand.\n\nShe had not forgotten even for a moment the serious events of this\nnever-to-be-forgotten day; but amongst the many memories which crowded\nin upon her, as, with slow step she trod the grave measure of the\ndance, none was more vivid than that of her husband's scorn, when he\nspoke of her own hand resting in that of the treacherous and\nperfidious monarch, who would have sold his friend for money. She\nwondered how he would act if he could see her now, her fingers, very\nfrequently meeting those of King Louis during the elaborate figures of\nthe dance.\n\nStrangely enough, although everything milor had said to her at that\ninterview had merely jarred upon her mood and irritated her nerves,\nwithout seemingly carrying any conviction, yet now, when she was\nobliged to touch so often the moist, hot palm of King Louis, she felt\nsomething of that intolerable physical repugnance which her husband\nhad, as it were, brought to actuality by the vigour of his\nsuggestions.\n\nOtherwise she took little heed of her surroundings. During the\npreliminary movement of the dance, the march past, with its quaint,\nartificial gestures and steps and the slow majesty of its music, she\ncould not help seeing the looks of malevolent curiosity, of satisfied\nchildish envy, and of sarcastic triumph which were levelled at her\nfrom every corner of the room.\n\nThe special distinction bestowed on her by the King--who as a rule\nnever danced at his wife's soirees--seemed in the minds of all these\ngossip-lovers to have confirmed the worst rumours, anent the cause of\nLord Eglinton's unexpected resignation. His Majesty did not suffer\nlike his wife from an unconquerable horror of frisky matrons; on the\ncontrary, his abhorrence was chiefly directed against the starchy\ndowagers and the prudish _devotes_ who formed the entourage of the\nQueen. The fact that he distinguished Lydie to-night so openly, showed\nthat he no longer classed her among the latter.\n\n\"His Majesty hath at last found a kindred spirit in the unapproachable\nMarchioness,\" was the universal comment, which thoroughly satisfied\nthe most virulent disseminator of ill-natured scandal.\n\nLydie knew enough of Court life to guess what would be said. Up to now\nshe had been happily free from Louis's compromising flatteries, save\nat such times when he required money, but his attentions went no\nfurther--and they invariably ceased the moment he had obtained all\nthat he wanted. But to-night he was unswerving in his adulation; and,\nin the brief pause between the second and third movement of the dance,\nhe contrived to whisper in her ear:\n\n\"Ah, Madame! how you shame your King! Shall we ever be able to\nadequately express the full measure of our gratitude?\"\n\n\"Gratitude, Sire?\" she murmured, somewhat bewildered and rather\ncoldly, \"I do not understand . . . why gratitude?\"\n\n\"You are modest, Madame, as well as brave and good,\" he rejoined,\ntaking one more opportunity of raising her hand to his lips. He had\nsucceeded in gradually leading her into a window embrasure, somewhat\naway from the rest of the dancers. He did not admire the statuesque\ngrace of Lydie in the least, and had always secretly sneered at her,\nfor her masculine strength of will and the rigidity of her principles,\nbut it had been impossible for any man, alive to a sense of what was\nbeautiful, not to delight in the exquisitely harmonious picture formed\nby that elegant woman, in her stiff, white brocaded gown and with her\nyoung head crowned by its wreath of ardent hair, standing out\nbrilliantly against the pale, buttercup colour of the damask curtain\nbehind her. There was nothing forced therefore in the look of\nadmiration with which the King now regarded Lydie; conscious of this,\nshe deeply resented the look, and perhaps because of it, she was not\nquite so fully alive to the hidden meaning of his words as she\notherwise might have been.\n\n\"And as beautiful as you are brave,\" added Louis unctuously. \"It is\nnot every woman who would thus have had the courage of her\nconvictions, and so openly borne witness to the trust and loyalty\nwhich she felt.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Sire,\" she said coldly and suddenly beginning to feel vaguely\npuzzled, \"I am afraid your Majesty is labouring under the\nmisapprehension, that I have recently done something to deserve\nspecial royal thanks, whereas----\"\n\n\"Whereas you have only followed the dictates of your heart,\" he\nrejoined gallantly, seeing that she had paused as if in search of a\nword, \"and shown to the sceptics in this ill-natured Court that,\nbeneath the rigid mask of iron determination, this exquisitely\nbeautiful personality hid the true instincts of adorable womanhood.\"\n\nThe musicians now struck the opening chords to the third and final\nmeasure of the pavane. There is something dreamy and almost sad in\nthis movement of the stately dance, and this melancholy is specially\naccentuated in the composition of Rameau, which the players were\nrendering with consummate art to-night. The King's unctuous words were\nstill ringing unpleasantly in Lydie's ears, when he put out his hand,\nclaiming hers for the dance.\n\nMechanically she followed him, her feet treading the measure quite\nindependently of her mind, which had gone wandering in the land of\ndreams. A vague sense of uneasiness crept slowly but surely into her\nheart, she pondered over Louis's words, not knowing what to make of\nthem, yet somehow beginning to fear them, or rather to fear that she\nmight after all succeed in understanding their full meaning. She could\nnot dismiss the certitude from her mind that he was, in some hidden\nsense, referring to the Stuart prince and his cause, when he spoke of\n\"convictions\" and of her \"courage\"; but at first she only thought that\nhe meant, in a vague way, to recall her interference of this morning,\nLord Eglinton's outburst of contempt, and her own promise to give the\nmatter serious consideration.\n\nThis in a measure re-assured her. The King's words had already become\nhazy in her memory, as she had not paid serious attention to them at\nthe time, and she gradually forced those vague fears within her to\nsubside, and even smiled at her own cowardice in scenting danger where\nnone existed.\n\nUndoubtedly that was the true reason of the rapacious monarch's\nflatteries to-night; truth to tell, her mind had been so absorbed with\nactual events, her quarrel with her husband, the departure of Gaston,\nthe proposed expedition of _Le Monarque_, that she had almost\nforgotten the promise which she had made to the King earlier in the\nday, with a view to gaining time.\n\n\"How admirably you dance, Madame,\" said King Louis, \"the poetry of\nmotion by all the saints! Ah! believe me, I cannot conquer altogether\na feeling of unutterable envy!\"\n\n\"Envy, Sire, of whom?--or of what?\" she asked, forced to keep up a\nconversation which sickened her, since etiquette did not allow her to\nremain silent if the King desired to talk. \"Methinks fate leaves your\nMajesty but little to wish for.\"\n\n\"Envy of the lucky man who obtained a certitude, whilst we had to be\ncontent with vague if gracious promises,\" he rejoined blandly.\n\nShe looked at him keenly, inquiringly, a deep line of doubt, even of\nfear now settling between her brows.\n\n\"Certitude of what, Sire?\" she asked suddenly pausing in the dance and\nturning to look him straight in the eyes. \"I humbly crave your\nMajesty's pardon, but meseems that we are at cross-purposes, and that\nyour Majesty speaks of something which I, on the other hand, do not\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"Nay! nay! then we'll not refer to the subject again,\" rejoined Louis\nwith consummate gallantry, \"for of a truth we would not wish to lose\none precious moment of this heavenly dance. Enough that you\nunderstand, Madame, that your King is grateful, and will show his\ngratitude, even though his heart burn with jealousy at the good\nfortune of another man!\"\n\nThere was no mistaking the sly leer which appeared in his eye as he\nspoke. Lydie felt her cheeks flaming up with sudden wrath; wrath,\nwhich as quickly gave way to an awful, an unconquerable horror.\n\nStill she did not suspect. Her feet once more trod the monotonous\nmeasure, but her heart beat wildly against the stiff corslet; the room\nbegan to whirl round before her eyes; a sickening sense of dizziness\nthreatened to master her. Every drop of blood had left her cheeks,\nleaving them ashen pale.\n\nShe was afraid; and the fear was all the more terrible as she could\nnot yet give it a name. But the sense of an awful catastrophe was upon\nher, impending, not yet materialized, but which would overwhelm her\ninevitably when it came.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nTHE AWFUL CERTITUDE\n\n\nThen all at once she understood!\n\nThere at the further end of the room, against the rich gold of the\ncurtain, she saw Gaston de Stainville standing beside his wife and one\nor two other women, the centre of a gaily chattering crowd, he himself\nchattering with them, laughing and jesting, whilst from time to time\nhis white and slender hand raised a gold-rimmed glass to his eye, with\na gesture of fatuity and affectation.\n\nSomething in her look, though it had only lasted a few seconds, must\nthen and there have compelled his own, for he suddenly dropped his\nglass, and their eyes met across the room; Lydie's inquiring, only\njust beginning to doubt, and fearful, as if begging for reassurance!\nhis, mocking and malicious, triumphant too and self-flattering, whilst\nla belle Irene, intercepting this exchange of glances, laughed loudly\nand shrugged her bare shoulders.\n\nLydie was not that type of woman who faints, or screams at moments of\nacute mental agony. Even now, when the full horror of what she had so\nsuddenly realized, assailed her with a crushing blow that would have\nstunned a weaker nature, she contrived to pull herself together and to\ncontinue the dance to the end. The King--beginning to feel bored in\nthe company of this silent and obviously absent-minded woman--made no\nfurther effort at conversation. She had disappointed him; for\nMonsieur le Comte de Stainville's innuendoes had led him to hope that\nthe beautiful marble statue had at last come to life and would\nhenceforth become a valuable addition to the light-hearted circle of\nfriends that rallied round him, helping to make him forget the ennui\nof his matrimonial and official life.\n\nThus the dance was concluded between them in silence. Louis was too\ndull and vapid to notice the change in his partner's attitude, the icy\ntouch of her fingers, the deathly whiteness of her lips. But presently\nhe, too, caught sight of Gaston de Stainville and immediately there\ncrept into his face that malicious leer, which awhile ago had kindled\nLydie's wrath.\n\nWhether she noted it now or not, it were difficult to say. Only a\ngreat determination kept her from making a display before all these\nindifferent eyes, of the agonizing torture of her mind and heart.\n\nWith infinite relief, she made her final curtsey to her partner, and\nallowed him to lead her back to her official place beside the royal\ndais. She could not see clearly, for her eyes had suddenly filled with\nburning tears of shame and bitter self-accusation. She bit her lips\nlest a cry of pain escaped them.\n\n\"You are ill, my dear! Come away!\"\n\nThe voice--gentle and deeply concerned--was that of her father. She\ndid not dare look at him, lest she should break down, but she allowed\nhim to lead her away from the immediate noise and glare.\n\n\"What is it, Lydie?\" queried M. le Duc again, more anxiously, as soon\nas they had reached a small and secluded alcove. \"Has anything\nfurther happened? Par Dieu, if that man has again dared . . .\"\n\n\"What man, father?\" she interrupted.\n\nHer voice had no tone in it, she wondered even if M. le Duc would\nhear, but he was talking ambiguously and she had had enough of\nmisunderstandings to-day.\n\n\"What man?\" rejoined Monsieur le Duc d'Aumont irritably. \"Your husband\nof course. I have heard rumours about his behaviour to you, and by all\nthe heathen gods . . .\"\n\nHe paused, astonished and almost awed, for Lydie had laughed suddenly,\nlaughed loudly and long, and there was such a strange ring in that\nunnatural mirth, that Monsieur le Duc feared lest excitement had been\ntoo much for his daughter's brain.\n\n\"Lydie! what is it? You must tell me . . . Lydie . . .\" he urged,\n\"listen to me . . . do you hear me, Lydie?\"\n\nShe seemed to be collecting her scattered senses now, but great sobs\nof hysterical laughter still shook her from head to foot, and she\nleaned against her father's arm almost as if she feared to fall.\n\n\"Yes, father dear,\" she said fairly coherently, \"I do hear you, and I\npray you take no heed of me. Much hath occurred to-day to disturb me\nand my nerves seem to be on the jar. Perhaps I do not see quite\nclearly either. Father, tell me,\" she added with a voice almost\nsteady, but harsh and trenchant, and with glowing eyes fixed on the\nDuke's face, \"did I perceive Gaston de Stainville in the crowd just\nnow?\"\n\n\"You may have done, my dear,\" he replied with some hesitation. \"I do\nnot know.\"\n\nShe had been quick enough to note that, at mention of Gaston's name,\nhis eyes suddenly wore a curious shamefaced expression and avoided\nmeeting her own. She pressed her point more carelessly, feeling that\nthere was something that he would only tell her, if she was perfectly\ncalm and natural in her questionings.\n\n\"Then he is here?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes . . . I believe so . . . why do you ask?\"\n\n\"I thought him gone,\" she said lightly, \"that was all. Methought there\nwas an errand he had meant to perform.\"\n\n\"Oh! there is no immediate hurry for that!\"\n\nMonsieur le Duc d'Amont, never a very keen observer, was feeling quite\nreassured by her calmer mood. His daughter had been overwrought.\nEvents had crowded in upon her, thick and fast, some of them of an\nunpleasant nature: her final surrender to Gaston de Stainville could\nnot have occurred without a wrench; sentiment--he supposed--having\nconquered friendship and loyalty, no doubt remorse had held sway for\nawhile. He certainly thought his daughter quite at one with him and\nhis confederates in the treacherous plan; it never entered his head\nfor a moment to blame her for this _volte-face_, nor did he realize\nthat Gaston's attitude had been one of lying infamy. He knew her for a\npure-minded and exceptionally proud woman and his paternal heart had\nno fear that she would stoop to a vulgar intrigue, at the same time he\nhad no reason to doubt that she had yielded to the persuasive powers\nof a man whom she had certainly loved at one time, who and of\nnecessity would still exercise a certain influence over her.\n\nAnd now she was no doubt anxious to know something of future plans\nshe had probably not heard what had been decided with regard to the\nexpedition, and perhaps fretted as to how her own actions had been\ninterpreted by her father and the King. It was with a view to\nreassuring her on all these points that he now added:\n\n\"We are not thinking of sending _Le Monarque_.\"\n\n\"Ah? I thought that she would have been the most likely vessel. . .\"\n\n\"_Le Levantin_ will be safer,\" he explained, \"but she will not be\nready to put to sea for five or six days, so Gaston will not start\nuntil then; but you need have no fear, dear; the orders together with\nthe map and the precious letter, which you have given him, are quite\nsafe in his hands. He is too deeply concerned in the success of the\nexpedition to think of betraying you, even if his regard were less\ngenuine. . . . And we are all deeply grateful to you, my dear . . . It\nwas all for the best. . .\"\n\nHe patted her hand with kindly affection, much relieved now, for she\nseemed quite calm and the colour even was coming back to her cheeks:\nall the afternoon he had been dreading this meeting with his daughter,\nfor he had not seen her since he learned from Gaston that she had\nyielded to his entreaties, and given him the map and letter which\nwould help the King of France to betray his friend: now he was glad to\nfind that--save for an unusual hysterical outburst--she took the whole\nmatter as coolly as he did himself.\n\nThere is no doubt that there are moments in life when a crisis is so\nacute, a catastrophe so overwhelming, that all our faculties become\ncompletely deadened: our individuality goes out of us, and we become\nmere dolls moving automatically by muscular action and quite\nindependently of our brain.\n\nThus it was with Lydie.\n\nHer father's words could not be misunderstood. They left her without\nthat last faint shadow of doubt which, almost unbeknown to herself,\nhad been her main support during the past few minutes of this intense\nagony. Now the tiny vestige of hope had vanished. Blank despair\ninvaded her brain and she had the sensation as if sorrow had turned it\ninto a pulpy mass, a great deal too bulky for her head, causing it to\nthrob and to ache intolerably. Beyond that, the rest of herself as it\nwere, became quite mechanical. She was glad that her father said\nnothing more about the scheme. She knew all that she wanted to know:\nGaston's hideous, horrible treachery, the clumsy trap into which she\nhad fallen, and above all the hopeless peril into which she had\nplunged the very man whom she had wished to save.\n\nShe had been the most perfidious traitor amongst them all, for the\nunfortunate prince had given her his friendship, and had trusted her\nmore fully than he had others.\n\nAnd then there was her husband!\n\nOf him she would not think, for that way lay madness surely!\n\nShe managed to smile to her father, and to reassure him. Presently she\nwould tell him all . . . to-morrow perhaps, but not just yet . . . She\ndid not hate him somehow. She could not have hated him, for she knew\nhim and had always loved him. But he was weak and easily misguided.\n\nHeavens above! had anyone been more culpably weak, more misguided than\nshe herself?\n\nMonsieur le Duc, fully satisfied in his mind now by her outward calm,\nand the steady brilliance of her eyes, recalled her to her official\nduties.\n\n\"Dancing is over, Lydie,\" he said, \"have you not a few presentations\nto Her Majesty to effect?\"\n\n\"Oh yes!\" she said perfectly naturally, \"of a truth I had almost\nforgotten . . . the first time for many years, eh? my dear father. . .\nHow some people will gossip at this remissness of Madame la Grande\nMarechale de la Cour . . . will you conduct me straight away to Her\nMajesty? . . . I hope she has not yet noticed my absence.\"\n\nShe leaned somewhat heavily on her father's arm, for she was afraid\nthat she could not otherwise have walked quite straight. She fully\nrealized what it meant when men talked of drunkenness amongst\nthemselves. Copious libations must produce--she thought--just this\nsame sensation of swaying and tottering, and hideous, painful\ngiddiness.\n\nAlready Monsieur de Louvois, Her Majesty's Chamberlain, was waiting,\nwhilst the ladies, who were to receive the honour of special\npresentation, were arraigned in a semi-circle to the left of the dais.\nBeneath the canopy the King and Queen were standing: Louis looking as\nusual insufferably bored, and the Queen calmly dignified, not a little\ndisdainful, and closely scrutinizing the bevy of women--more or less\ngorgeously apparelled, some old, some young, mostly rather dowdy and\nstiff in their appearance--who were waiting to be introduced.\n\nQuickly, and with a respectful curtsey indicative of apology, Lydie\nnow took her stand beside her Royal mistress and the ceremony of\npresentations began. The chamberlain read out a name; one unit\nthereupon detached itself from the feminine group, approached with\nsedate steps to the foot of the throne, and made a deep obeisance,\nwhilst Madame la Grande Marechale said a few appropriate words, that\nwere meant to individualize that unit in the mind of the Queen.\n\n\"Madame de Balincourt. Your Majesty will deign to remember the brave\nGeneral who fought at Fontenoy. Madame has eschewed country life\nmomentarily for the honour of being presented to your Majesty.\"\n\n\"Enchantee, Madame,\" the Queen would reply graciously, offering her\nhand for a respectful kiss.\n\n\"Madame Helvetius, the wife of our renowned scientist and philosopher.\nYour Majesty is acquainted with his works.\"\n\n\"Enchantee, Madame!\"\n\n\"And Mademoiselle Helvetius, striving to become as learned as her\ndistinguished father, and almost succeeding so 'tis said.\"\n\nThe Queen deigned to say a few special words to this shy _debutante_\nand to her mother, both primly clad in badly-fitting gowns which\nproclaimed the country dressmaker, but in their simplicity and\ngaucherie peculiarly pleasing to Her Majesty.\n\nAnd thus the procession filed past. Elderly women and young girls,\nsome twenty in all, mostly hailing from distant parts of France, where\nthe noise and frivolity of the Court of Versailles had not even roused\nan echo. The Queen was very gracious. She liked this select little\ncircle of somewhat dowdy provincials, who she felt would be quite at\none with her in her desire for the regeneration of social France. The\nuglier and less fashionable were the women, the more drabby and\nill-fitting their clothes, the sweeter and more encouraging became Her\nMajesty's smile. She asked lengthy questions from her Grande\nMarechale, and seemed to take a malicious delight in irritating the\nKing, by protracting this ceremony, which she knew bored him to\ndistraction, until he could scarcely manage to smother the yawns which\ncontinually assailed his jaws.\n\nSuddenly Lydie felt her limbs stiffen and her throat close as if iron\nfingers had gripped it. She had been saying the usual platitudes anent\nthe wife, sister or aunt of some worthy general or country squire,\nwhen Monsieur de Louvois called out a name:\n\n\"Madame la Comtesse de Stainville.\"\n\nAnd from out the group of dowdy country matrons and starchy-looking\n_devotes_ a brilliant figure now detached itself and glided forward\nwith consummate grace. Irene de Stainville was approaching for\npresentation to the Queen, her eyes becomingly cast down, a rosy flush\non her cheeks, for she was conscious that she was beautiful and that\nthe King's wearied eyes had lighted up at sight of her.\n\nThere was something almost insolent in the gorgeousness of her gown:\nit was of a rich turquoise blue, that stood out, glaring and vivid\nagainst the buttercup- hangings of the room. Her stiff corslet\nwas frankly _decollete_, displaying her fine shoulders and creamy\nbosom, on which reposed a delicately wrought turquoise necklet of\nexquisite design. Her hair was piled up over her head, in the\nmonumental and _outre_ style lately decreed by Dame Fashion, and the\nbrocade of her panniers stood out in stiff folds each side of her,\nlike balloon-shaped supports, on which her white arms rested with\ngraceful ease. It seemed as if a gaudy, exotic butterfly had lost its\nway, and accidentally fluttered into an assembly of moths.\n\nGaston de Stainville stood a little behind his wife. Etiquette\ndemanded that he should be near her, when she made her obesiance to\nthe Queen. He, too, somehow, looked out of place among these more\nsedate cavaliers: there had always been a very distinct difference\nbetween the dress worn by the ladies and gentlemen of the Queen's\nentourage, and the more ornate style adopted by the gayer frequenters\nof the Court of Versailles. This difference was specially noticeable\nnow, when this handsome young couple stood before Her Majesty, she not\nunlike a glittering jewel herself, he in a satin coat of pale mauve,\nthat recalled the delicate shades of a bank of candytuft in mid-June.\n\nThe Queen no longer looked down from her dais with an indulgent,\nsomewhat melancholy smile. Her eyes--cold and gray as those of King\nStanislaus had been--regarded with distinct disapproval these two\npeople, who, in her rigid judgment, were naught but gaudily decked-out\ndolls, and who walked on high-heeled shoes that made an unpleasant\nnoise on the polished floor.\n\nLydie had during the last agonizing half-hour wholly forgotten Irene\nde Stainville and the presentation which, on an impulse of gratitude\ntoward Gaston, she had promised to bring about, and she certainly had\nnot been prepared for this meeting, face to face, with the man who,\nfor the second time in her life, had so bitterly and cruelly wronged\nher.\n\nGaston did not seem anxious to avoid her gaze. There was insolent\ntriumph and mockery in every line of his attitude: in the head thrown\na little to one side; in the eyes narrowed until they were slits,\ngazing at her over the barrier of his wife's elaborate coiffure: in\nthe slender, well-kept hand toying with the gold-rimmed eyeglass, and\nabove all in the sensual, sneering mouth, and the full lips parted in\na smile.\n\nLydie was hardly conscious of Irene's presence, of any one in fact,\nsave of Gaston de Stainville, of whom she had dreamed so romantically\na few hours ago, speeding him on his way, praying--God help her!--that\nhe might be well and safe. An intense bitterness surged up in her\nheart, a deadly contempt for him. Awhile ago she would not have\nbelieved that she could hate anyone so. She would at this moment have\ngladly bartered her life for the joy of doing him some awful injury.\nAll softness, gentleness, went out of her nature, just while she\nlooked at Gaston and caught his mocking smile.\n\nIt was the mockery that hurt her so! The awful humiliation of it all!\n\nAnd there was also in Lydie that highly sensitive sense of loyalty,\nwhich revolted at the sight of these traitors approaching, with a\nsmile of complacency on their lips, this proud Queen who was ignorant\nof their infamy.\n\nWomen have often been called petty in their hates: rightly perhaps!\nbut let us remember that their power to punish is limited, and\ntherefore they strike as best they can. Lydie, in spite of her\ninfluence and her high position, could do so little to punish Gaston,\nnow that by his abominable treachery he had filched every trump card\nfrom her.\n\nShe had been such an unpardonable fool--and she knew it--that her very\nself-abasement whipped up her sense of retaliation, her desire for\nsome sort of revenge, into veritable fury; and thus, when la belle\nIrene, triumphant in the pride of her universally acknowledged\nbeauty, came to the foot of the Royal dais, when--through some\nunexplainable and occult reason--a hush of expectancy descended on all\nspectators, Lydie's voice was suddenly raised, trenchant and decisive:\n\n\"This is an error on Monsieur le Chambellan's part,\" she said loudly,\nso that everyone in the vast audience-chamber might hear. \"There is no\none here to present this lady to Her Majesty!\"\n\nA gasp went round the room, a sigh of astonishment, of horror, of\nanticipation, and in the silence that immediately followed, the\nproverbial pin would have been heard to drop: every rustle of a silken\ngown, every creak of a shoe sounded clear and distinct, as did the\nquickly-suppressed sneer that escaped Gaston de Stainville's lips and\nthe frou-frou of his satin coat sleeve as he raised the gold-rimmed\nglass to his eye.\n\nWhat were the joys of gossip in comparison with this unexpected\nsensation, which moreover would certainly be the prelude to an amazing\nscandal? Anon everyone drew instinctively nearer. All eyes were fixed\non the several actors of this palpitating little scene.\n\nAlready Irene had straightened her graceful figure, with a quick jerk\nas if she had been struck. The terrible affront must have taken her\ncompletely unawares, but now that it had come, she instantly guessed\nits cause. Nevertheless there was nothing daunted or bashful about her\nattitude. The colour blazed into her cheeks, and her fine dark eyes\nresponded to Lydie's scornful glance with one of defiance and of hate.\n\nThe Queen looked visibly annoyed. She disliked scenes and\nunpleasantness, and all incidents which disturbed the even placidity\nof her official life: the King, on the other hand, swore an\nunmistakable oath. Obviously he had already taken sides in favour of\nthe gaily-plumaged butterfly against the duller moths, whilst Monsieur\nde Louvois looked hopelessly perturbed. He was very young and had only\nlately been appointed to the onerous position of Queen's Chamberlain.\nThough the post was no sinecure, a scandal such as threatened now, was\nquite unprecedented. He scented a violent passage of arms between two\nyoung and beautiful women, both of high social position, and manlike\nhe would sooner have faced a charge of artillery than this duel\nbetween two pairs of rosy lips, wherein he feared that he might be\ncalled upon to arbitrate.\n\nLydie, alone among all those present, had retained her outward\nserenity. This was her hour, and she meant to press her triumph home\nto the full. All the pent-up horror and loathing which had well-nigh\nchoked her during the whole of this terrible day, now rose clamouring\nand persistent in this opportunity for revenge. Though Gaston stood\ncalm and mocking by, though Irene looked defiant and her cheeks flamed\nwith wrath, they would glow with shame anon, for Lydie had\ndeliberately aimed a blow at her vanity, the great and vulnerable spot\nin the armour of _la belle brune de Bordeaux_.\n\nLydie knew Marie Leszcynska well enough to be sure that the very\nbreath of scandal, which she had deliberately blown on Gaston's wife,\nwas enough to cause the rigid, puritanically-minded Queen to refuse\nall future intercourse with her. Rightly or wrongly, without further\njudgment or appeal, the Queen would condemn Irene unheard, and ban\nher and her husband for ever from her intimacy, thus setting the mark\nof a certain social ostracism upon them, which they could never live\ndown.\n\nLess than three seconds had elapsed whilst these conflicting emotions\nassailed the various actors of this drawing-room drama. The Queen now\nturned with a frown half-inquiring, wholly disapproving toward the\nunfortunate Louvois.\n\n\"Monsieur le Chambellan,\" she said sternly, \"how did this occur? We do\nnot allow any error to creep in the list of presentations made to our\nRoyal person.\"\n\nThese few words recalled Irene to the imminence of her peril. She\nwould not allow herself to be humiliated without a protest, nor would\nshe so readily fall a victim to Lydie's obvious desire for revenge.\nShe too was shrewd enough to know that the Queen would never forgive,\nand certainly never forget, the _esclandre_ of this presentation; but\nif she herself was destined to fall socially, at least she would drag\nher enemy down with her, and bury Lydie's influence, power and\npopularity beneath the ruins of her own ambitions.\n\n\"Your Majesty will deign I hope to pause a moment ere you sweep me\nfrom before your Royal eyes unheard,\" she said boldly; \"the error is\non the part of Madame la Grande Marechale. My name was put on Monsieur\nle Chambellan's list by her orders.\"\n\nBut Marie Leszcynska would not at this juncture take any direct notice\nof Irene; until it was made quite clear that Madame la Comtesse de\nStainville was a fit and proper person to be presented to the Queen of\nFrance, she absolutely ignored her very existence, lest a word from\nher be interpreted as implying encouragement, or at least\nrecognition. Therefore she looked beyond Irene, straight at Monsieur\nde Louvois, and addressed herself directly to him.\n\n\"What are the true facts, Monsieur le Chambellan?\" she said.\n\n\"I certainly . . . er . . . had the list as usual . . . er . . . from\nMadame la Grande Marechale . . . and . . .\" poor Monsieur de Louvois\nstammered in a fit of acute nervousness.\n\n\"Then 'tis from you, Madame la Marquise, that we require an\nexplanation for this unseemly disturbance,\" rejoined Her Majesty\nturning her cold, gray eyes on Lydie.\n\n\"The explanation is quite simple, your Majesty,\" replied Lydie calmly.\n\"It had been my intention to present Madame la Comtesse de Stainville\nto your Majesty, but since then events have occurred, which will\ncompel me to ask Madame la Comtesse to find some other lady to perform\nthe office for her.\"\n\n\"The explanation is not quite satisfactory to us,\" rejoined Her\nMajesty with all the rigid hauteur of which she possessed the stinging\nsecret, \"and it will have to be properly and officially amplified\nto-morrow. But this is neither the place nor the moment for discussing\nsuch matters. Monsieur de Louvois, I pray you to proceed with the\nother names on your list. The Queen has spoken!\"\n\nWith these arrogant words culled from the book of etiquette peculiar\nto her own autocratic house, the daughter of the deposed King of\nPoland waved the incident aside as if it had never been. A quickly\nrepressed murmur went all round the room. Lydie swept a deep and\nrespectful curtsey before Her Majesty, and indicated by her own\nmanner that, as far as she was concerned, the incident was now closed\nby royal command.\n\nBut Irene de Stainville's nature was not one that would allow the\nmatter to be passed over so lightly. Whichever way the Queen might\nchoose to act, she felt that at any rate the men must be on her side:\nand though King Louis himself was too indolent and egotistical to\ninterfere actively on her behalf, and her own husband could not do\nmore than pick a quarrel with some wholly innocent person, yet she was\nquite sure that she detected approval and encouragement to fight her\nown battles in the looks of undisguised admiration which the masculine\nelement there present freely bestowed upon her. Monsieur le Duc\nd'Aumont, for one, looked stern disapproval at his daughter, whilst\nMonsieur de Louvois was visibly embarrassed.\n\nIt was, therefore, only a case of two female enemies, one of whom\ncertainly was the Queen of France--a prejudiced and obstinate autocrat\nif ever there was one, within the narrow confines of her own intimate\ncircle--and the other exceptionally highly placed, both in Court\nfavour and in official status.\n\nStill Irene de Stainville felt that her own beauty was at least as\npowerful an asset, when fighting for social prestige, as the political\ninfluence of her chief adversary.\n\nTherefore when the Queen of France chose to speak as if Madame la\nComtesse de Stainville did not even exist, and Monsieur de Louvois\ndiffidently but firmly begged her to stand aside, she boldly refused.\n\n\"Nay! the Queen shall hear me,\" she said in a voice which trembled a\nlittle now with suppressed passion; \"surely Her Majesty will not allow\na jealous woman's caprice . . .\"\n\n\"Silence, wench,\" interrupted Marie Leszcynska with all the authority,\nthe pride, the dictatorial will, which she had inherited from her\nPolish ancestors; \"you forget that you are in the presence of your\nQueen.\"\n\n\"Nay, Madame, I do not forget it,\" said Irene, nothing daunted, and\nfirmly holding her ground. \"I remember it with every word I utter, and\nremember that the name of our Queen stands for purity and for justice.\nYour Majesty,\" she added, being quick to note the slightly yielding\nlook which, at her cleverly chosen words, crept in Marie Leszcynska's\neyes, and gracefully dropping on her knees on the steps of the throne,\n\"will you at least deign to hear me? I may not be worthy to kiss your\nMajesty's hand; we none of us are that, I presume, for you stand\ninfinitely above us by right of your virtues and your dignity, but I\nswear to the Queen of France that I have done nothing to deserve this\npublic affront.\"\n\nShe paused a moment, to assure herself that she held the attention of\nthe Queen and of every one there present, then she fixed her dark eyes\nstraight on Lydie and said loudly, so that her clear, somewhat shrill\nyoung voice rang out triumphantly through the room:\n\n\"My husband was made a tool of by Madame la Marquise d'Eglinton, for\nthe purpose of selling the Stuart prince to England.\"\n\nOnce more there was dead silence in the vast reception hall, a few\nseconds during which the loudly accusing voice died away in an almost\nimperceptible echo, but in one heart at least those seconds might have\nbeen a hundred hours, for the wealth of misery they contained.\n\nLydie stood as if turned to stone. Though she had realized Gaston's\ntreachery she had not thought that it would mean all this. The utter\ninfamy of it left her paralyzed and helpless. She had delivered her\nsoul, her mind, her honour, her integrity to the vilest traitor that\never darkened the face of the earth. If a year ago she had humiliated\nhim, if to-day she had tried to thwart all his future ambitions, he\nwas fully revenged now.\n\nShe did not hear even the loyal Queen's protest:\n\n\"It is false!\" for Marie Leszcynska, sickened and horrified, was loth\nto believe the truth of this terrible indictment against the one woman\nshe had always singled out for royal trust and royal friendship.\n\n\"It is true, your Majesty,\" said Irene firmly, as she once more rose\nto her feet. \"Deign to ask Madame la Marquise d'Eglinton if to-day in\nthe loneliness of the Park of Versailles, she did not place in the\nhands of Monsieur le Comte de Stainville the secret of the Stuart\nprince's hiding place so that he might be delivered over to the\nEnglish for a large sum of money. Madame is beautiful and rich and\ninfluential, Monsieur de Stainville being a man, dared not refuse to\nobey her orders, but Monsieur de Stainville is also handsome and\nyoung, Madame honoured him with her regard, and I the wife was to be\npublicly ostracised and swept aside, for I was in the way, and might\nhave an indiscreet tongue in my mouth. That, your Majesty, is the\ntruth,\" concluded Irene now with triumphant calm; \"deign to look into\nher face and mine and see which is the paler, she or I.\"\n\nMarie Leszcynska had listened in silence at the awful accusation thus\nhurled by one woman against the other. At Irene's final words she\nturned and looked at Lydie, saw the marble-like hue of the face, the\nrigidity of the young form, the hopeless despair expressed in the\nhalf-closed eyes. It is but fair to say that the Queen even now did\nnot altogether believe Madame de Stainville's story: she instinctively\nwas still drawing a comparison between the gaudily apparelled doll\nwith the shrill voice, and the impudently bared shoulders, and the\nproud, graceful woman in robes of virginal white, of whom, during all\nthese years of public life, unkind tongues were only able to say that\nshe was cold, rigid, dull, uninteresting perhaps, but whose vestal\nrobes the breath of evil scandal had never dared to pollute.\n\nThe Queen did not feel that guilt was written now on that straight,\npure brow, but she had a perfectly morbid horror of any _esclandre_\noccurring in her presence or at one of her Courts. Moreover, Irene had\ncertainly struck one chord, which jarred horribly on the puritanical\nQueen's nerves, and unfortunately at the very moment when Madame de\nStainville made this final poisoned suggestion, Marie Lesczynska's\neyes happened to be resting on the King's face. In Louis' expression\nshe caught the leer, the smile, half-mocking, half indulgent which was\nhabitual to him when woman's frailty was discussed, and her whole\npride rose in revolt at contact with these perpetual scandals, which\ndisgraced the Court of Versailles, and which she was striving so hard\nto banish from her own entourage.\n\nBecause of this she felt angered now with every one quite\nindiscriminately. A few years ago her sense of justice would have\ncaused her to sift this matter through, to test for herself the rights\nor wrongs of an obviously bitter quarrel; but lately this sense of\njustice had become blunted, through many affronts to her personal\ndignity as a Queen and as a wife. It had left her with a morbid\negotistical regard for the majesty of her Court: this she felt had\nbeen attainted; and now she only longed to get away, and leave behind\nher all this vulgarity, these passions, these petty quarrels, which\nshe so cordially abhorred.\n\n\"Enough,\" she said sternly; \"our royal cheeks glow with shame at\nthought that this indecent brawl should have occurred in our presence.\nYour Majesty,\" she added turning haughtily to the King, \"your arm, I\npray; we cannot endure this noisy bickering, which is more fitting for\nthe slums of Paris than for the throne-room of the Queen of France.\"\n\nLouis' bewilderment was almost comical. It would have been utterly\nimpossible for him, and quite unseemly in his wife's presence, to\ninterfere in what was obviously a feminine quarrel, even if he had\ndesired to do so; and he had not altogether made up his mind how\nMadame la Comtesse de Stainville's indiscreet outburst would affect\nhim personally, which was all that really interested him in the\nmatter. On the whole he was inclined to think favourably of the new\naspect of affairs. When the fact of the Stuart prince's betrayal into\nhis enemies' hands became known--which it was bound to do sooner or\nlater--it was not unpleasant that the first hint of the treachery\nshould have come in such a form as to implicate Lydie, and that so\ndeeply, that ever afterward the public, clinging to the old proverb\nthat there is no smoke without fire, would look upon her as the prime\nmover in the nefarious scheme.\n\nLouis the Well-beloved possessed, par excellence, the subtle knack of\ntaking care of his august person, and above all of his august\nreputation. It would certainly be as well, for the sake of the\nfuture, that his over-indulgent subjects should foster the belief\nthat, in this vile treachery, their King had been misled; more sinned\nagainst than sinning.\n\nBut of course he too was anxious to get away. That the present\nfeminine altercation would lead to a more serious quarrel, he already\nguessed from the fact that his shrewd eyes had perceived Lord Eglinton\nstanding close to one of the great doors at the further end of the\nroom. Vaguely Louis wondered how much the husband had heard, and what\nhe would do if he had heard everything. Then he mentally shrugged his\nshoulders, thinking that after all it did not matter what milor's\nfuture actions might be. Louis was quite convinced that Madame Lydie\nhad thrown her bonnet over the mills, and that, as a gallant\ngentleman, milor would above all things have to hold his peace.\n\nHis Majesty therefore was not angered against any one. He smiled quite\naffably at the Comte and Comtesse de Stainville and bestowed a knowing\nwink on Lydie, who fortunately was too dazed to notice this final\ninsult.\n\nEvery one else was silent and awed. The Queen now descended the steps\nof the dais on the arm of the King. Irene was a little disappointed\nthat nothing more was going to happen. She opened her lips, ready to\nspeak again but Marie Leszcynska threw her such a haughty, scornful\nglance that Gaston de Stainville, realizing the futility--nay! the\ndanger---of prolonging this scene, placed a peremptory hand on his\nwife's arm, forcibly drawing her away.\n\nAt the foot of the steps Her Majesty once more turned to Lydie.\n\n\"We shall expect an explanation from you, Marquise,\" she said\nhaughtily, \"but not to-night. See that our audience chamber is cleared\nfrom all this rabble.\"\n\nAnd with this parting shot, hurled recklessly at her faithful\nadherents, just as much as at those who had offended her, the\ndescendant of a proud line of Kings sailed majestically out of the\nroom, whilst a loud \"hush-sh-sh-sh . . .\" caused by the swish of\nbrocaded skirts on the parquet floor as every one made a deep\nobeisance, accompanied the Royal lady in her short progress toward the\ndoor and then softly died away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nA FALL\n\n\nIrene de Stainville was quite right when she thought that sympathy\nwould be on her side, in the grave affront which had been put upon\nher, and for which she had revenged herself somewhat drastically, but\nunder the circumstances quite naturally.\n\nAlthough in this circle--known as the Queen's set--the young\nMarchioness of Eglinton had always been looked up to as a leader and\nan especial favourite, the accusation which Irene had brought against\nher was so awful, her own attitude of passive acquiescence so\nincomprehensible, that it was small wonder that after the departure of\nTheir Majesties, when the crowd broke up into isolated groups, most\npeople there present held themselves aloof from her.\n\nThe words \"a jealous woman's caprice,\" which at the outset had so\nangered the Queen, expressed fully the interpretation put upon Lydie's\nconduct by those who witnessed the scene from beginning to end. That\nIrene de Stainville had inflicted on her the humiliation of a terrible\npublic indictment, was reckoned only as retributive human justice.\n\nLydie knew well enough that the crowd which surrounded her--though\nhere usually composed of friends--was only too ready to believe evil,\nhowever crying, against a woman placed so highly in Royal and social\nfavour as she herself had been for years. Already she could hear the\nmurmur of condemnation round her, and that from people who should\nhave known that she was quite incapable of committing the base\ntreachery attributed to her.\n\nOf course she had not denied it. She could not have denied it, in the\nface of the wording of the accusation itself.\n\nAnd she felt herself hideously and morally guilty, guilty in the facts\nthough not in the spirit. As Irene had put it crudely and simply, she\nhad handed over to Gaston de Stainville in the privacy of the Park of\nVersailles the secret which would deliver the Stuart prince into the\nhands of his enemies.\n\nHow could she begin to explain to all these people that her motive had\nbeen good and pure, her orders to Gaston altogether different from\nthose imputed to her by Irene? No one would have believed her\nexplanation unless Gaston too spoke the truth. And Gaston meant to be\nan infamous liar to the end.\n\nShe had been the tool of that clique, it was they now who were ready\nto cast her aside, to break her power and ultimately to throw her on\nthe heap of social refuse, where other traitors, liars and cheats\nmouldered away in obscurity.\n\nAlready she knew what the end would be, already she tasted the bitter\nfruit of waning popularity.\n\nQuite a crowd of obvious sympathizers gathered round the Comte and\nComtesse de Stainville. Gaston's avowedly base conduct was--it\nseems--to be condoned. At best he stood branded by his own\nwife--unwittingly perhaps--as having betrayed a woman who for right or\nwrong, had trusted him, but it is strange to record that, in this era\nof petticoat rule, the men were always more easily forgiven their\nfaults than the women.\n\nLydie found herself almost alone, only Monsieur de Louvois came and\nspoke to her on an official matter, and presently Monsieur le Duc\nd'Aumont joined them.\n\n\"Will you let me take you back to your apartments, Lydie?\" urged\nMonsieur le Duc. \"I fear the excitement has seriously upset you.\"\n\n\"You think I have been to blame, father dear?\" she asked quite gently.\n\n\"Oh! . . .\" he murmured vaguely.\n\n\"You did not speak up for me when that woman accused me . . .\"\n\n\"My dear child,\" he said evasively, \"you had not taken me into your\nconfidence. I thought . . .\"\n\n\"You still think,\" she insisted, \"that what Madame de Stainville said\nwas true?\"\n\n\"Isn't it?\" he asked blandly.\n\nHe did not understand this mood of hers at all. Was she trying to\ndeny? Impossible surely! She was a clever woman, and with the map and\nher own letter, sealed and signed with her name, what was the good of\ndenying?\n\n\"Your own letter and the map, my child,\" he added with gentle\nreproach, thinking that she feared to trust him completely.\n\n\"Ah yes! my own letter!\" she murmured, \"the map . . . I had\nforgotten.\"\n\nNo! she did not mean to deny! She could not deny! . . . Her own father\nbelieved her guilty . . . and all she could have done would have been\nto urge the purity of her motive. Gaston had of course destroyed her\norders to the command of _Le Monarque_ and there was only the map\n. . . and that awful, awful letter.\n\nMonsieur le Duc thought that his daughter had been very unwise.\nHaving trusted Gaston, and placed herself as it were in his hands, she\nwas foolish to anger him. No man--if he have the faintest pretension\nto being called an honourable gentleman--however smitten he might be\nwith another woman's charms, will allow his wife to be publicly\ninsulted by her rival. No doubt Lydie had been jealous of Irene, whose\nsomewhat indiscreet advances to milor Eglinton had aroused universal\ncomment. But Lydie did not even pretend to care for her own husband\nand she had yielded her most treasured secret to Gaston de Stainville.\nThere she should have remained content and not have provoked Irene's\nwrath, and even perhaps a revulsion of feeling in Gaston himself.\n\nUnlike King Louis, Monsieur le Duc d'Aumont did not approve of his\ndaughter's name being associated with the treacherous scheme from\nwhich he was ready enough to profit financially himself, although in\nthe innermost depths of his heart he disapproved of it. He knew his\nRoyal master well enough to be fully aware of the fact that, when the\nwhole nefarious transaction came to light, Louis would find means of\nposing before the public as the unwilling tool of a gang of\nmoney-grabbers. When that happened, every scornful finger would of\nnecessity--remembering the events of this night--point at Lydie, and\nincidentally at her father, as the prime movers of the scheme.\n\nIt had been far better to have conciliated Irene and not to have\nangered Gaston.\n\nBut women were strange creatures, and jealousy their most autocratic\nmaster. Even his daughter whom he had thought so exceptional, so\nclever and so clear-headed, was not free from the weaknesses of her\nsex.\n\n\"Methinks, my dear,\" he said kindly, \"you have not acted as wisely as\nI should have expected. Madame de Stainville, on my honour, hath not\nwronged you so as to deserve a public affront, and Gaston himself only\ndesired to serve you.\"\n\nMonsieur le Duc must have raised his voice more than he intended, or\nelse perhaps there had occurred quite suddenly in the crowd of\nsympathizers, that now stood in a dense group round Madame de\nStainville, one of those inevitable moments of complete silence when\nangels are said to be fluttering round the room. Certain it is that\nMonsieur le Duc's words sang out somewhat loudly, and were heard by\nthose whose names had been on his lips.\n\n\"Nay! I entreat you, Monsieur le Duc,\" came in light, bantering\naccents from Gaston de Stainville, \"do not chide your fair daughter.\nBelieve me, we who have suffered most are not inclined to be severe.\nAs to me the psychology of Madame la Marquise's mood has been\nprofoundly interesting, since it hath revealed her to the astonished\ngaze of her many admirers, as endowed with some of the weaknesses of\nher adorable sex. Why should we complain of these charming weaknesses?\nFor though we might be very hard hit thereby, they are but expressions\nof flattery soothing to our pride.\"\n\nThe groups had parted somewhat as he spoke, leaving him face to face\nwith Lydie, towards whom he advanced with an affected gait and mincing\nsteps, looking at her with mocking eyes, whilst toying gracefully with\nthe broad black ribbon that held his eyeglass.\n\nBut Gaston's were not the only sarcastic glances that were levelled at\nLydie. His fatuous innuendoes were unmistakable, and bore out the\nbroader and more shameful accusation hurled by Irene. Lydie's own\nattitude, her every action to-night, the expression of her face at\nthis moment seemed to prove them true. She retreated a little as he\nadvanced, and, doing so, she raised her head with that proud toss\nwhich was habitual to her.\n\nThus her eyes travelled swiftly across the room, and she saw her\nhusband standing some distance away. She, too, like King Louis,\nwondered how much he had heard, how much he knew: and knowing all,\nwhat he meant to do. Instinctively when she caught sight of him, and\nthen once more saw Gaston de Stainville drawing nearer to her, she\nremembered that warning which milor had given her that morning, and\nwhich she had thought so futile, anent the loathsome reptile that,\nonce touched, would pollute for ever.\n\n\"Madame,\" said Gaston now, as he boldly approached her, \"my friends\nhere would tell me no doubt that, by every code of social honour, my\nduty is to punish you or someone who would represent you in this\nmatter, for the affront done to my wife. But how can I do that since\nthe offender is fair as well as frail? My desire is not to punish, but\nrather to thank you on my knees for the delicate compliment implied by\nyour actions to-night. I knew that you honoured me by trusting in me,\"\nhe added with obvious significance, \"but I had not hoped to provoke\nsuch flattering jealousy in the heart of the most statuesque woman in\nFrance.\"\n\nA titter went round the room. Gaston's attitude seemed suddenly to\nhave eased the tension, as of an impending tragedy, which had hung\nover the brilliant assembly for the last half hour. Monsieur le Comte\nwas such a dreadful _mauvais sujet_ but so delightful in his ways, so\ndelicately refined in his wickedness! He was quite right to take the\nmatter lightly, and a murmur of approval followed the titter, at the\ntact with which he had lifted the load of apprehension from the minds\nof the company.\n\nMadame la Marquise d'Eglinton was something of a fool to take the\nmatter so thoroughly _au tragique_. No doubt the affairs of the Stuart\nprince would right themselves presently, and she certainly should have\nhad more regard for her willing and obviously devoted accomplice.\n\nHe looked so superlatively elegant and handsome now, the younger women\nsighed whilst they admired him. He pointed his toe and held out his\ntricorne in the manner prescribed by fashion for the making of a bow,\nand it was most unfortunate that he was so suddenly stopped in the\nvery midst of his graceful flourish by a quiet and suave voice which\ncame immediately from behind him.\n\n\"I would not do that, were I in your red-heeled shoes, my good\nStainville. A slip on this highly-polished floor is certain to be the\nresult.\"\n\nBut even before the gentle echo of these blandly spoken words had\npenetrated to the further ends of the room, Monsieur le Comte de\nStainville had measured his full length face downward on the ground.\n\nHis fall was so instantaneous that he had not the time to save himself\nwith his hands, and he was literally sprawling now at Lydie's feet\nwith arms and legs stretched out, his face having come in violent\ncontact with the polished floor. Quite close to him Lord Eglinton was\nstanding, laughing softly and discreetly and looking down on the\nprostrate and distinctly inelegant figure of the handsome cavalier.\n\nA ripple of merry laughter followed this unexpected turn of events.\nOne or two spectators, who had stood quite close at the very moment\nthat the catastrophe occurred, declared subsequently that milor had\nwith a quick action of his foot thrown Monsieur de Stainville off his\nbalance; the intense slipperiness of the parquet having merely done\nthe rest.\n\nBe that as it may, the laughter of necessity was prudently suppressed,\nfor already Gaston had picked himself up and there was that in his\nface which warned all those present that the farce--such as it\nwas--would prove the prelude to real and serious tragedy.\n\n\"There now,\" said Lord Eglinton blandly, \"did I not warn you, Monsieur\nle Comte? Graceful flourishes are apt to be treacherous.\"\n\n\"Milor. . .\" said Gaston, who was livid with rage.\n\n\"Hush--sh--sh,\" interrupted milor in the same even and gentle voice,\n\"not in the presence of ladies. . . . An you desire, Monsieur le\nComte, I'll be at your service later on.\"\n\nThen he turned toward his wife, bowing low, but not in the least as\nGaston de Stainville would have bowed, for he had inherited from his\nfather all the stiffness of manner peculiar to the Anglo-Saxon race.\n\nThus at this moment he looked distinctly gauche, though not without\ndignity, as, his back slightly bent, his left arm outstretched, he\nwaited until Lydie chose to place her hand on his sleeve.\n\n\"Your seconds, milor,\" shouted Gaston, who seemed quite unable to\ncontrol himself, and who had to be distinctly and even determinedly\nheld back by two of his friends from springing then and there at Lord\nEglinton's throat.\n\n\"They will wait on yours to-night, Monsieur le Comte,\" replied _le\npetit Anglais_ affably. \"Madame la Marquise, will you honour me?\"\n\nAnd Lydie took his arm and allowed him to lead her out of the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nHUSBAND AND WIFE\n\n\nMonsieur Achille was waiting in the vestibule of the Queen's\napartments. As soon as Lord and Lady Eglinton appeared his majestic\nfigure detached itself from the various groups of flunkeys, who stood\nabout desultorily pending the breaking up of Her Majesty's Court; he\nhad a cloak over his arm, and, at a sign from his master he approached\nand handed him the cloak which milor then placed round his wife's\nshoulders.\n\n\"Do you desire to sleep in Versailles to-night, Madame?\" he asked, \"my\ncoach is below in case you wished to drive to Chateau d'Aumont.\"\n\n\"I thank you, milor,\" she said, \"I would wish to remain in\nVersailles.\"\n\nThen she added with a pathetic sigh of bitterness:\n\n\"My father would prefer it, I think. He is not prepared for my visit.\nAnd I do not interfere with your lordship's arrangements. . . .\"\n\n\"Not in the least, Madame,\" he rejoined quietly. \"The corridors are\ninterminable; would you like a chair?\"\n\n\"No. . . . Let us walk,\" she said curtly.\n\nWithout further comment he once more offered her his arm. She took it\nand together they descended the monumental staircase and then turned\nalong the endless, vast corridors which lead to the West Wing.\nMonsieur Achille followed at a respectful distance, and behind him\nwalked two flunkeys, also in the gorgeous scarlet and gold Eglinton\nlivery, whilst two more bearing torches preceded Monsieur le Marquis\nand Madame, lighting them on their way.\n\nOn the way to the West Wing, milor talked lightly of many things: of\nMonsieur de Voltaire's latest comedy, and the quaint new fashion in\nheadgear, of His Majesty the King of Prussia and of the pictures of\nMonsieur Claude Gelee. He joked about the Duchesse de Pontchartrain's\nattempts at juvenility and Monsieur Crebillon's pretensions to a place\namong the Immortals. Lydie answered in monosyllables; she could not\nbring herself to speak, although she quite appreciated milor's desire\nto appear natural and unconcerned before his own lacqueys.\n\nA great resolution was taking root in her mind, and she only wanted\nthe privacy and the familiarity of her own apartments to put it into\nexecution. Thus they reached the West Wing.\n\nArrived in the antechamber whence her rooms branched off to the right\nand milor's to the left, Lord Eglinton stopped, disengaged her arm\nfrom his and was about to bid her an elaborate good-night, when she\nsaid abruptly:\n\n\"May I speak with you privately and in your own study, milor?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Madame,\" he replied seemingly a little astonished at her\nrequest.\n\nHe dismissed all the flunkeys with the exception of Monsieur Achille,\nwho led the way through the reception rooms toward milor's private\nsuite. Lord and Lady Eglinton followed in silence now. The rooms\nseemed strangely silent and deserted, ghostlike too, for there was no\nartificial light, and the moon peered in through the tall windows,\nthrowing patches of pale mauve and weird, translucent greens on the\nparquet floor and the brocade coverings of the chairs.\n\nIn milor's study, Monsieur Achille lighted the candles in two massive\ncandelabra, which stood on the secretaire, then, at a nod from his\nmaster, he walked backward out of the room.\n\nThe heavy portiere fell back with a curious sound like a moan, and for\nthe third time to-day husband and wife stood face to face alone. The\ngaucherie of his manner became at once apparent now: yet he seemed in\nno way bashful or ill as ease, only very stiff and awkward in his\nmovements, as he drew a chair for her at a convenient angle, and when\nshe had sat down, placed a cushion to her back and a footstool at her\nfeet. He himself remained standing.\n\n\"I pray you sit, milor,\" she said with a quick sigh, that trembled as\nit escaped her lips, \"and if I have not angered you beyond the bounds\nof your patience, I earnestly ask you to bear with me, for if I have\nbeen at fault I have also suffered much and . . .\"\n\n\"Madame,\" he said quite gently if somewhat coldly, \"might I entreat of\nyou not to insist on this interview if it distresses you very much; as\nto a fault . . . on my honour, Madame, the very thought of\nself-accusation on your part seems to me wildly preposterous.\"\n\nHe did not sit as she had asked him to do, but stood looking down at\nher and thinking--thinking alas!--that she never had been quite so\nbeautiful. She was almost as white as her gown, the powder still clung\nto her hair, which, in the dim light of the candles, chose to hide the\nglory of its ardent colour beneath the filmy artificial veil. She wore\nsome exquisite pearls, his gift on the day of her marriage: row upon\nrow of these exquisite gems fell on her throat and bosom, both as\nwhite, as glittering and pure as the priceless treasures from the\ndeep.\n\nThe chair in which she sat was covered with damask of a rich dull\ngold, and against this background with its bright lights and\nimpenetrably dark shadows, the white figure stood out like what he had\nalways pictured her, a cold and unapproachable statue.\n\nBut to-night, though so still and white, the delicate marble had taken\nunto itself life: the life which means sorrow. All the haughtiness of\nthe look had vanished; there were deep shadows under the eyes and\nlines of suffering round the perfectly chiselled lips.\n\nHenry Dewhyrst, Marquis of Eglinton, was not yet thirty: he loved this\nexquisitely beautiful woman with all his heart and soul, and she had\nnever been anything more to him than a perfectly carved image would be\non the high altar of a cathedral. She had been neither helpmate nor\nwife, only an ideal, an intangible shadow which his love had not\nsucceeded in materializing.\n\nAs he looked at her now, he wondered for the first time in the course\nof their married life, if it had been his own fault that they had\nremained such complete strangers: this was because for the first time\nto-day a great sorrow, a still greater shame had breathed life into\nthe marble-like statue.\n\nAll at once he felt deeply, unutterably sorry for her; he had no\nthought of her wrongs toward him, only of those done to herself by her\npride and the faults of the epoch in which she lived.\n\n\"Milor,\" she said trying to steady her voice, \"it would ease me a\nlittle--and ease the painfulness of this interview--if you were to\ntell me at what precise moment you entered Her Majesty's throne-room\nto-night.\"\n\n\"I cannot say, Madame,\" he replied with the ghost of a smile; \"I did\nnot look at the clock, but I was in attendance on His Majesty and\ntherefore . . .\"\n\n\"You heard what passed between Madame la Comtesse de Stainville and\nmyself?\" she interrupted hastily.\n\n\"Every word.\"\n\nSomehow she felt relieved. She would have hated to recapitulate that\nvulgar scene, the mutual recriminations, the insults, culminating in\nHer Majesty's contemptuous exit from the room. She could not now see\nher husband's face, for he had contrived to stand so as to allow the\nlight from the candelabra to fall full upon her, whilst he himself,\nsilhouetted against the light, remained in the shadow; but there was a\ncertain dignified repose about the whole figure, the white, slender\nhand resting lightly on the bureau, the broad shoulders square and\nstraight, suggesting physical strength, and the simple, somewhat sober\nstyle and cut of the clothes.\n\nThe room too appeared as a complete contrast to the other apartments\nof the palace of Versailles, where the mincing fancies of Watteau and\nthe artificialities of Boucher had swept aside the nobler conceptions\nof Girardon and Mansard. It was quite plainly furnished, with\nstraight-back chairs and hangings of dull gold, and the leather\ncovering of the bureau gave ample signs of wear.\n\nThe turmoil in Lydie's heart subsided, yielding itself to peace in the\nmidst of these peaceful surroundings. She was able to conquer the\ntremor of her voice, the twitch of her lips, and to swallow down the\nburning tears of humiliation which blinded her eyes and obscured her\njudgment.\n\n\"Then, milor, it will indeed be easier for me. You understand of what\nI am charged, the awful load of disgrace and shame which by my own\nfolly I have placed upon my shoulders . . . you understand,\" and her\nvoice, though steady, sunk to a whisper, \"that I have proved unworthy\nof the confidence which the unfortunate Stuart prince, who was your\nfriend, placed in me as well as in you?\"\n\nHe did not reply, waiting for her to continue. Her head had drooped\nand a heavy tear fell from her sunken lids upon her hands. To him who\nloved her, and whom she had so deeply wronged, there was a strange yet\npainful joy in watching her cry.\n\n\"What Madame de Stainville said to-night is true,\" she added\ntonelessly. \"I gave into Monsieur de Stainville's hands the map, with\nfull marginal notes and description of the place where the Stuart\nprince is hiding; I also gave him a letter written and signed by me,\naddressed to Prince Charles Edward Stuart, begging him to trust\nimplicitly his own royal person and that of his friends to the bearer\nof my note. That letter and the plan are even now in the hands of His\nMajesty, who purposes to accept the proposals of His Grace the Duke of\nCumberland, and to sell the Stuart prince to his foes for the sum of\nfifteen million livres. And that is all true.\"\n\nKnowing men, the men of her world, she fully expected that this\nconfession of hers would cause her husband's just wrath to break\nthrough that barrier of courteous good-breeding and self-restraint,\nimposed on all men of honour when in the presence of women, and which\nshe firmly believed had alone prevented him from interfering between\nherself and Irene. She would not have been astonished if he had\nstormed and raged, loudly accused and condemned her, nay!--she had\nheard of such things--if he had laid hands on her. But when, hearing\nnothing, she looked up, she saw that he had scarcely moved, only the\nhand which still rested on the secretaire trembled a little. Perhaps\nher look made him conscious of that, for he withdrew it, and then\nseemed to pull himself together, and draw himself up, straight and\nrigid like a soldier on parade.\n\n\"Having told you this, milor,\" she resumed after a slight pause, \"I\nshould like to add that I am fully aware that in your eyes there can\nbe no excuse possible for what I did, since in doing it I have\nsacrificed the life of a man who trusted us--you and me, milor--more\neven than he did France. He and his friends, by my act, will leave the\nshelter of their retreat, and will be delivered into the hands of\nthose who cannot do aught, for political and self-protective reasons,\nbut send them to the scaffold. You see, milor, I do not palliate my\noffence, nor do I seek your pardon--although I know that you will look\non what I have done as a disgrace brought by your wife upon your name.\nI deserve no pardon, and I ask for none. But if there is no excuse for\nmy conduct, at least do I owe you an explanation, and for this I crave\nyour attention if you would care to listen.\"\n\n\"Nay, Madame, you do but jest,\" he rejoined, \"you owe me nothing . . .\nnot even an explanation.\"\n\n\"Yet you will listen?\" she urged.\n\n\"It would be only painful to us both, Madame.\"\n\n\"You prefer to think of me as ignoble, treacherous and base,\" she said\nwith sudden vehemence, \"you do not wish to know for certain and from\nmy own lips that Gaston de Stainville . . .\"\n\nShe paused abruptly and bit her lips, he watching her keenly, she not\nknowing that she was watched.\n\nThis was going to be a fight and he knew it, a dire conflict between\ndistress and pride. At first he had hoped that she was prepared to\nyield, that she had sought this interview because the load of sorrow\nand of humiliation being more than she could bear, she had turned\ninstinctively to the only man in the world who could ease and comfort\nher: whose boundless, untiring love was ready to share the present\npain, as it had shrunk from participating in the glories of the past.\nBut as she spoke, as she sat there before him now, white, passive,\ndisdainful even in her self-abasement, he knew that his hour--Love's\nhour--had not yet struck. Pride was not yet conquered.\n\nThe dominant ruler of a lifetime will not abdicate very readily, and\nthough distress and sorrow are powerful opponents, they are more\ntransient, more easily cast aside than Pride.\n\n\"As you say, milor,\" she now said more quietly, \"the matter is only\npainful to us both. I understand that your estimate of me is not an\nexalted one. You despise--you probably hate me! Well! so be it. Let us\nnot think of our own feelings in this matter, milor! I entreat you to\nignore my very existence for the time being, only thinking of the\nStuart prince and of his dire peril!\n\n\"'Tis because of him I have begged for this interview,\" she resumed\nwith just a thought of that commanding manner, which she was wont to\nassume whenever matters of public import were discussed: \"I need not\nreiterate the fact that he is in deadly danger. _Le Levantin_, a fast\nbrigantine, milor, is even now being equipped by His Majesty for the\nnefarious expedition. _Le Levantin_ or perhaps _Le Monarque_--the\nlatter is quite ready to sail at any time, and with the map and my\nletter it will be easy . . . oh! so easy! . . . Oh!\" she added with a\nsudden uncontrollable outburst of passionate appeal, \"milor, he was\nyour friend . . . can nothing be done? . . . can nothing be done?\"\n\n\"I do not know, madame,\" he replied coldly, \"how should I?\"\n\n\"But surely, surely you remember your promise to him, milor,\" she said\nimpatient at his coldness, unable to understand this lack of\nenthusiasm. \"You remember that night, in the Chateau d'Aumont--the\nbanquet . . . his farewell to you . . . his trust, his confidence\n. . . the assurance you gave him . . .\"\n\n\"So much has occurred since then, Madame,\" he said simply. \"The\nguidance of affairs has been in your hands. . . . I have lost what\nlittle grasp I ever had of the situation. . . . As you know, I am\nneither clever nor strong--and I have only too gladly relied on abler\nwits than mine own. . . .\"\n\n\"But your promise,\" she urged, with real passion ringing in her voice,\n\"your promise to him. . . .\"\n\n\"I made a far more solemn one to you, madame, never to interfere in\nmatters of State.\"\n\n\"I'll release you of that,\" she cried impulsively; \"think, milor . . .\nI entreat you to think! . . . there must be some way out of this\nterrible labyrinth . . . there must be some one whom you can trust\n. . .\"\n\nShe checked herself, and a quick hot blush rose to her cheeks. She\nthought that she had detected a quick flash in his eyes at these last\nwords of hers, a flash which had caused that sudden rush of blood to\nher temples, but which was extinguished almost as soon as it arose: he\nsaid quite naturally and tonelessly:\n\n\"There is no one. How could there be?\"\n\n\"But surely, surely,\" she repeated with growing, obstinate vehemence,\n\"you can think of something to do . . . you have the means . . . you\nare rich . . . have you no enthusiasms, milor?\"\n\n\"Oh! . . .\" he said deprecatingly, \"so few! . . . they are scarce\nworthy of the name. . . .\"\n\n\"No thought how to help your friend who is in fear and peril of his\nlife? . . . Heavens above us, what are the men of France? Wooden dolls\nor . . .\"\n\n\"That what the women of France have made them, Madame,\" he said\nquietly.\n\n\"Then you have no thought, or initiative how to help your friend?\" she\nretorted.\n\nHe had noted the ring of scorn in her voice, the return of that\nhaughty and obstinate self-will, which would for ever stand between\nher and happiness. His expression suddenly hardened, as he looked at\nher flashing eyes and the contemptuous curl of the exquisite lips, all\nthe gentleness went out of his face, the latent tenderness which she\nhad wilfully ignored, and his voice, no longer softly mocking, became\nhard and bitter in its tones.\n\n\"I?\" he said with a slight uplifting of his brow and a\nself-deprecating droop of the lip, \"surely, Madame, you are pleased to\njest. I am no statesman, no politician, I scarce have a sufficiency\nof brains to be a figure head in an administration. I have never been\ntaught to think.\"\n\n\"You are mocking me, milor,\" she said haughtily.\n\n\"Nothing is further from my thoughts. I have far too much respect for\nyour ladyship to venture on either mockery or individual thought.\"\n\nShe paused awhile, frowning and impatient, angered beyond bounds, too,\nat his attitude, which she was quite clever enough to see did not\nrepresent the true state of his mind. No doubt he desired to punish\nher for her contempt of him that morning. She would have liked to read\nthe expression in his face, to know something of what was going on\nbehind that straight, handsome brow, and the eyes always so gentle,\nyet so irritating now in this semblance of humility. She thought\ncertainly that the outline of the jaw suggested obstinacy--the\nobstinacy of the inherently weak. If she had not wanted his help so\nmuch, she would have left him then and there, in scorn and in wrath,\nonly too glad that sentiment had not led her into more excuses or\nexplanations--a prayer for forgiveness mayhap. She was not a little\nirritated with herself too, for she felt that she had made a wrong\nstart: she was quite sure that his supineness, at any rate with regard\nto the fate of the Stuart prince, was assumed. There must be a way of\nappealing to that loyalty which she knew he cherished for his friend,\nsome means of breaking down that barrier of resentment which he had\nevidently set up against her.\n\nOh! if it had been a few months ago, when he still loved her, before\nIrene de Stainville. . . She paused in this train of thought, her mind\nnot daring to travel further along it; it was such a wide, such a\nglorious possibility that that one little \"if\" suggested, that her\nheart quivered with renewed agony, and the weak tears, of which she\nwas so ashamed, insisted on coming to her eyes.\n\nIf only his love for her was not dead, how easy her task would have\nbeen! It would have fired him to enthusiasm now, caused him to forget\nhis resentment against her in this great work yet to be accomplished,\nand instead of asking him for passive help she could have incited him\nto a deed of loyalty and of courage. But now she was too proud to\ncontinue her appeal: she thought that she had done her best, and had\nnot even succeeded in breaking through the icy reserve and resentment\nwhich in his heart had taken the place of silent and humble worship.\n\n\"Milor,\" she said with sudden determination, and in the authoritative\nmanner which was more habitual to her than the more emotional,\npassionately appealing mood, \"with your leave we'll cease these\nunworthy bickerings. I may have been hasty in my actions this morning.\nIf so I pray you not to vent your anger against your friend. If I have\nwronged you by taking you at your word, when a year ago you told me\nthat you would never wish to interfere in my official work, well! I\nhumbly beg you pardon, and again entreat you not to allow your friend\nto expiate the sins of your wife. You say that the men of France are\nwhat the women have made them; there I think that you are wrong--at\nleast in this: that in your mind the word woman stands for those of\nthe sex who are pure and loyal as well as those for who are not. It is\nnot the women of France who have made the men, milor, rather it is the\nmen who--looking to the Pompadours, the Irene de Stainvilles, not only\nfor companionship and for pleasure, but also, heaven help them! for\nideals--have made the women what they are! But enough of this. You no\ndoubt think me wordy and tedious, and neither understand, nor wish to\nunderstand that there may be honour and chivalry in a far greater\ndegree in the heart of a woman, than in that of the more selfish sex.\nI have asked for your advice in all simplicity and loyalty,\nacknowledging the sin I have committed and asking you to help me in\natoning for it, in a way useful to your friend. This appeal for advice\nyou have met with sneers and bitter mockery: on my soul, milor if I\ncould now act without your assistance I would do so, for in all the\nhumiliation which I have had to endure to-day, none has been more\ngalling or more hard to bear believe me, than that which I must now\nendure through finding myself, in a matter essentially vital to my\nheart and even to my reason, dependent upon your help.\"\n\nHe could hear her voice trembling a little in spite of her efforts at\nself-control. He knew quite well that at this moment she spoke the\ntruth, and these last words of hers, which for many a long day\nafterward rang persistently in his ears, represented to him ever\nafterward the very acme of mental--aye! and physical--pain which one\nhuman being could inflict on another. At the time it absolutely seemed\nunendurable: it seemed to him that under the blow, thus coldly dealt\nby those same beautiful lips, for which his own ached with an\nintensity of passionate longing, either his life or his reason must\ngive way. The latter probably, for life is more tenacious and more\ncruel in its tenacity: yet if reason went, then Heaven alone could\nhelp him, for he would either kill her or outrage her beyond the hope\nof pardon.\n\n\"Therefore, milor,\" she resumed after a slight pause, unconscious\nevidently of the intense cruelty of her words, \"I will beg of you not\nto make it harder for me than need be. I must ask this help from you,\nin order to succeed, if humanly possible, in outwitting the infamous\nwork of a gang of traitors. Will you, at least, give me this help I\nneed?\"\n\n\"If it lies within my power,\" he replied; \"I pray you to command\nMadame.\"\n\n\"I am thinking of sending a messenger post haste to the commander of\n_Le Monarque_ with orders to set sail at once for Scotland,\" she\ncontinued in matter-of-fact tones. \"I should want a fresh copy of the\nmap where Prince Charles Edward is in hiding, and to make assurance\ndoubly sure a letter from you to the prince, asking him to trust\nCaptain Barre implicitly. _Le Monarque_ I know can reach Scotland long\nere _Le Levantin_ is ready for sea, and my idea had been originally to\ncommission her to take the prince and his friends on board, and then\nto skirt the west coast of Ireland, reaching Brittany or mayhap the\nPyrenees by a circuitous route. I have firm belief that it is not too\nlate to send this messenger, milor, and thus to put my original plan\ninto execution. And if you will give me a new map and full directions\nand your signet ring for the prince, I feel confident that I can find\nsomeone whom I could thoroughly trust . . .\"\n\n\"There is no one whom you could thoroughly trust with such an errand,\nMadame!\" he said drily.\n\n\"I must risk that, milor. The crisis has become so acute that I must\ndo something to avert that awful catastrophe.\"\n\n\"Betrayal would be the inevitable result.\"\n\n\"I entreat you to leave that to me,\" she urged firmly. \"I know I can\nfind someone, all I ask is for the map, and a word and signet ring\nfrom you.\"\n\nShe was leaning forward now, eager and enthusiastic again, self-willed\nand domineering, determined that he should do what she wished. Her\neyes were glowing, the marble was indeed endowed with life; she\ngleamed like a jewel, white and fragile-looking, in this dull and\nsombre room, and he forgetting for the moment her cruelty of awhile\nago was loth to let her go, to speak the harsh words which anon would\nhave to be said, and which would send her resentful, contemptuous,\nperhaps heartbroken, out of his sight again.\n\nWould it not have been ten thousand times more simple to throw pride,\njust anger, reason to the winds, to fall at those exquisite feet, to\nencircle that glittering marble with passionately tremulous arms, to\nswear fealty, slavery, obedience to her whims.\n\nHow she would smile, and how softly and tenderly would the flush of\nvictory tinge those pale cheeks with delicate rose! to see it\ngradually chase away the pearl-like tone of her skin, to see her eyes\nbrighten at his word, to feel perhaps the tiny hand tremble with joy\nas it lay for sheer gratitude a few brief seconds in his, was not that\nwell worth the barren victory of a man's pride over a woman's\nself-will?\n\nShe had thought that he would have yielded at her first word, would at\nonce have fawned at her feet, kissing her hand, swearing that he was\nher slave. He had done it once . . . a year ago, and why not now\nagain? Then she had smiled on him, had allowed him to kneel, to kiss\nher gown, anon had yielded her cold fingers to his kiss; he had reaped\na year of misery for that one moment's joy, and now, just for the\nspace of a few seconds he was again assailed with an awful temptation\nto throw prudence and pride away, to enjoy one golden hour--less\nperhaps--but glorious and fulsome whilst it lasted, until it gave way\nonce more to humiliation, far worse to bear than heretofore.\n\nThe temptation for those few brief seconds was overwhelming, and 'twas\nfortunate that he stood in shadow, else she had seen signs of an awful\nconflict in that young and handsome face which she had been wont to\nsee so gentle and so placid. But he knew that in her, pride had by now\nabsolutely got the upper hand: sorrow had laid down her arms and\nconstituted herself a prisoner of war, following meekly behind the\ntriumphal chariot of her conquering rival.\n\nAnd because of that, because he knew that there was not one spark yet\nin her heart which Love had kindled, that Love itself was still lying\ndormant within her, gagged and bound even in his sleep, kept in\nsubjection thus pinioned and helpless by masterful self-will and by\nobstinate pride, he would not yield to the temptation of culling the\nDead Sea fruit, that would inevitably turn to ashes, even as his lips\nfirst tasted its fleeting, if intoxicating savour.\n\nShe had half risen from her chair leaning across the bureau, eager,\nexcited, tremulous, sure of victory. Paper and pen lay close to her\nhand, smiling she pointed to these:\n\n\"Oh! I pray you, milor,\" she said with passionate fervour, \"do not\ndelay! Every hour, every minute is precious . . . I swear to you that\nI'll find a messenger. He'll not know the purport of his errand. . . .\nOh! I assure you I'll play the part of indifference to perfection!\n. . . The packet to the commander of _Le Monarque_ will seem of the\nmost insignificant kind. . . . I'll not even order the messenger to\nhurry . . . just to guard the packet as inviolate as any secret of\nState. . . . Nay! hundreds of such messages have to be trusted to\nindifferent hands, in the course of a single transaction of the\nnation's business. Believe me, milor, there is not cause for fear! _Le\nMonarque_ can put to sea within an hour of receiving my orders, and\nPrince Charles Edward Stuart and his friends will be safely out of\nreach, ere _Le Levantin_ unfurls her sails, and pins to her masthead\nthe pennant of traitors. . . .\"\n\n\"But you do not speak, milor,\" she said suddenly changing the tone of\nher voice, all eagerness gone from her manner, a strange, nameless\nanxiety gripping her heart, \"will you not do this little I ask? . . .\"\n\n\"It is impossible, Madame,\" he said curtly.\n\n\"Impossible? . . . Why? . . .\"\n\nHer voice now was harsh, trenchant, as it had been when she hurled a\nloud insult at Gaston de Stainville through his wife. She was on her\nfeet, tall and erect; a statue once more, white to the lips, cold and\nhaughty, rigid too, save for the slight trembling of her hands and the\ntremulous quiver of her mouth when she spoke.\n\nAs he did not reply to her question, she said impatiently:\n\n\"Will you give me a reason for this unexplainable refusal, milor?\"\n\n\"No. I refuse, that is all.\"\n\n\"This is not your last word?\"\n\n\"It is my last word.\"\n\n\"Would you have me think that you are at one with the treacherous\nscheme, milor? and that you do not desire the safety of the Stuart\nprince?\"\n\nShe had raised her voice, boldly accusing him, inwardly knowing that\nthe accusation was groundless, yet wishing to goad him now into\npassion, into explanation, above all into acquiescence if it still lay\nin her power to force it.\n\nBut he took the insult with apparent calm, shrugged his shoulders and\nsaid quietly:\n\n\"As you please.\"\n\n\"Or is it . . . is it that you do not trust me? . . . that you think I\n. . . ?\"\n\nShe could not finish the sentence, nor put into words the awful\nsuggestion which had sprung like a stinging viper straight across the\ntrain of her thoughts. Her eyes dazed and burning tried to pierce the\ngloom wherein he stood, but the flickering light of the candles only\nthrew weird, fantastic gleams upon his face, which suddenly seemed\nstrange, unknown, incomprehensible to her. His figure appeared\npreternaturally tall, the sober gray of his coat looked like the pall\nof an avenging ghost. He was silent and had made no sign of protest,\nwhen she framed the terrible query.\n\nA bitter, an awful humiliation overwhelmed her. She felt as if right\nwithin her heart something had snapped and crumbled, which nothing on\nearth could ever set up again.\n\nShe said nothing more, but she could not altogether repress a\nheartbroken moan, which rose from the intensity of her mental agony.\n\nThen she turned and with head thrown back, with silent, trembling lips\nand half-closed eyes she walked slowly out of the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nTHE FATE OF THE STUART PRINCE\n\n\nLydie hardly knew how she reached her apartments. Earlier in the day\nshe had thought once or twice that she had reached the deepest abyss\nof sorrow and humiliation into which it was possible for a woman of\npride to descend. When her husband first asked an explanation from\nher, and taxed her with lending an ear to the King's base proposals;\nwhen she found that her own father, whom she respected and loved, had\nhimself delved deeply in the mire of treachery; when she stood face to\nface with Gaston de Stainville and realized that he was an infamous\nliar and she a weak, confiding fool; when Irene had accused her\npublicly of scheming that which she would have given her life's blood\nto avert, all these were moments when she felt that the shame of them\nwas more than she could bear.\n\nYet how simple and childish, how paltry seemed the agony of those\nmental tortures in comparison with that she endured now.\n\nShe felt as if she had received a blow in the face, a blow which had\nleft a hideous, disfiguring mark on her which everyone henceforth\nwould see: the scarlet letter of ignominy with which in the New World\nbeyond the seas a puritanic inquisition branded the shameless\noutcasts. By her husband's silence rather than by his words she had\nbeen branded with a mark of infamy.\n\nYe saints and angels above, how terribly it hurt!\n\nYet why did she suffer so? Was it only because she had failed to\nobtain that which she almost begged for on her knees? Lydie, proud,\ndictatorial, domineering Lydie, felt that she had humiliated herself\nbeyond what she would have thought possible less than twelve hours\nago, and she had been refused.\n\nWas it that, that made her heart, her head, her very limbs ache with\nalmost unendurable agony?\n\nHer mind--though almost on the verge of madness--retained just one\nglimmer of reason. It answered \"No! the pain has deeper roots, more\nmysterious, at present incomprehensible, and death-dealing in their\ntenacity.\"\n\nHer husband thought that if he entrusted her with a letter for the\nStuart prince, she might use that letter for treacherous ends. That\nwas the reason of his refusal. He so hated, so despised her that his\nmind classed her as one of the most ignoble of her sex!\n\nWell! Awhile ago, in the Queen's antechamber, Irene de Stainville had\npublicly accused her of selling her royal friend for gold. Most people\nthere had believed Irene readily enough! That had hurt too, but not so\nmuch.\n\nThen why this? Why these terrible thoughts which went hammering in her\nmind? whispers of peace to escape from this racking torture? peace\nthat could only be found in death!\n\n\"Great God, am I going mad?\"\n\nMonsieur Achille had been accompanying Madame la Marquise on her way\nalong the corridors; he was carrying a candelabrum, wherein four wax\ncandles spluttered and flickered in the incessant draught. Lydie had\nbeen unconscious of the man's presence, but she had followed the\nlight mechanically, her eyes fixed on the four yellowish flames which\nlooked like mocking mouths that laughed, and emitted a trail of black\nsmoke, foul as the pestilential breath of shame.\n\nArrived at the door of her own antechamber, she was met by one of her\nliveried servants, who told her that Monsieur le Duc d'Aumont was\nwithin and awaiting to see her. To her hastily put query, the man\nreplied that Monsieur le Duc had arrived about half an hour ago, and,\nhearing that Madame la Marquise was closeted with milor, he had\nelected to wait.\n\nThis visit from her father at this hour of the night meant a grave\ncrisis, of course. At once Lydie's mind flew back to the Stuart\nprince. She had almost forgotten him since she left her husband's\nroom. It seemed as if the overwhelming misery of that silent and\ndeadly indictment had weighed down all other thoughts, until they sank\ninto complete insignificance.\n\nVaguely, too, she had the sensation that there was no immediate\nnecessity for her to rack her overtired brain to-night on the subject\nof the Jacobite's fate. She had at least six clear days before her,\nbefore _Le Levantin_, which was to start on the dire expedition, could\nbe ready to put to sea. There was _Le Monarque_, on the other hand,\nquite ready to sail within an hour of receiving her orders. And\nCaptain Barre was an honest man, a gallant sailor; he would only be\ntoo willing to make top speed in order to circumvent a treacherous\nplot, which he would abhor if he knew of it.\n\nTrue, Lydie had now no means of locating the fugitives exactly, but\nwith a six days' start of _Le Levantin_ this want of precise\nknowledge need not necessarily prove fatal. She could trust to her\nmemory somewhat, for she had repeatedly studied and fingered the map;\nshe could draw something approximate from memory, and Captain Barre's\ndetermination and enthusiasm would surely do the rest.\n\nThese suggestions all rushed into her mind directly she heard that her\nfather had come to visit her at this late hour. At first her desire\nwas to avoid seeing him at risk even of offending him: but in spite of\nall that she had gone through, Lydie still retained sufficient\npresence of mind not to allow any impulse to rule her at such a\ncritical moment. She forced herself to reflect on the Stuart prince\nand on him alone, on his danger and the treacherous plot against him,\nfor at least twenty seconds, time enough to realize that it was\nabsolutely necessary that she should see her father, in order to glean\nfrom him if possible every detail of the proposed expedition. She\nwould indeed be helpless if she remained in ignorance of what had been\nplanned between the King, Gaston, and her father. Perhaps--who\nknows?--in accordance with the habits of a lifetime, the Duke might\neven at this moment be anxious to consult his daughter--his helpmeet\nin all such matters--as to the final arrangements for the equipment of\n_Le Levantin_.\n\nSatisfied with her conclusions, she therefore went straight into the\nboudoir where the lacquey said that Monsieur le Duc was waiting.\n\nThe first look at his benign face proved to her that he, at least, was\nnot in any trouble. Whatever his daughter's views on the subject might\nbe, he evidently was not altogether dissatisfied with the events of\nthe day. He still wore a perturbed look, certainly; the scene which\nhad occurred in Her Majesty's throne-room would not tend to decrease\nhis mental worry; but beyond the slightly troubled look in his kindly\neyes, and the obvious solicitude with which he took her hand and led\nher to a low divan, he seemed fairly serene.\n\n\"Well?\" he said in a tone of anxious query.\n\n\"Well, father dear?\"\n\n\"Your husband . . . what did he say?\"\n\nShe looked at him, a little bewildered, with a stupid, vacant stare\nwhich puzzled him.\n\n\"What should he have said, father dear?\" she asked. \"I do not\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"About the fracas to-night, my child. Was he there when Irene de\nStainville spoke up so indiscreetly?\"\n\n\"No . . . no . . . I mean yes . . .\" she said vaguely, \"yes, milor was\nthere; he heard every word which Irene de Stainville said.\"\n\n\"Well? What did he say?\" he repeated with marked impatience. \"Lydie,\nmy child, this is not like you. . . . Cannot you see that I am\nanxious? . . . I have been waiting here for over an half hour in a\nperfect agony of uncertainty. . . . Your servants told me you were\ncloseted with milor. . . . You must tell me what he said.\"\n\n\"He said nothing, father,\" she replied simply.\n\n\"Nothing?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\nMonsieur le Duc looked at her very keenly, but her eyes were clear now\nand met his straight and full. There was obviously no deceit there, no\ndesire to conceal more serious matters from him. He shrugged his\nshoulders, in token that he gave up all desire to understand. His\nson-in-law had always been a shadowy personality to him, and this\nattitude of his now, in face of the public scandal resting on his\nwife's name, was quite beyond Monsieur le Duc's comprehension.\n\nHad Lydie told him that her husband had heaped torrents of abuse on\nher, and had concluded a noisy scene by striking her, he would have\nbeen very angry, but he would have understood.\n\n\"Hm!\" he said placidly, \"these English are mad, of a truth; we men of\nhonour here cannot really comprehend them. Nevertheless, my dear\nLydie, I suppose I, as your father, must be thankful that he did not\nlay hands on you, for English husbands are notoriously brutal. You are\nquite sure that you have nothing to complain of in your husband's\nconduct?\"\n\n\"Quite sure, father dear.\"\n\n\"I had come prepared to take you away with me. My coach is below and I\nam driving to Chateau d'Aumont to-night. Would you like to come?\"\n\n\"Not to-night, dear,\" she replied serenely, and her father was glad to\nnote that a slight smile hovered round her lips. \"I am a little tired,\nand will go straight to bed. . . . But to-morrow I'll come.\"\n\n\"Permanently?\"\n\n\"If you will have me.\"\n\n\"Well! until you go to your Chateau of Vincennes, you know my views on\nthat subject?\"\n\n\"Yes, father dear. . . . We will talk of that another time. . . . I am\nvery tired to-night.\"\n\n\"I understand that, my child,\" said Monsieur le Duc rather fussily\nnow, and clearing his throat, as if there was something which still\noppressed him and of which he would have liked to speak before leaving\nher.\n\nThere was that awkward pause, the result of a want of mutual\nunderstanding between two people who hitherto have been all in all to\neach other, but whom certain untoward events have suddenly drawn\napart. Lydie sincerely wished that her father would go. She had much\nto think about, a great deal to do, and the strain of keeping up a\nsemblance of serenity was very trying to her overwrought nerves. He on\nthe other hand felt uncomfortable in her presence: he left quite angry\nwith himself for not being able to discuss freely with her the subject\nmatter which was uppermost in his mind. There were one or two details\nin connection with the expedition to the Scottish coast that he very\nmuch wanted to talk over with his daughter. The habits of a lifetime\ngave him the desire to consult her about these details, just as he had\nbeen wont to do on all public and official matters. He had come to her\napartments chiefly for that purpose. Was she not at one with him, with\nthe King and Gaston over the scheme? She had given substantial proof\nthat she favoured the expedition. His Majesty had thanked her for her\nhelp: she had rendered such assistance as now made the whole affair\nnot only feasible but easy of accomplishment.\n\nIt was therefore passing strange that Monsieur le Duc d'Aumont still\nfelt an unaccountable bashfulness in her presence when referring to\nthe Stuart prince at all.\n\nSo he went to work in a circuitous way, for there was another matter\nthat troubled him, but less so than the expedition: therefore,\nperhaps, he spoke of it first.\n\n\"I presume, my dear child,\" he said lightly, \"that you are\nsufficiently a woman of the world to understand that some sort of\nreparation is due from your husband to Monsieur de Stainville.\"\n\n\"Reparation? . . .\" she asked. \"For what?\"\n\nAgain she stared at him blankly, and with that vague expression of\npuzzlement which irritated whilst it half-frightened him.\n\n\"You were there, my dear,\" he said impatiently, \"you know . . . and of\ncourse you must have seen . . .\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Milor jeered at Gaston, then tripped him up with his foot, so that\nMonsieur de Stainville measured his full length on the floor.\"\n\n\"I did not notice. . . .\" she said simply.\n\n\"But many people did . . . enough at all events to give Monsieur de\nStainville the initiative in the necessary reparation. He was the\ninsulted party.\"\n\n\"Oh! a duel, you mean,\" she said indifferently, \"yes, I suppose my\nhusband will fight Monsieur de Stainville if His Majesty will grant\nthem leave.\"\n\n\"Gaston will not appeal to His Majesty, and milor cannot very well\nrefuse to meet him. The King has oft declared his intention of\npermanently suppressing all duelling just as it has been done in\nEngland. Even to-night after the unfortunate fracas, when I had the\nhonour of paying my final respects, His Majesty said to me: 'If milor\nEglinton and Monsieur de Stainville fight and one of them is killed,\nwe'll hang the survivor!'\"\n\n\"Then they'll not fight, you think?\"\n\nMonsieur le Duc stared at his daughter. Such complete indifference as\nto her husband's actions in so grave a matter passed the bounds of\ncorrect behaviour.\n\n\"_Mais oui!_ they will fight, my dear!\" he said sternly. \"You know as\nwell as I do that Gaston could not pocket the slight put upon him by\nmilor without covering himself with ridicule. But the duel need not be\nserious . . . a scratch or two and no more. . . . Gaston is a perfect\nswordsman . . . he never misses his man,\" added the Duke hesitatingly.\n\"Is milor clever with the foils?\"\n\n\"I do not know.\"\n\n\"He has never fought a duel to your knowledge?\"\n\n\"I think never.\"\n\n\"Whilst Gaston's skill is famous. . . . But, my dear, you need have no\nanxiety. . . . It was also with a view to reassuring you on the\nsubject that I have sought you so late. . . . You will believe your\nfather's word, Lydie, if he tells you that your husband is in no grave\ndanger at the hands of Gaston.\"\n\n\"I thank you, father dear,\" she rejoined with the same natural, even\ntone of voice which should have tranquillised him as to her mental\ncondition, but which somehow failed to do so.\n\n\"Gaston must take up the matter . . . you understand that. . . . It is\nquite public and . . . he would be laughed at if he appealed for leave\nto fight from His Majesty . . . the matter was not serious and the\nresult will be likewise. . . . Gaston will administer a slight\npunishment to milor . . . such a perfect swordsman, you understand,\ncan select the very place on his opponent's body where he will inflict\nthe scratch . . . it will be the shoulder perhaps . . . or . . . or\n. . . the cheek . . . nothing to be anxious about. . .\"\n\n\"I am not anxious, father dear,\" she said with a serene smile, amused\nin spite of herself at his many circumlocutions, his obvious\nconfusion, and his still quite apparent wish to speak of one more\nmatter which seemed to be weighing on his mind.\n\n\"Is that all that you wished to say to me, dear?\" she said gently,\n\"for if so I can assure you that you need not be troubled on my\naccount. I am neither anxious nor upset. . . . Milor I feel confident\nwill take tender care of his shoulder . . . or of his cheek just as he\ndoes of his comfort and of his . . . his dignity.\"\n\n\"And you will not take it amiss from me, my dear, if I do not offer to\nbe one of your husband's seconds in the affair?\" he asked suddenly,\nthrowing off his hesitation and speaking more frankly.\n\n\"Certainly not, father dear. . . . I feel sure that milor himself\nwould not have suggested it. . . .\"\n\n\"My position near His Majesty . . . you understand, my dear,\" he\nexplained volubly, \"and also my . . . our association with Gaston.\n. . .\"\n\n\"Certainly--certainly,\" she repeated, emphasizing her words, \"our\nassociation with Gaston. . . .\"\n\n\"And he really is acting like a perfect gentleman . . . a man of\nhonour. . . .\"\n\n\"Indeed?\"\n\n\"His enthusiasm, his courage, and devotion have been quite marvellous.\nAnd though we shall primarily owe the success of our enterprise to\nyou, my dear, yet His Majesty feels as I do, that we also owe much to\nMonsieur de Stainville. Ah! _mon Dieu!_ what it is to be young!\"\n\n\"What has Monsieur de Stainville done, dear, to arouse your special\nenthusiasm?\" she asked.\n\n\"You shall judge of it yourself, my dear. After the esclandre provoked\nby Irene to-night, the publicity given to our scheme, we held a\nhurried boudoir meeting, at which His Majesty and Madame de Pompadour\nwere present, as well as myself and Gaston. We all felt that you too\nshould have been there, dear, but you had gone with milor, and . . .\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, never mind about me, father,\" she interrupted impatiently,\nseeing that he was getting lost in the mazes of his polite apologies.\n\"You held a boudoir meeting. What did you decide? . . .\"\n\n\"That after the publicity given to the main idea of our scheme, you\nunderstand,\" he rejoined, \"it would be no longer safe to wait for its\nexecution until _Le Levantin_ was ready for sea. Something had to be\nrisked, of course, but on the whole we all thought that now that the\nmatter had become 'le secret de Polichinelle' a six days' delay would\nbe dangerous, if not fatal to success. You were not there, Lydie,\" he\nrepeated diffidently, \"we could not consult you. . . .\"\n\n\"No, no! Then what did you decide?\"\n\n\"That we must send _Le Monarque_ off at once.\"\n\n\"_Le Monarque_? . . . at once? . . .\"\n\n\"Yes! she is quite ready, so you told me this morning. And though we\nfeared that Captain Barre might be too firm an adherent of the Stuart\ncause to be altogether reliable, still--as we had your own letter--we\nfinally decided that we had better trust him now, rather than wait for\n_Le Levantin_. . . . I think we did right, do you not? . . . Lydie.\n. . . Lydie . . . child, what is it?\"\n\nThe desperately anxious query had its justification in Lydie's\nterrible pallor, the wild dilation of her pupils, the dark purple\nrings which circled her eyes.\n\nAs her father spoke she had risen from the divan, and now she seemed\nunable to stand; she was trembling from head to foot, her hands were\nheld out before her, as in a pathetic appeal for physical support. In\na moment his arm was round her, and with gentle force he drew her back\nto the couch, pressing her head against his shoulder.\n\n\"Lydie . . . Lydie, dear . . . I am sure you are ill.\"\n\nBut already she had recovered from this sudden attack of faintness and\ndizziness, of which, with characteristic impatience for all feminine\nweaknesses, she was now thoroughly ashamed. Her nervous system had\nreceived so many severe shocks in the course of this terrible and\nmemorable day, that it was small wonder that this last awful blow\nstruck her physically as well as mentally.\n\n\"No, no, dear father,\" she said as lightly as she could for she still\nfelt very faint and ill, \"I am quite well, I assure you . . . please\n. . . please . . .\" she urged earnestly, \"do not worry about me now,\nbut tell me quite clearly--and as briefly as you can--exactly what are\nyour plans at this moment . . . yours and Gaston's, with regard to the\nexpedition against the Stuart prince . . . you spoke of a duel just\nnow . . . and then of Monsieur de Stainville's enthusiasm and courage.\n. . . I . . . I am a little confused . . . and I would like to\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"I will tell you as briefly as I can, my dear,\" he rejoined, not\nfeeling altogether reassured, and regarding her with loving anxiety.\n\"We decided that, instead of waiting for _Le Levantin_ to be ready for\nsea, we would send _Le Monarque_, and instruct Captain Barre in\naccordance with the plan and the letter which you gave us, and the\nsecret orders framed by His Majesty and myself. _Le Monarque_ having\ngot the Stuart and his friends on board will make straight for the\nnorth-west coast of England, and land the Jacobites at the first\npossible port, where they can be handed over to the English\nauthorities. Once this was settled, Gaston immediately offered to\nstart for Le Havre at dawn with the secret orders. We are not really\nafraid of Captain Barre's possible disloyalty--and, of course, he is\ncompelled to obey orders or suffer for his insubordination, which he\nis not likely to contemplate. On the whole I think we may safely say\nthat we run far less risk by sending _Le Monarque_ than by waiting for\n_Le Levantin_: and Gaston has full powers to promise Captain Barre a\nheavy bribe in accordance with the speed which _Le Monarque_ will\nmake. After that His Majesty was pleased to dismiss Monsieur de\nStainville and myself, being most specially gratified with Gaston's\nenthusiastic offer to ride at breakneck speed to Le Havre, as soon as\nhe could get to horse. Outside the boudoir, Gaston explained to me,\nhowever, that he could not shirk the duel with Lord Eglinton: his\nseconds, Monsieur de Belle-Isle and Monsieur de Lugeac, already had\nhis instructions and would wait on milor to-night: to put it off now\nwould be to cover himself with ridicule and to risk social ostracism;\nthe affront put upon his wife could not be allowed to rest until after\nhis own return. But the duel could take place at dawn, and then he\ncould get to horse half an hour later. . . . So you see, my dear,\nthat the duel cannot--because of these weighty reasons--have any\nserious consequences. As for our expedition, methinks everything now\nis most satisfactorily arranged, as Gaston swears that he will reach\nLe Havre ere the shades of the evening fall upon the sea.\"\n\nLydie had listened quite quietly to this long explanation, taking in\nevery detail of the project, lest anything should escape her. Her\nfather could indeed be completely reassured. She was perfectly calm,\napparently cheerful, and when he had finished speaking she thanked him\nquite naturally and expressed approval of all that had been done.\n\n\"Everything is beautifully planned and arranged, my dear father,\" she\nsaid pleasantly, \"methinks I cannot do better than take a rest. I fear\nI have been overwrought all day and have caused you much anxiety. All\nis for the best now, is it not? . . . Shall we both go to bed?\"\n\nMonsieur le Duc sighed with satisfaction. He seemed to have found a\nlong-lost daughter. This was the one he knew, self-possessed,\nclear-headed, a comfort and a guide.\n\nHe drew her to him and kissed her tenderly, and if there was a\nsuggestion of shrinking, of withdrawal in the young body, he was\ncertainly too preoccupied to notice it. He bade her \"good-night,\" and\nthen with obvious relief and a light, elastic step, he finally went\nout of the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\nM. DE STAINVILLE'S SECONDS\n\n\nWhen Monsieur Achille, having escorted Madame la Marquise as far as\nher apartments, once more retraced his sedate footsteps toward those\noccupied by Lord Eglinton, he was much surprised to find the worthy\nBaptiste Durand in the octagonal room which gave immediately on\nmilor's study.\n\nThe wizened little man looked singularly upset; he had a couple of\nheavy books under his arm: and two large white quills, one behind each\near, gave him the look of a frightened stork.\n\nIt was long past the usual hour when M. Durand laden with his bulky\nbooks habitually entered the Marquis's private room and remained\ncloseted therein with milor until long past midnight. Every evening at\nthe self-same hour he came to the octagonal room, passed the time of\nday with Monsieur Achille and then went in, to milor: he always\ncarried a leather bag filled with papers neatly tied in bundles, and\nhe wore a somewhat anxious look when he entered and one of relief when\nhe finally departed. Monsieur Achille had often bent his broad and\nmajestic back, in order to bring his ear down to the level of the\nkeyhole of the door, through which Monsieur Durand invariably\ndisappeared at ten o'clock in the evening; but all the satisfaction\nwhich his curiosity obtained was the sound of two voices, one steady\nand low and the other somewhat shrill, without any individual or\ncomprehensible sentence detaching itself from the irritating babel.\n\nAnd when M. Durand came out of the room after midnight, he bade\nMonsieur Achille a curt good-night and invariably refused any\ninformation with regard to the work he did for milor at that late hour\nof the night.\n\nWhen closely pressed he would vaguely say: \"Accounts!\" which of course\nwas ridiculous. Monsieur Achille had never heard of a nobleman\ntroubling himself about accounts, at the time when most people of\nconsideration were either at _petits soupers_ or else comfortably in\nbed.\n\nAs time went on Monsieur Achille ceased to take any interest in these\nnightly proceedings; they were so monotonous and so regular, that they\nwere no longer exciting. But to-night everything seemed changed. M.\nDurand instead of marching straight through with his books into the\nstudy, stood in the middle of the room, a veritable picture of\nhelpless perturbation.\n\n\"Why, M. Durand,\" said Achille greatly astonished, \"what ails you? You\nlook as if you had seen a ghost.\"\n\n\"Sh!---sh!---sh!\" whispered the timorous little man, indicating with a\njerk of his lean shoulder the distant door of the study, \"do you hear\nthat?\"\n\nMonsieur Achille bent his ear to listen. But strive how he might he\ncould hear nothing but the great bracket-clock on the wall ticking\nmonotonously. He shrugged his shoulders to indicate that the worthy\nBaptiste had been dreaming, but there was a certain look in the\nwizened face which caused him to tiptoe toward the study door and once\nmore to bring his ear down to the level of the keyhole.\n\nThen he shook his head, and tiptoed back to the centre of the room.\n\n\"I can hear nothing,\" he whispered. \"Are you sure he is in there?\"\n\n\"Quite, quite sure,\" replied Durand.\n\n\"Then why don't you go in as usual?\"\n\n\"I . . . I can't!\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"I . . . I don't know. . . . I seemed to hear such a funny sound as if\n. . .\" he paused a moment searching for the words that would best\nrender his impression of what he had heard. Finding none apparently,\nhe reiterated:\n\n\"It is a very funny sound.\"\n\n\"Perhaps milor was asleep and snoring,\" suggested the practical\nAchille.\n\n\"No, no,\" protested Durand very energetically.\n\n\"Or ill . . .\"\n\n\"Ah yes! . . . perhaps . . .\" stammered the little man, \"perhaps milor\nis ill.\"\n\n\"Then I'll to him at once.\"\n\nAnd before M. Durand could prevent him--which undoubtedly he would\nhave done--Achille had gone back to the study door and loudly knocked\nthereat.\n\nAt first there was no answer. M. Achille knocked again, and yet again,\nuntil a voice from within suddenly said:\n\n\"Who is it?\"\n\n\"Achille, M. le Marquise!\" responded the worthy with alacrity.\n\n\"I want nothing,\" said the voice. \"Tell Durand that I shall not need\nhim to-night.\"\n\nM. Durand nearly dropped his heavy books on the floor.\n\n\"Not want me!\" he ejaculated; \"we shall get terribly in arrears!\"\n\n\"Will milor go to bed?\" again queried M. Achille.\n\n\"No!\" came somewhat impatiently from within. \"Do not wait up for me.\nIf I want you later I will ring.\"\n\nAchille looked at M. Durand and the worthy Baptiste returned the look\nof puzzlement and wonder. Both shrugged their shoulders.\n\n\"There's nothing to be done, my good Baptiste,\" said Achille at last;\n\"you had best take your paraphernalia away and go to bed. I know that\ntone of voice, I have heard it once before when . . . but never mind\nthat,\" he added abruptly checking himself, as if he feared to commit\nan indiscretion, \"enough that I know if milor says, in that tone of\nvoice, that he does not want you and that you are to go away--well\nthen, my good Durand, he does not want you and you are to go away.\n. . . Do you see?\"\n\nAnd having delivered himself of this phrase of unanswerable logic he\npointed toward the door.\n\nM. Durand was about to take his friend's sound advice, when a loud\nring broke in upon the silence which had fallen over this portion of\nthe stately palace.\n\n\"A visitor at this late hour,\" mused Monsieur Achille. \"Ma foi!\nmethinks perhaps milor was expecting a fair and tardy visitor. . . .\neh, M. Durand? . . . and that perhaps this was the reason why you and\nI were to go away . . . eh? . . . and why you were not wanted\nto-night, . . . What?\"\n\nM. Durand was doubtful as to that, but there was no time to discuss\nthat little matter, for a second ring, louder and more peremptory than\nthe first, caused M. Achille to pull himself together, to flick at his\ncravat, and to readjust the set of his coat, whilst M. Durand loath to\nretire before he knew something of the tardy visitor, withdrew with\nbooks, bag and papers into a dark corner of the room.\n\nAlready the sound of approaching footsteps drew nearer; the visitor\nhad been admitted and was now being escorted through the reception\nrooms by the two footmen carrying torches. The next moment the doors\nleading to the official suite of apartments were thrown open, M.\nAchille put himself in position in the centre of the room, whilst a\nloud voice from the distant hall announced:\n\n\"M. le Marquis de Belle-Isle! M. le Comte de Lugeac!\"\n\nAchille's broad back was bent nearly double. The names were well known\nto him and represented, if not exactly the flower of aristocratic\nFrance, at least the invisible power which swayed her destinies. M. le\nMarquis de Belle-Isle was Madame de Pompadour's best friend, and M. de\nLugeac was her nephew.\n\n\"Your master . . . is he within?\"\n\nIt was M. de Belle-Isle who spoke; his voice was loud and peremptory,\nthe voice of a man who only recently had been in a position to\ncommand.\n\n\"Milor is . . . er . . . within, M. le Marquis,\" said Achille with\nslight hesitation. It is not often that he was taken aback when in the\nexercise of his duties, but the situation was undoubtedly delicate,\nand he had not yet made up his mind exactly how he ought to deal with\nit.\n\nNeither of the two gentlemen, however, seemed to have any intention of\nleaving him much longer in doubt.\n\n\"Go and tell him at once,\" said M. de Lugeac, \"that Monsieur le\nMarquis de Belle-Isle and myself will have to trouble him for about\ntwo minutes.\"\n\nThen as Achille seemed to be hesitating--for he did not move with any\nalacrity and his well-kept hand stroked his smooth, heavy chin--M. de\nBelle-Isle added more loudly:\n\n\"Go knave! and at once. . . . Par le diable, man! . . . how dare you\nhesitate?\"\n\nIndeed Monsieur Achille dared do that no longer. M. le Marquis de\nBelle-Isle was not a gentleman to be trifled with so he shrugged his\nmajestic shoulders, and rubbed his hands together in token that the\naffair had passed out of their keeping, and that he no longer held\nhimself responsible for any unpleasant consequences which might accrue\nfrom such unparalleled intrusion.\n\nHe strode with becoming majesty to the study door, his broad, straight\nback emphasising the protest of his whole attitude. Once more he\nknocked, but more loudly, less diffidently than before.\n\nThe voice from within queried with marked impatience:\n\n\"What is it now?\"\n\n\"An urgent call, Monsieur le Marquis!\" replied Achille in a firm\nvoice.\n\n\"I can see no one. I am busy,\" said the voice from within.\n\nM. de Belle-Isle felt that this little scene was not quite dignified;\nneither he nor M. de Lugeac was accustomed to stand behind a lacquey's\nback, parleying with a man through closed doors: therefore when\nMonsieur Achille turned to him now with a look which strove to\nindicate respectfully but firmly that the incident was closed, he\npushed him roughly aside and himself called loudly:\n\n\"Pardi, Marquis, methinks you are over-anxious to forbid your door\nto-night. I, Andre de Belle-Isle and my friend le Comte de Lugeac\ndesire a word with you. We represent M. le Comte de Stainville, and\nunless you are closeted with a lady, I summon you to open this door.\"\n\nThen as the door remained obstinately closed--too long at any rate for\nM. le Marquis's impatience--he boldly placed his hand on the knob and\nthrew it open. The heavy panels flew back, revealing Lord Eglinton\nsitting at his secretaire writing. His head was resting on his hand,\nbut he turned to look at the two gentlemen, as they stood, momentarily\nsilent and subdued in the doorway itself. He rose to greet them, but\nstared at them somewhat astonished and not a little haughtily, and he\nmade no motion requesting them to enter.\n\n\"We crave your pardon, milor,\" began Monsieur de Belle-Isle, feeling,\nas he afterward explained, unaccountably bashful and crestfallen, \"we\nwould not have intruded, M. de Lugeac and I, only that there was a\nslight formality omitted this evening without which we cannot proceed\nand which we must pray you to fulfill.\"\n\n\"What formality, Monsieur?\" asked milor courteously. \"I am afraid I do\nnot understand.\"\n\n\"The whole incident occurred very rapidly, we must admit,\" continued\nM. de Belle-Isle still standing in the doorway, still unwilling\napparently to intrude any further on this man whom he had known for\nsome time, yet who seemed to have become an utter stranger to him now:\nhaughty, grave and courteous, with an extraordinary look of aloofness\nin the face which repelled the very suggestion of familiarity. \"And\nthat is no doubt the reason, milor, why you omitted to name your\nseconds to Monsieur de Stainville.\"\n\n\"My seconds?\" repeated milor. \"I am afraid you must think me very\nstupid . . . but I still do not understand . . .\"\n\n\"But surely, milor . . .\" protested M. de Belle-Isle, a little taken\naback.\n\n\"Would you be so kind as to explain? . . . if it is necessary.\"\n\n\"Necessary? Pardi, I should not have thought that it had been\nnecessary. You, milor, in yourself also and through Madame la Marquise\nyour wife have insulted M. le Comte de Stainville and Madame la\nComtesse too. We represent M. le Comte de Stainville in this affair,\nwherein we presume that you are prepared to give him satisfaction. And\nwe have come to-night, milor, to ask you kindly to name your own\nrepresentatives so that we may arrange the details of this encounter\nin the manner pre-eminently satisfactory to M. le Comte de Stainville,\nsince he is the aggrieved party.\"\n\nGradually M. de Belle-Isle had raised his voice. His feeling of\nbashfulness had entirely left him and he felt not a little wrathful at\nthis strange _role_ which he was being made to play. It was quite\nunheard of that a gentleman who had so grossly insulted another, as\nLord Eglinton had insulted M. de Stainville, should require such\nlengthy explanations as to what the next course of events would\nnecessarily be.\n\n\"Therefore, milor,\" he continued with some acerbity as Lord Eglinton\nhad vouchsafed no reply to his tirade, \"we pray you to name your\nseconds to us, without delay, so that we may no longer intrude upon\nyour privacy.\"\n\n\"I need not do that, M. le Marquis,\" said milor quietly. \"I require no\nseconds.\"\n\n\"No seconds?\" gasped the two gentlemen with one breath.\n\n\"I am not going to fight M. de Stainville.\"\n\nIf Lord Eglinton had suddenly declared his intention of dethroning\nKing Louis and placing the crown of France on his own head, he could\nnot more have astonished his two interlocutors. Both M. de Belle-Isle\nand M. de Lugeac were in fact absolutely speechless: in all their vast\nexperience of Court life such a situation had never occurred before,\nand literally neither of them knew exactly how to deal with it. M. de\nLugeac, young and arrogant, was the first to recover his presence of\nmind. Like his successful relative Jeanne Poisson de Pompadour he had\nbeen born in the slums of Paris, his exalted fortune, following so\nquickly in the wake of the ex-victualler's wife, had given him an\nassurance and an amount of impudence which the older de Belle-Isle\nlacked, and which stood him in good stead in the present crisis.\n\n\"Are we to look on this as a formal refusal, milor?\" he now asked\nboldly.\n\n\"As you please.\"\n\n\"You will not give M. le Comte de Stainville the satisfaction usually\nagreed upon between men of honour?\"\n\n\"I will not fight M. de Stainville,\" repeated milor quietly. \"I am\nbusy with other things.\"\n\n\"But milor,\" here interposed M. de Belle-Isle testily: \"you cannot\nhave reflected on the consequences of such an act, which I myself at\nthis moment would hardly dare to characterize.\"\n\n\"You will excuse me, gentlemen,\" said Lord Eglinton with seeming\nirrelevance, \"but is there any necessity for prolonging this\ninterview?\"\n\n\"None at all,\" sneered M. de Lugeac. \"It is not our business to\ncomment on milor's conduct . . . at present,\" he added with audacious\nsignificance.\n\nBut M. de Belle-Isle, who, in spite of his undignified adherence to\nthe Pompadour and her faction, was a sprig of the old noblesse of\nFrance, was loath to see the humiliation of a high-born\ngentleman--whatever his faults might be--before such an upstart as de\nLugeac. A kindly instinct, not altogether unexplainable, caused him to\nsay encouragingly:\n\n\"Let me assure you, milor--though perhaps in this I am overstepping my\nofficial powers--that M. le Comte de Stainville has no desire to deal\nharshly with you. The fact that he is the most noted swordsman in\nFrance may perhaps be influencing you at this moment, but will you\ntrust to my old experience when I assure you that M. le Comte's noted\nskill is your very best safeguard? He will be quite content to inflict\na slight punishment on you--being a past master with his sword he can\ndo that easily, without causing you graver injury. I am telling you\nthis in confidence of course, because I know that these are his\nintentions. Moreover he starts on an important journey to-morrow and\nwould propose a very brief encounter with you at dawn, in one of the\nspinneys of the Park. A mere scratch, I assure you, you need fear no\nmore. Less he could not in all honour concede.\"\n\nA whimsical smile played round the corners of milor's mouth, chasing\nmomentarily the graver expression of his face.\n\n\"Your assurance is more than kind, M. de Belle-Isle,\" he said with\nperfect courtesy, \"but I can only repeat what I said just now, that I\nwill not fight M. de Stainville.\"\n\n\"And instead of repeating what I said just now, milor . . .\" said de\nLugeac with a wicked leer.\n\n\"You will elect to hold your tongue,\" said M. de Belle-Isle\nauthoritatively, placing his hand on the younger man's wrist.\n\nDe Lugeac, who lived in perpetual fear of doing or saying something\nwhich would inevitably betray his plebeian origin, meekly obeyed M. de\nBelle-Isle's command. The latter, though very bewildered, would be\nsure to know the correct way in which gentlemen should behave under\nthese amazing circumstances.\n\nLord Eglinton standing beside his secretaire, his face in shadow, was\nobviously waiting for these intruders to go. M. de Belle-Isle shrugged\nhis shoulders partly in puzzlement, partly in contempt; then he nodded\ncasually to milor, turned on his heel, and walked out of the doorway\ninto the octagonal room beyond, whilst M. de Lugeac imitated as best\nhe could the careless nod and the look of contempt of his older\nfriend. M. Achille stepping forward now closed the study doors behind\nthe two gentlemen, shutting out the picture of that grave, haughty man\nwho had just played the part of coward with such absolute perfection.\n\n\"Bah! these English!\" said young de Lugeac, as he made the gesture of\nspitting on the ground. \"I had not believed it, _par tous les\ndiables!_ had I not heard with mine own ears.\"\n\nBut de Belle-Isle gravely shook his head.\n\n\"I fear me the young man is only putting off the evil day. His skin\nwill have to be tough indeed if he can put up with . . . well! with\nwhat he will get when this business becomes known.\"\n\n\"And it will become known,\" asserted de Lugeac spitefully. He had\nalways hated what he called the English faction. Madame Lydie always\nsnubbed him unmercifully, and milor had hitherto most conveniently\nignored his very existence. \"By G--d I hope that my glove will be the\nfirst to touch his cheek.\"\n\n\"Sh!--sh!--sh!\" admonished de Belle-Isle, nodding toward Achille who\nwas busy with the candelabrum.\n\n\"Nay! what do I care,\" retorted the other; \"had you not restrained me\nI'd have called him a dirty coward then and there.\"\n\n\"That had been most incorrect, my good Lugeac,\" rejoined de Belle-Isle\ndrily, and wilfully ignoring the language which, in moments of\npassion, so plainly betrayed the vulgar origin. \"The right to insult\nLord Eglinton belongs primarily to Gaston de Stainville, and afterward\nonly to his friends.\"\n\nAnd although M. le Marquis de Belle-Isle expressed himself in more\nelegant words than his plebeian friend, there was none the less spite\nand evil intent in the expression of his face as he spoke.\n\nThen giving a sign to Achille to precede them with the light, the two\nrepresentatives of M. le Comte de Stainville finally strode out of the\napartments of the ex-Comptroller General of Finance.\n\nM. Durand, with his bulky books and his papers under his arms,\nfollowed meekly, repeatedly shaking his head.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI\n\nTHE FINAL DISAPPOINTMENT\n\n\nLydie waited a few moments while her father's brisk steps died away\nalong the stone-flagged corridors. In the silence of the evening, the\nquietude which rested on this distant portion of the palace, she could\nhear his brief word of command to the valet who had been stationed in\nthe antechamber; then the Duke's quick, alert descent down the marble\nstaircase, and finally the call for his coach oft repeated, when he\nreached the terrace and began skirting the building on his way to the\nmain paved yard, where, no doubt, his horses were awaiting his return.\n\nWhen everything in and around the palace seemed quiet again, Lydie\nrang for her maid.\n\n\"A dark hood and cloak,\" she ordered as soon as the girl appeared, and\nspeaking very rapidly.\n\n\"Madame la Marquise goes out again?\" asked the maid a little\nanxiously, seeing that the hour was late and she herself very sleepy.\n\n\"Only within the palace,\" replied Lydie. \"Quick, girl! the cloak!\"\n\nWithin two or three minutes she was enveloped from head to foot in a\ncloak of dark woollen material, that effectually hid the beautiful\ngown beneath. Then she bade the girl wait for her in her boudoir, and,\nnot heeding the latter's anxious protestations, she walked quickly out\nof the room.\n\nThe corridors and reception halls were now quite deserted. Even from\nthe main building of the palace, where the King himself was wont to\nsup copiously and long, there no longer came the faintest echo of\nrevelry, of laughter or of music. The vast chateau built at the cost\nof a nation's heart's blood, kept up at the cost of her tears and her\nhumiliation, now lay wrapped in sleep.\n\nIn this remote West Wing the silence was almost oppressive. From her\nown apartments Lydie could reach those occupied by milor, without\ngoing through the ante-chamber and corridors, where a few\nnight-watchmen were always stationed. Thus she could pass unperceived;\na dark, ghost-like figure, silent and swift, gliding through an\nenchanted castle, inhabited mayhap only by a sleeping beauty and her\nCourt. From outside not a sound, save the occasional hoot of an owl or\nthe flap of a bat's wings against the projecting masonry.\n\nLydie drew her cloak closely round her figure; though the August night\nwas hot and heavy with the acrid scent of late summer flowers she felt\nan inward shivering, whilst her temples throbbed and her eyes seemed\nmade of glowing charcoal. A few more rooms to traverse, a few moments\nlonger wherein to keep her trembling knees from giving way beneath\nher, and she would be in milor's rooms.\n\nShe was a little astonished to find them just as deserted as the rest\nof the palace. The great audience chamber with its monumental bed, the\nantechamber wherein M. Durand's wizened figure always sat enthroned\nbehind the huge secretaire, and the worthy Baptiste himself was wont\nto hold intrusive callers at bay, all these rooms were empty, silent\nand sombre.\n\nAt last she reached the octagonal room, out of which opened the study.\nHere, too, darkness reigned supreme save for a thin streak of light\nwhich gleamed, thin and weird, from beneath the study door. Darkness\nitself fought with absolute stillness. Lydie came forward, walking as\nif in her sleep.\n\nShe called to milor's valet: \"Achille!\" but only in a whisper, lest\nmilor from within should hear. Then as there was no sound, no\nmovement, she called once more:\n\n\"Achille! is milor still awake? Achille! are you here?\"\n\nShe had raised her voice a little, thinking the man might be asleep.\nBut no sound answered her, save from outside the cry of a bird\nfrightened by some midnight prowler.\n\nThen she walked up to the door. There behind it, in that inner sanctum\nhung with curtains of dull gold, the man still sat whom she had so\noften, so determinedly wronged, and who had wounded her to-night with\na cruelty and a surety of hand which had left her broken of spirit,\nbruised of heart, a suffering and passionate woman. She put her hand\non the knob of the door. Nothing stirred within; milor was writing\nmayhap! Perhaps he had dropped asleep! And Gaston preparing to ride to\nLe Havre in order to send the swiftest ship to do its deed of\ntreachery!\n\nNo! no! anything but that!\n\nAt this moment Lydie had nerved herself to endure every rebuff, to\nsuffer any humiliation, to throw herself at her husband's feet,\nembrace his knees if need be, beg, pray and entreat for money, for\nhelp, anything that might even now perhaps avert the terrible\ncatastrophe.\n\nBoldly now she knocked at the door.\n\n\"Milor! milor! open! . . . it is I! . . . ! Lydie. . . . !\"\n\nThen as there was no answer from within she knocked louder still.\n\n\"Milor! Milor! awake! Milor! in the name of Heaven I entreat you to\nlet me speak with you!\"\n\nAt first she had thought that he slept, then that obstinate resentment\ncaused him to deny her admittance. She tried to turn the knob of the\ndoor, but it did not yield.\n\n\"Milor! Milor!\" she cried again, and then again.\n\nNaught but silence was the reply.\n\nExcitement grew upon her now, a febrile nervousness which caused her\nto pull at the lock, to bruise her fingers against the gilt ornaments\nof the panel, whilst her voice, hoarse and broken with sobs, rent with\nits echoes the peace and solemnity of the night.\n\n\"Milor! Milor!\"\n\nShe had fallen on her knees, exhausted mentally and physically, the\nblood beating against her temples until the blackness around her\nseemed to have become a vivid red. In her ear was a sound like that of\na tempestuous sea breaking against gigantic rocks, with voices calling\nat intervals, voices of dying men, loudly accusing her of treachery.\nThe minutes were speeding by! Anon would come the dawn when Gaston\nwould to horse, bearing the hideous message which would mean her\nlifelong infamy and the death of those who trusted her.\n\n\"Milor! milor! awake!\" She now put her lips to the keyhole, breathing\nthe words through the tiny orifice, hoping that he would hear. \"Gaston\nwill start at dawn . . . They will send _Le Monarque_, and she is\nready to put to sea . . . Milor! your friend is in deadly\nperil. . . ! I entreat you to let me enter!\"\n\nShe beat her hands against the door, wounding her delicate flesh. She\nwas not conscious of what she was doing. A mystic veil divided her\nreasoning powers from that terrible mental picture which glowed before\nher through the blood-red darkness. The lonely shore, the angry sea,\nthe French ship _Le Monarque_ flying the pennant of traitors!\n\nThen suddenly an astonished and deeply horrified voice broke in upon\nher ears.\n\n\"Madame la Marquise, in the name of Heaven! Madame la Marquise!\"\n\nShe heard quick footsteps behind her, and left off hammering against\nthe door, left off screaming and moaning, but she had not the power to\nraise herself from her knees.\n\n\"Madame la Marquise,\" came in respectful, yet frightened accents,\n\"will Madame la Marquise deign to allow me to raise her--I fear Madame\nla Marquise is not well!\"\n\nShe recognized the voice of Achille, milor's valet, yet it never\nentered her mind to feel ashamed at being found by a lacquey, thus\nkneeling before her husband's door. The worthy Achille was very upset.\nEtiquette forbade him to touch Madame la Marquise, but could he leave\nher there? in that position? He advanced timidly. His behaviour was\nsuperlatively correct even in this terrible emergency, and there was\nnothing in his deferential attitude to indicate that he thought\nanything abnormal had occurred.\n\n\"I thought I heard Madame la Marquise calling,\" he said, \"and I\nthought perhaps Madame la Marquise would wish to speak with milor\n. . .\"\n\nBut at the word she quickly interrupted him; rising to her feet even\nas she spoke.\n\n\"Yes! yes . . . ! milor . . . I do wish to speak with him . . . open\nthe door, Achille . . . quick . . .\"\n\n\"The door is locked on the outside, Madame la Marquise, but I have the\nkey by me,\" said M. Achille gravely. \"I had fortunately recollected\nthat mayhap milor had forgotten to put out the lights, and would in\nany case have come to see that all was safe . . . if Madame la\nMarquise will deign to permit me . . .\"\n\nIt was a little difficult to reconcile utmost respect of movement and\ndemeanour with the endeavour to open the door against which Madame la\nMarquise was still standing. However, everything that was deferential\nand correct was possible to Monsieur Achille; he fitted the key in the\nlock and the next moment had thrown the door wide open, whilst he\nhimself stood immediately aside to enable Madame la Marquise to enter.\n\nFour candles were burning in one of the candelabra; milor had\nevidently forgotten to extinguish them. Everything else in the room\nwas perfectly tidy. On the secretaire there were two or three heavy\nbooks similar to those Monsieur Durand usually carried about with him\nwhen he had to interview milor, also the inkpot and sand-well, with\ntwo or three quills methodically laid on a silver tray. One window\nmust have been open behind the drawn curtains, for the heavy damask\nhangings waved gently in the sudden current of air, caused by the\nopening of the door. The candles too, flickered weirdly in the\ndraught. In the centre of the room was the armchair on which Lydie had\nsat a while ago, the cushion of red embroidery which milor had put to\nher back, and below the little footstool covered in gold brocade on\nwhich her foot had rested . . . a while ago.\n\nAnd beside the secretaire his own empty chair, and on the table the\nspot where his hand had rested, white and slightly tremulous, when she\nproffered her self-accusation.\n\n\"Milor?\" she murmured inquiringly, turning glowing eyes, dilated with\nthe intensity of disappointment and despair on the impassive face of\nAchille, \"milor . . . ? where is milor?\"\n\n\"Milor has been gone some little time, Madame la Marquise,\" replied\nAchille.\n\n\"Gone? Whither?\"\n\n\"I do not know, Madame la Marquise . . . Milor did not tell me . . .\nTwo gentlemen called to see him at about ten o'clock; as soon as they\nhad gone milor asked for his outdoor clothes and Hector booted and\nspurred him . . . whilst I dressed his hair and tied his cravat . . .\nMilor has been gone about half an hour, I think.\"\n\n\"Enough . . . that will do!\"\n\nThat is all that she contrived to say. This final disappointment had\nbeen beyond the endurance of her nerves. Physically now she completely\nbroke down, a mist gathered before her eyes, the candles seemed to\nflicker more and more weirdly until their lights assumed strange\nghoul-like shapes which drew nearer to her and nearer; faces in the\ngloom grinned at her and seemed to mock, the walls of the room closed\nin around her, her senses reeled, her very brain felt as if it\nthrobbed with pain, and without a cry or moan, only with one long sigh\nof infinite weariness, she sank lifeless to the ground.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII\n\nTHE DAWN\n\n\nM. le Comte de Stainville only shrugged his shoulders when M. de\nBelle-Isle and young de Lugeac brought him milor's reply.\n\n\"Bah!\" he said with a sneer, \"he'll have to fight me later on or I'll\nhound him out of France! Never fear, gentlemen, we'll have our meed of\nfun very soon.\"\n\nOn the whole Gaston was not sorry that this stupid so-called \"affair\nof honour\" would not force him to rise before dawn. He had no special\nill-will against _le petit Anglais_, for whom he had always tried to\ncultivate a modicum of contempt. He had not always succeeded in this\npraiseworthy endeavour, for milor as a rule chose to ignore M. de\nStainville, as far as, and often more than, courtesy permitted.\n\nThe two men had not often met since the memorable evening when milor\nsnatched the golden prize which Gaston had so clumsily cast aside.\nTheir tastes were very dissimilar, and so was their entourage. Milor\nwas officially considered to belong to the Queen's set, whilst Gaston\nclung to the more entertaining company of Madame de Pompadour and her\nfriends; nor had M. de Stainville had the bad grace to interfere with\nhis wife's obvious predeliction for Lord Eglinton's company.\n\nThe memorable day which was just drawing to its close had seen many\nchanges--changes that were almost upheavals of old traditions and of\nhabitual conditions of court life. Gaston had deceived and then\nhideously outraged the woman whom long ago he had already wronged. A\nyear ago she had humiliated him, had snatched from him the golden\nprize which his ambition had coveted, and which she made him\nunderstand that he could not obtain without her. To-day had been his\nhour; he had dragged her down to the very mire in which he himself had\ngrovelled, he had laid her pride to dust and shaken the pinnacle of\nvirtue and integrity on which she stood.\n\nThat she had partly revenged herself by a public affront against Irene\nmattered little to Gaston. He had long ago ceased to care for _la\nbelle brune de Bordeaux_, the beautiful girl who had enchained his\nearly affections and thereby become a bar to his boundless ambition.\nThe social ostracism--applicable only by a certain set of puritanical\ndevotes--and the disdain of Queen Marie Leszcynska which his wife\nmight have to endure would be more than compensated by the gratitude\nof Pompadour and of His Majesty himself, for the services rendered by\nGaston in the cause of the proffered English millions.\n\nBut for him the expedition against the Stuart prince could never have\nbeen undertaken; at any rate, it had been fraught with great\ndifficulties; delays and subsequent failure would probably have\nresulted. Gaston de Stainville felt sure that in the future he could\ntake care that the King should never forget his services.\n\nAfter his wife's indiscreet outburst he feared once more for the\nsuccess of the plan. Remembering Lydie's reliance on _Le Monarque_ and\nher commander, he declared himself prepared to start for Le Havre\nimmediately. He was quite ready to display that endurance and\nenthusiasm, in the breakneck ride across the fields of Normandy, which\nLydie had thought to find in him for the good of a noble cause.\n\nGaston de Stainville's pockets were always empty; the two millions\nwhich the King had promised him would be more than welcome. His\nMajesty had even offered to supplement these by an additional half\nmillion if _Le Monarque_ sailed out of Le Havre before sunset on the\nmorrow.\n\nThe incident of the duel with milor would have delayed matters\nand--who knows--perhaps have made that pleasant half million somewhat\nproblematical. Therefore Gaston received the news of the refusal with\na sardonic grin, but not with real impatience.\n\nHe felt really no great ill-will toward Lord Eglinton; but for that\nincident when he was forcibly made to measure his length on the\nparquet floor, Gaston would have willingly extended a condescending\nhand to the man whose wife he had so infamously wronged.\n\nThe incident itself had angered him only to the extent of desiring to\ninflict a physical punishment on milor. Sure of his own wrist as the\nmost perfect swordsman in France, he had fondled the thought of\nslicing off a finger or two, mayhap a thumb, from the hand of _le\npetit Anglais_, or better still of gashing milor's face across nose\nand cheek so as to mar for ever those good looks which the ladies of\nVersailles had so openly admired.\n\nWell! all these pleasant little occurrences could happen yet. M. de\nStainville was quite sure that on his return from Le Havre he could\nprovoke the Englishman to fight. Milor might be something of a\ncoward--obviously he was one, else he had accepted so mild a\nchallenge--but he could not always refuse to fight in the face of\ncertain provocation, which would mean complete social ruin if\ndisregarded.\n\nThe hour was late by the time Gaston de Stainville had bade good-night\nto Belle-Isle and Lugeac. Together the three men had drunk copiously,\nhad laughed much and sneered continually at the pusillanimous\nEnglishman.\n\n\"This comes of allowing all these aliens to settle amongst us,\" said\nde Lugeac impudently; \"soon there will be neither honour nor chivalry\nleft in France.\"\n\nWhereupon de Stainville and Belle-Isle, both of whom bore ancient,\naristocratic names, bethought themselves that it was time to break up\nthe little party and to turn their backs on this arrogant\ngutter-snipe.\n\nThe three men separated at midnight. De Lugeac had a room in the\npalace, and Stainville and Belle-Isle repaired to their respective\nlodgings in the little town itself.\n\nSoon after dawn Gaston de Stainville was on horseback. He started\nalone, for that extra half million was dangling before his eyes, and\nhe was afraid that companionship--even that of a servant--might cause\nunlooked-for delay. He had a hundred and eighty leagues by road and\nfield to cover, and soon the day would become very hot. He meant to\nreach Le Havre before five o'clock in the afternoon; within an hour\nafter that, he could have handed over his instructions to Captain\nBarre, and seen _Le Monarque_ unfurl her sails and glide gracefully\nout of the harbour: an argosy anon to be laden with golden freight.\n\nThe little town of Versailles had scarce opened its eyes to the new\nday when the clink of a horse's hoofs on her cobble stones roused her\nfrom her morning sleep.\n\nA few farmers, bringing in their produce from their gardens, gazed\nwith keen interest at the beautiful animal and her gallant rider. The\nhour was indeed early for such a fine gentleman to be about.\n\nSoon the rough paving of the town was left behind; the sun, who at\nfirst had hidden his newly-awakened glory behind a bank of clouds, now\nburnt his way through these heavy veils, and threw across the morning\nsky living flames of rose, of orange, and of vivid gold and tipped the\ntowers and spires of distant Paris with innumerable tongues of fire.\n\nFar away the clock of Notre Dame tolled the hour of five. Gaston\ncursed inwardly. It was later than he thought, later than he had\nintended to make a start. That business of the duel had kept him up\nlonger than usual and he had felt lazy and tired in the morning. Now\nhe would have to make top speed, and he did not feel as alert, nor so\nwell prepared for the fatigues of a long day's ride, as he would have\nbeen two years ago, before the enervating dissipations of court life\nat Versailles had undermined the activity of his youth.\n\nFortunately the ground was soft and dry, the air keen and pure, and\nGaston spurred his horse to a canter across the fields.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII\n\nTHE RIDE\n\n\nIt is one hundred and fifty leagues from Versailles to the harbour of\nLe Havre as the crow flies, one hundred and eighty most like by road\nand across fields.\n\nGaston had twelve hours in which to cover the ground, a good horse,\nand the enthusiasm born of empty pockets when two and a half million\nlivres loom temptingly at the end of the journey.\n\nThe fields, after the corn harvest, were excellent for a gallop,\nyielding just sufficiently to the mare's hoofs to give her a pleasant\nfoothold, but not in any way spongy, with good stubble to give\nresistance and the sandy soil below to prevent the slightest jar.\nRiding under such conditions, in the cool hours of the morning, was\ndistinctly pleasant.\n\nGaston reached Nantes soon after seven, having covered close on forty\nleagues of his journey without unduly tiring Belle Amie. He was a good\nrider and knew how to ease her, and there was Arab blood in her. She\nmade light of the work, and enjoyed her gallops, being of the breed\nthat never shows fatigue, own daughter to Jedran who had carried\nMaurice de Saxe on his famous ride from Paris to Saargemund, three\nhundred leagues in eighteen hours.\n\nAt Nantes, Stainville partook of a frugal breakfast, and Belle Amie\nhad a rest and a mouthful of corn. He was again to horse within half\nan hour, crossing the Seine here by the newly constructed stone\nbridge, thence on toward Elboeuf. By ten o'clock the sun was high in\nthe heavens and was pouring heat like molten lead down on horse and\nrider. Progress had become much slower. Several halts had to be made\nat tiny wayside inns for a cooling drink and a rub down for Belle\nAmie. The enjoyment had gone out of the ride. It was heavy, arduous\nwork, beside which despatch riding, with message of life and death,\nwas mere child's play.\n\nBut this was not a case of life and death, but of that which was far\ndearer to Gaston than life without it. Money! money at the end of it\nall! even if Belle Amie dropped on the roadside and he himself had to\ncover the rest of the distance on foot. An extra half million if _La\nMonarque_ set sail before sunset to-day.\n\nAt Rouen, horse and rider had to part company. Belle Amie, who had\ncovered close on a hundred leagues, and most of it in the full glare\nof the midday sun, wanted at least a couple of hours rest if she was\nto get to Le Havre at all, and this her rider was unwilling to give\nher. At the posting hostelry, which stands immediately at the rear of\nthe cathedral, Stainville bargained for a fresh horse, and left Belle\nAmie in charge of mine host to be tended and cared for against his\nreturn, probably on the morrow.\n\nHere, too, he partook of a light midday meal whilst the horse was\nbeing got ready for him. A good, solid Normandy mare this time, a\nperfect contrast to Belle Amie, short and thick in the legs, with a\nbroad crupper, and a sleepy look in her eye. But she was a comfortable\nmount as Gaston soon found out, with a smooth, even canter, and though\nher stride was short, she got over the ground quickly enough. It was\nstill very hot, but the roads beyond Rouen were sandy and light; the\nlanes were quite stoneless and shaded by tall trees; the Normandy mare\nsettled down along them to an easy amble. She had not the spirit of\nBelle Amie but she made up in stolidity what she had lacked in\nswiftness. Gaston's first impatience at the slowness of her gait soon\nyielded to content, for she needed no checking, and urging being\nuseless--since she could go no faster--the rider was soon able to let\nhis mind rest and even to sink into semi-somnolence, trusting himself\nto the horse entirely.\n\nAt half-past five the towers of Notre Dame du Havre were in sight; an\nhour later than Gaston had dared to hope, but still far from the hour\nof sunset, and if he could infuse a sufficiency of enthusiasm into the\ncommander of _Le Monarque_, the gallant ship could still negotiate the\nharbour before dusk, the tide being favourable, and be out in the open\nere the first stars appeared in the heavens.\n\nThe little seaport town, whose tortuous, unpaved, and narrow streets\nwere ankle deep in slimy mud in spite of the persistent heat and\ndryness of the day, appeared to Gaston like the golden city of his\ndreams. On his left the wide mouth of the Seine, with her lonely shore\nbeyond, was lost in the gathering mist, which rose rapidly now after\nthe intense heat of the day. On his right, a few isolated houses were\ndotted here and there, built of mud, thatched and plastered over, and\nwith diminutive windows not more than a few inches square, because of\nthe tax which was heavy; they testified to the squalor and misery of\ntheir inhabitants, a few families earning an uncertain livelihood with\ntheir nets. Soon along the length of the river, as it gradually\nwidened toward its mouth, a few isolated craft came to view; fishing\nboats these mostly, with here and there a graceful brigantine laden\nwith timber, and a few barges which did a precarious coasting-trade\nwith salted fish and the meagre farm produce of the environs.\n\nGaston de Stainville took no heed of these, though the scene--if\nsomewhat mournful and desolate--had a certain charm of rich colouring\nand hazy outline in the glow of the afternoon sun. The heat had\naltogether abated, and the damp which rose from the spongy soil,\npeculiar to the bed of the river, was already making itself felt.\nGaston shivered beneath the light cloth coat which he had donned in\nthe morning, in view of the fatigues of a hot summer's day. His eyes\npeered anxiously ahead and to the left of him. His mare, who had borne\nhim stolidly for over five hours, was quite ready to give way; there\nwas no Arab blood in her to cause her to go on until she dropped. She\nhad settled down to a very slow jog-trot, which was supremely\nuncomfortable to the rider, whose tired back could scarcely endure\nthis continuous jar. Fortunately the straggling, outlying portions of\nthe townlet were already far behind; the little mud houses appeared\nquite frequently now, and from them, wizened figures came out to the\ndoorway; women in ragged kirtles and children half-naked but for a\nmeagre shift, gazed, wide-eyed, at the mud-bespattered cavalier and\nhis obviously worn-out mount.\n\nFrom the fine old belfry the chime had long tolled the half hour.\nGaston vainly tried to spur the mare to a final effort. She had\nreached a stage of fatigue when blows would not have quickened her\nsteps, whilst her rider, roused from his own somnolent weariness, was\nsuddenly alert and eager. Goal was indeed in sight. The mud huts even\nhad been left behind, and one or two stone houses testified to the\nimportance of the town and the well-being of its inhabitants; the\nfirst inn--a miserable wooden construction quite uninviting even after\na day's ride--had already been passed. Ahead was the church of Notre\nDame, the fish market, and the residence of the governor; beyond were\nsome low wooden buildings, suggestive of barracks, whilst the Seine,\never widening until her further shore was finally lost in the mist,\nnow showed an ever-varying panorama of light and heavy craft upon her\nbreast; brigantines, and fishing boats, and the new-fashioned top-sail\nschooners, and far ahead, majestic and sedate, one or two\nthree-deckers of His Majesty's own navy.\n\nGaston strained his eyes, wondering which of these was _Le Monarque_!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV\n\n\"LE MONARQUE\"\n\n\nA few minutes later he had reached the principal inn of the town,\n\"L'Auberge des Trois Matelots,\" immediately opposite the rough wooden\njetty, and from the bay window of which Gaston immediately thought\nthat a magnificent view must be obtainable of the stretch of the river\nand the English Channel far away.\n\nHe turned into the gate. The house itself was low, one-storied only,\nand built entirely of wood round a central court-yard, which was as\ndeep in slime as the rest of the town of Le Havre. Opposite Gaston as\nhe rode in, were some primitive stablings, and on his right some\nequally primitive open sheds; the remaining two sides apparently stood\nfor the main portion of the building, as several doors gave upon a\ncovered verandah, to which some four or five steps gave access.\n\nA weary-eyed ostler in a blue blouse and huge wooden sabots, from\nwhich bunches of straw protruded at the heel came leisurely forward\nwhen Gaston drew rein. He seemed to have emerged from nowhere in\nparticular, risen out of the mud mayhap, but he held the mare none too\nclumsily when M. le Comte dismounted.\n\nThe next moment a portly figure appeared in one of the doorways under\nthe verandah, clad precisely like the ostler, save for the gorgeous\nscarlet kerchief round the gargantuan neck, whilst another, equally\nbright in hue, peeped out of the pocket of the blouse.\n\nAbove the scarlet neckerchief a round face, red as a Normandy apple,\nwas turned meditatively on the mud-stained cavalier, whilst a pair of\nsmall, beady eyes blinked drowsily at the afternoon sun.\n\n\"See that the mare gets a good rub down at once, then a feed of corn\nwith a dash of eau-de-vie in it, a litter of straw, and a drink of\nwater; she is done to death,\" said Gaston, peremptorily to the\nsleepy-looking ostler. \"I'll be round in a quarter of an hour to see\nif she is comfortable, and give you a taste of my whip if she is not.\"\n\nThe ostler did not reply, neither did he touch his forelock in token\nof obedience. He smothered a yawn and with slow, dragging steps he led\nthe over-tired mare toward the rough stabling in the rear. Gaston then\nturned toward the verandah and to the few wooden steps which led up to\nthe doorway, wherein the apple-faced man still stood with his hands\nbehind him, drowsily blinking at the unexpected visitor.\n\n\"Are you the innkeeper?\" asked Gaston curtly.\n\n\"Yes, M'sieu,\" replied the other with great deliberation.\n\n\"I shall want a good room for the night, and a well-cooked supper. See\nto it at once.\"\n\nMine host's placidity gave way somewhat at these peremptory orders,\nwhich were accompanied by a loud and significant tapping of a whip\nacross a riding boot. But the placidity did not yield to eagerness,\nonly to a certain effort at sulky protest, as Gaston, having mounted\nthe steps, now stood facing him in his own doorway.\n\n\"My house is full, M'sieu . . .\" he began.\n\n\"I am on the King's business,\" shouted Gaston now with angry\nimpatience, \"so none of this nonsense. Understand?\"\n\nEvidently mine host not only understood, but thought it best to obey\nwith as good grace as he could muster. He stepped aside still somewhat\ngrudgingly, and allowed Gaston de Stainville to enter: but he did not\ncondescend to bow nor did he bid M'sieu the visitor welcome in his\nhouse.\n\nGaston however was not minded to notice the fat man's sulky temper.\nThe moodiness of provincial innkeepers had become proverbial in\nFrance; they seemed to look upon all guests, who brought money into\ntheir pockets, as arrogant intruders, and treated them accordingly.\n\n\"See to a decent supper at once,\" repeated de Stainville now with that\nperemptoriness which he knew would alone ensure civility, \"and send a\nwench into my room to see that it is properly aired, and that clean\nlinen is put upon the bed.\"\n\nThe warning was no doubt necessary, judging by the appearance of the\nroom in which Gaston now found himself. It was low and stuffy in the\nextreme. He was conscious of nothing else for the moment, as only two\ndiminutive windows, hermetically closed, admitted a tiny modicum of\nlight through four dirty and thick panes of rough glass. On the left\nthere was a door evidently leading to another and larger room from\nwhich--as this door was ajar--came the sound of voices and also\nsuffocating gusts of very pungent tobacco.\n\nObviously there was some light and air in that further room, whereas\nhere it seemed to Gaston as if only cave-dwellers and moles could live\nand breathe.\n\n\"You had best serve my supper in there,\" he said, pointing with his\nriding whip toward that half-open door, and without waiting for the\nprotests which mine host was obviously preparing himself to make, he\nstrode boldly toward it and pushed it fully open.\n\nThe place was certainly very different to the one which he had just\nquitted. The floor was strewn with clean white sand, and, though the\nair was thick with the fumes of that same pungent tobacco, which\nalready had offended Gaston's nostrils, it was not hopelessly\nunpleasant, as the deep and square oriel window at the extreme end of\nthis long, low room was wide open, freely admitting the sweet, salt\nbreeze which blew straight from the English Channel; affording too--as\nGaston had originally surmised--a magnificent view of a panorama which\nembraced the mouth of the Seine, the rough harbour and tiny jetty,\nwith the many small craft lying at anchor on the calm bosom of the\nriver, and the graceful schooners and majestic three-deckers further\naway, all lit by the slanting rays of the slowly-sinking sun.\n\nGaston, without hesitation, walked straight up to a bench and trestle\ntable, which to his pleasurable surprise he found was unoccupied.\nThese were just inside the bay of the window, and he deliberately\nplaced his hat, coat and whip upon the table in token that he took\npossession of it. Then he once more turned to mine host, who, much\ntorn between respect for a man who travelled on the King's business--a\nnobleman mayhap--and pride of peasant at contact with an unwelcome\nvisitor, had slowly followed Gaston, lolling with that peculiar gait\nwhich betrays the ex-sailor whilst firm if deferential protest was\nwrit all over his rubicund countenance.\n\nJean Marie Palisson was born at Le Havre; he had been _armateur_ ere\nthe welcome death of a relative put him in possession of the most\nfrequented inn in the town together with a very comfortable\ncompetence, and the best furnished cellars this side of Rouen. He\ngreatly resented the appearance of a stranger in the midst of his\nusual habitues, which distinguished circle embraced M. le General\ncommanding the fortress, M. the Military Governor of the port, M. the\nCivil Governor of the town, MM. the commanders on His Majesty's ships,\nnot to speak of M. le Maire, and M. le Depute of the Parliament of\nRouen, in fact all the notabilities and dignitaries of the town and\nthe harbour.\n\nThese gentlemen were wont to assemble in this the best room of \"Les\nTrois Matelots\" at five o'clock, \"l'heure de l'aperitif,\" when\neau-de-vie, punch or mulled wine were consumed, in order to coax\nrecalcitrant appetites to a pleasurable anticipation of supper. It was\nan understood thing, between the worthy Jean Marie Palisson and his\ndistinguished customers, that no strangers were to be admitted within\nthis inner sanctum, save by the vote of the majority, nor had it ever\noccurred before that any one had thus forced an entrance past that\nmagic door which mine host guarded with jealous care.\n\nNow when Gaston thus arrogantly took possession of the best table in\nthe best portion of the best room in \"Les Trois Matelots,\" Jean Marie\nwas so taken aback, and so awed by the masterfulness which could rise\nto such complete disregard of the etiquette pertaining to the social\ncircles of Le Havre, that he found himself unable to do aught but\nshrug his broad shoulders at intervals, and blink his beady eyes in\ntoken of helpless distress.\n\nAnd this in spite of the fact that several pairs of eyebrows were\nlifted in token of pained surprise.\n\nGaston was equally unconscious of the disapproval which his entry had\nevoked, as of Jean Marie's want of alacrity in his service. When he\nentered, he noted that the several occupants of the room were\ngentlemen like himself, and he always felt thoroughly at home and\nunabashed amongst his kind: as for the landlord of a tumbledown\nprovincial inn, Gaston thought him quite unworthy of close attention.\nHe sat himself down on the edge of the table, dangling one well-booted\nleg with easy nonchalance, and from this elevated position he surveyed\nleisurely and with no small amount of impertinence, the company there\nassembled. He had scarce time to note the scowling looks of haughty\ndisapproval which were levelled at him from every side, when the door\nwas vigorously pushed open and an aggressively cheerful young man,\nloud of voice, jocose of manner, boisterously entered the room.\n\n\"Par ma foi! my worthy Jean Marie,\" he said in stentorian tones, \"is\nthis the latest fashion in Le Havre? the host not at the door to\nreceive his guests? . . . He! . . .\" he added, suddenly realizing the\npresence of a stranger in the room, \"whom have we here?\"\n\nBut already, at the first words uttered by the newcomer, Gaston de\nStainville had jumped to his feet, and as soon as the young man ceased\ntalking, he went forward to greet him.\n\n\"None other than Gaston de Stainville, my good Mortemar, and pleased\nindeed to look into a friend's face.\"\n\n\"Gaston de Stainville!\" exclaimed the other gaily, \"_par tous les\ndiables!_ but this is a surprise! Who would have thought to see you\nin this damned and God-forsaken hole!\"\n\n\"The King's business, my good Mortemar,\" said Gaston, \"and if you'll\nforgive me I'll see to it at once and then we'll sup together, eh?\n. . . Palsambleu! and I who thought I'd die of ennui during this\nenforced halt on this lonely shore.\"\n\n\"Ennui? perish the thought! Gentlemen,\" added the young Comte de\nMortemar, with a graceful flourish of the arm which embraced the\nentire company, \"allow me to present unto you the most accomplished\ncavalier of the day, whom I have the honour to call my friend, and\nwhom I hope we will all have the honour to call our guest to-night, M.\nle Comte Gaston Amede de Stainville.\"\n\nGaston had no cause now to complain of want of welcome. Once the\nstranger duly accredited and presented by a member of the intimate\ncircle, he was cheered to the echo. Every one rose to greet him, many\npressed forward to shake him by the hand: the presence of a cavalier\nof Versailles with all the Court gossip, the little intrigues, the\nlaughable anecdotes which he would of necessity bring with him was\nindeed a veritable God-send to the little official world of Le Havre,\nwho spent most of its life in mortal ennui.\n\n\"As for thee, my good Jean Marie,\" now interposed Mortemar with mock\nseverity, \"let me tell thee at once that if within an hour this table\nhere doth not groan under the weight of the finest and best cooked\ncapon that Normandy can produce, neither I nor these gentlemen here\nwill e'er darken thy doors again. What say you, gentlemen?\"\n\nThere was loudly expressed assent, accompanied by much laughter and\nvigorous clinking of pewter mugs against the deal tables.\n\n\"And in the meanwhile,\" continued Mortemar, who seemed to have taken\nthe lead in this general desire to bid the visitor a substantial\nwelcome, \"a bowl of punch with half a glass of eau-de-vie and a dozen\nprunes soaked in kirsch therein. Never fear, friend Stainville,\" he\nadded, slapping Gaston boisterously on the shoulder, \"I tell you mine\nhost knows how to brew a bowl of punch, which will send you reeling\nunder one of his tables in less than half an hour.\"\n\nA round of applause greeted this cheerful sally.\n\n\"Nay, in that case,\" said Gaston, on whom the strenuous fatigues of\nthe day were telling severely after the preliminary excitement of\narrival, \"I'll to my business, ere your good cheer, friend, render me\nquite helpless.\"\n\n\"Perish the thought of business,\" retorted Mortemar. \"Your head in a\nbucket of cold water after the punch, and you can meet the most astute\nnotary on even ground and beat him at his own game. The punch, knave!\"\nhe shouted to the fat landlord, \"the punch, this instant, M. le Comte\nde Stainville is wearied and is waiting for refreshment.\"\n\nBut Gaston's frame of mind was far too grave, his purpose far too\nimportant, to allow himself to be led into delaying business with\nCaptain Barre a moment longer than was necessary. Mortemar and his\nconvivial friends could not know that half a million livres would be\nthe price paid for that bowl of punch, since it might mean an hour's\ncarousing and the full of dusk before _Le Monarque_ received her\norders. He was deadly fatigued undoubtedly, faint too from the heat\nand want of proper food, but when money was at stake Gaston de\nStainville always displayed an enthusiasm and an amount of courageous\nendurance worthy of a better cause.\n\n\"A thousand thanks, my good Mortemar, and to you all, gentlemen,\" he\nnow said courteously but firmly, \"do not, I beseech you, think me\nchurlish if I must momentarily refuse your kind hospitality. One glass\nof eau-de-vie to give me a modicum of strength, and I must to my\nbusiness first. Gentlemen, I see by your coats that most of you serve\nthe King in some capacity or other, you know as well as I do that the\nlaws which govern the King's commands cannot be broken. I will not be\ngone long, half an hour at most; after that I am at your commands, and\nwill be the most grateful as well as the most joyous of you all.\"\n\n\"Well spoken, friend Stainville,\" declared Mortemar \"and you, Jean\nMarie, serve a small refreshment to M. le Comte immediately. Nay,\nfriend,\" he added pleasantly, \"I fear I have been importunate . . .\n'twas the joy of seeing so elegant a cavalier grace this unhallowed\nspot.\"\n\nEvery one nodded approval; as Gaston had surmised, there were\nsoldiers, sailors there present, all of whom understood duty and\nobedience to the King's commands.\n\n\"Perhaps some of us could be of assistance to M. le Comte de\nStainville,\" suggested a grave gentleman who wore His Majesty's\ncolours. \"If he is a stranger at Le Havre he might be glad of help.\"\n\n\"Indeed well said,\" spoke another; \"could one of us here accompany you\nanywhere, Monsieur le Comte?\"\n\n\"I am more than grateful, gentlemen,\" replied Gaston, to whom the host\nwas even now offering a cup of mulled wine. He drank the liquor at\none draught, then set down the cup ere he spoke further:\n\n\"And gladly will I accept these kindly offers of assistance,\" he now\nsaid. \"I am indeed a stranger here, and did feel doubtful how I could\nmost speedily accomplish my business. I must have speech with Captain\nBarre, gentlemen, commanding His Majesty's ship _Le Monarque_ and that\nwith as little delay as possible. . . .\"\n\nTo his intense astonishment he was interrupted by a ringing laugh from\nhis friend Mortemar.\n\n\"Nay, then my good Stainville,\" said the lively young man, \"you'll\nhave plenty of time for that bowl of punch, aye! and for getting right\nroyally drunk and fully sober again if your business is with Captain\nBarre.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" queried Gaston with a sudden frown.\n\n\"_Le Monarque_ sailed out of Le Havre an hour ago; methinks you can\nstill see her sails against the evening sun.\"\n\nAnd the young man pointed through the open window out toward the West.\nMechanically Gaston's eyes followed the direction in which his friend\npointed. There, far away in the mist-laden distance, a graceful\nthree-decker, with sails unfurled, was distinctly visible in the glow\nof the setting sun. She was gaily riding the waves, the soft\nsouth-easterly breeze having carried her swiftly and lightly already\nfar out to sea.\n\nGaston felt an awful dizziness in his head. An icy sweat broke out\nupon his brow, he passed a hand across his eyes for he did not feel\nthat he could trust them.\n\n\"That is not _Le Monarque_,\" he murmured.\n\n\"By my faith, but it is,\" said Mortemar, a little perturbed, for he\nhad not thought to be conveying evil news. \"I was bidding her captain\n'God-speed' myself little more than an hour ago. A gallant sailor, and\na personal friend,\" he added, \"and he seemed mighty glad to get on the\nway.\"\n\n\"Whither was he bound?\" asked Gaston mechanically.\n\n\"Nay! that I do not know. Barre had received secret orders only an\nhour before he started. . . .\"\n\nBut now Gaston felt his senses reeling.\n\n\"She must be stopped! . . . she must be stopped!\" he shouted wildly.\n\"I have orders for her . . . she must be stopped, at any cost!\"\n\nAnd breaking through the compact group of his newly found friends he\nmade a wild dash for the door.\n\nBut the excitement, the terrible keenness of this disappointment had\nbeen too much for him, after the strenuous fatigues and the\noverpowering heat of the day. The dizziness turned to an intolerable\nfeeling of sickness, the walls of the room spun round and round him,\nhe felt as if a stunning blow had been dealt him on the head, and with\na final shriek of \"Stop her!\" he staggered and would have fallen\nheadlong, but that a pair of willing arms were there to break his\nfall.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV\n\nTHE STRANGER\n\n\nIt was M. des Coutures--a middle-aged man, military governor of Le\nHavre--who had caught Gaston de Stainville in his arms when the latter\nall but lost consciousness. A dozen willing pairs of hands were now\nready to administer to the guest's comforts, from the loosening of his\ncravat to the pulling off of his heavy riding boots.\n\n\"The mulled wine was too heavy for him,\" said M. le Maire Valledieu,\n\"no doubt he had been fasting some hours and his stomach refused to\ndeal with it.\"\n\n\"Tell the kitchen wench to hurry with that supper, Jean Marie,\" said\nMortemar to mine host, \"he'll be himself again when he has eaten.\"\n\n\"If there's a plate of soup ready, bring that,\" added M. Valledieu.\n\"Anything's better than an empty paunch.\"\n\n\"I thank you, friends,\" now murmured Stainville feebly. \"I fear me I\nmust have turned giddy . . . the heat and . . .\"\n\nHe was recovering quickly enough. It had been mere dizziness caused by\nfatigue; and then that awful blow which had staggered him physically\nas well as mentally! His newly found friends had dragged him back to\nthe table close to the open window: the keen sea-breeze quickly\nrestored him to complete consciousness.\n\nAlready he had turned his head slowly round to watch that fast\ndisappearing three-decker, gleaming golden now in the distant haze.\n\nHis argosy which he had hoped to see returning from her voyage laden\nwith golden freight! Somehow as first the hulk and then the graceful\nsails were gradually merged into the Western glow, Gaston knew--by one\nof those inexplainable yet absolutely unerring instincts which baffle\nthe materialist--that all hopes of those coveted millions were\nvanishing as surely as did the ship now from before his gaze. He was\nstill weak in body as well as in mind, and it was as if in a dream,\nthat he listened to de Mortemar's carelessly given explanations of the\nevent which meant the wreckage of so many fondly cherished hopes.\n\n\"Captain Barre broke his fast in this very room this morning,\" said\nthe young man lightly, \"several of these gentlemen here, as well as\nmyself, had speech with him. He had no idea then that he would have to\nstart on a voyage quite so soon. He left here at eleven o'clock and\nwent back to his ship. An hour later when I was strolling along the\nshore I met him again. He seemed in a vast hurry and told me in a few\ncurt words that _Le Monarque_ had received orders to be under way as\nsoon as the tide permitted.\"\n\n\"You did not ask him whither the ship was bound?\" queried Gaston,\nspeaking hoarsely like a man who has been drinking.\n\n\"He could not tell me,\" replied the other, \"her orders were secret.\"\n\n\"Do you know who was the bearer of these secret orders?\"\n\n\"No, but I heard later that a stranger had ridden into Le Havre at\nmidday to-day. His mare--a beautiful creature so I understand--dropped\nnot far from here; she had been ridden to her death, poor thing; and\nher rider, so they say, was near to dropping too.\"\n\n\"I saw him,\" here interposed a young soldier, \"he was just outside\nthat God-forsaken hole, 'Le Gros Normand' and politely asked me if it\nwere the best inn in Le Havre.\"\n\n\"I hope you told him it was,\" said des Coutures with a growl, \"we want\nno stranger here.\"\n\n\"Nor do we want Le Havre to have a reputation for dirt and\ndiscomfort,\" corrected M. le Maire.\n\n\"And I certainly could not allow a gentlemen--for he was that--I'll\nlay any wager on it, with any one--to be made superlatively\nuncomfortable on the broken beds of 'Le Gros Normand,'\" asserted the\nyoung soldier hotly.\n\n\"You advised him to come here?\" gasped Mortemar with genuine horror.\nHe was the chief of that clique which desired to exclude, with utmost\nrigour from the sacred precincts of \"Les Trois Matelots,\" every\nstranger not properly accredited.\n\n\"Ma foi! what would you have me do?\" retorted the other sulkily.\n\n\"You did quite right, Lieutenant le Tellier,\" rejoined M. le Maire,\nwho was jealous of the reputation of Le Havre. \"Gentlemen must be\nunder no misapprehension with regard to the refinement and hospitality\nof this town.\"\n\nThe entrance of mine host carrying a steaming bowl of soup broke up\nthe conversation for awhile. Jean Marie was followed by a fat and\njovial-looking wench, who quickly spread a white cloth for Monsieur le\nComte's supper and generally administered to his wants.\n\nDe Mortemar, General des Coutures, and M. le Maire Valledieu had\nconstituted themselves the nominal hosts of Gaston. They too sat round\nthe table, and anon when Jean Marie brought huge jugs of red wine,\nthey fell to and entertained their guest, plying him with meat and\ndrink.\n\nThis broke up the company somewhat. The other gentlemen had withdrawn\nwith all the respect which Frenchmen always feel for the solemnity of\na meal; they had once more assumed their old places at the various\ntables about the room. But no one thought yet of returning home:\n\"l'heure de l'aperitif\" was being indefinitely prolonged.\n\nConversation naturally drifted back again and again to _Le Monarque_\nand her secret orders. Every one scented mystery, for was it not\nstrange that a noble cavalier like Monsieur le Comte de Stainville\nshould have ridden all the way from Versailles on the King's business,\nin order to have speech with the commander of one of His Majesty's own\nships, only to find that he had been forestalled? The good ship had\napparently received orders which the King knew naught about, else His\nMajesty had not sent Monsieur de Stainville all this way on a fool's\nerrand.\n\nEager, prying eyes watched him as he began to eat and drink, dreamily\nat first, almost drowsily. Obviously he was absorbed in thought. He\ntoo must be racking his brains as to who the stranger might be who had\nso unexpectedly forestalled him.\n\nHis three genial hosts plied him continually with wine and soon the\ntraces of fatigue in him began to yield to his usual alertness and\nvigour. The well-cooked food, the rich liquors were putting life back\ninto his veins. And with renewed life came a seething, an ungovernable\nwrath.\n\nHe had lost a fortune, the gratitude of the King, the goodwill of\nPompadour, two and a half millions of money through the interference\nof a stranger!\n\nHe tried to think, to imagine, to argue with himself. Treacherous and\nfalse himself, he at once suspected treachery. He imagined that some\nsycophant, hanging to the Pompadour's skirts, had succeeded in winning\nher good graces sufficiently to be allowed to do this errand for her,\ninstead of himself.\n\nOr had the King played him false, and sent another messenger to do the\ndelicate business and to share in the spoils?\n\nOr had Lydie . . . ? But no! this was impossible! What could she have\ndone at a late hour of the night? How could she have found a messenger\nwhom she could trust? when earlier in the day she had herself admitted\nthat there was no one in whom she could confide, and thus turned\nalmost unwillingly to the friend of her childhood.\n\nJean Marie's favoured customers sat at the various tables sipping\ntheir eau-de-vie; some had produced dice and cards, whilst others were\ncontent to loll about, still hoping to hear piquant anecdotes of that\ndistant Court of Versailles, toward which they all sighed so\nlongingly.\n\nBut the elegant guest was proving a disappointment. Even after the\nsecond bumper of wine Gaston de Stainville's tongue had not loosened.\nHe was speculating on the identity of that mysterious stranger, and\nwould not allow his moodiness to yield to the joys of good cheer.\nTo-morrow he would have to ride back to Versailles hardly more\nleisurely than he had come, for he must find out the truth of how he\ncame to be forestalled. But he could not start before dawn, even\nthough fiery impatience and wrath burned in his veins.\n\nTo all inquisitive queries and pointed chaff he replied with a sulky\ngrowl, and very soon the delight of meeting an interesting stranger\ngave place to irritation at his sullen mood. He was drinking heavily,\nand did not seem cheerful in his cups, and anon even Mortemar's\nboisterous hilarity gave way before his persistent gloom.\n\nAfter an hour or two the company started yawning: every one had had\nenough of this silent and ill-tempered stranger, who not only had\nbrought no new life and animation into the sleepy town, but was ill\nrepaying the lavish hospitality of \"Les Trois Matelots\" by his\nreticence and sulky humour.\n\nOne by one now the habitues departed, nodding genially to mine host,\nas they settled for their _consommations_, and bidding as hearty a\ngood-night to the stranger as their disappointment would allow.\n\nDe Mortemar and Valledieu had tried to lure M. le Comte de Stainville\nto hazard or even to a more sober game of piquet, but the latter had\npersistently refused and sat with legs stretched out before him, hands\nburied in breeches' pockets, his head drooping on his chest, and a\nmeditative scowl between his eyes.\n\nThe wine had apparently quite dulled his brilliant wit, and now he\nonly replied in curt monosyllables to queries addressed directly to\nhim.\n\nAnon Valledieu and old General de Coutures pleading the ties of family\nand home, begged to be excused. Now de Mortemar alone was left to\nentertain his surly guest, bored to distraction, and dislocating his\njaws in the vain efforts which he made to smother persistent yawns.\n\nIt was then close on half-past seven. The final glory of the setting\nsun had yielded to the magic wand of night which had changed the vivid\ncrimson and orange first to delicate greens and mauves and then to the\ndeep, the gorgeous blue of a summer's evening sky. The stars one by\none gleamed in the firmament, and soon the crescent moon, chaste and\ncold, added her incomparable glory to the beauty and the silent peace\nof the night.\n\nTiny lights appeared at masthead or prow of the many craft lying at\nanchor in the roadsteads, and from far away through the open window\nthere came wafted, on the sweet salt breeze, the melancholy sound of\nan old Normandy ditty sung by a pair of youthful throats.\n\nFatigue and gloom had oppressed Gaston at first, now it was\nunconquerable rage, seething and terrible, which caused him to remain\nsilent. De Mortemar was racking his brains for an excuse to break up\nthis wearisome _tete-a-tete_ without overstepping the bounds of\ngood-breeding, whilst cursing his own impetuosity which had prompted\nhim to take this surly guest under his wing.\n\nJean Marie now entered with the candles, causing a welcome diversion.\nHe placed one massive pewter candelabrum on the table occupied by\nGaston and de Mortemar: the other he carried to the further end of the\nroom. Having placed that down too, he lolled back toward de Mortemar.\nHis rubicund face looked troubled, great beads of perspiration stood\nout upon his forehead, and his fat fingers wandered along the velvety\nsurface of his round, closely-cropped crown.\n\n\"M'sieu le Comte . . .\" he began hesitatingly.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Mortemar smothering a yawn.\n\n\"A stranger, M'sieu le Comte . . .\" stammered Jean Marie.\n\n\"What, another? . . . I mean,\" added the young man with a nervous\nlittle laugh, feeling that the sudden exclamation of undisguised\nannoyance was not altogether courteous to his guest, \"I mean a . . .\nan . . . an . . . unknown stranger? . . . altogether different to M.\nle Comte de Stainville, of course!\"\n\n\"A stranger, M'sieu,\" repeated Jean Marie curtly. \"He came at midday.\n. . .\"\n\n\"And you told us nothing about him?\"\n\n\"I did not think it was necessary, nor that the stranger would trouble\nM'sieu le Comte. He asked for a clean room and a bed and said nothing\nabout supper at the time. . . . He seemed very tired and gave me a\ncouple of louis, just if as they were half livres.\"\n\n\"No doubt 'twas the stranger with whom Lieutenant Tellier had speech\noutside 'Le Gros Normand!'\" suggested de Mortemar.\n\n\"Mayhap! mayhap!\" rejoined Jean Marie thoughtfully. \"I took him up a\nbowl of sack and half a cold capon, but what he wanted most was a\nlarge wash-tub and plenty of water . . . it seems he needed a bath!\"\n\n\"Then he was English,\" commented Mortemar decisively.\n\nBut at these words, Gaston, who had been listening with half an ear to\nmine host's explanations, roused himself from his heavy torpor.\n\nThe stranger who had forestalled him and sent _Le Monarque_ on her\nsecret voyage to-day was English!\n\nThen it was . . .\n\n\"Where is that stranger now?\" he demanded peremptorily.\n\n\"That's just it, M'sieu le Comte!\" replied Jean Marie, obstinately\nignoring Gaston and still addressing de Mortemar, \"he slept all the\nafternoon. Now he wants some supper. He throws louis about as if they\nwere dirt, and I can't serve him in there!\" he added with unanswerable\nlogic and pointing to the stuffy room in the rear.\n\n\"Pardi! . . .\" began Mortemar.\n\nBut Gaston de Stainville was fully alert now; with sudden vigour he\njumped to his feet and brought his fist crashing down on the table so\nthat the candelabrum, the mugs, and decanters of wine shook under the\nblow.\n\n\"I beseech you, friend, admit the stranger into this room without\ndelay,\" he said loudly. \"Ma foi! you have found me dull and listless,\nill-humoured in spite of your lavish hospitality; I swear to you by\nall the devils in hell that you'll not yawn once for the next\nhalf-hour, and that Gaston de Stainville and the mysterious stranger,\nwho thwarts his will and forestalls his orders, will afford you a\nmeasure of amusement such as you'll never forget.\"\n\nHis face was flushed, and his eyes, somewhat hazy from the copiousness\nof his libations, had an evil leer in them and an inward glow of\ndeadly hate. There was no longer any weakness, nor yet ill-humour,\nvisible in his attitude. His hands were clenched, one resting on the\ntable, the other roughly pushing back the chair on which he had been\nsitting.\n\n\"Admit the stranger, friend host!\" he shouted savagely. \"I'll vouch\nfor it that your patron will not regret his presence in this room.\"\n\n\"Ma foi! I trust not,\" said a quiet voice, which seemed to come\nsuddenly from out the gloom. \"Gentlemen, your servant!\"\n\nMortemar turned toward the door, whence had proceeded that gentle,\ncourteous voice. Lord Eglinton was standing under the lintel,\nelegantly attired in full riding dress, with top boots and\nclosely-fitting coat. He wore no sword, and carried a heavy cloak on\nhis arm.\n\nHe made a comprehensive bow which included every one there present,\nthen he stepped forward into the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI\n\nREVENGE\n\n\nWe must surmise that surprise and rage had rendered Gaston speechless\nfor the moment.\n\nOf all the conjectures which had racked his brains for the past two\nhours none had come near this amazing reality. Gaston was no fool, and\nin one vivid flash he saw before his mental vision not only his own\ndiscomfiture, the annihilation of all his hopes, but also the failure\nof King Louis' plans, the relegation of those fifteen millions back\ninto the pockets of His Grace the Duke of Cumberland.\n\nThat Eglinton had not ridden to Le Havre on the King's business but on\nhis own, that he had not sent _Le Monarque_ to Scotland in order that\nhe might share in those millions was of course obvious.\n\nNo! no! it was clear enough! Lydie having found that Gaston had failed\nher, had turned to her husband for help: and he, still nominally\nComptroller-General of Finance, had found it quite easy to send\nCaptain Barre on his way with secret orders to find Charles Edward\nStuart and ensure the safety of the Jacobites at once and at any cost.\n\nMilor was immensely rich; that had helped him too, of course; bribes,\npromises, presents of money were nothing to him. Mentally he was\nweak--reasoned Gaston's vanity--and Lydie had commanded him.\n\nBut physically he was as strong as a horse, impervious to fatigue, and\nwhilst Gaston rested last night preparing for his journey, _le petit\nAnglais_ was in the saddle at midnight and had killed a horse under\nhim ere de Stainville was midway.\n\nWhat King Louis' attitude would be over this disappointment it were\npremature to conjecture. Royal disfavour coupled with Pompadour's\nill-humour would make itself felt on innocent and guilty alike.\n\nThat he himself was a ruined man and that, through the interference of\nthat weak-kneed young <DW2>, whom it had been the fashion in Versailles\nmildly to despise, was the one great, all-absorbing fact which seemed\nto turn Gaston's blood into living fire within his veins.\n\nAnd the man who had thus deliberately snatched a couple of millions or\nmore from his grip stood there, not twenty paces away, calm, somewhat\ngauche in manner, yet with that certain stiff dignity peculiar to\nEnglishmen of high rank, and withal apparently unconscious of the fact\nthat the rival whom he had deprived of a fortune was in this same room\nwith him, burning with rage and thirsting for revenge.\n\nGaston watched his enemy for awhile as he now settled himself at the\ntable, with Jean Marie ministering obsequiously to his wants. Soon\nmine host had arranged everything to his guest's liking, had placed a\ndish of stewed veal before him, a bottle of wine, some nice fresh\nbread, then retired walking backwards, so wonderfully deferential was\nhe to the man who dealt with gold as others would with tin.\n\nOne grim thought had now risen in Stainville's mind, the revival of a\nmemory, half-faded: an insult, a challenge, refused by that man, who\nhad thwarted him!\n\nA coward? Eh?\n\nThese English would not fight! 'twas well known; in battle, yes! but\nnot in single combat, not in a meeting 'twixt gentlemen, after a heady\nbottle of wine when tempers wax hot, and swords skip almost of\nthemselves out of the scabbard.\n\nAye! he would ride a hundred and eighty leagues, to frustrate a plan,\nor nathless to dip into the well-filled coffers of the Jacobite\nAlliance--such things were possible--but he would not fight!\n\nGaston hugged the thought! it was grim but delicious! revenge, bitter,\nawful, complete revenge was there, quite easy of accomplishment.\nFortune was lost to him, but not revenge! Not before his hand had\nstruck the cheek of his enemy.\n\nThis was his right. No one could blame him. Not even the King, sworn\nfoe of duelling though he might profess to be.\n\nA long laugh now broke from Gaston's burning throat! Was it not all\nridiculous, senseless, and puerile?\n\nHis Majesty the King, Pompadour, the Duc d'Aumont, Prime Minister of\nFrance, and he himself, Gaston de Stainville, the most ruthlessly\nambitious man in the kingdom, all fooled, stupidly fooled and tricked\nby that man, who was too great a coward to meet the rival whom he had\ninsulted.\n\nAt Gaston's laugh Eglinton turned to look in his direction, and his\neyes met those of de Mortemar fixed intently upon him.\n\n\"Surely it is M. le Controleur-General,\" said the latter, jumping to\nhis feet.\n\nHe had paid no heed to his guest's curious outburst of merriment,\nputting it down as another expression of his strange humour, else to\nthe potency of Jean Marie's wine; but he had been deeply interested in\nthe elegant figure of the stranger, that perfect type of a high-born\ngentleman which the young man was quick enough to recognise. The face,\nthe quaintly awkward manner, brought back certain recollections of two\ndays spent at the Court of Versailles.\n\nNow when Eglinton turned toward him, he at once recognised the\nhandsome face, and those kind eyes, which always looked grave and\nperfectly straight at an interlocutor.\n\n\"Milor Eglinton, a thousand pardons,\" he now said as he moved quickly\nacross the room. \"I had failed to recognise you at first, and had\nlittle thought of seeing so great a personage in this sleepy old\ntown.\"\n\nEglinton too had risen at his first words and had stepped forward,\nwith his habitual courtesy, to greet the young man. De Mortemar's hand\nwas cordially stretched out toward him, the next moment he would have\nclasped that of the young Englishman, when with one bound and a rush\nacross the room and with one wild shout of rage, Gaston de Stainville\novertook his friend and, catching hold of his arm, he drew him roughly\nback.\n\n\"Nay! de Mortemar, my friend,\" he cried loudly, \"be warned in time\nlest your honest hand come in contact with that of a coward.\"\n\nHis words echoed along the vast, empty room. Then there was dead\nsilence. Instinctively Mortemar had stepped back as if he had been\nstung. He did not of course understand the meaning of it all, and was\nso taken aback that he could no nothing but stare amazed at the figure\nof the young man before him. Eglinton's placidity had in no sense\ngiven way before the deadly insult; only his face had become pale as\ndeath, but the eyes still looked grave, earnest and straight at his\nenemy.\n\n\"Aye! a coward,\" said Gaston, who during these few moments of silence\nhad fought the trembling of his limbs, the quiver of his voice. He saw\nthe calm of the other man and with a mighty effort smothered the\ncryings of his rage, leaving cool contempt free play. \"Or will you\ndeny here, before my friend le Comte de Mortemar, who was about to\ntouch your hand, that last night having insulted me you refused to\ngive me satisfaction? Coward! you have no right to touch another's\nhand . . . the hand of an honourable gentleman. . . . Coward! . . . Do\nyou hear me? I'll say it again--coward--and coward again ere I shout\nit on the house-tops of Versailles--coward!--even now when my hand has\nstruck your cheek--coward!\"\n\nHow it all happened Mortemar himself could not afterward have said,\nthe movement must have been extraordinarily quick, for even as the\nlast word \"Coward!\" rose to Gaston's lips it was drowned in an\ninvoluntary cry of agony, whilst his hand, raised ready to strike, was\nheld in a grip which indeed seemed like one of steel.\n\n\"'Tis done, man! 'tis done!\" said the gentle, perfectly even voice,\n\"but in the name of Heaven provoke me no further, or it will be murder\ninstead of fight. There!\" he added, releasing the other man's wrist,\nwho staggered back faint and giddy with the pain, \"'tis true that I\nrefused to meet you in combat yester e'en; the life of my friend,\nlonely and betrayed, out there in far-off Scotland, had been the price\nof delay if I did not ride out of Versailles before cock-crow, but\nnow 'tis another matter,\" he added lightly, \"and I am at your\nservice.\"\n\n\"Aye!\" sneered Gaston, still writhing with pain, \"at my service now,\nwhen you hope that my broken wrist will ensure your impunity.\"\n\n\"Nay, sir, but at your service across the width of this table,\"\nresponded Eglinton coldly, \"a pair of pistols, one unloaded. . . . And\nwe'll both use the left hand.\"\n\nAn exclamation of protest broke from Mortemar's lips.\n\n\"Impossible! . . .\"\n\n\"Why so, Monsieur le Comte?\"\n\n\"'Twere murder, milor!\"\n\n\"Does M. le Comte de Stainville protest?\" queried the other calmly.\n\n\"No! damn you! . . . Where are the pistols?\"\n\n\"Yours, M. le Comte, an you will; surely you have not ridden all the\nway from Versailles without a pair in your holster.\"\n\n\"Well guessed, milor,\" quoth Gaston lightly. \"Mortemar, I pray you, in\nthe pocket of my coat . . . a pair of pistols.\"\n\nMortemar tried again to protest.\n\n\"Silence!\" said Gaston savagely, \"do you not see that I must kill\nhim?\"\n\n\"'Tis obvious as the crescent moon yonder, M. de Mortemar,\" said\nEglinton with a whimsical smile. \"I entreat you, the pistols.\"\n\nThe young man obeyed in silence. He strode across the room to the\nplace lately vacated by Gaston, and near which his cloak was lying\nclose to his hat and whip. Mortemar groped in the pockets: he found\nthe two pistols and then rejoined the antagonists.\n\n\"I used one against a couple of footpads in the early dawn,\" said\nGaston, as he took the weapons from Mortemar's hands and placed them\non the table.\n\n\"'Twas lucky, Monsieur le Comte,\" rejoined Eglinton gravely, \"then all\nwe need do is to throw for the choice.\"\n\n\"Dice,\" said Stainville curtly.\n\nOn a table close by there was a dice-box, left there by one of Jean\nMarie's customers: Mortemar, without a word, handed it to Eglinton. He\ncould not understand the placidity of the man: Gaston's attitude was\nsimple enough, primitive animal rage, blinding him to the possibility\nof immediate death; excitement too, giving him a sense of bravado, an\narrogant disregard of the consequences of his own provocation.\n\nEglinton was within his rights. He was now the insulted party, he\ncould make his own conditions, but did he wish to die? or was he so\nsupremely indifferent to life that he could view with perfect serenity\nthat pair of pistols, one of which death-dealing of a surety across a\nnarrow table, and that box of dice the arbiter of his fate?\n\nOf a truth Eglinton was perfectly indifferent as to the issue of the\ncombat. He did not care if he killed Gaston, nor did he care to live.\nLydie hated him, so what mattered if the sky was blue, or if the sun\nceased to shed radiance over the earth?\n\nIt was the supreme indifference of a man who with life had nothing\nelse to lose.\n\nHis hand was absolutely steady as he took the dice-box and threw:\n\n\"Blank!\" murmured Mortemar under his breath, as he saw the result of\nthe throw. Yet the face of milor was as impassive as before, even\nthough now by all the rules of chance Gaston's was the winning hand.\n\n\"Three!\" he said calmly, as the dice once more rolled on to the table.\n\"Monsieur le Comte, the choice of weapon rests with you.\"\n\nOnce more Mortemar tried to interpose. This was monstrous! horrible! a\nshocking, brutal murder!\n\n\"Monsieur de Stainville knows his own weapons,\" he said impulsively,\n\"he discharged one this morning and . . .\"\n\n\"Milor should have thought of this before!\" retorted Stainville\nsavagely.\n\n\"The remark did not come from me, Monsieur,\" rejoined Eglinton\npassively, \"an you will choose your weapon, I am fully satisfied.\"\n\nBut his grave eyes found occasion to send a kindly glance of gratitude\nto young de Mortemar. The latter felt a tightening of his very heart\nstrings: he would at this moment have willingly given his fortune to\navert the awful catastrophe.\n\n\"Mortemar, an you interfere,\" said Gaston, divining his thoughts,\n\"I'll brand you as a meddler before the Court of Versailles. An you\nare afraid to see bloodshed, get you gone in the name of hell.\"\n\nBy all the unwritten laws which governed such affairs of honour,\nMortemar could not interfere. He did not know the right or wrong of\nthe original enmity between these two men, but had already guessed\nthat mere disappointment with regard to the voyage of _Le Monarque_\nhad not been sufficient to kindle such deadly hate: vaguely he\nsurmised that somewhere in the background lurked the rustle of a silk\npetticoat.\n\nWithout the slightest hesitation now Gaston took one of the pistols in\nhis left hand: his right still caused him excruciating pain; and every\ntime he felt the agony, his eyes gleamed with more intense savagery,\nthe lust of a certain revenge.\n\nHe had worked himself up into a passion of hate. Money has the power\nto do that sometimes; that vanished hope of fortune had killed every\ninstinct in the man, save that of desire for vengeance. He was sure of\nhimself. The pistols were his as de Mortemar had said, and he had\nhandled them but a few hours ago: he could apprise their\nweight--loaded or unloaded--and he was quite satisfied.\n\nIt was hatred alone that prompted him to a final thrust, a blow, he\nthought, to a dying man. Eglinton was as good as dead, with the muzzle\nof a loaded pistol a foot away from his breast, and an empty weapon in\nhis own hand; but his serenity irritated Gaston; the blood which\ntingled in his own veins, which had rushed to his head almost\nobscuring his vision clamoured for a sight of a shrinking enemy, not\nof a wooden puppet, calm, impassive even before certain death.\n\nThe agony as he lifted the half-broken wrist to his coat was\nintolerable, but he almost welcomed it now, for it added a strange,\nlustful joy to the excitement of this deed. His eyes, glowing and\nrestless with fumes of wine and passion of hate, were fixed upon the\nmarble-like face of his enemy. Then from the breast-pocket of his\ncoat, he drew a packet of papers.\n\nAnd although he was nigh giddy with the pain in his wrist, he clutched\nthat packet tightly, toyed with it for a while, smoothed out the\ncreases with a hand which shook with the intensity of his excitement,\nthe intensity of his triumph.\n\nThe proofs in Madame la Marquise d'Eglinton's own writing that she was\nat one with the gang who meant to sell the Stuart prince for gold! The\nmap revealing his hiding-place! and her letter to him bidding him\ntrust the bearer whose orders--now affixed to map and letter--were\nthat he deliver the young Pretender into the hands of the English\nauthorities.\n\nThat these orders to _Le Monarque_ had been forestalled by milor\nEglinton could not exonerate Madame la Marquise from having been at\none with Gaston de Stainville and Madame de Pompadour, and others who\nmight remain nameless, in the blackest treachery ever planned against\na trusting friend.\n\nNo wonder Gaston de Stainville forgot physical suffering when he toyed\nlovingly with this packet of papers in his hand, the consummation of\nhis revenge.\n\nAt last 'twas done. A subtle, indefinable change had come over the\ncalm face of Lord Eglinton, an ashen grey hue which had chased the\nformer pallor of the cheeks, and the slender hand, which held the\npistol, trembled almost imperceptibly.\n\nSerenity had given way at sight of that packet of papers.\n\n\"Friend de Mortemar,\" said Gaston lightly, but with glowing eyes still\nfixed on his opponent, \"the chances of my demise being at least equal\nto those of milor's--seeing that I know not, on my honour, which is\nthe loaded pistol, and that methinks at this moment I can read murder\nin his eye--I pray you to take charge of this packet. It is a sacred\ntrust. In case of my death promise me that you will deliver it into\nthe hands of my wife, and into no other. Madame la Comtesse de\nStainville will know how to deal with it.\"\n\nThe young Comte de Mortemar took the packet from Gaston.\n\n\"I will do as you desire,\" he said coldly.\n\n\"You promise that no one shall touch these papers except my wife,\nIrene Comtesse de Stainville,\" reiterated Gaston solemnly.\n\n\"On my word of honour,\" rejoined the young man.\n\nThe request was perfectly proper and natural, very usual in such\ncases; de Mortemar could not help but comply. He could not know that\nthe fulfilment of this promise would mean public dishonour to an\ninnocent and noble woman, and the supreme revenge of a baffled\ntraitor.\n\nIf Gaston expected protest, rage, or excitement from his foe he was\ncertainly disappointed. Eglinton had all the characteristics of his\nrace, perfect sang-froid in the face of the inevitable, and an almost\nmorbid consciousness of pride and dignity. He could not filch those\npapers from Gaston nor prevent de Mortemar from accepting and\nfulfilling a trust, which had all the appearance of being sacred.\n\nHe knew that by this act he had wrested a fortune from a man whose\nfetish was money, and the power which money gives: true that being an\nhonest man himself, he had never thought of such an infamous revenge.\n\nIf he died now Heaven help his proud Lydie! but if he lived then\nHeaven help them both!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII\n\nTHE LETTER\n\n\nDe Mortemar had stowed the packet carefully away inside his coat,\nGaston keenly watching his antagonist the while.\n\n\"Are you ready, milor?\" he asked now with marked insolence of manner.\n\n\"At your service,\" replied the other quietly. \"M. de Mortemar, will\nyou give the word?\"\n\nThe two men stood opposite to one another, a table not four feet wide\nbetween them. Each held a pistol in his left hand. Of these one was\nloaded, the other not. De Mortemar had cleared the table, pushing\naside the decanter of wine, the tureen of soup, the glasses. The\nwindow was still open, and from that outside world which to these men\nhere present seemed so far away, there came the sound of the old\nchurch belfry tolling the hour of eight, and still from afar that\nmelancholy tune, the Norman ditty sung by young throats:\n\n    \"C'est les Normands, qu'a dit ma mere,\n    \"C'est les Normands qu'ont conquis l'Angleterre!\"\n\n\"Fire!\" said de Mortemar.\n\nTwo arms were raised. Eye was fixed to eye for one brief second, then\nlowered for the aim. There was a slight dull sound, then a terrible\ncurse muttered below the breath, as the pistol which Gaston de\nStainville had vainly tried to fire dropped from his hand.\n\nHad his excitement blinded him when he chose his weapon, or was it\njust fate, ruthless, inscrutable, that had placed the loaded pistol in\nLord Eglinton's hand?\n\n\"A blank!\" he shouted with a blasphemous oath. \"_A vous_, milor! Curse\nyou, why don't you fire?\"\n\n\"Fire, milor, in Heaven's name,\" said Mortemar, who was as pale as\ndeath. \"'Tis cruelty to prolong.\"\n\nBut Eglinton too had dropped his arm.\n\n\"M. le Comte de Stainville,\" he said calmly, \"before I use this weapon\nagainst you, as I would against a mad dog, I'll propose a bargain for\nyour acceptance.\"\n\n\"You'd buy that packet of precious documents from me, eh?\" sneered\nGaston savagely, \"nay, milor, 'tis no use offering millions to a dying\nman. . . . Shoot, shoot, milor! the widowed Comtesse de Stainville\nwill deal with those documents and no one else. . . . They are not for\nsale, I tell you, not for all your millions now!\"\n\n\"Not even for this pistol, M. le Comte?\"\n\nAnd calm, serene with that whimsical smile again playing round the\ncorners of his expressive mouth, Lord Eglinton offered the loaded\npistol to his enemy.\n\n\"My life? . . .\" stammered Gaston, \"you would? . . .\"\n\n\"Nay, mine, M. le Comte,\" rejoined milor. \"I'll not stir from this\nspot. I offer you this pistol and you shall use it at your pleasure,\nafter you have handed me that packet of letters.\"\n\nInstinctively Gaston had drawn back, lost in a maze of surprise.\n\n\"An you'll not take the weapon, M. le Comte,\" said Eglinton\ndecisively, \"I shoot.\"\n\nThere was a moment's silence, whilst Gaston's pride fought a grim\nbattle with that awful instinct of self-preservation, that strange\nlove of fleeting life to which poor mortals cling.\n\nMen were not cowards in those days; life was cheap and oft sold for\nthe gratification of petty vanity, yet who shall blame Gaston if, with\ncertain death before him, he chose to forego his revenge?\n\n\"Give me that pistol, milor,\" he said dully, \"de Mortemar, hand over\nthat packet to Lord Eglinton.\"\n\nHe took the pistol from milor, and it was his own hand that trembled.\n\nSilently de Mortemar obeyed. Milor took the packet of papers from him,\nthen held them one by one to the flame of the candle: first the map,\nthen the letter which bore Lydie's name writ so boldly across it. The\nblack ash curled and fell from his hand on to the table, he gripped\nthe paper until his seared fingers could hold it no longer.\n\nThen he once more stood up, turning straight toward Gaston.\n\n\"I am ready, M. le Comte,\" he said simply.\n\nGaston raised his left arm and fired. There was a wild, an agonized\nshriek which came from a woman's throat, coupled with one of horror\nfrom de Mortemar's lips, as _le petit Anglais_ stood for the space of\na few seconds, quite still, firm and upright, with scarce a change\nupon his calm face, then sank forward without a groan.\n\n\"Madame, you are hurt!\" shouted de Mortemar, who was almost dazed with\nsurprise at the sight of a woman at this awful and supreme moment. He\nhad just seen her, in the vivid flash when Gaston raised his arm and\nfired: she had rushed forward then, with the obvious intention of\nthrowing herself before the murderous weapon, and now was making\npathetic and vain efforts to raise her husband's inanimate body from\nthe table against which he had fallen.\n\n\"Coward! coward!\" she sobbed in anguish, \"you have stilled the bravest\nheart in France!\"\n\n\"Pray God that I have not,\" murmured Gaston fervently, as, impelled by\nsome invisible force, he threw the pistol from him, then sank on his\nknees and buried his face in his hands.\n\nBut Mortemar had soon recovered his presence of mind, and had already\nreached his wounded friend, calling quickly to Jean Marie who\napparently had followed in the wake of Madame la Marquise in her wild\nrush from her coach to the inner room.\n\nTogether the two men succeeded in lifting Lord Eglinton and in gently\ninsinuating his body backward into a recumbent position. Thus\nLydie--still on her knees--received her lord in her arms. Her eyes\nwere fixed upon his pallid face with passionate intensity. It seemed\nas if she would wrest from those closed lids the secret of life or\ndeath.\n\n\"He'll not die? . . .\" she whispered wildly; \"tell me that he'll not\ndie!\"\n\nA deep red stain was visible on the left side, spreading on the fine\ncloth of the coat. With clumsy though willing fingers, Mortemar was\ndoing his best to get the waistcoat open, and to stop temporarily the\nrapid flow of blood with Lydie's scarf, which she had wrenched from\nher shoulders.\n\n\"Quick, Jean Marie! the leech!\" he ordered, \"and have the rooms\nprepared . . .\"\n\nThen, as Jean Marie obeyed with unusual alacrity and anon his\nstentorian voice calling to ostler and maids echoed through the\nsilence of the house, Lydie's eyes met those of the young man.\n\n\"Madame! Madame! I beseech you,\" he said appalled at the terrible look\nof agony expressed on the beautiful, marble-like face, \"let me attend\nyou . . . I vow that you are hurt.\"\n\n\"No! no!\" she rejoined quickly, \"only my hand . . . I tried to clutch\nthe weapon . . . but 'twas too late . . .\"\n\nBut she yielded her hand to him. The shot had indeed pierced the\nfleshy portion between thumb and forefinger, leaving an ugly gash: the\nwound was bleeding profusely and already she felt giddy and sick. De\nMortemar bound up the little hand with his handkerchief as best he\ncould. She hardly heeded him, beyond that persistent appeal, terrible\nin its heartrending pathos:\n\n\"He'll not die . . . tell me that he'll not die.\"\n\nWhilst not five paces away, Gaston de Stainville still knelt, praying\nthat the ugly stain of murder should not for ever sully his hand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII\n\nTHE HOME IN ENGLAND\n\n\nThe first words which milor uttered when presently consciousness\nreturned were:\n\n\"The letter . . . Madonna . . . 'tis destroyed . . . I swear. . . .\"\n\nHe was then lying in Jean Marie's best bed, between lavender-scented\nsheets. On his right a tiny open window afforded a glimpse of sea and\nsky, and of many graceful craft gently lolling on the breast of the\nwaves, but on his left, when anon he turned his eyes that way, there\nwas a picture which of a truth was not of this earth, and vaguely,\nwith the childish and foolish fancy of a sick man who hath gazed on\nthe dark portals, he allowed himself to think that all the old tales\nof his babyhood, about the first glimpse of paradise after death, must\nindeed be true.\n\nHe was dead and this was paradise.\n\nWhat he saw was a woman's face, with grave anxious eyes fixed upon\nhim, and a woman's smile which revealed an infinity of love and\npromised an infinity of happiness.\n\n\"Madonna!\" he murmured feebly. Then he closed his eyes again, for he\nwas weak from loss of blood and from days and nights of fever and\ndelirium, and he was so afraid that the vision might vanish if he\ngazed at it too long.\n\nThe leech--a kindly man--visited him frequently. Apparently the wound\nwas destined to heal. Life was to begin anew, with its sorrows, its\ndisappointments, its humiliations, mayhap.\n\nYet a memory haunted him persistently--a vision, oh! 'twas a mere\nflash--of his madonna standing with her dear, white hand outstretched,\nbetwixt him and death.\n\nIt was a vision, of course; such as are vouchsafed to the dying: and\nthe other picture?--nay! that was a fevered dream; there had been no\ntender, grave eyes that watched him, no woman's smile to promise\nhappiness.\n\nOne day M. le Duc d'Aumont came to visit him. He had posted straight\nfrom Paris, and was singularly urbane and anxious when he pressed the\nsick man's hand.\n\n\"You must make a quick recovery, milor,\" he said cordially; \"_par\nDieu!_ you are the hero of the hour. Mortemar hath talked his fill.\"\n\n\"I trust not,\" rejoined Eglinton gravely.\n\nM. le Duc looked conscious and perturbed.\n\n\"Nay! he is a gallant youth,\" he said reassuringly, \"and knows exactly\nhow to hold his tongue, but Belle-Isle and de Lugeac had to be taught\na lesson . . . and 'twas well learned I'll warrant you. . . . As for\nGaston. . . .\"\n\n\"Yes! M. le Duc? what of M. le Comte de Stainville?\"\n\n\"He hath left the Court momentarily . . . somewhat in disgrace . . .\n'twas a monstrous encounter, milor,\" added the Duke gravely. \"Had\nGaston killed you it had been murder, for you never meant to shoot, so\nsays de Mortemar.\"\n\nThe sick man's head turned restlessly on the pillow.\n\n\"De Mortemar's tongue hath run away with him,\" he said impatiently.\n\n\"The account of the duel . . . nothing more, on my honour,\" rejoined\nthe Duke. \"No woman's name has been mentioned, but I fear me the Court\nand public have got wind of the story of a conspiracy against the\nStuart prince, and connect the duel with that event--hence your\npopularity, milor,\" continued the older man with a sigh, \"and Gaston's\ndisgrace.\"\n\n\"His Majesty's whipping-boy, eh? the scapegoat in the aborted\nconspiracy?\"\n\n\"Poor Gaston! You bear him much ill-will, milor, no doubt?\"\n\n\"I? None, on my honour.\"\n\nM. le Duc hesitated a while, a troubled look appeared on his handsome\nface.\n\n\"Lydie,\" he said tentatively. \"Milor, she left Paris that night alone\n. . . and travelled night and day to reach Le Havre in time to help\nyou and to thwart Gaston . . . she had been foolish of course, but her\nmotives were pure . . . milor, she is my child and . . .\"\n\n\"She is my wife, M. le Duc,\" interrupted Lord Eglinton gravely; \"I\nneed no assurance of her purity even from her father.\"\n\nThere was such implicit trust, such complete faith expressed in those\nfew simple words, that instinctively M. le Duc d'Aumont felt ashamed\nthat he could ever have misunderstood his daughter. He was silent for\na moment or two, then he said more lightly:\n\n\"His Majesty is much angered of course.\"\n\n\"Against me, I hope,\" rejoined Eglinton.\n\n\"Aye!\" sighed the Duke. \"King Louis is poorer by fifteen million\nlivres by your act, milor.\"\n\n\"And richer by the kingdom of honour. As for the millions, M. le Duc,\nI'll place them myself at His Majesty's service. My chateau and\ndependencies of Choisy are worth that,\" added milor lightly. \"As soon\nas this feeble hand can hold a pen, I'll hand them over to the crown\nof France as a free gift.\"\n\n\"You will do that, milor?\" gasped the Duke, who could scarce believe\nhis ears.\n\n\"'Tis my firm intention,\" rejoined the sick man with a smile.\n\nA great weight had been lifted from M. le Duc's mind. Royal\ndispleasure would indeed have descended impartially on all the friends\nof \"le petit Anglais\" and above all on milor's father-in-law, whose\nvery presence at Court would of a surety have become distasteful to\nthe disappointed monarch. Now this unparalleled generosity would more\nthan restore Louis' confidence in a Prime Minister whose chief virtue\nconsisted in possessing so wealthy and magnanimous a son-in-law.\n\nIndeed we know that M. le Duc d'Aumont continued for some time after\nthese memorable days to enjoy the confidence and gratitude of Louis\nthe Well-beloved and to bask in the sunshine of Madame de Pompadour's\nsmiles, whilst the gift of the chateau and dependencies of Choisy by\nMilor the Marquis of Eglinton to the crown of France was made the\nsubject of a public fete at Versailles and of an ode by M. Jolyot\nCrebillon of the Institut de France, writ especially for the occasion.\n\nBut after the visit of M. le Duc d'Aumont at his bedside in the\n\"auberge des Trois Matelots\" the munificent donor of fifteen millions\nlivres felt over-wearied of life.\n\nThe dream which had soothed his fevered sleep no longer haunted his\nwaking moments, and memory had much ado to feed love of life with the\nrememberance of one happy moment.\n\nMilor the Marquis of Eglinton closed his eyes, sighing for that dream.\nThe little room was so still, so peaceful, and from the tiny window a\ngentle breeze from across the English Channel fanned his aching brow,\nbringing back with its soothing murmur the memory of that stately home\nin England, for which his father had so often sighed.\n\nHow peaceful it must be there among the hills!\n\nThe breeze murmured more persistently, and anon with its dreamlike\nsound there mingled the frou-frou of a woman's skirts.\n\nThe sick man ventured to open his eyes.\n\nLydie, his wife, was kneeling beside his bed, her delicate hands\nclasped under her chin, her eyes large, glowing and ever grave fixed\nupon his face.\n\n\"Am I on earth?\" he murmured quaintly.\n\n\"Of a truth, milor,\" she replied, and her voice was like the most\nexquisite music he had ever heard; it was earnest and serious like her\nown self, but there was a tremor in it which rendered it unspeakably\nsoft.\n\n\"The leech saith there's no longer any danger for your life,\" she\nadded.\n\nHe was silent for awhile, as if he were meditating on a grave matter,\nthen he said quietly:\n\n\"Would you have me live, Lydie?\"\n\nAnd as she did not reply, he repeated his question again:\n\n\"Do you wish me to live, Lydie?\"\n\nShe fought with the tears, which against her will gathered in her\neyes.\n\n\"Milor, milor, are you not cruel now?\" she whispered through those\ntears.\n\n\"Cruel of a truth,\" he replied earnestly, \"since you would have saved\nme at peril of your own dear life. . . . Yet would I gladly die to see\nyou happy.\"\n\n\"Will you not rather live, milor?\" she said with a smile of infinite\ntenderness, \"for then only could I taste happiness.\"\n\n\"Yet if I lived, you would have to give up so much that you love.\"\n\n\"That is impossible, milor, for I only love one thing.\"\n\n\"Your work in France?\" he asked.\n\n\"No. My life with you.\"\n\nHer hands dropped on to the coverlet, and he grasped them in his own.\nHow oft had she drawn away at his touch. Now she yielded, drawing\nnearer to him, still on her knees.\n\n\"Would you come to England with me, Lydie? to my home in England,\namongst the hills of Sussex, far from Court life and from politics?\nWould you follow me thither?\"\n\n\"To the uttermost ends of the world, good milor,\" she replied.\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note: Obvious punctuation errors, such as missing periods\nor unpaired quotation marks, have been corrected. In addition, the\nfollowing typographical errors present in the original edition have been\ncorrected.\n\nIn Chapter V, \"The King sleeps, Monseiur\" was changed to \"The King\nsleeps, Monsieur\".\n\nIn Chapter VI, \"the Marechal de Saint Romans, friend and mentor\" was\nchanged to \"the Marechal de Saint Romans, friend and mentor\",\n\"unscrupluous ambition\" was changed to \"unscrupulous ambition\",\n\"'Irene,' he said earnestly\" was changed to \"'Irene,' he said\nearnestly\", and \"the appearance of Jeanne Poisson d'Etoiles\" was changed\nto \"the appearance of Jeanne Poisson d'Etioles\".\n\nIn Chapter VII, \"the enthusiasm of Mlle. de.Aumont\" was changed to \"the\nenthusiasm of Mlle. d'Aumont\".\n\nIn Chapter VIII, \"cause Louis XV, to make comparisons\" was changed to\n\"cause Louis XV to make comparisons\", and \"no longer though of flight\"\nwas changed to \"no longer thought of flight\".\n\nIn Chapter X, \"anything one can do to oblige a friend\" was changed to\n\"Anything one can do to oblige a friend\".\n\nIn Chapter XI, \"if she succeded presently\" was changed to \"if she\nsucceeded presently\", and \"Irene, therefore\" was changed to \"Irene,\ntherefore\".\n\nIn Chapter XII, \"whom she had feted\" was changed to \"whom she had\nfeted\", and \"Why,? Why?\" was changed to \"Why? Why?\"\n\nIn Chapter XIII, \"mandate of usuage\" was changed to \"mandate of usage\",\n\"pettis levers of kings\" was changed to \"petits levers of kings\", and\n\"Louis XV a the end of his progress\" was changed to \"Louis XV at the end\nof his progress\".\n\nIn Chapter XIV, \"And l'Anglias?\" was changed to \"And l'Anglais?\", \"T'is\nfairly simple\" was changed to \"'Tis fairly simple\", and \"thought,\nanxiety. and a wealth of eloquence\" was changed to \"thought, anxiety,\nand a wealth of eloquence\".\n\nIn Chapter XVI, \"coeoperation of a man\" was changed to \"cooperation of a\nman\", \"he had blundered\" was changed to \"He had blundered\", and \"all\nmatters Madame\" was changed to \"all matters, Madame\".\n\nIn Chapter XVII, \"either more of less\" was changed to \"either more or\nless\", and \"load of oppresson\" was changed to \"load of oppression\".\n\nIn Chapter XVIII, \"in which case. . . .\" was changed to \"in which case\n. . .\", \"privileged to. . . .\" was changed to \"privileged to . . .\", \"I\nif hold aloof\" was changed to \"if I hold aloof\", and \"met by M. le duc\nd'Aumont\" was changed to \"met by M. le Duc d'Aumont\".\n\nIn Chapter XIX, \"additonal message\" was changed to \"additional message\",\nand \"bracken and foxgloxes\" was changed to \"bracken and foxgloves\".\n\nIn Chapter XX, \"to the palace now, Monseur\" was changed to \"to the\npalace now, Monsieur\".\n\nIn Chapter XXII, \"His Majesty' hands\" was changed to \"His Majesty's\nhands\", and \"so compeletly condoned\" was changed to \"so completely\ncondoned\".\n\nIn Chapter XXIV, \"English husband's always beat their wives\" was changed\nto \"English husbands always beat their wives\".\n\nIn Chapter XXVI, \"whilst la belle Irene\" was changed to \"whilst la belle\nIrene\", \"his partners's attitude\" was changed to \"his partner's\nattitude\", \"d'Amont, never a very keen observer\" was changed to\n\"d'Aumont, never a very keen observer\", and \"came to the foot of the\nRoyal dais\" was changed to \"came to the foot of the Royal dais\".\n\nIn Chapter XXVII, \"fatuous innundoes\" was changed to \"fatuous\ninnuendoes\", and \"take the matter so throughly\" was changed to \"take the\nmatter so thoroughly\".\n\nIn Chapter XXVIII, \"between herself and Irene\" was changed to \"between\nherself and Irene\".\n\nIn Chapter XXIX, \"spoke up to indiscreetly\" was changed to \"spoke up so\nindiscreetly\".\n\nIn Chapter XXX, \"bent his ear so listen\" was changed to \"bent his ear to\nlisten\", \"Achille looked at M. Druand\" was changed to \"Achille looked at\nM. Durand\", \"M. Durand's was about to\" was changed to \"M. Durand was\nabout to\", and \"have insulted M. le Comte de Stainivlle\" was changed to\n\"have insulted M. le Comte de Stainville\".\n\nIn Chapter XXXI, \"those accupied by milor\" was changed to \"those\naccupied by milor\", and \"Achille! ar you here?\" was changed to \"Achille!\nare you here?\".\n\nIn Chapter XXXII, a semicolon was added after \"ill-will toward Lord\nEglinton\".\n\nIn Chapter XXXV, \"from the sacred precints\" was changed to \"from the\nsacred precincts\", \"His Majesty's had not sent\" was changed to \"His\nMajesty had not sent\", \"occupied by Gaston and de Montemar\" was changed\nto \"occupied by Gaston and de Mortemar\", \"Lieutenant Tellier had speech\noustide\" was changed to \"Lieutenant Tellier had speech outside\", \"still\naddresing de Mortemar\" was changed to \"still addressing de Mortemar\",\nand \"weakness nor, yet ill-humour, visible\" was changed to \"weakness,\nnor yet ill-humour, visible\".\n\nIn Chapter XXXVI, \"for even at the last word rose\" was changed to \"for\neven as the last word rose\", and \"my wife, Irene\" was changed to \"my\nwife, Irene\".\n\nIn Chapter XXXVIII, \"Me. le Duc looked conscious\" was changed to \"M. le\nDuc looked conscious\", \"That is impossilbe, milor\" was changed to \"That\nis impossible, milor\", and \"the rememberance of one happy moment\" was\nchanged to \"the remembrance of one happy moment\".\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Petticoat Rule, by Emmuska Orczy, Baroness Orczy\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nLITERARY FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES--Studies of Lowell\n\nby William Dean Howells\n\n\n\nSTUDIES OF LOWELL\n\nI have already spoken of my earliest meetings with Lowell at Cambridge\nwhen I came to New England on a literary pilgrimage from the West in\n1860. I saw him more and more after I went to live in Cambridge in 1866;\nand I now wish to record what I knew of him during the years that passed\nbetween this date and that of his death. If the portrait I shall try to\npaint does not seem a faithful likeness to others who knew him, I shall\nonly claim that so he looked to me, at this moment and at that. If I do\nnot keep myself quite out of the picture, what painter ever did?\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\nIt was in the summer of 1865 that I came home from my consular post at\nVenice; and two weeks after I landed in Boston, I went out to see Lowell\nat Elmwood, and give him an inkstand that I had brought him from Italy.\nThe bronze lobster whose back opened and disclosed an inkpot and a\nsand-box was quite ugly; but I thought it beautiful then, and if Lowell\nthought otherwise he never did anything to let me know it. He put the\nthing in the middle of his writing-table (he nearly always wrote on a\npasteboard pad resting upon his knees), and there it remained as long as\nI knew the place--a matter of twenty-five years; but in all that time I\nsuppose the inkpot continued as dry as the sand-box.\n\nMy visit was in the heat of August, which is as fervid in Cambridge as it\ncan well be anywhere, and I still have a sense of his study windows\nlifted to the summer night, and the crickets and grasshoppers crying in\nat them from the lawns and the gardens outside. Other people went away\nfrom Cambridge in the summer to the sea and to the mountains, but Lowell\nalways stayed at Elmwood, in an impassioned love for his home and for his\ntown. I must have found him there in the afternoon, and he must have\nmade me sup with him (dinner was at two o'clock) and then go with him for\na long night of talk in his study. He liked to have some one help him\nidle the time away, and keep him as long as possible from his work; and\nno doubt I was impersonally serving his turn in this way, aside from any\npleasure he might have had in my company as some one he had always been\nkind to, and as a fresh arrival from the Italy dear to us both.\n\nHe lighted his pipe, and from the depths of his easychair, invited my shy\nyouth to all the ease it was capable of in his presence. It was not\nmuch; I loved him, and he gave me reason to think that he was fond of me,\nbut in Lowell I was always conscious of an older and closer and stricter\ncivilization than my own, an unbroken tradition, a more authoritative\nstatus. His democracy was more of the head and mine more of the heart,\nand his denied the equality which mine affirmed. But his nature was so\nnoble and his reason so tolerant that whenever in our long acquaintance I\nfound it well to come to open rebellion, as I more than once did, he\nadmitted my right of insurrection, and never resented the outbreak. I\ndisliked to differ with him, and perhaps he subtly felt this so much that\nhe would not dislike me for doing it. He even suffered being taxed with\ninconsistency, and where he saw that he had not been quite just, he would\ntake punishment for his error, with a contrition that was sometimes\nhumorous and always touching.\n\nJust then it was the dark hour before the dawn with Italy, and he was\ninterested but not much encouraged by what I could tell him of the\nfeeling in Venice against the Austrians. He seemed to reserve a like\nscepticism concerning the fine things I was hoping for the Italians in\nliterature, and he confessed an interest in the facts treated which in\nthe retrospect, I am aware, was more tolerant than participant of my\nenthusiasm. That was always Lowell's attitude towards the opinions of\npeople he liked, when he could not go their lengths with them, and\nnothing was more characteristic of his affectionate nature and his just\nintelligence. He was a man of the most strenuous convictions, but he\nloved many sorts of people whose convictions he disagreed with, and he\nsuffered even prejudices counter to his own if they were not ignoble. In\nthe whimsicalities of others he delighted as much as in his own.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nOur associations with Italy held over until the next day, when after\nbreakfast he went with me towards Boston as far as \"the village\": for so\nhe liked to speak of Cambridge in the custom of his younger days when\nwide tracts of meadow separated Harvard Square from his life-long home at\nElmwood. We stood on the platform of the horsecar together, and when I\nobjected to his paying my fare in the American fashion, he allowed that\nthe Italian usage of each paying for himself was the politer way. He\nwould not commit himself about my returning to Venice (for I had not\ngiven up my place, yet, and was away on leave), but he intimated his\ndistrust of the flattering conditions of life abroad. He said it was\ncharming to be treated 'da signore', but he seemed to doubt whether it\nwas well; and in this as in all other things he showed his final fealty\nto the American ideal.\n\nIt was that serious and great moment after the successful close of the\ncivil war when the republican consciousness was more robust in us than\never before or since; but I cannot recall any reference to the historical\ninterest of the time in Lowell's talk. It had been all about literature\nand about travel; and now with the suggestion of the word village it\nbegan to be a little about his youth. I have said before how reluctant\nhe was to let his youth go from him; and perhaps the touch with my\njuniority had made him realize how near he was to fifty, and set him\nthinking of the past which had sorrows in it to age him beyond his years.\nHe would never speak of these, though he often spoke of the past. He\ntold once of having been on a brief journey when he was six years old,\nwith his father, and of driving up to the gate of Elmwood in the evening,\nand his father saying, \"Ah, this is a pleasant place! I wonder who lives\nhere--what little boy?\" At another time he pointed out a certain window\nin his study, and said he could see himself standing by it when he could\nonly get his chin on the window-sill. His memories of the house, and of\neverything belonging to it, were very tender; but he could laugh over an\nescapade of his youth when he helped his fellow-students pull down his\nfather's fences, in the pure zeal of good-comradeship.\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nMy fortunes took me to New York, and I spent most of the winter of 1865-6\nwriting in the office of 'The Nation'. I contributed several sketches of\nItalian travel to that paper; and one of these brought me a precious\nletter from Lowell. He praised my sketch, which he said he had read\nwithout the least notion who had written it, and he wanted me to feel the\nfull value of such an impersonal pleasure in it. At the same time he did\nnot fail to tell me that he disliked some pseudo-cynical verses of mine\nwhich he had read in another place; and I believe it was then that he\nbade me \"sweat the Heine out of\" me, \"as men sweat the mercury out of\ntheir bones.\"\n\nWhen I was asked to be assistant editor of the Atlantic Monthly, and came\non to Boston to talk the matter over with the publishers, I went out to\nCambridge and consulted Lowell. He strongly urged me to take the\nposition (I thought myself hopefully placed in New York on The Nation);\nand at the same time he seemed to have it on his heart to say that he had\nrecommended some one else for it, never, he owned, having thought of me.\n\nHe was most cordial, but after I came to live in Cambridge (where the\nmagazine was printed, and I could more conveniently look over the\nproofs), he did not call on me for more than a month, and seemed quite to\nhave forgotten me. We met one night at Mr. Norton's, for one of the\nDante readings, and he took no special notice of me till I happened to\nsay something that offered him a chance to give me a little humorous\nsnub. I was speaking of a paper in the Magazine on the \"Claudian\nEmissary,\" and I demanded (no doubt a little too airily) something like\n\"Who in the world ever heard of the Claudian Emissary?\" \"You are in\nCambridge, Mr. Howells,\" Lowell answered, and laughed at my confusion.\nHaving put me down, he seemed to soften towards me, and at parting he\nsaid, with a light of half-mocking tenderness in his beautiful eyes,\n\"Goodnight, fellow-townsman.\" \"I hardly knew we were fellow-townsmen,\" I\nreturned. He liked that, apparently, and said he had been meaning to\ncall upon me; and that he was coming very soon.\n\nHe was as good as his word, and after that hardly a week of any kind of\nweather passed but he mounted the steps to the door of the ugly little\nhouse in which I lived, two miles away from him, and asked me to walk.\nThese walks continued, I suppose, until Lowell went abroad for a winter\nin the early seventies. They took us all over Cambridge, which he knew\nand loved every inch of, and led us afield through the straggling,\nunhandsome outskirts, bedrabbled with squalid Irish neighborhoods, and\nfraying off into marshes and salt meadows. He liked to indulge an excess\nof admiration for the local landscape, and though I never heard him\nprofess a preference for the Charles River flats to the finest Alpine\nscenery, I could well believe he would do so under provocation of a fit\nlistener's surprise. He had always so much of the boy in him that he\nliked to tease the over-serious or over-sincere. He liked to tease and\nhe liked to mock, especially his juniors, if any touch of affectation, or\nany little exuberance of manner gave him the chance; when he once came to\nfetch me, and the young mistress of the house entered with a certain\nexcessive elasticity, he sprang from his seat, and minced towards her,\nwith a burlesque of her buoyant carriage which made her laugh. When he\nhad given us his heart in trust of ours, he used us like a younger\nbrother and sister; or like his own children. He included our children\nin his affection, and he enjoyed our fondness for them as if it were\nsomething that had come back to him from his own youth. I think he had\nalso a sort of artistic, a sort of ethical pleasure in it, as being of\nthe good tradition, of the old honest, simple material, from which\npleasing effects in literature and civilization were wrought. He liked\ngiving the children books, and writing tricksy fancies in these, where he\nmasked as a fairy prince; and as long as he lived he remembered his early\nkindness for them.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nIn those walks of ours I believe he did most of the talking, and from his\ntalk then and at other times there remains to me an impression of his\ngrowing conservatism. I had in fact come into his life when it had spent\nits impulse towards positive reform, and I was to be witness of its\nincreasing tendency towards the negative sort. He was quite past the\nstorm and stress of his anti-slavery age; with the close of the war which\nhad broken for him all his ideals of inviolable peace, he had reached the\nage of misgiving. I do not mean that I ever heard him express doubt of\nwhat he had helped to do, or regret for what he had done; but I know that\nhe viewed with critical anxiety what other men were doing with the\naccomplished facts. His anxiety gave a cast of what one may call\nreluctance from the political situation, and turned him back towards\nthose civic and social defences which he had once seemed willing to\nabandon. I do not mean that he lost faith in democracy; this faith he\nconstantly then and signally afterwards affirmed; but he certainly had no\nlonger any faith in insubordination as a means of grace. He preached a\nquite Socratic reverence for law, as law, and I remember that once when I\nhad got back from Canada in the usual disgust for the American\ncustom-house, and spoke lightly of smuggling as not an evil in itself,\nand perhaps even a right under our vexatious tariff, he would not have\nit, but held that the illegality of the act made it a moral of fence.\nThis was not the logic that would have justified the attitude of the\nanti-slavery men towards the fugitive slave act; but it was in accord\nwith Lowell's feeling about John Brown, whom he honored while always\ncondemning his violation of law; and it was in the line of all his later\nthinking. In this, he wished you to agree with him, or at least he\nwished to make you; but he did not wish you to be more of his mind than\nhe was himself. In one of those squalid Irish neighborhoods I confessed\na grudge (a mean and cruel grudge, I now think it) for the increasing\npresence of that race among us, but this did not please him; and I am\nsure that whatever misgiving he had as to the future of America, he would\nnot have had it less than it had been the refuge and opportunity of the\npoor of any race or color. Yet he would not have had it this alone.\nThere was a line in his poem on Agassiz which he left out of the printed\nversion, at the fervent entreaty of his friends, as saying too bitterly\nhis disappointment with his country. Writing at the distance of Europe,\nand with America in the perspective which the alien environment clouded,\nhe spoke of her as \"The Land of Broken Promise.\" It was a splendid\nreproach, but perhaps too dramatic to bear the full test of analysis, and\nyet it had the truth in it, and might, I think, have usefully stood, to\nthe end of making people think. Undoubtedly it expressed his sense of\nthe case, and in the same measure it would now express that of many who\nlove their country most among us. It is well to hold one's country to\nher promises, and if there are any who think she is forgetting them it is\ntheir duty to say so, even to the point of bitter accusation. I do not\nsuppose it was the \"common man\" of Lincoln's dream that Lowell thought\nAmerica was unfaithful to, though as I have suggested he could be tender\nof the common man's hopes in her; but he was impeaching in that blotted\nline her sincerity with the uncommon man: the man who had expected of her\na constancy to the ideals of her youth end to the high martyr-moods of\nthe war which had given an unguarded and bewildering freedom to a race of\nslaves. He was thinking of the shame of our municipal corruptions, the\ndebased quality of our national statesmanship, the decadence of our whole\ncivic tone, rather than of the increasing disabilities of the\nhard-working poor, though his heart when he thought of them was with\nthem, too, as it was in \"the time when the slave would not let him\nsleep.\"\n\nHe spoke very rarely of those times, perhaps because their political and\nsocial associations were so knit up with the saddest and tenderest\npersonal memories, which it was still anguish to touch. Not only was he\n\n                  \"--not of the race\n        That hawk, their sorrows in the market place,\"\n\nbut so far as my witness went he shrank from mention of them. I do not\nremember hearing him speak of the young wife who influenced him so\npotently at the most vital moment, and turned him from his whole\nscholarly and aristocratic tradition to an impassioned championship of\nthe oppressed; and he never spoke of the children he had lost. I recall\nbut one allusion to the days when he was fighting the anti-slavery battle\nalong the whole line, and this was with a humorous relish of his Irish\nservant's disgust in having to wait upon a <DW64> whom he had asked to his\ntable.\n\nHe was rather severe in his notions of the subordination his domestics\nowed him. They were \"to do as they were bid,\" and yet he had a\ntenderness for such as had been any time with him, which was wounded when\nonce a hired man long in his employ greedily overreached him in a certain\ntransaction. He complained of that with a simple grief for the man's\nindelicacy after so many favors from him, rather than with any\nresentment. His hauteur towards his dependents was theoretic; his actual\nbehavior was of the gentle consideration common among Americans of good\nbreeding, and that recreant hired man had no doubt never been suffered to\nexceed him in shows of mutual politeness. Often when the maid was about\nweightier matters, he came and opened his door to me himself, welcoming\nme with the smile that was like no other. Sometimes he said, \"Siete il\nbenvenuto,\" or used some other Italian phrase, which put me at ease with\nhim in the region where we were most at home together.\n\nLooking back I must confess that I do not see what it was he found to\nmake him wish for my company, which he presently insisted upon having\nonce a week at dinner. After the meal we turned into his study where we\nsat before a wood fire in winter, and he smoked and talked. He smoked a\npipe which was always needing tobacco, or going out, so that I have the\nfigure of him before my eyes constantly getting out of his deep chair to\nrekindle it from the fire with a paper lighter. He was often out of his\nchair to get a book from the shelves that lined the walls, either for a\npassage which he wished to read, or for some disputed point which he\nwished to settle. If I had caused the dispute, he enjoyed putting me in\nthe wrong; if he could not, he sometimes whimsically persisted in his\nerror, in defiance of all authority; but mostly he had such reverence for\nthe truth that he would not question it even in jest.\n\nIf I dropped in upon him in the afternoon I was apt to find him reading\nthe old French poets, or the plays of Calderon, or the 'Divina Commedia',\nwhich he magnanimously supposed me much better acquainted with than I was\nbecause I knew some passages of it by heart. One day I came in quoting\n\n        \"Io son, cantava, io son dolce Sirena,\n        Che i marinai in mezzo al mar dismago.\"\n\nHe stared at me in a rapture with the matchless music, and then uttered\nall his adoration and despair in one word. \"Damn!\" he said, and no more.\nI believe he instantly proposed a walk that day, as if his study walls\nwith all their vistas into the great literatures cramped his soul\nliberated to a sense of ineffable beauty of the verse of the 'somma\npoeta'. But commonly be preferred to have me sit down with him there\namong the mute witnesses of the larger part of his life. As I have\nsuggested in my own case, it did not matter much whether you brought\nanything to the feast or not. If he liked you he liked being with you,\nnot for what he got, but for what he gave. He was fond of one man whom I\nrecall as the most silent man I ever met. I never heard him say\nanything, not even a dull thing, but Lowell delighted in him, and would\nhave you believe that he was full of quaint humor.\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\nWhile Lowell lived there was a superstition, which has perhaps survived\nhim, that he was an indolent man, wasting himself in barren studies and\nminor efforts instead of devoting his great powers to some monumental\nwork worthy of them. If the robust body of literature, both poetry and\nprose, which lives after him does not yet correct this vain delusion, the\ntime will come when it must; and in the meantime the delusion cannot vex\nhim now. I think it did vex him, then, and that he even shared it, and\ntried at times to meet such shadowy claim as it had. One of the things\nthat people urged upon him was to write some sort of story, and it is\nknown how he attempted this in verse. It is less known that he attempted\nit in prose, and that he went so far as to write the first chapter of a\nnovel. He read this to me, and though I praised it then, I have a\nfeeling now that if he had finished the novel it would have been a\nfailure. \"But I shall never finish it,\" he sighed, as if he felt\nirremediable defects in it, and laid the manuscript away, to turn and\nlight his pipe. It was a rather old-fashioned study of a whimsical\ncharacter, and it did not arrive anywhere, so far as it went; but I\nbelieve that it might have been different with a Yankee story in verse\nsuch as we have fragmentarily in 'The Nooning' and 'FitzAdam's Story'.\nStill, his gift was essentially lyrical and meditative, with the\nuniversal New England tendency to allegory. He was wholly undramatic in\nthe actuation of the characters which he imagined so dramatically. He\nliked to deal with his subject at first hand, to indulge through himself\nall the whim and fancy which the more dramatic talent indulges through\nits personages.\n\nHe enjoyed writing such a poem as \"The Cathedral,\" which is not of his\nbest, but which is more immediately himself, in all his moods, than some\nbetter poems. He read it to me soon after it was written, and in the\nlong walk which we went hard upon the reading (our way led us through the\nPort far towards East Cambridge, where he wished to show me a tupelo-tree\nof his acquaintance, because I said I had never seen one), his talk was\nstill of the poem which he was greatly in conceit of. Later his\nsatisfaction with it received a check from the reserves of other friends\nconcerning some whimsical lines which seemed to them too great a drop\nfrom the higher moods of the piece. Their reluctance nettled him;\nperhaps he agreed with them; but he would not change the lines, and they\nstand as he first wrote them. In fact, most of his lines stand as he\nfirst wrote them; he would often change them in revision, and then, in a\nsecond revision go back to the first version.\n\nHe was very sensitive to criticism, especially from those he valued\nthrough his head or heart. He would try to hide his hurt, and he would\nnot let you speak of it, as though your sympathy unmanned him, but you\ncould see that he suffered. This notably happened in my remembrance from\na review in a journal which he greatly esteemed; and once when in a\nnotice of my own I had put one little thorny point among the flowers, he\nconfessed a puncture from it. He praised the criticism hardily, but I\nknew that he winced under my recognition of the didactic quality which he\nhad not quite guarded himself against in the poetry otherwise praised. He\nliked your liking, and he openly rejoiced in it; and I suppose he made\nhimself believe that in trying his verse with his friends he was testing\nit; but I do not believe that he was, and I do not think he ever\ncorrected his judgment by theirs, however he suffered from it.\n\nIn any matter that concerned literary morals he was more than eager to\nprofit by another eye. One summer he sent me for the Magazine a poem\nwhich, when I read it, I trembled to find in motive almost exactly like\none we had lately printed by another contributor. There was nothing for\nit but to call his attention to the resemblance, and I went over to\nElmwood with the two poems. He was not at home, and I was obliged to\nleave the poems, I suppose with some sort of note, for the next morning's\npost brought me a delicious letter from him, all one cry of confession,\nthe most complete, the most ample. He did not trouble himself to say\nthat his poem was an unconscious reproduction of the other; that was for\nevery reason unnecessary, but he had at once rewritten it upon wholly\ndifferent lines; and I do not think any reader was reminded of Mrs.\nAkers's \"Among the Laurels\" by Lowell's \"Foot-path.\" He was not only\nmuch more sensitive of others' rights than his own, but in spite of a\ncertain severity in him, he was most tenderly regardful of their\nsensibilities when he had imagined them: he did not always imagine them.\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nAt this period, between the years 1866 and 1874, when he unwillingly went\nabroad for a twelvemonth, Lowell was seen in very few Cambridge houses,\nand in still fewer Boston houses. He was not an unsocial man, but he was\nmost distinctly not a society man. He loved chiefly the companionship of\nbooks, and of men who loved books; but of women generally he had an\namusing diffidence; he revered them and honored them, but he would rather\nnot have had them about. This is over-saying it, of course, but the\ntruth is in what I say. There was never a more devoted husband, and he\nwas content to let his devotion to the sex end with that. He especially\ncould not abide difference of opinion in women; he valued their taste,\ntheir wit, their humor, but he would have none of their reason. I was by\none day when he was arguing a point with one of his nieces, and after it\nhad gone on for some time, and the impartial witness must have owned that\nshe was getting the better of him he closed the controversy by giving her\na great kiss, with the words, \"You are a very good girl, my dear,\" and\npractically putting her out of the room. As to women of the flirtatious\ntype, he did not dislike them; no man, perhaps, does; but he feared them,\nand he said that with them there was but one way, and that was to run.\n\nI have a notion that at this period Lowell was more freely and fully\nhimself than at any other. The passions and impulses of his younger\nmanhood had mellowed, the sorrows of that time had softened; he could\nblamelessly live to himself in his affections and his sobered ideals. His\nwas always a duteous life; but he had pretty well given up making man\nover in his own image, as we all wish some time to do, and then no longer\nwish it. He fulfilled his obligations to his fellow-men as these sought\nhim out, but he had ceased to seek them. He loved his friends and their\nlove, but he had apparently no desire to enlarge their circle. It was\nthat hour of civic suspense, in which public men seemed still actuated by\nunselfish aims, and one not essentially a politician might contentedly\nwait to see what would come of their doing their best. At any rate,\nwithout occasionally withholding open criticism or acclaim Lowell waited\namong his books for the wounds of the war to heal themselves, and the\nnation to begin her healthfuller and nobler life. With slavery gone,\nwhat might not one expect of American democracy!\n\nHis life at Elmwood was of an entire simplicity. In the old colonial\nmansion in which he was born, he dwelt in the embowering leafage, amid\nthe quiet of lawns and garden-plots broken by few noises ruder than those\nfrom the elms and the syringas where\n\n     \"The oriole clattered and the cat-bird sang.\"\n\nFrom the tracks on Brattle Street, came the drowsy tinkle of horse-car\nbells; and sometimes a funeral trailed its black length past the corner\nof his grounds, and lost itself from sight under the shadows of the\nwillows that hid Mount Auburn from his study windows. In the winter the\ndeep New England snows kept their purity in the stretch of meadow behind\nthe house, which a double row of pines guarded in a domestic privacy. All\nwas of a modest dignity within and without the house, which Lowell loved\nbut did not imagine of a manorial presence; and he could not conceal his\nannoyance with an over-enthusiastic account of his home in which the\nsimple chiselling of some panels was vaunted as rich wood-carving. There\nwas a graceful staircase, and a good wide hall, from which the\ndining-room and drawing-room opened by opposite doors; behind the last,\nin the southwest corner of the house, was his study.\n\nThere, literally, he lived during the six or seven years in which I knew\nhim after my coming to Cambridge. Summer and winter he sat there among\nhis books, seldom stirring abroad by day except for a walk, and by night\nyet more rarely. He went to the monthly mid-day dinner of the Saturday\nClub in Boston; he was very constant at the fortnightly meetings of his\nwhist-club, because he loved the old friends who formed it; he came\nalways to the Dante suppers at Longfellow's, and he was familiarly in and\nout at Mr. Norton's, of course. But, otherwise, he kept to his study,\nexcept for some rare and almost unwilling absences upon university\nlecturing at Johns Hopkins or at Cornell.\n\nFor four years I did not take any summer outing from Cambridge myself,\nand my associations with Elmwood and with Lowell are more of summer than\nof winter weather meetings. But often we went our walks through the\nsnows, trudging along between the horsecar tracks which enclosed the only\nwell-broken-out paths in that simple old Cambridge. I date one memorable\nexpression of his from such a walk, when, as we were passing Longfellow's\nhouse, in mid-street, he came as near the declaration of his religious\nfaith as he ever did in my presence. He was speaking of the New\nTestament, and he said, The truth was in it; but they had covered it up\nwith their hagiology. Though he had been bred a Unitarian, and had more\nand more liberated himself from all creeds, he humorously affected an\nabiding belief in hell, and similarly contended for the eternal\npunishment of the wicked. He was of a religious nature, and he was very\nreverent of other people's religious feelings. He expressed a special\ntolerance for my own inherited faith, no doubt because Mrs. Lowell was\nalso a Swedenborgian; but I do not think he was interested in it, and I\nsuspect that all religious formulations bored him. In his earlier poems\nare many intimations and affirmations of belief in an overruling\nprovidence, and especially in the God who declares vengeance His and will\nrepay men for their evil deeds, and will right the weak against the\nstrong. I think he never quite lost this, though when, in the last years\nof his life, I asked him if he believed there was a moral government of\nthe universe, he answered gravely and with a sort of pain, The scale was\nso vast, and we saw such a little part of it.\n\nAs to tine notion of a life after death, I never had any direct or\nindirect expression from him; but I incline to the opinion that his hold\nupon this weakened with his years, as it is sadly apt to do with men who\nhave read much and thought much: they have apparently exhausted their\npotentialities of psychological life. Mystical Lowell was, as every poet\nmust be, but I do not think he liked mystery. One morning he told me\nthat when he came home the night before he had seen the Doppelganger of\none of his household: though, as he joked, he was not in a state to see\ndouble.\n\nHe then said he used often to see people's Doppelganger; at another time,\nas to ghosts, he said, He was like Coleridge: he had seen too many of\n'em. Lest any weaker brethren should be caused to offend by the\nrestricted oath which I have reported him using in a moment of transport\nit may be best to note here that I never heard him use any other\nimprecation, and this one seldom.\n\nAny grossness of speech was inconceivable of him; now and then, but only\nvery rarely, the human nature of some story \"unmeet for ladies\" was too\nmuch for his sense of humor, and overcame him with amusement which he was\nwilling to impart, and did impart, but so that mainly the human nature of\nit reached you. In this he was like the other great Cambridge men,\nthough he was opener than the others to contact with the commoner life.\nHe keenly delighted in every native and novel turn of phrase, and he\nwould not undervalue a vital word or a notion picked up out of the road\neven if it had some dirt sticking to it.\n\nHe kept as close to the common life as a man of his patrician instincts\nand cloistered habits could. I could go to him with any new find about\nit and be sure of delighting him; after I began making my involuntary and\nall but unconscious studies of Yankee character, especially in the\ncountry, he was always glad to talk them over with me. Still, when I had\ndiscovered a new accent or turn of speech in the fields he had\ncultivated, I was aware of a subtle grudge mingling with his pleasure;\nbut this was after all less envy than a fine regret.\n\nAt the time I speak of there was certainly nothing in Lowell's dress or\nbearing that would have kept the common life aloof from him, if that life\nwere not always too proud to make advances to any one. In this\nretrospect, I see him in the sack coat and rough suit which he wore upon\nall out-door occasions, with heavy shoes, and a round hat. I never saw\nhim with a high hat on till he came home after his diplomatic stay in\nLondon; then he had become rather rigorously correct in his costume, and\nas conventional as he had formerly been indifferent. In both epochs he\nwas apt to be gloved, and the strong, broad hands, which left the\nsensation of their vigor for some time after they had clasped yours, were\nnotably white. At the earlier period, he still wore his auburn hair\nsomewhat long; it was darker than his beard, which was branching and\nfull, and more straw- than auburn, as were his thick eyebrows;\nneither hair nor beard was then touched with gray, as I now remember.\nWhen he uncovered, his straight, wide, white forehead showed itself one\nof the most beautiful that could be; his eyes were gay with humor, and\nalert with all intelligence. He had an enchanting smile, a laugh that\nwas full of friendly joyousness, and a voice that was exquisite music.\nEverything about him expressed his strenuous physical condition: he would\nnot wear an overcoat in the coldest Cambridge weather; at all times he\nmoved vigorously, and walked with a quick step, lifting his feet well\nfrom the ground.\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nIt gives me a pleasure which I am afraid I cannot impart, to linger in\nthis effort to materialize his presence from the fading memories of the\npast. I am afraid I can as little impart a due sense of what he\nspiritually was to my knowledge. It avails nothing for me to say that I\nthink no man of my years and desert had ever so true and constant a\nfriend. He was both younger and older than I by insomuch as he was a\npoet through and through, and had been out of college before I was born.\nBut he had already come to the age of self-distrust when a man likes to\ntake counsel with his juniors as with his elders, and fancies he can\ncorrect his perspective by the test of their fresher vision. Besides,\nLowell was most simply and pathetically reluctant to part with youth, and\nwas willing to cling to it wherever he found it. He could not in any\nwise bear to be left-out. When Mr. Bret Harte came to Cambridge, and the\ntalk was all of the brilliant character-poems with which he had then\nfirst dazzled the world, Lowell casually said, with a most touching,\nhowever ungrounded sense of obsolescence, He could remember when the\n'Biglow Papers' were all the talk. I need not declare that there was\nnothing ungenerous in that. He was only too ready to hand down his\nlaurels to a younger man; but he wished to do it himself. Through the\nmodesty that is always a quality of such a nature, he was magnanimously\nsensitive to the appearance of fading interest; he could not take it\notherwise than as a proof of his fading power. I had a curious hint of\nthis when one year in making up the prospectus of the Magazine for the\nnext, I omitted his name because I had nothing special to promise from\nhim, and because I was half ashamed to be always flourishing it in the\neyes of the public. \"I see that you have dropped me this year,\" he\nwrote, and I could see that it had hurt, and I knew that he was glad to\nbelieve the truth when I told him.\n\nHe did not care so much for popularity as for the praise of his friends.\nIf he liked you he wished you not only to like what he wrote, but to say\nso. He was himself most cordial in his recognition of the things that\npleased him. What happened to me from him, happened to others, and I am\nonly describing his common habit when I say that nothing I did to his\nliking failed to bring me a spoken or oftener a written acknowledgment.\nThis continued to the latest years of his life when the effort even to\ngive such pleasure must have cost him a physical pang.\n\nHe was of a very catholic taste; and he was apt to be carried away by a\nlittle touch of life or humor, and to overvalue the piece in which he\nfound it; but, mainly his judgments of letters and men were just. One of\nthe dangers of scholarship was a peculiar danger in the Cambridge\nkeeping, but Lowell was almost as averse as Longfellow from contempt. He\ncould snub, and pitilessly, where he thought there was presumption and\napparently sometimes merely because he was in the mood; but I cannot\nremember ever to have heard him sneer. He was often wonderfully patient\nof tiresome people, and sometimes celestially insensible to vulgarity. In\nspite of his reserve, he really wished people to like him; he was keenly\nalive to neighborly good-will or ill-will; and when there was a question\nof widening Elmwood avenue by taking part of his grounds, he was keenly\nhurt by hearing that some one who lived near him had said he hoped the\ncity would cut down Lowell's elms: his English elms, which his father had\nplanted, and with which he was himself almost one blood!\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\nIn the period of which I am speaking, Lowell was constantly writing and\npretty constantly printing, though still the superstition held that he\nwas an idle man. To this time belongs the publication of some of his\nfinest poems, if not their inception: there were cases in which their\ninception dated far back, even to ten or twenty years. He wrote his\npoems at a heat, and the manuscript which came to me for the magazine was\nusually the first draft, very little corrected. But if the cold fit took\nhim quickly it might hold him so fast that he would leave the poem in\nabeyance till he could slowly live back to a liking for it.\n\nThe most of his best prose belongs to the time between 1866 and 1874, and\nto this time we owe the several volumes of essays and criticisms called\n'Among My Books' and 'My Study Windows'. He wished to name these more\nsoberly, but at the urgence of his publishers he gave them titles which\nthey thought would be attractive to the public, though he felt that they\ntook from the dignity of his work. He was not a good business man in a\nliterary way, he submitted to others' judgment in all such matters. I\ndoubt if he ever put a price upon anything he sold, and I dare say he was\nusually surprised at the largeness of the price paid him; but sometimes\nif his need was for a larger sum, he thought it too little, without\nreference to former payments. This happened with a long poem in the\nAtlantic, which I had urged the counting-room authorities to deal\nhandsomely with him for. I did not know how many hundred they gave him,\nand when I met him I ventured to express the hope that the publishers had\ndone their part. He held up four fingers, \"Quattro,\" he said in Italian,\nand then added with a disappointment which he tried to smile away, \"I\nthought they might have made it cinque.\"\n\nBetween me and me I thought quattro very well, but probably Lowell had in\nmind some end which cinque would have fitted better. It was pretty sure\nto be an unselfish end, a pleasure to some one dear to him, a gift that\nhe had wished to make. Long afterwards when I had been the means of\ngetting him cinque for a poem one-tenth the length, he spoke of the\npayment to me. \"It came very handily; I had been wanting to give a\nwatch.\"\n\nI do not believe at any time Lowell was able to deal with money\n\n     \"Like wealthy men, not knowing what they give.\"\n\nmore probably he felt a sacredness in the money got by literature, which\nthe literary man never quite rids him self of, even when he is not a\npoet, and which made him wish to dedicate it to something finer than the\nevery day uses. He lived very quietly, but he had by no means more than\nhe needed to live upon, and at that time he had pecuniary losses. He was\nwriting hard, and was doing full work in his Harvard professorship, and\nhe was so far dependent upon his salary, that he felt its absence for the\nyear he went abroad. I do not know quite how to express my sense of\nsomething unworldly, of something almost womanlike in his relation to\nmoney.\n\nHe was not only generous of money, but he was generous of himself, when\nhe thought he could be of use, or merely of encouragement. He came all\nthe way into Boston to hear certain lectures of mine on the Italian\npoets, which he could not have found either edifying or amusing, that he\nmight testify his interest in me, and show other people that they were\nworth coming to. He would go carefully over a poem with me, word by\nword, and criticise every turn of phrase, and after all be magnanimously\ntolerant of my sticking to phrasings that he disliked. In a certain line\n\n     \"The silvern chords of the piano trembled,\"\n\nhe objected to silvern. Why not silver? I alleged leathern, golden, and\nlike adjectives in defence of my word; but still he found an affectation\nin it, and suffered it to stand with extreme reluctance. Another line of\nanother piece:\n\n     \"And what she would, would rather that she would not\"\n\nhe would by no means suffer. He said that the stress falling on the last\nword made it \"public-school English,\" and he mocked it with the answer a\nmaid had lately given him when he asked if the master of the house was at\nhome. She said, \"No, sir, he is not,\" when she ought to have said \"No,\nsir, he isn't.\" He was appeased when I came back the next day with the\nstanza amended so that the verse could read:\n\n     \"And what she would, would rather she would not so\"\n\nbut I fancy he never quite forgave my word silvern. Yet, he professed\nnot to have prejudices in such matters, but to use any word that would\nserve his turn, without wincing; and he certainly did use and defend\nwords, as undisprivacied and disnatured, that made others wince.\n\nHe was otherwise such a stickler for the best diction that he would not\nhave had me use slovenly vernacular even in the dialogue in my stories:\nmy characters must not say they wanted to do so and so, but wished, and\nthe like. In a copy of one of my books which I found him reading, I saw\nhe had corrected my erring Western woulds and shoulds; as he grew old he\nwas less and less able to restrain himself from setting people right to\ntheir faces. Once, in the vast area of my ignorance, he specified my\nsmall acquaintance with a certain period of English poetry, saying,\n\"You're rather shady, there, old fellow.\" But he would not have had me\ntoo learned, holding that he had himself been hurt for literature by his\nscholarship.\n\nHis patience in analyzing my work with me might have been the easy effort\nof his habit of teaching; and his willingness to give himself and his own\nwas no doubt more signally attested in his asking a brother man of\nletters who wished to work up a subject in the college library, to stay a\nfortnight in his house, and to share his study, his beloved study, with\nhim. This must truly have cost him dear, as any author of fixed habits\nwill understand. Happily the man of letters was a good fellow, and knew\nhow to prize the favor-done him, but if he had been otherwise, it would\nhave been the same to Lowell. He not only endured, but did many things\nfor the weaker brethren, which were amusing enough to one in the secret\nof his inward revolt. Yet in these things he was considerate also of the\neditor whom he might have made the sharer of his self-sacrifice, and he\nseldom offered me manuscripts for others. The only real burden of the\nkind that he put upon me was the diary of a Virginian who had travelled\nin New England during the early thirties, and had set down his\nimpressions of men and manners there. It began charmingly, and went on\nvery well under Lowell's discreet pruning, but after a while he seemed to\nfall in love with the character of the diarist so much that he could not\nbear to cut anything.\n\n\n\nIX.\n\nHe had a great tenderness for the broken and ruined South, whose sins he\nfelt that he had had his share in visiting upon her, and he was willing\nto do what he could to ease her sorrows in the case of any particular\nSoutherner. He could not help looking askance upon the dramatic shows of\nretribution which some of the Northern politicians were working, but with\nall his misgivings he continued to act with the Republican party until\nafter the election of Hayes; he was away from the country during the\nGarfield campaign. He was in fact one of the Massachusetts electors\nchosen by the Republican majority in 1816, and in that most painful hour\nwhen there was question of the policy and justice of counting Hayes in\nfor the presidency, it was suggested by some of Lowell's friends that he\nshould use the original right of the electors under the constitution, and\nvote for Tilden, whom one vote would have chosen president over Hayes.\nAfter he had cast his vote for Hayes, he quietly referred to the matter\none day, in the moment of lighting his pipe, with perhaps the faintest\ntrace of indignation in his tone. He said that whatever the first intent\nof the constitution was, usage had made the presidential electors\nstrictly the instruments of the party which chose them, and that for him\nto have voted for Tilden when he had been chosen to vote for Hayes would\nhave-been an act of bad faith.\n\nHe would have resumed for me all the old kindness of our relations before\nthe recent year of his absence, but this had inevitably worked a little\nestrangement. He had at least lost the habit of me, and that says much\nin such matters. He was not so perfectly at rest in the Cambridge\nenvironment; in certain indefinable ways it did not so entirely suffice\nhim, though he would have been then and always the last to allow this. I\nimagine his friends realized more than he, that certain delicate but\nvital filaments of attachment had frayed and parted in alien air, and\nleft him heart-loose as he had not been before.\n\nI do not know whether it crossed his mind after the election of Hayes\nthat he might be offered some place abroad, but it certainly crossed the\nminds of some of his friends, and I could not feel that I was acting for\nmyself alone when I used a family connection with the President, very\nearly in his term, to let him know that I believed Lowell would accept a\ndiplomatic mission. I could assure him that I was writing wholly without\nLowell's privity or authority, and I got back such a letter as I could\nwish in its delicate sense of the situation. The President said that he\nhad already thought of offering Lowell something, and he gave me the\npleasure, a pleasure beyond any other I could imagine, of asking Lowell\nwhether he would accept the mission to Austria. I lost no time carrying\nhis letter to Elmwood, where I found Lowell over his coffee at dinner. He\nsaw me at the threshold, and called to me through the open door to come\nin, and I handed him the letter, and sat down at table while he ran it\nthrough. When he had read it, he gave a quick \"Ah!\" and threw it over\nthe length of the table to Mrs. Lowell. She read it in a smiling and\nloyal reticence, as if she would not say one word of all she might wish\nto say in urging his acceptance, though I could see that she was\nintensely eager for it. The whole situation was of a perfect New England\ncharacter in its tacit significance; after Lowell had taken his coffee we\nturned into his study without further allusion to the matter.\n\nA day or two later he came to my house to say that he could not accept\nthe Austrian mission, and to ask me to tell the President so for him, and\nmake his acknowledgments, which he would also write himself. He remained\ntalking a little while of other things, and when he rose to go, he said\nwith a sigh of vague reluctance, \"I should like to see a play of\nCalderon,\" as if it had nothing to do with any wish of his that could\nstill be fulfilled. \"Upon this hint I acted,\" and in due time it was\nfound in Washington, that the gentleman who had been offered the Spanish\nmission would as lief go to Austria, and Lowell was sent to Madrid.\n\n\n\n\nX.\n\nWhen we met in London, some years later, he came almost every afternoon\nto my lodging, and the story of our old-time Cambridge walks began again\nin London phrases. There were not the vacant lots and outlying fields of\nhis native place, but we made shift with the vast, simple parks, and we\nwalked on the grass as we could not have done in an American park, and\nwere glad to feel the earth under our feet. I said how much it was like\nthose earlier tramps; and that pleased him, for he wished, whenever a\nthing delighted him, to find a Cambridge quality in it.\n\nBut he was in love with everything English, and was determined I should\nbe so too, beginning with the English weather, which in summer cannot be\noverpraised. He carried, of course, an umbrella, but he would not put it\nup in the light showers that caught us at times, saying that the English\nrain never wetted you. The thick short turf delighted him; he would\nscarcely allow that the trees were the worse for foliage blighted by a\nvile easterly storm in the spring of that year. The tender air, the\ndelicate veils that the moisture in it cast about all objects at the\nleast remove, the soft colors of the flowers, the dull blue of the low\nsky showing through the rifts of the dirty white clouds, the hovering\npall of London smoke, were all dear to him, and he was anxious that I\nshould not lose anything of their charm.\n\nHe was anxious that I should not miss the value of anything in England,\nand while he volunteered that the aristocracy had the corruptions of\naristocracies everywhere, he insisted upon my respectful interest in it\nbecause it was so historical. Perhaps there was a touch of irony in this\ndemand, but it is certain that he was very happy in England. He had come\nof the age when a man likes smooth, warm keeping, in which he need make\nno struggle for his comfort; disciplined and obsequious service; society,\nperfectly ascertained within the larger society which we call\ncivilization; and in an alien environment, for which he was in no wise\nresponsible, he could have these without a pang of the self-reproach\nwhich at home makes a man unhappy amidst his luxuries, when he considers\ntheir cost to others. He had a position which forbade thought of\nunfairness in the conditions; he must not wake because of the slave, it\nwas his duty to sleep. Besides, at that time Lowell needed all the rest\nhe could get, for he had lately passed through trials such as break the\nstrength of men, and how them with premature age. He was living alone in\nhis little house in Lowndes Square, and Mrs. Lowell was in the country,\nslowly recovering from the effects of the terrible typhus which she had\nbarely survived in Madrid. He was yet so near the anguish of that\nexperience that he told me he had still in his nerves the expectation of\na certain agonized cry from her which used to rend them. But he said he\nhad adjusted himself to this, and he went on to speak with a patience\nwhich was more affecting in him than in men of more phlegmatic\ntemperament, of how we were able to adjust ourselves to all our trials\nand to the constant presence of pain. He said he was never free of a\ncertain distress, which was often a sharp pang, in one of his shoulders,\nbut his physique had established such relations with it that, though he\nwas never unconscious of it, he was able to endure it without a\nrecognition of it as suffering.\n\nHe seemed to me, however, very well, and at his age of sixty-three, I\ncould not see that he was less alert and vigorous than he was when I\nfirst knew him in Cambridge. He had the same brisk, light step, and\nthough his beard was well whitened and his auburn hair had grown ashen\nthrough the red, his face had the freshness and his eyes the clearness of\na young man's. I suppose the novelty of his life kept him from thinking\nabout his years; or perhaps in contact with those great, insenescent\nEnglishmen, he could not feel himself old. At any rate he did not once\nspeak of age, as he used to do ten years earlier, and I, then half\nthrough my forties, was still \"You young dog\" to him. It was a bright\nand cheerful renewal of the early kindliness between us, on which indeed\nthere had never been a shadow, except such as distance throws. He wished\napparently to do everything he could to assure us of his personal\ninterest; and we were amused to find him nervously apprehensive of any\npurpose, such as was far from us, to profit by him officially. He\nbetrayed a distinct relief when he found we were not going to come upon\nhim even for admissions to the houses of parliament, which we were to see\nby means of an English acquaintance. He had not perhaps found some other\nfellow-citizens so considerate; he dreaded the half-duties of his place,\nlike presentations to the queen, and complained of the cheap ambitions he\nhad to gratify in that way.\n\nHe was so eager to have me like England in every way, and seemed so fond\nof the English, that I thought it best to ask him whether he minded my\nquoting, in a paper about Lexington, which I was just then going to print\nin a London magazine, some humorous lines of his expressing the mounting\nsatisfaction of an imaginary Yankee story-teller who has the old fight\nterminate in Lord Percy's coming\n\n     \"To hammer stone for life in Concord jail.\"\n\nIt had occurred to me that it might possibly embarrass him to have this\npatriotic picture presented to a public which could not take our Fourth\nof July pleasure in it, and I offered to suppress it, as I did afterwards\nquite for literary reasons. He said, No, let it stand, and let them make\nthe worst of it; and I fancy that much of his success with a people who\nare not gingerly with other people's sensibilities came from the\nfrankness with which he trampled on their prejudice when he chose. He\nsaid he always told them, when there was question of such things, that\nthe best society he had ever known was in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He\ncontended that the best English was spoken there; and so it was, when he\nspoke it.\n\nWe were in London out of the season, and he was sorry that he could not\nhave me meet some titles who he declared had found pleasure in my books;\nwhen we returned from Italy in the following June, he was prompt to do me\nthis honor. I dare say he wished me to feel it to its last implication,\nand I did my best, but there was nothing in the evening I enjoyed so much\nas his coming up to Mrs. Lowell, at the close, when there was only a\ntitle or two left, and saying to her as he would have said to her at\nElmwood, where she would have personally planned it, \"Fanny, that was a\nfine dinner you gave us.\" Of course, this was in a tender burlesque; but\nit remains the supreme impression of what seemed to me a cloudlessly\nhappy period for Lowell. His wife was quite recovered of her long\nsuffering, and was again at the head of his house, sharing in his\npleasures, and enjoying his successes for his sake; successes so great\nthat people spoke of him seriously, as \"an addition to society\" in\nLondon, where one man more or less seemed like a drop in the sea. She was\na woman perfectly of the New England type and tradition: almost\nrepellantly shy at first, and almost glacially cold with new\nacquaintance, but afterwards very sweet and cordial. She was of a dark\nbeauty with a regular face of the Spanish outline; Lowell was of an ideal\nmanner towards her, and of an admiration which delicately travestied\nitself and which she knew how to receive with smiling irony. After her\ndeath, which occurred while he was still in England, he never spoke of\nher to me, though before that he used to be always bringing her name in,\nwith a young lover-like fondness.\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\nIn the hurry of the London season I did not see so much of Lowell on our\nsecond sojourn as on our first, but once when we were alone in his study\nthere was a return to the terms of the old meetings in Cambridge. He\nsmoked his pipe, and sat by his fire and philosophized; and but for the\ngreat London sea swirling outside and bursting through our shelter, and\ndashing him with notes that must be instantly answered, it was a very\nfair image of the past. He wanted to tell me about his coachman whom he\nhad got at on his human side with great liking and amusement, and there\nwas a patient gentleness in his manner with the footman who had to keep\ncoming in upon him with those notes which was like the echo of his young\nfaith in the equality of men. But he always distinguished between the\nsimple unconscious equality of the ordinary American and its assumption\nby a foreigner. He said he did not mind such an American's coming into\nhis house with his hat on; but if a German or Englishman did it, he\nwanted to knock it off. He was apt to be rather punctilious in his shows\nof deference towards others, and at one time he practised removing his\nown hat when he went into shops in Cambridge. It must have mystified the\nCambridge salesmen, and I doubt if he kept it up.\n\nWith reference to the doctrine of his young poetry, the fierce and the\ntender humanity of his storm and stress period, I fancy a kind of baffle\nin Lowell, which I should not perhaps find it easy to prove. I never\nknew him by word or hint to renounce this doctrine, but he could not come\nto seventy years without having seen many high hopes fade, and known many\ninspired prophecies fail. When we have done our best to make the world\nover, we are apt to be dismayed by finding it in much the old shape. As\nhe said of the moral government of the universe, the scale is so vast,\nand a little difference, a little change for the better, is scarcely\nperceptible to the eager consciousness of the wholesale reformer. But\nwith whatever sense of disappointment, of doubt as to his own deeds for\ntruer freedom and for better conditions I believe his sympathy was still\nwith those who had some heart for hoping and striving. I am sure that\nthough he did not agree with me in some of my own later notions for the\nredemption of the race, he did not like me the less but rather the more\nbecause (to my own great surprise I confess) I had now and then the\ncourage of my convictions, both literary and social.\n\nHe was probably most at odds with me in regard to my theories of fiction,\nthough he persisted in declaring his pleasure in my own fiction. He was\nin fact, by nature and tradition, thoroughly romantic, and he could not\nor would not suffer realism in any but a friend. He steadfastly refused\neven to read the Russian masters, to his immense loss, as I tried to\npersuade him, and even among the modern Spaniards, for whom he might have\nhad a sort of personal kindness from his love of Cervantes, he chose one\nfor his praise the least worthy, of it, and bore me down with his heavier\nmetal in argument when I opposed to Alarcon's factitiousness the\ndelightful genuineness of Valdes. Ibsen, with all the Norwegians, he put\nfar from him; he would no more know them than the Russians; the French\nnaturalists he abhorred. I thought him all wrong, but you do not try\nimproving your elders when they have come to three score and ten years,\nand I would rather have had his affection unbroken by our difference of\nopinion than a perfect agreement. Where he even imagined that this\ndifference could work me harm, he was anxious to have me know that he\nmeant me none; and he was at the trouble to write me a letter when a\nBoston paper had perverted its report of what he said in a public lecture\nto my disadvantage, and to assure me that he had not me in mind. When\nonce he had given his liking, he could not bear that any shadow of change\nshould seem to have come upon him. He had a most beautiful and endearing\nideal of friendship; he desired to affirm it and to reaffirm it as often\nas occasion offered, and if occasion did not offer, he made occasion. It\ndid not matter what you said or did that contraried him; if he thought he\nhad essentially divined you, you were still the same: and on his part he\nwas by no means exacting of equal demonstration, but seemed not even to\nwish it.\n\n\n\n\nXII.\n\nAfter he was replaced at London by a minister more immediately\nrepresentative of the Democratic administration, he came home. He made a\nbrave show of not caring to have remained away, but in truth he had\nbecome very fond of England, where he had made so many friends, and where\nthe distinction he had, in that comfortably padded environment, was so\nagreeable to him.\n\nIt would have been like him to have secretly hoped that the new President\nmight keep him in London, but he never betrayed any ignoble\ndisappointment, and he would not join in any blame of him. At our first\nmeeting after he came home he spoke of the movement which had made Mr.\nCleveland president, and said he supposed that if he had been here, he\nshould have been in it. All his friends were, he added, a little\nhelplessly; but he seemed not to dislike my saying I knew one of his\nfriends who was not: in fact, as I have told, he never disliked a plump\ndifference--unless he disliked the differer.\n\nFor several years he went back to England every summer, and it was not\nuntil he took up his abode at Elmwood again that he spent a whole year at\nhome. One winter he passed at his sister's home in Boston, but mostly he\nlived with his daughter at Southborough. I have heard a story of his\ngoing to Elmwood soon after his return in 1885, and sitting down in his\nold study, where he declared with tears that the place was full of\nghosts. But four or five years later it was well for family reasons that\nhe should live there; and about the same time it happened that I had\ntaken a house for the summer in his neighborhood. He came to see me, and\nto assure me, in all tacit forms of his sympathy in a sorrow for which\nthere could be no help; but it was not possible that the old intimate\nrelations should be resumed. The affection was there, as much on his\nside as on mine, I believe; but he was now an old man and I was an\nelderly man, and we could not, without insincerity, approach each other\nin the things that had drawn us together in earlier and happier years.\nHis course was run; my own, in which he had taken such a generous\npleasure, could scarcely move his jaded interest. His life, so far as it\nremained to him, had renewed itself in other air; the later friendships\nbeyond seas sufficed him, and were without the pang, without the effort\nthat must attend the knitting up of frayed ties here.\n\nHe could never have been anything but American, if he had tried, and he\ncertainly never tried; but he certainly did not return to the outward\nsimplicities of his life as I first knew it. There was no more\nround-hat-and-sack-coat business for him; he wore a frock and a high hat,\nand whatever else was rather like London than Cambridge; I do not know\nbut drab gaiters sometimes added to the effect of a gentleman of the old\nschool which he now produced upon the witness. Some fastidiousnesses\nshowed themselves in him, which were not so surprising. He complained of\nthe American lower class manner; the conductor and cabman would be kind\nto you but they would not be respectful, and he could not see the fun of\nthis in the old way. Early in our acquaintance he rather stupified me by\nsaying, \"I like you because you don't put your hands on me,\" and I heard\nof his consenting to some sort of reception in those last years, \"Yes, if\nthey won't shake hands.\"\n\nEver since his visit to Rome in 1875 he had let his heavy mustache grow\nlong till it dropped below the corners of his beard, which was now almost\nwhite; his face had lost the ruddy hue so characteristic of him. I fancy\nhe was then ailing with premonitions of the disorder which a few years\nlater proved mortal, but he still bore himself with sufficient vigor, and\nhe walked the distance between his house and mine, though once when I\nmissed his visit the family reported that after he came in he sat a long\ntime with scarcely a word, as if too weary to talk. That winter, I went\ninto Boston to live, and I saw him only at infrequent intervals, when I\ncould go out to Elmwood. At such times I found him sitting in the room\nwhich was formerly the drawing-room, but which had been joined with his\nstudy by taking away the partitions beside the heavy mass of the old\ncolonial chimney. He told me that when he was a newborn babe, the nurse\nhad carried him round this chimney, for luck, and now in front of the\nsame hearth, the white old man stretched himself in an easy-chair, with\nhis writing-pad on his knees and his books on the table at his elbow, and\nwas willing to be entreated not to rise. I remember the sun used to come\nin at the eastern windows full pour, and bathe the air in its warmth.\n\nHe always hailed me gayly, and if I found him with letters newly come\nfrom England, as I sometimes did, he glowed and sparkled with fresh life.\nHe wanted to read passages from those letters, he wanted to talk about\ntheir writers, and to make me feel their worth and charm as he did. He\nstill dreamed of going back to England the next summer, but that was not\nto be. One day he received me not less gayly than usual, but with a\ncertain excitement, and began to tell me about an odd experience he had\nhad, not at all painful, but which had very much mystified him. He had\nsince seen the doctor, and the doctor had assured him that there was\nnothing alarming in what had happened, and in recalling this assurance,\nhe began to look at the humorous aspects of the case, and to make some\njokes about it. He wished to talk of it, as men do of their maladies,\nand very fully, and I gave him such proof of my interest as even inviting\nhim to talk of it would convey. In spite of the doctor's assurance, and\nhis joyful acceptance of it, I doubt if at the bottom of his heart there\nwas not the stir of an uneasy misgiving; but he had not for a long time\nshown himself so cheerful.\n\nIt was the beginning of the end. He recovered and relapsed, and\nrecovered again; but never for long. Late in the spring I came out, and\nhe had me stay to dinner, which was somehow as it used to be at two\no'clock; and after dinner we went out on his lawn. He got a long-handled\nspud, and tried to grub up some dandelions which he found in his turf,\nbut after a moment or two he threw it down, and put his hand upon his\nback with a groan. I did not see him again till I came out to take leave\nof him before going away for the summer, and then I found him sitting on\nthe little porch in a western corner of his house, with a volume of Scott\nclosed upon his finger. There were some other people, and our meeting\nwas with the constraint of their presence. It was natural in nothing so\nmuch as his saying very significantly to me, as if he knew of my heresies\nconcerning Scott, and would have me know he did not approve of them, that\nthere was nothing he now found so much pleasure in as Scott's novels.\nAnother friend, equally heretical, was by, but neither of us attempted to\ngainsay him. Lowell talked very little, but he told of having been a\nwalk to Beaver Brook, and of having wished to jump from one stone to\nanother in the stream, and of having had to give it up. He said, without\ncompleting the sentence, If it had come to that with him! Then he fell\nsilent again; and with some vain talk of seeing him when I came back in\nthe fall, I went away sick at heart. I was not to see him again, and I\nshall not look upon his like.\n\nI am aware that I have here shown him from this point and from that in a\nseries of sketches which perhaps collectively impart, but do not assemble\nhis personality in one impression. He did not, indeed, make one\nimpression upon me, but a thousand impressions, which I should seek in\nvain to embody in a single presentment. What I have cloudily before me\nis the vision of a very lofty and simple soul, perplexed, and as it were\nsurprised and even dismayed at the complexity of the effects from motives\nso single in it, but escaping always to a clear expression of what was\nnoblest and loveliest in itself at the supreme moments, in the divine\nexigencies. I believe neither in heroes nor in saints; but I believe in\ngreat and good men, for I have known them, and among such men Lowell was\nof the richest nature I have known. His nature was not always serene or\npellucid; it was sometimes roiled by the currents that counter and cross\nin all of us; but it was without the least alloy of insincerity, and it\nwas never darkened by the shadow of a selfish fear. His genius was an\ninstrument that responded in affluent harmony to the power that made him\na humorist and that made him a poet, and appointed him rarely to be quite\neither alone.\n\n\n\n\nETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:\n\n   I believe neither in heroes nor in saints\n   It is well to hold one's country to her promises\n   Liked being with you, not for what he got, but for what he gave\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Studies of Lowell, by William Dean Howells\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THE CREATURE WAS LASHING ABOUT IN A DEATH STRUGGLE]\n\n\n\n\n  THE MOTOR BOYS IN\n  STRANGE WATERS\n\n  Or\n\n  Lost in a Floating Forest\n\n\n  BY\n  CLARENCE YOUNG\n\n  Author of\n  \"The Racer Boys Series\" and \"The Jack Ranger Series.\"\n\n\n  ILLUSTRATED\n\n\n  NEW YORK\n  CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY\n\n\n\n\nBOOKS BY CLARENCE YOUNG\n\n=THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES=\n\n(_=Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of.=_)\n\n12mo. Illustrated\n\n  THE MOTOR BOYS\n    Or Chums Through Thick and Thin\n  THE MOTOR BOYS OVERLAND\n    Or A Long Trip for Fun and Fortune\n  THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO\n    Or The Secret of the Buried City\n  THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS\n    Or The Hermit of Lost Lake\n  THE MOTOR BOYS AFLOAT\n    Or The Stirring Cruise of the Dartaway\n  THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE ATLANTIC\n    Or The Mystery of the Lighthouse\n  THE MOTOR BOYS IN STRANGE WATERS\n    Or Lost in a Floating Forest\n  THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE PACIFIC\n    Or The Young Derelict Hunters\n  THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE CLOUDS\n    Or A Trip for Fame and Fortune\n\n\n=THE JACK RANGER SERIES=\n\n12mo. Finely Illustrated\n\n  JACK RANGER'S SCHOOLDAYS\n    Or The Rivals of Washington Hall\n  JACK RANGER'S WESTERN TRIP\n    Or From Boarding School to Ranch and Range\n  JACK RANGER'S SCHOOL VICTORIES\n    Or Track, Gridiron and Diamond\n  JACK RANGER'S OCEAN CRUISE\n    Or The Wreck of the Polly Ann\n  JACK RANGER'S GUN CLUB\n    Or From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail\n\n\n  Copyright, 1909, by\n  CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY\n\n  THE MOTOR BOYS IN STRANGE WATERS\n\n  Printed in U. S. A.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n CHAPTER                                 PAGE\n      I. NODDY'S COCOANUT PLANTATION        1\n     II. PROFESSOR SNODGRASS ARRIVES        9\n    III. OFF FOR FLORIDA                   22\n     IV. THE GIANT TURTLE                  35\n      V. THE PROFESSOR'S TRICK             43\n     VI. BOB GETS A SCARE                  50\n    VII. KILLING A MANATEE                 59\n   VIII. A MISFORTUNE                      69\n     IX. NEWS OF NODDY                     77\n      X. AFLOAT ONCE MORE                  84\n     XI. THE HOUSEBOAT                     92\n    XII. JERRY IS HURT                    100\n   XIII. THE SEMINOLE CHIEF               109\n    XIV. CAUGHT IN SAW GRASS              118\n     XV. THE BIG SNAKE                    126\n    XVI. AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER          134\n   XVII. INTO A STRANGE LAKE              142\n  XVIII. THE WANDERER AGAIN               152\n    XIX. A PLOT FOILED                    159\n     XX. BOB TAKEN ILL                    168\n    XXI. JERRY SEEKS AID                  175\n   XXII. THE RECEDING WATER               183\n  XXIII. THE PROFESSOR RETURNS            191\n   XXIV. IN THE FLOATING FOREST           199\n    XXV. A CRY FOR HELP                   207\n   XXVI. THE PLIGHT OF THE GIRLS          215\n  XXVII. OTTIBY TO THE RESCUE             221\n XXVIII. THE HURRICANE                    229\n   XXIX. NODDY'S DANGER                   234\n    XXX. THE BUTTERFLIES--CONCLUSION      242\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOTOR BOYS IN STRANGE WATERS\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nNODDY'S COCOANUT PLANTATION\n\n\n\"Shut your eyes,\" called Bob Baker to his friend Jerry Hopkins, as the\ntwo boys sat in the library of Bob's home.\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"Never mind. Just shut 'em; that's all.\"\n\n\"No tricks now. I don't want a mouthful of salt, or find that I'm all\ntangled up in a folding chair.\"\n\n\"No, this is something on my own account. Shut your eyes.\"\n\n\"All right. Here goes.\"\n\nJerry accommodatingly closed his eyelids. He opened them almost\nimmediately as he heard a loud thump in the room.\n\n\"What was that?\" he asked.\n\n\"That was yours truly,\" explained Bob.\n\n\"What doing?\"\n\n\"I threw my Latin grammar and my algebra over there behind the\nbookcase.\"\n\n\"What in the world did you do that for?\"\n\n\"Because I don't want to see 'em again until after vacation, and I\ndidn't want to see where they fell for fear I'd be tempted to do some\nstudying to work off my conditions. And I didn't want you to see where\nthey went to for fear you'd tell me. So I just shut my eyes and let\n'em go. They're safe, and when they clean house in the fall they'll\nfind 'em. It'll be time enough then to begin studying. Vacation's here!\nHurrah for a good time with nothing to do but have fun!\"\n\n\"That's so; to-day is the last one for school for more than two\nmonths,\" remarked Jerry.\n\n\"As if you'd forgotten it!\"\n\n\"Well, I wasn't thinking of it, though I'm glad we don't have to do any\nmore studying for a while. There'll only be the closing exercises this\nafternoon and then--\"\n\n\"Yes, then what?\" asked Bob. \"What are we going to do with ourselves\nthis vacation?\"\n\n\"Go somewhere in our motor boat I guess,\" replied Jerry. \"But isn't\nthat a Latin grammar I see sticking out under the edge of the\nbookcase?\" and he pretended to start to pull forth the volume.\n\n\"Don't you dare touch it!\" cried Bob. \"Shut your eyes so you can't see\nit!\"\n\nJerry, however, dodging Bob's outstretched arms, reached for the book.\n\n\"It's a sea story!\" he exclaimed. \"Looks like a good one, too, from the\npictures.\"\n\n\"Give it to me! I was looking all over for that. Guess I must have\ndislodged it when I threw my school books back there. It is a corking\ngood yarn.\"\n\n\"Well, Chunky,\" went on Jerry (giving Bob the nickname fastened on him\nbecause of his overabundance of flesh), \"are the adventures in that\nanything like those we had last summer down at Harmon Beach?\"\n\n\"Couldn't touch 'em! Those were 'adventures as were adventures,' as\nSalt-Water Sam would say,\" remarked Bob, giving his trousers a nautical\nhitch in memory of the odd character to which he referred. \"I only hope\nwe are as lucky in striking a good time this summer as we were on the\nAtlantic coast.\"\n\n\"We generally have been pretty fortunate in that respect,\" said Jerry.\n\"I haven't thought much about it this year. I studied rather hard to\nwin the prize scholarship.\"\n\n\"Yes, and you got it, which is more to the point, Jerry. As for me, the\nharder I bone away the less I seem to know. I don't want to hear school\nmentioned again for three months. What do you say to having something\nto eat?\"\n\n\"Just had my breakfast. Besides it's most time to go to--Oh, I forgot,\nyou don't want me to mention school. Well, I'll call it the place of\nlearning.\"\n\n\"Nobody will be on time this last day,\" responded Bob. \"I had breakfast\nmyself, but it was an early one, and I can eat again.\"\n\n\"Never saw the time when you couldn't,\" observed Jerry, taking care to\nget beyond the reach of Bob's fist.\n\n\"Have a glass of milk, Jerry.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't mind that.\"\n\n\"I'm going to have some and a bit of bread and jam,\" went on Bob, as he\ndisappeared in the direction of the kitchen.\n\nHe came back presently with what looked like enough for a substantial\nmeal for two hungry boys. Jerry said nothing, as he was familiar with\nthe eating capacity of his chum.\n\n\"Here comes Ned!\" exclaimed Jerry as he finished his glass of milk.\n\"Better get some more jam, Bob.\"\n\n\"I will,\" and before Jerry could stop him Bob had hurried off again. He\nreturned with more refreshments just as Ned Slade came in.\n\n\"Are you fellows going to school to-day?\" asked the newcomer. \"It's\nalmost nine o'clock.\"\n\n\"Breakfast is now being served in the dining car!\" cried Jerry,\nimitating the porters on the Pullman coaches. \"It's Bob's second\nattempt,\" he explained.\n\n\"You did your share,\" retorted Bob. \"Have some, Ned?\"\n\n\"No, thanks. Three meals a day are enough for me,\" and Ned sat down in\na chair to watch Bob eat.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Jerry. \"You look excited.\"\n\n\"I met Noddy Nixon, on my way here.\"\n\n\"You don't mean it! So he's back in town again. Did you have a quarrel\nwith him?\"\n\n\"Not exactly,--but we had a discussion. I can't stand him. He makes me\nmad every time I meet him, and when I thought of how he and Bill Berry\ntried to wreck that vessel down on the coast,--though I guess Noddy\ndidn't realize what a game Bill was playing--why I feel as though I\nwanted to thrash Noddy.\"\n\n\"Don't blame you,\" said Bob, finishing the last of the jam and bread\nand butter. \"What did he have to say?\"\n\n\"Oh, a lot of things, but principally that he was going down to Florida\nto take possession of a cocoanut plantation he's purchased, or which he\nthinks he's bought. I think it's all in his mind.\"\n\n\"Cocoanut plantation!\" exclaimed Bob.\n\n\"Down in Florida?\" inquired Jerry.\n\n\"Yes. This is how he happened to mention it,\" went on Ned. \"I was going\npast him on the street without speaking, though I was so surprised at\nseeing him that I wanted to ask where he came from. However, he saved\nme the trouble. He hailed me and, in that sneering way of his, he\nsaid he had something that was better than the gold mine in which we\nown shares. I didn't ask him what it was, but he told me. Said he had\nbought a cocoanut grove or farm, or whatever they call 'em, and was\ngoing to get rich. He said he was going down in a week or so to live on\nthe land and be a wealthy man.\"\n\n\"Do you s'pose he meant it?\" asked Bob. \"I'm very fond of cocoanut pie.\"\n\n\"Go ahead,\" remarked Jerry with a laugh. \"You've got Chunky interested,\nNed, as soon as you mention something good to eat.\"\n\n\"I guess Noddy was in earnest all right,\" went on Ned. \"He insisted\non showing me a lot of papers. It appears he bought the land through\nseeing an advertisement in a magazine. You pay so much down and so\nmuch a month, and the advertisement says you can make enough raising\ncocoanuts to meet all your monthly installments. Noddy said he had\nsecured a big tract down there.\"\n\n\"Where'd he get the money?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"From his father, I s'pose. Mr. Nixon is rich, and Noddy is the only\nchild. That's what makes him spoiled.\"\n\n\"When's he going down to the land of the everglades?\" inquired Jerry.\n\n\"He starts in a week.\"\n\n\"In what part of Florida is his cocoanut plantation located?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"Near Lake Okeechobee.\"\n\n\"I'd like to go to Florida,\" observed Bob. \"It's a nice place to read\nabout. Lovely climate, nothing to do but gather oranges, bananas and\ncocoanuts, watch the manatees and turtles, lie in the shade and--and--\"\n\n\"Get eaten up with sand fleas,\" put in Jerry. \"They have 'em down there\nas big as sparrows.\"\n\n\"I guess if we're going anywhere we'd better be starting for school!\"\nexclaimed Ned. \"It's after nine o'clock.\"\n\nThe three chums left Bob's house and strolled along the street in the\ndirection of the academy they attended. Ned continued his recital\nof his encounter with Noddy, the town bully who, on more than one\noccasion, had proved himself the enemy of the three friends.\n\n\"Oh, he talked a lot about how rich he was going to be,\" went on Ned.\n\"He thinks his cocoanut grove is going to put our gold mine in the\nshade. Says he'll buy us out in a few months. He was so excited that I\nguess he forgot all about how he acted down at Harmon Beach last summer\nuntil I asked him if he calculated to wreck any steamers on the Florida\ncoast. That made him mad and we had quite a discussion. That's what\nruffled me up. I left him spouting about what he expected to do with\nhis cocoanuts.\"\n\n\"I guess all the cocoanuts he'll raise wouldn't make enough pies to\nsatisfy Bob's appetite,\" remarked Jerry. \"But we'd better hurry, if we\nwant to get to school before noon.\"\n\nNone of the chums realized what a part Noddy and his cocoanut\nplantation were to play in their experiences that summer, nor in what\nan unexpected manner they were to render the bully a service.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nPROFESSOR SNODGRASS ARRIVES\n\n\nThe three chums quickened their pace and were soon at the academy,\nwhere they were greeted by a number of boy friends.\n\n\"Where are you fellows going this vacation? Out west, down to Mexico\nor the North Pole? Lots of fun--never say die--right side up with\ncare--automobiles--motor boats--flying machines--don't stop--red\nflag--danger--never mind--go on--whoop!\"\n\n\"Let up, Andy Rush!\" exclaimed Jerry, laughing. \"Give us a chance to\ncatch our breath, please,\" and he looked at a small boy who, in the\nstress of excitement, (which was the state he was continually in), was\ntrying to talk to the three chums at once.\n\n\"But I want to know,\" insisted Andy.\n\n\"We don't know ourselves,\" replied Bob. \"Go get a drink of ice water,\nAndy. Your windpipe must be hot after all that.\"\n\nThere was a general laugh at the small boy's expense, and then\nthe pupils went inside. While they are thus off the stage for a\nbrief period opportunity will be afforded to make the reader better\nacquainted with them.\n\nThe three chums, who, because of their long association with each\nother, and the part an automobile and motor boat had played in their\nadventures, had come to be known as the \"Motor Boys,\" lived in the\ntown of Cresville, not far from Boston. They were Jerry Hopkins, son\nof a widow who was well-to-do, Ned Slade, whose father owned a large\ndepartment store, and Bob Baker, the offspring of a rich banker.\n\nIn the first volume of this series, entitled \"The Motor Boys,\" was\nrelated how the chums became possessed of motor cycles and how, by\ntaking part in races, they won a large touring car. Their adventures on\nthe motor cycles were more than equalled by those that happened to them\nwhen they had their auto, as was told in the second book, \"The Motor\nBoys Overland.\" They conducted a successful search for a gold mine in\nNevada, and aided an old prospector in securing it, though Noddy Nixon\nand his crony Bill Berry tried to get it away from them. It was on this\ntrip that the boys became acquainted with Professor Uriah Snodgrass, a\nlearned man whose hobby was collecting bugs and butterflies.\n\nIn recognition of their aid the boys were given shares in the gold\nmine, which paid well. It was this mine to which Noddy referred when he\nboasted to Ned of his cocoanut grove.\n\nAt the suggestion of Professor Snodgrass the boys decided to take\nanother trip, as described in the third volume of this series, \"The\nMotor Boys in Mexico.\" In this they discovered a buried ancient city,\nhad fights with the Mexicans, and Bob was kidnapped but escaped.\n\nDeciding to visit their mine on their way back to the United States,\nthe three chums had rather a hard time of it. Their doings and the\nthings that happened to them are told in the fourth book of the series,\n\"The Motor Boys Across the Plains.\" They rescued a small boy from the\nhands of a bad gang of men, and this boy proved to be the son of a\nqueer hermit, who lived on the shores of a lake.\n\nThe boys reached home safely, and with quite a sum of money to their\ncredit. With part of this they purchased a fine, large motor boat,\ncalled the _Dartaway_. In her they had a series of adventures on river\nand lake, as related in \"The Motor Boys Afloat.\" They took part in\nraces, won a prize, discovered the mystery of a strange schooner and\ncleared up the robbery of Mr. Slade's department store.\n\nBut more exciting times awaited them. Their next vacation (for all\ntheir fun was had during the summers when there was no school) was\nspent at Harmon Beach, on the Atlantic coast, as recorded by me in\n\"The Motor Boys on the Atlantic.\" There they made the acquaintance\nof \"Salt-Water Sam,\" an old sailor and whaler, and with him made a\nsuccessful chase after a whale and a shark. They also uncovered a plot\nto change the signals in a lighthouse, so that a steamer might be lured\non the rocks, foiling the men, and aiding the aged keeper and his niece\nJess.\n\nNoddy Nixon, as the partner of Bill Berry (though Noddy claimed he did\nnot know of the enormity of the offense) had a hand in the lighthouse\nplot. As soon as it failed Bill Berry disappeared and Noddy was not to\nbe found for some time. Then, as there was no charge against him, Noddy\nreturned to his home. His father would believe nothing wrong concerning\nhim, and the bully was soon as bold as before. Being well supplied with\nmoney he had spent some of it in buying land in Florida, as Ned has\nalready related. Bill Berry did not come back to Cresville, which fact\nmade the three chums rejoice, for they did not wish to see that rascal\nagain.\n\n\"Closing exercises this afternoon, which will be short and sweet,\"\nobserved Bob, as he and his friends came from the academy at noon, \"and\nthen to map out a summer campaign.\"\n\n\"Yes, we want to get busy,\" said Ned. \"No use wasting time. You fellows\ncome to my house to-night and we'll look over some maps and plan a\ncruise. The motor boat is better than ever with the improvements we put\non her last fall.\"\n\n\"I'll be there,\" called Jerry, as he left his two chums. \"I've got to\ngo on an errand for my mother now, but I'll be on hand after supper.\"\n\n\"So will I,\" added Bob. \"I may be a little late though, because--\"\n\n\"Because he has to eat so much supper; eh, Chunky?\" and Jerry laughed\nas he shot that parting shaft.\n\n\"I promise to provide a light lunch at ten o'clock if you'll stay that\nlate,\" called Ned. \"So long!\"\n\nThe afternoon exercises passed off successfully, and with farewells\nfrom their teachers the three chums, as well as all the lads in the\nacademy, bade good-bye to the place of learning and scattered for the\nlong summer vacation. The motor boys, who were all in the same class,\nwalked down the street, arm in arm, as three fine lads as one could\nwish for,--tall, strong, full of recourse in times of danger, brave and\nfearless--excellent types of the American Boy.\n\n\"Let's each think of some plan for a trip,\" proposed Ned, as they\nparted to go to their several homes. \"We can talk 'em all over\nto-night.\"\n\nA few hours later the three chums were at Ned's house. On the library\ntable he had spread out a number of geographies, guide books and maps,\nand the boys were soon pouring over them. They talked a perfect babble,\nthe only things that could be distinguished now and then being such\nexpressions as:\n\n\"How about a trip to Maine?\"\n\n\"What's the matter with doing the Gulf of Mexico?\"\n\n\"We could go to Cuba if the weather kept good.\"\n\n\"The Bermudas aren't so very far off.\"\n\n\"Say, we'll never settle anything this way,\" called Ned after an hour\nhad been spent in fruitless discussion. \"I've got a plan.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"Let each one write on a slip of paper the place he'd like to go to.\nWe'll drop the slips in a hat and one of us, blindfolded, can pull a\nslip out. We'll go wherever the slip says.\"\n\n\"Suits me,\" exclaimed Bob, and Jerry nodded assent.\n\nPencils and paper were provided, and the boys were about to write down\ntheir choices when there came a knock on the library door. A moment\nlater the portal opened and Mr. Slade was looking in on the chums.\n\n\"A visitor to see you,\" he announced.\n\n\"To see who?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"All three of you. Let me present Professor Uriah Snodgrass.\"\n\n\"Professor Snodgrass!\" exclaimed the three boys in a surprised chorus.\n\"Where did he come from?\"\n\n\"I just arrived,\" announced a little man with very large spectacles, as\nhe stepped past Mr. Slade and bowed to the boys. \"I reached town this\nafternoon, and inquired for Mr. Slade's store, as I had some business\nto transact. He heard my name, and remembered me. He invited me to call\nthis evening, and--here I am.\"\n\n\"Yes, and just in time, too,\" cried Ned.\n\n\"How is that? Have you just captured a rare specimen of a mosquito or\na June bug for me?\" and the professor was ready at once to mount his\nhobby and start off on a scientific discussion.\n\n\"Not exactly,\" answered Ned, \"but we are trying to decide where to go\nin our motor boat for our vacation. Perhaps you can help us out.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid not,\" the professor replied. \"I never took a vacation in\nmy life, and I do not know where would be a good place to spend one. I\nknow where I am going this summer.\"\n\n\"Where?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"I am going to Florida, to search for a very rare butterfly. It is\npink, with blue and gold wings, and a certain museum has offered me\nfive thousand dollars for a perfect specimen. It is to be found in\nFlorida only, and I am off for the everglades next week.\"\n\n\"That's a lot of money for a butterfly,\" remarked Ned.\n\n\"Yes, but the museum can afford it,\" went on the scientist. \"No other\nscientific place in the world has this kind of a butterfly and the\nmuseum I speak of will be the envy of all the others. But it is not\nonly for the money that would come to me that I would like to get that\nbutterfly.\n\n\"If I succeed I hope to get a position with the museum. A sort of\ncommission to travel for them into all parts of the world after\ncurious bugs and relics. That is my ambition, and that is why I am\ngoing to try for this butterfly. It means a great deal to me, as, all\nmy life, I have wanted to be on the staff of some good museum, in order\nto search for curiosities for it. So you see it is not only the five\nthousand dollars I am after, though, of course that sum will be very\nacceptable.\"\n\n\"Do you think you can find the butterfly?\" asked Mr. Slade, much\ninterested.\n\n\"I hope so,\" replied Uriah Snodgrass. \"As I have said, it is very rare,\nand very difficult to catch. I have read of a number of specimens being\nfound but they were in poor condition, or discolored, and it is for the\nrare coloring of this species that it is desired by the museum.\"\n\n\"I hope you are successful,\" answered Ned's father. \"I have often\nwondered, when looking at the collection of insects in a museum, how\nthey got so many different kinds. Now I understand. It is due to the\nefforts of such men as you.\"\n\nJerry arose from his chair. The light of excitement gleamed in his eyes.\n\n\"I have it, fellows,\" he cried.\n\n\"What! Not that rare pink butterfly?\" cried the professor, showing\ngreat interest.\n\n\"No, but a plan. Let's go to Florida in the _Dartaway_. It will be a\nfine trip. We'll take you with us, Professor. There's lots of room.\"\n\nFor a moment no one spoke. Jerry stood up looking from his chums to the\nprofessor, and then to Mr. Slade.\n\n\"I would like nothing better than to go with you boys,\" Mr. Snodgrass\nanswered. \"When can you start?\"\n\n\"To-morrow!\" cried Ned. \"That's a fine idea, Jerry! That beats drawing\npapers from a hat. Florida it is! What do you say, Bob?\"\n\n\"Couldn't be better. I always was fond of oranges and cocoanuts.\"\n\n\"Then we're off for the everglades!\" exclaimed Ned, beginning to do a\ndance around the room. \"Can we go, father?\"\n\n\"Well, I presume it's no use saying no, so I may as well consent,\"\nanswered Mr. Slade. \"But I guess it will take you longer than until\nto-morrow to get ready.\"\n\n\"We can start next week,\" put in Jerry. \"That will suit the professor.\"\n\n\"Excellent,\" spoke the scientist, as he began creeping up on an\nunsuspecting June bug that was crawling on the table.\n\n\"That settles it!\" remarked Ned. \"Now let's get a geography and lay\nout a line of march.\"\n\n\"Is my son here?\" asked a woman's voice, and the boys looked up to see\nJerry's mother and Mrs. Slade standing in the library door.\n\n\"Here I am,\" replied Jerry. \"What is it, mother?\"\n\n\"I was calling in this neighborhood,\" went on Mrs. Hopkins. \"I knew you\nwere here and I thought I'd step in and ask you to take me home.\"\n\n\"Of course I will, mother. We were just planning another cruise.\"\n\n\"You're always doing that,\" said Mrs. Hopkins with a sigh. \"I can't see\nwhy you boys don't stay home one vacation.\"\n\n\"We want to see the world,\" declared Ned. \"This time we are going to\nFlorida.\"\n\n\"Florida?\" asked Mrs. Hopkins as if surprised.\n\n\"Why not, mother?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"Oh, I suppose that place is as safe as any. I was just thinking of\nsomething,\" Mrs. Hopkins went on. \"I once bought some land in Florida,\nbut after I got the deed I received word that the property was\npractically worthless and I never did anything about it. I have the old\ndeed home now.\"\n\n\"Where is this land, mother?\" asked Jerry. \"I never heard you speak of\nit.\"\n\n\"No, because I was sorry I lost the money I paid for it. The land is\nsomewhere in the central part of the state I believe. I'll show you the\ndeed when we get home.\"\n\n\"Yes, and if we get to Florida we'll look up this property,\" went on\nthe widow's son. \"Perhaps it has increased in value. This gives us\nanother reason for going to the everglades,\" and he laughed.\n\nOnce more the three boys began scanning the maps and guide books, while\nMrs. Hopkins and Mrs. Slade conversed about household matters. A little\nlater Jerry escorted his mother home and she showed him the old deed,\nof which he took possession.\n\n\"Who knows but what it may prove valuable,\" he said.\n\n\"I hope it does,\" remarked Mrs. Hopkins. \"I would like to get my money\nback.\"\n\nJerry returned to Ned's house, promising his mother to come home again\nas soon as more details of the proposed trip were settled.\n\n\"Don't lose that deed,\" cautioned Mrs. Hopkins.\n\nJerry, with a laugh, promised to keep it safely. He found his chums\nstill discussing the best means of getting to the land of the\neverglades. They little realized what lay before them, nor what was to\nhappen before they reached Cresville again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nOFF FOR FLORIDA\n\n\nAt first the boys had an idea they could go down the Atlantic coast in\ntheir motor boat, and so reach the beautiful land for which they were\nbound. But the professor pointed out the terrors of Cape Hatteras,\nwhich is a menace to even big vessels, so the chums decided on another\nplan. They would ship the boat from Cresville to St. Augustine and\ntravel there themselves by rail. From St. Augustine they could start\ndown the coast, and go up the Indian river.\n\n\"Can't we stop there a while?\" asked Bob at this point.\n\n\"What for?\" inquired Jerry.\n\n\"Why that's where the best oranges in the world grow,\" explained Bob,\nas if that was reason enough. \"Indian river oranges are fine!\"\n\n\"You can stay there,\" said Jerry. \"We'll go on to the everglades.\"\n\n\"I'm not going to stay all alone,\" remonstrated Bob. \"You might wait\nwhile a fellow gathered a few oranges, though,\" and he assumed an\ninjured air.\n\n\"The trouble is your idea of a 'few' would mean a boat load,\" came from\nNed. \"But I guess we can gather some as we sail along.\"\n\n\"Where do you plan to go from Indian River?\" asked Mr. Slade.\n\n\"We'll land at Titusville,\" replied Jerry, running his finger along the\nmap, \"and then--\"\n\nHe was interrupted by a sudden movement on the part of Professor\nSnodgrass, who had ceased to take part in the conversation, and an\ninstant later the room was in darkness.\n\n\"I've got him!\" cried the scientist eagerly. \"He's in my hand on the\ntable, but I'm tangled up in the gas lamp hose. I must have touched the\nstop-cock and turned off the light. Don't move, please, any of you.\nSome one strike a light so I can see to put my prize safely away.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Mr. Slade as he ignited one of the gas jets of the\nchandelier.\n\n\"One of the rarest specimens of June bugs,\" was the professor's answer.\n\"I saw him crawling on the table and I made a grab for him. He was\nright under the gas hose hanging down from the chandelier to the table\nlamp, but I didn't think of that. I hope I didn't hurt any one.\"\n\n\"No, you only scared Bob out of his appetite,\" said Ned.\n\n\"No, you didn't!\" exclaimed Bob. \"I'm as hungry as--I thought you said\nyou were going to give us a lunch, Ned? I'm ready--\" Then he stopped,\nin confusion, for the others burst out into a laugh at him.\n\n\"Don't worry, Chunky. You'll get your lunch in time,\" spoke Ned. \"But\nlet's get this trip settled first. Have you ever traveled in Florida,\nProfessor?\"\n\n\"I caught some of the finest snakes there you ever saw,\" replied the\nscientist. \"I have been over a considerable part of the state, and I'll\nbe glad to renew my acquaintance with it again.\"\n\n\"Then you can tell us if our plan is a good one,\" went on Ned,\ninforming Mr. Snodgrass of what the boys proposed to do. From\nTitusville, Ned explained, they would go by rail, with their boat, to\nLake Tohopekaliga, through the canal connecting that body of water with\nLake Hatchenana, across the latter lake, and again by canal to Lake\nKissimmee. From there they would go by the Kissimmee river to Lake\nOkeechobee.\n\n\"That will give you plenty of opportunity for testing your motor boat,\"\nsaid the professor. \"I think the route is a good one. The lower part\nof Lake Okeechobee is wild enough to suit any one, and I may be able\nto find there the rare butterfly for which I am searching. I will be\nvery glad to go with you, and I'll be ready to start any time you boys\nfix.\"\n\nHaving given that much attention to the proposed trip, the scientist\ndevoted himself to the June bug, which was struggling to escape from\nhis hand. Mr. Snodgrass produced a small box, with a perforated cover,\nand in it shut the protesting captive.\n\nThat done he jotted down in his note book certain facts about the bug,\nits size, date of capture and the circumstances under which the catch\nwas made. The professor was nothing if not methodical.\n\n\"Then the first thing to be done,\" observed Ned, when he and his chums\nhad once more gone over the map to see if they had selected the best\nroute, \"is to get the boat ready for the trip by rail. I fancy the\n_Dartaway_ doesn't like being shipped on a car. She likes the water too\nwell.\"\n\n\"No help for it,\" remarked Jerry. \"Some day we'll have a big enough\nboat to sail half way round the world in, and we'll not have to depend\non trains.\"\n\n\"I wonder if we'll meet Noddy when we get to Florida,\" mused Bob.\n\"Where did he say his cocoanut grove was, Ned?\"\n\n\"He didn't say, exactly, except that it wasn't far from Lake Okeechobee,\nand I didn't care enough to ask him. It's somewhere in the lower part, I\nbelieve. But I hardly think we'll meet him. Hope we don't, for we always\nhave bad luck as soon as he or Bill Berry turns up.\"\n\n\"I guess Bill will keep out of sight for some time to come,\" remarked\nMr. Slade, who was listening to the talk of the boys. \"I understand the\nUnited States government is after him for his part in the lighthouse\nplot, and when Uncle Sam wants a man he generally gets him. So I think\nBill will not trouble you this trip. Well, have you settled everything?\"\n\n\"Pretty nearly,\" answered Ned. \"All except that I'll have to have some\nmoney for my share of the expenses.\"\n\n\"I expected that!\" exclaimed Mr. Slade with a laugh. \"It takes money,\nas well as gasoline, to make a motor boat go. Well I don't mind, as\nlong as you boys take care of yourselves and don't get into mischief.\"\n\nAs the parents of the boys were well off there was no difficulty on the\nscore of funds, though, for that matter, the lads' shares in the gold\nmine were more than sufficient to pay their way on the various trips\nthey made.\n\nThey discussed their plans in detail, now and then appealing to\nProfessor Snodgrass for his opinion, but the scientist was busy looking\nfor a specimen of a black snapping bug which had flown in through a\nhole in the screen to get at the light, so he paid little attention to\nwhat the boys were saying.\n\n\"Well, I guess that's all,\" announced Ned, as he closed the big\ngeography. \"We'll start getting the boat crated up to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\" asked Bob, with rather a blank look.\n\n\"Yes, what else is there to discuss?\" inquired Ned.\n\n\"Chunky would like to discuss that lunch you promised,\" said Jerry with\na laugh. \"Eh, Chunky?\"\n\n\"Well--\" began Bob, looking somewhat sheepishly at Mr. Slade.\n\n\"Don't mind me,\" put in that gentleman. \"Go ahead with whatever you had\nplanned. The professor and I will go out on the porch. I'll smoke a\ncigar to drive the mosquitoes over to Mr. Snodgrass so he can catch 'em\nand sell 'em to a museum,\" and he laughed.\n\nThe boys had their lunch, and, in justice to Bob it must be said that\nNed and Jerry ate almost as much as he did. They talked, between bites,\nof their trip, and indulged in all sorts of conjectures as to what\nadventures might lie before them. They imagined strange enough ones,\nbut they were as nothing to what really befell them when they got to\nthe land of the everglades.\n\nThe little party broke up about midnight, with mutual promises on the\npart of the chums to meet early the next morning and get the _Dartaway_\nin shape for the long trip.\n\nThey met at the river dock, where their boat was kept, and gave the\ncraft a good overhauling. Some changes had been made in the craft since\nthe trip on the Atlantic coast. The boat was more powerful, and was so\narranged that they could sleep on board, for it had a portable awning\nand side curtains that could completely enclose the craft. Larger\nbunkers for the stowing away of provisions and water had been put in,\nthe machinery had been overhauled and, save for a few minor changes,\nthe _Dartaway_ was ready for a long trip. These changes were made\nduring the next two days, and then the boat was enclosed in a stout\ncradle. It was put aboard a flat car and, at the end of the week, had\nstarted on the journey to St. Augustine.\n\nAs the boys were walking up the street from the depot they met a man\nwith a small gray moustache, who looked sharply at them.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" he said, \"but can you tell me where I can find a Mr. Noddy\nNixon? I'm a stranger in town, and I want to see him on business.\"\n\n\"We can show you where he lives,\" replied Jerry, \"but he isn't home.\"\n\n\"Where has he gone?\" and the man looked surprised at the news.\n\n\"He told me he was going to Florida, to look at a cocoanut grove he had\npurchased,\" interposed Ned.\n\n\"What part, if I may ask?\"\n\n\"Near Lake Okeechobee.\"\n\n\"That's where we're going,\" put in Bob, who was rather impetuous.\n\n\"Indeed! Are you friends of his?\"\n\n\"Not exactly,\" replied Ned, stiffly.\n\n\"Then you're not going together?\"\n\n\"No, he has already started. We're going from St. Augustine in our\nmotor boat,\" came from Bob.\n\n\"Do you expect to see young Nixon there?\"\n\n\"I don't believe we will,\" remarked Jerry, wondering at the man's\nquestions.\n\n\"If you do I wish you would hand him this paper--no, I think perhaps\nI had better try and send it through the regular channels,\" and the\nman seemed in doubt. \"Would you give him a message if you saw him?\" he\nasked.\n\n\"We'd be glad to do you a favor,\" said Ned. \"What's it about?\"\n\n\"Just tell him to come home at once,\" was the answer, and the man\nseemed very much in earnest. \"It is very important. I can't tell you\njust what, but say to him that if he does not come voluntarily we will\nhave to--. No, perhaps you had better not say that. It might frighten\nhim, and we don't want to do that. Just tell him to come home to attend\nto a matter of which he has already received official notice,\" and the\nman returned a bundle of papers to his pocket.\n\n\"We'll do it,\" spoke up Ned, \"though we're not sure of seeing him.\"\n\n\"I understand. It's only a chance, but I will be glad to take advantage\nof it, and I will appreciate it very much if you can get that message\nto him.\"\n\nThe man moved off up the street, leaving the three boys somewhat\npuzzled.\n\n\"I wonder who he was?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"Don't you know?\" inquired Jerry.\n\n\"No; who was he?\"\n\n\"One of the government inspectors of lighthouses. I saw him down at\nHarmon Beach after Noddy and Bill, and the others in the gang, tried to\nwreck the steamer by showing false lights.\"\n\n\"Then he's after Noddy for his part in that!\" exclaimed Ned. \"But I\nthought they weren't going to prosecute Noddy?\"\n\n\"Maybe they want him for a witness against Bill Berry,\" suggested\nJerry. \"At any rate we'll give him the message if we see him. He's\nto come home to attend to a matter of which he has already received\nofficial notice. Probably he's been subpoenaed and has skipped out for\nfear of arrest. Maybe that's why he said he was going to his cocoanut\ngrove. Say, boys, I'll wager Noddy has gone to Florida to hide!\"\n\n\"But why doesn't the government attend to its own affairs and not ask\nus to tell Noddy to come back?\" inquired Ned. \"That's a queer way of\ndoing business.\"\n\n\"Perhaps they haven't any officials down near Lake Okeechobee,\"\nreplied Jerry. \"It's rather desolate down there, I guess, and it would\nbe hard work to hunt around for an unknown cocoanut plantation and\nlocate Noddy. Maybe the matter is not of much importance, and that man\nmay think we'll do to deliver the message. Anyway I believe I'm right\nand that Noddy has fled from Cresville because he's afraid of something\nin connection with the attempt to wreck the steamer, and his part in\nthe attack on Mr. Hardack, the lighthouse keeper.\"\n\n\"I'd like to see Noddy get his desserts,\" interposed Bob. \"He's done us\na lot of mean turns, but, somehow or other he always manages to sneak\nout of the consequences. If I get a chance I'll scare him with this\nmessage. I'll tell him the government detectives are after him with a\npack of bloodhounds.\"\n\n\"Better wait until we find him,\" advised Jerry. \"Lake Okeechobee is a\nbig place and there's a slim chance that we will meet Noddy.\"\n\n\"I thought there was something more than a new cocoanut plantation that\nmade him want to hurry out of town,\" spoke Ned. \"I remember now he\nacted, while he was talking to me, as if he was afraid of some one.\"\n\n\"That was your imagination,\" said Jerry with a laugh. \"But come on;\nlet's go home and get ready for the trip, and let Noddy's affairs take\ncare of themselves.\"\n\nThe boys packed their belongings, bade their friends good-bye and, on\nWednesday of the following week, were ready to start on their trip to\nthe quaint old city of St. Augustine.\n\n\"I hope the boat is there, waiting for us,\" remarked Bob.\n\n\"Yes. It wouldn't be much of a joke if it went astray,\" agreed Jerry.\n\n\"All ready?\" asked Professor Snodgrass, as he came down to the depot.\n\n\"All ready,\" replied Ned.\n\nThe scientist seemed to have suddenly increased in size, for he bulged\nout on all sides.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Jerry, looking in wonder at his learned friend.\n\n\"What? Oh, those are specimen boxes I put in my pockets. I had no room\nfor them in my trunks,\" Mr. Snodgrass answered. \"I also have a portable\nnet for capturing insects with. I must lose no opportunities. I may see\nsome valuable insects on my way down.\"\n\n\"Here comes the train!\" exclaimed Bob, as a whistle sounded in the\ndistance. \"Get your baggage together!\"\n\nThere was a confused scramble, as there always is at the last minute,\nno matter what preliminary preparations have been made. The boys and\nthe professor gathered up their grips, for their trunks had been\nchecked. The train rolled into the station. They scrambled up the\nsteps, and got seats together. Just as the train was pulling out of the\ndepot the boys heard some one yelling at them.\n\n\"Hold on! Wait a minute! Stop! I want to speak to you!\" was the cry.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE GIANT TURTLE\n\n\nThe three chums thrust their heads from the windows nearest them.\n\n\"It's Andy Rush!\" exclaimed Jerry, as he caught sight of the boyish\nfigure running down the station platform. \"Wonder what he wants?\"\n\nBy this time Andy was under the windows on the side of the car where\nthe boys sat. The train had not yet gathered much headway.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Ned. \"Has anything happened?\" for the small chap\nseemed quite excited.\n\n\"I wanted to see you last night--couldn't--had too much to do--got\nup early this morning--came down here on the run--saw the train\nmoving--yelled--engineer wouldn't stop--say--if you catch any manatees\ndown there--Florida I mean--save me a little one--I want to tame\nit--will--you--please--can't talk any--more! Out--of--breath!\"\n\nBy this time Andy was being distanced by the train and his wind was\nalmost expended.\n\n\"I'll bring you one!\" cried Bob, who was good natured and always ready\nto accommodate a friend. \"I'll bring you one, Andy,\" and he waved his\nhand to the excited boy.\n\n\"I say, Professor,\" went on Bob, a little later, \"are there any\nmanatees in Florida?\"\n\n\"There used to be quite a number but I'm afraid they have been mostly\nkilled off. Still there may be a few. Why?\"\n\n\"A friend of mine wants one and I promised to bring him a little one.\nIf you happen to see any, please let me know.\"\n\n\"I wonder if Bob has any idea of the size of a manatee or sea-cow?\" put\nin Jerry, with a little smile. \"How large do they grow, Professor?\"\n\n\"Well I have seen them weighing nearly a thousand pounds, but I suppose\nthe average is nearer eight hundred.\"\n\n\"There you are, Bob!\" exclaimed Ned with a laugh. \"You see what you've\npromised to send to Andy.\"\n\n\"I meant a baby one,\" and Bob seemed confused.\n\n\"I think even a baby manatee will be beyond your abilities to ship up\nNorth,\" Mr. Snodgrass answered. \"They are of good size but rather\ndelicate. They have to be transported in tanks of salt water and even\nthe museums have difficulty in getting them and keeping them alive. I'm\nafraid Andy will have to be content with some other kind of pet.\"\n\n\"I hadn't any idea they were as big as that,\" murmured Bob. \"Never\nmind, I'll get him something else.\"\n\n\"Try a nice pine snake, about ten feet long, or a copper-head, or a\nwild loon, or a turtle,\" suggested Ned. \"Andy won't care what you\nbring, as long as it's a souvenir from Florida. Ship him a chunk of the\neverglades.\"\n\n\"Well, I guess you make mistakes sometimes, so you needn't be so\nsmart!\" exclaimed Bob, a bit sensitive at the fun being poked at him.\n\n\"That's all right, Chunky,\" consoled Jerry. \"I see they have a dining\ncar on this train so you needn't go hungry, at all events.\"\n\n\"Is there, really?\" asked Bob. \"That'll be fine. I always like to eat\nin a dining car. I wish it was time for dinner.\"\n\nThe journey by train was an uneventful one. In due time the travelers\narrived at St. Augustine, and found that their boat had reached there\nin good condition. They arranged to have the empty cradle sent to\nTitusville, where they would again begin to travel by train until they\nreached Kissimmee City, on the shores of Lake Tohopekaliga.\n\n\"Then for a long voyage on water!\" exclaimed Ned, as they left the\nfreight house, having seen to the transportation of their boat to the\nharbor of St. Augustine.\n\nThey spent one day in St. Augustine, buying provisions and a supply of\ngasoline for the _Dartaway_. The boat, too, needed soaking in the water\nto close the seams which had dried open on the journey overland.\n\nBright and early one morning the three boys and the professor, having\nplaced all their baggage on board, took possession of the _Dartaway_.\n\n\"We're off!\" cried Jerry as he gave a long toot to the compressed air\nwhistle. \"Now for the manatees, Chunky!\"\n\n\"Let up on manatees!\" pleaded Bob. \"Can't you forget 'em?\"\n\n\"Yes, but think how disappointed Andy will be,\" and Jerry laughed as he\ngave the wheel a turn, shoved over the gasoline and sparking levers,\nwhile Ned cranked the engine.\n\nThere was a sort of sigh from the _Dartaway's_ motor, a cough, a\nwheeze, and then a series of throbs that told that the engine was in\nworking order. A mass of foam appeared at the stern where the screw\nwas churning the water, and the boat moved out of the harbor of the\nhistoric city.\n\nIt was a beautiful day and the boys were in excellent spirits over the\nsuccessful start of their trip. The engine was working to a charm, and\nthe _Dartaway_ seemed like a thing alive, so well did she answer to the\nslightest turn of the steering wheel.\n\n\"Isn't this glorious!\" exclaimed Jerry, as he sat in the bow. \"Can you\nbeat this, fellows?\"\n\n\"Not in a thousand years!\" cried Ned enthusiastically. \"Let Noddy\nNixon have his cocoanut groves, but give me a motor boat and a trip to\nFlorida!\"\n\n\"Wait a minute! Hold on! Stop the boat!\" cried the professor suddenly.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Jerry, slowing down the engine. \"Did you\nlose something?\"\n\nThe scientist seemed to be struggling to get at something in the bottom\nof the boat.\n\n\"It's a very rare dragon fly,\" he said as he brought out a butterfly\nnet. \"I just saw him floating on a bit of wood. I must have him for my\ncollection. He's worth a hundred dollars!\"\n\nThe professor made a sudden lunge, thrusting his long-handled net over\nthe side of the craft. He would have gone overboard had not Ned caught\nhim by the waist and held him.\n\nThe net went into the water with a splash, but, despite his undignified\nposition the professor managed to bring it aboard. He looked into it\nanxiously.\n\n\"I got him!\" he exclaimed. \"A perfect specimen! Oh, boys, this voyage\nhas started most excellently for me!\"\n\n\"It would have been the other kind of a start if I hadn't caught you,\"\nobserved Ned.\n\n\"Thank you, my dear young friend,\" spoke the professor, as he carefully\ndried the dragon fly and placed it in his cyanide bottle to kill it\npainlessly for preservation. \"I appreciate what you did for me, but\nI would rather fall overboard a dozen times than miss this beautiful\nspecimen.\"\n\nJerry started the engine again, and soon the _Dartaway_ was cutting\nthrough the water at a fast speed. Jerry had asked the advice of\nsome sea captains in St. Augustine and they had told him to keep in\nthe Matanzas river instead of standing out to sea, and, on reaching\nMatanzas inlet to use that as a means of getting out on the Atlantic.\nThis plan was followed, and at noon they emerged on the ocean, which\nthey greeted with a cheer.\n\n\"Here we are again!\" cried Ned. \"Guess you haven't forgotten us, Old\nSalt Horse! How's Father Neptune, anyhow? We had some tussles with you\nlast year when Salt-Water Sam was aboard. If he was here he'd sing this\nsong,\" and Ned, hitching his trousers up in true nautical fashion,\ndelivered himself of this classic which the old sailor used to sing:\n\n    \"It was on the isle of Nankum,\n     Near the land of Timbuctoo\n     That poor old Sam fell overboard one night.\n     There was a great commotion\n     In the middle of the ocean\n     Sure he gave the sharks and whales\n     A terrible fright.\"\n\n\"Good!\" cried Bob. \"Give us the second verse.\"\n\n\"There isn't any second verse.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, the third then. I'm not particular,\" and Bob began to\ninvestigate one of the food lockers.\n\n\"Here! Keep out of there until dinner time,\" called Jerry.\n\n\"It's dinner time now. Long past noon,\" remarked Bob.\n\n\"Wait until we make that point of land then, and--\"\n\nWhat Jerry was going to say he never finished, for at that instant the\n_Dartaway_ hit something with a force that threw Ned, who was standing\nup, off his feet and into the bottom of the craft.\n\n\"What's that?\" cried Bob.\n\n\"Must have hit a rock!\" exclaimed Ned.\n\n\"Is the boat sinking? If it is let me put a life preserver on my\nspecimen boxes!\" begged the professor.\n\nJerry had instantly shut off the power and was peering over the bow.\n\n\"Don't seem to be any rock,\" he murmured. \"We have deep water here.\"\n\nThen, to the surprise of all on board, the _Dartaway_ began to move\nthrough the water at a fast rate.\n\n\"Did you turn on the power?\" cried Jerry to Ned, who was nearest the\nengine.\n\n\"No! The motor isn't going!\"\n\n\"But we are!\"\n\nThe professor looked over the side of the boat. Then, pointing to\nsomething in the water just ahead, he said:\n\n\"We are being towed by a giant turtle!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE PROFESSOR'S TRICK\n\n\nThe boys looked to where the scientist pointed. Some large shape could\nbe seen just under the surface of the water, which was being churned\ninto foam by the action of the creature's flippers.\n\n\"How did that get hold of us?\" asked Bob. \"Has it got us in its mouth?\"\n\n\"The anchor got loose and dangled over the side,\" explained Jerry as he\nmade a hasty examination. \"One of the flukes must have caught under the\nturtle's shell after we rammed it. Now the creature is carrying us out\nto sea!\"\n\n\"Cut the rope!\" cried Ned. \"He'll swamp us!\"\n\n\"No! No!\" shouted Jerry. \"We can't afford to lose our anchor. We'll\nneed it later on.\"\n\n\"But how are we going to get rid of the turtle?\" asked Bob. \"He'll\nswamp us if he gets us away out in the rough water.\"\n\nThe situation was indeed a grave one. The turtle, doubtless imagining\nit had the best of some enemy, was increasing its speed. With the\nanchor caught under a forward flipper, where it offered no impediment\nto swimming, the big creature was towing the _Dartaway_ as easily as it\nmight a piece of driftwood.\n\n\"Reverse the engine!\" suggested Ned.\n\n\"I don't want to do that,\" objected Jerry. \"He's pulling so strong that\nif we start the motor on the reverse we may damage the boat.\"\n\n\"But we've got to do something,\" put in Bob.\n\n\"I have it!\" cried Jerry. \"I'll shoot the turtle!\"\n\nHe made his way to the stern of the craft, where in a locker the boys\nhad stowed their guns. Jerry took out his repeating rifle and loaded\nit. By this time the boat was well out from shore, close to which the\ncraft had been kept because the water was not so rough there.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" asked the professor. After his first\nglimpse of the turtle he had, apparently, taken no further interest in\nit, but was intently watching the gyrations of a swarm of little gnats\nthat were flying about the boat.\n\n\"Going to shoot the turtle,\" replied Jerry. \"We can't get rid of him\nany other way, and there's no telling where he'll take us.\"\n\n\"But you can't shoot him,\" said the scientist, steadying himself\nagainst the rocking of the boat, which was now among some big rollers.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"In the first place he is so far down under the water that the bullets\nwould glance off, and never touch him. And, if by some chance they\nshould hit him, his shell is thick enough to make them seem like dried\npeas.\"\n\n\"I'll aim at his head,\" proposed Jerry, anxious to use his rifle on the\ncreature.\n\n\"I fancy he has his head well drawn back under his protecting shell,\"\nMr. Snodgrass went on.\n\n\"Try for a flipper,\" put in Ned.\n\n\"His flippers are mostly only muscle and cartilage,\" declared the\nprofessor. \"He wouldn't mind a bullet through them any more than you\nwould if you stuck a pin in the calloused part of the palm of your\nhand.\"\n\n\"Then what can we do?\" asked Jerry, who was beginning to be a little\nfrightened at the prospect before them. The turtle seemed tireless.\n\n\"I'll have to try a trick,\" the scientist announced. \"Have you a\nfishing rod aboard?\"\n\n\"Several of them,\" replied Jerry. \"But do you think you can catch him\non a hook and line?\"\n\n\"Scarcely. But get the longest pole you have, please. I'll show you\nsomething that I think will make Mr. Turtle let go of our anchor.\"\n\nWondering what their friend was about to do the boys watched him\nselect a strong line from the supply they had brought along. Next the\nprofessor fastened on a large hook, using a strong wire snell.\n\n\"Got any meat aboard,\" was the scientist's next question.\n\n\"Some canned stuff,\" replied Bob, who could be depended on to know what\nwas in the larder.\n\n\"That will do. Get me a large firm piece.\"\n\nBob opened some corned beef, and soon the professor had baited the\nhook. Then he took his position in the bow and, with the rod extended\nat the end of which dangled the line, hook and meat, he prepared to put\nhis trick into operation.\n\nFortunately the rope to which the anchor was attached had caught on\na cleat after paying out a little as the turtle fouled the fluke.\nThis permitted the creature to go but a short distance ahead of the\n_Dartaway_ which it was towing. Otherwise the scientist might have been\nunable to do as he did.\n\nWhile the boys watched him Uriah Snodgrass lowered the bait into the\nwater, just ahead of the little ripples that indicated where the\nturtle's head was located.\n\n\"He's surely going to try to catch the turtle,\" said Bob in a low\nvoice. \"I hope he does. I've heard that turtle soup and steaks are fine\neating.\"\n\n\"Can't you let up on eating at a time like this?\" demanded Jerry in a\nsharp whisper.\n\nThe professor was leaning forward in an expectant attitude. It did look\nas though he hoped to catch the turtle as one angles after a wary fish.\nTo a certain extent, that was what happened. The big creature saw the\nbait dangling in front of it. The rush of the water through which it\nwas gliding swept the meat nearer. It liked the smell of the canned\ncorned beef, though probably it was a new item on the turtle's bill of\nfare. At any rate the matter of towing that troublesome object, which\npersisted in following it need not interfere with a meal. The turtle\ndecided to take the meat.\n\nJust as it was about to grasp the bait in the horny beak, strong enough\nto shear through a man's foot, the professor, who was on the watch with\nsharp eyes, moved it ahead a little, and then to one side. The turtle\ndoubtless thought the thing was alive and this made it all the more\nanxious to get the food. There was a flurry of the strong flippers.\nThe turtle turned to one side to follow the tempting morsel.\n\nCautiously the professor moved the rod and bait until he was holding it\nover the side of the boat instead of out from the bow. The turtle kept\nturning to reach the meat which was held just a few inches beyond its\nnose.\n\n[Illustration: THE TURTLE KEPT TURNING TO REACH THE MEAT]\n\nSuddenly there was a rush in the water and the pole bent almost double.\nThe reel sent out a shrill screech.\n\n\"I've hooked him!\" cried the professor. \"He's free from the rope now!\nStart the engine, Jerry!\"\n\nJerry lost no time in doing this. The chug-chug of the motor was soon\nheard and the _Dartaway_ forged ahead, freed from its deep-sea captor.\n\n\"Haul up the anchor!\" called the professor to Ned. \"We don't want any\nmore happenings like that. Bob, put the wheel around and send us toward\nshore. It's too rough out here.\"\n\nThe three boys were busy attending to the boat, while the scientist was\nstill holding the tauted line and the bent pole over the side of the\ncraft. An instant later there sounded a sharp snap.\n\n\"The line's broken!\" cried the professor. \"There goes the turtle!\"\n\nHe pointed ahead to where a flurry in the water indicated the presence\nof the creature. \"Well, I hope he likes his canned beef with hook\ndressing. At any rate we're well rid of him, though I would liked to\nhave had him for a specimen.\"\n\n\"That was quite a trick,\" observed Jerry, as he took charge of the\nsteering wheel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nBOB GETS A SCARE\n\n\nProfessor Snodgrass wound back on the reel what remained of the line.\nThen he unjointed the pole.\n\n\"Yes,\" he remarked. \"I thought that was about the only way we could\nmake the turtle let go of the rope. I enticed him around to one side,\nand that, naturally, made the rope drop from under his flipper. We'll\nhave to be more careful after this.\"\n\nSpeeding the motor up, Jerry soon had the boat near shore, and he\ndirected the course along the coast in comparatively quiet water.\n\nThey came into a small sheltered bay and, in a little cove where palm\ntrees came down almost to the water's edge, forming an ideal spot to\nrest, they went ashore.\n\n\"I think I'll take a little walk into the interior while you boys\nget dinner,\" remarked the professor, taking his butterfly net and\nthe cyanide bottle which he used for painlessly killing insects he\ncaptured.\n\n\"Don't get lost,\" advised Ned.\n\n\"If you see any orange groves let me know,\" called Bob.\n\nThe three boys were soon busy setting up their portable stove and\npreparing a meal, using the canned provisions they had brought along.\n\n\"How about fish?\" asked Ned. \"Looks as though there ought to be some in\nthis cove.\"\n\n\"Try your luck,\" said Jerry.\n\nNed got out his tackle and soon was casting in off a small point of\nland that stuck out into deep water. In a little while he had caught\nseveral fine specimens, and they were soon in the frying pan with some\nstrips of bacon.\n\n\"Smells just like a restaurant,\" spoke Bob, taking long breaths.\n\n\"It will be better if it tastes like one,\" observed Jerry, who was\nsuperintending the cooking. \"I am a little out of practice.\"\n\n\"Wonder why the professor doesn't come back,\" remarked Ned, when dinner\nwas ready to serve. \"I think he must be hungry.\"\n\n\"Probably he is, but he doesn't know it,\" suggested Bob. \"Very likely\nhe's chasing after a red, white and blue ant.\"\n\n\"I'll go after him,\" volunteered Jerry. \"You fellows go on eating.\nDon't wait for me.\"\n\nHe started off in the direction taken by the professor while Bob, too\nhungry to stand on ceremony, began to do ample justice to the food.\nNed joined him, and they were nearly finished before the scientist and\nJerry appeared coming through the grove of palm trees.\n\n\"What's Jerry got in his arms?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"I don't know. The professor is laden down with the same thing,\nevidently.\"\n\n\"They're oranges!\" cried Bob, as he caught sight of the yellow objects.\n\"They've found a grove of orange trees! I wish I'd gone along!\"\n\n\"Here are some of the specimens the professor captured,\" remarked Jerry\nwith a laugh, and he placed his fruit on the grass.\n\n\"Where do they grow?\" asked Bob eagerly, beginning to extract the juice\nfrom a large orange.\n\n\"About half a mile back,\" Mr. Snodgrass replied. \"I met the owner of\nthe grove and he invited me to take as many as I wanted.\"\n\nAfter dinner they took up their journey again, and that night slept on\nthe boat, anchored in a little harbor about forty miles further down\nthe coast.\n\nThey had an early breakfast and after making some minor adjustments\nto the engine started off again. The weather continued pleasant,\nthough there was quite a swell on, and riding in the boat was not as\ncomfortable as it had been the previous day.\n\n\"We'll reach Mosquito Inlet about noon,\" announced Jerry looking at the\nmap in the guide book.\n\n\"Very good,\" said the professor.\n\n\"I'd say it was very bad,\" put in Ned, making a wry face. \"I'm not very\nfond of mosquitoes.\"\n\n\"I need a few more specimens to complete my collection,\" the scientist\nadded.\n\n\"What is Mosquito Inlet?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"It's an entrance from the ocean to what is called Hillsborough river,\"\nreplied Jerry. \"It's really a part of the sea, but the book says\nit's a fine route for boats, and we'll take it. From there, by means\nof the Haulover Canal, we can get right into Indian river and reach\nTitusville.\"\n\n\"Then let's do it by all means,\" suggested Bob. \"This motion is a\nlittle too much for me.\"\n\nIn fact the rolling and pitching of the _Dartaway_ under the influence\nof the ocean swell, was not very agreeable, and all the travelers were\nglad when they reached the inlet and speeded through it to the quiet\nwaters of Hillsborough River.\n\nThey ate lunch aboard without stopping, as it was low tide, and not\neasy to go ashore across the stretch of mud revealed by the receding\nwater. That evening they emerged into Indian River, a beautiful stretch\nof water about one hundred and fifty miles long, almost as straight as\nan arrow, and separated from the sea by a narrow strip of land. Its\nwaters are salt like the ocean, and it is affected by the tides.\n\nAs dusk settled down the boys found the scene one of much beauty. On\ntheir left they could catch occasional glimpses of the masts of ocean\nvessels sailing close to the coast to avoid the powerful Gulf stream.\nOn their right was a forest of palmetto and other trees, forming a sort\nof screen for the orange groves beyond.\n\n\"It smells just like--just like--\" and Bob paused for a comparison.\n\n\"Just like a wedding party,\" finished Jerry as he took in deep breaths\nof the orange-perfumed air.\n\nThe river was widening as they advanced, and the air was filled with\nflocks of ducks and geese returning from their feeding grounds.\n\n\"I'm going to try for some!\" exclaimed Bob, preparing to get out his\nshot gun.\n\n\"Better not to-night,\" advised the professor. \"It's getting dark and\nyou couldn't see to pick them up if they fell into the water.\"\n\n\"I'll have some to-morrow,\" declared Bob. \"I'm very fond of roast duck.\"\n\nIt seemed to grow dark suddenly with the quickness that is always\nnoticed in southern countries. Ned, who had taken his place at the\nsteering wheel, looked down at the water and gave a startled cry.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"It's on fire!\" exclaimed Bob, as he glanced over the side.\n\nIndeed it did seem as though the river was ablaze. For a space of a\nhundred feet or more ahead of the bow, and on either side, there were\nlong lines and streamers of fire, crossed and recrossed as though some\ngiant lace-making machine was weaving a pattern in colors of glowing,\ngolden yellow.\n\n\"A beautiful display of the phosphorescent qualities of this stream,\"\nobserved the professor. \"Very beautiful. It is caused by the fish\nswimming about,\" the scientist explained. \"They agitate the water,\nwhich possesses suspended in it a quantity of phosphorous and when it\nis disturbed it seems to glow like fire. I have often read about it,\nbut I have seldom witnessed it. It is almost light enough to see to\ncatch specimens by.\"\n\n\"The guide book speaks of it,\" said Jerry. \"I ought to have known what\nit was. But I guess we'd better think of camping. We can't go any\nfarther to-night.\"\n\nLanterns were lighted, and with the searchlight glowing in the bow, to\nenable them to select a good place to land, the boat was sent toward\nshore. All the way there they seemed to be moving through a river of\nfire.\n\nThey found a good landing place, and soon had their camp arranged for\nthe night. It was decided to sleep ashore as it was somewhat crowded on\nboard. Accordingly, mosquito canopies were arranged, and after supper\nthe boys prepared their beds under a shelter tent which was erected.\n\n\"I'm going to make me a mattress,\" said Bob, as, carrying a lantern, he\nwent down to the edge of the river.\n\n\"What of; Spanish moss?\" asked Ned. \"I've read there's lots of that in\nFlorida.\"\n\n\"That would be fine,\" replied Chunky. \"But I don't see any around. No,\nI'm going to make it of grass.\"\n\nHe proceeded to pull a lot of long bladed herbage from the bank of the\nriver, and soon had himself a soft nest under the shelter of the tent.\n\n\"Guess I'll beat you all at sleeping to-night,\" said Bob, as he\nstretched out in his clothes on the grass. The others had wrapped\nthemselves up in their blankets.\n\n\"Go ahead,\" murmured Ned. \"I'm satisfied with what I've got. I could\nsleep on a bare plank.\"\n\nSoon deep breathing told that all the occupants of the camp were far\noff in slumber-land. It was after midnight when all the others were\nsuddenly aroused by a series of frightened yells from Bob.\n\n\"Something's got me! It's got hold of my foot! It's dragging me to the\nriver!\" he cried.\n\nNed and Jerry leaped to their feet. Jerry grabbed his gun which was\nnear him on the ground. The professor snatched down the lantern from a\npole in front of the tent and flashed it in Bob's direction.\n\n\"It's an alligator!\" yelled Ned, pointing to some big black object.\n\"Fire, Jerry!\"\n\nJerry raised his rifle, but, as he did so Bob pulled his foot away\nfrom whatever creature had hold of him and ran toward his companions\nwho had gathered in a group some distance from the tent.\n\n\"Shoot it! It tried to eat me up!\" he yelled.\n\nJerry fired point blank, but he evidently missed for the black object,\ndimly seen in the shadows cast by the lantern seemed to flop away. An\ninstant later a loud splash told that it had entered the river.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nKILLING A MANATEE\n\n\n\"What was it?\" cried Jerry.\n\n\"I don't know,\" answered Bob, who was almost too frightened to speak.\n\"I was dreaming one of you fellows was pulling me from bed by my foot\nand I woke up to discover that some animal had me. I looked and saw\nsomething black! Then I yelled.\"\n\n\"Let's make an examination,\" suggested the professor. \"Is your foot\nmuch hurt?\"\n\n\"A little,\" admitted Bob.\n\nBut an investigation showed that though his shoe was dented as if by\nthe marks of broad teeth, the leather had not been penetrated, and, on\ntaking off his shoe, Bob found his foot was only bruised.\n\n\"There are the tracks of where the beast came from the river,\" said\nJerry, pointing to the unmistakable path of some large animal. It had\ncome up the river bank, straight to the bed Bob had so carefully made.\n\n\"Must have been a crocodile,\" insisted Ned.\n\n\"There aren't any in Florida,\" said the professor. \"The alligators are\nnot found in this region, either. Whatever it was Bob, you baited it\nyourself.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Why, when you pulled that grass you left a long trail of it from the\nriver bank right to the tent. The creature simply followed it up,\neating as it went, and when it struck your bunk I suppose it thought\nit had quite a feast. I guess the taking hold of your foot was only\naccidental.\"\n\n\"Maybe it was a sort of walking fish,\" suggested Jerry.\n\n\"I have an idea what it was,\" the professor answered.\n\n\"A snake?\" asked Bob, and he turned paler than before.\n\n\"No, not a snake. I'll tell you in the morning. Better go to bed now.\nWe'll light several more lanterns and I think they will keep away any\nother creatures.\"\n\nBob declared he had had enough of his grass bed, so he got some\nblankets from the boat and stretched out under the tent between Ned and\nJerry, and as far as possible from the river.\n\n\"Whatever it was, it's not going to nab me again,\" he said, as he fell\ninto an uneasy slumber.\n\nThere were no further disturbances that night, and in the morning the\nboys gazed curiously at the broad path made by Bob's midnight visitor.\n\n\"Looks as though it was as big as a cow,\" said Jerry as he saw the\nmarks.\n\n\"Maybe it was,\" remarked the professor.\n\n\"Don't see what cows would be doing in the river,\" observed Ned, but\nMr. Snodgrass only smiled.\n\n\"What's the program this morning?\" asked Bob after breakfast had been\ndisposed of and the things packed back into the boat. \"Where are we\ngoing, Jerry?\"\n\n\"Let's keep right on down this river,\" suggested Ned. \"It's a fine\nplace.\"\n\n\"Not for me!\" exclaimed Bob. \"At least if we do I'm going to sleep on\nthe boat. No more cows for mine.\"\n\n\"We're going to Titusville,\" declared Jerry. \"Of course it would be\nnice to voyage down this river, and, according to my guide book it's\na beautiful sail. But if we want to get to Lake Okeechobee we'll have\nto change to rail transportation for a while and embark again on Lake\nTohopekaliga.\"\n\n\"I guess that will suit me as well,\" the professor announced. \"I must\nsoon begin to look for that rare butterfly. It is found in the region\nof the lakes, and I may be fortunate enough to run across a specimen\nvery soon.\"\n\n\"How are you going to know it when you see it?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"By its color, for one thing. It is pink, and has blue and gold wings.\nThen it feeds in a peculiar manner. It spreads its wings out when\ntaking nectar from a flower, and is frequently mistaken for a blossom.\nI hope I shall find several such butterflies.\"\n\n\"We'll help you look for them,\" offered Jerry, as he started the boat.\n\nIt was but a short run from the head of the Indian river, where the\ntravelers had entered, to Titusville, and, in order to enjoy the\nunusual scenery, Jerry ran the craft at slow speed. The boys watched\nthe river as it stretched out before them, now narrowing and again\nwidening, while they puffed slowly past groves of palmetto trees that\nthe orange growers depended on as a screen for their groves, which\nmight otherwise be frosted by the cold winds from the Atlantic.\n\n\"Can't we go ashore and get some fruit?\" asked Bob, when they had\ntraveled some miles.\n\n\"I guess the owners would have no objection if we took some,\" said\nthe professor. \"I understand they always invite visitors to help\nthemselves.\"\n\nThe boys decided to act on this suggestion, and soon the boat was\nanchored at the shore and the four voyagers went inland until they\nfound an orange grove. They met an overseer who invited them to gather\nall they could eat.\n\n\"These are much better than the others we had,\" spoke Bob, biting into\na luscious fruit.\n\n\"He's getting to be quite an expert,\" declared Jerry.\n\nOnce more they boarded the boat and Jerry put it well out toward the\nmiddle of the river which was very broad at this point.\n\n\"There, I guess I've had all the juice there is in that orange!\"\nexclaimed Bob, as he tossed the mass of skin and pulp overboard. \"Hand\nme another, Ned.\"\n\nAs the orange which Bob threw away struck the water, there was a sudden\nrush as though some large creature had grabbed the pulp.\n\n\"What was that?\" cried Bob, as he saw some big object swimming just\nbeneath the surface.\n\n\"Made enough fuss for a whale or shark,\" observed Ned.\n\n\"It was after the orange, but I guess it didn't like it, for it didn't\neat it.\"\n\n\"Throw another in,\" suggested the professor. \"We'll see what it is.\"\n\nJerry tossed some fruit overboard. There was a swirl in the river, and\na mass of foam, just ahead of the _Dartaway_. The creature seemed to\ninspect the floating oranges, and then ignore them.\n\n\"Look out!\" cried Ned suddenly. \"It's coming this way, Jerry!\"\n\nJerry saw something approaching the craft. He whirled the wheel over,\nand speeded up the engine, just in time to avoid whatever it was.\n\n\"That's an ugly beast,\" remarked Bob. \"Mad, I guess, because we didn't\ngive it something it liked to eat.\"\n\n\"Here it comes again!\" yelled Ned, and this time the boys saw the\ncreature, just under the surface of the water, approaching the boat on\nthe port side.\n\n\"He's going to hit us!\" yelled Bob. \"Look out, Jerry!\"\n\nJerry gave a glance over his shoulder. He saw the mass of water piled\nup in front of the on-rushing creature. He increased the speed of\nthe boat, and endeavored to steer it out of the path of the animal,\nwhatever it was. But the creature was not going to let the boat\nescape. It changed its course, and, an instant later, the _Dartaway_\ncareened under a violent shock.\n\nThere was a splash, as of some heavy object striking the water.\n\n\"Bob's overboard!\" yelled Ned, throwing his chum a cork ring, attached\nto a rope. \"He's going to ram us again, Jerry!\"\n\nThere was great confusion on the _Dartaway_. Jerry had reversed\nthe engine, and was looking about to catch sight of Bob, who was\nfloundering around in the water.\n\n\"There it comes!\" shouted Ned.\n\nOnce more the creature was returning to the attack. But this time it\ndid not strike the boat. The reversing of the engine had brought the\ncraft to a stop, and it was beginning to go astern. This caused the\ncreature to shoot just across the bows.\n\n\"It's a seal!\" yelled Jerry, who caught a passing glimpse of a big\nbrown body just under the water. \"Hand me a gun and I'll shoot it!\"\n\nBy this time Bob had grasped the cork ring, and the professor, who had\nhold of the rope, was pulling the boy aboard. Ned reached a rifle from\nthe locker and passed it to Jerry, who had shut off the power so he\nwould not have to steer the boat.\n\n\"Can you see it?\" cried Ned.\n\n\"He's coming at us again,\" replied Jerry.\n\n\"Shoot it in the head!\" called the professor, not desisting from his\nwork of rescuing Bob.\n\n\"You take a gun, Ned!\" shouted Jerry. \"I may miss!\"\n\nNed secured another weapon, and hurried to the bow to stand beside\nhis chum. Both boys could see where the creature was by reason of the\ndisturbance in the water.\n\n\"I see its head!\" spoke Ned in a whisper. \"It's just like a seal.\"\n\nHe took as careful aim as he could, as also did Jerry. The two rifles\nwere discharged together, and as the bullets struck the water they sent\nup little jets of spray. Then followed a great commotion, and the river\nin that vicinity was churned to foam.\n\n\"We must have hit him!\" yelled Jerry.\n\n\"We sure did!\" added Ned. \"The water is red!\"\n\nThe crimson color was spreading over the surface. The creature was\nlashing about evidently in a death struggle.\n\n\"Once more!\" cried Ned, as he worked the lever of his repeating rifle,\nand Jerry followed his example. They fired again.\n\nThis time they could hear the thud of the bullets as they struck. There\nwas a cessation of the beast's struggles, and the water grew quieter.\n\n\"Guess that finished him,\" observed Jerry, peering forward. \"He's done\nfor.\"\n\n\"What was it?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"Give me a hand here!\" called the professor. \"I want to lift Bob in.\"\n\nThe two marksmen turned from their inspection of the thing in the water\nat the bow of the _Dartaway_ to assist in getting their chum aboard.\n\n\"Did you think you needed a bath, Chunky?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"I--I got--one--whether--I needed it--or--or not,\" spluttered Bob, as\nhe got rid of the water in his eyes, nose, ears and mouth. \"Give me a\nhand.\"\n\nThey helped him into the boat, dripping wet, but otherwise uninjured,\nas Bob was fat, and floated well, in spite of the handicap of his\nclothes.\n\n\"What was it, a whale?\" asked the wet one. \"Did he put a hole in the\nboat?\"\n\n\"Guess we're not much damaged,\" replied Jerry. \"But I haven't yet seen\nwhat the thing was, unless it's a seal.\"\n\n\"There it is,\" observed Mr. Snodgrass, as he pointed to a big brown\nobject floating on the water. \"It's a manatee or sea-cow. I didn't\nexpect to meet with any, as they are almost gone from this part of the\nworld.\"\n\n\"A manatee!\" exclaimed Bob, in consternation. \"It's a good thing I\ndidn't try to bring one to Andy Rush!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nA MISFORTUNE\n\n\nJerry started the engine, and, at slow speed, put the boat close over\nto the big creature, which was now quite dead.\n\n\"I hadn't any idea they were so large,\" said Ned.\n\n\"As I told you before, they sometimes weigh nearly a thousand pounds,\"\nthe professor said. \"They are harmless, but I suppose this one must\nbe an old one, and a sort of king of this section of the river. Very\nlikely he didn't like our boat to disturb his feeding ground. By the\nway, Bob, I think he's a friend of yours.\"\n\n\"A friend of mine?\"\n\n\"Yes, that one, or one just like it, tried to bite your foot last\nnight.\"\n\n\"Was that what had hold of my foot?\"\n\n\"That was the creature,\" replied the scientist. \"I was pretty sure of\nit before, but I didn't want to say so until I had some proof. I had no\nidea there were any in this river, and I fancy we shall see no more.\nWell, boys, you had quite an experience. Many hunters would give a good\ndeal for the chance of killing a manatee, though I don't see much sport\nin it myself.\"\n\n\"What are they good for?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"Various purposes. I suppose some years ago the Seminole Indians were\nvery glad to eat them. But I don't believe we'll take it along with us.\nIt would be too much trouble. If it was alive a museum might pay a good\nprice for it. But, Bob, I hope you're not in danger of taking cold from\nyour bath.\"\n\n\"Not in the least,\" replied Chunky with a laugh. \"It's so warm in the\nwater that I'd like to stay in all day.\"\n\nThey helped him wring out his clothes and they were hung up to dry,\nwhile he donned some spare garments.\n\n\"Now for Titusville!\" cried Jerry, as he speeded up the motor.\n\nThey reached the city about noon, and as they wanted to get the boat\nready for another overland journey they decided to have dinner on board\nbefore going ashore to make their arrangements.\n\nWhen they got to the freight office they found that the cradle, in\nwhich the _Dartaway_ was to be shipped, had arrived. They engaged men\nto get the boat from the water, and, having seen it safely put on a\nflat car for shipment, they bought their tickets for Kissimmee City,\nwhere they were again to begin water travel.\n\nThough the railway journey was interesting, and gave the boys glimpses\nof persons and scenery they were unfamiliar with, they were anxious for\nit to be over so they might again feel the throb of the _Dartaway's_\nengine.\n\nOwing to a wreck on the road they missed connections and they had to\nlay over one night at a small village. The next day travel was slow,\nand they did not reach Kissimmee City until nightfall.\n\n\"I hope our boat's here,\" said Jerry as he got off the train. \"These\nrailroads don't have enough travel to make them as fast as those in the\nnorth.\"\n\n\"Maybe it was in the freight wreck that delayed us,\" suggested Bob.\n\n\"There you go, Old Calamity Howler!\" exclaimed Ned. \"What do you want\nto go suggesting any such thing as that for?\"\n\n\"I didn't mean anything,\" responded Bob, rather surprised at Ned's\nexplosion.\n\n\"I was just thinking the same thing myself,\" Ned went, \"and I didn't\nwant my bad presentment to be seconded.\"\n\n\"You fellows are talking nonsense,\" spoke Jerry. \"Come on until we find\na hotel. Then I'll inquire about the boat. But where is the professor?\"\n\n\"He was here a moment ago,\" replied Ned.\n\n\"There he is,\" said Bob, pointing to the figure of the scientist. Mr.\nSnodgrass was on his hands and knees on the depot platform, while near\nhim, in the glare of a lamp, stood a small crowd.\n\n\"Is he hurt?\" asked Bob, in some alarm.\n\n\"More likely he's trying to catch a new specimen of a hop-toad,\" was\nJerry's idea.\n\nAs the boys approached the professor they saw he had in his hand a\nsmall net with which he was endeavoring to capture something.\n\n\"Did yo' lose anything, stranger?\" asked a tall langy southerner, as he\nobserved the professor. \"If yo' did, say the word and we'll all jine in\nan' help yo' look for it, suah!\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" replied the scientist, not looking up from his occupation.\n\"I just saw a very rare specimen of a red flea, and I want to catch it\nfor my collection.\"\n\n\"A flea!\" exclaimed the southerner, while the others in the crowd\nlooked as though they thought the professor had gone crazy.\n\n\"Yes, a beautiful red flea, and very rare.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, stranger,\" went on the man who had first spoken, \"no\noffense, yo' understand, but if yo' want about seven million of them\nfleas I reckon we can accommodate yo'. I've got a dog that'd give a\ngood bit to git rid of 'em, an' I reckon as how some others I know can\nsupply yo'. Take 'em all, an' welcome, but don't turn 'em loose again\nin Kissimmee City.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" replied the scientist, as though some one had presented\nhim with a large sum of money. \"I only require one or two. The kind I\nseek is not as common as you think. There! I have him,\" and he made a\nsudden movement with the tiny net, imprisoning the hopping red captive.\n\n\"All kinds of fleas is too common around heah,\" observed the tall man.\n\n\"That's right,\" chorused his companions.\n\nBut the professor was intent only on his captive. He carefully placed\nit in a bottle and then turned to look for the boys. He had been\noblivious to everything, save the red flea, since he had first seen the\ncreature.\n\nThe travelers found a hotel and, after arranging for their rooms, the\nthree boys decided to visit the freight station and inquire about the\n_Dartaway_.\n\nThey found the office deserted, and, after tramping about the platform,\nand calling out in vain for some one of whom they might make inquiries,\nthey saw, approaching, a little <DW52> boy.\n\n\"Wuz yo' uns a-lookin' fer any one?\" he asked.\n\n\"Where's the freight agent?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"Oh, he's over to Buck Johnson's.\"\n\n\"Where's Johnson's?\"\n\n\"Down the road, about two hoots an' a holler.\"\n\n\"How far is that?\" asked Ned, to whom this description of distance was\nnew.\n\n\"I doan't rightly know, but ef yo' go twice as fur as yo' kin hoot, an'\nthen as fur as yo' kin holler, yo'll find him, but I don't guess he'll\ncome.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"'Cause he's at a dorg fight, an' he hates t' come away from a dorg\nfight.\"\n\n\"Can you tell him we'd like to see him about our boat?\" inquired Jerry,\nholding up a shining quarter.\n\n\"Mister, I'd go fo' miles fer two bits,\" replied the little <DW54>,\ncalling the twenty-five cent piece by its southern name. He seized the\nmoney as though he feared it would vanish, and started off on a run.\n\nWhether \"two hoots and a holler\" was only a short distance, or whether\nthe freight agent hurried away from the dog fight because of the small\n<DW64>'s description of the three travelers who were so lavish with\n\"two-bit pieces\" was not disclosed. At any rate a man was soon seen\nslouching down the platform.\n\n\"Was yo'-uns lookin' fer me?\" he asked.\n\n\"Are you the freight agent?\" inquired Jerry.\n\n\"That's what I be. I'm here nights, but Jim Peterson is here day\ntimes. We don't do much business nights, an' I jest took an hour or so\noff--er--fer amusement,\" he added. \"We was havin' a sort of athletic\ncontest. What kin I do fer yo'? Was yo' expectin' some freight?\"\n\nJerry smiled at the man's idea of an athletic contest in conjunction\nwith a dog fight, and answered:\n\n\"We're expecting a motor boat, shipped from Titusville.\"\n\n\"A motor boat?\"\n\n\"It's called the _Dartaway_,\" added Ned, to help the agent's memory.\n\n\"A boat, eh?\" and he seemed provokingly slow. \"Well, now, I'm terrible\nsorry to disappoint yo' gentlemen.\"\n\n\"Hasn't it come?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"No, an' guess it won't,\" said the agent in drawling tones. \"I got word\nlast night that some boat that was comin' heah was all busted to pieces\nin a freight wreck!\"\n\n\"The _Dartaway_ smashed!\" exclaimed Jerry, and the hearts of all the\nlads sank at the news of such a misfortune.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nNEWS OF NODDY\n\n\nFor several seconds no one spoke. The boys stood staring at one another\nand the agent started to go away, evidently believing he had done his\npart.\n\n\"Can you give us any particulars?\" asked Jerry at last. \"Where is the\nboat? Perhaps we can have it fixed.\"\n\n\"It's at Longwood, about ten miles from here,\" the agent replied, \"but\nthere's no trains to-night. Yo'-uns will have to wait until mornin'.\"\n\n\"I'll never sleep a wink,\" declared Ned. \"Think of the _Dartaway_ being\nsmashed!\" And he gave something like a groan.\n\n\"If she is smashed the railroad company will have to pay heavy\ndamages,\" declared Jerry. \"They've spoiled our whole vacation trip!\nCan't you give us any particulars?\" he went on, turning to the agent.\n\"Maybe we could hire a carriage and drive to Longwood. We've got to\nfind out something about our boat.\"\n\n\"Yes, I guess yo' could drive there,\" the agent replied. \"But I\nwouldn't advise yo' to, after dark. The roads are bad and dangerous.\nWhy can't yo' wait until mornin'?\"\n\n\"We're too anxious,\" declared Bob.\n\n\"Can't we telegraph?\" inquired Ned.\n\n\"The telegraph office is closed after supper,\" announced the agent,\nand, with their last hope gone, of getting any particulars that night,\nthe boys turned away. They went back to the hotel.\n\n\"We'll tell the professor,\" said Bob. \"Maybe he can help us out.\"\n\nWhen the scientist was made acquainted with the news he was much\nsurprised.\n\n\"That spoils my plan of catching the prize butterfly,\" he remarked.\n\"I've got to make other arrangements.\"\n\n\"Did you ever have anything lost by a railroad?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"Once.\"\n\n\"Was it smashed?\"\n\n\"Partly.\"\n\n\"What did you do to find it and get it back?\"\n\n\"Oh, the railroad company was glad enough to assist me,\" answered the\nscientist.\n\n\"How?\" inquired Jerry, and the boys looked interested.\n\n\"Why I once shipped a case of very valuable white rats,\" Mr. Snodgrass\nwent on. \"It was in a wreck, or something, and the railroad lost track\nof the case; I couldn't get trace of it. But in a little while I\nreceived urgent letters calling on me to take my white rats away. It\nseems the case had been side tracked after the accident and sent to\na lonely station where the agent was a woman. The rats got loose and\nfrightened her almost to death. She wired to headquarters threatening\nto resign unless the rats were taken away. In that way the claim agent\nheard--\"\n\nBut what the professor was going to say he never finished, for, at that\nmoment some kind of a bug came flying into the room through the opened\nwindow, and the scientist was after it at once. With his long-handled\nnet in his hand he pursued the insect about the room.\n\n\"Now I have it!\" Mr. Snodgrass cried as the bug alighted on the upper\npart of the door. He was bringing his upraised net down to catch it\nwhen the portal opened and a <DW52> man entered, bearing a pitcher of\nice water. His head came just in the right place and an instant later\nthe professor had brought his net down on the woolly pate of the <DW64>.\n\nThe startled <DW52> man dropped the pitcher of water, which splashed\nall over himself and the professor, and then the <DW54> let out a yell.\n\n\"I'm cotched! He's got me in de net! I'm a gone <DW53>! Leggo! I ain't\ndone nuffin! It were Sam Johnson as done it! Please, good Mr. Man let\nme go!\"\n\nHe struggled to get the net off his head, and the professor\nendeavored to assist him, but their efforts only seemed to make the\nmosquito-fabric cling the tighter, until the yells of the <DW52> man\nbrought several guests out into the corridor on the run, thinking the\nhotel might be afire.\n\n\"Help 'em, Ned!\" called Jerry, who was laughing so he could not go to\nthe aid of the two.\n\n\"Help 'em yourself,\" responded Ned, almost doubled up with mirth at the\nsight of the struggling figures.\n\nAt length the two managed to extricate themselves, and the professor,\ntaking his net from the <DW52> man's head, carefully examined it for\npossible rents.\n\n\"Did I hurt you?\" asked the scientist.\n\n\"No, I cain't 'zactly say as how 'yo hurted me,\" the <DW52> man\nreplied with a grin, \"but yo' done mos' scaired me t' def!\"\n\n\"I'm very sorry,\" went on Mr. Snodgrass. \"I was after a bug!\"\n\n\"I thought yo' were after me!\" and the bearer of the ice water gazed at\nthe broken pitcher.\n\n\"Well, here's something to buy salve for your head,\" and the professor\ngave the man a half dollar.\n\n\"Landy! Fo' bits!\" exclaimed the delighted <DW64>.\n\nNone of the boys slept well that night, on account of thinking about\ntheir boat. All hoped against hope that it might not be so badly\ndamaged but what it could be repaired.\n\nThey paid an early visit to the railroad office, the professor going\nwith them. Mr. Snodgrass, in spite of his scientific training, knew\nhow to talk business, and he soon had the agent wiring for particulars\nconcerning the motor boat.\n\n\"Tell 'em to send it here, no matter how badly it's smashed,\" put in\nJerry.\n\n\"Yes, we want our boat,\" added Bob.\n\n\"In a hurry,\" was Ned's contribution to the general orders.\n\n\"My, but yo' folks from the North are in a powerful rush,\" observed the\nagent with a smile. \"We-uns down here take life easier. I'll do my best\nfor yo'. The night man left word that yo' uns was frettin' an' stewin'\nabout yo' boat. Yo' uns is jest like another feller from the North.\nHe was here a while ago, an' he were raisin' Hail Columbia 'cause the\ntrain was behind time. Said he were goin' to his cocoanut plantation\nnear Lake Okeechobee an' wanted to git there in a hurry.\"\n\n\"Cocoanut plantation?\" asked Jerry, a sudden idea coming into his brain.\n\n\"Yep; that's what he said. Looked rather young to be ownin' a\nplantation. He was about the age of yo' lads. Seemed to think a good\ndeal of himself, an' give a powerful lot of orders.\"\n\n\"What was his name?\" asked Ned eagerly.\n\n\"Let's see, now. It was a curious sort of name. Shaky--no, it wasn't\nShaky--Sleepy--no, that ain't it either--Noddy--that's what it was.\nNoddy Nixon!\"\n\n\"Noddy Nixon down here!\" cried Jerry. \"How long ago?\"\n\n\"He was at this station a week ago to-day,\" replied the agent. \"Had to\nstay over one night because he missed a train, and he tried to make out\nit was my fault.\"\n\n\"Just like Noddy,\" murmured Ned. \"So he's down here? Maybe we'll meet\nhim.\"\n\n\"Hope not,\" remarked Jerry.\n\n\"Hark!\" exclaimed the agent, as he listened to the clicking of the\ntelegraph instrument. \"There's a message from Longwood. It's about you'\nboat.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nAFLOAT ONCE MORE\n\n\nHow the boys wished they understood the mysterious clicking of dots and\ndashes that came over the wires, so they might interpret the message\nwhich meant so much to them! They watched the agent as he wrote down\nthe words that he evolved from the sounds of the clicking instrument.\nThen, with what the boys thought was exasperating coolness, he clicked\nback something in answer, and slowly arose from his chair.\n\n\"Good news,\" he said. \"It wasn't your boat that was smashed. It was\nsome rowboats being sent to a steamship company on Lake Okeechobee.\nYour boat was in the wreck, but was only scratched a bit. It will be\nhere this afternoon.\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" yelled Jerry.\n\n\"That's the kind of news we like to hear!\" exploded Ned.\n\n\"What a relief!\" ejaculated Bob.\n\n\"Well, yo' uns seem quite pleased,\" remarked the agent. \"Can I do\nanything else for yo'?\"\n\n\"You've done more than enough, in locating our boat,\" said Jerry. \"Is\nit on the way now?\"\n\n\"The agent at Longwood says they're making up a freight train now to\nsend here. It's due shortly after one o'clock. Queer how things will\nget mixed up sometimes when there's a wreck. I'm glad it wasn't yo'\nboat. But yo' Northerners are always in such a hurry! By the way, was\nthat Noddy fellow any relation of yours?\"\n\n\"We know him,\" answered Jerry.\n\n\"I reckoned yo' uns must have, 'cause he was in the same kind of a\nrush,\" the agent explained, as if proud of his discernment.\n\nThe boys went back to the hotel for breakfast, which even Bob had\nforgone in order to get earlier news of the boat. Now, with feelings\ngreatly relieved, they ate the morning meal.\n\n\"We might as well arrange for some one to cart the boat to the lake,\"\nsuggested Jerry as they arose from the table.\n\n\"Maybe we'd better look for a shop where we can have it repaired,\" put\nin Ned. \"It may need a lot of attention.\"\n\n\"Hope not,\" spoke Jerry, though he thought Ned's idea a good one.\n\nThey found near the shores of Lake Tohopekaliga a boat builder, who\nagreed to take charge of the _Dartaway_, do whatever was necessary and\ntransport it to the water for them. Then there was nothing to do but to\nwait.\n\nIt seemed a long time until noon, and from then until one o'clock, when\nthe freight was due, the boys thought the clocks had all gone on a\nstrike. But at length, as they waited on the depot platform, they heard\na shrill whistle.\n\n\"There she comes!\" cried Ned. \"Now to learn the worst.\"\n\n\"Or the best,\" remarked Jerry, who was of a more hopeful turn of mind.\n\n\"I see it!\" exclaimed Bob, as the freight train passed them to draw up\nto the long platform. \"Doesn't seem to be in such bad shape!\"\n\nThe formalities of paying the freight and getting possession of the\ncraft was soon over. The cradle was left at the depot in readiness for\ntheir return after cruising about Lake Okeechobee, and the motor boat\nwas taken on a truck to the repair shop.\n\nCarpenters were soon busy on the craft, and, though the boys were\nanxious to get her into the water they had to wait over another night.\nThis made them rather impatient but it just suited the professor, who\nfound many more forms of insect life than he had anticipated, and he\nwas kept busy capturing them, much to the astonishment of the citizens\nof the place, who voted him almost, if not completely, insane.\n\nBy the second morning of their stay in Kissimmee City the _Dartaway_\nwas ready to be put into the water.\n\n\"Hurrah! She's afloat once more!\" cried Ned, as he saw their craft\nmoored at the lake dock.\n\nThey waited until noon to allow the seams to soak up, and then, having\ntaken on some fresh provisions, and succeeded in coaxing the professor\nfrom his search after a peculiar pink fly he had heard infested the\nregion, they were off.\n\nIt did not take them long to traverse Lake Tohopekaliga, which is a\nsmall body of water. They caught some fine fish in it, and had dinner\non shore. Through an artificial canal they reached Lake Hatchenana,\nand, crossing that, and again traversing a canal they emerged, late\nthat afternoon, upon Lake Kissimmee, the largest body of water between\nthem and Lake Okeechobee.\n\n\"This beats railroad travel,\" announced Ned, as he sat in the bows,\nsteering. \"No dust, no cinders, no smoke, no--\"\n\n\"No smash-ups!\" finished Bob. \"We were lucky to get out of it as we\ndid.\"\n\n\"What's the program for to-night?\" asked the professor of Jerry, who\nhad, in a measure, assumed charge of the trip.\n\n\"There's an island in the middle of this lake,\" he answered. \"I was\nthinking we might camp on it.\"\n\n\"I'm going to put up a net to prevent the manatees from getting at me,\"\nannounced Bob with a laugh.\n\n\"No danger of them here,\" spoke the professor. \"But I think we'll need\na net to keep away the gnats and mosquitoes.\"\n\nThis proved a correct surmise. When they landed on the island in the\nlake, which piece of land, as far as they could see, was deserted, they\nwere met with a swarm of winged pests that made life miserable.\n\n\"This is awful!\" exclaimed Bob, slapping about with both hands at the\ncloud of insects about his head.\n\n\"I think I can do something to make it more bearable,\" Uriah Snodgrass\nannounced, as he began to delve among his possessions. \"Here is a\nchemical preparation, which, if you rub it on your hands and faces,\nwill, I think, keep the mosquitoes and black flies away.\"\n\nThe boys gladly availed themselves of the stuff, and, after generous\napplications, they found, that though the insects still hovered about\nthem, they were not bitten.\n\nPreparations for supper were hastily made, and a fire built in the\nportable stove. A \"smudge\" was also made, to keep off most of the\nmosquitoes and, after this, the travelers were more comfortable.\n\n\"It's warm enough to sleep in the open to-night,\" announced Jerry when\nthe question of erecting the tent was raised. \"No use getting it out,\nand we can start off so much earlier in the morning if we don't have it\nto bother with.\"\n\nThe other boys were willing, so, after lighting some lanterns, and\nclearing a place amid a clump of trees, the sleeping blankets were\nspread out there and the boys turned in.\n\nThe professor, as usual, remained up to arrange the specimens he had\ncollected during the day, making entries in his book by the light of a\nlantern suspended over a butter tub which he used as a table. He was\nstill at this when the boys fell asleep.\n\nNed was dreaming that he was in swimming and that Bob and Jerry was\nsplashing water on him, when he awoke with a start, to find he was\nsoaking wet. It was pitch dark, and Ned, at first, did not know what to\nmake of it. It seemed as if some one was dashing a pail of water over\nhim as he lay on the ground.\n\n\"Here! Let up!\" he cried.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Jerry, awaking at the same time. Then Bob\nadded his inquiry, and the professor, who had retired at midnight,\ncalled to the boys.\n\n\"It's raining cats and dogs!\" cried Ned, scrambling to his feet. \"I'm\nwet through. The lanterns are drowned out! We should have put up the\ntent!\"\n\n\"Raining!\" exclaimed Jerry. \"I guess it's a cloud-burst from the way\nI'm getting it!\"\n\nIt was a drenching downpour, but otherwise the storm was not violent.\nIt had begun to shower gently and from that had rapidly increased to a\ntorrent of water dripping from the clouds.\n\n\"Light a lantern somebody!\" called Ned. \"Let's make for the boat! We\ncan keep dry there!\"\n\n\"My matches are all wet!\" announced Jerry.\n\n\"So are mine!\" added Bob.\n\n\"I have some dry ones!\" the scientist called. \"Wait a minute!\"\n\nThey could hear him moving about in the darkness and rain, seeking for\na sheltered place in which to strike a light. Suddenly the blackness\nwas illuminated by a brilliant white glare. It shone full in the faces\nof the travelers, who, much startled, turned to see what it was. They\nheard some object strike the island near where their boat was moored,\nand then the light went out, making the blackness more intense than\nbefore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE HOUSEBOAT\n\n\n\"Lightning!\" cried Bob.\n\n\"Must have struck here!\" remarked Ned.\n\n\"Did you ever see lightning so near at hand and not hear thunder?\"\nasked Jerry. \"It was a searchlight, I think.\"\n\n\"A searchlight in this deserted region?\" inquired Ned. \"Guess again,\nJerry.\"\n\nNo sooner had he spoken than there came the intense white glare again.\nThis time there was no mistaking it. It was the flare of an acetylene\ngas lantern.\n\n\"An automobile!\" cried Bob.\n\n\"On the lake?\" asked Ned. Then suddenly changing the subject; \"Wow! I\nwish I had an umbrella for a few minutes!\" He felt a stream of water\nrunning down his back.\n\nThe white shaft of light played about, now on the trees, now on the\nwater, and again full into the faces of the bewildered travelers, who\nstood in the downpour, not knowing what to do. Then, from out of the\ndarkness behind the shaft of illumination were heard the clear tones of\na girl's voice calling:\n\n\"Well, dad, we've struck land at any rate!\"\n\n\"It's a boat!\" exclaimed Jerry. \"Somebody has landed here in a boat!\"\n\n\"Girls and women in it,\" added Ned, as sounds of several feminine\nvoices were noted. A moment later a man's tones asked:\n\n\"What sort of land have we struck, Rose?\"\n\n\"Can't tell, dad,\" was the reply. \"It's solid enough at any rate,\njudging by the way the _Wanderer_ hit it. The searchlight doesn't show\nanything but trees, does it Ponto?\"\n\n\"No, indeedy,\" replied a <DW64>. \"But, 'scuse me, Miss Rose, I done\nthought I seed some pursons a minute ago when I done flashed de lantern\nstraight ahead.\"\n\n\"Persons, Ponto? Then for mercy sakes, flash it that way again, and\nperhaps they'll tell us where we are.\"\n\nOnce more the searchlight shone in the faces of the boys and the\nprofessor, and this time the girl, who had been speaking to the <DW64>,\nsaw the travelers.\n\n\"Can you tell us where we are?\" she called, raising her voice to be\nheard above the roar of the storm.\n\n\"On an island in Lake Kissimmee,\" replied Jerry. \"What boat is that?\"\n\n\"The houseboat _Wanderer_.\"\n\n\"What is it, Rose?\" called another girl's voice from somewhere in the\ndarkness back of the lantern.\n\n\"Some boys and a man,\" replied Rose.\n\n\"Girls! Girls!\" exclaimed the voice of the gentleman aboard the\n_Wanderer_. \"Stop that chattering! If there are persons out in the rain\nwhy don't you ask them to come aboard out of the storm? Ponto, run out\nthe gangplank!\"\n\n\"Yas, sah, right away, sah!\"\n\nThere was a creaking of ropes and the rumble of a plank being hauled\nacross the deck.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" spoke the one who had been called Rose, addressing the\nthree boys and the professor. \"Won't you come aboard out of the wet?\"\n\n\"Thank you, I believe we will,\" answered Jerry, and, as the plank which\nthe <DW64> thrust out touched the bank Jerry stepped on it, followed by\nhis chums and Mr. Snodgrass. A moment later they were under the shelter\nof the houseboat, standing at the entrance to a snug little cabin, in\nwhich were three young ladies and an elderly gentleman.\n\n\"Glad to welcome you,\" said the man. \"My name is Nathan Seabury. These\nare my daughters, Rose, Nellie and Olivia,\" indicating each one in\nturn. \"We are traveling about on this houseboat. The girls pretend it\nis for my health, but I strongly suspect it is for their own.\"\n\n\"Now father!\" exclaimed Olivia, whom Jerry decided was the prettiest of\nthe three, \"you know you're not well, and it's time for your medicine.\"\n\n\"Not until morning, young lady!\" and Mr. Seabury winked at the\nprofessor.\n\n\"Allow me to introduce myself and these boys,\" spoke Mr. Snodgrass,\nhanding out a card, inscribed with his name and the initials of the\nvarious societies to which he belonged. Then he gave the names of the\nboys, and briefly told of their travels.\n\n\"We started from Kissimmee City about two weeks ago,\" explained Mr.\nSeabury, \"and we have been drifting slowly along ever since, enjoying\nlife here. Last night the small motor, which serves to propel our boat\nat a moderate speed, broke. We anchored but the rope must have slipped,\nfor the first thing we knew we were adrift in the storm. Then we hit\nthis place, and--well, here we are.\"\n\n\"This is an island,\" said Jerry. \"We camped here for the night, but the\nstorm woke us up and--\"\n\n\"Why you are all soaking wet!\" interrupted Nellie. \"You will catch\ncold. Ponto, light the fire and heat some water. I'll make some hot\nlemonade!\"\n\n\"Nellie is always afraid some one will catch cold,\" explained her\nfather.\n\n\"Don't go to any trouble on our account,\" said Ned, for which Bob\nwanted to kick him, as he was wet and hungry, and it looked as if there\nwere good things to eat aboard the _Wanderer_.\n\nThe <DW52> man soon had a fire going in the stove, and the kettle\nwas put on to boil, while Nellie busied herself in making not only\nhot lemonade, but coffee as well, and setting out some things more\nsubstantial, at the sight of which Bob's drooping spirits revived.\n\n\"I'm sorry I can't offer you some dry garments,\" said Mr. Seabury with\na smile, \"but the fact is my boys are all girls. I might help the\nprofessor out--but the others--\"\n\n\"We have plenty of dry things in our boat,\" said Ned. \"I'll go and get\nthem.\"\n\nThe plan was voted a good one. Aided by the searchlight, which\nwas turned to illuminate the path from the houseboat to where the\n_Dartaway_ was moored Ned, borrowing a big raincoat from Mr. Seabury,\nwent to the craft, and, from the waterproof lockers took out dry\ngarments for himself and the others of his party. These he held under\nthe raincoat and brought aboard the _Wanderer_.\n\nThe boys and the professor removed their wet clothes and put on dry\nones in one of the spare rooms of the houseboat, and then sat down to\nthe meal which Nellie and her sisters, aided by Jeanette, a <DW52>\nservant, had prepared.\n\nIt was still raining hard, and, as the houseboat was large, Mr.\nSeabury's invitation, that the boys and the professor stay aboard until\nmorning was accepted. The _Dartaway's_ bunks had not been made up, and\nto arrange them in the darkness and rain would have been quite a task.\nSo the travelers were grateful for the unexpected hospitality afforded.\n\nIt cleared off in the morning, and when the boys and Mr. Snodgrass\narose they looked out on a scene of beauty. The island lay in the\nmiddle of a large blue lake that was fringed all around with big trees,\nthe green foliage of which looked fresh and clean after the shower.\n\n\"It's your turn to get breakfast, Bob,\" observed Jerry. \"Skip ashore\nand start a fire.\"\n\n\"I was just going to ask you to do me the honor to take breakfast with\nme,\" put in Mr. Seabury, coming on deck. \"I'd be very pleased to have\nyou.\"\n\nNed was going to refuse, as he thought the addition of four to the\neating accommodations of the _Wanderer_ might prove too great a strain,\nbut Mr. Seabury anticipated him.\n\n\"I am not altogether unselfish in asking you,\" he went on. \"I am\nanxious to have you look at our engine. Ponto doesn't seem to be able\nto find out what the trouble is, though usually he can fix it. So if\nyou'll stay to breakfast and then look at my motor I'll be very much\nobliged.\"\n\n\"We will!\" exclaimed Bob, before any of the others could answer.\n\n\"Then I'll go below and see that the girls have things in readiness,\"\nsaid the owner of the houseboat. \"We are living unconventionally here,\"\nhe added. \"I find the climate is very good for my nerves, which are\nmore at fault than my general health.\"\n\nWhile breakfast was being prepared the boys looked over the _Wanderer_.\nThey found it a first-class houseboat, with many improvements and\nconveniences.\n\n\"We'll give Bob a chance to fix the motor, he was so anxious to stay,\"\nsaid Ned to Jerry. \"I'd like to see him sweating over it.\"\n\n\"You've got to help,\" stipulated Bob. \"You're just as anxious to stay\nto breakfast as I am, only you're afraid to say so. Come on, there's\nthe bell!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nJERRY IS HURT\n\n\nBreakfast aboard the _Wanderer_ was afterward voted by the boys as the\nbest meal they had ever eaten. The three girls who were jolly and full\nof fun, made the occasion lively with the description of their travels,\nto which the boys added an account of some of their adventures.\n\n\"I wish I was a man!\" exclaimed Rose, when Jerry had told of their trip\nto the buried city in Mexico. \"That's what I should like to do.\"\n\n\"Maybe you'll find some ancient ruins where you are going,\" suggested\nNed.\n\n\"We's going to Lake Okeechobee,\" responded Olivia. \"I guess we'll find\nnothing but swamps.\"\n\n\"I believe there is a remnant of several tribes of Seminole Indians\nthere,\" put in Jerry. \"Perhaps you'll discover a prehistoric city.\"\n\n\"Oh, are there really Indians?\" asked Nellie. \"How perfectly terrible!\nI'd like to see a little pappoose, but I'd be afraid of a full blooded\nIndian!\"\n\nWhile the young people talked in this strain Mr. Snodgrass and Mr.\nSeabury were discussing deeper subjects. Mr. Seabury, it developed, was\nquite wealthy, and had helped to found several scientific schools. He\nwas quite interested in the professor's nature studies, and wanted to\nknow all about the rare butterfly the scientist was seeking.\n\n\"I'll keep a lookout for it,\" promised the owner of the _Wanderer_. \"If\nI see one I'll catch it for you.\"\n\n\"So will I!\" exclaimed Rose, who had listened to the ending of the\nconversation. \"I'm fond of animals.\"\n\n\"The--er--butterfly isn't exactly an animal,\" spoke the professor with\na smile. \"But I would be very glad if you could catch one for me.\"\n\n\"I suppose you'll get to Lake Okeechobee ahead of us,\" said Nellie to\nJerry. \"If you do we may see you there. It's rather a large body of\nwater, according to the map, but I expect you will navigate most of it.\"\n\n\"We plan to make a circuit of it,\" answered Ned. \"We may find some one\nwe know there.\"\n\n\"Who?\" asked the girl, but before Ned could state that he referred to\nNoddy Nixon, Mr. Seabury called out:\n\n\"Now would one of you boys mind looking at our engine? I'd like to get\nunder way again.\"\n\n\"There's your chance, Bob!\" whispered Ned, but Bob did not have to\nundertake the job, for Jerry, who had a natural fondness for machinery,\nwas soon tinkering away at the motor. He found that the mechanism which\ncontrolled the electric spark was out of order and, though it was no\neasy matter to adjust, he soon had the machine working better than ever.\n\nMr. Seabury was very grateful, and pressed the boys and Mr. Snodgrass\nto spend several days aboard the _Wanderer_. The chums were half-minded\nto, but the professor was impatient to begin the hunt for the rare\nbutterfly, the haunts of which were farther south, so they prepared to\nleave their island camp.\n\nThe hot sun and wind soon dried out the wetness of the night before,\nand when everything had been packed aboard the _Dartaway_ the boys bade\ntheir host and his pretty daughters good-bye. Then, voicing the hope\nthat they would meet again soon, those in the motor boat started down\nthe lake toward the Kissimmee river, while the _Wanderer_ followed more\nslowly.\n\n\"They're a nice lot of girls,\" observed Bob with a sigh, as a turn of\nthe lake hid the houseboat from sight. \"Very nice girls.\"\n\n\"Which one?\" asked Jerry with a smile.\n\n\"All of 'em!\"\n\n\"A very fine man!\" was the professor's comment on Mr. Seabury. \"He has\ntraveled much and has seen many strange insects. A very learned man.\"\n\nThey were now in a fine region, a country higher than the usual low\nlevel of Florida, and noted for the variety of its crops. They passed\nthrough several large cattle ranges and again through long stretches of\ndense forests. Now and then they would come to a little colony where\nfruit growers had settled. At noon they went ashore near a little\nvillage and had dinner.\n\n\"Boys!\" exclaimed the professor, as they prepared to resume their\njourney, \"I've had good news!\"\n\n\"Did some one tell you where to find that butterfly?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"No, but a man in the village said there was a curious mound about ten\nmiles below here, a mound erected by a prehistoric race, I believe. I\nmust investigate it. Who knows but I shall find some valuable relics?\"\n\n\"You mean a heap of dirt such as the Ohio mound builders put up?\" asked\nNed.\n\n\"The same, my boy, only I think this one will be richer in historical\ntreasures. The man said it was seldom visited by any one in this\nregion. He was guiding a hunting party one day and discovered it. Come,\nwe must hurry off. I want to see it before dark.\"\n\nOnce more the _Dartaway_ was sent ahead. The river wound in and out\nin the dense forest, now broadening and again narrowing. Sometimes it\nwas quite shallow and then would come a deep place, in which several\nvarieties of fish could be observed in the clear depths. Bob wanted to\ncatch some for supper, but the professor was anxious to keep on, so no\nstop was made.\n\n\"I think that's the place!\" Mr. Snodgrass exclaimed after several\nhours. \"The man said when I saw three big palmetto trees on a little\npoint of land to go ashore and then walk due west. There are the three\ntrees,\" and he pointed to them.\n\n\"Doesn't look like a very inviting region,\" remarked Jerry as he sent\nthe boat over toward the little point. \"But I suppose that makes it all\nthe better for the mound. Well, professor, we'll go ashore and see what\nwe can find.\"\n\nMooring the boat to the bank, the boys leaped out, the professor\npausing to take several specimen boxes and his butterfly net.\n\n\"Guess I'll take my gun,\" announced Bob, turning back. \"I might get a\nshot at something.\"\n\nHe took his weapon, a combination rifle and shot gun, while the others\nwent on ahead of him.\n\n\"Looks as though there was a path here,\" said Jerry, pointing to a sort\nof trail through the woods.\n\n\"So it does,\" admitted Mr. Snodgrass. \"Well, so much the better for us.\"\n\n\"Unless it has been made by a band of Indians or some ugly <DW64>s,\"\nsaid Jerry in a low tone. \"I've read there are some black men who live\nin the swamps about here, and that they are worse than Indians.\"\n\n\"Better call to Bob to come up front with his gun,\" spoke Ned.\n\n\"No, it might alarm the professor,\" replied Jerry. \"But keep your eyes\nopen.\"\n\nThey followed the path, which wound in and out among the trees.\nSuddenly the professor, who had made his way to the fore, uttered a cry.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Jerry, looking to see that Bob, with his\ngun, was close by.\n\n\"The mound!\" cried the scientist, pointing to a large hill to be seen\nthrough the masses of moss hanging from the trees.\n\n\"It's a mound, sure enough,\" admitted Jerry. \"Let's see what it's like.\"\n\nAs they approached they saw that it was undoubtedly the work of human\nhands. It was shaped like a pyramid, and on either side stretched level\nland, covered with a dense growth of forest or underbrush.\n\n\"There are steps leading to the top!\" cried Bob, who had gone around to\nthe far side of the artificial hill. The others joined him and saw him\nascending a rude flight of stairs made of stones set into the side of\nthe mound.\n\n\"Better go slow,\" advised Jerry. \"No telling what's up there.\"\n\n\"Let me look for relics!\" exclaimed the professor, and he hurried past\nBob. \"I'm sure there must be lots of them in this place.\"\n\nBob stood aside while Jerry, who, as usual, assumed the leadership when\nthere was a hint of danger, took the rifle. Then he started to follow\nthe professor.\n\nJerry had not taken half a dozen steps when he trod on a loose stone.\nHe nearly fell backward but recovered himself by an effort. In doing\nso, however, he leaned too far to one side. The next instant he had\nfallen and slid to the bottom of the mound.\n\nThe hammer of the gun came in contact with a stone or stick, and the\nweapon was discharged with a loud report. Fortunately the muzzle was\npointed upward, and the bullet endangered no one.\n\n\"Are you hurt?\" cried Ned and Bob, hurrying to Jerry's aid.\n\nThey noticed that his face was white and drawn.\n\n\"I'm--afraid so,\" he murmured, clenching his teeth to keep back a\nmurmur of pain.\n\n\"Where is it?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"My leg!\"\n\nThey noticed that his left leg was doubled under him. As tenderly as\nthey could they lifted him up. As they did so Bob saw a stream of blood\ntrickling from Jerry's foot.\n\n\"You're shot!\" he cried. \"Oh Jerry!\"\n\n\"No, it isn't the bullet,\" said Jerry. \"I think I ran a sharp stone\nthrough my shoe as I fell.\"\n\nThe two chums bent closer to look.\n\n\"It's an Indian arrow head!\" exclaimed Ned as he saw the long sharp\npiece of flint piercing the side of Jerry's shoe. \"I'll pull it out.\"\n\nHe tried, but it was imbedded in the flesh more firmly than he had\nthought.\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Jerry, and then the terrible pain, as Ned tried to\nwithdraw the ancient weapon, made him faint.\n\n\"Professor!\" cried Bob. \"Jerry's hurt!\"\n\nThe scientist had disappeared on the top of the mound. Hardly had the\nechoes of Bob's voice died away than from the forest surrounding the\nmound there emerged a band of ugly-looking <DW64>s. They started to run\ntoward the boys just as Mr. Snodgrass, hearing the call of distress,\nbegan to descend the stone steps.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE SEMINOLE CHIEF\n\n\nJerry's faintness however, was of short duration. When Ned ceased\ntrying to extract the stone the terrible pain subsided, for the time\nbeing, and Jerry opened his eyes.\n\n\"Let the professor take it out,\" he murmured. \"He can do it.\" Then he\ncaught sight of the advancing <DW64>s. \"Where's the gun?\" he asked.\n\nBob had secured it after Jerry's fall, and at this, he raised it in\nreadiness, though he did not point it at the black men. At the sight\nof it, however, they stopped. One of them, who seemed to be a leader,\nraised his hand and called out:\n\n\"What yo' uns want heah?\"\n\n\"We came to look at this curious mound,\" replied the professor,\nspeaking in conciliatory tones. \"We were looking for relics. Why?\nWhat has happened?\" he exclaimed as he saw the blood on Jerry's foot.\nEvidently he had not heard Bob's cry.\n\n\"I ran an Indian arrow head into my foot,\" answered Jerry. \"I guess\nyou'll have to get it out, Professor.\"\n\n\"Looks as though we were going to have trouble with these <DW64>s,\" put\nin Ned. \"We must look out.\"\n\n\"Yo' uns had better make tracks away from heah!\" went on the leader of\nthe black men. \"We don't like strangers heah!\"\n\n\"We can't go until I attend to this lad's injury,\" spoke Mr. Snodgrass\nfirmly. \"Lie down Jerry, and I'll get the arrow out. This confirms my\nsuspicions that the mound was built by Indians.\"\n\n\"I'm pretty sure of it, judging from the way my foot feels,\" said the\ninjured lad.\n\nHe was sitting on one of the lower stone steps, and Ned was taking off\nhis shoe and stocking. He had to cut the leather and cloth in order to\nremove them from around the arrow head which was still sticking firmly\ninto the fleshy part of Jerry's foot. The latter bore the pain bravely,\nthough he had to grit his teeth to keep from yelling as Ned's hands\ncame in contact with the stone, moving it in the tender wound.\n\n\"Git away from heah!\" ordered the <DW64> leader. \"This is our property\nan' we don't want nobody heah!\"\n\n\"You'll have to wait until I fix up this lad's foot,\" insisted the\nprofessor.\n\n\"We uns ain't goin' to wait.\"\n\nThe <DW64>s had gathered around their leader and seemed as if about to\nadvance on the professor and the three boys. They were an ugly looking\nlot.\n\n\"Look out for trouble,\" said Ned in a low tone. \"I wish we'd brought\nour guns. Bob, can you shoot straight?\"\n\n\"Don't do any shooting,\" advised the scientist. \"They are too many for\nus and it would only make them more savage to fire on them. I must try\nother measures.\"\n\nThe professor endeavored to argue with the <DW52> men, but they\ninsisted that the travelers must leave the place at once. There were\ngreedy eyes taking in every detail of the dress of the party and the\nsight of the boys' watch chains excited a cupidity that boded no good.\nThe professor saw that their position was a dangerous one.\n\n\"I think we had better get out of here,\" he said. \"Can you walk, Jerry?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid not.\"\n\nOne look at his foot showed that it would be out of the question. Even\nwith the arrow head removed it would be a task, and the professor\ndared not extract the weapon, as, while he was doing so the <DW64>s\nmight rush on them. Probably the worst that would happen would be\nrobbery, but the travelers were in no humor to be despoiled of their\npossessions.\n\n\"We'll have to carry him,\" said Ned. \"You and I can manage it, Mr.\nSnodgrass. Bob can act as an escort with the gun, and when we are in\nthe boat you can attend to Jerry.\"\n\nThis was voted the only feasible plan. Jerry's foot was not bleeding\nmuch, as the arrow in the wound prevented a heavy hemorrhage. Still the\nlad was weak from the pain.\n\n\"Are yo' uns goin' to git out of heah?\" demanded the leading <DW64>\nagain, and he advanced menacingly.\n\n\"We're glad to get out of the neighborhood where such inhospitable\npeople live,\" remarked Mr. Snodgrass, as he slung his collecting box\nover his shoulder by a strap, and prepared to help carry Jerry.\n\nBob brought up in the rear with the gun, after Ned had gone to the\naid of the scientist, and perhaps the sight of the weapon prevented a\nhostile demonstration on the part of the black men. They followed the\ntravelers for a short distance, as they went on with the wounded lad\nalong the path that led to where they had left the _Dartaway_.\n\n\"I hope they don't give us any more trouble,\" remarked Bob, as they\nneared their craft. \"If they have boats they may come after us.\"\n\n\"They'd have to have pretty good boats to get ahead of ours,\" observed\nNed.\n\nIt was no easy task to transport Jerry along the narrow path, and,\nseveral times, the professor and Ned had to rest. But they finally made\na turn in the trail that put them on the straight stretch which led\ndirectly to the boat.\n\n\"There she is!\" cried Ned. \"Now we're all right!\"\n\nAs he spoke there was a rustling in the grass along the path. Bob, with\nready gun, turned quickly. The boys had a glimpse of several dusky\nfaces peering at them.\n\n\"The <DW64>s!\" exclaimed Ned. \"They're following us!\"\n\n\"Hurry on!\" spoke Bob. \"Get into the boat and start up. They'll not\ncome very near as long as we have a gun!\"\n\nEven as he spoke the black men seemed to melt away like shadows and\nthe rustling was heard no longer. On they hurried to the _Dartaway_.\nJerry was placed on a pile of cushions, and Ned started the motor. As\nthe boat swung out toward the middle of the river they saw, emerging\nfrom the bushes and standing on the shore, half a score of <DW64>s, who\nshook their fists at the travelers.\n\n\"We're well rid of them,\" murmured the professor, as he prepared\nto extract the arrow head from Jerry's foot. \"But I wish I could\nhave stayed at that mound. It was filled with historical relics and\ntreasures, I'm sure.\"\n\nWith Ned steering the boat, which, after it had gotten well away from\nthe hostile <DW64>s was sent along at slow speed, the professor called\nto Bob to assist him in affording relief to Jerry. The scientist saw\nthat he would have to cut the weapon from the lad's flesh, as the barbs\nheld it too firmly to allow it being removed in any other way.\n\n\"Can you stand some pain?\" asked Mr. Snodgrass.\n\n\"Go ahead,\" replied Jerry grimly.\n\n\"If I only had some chloroform,\" went on the scientist, \"I could give\nyou a whiff of it, and it would numb your senses a little. But I\nhaven't any. I guess you'll have to stand it, my boy. I'll be as gentle\nas I can.\"\n\nThe professor carried a small set of surgical instruments with him,\nfor use in dissecting the animals and insects he collected. He now\nproduced several shining knives, at the sight of which Jerry did not\nhave the most cheerful feelings in the world. But he knew the arrow\nhead must be removed.\n\nMr. Snodgrass cleansed the knives in some antiseptic liquid he had\namong his possessions, and then made ready to cut the weapon out.\n\n\"Keep the boat as steady as possible,\" he called to Ned. \"Bob, you hold\nJerry's foot. It will soon be out.\"\n\nJerry had a dim remembrance that he had heard some one say that before.\nHe recalled that it was a dentist. A faint feeling was overcoming him.\n\nSuddenly Ned uttered a cry, and pointed ahead. The professor suspended\nhis surgical preparations and looked up. So did Bob and Jerry. The\nlatter was on the point of fainting.\n\nWhat they saw was a canoe, containing a solitary figure, crossing the\nriver. As they watched they saw the frail craft upset, and, a moment\nlater the man who was in it was struggling in the water.\n\n\"Go to his rescue! Never mind me!\" cried Jerry. \"I can wait. Save the\nman!\"\n\nAt a nod from the professor Ned speeded up the engine and steered the\nboat toward where the man had disappeared beneath the surface of the\nriver. In a few seconds the _Dartaway_ was at the place.\n\n\"Can you see him?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"Yes, he's right here!\" exclaimed Ned, reversing the screw and bringing\nthe motor craft to a stop. \"Pass me the boat hook, Bob. He seems to be\nheld down by a tangle of grass or weeds!\"\n\nBob passed the hook forward. Ned lowered it into the water and caught\nthe blunt point in the clothing of the submerged man. With Bob's aid he\ndrew him to the surface.\n\nAs the man's head came out of the water he shook it to relieve himself\nof the water. Then, taking a long breath, which showed that he had held\nit while deprived of air, he uttered a grunt and proceeded to climb\ninto the _Dartaway_.\n\n\"He's a <DW64>!\" exclaimed Bob in a whisper.\n\n\"Me no black man!\" exclaimed the rescued one, shaking himself like a\ndog and thereby splashing water over all in the boat. \"Me Indian. My\nname Ottiby. Me chief! Ugh!\"\n\n\"An Indian,\" murmured Ned.\n\n\"He is one of the Seminole tribe,\" put in the professor. \"I recognize\nthe characteristics.\"\n\n\"Paddle catch in long grass,\" went on Ottiby, as if in excuse for such\na child of nature as an Indian letting water get the best of him. \"Me\ngo overboard. Get caught in weeds. No can git loose. Steamboat come\nalong. Boy pull Ottiby out. Good boy. Ottiby no forget. Can get canoe?\"\n\nThis last seemed to be a question which Ned interpreted as a desire on\nOttiby's part to have his boat back again. Accordingly the _Dartaway_\nwas sent ahead again, and the frail craft, which was hollowed from\na log, was secured, together with the paddle which had come to the\nsurface.\n\n\"Good!\" spoke Ottiby with a grunt, when he saw his property secure. \"Me\nno forget white man and boys,\" and he looked at the travelers.\n\nAs he caught sight of the knife in the professor's hand, and saw\nJerry's bared foot, with the bloody arrow head sticking in it, the\nIndian gave a start of surprise.\n\n\"Boy hurt?\" he asked. Then, without waiting for an answer. \"Cut out\narrow. Me know. Go ashore. Me get somet'ing stop pain. Ottiby know. Put\nashore!\"\n\n\"Steer the boat to land, Ned,\" said the professor. \"I believe we saved\nthis Indian in the nick of time. He probably knows of some plant that I\ncan use to make it less painful for Jerry while I cut the arrow out.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nCAUGHT IN SAW GRASS\n\n\nOttiby made his way to the stern where he held the rope fastened to his\ncanoe, by which it was being towed. Though he had been near to death\nhe seemed perfectly at his ease now, with no regard of what might have\nhappened if the travelers in the speedy _Dartaway_ had not come along.\nBut that he was not ungrateful was shown by his quick thought in the\nmatter of Jerry.\n\nThe motor boat was moored in a little cove but, even before it was made\nfast Ottiby had leaped ashore and disappeared in the woods.\n\n\"Looks as if he was running away,\" said Ned.\n\n\"No danger,\" replied the professor. \"He's going for the plant, I\nbelieve.\"\n\nThe professor was correct. In about ten minutes Ottiby returned. In his\nhand he held several long roots. Mr. Snodgrass tried to discover what\nthey were, but the chief knew only the Indian name for them, and they\nwere a species of plant with which the scientist was not familiar.\n\n\"Me make foot feel no pain,\" said Ottiby as he took the roots and\nrolled them into a compact mass. This he wet in the river and then he\npounded the fibers with a wooden club he had picked up in the woods.\nWhen he had the roots into a sort of rude plaster he laid it on Jerry's\nfoot, over the wound.\n\n\"So like Indians do,\" Ottiby said. \"Wait while then can cut and no\nfeel.\"\n\nIn about five minutes Jerry exclaimed.\n\n\"It feels as if my foot was going to sleep.\"\n\n\"Then the stuff is working,\" remarked Mr. Snodgrass. \"We'll wait a\nwhile longer and then I'll take the arrow head out. I'm glad we rescued\nOttiby.\"\n\nAs a test of the power of the Indian's medicine the professor, after\nwaiting a while longer, stuck a pin in Jerry's foot near the wound.\n\n\"I don't feel it a bit,\" the lad said.\n\n\"Then I'll operate,\" announced Mr. Snodgrass. Jerry closed his eyes as\nhe did not like to see the action of the knife. In a few minutes the\nscientist announced that it was all over and that the arrow head was\nout. He showed it to Jerry, and an ugly enough weapon it was.\n\n\"I hope it isn't poisonous,\" remarked Jerry.\n\n\"Not much danger of that, I think,\" said Mr. Snodgrass. \"If there was\never poison on it the stuff has lost its power, for the head must have\nlain on the ground for a hundred years or more. Now I'd like to have\nsome healing medium with which to bind up the wound. I wonder if Ottiby\nknows of some herbs I might use.\"\n\nHe inquired of the Indian, explaining as well as he could what was\nwanted. The chief nodded his head, and once more disappeared in the\nwoods. He was not gone so long this time, and, when he returned he had\na bunch of leaves. These he bruised up and bound on Jerry's foot.\n\n\"How do you feel?\" asked the professor when the rude dressing had been\napplied.\n\n\"It's beginning to pain some, but I can stand it.\"\n\n\"The numbing effect of the roots is wearing off,\" said the scientist.\n\"It will hurt for a while, I expect, and then perhaps the leaves will\nmake it better.\"\n\n\"Well, we've had a rather strenuous afternoon,\" remarked Bob, when\nJerry had been comfortably propped up with cushions. \"Now what's next\non the program? Supper I believe.\"\n\n\"You're not going to give anyone else a chance to vote, are you,\nChunky?\" cried Ned. \"Never mind, I believe you're right. Come on, and\nwe'll get a meal ready.\"\n\nThe old Indian, who had not taken the trouble to remove his wet clothes\nsat on the stern of the _Dartaway_ watching with curious eyes the\npreparations for the meal.\n\n\"Shall we ask him to stay?\" inquired Bob of the professor. \"He looks\nhungry.\"\n\n\"Stay? Eat?\" inquired the scientist of the Indian, making motions\ntoward the victuals which the boys were laying out.\n\n\"Me stay,\" was the laconic answer.\n\nAfter the early supper it was decided they should camp where they were\nfor the night, until they saw how Jerry's sore foot was. The bunks\nwere made up and the mosquito canopy spread, as, with the approach of\ndarkness, myriads of these and other insects made life miserable.\n\nOttiby watched these preparations with wonder in his eyes, but said\nnothing. It was dusk when he got into his canoe and began to paddle off.\n\n\"Me see yo' some more,\" he promised as he disappeared amid the\ndarkening shadows. \"Ottiby no forget.\"\n\n\"He's a queer customer,\" remarked Bob, as the Indian's boat passed\naround a bend in the river.\n\n\"He's a mighty good one,\" put in Jerry. \"My foot feels fine.\"\n\nNext morning an examination of the wound showed, to the experienced\neyes of the professor, that it was doing well, though it would take a\nweek to heal. They decided to find a comfortable place to camp and go\nashore, as there would be more room to move about.\n\nJerry wanted his companions to continue the voyage but the scientist\ndecided they might get to some place unfavorable to the lad's speedy\nrecovery, and he overruled the proposition.\n\nThey went down the river a few miles the next day and found a sort of\nclearing, near a little cove, which made an ideal place to stop. There\nthey remained about ten days. During that time the professor hunted\nbugs and butterflies to his heart's content. He was constantly on the\nlookout for the prize specimen with the blue and gold wings, but saw no\ntrace of it. However, he was not discouraged, as he had not counted on\ncoming across it until he got to Lake Okeechobee.\n\nThe leaves which the Indian bound on Jerry's foot proved a wonderful\nmedicine. At the end of ten days the wound was healed, and Jerry could,\nby using care, walk on his injured foot.\n\n\"I guess it's about time to resume our trip,\" he remarked one morning,\nwhen he found he could get along fairly well. \"I'm anxious to get out\non the big lake in our boat.\"\n\nAccordingly camp was struck, and once more the travelers were dropping\ndown the Kissimmee river. They traveled slowly, and about three days\nlater they found themselves on a broad lagoon, which, by the map, they\nknew opened into Lake Okeechobee.\n\n\"Speed her up! We want to reach the lake before night!\" exclaimed Jerry\nto Bob, who was at the wheel. Jerry was still acting the part of an\ninvalid passenger.\n\n\"Maybe we'd better keep near shore,\" remarked the professor. \"It looks\nas if a bad storm was brewing.\"\n\nDuring the last hour the sky had become overcast with masses of dull,\nleaden clouds. The wind too was increasing in power and the waters\nof the lagoon began to break into waves in the midst of which the\n_Dartaway_ pitched and tossed.\n\n\"I think it would be wise to go ashore,\" said Jerry. \"We'd better camp\nthere for the night. We can go out on the lake in the morning.\"\n\nBob put the wheel over and they landed at a place where tall green\ngrass came down almost to the water's edge.\n\n\"We'll have to hustle to get the tent up if we're going to sleep here\nto-night,\" said Ned. \"That long grass looks as if there might be snakes\nin it.\"\n\n\"If there are perhaps I can get a few specimens,\" spoke Mr. Snodgrass.\n\"But come on, boys. The storm will soon be upon us.\"\n\nBob and Ned, aided by the scientist, and by Jerry, who could perform\nlight tasks, soon had the tent up. They securely moored the _Dartaway_,\nand then set about making things comfortable for the night. The wind\nwas increasing in force, and a few drops of rain fell, but the boys\nknew their tent was a strong and dry one, and securely put up.\n\nThey went to bed early, as it had been a tiresome day. Shortly before\nmidnight they were all awakened by a crash. Then it seemed as if a\ngiant hand had lifted their tent from the ground. An instant later they\nfelt a deluge of rain.\n\n\"Secure the tent! Hold it down! Grab the ropes!\" yelled Ned.\n\nBob and the professor sprang to aid him, but they were too late. The\ntent was blown down.\n\nOut from under the clinging canvas they struggled into the darkness of\nthe storm, for the wind had extinguished their lanterns. They could not\nsee which way to go to get to their boat, where they knew they would\nbe sheltered, for they had put up the awning before camping out.\n\nSuddenly Bob uttered a cry.\n\n\"Something has cut me!\"\n\n\"Me too!\" cried Jerry. \"It feels as if a lot of knives were sawing my\nhands and face.\"\n\n\"It's the giant saw-grass!\" called the professor. \"It grows in this\nregion. The wind is whipping the long blades into our faces. Stoop\ndown, boys, or you'll be badly cut!\"\n\nThey tried to do this, but it seemed as if the saw-grass was all over.\nIn the darkness they had plunged into a patch of the dreaded stuff.\nThe serrated edges of the rush-like growth scarified their skin like\nknives, and the boys and the professor were soon bleeding from several\nplaces.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE BIG SNAKE\n\n\nDangerous indeed was the plight of the travelers. In the darkness,\nand with the storm at its height, they were entangled in the patch of\nsaw-grass, and could not discover which way to escape from it. The wind\nlashed the keen edges across their hands and faces again and again.\n\n\"Stand still!\" cried the professor. \"The more we move the worse it is!\nHas any one any matches?\"\n\n\"I have!\" cried Bob, \"but I don't believe I can light 'em in this\ndownpour.\"\n\n\"Try,\" suggested Mr. Snodgrass.\n\nBob tried, but with no success. Then Ned uttered a cry.\n\n\"This way!\" he called as a flash of lightning illuminated the scene for\na brief instant. \"I can see the water!\"\n\nThe others made their way toward the sound of his voice. Bewildered,\nhowever, as they were by the storm and dense blackness which followed\nthe lightning flash, they rushed but the deeper into the terrible\ngrass.\n\n\"Come on!\" cried Ned, who, by good fortune had succeeded in reaching\nan open place near the water, where there was none of the sharp grass.\n\"Move when you see the flashes!\"\n\n\"Hurry to the boat!\" called Mr. Snodgrass. \"I hope it hasn't slipped\nits moorings in the storm.\"\n\nThat was a trick which the tempest had not played on the travelers.\nThey found their craft safe, and were soon aboard and under the stout\nawning which kept off the fury of the wind and rain. In a moment Ned\nhad found the switch that controlled the small electric lights on the\nboat, which were worked by a storage battery. Then in the security of\nthe little cabin the four looked at one another.\n\n\"This is about the worst yet!\" exclaimed Jerry, as he limped over to\na stool and sat down. The storm made his wounded foot, which was not\nquite healed, hurt more than usual. \"Your face is a sight, Bob. Looks\nas if a cat had been at you.\"\n\n\"The same to you and more of it,\" responded Ned. \"I guess we all bear\nthe marks of the saw-grass.\"\n\nThis was so, for the fine keen edges of nature's peculiar weapons had\nleft their record on the hands and faces of all the travelers.\n\n\"I think this is where some of the leaves the Indian chief used on\nJerry's foot would come in handy,\" remarked Ned.\n\n\"If we only had some,\" retorted Bob with a groan. \"Even some witch\nhazel wouldn't be so bad, though it smarts at first.\"\n\n\"I have some of the leaves,\" the professor said. \"I observed what kind\nof a plant they were from and gathered a supply the other day. I will\nget them.\"\n\nRemoving most of their soaked garments, and wringing out the water, the\nboys and the scientist were soon busy pounding up the leaves to make\na sort of ointment for their scratches. The foliage gave out a sticky\nsalve which, when applied to the cuts made by the grass, soothed them.\n\n\"We look like a lot of Seminole Indians with our war paint on,\"\nremarked Ned, and indeed the four did present a curious sight, for they\nwere daubed with green stuff in streaks and patches.\n\n\"Now for some hot coffee,\" announced Bob, as he set the gasoline\nstove going. \"That will make us feel as well inside as the leaves do\noutside.\"\n\n\"Trust Chunky for knowing what's good for the inside,\" retorted Ned.\n\"However go ahead, Bob. We're all with you.\"\n\nWarmed and exhilarated by the hot drink the travelers listened with\nbetter spirits to the patter of the rain on the awning. They got out\nsome dry garments from the lockers and then, making up the folding\nbunks with which the _Dartaway_ was provided, they spent the rest of\nthe night in comparative comfort.\n\nThe storm was over at sunrise, and as the boys peered from the\ncurtained cabin they gazed out on scene of beauty. They were on the\nshore of a broad lagoon which gave entrance into Lake Okeechobee.\nBehind them, some distance back, was a dense forest, and, nearer to\nthem was the dreadful saw-grass. Over the stretch of water myriads of\nbirds were flying, while, every now and then, a splash and a shower of\nglistening drops told that a hungry fish was trying to get an early\nbreakfast.\n\n\"How do you boys feel?\" asked Mr. Snodgrass.\n\n\"Much better,\" announced Jerry, and the others said the same. The pain\nfrom their cuts and scratches was all gone, so quick-acting was the\nIndian's remedy. After breakfast they went ashore and got the tent and\ncamp stuff which, though much scattered, had not suffered any material\ndamage.\n\n\"No more camping on this shore!\" exclaimed Ned as he looked at the\nwaving saw-grass.\n\n\"I must get some specimens,\" the scientist said. \"I have read about the\npeculiar properties of this plant but I never came across it before.\"\n\n\"You want to put gloves on if you try to go in there,\" cautioned Jerry,\nand this the professor did. In that way he was able to secure some of\nthe grass for his cabinet of curiosities, which was already assuming\nlarge proportions.\n\n\"Now for Lake Okeechobee proper!\" cried Bob as the boat was once more\nstarted off. They were soon out of the lagoon and in due time emerged\naround a point of land and beheld, stretched out before them the\nlargest lake of Florida, a beautiful sight under the gleaming southern\nsun.\n\n\"Hurrah for the everglades!\" cried Ned.\n\n\"And Noddy Nixon's cocoanut grove,\" added Jerry. \"I wonder if we'll see\nhim?\" He also thought of the deed to the land his mother had bought,\nand vaguely dwelt on the possibility of locating it.\n\n\"Now I must get seriously to work and look for my rare butterfly,\"\nremarked the professor, as he began to rummage among his nets and other\ninsect-catching accessories. \"I hope you boys will be on the watch for\nit, as it means a great deal to me.\"\n\nThey assured him that they would, and then Ned, who was steering,\nincreased the speed of the motor until the boat shot along at a fast\nrate through the blue waters of the lake.\n\n\"Look there!\" cried Bob suddenly, pointing just ahead.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"A big fish leaped half way out of the water. There must be fine sport\nhere. I'm going to try to catch some for dinner, as it's almost noon.\"\n\n\"Go ahead,\" remarked Ned. \"I'll slow down for you.\"\n\nBob baited his hook and, in a short time had caught a fine fish. Then\nJerry joined him in the sport, and in half an hour they had enough for\na meal. They went ashore, and Jerry, who volunteered to act as cook,\nquickly had the finny specimens frying in bacon fat which browned to a\ngolden hue the corn meal into which the fish were dipped.\n\nThere wasn't much left when they cleared away the wooden dishes that\nthey used, and then, after a consultation, it was decided to camp for a\nfew days at the spot where they had landed. This would give their cuts\na chance to heal and by making short excursions here and there they\ncould get acquainted with the character of the lake.\n\nIt was on the third day of their camping out on the shore of Lake\nOkeechobee that, as they were returning in the motor boat one afternoon\nJerry, who had taken the wheel, suddenly called out:\n\n\"Doesn't that sound like some one in our camp?\"\n\nThey were close to where they usually moored the boat, about fifty feet\nfrom where the tent was set up.\n\n\"Some one is rattling away among the pots and pans,\" remarked Ned.\n\"Maybe it's some of those <DW64>s who have followed us.\"\n\n\"Or Seminole Indians,\" added Bob.\n\n\"More likely some animal,\" observed the professor.\n\n\"Then it had better leave before I take a shot at it,\" exclaimed Bob,\ngetting his gun in readiness.\n\nThe boat was approaching closer, and the noise amid the camp stuff\ncould be plainly heard. It sounded as though some animal like a cow was\nnosing among a lot of tin pails after something to eat. Jerry shut off\nthe power and the boat slowly drifted to the shore.\n\n\"Let me get at him!\" cried Bob.\n\n\"Look out! It may be a manatee!\" cautioned Ned with a laugh.\n\nBut his laugh was stopped short for, an instant later they all beheld\nsomething that almost made their hearts stop beating.\n\nThey could look into the midst of the camp, and there, in front of the\ntent, writhing about in a confusion of dishes and food, was an immense\nsnake!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nAN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER\n\n\n\"Quick with that gun, Bob!\" cried Jerry. \"Now's your chance for a shot!\"\n\nBob raised his weapon and fired, but his nervousness, and the sudden\nterror into which the sight of the reptile threw him, made his aim\nunsteady. The bullet cut the branches of a tree four feet above the\nserpent.\n\n\"Let me try!\" exclaimed the professor. \"I think I can get him.\"\n\nBob handed over the gun.\n\n\"No, I don't mean with that,\" and the scientist began making a slip\nnoose with a rope.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"I'm going to try to capture that snake alive,\" answered Mr. Snodgrass.\n\"I recognize it as a valuable specimen of a water reptile, something\nlike the giant boas of the tropics. If I can capture it and ship it up\nnorth I will get a good sum from the museum. Steady with the boat and\nlet me get ashore.\"\n\n\"The snake will kill you!\" cried Bob.\n\n\"No, they are comparatively harmless,\" remarked the scientist. \"The\nonly danger is in being caught in their powerful coils. They are not\npoisonous.\"\n\n\"Excuse me from that sort of a job,\" murmured Ned.\n\nBy this time the boat had run ashore, the keel grating on the gravel at\nthe edge of the lake. The professor had made a running noose and held\nit extended in front of him by means of the boat hook.\n\n\"I'll try and get close enough to the reptile to slip the noose over\nhis head,\" he remarked to Jerry. \"When I do, send the boat back into\nthe lake and I think we'll have him just where we want him.\"\n\n\"Suppose he tackles you?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"I'm not afraid. I've handled snakes before,\" announced Uriah Snodgrass\nconfidently.\n\nHe cautiously approached the reptile. The big serpent seemed to be\nsearching in the camp for something to eat. It crawled here and there,\npoking its ugly head into all the openings visible and overturning\nseveral boxes.\n\n\"It's a whopper!\" cried Ned as a nearer view showed the real size of\nthe reptile.\n\nMeanwhile the professor was approaching closer and closer, holding the\ndangling noose ready to slip over the serpent's head. Suddenly the\ncreature raised itself so that the scientist thought he had a chance.\nHe rushed forward with a cry to the boys to be in readiness. Ned shoved\nthe boat off shore and Jerry stood ready to start the motor, while Bob\nhad secured the end of the rope about a cleat.\n\nAll at once the snake caught sight of the man advancing with the rope.\nIt must have been aware of the hostile intentions of the professor for\nit instantly gave vent to a loud hiss and coiled up ready for action.\n\n\"Look out, Mr. Snodgrass!\" called Jerry. \"He's got an ugly look!\"\n\nThe professor did not reply. Stepping cautiously he kept on advancing,\nholding his noose in readiness. It was a brave act but probably only\na person who would dare much in the interests of science would have\nundertaken it.\n\nSuddenly the professor cast his noose. Now either he was not an expert\nin the use of the lasso, or the snake instinctively knew how to avoid\nsuch dangers. At any rate the reptile swayed its head to one side and\nthe rope fell harmlessly to the ground. The next instant the snake had\nuncoiled and was wiggling straight for the professor.\n\n\"Run!\" cried Bob.\n\n\"Jump!\" advised Jerry.\n\n\"Hit him with a club!\" was Ned's caution.\n\nThe professor did not heed the advice. With a bravery, worthy perhaps\nof a better cause, he made a spring not away from but right at the\nsnake. He explained afterward that he hoped to grab it around the neck\nand choke it.\n\nBut he missed his aim, and the next moment there was a confused tangle\nof man and snake on the ground. All the boys could see was a striped\ntail threshing about while, every now and then, the professor's legs\nwere visible. He had some sort of a grip, but it was not the right\nkind, on the reptile.\n\n[Illustration: THERE WAS A CONFUSED TANGLE OF MAN AND SNAKE ON THE\nGROUND]\n\n\"We must go ashore and help him! He'll be killed!\" shouted Ned.\n\n\"Give me the gun, Bob!\" yelled Jerry. \"I'll try a shot.\"\n\n\"Don't hit the professor,\" cautioned Bob.\n\nNed leaped ashore, followed by his companions who waded through the\nintervening shallow water. They ran toward where the professor was\nstill struggling with the snake. But, by the time they arrived the\nbattle was over. Or, rather, it was a retreat. The snake, probably the\nworst scared reptile in Florida at that moment, was headed for the\nwater, and, as the professor was stretched out on his back, where a\nmovement of the strong folds had thrown him the snake glided into the\nlake and disappeared amid a series of ripples.\n\n\"There he goes!\" cried Bob, while Jerry sent several bullets from\nthe magazine rifle after it. But it was too late. The snake got away\nunharmed.\n\n\"Too bad I missed him,\" remarked the professor as he got up and brushed\nthe dirt from his clothes. \"It would have been a valuable specimen.\"\n\n\"Lucky it didn't crush you to death,\" said Jerry. \"It was a monster.\"\n\n\"I've seen larger ones,\" observed Mr. Snodgrass. \"I must make a note of\nthis. I will write a scientific paper about it.\"\n\nFortunately the travelers had returned to camp before the snake had\ntime to do much damage. Some fresh fish, which the boys depended on\nfor their meal, were eaten, and the place was in confusion from the\ninvestigations of the reptile.\n\n\"I am glad he didn't take it into his head to come in the night,\"\nremarked Bob. \"He'd have scared us all to death.\"\n\nMatters were soon straightened out, the professor proceeding to note\ndown facts about the reptile as calmly as though he had not been in\ndanger of serious injury, if not death, from the encounter.\n\n\"If I could only have gotten hold of him around the neck,\" he said,\n\"I'd have him a captive now.\"\n\n\"It's just as well,\" remarked Ned. \"He would have been unhandy to cart\naround, and, if you got your prize butterfly the snake might have eaten\nhim up.\"\n\n\"That's so,\" admitted the scientist, finding some consolation in this\nthought.\n\nIt was on the afternoon of the next day when, as they were in the\nboat, making their way along the eastern shore of the lake, that they\napproached a small settlement.\n\n\"Here's civilization,\" remarked Jerry as he saw the cluster of houses.\n\"I didn't suppose any one lived here.\"\n\n\"Oh, there are several fruit growers in this vicinity,\" replied the\nprofessor, \"but after this I guess we'll find the lake lonesome enough\nfor we'll soon be among the everglades.\"\n\nThey went ashore as they needed some supplies and gasoline. While their\norder was being filled at the village store the boys strolled out a\ndistance into the country.\n\n\"We'll be back in a little while, professor,\" remarked Jerry, as the\nscientist elected to remain in the store, having caught sight of a\ncurious kind of black bug on the wall.\n\nThe village was so small that the boys had soon passed its confines.\nThey walked along a little stream and saw, just ahead of them, two\nfigures. As they approached nearer they could hear persons in dispute.\n\n\"Seems to me as if I had heard that one voice somewhere before,\"\nremarked Ned.\n\n\"It does sound familiar,\" agreed Jerry.\n\nThe person with his back to the boys was saying:\n\n\"I tell you this isn't my land. I know what I'm talking about. You're\nin possession of my cocoanut grove, and I want it! I didn't buy this\nold swamp!\" and the figure turned and pointed to a morass on the edge\nof which he was standing.\n\n\"You don't know what you're talking about!\" exclaimed the other, a man.\n\"I've owned this cocoanut grove for years. You've been swindled, that's\nwhat's the matter.\"\n\n\"I tell you I'm going to have my rights!\" retorted the other. Then he\nturned and the three motor boat boys, with one accord exclaimed:\n\n\"Noddy Nixon!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nINTO A STRANGE LAKE\n\n\nWhether Noddy or the three chums were the more surprised it would be\nhard to say. Though they had a vague idea they might come across the\nCresville bully in Florida, the motor boys did not give it serious\nconsideration, hardly believing Noddy's story about the cocoanut grove.\nAs for Noddy he had no intimation that the boys were coming to Florida\nand his astonishment, at suddenly seeing them, was very great. His\nfirst remark was characteristic of him.\n\n\"Are you fellows sneaking after me to try and cheat me out of my\ngrove?\" he asked.\n\n\"Not much!\" ejaculated Jerry. \"We didn't know you were here.\"\n\n\"I don't believe you!\" retorted Noddy angrily. \"You're always trying to\ndo me some injury. Anyhow this man has possession of my cocoanut grove,\nthat I paid my money for, and I'm going to have it.\"\n\n\"How do you know this isn't your grove?\" asked the man with a smile,\nindicating the swamp land.\n\n\"Because the magazine advertisement that I answered said all the groves\nthe company sold were on high ground. I followed the directions in\nreaching this place and this is the only grove on high ground around\nhere. So it must be mine.\"\n\n\"That's your way of looking at it,\" replied the man. \"But it doesn't\nhappen to be the right one. My name is Carter. If you make some\ninquiries in the village you will find that I have owned this grove for\nthe last twenty years, and that my father owned it before me.\"\n\n\"I don't believe you!\" snapped Noddy. \"It's a plot to cheat me out of\nmy money.\"\n\n\"Look here!\" exclaimed Mr. Carter. \"If I didn't think you were so young\nand foolish that you didn't know any better I'd make you apologize for\nthat. As it is I'm not going to take any notice of you. Are these young\nfriends of yours? If they are I'd advise them to take you away before\nyou get into trouble with that temper of yours, and the unpleasant way\nyou have of using your tongue.\"\n\n\"We know him,\" Jerry hastened to say, motioning toward Noddy. \"I can't\nsay we're friends of his, nor is he of us. But as we come from the\nsame town we'd be glad to do what we can for him, though he has done us\nseveral mean turns.\"\n\n\"I don't want any of your help!\" exclaimed Noddy. \"You can mind your\nown business, Jerry Hopkins, and you too, Bob and Ned. I can get along\nwithout you. I'm going to get possession of my cocoanut grove and I'll\nhave this man arrested for keeping it!\"\n\n\"You're talking foolishly,\" interposed Mr. Carter.\n\n\"I'll sue you!\" retorted the Cresville bully. \"I tell you I paid a\ndeposit on this grove and I'm going to have it.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry for you, but I think you have been cheated,\" went on Mr.\nCarter. \"I know that company which pretended to sell you this land.\nIt is a swindling concern. A number of persons have been fooled into\nbuying land here and when they came to take possession of it they found\nit was a swamp. But you are the first one who tried to lay claim to my\nland,\" he added, with a grin.\n\n\"You'll find this no laughing matter!\" cried Noddy, his anger getting\nthe best of him. \"I tell you I'm going to have my rights. I'll see a\nlawyer.\"\n\n\"Then you'd better start now,\" said Mr. Carter. \"There isn't any in\nthis village, and the nearest one is twenty miles away. We don't have\nmuch use for lawyers down here.\"\n\n\"I'll go right away!\" cried Noddy. \"I'll have my rights, I tell you!\"\n\n\"Maybe your acquaintances will take you to a lawyer,\" went on Mr.\nCarter, who seemed anxious to bring Noddy to his senses. \"Any one will\ntell you that you have been swindled.\"\n\n\"I'll go alone and find some one to take up my case,\" exclaimed the\nCresville youth. \"I don't want any help from Jerry Hopkins or any of\nhis gang, either.\"\n\n\"We're not a gang!\" objected Bob. \"If you say that again, Noddy Nixon,\nI'll--\"\n\n\"Go easy,\" whispered Jerry to his chum. \"Let him alone.\"\n\n\"You'll suffer for this!\" ejaculated Noddy, glowering at Mr. Carter.\n\"I'll have the law on you! My father is a rich man and he'll help me\nget my rights. I'll have you arrested for stealing my cocoanut grove!\"\n\n\"There! You've said enough!\" responded the man. \"I'll not take any more\nof your insults! You're on my land and I order you off. What's more,\nif you threaten me again I'll tie you up and take you before a justice\nof the peace! Now move on!\"\n\nMr. Carter looked so angry, and so much in earnest, that, big bully as\nhe was, Noddy was frightened. He muttered something below his breath\nbut he moved off Mr. Carter's land, and on to the edge of the swamp\nwhich constituted the \"cocoanut grove\" of which he had boasted.\n\n\"Come on, boys,\" said Jerry in a low voice. \"If we stay here we may get\ninvolved in some trouble with Noddy. He doesn't want our aid, and I'm\nglad of it. I'd hate to take him into our boat. Let's leave him alone.\"\n\nThey started away.\n\n\"I'll fix you for following me!\" exclaimed Noddy as he saw the three\nchums leaving him. \"I'll get even with you!\"\n\n\"I hope he comes to his senses soon,\" remarked Mr. Carter, as he walked\ntoward the village with the three chums. \"He is very hot tempered. He\narrived in town a few days ago and created quite a stir by talking\nabout the big cocoanut grove he had come to claim. When he found out\nthat it was only a swamp that the swindlers had worked off on him he\nwanted to get my land, saying a mistake had been made. For several\ndays he's been seeking to lay claim to my grove, one of the few near\nhere, until I got tired of his foolishness. Do you know much about him?\"\n\nJerry told Mr. Carter enough of Noddy to make that gentleman understand\nwhat sort of a youth the Cresville bully was. Mr. Carter said he was\nsorry for him, but that he could not afford to give up his land because\nNoddy had been fooled.\n\nLearning that the chums were in no particular hurry, Mr. Carter invited\nthem up to his house. He gave them a lunch and brought out some fresh\ncocoanuts, in a green state, which is when they are at their best for\neating. He called one of his <DW64> helpers and told him to open some of\nthe nuts for the boys.\n\nThe <DW64> set up in the ground a stake, sharpened on the end. Then,\nholding the nut, encased in its husky fibrous covering in both hands,\nhe brought it down on the point of the stick with a slanting motion.\nThe sharp point cut through the husk in an instant and the nut was\nexposed. Then the end was chopped off with a big knife and the\ninterior, consisting of \"milk\" and soft pulp, was ready to eat.\n\n\"I never knew cocoanuts were so good!\" exclaimed Bob, as he tackled his\nfourth one, for they did not eat the rind or hard white part.\n\n\"No, nor no one else does who gets only the ripe ones which are shipped\nnorth,\" explained Mr. Carter. \"We never think of eating anything but\nthe milk and soft pulp of the partly ripe ones.\"\n\nPresently the boys bade their host good-bye and started for the village\nstore where they had left the professor catching bugs.\n\n\"There!\" exclaimed Jerry, when they were almost at the place. \"We\nforgot something.\"\n\n\"What?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"We didn't give Noddy the message the man gave us. We didn't tell him\nthe government detective wanted to see him.\"\n\n\"Let's go back,\" suggested Bob.\n\n\"I believe you're thinking more of the cocoanuts than you are of\nNoddy,\" interposed Jerry. \"No, I guess it will keep. Noddy will either\ngo back home, in which case the detective can see him himself, or he\nwill stay here and try to get a grove from some one. If he does the\nlatter we'll stop on our way back and give him the message.\"\n\nJerry's chums thought this the best plan, so they kept on, dismissing\nfrom their minds the thought of Noddy and his trouble. They found the\nprofessor in his element, catching bug after bug, to the no small\namusement of the crowd of natives that had gathered to watch him.\n\nThe supplies were soon put aboard the boat, and once more the travelers\ntook up their voyage. For three days they traveled slowly the length of\nLake Okeechobee. At times they kept near shore, attracted by the beauty\nof the scenery, for there were tall palm and palmetto trees, gracefully\nfestooned with long streamers of Spanish moss. There was a wealth of\ntropical vegetation, and amid the dense forests there flew flocks of\nbirds of the most brilliant plumage.\n\nNow and then they saw big snakes, and they passed several alligators\nwithout at first knowing what the saurians were, as they looked so much\nlike floating logs of wood. When they did discover that the \"logs\" were\nalive the boys tried several shots at them but without success.\n\nThey camped on shore one night but the mosquitoes and fleas were so bad\nthat thereafter they stayed on the boat until out of that district.\nThey caught several fine messes of fish and had a glorious time. At\nthe close of the fourth day they approached the end of the lake. By\nreference to the map they discovered that they were near to the land\nof the everglades, those trackless patches of dense swamp, lonely and\ndangerous, inhabited only by <DW64>s and Indians.\n\n\"We ought to see signs of my prize butterfly soon,\" remarked the\nprofessor as the boat was speeding along. \"I hope I shall soon capture\na specimen.\"\n\n\"There's some kind of a butterfly!\" exclaimed Bob, pointing ahead to\nwhere a brilliantly- insect was flying over the water.\n\n\"Quick!\" cried the professor. \"Speed up the boat, Jerry. It looks like\none!\"\n\nThe craft was put after the butterfly which was winging its way\ntoward shore. As the _Dartaway_ advanced the boys noticed that they\nwere entering a narrow part of the lake. The width of water quickly\ndecreased until they were in what corresponded to a river.\n\n\"This is queer,\" said Jerry. \"The map doesn't show any place like this.\"\n\n\"Keep on!\" cried the scientist, anxious only about the butterfly.\n\nThe insect led them a long chase. Straight ahead it flew, and, as the\ntravelers went on they found themselves between two closely wooded\nbanks.\n\n\"We've left Lake Okeechobee behind!\" exclaimed Ned.\n\nHardly had he spoken ere the view changed. They rounded a point of land\nand came out on a broad sheet of dark green water.\n\n\"It's another lake!\" exclaimed Jerry. \"It must be a strange one, as\nthere is nothing in the guide book about it, or on the map. Boys, maybe\nwe've discovered a new lake!\"\n\n\"It's big enough!\" remarked Ned, as he pointed to the distant shore\nthat marked the boundary.\n\n\"Yes, and it's full of alligators!\" cried Bob, indicating several long\nblack objects floating in the placid water.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE WANDERER AGAIN\n\n\n\"Give me a gun!\" cried Ned. \"I'm going to try and hit one in the eye.\nI've read that's the place to shoot 'em!\"\n\nJerry steered the boat over to one of the \"logs.\" Ned, who had secured\nhis rifle from the locker, took aim at the nearest creature. He was\njust about to pull the trigger, having drawn a bead on what he supposed\nwas the eye of the saurian, when the alligator raised its tail and gave\nthe water a slap that sounded like a clap of thunder. In an instant all\nthe other alligators disappeared, the one who had given timely warning\ndiving with its fellows.\n\n\"Just my luck!\" cried Ned. \"But I'll get one yet.\"\n\n\"There goes my butterfly!\" exclaimed the professor, as he saw the\nwinged creature, he had been so anxiously watching, take flight over\nthe woods, where it was soon lost to view. \"But, after all I don't\nbelieve it was the kind I wanted, though it bore a close resemblance,\"\nwith which reflection the scientist comforted himself. \"However, that\nshows me we are in the right locality. I'm glad we discovered this new\nlake, boys.\"\n\n\"Let's name it,\" suggested Ned.\n\n\"Call it Alligator Lake,\" put in Jerry.\n\n\"No, Butterfly Lake would be better,\" suggested Bob, \"because the\nprofessor hopes to catch his prize specimen here.\"\n\n\"Good idea,\" agreed Jerry. \"Butterfly Lake it is.\"\n\nSeeing a little cove about a mile ahead, Jerry steered the boat in that\ndirection and, as it was found to be a good stopping place, the craft\nwas moored near the edge of the water. The boys and the professor went\nashore. They found themselves in the midst of a patch of everglades,\nthough close to the lake the land was more firm than anywhere else.\n\n\"I'd hate to be lost in a swamp like that,\" remarked Ned, indicating\nthe vast expanse that lay about them.\n\n\"There are paths through it,\" said Mr. Snodgrass. \"But I guess only\nthe <DW64>s and Indians know them. It would be quite risky for any one\nunacquainted with them to venture in. The swamp would swallow a man as\nquickly as if he fell into quicksand.\"\n\n\"The boat for mine!\" exclaimed Bob. \"This is worse than the swamp Noddy\ngot fooled on.\"\n\nWhile supper was being prepared, the professor got out his nets and\ncyanide bottle in readiness for a chase after the prize butterfly.\n\n\"I'll begin the search the first thing in the morning,\" he said, and he\nwas up before daylight, walking along the shores of the lake looking\nfor the brilliant creature with a pink body and blue and gold wings.\nHowever, the kind of insect he wanted seemed to be very scarce, and he\ncame back empty-handed after the boys had finished their meal, rather\ntired but not a bit discouraged. \"I'll get it yet,\" he said. \"We'll\ncruise along the shores.\"\n\nThey found the strange lake was quite a large body of water. The\nlower end of it was so filled with stumps that they did not venture\nto take the boat in for fear of striking a snag and stoving a hole in\nthe bottom. But, though they covered many miles they did not catch a\nglimpse of the rare butterfly.\n\nBob and Ned tried several shots at alligators, of which there were\nmany, but, though Bob was sure, once, that he hit one, the saurian did\nnot give any evidence of it, and sank from sight.\n\nIf the scientist did not get the butterfly he wanted, he was successful\nin capturing a number of other specimens of insects, which seemed to\ndelight him almost as much as if he had the pink and blue beauty.\n\n\"Even if I can't get the five thousand dollars,\" he said, \"perhaps I\ncan bring back to the museum enough valuable specimens so that I will\nget the position I want.\"\n\n\"Oh, we'll get that butterfly for you,\" said Jerry, who was anxious to\nhelp the professor.\n\n\"Suppose we go back toward the river that connects Lake Okeechobee and\nButterfly Lake,\" suggested Ned. \"That's where we saw the butterfly that\nlooked like the one you want.\"\n\n\"A good idea,\" replied Mr. Snodgrass. \"I'm sure it is to be found in\nthis vicinity, as all the books say it is usually to be seen in company\nwith the butterfly with plain blue wings, and that is the one we chased\nyesterday.\"\n\nAccordingly the _Dartaway_ was swung around, and was soon speeding\ntoward the narrow stretch of water that connected the two lakes. As\nthey entered it the boys noticed that there was a current flowing from\nButterfly Lake into Lake Okeechobee.\n\n\"I hadn't noticed that before,\" said Jerry. \"Butterfly Lake must be one\nof the feeders of the larger body of water.\"\n\nAs the _Dartaway_ emerged from the \"river\" upon the bosom of Lake\nOkeechobee once more Jerry pointed ahead and cried out:\n\n\"Look there, boys!\"\n\n\"It's another boat!\" said Bob.\n\n\"A houseboat to judge by the looks of it,\" put in Ned.\n\n\"I think it's our old friend the _Wanderer_,\" remarked Jerry. \"I'll see\nif they answer our signal.\"\n\nHe gave three toots on the compressed air whistle, and a moment later\nthey were replied to from the houseboat, which was about a mile away.\nThen something like a white handkerchief was waved from the deck.\n\n\"They see us!\" exclaimed Bob. \"Those are the girls.\"\n\n\"Put over there, Jerry,\" said Ned. \"I'd like to see 'em again.\"\n\n\"Which one?\" asked Jerry with a laugh, and Ned blushed a bit.\n\nMr. Seabury and his three daughters were glad to meet the boys once\nmore. The professor and the youths were invited aboard and, though\nMr. Snodgrass wanted to continue his search for the butterfly, he was\ninduced to accept the invitation.\n\n\"We'll help you look for that curious insect,\" said Rose Seabury. \"We\nare going to stay on Lake Okeechobee for some time, and perhaps we'll\ncome across it.\"\n\n\"I hope you do,\" remarked the scientist. \"I shall be very much obliged\nto you if you find a specimen and I'll share the reward with you.\"\n\n\"Oh, I didn't mean that!\" exclaimed the young lady. \"I'm sure if I\ncould be a little aid to the advancement of science it would be reward\nenough.\"\n\nSeveral pleasant hours were spent aboard the _Wanderer_ and after\ndinner, for which Mr. Seabury insisted that his guests remain, they all\nsat on the cool upper deck viewing the beauties of the lake.\n\n\"Isn't that a canoe putting out from shore?\" asked the owner of the\nhouseboat, pointing to a small object on the water.\n\n\"That's what it is,\" answered Nellie, looking through a pair of marine\nglasses. \"There are <DW64>s in it.\"\n\n\"Oh, those ugly black men!\" exclaimed Olivia. \"I can't bear them. They\nare not like the <DW52> men up north.\"\n\n\"They seem to be headed this way,\" went on Mr. Seabury, taking the\nglasses from his daughter. \"I wonder what they want?\"\n\nThe canoe rapidly approached. In a short time it was close enough so\nthat, without the aid of glasses, there could be made out in it three\n<DW64>s. They were paddling straight for the houseboat, to which the\n_Dartaway_ was made fast. When the small craft came within hailing\ndistance one of the <DW64>s called out:\n\n\"Is a gen'men dar what's lookin' fo' rare bugs an' butterflies?\"\n\n\"I am,\" replied Mr. Snodgrass. \"I particularly want a pink butterfly\nwith blue and gold wings.\"\n\n\"We knows whar to find him!\" exclaimed the foremost paddler. \"We'll\nshow yo' if yo' uns'll come along.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't go with them if I were you,\" said Mr. Seabury in low tones.\n\"They may be very treacherous.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nA PLOT FOILED\n\n\n\"Wait until I speak to them,\" replied Mr. Snodgrass, preparing to\ndescend to the lower deck. \"I must not lose a chance to get that\nbutterfly.\"\n\nHe was soon in conversation with the <DW52> men, who explained they\nhad heard of the scientist's object from one of their number who had\ncome from the village where the travelers had last stopped, and where\nthe professor had talked of the butterfly.\n\n\"I hope he doesn't allow himself to be persuaded to accompany those\nmen,\" said Mr. Seabury to the three boys. \"I believe they would kill\nhim for what valuables he carried, once they got him off in the swamp.\"\n\n\"Are they as bad as that?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"They are worse than the Seminole Indians,\" declared Mr. Seabury. \"I\nwould sooner trust one of the latter than a <DW64> of the everglades.\"\n\n\"I hope the professor doesn't go,\" remarked Rose. \"I like him so much.\nHe's just like a very old friend of mine who was a teacher in the\ncollege I attended.\"\n\n\"Mr. Snodgrass is his own master,\" said Mr. Seabury. \"We can only\nadvise him.\"\n\nAt that moment the scientist came back on the upper deck.\n\n\"I'm on the right track,\" he declared, his eyes shining with\nexcitement. \"Those <DW52> men know just where the butterfly has its\nhaunts. I'm going with them. It is only a day's journey.\"\n\n\"We'll go along in the motor boat as far as possible,\" said Jerry.\n\n\"No, no!\" objected Mr. Snodgrass. \"We have to go into the swamp where\nonly a canoe can be used. Besides, the puffing of the boat's engine\nmight frighten the butterfly. I must go alone with these men. They are\nhonest I'm sure. They will make a camp for the night and they say they\nhave food enough for me also.\"\n\n\"Of course you know your own business,\" said Mr. Seabury, \"but I\nwouldn't trust them, professor.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm sure they will not harm me,\" the scientist replied. \"Besides,\nI have nothing they could steal. I have promised to pay them well if\nthey bring me to the place where I can get my prize butterfly.\"\n\n\"Where is the place?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"It lies to the east of the lake we discovered,\" replied the scientist.\n\"I must start at once. Those butterflies are scarce and I can't afford\nto take any chances on losing one.\"\n\nIn spite of the dangers that Mr. Seabury and his daughters hinted at,\nand the objections the boys raised, the professor was determined to\naccompany the <DW52> men. Mr. Seabury went below and took a look at\nthe <DW64>s. He had to admit that they were good-natured appearing\nenough, with broad grins on their shining, black faces and a manner\nwhich seemed to preclude any desire to do any one an injury.\n\n\"Since you have to start from Butterfly Lake why not go with us as\nfar as there in the motor boat,\" proposed Ned. \"The men can follow in\ntheir canoe, or we'll tow them. Then we can make a permanent camp, and\nyou'll know where to head for when you get ready to come back with your\nbutterfly.\"\n\nThis seemed a good idea to the professor and he agreed to it. The\n<DW52> men made no objection, but, on the other hand, seemed to favor\nthe proposition, which made Mr. Seabury all the more suspicious.\n\n\"I believe those <DW64>s are up to some trick,\" he said to his\ndaughters as their visitors prepared to leave. \"I can't say what it is,\nbut I'm very suspicious. I don't believe those black men know anything\nabout the butterfly.\"\n\n\"What can we do, father?\" asked Rose.\n\n\"Nothing, I'm afraid. Yet I'll be on the watch. The _Wanderer_ is not\na fast boat, but I think I'll keep it near the entrance to Butterfly\nLake for a few days. I may be able to render some assistance to the\nprofessor.\"\n\nWhen good-byes had been said, and assurances given on the part of\nMr. Snodgrass and the boys that they would see their friends of the\nhouseboat again, the _Dartaway_, towing the canoe with the three\n<DW64>s, was headed for the stream of water that connected the two\nlakes.\n\nA good place for a camp was found near a small stream that flowed\nthrough the everglades, and up which watercourse the <DW64>s said they\nproposed taking the professor in the canoe to search for the butterfly.\n\n\"We'll be waiting here for you,\" remarked Jerry, as the scientist got\nhis butterfly-catching accessories together.\n\n\"No telling when I'll be back,\" answered Uriah Snodgrass. \"I'm going to\nget that prize insect, and it may take longer than these men think.\"\n\n\"Oh, yo'll git yo' butterfly,\" said one of the <DW64>s with a broad\ngrin. \"We knows whar dere's lots ob 'em.\"\n\n\"Hadn't you better wait until morning?\" suggested Ned. \"It's well along\nin the afternoon now, and you can make an early start to-morrow.\"\n\nBut the professor would hear of no delay. He had often spent many hours\nin the open while searching for curiosities of nature, and a night in\nthe everglades did not alarm him. The <DW64>s said they would find\nsome sort of shelter, and, having packed up some food, the scientist\nannounced he was ready.\n\nWith mingled feelings the boys watched their friend go off in the canoe\nwith the <DW52> men. They were disturbed by a vague uneasiness, but\nnone of them could tell what it was.\n\n\"Well,\" remarked Ned, when a turn of the sluggish swamp stream hid the\ncanoe from sight, \"we've no time to lose. We must make camp before it\ngets dark.\"\n\nWilling hands made light work of setting up the tent and moving into\nit blankets and bed clothing for the night. The _Dartaway_ was moored\nin a little cove, and after supper Bob and Ned took their guns and set\nout for a shot at some loons, of which there were many about the lake.\nJerry carried his rifle, hoping to get a chance at an alligator.\n\nThe boys followed the edge of the lake, keeping watch for anything in\nthe way of game. They saw several loons, but the queer, big birds were\nso far away that a shot was impossible. As Bob walked along, a little\nin advance, he came to a sudden stop behind a clump of bushes.\n\n\"Easy!\" he exclaimed in a whisper. \"I see one!\"\n\nHe took careful aim and pulled the trigger. When the smoke had cleared\naway the three chums looked eagerly over the water where, a second\nbefore, a big bird had been seen.\n\n\"You've blown him to pieces!\" exclaimed Ned.\n\n\"Missed him altogether,\" said Jerry with a smile. \"Loons, you know,\ndive at the flash of the gun, and they're under water before the shot\ngets anywhere near them.\"\n\nAn instant later the big bird bobbed up from the water, some distance\naway from the spot where Bob had fired at it.\n\n\"There he is!\" cried Ned.\n\nHe took a quick shot, but it seemed to be only fun for the bird, that\ninstantly dived under the water again.\n\n\"Why don't you play fair!\" exclaimed Bob in disgust. \"I never saw such\na bird.\"\n\n\"That's the only protection it's got against guns,\" said Jerry. \"You\ncan't blame it. You'd do the same. Besides, what good are they after\nyou shoot 'em? You can't eat 'em.\"\n\n\"Sour grapes!\" remarked Ned with a laugh. \"But I guess you're right,\nJerry. We can't hit 'em, at any rate.\"\n\nThey walked on for some distance farther and then, as it was getting\ndusk, returned to camp.\n\n\"I don't believe I'll have to have any one sing me to sleep to-night,\"\nsaid Bob as he prepared for bed. \"I'm dead tired. How about you, Ned?\"\n\n\"I guess I can get along without a dose of soothing syrup.\"\n\n\"I was thinking we'd better stand watch,\" remarked Jerry.\n\n\"Why?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"To tell you the truth I don't like the idea of those <DW52> men being\nin this neighborhood. Where there are three I think there are sure to\nbe more. Of course they may be harmless enough, but I have an idea they\nare desperate men, and our camp and boat offers quite a temptation to\nthem.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't believe they'll bother us,\" said Bob. \"Let's get what\nsleep we can. Leave a lantern where we can light it in a hurry if we\nhear any suspicious noises.\"\n\nNed sided with Bob, and Jerry, somewhat against his will, gave in to\nthem. However, he determined to stay awake as long as he could. He also\narranged some fishing lines about the camp so that if any intruders\ncame in they would trip on them and bring down a collection of pots and\npans which he arranged to fall at the slightest disturbance.\n\n\"That will do for a burglar alarm,\" he said.\n\nJerry's intention of remaining awake was well meant, but nature\nasserted herself and he was soon slumbering as soundly as his chums.\n\nIt was well that Jerry had set his burglar alarm, or, otherwise the\nsleep-locked eyes of the boys never would have detected the stealthy\napproach of several dark figures that stole around the camp about\nmidnight. They were figures that crept closer and closer with silent\nfootsteps, figures that whispered now and then among themselves, and,\nhad any one been listening, they would have easily recognized the\nwhispers as those of <DW64> voices.\n\nBut the fish lines did not sleep. They did their duty and, when one of\nthe men caught his foot in a cord, and brought down, with a resounding\nclatter and crash, a pile of tins, the three boys awoke with a start.\n\n\"Quick! The guns!\" cried Jerry.\n\nHe struck a match and lighted a lantern which was ready at hand, no\nlights having been left burning because they attracted mosquitoes and\nother insects.\n\nBob and Ned grabbed their rifles. An instant later the gleam of a\nlantern shone out, and disclosed several <DW64>s about the _Dartaway_.\nSome were in the craft and others appeared to be shoving her off the\nbank on which her keel rested.\n\n\"They're stealing our boat!\" yelled Bob.\n\nAn instant later he fired, purposely aiming over the heads of the\nintruders. Ned followed his example. There was a yell of terror from\nthe black men and, with one accord they seemed to disappear from sight.\nJerry ran out with the lantern.\n\n\"I think we foiled their plot,\" he remarked, as he saw that the boat\nwas still in place, though on the point of floating away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nBOB TAKEN ILL\n\n\nSecuring the boat, Jerry took a survey of the camp. Ned and Bob had\nlighted other lanterns and, by their gleams, it could be seen that\nnothing had been taken. The improvised burglar alarm had given timely\nnotice, or the boys might have mourned the loss of the _Dartaway_, as\nwell as other of their possessions.\n\n\"They seem to have gotten away,\" remarked Jerry, coming back from where\nhe had made the motor boat fast. \"I wonder how they got here?\"\n\n\"In a canoe,\" answered Ned, pointing to the marks of where the keel\nof one had rested on the little beach of the lake. \"But what was that\ntremendous racket?\"\n\n\"A little invention of mine,\" and Jerry explained it.\n\n\"I wonder who they were?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"Some of the same <DW64>s with whom the professor has gone off,\"\nreplied Jerry.\n\n\"Do you really think so?\"\n\n\"I do. I believe it is all a part of a scheme to rob him and us. Those\nmen wanted to get him out of the way so they could plunder our camp. I\nguess they thought we were boys who had never been out alone before.\"\n\n\"They think differently now,\" observed Bob. \"I reckon my bullet went\nuncomfortably close to some of 'em.\"\n\n\"We may have scared them off for the time being,\" went on Jerry, \"but\nwe've got to be on the watch. Our camp represents a lot of wealth to\nthose <DW52> men, and they'll stop at nothing, short of a gun, to get\nit. It'll have to be watch and watch after this.\"\n\n\"You're right,\" agreed Ned. \"We should have done it at first. But it's\nnot too late, thanks to the fish-line burglar alarm.\"\n\nThe boys arranged to spend the rest of the night taking turns at\nstanding guard, but their precautions were needless, for they were not\ndisturbed again. In the morning they made a more careful examination\nand, by the tracks in the mud, came to the conclusion that at least\nfive men had endeavored to loot the camp.\n\n\"What about the professor?\" asked Bob, when they had discussed the\noccurrences of the night.\n\n\"I'm worried about him,\" admitted Jerry. \"He's such an innocent and\ntrusting gentleman that he'd do anything those scoundrels asked him to.\nI suppose by this time they have him several miles away from here.\"\n\n\"Do you think they'll harm him?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"Maybe not. They'll certainly rob him, and they may turn him adrift in\nthe everglades, and that's the worst thing they could do. He'll never\nbe able to find his way out.\"\n\n\"Is it as bad as that?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"I don't want to take too gloomy a view of it,\" went on Jerry, \"but you\nmust admit it looks serious.\"\n\n\"Still, the professor is a smart man. He's used to going in dense\nwoods after insects and finding his way out,\" said Bob. \"Look at the\ndifferent places he has been with us--even in the buried city in\nMexico--and he got out all right.\"\n\n\"This is different,\" Jerry stated. \"The everglades are worse than any\nforest. If he gets off the firm ground he'll sink down in the swamp and\nnever be able to get out. Boys, I wish the professor was safely back\nwith us. But there's no help for it now, and all we can do is to wait.\nPerhaps I'm too nervous and he may turn up all right, but the attack on\nthe camp looks bad.\"\n\n\"Poor old professor!\" murmured Ned. \"I'd hate to have anything happen\nto him.\"\n\n\"So would I,\" put in Bob, \"but I guess, as Jerry says, there's nothing\nto be done but to wait.\"\n\nThe day seemed very long, for they were watching for the return of\nthe scientist. No one had the heart to do anything, and the boys sat\nlistlessly about the camp, even Bob having a poor appetite for his\nmeals.\n\nToward afternoon Ned proposed that they take their guns and a walk\nalong the edge of the lake, not going far away from camp.\n\n\"We might see something to shoot at,\" he said. \"It will make the time\npass quicker, and if there are any <DW64>s hiding about they'll hear\nthe guns and know we're on the watch.\"\n\nThe plan was agreed to, and the boys tried several shots at loons and\nalligators. Jerry succeeded in wounding one of the big saurians, but\nthe creature buried itself in the mud and the boys could not get it.\n\n\"We'll take the boat to-morrow,\" said Ned, \"and have a try at some of\nthese big lizards. If we could skin one or two we'd have some nice\nhides to show for our trip.\"\n\n\"Excuse me from skinning alligators,\" remarked Bob, making a wry face.\n\"The weather is too hot.\"\n\nAs they started back for camp Bob espied a bush laden with yellow\nfruit. He approached it on the run.\n\n\"Just what I've been wishing for!\" he exclaimed, pulling off some and\nbeginning to eat them.\n\n\"Hold on!\" cried Jerry. \"What are those things? They may be poison.\"\n\n\"They're mangoes,\" answered Bob, eating his second one.\n\n\"Are you sure?\" and Jerry looked doubtful.\n\n\"Of course,\" answered the always-hungry youth. \"I've read about them\nand I know.\"\n\n\"Better leave 'em alone,\" advised Jerry. \"They may be the mango fruit,\nbut I wouldn't take any chances. Besides, if they are mangoes, this\nvariety, from having grown in the everglades, may be poisonous.\"\n\n\"They don't taste so,\" remarked Bob, continuing to eat the fruit, which\nsmelled delicious and had a fine appearance. \"Better have some, Ned.\"\n\n\"No, thanks. Camp stuff is good enough for me when I'm not sure of what\nthe other is.\"\n\nBob continued to enjoy himself on the fruit, which certainly was\ntempting. He only laughed at the warnings of his companions, and filled\nhis pockets with the yellow things, a number of which he took back to\ncamp.\n\nIn accordance with the plan of the previous night, the boys maintained\na watch. The fish-line alarm was set again, and with a lantern burning\ndown near the boat, where it would disclose any persons who might try\nto sneak up and cut the mooring lines, Ned and Jerry prepared to turn\nin. It was Bob's turn to stand first watch. The boys had not lost their\nuneasy feeling concerning the professor, and they hoped every moment to\nhear his cheery hail as he returned.\n\n\"Don't you wish you'd brought some of the mangoes?\" asked Bob of his\nchums, producing some of the yellow fruit as he prepared to begin his\ntour of duty. \"This will keep me awake.\"\n\n\"Call us at the slightest sign of danger,\" cautioned Jerry, as he went\ninside the tent.\n\nIt seemed that he and Ned had been sleeping but a short time when they\nwere suddenly aroused by Bob shaking them.\n\n\"What is it? The <DW64>s again?\" asked Jerry as he sat up and grabbed\nhis gun.\n\n\"No,\" replied Bob in a faint voice. \"Oh, Jerry, I'm awful sick! I guess\nit was those mangoes. I can hardly stand! Can't you do something for\nme?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nJERRY SEEKS AID\n\n\nJerry was up in an instant and soon lit a lantern. By the glimmer of\nit he saw that Bob was indeed a very sick youth. The lad's face was\nflushed, his hands were cold and clammy and his face and head were hot\nwith a burning fever. His eyes had an unnaturally bright look, his\nbreath came fast, and in short gasps.\n\n\"Why Bob!\" exclaimed Ned. \"What is the matter?\"\n\n\"It came on me suddenly,\" said the unfortunate lad, sitting down on the\nground in the tent. \"I was going to eat some more of the mangoes when,\nall at once, I was seized with a fit of trembling.\"\n\nAs he spoke a series of tremors shook his body, and he seemed about to\nfall over. Jerry caught him.\n\n\"Quick, Ned!\" he exclaimed. \"Help me get Bob to bed. Then we'll see\nwhat we can do.\"\n\nThey undressed Bob, who continued to shake and shiver for he had a\nchill alternating with his fever. Then, while Jerry and Ned were\nworrying over the matter and pondering what to do, the poor lad's\ntemperature suddenly went up and he was in a higher fever.\n\n\"We've got to do something to bring that down,\" remarked Jerry. \"What\ndid they give you when you were sick, Ned?\" and Jerry looked at his\nchum.\n\n\"It's so long since I was sick I've forgotten,\" was the answer. \"Have\nwe any medicine at all?\"\n\n\"Mother made me bring some quinine along, and a few other things, like\nwitch hazel and sticking plaster, but I don't believe any of them are\ngood for fevers. I'll look in the box.\"\n\nJerry proceeded to investigate the small case of simple remedies his\nmother had packed, but which had never been opened. The chums were\nseldom ill, and when they were they usually let nature adjust itself.\nBut they realized that something must be done for Bob.\n\n\"'Spirits of nitre,'\" read Ned from the label of one of the bottles.\n\"Say, Jerry, this is the stuff for fevers. I remember my mother used to\nuse it when I was a little chap. Let's give him some.\"\n\nJerry read the label on the bottle. The nitre, according to the\ndirections, was good for fevers and they decided to give Bob a larger\ndose than was called for, as they had an idea the stuff was for\nchildren, and that a full grown youth would need more.\n\nAnxiously they waited for the remedy to have some effect. Every now and\nthen they would place their hands on Bob's head or wrist to note the\nwarmth of his body. To their worriment he seemed to be getting hotter\ninstead of cooler. The fever indeed was rising fast and poor Bob was in\na bad way.\n\n\"Doesn't seem to be strong enough,\" said Jerry after three hours of\ndreary watching. They had dressed and sat in the tent which was dimly\nlighted by a lantern.\n\n\"Let's give him some more,\" Ned suggested.\n\nAnother dose was administered, though Bob fought against taking it. The\nyouth was hardly conscious of what he was doing. He lay with closed\neyes, his face red and flushed from the fever, and his breath coming in\nshort, labored gasps.\n\nSuddenly the sick boy raised himself up on the cot where he had been\nplaced.\n\n\"There he is!\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"Who?\" asked Jerry, thinking Bob saw some one.\n\n\"That alligator! He has the big snake and they are both being chased\nby the sea cow! Where's my gun?\"\n\n\"Out of his head,\" whispered Ned, as he gently pressed Bob back on the\nbed. \"What shall we do?\"\n\nJerry did not know what to say. This was a new complication, for their\njourneys heretofore had been free from the worry of serious illness.\n\n\"My, but he's hot!\" went on Ned, feeling of Bob's hand. \"We ought to\nhave an ice bag for him.\"\n\n\"No ice here, but I've just thought of something we can do.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Dip cloths in water and put 'em on him. That'll help some.\"\n\n\"Good idea.\"\n\nThey dipped several large handkerchiefs into the lake, wrung them\nout, and laid them on Bob's forehead, neck and chest. It was a crude\nexpedient but it was the best they could do. In the hot climate the\nwater evaporated quickly and the cloths were made cooler from this\ncause than they otherwise would have been. Bob seemed a little easier,\nthough he continued to moan and murmur in his delirium.\n\nIt was a long, weary night and, when the gray dawn began to show, Ned\nand Jerry were two very much alarmed youths.\n\n\"If the professor would only come back!\" exclaimed Ned. \"He'd know what\nto do for Bob. He always carries medicine with him. I wish he would\ncome.\"\n\n\"Maybe he left some of his medicines in the boat.\"\n\n\"If he did I wouldn't risk using them. We might give Bob the wrong\nthing.\"\n\n\"That's so. I wonder if anything could have happened to Mr. Snodgrass?\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" responded Ned. \"Still he ought to be back by this time.\"\n\n\"Give me some ice water!\" suddenly called Bob, sitting up on the cot.\n\n\"I wish we had some,\" said Jerry in a low voice as he gently pushed his\nchum's head back on the pillow. \"He's on fire,\" he added, turning to\nNed.\n\n\"Give him some more nitre.\"\n\nThe medicine was administered with considerable difficulty for, as the\nfever progressed Bob fought against taking it, as the stuff was not\nvery pleasant. Still Ned and Jerry knew it was the only thing they had,\nand they fairly forced Bob to swallow it.\n\nThe day was worse than the night, though at times the patient dozed and\nwas quiet. The two youths listened for every sound that might indicate\nthe return of the professor but he did not come. It grew hotter and\nhotter and then it began to rain.\n\nWith the storm came a cloud of mosquitoes that made life miserable for\nthe boys. It was stifling to stay in the tent, yet that was their only\nrefuge. They had mosquito netting, and this kept out the most of the\npests, but Ned and Jerry had to make frequent trips to the lake for\nfresh water, and on these occasions the insects pitched on them with\ngreat violence.\n\nBob grew worse, and the two watchers were much alarmed. They did not\nknow what to do. They only had a little of the nitre left and it did\nnot seem to be doing any good. The truth was Bob needed a much stronger\nremedy than that which the boys had.\n\nAll day long the rain fell and the next night was one of the worst\nthe boys had ever put in. They took turns sitting up with Bob who\ncontinually cried for ice water when there was none to be had. Ned and\nJerry lived on cold victuals. As for Bob he only sipped a little water\nnow and then.\n\n\"Do you think he'll die?\" asked Ned in gloomy accents, as Jerry awoke\nto take his turn at watching.\n\n\"No! Of course not. What makes you think that?\"\n\n\"Because he doesn't seem to get any better.\"\n\n\"He can't get better at once. I think it was that yellow fruit he ate\nwhich has made him sick. You and I didn't take any and we're all right.\"\n\n\"Then Bob is poisoned.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid so. Still this may be the worst of it. As long as he has\ngotten along so far, with nothing more than a high fever, I'm sure\nhe'll pull through.\"\n\nBut the fever was bad enough. Bob began to weaken under the attack. The\nsecond day he could not raise himself in bed. He reclined there with\nclosed eyes and his breathing was more labored.\n\n\"Why doesn't the professor come!\" exclaimed Ned.\n\n\"I tell you what I believe!\" exclaimed Jerry. \"Mr. Snodgrass is being\ndetained by those <DW64>s!\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\"\n\n\"I do. I believe they had a plot to get possession of all our things.\nWe scared off those who came to the camp but the others have Mr.\nSnodgrass a captive, I'm sure.\"\n\n\"What are we going to do? If Bob doesn't get some other medicine\nsoon--he'll die.\"\n\n\"I know what I'm going to do!\" said Jerry in determined tones.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I'm going to find the professor!\"\n\n\"How can you?\"\n\n\"I'm going to follow that little stream,\" and Jerry pointed to the one\nup which the scientist had journeyed in the canoe with the <DW64>s.\n\n\"But you have no boat. The _Dartaway_ draws too much to take up that\ncreek.\"\n\n\"I know it. I'm going to walk. I see there is a sort of path along the\nedge of the stream. I'm going to see where it leads to. I may not find\nthe professor, but I'll try and find some one who can help us. Maybe\nI can run across a band of Indians and get some of their remedies. If\nonly Ottiby was here he'd be able to give Bob something to make him\nwell. Will you be afraid to stay here alone with Bob, Ned?\"\n\n\"No, of course not. But hurry back. There's no telling what may happen.\"\n\n\"I'll bring the professor back with me, or some medicine for Bob,\" said\nJerry, as he prepared for his journey.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTHE RECEDING WATER\n\n\nJerry started off early the next morning. The rain had ceased but there\nwas a thick fog and, because of the moist vegetation of the tropics,\nwater fairly dripped from the trees, festooned as they were with long\nstreamers of moss and vines.\n\n\"I hate to leave you, Ned,\" Jerry remarked as he shouldered his gun\nand put some bread and pieces of bacon into his pocket. \"But it can't\nbe helped. I'll try and get back by night, even if I don't find the\nprofessor.\"\n\n\"Do the best you can, Jerry. I'll look after Bob.\"\n\nIt was with no small sense of loneliness that Ned watched Jerry\ndisappear into the forest. The trees soon hid him from sight and\nthen Ned set about getting the camp in some sort of order, for they\nhad rather neglected it of late. Bob turned and tossed on his couch.\nThe fever still burned within him but he was much weaker and did not\nneed to be so closely watched. For want of something better Ned\nadministered more nitre, and Bob no longer fought against taking it.\n\n\"Poor Bob!\" said Ned with a sigh. \"I'd rather you'd kick up a fuss. I'd\nknow then you had some life left in you.\"\n\nBut Bob meekly swallowed the mixture, and when Ned took his arm from\nunder his chum's head it fell back listlessly on the pillow.\n\nNed thought the day would never end. He had not the heart to cook\nanything and ate the remainder of the cold food. He sat in front of the\ntent gloomily looking at the lake and wondering whether Jerry would\nfind the professor.\n\nNow and then Bob would call out but when Ned hurried in he would\nfind his chum murmuring in delirium. All he could do was to wet the\nfever-parched lips with water, and renew the damp cloths on the\nsufferer's head and chest.\n\n\"Poor Bob,\" said Ned with a sigh. \"I wish you hadn't eaten that strange\nfruit.\"\n\nAs the afternoon wore away Ned listened anxiously for the sound of\nJerry's returning footsteps. For want of something better to do to\nwhile away the time he began cleaning the engine of the _Dartaway_.\n\nIt was while doing this that he happened to look at the edge of the\nlake. Something queer about it attracted his attention.\n\n\"If I didn't know differently,\" he said to himself, \"I'd say the tide\nwas falling. It looks just as if the water was lower.\"\n\nFeeling sure that such a thing was impossible, Ned went on working at\nthe engine. A little later he again gazed over the side of the boat.\nThis time he started in surprise.\n\n\"I'm positive that stone wasn't so far out of water the last time\nI looked,\" he said, speaking aloud. \"I wonder if this lake can be\nconnected with the ocean in some manner, and is affected by the tide?\nNo, it can't be, or we'd have noticed it before. Yet the water is\nsurely running away.\"\n\nHe got out of the _Dartaway_. He was much alarmed to see that nearly\nhalf of the craft was now out of the lake, whereas a while before only\nthe bow-end had rested on the sandy beach.\n\n\"The lake is surely lowering,\" Ned went on. \"I must watch and see how\nfast it is falling.\"\n\nHe marked where the water came on shore and sat down to wait. He was\ntoo much worried to be able to go on working. Bob called, and he went\nin to see what was wanted. He gave his chum a drink and administered\nsome more medicine. He was in the tent a half hour, and when he came\nout he was surprised to see that the water was half an inch from the\nmark.\n\n\"It's falling at the rate of an inch an hour,\" said Ned. \"This is\ngetting serious. I wish Jerry and the professor would come back.\"\n\nNed watched the lake. There was no mistake about it, the water was\nslowly falling. More and more of the _Dartaway's_ keel was exposed.\n\n\"This'll never do!\" exclaimed Ned. \"In a short time the boat will be\naground and we'll have a hard time getting it afloat again. I must\nshove it further into the lake.\"\n\nHe tried to do it but found the task was beyond his strength. Pull,\npush and tug as he did he could not stir the boat. The stern, with\nthe screw, was still in deep water and he started the engine on the\nreverse, hoping to be able to have the craft move out further into the\nlake under its own power. But though the propeller churned the water\nthe craft did not budge.\n\n\"It's no use,\" remarked Ned. \"I'll have to wait until Jerry and the\nprofessor come back. I wonder what makes the water flow away? It can't\nbe the tide.\"\n\nHe was much puzzled, and the more he thought of it the more he was\nalarmed. Suppose the lake should suddenly go dry? It would be\nimpossible to get the _Dartaway_ to Lake Okeechobee in that case and\nthey would have to abandon the craft in the everglades. Worse than\nthat they would have hard work in leaving Florida, as they were in an\nuninhabited part.\n\n\"We certainly are up against it!\" exclaimed Ned, as he shut off the\nengine after his fruitless attempt. \"What in the world am I going to\ndo?\"\n\nThere was no one to answer his question, and once more he sat down\ndespondently in front of the tent and gazed at the receding water.\n\nIt was beginning to get dusk and Ned knew it would soon be dark as\nthere was practically no twilight in this semi-tropical land.\n\n\"I wish Jerry would come back,\" he murmured. \"I don't like the idea of\nstaying here alone with Bob all night.\"\n\nHe went into the tent to give the patient a drink. As he was coming\nout he heard the crackling of underbrush. It indicated the approach\nof some one. Ned hurried to the flap of the tent. He saw through the\nsemi-darkness a figure approaching.\n\n\"Jerry!\" he called.\n\n\"Yes, it's me, Ned. How's Bob?\"\n\n\"No better. Did you find the professor?\"\n\n\"No. I went as far as I could. The path ended in a deep swamp and I\ncouldn't see any way to get across. I had to come back. Is everything\nall right?\"\n\n\"No, Jerry. I'm afraid we're in for a streak of bad luck.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Butterfly Lake is lowering.\"\n\n\"The lake lowering! What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I hardly know myself. Either it's connected with the ocean and the\ntide is falling, or the bottom has dropped out.\"\n\n\"This lake isn't connected with the tide.\"\n\n\"Then there's a leak in it.\"\n\n\"Are you sure, Ned?\"\n\n\"Take a look.\"\n\nThe two youths hurried down to the edge of the water. Ned pointed to\nthe _Dartaway_. The water had receded so much that the propellor was\npart way out.\n\n\"You know how it was when we left it,\" said Ned. \"Now look at it. I\ntried to get the boat off into deeper water but I couldn't. Queer,\nisn't it?\"\n\n\"More than queer,\" responded Jerry in tired accents, for he was very\nweary. \"This is serious, Ned. We'll have to do something.\"\n\n\"Better have something to eat first,\" suggested Ned. \"You're played\nout. I'll make some coffee.\"\n\nHe lighted the fire and soon had some of the steaming beverage ready.\nHe took some and so did Jerry. Then they looked at Bob. The poor chap\nwas no better, but the boys were a little encouraged that he was no\nworse.\n\n\"He's holding his own,\" remarked Ned.\n\n\"Yes, but if the fever doesn't break up soon he'll--\"\n\nJerry didn't finish, and Ned did not ask him what he meant.\n\n\"The nitre is all gone,\" went on Ned. \"I don't know what to give him\nnow.\"\n\n\"We'll bathe him in witch hazel,\" suggested Jerry. \"That has alcohol in\nit, and I've heard that's what they wash fever patients in. It may do\nhim some good.\"\n\nBob did seem a little more comfortable after Ned and Jerry had sponged\nhim with the witch hazel, of which they had a large bottle. But the\nfever was soon raging again, and poor Bob tossed more restlessly than\nbefore, while he murmured in his delirium of ice water and other\ncooling drinks.\n\nMorning came at last. As soon as it was light Jerry hurried down to the\nlake. What he saw caused him to cry out in surprise. The _Dartaway_\nwas now ten feet from the edge.\n\n\"There's only thing to do!\" exclaimed Jerry.\n\n\"What is that?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"We've got to get the boat into the deep water. Otherwise it will soon\nbe so far away we can't float her.\"\n\n\"How are you going to do it?\"\n\n\"We'll have to cut down some small trees for rollers and edge it along\nthat way.\"\n\n\"But what about Bob?\"\n\n\"We'll have to put him on board first.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nTHE PROFESSOR RETURNS\n\n\nUrged on by the seriousness of their plight, the two boys lost no time\nin getting to work. With small axes which formed a part of their camp\naccessories they chopped down several palmetto trees. They were of soft\nwood and easy to work. Ned and Jerry soon had several rollers made.\n\nThese were placed in position to slide the boat on them into the lake,\nwhich kept receding.\n\n\"How we going to get back into Lake Okeechobee,\" asked Ned. \"The\nconnecting river must be dried up by this time.\"\n\n\"Probably it is, but we've got to get the _Dartaway_ afloat now or\nnever. We'll have to take our chances on getting out of here.\"\n\nBefore rolling the boat down into the receding water the awning was put\nup and a bunk gotten ready for Bob. Then he was carried down into it.\nHe was too sick to know or care what was going on.\n\n\"Now for some hard work,\" remarked Jerry, as he and Ned got ready to\nmove the _Dartaway_.\n\nThey found it a difficult task. More than once they felt like giving\nup but they knew they must proceed if they were to have the use of\ntheir craft. It took them almost half a day to accomplish it. They used\nlong branches of trees for levers and, inch by inch the motor boat was\nshoved astern until the propellor dipped once more into the lake.\n\n\"Almost done!\" exclaimed Ned with a sigh.\n\n\"Yes, thank goodness,\" echoed Jerry.\n\nHalf an hour more of work and the craft floated. The boys brought their\ncamp stuff and packed it into the boat, striking the tent since they\ncould no longer remain on shore so far away from the water. Fortunately\nthe falling of the lake left exposed a hard shell beach instead of a\nlot of soft mud, or the boys would never have been able to make trips\nback and forth with their camping accessories.\n\n\"Now what?\" asked Ned as they sat in the boat.\n\n\"We'll have to wait here, or in this neighborhood, for the professor,\"\nsaid Jerry. \"He's liable to come back at any minute.\"\n\n\"If he comes back at all!\"\n\n\"It does look bad,\" admitted Jerry, in answer to Ned's gloomy words.\n\"But I guess he can take care of himself.\"\n\n\"Those <DW64>s are ugly customers,\" said Ned. \"I wish we could come\nacross Mr. Seabury again. He might be able to suggest a plan.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid we'll not see him in a hurry. He can't get to us and we\ncan't get to him with the river that connected the two lakes all dried\nup. I wonder what caused this sudden falling away of the water?\"\n\n\"You've got me,\" replied Ned. \"I've puzzled over it until I can't think\nstraight. But let's cruise about a bit. It's hot and we may strike a\nbreeze out on the lake. Perhaps we can find the outlet through which\nthe water is all disappearing.\"\n\nTo this plan Jerry agreed. It was much cooler with the boat swiftly\nin motion, and Bob seemed to feel easier. Now and then he would rouse\nup and ask some question, but, before his chums could answer he would\nagain sink into the stupor of fever. The boat was sent in a wide\ncircle of the lake. It was so large that it did not seem to have grown\nappreciably smaller when the chums looked at it some distance from\nshore. But once the beach was approached the appearance of rocks that\nhad long been under water told the story.\n\n\"We don't want to go very far away from where we were camped,\" said\nJerry. \"It would be too bad if the professor should come back and not\nfind us. We must keep within sight of where we were.\"\n\nThey passed the afternoon cruising about in sight of where they had\nlast seen Mr. Snodgrass. When it grew dark, lanterns were lighted and\nhung about the boat.\n\n\"He can see them from shore and hail us,\" remarked Jerry.\n\n\"Hark!\" cried Bob, suddenly sitting up in his bunk. \"My mother is\ncalling me! I'm coming!\" he cried and began throwing off the light\ncovering which Jerry had placed over him.\n\n\"His mind is wandering,\" said Ned as he hurried to his chum's side. \"He\nfancies he hears some one calling.\"\n\nAt that moment there came a voice from out of the darkness. A voice\nsounding far away.\n\n\"Boys! Where are you?\" came across the water.\n\n\"What's that?\" cried Jerry.\n\n\"The professor!\" exclaimed Ned. \"It's his voice!\"\n\nJerry sprang to the engine and set it in motion.\n\n\"We're coming!\" yelled Ned.\n\nJerry opened the muffler and the sound of the motor's explosions\nsounded loud on the still night.\n\n\"He'll hear that better than he will our shouts,\" he remarked, as he\nsteered the boat toward where the camp had been.\n\nBob grew quieter as the motion of the boat soothed him. In a short time\nthe craft was close enough to shore, for the professor's voice to be\nplainly heard.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" he called.\n\n\"Bottom dropped out of the lake,\" cried Ned, giving his favorite reason\nfor the strange action of the water. \"We'll come as close as we can.\nAre you all right?\"\n\n\"Fairly so,\" answered Mr. Snodgrass.\n\nHe was soon aboard and, in a few words, the boys told him what had\nhappened since he went away.\n\n\"Bob sick!\" the scientist exclaimed. \"Let me look at him. I have some\nmedicine among my things.\"\n\nBy the light of a lantern Mr. Snodgrass examined Bob. He seemed grave\nwhen he had finished and at once began searching among his boxes.\n\n\"Is he--is he very bad?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"I'm afraid so,\" was the reply. \"The fever has been allowed to run too\nlong. You did the best you could, but the medicine you had was not\nstrong enough. What I have will hardly answer but it is the best I can\ndo. It may break up the fever. I'll try it at any rate.\"\n\nThe professor soon had a dose mixed and gave it to Bob. In a little\nwhile the lad's breathing was easier, and he seemed to be sleeping more\nnaturally.\n\n\"Perhaps it will do,\" said the scientist, as he felt of the patient's\npulse.\n\n\"Now tell us about yourself,\" urged Ned. \"We were very anxious about\nyou. What happened?\"\n\n\"Well, I had rather a narrow escape. Mr. Seabury was right about those\nscoundrels. They wanted to rob me, and had no intention of leading me\nto where I could find the rare butterfly. I discovered this when it\ncame night and they said it was two days' journey further on. I wanted\nto come back, as I knew you would be worried, but they acted so ugly I\nthought I had better do as they wished. I stayed with them in a rude\ncamp they made, but I didn't go to sleep. I heard something which made\nme think they might attack you boys.\"\n\n\"They did but we drove 'em off,\" said Jerry.\n\n\"Good for you! Well, I insisted on being led to the butterflies the\nnext day, but they kept making excuses. Finally I managed to get away\nby a trick and I started for our camp.\n\n\"I lost my way and had to spend another night in the everglades.\nFortunately I had my compass with me and I had taken note of the\ngeneral direction we traveled in. There are some trails through the\neverglades and I managed to follow them. At last I struck the one along\nthe stream on which they had taken me in their canoe and I knew I was\nsafe. But I didn't get my butterfly. Now what is this about the falling\nlake?\"\n\nThe boys told him, and Mr. Snodgrass looked worried. He could not\nexplain the phenomenon, but said they would make an investigation in\nthe morning.\n\nIn spite of his weariness the scientist insisted on sitting up that\nnight with Bob. The boat was anchored well off from shore but near\nenough to be pulled in by a rope and in the morning Bob was much better\nthough very weak.\n\n\"I think he'll come around,\" remarked the professor. \"I'd like a\ndifferent kind of medicine for him, but perhaps we can find Mr. Seabury\nand his houseboat. He has quite a stock of drugs, he told me.\"\n\n\"We can't get to him unless we find another outlet of the lake,\" said\nJerry.\n\n\"Very well, then we'll look for one,\" answered Uriah Snodgrass. \"Let's\nmake a tour of this body of water.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nIN THE FLOATING FOREST\n\n\nPutting into operation the suggestion of the professor the boys started\nthe _Dartaway_ off after breakfast on a tour of the lake. The day was\ncloudy and there was a stiff breeze which kicked up something of a sea,\nbut the motor craft was able to weather heavier waves than any the boys\nencountered.\n\n\"There must be an outlet to account for the water flowing away,\"\nremarked the professor, as they speeded along. Bob continued to improve\nslightly though he was far from well. His delirium had left him,\nhowever, and he was very weak.\n\nThey traveled many miles around the shores of the lake but discovered\nnothing in the way of an outlet. The water seemed to be lowering\nrapidly.\n\n\"This is getting serious,\" remarked the professor as he closely scanned\nthe surface of the lake. \"We've got to do something.\"\n\n\"The question is--what?\" said Ned.\n\n\"We had better go a little farther,\" continued the scientist. \"Then if\nwe do not discover something, we'll camp for the night. In the morning\nwe may have better luck.\"\n\nIt was well along in the afternoon now and Jerry, who was at the wheel,\nspeeded up the engine to send the craft ahead faster in order to cover\nas much of the lake as possible. But no explanation of the phenomenon\nrewarded the efforts of the travelers.\n\n\"That looks like a good place to camp,\" said Jerry, pointing ahead to\na clump of forest. The shores were of sloping gravel and the receding\nwater has not left exposed a lot of mud. \"We can't do better than to\nput up there,\" he added.\n\n\"Are we going ashore?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"I think it will be wise,\" replied Uriah Snodgrass. \"Bob is restless in\nthe narrow bunk and he needs a change.\"\n\nThe sick boy had dozed off and took no part in the discussion.\n\nThe _Dartaway_ was headed for the place Jerry had indicated, and in a\nshort time the travelers were ashore with Ned and Jerry making camp and\nerecting the tent, while the professor looked after Bob. The boat was\nmoored by a long rope some distance from shore as they did not want to\nfind it aground in the morning in case the waters should continue to\nrecede. They could wade out to it, as the shore was sloping.\n\nBob did seem a little better when placed on a comfortable cot in the\ntent. However, he took no interest in what was going on but lay with\nclosed eyes, for the fever still burned in his veins in spite of the\nmedicine administered by the professor.\n\n\"I must get something stronger for Bob,\" he said. \"If I was near a\ndrug store I would have no trouble, but out here I'm afraid I can find\nnothing that will completely break the high fever. If I met our old\nIndian friend he might be able to suggest to me some vegetable remedy.\"\n\n\"We'd better made everything doubly secure to-night,\" remarked Jerry as\nthey prepared to retire.\n\n\"Why?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"Because there's going to be a storm, and, if I'm not much mistaken, a\ntough one.\"\n\nIndeed it did look as though Jerry's prophecy was likely to be\nfulfilled. The sun had long since sunk down behind a bank of ominous\nlooking clouds, and now a fitful wind was springing up, sighing through\nthe palmetto trees and swaying the long streamers of vines like big\npendulums. Whenever the wind died away momentarily there was a curious\nhush over everything, that magnified slight sounds. It grew darker but\nwith a peculiar yellow cast that gave objects a sickly hue.\n\n\"We're in for a heavy blow,\" remarked the professor. \"Look well to the\nguy ropes, boys.\"\n\nThey needed no urging, but set to with a will, the scientist helping\nthem, to make their camp secure. As the hours went by, and the signs of\nthe storm did not increase, they had hopes that it might pass away.\n\nNed and the professor stretched themselves out on their cots while\nJerry, who had agreed to take first watch, sat just outside the tent\nwatching the fitful play of lightning in the western sky.\n\n\"I guess it's coming after all,\" he said to himself as the flashes grew\nmore brilliant. Now and then low mutterings of thunder could be heard,\nand the wind, which, for the last half hour had died away, suddenly\nsprang up with an increased violence.\n\nSuddenly there sounded a shrill shrieking as though some gigantic\nwhistle had been blown. So startling was it that Jerry sprang to his\nfeet thinking that, in some unaccountable way, a steamer had gotten on\nButterfly Lake. But an instant later he knew it was the hurricane, for\nthe force of it nearly blew the tent over.\n\n\"All hands to help hold things down!\" yelled Jerry, springing to a guy\nrope as the canvas undulated under the force of the powerful wind.\n\nFortunately Ned and the professor were light sleepers. They sprang up\nand went to Jerry's assistance. The tent seemed determined to give in\nto the wind and collapse, but the three held on until the first fury\nof the blast had passed by. It settled down to a heavy blow but the\nropes held. Then with a dash of stinging globules the rain came, and\nthe storm was fairly on. The three outside the tent were drenched in an\ninstant, and hastened inside.\n\nBob had awakened from the noise of the tempest. He sat up, half\nfrightened, but when Jerry assured him everything was safe he turned\nover and dozed off again, so powerful a hold did the fever have on him.\n\nIt was a night such as the travelers had seldom experienced on any\nof their journeys, and they had been in some tight places. There was\nalmost a continuous rattle and roar of thunder and the lightning was\nincessant. Mingled with the rain was the boom of the lake waves on the\nshore, for the wind kicked up quite a disturbance on the large body of\nwater.\n\n\"I hope our boat's safe,\" remarked Jerry as there sounded a fiercer\nburst of the storm.\n\nIt seemed as if morning would never come but at last there was a\nperceptible lifting of the darkness and the storm seemed to abate some.\nNed put on an oil-skin coat, and, donning a pair of rubber boots,\nventured out. No sooner had he emerged from the tent than he gave a\nshout which brought the professor and Jerry to the tent flap.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Mr. Snodgrass.\n\n\"We're adrift!\"\n\n\"Adrift! What do you mean? We're not on the boat!\"\n\n\"No, but we're on something that's floating. Look over there at those\ntrees on shore and you can see that we're moving!\"\n\nJerry and the professor looked. Getting two tall trees in range they\ncould easily note that they were moving, as the position of the trees\nchanged with reference to themselves.\n\n\"What could have happened?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"We must have landed on an island instead of on the mainland,\" said\nNed. \"In some way the island got adrift.\"\n\n\"I think we landed on the main land all right,\" said Uriah Snodgrass,\n\"but what happened was this: These everglades are not much more than\nfloating masses of vegetation, several feet thick it is true, and\ncapable of supporting large trees. But the fury of the storm probably\ncut off from the main land the portion we're on. It floated off and\ntook us with it. We're in the middle of the lake.\"\n\n\"Where's our boat?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"Back where you moored it, probably, unless it has also drifted with\nus,\" replied Mr. Snodgrass.\n\n\"Then we're in for a lot of trouble,\" exclaimed Ned. \"What shall we do?\"\n\n\"We'd better make some explorations,\" suggested the professor. \"It's\nstopped raining. We'll try and discover how large our island is.\"\n\nThey looked to see that Bob was comfortable, and found him sleeping.\nPlacing some water where he could reach it, the three set off expecting\nto be back in half an hour or so.\n\nThrough the woods they went, seeking to get to the other side of the\nfloating island to look for their boat. It was hard work tramping\nthrough the underbrush, and they needed all the protection which their\nheavy oil-skin coats and rubber boots gave them. On and on they went,\ntaking little heed of direction, for they were all anxious and worried.\n\nBut the island seemed very large. They had left the shores and were\nwell into the interior. It was dark and gloomy for the sky was\novercast. Suddenly the professor called:\n\n\"Boys, let's halt a minute.\"\n\nNed and Jerry stopped. They looked at their companion.\n\n\"I'm afraid we've done rather a foolish thing,\" he said. \"Have either\nof you a compass?\"\n\nThe boys said they had not.\n\n\"Neither have I,\" went on Mr. Snodgrass. \"I left mine in the tent. We\nshould have been more careful. I don't know in what direction we are\ngoing, nor which way to go back. This island is larger than I thought.\"\n\n\"Do you think we're lost?\" asked Ned, in some alarm.\n\n\"Yes, boys, it looks very much as though we were lost in a floating\nforest, and I think we'll have trouble in getting back to camp.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nA CRY FOR HELP\n\n\nWith anxious faces the travelers looked at one another. The alarm\ncaused by the discovery that they were on a floating island made\nthem forget their usual caution. Even so seasoned a tourist as Uriah\nSnodgrass had been at fault, and he did not cease to blame himself for\nit.\n\n\"We'll do the best we can,\" he said. \"This is more my fault than any\none else's, as I proposed it in such a hurry.\"\n\n\"Can't we follow our trail back?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"We can try, but I fancy we wandered over rather a crooked one.\"\n\nThis they found to be true. They managed to follow their tracks\nfor some distance but soon lost the trail amid the trees and dense\nunderbrush.\n\nThey had come off without breakfast and the pangs of hunger began to\nmake themselves manifest. As for the professor, once the first shock of\nbeing lost had passed, he became so much interested in catching some\ncurious bugs that he paid little attention to the boys. However, they\nkept him in sight, for it would not do to become separated in this\ndense forest.\n\n\"If we'd only told Bob to fire a gun or do something in case we didn't\nreturn soon,\" remarked Ned with a sigh. \"Poor Bob! I wish we were back\nwhere he is.\"\n\n\"No use wishing,\" spoke up Jerry. \"We've got to keep on. Maybe we'll\nhit the trail soon.\"\n\nOn and on they wandered but only, it seemed, to get the more hopelessly\nlost. The two boys were much alarmed, but the scientist, his whole mind\ngiven over to collecting bugs, was somewhat indifferent.\n\n\"Hark! What was that?\" cried Ned suddenly.\n\n\"Sounded like a gun,\" said Jerry.\n\n\"It was a gun,\" replied Ned. \"It was over this way,\" and he pointed to\nthe left. \"Come on. Maybe it's a party of hunters.\"\n\nCalling to the professor, the boys turned in the direction from which\nthe report had come. They had not gone far before another gun shot was\nheard and they knew they were in the right direction, but toward whom\nthey were going they did know.\n\n\"Anyway it's some person or persons,\" argued Ned. \"We can help them or\nthey can help us. We'll have company if we are lost.\"\n\nThe gun continued to be fired at intervals and but for this the three\nwould not have known how to proceed. The reports sound very close now\nand in about ten minutes the two boys and the professor saw something\nwhite glimmering before them in the light of the sun that was just\nbreaking through the clouds.\n\n\"There's the lake! There's water! We're on the shore!\" cried Jerry.\n\nA few moments later they had emerged from the dense forest and saw\nbefore them their own tent with Bob at the entrance loading and firing\nhis rifle.\n\n\"Good boy!\" cried Ned. \"How did you think to do it, old chap? How are\nyou?\"\n\n\"I was worried when I found you all gone,\" said the invalid. \"I thought\nyou might have gone off in the woods and, as I looked out of the tent\nI thought I saw the land moving. That scared me and I got up. I feared\nI was on a floating island so I fired the gun to call you back as I\ndidn't know what had happened while you were away.\"\n\n\"You're on a floating island all right,\" remarked Jerry. \"We got lost\nin the woods, looking for some way out of the difficulty, and your\nfiring gave us the right direction.\"\n\n\"How do you feel, Bob?\" asked the professor.\n\n\"A little better, I think.\"\n\nBut Bob's flushed face and unnaturally bright eye did not bear out this\nstatement.\n\n\"You had better go back to bed,\" decided Mr. Snodgrass. \"I'll give you\nsome more medicine. I think you are getting a touch of malaria mixed\nwith your fever.\"\n\nThe exertion of getting out of bed and firing the gun had greatly\nweakened Bob and he was much worse. They ate a hurried breakfast, and\nthe professor gave the patient some more medicine.\n\n\"We ought to look for our boat,\" said Ned. \"If we lose that it's all up\nwith us. Suppose we walk along shore. We may get a sight of it.\"\n\n\"Good idea,\" agreed Uriah Snodgrass. \"I'll stay here with Bob and you\nand Jerry can move in opposite directions. You can't get lost if you\nfollow the shore and the one who first sights the boat can fire three\nshots and they will call the other to him.\"\n\nNed and Jerry agreed that this was a good plan and started off. Ned\nwalked quickly along the shore, keeping a watch for the _Dartaway_ but\nthe sight of her did not reward his eyes. As he was proceeding, having\ntramped for over two hours, he heard a noise in the bushes just ahead\nof him where a little point of land jutted out into the lake.\n\n\"Some one is coming,\" reasoned the lad, holding his gun in readiness as\nhe thought of the ugly <DW64>s.\n\nAn instant later a figure came into view. Ned started as he caught\nsight of it. He could not see it distinctly but he observed a gun\nbarrel. Then he had a glimpse of a red cap.\n\n\"Jerry!\" he called. \"Is that you?\"\n\n\"That's who it is! I was just thinking I had met an Indian or a <DW52>\nman. See anything of the boat?\" and Jerry stepped from behind the\nbushes and confronted his chum.\n\n\"Not a sign. Did you?\"\n\n\"No, and between us, we completed the circuit of the island. Must be\nabout six miles around it.\"\n\n\"No boat,\" murmured Ned. \"What are we going to do?\"\n\n\"Land only knows. This island is still floating, and it seems to be\ncontinually moving in the same general direction--that is south. Maybe\nthe boat is drifting also and we'll catch up to her or she will with\nus.\"\n\n\"I hope so. But we'd better go back now. I hate to take bad news to the\nprofessor, though.\"\n\nThere was no help for it, however, and soon the two youths were\ntramping back toward camp. The scientist was much disappointed that\nthey had not been successful, but he was more worried over Bob's\ncondition.\n\n\"I'm afraid of the result if he doesn't get different medicine soon,\"\nhe said.\n\nThe day was a gloomy one in spite of the fine weather that followed the\nstorm. The campers were in no mood for doing anything and sat about\nlistlessly, now and then taking an observation to see how their island\nwas behaving. It seemed to be about in the middle of the big lake,\nthough moving slowly southward.\n\n\"It's bound to fetch up somewhere,\" observed Ned.\n\n\"If it doesn't strike some low place in the lake and become anchored,\"\nreplied Jerry. \"But I don't see that we can do anything. We might swim\noff when it gets near the mainland, but we'll be in a bad way without\nour boat.\"\n\nThere were uneasy sleepers in camp that night. Early in the morning Ned\nand Jerry were up to see if, by any chance, their boat had drifted near\nthem.\n\n\"We'll take another tramp along shore,\" proposed Jerry.\n\nOnce more they started off. Jerry had gone about two miles when he\nheard three shots fired.\n\n\"That's the signal!\" he exclaimed. \"Ned must have sighted the\n_Dartaway_!\"\n\nHe hurried back, passing through the camp and telling the professor\nwhat he believed had happened. Nor was he mistaken. He found Ned pacing\nup and down the shore, stripped to his underwear and ready to plunge\ninto the lake.\n\n\"Do you see it?\" called Jerry.\n\n\"Looks like her off there,\" and Ned pointed to a speck on the lake.\n\"I'm going to swim out to her.\"\n\n\"Is it safe? There might be alligators or big snakes.\"\n\n\"I've got to take a chance. We can never get away from here without the\nboat. You watch me and if you see anything that looks dangerous--why\nshoot.\"\n\nNed waded out into the water until he got to his depth and then he\nbegan swimming. Jerry anxiously watched for a sight of some big reptile\nor saurian but his fears were groundless. In half an hour Ned had\nreached the floating object.\n\n\"I wonder if it's the boat?\" said Jerry to himself.\n\nHis question was answered a moment later for, over the surface of the\nlake sounded the explosions that told that Ned had started the engine\nof the _Dartaway_.\n\nIn a short time the boat was close in shore. Jerry waded out to her and\nthen, in their recovered craft, the chums headed for camp, where they\nfound the professor much delighted at their success.\n\nTo avoid a repetition of the floating away of the boat they tied her by\na long rope to a tree close to the tent. Then, in much better spirits,\nthey sat down to plan what next to do.\n\n\"I think we'd better all get into the boat and hunt for the outlet of\nthis lake,\" said Mr. Snodgrass. \"There is no question but what the one\nleading into Lake Okeechobee is closed. There must be another or the\nwater would not continue to fall. I believe that--\"\n\nThe professor's belief was destined to remain unannounced, for at that\ninstant there sounded a cry over the water.\n\n\"Help! Help! Help!\"\n\n\"Those are girls' voices!\" remarked Jerry, springing to his feet.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nTHE PLIGHT OF THE GIRLS\n\n\nOnce more over the water sounded the cry for help. It was evident\nthat several persons were calling and, as the boys and the professor\nlistened, they found that the appeal came from around a point of land\nthat jutted out into the lake from the floating island, not far from\nthe camp.\n\n\"Get into the boat!\" called Ned to Jerry, as the latter hurried down to\nthe shore. \"We'll find 'em.\"\n\nThe two were soon in the _Dartaway_ and the engine was started. As the\nmotor craft moved out of the little cove in front of camp the boys saw\nbefore them three girls in a boat.\n\n\"Help us!\" cried the young ladies.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"We've caught a big fish and it's towing the boat!\"\n\n\"More likely an alligator!\" exclaimed Ned. \"Put a little more speed on,\nJerry. Why, if they aren't Mr. Seabury's daughters! The houseboat must\nbe nearby!\"\n\n\"Sure enough!\" answered Jerry. \"That's good news. We can get some\nmedicine for Bob now.\"\n\nThough the rowboat was moving at good speed the _Dartaway_ soon caught\nup to it. Ned and Jerry saw three very much frightened girls who waved\ntheir hands to them as the boys approached.\n\n\"They're from the _Dartaway_!\" cried Rose. \"I'm so glad to see them!\"\n\n\"Quick!\" exclaimed Olivia. \"Something has been towing us for an hour!\"\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Ned, as he tried to peer beneath the water.\n\n\"Oh, a terrible big fish,\" answered Nellie.\n\nIn a few moments the rowboat was fast to the motor craft and the\nsmaller one came to a stop. Then there was a flurry in the water just\nahead, and an ugly black snout was thrust up.\n\n\"An alligator!\" exclaimed Jerry. He grabbed for his gun and sent a\nbullet into the saurian. A greater commotion beneath the surface of the\nlake, which was tinged with red, showed that the leaden missile had\ngone home.\n\n\"You killed him!\" exclaimed Ned.\n\n\"Yes, but it wasn't much of a kill,\" responded his chum as the\nalligator came to the surface, disclosing the fact that it was a small\none, only about five feet long. \"Regular baby. How did you girls come\nto get fast to it?\"\n\n\"We didn't. It got fast to us,\" replied Olivia. \"Rose had baited a big\nhook on a stout line, expecting to catch a shark I guess. We laughed at\nher but she said she'd catch something with it.\"\n\n\"And I did,\" cried Rose. \"I let it trail over the side and the first\nthing I knew something took my bait and hook and the boat began to move\noff. We were scared to death.\"\n\n\"How did you get here? Where is the houseboat? We left you on Lake\nOkeechobee,\" inquired Jerry.\n\n\"Isn't this Lake Okeechobee?\" asked Rose in some alarm.\n\n\"We named it Butterfly Lake,\" said Jerry, and he told what had happened\nsince they last visited Mr. Seabury and his daughters.\n\n\"That's queer,\" said Rose. \"We have been cruising about on some\nlake, and we supposed it was Lake Okeechobee. I noticed that we went\nthrough quite a narrow place the other evening, made a short circuit\nand returned to it, but I thought nothing of it. We anchored the boat\nnear the passage and we've been there ever since except to-day when we\nthought we'd go fishing.\"\n\n\"Where is this narrow place you speak of; near the one where we were?\"\nasked Jerry, much interested.\n\n\"No, off that way,\" and Rose pointed to the south. \"Our houseboat is\nthere yet. We must hurry back or father will be alarmed.\"\n\n\"You must have found another outlet between the two lakes,\" was Jerry's\nopinion. \"That's just what we want as we can't use the one we came\nthrough, owing to the lowering of Butterfly Lake. Have you noticed\nthat?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Olivia. \"Our boat was nearly ashore. But father says\nthese lakes frequently get low in the summer time when there is not\nmuch rain.\"\n\n\"We've had enough rain for the last week or so,\" replied Ned. \"However,\nno harm is done if we can get back to Lake Okeechobee the way you came\ninto this lake. We'll tow you back to the place.\"\n\nThe girls thought this was a good plan. They inquired after the\nprofessor and Bob, and were sorry to learn of the latter's illness.\n\n\"I'm sure father has some medicine that would make him better,\" said\nNellie. \"He has a regular drug store aboard the _Wanderer_. Did the\nprofessor get his wonderful butterfly?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Jerry and he related the scientist's experience with the\nugly <DW64>s.\n\nThe _Dartaway_, towing the rowboat, was headed back toward where the\ngirls said their houseboat lay. As they passed the camp Jerry called\nto the professor to let him know where they were going, and promising\nto ask Mr. Seabury for a list of the medicines he had so that the\nprofessor might select some for Bob.\n\n\"Now you girls will have to tell us which way to steer,\" suggested Ned,\nwhen they had been puffing along for some distance. \"How far did that\nalligator tow you?\"\n\n\"It seemed like fifty miles,\" replied Rose with a laugh.\n\n\"It was about an hour,\" said Olivia, with more regard for correct\ndetails.\n\n\"Then we ought to be there soon,\" declared Jerry. \"That alligator\nwasn't going very fast.\"\n\n\"There's the place!\" suddenly exclaimed Nellie. \"I remember it by the\nthree dead trees on a little point of land,\" and she indicated where\nshe meant.\n\nJerry headed the _Dartaway_ in that direction. He scanned the shore,\nwhich they were approaching, for a sight of an outlet from Butterfly\nLake. As he drew nearer he could see nothing that looked like a\npassage.\n\n\"Are you sure this is the place?\" he asked the girls.\n\n\"Positive,\" they all assured him, as they had all taken note of the\nthree dead trees.\n\n\"It's strange, but I can't see any way out of the lake at this point,\"\nspoke Jerry, standing up and gazing ahead.\n\n\"I know it's the place!\" insisted Nellie. \"There, girls, see my\nhandkerchief that I dropped as I was baiting my hook!\"\n\nShe pointed to the piece of linen on the bank. There was no mistaking\nthis bit of evidence. Jerry ran the boat ashore and got out. The girls\nfollowed him and Nellie recovered her handkerchief.\n\n\"This is the place we came through,\" she said. \"The houseboat was\nmoored right here.\"\n\n\"But now it's gone and the passage is closed up!\" exclaimed Jerry.\n\"Something very strange has happened.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nOTTIBY TO THE RESCUE\n\n\nFor a moment following Jerry's announcement the girls did not know what\nto say. The news startled them.\n\n\"Do you mean to tell us that the passage by which we entered here from\nLake Okeechobee is closed?\" asked Nellie.\n\n\"It seems to be,\" replied Jerry.\n\n\"And the houseboat is gone?\" asked Rose.\n\n\"Where is it?\" asked Ned. \"You left it here and now it has disappeared!\"\n\n\"Poor father!\" exclaimed Olivia. \"What can have happened to him?\" and\nshe looked at the startled countenances of her sisters.\n\nThe girls were very much frightened, not only at the disappearance of\ntheir houseboat but because of the strange happening that had closed\nthe passage, and they were alarmed on account of their father.\n\n\"What shall we do?\" asked Rose. \"Perhaps those wicked <DW52> men or\nsome Seminole Indians have captured father.\"\n\n\"Don't talk of such horrid things!\" exclaimed Nellie. \"We never should\nhave left him alone!\"\n\n\"The best thing you can do is to come to our camp,\" suggested Ned. \"We\ncan tell the professor what has happened and perhaps he can suggest\na way out of it. Maybe the passage has become blocked by a mass of\nfloating vegetation, or an island such as we are on.\"\n\n\"Are you on a floating island?\" asked Olivia.\n\n\"Yes, a regular floating forest,\" answered Jerry. \"I think you had\nbetter come with us.\"\n\nThere was nothing else to do, and the girls got into the motor boat\nwhile their small craft was towed by the _Dartaway_. In a short time\nthey arrived at the camp. The professor met them at the shore. He look\nworried, and Ned asked:\n\n\"Is anything the matter?\"\n\n\"Bob is out of his mind again,\" replied the scientist. \"He seems much\nworse. Did you bring a list of medicines? I find I shall need several\nkinds.\"\n\n\"The houseboat is gone,\" said Jerry.\n\n\"Gone?\" and the professor's face looked blank.\n\n\"And poor, dear papa is gone with her,\" put in Rose.\n\nJerry quickly explained what had happened and Ned spoke of his theory.\n\n\"I believe you're right,\" agreed Uriah Snodgrass. \"We are in strange\nwaters and things have happened that I never would dream of. But,\ngirls, don't worry. I'm sure your father is all right. I wish I could\nfind him, as I am worried about Bob, and I'm sure he would have the\nvery medicine I need to make the boy well.\"\n\n\"Let me assist in nursing him,\" said Olivia. \"It will help to take my\nmind off our troubles.\"\n\n\"We'll aid you,\" added Rose and Nellie, and the three young ladies\nwent into the tent where Bob was tossing in the delirium of fever. The\nprofessor was glad enough of their help and they at once bathed Bob's\nhead, face and arms in witch hazel which gave him some relief. They\nalso kept wet cloths on his brow to reduce the fever.\n\n\"Now, boys, we've got a serious problem ahead of us,\" said Mr.\nSnodgrass as he beckoned Ned and Jerry to follow him out of earshot\nof the tent. \"It seems that we are caught in a sort of trap. We're on\na lake from which there appears to be no outlet, and it is constantly\nfalling. In a little while there'll be no water in it and if we want\nto get back home we'll have to walk.\"\n\n\"But there must be an outlet or how does the water get out?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"I'm afraid the outlet is one that we can't use,\" replied the\nscientist. \"I mean an underground one.\"\n\n\"What's to be done?\" inquired Jerry.\n\n\"I have thought of a plan,\" Uriah Snodgrass continued, \"but it is going\nto be difficult for we have no tools for working.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Jerry.\n\n\"We might cut a channel through the obstruction that is blocking the\npassage through which the girls came.\"\n\n\"Or we might haul the boat overland,\" added Ned.\n\n\"Providing the floating island which blocks the passage is not too\ngreat in extent,\" put in Jerry.\n\nThis was a new phase of the matter. Clearly they could not dig a canal\nof any great length, with the primitive tools at their command. Nor\ncould they haul the _Dartaway_ overland any long distance.\n\n\"It looks as if we were up against it,\" said Jerry with a doleful sigh.\n\"We'll have to think of another plan.\"\n\nAt that moment there was a cry from the tent and the professor hurried\nto it, to find that Bob was struggling to leave his cot because of a\nfever delusion that there was a big snake near him. The girls were\nfrightened and it required all Mr. Snodgrass's strength to hold Bob\ndown until the spell passed. After that Ned, Jerry or the professor\nremained on duty with one of the girls, caring for the patient.\n\nThe camp was anything but a cheerful place. The girls wore anxious\nlooks, and the two boys, in spite of their past experience in getting\nout of serious difficulties, had lost some of their good spirits. The\nprofessor did not give way to gloomy thoughts, but it was clear that he\nwas worried.\n\nIn this way two days passed. Ned and Jerry took turns in cruising about\nin the _Dartaway_, looking for some means of egress from the lake,\nbut none was to be seen. It was at the close of the second day that\nJerry, returning in the motor boat, saw a small craft approaching their\nisland, which was still drifting slowly.\n\n\"It's a canoe,\" he said, as he made the _Dartaway_ fast and waded\nashore to camp. \"I hope it doesn't contain an advance guard of ugly\n<DW64>s or Indians.\"\n\nThinking it best to be on the safe side, Jerry quietly summoned the\nprofessor and Ned. They got their guns and waited on shore. The canoe\ncontinued to approach. The three girls were in the tent with Bob.\n\n\"There are two men in it,\" said Jerry.\n\n\"Then I guess we can take care of them,\" remarked the professor.\n\n\"If there aren't a lot more to follow,\" added Ned.\n\nOn came the canoe. The two paddlers sent it forward at a swift pace.\n\n\"They're Indians,\" observed Jerry a little later. \"One of 'em looks\njust like Ottiby.\"\n\n\"It is Ottiby!\" exclaimed the professor.\n\nThis was confirmed a few minutes later, when the Seminole chief stepped\nashore, followed by another bronze-skinned individual.\n\n\"Ugh!\" grunted the chief. \"Glad to see. This my son, Skamore.\"\n\n\"We're glad to see you,\" replied the professor. \"We're in a bad fix and\nperhaps you can help us, as you know a lot about these queer lakes.\"\n\n\"Me help. Yo' help Ottiby, Ottiby help yo',\" and with that the Indian\nsquatted down and began to smoke a pipe, which example his son followed.\n\nWaiting until the red-men had recovered from the exertion of their\npaddling, the professor told them of the plight of the party, and also\nof Bob's illness. He asked if Ottiby did not know of something that was\ngood for fevers. The chief grunted and spoke to his son who, without a\nword, glided off into the woods.\n\nThen Ottiby began to talk. He said his son would search for a certain\nplant that the Indians used when they had fevers. As for the blocking\nof the passage, that was another matter. Ottiby said he and his son\nhad come to the lake to fish. He knew of no outlet from it other than\nthe two already described. One was impassable as it was blocked by the\nfalling of the water and the other was closed by a mass of land--a\nveritable floating island. The Indian said he had reached the lake by\nan overland route; he and his son carrying their canoe.\n\n\"But me help yo',\" finished the Indian. \"We go look at place in\nmornin'.\"\n\nHardly had he spoken than his son came hurrying back through the\nbushes. His hands were empty, showing that his search for the plant had\nbeen unsuccessful. But there was a queer look on his face. He spoke\nsome words to his father, at which the old chief started.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked the professor.\n\n\"Hurricane coming,\" was the answer. \"Look out, or all blow 'way.\"\n\nAs he spoke there sounded a deep moaning sound through the trees of the\nfloating forest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nTHE HURRICANE\n\n\nThe words of the Seminole chief's son were startling enough, and,\ncoupled as they were with the strange sound of the wind, alarmed the\nboys and the professor.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Rose, coming to the tent flap as she heard\nthe commotion outside. It was the first time the girls were made aware\nof the presence of the Indians. The professor explained, asking the\nyoung ladies to remain cool as the danger might not be as great as they\nfeared.\n\n\"Oh! What will become of papa?\" cried Nellie. \"His houseboat may be\nwrecked!\"\n\n\"Maybe the chief knows something of the _Wanderer_,\" suggested Olivia\nto Mr. Snodgrass. \"Ask him, please.\"\n\nTo the surprise of all the Indian chief said he had seen the houseboat\non Lake Okeechobee on his way to Butterfly Lake. He described the\nlocation and this showed it had moved away from the blocked passage.\nOttiby had not tried to enter Butterfly Lake through that waterway and\nso, was not aware that it was choked up.\n\n\"He has seen father's boat!\" exclaimed Nellie. \"Was he all right?\"\n\n\"Him walk back and forth on deck quick,\" replied the Indian with a\nsmile.\n\nNever had the boys seen such a disturbance of the elements. The rain\ncame down in sheets and the tent, made of double canvas as it was,\nleaked like a sieve. There was such power to the wind that, had the\ntent not been protected by the surrounding forest, it would have been\nblown over.\n\nThe girls were very much frightened, and cowered down in a corner under\nsuch coverings as they could secure to keep the rain from leaking in on\nthem. Bob was protected with his chums' raincoats and, throughout the\nhurricane, kept murmuring in his delirium about pleasant sunshiny days.\n\nAt last the storm reached its height. The tent seemed fairly to lift\nloose from the guy ropes, but they were strong and well fastened, and\nthe fury of the wind was cheated. The thunder appeared to gather all\nits powers for a tremendous clap, following such a stroke of lightning\nthat it seemed as if the whole heavens were a mass of flame. Then with\nan increase in the fall of rain, which lasted for ten minutes and\ncompleted the drenching of everyone in the tent, the tropical outburst\nwas over.\n\nLanterns which had blown out were relighted and the flaps of the canvas\nhouse opened. Ned and Jerry hurried out to wring some of the water\nfrom their clothes, while the professor sent them to the motor boat,\nwhich had been covered with a heavy tarpaulin, for some dry clothes for\nBob. The lightning still flickered behind a mass of clouds in the east\nand brought out in sharp outline the tops of the trees on the distant\nmainland. Jerry looked at them for a moment. Then he called out:\n\n\"Our island's floating away faster than before!\"\n\nIt needed but a glance to show this. Because of the fury of the\nhurricane the floating forest had been torn loose from the temporary\nanchorage on the bottom of the lake and was being swept along like a\nboat.\n\n\"I wish it would take us somewhere so's we could get off this lake,\"\nremarked Bob, as he pulled the _Dartaway_ in and proceeded to get the\nclothes from the lockers.\n\nIn the morning they found themselves several miles from where they had\nbeen the night before. The day was a fine one after the storm, and the\ngirls forgot their fright and the discomforts of wet clothes.\n\n\"Look!\" cried Rose suddenly, pointing ahead. \"There are the three dead\ntrees that marked where we left the houseboat.\"\n\n\"So they are,\" added Olivia. \"Maybe this island will float over there\nand we can see if the houseboat is waiting for us.\"\n\n\"But you forget the blocked passage,\" said Nellie.\n\nThe island, on which the party was, continued to move slower and slower\nas the wind died out. Jerry, who was aiding Ned in the task of getting\nbreakfast, went down to the shore of the floating island for a pail of\nwater. He saw the three dead trees, and noted the girls looking at them\nand talking about what has happened since they went fishing. He also\nsaw something else.\n\nWhat it was caused him to drop his pail and set up a shout. The\nprofessor and Ned, followed by Ottiby and his son, came running up to\nhim.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Ned.\n\n\"The passage!\" cried Jerry. \"See, it is clear now. The hurricane must\nhave blown the mass of trees and vegetation away and we can get into\nLake Okeechobee now!\"\n\n\"Then we can get back to papa on the houseboat!\" exclaimed Olivia.\n\"Oh, girls, isn't it fine! The very storm we were so afraid of has done\nus a favor!\"\n\n\"I'll make sure of it,\" Jerry went on, as he and Ned got into the\n_Dartaway_. The girls insisted on going also, and soon the five were\npuffing toward where could be seen a narrow stream leading from\nButterfly Lake. In a short time they were up to it and Jerry's surmise\nwas found to be correct. The hurricane had blown the small floating\nisland clear through the passage into Lake Okeechobee and that big body\nof water was now accessible from Butterfly Lake.\n\n\"There's the _Wanderer_!\" exclaimed Olivia, pointing ahead, and the\nothers, looking, saw the houseboat moored at the entrance to the\npassage. They also saw Mr. Seabury pacing the upper deck. At the sight\nof the motor boat he waved his hands and set up a shout of welcome.\n\n\"Father! Father! Here we are!\" cried Nellie as Jerry sent the\n_Dartaway_ straight for the _Wanderer_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nNODDY'S DANGER\n\n\nThey were all on board a few minutes later. Mr. Seabury did his best\nto hug his three daughters at once and shake hands with Ned and Jerry.\nAs for the talk--well, it would have taken half a dozen phonographs of\nextra power to register all that was said in a short time.\n\n\"There isn't so much to tell,\" said Mr. Seabury. \"When you girls went\nout in the boat, leaving the _Wanderer_ about where she is moored now\nI was dozing on deck. Pretty soon Ponto called my attention to a swarm\nof butterflies some distance away. I had in mind the professor and his\nsearch and I thought I might find just what he wanted.\n\n\"We went after them, but they gave us quite a chase, and when we\nthought we had them the whole lot flew inland and we lost sight of\nthem. Then, when we came back where we had been moored, near the\npassage, we found it was gone. I was never so surprised in my life and\nI thought I had made a mistake. I didn't know what to do and Ponto was\nso frightened he was of no service. Then my old rheumatic trouble came\nback with a rush and I had to take to bed. But when the storm ceased\nI got better. I found the boat had dragged her anchor, so I had Ponto\nstart the motor this morning and put us back as near as possible to\nwhere the passage had been. To my surprise it was open again. That's\nall there is to it. I don't care what happened as long as I have you\ngirls back.\"\n\n\"Nor we as long as we have you,\" said Olivia, with another hugging in\nwhich her sisters joined her.\n\nThe boys and Mr. Seabury discussed what had happened and came to the\nconclusion that all around the two lakes, as well as in them, must\nbe large masses of floating vegetation in the form of islands which\ndrifted here and there. The falling of Butterfly Lake would have\naffected Lake Okeechobee by drawing water from it through the second\npassage had not the small island acted as a dam. When the passage was\nopened by the hurricane blowing the island out of the way, there would\nhave been a strong current from Lake Okeechobee into the other body of\nwater but for the fact that the smaller lake suddenly ceased falling.\n\nThe boys learned later, from Chief Ottiby, that Butterfly Lake was a\nstrange one and frequently fell as the water flowed off through some\nunknown opening. Then it would as suddenly cease, and regain its former\nlevel. This was now taking place, and the water was again rising.\n\n\"Well, you boys certainly have had some queer experiences since coming\nhere,\" remarked Mr. Seabury when all that had happened in the last few\ndays had been told. \"I have been wondering what you came to Florida\nfor.\"\n\n\"We came for several reasons,\" said Jerry. \"The professor wanted to\nget his rare butterfly, but he hasn't got it yet. We boys wanted some\nadventures and we also had a message to deliver to an acquaintance.\"\n\n\"Yes, and we forgot to deliver it,\" put in Ned.\n\n\"We will later, however,\" resumed Jerry. \"Also I was going to look up\nsome land my mother owns somewhere down here.\"\n\n\"Where is it?\"\n\n\"I don't know exactly, but I suppose the deed tells.\" Later the widow's\nson showed Mr. Seabury the document.\n\n\"So your mother thinks this land is valueless, eh?\" asked the owner of\nthe _Wanderer_.\n\n\"She always said she wished she had back the money she paid for it.\"\n\n\"Well, she's likely to get it,\" went on Mr. Seabury.\n\n\"Where is it?\"\n\n\"Just outside of Kissimmee City. I happen to own a hotel there and\nthis land is next to it. For several years I have tried to get in\ncommunication with the owner but was not successful. Now I do so by\naccident.\"\n\n\"Why did you want to find the owner?\"\n\n\"Because I want to buy the land. I intend to build an addition to my\nhotel, as the place where it is located has become quite a summer\ncolony. I will give your mother a good price for the lot. Do you think\nshe will sell it?\"\n\n\"I'm sure she will. In fact I think I'm safe in offering it to you at a\nfair price. I don't know what it is worth, but I'm willing to leave it\nto you.\"\n\n\"No, I don't do business that way. When you get to Kissimmee City,\nyou can telegraph your mother about the land. You can have it valued\nby some real estate dealer, and I'll pay you whatever he says it is\nworth. Is that satisfactory?\" And Jerry said it was.\n\n\"We mustn't forget Bob!\" exclaimed Ned, after this business was\nconcluded. \"The professor wants to know what kinds of medicine you\nhave, Mr. Seabury. Bob has a bad fever.\"\n\n\"I have several kinds. I'll take some of them with me and go to your\ncamp.\"\n\nIn a short time Mr. Seabury, with Ned and Jerry, was in the motor boat\nspeeding toward the camp. The three girls were left on the _Wanderer_.\n\nThe professor was glad to see Mr. Seabury, and the two men discussed\nBob's case. The youth was still in the stupor of the high fever, and\nMr. Seabury looked grave as he examined him. However, he administered\nsome strong medicine.\n\nWhether the fever had run its course, or whether the medicine Mr.\nSeabury gave him was responsible, was not determined, but it was\ncertain by evening Bob was much better. He continued to improve, and\nby the next day the fever had entirely left him. Yet he was far from\nstrong.\n\nAs the climate of Lake Okeechobee was not doing Mr. Seabury any good he\ndetermined to proceed back north. He left a supply of medicines for Bob\nand, expressing the hope that the professor would be successful in his\nsearch for the rare butterfly, prepared to start the _Wanderer_ on her\nhomeward trip. He agreed to meet Jerry in Kissimmee City in three weeks\nand complete the land sale in case Mrs. Hopkins agreed to it.\n\nThere was a little feeling of sadness when the three boys bade the\nthree girls good-bye, for they had grown to be very good friends. They\nexpressed the hope that they would meet again soon, and then, with\nthree toots of her whistle, which were answered from the motor boat,\nthe _Wanderer_ puffed up Lake Okeechobee.\n\nThe boys and the professor decided to remain in camp another week to\nallow Bob to recover fully. At the end of that time they started back\nup north, following the shores of Lake Okeechobee, for Mr. Snodgrass\nwas anxious about getting the rare butterfly. Chief Ottiby and his son\nremained on the other lake, as they wanted to do some fishing.\n\nThe _Dartaway_ was not sent along at a very fast speed, as the\nprofessor wanted time to scan the shores in his search for insects. He\nbegan to fear he must return north without the butterfly which meant so\nmuch to him, and the boys, appreciating his feelings, redoubled their\nwatchfulness in the hope of discovering the creature.\n\n\"This looks like a good place for butterflies,\" said Mr. Snodgrass one\nafternoon, pointing to a little cove which was bordered with woodland\non the edge of a swamp. \"Suppose we camp here for a few days?\"\n\nThe boys were willing, and the boat was headed toward shore. There was\na long strip of firm land before the swamp was reached and on this the\ntent was erected. Then, while the professor, with long rubber boots\non, went into the morass to look for the butterfly the boys walked in\nanother direction.\n\nThey had not gone very far when Jerry, who was in the lead, called out:\n\n\"Somebody else is camping here.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Bob, who had fully recovered from his illness.\n\n\"There's a tent.\"\n\n\"Can't be much of a party in that,\" observed Ned. \"It's only about big\nenough for one.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I guess there's the 'one,'\" observed Bob, pointing to where a\nsolitary figure stood on a little hummock near the edge of the swamp.\nJerry took one look at the figure and uttered an exclamation.\n\n\"Boys! If that isn't Noddy Nixon I'm a Dutchman!\"\n\n\"Noddy Nixon?\" repeated Bob.\n\n\"It sure is,\" added Ned. \"But look there! An alligator is right behind\nhim!\"\n\n\"And he doesn't see it!\" cried Jerry.\n\nIt was true enough. Noddy was standing with his back to the saurian. He\nseemed to be gazing off into the swamp as if looking for some one.\n\n\"Hurry up and put a bullet into it!\" yelled Bob, for Jerry had brought\nhis gun along.\n\n\"We haven't time! Let's yell to Noddy to jump out of the way of its\ntail!\" suggested Ned. \"Now all together!\"\n\nThey united their voices in a shout of warning but Noddy never turned.\n\n\"He must be deaf!\" exclaimed Jerry. \"I'll have to try a shot, but it's\npretty long.\"\n\nThere was nothing else to do. He raised the rifle and fired. The\nalligator gave a spring into the air and Noddy wheeled around.\n\n\"He heard that!\" cried Ned, springing forward. The alligator was\nevidently mortally wounded. Noddy gave one look at the leaping,\nwrithing saurian almost at his feet. Then he looked at the three chums\nwho were running toward him. An instant later he had disappeared into\nthe swamp-forest.\n\n[Illustration: NODDY GAVE ONE LOOK AT THE WRITHING SAURIAN]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\nTHE BUTTERFLIES--CONCLUSION\n\n\n\"Well of all the queer actions!\" exclaimed Jerry as he reached the spot\nwhere the alligator was stretched out dead. \"I think Noddy must be\ncrazy!\"\n\nThey discussed the matter at some length and decided they had better\ntell the professor about it. They found the scientist tired out with\nhis long and unsuccessful search for the rare butterfly.\n\n\"Maybe Noddy's troubles have sent him temporarily out of his mind,\"\nsaid Mr. Snodgrass. \"I think it is our duty to do what we can for him,\neven if he has, in the past, acted as the enemy of you boys. We'll go\nsee him in the morning.\"\n\nThey started off early the next day for Noddy's camp. As they\napproached they saw the youth standing in the same place he had\noccupied the previous day.\n\n\"Hey, Noddy!\" called Jerry when still some distance away from him.\n\n\"The wind is blowing the wrong way. He can't hear you,\" remarked Mr.\nSnodgrass. \"Try again.\"\n\n\"Noddy!\" called Jerry. Still Noddy did not turn his head. Then all\nthree boys united in a chorus of shouts. The Cresville bully gave no\nindication of having heard them.\n\n\"He's deaf!\" exclaimed the professor, and this view of the matter\nwas confirmed a moment later when Ned, having touched Noddy on the\nshoulder, was confronted by a very much surprised youth. Jerry, Bob\nand Mr. Snodgrass joined Ned at Noddy's side. The latter looking in\nwonderment from one to the other, took out a piece of paper and a\npencil and, handing them to Jerry, said:\n\n\"I am totally deaf. I ate some queer kind of red berries and I've lost\nmy hearing. You'll have to write out your questions for me.\"\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" wrote Jerry.\n\n\"I'm camping here until I have that dispute over the cocoanut grove\nsettled,\" Noddy replied with something of his old manner. \"I've got a\n<DW52> man staying with me. When I found I was deaf I sent him off to\nthe village for some medicine. He hasn't come back and I guess he ran\naway with my money. I was watching for him to come on a path through\nthe swamp yesterday when that alligator got after me. I couldn't hear\nyou when you yelled at me, but I felt the ground tremble when the\nalligator threshed around after you shot it. I was so frightened that I\nran away.\"\n\nThe professor, who was impressed by Noddy's plight, urged him to\naccompany the boys back north. The three chums were willing to let\nby-gones be by-gones, and aid their former enemy, who was glad enough\nto accept help. His money was all gone and his food supplies running\nlow. What he would have done had not the boys discovered him would be\nhard to say.\n\nNoddy's tent was taken down and he was brought to the other camp.\nThere, made miserable by his deafness and his failure to secure a\ncocoanut grove, he sat apart, refusing to talk.\n\nThat evening, when the three chums were beginning to wonder if Mr.\nSnodgrass had not become lost in the swamp, they heard a shouting along\nthe path that led through the morass.\n\n\"That sounds like him,\" said Bob.\n\n\"It is!\" exclaimed Ned a moment later as the professor came into view.\nHe was fairly leaping up and down, holding something in his hands.\n\n\"Did a snake bite you?\" inquired Jerry anxiously.\n\n\"No! I've got three of the butterflies! I caught them in the swamp a\nfew minutes ago!\" cried the delighted professor, and, hurrying up to\nthe boys he showed in a little glass-sided box, the beautiful insects.\nThe bodies were pink, while the large wings were of mingled blue and\ngold.\n\n\"I've got them!\" repeated Mr. Snodgrass. \"They were feeding on some\nbeautiful flowers and first I thought they were blossoms, but their\nwings moved and I put the net over them. Now I'll get the reward and a\ncommission to travel all over the world for the museum. Oh, boys! This\nhas been a most delightful trip!\"\n\n\"With certain parts left out,\" murmured Jerry, and Bob agreed with him.\n\n\"We'll start back to-morrow,\" went on the scientist. \"I want to get\nthese butterflies to the museum as soon as possible.\"\n\nThey broke camp the next morning. Noddy, sullen and unhappy,\naccompanied them. Now that his mind was at peace from having secured\nhis prize, the professor began to study Noddy's case. He learned what\nthe red berries were, and by looking in some of his scientific books\ndiscovered a remedy. This he administered the unfortunate youth who, in\na few days, had his hearing completely restored.\n\n\"We'd better give him the message now,\" said Jerry one afternoon, and,\nas communication was now easier Noddy was told of being wanted as a\nwitness in the lighthouse matter. He said nothing on hearing this, but\nshowed by his manner that he was alarmed.\n\n\"I don't believe he'll answer that summons,\" ventured Jerry, and he was\nright. The next morning Noddy's bunk in the _Dartaway_ was vacant. He\nhad slipped away in the night. However, the chums did not worry about\nhim as they were near Kissimmee City and they thought Noddy could take\ncare of himself, now that his hearing was restored.\n\nMr. Seabury was found at the hotel adjoining the land Jerry's mother\nowned. In response to a telegram from her son, Mrs. Hopkins authorized\nhim to sell the land to Mr. Seabury, and it was disposed of for a\ngoodly sum.\n\n\"You must stay at my hotel for a week or so,\" said the gentleman to the\nboys. To this they agreed. Uriah Snodgrass, however, took the first\ntrain he could get for the north.\n\n\"Where are you going next?\" asked Rose, of Jerry one day.\n\n\"We haven't made up our minds,\" answered Jerry. \"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"We three girls are probably going with papa to California. He thinks\nthe climate there may do him good.\"\n\n\"I'd like to go to California myself,\" put in Ned.\n\n\"Yes, and sail on the Pacific,\" added Bob. \"Say, that would be fine,\neh?\" he cried.\n\n\"We'd like to meet you out there,\" said Nellie.\n\n\"It would be glorious!\" cried Jerry. And how they did meet, and what\nstrange adventures befell all, will be told in another volume, which\nI shall call, \"The Motor Boys on the Pacific; Or, The Young Derelict\nHunters.\" It was an outing that none of them ever forgot.\n\n\"Well, there's nothing to keep us down south any longer, I guess,\"\nremarked Jerry one morning. \"What do you say that we start back north?\nThe professor has gone on with his butterflies, I've sold mother's\nland, and we did Noddy a good turn.\"\n\n\"Not to mention that we had more adventures than we counted on,\" said\nBob.\n\n\"And met some nice girls,\" added Ned, with a sigh, for Ned had rather a\nsoft spot in his heart for all young ladies.\n\n\"Then let's arrange to go home,\" urged Jerry, and they did.\n\nSo here, for a time, we will take leave of the motor boys. That they\nwere destined to take part in many more incidents seems very probable,\nfor they were boys who did not hesitate to undertake anything that\noffered a spice of novelty, nor were they deterred by a little\nflavoring of danger.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\nPrinted in U. S. A.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOTOR BOYS SERIES\n\nBy CLARENCE YOUNG\n\n_12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid_\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n  The Motor Boys\n  _or Chums Through Thick and Thin_\n\n  The Motor Boys Overland\n  _or A Long Trip for Fun and Fortune_\n\n  The Motor Boys In Mexico\n  _or The Secret of The Buried City_\n\n  The Motor Boys Across the Plains\n  _or The Hermit of Lost Lake_\n\n  The Motor Boys Afloat\n  _or The Cruise of the Dartaway_\n\n  The Motor Boys on the Atlantic\n  _or The Mystery of the Lighthouse_\n\n  The Motor Boys in Strange Waters\n  _or Lost in a Floating Forest_\n\n  The Motor Boys on the Pacific\n  _or The Young Derelict Hunters_\n\n  The Motor Boys in the Clouds\n  _or A Trip for Fame and Fortune_\n\n  The Motor Boys Over the Rockies\n  _or A Mystery of the Air_\n\n  The Motor Boys Over the Ocean\n  _or a Marvelous Rescue in Mid-Air_\n\n  The Motor Boys on the Wing\n  _or Seeking the Airship Treasure_\n\n  The Motor Boys After a Fortune\n  _or The Hut on Snake Island_\n\n  The Motor Boys on the Border\n  _or Sixty Nuggets of Gold_\n\n  The Motor Boys Under the Sea\n  _or From Airship to Submarine_\n\n  The Motor Boys on Road and River\n  _or Racing to Save a Life_\n\n\nTHE MOTOR BOYS SECOND SERIES\n\nBY CLARENCE YOUNG\n\n  Ned, Bob and Jerry at Boxwood Hall\n  _or The Motor Boys as Freshmen_\n\n  Ned, Bob and Jerry on a Ranch\n  _or The Motor Boys Among the Cowboys_\n\n  Ned, Bob and Jerry in the Army\n  _or The Motor Boys as Volunteers_\n\n  Ned, Bob and Jerry on the Firing Line\n  _or The Motor Boys Fighting for Uncle Sam_\n\n  Ned, Bob and Jerry Bound for Home\n  _or The Motor Boys on the Wrecked Troopship_\n\n\n  CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers      New York\n\n\n\n\nTHE BASEBALL JOE SERIES\n\nBY LESTER CHADWICK\n\n_12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid_\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n  BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS\n  _or The Rivals of Riverside_\n\nJoe is an everyday country boy who loves to play baseball and\nparticularly to pitch.\n\n\n  BASEBALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE\n  _or Pitching for the Blue Banner_\n\nJoe's great ambition was to go to boarding school and play on the\nschool team.\n\n\n  BASEBALL JOE AT YALE\n  _or Pitching for the College Championship_\n\nJoe goes to Yale University. In his second year he becomes a varsity\npitcher and pitches in several big games.\n\n\n  BASEBALL JOE IN THE CENTRAL LEAGUE\n  _or Making Good as a Professional Pitcher_\n\nIn this volume the scene of action is shifted from Yale college to a\nbaseball league of our Central States.\n\n\n  BASEBALL JOE IN THE BIG LEAGUE\n  _or A Young Pitcher's Hardest Struggles_\n\nFrom the Central League Joe is drafted into the St. Louis Nationals. A\ncorking baseball story all fans will enjoy.\n\n\n  BASEBALL JOE ON THE GIANTS\n  _or Making Good as a Twirler in the Metropolis_\n\nHow Joe was traded to the Giants and became their mainstay in the box\nmakes an interesting baseball story.\n\n\n  BASEBALL JOE IN THE WORLD SERIES\n  _or Pitching for the Championship_\n\nThe rivalry was of course of the keenest, and what Joe did to win the\nseries is told in a manner to thrill the most jaded reader.\n\n\n  BASEBALL JOE AROUND THE WORLD\n  _or Pitching on a Grand Tour_\n\nThe Giants and the All-Americans tour the world, playing in many\nforeign countries.\n\n\n  BASEBALL JOE: HOME RUN KING\n  _or The Greatest Pitcher and Batter on Record_\n\nJoe cultivates his handling of the bat until he becomes the greatest\nbatter in the game.\n\n\n  _Send For Our Free Illustrated Catalogue_\n\n  CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers      New York\n\n\n\n\nTHE COLLEGE SPORTS SERIES\n\nBY LESTER CHADWICK\n\n_12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in Colors_\n\n_=Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid=_\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_Mr. Chadwick has played on the diamond and on the gridiron himself._\n\n\n  1. THE RIVAL PITCHERS\n     _A Story of College Baseball_\n\nTom Parsons, a \"hayseed,\" makes good on the scrub team of Randall\nCollege.\n\n\n  2. A QUARTERBACK'S PLUCK\n     _A Story of College Football_\n\nA football story, told in Mr. Chadwick's best style, that is bound to\ngrip the reader from the start.\n\n\n  3. BATTING TO WIN\n     _A Story of College Baseball_\n\nTom Parsons and his friends Phil and Sid are the leading players on\nRandall College team. There is a great game.\n\n\n  4. THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN\n     _A Story of College Football_\n\nAfter having to reorganize their team at the last moment, Randall makes\na touchdown that won a big game.\n\n\n  5. FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL\n     _A Story of College Athletics_\n\nThe winning of the hurdle race and long-distance run is extremely\nexciting.\n\n\n  6. THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS\n     _A Story of College Water Sports_\n\nTom, Phil and Sid prove as good at aquatic sports as they are on track,\ngridiron and diamond.\n\n\n  _Send For Our Free Illustrated Catalogue_\n\n  CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers      New York\n\n\n\n\nTHE JACK RANGER SERIES\n\nBY CLARENCE YOUNG\n\n_12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in Colors_\n\n_=Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid=_\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_Lively stories of outdoor sports and adventure every boy will want to\nread._\n\n\n  1. JACK RANGER'S SCHOOL DAYS\n     _or The Rivals of Washington Hall_\n\nYou will love Jack Ranger--you simply can't help it. He is bright and\ncheery, and earnest in all he does.\n\n\n  2. JACK RANGER'S WESTERN TRIP\n     _or From Boarding School to Ranch and Range_\n\nThis volume takes the hero to the great West. Jack is anxious to clear\nup the mystery surrounding his father's disappearance.\n\n\n  3. JACK RANGER'S SCHOOL VICTORIES\n     _or Track, Gridiron and Diamond_\n\nJack gets back to Washington Hall and goes in for all sorts of school\ngames. There are numerous contests on the athletic field.\n\n\n  4. JACK RANGER'S OCEAN CRUISE\n     _or The Wreck of the Polly Ann_\n\nHow Jack was carried off to sea against his will makes a \"yarn\" no boy\nwill want to miss.\n\n\n  5. JACK RANGER'S GUN CLUB\n     _or From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail_\n\nJack organizes a gun club and with his chums goes in quest of big game.\nThey have many adventures in the mountains.\n\n\n  6. JACK RANGER'S TREASURE BOX\n     _or The Outing of the Schoolboy Yachtsmen_\n\nJack receives a box from his father and it is stolen. How he regains it\nmakes an absorbing tale.\n\n\n  _Send For Our Free Illustrated Catalogue_\n\n  CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers      New York\n\n\n\n\n Transcriber's Notes:\n\n --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in\n   bold by \"equal\" signs (=bold=).\n\n --Printer, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently\n   corrected.\n\n --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.\n\n --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Motor Boys in Strange Waters, by Clarence Young\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>\n\n\n\n\nMEMOIRS OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, VOLUME 4.\n\nBy LOUIS ANTOINE FAUVELET DE BOURRIENNE\n\nHis Private Secretary\n\nEdited by R. W. Phipps\nColonel, Late Royal Artillery\n\n1891\n\n\n\nCONTENTS:\nChapter XXVII.  to  Chapter XXXV.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\n1799-1800.\n\n     Difficulties of a new Government--State of Europe--Bonaparte's wish\n     for peace--M. de Talleyrand Minister for Foreign Affairs--\n     Negotiations with England and Austria--Their failure--Bonaparte's\n     views on the East--His sacrifices to policy--General Bonaparte\n     denounced to the First Consul--Kleber's letter to the Directory--\n     Accounts of the Egyptian expedition published in the Moniteur--\n     Proclamation to the army of the East--Favour and disgrace of certain\n     individuals accounted for.\n\nWhen a new Government rises on the ruins of one that has been overthrown,\nits best chance of conciliating the favour of the nation, if that nation\nbe at war, is to hold out the prospect of peace; for peace is always dear\nto a people.  Bonaparte was well aware of this; and if in his heart he\nwished otherwise, he knew how important it was to seem to desire peace.\nAccordingly, immediately after his installation at the Luxembourg he\nnotified to all the foreign powers his accession to the Consulate, and,\nfor the same purpose, addressed letters to all the diplomatic agents of\nthe French Government abroad.\n\nThe day after he got rid of his first two colleagues, Sieyes and Roger\nDucos, he prepared to open negotiations with the Cabinet of London.  At\nthat time we were at war with almost the whole of Europe.  We had also\nlost Italy.  The Emperor of Germany was ruled by his Ministers, who in\ntheir turn were governed by England.  It was no easy matter to manage\nequally the organization of the Consular Government and the no less\nimportant affairs abroad; and it was very important to the interests\nof the First Consul to intimate to foreign powers, while at the same time\nhe assured himself against the return of the Bourbons, that the system\nwhich he proposed to adopt was a system of order and regeneration, unlike\neither the demagogic violence of the Convention or the imbecile artifice\nof the Directory.  In fulfilment of this object Bonaparte directed M. de\nTalleyrand, the new Minister for Foreign Affairs, to make the first\nfriendly overtures to the English Cabinet: A correspondence ensued, which\nwas published at the time, and which showed at once the conciliatory\npolicy of Bonaparte and the arrogant policy of England.\n\nThe exchange of notes which took place was attended by no immediate\nresult.  However, the First Consul had partly attained his object: if the\nBritish Government would not enter into negotiations for peace, there was\nat least reason to presume that subsequent overtures of the Consular\nGovernment might be listened to.  The correspondence had at all events\nafforded Bonaparte the opportunity of declaring his principles, and above\nall, it had enabled him to ascertain that the return of the Bourbons to\nFrance (mentioned in the official reply of Lord Grenville) would not be a\nsine qua non condition for the restoration of peace between the two\npowers.\n\nSince M. de Talleyrand had been Minister for Foreign Affairs the business\nof that department had proceeded with great activity.  It was an\nimportant advantage to Bonaparte to find a nobleman of the old regime\namong the republicans.  The choice of M. de Talleyrand was in some sort\nan act of courtesy to the foreign Courts.  It was a delicate attention to\nthe diplomacy of Europe to introduce to its members, for the purpose of\ntreating with them, a man whose rank was at least equal to their own, and\nwho was universally distinguished for a polished elegance of manner\ncombined with solid good qualities and real talents.\n\nIt was not only with England that Bonaparte and his Minister endeavoured\nto open negotiations; the Consular Cabinet also offered peace to the\nHouse of Austria; but not at the same time.  The object of this offer was\nto sow discord between the two powers.  Speaking to me one day of his\nearnest wish to obtain peace Bonaparte said, \"You see, Bourrienne, I have\ntwo great enemies to cope with.  I will conclude peace with the one I\nfind most easy to deal with.  That will enable me immediately to assail\nthe other.  I frankly confess that I should like best to be at peace with\nEngland.  Nothing would then be more easy than to crush Austria.  She has\nno money except what she gets through England.\"\n\nFor a long time all negotiations proved abortive.  None of the European\npowers would acknowledge the new Government, of which Bonaparte was the\nhead; and the battle of Marengo was required before the peace of Amiens\ncould be obtained.\n\nThough the affairs of the new Government afforded abundant occupation to\nBonaparte, he yet found leisure to direct attention to the East--to that\nland of despotism whence, judging from his subsequent conduct, it might\nbe presumed he derived his first principles of government.  On becoming\nthe head of the State he wished to turn Egypt, which he had conquered as\na general, to the advantage of his policy as Consul.  If Bonaparte\ntriumphed over a feeling of dislike in consigning the command of the army\nto Kleber, it was because he knew Kleber to be more capable than any\nother of executing the plans he had formed; and Bonaparte was not the man\nto sacrifice the interests of policy to personal resentment.  It is\ncertainly true that he then put into practice that charming phrase of\nMoliere's--\"I pardon you, but you shall pay me for this!\"\n\nWith respect to all whom he had left in Egypt Bonaparte stood in a very\nsingular situation.  On becoming Chief of the Government he was not only\nthe depositary of all communications made to the Directory; but letters\nsent to one address were delivered to another, and the First Consul\nreceived the complaints made against the General who had so abruptly\nquitted Egypt.  In almost all the letters that were delivered to us he\nwas the object of serious accusation.  According to some he had not\navowed his departure until the very day of his embarkation; and he had\ndeceived everybody by means of false and dissembling proclamations.\nOthers canvassed his conduct while in Egypt: the army which had triumphed\nunder his command he had abandoned when reduced to two-thirds of its\noriginal force and a prey to all the horrors of sickness and want. It\nmust be confessed that these complaints and accusations were but too well\nfounded, and one can never cease wondering at the chain of fortunate\ncircumstances which so rapidly raised Bonaparte to the Consular seat.\nIn the natural order of things, and in fulfilment of the design which he\nhimself had formed, he should have disembarked at Toulon, where the\nquarantine laws would no doubt have been observed; instead of which, the\nfear of the English and the uncertainty of the pilots caused him to go to\nFrejus, where the quarantine laws were violated by the very persons most\ninterested in respecting them.  Let us suppose that Bonaparte had been\nforced to perform quarantine at Toulon.  What would have ensued?  The\ncharges against him would have fallen into the hands of the Directory,\nand he would probably have been suspended, and put upon his trial.\n\nAmong the letters which fell into Bonaparte's hands, by reason of the\nabrupt change of government, was an official despatch (of the 4th\nVendemiaire, year VIII.) from General Kleber at Cairo to the Executive\nDirectory, in which that general spoke in very stringent terms of the\nsudden departure of Bonaparte and of the state in which the army in Egypt\nhad been left.  General Kleber further accused him of having evaded, by\nhis flight, the difficulties which he thus transferred to his successor's\nshoulders, and also of leaving the army \"without a sou in the chest,\"\nwith pay in arrear, and very little supply of munitions or clothing.\n\nThe other letters from Egypt were not less accusatory than Kleber's; and\nit cannot be doubted that charges of so precise a nature, brought by the\ngeneral who had now become commander-in-chief against his predecessor,\nwould have had great weight, especially backed as they were by similar\ncomplaints from other quarters.  A trial would have been inevitable; and\nthen, no 18th Brumaire, no Consulate, no Empire, no conquest of Europe-\nbut also, it may be added, no St. Helena.  None of these events would\nhave ensued had not the English squadron, when it appeared off Corsica,\nobliged the Muiron to scud about at hazard, and to touch at the first\nland she could reach.\n\nThe Egyptian expedition filled too important a place in the life of\nBonaparte for him to neglect frequently reviving in the public mind the\nrecollection of his conquests in the East.  It was not to be forgotten\nthat the head of the Republic was the first of her generals.  While\nMoreau received the command of the armies of the Rhine, while Massena, as\na reward for the victory of Zurich, was made Commander-in-Chief in Italy,\nand while Brune was at the head of the army of Batavia, Bonaparte, whose\nsoul was in the camps, consoled himself for his temporary inactivity by a\nretrospective glance on his past triumphs.  He was unwilling that Fame\nshould for a moment cease to blazon his name.  Accordingly, as soon as he\nwas established at the head of the Government, he caused accounts of his\nEgyptian expedition to be from time to time published in the Moniteur.\nHe frequently expressed his satisfaction that the accusatory\ncorrespondence, and, above all, Kleber's letter, had fallen into his own\nhands. Such was Bonaparte's perfect self-command that immediately after\nperusing that letter he dictated to me the following proclamation,\naddressed to the army of the East:\n\n     SOLDIERS!--The Consuls of the French Republic frequently direct\n     their attention to the army of the East.\n\n     France acknowledges all the influence of your conquests on the\n     restoration of her trade and the civilisation of the world.\n\n     The eyes of all Europe are upon you, and in thought I am often with\n     you.\n\n     In whatever situation the chances of war may place you, prove\n     yourselves still the soldiers of Rivoli and Aboukir--you will be\n     invincible.\n\n     Place in Kleber the boundless confidence which you reposed in me.\n     He deserves it.\n\n     Soldiers, think of the day when you will return victorious to the\n     sacred territory of France.  That will be a glorious day for the\n     whole nation.\n\n\nNothing can more forcibly show the character of Bonaparte than the above\nallusion to Kleber, after he had seen the way in which Kleber spoke of\nhim to the Directory.  Could it ever have been imagined that the\ncorrespondence of the army, to whom he addressed this proclamation,\nteemed with accusations against him?  Though the majority of these\naccusations were strictly just, yet it is but fair to state that the\nletters from Egypt contained some calumnies.  In answer to the well-\nfounded portion of the charges Bonaparte said little; but he seemed to\nfeel deeply the falsehoods that were stated against him, one of which\nwas, that he had carried away millions from Egypt.  I cannot conceive\nwhat could have given rise to this false and impudent assertion.  So far\nfrom having touched the army chest, Bonaparte had not even received all\nhis own pay.  Before he constituted himself the Government the Government\nwas his debtor.\n\nThough he knew well all that was to be expected from the Egyptian\nexpedition, yet those who lauded that affair were regarded with a\nfavourable eye by Bonaparte.  The correspondence which had fallen into\nhis hands was to him of the highest importance in enabling him to\nascertain the opinions which particular individuals entertained of him.\n\nIt was the source of favours and disgraces which those who were not in\nthe secret could not account for.  It serves to explain why many men of\nmediocrity were elevated to the highest dignities and honours, while\nother men of real merit fell into disgrace or were utterly neglected.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n1800.\n\n     Great and common men--Portrait of Bonaparte--The varied expression\n     of his countenance--His convulsive shrug--Presentiment of his\n     corpulency--Partiality for bathing--His temperance--His alleged\n     capability of dispensing with sleep--Good and bad news--Shaving, and\n     reading the journals--Morning business--Breakfast--Coffee and snuff\n     --Bonaparte's idea of his own situation--His ill opinion of mankind\n     --His dislike of a 'tete-a-tete'--His hatred of the Revolutionists\n     --Ladies in white--Anecdotes--Bonaparte's tokens of kindness, and\n     his droll compliments--His fits of ill humour--Sound of bells--\n     Gardens of Malmaison--His opinion of medicine--His memory--\n     His poetic insensibility--His want of gallantry--Cards and\n     conversation--The dress-coat and black cravat--Bonaparte's payments\n     --His religious ideas--His obstinacy.\n\nIn perusing the history of the distinguished characters of past ages, how\noften do we regret that the historian should have portrayed the hero\nrather than the man!  We wish to know even the most trivial habits of\nthose whom great talents and vast reputation have elevated above their\nfellow-creatures.  Is this the effect of mere curiosity, or rather is it\nnot an involuntary feeling of vanity which prompts us to console\nourselves for the superiority of great men by reflecting on their faults,\ntheir weaknesses, their absurdities; in short, all the points of\nresemblance between them and common men?  For the satisfaction of those\nwho are curious in details of this sort, I will here endeavour to paint\nBonaparte, as I saw him, in person and in mind, to describe what were his\ntastes and habits, and even his whims and caprices.\n\nBonaparte was now in the prime of life, and about thirty.  The person of\nBonaparte has served as a model for the most skilful painters and\nsculptors; many able French artists have successfully delineated his\nfeatures, and yet it may be said that no perfectly faithful portrait of\nhim exists.  His finely-shaped head, his superb forehead, his pale\ncountenance, and his usual meditative look, have been transferred to the\ncanvas; but the versatility of his expression was beyond the reach of\nimitation. All the various workings of his mind were instantaneously\ndepicted in his countenance; and his glance changed from mild to severe,\nand from angry to good-humoured, almost with the rapidity of lightning.\nIt may truly be said that he had a particular look for every thought that\narose in his mind.\n\nBonaparte had beautiful hands, and he was very proud of them; while\nconversing he would often look at them with an air of self-complacency.\nHe also fancied he had fine teeth, but his pretension to that advantage\nwas not so well founded as his vanity on the score of his hands.\n\nWhen walking, either alone or in company with any one, in his apartments\nor in his gardens, he had the habit of stooping a little, and crossing\nhis hands behind his back.  He frequently gave an involuntary shrug of\nhis right shoulder, which was accompanied by a movement of his mouth from\nleft to right.  This habit was always most remarkable when his mind was\nabsorbed in the consideration of any profound subject.  It was often\nwhile walking that he dictated to me his most important notes.  He could\nendure great fatigue, not only on horseback but on foot; he would\nsometimes walk for five or six hours in succession without being aware of\nit.\n\nWhen walking with any person whom he treated with familiarity he would\nlink his arm into that of his companion, and lean on it.\n\nHe used often to say to me, \"You see, Bourrienne, how temperate, and how\nthin I am; but, in spite of that, I cannot help thinking that at forty I\nshall become a great eater, and get very fat.  I foresee that my\nconstitution will undergo a change.  I take a great deal of exercise; but\nyet I feel assured that my presentiment will be fulfilled.\"  This idea\ngave him great uneasiness, and as I observed nothing which seemed to\nwarrant his apprehensions, I omitted no opportunity of assuring him that\nthey were groundless.  But he would not listen to me, and all the time I\nwas about him, he was haunted by this presentiment, which, in the end,\nwas but too well verified.\n\nHis partiality for the bath he mistook for a necessity.  He would usually\nremain in the bath two hours, during which time I used to read to him\nextracts from the journals and pamphlets of the day, for he was anxious\nto hear and know all that was going on.  While in the bath he was\ncontinually turning on the warm water to raise the temperature, so that I\nwas sometimes enveloped in such a dense vapour that I could not see to\nread, and was obliged to open the door.\n\nBonaparte was exceedingly temperate, and averse to all excess.  He knew\nthe absurd stories that were circulated about him, and he was sometimes\nvexed at them. It has been repeated, over and over again, that he was\nsubject to attacks of epilepsy; but during the eleven years that I was\nalmost constantly with him I never observed any symptom which in the\nleast degree denoted that malady.  His health was good and his\nconstitution sound.  If his enemies, by way of reproach, have attributed\nto him a serious periodical disease, his flatterers, probably under the\nidea that sleep is incompatible with greatness, have evinced an equal\ndisregard of truth in speaking of his night-watching.  Bonaparte made\nothers watch, but he himself slept, and slept well.  His orders were that\nI should call him every morning at seven.  I was therefore the first to\nenter his chamber; but very frequently when I awoke him he would turn\nhimself, and say, \"Ah, Bourrienne!  let me lie a little longer.\"  When\nthere was no very pressing business I did not disturb him again till\neight o'clock.  He in general slept seven hours out of the twenty-four,\nbesides taking a short nap in the afternoon.\n\nAmong the private instructions which Bonaparte gave me, one was very\ncurious.  \"During the night,\" said he, \"enter my chamber as seldom as\npossible.  Do not awake me when you have any good news to communicate:\nwith that there is no hurry.  But when you bring bad news, rouse me\ninstantly; for then there is not a moment to be lost.\"\n\nThis was a wise regulation, and Bonaparte found his advantage in it.\n\nAs soon as he rose his 'valet de chambre' shaved him and dressed his\nhair.  While he was being shaved I read to him the newspapers, beginning\nalways with the 'Moniteur.'  He paid little attention to any but the\nGerman and English papers.  \"Pass over all that,\" he would say, while I\nwas perusing the French papers; \"I know it already.  They say only what\nthey think will please me.\"  I was often surprised that his valet did not\ncut him while I was reading; for whenever he heard anything interesting\nhe turned quickly round towards me.\n\nWhen Bonaparte had finished his toilet, which he did with great\nattention, for he was scrupulously neat in his person, we went down to\nhis cabinet.  There he signed the orders on important petitions which had\nbeen analysed by me on the preceding evening.  On reception and parade\ndays he was particularly exact in signing these orders, because I used to\nremind him that he would be likely to see most of the petitioners, and\nthat they would ask him for answers.  To spare him this annoyance I used\noften to acquaint them beforehand of what had been granted or refused,\nand what had been the decision of the First Consul.  He next perused the\nletters which I had opened and laid on his table, ranging them according\nto their importance.  He directed me to answer them in his name; he\noccasionally wrote the answers himself, but not often.\n\nAt ten o'clock the 'maitre d'hotel' entered, and announced breakfast,\nsaying, \"The General is served.\"  We went to breakfast, and the repast\nwas exceedingly simple.  He ate almost every morning some chicken,\ndressed with oil and onions.  This dish was then, I believe, called\n'poulet a la Provencale'; but our restaurateurs have since conferred upon\nit the more ambitious name of 'poulet a la Marengo.'\n\nBonaparte drank little wine, always either claret or Burgundy, and the\nlatter by preference.  After breakfast, as well as after dinner, he took\na cup of strong coffee.\n\n     --[M. Brillat de Savarin, whose memory is dear to all gourmands, had\n     established, as a gastronomic principle, that \"he who does not take\n     coffee after each meal is assuredly not a man of taste.\"--\n     Bourrienne.]--\n\nI never saw him take any between his meals, and I cannot imagine what\ncould have given rise to the assertion of his being particularly fond of\ncoffee.  When he worked late at night he never ordered coffee, but\nchocolate, of which he made me take a cup with him.  But this only\nhappened when our business was prolonged till two or three in the\nmorning.\n\nAll that has been said about Bonaparte's immoderate use of snuff has no\nmore foundation in truth than his pretended partiality for coffee.  It is\ntrue that at an early period of his life he began to take snuff, but it\nwas very sparingly, and always out of a box; and if he bore any\nresemblance to Frederick the Great, it was not by filling his waistcoat-\npockets with snuff, for I must again observe he carried his notions of\npersonal neatness to a fastidious degree.\n\nBonaparte had two ruling passions, glory and war.  He was never more gay\nthan in the camp, and never more morose than in the inactivity of peace.\nPlans for the construction of public monuments also pleased his\nimagination, and filled up the void caused by the want of active\noccupation.  He was aware that monuments form part of the history of\nnations, of whose civilisation they bear evidence for ages after those\nwho created them have disappeared from the earth, and that they likewise\noften bear false-witness to remote posterity of the reality of merely\nfabulous conquests.  Bonaparte was, however, mistaken as to the mode of\naccomplishing the object he had in view.  His ciphers, his trophies, and\nsubsequently his eagles, splendidly adorned the monuments of his reign.\nBut why did he wish to stamp false initials on things with which neither\nhe nor his reign had any connection; as, for example the old Louvre?  Did\nhe imagine that the letter, \"N\" which everywhere obtruded itself on the\neye, had in it a charm to controvert the records of history, or alter the\ncourse of time?\n\n     --[When Louis XVIII. returned to the Tuileries in 1814 he found that\n     Bonaparte had been an excellent tenant, and that he had left\n     everything in very good condition.]--\n\nBe this as it may, Bonaparte well knew that the fine arts entail lasting\nglory on great actions, and consecrate the memory of princes who protect\nand encourage them.  He oftener than once said to me, \"A great reputation\nis a great noise; the more there is made, the farther off it is heard.\nLaws, institutions, monuments, nations, all fall; but the noise continues\nand resounds in after ages.\"  This was one of his favourite ideas.  \"My\npower,\" he would say at other times, \"depends on my glory, and my glory\non my victories.  My power would fall were I not to support it by new\nglory and new victories.  Conquest has made me what I am, and conquest\nalone can maintain me.\"  This was then, and probably always continued to\nbe, his predominant idea, and that which prompted him continually to\nscatter the seeds of war through Europe.  He thought that if he remained\nstationary he would fall, and he was tormented with the desire of\ncontinually advancing.  Not to do something great and decided was, in his\nopinion, to do nothing.  \"A newly-born Government,\" said he to me, \"must\ndazzle and astonish.  When it ceases to do that it falls.\"  It was vain\nto look for rest from a man who was restlessness itself.\n\nHis sentiments towards France now differed widely from what I had known\nthem to be in his youth.  He long indignantly cherished the recollection\nof the conquest of Corsica, which he was once content to regard as his\ncountry.  But that recollection was effaced, and it might be said that he\nnow ardently loved France.  His imagination was fired by the very thought\nof seeing her great, happy, and powerful, and, as the first nation in the\nworld, dictating laws to the rest.  He fancied his name inseparably\nconnected with France, and resounding in the ears of posterity.  In all\nhis actions he lost sight of the present moment, and thought only of\nfuturity; so, in all places where he led the way to glory, the opinion of\nFrance was ever present in his thoughts.  As Alexander at Arbela pleased\nhimself less in having conquered Darius than in having gained the\nsuffrage of the Athenians, so Bonaparte at Marengo was haunted by the\nidea of what would be said in France.  Before he fought a battle\nBonaparte thought little about what he should do in case of success, but\na great deal about what he should do in case of a reverse of fortune.\nI mention this as a fact of which I have often been a witness, and leave\nto his brothers in arms to decide whether his calculations were always\ncorrect. He had it in his power to do much, for he risked everything and\nspared nothing.  His inordinate ambition goaded him on to the attainment\nof power; and power when possessed served only to augment his ambition.\nBonaparte was thoroughly convinced of the truth that trifles often decide\nthe greatest events; therefore he watched rather than provoked\nopportunity, and when the right moment approached, he suddenly took\nadvantage of it.  It is curious that, amidst all the anxieties of war and\ngovernment, the fear of the Bourbons incessantly pursued him, and the\nFaubourg St. Germain was to him always a threatening phantom.\n\nHe did not esteem mankind, whom, indeed, he despised more and more in\nproportion as he became acquainted with them.  In him this unfavourable\nopinion of human nature was justified by many glaring examples of\nbaseness, and he used frequently to repeat, \"There are two levers for\nmoving men,--interest and fear.\"  What respect, indeed, could Bonaparte\nentertain for the applicants to the treasury of the opera?  Into this\ntreasury the gaming-houses paid a considerable sum, part of which went to\ncover the expenses of that magnificent theatre.  The rest was distributed\nin secret gratuities, which were paid on orders signed by Duroc.\nIndividuals of very different characters were often seen catching the\nlittle door in the Rue Rameau.  The lady who was for a while the\nfavourite of the General-in-Chief in Egypt, and whose husband was\nmaliciously sent back by the English, was a frequent visitor to the\ntreasury.  On an occasion would be seen assembled there a distinguished\nscholar and an actor, a celebrated orator and a musician; on another, the\ntreasurer would have payments to make to a priest, a courtesan, and a\ncardinal.\n\nOne of Bonaparte's greatest misfortunes was, that he neither believed in\nfriendship not felt the necessity of loving.  How often have I heard him\nsay, \"Friendship is but a name; I love nobody.  I do not even love my\nbrothers.  Perhaps Joseph, a little, from habit and because he is my\nelder; and Duroc, I love him too.  But why?  Because his character\npleases me.  He is stern and resolute; and I really believe the fellow\nnever shed a tear.  For my part, I know very well that I have no true\nfriends.  As long as I continue what I am, I may have as many pretended\nfriends as I please.  Leave sensibility to women; it is their business.\nBut men should be firm in heart and in purpose, or they should have\nnothing to do with war or government.\"\n\nIn his social relations Bonaparte's temper was bad; but his fits of ill-\nhumour passed away like a cloud, and spent themselves in words.  His\nviolent language and bitter imprecations were frequently premeditated.\nWhen he was going to reprimand any one he liked to have a witness\npresent.  He would then say the harshest things, and level blows against\nwhich few could bear up.  But he never gave way to those violent\nebullitions of rage until be acquired undoubted proofs of the misconduct\nof those against whom they were directed.  In scenes of this sort I have\nfrequently observed that the presence of a third person seemed to give\nhim confidence.  Consequently, in a 'tete-a-tete' interview, any one who\nknew his character, and who could maintain sufficient coolness and\nfirmness, was sure to get the better of him.  He told his friends at St.\nHelena that he admitted a third person on such occasions only that the\nblow might resound the farther.  That was not his real motive, or the\nbetter way would have been to perform the scene in public.  He had other\nreasons.  I observed that he did not like a 'tete-a-tete'; and when he\nexpected any one, he would say to me beforehand, \"Bourrienne, you may\nremain;\" and when any one was announced whom he did not expect, as a\nminister or a general, if I rose to retire he would say in a half-\nwhisper, \"Stay where you are.\"  Certainly this was not done with the\ndesign of getting what he said reported abroad; for it belonged neither\nto my character nor my duty to gossip about what I had heard.  Besides,\nit may be presumed, that the few who were admitted as witnesses to the\nconferences of Napoleon were aware of the consequences attending\nindiscreet disclosures under a Government which was made acquainted with\nall that was said and done.\n\nBonaparte entertained a profound dislike of the sanguinary men of the\nRevolution, and especially of the regicides.  He felt, as a painful\nburden, the obligation of dissembling towards them.  He spoke to me in\nterms of horror of those whole he called the assassins of Louis XVI, and\nhe was annoyed at the necessity of employing them and treating them with\napparent respect.  How many times has he not said to Cambaceres, pinching\nhim by the ear, to soften, by that habitual familiarity, the bitterness\nof the remark, \"My dear fellow, your case is clear; if ever the Bourbons\ncome back you will be hanged!\"  A forced smile would then relax the livid\ncountenance of Cambaceres, and was usually the only reply of the Second\nConsul, who, however, on one occasion said in my hearing, \"Come, come,\nhave done with this joking.\"\n\nOne thing which gave Bonaparte great pleasure when in the country was to\nsee a tall, slender woman, dressed in white, walking beneath an alley of\nshaded trees.  He detested coloured dresses, and especially dark ones.\nTo fat women he had an invincible antipathy, and he could not endure the\nsight of a pregnant woman; it therefore rarely happened that a female in\nthat situation was invited to his parties.  He possessed every requisite\nfor being what is called in society an agreeable man, except the will to\nbe so.  His manner was imposing rather than pleasing, and those who did\nnot know him well experienced in his presence an involuntary feeling of\nawe.  In the drawing-room, where Josephine did the honours with so much\ngrace and affability, all was gaiety and ease, and no one felt the\npresence of a superior; but on Bonaparte's entrance all was changed, and\nevery eye was directed towards him, to read his humour in his\ncountenance, whether he intended to be silent or talkative, dull or\ncheerful.\n\nHe often talked a great deal, and sometimes a little too much; but no one\ncould tell a story in a more agreeable and interesting way.  His\nconversation rarely turned on gay or humorous subjects, and never on\ntrivial matters.  He was so fond of argument that in the warmth of\ndiscussion it was easy to draw from him secrets which he was most anxious\nto conceal.  Sometimes, in a small circle, he would amuse himself by\nrelating stories of presentiments and apparitions.  For this he always\nchose the twilight of evening, and he would prepare his hearers for what\nwas coming by some solemn remark.  On one occasion of this kind he said,\nin a very grave tone of voice, \"When death strikes a person whom we love,\nand who is distant from us, a foreboding almost always denotes the event,\nand the dying person appears to us at the moment of his dissolution.\"\nHe then immediately related the following anecdote: \"A gentleman of the\nCourt of Louis XIV. was in the gallery of Versailles at the time that the\nKing was reading to his courtiers the bulletin of the battle of\nFriedlingen gained by Villars.  Suddenly the gentleman saw, at the\nfarther end of the gallery, the ghost of his son, who served under\nVillars.  He exclaimed, 'My son is no more!' and next moment the King\nnamed him among the dead.\"\n\nWhen travelling Bonaparte was particularly talkative.  In the warmth of\nhis conversation, which was always characterised by original and\ninteresting ideas, he sometimes dropped hints of his future views, or, at\nleast, he said things which were calculated to disclose what he wished to\nconceal.  I took the liberty of mentioning to him this indiscretion, and\nfar from being offended, he acknowledged his mistake, adding that he was\nnot aware he had gone so far.  He frankly avowed this want of caution\nwhen at St. Helena.\n\nWhen in good humour his usual tokens of kindness consisted in a little\nrap on the head or a slight pinch of the ear.  In his most friendly\nconversations with those whom he admitted into his intimacy he would say,\n\"You are a fool\"--\"a simpleton\"--\"a ninny\"--\"a blockhead.\"  These, and a\nfew other words of like import, enabled him to vary his catalogue of\ncompliments; but he never employed them angrily, and the tone in which\nthey were uttered sufficiently indicated that they were meant in\nkindness.\n\nBonaparte had many singular habits and tastes.  Whenever he experienced\nany vexation, or when any unpleasant thought occupied his mind, he would\nhum something which was far from resembling a tune, for his voice was\nvery unmusical.  He would, at the same time, seat himself before the\nwriting-table, and swing back in his chair so far that I have often been\nfearful of his falling.\n\nHe would then vent his ill-humour on the right arm of his chair,\nmutilating it with his penknife, which he seemed to keep for no other\npurpose.  I always took care to keep good pens ready for him; for, as it\nwas my business to decipher his writing, I had a strong interest in doing\nwhat I could to make it legible.\n\nThe sound of bells always produced in Bonaparte pleasurable sensations,\nwhich I could never account for.  When we were at Malmaison, and walking\nin the alley leading to the plain of Ruel, how many times has the bell of\nthe village church interrupted our most serious conversations!\n\nHe would stop, lest the noise of our footsteps should drown any portion\nof the delightful sound. He was almost angry with me because I did not\nexperience the impressions he did.  So powerful was the effect produced\nupon him by the sound of these bells that his voice would falter as he\nsaid, \"Ah! that reminds me of the first years I spent at Brienne!  I was\nthen happy!\"  When the bells ceased he would resume the course of his\nspeculations, carry himself into futurity, place a crown on his head, and\ndethrone kings.\n\nNowhere, except on the field of battle, did I ever see Bonaparte more\nhappy than in the gardens of Malmaison.  At the commencement of the\nConsulate we used to go there every Saturday evening, and stay the whole\nof Sunday, and sometimes Monday.  Bonaparte used to spend a considerable\npart of his time in walking and superintending the improvements which he\nhad ordered.  At first he used to make excursions about the\nneighbourhood, but the reports of the police disturbed his natural\nconfidence, and gave him reason to fear the attempts of concealed\nroyalist partisans.\n\nDuring the first four or five days that Bonaparte spent at Malmaison he\namused himself after breakfast with calculating the revenue of that\ndomain.  According to his estimates it amounted to 8000 francs.  \"That is\nnot bad!\"  said he; \"but to live here would require an income of 30,000\nlivres!\" I could not help smiling to see him seriously engaged in such a\ncalculation.\n\nBonaparte had no faith in medicine.  He spoke of it as an art entirely\nconjectural, and his opinion on this subject was fired and\nincontrovertible.  His vigorous mind rejected all but demonstrative\nproofs.\n\nHe had little memory for proper names, words, or dates, but he had a\nwonderful recollection of facts and places.  I recollect that, on going\nfrom Paris to Toulon, he pointed out to me ten places calculated for\ngreat battles, and he never forgot them.  They were memoranda of his\nfirst youthful journeys.\n\nBonaparte was insensible to the charms of poetic harmony.  He had not\neven sufficient ear to feel the rhythm of poetry, and he never could\nrecite a verse without violating the metre; yet the grand ideas of poetry\ncharmed him.  He absolutely worshipped Corneille; and, one day, after\nhaving witnessed a performance of 'Cinna', he said to me, \"If a man like\nCorneille were living in my time I would make him my Prime Minister.  It\nis not his poetry that I most admire; it is his powerful understanding,\nhis vast knowledge of the human heart, and his profound policy!\"  At St.\nHelena he said that he would have made Corneille a prince; but at the\ntime he spoke to me of Corneille he had no thought of making either\nprinces or kings.\n\nGallantry to women was by no means a trait in Bonaparte's character.\nHe seldom said anything agreeable to females, and he frequently addressed\nto them the rudest and most extraordinary remarks.  To one he would say,\n\"Heavens, how red your elbows are!\"  To another, \"What an ugly headdress\nyou have got!\"  At another time he would say, \"Your dress is none of the\ncleanest..... Do you ever change your gown?  I have seen you in that\ntwenty times!\"  He showed no mercy to any who displeased him on these\npoints.  He often gave Josephine directions about her toilet, and the\nexquisite taste for which she was distinguished might have helped to make\nhim fastidious about the costume of other ladies.  At first he looked to\nelegance above all things: at a later period he admired luxury and\nsplendour, but he always required modesty.  He frequently expressed his\ndisapproval of the low-necked dresses which were so much in fashion at\nthe beginning of the Consulate.\n\nBonaparte did not love cards, and this was very fortunate for those who\nwere invited to his parties; for when he was seated at a card-table, as\nhe sometimes thought himself obliged to be, nothing could exceed the\ndulness of the drawing-room either at the Luxembourg or the Tuileries.\nWhen, on the contrary, he walked about among the company, all were\npleased, for he usually spoke to everybody, though he preferred the\nconversation of men of science, especially those who had been with him in\nin Egypt; as for example, Monge and Berthollet.  He also liked to talk\nwith Chaptal and Lacepede, and with Lemercier, the author of 'Agamemnon'.\n\nBonaparte was seen to less advantage in a drawing-room than at the head\nof his troops.  His military uniform became him much better than the\nhandsomest dress of any other kind.  His first trials of dress-coats were\nunfortunate.  I have been informed that the first time he wore one he\nkept on his black cravat.  This incongruity was remarked to him, and he\nreplied, \"So much the better; it leaves me something of a military air,\nand there is no harm in that.\"  For my own part, I neither saw the black\ncravat nor heard this reply.\n\nThe First Consul paid his own private bills very punctually; but he was\nalways tardy in settling the accounts of the contractors who bargained\nwith Ministers for supplies for the public service.  He put off these\npayments by all sorts of excuses and shufflings.  Hence arose immense\narrears in the expenditure, and the necessity of appointing a committee\nof liquidation.  In his opinion the terms contractor and rogue were\nsynonymous.  All that he avoided paying them he regarded as a just\nrestitution to himself; and all the sums which were struck off from their\naccounts he regarded as so much deducted from a theft.  The less a\nMinister paid out of his budget the more Bonaparte was pleased with him;\nand this ruinous system of economy can alone explain the credit which\nDecres so long enjoyed at the expense of the French navy.\n\nOn the subject of religion Bonaparte's ideas were very vague.\n\"My reason,\" said he, \"makes me incredulous respecting many things; but\nthe impressions of my childhood and early youth throw me into\nuncertainty.\"  He was very fond of talking of religion.  In Italy, in\nEgypt, and on board the 'Orient' and the 'Muiron', I have known him to\ntake part in very animated conversations on this subject.\n\nHe readily yielded up all that was proved against religion as the work of\nmen and time: but he would not hear of materialism.  I recollect that one\nfine night, when he was on deck with some persons who were arguing in\nfavour of materialism, Bonaparte raised his hand to heaven and, pointing\nto the stars, said, \"You may talk as long as you please, gentlemen, but\nwho made all that?\"  The perpetuity of a name in the memory of man was to\nhim the immortality of the soul.  He was perfectly tolerant towards every\nvariety of religious faith.\n\nAmong Bonaparte's singular habits was that of seating himself on any\ntable which happened to be of a suitable height for him.  He would often\nsit on mine, resting his left arm on my right shoulder, and swinging his\nleft leg, which did not reach the ground; and while he dictated to me he\nwould jolt the table so that I could scarcely write.\n\nBonaparte had a great dislike to reconsider any decision, even when it\nwas acknowledged to be unjust.  In little as well as in great things he\nevinced his repugnance to retrograde.  An instance of this occurred in\nthe affair of General Latour-Foissac.  The First Consul felt how much he\nhad wronged that general; but he wished some time to elapse before he\nrepaired his error.  His heart and his conduct were at variance; but his\nfeelings were overcome by what he conceived to be political necessity.\nBonaparte was never known to say, \"I have done wrong:\" his usual\nobservation was, \"I begin to think there is something wrong.\"\n\nIn spite of this sort of feeling, which was more worthy of an ill-\nhumoured philosopher than the head of a government, Bonaparte was neither\nmalignant nor vindictive.  I cannot certainly defend him against all the\nreproaches which he incurred through the imperious law of war and cruel\nnecessity; but I may say that he has often been unjustly accused.  None\nbut those who are blinded by fury will call him a Nero or a Caligula.\nI think I have avowed his faults with sufficient candour to entitle me to\ncredit when I speak in his commendation; and I declare that, out of the\nfield of battle, Bonaparte had a kind and feeling heart.  He was very\nfond of children, a trait which seldom distinguishes a bad man.  In the\nrelations of private life to call him amiable would not be using too\nstrong a word, and he was very indulgent to the weakness of human nature.\nThe contrary opinion is too firmly fixed in some minds for me to hope to\nroot it out.  I shall, I fear, have contradictors, but I address myself\nto those who look for truth.  To judge impartially we must take into\naccount the influence which time and circumstances exercise on men; and\ndistinguish between the different characters of the Collegian, the\nGeneral, the Consul, and the Emperor.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\n1800.\n\n     Bonaparte's laws--Suppression of the festival of the 21st of\n     January--Officials visits--The Temple--Louis XVI. and Sir Sidney\n     Smith--Peculation during the Directory--Loan raised--Modest budget\n     --The Consul and the Member of the Institute--The figure of the\n     Republic--Duroc's missions--The King of Prussia--The Emperor\n     Alexander--General Latour-Foissac--Arbitrary decree--Company of\n     players for Egypt--Singular ideas respecting literary property--\n     The preparatory Consulate--The journals--Sabres and muskets of\n     honour--The First Consul and his Comrade--The bust of Brutus--\n     Statues in the gallery of the Tuileries--Sections of the Council of\n     State--Costumes of public functionaries--Masquerades--The opera-\n     balls--Recall of the exiles.\n\nIt is not my purpose to say much about the laws, decrees, and 'Senatus-\nConsultes', which the First Consul either passed, or caused to be passed,\nafter his accession to power, what were they all, with the exception of\nthe Civil Code?  The legislative reveries of the different men who have\nfrom time to time ruled France form an immense labyrinth, in which\nchicanery bewilders reason and common sense; and they would long since\nhave been buried in oblivion had they not occasionally served to\nauthorise injustice.  I cannot, however, pass over unnoticed the happy\neffect produced in Paris, and throughout the whole of France, by some of\nthe first decisions of the Consuls.  Perhaps none but those who witnessed\nthe state of society during the reign of Terror can fully appreciate the\nsatisfaction which the first steps towards the restoration of social\norder produced in the breasts of all honest men.  The Directory, more\nbase and not less perverse than the Convention, had retained the horrible\n21st of January among the festivals of the Republic.  One of Bonaparte's\nfirst ideas on attaining the possession of power was to abolish this; but\nsuch was the ascendency of the abettors of the fearful event that he\ncould not venture on a straightforward course.  He and his two\ncolleagues, who were Sieyes and Roger Ducos, signed, on the 5th Nivose,\na decree, setting forth that in future the only festivals to be\ncelebrated by the Republic were the 1st Vendemiaire and the 14th of July,\nintending by this means to consecrate provisionally the recollection of\nthe foundation of the Republic and of liberty.\n\nAll was calculation with Bonaparte.  To produce effect was his highest\ngratification.  Thus he let slip no opportunity of saying or doing things\nwhich were calculated to dazzle the multitude.  While at the Luxembourg,\nhe went sometimes accompanied by his 'aides de camp' and sometimes by a\nMinister, to pay certain official visits.  I did not accompany him on\nthese occasions; but almost always either on his return, after dinner, or\nin the evening, he related to me what he had done and said.  He\ncongratulated himself on having paid a visit to Daubenton, at the Jardin\ndes Plantes, and talked with great self-complacency of the distinguished\nway in which he had treated the contemporary of Buffon.\n\nOn the 24th Brumaire he visited the prisons.  He liked to make these\nvisits unexpectedly, and to take the governors of the different public\nestablishments by surprise; so that, having no time to make their\npreparations, he might see things as they really were.  I was in his\ncabinet when he returned, for I had a great deal of business to go\nthrough in his absence.  As he entered he exclaimed, \"What brutes these\nDirectors are!  To what a state they have brought our public\nestablishments!  But, stay a little!  I will put all in order.  The\nprisons are in a shockingly unwholesome state, and the prisoners\nmiserably fed.  I questioned them, and I questioned the jailers, for\nnothing is to be learned from the superiors.  They, of course, always\nspeak well of their own work!  When I was in the Temple I could not help\nthinking of the unfortunate Louis XVI.  He was an excellent man, but too\namiable, too gentle for the times.  He knew not how to deal with mankind!\nAnd Sir Sidney Smith!  I made them show me his apartment.  If the fools\nhad not let him escape I should have taken St. Jean d'Acre!  There are\ntoo many painful recollections connected with that prison!  I will\ncertainly have it pulled down some day or other!  What do you think I did\nat the Temple?  I ordered the jailers' books to be brought to me, and\nfinding that some hostages were still in confinement I liberated them.\n'An unjust law,' said I, 'has deprived you of liberty; my first duty is\nto restore it to you.' Was not this well done, Bourrienne?  \"As I was, no\nless than Bonaparte himself, an enemy to the revolutionary laws, I\ncongratulated him sincerely; and he was very sensible to my approbation,\nfor I was not accustomed to greet him with \"Good; very good,\" on all\noccasions.  It is true, knowing his character as I did, I avoided saying\nanything that was calculated to offend him; but when I said nothing, he\nknew very well how to construe my silence.  Had I flattered him I should\nhave continued longer in favour.\n\nBonaparte always spoke angrily of the Directors he had turned off.  Their\nincapacity disgusted and astonished him.  \"What simpletons!  what a\ngovernment!\" he would frequently exclaim when he looked into the measures\nof the Directory.  \"Bourrienne,\" said he, \"can you imagine anything more\npitiable than their system of finance?  Can it for a moment be doubted\nthat the principal agents of authority daily committed the most\nfraudulent peculations?  What venality!  what disorder!  what\nwastefulness!  everything put up for sale: places, provisions, clothing,\nand military, all were disposed of.  Have they not actually consumed\n75,000,000 in advance?  And then, think of all the scandalous fortunes\naccumulated, all the malversations!  But are there no means of making\nthem refund?  We shall see.\"\n\nIn these first moments of poverty it was found necessary to raise a loan,\nfor the funds of M. Collot did not last long, and 12,000,000 were\nadvanced by the different bankers of Paris, who, I believe, were paid by\nbills of the receivers-general, the discount of which then amounted to\nabout 33 per cent.  The salaries of the first offices were not very\nconsiderable, and did not amount to anything like the exorbitant stipends\nof the Empire.\n\nBonaparte's salary was fixed at 500,000 francs.  What a contrast to the\n300,000,000 in gold which were reported to have been concealed in 1811 in\nthe cellars of the Tuileries!\n\nIn mentioning Bonaparte's nomination to the Institute, and his\naffectation in putting at the head of his proclamation his title of\nmember of that learned body before that of General-in-Chief, I omitted to\nstate what value he really attached to that title.  The truth is that,\nwhen young and ambitious, he was pleased with the proffered title, which\nhe thought would raise him in public estimation.  How often have we\nlaughed together when he weighed the value of his scientific titles!\nBonaparte, to be sure, knew something of mathematics, a good deal of\nhistory, and, I need not add, possessed extraordinary military talent;\nbut he was nevertheless a useless member of the Institute.\n\nOn his return from Egypt he began to grow weary of a title which gave him\nso many colleagues.  \"Do you not think,\" said he one day to me, \"that\nthere is something mean and humiliating in the words, 'I have the honour\nto be, my dear Colleague'!  I am tired of it!\"  Generally speaking, all\nphrases which indicated equality displeased him.  It will be recollected\nhow gratified he was that I did not address him in the second person\nsingular on our meeting at Leoben, and also what befell M. de Cominges at\nBale because he did not observe the same precaution.\n\nThe figure of the Republic seated and holding a spear in her hand, which\nat the commencement of the Consulate was stamped on official letters, was\nspeedily abolished.  Happy would it have been if Liberty herself had not\nsuffered the same treatment as her emblem!  The title of First Consul\nmade him despise that of Member of the Institute.  He no longer\nentertained the least predilection for that learned body, and\nsubsequently he regarded it with much suspicion.  It was a body, an\nauthorised assembly; these were reasons sufficient for him to take\numbrage at it, and he never concealed his dislike of all bodies\npossessing the privilege of meeting and deliberating.\n\nWhile we were at the Luxembourg Bonaparte despatched Duroc on a special\nmission to the King of Prussia.  This happened, I think, at the very\nbeginning of the year 1800.  He selected Duroc because he was a man of\ngood education and agreeable manners, and one who could express himself\nwith elegance and reserve, qualities not often met with at that period.\nDuroc had been with us in Italy, in Egypt, and on board the 'Muiron',\nand the Consul easily guessed that the King of Prussia would be delighted\nto hear from an eye-witness the events of Bonaparte's campaigns,\nespecially the siege of St. Jean d'Acre, and the scenes which took place\nduring the months of March and May at Jaffa.  Besides, the First Consul\nconsidered it indispensable that such circumstantial details should be\ngiven in a way to leave no doubt of their correctness.  His intentions\nwere fully realised; for Duroc told me, on his return, that nearly the\nwhole of the conversation he had with the King turned upon St. Jean\nd'Acre and Jaffa. He stayed nearly two whole hours with his Majesty, who,\nthe day after, gave him an invitation to dinner.  When this intelligence\narrived at the Luxembourg I could perceive that the Chief of the Republic\nwas flattered that one of his aides de camp should have sat at table with\na King, who some years after was doomed to wait for him in his\nantechamber at Tilsit.\n\nDuroc never spoke on politics to the King of Prussia, which was very\nfortunate, for, considering his age and the exclusively military life he\nhad led, he could scarcely have been expected to avoid blunders.  Some\ntime later, after the death of Paul I., he was sent to congratulate\nAlexander on his accession to the throne.  Bonaparte's design in thus\nmaking choice of Duroc was to introduce to the Courts of Europe, by\nconfidential missions, a young man to whom he was much attached, and also\nto bring him forward in France.  Duroc went on his third mission to\nBerlin after the war broke out with Austria. He often wrote to me, and\nhis letters convinced me how much he had improved himself within a short\ntime.\n\nAnother circumstance which happened at the commencement of the Consulate\naffords an example of Bonaparte's inflexibility when he had once formed a\ndetermination.  In the spring of 1799, when we were in Egypt, the\nDirectory gave to General Latour-Foissac, a highly distinguished officer,\nthe command of Mantua, the taking of which had so powerfully contributed\nto the glory of the conqueror of Italy.  Shortly after Latour's\nappointment to this important post the Austrians besieged Mantua.  It was\nwell known that the garrison was supplied with provisions and ammunition\nfor a long resistance; yet, in the month of July it surrendered to the\nAustrians.  The act of capitulation contained a curious article, viz.\n\"General Latour-Foissac and his staff shall be conducted as prisoners to\nAustria; the garrison shall be allowed to return to France.\"  This\ndistinction between the general and the troops entrusted to his command,\nand at the same time the prompt surrender of Mantua, were circumstances\nwhich, it must be confessed, were calculated to excite suspicions of\nLatour-Foissac.  The consequence was, when Bernadotte was made War\nMinister he ordered an inquiry into the general's conduct by a court-\nmartial.  Latour-Foissac had no sooner returned to France than he\npublished a justificatory memorial, in which he showed the impossibility\nof his having made a longer defence when he was in want of many objects\nof the first necessity.\n\nSuch was the state of the affair on Bonaparte's elevation to the Consular\npower.  The loss of Mantua, the possession of which had cost him so many\nsacrifices, roused his indignation to so high a pitch that whenever the\nsubject was mentioned he could find no words to express his rage.\nHe stopped the investigation of the court-martial, and issued a violent\ndecree against Latour-Foissac even before his culpability had been\nproved.  This proceeding occasioned much discussion, and was very\ndissatisfactory to many general officers, who, by this arbitrary\ndecision, found themselves in danger of forfeiting the privilege of being\ntried by their natural judges whenever they happened to displease the\nFirst Consul.  For my own part, I must say that this decree against\nLatour-Foissac was one which I saw issued with considerable regret. I was\nalarmed for the consequences.  After the lapse of a few days I ventured\nto point out to him the undue severity of the step he had taken; I\nreminded him of all that had been said in Latour-Foissac's favour, and\ntried to convince him how much more just it would be to allow the trial\nto come to a conclusion.  \"In a country,\" said I, \"like France, where the\npoint of honour stands above every thing, it is impossible Foissac can\nescape condemnation if he be culpable.\"--\"Perhaps you are right,\nBourrienne,\" rejoined he; \"but the blow is struck; the decree is issued.\nI have given the same explanation to every one; but I cannot so suddenly\nretrace my steps.  To retro-grade is to be lost.  I cannot acknowledge\nmyself in the wrong.  By and by we shall see what can be done.  Time will\nbring lenity and pardon.  At present it would be premature.\"  Such, word\nfor word, was Bonaparte's reply.  If with this be compared what he said\non the subject at St. Helena it will be found that his ideas continued\nnearly unchanged; the only difference is that, instead of the impetuosity\nof 1800, he expressed himself with the calmness which time and adversity\nnaturally produce.\n\n     --[\"It was,\" says the 'Memorial of St. Helena', \"an illegal and\n     tyrannical act, but still it was a necessary evil.  It was the fault\n     of the law.  He was a hundred, nay, a thousand fold guilty, and yet\n     it was doubtful whether he would be condemned.  We therefore\n     assailed him with the shafts of honour and public opinion.  Yet I\n     repeat it was a tyrannical act, and one of those violent measures\n     which are at times necessary in great nations and in extraordinary\n     circumstances.\"]--\n\nBonaparte, as I have before observed, loved contrasts; and I remember at\nthe very time he was acting so violently against Latour-Foissac he\ncondescended to busy himself about a company of players which he wished\nto send to Egypt, or rather that he pretended to wish to send there,\nbecause the announcement of such a project conveyed an impression of the\nprosperous condition of our Oriental colony.  The Consuls gravely\nappointed the Minister of the Interior to execute this business, and the\nMinister in his turn delegated his powers to Florence, the actor.  In\ntheir instructions to the Minister the Consuls observed that it would be\nadvisable to include some female dancers in the company; a suggestion\nwhich corresponds with Bonaparte's note, in which were specified all that\nhe considered necessary for the Egyptian expedition.\n\nThe First Consul entertained singular notions respecting literary\nproperty.  On his hearing that a piece, entitled 'Misanthropie et\nRepentir', had been brought out at the Odeon, he said to me, \"Bourrienne,\nyou have been robbed.\"--\"I, General?  how?\"--\"You have been robbed,\nI tell you, and they are now acting your piece.\"  I have already\nmentioned that during my stay at Warsaw I amused myself with translating\na celebrated play of Kotzebue.  While we were in Italy I lent Bonaparte\nmy translation to read, and he expressed himself much pleased with it.\nHe greatly admired the piece, and often went to see it acted at the\nOdeon.  On his return he invariably gave me fresh reasons for my claiming\nwhat he was pleased to call my property.  I represented to him that the\ntranslation of a foreign work belonged to any one who chose to execute\nit.  He would not, however, give up his point, and I was obliged to\nassure him that my occupations in his service left me no time to engage\nin a literary lawsuit.  He then exacted a promise from me to translate\nGoethe's 'Werther'.  I told him it was already done, though\nindifferently, and that I could not possibly devote to the subject the\ntime it merited.  I read over to him one of the letters I had translated\ninto French, and which he seemed to approve.\n\nThat interval of the Consular Government during which Bonaparte remained\nat the Luxembourg may be called the preparatory Consulate.  Then were\nsown the seeds of the great events which he meditated, and of those\ninstitutions with which he wished to mark his possession of power.  He\nwas then, if I may use the expression, two individuals in one: the\nRepublican general, who was obliged to appear the advocate of liberty and\nthe principles of the Revolution; and the votary of ambition, secretly\nplotting the downfall of that liberty and those principles.\n\nI often wondered at the consummate address with which he contrived to\ndeceive those who were likely to see through his designs.  This\nhypocrisy, which some, perhaps, may call profound policy, was\nindispensable to the accomplishment of his projects; and sometimes, as if\nto keep himself in practice, he would do it in matters of secondary\nimportance.  For example, his opinion of the insatiable avarice of Sieyes\nis well known; yet when he proposed, in his message to the Council of\nAncients, to give his colleague, under the title of national recompense,\nthe price of his obedient secession, it was, in the words of the message,\na recompense worthily bestowed on his disinterested virtues.\n\nWhile at the Luxembourg Bonaparte showed, by a Consular act, his hatred\nof the liberty of the press above all liberties, for he loved none.\nOn the 27th Nivose the Consuls, or rather the First Consul, published a\ndecree, the real object of which was evidently contrary to its implied\nobject.\n\nThis decree stated that:\n\nThe Consuls of the Republic, considering that some of the journals\nprinted at Paris are instruments in the hands of the enemies of the\nRepublic, over the safety of which the Government is specially entrusted\nby the people of France to watch, decree--\n\nThat the Minister of Police shall, during the continuation of the war,\nallow only the following journals to be printed and published, viz.\n(list of 20 publications)\n\n.....and those papers which are exclusively devoted to science, art,\nliterature, commerce, and advertisements.\n\nSurely this decree may well be considered as preparatory; and the\nfragment I have quoted may serve as a standard for measuring the greater\npart of those acts by which Bonaparte sought to gain, for the\nconsolidation of his power, what he seemed to be seeking solely for the\ninterest of the friends of the Republic.  The limitation to the period of\nthe continuance of the war had also a certain provisional air which\nafforded hope for the future.  But everything provisional is, in its\nnature, very elastic; and Bonaparte knew how to draw it out ad infinitum.\nThe decree, moreover, enacted that if any of the uncondemned journals\nshould insert articles against the sovereignty of the people they would\nbe immediately suppressed.  In truth, great indulgence was shown on this\npoint, even after the Emperor's coronation.\n\nThe presentation of swords and muskets of honour also originated at the\nLuxembourg; and this practice was, without doubt, a preparatory step to\nthe foundation of the Legion of Honour.\n\n     --[\"Armes d'honneur,\" decreed 25th December 1799.  Muskets for\n     infantry, carbines for cavalry, grenades for artillery, swords for\n     the officers.  Gouvion St. Cyr received the first sword (Thiers,\n     tome i.  p.  126).]--\n\nA grenadier sergeant, named Leon Aune, who had been included in the first\ndistribution, easily obtained permission to write to the First Consul to\nthank him.  Bonaparte, wishing to answer him in his own name, dictated to\nme the following letter for Aune:--\n\n     I have received your letter, my brave comrade.  You needed not to\n     have told me of your exploits, for you are the bravest grenadier in\n     the whole army since the death of Benezete.  You received one of the\n     hundred sabres I distributed to the army, and all agreed you most\n     deserved it.\n\n     I wish very much again to see you.  The War Minister sends you an\n     order to come to Paris.\n\nThis wheedling wonderfully favoured Bonaparte's designs.  His letter to\nAune could not fail to be circulated through the army.  A sergeant called\nmy brave comrade by the First Consul--the First General of France!  Who\nbut a thorough Republican, the stanch friend of equality, would have done\nthis?  This was enough to wind up the enthusiasm of the army.  At the\nsame time it must be confessed that Bonaparte began to find the\nLuxembourg too little for him, and preparations were set on foot at the\nTuileries.\n\nStill this great step towards the re-establishment of the monarchy was to\nbe cautiously prepared.  It was important to do away with the idea that\nnone but a king could occupy the palace of our ancient kings.  What was\nto be done?  A very fine bust of Brutus had been brought from Italy.\nBrutus was the destroyer of tyrants!  This was the very thing; and David\nwas commissioned to place it in a gallery of the Tuileries.  Could there\nbe a greater proof of the Consul's horror of tyranny?\n\nTo sleep at the Tuileries, in the bedchamber of the kings of France, was\nall that Bonaparte wanted; the rest would follow in due course.  He was\nwilling to be satisfied with establishing a principle the consequences of\nwhich were to be afterwards deduced.  Hence the affectation of never\ninserting in official acts the name of the Tuileries, but designating\nthat place as the Palace of the Government.  The first preparations were\nmodest, for it did not become a good Republican to be fond of pomp.\nAccordingly Lecomte, who was at that time architect of the Tuileries,\nmerely received orders to clean the Palace, an expression which might\nbear more than one meaning, after the meetings which had been there.  For\nthis purpose the sum of 500,000 francs was sufficient.  Bonaparte's drift\nwas to conceal, as far as possible, the importance he attached to the\nchange of his Consular domicile.  But little expense was requisite for\nfitting up apartments for the First Consul.  Simple ornaments, such as\nmarbles and statues, were to decorate the Palace of the Government.\n\nNothing escaped Bonaparte's consideration.  Thus it was not merely at\nhazard that he selected the statues of great men to adorn the gallery of\nthe Tuileries.  Among the Greeks he made choice of Demosthenes and\nAlexander, thus rendering homage at once to the genius of eloquence and\nthe genius of victory.  The statue of Hannibal was intended to recall the\nmemory of Rome's most formidable enemy; and Rome herself was represented\nin the Consular Palace by the statues of Scipio, Cicero, Cato, Brutus and\nCaesar--the victor and the immolator being placed side by side.  Among\nthe great men of modern times he gave the first place to Gustavus\nAdolphus, and the next to Turenne and the great Conde, to Turenne in\nhonour of his military talent, and to Conde to prove that there was\nnothing fearful in the recollection of a Bourbon.  The remembrance of the\nglorious days of the French navy was revived by the statue of Duguai\nTrouin.  Marlborough and Prince Eugene had also their places in the\ngallery, as if to attest the disasters which marked the close of the\ngreat reign; and Marshal Sage, to show that Louis XV.'s reign was not\nwithout its glory.  The statues of Frederick and Washington were\nemblematic of false philosophy on a throne and true wisdom founding a\nfree state.  Finally, the names of Dugommier, Dampierre, and Joubert were\nintended to bear evidence of the high esteem which Bonaparte cherished\nfor his old comrades,--those illustrious victims to a cause which had now\nceased to be his.\n\nThe reader has already been informed of the attempts made by Bonaparte to\ninduce England and Austria to negotiate with the Consular Government,\nwhich the King of Prussia was the first of the sovereigns of Europe to\nrecognise.  These attempts having proved unavailing, it became necessary\nto carry on the war with renewed vigour, and also to explain why the\npeace, which had been promised at the beginning of the Consulate, was\nstill nothing but a promise.  In fulfilment of these two objects\nBonaparte addressed an energetic proclamation to the armies, which was\nremarkable for not being followed by the usual sacred words, \"Vive la\nRepublique!\"\n\nAt the same time Bonaparte completed the formation of the Council of\nState, and divided it into five sections:--(1) The Interior; (2) Finance;\n(3) Marine; (4) The War Department; (5) Legislation.  He fixed the\nsalaries of the Councillors of the State at 25,000 francs, and that of\nthe Precedents of Sections at 30,000.  He settled the costume of the\nConsuls, the Ministers, and the different bodies of the State.  This led\nto the re-introduction of velvet, which had been banished with the old\nregime, and the encouragement of the manufactures of Lyons was the reason\nalleged for employing this un-republican article in the different\ndresses, such as those of the Consuls and Ministers.  It was Bonaparte's\nconstant aim to efface the Republic, even in the utmost trifles, and to\nprepare matters so well that the customs and habits of monarchy being\nrestored, there should only then remain a word to be changed.\n\nI never remember to have seen Bonaparte in the Consular dress, which he\ndetested, and which he wore only because duty required him to do so at\npublic ceremonies.  The only dress he was fond of, and in which he felt\nat ease, was that in which he subjugated the ancient Eridanus and the\nNile, namely, the uniform of the Guides, to which corps Bonaparte was\nalways sincerely attached.\n\nThe masquerade of official dresses was not the only one which Bonaparte\nsummoned to the aid of his policy.  At that period of the year VIII.\nwhich corresponded with the carnival of 1800, masques began to be resumed\nat Paris.  Disguises were all the fashion, and Bonaparte favoured the\nrevival of old amusements; first, because they were old, and next,\nbecause they were the means of diverting the attention of the people:\nfor, as he had established the principle that on the field of battle it\nis necessary to divide the enemy in order to beat him, he conceived it no\nless advisable to divert the people in order to enslave them.  Bonaparte\ndid not say 'panem et circenses', for I believe his knowledge of Latin\ndid not extend even to that well-known phrase of Juvenal, but he put the\nmaxim in practice.  He accordingly authorised the revival of balls at the\nopera, which they who lived during that period of the Consulate know was\nan important event in Paris.  Some gladly viewed it as a little conquest\nin favour of the old regime; and others, who for that very reason\ndisapproved it, were too shallow to understand the influence of little\nover great things.  The women and the young men did not bestow a thought\non the subject, but yielded willingly to the attractions of pleasure.\nBonaparte, who was delighted at having provided a diversion for the\ngossiping of the Parisian salons, said to me one day, \"While they are\nchatting about all this, they do not babble upon politics, and that is\nwhat I want.  Let them dance and amuse themselves as long as they do not\nthrust their noses into the Councils of the Government; besides,\nBourrienne,\" added he, \"I have other reasons for encouraging this, I see\nother advantages in it.  Trade is languishing; Fouche tells me that there\nare great complaints.  This will set a little money in circulation;\nbesides, I am on my guard about the Jacobins.  Everything is not bad,\nbecause it is not new.  I prefer the opera-balls to the saturnalia of the\nGoddess of Reason.  I was never so enthusiastically applauded as at the\nlast parade.\"\n\nA Consular decision of a different and more important nature had, shortly\nbefore, namely, at the commencement of Nivose, brought happiness to many\nfamilies.  Bonaparte, as every one knows, had prepared the events of the\n18th Fructidor that he might have some plausible reasons for overthrowing\nthe Directors.  The Directory being overthrown, he was now anxious, at\nleast in part, to undo what he had done on the 18th Fructidor.  He\ntherefore ordered a report on the persons exiled to be presented to him\nby the Minister of Police.  In consequence of this report he authorised\nforty of them to return to France, placing them under the observation of\nthe Police Minister, and assigning them their place of residence.\nHowever, they did not long remain under these restrictions, and many of\nthem were soon called to fill high places in the Government.  It was\nindeed natural that Bonaparte, still wishing, at least in appearance, to\nfound his government on those principles of moderate republicanism which\nhad caused their exile, should invite them to second his views.\n\nBarrere wrote a justificatory letter to the First Consul, who, however,\ntook no notice of it, for he could not get so far as to favour Barrere.\nThus did Bonaparte receive into the Councils of the Consulate the men who\nhad been exiled by the Directory, just as he afterwards appointed the\nemigrants and those exiles of the Revolution to high offices under the\nEmpire.  The time and the men alone differed; the intention in both cases\nwas the same.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\n1800.\n\n     Bonaparte and Paul I.--Lord Whitworth--Baron Sprengporten's arrival\n     at Paris--Paul's admiration of Bonaparte--Their close connection and\n     correspondence--The royal challenge--General Mack--The road to\n     Malmaison--Attempts at assassination--Death of Washington--National\n     mourning--Ambitious calculation--M. de Fontanel, the skilful orator\n     --Fete at the Temple of Mars--Murat's marriage with Caroline\n     Bonaparte--Madame Bonaparte's pearls.\n\nThe first communications between Bonaparte and Paul I. commenced a short\ntime after his accession to the Consulate.  Affairs then began to look a\nlittle less unfavourable for France; already vague reports from\nSwitzerland and the banks of the Rhine indicated a coldness existing\nbetween the Russians and the Austrians; and at the same time, symptoms of\na misunderstanding between the Courts of London and St. Petersburg began\nto be perceptible.  The First Consul, having in the meantime discovered\nthe chivalrous and somewhat eccentric character of Paul I., thought the\nmoment a propitious one to attempt breaking the bonds which united Russia\nand England.  He was not the man to allow so fine an opportunity to pass,\nand he took advantage of it with his usual sagacity.  The English had\nsome time before refused to include in a cartel for the exchange of\nprisoners 7000 Russians taken in Holland.  Bonaparte ordered them all to\nbe armed, and clothed in new uniforms appropriate to the corps to which\nthey had belonged, and sent them back to Russia, without ransom, without\nexchange, or any condition whatever.  This judicious munificence was not\nthrown away.  Paul I. showed himself deeply sensible of it, and closely\nallied as he had lately been with England, he now, all at once, declared\nhimself her enemy.  This triumph of policy delighted the First Consul.\n\nThenceforth the Consul and the Czar became the best friends possible.\nThey strove to outdo each other in professions of friendship; and it may\nbe believed that Bonaparte did not fail to turn this contest of\npoliteness to his own advantage.  He so well worked upon the mind of Paul\nthat he succeeded in obtaining a direct influence over the Cabinet of St.\nPetersburg.\n\nLord Whitworth, at that time the English ambassador in Russia, was\nordered to quit the capital without delay, and to retire to Riga, which\nthen became the focus of the intrigues of the north which ended in the\ndeath of Paul.  The English ships were seized in all the ports, and, at\nthe pressing instance of the Czar, a Prussian army menaced Hanover.\nBonaparte lost no time, and, profiting by the friendship manifested\ntowards him by the inheritor of Catherine's power, determined to make\nthat friendship subservient to the execution of the vast plan which he\nhad long conceived: he meant to undertake an expedition by land against\nthe English colonies in the East Indies.\n\nThe arrival of Baron Sprengporten at Paris caused great satisfaction\namong the partisans of the Consular Government, that is to say, almost\nevery one in Paris.  M. Sprengporten was a native of Swedish Finland.\nHe had been appointed by Catherine chamberlain and lieutenant-general of\nher forces, and he was not less in favour with Paul, who treated him in\nthe most distinguished manner.  He came on an extraordinary mission,\nbeing ostensibly clothed with the title of plenipotentiary, and at the\nsame time appointed confidential Minister to the Consul.  Bonaparte was\nextremely satisfied with the ambassador whom Paul had selected, and with\nthe manner in which he described the Emperor's gratitude for the\ngenerous conduct of the First Consul.  M. Sprengporten did not conceal\nthe extent of Paul's dissatisfaction with his allies.  The bad issue, he\nsaid, of the war with France had already disposed the Czar to connect\nhimself with that power, when the return of his troops at once determined\nhim.\n\nWe could easily perceive that Paul placed great confidence in M.\nSprengporten.  As he had satisfactorily discharged the mission with which\nhe had been entrusted, Paul expressed pleasure at his conduct in several\nfriendly and flattering letters, which Sprengporten always allowed us to\nread.  No one could be fonder of France than he was, and he ardently\ndesired that his first negotiations might lead to a long alliance between\nthe Russian and French Governments.  The autograph and very frequent\ncorrespondence between Bonaparte and Paul passed through his hands.  I\nread all Paul's letters, which were remarkable for the frankness with\nwhich his affection for Bonaparte was expressed.  His admiration of the\nFirst Consul was so great that no courtier could have written in a more\nflattering manner.\n\nThis admiration was not feigned on the part of the Emperor of Russia: it\nwas no less sincere than ardent, and of this he soon gave proofs.  The\nviolent hatred he had conceived towards the English Government induced\nhim to defy to single combat every monarch who would not declare war\nagainst England and shut his ports against English ships.  He inserted a\nchallenge to the King of Denmark in the St. Petersburg Court Gazette; but\nnot choosing to apply officially to the Senate of Hamburg to order its\ninsertion in the 'Correspondant', conducted by M. Stoves, he sent the\narticle, through Count Pahlen, to M. Schramm, a Hamburg merchant.  The\nCount told M. Schramm that the Emperor would be much pleased to see the\narticle of the St. Petersburg Court Gazette copied into the\nCorrespondant; and that if it should be inserted, he wished to have a\ndozen copies of the paper printed on vellum, and sent to him by an\nextraordinary courier.  It was Paul's intention to send a copy to every\nsovereign in Europe; but this piece of folly, after the manner of Charles\nXII., led to no further results.\n\nBonaparte never felt greater satisfaction in the whole course of his life\nthan he experienced from Paul's enthusiasm for him.  The friendship of a\nsovereign seemed to him a step by which he was to become a sovereign\nhimself.  At the same time the affairs of La Vendee began to assume a\nbetter aspect, and he hoped soon to effect that pacification in the\ninterior which he so ardently desired.\n\nIt was during the First Consul's residence at the Luxembourg that the\nfirst report on the civil code was made to the legislative body.  It was\nthen, also, that the regulations for the management of the Bank of France\nwere adopted, and that establishment so necessary to France was founded.\n\nThere was at this time in Paris a man who has acquired an unfortunate\ncelebrity, the most unlucky of modern generals--in a word, General Mack.\nI should not notice that person here were it not for the prophetic\njudgment which Bonaparte then pronounced on him.  Mack had been obliged\nto surrender himself at Championnet some time before our landing at\nFrejus.  He was received as a prisoner of war, and the town of Dijon had\nbeen appointed his place of residence, and there he remained until after\nthe 18th Brumaire.  Bonaparte, now Consul, permitted him to come to\nParis, and to reside there on his parole.  He applied for leave to go to\nVienna, pledging himself to return again a prisoner to France if the\nEmperor Francis would not consent to exchange him for Generals Perignon\nand Grouchy, then prisoners in Austria.  His request was not granted, but\nhis proposition was forwarded to Vienna.  The Court of Vienna refused to\naccede to it, not placing perhaps so much importance on the deliverance\nof Mack as he had flattered himself it would.\n\nBonaparte speaking to me of him one day said, \"Mack is a man of the\nlowest mediocrity I ever saw in my life; he is full of self-sufficiency\nand conceit, and believes himself equal to anything.  He has no talent.\nI should like to see him opposed some day to one of our good generals;\nwe should then see fine work.  He is a boaster, and that is all.  He is\nreally one of the most silly men existing; and, besides all that, he is\nunlucky.\"  Was not this opinion of Bonaparte, formed on the past, fully\nverified by the future?\n\nIt was at Malmaison that Bonaparte thus spoke of General Mack.  That\nplace was then far from resembling what it afterwards became, and the\nroad to it was neither pleasant nor sure.  There was not a house on the\nroad; and in the evening, during the season when we were there, it was\nnot frequented all the way from St. Germain.  Those numerous vehicles,\nwhich the demands of luxury and an increasing population have created,\ndid not then, as now, pass along the roads in the environs of Paris.\nEverywhere the road was solitary and dangerous; and I learned with\ncertainty that many schemes were laid for carrying off the First Consul\nduring one of his evening journeys.  They were unsuccessful, and orders\nwere given to enclose the quarries, which were too near to the road.  On\nSaturday evening Bonaparte left the Luxembourg, and afterwards the\nTuileries, to go to Malmaison, and I cannot better express the joy he\nthen appeared to experience than by comparing it to the delight of a\nschool-boy on getting a holiday.\n\nBefore removing from the Luxembourg to the Tuileries Bonaparte determined\nto dazzle the eyes of the Parisians by a splendid ceremony.  He had\nappointed it to take place on the 'decadi', Pluviose 20 (9th February\n1800), that is to say, ten days before his final departure from the old\nDirectorial palace.  These kinds of fetes did not resemble what they\nafterwards became; their attraction consisted in the splendour of\nmilitary dress: and Bonaparte was always sure that whenever he mounted\nhis horse, surrounded by a brilliant staff from which he was to be\ndistinguished by the simplicity of his costume, his path would be crowded\nand himself greeted with acclamations by the people of Paris.  The object\nof this fete was at first only to present to the 'Hotel des Invalides',\nthen called the Temple of Mars, seventy-two flags taken from the Turks\nin the battle of Aboukir and brought from Egypt to Paris; but\nintelligence of Washington's death, who expired on the 14th of December\n1799, having reached Bonaparte, he eagerly took advantage of that event\nto produce more effect, and mixed the mourning cypress with the laurels\nhe had collected in Egypt.\n\nBonaparte did not feel much concerned at the death of Washington, that\nnoble founder of rational freedom in the new world; but it afforded him\nan opportunity to mask his ambitious projects under the appearance of a\nlove of liberty.  In thus rendering honour to the memory of Washington\neverybody would suppose that Bonaparte intended to imitate his example,\nand that their two names would pass in conjunction from mouth to mouth.\nA clever orator might be employed, who, while pronouncing a eulogium on\nthe dead, would contrive to bestow some praise on the living; and when\nthe people were applauding his love of liberty he would find himself one\nstep nearer the throne, on which his eyes were constantly fixed.  When\nthe proper time arrived, he would not fail to seize the crown; and would\nstill cry, if necessary, \"Vive la Liberte!\"  while placing it on his\nimperial head.\n\nThe skilful orator was found.  M. de Fontanes\n\n     --[L. de Fontanes (1767-1821) became president of the Corps\n     Legislatif, Senator, and Grand Master of the University.  He was the\n     centre of the literary group of the Empire,]--\n\nwas commissioned to pronounce the funeral eulogium on Washington, and the\nflowers of eloquence which he scattered about did not all fall on the\nhero of America.\n\nLannes was entrusted by Bonaparte with the presentation of the flags; and\non the 20th Pluviose he proceeded, accompanied by strong detachments of\nthe cavalry then in Paris, to the council-hall of the Invalides, where he\nwas met by the Minister of War, who received the colours.  All the\nMinisters, the councillors of State, and generals were summoned to the\npresentation.  Lannes pronounced a discourse, to which Berthier replied,\nand M. de Fontanes added his well-managed eloquence to the plain military\noratory of the two generals.  In the interior of this military temple a\nstatue of Mars sleeping had been placed, and from the pillars and roof\nwere suspended the trophies of Denain, Fontenoy, and the campaign of\nItaly, which would still have decorated that edifice had not the demon of\nconquest possessed Bonaparte.  Two Invalides, each said to be a hundred\nyears old, stood beside the Minister of War; and the bust of the\nemancipator of America was placed under the trophy composed of the flags\nof Aboukir.  In a word, recourse was had to every sort of charlatanism\nusual on such occasions.  In the evening there was a numerous assembly at\nthe Luxembourg, and Bonaparte took much credit to himself for the effect\nproduced on this remarkable day.  He had only to wait ten days for his\nremoval to the Tuileries, and precisely on that day the national mourning\nfor Washington was to cease, for which a general mourning for freedom\nmight well have been substituted.\n\nI have said very little about Murat in the course of these Memoirs except\nmentioning the brilliant part he performed in several battles.  Having\nnow arrived at the period of his marriage with one of Napoleon's sisters\nI take the opportunity of returning to the interesting events which\npreceded that alliance.\n\nHis fine and well-proportioned form, his great physical strength and\nsomewhat refined elegance of manner,--the fire of his eye, and his fierce\ncourage in battle, gave to Murat rather the character of one of those\n'preux chevaliers' so well described by Ariosto and Taro, than that a\nRepublican soldier.  The nobleness of his look soon made the lowness of\nhis birth be forgotten.  He was affable, polished, gallant; and in the\nfield of battle twenty men headed by Murat were worth a whole regiment.\nOnce only he showed himself under the influence of fear, and the reader\nshall see in what circumstance it was that he ceased to be himself.\n\n     --[Marshal Lannes, so brave and brilliant in war and so well able to\n     appreciate courage, one day sharply rebuked a colonel for having\n     punished a young officer just arrived from school at Fontainebleau\n     because he gave evidence of fear in his first engagement.  \"Know,\n     colonel,\" said he, \"none but a poltroon (the term was even more\n     strong) will boast that he never was afraid.\"--Bourrienne.]--\n\nWhen Bonaparte in his first Italian campaign had forced Wurmser to\nretreat into Mantua with 28,000 men, he directed Miollis, with only 4000\nmen, to oppose any sortie that might be attempted by the Austrian\ngeneral.  In one of these sorties Murat, who was at the head of a very\nweak detachment, was ordered to charge Wurmser.  He was afraid, neglected\nto execute the order, and in a moment of confusion said that he was\nwounded.  Murat immediately fell into disgrace with the General-in-Chief,\nwhose 'aide de camp' he was.\n\nMurat had been previously sent to Paris to present to the Directory the\nfirst colours taken by the French army of Italy in the actions of Dego\nand Mondovi, and it was on this occasion that he got acquainted with\nMadame Tallien and the wife of his General.  But he already knew the\nbeautiful Caroline Bonaparte, whom he had seen at Rome in the residence\nof her brother Joseph, who was then discharging the functions of\nambassador of the Republic.  It appears that Caroline was not even\nindifferent to him, and that he was the successful rival of the Princess\nSanta Croce's son, who eagerly sought the honour of her hand.  Madame\nTallien and Madame Bonaparte received with great kindness the first 'aide\nde camp', and as they possessed much influence with the Directory, they\nsolicited, and easily obtained for him, the rank of brigadier-general.\nIt was somewhat remarkable at that time Murat, notwithstanding his newly-\nacquired rank, to remain Bonaparte's 'aide de camp', the regulations not\nallowing a general-in-chief an 'aide de camp' of higher rank than chief\nof brigade, which was equal to that of colonel. This insignificant act\nwas, therefore, rather a hasty anticipation of the prerogatives\neverywhere reserved to princes and kings.\n\nIt was after having discharged this commission that Murat, on his return\nto Italy, fell into disfavour with the General-in Chief.  He indeed\nlooked upon him with a sort of hostile feeling, and placed him in\nReille's division, and afterwards Baraguey d'Hilliers'; consequently,\nwhen we went to Paris, after the treaty of Campo-Formio, Murat was not of\nthe party.  But as the ladies, with whom he was a great favourite, were\nnot devoid of influence with the Minister of War, Murat was, by their\ninterest, attached to the engineer corps in the expedition to Egypt.\nOn board the Orient he remained in the most complete disgrace.  Bonaparte\ndid not address a word to him during the passage; and in Egypt the\nGeneral-in-Chief always treated him with coldness, and often sent him\nfrom the headquarters on disagreeable services.  However, the General-in-\nChief having opposed him to Mourad Bey, Murat performed such prodigies of\nvalour in every perilous encounter that he effaced the transitory stain\nwhich a momentary hesitation under the walls of Mantua had left on his\ncharacter.  Finally, Murat so powerfully contributed to the success of\nthe day at Aboukir that Bonaparte, glad to be able to carry another\nlaurel plucked in Egypt to France, forgot the fault which had made so\nunfavourable an impression, and was inclined to efface from his memory\nother things that he had heard to the disadvantage of Murat; for I have\ngood reasons for believing, though Bonaparte never told me so, that\nMurat's name, as well as that of Charles, escaped from the lips of Junot\nwhen he made his indiscreet communication to Bonaparte at the walls of\nMessoudiah.  The charge of grenadiers, commanded by Murat on the 19th\nBrumaire in the hall of the Five Hundred, dissipated all the remaining\ntraces of dislike; and in those moments when Bonaparte's political views\nsubdued every other sentiment of his mind, the rival of the Prince Santa\nCroce received the command of the Consular Guard.\n\n     --[Joachim Murat (1771-1616), the son of an innkeeper, aide de camp\n     to Napoleon in Italy, etc.; Marshal, 1804; Prince in 1806; Grand\n     Admiral; Grand Duc de Berg et de Clesves, 1808; King of Naples,\n     1808.  Shot by Bourbons 13th October 1815.  Married Caroline\n     Bonaparte (third sister of Napoleon) 20th January 1800.]--\n\nIt may reasonably be supposed that Madame Bonaparte, in endeavouring to\nwin the friendship of Murat by aiding his promotion, had in view to gain\none partisan more to oppose to the family and brothers of Bonaparte; and\nof this kind of support she had much need.  Their jealous hatred was\ndisplayed on every occasion; and the amiable Josephine, whose only fault\nwas being too much of the woman, was continually tormented by sad\npresentiments.  Carried away by the easiness of her character, she did\nnot perceive that the coquetry which enlisted for her so many defenders\nalso supplied her implacable enemies with weapons to use against her.\n\nIn this state of things Josephine, who was well convinced that she had\nattached Murat to herself by the bonds of friendship and gratitude, and\nardently desired to see him united to Bonaparte by a family connection,\nfavoured with all her influence his marriage with Caroline.  She was not\nignorant that a close intimacy had already sprung up at Milan between\nCaroline and Murat, and she was the first to propose a marriage.  Murat\nhesitated, and went to consult M. Collot, who was a good adviser in all\nthings, and whose intimacy with Bonaparte had initiated him into all the\nsecrets of the family.  M. Collot advised Murat to lose no time, but to\ngo to the First Consul and formally demand the hand of his sister.  Murat\nfollowed his advice.  Did he do well?  It was to this step that he owed\nthe throne of Naples.  If he had abstained he would not have been shot at\nPizzo.  'Sed ipsi Dei fata rumpere non possunt!'\n\nHowever that might be, Bonaparte received, more in the manner of a\nsovereign than of a brother in arms, the proposal of Murat.  He heard him\nwith unmoved gravity, said that he would consider the matter, but gave no\npositive answer.\n\nThis affair was, as may be supposed, the subject of conversation in the\nevening in the salon of the Luxembourg.  Madame Bonaparte employed all\nher powers of persuasion to obtain the First Consul's consent, and her\nefforts were seconded by Hortense, Eugene, and myself, \"Murat,\" said he,\namong other things, \"Murat is an innkeeper's son.  In the elevated rank\nwhere glory and fortune have placed me, I never can mix his blood with\nmine!  Besides, there is no hurry: I shall see by and by.\"  We forcibly\ndescribed to him the reciprocal affection of the two young people, and\ndid not fail to bring to his observation Murat's devoted attachment to\nhis person, his splendid courage and noble conduct in Egypt.  \"Yes,\" said\nhe, with warmth, \"I agree with you; Murat was superb at Aboukir.\"  We did\nnot allow so favourable a moment to pass by.  We redoubled our\nentreaties, and at last he consented.  When we were together in his\ncabinet in the evening, \"Well, Bourrienne,\" said he to me, \"you ought to\nbe satisfied, and so am I, too, everything considered.  Murat is suited\nto my sister, and then no one can say that I am proud, or seek grand\nalliances.  If I had given my sister to a noble, all your Jacobins would\nhave raised a cry of counter-revolution.  Besides, I am very glad that my\nwife is interested in this marriage, and you may easily suppose the\ncause.  Since it is determined on, I will hasten it forward; we have no\ntime to lose.  If I go to Italy I will take Murat with me.  I must strike\na decisive blow there.  Adieu.\"\n\nWhen I entered the First Consul's chamber at seven o'clock the next day\nhe appeared even more satisfied than on the preceding evening with the\nresolution he had taken.  I easily perceived that in spite of all his\ncunning, he had failed to discover the real motive which had induced\nJosephine to take so lively an interest respecting Murat's marriage with\nCaroline.  Still Bonaparte's satisfaction plainly showed that his wife's\neagerness for the marriage had removed all doubt in his mind of the\nfalsity of the calumnious reports which had prevailed respecting her\nintimacy with Murat.\n\nThe marriage of Murat and Caroline was celebrated at the Luxembourg, but\nwith great modesty.  The First Consul did not yet think that his family\naffairs were affairs of state.  But previously to the celebration a\nlittle comedy was enacted in which I was obliged to take a part, and I\nwill relate how.\n\nAt the time of the marriage of Murat Bonaparte had not much money, and\ntherefore only gave his sister a dowry of 30,000 francs.  Still, thinking\nit necessary to make her a marriage present, and not possessing the means\nto purchase a suitable one, he took a diamond necklace which belonged to\nhis wife and gave it to the bride.  Josephine was not at all pleased with\nthis robbery, and taxed her wits to discover some means of replacing her\nnecklace.\n\nJosephine was aware that the celebrated jeweler Foncier possessed a\nmagnificent collection of fine pearls which had belonged, as he said, to\nthe late Queen, Marie Antoinette.  Having ordered them to be brought to\nher to examine them, she thought there were sufficient to make a very\nfine necklace.  But to make the purchase 250,000 francs were required,\nand how to get them was the difficulty.  Madame Bonaparte had recourse to\nBerthier, who was then Minister of War.  Berthier, after biting his\nnails according to his usual habit, set about the liquidation of the\ndebts due for the hospital service in Italy with as much speed as\npossible; and as in those days the contractors whose claims were admitted\noverflowed with gratitude towards their patrons, through whom they\nobtained payment, the pearls soon passed from Foncier's shop to the\ncasket of Madame Bonaparte.\n\nThe pearls being thus obtained, there was still another difficulty, which\nMadame Bonaparte did not at first think of.  How was she to wear a\nnecklace purchased without her husband's knowledge?  Indeed it was the\nmore difficult for her to do so as the First Consul knew very well that\nhis wife had no money, and being, if I may be allowed the expression,\nsomething of the busybody, he knew, or believed he knew, all Josephine's\njewels.  The pearls were therefore condemned to remain more than a\nfortnight in Madame Bonaparte's casket without her daring to use them.\nWhat a punishment for a woman!  At length her vanity overcame her\nprudence, and being unable to conceal the jewels any longer, she one day\nsaid to me, \"Bourrienne, there is to be a large party here to-morrow, and\nI absolutely must wear my pearls.  But you know he will grumble if he\nnotices them.  I beg, Bourrienne, that you will keep near me.  If he asks\nme where I got my pearls I must tell him, without hesitation, that I have\nhad them a long time.\"\n\nEverything happened as Josephine feared and hoped.\n\nBonaparte, on seeing the pearls, did not fail to say to Madame, \"What is\nit you have got there?  How fine you are to-day!  Where did you get these\npearls?  I think I never saw them before.\"--\"Oh! 'mon Dieu'! you have\nseen them a dozen times!  It is the necklace which the Cisalpine Republic\ngave me, and which I now wear in my hair.\"--\"But I think--\"--\"Stay: ask\nBourrienne, he will tell you.\"--\"Well, Bourrienne, what do you say to it?\nDo you recollect the necklace?\"--\"Yes, General, I recollect very well\nseeing it before.\"  This was not untrue, for Madame Bonaparte had\npreviously shown me the pearls.  Besides, she had received a pearl\nnecklace from the Cisalpine Republic, but of incomparably less value than\nthat purchased from Foncier.  Josephine performed her part with charming\ndexterity, and I did not act amiss the character of accomplice assigned\nme in this little comedy.  Bonaparte had no suspicions.  When I saw the\neasy confidence with which Madame Bonaparte got through this scene, I\ncould not help recollecting Suzanne's reflection on the readiness with\nwhich well-bred ladies can tell falsehoods without seeming to do so.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\n1800.\n\n     Police on police--False information--Dexterity of Fouche--Police\n     agents deceived--Money ill applied--Inutility of political police--\n     Bonaparte's opinion--General considerations--My appointment to the\n     Prefecture of police.\n\nBefore taking up his quarters in the Tuileries the First Consul organised\nhis secret police, which was intended, at the same time, to be the rival\nor check upon Fouche's police.  Duroc and Moncey were at first the\nDirector of this police; afterwards Davoust and Junot.  Madame Bonaparte\ncalled this business a vile system of espionage.  My remarks on the\ninutility of the measure were made in vain.  Bonaparte had the weakness\nat once to fear Fouche and to think him necessary.  Fouche, whose talents\nat this trade are too well known to need my approbation, soon discovered\nthis secret institution, and the names of all the subaltern agents\nemployed by the chief agents.  It is difficult to form an idea of the\nnonsense, absurdity, and falsehood contained in the bulletins drawn up by\nthe noble and ignoble agents of the police.  I do not mean to enter into\ndetails on this nauseating subject; and I shall only trespass on the\nreader's patience by relating, though it be in anticipation, one fact\nwhich concerns myself, and which will prove that spies and their wretched\nreports cannot be too much distrusted.\n\nDuring the second year of the Consulate we were established at Malmaison.\nJunot had a very large sum at his disposal for the secret police of the\ncapital.  He gave 3000 francs of it to a wretched manufacturer of\nbulletins; the remainder was expended on the police of his stable and his\ntable.  In reading one of these daily bulletins I saw the following\nlines:\n\n     \"M. de Bourrienne went last night to Paris.  He entered an hotel of\n     the Faubourg St. Germain, Rue de Varenne, and there, in the course\n     of a very animated discussion, he gave it to be understood that the\n     First Consul wished to make himself King.\"\n\nAs it happens, I never had opened my mouth, either respecting what\nBonaparte had said to me before we went to Egypt or respecting his other\nfrequent conversations with me of the same nature, during this period of\nhis Consulship.  I may here observe, too, that I never quitted, nor ever\ncould quit Malmaison for a moment.  At any time, by night or day, I was\nsubject to be called for by the First Consul, and, as very often was the\ncase, it so happened that on the night in question he had dictated to me\nnotes and instructions until three o'clock in the morning.\n\nJunot came every day to Malmaison at eleven o'clock in the morning.  I\ncalled him that day into my cabinet, when I happened to be alone.  \"Have\nyou not read your bulletin?\"  said I, \"Yes, I have.\"--\"Nay, that is\nimpossible.\"--\"Why?\"--\"Because, if you had, you would have suppressed an\nabsurd story which relates to me.\"--\"Ah!\" he replied, \"I am sorry on your\naccount, but I can depend on my agent, and I will not alter a word of his\nreport.\"  I then told him all that had taken place on that night; but he\nwas obstinate, and went away unconvinced.\n\nEvery morning I placed all the papers which the First Consul had to read\non his table, and among the first was Junot's report.  The First Consul\nentered and read it; on coming to the passage concerning me he began to\nsmile.\n\n\"Have you read this bulletin?\"--\"Yes, General.\"--\"What an ass that Junot\nis!  It is a long time since I have known that.\"--\" How he allows himself\nto be entrapped!  Is he still here?\"--\"I believe so.  I have just seen\nhim, and made observations to him, all in good part, but he would hear\nnothing.\"--\"Tell him to come here.\"  When Junot appeared Bonaparte began\n--\"Imbecile that you are! how could you send me such reports as these?\nDo you not read them?  How shall I be sure that you will not compromise\nother persons equally unjustly?  I want positive facts, not inventions.\nIt is some time since your agent displeased me; dismiss him directly.\"\nJunot wanted to justify himself, but Bonaparte cut him short--\"Enough!--\nIt is settled!\"\n\nI related what had passed to Fouche, who told me that, wishing to amuse\nhimself at Junot's expense, whose police agents only picked up what they\nheard related in coffeehouses, gaming-houses, and the Bourse, he had\ngiven currency to this absurd story, which Junot had credited and\nreported, as he did many other foolish tales.  Fouche often caught the\npolice of the Palace in the snares he laid for them, and thus increased\nhis own credit.\n\nThis circumstance, and others of the same nature, induced the First\nConsul to attach less importance than at first he had to his secret\npolice, which seldom reported anything but false and silly stories.\nThat wretched police!  During the time I was with him it embittered his\nlife, and often exasperated him against his wife, his relations, and\nfriends.\n\n     --[Bourrienne, it must be remembered, was a sufferer from the\n     vigilance of this police.]--\n\nRapp, who was as frank as he was brave, tells us in his Memoirs (p. 233)\nthat when Napoleon, during his retreat from Moscow, while before\nSmolenski, heard of the attempt of Mallet, he could not get over the\nadventure of the Police Minister, Savary, and the Prefect of Police,\nPasquier.  \"Napoleon,\" says Rapp, \"was not surprised that these wretches\n(he means the agents of the police) who crowd the salons and the taverns,\nwho insinuate themselves everywhere and obstruct everything, should not\nhave found out the plot, but he could not understand the weakness of the\nDuc de Rovigo.  The very police which professed to divine everything had\nlet themselves be taken by surprise.\"  The police possessed no foresight\nor faculty of prevention.  Every silly thing that transpired was reported\neither from malice or stupidity.  What was heard was misunderstood or\ndistorted in the recital, so that the only result of the plan was\nmischief and confusion.\n\nThe police as a political engine is a dangerous thing.  It foments and\nencourages more false conspiracies than it discovers or defeats real\nones.  Napoleon has related \"that M. de la Rochefoucauld formed at Paris\na conspiracy in favour of the King, then at Mittau, the first act of\nwhich was to be the death of the Chief of the Government. The plot being\ndiscovered, a trusty person belonging to the police was ordered to join\nit and become one of the most active agents.  He brought letters of\nrecommendation from an old gentleman in Lorraine who had held a\ndistinguished rank in the army of Conde.\"  After this, what more can be\nwanted?  A hundred examples could not better show the vileness of such a\nsystem.  Napoleon, when fallen, himself thus disclosed the scandalous\nmeans employed by his Government.\n\nNapoleon on one occasion, in the Isle of Elba, said to an officer who was\nconversing with him about France, \"You believe, then, that the police\nagents foresee everything and know everything?  They invent more than\nthey discover.  Mine, I believe, was better than that they have got now,\nand yet it was often only by mere chance, the imprudence of the parties\nimplicated, or the treachery of some of them, that something was\ndiscovered after a week or fortnight's exertion.\"  Napoleon, in directing\nthis officer to transmit letters to him under the cover of a commercial\ncorrespondence, to quiet his apprehensions that the correspondence might\nbe discovered, said, \"Do you think, then, that all letters are opened at\nthe post office?  They would never be able to do so.  I have often\nendeavoured to discover what the correspondence was that passed under\nmercantile forms, but I never succeeded.  The post office, like the\npolice, catches only fools.\"\n\nSince I am on the subject of political police, that leprosy of modern\nsociety, perhaps I may be allowed to overstep the order of time, and\nadvert to its state even in the present day.\n\nThe Minister of Police, to give his prince a favourable idea of his\nactivity, contrives great conspiracies, which he is pretty sure to\ndiscover in time, because he is their originator.  The inferior agents,\nto find favour in the eyes of the Minister, contrive small plots.  It\nwould be difficult to mention a conspiracy which has been discovered,\nexcept when the police agents took part in it, or were its promoters.\nIt is difficult to conceive how those agents can feed a little intrigue,\nthe result at first, perhaps, of some petty ill-humour and discontent\nwhich, thanks to their skill, soon becomes a great affair.  How many\nconspiracies have escaped the boasted activity and vigilance of the\npolice when none of its agents were parties.  I may instance Babeuf's\nconspiracy, the attempt at the camp at Grenelle, the 18th Brumaire, the\ninfernal machine, Mallet, the 20th of March, the affair of Grenoble, and\nmany others.\n\nThe political police, the result of the troubles of the Revolution, has\nsurvived them.  The civil police for the security of property, health,\nand order, is only made a secondary object, and has been, therefore,\nneglected.   There are times in which it is thought of more consequence\nto discover whether a citizen goes to mass or confession than to defeat\nthe designs of a band of robbers.  Such a state of things is unfortunate\nfor a country; and the money expended on a system of superintendence over\npersons alleged to be suspected, in domestic inquisitions, in the\ncorruption of the friends, relations, and servants of the man marked out\nfor destruction might be much better employed.  The espionage of opinion,\ncreated, as I have said, by the revolutionary troubles, is suspicious,\nrestless, officious, inquisitorial, vexatious, and tyrannical.\nIndifferent to crimes and real offences, it is totally absorbed in the\ninquisition of thoughts.  Who has not heard it said in company, to some\none speaking warmly, \"Be moderate, M------ is supposed to belong to the\npolice.\"  This police enthralled Bonaparte himself in its snares, and\nheld him a long time under the influence of its power.\n\nI have taken the liberty thus to speak of a scourge of society of which\nI have been a victim.  What I here state may be relied on.  I shall not\nspeak of the week during which I had to discharge the functions of\nPrefect of Police, namely, from the 13th to the 20th of March, 1815.\nIt may well be supposed that though I had not held in abhorrence the\ninfamous system which I have described, the important nature of the\ncircumstances and the short period of my administration must have\nprevented me from making complete use of the means placed at my disposal.\nThe dictates of discretion, which I consider myself bound to obey,\nforbid me giving proofs of what I advance.  What it was necessary to do\nI accomplished without employing violent or vexatious means; and I can\ntake on myself to assert that no one has cause to complain of me.  Were I\nto publish the list of the persons I had orders to arrest, those of them\nwho are yet living would be astonished that the only knowledge they had\nof my being the Prefect of Police was from the Moniteur.  I obtained by\nmild measures, by persuasion, and reasoning what I could never have got\nby violence.  I am not divulging any secrets of office, but I believe I\nam rendering a service to the public in pointing out what I have often\nobserved while an unwilling confidant in the shameful manoeuvres of that\npolitical institution.\n\nThe word ideologue was often in Bonaparte's mouth; and in using it he\nendeavoured to throw ridicule on those men whom he fancied to have a\ntendency towards the doctrine of indefinite perfectibility.  He esteemed\nthem for their morality, yet he looked on them as dreamers seeking for\nthe type of a universal constitution, and considering the character of\nman in the abstract only.  The ideologues, according to him, looked for\npower in institutions; and that he called metaphysics.  He had no idea of\npower except in direct force. All benevolent men who speculate on the\namelioration of human society were regarded by Bonaparte as dangerous,\nbecause their maxims and principles were diametrically opposed to the\nharsh and arbitrary system he had adopted.  He said that their hearts\nwere better than their heads, and, far from wandering with them in\nabstractions, he always said that men were only to be governed by fear\nand interest.  The free expression of opinion through the press has been\nalways regarded by those who are not led away by interest or power as\nuseful to society.  But Bonaparte held the liberty of the press in the\ngreatest horror; and so violent was his passion when anything was urged\nin its favour that he seemed to labour under a nervous attack.  Great man\nas he was, he was sorely afraid of little paragraphs.\n\n     --[Joseph Bonaparte fairly enough remarks on this that such writings\n     had done great harm in those extraordinary times (Erreurs, tome i,\n     p. 259).  Metternich, writing in 1827 with distrust of the\n     proceedings of Louis XVIII., quotes, with approval, Napoleon's\n     sentiments on this point.  \"Napoleon, who could not have been\n     wanting in the feeling of power, said to me, 'You see me master of\n     France; well, I would not undertake to govern her for three months\n     with liberty of the press.  Louis XVIII., apparently thinking\n     himself stronger than Napoleon, is not content with allowing the\n     press its freedom, but has embodied its liberty in the charter\"\n     (Metternich, tome iv, p. 391.)]--\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\n1800.\n\n     Successful management of parties--Precautions--Removal from the\n     Luxembourg to the Tuileries--Hackney-coaches and the Consul's white\n     horses--Royal custom and an inscription--The review--Bonaparte's\n     homage to the standards--Talleyrand in Bonaparte's cabinet--\n     Bonaparte's aversion to the cap of liberty even in painting--The\n     state bed--Our cabinet.\n\nOf the three brothers to whom the 18th Brumaire gave birth Bonaparte\nspeedily declared himself the eldest, and hastened to assume all the\nrights of primogeniture.  He soon arrogated to himself the whole power.\nThe project he had formed, when he favoured the revolution of the 18th\nFructidor, was now about to be realized.  It was then an indispensable\npart of his plan that the Directory should violate the constitution in\norder to justify a subsequent subversion of the Directory.  The\nexpressions which escaped him from time to time plainly showed that his\nambition was not yet satisfied, and that the Consulship was only a state\nof probation preliminary to the complete establishment of monarchy.\nThe Luxembourg was then discovered to be too small for the Chief of the\nGovernment, and it was resolved that Bonaparte should inhabit the\nTuileries.  Still great prudence was necessary to avoid the quicksands\nwhich surrounded him!  He therefore employed great precaution in dealing\nwith the susceptibilities of the Republicans, taking care to inure them\ngradually to the temperature of absolute power.  But this mode of\ntreatment was not sufficient; for such was Bonaparte's situation between\nthe Jacobins and the Royalists that he could not strike a blow at one\nparty without strengthening the other.  He, however, contrived to solve\nthis difficult problem, and weakened both parties by alternately\nfrightening each.  \"You see, Royalists,\" he seemed to say, \"if you do not\nattach yourselves to my government the Jacobins will again rise and bring\nback the reign of terror and its scaffold.\"  To the men of the Revolution\nhe, on the other hand, said, \"See, the counter-Revolution appears,\nthreatening reprisals and vengeance.  It is ready to overwhelm you; my\nbuckler can alone protect you from its attacks.\"  Thus both parties were\ninduced, from their mutual fear of each other, to attach themselves to\nBonaparte; and while they fancied they were only placing themselves under\nthe protection of the Chief of the Government, they were making\nthemselves dependent on an ambitious man, who, gradually bending them to\nhis will, guided them as he chose in his political career.  He advanced\nwith a firm step; but he never neglected any artifice to conceal, as long\nas possible, his designs.\n\nI saw Bonaparte put in motion all his concealed springs; and I could not\nhelp admiring his wonderful address.\n\nBut what most astonished me was the control he possessed over himself, in\nrepressing any premature manifestation of his intentions which might\nprejudice his projects.  Thus, for instance, he never spoke of the\nTuileries but under the name of \"the Palace of the Government,\" and he\ndetermined not to inhabit, at first, the ancient palace of the kings of\nFrance alone.  He contented himself with selecting the royal apartments,\nand proposed that the Third Consul should also reside in the Tuileries,\nand in consequence he occupied the Pavilion of Flora.  This skilful\narrangement was perfectly in accordance with the designation of \"Palace\nof the Government\" given to the Tuileries, and was calculated to deceive,\nfor a time, the most clear-sighted.\n\nThe moment for leaving the Luxembourg having arrived, Bonaparte still\nused many deceptive precautions.  The day filed for the translation of\nthe seat of government was the 30th Pluviose, the previous day having\nbeen selected for publishing the account of the votes taken for the\nacceptance of the new Constitution.  He had, besides, caused the\ninsertion in the 'Moniteur' of the eulogy on Washington, pronounced, by\nM. de Fontanes, the decadi preceding, to be delayed for ten days.  He\nthought that the day when he was about to take so large a step towards\nmonarchy would be well chosen for entertaining the people of Paris with\ngrand ideas of liberty, and for coupling his own name with that of the\nfounder of the free government of the United States.\n\nAt seven o'clock on the morning of the 30th Pluviose I entered, as usual,\nthe chamber of the First Consul.  He was in a profound sleep, and this\nwas one of the days on which I had been desired to allow him to sleep a\nlittle longer than usual.  I have often observed that General Bonaparte\nappeared much less moved when on the point of executing any great design\nthan during the time of projecting it, so accustomed was he to think\nthat what he had resolved on in his mind, was already done.\n\nWhen I returned to Bonaparte he said to me, with a marked air of\nsatisfaction, \"Well, Bourrienne, to-night, at last, we shall sleep in the\nTuileries.  You are better off than I: you are not obliged to make a\nspectacle of yourself, but may go your own road there.  I must, however,\ngo in procession: that disgusts me; but it is necessary to speak to the\neyes.  That has a good effect on the people.  The Directory was too\nsimple, and therefore never enjoyed any consideration.  In the army\nsimplicity is in its proper place; but in a great city, in a palace,\nthe Chief of the Government must attract attention in every possible way,\nyet still with prudence.  Josephine is going to look out from Lebrun's\napartments; go with her, if you like; but go to the cabinet as soon as\nyou see me alight from my horse.\"\n\nI did not go to the review, but proceeded to the Tuileries, to arrange in\nour new cabinet the papers which it was my duty to take care of, and to\nprepare everything for the First Consul's arrival.  It was not until the\nevening that I learned, from the conversation in the salon, where there\nwas a numerous party, what had taken place in the course of the day.\n\nAt one o'clock precisely Bonaparte left the Luxembourg.  The procession\nwas, doubtless, far from approaching the magnificent parade of the\nEmpire: but as much pomp was introduced as the state of things in France\npermitted.  The only real splendour of that period consisted in fine\ntroops.  Three thousand picked men, among whom was the superb regiment of\nthe Guides, had been ordered out for the occasion: all marched in the\ngreatest order; with music at the head of each corps.  The generals and\ntheir staffs were on horseback, the Ministers in carriages, which were\nsomewhat remarkable, as they were almost the only private carriages then\nin Paris, for hackney-coaches had been hired to convey the Council of\nState, and no trouble had been taken to alter them, except by pasting\nover the number a piece of paper of the same colour as the body of the\nvehicle.  The Consul's carriage was drawn by six white horses.  With the\nsight of those horses was associated the recollection of days of glory\nand of peace, for they had been presented to the General-in-Chief of the\narmy of Italy by the Emperor of Germany after the treaty of Campo-Formio.\nBonaparte also wore the magnificent sabre given him by the Emperor\nFrancis.  With Cambaceres on his left, and Lebrun in the front of the\ncarriage, the First Consul traversed a part of Paris, taking the Rue de\nThionville, and the Quai Voltaire to the Pont Royal.  Everywhere he was\ngreeted by acclamations of joy, which at that time were voluntary, and\nneeded not to be commanded by the police.\n\nFrom the wicket of the Carrousel to the gate of the Tuileries the troops\nof the Consular Guard were formed in two lines, through which the\nprocession passed--a royal custom, which made a singular contrast with an\ninscription in front of which Bonaparte passed on entering the courtyard.\nTwo guard-houses had been built, one on the right and another on the left\nof the centre gate.  On the one to the right were written these words:\n\n          \"THE TENTH of AUGUST 1792.--ROYALTY IN FRANCE\n          IS ABOLISHED; AND SHALL NEVER BE RE-ESTABLISHED!\"\n\nIt was already re-established!\n\nIn the meantime the troops had been drawn up in line in the courtyard.\nAs soon as the Consul's carriage stopped Bonaparte immediately alighted,\nand mounted, or, to speak more properly, leaped on his horse, and\nreviewed his troops, while the other two Consuls proceeded to the state\napartments of the Tuileries, where the Council of State and the Ministers\nawaited them.  A great many ladies, elegantly dressed in Greek costume,\nwhich was then the fashion, were seated with Madame Bonaparte at the\nwindows of the Third Consul's apartments in the Pavilion of Flora.  It is\nimpossible to give an idea of the immense crowds which flowed in from all\nquarters.  The windows looking to the Carrousel were let for very large\nsums; and everywhere arose, as if from one voice, shouts of \"Long live\nthe First Consul!\" Who could help being intoxicated by so much\nenthusiasm?\n\nBonaparte prolonged the review for some time, passed down all the ranks,\nand addressed the commanders of corps in terms of approbation and praise.\nHe then took his station at the gate of the Tuileries, with Murat on his\nright, and Lannes on his left, and behind him a numerous staff of young\nwarriors, whose complexions had been browned by the sun of Egypt and\nItaly, and who had been engaged in more battles than they numbered years.\nWhen the colours of the 96th, 43d, and 34th demi-brigades, or rather\ntheir flagstaffs surmounted by some shreds, riddled by balls and\nblackened by powder, passed before him, he raised his hat and inclined\nhis head in token of respect.  Every homage thus paid by a great captain\nto standards which had been mutilated on the field of battle was saluted\nby a thousand acclamations.  When the troops had finished defiling before\nhim, the First Consul, with a firm step, ascended the stairs of the\nTuileries.\n\nThe General's part being finished for the day, that of the Chief of the\nState began; and indeed it might already be said that the First Consul\nwas the whole Consulate.  At the risk of interrupting my narrative of\nwhat occurred on our arrival at the Tuileries, by a digression, which may\nbe thought out of place, I will relate a fact which had no little weight\nin hastening Bonaparte's determination to assume a superiority over his\ncolleagues.  It may be remembered that when Roger Ducos and Sieyes bore\nthe title of Consuls the three members of the Consular commission were\nequal, if not in fact at least in right.  But when Cambaceres and Lebrun\ntook their places, Talleyrand, who had at the same time been appointed to\nsucceed M. Reinhart as Minister of Foreign Affairs, obtained a private\naudience of the First Consul in his cabinet, to which I was admitted.\nThe observations of Talleyrand on this occasion were highly agreeable to\nBonaparte, and they made too deep an impression on my mind to allow me to\nforget them.\n\n\"Citizen Consul,\" said he to him, \"you have confided to me the office of\nMinister for Foreign Affairs, and I will justify your confidence; but I\nmust declare to you that from this moment, I will not transact business\nwith any but yourself.  This determination does not proceed from any vain\npride on my part, but is induced by a desire to serve France.  In order\nthat France may be well governed, in order that there may be a unity of\naction in the government, you must be First Consul, and the First Consul\nmust have the control over all that relates directly to politics; that is\nto say, over the Ministry of the Interior, and the Ministry of Police,\nfor Internal Affairs, and over my department, for Foreign Affairs; and,\nlastly, over the two great means of execution, the military and naval\nforces.  It will therefore be most convenient that the Ministers of those\nfive departments should transact business with you.  The Administration\nof Justice and the ordering of the Finances are objects certainly\nconnected with State politics by numerous links, which, however, are not\nof so intimate a nature as those of the other departments.  If you will\nallow me, General, I should advise that the control over the\nAdministration of Justice be given to the Second Consul, who is well\nversed in jurisprudence; and to the Third Consul, who is equally well\nacquainted with Finance, the control over that department.  That will\noccupy and amuse them, and you, General, having at your disposal all the\nvital parts of the government, will be able to reach the end you aim at,\nthe regeneration of France.\"\n\nBonaparte did not hear these remarkable words with indifference.  They\nwere too much in accordance with his own secret wishes to be listened to\nwithout pleasure; and he said to me as soon as Talleyrand had taken\nleave, \"Do you know, Bourrienne, I think Talleyrand gives good advice.\nHe is a man of great understanding.\"--\"Such is the opinion,\" I replied,\n\"of all who know him.\"--\"He is perfectly right.\"  Afterwards he added,\nsmiling, \"Tallyrand is evidently a shrewd man.  He has penetrated my\ndesigns.  What he advises you know I am anxious to do.  But again I say,\nhe is right; one gets on quicker by oneself.  Lebrun is a worthy man, but\nhe has no policy in his head; he is a book-maker.  Cambaceres carries\nwith him too many traditions of the Revolution.  My government must be an\nentirely new one.\"\n\nTalleyrand's advice had been so punctually followed that even on the\noccasion of the installation of the Consular Government, while Bonaparte\nwas receiving all the great civil and military officers of the State in\nthe hall of presentation, Cambaceres and Lebrun stood by more like\nspectators of the scene than two colleagues of the First Consul.  The\nMinister of the Interior presented the civil authorities of Paris; the\nMinister of War, the staff of the 17th military division; the Minister of\nMarine, several naval officers; and the staff of the Consular Guard was\npresented by Murat.  As our Consular republicans were not exactly\nSpartans, the ceremony of the presentations was followed by grand dinner-\nparties.  The First Consul entertained at his table, the two other\nConsuls, the Ministers, and the Presidents of the great bodies of the\nState.  Murat treated the heads of the army; and the members of the\nCouncil of State, being again seated in their hackney-coaches with\ncovered numbers, drove off to dine with Lucien.\n\nBefore taking possession of the Tuileries we had frequently gone there to\nsee that the repairs, or rather the whitewashing, which Bonaparte had\ndirected to be done, was executed.  On our first visit, seeing a number\nof red caps of liberty painted on the walls, he said to M. Lecomte, at\nthat time the architect in charge, \"Get rid of all these things; I do not\nlike to see such rubbish.\"\n\nThe First Consul gave directions himself for what little alterations he\nwanted in his own apartments.  A state bed--not that of Louis XVI.--was\nplaced in the chamber next his cabinet, on the south side, towards the\ngrand staircase of the Pavilion of Flora.  I may as well mention here\nthat he very seldom occupied that bed, for Bonaparte was very simple in\nhis manner of living in private, and was not fond of state, except as a\nmeans of imposing on mankind.  At the Luxembourg, at Malmaison, and\nduring the first period that he occupied the Tuileries, Bonaparte, if I\nmay speak in the language of common life, always slept with his wife.\nHe went every evening down to Josephine by a small staircase leading from\na wardrobe attached to his cabinet, and which had formerly been the\nchapel of Maria de Medici.  I never went to Bonaparte's bedchamber but\nby this staircase; and when he came to our cabinet it was always by the\nwardrobe which I have mentioned.  The door opened opposite the only\nwindow of our room, and it commanded a view of the garden.\n\nAs for our cabinet, where so many great, and also small events were\nprepared, and where I passed so many hours of my life, I can, even now,\ngive the most minute description of it to those who like such details.\n\nThere were two tables.  The best, which was the First Consul's, stood in\nthe middle of the room, and his armchair was turned with its back to the\nfireplace, having the window on the right.  To the right of this again\nwas a little closet where Duroc sat, through which we could communicate\nwith the clerk of the office and the grand apartments of the Court.\nWhen the First Consul was seated at his table in his chair (the arms of\nwhich he so frequently mutilated with his penknife) he had a large\nbookcase opposite to him.  A little to the right, on one side of the\nbookcase, was another door, opening into the cabinet which led directly\nto the state bedchamber which I have mentioned.  Thence we passed into\nthe grand Presentation Saloon, on the ceiling of which Lebrun had painted\na likeness of Louis XIV.  A tri-coloured cockade placed on the forehead\nof the great King still bore witness of the imbecile turpitude of the\nConvention.  Lastly came the hall of the Guards, in front of the grand\nstaircase of the Pavilion of Flora.\n\nMy writing-table, which was extremely plain, stood near the window, and\nin summer I had a view of the thick foliage of the chestnut-trees; but in\norder to see the promenaders in the garden I was obliged to raise myself\nfrom my seat.  My back was turned to the General's side, so that it\nrequired only a slight movement of the head to speak to each other.\nDuroc was seldom in his little cabinet, and that was the place where I\ngave some audiences.  The Consular cabinet, which afterwards became the\nImperial, has left many impressions on my mind; and I hope the reader, in\ngoing through these volumes, will not think that they have been of too\nslight a description.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\n1800.\n\n     The Tuileries--Royalty in perspective--Remarkable observation--\n     Presentations--Assumption of the prerogative of mercy--M. Defeu--\n     M. de Frotte--Georges Cadoudal's audience of Bonaparte--Rapp's\n     precaution and Bonaparte's confidence--The dignity of France--\n     Napper Tandy and Blackwell delivered up by the Senate of Hamburg--\n     Contribution in the Egyptian style--Valueless bill--Fifteen thousand\n     francs in the drawer of a secretaire--Josephine's debts--Evening\n     walks with Bonaparte.\n\nThe morning after that ardently wished-for day on which we took\npossession of the Palace of the Kings of France I observed to Bonaparte\non entering his chamber, \"Well, General, you have got here without much\ndifficulty, and with the applause of the people!  Do you remember what\nyou said to me in the Rue St. Anne nearly two years ago?\"--\"Ay, true\nenough, I recollect.  You see what it is to have the mind set on a thing.\nOnly two years have gone by!  Don't you think we have not worked badly\nsince that time?  Upon the whole I am very well content.  Yesterday\npassed off well.  Do you imagine that all those who came to flatter me\nwere sincere?  No, certainly not: but the joy of the people was real.\nThey know what is right.  Besides, consult the grand thermometer of\nopinion, the price of the funds: on the 17th Brumaire at 11 francs, on\nthe 20th at 16 and to-day at 21.  In such a state of things I may let the\nJacobins prate as they like.  But let them not talk too loudly either!\"\n\nAs soon as he was dressed we went to look through the Gallery of Diana\nand examine the statues which had been placed there by his orders.  We\nended our morning's work by taking complete possession of our new\nresidence.  I recollect Bonaparte saying to me, among other things, \"To\nbe at the Tuileries, Bourrienne, is not all.  We must stay here.  Who, in\nHeaven's name, has not already inhabited this palace?  Ruffians,\nconventionalists!  But hold! there is your brother's house!  Was it not\nfrom those windows I saw the Tuileries besieged, and the good Louis XVI.\ncarried off?  But be assured they will not come here again!\"\n\nThe Ambassadors and other foreign Ministers then in Paris were presented\nto the First Consul at a solemn audience.  On this occasion all the\nancient ceremonials belonging to the French Court were raked up, and in\nplace of chamberlains and a grand master of ceremonies a Counsellor of\nState, M. Benezech, who was once Minister for Foreign Affairs,\nofficiated.\n\nWhen the Ambassadors had all arrived M. Benezech conducted them into the\ncabinet, in which were the three Consuls, the Ministers, and the Council\nof State.  The Ambassadors presented their credentials to the First\nConsul, who handed them to the Minister for Foreign Affairs.  These\npresentations were followed by others; for example, the Tribunal of\nCassation, over which the old advocate, Target, who refused to defend\nLouis XVI., then presided.  All this passed in view of the three Consuls;\nbut the circumstance which distinguished the First Consul from his\ncolleagues was, that the official personages, on leaving the audience-\nchamber, were conducted to Madame Bonaparte's apartments, in imitation of\nthe old practice of waiting on the Queen after presentation to the King.\n\nThus old customs of royalty crept by degrees into the former abodes of\nroyalty.  Amongst the rights attached to the Crown, and which the\nConstitution of the year VIII. did not give to the First Consul, was one\nwhich he much desired to possess, and which, by the most happy of all\nusurpations, he arrogated to himself.  This was the right of granting\npardon.  Bonaparte felt a real pleasure in saving men under the sentence\nof the law; and whenever the imperious necessity of his policy, to which,\nin truth, he sacrificed everything, permitted it, he rejoiced in the\nexercise of mercy.  It would seem as if he were thankful to the persons\nto whom he rendered such service merely because he had given them\noccasion to be thankful to him.  Such was the First Consul: I do not\nspeak of the Emperor.  Bonaparte, the First Consul, was accessible to the\nsolicitations of friendship in favour of persons placed under\nproscription.  The following circumstance, which interested me much,\naffords an incontestable proof of what I state:--\n\nWhilst we were still at the Luxembourg, M. Defeu, a French emigrant, was\ntaken in the Tyrol with arms in his hand by the troops of the Republic.\nHe was carried to Grenoble, and thrown into the military prison of that\ntown.  In the course of January General Ferino, then commanding at\nGrenoble, received orders to put the young emigrant on his trial.  The\nlaws against emigrants taken in arms were terrible, and the judges dared\nnot be indulgent.  To be tried in the morning, condemned in the course of\nthe day, and shot in the evening, was the usual course of those\nimplacable proceedings.  One of my cousins, the daughter of M.\nPoitrincourt, came from Sens to Paris to inform me of the dreadful\nsituation of M. Defeu.  She told me that he was related to the most\nrespectable families of the town of Sens, and that everybody felt the\ngreatest interest in his fate.\n\nI had escaped for a few moments to keep the appointment I made with\nMademoiselle Poitrincourt.  On my return I perceived the First Consul\nsurprised at finding himself alone in the cabinet, which I was not in the\nhabit of quitting without his knowledge.  \"Where have you been?\" said he.\n\"I have been to see one of my relations, who solicits a favour of you.\"--\n\"What is it?\"  I then informed him of the unfortunate situation of M.\nDefeu.  His first answer was dreadful.  \"No pity!  no pity for emigrants!\nWhoever fights against his country is a child who tries to kill his\nmother!\"  This first burst of anger being over, I returned to the charge.\nI urged the youth of M. Defeu, and the good effect which clemency would\nproduce.  \"Well,\" said he, \"write--\n\n     \"The First Consul orders the judgment on M. Defeu to be suspended.\"\n\nHe signed this laconic order, which I instantly despatched to General\nFerino.  I acquainted my cousin with what had passed, and remained at\nease as to the result of the affair.\n\nScarcely had I entered the chamber of the First Consul the next morning\nwhen he said to me, \"Well, Bourrienne, you say nothing about your M.\nDefeu.  Are you satisfied?\"--\"General, I cannot find terms to express my\ngratitude.\"--\"Ah, bah!  But I do not like to do things by halves.  Write\nto Ferino that I wish M. Defeu to be instantly set at liberty.  Perhaps I\nam serving one who will prove ungrateful.  Well, so much the worse for\nhim.  As to these matters, Bourrienne, always ask them from me.  When I\nrefuse, it is because I cannot help it.\"\n\nI despatched at my own expense an extraordinary courier, who arrived in\ntime to save M. Defeu's life.  His mother, whose only son he was, and M.\nBlanchet, his uncle, came purposely from Sens to Paris to express their\ngratitude to me.  I saw tears of joy fall from the eyes of a mother who\nhad appeared to be destined to shed bitter drops, and I said to her as I\nfelt, \"that I was amply recompensed by the success which had attended my\nefforts.\"\n\nEmboldened by this success, and by the benevolent language of the First\nConsul, I ventured to request the pardon of M. de Frotte, who was\nstrongly recommended to me by most honourable persons.  Comte Louis de\nFrotte had at first opposed all negotiation for the pacification of La\nVendee.  At length, by a series of unfortunate combats, he was, towards\nthe end of January, reduced to the necessity of making himself the\nadvances which he had rejected when made by others.  At this period he\naddressed a letter to General Guidal, in which he offered pacificatory\nproposals.  A protection to enable him to repair to Alencon was\ntransmitted to him.  Unfortunately for M. de Frotte, he did not confine\nhimself to writing to General Guidal, for whilst the safe-conduct which\nhe had asked was on the way to him, he wrote to his lieutenants, advising\nthem not to submit or consent to be disarmed.  This letter was\nintercepted.  It gave all the appearance of a fraudulent stratagem to his\nproposal to treat for peace.  Besides, this opinion appeared to be\nconfirmed by a manifesto of M. de Frotte, anterior, it is true, to the\noffers of pacification, but in which he announced to all his partisans\nthe approaching end of Bonaparte's \"criminal enterprise.\"\n\nI had more trouble than in M. Defeu's case to induce the First Consul to\nexercise his clemency.  However, I pressed him so much, I laboured so\nhard to convince him of the happy effect of such indulgence, that at\nlength I obtained an order to suspend the judgment.  What a lesson I then\nexperienced of the evil which may result from the loss of time!  Not\nsupposing that matters were so far advanced as they were, I did not\nimmediately send off the courier with the order for the suspension of the\njudgment.  Besides, the Minister-of-Police had marked his victim, and he\nnever lost time when evil was to be done.  Having, therefore, I know not\nfor what motive, resolved on the destruction of M. de Frotte, he sent an\norder to hasten his trial.\n\nComte Louis de Frotte was brought to trial on the 28th Pluviose,\ncondemned the same day, and executed the next morning, the day before we\nentered the Tuileries.  The cruel precipitation of the Minister rendered\nthe result of my solicitations abortive.  I had reason to think that\nafter the day on which the First Consul granted me the order for delay he\nhad received some new accusation against M. de Frotte, for when he heard\nof his death he appeared to me very indifferent about the tardy arrival\nof the order for suspending judgment.  He merely said to me, with unusual\ninsensibility, \"You should take your measures better.  You see it is not\nmy fault.\"\n\nThough Bonaparte put no faith in the virtue of men, he had confidence in\ntheir honour.  I had proof of this in a matter which deserves to be\nrecorded in history.  When, during the first period of our abode at the\nTuileries, he had summoned the principal chiefs of La Vendee to\nendeavour to bring about the pacification of that unhappy country, he\nreceived Georges Cadoudal in a private audience.  The disposition in\nwhich I beheld him the evening before the day appointed for this audience\ninspired me with the most flattering hopes.  Rapp introduced Georges into\nthe grand salon looking into the garden.  Rapp left him alone with the\nFirst Consul, but on returning to the cabinet where I was he did not\nclose either of the two doors of the state bedchamber which separated the\ncabinet from the salon.  We saw the First Consul and Georges walk from\nthe window to the bottom of the salon--then return--then go back again.\nThis lasted for a long time.  The conversation appeared very animated,\nand we heard several things, but without any connection.  There was\noccasionally a good deal of ill-humour displayed in their tone and\ngestures.  The interview ended in nothing.  The First Consul, perceiving\nthat Georges entertained some apprehensions for his personal safety, gave\nhim assurances of security in the most noble manner, saying, \"You take a\nwrong view of things, and are wrong in not coming to some understanding;\nbut if you persist in wishing to return to your country you shall depart\nas freely as you came to Paris.\"  When Bonaparte returned to his cabinet\nhe said to Rapp, \"Tell me, Rapp, why you left these doors open, and\nstopped with Bourrienne?\"  Rapp replied, \"If you had closed the doors I\nwould have opened them again.  Do you think I would have left you alone\nwith a man like that?  There would have been danger in it.\"--\"No, Rapp,\"\nsaid Bonaparte, \"you cannot think so.\"  When we were alone the First\nConsul appeared pleased with Rapp's attachment, but very vexed at\nGeorges' refusal.  He said, \"He does not take a correct view of things;\nbut the extravagance of his principles has its source in noble\nsentiments, which must give him great influence over his countrymen.\nIt is necessary, however, to bring this business soon to an end.\"\n\nOf all the actions of Louis XIV. that which Bonaparte most admired was\nhis having made the Doge of Genoa send ambassadors to Paris to apologise\nto him.  The slightest insult offered in a foreign country to the rights\nand dignity of France put Napoleon beside himself.  This anxiety to have\nthe French Government respected exhibited itself in an affair which made\nmuch noise at the period, but which was amicably arranged by the soothing\ninfluence of gold.\n\nTwo Irishmen, Napper Tandy and Blackwell, who had been educated in\nFrance, and whose names and rank as officers appeared in the French army\nlist, had retired to Hamburg.  The British Government claimed them as\ntraitors to their country, and they were given up; but, as the French\nGovernment held them to be subjects of France, the transaction gave rise\nto bitter complaints against the Senate of Hamburg.\n\nBlackwell had been one of the leaders of the united Irishmen.  He had\nprocured his naturalisation in France, and had attained the rank of chef\nd'escadron.  Being sent on a secret mission to Norway, the ship in which\nhe was embarked was wrecked on the coast of that kingdom.  He then\nrepaired to Hamburg, where the Senate placed him under arrest on the\ndemand of Mr. Crawford, the English Minister.  After being detained in\nprison a whole year he was conveyed to England to be tried.  The French\nGovernment interfered, and preserved, if not his liberty, at least his\nlife.\n\nNapper Tandy was also an Irishman.  To escape the search made after him,\non account of the sentiments of independence which had induced him to\nengage in the contest for the liberty of his country, he got on board a\nFrench brig, intending to land at Hamburg and pass into Sweden.  Being\nexempted from the amnesty by the Irish Parliament, he was claimed by the\nBritish Government, and the Senators of Hamburg forgot honour and\nhumanity in their alarm at the danger which at that moment menaced their\nlittle republic both from England and France.  The Senate delivered up\nNapper Tandy; he was carried to Ireland, and condemned to death, but owed\nthe suspension of his execution to the interference of France.  He\nremained two years in prison, when M. Otto, who negotiated with Lord\nHawkesbury the preliminaries of peace, obtained the release of Napper\nTandy, who was sent back to France.\n\nThe First Consul spoke at first of signal vengeance; but the Senate of\nHamburg sent him a memorial, justificatory of its conduct, and backed the\napology with a sum of four millions and a half, which mollified him\nconsiderably.  This was in some sort a recollection of Egypt--one of\nthose little contributions with which the General had familiarised the\npashas; with this difference, that on the present occasion not a single\nsous went into the national treasury.  The sum was paid to the First\nConsul through the hands of M. Chapeau Rouge.\n\n     --[A solemn deputation from the Senate arrived at the Tuileries to\n     make public apologies to Napoleon.  He again testified his\n     indignation: and when the envoys urged their weakness he said to\n     them.  \"Well and had you not the resource of weak states? was it not\n     in your power to let them escape?\" (Napoleon's Memoirs).]--\n\nI kept the four millions and a half in Dutch bonds in a secretaire for a\nweek.  Bonaparte then determined to distribute them; after paying\nJosephine's debts, and the whole of the great expenses incurred at\nMalmaison, he dictated to me a list of persons to whom he wished to make\npresents.  My name did not escape his lips, and consequently I had not\nthe trouble to transcribe it; but some time after he said to me, with the\nmost engaging kindness, \"Bourrienne, I have given you none of the money\nwhich came from Hamburg, but I will make you amends for it.\"  He took\nfrom his drawer a large and broad sheet of printed paper, with blanks\nfilled up in his own handwriting, and said to me, \"Here is a bill for\n300,000 Italian livres on the Cisalpine Republic, for the price of cannon\nfurnished.  It is endorsed Halter and Collot--I give it you.\"  To make\nthis understood, I ought to state that cannon had been sold to the\nCisalpine Republic, for the value of which the Administrator-general of\nthe Italian finances drew on the Republic, and the bills were paid over\nto M. Collot, a provision contractor, and other persons.  M. Collot had\ngiven one of these bills for 300,000 livres to Bonaparte in quittance of\na debt, but the latter had allowed the bill to run out without troubling\nhimself about it.  The Cisalpine Republic kept the cannons and the money,\nand the First Consul kept his bill.  When I had examined it I said,\n\"General, it has been due for a long time; why have you not got it paid?\nThe endorsers are no longer liable.\"--\"France is bound to discharge debts\nof this kind;\" said he; \"send the paper to de Fermont: he will discount\nit for three per cent.  You will not have in ready money more than about\n9000 francs of rentes, because the Italian livre is not equal to the\nfranc.\"  I thanked him, and sent the bill to M. de Fermont.  He replied\nthat the claim was bad, and that the bill would not be liquidated because\nit did not come within the classifications made by the laws passed in the\nmonths the names of which terminated in 'aire, ose, al, and or'.\n\nI showed M. de Fermont's answer to the First Consul, who said, \"Ah, bah!\nHe understands nothing about it--he is wrong: write.\"  He then dictated a\nletter, which promised very favourably for the discounting of the bill;\nbut the answer was a fresh refusal.  I said, \"General, M. de Fermont does\nnot attend to you any more than to myself.\"  Bonaparte took the letter,\nread it, and said, in the tone of a man who knew beforehand what he was\nabout to be informed of, \"Well, what the devil would you have me do,\nsince the laws are opposed to it?  Persevere; follow the usual modes of\nliquidation, and something will come of it!\" What finally happened was,\nthat by a regular decree this bill was cancelled, torn, and deposited in\nthe archives.  These 300,000 livres formed part of the money which\nBonaparte brought from Italy.  If the bill was useless to me it was also\nuseless to him.  This scrap of paper merely proves that he brought more\nthan 25,000 francs from Italy.\n\nI never had, from the General-in-Chief of the army of Italy, nor from the\nGeneral in-Chief of the army of Egypt, nor from the First Consul, for\nten years, nor from the Consul for life, any fixed salary: I took from\nhis drawer what was necessary for my expenses as well as his own. He\nnever asked me for any account.  After the transaction of the bill on the\ninsolvent Cisalpine Republic he said to me, at the beginning of the\nwinter of 1800, \"Bourrienne, the weather is becoming very bad; I will go\nbut seldom to Malmaison.  Whilst I am at council get my papers and little\narticles from Malmaison; here is the key of my secretaire, take out\neverything that is there.\"  I got into the carriage at two o'clock and\nreturned at six.  When he had dined I placed upon the table of his\ncabinet the various articles which I had found in his secretaire\nincluding 15,000 francs (somewhere about L 600 of English money) in\nbanknotes which were in the corner of a little drawer.  When he looked at\nthem he said, \"Here is money--what is the meaning of this?\" I replied,\n\"I know nothing about it, except that it was in your secretaire.\"--\n\"Oh yes; I had forgotten it.  It was for my trifling expenses.  Here,\ntake it.\"  I remembered well that one summer morning he had given me his\nkey to bring him two notes of 1000 francs for some incidental expense,\nbut I had no idea that he had not drawn further on his little treasure.\n\nI have stated the appropriation of the four millions and a half, the\nresult of the extortion inflicted on the Senate of Hamburg, in the affair\nof Napper Tandy and Blackwell.\n\nThe whole, however, was not disposed of in presents.  A considerable\nportion was reserved for paying Josephine's debts, and this business\nappears to me to deserve some remarks.\n\nThe estate of Malmaison had cost 160,000 francs.  Josephine had purchased\nit of M. Lecouteulx while we were in Egypt.  Many embellishments, and\nsome new buildings, had been made there; and a park had been added, which\nhad now become beautiful.  All this could not be done for nothing, and\nbesides, it was very necessary that what was due for the original\npurchase should be entirely discharged; and this considerable item was\nnot the only debt of Josephine.  The creditors murmured, which had a bad\neffect in Paris; and I confess I was so well convinced that the First\nConsul would be extremely displeased that I constantly delayed the moment\nof speaking to him on the subject.  It was therefore with extreme\nsatisfaction I learned that M. de Talleyrand had anticipated me.  No\nperson was more capable than himself of gilding the pill, as one may say,\nto Bonaparte.  Endowed with as much independence of character as of mind,\nhe did him the service, at the risk of offending him, to tell him that a\ngreat number of creditors expressed their discontent in bitter complaints\nrespecting the debts contracted by Madame Bonaparte during his expedition\nto the East.  Bonaparte felt that his situation required him promptly to\nremove the cause of such complaints.  It was one night about half-past\neleven o'clock that M. Talleyrand introduced this delicate subject.  As\nsoon he was gone I entered the little cabinet; Bonaparte said to me,\n\"Bourrienne, Talleyrand has been speaking to me about the debts of my\nwife.  I have the money from Hamburg--ask her the exact amount of her\ndebts: let her confess all. I wish to finish, and not begin again.  But\ndo not pay without showing me the bills of those rascals: they are a gang\nof robbers.\"\n\nHitherto the apprehension of an unpleasant scene, the very idea of which\nmade Josephine tremble, had always prevented me from broaching this\nsubject to the First Consul; but, well pleased that Talleyrand had first\ntouched upon it, I resolved to do all in my power to put an end to the\ndisagreeable affair.\n\nThe next morning I saw Josephine.  She was at first delighted with her\nhusband's intentions; but this feeling did not last long.  When I asked\nher for an exact account of what she owed she entreated me not to press\nit, but content myself with what she should confess.  I said to her,\n\"Madame, I cannot deceive you respecting the disposition of the First\nConsul.  He believes that you owe a considerable sum, and is willing to\ndischarge it.  You will, I doubt not, have to endure some bitter\nreproaches, and a violent scene; but the scene will be just the same for\nthe whole as for a part.  If you conceal a large proportion of your debts\nat the end of some time murmurs will recommence, they will reach the ears\nof the First Consul, and his anger will display itself still more\nstrikingly.  Trust to me--state all; the result will be the same; you\nwill hear but once the disagreeable things he will say to you; by\nreservations you will renew them incessantly.\"  Josephine said, \"I can\nnever tell all; it is impossible.  Do me the service to keep secret what\nI say to you.  I owe, I believe, about 1,200,000 francs, but I wish to\nconfess only 600,000; I will contract no more debts, and will pay the\nrest little by little out of my savings.\"--\"Here, Madame, my first\nobservations recur.  As I do not believe he estimates your debts at so\nhigh a sum as 600,000 francs, I can warrant that you will not experience\nmore displeasure for acknowledging to 1,200,000 than to 600,000; and by\ngoing so far you will get rid of them for ever.\"--\"I can never do it,\nBourrienne; I know him; I can never support his violence.\"  After a\nquarter of an hour's further discussion on the subject I was obliged to\nyield to her earnest solicitation, and promise to mention only the\n600,000 francs to the First Consul.\n\nThe anger and ill-humour of Bonaparte may be imagined.  He strongly\nsuspected that his wife was dissembling in some respect; but he said,\n\"Well, take 600,000 francs, but liquidate the debts for that sum, and let\nme hear nothing more on the subject.  I authorise you to threaten these\ntradesmen with paying nothing if they do not reduce their enormous\ncharges.  They ought to be taught not to be so ready in giving credit.\"\nMadame Bonaparte gave me all her bills.  The extent to which the articles\nhad been overcharged, owing to the fear of not being paid for a long\nperiod, and of deductions being made from the amount, was inconceivable.\nIt appeared to me, also, that there must be some exaggeration in the\nnumber of articles supplied.  I observed in the milliner's bill thirty-\neight new hats, of great price, in one month.  There was likewise a\ncharge of 1800 francs for heron plumes, and 800 francs for perfumes.\nI asked Josephine whether she wore out two hats in one day?  She objected\nto this charge for the hats, which she merely called a mistake.  The\nimpositions which the saddler attempted, both in the extravagance of his\nprices and in charging for articles which he had not furnished, were\nastonishing.  I need say nothing of the other tradesmen, it was the same\nsystem of plunder throughout.\n\nI availed myself fully of the First Consul's permission, and spared\nneither reproaches nor menaces.  I am ashamed to say that the greater\npart of the tradesmen were contented with the half of what they demanded.\nOne of them received 35,000 francs for a bill of 80,000; and he had the\nimpudence to tell me that he made a good profit nevertheless.  Finally, I\nwas fortunate enough, after the most vehement disputes, to settle\neverything for 600,000 francs.  Madame Bonaparte, however, soon fell\nagain into the same excesses, but fortunately money became more\nplentiful.  This inconceivable mania of spending money was almost the\nsole cause of her unhappiness.  Her thoughtless profusion occasioned\npermanent disorder in her household until the period of Bonaparte's\nsecond marriage, when, I am informed, she became regular in her\nexpenditure.  I could not say so of her when she was Empress in 1804.\n\n     --[Notwithstanding her husband's wish, she could never bring her\n     establishment into any order or rule.  He wished that no tradesmen\n     should ever reach her, but he was forced to yield on this point.\n     The small inner rooms were filled with them, as with artists of all\n     sorts.  She had a mania for having herself painted, and gave her\n     portraits to whoever wished for one, relations, 'femmes de chambre',\n     even to tradesmen.  They never ceased bringing her diamonds, jewels,\n     shawls, materials for dresses, and trinkets of all kinds; she bought\n     everything without ever asking the price; and generally forgot what\n     she had purchased.  .  .  All the morning she had on a shawl which\n     she draped on her shoulders with a grace I have seen in no one else.\n     Bonaparte, who thought her shawls covered her too much, tore them\n     off, and sometimes threw them into the fire; then she sent for\n     another (Remusat, tome ii.  pp. 343-345).  After the divorce her\n     income, large as it was, was insufficient, but the Emperor was more\n     compassionate then, and when sending the Comte Mollien to settle her\n     affairs gave him strict orders \"not to make her weep\" (Meneval,\n     tome iii. p.237]--\n\nThe amiable Josephine had not less ambition in little things than her\nhusband had in great.  She felt pleasure in acquiring and not in\npossessing.  Who would suppose it?  She grew tired of the beauty of the\npark of Malmaison, and was always asking me to take her out on the high\nroad, either in the direction of Nanterre, or on that of Marly, in the\nmidst of the dust occasioned by the passing of carriages.  The noise of\nthe high road appeared to her preferable to the calm silence of the\nbeautiful avenues of the park, and in this respect Hortense had the same\ntaste as her mother.  This whimsical fancy astonished Bonaparte, and he\nwas sometimes vexed at it.  My intercourse with Josephine was delightful;\nfor I never saw a woman who so constantly entered society with such an\nequable disposition, or with so much of the spirit of kindness, which is\nthe first principle of amiability.  She was so obligingly attentive as to\ncause a pretty suite of apartments to be prepared at Malmaison for me and\nmy family.\n\nShe pressed me earnestly, and with all her known grace, to accept it; but\nalmost as much a captive at Paris as a prisoner of state, I wished to\nhave to myself in the country the moments of liberty I was permitted to\nenjoy.  Yet what was this liberty?  I had bought a little house at Ruel,\nwhich I kept during two years and a half.  When I saw my friends there,\nit had to be at midnight, or at five o'clock in the morning; and the\nFirst Consul would often send for me in the night when couriers arrived.\nIt was for this sort of liberty I refused Josephine's kind offer.\nBonaparte came once to see me in my retreat at Ruel, but Josephine and\nHortense came often. It was a favourite walk with these ladies.\n\nAt Paris I was less frequently absent from Bonaparte than at Malmaison.\nWe sometimes in the evening walked together in the garden of the\nTuileries after the gates were closed.  In these evening walks he always\nwore a gray greatcoat, and a round hat.  I was directed to answer,\n\"The First Consul,\" to the sentinel's challenge of, \"Who goes there?\"\nThese promenades, which were of much benefit to Bonaparte, and me also,\nas a relaxation from our labours, resembled those which we had at\nMalmaison.  As to our promenades in the city, they were often very\namusing.\n\nAt the period of our first inhabiting the Tuileries, when I saw Bonaparte\nenter the cabinet at eight o'clock in the evening in his gray coat, I\nknew he would say, \"Bourrienne, come and take a turn.\"  Sometimes, then,\ninstead of going out by the garden arcade, we would take the little gate\nwhich leads from the court to the apartments of the Duc d'Angouleme.  He\nwould take my arm, and we would go to buy articles of trifling value in\nthe shops of the Rue St. Honore; but we did not extend our excursions\nfarther than Rue de l'Arbre Sec.  Whilst I made the shopkeeper exhibit\nbefore us the articles which I appeared anxious to buy he played his part\nin asking questions.\n\nNothing was more amusing than to see him endeavouring to imitate the\ncareless and jocular tone of the young men of fashion.  How awkward was\nhe in the attempt to put on dandy airs when pulling up the corners of his\ncravat he would say, \"Well, Madame, is there anything new to-day?\nCitizen, what say they of Bonaparte?  Your shop appears to be well\nsupplied.  You surely have a great deal of custom.  What do people say of\nthat buffoon, Bonaparte?\"  He was made quite happy one day when we were\nobliged to retire hastily from a shop to avoid the attacks drawn upon us\nby the irreverent tone in which Bonaparte spoke of the First Consul.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\n1800.\n\n     War and monuments--Influence of the recollections of Egypt--\n     First improvements in Paris--Malmaison too little--St. Cloud taken\n     --The Pont des Arts--Business prescribed for me by Bonaparte--\n     Pecuniary remuneration--The First Consul's visit to the Pritanee--\n     His examination of the pupils--Consular pensions--Tragical death of\n     Miackzinski--Introduction of vaccination--Recall of the members of\n     the Constituent Assembly--The \"canary\" volunteers--Tronchet and\n     Target--Liberation of the Austrian prisoners--Longchamps and sacred\n     music.\n\nThe destruction of men and the construction of monuments were two things\nperfectly in unison in the mind of Bonaparte.  It may be said that his\npassion for monuments almost equalled his passion for war;\n\n     --[Take pleasure, if you can, in reading your returns.  The good\n     condition of my armies is owing to my devoting to them one or two\n     hours in every day.  When the monthly returns of my armies and of my\n     fleets, which form twenty thick volumes, are sent to me, I give up\n     every other occupation in order to read them in detail and to\n     observe the difference between one monthly return and another.\n     No young girl enjoys her novel so much as I do these returns!\n     (Napoleon to Joseph, 20th August 1806--Du Casse, tome iii.\n     p. 145).]--\n\nbut as in all things he disliked what was little and mean, so he liked\nvast constructions and great battles.  The sight of the colossal ruins of\nthe monuments of Egypt had not a little contributed to augment his\nnatural taste for great structures.  It was not so much the monuments\nthemselves that he admired, but the historical recollections they\nperpetuate, the great names they consecrate, the important events they\nattest. What should he have cared for the column which we beheld on our\narrival in Alexandria had it not been Pompey's pillar?  It is for artists\nto admire or censure its proportions and ornaments, for men of learning\nto explain its inscriptions; but the name of Pompey renders it an object\nof interest to all.\n\nWhen endeavouring to sketch the character of Bonaparte, I ought to have\nnoticed his taste for monuments, for without this characteristic trait\nsomething essential is wanting to the completion of the portrait.  This\ntaste, or, as it may more properly be called, this passion for monuments,\nexercised no small influence on his thoughts and projects of glory; yet\nit did not deter him from directing attention to public improvements of\na less ostentatious kind.  He wished for great monuments to perpetuate\nthe recollection of his glory; but at the same time he knew how to\nappreciate all that was truly useful.  He could very rarely be reproached\nfor rejecting any plan without examination; and this examination was a\nspeedy affair, for his natural tact enabled him immediately to see things\nin their proper light.\n\nThough most of the monuments and embellishments of Paris are executed\nfrom the plans of men of talent, yet some owe their origin to\ncircumstances merely accidental.  Of this I can mention an example.\n\nI was standing at the window of Bonaparte's' cabinet, which looked into\nthe garden of the Tuileries.  He had gone out, and I took advantage of\nhis absence to arise from my chair, for I was tired of sitting.  He had\nscarcely been gone a minute when he unexpectedly returned to ask me for a\npaper.  \"What are you doing there, Bourrienne?  I'll wager anything you\nare admiring the ladies walking on the terrace.\"--\"Why, I must confess I\ndo sometimes amuse myself in that way,\" replied I; \"but I assure you,\nGeneral, I was now thinking of something else.  I was looking at that\nvillainous left bank of the Seine, which always annoys me with the gaps\nin its dirty quay, and the floodings which almost every winter prevent\ncommunication with the Faubourg St. Germain; and I was thinking I would\nspeak to you on the subject.\"  He approached the window, and, looking\nout, said, \"You are right, it is very ugly; and very offensive to see\ndirty linen washed before our windows.  Here, write immediately: 'The\nquay of the Ecole de Natation is to be finished during next campaign.'\nSend that order to the Minister of the Interior.\"  The quay was finished\nthe year following.\n\nAn instance of the enormous difference which frequently appears between\nthe original estimates of architects and their subsequent accounts I may\nmention what occurred in relation to the Palace of St. Cloud.  But I must\nfirst say a word about the manner in which Bonaparte originally refused\nand afterwards took possession of the Queen's pleasure-house.  Malmaison\nwas a suitable country residence for Bonaparte as long as he remained\ncontent with his town apartments in the little Luxembourg; but that\nConsular 'bagatelle' was too confined in comparison with the spacious\napartments in the Tuileries.  The inhabitants of St. Cloud, well-advised,\naddressed a petition to the Legislative Body, praying that their deserted\nchateau might be made the summer residence of the First Consul.  The\npetition was referred to the Government; but Bonaparte, who was not yet\nConsul for life, proudly declared that so long as he was at the head of\naffairs, and, indeed, for a year afterwards, he would accept no national\nrecompense.  Sometime after we went to visit the palace of the 18th\nBrumaire.  Bonaparte liked it exceedingly, but all was in a state of\ncomplete dilapidation.  It bore evident marks of the Revolution.  The\nFirst Consul did not wish, as yet, to burden the budget of the State with\nhis personal expenses, and he was alarmed at the enormous sum required to\nrender St. Cloud habitable.  Flattery had not yet arrived at the degree\nof proficiency which it subsequently attained; but even then his\nflatterers boldly assured him he might take possession of St. Cloud for\n25,000 francs.  I told the First Consul that considering the ruinous\nstate of the place, I could to say that the expense would amount to more\nthan 1,200,000 francs.  Bonaparte determined to have a regular estimate\nof the expense, and it amounted to nearly 3,000,000.  He thought it a\ngreat sum; but as he had resolved to make St. Cloud his residence he gave\norders for commencing the repairs, the expense of which, independently of\nthe furniture, amounted to 6,000,000.  So much for the 3,000,000 of the\narchitect and the 25,000 francs of the flatterers.\n\nWhen the First Consul contemplated the building of the Pont des Arts we\nhad a long conversation on the subject.  I observed that it would be much\nbetter to build the bridge of stone.  \"The first object of monuments of\nthis kind,\" said I, \"is public utility.  They require solidity of\nappearance, and their principal merit is duration.  I cannot conceive,\nGeneral, why, in a country where there is abundance of fine stone of\nevery quality, the use of iron should be preferred.\"--\"Write,\" said\nBonaparte, \"to Fontaine and Percier, the architects, and ask what they\nthink of it.\"  I wrote and they stated in their answer that \"bridges were\nintended for public utility and the embellishment of cities.  The\nprojected bridge between the Louvre and the Quatre-Nations would\nunquestionably fulfil the first of these objects, as was proved by the\ngreat number of persons who daily crossed the Seine at that point in\nboats; that the site fixed upon between the Pont Neuf and the Tuileries\nappeared to be the best that could be chosen for the purpose; and that on\nthe score of ornament Paris would gain little by the construction of an\niron bridge, which would be very narrow, and which, from its light form,\nwould not correspond with the grandeur of the two bridges between which\nit would be placed.\"\n\nWhen we had received the answer of MM. Percier and Fontaine, we again had\na conversation on the subject of the bridge.  I told the First Consul that\nI perfectly concurred in the opinion of MM. Fontaine and Percier; however,\nhe would have his own way, and thus was authorised the construction\nof the toy which formed a communication between the Louvre and the\nInstitute.  But no sooner was the Pont des Arts finished than Bonaparte\npronounced it to be mean and out of keeping with the other bridges above\nand below it.  One day when visiting the Louvre he stopped at one of the\nwindows looking towards the Pont des Arts and said, \"There is no\nsolidity, no grandeur about that bridge.  In England, where stone is\nscarce, it is very natural that iron should be used for arches of large\ndimensions.  But the case is different in France, where the requisite\nmaterial is abundant.\"\n\nThe infernal machine of the 3d Nivose, of which I shall presently speak\nmore at length, was the signal for vast changes in the quarter of the\nTuileries.  That horrible attempt was at least so far attended by happy\nresults that it contributed to the embellishment of Paris.  It was\nthought more advisable for the Government to buy and pull down the houses\nwhich had been injured by the machine than to let them be put under\nrepair.  As an example of Bonaparte's grand schemes in building I may\nmention that, being one day at the Louvre, he pointed towards St. Germain\nl'Auxerrois and said to me, \"That is where I will build an imperial\nstreet.  It shall run from here to the Barriere du Trone.  It shall be a\nhundred feet broad, and have arcades and plantations.  This street shall\nbe the finest in the world.\"\n\nThe palace of the King of Rome, which was to face the Pont de Jena and\nthe Champ de Mars, would have been in some measure isolated from Paris,\nwith which, however, it was to be connected by a line of palaces.  These\nwere to extend along the quay, and were destined as splendid residences\nfor the Ambassadors of foreign sovereigns, at least as long as there\nshould be any sovereigns in Europe except Napoleon.  The Temple of Glory,\ntoo, which was to occupy the site of the Church of la Madeleine, was\nnever finished.  If the plan of this monument proved the necessity.\nwhich Bonaparte felt of constantly holding out stimulants to his\nsoldiers, its relinquishment was at least a proof of his wisdom.  He who\nhad reestablished religious worship in France, and had restored to its\ndestination the church of the Invalides, which was for a time\nmetamorphosed into the Temple of Mars, foresaw that a Temple of Glory\nwould give birth to a sort of paganism incompatible with the ideas of the\nage.\n\nThe recollection of the magnificent Necropolis of Cairo frequently\nrecurred to Bonaparte's mind.  He had admired that city of the dead,\nwhich he had partly contributed to people; and his design was to make,\nat the four cardinal points of Paris, four vast cemeteries on the plan\nof that at Cairo.\n\nBonaparte determined that all the new streets of Paris should be 40 feet\nwide, and be provided with foot-pavements; in short, he thought nothing\ntoo grand for the embellishment of the capital of a country which he\nwished to make the first in the world.  Next to war, he regarded the\nembellishment of Paris as the source of his glory; and he never\nconsidered a victory fully achieved until he had raised a monument to\ntransmit its memory to posterity.  He, wanted glory, uninterrupted\nglory, for France as well as for himself. How often, when talking over\nhis schemes, has he not said, \"Bourrienne, it is for France I am doing\nall this!  All I wish, all I desire, the end of all my labours is, that\nmy name should be indissolubly connected with that of France!\"\n\nParis is not the only city, nor is France the only kingdom, which bears\ntraces of Napoleon's passion for great and useful monuments.  In Belgium,\nin Holland, in Piedmont, in all Italy, he executed great improvements.\nAt Turin a splendid bridge was built over the Po, in lieu of an old\nbridge which was falling in ruins.\n\nHow many things were undertaken and executed in Napoleon's short and\neventful reign!  To obviate the difficulty of communication between Metz\nand Mayence a magnificent road was made, as if by magic, across\nimpracticable marshes and vast forests.  Mountains were cut through and\nravines filled up.  He would not allow nature more than man to resist\nhim.  One day when he was proceeding to Belgium by the way of Givet, he\nwas detained for a short time at Little Givet, on the right bank of the\nMeuse, in consequence of an accident which happened to the ferry-boat.\nHe was within a gunshot of the fortress of Charlemont, on the left bank,\nand in the vexation which the delay occasioned he dictated the following\ndecree: \"A bridge shall be built over the Meuse to join Little Givet to\nGreat Givet.  It shall be terminated during the ensuing campaign.\"  It\nwas completed within the prescribed time. In the great work of bridges\nand highways Bonaparte's chief object was to remove the obstacles and\nbarriers which nature had raised up as the limits of old France so as to\nform a junction with the provinces which he successively annexed to the\nEmpire.  Thus in Savoy a road, smooth as a garden-walk, superseded the\ndangerous ascents and descents of the wood of Bramant; thus was the\npassage of Mont Cenis a pleasant promenade at almost every season of the\nyear; thus did the Simplon bow his head, and Bonaparte might have said,\n\"There are now my Alps,\" with more reason than Louis XIV. said, \"There\nare now no Pyrenees.\"\n\n     --[Metternich (tome iv.  p.  187) says on this subject, 'If you look\n     closely at the course of human affairs you will make strange\n     discoveries.  For instance, that the Simplon Pass has contributed as\n     surely to Napoleon's immortality as the numerous works done in the\n     reign of the Emperor Francis will fail to add to his.]--\n\nSuch was the implicit confidence which Bonaparte reposed in me that I was\noften alarmed at the responsibility it obliged me to incur.\n\n     --[Of this confidence the following instructions for me, which he\n     dictated to Duroc, afford sufficient proof:--\n\n     \"1st.  Citizen Bourrienne shall open all the letters addressed to\n     the First Consul, Vol, and present them to him three times a day, or\n     oftener in case of urgent business.  The letters shall be deposited\n     in the cabinet when they are opened.  Bourrienne is to analyse all\n     those which are of secondary interest, and write the First Consul's\n     decision on each letter.  The hours for presenting the letters shall\n     be, first, when the Consul rises; second, a quarter of an hour\n     before dinner; and third, at eleven at night.\n\n     \"2d.  He is to have the superintendence of the Topographical office,\n     and of an office of Translation, in which there shall be a German\n     and an English clerk.  Every day he shall present to the First\n     Consul, at the hours above mentioned the German and English\n     journals, together with a translation.  With respect to the Italian\n     journals, it will only be necessary to mark what the First Consul is\n     to read.\n\n     \"3d.  He shall keep a register of appointments to offices under\n     Government; a second, for appointments to judicial posts; a third\n     for appointments to places abroad; and a fourth, for the situations\n     of receivers and great financial posts, where he is to inscribe the\n     names of all the individuals whom the First Consul may refer to him.\n     These registers must be written by his own hand, and must be kept\n     entirely private.\n\n     \"4th.  Secret correspondence, and the different reports of\n     surveillance, are to be addressed directly to Bourrienne, and\n     transmitted by him to the hand of the First Consul, by whom they\n     will be returned without the intervention of any third party.\n\n     \"6th.  There shall be a register for all that relates to secret\n     extraordinary expenditure.  Bourrienne shall write the whole with\n     his own hand, in order that the business may be kept from the\n     knowledge of any one.\n\n     \"7th.  He shall despatch all the business which may be referred to\n     him, either from Citizen Duroc, or from the cabinet of the First\n     Consul, taking care to arrange everything so as to secure secrecy.\n\n                                   \"(Signed) \"BONAPARTE, First Council.\n\n     \"Paris, 13th Germinal, year VIII.\n     \"(3d.  April 1800.)\"]--\n\n\nOfficial business was not the only labour that devolved upon me.  I had\nto write to the dictation of the First Consul during a great part of the\nday, or to decipher his writing, which was always the most laborious part\nof my duty.  I was so closely employed that I scarcely ever went out; and\nwhen by chance I dined in town, I could not arrive until the very moment\nof dinner, and I was obliged to run away immediately after it.  Once a\nmonth, at most, I went without Bonaparte to the Comedie Francaise, but I\nwas obliged to return at nine o'clock, that being the hour at which we\nresumed business.  Corvisart, with whom I was intimately acquainted,\nconstantly expressed his apprehensions about my health; but my zeal\ncarried me through every difficulty, and during our stay at the Tuileries\nI cannot express how happy I was in enjoying the unreserved confidence of\nthe man on whom the eyes of all Europe were filed.  So perfect was this\nconfidence that Bonaparte, neither as General, Consul, nor Emperor, ever\ngave me any fixed salary.  In money matters we were still comrades: I\ntook from his funds what was necessary to defray my expenses, and of this\nBonaparte never once asked me for any account.\n\nHe often mentioned his wish to regenerate public education, which he\nthought was ill managed.  The central schools did not please him; but he\ncould not withhold his admiration from the Polytechnic School, the finest\nestablishment of education that was ever founded, but which he afterwards\nspoiled by giving it a military organisation.  In only one college of\nParis the old system of study was preserved: this was the Louis-le-Grand,\nwhich had received the name of Pritanee.  The First Consul directed the\nMinister of the Interior to draw up a report on that establishment; and\nhe himself went to pay an unexpected visit to the Pritanee, accompanied\nby M. Lebrun and Duroc.  He remained there upwards of an hour, and in the\nevening he spoke to me with much interest on the subject of his visit.\n\"Do you know, Bourrienne,\" said he, \"that I have been performing the\nduties of professor?\"--\"You, General!\"--\"Yes! and I did not acquit\nmyself badly.  I examined the pupils in the mathematical class; and I\nrecollected enough of my Bezout to make some demonstrations before them.\nI went everywhere, into the bedrooms and the dining-room.  I tasted the\nsoup, which is better than we used to have at Brienne.  I must devote\nserious attention to public education and the management of the colleges.\nThe pupils must have a uniform.  I observed some well and others ill\ndressed.  That will not do.  At college, above all places, there should\nbe equality.  But I was much pleased with the pupils of the Pritanee.\nI wish to know the names of those I examined, and I have desired Duroc to\nreport them to me.  I will give them rewards; that stimulates young\npeople.  I will provide for some of them.\"\n\nOn this subject Bonaparte did not confine himself to an empty scheme.\nAfter consulting with the headmaster of the Pritanee, he granted pensions\nof 200 francs to seven or eight of the most distinguished pupils of the\nestablishment, and he placed three of them in the department of Foreign\nAffairs, under the title of diplomatic pupils.\n\n     --[This institution of diplomatic pupils was originally suggested by\n     M. de Talleyrand.]--\n\nWhat I have just said respecting the First Consul's visit to the Pritanee\nreminds me of a very extraordinary circumstance which arose out of it.\nAmong the pupils at the Pritanee there was a son of General Miackzinski,\nwho died fighting under the banners of the Republic.  Young Miackzinski\nwas then sixteen or seventeen years of age.  He soon quitted the college,\nentered the army as a volunteer, and was one of a corps reviewed by\nBonaparte, in the plain of Sablons.  He was pointed out to the First\nConsul, who said to him, \"I knew your father.  Follow his example, and\nin six months you shall be an officer.\"  Six months elapsed, and\nMiackzinski wrote to the First Consul, reminding him of his promise.  No\nanswer was returned, and the young man then wrote a second letter as\nfollows:\n\n     You desired me to prove myself worthy of my father; I have done so.\n     You promised that I should be an officer in six months; seven have\n     elapsed since that promise was made.  When you receive this letter I\n     shall be no more.  I cannot live under a Government the head of\n     which breaks his word.\n\nPoor Miackzinski kept his word but too faithfully.  After writing the\nabove letter to the First Consul he retired to his chamber and blew out\nhis brains with a pistol.  A few days after this tragical event\nMiackzinski's commission was transmitted to his corps, for Bonaparte had\nnot forgotten him.  A delay in the War Office had caused the death of\nthis promising young man. Bonaparte was much affected at the circumstance,\nand he said to me, \"These Poles have such refined notions of honour....\nPoor Sulkowski, I am sure, would have done the same.\"\n\nAt the commencement of the Consulate it was gratifying to see how\nactively Bonaparte was seconded in the execution of plans for the social\nregeneration of France; all seemed animated with new life, and every one\nstrove to do good as if it were a matter of competition.\n\nEvery circumstance concurred to favour the good intentions of the\nFirst Consul.  Vaccination, which, perhaps, has saved as many lives\nas war has sacrificed, was introduced into France by M. d Liancourt; and\nBonaparte, immediately appreciating the value of such a discovery, gave\nit his decided approbation.  At the same time a council of Prizes was\nestablished, and the old members of the Constituent Assembly were invited\nto return to France.  It was for their sake and that of the Royalists\nthat the First Consul recalled them, but it was to please the Jacobins,\nwhom he was endeavouring to conciliate, that their return was subject to\nrestrictions.  At first the invitation to return to France extended only\nto those who could prove that they had voted in favour of the abolition\nof nobility.  The lists of emigrants were closed, and committees were\nappointed to investigate their claims to the privilege of returning.\n\nFrom the commencement of the month of Germinal the reorganisation of the\narmy of Italy had proceeded with renewed activity.  The presence in Paris\nof the fine corps of the Consular Guard, added to the desire of showing\nthemselves off in gay uniforms, had stimulated the military ardour of\nmany respectable young men of the capital.  Taking advantage of this\ncircumstance the First Consul created a corps of volunteers destined for\nthe army of reserve, which was to remain at Dijon.  He saw the advantage\nof connecting a great number of families with his cause, and imbuing them\nwith the spirit of the army.  This volunteer corps wore a yellow uniform\nwhich, in some of the salons of Paris where it was still the custom to\nridicule everything, obtained for them the nickname of \"canaries.\"\nBonaparte, who did not always relish a joke, took this in very ill part,\nand often expressed to me his vexation at it.  However, he was gratified\nto observe in the composition of this corps a first specimen of\nprivileged soldiers; an idea which he acted upon when he created the\norderly gendarmes in the campaign of Jena, and when he organised the\nguards of honour after the disasters of Moscow.\n\nIn every action of his life Bonaparte had some particular object in view.\nI recollect his saying to me one day, \"Bourrienne, I cannot yet venture\nto do anything against the regicides; but I will let them see what I\nthink of them.  To-morrow I shall have some business with Abrial\nrespecting the organisation of the court of Cassation.  Target, who is\nthe president of that court, would not defend Louis XVI.  Well, whom do\nyou think I mean to appoint in his place?  .  .  .  Tronchet, who did\ndefend the king.  They may say what they please; I care not.\"\n\n     --[On this, as on many other occasions, the cynicism of Bonaparte's\n     language does not admit of a literal translation.]--\n\nTronchet was appointed.\n\nNearly about the same time the First Consul, being informed of the escape\nof General Mack, said to me, \"Mack may go where he pleases; I am not\nafraid of him.  But I will tell you what I have been thinking.  There are\nsome other Austrian officers who were prisoners with Mack; among the\nnumber is a Count Dietrichstein, who belongs to a great family in Vienna.\nI will liberate them all.  At the moment of opening a campaign this will\nhave a good effect.  They will see that I fear nothing; and who knows but\nthis may procure me some admirers in Austria.\"  The order for liberating\nthe Austrian prisoners was immediately despatched.  Thus Bonaparte's acts\nof generosity, as well as his acts of severity and his choice of\nindividuals, were all the result of deep calculation.\n\nThis unvarying attention to the affairs of the Government was manifest in\nall he did.  I have already mentioned the almost simultaneous suppression\nof the horrible commemoration of the month of January, and the permission\nfor the revival of the opera balls.  A measure something similar to this\nwas the authorisation of the festivals of Longchamps, which had been\nforgotten since the Revolution.  He at the same time gave permission for\nsacred music to be performed at the opera.  Thus, while in public acts he\nmaintained the observance of the Republican calendar, he was gradually\nreviving the old calendar by seasons of festivity.  Shrove-Tuesday was\nmarked by a ball, and Passion-week by promenades and concerts.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV\n\n1800.\n\n     The Memorial of St. Helena--Louis XVIII.'s first letter to Bonaparte\n     --Josephine, Hortense, and the Faubourg St. Germain--\n     Madame Bonaparte and the fortune-teller--Louis XVIII's second letter\n     --Bonaparte's answer--Conversation respecting the recall of Louis\n     XVIII.--Peace and war--A battle fought with pins--Genoa and Melas--\n     Realisation of Bonaparte's military plans--Ironical letter to\n     Berthier--Departure from Paris--Instructions to Lucien and\n     Cambaceres--Joseph Bonaparte appointed Councillor of State--\n     Travelling conversation--Alexander and Caesar judged by Bonaparte.\n\nIt sometimes happens that an event which passes away unnoticed at the\ntime of its occurrence acquires importance from events which subsequently\nensue.  This reflection naturally occurs to my mind now that I am about\nto notice the correspondence which passed between Louis XVIII. and the\nFirst Consul.  This is certainly not one of the least interesting\npassages in the life of Bonaparte.\n\nBut I must first beg leave to make an observation on the 'Memorial of St.\nHelena.'  That publication relates what Bonaparte said respecting the\nnegotiations between Louis XVIII. and himself; and I find it necessary to\nquote a few lines on the subject, in order to show how far the statements\ncontained in the Memorial differ from the autograph letters in my\npossession.\n\nAt St. Helena Napoleon said that he never thought of the princes of the\nHouse of Bourbon.  This is true to a certain point.  He did not think of\nthe princes of the House of Bourbon with the view of restoring them to\ntheir throne; but it has been shown, in several parts of these Memoirs,\nthat he thought of them very often, and on more than one occasion their\nvery names alarmed him.\n\n     --[The Memorial states that \"A letter was delivered to the First\n     Consul by Lebrun who received it from the Abbe de Montesquieu, the\n     secret agent of the Bourbons in Paris.\"  This letter which was very\n     cautiously written, said:--\n\n     \"You are long delaying the restoration of my throne.  It is to be\n     feared you are suffering favourable moments to escape.  You cannot\n     secure the happiness of France without me, and I can do nothing for\n     France without you.  Hasten, then, to name the offices which you\n     would choose for your friends.\"\n\n     The answer, Napoleon said, was as follows:--\n\n     \"I have received your royal highness' letter.  I have always taken a\n     lively interest in your misfortunes, and those of your family.  You\n     must not think of appearing in France; you could only return here by\n     trampling over a hundred thousand dead bodies.  I shall always be\n     happy to do anything that can alleviate your fate and help to banish\n     the recollection of your misfortunes.\"--Bourrienne.]--\n\nThe substance of the two letters given in the 'Memorial of St. Helena' is\ncorrect.  The ideas are nearly the same as those of the original letters.\nBut it is not surprising that, after the lapse of so long an interval,\nNapoleon's memory should somewhat have failed him.  However, it will not,\nI presume, be deemed unimportant if I present to the reader literal\ncopies of this correspondence; together with the explanation of some\ncurious circumstances connected with it.\n\nThe following is Louis XVIII's letter:--\n\n                                             February 20,1800.\n\n     SIR--Whatever may be their apparent conduct, men like you never\n     inspire alarm.  You have accepted an eminent station, and I thank\n     you for having done so.  You know better than any one how much\n     strength and power are requisite to secure the happiness of a great\n     nation.  Save France from her own violence, and you will fulfil the\n     first wish of my heart.  Restore her King to her, and future\n     generations will bless your memory.  You will always be too\n     necessary to the State for me ever to be able to discharge, by\n     important appointments, the debt of my family and myself.\n\n                                             (Signed) Louis.\n\n\nThe First Consul was much agitated on the reception of this letter.\nThough he every day declared his determination to have nothing to do with\nthe Princes, yet he hesitated whether or no he should reply to this\noverture.  The numerous affairs which then occupied his mind favoured\nthis hesitation.  Josephine and Hortense conjured him to hold out hope to\nthe King, as by so doing he would in no way pledge himself, and would\ngain time to ascertain whether he could not ultimately play a far greater\npart than that of Monk.  Their entreaties became so urgent that he said\nto me, \"These devils of women are mad!  The Faubourg St. Germain has\nturned their heads!  They make the Faubourg the guardian angel of the\nroyalists; but I care not; I will have nothing to do with them.\"\n\nMadame Bonaparte said she was anxious he should adopt the step she\nproposed in order to banish from his mind all thought of making himself\nKing.  This idea always gave rise to a painful foreboding which she could\nnever overcome.\n\nIn the First Consul's numerous conversations with me he discussed with\nadmirable sagacity Louis XVIII.'s proposition and its consequences.\n\"The partisans of the Bourbons,\" said he, \"are deceived if they suppose\nI am the man to play Monk's part.\"  Here the matter rested, and the\nKing's letter remained on the table.  In the interim Louis XVIII. wrote a\nsecond letter, without any date.  It was as follows:\n\n     You must have long since been convinced, General, that you possess\n     my esteem.  If you doubt my gratitude, fix your reward and mark out\n     the fortune of your friends.  As to my principles, I am a Frenchman,\n     merciful by character, and also by the dictates of reason.\n\n     No, the victor of Lodi, Castiglione, and Arcola, the conqueror of\n     Italy and Egypt, cannot prefer vain celebrity to real glory.  But\n     you are losing precious time.  We may ensure the glory of France.\n\n     I say we, because I require the aid of Bonaparte, and he can do\n     nothing without me.\n\n     General, Europe observes you.  Glory awaits you, and I am impatient\n     to restore peace to my people.\n                                        (Signed) LOUIS.\n\n\nThis dignified letter the First Consul suffered to remain unanswered for\nseveral weeks; at length he proposed to dictate an answer to me.  I\nobserved, that as the King's letters were autographs, it would be more\nproper that he should write himself.  He then wrote with his own hand the\nfollowing:\n\n     Sir--I have received your letter, and I thank you for the\n     compliments you address to me.\n\n     You must not seek to return to France.  To do so you must trample\n     over a hundred thousand dead bodies.\n\n     Sacrifice your interest to the repose and happiness of France, and\n     history will render you justice.\n\n     I am not insensible to the misfortunes of your family.  I shall\n     learn with pleasure, and shall willingly contribute to ensure, the\n     tranquillity of your retirement.\n                                        (Signed) BONAPARTE.\n\n\nHe showed me this letter, saying, \"What do you think of it? is it not\ngood?  \"He was never offended when I pointed out to him an error of\ngrammar or style, and I therefore replied, \"As to the substance, if such\nbe your resolution, I have nothing to say against it; but,\" added I,\n\"I must make one observation on the style.  You cannot say that you shall\nlearn with pleasure to ensure, etc.\"  On reading the passage over again\nhe thought he had pledged himself too far in saying that he would\nwillingly contribute, etc.  He therefore scored out the last sentence,\nand interlined, \"I shall contribute with pleasure to the happiness and\ntranquillity of your retirement.\"\n\nThe answer thus scored and interlined could not be sent off, and it lay\non the table with Bonaparte's signature affixed to it.\n\nSome time after he wrote another answer, the three first paragraphs of\nwhich were exactly alike that first quoted; but far the last paragraph he\nsubstituted the following\n\n     \"I am not insensible to the misfortunes of your family; and I shall\n     learn with pleasure that you are surrounded with all that can\n     contribute to the tranquillity of your retirement.\"\n\nBy this means he did not pledge himself in any way, not even in words,\nfor he himself made no offer of contributing to the tranquillity of the\nretirement.  Every day which augmented his power and consolidated his\nposition diminished, he thought, the chances of the Bourbons; and seven\nmonths were suffered to intervene between the date of the King's first\nletter and the answer of the First Consul, which was written on the 2d\nVendemiaire, year IX.  (24th September 1800) just when the Congress of\nLuneville was on the point of opening.\n\nSome days after the receipt of Louis XVIII.'s letter we were walking in\nthe gardens of Malmaison; he was in good humour, for everything was going\non to his mind.  \"Has my wife been saying anything more to you about the\nBourbons?\" said he.--\"No, General.\"--\"But when you converse with her you\nconcur a little in her opinions.  Tell me why you wish the Bourbons back?\nYou have no interest in their return, nothing to expect from them.  Your\nfamily rank is not high enough to enable you to obtain any great post.\nYou would be nothing under them.  Through the patronage of M. de\nChambonas you got the appointment of Secretary of Legation at Stuttgart;\nbut had it not been for the change you would have remained all your life\nin that or some inferior post.  Did you ever know men rise by their own\nmerit under kings?  Everything depends on birth, connection, fortune, and\nintrigue.  Judge things more accurately; reflect more maturely on the\nfuture.\"--\"General,\" replied I, \"I am quite of your opinion on one\npoint.  I never received gift, place, or favour from the Bourbons; and\nI have not the vanity to believe that I should ever have attained any\nimportant Appointment.  But you must not forget that my nomination as\nSecretary of Legation at Stuttgart preceded the overthrow of the throne\nonly by a few days; and I cannot infer, from what took place under\ncircumstances unfortunately too certain, what might have happened in the\nreverse case.  Besides, I am not actuated by personal feelings;\nI consider not my own interests, but those of France.  I wish you to hold\nthe reins of government as long as you live; but you have no children,\nand it is tolerably certain that you will have none by Josephine. What\nwill become of us when you are gone?  You talk of the future; but what\nwill be the future fate of France?  I have often heard you say that your\nbrothers are not--\"--\"You are right,\" said he, abruptly interrupting\nme.  \"If I do not live thirty years to complete my work you will have a\nlong series of civil wars after my death.  My brothers will not suit\nFrance; you know what they are.  A violent conflict will therefore arise\namong the most distinguished generals, each of whom will think himself\nentitled to succeed me.\"--\"Well, General, why not take means to obviate\nthe mischief you foresee?\"--\"Do you imagine I do not think of it?  But\nlook at the difficulties that stand in my way.  How are so many acquired\nrights and material results to be secured against the efforts of a family\nrestored to power, and returning with 80,000 emigrants and the influence\nof fanaticism?  What would become of those who voted for the death of\nthe King--the men who acted a conspicuous part in the Revolution--the\nnational domains, and a multitude of things that have been done during\ntwelve years?  Can you see how far reaction would extend?\"--\"General,\nneed I remind you that Louis, in his letter, guarantees the contrary of\nall you apprehend?  I know what will be your answer; but are you not able\nto impose whatever conditions you may think fit?  Grant what is asked of\nyou only at that price.  Take three or four years; in that time you may\nensure the happiness of France by institutions conformable to her wants.\nCustom and habit would give them a power which it would not be easy to\ndestroy; and even supposing such a design were entertained, it could not\nbe accomplished.  I have heard you say it is wished you should act the\npart of Monk; but you well know the difference between a general opposing\nthe usurper of a crown, and one whom victory and peace have raised above\nthe ruins of a subverted throne, and who restores it voluntarily to those\nwho have long occupied it.  You are well aware what you call ideology\nwill not again be revived; and--\"--\"I know what you are going to say;\nbut it all amounts to nothing.  Depend upon it, the Bourbons will think\nthey have reconquered their inheritance, and will dispose of it as they\nplease.  The most sacred pledges, the most positive promises, will be\nviolated.  None but fools will trust them.  My resolution is formed;\ntherefore let us say no more on the subject.  But I know how these women\ntorment you.  Let them mind their knitting, and leave me to do what I\nthink right.\"\n\nEvery one knows the adage, 'Si vis pacem para bellum'.  Had Bonaparte\nbeen a Latin scholar he would probably have reversed it and said, 'Si vis\nbellum para pacem'.  While seeking to establish pacific relations with\nthe powers of Europe the First Consul was preparing to strike a great\nblow in Italy.  As long as Genoa held out, and Massena continued there,\nBonaparte did not despair of meeting the Austrians in those fields which\nnot four years before had been the scenes of his success.  He resolved to\nassemble an army of reserve at Dijon.  Where there was previously nothing\nhe created everything.  At that period of his life the fertility of his\nimagination and the vigour of his genius must have commanded the\nadmiration of even his bitterest enemies.  I was astonished at the\ndetails into which he entered.  While every moment was engrossed by the\nmost important occupations he sent 24,000 francs to the hospital of Mont\nSt. Bernard.  When he saw that his army of reserve was forming, and\neverything was going on to his liking, he said to me, \"I hope to fall on\nthe rear of Melas before he is aware I am in Italy .  .  .  that is to\nsay, provided Genoa holds out.  But MASSENA is defending it.\"\n\nOn the 17th of March, in a moment of gaiety and good humour, he desired\nme to unroll Chauchard's great map of Italy.  He lay down upon it, and\ndesired me to do likewise.  He then stuck into it pins, the heads of\nwhich were tipped with wax, some red and some black.  I silently observed\nhim; and awaited with no little curiosity the result of this plan of\ncampaign.  When he had stationed the enemy's corps, and drawn up the pins\nwith red heads on the points where he hoped to bring his own troops, he\nsaid to me, \"Where do you think I shall beat Melas?\"--\"How the devil\nshould I know?\"--\"Why, look here, you fool!  Melas is at Alessandria with\nhis headquarters.  There he will remain until Genoa surrenders.  He has\nin Alessandria his magazines, his hospitals, his artillery, and his\nreserves.  Crossing the Alps here (pointing to the Great Mont St.\nBernard) I shall fall upon Melas, cut off his communications with\nAustria, and meet him here in the plains of Scrivia\" (placing a red, pin\nat San Giuliano).  Finding that I looked on this manoeuvre of pins as\nmere pastime, he addressed to me some of his usual compliments, such as\nfool, ninny, etc., and then proceeded to demonstrate his plans more\nclearly on the map.  At the expiration of a quarter of an hour we rose;\nI folded up the map, and thought no more of the matter.\n\nFour months after this, when I was at San Giuliano with Bonaparte's\nportfolio and despatches, which I had saved from the rout which had taken\nplace during the day, and when that very evening I was writing at Torre\ndi Galifolo the bulletin of the battle to Napoleon's dictation, I frankly\navowed my admiration of his military plans.  He himself smiled at the\naccuracy of his own foresight.\n\nThe First Consul was not satisfied with General Berthier as War Minister,\nand he superseded him by Carnot,\n\n     --[There were special reasons for the appointment of Carnot,\n     Berthier was required with his master in Italy, while Carnot, who\n     had so long ruled the armies of the Republic, was better fitted to\n     influence Moreau, at this time advancing into Germany.  Carnot\n     probably fulfilled the main object of his appointment when he was\n     sent to Moreau, and succeeded in getting that general, with natural\n     reluctance, to damage his own campaign by detaching a large body of\n     troops into Italy.  Berthier was reappointed to the Ministry on the\n     8th of October 1800,--a very speedy return if he had really been\n     disgraced.]--\n\nwho had given great proofs of firmness and integrity, but who,\nnevertheless, was no favourite of Bonaparte, on account of his decided\nrepublican principles.  Berthier was too slow in carrying out the\nmeasures ordered, [duplicated line removed here D.W.] and too lenient in\nthe payment of past charges and in new contracts.  Carnot's appointment\ntook place on the 2d of April 1800; and to console Berthier, who, he\nknew, was more at home in the camp than in the office, he dictated to me\nthe following letter for him:--\n\n                                   PARIS, 2d April 1800.\n\n     CITIZEN-GENERAL,--The military talents of which you have given so\n     many proofs, and the confidence of the Government, call you to the\n     command of an army.  During the winter you have REORGANISED the War\n     Department, and you have provided, as far as circumstances would\n     permit, for the wants of our armies.  During the spring and summer\n     it must be your task to lead our troops to victory, which is the\n     effectual means of obtaining peace and consolidating the Republic.\n\n\nBonaparte laughed heartily while he dictated this epistle, especially\nwhen he uttered the word which I have marked in italics [CAPS].  Berthier\nset out for Dijon, where he commenced the formation of the army of\nreserve.\n\nThe Consular Constitution did not empower the First Consul to command an\narmy out of the territory of France.  Bonaparte therefore wished to keep\nsecret his long-projected plan of placing himself at the head of the army\nof Italy, which he then for the first time called the grand army.  I\nobserved that by his choice of Berthier nobody could be deceived, because\nit must be evident that he would have made another selection had he not\nintended to command in person.  He laughed at my observation.\n\nOur departure from Paris was fixed for the 6th of May, or, according to\nthe republican calendar, the 16th Floreal. Bonaparte had made all his\narrangements and issued all his orders; but still he did not wish it to\nbe known that he was going to take the command of the army.  On the eve\nof our departure, being in conference with the two other Consuls and the\nMinisters, he said to Lucien, \"Prepare, to-morrow morning, a circular to\nthe prefects, and you, Fouche, will publish it in the journals.  Say I am\ngone to Dijon to inspect the army of reserve.  You may add that I shall\nperhaps go as far as Geneva; but you must affirm positively that I shall\nnot be absent longer than a fortnight. You, Cambaceres, will preside to-\nmorrow at the Council of State.  In my absence you are the Head of the\nGovernment.  State that my absence will be but of short duration, but\nspecify nothing.  Express my approbation of the Council of State; it has\nalready rendered great services, and I shall be happy to see it continue\nin the course it has hitherto pursued.  Oh! I had nearly forgotten--you\nwill at the same time announce that I have appointed Joseph a Councillor\nof State.  Should anything happen I shall be back again like a\nthunderbolt.  I recommend to you all the great interests of France, and I\ntrust that I shall shortly be talked of in Vienna and in London.\"\n\nWe set out at two in the morning, taking the Burgundy road, which we had\nalready so often travelled under very different circumstances.\n\nOn the journey Bonaparte conversed about the warriors of antiquity,\nespecially Alexander, Caesar, Scipio, and Hannibal.  I asked him which he\npreferred, Alexander or Caesar.  \"I place Alexander in the first rank,\"\nsaid he, \"yet I admire Caesar's fine campaign in Africa.  But the ground\nof my preference for the King of Macedonia is the plan, and above all the\nexecution, of his campaign in Asia.  Only those who are utterly ignorant\nof war can blame Alexander for having spent seven months at the siege of\nTyre.  For my part, I would have stayed there seven years had it been\nnecessary.  This is a great subject of dispute; but I look upon the siege\nof Tyre, the conquest of Egypt, and the journey to the Oasis of Ammon as\na decided proof of the genius of that great captain.  His object was to\ngive the King of Persia (of whose force he had only beaten a feeble\nadvance-guard at the Granicus and Issus) time to reassemble his troops,\nso that he might overthrow at a blow the colossus which he had as yet\nonly shaken.  By pursuing Darius into his states Alexander would have\nseparated himself from his reinforcements, and would have met only\nscattered parties of troops who would have drawn him into deserts where\nhis army would have been sacrificed.  By persevering in the taking of\nTyre he secured his communications with Greece, the country he loved as\ndearly as I love France, and in whose glory he placed his own.  By taking\npossession of the rich province of Egypt he forced Darius to come to\ndefend or deliver it, and in so doing to march half-way to meet him.\nBy representing himself as the son of Jupiter he worked upon the ardent\nfeelings of the Orientals in a way that powerfully seconded his designs.\nThough he died at thirty-three what a name he has left behind him!\"\n\nThough an utter stranger to the noble profession of arms, yet I could\nadmire Bonaparte's clever military plans and his shrewd remarks on the\ngreat captains of ancient and modern times.  I could not refrain from\nsaying, \"General, you often reproach me for being no flatterer, but now I\ntell you plainly I admire you.\"  And certainly, I really spoke the true\nsentiments of my mind.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte, v4, by\nLouis Antoine Fauvelet de Bourrienne\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh, Stephen Blundell\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTales of Space and Time\n\n\n\n\n        Tales of Space\n           and Time\n\n\n  _By_ H. G. WELLS, _Author\n of \"When the Sleeper Wakes\"\n   \"The War of the Worlds\"\n            etc._\n\n\n           [Device]\n\n\n HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS\n     LONDON AND NEW YORK\n             1900\n\n\n\n\n Copyright, 1899, by HARPER & BROTHERS\n\n         _All rights reserved_\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\n    Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Dialect\n    and variant spellings have been retained. The oe ligature is shown\n    as {oe}, whilst the Greek letter _theta_ is represented by {th}.\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n                                     PAGE\n THE CRYSTAL EGG                        1\n\n THE STAR                              35\n\n A STORY OF THE STONE AGE              59\n\n A STORY OF THE DAYS TO COME          165\n\n THE MAN WHO COULD WORK MIRACLES      325\n\n\n\n\nTHE CRYSTAL EGG\n\n\nThere was, until a year ago, a little and very grimy-looking shop near\nSeven Dials, over which, in weather-worn yellow lettering, the name of\n\"C. Cave, Naturalist and Dealer in Antiquities,\" was inscribed. The\ncontents of its window were curiously variegated. They comprised some\nelephant tusks and an imperfect set of chessmen, beads and weapons, a\nbox of eyes, two skulls of tigers and one human, several moth-eaten\nstuffed monkeys (one holding a lamp), an old-fashioned cabinet, a\nflyblown ostrich egg or so, some fishing-tackle, and an extraordinarily\ndirty, empty glass fish-tank. There was also, at the moment the story\nbegins, a mass of crystal, worked into the shape of an egg and\nbrilliantly polished. And at that two people, who stood outside the\nwindow, were looking, one of them a tall, thin clergyman, the other a\nblack-bearded young man of dusky complexion and unobtrusive costume. The\ndusky young man spoke with eager gesticulation, and seemed anxious for\nhis companion to purchase the article.\n\nWhile they were there, Mr. Cave came into his shop, his beard still\nwagging with the bread and butter of his tea. When he saw these men and\nthe object of their regard, his countenance fell. He glanced guiltily\nover his shoulder, and softly shut the door. He was a little old man,\nwith pale face and peculiar watery blue eyes; his hair was a dirty grey,\nand he wore a shabby blue frock coat, an ancient silk hat, and carpet\nslippers very much down at heel. He remained watching the two men as\nthey talked. The clergyman went deep into his trouser pocket, examined a\nhandful of money, and showed his teeth in an agreeable smile. Mr. Cave\nseemed still more depressed when they came into the shop.\n\nThe clergyman, without any ceremony, asked the price of the crystal egg.\nMr. Cave glanced nervously towards the door leading into the parlour,\nand said five pounds. The clergyman protested that the price was high,\nto his companion as well as to Mr. Cave--it was, indeed, very much more\nthan Mr. Cave had intended to ask, when he had stocked the article--and\nan attempt at bargaining ensued. Mr. Cave stepped to the shop-door, and\nheld it open. \"Five pounds is my price,\" he said, as though he wished\nto save himself the trouble of unprofitable discussion. As he did so,\nthe upper portion of a woman's face appeared above the blind in the\nglass upper panel of the door leading into the parlour, and stared\ncuriously at the two customers. \"Five pounds is my price,\" said Mr.\nCave, with a quiver in his voice.\n\nThe swarthy young man had so far remained a spectator, watching Cave\nkeenly. Now he spoke. \"Give him five pounds,\" he said. The clergyman\nglanced at him to see if he were in earnest, and, when he looked at Mr.\nCave again, he saw that the latter's face was white. \"It's a lot of\nmoney,\" said the clergyman, and, diving into his pocket, began counting\nhis resources. He had little more than thirty shillings, and he appealed\nto his companion, with whom he seemed to be on terms of considerable\nintimacy. This gave Mr. Cave an opportunity of collecting his thoughts,\nand he began to explain in an agitated manner that the crystal was not,\nas a matter of fact, entirely free for sale. His two customers were\nnaturally surprised at this, and inquired why he had not thought of that\nbefore he began to bargain. Mr. Cave became confused, but he stuck to\nhis story, that the crystal was not in the market that afternoon, that\na probable purchaser of it had already appeared. The two, treating this\nas an attempt to raise the price still further, made as if they would\nleave the shop. But at this point the parlour door opened, and the owner\nof the dark fringe and the little eyes appeared.\n\nShe was a coarse-featured, corpulent woman, younger and very much larger\nthan Mr. Cave; she walked heavily, and her face was flushed. \"That\ncrystal _is_ for sale,\" she said. \"And five pounds is a good enough\nprice for it. I can't think what you're about, Cave, not to take the\ngentleman's offer!\"\n\nMr. Cave, greatly perturbed by the irruption, looked angrily at her over\nthe rims of his spectacles, and, without excessive assurance, asserted\nhis right to manage his business in his own way. An altercation began.\nThe two customers watched the scene with interest and some amusement,\noccasionally assisting Mrs. Cave with suggestions. Mr. Cave, hard\ndriven, persisted in a confused and impossible story of an enquiry for\nthe crystal that morning, and his agitation became painful. But he stuck\nto his point with extraordinary persistence. It was the young Oriental\nwho ended this curious controversy. He proposed that they should call\nagain in the course of two days--so as to give the alleged enquirer a\nfair chance. \"And then we must insist,\" said the clergyman, \"Five\npounds.\" Mrs. Cave took it on herself to apologise for her husband,\nexplaining that he was sometimes \"a little odd,\" and as the two\ncustomers left, the couple prepared for a free discussion of the\nincident in all its bearings.\n\nMrs. Cave talked to her husband with singular directness. The poor\nlittle man, quivering with emotion, muddled himself between his stories,\nmaintaining on the one hand that he had another customer in view, and on\nthe other asserting that the crystal was honestly worth ten guineas.\n\"Why did you ask five pounds?\" said his wife. \"_Do_ let me manage my\nbusiness my own way!\" said Mr. Cave.\n\nMr. Cave had living with him a step-daughter and a step-son, and at\nsupper that night the transaction was re-discussed. None of them had a\nhigh opinion of Mr. Cave's business methods, and this action seemed a\nculminating folly.\n\n\"It's my opinion he's refused that crystal before,\" said the step-son, a\nloose-limbed lout of eighteen.\n\n\"But _Five Pounds_!\" said the step-daughter, an argumentative young\nwoman of six-and-twenty.\n\nMr. Cave's answers were wretched; he could only mumble weak assertions\nthat he knew his own business best. They drove him from his half-eaten\nsupper into the shop, to close it for the night, his ears aflame and\ntears of vexation behind his spectacles. \"Why had he left the crystal in\nthe window so long? The folly of it!\" That was the trouble closest in\nhis mind. For a time he could see no way of evading sale.\n\nAfter supper his step-daughter and step-son smartened themselves up and\nwent out and his wife retired upstairs to reflect upon the business\naspects of the crystal, over a little sugar and lemon and so forth in\nhot water. Mr. Cave went into the shop, and stayed there until late,\nostensibly to make ornamental rockeries for goldfish cases but really\nfor a private purpose that will be better explained later. The next day\nMrs. Cave found that the crystal had been removed from the window, and\nwas lying behind some second-hand books on angling. She replaced it in a\nconspicuous position. But she did not argue further about it, as a\nnervous headache disinclined her from debate. Mr. Cave was always\ndisinclined. The day passed disagreeably. Mr. Cave was, if anything,\nmore absent-minded than usual, and uncommonly irritable withal. In the\nafternoon, when his wife was taking her customary sleep, he removed the\ncrystal from the window again.\n\nThe next day Mr. Cave had to deliver a consignment of dog-fish at one of\nthe hospital schools, where they were needed for dissection. In his\nabsence Mrs. Cave's mind reverted to the topic of the crystal, and the\nmethods of expenditure suitable to a windfall of five pounds. She had\nalready devised some very agreeable expedients, among others a dress of\ngreen silk for herself and a trip to Richmond, when a jangling of the\nfront door bell summoned her into the shop. The customer was an\nexamination coach who came to complain of the non-delivery of certain\nfrogs asked for the previous day. Mrs. Cave did not approve of this\nparticular branch of Mr. Cave's business, and the gentleman, who had\ncalled in a somewhat aggressive mood, retired after a brief exchange of\nwords--entirely civil so far as he was concerned. Mrs. Cave's eye then\nnaturally turned to the window; for the sight of the crystal was an\nassurance of the five pounds and of her dreams. What was her surprise to\nfind it gone!\n\nShe went to the place behind the locker on the counter, where she had\ndiscovered it the day before. It was not there; and she immediately\nbegan an eager search about the shop.\n\nWhen Mr. Cave returned from his business with the dog-fish, about a\nquarter to two in the afternoon, he found the shop in some confusion,\nand his wife, extremely exasperated and on her knees behind the counter,\nrouting among his taxidermic material. Her face came up hot and angry\nover the counter, as the jangling bell announced his return, and she\nforthwith accused him of \"hiding it.\"\n\n\"Hid _what_?\" asked Mr. Cave.\n\n\"The crystal!\"\n\nAt that Mr. Cave, apparently much surprised, rushed to the window.\n\"Isn't it here?\" he said. \"Great Heavens! what has become of it?\"\n\nJust then, Mr. Cave's step-son re-entered the shop from the inner\nroom--he had come home a minute or so before Mr. Cave--and he was\nblaspheming freely. He was apprenticed to a second-hand furniture dealer\ndown the road, but he had his meals at home, and he was naturally\nannoyed to find no dinner ready.\n\nBut, when he heard of the loss of the crystal, he forgot his meal, and\nhis anger was diverted from his mother to his step-father. Their first\nidea, of course, was that he had hidden it. But Mr. Cave stoutly denied\nall knowledge of its fate--freely offering his bedabbled affidavit in\nthe matter--and at last was worked up to the point of accusing, first,\nhis wife and then his step-son of having taken it with a view to a\nprivate sale. So began an exceedingly acrimonious and emotional\ndiscussion, which ended for Mrs. Cave in a peculiar nervous condition\nmidway between hysterics and amuck, and caused the step-son to be\nhalf-an-hour late at the furniture establishment in the afternoon. Mr.\nCave took refuge from his wife's emotions in the shop.\n\nIn the evening the matter was resumed, with less passion and in a\njudicial spirit, under the presidency of the step-daughter. The supper\npassed unhappily and culminated in a painful scene. Mr. Cave gave way at\nlast to extreme exasperation, and went out banging the front door\nviolently. The rest of the family, having discussed him with the freedom\nhis absence warranted, hunted the house from garret to cellar, hoping to\nlight upon the crystal.\n\nThe next day the two customers called again. They were received by Mrs.\nCave almost in tears. It transpired that no one _could_ imagine all\nthat she had stood from Cave at various times in her married\npilgrimage.... She also gave a garbled account of the disappearance. The\nclergyman and the Oriental laughed silently at one another, and said it\nwas very extraordinary. As Mrs. Cave seemed disposed to give them the\ncomplete history of her life they made to leave the shop. Thereupon Mrs.\nCave, still clinging to hope, asked for the clergyman's address, so\nthat, if she could get anything out of Cave, she might communicate it.\nThe address was duly given, but apparently was afterwards mislaid. Mrs.\nCave can remember nothing about it.\n\nIn the evening of that day, the Caves seem to have exhausted their\nemotions, and Mr. Cave, who had been out in the afternoon, supped in a\ngloomy isolation that contrasted pleasantly with the impassioned\ncontroversy of the previous days. For some time matters were very badly\nstrained in the Cave household, but neither crystal nor customer\nreappeared.\n\nNow, without mincing the matter, we must admit that Mr. Cave was a liar.\nHe knew perfectly well where the crystal was. It was in the rooms of Mr.\nJacoby Wace, Assistant Demonstrator at St. Catherine's Hospital,\nWestbourne Street. It stood on the sideboard partially covered by a\nblack velvet cloth, and beside a decanter of American whisky. It is from\nMr. Wace, indeed, that the particulars upon which this narrative is\nbased were derived. Cave had taken off the thing to the hospital hidden\nin the dog-fish sack, and there had pressed the young investigator to\nkeep it for him. Mr. Wace was a little dubious at first. His\nrelationship to Cave was peculiar. He had a taste for singular\ncharacters, and he had more than once invited the old man to smoke and\ndrink in his rooms, and to unfold his rather amusing views of life in\ngeneral and of his wife in particular. Mr. Wace had encountered Mrs.\nCave, too, on occasions when Mr. Cave was not at home to attend to him.\nHe knew the constant interference to which Cave was subjected, and\nhaving weighed the story judicially, he decided to give the crystal a\nrefuge. Mr. Cave promised to explain the reasons for his remarkable\naffection for the crystal more fully on a later occasion, but he spoke\ndistinctly of seeing visions therein. He called on Mr. Wace the same\nevening.\n\nHe told a complicated story. The crystal he said had come into his\npossession with other oddments at the forced sale of another curiosity\ndealer's effects, and not knowing what its value might be, he had\nticketed it at ten shillings. It had hung upon his hands at that price\nfor some months, and he was thinking of \"reducing the figure,\" when he\nmade a singular discovery.\n\nAt that time his health was very bad--and it must be borne in mind that,\nthroughout all this experience, his physical condition was one of\nebb--and he was in considerable distress by reason of the negligence,\nthe positive ill-treatment even, he received from his wife and\nstep-children. His wife was vain, extravagant, unfeeling, and had a\ngrowing taste for private drinking; his step-daughter was mean and\nover-reaching; and his step-son had conceived a violent dislike for him,\nand lost no chance of showing it. The requirements of his business\npressed heavily upon him, and Mr. Wace does not think that he was\naltogether free from occasional intemperance. He had begun life in a\ncomfortable position, he was a man of fair education, and he suffered,\nfor weeks at a stretch, from melancholia and insomnia. Afraid to disturb\nhis family, he would slip quietly from his wife's side, when his\nthoughts became intolerable, and wander about the house. And about\nthree o'clock one morning, late in August, chance directed him into the\nshop.\n\nThe dirty little place was impenetrably black except in one spot, where\nhe perceived an unusual glow of light. Approaching this, he discovered\nit to be the crystal egg, which was standing on the corner of the\ncounter towards the window. A thin ray smote through a crack in the\nshutters, impinged upon the object, and seemed as it were to fill its\nentire interior.\n\nIt occurred to Mr. Cave that this was not in accordance with the laws of\noptics as he had known them in his younger days. He could understand the\nrays being refracted by the crystal and coming to a focus in its\ninterior, but this diffusion jarred with his physical conceptions. He\napproached the crystal nearly, peering into it and round it, with a\ntransient revival of the scientific curiosity that in his youth had\ndetermined his choice of a calling. He was surprised to find the light\nnot steady, but writhing within the substance of the egg, as though that\nobject was a hollow sphere of some luminous vapour. In moving about to\nget different points of view, he suddenly found that he had come between\nit and the ray, and that the crystal none the less remained luminous.\nGreatly astonished, he lifted it out of the light ray and carried it to\nthe darkest part of the shop. It remained bright for some four or five\nminutes, when it slowly faded and went out. He placed it in the thin\nstreak of daylight, and its luminousness was almost immediately\nrestored.\n\nSo far, at least, Mr. Wace was able to verify the remarkable story of\nMr. Cave. He has himself repeatedly held this crystal in a ray of light\n(which had to be of a less diameter than one millimetre). And in a\nperfect darkness, such as could be produced by velvet wrapping, the\ncrystal did undoubtedly appear very faintly phosphorescent. It would\nseem, however, that the luminousness was of some exceptional sort, and\nnot equally visible to all eyes; for Mr. Harbinger--whose name will be\nfamiliar to the scientific reader in connection with the Pasteur\nInstitute--was quite unable to see any light whatever. And Mr. Wace's\nown capacity for its appreciation was out of comparison inferior to that\nof Mr. Cave's. Even with Mr. Cave the power varied very considerably:\nhis vision was most vivid during states of extreme weakness and fatigue.\n\nNow, from the outset this light in the crystal exercised a curious\nfascination upon Mr. Cave. And it says more for his loneliness of soul\nthan a volume of pathetic writing could do, that he told no human being\nof his curious observations. He seems to have been living in such an\natmosphere of petty spite that to admit the existence of a pleasure\nwould have been to risk the loss of it. He found that as the dawn\nadvanced, and the amount of diffused light increased, the crystal became\nto all appearance non-luminous. And for some time he was unable to see\nanything in it, except at night-time, in dark corners of the shop.\n\nBut the use of an old velvet cloth, which he used as a background for a\ncollection of minerals, occurred to him, and by doubling this, and\nputting it over his head and hands, he was able to get a sight of the\nluminous movement within the crystal even in the daytime. He was very\ncautious lest he should be thus discovered by his wife, and he practised\nthis occupation only in the afternoons, while she was asleep upstairs,\nand then circumspectly in a hollow under the counter. And one day,\nturning the crystal about in his hands, he saw something. It came and\nwent like a flash, but it gave him the impression that the object had\nfor a moment opened to him the view of a wide and spacious and strange\ncountry; and, turning it about, he did, just as the light faded, see\nthe same vision again.\n\nNow, it would be tedious and unnecessary to state all the phases of Mr.\nCave's discovery from this point. Suffice that the effect was this: the\ncrystal, being peered into at an angle of about 137 degrees from the\ndirection of the illuminating ray, gave a clear and consistent picture\nof a wide and peculiar countryside. It was not dream-like at all: it\nproduced a definite impression of reality, and the better the light the\nmore real and solid it seemed. It was a moving picture: that is to say,\ncertain objects moved in it, but slowly in an orderly manner like real\nthings, and, according as the direction of the lighting and vision\nchanged, the picture changed also. It must, indeed, have been like\nlooking through an oval glass at a view, and turning the glass about to\nget at different aspects.\n\nMr. Cave's statements, Mr. Wace assures me, were extremely\ncircumstantial, and entirely free from any of that emotional quality\nthat taints hallucinatory impressions. But it must be remembered that\nall the efforts of Mr. Wace to see any similar clarity in the faint\nopalescence of the crystal were wholly unsuccessful, try as he would.\nThe difference in intensity of the impressions received by the two men\nwas very great, and it is quite conceivable that what was a view to Mr.\nCave was a mere blurred nebulosity to Mr. Wace.\n\nThe view, as Mr. Cave described it, was invariably of an extensive\nplain, and he seemed always to be looking at it from a considerable\nheight, as if from a tower or a mast. To the east and to the west the\nplain was bounded at a remote distance by vast reddish cliffs, which\nreminded him of those he had seen in some picture; but what the picture\nwas Mr. Wace was unable to ascertain. These cliffs passed north and\nsouth--he could tell the points of the compass by the stars that were\nvisible of a night--receding in an almost illimitable perspective and\nfading into the mists of the distance before they met. He was nearer the\neastern set of cliffs, on the occasion of his first vision the sun was\nrising over them, and black against the sunlight and pale against their\nshadow appeared a multitude of soaring forms that Mr. Cave regarded as\nbirds. A vast range of buildings spread below him; he seemed to be\nlooking down upon them; and, as they approached the blurred and\nrefracted edge of the picture, they became indistinct. There were also\ntrees curious in shape, and in colouring, a deep mossy green and an\nexquisite grey, beside a wide and shining canal. And something great and\nbrilliantly  flew across the picture. But the first time Mr.\nCave saw these pictures he saw only in flashes, his hands shook, his\nhead moved, the vision came and went, and grew foggy and indistinct. And\nat first he had the greatest difficulty in finding the picture again\nonce the direction of it was lost.\n\nHis next clear vision, which came about a week after the first, the\ninterval having yielded nothing but tantalising glimpses and some useful\nexperience, showed him the view down the length of the valley. The view\nwas different, but he had a curious persuasion, which his subsequent\nobservations abundantly confirmed, that he was regarding this strange\nworld from exactly the same spot, although he was looking in a different\ndirection. The long facade of the great building, whose roof he had\nlooked down upon before, was now receding in perspective. He recognised\nthe roof. In the front of the facade was a terrace of massive\nproportions and extraordinary length, and down the middle of the\nterrace, at certain intervals, stood huge but very graceful masts,\nbearing small shiny objects which reflected the setting sun. The import\nof these small objects did not occur to Mr. Cave until some time after,\nas he was describing the scene to Mr. Wace. The terrace overhung a\nthicket of the most luxuriant and graceful vegetation, and beyond this\nwas a wide grassy lawn on which certain broad creatures, in form like\nbeetles but enormously larger, reposed. Beyond this again was a richly\ndecorated causeway of pinkish stone; and beyond that, and lined with\ndense _red_ weeds, and passing up the valley exactly parallel with the\ndistant cliffs, was a broad and mirror-like expanse of water. The air\nseemed full of squadrons of great birds, man{oe}uvring in stately\ncurves; and across the river was a multitude of splendid buildings,\nrichly  and glittering with metallic tracery and facets, among a\nforest of moss-like and lichenous trees. And suddenly something flapped\nrepeatedly across the vision, like the fluttering of a jewelled fan or\nthe beating of a wing, and a face, or rather the upper part of a face\nwith very large eyes, came as it were close to his own and as if on the\nother side of the crystal. Mr. Cave was so startled and so impressed by\nthe absolute reality of these eyes, that he drew his head back from the\ncrystal to look behind it. He had become so absorbed in watching that he\nwas quite surprised to find himself in the cool darkness of his little\nshop, with its familiar odour of methyl, mustiness, and decay. And, as\nhe blinked about him, the glowing crystal faded, and went out.\n\nSuch were the first general impressions of Mr. Cave. The story is\ncuriously direct and circumstantial. From the outset, when the valley\nfirst flashed momentarily on his senses, his imagination was strangely\naffected, and, as he began to appreciate the details of the scene he\nsaw, his wonder rose to the point of a passion. He went about his\nbusiness listless and distraught, thinking only of the time when he\nshould be able to return to his watching. And then a few weeks after his\nfirst sight of the valley came the two customers, the stress and\nexcitement of their offer, and the narrow escape of the crystal from\nsale, as I have already told.\n\nNow, while the thing was Mr. Cave's secret, it remained a mere wonder, a\nthing to creep to covertly and peep at, as a child might peep upon a\nforbidden garden. But Mr. Wace has, for a young scientific investigator,\na particularly lucid and consecutive habit of mind. Directly the crystal\nand its story came to him, and he had satisfied himself, by seeing the\nphosphorescence with his own eyes, that there really was a certain\nevidence for Mr. Cave's statements, he proceeded to develop the matter\nsystematically. Mr. Cave was only too eager to come and feast his eyes\non this wonderland he saw, and he came every night from half-past eight\nuntil half-past ten, and sometimes, in Mr. Wace's absence, during the\nday. On Sunday afternoons, also, he came. From the outset Mr. Wace made\ncopious notes, and it was due to his scientific method that the relation\nbetween the direction from which the initiating ray entered the crystal\nand the orientation of the picture were proved. And, by covering the\ncrystal in a box perforated only with a small aperture to admit the\nexciting ray, and by substituting black holland for his buff blinds, he\ngreatly improved the conditions of the observations; so that in a little\nwhile they were able to survey the valley in any direction they desired.\n\nSo having cleared the way, we may give a brief account of this visionary\nworld within the crystal. The things were in all cases seen by Mr. Cave,\nand the method of working was invariably for him to watch the crystal\nand report what he saw, while Mr. Wace (who as a science student had\nlearnt the trick of writing in the dark) wrote a brief note of his\nreport. When the crystal faded, it was put into its box in the proper\nposition and the electric light turned on. Mr. Wace asked questions, and\nsuggested observations to clear up difficult points. Nothing, indeed,\ncould have been less visionary and more matter-of-fact.\n\nThe attention of Mr. Cave had been speedily directed to the bird-like\ncreatures he had seen so abundantly present in each of his earlier\nvisions. His first impression was soon corrected, and he considered for\na time that they might represent a diurnal species of bat. Then he\nthought, grotesquely enough, that they might be cherubs. Their heads\nwere round, and curiously human, and it was the eyes of one of them that\nhad so startled him on his second observation. They had broad, silvery\nwings, not feathered, but glistening almost as brilliantly as new-killed\nfish and with the same subtle play of colour, and these wings were not\nbuilt on the plan of bird-wing or bat, Mr. Wace learned, but supported\nby curved ribs radiating from the body. (A sort of butterfly wing with\ncurved ribs seems best to express their appearance.) The body was small,\nbut fitted with two bunches of prehensile organs, like long tentacles,\nimmediately under the mouth. Incredible as it appeared to Mr. Wace, the\npersuasion at last became irresistible, that it was these creatures\nwhich owned the great quasi-human buildings and the magnificent garden\nthat made the broad valley so splendid. And Mr. Cave perceived that the\nbuildings, with other peculiarities, had no doors, but that the great\ncircular windows, which opened freely, gave the creatures egress and\nentrance. They would alight upon their tentacles, fold their wings to a\nsmallness almost rod-like, and hop into the interior. But among them was\na multitude of smaller-winged creatures, like great dragon-flies and\nmoths and flying beetles, and across the greensward brilliantly-\ngigantic ground-beetles crawled lazily to and fro. Moreover, on the\ncauseways and terraces, large-headed creatures similar to the greater\nwinged flies, but wingless, were visible, hopping busily upon their\nhand-like tangle of tentacles.\n\nAllusion has already been made to the glittering objects upon masts that\nstood upon the terrace of the nearer building. It dawned upon Mr. Cave,\nafter regarding one of these masts very fixedly on one particularly\nvivid day, that the glittering object there was a crystal exactly like\nthat into which he peered. And a still more careful scrutiny convinced\nhim that each one in a vista of nearly twenty carried a similar object.\n\nOccasionally one of the large flying creatures would flutter up to one,\nand, folding its wings and coiling a number of its tentacles about the\nmast, would regard the crystal fixedly for a space,--sometimes for as\nlong as fifteen minutes. And a series of observations, made at the\nsuggestion of Mr. Wace, convinced both watchers that, so far as this\nvisionary world was concerned, the crystal into which they peered\nactually stood at the summit of the endmost mast on the terrace, and\nthat on one occasion at least one of these inhabitants of this other\nworld had looked into Mr. Cave's face while he was making these\nobservations.\n\nSo much for the essential facts of this very singular story. Unless we\ndismiss it all as the ingenious fabrication of Mr. Wace, we have to\nbelieve one of two things: either that Mr. Cave's crystal was in two\nworlds at once, and that, while it was carried about in one, it remained\nstationary in the other, which seems altogether absurd; or else that it\nhad some peculiar relation of sympathy with another and exactly similar\ncrystal in this other world, so that what was seen in the interior of\nthe one in this world was, under suitable conditions, visible to an\nobserver in the corresponding crystal in the other world; and _vice\nversa_. At present, indeed, we do not know of any way in which two\ncrystals could so come _en rapport_, but nowadays we know enough to\nunderstand that the thing is not altogether impossible. This view of the\ncrystals as _en rapport_ was the supposition that occurred to Mr. Wace,\nand to me at least it seems extremely plausible....\n\nAnd where was this other world? On this, also, the alert intelligence of\nMr. Wace speedily threw light. After sunset, the sky darkened\nrapidly--there was a very brief twilight interval indeed--and the stars\nshone out. They were recognisably the same as those we see, arranged in\nthe same constellations. Mr. Cave recognised the Bear, the Pleiades,\nAldebaran, and Sirius: so that the other world must be somewhere in the\nsolar system, and, at the utmost, only a few hundreds of millions of\nmiles from our own. Following up this clue, Mr. Wace learned that the\nmidnight sky was a darker blue even than our midwinter sky, and that the\nsun seemed a little smaller. _And there were two small moons!_ \"like our\nmoon but smaller, and quite differently marked\" one of which moved so\nrapidly that its motion was clearly visible as one regarded it. These\nmoons were never high in the sky, but vanished as they rose: that is,\nevery time they revolved they were eclipsed because they were so near\ntheir primary planet. And all this answers quite completely, although\nMr. Cave did not know it, to what must be the condition of things on\nMars.\n\nIndeed, it seems an exceedingly plausible conclusion that peering into\nthis crystal Mr. Cave did actually see the planet Mars and its\ninhabitants. And, if that be the case, then the evening star that shone\nso brilliantly in the sky of that distant vision, was neither more nor\nless than our own familiar earth.\n\nFor a time the Martians--if they were Martians--do not seem to have\nknown of Mr. Cave's inspection. Once or twice one would come to peer,\nand go away very shortly to some other mast, as though the vision was\nunsatisfactory. During this time Mr. Cave was able to watch the\nproceedings of these winged people without being disturbed by their\nattentions, and, although his report is necessarily vague and\nfragmentary, it is nevertheless very suggestive. Imagine the impression\nof humanity a Martian observer would get who, after a difficult process\nof preparation and with considerable fatigue to the eyes, was able to\npeer at London from the steeple of St. Martin's Church for stretches, at\nlongest, of four minutes at a time. Mr. Cave was unable to ascertain if\nthe winged Martians were the same as the Martians who hopped about the\ncauseways and terraces, and if the latter could put on wings at will. He\nseveral times saw certain clumsy bipeds, dimly suggestive of apes, white\nand partially translucent, feeding among certain of the lichenous trees,\nand once some of these fled before one of the hopping, round-headed\nMartians. The latter caught one in its tentacles, and then the picture\nfaded suddenly and left Mr. Cave most tantalisingly in the dark. On\nanother occasion a vast thing, that Mr. Cave thought at first was some\ngigantic insect, appeared advancing along the causeway beside the canal\nwith extraordinary rapidity. As this drew nearer Mr. Cave perceived that\nit was a mechanism of shining metals and of extraordinary complexity.\nAnd then, when he looked again, it had passed out of sight.\n\nAfter a time Mr. Wace aspired to attract the attention of the Martians,\nand the next time that the strange eyes of one of them appeared close to\nthe crystal Mr. Cave cried out and sprang away, and they immediately\nturned on the light and began to gesticulate in a manner suggestive of\nsignalling. But when at last Mr. Cave examined the crystal again the\nMartian had departed.\n\nThus far these observations had progressed in early November, and then\nMr. Cave, feeling that the suspicions of his family about the crystal\nwere allayed, began to take it to and fro with him in order that, as\noccasion arose in the daytime or night, he might comfort himself with\nwhat was fast becoming the most real thing in his existence.\n\nIn December Mr. Wace's work in connection with a forthcoming examination\nbecame heavy, the sittings were reluctantly suspended for a week, and\nfor ten or eleven days--he is not quite sure which--he saw nothing of\nCave. He then grew anxious to resume these investigations, and, the\nstress of his seasonal labours being abated, he went down to Seven\nDials. At the corner he noticed a shutter before a bird fancier's\nwindow, and then another at a cobbler's. Mr. Cave's shop was closed.\n\nHe rapped and the door was opened by the step-son in black. He at once\ncalled Mrs. Cave, who was, Mr. Wace could not but observe, in cheap but\nample widow's weeds of the most imposing pattern. Without any very\ngreat surprise Mr. Wace learnt that Cave was dead and already buried.\nShe was in tears, and her voice was a little thick. She had just\nreturned from Highgate. Her mind seemed occupied with her own prospects\nand the honourable details of the obsequies, but Mr. Wace was at last\nable to learn the particulars of Cave's death. He had been found dead in\nhis shop in the early morning, the day after his last visit to Mr. Wace,\nand the crystal had been clasped in his stone-cold hands. His face was\nsmiling, said Mrs. Cave, and the velvet cloth from the minerals lay on\nthe floor at his feet. He must have been dead five or six hours when he\nwas found.\n\nThis came as a great shock to Wace, and he began to reproach himself\nbitterly for having neglected the plain symptoms of the old man's\nill-health. But his chief thought was of the crystal. He approached that\ntopic in a gingerly manner, because he knew Mrs. Cave's peculiarities.\nHe was dumbfoundered to learn that it was sold.\n\nMrs. Cave's first impulse, directly Cave's body had been taken upstairs,\nhad been to write to the mad clergyman who had offered five pounds for\nthe crystal, informing him of its recovery; but after a violent hunt in\nwhich her daughter joined her, they were convinced of the loss of his\naddress. As they were without the means required to mourn and bury Cave\nin the elaborate style the dignity of an old Seven Dials inhabitant\ndemands, they had appealed to a friendly fellow-tradesman in Great\nPortland Street. He had very kindly taken over a portion of the stock at\na valuation. The valuation was his own and the crystal egg was included\nin one of the lots. Mr. Wace, after a few suitable consolatory\nobservations, a little off-handedly proffered perhaps, hurried at once\nto Great Portland Street. But there he learned that the crystal egg had\nalready been sold to a tall, dark man in grey. And there the material\nfacts in this curious, and to me at least very suggestive, story come\nabruptly to an end. The Great Portland Street dealer did not know who\nthe tall dark man in grey was, nor had he observed him with sufficient\nattention to describe him minutely. He did not even know which way this\nperson had gone after leaving the shop. For a time Mr. Wace remained in\nthe shop, trying the dealer's patience with hopeless questions, venting\nhis own exasperation. And at last, realising abruptly that the whole\nthing had passed out of his hands, had vanished like a vision of the\nnight, he returned to his own rooms, a little astonished to find the\nnotes he had made still tangible and visible upon his untidy table.\n\nHis annoyance and disappointment were naturally very great. He made a\nsecond call (equally ineffectual) upon the Great Portland Street dealer,\nand he resorted to advertisements in such periodicals as were likely to\ncome into the hands of a _bric-a-brac_ collector. He also wrote letters\nto _The Daily Chronicle_ and _Nature_, but both those periodicals,\nsuspecting a hoax, asked him to reconsider his action before they\nprinted, and he was advised that such a strange story, unfortunately so\nbare of supporting evidence, might imperil his reputation as an\ninvestigator. Moreover, the calls of his proper work were urgent. So\nthat after a month or so, save for an occasional reminder to certain\ndealers, he had reluctantly to abandon the quest for the crystal egg,\nand from that day to this it remains undiscovered. Occasionally,\nhowever, he tells me, and I can quite believe him, he has bursts of\nzeal, in which he abandons his more urgent occupation and resumes the\nsearch.\n\nWhether or not it will remain lost for ever, with the material and\norigin of it, are things equally speculative at the present time. If\nthe present purchaser is a collector, one would have expected the\nenquiries of Mr. Wace to have reached him through the dealers. He has\nbeen able to discover Mr. Cave's clergyman and \"Oriental\"--no other than\nthe Rev. James Parker and the young Prince of Bosso-Kuni in Java. I am\nobliged to them for certain particulars. The object of the Prince was\nsimply curiosity--and extravagance. He was so eager to buy, because Cave\nwas so oddly reluctant to sell. It is just as possible that the buyer in\nthe second instance was simply a casual purchaser and not a collector at\nall, and the crystal egg, for all I know, may at the present moment be\nwithin a mile of me, decorating a drawing-room or serving as a\npaper-weight--its remarkable functions all unknown. Indeed, it is partly\nwith the idea of such a possibility that I have thrown this narrative\ninto a form that will give it a chance of being read by the ordinary\nconsumer of fiction.\n\nMy own ideas in the matter are practically identical with those of Mr.\nWace. I believe the crystal on the mast in Mars and the crystal egg of\nMr. Cave's to be in some physical, but at present quite inexplicable,\nway _en rapport_, and we both believe further that the terrestrial\ncrystal must have been--possibly at some remote date--sent hither from\nthat planet, in order to give the Martians a near view of our affairs.\nPossibly the fellows to the crystals in the other masts are also on our\nglobe. No theory of hallucination suffices for the facts.\n\n\n\n\nThe Star\n\n\n\n\nTHE STAR\n\n\nIt was on the first day of the new year that the announcement was made,\nalmost simultaneously from three observatories, that the motion of the\nplanet Neptune, the outermost of all the planets that wheel about the\nsun, had become very erratic. Ogilvy had already called attention to a\nsuspected retardation in its velocity in December. Such a piece of news\nwas scarcely calculated to interest a world the greater portion of whose\ninhabitants were unaware of the existence of the planet Neptune, nor\noutside the astronomical profession did the subsequent discovery of a\nfaint remote speck of light in the region of the perturbed planet cause\nany very great excitement. Scientific people, however, found the\nintelligence remarkable enough, even before it became known that the new\nbody was rapidly growing larger and brighter, that its motion was quite\ndifferent from the orderly progress of the planets, and that the\ndeflection of Neptune and its satellite was becoming now of an\nunprecedented kind.\n\nFew people without a training in science can realise the huge isolation\nof the solar system. The sun with its specks of planets, its dust of\nplanetoids, and its impalpable comets, swims in a vacant immensity that\nalmost defeats the imagination. Beyond the orbit of Neptune there is\nspace, vacant so far as human observation has penetrated, without warmth\nor light or sound, blank emptiness, for twenty million times a million\nmiles. That is the smallest estimate of the distance to be traversed\nbefore the very nearest of the stars is attained. And, saving a few\ncomets more unsubstantial than the thinnest flame, no matter had ever to\nhuman knowledge crossed this gulf of space, until early in the twentieth\ncentury this strange wanderer appeared. A vast mass of matter it was,\nbulky, heavy, rushing without warning out of the black mystery of the\nsky into the radiance of the sun. By the second day it was clearly\nvisible to any decent instrument, as a speck with a barely sensible\ndiameter, in the constellation Leo near Regulus. In a little while an\nopera glass could attain it.\n\nOn the third day of the new year the newspaper readers of two\nhemispheres were made aware for the first time of the real importance\nof this unusual apparition in the heavens. \"A Planetary Collision,\" one\nLondon paper headed the news, and proclaimed Duchaine's opinion that\nthis strange new planet would probably collide with Neptune. The leader\nwriters enlarged upon the topic. So that in most of the capitals of the\nworld, on January 3rd, there was an expectation, however vague of some\nimminent phenomenon in the sky; and as the night followed the sunset\nround the globe, thousands of men turned their eyes skyward to see--the\nold familiar stars just as they had always been.\n\nUntil it was dawn in London and Pollux setting and the stars overhead\ngrown pale. The Winter's dawn it was, a sickly filtering accumulation of\ndaylight, and the light of gas and candles shone yellow in the windows\nto show where people were astir. But the yawning policeman saw the\nthing, the busy crowds in the markets stopped agape, workmen going to\ntheir work betimes, milkmen, the drivers of news-carts, dissipation\ngoing home jaded and pale, homeless wanderers, sentinels on their beats,\nand in the country, labourers trudging afield, poachers slinking home,\nall over the dusky quickening country it could be seen--and out at sea\nby seamen watching for the day--a great white star, come suddenly into\nthe westward sky!\n\nBrighter it was than any star in our skies; brighter than the evening\nstar at its brightest. It still glowed out white and large, no mere\ntwinkling spot of light, but a small round clear shining disc, an hour\nafter the day had come. And where science has not reached, men stared\nand feared, telling one another of the wars and pestilences that are\nforeshadowed by these fiery signs in the Heavens. Sturdy Boers, dusky\nHottentots, Gold Coast <DW64>s, Frenchmen, Spaniards, Portuguese, stood\nin the warmth of the sunrise watching the setting of this strange new\nstar.\n\nAnd in a hundred observatories there had been suppressed excitement,\nrising almost to shouting pitch, as the two remote bodies had rushed\ntogether, and a hurrying to and fro, to gather photographic apparatus\nand spectroscope, and this appliance and that, to record this novel\nastonishing sight, the destruction of a world. For it was a world, a\nsister planet of our earth, far greater than our earth indeed, that had\nso suddenly flashed into flaming death. Neptune it was, had been struck,\nfairly and squarely, by the strange planet from outer space and the heat\nof the concussion had incontinently turned two solid globes into one\nvast mass of incandescence. Round the world that day, two hours before\nthe dawn, went the pallid great white star, fading only as it sank\nwestward and the sun mounted above it. Everywhere men marvelled at it,\nbut of all those who saw it none could have marvelled more than those\nsailors, habitual watchers of the stars, who far away at sea had heard\nnothing of its advent and saw it now rise like a pigmy moon and climb\nzenithward and hang overhead and sink westward with the passing of the\nnight.\n\nAnd when next it rose over Europe everywhere were crowds of watchers on\nhilly <DW72>s, on house-roofs, in open spaces, staring eastward for the\nrising of the great new star. It rose with a white glow in front of it,\nlike the glare of a white fire, and those who had seen it come into\nexistence the night before cried out at the sight of it. \"It is larger,\"\nthey cried. \"It is brighter!\" And, indeed the moon a quarter full and\nsinking in the west was in its apparent size beyond comparison, but\nscarcely in all its breadth had it as much brightness now as the little\ncircle of the strange new star.\n\n\"It is brighter!\" cried the people clustering in the streets. But in the\ndim observatories the watchers held their breath and peered at one\nanother. \"_It is nearer_,\" they said. \"_Nearer!_\"\n\nAnd voice after voice repeated, \"It is nearer,\" and the clicking\ntelegraph took that up, and it trembled along telephone wires, and in a\nthousand cities grimy compositors fingered the type. \"It is nearer.\" Men\nwriting in offices, struck with a strange realisation, flung down their\npens, men talking in a thousand places suddenly came upon a grotesque\npossibility in those words, \"It is nearer.\" It hurried along awakening\nstreets, it was shouted down the frost-stilled ways of quiet villages,\nmen who had read these things from the throbbing tape stood in\nyellow-lit doorways shouting the news to the passers-by. \"It is nearer.\"\nPretty women, flushed and glittering, heard the news told jestingly\nbetween the dances, and feigned an intelligent interest they did not\nfeel. \"Nearer! Indeed. How curious! How very, very clever people must be\nto find out things like that!\"\n\nLonely tramps faring through the wintry night murmured those words to\ncomfort themselves--looking skyward. \"It has need to be nearer, for the\nnight's as cold as charity. Don't seem much warmth from it if it _is_\nnearer, all the same.\"\n\n\"What is a new star to me?\" cried the weeping woman kneeling beside her\ndead.\n\nThe schoolboy, rising early for his examination work, puzzled it out for\nhimself--with the great white star, shining broad and bright through the\nfrost-flowers of his window. \"Centrifugal, centripetal,\" he said, with\nhis chin on his fist. \"Stop a planet in its flight, rob it of its\ncentrifugal force, what then? Centripetal has it, and down it falls into\nthe sun! And this--!\"\n\n\"Do _we_ come in the way? I wonder--\"\n\nThe light of that day went the way of its brethren, and with the later\nwatches of the frosty darkness rose the strange star again. And it was\nnow so bright that the waxing moon seemed but a pale yellow ghost of\nitself, hanging huge in the sunset. In a South African city a great man\nhad married, and the streets were alight to welcome his return with his\nbride. \"Even the skies have illuminated,\" said the flatterer. Under\nCapricorn, two <DW64> lovers, daring the wild beasts and evil spirits,\nfor love of one another, crouched together in a cane brake where the\nfire-flies hovered. \"That is our star,\" they whispered, and felt\nstrangely comforted by the sweet brilliance of its light.\n\nThe master mathematician sat in his private room and pushed the papers\nfrom him. His calculations were already finished. In a small white phial\nthere still remained a little of the drug that had kept him awake and\nactive for four long nights. Each day, serene, explicit, patient as\never, he had given his lecture to his students, and then had come back\nat once to this momentous calculation. His face was grave, a little\ndrawn and hectic from his drugged activity. For some time he seemed lost\nin thought. Then he went to the window, and the blind went up with a\nclick. Half way up the sky, over the clustering roofs, chimneys and\nsteeples of the city, hung the star.\n\nHe looked at it as one might look into the eyes of a brave enemy. \"You\nmay kill me,\" he said after a silence. \"But I can hold you--and all the\nuniverse for that matter--in the grip of this little brain. I would not\nchange. Even now.\"\n\nHe looked at the little phial. \"There will be no need of sleep again,\"\nhe said. The next day at noon, punctual to the minute, he entered his\nlecture theatre, put his hat on the end of the table as his habit was,\nand carefully selected a large piece of chalk. It was a joke among his\nstudents that he could not lecture without that piece of chalk to fumble\nin his fingers, and once he had been stricken to impotence by their\nhiding his supply. He came and looked under his grey eyebrows at the\nrising tiers of young fresh faces, and spoke with his accustomed studied\ncommonness of phrasing. \"Circumstances have arisen--circumstances beyond\nmy control,\" he said and paused, \"which will debar me from completing\nthe course I had designed. It would seem, gentlemen, if I may put the\nthing clearly and briefly, that--Man has lived in vain.\"\n\nThe students glanced at one another. Had they heard aright? Mad? Raised\neyebrows and grinning lips there were, but one or two faces remained\nintent upon his calm grey-fringed face. \"It will be interesting,\" he was\nsaying, \"to devote this morning to an exposition, so far as I can make\nit clear to you, of the calculations that have led me to this\nconclusion. Let us assume--\"\n\nHe turned towards the blackboard, meditating a diagram in the way that\nwas usual to him. \"What was that about 'lived in vain?'\" whispered one\nstudent to another. \"Listen,\" said the other, nodding towards the\nlecturer.\n\nAnd presently they began to understand.\n\nThat night the star rose later, for its proper eastward motion had\ncarried it some way across Leo towards Virgo, and its brightness was so\ngreat that the sky became a luminous blue as it rose, and every star was\nhidden in its turn, save only Jupiter near the zenith, Capella,\nAldebaran, Sirius and the pointers of the Bear. It was very white and\nbeautiful. In many parts of the world that night a pallid halo encircled\nit about. It was perceptibly larger; in the clear refractive sky of the\ntropics it seemed as if it were nearly a quarter the size of the moon.\nThe frost was still on the ground in England, but the world was as\nbrightly lit as if it were midsummer moonlight. One could see to read\nquite ordinary print by that cold clear light, and in the cities the\nlamps burnt yellow and wan.\n\nAnd everywhere the world was awake that night, and throughout\nChristendom a sombre murmur hung in the keen air over the countryside\nlike the belling of bees in the heather, and this murmurous tumult grew\nto a clangour in the cities. It was the tolling of the bells in a\nmillion belfry towers and steeples, summoning the people to sleep no\nmore, to sin no more, but to gather in their churches and pray. And\noverhead, growing larger and brighter, as the earth rolled on its way\nand the night passed, rose the dazzling star.\n\nAnd the streets and houses were alight in all the cities, the shipyards\nglared, and whatever roads led to high country were lit and crowded all\nnight long. And in all the seas about the civilised lands, ships with\nthrobbing engines, and ships with bellying sails, crowded with men and\nliving creatures, were standing out to ocean and the north. For already\nthe warning of the master mathematician had been telegraphed all over\nthe world, and translated into a hundred tongues. The new planet and\nNeptune, locked in a fiery embrace, were whirling headlong, ever faster\nand faster towards the sun. Already every second this blazing mass flew\na hundred miles, and every second its terrific velocity increased. As it\nflew now, indeed, it must pass a hundred million of miles wide of the\nearth and scarcely affect it. But near its destined path, as yet only\nslightly perturbed, spun the mighty planet Jupiter and his moons\nsweeping splendid round the sun. Every moment now the attraction between\nthe fiery star and the greatest of the planets grew stronger. And the\nresult of that attraction? Inevitably Jupiter would be deflected from\nits orbit into an elliptical path, and the burning star, swung by his\nattraction wide of its sunward rush, would \"describe a curved path\" and\nperhaps collide with, and certainly pass very close to, our earth.\n\"Earthquakes, volcanic outbreaks, cyclones, sea waves, floods, and a\nsteady rise in temperature to I know not what limit\"--so prophesied the\nmaster mathematician.\n\nAnd overhead, to carry out his words, lonely and cold and livid, blazed\nthe star of the coming doom.\n\nTo many who stared at it that night until their eyes ached, it seemed\nthat it was visibly approaching. And that night, too, the weather\nchanged, and the frost that had gripped all Central Europe and France\nand England softened towards a thaw.\n\nBut you must not imagine because I have spoken of people praying through\nthe night and people going aboard ships and people fleeing towards\nmountainous country that the whole world was already in a terror because\nof the star. As a matter of fact, use and wont still ruled the world,\nand save for the talk of idle moments and the splendour of the night,\nnine human beings out of ten were still busy at their common\noccupations. In all the cities the shops, save one here and there,\nopened and closed at their proper hours, the doctor and the undertaker\nplied their trades, the workers gathered in the factories, soldiers\ndrilled, scholars studied, lovers sought one another, thieves lurked and\nfled, politicians planned their schemes. The presses of the newspapers\nroared through the nights, and many a priest of this church and that\nwould not open his holy building to further what he considered a foolish\npanic. The newspapers insisted on the lesson of the year 1000--for then,\ntoo, people had anticipated the end. The star was no star--mere gas--a\ncomet; and were it a star it could not possibly strike the earth. There\nwas no precedent for such a thing. Common sense was sturdy everywhere,\nscornful, jesting, a little inclined to persecute the obdurate fearful.\nThat night, at seven-fifteen by Greenwich time, the star would be at its\nnearest to Jupiter. Then the world would see the turn things would take.\nThe master mathematician's grim warnings were treated by many as so much\nmere elaborate self-advertisement. Common sense at last, a little heated\nby argument, signified its unalterable convictions by going to bed. So,\ntoo, barbarism and savagery, already tired of the novelty, went about\ntheir nightly business, and save for a howling dog here and there, the\nbeast world left the star unheeded.\n\nAnd yet, when at last the watchers in the European States saw the star\nrise, an hour later it is true, but no larger than it had been the night\nbefore, there were still plenty awake to laugh at the master\nmathematician--to take the danger as if it had passed.\n\nBut hereafter the laughter ceased. The star grew--it grew with a\nterrible steadiness hour after hour, a little larger each hour, a little\nnearer the midnight zenith, and brighter and brighter, until it had\nturned night into a second day. Had it come straight to the earth\ninstead of in a curved path, had it lost no velocity to Jupiter, it must\nhave leapt the intervening gulf in a day, but as it was it took five\ndays altogether to come by our planet. The next night it had become a\nthird the size of the moon before it set to English eyes, and the thaw\nwas assured. It rose over America near the size of the moon, but\nblinding white to look at, and _hot_; and a breath of hot wind blew now\nwith its rising and gathering strength, and in Virginia, and Brazil, and\ndown the St. Lawrence valley, it shone intermittently through a driving\nreek of thunder-clouds, flickering violet lightning, and hail\nunprecedented. In Manitoba was a thaw and devastating floods. And upon\nall the mountains of the earth the snow and ice began to melt that\nnight, and all the rivers coming out of high country flowed thick and\nturbid, and soon--in their upper reaches--with swirling trees and the\nbodies of beasts and men. They rose steadily, steadily in the ghostly\nbrilliance, and came trickling over their banks at last, behind the\nflying population of their valleys.\n\nAnd along the coast of Argentina and up the South Atlantic the tides\nwere higher than had ever been in the memory of man, and the storms\ndrove the waters in many cases scores of miles inland, drowning whole\ncities. And so great grew the heat during the night that the rising of\nthe sun was like the coming of a shadow. The earthquakes began and grew\nuntil all down America from the Arctic Circle to Cape Horn, hillsides\nwere sliding, fissures were opening, and houses and walls crumbling to\ndestruction. The whole side of Cotopaxi slipped out in one vast\nconvulsion, and a tumult of lava poured out so high and broad and swift\nand liquid that in one day it reached the sea.\n\nSo the star, with the wan moon in its wake, marched across the Pacific,\ntrailed the thunderstorms like the hem of a robe, and the growing tidal\nwave that toiled behind it, frothing and eager, poured over island and\nisland and swept them clear of men. Until that wave came at last--in a\nblinding light and with the breath of a furnace, swift and terrible it\ncame--a wall of water, fifty feet high, roaring hungrily, upon the long\ncoasts of Asia, and swept inland across the plains of China. For a space\nthe star, hotter now and larger and brighter than the sun in its\nstrength, showed with pitiless brilliance the wide and populous country;\ntowns and villages with their pagodas and trees, roads, wide cultivated\nfields, millions of sleepless people staring in helpless terror at the\nincandescent sky; and then, low and growing, came the murmur of the\nflood. And thus it was with millions of men that night--a flight\nnowhither, with limbs heavy with heat and breath fierce and scant, and\nthe flood like a wall swift and white behind. And then death.\n\nChina was lit glowing white, but over Japan and Java and all the islands\nof Eastern Asia the great star was a ball of dull red fire because of\nthe steam and smoke and ashes the volcanoes were spouting forth to\nsalute its coming. Above was the lava, hot gases and ash, and below the\nseething floods, and the whole earth swayed and rumbled with the\nearthquake shocks. Soon the immemorial snows of Thibet and the Himalaya\nwere melting and pouring down by ten million deepening converging\nchannels upon the plains of Burmah and Hindostan. The tangled summits of\nthe Indian jungles were aflame in a thousand places, and below the\nhurrying waters around the stems were dark objects that still struggled\nfeebly and reflected the blood-red tongues of fire. And in a rudderless\nconfusion a multitude of men and women fled down the broad river-ways to\nthat one last hope of men--the open sea.\n\nLarger grew the star, and larger, hotter, and brighter with a terrible\nswiftness now. The tropical ocean had lost its phosphorescence, and the\nwhirling steam rose in ghostly wreaths from the black waves that plunged\nincessantly, speckled with storm-tossed ships.\n\nAnd then came a wonder. It seemed to those who in Europe watched for the\nrising of the star that the world must have ceased its rotation. In a\nthousand open spaces of down and upland the people who had fled thither\nfrom the floods and the falling houses and sliding <DW72>s of hill\nwatched for that rising in vain. Hour followed hour through a terrible\nsuspense, and the star rose not. Once again men set their eyes upon the\nold constellations they had counted lost to them forever. In England it\nwas hot and clear overhead, though the ground quivered perpetually, but\nin the tropics, Sirius and Capella and Aldebaran showed through a veil\nof steam. And when at last the great star rose near ten hours late, the\nsun rose close upon it, and in the centre of its white heart was a disc\nof black.\n\nOver Asia it was the star had begun to fall behind the movement of the\nsky, and then suddenly, as it hung over India, its light had been\nveiled. All the plain of India from the mouth of the Indus to the mouths\nof the Ganges was a shallow waste of shining water that night, out of\nwhich rose temples and palaces, mounds and hills, black with people.\nEvery minaret was a clustering mass of people, who fell one by one into\nthe turbid waters, as heat and terror overcame them. The whole land\nseemed a-wailing, and suddenly there swept a shadow across that furnace\nof despair, and a breath of cold wind, and a gathering of clouds, out of\nthe cooling air. Men looking up, near blinded, at the star, saw that a\nblack disc was creeping across the light. It was the moon, coming\nbetween the star and the earth. And even as men cried to God at this\nrespite, out of the East with a strange inexplicable swiftness sprang\nthe sun. And then star, sun and moon rushed together across the\nheavens.\n\nSo it was that presently, to the European watchers, star and sun rose\nclose upon each other, drove headlong for a space and then slower, and\nat last came to rest, star and sun merged into one glare of flame at the\nzenith of the sky. The moon no longer eclipsed the star but was lost to\nsight in the brilliance of the sky. And though those who were still\nalive regarded it for the most part with that dull stupidity that\nhunger, fatigue, heat and despair engender, there were still men who\ncould perceive the meaning of these signs. Star and earth had been at\ntheir nearest, had swung about one another, and the star had passed.\nAlready it was receding, swifter and swifter, in the last stage of its\nheadlong journey downward into the sun.\n\nAnd then the clouds gathered, blotting out the vision of the sky, the\nthunder and lightning wove a garment round the world; all over the earth\nwas such a downpour of rain as men had never before seen, and where the\nvolcanoes flared red against the cloud canopy there descended torrents\nof mud. Everywhere the waters were pouring off the land, leaving\nmud-silted ruins, and the earth littered like a storm-worn beach with\nall that had floated, and the dead bodies of the men and brutes, its\nchildren. For days the water streamed off the land, sweeping away soil\nand trees and houses in the way, and piling huge <DW18>s and scooping out\nTitanic gullies over the country side. Those were the days of darkness\nthat followed the star and the heat. All through them, and for many\nweeks and months, the earthquakes continued.\n\nBut the star had passed, and men, hunger-driven and gathering courage\nonly slowly, might creep back to their ruined cities, buried granaries,\nand sodden fields. Such few ships as had escaped the storms of that time\ncame stunned and shattered and sounding their way cautiously through the\nnew marks and shoals of once familiar ports. And as the storms subsided\nmen perceived that everywhere the days were hotter than of yore, and the\nsun larger, and the moon, shrunk to a third of its former size, took now\nfourscore days between its new and new.\n\nBut of the new brotherhood that grew presently among men, of the saving\nof laws and books and machines, of the strange change that had come over\nIceland and Greenland and the shores of Baffin's Bay, so that the\nsailors coming there presently found them green and gracious, and could\nscarce believe their eyes, this story does not tell. Nor of the\nmovement of mankind now that the earth was hotter, northward and\nsouthward towards the poles of the earth. It concerns itself only with\nthe coming and the passing of the Star.\n\nThe Martian astronomers--for there are astronomers on Mars, although\nthey are very different beings from men--were naturally profoundly\ninterested by these things. They saw them from their own standpoint of\ncourse. \"Considering the mass and temperature of the missile that was\nflung through our solar system into the sun,\" one wrote, \"it is\nastonishing what a little damage the earth, which it missed so narrowly,\nhas sustained. All the familiar continental markings and the masses of\nthe seas remain intact, and indeed the only difference seems to be a\nshrinkage of the white discolouration (supposed to be frozen water)\nround either pole.\" Which only shows how small the vastest of human\ncatastrophes may seem, at a distance of a few million miles.\n\n\n\n\nA Story of the Stone Age\n\n\n\n\nA STORY OF THE STONE AGE\n\n\nI--UGH-LOMI AND UYA\n\nThis story is of a time beyond the memory of man, before the beginning\nof history, a time when one might have walked dryshod from France (as we\ncall it now) to England, and when a broad and sluggish Thames flowed\nthrough its marshes to meet its father Rhine, flowing through a wide and\nlevel country that is under water in these latter days, and which we\nknow by the name of the North Sea. In that remote age the valley which\nruns along the foot of the Downs did not exist, and the south of Surrey\nwas a range of hills, fir-clad on the middle <DW72>s, and snow-capped for\nthe better part of the year. The cores of its summits still remain as\nLeith Hill, and Pitch Hill, and Hindhead. On the lower <DW72>s of the\nrange, below the grassy spaces where the wild horses grazed, were\nforests of yew and sweet-chestnut and elm, and the thickets and dark\nplaces hid the grizzly bear and the hyaena, and the grey apes clambered\nthrough the branches. And still lower amidst the woodland and marsh and\nopen grass along the Wey did this little drama play itself out to the\nend that I have to tell. Fifty thousand years ago it was, fifty thousand\nyears--if the reckoning of geologists is correct.\n\nAnd in those days the spring-time was as joyful as it is now, and sent\nthe blood coursing in just the same fashion. The afternoon sky was blue\nwith piled white clouds sailing through it, and the southwest wind came\nlike a soft caress. The new-come swallows drove to and fro. The reaches\nof the river were spangled with white ranunculus, the marshy places were\nstarred with lady's-smock and lit with marsh-mallow wherever the\nregiments of the sedges lowered their swords, and the northward-moving\nhippopotami, shiny black monsters, sporting clumsily, came floundering\nand blundering through it all, rejoicing dimly and possessed with one\nclear idea, to splash the river muddy.\n\nUp the river and well in sight of the hippopotami, a number of little\nbuff- animals dabbled in the water. There was no fear, no\nrivalry, and no enmity between them and the hippopotami. As the great\nbulks came crashing through the reeds and smashed the mirror of the\nwater into silvery splashes, these little creatures shouted and\ngesticulated with glee. It was the surest sign of high spring. \"Boloo!\"\nthey cried. \"Baayah. Boloo!\" They were the children of the men folk, the\nsmoke of whose encampment rose from the knoll at the river's bend.\nWild-eyed youngsters they were, with matted hair and little broad-nosed\nimpish faces, covered (as some children are covered even nowadays) with\na delicate down of hair. They were narrow in the loins and long in the\narms. And their ears had no lobes, and had little pointed tips, a thing\nthat still, in rare instances, survives. Stark-naked vivid little\ngipsies, as active as monkeys and as full of chatter, though a little\nwanting in words.\n\nTheir elders were hidden from the wallowing hippopotami by the crest of\nthe knoll. The human squatting-place was a trampled area among the dead\nbrown fronds of Royal Fern, through which the crosiers of this year's\ngrowth were unrolling to the light and warmth. The fire was a\nsmouldering heap of char, light grey and black, replenished by the old\nwomen from time to time with brown leaves. Most of the men were\nasleep--they slept sitting with their foreheads on their knees. They had\nkilled that morning a good quarry, enough for all, a deer that had been\nwounded by hunting dogs; so that there had been no quarrelling among\nthem, and some of the women were still gnawing the bones that lay\nscattered about. Others were making a heap of leaves and sticks to feed\nBrother Fire when the darkness came again, that he might grow strong and\ntall therewith, and guard them against the beasts. And two were piling\nflints that they brought, an armful at a time, from the bend of the\nriver where the children were at play.\n\nNone of these buff-skinned savages were clothed, but some wore about\ntheir hips rude girdles of adder-skin or crackling undressed hide, from\nwhich depended little bags, not made, but torn from the paws of beasts,\nand carrying the rudely-dressed flints that were men's chief weapons and\ntools. And one woman, the mate of Uya the Cunning Man, wore a wonderful\nnecklace of perforated fossils--that others had worn before her. Beside\nsome of the sleeping men lay the big antlers of the elk, with the tines\nchipped to sharp edges, and long sticks, hacked at the ends with flints\ninto sharp points. There was little else save these things and the\nsmouldering fire to mark these human beings off from the wild animals\nthat ranged the country. But Uya the Cunning did not sleep, but sat with\na bone in his hand and scraped busily thereon with a flint, a thing no\nanimal would do. He was the oldest man in the tribe, beetle-browed,\nprognathous, lank-armed; he had a beard and his cheeks were hairy, and\nhis chest and arms were black with thick hair. And by virtue both of his\nstrength and cunning he was master of the tribe, and his share was\nalways the most and the best.\n\nEudena had hidden herself among the alders, because she was afraid of\nUya. She was still a girl, and her eyes were bright and her smile\npleasant to see. He had given her a piece of the liver, a man's piece,\nand a wonderful treat for a girl to get; but as she took it the other\nwoman with the necklace had looked at her, an evil glance, and Ugh-lomi\nhad made a noise in his throat. At that, Uya had looked at him long and\nsteadfastly, and Ugh-lomi's face had fallen. And then Uya had looked at\nher. She was frightened and she had stolen away, while the feeding was\nstill going on, and Uya was busy with the marrow of a bone. Afterwards\nhe had wandered about as if looking for her. And now she crouched among\nthe alders, wondering mightily what Uya might be doing with the flint\nand the bone. And Ugh-lomi was not to be seen.\n\nPresently a squirrel came leaping through the alders, and she lay so\nquiet the little man was within six feet of her before he saw her.\nWhereupon he dashed up a stem in a hurry and began to chatter and scold\nher. \"What are you doing here,\" he asked, \"away from the other men\nbeasts?\" \"Peace,\" said Eudena, but he only chattered more, and then she\nbegan to break off the little black cones to throw at him. He dodged and\ndefied her, and she grew excited and rose up to throw better, and then\nshe saw Uya coming down the knoll. He had seen the movement of her pale\narm amidst the thicket--he was very keen-eyed.\n\nAt that she forgot the squirrel and set off through the alders and reeds\nas fast as she could go. She did not care where she went so long as she\nescaped Uya. She splashed nearly knee-deep through a swampy place, and\nsaw in front of her a <DW72> of ferns--growing more slender and green as\nthey passed up out of the light into the shade of the young chestnuts.\nShe was soon amidst the trees--she was very fleet of foot, and she ran\non and on until the forest was old and the vales great, and the vines\nabout their stems where the light came were thick as young trees, and\nthe ropes of ivy stout and tight. On she went, and she doubled and\ndoubled again, and then at last lay down amidst some ferns in a hollow\nplace near a thicket, and listened with her heart beating in her ears.\n\nShe heard footsteps presently rustling among the dead leaves, far off,\nand they died away and everything was still again, except the\nscandalising of the midges--for the evening was drawing on--and the\nincessant whisper of the leaves. She laughed silently to think the\ncunning Uya should go by her. She was not frightened. Sometimes, playing\nwith the other girls and lads, she had fled into the wood, though never\nso far as this. It was pleasant to be hidden and alone.\n\nShe lay a long time there, glad of her escape, and then she sat up\nlistening.\n\nIt was a rapid pattering growing louder and coming towards her, and in a\nlittle while she could hear grunting noises and the snapping of twigs.\nIt was a drove of lean grisly wild swine. She turned about her, for a\nboar is an ill fellow to pass too closely, on account of the sideway\nslash of his tusks, and she made off slantingly through the trees. But\nthe patter came nearer, they were not feeding as they wandered, but\ngoing fast--or else they would not overtake her--and she caught the limb\nof a tree, swung on to it, and ran up the stem with something of the\nagility of a monkey.\n\nDown below the sharp bristling backs of the swine were already passing\nwhen she looked. And she knew the short, sharp grunts they made meant\nfear. What were they afraid of? A man? They were in a great hurry for\njust a man.\n\nAnd then, so suddenly it made her grip on the branch tighten\ninvoluntarily, a fawn started in the brake and rushed after the swine.\nSomething else went by, low and grey, with a long body; she did not know\nwhat it was, indeed she saw it only momentarily through the interstices\nof the young leaves; and then there came a pause.\n\nShe remained stiff and expectant, as rigid almost as though she was a\npart of the tree she clung to, peering down.\n\nThen, far away among the trees, clear for a moment, then hidden, then\nvisible knee-deep in ferns, then gone again, ran a man. She knew it was\nyoung Ugh-lomi by the fair colour of his hair, and there was red upon\nhis face. Somehow his frantic flight and that scarlet mark made her feel\nsick. And then nearer, running heavily and breathing hard, came another\nman. At first she could not see, and then she saw, foreshortened and\nclear to her, Uya, running with great strides and his eyes staring. He\nwas not going after Ugh-lomi. His face was white. It was Uya--_afraid_!\nHe passed, and was still loud hearing, when something else, something\nlarge and with grizzled fur, swinging along with soft swift strides,\ncame rushing in pursuit of him.\n\nEudena suddenly became rigid, ceased to breathe, her clutch convulsive,\nand her eyes starting.\n\nShe had never seen the thing before, she did not even see him clearly\nnow, but she knew at once it was the Terror of the Woodshade. His name\nwas a legend, the children would frighten one another, frighten even\nthemselves with his name, and run screaming to the squatting-place. No\nman had ever killed any of his kind. Even the mighty mammoth feared his\nanger. It was the grizzly bear, the lord of the world as the world went\nthen.\n\nAs he ran he made a continuous growling grumble. \"Men in my very lair!\nFighting and blood. At the very mouth of my lair. Men, men, men.\nFighting and blood.\" For he was the lord of the wood and of the caves.\n\nLong after he had passed she remained, a girl of stone, staring down\nthrough the branches. All her power of action had gone from her. She\ngripped by instinct with hands and knees and feet. It was some time\nbefore she could think, and then only one thing was clear in her mind,\nthat the Terror was between her and the tribe--that it would be\nimpossible to descend.\n\nPresently when her fear was a little abated she clambered into a more\ncomfortable position, where a great branch forked. The trees rose about\nher, so that she could see nothing of Brother Fire, who is black by day.\nBirds began to stir, and things that had gone into hiding for fear of\nher movements crept out....\n\nAfter a time the taller branches flamed out at the touch of the sunset.\nHigh overhead the rooks, who were wiser than men, went cawing home to\ntheir squatting-places among the elms. Looking down, things were clearer\nand darker. Eudena thought of going back to the squatting-place; she let\nherself down some way, and then the fear of the Terror of the Woodshade\ncame again. While she hesitated a rabbit squealed dismally, and she\ndared not descend farther.\n\nThe shadows gathered, and the deeps of the forest began stirring. Eudena\nwent up the tree again to be nearer the light. Down below the shadows\ncame out of their hiding-places and walked abroad. Overhead the blue\ndeepened. A dreadful stillness came, and then the leaves began\nwhispering.\n\nEudena shivered and thought of Brother Fire.\n\nThe shadows now were gathering in the trees, they sat on the branches\nand watched her. Branches and leaves were turned to ominous, quiet black\nshapes that would spring on her if she stirred. Then the white owl,\nflitting silently, came ghostly through the shades. Darker grew the\nworld and darker, until the leaves and twigs against the sky were black,\nand the ground was hidden.\n\nShe remained there all night, an age-long vigil, straining her ears for\nthe things that went on below in the darkness, and keeping motionless\nlest some stealthy beast should discover her. Man in those days was\nnever alone in the dark, save for such rare accidents as this. Age after\nage he had learnt the lesson of its terror--a lesson we poor children of\nhis have nowadays painfully to unlearn. Eudena, though in age a woman,\nwas in heart like a little child. She kept as still, poor little animal,\nas a hare before it is started.\n\nThe stars gathered and watched her--her one grain of comfort. In one\nbright one she fancied there was something like Ugh-lomi. Then she\nfancied it _was_ Ugh-lomi. And near him, red and duller, was Uya, and as\nthe night passed Ugh-lomi fled before him up the sky.\n\nShe tried to see Brother Fire, who guarded the squatting-place from\nbeasts, but he was not in sight. And far away she heard the mammoths\ntrumpeting as they went down to the drinking-place, and once some huge\nbulk with heavy paces hurried along, making a noise like a calf, but\nwhat it was she could not see. But she thought from the voice it was\nYaaa the rhinoceros, who stabs with his nose, goes always alone, and\nrages without cause.\n\nAt last the little stars began to hide, and then the larger ones. It was\nlike all the animals vanishing before the Terror. The Sun was coming,\nlord of the sky, as the grizzly was lord of the forest. Eudena wondered\nwhat would happen if one star stayed behind. And then the sky paled to\nthe dawn.\n\nWhen the daylight came the fear of lurking things passed, and she could\ndescend. She was stiff, but not so stiff as you would have been, dear\nyoung lady (by virtue of your upbringing), and as she had not been\ntrained to eat at least once in three hours, but instead had often\nfasted three days, she did not feel uncomfortably hungry. She crept down\nthe tree very cautiously, and went her way stealthily through the wood,\nand not a squirrel sprang or deer started but the terror of the grizzly\nbear froze her marrow.\n\nHer desire was now to find her people again. Her dread of Uya the\nCunning was consumed by a greater dread of loneliness. But she had lost\nher direction. She had run heedlessly overnight, and she could not tell\nwhether the squatting-place was sunward or where it lay. Ever and again\nshe stopped and listened, and at last, very far away, she heard a\nmeasured chinking. It was so faint even in the morning stillness that\nshe could tell it must be far away. But she knew the sound was that of a\nman sharpening a flint.\n\nPresently the trees began to thin out, and then came a regiment of\nnettles barring the way. She turned aside, and then she came to a fallen\ntree that she knew, with a noise of bees about it. And so presently she\nwas in sight of the knoll, very far off, and the river under it, and the\nchildren and the hippopotami just as they had been yesterday, and the\nthin spire of smoke swaying in the morning breeze. Far away by the\nriver was the cluster of alders where she had hidden. And at the sight\nof that the fear of Uya returned, and she crept into a thicket of\nbracken, out of which a rabbit scuttled, and lay awhile to watch the\nsquatting-place.\n\nThe men were mostly out of sight, saving Wau, the flint-chopper; and at\nthat she felt safer. They were away hunting food, no doubt. Some of the\nwomen, too, were down in the stream, stooping intent, seeking mussels,\ncrayfish, and water-snails, and at the sight of their occupation Eudena\nfelt hungry. She rose, and ran through the fern, designing to join them.\nAs she went she heard a voice among the bracken calling softly. She\nstopped. Then suddenly she heard a rustle behind her, and turning, saw\nUgh-lomi rising out of the fern. There were streaks of brown blood and\ndirt on his face, and his eyes were fierce, and the white stone of Uya,\nthe white Fire Stone, that none but Uya dared to touch, was in his hand.\nIn a stride he was beside her, and gripped her arm. He swung her about,\nand thrust her before him towards the woods. \"Uya,\" he said, and waved\nhis arms about. She heard a cry, looked back, and saw all the women\nstanding up, and two wading out of the stream. Then came a nearer\nhowling, and the old woman with the beard, who watched the fire on the\nknoll, was waving her arms, and Wau, the man who had been chipping the\nflint, was getting to his feet. The little children too were hurrying\nand shouting.\n\n\"Come!\" said Ugh-lomi, and dragged her by the arm.\n\nShe still did not understand.\n\n\"Uya has called the death word,\" said Ugh-lomi, and she glanced back at\nthe screaming curve of figures, and understood.\n\nWau and all the women and children were coming towards them, a scattered\narray of buff shock-headed figures, howling, leaping, and crying. Over\nthe knoll two youths hurried. Down among the ferns to the right came a\nman, heading them off from the wood. Ugh-lomi left her arm, and the two\nbegan running side by side, leaping the bracken and stepping clear and\nwide. Eudena, knowing her fleetness and the fleetness of Ugh-lomi,\nlaughed aloud at the unequal chase. They were an exceptionally\nstraight-limbed couple for those days.\n\nThey soon cleared the open, and drew near the wood of chestnut-trees\nagain--neither afraid now because neither was alone. They slackened\ntheir pace, already not excessive. And suddenly Eudena cried and swerved\naside, pointing, and looking up through the tree-stems. Ugh-lomi saw\nthe feet and legs of men running towards him. Eudena was already running\noff at a tangent. And as he too turned to follow her they heard the\nvoice of Uya coming through the trees, and roaring out his rage at them.\n\nThen terror came in their hearts, not the terror that numbs, but the\nterror that makes one silent and swift. They were cut off now on two\nsides. They were in a sort of corner of pursuit. On the right hand, and\nnear by them, came the men swift and heavy, with bearded Uya, antler in\nhand, leading them; and on the left, scattered as one scatters corn,\nyellow dashes among the fern and grass, ran Wau and the women; and even\nthe little children from the shallow had joined the chase. The two\nparties converged upon them. Off they went, with Eudena ahead.\n\nThey knew there was no mercy for them. There was no hunting so sweet to\nthese ancient men as the hunting of men. Once the fierce passion of the\nchase was lit, the feeble beginnings of humanity in them were thrown to\nthe winds. And Uya in the night had marked Ugh-lomi with the death word.\nUgh-lomi was the day's quarry, the appointed feast.\n\nThey ran straight--it was their only chance--taking whatever ground came\nin the way--a spread of stinging nettles, an open glade, a clump of\ngrass out of which a hyaena fled snarling. Then woods again, long\nstretches of shady leaf-mould and moss under the green trunks. Then a\nstiff <DW72>, tree-clad, and long vistas of trees, a glade, a succulent\ngreen area of black mud, a wide open space again, and then a clump of\nlacerating brambles, with beast tracks through it. Behind them the chase\ntrailed out and scattered, with Uya ever at their heels. Eudena kept the\nfirst place, running light and with her breath easy, for Ugh-lomi\ncarried the Fire Stone in his hand.\n\nIt told on his pace--not at first, but after a time. His footsteps\nbehind her suddenly grew remote. Glancing over her shoulder as they\ncrossed another open space, Eudena saw that Ugh-lomi was many yards\nbehind her, and Uya close upon him, with antler already raised in the\nair to strike him down. Wau and the others were but just emerging from\nthe shadow of the woods.\n\nSeeing Ugh-lomi in peril, Eudena ran sideways, looking back, threw up\nher arms and cried aloud, just as the antler flew. And young Ugh-lomi,\nexpecting this and understanding her cry, ducked his head, so that the\nmissile merely struck his scalp lightly, making but a trivial wound, and\nflew over him. He turned forthwith, the quartzite Fire Stone in both\nhands, and hurled it straight at Uya's body as he ran loose from the\nthrow. Uya shouted, but could not dodge it. It took him under the ribs,\nheavy and flat, and he reeled and went down without a cry. Ugh-lomi\ncaught up the antler--one tine of it was tipped with his own blood--and\ncame running on again with a red trickle just coming out of his hair.\n\nUya rolled over twice, and lay a moment before he got up, and then he\ndid not run fast. The colour of his face was changed. Wau overtook him,\nand then others, and he coughed and laboured in his breath. But he kept\non.\n\nAt last the two fugitives gained the bank of the river, where the stream\nran deep and narrow, and they still had fifty yards in hand of Wau, the\nforemost pursuer, the man who made the smiting-stones. He carried one, a\nlarge flint, the shape of an oyster and double the size, chipped to a\nchisel edge, in either hand.\n\nThey sprang down the steep bank into the stream, rushed through the\nwater, swam the deep current in two or three strokes, and came out\nwading again, dripping and refreshed, to clamber up the farther bank.\nIt was undermined, and with willows growing thickly therefrom, so that\nit needed clambering. And while Eudena was still among the silvery\nbranches and Ugh-lomi still in the water--for the antler had encumbered\nhim--Wau came up against the sky on the opposite bank, and the\nsmiting-stone, thrown cunningly, took the side of Eudena's knee. She\nstruggled to the top and fell.\n\nThey heard the pursuers shout to one another, and Ugh-lomi climbing to\nher and moving jerkily to mar Wau's aim, felt the second smiting-stone\ngraze his ear, and heard the water splash below him.\n\nThen it was Ugh-lomi, the stripling, proved himself to have come to\nman's estate. For running on, he found Eudena fell behind, limping, and\nat that he turned, and crying savagely and with a face terrible with\nsudden wrath and trickling blood, ran swiftly past her back to the bank,\nwhirling the antler round his head. And Eudena kept on, running stoutly\nstill, though she must needs limp at every step, and the pain was\nalready sharp.\n\nSo that Wau, rising over the edge and clutching the straight willow\nbranches, saw Ugh-lomi towering over him, gigantic against the blue;\nsaw his whole body swing round, and the grip of his hands upon the\nantler. The edge of the antler came sweeping through the air, and he saw\nno more. The water under the osiers whirled and eddied and went crimson\nsix feet down the stream. Uya following stopped knee-high across the\nstream, and the man who was swimming turned about.\n\nThe other men who trailed after--they were none of them very mighty men\n(for Uya was more cunning than strong, brooking no sturdy\nrivals)--slackened momentarily at the sight of Ugh-lomi standing there\nabove the willows, bloody and terrible, between them and the halting\ngirl, with the huge antler waving in his hand. It seemed as though he\nhad gone into the water a youth, and come out of it a man full grown.\n\nHe knew what there was behind him. A broad stretch of grass, and then a\nthicket, and in that Eudena could hide. That was clear in his mind,\nthough his thinking powers were too feeble to see what should happen\nthereafter. Uya stood knee-deep, undecided and unarmed. His heavy mouth\nhung open, showing his canine teeth, and he panted heavily. His side was\nflushed and bruised under the hair. The other man beside him carried a\nsharpened stick. The rest of the hunters came up one by one to the top\nof the bank, hairy, long-armed men clutching flints and sticks. Two ran\noff along the bank down stream, and then clambered to the water, where\nWau had come to the surface struggling weakly. Before they could reach\nhim he went under again. Two others threatened Ugh-lomi from the bank.\n\nHe answered back, shouts, vague insults, gestures. Then Uya, who had\nbeen hesitating, roared with rage, and whirling his fists plunged into\nthe water. His followers splashed after him.\n\nUgh-lomi glanced over his shoulder and found Eudena already vanished\ninto the thicket. He would perhaps have waited for Uya, but Uya\npreferred to spar in the water below him until the others were beside\nhim. Human tactics in those days, in all serious fighting, were the\ntactics of the pack. Prey that turned at bay they gathered around and\nrushed. Ugh-lomi felt the rush coming, and hurling the antler at Uya,\nturned about and fled.\n\nWhen he halted to look back from the shadow of the thicket, he found\nonly three of his pursuers had followed him across the river, and they\nwere going back again. Uya, with a bleeding mouth, was on the farther\nside of the stream again, but lower down, and holding his hand to his\nside. The others were in the river dragging something to shore. For a\ntime at least the chase was intermitted.\n\nUgh-lomi stood watching for a space, and snarled at the sight of Uya.\nThen he turned and plunged into the thicket.\n\nIn a minute, Eudena came hastening to join him, and they went on hand in\nhand. He dimly perceived the pain she suffered from the cut and bruised\nknee, and chose the easier ways. But they went on all that day, mile\nafter mile, through wood and thicket, until at last they came to the\nchalkland, open grass with rare woods of beech, and the birch growing\nnear water, and they saw the Wealden mountains nearer, and groups of\nhorses grazing together. They went circumspectly, keeping always near\nthicket and cover, for this was a strange region--even its ways were\nstrange. Steadily the ground rose, until the chestnut forests spread\nwide and blue below them, and the Thames marshes shone silvery, high and\nfar. They saw no men, for in those days men were still only just come\ninto this part of the world, and were moving but slowly along the\nriver-ways. Towards evening they came on the river again, but now it ran\nin a gorge, between high cliffs of white chalk that sometimes overhung\nit. Down the cliffs was a scrub of birches and there were many birds\nthere. And high up the cliff was a little shelf by a tree, whereon they\nclambered to pass the night.\n\nThey had had scarcely any food; it was not the time of year for berries,\nand they had no time to go aside to snare or waylay. They tramped in a\nhungry weary silence, gnawing at twigs and leaves. But over the surface\nof the cliffs were a multitude of snails, and in a bush were the freshly\nlaid eggs of a little bird, and then Ugh-lomi threw at and killed a\nsquirrel in a beech-tree, so that at last they fed well. Ugh-lomi\nwatched during the night, his chin on his knees; and he heard young\nfoxes crying hard by, and the noise of mammoths down the gorge, and the\nhyaenas yelling and laughing far away. It was chilly, but they dared not\nlight a fire. Whenever he dozed, his spirit went abroad, and straightway\nmet with the spirit of Uya, and they fought. And always Ugh-lomi was\nparalysed so that he could not smite nor run, and then he would awake\nsuddenly. Eudena, too, dreamt evil things of Uya, so that they both\nawoke with the fear of him in their hearts, and by the light of the dawn\nthey saw a woolly rhinoceros go blundering down the valley.\n\nDuring the day they caressed one another and were glad of the sunshine,\nand Eudena's leg was so stiff she sat on the ledge all day. Ugh-lomi\nfound great flints sticking out of the cliff face, greater than any he\nhad seen, and he dragged some to the ledge and began chipping, so as to\nbe armed against Uya when he came again. And at one he laughed heartily,\nand Eudena laughed, and they threw it about in derision. It had a hole\nin it. They stuck their fingers through it, it was very funny indeed.\nThen they peeped at one another through it. Afterwards, Ugh-lomi got\nhimself a stick, and thrusting by chance at this foolish flint, the\nstick went in and stuck there. He had rammed it in too tightly to\nwithdraw it. That was still stranger--scarcely funny, terrible almost,\nand for a time Ugh-lomi did not greatly care to touch the thing. It was\nas if the flint had bit and held with its teeth. But then he got\nfamiliar with the odd combination. He swung it about, and perceived that\nthe stick with the heavy stone on the end struck a better blow than\nanything he knew. He went to and fro swinging it, and striking with it;\nbut later he tired of it and threw it aside. In the afternoon he went\nup over the brow of the white cliff, and lay watching by a rabbit-warren\nuntil the rabbits came out to play. There were no men thereabouts, and\nthe rabbits were heedless. He threw a smiting-stone he had made and got\na kill.\n\nThat night they made a fire from flint sparks and bracken fronds, and\ntalked and caressed by it. And in their sleep Uya's spirit came again,\nand suddenly, while Ugh-lomi was trying to fight vainly, the foolish\nflint on the stick came into his hand, and he struck Uya with it, and\nbehold! it killed him. But afterwards came other dreams of Uya--for\nspirits take a lot of killing, and he had to be killed again. Then after\nthat the stone would not keep on the stick. He awoke tired and rather\ngloomy, and was sulky all the forenoon, in spite of Eudena's kindliness,\nand instead of hunting he sat chipping a sharp edge to the singular\nflint, and looking strangely at her. Then he bound the perforated flint\non to the stick with strips of rabbit skin. And afterwards he walked up\nand down the ledge, striking with it, and muttering to himself, and\nthinking of Uya. It felt very fine and heavy in the hand.\n\nSeveral days, more than there was any counting in those days, five days,\nit may be, or six, did Ugh-lomi and Eudena stay on that shelf in the\ngorge of the river, and they lost all fear of men, and their fire burnt\nredly of a night. And they were very merry together; there was food\nevery day, sweet water, and no enemies. Eudena's knee was well in a\ncouple of days, for those ancient savages had quick-healing flesh.\nIndeed, they were very happy.\n\nOn one of those days Ugh-lomi dropped a chunk of flint over the cliff.\nHe saw it fall, and go bounding across the river bank into the river,\nand after laughing and thinking it over a little he tried another. This\nsmashed a bush of hazel in the most interesting way. They spent all the\nmorning dropping stones from the ledge, and in the afternoon they\ndiscovered this new and interesting pastime was also possible from the\ncliffbrow. The next day they had forgotten this delight. Or at least, it\nseemed they had forgotten.\n\nBut Uya came in dreams to spoil the paradise. Three nights he came\nfighting Ugh-lomi. In the morning after these dreams Ugh-lomi would walk\nup and down, threatening him and swinging the axe, and at last came the\nnight after Ugh-lomi brained the otter, and they had feasted. Uya went\ntoo far. Ugh-lomi awoke, scowling under his heavy brows, and he took his\naxe, and extending his hand towards Eudena he bade her wait for him\nupon the ledge. Then he clambered down the white declivity, glanced up\nonce from the foot of it and flourished his axe, and without looking\nback again went striding along the river bank until the overhanging\ncliff at the bend hid him.\n\nTwo days and nights did Eudena sit alone by the fire on the ledge\nwaiting, and in the night the beasts howled over the cliffs and down the\nvalley, and on the cliff over against her the hunched hyaenas prowled\nblack against the sky. But no evil thing came near her save fear. Once,\nfar away, she heard the roaring of a lion, following the horses as they\ncame northward over the grass lands with the spring. All that time she\nwaited--the waiting that is pain.\n\nAnd the third day Ugh-lomi came back, up the river. The plumes of a\nraven were in his hair. The first axe was red-stained, and had long dark\nhairs upon it, and he carried the necklace that had marked the favourite\nof Uya in his hand. He walked in the soft places, giving no heed to his\ntrail. Save a raw cut below his jaw there was not a wound upon him.\n\"Uya!\" cried Ugh-lomi exultant, and Eudena saw it was well. He put the\nnecklace on Eudena, and they ate and drank together. And after eating he\nbegan to rehearse the whole story from the beginning, when Uya had cast\nhis eyes on Eudena, and Uya and Ugh-lomi, fighting in the forest, had\nbeen chased by the bear, eking out his scanty words with abundant\npantomime, springing to his feet and whirling the stone axe round when\nit came to the fighting. The last fight was a mighty one, stamping and\nshouting, and once a blow at the fire that sent a torrent of sparks up\ninto the night. And Eudena sat red in the light of the fire, gloating on\nhim, her face flushed and her eyes shining, and the necklace Uya had\nmade about her neck. It was a splendid time, and the stars that look\ndown on us looked down on her, our ancestor--who has been dead now these\nfifty thousand years.\n\n\nII--THE CAVE BEAR\n\nIn the days when Eudena and Ugh-lomi fled from the people of Uya towards\nthe fir-clad mountains of the Weald, across the forests of sweet\nchestnut and the grass-clad chalkland, and hid themselves at last in the\ngorge of the river between the chalk cliffs, men were few and their\nsquatting-places far between. The nearest men to them were those of the\ntribe, a full day's journey down the river, and up the mountains there\nwere none. Man was indeed a newcomer to this part of the world in that\nancient time, coming slowly along the rivers, generation after\ngeneration, from one squatting-place to another, from the\nsouth-westward. And the animals that held the land, the hippopotamus and\nrhinoceros of the river valleys, the horses of the grass plains, the\ndeer and swine of the woods, the grey apes in the branches, the cattle\nof the uplands, feared him but little--let alone the mammoths in the\nmountains and the elephants that came through the land in the\nsummer-time out of the south. For why should they fear him, with but the\nrough, chipped flints that he had not learnt to haft and which he threw\nbut ill, and the poor spear of sharpened wood, as all the weapons he had\nagainst hoof and horn, tooth and claw?\n\nAndoo, the huge cave bear, who lived in the cave up the gorge, had never\neven seen a man in all his wise and respectable life, until midway\nthrough one night, as he was prowling down the gorge along the cliff\nedge, he saw the glare of Eudena's fire upon the ledge, and Eudena red\nand shining, and Ugh-lomi, with a gigantic shadow mocking him upon the\nwhite cliff, going to and fro, shaking his mane of hair, and waving the\naxe of stone--the first axe of stone--while he chanted of the killing\nof Uya. The cave bear was far up the gorge, and he saw the thing\nslanting-ways and far off. He was so surprised he stood quite still upon\nthe edge, sniffing the novel odour of burning bracken, and wondering\nwhether the dawn was coming up in the wrong place.\n\nHe was the lord of the rocks and caves, was the cave bear, as his\nslighter brother, the grizzly, was lord of the thick woods below, and as\nthe dappled lion--the lion of those days was dappled--was lord of the\nthorn-thickets, reed-beds, and open plains. He was the greatest of all\nmeat-eaters; he knew no fear, none preyed on him, and none gave him\nbattle; only the rhinoceros was beyond his strength. Even the mammoth\nshunned his country. This invasion perplexed him. He noticed these new\nbeasts were shaped like monkeys, and sparsely hairy like young pigs.\n\"Monkey and young pig,\" said the cave bear. \"It might not be so bad. But\nthat red thing that jumps, and the black thing jumping with it yonder!\nNever in my life have I seen such things before!\"\n\nHe came slowly along the brow of the cliff towards them, stopping thrice\nto sniff and peer, and the reek of the fire grew stronger. A couple of\nhyaenas also were so intent upon the thing below that Andoo, coming soft\nand easy, was close upon them before they knew of him or he of them.\nThey started guiltily and went lurching off. Coming round in a wheel, a\nhundred yards off, they began yelling and calling him names to revenge\nthemselves for the start they had had. \"Ya-ha!\" they cried. \"Who can't\ngrub his own burrow? Who eats roots like a pig?... Ya-ha!\" for even in\nthose days the hyaena's manners were just as offensive as they are now.\n\n\"Who answers the hyaena?\" growled Andoo, peering through the midnight\ndimness at them, and then going to look at the cliff edge.\n\nThere was Ugh-lomi still telling his story, and the fire getting low,\nand the scent of the burning hot and strong.\n\nAndoo stood on the edge of the chalk cliff for some time, shifting his\nvast weight from foot to foot, and swaying his head to and fro, with his\nmouth open, his ears erect and twitching, and the nostrils of his big,\nblack muzzle sniffing. He was very curious, was the cave bear, more\ncurious than any of the bears that live now, and the flickering fire and\nthe incomprehensible movements of the man, let alone the intrusion into\nhis indisputable province, stirred him with a sense of strange new\nhappenings. He had been after red deer fawn that night, for the cave\nbear was a miscellaneous hunter, but this quite turned him from that\nenterprise.\n\n\"Ya-ha!\" yelled the hyaenas behind. \"Ya-ha-ha!\"\n\nPeering through the starlight, Andoo saw there were now three or four\ngoing to and fro against the grey hillside. \"They will hang about me now\nall the night ... until I kill,\" said Andoo. \"Filth of the world!\" And\nmainly to annoy them, he resolved to watch the red flicker in the gorge\nuntil the dawn came to drive the hyaena scum home. And after a time they\nvanished, and he heard their voices, like a party of Cockney\nbeanfeasters, away in the beechwoods. Then they came slinking near\nagain. Andoo yawned and went on along the cliff, and they followed. Then\nhe stopped and went back.\n\nIt was a splendid night, beset with shining constellations, the same\nstars, but not the same constellations we know, for since those days all\nthe stars have had time to move into new places. Far away across the\nopen space beyond where the heavy-shouldered, lean-bodied hyaenas\nblundered and howled, was a beechwood, and the mountain <DW72>s rose\nbeyond, a dim mystery, until their snow-capped summits came out white\nand cold and clear, touched by the first rays of the yet unseen moon. It\nwas a vast silence, save when the yell of the hyaenas flung a vanishing\ndiscordance across its peace, or when from down the hills the trumpeting\nof the new-come elephants came faintly on the faint breeze. And below\nnow, the red flicker had dwindled and was steady, and shone a deeper\nred, and Ugh-lomi had finished his story and was preparing to sleep, and\nEudena sat and listened to the strange voices of unknown beasts, and\nwatched the dark eastern sky growing deeply luminous at the advent of\nthe moon. Down below, the river talked to itself, and things unseen went\nto and fro.\n\nAfter a time the bear went away, but in an hour he was back again. Then,\nas if struck by a thought, he turned, and went up the gorge....\n\nThe night passed, and Ugh-lomi slept on. The waning moon rose and lit\nthe gaunt white cliff overhead with a light that was pale and vague. The\ngorge remained in a deeper shadow and seemed all the darker. Then by\nimperceptible degrees, the day came stealing in the wake of the\nmoonlight. Eudena's eyes wandered to the cliff brow overhead once, and\nthen again. Each time the line was sharp and clear against the sky, and\nyet she had a dim perception of something lurking there. The red of the\nfire grew deeper and deeper, grey scales spread upon it, its vertical\ncolumn of smoke became more and more visible, and up and down the gorge\nthings that had been unseen grew clear in a colourless illumination. She\nmay have dozed.\n\nSuddenly she started up from her squatting position, erect and alert,\nscrutinising the cliff up and down.\n\nShe made the faintest sound, and Ugh-lomi too, light-sleeping like an\nanimal, was instantly awake. He caught up his axe and came noiselessly\nto her side.\n\nThe light was still dim, the world now all in black and dark grey, and\none sickly star still lingered overhead. The ledge they were on was a\nlittle grassy space, six feet wide, perhaps, and twenty feet long,\nsloping outwardly, and with a handful of St. John's wort growing near\nthe edge. Below it the soft, white rock fell away in a steep <DW72> of\nnearly fifty feet to the thick bush of hazel that fringed the river.\nDown the river this <DW72> increased, until some way off a thin grass\nheld its own right up to the crest of the cliff. Overhead, forty or\nfifty feet of rock bulged into the great masses characteristic of\nchalk, but at the end of the ledge a gully, a precipitous groove of\ndiscoloured rock, slashed the face of the cliff, and gave a footing to a\nscrubby growth, by which Eudena and Ugh-lomi went up and down.\n\nThey stood as noiseless as startled deer, with every sense expectant.\nFor a minute they heard nothing, and then came a faint rattling of dust\ndown the gully, and the creaking of twigs.\n\nUgh-lomi gripped his axe, and went to the edge of the ledge, for the\nbulge of the chalk overhead had hidden the upper part of the gully. And\nforthwith, with a sudden contraction of the heart, he saw the cave bear\nhalf-way down from the brow, and making a gingerly backward step with\nhis flat hind-foot. His hind-quarters were towards Ugh-lomi, and he\nclawed at the rocks and bushes so that he seemed flattened against the\ncliff. He looked none the less for that. From his shining snout to his\nstumpy tail he was a lion and a half, the length of two tall men. He\nlooked over his shoulder, and his huge mouth was open with the exertion\nof holding up his great carcase, and his tongue lay out....\n\nHe got his footing, and came down slowly, a yard nearer.\n\n\"Bear,\" said Ugh-lomi, looking round with his face white.\n\nBut Eudena, with terror in her eyes, was pointing down the cliff.\n\nUgh-lomi's mouth fell open. For down below, with her big fore-feet\nagainst the rock, stood another big brown-grey bulk--the she-bear. She\nwas not so big as Andoo, but she was big enough for all that.\n\nThen suddenly Ugh-lomi gave a cry, and catching up a handful of the\nlitter of ferns that lay scattered on the ledge, he thrust it into the\npallid ash of the fire. \"Brother Fire!\" he cried, \"Brother Fire!\" And\nEudena, starting into activity, did likewise. \"Brother Fire! Help, help!\nBrother Fire!\"\n\nBrother Fire was still red in his heart, but he turned to grey as they\nscattered him. \"Brother Fire!\" they screamed. But he whispered and\npassed, and there was nothing but ashes. Then Ugh-lomi danced with anger\nand struck the ashes with his fist. But Eudena began to hammer the\nfirestone against a flint. And the eyes of each were turning ever and\nagain towards the gully by which Andoo was climbing down. Brother Fire!\n\nSuddenly the huge furry hind-quarters of the bear came into view,\nbeneath the bulge of the chalk that had hidden him. He was still\nclambering gingerly down the nearly vertical surface. His head was yet\nout of sight, but they could hear him talking to himself. \"Pig and\nmonkey,\" said the cave bear. \"It ought to be good.\"\n\nEudena struck a spark and blew at it; it twinkled brighter and\nthen--went out. At that she cast down flint and firestone and stared\nblankly. Then she sprang to her feet and scrambled a yard or so up the\ncliff above the ledge. How she hung on even for a moment I do not know,\nfor the chalk was vertical and without grip for a monkey. In a couple of\nseconds she had slid back to the ledge again with bleeding hands.\n\nUgh-lomi was making frantic rushes about the ledge--now he would go to\nthe edge, now to the gully. He did not know what to do, he could not\nthink. The she-bear looked smaller than her mate--much. If they rushed\ndown on her together, _one_ might live. \"Ugh?\" said the cave bear, and\nUgh-lomi turned again and saw his little eyes peering under the bulge of\nthe chalk.\n\nEudena, cowering at the end of the ledge, began to scream like a gripped\nrabbit.\n\nAt that a sort of madness came upon Ugh-lomi. With a mighty cry, he\ncaught up his axe and ran towards Andoo. The monster gave a grunt of\nsurprise. In a moment Ugh-lomi was clinging to a bush right underneath\nthe bear, and in another he was hanging to its back half buried in fur,\nwith one fist clutched in the hair under its jaw. The bear was too\nastonished at this fantastic attack to do more than cling passive. And\nthen the axe, the first of all axes, rang on its skull.\n\nThe bear's head twisted from side to side, and he began a petulant\nscolding growl. The axe bit within an inch of the left eye, and the hot\nblood blinded that side. At that the brute roared with surprise and\nanger, and his teeth gnashed six inches from Ugh-lomi's face. Then the\naxe, clubbed close, came down heavily on the corner of the jaw.\n\nThe next blow blinded the right side and called forth a roar, this time\nof pain. Eudena saw the huge, flat feet slipping and sliding, and\nsuddenly the bear gave a clumsy leap sideways, as if for the ledge. Then\neverything vanished, and the hazels smashed, and a roar of pain and a\ntumult of shouts and growls came up from far below.\n\nEudena screamed and ran to the edge and peered over. For a moment, man\nand bears were a heap together, Ugh-lomi uppermost; and then he had\nsprung clear and was scaling the gully again, with the bears rolling and\nstriking at one another among the hazels. But he had left his axe below,\nand three knob-ended streaks of carmine were shooting down his thigh.\n\"Up!\" he cried, and in a moment Eudena was leading the way to the top of\nthe cliff.\n\nIn half a minute they were at the crest, their hearts pumping noisily,\nwith Andoo and his wife far and safe below them. Andoo was sitting on\nhis haunches, both paws at work, trying with quick exasperated movements\nto wipe the blindness out of his eyes, and the she-bear stood on\nall-fours a little way off, ruffled in appearance and growling angrily.\nUgh-lomi flung himself flat on the grass, and lay panting and bleeding\nwith his face on his arms.\n\nFor a second Eudena regarded the bears, then she came and sat beside\nhim, looking at him....\n\nPresently she put forth her hand timidly and touched him, and made the\nguttural sound that was his name. He turned over and raised himself on\nhis arm. His face was pale, like the face of one who is afraid. He\nlooked at her steadfastly for a moment, and then suddenly he laughed.\n\"Waugh!\" he said exultantly.\n\n\"Waugh!\" said she--a simple but expressive conversation.\n\nThen Ugh-lomi came and knelt beside her, and on hands and knees peered\nover the brow and examined the gorge. His breath was steady now, and the\nblood on his leg had ceased to flow, though the scratches the she-bear\nhad made were open and wide. He squatted up and sat staring at the\nfootmarks of the great bear as they came to the gully--they were as wide\nas his head and twice as long. Then he jumped up and went along the\ncliff face until the ledge was visible. Here he sat down for some time\nthinking, while Eudena watched him. Presently she saw the bears had\ngone.\n\nAt last Ugh-lomi rose, as one whose mind is made up. He returned towards\nthe gully, Eudena keeping close by him, and together they clambered to\nthe ledge. They took the firestone and a flint, and then Ugh-lomi went\ndown to the foot of the cliff very cautiously, and found his axe. They\nreturned to the cliff as quietly as they could, and set off at a brisk\nwalk. The ledge was a home no longer, with such callers in the\nneighbourhood. Ugh-lomi carried the axe and Eudena the firestone. So\nsimple was a Palaeolithic removal.\n\nThey went up-stream, although it might lead to the very lair of the\ncave bear, because there was no other way to go. Down the stream was the\ntribe, and had not Ugh-lomi killed Uya and Wau? By the stream they had\nto keep--because of drinking.\n\nSo they marched through beech trees, with the gorge deepening until the\nriver flowed, a frothing rapid, five hundred feet below them. Of all the\nchangeful things in this world of change, the courses of rivers in deep\nvalleys change least. It was the river Wey, the river we know to-day,\nand they marched over the very spots where nowadays stand little\nGuildford and Godalming--the first human beings to come into the land.\nOnce a grey ape chattered and vanished, and all along the cliff edge,\nvast and even, ran the spoor of the great cave bear.\n\nAnd then the spoor of the bear fell away from the cliff, showing,\nUgh-lomi thought, that he came from some place to the left, and keeping\nto the cliff's edge, they presently came to an end. They found\nthemselves looking down on a great semi-circular space caused by the\ncollapse of the cliff. It had smashed right across the gorge, banking\nthe up-stream water back in a pool which overflowed in a rapid. The slip\nhad happened long ago. It was grassed over, but the face of the cliffs\nthat stood about the semicircle was still almost fresh-looking and white\nas on the day when the rock must have broken and slid down. Starkly\nexposed and black under the foot of these cliffs were the mouths of\nseveral caves. And as they stood there, looking at the space, and\ndisinclined to skirt it, because they thought the bears' lair lay\nsomewhere on the left in the direction they must needs take, they saw\nsuddenly first one bear and then two coming up the grass <DW72> to the\nright and going across the amphitheatre towards the caves. Andoo was\nfirst; he dropped a little on his fore-foot and his mien was despondent,\nand the she-bear came shuffling behind.\n\nEudena and Ugh-lomi stepped back from the cliff until they could just\nsee the bears over the verge. Then Ugh-lomi stopped. Eudena pulled his\narm, but he turned with a forbidding gesture, and her hand dropped.\nUgh-lomi stood watching the bears, with his axe in his hand, until they\nhad vanished into the cave. He growled softly, and shook the axe at the\nshe-bear's receding quarters. Then to Eudena's terror, instead of\ncreeping off with her, he lay flat down and crawled forward into such a\nposition that he could just see the cave. It was bears--and he did it\nas calmly as if it had been rabbits he was watching!\n\nHe lay still, like a barked log, sun-dappled, in the shadow of the\ntrees. He was thinking. And Eudena had learnt, even when a little girl,\nthat when Ugh-lomi became still like that, jaw-bone on fist, novel\nthings presently began to happen.\n\nIt was an hour before the thinking was over; it was noon when the two\nlittle savages had found their way to the cliff brow that overhung the\nbears' cave. And all the long afternoon they fought desperately with a\ngreat boulder of chalk; trundling it, with nothing but their unaided\nsturdy muscles, from the gully where it had hung like a loose tooth,\ntowards the cliff top. It was full two yards about, it stood as high as\nEudena's waist, it was obtuse-angled and toothed with flints. And when\nthe sun set it was poised, three inches from the edge, above the cave of\nthe great cave bear.\n\nIn the cave conversation languished during that afternoon. The she-bear\nsnoozed sulkily in her corner--for she was fond of pig and monkey--and\nAndoo was busy licking the side of his paw and smearing his face to cool\nthe smart and inflammation of his wounds. Afterwards he went and sat\njust within the mouth of the cave, blinking out at the afternoon sun\nwith his uninjured eye, and thinking.\n\n\"I never was so startled in my life,\" he said at last. \"They are the\nmost extraordinary beasts. Attacking _me_!\"\n\n\"I don't like them,\" said the she-bear, out of the darkness behind.\n\n\"A feebler sort of beast I _never_ saw. I can't think what the world is\ncoming to. Scraggy, weedy legs.... Wonder how they keep warm in winter?\"\n\n\"Very likely they don't,\" said the she-bear.\n\n\"I suppose it's a sort of monkey gone wrong.\"\n\n\"It's a change,\" said the she-bear.\n\nA pause.\n\n\"The advantage he had was merely accidental,\" said Andoo. \"These things\n_will_ happen at times.\"\n\n\"_I_ can't understand why you let go,\" said the she-bear.\n\nThat matter had been discussed before, and settled. So Andoo, being a\nbear of experience, remained silent for a space. Then he resumed upon a\ndifferent aspect of the matter. \"He has a sort of claw--a long claw that\nhe seemed to have first on one paw and then on the other. Just one claw.\nThey're very odd things. The bright thing, too, they seemed to\nhave--like that glare that comes in the sky in daytime--only it jumps\nabout--it's really worth seeing. It's a thing with a root, too--like\ngrass when it is windy.\"\n\n\"Does it bite?\" asked the she-bear. \"If it bites it can't be a plant.\"\n\n\"No----I don't know,\" said Andoo. \"But it's curious, anyhow.\"\n\n\"I wonder if they _are_ good eating?\" said the she-bear.\n\n\"They look it,\" said Andoo, with appetite--for the cave bear, like the\npolar bear, was an incurable carnivore--no roots or honey for _him_.\n\nThe two bears fell into a meditation for a space. Then Andoo resumed his\nsimple attentions to his eye. The sunlight up the green <DW72> before the\ncave mouth grew warmer in tone and warmer, until it was a ruddy amber.\n\n\"Curious sort of thing--day,\" said the cave bear. \"Lot too much of it, I\nthink. Quite unsuitable for hunting. Dazzles me always. I can't smell\nnearly so well by day.\"\n\nThe she-bear did not answer, but there came a measured crunching sound\nout of the darkness. She had turned up a bone. Andoo yawned. \"Well,\" he\nsaid. He strolled to the cave mouth and stood with his head projecting,\nsurveying the amphitheatre. He found he had to turn his head completely\nround to see objects on his right-hand side. No doubt that eye would be\nall right to-morrow.\n\nHe yawned again. There was a tap overhead, and a big mass of chalk flew\nout from the cliff face, dropped a yard in front of his nose, and\nstarred into a dozen unequal fragments. It startled him extremely.\n\nWhen he had recovered a little from his shock, he went and sniffed\ncuriously at the representative pieces of the fallen projectile. They\nhad a distinctive flavour, oddly reminiscent of the two drab animals of\nthe ledge. He sat up and pawed the larger lump, and walked round it\nseveral times, trying to find a man about it somewhere....\n\nWhen night had come he went off down the river gorge to see if he could\ncut off either of the ledge's occupants. The ledge was empty, there were\nno signs of the red thing, but as he was rather hungry he did not loiter\nlong that night, but pushed on to pick up a red deer fawn. He forgot\nabout the drab animals. He found a fawn, but the doe was close by and\nmade an ugly fight for her young. Andoo had to leave the fawn, but as\nher blood was up she stuck to the attack, and at last he got in a blow\nof his paw on her nose, and so got hold of her. More meat but less\ndelicacy, and the she-bear, following, had her share. The next\nafternoon, curiously enough, the very fellow of the first white rock\nfell, and smashed precisely according to precedent.\n\nThe aim of the third, that fell the night after, however, was better. It\nhit Andoo's unspeculative skull with a crack that echoed up the cliff,\nand the white fragments went dancing to all the points of the compass.\nThe she-bear coming after him and sniffing curiously at him, found him\nlying in an odd sort of attitude, with his head wet and all out of\nshape. She was a young she-bear, and inexperienced, and having sniffed\nabout him for some time and licked him a little, and so forth, she\ndecided to leave him until the odd mood had passed, and went on her\nhunting alone.\n\nShe looked up the fawn of the red doe they had killed two nights ago,\nand found it. But it was lonely hunting without Andoo, and she returned\ncaveward before dawn. The sky was grey and overcast, the trees up the\ngorge were black and unfamiliar, and into her ursine mind came a dim\nsense of strange and dreary happenings. She lifted up her voice and\ncalled Andoo by name. The sides of the gorge re-echoed her.\n\nAs she approached the caves she saw in the half light, and heard a\ncouple of jackals scuttle off, and immediately after a hyaena howled and\na dozen clumsy bulks went lumbering up the <DW72>, and stopped and yelled\nderision. \"Lord of the rocks and caves--ya-ha!\" came down the wind. The\ndismal feeling in the she-bear's mind became suddenly acute. She\nshuffled across the amphitheatre.\n\n\"Ya-ha!\" said the hyaenas, retreating. \"Ya-ha!\"\n\nThe cave bear was not lying quite in the same attitude, because the\nhyaenas had been busy, and in one place his ribs showed white. Dotted\nover the turf about him lay the smashed fragments of the three great\nlumps of chalk. And the air was full of the scent of death.\n\nThe she-bear stopped dead. Even now, that the great and wonderful Andoo\nwas killed was beyond her believing. Then she heard far overhead a\nsound, a queer sound, a little like the shout of a hyaena but fuller and\nlower in pitch. She looked up, her little dawn-blinded eyes seeing\nlittle, her nostrils quivering. And there, on the cliff edge, far above\nher against the bright pink of dawn, were two little shaggy round dark\nthings, the heads of Eudena and Ugh-lomi, as they shouted derision at\nher. But though she could not see them very distinctly she could hear,\nand dimly she began to apprehend. A novel feeling as of imminent strange\nevils came into her heart.\n\nShe began to examine the smashed fragments of chalk that lay about\nAndoo. For a space she stood still, looking about her and making a low\ncontinuous sound that was almost a moan. Then she went back\nincredulously to Andoo to make one last effort to rouse him.\n\n\nIII--THE FIRST HORSEMAN\n\nIn the days before Ugh-lomi there was little trouble between the horses\nand men. They lived apart--the men in the river swamps and thickets, the\nhorses on the wide grassy uplands between the chestnuts and the pines.\nSometimes a pony would come straying into the clogging marshes to make a\nflint-hacked meal, and sometimes the tribe would find one, the kill of a\nlion, and drive off the jackals, and feast heartily while the sun was\nhigh. These horses of the old time were clumsy at the fetlock and\ndun-, with a rough tail and big head. They came every\nspring-time north-westward into the country, after the swallows and\nbefore the hippopotami, as the grass on the wide downland stretches\ngrew long. They came only in small bodies thus far, each herd, a\nstallion and two or three mares and a foal or so, having its own stretch\nof country, and they went again when the chestnut-trees were yellow and\nthe wolves came down the Wealden mountains.\n\nIt was their custom to graze right out in the open, going into cover\nonly in the heat of the day. They avoided the long stretches of thorn\nand beechwood, preferring an isolated group of trees void of ambuscade,\nso that it was hard to come upon them. They were never fighters; their\nheels and teeth were for one another, but in the clear country, once\nthey were started, no living thing came near them, though perhaps the\nelephant might have done so had he felt the need. And in those days man\nseemed a harmless thing enough. No whisper of prophetic intelligence\ntold the species of the terrible slavery that was to come, of the whip\nand spur and bearing-rein, the clumsy load and the slippery street, the\ninsufficient food, and the knacker's yard, that was to replace the wide\ngrass-land and the freedom of the earth.\n\nDown in the Wey marshes Ugh-lomi and Eudena had never seen the horses\nclosely, but now they saw them every day as the two of them raided out\nfrom their lair on the ledge in the gorge, raiding together in search of\nfood. They had returned to the ledge after the killing of Andoo; for of\nthe she-bear they were not afraid. The she-bear had become afraid of\nthem, and when she winded them she went aside. The two went together\neverywhere; for since they had left the tribe Eudena was not so much\nUgh-lomi's woman as his mate; she learnt to hunt even--as much, that is,\nas any woman could. She was indeed a marvellous woman. He would lie for\nhours watching a beast, or planning catches in that shock head of his,\nand she would stay beside him, with her bright eyes upon him, offering\nno irritating suggestions--as still as any man. A wonderful woman!\n\nAt the top of the cliff was an open grassy lawn and then beechwoods, and\ngoing through the beechwoods one came to the edge of the rolling grassy\nexpanse, and in sight of the horses. Here, on the edge of the wood and\nbracken, were the rabbit-burrows, and here among the fronds Eudena and\nUgh-lomi would lie with their throwing-stones ready, until the little\npeople came out to nibble and play in the sunset. And while Eudena would\nsit, a silent figure of watchfulness, regarding the burrows, Ugh-lomi's\neyes were ever away across the greensward at those wonderful grazing\nstrangers.\n\nIn a dim way he appreciated their grace and their supple nimbleness. As\nthe sun declined in the evening-time, and the heat of the day passed,\nthey would become active, would start chasing one another, neighing,\ndodging, shaking their manes, coming round in great curves, sometimes so\nclose that the pounding of the turf sounded like hurried thunder. It\nlooked so fine that Ugh-lomi wanted to join in badly. And sometimes one\nwould roll over on the turf, kicking four hoofs heavenward, which seemed\nformidable and was certainly much less alluring.\n\nDim imaginings ran through Ugh-lomi's mind as he watched--by virtue of\nwhich two rabbits lived the longer. And sleeping, his brains were\nclearer and bolder--for that was the way in those days. He came near the\nhorses, he dreamt, and fought, smiting-stone against hoof, but then the\nhorses changed to men, or, at least, to men with horses' heads, and he\nawoke in a cold sweat of terror.\n\nYet the next day in the morning, as the horses were grazing, one of the\nmares whinnied, and they saw Ugh-lomi coming up the wind. They all\nstopped their eating and watched him. Ugh-lomi was not coming towards\nthem, but strolling obliquely across the open, looking at anything in\nthe world but horses. He had stuck three fern-fronds into the mat of his\nhair, giving him a remarkable appearance, and he walked very slowly.\n\"What's up now?\" said the Master Horse, who was capable, but\ninexperienced.\n\n\"It looks more like the first half of an animal than anything else in\nthe world,\" he said. \"Fore-legs and no hind.\"\n\n\"It's only one of those pink monkey things,\" said the Eldest Mare.\n\"They're a sort of river monkey. They're quite common on the plains.\"\n\nUgh-lomi continued his oblique advance. The Eldest Mare was struck with\nthe want of motive in his proceedings.\n\n\"Fool!\" said the Eldest Mare, in a quick conclusive way she had. She\nresumed her grazing. The Master Horse and the Second Mare followed suit.\n\n\"Look! he's nearer,\" said the Foal with a stripe.\n\nOne of the younger foals made uneasy movements. Ugh-lomi squatted down,\nand sat regarding the horses fixedly. In a little while he was\nsatisfied that they meant neither flight nor hostilities. He began to\nconsider his next procedure. He did not feel anxious to kill, but he had\nhis axe with him, and the spirit of sport was upon him. How would one\nkill one of these creatures?--these great beautiful creatures!\n\nEudena, watching him with a fearful admiration from the cover of the\nbracken, saw him presently go on all fours, and so proceed again. But\nthe horses preferred him a biped to a quadruped, and the Master Horse\nthrew up his head and gave the word to move. Ugh-lomi thought they were\noff for good, but after a minute's gallop they came round in a wide\ncurve, and stood winding him. Then, as a rise in the ground hid him,\nthey tailed out, the Master Horse leading, and approached him spirally.\n\nHe was as ignorant of the possibilities of a horse as they were of his.\nAnd at this stage it would seem he funked. He knew this kind of stalking\nwould make red deer or buffalo charge, if it were persisted in. At any\nrate Eudena saw him jump up and come walking towards her with the fern\nplumes held in his hand.\n\nShe stood up, and he grinned to show that the whole thing was an immense\nlark, and that what he had done was just what he had planned to do from\nthe very beginning. So that incident ended. But he was very thoughtful\nall that day.\n\nThe next day this foolish drab creature with the leonine mane, instead\nof going about the grazing or hunting he was made for, was prowling\nround the horses again. The Eldest Mare was all for silent contempt. \"I\nsuppose he wants to learn something from us,\" she said, and \"_Let_ him.\"\nThe next day he was at it again. The Master Horse decided he meant\nabsolutely nothing. But as a matter of fact, Ugh-lomi, the first of men\nto feel that curious spell of the horse that binds us even to this day,\nmeant a great deal. He admired them unreservedly. There was a rudiment\nof the snob in him, I am afraid, and he wanted to be near these\nbeautifully-curved animals. Then there were vague conceptions of a kill.\nIf only they would let him come near them! But they drew the line, he\nfound, at fifty yards. If he came nearer than that they moved off--with\ndignity. I suppose it was the way he had blinded Andoo that made him\nthink of leaping on the back of one of them. But though Eudena after a\ntime came out in the open too, and they did some unobtrusive stalking,\nthings stopped there.\n\nThen one memorable day a new idea came to Ugh-lomi. The horse looks down\nand level, but he does not look up. No animals look up--they have too\nmuch common-sense. It was only that fantastic creature, man, could waste\nhis wits skyward. Ugh-lomi made no philosophical deductions, but he\nperceived the thing was so. So he spent a weary day in a beech that\nstood in the open, while Eudena stalked. Usually the horses went into\nthe shade in the heat of the afternoon, but that day the sky was\novercast, and they would not, in spite of Eudena's solicitude.\n\nIt was two days after that that Ugh-lomi had his desire. The day was\nblazing hot, and the multiplying flies asserted themselves. The horses\nstopped grazing before midday, and came into the shadow below him, and\nstood in couples nose to tail, flapping.\n\nThe Master Horse, by virtue of his heels, came closest to the tree. And\nsuddenly there was a rustle and a creak, a _thud_.... Then a sharp\nchipped flint bit him on the cheek. The Master Horse stumbled, came on\none knee, rose to his feet, and was off like the wind. The air was full\nof the whirl of limbs, the prance of hoofs, and snorts of alarm.\nUgh-lomi was pitched a foot in the air, came down again, up again, his\nstomach was hit violently, and then his knees got a grip of something\nbetween them. He found himself clutching with knees, feet, and hands,\ncareering violently with extraordinary oscillation through the air--his\naxe gone heaven knows whither. \"Hold tight,\" said Mother Instinct, and\nhe did.\n\nHe was aware of a lot of coarse hair in his face, some of it between his\nteeth, and of green turf streaming past in front of his eyes. He saw the\nshoulder of the Master Horse, vast and sleek, with the muscles flowing\nswiftly under the skin. He perceived that his arms were round the neck,\nand that the violent jerkings he experienced had a sort of rhythm.\n\nThen he was in the midst of a wild rush of tree-stems, and then there\nwere fronds of bracken about, and then more open turf. Then a stream of\npebbles rushing past, little pebbles flying sideways athwart the stream\nfrom the blow of the swift hoofs. Ugh-lomi began to feel frightfully\nsick and giddy, but he was not the stuff to leave go simply because he\nwas uncomfortable.\n\nHe dared not leave his grip, but he tried to make himself more\ncomfortable. He released his hug on the neck, gripping the mane\ninstead. He slipped his knees forward, and pushing back, came into a\nsitting position where the quarters broaden. It was nervous work, but he\nmanaged it, and at last he was fairly seated astride, breathless indeed,\nand uncertain, but with that frightful pounding of his body at any rate\nrelieved.\n\nSlowly the fragments of Ugh-lomi's mind got into order again. The pace\nseemed to him terrific, but a kind of exultation was beginning to oust\nhis first frantic terror. The air rushed by, sweet and wonderful, the\nrhythm of the hoofs changed and broke up and returned into itself again.\nThey were on turf now, a wide glade--the beech-trees a hundred yards\naway on either side, and a succulent band of green starred with pink\nblossom and shot with silver water here and there, meandered down the\nmiddle. Far off was a glimpse of blue valley--far away. The exultation\ngrew. It was man's first taste of pace.\n\nThen came a wide space dappled with flying fallow deer scattering this\nway and that, and then a couple of jackals, mistaking Ugh-lomi for a\nlion, came hurrying after him. And when they saw it was not a lion they\nstill came on out of curiosity. On galloped the horse, with his one\nidea of escape, and after him the jackals, with pricked ears and\nquickly-barked remarks. \"Which kills which?\" said the first jackal.\n\"It's the horse being killed,\" said the second. They gave the howl of\nfollowing, and the horse answered to it as a horse answers nowadays to\nthe spur.\n\nOn they rushed, a little tornado through the quiet day, putting up\nstartled birds, sending a dozen unexpected things darting to cover,\nraising a myriad of indignant dung-flies, smashing little blossoms,\nflowering complacently, back into their parental turf. Trees again, and\nthen splash, splash across a torrent; then a hare shot out of a tuft of\ngrass under the very hoofs of the Master Horse, and the jackals left\nthem incontinently. So presently they broke into the open again, a wide\nexpanse of turfy hillside--the very grassy downs that fall northward\nnowadays from the Epsom Stand.\n\nThe first hot bolt of the Master Horse was long since over. He was\nfalling into a measured trot, and Ugh-lomi, albeit bruised exceedingly\nand quite uncertain of the future, was in a state of glorious enjoyment.\nAnd now came a new development. The pace broke again, the Master Horse\ncame round on a short curve, and stopped dead....\n\nUgh-lomi became alert. He wished he had a flint, but the throwing-flint\nhe had carried in a thong about his waist was--like the axe--heaven\nknows where. The Master Horse turned his head, and Ugh-lomi became aware\nof an eye and teeth. He whipped his leg into a position of security, and\nhit at the cheek with his fist. Then the head went down somewhere out of\nexistence apparently, and the back he was sitting on flew up into a\ndome. Ugh-lomi became a thing of instinct again--strictly prehensile; he\nheld by knees and feet, and his head seemed sliding towards the turf.\nHis fingers were twisted into the shock of mane, and the rough hair of\nthe horse saved him. The gradient he was on lowered again, and\nthen--\"Whup!\" said Ugh-lomi astonished, and the slant was the other way\nup. But Ugh-lomi was a thousand generations nearer the primordial than\nman: no monkey could have held on better. And the lion had been training\nthe horse for countless generations against the tactics of rolling and\nrearing back. But he kicked like a master, and buck-jumped rather\nneatly. In five minutes Ugh-lomi lived a lifetime. If he came off the\nhorse would kill him, he felt assured.\n\nThen the Master Horse decided to stick to his old tactics again, and\nsuddenly went off at a gallop. He headed down the <DW72>, taking the\nsteep places at a rush, swerving neither to the right nor to the left,\nand, as they rode down, the wide expanse of valley sank out of sight\nbehind the approaching skirmishers of oak and hawthorn. They skirted a\nsudden hollow with the pool of a spring, rank weeds and silver bushes.\nThe ground grew softer and the grass taller, and on the right-hand side\nand the left came scattered bushes of May--still splashed with belated\nblossom. Presently the bushes thickened until they lashed the passing\nrider, and little flashes and gouts of blood came out on horse and man.\nThen the way opened again.\n\nAnd then came a wonderful adventure. A sudden squeal of unreasonable\nanger rose amidst the bushes, the squeal of some creature bitterly\nwronged. And crashing after them appeared a big, grey-blue shape. It was\nYaaa the big-horned rhinoceros, in one of those fits of fury of his,\ncharging full tilt, after the manner of his kind. He had been startled\nat his feeding, and someone, it did not matter who, was to be ripped and\ntrampled therefore. He was bearing down on them from the left, with his\nwicked little eye red, his great horn down and his tail like a\njury-mast behind him. For a minute Ugh-lomi was minded to slip off and\ndodge, and then behold! the staccato of the hoofs grew swifter, and the\nrhinoceros and his stumpy hurrying little legs seemed to slide out at\nthe back corner of Ugh-lomi's eye. In two minutes they were through the\nbushes of May, and out in the open, going fast. For a space he could\nhear the ponderous paces in pursuit receding behind him, and then it was\njust as if Yaaa had not lost his temper, as if Yaaa had never existed.\n\nThe pace never faltered, on they rode and on.\n\nUgh-lomi was now all exultation. To exult in those days was to insult.\n\"Ya-ha! big nose!\" he said, trying to crane back and see some remote\nspeck of a pursuer. \"Why don't you carry your smiting-stone in your\nfist?\" he ended with a frantic whoop.\n\nBut that whoop was unfortunate, for coming close to the ear of the\nhorse, and being quite unexpected, it startled the stallion extremely.\nHe shied violently. Ugh-lomi suddenly found himself uncomfortable again.\nHe was hanging on to the horse, he found, by one arm and one knee.\n\nThe rest of the ride was honourable but unpleasant. The view was\nchiefly of blue sky, and that was combined with the most unpleasant\nphysical sensations. Finally, a bush of thorn lashed him and he let go.\n\nHe hit the ground with his cheek and shoulder, and then, after a\ncomplicated and extraordinarily rapid movement, hit it again with the\nend of his backbone. He saw splashes and sparks of light and colour. The\nground seemed bouncing about just like the horse had done. Then he found\nhe was sitting on turf, six yards beyond the bush. In front of him was a\nspace of grass, growing greener and greener, and a number of human\nbeings in the distance, and the horse was going round at a smart gallop\nquite a long way off to the right.\n\nThe human beings were on the opposite side of the river, some still in\nthe water, but they were all running away as hard as they could go. The\nadvent of a monster that took to pieces was not the sort of novelty they\ncared for. For quite a minute Ugh-lomi sat regarding them in a purely\nspectacular spirit. The bend of the river, the knoll among the reeds and\nroyal ferns, the thin streams of smoke going up to Heaven, were all\nperfectly familiar to him. It was the squatting-place of the Sons of\nUya, of Uya from whom he had fled with Eudena, and whom he had waylaid\nin the chestnut woods and killed with the First Axe.\n\nHe rose to his feet, still dazed from his fall, and as he did so the\nscattering fugitives turned and regarded him. Some pointed to the\nreceding horse and chattered. He walked slowly towards them, staring. He\nforgot the horse, he forgot his own bruises, in the growing interest of\nthis encounter. There were fewer of them than there had been--he\nsupposed the others must have hid--the heap of fern for the night fire\nwas not so high. By the flint heaps should have sat Wau--but then he\nremembered he had killed Wau. Suddenly brought back to this familiar\nscene, the gorge and the bears and Eudena seemed things remote, things\ndreamt of.\n\nHe stopped at the bank and stood regarding the tribe. His mathematical\nabilities were of the slightest, but it was certain there were fewer.\nThe men might be away, but there were fewer women and children. He gave\nthe shout of home-coming. His quarrel had been with Uya and Wau--not\nwith the others. \"Children of Uya!\" he cried. They answered with his\nname, a little fearfully because of the strange way he had come.\n\nFor a space they spoke together. Then an old woman lifted a shrill\nvoice and answered him. \"Our Lord is a Lion.\"\n\nUgh-lomi did not understand that saying. They answered him again several\ntogether, \"Uya comes again. He comes as a Lion. Our Lord is a Lion. He\ncomes at night. He slays whom he will. But none other may slay us,\nUgh-lomi, none other may slay us.\"\n\nStill Ugh-lomi did not understand.\n\n\"Our Lord is a Lion. He speaks no more to men.\"\n\nUgh-lomi stood regarding them. He had had dreams--he knew that though he\nhad killed Uya, Uya still existed. And now they told him Uya was a Lion.\n\nThe shrivelled old woman, the mistress of the fire-minders, suddenly\nturned and spoke softly to those next to her. She was a very old woman\nindeed, she had been the first of Uya's wives, and he had let her live\nbeyond the age to which it is seemly a woman should be permitted to\nlive. She had been cunning from the first, cunning to please Uya and to\nget food. And now she was great in counsel. She spoke softly, and\nUgh-lomi watched her shrivelled form across the river with a curious\ndistaste. Then she called aloud, \"Come over to us, Ugh-lomi.\"\n\nA girl suddenly lifted up her voice. \"Come over to us, Ugh-lomi,\" she\nsaid. And they all began crying, \"Come over to us, Ugh-lomi.\"\n\nIt was strange how their manner changed after the old woman called.\n\nHe stood quite still watching them all. It was pleasant to be called,\nand the girl who had called first was a pretty one. But she made him\nthink of Eudena.\n\n\"Come over to us, Ugh-lomi,\" they cried, and the voice of the shrivelled\nold woman rose above them all. At the sound of her voice his hesitation\nreturned.\n\nHe stood on the river bank, Ugh-lomi--Ugh the Thinker--with his thoughts\nslowly taking shape. Presently one and then another paused to see what\nhe would do. He was minded to go back, he was minded not to. Suddenly\nhis fear or his caution got the upper hand. Without answering them he\nturned, and walked back towards the distant thorn-trees, the way he had\ncome. Forthwith the whole tribe started crying to him again very\neagerly. He hesitated and turned, then he went on, then he turned again,\nand then once again, regarding them with troubled eyes as they called.\nThe last time he took two paces back, before his fear stopped him. They\nsaw him stop once more, and suddenly shake his head and vanish among\nthe hawthorn-trees.\n\nThen all the women and children lifted up their voices together, and\ncalled to him in one last vain effort.\n\nFar down the river the reeds were stirring in the breeze, where,\nconvenient for his new sort of feeding, the old lion, who had taken to\nman-eating, had made his lair.\n\nThe old woman turned her face that way, and pointed to the hawthorn\nthickets. \"Uya,\" she screamed, \"there goes thine enemy! There goes thine\nenemy, Uya! Why do you devour us nightly? We have tried to snare him!\nThere goes thine enemy, Uya!\"\n\nBut the lion who preyed upon the tribe was taking his siesta. The cry\nwent unheard. That day he had dined on one of the plumper girls, and his\nmood was a comfortable placidity. He really did not understand that he\nwas Uya or that Ugh-lomi was his enemy.\n\nSo it was that Ugh-lomi rode the horse, and heard first of Uya the lion,\nwho had taken the place of Uya the Master, and was eating up the tribe.\nAnd as he hurried back to the gorge his mind was no longer full of the\nhorse, but of the thought that Uya was still alive, to slay or be slain.\nOver and over again he saw the shrunken band of women and children\ncrying that Uya was a lion. Uya was a lion!\n\nAnd presently, fearing the twilight might come upon him, Ugh-lomi began\nrunning.\n\n\nIV--UYA THE LION\n\nThe old lion was in luck. The tribe had a certain pride in their ruler,\nbut that was all the satisfaction they got out of it. He came the very\nnight that Ugh-lomi killed Uya the Cunning, and so it was they named him\nUya. It was the old woman, the fire-minder, who first named him Uya. A\nshower had lowered the fires to a glow, and made the night dark. And as\nthey conversed together, and peered at one another in the darkness, and\nwondered fearfully what Uya would do to them in their dreams now that he\nwas dead, they heard the mounting reverberations of the lion's roar\nclose at hand. Then everything was still.\n\nThey held their breath, so that almost the only sounds were the patter\nof the rain and the hiss of the raindrops in the ashes. And then, after\nan interminable time, a crash, and a shriek of fear, and a growling.\nThey sprang to their feet, shouting, screaming, running this way and\nthat, but brands would not burn, and in a minute the victim was being\ndragged away through the ferns. It was Irk, the brother of Wau.\n\nSo the lion came.\n\nThe ferns were still wet from the rain the next night, and he came and\ntook Click with the red hair. That sufficed for two nights. And then in\nthe dark between the moons he came three nights, night after night, and\nthat though they had good fires. He was an old lion with stumpy teeth,\nbut very silent and very cool; he knew of fires before; these were not\nthe first of mankind that had ministered to his old age. The third night\nhe came between the outer fire and the inner, and he leapt the flint\nheap, and pulled down Irm the son of Irk, who had seemed like to be the\nleader. That was a dreadful night, because they lit great flares of fern\nand ran screaming, and the lion missed his hold of Irm. By the glare of\nthe fire they saw Irm struggle up, and run a little way towards them,\nand then the lion in two bounds had him down again. That was the last of\nIrm.\n\nSo fear came, and all the delight of spring passed out of their lives.\nAlready there were five gone out of the tribe, and four nights added\nthree more to the number. Food-seeking became spiritless, none knew who\nmight go next, and all day the women toiled, even the favourite women,\ngathering litter and sticks for the night fires. And the hunters hunted\nill: in the warm spring-time hunger came again as though it was still\nwinter. The tribe might have moved, had they had a leader, but they had\nno leader, and none knew where to go that the lion could not follow\nthem. So the old lion waxed fat and thanked heaven for the kindly race\nof men. Two of the children and a youth died while the moon was still\nnew, and then it was the shrivelled old fire-minder first bethought\nherself in a dream of Eudena and Ugh-lomi, and of the way Uya had been\nslain. She had lived in fear of Uya all her days, and now she lived in\nfear of the lion. That Ugh-lomi could kill Uya for good--Ugh-lomi whom\nshe had seen born--was impossible. It was Uya still seeking his enemy!\n\nAnd then came the strange return of Ugh-lomi, a wonderful animal seen\ngalloping far across the river, that suddenly changed into two animals,\na horse and a man. Following this portent, the vision of Ugh-lomi on the\nfarther bank of the river.... Yes, it was all plain to her. Uya was\npunishing them, because they had not hunted down Ugh-lomi and Eudena.\n\nThe men came straggling back to the chances of the night while the sun\nwas still golden in the sky. They were received with the story of\nUgh-lomi. She went across the river with them and showed them his spoor\nhesitating on the farther bank. Siss the Tracker knew the feet for\nUgh-lomi's. \"Uya needs Ugh-lomi,\" cried the old woman, standing on the\nleft of the bend, a gesticulating figure of flaring bronze in the\nsunset. Her cries were strange sounds, flitting to and fro on the\nborderland of speech, but this was the sense they carried: \"The lion\nneeds Eudena. He comes night after night seeking Eudena and Ugh-lomi.\nWhen he cannot find Eudena and Ugh-lomi, he grows angry and he kills.\nHunt Eudena and Ugh-lomi, Eudena whom he pursued, and Ugh-lomi for whom\nhe gave the death-word! Hunt Eudena and Ugh-lomi!\"\n\nShe turned to the distant reed-bed, as sometimes she had turned to Uya\nin his life. \"Is it not so, my lord?\" she cried. And, as if in answer,\nthe tall reeds bowed before a breath of wind.\n\nFar into the twilight the sound of hacking was heard from the\nsquatting-places. It was the men sharpening their ashen spears against\nthe hunting of the morrow. And in the night, early before the moon\nrose, the lion came and took the girl of Siss the Tracker.\n\nIn the morning before the sun had risen, Siss the Tracker, and the lad\nWau-Hau, who now chipped flints, and One Eye, and Bo, and the\nSnail-eater, the two red-haired men, and Cat's-skin and Snake, all the\nmen that were left alive of the Sons of Uya, taking their ash spears and\ntheir smiting-stones, and with throwing-stones in the beast-paw bags,\nstarted forth upon the trail of Ugh-lomi through the hawthorn thickets\nwhere Yaaa the Rhinoceros and his brothers were feeding, and up the bare\ndownland towards the beechwoods.\n\nThat night the fires burnt high and fierce, as the waxing moon set, and\nthe lion left the crouching women and children in peace.\n\nAnd the next day, while the sun was still high, the hunters\nreturned--all save One Eye, who lay dead with a smashed skull at the\nfoot of the ledge. (When Ugh-lomi came back that evening from stalking\nthe horses, he found the vultures already busy over him.) And with them\nthe hunters brought Eudena bruised and wounded, but alive. That had been\nthe strange order of the shrivelled old woman, that she was to be\nbrought alive--\"She is no kill for us. She is for Uya the Lion.\" Her\nhands were tied with thongs, as though she had been a man, and she came\nweary and drooping--her hair over her eyes and matted with blood. They\nwalked about her, and ever and again the Snail-eater, whose name she had\ngiven, would laugh and strike her with his ashen spear. And after he had\nstruck her with his spear, he would look over his shoulder like one who\nhad done an over-bold deed. The others, too, looked over their shoulders\never and again, and all were in a hurry save Eudena. When the old woman\nsaw them coming, she cried aloud with joy.\n\nThey made Eudena cross the river with her hands tied, although the\ncurrent was strong and when she slipped the old woman screamed, first\nwith joy and then for fear she might be drowned. And when they had\ndragged Eudena to shore, she could not stand for a time, albeit they\nbeat her sore. So they let her sit with her feet touching the water, and\nher eyes staring before her, and her face set, whatever they might do or\nsay. All the tribe came down to the squatting-place, even curly little\nHaha, who as yet could scarcely toddle, and stood staring at Eudena and\nthe old woman, as now we should stare at some strange wounded beast and\nits captor.\n\nThe old woman tore off the necklace of Uya that was about Eudena's neck,\nand put it on herself--she had been the first to wear it. Then she tore\nat Eudena's hair, and took a spear from Siss and beat her with all her\nmight. And when she had vented the warmth of her heart on the girl she\nlooked closely into her face. Eudena's eyes were closed and her features\nwere set, and she lay so still that for a moment the old woman feared\nshe was dead. And then her nostrils quivered. At that the old woman\nslapped her face and laughed and gave the spear to Siss again, and went\na little way off from her and began to talk and jeer at her after her\nmanner.\n\nThe old woman had more words than any in the tribe. And her talk was a\nterrible thing to hear. Sometimes she screamed and moaned incoherently,\nand sometimes the shape of her guttural cries was the mere phantom of\nthoughts. But she conveyed to Eudena, nevertheless, much of the things\nthat were yet to come, of the Lion and of the torment he would do her.\n\"And Ugh-lomi! Ha, ha! Ugh-lomi is slain?\"\n\nAnd suddenly Eudena's eyes opened and she sat up again, and her look met\nthe old woman's fair and level. \"No,\" she said slowly, like one trying\nto remember, \"I did not see my Ugh-lomi slain. I did not see my Ugh-lomi\nslain.\"\n\n\"Tell her,\" cried the old woman. \"Tell her--he that killed him. Tell her\nhow Ugh-lomi was slain.\"\n\nShe looked, and all the women and children there looked, from man to\nman.\n\nNone answered her. They stood shame-faced.\n\n\"Tell her,\" said the old woman. The men looked at one another.\n\nEudena's face suddenly lit.\n\n\"Tell her,\" she said. \"Tell her, mighty men! Tell her the killing of\nUgh-lomi.\"\n\nThe old woman rose and struck her sharply across her mouth.\n\n\"We could not find Ugh-lomi,\" said Siss the Tracker, slowly. \"Who hunts\ntwo, kills none.\"\n\nThen Eudena's heart leapt, but she kept her face hard. It was as well,\nfor the old woman looked at her sharply, with murder in her eyes.\n\nThen the old woman turned her tongue upon the men because they had\nfeared to go on after Ugh-lomi. She dreaded no one now Uya was slain.\nShe scolded them as one scolds children. And they scowled at her, and\nbegan to accuse one another. Until suddenly Siss the Tracker raised his\nvoice and bade her hold her peace.\n\nAnd so when the sun was setting they took Eudena and went--though their\nhearts sank within them--along the trail the old lion had made in the\nreeds. All the men went together. At one place was a group of alders,\nand here they hastily bound Eudena where the lion might find her when he\ncame abroad in the twilight, and having done so they hurried back until\nthey were near the squatting-place. Then they stopped. Siss stopped\nfirst and looked back again at the alders. They could see her head even\nfrom the squatting-place, a little black shock under the limb of the\nlarger tree. That was as well.\n\nAll the women and children stood watching upon the crest of the mound.\nAnd the old woman stood and screamed for the lion to take her whom he\nsought, and counselled him on the torments he might do her.\n\nEudena was very weary now, stunned by beatings and fatigue and sorrow,\nand only the fear of the thing that was still to come upheld her. The\nsun was broad and blood-red between the stems of the distant chestnuts,\nand the west was all on fire; the evening breeze had died to a warm\ntranquillity. The air was full of midge swarms, the fish in the river\nhard by would leap at times, and now and again a cockchafer would drone\nthrough the air. Out of the corner of her eye Eudena could see a part of\nthe squatting-knoll, and little figures standing and staring at her.\nAnd--a very little sound but very clear--she could hear the beating of\nthe firestone. Dark and near to her and still was the reed-fringed\nthicket of the lair.\n\nPresently the firestone ceased. She looked for the sun and found he had\ngone, and overhead and growing brighter was the waxing moon. She looked\ntowards the thicket of the lair, seeking shapes in the reeds, and then\nsuddenly she began to wriggle and wriggle, weeping and calling upon\nUgh-lomi.\n\nBut Ugh-lomi was far away. When they saw her head moving with her\nstruggles, they shouted together on the knoll, and she desisted and was\nstill. And then came the bats, and the star that was like Ugh-lomi crept\nout of its blue hiding-place in the west. She called to it, but softly,\nbecause she feared the lion. And all through the coming of the twilight\nthe thicket was still.\n\nSo the dark crept upon Eudena, and the moon grew bright, and the shadows\nof things that had fled up the hillside and vanished with the evening\ncame back to them short and black. And the dark shapes in the thicket of\nreeds and alders where the lion lay, gathered, and a faint stir began\nthere. But nothing came out therefrom all through the gathering of the\ndarkness.\n\nShe looked at the squatting-place and saw the fires glowing smoky-red,\nand the men and women going to and fro. The other way, over the river, a\nwhite mist was rising. Then far away came the whimpering of young foxes\nand the yell of a hyaena.\n\nThere were long gaps of aching waiting. After a long time some animal\nsplashed in the water, and seemed to cross the river at the ford beyond\nthe lair, but what animal it was she could not see. From the distant\ndrinking-pools she could hear the sound of splashing, and the noise of\nelephants--so still was the night.\n\nThe earth was now a colourless arrangement of white reflections and\nimpenetrable shadows, under the blue sky. The silvery moon was already\nspotted with the filigree crests of the chestnut woods, and over the\nshadowy eastward hills the stars were multiplying. The knoll fires were\nbright red now, and black figures stood waiting against them. They were\nwaiting for a scream.... Surely it would be soon.\n\nThe night suddenly seemed full of movement. She held her breath. Things\nwere passing--one, two, three--subtly sneaking shadows.... Jackals.\n\nThen a long waiting again.\n\nThen, asserting itself as real at once over all the sounds her mind had\nimagined, came a stir in the thicket, then a vigorous movement. There\nwas a snap. The reeds crashed heavily, once, twice, thrice, and then\neverything was still save a measured swishing. She heard a low tremulous\ngrowl, and then everything was still again. The stillness\nlengthened--would it never end? She held her breath; she bit her lips to\nstop screaming. Then something scuttled through the undergrowth. Her\nscream was involuntary. She did not hear the answering yell from the\nmound.\n\nImmediately the thicket woke up to vigorous movement again. She saw the\ngrass stems waving in the light of the setting moon, the alders swaying.\nShe struggled violently--her last struggle. But nothing came towards\nher. A dozen monsters seemed rushing about in that little place for a\ncouple of minutes, and then again came silence. The moon sank behind the\ndistant chestnuts and the night was dark.\n\nThen an odd sound, a sobbing panting, that grew faster and fainter. Yet\nanother silence, and then dim sounds and the grunting of some animal.\n\nEverything was still again. Far away eastwards an elephant trumpeted,\nand from the woods came a snarling and yelping that died away.\n\nIn the long interval the moon shone out again, between the stems of the\ntrees on the ridge, sending two great bars of light and a bar of\ndarkness across the reedy waste. Then came a steady rustling, a splash,\nand the reeds swayed wider and wider apart. And at last they broke open,\ncleft from root to crest.... The end had come.\n\nShe looked to see the thing that had come out of the reeds. For a moment\nit seemed certainly the great head and jaw she expected, and then it\ndwindled and changed. It was a dark low thing, that remained silent, but\nit was not the lion. It became still--everything became still. She\npeered. It was like some gigantic frog, two limbs and a slanting body.\nIts head moved about searching the shadows....\n\nA rustle, and it moved clumsily, with a sort of hopping. And as it moved\nit gave a low groan.\n\nThe blood rushing through her veins was suddenly joy. \"_Ugh-lomi!_\" she\nwhispered.\n\nThe thing stopped. \"_Eudena_,\" he answered softly with pain in his\nvoice, and peering into the alders.\n\nHe moved again, and came out of the shadow beyond the reeds into the\nmoonlight. All his body was covered with dark smears. She saw he was\ndragging his legs, and that he gripped his axe, the first axe, in one\nhand. In another moment he had struggled into the position of all fours,\nand had staggered over to her. \"The lion,\" he said in a strange mingling\nof exultation and anguish. \"Wau!--I have slain a lion. With my own hand.\nEven as I slew the great bear.\" He moved to emphasise his words, and\nsuddenly broke off with a faint cry. For a space he did not move.\n\n\"Let me free,\" whispered Eudena....\n\nHe answered her no words but pulled himself up from his crawling\nattitude by means of the alder stem, and hacked at her thongs with the\nsharp edge of his axe. She heard him sob at each blow. He cut away the\nthongs about her chest and arms, and then his hand dropped. His chest\nstruck against her shoulder and he slipped down beside her and lay\nstill.\n\nBut the rest of her release was easy. Very hastily she freed herself.\nShe made one step from the tree, and her head was spinning. Her last\nconscious movement was towards him. She reeled, and dropped. Her hand\nfell upon his thigh. It was soft and wet, and gave way under her\npressure; he cried out at her touch, and writhed and lay still again.\n\nPresently a dark dog-like shape came very softly through the reeds. Then\nstopped dead and stood sniffing, hesitated, and at last turned and slunk\nback into the shadows.\n\nLong was the time they remained there motionless, with the light of the\nsetting moon shining on their limbs. Very slowly, as slowly as the\nsetting of the moon, did the shadow of the reeds towards the mound flow\nover them. Presently their legs were hidden, and Ugh-lomi was but a bust\nof silver. The shadow crept to his neck, crept over his face, and so at\nlast the darkness of the night swallowed them up.\n\nThe shadow became full of instinctive stirrings. There was a patter of\nfeet, and a faint snarling--the sound of a blow.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere was little sleep that night for the women and children at the\nsquatting-place until they heard Eudena scream. But the men were weary\nand sat dozing. When Eudena screamed they felt assured of their safety,\nand hurried to get the nearest places to the fires. The old woman\nlaughed at the scream, and laughed again because Si, the little friend\nof Eudena, whimpered. Directly the dawn came they were all alert and\nlooking towards the alders. They could see that Eudena had been taken.\nThey could not help feeling glad to think that Uya was appeased. But\nacross the minds of the men the thought of Ugh-lomi fell like a shadow.\nThey could understand revenge, for the world was old in revenge, but\nthey did not think of rescue. Suddenly a hyaena fled out of the thicket,\nand came galloping across the reed space. His muzzle and paws were\ndark-stained. At that sight all the men shouted and clutched at\nthrowing-stones and ran towards him, for no animal is so pitiful a\ncoward as the hyaena by day. All men hated the hyaena because he preyed on\nchildren, and would come and bite when one was sleeping on the edge of\nthe squatting-place. And Cat's-skin, throwing fair and straight, hit the\nbrute shrewdly on the flank, whereat the whole tribe yelled with\ndelight.\n\nAt the noise they made there came a flapping of wings from the lair of\nthe lion, and three white-headed vultures rose slowly and circled and\ncame to rest amidst the branches of an alder, overlooking the lair. \"Our\nlord is abroad,\" said the old woman, pointing. \"The vultures have their\nshare of Eudena.\" For a space they remained there, and then first one\nand then another dropped back into the thicket.\n\nThen over the eastern woods, and touching the whole world to life and\ncolour, poured, with the exaltation of a trumpet blast, the light of the\nrising sun. At the sight of him the children shouted together, and\nclapped their hands and began to race off towards the water. Only little\nSi lagged behind and looked wonderingly at the alders where she had seen\nthe head of Eudena overnight.\n\nBut Uya, the old lion, was not abroad, but at home, and he lay very\nstill, and a little on one side. He was not in his lair, but a little\nway from it in a place of trampled grass. Under one eye was a little\nwound, the feeble little bite of the first axe. But all the ground\nbeneath his chest was ruddy brown with a vivid streak, and in his chest\nwas a little hole that had been made by Ugh-lomi's stabbing-spear. Along\nhis side and at his neck the vultures had marked their claims. For so\nUgh-lomi had slain him, lying stricken under his paw and thrusting\nhaphazard at his chest. He had driven the spear in with all his strength\nand stabbed the giant to the heart. So it was the reign of the lion, of\nthe second incarnation of Uya the Master, came to an end.\n\nFrom the knoll the bustle of preparation grew, the hacking of spears and\nthrowing-stones. None spake the name of Ugh-lomi for fear that it might\nbring him. The men were going to keep together, close together, in the\nhunting for a day or so. And their hunting was to be Ugh-lomi, lest\ninstead he should come a-hunting them.\n\nBut Ugh-lomi was lying very still and silent, outside the lion's lair,\nand Eudena squatted beside him, with the ash spear, all smeared with\nlion's blood, gripped in her hand.\n\n\nV--THE FIGHT IN THE LION'S THICKET\n\nUgh-lomi lay still, his back against an alder, and his thigh was a red\nmass terrible to see. No civilised man could have lived who had been so\nsorely wounded, but Eudena got him thorns to close his wounds, and\nsquatted beside him day and night, smiting the flies from him with a fan\nof reeds by day, and in the night threatening the hyaenas with the first\naxe in her hand; and in a little while he began to heal. It was high\nsummer, and there was no rain. Little food they had during the first two\ndays his wounds were open. In the low place where they hid were no roots\nnor little beasts, and the stream, with its water-snails and fish, was\nin the open a hundred yards away. She could not go abroad by day for\nfear of the tribe, her brothers and sisters, nor by night for fear of\nthe beasts, both on his account and hers. So they shared the lion with\nthe vultures. But there was a trickle of water near by, and Eudena\nbrought him plenty in her hands.\n\nWhere Ugh-lomi lay was well hidden from the tribe by a thicket of\nalders, and all fenced about with bulrushes and tall reeds. The dead\nlion he had killed lay near his old lair on a place of trampled reeds\nfifty yards away, in sight through the reed-stems, and the vultures\nfought each other for the choicest pieces and kept the jackals off him.\nVery soon a cloud of flies that looked like bees hung over him, and\nUgh-lomi could hear their humming. And when Ugh-lomi's flesh was already\nhealing--and it was not many days before that began--only a few bones of\nthe lion remained scattered and shining white.\n\nFor the most part Ugh-lomi sat still during the day, looking before him\nat nothing, sometimes he would mutter of the horses and bears and lions,\nand sometimes he would beat the ground with the first axe and say the\nnames of the tribe--he seemed to have no fear of bringing the tribe--for\nhours together. But chiefly he slept, dreaming little because of his\nloss of blood and the slightness of his food. During the short summer\nnight both kept awake. All the while the darkness lasted things moved\nabout them, things they never saw by day. For some nights the hyaenas did\nnot come, and then one moonless night near a dozen came and fought for\nwhat was left of the lion. The night was a tumult of growling, and\nUgh-lomi and Eudena could hear the bones snap in their teeth. But they\nknew the hyaena dare not attack any creature alive and awake, and so they\nwere not greatly afraid.\n\nOf a daytime Eudena would go along the narrow path the old lion had made\nin the reeds until she was beyond the bend, and then she would creep\ninto the thicket and watch the tribe. She would lie close by the alders\nwhere they had bound her to offer her up to the lion, and thence she\ncould see them on the knoll by the fire, small and clear, as she had\nseen them that night. But she told Ugh-lomi little of what she saw,\nbecause she feared to bring them by their names. For so they believed in\nthose days, that naming called.\n\nShe saw the men prepare stabbing-spears and throwing-stones on the\nmorning after Ugh-lomi had slain the lion, and go out to hunt him,\nleaving the women and children on the knoll. Little they knew how near\nhe was as they tracked off in single file towards the hills, with Siss\nthe Tracker leading them. And she watched the women and children, after\nthe men had gone, gathering fern-fronds and twigs for the night fire,\nand the boys and girls running and playing together. But the very old\nwoman made her feel afraid. Towards noon, when most of the others were\ndown at the stream by the bend, she came and stood on the hither side of\nthe knoll, a gnarled brown figure, and gesticulated so that Eudena could\nscarce believe she was not seen. Eudena lay like a hare in its form,\nwith shining eyes fixed on the bent witch away there, and presently she\ndimly understood it was the lion the old woman was worshipping--the lion\nUgh-lomi had slain.\n\nAnd the next day the hunters came back weary, carrying a fawn, and\nEudena watched the feast enviously. And then came a strange thing. She\nsaw--distinctly she heard--the old woman shrieking and gesticulating\nand pointing towards her. She was afraid, and crept like a snake out of\nsight again. But presently curiosity overcame her and she was back at\nher spying-place, and as she peered her heart stopped, for there were\nall the men, with their weapons in their hands, walking together towards\nher from the knoll.\n\nShe dared not move lest her movement should be seen, but she pressed\nherself close to the ground. The sun was low and the golden light was in\nthe faces of the men. She saw they carried a piece of rich red meat\nthrust through by an ashen stake. Presently they stopped. \"Go on!\"\nscreamed the old woman. Cat's-skin grumbled, and they came on, searching\nthe thicket with sun-dazzled eyes. \"Here!\" said Siss. And they took the\nashen stake with the meat upon it and thrust it into the ground. \"Uya!\"\ncried Siss, \"behold thy portion. And Ugh-lomi we have slain. Of a truth\nwe have slain Ugh-lomi. This day we slew Ugh-lomi, and to-morrow we will\nbring his body to you.\" And the others repeated the words.\n\nThey looked at each other and behind them, and partly turned and began\ngoing back. At first they walked half turned to the thicket, then facing\nthe mound they walked faster looking over their shoulders, then faster;\nsoon they ran, it was a race at last, until they were near the knoll.\nThen Siss who was hindmost was first to slacken his pace.\n\nThe sunset passed and the twilight came, the fires glowed red against\nthe hazy blue of the distant chestnut-trees, and the voices over the\nmound were merry. Eudena lay scarcely stirring, looking from the mound\nto the meat and then to the mound. She was hungry, but she was afraid.\nAt last she crept back to Ugh-lomi.\n\nHe looked round at the little rustle of her approach. His face was in\nshadow. \"Have you got me some food?\" he said.\n\nShe said she could find nothing, but that she would seek further, and\nwent back along the lion's path until she could see the mound again, but\nshe could not bring herself to take the meat; she had the brute's\ninstinct of a snare. She felt very miserable.\n\nShe crept back at last towards Ugh-lomi and heard him stirring and\nmoaning. She turned back to the mound again; then she saw something in\nthe darkness near the stake, and peering distinguished a jackal. In a\nflash she was brave and angry; she sprang up, cried out, and ran towards\nthe offering. She stumbled and fell, and heard the growling of the\njackal going off.\n\nWhen she arose only the ashen stake lay on the ground, the meat was\ngone. So she went back, to fast through the night with Ugh-lomi; and\nUgh-lomi was angry with her, because she had no food for him; but she\ntold him nothing of the things she had seen.\n\nTwo days passed and they were near starving, when the tribe slew a\nhorse. Then came the same ceremony, and a haunch was left on the ashen\nstake; but this time Eudena did not hesitate.\n\nBy acting and words she made Ugh-lomi understand, but he ate most of the\nfood before he understood; and then as her meaning passed to him he grew\nmerry with his food. \"I am Uya,\" he said; \"I am the Lion. I am the Great\nCave Bear, I who was only Ugh-lomi. I am Wau the Cunning. It is well\nthat they should feed me, for presently I will kill them all.\"\n\nThen Eudena's heart was light, and she laughed with him; and afterwards\nshe ate what he had left of the horseflesh with gladness.\n\nAfter that it was he had a dream, and the next day he made Eudena bring\nhim the lion's teeth and claws--so much of them as she could find--and\nhack him a club of alder. And he put the teeth and claws very cunningly\ninto the wood so that the points were outward. Very long it took him,\nand he blunted two of the teeth hammering them in, and was very angry\nand threw the thing away; but afterwards he dragged himself to where he\nhad thrown it and finished it--a club of a new sort set with teeth. That\nday there was more meat for them both, an offering to the lion from the\ntribe.\n\nIt was one day--more than a hand's fingers of days, more than anyone had\nskill to count--after Ugh-lomi had made the club, that Eudena while he\nwas asleep was lying in the thicket watching the squatting-place. There\nhad been no meat for three days. And the old woman came and worshipped\nafter her manner. Now while she worshipped, Eudena's little friend Si\nand another, the child of the first girl Siss had loved, came over the\nknoll and stood regarding her skinny figure, and presently they began to\nmock her. Eudena found this entertaining, but suddenly the old woman\nturned on them quickly and saw them. For a moment she stood and they\nstood motionless, and then with a shriek of rage, she rushed towards\nthem, and all three disappeared over the crest of the knoll.\n\nPresently the children reappeared among the ferns beyond the shoulder of\nthe hill. Little Si ran first, for she was an active girl, and the\nother child ran squealing with the old woman close upon her. And over\nthe knoll came Siss with a bone in his hand, and Bo and Cat's-skin\nobsequiously behind him, each holding a piece of food, and they laughed\naloud and shouted to see the old woman so angry. And with a shriek the\nchild was caught and the old woman set to work slapping and the child\nscreaming, and it was very good after-dinner fun for them. Little Si ran\non a little way and stopped at last between fear and curiosity.\n\nAnd suddenly came the mother of the child, with hair streaming, panting,\nand with a stone in her hand, and the old woman turned about like a wild\ncat. She was the equal of any woman, was the chief of the fire-minders,\nin spite of her years; but before she could do anything Siss shouted to\nher and the clamour rose loud. Other shock heads came into sight. It\nseemed the whole tribe was at home and feasting. But the old woman dared\nnot go on wreaking herself on the child Siss befriended.\n\nEveryone made noises and called names--even little Si. Abruptly the old\nwoman let go of the child she had caught and made a swift run at Si for\nSi had no friends; and Si, realising her danger when it was almost upon\nher, made off headlong, with a faint cry of terror, not heeding whither\nshe ran, straight to the lair of the lion. She swerved aside into the\nreeds presently, realising now whither she went.\n\nBut the old woman was a wonderful old woman, as active as she was\nspiteful, and she caught Si by the streaming hair within thirty yards of\nEudena. All the tribe now was running down the knoll and shouting and\nlaughing ready to see the fun.\n\nThen something stirred in Eudena; something that had never stirred in\nher before; and, thinking all of little Si and nothing of her fear, she\nsprang up from her ambush and ran swiftly forward. The old woman did not\nsee her, for she was busy beating little Si's face with her hand,\nbeating with all her heart, and suddenly something hard and heavy struck\nher cheek. She went reeling, and saw Eudena with flaming eyes and cheeks\nbetween her and little Si. She shrieked with astonishment and terror,\nand little Si, not understanding, set off towards the gaping tribe. They\nwere quite close now, for the sight of Eudena had driven their fading\nfear of the lion out of their heads.\n\nIn a moment Eudena had turned from the cowering old woman and overtaken\nSi. \"Si!\" she cried, \"Si!\" She caught the child up in her arms as it\nstopped, pressed the nail-lined face to hers, and turned about to run\ntowards her lair, the lair of the old lion. The old woman stood\nwaist-high in the reeds, and screamed foul things and inarticulate rage,\nbut did not dare to intercept her; and at the bend of the path Eudena\nlooked back and saw all the men of the tribe crying to one another and\nSiss coming at a trot along the lion's trail.\n\nShe ran straight along the narrow way through the reeds to the shady\nplace where Ugh-lomi sat with his healing thigh, just awakened by the\nshouting and rubbing his eyes. She came to him, a woman, with little Si\nin her arms. Her heart throbbed in her throat. \"Ugh-lomi!\" she cried,\n\"Ugh-lomi, the tribe comes!\"\n\nUgh-lomi sat staring in stupid astonishment at her and Si.\n\nShe pointed with Si in one arm. She sought among her feeble store of\nwords to explain. She could hear the men calling. Apparently they had\nstopped outside. She put down Si and caught up the new club with the\nlion's teeth, and put it into Ugh-lomi's hand, and ran three yards and\npicked up the first axe.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Ugh-lomi, waving the new club, and suddenly he perceived the\noccasion and, rolling over, began to struggle to his feet.\n\nHe stood but clumsily. He supported himself by one hand against the\ntree, and just touched the ground gingerly with the toe of his wounded\nleg. In the other hand he gripped the new club. He looked at his healing\nthigh; and suddenly the reeds began whispering, and ceased and whispered\nagain, and coming cautiously along the track, bending down and holding\nhis fire-hardened stabbing-stick of ash in his hand, appeared Siss. He\nstopped dead, and his eyes met Ugh-lomi's.\n\nUgh-lomi forgot he had a wounded leg. He stood firmly on both feet.\nSomething trickled. He glanced down and saw a little gout of blood had\noozed out along the edge of the healing wound. He rubbed his hand there\nto give him the grip of his club, and fixed his eyes again on Siss.\n\n\"Wau!\" he cried, and sprang forward, and Siss, still stooping and\nwatchful, drove his stabbing-stick up very quickly in an ugly thrust. It\nripped Ugh-lomi's guarding arm and the club came down in a counter that\nSiss was never to understand. He fell, as an ox falls to the pole-axe,\nat Ugh-lomi's feet.\n\nTo Bo it seemed the strangest thing. He had a comforting sense of tall\nreeds on either side, and an impregnable rampart, Siss, between him and\nany danger. Snail-eater was close behind and there was no danger there.\nHe was prepared to shove behind and send Siss to death or victory. That\nwas his place as second man. He saw the butt of the spear Siss carried\nleap away from him, and suddenly a dull whack and the broad back fell\naway forward, and he looked Ugh-lomi in the face over his prostrate\nleader. It felt to Bo as if his heart had fallen down a well. He had a\nthrowing-stone in one hand and an ashen stabbing-stick in the other. He\ndid not live to the end of his momentary hesitation which to use.\n\nSnail-eater was a readier man, and besides Bo did not fall forward as\nSiss had done, but gave at his knees and hips, crumpling up with the\ntoothed club upon his head. The Snail-eater drove his spear forward\nswift and straight, and took Ugh-lomi in the muscle of the shoulder, and\nthen he drove him hard with the smiting-stone in his other hand,\nshouting out as he did so. The new club swished ineffectually through\nthe reeds. Eudena saw Ugh-lomi come staggering back from the narrow path\ninto the open space, tripping over Siss and with a foot of ashen stake\nsticking out of him over his arm. And then the Snail-eater, whose name\nshe had given, had his final injury from her, as his exultant face came\nout of the reeds after his spear. For she swung the first axe swift and\nhigh, and hit him fair and square on the temple; and down he went on\nSiss at prostrate Ugh-lomi's feet.\n\nBut before Ugh-lomi could get up, the two red-haired men were tumbling\nout of the reeds, spears and smiting-stones ready, and Snake hard behind\nthem. One she struck on the neck, but not to fell him, and he blundered\naside and spoilt his brother's blow at Ugh-lomi's head. In a moment\nUgh-lomi dropped his club and had his assailant by the waist, and had\npitched him sideways sprawling. He snatched at his club again and\nrecovered it. The man Eudena had hit stabbed at her with his spear as he\nstumbled from her blow, and involuntarily she gave ground to avoid him.\nHe hesitated between her and Ugh-lomi, half turned, gave a vague cry at\nfinding Ugh-lomi so near, and in a moment Ugh-lomi had him by the\nthroat, and the club had its third victim. As he went down Ugh-lomi\nshouted--no words, but an exultant cry.\n\nThe other red-haired man was six feet from her with his back to her, and\na darker red streaking his head. He was struggling to his feet. She had\nan irrational impulse to stop his rising. She flung the axe at him,\nmissed, saw his face in profile, and he had swerved beyond little Si,\nand was running through the reeds. She had a transitory vision of Snake\nstanding in the throat of the path, half turned away from her, and then\nshe saw his back. She saw the club whirling through the air, and the\nshock head of Ugh-lomi, with blood in the hair and blood upon the\nshoulder, vanishing below the reeds in pursuit. Then she heard Snake\nscream like a woman.\n\nShe ran past Si to where the handle of the axe stuck out of a clump of\nfern, and turning, found herself panting and alone with three motionless\nbodies. The air was full of shouts and screams. For a space she was sick\nand giddy, and then it came into her head that Ugh-lomi was being killed\nalong the reed-path, and with an inarticulate cry she leapt over the\nbody of Bo and hurried after him. Snake's feet lay across the path, and\nhis head was among the reeds. She followed the path until it bent round\nand opened out by the alders, and thence she saw all that was left of\nthe tribe in the open, scattering like dead leaves before a gale, and\ngoing back over the knoll. Ugh-lomi was hard upon Cat's-skin.\n\nBut Cat's-skin was fleet of foot and got away, and so did young Wau-Hau\nwhen Ugh-lomi turned upon him, and Ugh-lomi pursued Wau-Hau far beyond\nthe knoll before he desisted. He had the rage of battle on him now, and\nthe wood thrust through his shoulder stung him like a spur. When she saw\nhe was in no danger she stopped running and stood panting, watching the\ndistant active figures run up and vanish one by one over the knoll. In a\nlittle time she was alone again. Everything had happened very swiftly.\nThe smoke of Brother Fire rose straight and steady from the\nsquatting-place, just as it had done ten minutes ago, when the old woman\nhad stood yonder worshipping the lion.\n\nAnd after a long time, as it seemed, Ugh-lomi reappeared over the knoll,\nand came back to Eudena, triumphant and breathing heavily. She stood,\nher hair about her eyes and hot-faced, with the blood-stained axe in her\nhand, at the place where the tribe had offered her as a sacrifice to the\nlion. \"Wau!\" cried Ugh-lomi at the sight of her, his face alight with\nthe fellowship of battle, and he waved his new club, red now and hairy;\nand at the sight of his glowing face her tense pose relaxed somewhat,\nand she stood sobbing and rejoicing.\n\nUgh-lomi had a queer unaccountable pang at the sight of her tears; but\nhe only shouted \"Wau!\" the louder and shook the axe east and west. He\ncalled manfully to her to follow him and turned back, striding, with the\nclub swinging in his hand, towards the squatting-place, as if he had\nnever left the tribe; and she ceased her weeping and followed quickly as\na woman should.\n\nSo Ugh-lomi and Eudena came back to the squatting-place from which they\nhad fled many days before from the face of Uya; and by the\nsquatting-place lay a deer half eaten, just as there had been before\nUgh-lomi was man or Eudena woman. So Ugh-lomi sat down to eat, and\nEudena beside him like a man, and the rest of the tribe watched them\nfrom safe hiding-places. And after a time one of the elder girls came\nback timorously, carrying little Si in her arms, and Eudena called to\nthem by name, and offered them food. But the elder girl was afraid and\nwould not come, though Si struggled to come to Eudena. Afterwards, when\nUgh-lomi had eaten, he sat dozing, and at last he slept, and slowly the\nothers came out of the hiding-places and drew near. And when Ugh-lomi\nwoke, save that there were no men to be seen, it seemed as though he had\nnever left the tribe.\n\nNow, there is a thing strange but true: that all through this fight\nUgh-lomi forgot that he was lame, and was not lame, and after he had\nrested behold! he was a lame man; and he remained a lame man to the end\nof his days.\n\nCat's-skin and the second red-haired man and Wau-Hau, who chipped flints\ncunningly, as his father had done before him, fled from the face of\nUgh-lomi, and none knew where they hid. But two days after they came and\nsquatted a good way off from the knoll among the bracken under the\nchestnuts and watched. Ugh-lomi's rage had gone, he moved to go against\nthem and did not, and at sundown they went away. That day, too, they\nfound the old woman among the ferns, where Ugh-lomi had blundered upon\nher when he had pursued Wau-Hau. She was dead and more ugly than ever,\nbut whole. The jackals and vultures had tried her and left her;--she was\never a wonderful old woman.\n\nThe next day the three men came again and squatted nearer, and Wau-Hau\nhad two rabbits to hold up, and the red-haired man a wood-pigeon, and\nUgh-lomi stood before the women and mocked them.\n\nThe next day they sat again nearer--without stones or sticks, and with\nthe same offerings, and Cat's-skin had a trout. It was rare men caught\nfish in those days, but Cat's-skin would stand silently in the water for\nhours and catch them with his hand. And the fourth day Ugh-lomi suffered\nthese three to come to the squatting-place in peace, with the food they\nhad with them. Ugh-lomi ate the trout. Thereafter for many moons\nUgh-lomi was master and had his will in peace. And on the fulness of\ntime he was killed and eaten even as Uya had been slain.\n\n\n\n\nA Story of the Days to Come\n\n\n\n\nA STORY OF THE DAYS TO COME\n\n\nI--THE CURE FOR LOVE\n\nThe excellent Mr. Morris was an Englishman, and he lived in the days of\nQueen Victoria the Good. He was a prosperous and very sensible man; he\nread the _Times_ and went to church, and as he grew towards middle age\nan expression of quiet contented contempt for all who were not as\nhimself settled on his face. He was one of those people who do\neverything that is right and proper and sensible with inevitable\nregularity. He always wore just the right and proper clothes, steering\nthe narrow way between the smart and the shabby, always subscribed to\nthe right charities, just the judicious compromise between ostentation\nand meanness, and never failed to have his hair cut to exactly the\nproper length.\n\nEverything that it was right and proper for a man in his position to\npossess, he possessed; and everything that it was not right and proper\nfor a man in his position to possess, he did not possess.\n\nAnd among other right and proper possessions, this Mr. Morris had a wife\nand children. They were the right sort of wife, and the right sort and\nnumber of children, of course; nothing imaginative or highty-flighty\nabout any of them, so far as Mr. Morris could see; they wore perfectly\ncorrect clothing, neither smart nor hygienic nor faddy in any way, but\njust sensible; and they lived in a nice sensible house in the later\nVictorian sham Queen Anne style of architecture, with sham\nhalf-timbering of chocolate-painted plaster in the gables, Lincrusta\nWalton sham carved oak panels, a terrace of terra cotta to imitate\nstone, and cathedral glass in the front door. His boys went to good\nsolid schools, and were put to respectable professions; his girls, in\nspite of a fantastic protest or so, were all married to suitable,\nsteady, oldish young men with good prospects. And when it was a fit and\nproper thing for him to do so, Mr. Morris died. His tomb was of marble,\nand, without any art nonsense or laudatory inscription, quietly\nimposing--such being the fashion of his time.\n\nHe underwent various changes according to the accepted custom in these\ncases, and long before this story begins his bones even had become dust,\nand were scattered to the four quarters of heaven. And his sons and his\ngrandsons and his great-grandsons and his great-great-grandsons, they\ntoo were dust and ashes, and were scattered likewise. It was a thing he\ncould not have imagined, that a day would come when even his\ngreat-great-grandsons would be scattered to the four winds of heaven. If\nany one had suggested it to him he would have resented it. He was one of\nthose worthy people who take no interest in the future of mankind at\nall. He had grave doubts, indeed, if there was any future for mankind\nafter he was dead.\n\nIt seemed quite impossible and quite uninteresting to imagine anything\nhappening after he was dead. Yet the thing was so, and when even his\ngreat-great-grandson was dead and decayed and forgotten, when the sham\nhalf-timbered house had gone the way of all shams, and the _Times_ was\nextinct, and the silk hat a ridiculous antiquity, and the modestly\nimposing stone that had been sacred to Mr. Morris had been burnt to make\nlime for mortar, and all that Mr. Morris had found real and important\nwas sere and dead, the world was still going on, and people were still\ngoing about it, just as heedless and impatient of the Future, or,\nindeed, of anything but their own selves and property, as Mr. Morris had\nbeen.\n\nAnd, strange to tell, and much as Mr. Morris would have been angered if\nany one had foreshadowed it to him, all over the world there were\nscattered a multitude of people, filled with the breath of life, in\nwhose veins the blood of Mr. Morris flowed. Just as some day the life\nwhich is gathered now in the reader of this very story may also be\nscattered far and wide about this world, and mingled with a thousand\nalien strains, beyond all thought and tracing.\n\nAnd among the descendants of this Mr. Morris was one almost as sensible\nand clear-headed as his ancestor. He had just the same stout, short\nframe as that ancient man of the nineteenth century, from whom his name\nof Morris--he spelt it Mwres--came; he had the same half-contemptuous\nexpression of face. He was a prosperous person, too, as times went, and\nhe disliked the \"new-fangled,\" and bothers about the future and the\nlower classes, just as much as the ancestral Morris had done. He did not\nread the _Times_: indeed, he did not know there ever had been a\n_Times_--that institution had foundered somewhere in the intervening\ngulf of years; but the phonograph machine, that talked to him as he\nmade his toilet of a morning, might have been the voice of a\nreincarnated Blowitz when it dealt with the world's affairs. This\nphonographic machine was the size and shape of a Dutch clock, and down\nthe front of it were electric barometric indicators, and an electric\nclock and calendar, and automatic engagement reminders, and where the\nclock would have been was the mouth of a trumpet. When it had news the\ntrumpet gobbled like a turkey, \"Galloop, galloop,\" and then brayed out\nits message as, let us say, a trumpet might bray. It would tell Mwres in\nfull, rich, throaty tones about the overnight accidents to the omnibus\nflying-machines that plied around the world, the latest arrivals at the\nfashionable resorts in Tibet, and of all the great monopolist company\nmeetings of the day before, while he was dressing. If Mwres did not like\nhearing what it said, he had only to touch a stud, and it would choke a\nlittle and talk about something else.\n\nOf course his toilet differed very much from that of his ancestor. It is\ndoubtful which would have been the more shocked and pained to find\nhimself in the clothing of the other. Mwres would certainly have sooner\ngone forth to the world stark naked than in the silk hat, frock coat,\ngrey trousers and watch-chain that had filled Mr. Morris with sombre\nself-respect in the past. For Mwres there was no shaving to do: a\nskilful operator had long ago removed every hair-root from his face. His\nlegs he encased in pleasant pink and amber garments of an air-tight\nmaterial, which with the help of an ingenious little pump he distended\nso as to suggest enormous muscles. Above this he also wore pneumatic\ngarments beneath an amber silk tunic, so that he was clothed in air and\nadmirably protected against sudden extremes of heat or cold. Over this\nhe flung a scarlet cloak with its edge fantastically curved. On his\nhead, which had been skilfully deprived of every scrap of hair, he\nadjusted a pleasant little cap of bright scarlet, held on by suction and\ninflated with hydrogen, and curiously like the comb of a cock. So his\ntoilet was complete; and, conscious of being soberly and becomingly\nattired, he was ready to face his fellow-beings with a tranquil eye.\n\nThis Mwres--the civility of \"Mr.\" had vanished ages ago--was one of the\nofficials under the Wind Vane and Waterfall Trust, the great company\nthat owned every wind wheel and waterfall in the world, and which pumped\nall the water and supplied all the electric energy that people in these\nlatter days required. He lived in a vast hotel near that part of London\ncalled Seventh Way, and had very large and comfortable apartments on the\nseventeenth floor. Households and family life had long since disappeared\nwith the progressive refinement of manners; and indeed the steady rise\nin rents and land values, the disappearance of domestic servants, the\nelaboration of cookery, had rendered the separate domicile of Victorian\ntimes impossible, even had any one desired such a savage seclusion. When\nhis toilet was completed he went towards one of the two doors of his\napartment--there were doors at opposite ends, each marked with a huge\narrow pointing one one way and one the other--touched a stud to open it,\nand emerged on a wide passage, the centre of which bore chairs and was\nmoving at a steady pace to the left. On some of these chairs were seated\ngaily-dressed men and women. He nodded to an acquaintance--it was not in\nthose days etiquette to talk before breakfast--and seated himself on one\nof these chairs, and in a few seconds he had been carried to the doors\nof a lift, by which he descended to the great and splendid hall in which\nhis breakfast would be automatically served.\n\nIt was a very different meal from a Victorian breakfast. The rude\nmasses of bread needing to be carved and smeared over with animal fat\nbefore they could be made palatable, the still recognisable fragments of\nrecently killed animals, hideously charred and hacked, the eggs torn\nruthlessly from beneath some protesting hen,--such things as these,\nthough they constituted the ordinary fare of Victorian times, would have\nawakened only horror and disgust in the refined minds of the people of\nthese latter days. Instead were pastes and cakes of agreeable and\nvariegated design, without any suggestion in colour or form of the\nunfortunate animals from which their substance and juices were derived.\nThey appeared on little dishes sliding out upon a rail from a little box\nat one side of the table. The surface of the table, to judge by touch\nand eye, would have appeared to a nineteenth-century person to be\ncovered with fine white damask, but this was really an oxidised metallic\nsurface, and could be cleaned instantly after a meal. There were\nhundreds of such little tables in the hall, and at most of them were\nother latter-day citizens singly or in groups. And as Mwres seated\nhimself before his elegant repast, the invisible orchestra, which had\nbeen resting during an interval, resumed and filled the air with music.\n\nBut Mwres did not display any great interest either in his breakfast or\nthe music; his eye wandered incessantly about the hall, as though he\nexpected a belated guest. At last he rose eagerly and waved his hand,\nand simultaneously across the hall appeared a tall dark figure in a\ncostume of yellow and olive green. As this person, walking amidst the\ntables with measured steps, drew near, the pallid earnestness of his\nface and the unusual intensity of his eyes became apparent. Mwres\nreseated himself and pointed to a chair beside him.\n\n\"I feared you would never come,\" he said. In spite of the intervening\nspace of time, the English language was still almost exactly the same as\nit had been in England under Victoria the Good. The invention of the\nphonograph and suchlike means of recording sound, and the gradual\nreplacement of books by such contrivances, had not only saved the human\neyesight from decay, but had also by the establishment of a sure\nstandard arrested the process of change in accent that had hitherto been\nso inevitable.\n\n\"I was delayed by an interesting case,\" said the man in green and\nyellow. \"A prominent politician--ahem!--suffering from overwork.\" He\nglanced at the breakfast and seated himself. \"I have been awake for\nforty hours.\"\n\n\"Eh dear!\" said Mwres: \"fancy that! You hypnotists have your work to\ndo.\"\n\nThe hypnotist helped himself to some attractive amber- jelly. \"I\nhappen to be a good deal in request,\" he said modestly.\n\n\"Heaven knows what we should do without you.\"\n\n\"Oh! we're not so indispensable as all that,\" said the hypnotist,\nruminating the flavour of the jelly. \"The world did very well without us\nfor some thousands of years. Two hundred years ago even--not one! In\npractice, that is. Physicians by the thousand, of course--frightfully\nclumsy brutes for the most part, and following one another like\nsheep--but doctors of the mind, except a few empirical flounderers there\nwere none.\"\n\nHe concentrated his mind on the jelly.\n\n\"But were people so sane--?\" began Mwres.\n\nThe hypnotist shook his head. \"It didn't matter then if they were a bit\nsilly or faddy. Life was so easy-going then. No competition worth\nspeaking of--no pressure. A human being had to be very lopsided before\nanything happened. Then, you know, they clapped 'em away in what they\ncalled a lunatic asylum.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Mwres. \"In these confounded historical romances that\nevery one is listening to, they always rescue a beautiful girl from an\nasylum or something of the sort. I don't know if you attend to that\nrubbish.\"\n\n\"I must confess I do,\" said the hypnotist. \"It carries one out of\noneself to hear of those quaint, adventurous, half-civilised days of the\nnineteenth century, when men were stout and women simple. I like a good\nswaggering story before all things. Curious times they were, with their\nsmutty railways and puffing old iron trains, their rum little houses and\ntheir horse vehicles. I suppose you don't read books?\"\n\n\"Dear, no!\" said Mwres, \"I went to a modern school and we had none of\nthat old-fashioned nonsense. Phonographs are good enough for me.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said the hypnotist, \"of course\"; and surveyed the table for\nhis next choice. \"You know,\" he said, helping himself to a dark blue\nconfection that promised well, \"in those days our business was scarcely\nthought of. I daresay if any one had told them that in two hundred\nyears' time a class of men would be entirely occupied in impressing\nthings upon the memory, effacing unpleasant ideas, controlling and\novercoming instinctive but undesirable impulses, and so forth, by means\nof hypnotism, they would have refused to believe the thing possible. Few\npeople knew that an order made during a mesmeric trance, even an order\nto forget or an order to desire, could be given so as to be obeyed after\nthe trance was over. Yet there were men alive then who could have told\nthem the thing was as absolutely certain to come about as--well, the\ntransit of Venus.\"\n\n\"They knew of hypnotism, then?\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, yes! They used it--for painless dentistry and things like\nthat! This blue stuff is confoundedly good: what is it?\"\n\n\"Haven't the faintest idea,\" said Mwres, \"but I admit it's very good.\nTake some more.\"\n\nThe hypnotist repeated his praises, and there was an appreciative pause.\n\n\"Speaking of these historical romances,\" said Mwres, with an attempt at\nan easy, off-hand manner, \"brings me--ah--to the matter I--ah--had in\nmind when I asked you--when I expressed a wish to see you.\" He paused\nand took a deep breath.\n\nThe hypnotist turned an attentive eye upon him, and continued eating.\n\n\"The fact is,\" said Mwres, \"I have a--in fact a--daughter. Well, you\nknow I have given her--ah--every educational advantage. Lectures--not a\nsolitary lecturer of ability in the world but she has had a telephone\ndirect, dancing, deportment, conversation, philosophy, art criticism ...\"\nHe indicated catholic culture by a gesture of his hand. \"I had intended\nher to marry a very good friend of mine--Bindon of the Lighting\nCommission--plain little man, you know, and a bit unpleasant in some of\nhis ways, but an excellent fellow really--an excellent fellow.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the hypnotist, \"go on. How old is she?\"\n\n\"Eighteen.\"\n\n\"A dangerous age. Well?\"\n\n\"Well: it seems that she has been indulging in these historical\nromances--excessively. Excessively. Even to the neglect of her\nphilosophy. Filled her mind with unutterable nonsense about soldiers who\nfight--what is it?--Etruscans?\"\n\n\"Egyptians.\"\n\n\"Egyptians--very probably. Hack about with swords and revolvers and\nthings--bloodshed galore--horrible!--and about young men on torpedo\ncatchers who blow up--Spaniards, I fancy--and all sorts of irregular\nadventurers. And she has got it into her head that she must marry for\nLove, and that poor little Bindon--\"\n\n\"I've met similar cases,\" said the hypnotist. \"Who is the other young\nman?\"\n\nMwres maintained an appearance of resigned calm. \"You may well ask,\" he\nsaid. \"He is\"--and his voice sank with shame--\"a mere attendant upon the\nstage on which the flying-machines from Paris alight. He has--as they\nsay in the romances--good looks. He is quite young and very eccentric.\nAffects the antique--he can read and write! So can she. And instead of\ncommunicating by telephone, like sensible people, they write and\ndeliver--what is it?\"\n\n\"Notes?\"\n\n\"No--not notes.... Ah--poems.\"\n\nThe hypnotist raised his eyebrows. \"How did she meet him?\"\n\n\"Tripped coming down from the flying-machine from Paris--and fell into\nhis arms. The mischief was done in a moment!\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Well--that's all. Things must be stopped. That is what I want to\nconsult you about. What must be done? What _can_ be done? Of course I'm\nnot a hypnotist; my knowledge is limited. But you--?\"\n\n\"Hypnotism is not magic,\" said the man in green, putting both arms on\nthe table.\n\n\"Oh, precisely! But still--!\"\n\n\"People cannot be hypnotised without their consent. If she is able to\nstand out against marrying Bindon, she will probably stand out against\nbeing hypnotised. But if once she can be hypnotised--even by somebody\nelse--the thing is done.\"\n\n\"You can--?\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly! Once we get her amenable, then we can suggest that she\n_must_ marry Bindon--that that is her fate; or that the young man is\nrepulsive, and that when she sees him she will be giddy and faint, or\nany little thing of that sort. Or if we can get her into a sufficiently\nprofound trance we can suggest that she should forget him altogether--\"\n\n\"Precisely.\"\n\n\"But the problem is to get her hypnotised. Of course no sort of proposal\nor suggestion must come from you--because no doubt she already distrusts\nyou in the matter.\"\n\nThe hypnotist leant his head upon his arm and thought.\n\n\"It's hard a man cannot dispose of his own daughter,\" said Mwres\nirrelevantly.\n\n\"You must give me the name and address of the young lady,\" said the\nhypnotist, \"and any information bearing upon the matter. And, by the\nbye, is there any money in the affair?\"\n\nMwres hesitated.\n\n\"There's a sum--in fact, a considerable sum--invested in the Patent Road\nCompany. From her mother. That's what makes the thing so exasperating.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" said the hypnotist. And he proceeded to cross-examine Mwres\non the entire affair.\n\nIt was a lengthy interview.\n\nAnd meanwhile \"Elizebe{th} Mwres,\" as she spelt her name, or \"Elizabeth\nMorris\" as a nineteenth-century person would have put it, was sitting in\na quiet waiting-place beneath the great stage upon which the\nflying-machine from Paris descended. And beside her sat her slender,\nhandsome lover reading her the poem he had written that morning while on\nduty upon the stage. When he had finished they sat for a time in\nsilence; and then, as if for their special entertainment, the great\nmachine that had come flying through the air from America that morning\nrushed down out of the sky.\n\nAt first it was a little oblong, faint and blue amidst the distant\nfleecy clouds; and then it grew swiftly large and white, and larger and\nwhiter, until they could see the separate tiers of sails, each hundreds\nof feet wide, and the lank body they supported, and at last even the\nswinging seats of the passengers in a dotted row. Although it was\nfalling it seemed to them to be rushing up the sky, and over the\nroof-spaces of the city below its shadow leapt towards them. They heard\nthe whistling rush of the air about it and its yelling siren, shrill and\nswelling, to warn those who were on its landing-stage of its arrival.\nAnd abruptly the note fell down a couple of octaves, and it had passed,\nand the sky was clear and void, and she could turn her sweet eyes again\nto Denton at her side.\n\nTheir silence ended; and Denton, speaking in a little language of broken\nEnglish that was, they fancied, their private possession--though lovers\nhave used such little languages since the world began--told her how they\ntoo would leap into the air one morning out of all the obstacles and\ndifficulties about them, and fly to a sunlit city of delight he knew of\nin Japan, half-way about the world.\n\nShe loved the dream, but she feared the leap; and she put him off with\n\"Some day, dearest one, some day,\" to all his pleading that it might be\nsoon; and at last came a shrilling of whistles, and it was time for him\nto go back to his duties on the stage. They parted--as lovers have been\nwont to part for thousands of years. She walked down a passage to a\nlift, and so came to one of the streets of that latter-day London, all\nglazed in with glass from the weather, and with incessant moving\nplatforms that went to all parts of the city. And by one of these she\nreturned to her apartments in the Hotel for Women where she lived, the\napartments that were in telephonic communication with all the best\nlecturers in the world. But the sunlight of the flying stage was in her\nheart, and the wisdom of all the best lecturers in the world seemed\nfolly in that light.\n\nShe spent the middle part of the day in the gymnasium, and took her\nmidday meal with two other girls and their common chaperone--for it was\nstill the custom to have a chaperone in the case of motherless girls of\nthe more prosperous classes. The chaperone had a visitor that day, a man\nin green and yellow, with a white face and vivid eyes, who talked\namazingly. Among other things, he fell to praising a new historical\nromance that one of the great popular story-tellers of the day had just\nput forth. It was, of course, about the spacious times of Queen\nVictoria; and the author, among other pleasing novelties, made a little\nargument before each section of the story, in imitation of the chapter\nheadings of the old-fashioned books: as for example, \"How the Cabmen of\nPimlico stopped the Victoria Omnibuses, and of the Great Fight in Palace\nYard,\" and \"How the Piccadilly Policeman was slain in the midst of his\nDuty.\" The man in green and yellow praised this innovation. \"These pithy\nsentences,\" he said, \"are admirable. They show at a glance those\nheadlong, tumultuous times, when men and animals jostled in the filthy\nstreets, and death might wait for one at every corner. Life was life\nthen! How great the world must have seemed then! How marvellous! They\nwere still parts of the world absolutely unexplored. Nowadays we have\nalmost abolished wonder, we lead lives so trim and orderly that courage,\nendurance, faith, all the noble virtues seem fading from mankind.\"\n\nAnd so on, taking the girls' thoughts with him, until the life they led,\nlife in the vast and intricate London of the twenty-second century, a\nlife interspersed with soaring excursions to every part of the globe,\nseemed to them a monotonous misery compared with the daedal past.\n\nAt first Elizabeth did not join in the conversation, but after a time\nthe subject became so interesting that she made a few shy\ninterpolations. But he scarcely seemed to notice her as he talked. He\nwent on to describe a new method of entertaining people. They were\nhypnotised, and then suggestions were made to them so skilfully that\nthey seemed to be living in ancient times again. They played out a\nlittle romance in the past as vivid as reality, and when at last they\nawakened they remembered all they had been through as though it were a\nreal thing.\n\n\"It is a thing we have sought to do for years and years,\" said the\nhypnotist. \"It is practically an artificial dream. And we know the way\nat last. Think of all it opens out to us--the enrichment of our\nexperience, the recovery of adventure, the refuge it offers from this\nsordid, competitive life in which we live! Think!\"\n\n\"And you can do that!\" said the chaperone eagerly.\n\n\"The thing is possible at last,\" the hypnotist said. \"You may order a\ndream as you wish.\"\n\nThe chaperone was the first to be hypnotised, and the dream, she said,\nwas wonderful, when she came to again.\n\nThe other two girls, encouraged by her enthusiasm, also placed\nthemselves in the hands of the hypnotist and had plunges into the\nromantic past. No one suggested that Elizabeth should try this novel\nentertainment; it was at her own request at last that she was taken into\nthat land of dreams where there is neither any freedom of choice nor\nwill....\n\nAnd so the mischief was done.\n\nOne day, when Denton went down to that quiet seat beneath the flying\nstage, Elizabeth was not in her wonted place. He was disappointed, and a\nlittle angry. The next day she did not come, and the next also. He was\nafraid. To hide his fear from himself, he set to work to write sonnets\nfor her when she should come again....\n\nFor three days he fought against his dread by such distraction, and then\nthe truth was before him clear and cold, and would not be denied. She\nmight be ill, she might be dead; but he would not believe that he had\nbeen betrayed. There followed a week of misery. And then he knew she was\nthe only thing on earth worth having, and that he must seek her, however\nhopeless the search, until she was found once more.\n\nHe had some small private means of his own, and so he threw over his\nappointment on the flying stage, and set himself to find this girl who\nhad become at last all the world to him. He did not know where she\nlived, and little of her circumstances; for it had been part of the\ndelight of her girlish romance that he should know nothing of her,\nnothing of the difference of their station. The ways of the city opened\nbefore him east and west, north and south. Even in Victorian days London\nwas a maze, that little London with its poor four millions of people;\nbut the London he explored, the London of the twenty-second century, was\na London of thirty million souls. At first he was energetic and\nheadlong, taking time neither to eat nor sleep. He sought for weeks and\nmonths, he went through every imaginable phase of fatigue and despair,\nover-excitement and anger. Long after hope was dead, by the sheer\ninertia of his desire he still went to and fro, peering into faces and\nlooking this way and that, in the incessant ways and lifts and passages\nof that interminable hive of men.\n\nAt last chance was kind to him, and he saw her.\n\nIt was in a time of festivity. He was hungry; he had paid the inclusive\nfee and had gone into one of the gigantic dining-places of the city; he\nwas pushing his way among the tables and scrutinising by mere force of\nhabit every group he passed.\n\nHe stood still, robbed of all power of motion, his eyes wide, his lips\napart. Elizabeth sat scarcely twenty yards away from him, looking\nstraight at him. Her eyes were as hard to him, as hard and\nexpressionless and void of recognition, as the eyes of a statue.\n\nShe looked at him for a moment, and then her gaze passed beyond him.\n\nHad he had only her eyes to judge by he might have doubted if it was\nindeed Elizabeth, but he knew her by the gesture of her hand, by the\ngrace of a wanton little curl that floated over her ear as she moved her\nhead. Something was said to her, and she turned smiling tolerantly to\nthe man beside her, a little man in foolish raiment knobbed and spiked\nlike some odd reptile with pneumatic horns--the Bindon of her father's\nchoice.\n\nFor a moment Denton stood white and wild-eyed; then came a terrible\nfaintness, and he sat before one of the little tables. He sat down with\nhis back to her, and for a time he did not dare to look at her again.\nWhen at last he did, she and Bindon and two other people were standing\nup to go. The others were her father and her chaperone.\n\nHe sat as if incapable of action until the four figures were remote and\nsmall, and then he rose up possessed with the one idea of pursuit. For\na space he feared he had lost them, and then he came upon Elizabeth and\nher chaperone again in one of the streets of moving platforms that\nintersected the city. Bindon and Mwres had disappeared.\n\nHe could not control himself to patience. He felt he must speak to her\nforthwith, or die. He pushed forward to where they were seated, and sat\ndown beside them. His white face was convulsed with half-hysterical\nexcitement.\n\nHe laid his hand on her wrist. \"Elizabeth?\" he said.\n\nShe turned in unfeigned astonishment. Nothing but the fear of a strange\nman showed in her face.\n\n\"Elizabeth,\" he cried, and his voice was strange to him: \"dearest--you\n_know_ me?\"\n\nElizabeth's face showed nothing but alarm and perplexity. She drew\nherself away from him. The chaperone, a little grey-headed woman with\nmobile features, leant forward to intervene. Her resolute bright eyes\nexamined Denton. \"_What_ do you say?\" she asked.\n\n\"This young lady,\" said Denton,--\"she knows me.\"\n\n\"Do you know him, dear?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Elizabeth in a strange voice, and with a hand to her\nforehead, speaking almost as one who repeats a lesson. \"No, I do not\nknow him. I _know_--I do not know him.\"\n\n\"But--but ... Not know me! It is I--Denton. Denton! To whom you used to\ntalk. Don't you remember the flying stages? The little seat in the open\nair? The verses--\"\n\n\"No,\" cried Elizabeth,--\"no. I do not know him. I do not know him. There\nis something.... But I don't know. All I know is that I do not know\nhim.\" Her face was a face of infinite distress.\n\nThe sharp eyes of the chaperone flitted to and fro from the girl to the\nman. \"You see?\" she said, with the faint shadow of a smile. \"She does\nnot know you.\"\n\n\"I do not know you,\" said Elizabeth. \"Of that I am sure.\"\n\n\"But, dear--the songs--the little verses--\"\n\n\"She does not know you,\" said the chaperone. \"You must not.... You have\nmade a mistake. You must not go on talking to us after that. You must\nnot annoy us on the public ways.\"\n\n\"But--\" said Denton, and for a moment his miserably haggard face\nappealed against fate.\n\n\"You must not persist, young man,\" protested the chaperone.\n\n\"_Elizabeth!_\" he cried.\n\nHer face was the face of one who is tormented. \"I do not know you,\" she\ncried, hand to brow. \"Oh, I do not know you!\"\n\nFor an instant Denton sat stunned. Then he stood up and groaned aloud.\n\nHe made a strange gesture of appeal towards the remote glass roof of the\npublic way, then turned and went plunging recklessly from one moving\nplatform to another, and vanished amidst the swarms of people going to\nand fro thereon. The chaperone's eyes followed him, and then she looked\nat the curious faces about her.\n\n\"Dear,\" asked Elizabeth, clasping her hand, and too deeply moved to heed\nobservation, \"who was that man? Who _was_ that man?\"\n\nThe chaperone raised her eyebrows. She spoke in a clear, audible voice.\n\"Some half-witted creature. I have never set eyes on him before.\"\n\n\"Never?\"\n\n\"Never, dear. Do not trouble your mind about a thing like this.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd soon after this the celebrated hypnotist who dressed in green and\nyellow had another client. The young man paced his consulting-room, pale\nand disordered. \"I want to forget,\" he cried. \"I _must_ forget.\"\n\nThe hypnotist watched him with quiet eyes, studied his face and clothes\nand bearing. \"To forget anything--pleasure or pain--is to be, by so\nmuch--_less_. However, you know your own concern. My fee is high.\"\n\n\"If only I can forget--\"\n\n\"That's easy enough with you. You wish it. I've done much harder things.\nQuite recently. I hardly expected to do it: the thing was done against\nthe will of the hypnotised person. A love affair too--like yours. A\ngirl. So rest assured.\"\n\nThe young man came and sat beside the hypnotist. His manner was a forced\ncalm. He looked into the hypnotist's eyes. \"I will tell you. Of course\nyou will want to know what it is. There was a girl. Her name was\nElizabeth Mwres. Well ...\"\n\nHe stopped. He had seen the instant surprise on the hypnotist's face. In\nthat instant he knew. He stood up. He seemed to dominate the seated\nfigure by his side. He gripped the shoulder of green and gold. For a\ntime he could not find words.\n\n\"_Give her me back!_\" he said at last. \"Give her me back!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" gasped the hypnotist.\n\n\"Give her me back.\"\n\n\"Give whom?\"\n\n\"Elizabeth Mwres--the girl--\"\n\nThe hypnotist tried to free himself; he rose to his feet. Denton's grip\ntightened.\n\n\"Let go!\" cried the hypnotist, thrusting an arm against Denton's chest.\n\nIn a moment the two men were locked in a clumsy wrestle. Neither had the\nslightest training--for athleticism, except for exhibition and to afford\nopportunity for betting, had faded out of the earth--but Denton was not\nonly the younger but the stronger of the two. They swayed across the\nroom, and then the hypnotist had gone down under his antagonist. They\nfell together....\n\nDenton leaped to his feet, dismayed at his own fury; but the hypnotist\nlay still, and suddenly from a little white mark where his forehead had\nstruck a stool shot a hurrying band of red. For a space Denton stood\nover him irresolute, trembling.\n\nA fear of the consequences entered his gently nurtured mind. He turned\ntowards the door. \"No,\" he said aloud, and came back to the middle of\nthe room. Overcoming the instinctive repugnance of one who had seen no\nact of violence in all his life before, he knelt down beside his\nantagonist and felt his heart. Then he peered at the wound. He rose\nquietly and looked about him. He began to see more of the situation.\n\nWhen presently the hypnotist recovered his senses, his head ached\nseverely, his back was against Denton's knees and Denton was sponging\nhis face.\n\nThe hypnotist did not speak. But presently he indicated by a gesture\nthat in his opinion he had been sponged enough. \"Let me get up,\" he\nsaid.\n\n\"Not yet,\" said Denton.\n\n\"You have assaulted me, you scoundrel!\"\n\n\"We are alone,\" said Denton, \"and the door is secure.\"\n\nThere was an interval of thought.\n\n\"Unless I sponge,\" said Denton, \"your forehead will develop a tremendous\nbruise.\"\n\n\"You can go on sponging,\" said the hypnotist sulkily.\n\nThere was another pause.\n\n\"We might be in the Stone Age,\" said the hypnotist. \"Violence!\nStruggle!\"\n\n\"In the Stone Age no man dared to come between man and woman,\" said\nDenton.\n\nThe hypnotist thought again.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" he asked.\n\n\"While you were insensible I found the girl's address on your tablets.\nI did not know it before. I telephoned. She will be here soon. Then--\"\n\n\"She will bring her chaperone.\"\n\n\"That is all right.\"\n\n\"But what--? I don't see. What do you mean to do?\"\n\n\"I looked about for a weapon also. It is an astonishing thing how few\nweapons there are nowadays. If you consider that in the Stone Age men\nowned scarcely anything _but_ weapons. I hit at last upon this lamp. I\nhave wrenched off the wires and things, and I hold it so.\" He extended\nit over the hypnotist's shoulders. \"With that I can quite easily smash\nyour skull. I _will_--unless you do as I tell you.\"\n\n\"Violence is no remedy,\" said the hypnotist, quoting from the \"Modern\nMan's Book of Moral Maxims.\"\n\n\"It's an undesirable disease,\" said Denton.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"You will tell that chaperone you are going to order the girl to marry\nthat knobby little brute with the red hair and ferrety eyes. I believe\nthat's how things stand?\"\n\n\"Yes--that's how things stand.\"\n\n\"And, pretending to do that, you will restore her memory of me.\"\n\n\"It's unprofessional.\"\n\n\"Look here! If I cannot have that girl I would rather die than not. I\ndon't propose to respect your little fancies. If anything goes wrong you\nshall not live five minutes. This is a rude makeshift of a weapon, and\nit may quite conceivably be painful to kill you. But I will. It is\nunusual, I know, nowadays to do things like this--mainly because there\nis so little in life that is worth being violent about.\"\n\n\"The chaperone will see you directly she comes--\"\n\n\"I shall stand in that recess. Behind you.\"\n\nThe hypnotist thought. \"You are a determined young man,\" he said, \"and\nonly half civilised. I have tried to do my duty to my client, but in\nthis affair you seem likely to get your own way....\"\n\n\"You mean to deal straightly.\"\n\n\"I'm not going to risk having my brains scattered in a petty affair like\nthis.\"\n\n\"And afterwards?\"\n\n\"There is nothing a hypnotist or doctor hates so much as a scandal. I at\nleast am no savage. I am annoyed.... But in a day or so I shall bear no\nmalice....\"\n\n\"Thank you. And now that we understand each other, there is no\nnecessity to keep you sitting any longer on the floor.\"\n\n\nII--THE VACANT COUNTRY\n\nThe world, they say, changed more between the year 1800 and the year\n1900 than it had done in the previous five hundred years. That century,\nthe nineteenth century, was the dawn of a new epoch in the history of\nmankind--the epoch of the great cities, the end of the old order of\ncountry life.\n\nIn the beginning of the nineteenth century the majority of mankind still\nlived upon the countryside, as their way of life had been for countless\ngenerations. All over the world they dwelt in little towns and villages\nthen, and engaged either directly in agriculture, or in occupations that\nwere of service to the agriculturist. They travelled rarely, and dwelt\nclose to their work, because swift means of transit had not yet come.\nThe few who travelled went either on foot, or in slow sailing-ships, or\nby means of jogging horses incapable of more than sixty miles a day.\nThink of it!--sixty miles a day. Here and there, in those sluggish\ntimes, a town grew a little larger than its neighbours, as a port or as\na centre of government; but all the towns in the world with more than a\nhundred thousand inhabitants could be counted on a man's fingers. So it\nwas in the beginning of the nineteenth century. By the end, the\ninvention of railways, telegraphs, steamships, and complex agricultural\nmachinery, had changed all these things: changed them beyond all hope of\nreturn. The vast shops, the varied pleasures, the countless conveniences\nof the larger towns were suddenly possible, and no sooner existed than\nthey were brought into competition with the homely resources of the\nrural centres. Mankind were drawn to the cities by an overwhelming\nattraction. The demand for labour fell with the increase of machinery,\nthe local markets were entirely superseded, and there was a rapid growth\nof the larger centres at the expense of the open country.\n\nThe flow of population townward was the constant preoccupation of\nVictorian writers. In Great Britain and New England, in India and China,\nthe same thing was remarked: everywhere a few swollen towns were visibly\nreplacing the ancient order. That this was an inevitable result of\nimproved means of travel and transport--that, given swift means of\ntransit, these things must be--was realised by few; and the most puerile\nschemes were devised to overcome the mysterious magnetism of the urban\ncentres, and keep the people on the land.\n\nYet the developments of the nineteenth century were only the dawning of\nthe new order. The first great cities of the new time were horribly\ninconvenient, darkened by smoky fogs, insanitary and noisy; but the\ndiscovery of new methods of building, new methods of heating, changed\nall this. Between 1900 and 2000 the march of change was still more\nrapid; and between 2000 and 2100 the continually accelerated progress of\nhuman invention made the reign of Victoria the Good seem at last an\nalmost incredible vision of idyllic tranquil days.\n\nThe introduction of railways was only the first step in that development\nof those means of locomotion which finally revolutionised human life. By\nthe year 2000 railways and roads had vanished together. The railways,\nrobbed of their rails, had become weedy ridges and ditches upon the face\nof the world; the old roads, strange barbaric tracks of flint and soil,\nhammered by hand or rolled by rough iron rollers, strewn with\nmiscellaneous filth, and cut by iron hoofs and wheels into ruts and\npuddles often many inches deep, had been replaced by patent tracks made\nof a substance called Eadhamite. This Eadhamite--it was named after its\npatentee--ranks with the invention of printing and steam as one of the\nepoch-making discoveries of the world's history.\n\nWhen Eadham discovered the substance, he probably thought of it as a\nmere cheap substitute for india rubber; it cost a few shillings a ton.\nBut you can never tell all an invention will do. It was the genius of a\nman named Warming that pointed to the possibility of using it, not only\nfor the tires of wheels, but as a road substance, and who organised the\nenormous network of public ways that speedily covered the world.\n\nThese public ways were made with longitudinal divisions. On the outer on\neither side went foot cyclists and conveyances travelling at a less\nspeed than twenty-five miles an hour; in the middle, motors capable of\nspeed up to a hundred; and the inner, Warming (in the face of enormous\nridicule) reserved for vehicles travelling at speeds of a hundred miles\nan hour and upward.\n\nFor ten years his inner ways were vacant. Before he died they were the\nmost crowded of all, and vast light frameworks with wheels of twenty and\nthirty feet in diameter, hurled along them at paces that year after year\nrose steadily towards two hundred miles an hour. And by the time this\nrevolution was accomplished, a parallel revolution had transformed the\never-growing cities. Before the development of practical science the\nfogs and filth of Victorian times vanished. Electric heating replaced\nfires (in 2013 the lighting of a fire that did not absolutely consume\nits own smoke was made an indictable nuisance), and all the city ways,\nall public squares and places, were covered in with a recently invented\nglass-like substance. The roofing of London became practically\ncontinuous. Certain short-sighted and foolish legislation against tall\nbuildings was abolished, and London, from a squat expanse of petty\nhouses--feebly archaic in design--rose steadily towards the sky. To the\nmunicipal responsibility for water, light, and drainage, was added\nanother, and that was ventilation.\n\nBut to tell of all the changes in human convenience that these two\nhundred years brought about, to tell of the long foreseen invention of\nflying, to describe how life in households was steadily supplanted by\nlife in interminable hotels, how at last even those who were still\nconcerned in agricultural work came to live in the towns and to go to\nand fro to their work every day, to describe how at last in all England\nonly four towns remained, each with many millions of people, and how\nthere were left no inhabited houses in all the countryside: to tell all\nthis would take us far from our story of Denton and his Elizabeth. They\nhad been separated and reunited, and still they could not marry. For\nDenton--it was his only fault--had no money. Neither had Elizabeth until\nshe was twenty-one, and as yet she was only eighteen. At twenty-one all\nthe property of her mother would come to her, for that was the custom of\nthe time. She did not know that it was possible to anticipate her\nfortune, and Denton was far too delicate a lover to suggest such a\nthing. So things stuck hopelessly between them. Elizabeth said that she\nwas very unhappy, and that nobody understood her but Denton, and that\nwhen she was away from him she was wretched; and Denton said that his\nheart longed for her day and night. And they met as often as they could\nto enjoy the discussion of their sorrows.\n\nThey met one day at their little seat upon the flying stage. The precise\nsite of this meeting was where in Victorian times the road from\nWimbledon came out upon the common. They were, however, five hundred\nfeet above that point. Their seat looked far over London. To convey the\nappearance of it all to a nineteenth-century reader would have been\ndifficult. One would have had to tell him to think of the Crystal\nPalace, of the newly built \"mammoth\" hotels--as those little affairs\nwere called--of the larger railway stations of his time, and to imagine\nsuch buildings enlarged to vast proportions and run together and\ncontinuous over the whole metropolitan area. If then he was told that\nthis continuous roof-space bore a huge forest of rotating wind-wheels,\nhe would have begun very dimly to appreciate what to these young people\nwas the commonest sight in their lives.\n\nTo their eyes it had something of the quality of a prison, and they were\ntalking, as they had talked a hundred times before, of how they might\nescape from it and be at last happy together: escape from it, that is,\nbefore the appointed three years were at an end. It was, they both\nagreed, not only impossible but almost wicked, to wait three years.\n\"Before that,\" said Denton--and the notes of his voice told of a\nsplendid chest--\"_we might both be dead_!\"\n\nTheir vigorous young hands had to grip at this, and then Elizabeth had a\nstill more poignant thought that brought the tears from her wholesome\neyes and down her healthy cheeks. \"_One_ of us,\" she said, \"_one_ of us\nmight be--\"\n\nShe choked; she could not say the word that is so terrible to the young\nand happy.\n\nYet to marry and be very poor in the cities of that time was--for any\none who had lived pleasantly--a very dreadful thing. In the old\nagricultural days that had drawn to an end in the eighteenth century\nthere had been a pretty proverb of love in a cottage; and indeed in\nthose days the poor of the countryside had dwelt in flower-covered,\ndiamond-windowed cottages of thatch and plaster, with the sweet air and\nearth about them, amidst tangled hedges and the song of birds, and with\nthe ever-changing sky overhead. But all this had changed (the change was\nalready beginning in the nineteenth century), and a new sort of life was\nopening for the poor--in the lower quarters of the city.\n\nIn the nineteenth century the lower quarters were still beneath the sky;\nthey were areas of land on clay or other unsuitable soil, liable to\nfloods or exposed to the smoke of more fortunate districts,\ninsufficiently supplied with water, and as insanitary as the great fear\nof infectious diseases felt by the wealthier classes permitted. In the\ntwenty-second century, however, the growth of the city storey above\nstorey, and the coalescence of buildings, had led to a different\narrangement. The prosperous people lived in a vast series of sumptuous\nhotels in the upper storeys and halls of the city fabric; the industrial\npopulation dwelt beneath in the tremendous ground-floor and basement, so\nto speak, of the place.\n\nIn the refinement of life and manners these lower classes differed\nlittle from their ancestors, the East-enders of Queen Victoria's time;\nbut they had developed a distinct dialect of their own. In these under\nways they lived and died, rarely ascending to the surface except when\nwork took them there. Since for most of them this was the sort of life\nto which they had been born, they found no great misery in such\ncircumstances; but for people like Denton and Elizabeth, such a plunge\nwould have seemed more terrible than death.\n\n\"And yet what else is there?\" asked Elizabeth.\n\nDenton professed not to know. Apart from his own feeling of delicacy, he\nwas not sure how Elizabeth would like the idea of borrowing on the\nstrength of her expectations.\n\nThe passage from London to Paris even, said Elizabeth, was beyond their\nmeans; and in Paris, as in any other city in the world, life would be\njust as costly and impossible as in London.\n\nWell might Denton cry aloud: \"If only we had lived in those days,\ndearest! If only we had lived in the past!\" For to their eyes even\nnineteenth-century Whitechapel was seen through a mist of romance.\n\n\"Is there _nothing_?\" cried Elizabeth, suddenly weeping. \"Must we really\nwait for those three long years? Fancy _three_ years--six-and-thirty\nmonths!\" The human capacity for patience had not grown with the ages.\n\nThen suddenly Denton was moved to speak of something that had already\nflickered across his mind. He had hit upon it at last. It seemed to him\nso wild a suggestion that he made it only half seriously. But to put a\nthing into words has ever a way of making it seem more real and possible\nthan it seemed before. And so it was with him.\n\n\"Suppose,\" he said, \"we went into the country?\"\n\nShe looked at him to see if he was serious in proposing such an\nadventure.\n\n\"The country?\"\n\n\"Yes--beyond there. Beyond the hills.\"\n\n\"How could we live?\" she said. \"_Where_ could we live?\"\n\n\"It is not impossible,\" he said. \"People used to live in the country.\"\n\n\"But then there were houses.\"\n\n\"There are the ruins of villages and towns now. On the clay lands they\nare gone, of course. But they are still left on the grazing land,\nbecause it does not pay the Food Company to remove them. I know\nthat--for certain. Besides, one sees them from the flying machines, you\nknow. Well, we might shelter in some one of these, and repair it with\nour hands. Do you know, the thing is not so wild as it seems. Some of\nthe men who go out every day to look after the crops and herds might be\npaid to bring us food....\"\n\nShe stood in front of him. \"How strange it would be if one really\ncould....\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"But no one dares.\"\n\n\"That is no reason.\"\n\n\"It would be--oh! it would be so romantic and strange. If only it were\npossible.\"\n\n\"Why not possible?\"\n\n\"There are so many things. Think of all the things we have, things that\nwe should miss.\"\n\n\"Should we miss them? After all, the life we lead is very unreal--very\nartificial.\" He began to expand his idea, and as he warmed to his\nexposition the fantastic quality of his first proposal faded away.\n\nShe thought. \"But I have heard of prowlers--escaped criminals.\"\n\nHe nodded. He hesitated over his answer because he thought it sounded\nboyish. He blushed. \"I could get some one I know to make me a sword.\"\n\nShe looked at him with enthusiasm growing in her eyes. She had heard of\nswords, had seen one in a museum; she thought of those ancient days when\nmen wore them as a common thing. His suggestion seemed an impossible\ndream to her, and perhaps for that reason she was eager for more detail.\nAnd inventing for the most part as he went along, he told her, how they\nmight live in the country as the old-world people had done. With every\ndetail her interest grew, for she was one of those girls for whom\nromance and adventure have a fascination.\n\nHis suggestion seemed, I say, an impossible dream to her on that day,\nbut the next day they talked about it again, and it was strangely less\nimpossible.\n\n\"At first we should take food,\" said Denton. \"We could carry food for\nten or twelve days.\" It was an age of compact artificial nourishment,\nand such a provision had none of the unwieldy suggestion it would have\nhad in the nineteenth century.\n\n\"But--until our house,\" she asked--\"until it was ready, where should we\nsleep?\"\n\n\"It is summer.\"\n\n\"But ... What do you mean?\"\n\n\"There was a time when there were no houses in the world; when all\nmankind slept always in the open air.\"\n\n\"But for us! The emptiness! No walls--no ceiling!\"\n\n\"Dear,\" he said, \"in London you have many beautiful ceilings. Artists\npaint them and stud them with lights. But I have seen a ceiling more\nbeautiful than any in London....\"\n\n\"But where?\"\n\n\"It is the ceiling under which we two would be alone....\"\n\n\"You mean...?\"\n\n\"Dear,\" he said, \"it is something the world has forgotten. It is Heaven\nand all the host of stars.\"\n\nEach time they talked the thing seemed more possible and more desirable\nto them. In a week or so it was quite possible. Another week, and it was\nthe inevitable thing they had to do. A great enthusiasm for the country\nseized hold of them and possessed them. The sordid tumult of the town,\nthey said, overwhelmed them. They marvelled that this simple way out of\ntheir troubles had never come upon them before.\n\nOne morning near Midsummer-day, there was a new minor official upon the\nflying stage, and Denton's place was to know him no more.\n\nOur two young people had secretly married, and were going forth manfully\nout of the city in which they and their ancestors before them had lived\nall their days. She wore a new dress of white cut in an old-fashioned\npattern, and he had a bundle of provisions strapped athwart his back,\nand in his hand he carried--rather shame-facedly it is true, and under\nhis purple cloak--an implement of archaic form, a cross-hilted thing of\ntempered steel.\n\nImagine that going forth! In their days the sprawling suburbs of\nVictorian times with their vile roads, petty houses, foolish little\ngardens of shrub and geranium, and all their futile, pretentious\nprivacies, had disappeared: the towering buildings of the new age, the\nmechanical ways, the electric and water mains, all came to an end\ntogether, like a wall, like a cliff, near four hundred feet in height,\nabrupt and sheer. All about the city spread the carrot, swede, and\nturnip fields of the Food Company, vegetables that were the basis of a\nthousand varied foods, and weeds and hedgerow tangles had been utterly\nextirpated. The incessant expense of weeding that went on year after\nyear in the petty, wasteful and barbaric farming of the ancient days,\nthe Food Company had economised for ever more by a campaign of\nextermination. Here and there, however, neat rows of bramble standards\nand apple trees with whitewashed stems, intersected the fields, and at\nplaces groups of gigantic teazles reared their favoured spikes. Here and\nthere huge agricultural machines hunched under waterproof covers. The\nmingled waters of the Wey and Mole and Wandle ran in rectangular\nchannels; and wherever a gentle elevation of the ground permitted a\nfountain of deodorised sewage distributed its benefits athwart the land\nand made a rainbow of the sunlight.\n\nBy a great archway in that enormous city wall emerged the Eadhamite road\nto Portsmouth, swarming in the morning sunshine with an enormous traffic\nbearing the blue-clad servants of the Food Company to their toil. A\nrushing traffic, beside which they seemed two scarce-moving dots. Along\nthe outer tracks hummed and rattled the tardy little old-fashioned\nmotors of such as had duties within twenty miles or so of the city; the\ninner ways were filled with vaster mechanisms--swift monocycles bearing\na score of men, lank multicycles, quadricycles sagging with heavy loads,\nempty gigantic produce carts that would come back again filled before\nthe sun was setting, all with throbbing engines and noiseless wheels and\na perpetual wild melody of horns and gongs.\n\nAlong the very verge of the outermost way our young people went in\nsilence, newly wed and oddly shy of one another's company. Many were the\nthings shouted to them as they tramped along, for in 2100 a\nfoot-passenger on an English road was almost as strange a sight as a\nmotor car would have been in 1800. But they went on with steadfast eyes\ninto the country, paying no heed to such cries.\n\nBefore them in the south rose the Downs, blue at first, and as they came\nnearer changing to green, surmounted by the row of gigantic wind-wheels\nthat supplemented the wind-wheels upon the roof-spaces of the city, and\nbroken and restless with the long morning shadows of those whirling\nvanes. By midday they had come so near that they could see here and\nthere little patches of pallid dots--the sheep the Meat Department of\nthe Food Company owned. In another hour they had passed the clay and the\nroot crops and the single fence that hedged them in, and the prohibition\nagainst trespass no longer held: the levelled roadway plunged into a\ncutting with all its traffic, and they could leave it and walk over the\ngreensward and up the open hillside.\n\nNever had these children of the latter days been together in such a\nlonely place.\n\nThey were both very hungry and footsore--for walking was a rare\nexercise--and presently they sat down on the weedless, close-cropped\ngrass, and looked back for the first time at the city from which they\nhad come, shining wide and splendid in the blue haze of the valley of\nthe Thames. Elizabeth was a little afraid of the unenclosed sheep away\nup the <DW72>--she had never been near big unrestrained animals\nbefore--but Denton reassured her. And overhead a white-winged bird\ncircled in the blue.\n\nThey talked but little until they had eaten, and then their tongues were\nloosened. He spoke of the happiness that was now certainly theirs, of\nthe folly of not breaking sooner out of that magnificent prison of\nlatter-day life, of the old romantic days that had passed from the\nworld for ever. And then he became boastful. He took up the sword that\nlay on the ground beside him, and she took it from his hand and ran a\ntremulous finger along the blade.\n\n\"And you could,\" she said, \"_you_--could raise this and strike a man?\"\n\n\"Why not? If there were need.\"\n\n\"But,\" she said, \"it seems so horrible. It would slash.... There would\nbe\"--her voice sank,--\"_blood_.\"\n\n\"In the old romances you have read often enough ...\"\n\n\"Oh, I know: in those--yes. But that is different. One knows it is not\nblood, but just a sort of red ink.... And _you_--killing!\"\n\nShe looked at him doubtfully, and then handed him back the sword.\n\nAfter they had rested and eaten, they rose up and went on their way\ntowards the hills. They passed quite close to a huge flock of sheep, who\nstared and bleated at their unaccustomed figures. She had never seen\nsheep before, and she shivered to think such gentle things must needs be\nslain for food. A sheep-dog barked from a distance, and then a shepherd\nappeared amidst the supports of the wind-wheels, and came down towards\nthem.\n\nWhen he drew near he called out asking whither they were going.\n\nDenton hesitated, and told him briefly that they sought some ruined\nhouse among the Downs, in which they might live together. He tried to\nspeak in an off-hand manner, as though it was a usual thing to do. The\nman stared incredulously.\n\n\"Have you _done_ anything?\" he asked.\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Denton. \"Only we don't want to live in a city any\nlonger. Why should we live in cities?\"\n\nThe shepherd stared more incredulously than ever. \"You can't live here,\"\nhe said.\n\n\"We mean to try.\"\n\nThe shepherd stared from one to the other. \"You'll go back to-morrow,\"\nhe said. \"It looks pleasant enough in the sunlight.... Are you sure\nyou've done nothing? We shepherds are not such _great_ friends of the\npolice.\"\n\nDenton looked at him steadfastly. \"No,\" he said. \"But we are too poor to\nlive in the city, and we can't bear the thought of wearing clothes of\nblue canvas and doing drudgery. We are going to live a simple life here,\nlike the people of old.\"\n\nThe shepherd was a bearded man with a thoughtful face. He glanced at\nElizabeth's fragile beauty.\n\n\"_They_ had simple minds,\" he said.\n\n\"So have we,\" said Denton.\n\nThe shepherd smiled.\n\n\"If you go along here,\" he said, \"along the crest beneath the\nwind-wheels, you will see a heap of mounds and ruins on your right-hand\nside. That was once a town called Epsom. There are no houses there, and\nthe bricks have been used for a sheep pen. Go on, and another heap on\nthe edge of the root-land is Leatherhead; and then the hill turns away\nalong the border of a valley, and there are woods of beech. Keep along\nthe crest. You will come to quite wild places. In some parts, in spite\nof all the weeding that is done, ferns and bluebells and other such\nuseless plants are growing still. And through it all underneath the\nwind-wheels runs a straight lane paved with stones, a roadway of the\nRomans two thousand years old. Go to the right of that, down into the\nvalley and follow it along by the banks of the river. You come presently\nto a street of houses, many with the roofs still sound upon them. There\nyou may find shelter.\"\n\nThey thanked him.\n\n\"But it's a quiet place. There is no light after dark there, and I have\nheard tell of robbers. It is lonely. Nothing happens there. The\nphonographs of the story-tellers, the kinematograph entertainments, the\nnews machines--none of them are to be found there. If you are hungry\nthere is no food, if you are ill no doctor ...\" He stopped.\n\n\"We shall try it,\" said Denton, moving to go on. Then a thought struck\nhim, and he made an agreement with the shepherd, and learnt where they\nmight find him, to buy and bring them anything of which they stood in\nneed, out of the city.\n\nAnd in the evening they came to the deserted village, with its houses\nthat seemed so small and odd to them: they found it golden in the glory\nof the sunset, and desolate and still. They went from one deserted house\nto another, marvelling at their quaint simplicity, and debating which\nthey should choose. And at last, in a sunlit corner of a room that had\nlost its outer wall, they came upon a wild flower, a little flower of\nblue that the weeders of the Food Company had overlooked.\n\nThat house they decided upon; but they did not remain in it long that\nnight, because they were resolved to feast upon nature. And moreover the\nhouses became very gaunt and shadowy after the sunlight had faded out\nof the sky. So after they had rested a little time they went to the\ncrest of the hill again to see with their own eyes the silence of heaven\nset with stars, about which the old poets had had so many things to\ntell. It was a wonderful sight, and Denton talked like the stars, and\nwhen they went down the hill at last the sky was pale with dawn. They\nslept but little, and in the morning when they woke a thrush was singing\nin a tree.\n\nSo these young people of the twenty-second century began their exile.\nThat morning they were very busy exploring the resources of this new\nhome in which they were going to live the simple life. They did not\nexplore very fast or very far, because they went everywhere\nhand-in-hand; but they found the beginnings of some furniture. Beyond\nthe village was a store of winter fodder for the sheep of the Food\nCompany, and Denton dragged great armfuls to the house to make a bed;\nand in several of the houses were old fungus-eaten chairs and\ntables--rough, barbaric, clumsy furniture, it seemed to them, and made\nof wood. They repeated many of the things they had said on the previous\nday, and towards evening they found another flower, a harebell. In the\nlate afternoon some Company shepherds went down the river valley riding\non a big multicycle; but they hid from them, because their presence,\nElizabeth said, seemed to spoil the romance of this old-world place\naltogether.\n\nIn this fashion they lived a week. For all that week the days were\ncloudless, and the nights nights of starry glory, that were invaded each\na little more by a crescent moon.\n\nYet something of the first splendour of their coming faded--faded\nimperceptibly day after day; Denton's eloquence became fitful, and\nlacked fresh topics of inspiration; the fatigue of their long march from\nLondon told in a certain stiffness of the limbs, and each suffered from\na slight unaccountable cold. Moreover, Denton became aware of unoccupied\ntime. In one place among the carelessly heaped lumber of the old times\nhe found a rust-eaten spade, and with this he made a fitful attack on\nthe razed and grass-grown garden--though he had nothing to plant or sow.\nHe returned to Elizabeth with a sweat-streaming face, after half an hour\nof such work.\n\n\"There were giants in those days,\" he said, not understanding what wont\nand training will do. And their walk that day led them along the hills\nuntil they could see the city shimmering far away in the valley. \"I\nwonder how things are going on there,\" he said.\n\nAnd then came a change in the weather. \"Come out and see the clouds,\"\nshe cried; and behold! they were a sombre purple in the north and east,\nstreaming up to ragged edges at the zenith. And as they went up the hill\nthese hurrying streamers blotted out the sunset. Suddenly the wind set\nthe beech-trees swaying and whispering, and Elizabeth shivered. And then\nfar away the lightning flashed, flashed like a sword that is drawn\nsuddenly, and the distant thunder marched about the sky, and even as\nthey stood astonished, pattering upon them came the first headlong\nraindrops of the storm. In an instant the last streak of sunset was\nhidden by a falling curtain of hail, and the lightning flashed again,\nand the voice of the thunder roared louder, and all about them the world\nscowled dark and strange.\n\nSeizing hands, these children of the city ran down the hill to their\nhome, in infinite astonishment. And ere they reached it, Elizabeth was\nweeping with dismay, and the darkling ground about them was white and\nbrittle and active with the pelting hail.\n\nThen began a strange and terrible night for them. For the first time in\ntheir civilised lives they were in absolute darkness; they were wet and\ncold and shivering, all about them hissed the hail, and through the long\nneglected ceilings of the derelict home came noisy spouts of water and\nformed pools and rivulets on the creaking floors. As the gusts of the\nstorm struck the worn-out building, it groaned and shuddered, and now a\nmass of plaster from the wall would slide and smash, and now some\nloosened tile would rattle down the roof and crash into the empty\ngreenhouse below. Elizabeth shuddered, and was still; Denton wrapped his\ngay and flimsy city cloak about her, and so they crouched in the\ndarkness. And ever the thunder broke louder and nearer, and ever more\nlurid flashed the lightning, jerking into a momentary gaunt clearness\nthe steaming, dripping room in which they sheltered.\n\nNever before had they been in the open air save when the sun was\nshining. All their time had been spent in the warm and airy ways and\nhalls and rooms of the latter-day city. It was to them that night as if\nthey were in some other world, some disordered chaos of stress and\ntumult, and almost beyond hoping that they should ever see the city ways\nagain.\n\nThe storm seemed to last interminably, until at last they dozed between\nthe thunderclaps, and then very swiftly it fell and ceased. And as the\nlast patter of the rain died away they heard an unfamiliar sound.\n\n\"What is that?\" cried Elizabeth.\n\nIt came again. It was the barking of dogs. It drove down the desert lane\nand passed; and through the window, whitening the wall before them and\nthrowing upon it the shadow of the window-frame and of a tree in black\nsilhouette, shone the light of the waxing moon....\n\nJust as the pale dawn was drawing the things about them into sight, the\nfitful barking of dogs came near again, and stopped. They listened.\nAfter a pause they heard the quick pattering of feet seeking round the\nhouse, and short, half-smothered barks. Then again everything was still.\n\n\"Ssh!\" whispered Elizabeth, and pointed to the door of their room.\n\nDenton went half-way towards the door, and stood listening. He came back\nwith a face of affected unconcern. \"They must be the sheep-dogs of the\nFood Company,\" he said. \"They will do us no harm.\"\n\nHe sat down again beside her. \"What a night it has been!\" he said, to\nhide how keenly he was listening.\n\n\"I don't like dogs,\" answered Elizabeth, after a long silence.\n\n\"Dogs never hurt any one,\" said Denton. \"In the old days--in the\nnineteenth century--everybody had a dog.\"\n\n\"There was a romance I heard once. A dog killed a man.\"\n\n\"Not this sort of dog,\" said Denton confidently. \"Some of those\nromances--are exaggerated.\"\n\nSuddenly a half bark and a pattering up the staircase; the sound of\npanting. Denton sprang to his feet and drew the sword out of the damp\nstraw upon which they had been lying. Then in the doorway appeared a\ngaunt sheep-dog, and halted there. Behind it stared another. For an\ninstant man and brute faced each other, hesitating.\n\nThen Denton, being ignorant of dogs, made a sharp step forward. \"Go\naway,\" he said, with a clumsy motion of his sword.\n\nThe dog started and growled. Denton stopped sharply. \"Good dog!\" he\nsaid.\n\nThe growling jerked into a bark.\n\n\"Good dog!\" said Denton. The second dog growled and barked. A third out\nof sight down the staircase took up the barking also. Outside others\ngave tongue--a large number it seemed to Denton.\n\n\"This is annoying,\" said Denton, without taking his eye off the brutes\nbefore him. \"Of course the shepherds won't come out of the city for\nhours yet. Naturally these dogs don't quite make us out.\"\n\n\"I can't hear,\" shouted Elizabeth. She stood up and came to him.\n\nDenton tried again, but the barking still drowned his voice. The sound\nhad a curious effect upon his blood. Odd disused emotions began to stir;\nhis face changed as he shouted. He tried again; the barking seemed to\nmock him, and one dog danced a pace forward, bristling. Suddenly he\nturned, and uttering certain words in the dialect of the underways,\nwords incomprehensible to Elizabeth, he made for the dogs. There was a\nsudden cessation of the barking, a growl and a snapping. Elizabeth saw\nthe snarling head of the foremost dog, its white teeth and retracted\nears, and the flash of the thrust blade. The brute leapt into the air\nand was flung back.\n\nThen Denton, with a shout, was driving the dogs before him. The sword\nflashed above his head with a sudden new freedom of gesture, and then he\nvanished down the staircase. She made six steps to follow him, and on\nthe landing there was blood. She stopped, and hearing the tumult of dogs\nand Denton's shouts pass out of the house, ran to the window.\n\nNine wolfish sheep-dogs were scattering, one writhed before the porch;\nand Denton, tasting that strange delight of combat that slumbers still\nin the blood of even the most civilised man, was shouting and running\nacross the garden space. And then she saw something that for a moment he\ndid not see. The dogs circled round this way and that, and came again.\nThey had him in the open.\n\nIn an instant she divined the situation. She would have called to him.\nFor a moment she felt sick and helpless, and then, obeying a strange\nimpulse, she gathered up her white skirt and ran downstairs. In the hall\nwas the rusting spade. That was it! She seized it and ran out.\n\nShe came none too soon. One dog rolled before him, well-nigh slashed in\nhalf; but a second had him by the thigh, a third gripped his collar\nbehind, and a fourth had the blade of the sword between its teeth,\ntasting its own blood. He parried the leap of a fifth with his left arm.\n\nIt might have been the first century instead of the twenty-second, so\nfar as she was concerned. All the gentleness of her eighteen years of\ncity life vanished before this primordial need. The spade smote hard and\nsure, and cleft a dog's skull. Another, crouching for a spring, yelped\nwith dismay at this unexpected antagonist, and rushed aside. Two wasted\nprecious moments on the binding of a feminine skirt.\n\nThe collar of Denton's cloak tore and parted as he staggered back; and\nthat dog too felt the spade, and ceased to trouble him. He sheathed his\nsword in the brute at his thigh.\n\n\"To the wall!\" cried Elizabeth; and in three seconds the fight was at an\nend, and our young people stood side by side, while a remnant of five\ndogs, with ears and tails of disaster, fled shamefully from the stricken\nfield.\n\nFor a moment they stood panting and victorious, and then Elizabeth,\ndropping her spade, covered her face, and sank to the ground in a\nparoxysm of weeping. Denton looked about him, thrust the point of his\nsword into the ground so that it was at hand, and stooped to comfort\nher.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt last their more tumultuous emotions subsided, and they could talk\nagain. She leant upon the wall, and he sat upon it so that he could keep\nan eye open for any returning dogs. Two, at any rate, were up on the\nhillside and keeping up a vexatious barking.\n\nShe was tear-stained, but not very wretched now, because for half an\nhour he had been repeating that she was brave and had saved his life.\nBut a new fear was growing in her mind.\n\n\"They are the dogs of the Food Company,\" she said. \"There will be\ntrouble.\"\n\n\"I am afraid so. Very likely they will prosecute us for trespass.\"\n\nA pause.\n\n\"In the old times,\" he said, \"this sort of thing happened day after\nday.\"\n\n\"Last night!\" she said. \"I could not live through another such night.\"\n\nHe looked at her. Her face was pale for want of sleep, and drawn and\nhaggard. He came to a sudden resolution. \"We must go back,\" he said.\n\nShe looked at the dead dogs, and shivered. \"We cannot stay here,\" she\nsaid.\n\n\"We must go back,\" he repeated, glancing over his shoulder to see if the\nenemy kept their distance. \"We have been happy for a time.... But the\nworld is too civilised. Ours is the age of cities. More of this will\nkill us.\"\n\n\"But what are we to do? How can we live there?\"\n\nDenton hesitated. His heel kicked against the wall on which he sat.\n\"It's a thing I haven't mentioned before,\" he said, and coughed;\n\"but ...\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"You could raise money on your expectations,\" he said.\n\n\"Could I?\" she said eagerly.\n\n\"Of course you could. What a child you are!\"\n\nShe stood up, and her face was bright. \"Why did you not tell me before?\"\nshe asked. \"And all this time we have been here!\"\n\nHe looked at her for a moment, and smiled. Then the smile vanished. \"I\nthought it ought to come from you,\" he said. \"I didn't like to ask for\nyour money. And besides--at first I thought this would be rather fine.\"\n\nThere was a pause.\n\n\"It _has_ been fine,\" he said; and glanced once more over his shoulder.\n\"Until all this began.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"those first days. The first three days.\"\n\nThey looked for a space into one another's faces, and then Denton slid\ndown from the wall and took her hand.\n\n\"To each generation,\" he said, \"the life of its time. I see it all\nplainly now. In the city--that is the life to which we were born. To\nlive in any other fashion ... Coming here was a dream, and this--is the\nawakening.\"\n\n\"It was a pleasant dream,\" she said,--\"in the beginning.\"\n\nFor a long space neither spoke.\n\n\"If we would reach the city before the shepherds come here, we must\nstart,\" said Denton. \"We must get our food out of the house and eat as\nwe go.\"\n\nDenton glanced about him again, and, giving the dead dogs a wide berth,\nthey walked across the garden space and into the house together. They\nfound the wallet with their food, and descended the blood-stained stairs\nagain. In the hall Elizabeth stopped. \"One minute,\" she said. \"There is\nsomething here.\"\n\nShe led the way into the room in which that one little blue flower was\nblooming. She stooped to it, she touched it with her hand.\n\n\"I want it,\" she said; and then, \"I cannot take it....\"\n\nImpulsively she stooped and kissed its petals.\n\nThen silently, side by side, they went across the empty garden-space\ninto the old high road, and set their faces resolutely towards the\ndistant city--towards the complex mechanical city of those latter days,\nthe city that had swallowed up mankind.\n\n\nIII--THE WAYS OF THE CITY\n\nProminent if not paramount among world-changing inventions in the\nhistory of man is that series of contrivances in locomotion that began\nwith the railway and ended for a century or more with the motor and the\npatent road. That these contrivances, together with the device of\nlimited liability joint stock companies and the supersession of\nagricultural labourers by skilled men with ingenious machinery, would\nnecessarily concentrate mankind in cities of unparallelled magnitude and\nwork an entire revolution in human life, became, after the event, a\nthing so obvious that it is a matter of astonishment it was not more\nclearly anticipated. Yet that any steps should be taken to anticipate\nthe miseries such a revolution might entail does not appear even to have\nbeen suggested; and the idea that the moral prohibitions and sanctions,\nthe privileges and concessions, the conception of property and\nresponsibility, of comfort and beauty, that had rendered the mainly\nagricultural states of the past prosperous and happy, would fail in the\nrising torrent of novel opportunities and novel stimulations, never\nseems to have entered the nineteenth-century mind. That a citizen,\nkindly and fair in his ordinary life, could as a shareholder become\nalmost murderously greedy; that commercial methods that were reasonable\nand honourable on the old-fashioned countryside, should on an enlarged\nscale be deadly and overwhelming; that ancient charity was modern\npauperisation, and ancient employment modern sweating; that, in fact, a\nrevision and enlargement of the duties and rights of man had become\nurgently necessary, were things it could not entertain, nourished as it\nwas on an archaic system of education and profoundly retrospective and\nlegal in all its habits of thought. It was known that the accumulation\nof men in cities involved unprecedented dangers of pestilence; there was\nan energetic development of sanitation; but that the diseases of\ngambling and usury, of luxury and tyranny should become endemic, and\nproduce horrible consequences was beyond the scope of nineteenth-century\nthought. And so, as if it were some inorganic process, practically\nunhindered by the creative will of man, the growth of the swarming\nunhappy cities that mark the twenty-first century accomplished itself.\n\nThe new society was divided into three main classes. At the summit\nslumbered the property owner, enormously rich by accident rather than\ndesign, potent save for the will and aim, the last _avatar_ of Hamlet in\nthe world. Below was the enormous multitude of workers employed by the\ngigantic companies that monopolised control; and between these two the\ndwindling middle class, officials of innumerable sorts, foremen,\nmanagers, the medical, legal, artistic, and scholastic classes, and the\nminor rich, a middle class whose members led a life of insecure luxury\nand precarious speculation amidst the movements of the great managers.\n\nAlready the love story and the marrying of two persons of this middle\nclass have been told: how they overcame the obstacles between them, and\nhow they tried the simple old-fashioned way of living on the countryside\nand came back speedily enough into the city of London. Denton had no\nmeans, so Elizabeth borrowed money on the securities that her father\nMwres held in trust for her until she was one-and-twenty.\n\nThe rate of interest she paid was of course high, because of the\nuncertainty of her security, and the arithmetic of lovers is often\nsketchy and optimistic. Yet they had very glorious times after that\nreturn. They determined they would not go to a Pleasure city nor waste\ntheir days rushing through the air from one part of the world to the\nother, for in spite of one disillusionment, their tastes were still\nold-fashioned. They furnished their little room with quaint old\nVictorian furniture, and found a shop on the forty-second floor in\nSeventh Way where printed books of the old sort were still to be bought.\nIt was their pet affectation to read print instead of hearing\nphonographs. And when presently there came a sweet little girl, to unite\nthem further if it were possible, Elizabeth would not send it to a\n_creche_, as the custom was, but insisted on nursing it at home. The\nrent of their apartments was raised on account of this singular\nproceeding, but that they did not mind. It only meant borrowing a little\nmore.\n\nPresently Elizabeth was of age, and Denton had a business interview with\nher father that was not agreeable. An exceedingly disagreeable interview\nwith their money-lender followed, from which he brought home a white\nface. On his return Elizabeth had to tell him of a new and marvellous\nintonation of \"Goo\" that their daughter had devised, but Denton was\ninattentive. In the midst, just as she was at the cream of her\ndescription, he interrupted. \"How much money do you think we have left,\nnow that everything is settled?\"\n\nShe stared and stopped her appreciative swaying of the Goo genius that\nhad accompanied her description.\n\n\"You don't mean...?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he answered. \"Ever so much. We have been wild. It's the interest.\nOr something. And the shares you had, slumped. Your father did not mind.\nSaid it was not his business, after what had happened. He's going to\nmarry again.... Well--we have scarcely a thousand left!\"\n\n\"Only a thousand?\"\n\n\"Only a thousand.\"\n\nAnd Elizabeth sat down. For a moment she regarded him with a white face,\nthen her eyes went about the quaint, old-fashioned room, with its middle\nVictorian furniture and genuine oleographs, and rested at last on the\nlittle lump of humanity within her arms.\n\nDenton glanced at her and stood downcast. Then he swung round on his\nheel and walked up and down very rapidly.\n\n\"I must get something to do,\" he broke out presently. \"I am an idle\nscoundrel. I ought to have thought of this before. I have been a selfish\nfool. I wanted to be with you all day....\"\n\nHe stopped, looking at her white face. Suddenly he came and kissed her\nand the little face that nestled against her breast.\n\n\"It's all right, dear,\" he said, standing over her; \"you won't be lonely\nnow--now Dings is beginning to talk to you. And I can soon get something\nto do, you know. Soon.... Easily.... It's only a shock at first. But it\nwill come all right. It's sure to come right. I will go out again as\nsoon as I have rested, and find what can be done. For the present it's\nhard to think of anything....\"\n\n\"It would be hard to leave these rooms,\" said Elizabeth; \"but----\"\n\n\"There won't be any need of that--trust me.\"\n\n\"They are expensive.\"\n\nDenton waved that aside. He began talking of the work he could do. He\nwas not very explicit what it would be; but he was quite sure that there\nwas something to keep them comfortably in the happy middle class, whose\nway of life was the only one they knew.\n\n\"There are three-and-thirty million people in London,\" he said: \"some of\nthem _must_ have need of me.\"\n\n\"Some _must_.\"\n\n\"The trouble is ... Well--Bindon, that brown little old man your father\nwanted you to marry. He's an important person.... I can't go back to my\nflying-stage work, because he is now a Commissioner of the Flying Stage\nClerks.\"\n\n\"I didn't know that,\" said Elizabeth.\n\n\"He was made that in the last few weeks ... or things would be easy\nenough, for they liked me on the flying stage. But there's dozens of\nother things to be done--dozens. Don't you worry, dear. I'll rest a\nlittle while, and then we'll dine, and then I'll start on my rounds. I\nknow lots of people--lots.\"\n\nSo they rested, and then they went to the public dining-room and dined,\nand then he started on his search for employment. But they soon realised\nthat in the matter of one convenience the world was just as badly off as\nit had ever been, and that was a nice, secure, honourable, remunerative\nemployment, leaving ample leisure for the private life, and demanding no\nspecial ability, no violent exertion nor risk, and no sacrifice of any\nsort for its attainment. He evolved a number of brilliant projects, and\nspent many days hurrying from one part of the enormous city to another\nin search of influential friends; and all his influential friends were\nglad to see him, and very sanguine until it came to definite proposals,\nand then they became guarded and vague. He would part with them coldly,\nand think over their behaviour, and get irritated on his way back, and\nstop at some telephone office and spend money on an animated but\nunprofitable quarrel. And as the days passed, he got so worried and\nirritated that even to seem kind and careless before Elizabeth cost him\nan effort--as she, being a loving woman, perceived very clearly.\n\nAfter an extremely complex preface one day, she helped him out with a\npainful suggestion. He had expected her to weep and give way to despair\nwhen it came to selling all their joyfully bought early Victorian\ntreasures, their quaint objects of art, their antimacassars, bead mats,\nrepp curtains, veneered furniture, gold-framed steel engravings and\npencil drawings, wax flowers under shades, stuffed birds, and all sorts\nof choice old things; but it was she who made the proposal. The\nsacrifice seemed to fill her with pleasure, and so did the idea of\nshifting to apartments ten or twelve floors lower in another hotel. \"So\nlong as Dings is with us, nothing matters,\" she said. \"It's all\nexperience.\" So he kissed her, said she was braver than when she fought\nthe sheep-dogs, called her Boadicea, and abstained very carefully from\nreminding her that they would have to pay a considerably higher rent on\naccount of the little voice with which Dings greeted the perpetual\nuproar of the city.\n\nHis idea had been to get Elizabeth out of the way when it came to\nselling the absurd furniture about which their affections were twined\nand tangled; but when it came to the sale it was Elizabeth who haggled\nwith the dealer while Denton went about the running ways of the city,\nwhite and sick with sorrow and the fear of what was still to come. When\nthey moved into their sparsely furnished pink-and-white apartments in a\ncheap hotel, there came an outbreak of furious energy on his part, and\nthen nearly a week of lethargy during which he sulked at home. Through\nthose days Elizabeth shone like a star, and at the end Denton's misery\nfound a vent in tears. And then he went out into the city ways again,\nand--to his utter amazement--found some work to do.\n\nHis standard of employment had fallen steadily until at last it had\nreached the lowest level of independent workers. At first he had aspired\nto some high official position in the great Flying or Wind Vane or Water\nCompanies, or to an appointment on one of the General Intelligence\nOrganisations that had replaced newspapers, or to some professional\npartnership, but those were the dreams of the beginning. From that he\nhad passed to speculation, and three hundred gold \"lions\" out of\nElizabeth's thousand had vanished one evening in the share market. Now\nhe was glad his good looks secured him a trial in the position of\nsalesman to the Suzannah Hat Syndicate, a Syndicate, dealing in ladies'\ncaps, hair decorations, and hats--for though the city was completely\ncovered in, ladies still wore extremely elaborate and beautiful hats at\nthe theatres and places of public worship.\n\nIt would have been amusing if one could have confronted a Regent Street\nshopkeeper of the nineteenth century with the development of his\nestablishment in which Denton's duties lay. Nineteenth Way was still\nsometimes called Regent Street, but it was now a street of moving\nplatforms and nearly eight hundred feet wide. The middle space was\nimmovable and gave access by staircases descending into subterranean\nways to the houses on either side. Right and left were an ascending\nseries of continuous platforms each of which travelled about five miles\nan hour faster than the one internal to it, so that one could step from\nplatform to platform until one reached the swiftest outer way and so go\nabout the city. The establishment of the Suzannah Hat Syndicate\nprojected a vast _facade_ upon the outer way, sending out overhead at\neither end an overlapping series of huge white glass screens, on which\ngigantic animated pictures of the faces of well-known beautiful living\nwomen wearing novelties in hats were thrown. A dense crowd was always\ncollected in the stationary central way watching a vast kinematograph\nwhich displayed the changing fashion. The whole front of the building\nwas in perpetual chromatic change, and all down the _facade_--four\nhundred feet it measured--and all across the street of moving ways,\nlaced and winked and glittered in a thousand varieties of colour and\nlettering the inscription--\n\n    SUZANNA! 'ETS! SUZANNA! 'ETS!\n\nA broadside of gigantic phonographs drowned all conversation in the\nmoving way and roared \"_hats_\" at the passer-by, while far down the\nstreet and up, other batteries counselled the public to \"walk down for\nSuzannah,\" and queried, \"Why _don't_ you buy the girl a hat?\"\n\nFor the benefit of those who chanced to be deaf--and deafness was not\nuncommon in the London of that age, inscriptions of all sizes were\nthrown from the roof above upon the moving platforms themselves, and on\none's hand or on the bald head of the man before one, or on a lady's\nshoulders, or in a sudden jet of flame before one's feet, the moving\nfinger wrote in unanticipated letters of fire \"_'ets r chip t'de_,\" or\nsimply \"_'ets_.\" And spite of all these efforts so high was the pitch at\nwhich the city lived, so trained became one's eyes and ears to ignore\nall sorts of advertisement, that many a citizen had passed that place\nthousands of times and was still unaware of the existence of the\nSuzannah Hat Syndicate.\n\nTo enter the building one descended the staircase in the middle way and\nwalked through a public passage in which pretty girls promenaded, girls\nwho were willing to wear a ticketed hat for a small fee. The entrance\nchamber was a large hall in which wax heads fashionably adorned rotated\ngracefully upon pedestals, and from this one passed through a cash\noffice to an interminable series of little rooms, each room with its\nsalesman, its three or four hats and pins, its mirrors, its\nkinematographs, telephones and hat slides in communication with the\ncentral depot, its comfortable lounge and tempting refreshments. A\nsalesman in such an apartment did Denton now become. It was his business\nto attend to any of the incessant stream of ladies who chose to stop\nwith him, to behave as winningly as possible, to offer refreshment, to\nconverse on any topic the possible customer chose, and to guide the\nconversation dexterously but not insistently towards hats. He was to\nsuggest trying on various types of hat and to show by his manner and\nbearing, but without any coarse flattery, the enhanced impression made\nby the hats he wished to sell. He had several mirrors, adapted by\nvarious subtleties of curvature and tint to different types of face and\ncomplexion, and much depended on the proper use of these.\n\nDenton flung himself at these curious and not very congenial duties with\na good will and energy that would have amazed him a year before; but all\nto no purpose. The Senior Manageress, who had selected him for\nappointment and conferred various small marks of favour upon him,\nsuddenly changed in her manner, declared for no assignable cause that he\nwas stupid, and dismissed him at the end of six weeks of salesmanship.\nSo Denton had to resume his ineffectual search for employment.\n\nThis second search did not last very long. Their money was at the ebb.\nTo eke it out a little longer they resolved to part with their darling\nDings, and took that small person to one of the public _creches_ that\nabounded in the city. That was the common use of the time. The\nindustrial emancipation of women, the correlated disorganisation of the\nsecluded \"home,\" had rendered _creches_ a necessity for all but very\nrich and exceptionally-minded people. Therein children encountered\nhygienic and educational advantages impossible without such\norganisation. _Creches_ were of all classes and types of luxury, down to\nthose of the Labour Company, where children were taken on credit, to be\nredeemed in labour as they grew up.\n\nBut both Denton and Elizabeth being, as I have explained, strange\nold-fashioned young people, full of nineteenth-century ideas, hated\nthese convenient _creches_ exceedingly and at last took their little\ndaughter to one with extreme reluctance. They were received by a\nmotherly person in a uniform who was very brisk and prompt in her manner\nuntil Elizabeth wept at the mention of parting from her child. The\nmotherly person, after a brief astonishment at this unusual emotion,\nchanged suddenly into a creature of hope and comfort, and so won\nElizabeth's gratitude for life. They were conducted into a vast room\npresided over by several nurses and with hundreds of two-year-old girls\ngrouped about the toy-covered floor. This was the Two-year-old Room.\nTwo nurses came forward, and Elizabeth watched their bearing towards\nDings with jealous eyes. They were kind--it was clear they felt kind,\nand yet ...\n\nPresently it was time to go. By that time Dings was happily established\nin a corner, sitting on the floor with her arms filled, and herself,\nindeed, for the most part hidden by an unaccustomed wealth of toys. She\nseemed careless of all human relationships as her parents receded.\n\nThey were forbidden to upset her by saying good-bye.\n\nAt the door Elizabeth glanced back for the last time, and behold! Dings\nhad dropped her new wealth and was standing with a dubious face.\nSuddenly Elizabeth gasped, and the motherly nurse pushed her forward and\nclosed the door.\n\n\"You can come again soon, dear,\" she said, with unexpected tenderness in\nher eyes. For a moment Elizabeth stared at her with a blank face. \"You\ncan come again soon,\" repeated the nurse. Then with a swift transition\nElizabeth was weeping in the nurse's arms. So it was that Denton's heart\nwas won also.\n\nAnd three weeks after our young people were absolutely penniless, and\nonly one way lay open. They must go to the Labour Company. So soon as\nthe rent was a week overdue their few remaining possessions were seized,\nand with scant courtesy they were shown the way out of the hotel.\nElizabeth walked along the passage towards the staircase that ascended\nto the motionless middle way, too dulled by misery to think. Denton\nstopped behind to finish a stinging and unsatisfactory argument with the\nhotel porter, and then came hurrying after her, flushed and hot. He\nslackened his pace as he overtook her, and together they ascended to the\nmiddle way in silence. There they found two seats vacant and sat down.\n\n\"We need not go there--_yet_?\" said Elizabeth.\n\n\"No--not till we are hungry,\" said Denton.\n\nThey said no more.\n\nElizabeth's eyes sought a resting-place and found none. To the right\nroared the eastward ways, to the left the ways in the opposite\ndirection, swarming with people. Backwards and forwards along a cable\noverhead rushed a string of gesticulating men, dressed like clowns, each\nmarked on back and chest with one gigantic letter, so that altogether\nthey spelt out:\n\n    \"PURKINJE'S DIGESTIVE PILLS.\"\n\nAn anaemic little woman in horrible coarse blue canvas pointed a little\ngirl to one of this string of hurrying advertisements.\n\n\"Look!\" said the anaemic woman: \"there's yer father.\"\n\n\"Which?\" said the little girl.\n\n\"'Im wiv his nose  red,\" said the anaemic woman.\n\nThe little girl began to cry, and Elizabeth could have cried too.\n\n\"Ain't 'e kickin' 'is legs!--_just!_\" said the anaemic woman in blue,\ntrying to make things bright again. \"Looky--_now!_\"\n\nOn the _facade_ to the right a huge intensely bright disc of weird\ncolour span incessantly, and letters of fire that came and went spelt\nout--\n\n    \"DOES THIS MAKE YOU GIDDY?\"\n\nThen a pause, followed by\n\n    \"TAKE A PURKINJE'S DIGESTIVE PILL.\"\n\nA vast and desolating braying began. \"If you love Swagger Literature,\nput your telephone on to Bruggles, the Greatest Author of all Time. The\nGreatest Thinker of all Time. Teaches you Morals up to your Scalp! The\nvery image of Socrates, except the back of his head, which is like\nShakspeare. He has six toes, dresses in red, and never cleans his teeth.\nHear HIM!\"\n\nDenton's voice became audible in a gap in the uproar. \"I never ought to\nhave married you,\" he was saying. \"I have wasted your money, ruined you,\nbrought you to misery. I am a scoundrel.... Oh, this accursed world!\"\n\nShe tried to speak, and for some moments could not. She grasped his\nhand. \"No,\" she said at last.\n\nA half-formed desire suddenly became determination. She stood up. \"Will\nyou come?\"\n\nHe rose also. \"We need not go there yet.\"\n\n\"Not that. But I want you to come to the flying stages--where we met.\nYou know? The little seat.\"\n\nHe hesitated. \"_Can_ you?\" he said, doubtfully.\n\n\"Must,\" she answered.\n\nHe hesitated still for a moment, then moved to obey her will.\n\nAnd so it was they spent their last half-day of freedom out under the\nopen air in the little seat under the flying stages where they had been\nwont to meet five short years ago. There she told him, what she could\nnot tell him in the tumultuous public ways, that she did not repent even\nnow of their marriage--that whatever discomfort and misery life still\nhad for them, she was content with the things that had been. The weather\nwas kind to them, the seat was sunlit and warm, and overhead the shining\naeroplanes went and came.\n\nAt last towards sunsetting their time was at an end, and they made their\nvows to one another and clasped hands, and then rose up and went back\ninto the ways of the city, a shabby-looking, heavy-hearted pair, tired\nand hungry. Soon they came to one of the pale blue signs that marked a\nLabour Company Bureau. For a space they stood in the middle way\nregarding this and at last descended, and entered the waiting-room.\n\nThe Labour Company had originally been a charitable organisation; its\naim was to supply food, shelter, and work to all comers. This it was\nbound to do by the conditions of its incorporation, and it was also\nbound to supply food and shelter and medical attendance to all incapable\nof work who chose to demand its aid. In exchange these incapables paid\nlabour notes, which they had to redeem upon recovery. They signed these\nlabour notes with thumb-marks, which were photographed and indexed in\nsuch a way that this world-wide Labour Company could identify any one of\nits two or three hundred million clients at the cost of an hour's\ninquiry. The day's labour was defined as two spells in a treadmill used\nin generating electrical force, or its equivalent, and its due\nperformance could be enforced by law. In practice the Labour Company\nfound it advisable to add to its statutory obligations of food and\nshelter a few pence a day as an inducement to effort; and its enterprise\nhad not only abolished pauperisation altogether, but supplied\npractically all but the very highest and most responsible labour\nthroughout the world. Nearly a third of the population of the world were\nits serfs and debtors from the cradle to the grave.\n\nIn this practical, unsentimental way the problem of the unemployed had\nbeen most satisfactorily met and overcome. No one starved in the public\nways, and no rags, no costume less sanitary and sufficient than the\nLabour Company's hygienic but inelegant blue canvas, pained the eye\nthroughout the whole world. It was the constant theme of the\nphonographic newspapers how much the world had progressed since\nnineteenth-century days, when the bodies of those killed by the\nvehicular traffic or dead of starvation, were, they alleged, a common\nfeature in all the busier streets.\n\nDenton and Elizabeth sat apart in the waiting-room until their turn\ncame. Most of the others collected there seemed limp and taciturn, but\nthree or four young people gaudily dressed made up for the quietude of\ntheir companions. They were life clients of the Company, born in the\nCompany's _creche_ and destined to die in its hospital, and they had\nbeen out for a spree with some shillings or so of extra pay. They talked\nvociferously in a later development of the Cockney dialect, manifestly\nvery proud of themselves.\n\nElizabeth's eyes went from these to the less assertive figures. One\nseemed exceptionally pitiful to her. It was a woman of perhaps\nforty-five, with gold-stained hair and a painted face, down which\nabundant tears had trickled; she had a pinched nose, hungry eyes, lean\nhands and shoulders, and her dusty worn-out finery told the story of her\nlife. Another was a grey-bearded old man in the costume of a bishop of\none of the high episcopal sects--for religion was now also a business,\nand had its ups and downs. And beside him a sickly, dissipated-looking\nboy of perhaps two-and-twenty glared at Fate.\n\nPresently Elizabeth and then Denton interviewed the manageress--for the\nCompany preferred women in this capacity--and found she possessed an\nenergetic face, a contemptuous manner, and a particularly unpleasant\nvoice. They were given various checks, including one to certify that\nthey need not have their heads cropped; and when they had given their\nthumb-marks, learnt the number corresponding thereunto, and exchanged\ntheir shabby middle-class clothes for duly numbered blue canvas suits,\nthey repaired to the huge plain dining-room for their first meal under\nthese new conditions. Afterwards they were to return to her for\ninstructions about their work.\n\nWhen they had made the exchange of their clothing Elizabeth did not seem\nable to look at Denton at first; but he looked at her, and saw with\nastonishment that even in blue canvas she was still beautiful. And then\ntheir soup and bread came sliding on its little rail down the long table\ntowards them and stopped with a jerk, and he forgot the matter. For they\nhad had no proper meal for three days.\n\nAfter they had dined they rested for a time. Neither talked--there was\nnothing to say; and presently they got up and went back to the\nmanageress to learn what they had to do.\n\nThe manageress referred to a tablet. \"Y'r rooms won't be here; it'll be\nin the Highbury Ward, Ninety-seventh Way, number two thousand and\nseventeen. Better make a note of it on y'r card. _You_, nought nought\nnought, type seven, sixty-four, b.c.d., _gamma_ forty-one, female; you\n'ave to go to the Metal-beating Company and try that for a\nday--fourpence bonus if ye're satisfactory; and _you_, nought seven one,\ntype four, seven hundred and nine, g.f.b., _pi_ five and ninety, male;\nyou 'ave to go to the Photographic Company on Eighty-first Way, and\nlearn something or other--_I_ don't know--thrippence. 'Ere's y'r cards.\nThat's all. Next! _What?_ Didn't catch it all? Lor! So suppose I must go\nover it all again. Why don't you listen? Keerless, unprovident people!\nOne'd think these things didn't matter.\"\n\nTheir ways to their work lay together for a time. And now they found\nthey could talk. Curiously enough, the worst of their depression seemed\nover now that they had actually donned the blue. Denton could talk with\ninterest even of the work that lay before them. \"Whatever it is,\" he\nsaid, \"it can't be so hateful as that hat shop. And after we have paid\nfor Dings, we shall still have a whole penny a day between us even now.\nAfterwards--we may improve,--get more money.\"\n\nElizabeth was less inclined to speech. \"I wonder why work should seem\nso hateful,\" she said.\n\n\"It's odd,\" said Denton. \"I suppose it wouldn't be if it were not the\nthought of being ordered about.... I hope we shall have decent\nmanagers.\"\n\nElizabeth did not answer. She was not thinking of that. She was tracing\nout some thoughts of her own.\n\n\"Of course,\" she said presently, \"we have been using up work all our\nlives. It's only fair--\"\n\nShe stopped. It was too intricate.\n\n\"We paid for it,\" said Denton, for at that time he had not troubled\nhimself about these complicated things.\n\n\"We did nothing--and yet we paid for it. That's what I cannot\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we are paying,\" said Elizabeth presently--for her theology was\nold-fashioned and simple.\n\nPresently it was time for them to part, and each went to the appointed\nwork. Denton's was to mind a complicated hydraulic press that seemed\nalmost an intelligent thing. This press worked by the sea-water that was\ndestined finally to flush the city drains--for the world had long since\nabandoned the folly of pouring drinkable water into its sewers. This\nwater was brought close to the eastward edge of the city by a huge\ncanal, and then raised by an enormous battery of pumps into reservoirs\nat a level of four hundred feet above the sea, from which it spread by a\nbillion arterial branches over the city. Thence it poured down,\ncleansing, sluicing, working machinery of all sorts, through an infinite\nvariety of capillary channels into the great drains, the _cloacae\nmaximae_, and so carried the sewage out to the agricultural areas that\nsurrounded London on every side.\n\nThe press was employed in one of the processes of the photographic\nmanufacture, but the nature of the process it did not concern Denton to\nunderstand. The most salient fact to his mind was that it had to be\nconducted in ruby light, and as a consequence the room in which he\nworked was lit by one  globe that poured a lurid and painful\nillumination about the room. In the darkest corner stood the press whose\nservant Denton had now become: it was a huge, dim, glittering thing with\na projecting hood that had a remote resemblance to a bowed head, and,\nsquatting like some metal Buddha in this weird light that ministered to\nits needs, it seemed to Denton in certain moods almost as if this must\nneeds be the obscure idol to which humanity in some strange aberration\nhad offered up his life. His duties had a varied monotony. Such items as\nthe following will convey an idea of the service of the press. The thing\nworked with a busy clicking so long as things went well; but if the\npaste that came pouring through a feeder from another room and which it\nwas perpetually compressing into thin plates, changed in quality the\nrhythm of its click altered and Denton hastened to make certain\nadjustments. The slightest delay involved a waste of paste and the\ndocking of one or more of his daily pence. If the supply of paste\nwaned--there were hand processes of a peculiar sort involved in its\npreparation, and sometimes the workers had convulsions which deranged\ntheir output--Denton had to throw the press out of gear. In the painful\nvigilance a multitude of such trivial attentions entailed, painful\nbecause of the incessant effort its absence of natural interest\nrequired, Denton had now to pass one-third of his days. Save for an\noccasional visit from the manager, a kindly but singularly foul-mouthed\nman, Denton passed his working hours in solitude.\n\nElizabeth's work was of a more social sort. There was a fashion for\ncovering the private apartments of the very wealthy with metal plates\nbeautifully embossed with repeated patterns. The taste of the time\ndemanded, however, that the repetition of the patterns should not be\nexact--not mechanical, but \"natural\"--and it was found that the most\npleasing arrangement of pattern irregularity was obtained by employing\nwomen of refinement and natural taste to punch out the patterns with\nsmall dies. So many square feet of plates was exacted from Elizabeth as\na minimum, and for whatever square feet she did in excess she received a\nsmall payment. The room, like most rooms of women workers, was under a\nmanageress: men had been found by the Labour Company not only less\nexacting but extremely liable to excuse favoured ladies from a proper\nshare of their duties. The manageress was a not unkindly, taciturn\nperson, with the hardened remains of beauty of the brunette type; and\nthe other women workers, who of course hated her, associated her name\nscandalously with one of the metal-work directors in order to explain\nher position.\n\nOnly two or three of Elizabeth's fellow-workers were born labour serfs;\nplain, morose girls, but most of them corresponded to what the\nnineteenth century would have called a \"reduced\" gentlewoman. But the\nideal of what constituted a gentlewoman had altered: the faint, faded,\nnegative virtue, the modulated voice and restrained gesture of the\nold-fashioned gentlewoman had vanished from the earth. Most of her\ncompanions showed in discoloured hair, ruined complexions, and the\ntexture of their reminiscent conversations, the vanished glories of a\nconquering youth. All of these artistic workers were much older than\nElizabeth, and two openly expressed their surprise that any one so young\nand pleasant should come to share their toil. But Elizabeth did not\ntrouble them with her old-world moral conceptions.\n\nThey were permitted, and even encouraged to converse with each other,\nfor the directors very properly judged that anything that conduced to\nvariations of mood made for pleasing fluctuations in their patterning;\nand Elizabeth was almost forced to hear the stories of these lives with\nwhich her own interwove: garbled and distorted they were by vanity\nindeed and yet comprehensible enough. And soon she began to appreciate\nthe small spites and cliques, the little misunderstandings and alliances\nthat enmeshed about her. One woman was excessively garrulous and\ndescriptive about a wonderful son of hers; another had cultivated a\nfoolish coarseness of speech, that she seemed to regard as the wittiest\nexpression of originality conceivable; a third mused for ever on dress,\nand whispered to Elizabeth how she saved her pence day after day, and\nwould presently have a glorious day of freedom, wearing ... and then\nfollowed hours of description; two others sat always together, and\ncalled one another pet names, until one day some little thing happened,\nand they sat apart, blind and deaf as it seemed to one another's being.\nAnd always from them all came an incessant tap, tap, tap, tap, and the\nmanageress listened always to the rhythm to mark if one fell away. Tap,\ntap, tap, tap: so their days passed, so their lives must pass. Elizabeth\nsat among them, kindly and quiet, grey-hearted, marvelling at Fate: tap,\ntap, tap; tap, tap, tap; tap, tap, tap.\n\nSo there came to Denton and Elizabeth a long succession of laborious\ndays, that hardened their hands, wove strange threads of some new and\nsterner substance into the soft prettiness of their lives, and drew\ngrave lines and shadows on their faces. The bright, convenient ways of\nthe former life had receded to an inaccessible distance; slowly they\nlearnt the lesson of the underworld--sombre and laborious, vast and\npregnant. There were many little things happened: things that would be\ntedious and miserable to tell, things that were bitter and grievous to\nbear--indignities, tyrannies, such as must ever season the bread of the\npoor in cities; and one thing that was not little, but seemed like the\nutter blackening of life to them, which was that the child they had\ngiven life to sickened and died. But that story, that ancient,\nperpetually recurring story, has been told so often, has been told so\nbeautifully, that there is no need to tell it over again here. There was\nthe same sharp fear, the same long anxiety, the deferred inevitable\nblow, and the black silence. It has always been the same; it will always\nbe the same. It is one of the things that must be.\n\nAnd it was Elizabeth who was the first to speak, after an aching, dull\ninterspace of days: not, indeed, of the foolish little name that was a\nname no longer, but of the darkness that brooded over her soul. They had\ncome through the shrieking, tumultuous ways of the city together; the\nclamour of trade, of yelling competitive religions, of political appeal,\nhad beat upon deaf ears; the glare of focussed lights, of dancing\nletters, and fiery advertisements, had fallen upon the set, miserable\nfaces unheeded. They took their dinner in the dining-hall at a place\napart. \"I want,\" said Elizabeth clumsily, \"to go out to the flying\nstages--to that seat. Here, one can say nothing....\"\n\nDenton looked at her. \"It will be night,\" he said.\n\n\"I have asked,--it is a fine night.\" She stopped.\n\nHe perceived she could find no words to explain herself. Suddenly he\nunderstood that she wished to see the stars once more, the stars they\nhad watched together from the open downland in that wild honeymoon of\ntheirs five years ago. Something caught at his throat. He looked away\nfrom her.\n\n\"There will be plenty of time to go,\" he said, in a matter-of-fact tone.\n\nAnd at last they came out to their little seat on the flying stage, and\nsat there for a long time in silence. The little seat was in shadow, but\nthe zenith was pale blue with the effulgence of the stage overhead, and\nall the city spread below them, squares and circles and patches of\nbrilliance caught in a mesh-work of light. The little stars seemed very\nfaint and small: near as they had been to the old-world watcher, they\nhad become now infinitely remote. Yet one could see them in the darkened\npatches amidst the glare, and especially in the northward sky, the\nancient constellations gliding steadfast and patient about the pole.\n\nLong our two people sat in silence, and at last Elizabeth sighed.\n\n\"If I understood,\" she said, \"if I could understand. When one is down\nthere the city seems everything--the noise, the hurry, the voices--you\nmust live, you must scramble. Here--it is nothing; a thing that passes.\nOne can think in peace.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Denton. \"How flimsy it all is! From here more than half of\nit is swallowed by the night.... It will pass.\"\n\n\"We shall pass first,\" said Elizabeth.\n\n\"I know,\" said Denton. \"If life were not a moment, the whole of history\nwould seem like the happening of a day.... Yes--we shall pass. And the\ncity will pass, and all the things that are to come. Man and the Overman\nand wonders unspeakable. And yet ...\"\n\nHe paused, and then began afresh. \"I know what you feel. At least I\nfancy.... Down there one thinks of one's work, one's little vexations\nand pleasures, one's eating and drinking and ease and pain. One lives,\nand one must die. Down there and everyday--our sorrow seemed the end of\nlife....\n\n\"Up here it is different. For instance, down there it would seem\nimpossible almost to go on living if one were horribly disfigured,\nhorribly crippled, disgraced. Up here--under these stars--none of those\nthings would matter. They don't matter.... They are a part of something.\nOne seems just to touch that something--under the stars....\"\n\nHe stopped. The vague, impalpable things in his mind, cloudy emotions\nhalf shaped towards ideas, vanished before the rough grasp of words. \"It\nis hard to express,\" he said lamely.\n\nThey sat through a long stillness.\n\n\"It is well to come here,\" he said at last. \"We stop--our minds are very\nfinite. After all we are just poor animals rising out of the brute, each\nwith a mind, the poor beginning of a mind. We are so stupid. So much\nhurts. And yet ...\n\n\"I know, I know--and some day we shall _see_.\n\n\"All this frightful stress, all this discord will resolve to harmony,\nand we shall know it. Nothing is but it makes for that. Nothing. All the\nfailures--every little thing makes for that harmony. Everything is\nnecessary to it, we shall find. We shall find. Nothing, not even the\nmost dreadful thing, could be left out. Not even the most trivial.\nEvery tap of your hammer on the brass, every moment of work, my idleness\neven ... Dear one! every movement of our poor little one ... All these\nthings go on for ever. And the faint impalpable things. We, sitting here\ntogether.--Everything ...\n\n\"The passion that joined us, and what has come since. It is not passion\nnow. More than anything else it is sorrow. _Dear_ ...\"\n\nHe could say no more, could follow his thoughts no further.\n\nElizabeth made no answer--she was very still; but presently her hand\nsought his and found it.\n\n\nIV--UNDERNEATH\n\nUnder the stars one may reach upward and touch resignation, whatever the\nevil thing may be, but in the heat and stress of the day's work we lapse\nagain, come disgust and anger and intolerable moods. How little is all\nour magnanimity--an accident! a phase! The very Saints of old had first\nto flee the world. And Denton and his Elizabeth could not flee their\nworld, no longer were there open roads to unclaimed lands where men\nmight live freely--however hardly--and keep their souls in peace. The\ncity had swallowed up mankind.\n\nFor a time these two Labour Serfs were kept at their original\noccupations, she at her brass stamping and Denton at his press; and then\ncame a move for him that brought with it fresh and still bitterer\nexperiences of life in the underways of the great city. He was\ntransferred to the care of a rather more elaborate press in the central\nfactory of the London Tile Trust.\n\nIn this new situation he had to work in a long vaulted room with a\nnumber of other men, for the most part born Labour Serfs. He came to\nthis intercourse reluctantly. His upbringing had been refined, and,\nuntil his ill fortune had brought him to that costume, he had never\nspoken in his life, except by way of command or some immediate\nnecessity, to the white-faced wearers of the blue canvas. Now at last\ncame contact; he had to work beside them, share their tools, eat with\nthem. To both Elizabeth and himself this seemed a further degradation.\n\nHis taste would have seemed extreme to a man of the nineteenth century.\nBut slowly and inevitably in the intervening years a gulf had opened\nbetween the wearers of the blue canvas and the classes above, a\ndifference not simply of circumstances and habits of life, but of habits\nof thought--even of language. The underways had developed a dialect of\ntheir own: above, too, had arisen a dialect, a code of thought, a\nlanguage of \"culture,\" which aimed by a sedulous search after fresh\ndistinction to widen perpetually the space between itself and\n\"vulgarity.\" The bond of a common faith, moreover, no longer held the\nrace together. The last years of the nineteenth century were\ndistinguished by the rapid development among the prosperous idle of\nesoteric perversions of the popular religion: glosses and\ninterpretations that reduced the broad teachings of the carpenter of\nNazareth to the exquisite narrowness of their lives. And, spite of their\ninclination towards the ancient fashion of living, neither Elizabeth nor\nDenton had been sufficiently original to escape the suggestion of their\nsurroundings. In matters of common behaviour they had followed the ways\nof their class, and so when they fell at last to be Labour Serfs it\nseemed to them almost as though they were falling among offensive\ninferior animals; they felt as a nineteenth-century duke and duchess\nmight have felt who were forced to take rooms in the Jago.\n\nTheir natural impulse was to maintain a \"distance.\" But Denton's first\nidea of a dignified isolation from his new surroundings was soon rudely\ndispelled. He had imagined that his fall to the position of a Labour\nSerf was the end of his lesson, that when their little daughter had died\nhe had plumbed the deeps of life; but indeed these things were only the\nbeginning. Life demands something more from us than acquiescence. And\nnow in a roomful of machine minders he was to learn a wider lesson, to\nmake the acquaintance of another factor in life, a factor as elemental\nas the loss of things dear to us, more elemental even than toil.\n\nHis quiet discouragement of conversation was an immediate cause of\noffence--was interpreted, rightly enough I fear, as disdain. His\nignorance of the vulgar dialect, a thing upon which he had hitherto\nprided himself, suddenly took upon itself a new aspect. He failed to\nperceive at once that his reception of the coarse and stupid but\ngenially intended remarks that greeted his appearance must have stung\nthe makers of these advances like blows in their faces. \"Don't\nunderstand,\" he said rather coldly, and at hazard, \"No, thank you.\"\n\nThe man who had addressed him stared, scowled, and turned away.\n\nA second, who also failed at Denton's unaccustomed ear, took the trouble\nto repeat his remark, and Denton discovered he was being offered the use\nof an oil can. He expressed polite thanks, and this second man embarked\nupon a penetrating conversation. Denton, he remarked, had been a swell,\nand he wanted to know how he had come to wear the blue. He clearly\nexpected an interesting record of vice and extravagance. Had Denton ever\nbeen at a Pleasure City? Denton was speedily to discover how the\nexistence of these wonderful places of delight permeated and defiled the\nthought and honour of these unwilling, hopeless workers of the\nunderworld.\n\nHis aristocratic temperament resented these questions. He answered \"No\"\ncurtly. The man persisted with a still more personal question, and this\ntime it was Denton who turned away.\n\n\"Gorblimey!\" said his interlocutor, much astonished.\n\nIt presently forced itself upon Denton's mind that this remarkable\nconversation was being repeated in indignant tones to more sympathetic\nhearers, and that it gave rise to astonishment and ironical laughter.\nThey looked at Denton with manifestly enhanced interest. A curious\nperception of isolation dawned upon him. He tried to think of his press\nand its unfamiliar peculiarities....\n\nThe machines kept everybody pretty busy during the first spell, and\nthen came a recess. It was only an interval for refreshment, too brief\nfor any one to go out to a Labour Company dining-room. Denton followed\nhis fellow-workers into a short gallery, in which were a number of bins\nof refuse from the presses.\n\nEach man produced a packet of food. Denton had no packet. The manager, a\ncareless young man who held his position by influence, had omitted to\nwarn Denton that it was necessary to apply for this provision. He stood\napart, feeling hungry. The others drew together in a group and talked in\nundertones, glancing at him ever and again. He became uneasy. His\nappearance of disregard cost him an increasing effort. He tried to think\nof the levers of his new press.\n\nPresently one, a man shorter but much broader and stouter than Denton,\ncame forward to him. Denton turned to him as unconcernedly as possible.\n\"Here!\" said the delegate--as Denton judged him to be--extending a cube\nof bread in a not too clean hand. He had a swart, broad-nosed face, and\nhis mouth hung down towards one corner.\n\nDenton felt doubtful for the instant whether this was meant for civility\nor insult. His impulse was to decline. \"No, thanks,\" he said; and, at\nthe man's change of expression, \"I'm not hungry.\"\n\nThere came a laugh from the group behind. \"Told you so,\" said the man\nwho had offered Denton the loan of an oil can. \"He's top side, he is.\nYou ain't good enough for 'im.\"\n\nThe swart face grew a shade darker.\n\n\"Here,\" said its owner, still extending the bread, and speaking in a\nlower tone; \"you got to eat this. See?\"\n\nDenton looked into the threatening face before him, and odd little\ncurrents of energy seemed to be running through his limbs and body.\n\n\"I don't want it,\" he said, trying a pleasant smile that twitched and\nfailed.\n\nThe thickset man advanced his face, and the bread became a physical\nthreat in his hand. Denton's mind rushed together to the one problem of\nhis antagonist's eyes.\n\n\"Eat it,\" said the swart man.\n\nThere came a pause, and then they both moved quickly. The cube of bread\ndescribed a complicated path, a curve that would have ended in Denton's\nface; and then his fist hit the wrist of the hand that gripped it, and\nit flew upward, and out of the conflict--its part played.\n\nHe stepped back quickly, fists clenched and arms tense. The hot, dark\ncountenance receded, became an alert hostility, watching its chance.\nDenton for one instant felt confident, and strangely buoyant and serene.\nHis heart beat quickly. He felt his body alive, and glowing to the tips.\n\n\"Scrap, boys!\" shouted some one, and then the dark figure had leapt\nforward, ducked back and sideways, and come in again. Denton struck out,\nand was hit. One of his eyes seemed to him to be demolished, and he felt\na soft lip under his fist just before he was hit again--this time under\nthe chin. A huge fan of fiery needles shot open. He had a momentary\npersuasion that his head was knocked to pieces, and then something hit\nhis head and back from behind, and the fight became an uninteresting, an\nimpersonal thing.\n\nHe was aware that time--seconds or minutes--had passed, abstract,\nuneventful time. He was lying with his head in a heap of ashes, and\nsomething wet and warm ran swiftly into his neck. The first shock broke\nup into discrete sensations. All his head throbbed; his eye and his chin\nthrobbed exceedingly, and the taste of blood was in his mouth.\n\n\"He's all right,\" said a voice. \"He's opening his eyes.\"\n\n\"Serve him----well right,\" said a second.\n\nHis mates were standing about him. He made an effort and sat up. He put\nhis hand to the back of his head, and his hair was wet and full of\ncinders. A laugh greeted the gesture. His eye was partially closed. He\nperceived what had happened. His momentary anticipation of a final\nvictory had vanished.\n\n\"Looks surprised,\" said some one.\n\n\"'Ave any more?\" said a wit; and then, imitating Denton's refined\naccent.\n\n\"No, thank you.\"\n\nDenton perceived the swart man with a blood-stained handkerchief before\nhis face, and somewhat in the background.\n\n\"Where's that bit of bread he's got to eat?\" said a little ferret-faced\ncreature; and sought with his foot in the ashes of the adjacent bin.\n\nDenton had a moment of internal debate. He knew the code of honour\nrequires a man to pursue a fight he has begun to the bitter end; but\nthis was his first taste of the bitterness. He was resolved to rise\nagain, but he felt no passionate impulse. It occurred to him--and the\nthought was no very violent spur--that he was perhaps after all a\ncoward. For a moment his will was heavy, a lump of lead.\n\n\"'Ere it is,\" said the little ferret-faced man, and stooped to pick up a\ncindery cube. He looked at Denton, then at the others.\n\nSlowly, unwillingly, Denton stood up.\n\nA dirty-faced albino extended a hand to the ferret-faced man. \"Gimme\nthat toke,\" he said. He advanced threateningly, bread in hand, to\nDenton. \"So you ain't 'ad your bellyful yet,\" he said. \"Eh?\"\n\nNow it was coming. \"No, I haven't,\" said Denton, with a catching of the\nbreath, and resolved to try this brute behind the ear before he himself\ngot stunned again. He knew he would be stunned again. He was astonished\nhow ill he had judged himself beforehand. A few ridiculous lunges, and\ndown he would go again. He watched the albino's eyes. The albino was\ngrinning confidently, like a man who plans an agreeable trick. A sudden\nperception of impending indignities stung Denton.\n\n\"You leave 'im alone, Jim,\" said the swart man suddenly over the\nblood-stained rag. \"He ain't done nothing to you.\"\n\nThe albino's grin vanished. He stopped. He looked from one to the other.\nIt seemed to Denton that the swart man demanded the privilege of his\ndestruction. The albino would have been better.\n\n\"You leave 'im alone,\" said the swart man. \"See? 'E's 'ad 'is licks.\"\n\nA clattering bell lifted up its voice and solved the situation. The\nalbino hesitated. \"Lucky for you,\" he said, adding a foul metaphor, and\nturned with the others towards the press-room again. \"Wait for the end\nof the spell, mate,\" said the albino over his shoulder--an afterthought.\nThe swart man waited for the albino to precede him. Denton realised that\nhe had a reprieve.\n\nThe men passed towards an open door. Denton became aware of his duties,\nand hurried to join the tail of the queue. At the doorway of the vaulted\ngallery of presses a yellow-uniformed labour policeman stood ticking a\ncard. He had ignored the swart man's haemorrhage.\n\n\"Hurry up there!\" he said to Denton.\n\n\"Hello!\" he said, at the sight of his facial disarray. \"Who's been\nhitting _you_?\"\n\n\"That's my affair,\" said Denton.\n\n\"Not if it spiles your work, it ain't,\" said the man in yellow. \"You\nmind that.\"\n\nDenton made no answer. He was a rough--a labourer. He wore the blue\ncanvas. The laws of assault and battery, he knew, were not for the\nlikes of him. He went to his press.\n\nHe could feel the skin of his brow and chin and head lifting themselves\nto noble bruises, felt the throb and pain of each aspiring contusion.\nHis nervous system slid down to lethargy; at each movement in his press\nadjustment he felt he lifted a weight. And as for his honour--that too\nthrobbed and puffed. How did he stand? What precisely had happened in\nthe last ten minutes? What would happen next? He knew that here was\nenormous matter for thought, and he could not think save in disordered\nsnatches.\n\nHis mood was a sort of stagnant astonishment. All his conceptions were\noverthrown. He had regarded his security from physical violence as\ninherent, as one of the conditions of life. So, indeed, it had been\nwhile he wore his middle-class costume, had his middle-class property to\nserve for his defence. But who would interfere among Labour roughs\nfighting together? And indeed in those days no man would. In the\nUnderworld there was no law between man and man; the law and machinery\nof the state had become for them something that held men down, fended\nthem off from much desirable property and pleasure, and that was all.\nViolence, that ocean in which the brutes live for ever, and from which a\nthousand <DW18>s and contrivances have won our hazardous civilised life,\nhad flowed in again upon the sinking underways and submerged them. The\nfist ruled. Denton had come right down at last to the elemental--fist\nand trick and the stubborn heart and fellowship--even as it was in the\nbeginning.\n\nThe rhythm of his machine changed, and his thoughts were interrupted.\n\nPresently he could think again. Strange how quickly things had happened!\nHe bore these men who had thrashed him no very vivid ill-will. He was\nbruised and enlightened. He saw with absolute fairness now the\nreasonableness of his unpopularity. He had behaved like a fool. Disdain,\nseclusion, are the privilege of the strong. The fallen aristocrat still\nclinging to his pointless distinction is surely the most pitiful\ncreature of pretence in all this clamant universe. Good heavens! what\nwas there for him to despise in these men?\n\nWhat a pity he had not appreciated all this better five hours ago!\n\nWhat would happen at the end of the spell? He could not tell. He could\nnot imagine. He could not imagine the thoughts of these men. He was\nsensible only of their hostility and utter want of sympathy. Vague\npossibilities of shame and violence chased one another across his mind.\nCould he devise some weapon? He recalled his assault upon the hypnotist,\nbut there were no detachable lamps here. He could see nothing that he\ncould catch up in his defence.\n\nFor a space he thought of a headlong bolt for the security of the public\nways directly the spell was over. Apart from the trivial consideration\nof his self-respect, he perceived that this would be only a foolish\npostponement and aggravation of his trouble. He perceived the\nferret-faced man and the albino talking together with their eyes towards\nhim. Presently they were talking to the swart man, who stood with his\nbroad back studiously towards Denton.\n\nAt last came the end of the second spell. The lender of oil cans stopped\nhis press sharply and turned round, wiping his mouth with the back of\nhis hand. His eyes had the quiet expectation of one who seats himself in\na theatre.\n\nNow was the crisis, and all the little nerves of Denton's being seemed\nleaping and dancing. He had decided to show fight if any fresh indignity\nwas offered him. He stopped his press and turned. With an enormous\naffectation of ease he walked down the vault and entered the passage of\nthe ash pits, only to discover he had left his jacket--which he had\ntaken off because of the heat of the vault--beside his press. He walked\nback. He met the albino eye to eye.\n\nHe heard the ferret-faced man in expostulation. \"'E reely ought, eat\nit,\" said the ferret-faced man. \"'E did reely.\"\n\n\"No--you leave 'im alone,\" said the swart man.\n\nApparently nothing further was to happen to him that day. He passed out\nto the passage and staircase that led up to the moving platforms of the\ncity.\n\nHe emerged on the livid brilliance and streaming movement of the public\nstreet. He became acutely aware of his disfigured face, and felt his\nswelling bruises with a limp, investigatory hand. He went up to the\nswiftest platform, and seated himself on a Labour Company bench.\n\nHe lapsed into a pensive torpor. The immediate dangers and stresses of\nhis position he saw with a sort of static clearness. What would they do\nto-morrow? He could not tell. What would Elizabeth think of his\nbrutalisation? He could not tell. He was exhausted. He was aroused\npresently by a hand upon his arm.\n\nHe looked up, and saw the swart man seated beside him. He started.\nSurely he was safe from violence in the public way!\n\nThe swart man's face retained no traces of his share in the fight; his\nexpression was free from hostility--seemed almost deferential. \"'Scuse\nme,\" he said, with a total absence of truculence. Denton realised that\nno assault was intended. He stared, awaiting the next development.\n\nIt was evident the next sentence was premeditated.\n\"Whad--I--was--going--to say--was this,\" said the swart man, and sought\nthrough a silence for further words.\n\n\"Whad--I--was--going--to say--was this,\" he repeated.\n\nFinally he abandoned that gambit. \"_You're_ aw right,\" he cried, laying\na grimy hand on Denton's grimy sleeve. \"_You're_ aw right. You're a\nge'man. Sorry--very sorry. Wanted to tell you that.\"\n\nDenton realised that there must exist motives beyond a mere impulse to\nabominable proceedings in the man. He meditated, and swallowed an\nunworthy pride.\n\n\"I did not mean to be offensive to you,\" he said, \"in refusing that bit\nof bread.\"\n\n\"Meant it friendly,\" said the swart man, recalling the scene; \"but--in\nfront of that blarsted Whitey and his snigger--Well--I _'ad_ to scrap.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Denton with sudden fervour: \"I was a fool.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the swart man, with great satisfaction. \"_That's_ aw right.\nShake!\"\n\nAnd Denton shook.\n\nThe moving platform was rushing by the establishment of a face moulder,\nand its lower front was a huge display of mirror, designed to stimulate\nthe thirst for more symmetrical features. Denton caught the reflection\nof himself and his new friend, enormously twisted and broadened. His own\nface was puffed, one-sided, and blood-stained; a grin of idiotic and\ninsincere amiability distorted its latitude. A wisp of hair occluded one\neye. The trick of the mirror presented the swart man as a gross\nexpansion of lip and nostril. They were linked by shaking hands. Then\nabruptly this vision passed--to return to memory in the anaemic\nmeditations of a waking dawn.\n\nAs he shook, the swart man made some muddled remark, to the effect that\nhe had always known he could get on with a gentleman if one came his\nway. He prolonged the shaking until Denton, under the influence of the\nmirror, withdrew his hand. The swart man became pensive, spat\nimpressively on the platform, and resumed his theme.\n\n\"Whad I was going to say was this,\" he said; was gravelled, and shook\nhis head at his foot.\n\nDenton became curious. \"Go on,\" he said, attentive.\n\nThe swart man took the plunge. He grasped Denton's arm, became intimate\nin his attitude. \"'Scuse me,\" he said. \"Fact is, you done know _'ow_ to\nscrap. Done know _'ow_ to. Why--you done know 'ow to _begin_. You'll get\nkilled if you don't mind. 'Ouldin' your 'ands--_There!_\"\n\nHe reinforced his statement by objurgation, watching the effect of each\noath with a wary eye.\n\n\"F'r instance. You're tall. Long arms. You get a longer reach than any\none in the brasted vault. Gobblimey, but I thought I'd got a Tough on.\n'Stead of which ... 'Scuse me. I wouldn't have _'it_ you if I'd known.\nIt's like fighting sacks. 'Tisn' right. Y'r arms seemed 'ung on 'ooks.\nReg'lar--'ung on 'ooks. There!\"\n\nDenton stared, and then surprised and hurt his battered chin by a sudden\nlaugh. Bitter tears came into his eyes.\n\n\"Go on,\" he said.\n\nThe swart man reverted to his formula. He was good enough to say he\nliked the look of Denton, thought he had stood up \"amazing plucky. On'y\npluck ain't no good--ain't no brasted good--if you don't 'old your\n'ands.\n\n\"Whad I was going to say was this,\" he said. \"Lemme show you 'ow to\nscrap. Jest lemme. You're ig'nant, you ain't no class; but you might be\na very decent scrapper--very decent. Shown. That's what I meant to say.\"\n\nDenton hesitated. \"But--\" he said, \"I can't give you anything--\"\n\n\"That's the ge'man all over,\" said the swart man. \"Who arst you to?\"\n\n\"But your time?\"\n\n\"If you don't get learnt scrapping you'll get killed,--don't you make no\nbones of that.\"\n\nDenton thought. \"I don't know,\" he said.\n\nHe looked at the face beside him, and all its native coarseness shouted\nat him. He felt a quick revulsion from his transient friendliness. It\nseemed to him incredible that it should be necessary for him to be\nindebted to such a creature.\n\n\"The chaps are always scrapping,\" said the swart man. \"Always. And, of\ncourse--if one gets waxy and 'its you vital ...\"\n\n\"By God!\" cried Denton; \"I wish one would.\"\n\n\"Of course, if you feel like that--\"\n\n\"You don't understand.\"\n\n\"P'raps I don't,\" said the swart man; and lapsed into a fuming silence.\n\nWhen he spoke again his voice was less friendly, and he prodded Denton\nby way of address. \"Look see!\" he said: \"are you going to let me show\nyou 'ow to scrap?\"\n\n\"It's tremendously kind of you,\" said Denton; \"but--\"\n\nThere was a pause. The swart man rose and bent over Denton.\n\n\"Too much ge'man,\" he said--\"eh? I got a red face.... By gosh! you\nare--you _are_ a brasted fool!\"\n\nHe turned away, and instantly Denton realised the truth of this remark.\n\nThe swart man descended with dignity to a cross way, and Denton, after a\nmomentary impulse to pursuit, remained on the platform. For a time the\nthings that had happened filled his mind. In one day his graceful system\nof resignation had been shattered beyond hope. Brute force, the final,\nthe fundamental, had thrust its face through all his explanations and\nglosses and consolations and grinned enigmatically. Though he was\nhungry and tired, he did not go on directly to the Labour Hotel, where\nhe would meet Elizabeth. He found he was beginning to think, he wanted\nvery greatly to think; and so, wrapped in a monstrous cloud of\nmeditation, he went the circuit of the city on his moving platform\ntwice. You figure him, tearing through the glaring, thunder-voiced city\nat a pace of fifty miles an hour, the city upon the planet that spins\nalong its chartless path through space many thousands of miles an hour,\nfunking most terribly, and trying to understand why the heart and will\nin him should suffer and keep alive.\n\nWhen at last he came to Elizabeth, she was white and anxious. He might\nhave noted she was in trouble, had it not been for his own\npreoccupation. He feared most that she would desire to know every detail\nof his indignities, that she would be sympathetic or indignant. He saw\nher eyebrows rise at the sight of him.\n\n\"I've had rough handling,\" he said, and gasped. \"It's too fresh--too\nhot. I don't want to talk about it.\" He sat down with an unavoidable air\nof sullenness.\n\nShe stared at him in astonishment, and as she read something of the\nsignificant hieroglyphic of his battered face, her lips whitened. Her\nhand--it was thinner now than in the days of their prosperity, and her\nfirst finger was a little altered by the metal punching she\ndid--clenched convulsively. \"This horrible world!\" she said, and said no\nmore.\n\nIn these latter days they had become a very silent couple; they said\nscarcely a word to each other that night, but each followed a private\ntrain of thought. In the small hours, as Elizabeth lay awake, Denton\nstarted up beside her suddenly--he had been lying as still as a dead\nman.\n\n\"I cannot stand it!\" cried Denton. \"I _will_ not stand it!\"\n\nShe saw him dimly, sitting up; saw his arm lunge as if in a furious blow\nat the enshrouding night. Then for a space he was still.\n\n\"It is too much--it is more than one can bear!\"\n\nShe could say nothing. To her, also, it seemed that this was as far as\none could go. She waited through a long stillness. She could see that\nDenton sat with his arms about his knees, his chin almost touching them.\n\nThen he laughed.\n\n\"No,\" he said at last, \"I'm going to stand it. That's the peculiar\nthing. There isn't a grain of suicide in us--not a grain. I suppose all\nthe people with a turn that way have gone. We're going through with\nit--to the end.\"\n\nElizabeth thought grayly, and realised that this also was true.\n\n\"We're going through with it. To think of all who have gone through with\nit: all the generations--endless--endless. Little beasts that snapped\nand snarled, snapping and snarling, snapping and snarling, generation\nafter generation.\"\n\nHis monotone, ended abruptly, resumed after a vast interval.\n\n\"There were ninety thousand years of stone age. A Denton somewhere in\nall those years. Apostolic succession. The grace of going through. Let\nme see! Ninety--nine hundred--three nines, twenty-seven--_three\nthousand_ generations of men!--men more or less. And each fought, and\nwas bruised, and shamed, and somehow held his own--going through with\nit--passing it on.... And thousands more to come perhaps--thousands!\n\n\"Passing it on. I wonder if they will thank us.\"\n\nHis voice assumed an argumentative note. \"If one could find something\ndefinite ... If one could say, 'This is why--this is why it goes\non....'\"\n\nHe became still, and Elizabeth's eyes slowly separated him from the\ndarkness until at last she could see how he sat with his head resting on\nhis hand. A sense of the enormous remoteness of their minds came to her;\nthat dim suggestion of another being seemed to her a figure of their\nmutual understanding. What could he be thinking now? What might he not\nsay next? Another age seemed to elapse before he sighed and whispered:\n\"No. I don't understand it. No!\" Then a long interval, and he repeated\nthis. But the second time it had the tone almost of a solution.\n\nShe became aware that he was preparing to lie down. She marked his\nmovements, perceived with astonishment how he adjusted his pillow with a\ncareful regard to comfort. He lay down with a sigh of contentment\nalmost. His passion had passed. He lay still, and presently his\nbreathing became regular and deep.\n\nBut Elizabeth remained with eyes wide open in the darkness, until the\nclamour of a bell and the sudden brilliance of the electric light warned\nthem that the Labour Company had need of them for yet another day.\n\nThat day came a scuffle with the albino Whitey and the little\nferret-faced man. Blunt, the swart artist in scrapping, having first\nlet Denton grasp the bearing of his lesson, intervened, not without a\ncertain quality of patronage. \"Drop 'is 'air, Whitey, and let the man\nbe,\" said his gross voice through a shower of indignities. \"Can't you\nsee 'e don't know _'ow_ to scrap?\" And Denton, lying shamefully in the\ndust, realised that he must accept that course of instruction after all.\n\nHe made his apology straight and clean. He scrambled up and walked to\nBlunt. \"I was a fool, and you are right,\" he said. \"If it isn't too\nlate ...\"\n\nThat night, after the second spell, Denton went with Blunt to certain\nwaste and slime-soaked vaults under the Port of London, to learn the\nfirst beginnings of the high art of scrapping as it had been perfected\nin the great world of the underways: how to hit or kick a man so as to\nhurt him excruciatingly or make him violently sick, how to hit or kick\n\"vital,\" how to use glass in one's garments as a club and to spread red\nruin with various domestic implements, how to anticipate and demolish\nyour adversary's intentions in other directions; all the pleasant\ndevices, in fact, that had grown up among the disinherited of the great\ncities of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, were spread out by a\ngifted exponent for Denton's learning. Blunt's bashfulness fell from\nhim as the instruction proceeded, and he developed a certain expert\ndignity, a quality of fatherly consideration. He treated Denton with the\nutmost consideration, only \"flicking him up a bit\" now and then, to keep\nthe interest hot, and roaring with laughter at a happy fluke of Denton's\nthat covered his mouth with blood.\n\n\"I'm always keerless of my mouth,\" said Blunt, admitting a weakness.\n\"Always. It don't seem to matter, like, just getting bashed in the\nmouth--not if your chin's all right. Tastin' blood does me good. Always.\nBut I better not 'it you again.\"\n\nDenton went home, to fall asleep exhausted and wake in the small hours\nwith aching limbs and all his bruises tingling. Was it worth while that\nhe should go on living? He listened to Elizabeth's breathing, and\nremembering that he must have awaked her the previous night, he lay very\nstill. He was sick with infinite disgust at the new conditions of his\nlife. He hated it all, hated even the genial savage who had protected\nhim so generously. The monstrous fraud of civilisation glared stark\nbefore his eyes; he saw it as a vast lunatic growth, producing a\ndeepening torrent of savagery below, and above ever more flimsy\ngentility and silly wastefulness. He could see no redeeming reason, no\ntouch of honour, either in the life he had led or in this life to which\nhe had fallen. Civilisation presented itself as some catastrophic\nproduct as little concerned with men--save as victims--as a cyclone or a\nplanetary collision. He, and therefore all mankind, seemed living\nutterly in vain. His mind sought some strange expedients of escape, if\nnot for himself then at least for Elizabeth. But he meant them for\nhimself. What if he hunted up Mwres and told him of their disaster? It\ncame to him as an astonishing thing how utterly Mwres and Bindon had\npassed out of his range. Where were they? What were they doing? From\nthat he passed to thoughts of utter dishonour. And finally, not arising\nin any way out of this mental tumult, but ending it as dawn ends the\nnight, came the clear and obvious conclusion of the night before: the\nconviction that he had to go through with things; that, apart from any\nremoter view and quite sufficient for all his thought and energy, he had\nto stand up and fight among his fellows and quit himself like a man.\n\nThe second night's instruction was perhaps less dreadful than the first;\nand the third was even endurable, for Blunt dealt out some praise. The\nfourth day Denton chanced upon the fact that the ferret-faced man was a\ncoward. There passed a fortnight of smouldering days and feverish\ninstruction at night; Blunt, with many blasphemies, testified that never\nhad he met so apt a pupil; and all night long Denton dreamt of kicks and\ncounters and gouges and cunning tricks. For all that time no further\noutrages were attempted, for fear of Blunt; and then came the second\ncrisis. Blunt did not come one day--afterwards he admitted his\ndeliberate intention--and through the tedious morning Whitey awaited the\ninterval between the spells with an ostentatious impatience. He knew\nnothing of the scrapping lessons, and he spent the time in telling\nDenton and the vault generally of certain disagreeable proceedings he\nhad in mind.\n\nWhitey was not popular, and the vault disgorged to see him haze the new\nman with only a languid interest. But matters changed when Whitey's\nattempt to open the proceedings by kicking Denton in the face was met by\nan excellently executed duck, catch and throw, that completed the flight\nof Whitey's foot in its orbit and brought Whitey's head into the\nash-heap that had once received Denton's. Whitey arose a shade whiter,\nand now blasphemously bent upon vital injuries. There were indecisive\npassages, foiled enterprises that deepened Whitey's evidently growing\nperplexity; and then things developed into a grouping of Denton\nuppermost with Whitey's throat in his hand, his knee on Whitey's chest,\nand a tearful Whitey with a black face, protruding tongue and broken\nfinger endeavouring to explain the misunderstanding by means of hoarse\nsounds. Moreover, it was evident that among the bystanders there had\nnever been a more popular person than Denton.\n\nDenton, with proper precaution, released his antagonist and stood up.\nHis blood seemed changed to some sort of fluid fire, his limbs felt\nlight and supernaturally strong. The idea that he was a martyr in the\ncivilisation machine had vanished from his mind. He was a man in a world\nof men.\n\nThe little ferret-faced man was the first in the competition to pat him\non the back. The lender of oil cans was a radiant sun of genial\ncongratulation.... It seemed incredible to Denton that he had ever\nthought of despair.\n\nDenton was convinced that not only had he to go through with things, but\nthat he could. He sat on the canvas pallet expounding this new aspect to\nElizabeth. One side of his face was bruised. She had not recently\nfought, she had not been patted on the back, there were no hot bruises\nupon her face, only a pallor and a new line or so about the mouth. She\nwas taking the woman's share. She looked steadfastly at Denton in his\nnew mood of prophecy. \"I feel that there is something,\" he was saying,\n\"something that goes on, a Being of Life in which we live and move and\nhave our being, something that began fifty--a hundred million years ago,\nperhaps, that goes on--on: growing, spreading, to things beyond\nus--things that will justify us all.... That will explain and justify my\nfighting--these bruises, and all the pain of it. It's the chisel--yes,\nthe chisel of the Maker. If only I could make you feel as I feel, if I\ncould make you! You _will_, dear, I know you will.\"\n\n\"No,\" she said in a low voice. \"No, I shall not.\"\n\n\"So I might have thought--\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"No,\" she said, \"I have thought as well. What you\nsay--doesn't convince me.\"\n\nShe looked at his face resolutely. \"I hate it,\" she said, and caught at\nher breath. \"You do not understand, you do not think. There was a time\nwhen you said things and I believed them. I am growing wiser. You are a\nman, you can fight, force your way. You do not mind bruises. You can be\ncoarse and ugly, and still a man. Yes--it makes you. It makes you. You\nare right. Only a woman is not like that. We are different. We have let\nourselves get civilised too soon. This underworld is not for us.\"\n\nShe paused and began again.\n\n\"I hate it! I hate this horrible canvas! I hate it more than--more than\nthe worst that can happen. It hurts my fingers to touch it. It is\nhorrible to the skin. And the women I work with day after day! I lie\nawake at nights and think how I may be growing like them....\"\n\nShe stopped. \"I _am_ growing like them,\" she cried passionately.\n\nDenton stared at her distress. \"But--\" he said and stopped.\n\n\"You don't understand. What have I? What have I to save me? _You_ can\nfight. Fighting is man's work. But women--women are different.... I have\nthought it all out, I have done nothing but think night and day. Look at\nthe colour of my face! I cannot go on. I cannot endure this life.... I\ncannot endure it.\"\n\nShe stopped. She hesitated.\n\n\"You do not know all,\" she said abruptly, and for an instant her lips\nhad a bitter smile. \"I have been asked to leave you.\"\n\n\"Leave me!\"\n\nShe made no answer save an affirmative movement of the head.\n\nDenton stood up sharply. They stared at one another through a long\nsilence.\n\nSuddenly she turned herself about, and flung face downward upon their\ncanvas bed. She did not sob, she made no sound. She lay still upon her\nface. After a vast, distressful void her shoulders heaved and she began\nto weep silently.\n\n\"Elizabeth!\" he whispered--\"Elizabeth!\"\n\nVery softly he sat down beside her, bent down, put his arm across her in\na doubtful caress, seeking vainly for some clue to this intolerable\nsituation.\n\n\"Elizabeth,\" he whispered in her ear.\n\nShe thrust him from her with her hand. \"I cannot bear a child to be a\nslave!\" and broke out into loud and bitter weeping.\n\nDenton's face changed--became blank dismay. Presently he slipped from\nthe bed and stood on his feet. All the complacency had vanished from his\nface, had given place to impotent rage. He began to rave and curse at\nthe intolerable forces which pressed upon him, at all the accidents and\nhot desires and heedlessness that mock the life of man. His little voice\nrose in that little room, and he shook his fist, this animalcule of the\nearth, at all that environed him about, at the millions about him, at\nhis past and future and all the insensate vastness of the overwhelming\ncity.\n\n\nV--BINDON INTERVENES\n\nIn Bindon's younger days he had dabbled in speculation and made three\nbrilliant flukes. For the rest of his life he had the wisdom to let\ngambling alone, and the conceit to believe himself a very clever man. A\ncertain desire for influence and reputation interested him in the\nbusiness intrigues of the giant city in which his flukes were made. He\nbecame at last one of the most influential shareholders in the company\nthat owned the London flying stages to which the aeroplanes came from\nall parts of the world. This much for his public activities. In his\nprivate life he was a man of pleasure. And this is the story of his\nheart.\n\nBut before proceeding to such depths, one must devote a little time to\nthe exterior of this person. Its physical basis was slender, and short,\nand dark; and the face, which was fine-featured and assisted by\npigments, varied from an insecure self-complacency to an intelligent\nuneasiness. His face and head had been depilated, according to the\ncleanly and hygienic fashion of the time, so that the colour and contour\nof his hair varied with his costume. This he was constantly changing.\n\nAt times he would distend himself with pneumatic vestments in the rococo\nvein. From among the billowy developments of this style, and beneath a\ntranslucent and illuminated headdress, his eye watched jealously for the\nrespect of the less fashionable world. At other times he emphasised his\nelegant slenderness in close-fitting garments of black satin. For\neffects of dignity he would assume broad pneumatic shoulders, from which\nhung a robe of carefully arranged folds of China silk, and a classical\nBindon in pink tights was also a transient phenomenon in the eternal\npageant of Destiny. In the days when he hoped to marry Elizabeth, he\nsought to impress and charm her, and at the same time to take off\nsomething of his burthen of forty years, by wearing the last fancy of\nthe contemporary buck, a costume of elastic material with distensible\nwarts and horns, changing in colour as he walked, by an ingenious\narrangement of versatile chromatophores. And no doubt, if Elizabeth's\naffection had not been already engaged by the worthless Denton, and if\nher tastes had not had that odd bias for old-fashioned ways, this\nextremely _chic_ conception would have ravished her. Bindon had\nconsulted Elizabeth's father before presenting himself in this garb--he\nwas one of those men who always invite criticism of their costume--and\nMwres had pronounced him all that the heart of woman could desire. But\nthe affair of the hypnotist proved that his knowledge of the heart of\nwoman was incomplete.\n\nBindon's idea of marrying had been formed some little time before Mwres\nthrew Elizabeth's budding womanhood in his way. It was one of Bindon's\nmost cherished secrets that he had a considerable capacity for a pure\nand simple life of a grossly sentimental type. The thought imparted a\nsort of pathetic seriousness to the offensive and quite inconsequent and\nunmeaning excesses, which he was pleased to regard as dashing\nwickedness, and which a number of good people also were so unwise as to\ntreat in that desirable manner. As a consequence of these excesses, and\nperhaps by reason also of an inherited tendency to early decay, his\nliver became seriously affected, and he suffered increasing\ninconvenience when travelling by aeroplane. It was during his\nconvalescence from a protracted bilious attack that it occurred to him\nthat in spite of all the terrible fascinations of Vice, if he found a\nbeautiful, gentle, good young woman of a not too violently intellectual\ntype to devote her life to him, he might yet be saved to Goodness, and\neven rear a spirited family in his likeness to solace his declining\nyears. But like so many experienced men of the world, he doubted if\nthere were any good women. Of such as he had heard tell he was outwardly\nsceptical and privately much afraid.\n\nWhen the aspiring Mwres effected his introduction to Elizabeth, it\nseemed to him that his good fortune was complete. He fell in love with\nher at once. Of course, he had always been falling in love since he was\nsixteen, in accordance with the extremely varied recipes to be found in\nthe accumulated literature of many centuries. But this was different.\nThis was real love. It seemed to him to call forth all the lurking\ngoodness in his nature. He felt that for her sake he could give up a way\nof life that had already produced the gravest lesions on his liver and\nnervous system. His imagination presented him with idyllic pictures of\nthe life of the reformed rake. He would never be sentimental with her,\nor silly; but always a little cynical and bitter, as became the past.\nYet he was sure she would have an intuition of his real greatness and\ngoodness. And in due course he would confess things to her, pour his\nversion of what he regarded as his wickedness--showing what a complex of\nGoethe, and Benvenuto Cellini, and Shelley, and all those other chaps he\nreally was--into her shocked, very beautiful, and no doubt sympathetic\near. And preparatory to these things he wooed her with infinite subtlety\nand respect. And the reserve with which Elizabeth treated him seemed\nnothing more nor less than an exquisite modesty touched and enhanced by\nan equally exquisite lack of ideas.\n\nBindon knew nothing of her wandering affections, nor of the attempt made\nby Mwres to utilise hypnotism as a corrective to this digression of her\nheart; he conceived he was on the best of terms with Elizabeth, and had\nmade her quite successfully various significant presents of jewellery\nand the more virtuous cosmetics, when her elopement with Denton threw\nthe world out of gear for him. His first aspect of the matter was rage\nbegotten of wounded vanity, and as Mwres was the most convenient person,\nhe vented the first brunt of it upon him.\n\nHe went immediately and insulted the desolate father grossly, and then\nspent an active and determined day going to and fro about the city and\ninterviewing people in a consistent and partly-successful attempt to\nruin that matrimonial speculator. The effectual nature of these\nactivities gave him a temporary exhilaration, and he went to the\ndining-place he had frequented in his wicked days in a devil-may-care\nframe of mind, and dined altogether too amply and cheerfully with two\nother golden youths in their early forties. He threw up the game; no\nwoman was worth being good for, and he astonished even himself by the\nstrain of witty cynicism he developed. One of the other desperate\nblades, warmed with wine, made a facetious allusion to his\ndisappointment, but at the time this did not seem unpleasant.\n\nThe next morning found his liver and temper inflamed. He kicked his\nphonographic-news machine to pieces, dismissed his valet, and resolved\nthat he would perpetrate a terrible revenge upon Elizabeth. Or Denton.\nOr somebody. But anyhow, it was to be a terrible revenge; and the friend\nwho had made fun at him should no longer see him in the light of a\nfoolish girl's victim. He knew something of the little property that was\ndue to her, and that this would be the only support of the young couple\nuntil Mwres should relent. If Mwres did not relent, and if unpropitious\nthings should happen to the affair in which Elizabeth's expectations\nlay, they would come upon evil times and be sufficiently amenable to\ntemptation of a sinister sort. Bindon's imagination, abandoning its\nbeautiful idealism altogether, expanded the idea of temptation of a\nsinister sort. He figured himself as the implacable, the intricate and\npowerful man of wealth pursuing this maiden who had scorned him. And\nsuddenly her image came upon his mind vivid and dominant, and for the\nfirst time in his life Bindon realised something of the real power of\npassion.\n\nHis imagination stood aside like a respectful footman who has done his\nwork in ushering in the emotion.\n\n\"My God!\" cried Bindon: \"I will have her! If I have to kill myself to\nget her! And that other fellow--!\"\n\nAfter an interview with his medical man and a penance for his overnight\nexcesses in the form of bitter drugs, a mitigated but absolutely\nresolute Bindon sought out Mwres. Mwres he found properly smashed, and\nimpoverished and humble, in a mood of frantic self-preservation, ready\nto sell himself body and soul, much more any interest in a disobedient\ndaughter, to recover his lost position in the world. In the reasonable\ndiscussion that followed, it was agreed that these misguided young\npeople should be left to sink into distress, or possibly even assisted\ntowards that improving discipline by Bindon's financial influence.\n\n\"And then?\" said Mwres.\n\n\"They will come to the Labour Company,\" said Bindon. \"They will wear the\nblue canvas.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"She will divorce him,\" he said, and sat for a moment intent upon that\nprospect. For in those days the austere limitations of divorce of\nVictorian times were extraordinarily relaxed, and a couple might\nseparate on a hundred different scores.\n\nThen suddenly Bindon astonished himself and Mwres by jumping to his\nfeet. \"She _shall_ divorce him!\" he cried. \"I will have it so--I will\nwork it so. By God! it shall be so. He shall be disgraced, so that she\nmust. He shall be smashed and pulverised.\"\n\nThe idea of smashing and pulverising inflamed him further. He began a\nJovian pacing up and down the little office. \"I will have her,\" he\ncried. \"I _will_ have her! Heaven and Hell shall not save her from me!\"\nHis passion evaporated in its expression, and left him at the end\nsimply histrionic. He struck an attitude and ignored with heroic\ndetermination a sharp twinge of pain about the diaphragm. And Mwres sat\nwith his pneumatic cap deflated and himself very visibly impressed.\n\nAnd so, with a fair persistency, Bindon sat himself to the work of being\nElizabeth's malignant providence, using with ingenious dexterity every\nparticle of advantage wealth in those days gave a man over his\nfellow-creatures. A resort to the consolations of religion hindered\nthese operations not at all. He would go and talk with an interesting,\nexperienced and sympathetic Father of the Huysmanite sect of the Isis\ncult, about all the irrational little proceedings he was pleased to\nregard as his heaven-dismaying wickedness, and the interesting,\nexperienced and sympathetic Father representing Heaven dismayed, would\nwith a pleasing affectation of horror, suggest simple and easy penances,\nand recommend a monastic foundation that was airy, cool, hygienic, and\nnot vulgarised, for viscerally disordered penitent sinners of the\nrefined and wealthy type. And after these excursions, Bindon would come\nback to London quite active and passionate again. He would machinate\nwith really considerable energy, and repair to a certain gallery high\nabove the street of moving ways, from which he could view the entrance\nto the barrack of the Labour Company in the ward which sheltered Denton\nand Elizabeth. And at last one day he saw Elizabeth go in, and thereby\nhis passion was renewed.\n\nSo in the fullness of time the complicated devices of Bindon ripened,\nand he could go to Mwres and tell him that the young people were near\ndespair.\n\n\"It's time for you,\" he said, \"to let your parental affections have\nplay. She's been in blue canvas some months, and they've been cooped\ntogether in one of those Labour dens, and the little girl is dead. She\nknows now what his manhood is worth to her, by way of protection, poor\ngirl. She'll see things now in a clearer light. You go to her--I don't\nwant to appear in this affair yet--and point out to her how necessary it\nis that she should get a divorce from him....\"\n\n\"She's obstinate,\" said Mwres doubtfully.\n\n\"Spirit!\" said Bindon. \"She's a wonderful girl--a wonderful girl!\"\n\n\"She'll refuse.\"\n\n\"Of course she will. But leave it open to her. Leave it open to her. And\nsome day--in that stuffy den, in that irksome, toilsome life they can't\nhelp it--_they'll have a quarrel_. And then--\"\n\nMwres meditated over the matter, and did as he was told.\n\nThen Bindon, as he had arranged with his spiritual adviser, went into\nretreat. The retreat of the Huysmanite sect was a beautiful place, with\nthe sweetest air in London, lit by natural sunlight, and with restful\nquadrangles of real grass open to the sky, where at the same time the\npenitent man of pleasure might enjoy all the pleasures of loafing and\nall the satisfaction of distinguished austerity. And, save for\nparticipation in the simple and wholesome dietary of the place and in\ncertain magnificent chants, Bindon spent all his time in meditation upon\nthe theme of Elizabeth, and the extreme purification his soul had\nundergone since he first saw her, and whether he would be able to get a\ndispensation to marry her from the experienced and sympathetic Father in\nspite of the approaching \"sin\" of her divorce; and then ... Bindon would\nlean against a pillar of the quadrangle and lapse into reveries on the\nsuperiority of virtuous love to any other form of indulgence. A curious\nfeeling in his back and chest that was trying to attract his attention,\na disposition to be hot or shiver, a general sense of ill-health and\ncutaneous discomfort he did his best to ignore. All that of course\nbelonged to the old life that he was shaking off.\n\nWhen he came out of retreat he went at once to Mwres to ask for news of\nElizabeth. Mwres was clearly under the impression that he was an\nexemplary father, profoundly touched about the heart by his child's\nunhappiness. \"She was pale,\" he said, greatly moved; \"She was pale. When\nI asked her to come away and leave him--and be happy--she put her head\ndown upon the table\"--Mwres sniffed--\"and cried.\"\n\nHis agitation was so great that he could say no more.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Bindon, respecting this manly grief. \"Oh!\" said Bindon quite\nsuddenly, with his hand to his side.\n\nMwres looked up sharply out of the pit of his sorrows, startled. \"What's\nthe matter?\" he asked, visibly concerned.\n\n\"A most violent pain. Excuse me! You were telling me about Elizabeth.\"\n\nAnd Mwres, after a decent solicitude for Bindon's pain, proceeded with\nhis report. It was even unexpectedly hopeful. Elizabeth, in her first\nemotion at discovering that her father had not absolutely deserted her,\nhad been frank with him about her sorrows and disgusts.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Bindon, magnificently, \"I shall have her yet.\" And then that\nnovel pain twitched him for the second time.\n\nFor these lower pains the priest was comparatively ineffectual,\ninclining rather to regard the body and them as mental illusions\namenable to contemplation; so Bindon took it to a man of a class he\nloathed, a medical man of extraordinary repute and incivility. \"We must\ngo all over you,\" said the medical man, and did so with the most\ndisgusting frankness. \"Did you ever bring any children into the world?\"\nasked this gross materialist among other impertinent questions.\n\n\"Not that I know of,\" said Bindon, too amazed to stand upon his dignity.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the medical man, and proceeded with his punching and\nsounding. Medical science in those days was just reaching the beginnings\nof precision. \"You'd better go right away,\" said the medical man, \"and\nmake the Euthanasia. The sooner the better.\"\n\nBindon gasped. He had been trying not to understand the technical\nexplanations and anticipations in which the medical man had indulged.\n\n\"I say!\" he said. \"But do you mean to say ... Your science ...\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said the medical man. \"A few opiates. The thing is your own\ndoing, you know, to a certain extent.\"\n\n\"I was sorely tempted in my youth.\"\n\n\"It's not that so much. But you come of a bad stock. Even if you'd have\ntaken precautions you'd have had bad times to wind up with. The mistake\nwas getting born. The indiscretions of the parents. And you've shirked\nexercise, and so forth.\"\n\n\"I had no one to advise me.\"\n\n\"Medical men are always willing.\"\n\n\"I was a spirited young fellow.\"\n\n\"We won't argue; the mischief's done now. You've lived. We can't start\nyou again. You ought never to have started at all. Frankly--the\nEuthanasia!\"\n\nBindon hated him in silence for a space. Every word of this brutal\nexpert jarred upon his refinements. He was so gross, so impermeable to\nall the subtler issues of being. But it is no good picking a quarrel\nwith a doctor. \"My religious beliefs,\" he said, \"I don't approve of\nsuicide.\"\n\n\"You've been doing it all your life.\"\n\n\"Well, anyhow, I've come to take a serious view of life now.\"\n\n\"You're bound to, if you go on living. You'll hurt. But for practical\npurposes it's late. However, if you mean to do that--perhaps I'd better\nmix you a little something. You'll hurt a great deal. These little\ntwinges ...\"\n\n\"Twinges!\"\n\n\"Mere preliminary notices.\"\n\n\"How long can I go on? I mean, before I hurt--really.\"\n\n\"You'll get it hot soon. Perhaps three days.\"\n\nBindon tried to argue for an extension of time, and in the midst of his\npleading gasped, put his hand to his side. Suddenly the extraordinary\npathos of his life came to him clear and vivid. \"It's hard,\" he said.\n\"It's infernally hard! I've been no man's enemy but my own. I've always\ntreated everybody quite fairly.\"\n\nThe medical man stared at him without any sympathy for some seconds. He\nwas reflecting how excellent it was that there were no more Bindons to\ncarry on that line of pathos. He felt quite optimistic. Then he turned\nto his telephone and ordered up a prescription from the Central\nPharmacy.\n\nHe was interrupted by a voice behind him. \"By God!\" cried Bindon; \"I'll\nhave her yet.\"\n\nThe physician stared over his shoulder at Bindon's expression, and then\naltered the prescription.\n\nSo soon as this painful interview was over, Bindon gave way to rage. He\nsettled that the medical man was not only an unsympathetic brute and\nwanting in the first beginnings of a gentleman, but also highly\nincompetent; and he went off to four other practitioners in succession,\nwith a view to the establishment of this intuition. But to guard against\nsurprises he kept that little prescription in his pocket. With each he\nbegan by expressing his grave doubts of the first doctor's intelligence,\nhonesty and professional knowledge, and then stated his symptoms,\nsuppressing only a few more material facts in each case. These were\nalways subsequently elicited by the doctor. In spite of the welcome\ndepreciation of another practitioner, none of these eminent specialists\nwould give Bindon any hope of eluding the anguish and helplessness that\nloomed now close upon him. To the last of them he unburthened his mind\nof an accumulated disgust with medical science. \"After centuries and\ncenturies,\" he exclaimed hotly; \"and you can do nothing--except admit\nyour helplessness. I say, 'save me'--and what do you do?\"\n\n\"No doubt it's hard on you,\" said the doctor. \"But you should have taken\nprecautions.\"\n\n\"How was I to know?\"\n\n\"It wasn't our place to run after you,\" said the medical man, picking a\nthread of cotton from his purple sleeve. \"Why should we save _you_ in\nparticular? You see--from one point of view--people with imaginations\nand passions like yours have to go--they have to go.\"\n\n\"Go?\"\n\n\"Die out. It's an eddy.\"\n\nHe was a young man with a serene face. He smiled at Bindon. \"We get on\nwith research, you know; we give advice when people have the sense to\nask for it. And we bide our time.\"\n\n\"Bide your time?\"\n\n\"We hardly know enough yet to take over the management, you know.\"\n\n\"The management?\"\n\n\"You needn't be anxious. Science is young yet. It's got to keep on\ngrowing for a few generations. We know enough now to know we don't know\nenough yet.... But the time is coming, all the same. _You_ won't see the\ntime. But, between ourselves, you rich men and party bosses, with your\nnatural play of the passions and patriotism and religion and so forth,\nhave made rather a mess of things; haven't you? These Underways! And all\nthat sort of thing. Some of us have a sort of fancy that in time we may\nknow enough to take over a little more than the ventilation and drains.\nKnowledge keeps on piling up, you know. It keeps on growing. And there's\nnot the slightest hurry for a generation or so. Some day--some day, men\nwill live in a different way.\" He looked at Bindon and meditated.\n\"There'll be a lot of dying out before that day can come.\"\n\nBindon attempted to point out to this young man how silly and irrelevant\nsuch talk was to a sick man like himself, how impertinent and uncivil it\nwas to him, an older man occupying a position in the official world of\nextraordinary power and influence. He insisted that a doctor was paid to\ncure people--he laid great stress on \"_paid_\"--and had no business to\nglance even for a moment at \"those other questions.\" \"But we do,\" said\nthe young man, insisting upon facts, and Bindon lost his temper.\n\nHis indignation carried him home. That these incompetent impostors, who\nwere unable to save the life of a really influential man like himself,\nshould dream of some day robbing the legitimate property owners of\nsocial control, of inflicting one knew not what tyranny upon the world.\nCurse science! He fumed over the intolerable prospect for some time, and\nthen the pain returned, and he recalled the made-up prescription of the\nfirst doctor, still happily in his pocket. He took a dose forthwith.\n\nIt calmed and soothed him greatly, and he could sit down in his most\ncomfortable chair beside his library (of phonographic records), and\nthink over the altered aspect of affairs. His indignation passed, his\nanger and his passion crumbled under the subtle attack of that\nprescription, pathos became his sole ruler. He stared about him, at his\nmagnificent and voluptuously appointed apartment, at his statuary and\ndiscreetly veiled pictures, and all the evidences of a cultivated and\nelegant wickedness; he touched a stud and the sad pipings of Tristan's\nshepherd filled the air. His eye wandered from one object to another.\nThey were costly and gross and florid--but they were his. They presented\nin concrete form his ideals, his conceptions of beauty and desire, his\nidea of all that is precious in life. And now--he must leave it all like\na common man. He was, he felt, a slender and delicate flame, burning\nout. So must all life flame up and pass, he thought. His eyes filled\nwith tears.\n\nThen it came into his head that he was alone. Nobody cared for him,\nnobody needed him! at any moment he might begin to hurt vividly. He\nmight even howl. Nobody would mind. According to all the doctors he\nwould have excellent reason for howling in a day or so. It recalled what\nhis spiritual adviser had said of the decline of faith and fidelity, the\ndegeneration of the age. He beheld himself as a pathetic proof of this;\nhe, the subtle, able, important, voluptuous, cynical, complex Bindon,\npossibly howling, and not one faithful simple creature in all the world\nto howl in sympathy. Not one faithful simple soul was there--no shepherd\nto pipe to him! Had all such faithful simple creatures vanished from\nthis harsh and urgent earth? He wondered whether the horrid vulgar crowd\nthat perpetually went about the city could possibly know what he thought\nof them. If they did he felt sure _some_ would try to earn a better\nopinion. Surely the world went from bad to worse. It was becoming\nimpossible for Bindons. Perhaps some day ... He was quite sure that the\none thing he had needed in life was sympathy. For a time he regretted\nthat he left no sonnets--no enigmatical pictures or something of that\nsort behind him to carry on his being until at last the sympathetic\nmind should come....\n\nIt seemed incredible to him that this that came was extinction. Yet his\nsympathetic spiritual guide was in this matter annoyingly figurative and\nvague. Curse science! It had undermined all faith--all hope. To go out,\nto vanish from theatre and street, from office and dining-place, from\nthe dear eyes of womankind. And not to be missed! On the whole to leave\nthe world happier!\n\nHe reflected that he had never worn his heart upon his sleeve. Had he\nafter all been _too_ unsympathetic? Few people could suspect how subtly\nprofound he really was beneath the mask of that cynical gaiety of his.\nThey would not understand the loss they had suffered. Elizabeth, for\nexample, had not suspected....\n\nHe had reserved that. His thoughts having come to Elizabeth gravitated\nabout her for some time. How _little_ Elizabeth understood him!\n\nThat thought became intolerable. Before all other things he must set\nthat right. He realised that there was still something for him to do in\nlife, his struggle against Elizabeth was even yet not over. He could\nnever overcome her now, as he had hoped and prayed. But he might still\nimpress her!\n\nFrom that idea he expanded. He might impress her profoundly--he might\nimpress her so that she should for evermore regret her treatment of him.\nThe thing that she must realise before everything else was his\nmagnanimity. His magnanimity! Yes! he had loved her with amazing\ngreatness of heart. He had not seen it so clearly before--but of course\nhe was going to leave her all his property. He saw it instantly, as a\nthing determined and inevitable. She would think how good he was, how\nspaciously generous; surrounded by all that makes life tolerable from\nhis hand, she would recall with infinite regret her scorn and coldness.\nAnd when she sought expression for that regret, she would find that\noccasion gone forever, she should be met by a locked door, by a\ndisdainful stillness, by a white dead face. He closed his eyes and\nremained for a space imagining himself that white dead face.\n\nFrom that he passed to other aspects of the matter, but his\ndetermination was assured. He meditated elaborately before he took\naction, for the drug he had taken inclined him to a lethargic and\ndignified melancholy. In certain respects he modified details. If he\nleft all his property to Elizabeth it would include the voluptuously\nappointed room he occupied, and for many reasons he did not care to\nleave that to her. On the other hand, it had to be left to some one. In\nhis clogged condition this worried him extremely.\n\nIn the end he decided to leave it to the sympathetic exponent of the\nfashionable religious cult, whose conversation had been so pleasing in\nthe past. \"_He_ will understand,\" said Bindon with a sentimental sigh.\n\"He knows what Evil means--he understands something of the Stupendous\nFascination of the Sphinx of Sin. Yes--he will understand.\" By that\nphrase it was that Bindon was pleased to dignify certain unhealthy and\nundignified departures from sane conduct to which a misguided vanity and\nan ill-controlled curiosity had led him. He sat for a space thinking how\nvery Hellenic and Italian and Neronic, and all those things, he had\nbeen. Even now--might one not try a sonnet? A penetrating voice to echo\ndown the ages, sensuous, sinister, and sad. For a space he forgot\nElizabeth. In the course of half an hour he spoilt three phonographic\ncoils, got a headache, took a second dose to calm himself, and reverted\nto magnanimity and his former design.\n\nAt last he faced the unpalatable problem of Denton. It needed all his\nnewborn magnanimity before he could swallow the thought of Denton; but\nat last this greatly misunderstood man, assisted by his sedative and the\nnear approach of death, effected even that. If he was at all exclusive\nabout Denton, if he should display the slightest distrust, if he\nattempted any specific exclusion of that young man, she\nmight--_misunderstand_. Yes--she should have her Denton still. His\nmagnanimity must go even to that. He tried to think only of Elizabeth in\nthe matter.\n\nHe rose with a sigh, and limped across to the telephonic apparatus that\ncommunicated with his solicitor. In ten minutes a will duly attested and\nwith its proper thumb-mark signature lay in the solicitor's office three\nmiles away. And then for a space Bindon sat very still.\n\nSuddenly he started out of a vague reverie and pressed an investigatory\nhand to his side.\n\nThen he jumped eagerly to his feet and rushed to the telephone. The\nEuthanasia Company had rarely been called by a client in a greater\nhurry.\n\nSo it came at last that Denton and his Elizabeth, against all hope,\nreturned unseparated from the labour servitude to which they had fallen.\nElizabeth came out from her cramped subterranean den of metal-beaters\nand all the sordid circumstances of blue canvas, as one comes out of a\nnightmare. Back towards the sunlight their fortune took them; once the\nbequest was known to them, the bare thought of another day's hammering\nbecame intolerable. They went up long lifts and stairs to levels that\nthey had not seen since the days of their disaster. At first she was\nfull of this sensation of escape; even to think of the underways was\nintolerable; only after many months could she begin to recall with\nsympathy the faded women who were still below there, murmuring scandals\nand reminiscences and folly, and tapping away their lives.\n\nHer choice of the apartments they presently took expressed the vehemence\nof her release. They were rooms upon the very verge of the city; they\nhad a roof space and a balcony upon the city wall, wide open to the sun\nand wind, the country and the sky.\n\nAnd in that balcony comes the last scene in this story. It was a summer\nsunsetting, and the hills of Surrey were very blue and clear. Denton\nleant upon the balcony regarding them, and Elizabeth sat by his side.\nVery wide and spacious was the view, for their balcony hung five hundred\nfeet above the ancient level of the ground. The oblongs of the Food\nCompany, broken here and there by the ruins--grotesque little holes and\nsheds--of the ancient suburbs, and intersected by shining streams of\nsewage, passed at last into a remote diapering at the foot of the\ndistant hills. There once had been the squatting-place of the children\nof Uya. On those further <DW72>s gaunt machines of unknown import worked\nslackly at the end of their spell, and the hill crest was set with\nstagnant wind vanes. Along the great south road the Labour Company's\nfield workers in huge wheeled mechanical vehicles, were hurrying back to\ntheir meals, their last spell finished. And through the air a dozen\nlittle private aeroplanes sailed down towards the city. Familiar scene\nas it was to the eyes of Denton and Elizabeth, it would have filled the\nminds of their ancestors with incredulous amazement. Denton's thoughts\nfluttered towards the future in a vain attempt at what that scene might\nbe in another two hundred years, and, recoiling, turned towards the\npast.\n\nHe shared something of the growing knowledge of the time; he could\npicture the quaint smoke-grimed Victorian city with its narrow little\nroads of beaten earth, its wide common-land, ill-organised, ill-built\nsuburbs, and irregular enclosures; the old countryside of the Stuart\ntimes, with its little villages and its petty London; the England of the\nmonasteries, the far older England of the Roman dominion, and then\nbefore that a wild country with here and there the huts of some warring\ntribe. These huts must have come and gone and come again through a space\nof years that made the Roman camp and villa seem but yesterday; and\nbefore those years, before even the huts, there had been men in the\nvalley. Even then--so recent had it all been when one judged it by the\nstandards of geological time--this valley had been here; and those hills\nyonder, higher, perhaps, and snow-tipped, had still been yonder hills,\nand the Thames had flowed down from the Cotswolds to the sea. But the\nmen had been but the shapes of men, creatures of darkness and ignorance,\nvictims of beasts and floods, storms and pestilence and incessant\nhunger. They had held a precarious foothold amidst bears and lions and\nall the monstrous violence of the past. Already some at least of these\nenemies were overcome....\n\nFor a time Denton pursued the thoughts of this spacious vision, trying\nin obedience to his instinct to find his place and proportion in the\nscheme.\n\n\"It has been chance,\" he said, \"it has been luck. We have come through.\nIt happens we have come through. Not by any strength of our own....\n\n\"And yet ... No. I don't know.\"\n\nHe was silent for a long time before he spoke again.\n\n\"After all--there is a long time yet. There have scarcely been men for\ntwenty thousand years--and there has been life for twenty millions. And\nwhat are generations? What are generations? It is enormous, and we are\nso little. Yet we know--we feel. We are not dumb atoms, we are part of\nit--part of it--to the limits of our strength and will. Even to die is\npart of it. Whether we die or live, we are in the making....\n\n\"As time goes on--_perhaps_--men will be wiser.... Wiser....\n\n\"Will they ever understand?\"\n\nHe became silent again. Elizabeth said nothing to these things, but she\nregarded his dreaming face with infinite affection. Her mind was not\nvery active that evening. A great contentment possessed her. After a\ntime she laid a gentle hand on his beside her. He fondled it softly,\nstill looking out upon the spacious gold-woven view. So they sat as the\nsun went down. Until presently Elizabeth shivered.\n\nDenton recalled himself abruptly from these spacious issues of his\nleisure, and went in to fetch her a shawl.\n\n\n\n\nThe Man Who Could Work Miracles\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAN WHO COULD WORK MIRACLES\n\nA PANTOUM IN PROSE\n\n\nIt is doubtful whether the gift was innate. For my own part, I think it\ncame to him suddenly. Indeed, until he was thirty he was a sceptic, and\ndid not believe in miraculous powers. And here, since it is the most\nconvenient place, I must mention that he was a little man, and had eyes\nof a hot brown, very erect red hair, a moustache with ends that he\ntwisted up, and freckles. His name was George McWhirter Fotheringay--not\nthe sort of name by any means to lead to any expectation of\nmiracles--and he was clerk at Gomshott's. He was greatly addicted to\nassertive argument. It was while he was asserting the impossibility of\nmiracles that he had his first intimation of his extraordinary powers.\nThis particular argument was being held in the bar of the Long Dragon,\nand Toddy Beamish was conducting the opposition by a monotonous but\neffective \"So _you_ say,\" that drove Mr. Fotheringay to the very limit\nof his patience.\n\nThere were present, besides these two, a very dusty cyclist, landlord\nCox, and Miss Maybridge, the perfectly respectable and rather portly\nbarmaid of the Dragon. Miss Maybridge was standing with her back to Mr.\nFotheringay, washing glasses; the others were watching him, more or less\namused by the present ineffectiveness of the assertive method. Goaded by\nthe Torres Vedras tactics of Mr. Beamish, Mr. Fotheringay determined to\nmake an unusual rhetorical effort. \"Looky here, Mr. Beamish,\" said Mr.\nFotheringay. \"Let us clearly understand what a miracle is. It's\nsomething contrariwise to the course of nature done by power of Will,\nsomething what couldn't happen without being specially willed.\"\n\n\"So _you_ say,\" said Mr. Beamish, repulsing him.\n\nMr. Fotheringay appealed to the cyclist, who had hitherto been a silent\nauditor, and received his assent--given with a hesitating cough and a\nglance at Mr. Beamish. The landlord would express no opinion, and Mr.\nFotheringay, returning to Mr. Beamish, received the unexpected\nconcession of a qualified assent to his definition of a miracle.\n\n\"For instance,\" said Mr. Fotheringay, greatly encouraged. \"Here would be\na miracle. That lamp, in the natural course of nature, couldn't burn\nlike that upsy-down, could it, Beamish?\"\n\n\"_You_ say it couldn't,\" said Beamish.\n\n\"And you?\" said Fotheringay. \"You don't mean to say--eh?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Beamish reluctantly. \"No, it couldn't.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Mr. Fotheringay. \"Then here comes someone, as it might\nbe me, along here, and stands as it might be here, and says to that\nlamp, as I might do, collecting all my will--Turn upsy-down without\nbreaking, and go on burning steady, and--Hullo!\"\n\nIt was enough to make anyone say \"Hullo!\" The impossible, the\nincredible, was visible to them all. The lamp hung inverted in the air,\nburning quietly with its flame pointing down. It was as solid, as\nindisputable as ever a lamp was, the prosaic common lamp of the Long\nDragon bar.\n\nMr. Fotheringay stood with an extended forefinger and the knitted brows\nof one anticipating a catastrophic smash. The cyclist, who was sitting\nnext the lamp, ducked and jumped across the bar. Everybody jumped, more\nor less. Miss Maybridge turned and screamed. For nearly three seconds\nthe lamp remained still. A faint cry of mental distress came from Mr.\nFotheringay. \"I can't keep it up,\" he said, \"any longer.\" He staggered\nback, and the inverted lamp suddenly flared, fell against the corner of\nthe bar, bounced aside, smashed upon the floor, and went out.\n\nIt was lucky it had a metal receiver, or the whole place would have been\nin a blaze. Mr. Cox was the first to speak, and his remark, shorn of\nneedless excrescences, was to the effect that Fotheringay was a fool.\nFotheringay was beyond disputing even so fundamental a proposition as\nthat! He was astonished beyond measure at the thing that had occurred.\nThe subsequent conversation threw absolutely no light on the matter so\nfar as Fotheringay was concerned; the general opinion not only followed\nMr. Cox very closely but very vehemently. Everyone accused Fotheringay\nof a silly trick, and presented him to himself as a foolish destroyer of\ncomfort and security. His mind was in a tornado of perplexity, he was\nhimself inclined to agree with them, and he made a remarkably\nineffectual opposition to the proposal of his departure.\n\nHe went home flushed and heated, coat-collar crumpled, eyes smarting\nand ears red. He watched each of the ten street lamps nervously as he\npassed it. It was only when he found himself alone in his little\nbed-room in Church Row that he was able to grapple seriously with his\nmemories of the occurrence, and ask, \"What on earth happened?\"\n\nHe had removed his coat and boots, and was sitting on the bed with his\nhands in his pockets repeating the text of his defence for the\nseventeenth time, \"_I_ didn't want the confounded thing to upset,\" when\nit occurred to him that at the precise moment he had said the commanding\nwords he had inadvertently willed the thing he said, and that when he\nhad seen the lamp in the air he had felt that it depended on him to\nmaintain it there without being clear how this was to be done. He had\nnot a particularly complex mind, or he might have stuck for a time at\nthat \"inadvertently willed,\" embracing, as it does, the abstrusest\nproblems of voluntary action; but as it was, the idea came to him with a\nquite acceptable haziness. And from that, following, as I must admit, no\nclear logical path, he came to the test of experiment.\n\nHe pointed resolutely to his candle and collected his mind, though he\nfelt he did a foolish thing. \"Be raised up,\" he said. But in a second\nthat feeling vanished. The candle was raised, hung in the air one giddy\nmoment, and as Mr. Fotheringay gasped, fell with a smash on his\ntoilet-table, leaving him in darkness save for the expiring glow of its\nwick.\n\nFor a time Mr. Fotheringay sat in the darkness, perfectly still. \"It did\nhappen, after all,\" he said. \"And 'ow _I'm_ to explain it I _don't_\nknow.\" He sighed heavily, and began feeling in his pockets for a match.\nHe could find none, and he rose and groped about the toilet-table. \"I\nwish I had a match,\" he said. He resorted to his coat, and there was\nnone there, and then it dawned upon him that miracles were possible even\nwith matches. He extended a hand and scowled at it in the dark. \"Let\nthere be a match in that hand,\" he said. He felt some light object fall\nacross his palm, and his fingers closed upon a match.\n\nAfter several ineffectual attempts to light this, he discovered it was a\nsafety-match. He threw it down, and then it occurred to him that he\nmight have willed it lit. He did, and perceived it burning in the midst\nof his toilet-table mat. He caught it up hastily, and it went out. His\nperception of possibilities enlarged, and he felt for and replaced the\ncandle in its candlestick. \"Here! _you_ be lit,\" said Mr. Fotheringay,\nand forthwith the candle was flaring, and he saw a little black hole in\nthe toilet-cover, with a wisp of smoke rising from it. For a time he\nstared from this to the little flame and back, and then looked up and\nmet his own gaze in the looking glass. By this help he communed with\nhimself in silence for a time.\n\n\"How about miracles now?\" said Mr. Fotheringay at last, addressing his\nreflection.\n\nThe subsequent meditations of Mr. Fotheringay were of a severe but\nconfused description. So far, he could see it was a case of pure willing\nwith him. The nature of his experiences so far disinclined him for any\nfurther experiments, at least until he had reconsidered them. But he\nlifted a sheet of paper, and turned a glass of water pink and then\ngreen, and he created a snail, which he miraculously annihilated, and\ngot himself a miraculous new tooth-brush. Somewhen in the small hours he\nhad reached the fact that his will-power must be of a particularly rare\nand pungent quality, a fact of which he had certainly had inklings\nbefore, but no certain assurance. The scare and perplexity of his first\ndiscovery was now qualified by pride in this evidence of singularity and\nby vague intimations of advantage. He became aware that the church clock\nwas striking one, and as it did not occur to him that his daily duties\nat Gomshott's might be miraculously dispensed with, he resumed\nundressing, in order to get to bed without further delay. As he\nstruggled to get his shirt over his head, he was struck with a brilliant\nidea. \"Let me be in bed,\" he said, and found himself so. \"Undressed,\" he\nstipulated; and, finding the sheets cold, added hastily, \"and in my\nnightshirt--no, in a nice soft woollen nightshirt. Ah!\" he said with\nimmense enjoyment. \"And now let me be comfortably asleep....\"\n\nHe awoke at his usual hour and was pensive all through breakfast-time,\nwondering whether his overnight experience might not be a particularly\nvivid dream. At length his mind turned again to cautious experiments.\nFor instance, he had three eggs for breakfast; two his landlady had\nsupplied, good, but shoppy, and one was a delicious fresh goose-egg,\nlaid, cooked, and served by his extraordinary will. He hurried off to\nGomshott's in a state of profound but carefully concealed excitement,\nand only remembered the shell of the third egg when his landlady spoke\nof it that night. All day he could do no work because of this\nastonishingly new self-knowledge, but this caused him no inconvenience,\nbecause he made up for it miraculously in his last ten minutes.\n\nAs the day wore on his state of mind passed from wonder to elation,\nalbeit the circumstances of his dismissal from the Long Dragon were\nstill disagreeable to recall, and a garbled account of the matter that\nhad reached his colleagues led to some badinage. It was evident he must\nbe careful how he lifted frangible articles, but in other ways his gift\npromised more and more as he turned it over in his mind. He intended\namong other things to increase his personal property by unostentatious\nacts of creation. He called into existence a pair of very splendid\ndiamond studs, and hastily annihilated them again as young Gomshott came\nacross the counting-house to his desk. He was afraid young Gomshott\nmight wonder how he had come by them. He saw quite clearly the gift\nrequired caution and watchfulness in its exercise, but so far as he\ncould judge the difficulties attending its mastery would be no greater\nthan those he had already faced in the study of cycling. It was that\nanalogy, perhaps, quite as much as the feeling that he would be\nunwelcome in the Long Dragon, that drove him out after supper into the\nlane beyond the gas-works, to rehearse a few miracles in private.\n\nThere was possibly a certain want of originality in his attempts, for\napart from his will-power Mr. Fotheringay was not a very exceptional\nman. The miracle of Moses' rod came to his mind, but the night was dark\nand unfavourable to the proper control of large miraculous snakes. Then\nhe recollected the story of \"Tannhaeuser\" that he had read on the back of\nthe Philharmonic programme. That seemed to him singularly attractive and\nharmless. He stuck his walking-stick--a very nice Poona-Penang\nlawyer--into the turf that edged the footpath, and commanded the dry\nwood to blossom. The air was immediately full of the scent of roses, and\nby means of a match he saw for himself that this beautiful miracle was\nindeed accomplished. His satisfaction was ended by advancing footsteps.\nAfraid of a premature discovery of his powers, he addressed the\nblossoming stick hastily: \"Go back.\" What he meant was \"Change back;\"\nbut of course he was confused. The stick receded at a considerable\nvelocity, and incontinently came a cry of anger and a bad word from the\napproaching person. \"Who are you throwing brambles at, you fool?\" cried\na voice. \"That got me on the shin.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, old chap,\" said Mr. Fotheringay, and then realising the\nawkward nature of the explanation, caught nervously at his moustache.\nHe saw Winch, one of the three Immering constables, advancing.\n\n\"What d'yer mean by it?\" asked the constable. \"Hullo! It's you, is it?\nThe gent that broke the lamp at the Long Dragon!\"\n\n\"I don't mean anything by it,\" said Mr. Fotheringay. \"Nothing at all.\"\n\n\"What d'yer do it for then?\"\n\n\"Oh, bother!\" said Mr. Fotheringay.\n\n\"Bother indeed! D'yer know that stick hurt? What d'yer do it for, eh?\"\n\nFor the moment Mr. Fotheringay could not think what he had done it for.\nHis silence seemed to irritate Mr. Winch. \"You've been assaulting the\npolice, young man, this time. That's what _you_ done.\"\n\n\"Look here, Mr. Winch,\" said Mr. Fotheringay, annoyed and confused, \"I'm\nvery sorry. The fact is----\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\nHe could think of no way but the truth. \"I was working a miracle.\" He\ntried to speak in an off-hand way, but try as he would he couldn't.\n\n\"Working a----! 'Ere, don't you talk rot. Working a miracle, indeed!\nMiracle! Well, that's downright funny! Why, you's the chap that don't\nbelieve in miracles.... Fact is, this is another of your silly conjuring\ntricks--that's what this is. Now, I tell you----\"\n\nBut Mr. Fotheringay never heard what Mr. Winch was going to tell him. He\nrealised he had given himself away, flung his valuable secret to all the\nwinds of heaven. A violent gust of irritation swept him to action. He\nturned on the constable swiftly and fiercely. \"Here,\" he said, \"I've had\nenough of this, I have! I'll show you a silly conjuring trick, I will!\nGo to Hades! Go, now!\"\n\nHe was alone!\n\nMr. Fotheringay performed no more miracles that night, nor did he\ntrouble to see what had become of his flowering stick. He returned to\nthe town, scared and very quiet, and went to his bed-room. \"Lord!\" he\nsaid, \"it's a powerful gift--an extremely powerful gift. I didn't hardly\nmean as much as that. Not really.... I wonder what Hades is like!\"\n\nHe sat on the bed taking off his boots. Struck by a happy thought he\ntransferred the constable to San Francisco, and without any more\ninterference with normal causation went soberly to bed. In the night he\ndreamt of the anger of Winch.\n\nThe next day Mr. Fotheringay heard two interesting items of news.\nSomeone had planted a most beautiful climbing rose against the elder Mr.\nGomshott's private house in the Lullaborough Road, and the river as far\nas Rawling's Mill was to be dragged for Constable Winch.\n\nMr. Fotheringay was abstracted and thoughtful all that day, and\nperformed no miracles except certain provisions for Winch, and the\nmiracle of completing his day's work with punctual perfection in spite\nof all the bee-swarm of thoughts that hummed through his mind. And the\nextraordinary abstraction and meekness of his manner was remarked by\nseveral people, and made a matter for jesting. For the most part he was\nthinking of Winch.\n\nOn Sunday evening he went to chapel, and oddly enough, Mr. Maydig, who\ntook a certain interest in occult matters, preached about \"things that\nare not lawful.\" Mr. Fotheringay was not a regular chapel goer, but the\nsystem of assertive scepticism, to which I have already alluded, was now\nvery much shaken. The tenor of the sermon threw an entirely new light on\nthese novel gifts, and he suddenly decided to consult Mr. Maydig\nimmediately after the service. So soon as that was determined, he found\nhimself wondering why he had not done so before.\n\nMr. Maydig, a lean, excitable man with quite remarkably long wrists and\nneck, was gratified at a request for a private conversation from a young\nman whose carelessness in religious matters was a subject for general\nremark in the town. After a few necessary delays, he conducted him to\nthe study of the Manse, which was contiguous to the chapel, seated him\ncomfortably, and, standing in front of a cheerful fire--his legs threw a\nRhodian arch of shadow on the opposite wall--requested Mr. Fotheringay\nto state his business.\n\nAt first Mr. Fotheringay was a little abashed, and found some difficulty\nin opening the matter. \"You will scarcely believe me, Mr. Maydig, I am\nafraid\"--and so forth for some time. He tried a question at last, and\nasked Mr. Maydig his opinion of miracles.\n\nMr. Maydig was still saying \"Well\" in an extremely judicial tone, when\nMr. Fotheringay interrupted again: \"You don't believe, I suppose, that\nsome common sort of person--like myself, for instance--as it might be\nsitting here now, might have some sort of twist inside him that made him\nable to do things by his will.\"\n\n\"It's possible,\" said Mr. Maydig. \"Something of the sort, perhaps, is\npossible.\"\n\n\"If I might make free with something here, I think I might show you by a\nsort of experiment,\" said Mr. Fotheringay. \"Now, take that tobacco-jar\non the table, for instance. What I want to know is whether what I am\ngoing to do with it is a miracle or not. Just half a minute, Mr. Maydig,\nplease.\"\n\nHe knitted his brows, pointed to the tobacco-jar and said: \"Be a bowl of\nvi'lets.\"\n\nThe tobacco-jar did as it was ordered.\n\nMr. Maydig started violently at the change, and stood looking from the\nthaumaturgist to the bowl of flowers. He said nothing. Presently he\nventured to lean over the table and smell the violets; they were\nfresh-picked and very fine ones. Then he stared at Mr. Fotheringay\nagain.\n\n\"How did you do that?\" he asked.\n\nMr. Fotheringay pulled his moustache. \"Just told it--and there you are.\nIs that a miracle, or is it black art, or what is it? And what do you\nthink's the matter with me? That's what I want to ask.\"\n\n\"It's a most extraordinary occurrence.\"\n\n\"And this day last week I knew no more that I could do things like that\nthan you did. It came quite sudden. It's something odd about my will, I\nsuppose, and that's as far as I can see.\"\n\n\"Is _that_--the only thing. Could you do other things besides that?\"\n\n\"Lord, yes!\" said Mr. Fotheringay. \"Just anything.\" He thought, and\nsuddenly recalled a conjuring entertainment he had seen. \"Here!\" He\npointed. \"Change into a bowl of fish--no, not that--change into a glass\nbowl full of water with goldfish swimming in it. That's better! You see\nthat, Mr. Maydig?\"\n\n\"It's astonishing. It's incredible. You are either a most extraordinary\n... But no----\"\n\n\"I could change it into anything,\" said Mr. Fotheringay. \"Just anything.\nHere! be a pigeon, will you?\"\n\nIn another moment a blue pigeon was fluttering round the room and making\nMr. Maydig duck every time it came near him. \"Stop there, will you,\"\nsaid Mr. Fotheringay; and the pigeon hung motionless in the air. \"I\ncould change it back to a bowl of flowers,\" he said, and after replacing\nthe pigeon on the table worked that miracle. \"I expect you will want\nyour pipe in a bit,\" he said, and restored the tobacco-jar.\n\nMr. Maydig had followed all these later changes in a sort of ejaculatory\nsilence. He stared at Mr. Fotheringay and, in a very gingerly manner,\npicked up the tobacco-jar, examined it, replaced it on the table.\n\"_Well!_\" was the only expression of his feelings.\n\n\"Now, after that it's easier to explain what I came about,\" said Mr.\nFotheringay; and proceeded to a lengthy and involved narrative of his\nstrange experiences, beginning with the affair of the lamp in the Long\nDragon and complicated by persistent allusions to Winch. As he went on,\nthe transient pride Mr. Maydig's consternation had caused passed away;\nhe became the very ordinary Mr. Fotheringay of everyday intercourse\nagain. Mr. Maydig listened intently, the tobacco-jar in his hand, and\nhis bearing changed also with the course of the narrative. Presently,\nwhile Mr. Fotheringay was dealing with the miracle of the third egg, the\nminister interrupted with a fluttering extended hand--\n\n\"It is possible,\" he said. \"It is credible. It is amazing, of course,\nbut it reconciles a number of amazing difficulties. The power to work\nmiracles is a gift--a peculiar quality like genius or second\nsight--hitherto it has come very rarely and to exceptional people. But\nin this case ... I have always wondered at the miracles of Mahomet, and\nat Yogi's miracles, and the miracles of Madame Blavatsky. But, of\ncourse! Yes, it is simply a gift! It carries out so beautifully the\narguments of that great thinker\"--Mr. Maydig's voice sank--\"his Grace\nthe Duke of Argyll. Here we plumb some profounder law--deeper than the\nordinary laws of nature. Yes--yes. Go on. Go on!\"\n\nMr. Fotheringay proceeded to tell of his misadventure with Winch, and\nMr. Maydig, no longer overawed or scared, began to jerk his limbs about\nand interject astonishment. \"It's this what troubled me most,\" proceeded\nMr. Fotheringay; \"it's this I'm most mijitly in want of advice for; of\ncourse he's at San Francisco--wherever San Francisco may be--but of\ncourse it's awkward for both of us, as you'll see, Mr. Maydig. I don't\nsee how he can understand what has happened, and I daresay he's scared\nand exasperated something tremendous, and trying to get at me. I daresay\nhe keeps on starting off to come here. I send him back, by a miracle,\nevery few hours, when I think of it. And of course, that's a thing he\nwon't be able to understand, and it's bound to annoy him; and, of\ncourse, if he takes a ticket every time it will cost him a lot of\nmoney. I done the best I could for him, but of course it's difficult for\nhim to put himself in my place. I thought afterwards that his clothes\nmight have got scorched, you know--if Hades is all it's supposed to\nbe--before I shifted him. In that case I suppose they'd have locked him\nup in San Francisco. Of course I willed him a new suit of clothes on him\ndirectly I thought of it. But, you see, I'm already in a deuce of a\ntangle----\"\n\nMr. Maydig looked serious. \"I see you are in a tangle. Yes, it's a\ndifficult position. How you are to end it ...\" He became diffuse and\ninconclusive.\n\n\"However, we'll leave Winch for a little and discuss the larger\nquestion. I don't think this is a case of the black art or anything of\nthe sort. I don't think there is any taint of criminality about it at\nall, Mr. Fotheringay--none whatever, unless you are suppressing material\nfacts. No, it's miracles--pure miracles--miracles, if I may say so, of\nthe very highest class.\"\n\nHe began to pace the hearthrug and gesticulate, while Mr. Fotheringay\nsat with his arm on the table and his head on his arm, looking worried.\n\"I don't see how I'm to manage about Winch,\" he said.\n\n\"A gift of working miracles--apparently a very powerful gift,\" said Mr.\nMaydig, \"will find a way about Winch--never fear. My dear Sir, you are a\nmost important man--a man of the most astonishing possibilities. As\nevidence, for example! And in other ways, the things you may do....\"\n\n\"Yes, _I've_ thought of a thing or two,\" said Mr. Fotheringay.\n\"But--some of the things came a bit twisty. You saw that fish at first?\nWrong sort of bowl and wrong sort of fish. And I thought I'd ask\nsomeone.\"\n\n\"A proper course,\" said Mr. Maydig, \"a very proper course--altogether\nthe proper course.\" He stopped and looked at Mr. Fotheringay. \"It's\npractically an unlimited gift. Let us test your powers, for instance. If\nthey really _are_ ... If they really are all they seem to be.\"\n\nAnd so, incredible as it may seem, in the study of the little house\nbehind the Congregational Chapel, on the evening of Sunday, Nov. 10,\n1896, Mr. Fotheringay, egged on and inspired by Mr. Maydig, began to\nwork miracles. The reader's attention is specially and definitely called\nto the date. He will object, probably has already objected, that certain\npoints in this story are improbable, that if any things of the sort\nalready described had indeed occurred, they would have been in all the\npapers a year ago. The details immediately following he will find\nparticularly hard to accept, because among other things they involve the\nconclusion that he or she, the reader in question, must have been killed\nin a violent and unprecedented manner more than a year ago. Now a\nmiracle is nothing if not improbable, and as a matter of fact the reader\n_was_ killed in a violent and unprecedented manner a year ago. In the\nsubsequent course of this story that will become perfectly clear and\ncredible, as every right-minded and reasonable reader will admit. But\nthis is not the place for the end of the story, being but little beyond\nthe hither side of the middle. And at first the miracles worked by Mr.\nFotheringay were timid little miracles--little things with the cups and\nparlour fitments, as feeble as the miracles of Theosophists, and, feeble\nas they were, they were received with awe by his collaborator. He would\nhave preferred to settle the Winch business out of hand, but Mr. Maydig\nwould not let him. But after they had worked a dozen of these domestic\ntrivialities, their sense of power grew, their imagination began to show\nsigns of stimulation, and their ambition enlarged. Their first larger\nenterprise was due to hunger and the negligence of Mrs. Minchin, Mr.\nMaydig's housekeeper. The meal to which the minister conducted Mr.\nFotheringay was certainly ill-laid and uninviting as refreshment for two\nindustrious miracle-workers; but they were seated, and Mr. Maydig was\ndescanting in sorrow rather than in anger upon his housekeeper's\nshortcomings, before it occurred to Mr. Fotheringay that an opportunity\nlay before him. \"Don't you think, Mr. Maydig,\" he said, \"if it isn't a\nliberty, _I_----\"\n\n\"My dear Mr. Fotheringay! Of course! No--I didn't think.\"\n\nMr. Fotheringay waved his hand. \"What shall we have?\" he said, in a\nlarge, inclusive spirit, and, at Mr. Maydig's order, revised the supper\nvery thoroughly. \"As for me,\" he said, eyeing Mr. Maydig's selection, \"I\nam always particularly fond of a tankard of stout and a nice Welsh\nrarebit, and I'll order that. I ain't much given to Burgundy,\" and\nforthwith stout and Welsh rarebit promptly appeared at his command. They\nsat long at their supper, talking like equals, as Mr. Fotheringay\npresently perceived, with a glow of surprise and gratification, of all\nthe miracles they would presently do. \"And, by the bye, Mr. Maydig,\"\nsaid Mr. Fotheringay, \"I might perhaps be able to help you--in a\ndomestic way.\"\n\n\"Don't quite follow,\" said Mr. Maydig pouring out a glass of miraculous\nold Burgundy.\n\nMr. Fotheringay helped himself to a second Welsh rarebit out of vacancy,\nand took a mouthful. \"I was thinking,\" he said, \"I might be able (_chum,\nchum_) to work (_chum, chum_) a miracle with Mrs. Minchin (_chum,\nchum_)--make her a better woman.\"\n\nMr. Maydig put down the glass and looked doubtful. \"She's---- She\nstrongly objects to interference, you know, Mr. Fotheringay. And--as a\nmatter of fact--it's well past eleven and she's probably in bed and\nasleep. Do you think, on the whole----\"\n\nMr. Fotheringay considered these objections. \"I don't see that it\nshouldn't be done in her sleep.\"\n\nFor a time Mr. Maydig opposed the idea, and then he yielded. Mr.\nFotheringay issued his orders, and a little less at their ease, perhaps,\nthe two gentlemen proceeded with their repast. Mr. Maydig was enlarging\non the changes he might expect in his housekeeper next day, with an\noptimism that seemed even to Mr. Fotheringay's supper senses a little\nforced and hectic, when a series of confused noises from upstairs began.\nTheir eyes exchanged interrogations, and Mr. Maydig left the room\nhastily. Mr. Fotheringay heard him calling up to his housekeeper and\nthen his footsteps going softly up to her.\n\nIn a minute or so the minister returned, his step light, his face\nradiant. \"Wonderful!\" he said, \"and touching! Most touching!\"\n\nHe began pacing the hearthrug. \"A repentance--a most touching\nrepentance--through the crack of the door. Poor woman! A most wonderful\nchange! She had got up. She must have got up at once. She had got up out\nof her sleep to smash a private bottle of brandy in her box. And to\nconfess it too!... But this gives us--it opens--a most amazing vista of\npossibilities. If we can work this miraculous change in _her_ ...\"\n\n\"The thing's unlimited seemingly,\" said Mr. Fotheringay. \"And about Mr.\nWinch--\"\n\n\"Altogether unlimited.\" And from the hearthrug Mr. Maydig, waving\nthe Winch difficulty aside, unfolded a series of wonderful\nproposals--proposals he invented as he went along.\n\nNow what those proposals were does not concern the essentials of this\nstory. Suffice it that they were designed in a spirit of infinite\nbenevolence, the sort of benevolence that used to be called\npost-prandial. Suffice it, too, that the problem of Winch remained\nunsolved. Nor is it necessary to describe how far that series got to its\nfulfilment. There were astonishing changes. The small hours found Mr.\nMaydig and Mr. Fotheringay careering across the chilly market-square\nunder the still moon, in a sort of ecstasy of thaumaturgy, Mr. Maydig\nall flap and gesture, Mr. Fotheringay short and bristling, and no longer\nabashed at his greatness. They had reformed every drunkard in the\nParliamentary division, changed all the beer and alcohol to water (Mr.\nMaydig had overruled Mr. Fotheringay on this point); they had, further,\ngreatly improved the railway communication of the place, drained\nFlinder's swamp, improved the soil of One Tree Hill, and cured the\nVicar's wart. And they were going to see what could be done with the\ninjured pier at South Bridge. \"The place,\" gasped Mr. Maydig, \"won't be\nthe same place to-morrow. How surprised and thankful everyone will be!\"\nAnd just at that moment the church clock struck three.\n\n\"I say,\" said Mr. Fotheringay, \"that's three o'clock! I must be getting\nback. I've got to be at business by eight. And besides, Mrs. Wimms--\"\n\n\"We're only beginning,\" said Mr. Maydig, full of the sweetness of\nunlimited power. \"We're only beginning. Think of all the good we're\ndoing. When people wake--\"\n\n\"But--,\" said Mr. Fotheringay.\n\nMr. Maydig gripped his arm suddenly. His eyes were bright and wild. \"My\ndear chap,\" he said, \"there's no hurry. Look\"--he pointed to the moon at\nthe zenith--\"Joshua!\"\n\n\"Joshua?\" said Mr. Fotheringay.\n\n\"Joshua,\" said Mr. Maydig. \"Why not? Stop it.\"\n\nMr. Fotheringay looked at the moon.\n\n\"That's a bit tall,\" he said after a pause.\n\n\"Why not?\" said Mr. Maydig. \"Of course it doesn't stop. You stop the\nrotation of the earth, you know. Time stops. It isn't as if we were\ndoing harm.\"\n\n\"H'm!\" said Mr. Fotheringay. \"Well.\" He sighed. \"I'll try. Here--\"\n\nHe buttoned up his jacket and addressed himself to the habitable globe,\nwith as good an assumption of confidence as lay in his power. \"Jest stop\nrotating, will you,\" said Mr. Fotheringay.\n\nIncontinently he was flying head over heels through the air at the rate\nof dozens of miles a minute. In spite of the innumerable circles he was\ndescribing per second, he thought; for thought is wonderful--sometimes\nas sluggish as flowing pitch, sometimes as instantaneous as light. He\nthought in a second, and willed. \"Let me come down safe and sound.\nWhatever else happens, let me down safe and sound.\"\n\nHe willed it only just in time, for his clothes, heated by his rapid\nflight through the air, were already beginning to singe. He came down\nwith a forcible, but by no means injurious bump in what appeared to be a\nmound of fresh-turned earth. A large mass of metal and masonry,\nextraordinarily like the clock-tower in the middle of the market-square,\nhit the earth near him, ricochetted over him, and flew into stonework,\nbricks, and masonry, like a bursting bomb. A hurtling cow hit one of the\nlarger blocks and smashed like an egg. There was a crash that made all\nthe most violent crashes of his past life seem like the sound of falling\ndust, and this was followed by a descending series of lesser crashes. A\nvast wind roared throughout earth and heaven, so that he could scarcely\nlift his head to look. For a while he was too breathless and astonished\neven to see where he was or what had happened. And his first movement\nwas to feel his head and reassure himself that his streaming hair was\nstill his own.\n\n\"Lord!\" gasped Mr. Fotheringay, scarce able to speak for the gale, \"I've\nhad a squeak! What's gone wrong? Storms and thunder. And only a minute\nago a fine night. It's Maydig set me on to this sort of thing. _What_ a\nwind! If I go on fooling in this way I'm bound to have a thundering\naccident!...\n\n\"Where's Maydig?\n\n\"What a confounded mess everything's in!\"\n\nHe looked about him so far as his flapping jacket would permit. The\nappearance of things was really extremely strange. \"The sky's all right\nanyhow,\" said Mr. Fotheringay. \"And that's about all that is all right.\nAnd even there it looks like a terrific gale coming up. But there's the\nmoon overhead. Just as it was just now. Bright as midday. But as for the\nrest--Where's the village? Where's--where's anything? And what on earth\nset this wind a-blowing? _I_ didn't order no wind.\"\n\nMr. Fotheringay struggled to get to his feet in vain, and after one\nfailure, remained on all fours, holding on. He surveyed the moonlit\nworld to leeward, with the tails of his jacket streaming over his head.\n\"There's something seriously wrong,\" said Mr. Fotheringay. \"And what it\nis--goodness knows.\"\n\nFar and wide nothing was visible in the white glare through the haze of\ndust that drove before a screaming gale but tumbled masses of earth and\nheaps of inchoate ruins, no trees, no houses, no familiar shapes, only a\nwilderness of disorder vanishing at last into the darkness beneath the\nwhirling columns and streamers, the lightnings and thunderings of a\nswiftly rising storm. Near him in the livid glare was something that\nmight once have been an elm-tree, a smashed mass of splinters, shivered\nfrom boughs to base, and further a twisted mass of iron girders--only\ntoo evidently the viaduct--rose out of the piled confusion.\n\nYou see, when Mr. Fotheringay had arrested the rotation of the solid\nglobe, he had made no stipulation concerning the trifling movables upon\nits surface. And the earth spins so fast that the surface at its equator\nis travelling at rather more than a thousand miles an hour, and in these\nlatitudes at more than half that pace. So that the village, and Mr.\nMaydig, and Mr. Fotheringay, and everybody and everything had been\njerked violently forward at about nine miles per second--that is to say,\nmuch more violently than if they had been fired out of a cannon. And\nevery human being, every living creature, every house, and every\ntree--all the world as we know it--had been so jerked and smashed and\nutterly destroyed. That was all.\n\nThese things Mr. Fotheringay did not, of course, fully appreciate. But\nhe perceived that his miracle had miscarried, and with that a great\ndisgust of miracles came upon him. He was in darkness now, for the\nclouds had swept together and blotted out his momentary glimpse of the\nmoon, and the air was full of fitful struggling tortured wraiths of\nhail. A great roaring of wind and waters filled earth and sky, and,\npeering under his hand through the dust and sleet to windward, he saw by\nthe play of the lightnings a vast wall of water pouring towards him.\n\n\"Maydig!\" screamed Mr. Fotheringay's feeble voice amid the elemental\nuproar. \"Here!--Maydig!\n\n\"Stop!\" cried Mr. Fotheringay to the advancing water. \"Oh, for goodness'\nsake, stop!\n\n\"Just a moment,\" said Mr. Fotheringay to the lightnings and thunder.\n\"Stop jest a moment while I collect my thoughts.... And now what shall I\ndo?\" he said. \"What _shall_ I do? Lord! I wish Maydig was about.\n\n\"I know,\" said Mr. Fotheringay. \"And for goodness' sake let's have it\nright _this_ time.\"\n\nHe remained on all fours, leaning against the wind, very intent to have\neverything right.\n\n\"Ah!\" he said. \"Let nothing what I'm going to order happen until I say\n'Off!'.... Lord! I wish I'd thought of that before!\"\n\nHe lifted his little voice against the whirlwind, shouting louder and\nlouder in the vain desire to hear himself speak. \"Now then!--here goes!\nMind about that what I said just now. In the first place, when all I've\ngot to say is done, let me lose my miraculous power, let my will become\njust like anybody else's will, and all these dangerous miracles be\nstopped. I don't like them. I'd rather I didn't work 'em. Ever so much.\nThat's the first thing. And the second is--let me be back just before\nthe miracles begin; let everything be just as it was before that blessed\nlamp turned up. It's a big job, but it's the last. Have you got it? No\nmore miracles, everything as it was--me back in the Long Dragon just\nbefore I drank my half-pint. That's it! Yes.\"\n\nHe dug his fingers into the mould, closed his eyes, and said \"Off!\"\n\nEverything became perfectly still. He perceived that he was standing\nerect.\n\n\"So _you_ say,\" said a voice.\n\nHe opened his eyes. He was in the bar of the Long Dragon, arguing about\nmiracles with Toddy Beamish. He had a vague sense of some great thing\nforgotten that instantaneously passed. You see that, except for the loss\nof his miraculous powers, everything was back as it had been, his mind\nand memory therefore were now just as they had been at the time when\nthis story began. So that he knew absolutely nothing of all that is told\nhere, knows nothing of all that is told here to this day. And among\nother things, of course, he still did not believe in miracles.\n\n\"I tell you that miracles, properly speaking, can't possibly happen,\" he\nsaid, \"whatever you like to hold. And I'm prepared to prove it up to the\nhilt.\"\n\n\"That's what _you_ think,\" said Toddy Beamish, and \"Prove it if you\ncan.\"\n\n\"Looky here, Mr. Beamish,\" said Mr. Fotheringay. \"Let us clearly\nunderstand what a miracle is. It's something contrariwise to the course\nof nature done by power of Will....\"\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.\n         Edinburgh & London\n\n\n\n\n                         When the\n                                 Sleeper Wakes\n\n                    A Story of the Days to Come. By\n                    H. G. WELLS, Author of \"The War\n                    of the Worlds,\" &c.\n\n\n\"When the Sleeper Wakes,\" by far the longest story Mr. Wells has yet\ngiven us, presents a spacious picture of the development of our\ncivilisation during the next two hundred years. The sleeper is a typical\nliberal-minded man of means of the nineteenth century, and he awakens\nfrom a cataleptic trance in the year 2100, to discover that by an ironic\ncombination of circumstances he has become the central figure of an\nenormous political convulsion. His attempt to rise to the\nresponsibilities of his position, his struggle for power--inspired by an\nenthusiastic girl--with the great political organiser Ostrog, give the\ngreat structural lines of the story.\n\n    \"He fell to sleep a fanatical democrat--a socialist: he woke a\n    tyrant; he died fighting with the people against the tyranny he had\n    unconsciously fashioned while he slept. Surely a theme of\n    magnificent possibilities--a theme more fertile in romance even than\n    the central idea of 'The War of the Worlds.' The discovery of such\n    material is in itself no mean triumph.\"--_Bookman._\n\n    \"One of the cleverest books ever written.\"--_Birmingham Post._\n\n    \"Mr. Wells sustains his reputation as the leading novelist of the\n    unknown in his latest effort of imagination, 'When the Sleeper\n    Wakes.'\"--_The World._\n\n    \"There is more than the triumph of extravagant fancy in Mr. Wells's\n    book; its undertones are well worth attention too.\"--_The World._\n\n    \"Mr. Wells beats Jules Verne on his own ground.\"--_Daily News._\n\n    \"An enthralling effort of imagination, vivid and bizarre as a\n    powerful nightmare.\"--_The Guardian._\n\n    \"This is undoubtedly a most remarkable book, a _tour de force_ of\n    the intellect and imagination.\"--_The Queen._\n\n\n                 Harper & Brothers, 45 Albemarle Street\n                               London, W.\n\n\n\n\n              Successful Short Stories\n\n\n _By Thomas Hardy_\n     A Group of Noble Dames.             _Price 6s._\n     Life's Little Ironies.              _Price 6s._\n     Wessex Tales.                       _Price 6s._\n\n _By Mary E. Wilkins_\n     A New England Nun.                  _Price 6s._\n     Silence.                            _Price 6s._\n\n _By Mrs. Francis Blundell_\n     In a North Country Village.\n       Illustrated by Frank Felloes.     _Price 6s._\n\n _By E. F. Benson_\n     Six Common Things.              _Price 3s. 6d._\n\n _By Barry Pain_\n     In a Canadian Canoe.            _Price 3s. 6d._\n\n _By Eden Phillpotts_\n     Down Dartmoor Way.                  _Price 6s._\n\n _By Annie Trumbull Slosson_\n     Seven Dreamers.                     _Price 6s._\n\n _By Margaret Deland_\n     Old Chester Tales.\n       Illustrated by Howard Pyle.       _Price 6s._\n\n\n       Harper & Brothers, 45 Albemarle Street\n                     London, W.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Tales of Space and Time, by Herbert George Wells\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Josephine Paolucci\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE AMERICAN QUARTERLY REVIEW.\n\nNo. XVII.\n\nMARCH, 1831.\n\n_Philadelphia:_\nCAREY & LEA.\n\nSOLD IN PHILADELPHIA BY E. L. CAREY & A. HART.\nNEW-YORK, BY G. & C. & H. CARVILL.\n\n_LONDON:_--R. J. KENNETT, 59 GREAT QUEEN STREET.\n_PARIS:_--A. & W. GALIGNANI, RUE VIVIENNE.\n\n\n\n\nAMERICAN QUARTERLY REVIEW.\n\nNo. XVII.\n\nMARCH, 1831.\n\n\n\n\nART. I.--_France in 1829-30._ By LADY MORGAN. _Author of_ \"_France in\n1816_,\" \"_Italy_,\" _&c. &c. &c._ 2 vols. J. & J. Harper: New-York.\n\n\nIt was that solemn hour of the night, when, in the words of the poet,\n\"creation sleeps;\"--a silence as of the dead reigned amid the streets\nand alleys of the great city of Dublin, interrupted, ever and anon, only\nby the solitary voice of the watchman, announcing the time, and the\nprospects of fair or foul weather for the ensuing day. Even the noise of\ncarriages returning from revels and festive scenes of various kinds, was\nno longer heard--\n\n    \"The diligence of trades and noiseful gain,\n    And luxury more late, asleep were laid:\n    All was the night's:\"\n\nAll! save the inhabitants of one mansion, situated in Kildare street,\nwho were still invading nature's rest. Why were they alone up and\nstirring? Why were they debarred from taking their needful repose, and\nobliged to employ the time which should have been devoted to it, in\nactive occupation? The reason is easily understood. Early in the\nmorning, the master and mistress were to set off on a trip to Paris, and\nthere was no small quantity of \"packing up\" yet to be done. Trunks\ninnumerable lay scattered about a romantically furnished bed-chamber;\nsome were partly filled with different articles of female habiliment;\nothers seemed to be appropriated to literary purposes, and books without\nnumber, and of all descriptions, were lying around them--here was a pile\nof novels, amongst which, the titles of \"The Novice of St. Dominick,\"\n\"Ida of Athens,\" \"The Wild Irish Girl,\" &c. &c. could be\ndiscerned--there was a heap of \"Travels,\" composed of \"Italy,\" \"France\nin 1816,\" and others:--a couple of volumes, entitled \"Life and Times of\nSalvator Rosa,\" were reposing in graceful dignity on the open lid of a\nportmanteau. Several maids were exerting all their activity to get every\nthing properly arranged; all was bustle and preparation.\n\nAdjoining the chamber was a boudoir, furnished likewise in the most\nromantic manner, in which sat a lady of even a more romantic appearance\nthan that of either of the apartments. How shall we describe her? She\ncertainly (we must tell the truth, and shame you know whom) did not seem\nto be of that delightful age, in which a due regard to veracity would\nallow us to apply to her the line of the poet, \"Le printemps dans sa\nfleur sur son visage est peint.\" Her cheeks, to be sure, were deeply\ntinged with a roseate hue, but it was not that with which nature loves\nto paint the face of spring; the colour proved too palpably, that it had\nbeen placed there by the exercise of those \"curious arts\" with which the\nsex are enabled to revive dim charms, \"and triumph in the bloom of\nfifty-five.\" Her dress was romantic in the extreme. Of the unity of\n_time_, at all events, it was in direct violation, for its \"gay rainbow\ncolours,\" and modish arrangement, were out of all keeping with her\nmatronly age. One would easily have inferred from it that she was fully\nimpressed with the conviction, that the years which had glided over her\nhead, were not of the old-fashioned kind that contain twelve months, or\nat least, that she did not consider the lapse of time as at all\ncalculated to impair the attractions of her physiognomy, however\nprejudicial its effect might be upon the faces of the rest of the female\npart of the creation. In her countenance there was such an expression of\nblended affectation and self-complacency, that it was impossible to look\nupon it without feeling an inclination to smile. She was sitting near a\nprettily ornamented writing-desk, surmounted by a mirror (in which, by\nthe way, she always found her greatest admirer), with her head reclining\non her open hand, her elbow resting on a volume which bore on its back\nthe appropriate title of \"The Book of the Boudoir,\" and her eyes\ndirected, we need hardly say where,--for who does not love to be\nadmired? Her _reflections_ were suddenly disturbed by a knock at the\ndoor, which she answered by an \"Entrez!\" \"_Ah, Sir Charles, c'est\nvous_,\" she lisped, as the door opened, and a person in male attire\nentered, \"_eh bien_, is every thing _pret_ for our _voyage_?\" \"Yes, my\ndear\"--we presume, from this appellation, that the gentleman was her\n_caro sposo_, as she might say,--\"or at least every thing will be ready\nshortly; but let me essay again to dissuade you from this foolish\nexpedition\"--\"_de grace_, Sir Charles, _ayez pitie de moi_; do not\npester me with your _betises_; I am determined to _faire une autre\nvisite_ to my _cher_ Paris, so that all you may say will be _tout a\nfait inutile_.\" \"Well,\" sighed the _caro sposo_, \"just as you please,\"\nand he returned to direct the \"packing up,\" while she began to revel in\nthe anticipations of triumphs, both personal and intellectual, which she\nintended to gain in the fashionable and literary capital of the world.\nAlas! \"oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it\npromises.\"\n\nWho is this lady? Had she lived in the days of Juvenal, it might have\nbeen supposed that he had her in his eye, when he drew, in his sixth\nsatire, the picture of the \"greatest of all plagues\"--had her existence\nbeen cast in the time of the prince of French comic writers, she would\nundoubtedly have been presumed to be the prototype of the heroine in one\nof his most exquisite comedies; we need hardly say, therefore, that she\nis, in the words of Boileau, \"_une precieuse_,\n\n    \"Reste de ces esprits jadis si renommes\n    Que d'un coup de son art Moliere a diffames.\"\n\nPity, then, kind reader, pity the lot of the unfortunate gentleman whom\nwe have just introduced to your acquaintance. A further account of this\ndame may prove not unacceptable.\n\nHer father was an honest actor, accustomed to afford great delight to\nthose deities who inhabit the one shilling galleries of English and\nIrish theatres, and to receive, himself, vast gratification from\nworshipping at the shrine of Bacchus. The daughter having given early\nindications of quickness and pertness, came to be considered quite a\ngenius by her family and friends, whose natural partiality soon induced\nher to entertain the same opinion. Determined, accordingly, not to hide\nher light under a bushel, she made her appearance before the world as an\nauthoress, from which it may very reasonably be inferred that she had\nnot yet attained the years of discretion. Her _debut_, of course, was as\na wanderer in the realms of imagination, alias, a novel-writer, and in\nthis capacity she continued to make the public stare for a series of\nyears. We say stare, for we can find no more appropriate word for\nexpressing the feelings which her fictions are calculated to excite.\nWith plots of almost incomprehensible absurdity, they combine a style\nmore inflated than any balloon in which Madame Blanchard ever sailed\nthrough the regions of air--a language, or rather jargon, composed of\nthe pickings of nearly every idiom that ever did live, or is at present\nin existence, and sentiments which would be often of a highly\nmischievous tendency, if they were not rendered ridiculous by the manner\nin which they are expressed. The singularity of these productions\nexcited a good deal of sensation, and, if we believe her own words, she\nwas placed by them \"in a _definite_ rank among authors, and in no\nundistinguished circle of society.\" In some of the principal journals,\nhowever, the lady was severely taken to task, at the same time that she\nwas counselled to obtain for herself a partner in weal and wo, by which\nshe might be brought down from her foolish vagaries, to the sober\nrealities of domestic duty. Wonderful to relate, she followed the advice\nof those whom her vanity must have taught her to consider as her\nbitterest foes, namely critics,--and as\n\n    \"Nought but a genius can a genius fit,\n    A wit herself, Amelia weds a wit.\"\n\nThis wit was a regular knight of the pestle and mortar--a physician,\nwhose pills and draughts had acquired for him the enviable right of\nplacing that dignified appellation, Sir, before his Christian name, by\nwhich our authoress became entitled to be addressed as \"Your Ladyship,\"\nas much as if she had married an Earl or a Marquis. Oh! how delighted\nthe ci-devant plain \"Miss\" must have been at hearing the servants say to\nher, \"Yes, my lady,\"--\"No, my lady.\"--The year in which the ceremony was\nperformed that gave her a lord and master, we cannot precisely\nascertain; but as the happy pair favoured the capital of France with\ntheir presence in 1816, it may not be unreasonable to suppose, that they\nwent there to spend the honeymoon. Miraculous as are the changes which\nmatrimony sometimes operates, it was powerless in its influence upon her\nLadyship's propensities, and, consequently, not very long after\nreturning to her \"_maison bijou_\" in Dublin, she put forth a quarto!\nwith the magnificent title of \"France.\" There are phenomena in the\nphysical world, in the moral world, in the intellectual world, but this\nbook was a phenomenon that beat them all. It was absolutely wonderful\nhow so much ignorance, nonsense, vanity, and folly, could be compressed\nwithin the compass even of a quarto. All the sense that could be\ndiscerned in it, was contained in four or five essays, upon Love, Law\nand Physic, and Politics, contributed by Sir the husband. Being anxious\nthat \"France\" should have a companion, she subsequently made an\nexpedition to the land of the Dilettanti, in company with the dear man\nwho had made her, \"she _trusts_, a respectable, and she is _sure_, a\nhappy mistress of a family,\" and forthwith \"Italy\" appeared to sustain\nher well-earned reputation for qualities, which she has the singular\nfelicity of possessing without exciting envy. But her \"never ending,\nstill beginning\" pen, was not satisfied with two volumes as the fruits\nof her Italian campaigning, especially as there happened to be a goodly\nquantity of memoranda in the \"diary\" which had not yet been turned to\nany use. Some subject, therefore, was to be hit upon for another\npublication, in which they could be inserted, when beat out into a\nsizeable shape; and what could be better adapted for that purpose than\nthe biography of a great Italian artist? The life of poor Salvator Rosa\nwas, in consequence, attempted. Just think of making one of the\ngreatest geniuses that ever lived, a peg to hang notes upon! The next\noffspring of her Ladyship's brain, was, we believe, another novel, which\nwas as like its predecessors as possible. In the period that elapsed\nbetween this birth, and the moment in which we have had the honour of\nintroducing her to our readers, her literary family was increased by\nanother child, with the delightful name of \"The Book of the Boudoir.\"\n\nWe hope we have not been understood as meaning to insinuate, that\nbecause her Ladyship is the mother of a couple of dozen of volumes, she\nis on that account a _precieuse ridicule_. This was far, very far from\nour intention. None can take more pleasure than ourselves in rendering\nall homage to genuine female talent, employed for useful and honourable\npurposes, or be more willing to acknowledge the peculiar excellence by\nwhich its productions are frequently marked. Were it our pleasant duty\nat present to notice the works of an Edgeworth, a Hemans, a Mitford, a\nSedgwick, or of any others of that fair and brilliant assemblage, who\nreflect so great a lustre upon the literature of this age, we should use\nlanguage as eulogistic as their warmest admirers could desire. But we\nhave to do now with a person of a very different description from those\nbright ornaments of their sex--with one in whose mind, whatever flowers\nNature may originally have planted, have been almost completely choked\nby the rank weeds of ignorance, presumption, frivolity, and vanity\nbeyond measurement--who, in a list of works as long, to use one of her\nown delicate illustrations, as \"Leporello's catalogue of Don Juan's\nmistresses,\" has given little or no aid to the cause of virtue\ngenerally, or evinced the slightest anxiety to improve and benefit her\nsex, but has devoted all her faculties to the erection of an altar on\nwhich she might worship herself, and only herself--who has even afforded\ncause, by the frequently extreme levity of her expressions, for the\ncharge of lending countenance to licentiousness and impiety--whose\nwritings, in fine, are calculated to inflict serious injury upon the\ntastes, the understandings, and the hearts of her youthful female\nreaders, by accustoming them to a vicious and ridiculous style, by\nfilling their minds with false and perverted sentiments and wrong\nimpressions upon some of the most important matters, and by setting\nbefore them the example of a woman who boasts of being a member of no\nundistinguished circle of society, and yet constantly violates those\nlaws of delicacy and refinement, the full observance of which is\nindispensable for every female who aspires to the name and character of\na lady.\n\nPale Aurora began now to appear, \"_Tiphoni croceum linquens cubile_,\" in\nvulgar parlance, day began to break. Behold our couple setting forth on\ntheir Parisian expedition. Some months afterwards, the \"_maison\nbijou_,\" in Kildare street, again was illumined by the presence of our\nfair traveller, whose pen was soon mended, dipped in ink, and busily\nemployed. In due time its labours were brought to a termination, and two\ngoodly volumes were ushered into the light of day, purporting to contain\nan account of \"France in 1829-30.\" These are the identical volumes which\nit is our design in this article to notice.\n\n\"_Facit indignatio versus_,\" exclaimed the old Roman satirist, and\n\"indignation makes us write,\" would we exclaim, in assigning our motives\nfor devoting a number of our pages to \"France in 1829-30,\" could we for\na moment be persuaded that our readers would credit the assertion. It\nseems to us, that we already behold every one of them smiling in\nderision, and giving an incredulous shake of the head, at the bare idea\nof a cold-blooded reviewer being actuated by indignant feelings to place\nhis critical lance in rest, and run a course against an unfortunate\nauthor. We must, nevertheless, be permitted to protest, that we do feel\na considerable quantity of very honest and virtuous indignation against\nthe trash last put forth by _Miladi_--quite as much, we are sure, as\nimpelled Juvenal to the composition of his searing satires. We may be\ntold, however, that we are waging battle with a lady, and that we should\nbe upon our guard not to give fresh cause for the exclamation, that \"the\nage of chivalry is gone.\" A lady, true; but, when in your boasted \"age\nof chivalry,\" persons of her sex buckled on armour and rushed into the\n_melee_, were they spared by the courteous knights with whom they\nmeasured swords? Did not Clorinda receive her death wound from the hand\nof Tancred? And why should the Amazon who wields the pen, be more gently\ndealt with than she who meddles with cold iron? In literature, as in\nwar, there is no distinction of sex. We hope, therefore, we shall not be\naccused of ungallant, or anti-chivalric bearing, on account of the blows\nwe may inflict upon the literary person of a most daring Thalestris,\nespecially as her vanity is a panoply of proof.\n\nIn her preface, Lady M. says, that a second work on France from her pen\ncould only be justified by the novelty of its matter, or by the merit of\nits execution. Then do we pronounce this second work, this \"France in\n1829-30,\" to be the most unjustifiable imposition on the good nature of\nthe reading community that ever was practised. Its matter is nothing\nmore nor less than Miladi herself; and is she a novelty? Something less\nthan half a century ago, her Ladyship undoubtedly was a novelty, and one\ntoo of an extraordinary kind. As to the \"merit of its execution,\" it is\nquite sufficient to know that it is the work of Lady Morgan, to form an\nidea of that requisite for its \"justification.\" Out of thine own mouth\nhave we condemned thee. The fact is, that \"France in 1829-30,\" is\nalmost, the counterpart of \"France in 1816,\" and the same remarks may\nbe made concerning it which we have already applied to the latter. All\nthe information we could discover we had obtained from it on finishing\nits perusal, was that its author had improved in neither wisdom,\nknowledge, nor modesty, since her first visit to the land after which\nboth of these productions have been christened. France! and what right\nhave they to that name? Would it not induce one to suppose, that their\nauthor had at least travelled through the greater portion of that\nbeautiful country, and eked out a number of her pages from the notes,\nsuch as they might be, made during the tour? And yet her Ladyship, on\nboth occasions, went to Paris by the high road of Calais, remained in\nthe capital a few months, and then returned by another high road. Even\n\"Paris in 1816,\" \"Paris in 1829-30,\" would be titles with which these\npublications would possess scarcely more affinity, than that by which\nchildren, on whom the preposterous fondness of their parents has\nbestowed the high-sounding appellations of warriors and monarchs, are\nconnected with those worthies. Their only appropriate names would be,\n\"Lady Morgan in 1816,\" \"Lady Morgan in 1829-30;\" for what information do\nthey give about France or Paris, and what information do they _not_ give\nabout Lady Morgan? they even let us into the secrets of her Ladyship's\nwardrobe. It was Paris that saw Lady Morgan, and not Lady Morgan that\nsaw Paris, in the same way as, according to Dr. Franklin, it was\nPhiladelphia that took Sir William Howe, and not Sir William Howe that\ntook Philadelphia.\n\nTo collect materials for a book of travels, it is necessary to be all\neyes and ears with regard to every thing but one's self. Her Ladyship,\nhowever, was just the reverse throughout the whole period of her absence\nfrom Kildare street,--it seems always to have been her object to\nattract, and not to bestow, attention. In the volumes before us, it is\nher perpetual endeavour to win admiration by making known the admiration\nshe entertains for herself, as well as that which she supposes she\nexcites in others. They are consequently, in great measure, filled with\nwhat was said to Lady Morgan, and what Lady Morgan did and said during\nher last visit to Paris. While discoursing about anything else than\nherself, she appears to be on thorns until she gets back to that all\nabsorbing subject, and no matter what is the title of the chapter, she\ngenerally contrives, by hook or by crook, to bring herself into it as\nthe main object of interest. The poor reader is thus often sadly\ndisappointed in the expectations he may form of deriving pleasure or\ninformation from various parts of her work, in consequence of the\npromises held out by their \"headings.\" He almost always eventually\ndiscovers, that however he may have been induced to anticipate a meeting\nwith other persons or matters, it is still \"Monsieur Tonson come\nagain.\" We must confess, that it is rather too bad to be _Morbleued_ in\nthis way; though it is but fair to acknowledge, that her Ladyship is not\nan intentional tormentor, like the malicious wags by whom the\nunfortunate Frenchman was teased out of house and home. On the contrary,\nher design is one altogether consonant to the general benevolence of her\ncharacter. It is to give pleasure; and as her greatest delight arises\nfrom the contemplation of herself, she has presumed, naturally enough if\nwe may believe the philosophers, that the same cause will produce the\nsame effect upon the rest of the world. All her pictures, therefore,\nlike those of the painter who doated upon his mistress to such a degree\nas to introduce her face into every one of his works, contain the object\nof her idolatry, either prominently in the foreground, or so ingeniously\nplaced in the background, as to be quite as well fitted to draw\nattention.--But it is time to follow her in some of her peregrinations.\n\nOn a certain day of the year 1829, which she has not had the goodness to\ndesignate, she arrived at Calais. She was accompanied by an Irish\nfootman,--not, we presume, the \"_illiterate literatus_,\" whom she has\nimmortalized in her first \"France,\"--and by a person whom she once or\ntwice alludes to in her volumes; first, by acknowledging her obligations\nto a \"Sir C. M.\" for some articles which had been contributed by him to\nswell the dimensions of her work; and, secondly, by mentioning that\nsomebody sent a \"flask of genuine _potteen_,\" to her Ladyship's great\ndelight, \"with Mr. Somebody's compliments to Sir C. M.\" As there is an\nindividual designated once or twice also as \"my husband,\" we have shrewd\nsuspicions that he and this Sir C. M. are one and the same being. The\nfirst thing that Miladi does at Calais, is to experience a \"burst of\nagreeable sensations;\" and the next, to feel a considerable degree of\nsurprise at being delighted again with that renowned place--renowned for\nhaving been several times visited by Lady Morgan, besides other minor\ncauses of celebrity, such as its sieges, and its having been the place\nwhere Yorick commenced his sentimental journey; but these have been\ncompletely forgotten since the year 1816. After her \"little heart\" had\nbeen fluttered by those agreeable and wonderful sensations, the nature\nof its palpitations was unfortunately changed by the indignation with\nwhich it was filled on her discovering \"how English\" every thing\nappeared. \"English carpets, and English cleanliness; English delf and\nEnglish damask,\" with various other _Englishiana_, gave such a John Bull\naspect to the room of the hotel into which she was ushered, that she was\non the point of swooning, when her ears were suddenly assailed by a loud\nsound--Gracious heavens! What noise is that? Her delicate little head\nis in a twinkling thrust out of the window, and she beholds,--oh horror\nof horrors--she beholds a mail-coach, built on the regular English plan,\ncantering into the yard, with all its concomitants completely _a\nl'Anglaise_--\"horses curvetting, and not a hair turned--a whip that\n'tips the silk' like a feather--'ribbons,' not ropes--a coachman, all\ncapes and castor--a guard that cries 'all right,'\" and who was at that\nmoment puffing most manfully into a \"reg'lar mail-coach horn.\" This was\ntoo much, and her Ladyship would inevitably have been driven distracted,\nor, at least, have gone into hysterics, had not a most delicious idea\ninterposed its aid, and she exclaimed, \"What luck to have written _my_\nFrance, while France was still so French!\"--and what luck, say we, to\nhave so commodious a safety-valve as vanity, by means of which to let\noff the superabundant steam of one's ire!\n\nNow, as to her Ladyship's having written her \"France,\" while _France_\nwas still \"so French,\" this we do not deny; but we do deny that _her_\nFrance itself is \"so French.\" It would be an affair of some considerable\ndifficulty, in our humble opinion, to find any thing French either about\nit or the \"France\" we are now reviewing, except their titles, and\ninnumerable scraps of the French language, not unfrequently so expressed\nand so applied that they would do honour to Mrs. Malaprop herself.\n\nLady M.'s fondness for generalizing, has led her to relate this\napparition of the \"Bang-up\" in such a way as would induce any one who\ndid not know better, to suppose that the \"Coach\" had entirely superseded\nthe \"Diligence\" upon the French roads. Truly would such a change be a\ncause of regret; for the traveller in France would thus be deprived of a\nfruitful source of amusement. But we have the pleasure of announcing,\nfor the satisfaction of such of our readers as may entertain the design\nof paying a visit to that country, that the coach which Lady Morgan saw,\nwas the only vehicle of the kind with which her eyes could have been\nannoyed. We speak _understandingly_ on the subject, as we happened to be\nin France about the same time as her Ladyship. This coach, which, if we\nrecollect aright, was called the Telegraph, and not the \"Bang-up,\" was a\nspeculation of some Englishman, who ran it for a short time between\nBoulogne and Calais, but without much success. The old national vehicle\nhad too strong a hold upon the affections of the most national people in\nthe world, to be pushed from the field by any foreign opponent, and the\nslow, sure, and comfortable Diligence kept on the even tenor of its way,\nwhile the dashing, rapid Telegraph arrived prematurely at the end of its\njourneying.\n\nWe do not deem ourselves competent to decide upon so momentous a subject\nas the respective merits of the English and French stages, to give them\nour technical appellation; but it may be remarked as perhaps somewhat\nsingular, that with regard to comfort--a matter respecting which the\nFrench are as noted for their general heedlessness as the English are\nfor their almost uniform concern--the Diligence can lay claim to\nunquestionable superiority over the coach. On the other hand, the coach\nis constructed in such a way as to possess far greater facilities for\nrapidity of locomotion,--a quality which it might be supposed the quick\nvivacious temperament of the French would especially prize in their\nconveyances. As to appearance also, the English vehicle is certainly a\ngood deal better off than the French. Nothing, indeed, that a stranger\nmay have heard or read about the latter, can prepare him for it\nsufficiently, to prevent him on first beholding it from giving way to\nsomething more than a smile. It is not, however, so much the mere\nmachine itself that operates upon his risible faculties, as the whole\nequipage, or _atalage_,--the scare-crow horses, that seem to have been\nonce the property of the keeper of some museum by whom their bones have\nbeen linked together and covered with skin as well as they might be,\nwithout inserting something between as a substitute for flesh; the\nnon-descript gear by which these living anatomies are kept together and\nattached to the vehicle, composed of rope, leather, iron, steel, brass,\nand every thing else that could by any possibility be used for the\npurpose; the queer-looking postillion, with his long cue, huge boots,\nand pipe, all combine with the grotesque appearance of the Diligence\nitself, to form an _ensemble_ irresistibly ludicrous.\n\nWhat a difference, too, there is in the facility with which they get\n\"under weigh.\" One crack of the coachman's whip, causes his fine animals\nto give \"a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull together,\" and away you\nwhirl in an instant. But the traveller in France does not find starting\nso easy a matter. He gets into the Diligence; every thing seems ready.\nThe passengers are all in their places, and have saluted each other with\ntrue French politeness, except some gruff John Bull sitting in a corner\nseat and eyeing his associates with mingled scorn and distrust--the five\nor six apologies for horses are standing in an attitude of the greatest\npatience, waiting for the signal to make an attempt at putting one foot\nbefore the other--the _conducteur_, a person who has the supreme\ndirection of the movements of the Diligence, is in his place on the\ntop--the boots in which the legs of the postillion are buried, are\ndangling on both sides of the wheel horse on the left--crack! goes his\nwhip--a jingling sound responds, caused by the endeavours of the\n\"cattle\" to advance--\"mais que diable\"--crack! crack! crack!--something\nlike motion is experienced, when there is a sudden stop, and the\nconducteur is seen descending from his eminence, muttering sundry\nexpressions of no very gentle nature--\"what the devil's the matter now,\"\ngrowls a more than bass voice out of one window--\"qu'est ce que c'est,\nconducteur,\" simultaneously demand a treble and a tenor from another\nwindow--\"rien, Madame,\" the answer is always addressed to the lady,\n\"rien du tout,\" he replies whilst endeavouring to repair some part of\nthe \"rigging\" that could not stand the efforts of the poor beasts to\nmove from their position. At length, however, you get fairly under\nweigh, with about a four knot breeze, and continue to make some progress\nfor an hour or two amidst a noise caused by the rumbling of the vehicle,\nthe creaking, jingling, rattling, and clanking, of the _atalage_, the\nunceasing crack of the whip, and the chattering of your companions, to\nwhich the sounds at Babel were music. The movement then becomes\n_adagio_, and soon afterwards the conducteur's voice is heard, begging\nthe passengers in all parts of the vehicle to descend. Wondering what is\nthe matter, you get out with the rest, and find the cause of this\ncommotion to be a _grande Montagne_--anglice, a little hill--in mounting\nwhich, the tender care that is taken of the animals upon the road,\nhowever much the state of their flesh shows it is diminished in the\nstable, renders it indispensable that they should be relieved of every\npossible weight. To this inconvenience you are subjected on approaching\nalmost every little elevation, the like of which in England or the\nUnited States, would not cause the slightest diminution of speed. But it\nmust be confessed, that occasionally, a hill is to be passed of a\nmagnitude which the steeds could never surmount without diminishing\ntheir load, and then the notice that is said to have been affixed to one\nof the Diligences, may very well be appended to all. \"MM. les voyageurs,\nsont pries, quand ils descendent, de ne pas aller plus vite que la\nvoiture:\" passengers are requested, when they descend, not to go faster\nthan the vehicle. A most necessary request! La Fontaine, when he wrote\nthe fable in which he gives an account of a vehicle ascending a steep\neminence, and the exertions of a fly to assist the horses, must have\njust returned from some excursion in a Diligence, during which he was\nwitness to the creeping, toiling, panting of the animals pulling it up a\nhill. Pauvres diables! as the women are constantly exclaiming, a fly\nmight really lend them some aid in their efforts. About every eight\nmiles, fresh horses are in readiness, but the change is rarely for the\nbetter,--for the worse it cannot be.\n\nIt is only on the road that the postillions drive slowly; when they\nenter a town it is a sort of signal for them to dash on at a furious\nrate, notwithstanding the danger of going rapidly through streets which\nare little better than alleys, and in which there are no side-pavements\nto mark the limits for pedestrians. We never before experienced such\nphilanthropic alarm for the safety of our fellow-mortals, as on the\nevening of our arrival in Paris, whilst whirling at a furious rate\nthrough its narrow streets, which were thronged with people, when it was\nso dark that their ears alone could give them warning to get out of the\nway. No accident, however, occurred. The French drivers, it must be\nconfessed, though not very elegant or stylish \"whips,\" are very sure;\nthey contrive to guide the immense Diligences through the crowded\nlabyrinths of a large city with wonderful safety, notwithstanding the\nswiftness with which they generally pass through them, and the loose\nmanner in which the horses are linked together.\n\nBut where did we leave our Ladyship? Oh, with her head out of the window\nof the hotel, saying something about _her_ France and the other France.\nWe really beg her pardon for keeping her so long in such a situation,\nand hasten to relieve her from it, by placing her, together with Sir C.\nM. and the Irish footman, in a,--but here again we are at fault. She has\nnot had the kindness to inform us what was the species of conveyance\nthat she consecrated to eternal veneration by employing for her journey\nto Paris, and as we have neither time nor space for an adequate\ninvestigation of this important point, we must leave it to be mooted by\nother commentators, contenting ourselves with the knowledge that the\nillustrious trio arrived safely at the capital.\n\nOn reaching the hotel in the Rue de Rivoli, which she had resolved upon\nimmortalizing by residing in it during her sojourn in Paris, she was\nagain fearfully agitated by that dreadful fondness for things English,\nin France, by which her nervous system had before been so greatly\ndiscomposed. Woful to relate, she was received by \"a smart, dapper,\nEnglish-innkeeper-looking landlord,\" and conducted to apartments \"which\nwere a box of boudoirs, as compact as a Chinese toy.\" \"There were\ncarpets on every floor, chairs that were moveable, mirrors that\nreflected, sofas to sink on, footstools to stumble over; in a word, all\nthe incommodious commodities of my own cabin in Kildare street.\" Poor\nMiladi! this was really too provoking, to have all the trouble and\nexpense of journeying from Dublin to see just what was to be seen there;\nbut no matter, it will serve for the subject of some twenty pages in\nyour intended book. But then the change, so trying to the nerves of a\nromantic lady, which had taken place since 1816. In that year, she\nremembered, on driving into the paved court of the hotel d'Orleans, she\nhad seen \"an elderly gentleman, sitting under the shelter of a vine, and\nlooking like a specimen of the restored emigration. His white hair,\npowdered and dressed _a l'oiseau royale_; his Persian slippers and _robe\nde chambre, a grand ramage_, (we hope, reader, you have a French\ndictionary near you) spoke of principles as old as his toilet. He was\nreading, too, a loyal paper, loyal, at least, in those days,--the\n_Journal des Debats._ Bowing, as we passed, he consigned us, with a\ngraceful wave of the hand, to the care of Pierre, the _frotteur_. I took\nhim for some fragment of a _duc et pair_ of the old school; but, on\nputting the question to _the frotteur_, who himself might have passed\nfor a _figurante_ at the opera, he informed us that he was '_Notre\nbourgeois_,' the master of the hotel.\" It is quite wonderful to us how\nMiladi could have survived to relate so shocking a metamorphosis. Ovid\nhas nothing half so strange and heart-rending.\n\nThe instances we have mentioned are far from being the only ones in\nwhich her Ladyship was \"put out of sorts\" by the Anglomania, which, she\nwould make us believe, is operating at present as great a revolution in\nthe social, as was effected in '98 in the political condition of France.\nAll along the road from Calais to Paris, she sees nothing but \"youths\ngalloping their horses in the cavalry costume of Hyde Park,\" \"smart gigs\nand natty dennets,\" \"cottages of gentility, with white walls and green\nshutters, and neat offices, rivalling the diversified orders of the\nWyatvilles of Islington and Highgate,\" in short, nothing but \"English\nneatness and propriety on every side,\" with one terrible exception,\nhowever, \"an Irish jaunting car!\" of which she chanced, to her infinite\ndismay, to catch a glimpse. The second appearance that she makes in the\nstreets of Paris, is for the purpose of buying some \"_bonbons_,\n_diablotins en papillotes_, _Pastilles de Nantes_, and other sugared\nprettinesses,\" for which Parisian confectioners are so renowned.\nAccordingly, she goes into a shop where she supposes that \"fanciful\nidealities, sweet nothings, candied epics and eclogues in spun sugar, so\nlight, and so perfumed as to resemble (was there ever such nonsense)\ncongealed odours, or a crystallization of the essence of sweet flowers,\"\nare to be sold, but on inquiry she is told by a \"demoiselle behind the\ncounter, as neat as English muslin and French (what a wonder it wasn't\nEnglish) _tournure_ could make her,\" that 'we sell no such a ting,' but\nthat she might have 'de cracker, de bun, de plom-cake, de spice\ngingerbread, de mutton and de mince pye, de crompet and de muffin, de\ngelee of de calves foot, and de apple dumplin.' Reader, Lady Morgan \"was\nstruck dumb!\" She purchased a bundle of crackers, \"hard enough to\n_crack_ the teeth of an elephant,\" and hurried from the shop. But\nmisfortunes never come single, and her ladyship, though an exception to\nmost other general rules, was not destined to prove the correctness of\nthat one in this instance, for just as she was escaping from the place\nwhere she had experienced the serious inconvenience of being \"struck\ndumb,\" she was struck in another way--viz. on the left cheek, by the\nexplosion of a bottle of \"Whitbread's entire,\" the consequence of which\nwas, that the exterior of her head became covered with precisely the\nsame thing with which its interior is filled--\"froth.\"--\n\nFoaming with rage and brown-stout, her Ladyship was hastening home as\nfast as her \"little feet\" could carry her, when a perfumer's shop\n\"caught the most acute of all her senses.\"--What a delightful mode, by\nthe way, her ladyship has, of imparting knowledge _en passant_, as it\nwere; here we have the important information communicated to us, that\nher \"acutest sense\" is situated in her nose, just because she happened\nto pass by a perfumery store; but what a nose her ladyship's nose must\nbe, since it is endowed with more wonderful faculties than her eyes,\nwhich possess such miraculous powers as to enable her to see things in\nFrance perceptible by no other mortal optics! But to proceed with our\ndismal story. Her ladyship's olfactory nerves, as we have already\nmentioned, having made her aware of the proximity of a perfumer's shop,\nshe was induced to go into it by the desire of procuring something which\nmight relieve them from the torture produced by the exhalations of\n'Whitbread's entire.' But here again she was doomed to disappointment.\nShe asked for various \"_eaux_, _essences_, and _extraits_,\" and was\npresented with bottles of \"_lavendre vatre_, _honey vatre_, and _tief\nhis vinaigre_;\" she asked for _savons_, and was shown cakes of \"_Vindsor\nsoap_,\" and \"_de Regent's vashball_.\" In an agony of despair, she rushes\nfrom the shop, first taking care, however, to \"gather up her purse and\nreticule,\" and soon arrives at her--alas! English furnished apartments.\nAfter stumbling over a footstool, and being incommoded by other\n\"incommodious commodities,\" she at length sinks exhausted upon a sofa,\njust opposite to a \"mirror that reflected.\" But what other singular\nlooking object, besides Miladi's face, is it that forms a subject of\nthat glass's reflections, and is lying on a table just behind her? It is\na little basket, the contents of which her ladyship soon begins to\ninvestigate,--and what do you suppose she finds?--\"A flask of _genuine\npotteen_!!\" This time she is struck loquacious, and she shrieks out,\n\"this is too much! was it for this we left the snugness and economical\ncomfort of our Irish home, and encountered the expensive inconveniencies\nof a foreign journey, in the hope of seeing nothing British, 'till the\nthreshold of that home should be passed by our feet;'--to meet at every\nstep with all that taste, health, and civilization (exemplified by\n'lavendre vatre,' 'vindsor soap,' and 'a flask of _potteen_,') we cry\ndown at home, as cheap and as abundant abroad,\" &c. &c. The piercing key\non which her Ladyship pitched her voice while declaiming this\nmagnificent soliloquy, brought Sir C. M., the Irish footman, and the\nEnglish-looking landlord into the room, in a terrible flurry. \"My\ndearest dear what is the matter?\"--\"Och! my leddy, what is it now that\nails you?\"--\"_Ah! madame, mille pardons, qu'est ce que c'est?_\"\nsimultaneously issue from the mouths of the three worthies. \"Avaunt! get\nout of my sight, you _maudit imitateur_; and you Sir Charles, _et vous_,\nPatrick, see that _tout est prepare_ for returning to Dublin _dans\nl'heure meme_,\" meekly responds Miladi. But a sudden change comes over\nher countenance--sudden as that which took place in the aspect of Juno\nwhen she beheld the waves raised to the very heavens by the power of\nNeptune, and supposed that they had overwhelmed the bark which carried\nAEneas and his companions, the objects of her eternal hatred. She smiled,\nas the face of Nature smiles when the clouds that have long covered it\nwith gloom, have disappeared before the potent influence of the\n\"glorious orb that gives the day,\" and at length she rapturously cried\nout, \"How lucky to have written _my_ France, while France was still so\nFrench!\"--Lady Morgan was herself again.\n\nNow we beg leave to observe, that this Anglomania bugbear, by which her\nladyship pretends to have been so much distressed, is the merest piece\nof nonsense and affectation in the world. We will not be so ungallant as\nto suppose that Lady Morgan has intentionally related what is not\naltogether so true as might be, but she has been accustomed for such a\nlength of time to roam about the varied realms of fancy, that it would\nbe impossible for her ever to descend to the flat regions of fact.\nBesides, as we have already stated, she has been gifted with powers of\nvision more surprising than those of the lynx or the seer--the first can\nonly see through a stone, the second can only see things which may exist\nat a future day, when they will be visible to every one else--but she\nsees things existing at present, that defy the ken of all other animals,\nrational and irrational. While reading her account of the English\nvehicles, English cottages, &c. &c. which she observed in her journey\nfrom Calais to Paris, we could not help asking ourselves, where were our\neyes during the time we travelled that road? We are satisfied, however,\nthat they were in their right place, and tolerably well employed; and\nthat if they did not encounter the signs of Anglomania mentioned by her\nLadyship, it was because these were to be perceived by no one but\nherself. Wide indeed is the difference between travelling in France and\nEngland! The poet Grey, in one of his charming letters, affirms, that in\nthe former country it would be the finest in the world, were it not for\nthe terrible state of the inns; but it must have greatly deteriorated\nthere, or have improved in his native isle since his time, for there can\nnot be the slightest question as to the superior delights of journeying\nin the latter at present. The inns in France are still bad enough, in\nall conscience, and offer but a dreary welcome to one who has been\naccustomed to the neatness and comforts of English hostels. There are,\nhowever, various other particulars of importance for a traveller's\nenjoyment, which Shakspeare's \"sea-walled garden\" furnishes in by far\nthe greater abundance. In France the roads are comparatively much\ninferior, and the general appearance of the country is less pleasing.\nYou meet there with few or none of those detached farm-houses, with\ntheir little dependencies of cottages, which everywhere greet the eye in\nEngland, bespeaking the honest and well-conditioned yeoman, and\npresenting a picture of prosperity and contentment,--the villages\nthrough which you pass, mostly wear a decayed and squalid\nappearance--the magnificent country-seats, with their parks and other\nappurtenances, whose frequent recurrence in England constitutes so rich\na feast for the gaze of the stranger, are rarely rivalled in France--the\nlandscape here, also, is much seldomer able to borrow that venerable\ngrace and romantic charm which the remains of feudal ages alone can\nlend. This last circumstance is one greatly to be regretted; for perhaps\nthe most exquisite gratification to be derived from travelling through a\ncountry, where for centuries civilization in a greater or less degree\nhas exercised sway, arises from the contemplation of the various\nmonuments of by-gone days, some slowly mouldering into dust, others\nstill proudly defying the assaults of the great destroyer. The mind\ndwells upon them with a species of pensive delight, and that peculiar\ncharm which their association with the fictions and annals of times past\ninspires. It would seem, that France should be especially rich in the\nrelics of that feudalism of which for a long time it was the chief seat,\nbut a reason for their scantiness may be found in the policy which\ncaused Louis XI., and which was subsequently pursued by Richelieu, and\ncompleted by Louis le Grand, to call the nobles from their estates,\nwhere they exercised almost sovereign authority, to the capital, and\nconvert them into mere hangers on of the court--in the destructive\nhostilities which have almost incessantly desolated the kingdom--and\nespecially in the determined war that was made upon castles by the\npatriots of the Revolution. These, at all events, are the causes which\nSir Walter Scott, in his \"Paul's Letters to his Kinsfolk,\" assigns for\nthe circumstance we are lamenting. The first one of them had also been\npreviously intimated by that worthy personage, the father of Tristram\nShandy,--\"Why are there so few palaces and gentlemen's seats, (he would\nask with some emotion, as he walked across the room,) throughout so many\ndelicious provinces in France? Whence is it that the few remaining\n_chateaux_ amongst them are so dismantled, so unfurnished, and in so\nruinous and desolate a condition?--Because, sir, (he would say,) in that\nkingdom no man has any country-interest to support:--the little interest\nof any kind which any man has anywhere in it, is concentrated in the\ncourt, and the looks of the Grand Monarch; by the sunshine of whose\ncountenance, or the clouds which pass across it, every Frenchman lives\nor dies.\" This, however, is certainly not the case with Frenchmen of the\npresent day.\n\nBut the principal drawback upon the pleasure of travelling in France, is\ndecidedly the multitude of mendicants by whom you are continually\nannoyed, and whose miserable appearance offends the eye, while it\nsickens the heart. Scarcely ever does the vehicle stop without being\nimmediately surrounded by the most distressing objects that the mind can\nconceive, in such numbers as to render it impossible for any one except\nthe possessor of Fortunatus's or Rothschild's purse, to bestow alms,\nhowever inconsiderable, upon them all. A humane individual, who should\nattempt to do it, with a pocket of but moderate dimensions, would soon\nbe reduced to the necessity of enrolling himself in the mendicant band,\nand crying out with the rest of them, in their peculiar tone, \"_Donnez\nun sous, a un pauvre malheureux, pour l'amour de Dieu, et de la Sainte\nVierge_.\" \"Give a sous to a poor unfortunate, for the love of God and of\nthe Holy Virgin.\" The crowds of these beggars upon the French roads,\nlead the stranger to apprehend that in Paris they will swarm to such an\nextent as to mar in a degree the pleasure of his residence there; he is,\nhowever, agreeably disappointed at finding in his perambulations through\nits streets, that they are completely free from them, in consequence of\nthe admirable regulations of the police. It is worthy of remark, that\nthe reverse of this is the case in England. There the roads and villages\nrarely afford cause for the tear of compassion, or the exclamation of\ndisgust, elicited by scenes of misery; but in walking about London, one\nmust be made of sterner stuff than was sentimental Yorick, who can avoid\nendeavouring to repeat \"Psha! with an air of carelessness,\" at almost\nevery step, after being obliged to refuse infinitely stronger claims\nupon charity than those which were advanced by the poor Franciscan.\n\nWe have thus enumerated most of the reasons why travelling in England is\npreferable to that in France, yet there is one circumstance to be\nremarked in favour of the latter, which almost counterbalances every\nconsideration of an unfavourable kind. We allude to the facility with\nwhich a stranger can make acquaintance with his fellow passengers, in\nthe \"gay, smiling land of social mirth and ease.\" In England he may\njourney from Plymouth to Berwick without speaking more than ten words to\nany persons who chance to be his companions in the coach, or hearing ten\nwords spoken by them if they happen not to know each other; but in a\nFrench public conveyance, only a short time elapses before all its\noccupants are as much at ease, and upon as good terms with each other,\nas if they were familiar acquaintances. Many a pleasant hour have we\nspent in a diligence, in consequence of the conversations we have fallen\ninto with individuals whom we have there encountered, some of which were\nof a highly ludicrous character. We shall never forget a series of\ninterrogatories put to us by a loquacious fellow next to whom we were\nseated in the diligence in going from Rouen to Paris, and who was about\nas ignorant as he was garrulous. Hearing us say, in answer to a question\nof another person, that we were from the United States, he asked us how\nwe liked Italy; and on our telling him we had never been there, inquired\nwith a face of great surprise, whether the United States was not on the\nother side of Italy? After endeavouring to give him an idea of the\nsituation of our country, he asked successively, if we had crossed the\nocean in a steam-boat, if the United States belonged to England or to\nFrance, and if Philadelphia was not the place where the great revolt of\nthe <DW64>s took place. But we must return to her Ladyship, with the\nwish that she would contrive to render her company more agreeable, that\nwe might have less temptation to wander from her at this rate.\n\nWith regard to the English furniture of her Ladyship's apartments, and\nthe English confectionaries and perfumeries which gave rise to the\nmemorable adventures we have related above, we may remark that it may\nhave been so ordained by fate that she should light upon one of the very\nfew hotels, one of the very few confectionary shops, and one of the very\nfew perfumery stores in Paris, in which matters are ordered in the\nEnglish style; but to give us to understand, in consequence, that all\nthe hotels are furnished in the same way, and that _bonbons_,\n_extraits_, &c. are not to be procured, is like the proceeding of the\nHon. Frederick de Roos, R. N. who affirms, in his sapient work on the\nUnited States, that all the inhabitants in Philadelphia take tea on the\nsteps before their doors in summer evenings, because, forsooth, he saw a\nfamily sitting on those of the house in which they lived, in order to\nenjoy a July twilight.\n\nOne of the first things that her Ladyship does on the morning subsequent\nto her arrival, is to give notice to her friends of that important\nevent,--a gratuitous piece of kindness altogether, as it seems to us,\nfor it must doubtless have been announced by as many portentous signs as\naccompanied the birth of Owen Glendower. Nevertheless, in order to make\nassurance doubly sure, she despatched 'cards to some, and notes to\nothers, after the Parisian fashion,' but previously indulged in a very\npretty sentimental fit. This was caused by the first name that met her\neye as she opened her 'old Paris visiting book for 1818'--that of Denon,\n\"the page, minister, and _gentilhomme de la chambre_ of Louis XV., the\nfriend of Voltaire, the intimate of Napoleon, the traveller and\nhistorian of Modern Egypt, the director of the _Musee_ of France,\" &c.\n&c., who, we are informed, used always to be so particularly delighted\nwith her Ladyship's visits to Paris, that he was wont to hail them with\nhis hand, and welcome them with a cordial smile. Alas! death had\novertaken him, notwithstanding his friendship with Lady Morgan; and she\ncould no longer expect his salutations. \"Other hands were now extended,\nother smiles beamed now as brightly; but his were dimmed for ever!\" How\nkind her Ladyship is! Fearing her readers might be distressed by the\nidea, that, in consequence of the decease of Denon, she might have been\nin some want of welcoming, she has taken the precaution of setting them\nat ease upon that point, by the above ingenious sentence. In mentioning\nthe reasons of her intimacy with Denon, she employs language of a very\nsingular kind, which, if maliciously interpreted to the letter, might\nsubject her to uncomfortable remarks, though we are sure it is nothing\nbut an effusion of gurgling vanity. It is an instance, however, to what\na degree that sentiment, when extreme, gets the better of all sense of\npropriety and decorum. She says, that even if Denon had not been such a\nperson as she describes him, \"still, _he suited me, I suited him_. There\nwas between us that sympathy, in spite of the disparity of years and\ntalents, which, whether in trifles or essentials,--between the frivolous\nor the profound,--makes the true basis of _those ties, so sweet to bind,\nso bitter to break_!\" It is well for Sir Charles Morgan's peace of mind,\nthat he is acquainted, as he must be, with his wife's frivolity and\negotism. How, indeed, he could have allowed her to come before the world\nwith such phraseology in her mouth, we cannot imagine, unless on the\nsupposition that he is such a husband as La Bruyere has described. \"_Il\nne sert dans sa famille qu' a montrer l'exemple, d'un silence timide et\nd'une parfaite soumission. Il ne lui est du ni douaire ni conventions;\nmais a cela pres, et qu'il n'accouche pas, il est la femme, et elle le\nmari._\"\n\nAfter her Ladyship had \"shuddered,\" and \"felt as if she was throwing\nearth upon Denon's grave whilst drawing her pen across his precious and\nhistorical name,\" she spent about half an hour in weeping, \"like a fair\nflower surcharged with dew,\" over the names of others of her departed\nfriends, Guinguene, Talma, Langlois, Lanjuinais, &c., until she\nfortunately recollected that the climate of Paris is one that \"developes\na sensibility prompt, not deep.\" Lucky thought! She immediately threw\ndown the visiting-book, threw up the window to let in the climate, wiped\nfrom her eyes the tears \"which parted thence, as pearls from diamonds\ndropp'd,\" and began to think of \"all that death had left her, of the\n'greater still behind,'--of friends, each in his way, a specimen of that\ngenius and virtue, which, in all regions, and in all ages, make the _ne\nplus ultra_ of human excellence.\" Admire the delicacy of the method by\nwhich Miladi lets us into the secret of her being a _ne plus ultra_; it\nis not by a bold assertion, but by a modest inuendo. She keeps company\nwith _ne plus ultras_--birds of the same feather flock together--ergo,\nshe is a _ne plus ultra_ herself. And so she is, but in her own way.\n\"_Il y a malheureusement_,\" observes a French writer of the present day\n\"_plus d'une maniere de se rendre celebre_,\"--\"there is, unfortunately,\nmore than one method of becoming celebrated,\"--and as this writer is an\nacquaintance of Lady Morgan, we are half inclined to think he committed\nthat sentence to paper after returning from a visit to _her_\nCelebrityship.\n\nWe may as well cite here a few more instances of her ingenuity in\ncommunicating, obliquely, how distinguished a personage she is,--a\nquality she possesses in a degree that we do not recollect ever to have\nseen rivalled. We copy _verbatim_.\n\n     \"The other day I dined in the Chaussee d'Antin, in that house\n     where it is always such a privilege to dine; where the wit of\n     the host, like the _menus_ of his table, combines all that is\n     best in French or Irish peculiarity; _and where the society is\n     chosen with reference to no other qualities than merit and\n     agreeability_.\"\n\nSpeaking of the weekly assemblies at an eminent individual's house, at\nwhich she was a constant attendant, she says, they\n\n     \"Are among the most select and remarkable in Paris.\n     Inaccessible to _commonplace mediocrity and pushing\n     pretension_, their visitor must be _ticketted_ in some way or\n     another\" (by writing a \"France,\" or an \"Italy,\" for instance,)\n     \"to obtain a presentation.\"\n\nWith regard to another circle of which she was a large segment, she\nobserves,--\n\n     \"It is sufficient to have merit, agreeability, or the claims of\n     old acquaintance to belong to it, but, truth to tell, it is\n     still so far exclusive, that what Madame Roland calls\n     _l'universelle mediocrite_, gains no admission there.\"\n\nAgain:--\n\n     \"I happened one night at Gen. La Fayette's to say that I should\n     remain at home on the following morning, and the information\n     brought us a numerous circle of morning visitors; others\n     dropped in by chance, and some by appointment. From twelve till\n     four, my little salon was a congress composed of the\n     representatives of every vocation of arts, letters, science,\n     _bon ton_,\" (the Congress of Vienna was nothing to this,) \"and\n     philosophy, in which, as in the Italian opera-boxes of Milan\n     and Naples, the comers and goers succeeded each other, as the\n     narrow limits of the space required that the earliest visitor\n     should make room for the last arrival.\"\n\nWe might fill pages with similar specimens of her modesty, but we must\nproceed.\n\nThe notes and cards being all despatched, authentic intelligence is at\nlength diffused throughout Paris of her arrival, and such a commotion is\nforthwith excited as had never been seen even in that city of\ncommotions, since the time the Giraffe made her entree into it, and said\nto the gaping multitude, \"_Mes amis, il n'y a qu'une bete de plus._\"\nPerhaps the sensation might be excepted which was created by \"Messieurs\nles Osages,\" the American deputation whose \"France\" has not yet, we\nbelieve, appeared in either hemisphere. The Rue de Rivoli was instantly\ncrowded with \"old friends\" and \"intimate acquaintances,\" _ne plus\nultras_ included, besides various others anxious for the honour of an\nintroduction, all striving who should get first into the \"_Hotel de la\nTerrasse_;\" and such was the press of visits, dinner-parties, suppers,\nballs, &c. &c. that for a period her Ladyship could not, as she says,\n\"find leisure to register a single impression for her own amusement, or\nhaply for that of a world, which, it must be allowed, is not very\ndifficult to amuse.\" In this sentiment we request leave, before going\nfurther, to record our unqualified concurrence, and also to state, that\nwe know of no one from whom it could proceed with more propriety and\nweight than from Miladi. It has been, doubtless, expressed before, by\nvarious other book-makers, but never, we feel confident, by one whose\ncareer affords fuller evidence of its correctness, or who could adduce\nmore forcible proofs in support of it, should they be required. In such\ncase, the simple fact need only be cited, that \"France in 1830\" is the\nwork of the same hand which indited \"Ida of Athens,\" some twenty years\nprevious, and which, during that interval, has furnished the world\nalmost annually, with quartos, octavos, or duodecimos.\n\nThe accounts that her Ladyship gives of the various festive\nentertainments of which she partook, constitute the matter of a large\nnumber of her pages. If it be true, however, that in order to observe\nwell, one ought to screen one's self from observation, she could have\nhad little opportunity of obtaining acquaintance with the constitution\nof French society; for, if we believe her own story, there was no social\nassemblage of any kind to which she went, where she was not the observed\nof every one, the centre of attraction, the nucleus of excellence. And\nwhat information is to be derived from her relation of a ball here, or a\n_soiree_ there, beyond the very interesting, highly important, and most\ncredible intelligence, that as soon as the announcement of Lady Morgan's\nname falls upon the ears of the company, everything else is forgotten; a\ndead silence instantaneously takes place of the conversational hum that\nbefore prevailed; all eyes are directed towards the door; LADY MORGAN\nENTERS; a buzz of admiration succeeds; she advances with a dignified air\ntowards the hostess, or rather the hostess runs eagerly forward to meet\nher; she drops a romantic curtesy; she sits down; and thenceforward\nnothing is thought of by any of the guests but Miladi, and the pearls\nthat fall from her lips. As the French are fond of forming _queues_, or\nfiles, for the purpose of avoiding confusion, when there is any great\nearnestness among a large collection of persons with regard to any\nobject of curiosity, we can imagine the whole assemblage falling into\none as soon as she takes her seat, and thus enjoying, each in turn, the\ncoveted delight.--But we mistake; other information respecting French\nsociety is communicated, unwittingly however, by her Ladyship. It is\nthis: that they are as fond of ridicule in 1830, as they were in 1816,\nand as they have ever been. We have little difficulty in believing, that\nher Ladyship received a vast deal of attention in Paris; still, we must\nconfess, that it appears to us impossible not to be convinced, from her\nown story, that it was owing to a very different reason from the one to\nwhich it is attributed by her self-love. If there is any feature in the\nFrench character peculiarly salient or prominent, it is the love of\nridicule. \"Take care,\" said a lady to her son, who was on the eve of\ndeparture for his travels, \"of the Inquisition at Madrid, of the mob at\nLondon, and of ridicule at Paris.\" Nothing that is at all calculated to\nexcite an ironical smile or a sarcastic remark, escapes a \"fasting\nMonsieur's\" observation, and even the greatest virtues and genius, if\ncombined with any quality which can afford matter for a joke, will\nscarcely prevent their possessor from being made a laughing-stock.\nNapoleon was so well aware of this propensity of his subjects, that he\nwas prevented by it from placing his own figure in the car which\nsurmounts the triumphal arch erected between the Court of the Tuileries\nand the Place du Carousal, being apprehensive that the wags would avail\nthemselves of the opportunity thus afforded of punning at his\nexpense--_le char le tient_--_le charlatan_. What a delectable tit-bit,\nconsequently, for this appetite of the Parisians, must be a darling\nlittle philosopher in petticoats, (not quite sexagenary,) who dabbles in\nall sciences and arts, and is at the same time a pretender to the pretty\naffectations and hoydenish manners of a youthful belle! Such a person,\nespecially if she possess that happy opinion of herself, which prevents\nher from having the slightest suspicion that she can be the object of\nanything but admiration with all, is regarded by them as a legitimate\nsubject for a _mystification,_ which, in our vernacular, means\n_hoax_,--_elle se prete au ridicule_, as they say, she lends herself, as\nit were, to ridicule; and to be convinced that they know how to take\nconsummate advantage of the loan, it is only necessary to glance over\n\"France in 1830.\" Every one who does so will, we feel confident,\nunderstand in the same manner as ourselves, the meaning of that\n\"brilliant welcome,\" which Miladi, with so much complacency, informs us\nshe received \"in the capital of European intellect.\" From beginning to\nend, these volumes afford almost continued specimens of perfection in\nthe art of \"quizzing,\" and may therefore be particularly indicated to\nsuch as are anxious to acquire proficiency in that way. We are glad\nthat we have at length discovered a description of persons to whom we\ncan conscientiously recommend the work we are reviewing, as calculated\nto afford desirable information.\n\nThere is another cause, besides this fondness for ridicule, to which the\n_mystification_ of her Ladyship may be attributed. Whoever is at all\nacquainted with her writings, must be aware that she pretends to be a\ngreat republican, and to entertain a most orthodox horror of royalism\nand the appendages thereof, and that she has called the royalist party\nin France all the hard names she could find in the most approved\ncollection of opprobrious epithets. This circumstance, it is easy to\nimagine, may have excited a slight desire of revenge in the breasts of\nsome of the younger members of that party.\n\nIn her very preface, we have an evidence of her having been the victim\nof as well concerted and admirably conducted a hoax, as was ever played\noff upon any one--it surpasses that which was put upon poor Malvolio in\n\"Twelfth Night.\" After making the remark upon which we have already\ncommented, that a second work on France from her pen could \"alone be\njustified by the novelty of its matter, or by the merit of its\nexecution,\" she says--\n\n     \"It may serve, however, as an excuse, and an authentication of\n     the attempt, that I was called to the task by some of the most\n     influential organs of public opinion, in that great country.\n     They relied upon my impartiality (for I had proved it, at the\n     expense of proscription abroad, and persecution at home); and,\n     desiring only to be represented as they are, they deemed even\n     my humble talents not wholly inadequate to an enterprise whose\n     first requisite was the honesty that tells the truth, the whole\n     truth, and nothing but the truth.\"\n\nOh you wicked wags! If the abolition of capital punishment be effected\nin France, we hope you will be specially excepted as unworthy of mercy\nfor this cruel plot to make Miladi Morgan expose herself thus to the\nsneers of an ill-natured world. We think we see you in conclave,\nlaughing and joking over an epistle you have just concocted and signed\nwith the names of half a dozen of the leaders of the liberals, in which\nher Ladyship is earnestly conjured to cross the Irish and the English\nchannels and hasten to Paris, in order to dispel by the effulgence of\nher intellectual rays, the mists and darkness that the fiend of ultraism\nhad spread over the political horizon. Seriously speaking, we cannot\ndivine any other than this or a similar manner of accounting for her\nLadyship's assertion, that \"she was called to the task by some of the\nmost influential organs of public opinion in France;\"--she would not\ncertainly affirm what she knew to be false, and the idea that she did\nreceive a bona fide request of the above purport from such individuals,\nis too absurd to command belief for a moment. Would any one in his\nsenses, who is \"desirous of being represented as he is,\" put in\nrequisition the pencil of an artist by which he would be sure to be\ncaricatured?\n\nThe \"persecution at home,\" that her Ladyship affects to have suffered,\nrefers, we suppose, to sundry articles in the Quarterly Review and other\nJournals, in which she was rather roughly handled. We all know, however,\nwhat a pleasant thing it is to deem ourselves the objects of\npersecution, when it does not interfere with our profit--it is a\nflattering unction we love to lay to the soul, as it seems to augment\nour importance--and Miladi appears to have been highly delighted with\nthe persecutions she has encountered. She is continually alluding to the\nattacks of the Quarterly, and whenever an opportunity occurs, favours us\nwith extracts from them, and now and then she slips in some satirical\nobservation concerning herself from the _Journal des Debats_. The\ndifferent manner in which she has been treated by the Edinburgh and\nQuarterly Reviews, is an exemplification of the potent influence which\nparty spirit exercises over those journals. In the latter, one or two of\nher works have been criticised with overwhelming power, and in a tone\nand spirit superlatively bitter. In the former, on the contrary, she is\nspoken of with studied lenity, although the Reviewer is obliged to\nconfess that he is not one of her particular admirers, and seems to be\nperpetually restraining himself from indulging in the language of\nraillery and sarcasm. We need hardly add that the political principles\nwhich her Ladyship professes to entertain, are the main cause of this\ndiscrepancy. For our own part, we conscientiously believe that the\nEnglish journal has not gone half so far beyond the truth as its Scotch\nrival has fallen short of it, in their respective strictures. With\nregard to the republican bursts of Lady Morgan, we cannot help\nsuspecting that there is more affectation and cant in them than\nsincerity:--she is too anxious to let it be known that she is caressed\nevery where by the _ne plus ultras_ of aristocracy and rank, as well as\nby those of intellect, and, at the same time, there is too much parade\nand ostentatious vehemence in her explosions against the royalist party.\n\nAs to the other article which her Ladyship says she has received in\nexchange for her _impartiality!_--\"proscription abroad,\"--we feel pretty\nconfident that it exists no where but in her own imagination. There it\nhas, doubtless, been engendered by the malice of some ultra in disguise,\nwho has made her Ladyship believe, that the Emperor of Austria, the\nGrand Signior, the King of Owyhee, and the other despots of the earth,\nhave forbidden, on pain of racking, roasting, and every kind of torture,\nthe importation of her books into their dominions, lest these should be\nrevolutionized by them forthwith. Heaven defend us! we are very much\nafraid that Lady Morgan will set this world of ours on fire, somewhere\nabout the time when it comes in contact with the comet. It is not mere\nsupposition on our part that her Ladyship deems herself an object of\ndread to the Austrian government at least;--read what she says apropos\nof the entree of its ambassador into a ball-room where she was making\nall the lamps and candles hide their diminished heads. \"When his\nAustrian excellence was announced, how I started, with all the weight of\nAulic proscription on my head! The representative of the long-armed\nmonarch of Hapsburg so near me,--of him, who, could he only once get his\nfidgetty fingers on my _little_ neck, would give it a twist, that would\nsave his custom-house officers all future trouble of breaking carriages\nand harassing travellers, in search of the pestilent writings of 'Ladi\nMorgan.' I did not breathe freely, till his excellency had passed on\nwith his glittering train, into the illumined conservatory, and was lost\nin a wilderness of flowering shrubs and orange trees.\" Ought not this\nambassador to be recalled for his negligence, his want of loyalty, in\nnot attempting to get his fingers about Miladi's 'little neck,' in order\nto restore his Imperial master to peace and tranquillity of mind? Poor\nFrancis! still are you doomed to be _fidgetty_ on your throne. We think\nwe see you receiving intelligence of the appearance of this last\nemanation from Ladi Morgan's untiring pen--a mortal paleness overspreads\nyour face, as Metternich rushes into your presence with terror depicted\nin his countenance, articulating only \"Ladi Morgan, Ladi Morgan,\" having\njust obtained himself a knowledge of the dreadful fact from an almost\nbreathless courier--in an agony of suspense you gaze wildly at your\nfaithful counsellor, until he has recovered composure sufficient to\nunfold to you the whole tale of horror. It is told! The monarch in whose\nhands are the lives of fifty millions of subjects, lies himself, to all\nappearance, deprived of existence. But see! he revives--his lips\nmove--what are the words which fall faintly upon the ears of the\nbewildered attendants who have been called into the apartment by the\ncries of the prime minister? They are words of malediction, of the same\npurport as those which Henry II. of England uttered against his\nservants, for their want of zeal in allowing him to be so long tormented\nby Thomas a Becket, and which caused that prelate's death. But alas! for\nyour repose, Imperial Caesar, it is not so easy at the present day, as in\nformer times, for de Luces and de Morevilles to gratify the vengeful\nwishes of their masters, and Lady Morgan yet breathes the breath of life\n(although it is true she did not do it \"freely,\" according to her own\naccount, while in the vicinity of your ambassador in Paris,) to keep\nyour nervous system in disorder, and for the continued vexation of the\nrational part of the reading world.\n\nMultifarious are the other instances we might cite of the manner in\nwhich her simple Ladyship was _mystified_ by the ironical propensities\nof some, and the malicious ultraism of others, during her visit to Paris\nin 1829-30. \"There are certain characters,\" observes M. Jouy, \"who may\nbe considered as the scourges of whatever is ridiculous (_les fleaux du\nridicule_;) they discover it under whatever form it may be hid, and\npitilessly immolate it with the weapon of irony,\" and into the hands of\npersons of this merciless tribe she seems to have been perpetually\nfalling. We must content ourselves, however, with referring to but one\nexample more; a conversation between herself and a young Frenchman,\nabout Romanticism and Classicism, which she has detailed in her first\nvolume. This is a subject, which, as every one must know, has set all\nParis by the ears, and attracts almost as much attention there as the\noverthrow of one dynasty and the creation of another. Lady Morgan, of\ncourse, is a thorough-going _romantique_, and demonstrates the greater\nexcellence of the school of which she deems herself the chief support\nand brightest ornament, in pretty much the same way as the superiority\nof modern writers over the ancients used to be proved by the advocates\nof the former, viz. by two methods, reason and example, the first of\nwhich they derived from their own taste, and the second from their own\nworks. At the time she was delivered of her quarto about France in 1810,\nParis was still immersed in classical darkness, and it may therefore be\nfairly inferred that the romantic light with which it has since been\nillumined, radiated from that same tome. What can be more natural? When\nshe left France, \"the word '_Romanticism_' was unknown (or nearly so) in\nthe circles of Paris; the writers _a la mode_, whether ultra or liberal,\nwere, or thought themselves to be, supporters and practisers of the old\nschool of literature;\" in the interval of her absence she published a\nwork in which she told the Parisians that Racine was no poet, and gave\nthem other valuable information of the kind, calculated to dispel their\nclassical infatuation:--when she returned, every thing was changed;\npoets and prosers were vieing with each other in gloriously offending\nagainst all rules and canons; Romanticism, in short, was, as she\nasserts, completely the order of the day. The classical wrath of one man\nwas the source of unnumbered woes to ancient Greece, and why may not the\nromantic wrath of one woman--a woman too, who keeps autocrats and\nsultans _fidgetty_ on their thrones, be the cause of a change in the\nliterature of a country? This change, at all events, however it may have\nbeen operated, seems to have inspired her with additional courage in her\nassaults, and additional fury in her anathemas upon the poor French\nauthors whom the ignorant world has hitherto been in the habit of\nregarding as objects of admiration. She now asserts, in \"France in\n1829-30,\" that the whole classic literature of that country is \"feeble\nand unuseful,\" nay, even fitted to \"enervate and degrade;\" and in a\nwonderfully luminous chapter about modern literature, she has shown as\nclearly as Hudibras could have proved by \"force of argument\" that \"a\nman's no horse,\" that Classicism is the ally of despotism, and that it\nwas the policy of arbitrary power to encourage a fondness for the\nancient authors!\n\nFiercely romantic, however, as her Ladyship is, she is mild as a cooing\ndove in comparison with the male interlocutor in the famous conversation\nto which we have alluded. This personage completely out-herods Herod;\nbut that he was an ultra in disguise, endeavouring to make her Ladyship\nwrite down absurdities, is a conviction which 'fire and water could not\ndrive out of' us;--even she, herself, at one period of the dialogue, can\nnot help doubting whether she \"is or is not the subject of what in\nEngland is called a hoax, and in France a _mystification_,\" and when\n_she_ doubts upon such a point, it would be extremely difficult for any\none else not to deem it a matter of certainty. Had we space sufficient,\nwe should transcribe the whole of this colloquy, as it deserves\nrepetition; but we can only give a small specimen of it for the\namusement of our readers. The gentleman having informed Miladi, that\nRacine, Corneille, and Voltaire, are \"dethroned monarchs,\" and no longer\ntolerated at the Theatre, she asks him what is to be seen or heard\nthere, to which he answers:--\n\n     \"'Our great historic dramas, written not in pompous\n     Alexandrines, but in prose, the style of truth, the language of\n     life and nature, and composed boldly, in defiance of Aristotle\n     and Boileau. Their plot may run to any number of acts, and the\n     time to any number of nights, months, or years; or if the\n     author pleases, it may take in a century, or a millennium: and\n     then, for the place, the first scene may be laid in Paris, and\n     the last in Kamschatka. In short, France has recovered her\n     literary liberty, and makes free use of it.'\n\n     \"'_Oui da!_' I rejoined, a little bothered, and not knowing\n     well what to say, but still looking very wise, 'In fact, then,\n     you take some of those liberties, that you used to laugh at, in\n     our poor Shakspeare?'\n\n     \"'Your _poor_ Shakspeare! your divine, immortal Shakspeare, the\n     idol of new France!--you must see him played _textuellement_ at\n     the _Francais_, and not in the diffuse and feeble parodies of\n     Ducis.'\n\n     \"'Shakspeare played _textuellement_ at the _Francais_!\" I\n     exclaimed--'_O, par exemple!_'\n\n     \"'Yes, certainly. Othello is now in preparation; and Hamlet and\n     Macbeth are stock pieces. But even your Shakspeare was far from\n     the truth, the great truth, that the drama should represent the\n     progress, development, and accomplishment of the natural and\n     moral world, without reference to time or locality. Unknown to\n     himself, his mighty genius was mastered by the fatal prejudices\n     and unnatural restrictions of the _perruques_ of antiquity.\n     Does nature unfold her plots in five acts? or confine her\n     operations to three hours by the parish clock?'\n\n     \"'Certainly not, Monsieur; but still....'\n\n     \"'_Mais, mais, un moment, chere Miladi._ The drama is one great\n     illusion of the senses, founded on facts admitted by the\n     understanding, and presented in real life, past or present.\n     When you give yourself up to believe that Talma was Nero, or\n     Lafont Britannicus, or that the Rue Richelieu is the palace of\n     the Caesars, you admit all that at first appears to outrage\n     possibility. Starting, then, from that point, I see no\n     absurdity in the tragedy, which my friend Albert de S---- says\n     he has written for the express purpose of trying how far the\n     neglect of the unities may be carried. The title and subject of\n     this piece is \"the Creation,\" beginning from Chaos (and what\n     scenery and machinery it will admit!) and ending with the\n     French revolution; the scene, infinite space; and the time,\n     according to the Mosaic account, some 6000 years.'\n\n     \"'And the protagonist, Monsieur? Surely you don't mean to\n     revive the allegorical personages in the mysteries of the\n     middle ages?'\n\n     \"'_Ah ca! pour le protagoniste, c'est le diable._ He is the\n     only contemporaneous person in the universe that we know of,\n     whom in these days of _cagoterie_ we can venture to bring on\n     the stage, and who could be perpetually before the scene, as a\n     protagonist should be. He is particularly suited, by our\n     received ideas of his energy and restlessness, for the\n     principal character. The devil of the German patriarch's\n     _Faust_ is, after all, but a profligate casuist; and the high\n     poetical tone of sublimity of Milton's Satan is no less to be\n     avoided in a delineation that has truth and nature for its\n     inspiration. In short, the devil, the true romantic devil, must\n     speak, as the devil would naturally speak, under the various\n     circumstances in which his immortal ambition and ceaseless\n     malignity may place him. In the first act, he should assume the\n     tone of the fallen hero, which would by no means become him\n     when in corporal possession of a Jewish epileptic, and\n     bargaining for his _pis aller_ in a herd of swine. Then again,\n     as a leader of the army of St. Dominick, he should have a\n     fiercer tone of bigotry, and less political _finesse_, than as\n     a privy councillor in the cabinet of the Cardinal de Richelieu.\n     At the end of the fourth act, as a guest at the table of Baron\n     Holbach, he may even be witty; while as a minister of police,\n     he should be precisely the devil of the schoolmen, leading his\n     victim into temptation, and triumphing in all the petty\n     artifices and verbal sophistries of a bachelor of the Sorbonne.\n     But as the march of intellect advances, this would by no means\n     be appropriate; and before the play is over, he must by turns\n     imitate the _patelinage_ of a Jesuit _a robe courte_, the\n     pleading of a procureur general, the splendid bile of a deputy\n     of the _cote droit_, and should even talk political economy\n     like an article in the 'Globe.' But the author shall read you\n     his piece--'_La Creation! drame Historique et Romantique_, in\n     six acts, allowing a thousand years to each act. _C'est l'homme\n     marquant de son siecle._''\n\n     \"'But,' said I, 'I shall remain in Paris only a few weeks, and\n     he will never get through it in so short a time.'\n\n     \"'_Pardonnez moi, madame_, he will get through it in six\n     nights--the time to be actually occupied by the performance; an\n     act a night, to be distributed among the different theatres in\n     succession, beginning at the _Francais_ and ending at the\n     _Ambigu_.'\"\n\nIt is here that her Ladyship begins to doubt whether this romantic\ngentleman was not hoaxing her, and certes it was time; but 'melt and\ndisperse ye spectre doubts!' an attempt to hoax Lady Morgan, impossible!\nThey do quickly pass away, and the conversation is pursued in the same\nstrain, until \"Monsieur de ---- one of the conscript fathers of\nclassicism\" is announced. No sooner has his name passed the lips of the\nservant, than the romantic gentleman snatches up his hat, and endeavours\nto make an exit from the room, in as much consternation as if the\n\"protagonist\" himself were about to appear. But Monsieur de ---- the\nclassicist, enters before he can escape; \"he draws up.\" The two then\n\"glanced cold looks at each other, bowed formally, and the romanticist\nretired, roughing his wild locks, and panting like a hero of a tragedy.\"\nWhat a picture! We venture to affirm, however, that had an attentive\nobserver been present, he would have seen something like a wink or a\ncovert glance passing between the two worthies as they enacted the above\nscene, which might have led him to suspect that they knew each other\nbetter than Miladi supposed: it was only on the previous evening, be it\nstated, on her own authority, that she had made the acquaintance of the\nromanticist, whom she describes as having \"something of an exalte in his\nair, in his open shirt collar, black head, and wild and melancholy\nlook.\" The dialogue that ensues with the classicist after the\ndisappearance of the other, is quite as ridiculous as the foregoing one,\nand quite as well calculated to give her Ladyship a fit of the \"doubts,\"\nthough it does not appear that she suffered by them a second time. We\nmay mention, before leaving this subject, that when the romanticist told\nher, in the extract we have just made, that Othello was in preparation\nfor the _Theatre Francais_, he told her truth; but, if we are not very\nmuch mistaken, the other piece of information he communicated--that\nHamlet and Macbeth are stock-tragedies at that theatre--could only have\nbeen related by a gentleman of great fertility of imagination. Othello,\nwe know, was actually performed, and went off tolerably well until the\nfinal scene, but then the nerves of the Frenchmen were put to a trial\nthey could not by any possibility endure. The sight of a Moor and an\nInfidel, endeavouring to smother a lady and a Christian, so completely\naroused all the gallant and religious sensibilities of the audience,\nthat shouts of _terrible, abominable_, resounded from every part of the\nhouse, and Monsieur Othello was (theatrically) damned for his\nwickedness. As far as we know, he never showed his copper-\nvisage again at the _Theatre Francais_, but contented himself\nthenceforward with running after poor Desdemona, and stabbing her behind\nthe scene at the opera, where this minor exhibition of cruelty is\ntolerated in consideration of the _roulades_, with which he smooths her\npassage into the other world.\n\nSpeaking of theatres puts us in mind, as the story-tellers say, of a\nremark made by her Ladyship in the chapter she has devoted to the\ntheatres of Paris, which we wish to notice. She says, \"it is strange,\nthat among the many men of genius who have treated the subject of the\nunities, none should have clearly laid it down, that the great object of\ndramatic composition is the satisfaction of the audience, no matter by\nwhat means.\" What a fine thing it is to be endowed with uncommon powers\nof original thought! It is so delightful to be able to belie the\nassertion, that it is too late now to think of propounding any new idea,\nevery thing having already been said that can be said about any thing!\nHere, ye croakers about modern degeneracy, here is something that should\ncover you with confusion and shame. Lady Morgan, after having read all,\naye, all, that has been written about a certain subject by all the\n\"many men of genius\" who have treated it--which it would only require\nthe lifetime of a Methuselah to do--has discovered an idea relating to\nit, which is to be found in none of the works of those \"many men of\ngenius,\" and this she has revealed for the edification and astonishment\nof the world, in the sentence we have quoted above. How every lover of\nnew ideas now living, should bless his stars for having cast his\nexistence in the same period as that of her Ladyship! It is, however,\nour melancholy duty, to be obliged to deprive our generation of the\nglory which would be shed upon it by such an intellectual invention as\nthe foregoing. Though it has undoubtedly never been adverted to in any\nway, since she so asserts the fact, by any of the \"many men of genius\"\nwho have exercised their minds upon the topic of the unities, yet by a\nsingular chance we have fallen upon something very much like it in the\npetty effusions of two or three subordinate scribblers, who have\npresumed to hint at what was not excogitated by their betters. One of\nthose effusions is a paper called a \"Preface to Shakspeare,\" written\nabout fifty years ago, as we have discovered, after long research and a\ngreat deal of trouble, by a certain Samuel Johnson, who dubbed himself\nDoctor, and published likewise, if our investigations have informed us\nrightly, other works, under the titles of \"The Rambler,\" \"Rasselas,\"\n\"Biographies of the British Poets,\" &c., and tradition even says that he\nattempted a dictionary of the English language. Another of those\neffusions is an \"Essay upon the Drama,\" by a person called Walter Scott,\nwho, it is affirmed, is still in the land of the living, but where he\ndwelleth, and what other productions he hath printed, we have been able\nto obtain no clue for finding out. It must indeed be confessed, that\nneither of those individuals has so \"clearly laid it down\" as her\nLadyship, that the audience should be pleased, \"_no matter by what\nmeans_,\" though they certainly have intimated that its gratification\nought to be one of the principal objects of a dramatic author. They were\nfoolish enough to think, that to pander to the tastes of an audience, if\ncorrupt and vitiated, is paltry, is despicable; that to consult its\ninclinations when at war with sound taste or proper decorum, is to do\nthe work of those who are influenced only by a love of sordid gain,\nreckless of every pure and elevated feeling--that \"the end of all\nwriting is to instruct, the end of all poetry, _to instruct by\npleasing_.\" This is the difference between the sentiment of the authors\nand that of the authoress; but were that same Samuel Johnson now alive,\nsooner than maintain an opinion in any the slightest manner at variance\nwith one expressed by her Ladyship, he would,--as he was ready to do,\naccording to his own avowal, when asserting something that was denied by\npersons scarcely more important than himself,--\"sink down in\nreverential silence, as AEneas withdrew from the defence of Troy, when he\nsaw Neptune shaking the wall, and Juno heading the besiegers.\"\n\nWe do not wish to insinuate that her Ladyship has derived any advantage\nfrom consulting the pages of either the Preface or the Essay to which we\nhave alluded. By no means. Nothing would be more unjust; for how could\nshe be indebted for any thing to what may be contained in a couple of\ninsignificant pamphlets, whose scarcity is such, that we might almost\nsuppose our copies of them to be the only ones in existence? How they\ncame into our hands, is a point we leave for elucidation to those who\nfind pleasure or profit in unravelling mysteries. There is, to be sure,\na wonderful similitude throughout, between her reflections upon the\nclassical and romantic drama, and those which may be read in the Essay;\nbut this circumstance must unquestionably be considered one of those\n\"remarkable coincidences\" that every now and then prompt the cry of \"a\nmiracle!\" It must, else, be accounted for, by supposing that the author\nof the Essay is gifted with a power over future operations of mind,\nsimilar to that which was possessed over future events, by the wizard\nwho warned Lochiel against the fatal day at Culloden, and that he is\nthus enabled, by his \"mystical lore,\" to make\n\n    \"Coming _ideas_ cast their shadow before.\"\n\nSeriously, however, the observations of her Ladyship on this head,\nfurnish as nice an instance of plagiarism as we recollect. The best of\nthe matter is, that after filling nearly a couple of pages with remarks,\namongst which not a single original idea is to be found, save perhaps\nthe rather novel one, that \"in Macbeth the interest is suspended at the\ndeath of Duncan, and does not revive until that of the tyrant is at\nhand;\" she winds up with saying, \"obvious as this train of reasoning\nappears, _it has been overlooked equally by the opponents and the\nsticklers for the old canons of criticism_; a lamentable instance of the\ninfluence of authority, and of the spirit of party, on the judgments of\nthe most cultivated minds.\" This is a sample of modest assurance in\nperfection. There is another \"remarkable coincidence\" in these volumes,\nbetween the biography they contain of General Lafayette, and an article\nabout \"the Nation's Guest\" in a number of the North American Review for\n1825. But we leave it to our contemporary to take her Ladyship to task\nfor this appropriation of his property.\n\nIn our foregoing remarks we have confined ourselves, in great measure,\nto some of those portions of the volumes before us, which are most\nsusceptible of ridicule, though we have adverted to only a few even of\nthose--there are others, however, that would require a graver tone. The\nsickly sentimentalism about Ninon de l'Enclos, La Valliere, Madame\nd'Houdetot, and other strumpets--such \"free\" conversations as those\nwhich are detailed at page 138, in the first volume, and page 108, in\nthe second; especially as they were held in the presence of a young\ngirl, her Ladyship's niece, who was doubtless one of the chief causes\nwhy so many gentlemen came \"_pour faire leurs hommages_\" to the\naunt--and various expressions upon matters appertaining to religion,\ndeserve reprehension in no measured terms. But we have not space enough\nat our disposal to bestow any further notice upon these, or to glance at\nother parts of \"France in 1829-30,\" although we have reaped but a small\nportion of the harvest which it contains.\n\nAnd this is the writer who pretends to enlighten the world upon the\n\"state of society\" in one of the greatest countries of the earth! This\nis the work by means of which she flatters herself that such an object\nis to be effected,--and this too, (_proh pudor!_) is the kind of work\nthat can be republished in our country with a certainty of success!\nShould the fact come to the knowledge of posterity, what will be thought\nof the literary taste of this generation? We have, however, a cause for\nconsolation--if that can be termed consolation which ministers only to\nselfish vanity, and is a source of pain to every better feeling--in the\nassurance that the literary history of future times, judging from the\nexperience of the past, will present similar instances of depravity of\nintellectual appetite. We wonder now, how our ancestors could have\nrelished what we regard with indifference if not with disgust, in the\nsame way that our taste in some respects will be a matter of surprise\nwith our descendants, and as theirs will be with those by whom they may\nbe succeeded on the stage of life. Every age, since books have been\nwritten and books have been read, has furnished, and we may therefore\nassert, every age will furnish, reason upon reason for making the remark\nof the philosophic author of the \"Caracteres,\" that not to hazard\nsometimes a great deal of nonsense, is to manifest ignorance of the\npublic taste--\"_c'est ignorer le gout du peuple, que de ne pas hasarder\nquelquefois de grandes fadaises_.\" We do not wish to deny that Lady\nMorgan has been gifted with a modicum of talent; even in the work before\nus, there is occasional evidence of natural ability, which, had it been\nproperly cultivated and modestly employed, might have earned for her\nhonourable fame. But what advantage--we speak, of course, with reference\nto reputation; as to pecuniary profit we have no doubt that she has\nfound her account in her '_fadaises_,' or else they would not have been\nmultiplied to such an extent--what advantage, we ask, has she derived\nfrom her faculty of scribbling, except that she has made herself pretty\nwidely known, and ridiculed wherever she is known? Presumptuous\nignorance, and overweening conceit, have, in her case, completely\n_nullified_, nay worse, have converted into a curse, in some respects,\nwhat was intended every way for a blessing. If Lady Morgan would forego\nher mongrel idiom, and use the English language; if she would confine\nherself to subjects with which she has some acquaintance; if she would\nsubstitute a simple in the stead of her inflated style; and above all,\nif she could forget herself, she might write tolerably well; but there\nare too many _ifs_ to render it probable, or even possible, that the\ndefects to which they relate will ever be overcome. This being the case,\nwe take leave of you, Miladi, not with the _au revoir_ of which you are\nso fond, but with the parting salutation of Louis the Fourteenth to\nJames the Second, when sending him with an army to recover his forfeited\ncrown, \"Adieu, and may we never meet again.\"\n\n\n\n\nART. II.--_Physiologie des Passions, ou nouvelle Doctrine des Sentimens\nMoraux_; par J. L. ALIBERT. Chapitre XI. de l'Ennui. _Physiology of the\nPassions; or a New Theory of Moral Sentiments._ Chap. XI. of Ennui.\n\n\nThis book is neither exact nor eloquent. The thoughts are not precise;\nthe expressions are vague; and, of consequence, the reasonings of no\nvalue. The attempts at rich displays of imaginative power are contrasted\nwith a want of invention; and illustrative stories, of feeble execution,\nare lavished abundantly in lieu of physiological facts. The volumes are\ntoo insipid to cheat an idle hour of its weariness; they rather engender\nfatigue than relieve it. The author will never enter the true elysium of\nglory; he has not substance enough to proceed straight up the ascent;\nbut will certainly be \"blown transverse into the devious air.\" Like most\nof the literature of the day, this new Theory of Moral Sentiments is\nessentially transient. It will pass, like anti-masonry, without\nproducing an era.\n\nYet the chapter on Ennui is tolerably sensible. It is neither brilliant\nnor acute; but gives a superficial sketch of that state of being with\nconsiderable accuracy. To be sure, it is not from a Frenchman, that the\nbest account of ennui should be expected. Of all nations of Europe, the\nFrench have the least of it, though they invented the word; while the\nTurks, with their untiring gravity, their lethargic dignity, their blind\nfatalism, their opium-eating, and midnight profligacies, have\nundoubtedly the largest share. But the Turks are only philosophers in\npractice; the theory they leave to others. Now next to the Turks, the\nEnglish suffer most from ennui. Do but hear the account which their\nfinest poetical genius of the present century gives of himself, when he\nwas hardly of age.\n\n    \"With pleasure drugged he almost longed for wo,\n    And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below.\"\n\nThe complaints of a young man in the bloom of life and the vigour of\nearly hope, cannot excite much sympathy. But he interests all our\nfeelings, when in the fullest maturity to which Lord Byron was permitted\nto attain, he still draws from his own bosom the appalling picture of\nunalleviated feelings, and describes the horrors of permanent ennui, in\nlanguage that was doubtless but the mournful echo of an unhappy mind.\n\n    \"'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,\n    Since others it has ceased to move;\n    Yet, though I cannot be beloved,\n              Still let me love.\n\n    My days are in the yellow leaf;\n    The flowers and fruits of love are gone;\n    The worm, the canker, and the grief,\n              Are mine alone.\n\n    The fire that in my bosom preys\n    Is like to some volcanic isle;\n    No torch is kindled at his blaze--\n              A funeral pile.\n\n    The hope, the fears, the jealous care,\n    The exalted portion of the pain\n    And power of love I cannot share,\n              But wear the chain.\"\n\nSuch was the harassed state of Lord Byron's mind, at the epoch of his\nlife which seemed to promise a crowded abundance of exciting sensations.\nHe had hastened to the consecrated haunts of classic associations; he\nwas struggling for honour on the parent soil of glory; he was surrounded\nby the stir and tumult of barbarous warfare; he had the consciousness,\nthat the eyes of the civilized world were fixed upon his actions; he\nprofessed to feel the impulse of enthusiasm in behalf of liberty; and\nyet there was not irritation enough in the new and busy life of a\nsoldier, to overcome his apathy, and restore him to happy activity. He\nonly sought to give away his breath on the field, and to take his rest\nin a soldier's grave.\n\nThe literature of the day is essentially transient. The rapid\ncirculation of intelligence enriches the public mind by imparting and\ndiffusing every discovery; and the active spirit of man, quickened by\nthe easy possession of practical knowledge, rightly claims the instant\ndistribution of useful truth. But with this is connected a feverish\nexcitement for novelty. The world, in the earliest days of which\naccounts have reached us, followed after the newest strains; and now\nthe lessons of former ages, though they have a persuasive eloquence for\nthe tranquil listener, are as blank and as silent as the grave to the\ngeneral ear. The voice of the past, all musical as it is with the finest\nharmonies of human intelligence, is lost in the jangling din of\ntemporary discussions. Philosophy steals from the crowd, and hides\nherself in retirement, awaiting a better day; true learning is\nundervalued, and almost disappears from among men. It would seem, as\nthough the wise men of old frowned in anger on the turbulence of the\npetty passions, and withdrew from the noisy and contentious haunts,\nwhere wisdom has no votaries, and tranquillity no followers. In the days\nof ancient liberty, the public places rung with the nervous eloquence of\nsublime philosophy; and the streets of Athens offered nothing more\nattractive than the keen discussions, the piercing satire, and the calm\nphilanthropy of Socrates. But now it is politics which rules the city\nand the country; the times of deep reflection, of slowly maturing\nthought, are past; and now that erudition is a jest, ancient learning an\nexploded chimera, and elaborated eloquence known chiefly by\nrecollection, the ample gazette runs its daily career, and heralds, in\nephemeral language, the deeds of the passing hours. The age of\naccumulated learning is past, and every thing is carried along the\nrushing current of public economy, or of private business.--Life is\ndivided between excited passions and morbid apathy.\n\nAnd is this current so strong, that it cannot be resisted? Are we borne\nwithout hope of rest upon the ebbing tide? Can we never separate\nourselves from the theory, and with the coolness of an observer, watch\nthe various emotions, motives, and passions by which the human world is\nmoulded and swayed? Can we not trace the influence of the changes and\nchances of this mortal state on the character and minds of mortal men?\n\nLife is a pursuit. The moralists, who utter their heathenish oracles in\nthe commonplace complaints of a heathenish discontent, tell us, that we\nare born but to pursue, and pursue but to be deceived. They say, that\nman in his career after earthly honours, is like the child that chases\nthe gaudy insect; the pursuit idle; the object worthless. They tell us,\nthat it is but a deceitful though a deceptive star, which beams from the\nsummit of the distant hill; advance, and its light recedes; ascend, and\na higher hill is seen beyond, and a wider space is yet to be traversed.\nAnd they tell us, that this is vanity; this the worthlessness of human\ndesire; this the misery and desolation of the human heart. But how\nlittle do they know of the throbbings of that heart! How poorly have\nthey studied the secrets of the human breast! How imperfectly do they\nunderstand the feebleness and the strength of man's fortitude and will!\nIf the bright object still gleams in the horizon, if the brilliancy of\nglory is still spread on the remotest hill, if the distant sky is still\ninvested with the delicate hues of promise, and the gentle radiance of\nhope, pursuit remains a pleasure; and the pilgrim, ever light-hearted,\npasses heedlessly over the barren wastes, and climbs with cheerful\nardour each rugged mountain. But suppose that brilliant star to be\nblotted out of the sky; suppose the lustre of the horizon to have faded\ninto the dank and gloomy shades of a cloudy evening; suppose the pursuit\nto be now without an object, and the blood which hope had sent merrily\nthrough the veins, to gather and curdle round the desponding heart. Then\nit is, that life is abandoned to persecuting fiends, and the springs of\njoy are poisoned by the demons of listlessness.\n\nThe scholar and the Christian have theirs guarantied against despair.\nThe desire for intelligence is never satisfied but with the attainment\nof that wisdom which passes all understanding; and the eye discerning\nthe bright lineaments of its perfect exemplar, can set no limits to the\nsacred passion, which recognises the connexion of the human mind with\nthe divine, and places before itself a career of advancement, to which\ntime itself can never prescribe bounds. But it is not with these high\nquestions that we are at present engaged. We have thrown open the book\nof human life; we are to read there of this world and its littleness, of\nthe springs of present action, of the relief of present restlessness.\n\nWe have said, that the pursuit of a noble object is in itself a\npleasure. It is to the mind which holds up no definite object to its\nwishes, that the universe seems deficient in the means of happiness, and\njoy becomes a prey to the fiend of ennui.\n\nLet us develop this principle more accurately. Let us examine into the\nnature of _ennui_, and fix with exactness its true signification. Let us\nsee if it be a principle of action widely diffused. Let us ascertain the\nlimits of its power; let us trace its influences on individual\ncharacter. Perhaps the investigation may lead us to a more intimate\nacquaintance with our nature.\n\n_Ennui_ is the desire of activity without the fit means of gratifying\nthe desire. It presupposes an acknowledgment of exertion as a duty, and\na consciousness of the possession of powers suited to making an\nexertion. It is itself a state of idleness, yet of disquiet. It is\ninert, yet discontented.\n\nSuch is ennui in itself. In its effects, it embraces a large class of\nhuman actions, and its influences are widely spread throughout every\nportion of mental or physical effort. To trace these effects, and to\nprescribe their limits, will be a part of our object; at present we\nwould observe, that wherever a course of conduct is the result of\nphysical want, of a passion for intelligence, a zeal for glory, or to\nsum up a great variety of theories in one, of a just and enlightened\nself-love, there there is no trace of ennui. But when the primary\nmotives of human conduct have failed of their effect, and the mind has\nbecome a prey to listlessness, the career, then pursued, let it be what\nit may, is to be ascribed to the pain of ennui. When the mind gnaws upon\nitself, we have ennui; the course which is pursued to call the mind from\nthis self-destructive process, is to be ascribed to the influence of\nthat passion.\n\nAre our definitions indistinct? Let us attempt illustration. When the\nseveral powers and affections of man are, in the usual course of\nexistence, called into healthy exercise, on objects sufficient to\ninterest and satisfy them; this is happiness. When those powers and\naffections are exercised by objects sufficient to excite them in their\nhighest degree, but where, being thus excited, there exists no harmony\nbetween the mind and its pursuits, where the affections are aroused\nwithout being soothed, where the chime is rung, but rung discordantly,\nthere is misery. Where the powers of the mind are vigorous but\nunoccupied; where there exist a restless craving, an inquiet mobility,\nyet without any definite purpose or commensurate object, there is ennui.\n\nThe state of mind is strongly delineated in the language of the sacred\nwriter.--\n\n     \"I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on\n     the labour that I had laboured to do; and behold all was vanity\n     and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun.\n     And I turned myself to behold wisdom, and madness, and folly;\n     for what can the man do that cometh after the king? Even that\n     which hath already been done. Then I saw that wisdom excelleth\n     folly, as far as light excelleth darkness. The wise man's eyes\n     are in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness; and I\n     perceived also, that one event happeneth to them all. Then I\n     said in my heart, As it happeneth to the fool, so it happeneth\n     even to me; and why was I then more wise? Then I said in my\n     heart, that this also is vanity. For there is no remembrance of\n     the wise more than of the fool for ever; seeing that which now\n     is, in the days to come shall all be forgotten. And how dieth\n     the wise man? As the fool. Therefore, I hated life; because the\n     work that is wrought under the sun is grievous unto me; for all\n     is vanity and vexation of spirit.\"\n\nOr, to take an example from the earliest monument of Grecian genius.\nAchilles, in the pride of youth, engaged in his favourite profession of\narms, making his way to an immortality secured to him by the voice of\nhis goddess mother, sure to gain the victory in any contest, and\nselecting for his reward the richest spoils and the fairest maid.\nAchilles, the heroic heathen, was then fully and satisfactorily\nemployed, and according to his semi-barbarous notions of joy and right,\nwas happy within his own breast, and was happy in the world around him.\nWhen the same youthful warrior was insulted by the leader under whose\nbanners he had rallied, when the private recesses of his tent were\ninvaded, and his domestic peace disturbed, his mind was strongly\nagitated by love, anger, hatred, the passion for strife, and the intense\neffort at forbearance; and though there was here room enough for\nactivity, there was nothing but pain and misery. But when the dispute\nwas over, and the pupil of the Centaur, trained for strife, and victory,\nand glory, separated from the army, and gave himself up to an inactive\ncontemplation of the struggle against Troy, his mind was abandoned to\nthe sentiment of discontent, and his passions were absorbed in the\nmorbid feeling of ennui. Homer was an exact painter of the human\npassions. The picture which he draws of Achilles,[1] receiving the\nsubsequent deputation from the Greeks, illustrates our subject exactly.\nIt was in vain for the hero to attempt to sooth his mind with the\nmelodies of the lyre; his blood kindled only at the music of war; it was\nidle for him to seek sufficient pleasure in celebrating the renown of\nheroes; this was but a vain effort to quell the burning passion for\nsurpassing them in glory. He listens to the deputation, not tranquilly,\nbut peevishly. He charges them with duplicity, and avows that he loathes\ntheir king like the gates of hell.[2] He next reverts to himself: The\nwarrior has no thanks, he exclaims in the bitterness of\ndisappointment--\"The coward and the brave man are held in equal honour.\"\nNay, he goes further, and quarrels with providence and fixed\ndestiny.--\"After all, the idler, and the man of many achievements, each\nmust die.\"[3] To-morrow, he adds, his vessels shall float on the\nHellespont. The morning dawned; but the ships of Achilles still lingered\nnear the banks of the Scamander. The notes of battle sounded, and his\nmind was still in suspense between the fiery impulse for war and the\nhaughty reserve of revenge.\n\nWhen Bruce found himself approaching the sources of the Nile, a thousand\nsentiments of pride rushed upon his mind; it seemed to him, that destiny\nhad marked out for him a more fortunate and more glorious career, than\nfor any European, kings or warriors, conquerors or travellers, that had\never attempted to penetrate into the interior of Africa. This was a\nmoment of exultation and triumphant delight. But when that same\ntraveller had actually reached the ultimate object of his research, he\nhas himself recorded the emotions which were awakened within him. At the\nfountain-head of the Nile, Bruce was almost a victim to sentimental\nennui.\n\nIn this anecdote of the Abyssinian traveller, we have an example of the\nrapidity with which ennui treads on the heels of triumph, and banishes\nthe feelings of exulting joy. We will cite another, where misery was\nfollowed and consummated by ennui. The most eloquent of the Girondists\nwas Vergniaud. It was he that in the spirit of prophecy compared the\nFrench revolution to Saturn, since it was about to devour successively\nall its children, and finally to establish despotism with its attendant\ncalamities. The rivalship of the Mountain in the Convention, the\nunsuccessful attack on Robespierre, the trial and condemnation of Louis\nXVI., the defection of Dumourier and its consequences, had doubtless\nroused the mind of the fervent but unsuccessful orator to the highest\nefforts which the decline of power, and the consciousness of wavering\nfortunes, and the menace of utter ruin, patriotism, honour, and love of\nlife, could call forth. At last came the day, fraught with horrors, when\nthe clamours of a despotic and inexorable mob, claimed of the convention\nVergniaud and his associates, the little refuse of republican sincerity,\nto be the victims of their fiendish avidity for blood. Who will doubt,\nthat during that fearful session the mind of Vergniaud was agitated in\nthe extreme, that the highest possible excitement called him into the\nhighest possible activity? Here there was no room for listlessness, and\nquite as little for happiness. The guarantees of order were failing, and\nthe friends of order were to be buried under the same ruins with the\nremains of regular legislative authority. Vergniaud retired from the\nscenes where the foulest of the dogs of war were howling for their prey,\nand when Gregoire found him out in his hiding-place, the republican\norator, though robbery and massacre were triumphant in the city, was\ndiscovered reading Tacitus. Why? From affectation? Surely not;\nGregoire's visit was unexpected. From cool philosophy? still less, for\nit was the season of peril for an irritable man. The studies of\nVergniaud on that day were the studies of one suffering from ennui.\n\nEnnui was the necromancer which conjured up the ghost of Caesar on the\neve of the battle of Philippi. And when Brutus esteemed that battle\nlost, which in truth had been won, he had yet to wrestle with that\nunseen enemy, and enter on a new contest, where he was sure to be\noverthrown. The execution of Madame Roland was a scene, as far as she\nwas concerned, of intense and unmitigated suffering; but when Brutus\ndared to despair of virtue, the atrocious sentiment was dictated, not by\nthe spirit that had dared to plan the liberties of the world, but by the\ndemon of ennui, which in an evil hour had possessed himself of the\npatriot's soul.\n\nFinally, for we have surely made ourselves intelligible, if it is\npossible for us to do so--the timid lover, whose affections are moved,\nyet not tranquillized, who gazes with the eyes of fondness on an object\nthat seems to be of a higher world, and admires as the stars are\nadmired, which are acknowledged to be beautiful yet are never possessed;\nthe timid lover, neither wholly doubting, nor wholly hoping, the sport\nalternately of joy and of sorrow, full of thought and full of longing,\nfeeling the sentiment of rapture yield to the faintness of uncertain\nhope, is half his time a true personification of ennui.\n\nThat ennui is a principle of action widely diffused, will hardly be\ndenied by any careful observer of human nature. No individual can\nconscientiously claim to have been always and wholly free from its\ninfluences, except where there has been a life springing from the purest\nsources, sanctified by the early influence of religious motives, and\nprotected from erroneous judgments by the constant exercise of a\nhealthful understanding. For the rest, though few are constantly\nafflicted with it as an incurable evil, there are still fewer who are\nnot at times made to suffer from its influence. It stretches its heavy\nhand on the man of business and the recluse; it makes its favourite\nhaunts in the city, but it chases the aspirant after rural felicity,\ninto the scenes of his rural listlessness; it makes the young\nmelancholy, and the aged garrulous; it haunts the sailor and the\nmerchant; it appears to the warrior and to the statesman; it takes its\nplace in the curule chair, and sits also at the frugal board of old\nfashioned simplicity. You cannot flee from it; you cannot hide from it;\nit is swifter than the birds of passage, and swifter than the breezes\nthat scatter clouds. It climbs the ship of the restless who long for the\nsuns of Europe; it jumps up behind the horseman who scours the woods of\nMichigan; it throws its scowling glances on the attempt at present\nenjoyment; it scares the epicurean from his voluptuousness, and when the\nascetic has finished his vow, it compels him once more to repeat the\ntale of his beads.\n\nTo the influence of ennui must be traced the passion for strong\nexcitement. When life has become almost stagnant, when the ordinary\ncourse of events has been unable to excite any strong interest, ennui\nassumes a terrific power over the mind, and clamours for emotion, though\nthat emotion is to be purchased by scenes of horror and of crime. \"What\na magnificent spectacle,\" said the Parisian mob, \"how interesting a\nspectacle to see a woman of the wit and courage of Madame Roland on the\nscaffold!\" And it is precisely the same power, which excites the\nsensitive admirer of works of fiction to ransack the shelves of a\nlibrary for works of thrilling and \"painful\" interest.\n\nTo the same kind of restless curiosity we have to ascribe the passionate\ndeclamations of the tragic actor, and the splendid music of the opera;\nthe cunning feats of the village conjuror, and the lascivious pantomime\nof the city ballet-dancers; the disgusting varieties of bull-fights, and\nthe celebrated feats of pugilism; the locomotive zeal of the great\npedestrians, and the perfect quiescence of the \"pillar saints.\"\n\nThe habits of ancient Rome illustrate most clearly the extent to which\nthis passion for strong sensations may hurry the public mind into\nextravagances, and repress every sentiment of sympathy and generosity.\nAmbition itself is not so reckless of human life as _ennui_; clemency is\nthe favourite attribute of the former; but ennui has the tastes of a\ncannibal, and the sight of human blood, shed for its amusement, makes it\ngreedy after a renewal of the dreadful indulgence. No one need be\ninformed, that the shows of ancient gladiators were attended by an\ninfinitely more numerous throng than is ever gathered by any modern\nspectacle. And let it not be supposed, that the life of one of these\ncombatants was the more safe, because it depended on the interposition\nof the Roman fair. The fondness for murderous exhibitions finally raged\nwith such vehemence, that they were at length introduced as an\nattraction at a banquet, and the guests, as they reclined at table in\nthe luxury of physical ease, have been wet by the life-blood from the\nveins of the wounded gladiators.\n\n    Quinetiam exhilarare viris convivia caede\n    Mos olim, et miscere epulis spectacula dira\n    Certantum ferro, saepe et super ipsa cadentum\n    Pocula, _respersis non parco sanguine mensis_.\n\nTime would fail us were we to illustrate the various horrors which\nattended these amusements, designed to entertain the most refined\npopulation of Rome. Time would fail us were we to enumerate the various\nclassifications in the art of murder on the stage, the signals which\nwere made by the multitude in token of relenting clemency, the more\nusual signal, made by virgins and matrons, demanding the continuance of\nthe combat unto death. Do we not call Titus the delight of the human\nrace? Do we not praise his commonplace puerility, _perdidi diem_, the\nexclamation of conceit, rather than of manliness? And yet it was this\nphilanthropist, this favourite of humanity, who caused the vast\namphitheatre to be erected, as it were a monument to all ages of the\nbarbarous civilization of the capital of his empire. And as to the\nnumbers who appeared on these occasions, do we suppose it was a pair? or\na score? We will not ask after the horrors commended and consummated by\na Tiberius or a Caligula. Was not Trajan a moderate prince? Was he not\ndisposed to introduce habits of a reasonable industry? Yet the active\nTrajan kept up a succession of games to cheat the population of Rome of\nennui, during a hundred and twenty-three days, in which time ten\nthousand gladiators were decked for sacrifice.\n\nThus the vehemence of this passion is evident from the atrocity of the\nresources by which its cravings are satisfied. We may also remark, that\nsuperstition itself, interwoven as it is with all the fears and\nweaknesses of humanity, subjects the human mind to a bondage less severe\nand less permanent than that of the terrific craving after something to\ndissipate the weariness of the heart. At Rome the sacrifices to the\nheathen deities were abolished before the games of the gladiators were\nsuppressed; it was less difficult to take from the priests their spoils,\nfrom the altars their victims, from the prejudices of the people their\nreligious faith, than to rescue from ennui the miserable wretches whose\nlives were to be the sport of the idle. The laws already forbade the\noffering the bull to Jove, when the poet still had to pray that none\nmight perish in the city under the condemnation of pleasure,\n\n    Nullus in urbe cadat, cujus sit poena voluptas.\n\nPhilosophy itself offers no guarantee against the common infirmities of\nlistlessness. Many a stoic has resisted the attacks of external evils\nwith an exemplary fortitude; and has yet failed in his encounters with\ntime. Strange indeed that time should be an encumbrance to a sage!\nStrange indeed, that, when life is so short, and philosophy boundless,\nand time a gift of the most precious nature, dealt out to us in\nsuccessive moments, a possession which is most coveted, and can the\nleast be hoarded, which comes, but never returns, which departs as soon\nas given, and is lost even in the receiving,--strange indeed that such a\ngift, so precious, so transient, so fleeting, should ever press severely\nupon a philosopher!\n\nAnd yet wisdom is no security against ennui. The man who made Europe\nring with his eloquence, and largely contributed to the spirit of\nrepublican enthusiasm, wasted away for months in a state of the most\nfoolish languor, under the idea that he was dying of a polypus at his\nheart.[4] Nay, this philosopher, who presumed to believe himself skilled\nin the ways of man, and an adept in the character of women, who dared to\nexpound religion and proposed to reform Christianity, who committed and\nconfessed the meanest actions,--and yet, as if in the presence of the\nSupreme Arbiter of life and before the tribunal of Eternal Justice,\narrogated to himself an equality with the purest in the innumerable\ncrowd of immortal souls,--he, the proud one, would so far yield to\nennui, as to put the final and eternal welfare of his soul at issue on\nthe throw of a stone. La Harpe, no correct writer, nor sound critic,\naffirms, that Rousseau undertook to decide the question of a\nSuperintending Providence by throwing stones at a tree. That would have\nbeen not merely an imbecile but a blasphemous act. As the case stood,\nJean Jacques must be acquitted of any charge worse than that of\nexcessive and even ridiculous weakness. \"_Je m'en vais_,\" he says to\nhimself, \"_je m'en vais jeter cette pierre contre l'arbre qui est\nvis-a-vis de moi: si je le touche, signe de salut; si je le marque,\nsigne de damnation._\"\n\nBut Jean Jacques passes for an inspired madman. What shall we say to the\ntemperate Spinoza, whose life was not variegated by the brightness of\ndomestic scenes, and who, being cut off from active life and from social\nlove, necessarily encountered a void within himself. It was his\nfavourite resource against the visits of ennui, to catch spiders and\nteach them to fight; and when he had so far made himself master of the\nnature of these animals, that he could get them as angry as game cocks,\nhe would, all thin and feeble as he was, break out into a roar of\nlaughter, and chuckle to see his champions engage, as if they, too, were\nfighting for honour.\n\nPoor Spinoza! It may indeed be questioned, whether his whole philosophy\nwas not a sort of pastime with him. It may be, that after all he was\ningenious because he could not be quiet, and wrote his attacks on\nreligion from a want of something to do. At any rate it has fared\nstrangely with his works. The world had well nigh become persuaded, that\nSpinoza was but a name for a degraded atheism, and now we have him\nzealously defended, and in fact we have seen him denominated a saint.[5]\nSo near are extremes: the ridiculous borders on the sublime; and the\nsame man is denounced as a parricide of society, and again extolled as a\nmodel of sanctity.\n\nBut we have a stronger example than either of these. The very\nphilosopher, who first declared experience to be the basis of knowledge,\nand found his way to truth through the safe places of observation, gives\nin his own character some evidences of participation in the common\ninfirmity. He said very truly, that there is a foolish corner even in\nthe wise man's brain. Yet, if there has ever appeared on earth, a man\npossessed of reason in its highest perfection, it was Aristotle. He had\nthe gift of seeing the forms of things, undisturbed by the confusing\nsplendour of colours; his mind, like the art of sculpture, represented\nobjects with the most precise outlines and exact images; but the world\nin his mind was a colourless world. He understood and has explained the\nsecrets of the human heart, the workings of the human passions; but he\nperforms all these moral dissections with the coolness of an anatomist,\nengaged in a delicate operation. The nicety of his distinctions, and his\ndeep insight into the nature of man, are displayed without passion,\nwhile his constant effort after the discovery of new truth, never for\none moment betrays him into mysticism, or tempts him to substitute\nshadows for realities. One would think, that such a philosopher was the\npersonification of self-possession; that his unruffled mind would always\ndwell in the serene regions of intelligence; that his step would be on\nthe firm ground of experience; that his progress to the sublime temple\nof truth and of fame, would have been ever secure and progressive; that\nhappiness itself would have blessed him for his tranquil and\ndispassionate devotedness to exalted pursuits.\n\nBut perhaps the clear perception of the realities of life is not the\nsecret source of contentment. Many a scholar has shrunk from the contest\nof transient interests, and sought happiness rather in the world of\ncontemplation; and perhaps the studies of antiquity derive a part of\ntheir charm, from their affording us a place of refuge against the\nclamours and persecutions which belong to present rivalries. If the view\nof human nature, adopted by a large portion of our theologians, is a\njust one, the heart must recoil with horror from the true consideration\nof the human world in its natural unmitigated depravity, and throw\nitself rather into the hopes that belong to the future, and the mercies\nthat attach to the Supreme Intelligence, for relief against the apathy\nwhich so cold a contemplation of unmingled evil might naturally produce.\n\nIn the mouth of Pindar, life might be called a dream, and it would but\npass for the effusion of poetic melancholy. But when the sagacious\nphilosopher asserts it, that all hope is but the dream of waking man, a\nlatent discontent broken from the concealment of an unsatisfied\ncuriosity, a baffled pursuit; when his mind had arrived at that state,\nnothing but its remarkable vigour could have preserved him from settled\ngloom.\n\nAgain the venerable sage examined into the sources of happiness. It does\nnot consist, he affirms, in voluptuous pleasures, for they are\ntransient, brutalizing, and injurious to the mind; nor in public\nhonours, for they depend on those who bestow them, and it is not\nfelicity to be the recipient of an uncertain bounty; nor yet does\nhappiness consist in riches, for the care of them is but a toil; and if\nthey are expended, it is plainly a proof, that contentment is sought for\nin the possession of other things. In the view of the Stagyrite,\nhappiness consists in the pursuit of knowledge, and in the practice of\nvirtue, under the auspices of mind, and nature, and fortune. He that is\nintelligent, and young, and handsome, and vigorous, and rich, is alone\nthe happy man. Did the world need the sublime wisdom, the high mental\nendowment of the Stagyrite, to learn, that neither the poor, nor the\ndull, nor the aged, nor the sick, can share in the highest bounty of\nthe Universal Father? When it is remembered that Aristotle was favoured\nabove all his contemporaries in intellectual gifts, we ask the reader to\ndraw an inference as to the state of his mind, which still demanded the\nbeauties of personal attractions, and the lavish liberality of fortune.\n\nWhen asked what is the most transient of fleeting things, the\nphilosopher made but a harsh answer, in naming \"gratitude;\" but his mind\nmust have been sadly a prey to ennui, when he could exclaim, \"my\nfriends! there are no friends.\"\n\nHe could not be content to sit or stand, when he gave lessons in moral\nscience, but walked to and fro in constant restlessness; and, indeed, if\ntradition reports rightly, he could not wait the will of Heaven for his\nrelease from weariness, but in spite of all his sublime philosophy, and\nall his expansive genius, he was content to die as the fool dieth.\n\nBut ennui kills others beside philosophers. It is not without example,\nthat men have committed suicide, because they have attained their utmost\nwishes. The man of business, finding himself possessed of a sufficient\nfortune, retires from active life; but the habit of action remains, and\nbecomes a power of terrific force. In such cases, the sufferer sits away\nlistless hours of intense suffering; the mind preys upon itself, and\nsometimes madness ensues, sometimes suicide is committed.\n\nSaul went out to find his father's asses. With the humble employment he\nseems to have been reasonably pleased, and probably made search with a\nlight heart and an honest one. But, seeking asses, he found a kingdom;\nand contentment fled when possession was full. In him, the reproofs of\nconscience and discontent with the world produced a morbid melancholy,\nand pain itself would have been to him a welcome refuge from ennui.\n\nWe detect the same subtle spirit at work, in the slanders in which\ngossips find relief. Truth is not exciting enough to those who depend on\nthe characters and lives of their neighbours for all their amusement;\nand if a story is told of more than common interest, ennui is sure to\nhave its joy in adding a few embellishments. If time did not hang heavy,\nwhat would become of scandal? Time, the common enemy, must be passed, as\nthe phrase is, and the phrase bears its own commentary; and since the\ndays of gladiators are passed, where can be the harm of blackening the\nreputation of the living? To the pusillanimous and the idle, scandal is\nthe condiment of life; and while back-biting furnishes their\nentertainment abroad, domestic quarrelling fills up the leisure hours at\nhome. It is a pretty general rule, that the _medisante_ is a termagant\nin her household; and, as for our own sex, depend upon it, in nine cases\nout of ten, the evil tongue belongs to a disappointed man. In the tenth\ncase, the man is an _imbecile_.\n\nFashion, also, in its excess, is but a relief against ennui; and it is\nrather strong evidence of the universal prevalence of listlessness, that\na change in dress at Paris, can, within a few months, be imitated in St.\nLouis. Yet, in the young and the fair, a milder sentiment influences\nconduct. In them, the latent consciousness of beauty, the charm of an\nexistence that is opening in the fulness of its attractions, the\nbecoming loveliness of innocence and youth, the simple cheerfulness of\ninexperience, lead to a modest and decorous display. Broadway, the\nunrivalled Broadway, is not without its loungers; yet the young and the\ngay are not discontented ones. They move in the strength of their own\nbeauty, like the patriot statesman, neither shunning, nor yet courting\nadmiration; and tripping along the brilliant street, half coveting half\nrefusing attention,\n\n    \"They feel that they are happier than they know.\"\n\nFrom Broadway we pass to the crowded haunts of business. Is there ennui\nthere? Do the money changers grow weary of profits? Is business so dull\nthat bankers have nothing to do? Are doubtful notes so uncommon, that\nthere is no latitude for shaving? Have the underwriters nothing at sea\nto be anxious about? Do the insurers on life omit to look after those\nwho have taken out policies, and exhort them to temperance and exercise?\nThese are all busy enough; too much engaged, and too little romantic to\nbe much moved by sentimental regrets. But there are those, who plunge\nheadlong into affairs from the restlessness of their nature, and who\nhurry into bold speculations, because they cannot endure to be idle.\nNow, business, like poetry, requires a tranquil mind. But there are\nthose, who venture upon the career of business, under the impulse of\nennui. How shall the young and haughty heirs of large fortunes rid\nthemselves of their time, and acquit themselves in the eye of the public\nof their imagined responsibilities? One writes a tale for the Souvenirs,\nanother speculates in the stocks. The former is laughed at, yet hoards\nan estate; the latter is food for hungry sharks. Then comes bankruptcy;\nsober thought repels the fiend that had been making a waste of life, or\nthe same passion drives its possessor to become a busy body and zealot\nin the current excitement of the times; or absolute despair, ennui in\nits intensity, leads to insanity.\n\nFor the mad house, too, as well as the debtor's gaol, is in part peopled\nby the same blighting power, and nature recovers itself from a state of\nlanguid apathy, only by the terrific excitement of frenzy. Or a passion\nfor suicide ensues; the mind revels in the contemplation of the grave,\nand covets the aspect of the countenance of death as the face of a\nfamiliar friend. The mind invests itself in the sombre shades of a\nmelancholy longing after eternal rest--a longing which is sometimes\nconnected with unqualified disbelief, and sometimes associates itself\nwith an undefined desire of a purely spiritual existence.\n\nWe might multiply examples of the very extensive prevalence of that\nunhappy languor of which we are treating. Let us aim rather at observing\nthe limit of its power.\n\nIt was a foolish philosophy, which believed in ennui as an evidence and\na means of human perfectibility. The only exertions which it is capable\nof producing, are of a subordinate character. It may give to passion a\nfearful intensity, consequent on a state of moral disease; but human\nvirtue must be the result of far higher causes. The exercise of\nprinciple, the generous force of purified emotions, cheerful desire, and\nwilling industry, are the parents of real greatness. If we look through\nthe various departments of public and of intellectual action, we shall\nfind the mark of inferiority upon every thing which has sprung from\nennui. In philosophy, it might produce the follies of Cynic oddity, but\nnot the sublime lessons of Pythagoras or Socrates. In poetry, it may\nproduce effusions from persons of quality, devoid of wit, but it never\ncould have pointed the satire of Pope. In the mechanic arts it may\ncontrive a balloon, but never could invent a steam-boat. In religion, it\nstumbles at a thousand knotty points in metaphysical theology, but it\nnever led the soul to intercourse with heaven, or to the contemplation\nof divine truth.\n\nThe celebrated son of Philip was a man of exalted genius; and political\nwisdom had its share in his career. Ennui could never have produced\nMacedonia's madman, but it may well put in its claim to the Swede. Or\nlet us look rather for a conqueror, who dreamed that he had genius to\nrival Achilles, and yet never had a settled plan of action. The famous\nking of Epirus has seemed to be an historical puzzle, so uncertain was\nhis purpose, so wavering his character. Will you know the whole truth\nabout him? Pyrrhus was an _ennuye_.\n\nWhen a painter, in the pursuit of his vocation, is obliged to give a\nlikeness of a person that has neither beauty nor soul, he may perhaps\ndraw figures in the air, or spoil his picture by an inconsiderate\nflourish of his pencil. He dislikes his task, and his work will show it.\n\nWhen a poet writes a song for hire, or solely to be sung to some\nfavourite air, it is more than probable his verses will be languid, and\nhis meaning doubtful. Thus, for example,--\n\n    \"The smiles of joy, the tears of wo\n    Deceitful shine, deceitful flow.\"\n\nThis is sheer nonsense. Joy smiles in good earnest, and many an aching\nheart knows too well the deep truth of distress.\n\nThe fervent eloquence of true piety springs from conviction, and reaches\nthe heart; but we have sometimes listened to a dull sermon, which\nproceeded from weariness more than from zeal, and belonged to ennui more\nthan to the stirring action of eloquent religion. The lawyer, too, is\nsometimes overborne in his plea by disgust with his work, and in his\ntiresome repetitions you may plainly see how he loathes--\n\n              \"To drudge for the dregs of men,\n    And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen.\"\n\nThe life of Napoleon, in its busiest period, presents a remarkable\ninstance of ennui. While the allies were collecting around him in their\nutmost strength, he was himself wavering in his purposes, and reluctant\nto decide on the retreat to Leipsic. Strange, that at such a time he\nshould have given way to an overwhelming and almost childish languor.\nYet an eyewitness relates, \"I have seen him at that time, seated on a\nsofa, beside a table on which lay his charts, totally unemployed, unless\nin scribbling mechanically large letters on a sheet of white paper.\"\nSuch was the power of ennui over Napoleon, at a time, when, in his own\nlanguage, nothing but a thunderbolt could save him.\n\nIt is dangerous for a man of superior ability to find himself thrown\nupon the world without some regular employment. The restlessness\ninherent in genius being thus left undirected by any permanent\ninfluence, frames for itself occupations out of accidents. Moral\nintegrity sometimes falls a prey to this want of fixed pursuits; and the\nman who receives his direction in active life from the fortuitous\nimpulse of circumstances, will be very apt to receive his principles\nlikewise from chance. Genius, under such guidance, attains no noble\nends; but resembles rather a copious spring, conveyed in a falling\naqueduct; where the waters continually escape through the frequent\ncrevices, and waste themselves ineffectually on their passage. The law\nof nature is here, as elsewhere, binding; and no powerful results ever\nensue from the trivial exercise of high endowments. The finest mind,\nwhen thus destitute of a fixed purpose, passes away without leaving\npermanent traces of its existence; losing its energy by turning aside\nfrom its course, it becomes as harmless and inefficient as the\nlightning, which, of itself irresistible, may yet be rendered powerless\nby a slight conductor.\n\nThese remarks apply perhaps in some measure even to Leibnitz, whose\nsublime intelligence and mental activity were the wonder of his age. He\nattained a celebrity of reputation, but hardly a contented spirit; at\ntimes he descended to the consideration of magnitudes infinitely small,\nand at times rose to the belief that he heard the universal harmony of\nnature; for years he was devoted to illustrating the antiquities of the\nfamily of a petty prince; and then again he assumed the sublime office\nof defending the perfections of Providence. Yet with all this variety of\npursuit, the great philosopher was hardly to be called a happy man; and\nit almost fills us with melancholy to find, that the very theologian who\nwould have proved this to be absolutely the best of all possible worlds,\ndied after all of chagrin.\n\nYet the name of Leibnitz is one which should rather excite unmingled\nadmiration; for the rich endowments of Heaven distinguished him as one\nof the most favoured in that intellectual superiority which is the\nchoicest gift of God. Our subject is more fully illustrated in the case\nof a less gifted, though a notorious man; one whose qualities have been\nrecently held up to admiration, yet for whom we find it impossible to\nconceive sentiments of respect. We mean Lord Bolingbroke.\n\nHis talents as a writer have secured to him a very distinguished place\nin the literature of England; and his political services, during the\nreign of Queen Anne, have rendered him illustrious in English history.\nBut though he was possessed of wit, eloquence, family, wealth, and\nopportunity, he never displayed true dignity of character, nor real\ngreatness of soul. He seemed to have no fixed principles of action; and\nto have loved contest more than victory. Wherever there was strife,\nthere you might surely expect to meet St. John; and his public career\nalmost justifies the inference, that apostacy (if indeed a man who has\nno principles can be called an apostate) would have seemed to him, after\nhis defeat, a moderate price for permission to appear again in the\nlists. But as he had always coveted power with an insatiable avidity, he\nnever could rest long enough to acquire it. On the stormy sea of public\nlife, he was for ever struggling to be on the topmost wave; but the\nwaves receded as fast as he advanced; and fate seemed to have destined\nhim to waste his life in fruitless efforts and as fruitless changes.\n\nIn early life he sought distinction by his debaucheries; and from the\naccounts of his biographer, it would seem, that he succeeded in becoming\nthe most daring profligate in London. Tired of the excess of\ndissipation, he attempted the career of politics, and found his way into\nParliament under the auspices of the whigs. When politics failed, he put\non the mask of a metaphysician. Tired of that costume, he next attempted\nto play the farmer. Dissatisfied with farming, he wrote political\npamphlets. Still discontented with his condition in the world, he strove\nto undermine the basis of religion.\n\nHe began public life as a whig; but as the tories were in the ascendant,\nhe rapidly ripened into a tory; he ended his political career by\ndeserting the tories and avowing the doctrines of staunch and\nuncompromising whigs. He tried libertinism, married life, politics,\npower, exile, restoration, the House of Commons, the House of Lords, the\ncity, the country, foreign travel, study, authorship, metaphysics,\ninfidelity, farming, treason, submission, dereliction,--but ennui held\nhim with a firm grasp all the while, and it was only in the grave that\nhe ceased from troubling.\n\nTo an observer who peruses his writings with this view of his character,\nmany of his expressions of wise indifference and calm resignation, have\neven a ludicrous aspect. The truth breaks forth from all his attempts at\ndisguise. The philosopher's robes could not hide the stately wrecks of\nhis political passions. They say, that round Vesuvius, the lava of\nformer eruptions has so entirely resolved itself into soil, that\nvineyards thrive on the black ruins of the volcano; and that the ancient\ndevastation could hardly be recognised, except for an occasional dark\nmass, which, not yet decomposed, frowns here and there over the\nsurrounding fertility. Something like this was true of St. John; he\nbelieved his ambition extinct, and attempted to gather round its ruins\nall the beauties and splendour of contented wisdom; but his nature was\nstill ungovernably fierce; and to the last, his passions lowered angrily\non the quiet scenes of his literary retirement.\n\nThere is no clue to his character, except in supposing him to have been\nunder the influence of ennui, which was perpetually terrifying him into\nthe grossest contradictions. He could not be said to have had any\nprinciples, or to have belonged to any party; and to whatever party he\nrallied, he was sure to become utterly faithless. He was not less false\nto the Pretender than to the King, to Ormond than to Walpole. He was\nfalse to the tories and false to the whigs; he was false to his country,\nfor he attempted to involve her in civil war; and false to his God, for\nhe combated religion. He was not swayed by a passion for glory, for he\ndid not pursue it steadily,--nor by a passion for power, for he\nquarrelled with the only man by whose aid he could have maintained it.\nHe was rather driven to and fro by a wild restlessness, which led him\ninto gross contradictions \"for his sins.\" Nor was his falsehood without\nits punishment. What could be more pitifully degrading, than for one who\nhad been a successful British minister of state, and had displayed in\nthe face of Europe his capacity for business and his powers of\neloquence, to have finally stooped to accept a seat in the Pretender's\ncabinet, where pimps and prostitutes were the prime agents and\ncounsellors?\n\nThere exists a very pleasant letter from Pope, giving an account of\nBolingbroke's rural occupations, during his country life in England,\nafter the reversal of his attainder. He insisted on being a farmer; and\nto prove himself so, hired a painter to fill the walls of his parlour\nwith rude pictures of the implements of husbandry. The poet describes\nhim between two haycocks, watching the clouds with all the apparent\nanxiety of a husbandman; but to us it seems, that his mind was at that\ntime no more in the skies than when he quoted Anaxagoras, and declared\nheaven to be the wise man's home. His heart clung to earth, and to\nearthly strife; and his uneasiness must at last have become deplorably\nwretched, since he could consent to pick up stale arguments against\nChristianity, and leave a piece of patchwork, made up of the shreds of\nother men's scepticism, as his especial legacy to posterity, in proof of\nthe masterly independence of his mind.\n\nThus we have endeavoured to explain the nature of that apathy which is\nworse than positive pain, and which impels to greater madness than the\nfiercest passions,--which kings and sages have not been able to resist,\nnor wealth nor pleasures to subdue. We have described ennui as a power\nfor evil rather than for good; and we infer, that it was an absurd\nphilosophy which classed it among the causes of human superiority, and\nthe means of human improvement. It is the curse pronounced upon\nvoluptuous indolence and on excessive passion; on those who decline\nactive exertion, and thus throw away the privileges of existence; and on\nthose who live a feverish life, in the constant frenzy of stimulated\ndesires. There is but one cure for it: and that is found in moderation;\nthe exercise of the human faculties in their natural and healthful\nstate; the quiet performance of duty, in meek submission to the\ncontrolling Providence, which has set bounds to our achievements in\nsetting limits to our power. Briefly: our ability is limited by\nHeaven--our desires are unlimited, except by ourselves--ennui can be\navoided only by conforming the passions of the human breast to the\nconditions of human existence.\n\nIn pursuing this investigation, which we now bring to a close, we have\nnot attempted to exhaust the subject; we refer it rather to the calm\nmeditations of others, who will find materials enough within themselves.\nAnd lest the impatient should throw aside our essay with the disgust of\nsatiety, or the persevering should by our prolixity be vexed with the\nvery spirit which we would rather teach them to exorcise, we here take a\nrespectful leave, with our sincerest wishes, that life may be to the\nreader a succession of pleasant emotions, and death a resting place\nneither coveted nor feared.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Iliad, ix. 187-190.\n\n[2] Iliad, ix. 310-320.\n\n[3] Iliad. Pope renders this--Alike regretted in the dust he lies. But\nit is an expression of discontent with destiny, which sets a common\nlimit to life, and not to men, whose regrets may be unequal.\n\n[4] Jean Jacques Rousseau. Confessions, p. 1. l. vi.\n\n[5] We remember perfectly well the beginning of an apostrophe to the\nJewish philosopher; \"Du _heiliger_ Spinoza.\" Herder, too, has a good\ndeal to say in defence of him.\n\n\n\n\nART. III.--_Travels in Kamtchatka and Siberia; with a Narrative of a\nResidence in China._ By PETER DOBELL. 2 vols. 12mo. 1830.\n\n\nMr. Dobell, the author of these volumes, is an American gentleman, who\nformerly resided in the city of Philadelphia, where he was known as an\nenterprising and intelligent merchant. Commercial business led him to\nmake several voyages, beyond the Cape of Good Hope; and circumstances at\nlength induced him to prolong his residence in Asia. He established\nhimself at Canton, where he lived for some years, and undertook, from\ntime to time, trading expeditions to various ports on the shore of the\nPacific Ocean. In the course of these, frequent opportunities were\nafforded of noticing the manners, country, and state of society in\nChina, superior to such as occur to ordinary travellers; and much too of\nthe remote people of Eastern Russia, who are very little known to those\ninhabiting the civilized portions of the world. These voyages were\nsucceeded by more than one journey across the country to St. Petersburg,\nin which he observed, with an attentive eye and inquisitive disposition,\nthe extensive regions forming the _penetralia_ of that vast empire. His\nintelligence and exertions were noticed and rewarded by the confidence\nof the government, who conferred on him the office of Consul at some\nEastern port, and he was subsequently raised to the post of \"Counsellor\nof the court\" of his Imperial Majesty, a rank which he still retains,\nhaving probably relinquished the intention of returning to his own\ncountry.\n\nThe account of China, which, in the natural order, would form the first\nportion of his narrative, is comprised in a sort of supplement to the\ntravels in Siberia, and contains in a more compendious form, a good\nsketch of the manners and state of society in that singular country. The\nmeans of observation, and of obtaining information, are indeed greatly\ndiminished, by the well known jealousy of the Chinese towards strangers,\nand the extreme vanity and exaggeration with which they speak of\nthemselves and their country; but the pursuits of Mr. Dobell, together\nwith the recurrence of the opportunities by which he profited, give to\nhis account a considerable degree of novelty, and certainly entitle it\nto more than ordinary confidence.\n\nOn his first arrival at Canton, he was struck with the new and\ninteresting scene that presented itself. Islands, hills, canals, and\nrivers, were scattered around. The verdure was lively, the population\nexcessive, the vegetation and general appearance of the country totally\ndifferent from those he had elsewhere beheld, and the waters glittered\nwith innumerable fleets of boats of various sizes and descriptions. The\nboatmen and pilots addressed him in a language which he afterwards\nfound to prevail extensively at Canton, and which was called English; it\nis, in truth, a bad dialect of that language, the composition and\npronunciation of which are so curious and difficult, that a residence of\na year or two is necessary for its acquisition. None of the Chinese,\nrich or poor, understand those who speak plain English. The first\nintercourse of a foreigner with the natives, displays that imposition\nand venality which are more strongly exhibited, during every month of\nhis residence among them. He is at once surrounded by persons, called\n_compradors_, who offer their assistance in supplying him with\nprovisions of every description; they serve him without wages, although\nthey are obliged to pay the Mandarins for the privilege of affording\ntheir generous aid to strangers; the consequence is, they take especial\ncare to remunerate themselves handsomely at the expense of those to whom\nthey extend their kindness. Besides this, as they bribe the custom-house\nofficers, they are able to offer many facilities, and to carry on an\nextensive contraband commerce. Those officers are sent to a vessel\nimmediately on her arrival, and their boats, called hoppoo-boats are\nconstantly attached to her stern while she remains in port; their\nconsciences, however, are easily satisfied by the liberality of the\ncomprador, and they pass their time in smoking, sleeping, and playing at\ncards; indeed, if any extraordinary smuggling is desired to be\naccomplished, they protect the offender against the officious\ninterference of other officers: they keep shops on board of their boats,\nwhere they exercise their expertness in cheating, and, as every thing is\nsold by weight, it is necessary to weigh for yourself what you buy, to\navoid the tricks which they always endeavour to play.\n\nUndoubtedly, the venality of the Chinese has been increased by the\nintroduction of commerce from beyond the Cape of Good Hope; but there is\nno doubt also, that its existence is of very old date, and that it is\nowing to the nature and conduct of the government, more than to the\ncharacter of the people. There are so many prohibitions and enormous\nduties to tempt their prevailing passion, avarice, that vast numbers\nengage in the contraband trade, as being the most profitable; moderate\nduties, and freedom of importation, would destroy the temptation, and\nrender smuggling dangerous and unprofitable; at present it has become an\norganized system of plunder, protected by the Mandarins themselves.\n\n     \"The opium trade,\" says Mr. Dobell, \"with the exception of ten\n     chests of that pernicious drug, that are allowed to be imported\n     into Macao, for medicinal purposes, is entirely conducted by\n     smugglers. In defiance of an annual edict from the Emperor,\n     making it death to smuggle opium, the enormous quantity of\n     nearly _four thousand chests_ is imported every year to Macao\n     and Whampoa; the greater part, however, goes to the former\n     place. When I inform my readers that each chest weighs a\n     _pecul_, that is to say, 133-1/3 English pounds, and that it\n     sells for twelve to fifteen hundred, and sometimes two thousand\n     Spanish dollars a chest, they may form some judgment of the\n     value and extent of smuggling in China. It is a business that\n     all the inferior Mandarins, and some of the higher ones, their\n     protectors, are engaged in; so that opium is carried through\n     the streets of Macao, in the most bare-faced manner, in the\n     open day. The opium dealers at Whampoa, formerly took it away\n     by night, but latterly I have seen them go to the ship, with\n     the linguist of the Whampoa custom-house officer, and take it\n     out in the day time. Sixty Spanish dollars is the bribe paid\n     for each chest of opium sold at Macao; and if it goes to\n     Canton, it pays sixty more on its arrival there. Large boats\n     armed, and having from thirty to forty men, called opium boats,\n     ply between Macao and Canton, when that market offers an\n     advantage in price. These boats carry this drug, and are\n     sanctioned by the custom-house officers, who, of course,\n     receive for this business likewise, a good bribe.\"\n\nThe only attempts made to suppress this practice, are on the initiation\ninto office of new _foo-yunes_, or governors, who have not yet perfectly\nlearned the established usages, or who have not been propitiated by the\nnecessary gratuities. In these cases, a terrible revolution occurs in\nthe peaceful and quiet frauds of the smugglers; their shops are broken\nup, their property confiscated without mercy, and all the terrors of the\nlaw invoked upon the persons of such, who indeed are few, as have not\nalertness and foresight enough to keep out of the way. This excess of\nvirtue does not endure long however; and the liberal generosity of the\ntraders generally contrives, in a month, to overcome the scruples of the\nmost resolute.\n\n     \"During my residence, however,\" says Mr. Dobell, \"a _foo-yune_\n     arrived, who proved incorruptible, and he almost destroyed the\n     smugglers, as well as the profits of his colleagues; which\n     latter, becoming tired of his persecutions, united together,\n     and by their intrigues had him advanced to a much higher\n     station. Being a man of talent, he got another step again in a\n     short time, and at length came back to Canton as Tsan-tuk or\n     viceroy. The opium dealers and smugglers were greatly alarmed,\n     shut up their shops, and secreted themselves for some time. It\n     appeared their fears were groundless. This artful man, who\n     formerly persecuted them from political motives, to insure his\n     advancement, was now as mild and propitious as possible. Having\n     arrived at an elevated station, with the certainty of rising\n     still higher, he sought to enrich himself, in order to be more\n     sure of gratifying his ambition. Accordingly, he proved kind to\n     his colleagues, and polite to Europeans; and by his affability\n     of deportment, contrived to amass the largest fortune that ever\n     fell to the share of a viceroy of Canton. He was afterwards\n     made a member of the emperor's council at Pekin.\"\n\nThe robbery of the government, if conducted with sufficient skill and\nboldness, seems to be as successful as smuggling--indeed, it is a maxim\nwith those in power, never to risk a defeat, and that it is best to\naccomplish their ends, by a crafty and cautious delay until a favourable\nmoment for executing them arrives. The salt trade is one of the most\nlucrative, important, and extensive, and is conducted entirely under\nspecial licenses from Mandarins, appointed by the crown. Some years\nsince, the pirates on the coast intercepted the salt-junks, and\ncompelled the monopolists to negotiate with them, and pay a certain sum\nfor the safe passage of every vessel. After a while, this intercourse\nled to a regular trade, by which the captains of the salt-junks supplied\nthe pirates with arms and ammunition, and the government discovering it,\nan entire stop was put to the salt trade. The pirates, however, were not\nto be so easily frightened or defeated; their admiral, Apo-Tsy,\nforthwith commenced an offensive warfare; assembled an immense fleet of\njunks and a force of upwards of twenty thousand men, invaded the country\nnear Macao, cut all the ripe rice, and carried it off, as well as a\ngreat number of women, whom he presented to his followers. In vain did\nthe viceroy attack the piratical fleet,--he was defeated in every\nengagement, and the affair was only terminated by making Apo-Tsy\ngovernor of the province of Fokien, and pardoning all his followers!\nMatters however did not stop here; in some of his battles, Apo-Tsy had\ntaken prisoner an admiral nearly related to the heir to the crown, and\ncut off his head; as soon as the relative ascended the throne, he\ndespatched a polite message to the governor of Fokien, to say, that the\nlaws of the empire required blood for blood, and that his excellency's\nhead was therefore required instead of the admiral's. There was no\nexcuse to be made, and the twenty thousand pirates were no longer at\nhand, so that Apo-Tsy's head was conveyed to Pekin.\n\nThis salt trade is very extensive; no less than twenty thousand tons of\nshipping being occupied in it alone. Indeed the great commerce of the\nChinese appears to be that carried on by their own junks to the\nIndo-Chinese islands. One of these vessels will carry a cargo of from\nthree to five thousand dollars value, in earthenware, silks, nankeens,\nironmongery, tea, and other productions and manufactures of the Chinese.\nThey have settlements on all these islands, and are certainly invaluable\ncolonists, as they have sufficiently proved wherever they are\nestablished. They work the mines, plant cotton, make indigo and sugar,\nand acquire large fortunes among the slothful and careless Malays.\nThough they intermarry with these people, they never adopt their habits\nor religion, but remain, as well as their descendants, a distinct race;\nand wherever found, their settlements present a complete miniature\npicture of China. It is indeed a gross error to consider China a country\nwholly agricultural and manufacturing; on the contrary, the Chinese are\none of the most commercial nations of the globe. It is true, they affect\nthemselves to hold the trade which they carry on with distant nations,\nas comparatively unimportant, and assert that with the contiguous\nislands to be infinitely more lucrative; yet this is to be ascribed to\ntheir habit of decrying other countries; and it is not to be doubted\nthat the revenue derived from the commerce they thus contemn, is very\ngreat. The importations into Canton from England, America, Holland,\nFrance, Sweden, Denmark, Manilla, and India, in European and American\nships, in money and merchandise, must be annually from thirty to forty\nmillions of dollars. The bad policy which occasions the immense\ncontraband trade in opium, deprives the government of duties, annually,\nto the amount of four or five millions of dollars. Their commercial\nsystem with foreigners, shows a great deal of deep cunning, but it is\nrepulsive to wisdom and good policy, and by no means calculated to\nafford them the advantages they might derive from that intercourse.\n\nThe highly wrought principles and moral maxims, which abound in the\nwritings of the lawgivers and philosophers of China, have been sometimes\ncited to prove the existence of a superior system of institutions and\nlaws. Theoretical speculations, vanity, and self adulation, are one\nthing; wise administration, and practical justice, are another. The\ndoctrines of Confucius are worthy to be placed with those of Solon; the\nrescripts of the celestial emperor, abound in common-places of unbending\nintegrity and the sternest equity; but notwithstanding all this, the\nmorals of the people are debased, the very foundations of virtue are\nsapped by bribery and corruption, with all their concomitant vices; the\nsword of justice is arrested; and license is widely given to the\nviolation of public and private rights. Some instances of this\nunblushing venality are mentioned by Mr. Dobell.\n\n     \"By the law of homicide, life must atone for life; and, if a\n     person dies suddenly, the master of the house is treated in the\n     same manner as if he had been guilty, until he proves the fact.\n     This keeps the Chinese always on their guard, and ready to\n     deceive the mandarins, or to bribe them, if necessity should\n     require. A person of my acquaintance related to me, that he had\n     a large garden, where there were some nice fruits, which were\n     often stolen; and although his servants had frequently watched,\n     they could not detect the offender. He therefore determined to\n     watch with them; and, having armed himself with a pike,\n     accompanied his two servants in the night, to try and detect\n     the thief. Not long after he had placed himself at his post, he\n     saw a naked man approach the trees near where he stood. He\n     called to him to stand still or he would kill him. The fellow,\n     frightened at this summons, made off with all speed; and the\n     master of the house, seeing him about to escape, threw his pike\n     at him, which killed him on the spot. He was much alarmed at\n     the accident; but recollecting himself, he promised his\n     servants a handsome present to keep the affair secret; and with\n     their assistance, threw the dead body over the wall, into his\n     neighbour's garden. This, too, was managed in so careful\n     manner, as to render it impossible to discover whence the body\n     came. His neighbour, who was a very rich tea-merchant, felt no\n     less alarmed than astonished, on the following morning, when\n     his servants informed him that a dead man had been found in the\n     garden, who to all appearance had been murdered. The story soon\n     reached the mandarin of the district, who proceeded, in all due\n     form, to execute the duties of his office, and examine the\n     body; not a little delighted to have to deal with such a man as\n     the rich tea-merchant. A corpse found in this way cannot be\n     touched or removed until the police-mandarin of the district\n     comes and inquires into the manner of the person's death; and\n     if there is any thing suspicious, he will not suffer the dead\n     man to be taken away, before he has had some satisfactory\n     proofs of the cause of his death. As none such could be\n     elicited from the merchant, who, conscious of his innocence,\n     thought the mandarin could do him no harm, the latter\n     commenced a regular process, and made him daily visits, besides\n     sending for him frequently, and thus perplexed him exceedingly.\n     All this time the dead man was left in the garden, which being\n     near the house, and the body beginning to putrefy, such an\n     odour was caused as became almost insupportable. At length, the\n     merchant, overpowered by the bad smell, and alarmed by the\n     measures the mandarin was preparing to prove him culpable, was\n     happy to compromise the affair, and have the dead body removed,\n     on paying the sum of four thousand five hundred Spanish\n     dollars!\"\n\nNor was this the end of the adventure, which reminds one of the story of\nthe Little Hunch-back, in the Arabian Nights Entertainments:--\n\n     \"A few years after, the person who put the dead man into the\n     merchant's garden, had himself a disagreeable affair, though it\n     cost him less trouble and money to get rid of it. In the street\n     where he lived, and not far from his house, was an eating house\n     for the lower classes. A beggar, who had been half-starved,\n     receiving from some compassionate person enough to purchase\n     himself a very ample repast, repaired to this eating house, and\n     called for several things at the same moment, which he ate most\n     voraciously. The owner of the eating house requested him to\n     stop a while before he ate again, as he perceived it must have\n     been some time since he had satisfied his hunger. The beggar,\n     however, would not listen to reason; he demanded food for his\n     money till it was all expended, and then dropped down dead.\n     This happened towards evening; and when the host perceived that\n     it was dark, he and his servants took up the dead mendicant,\n     and placed him at the door of the person before mentioned. On\n     the following morning, the beggar-mandarin of the district came\n     to him, and was very troublesome, declaring the beggar had been\n     killed by some of his family, and that he should institute a\n     process against him immediately. The accused, however, had the\n     good fortune to find a witness, who had seen the keeper of the\n     eating house and his servants put the body at his door.\n     Although the beggar-mandarin could now do nothing against him\n     in law, he refused to take the corpse away; and he was obliged\n     to pay him two hundred dollars to have it removed before it\n     became offensive. No doubt he got a good fee likewise from the\n     master of the eating house.\"\n\nThe accounts we have of the population of China, greatly exaggerate it\nin the opinion of Mr. Dobell. The persons by whom these statements are\ngiven, have been generally ambassadors, missionaries and others, who\nwere, from political motives, as well as convenience of travelling,\nconducted in boats on the canals and rivers which intersect the richest,\nbest cultivated and most populous parts of the empire. But it is\nridiculous to calculate the number of inhabitants, by assuming, as the\nbasis, the population of a square league so settled, and to imagine that\nall the land is equally well cultivated. The truth is, that all the rice\ngrounds of the empire--and the whole population eats rice--would be\nutterly insufficient to afford the necessary quantity, for any thing\napproaching to the numbers which it is currently asserted to contain.\n\nThe system of husbandry, too, is defective, though the cultivators of\nthe soil are industrious; about Canton and Macao, they transplant every\nstalk of rice by hand with great regularity, and make two crops in the\nyear; one in July, the other in October. In the cultivation of\nvegetables of all sorts, they are not surpassed by any nation of the\nglobe. Rents are usually paid in cattle, hogs, fowls, rice, and the\nvarious productions of the soil, and the tenure is a species of feudal\none, derived primarily from the emperor, who is considered theoretically\nas the actual proprietor of all the soil.[6] Fruits are so plentiful,\nthat there is less attention paid to them than in colder climates;\nalmost every month of the year has its peculiar fruits; but those most\nesteemed are the oranges, mangoes, and lichees. Of the productions of\nthe soil, however, that most prized by foreigners, as well as most used\nand esteemed in China, is tea. To the history of this celebrated plant,\nMr. Dobell has devoted a whole chapter, but we confess that we have\nfound it less perspicuous, except as to the commercial value of the\nvarious qualities offered for sale, than we desired or expected, after\nthe opportunities of observation which he possessed. We infer, that he\nagrees with the prevailing opinion, that there is but one species of the\ntea plant. He speaks of four _stocks_, by which he seems to mean the\nvarieties arising from a difference of cultivation, soil, or\ntemperature. These four stocks are _Bohea_, _Ankay_, _Hyson_, and\n_Singlo_--names derived from the places in which they are particularly\ncultivated. From the two former are prepared what we call _black_ teas,\nfrom the two latter _green_ teas. According to the season at which the\nleaves are gathered, and the manner in which they are subsequently\nprepared, is the excellence of each kind. Of _black_ teas, the Bohea\nkinds are superior to the Ankay; thus, the simplest or commonest sort of\nthe first, sells at Canton for twelve to fourteen taels per pecul,[7] of\nthe other for eight to ten; and the finest sort of the first, Bohea\nPecho, brings from forty to one hundred and twenty taels; but of the\nlatter, Ankay Pecho, only thirty-two to forty-two taels. In like manner\nof _green_ teas, the Hyson kinds are superior to the Singlo; thus the\ncommonest sort of the first, called Hyson Skin, sells for twenty-six to\nthirty taels, while that of the latter, called Singlo Skin, sells at\ntwenty-two to twenty-five taels; and the finest sort of the first, or\nHyson Gunpowder, brings eighty to one hundred and twenty taels, while\nSinglo Gunpowder brings only fifty to eighty taels. As the subject is\none of considerable interest, we have condensed into a short table the\ncomparative qualities and values of the different kinds of teas, so far\nas we can do so from the remarks of Mr. Dobell:--the value is reduced to\nour own currency, and the quantity to our own weights; the price is that\nof the Canton market.\n\n_Black Teas._\n\nCommon Bohea,           21 dollars per 133-1/3 pounds\nBohea Congou,           33    \"     \"             \"\nBohea Campoi,           34    \"     \"             \"\nBohea Souchong,         60    \"     \"             \"\nBohea Pecho,           133    \"     \"             \"\nCommon Ankay,           15    \"     \"             \"\nAnkay Congou,           27    \"     \"             \"\nAnkay Campoi,           38    \"     \"             \"\nAnkay Souchong,         41    \"     \"             \"\nAnkay Pecho,            61    \"     \"             \"\n\n_Green Teas._\n\nHyson Skin,             46 dollars per 133-1/3 pounds\nHyson Young-hyson,      63    \"     \"             \"\nHyson,                  91    \"     \"             \"\nHyson Gunpowder,       166    \"     \"             \"\nSinglo Skin,            39    \"     \"             \"\nSinglo Young-hyson,     47    \"     \"             \"\nSinglo Hyson,           78    \"     \"             \"\nSinglo Gunpowder,      108    \"     \"             \"\n\nTea is the common beverage of all classes, and is always drunk warm,\neven in the hottest weather, and at all hours of the day. It is prepared\nby putting a small quantity of the leaves in a fine porcelain cup;\nboiling water is then poured on it, and it is covered immediately with\nanother cup fitting closely: as soon as the flavour of the tea is\nslightly extracted, it is sipped hot, as it is, great strength being\navoided; the cup is then filled again with boiling water, until all the\nflavour of the herb is exhausted. Mechanics and labourers, who cannot\nafford to drink it in this manner, draw it in a large block-tin tea-pot,\ncased with wood, and having cotton wool put between the wood and the\nvessel to preserve the warmth longer. The extreme heat of the tea, as\npreferred by the Chinese, is one of the causes, perhaps, that tend to\nproduce the relaxation, weakness of digestion, and languor of nerve,\nwith which they are much afflicted.\n\nThe perfection of many of the mechanic arts in China, which cannot be\ndenied in some instances, results less from any scientific skill, than\nfrom the laboured experience of ages brought slowly to a certain point.\nBeyond that, no discoveries of modern knowledge have led them. Thus, the\nbrightness and permanence of colouring in their silk manufactures, are\nnot produced by any secret mordents or process, but derived from a very\nnice experience of the climate, and certain concurrent circumstances.\nFor instance, great numbers of persons are employed, so that great\nrapidity in the execution of the process is assured. The north wind,\ncalled Pak-fung, is the only period at which the silks are dried. And\nwhen they are packed up for exportation, great care is taken to avoid a\ntime when there is the slightest dampness.\n\nNothing has ever been more exaggerated, than the state of civilization\nand social advancement among the Chinese. They are, in general, a\nfrugal, sober, and industrious people; but the accounts of their\ngovernment, sciences, religion, public institutions, and improvement in\nmorals and arts, are both false and ridiculous. The administration of\npublic affairs, is such as would disgrace any country on the globe; and\nthe code of laws which is expressed in such high flown metaphors, and\nboasts such wonderful wisdom in its doctrines, serves, in truth, but as\na cloak to hide injustice and oppression. In former times, the mandarins\nor nobles were said to be chosen from amongst the best of the nation, by\nwise men sent for that purpose by the emperor; at present, money wins\nits way more easily than talent or virtue, to the hearts of these\nelectors. The poorer classes live in a state of extreme wretchedness;\ntheir houses are low, confined, and filthy, and they crowd together in\ngreat numbers; on the coasts, those who live in boats,--and they are\nstated to amount at Canton to sixty or eighty thousand souls,--have much\ncleaner and more commodious habitations. There is said to be more\ndeformity among them than among any other people; and all classes are\nsubject to the complaints which result from debauchery and the use of\nopium. In the latter, they appear to find an almost inexpressible\ndelight. The Chinese have no surgeons, and are almost totally ignorant\nof anatomy; the first physicians of Canton, have none but the most\nconfused notions of the circulation of the blood; they believe it flows\ndifferently on the right and left sides of the body, and they therefore\nfeel both pulses when they visit a patient.\n\nAt Canton, during the summer months, the thermometer varies from 82 deg. to\n92 deg.. There is but little frost in winter, and not much rain. The streets\nare only made for foot passengers. The mandarins ride in sedan-chairs of\nlarge size, with glass windows, carried on the shoulders of four, six,\nten, or twelve men; several fellows run before with whips, which they\napply without mercy to any one obstructing the way; others beat gongs to\nwarn the crowd; whilst some cry out, with a shrill voice, like the\nhowling of dogs. The Chinese, indeed, though supposed to be a grave\nnation, are remarkably fond of personal display; few countries abound\nmore with <DW2>s. The dress of an exquisite is very expensive, being\ncomposed of the most costly crapes or silks; his boots or shoes are of a\nparticular shape, and made of the richest black satin of Nankin, with\nsoles of a certain height; his knee caps are elegantly embroidered; his\ncap and button are of the neatest cut; his pipes elegant and\nhigh-priced; his tobacco of the best manufacture of Fokien; an English\ngold watch; a tooth-pick hung at his button, with a string of valuable\npearls; and a fan from Nankin, scented with _chulan_ flowers--such are\nhis personal appointments. He is attended by servants in costly\nliveries; and, when he meets an acquaintance, his studied manners and\nceremonial are as carefully displayed, as the airs of the most\naccomplished dandy in Christian countries.\n\nAll amusements are anxiously sought after. Theatrical exhibitions\nconstantly take place after dinner in the houses of the rich. Cards and\ndice abound every where. Besides these, they have many other sports and\ngames of chance, peculiar to the country. Cricket fighting and quail\nfighting are very common. To make two male crickets fight, they are\nplaced in an earthen bowl, about five or eight inches in diameter; the\nowner of each, tickles his cricket with a feather, which makes them both\nrun round the bowl different ways, frequently jostling one another as\nthey pass. After several meetings in this way, they at length become\nexasperated, and fight with great fury until they literally tear each\nother limb from limb.\n\nQuails for fighting are prepared with great care. Every one has a\nseparate keeper, who has his bird confined in a small bag, which he\ncarries with him wherever he goes. The poor prisoner is rarely permitted\nto see the light, except when he is fed, or it is deemed necessary for\nhis health; he is then held by the keeper on his hand, sometimes for\nhours. When two quails are brought to fight, they are placed in a thing\nlike a large sieve, in the centre of a table, round which the spectators\nstand to witness the battle and make their bets. Some grains of millet\nseed are put into the sieve, and the quails are taken from the bags and\nplaced near it, opposite to each other. If they are birds of courage,\nthe moment one begins to eat he is attacked by the other, and they fight\nhard for a few minutes. The quail that is beaten flies up, and the\nconqueror remains to eat the seed. The best fights seldom last more than\nfive minutes. Immense sums of money are lost and won on them, for they\nare very uncertain; sometimes one quail has been known to win several\nhundred battles, and then suddenly to be beaten by a new and untutored\nbird.\n\nNext to quail fighting, the flower-boats occupy most of a Chinese\ngentleman's leisure hours. They are the residence of women, generally of\nagreeable conversation and lively manners, but not of the purest\ncharacter. The vessels are so called, from having the sides, windows,\nand doors, carved in flowers, and painted green and gilded. They are\ndivided into rooms, which are well ventilated and fitted up with\nverandas, galleries, and all the conveniences of comfort, luxury, and\ndissipation. The gentlemen go to them in the afternoon; parties are\nformed; they all sit round a large table, well furnished, and eat,\ndrink, sing, and play, until morning. It is said that from forty to\nfifty thousand dollars are spent daily in the flower-boats of Canton. By\nan ancient custom, the Hong-merchants there, when making their contracts\nfor tea, (which is generally done a year in advance,) are obliged to\ninvite the persons with whom they wish to contract, to partake of a\nrepast in one of those boats. The bargain is always easy in proportion\nto the sumptuousness and splendour of the supper, during which it is\nconcluded; and although very expensive, is fully repaid by the\nadvantages gained in the contract.\n\nWhen a Chinese gives a ceremonious dinner, it is done with great\nsplendour. Several days before, a large red paper is sent to the guests,\non which the invitation is written in the politest terms of the\nlanguage. On the day preceding the party, another invitation is sent on\nrose  paper, to remind them of it, and to ascertain whether they\nare coming. Again, on the next day, a short time before the hour\nappointed, the invitation is repeated, to inform them that the feast is\nprepared and awaits them. A great number of dishes are served on small\nebony tables, and dressed in the most piquant manner; there are several\ncourses; and, in addition to various wines, cordials of a fiery nature\nare offered from time to time. When two persons wish to pledge one\nanother, they leave the tables, go into the middle of the room, and take\ncare to place the cups to their lips exactly at the same instant. They\nare not apt to become intoxicated. Between the courses they rise from\nthe table and walk about. The most expensive delicacy they can offer is\n_birds' nest soup,_ with pigeons' or plovers' eggs floating on it. The\nbirds' nests, so used, are formed of a mucilage supposed to be collected\nfrom certain weeds floating on the sea, by the swallows of the Indian,\nChinese, and Pacific oceans; some of the best come from Batavia and the\nNikobar Islands; they are sold by weight, and a catty (one pound and\nthree quarters) of the best parts, sells for the enormous price of\nforty-five to sixty dollars.\n\nThe Chinese do not appear to be governed by fixed and solid principles\nof religion, such as the Christian faith, produced by conviction or\nreason. They have a superstitious reverence for certain ceremonies,\nrights, and ancient customs, which have prevailed for ages; and these\nserve, in many respects, to cover various vices and habits which are\nprevalent. They seem, however, to believe in a Supreme Being, called the\n_Great Joss_, or _Yook-Chee_, represented only to the mind, and not\nallowing his image to be made on earth; and they say, should any one be\nrash enough to make a statue of him, he would be immediately struck\ndead. He is, however, described on paper, holding the little finger of\nhis right hand across the first joint of the middle finger, the\nfore-finger resting on the point of the little finger, and the third\nfinger bent round it, whilst the thumb is also bent upwards, a very\ncurious and difficult position to place the fingers in. They believe\nthat when he opens his hand, the world and mankind are to be destroyed;\nand they consider all the other deities and spirits, to whom, however,\nthey do not pay a very great adoration, as sent by him to the world.\nThese are supposed to preside over rain, crops, dreams, &c., and have\nvarious attributes, which it would require volumes to explain. The\nChinese have no regular priesthood, supported by the government; it\ndepends on voluntary contributions and endowments of the rich; it has\nits monasteries, where numbers of both sexes devote themselves to\ncelibacy; but, in general, it seems, as a body, to have less influence\nthan in most countries. In all rich families, there is a shing-shang, or\nastrologer, who is consulted on all occasions; he is the tutor, and\ngenerally the writer; and thus becomes a man of much importance. The\nfunerals are objects of great attention; and, where it is possible,\ngreat expense is bestowed on them; every care is taken to choose a lucky\nspot for interment, and the tombs are made very splendid.\n\nThese are a few of the facts we have noted with regard to the Chinese,\nin perusing Mr. Dobell's volumes; and but a very few. Those who are\ndesirous to obtain a fuller account of the country, manners, and state\nof society of that singular people, than our limited space will permit\nus to give, may turn to them with great profit. He has evidently devoted\nmuch attention to the collection of information; and, resulting as it\ndoes, from the observations of a number of years, with an opportunity of\ncorrecting and comparing accounts and impressions, received at various\ntimes and under various circumstances, we believe that just and great\nreliance may be placed on it. We must now leave China, however, and\nfollow him on his expedition to the north of Asia.\n\nLeaving Canton, and proceeding along the western shore of the Pacific\nocean, he landed at the harbour of St. Peter and St. Paul, on the 25th\nof August, 1812. He describes the bay of the Avatcha, which forms the\nport, as forty versts in circumference, encompassed by forest-covered\nmountains and extensive meadows. It is so capacious and safe, that large\nfleets may securely lie there; and it affords a combination of\npicturesque beauty, grandeur, and security, rarely equalled in other\nparts of the globe. Immense tracts of low ground extend along the outlet\nof the river Avatcha, which present the appearance of having been banked\nout in former times, to prevent their being overflowed. So numerous,\nindeed, are these embankments, and so far beyond the necessities or\nability of such a population as the present, to erect, that they are by\nmany of the inhabitants supposed to be natural mounds. This conjecture,\nhowever, Mr. Dobell was convinced was incorrect, from repeated\nobservation.\n\n     \"Evident marks remain,\" he observes, \"where the earth has been\n     dug out and thrown up; the holes, which were very deep, are now\n     ponds, whilst the shallower ones have been filled up with soft\n     mud, and have a thick surface of turf upon them, resembling\n     what is called a shaking bog. There is no doubt of their being\n     the work of man; but when and how it was performed was what I\n     could not discover. The Kamtchatdales themselves could have had\n     no inducement to undertake such a laborious task; as, when they\n     were first known, they had neither horned cattle nor horses.\n     They were probably made after the conquest of that country by\n     the Russians, when domestic animals were introduced; as they\n     are evidently intended to preserve the low lands for hay and\n     pasture. This has been so well accomplished, that the greater\n     part of them are still actually in good order.\"\n\nAfter passing a few days at Avatcha, and gratifying the inhabitants with\na ball on board of his vessel, Mr. Dobell set out, on the first of\nSeptember, for Nijna Kamtchatsk, a town seven hundred and fifty miles\ndistant, the residence of the governor, whom it was necessary for him to\nsee, in order to make the commercial arrangements he desired. He\nascended the Avatcha river, the banks of which are for the most part\ncomposed of fine meadow land, or hills thickly covered with birch. Early\non the following day, the party left their boats, and proceeded on\nhorseback over two or three very steep mountains, and amid clouds of\nmosquitoes, which tormented them exceedingly. The houses at which they\nstopped, from time to time, were in general black, smoky, and dirty, but\nthe inhabitants kind and hospitable beyond measure, though poor. The\nuniversal food is fish--men, dogs, bears, wolves, and birds of prey, all\nlive upon them, and indeed they abound, in quantities fully sufficient\nto supply all; they are seen in the streams sporting about by thousands,\nand even the shores are covered with dead ones thrown up by the current.\n\nThe dwelling of the Kamtchatdales is of two kinds--for the summer and\nthe winter. The former, which is called a _ballagan,_ is a building of a\nconical form, composed of poles fourteen or fifteen feet long, laid up\nfrom the edge of a circle, ten or twelve feet in diameter, the tops\nmeeting at the centre, and tied there by ozier twigs or ropes. The\noutside of these is covered with birch or pine bark, over which there is\nsometimes a thatching of coarse grass, fastened down by other poles and\noziers. This kind of hut is generally erected in the centre of a square\nplatform, elevated ten or twelve feet, upon large posts planted deep in\nthe ground. Poles are again placed in rows under the building and\nbetween the posts, where they dry their fish, which the hut serves to\ncover from the weather, as well as to store and preserve them when\ndried. The door of the ballagan is always opposite to the water; the\nfire-place on a bed of earth outside, at one corner of the platform. A\nlarge piece of timber, with notches cut in it instead of steps, and\nplaced against the platform at an angle of forty-five degrees, is the\nmethod of ascending and descending, particularly unsafe and inconvenient\nfor those not accustomed to so uncouth a staircase.\n\nThe winter house, or _jourta_, is a sort of subterranean dwelling. It\ngenerally consists of a frame of timber, put into a square hole four or\nfive feet deep, and within the frame a quantity of stakes are set close\ntogether, inclining a little inwards, and the earth thrown against them.\nThe stakes are left round on the outside, but hewn within, and the top\nis framed over in the same manner and arched and supported by\nstanchions. In the centre of the roof is a square hole, which serves the\ndouble purpose of a door and a chimney, the inhabitants passing in or\nout by means of a piece of timber with notches cut in it, such as we\nhave before described. The top and sides of the jourta are covered\noutside with a quantity of earth and sodded. At one end, there is a\nlarge hole with a stopper to it, which is opened when the oven is\nheating, to force the smoke out at the door. When once heated, and the\nstopper closed, jourtas are warm, and, were it not for the smoke, would\nbe comfortable. The description of such subterranean habitations, and of\nthe lives led by these rude people during their long and bitter winters,\ncannot be read without reviving in the memory those lines of Virgil,\nwhich describe a race similar in all respects--even to the acid liquors\nthey distil; but dwelling in regions far less remote from the warm skies\nof Italy.--\n\n    \"Ipsi in defossis specubus secura sub alta\n    Otia agunt terra; congestaque robora, totasque\n    Advolvere focis ulmos, ignique dedere.\n    Hic noctem ludo ducunt, et pocula laeti\n    Fermento atque acidis imitantur vitea sorbis.\n    Talis hyperboreo septem subjecta trioni\n    Gens effraena virum Riphaeo tunditur Euro\n    Et pecudum fulvis velantur corpora setis.\"\n\nThe increase of civilization, wealth, and intercourse with other\nnations, has however effected a great change in the mode of life among\nthis remote people. Cottages, made generally of logs, are substituted\nfor these ruder mansions, especially in the neighbourhood of the\nsea-ports; and a traveller occasionally meets with much that reminds him\nof fairer climes, and a state of society less primitive.\n\n     \"On reaching Sherrom, a cottage was pointed out to us as the\n     habitation of the Toyune, the outward appearance of which was\n     too engaging not to excite anticipations of good cheer within.\n     As it was a low building, I put my head into one of the windows\n     that was open, and was quite surprised to see so neat and\n     clean a dwelling in that country. The name of the owner, who\n     was Toyune of Sherrom, was Conon Merlin. He and his wife were\n     absent fishing, but we were not less hospitably received by his\n     daughter and daughter-in-law, two clean dressed pretty young\n     women, who welcomed us with their smiles, and made us imagine,\n     that, instead of Kamtchatka, we had got into the land of\n     enchantment. Every thing about them seemed in unison with their\n     appearance. The tables and stools were of poplar white as snow;\n     no vermin was to be seen on the walls, which were hewn smooth\n     and whitened; and the whole presented a picture of neatness,\n     cleanliness, and comfort, such as we had not yet seen in\n     Kamtchatka. In fifteen minutes after our arrival, a refreshing\n     cup of tea was prepared, with fresh butter, cream, and milk;\n     and their being served up in so neat a manner, made them taste\n     more delicious than usual. Our hostess being a well-behaved\n     young woman, we requested her to do the honours of the table,\n     which she performed with the utmost cheerfulness and\n     politeness, just as if she had been bred in a city. In the\n     evening the old Toyune and his wife returned from fishing, and\n     seemed quite overjoyed to see us, as such guests, they said,\n     were not common; and they certainly took uncommon pains to\n     treat and to please us. The old man appeared between sixty and\n     seventy years of age, with a long white beard and moustachios,\n     which, added to a mild, sensible, and prepossessing\n     countenance, gave him a most sage and respectable appearance,\n     and personified to my imagination the wise enchanter whose name\n     he bore. Conon Merlin had been educated by the famous Mr.\n     Evashkin, a Russian nobleman, who was banished to Kamtchatka\n     during the reign of Catharine II., and is since dead; but who\n     was well known to former travellers in Kamtchatka. Our Toyune,\n     therefore, could write and read Russian well, knew most of the\n     dialects of Kamtchatka, and was certainly the most intelligent\n     man I ever met among the natives.\"\n\nOn the morning of the 13th, soon after leaving the village of Klutchee,\nthey beheld the majestic volcano of Klootchefsky, rearing its awful and\nflaming head far above the clouds. This huge mountain, towering to the\nskies, is a perfect cone, decreasing gradually from its enormous base to\nthe summit; its top is whitened by perpetual snow, and the flame and\nsmoke, for ever issuing from its crater, are seen shading the sky at the\ndistance of many miles. Sometimes quantities of ashes are thrown out, so\nfine as to impregnate the atmosphere, and be inhaled in breathing; and,\nit is said, that occasionally a white clammy substance, resembling,\nperhaps, the honey dew elsewhere observed, has flowed from the crater,\nsweet to the taste, and very adhesive when touched. Altogether, this\nmountain is one of the most picturesque and sublime of the volcanoes\ndescribed by travellers, though from its remote situation it has been,\nand probably long will be, visited but by few.\n\nMr. Dobell reached Nijna Kamtchatsk on the 14th of September, and was\nmost kindly received and treated by the governor, General Petrowsky,\nwith whom he made all the arrangements he desired, and, after a visit of\nsix days, returned to St. Peter and St. Paul. He describes the town of\nNijna Kamtchatsk as one of eighty or ninety houses, and between four and\nfive hundred inhabitants. Its situation is not good, the ground being\nlow and moist. It is on the bank of the river Kamtchatka, about\nthirty-five versts from the sea. Since the period we allude to, the\nseat of government has been removed to St. Peter and St. Paul, and the\ntown has lost nearly all its population, there being but five or six\nfamilies left there.\n\nOn his way back he again visited his kind host, the Toyune of Sherrom,\nwhom he found laying in his winter stock of provisions, which offered a\ngood example of the economy, wants, and supplies of a Kamtchatdale\nfamily. He assured Mr. Dobell that himself and his sons had killed\ntwelve bears, eleven mountain sheep, several reindeer, a large number of\ngeese, ducks, and tiel, and a few swans and pheasants. \"In November,\"\nsaid he, \"we shall catch many hares and partridges; and I have one\nthousand fresh salmon, lately caught, and now frozen for our winter's\nstock. Added to this, in my cellar there is a good supply of cabbages,\nturnips, and potatoes, with various sorts of berries, and about thirty\npoods of sarannas, the greater part of which we have stolen from the\nfield mice, who collect them in large quantities for the winter.\" In the\nspring, the Kamtchatdales supply themselves with the skins of the hair\nseals and other sea animals, from whose fat also they obtain oil. The\nhunting of these is therefore a matter of no small importance, and\ncarries many of the Kamtchatdales down to the coast. It is accompanied\nwith great fatigue and occasional risk.\n\n     \"The Toyune of Malka,\" says Mr. Dobell, \"related to me a\n     curious adventure that occurred to him and two of his friends.\n     They repaired in the latter part of April to their usual\n     hunting place, where they found the sea still covered with ice\n     for a considerable extent. Each had a sledge and five dogs, and\n     although the wind blew strongly off shore, they did not\n     hesitate to go on the ice in search of seals, as it seemed\n     firmly attached to the shore, and they observed some\n     Kamtchatdales hunting on it farther up the coast. They\n     discovered some seals at a considerable distance out, and\n     repaired thither to kill them. Already had they killed two, and\n     were preparing to tie them with thongs on their sledges, when\n     one of the party, who staid a little behind, came to them of a\n     sudden, crying that the ice was moving, and that all the other\n     Kamtchatdales had gone to the shore! This news alarmed them so\n     much, that they left their seals on the ice, and seating\n     themselves on their sankas or sledges, pushed their dogs at\n     full speed to regain the shore. Unfortunately they arrived too\n     late; the ice had already separated from the land to the extent\n     of a hundred yards; and as it began to break into pieces, they\n     were obliged to return to the part that appeared to them the\n     strongest and thickest. As the wind now blew extremely hard,\n     they were soon driven out to sea, where the swell being very\n     heavy, the ice began to break again all round them, leaving\n     them at last on a solid clump, from forty to fifty feet in\n     circumference, that was of great thickness and kept entire.\n     They were now out of sight of land, driven before a gale of\n     wind and a heavy sea, and their icy vessel rolled so dreadfully\n     that they had much difficulty to keep themselves on its\n     surface. However, being furnished with ostals, (poles pointed\n     with iron,) they made holes and planted them firmly in the ice;\n     and then tied themselves, their dogs, and sankas, fast to them.\n     Without this precaution, the Toyune said they would all have\n     been thrown into the sea. They were sea-sick and disheartened;\n     but nevertheless, said Spiridon, (the Toyune,) 'I had hopes,\n     and I told my comrades I thought we should be thrown on some\n     coast.' It was now two days they had been at sea, and towards\n     evening the wind abated a little, the weather cleared off, and\n     they saw land not far off, which one of them, who had been\n     formerly at the Kurile islands, knew to be Poromochin, and\n     they now fully expected to be drifted on its shores. However,\n     as the night approached, the wind changed to the very opposite\n     direction, and blew even more violently than before. The clump\n     of ice was tossed about in a most uneasy manner, and several\n     times the ostals and the thongs were in danger of being broken\n     by the violent concussion of the waves against the ice.\n\n     \"All that night and all the next day the storm continued with\n     unceasing violence. On the morning of the fourth day, before\n     daylight, they found that their clump had been driven amongst\n     other cakes of ice, and was closely surrounded on all sides.\n     When the day broke, how great was their joy and astonishment to\n     perceive themselves near the land, and within about twenty\n     versts of the place whence they had been driven! They had\n     suffered much from thirst, as they found the ice salt as well\n     as the water. Not having either eaten or drunk during all the\n     time, they found themselves so weak that they had the greatest\n     difficulty in preparing their sledges, and in getting from the\n     ice to the land. The moment they landed, they offered up their\n     prayers and thanks to God. Spiridon charged his companions not\n     to eat snow or drink much water at a time, although they were\n     almost dying with thirst; as they could soon get to an ostrog\n     that was only about twenty or thirty versts distant. They had\n     not proceeded far before Spiridon saw the tracks of some\n     reindeer; he therefore made his companions stop, and, taking\n     his gun, walked gently round a high bluff on the coast, whither\n     the deer had gone, and had the good fortune to shoot one of\n     them. His companions no sooner heard the noise of the gun than\n     they came to him. They cut the throat of the deer immediately,\n     and drank his blood while warm. Spiridon said that they felt\n     their strength revived almost immediately after drinking the\n     blood. Having given some of the meat to the dogs, they rested\n     themselves about an hour, and then set off for the ostrog,\n     where they arrived safely. One of them, who indulged too much\n     in eating at first, died a short time after; the other two\n     survived; but Spiridon said he had ever since been afflicted\n     with a complaint in his breast and shortness of breath.\"\n\nOn the 21st of October the winter set in, and made the travelling much\nmore difficult and uncomfortable. The cold, however, in Kamtchatka, is\nby no means so severe as is generally supposed. About the sea coast, the\nthermometer rarely passes 15 deg. to 20 deg. of Reaumur, and in the interior,\nseldom exceeds 20 deg. to 25 deg.; and even this but for a short time. The\nordinary cold is about 8 deg. to 10 deg..\n\nAfter remaining nearly three months at St. Peter and St. Paul, Mr.\nDobell set out on his expedition to Russia. He left the former place on\nthe 15th of January, with the determination to proceed along the\nAleuters or north-east coast of the peninsula of Kamtchatka, thence\ncross over to Kammina at the head of the sea of Ochotsk, and proceed\nalong the eastern shore of that large bay to the town of Ochotsk itself.\nHe was accompanied by two Chinese servants, and proceeded in sledges\ndrawn by dogs. He had frequent occasions to confirm the sentiments he\nhad previously entertained of the hospitable and honest character of the\ninhabitants of the peninsula of Kamtchatka; and he found the climate and\nnatural resources of the country far superior to what he had been led to\nexpect. He combats the opinion, long prevalent, that it is a barren and\ndesolate country, depopulated of the aborigines through the extreme\npoverty of its resources; and contends that few parts of the world would\nmore amply repay the industry of the inhabitants, if well peopled and\nwisely governed.\n\nThe dogs displayed all the sagacity, perseverance, and swiftness for\nwhich they have been celebrated by travellers in northern regions, and\nhe had frequent opportunities of observing the instinct or skill with\nwhich they pursued their way in the midst of the most violent storms,\nwhen every trace of the road had disappeared. He gives them a decided\npreference over the reindeer, though he states that the latter are more\nfleet, when put to their full speed. They are not docile however. When\nthe snows are deep, and the roads difficult, if the reindeer be pressed\nto exert himself he becomes restive and stubborn, and neither beating\nnor coaxing will move him. He will lie down and remain in one spot for\nseveral hours, until hunger presses him forward; and if at the second\nattempt he is again embarrassed, he will lie down and perish in the snow\nfor want of food. Reindeer consequently require a great deal of care and\nmanagement, and should never be treated too roughly, or they become\ntotally unmanageable. Besides, great attention must be paid to them in\nsummer, and their pastures often changed, or they contract diseases and\ndie fast.\n\nAt Veyteway, the most northern point on the eastern coast visited by Mr.\nDobell, he found a Toyune who had come a hundred and fifty versts, from\nmotives of curiosity, to meet him. Though he had never before seen any\none adopting the customs of civilized life, he behaved with great\npropriety, and did not seem in the least embarrassed. Some of the trunks\nwhich were covered with lackered leather and full of brass nails,\nexcited his astonishment, and indeed proved a fund of amusement for the\nnatives on all the road. Bets were made constantly as to the number of\nnails on each trunk, and they were counted over and over, a hundred\ntimes, with the greatest care. From this point Mr. Dobell struck across\nthe peninsula, and reached Kammina, at the head of the sea of Ochotsk,\non the 24th of March.\n\nIn proceeding southwardly along the coast, the hardiness of his dogs was\nstrongly put to the test. An insufficient supply of provisions had been\nlaid in, and some time before they reached Igiga, the first town where a\nfresh stock could be obtained, they were reduced to an allowance of half\na fish each, daily. When the dried fish were consumed, they were fed on\nreindeer meat and biscuit, of which but a very small supply was left;\nbut it refreshed and strengthened them, so that one of the party, whose\ndogs were strongest, was enabled to go on more rapidly to Igiga, to beg\nfrom the commandant assistance and food for the rest of the party. When\nthe poor creatures who were left perceived the dogs coming to assist\nthem, nothing could exceed their joy. They sprang into the air, barked\naloud, and set forward with such eagerness to meet them, that restraint\nwas impossible. When they came up, they jumped and fawned upon them, and\nlicked them with an expression of pleasure and satisfaction which it was\nimpossible to mistake. As they approached the town, it was utterly in\nvain to hold them back, they set off at full speed, and if it had not\nbeen for the assistance of several of the inhabitants, who ran and\ncaught hold of them, the sledges would have been upset, and every thing\nbroken to pieces.\n\nLeaving Igiga, Mr. Dobell continued his journey by Yamsk and Towisk,\nthrough the country of the Tongusees. He found these people active,\npersevering, and obliging; those whom he employed performing every sort\nof service with cheerfulness. They are men of small stature, slightly\nmade, and resembling the northern Chinese in features. Their\ncountenances generally were indicative of a tractable mild disposition,\nand bore a strong Asiatic cast of character, which is indeed found\namongst all the natives throughout Siberia. Their fidelity, however, was\nnot on an equality with their other good characteristics, as our\ntravellers had soon an opportunity of learning, by an event which placed\ntheir lives in most imminent peril. The provisions laid in at Towisk\nwere nearly consumed, and the time at which they should have reached the\nnext town had arrived, when the native guides confessed that they had\nmistaken the road, and there was every prospect of the whole party\nperishing in the desert. What were the feelings of Mr. Dobell, when\nawaking one morning, in this situation, he found that the Tongusees were\nno longer with him; the rascals had gone off in the night, not leaving a\nsingle deer for food, and deserting a party of five in number, all\nstrangers, on one of the highest mountains of Siberia, in a wild and\nuninhabited country! In this emergency Mr. Dobell displayed great\nfirmness, resolution, and all the energy and resources of an experienced\ntraveller; indeed the portion of his volumes which contains the account\nof his escape from the perilous situation in which he was left, and of\nthe sufferings he endured, and the expedients to which he was obliged to\nresort, is peculiarly and highly interesting. With the aid of a partial\nmap of Kamtchatka, and a pocket compass, he set out to regain the sea\ncoast, from which they were, as he supposed, not very far distant.\nLeaving all their clothes, and every article with which they could\npossibly dispense, they put the rest of their baggage on two sleds,\nwhich they dragged with them. They limited their nourishment to the\nleast possible quantity of food, drinking tea, of which they had a small\nsupply, twice in twenty-four hours, and in the morning taking some thin\nrice water, with a small lump of chocolate each, to make it palatable.\nThey were obliged to construct bridges of logs over numerous rivulets,\nswelled with the snows, which crossed their path, and they were exposed\nto a succession of furious storms. On the twentieth day they arrived at\nwhat they supposed a long narrow lake, and determined there to pass the\nnight. Having left his companions to make what preparations for so doing\ntheir wretched situation afforded, Mr. Dobell went to examine the lake.\nOn approaching the bank, he discovered two small ducks, quite near the\nshore, and had the good fortune to shoot them both at one shot. \"Running\nto the water to pick them up,\" he says, \"God only knows the\ninexpressible joy that filled my heart, at beholding the water move, and\nfinding that we were on the banks of a large river.\" They all set to\nwork actively the next day, and had soon completed a raft on which they\nembarked, and trusted themselves to the current to reach the ocean, so\nlong and eagerly desired.\n\n     \"We had\" says Mr. Dobell, \"a most unpleasant time, but anxious\n     to arrive at the ocean, would not lie by--particularly as the\n     stream increased greatly in rapidity, and hurried us along with\n     considerable swiftness. About one o'clock on the 10th of June,\n     although we were nearly in the middle of the river, which was\n     here upwards of a verst wide, we were suddenly seized by a\n     whirlpool, and in spite of our utmost efforts, having nothing\n     but poles to guide the raft, were drawn violently towards the\n     left bank, and forced under some large trees which had been\n     undermined by the water and hung over the surface of the\n     stream, the roots still holding them fast to the shore. I\n     perceived the danger to which we were exposed, and called out\n     to every one to lie flat on his face and hold fast to the\n     baggage. The branches were so thick it was impossible for all\n     to escape, and there being barely room to admit the raft under\n     them, they swept off the two Chinese, the Karaikee, my tin-box\n     with all my papers and valuables, our soup-kettle, &c. Nothing\n     now remained but a small tea-kettle, and a few other things\n     that happened to be tied fast with thongs. The Karaikee and one\n     of the Chinese seized hold of the branches that swept them off,\n     and held their heads above water, but the youngest of the\n     Chinese having floated away with the current, the Cossack and\n     myself had the greatest difficulty in paddling the raft up to\n     him. We came just in time to poke our poles down after him as\n     he sunk for the third time, which he fortunately seized, and we\n     drew him upon the raft half drowned. As the current was running\n     at the rate of six or seven miles an hour, we were carried more\n     than half a verst down before we gained the shore; the other\n     Chinese and the Karaikee crying out for assistance. I ran up\n     the shore as quickly as possible, taking a long pole with me,\n     and leaving the Cossack to take care of the raft and the young\n     Chinese. When I arrived at the spot, my Chinese cook informed\n     me he had seized my tin-box with one hand, and was so tired of\n     holding with the other, that if I did not come soon to his\n     assistance he must leave it to the mercy of the current. Whilst\n     I attempted to walk out on the body of the tree whose branches\n     they were holding, one of the roots broke and very nearly\n     separated it from the shore; I was therefore obliged to jump\n     off and stride to one that was nearly two feet under water,\n     hauling myself along by the branches of the others, and at\n     length I got near enough to give the Chinese the pole. He\n     seized fast hold and I pulled him between two branches,\n     enabling him to get a leg over one and keep his body above\n     water. Thus placed he tied the tin-box with his handkerchief to\n     the pole, and I got it safely ashore. I was now obliged to\n     return and assist the Karaikee, who held by some branches far\n     out, and where there were no others near enough for him to\n     reach in order to draw himself in. After half an hour's labour\n     I got them both on the bank, neither of them knowing how to\n     swim, and both much exhausted by the cold, and the difficulty\n     of holding so long against a rapid current.\"\n\nThey continued for several days longer buffeting with the stream, and\nexposed to all the inclemencies of the weather. Their food depended on\nthe scanty supplies of wild fowl they could shoot, and their stock of\ncooking utensils was reduced to a small tea-kettle and the lid of the\ntin box saved by the Chinese.\n\nBetween two and three o'clock in the afternoon of the seventh day since\nthey had embarked on board their frail vessel, and nearly a month since\nthey had been deserted on the mountains by the treacherous Tongusees,\nthey found themselves in a fine wide channel, with a moderate current,\nand on a beach not far below descried a man and two boys mending a\ncanoe. The effect the sight of human beings had upon them was deeply\ninteresting. Every soul shed tears of joy, and when the natives\napproached to assist them in landing, they were unable for some minutes\nto reply to their inquiries, and could only answer by hasty signs. The\nelder person proved to be a Yakut who had seen Mr. Dobell before; as\nsoon as he recognised him, he sprung into the raft, clasped him in his\narms, and shed tears in abundance, exclaiming \"thank God, thank God! you\nare all saved!\" He informed them that the Tongusees having returned and\nconfessed their treachery, an old chief living near Towisk had\ndespatched his son with a party in search of them, but that every one\nthere had given them up for lost, knowing how difficult it was to\nprocure food on those deserted plains and mountains in the spring of the\nyear. The miraculous escape of the party, after having been left in such\na wilderness, was indeed a matter of surprise to every one; and they had\nparticular reason to rejoice in having taken the route they did, as they\nfound on inquiry that had they pursued any other they must infallibly\nhave perished.\n\nAfter remaining three days with the hospitable people whom they so\nfortunately encountered, and recovering their baggage which had been\nleft on the mountain, by means of the party sent in search of them from\nTowisk, they resumed their journey, and reached Ochotsk without further\naccident, on the 4th of July.\n\nOchotsk, the capital of the Russian province of the same name, which\nembraces the most easterly portion of that vast empire, is a town\ncomposed of between two and three hundred houses, and about two thousand\ninhabitants. It is situated in north latitude 59 deg. 20' 22\", and east\nlongitude from Greenwich 143 deg. 20' 23\", on a small island or sand bank,\nthree versts and three hundred paces in length, and two hundred in\nbreadth, where the town stands. The admiralty, marine stores, magazines,\nand workshops, were examined by Mr. Dobell, and found to be disposed in\nperfectly good order, and prepared for service in the best possible\nmanner. In the admiralty, there are a school, and shops for coopers,\nturners, and blockmakers. There are also large forges, ropewalks, and\nall the establishments necessary for a complete naval arsenal. Whilst\nMr. Dobell was there, a large cable was prepared for the frigate Diana,\nin the course of four or five days, and appeared quite as well made as a\nEuropean cable. The flour magazines are large, and well supplied by\nYakut convoys, which constantly arrive and discharge their loads there.\nThese convoys consist generally of ten to thirteen horses, having seldom\nmore than two men to take care of them. Each horse carries on his back\nsix pood weight of rye flour, packed in two leathern bags, called in\nRussian _sumas_, impenetrable to all sorts of weather, and extremely\nconvenient for carriage, hanging one on each side of the horse. These\nbags are of green hide, without the hair; the flour is forced as tightly\nas possible into them while they are damp, and when dry the surface is\nas hard as stone. On opening them, the flour, for about half an inch\ndeep, is attached in a hard cake to the bag, and, if originally good, is\npreserved in a very perfect state, and will keep for a great length of\ntime. Some of them have been known to remain all the winter under the\nsnow without being damaged; nor does it seem possible to carry over land\nthis important article of life, by any other method so safely and\nconveniently as in sumas. Notwithstanding, however, all the attention\nwhich is thus exhibited on the part of the Russian government to make\nOchotsk a complete and valuable naval station; and the care paid to its\narrangement and furnishing supplies, there yet exists an insuperable\nobstacle to all their efforts, from the fact that it has not a good\nport. No vessel of any great burthen, carrying guns, can enter or be\nwintered there, without incurring the risk of being bilged by the ice of\nthe river Ochota, which flows into or forms the harbour.\n\nOn the 19th of July Mr. Dobell left Ochotsk. He now turned inland, and\nleaving the shores of the Pacific ocean, directed his course westerly to\nYakutsk, which was distant six hundred and fifty miles. He was\naccompanied a short distance by a young officer named Ivan Ivanovitch\nKruz, who was forest-master at the first station called Maitah,\nfifty-four versts off. Such a companion was not less unexpected than\nagreeable, in so remote a corner of the world. He was a very good\nbotanist, and understood French and Latin; a modest, sensible, genteel\nyoung man, and what must appear a little singular, perfectly happy and\nsatisfied with his situation. Even in those wild regions he filled up\nhis leisure hours with study and the chase, and said that he never found\nthe time hang heavy on his hands.\n\nOn the road they met many convoys of horses carrying provisions to\nOchotsk; and were obliged to keep a strict watch, in order to guard\nagainst the depredations of the Yakuts, by whom they were conducted.\nThese people are in the habit of stealing horses for food, whenever a\ngood opportunity offers on the road, being fonder of horse flesh than of\nany other. When they get possession of a horse, they contrive to decamp\nsuddenly, and ride several versts off, where they kill the animal, bury\nhis bones, and conceal the flesh in their bags, before the person robbed\ndiscovers the theft. They are men generally of small stature, light, and\nvery active when they choose to exert themselves; indefatigable on the\nroad, and surpassing every other people in conducting and taking care of\nhorses. In features they resemble strongly the Chinese of Nankin. The\nTongusees, on the other hand, bear a striking resemblance to the Tartars\nwho conquered China. The Yakuts and Tongusees however wear very much the\nsame costume. The hair of the women, which hangs in two or three braids\nbehind, is stuck over with small copper or silver plates, more or less\nrich in proportion to the fortune of the wearer. Sometimes a silver or\ncopper plate is placed on the forehead. They occasionally wear a close\ncap, adorned likewise with plates and beads, and often ornament their\nboots with beads of various colours, having much the appearance of the\nwork on the wampum belts of our Indians. The dress of the Tongusee men\nis a close coat, fitting tight round the body, with skirts reaching half\nway down the legs, and resembling a frock coat. It is composed of deer\nor dog skin, with the hair inward. In very cold weather they wear a\nshorter coat over this, as well as parkas and kokclankas or riding\ncoats, which are nothing more than loose jackets or cloaks of skin, with\nsleeves reaching below the knees. The Yakut dress is made in the same\nway, but usually of horse or cow hide.\n\nOn the 25th, the party crossed the ridge of mountains which extends from\nthe great central chain of Asia, towards the north-east, and divides the\nwaters falling into the sea of Ochotsk, from those flowing through the\nmore central parts of Siberia, towards the west and the north. On the\nwestern side of the ridge they passed a large lake, the source of the\nriver Udama, surrounded by mountains, and three or four versts in\nlength. The Udama is a fine river, and though not abounding either with\nfish or water in summer, is plentifully supplied with both in spring and\nautumn, and then navigable for boats of a considerable size. It falls\ninto the Maia; the Maia into the Aldan; the Aldan into the Lena, one of\nwhose branches ascends to within three hundred and fifty versts of\nIrkutsk, and which flows into the Northern ocean. A navigation is thus\nafforded through the very centre of Siberia for more than two thousand\nmiles. It is also well adapted to the introduction of steam navigation;\nand flat bottomed boats drawing little water might be successfully used\non most of these streams during a considerable portion of the year. The\nadoption of such a system would tend immensely to the improvement of a\nvast country, where the population is thin, but of which the natural\nresources and advantages are very great. It is a mistake to suppose, as\nis usually done, that it is an ungrateful wilderness, fit only for the\nreception of criminals, or the home of wandering savages; no where is\nnature more profusely grand and magnificent than in Siberia; and she has\noffered many attractions to human industry and improvement in those\nremote regions. It cannot be denied that there are some parts totally\nincorrigible, owing to the severity of climate, bad soil, and other\ncauses; but there is ample testimony that by far the largest portion of\nthat country possesses resources, soil, and climate, very superior to\nwhat is generally believed, and that it would advance rapidly if well\ngoverned and better peopled.\n\nOn the 5th of August Mr. Dobell reached the river Aldan, one of the\nprincipal tributaries of the Lena, and found it a very deep stream,\nabout a verst and a half wide, abounding with fish. On the western shore\nhe saw several jourtas beautifully situated, and on inquiry was informed\nthey contained a colony of banished men, sent there by order of the\ngovernment. They appeared very well off, having comfortable houses, with\ncattle, an abundant supply of fish, and good pastures, so that they\ncould never suffer from want, unless too indolent to secure the\nnecessaries of life. They call themselves Possellencies or colonists,\nbut are stiled Neshchastnie Loodie, or unfortunate people, by the\nnatives, who avoid, even by a name, to remind them of their unhappy\nfate.\n\n     \"Banishment, then,\" remarks Mr. Dobell, \"to such a country as\n     Siberia, is certainly no such terrible infliction, except to a\n     Russian, who, perhaps, of all beings upon earth, possesses the\n     strongest attachment to the soil on which he grows--taking root\n     like the trees that surround him, and pining when transplanted\n     to another spot, even though it should be a neighbouring\n     province, better than his own. Too much praise cannot be\n     bestowed on the humane system adopted by the Russian government\n     in saving the lives of criminals without distinction, and\n     transporting them to Siberia, to augment the population of a\n     fine country, much in want of inhabitants, where their morals\n     are strictly watched, and where they soon become useful, good\n     people. Death, in fact, is so transitory a punishment, that\n     unless a man has religion, and a perfect idea of rewards and\n     penalties in a world to come, it may have no terrors for him,\n     nor will its anticipation ever prevent the commission of crimes\n     so well as the idea of banishment and long suffering. I would\n     not be thought to be the advocate of cruelty; on the contrary,\n     I warmly espouse the principle of producing a perfect\n     contrition and change of sentiments and actions in the\n     criminal, ere we send him into the presence of his God. To\n     bring about this in an effectual manner, and be satisfied it\n     springs from a thorough conviction of his error, we must not\n     confine him in chains, with a priest praying at his side, until\n     the moment he is launched into eternity. He should be made, as\n     he generally is in Siberia, so far a free agent, as to have the\n     power of again doing wrong; else his firmness and resolution\n     are never put to the test; nor can that repentance be called\n     sincere, which springs from the imperious necessity of\n     immediately making his peace with his offended God, before\n     whose awful tribunal his merciless government sends him\n     suddenly to appear, with all his crimes fresh upon him. There\n     are certainly instances in Siberia, where convicts have again\n     committed crimes, and some of them even murder, and such are\n     confined to the mines for life; but there are few examples of\n     this sort, and the majority of the convicts acquire habits of\n     industry and good conduct superior to the same class of people\n     in Russia. Having seen the good effects of the Russian penal\n     code, what I say on the subject is no more than what truth and\n     justice demand; and I wish, that for humanity's sake, so bright\n     an example, which sheds a ray of unsullied glory on her\n     sovereignty, may be followed with equal success by every nation\n     of the earth.\"\n\nThe route of Mr. Dobell continued to lead him through the country of the\nYakuts, a pastoral and industrious people, sufficient in numbers to\nrelieve his mind from the painful idea that so fine a country should be\ndestitute of inhabitants. Their whole attention is turned to the rearing\nof horned cattle and horses. Milk, prepared in various ways, is their\nprincipal sustenance; fish and water-fowl they obtain in abundance,\nexcept in the depth of winter; but pigs, sheep, or poultry, are never\nseen. On the 14th of August, he descended into an immense and fertile\nplain, through which he beheld the noble Lena flowing along, and reached\nthe town of Yakutsk early in the evening.\n\nThis town was, at that time, composed of two hundred and seventy houses,\nand two thousand five hundred Russian inhabitants, besides a very\nconsiderable population of Yakuts, in and about it; since then, however,\nit is much increased and improved in every way. As regards climate, it\nis in winter the coldest spot in all Siberia, the frost often exceeding\n40 deg. of Reaumur; the average heat of summer is not beyond 16 deg., though\nthere are periods at which it is as hot as in the torrid zone. The\npublic buildings are well constructed, and kept in excellent order.\nThere is an ancient citadel of wood, built by the Cossacks nearly two\nhundred years ago, which still forms a strong and good defence; and\naffords evidence of the courage, perseverance, and intelligence, of the\nconquerors of Siberia, who, with a handful of men, could erect such a\nfortress in the heart of an enemy's country, and during their daily\nattacks.\n\nAt Yakutsk, Mr. Dobell fell into the track of the carrying trade over\nland, which is pursued to so immense an extent through the Russian\nempire. The equipage, consisting of the pack-saddles, mats, girths, &c.,\nis the manufacture of the Yakuts themselves, for the most part, and\nthough exceedingly light, is not so constructed as to enable the horse\nto carry his burthen with ease. From this circumstance, great numbers of\nhorses are lost in their long journeys. The Yakuts, however, are\nthemselves excellent grooms, and, in general, kind and attentive to\ntheir animals. They seldom beat them, and many instances are exhibited\nof strong attachment between them. It is so much so, that a herd of\nhorses will not proceed without their master, should he stop and leave\nthem. They are turned out to feed at night, and are always collected in\nthe morning by hallooing to them. Should any of them get out of\nhearing, the Yakut jumps on one of the others, who is sure to find his\ncompanions in a very short time. When the Yakut calls, the first horse\nthat hears answers by neighing, and immediately the whole herd begin to\nneigh and run to the keeper.\n\nMr. Dobell speaks of the society of Yakutsk as hospitable, kind, and\ngay. He was at several balls; found the belles well-mannered, and their\ndress, like that of their fair countrywomen farther west, an object of\npeculiar study. He describes the ceremonies of a Siberian wedding, which\nmay amuse the votaries of Hymen, whose matrimonial customs are varied by\nhalf the circumference of the globe.\n\n     \"In the evening, the Governor waited on me, and invited me to\n     accompany him to a house, to see a ceremony performed,\n     previously to a wedding that was to take place the next day. We\n     repaired to the house, where we found a large party of\n     gentlemen and ladies assembled. The bride and her attendants\n     occupied one end of the room, near a large table, on which were\n     placed fruits, cakes, wines, &c. Tea and coffee were then\n     served. Afterwards, I was called to look at a procession from\n     an opposite building or store, called in this country an\n     _anbar_, where every sort of provisions, effects, &c. are kept.\n     I saw several low, four-wheeled vehicles, each drawn by a\n     single ox, loaded with furniture, bedding, clothing, &c. &c.\n     for the new married couple. Lights were carried before them,\n     and a number of young girls, assembled near the door of the\n     anbar, sang in concert, as each vehicle was loaded with the\n     effects of the bride. This ended, the party returned to the\n     house, when dancing commenced, and was kept up with spirit the\n     whole night. Before quitting the house, the parents of the\n     young bridegroom requested me to come the following morning,\n     and witness the ceremony of his taking leave of them,\n     previously to his going to church. At twelve o'clock, on the\n     22d, we attended at the father's house, where a number of the\n     friends of the bridegroom were collected: several large tables\n     were laid for dinner, and at the principal one, near the\n     images, which in a Russian house are always at the eastern\n     corner of the room, sat the bridegroom and his attendants. A\n     female relative, representing the bride, was placed in the\n     chair on the left hand of the bridegroom; and the father and\n     mother sat at the opposite side of the table. Three dishes of\n     cold meat were placed before the principal attendant, and wine\n     and watky being at the same time handed round, he cut a large\n     cross on the first one, placing it aside; then the second, then\n     the third, in the same way; and, at the cutting of each, wine\n     and watky were handed round to the company, who rose, and drank\n     to the wedding party. Nothing was eaten, this being merely a\n     ceremony to prepare the feast for the young couple when they\n     should return from the church. After this, the bridegroom went\n     round to the opposite side of the table, holding the image of\n     the Virgin in his hand, and crossed himself on his knees, and\n     bowed his head three times to the ground, before his father,\n     who, when he rose, took the image from him, kissed him, and\n     crossed him with it on his head. The same homage was paid to\n     his mother, on which she delivered the image to another person,\n     who preceded the bridegroom and his party to the church, where\n     they met the bride and her attendants; and the couple were then\n     led to the altar, and united in the holy bands of wedlock, by\n     the Protopope, or Chief of the Clergy. The ceremony resembles\n     that of the Catholic church, except that, towards the close,\n     the priest places a hymeneal crown on the heads of the man and\n     woman, and they walk three times round a table, where lie the\n     cross and the Bible. This part of the proceeding is regarded as\n     alternately binding them in strict allegiance to each other\n     during the rest of their lives. There are also two rings used,\n     which are exchanged, from the man to the woman, during the\n     ceremony. The whole party now returned to the house of the\n     bridegroom's father, where a repast was prepared for them,\n     resembling all large entertainments of this sort. The healths\n     of the principal persons of the place were drunk, and followed\n     by a salute of three guns after each toast. The evening was\n     crowned with an illumination, and a ball, at which, as a\n     stranger, I had the honour of leading off the bride.\"\n\nAt Yakutsk Mr. Dobell embarked in a large covered boat on the Lena,\nwhich he ascended on his way to Irkutsk. He left the former place on the\n29th of August, being drawn by horses, with the assistance of six\npeasants, whom he hired to go fifteen hundred versts to Kiringee, and\nwho were employed at places where it was difficult for the horses. The\nbanks of the river were varied and picturesque; sometimes steep cliffs\nand uncouth heaps of rock, in the most fantastic shapes, rose to a great\nheight; sometimes the shores sloped away into mountains covered with\nthick forests of pine and spruce.\n\nOn the 5th of October he arrived at Olekma, a town six hundred versts\nabove Yakutsk, in latitude 60 deg. 22', and east longitude 89 deg. 15' from St.\nPetersburg. He found it to contain four or five hundred inhabitants. It\nwas, in former times, the place whence the Cossacks set out, when they\nwaged their wars against the Chinese, and carried their depredations as\nfar as the Amour. It is said, that three hundred and fifty of these\nbarbarian warriors were once besieged in a fortress by twenty-two\nthousand Chinese, and held out against them a whole year, until a\ncapitulation was agreed upon, at a period when their force was reduced\nto one hundred and fifty men.\n\nAt Olekma, the season had become so cold, and there was so much floating\nice in the Lena, as to render it impossible to proceed any longer by\nwater. The road lay along the shores of the river, frequently obstructed\nby half frozen torrents rushing into it, and occasionally cut off by\npoints and precipices which compelled the party to venture on the ice.\n\n     \"At Matcha, I found a clean, comfortable dwelling, and a\n     hospitable reception from the hostess, an old woman, who said\n     she had been seventeen years in Siberia, having been sent by\n     the Government from Archangel, to assist in increasing the\n     population; but she thanked God, at the same time, that she had\n     not been banished for misconduct. She told me she had always\n     lived much better than she did in Russia, and had been so\n     happily situated as to have never felt a wish to return. Having\n     received from her a fine fat fowl, some cream, vegetables, &c.\n     I asked her in the morning what I must pay for them. She\n     replied, 'a little tea and sugar, a piece of soap, and above\n     all, a few glasses of watky--though I would not have you\n     suppose I am addicted to liquor, for I only take a little now\n     and then to preserve my health.' Her emaciated frame and sallow\n     countenance belied her assertion. Complying with her request, I\n     begged her to preserve her health by using as little of the\n     spirit as possible, as it often had the opposite effect to that\n     of assisting the health. She laughed, and drinking a bumper to\n     my advice, wished me a safe journey.\"\n\nPassing Veeteem and Kiringee, two considerable towns on the Lena, Mr.\nDobell found the country improve gradually, and the post-houses\nthroughout comfortable, clean, and convenient; much more so than could\nhave been expected in remote Siberia. The horses were also furnished\nwith great alacrity, and the inhabitants generally were kind and\nhospitable. On the 30th of October he passed Katchuk, the place where\nall the merchandise is embarked in the spring for Yakutsk and other\ntowns on the Lena. The river is generally free enough from ice by the\n5th to the 12th of May, and but fourteen days are required for the\nvoyage. From Katchuk to Irkutsk, the road leaves the Lena, and passes\nthrough a fine extensive plain, bounded on either side by well\ncultivated hills, and having villages and farm houses dispersed over it\nin all directions. This plain is principally inhabited by a horde called\nBurettas, who are, for the most part, Christians, and have taken to\nagriculture with a great deal of industry and zeal. The richer class\nlive in log houses, but the great part dwell in cabins, similar to the\nwinter jourtas of the more eastern hordes. Their clothing consists of a\npelisse of dressed goat or sheep skin, with the wool inside, trimmed\nwith fur, and painted in black and white stripes round the shoulders.\n\nIrkutsk, the capital of eastern Siberia, is in latitude 52 deg. 16' 41\", and\neast longitude from St. Petersburg, 73 deg. 51' 48\". It is built on the\nmargin of the river Angarra, and contains a population now probably\nexceeding twenty thousand souls. The markets are good, the society is\npleasant, and a traveller finds in the very heart of Siberia almost all\nthe luxuries of life. In visiting the public works, the governor took\nMr. Dobell to an immense brick building, where he found the workshops of\nthe exiles.\n\n     \"In that large range, one sees joiners, carpenters,\n     carriage-makers, saddlers, blacksmiths, and in short, all sorts\n     of tradesmen, busily occupied, and all provided with\n     comfortable apartments, clean clothing, and wholesome food.\n     From this we passed to the cloth factory, the contemplation of\n     which afforded me much pleasure, when I recollected that those\n     beings before me, who were once the victims of depravity,\n     exhibited no longer any thing to inspire me with the idea of\n     their having been criminals. All was gaiety and cheerfulness.\n     There I saw men, women, and children, all industriously\n     employed in weaving, spinning, carding, picking wool, &c. They\n     were arranged in several large, clean, warm, and comfortable\n     apartments; and they really appeared as contented as any\n     labourers I ever saw; for they looked fat and healthy.\n\n     \"The cloth is made from the wool and hair of the Buretta sheep,\n     camels, and goats. It stands the Government in about a rouble\n     the arshin, and sells for two roubles. This profit, after\n     paying the expenses of the manufactory, leaves a surplus that\n     is used to furnish the hospitals, and for other laudable\n     purposes. Such an institution does honour to any country; nor\n     can there be a more praiseworthy application of the industry of\n     those exiles than that which operates to relieve the sick, the\n     fatherless, and the widow.\n\n     \"There is every reason to conclude, from the examples which\n     have been furnished by those countries which have adopted this\n     system, that the idea of confinement and hard labour is a more\n     powerful preventive of the commission of crimes than the fear\n     of death.\"\n\nAt the public ship yard, Mr. Dobell saw a brig on the stocks, destined\nto navigate the Baikal. The vessels generally used on that sea are built\non its shores, on account of the difficulty of ascending against the\ncurrent of the Angarra. Those belonging to the government are employed\nprincipally to carry convicts and stores to Nerchinsk, where there are\nmines of silver, gold, and precious stones, as well as a fine grain\ncountry. The neighbourhood of Irkutsk is fertile and prolific, and the\npopulation increasing. The climate is the mildest of Siberia, the\nthermometer of Reaumur seldom exceeding 30 deg. to 34 deg. of cold, and that but\nfor short intervals.\n\nOn the 25th of November, having taken leave of his hospitable\nacquaintances, Mr. Dobell left Irkutsk on his journey towards St.\nPetersburg. He had fresh occasion to notice the kindness and simplicity\nof the people, which his subsequent visits to the country tended to\nconfirm. On one occasion, at the village of Krasnoyesk, in this\nprovince, he took, at the recommendation of the governor, instead of the\nusual Cossack guides, two soldiers, one a grenadier of the guards of the\nregiment of Moscow, and the other of the Semenofsky, who, having been\nallowed a certain time to go and see their friends in Siberia, from whom\nthey had been absent eleven years, were anxious to return to St.\nPetersburg, and had not money to hire a conveyance.\n\n     \"They had travelled from Russia on foot, near five thousand\n     versts, to see their relations. The elder of the two had a wife\n     and two children. He related to me that when he returned to his\n     family, his wife, who knew him immediately, was so frightened\n     that she fell into a swoon; and it was nearly an hour before\n     she recovered her senses. His parting with his wife and\n     children again affected us exceedingly; but he seemed to bear\n     it with firmness, and said, 'God bless you, put your trust in\n     God: I shall return to you.' Both those men, but particularly\n     the married one, were the most faithful, obedient, well-behaved\n     men I ever saw, and proved of infinite service to me on the\n     road, as I travelled not with the post-horses, but with those\n     of the common peasants. This gives me an opportunity of\n     expatiating again on the moral and religious character of the\n     Siberians, as well as their intelligence, generosity, and\n     hospitality. I found on the road, even amongst the peasants, a\n     sympathy, a kindness and attention to the wants of my family\n     and myself, and a disinterestedness, that I have no where else\n     experienced. Many times it occurred that we lodged in a house\n     for the night, were furnished with bread, milk, cream, and a\n     supper for four servants, and I had a difficulty to make the\n     man of the house accept of a couple of roubles. The demand was\n     fifty to seventy kopeks; and sometimes payment was refused\n     altogether. I met a carrier who was conveying goods from Tumen\n     to Tomsk, a distance of about one thousand five hundred versts,\n     for two and a half roubles per pood! On questioning him, how he\n     could possibly afford to take merchandise at so cheap a rate,\n     he said, 'the people of my country are kind and hospitable. I\n     live about Tomsk, so that I must return thither; and I get a\n     man and a horse found a whole day for fifteen kopeks.' The\n     grenadier also assured me that the only expense his journey on\n     foot to see his family had cost him, was about twenty-five\n     roubles; and those were spent between St. Petersburg and\n     Ecatherineburg. 'After getting fairly into Siberia,' said he,\n     'no one would ever receive a kopek from me for either food or\n     lodging.'\n\n     \"After we got into Russia, and began to suffer certain\n     impositions which are put upon travellers on the great roads in\n     every country, he would often exclaim, 'God be with me and my\n     beloved Siberia! There people have their consciences and their\n     hearts in the right place!'\"\n\nTomsk is fifteen hundred versts from Irkutsk, and four thousand five\nhundred from St. Petersburg, being in latitude 56 deg. 29' 6\", and longitude\n54 deg. 50' 6\" from the latter place. Its population is about ten thousand.\nIt has many manufactories, and a number of handsome houses, with a\npleasant though small society. After leaving it, the traveller passes\nthe vast and fertile plain of Baraba, where he is whirled along at the\nrate of two hundred and seventy versts a day.\n\nThe first place of importance which he reaches after crossing it, is\nTobolsk, the chief town of the province of that name, and formerly of\nSiberia. Its latitude is 55 deg. 11' 14\", and its longitude 37 deg. 46' 14\" east\nfrom St. Petersburg, from which, and from Irkutsk, it is distant three\nthousand versts. Fourteen years ago its population amounted to thirty\nthousand inhabitants, since when it has in all probability very much\nincreased. Its manufactories are numerous; its society is agreeable, and\ngives evidence of the same hospitality which is witnessed so generally\nand so gratefully by the traveller, in those remote regions; but has it\nnot in its very name a charm to the reader who peruses an account of it,\nin its connexion with those incidents, fictitious or true, which have\nbeen formed into one of the most simple, beautiful, and touching tales,\nthat have ever flowed from the imagination or the heart?\n\nFrom Tobolsk, Mr. Dobell passed rapidly through the surrounding district\nof the same name, visited Ecatherineburg, where he admired, so far\nbeyond the ordinary limits of the arts, works in marble, agate, and\nprecious stones, which would have done honour to Italian artists; and\narriving at the geographical boundary that divides Siberia from Russia,\ncloses the narrative of his travels, which we would willingly have seen\ncontinued to the gates of the imperial capital of the north.\n\n     \"I assure the reader,\" he says at the close of his truly\n     interesting account, \"that in my humble attempt to describe\n     what I have seen and experienced, I have been governed by no\n     partial motives whatever. On the contrary, I have laboured to\n     represent every object faithfully as it has affected my senses.\n     I am, however, conscious at the same time, that it requires an\n     abler pen than mine to delineate adequately the sublime and\n     majestic works of nature in the regions I have been describing,\n     and to portray them to the imagination in all their simplicity,\n     beauty, and grandeur. Siberia does not possess the climate of\n     Italy, nor the luxurious productions of India; but she\n     possesses a fertile soil, a climate much better than is\n     generally believed, and natural resources of the highest value;\n     and she presents to the traveller such a magnificent picture of\n     natural objects, as is no where to be equalled except on the\n     immense continent of America. There is no longer any doubt but\n     the greater part of her territory is susceptible of high\n     cultivation, having a strong fertile soil, covered with superb\n     forests, and intersected by fine rivers, or watered by numerous\n     lakes, many of which may fairly be called seas.\n\n     \"The race of men produced there, are uncommonly tall, stout,\n     and robust; certainly the best looking people I have ever seen,\n     particularly those of the Western parts. My readers will now, I\n     am sure, agree with me, that this country, hitherto considered\n     the _Ultima Thule_, or the _finis mundi_, has been highly\n     gifted by its Creator, and only wants population and\n     improvement to render it the most valuable portion of his\n     Imperial Majesty's dominions.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] The old English lawyers puzzled themselves greatly in tracing the\norigin of the feudal tenures. The truth is, they may be found in the\nincipient stages of society in nearly every nation. They existed, in\nfact, in Hindostan, China, and many other countries, for centuries\nbefore the time of the _comites_ of the German princes, mentioned by\nTacitus, who are supposed to have founded them. The services of the\ntenant varied according to the character and condition of the\npeople--the principle was every where the same.\n\n[7] The tael is $1.66; the pecul, 133-1/3 pounds.\n\n\n\n\nART. IV.--_Precis de la Geographie Universelle ou Description de toutes\nles parties du Monde, sur un plan Nouveau D'apres les grandes divisions\nNaturelles du Globe, &c._ Par MALTE-BRUN: Bruxelles, 1829.\n\n\nWe place at the head of our article, which we mean to devote to Physical\nGeography, the title of the latest edition that we have seen of the\ngreat work of Malte-Brun. This, which has already become well known to\nour American public in translation, has received some additions from its\nBelgian editors, but has not been fully brought up to the present state\nof Science, nor does it contain all the new discoveries which have been\nmade in that part, namely, physical geography, to which our attention is\nmore immediately directed. We shall, however, endeavour to supply these\ndeficiencies so far as lies in our power.\n\nPhysical geography stands in immediate connexion with subjects which\nhave already been presented to the readers of this journal, namely with\nCelestial Mechanics,[8] and with the Phenomena of our Atmosphere.[9] It\nshall be our endeavour to proceed from the facts laid down in the first\nof the two articles to which we have referred, to the more particular\nconsideration of the state, the structure, and the condition of the\nglobe we inhabit.\n\nThe earth is a planet of the solar system, the third in distance from\nthe sun, revolving upon its own axis, and around that central body\nattended by a satellite; circumstances which affect in a most important\nmanner the phenomena that are observed upon its surface. Composed of\nmaterial substances that mutually attract each other, each particle of\nwhich has a greater or less centrifugal force in proportion to its\ndistance from the axis of rotation, it has a figure that is consistent\nwith a state of equilibrium under the joint action of these two forces,\nand which is such as would have been assumed by a fluid body actuated by\nthem. The figure that fulfils these conditions is an oblate spheroid,\nthe axis of the generating ellipse coinciding with the polar diameter of\nthe body. Had the earth a figure absolutely spherical, or less flattened\nthan is consistent with the conditions of equilibrium, the ocean, by\nwhich so large a part of its surface is covered, would have arranged\nitself in a meniscoid zone around its equatorial regions; were the\nfigure, on the other hand, one of greater oblateness, the waters would\nhave been divided and accumulated at either pole, leaving the\nequatorial regions dry. But did its figure fulfil the conditions of\nequilibrium, the fluid mass would tend to distribute itself equally over\nthe whole surface, unless prevented by irregularities in the solid mass.\nThe last is the actual state of things; the ocean occupies a bed formed\nof cavities, lying below the mean surface of the spheroid, and the land\npresents to us those asperities and elevations, which rise, although to\na comparatively small height, above the general level.\n\nWas then the earth originally in a fluid state, and has it assumed its\npresent form under the strict action of mechanical laws, on a body of\nthat class? are the bed of the ocean and the continents merely crusts\nformed upon the surface of a liquid globe? Does the interior still\nremain liquid, or has the induration proceeded until the whole internal\nmass has become solid? Nay, may not the interior be hollow, as we have\nrecently seen gravely maintained, and heard sage legislatures recommend\nto the public attention?\n\nMathematical investigations of incontrovertible evidence, show us that\nwere the earth of equal density throughout, the flattening at the poles\nwould be 1/234 of the equatorial diameter; that in the hypothetical case\nof infinite density at the centre, and infinite rarity at the surface,\nthe flattening would be no more than 1/578; while, were the surface more\ndense than the interior, or did a cavity exist within, the oblateness\nmust be greater than 1/234. Actual measurements of portions of the\nsurface, the variation in the length of the pendulum which beats seconds\nin different latitudes, and the effect of the earth's figure on the\nlunar motions, show us that the earth cannot be flattened more than\n1/289, nor less than 1/312, or may, at a mean, be considered as a\nspheroid, whose polar and equatorial diameters are in the relation of\n299 to 300.\n\nAstronomers have ascertained the deflection of plumb lines from the\nvertical, by the action of mountains. The attraction of a projecting\nmass of known bulk and density, with one whose bulk alone is known, is\nthus determined, and hence the density of the latter may be calculated.\n\nEven comparatively small masses of matter may be placed under such\ncircumstances at the surface of the earth, that their mutual action can\nbe observed uninfluenced by the preponderating attraction of the earth,\nand thus a new means of comparison obtained.\n\nThe pendulum whose vibrations ought to vary according to a definite law,\nas we recede from the surface of the earth, has that law affected by the\nelevated ground on which it is placed, and here again a comparison may\nbe instituted between the general and local attractions.\n\nAll these modes of investigation concur in, and confirm the general\nresult, that the mean density of the earth is about five times as great\nas that of water. Now as a great portion of the surface is composed of\nthat fluid, and as the general density of the land is little more than\ntwice as great as that of water, it follows incontestably that the\ninterior of the earth is far more dense than its outer covering.\n\nAll material substances are capable of assuming, under proper\nmodifications of latent heat, either the solid, the liquid, or the\ngaseous form; yet all are beyond doubt composed of atoms, solid, hard,\nand incapable of further division. Under their own mutual attraction\nthese particles tend to unite, and cohere in solid masses, and to this\nattractive force the repulsive power of heat is constantly opposed,\ntending to prevent their aggregation, and retaining them, according to\nits intensity, in the gaseous or liquid form.\n\nThe heat necessary to maintain these states of existence in bodies, may\nbe produced in various ways. Our usual experience leads us to consider\nit as more generally arising from two causes, radiation from the sun,\nand the chemical action causing combustion. The former could never have\nproduced the temperature known to exist at present upon the surface of\nthe globe, for the earth radiates as well as the sun, and is constantly\nthrowing off heat into the surrounding space. We know that these two\nactions have for twenty centuries exactly balanced each other, and that\nthe mean temperature of the earth has neither increased nor diminished\nin all that period. Had the solar radiation been, previously to that\nepoch, in excess, it must at the more recent periods, counted backwards,\nhave been but slightly so, and ages unnumbered must have elapsed, before\nthe state of equilibrium which now exists could have been reached. The\nearth too, at distant periods, must have been colder than at present,\nwhile that the contrary is true is shown by numerous observations.\n\nNeither could chemical action have had any great agency in establishing\nthe present temperature of the earth. The substances which burn are but\na small portion of the crust of the earth, and their combustion, if all\nfired at a time, would cause no perceptible effect on the sensible heat\nof the surface of our globe. Were combustible bodies even infinitely\nmore abundant, the supporters are insufficient to keep up their\ncombustion for any length of time, without sensible diminution, and this\nwould be the case, even were the whole of the oxygen that now exists as\na component of the waters of the ocean added to their present amount. It\nis indeed possible that the outer shell of the earth, which is no more\nthan a crust of oxidated matter, may have existed at first in the\nmetallic state, but that crust has long intervened, and prevented any\ncontact between the air or ocean, and the metallic bases of the earths,\nthat in this case must lie beneath.\n\nIn spite of these obvious objections to their theory, some geologists\nhave madly fancied to themselves a great internal fire, maintained by\nactual combustion, a fancy but little more rational than that which\nseeks, in the present order of things, precipitation from some vast\nquantity of a liquid menstruum, every trace of whose existence has now\nvanished.\n\nThere is, however, yet another source of heat, if indeed solar heat be\nnot a mere case of its general action, far more general and universal,\nwhich has its origin in the bodies themselves, and has no reference to\nany extrinsic cause. All bodies are sensibly heated when condensed, and\nlose sensible heat when they expand, so that their temperatures vary\nwith the greater or less distance of their particles. The atmosphere of\nthe earth furnishes a marked illustration of this fact. Of nearly\nuniform chemical composition throughout, its elastic nature, conflicting\nwith its gravity, renders it more dense in its lower than in its higher\nregions. The former are in consequence warmer than the latter, and the\nmean temperature of our climates is in fact due to this character of our\natmosphere. But this mean temperature could not be maintained, were not\nthat of the earth itself in harmony with it. The surface might, no\ndoubt, be cooled or heated by the adjacent air, but the heat, if given\nout from an earth warmer than the atmosphere, would be rapidly replaced\nfrom within, and a constant accumulation ensue in the air, while, if the\nearth were cooler, a diminution, equally constant, of the temperature of\nthe atmosphere, must take place. The earth is, however, itself subject\nto the same law. All the materials of which it is composed, are capable\nof compression, in a greater or less degree, and of being heated by\ncompression. The tendency of all material substances to the centre of\nattraction, loads the parts nearest to that centre with the whole weight\nof the superincumbent mass. And in the depth of four thousand miles,\nwhich intervenes between the centre and the surface, the heat must be\nfar more than equal to that obtained by the compound blow-pipe or\ngalvanic deflagrator, under whose intense energies the most refractory\nsubstances liquefy. Hence it may be inferred as a fact, as certain as\nany in physical science, that the interior of the earth is at present in\na state resembling igneous fusion, not produced, however, by any of the\nmore familiar sources of heat, but by the intense pressure the upper\nmasses exert upon those nearer to the centre.\n\nHere, then, we find the reason of the earth's having assumed a figure\nconsistent with the equilibrium of a fluid mass, whose particles are\nendued with a mutual attraction, and which has a motion around an axis.\n\nLet us suppose all the particles which now constitute the earth, to have\nbeen originally disseminated throughout a vast space, and to have\napproached their common centre of gravity by the force of mutual\nattraction; the consideration thus caused would have produced the state\nof intense heat that is now kept up within by pressure; and the\nconducting power of the bodies would have propagated the heat nearly\nequal throughout the mass. The surface would then have existed in a\nliquid state as well as that beneath. But as the radiation from the\nsurface of a heated body is in exact proportion to its temperature, this\ncause of cooling would have been intense, and a crust must soon have\nformed upon the outer surface; this crust would have increased in\nthickness so long as the heat thrown off by radiation exceeded that\nreceived from the sun. When this state of equilibrium was finally\nattained, all the great phenomena which a body thus heated could\nexhibit, would cease, and the subsequent changes would become due only\nto forces such as we now see acting upon the surface, or would be the\ncompletion of actions commenced during the previous state.\n\nWe know, from astronomical investigations, that this state of\nequilibrium has existed for upwards of twenty centuries, while analogy\nwould lead us to infer that it must have been attained at no long period\nafter the last great catastrophe to which our planet was subjected.\n\nLet us now see whether the fact of the interior of the globe being more\nintensely heated than its surface, can be inferred in any other manner\nthan from the course of reasoning whose principles are here cited. The\nfeeble power of man, feeble at least compared to the size of the globe\nhe inhabits, has been able to penetrate to but small depths in its outer\nshell, but even at these small depths, an increase of temperature has\nbeen remarked, and so frequently and carefully observed, as to leave no\ndoubt of its being a general law. This increase, too, appears exactly\nconsistent with that which it might be inferred ought to take place. But\nwe, even to the present day, occasionally see the igneous fluid from\nbeneath forced up to the surface, and spreading from volcanic craters\nover great regions. Observation shows us that at remote epochs such\nphenomena were much more frequent than at present. We want no more\npositive proofs that the interior of the earth is still intensely\nheated, and that the bed of the ocean and the solid land are mere crusts\nformed upon the surface of a mass in a state analogous to that of\nigneous fusion.\n\nWere the surface, as we have inferred it must have been, ever itself\nintensely heated, the volatile and gaseous matters which now constitute\nour atmosphere and oceans, must have united to form an atmosphere of far\ngreater extent than it is at present. The aqueous matter rising into\nregions where the rarity of the air would cause cold sufficient to\ncondense it, would have been in a state of constant motion, boiling in\nthe lower regions, being precipitated in the higher, and acting most\nenergetically to promote the general cooling. And so soon as the surface\nbecame cooler than 212 deg., the water would begin to settle upon its\nsurface, forming at first lakes in its basins or cavities, and finally\nextending itself into one vast ocean, covering the whole or parts of the\nsolid crust according to its greater or less degree of uniformity.\n\nThe conversion of the igneous liquid surface into solid matter, could\nonly have taken place in successive shells or concentric layers; hence\nwould arise a stratified character. And as the cooling proceeded,\nlowering the mean temperature of the whole mass, a consequent diminution\nof bulk must have taken place, according to the well known law of\nexpansion by heat and contraction on cooling. Such diminution in bulk\nmust have broken the strata into fragments, through the fissures of\nwhich, according to the laws of hydrostatics, the fluid mass beneath\nwould rise until the equilibrium of rotation would have been obtained,\nand the strata, originally concentric, would be dislocated and turned in\nevery possible direction, pierced with veins and dikes of all possible\nmagnitude, from slender threads to mountain masses, caused by the\ncooling and consolidation of the rising fluid, and occasionally\nspreading in overlying currents, congealed and fixed in ridges and\nchains. These veins and <DW18>s would present different characters,\naccording to the dates of their elevation. If raised at a period when\nthe surface was still of high temperature, they must have crystallized\nslowly, and in a perfect manner; at diminished temperatures, the\ncrystallization would be less complete; if raised into the mass of\nocean, they would assume one character; if coming in contact with air,\nanother. A breaking of the bed of the ocean, and bringing its waters in\ncontact with the liquid mass beneath, might produce consequences\nextending in their action to districts of the globe, the most remote\nfrom those in which the convulsion occurred; for the water, rising into\nvapour, would tend to extend itself in one uniform atmosphere over the\nwhole surface of the globe, and might be precipitated in unusual\nabundance wherever causes of condensation existed. Thus, partial, or\neven total deluges, may have occurred, great portions of the ocean being\nhurried in vapour from its bed, and precipitated upon the land whose\ntemperature is not affected by the distant catastrophe.\n\nThe waters might, in some cases, flow directly back to the ocean, in\nothers might accumulate in basins and form lakes, fresh at first, and\ngradually becoming saline. These in turn might burst their bounds,\ncarrying ruin and devastation in their course, or might by evaporation\nbe dried up, and be again filled by a recurrence of the original cause\nof supply.\n\nSuch violent and rapid action would finally be exhausted by the gradual\ncooling of the earth, but the outer crust would still press on the\nigneous fluid beneath, and although far less liable to rupture, its\nfluid action might yet enable it to force its way occasionally to the\nsurface, but at distant intervals, and with diminished energy. Now, a\nnew series of phenomena must occur, similar to the more familiar of\nthose we see acting at present; at first more intense, but finally, when\nthe state of equilibrium of temperature is reached, exactly such as we\nnow find them both in kind and in energy.\n\nTo see how far such a view of what might have occurred, under the action\nof well known causes, in case of a certain original order of things, is\ncorrect, let us examine the appearances our globe actually presents.\n\nTo a systematized and general examination, it presents the appearance of\na great ocean, covering about three-fourths of its whole surface, and\nsurrounding two great, and a number almost infinite of smaller islands.\nThe two great islands are the old and the new continents; the largest of\nthose that remain is New-Holland. To exhibit this great ocean in its\nmost general aspect, take an artificial globe, raise the south pole 50 deg.\nabove the horizon, and bring New-Zealand to the meridian. The hemisphere\nabove the horizon will now be wholly of water, with the exception of the\nsouthern part of South America on the one side, and New-Holland, with\nthe Indian archipelago, on the other. These bear, when united, but a\nsmall proportion to the entire hemisphere. The opposite hemisphere\ncontains more land than water; and when it is in its turn placed above\nthe horizon, the Atlantic will be seen lying almost wholly on the\nwestern side of the meridian, and forming, with the Arctic ocean, a\nspecies of channel, narrowing from the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope\ntowards the northern pole, and communicating with the great ocean which\nlies principally in the opposite hemisphere by Behring's straits. On\nthis hemisphere are also seen parts of the Pacific and Indian oceans,\nwhich are considerably more than equal in surface to the lands which\nproject into the opposite one.\n\nIf we turn our attention to the land, we find it unequal in its surface;\nand although compared with the whole diameter of the earth, the\ninequalities be very small, yet, compared with our own stature, they\noften present an imposing magnitude. These greater elevations are\nmountains; and we find them sometimes united in chains, sometimes\nisolated, and at other times uniting to form elevated plains or table\nlands. These table lands sometimes <DW72> outwards, at others they are\nsurrounded by eminences that prevent the efflux of the waters, or only\nadmit them to pass through apertures made by their own action. Upon our\ncontinent, table lands of the latter description are to be found of\ngreat magnitude, entering as parts of the great system of the\nCordilleras or Andes; in Europe they are rare, but in Tartary, Persia,\nand in central Africa, they occur, forming regions of great extent. In\ngeneral, the greater part of the mountains of a continent appear to have\na connexion more or less obvious; it has even been conceived that they\nform the skeleton upon which the rest of the land has been deposited,\nand which has determined the form of the continent. Thus we speak\nhabitually of chains of mountains. Mountains, however, do not always\npresent a continuous ridge, from which the peaks or more elevated\nsummits rise, but occasionally, the groups we call chains, are composed\nof separate mountains divided by valleys; such are the mountains of\nScotland, of Sweden, and Norway; and such is the general structure of\nthe chain of mountains called in the state of New-York the Highlands, of\nwhose connexion and grouping we shall hereafter speak.\n\nThis being understood, namely, that by a chain or ridge of mountains we\ndo not necessarily intend a continuous elevation, the term may be\nconveniently used in order to express the configuration of mountains.\nThese chains surround or border upon greater or less basins, which are\neach distinguished by the name of the principal stream that conveys its\nsurface waters to the ocean, or they may, as has been stated, envelop a\ntable land, whence there is no issue for the waters, or no more than a\nmere passage sufficient to afford them an outlet. Even if a map contain\nno expression of the position of mountains, we can, by mere inspection\nof the courses of rivers, determine the lines in which the chains are\ndirected, and, from the size of the rivers, judge in some measure of the\nelevation of the district. Thus, on inspection of the map of Europe, we\nfind four of its greatest rivers rising at no great distance from each\nother, the Rhine, the Rhone, the Danube, and the Po; here, then, we\nmight infer a great elevation, and here we accordingly find its highest\nmountains, the Alps. In another part of this continent, we see the\nDwina, the Nieper, and the Volga, diverge from points not far distant\nfrom each other, and here accordingly we find an elevated table land,\ntwo hundred miles in length by fifty in breadth, marked however by no\nmountain summits. In central Asia, we see a vast space inclosed by lines\njoining the sources of a number of mighty rivers, the Indus, the Ganges,\nthe Barrampooter, the Irrawaddy, the Houng Ha, and Kiang Ku, the Amour,\nthe Lena, the Yermisir, and the Oby; accordingly, here we find the\ngreatest table land surrounded by the highest mountains of the globe.\nStill, however, the instance we have cited of the rivers of Russia\nshows, that the land whence great rivers take their rise, is not\nnecessarily mountainous; in this case the ascent is almost\nimperceptible, and the summit offers the aspect of a level and marshy\nplain. Such also occurs in the famous boundary between the United\nStates and Canada, where the highlands that figured in two successive\ntreaties have disappeared, and in their supposed place has been found a\nseries of swamps.\n\nAttempts have been made to arrange the chains of mountains into\nconnected systems. Of these the most successful is that of Malte-Brun.\n\n     \"If we draw a line from the centre of Thibet, across Chinese\n     Mongolia towards Ochotsk, and thence towards Cape Tchutscki,\n     the eastern promontory of Asia, this line will in general\n     coincide with a great chain of mountains which runs from the\n     south-west to the north-east, and which every where descends\n     rapidly towards the Indian and Pacific oceans, while on the\n     contrary, it extends itself towards the Frozen ocean in high\n     plains and secondary hills. It is probable that we may some day\n     refer to the same rule the chain of Lapata, called the backbone\n     of the world, in Africa; at any rate this chain runs from the\n     Cape of Good Hope to that of Gardafui, in a direction\n     south-east and north-west, and therefore in nearly the same\n     direction as the great chain of Asia, but we are ignorant of\n     the disposition of the <DW72>s of these mountains. We may regard\n     the mountains of the Happy Arabia, which are both steep and\n     lofty, as the link that connects the mountains of Lapata with\n     the table lands and mountains of Persia, which proceed from the\n     mountains of Thibet.\n\n     \"If we follow the western coasts of America, from Behring's\n     straits, which hardly form a sensible interruption, to Cape\n     Horn, we find an uninterrupted chain of mountains. From time to\n     time this chain retires a little into the interior, but more\n     frequently it immediately borders upon the great ocean, in\n     immense cliffs, and often by frightful precipices. On the other\n     side of it, the manner in which the lakes discharge themselves,\n     and the direction of the great rivers, show sufficiently, that\n     the surface of America inclines gently towards the Atlantic\n     ocean.\n\n     \"It results from a combination of these observations, that the\n     greatest chains of mountains on our globe, are ranged in an arc\n     of a circle around the great ocean, and the sea of India; that\n     they seem to present rapid descents towards the immense basin\n     they surround, and gentle <DW72>s on their opposite sides; in\n     fine, from the Cape of Good Hope to Behring's straits, and\n     thence to Cape Horn, the eye of the most timid observer cannot\n     fail to see some trace of an arrangement, as surprising from\n     its uniformity, as from the vast extent of ground which it\n     embraces.\n\n     \"Let us pause for an instant to consider this great fact of\n     physical geography. If we conceive ourselves placed in New\n     South Wales, with our face turned towards the north, we have\n     America on our right hand, Africa and Asia on our left. These\n     continents, which we hardly before ventured to approach in our\n     imagination, considered in this point of view, form a\n     consistent system, whose structure, as far as we are acquainted\n     with it, presents in its great features an astonishing\n     symmetry. A chain of enormous mountains surrounds an enormous\n     basin; this basin, divided into two by a vast collection of\n     islands, often bathes with its waves the feet of this great\n     primary chain of the earth.\"\n\nIn this chain lie the greatest mountains of the globe. One peak of the\nHimmalayah rises nearly five miles above the level of the sea; another\nhas a height of 25,500 feet; and a third of 22,217 feet. In South\nAmerica are Soratu, in height 25,250 feet.\n\n    Illimani,   24,000\n    Chimborazo, 21,400\n\nnot to mention Antisana, Mauflos, Chillau, Cotopaxi, all of which exceed\nin height any mountains that do not lie in this great system. Nay, did\nnot the great Volcano of Owyhee enter into the order with a height of\n18,000 feet, the list of those surpassing the other mountains of the\nglobe, might be very much extended.\n\nWe shall have occasion hereafter to speak of the volcanic energies still\nexerted in this vast stony girdle, and shall therefore confine ourselves\nstrictly to mere external form.\n\nThe arms and branches of mountain chains enclose as has been seen,\nbasins marked by rivers which convey their surface waters to the ocean.\nThe rains which fall on the sides of mountains and hills, unite in\ntorrents and streams, which follow the lines of most rapid <DW72> in\ntheir course to the sea.\n\nThe greater rivers mark the lowest part of a principal basin, on each\nside of which, at a greater or less distance, are to be found rising\ngrounds, themselves hollowed out into lateral secondary basins,\ncontaining courses of water less considerable than the first, into which\nthey cast themselves, and whose branches they are. The borders of these\nsecondary basins are again hollowed out into basins of a third order,\nwhose <DW72>s also contain water courses less considerable than the\npreceding, into which they in turn discharge themselves. This\nramification continues until we reach the smallest ravines of the\nboundary mountains, and the map appears, as it were, covered with a net\nwork of rivers and lesser streams. The great valley of the Mississippi\nand Missouri, forms perhaps the most striking instance of this sort,\nupon the surface of our globe.\n\nRivers and streams are constantly exerting a mechanical action on the\nsurfaces over which they run; abrading and tearing off fragments even of\nthe hardest rocks, they roll them in their course until the velocity\nbecomes insufficient to transport them farther. At diminished velocities\nthey move fragments of less size, down to the smallest pebbles; at still\nless velocities, they transport sand, and finally earthy matter, in the\nmost minute division. These are deposited in succession in positions\ncorresponding to the rapidity of the stream, and hence the beds of\nrivers present at each of their different sections, materials of\nmagnitude and quality corresponding to the rate at which the stream\nusually flows. The increase in the magnitude of streams, due to violent\nrains and the melting of the snows, changes the position of the\nsubstances that compose their bed, and the more easily suspended\nmaterials are often held until the stream actually meets the ocean. In\nsuch sudden increases, the streams often overflow their usual banks, and\nmake their deposits laterally, until the constant succession of such\ndeposits raises the adjacent ground high enough to set bounds to the\nfurther spreading of the stream. This deposit is remarkable for its\ntaking place in greatest quantity close to the usual bed of the stream;\nand thus it speedily opposes natural <DW18>s to its own redundant waters.\nThis action is most conspicuous at points where marked changes take\nplace either permanently or periodically in the rapidity of running\nwater: when streams descend from mountains into lines of less descent, a\ndeposit uniformly takes place, forming _flats_ or _intervals_, as they\nare styled in the United States, of which we have such beautiful\ninstances in the valleys of the Connecticut and Mohawk, and that part of\nthe Hudson near Albany; again, where rivers meet the sea, they are\ninterrupted in their course by the rise of the tides of the ocean, and\nhere again deposits take place, sometimes forming shoals and banks in\nthe ocean itself; at other times, bars and obstructions at their own\nmouths; and again, deltas of solid land, constantly encroaching upon the\nsea. This action, which is continually going forward, is called\nalluvial. The delta of greatest fame, and from which the others have\nderived their generic name, is that of the Nile; this we have evidence,\nalmost historic, to prove to be wholly the gift of the river. And if it\nno longer increase as rapidly as in former ages, the cause is obvious,\nfor the alluvion has been pushed so far forward as to meet a strong\ncurrent that sweeps along the African coast, and must carry off much of\nthe earth the Nile discharges into the Mediterranean. The great rivers\nof Asia and of America carry still greater quantities of solid matter,\nbut we have not the same distant traditions to refer to for the amount\nof the increase they have caused; still, however, we know that the mouth\nof the Mississippi has been advanced into the Gulf of Mexico several\nleagues since the settlement of Louisiana; and that islands of great\nextent are frequently formed, in the course of a single year, by the\ndeposits of the Ganges.\n\nWe however find traces of aqueous action far more extensive and powerful\nthan those which are now taking place under our eyes by fluviatile\naction. There is no part of the globe that has been examined, which does\nnot show that it has been subjected to the action of water, in floods\nfar more powerful than any we now are in the habit of seeing. Every\nwhere, except in the case of rocky cliffs, and steep mountains, or where\nwe see obvious evidence of a recent elevation, we find the surface\nstrewn with the deposits of water: boulders of greater or less size,\nbeds of gravel, sand, and clay, form the present outer coating of the\ngreatest part of the land. These deposits were long confounded with the\nalluvial, but have at length been proved, by incontrovertible evidence,\nto be the results of an action, which if not contemporaneous, must have\nbeen universal. We have seen an able attempt to show that this species\nof deposit did not take place at one and the same period, but was merely\nthe general consequence of similar causes acting at different epochs.\nOur impression, we must however confess to be, that the action was not\nonly co-extensive with the globe, but contemporaneous. It at any rate\nexhibits proofs the most satisfactory, that the last great and\nextensive change which our earth has undergone, was effected by the\nagency of water, in a state of rapid and violent motion. Ascribing this\ndeposit to a single flood, it has been styled diluvial.\n\nThere are cases where alluvial deposits rest upon the diluvium, and from\nthe depth of these it has been attempted to calculate the time that has\nelapsed since the former of these actions was resumed. The diluvium has\nalso been found in caverns lying upon an ancient stalagmite, and covered\nagain with a new formation of that modification of carbonate of lime.\nThe thickness of the latter deposit has also been made the basis of a\ncalculation, and although neither of these methods is to be considered\nas approaching to an accuracy more perfect than some hundreds of years,\nthe two methods confirm each other in the general result, which is,\nthat, at a date not more remote than fifty or sixty centuries, there\nmust have taken place a total submersion of all the land, except,\nperhaps, the tops of high mountains, did they then exist. We have in the\nsacred volume, a record of such a catastrophe, the flood of Noah, and\nfrom that time to the present, no convulsion, equally extensive in its\ninfluence, has devastated the globe. Have not then the geologists who\nhave seen in these indications the convincing evidence of that\noccurrence, been warranted in their inference, of the identity of an\nevent pointed out by undeniable physical evidence, with one recorded in\na history to which one of the most confirmed sceptics has recently\nadmitted the merit of truth?\n\nThe diluvial deposits are found not only in the lower grounds, but on\nthe tops and sides of lofty mountains; we have ourselves noted them\ndistinctly characterized at high elevations upon the Kaatskills; they\nare found among the Alps at Valorsine, 6000 feet above the level of the\nsea, and in another place at more than 7000 feet. The excavations made\nin the extension of the city of New-York at Corlaer's Hook, have laid\nopen a vast mass of diluvium, and afforded means for studying it with\ngreat facility. It in fact presented the appearance of a great cabinet\nof specimens of primitive and transition rocks, and it was possible in\nmany cases to determine the very mountain whence the fragments had been\ntorn. The most remarkable boulder, for instance, of a weight of at least\nan hundred tons, was distinctly recognisable as identical in every\nrespect with the granitic syenite of Schooley's mountain, distant at\nleast forty miles. Others had no known type nearer than Connecticut, in\nthe opposite direction, while the gneiss and mica slate of the island of\nNew-York, with their various embedded minerals, the serpentine and many\nof the magnesian minerals of Hoboken, with sandstone and trap of the\nPallisadoc range, were distinctly recognisable. In this great\nexcavation, where a region of a mile square was wholly removed, to a\ndepth, in many places, of thirty feet, no animal remains, as far as can\nbe learnt, were detected; thus marking a most important difference\nbetween these deposits and those of the Old continent. Such is the\nremark of an intelligent geologist, whom we are proud to reckon as our\n_collaborateur_, and to whom that branch of Natural History is under no\nsmall obligations.\n\n     \"Fragments of granite and other primitive rocks, cast here and\n     there upon stratified formations, and interpersed in\n     diluvium,[10] present a fact as certain as it is astonishing.\n     All the chains of Mount Jura, all the mountains that precede\n     the Alps, the hills and plains of Germany and Italy, are strewn\n     with blocks of granite, often of a great dimension, and always\n     of a composition as pure, and as perfect a crystallization, as\n     the granites of the higher Alps. The same phenomenon is\n     repeated in the plains of Russia, of Poland, of Prussia, of\n     Denmark, and of Sweden. From Holstein to Eastern Prussia,\n     diluvial[11]grounds, sand and clay, are covered with an immense\n     number of blocks of granite. Near the island of Usedom, several\n     points of granite rock rise from the bottom of the Baltic. We\n     see in like manner, Scania and Jutland so filled with these\n     fragments, that they construct of them enclosures, houses and\n     churches. In the Lymfiord, a gulf of Jutland, and at some\n     places on the western side of that peninsula, great points of\n     granite rise from the bottom of the waters. But what is still\n     more remarkable, is to see immense masses of granite lying on\n     the tops of Roeduburg and Osmond, which are more than 6000\n     feet in height, and are therefore among the highest mountains\n     in the North of Europe.\"\n\nBeneath the diluvial deposit, we find beds and strata of substances of\ndifferent character, and which appear on a cursory view to be involved\nin inextricable confusion. Long and careful examination has at length\nbeen efficient in ascertaining that in this apparent disorder are to be\nseen the traces of an order, as perfect as that of any other mechanism\nof nature, and of a succession of changes by which the earth has been\nfinally fitted for the habitation of man. These strata have been finally\narranged into five distinct classes, differing in their characters and\nposition. These have been so fully described in a former article in this\nJournal, by the distinguished associate whom we have already quoted,\nthat no more remains for us to say, than what is merely necessary to\nkeep up the connexion of our subject.\n\nThese stratified rocks or formations are remarkable for the regular\norder in which they succeed and overlie each other, furnishing distinct\nand indisputable evidence of their having been formed in succession. The\nfirst set of strata, which are never covered by any of the others, and\nhence are conceived to be of most recent formation, lie inclined at a\nsmall angle to the horizon. In many cases they do not assume the\ncharacter of rocks, but although distinctly stratified, are often soft\nand friable, presenting beds of marle and clay, and thick deposits of\nsand. In some cases their appearance is so similar to diluvial or even\nalluvial deposits, that they might be mistaken for them, were it not\nfor their more regular stratification. These are the tertiary formations\nof the German school, the superior order of Coneybeare and Philips.\n\nIssuing from beneath these, and forming in their turn a considerable\nportion of the surface of the earth, rising occasionally into\nconsiderable hills, are strata of less uniform and regular inclination,\nforming basins and cavities in which the tertiary deposits are often\nfound to lie, curved to conform to the bottoms of these basins.\n\nThe third and fourth series issue in their turn from beneath the\npreceding, as does the fifth from beneath the fourth. Each is marked in\nsuccession, by a greater degree of confusion or distortion in the\nstratification, until the last, which is apparently upheaved and thrown\nabout without any regularity, its strata being occasionally found in\npositions almost vertical. Not only is the succession of the five\ndifferent orders of rocks constant, but so is that in which the several\nrocks of each series overlie each other. This regularity of succession\nis, however, subject to this law; namely, that rocks of particular\norders, or even the whole order itself, may be wanting in particular\ndistricts; thus, tertiary formations may be directly upon the lower\norder, and the second, third, and fourth, may not be present; or any one\nof the higher orders may lie directly upon any one of those we have\nstated to be inferior to it; but it has never been observed that the\narrangement itself has been inverted, or that a rock which is in one\nplace inferior, becomes, in its turn, superior in another.\n\nThe fifth, or inferior order, is uniformly found beneath one or all of\nthe others; and, we may infer, that it in fact underlies the whole\nsurface of the globe, forming not only the foundation of the solid land,\nbut the original bottom on which the present bed of the sea is\ndeposited. The rocks that compose this series are all highly crystalline\nin their character, are mostly composed of substances wholly or nearly\ninsoluble in water, are wholly devoid of organic remains, and are in\nfact such substances as might be supposed to have been formed by slow\ncooling, from a state of igneous fusion. Is it then assuming too much to\ninfer, that they are in fact the crust which has been first formed upon\nthe surface of the earth, intensely heated by its own condensation,\nunder the action of the gravitating force, that, communicated to it by\nthe hand of the Creator, determined its figure, and still maintains its\nequilibrium. We do not include in this class, as is usually done, the\ncrystalline rocks not stratified, as we conceive them to have been\nformed in another manner, to which we shall hereafter refer. All the\nfour higher series of strata show, in the most evident manner, that\ntheir formation has been due to the action of water; the grauwacke is,\nperhaps, the only rock that exists among them, in which the question\ncould, even on simple inspection of specimens, appear doubtful; but this\nrock lies at the base of the old red sandstone, and upon the limestone\nof the submedial order, or transition, as it is styled by the\nWernerians, and is equally regular in its stratification with either; we\ncannot, therefore, admit any other cause of its formation than what is\ncommon to them.\n\nSome of these strata are obviously mechanical, others chemical deposits;\nthus, the sandstones and conglomerates are certainly the products of the\ndisintegration of older rocks by a violent abrasion of running water,\nand have settled when the currents have ceased to flow; all calcareous\nrocks, except the limestones of the inferior or fifth order, the\nprimitive of Werner, on the other hand, appear to have been products of\nchemical precipitation; while there are a few cases, as in the beds of\nrock salt, where the deposit must have been due to evaporation.\n\nOf all these rocks and formations, the primitive, as has already been\nstated, and the sandstones, are wholly devoid of organic remains. And\neven the last rule is to be received as not wholly free from exception;\nfor vegetable impressions have been found, as we are credibly informed,\nin sandstone, at Nyack on the Hudson, and near Belleville in New-Jersey,\nbesides some other similar cases we shall hereafter note. All the other\nstrata present a greater or less abundance of the traces of the organic\nkingdoms, from the slate, which lies lowest of the fourth order, to the\nmost recent beds of the tertiary, and to so much of the diluvium as has\nbeen examined in the old continent. And although in the isolated case of\nthe diluvium at New-York, no fossil remains have been found, we are yet\nunprepared to admit this as more than an exception, and are inclined to\nthink that the remains of the mastodon, for instance, must be diluvian,\nor pre-diluvian. In this opinion, however, we know that we are opposed\nby high authority, and therefore do not express it without hesitation.\n\n     \"Organized fossil remains belong to three different classes:\n     the remains that have preserved their natural state, at least\n     in part; petrifactions; and impressions.\n\n     \"The remains of the first class are principally bones, and even\n     entire skeletons, which, after having been stripped of the skin\n     and flesh that covered them, have remained, some buried in the\n     earth, others hidden in deep caverns. They are, sometimes,\n     calcined in whole or in part, without having lost their\n     configuration; they at others preserve, not only their texture,\n     but even some traces of their hair and skin. They are also\n     occasionally seen covered with a calcareous crust.\n\n     \"Petrifactions, to use this word in its familiar sense, include\n     all stony bodies that have the figure of an organized body.\n     There are cases in which a strong solution has penetrated into\n     a cavity formed by an organic body that has disappeared. Then\n     the strong substance has occupied the cavity that has been left\n     empty, and has taken the external form of the body that\n     formerly existed there. If this body were, for instance, a\n     branch or trunk of a tree, the stone will have at its surface\n     its knots and asperities; but within, it will present all the\n     characters of a true stone; it will be no more, to use the\n     language of Hauy, than the statue of the substance that it has\n     replaced.\n\n     \"At other times, a vegetable or animal substance, while\n     undergoing decomposition in a successive manner, and by obvious\n     degrees, is pressed by the petrifying liquid that already\n     surrounds it. As soon as an organic particle has disappeared,\n     its place is occupied by one of stone.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     \"Metallized bodies, and those which have been changed into\n     bitumen or carbon, belong to this system of formation; thus,\n     the turquoises, for instance, are the teeth of a great marine\n     animal; a metallic substance has penetrated them, and has\n     gradually replaced the softer parts of the bones.\n\n     \"Impressions are often found between the plates of slaty rocks;\n     they are relievos or intaglios representing the skeletons of\n     animals, particularly fish, leaves, seeds, and entire plants,\n     of which the most common kind belong to the forus.\"\n\nThe impressions of vegetables are most abundant in the shales that\naccompany coal formations; those of leaves and branches are the most\ncommon, but there are a few instances in which they retain the delicate\nstructure of the flowers. All analogy leads to the inference, that those\nnow found in temperate climates, are of such a character as could only\nexist in tropical regions; and when, as in some of the newer formations,\nthe species are identical with those which now exist, the living type is\nonly found within the torrid zone. A still more curious fact, is their\nidentity in similar formations in different parts of the world. At the\npresent day, the same soil in Pennsylvania and England produces plants\nof very different characters, and those which are native to each are of\nwholly distinct genera and species, while the fossils that accompany the\ncoal in the two countries are precisely similar. But even those brought\nby Parry from the polar region of Melville island, are identical with\nthose of England, and of course with those of this distant part of the\nsame hemisphere in which the former are formed, although the character\nof the climate is so diverse. At the epoch of the coal formation, there\nexisted plants, of genera, which, in temperate climates, at present\nrarely rise to more than a few inches in height, and which were at that\nremote period of enormous size. Thus, the forus must have attained the\nheight of from fifty to sixty feet. At present, the forus assume the\nsize of a tree only in the very warmest climates, and even there, are\nfar inferior in magnitude to those of the coal formation. Now, it is\nwell known, that the large size of the living species is due to great\nand constant heat, and copious moisture. Hence we may fairly infer that\nsimilar circumstances existed even at Melville island, where, at the\npresent time, for the greater part of the year, the thermometer is below\nthe freezing point.\n\nAs further instances of the same kind, we may quote the following facts.\nFaujas St. Fond found, in a marly slate, covered by lava, in France, the\ntree cotton, the liquid amber styrax, the cassia fistula, and other\nplants of tropical regions. The same observer found the fruit of the\narcea palm near Cologne. The elastic bitumen of Derbyshire in England,\nis identical with the caoutchouc, which now grows only in the warmer\nparts of South America; and the amber of Prussia appears to be a fossil\ngum, similar to the Copal.\n\nAmong the more recent in formation of fossil vegetables, are the\nbituminized woods; these are often buried to great depths by diluvian\naction, but are never found in perfect rock. The most remarkable\ninstance of this kind is at Bovey-Heathfield, in England, and beneath is\nfound the retinasphaltum, that seems to be no more than the expressed\nviscorous juice of the trees. Coal is a similar formation, but due to a\nmore ancient period. The mines of Pennsylvania occasionally furnish\nspecimens, in which the fibre of the wood is as distinctly visible as in\nrecently prepared charcoal. However these vast beds may have been\nformed, no doubt whatever can exist in respect to their vegetable\norigin.\n\nAmong animal remains found in the fossil state, shells and zoophytes are\nthe most abundant. They form the principal parts of rocks which often\noccupy considerable districts. They are most frequent in calcareous\nstrata, from the transition limestones to the highest of the marles. A\nremarkable fact is observed in respect to these shells, and the other\nfossils which accompany them; those which are found in the oldest, or\ntransition formations, are more different from those that now exist,\nthan those in the more modern deposits. Thus the transition limestones\nand slates contain terrebratulites, with encrinites, pentacrinites, and\ntrilobites; in those of the submedial and medial series we find\nbelemnites and the cornu ammonis; many of which are extinct genera, and\nsome of which are of families that are no longer found living on our\nglobe, while even where the genus is now to be met with, the species at\nleast has become extinct; while in the latest of the tertiary or\nsuperior formations, we find ostracites, pectinites, buccinites,\nchamites, and many other genera that are still abundant, and even types\nof living species.\n\nBy far the greater part of the animals whose remains are found in the\nolder strata are aquatic, and the vast extents over which they are\ndistributed, show, that the waters must at one time have covered a very\ngreat proportion of what is now dry land. Nor has this change been\nproduced by any gradual subsidence, for we find no coincidence in the\nlevels of those portions of the land that contain similar fossils; some\nfor instance are still lower than the level of the present ocean;\nothers, again, of similar character, rest upon the tops or sides of the\nhighest mountains. In Europe, the tops of the highest of the Pyrenees,\nrising 11000 feet above the level of the sea, are of limestone,\ncontaining numerous fossil remains, while Humboldt found a rock,\nsimilarly characterized, among the Andes, at the height of 14000 feet.\n\nThe ancient philosophers, who, in other departments of physical science,\nwere far behind the moderns, seem in this alone to have pursued a\nprocess of inductive reasoning, which led to results far more accurate\nthan any attained by the moderns, until within a very few years. The\ndogmatism which determined to find in every fossil aquatic remain a\nproof of the particular Noachic deluge, and the timidity of those whose\nresearches had made them better informed, left the world wholly in the\ndark as to the real inferences to be drawn from a study of the structure\nof the earth; but what modern geologist could better express what are\nnow admitted opinions, than the words which the Roman poet puts in the\nmouth of Pythagoras.\n\n    \"Vidi ego, quod quondam fuerat solidissima tellus,\n    Esse Fretum. Vidi factas ex aequore terras:\n    Et procul a pelago conchae jacuere marinae;\n    Et vetus inventa est in montibus anchora summis.\n    Quodque fuit campus, vallem decursus aquarum\n    Fecit: et eluvie mons est deductus in aequor:\n    Eque paludosa siccis humus aret arenis;\n    Quaeque sitim tulerant, stagnata paludibus hument.\n    Hic fontes Natura novos emisit, at illie\n    Clausit: et antiquis concussa tremoribus orbis\n    Flumina prosiliunt; aut exaecata resident.\"\n\nThe order in which fossil remains are found to succeed each other in the\nsuccessive formations that are to be traced from the oldest rocks to the\ndiluvial deposit, are well illustrated in the words of a late\ndistinguished philosopher, whom we shall quote.\n\n     \"In those strata which are deepest, and which must consequently\n     be supposed to be the earliest deposited, forms, even of\n     vegetable life, are rare; shells and vegetable remains are\n     found the next in order; the bones of fishes and oviparous\n     reptiles exist in the following class; the remains of birds,\n     with those of the same genera mentioned before, in the next\n     order; those of quadrupeds of extinct species in a still more\n     recent class; and it is only in the loose and slightly\n     consolidated strata of gravel and sand, and which are usually\n     called diluvial formations, that the remains of animals such as\n     now people the globe are found, with others of extinct species.\n     But in none of these formations, whether called secondary,\n     tertiary, or diluvial, have the remains of man, or any of his\n     works, been discovered: and whoever dwells upon this subject,\n     must be convinced that the present order of things, and the\n     comparatively recent existence of man as the master of the\n     globe, are as certain as the destruction of a former and\n     different order, and the extinction of a number of living\n     forms, which have types in being. In the oldest secondary\n     strata there are no remains of such animals as now belong to\n     the surface; and in the rocks which may be regarded as most\n     recently deposited, these remains occur but rarely, and with\n     abundance of distinct species;--there seems, as it were, a\n     gradual approach to the present system of things, and a\n     succession of destructions and creations preparatory to the\n     existence of man.\"\n\nWe have stated that the zoophytes and shell-fish have left the most\nnumerous fossil remains. Those of other families are not however rare.\nFish, for instance, are found in great abundance, near Glarus in\nSwitzerland, in clay slate; in Germany, at Papenheim, in a slaty marle,\nin the cupriferous slate of Eisleben, in the fetid limestone of\nOehningen. They are also found in Egypt, and we have specimens of the\nsame sort from Lyria, in a limestone apparently belonging to the oolitic\nor Jura formation. China and the coast of Coromandel have also fossils\nof this sort, but by far the greatest quantity have been procured from\nMount Bolea, near Verona. A splendid suite from the last locality are to\nbe seen in the Gibbs' Cabinet at New-Haven. Besides the impressions of\nentire fish, separate portions are very abundant, and perhaps the most\nfrequent of these are the teeth of sharks, which are sometimes of a\nmagnitude vastly greater than those of any living species. Animals of\nthe class of amphibia appear not to have existed until after the aera\nthat gave birth to fish. The oldest are probably the tortoises, of which\na specimen has been found in sandstone near Berlingen. They have also\nbeen found in England, in the Netherlands near Brussels, at Aix in\nProvence, and in the quarries near Paris. The most remarkable fossils of\nthis class belong, however, to the lizard family. Of these the most\nremarkable are the plesiosaurus, the megalosaurus, the iguanodon, and\nthe crocodile of Maestricht, all belonging to extinct species.\n\nThe marine animals that are met with in a fossil state, are in great\npart foreign to the climates in which they are found buried. It has been\nshown that the fish of Bolea have their nearest living prototypes in the\nseas of Otaheite. The perpites of Gothland have been supposed to be\npetrifactions of the medusae of India. The madrepores, so abundant in\nRussia and in the frozen deserts of Siberia, only live now in seas\nwithin the tropics. Shells analogous to a great part of those found\nfossil in England, are only to be seen in the Atlantic, in a living\nstate, on the coasts of Florida and Cuba. A shell-formed fossil at Havre\nis only to be met with recent at Amboyna.\n\nOf the shells found in Italy, fossil in the sub Appenine hills, many are\ncommon to the Mediterranean and the Indian oceans. But while those in\nthe fossil slate and the recent specimens from the tropics correspond in\nsize, individuals of the same species from the Mediterranean are\ndwarfish and degenerate.\n\nThus then the remains of aquatic and amphibious animals appear to\nconfirm the conclusion drawn from vegetable fossils, that a climate of\ntemperature as elevated as that now found in the tropics, once extended\ninto high northern latitudes. It has been seen that the fossil remains\nand impressions of shells have been found at great heights upon the\nsides, and even upon the tops of mountains; and that in the older of the\nstrata no trace is to be found of any but aquatic animals. Thus before\nour existing mountains and the minerals they contain had arisen above\nthe general surface; before diluvial and alluvial deposits, or even the\ngreat formations of sandstone and conglomerate had arisen from their\ndisintegration, the globe was covered, in a great degree, and as it\nappears from considerations we have not space to enter into, by various\nsuccessive eruptions, with waters, sometimes fresh, sometimes saline.\nThese waters have, it could be readily made to appear, often rested long\non the surface in a quiet state, after having been in violent agitation;\nand long ages of tranquillity have been succeeded and closed by\nconvulsions of the most violent character.\n\nIn all the regularly stratified formations, animals of the mammiferous\nor cetaceous classes are wholly wanting; at least we have no proof that\ncan be relied upon of any having been found in formations which took\nplace prior to the last great deluge, that covered so much of the land\nwith diluvium. In this last formation, however, they are often found in\ngreat abundance. Some of them are of recent, others of extinct species.\nAmong the most remarkable of the latter are, the palaeotherium, and\nanoplotherium, found near Paris; the megalonyx, an animal of the sloth\ngenus, but of the size of an ox, found in Virginia; a still larger\nsloth, called the megatherium, found near Buenos Ayres; the fossil\nelephant, as different from the living elephants of India or Africa, as\nthe horse is from the ass, and which has been found in Europe, in Asia,\nand in America. The mastodon, of which several species have been\ndiscovered on the banks of the Hudson, in Kentucky, in Louisiana, in the\nplains of Quito, in France, and finally on the borders of the Irrawaddy.\n\nThe bones of rhinoceroses, bears, elephants, and hyaenas, have been found\nmixed in confusion in caverns; and it has been shown by Buckland that\nthe latter animal had inhabited these caverns, and drawn thither the\ncarcasses of the others as his prey, in one of the most perfect\ninductive arguments which has been produced, since Bacon propounded the\nrules of that species of reasoning.\n\n     \"The moveable earths that fill the bottoms of valleys, and\n     which cover the surface of great plains, have furnished us in\n     the above two orders, of pachidermata and elephants, the bones\n     of twelve species, to wit: one rhinoceros, two hippopotami, two\n     tapirs, an elephant, and six mastodons. All these twelve\n     species are now absolutely extinct in the climates in which\n     their bones are found. The mastodons alone may be considered as\n     forming a separate genus, now unknown, but closely approaching\n     to the elephant. All the others belong to genera now existing\n     in the torrid zone. Three of these living genera are now found\n     only in the ancient continent, to wit: the rhinoceros, the\n     hippopotami, and the elephant; the fourth, that of the tapirs,\n     only exist in the new. The distribution of the fossil species\n     is different; the tapirs have been found only upon the old\n     continent, while elephants have been discovered in the new.\"\n\nThe fossil species, although belonging to known and existing _genera_,\nare essentially different in _species_ from those which now live upon\nthe earth. The former are not mere varieties, but have marked specific\ndifferences. This at least is beyond all doubt in respect to the\nsmaller of the hippopotami, and the gigantic tapir, as well as the\nfossil rhinoceros, and is extremely probable in respect to the elephant\nand the smaller tapir. If there be any question of the fact, it is only\nin respect to the greater hippopotamus.\n\n     \"These different bones are buried in all different places in\n     beds that resemble each other. They are often mixed\n     indiscriminately with those of other animals, identical with\n     those which exist at present. These beds are generally\n     moveable, sandy, or marly, and always within a short distance\n     of the surface. It is therefore probable that these bones have\n     been enveloped by the last catastrophe of the globe. In a great\n     number of places, they are accompanied by the accumulated\n     spoils of marine animals; in other places, but these are less\n     numerous, the remains of marine animals are not found, and\n     sometimes the sand or marle that covers them contains only\n     fresh-water shells. Although a small number of shells attached\n     to fossil bones indicate that, they have remained some time\n     under water, yet is there no authentic account of their having\n     been found covered with regular stony beds, filled with marine\n     remains, nor, in consequence, is there any proof of the sea\n     having made a long and peaceable stay above them.\n\n     \"The catastrophe that has covered them, would appear then to\n     have been a great marine inundation, of no long duration, were\n     it not that they are found upon the tops of high mountains,\n     whither the waters of our present ocean could never have\n     reached in their most violent agitations. On the other hand,\n     these bones presenting no appearance of having been rolled,\n     being occasionally only fractured, as the remains of our\n     present domestic animals may occasionally be, and being\n     sometimes found in entire skeletons, and accumulated as if in a\n     common cemetery, demonstrate that the living beings to which\n     they have belonged, must have met their fate in the very parts\n     of the globe in which we now find the fossil monuments of their\n     existence.\"\n\nAll the animals of which we have particularly spoken, are of genera now\nonly found in the torrid zone, and the abundance of food which their\ngreat size would have caused them to require, renders their existence in\nnumbers only possible in a warm climate. Their remains are, however,\nfound in almost polar regions, whence we obtain a third link in the\nchain of evidence, that before the last great catastrophe to which the\nglobe was subjected, its surface must have been warmer than at present.\n\nWe have seen in a former place, that such a change of temperature may\nhave gradually occurred in consequence of a cooling of the external\nsurface of the globe by an excess of its radiation above the quantity of\nheat received from the sun. The final cooling of its solid crust, down\nto the mean temperature at which we now find it, might, as is obvious,\nhave been effected by a great irruption of waters, like that of which we\nhave distinct evidence in the diluvial deposits, and the animal remains\nupon its surface. From that time, a state of equilibrium in the action\nof solar and terrestrial radiation having been attained, while the mean\ntemperature still continues to depend upon the internal structure and\nnature of the globe, the distribution of heat upon the surface, and the\nvicissitudes of the seasons, have been solely influenced by the varying\nrelation between these two radiations, which if equal to each other in\ntheir total amounts, differ in every different latitude, for every\nsuccessive day in the year, and during each varying hour of the day.\n\nIt has been attempted to explain this change that has unquestionably\ntaken place in the temperature of climate, by conceiving a change in the\nsituation of the earth's axis. This hypothesis, however, is shown to be\nuntenable by the calculations of physical astronomy: no other cause then\nremains but an actual change in the condition of the earth itself.\n\nThe most remarkable of all the phenomena which the earth presents, are\nthe great changes of weight that have taken place in identical\nformations which must have arisen from the prevalence of water, and\ntherefore nearly if not exactly upon the same level. The primitive or\nlowest stratified rocks, probably had not water for their cause; still,\nhowever, they must have been in the fluid state, and these are not only\nfound beneath all other rocks, and in the lowest places to which the\nindustry of man has penetrated, but they also rise and form the greatest\npart in bulk of many of the highest mountains; indeed, if we except\nvolcanic mountains, of all the more elevated masses. The transition and\nsecondary formations are subject to similar although less changes of\nlevel, rising, as has been seen, to the tops of the Pyrenees, and to\neven a greater height on the sides of the Andes. The tertiary or\nsuperior formations are found in Italy and Sicily, forming mountains\nseveral thousand feet in height, while the latest of all, the diluvial\nwith its embedded mammalia, exists in the lofty table land of Quito. The\ninference is irresistible, that we do not now find these deposits at the\nlevels where they were left by the ocean, as in the case of the\nprimitive rocks by their own crystallization from a fluid state, but\nthat they have been altered in their positions by actions of a character\ntotally distinct from that by which they were originally formed.\n\nThis inference is still further confirmed by the great and sudden\nchanges of level that are frequently to be seen in similar strata,\nfaults, as they are styled by miners, in which the same bed has its\nlevel sometimes changed hundreds, nay even thousands of feet. These\nfaults, if in greatest abundance in the more ancient rocks, are to be\nfound even in the newest, and sometimes affect several formations\nincumbent on each other, of ages the most different. Thus, then, we have\ndistinct and conclusive evidence, that as we inferred from theory, the\nsolid crust of the globe has been shattered and fractured repeatedly,\nand at all the different epochs of its history. This fracturing and\ncracking we have shown, must, in conformity with strict mechanical laws,\nhave been attended with the rise of the molten liquid from beneath,\nwhich ought in some cases to have formed veins and <DW18>s, in the places\nwhere the fractures occurred. It is however possible, that the rise of\nthe fluid from beneath, may not have taken place where the pressure\noccurred; but it would then have been compelled by hydrostatic pressure,\nto issue at some other point, breaking and tearing the weaker parts of\nthe solid crust, in order to afford itself a vent.\n\nThe latter class of phenomena are still in action, and we have evident\ntraces of their occurrence in all the different stages of the world's\nexistence; of the former it will also be seen there is conclusive\nevidence.\n\nThe visible effects of a subterranean heat, are most frequently met with\nat the present day in the form of volcanoes. Of these, there are not\nonly a great number in activity, but there are still more that have been\ncertainly active since the last great change that the surface of the\nearth has undergone.\n\nThat part of the great group of mountains which we have before\ndescribed, which lies in the new continent, contains many active\nvolcanoes, and others but recently extinct. Terra del Fuego, as its very\nname imports, is the seat of many; Chili has several; in Peru are to be\nnoted Arequipa, Pichinca, and Cotapaxi; while Chimborazo is obviously\none that has become extinct at a period not remote. Passing the Isthmus\nof Panama, we find the volcanoes of Guatimala and Nicaragua almost\ninfinite in number. In Mexico, are Orezaba, Popocatepetl, and Jorullo;\nthe last of which first rose from beneath the surface in 1759.\nCalifornia has five active volcanoes; and we know, from the observations\nof La Perouse and Cook, that they also exist along the north-western\ncoast of America. Mount St. Elias, in particular, was seen in a state of\neruption. These mountains connect those of Mexico with the volcanoes of\nthe Aleutian islands and of the peninsula of Alaska, which continue the\nsystem towards Kamtschatka, in which peninsula there are three of great\nviolence. We have seen some proofs, that there are active volcanoes to\nthe north-west of China, but none now exist in Thibet; and the action\nthat once took place there has sought new vents, in regions more near to\nthe present bed of the ocean. Thus, Japan has eight volcanoes, Formosa\nseveral, and, in proceeding to the south, the land of volcanic action\nwidens, and becomes of immense extent. It embraces the Philippine,\nMarian, and Molucca islands, Java, Sumatra, Queen Charlotte's islands,\nand the New-Hebrides. The active volcanoes of Europe and western Asia\nare few in number; but those that are extinct form a great system, in\nwhich the active ones are included, and which seems to spread in the\nform of a belt, from the Caspian sea to the Atlantic. Volcanic action\nstill occurs on the shores of the Caspian. In the chain of Elburg is a\nlofty mountain that still emits smoke, and around whose base are several\ndistinct craters. Syria and Palestine abound in volcanic appearances, of\nwhich the great crater that has swallowed up the waters of the Jordan,\nand forms the Dead sea, is the most remarkable. Greece and the Grecian\nArchipelago have been, almost within historic times, the seat of a\nvolcanic action, of great extent and violence, and which has not wholly\nexhausted itself. In Sicily, AEtna has burnt for 3300 years, and is yet\nsurrounded by extinct craters of more ancient date. The Lipari islands\nare wholly volcanic. Vesuvius, that had long before intermitted its\neruptions, and broke forth again in the great one that destroyed\nHerculaneum and Pompeii, is not the only volcanic mountain of Naples. An\nextinct one of much greater size is to be found near Roccafina. The\ncatacombs of Rome are excavated in lava, and Tuscany contains strong\nevidences of volcanic action. Volcanic indications can be traced near\nPadua, Verona, and Vicenza, extending into Dalmatia. A district of\nHungary was suspected of containing the seeds of subterranean fire, and\nthe suspicion has been confirmed by an actual eruption. Germany and\nBohemia contain a great number of extinct volcanoes, as does the south\nof France, and particularly Auvergne. In Spain, too, the proofs of a\nvolcanic agency are clear and decisive.\n\nGreenland and Iceland present a third group of volcanoes; in the latter\nisland, a single volcano was in a state of continuous eruption for five\nor six years. The Azores, the Canaries and Madeiras, also contain\nnumerous volcanoes, both active and extinct, as do the Caribbean\nislands.\n\nIn comparing together volcanoes that are in present activity, and others\nin which the crater and the streams of emitted lava are too distinct to\npermit a doubt of their having arisen from the same cause, differences\nare observed that only have arisen from great differences in the\ncircumstances under which the eruption has taken place. In many of the\nancient volcanoes, we find the emitted streams are arranged in prismatic\nforms, constituting basalt, and frequently passing into what under other\ncircumstances would be styled _trap_ by the Wernerians. Now, we know\nthat when streams of lava enter the sea, they spontaneously assume the\nprismatic structure. Hence we may infer, that these ancient volcanoes\noriginally gave vent to their craters beneath the level of the sea, at a\ntime when the rocks through which they penetrated, and over which their\nstreams have passed, were beds of the primitive ocean. The trap rocks\nthemselves may have been formed in a similar manner, by upward pressure\nof the igneous fluid beneath, through the veins and fissures formed on\nthe breaking of the solid crust. Trap traverses, in <DW18>s of unknown\ndepth, many formations, and is occasionally seen forming beds between\nsuccessive strata. It frequently occurs in faults, and sometimes in\nextensive overlying masses. Close observation, and a just course of\nanalogy, lead to the irresistible conclusion, that all the trap rocks,\nhowever situated or arranged, grow out of the same great cause, the\nrising of the liquid interior of the earth to its surface. An action\nsometimes taking place through veins and fissures in the solid crust,\nand sometimes by the eruption of volcanoes, both occurring during the\npressure of water upon the surface. One of the most extensive groups of\ntrap-rocks is to be seen in the north-eastern part of the state of\nNew-Jersey. The Hudson is bordered for nearly forty miles by a great\nridge of columnar rock, lying upon sandstone. When this is surveyed with\nan eye to its analogy to volcanic action, it appears as if it were the\noutpourings of a crater, whose basin is now occupied by the lake in\nwhich the Hackensack river takes its rise, and whence a great stream of\nlava has run over the sandstone rock, as far as the strait that\nseparates Staten Island from the main land. The two Newark mountains are\nridges of the same description, of even greater extent; other smaller\nridges of the same kind are also distinctly visible, and the whole of\nthis last system appears to have proceeded from a crater now filled by\nthe alluvion of the Passaic, but which is bordered by a ridge still\noccupying two-thirds of a circle, and showing conclusive marks of\nigneous action, that goes by the name of the Hook mountain. The\nphenomenon of a <DW18> of trap is well exhibited in the quarries near\nHartford in Connecticut, where this rock has been laid bare for a\nconsiderable depth, as it rises through a sandstone rock, instead of\noverlying it, as it is seen to do on the Hudson.\n\nThe trap-rocks, which are, generally speaking, of the character called\nby mineralogists greenstone, vary in this district of New-Jersey, from a\ncompact basalt of homogeneous structure, to one of regular and distinct\ncrystallization, not distinguishable in hand specimens from primitive\nsyenite. A rock of this last character is to be found in the mountain\nthat extends from Morristown to Mount Kemble, which is columnar in its\nstructure, but almost identical, in mere external characters, with\nstratified rocks of gneiss containing hornblende, that are found in the\nprimitive ridges within a few miles.\n\nThus then the older volcanic rocks gradually pass in character into\nthose which, under the general name of granitic, form the apparent\nnucleus of gneiss and mica slate mountains, and penetrate them, and the\nprimitive limestones, in veins. One of the best instances of veins of\ngranite with which we are acquainted, are those which occur in the\nquarries of white marble at Kingsbridge, which are traversed in every\ndirection by thin veins of a rock, principally composed of a white fetid\nfelspar, mixed with spangles of silvery mica, and small grains of\nquartz, interspersed with occasional masses of tourmaline. The famous\nlocality of chrysoberyl, beryl, and other interesting minerals, at\nHaddam, in Connecticut, is said to occur in a granitic vein passing\nthrough strata of gneiss.\n\nIn all these cases we cannot fail to see evidence of igneous eruptions,\ntaking place, however, under circumstances widely different from those\nof our present terrestrial volcanoes, or of the submarine craters of\nmore remote dates, but which can be readily explained by supposing,\neither that the penetration took place when the surface of the earth was\nso intensely heated as to admit of the injected veins being slowly\ncooled, and therefore more perfectly crystallized; or that the issuing\nmass was so great as to retain its heat for a great length of time.\n\nIt might at first sight appear difficult to explain how volcanic\nenergies should still continue in activity, now that the mean\ntemperature of the earth has become constant, and the outer crust can be\nno longer subject to the shrinking, and consequent cracking which it\nmust have undergone while cooling. The phenomena that attend volcanic\neruptions furnish a full explanation of this, for they are attended in\nalmost all cases with the evolution of great quantities of gaseous\nmatters, and steam, which must therefore exist in a state of intense\ncompression, and at elevated temperatures, in the mass whence the\nvolcanic flood issues. Their elastic energies are sufficient to account\nfor all the striking effects that attend the action of volcanoes.\n\nThe earthquake is a phenomenon connected with volcanic eruptions, and\narising from the same great cause; but while the latter are confined to\ncertain mountains, and restricted within narrow limits at the present\nday, an earthquake is sometimes found to prevail over a very large\nportion of the earth's surface. To omit the more usual phenomena of\nearthquakes, we shall speak of but one, which has in some cases been\nobserved, that throws a great light upon the manner in which the\nstratified rocks have had their levels changed, and been dislocated and\ndistorted in the manner we now find them. We allude to the sudden\nraising of countries of greater or less extent. Of this we shall quote\nthree several instances from a paper of Arago's.\n\n     \"During the night of the 28th September 1759, a district of\n     three or four square miles, situated in the Intendency of\n     Valladolid, in Mexico, was raised up, like an inflated bladder.\n     The limits where the elevation ceased may still be determined\n     at the present day, by the fracture of the strata. At these\n     limits the elevation of the ground above its primitive level,\n     or that of the surrounding plain, is no more than thirty-seven\n     feet; but towards the centre of the lifted district, the total\n     elevation is not less than five hundred feet.\n\n     \"This phenomenon had been preceded by earthquakes that lasted\n     nearly two months; but when the catastrophe occurred, all\n     seemed tranquil; it was announced only by a horrible\n     subterranean noise, that took place at the moment when the\n     ground was lifted. Thousands of little cones, of from six to\n     ten feet in height, called by the natives ovens, arose in every\n     direction; finally six great projections were suddenly formed\n     along a great crevice lying in a north-east and south-west\n     direction, all of which were elevated from 1200 to 1600 feet\n     above the adjacent plains. The greatest of these small\n     mountains has become a true volcano, that of _Jorullo_, and\n     vomits forth lava.\n\n     \"It will be seen that the most evident and well characterized\n     volcanic phenomena accompanied the catastrophe of Jorullo; that\n     they were perhaps its cause; but this did not prevent an\n     extensive plain, old and well consolidated, upon which the\n     sugar-cane and indigo were cultivated, from being, in our own\n     days, suddenly raised far above its primitive level. The escape\n     of inflamed matter, the formation of the ovens and of the\n     volcano of Jorullo, far from having contributed to produce this\n     effect, must on the contrary have lessened it; for all these\n     openings must have acted like safety valves, and permitted the\n     elevating cause to have dissipated itself, whether it were a\n     gas or a vapour. If the ground had opposed a greater\n     resistance; if it had not given way in so many points, the\n     plain of Jorullo, instead of becoming a simple hill five\n     hundred feet in height, might have acquired the relief of the\n     neighbouring summits of the Cordilleras.\n\n     \"The circumstances that attended the formation of a new island\n     near Santorin, in the Greek Archipelago, seem to me also well\n     fitted to prove that subterranean fires not only contribute to\n     elevate mountains by the aid of ejections furnished by the\n     craters of volcanoes, but that they also sometimes lift the\n     already consolidated crust of the globe.\n\n     \"On the 18th and 22d May 1707, there were slight shocks of an\n     earthquake at Santorin.\n\n     \"On the 23d, at sun-rise, there was seen between the great and\n     little Rameni (two small islands) an object that was taken for\n     the hull of a shipwrecked vessel. Some sailors proceeded to the\n     spot, and on their return reported, to the great surprise of\n     the whole population, that it was a rock that had risen from\n     the waves. In this spot the sea had formerly a depth of from\n     400 to 500 feet.\n\n     \"On the 24th, many persons visited the new island, and\n     collected upon its surface large oysters that had not ceased to\n     adhere to the rock. The island was seen sensibly to increase in\n     size.\n\n     \"From the 23d May until the 13th or 14th June, the island\n     gradually increased in extent and elevation, without agitation\n     and without noise. On the 13th June it might be about half a\n     mile in circuit, and from 20 to 25 feet in height. Neither\n     flame nor smoke had issued from it.\n\n     \"From the first appearance of the island, the water near its\n     shores had been troubled; on the 15th June it became almost\n     boiling.\n\n     \"On the 16th, seventeen or eighteen black rocks rose from the\n     sea between the new island and the little Rameni.\n\n     \"On the 17th they had considerably increased in height.\n\n     \"On the 18th smoke arose from them, and great subterranean\n     noises were heard for the first time.\n\n     \"On the 19th all the black rocks had united and formed a\n     continuous island, totally distinct from the first; flames,\n     columns of ashes, and red-hot stones arose from it.\n\n     \"The volcanic phenomena still continued on the 23d May 1708.\n     The black island, a year after its appearance, was five miles\n     in circuit, a mile in breadth, and more than 200 feet in\n     height.\n\n     \"On the 19th November 1822, at a quarter past ten in the\n     evening, the cities of Valparaiso, Melipilla, Quillota, and\n     Casa Blanca, in Chili, were destroyed by a terrible earthquake\n     that lasted three minutes. The following day several observers\n     discovered that the coast, for an extent of thirty leagues, had\n     been visibly elevated, for upon a coast where the tide never\n     rises higher than five or six feet, any rise in the land is\n     easily detected.\n\n     \"At Valparaiso, near the mouth of the Coucon, and to the north\n     of Quintero, rocks were seen in the sea, near the bank, that no\n     person had before perceived. A vessel that had been stranded on\n     the coast, and whose wreck had been visited by the curious, in\n     boats, at low water, was left, after the earthquake, perfectly\n     dry. In traversing the shore of the sea, for a considerable\n     distance near Quintero, Lord Cochran, and Mrs. Maria Graham,\n     found that the water, even at high tide, did not reach rocks,\n     on which oysters, muscles, and shells still adhered, the\n     animals inhabiting which, recently dead, were in a state of\n     putrefaction. Finally the whole banks of the lake of Quintero,\n     which communicates with the sea, had evidently mounted\n     considerably above the level of the water, and in this locality\n     the fact could not escape the least attentive observers.\n\n     \"At Valparaiso the country appeared to be raised about three\n     feet, near Quintero about four. It has been pretended, that at\n     a distance of a mile inland, the rise had been more than six\n     feet; but I do not know the particulars of the measures that\n     led to this last inference.\n\n     \"In this case there was no volcanic eruption, no lava poured\n     forth, no stones or ashes projected, into the atmosphere, and\n     unless it be maintained that the level of the ocean have\n     fallen, it must be admitted that the earthquake of 19th.\n     November 1822, has raised the whole of Chili. Now the last\n     consequence is inevitable, for a change of level in the ocean\n     would have manifested itself equally along the whole extent of\n     the coast of America, while nothing of the kind was observed in\n     the ports of Peru, such as Paytu and Callao.\n\n     \"If this discussion had not already carried us so far, the\n     preceding observations, from which it results, that in a few\n     hours, and by the effect of a few shocks of an earthquake, an\n     immense extent of country rose above its former level, might\n     have been compared with those which show, that there exists in\n     Europe, a great country (Sweden and Norway) whose level is also\n     rising, but in a gradual manner, and by a cause that acts\n     unceasingly, but which cause is unknown.\"\n\nThus, then, to whatever portion of the earth's surface we turn our eyes,\nwe find the proofs of igneous action; our existing volcanoes, protruding\nthemselves through the newer stratified formations, and even the\ndiluvium, being in some cases more recent in their origin than the last\ngreat catastrophe to which the earth has been subjected; those of more\nancient date forcing their way through the upper and lower secondary and\ntransition formations, which are also cut and intersected by <DW18>s of\ntrap, while granite from the size of mountain masses down to their\nveins, has upheaved and penetrated the oldest stratified rocks. We also\nfind great extents of country rising, sometimes gradually, sometimes\nsuddenly, above their former level.\n\nMountains, then, are not the nucleus on which our continents and islands\nhave been deposited, but are of subsequent origin, and have in their\nrise elevated the land to such a height as to be no longer accessible to\nthe waters of the ocean. We may, even by examining through what strata\nthe mountains have been raised, or those which compose their sides and\ncrests when the elevating agent has not pierced through to the surface,\ninfer the geological age which gave them birth. A research of this sort\nhas been recently attempted and conducted with great ability by M. E. De\nBeaumont.\n\nWe shall quote an abstract of his reasoning from the \"_Annuaire,\"_ for\n1830, in the words of Arago, which will also serve to illustrate various\nother points upon which we have touched.\n\n     \"Among the formations of so many different kinds that form the\n     crust of our globe, there is a class which has been called\n     sedimentary (_terrains de sediment_). Those formations to which\n     this name is properly applied, are composed wholly, or in part,\n     of _detritus_, carried by water like the mud of our rivers, or\n     the sands of the beaches of the sea. These sands, in a state\n     of greater or less division, and agglutinated by siliceous or\n     calcareous cements, form the rocks called sandstones.\n\n     \"Certain calcareous formations may also be reckoned in the same\n     class, even when they are wholly soluble, as is however rare,\n     in nitric acid; for the fragments of shells which they contain,\n     show, in another and perhaps better manner, that their\n     formation has also taken place in the bosom of the waters.\n\n     \"Sedimentary formations are always composed of successive\n     layers, that are very distinctly marked. The more recent of\n     them may be arranged into four great divisions, which, in the\n     order of their antiquity, are\n\n     \"The oolitic series or limestone of Jura;\n\n     \"The system of greensand and chalk;\n\n     \"The tertiary series; and finally\n\n     \"The diluvian deposits.\n\n     \"Although all these formations have been deposited by water,\n     and although they may all be found in the same locality lying\n     upon each other, the passage from the one to the other is never\n     made by insensible gradations. A sudden and marked change is\n     always to be perceived in the physical nature of the deposit,\n     and in that of the organized beings whose remains are found in\n     it. Thus it is evident, that between the epoch at which the\n     limestone of Jura was deposited, and that of the precipitation\n     of the system of greensand and chalk which covers it, there has\n     been upon the surface of the globe a complete change in the\n     state of things. The same may be said of the epoch that\n     separates the precipitation of the chalk from that of the\n     tertiary formations; as it is also evident that in every place\n     the state or nature of the liquid, whence the earths were\n     precipitated, must have changed completely between the time of\n     the formation of the tertiary strata, and that of the diluvium.\n\n     \"These considerable variations, sudden, and not gradual, in the\n     nature of the successive deposits formed by the waters, are\n     considered by geologists as the effects of what they call '_The\n     Revolutions of the Globe_.' And even although it is very\n     difficult to say exactly in what these revolutions consisted,\n     their occurrence is not the less certain on that account.\n\n     \"I have spoken of the chronological order in which these\n     different sedimentary strata have been deposited: I must\n     therefore state that this order has been determined by\n     following, without interruption, each different formation, to\n     those regions in which it could be ascertained beyond question,\n     and over a great horizontal space, that some particular layer\n     was above some other. Natural excavations, such as the cliffs\n     that border the sea, common wells, and Artesian fountains, with\n     the excavation of canals, have furnished powerful aid in this\n     inquiry.\n\n     \"I have already remarked, that all these sedimentary formations\n     are stratified. In level countries, as might be expected, the\n     disposition of the layers is nearly horizontal. In approaching\n     mountainous countries, this horizontality, generally speaking,\n     ceases; finally, on the sides of mountains, some of these\n     layers are very much inclined; they even sometimes attain a\n     vertical direction.\n\n     \"May not the inclined deposits that we see upon the <DW72>s of\n     mountains, have been deposited in inclined or vertical\n     positions? Or is it not more natural to suppose, that they\n     originally formed horizontal beds, like the contemporaneous\n     beds of the same nature with which the plains are covered, and\n     that they have been lifted up and assumed new directions at the\n     moment of the elevation of the mountains on whose sides they\n     rest?\n\n     \"As a general principle, it does not appear impossible that the\n     crests of mountains may have been incrusted _in place_, and in\n     their actual position, by sedimentary deposits, since we daily\n     see the vertical sides of vessels, in which waters charged with\n     sulphate of lime evaporate, covered with a saline crust, whose\n     thickness is continually augmented; but the question before us\n     does not present this general aspect, for it is merely required\n     to determine whether the _known_ sedimentary formations can\n     have been thus deposited. To this question we must reply in the\n     negative, as can be shown by two species of considerations,\n     wholly different from each other.\n\n     \"Incontestable geological observations have shown, that the\n     calcareous layers which constitute the summits of Buet in\n     Savoy, and Mount Perden in the Pyrenees, elevated 11,000 or\n     12,000 feet above the level of the sea, have been formed at the\n     same time with the chalk of the cliffs that border the British\n     channel. If the mass of water whence these strata were\n     precipitated had risen 11,000 or 12,000 feet, the whole of\n     France would have been covered, and analogous deposits must\n     have existed upon all heights not exceeding 9,000 or 10,000\n     feet; now, it is found, on the contrary, that in the north of\n     France, where these deposits appear to have undergone little\n     change, the chalk never reaches a height of more than 600 feet\n     above the level of the present sea. They present precisely the\n     disposition of a deposit formed in a basin filled with a liquid\n     whose level has never reached any points that are at the\n     present day elevated more than 600 feet.\n\n     \"I pass to the second proof, borrowed from Saussure, and which\n     appears even more convincing.\n\n     \"Sedimentary formations often contain pebbles rounded by\n     attrition, and of a figure more or less elliptical. In the\n     places where the stratification is horizontal, the longer axes\n     of these pebbles are all horizontal, for the same reason that\n     an egg cannot stand upon its point. But where the strata are\n     inclined at an angle of 45 deg., the greater axes of many of these\n     pebbles form this same angle with the horizon; and when the\n     layers become vertical, the greater axes of many of the pebbles\n     become vertical also.\n\n     \"This observation, in respect to the position of the axes of\n     the pebbles, _demonstrates,_ that the sedimentary formations\n     have not been deposited in the position they now occupy; they\n     have been raised in a greater or less degree, when the\n     mountains, whose sides they cover, have arisen from the bosom\n     of the earth.\n\n     \"This being proved, it is evident that these sedimentary\n     formations, whose strata present themselves upon the <DW72>s of\n     mountains, in inclined or vertical directions, existed before\n     these mountains arose. The formations of the same class that\n     are prolonged horizontally, until they meet the same <DW72>s,\n     must be on the contrary of a date posterior to the formation of\n     the mountain; for it cannot be conceived, that, in rising from\n     the mass of the earth, it should not have elevated at the same\n     time all previously existing strata.\n\n     \"Let us introduce proper names into the general and simple\n     theory which we have developed, and the discovery of M. de\n     Beaumont will be announced.\n\n     \"Of the four species of sedimentary formations that we have\n     distinguished, three, and these are the uppermost, the nearest\n     to the surface of the globe, or the most modern, extend in\n     horizontal layers, from the Cote d'Or and from Forez, to the\n     mountains of Saxony; and only one, which is the oolite or\n     limestone of Jura, shows itself elevated within this district.\n\n     \"Therefore the Hartz, the Cote d'Or, and Mount Pilus of Forez,\n     have risen from the globe since the formation of the Jura\n     oolite, and before the deposit of the three other formations.\n\n     \"On the <DW72>s of the Pyrenees and Appennines, two of the\n     formations are raised up, namely, the oolite and the greensand\n     and chalk; the tertiary formations, and the diluvium that\n     covers them, have preserved their primitive horizontality. The\n     Pyrenees and Appennines are, therefore, more modern than the\n     limestone of Jura, and the greensand which they have raised,\n     and more ancient than the tertiary strata and the diluvium.\n\n     \"The western Alps, and among them Mount Blanc, have, like the\n     Pyrenees, raised the limestone of Jura, and the greensand, but,\n     in addition, they have also raised the tertiary formations; the\n     diluvium is alone horizontal in the vicinity of these\n     mountains.\n\n     \"The date of the elevation of Mount Blanc must, therefore,\n     inevitably be placed between the epoch of the formation of the\n     tertiary strata and the diluvium.\n\n     \"Finally, upon the sides of the central Alps, (Mount St.\n     Gothard,) and of the mountains of Ventorix and Liberon, near\n     Avignon, no one of the sedimentary formations is horizontal;\n     all the four have been raised up. When these mountains arose,\n     the diluvium itself must have already been deposited.\"\n\n     \"The sedimentary formations appear, from their nature, and the\n     regular disposition of their layers, to have been deposited in\n     times of tranquillity. Each of these formations being\n     characterized by a particular system of organized beings, both\n     vegetable and animal, it is indispensable to suppose, that\n     between the epochs of tranquillity, corresponding to the\n     precipitation of two of these overlying formations, there must\n     have been a great physical revolution upon the globe. We now\n     know that these revolutions have consisted in, or at least been\n     characterized by, the raising of a system of mountains. The two\n     first liftings-up pointed out by M. de Beaumont, not being by\n     any means the greatest of the four he has succeeded in\n     classing, it will be seen that we cannot infer that the globe,\n     in growing older, becomes less fit to experience this species\n     of catastrophe, and that the present period of tranquillity may\n     not be terminated like those that have preceded it, by the\n     elevation of some immense mountain chain.\"\n\nM. de Beaumont next attempted, by a fancied arrangement of zones and\nparallels to great circles, to classify the mountains he had not an\nopportunity of examining, with those in respect to which he had obtained\nthe above satisfactory conclusions. We fear, however, that he has\nproceeded to theorize too speedily, and before he had obtained a\nsufficient number of facts. We are certain, that in respect to the great\nAlleghany group of the United States, which he classes with the Pyrenees\nand Appennines, he must be mistaken, for no formations later than the\ntransition limestone are to be found in their vicinity. In respect to\nthe highlands of the state of New-York, and their branch of primitive\nrocks, which extends along the Hudson to the island of New-York, the\nsandstone of New-Jersey appears to continue horizontally until it\nreaches their bases, and no rocks appear to have been raised on the\nsouth-eastern side of the highlands, which are the easternmost of the\nfive parallel ridges of the Alleghanies, older than the slate; but on\ntheir north-western side the transition limestone appears to have been\nraised. They therefore are older than any mountains examined by M. de\nBeaumont, and were we to hazard a conjecture, we should class them with\nthe Grampians of Scotland, and the mountains of Wales, in both of which\nslate is the only rock of the transition series that appears to have\nbeen elevated.\n\nTo complete our subject, it would be necessary that we should enter into\na discussion of the manner in which the ocean is now acting, by its\ncurrents and tides, to distribute and deposit in its bed the sediment\nwhich rivers and streams are constantly hurrying into it; and that we\nshould form some estimate, from what occurs within our reach, of the\neffects produced in these deposits by the vast number of organized\nbeings that must people them, the deposits of vegetable matter, and the\nexuviae, of animals. Such discussion would, however, be in a considerable\ndegree purely conjectural, and we therefore shall not enter into it. It\nis sufficient to say, that formations analogous to those which the\nelevation of the continents has exposed to our view, must be now taking\nplace in the bed of the ocean, whence they may be in their turn raised,\nto task the ingenuity of future races of reasoning beings.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nInquiries into the history of the changes which our earth has undergone,\nas they lead with infallible evidence to the proof of an existence of\nthis globe at a period almost infinitely more remote than that at which\nman became its inhabitant, have been stigmatized as impious. The\nintolerant theologian, adhering with pertinacity to his own system of\ninterpretation, fulminates anathemas against all who find in natural\nappearances convincing evidence, that the earth was not suddenly and by\na single fiat called into existence in the exact, state in which we now\nfind it. Timid geologists have bent to the storm, and have endeavoured\nto reconcile natural appearances with the arbitrary interpretations that\nhave been deduced from scripture. But neither is the inquiry itself less\nholy than any of those which consider natural phenomena, exhibiting in\ntheir progress convincing proofs of infinite wisdom and power in the\nCreator, justifying the ways of God to man; nor is any one of the\nresults of the inquiry in the slightest degree opposed to the texts of\nthe sacred volume. The impiety rests with the interpreter, and not with\nthe physical inquirer. The former unwisely links to his spiritual belief\nan interpretation at variance with natural appearances; and the latter,\nif he do not inquire for himself, and believe on the evidence of the\nformer, that the truth or falsehood of the two distinct propositions are\ninseparably connected, must, as he sees the one to be inconsistent,\nhesitate with respect to the other. Some geologists, then, may have been\nsceptics; but could the secrets of the heart be laid open, we cannot\nhelp believing, that those who have most earnestly endeavoured to\nreconcile the phenomena we know to exist, with the interpretation of\nscripture, from which they appear to vary, have been at bottom the least\nsincere in their religious faith.\n\nFor ourselves, we see no difficulties, no discrepancies between the\nrecord of direct revelation, and the sublime passages of the book of\nnature. We believe that \"in the beginning God created the heavens and\nthe earth;\" that he called at once into existence the whole material\nworld; but we also believe that he then impressed matter with laws,\nunder the action of which that material world must maintain its\nexistence, and secure its permanence, until the same almighty power\nshall annihilate it. We are not of those who judge of the works of the\nDeity from the conditions of the works which can alone be effected by\nthe power of man. However perfect or complete be human mechanism, it can\nonly move by the application of some power inherent in matter; did not\nan elastic spring expand itself after being coiled, the chronometer\nwould be a dead and lifeless mass; did not fluids obey the force of\ngravitation, and currents in the atmosphere the expansive power of heat,\nthe water-wheel and wind-mill would be useless; did not water form\nvapour at elevated temperatures, and condense when cooled, the still\nmore powerful agency of steam would be wanting. Not only are machines of\nno value unless impelled by natural agents, but they themselves are\nsubject to rapid decay, and require perpetual attention. Such is not the\ncase with the machinery of the universe; its motions are perpetually\nvarying, but yet in their variations invariable; continually oscillating\non each side of mean rates, yet never losing or gaining in intensity.\nSuch too is the case on the surface of our globe; the seasons\nalternately clothe the forests with verdure, and strip them of their\nleaves; seed time and harvest recur with invariable precision; the whole\nof existing vegetables perish, and animals die and decay, yet the race\nis perpetuated. Shall we set bounds to the exertion of almighty power,\nand say, that races, that families, that species and genera, nay that\nwhole natural kingdoms may not in their turn decay and die, after\nproviding for the repeopling of the earth by new inhabitants? The\ncatastrophes of our planet are not yet at an end; the time will and must\ncome, as we may guess from natural appearances, and as we find predicted\nin scripture, when the heavens shall be rolled up like a scroll, and the\nearth shall melt with fervent heat; and in the new system of\nappearances, the new heaven and earth shall succeed--the corruptible\nbodies that are now sown in dishonour, shall be raised in honour and\nincorruptible.\n\nThe present surface of our globe is to our limited views slowly\nchanging; to him who compares time with the immeasurable duration that\nhas preceded and must succeed our existence, it is rapidly hastening to\napparent ruin. The waters raised from the ocean, falling in greatest\nabundance on the land, tear and wear away the surface, and deposit it in\nthe bed of the sea. Deltas form at the mouths of rivers by this action;\nthe basin of the ocean is gradually elevated, and, in addition, islands\nand archipelagos are raised from its bed. The surface of the sea is for\nthe present lessening under the influence of these causes, but the time\nmust come, unless it be prevented by some catastrophe, when the ocean\nmust in its turn encroach upon the land, when the plains and valleys\nshall become bays and gulfs, or even unite in continuous expanses of\nwater, and the greater mountains alone, diminished in bulk by continued\nabrasion, shall stand as islands in the vast abyss. The earth would then\nagain be without form and void of inhabitants, as it was before the\ncreation of man. Such, however, will not be the termination of the\npresent order of things; we are taught to look for this in an igneous\neruption, the source of which now slumbers almost quiescent beneath our\nfeet.\n\nNot only does revelation, but science, teach us that the earth must have\nbeen covered with water, and void of animate life, previous to its\nbecoming the habitation of man. But they read their scriptures\ndifferently from us who think that this state of things was the actual\nbeginning. There is no necessary connexion between the first verse of\nGenesis and the succeeding. The beginning of the existence of matter,\nand the state of vacuity and darkness whence the present order of things\nemerged, may have been, so far as the text is concerned, and were, as we\nknow from appearances, separated from each other by unnumbered ages.\n\nNeither is it necessary that we accept the literal meaning of the\npassage, and conceive the Deity speaking with human voice, and calling\ncreation forth by audible fiat. The voice of the Deity is that unheard\nand silent command which nature hears and obeys throughout all his\nworks. The pious and sincere believer sees an overruling providence\npreserving him in kindness when it saves him from shipwreck, or\nchastening him in mercy when it deprives him of friends or relations, as\ndistinctly as if he beheld the prince of the air stayed in his furious\ncourse, or the angel of destruction taking his visible stand beside the\npillow of departing life. No miracles are necessary to him who sees in\nthe rising and setting of the sun, in the order and beauty of the\nuniverse, in the absolute perfection of its mechanical laws, in his own\nfearful and wonderful structure, the evidence of infinite wisdom in\ndesign, and infinite power in execution; and the examination of the\nstructure and character of our globe, is as well calculated as any other\nphysical study to exhibit in full and brilliant light these attributes\nof the Deity.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[8] See American Quarterly, Vol. V.\n\n[9] See American Quarterly, Vol. III.\n\n[10] Our author has \"alluvion.\"\n\n[11] Alluvial in our author.\n\n\n\n\nART. V.--AUTO-BIOGRAPHY OF THIEVES.\n\n\n1.--_The American Trenck; or the Memoirs of Thomas Ward, now in\nconfinement in the Baltimore Jail, under a sentence of ten years'\nimprisonment for robbing the United States Mail._ Baltimore. 18mo: 1829.\n\n2.--_Memoirs of James Hardy Vaux, a Swindler and Thief, now transported\nto New South Wales, for the second time, and for life. Written by\nhimself._ London. 18mo: 1829.\n\n3.--_Memoirs of Vidocq, principal Agent of the French Police, until_\n1827, _and since, Proprietor of the Paper Manufactory at St. Maude.\nWritten by himself. Translated from the French._ London. 4 vols. 18mo:\n1829.\n\n\n\"One half of the world does not know how the other half lives:\"--so says\nthe adage, and says truly. Men of reading, however, who direct their\nattention to biography, and especially to auto-biography, and who\ncombine with their reading attention to the varied pursuits of mankind,\nmay attain tolerably correct notions of the habits, modes of reasoning,\nand peculiarities of others, though living in evidently different\nstations, and engaged in occupations the most various. In this view, the\nvolumes above announced are valuable. They furnish a remarkably clear\ninsight of the ways and actings of professional thieves, and of the men\nwith whom they often become connected,--police officers and jailers. But\nwhat assurance have we, it may be inquired, that they speak the truth?\nHow can the evidence of such characters be received? These queries must\nbe answered by considering several particulars. In the first place,\nthen, the verity of a narrative may be partly established by its\ncoherence and probability. When the events related have a manifest\ncorrespondence with each other, and are such as may be credited, we\nnecessarily attach to them a degree of belief, which we cannot extend to\nthose of an opposite character. The evidence from this source is,\nhowever, exceedingly imperfect, since many narratives, almost entirely\nfictitious, appear so natural, as to impose upon the reader with all the\nstrength of unvarnished truth. Robinson Crusoe has deceived thousands,\nand Damberger's Travels in Africa were not suspected to be otherwise\nthan true, for a considerable time after their publication; but they\nwere at length proved to be a complete fabrication. Accordingly, in\njudging of doubtful works, we must resort to additional means; one of\nwhich is a comparison of works of a similar description with each other.\n\nWhen an account appears to be too wonderful for credence, we are, of\ncourse, disposed to rank the author with romance-writers; but when we\nfind that divers accounts, equally extraordinary, are related by others\nas happening under similar circumstances, we then begin to suppose that\nwe may have judged erroneously. Captain Riley's Narrative of his\nCaptivity in Africa was rejected by many as half-fictitious: his\nsufferings were greater than human nature could bear, and the Arabs of\nthe desert could never lead the life described. But since it has been\nfound that the sufferings undergone by the crew of the French frigate,\nthe Medusa, were no less horrible, and of the same kind, and that\nClapperton and others who have subsequently crossed the Sahara,\nconfirmed his statements respecting the Arabs,--he has been regarded\nvery differently. And it may be supposed, that if Sir Walter Scott had\nknown of the remarkable confirmation given by Benyouski, to Drury's\naccount of Madagascar, he would not have expressed his doubts of the\nlatter's veracity.[12] When writers, unacquainted with each other's\nproductions, are found, by incidental allusions, to agree in minute\nparticulars, the evidence is almost irrefutable. Paley has made an\nadmirable use of this species of proof in his _Horae Paulinae_.\n\nAnother mode of judging of an author's credibility is sometimes\nfurnished, by learning whether any of his alleged facts have been\ncontradicted by persons acquainted with them, especially if they are\nsuch as these persons would be glad to contradict. If a person is\ncharged with being an accomplice in a crime, and he fails to rebut the\naccusation, we may infer that he is unable to do so. Or, if the narrator\ngive place and date to certain memorable transactions, which, if false,\nmight easily be shown to be so, a similar inference may be deduced, when\nit can be shown that others are interested in such exposure.\n\nNow, on bringing the works under notice to these different tests, we\nshall have tolerably strong presumptive evidence of their being, in the\nmain, worthy of credence. Vaux's Memoirs contain nothing that may not be\ncredited on the score of probability, while the circumstances detailed\nare remarkably coherent; they seem to arise naturally from each other.\nVidocq's, on the contrary, contain so many marvellous escapes from\nprisons, so many perils from contests with ruffians and bravoes, and\nsuch varied turns of fortune, that the reader is necessitated to\nask,--can this be true? Here, however, both Vaux and Ward offer him some\nassistance; the similarity of their accounts, though destitute of so\nmany wonders, corroborating the probability of his. The three narratives\nare quite in keeping. We find in each the same restlessness, the same\nblind passion impelling to deeds of vice and desperation, and the same\nproofs of treachery amongst their companions. Each, too, has furnished\nso many means of detection, by names of persons, dates, and places,\nthat,--no attempt at refutation having been made by persons\nimplicated,--we are to believe that they must, at any rate, contain much\nthat is true. Neither Ward's nor Vidocq's Memoirs are so connected as\nVaux's; but in Ward's case, this may be attributed to a want of\nscholarship, as he is evidently an ignorant man; and in Vidocq's, to a\nfondness for the marvellous, in consequence of which he has introduced\nmany episodes. These episodes, accordingly, detract from the merit of\nthe work, considered as a veritable narrative, they being garnished with\nmore of the romantic than the regular account of his own performances.\n\nAfter all, a degree of suspicion will attach to each of them, from the\nconsideration that they are all avowed liars. If, indeed, there was\nproof, either external or internal, that they had become reformed\ncharacters, and, of course, abhorrers of deceit, we might value their\nself-condemnation as evidence of truth; for what man of moral feeling\nwould proclaim that he had been an habitual liar, except conscious that\nthe avowal was incumbent on him to substantiate the truth? This was done\nby Bunyan, the author of the Pilgrim's Progress, and by Cowper, the\ntruly Christian poet:--they are respected accordingly. But in these\nnarratives, except a little cant in Ward's, we find nothing approaching\nto a sense of shame or remorse. Vidocq, like Homer's Ulysses, has a lie\nready for every occasion, and appears, like that hero, to regard himself\nas \"the man for wisdom's various arts renowned.\" Vaux is almost equal to\nhim in this respect, and exults in the success of his deceptions. If\ncunning were wisdom, Ulysses, Vidocq, and Vaux, would form a trio of\neminently wise men. But this sort of wisdom, how much soever valued by\npagans, must be regarded by Christians, enlightened by the Gospel, as\nutterly unjustifiable, even when employed as a means for the attainment\nof some good; since they are never to do evil that good may come.\nAccordingly, those persons who make lies their refuge, must be liable to\nbe doubted, even when they speak the truth. Still, it is possible, that\na man's conscience may be so obdurate, as not to perceive the pravity of\nmendacity, when exercised for his supposed benefit, while he yet retains\na regard for truth when engaged in relating his exploits to others.\nThis, we think, is partly the case with our heroes. Their acknowledgment\nof their disregard of truth, while prosecuting illegal measures, is,\nindeed,--so inconsistent is human nature,--some guarantee for the\nfidelity of their narratives. A solitary vice is a thing unknown; as\nLillo expresses it, in his tragedy of George Barnwell,--\"One vice as\nnaturally begets another, as a father begets a son.\" Who, then, could\nbelieve a practised villain, if he professed himself untainted by\nmendacity? But if, after a plain avowal of his constant resort to it, we\nfind nothing contradictory in his relation, we may reasonably yield a\nqualified assent to it; since, as Lord Bacon remarks in his Essays,\nwhich \"come home to men's business and bosoms,\" a liar had need possess\na good memory to prevent his contradicting himself. Where he is\nconsistent throughout a long narrative, the natural deduction is, that\nhe has mainly depended on his memory, rejecting, for the occasion, his\ntemptation to beguile.[13]\n\nAfter these preliminary considerations, the relevancy of which is\nobvious, we proceed to furnish our readers with a few extracts; not\ndoubting, that to such of them as lead domestic, retired lives, it will\nafford gratification to learn something of the ways of others, who are\nentirely opposite in their habits,--as opposite as the two electric\npoles, and, like them, \"repelling and repelled.\" One of the most\nobservable points in these volumes, is the contamination of jails. When\nmen are thrown together in a place where reputation is valueless, they\nhave no inducement to conceal their vices. What is the consequence? They\ndelight in recounting to each other their nefarious exploits: thus\nconscience is more and more corrupted, and the young and inexperienced\nare initiated into the skilful manoeuvres of adepts. Whoever has read\nthe _first_ edition of Ellwood's Life, (for the subsequent editions do\nnot contain the passage,) may remember the amusing account he has given\nof the state of the common side of Newgate in the reign of Charles II.\nEllwood was imprisoned in that persecuting reign, for adherence to his\nreligious convictions as a Quaker, and had an opportunity of becoming\nacquainted with the ordinary behaviour and conversation of thieves in\njail. He saw and lamented the evils incident to a promiscuous assemblage\nof old and young, of hardened villains and juvenile delinquents; but the\nremedy was reserved for the present age. That the remedy ought not to\nhave been so long deferred, will be evident to every one who attends to\nVaux's account of his first incarceration.\n\n     \"On entering the gates of the gloomy receptacle to which I was\n     now consigned, and which, on many accounts, has not been\n     unaptly named the Bastile, the sensations I felt may be more\n     easily felt than described. Besides that this was the first\n     prison I had ever entered, every thing around me had an air of\n     unspeakable horror. After being viewed and reviewed by the\n     surly Cerberuses of this earthly Hell, I was conducted up some\n     stairs to a long gallery, or passage, six feet wide, having on\n     either side a number of dismal cells, each about six feet by\n     nine, formed entirely of stone, but having a small grated\n     window near the roof, at the further end, which admitted a\n     gloomy light, and overlooked a yard, in which other prisoners\n     were confined; there was also a similar grate over the door;\n     but, owing to their height, both these apertures were very\n     difficult of access. The cells on the other side the passage\n     were exactly similar, but overlooking another yard, and the\n     doors were immediately opposite to each other. The only\n     furniture of these dreary apartments was an iron bedstead, on\n     which were a bed, blanket, and rug, but all of the coarsest\n     kind. My conductor having given me a pitcher of water, without\n     vouchsafing a word, locked the door, and left me in utter\n     darkness.\n\n     \"In order to amuse my mind during this solitary week, I climbed\n     up to the grated aperture over the door of my cell, and\n     listened to the conversation of the neighbouring prisoners;\n     and, from their discourse, I acquired a more extensive\n     knowledge of the various modes of fraud and robbery, which, I\n     now found, were reduced to a regular system, _than I should\n     have done in seven years, had I continued at large_. I was\n     indeed astonished at what I heard; and I clearly perceived\n     that, instead of expressing contrition for their offences,\n     their only consideration was, how to proceed with more safety,\n     but increased vigour, in their future depredations. And here I\n     was struck with the fallacious notions entertained by the\n     projectors of this prison, which was reputed to be upon the\n     plan of the benevolent and immortal Howard, who had recommended\n     the confinement of offenders in separate cells, in order to\n     prevent the effects of evil communication among persons who had\n     not all attained an equal degree of depravity. This object,\n     however, was not effected here; for, being within hearing of\n     each other, they could, by sitting up over the door as I have\n     described, converse each with his opposite neighbour, and even\n     form a line of communication, where the discourse became\n     general, from one end of the gallery to the other. As a proof\n     of what I have advanced, I knew several of the prisoners, then\n     confined with me in this passage, who were at that time but\n     striplings, and novices in villainy, and who, after several\n     years continuance in their evil courses, at length became\n     notorious offenders, and, having narrowly escaped a shameful\n     death, are now prisoners for life in this colony.\"\n\nAs this subject is of great importance, we shall give a few more\nextracts connected with it. Crime, as Mr. Buxton has shown in his\nvaluable Inquiry, is promoted, instead of being repressed, by such\nindiscriminate association. Corruption spreads by it, as surely as\ndecomposition is assisted by heat and moisture. Ward thus describes the\nBaltimore jail:--\n\n     \"About this time, I was ordered by the sheriff to be put into\n     the criminal apartment, along with untried prisoners, hardened\n     offenders, debtors, and among characters of the most abandoned\n     and vicious stamp;--men of all nations and all colours. Among\n     this mass of vile and depraved men, I had to take up my abode.\n     There was no example of moral rectitude here exhibited _but\n     that of my own_! No restraint was put by our keepers, on their\n     profane and vile language and conduct. Every one indulged to an\n     excess in every species of the most disgusting practices,\n     profaning and scandalizing every thing holy.\"\n\nVidocq's description of the Bagne at Brest, corresponds with the\nabove:--\n\n     \"The Bagne is situated in the bosom of the bay; piles of guns,\n     and two pieces of cannon, mounted at the gates, pointed out to\n     me the entrance, into which I was introduced, after having been\n     examined by the two guards of the establishment. The boldest of\n     the condemned, however hardened, have confessed, that it is\n     impossible to express the emotions of horror, excited by the\n     first appearance of this abode of wretchedness. Every room\n     contains twenty night camp couches, called bancs (benches,) on\n     which lie six hundred fettered convicts, in long rows, with\n     red garbs, heads shorn, eyes haggard, dejected countenances,\n     whilst the perpetual clank of fetters conspires to fill the\n     soul with horror. But this impression on the convict soon\n     passes away, who, feeling that he has here no reason to blush\n     at the presence of any one, soon identifies himself with his\n     situation. That he may not be the butt of the gross jests and\n     filthy buffoonery of his fellows, he affects to participate in\n     them; and soon, in tone and gesture, this conventional\n     depravity gets hold of his heart. Thus, at Anvers, an ex-bishop\n     experienced, at first, all the outpourings of the riotous jests\n     of his companions; they always addressed him as _monseigneur_,\n     and asked his blessing in their obscenities; at every moment\n     they constrained him to profane his former character by\n     blasphemous words, and, by dint of reiterating these impieties,\n     he contrived to shake off their attacks. At a subsequent\n     period, he became the public-house keeper at the Bagne, and was\n     always styled _monseigneur,_ but he was no longer asked for\n     absolution, for he would have answered with the grossest\n     blasphemies.\"\n\nTo complete the picture, we shall now transcribe Vaux's account of his\nbeing on board a prison-ship, with what he witnessed there.--\n\n     \"I had now a new scene of misery to contemplate; and, of all\n     the shocking scenes I had ever beheld, this was the most\n     distressing. There were confined in this floating dungeon,\n     nearly six hundred men, most of them double ironed; and the\n     reader may conceive the horrible effects arising from the\n     continual rattling of chains, the filth and vermin naturally\n     produced by such a crowd of miserable inhabitants, the oaths\n     and execrations constantly heard amongst them; and above all,\n     from the shocking necessity of associating and communicating\n     more or less with so depraved a set of beings. On arriving on\n     board, we were all immediately stripped, and washed in large\n     tubs of water; then, after putting on each a suit of coarse\n     slop-clothing, we were ironed and sent below; our own clothes\n     being taken from us, and detained, till we could sell, or\n     otherwise dispose of them, as no person is exempted from the\n     obligation to wear the ship-dress. On descending the hatchway,\n     no conception can be formed of the scene which presented\n     itself. I shall not attempt to describe it; but nothing short\n     of a descent to the infernal regions, can be at all worthy of a\n     comparison with it. I soon met with many of my old Botany Bay\n     acquaintances, who were all eager to offer me their friendship\n     and services; that is, with a view to rob me of what little I\n     had; for, in this place, there is no other motive or subject\n     for ingenuity. All former friendships and connexions are\n     dissolved; and a man here will rob his best benefactor, or even\n     messmate, of an article worth one half-penny. If I were to\n     attempt a full description of the miseries endured in these\n     ships, I could fill a volume; but I shall sum up all by\n     stating, that, besides robbery from each other, which is as\n     common as cursing and swearing, I witnessed, among the\n     prisoners themselves, during the twelvemonth I remained with\n     them, one deliberate murder, for which the perpetrator was\n     executed at Maidstone, and one suicide.\"\n\nThese horrible accounts must, we suppose, convince every one of the\nnecessity of keeping criminals separate from each other. In vain do you\nhope by classification, labour, discipline, and moral instruction, to\nreclaim men from their vices in prison, so long as you allow them to\nassociate freely together. No compromise will do, short of preventing\ntheir conversing with each other. Whether solitary confinement, as\npractised in Pennsylvania, or public labour in silence, as in New-York,\nbe the better mode of punishment, may admit of argument; but that either\nis incomparably superior to promiscuous intercourse, is unquestionable.\nAnd we do conjure magistrates and legislators in every part of the\nUnited States, to rouse themselves from apathy on this momentous\nsubject. It is due to their country and to posterity, to strive to\nremove an evil, which, like the Upas, extends its pestiferous influence\nin every direction. Let them reflect that the object of punishing\ncriminals is to protect society. This object may be promoted by the\nreformation of the transgressor; but if he is placed in a situation\nwhere contagion is inevitable, the punishment, however severe, is not\nconducive to that result. A severe punishment may, indeed, be\ninfluential in deterring others from pursuing similar courses; but if\nhe, on obtaining his release, instead of being disposed to conform to\nregularity of conduct, is only determined to practise more skilfully the\nvery crime that was the cause of his commitment; or if, from his moral\nsense being deadened, in consequence of having heard others boast of\ntheir villainous exploits, he is ready to engage in new and more\ndesperate attempts, the influence which his punishment may have had on\nothers, is in danger of being overbalanced. What, in such a case, does\nsociety gain by the severity of the law? Is it not clear, that all the\nexpense, trouble, and loss of time attendant on the prosecution, are\nalmost fruitlessly bestowed? And here, it is impossible not to lament\nthe accumulated evils arising from the slow operation of law. A man is\ncharged, perhaps innocently, with petty larceny. The tribunal before\nwhich he is to be arraigned is not in session; accordingly, unable to\nprocure bail, he is committed to jail, there to lie for three, or\nperhaps six months, and all the time uncertain whether he is to be\nacquitted or condemned. In the mean time, his character has deteriorated\nwhile his enjoyment has been abridged. Can such a method be consistent\nwith civilization? Would it not be preferable, at the hazard of some\ninjustice, to revert to the summary process of barbarism? Can it be\nright, that a magistrate shall be empowered to incarcerate a man for\nmonths, while he is debarred from pronouncing definitively on his guilt\nor innocence? There is an incongruity in all this, of which savages\nmight be ashamed. We trust that the time is approaching when a better\nsystem will be established. Consolatory is it to consider, that in\nvarious countries of Europe, as well as in America, the subject of\nprison discipline, and of criminal jurisprudence, occupies the attention\nof philanthropists and statesmen to a degree never before witnessed, as\nfrom their simultaneous exertions much good may be anticipated. One of\nthe causes assigned by Dr. Robertson and other historians, for the\nresuscitation of Europe from the intellectual degradation of the middle\nages, is the discovery at Amalfi, in the twelfth century, of the\nPandects of Justinian. Would it not then be irrational to conclude, that\nthe improvements now taking place in law, will not be followed by a\ncorrespondent amelioration in society, since it is obvious that a much\nhigher degree of civilization is attainable by man, than any country has\nyet exhibited?\n\nTo those who wish for information on the subject of prison discipline,\nwe recommend a perusal of the correspondence between Mr. R. Vaux of\nPhiladelphia, and Mr. Roscoe of Liverpool; also of the account of the\nAuburn prison contained in Captain Hall's travels in the United States.\nIn reference to the latter work, it gives us satisfaction to say, that\nthe chapter referred to is unexceptionable. We wish we could say as much\nfor the rest.\n\nWe now proceed to furnish some specimens of the modes of life which\nthieves and swindlers fall into, that our _honest_ readers may have an\nopportunity of contrasting them with their own. In so doing, they will\ndoubtless congratulate themselves on the possession of moral principle,\nsatisfied that predatory propensities would have disturbed that calm\nwhich belongs only to virtue. The following is Ward's account of his\nfirst act of dishonesty.--\n\n     \"Finding it impossible, as I thought, to withstand the\n     impetuosity of my inclinations and desires for freedom and\n     pleasure, I resolved, even against my better judgment, to leave\n     Mr. Pusey and seek my fortune. My hopes were raised to the\n     highest and most pleasing prospects of independence, ease, and\n     affluence; and having in my earliest life cultivated the\n     principle, that in all cases which require secrecy, we should\n     never divulge to a friend what we wish to conceal from an\n     enemy, I concealed my intentions from every body, determining\n     to embrace the first opportunity favourable for prosecuting my\n     first, long-cogitated, and, as I thought, exceedingly cunning\n     plan. Accordingly, during the autumn of 1806, on a Sabbath\n     afternoon, I determined to execute my scheme. Near home, there\n     was a store kept by Mr. Kinsey, in copartnership with Mr.\n     Pusey. I was on terms of the greatest harmony and friendship\n     with Mr. Kinsey; and, taking advantage of this confidence, I\n     had ascertained where his cash was kept. I entered the store,\n     and found no difficulty in obtaining every cent. All the family\n     being from home, I concluded to let the house take care of\n     itself, as, having done thus much, I must inevitably make my\n     departure. Having saddled Mr. Pusey's best horse, I mounted,\n     and, with saddle-bags and clothing, started from the house.\n     Being certain I should be pursued as soon as the robbery was\n     discovered, I thought it would be proper to take a course, on\n     which I could most advantageously travel by night as well as by\n     day. I accordingly took my way towards Lancaster; but about\n     four miles from home, I was seen by some person who knew me.\n     Now I was likely to be defeated in all my calculations. At\n     dark, I arrived at Witmer's Bridge, within two miles of\n     Lancaster, having ridden sixteen miles in two hours. I stopt\n     there only a few minutes to water and feed my horse, and,\n     remounting, I rode to near daylight next morning, when I\n     arrived at Anderson's Ferry on the Susquehanna. There I was\n     detained some time by the negligence of the boatmen; and I had\n     not proceeded more than half way across the river, when I heard\n     the horn blow as a signal for them to hurry back. Although I\n     trembled at the dread sound and alarm of the approach of my\n     pursuers, I vainly hoped it was impossible for them to be so\n     close after me. However, I determined now that I would give\n     them every trouble, let them take me or not. I did not stop for\n     breakfast, and as I had ridden the whole night, my horse became\n     fatigued and slow, so that about noon I was overtaken by\n     another horseman, whom I found to be my own cousin. He desired\n     me to stop immediately and return, he himself having been\n     suspected of the very act I had committed. As my horse was\n     tired down, I sprang with all my might, to secure myself by\n     taking to the woods. Here again my hopes were frustrated; for\n     my foot caught in the stirrup, and I was forced to yield to\n     superior strength. On our way back, he explained the cause of\n     his overtaking me. Having ridden his horse down, he had hired\n     fresh ones at regular distances. This mode of pursuit I had not\n     thought of; but, alas! I was told of it now, when it was too\n     late! Every measure that I had thought most fitly adapted for\n     my clearance, seemed now only to aggravate my folly. Shame for\n     my guilt filled my mind with the keenest remorse.\n\n     Mr. Pusey sent for a constable, and informed me I must go to\n     jail. Attended by the constable, and another as an assistant, I\n     started with a heavy heart. We travelled on foot, and very\n     slowly, so that when night came on, we had eight or nine miles\n     yet to go. The constable being negligent, permitted me at times\n     to be twenty or thirty yards from him; and of these\n     opportunities I designed to avail myself. Accordingly, on\n     reaching a place where the road made a short turn, I dashed\n     from them into the bushes, where I hid myself. After they had\n     passed me unnoticed, I cut a large club, and travelled my own\n     way a short distance, when I met a man who eyed me in a\n     scrutinizing manner. I immediately asked him, whether he had\n     seen a fellow running that way from the constables who were\n     taking him to jail? He answered that he had, and that he\n     believed I was the very fellow! 'Well,' said I, 'if you think\n     so, you are welcome to take me.' But fearing my large club, he\n     left me to pursue my journey. Travelling a little distance, I\n     came to a tavern, and looking through the window, saw the\n     constable and his assistant eating their supper. Their horses\n     resting under a shed, I was about to take one; but seeing a\n     barn at a short distance from me, I abandoned my intention. I\n     went into it, and retired to rest for the night. I arose next\n     morning after a refreshing sleep, and pursued my journey to my\n     father's, and arrived at Strasburgh about breakfast time. On\n     entering the tavern, I saw an elderly lady who had lived with\n     Mr. Pusey. She asked me how I was, and where I was going? I\n     told her to visit my parents. She answered, that she really\n     believed I was running away! Apprehensive of danger, I resumed\n     my journey towards my father's, and on the road I met him. From\n     my relation of the affair, he gave it as his opinion that it\n     would be imprudent in me to return again; for he had not the\n     least doubt that I should be arrested, and dealt with according\n     to my offence; so, after remaining at his house a short time, I\n     bent my course to Reading. I confidently believe, to this very\n     day, that if I had not escaped punishment for this crime, I\n     never should have committed another in my whole life.\"\n\nAnother of his escapes we shall here insert, premising that he had been\napprehended for stealing a horse.\n\n     \"He brought with him a blacksmith, who had a load of chains\n     upon his shoulder. The smith put a collar round my neck, and\n     shackles on my ankles. Between these was a small chain for the\n     purpose of making me fast to any thing by a padlock. Mounted on\n     horseback, this chain was passed to the one attached to my\n     collar, and there locked; besides this I was hand-cuffed. Thus\n     equipped, we repaired towards Georgia, through a country mostly\n     inhabited by Indians. On arriving within two days' journey of\n     home, we took lodging at a public house, the first we had seen.\n     Dismounting, my chain was in part wrapped round one of my legs,\n     and the others around my neck. In this situation we took supper\n     with the family, and sat a considerable time after the table\n     was removed. As it was determined we should remain here for the\n     night, which was dark and rainy, I had hopes that I could some\n     way or other make my escape. Having called to a servant to\n     bring me a basin of water to wash my feet, I took care to wind\n     the chain closely around my leg. I then asked her to open the\n     front door for me, as though I intended only to throw out the\n     dirty water; this I did, and finding there were no fears of my\n     going out, I walked a few times across the floor. This gave me\n     a chance to put on my hat unnoticed, when, taking the advantage\n     of a minute, I dashed out and jumped the yard fence; but in so\n     doing, I lost my hat. Having no time to lose, I made a straight\n     course from the house. I soon heard them all in confusion, and\n     saw some of them out of doors with a light. The landlord having\n     a large dog, they brought him in pursuit of me. He took my\n     track, and had nigh taken me when I just reached a creek, into\n     the waters of which I waded some distance, turning with the\n     stream from the place I entered at. Here I stood, leg deep, for\n     some time, hearing all their conclusions respecting me.\n     Thinking I had crossed there, they gave me up, and returned to\n     the house again. I immediately made my retreat from a place\n     surrounding and threatening me with so many dangers. After\n     running and walking about four miles, fatigued and lost, I lay\n     down and slept till morning. I then steered my course across\n     the country, avoiding houses and settlements, hoping to see\n     some slaves in the fields to help me to take off my irons, but\n     could see none. Near noon, I came in sight of an old house\n     which I discovered was inhabited. I approached it at the side\n     where there was no window. I went to a wagon, and taking from\n     it an iron bolt and a linchpin, I made to the woods, where,\n     with much difficulty, I succeeded in extricating myself from my\n     collar and chains. I placed them in a pile at the root of a\n     large tree, near which I lay down and slept till evening, being\n     afraid to travel in the day-time. At dark I arose, and made my\n     way towards South Carolina, walking the whole night, and by\n     morning was thirty miles from where I started. My greatest\n     difficulty was having no hat. Coming, however, to a river, I\n     saw a bridge that crossed it a little below me. I went on it,\n     and stood leaning over its wall, till I saw a traveller coming\n     the other way. As soon as he approached me, I told him, with\n     much concern, that I had met with bad luck; for I had just been\n     looking over the wall when my hat fell off, and went rapidly\n     down the stream, the sides of which were so dangerous I could\n     not possibly get it again:--would he be so kind as to tell me\n     where I could buy another? He told me he would conduct me to a\n     store; I went with him and purchased one.\"\n\nThe life of a thief is one of perpetual anxiety, yet with many it\nbecomes a sort of passion. The earnings of honest industry, even when\nsufficient to keep them in comfort, are not sufficient to keep them\nsatisfied. The recollection of dangers escaped, the chance of similar\nfortune again, the prurience of activity,--all urge to a renewal of\ntheir lawless pursuits; and as a thoroughbred sportsman despises the\npractice of catching game by snares, deeming it unworthy of a skilful\nmarksman, so, we suspect, do thieves regard the reward of industry, when\ncompared with the booty of a dangerous encounter. In Vaux's Memoirs we\nfind much to lead us to this conclusion. Several times was he well\nsettled in the way of obtaining, not only an honest livelihood, but of\nparticipating in elegancies, luxuries, and agreeable society. Still, as\nif impelled by destiny, he continually risked the loss of all, to\ngratify his bad propensity. Ward, on the contrary, had been perpetually\nunfortunate in realizing his visionary hopes; he was entreated by his\nwife to forsake his evil courses; but it was all in vain. \"Resorting\noccasionally,\" he says, \"to the company of some adepts in crime, _it\nseemed to afford me pleasure_.\" And in the narratives of the other two,\nwe find evident delight manifested at the success of a hazardous,\nfraudulent undertaking, while the guilt of the action, and the pain and\nmisery it may have occasioned, are overlooked or lightly regarded, just\nas a military hero, exulting in a victory, laments the loss of neither\nfriends nor foes. Human happiness, in truth, is connected in the minds\nof different persons with the most opposite deeds and qualities.\nDiogenes in his tub, and Alexander at the head of an army, was each\npursuing his gratification; and who shall decide which was the more\nsuccessful? Hume, in one of his Essays, remarks, that there is no\nquestion that a boarding-school miss has often experienced as exquisite\ndelight on finding herself the idol of a ball-room, as an orator when\nreceiving the rapturous applauses of a delighted audience; and Colley\nGibber says, that on hearing an old actor express admiration at one of\nhis early performances on the stage, he felt so proud of the\ncommendation, that he doubted whether \"Alexander himself, or Charles\nXII., when at the head of their first victorious armies, could feel a\ngreater transport in their bosoms.\" After reading this, some may perhaps\nthink that Pope's epigram on Cibber[14] was not unmerited; but when they\nconsider that thieves feel a similar exultation, they may rather be\ninclined to pity poor human nature. In exemplification of what we have\nadvanced, we request attention to the following extract from Vaux. Some\nof his acquaintances in Newgate had informed him that Mr. Bilger, a\njeweller and goldsmith, was a _good flat_.\n\n     \"About 5 o'clock in the evening, I entered his shop, dressed in\n     the most elegant style, having a valuable gold watch and\n     appendages, a gold eye-glass, &c. I had posted my old friend\n     and aid-de-camp, Bromley, at the door, in order to be in\n     readiness to act as circumstances might require, and\n     particularly to watch the motions of Mr. Bilger and his\n     assistants on my quitting the premises. On my entrance, Mrs.\n     Bilger issued from a back parlour behind the shop, and politely\n     inquiring my business, I told her I wished to see Mr. Bilger;\n     she immediately rang a bell, which brought down her husband\n     from the upper apartments. He saluted me with a low bow, and\n     handed me a seat. I was glad to find no other person in the\n     shop, Mrs. Bilger having again retired. I now assumed the air\n     of a Bond-street lounger, and informed Mr. Bilger, that I had\n     been recommended by a gentleman of my acquaintance to deal with\n     him, having occasion for a very elegant diamond ring, and\n     requested to see his assortment. Mr. Bilger expressed his\n     concern that he happened not to have a single article of that\n     description by him, but if I could without inconvenience call\n     again, he would undertake in one hour to procure me a selection\n     from his working-jeweller, to whom he would immediately\n     despatch a messenger. I affected to feel somewhat disappointed;\n     but, looking at my watch, after a moment's reflection, I said,\n     'Well, Mr. Bilger, I have an appointment at the Cannon\n     coffee-house, which requires my attendance, and if you will,\n     without fail, have the articles ready, I may probably look in a\n     little after six.' This he promised faithfully to do, declaring\n     how much he felt obliged by my condescension; and I sauntered\n     out of the shop, Mr. Bilger attending me in the most obsequious\n     manner to the outer door. After walking a short distance,\n     Bromley tapped me on the shoulder, and inquired what conduct I\n     meant next to pursue; for he had viewed my proceedings through\n     a glass-door in the shop, and saw that I had not executed my\n     grand design. I related to Bromley the result of my\n     conversation with Mr. Bilger, and added that I meant to retire\n     to the nearest public-house, where we could enjoy a pipe and a\n     glass of negus, until the expiration of the hour to which I had\n     limited myself. We accordingly regaled ourselves at a very snug\n     house, nearly opposite Bilger's, until about half after six,\n     when I again repaired to the scene of action, leaving Bromley,\n     as at first, posted at the door. Mr. Bilger received me with\n     increased respect, and producing a small card box, expressed\n     his sorrow that his workman had only been enabled to send three\n     rings for my inspection, but that if they were not to my taste,\n     he should feel honoured and obliged in taking my directions for\n     having one made, and flattered himself he should execute the\n     order to my satisfaction. I proceeded to examine the rings he\n     produced, one of which was marked sixteen guineas, another nine\n     guineas, and the third six guineas. They were all extremely\n     beautiful; but I affected to consider them as too paltry,\n     telling Mr. Bilger that I wanted one to present to a lady, and\n     that I wished to have a ring of greater value than the whole\n     three put together, as a few guineas would not be an object in\n     the price. Mr. Bilger's son, who was also his partner, now\n     joined us, and was desired by his father to sketch a draught in\n     pencil of some fancy rings, agreeable to the directions I\n     should give him. The three rings I had viewed, were now removed\n     to the end of the counter next the window, and I informed the\n     young man that I wished to have something of a cluster, a large\n     brilliant in the centre, surrounded with smaller ones; but\n     repeated my desire that no expense might be spared to render\n     the article strictly elegant, and worthy a lady's acceptance.\n     The son having sketched a design of several rings on a card, I\n     examined them with attention, and appeared in doubt which to\n     prefer, but desired to see some loose diamonds, in order to\n     form a better idea of the size, &c. of each ring described in\n     the drawing. Mr. Bilger, however, declared he had not any by\n     him. It is probable he spoke truth, or he might have lost such\n     numbers by showing them, as to deter him from exhibiting them\n     in future. Without having made up my mind on the subject, I now\n     requested to see some of his most fashionable brooches, or\n     shirt-pins. Mr. Bilger produced a show-glass, containing a\n     great variety of articles in pearl, but he had nothing of the\n     kind in diamonds. I took up two or three of the brooches, and\n     immediately _sunk_ a very handsome one, marked three guineas,\n     in my coat sleeve. I next purloined a beautiful clasp for a\n     lady's waist, consisting of stones set in gold, which had the\n     appearance and brilliancy of real diamonds, but marked only\n     four guineas. I should probably have gone still deeper, but at\n     this moment a lady coming in, desired to look at some\n     ear-rings, and the younger Mr. Bilger immediately quitted his\n     father to attend upon her at the other end of the shop. It\n     struck me that now was my time for a decisive stroke. The card\n     containing the diamond rings, procured from the maker, lying\n     very near the show-glass I was viewing, and many small articles\n     irregularly placed round about them, the candles not throwing\n     much light on that particular spot, and Mr. Bilger's attention\n     being divided between myself and the lady, to whom he\n     frequently addressed himself, I suddenly took the three rings\n     from the card, and committed them to my sleeve, to join the\n     brooch and lady's clasp; but had them so situated, that I\n     could, in a moment, have released and replaced them on the\n     counter, had an inquiry been made for them. I then looked at my\n     watch, and observing that I was going to the theatre, told Mr.\n     Bilger that I would not trouble him any further, as the\n     articles before me were too tawdry and common to please me, but\n     that I would put the card of draughts in my pocket-book, and if\n     I did not meet with a ring of the kind I wanted, before Monday\n     or Tuesday, I would certainly call again, and give him final\n     directions. I was then drawing on my gloves, being anxious to\n     quit the shop while I was well; but Mr. Bilger, who seemed\n     delighted with the prospect of my custom, begged so earnestly\n     that I would allow him to show me his brilliant assortment of\n     gold watches, that I could not refuse to gratify him, though I\n     certainly incurred a great risk by my compliance. I therefore\n     answered,--'Really, Mr. Bilger, I am loath to give you that\n     unnecessary trouble, as I have, you may perceive, a very good\n     watch already, in point of performance; though it cost me a\n     mere trifle, only twenty guineas; but it answers my purpose as\n     well as a more valuable one. However, as I may probably, before\n     long, want an elegant watch for a lady, I dont care if I just\n     run my eye over them.' Mr. Bilger replied, that the greater\n     part of his stock were fancy watches, adapted for ladies, and\n     he defied all London united, to exhibit a finer collection. He\n     then took from his window a show-glass, containing about thirty\n     most beautiful watches, some ornamented with pearls or\n     diamonds, others elegantly enamelled, or chased in the most\n     delicate style. They were of various prices, from thirty to one\n     hundred guineas, and the old gentleman, rubbing his hands with\n     an air of rapture, exclaimed,--'There they are, sir,--a most\n     fashionable assortment of goods; allow me to recommend them;\n     they're all a-going, sir--all a-going.' I smiled inwardly at\n     the latter part of this speech, and thought to myself,--'I wish\n     they were going, with all my heart, along with the diamond\n     rings.' I answered, they were certainly very handsome, but I\n     would defer a minute inspection of them till my next visit,\n     when I should have more time to spare. These watches were\n     ranged in exact order, in five parallel lines, and between each\n     watch was placed a gold seal or other trinket appertaining to a\n     lady's watch. It was no easy matter, therefore, to take away a\n     single article without its being instantly missed, unless the\n     economy of the whole had been previously deranged. I contrived,\n     however, to displace a few of the trinkets, on pretence of\n     admiring them, and ventured to secrete one very rich gold seal,\n     marked six guineas. I then declared I could stay no longer, as\n     I had appointed to meet a party at the theatre; but that I\n     would certainly call again in a few days, and lay out some\n     money in return for the trouble I had given. Mr. Bilger\n     expressed his thanks in the most respectful terms, and waited\n     upon me to the door, where he took leave of me with a low\n     _conge, a la mode de France_, of which country he was a native.\n     I now put the best foot foremost, and having gained a remote\n     street, turned my head, and perceived Bromley at my heels, who\n     seized my hand, congratulating me on my success, and\n     complimenting me on the address I had shown in this exploit;\n     for he had witnessed all that passed, and knew that I had\n     succeeded in my object, by the manner in which I quitted the\n     shop. He informed me that Mr. Bilger had returned to his\n     counter, and without attending to the arrangement of the\n     articles thereon, had joined his son, who was still waiting\n     upon the lady, and that he, Bromley, had finally left them both\n     engaged with her.\"\n\nWho can fail to perceive, in the above narrative, the satisfaction of\nthe author in displaying his adroitness? His vanity seems to be as much\ngratified, as if he had been relating some performance meriting\napprobation. The feeling of shame is altogether alien to him. And thus,\nby Vidocq's account, it always is with thieves, they glorying as much in\ndetailing their successful exploits, as if no ignominy could attach to\nthem. Amongst his confederates too, and all of the same class, his\nreputation is proportionate to his daring and skill. Of this, take the\nfollowing instance related by Vidocq.--\n\n     \"The incredible effrontery of Beaumont, almost surpasses\n     belief. Escaped from the Bagne at Rochefort, where he was\n     sentenced to pass twelve years of his life, he came to Paris,\n     and scarcely had he arrived there, where he had already\n     practised, when, by way of getting his hand in, he committed\n     several trifling robberies, and when, by these preliminary\n     steps, he had proceeded to exploits more worthy of his ancient\n     renown, he conceived the project of stealing a treasure. No\n     one will imagine that this was in the Central Office, now the\n     Prefecture of Police!! It was already pretty difficult to\n     procure impressions of the keys, but he achieved the first\n     difficulty, and soon had in his possession all the means of\n     effecting an opening; but to open was nothing; it was necessary\n     to open without being perceived, to introduce himself without\n     fear of being disturbed, to work without witnesses, and go out\n     again freely. Beaumont, who had calculated all the difficulties\n     that opposed him, was not dismayed. He had remarked that the\n     private room of the chief officer, M. Henry, was nigh to the\n     spot where he proposed to effect his entrance; he espied the\n     propitious moment, and wished sincerely that some circumstance\n     would call away so dangerous a neighbour for some time, and\n     chance was subservient to his wishes. One morning, M. Henry was\n     obliged to go out. Beaumont, sure that he would not return that\n     day, ran to his house, put on a black coat, and in that\n     costume, which, in those days, always announced a magistrate,\n     or public functionary, presents himself at the entrance of the\n     Central Office. The officer to whom he addressed himself,\n     supposed of course that he was at least a commissary. On the\n     invitation of Beaumont, he gave him a soldier, whom he placed\n     as sentinel at the entrance to the narrow passage which leads\n     to the depot, and commanded not to allow any person to pass. No\n     better expedient could be found for preventing surprise. Thus\n     Beaumont, in the midst of a crowd of valuable objects, could,\n     at his leisure, and in perfect security, choose what best\n     pleased him; watches, jewels, diamonds, precious stones, &c. He\n     chose those which he deemed most valuable, most portable, and\n     as soon as he had made his selection, he dismissed the sentinel\n     and disappeared.\n\n     \"This robbery could not be long concealed, and the following\n     day was discovered. Had thunder fallen on the police, they\n     would have been less astonished than at this event. To\n     penetrate to the very sanctuary! The holy of holies! The fact\n     appeared so very extraordinary, that it was doubted. Yet it was\n     evident that a robbery had taken place, and to whom was it to\n     be attributed? All the suspicions fell on the clerks, sometimes\n     on one, sometimes on another, when Beaumont, betrayed by a\n     friend, was apprehended, and sentenced a second time. The\n     robbery he had committed might be estimated at some hundred\n     thousand francs, the greater part of which were found on him.\n\n     \"Beaumont enjoyed amongst his confraternity a colossal\n     reputation; and even now, when a rogue boasts of his lofty\n     exploits,--'Hold your tongue,' they say, 'you are not worthy to\n     untie the shoe-strings of Beaumont!' In effect, to have robbed\n     the police was the height of address.\"\n\nWe now proceed to make the reader acquainted with the habits and\nexertions of police-officers, who perform exploits equal in craft and\ndanger to those of thieves. In order to detect the latter, they often\nresort to the vilest places, and associate with the vilest of mankind;\nassume various characters and occupations; and sometimes,\nperhaps,--stimulated by the hope of reward,--lead others to commit\ncrimes in order to entrap them. Vidocq, however, professes in every case\nto have acted without any desire to entice. He says that he himself\nnever proposed any scheme of robbery; but took care to concur in such as\nwere proposed by others. This declaration must, we suppose, be received\nwith some qualification, as without an occasional suggestion, he would\nprobably have been suspected in his designs. Be that as it may, he was\neminently successful in securing villains; for having practised villainy\nhimself, he knew their ways and devices, thus verifying the propriety of\nthe maxim,--\"Set a thief to catch a thief.\" Some of the convicts at\nBotany Bay make the best police-officers. Of this we have an instance\nin Barrington, the famous London pick-pocket, who rendered such\nessential services to the colony, that in his old age he was pensioned\nby the government. By what means Vidocq, after all his devotion, came to\nlose his office, he has not mentioned; an omission rather singular,\nwhich lays his character open to suspicion, especially as he has given\nthe circumstances that first led him to offer himself to the police.\nThese circumstances it may be proper to glance at, as they exhibit a\nview of the dangers attendant on a lawless course of life.\n\n     \"At this period, it seemed as if the whole world was leagued\n     against me; I was compelled to draw my purse-strings at every\n     moment, and for whom? For creatures who, looking on my\n     liberality as compulsory, were prepared to betray me as soon as\n     I ceased to be a certain source of reliance. When I went home\n     from my wife's, I had still another proof of the wretchedness\n     affixed to the state of a fugitive galley-slave. Annette and my\n     mother were in tears. During my absence, two drunken men had\n     asked for me, and on being told that I was from home, they had\n     broke forth in oaths and threats, which left me no longer in\n     doubt of the perfidy of their intentions. By the description\n     which Annette gave me of these two individuals, I easily\n     recognised Blondy, and his comrade, Deluc. I had no trouble in\n     guessing their names; and besides, they had left an address,\n     with a formal injunction to send them forty francs, which was\n     more than enough to disclose to me who they were, as there were\n     not in Paris any other persons who could send me such an\n     intimation. I was obedient, very obedient; only in paying my\n     contribution to these two scoundrels, I could not help letting\n     them know how inconsiderately they had behaved. 'Consider what\n     a step you have taken,' said I to them; 'they know nothing at\n     my house, and you have told them all. My wife, who carries on\n     the concern in her name, will perhaps turn me out, and then I\n     must be reduced to the lowest ebb of misery.'--'Oh! you can\n     come and rob with us,' answered the two rascals. I endeavoured\n     to convince them, how much better it was to owe an existence to\n     honest toil, than to be in incessant fears from the police,\n     which, sooner or later, catches all malefactors in its nets. I\n     added, that one crime generally leads to another; that he would\n     risk his neck who ran straight towards the guillotine; and the\n     termination of my discourse was, that they would do well to\n     renounce the dangerous career on which they had entered. 'Not\n     so bad!' cried Blondy, when I had finished my lecture, 'not so\n     bad.' 'But can you, in the mean time, point out to us any\n     apartment that we can ransack? We are, you see, like Harlequin,\n     and have more need of cash than advice;' and they left me,\n     laughing deridingly at me. I called them back, to profess my\n     attachment to them, and begged them not to call again at my\n     house. 'If that is all,' said Deluc, 'we will keep from\n     that.'--'Oh yes, we'll keep away,' added Blondy, 'since that is\n     unpleasant to your mistress.' But the latter did not stay away\n     long: the very next day, at night-fall, he presented himself at\n     my ware-house, and asked to speak to me privately. I took him\n     into my own room. 'We are alone?' said he to me, looking round\n     at the room in which we were; and when he was assured that he\n     had no witnesses, he drew from his pocket eleven silver forks,\n     and two gold watches, which he placed on a stand. 'Four hundred\n     francs for this would not be too much--the silver plate and the\n     gold watches.--Come, tip us the needful.'--'Four hundred\n     francs!' said I, alarmed at so abrupt a total,--'I have not so\n     much money.'--'Never mind; go and sell the goods.'--'But if it\n     should be known!'--'That's your affair; I want the ready; or if\n     you like it better, I'll send you customers from the\n     police-office;--you know what a word would do;--come,\n     come,--the cash, the chink, and no gammon.' I understood the\n     scoundrel but too well: I saw myself denounced, dragged from\n     the state in which I had installed myself, and led back to the\n     Bagne. I counted out the four hundred francs.\"\n\nConsidering the danger in which Vidocq was placed, his offer to serve\nthe police was judicious. What could be more trying than to lie at the\nmercy of rascals? Obliged to be continually supplying them with\nhush-money, and yet always afraid of being betrayed by them, he was in\nperpetual torment; but, his services once accepted by the police, all\nthis was at an end. He must have felt himself like a man escaped from a\nwreck, and from the horrors of contending elements; like Ulysses, to\nwhom we have before compared him, when, having accepted the mantle\noffered him by Leucothea, he reached the friendly shore of Pheacia. Like\nhim, too, his toils were to be renewed. He had enemies to cope with and\nsubdue, and who required to be encountered with as much subtlety and\nresolution as Penelope's suitors. The following is his account of his\nfirst capture.--\n\n     \"One morning I was hastily summoned to attend the chief of the\n     division. The matter in hand was to discover a man named\n     Watrin, accused of having fabricated and put in circulation\n     false money and bank-notes. The inspectors of the police had\n     already arrested Watrin, but, according to custom, had allowed\n     him to escape. M. Henry gave me every direction which he deemed\n     likely to assist me in the search after him; but,\n     unfortunately, he had only gleaned a few simple particulars of\n     his usual habits and customary haunts. Every place he was known\n     to frequent was freely pointed out to me; but it was not very\n     likely he would be found in those resorts, which prudence would\n     call upon him carefully to avoid: there remained, therefore,\n     only a chance of reaching him by some bye-path. When I learnt\n     that he had left his effects in a furnished house, where he\n     once lodged, on the boulevard of Mont Parnasse, I took it for\n     granted, that, sooner or later, he would go there in search of\n     his property; or, at least, that he would send some person to\n     fetch it from thence; consequently I directed all my vigilance\n     to this spot; and after having reconnoitred the house, I lay in\n     ambush in its vicinity, night and day, in order to keep a\n     watchful eye upon all comers and goers. This went on for nearly\n     a week, when, weary of not observing any thing, I determined\n     upon engaging the master of the house in my interest, and to\n     hire an apartment of him, where I accordingly established\n     myself with Annette, certain that my presence could give rise\n     to no suspicion. I had occupied this post for about fifteen\n     days, when, one evening, at eleven o'clock, I was informed that\n     Watrin had just come, accompanied by another person. Owing to a\n     slight indisposition, I had retired to bed earlier than usual;\n     however, at this news I rose hastily, and descended the\n     staircase by four stairs at a time; but whatever diligence I\n     might use, I was only just in time to catch Watrin's companion;\n     him I had no right to detain, but I made myself sure that I\n     might, by intimidation, obtain further particulars from him. I\n     therefore seized him, threatened him, and soon drew from him a\n     confession, that he was a shoemaker, and that Watrin lived with\n     him, No. 4, _Rue des Mauvais Garcons_. This was all I wanted to\n     know: I had only time to slip an old great coat over my shirt,\n     and, without stopping to put on more garments, I hurried on to\n     the place thus pointed out to me. I reached the house the very\n     instant that some person was quitting it: persuaded that it was\n     Watrin, I attempted to seize him; he escaped from me, and I\n     darted after him up a staircase; but at the moment of grasping\n     him, a violent blow, which struck my chest, drove me down\n     twenty stairs. I sprung forward again, and that so quickly,\n     that, to escape from my pursuit, he was compelled to return\n     into the house through a sash-window. I then knocked loudly at\n     the door, summoning him to open it without delay. This he\n     refused to do. I then desired Annette, who had followed me, to\n     go in search of the guard; and, whilst she was preparing to\n     obey me, I counterfeited the noise of a man descending the\n     stairs. Watrin, deceived by this feint, was anxious to satisfy\n     himself whether I had actually gone, and softly put his head\n     out of the window, to observe if all was safe. This was exactly\n     what I wanted. I made a vigorous dart forwards, and seized him\n     by the hair of his head: he grasped me in the same manner, and\n     a desperate struggle took place: jammed against the\n     partition-wall which separated us, he opposed me with a\n     determined resistance. Nevertheless, I felt that he was growing\n     weaker; I collected all my strength for a last effort; I\n     strained every nerve, and drew him nearly out of the window\n     through which we were struggling; one more trial, and the\n     victory was mine; but in the earnestness of my grasp, we both\n     rolled on the passage floor, on to which I had pulled him. To\n     rise, snatch from his hands the shoemaker's cutting knife with\n     which he had armed himself, to bind him and lead him out of the\n     house, was the work of an instant. Accompanied only by Annette,\n     I conducted him to the prefecture, where I received the\n     congratulations, first of M. Henry, and afterwards those of the\n     prefect of police, who bestowed on me a pecuniary recompense.\"\n\nThe next account we shall transcribe, is one of his freeing the\ncommunity of a receiver of stolen goods. This man had been long watched\nby the police; but all attempts to convict him had failed. Accordingly\nM. Henry was desirous that Vidocq should use his endeavours, which he\nreadily did as follows.\n\n     \"Posted near the house of the suspected dealer in stolen\n     property, I watched for his going out; and, following him when\n     he had gone a few steps down the street, addressed him by a\n     different name to his own. He assured me I was mistaken; I\n     protested to the contrary; he insisted upon it I was deceived;\n     and I affected to be equally satisfied of his identity,\n     declaring my perfect recognition of his person, as that of a\n     man who, for some time, had been sought after by the police\n     throughout Paris and its environs. 'You are grossly mistaken,'\n     replied he warmly; 'my name is so and so, and I live in such a\n     street.' 'Come, come, friend,' said I, 'excuses are useless; I\n     know you too well to part with you so easily.' 'This is too\n     much,' cried he, 'but, at the next police station, I shall\n     probably be able to meet with those who can convince you, that\n     I know my own name better than you seem to do.' This was\n     exactly the point at which I wished to arrive. 'Agreed,' said\n     I, and we bent our steps to the neighbouring guard-house. We\n     entered, and I requested him to show me his papers; he had none\n     about him. I then insisted upon his being searched, and, on his\n     person, were found three watches, and twenty-five double\n     Napoleons, which I caused to be laid aside till he should be\n     examined before a magistrate. These things had been wrapped in\n     a handkerchief, which I contrived to secure, and, after having\n     disguised myself as a messenger, I hastened to the house of\n     this receiver of stolen goods, and demanded to speak with his\n     wife. She, of course, had no idea of my business, or knowledge\n     of my person, and seeing several persons besides herself\n     present, I signified to her, that my business being of a\n     private nature, it was important that I should speak to her\n     alone; and in token of my claims to her confidence, produced\n     the handkerchief, and inquired whether she recognised it?\n     Although still ignorant of the cause of my visit, her\n     countenance became troubled, and her whole person was much\n     agitated, as she begged me to let her hear my business. 'I am\n     concerned,' replied I, 'to be the bearer of unpleasant news;\n     but the fact is, your husband has just been arrested, every\n     thing found on his person has been seized, and, from some words\n     which he happened to overhear, he suspects he has been\n     betrayed; he therefore wishes you to remove out of the house\n     certain things, you are aware would be dangerous to his safety\n     if found on the premises. If you please, I will lend you a\n     helping hand, but I must forewarn you that you have not one\n     moment to lose.' The information was of the first importance.\n     The sight of the handkerchief, and the description of the\n     objects it had served to envelope, removed from her mind every\n     doubt as to the truth of the message I had brought her; and she\n     easily fell into the snare I had laid to entrap her. She\n     thanked me for the trouble I had taken, and begged I would go\n     and engage three hackney coaches, and return to her with as\n     little delay as possible. I left the house to execute my\n     commission, but on the road, I stopped to give one of my people\n     instructions to keep the coaches in sight, and to seize them,\n     with their contents, directly I should give the signal. The\n     vehicles drew up to the door, and, upon re-entering the house,\n     I found things in a high state of preparation for removing. The\n     floor was strewed with articles of every description;\n     time-pieces, candelabra, Etruscan vases, cloths, cachemires,\n     linen, muslin, &c. All these things had been taken from a\n     closet, the entrance to which was cleverly concealed by a large\n     press, so skilfully contrived, that the most practised eye\n     could not have discovered the deception. I assisted in the\n     removal, and, when it was completed, the press having been\n     carefully replaced, the woman begged of me to accompany her,\n     which I did; and no sooner was she in one of the coaches, ready\n     to start, than I suddenly pulled up the window, and, at this\n     previously concerted signal, we were immediately surrounded by\n     the police. The husband and wife were tried at the assizes,\n     and, as may be easily conceived, were overwhelmed beneath the\n     weight of an accusation, in support of which there existed a\n     formidable mass of convicting testimony.\"\n\nWe must extract one more account from Vidocq, to show the desperate\nhazards which police-officers sometimes run, in capturing criminals;\nhazards which, when surmounted, they naturally exult in. Information had\nbeen received at the police-office, that one Fossard, who had several\ntimes effected escapes from jail, was living with his mistress in a\ncertain district of Paris; that the windows of his apartment had yellow\ncurtains; and that a hump-backed seamstress lived in the same house.\nThis was very indefinite; for neither the street, nor the number of the\nhouse was known, and curtains might be changed. However, Vidocq was not\ndeterred from undertaking a search; accordingly, disguised as an\nold-fashioned gentleman, he began the enterprise. He went from street to\nstreet; ascended staircase after staircase till his limbs ached; called\nat the doors of scores of seamstresses, but no hump-backed damsel\nappeared;--all were as straight as arrows! Not more ardently, he says,\ndid Don Quixote pant for Dulcinea, than he for Humpina. Days rolled on\nunsuccessfully: he began to despair. At length he resolved to change his\nmeasures, and, instead of clambering up flights of steps, to station\nhimself near the stand of a gossiping milk-woman, and watch her\ncustomers. Numbers of women came to buy their milk in the morning, but\nnot one adorned with the delectable hump. At length, in the evening, he\ncaught sight of one whose back had the desired ornament. He followed her\nfrom the milk-woman's to the grocer's, from the grocer's to the\ntripe-shop, and, finally, to her home; but when he got there, no yellow\ncurtains were to be seen. What was to be done? He resolved to speak to\nher at all events; so, feigning himself to be a deserted husband, he\ninquired of her whether Fossard and his mistress were occupants of any\npart of the house? Her reply was disheartening:--they had quitted their\nlodgings, and were gone, she knew not where. Still, the case did not\nappear hopeless. He had employed a porter to carry his goods, and might\nnot that porter be found? A new search was requisite, and it terminated\nsuccessfully, by his tracing Fossard to a vintner's. Considering, then,\nthat it was advisable to have the vintner on his side, he called on him\nin his usual dress, and informed him, from the police, that his lodgers\nmeditated robbing him. He and his wife were in consternation at the\nintelligence; but Vidocq having pacified them, arranged his plans. The\ngrand difficulty to be overcome, arose from Fossard's always carrying a\nloaded pistol in his hand, and which, they knew from his character, he\nwould assuredly discharge at the first man that laid hands on him. Here\nVidocq must tell his own tale, we premising, that Fossard's mistress\nstyled herself Madame Hazard.--\n\n     \"At an early hour, on the 29th of December, I betook myself to\n     my station. It was desperately cold; the watch was a protracted\n     one, and the more painful as we had no fire. Motionless,\n     however, and my eyes fixed against a small hole in the shutter,\n     I kept my post. At last, about three o'clock, he went out. I\n     followed gladly, and recognised him; for, up to that period, I\n     had my doubts. Certain now of his identity, I wished, at that\n     moment, to put into execution the order for his apprehension;\n     but the officer who was with me, said he saw the terrible\n     pistol. That I might authenticate the fact, I walked quickly\n     and passed Fossard, and then returning, saw clearly that the\n     agent was right. To attempt to arrest him would have been\n     useless, and I resolved to defer it. On the 31st of December,\n     at eleven o'clock, when all my batteries were charged and my\n     plans perfect, Fossard returned, and, without distrust,\n     ascended the staircase shaking with cold; and, twenty minutes\n     after, the disappearance of the light indicated that he was in\n     bed. The moment had now arrived. The commissary and gend'armes,\n     summoned by me, were waiting at the nearest guard-house until I\n     should call them, and then enter quietly. We deliberated on the\n     most effectual mode of seizing Fossard, without running the\n     risk of being killed or wounded; for they were persuaded, that,\n     unless surprised, this robber would defend himself desperately.\n     My first thought was, to do nothing till daybreak, as I had\n     been told that Fossard's companion went down very early to get\n     the milk; we should then seize her, and, after having taken the\n     key from her, we should enter the room of her lover; but might\n     it not happen that, contrary to his usual custom, he might go\n     out first? This reflection led me to adopt another expedient.\n     The vintner's wife, in whose favour, as I was told, M. Hazard\n     was much prepossessed, had one of her nephews at her house, a\n     lad about ten years of age, intelligent beyond his years, and\n     the more desirous of getting money, as he was a Norman. I\n     promised him a reward, on condition that, under pretence of his\n     aunt's being taken suddenly ill, he should go and beg Madame\n     Hazard to give him some Eau de Cologne. I desired the little\n     chap to assume the most piteous tone he could; and was so well\n     satisfied with the specimen he gave me, that I began to\n     distribute the parts to my performers. The denouement was near\n     at hand. I made all my party take off their shoes, doing the\n     same myself, that we might not be heard whilst going up stairs.\n     The little snivelling pilot was in his shirt; he rang the\n     bell;--no one answered: again he rang;--'Who's there,' was\n     heard.--'It is I Madame Hazard; it is Louis: my poor aunt is\n     very bad, and begs you will be so very obliging as to give her\n     a little Eau de Cologne.--Oh! she is dying!--I have got a\n     light.' The door was opened; and scarcely had Madame Hazard\n     presented herself, when two powerful gend'armes seized on her,\n     and fastened a napkin over her mouth to prevent her crying out.\n     At the same instant, with more rapidity than the lion when\n     darting on his prey, I threw myself upon Fossard; who,\n     stupified by what was doing, and already fast bound and\n     confined in his bed, was my prisoner before he could make a\n     single movement, or utter a single word. So great was his\n     amazement, that it was nearly an hour before he could\n     articulate even a few words. When a light was brought, and he\n     saw my black face and garb of a coalman, he experienced such an\n     increase of terror, that I really believe he imagined himself\n     in the devil's clutches. On coming to himself, he thought of\n     his arms,--his pistols and dagger,--which were upon the table;\n     and, turning his eyes towards them, he made a struggle, but\n     that was all; for, reduced to the impossibility of doing any\n     mischief, he was passive.\"\n\nFrom the above extracts, a tolerably correct idea may be formed of\nthieves and police-officers;--men who co-exist in every civilized\ncommunity, but who lead lives requiring the cunning and personal bravery\nof savages. The thief exults in the success of a daring exploit, and\nprides himself on his skill in avoiding the meshes of magistrates and\nlawyers: the police-officer is no less vain of his skill, in detecting\nand dragging to justice the man who boasts of his superiority in\nartifice, while he almost defies the arm of vengeance. In order that the\nnumber of such characters may be reduced, all reasonable attempts should\nbe made to reclaim juvenile delinquents; prisons should be not only\nplaces of terror, but places where the spread of corruption is\neffectually prevented, by the prohibition of intercourse amongst the\ninmates; and, above all, education, founded on a moral and religious\nbasis, should be extended throughout society. Facts bear us out in\nasserting, that crimes of the greatest magnitude, such as murder,\nburglary, and arson, considerably diminish with the spread of\ncivilization, which operates, like the circle formed by the pebble\nthrown into water, in extending its influence in proportion to its\ncircumference. As philanthropists in many different countries are\nlabouring simultaneously to promote this great end, we are justified in\nconsidering the present age as the harbinger of a better; and we may\nrejoice in the anticipation. The progressive improvement of the human\nfamily is a delightful subject for meditation, giving us, perhaps, a\nprelibation of the joys of futurity, and animating us to contribute our\naid, trifling as it may be, to the melioration of the condition of our\ncountry.\n\nBefore closing this article, we can scarcely forbear remarking, that the\ntranslator of Vidocq has used various words which have been considered\nby English writers as Americanisms; such as _to progress_, _to\napprobate_, and _lengthy_; also _chicken-fighting_ for cock-fighting.\nWhether he is an American or an Englishman we know not; but certain we\nare, that nearly every one of the alleged peculiarities in language,\nadopted by Americans, may be found either in old English authors, or are\nknown to have been used in one or other of the provincial brogues of\nEngland. Captain Basil Hall notices the substitution of _fall_ for\nAutumn; but he might have known, that though nearly obsolete in England,\nit is still current in the west of England amongst the vulgar.[15] Even\nthe much laughed at _I guess_, is in vogue in Lancashire; so that with\nthe exception of _to tote_ for to carry, which, as Dr. Webster remarks,\nwas introduced by the <DW64>s into the southern states, we do not know\nwhether a single word or expression supposed to be peculiar to the\nUnited States, may be found, which cannot be traced to Great Britain or\nIreland. In the volume on Insect Architecture, issued by the Society for\nthe Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, we notice the word _sparse,_ which,\ntill then, we had supposed to be of American formation; and a late\nwriter in Blackwood's Magazine says, that the New-England word\n_tarnation_, is current in the county of Suffolk in old England. The\nprobability of its being introduced into Massachusetts from that part of\nEngland, is confirmed by the great number of towns in Massachusetts\nbearing the same names as towns in the counties of Suffolk and Essex,\nand by the correspondence remarked by travellers between the dialects of\nthe two districts. Every one may have observed, that the\nNew-Englanders,--many even of the educated amongst them,--pronounce the\nparticiple _been_, as if written _ben_; and this peculiarity, we are\nassured, is prevalent in the part of England just mentioned.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[12] See the second series of Tales of a Grandfather.\n\n[13] Since the above was written, we have met with an old schoolfellow\nof Vaux's, and who also knew him in after life; and from him we have\nlearnt that Vaux's Memoirs have strong claim to credence, from the\ncircumstance that the account of his early life appears to be correctly\ngiven, as also that part of his subsequent career which is known to our\ninformant. He added, that his manners were quite fascinating.\n\n[14] As many of our readers may not recollect it, we here insert it.\nCibber, it should be borne in mind, was poet-laureate.\n\n\"In merry old England, it once was a rule, That the king had his poet,\nand also his fool; But the times are so altered, I'd have you to know\nit, That Cibber will serve both for fool and for poet!\"\n\nCibber seems so little to have minded this, and the rest of Pope's\nsatire on him in the Dunciad, that he wrote another epigram nearly as\npungent on himself! We give the following stanzas as a specimen of it.\n\n     \"When Bayes thou play'st, thyself thou art;\n        For that by nature fit,\n      No blockhead better suits the part,\n        Than such a coxcomb wit.\n\n      In Wronghead, too, thy brains we see\n        Who might do well at plough;\n      As fit for Parliament was he,\n        As for the laurel thou.\"\n\n[15] See A Summary View of America. By an Englishman. 8vo. London: 1824.\n\n\n\n\nART. VI.--TOBACCO.\n\n1.--\"_Counterblaste to Tobacco._\" By KING JAMES I. _of England._ Works,\nfol. from 214 to 222.\n\n2.--_A Dissertation on the Use and Abuse of Tobacco._ By The Rev. ADAM\nCLARKE. pp. 32. October: 1798.\n\n3.--_Observations upon the influence of the habitual use of Tobacco upon\nHealth, Morals, and Property._ By BENJAMIN RUSH, M.D. Essays. p. 263 to\n274. 1798.\n\n4.--_Notices relative to Tobacco._ By DR. A. T. THOMSON. _Appendix (Note\nB) to Mrs. A. T. Thomson's Life of Sir Walter Ralegh._ pp. 24: 1830.\n\n\nThe annals of literature furnish abundant examples of authors, who,\nthrough wantonness, whimsicality, a desire to say something, where many\ncould say nothing, and few could say much, or from some other impulse,\n(for which it were now unprofitable to search,) have adopted themes\neither insignificant in themselves, or repugnant to truth; subjects\nbarren, or improbable, or laborious, or palpably absurd. Thus Homer has\ncelebrated the battle of the Frogs and Mice; Virgil sung of Bees;\nPolycrates commended Tyranny; Phavorinus sets forth the praises of\nInjustice; and Cardan pronounced the eulogy of Nero. The Golden Ass of\nApulcius is well known; Henry Cornelius Agrippa has employed his wit and\nlearning on an elaborate \"Digression in praise of the Asse.\" Other\nauthors have discovered virtues and excellencies in this animal, though\nthe generality of mankind have agreed in supposing it possessed nothing\nremarkable but dulness and obstinacy. Lucian exercised his genius on a\nfly; and Erasmus has dignified Folly in his _Encomium Moriae_, which, for\nthe sake of the pun, he inscribed to Sir Thomas More. The subject of\nMichael Psellus is a Gnat; Antonius Majoragius took for his theme Clay;\nJulius Scaliger wrote concerning a Goose; Janus Dousa on a Shadow; and\nHeinsius (_horresco referens_) eulogized a Louse. This last animal\nelicited some fine moral verses from Burns; Libanus thought the Ox\nworthy of his pen; and Sextus Empiricus selected the faithful Dog.\nAddison composed the Battle of the Pigmies and Cranes; Rochester\nversified about Nothing; and Johannes Passeratius made a Latin poem on\nthe same subject, which is quoted at full length by Dr. Johnson at the\nend of his Life of Rochester. The Jeffreidos were written to commemorate\nthe perils to which Sir Jeoffrey Hudson was exposed; Sir William Jones\nthought Chess worthy of the epopee; and at the foot of this list of\negregious triflers, we place Dr. Raphael Thorius, who wrote a much and\noften praised Latin poem on the Virtues of Tobacco.\n\nNow, to most of our readers, this last theme would seem to offer fewer\ninducements to the poet's pen than any of those thus enumerated; and\ngenius could scarcely have selected one, which seemed less ennobling in\nitself, or rather, which at once presented such palpable\ndiscouragements, from the coarse associations connected with it, and the\ncureless vulgarity and nauseousness with which the whole subject appears\nto be invested. In opposition to so many obstacles and dissuasives, this\ngreat man yielded to the impulse of his muse, and obtained an\nimmortality to which no other action of his life would have entitled\nhim. It is with unaffected regret that we are compelled to state, that,\nto procure a sight of this celebrated poem, we have ransacked our\nlibraries without the least success. How painful is the reflection, that\nperhaps this work has never yet reached the United States! What a\nreproach to our republic, that a poem whose object was to celebrate the\nvirtues of the most incomparable of all our native plants, should be\ntotally unknown in that new world, with whose discovery it was nearly\ncontemporaneous! But perhaps our Jeremiad may be premature; for in some\nobscure corner in Virginia, (the garden of this weed,) a copy of the\npoem may at this very moment exist, like unobtrusive merit, disregarded\nand despised. For the honour of our country, we hope this may prove\ntrue; since it may lessen the odium with which men habitually load poor\nrepublics, a name which has long been the by-word and synonime of\ningratitude.\n\nWe are fully aware of the contemptuous manner in which Doctor Clarke\nspeaks of this production, and its English translation by the Rev. W.\nBerwick, declaring them to be \"of equal merit, and that they scarce\ndeserve to be mentioned.\" But to the merit of this work we have\ntestimony infinitely higher than the opinion of the Reverend Doctor.\nThus, Howell, in his inimitable \"Familiar Letters,\" a book which cannot\nbe too highly commended, or too often read, says, \"if you desire to read\nwith pleasure all the virtues of this modern herb, you must read Dr.\nThorius's Potologis, an accurate peece, couched in a strenuous heroic\nverse, and continuing its strength from first to last; insomuch that for\nthe bignes it may be compared to any piece of antiquity, and in my\nopinion is beyond [Greek: Batzachomnomachia] or [Greek:\nGaleomnomachia].\"[16] The learned Mr. Bayle speaks of the same\nproduction in very commendatory language.[17] Bayle tells an excellent\nstory of Thorius, which, as it illustrates the character of the great\ntobacco poet, deserves to be read. He was extremely fond of his glass of\nwine, and had, beside, that hydrophobic distaste, which has been\nimagined essential to the true poet. Being one day seated at the dinner\ntable, in company with the celebrated Peireskius, in the festivity of\nthe occasion, he was urging the latter to quaff off a bumper of wine,\nand after the most importunate intreaties, Peireskius at last agreed to\ndo it upon one condition, which was, that Thorius should immediately\nafterwards drink a bumper himself. No condition could be more\nacceptable, no penalty more easy; but what was the surprise and horror\nof Thorius, when his turn came, to find that he was called upon to drink\na bumper, not of wine, but of water!--which insipid and unaccustomed\nbeverage, after sundry efforts and awry faces, he contrived to get down,\namidst peals of laughter from his hilarious and learned friends.\n\nWe classed Thorius's poem among the extravagant vagaries of genius; but\nthe more we reflect upon the subject matter of this poem, the more the\nconviction fastens upon our minds, that it is by no means a trivial or\nundignified topic; that considered in what light it may, tobacco must be\nregarded as the most astonishing of the productions of nature, since,\nalthough unsightly, offensive, and, perhaps, in every way pernicious, it\nhas, in the short period of about three centuries, subdued not one\nparticular nation, but the whole world, Christian and Pagan, into a\nbondage more abject and irremediable than was ever known to tyranny or\nsuperstition. Kings have forbidden it; popes have anathematized it; and\nphysicians have warned against it. Even ministers of the gospel have\nlifted up their voices, and thundered their denunciations from the\npulpit; but all has been in vain; its use has increased, is increasing,\nand will increase, as long as the earth continues to yield this\nmiraculous vegetable to the unnatural appetite of man.\n\nThat what is persecuted should thrive the more in consequence of\npersecution, can excite no surprise in any one at all skilled in the\nhistory of human nature; but this is altogether inadequate to account\nfor that preternatural eagerness with which men seek after this\nwonderful plant. In fact, there appears to be some occult charm\nconnected with it--some invisible spirit, which, be it angel, or be it\ndevil, has never yet been, and perhaps never will be, satisfactorily\nexplained. To those who have never revelled in this habit, and\nconsequently can neither comprehend its nature or strength, the\nhyperbolical language which most authors use when they speak of tobacco,\nmust appear, in an eminent degree, burlesque and overstrained.\n\"Tobacco,\" says the Anatomist of Melancholy, \"divine, rare,\nsuperexcellent tobacco, which goes far beyond all their panaceas,\npotable gold, and philosophers' stones, a soveraign remedy to all\ndiseases--A good vomit, I confess, a vertuous herb, if it be well\nqualified, opportunely taken, and medicinally used; but as it is\ncommonly abused by most men, which take it as tinkers do ale, 'tis a\nplague, a mischief, a violent purger of goods, lands, and health;\nhellish, devilish, and damned tobacco; the ruine and overthrow of body\nand soul.\"[18] So in his valedictory to tobacco, Mr. Lamb is not less\nextravagant and contradictory. The health of the poet it appears had\nsuffered seriously from the immoderate use of tobacco, which had been in\nconsequence interdicted by his physician. Compelled to surrender his\nfavourite enjoyment, he vents his feelings in a very spirited \"Farewell\nto Tobacco,\" which exhibits a singular mixture of opposite sentiments,\nand of violent struggles between his propensity to the habit and his\nacquiescence in the necessity which severs him from it, together with\nfeeble attempts to curse that, without which, life to the unhappy poet\nseemed scarcely endurable.\n\n    \"Stinking'st of the stinking kind,\n    Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind,\n    Africa that brags her foyson,\n    Breeds no such prodigious poison,\n    Henbane, nightshade, both together,\n    Hemlock, aconite----\n              ----Nay, rather\n    Plant divine, of rarest virtue;\n    Blisters on the tongue would hurt you;\n    'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee,\n    None e'er prospered who defamed thee.\"\n\nBut tobacco has had enemies of exalted station, whose persecution has\nbeen uniform, and whose hatred has been unmixed. Such was James the\nFirst of England, who is not less remarkable for his sagacity in\ndiscovering the gunpowder plot, and having supported the divine right of\nkings, than for having written a \"Counterblaste to Tobacco.\"[19] But let\nthe king speak for himself:--\n\n     \"Tobacco,\" says he, \"is the lively image and pattern of hell,\n     for it hath, by allusion, all the parts and vices of the world\n     whereby hell may be gained; to wit. 1. It is a smoke; so are\n     all the vanities of this world. 2. It delighteth them that take\n     it; so do all the pleasures of the world delight the men of the\n     world. 3. It maketh men drunken and light in the head; so do\n     all the vanities of the world, men are drunkards therewith. 4.\n     He that taketh tobacco can not leave it; it doth bewitch him;\n     even so the pleasures of the world make men loath to leave\n     them; they are for the most part enchanted with them. And,\n     farther, besides all this, it is like hell in the very\n     substance of it, for it is a stinking loathsome thing, and so\n     is hell.\"\n\nThe mythological fable which existed among the Indians as to the manner\nin which this plant was first bestowed upon mankind, is extremely\nwhimsical, somewhat discreditable, and withal of such a nature as to\npreclude the propriety of our introducing it in this place to the\nacquaintance of our readers. But writers are not wanting who have\ncarried the original of tobacco into the Grecian fabulous ages, and\nattributed to Bacchus the glory of having discovered and disclosed to\nmortals its virtues. Thorius, as Dr. Clarke tells us, very ominously\nascribes the discovery and first use of this herb to Bacchus, Silenus,\nand the Satyrs, (drunkenness, gluttony, and lust,) and yet, continues\nthe Doctor, with a sneer, this poem was written in praise of it. Mr.\nLamb, in the poem before quoted, has the same thought, and he farther\nadds a belief, that the tobacco plant was the true Indian conquest for\nwhich the jolly god has been so celebrated. He moreover intimates, that\nthe Thyrsus of that deity was afterwards ornamented with leaves of\ntobacco, instead of ivy. Even the name of the plant has been derived\nfrom Bacchus. This is particularly mentioned by Mr. Joseph Sylvester,\nquoted by Dr. Clarke, who wrote a poem on tobacco which he inscribed to\nVilliers, Duke of Buckingham. The title of this tirade is very quaint,\nviz. \"Tobacco battered, and the Pipes shattered (about their Ears who\nidly idolize so base and barbarous a Weed; or at least-wise overlove so\nloathsome a Vanity) by a Volley of holy Shot from Mount Helicon.\"\n\n    \"For even the derivation of the name\n    Seems to allude and to include the same;\n    Tobacco as [Greek: toBakcho] one would say\n    To cup-god Bacchus dedicated ay.\"\n\nNor should all this appear so extraordinary, when we consider that\nCharlevoix, with the utmost seriousness, discusses the question, whether\nthe calumet of the North American Indians was the same as the caduceus\nof Mercury.[20] It is however beyond all doubt, that tobacco has always\nbeen regarded by the Indians with religious veneration, and employed by\nthem in all religious ceremonies. Mr. Stith informs us, that they\nthought this plant \"of so great worth and virtue that the gods\nthemselves were delighted with it; and therefore they sometimes made\nsacred fires, and instead of a sacrifice, threw in the dust of tobacco;\nand when they were caught in a tempest, they would sprinkle it into the\nair and water--upon all their new fishing nets they would cast some of\nit, and when they had escaped any remarkable danger, they would throw\nsome of this dust into the air, with strange distorted gestures,\nsometimes striking the earth with their feet in a kind of time and\nmeasure, sometimes clapping their hands and throwing them up on high,\nlooking towards the heavens, and uttering barbarous and dissonant\nwords.\"[21]--Sir Hans Sloan tells us, also, that the Indians employ\ntobacco in all their enchantments, sorceries, and fortune-tellings; that\ntheir priests intoxicate themselves with the fumes, and in their\necstacies give forth ambiguous and oracular responses.[22]\n\nA few words will now be devoted to the subject of the numerous names\nwhich have belonged to tobacco; many persons conceiving the title of any\nthing, to be of equal importance with the christening of a person; and\nsurely where the etymology of a name of either person or thing can throw\nany light upon their respective histories, the time employed thereon can\nhardly be looked upon as either lost or misspent. But it unfortunately\nhappens, as is almost always the case in regard to persons and things\nbelonging to mythological eras, that the greatest confusion and\nperplexity exist in regard to the Indian titles which have been bestowed\nupon tobacco; and as we frankly confess ourselves utterly unversed in\nOccidental philology, we shall, with whatever reluctance, be obliged to\nomit even the mention of many appellations, whose true meaning and value\nhave passed into obscurity, with the languages and nations from which\nsuch appellations were derived.[23]\n\nSir Hans Sloan informs us, that the name was originally picielt, and\nthat tobacco was given it by the Spaniards.[24] Several authors say,\nthat it was called by the inhabitants of the West India islands\nyoli--but that on the continent they gave it the name of paetum, peti,\npetunum, or petun.[25] Some say it was sent into Spain from Tabaco, a\nprovince of Yucatan, where it was first discovered, and from whence it\ntakes its common name. Pourchot declares, that the Portuguese brought it\ninto Europe from Tobago, an island in North America; but the island\nTobago, says another, was never under the Portuguese dominion, and that\nit seems rather to have given its name to that island. The inhabitants\nof Hispaniola call it by the name cohiba, or pete be cenuc, and the\ninstrument by which they smoke it tabaco, and hence, say they, it\nderived its name. Stith, in his History of Virginia, speaks of one Mr.\nThomas Harriot,[26] a domestic of Sir Walter Ralegh, a man of learning,\nwho was sent by Ralegh to Virginia chiefly to make observations, which\nwere afterwards published. Now this Harriot, speaking of tobacco, says\nit was called, by the Indians of Virginia, uppowoc.[27] But the\nprincipal names by which this article is now known, either in common\nparlance or scientific discourse, are three, viz.--paetum, which seems to\nbe its poetical title--tobacco, its vulgar and most intelligible\nname--and nicotiana, its scientific and botanical name; which latter we\nwill explain more fully hereafter.[28]\n\nThe Abbot Nyssens thought it was the Devil who first introduced tobacco\ninto Europe. We do not design to discuss so important a question,\nconcerning which there must needs be a contrariety of opinions; but we\ncannot forbear to observe, that to give the Devil more than his due, is\nby no means new or uncommon in ecclesiastical inquiries. We have\nsomething parallel to this in the history of Hercules, though springing\nmost probably from a very different source; for to him the ancients were\nwont to attribute any great action for which they could not find a\ncertain author. We are informed that this plant was first seen smoked by\nthe Spaniards, under Grijalva, in 1518. In 1519, the illustrious Cortez\nsent a specimen of it to his king, and this was the date of its\nintroduction into Europe. Others say, one Roman Pane carried it into\nSpain. By the Cardinal Santa Croce it was conveyed to Italy. It should\nbe observed, however, that the ancestors of the Cardinal already enjoyed\nthe reputation of having brought into Italy the true cross, and the\ndouble glory which attaches to the Santa Croce family in consequence, is\nwell described in the following Latin lines, taken from Bayle's\nDictionary.[29] These verses are valuable in another respect, since they\ncontain a full enumeration of the real or supposed virtues of the herb.\nThey are also copied by the Reverend Dr. Clarke; and the English verses\nwhich accompany them, are by the Dr. attributed to M. de Maizeaux.--\n\n    \"Nomine quae sanctae crucis herba vocatur ocellis\n    Subvenit, et sanat plagas, et vulnera jungit,\n    Discutit et strumas, cancrum, cancrosaque sanat\n    Ulcera, et ambustis prodest, scabiemque repellit,\n    Discutit et morbum cui cessit ab impete nomen,\n    Calefacit, et siccat, stringit, mundatque, resolvit,\n    Et dentium et ventris mulcet capitisque dolores;\n    Subvenit antiquae tussi, stomachoque rigenti\n    Renibus et spleni confert, ultroque, venena\n    Dira sagittarum domat, ictibus omnibus atris\n    Haec eadem prodest; gingivis proficit atque\n    Conciliat somnum: nuda ossa carne revestit;\n    Thoracis vitiis prodest, pulmonis itemque,\n    Quae duo sic praestat, non ulla potentior herba.\n    Hanc Sanctacrucius Prosper quum nuncius esset,\n    Sedis Apostolicae Lusitanas missus in horas\n    Huc adportavit Romanae ad commoda gentis,\n    Ut proavi sanctae lignum crucis ante tulere\n    Omnis Christiadum quo nunc respublica gaudet,\n    Et Sanctae crucis illustris domus ipsa vocatur\n    Corporis atque animae nostrae studiosa salutis.\"\n\nWe subjoin the following \"faithful but inelegant translation,\" which is\ngiven by M. de Maizeaux in his translation of Bayle.\n\n    \"The herb which borrows Santa Croce's name\n    Sore eyes relieves, and healeth wounds; the same\n    Discusses the king's evil, and removes\n    Cancers and boils; a remedy it proves\n    For burns and scalds, repels the nauseous itch,\n    And straight recovers from convulsion fits.\n    It cleanses, dries, binds up, and maketh warm;\n    The head-ach, tooth-ach, colic, like a charm\n    It easeth soon; an ancient cough relieves,\n    And to the reins and milt, and stomach gives\n    Quick riddance from the pains which each endures;\n    Next the dire wounds of poisoned arrows cures;\n    All bruises heals, and when the gums are sore,\n    It makes them sound and healthy as before.\n    Sleep it procures, our anxious sorrows lays,\n    And with new flesh the naked bone arrays.\n    No herb hath greater power to rectify\n    All the disorders in the breast that lie\n    Or in the lungs. Herb of immortal fame!\n    Which hither first by Santa Croce came,\n    When he (his time of nunciature expired)\n    Back from the court of Portugal retired;\n    Even as his predecessors great and good,\n    Brought home the cross, whose consecrated wood\n    All Christendom now with its presence blesses;\n    And still the illustrious family possesses\n    The name of Santa Croce, rightly given,\n    Since they in all respects resembling Heaven,\n    Procure as much as mortal men can do,\n    The welfare of our souls and bodies too.\"\n\nIt is agreed on all hands, that tobacco was introduced into France by\nJohn Nicot, (whence it obtains its common name Nicotiana) Lord of\nVillemain and Master of Requests of the household of Francis the Second.\nHe was born at Nismes, and was sent as embassador to the Court of\nPortugal in 1559, from whence, on his return, he brought to Paris this\nherb. From Nicot, it was also called the embassador's herb. The\nquestion, whether it was known in France before it was carried into\nEngland, was long agitated, and is perhaps not settled yet, since the\nprecise epocha of its introduction into any particular country, cannot\nwith absolute certainty be fixed. The French writers, generally, are of\nopinion that Sir Francis Drake conveyed it to England before Nicot made\nit known in France. Thevet, who has discussed the subject, is thought by\nthem to have settled it in favour of the English. A French writer, Jean\nLiebault, says tobacco grew wild in France long before the discovery of\nthe New World. Mr. Murray inclines to the belief, that tobacco existed\nin Europe before the discovery of America, but he thinks it proceeded\nfrom Asia.[30] Mr. Savary asserts, that among the Persians it was known\nat least five hundred years since, but that they obtained it from Egypt,\nand not from the East Indies, where its cultivation was but recent. But,\nwhat has not been said of this extraordinary plant? It has often been\ncalled a Nepenthe, and we are under belief that some have even imagined\nthat the tobacco leaf forms a principal ingredient in the wondrous and\npotent mixture which Helen prepares for her guests in the fourth\nOdyssey.--\n\n              [Greek: \"Phazmachon\n    Nependes t' acholon te kakon epilethon apanton.\"]\n\n              \"Of sovereign use to assuage\n    The boiling bosom of tumultuous rage;\n    To clear the cloudy front of wrinkled care,\n    And dry the tearful sluices of despair.\"\n\nIn the same passage, Homer tells us that Helen learned the nature of\ndrugs and herbs from the wife of Thone, King of Egypt. Now, by\nconsidering this latter fact, in conjunction with what is asserted by\nMr. Savary, some verisimilitude seems to be imparted to the hypothesis\nof the tobacco plant having sprung originally from Egypt. We are not\naware of any author (though we think it not improbable that such may\nexist) who has carried matters so far as to assert that tobacco was the\ntree of Paradise, \"whose mortal taste brought death into the\nworld,\"--nor would this appear for a moment extravagant, if one only\ncalls to mind the strange traditions which the Rabbinnical writers have\nhanded down upon theological points of far more importance, or the\nequally absurd and monstrous notions which the modern history of\nsectarianism furnishes. From what has been said, however, it appears\nvery clear, that Satan has had too much to do with tobacco. If it be\nverily the tree of knowledge, it must be admitted that he has preserved\nit with infinite care, as if grateful for the mighty mischief which was\nwrought in Eden, and as a fit instrument for those injuries in future to\nthe human family, which so many authors assure us it is producing at the\npresent day. How tobacco ever got to America is a difficulty of very\nlittle moment, when we remember that writers are not agreed in what\nmanner America was even peopled. Even were we to admit that the\naboriginal Americans were not descended from Adam and Eve, still if we\nconcede that Satan has had the especial care of tobacco, we cannot be\nsurprised at his finding the means, if he had the desire, of introducing\nit into America. We have before alluded to what the Abbot Nyssens says,\nand if in addition we call to mind what others have uttered about its\ndiabolical nature, and that the American Indians were wont to propitiate\nthe powers of darkness by making offerings to them of tobacco, we cannot\nhelp thinking that King James was nearer truth and propriety than he\nimagined, when he declared that if he were to invite the Devil to dine\nwith him, he would be sure to provide three things,--1. a pig,--2. a\npoll of ling and mustard,--3. a pipe of tobacco for digestion.\n\nIt is not certainly known whether tobacco grew spontaneously in\nVirginia, or whether it came originally from some more southern region\nof America. At all events, the English who first visited Virginia\ncertainly found it there, and Harriot is of opinion, that it was of\nspontaneous growth. Mr. Jefferson thinks it was a native of a more\nsouthern climate, and was handed along the continent from one nation of\nsavages to another.[31] Dr. Robertson informs us, that it was not till\nthe year 1616 that its cultivation was commenced in Virginia.[32]\nHowever this may be, the gallant and unfortunate Sir Walter Ralegh has\nthe credit of bringing it into fashion in England.[33] It is well known\nthat the colony planted in Virginia by Sir Walter, suffered many\ncalamities, and we are told, that Ralph Lane,[34] one of the survivers\nwho was carried back to England by Sir Francis Drake, was the person who\nfirst made tobacco known in Great Britain. This was in the 28th year of\nQueen Elizabeth, A. D. 1585.[35] Sir Walter himself is said to have been\nvery fond of smoking, and many humorous stories have been recorded\nconcerning it, particularly of a wager he made with Queen Elizabeth,\nthat he would determine exactly the weight of the smoke which went off\nin a pipe of tobacco. This he did by first weighing the tobacco which\nwas to be smoked, and then carefully preserving and weighing the ashes,\nand the queen paid the wager cheerfully, being satisfied that what was\nwanting to the prime weight must have been evaporated in smoke. Every\none remembers the story of the alarm of one of Sir Walter's servants,\nwho, coming into a room and beholding his master enveloped in smoke,\nsupposed him to be on fire.\n\nTo the devout and genuine worshippers of this weed, it may be\nsatisfactory to know, that a tobacco-box and some pipes, belonging\nformerly to Sir Walter, are still in existence, and all smokers who may\nfeel so disposed may perform a pilgrimage to them when they visit\nEngland, they being in the museum of Mr. Ralph Thoresby of Leeds,\nYorkshire.[36] We shall conclude our remarks upon Sir Walter, by a\npoetical tribute to his memory, which is both apposite and eloquent.\n\n    \"Immortal Ralegh! were potatoes not,\n      Could grateful Ireland e'er forget thy claim?[37]\n    'Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot,'\n      Which blend thy memory with Eliza's fame;\n    Could England's annals in oblivion rot,\n      Tobacco would enshrine and consecrate thy name.\"\n\nWe cannot forbear to make a quotation concerning the Virginia colony, at\na more flourishing subsequent period, which, as it records a historical\nfact, cannot fail to be interesting, while at the same time it is\nsufficiently comic. \"The adventurers,\" says Malte-Brun, \"who increased\nfrom year to year, were reduced, in consequence of the scarcity of\nfemales, to import wives by order, as they imported merchandise. It is\nrecorded, that ninety girls, 'young and uncorrupt,' came to the Virginia\nmarket in 1620, and sixty in 1621; all of whom found a ready sale. The\nprice of each at first was one hundred pounds of tobacco, but afterwards\nrose to one hundred and fifty. What the prime cost was in England is not\nstated.\"[38]\n\nIn whatever manner tobacco found its way into Europe, it met with a very\nhostile reception from several crowned heads. Elizabeth published an\nedict against its use. James imposed severe prohibitory duties, and\nCharles, his successor, continued them.\n\n     \"In 1590,\" says Dr. Thomson, \"Shah Abbas prohibited the use of\n     tobacco in Persia, by a penal law; but so firmly had the luxury\n     rooted itself in the minds of his subjects, that many of the\n     inhabitants of the cities fled to the mountains, where they hid\n     themselves, rather than forego the pleasure of smoking. In\n     1624, Pope Urban VIII. anathematized all snuff-takers, who\n     committed the heinous sin of taking a pinch in any church; and\n     so late as 1690, Innocent XII. excommunicated all who indulged\n     in the same vice in Saint Peter's church at Rome. In 1625,\n     Amurath IV. prohibited smoking as an unnatural and irreligious\n     custom, under pain of death. In Constantinople, where the\n     custom is now universal, smoking was thought to be so\n     ridiculous and hurtful, that any Turk, who was caught in the\n     act, was conducted in ridicule through the streets, with a pipe\n     transfixed through his nose. In Russia, where the peasantry now\n     smoke all day long, the Grand Duke of Moscow prohibited the\n     entrance of tobacco into his dominions, under the penalty of\n     the _knaut_ for the first offence, and death for the second;\n     and the Muscovite who was found snuffing, was condemned to have\n     his nostrils split. The Chambre au Tabac for punishing smokers,\n     was instituted in 1634, and not abolished till the middle of\n     the eighteenth century. Even in Switzerland, war was waged\n     against the American herb: to smoke, in Berne, ranked as a\n     crime next to adultery; and in 1653, all smokers were cited\n     before the Council at Apenzel, and severely punished.\"[39]\n\nWe shall see hereafter what a host of enemies tobacco found also among\nmedical writers. We speak here particularly of the moderns; for many of\nthe older physicians extolled its healing virtues to the skies, and they\nwere giants in knowledge; but as an old author says, \"Pigmei gigantum\nhumeris impositi plusquam ipsi gigantes vident.\" Indeed it must be\nadmitted, as a very powerful argument against the efficacy of tobacco as\na medicine, that the physicians of our day have in many cases abandoned\nits use, and in others adopted some less dangerous succedaneum.\n\nIt may not be unamusing to the curious reader to know in what manner\nthis subject is handled by King James. The \"Counterblaste\" commences by\ndenouncing tobacco, because \"the vile and stinking custome comes from\nthe wilde, godlesse, and slavish Indians,\" by whom it was used as an\nantidote against the most dreadful of all diseases. Its use was\nintroduced \"neither by a king, great conqueror, nor learned Doctor of\nPhysicke, but by some Indians who were brought over;\" they died, but the\n\"savage custome\" survived. King James contents himself by examining only\nfour of the principal grounds or arguments upon which tobacco is used,\ntwo founded \"on the theoricke of a deceivable appearance of reason,\" and\ntwo \"upon the mistaken practicke of generall experience.\" Thus, \"1. An\naphorisme in the Physickes that the brains of all men being naturally\ncold and wet, all dry and hote things should be good for them.\" Ergo,\nthis \"stinking suffumigation.\"--2. The argument grounded on a show of\nreason, is \"that this filthy smoke, as well through the heat and\nstrength thereof, as by a natural force and quality, is able and fit to\npurge both the head and stomach of rhewmes and distillations, as\nexperience teacheth by the spitting and avoiding fleame immediately\nafter the taking of it.\"--3. That \"the whole people would not have taken\nso general a good liking thereof, if they had not by experience found it\nvery soveraigne and good for them.\"--4. That \"by the taking of tobacco,\ndivers and very many doe finde themselves cured of divers diseases; as\non the other hand no man ever received harme thereby.\" The King after\nhaving, as he trusts, sufficiently answered \"the most principal\narguments\" that are used in defence of this \"vile custome,\" proceeds \"to\nspeake of the sinnes and vanities committed in the filthy abuse\nthereof.\" And 1. As being a sinneful and shameful lust.--2. As a branch\nof drunkennesse.--3. As disabling both persons and goods. His majesty\nconcludes the \"Counterblaste\" by calling the smoking of tobacco \"a\ncustome loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmeful to the\nbrain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the blacke and stinking fume\nthereof, nearest resembling the horrible Stigian smoke of the pit that\nis bottomlesse.\"[40]\n\nLet it not be supposed that tobacco has been without friends, wise,\nlearned, and distinguished; but space forces us to pretermit the mention\nof many who have ascribed to it as many virtues as were ever ascribed to\nthe grand elixir of Alchemy. We shall content ourselves with two or\nthree miscellaneous testimonies.--Thus Acosta tells us it is a plant,\n\"which hath in it rare virtues, as amongst others it serves for a\ncounterpoison--for the Creator hath imparted his virtues at his\npleasure, not willing that any thing should grow idle.\"[41] Lord Bacon\nspeaks of its \"cheering and comforting the spirits,\" and that it\nrelieves in lassitude.[42] Again he says, \"doubtless it contributes to\nalleviate fatigues and discharge the body of weariness. 'T is also\ncommonly said to open the passages, and draw off humours; but its\nvirtues may be more justly attributed to its _condensing_ the\nspirits.\"[43] \"It is a good companion,\" says Howell, \"to one that\nconverseth with dead men, for if one hath bin poring long upon a book,\nor is toiled with the pen, or stupified with study, it quickeneth him,\nand dispels those clouds that usually oreset the brain. The smoke of it\nis one of the wholesomest sents that is against all contagious airs, for\nit oremasters all other smells; as _King James_ they say found true,\nwhen being once a hunting, a showr of rain drave him into a pigsty for\nshelter, where he caused a pipe full to be taken of purpose.\"[44] It\nwere easy to multiply quotations both in prose and verse, but it is to\nthe latter, most especially, that we must look for the most glowing\nascriptions--to poetry which has ever delighted.[45]\n\n    \"To sing the praises of that glorious weed--\n    Dear to mankind, whate'er his race, his creed,\n    Condition, colour, dwelling, or degree!\n    From Zembla's snows to parched Arabia's sands,\n    Loved by all lips, and common to all hands!\n    Hail sole cosmopolite, tobacco, hail!\n    Shag, long-cut, short-cut, pig-tail, quid, or roll,\n    Dark Negrohead, or Orinooka pale,\n    In every form congenial to the soul.\"\n\nBefore we proceed to consider the use of tobacco as a habit, which\nmodern physicians are pleased to consider so pestiferous and baleful,\nlet us attend for a few moments to what has been said concerning its\nculture and manufacture. Mr. Jefferson, in his Notes, says that its\nculture is productive of infinite wretchedness; that it is found easier\nto make 100 bushels of wheat than 1000 pounds of tobacco, and that they\nare worth more when made.[46] Davies, in his History of the Carriby\nIslands, after giving an account of the culture and preparation of\ntobacco, adds, \"that if the people of Europe who are so fond of it, had\nthemselves seen the poor servants and slaves who are employed about this\npainful work, exposed the greatest part of the day to the scorching heat\nof the sun, and spending one half of the night in reducing it to that\nposture wherein it is transported into Europe; no doubt they would have\na greater esteem for, and think much more precious that herb which is\nprocured with the sweat and labours of so many miserable creatures.\"[47]\n\nNumerous medical writers, of the justest celebrity, have assured us,\nthat endless and dreadful evils are the portion of all who are engaged\nin the manufacture of tobacco; that the workmen are in general meagre,\njaundiced, emaciated, asthmatic, subject to colic, diarrheas, to\nvertigo, violent headach, and muscular twitchings, to narcotism, and to\nvarious diseases of the breast and lungs.[48] They have also declared\nthat some of these evils have befallen families from the fact alone of\nbeing in the neighbourhood of a tobacco manufactory.[49] Ramazzini says\nthat even the horses employed in the tobacco mills are most powerfully\naffected by the particles of the tobacco. Now if these things be true,\nwhen we call to mind the countless multitudes employed in this \"dreadful\ntrade,\" what a throng of evils present themselves upon the very\nthreshold of our subject.[50] In this view of the case, one could not\npass such a manufactory without an involuntary shudder, regarding it as\na charnel house, or rather as a Pandora's box, to those wretched beings\nwho are doomed to work or dwell within its pestilential precincts.[51]\nBut in spite of the various and respectable testimony which has been\nproduced by writers opposed to the use of tobacco, we cannot help\nregarding their statements as exceedingly exaggerated. We have not space\nto enter into a more minute examination of this portion of our subject,\nbut to such of our readers as may feel desirous of prosecuting the\ninquiry, we take great pleasure in recommending a very able memoir by\nMessieurs Parent-Duchatelet and D'Arcet,[52] in which the whole subject\nof the effects of tobacco upon the persons connected with its\nmanufacture, is most satisfactorily discussed, and the opinions and\nassertions of those who have gone so far as to declare that it was even\nnecessary to the public health that the manufactories of tobacco should\nbe removed out of large towns because of their great insalubrity, shown\nto be either without any just grounds, or the results of prejudice and\nignorance.\n\nThe fecundity of this plant is marvellous. Linnaeus has calculated that a\nsingle plant of tobacco contains 40,320 grains, and says that if each\nseed came to perfection, the plants of tobacco in vegetation in the\ncourse of four years, would be more than sufficient to cover the whole\nsurface of the earth. We are elsewhere informed that these seeds\npreserve their germinative properties for six years and even longer.\n\"Sir Thomas Browne observes,\" says Mather, \"that of the seeds of\ntobacco, a thousand make not one grain, (though Otto de Guericke, as I\nremember, says, fifty-two cyphers with one figure would give the number\nof those which would fill the space between us and the stars,) a plant\nwhich has extended its empire over the whole world, and has a larger\ndominion than any of all the vegetable kingdom.\"[53] Our readers may\nvery easily amuse themselves by making calculations on the immense\nconsumption and value of this plant. The following account from a French\nmedical writer,[54] will be sufficient. On a rough calculation, the\ntobacco sold yearly in France amounts to 40,000,000 pounds weight, which\nat three francs per pound, the ordinary price, will make the enormous\nannual sum of 120,000,000 francs. One-fourth of the French population\nuse tobacco, so that of 8,000,000 of human beings, each individual\nconsumes annually, in the various forms of snuffing, chewing, and\nsmoking, about six pounds. This quantity may seem too great for some\npersons, but it should be remembered that there are many who use a dozen\nor twenty pounds in the course of the year.\n\nIf we contemplate man in connexion with tobacco as a necessary, the\njuxtaposition cannot fail to strike us as exceedingly ludicrous. From\nthe earliest ages of philosophy, it has been a favourite employment of\nthe wise to propose such definitions of man as should fully distinguish\nhim from the rest of animated nature, and yet no definition of ancient\ntimes will, we are satisfied, appear so excellently discriminative as\none which grows out of our present subject, and which denominates him\nthe only tobacco loving animal, for (to pass over the tobacco-worm) the\nonly creature known beside man, whose nature does not abhor tobacco, is,\nas Dr. Rush informs us, the solitary rock goat of Africa, one of the\nwildest and most filthy of animals. \"Were it possible,\" says he, \"for a\nbeing who had resided on our globe, to visit the inhabitants of a planet\nwhere reason governed, and to tell them that a vile weed was in general\nuse among the inhabitants of the globe it had left, which afforded no\nnourishment; that this weed was cultivated with immense care, that it\nwas an important article of commerce, that the want of it produced real\nmisery, that its taste was extremely nauseous, that it was unfriendly to\nhealth and morals, and that its use was attended with a considerable\nloss of time and property, the account would be thought incredible.\"[55]\nIt is idle to speak of tobacco, as being \"extremely nauseous,\" that it\nis the \"meanest and most paltry of all gratifications,\" &c. Had not man\ndiscovered in it a delight and comfort which was to be derived from few\nother sources, the habitual use of tobacco would long since have been\nneglected. To say man uses tobacco for no other reason but its\noffensiveness, is a solecism; scarcely would it be more absurd to adopt\nthe habitual use of castor oil as a cordial, or assafoetida as a\nperfume. On this subject Mr. Chamberet[56] has a very interesting\npassage, which, as it is so well expressed by the author, we take the\nliberty of offering to our readers in his own language.\n\n     \"Observons,\" says he, \"que l'homme, en vertu de son\n     organization a sans cesse besoin de sentir, que presque\n     toujours il est malheureux, soit par les fleaux que la nature\n     lui envoie, soit par les tristes resultats de ses passions\n     aveugles, de ses erreurs de ses prejuges, de son ignorance, &c.\n     Le tabac exercant sur nos organes une impression vive et forte,\n     susceptible d'etre renouvelee frequemment et a volonte, on\n     s'est livre avec d'autant plus d'ardeur a l'usage d'un\n     semblable stimulant qu'on y a trouve a la fois le moyen de\n     satisfaire le besoin imperieux de sentir, qui caracterise la\n     nature humaine, et celui d'etre distrait momentanement des\n     sensations penibles ou douloureuses qui assiegent sans cesse\n     notre espece, que le tabac aide ainsi a supporter l'accablant\n     fardeau de la vie. Avec le tabac, le sauvage endure plus\n     courageusement la faim, la soif, et toutes les vicissitudes\n     atmospheriques, l'esclave endure plus patiemment la servitude,\n     &c. Parmi les hommes qui se disent civilises, son recours est\n     souvent invoque contre l'ennui, la tristesse; il soulage\n     quelquefois momentanement les tourmens de l'ambition decues de\n     ses esperances, et concourt a consoler, dans certains cas les\n     malheureuses victimes de l'injustice.\"\n\nDr. Walsh says that tobacco used with coffee, after the Turkish\nfashion, \"is singularly grateful to the taste, and refreshing to the\nspirits; counteracting the effects of fatigue and cold, and appeasing\nthe cravings of hunger, as I have often experienced. Hearne, I think, in\nhis journey to the mouth of the Coppermine river, mentions his\nexperience of similar effects of tobacco. He had been frequently\nwandering without food for five or six days, in the most inclement\nweather, and supported it all, he says, in good health and spirits, by\nsmoking tobacco, &c.\"[57] Willis, as quoted by Mons. Merat, recommends\nthe use of tobacco in armies, as able to supply the necessaries of life\nto a great extent, and also as an excellent preventive against various\ndiseases.[58] And Dr. Rush relates that he was informed by Colonel Burr,\nthat the greatest complaints of dissatisfaction and suffering which he\nheard among the soldiers who accompanied General Arnold in his march\nfrom Boston to Quebec through the wilderness, in the year 1775, were\nfrom the want of tobacco. This was the more remarkable, as they were so\ndestitute of provisions as to be obliged to kill and eat their dogs.[59]\n\nTobacco possesses narcotic powers in common with many other substances,\nof which neither time nor space will permit us to make mention.\nNarcotics, when used to a due extent, become poisons, and hence tobacco\nholds a very high rank in toxicology. A thousand experiments, as well as\naccidents, show that it is a most deadly poison.[60] It has also been\ncalled a counterpoison, but those who have asserted this have been\ncontradicted by numerous writers. Dr. Rush affirms that repeated\nexperience in Philadelphia has proved, that it is equally ineffectual in\npreserving those who use it from the influenza and yellow fever. In the\nplague, it was said to be useful, but what has been advanced on this\nsubject is now shown to be without much foundation. Still it may be said\nof tobacco, that though it does not contain any specific antidote to\ncontagion, or possess antiseptic properties, it may nevertheless, as a\npowerful narcotic, by diminishing the sensibility of the system, render\nit less liable to contagion. It also moderates anxiety and fear, which\nwe are told quicken the activity of contagion. \"Thus,\" says Cullen, \"the\nantiloimic powers of tobacco are upon the same footing with wine,\nbrandy, and opium.\"[61]\n\nDr. Fowler has written a treatise upon the effects of tobacco in the\ncure of dropsies and dysuries. The Doctor seemed determined to discover\nvirtue in this plant, because he tells us in his preface, that he was\nnowise discouraged in his inquiries into the medicinal effects of\ntobacco, although the generality of writers on the materia medica have\nspoken of it with great caution and reserve, and for the most part have\ndeclared it either _obsolete_, or so _uncertain_, _violent_, and\n_deleterious_ in its effects, as to render its exhibition _unadvisable_.\nDr. Cullen says that he employed tobacco in various cases of dropsy, but\nwith very little success.[62] Even those who advocate the medicinal use\nof tobacco, admit that it is one of those violent remedies, which\nnothing but the most skilful management can render beneficial; such as\narsenic, prussic acid, and many other deadly poisons, which, if\ncautiously and properly administered, become excellent medicines. Thus\nthe liniment of tobacco, which has formerly been called one of the best\nin the dispensatory, is said, in a case mentioned by Mr. Murray, to have\ncaused the deaths of three children, who expired within twenty-four\nhours in convulsions, in consequence of its application for scald head.\nInnumerable instances are given of its deleterious effects, even when\nused medicinally, and with the greatest caution. In some cases it has\nentirely failed to give the anticipated relief, and in others been\nfollowed by the most deplorable consequences. We believe, however, that\neminent practitioners still continue to employ it, and find it\nserviceable in some diseases. We have indeed heard it remarked, by a\ndistinguished physician, that much of the medicinal effect which might\notherwise be derived from tobacco, is often lost by the habitual use of\nthe article, which renders the system less sensible to its influence.\n\nAs a vulnerary, tobacco was used by the Indians, and physicians say that\nit promotes the cicatrization and healing of inveterate ulcers. It has\nbeen used in most cutaneous disorders, and its smoke has been considered\nuseful in rheumatisms, gout, chronic pains, &c.; but in all these cases\nits virtue has also been denied, or it has been asserted that many other\nmedicines possess more certain efficacy. As an emetic it is considered\ndangerous, being extremely violent, and succeeded by too much distress\nand sickness. That it has been found useful in destroying insects, and\nin preserving old clothes laid by against the inroads of vermin, there\ncan be no doubt; but on the mosquito and fly, two pests to whose cruel\ntorments we are most exposed, it will be within the painful remembrance\nof many of our readers, that no quantity of tobacco smoke appears to\nhave the least effect.\n\nEven though we admitted and could prove tobacco to be a useful medicine,\nstill this fact would afford no argument in favour of its habitual use\nin a state of health. On the contrary, it would be the very reason for\nits non-use; for the habitual use will in time weaken and destroy its\nmedicinal powers. Many, after finding or fancying relief from its\noccasional, have fallen into its habitual use, and the remedy has thus\nvirtually proved worse than the disease. Besides, by this course,\npersons take away the hope of future benefit from the application, in\ncase of a recurrence of their disorder.\n\nThat this habit is entirely unevangelical, Dr. Clarke attempts to show\nwith much zeal. Let those who profess to renounce the lusts of the flesh\nread his tract, and determine, conscientiously, how far his arguments\nare worthy of attention. That the devout \"roll this sin as a sweet\nmorsel under the tongue,\" is fully evinced by every day's experience;\nand the following anecdote from Dr. Clarke forms a good illustration of\nthis text.\n\n     \"An eminent physician,\" says he, \"gave me the following\n     account:--'When I was at L----, in the year 1789, a certain\n     religious people at one of their annual meetings made a rule,\n     or rather revived one which had been long before made and\n     established among them by their venerable founder, but had been\n     in a great measure lost sight of, viz.--That no minister in\n     their connexion should use snuff or tobacco, unless prescribed\n     by a physician. This rule at once showed their prudence and\n     good sense. Towards the conclusion of the meeting, having\n     offered my assistance to as many as stood in need of medical\n     help, several of them consulted me on the subject of taking\n     tobacco in one form or other; and with very little variation\n     their mode of address was as follows:--'Doctor, I am troubled\n     frequently with such a complaint, (naming it,) I take tobacco,\n     and have found great benefit from the use of it; I am sure were\n     I to give it up I should be very ill indeed; and I am certain\n     that you are too wise and too skilful a man to desire me to\n     discontinue a practice which has been so beneficial to me.'\n     After such an address what could I say? It was spoken with\n     serious concern, and was properly _argumentum ad hominem_: I\n     knew they were sincere, but I knew also they were deceived:\n     however, to the major part of them I ventured to speak thus:\n     'gentlemen, you certainly do me honour in the confidence you\n     repose in my skill, but you have brought me into a dilemma from\n     which I cannot easily extricate myself; as I find I must either\n     say as you say on the subject, or else renounce all pretensions\n     to wisdom and medical skill. However, I cannot in conscience\n     and honour prescribe to you the continued use of a thing which\n     I know does many of you immense hurt.'\"\n\nBut the anti-christian nature of this habit is placed in a very strong\nlight, in a curious passage, by Dr. Rush.[63] \"What reception,\" says he,\n\"may we suppose, would the apostles have met with, had they carried into\nthe cities and houses to which they were sent, snuff-boxes, pipes,\nsegars, and bundles of cut, or rolls of hog, or pigtail tobacco?\"\n\nThe effects of tobacco upon the morals have been often animadverted\nupon, and in no particular more frequently, and with greater emphasis,\nthan in its obvious tendency to promote temulency. Charlevoix intimates\nthe near connexion which exists between intemperance and smoking, when\nhe assures us, that amongst many nations, to smoke out of the same pipe\nin token of alliance, is the same thing as to drink out of the same\ncup.[64]\n\n\"Smoking and chewing tobacco,\" says Rush, \"by rendering water and simple\nliquors insipid to the taste, dispose very much to the stronger stimulus\nof ardent spirits. The practice of smoking segars has, in every part of\nour country, been more followed by a general use of brandy and water as\na common drink, more especially by that class of citizens who have not\nbeen in the habit of drinking wine or malt liquors.\"[65] \"One of the\ngreatest sots I ever knew,\" says the same author, \"acquired a love for\nardent spirits by swallowing cuds of tobacco, which he did to escape\ndetection in the use of it; for he had contracted the habit of chewing,\ncontrary to the advice and commands of his father. He died of a dropsy\nunder my care, in the year 1780.\"[66] On this subject, a very late\nwriter is still more express. \"We consider tobacco,\" says he, \"closely\nallied to intoxicating liquors, and its confirmed votaries as a species\nof drunkards.\" Again. \"I have observed that persons who are much\naddicted to liquor, have an inordinate liking to tobacco in all its\ndifferent forms; and it is remarkable, that in the early stages of\nebriety, almost every man is desirous of having a pinch of snuff. This\nlast fact it is not easy to explain; but the former may be accounted for\nby that incessant craving after excitement, which clings to the system\nof the confirmed drunkard.\"[67]\n\nThe limits of our article will not allow us to embrace all the\nconsiderations which belong to this subject, and which have been\nbestowed upon it by various writers. We will therefore proceed to the\nfew remarks which we have to make upon the three chief modes of using\ntobacco, viz., snuffing, smoking, and chewing. Catherine de Medicis, the\npersonage said to have prompted the horrible massacre of St.\nBartholomew's day at Paris, is commonly regarded as the inventress of\nsnuff-taking. In Russia and Persia the penalty of death was annexed to\nthe use of tobacco in every form except that of snuff. For this lighter\noffence, the punishment was softened down to simple mutilation, no\ngreater severity being deemed necessary than that of cutting off the\nnose. We doubt exceedingly whether either penalty would deter the\ninveterate snuff-takers of the present day. Indeed, we are told\nsomewhere that it was very common among the Persians to expatriate\nthemselves, when they were no longer allowed to indulge in tobacco in\ntheir native country. One of the first effects of snuff is to injure the\nnerves of the nose, which are endowed with exquisite sensibility, and of\nwhich an incredible number are spread over the inner membrane of the\nnostrils. This membrane is lubricated by a secretion, which has a\ntendency to preserve the sense. By the almost caustic acrimony of snuff,\nthe mucus is dried up, and the organ of smelling becomes perfectly\ncallous. The consequence is, that all the pleasure we are capable of\nderiving from the olfactory organs, the _omnis copia narium_, as Horace\ncuriously terms it, is totally destroyed. Similar effects are also\nproduced upon the saliva, and hence it is that habitual snuff-takers are\noften unable to speak with proper distinctness; and the sense of taste\nfor the same reason is very much obtunded. A snuffer may always be\ndistinguished by a certain nasal twang--an asthmatic wheezing--and a\nsort of disagreeable noise in respiration, which is nearly allied to\nincipient snoring. Snuff also frequently occasions fleshy excrescences\nin the nose, which, in some instances, end in polypi. Individuals have\noftentimes a predisposition to cancer in little scirrhous\nintumescencies, which, if kept easy and free from every thing of an\nirritating character, will continue harmless, but which the use of snuff\nsometimes frets into incurable ulcers and cancers. By the use of snuff,\ntumours are also generated in the throat, which obstruct deglutition,\nand even destroy life. Dr. Hill saw a female die of hunger, who could\nswallow no nourishment because of a polypus which closed up the stomach,\nthe formation of which was attributed to the excessive use of snuff.\nSome portion of the snuff will involuntarily find its way into the\nstomach, where its pernicious properties soon manifest themselves, being\nfrequently followed by nausea, vomitings, loss of appetite, and impaired\ndigestion. The drain of the juices has a tendency to injure the muscles\nof the face, to render them flaccid, to furrow and corrugate the skin,\nand to give a gaunt, withered, and jaundiced appearance to \"the human\nface divine.\"\n\nWe are also informed that it embrowns the complexion, by withdrawing\nthose peculiar secretions which communicate the fine vermillion hue of\nbeauty. In our country, however, women do not abandon themselves to this\nimpure habit, till they are married, and have no farther desire to\nplease, or till they are somewhat _passees_, and find their faculties of\npleasing impaired. What a death-blow does snuffing give to all that\nromance with which it is the interest of refined society to invest the\nfair sex! How vulgar the thought \"that a sneeze should interrupt a\nsigh!\"--How unpoetical is snuff! The most suitable verses which a lover\ncould address to a snuff-taking mistress, would be imitations of\nHorace's lines to the Sorceress Canidia. What sylph would superintend\nthe conveyance of this dust to the nostrils of a belle? What Gnome would\nnot take a fiendish delight in hovering over a pipe-loving beauty?\n\n\"The only advantage,\" says Dr. Leake, \"of taking snuff, is that of\nsneezing, which, in sluggish phlegmatic habits, will give universal\nconcussion to the body, and promote a more free circulation of the\nblood; but of this benefit snuff-takers are deprived, from being\nfamiliar with its use.\" When the stimulus of snuff ceases to be\nsufficient, recourse is immediately had to certain admixtures, by which\nthe necessary excitement is procured; thus pepper, euphorbium,\nhellebore, and even pulverised glass, are made use of to give it\nadditional pungency. Snuffing is also a frequent cause of blindness.\nNature has appointed certain fluids to nourish and preserve the eye,\nwhich, if withdrawn, cause the sight to become prematurely old, impaired\nby weakness, and sometimes totally destroyed. We are also told that it\ndries up and blackens the brain, and gives the stomach a yellow hue;[68]\nthat it injures the moral faculties, impairs the memory, and, indeed,\ndebilitates all the intellectual powers, and that it taints the breath\n\"with the rank odour of a tobacco cask.\" \"We read in the Ephemerides des\nCurieux de la Nature, that a person fell into a state of somnolency, and\ndied apoplectic, in consequence of having taken by the nose too great a\nquantity of snuff.\"[69] In fine, snuffing is said to bring on\nconvulsions, promote pulmonary consumption, and to cause madness and\ndeath! Napoleon is thought to have owed his death to a morbid state of\nstomach, superinduced by snuffing to excess. Dr. Rush relates that Sir\nJohn Pringle was afflicted with tremors in his hands, and had his memory\nimpaired by the use of snuff; when, on abandoning the habit, at the\ninstance of Dr. Franklin, he found his power of recollection restored,\nand he recovered the use of his hands.[70]\n\nWhen the habit of snuffing is once contracted, it becomes almost\nimpossible to divest ourselves of it. It becomes as necessary as food,\nor any of those first wants of life \"quibus negatis natura doleat.\" The\nfollowing story we translate from a French medical writer:--\n\n     \"I recollect, about twenty years since, while gathering simples\n     one day in the Forest of Fontainebleau, I encountered a man\n     stretched out upon the ground; I supposed him to be dead, when,\n     upon approaching, he asked in a feeble voice if I had some\n     snuff; on my replying in the negative, he sunk back\n     immediately, almost in a state of insensibility. In this\n     condition he remained till I brought a person who gave him\n     several pinches, and he then informed us that he had commenced\n     his journey that morning, supposing he had his snuff-box with\n     him, but found very soon he had started without it; that he had\n     travelled as long as he was able, till at last, overcome by\n     distress, he found it impossible to proceed any farther, and\n     without my timely succour he would have certainly\n     perished.\"[71]\n\nThe consumption of time and great expense of this artificial habit,\nalmost surpass belief. \"A man who takes a pinch of snuff every twenty\nminutes,\" says Dr. Rush, \"(which most habitual snuffers do), and snuffs\nfifteen hours in four-and-twenty, (allowing him to consume not quite\nhalf a minute every time he uses the box,) will waste about five whole\ndays of every year of his life in this useless and unwholesome practice.\nBut when we add to the profitable use to which this time might have been\napplied, the expenses of tobacco, pipes, snuff, and spitting boxes--and\nof the injuries which are done to the clothing, during a whole life, the\naggregate sum would probably amount to several hundred dollars. To a\nlabouring man this would be a decent portion for a son or daughter,\nwhile the same sum saved by a man in affluent circumstances, would have\nenabled him, by a contribution to a public charity, to have lessened a\nlarge portion of the ignorance or misery of mankind.\" But Lord Stanhope\nmakes a far more liberal estimate than Dr. Rush; \"Every professed,\ninveterate, and incurable snuff-taker,\" says he, \"at a moderate\ncomputation, takes one pinch in ten minutes. Every pinch, with the\nagreeable ceremony of blowing and wiping the nose, and other incidental\ncircumstances, consumes a minute and a half. One minute and a half out\nof every ten, allowing sixteen hours to a snuff-taking day, amounts to\ntwo hours and twenty-four minutes out of every natural day, or one day\nof every ten. One day out of ten amounts to thirty six days and a half\nin a year. Hence, if we suppose the practice to be persisted in forty\nyears, two entire years of the snuff-taker's life will be devoted to\ntickling his nose, and two more to blowing it.\" The same author proposes\nin a subsequent essay to show, that from the expense of snuff,\nsnuff-boxes, and handkerchiefs, a fund might be formed to pay off the\nEnglish National debt!\n\nThe subject of snuffing having employed more of our time than we\nanticipated, the two following heads of smoking and chewing will be more\nbriefly noticed. On the subject of smoking, Mr. Beloe has preserved the\nfollowing old epigram.[72]\n\n    \"We buy the dryest wood that we can finde,\n    And willingly would leave the smoke behinde:\n    But in tobacco a thwart course we take\n    Buying the herb only for the smoke's sake.\"\n\nSmoking was the earliest mode of using tobacco,[73] (as might be\ninferred from the epigram) and for a long time the only mode in which it\nwas used in Europe. Certainly in our day it is the most general, and at\nthe same time the most expensive, and although several rivals contend\nwith Sir Walter Ralegh for the praise of having introduced tobacco into\nEngland, yet the \"bright honour\" of having taught his countrymen to\nimitate the Indians, in this particular, he \"wears without corrival.\"\nAlmost all the arguments which have been employed against the use of\ntobacco as a sternutatory, are more or less applicable to it when used\nin the way of fumigation.[74] Good old Cotton Mather, who was fully\naware of the disadvantages as well as sinfulness of this habit,\ndeprecates it with a qualification at which it is impossible to repress\na smile. It savours so much of \"beating the Devil round a bush.\" Thus he\nsays--\"May God preserve me from the indecent, ignoble, criminal slavery,\nto the mean delight of smoking a weed, which I see so many carried away\nwith. And _if_ ever I should smoke it, let me be so wise as to do it,\nnot only with moderation, but also with such employment of my mind, as I\nmay make that action afford me a leisure for!\"[75]\n\nThe effects of smoking on the breath, clothes, hair, and indeed the\nwhole body, are most offensive. What is more overpowering than the stale\nsmell remaining in a room where several persons have been smoking? When\nthe practice is carried to excess, it causes the gums to become lax and\nflabby, and to recede from the discoloured teeth, which appear long,\nunsightly, and at length drop out. Dr. Rush, in his \"Account of the life\nand death of Edward Drinker,\" tells us that that individual lost all his\nteeth by drawing the hot smoke of tobacco into his mouth. By the waste\nof saliva, and the narcotic power of tobacco, the digestive powers are\nimpaired, and \"every kind of dyspeptic symptoms,\" says Cullen, \"are\nproduced.\"[76] King James does not forget to note this habit as a breach\nof good manners. \"It is a great vanitie and uncleannesse,\" says he,\n\"that at the table, a place of respect, of cleanlinesse, of modestie,\nmen should not be ashamed to sit tossing pipes, and puffing of the smoke\nof tobacco one to another, making the filthy smoke and stinke thereof to\nexhale athwart the dishes and infect the aire, when very often men that\nabhorre it, are at their repast.\"\n\nWe come now to the subject of chewing. Whether the rock goat, the filthy\nanimal to which we have before adverted, or the tobacco worm, first\ntaught imitative man to masticate tobacco, we are ignorant. One thing,\nhowever, is most certain, that of all modes of using it, chewing seems\nmost vulgar and ungentlemanlike, and it is worthy of particular remark,\nthat in our country it is more used in this manner, among the better\nclass of society, than in any other part of the world.[77] All the worst\neffects which have been ascribed to it in the two former modes of using\nit, are, with increased severity, imputed to chewing. But tobacco used\nin this form is said to diminish hunger. \"We have been told,\" says Dr.\nLeake, \"that tobacco, when chewed, is a preservative against hunger; but\nthis is a vulgar error, for in reality it may more properly be said to\ndestroy appetite by the profuse discharge of saliva, which is a powerful\ndissolving fluid, essential both to appetite and digestion.\" In the use\nof the quid, or cud, accidents sometimes happen from swallowing\nportions, which must needs be very hurtful. Chewers are often taken by\nsurprise, and rather than be detected in the unclean practice, they\nwill, with Spartan fortitude, endure the horrible agonies of swallowing\nthe juice, and sometimes even the quid itself. But we must close our\nremarks upon this vile habit, which we do by the following quotation\nfrom a French writer. \"Quant a la coutume de chiquer le tabac, elle est\nbornee, je crois, a un petit nombre d'individus grossiers, et le plus\nsouvent voues a des habitudes crapuleuses, du moins si j'en juge par\nceux que j'y vois livres.\" We take the liberty of referring tobacco\nchewers to Dr. Clark's treatise, (p. 24,) for a quotation he makes from\nSimon Paulli, physician to the King of Denmark, who wrote a treatise on\nthe danger of using this herb, and also to a note at the foot of the\npage, both which we are unwilling to repeat.\n\nWe are almost prepared to assert, that there is scarcely a conceivable\nmode of applying tobacco to the human body, which has not been thought\nof and practised. In former times, it was used by the oculists. Howell\nsays \"that it is good to fortify and preserve the sight, the smoak being\nlet in round about the balls once a week, &c.\" We have even known snuff\nto be blown into the eyes to cure inflammation. This latter remedy\nshould be somewhat perilous, if what Sauvages relates be true, that a\nfemale was thrown into a catalepsy by a small portion of snuff which had\naccidentally entered her eye. The Rev. S. Wesley, speaking of the abuse\nof tobacco, intimates an apprehension that the human ear will not long\nremain exempted from its application.\n\n    \"To such a height with some is fashion grown,\n    They feed their very nostrils with a spoon,[78]\n    One, and but one degree is wanting yet,\n    To make their senseless luxury complete;\n    Some choice regale, useless as snuff and dear,\n    To feed the mazy windings of the ear.\"\n\nNow, as a medicine, at least, it has been used for the ear; for Sir Hans\nSloan positively affirms that the \"oyl or juice dropped into the ear is\ngood against deafness.\"[79] Another mode of using tobacco, and not very\ncommon we hope, is what is called plugging, that is, thrusting long\npellets or rolls of tobacco up the nose, and keeping them there during\nthe night. As a dentifrice it is used in many parts of the world. We\nhave had an opportunity of witnessing this fact in various parts of\nSouth America, but especially in Brazil, where respectable women do not\nscruple openly to use tobacco for this purpose. We have known several\nvery respectable individuals of both sexes in our own country, who use\nsnuff as a tooth powder, and with them its employment was just as much a\nhabit as any other mode of using tobacco. These have been generally West\nIndians, or persons who have resided much in the West India islands. In\nsome of our southern states, tobacco is much used among the ladies as a\ndentifrice. Indeed there appears to prevail generally, a very strong\nopinion, that it is an excellent preservative of the teeth, which is\ncertainly an error; though we think it probable that the stimulus of\ntobacco, to those who use it in excess, may become in a certain degree\nnecessary to their preservation.\n\nTobacco is truly a leveller. It equalizes the monarch and the hind, and\nis acceptable to the sage as well as the sailor. \"Its smoke,\" says\nThomson, \"rising in clouds from the idolatrous altar of the native\nMexican, opened the world of spirits to his delirious imagination,\"\nwhile it has \"even assisted in extending the boundaries of intellect, by\naiding the contemplations of the Christian philosopher.\" If we advert\nto the irrefragable proofs of the virulent properties of this plant, and\nthe various arguments which have been urged against its habitual use, we\ncannot fail to be struck with the extraordinary fact, that so large a\nportion of mankind should voluntarily struggle through its repugnant\nqualities, both of taste and effect, until by habit its stimulus grows\npleasurable, and the system becomes mithridated against its poison! It\nwould almost seem as if the use of some substance of this class were\nnecessary to the intellectual and physical economy of man, since no\nnation nor age, of which we have any account, has been found without. Of\nthe various masticatories which have been in general use, if we except\nopium, tobacco is unquestionably the most pernicious. Although its\nmoderate use may not shorten life, or prove perceptibly hurtful to\nhealth, yet its excessive employment certainly generates many formidable\ndisorders, particularly of the nerves and stomach, and subjects its\nvotary to innumerable inconveniences and sufferings. Our space will not\npermit us to expatiate any further; and we shall therefore conclude our\narticle by relating from Rush a very interesting anecdote of Dr.\nFranklin, which places the common-sense view of this matter in the\nstrongest possible light. _A few months before Franklin's death, he\ndeclared to one of his friends, that he had never used tobacco in the\ncourse of his long life, and that he was disposed to believe there was\nnot much advantage to be derived from it, for that he had never known a\nman who used it, who advised him to follow his example._\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[16] Epistolae Hoelianae, p. 405.\n\n[17] Critical and Historical Dictionary, article Thorius.\n\n[18] Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, fol. p. 235.\n\n[19] King James's Works, fol. p. 214.\n\n[20] Hist. North America, vol. i. p. 322.--See also Hennepin's Voyages,\np. 93 et seq.\n\n[21] Stith's Hist. of Virginia, p. 19.\n\n[22] Sloan's Nat. Hist. Jamaica, vol. i. p. 147.\n\n[23] This hiatus we are in some measure able to supply from a note in\nthe Appendix to Mrs. Thomson's Life of Ralegh, (Note B. Notices\nconcerning Tobacco by Dr. Thomson,) p. 458. \"In the Mexican or Aztuk\ntongue, it is called _yetle_; in Algonkin, _sema_; in the Huron,\n_ayougoua_; in the Peruvian, it is _sayri_; in Chiquito, _pais_; in\nVilela, _tusup_; Albaja, _nalodagadi_; Moxo, _sabare_; Omagua, _potema_;\nTumanac, _cavai_; Mayhure, _jema_; and in the Cabre, _sena_. The other\nsynonymes are, _tabac_, in French; _tabak_, in German, Dutch, and\nPolish; _tobak_, in Swedish and Danish; _tobaco_, Spanish and\nPortuguese; and _tobacco_ in the Italian. In the Oriental languages,--it\nis _tambacu_, in Hindostanee; _tamracutta_, in Sanscrit; _pogheielly_,\nin Tamool; _tambracco_, in the Malay tongue; _tambracco_, in Javanese;\n_doorkoole_, in Cingalese; and _bujjerhony_, in Arabic.\"\n\n[24] Nat. Hist. Jam. vol. i. p. 147.\n\n[25] Dr. Tobias Venner, in his \"Treatise of Tobacco,\" at the end of his\ncurious old work, entitled, \"Via recta ad longam vitam,\" says\nhumorously, that petum is the \"fittest name that both we and other\nnations may call it by, deriving it of peto, for it is far-fetched and\nmuch desired.\" p. 386.\n\n[26] This Harriot, or Herriot, was a distinguished mathematician, and\nthe instructer of Ralegh, in whom both himself and the celebrated\nRichard Hakluyt, the industrious and indefatigable compiler of voyages,\nfound a liberal friend and patron.--Mrs. A. T. Thomson's Life of Sir W.\nRalegh, pp. 46 and 48.\n\n[27] Stith, p. 17.\n\n[28] \"Le Cardinal de Sainte Croix, nonce en Portugal, et Nicholas\nTornabon, legat en France, l'introduisent en Italie ou elle recut les\nnoms d'herbe de Sainte Croix, et de Tornabonne; elle a encore porte\nd'autres noms fondes sur des proprietes vraies ou supposees, ou sur la\nhaute idee qu'on avait de ses vertus: c'est ainsi qu'on l'a appelee\nBuglose ou Panacee Antarctique, Herbe Sainte ou Sacree, Herbe a tous\nmaux, Jusquiame du Peron,\" &c. &c. Dictionnaire des Sciences Medicales,\nArt. Tabac, par Mons. Merat.\n\n[29] Article Santa Croce, where they are attributed to Victor Duranti.\n\n[30] M. Merat ut supra.\n\n[31] Jefferson's Notes on Virginia, p. 62.\n\n[32] Robertson's Hist. of America, vol. iv. p. 97.\n\n[33] It is said that Ralegh used to give smoking parties at his house,\nwhere his guests were treated with nothing but a pipe, a mug of ale, and\na nutmeg.--Thomson's Life of Ralegh, p. 471.\n\n[34] Ralph Lane was lieutenant of the fleet of Sir Richard Grenville,\nwhich had been sent to Virginia by Sir Walter Ralegh, in 1585, where he\nwas made governor.--Hakluyt's Voyages, vol. iii. p. 251.\n\n[35] Camden has the following passage: \"Et hi reduces,\" speaking of\nthose survivers who were carried home by Drake, \"Indicam illam plantam,\nquam tabaccam vocant et nicotiam, qua contra cruditates, ab Indis\nedocti, usi erant, in Angliam primi quod sciam, intulerunt. Ex illo sane\ntempore usu coepit esse creberrimo, et magno pretio, dum quamplurimi\ngraveolentem illius fumum, alii lascivientes, alii valetudini\nconsulentes, per tubulum testaceum inexplebili aviditate passim hauriunt\net mox e naribus efflant; adeo ut tabernae tabacanae non minus quam\ncervisiariae et vinariae,\" beer-houses and grog-shops, we presume, \"passim\nper oppida habeantur. Ut Anglorum corpora (quod salse ille dixit) qui\nhac planta tantopere delectantur in barbarorum naturam degenerasse\nvideantur; cum iisdem quibus barbari delectentur et sanari se posse\ncredant.\"--Camdeni Ann. Rer. Anglican. p. 415.\n\n[36] These valuables are thus described in a note to Cayley's Life of\nSir Walter Ralegh, vol. i. p. 81. \"Among Thoresby's artificial\ncuriosities, we have Sir W. Ralegh's tobacco-box, as it was called, but\nis rather the case for the glass wherein it was preserved, which was\nsurrounded with small wax candles of various colours. This is of gilded\nleather, like a muff-case, about half a foot broad and thirteen inches\nhigh, and hath cases for sixteen pipes in it.--Ducatus Leodensis, fol.\n1715, p. 485.\"\n\n[37] Ralegh is believed to have introduced the culture of the potato, as\nwell as tobacco, into Ireland. The latter on his own estate at Youghal,\nin the county of Cork.\n\n[38] Universal Geography, vol. iii. p. 223.\n\n[39] Appendix, p. 466.\n\n[40] King James's Works, fol. from page 214 to 222.\n\n[41] Naturall and Morall Historie of the Indies, p. 289.\n\n[42] Silva Silvarum--Lassitude.\n\n[43] History of life and death. Lord Bacon's Works, vol. iii. p. 377.\n\n[44] Howell's Epist. Hoel. or Familiar Letters, p. 405.\n\n[45] In the TEXNODAMIA or Marriage of the Arts, by Barten Holiday, 1680,\nthere is a singular poem on the subject of Tobacco, where, in successive\nstanzas, if is compared to a musician, a lawyer, a physician, a\ntraveller, a crittike, an ignis fatuus, and a whyffler. Beloe's\nSketches, vol. ii. p. 10.\n\n[46] Notes on Virginia, pp. 278, 279.\n\n[47] Davies' Hist. of the Carriby Islands, fol. p. 192.\n\n[48] Ramazzini also says that the breath of those who labour at tobacco\nis intolerably offensive, \"efficit, ut tabacariarum semper foeteant\nanimae.\"\n\n[49] \"Tanta enim ex illa tritura partium tenuim,\" says Ramazzini,\n\"aestate praesertim, diffunditur exhalatio, ut tota vicinia tabaci odorem,\nnon sine querimonia, et nausea persentiat.\"\n\n[50] Puellam hebraeam novi, quae tota die explicandas placentas istas ex\ntabaco incumbens, magnum ad vomitum irritamentum sentiebat, et\nfrequenter alvi subductiones patiebatur, mihique narrabat, vasa\nhemorroidalia multum sanguinis profudisse, cum super placentas illas\nsederet.\n\n[51] Tourtel, in his Elemens d'Hygiene tom. ii. p. 410, assures us it is\nvery dangerous to sleep in tobacco magazines. He cites an observation of\nBuchoz, who says that a little girl, five years old, was seized with\nfrightful vomitings, and expired in a very short time from this sole\ncause.\n\n[52] This memoir is entitled \"Influence du tabac sur la sante des\nouvriers,\" and is published in the \"Annales d'hygiene publique et de\nmedecine legale,\" first volume, April, 1829--p. 169.\n\n[53] Mather's Christian Philosopher, p. 128.\n\n[54] M. Merat.\n\n[55] Rush's Essays, p. 261.\n\n[56] Flore Medicale, tom. six. p. 205.\n\n[57] Journey from Constantinople to England, p. 4.\n\n[58] Dictionnaire des Sciences Medicales. Art. Tabac.\n\n[59] Essays, p. 267.\n\n[60] Brodie, Macartney, &c. See also Nancrede's Orfila, p. 289.\n\n[61] Materia Medica, vol. ii. p. 197.\n\n[62] Mat. Med. vol. ii. p. 198.\n\n[63] Essays, p. 271.\n\n[64] Hist. N. America, vol. i. p. 322.\n\n[65] Rush's Works, vol. i. p. 167.\n\n[66] Essays, p. 270.\n\n[67] Macnish's Anatomy of Drunkenness, p. 83.\n\n[68] \"Qu'on ne pense pas, malgre l'usage immense et presque general du\ntabac, qu'il n'y ait aucun inconvenient a s'en servir. Les auteurs\nrapportent des faits qui prouvent le contraire, et sans ajouter foi a ce\nque raconte Borrichius (dans un lettre ecrite a Bartholin) d'une\npersonne qui s'etait tellement desseche le cerveau a force de prendre du\ntabac, qu'apres sa mort, on ne lui trouva dans le crane, au lieu\nd'encephale, qu'un petit grumeau noir; ni meme a ce que dit Simon Pauli,\nque ceux qui fument trop de tabac ont le cerveau et la crane tout noirs,\nnonplus qu'a l'assertion de Van Helmont qui a vu, affirme-t-il, un\nestomac teint enjaune par la vapeur du tabac; tout le monde sait qu'il\naffaiblit l'odorat par suite de ses irritations repetees sur la membrane\nolfactive, qu'il nuit a l'integrite du gout, parce qu'il en passe\ntoujours un peu dans la bouche et jusque sur la langue. Ce que l'on\nn'ignore pas nonplus c'est qu'il derange la memoire, la rends moins\nnette, moins entiere; il produit de plus des vertiges, des cephalees et\nmeme l'apoplexie.\"--_Dictionnaire des Sciences Medicales, art. Tabac._\n\n[69] Orfila's Toxicology, p. 291.\n\n[70] Essays, p. 265.\n\n[71] M. Merat.\n\n[72] Sketches of Literature and Scarce books, vol. ii. p. 130.\n\n[73] Mr. Brodigan, in his treatise on the tobacco plant, quotes\nHerodotus, Strabo, Pomponius Mela, and Solinus, to prove that _tobacco_\nwas smoked in very ancient times, but the passages merely go to show\nthat the smoking of _herbs_ was common.\n\n[74] Venner gives ten precepts on the manner in which tobacco is to be\nused, and afterwards summarily rehearses the consequences to all who use\nit contrary to the order and way he sets down; viz. that \"it drieth the\nbrain, dimmeth the sight, vitiateth the smell, dulleth and dejecteth\nboth the appitite and stomach, destroyeth the concoction, disturbeth the\nhumours and spirits, corrupteth the breath, induceth a trembling of the\nlimbs, exsiccateth the wind-pipe, lungs, and liver, annoyeth the milt,\nscorcheth the heart, and causeth the blood to be adusted. Moreover it\neliquateth the pinguie substance of the kidneys, and absumeth the\ngeniture. In a word, it overthroweth the spirits, perverteth the\nunderstanding, and confoundeth the sences with a sudden astonishment and\nstupiditie of the whole body.\" Via recta ad longam vitam. p. 404.\n\n[75] Christian Philosopher, p. 136.\n\n[76] Materia Medica, vol. ii. p. 196.\n\n[77] In many parts of Europe it is almost impossible for a tobacco\nchewer to be regarded as a gentleman.\n\n[78] The fashionable snuff-taker was formerly accustomed to dip up the\nsnuff with a little spoon or ladle, \"which ever and anon he gave his\nnose.\"\n\n[79] Natural Hist. Jam. vol. i. p. 147.\n\n\n\n\nART. VII.--_Voyages and Discoveries of the Companions of Columbus._ By\nWASHINGTON IRVING: Philadelphia: Carey & Lea: 1831.\n\n\nWhen we noticed, three years since, a former production of Mr. Irving,\nwe took occasion to express an opinion of its merits, which has been\nfully confirmed. No work of the present era appears to have afforded\nmore general and unmingled gratification to its readers, than his Life\nof Columbus; and he has received, in the approbation, not only of his\nown countrymen, but of Europeans, the most gratifying reward an author\ncan desire. The fame which he had acquired, and that most justly, by the\nhappy works of fiction in which he was introduced to the public, is now\nchanged into one of higher character; and he becomes entitled to take\nhis stand among those writers who have done more than amuse the fancy,\nor even gratify the heart. He is to be classed with the historians of\ngreat events; for if the period of which he has treated is limited, or\nthe persons whose actions he has described are not numerous, yet the one\nincluded within it, short as it was, circumstances that have produced an\neffect which long ages have not always surpassed in importance or\nwonderful consequences; and the others embrace individuals whose actions\nhave more deeply affected the human race than many of the revolutions of\ngreat and populous nations.\n\nHaving these feelings in regard to the former work of Mr. Irving, we\nopen the present volume with mingled apprehension and pleasure. We\nrejoice that we are to follow again the same guide in adventurous\nvoyages among the clustering Antilles; but we almost fear that the\nnarrative may want much of that interest, novelty, and beauty, which\nmake the story of Columbus among the most attractive ever recorded. The\nfollowers of the Admiral were, it is true, brave, adventurous, gallant\nmen; the skies beneath which they sailed were as blue, clear, and\ntranquil as when he first admired their delightful serenity; the islands\nthey visited were as flowery and as fertile as when they first blessed\nthe sight of the enterprising sailor; if the iron hand of Christian\ncivilization had, here and there, broken down the gentle and benevolent\nspirit of the naked beings who wandered through a life of inglorious\nbliss, in their remote and peaceful regions, there were yet haunts\nundiscovered where they might roam in undisturbed security--there were\nyet bays over which they might dart unobstructed their light\ncanoes--green and shady forests beneath which they might chant their\nsongs, and rich valleys not yet searched for gold. But yet with all\nthis, he, the master spirit, is no longer among the voyagers. There is\nno longer the novelty of a vast discovery. The way has been opened by\nthe daring pioneer, and we are now only to follow in the plain track his\ngenius conceived, discovered, and marked out. We can merely watch the\nfootsteps of those who followed the triumphal chariot; the hero of the\novation has already passed along, and our eyes are still dazzled with\nhis splendour--our minds are still filled with admiration of his genius,\nhis enterprise, his undaunted and noble spirit. We are to turn from\nthose loftier efforts of human intellect and perseverance, which mark,\nnow and then, a human being, as a beacon in the midst of his fellow men,\nto the more common, though it is true, the bold and spirited adventures\nwhich attend the fortunes of many in the career of life. The story of\nthese adventures is indeed full of interest, but it is an interest less\nin degree; and we can no more venture to compare it with that which\nattends the actions and fortunes of him who seeks and finds a new world,\nthan we can compare the patient inquirer, who nightly searches through\nhis telescope for new stars in the vast firmament, with him who\nproclaimed and proved the theory of the universe--than we can see in\nevery military exploit of Parmenio and Seleucus, the master spirit that\nplanned and effected the subjugation of the world.\n\nYet the pen which has described with so much felicity the life of\nColumbus, cannot fail to impart great attraction to an account of those\nwho followed in the career they had commenced with him; who were\nemboldened by the energy they had witnessed, and the success in which\nthey had partaken; and who completed the discovery of those regions,\nwhich he was permitted scarcely to see, and of whose vast extent he had\nno conception. While they were yet his associates, these voyagers had\nbecome acquainted with the pearl fisheries of Paria and Cubaga; they\nlearned to believe that they had approached the confines of the golden\nregions of the east, described by the ancients in glowing colours; and\nthey had heard something of a vast ocean to the south, in which they\nexpected to find the oriental islands of spice and perfumes. All that\nthey thus collected from tradition or partial observation, they\ntreasured up to form the groundwork of schemes for future adventures,\nwhich they might pursue for the purposes of individual gain, or from\nmotives of individual ambition, when no longer sailing under the ensign\nof their great commander. The more selfish objects of these exploits,\ntheir want of connexion with the lofty views that inspired Columbus, the\ncomparatively small scale on which they were conducted, gave to them a\nsort of daring and chivalrous character, which much resembles the\nwarfare of the predatory nobles of Europe during the middle ages. While\nthey were as far removed from the treacherous rapine of the buccaneers,\nas the inroads of the armed bands of knights were from the secret\nattacks of the robber and assassin; they were yet the offspring of\npersonal interest, and were distinguished by innumerable incidents of\npersonal valour. They offered new fields where the burning desire for\nromantic achievement might be gratified; and the old spirit of Castile,\nwhich no longer found scope among the fastnesses of Andalusia, or the\nrich valleys of Granada, was delighted to embark on the waves of an\nocean scarcely known, and to seek beyond it wealth and glory in golden\nregions, of which the discovery had already made one man the object of\nunmingled admiration and applause.\n\nOf these voyagers, the first to whom Mr. Irving directs our attention is\n_Alonzo de Ojeda_--a man whose daring exploits, enterprising spirit, and\nheadlong valour, cannot be forgotten by those who have already read the\nHistory of Columbus. He was his companion in the second voyage, and, it\nmay be remembered, attracted the admiration of the bold cacique Caonabo,\nwho paid that reverence to his undaunted prowess, which he refused to\nthe superior rank of Columbus. Whether his restless and ambitious spirit\ncould not bear the control of a superior, or whether he had formed,\nduring the voyage he had made, some plan of individual enterprise, he\ndid not accompany the admiral in his subsequent expeditions. He could\nnot, however, long endure the irksome life of a courtier; and he could\nless bear to hear, without desiring to partake of the discoveries which\nwere announced by every returning vessel, of new coasts and islands,\nabounding with drugs, spices, precious stones, and pearls, said to\nsurpass in size and clearness those gathered in the East. Through the\ninfluence of a relative, he obtained the patronage of the bishop Don\nJuan Rodriguez Fonseca, who had the chief management of the affairs of\nthe Indies, and was permitted to fit out an expedition to visit any\nterritories in the new world, except such as appertained to Portugal, or\nsuch as had been discovered in the name of Spain previous to the year\n1495. The latter part of the exception being craftily intended to leave\nopen to him the coast and pearl fisheries of Paria, notwithstanding the\nrights reserved to Columbus. Destitute of wealth, the young adventurer\ncontrived, by his reputation for boldness and enterprise, and by his\nconfident promises of rich rewards, to obtain money from the merchants\nof Seville. He united with him as associates, _Juan de la Cosa_, a hardy\nveteran who had already navigated the new seas with the admiral, and\n_Amerigo Vespucci_, who seems then to have been distinguished by little\nbut a roving disposition and a broken fortune, but who is now known from\nthe accident which has forever attached his name to the discoveries of\nColumbus.\n\nOjeda sailed from Port St. Mary on the 20th of May 1499; he reached land\non the coast of Surinam; thence he steered along the shore of South\nAmerica, passed and beheld with wonder the mouths of the mighty rivers\nthat there flow into the Atlantic, and first landed among the natives on\nthe island of Trinidad. He then kept his course along the coast of Terra\nFirma, until he arrived at Maracapana, where he unloaded and careened\nhis vessels, and built a small brigantine. He found the natives\nhospitable and well disposed, but differing greatly in character from\nthe gentle and peaceful inhabitants of the islands within the gulf. They\nwere tall, well made, and vigorous; expert with the bow, the lance, and\nthe buckler, and ready for the wars in which they delighted to engage.\nThe martial spirit of Ojeda was soon roused, and he readily proffered\nhis aid to the savages, in an expedition against a hostile tribe of\ncannibals, in a neighbouring island. As soon as his ships were refitted,\nhe attacked and defeated, with great slaughter, the savage warriors,\nwho, decorated with coronets of gaudy plumes, their bodies painted, and\narmed with bows, arrows, and lances, gallantly met and resolutely fought\nhim on the beach. He then pursued his voyage along the coast, passed the\nisland of Curacoa, and penetrated into the deep gulf to the south. On\nthe eastern shore he found an Indian village which struck him with\nsurprise. The houses were built on piles, and the communication was\ncarried on in canoes. From these resemblances to the Italian city, he\ncalled it Venezuela, or little Venice, a name it still bears, and which\nis now extended to the bay and the province around. The natives made a\ntreacherous attack on Ojeda, but manning his boats, the gallant Spaniard\ncharged among the thickest of the enemy, and soon drove them to the\nshore, whence they fled into the woods. Not desiring to cause useless\nirritation, he continued his voyage as far as the port of Maracaibo,\nwhich still retains its Indian name. In the territory beyond, called\nCoquibacoa, he found a gentler race of inhabitants, who received the\nSpaniards with delight, and solicited them to visit their towns.\n\n     \"Ojeda, in compliance with their entreaties, sent a detachment\n     of twenty-seven Spaniards on a visit to the interior. For nine\n     days they were conducted from town to town, and feasted and\n     almost idolized by the Indians, who regarded them as angelic\n     beings, performing their national dances and games, and\n     chanting their traditional ballads for their entertainment.\n\n     \"The natives of this part were distinguished for the symmetry\n     of their forms; the females in particular appeared to the\n     Spaniards to surpass all others that they had yet beheld in the\n     new world for grace and beauty; neither did the men evince, in\n     the least degree, that jealousy which prevailed in other parts\n     of the coast.\n\n     \"By the time the Spaniards set out on their return to the ship,\n     the whole country was aroused, pouring forth its population,\n     male and female, to do them honour. Some bore them in litters\n     or hammocks, that they might not be fatigued with the journey,\n     and happy was the Indian who had the honour of bearing a\n     Spaniard on his shoulders across a river. Others loaded\n     themselves with the presents that had been bestowed on their\n     guests, consisting of rich plumes, weapons of various kinds,\n     and tropical birds and animals. In this way they returned in\n     triumphant procession to the ships, the woods and shores\n     resounding with their songs and shouts.\n\n     \"Many of the Indians crowded into the boats that took the\n     detachment to the ships; others put off in canoes, or swam from\n     shore, so that in a little while the vessels were thronged with\n     upwards of a thousand wondering natives. While gazing and\n     marvelling at the strange objects around them, Ojeda ordered\n     the cannon to be discharged, at the sound of which, says\n     Vespucci, the Indians 'plunged into the water like so many\n     frogs from a bank.' Perceiving, however, that it was done in\n     harmless mirth, they returned on board, and passed the rest of\n     the day in great festivity. The Spaniards brought away with\n     them several of the beautiful and hospitable females from this\n     place, one of whom, named by them Isabel, was much prized by\n     Ojeda, and accompanied him in a subsequent voyage.\"\n\nLeaving these friendly Indians, Ojeda pursued his way along the coast to\nthe westward, until he reached cape de la Vela. During his long voyage\nhe had been disappointed in finding the ready treasures of gold and\npearls which he had expected, and now, wearied with his fruitless\nefforts, and embarrassed by the crazy state of his vessels, he resolved\nreluctantly to return to Spain. On his way, he stopped, in spite of the\nclause in his commission, at Hispaniola, to cut dye-wood, but was\nprevented by the governor, and obliged to set sail. He then cruised\namong the islands, and seizing the natives, carried them home to sell\nfor slaves. He reached Cadiz in June, 1500, but so unproductive was his\nexpedition, that it is said, after the expenses were paid, but five\nhundred ducats remained to be divided among fifty-five adventurers.\n\nThe private enterprise of Ojeda did not fail to excite the same spirit\namong other followers of Columbus, who remained in Spain. He had been\nscarcely a month gone, before _Pedro Alonzo Nino_, who had been the\npilot of the admiral on his first voyage, set out from Palos with\n_Christoval Guerra_, the brother of a Sevillian merchant who supplied\nthe outfit. The vessel of these bold adventurers was but a bark of fifty\ntons, the crew but thirty-three men--yet with the daring spirit of the\nSpanish sailors of those days, they embarked fearlessly and joyfully to\nexplore barbarous shores and unknown seas. Reaching the coasts of Paria\nand Cumana, they carried on for some time a profitable commerce with the\nnatives, from whom they obtained pearls and gold in exchange for glass\nbeads and other trinkets; but falling in at length with tribes less\npeaceful, and not, like Ojeda, enjoying warlike renown as much as\nprofitable traffic, they returned to Spain after an absence of ten\nmonths, and making fewer discoveries but more profit than had yet\nresulted from any voyage across the Atlantic.\n\nIn the month of December of the same year, 1499, _Vicente, Yanez\nPinzon_, one of the three brave men of that family who aided Columbus in\nhis first voyage, but who had since remained in Spain, owing to the\ndifference that arose between his brother and the admiral, embarked with\ntwo of his nephews, sons of Martin Alonzo, in an armament consisting of\nfour caravels, from the port of Palos, the cradle of American discovery.\nCarried by a storm south of the equator, they were perplexed with the\nnew aspect of the heavens, and it was not till the 28th of January,\n1500, that they were consoled by the sight of land. The headland they\nsaw, now known as cape St. Augustin, the most prominent point of Brazil,\nthey named Santa Maria de la Consolacion. They found the natives warlike\nand inhospitable, treating with haughty contempt the hawks' bills and\ntrinkets which were exhibited to them; and Pinzon and his weary\nmessmates were fain to pursue their voyages, amid occasional conflicts\nwhenever they landed, along the shores that stretched to the north. He\ndiscovered the mouth of the vast river of the Amazons, visited a number\nof fresh and verdant islands lying within it, and thence passing the\ngulf of Paria, made his way directly to Hispaniola. From there, sailing\nto the Bahamas, he encountered a violent storm, and sustained so much\ndamage that he returned to Spain.\n\nScarcely had Pinzon sailed from Palos, when he was followed by his\ntownsman _Diego de Lepe_. Of his voyage, however, but little is known,\nexcept that he doubled cape St. Augustin, and enjoyed for ten years the\nreputation of having extended his discoveries farther south than any\nother voyager.\n\nIn October following, soon after the return of Ojeda, a wealthy notary\nof Seville, by name _Rodrigo de Bastides_, desirous of speculating in\nthe new El Dorado, engaged the services of the veteran pilot and\ncompanion of Ojeda, Juan de la Cosa, and set out with two caravels in\nquest of gold and pearls. They continued the discoveries along Terra\nFirma, from cape de la Vela, where Ojeda had stopped, to the port\nafterwards called Nombre de Dios; they treated the natives kindly, and\nacquired rich cargoes; but unfortunately their vessels were cast away on\nthe coast of Hispaniola, and the crews were forced to travel on foot to\nthe city of St. Domingo, provided only with a small store of trinkets\nand other articles of Indian traffic, with which to buy provisions on\nthe road. The moment Bastides made his appearance, he was seized as an\nillicit trader by the governor Bobadilla, the oppressor and superseder\nof Columbus, and sent for trial to Spain. He was there acquitted, and\nhis voyage was so lucrative, that he had considerable profit after all\nhis misfortunes.\n\nThe reports of these successive adventures were not heard by Ojeda, who\nhad continued to linger about the bishop of Fonseca, without reanimating\nhis bold spirit. He found numbers ready to listen to his wonderful\nstories, and embark in his wild expeditions; he found others who desired\nto increase their wealth, by aiding him with the means to renew them.\nThe king made him governor of the province of Coquibacoa, which he had\ndiscovered; and in 1502 he again set sail, with four vessels well fitted\nout. Arriving at his new government, he selected a bay which he named\nSanta Cruz, but which is supposed to be that now called Bahia Honda, as\nthe site of a settlement, and commenced at once the erection of a\nfortress. Before long, however, dissensions broke out between him and\nsome of his principal companions, which ended in his being seized by the\nlatter, accused as a defaulter to the crown of Spain, and thrown into\nirons. The whole community then set sail with their former chief for St.\nDomingo. They arrived at the island of Hispaniola, and while at anchor\nwithin a stone's throw of the land, Ojeda, confident of his strength and\nskill as a swimmer, let himself quietly down the side of the ship during\nthe night, and tried to gain the shore. His arms were free, but his feet\nwere shackled, and the weight of the irons threatened to sink him. He\nwas obliged to call for help; a boat was sent from the ship; and the\nunfortunate governor, half drowned, was restored to captivity. He was\ntried at San Domingo and condemned, but appealing to the sovereign, was\nafterwards acquitted. The long litigation, however, exhausted his\nfortune, and he again found himself a ruined man.\n\nIf ruined, however, he was yet in the vigour of his years, and his\nspirit was undaunted. He still yearned for the gold of Terra Firma. All\nhe wanted was money to fit out an armament. In this difficulty he was\naided by an old and tried friend. Juan de la Cosa, the hardy pilot of\nColumbus, and the companion of Ojeda in his first voyage, and\nsubsequently of Rodrigo de Bastides, had remained in Hispaniola, and\ncontrived to fill his purse in subsequent cruises among the islands. The\nfriends united together, and applied to the crown of Spain for a grant\nof territory and command on Terra Firma. A similar application was made\nabout the same time by Diego de Nicuesa, an accomplished courtier of\nnoble birth.--\n\n     \"Nature, education, and habit, seemed to have combined to form\n     Nicuesa as a complete rival of Ojeda. Like him he was small of\n     stature, but remarkable for symmetry and compactness of form,\n     and for bodily strength and activity; like him he was master at\n     all kinds of weapons, and skilled, not merely in feats of\n     agility, but in those graceful and chivalrous exercises, which\n     the Spanish cavaliers of those days had inherited from the\n     Moors; being noted for his vigour and address in the jousts or\n     tilting matches after the Moresco fashion. Ojeda himself could\n     not surpass him in feats of horsemanship, and particular\n     mention is made of a favourite mare, which he could make caper\n     and carricol in strict cadence to the sound of a viol; beside\n     all this, he was versed in the legendary ballads or romances of\n     his country, and was renowned as a capital performer on the\n     guitar! Such were the qualifications of this candidate for a\n     command in the wilderness, as enumerated by the reverend Bishop\n     Las Casas. It is probable, however, that he had given evidence\n     of qualities more adapted to the desired post; having already\n     been out to Hispaniola in the military train of the late\n     Governor Ovando.\"\n\nKing Ferdinand found some difficulty in deciding between the claims of\ncandidates whose merits were so singularly balanced; he ultimately\ndivided that part of the continent lying along the isthmus, and\nextending from cape de la Vela to cape Gracias a Dios, into two\nprovinces, separated by the bay of Uraba, which is at the head of the\ngulf of Darien. Of these provinces, the eastern was assigned to Ojeda,\nthe western to Nicuesa.\n\nThe armaments of the rival governors met in the port of St. Domingo. It\nwas not long before cause of collision arose between two men, both\npossessed of such swelling spirits. They quarrelled about the boundaries\nof their governments, and the province of Darien was boldly claimed by\neach.--\n\n     \"Their disputes on these points ran so high, that the whole\n     place resounded with them. In talking, however, Nicuesa had the\n     advantage; having been brought up in the court, he was more\n     polished and ceremonious, had greater self-command, and\n     probably perplexed his rival governor in argument. Ojeda was no\n     great casuist, but he was an excellent swordsman, and always\n     ready to fight his way through any question of right or dignity\n     which he could not clearly argue with the tongue; so he\n     proposed to settle the dispute by single combat. Nicuesa,\n     though equally brave, was more a man of the world, and saw the\n     folly of such arbitrament. Secretly smiling at the heat of his\n     antagonist, he proposed as a preliminary to the duel, and to\n     furnish something worth fighting for, that each should deposit\n     five thousand castillanos, to be the prize of the victor. This,\n     as he foresaw, was a temporary check upon the fiery valour of\n     his rival, who did not possess a pistole in his treasury; but\n     probably was too proud to confess it.\"\n\nHow long the poverty of Ojeda could have kept down his fiery spirit, we\nmay doubt. Fortunately he had in his companion, the brave Juan de la\nCosa, a friend who could control him, as well as follow and support him.\nJuan reconciled, at least for a time, the quarrel of the rival\ngovernors, and it was agreed that the river Darien should be the\nboundary of their provinces. Things being thus arranged, Ojeda was\nanxious to set sail; he still, however, wanted pecuniary assistance to\ncomplete his equipment; though careless of money himself, he seems to\nhave had a facility in commanding the purses of his neighbours; and on\nthis occasion he found, in a quarter, where perhaps he could scarce have\nexpected it, both personal and pecuniary aid. There lived at San\nDomingo, the bachelor _Martin Fernandez de Enciso,_ a shrewd lawyer, who\nhad contrived to accumulate a considerable fortune by the litigation\nwhich already flourished in the New World. He was dazzled by the visions\nof unbounded wealth, he was promised the lofty office and title of\nAlcalde Mayor, and in an evil hour the worthy bachelor united in the\nenterprise of Ojeda, in search of fame and fortune. It was determined\nthat he should stay at St. Domingo till he could collect a larger store\nof provisions and more men; and then follow his partner, who set sail\nwithout delay. The armament of Nicuesa still remained in port; for that\ngallant cavalier, notwithstanding his challenge to his rival, had\nexhausted all the money he could raise; he was even threatened with a\nprison; and it was not till some time after his rival had sailed, that\nhe was enabled by unexpected assistance to embark.\n\nIn the month of November 1509, Ojeda reached the harbour of Cartagena,\nin his new province. In addition to Juan de la Cosa, he had as a\ncompanion _Francisco Pizarro_, who afterwards conquered Peru. The\nformer, knowing from previous voyages the savage character of the\nnatives, advised Ojeda not to stop there, but to proceed to the bay of\nUraba. Such advice was useless to a proud warrior, who despised a naked\nand a savage foe. Having failed to keep his commander from danger, the\nfaithful Juan could only stand by to aid him. Ojeda, who was a good\nCatholic, thought that he performed a pious duty in reducing the savages\nto the dominion of the king and the knowledge of the true faith. He\ncarried as a protecting relic a small painting of the Holy Virgin; he\nsummoned the Indians in the name of the Pope, and he assured them in\nthe most solemn terms that they were the lawful subjects of the\nsovereigns of Castile.\n\n     \"On landing, he advanced towards the savages, and ordered the\n     friars to read aloud a certain formula, which had recently been\n     digested by profound jurists and divines in Spain. It began in\n     stately form. 'I, Alonzo de Ojeda, servant of the most high and\n     mighty sovereigns of Castile and Leon, conquerors of barbarous\n     nations, their messenger and captain, do notify unto you, and\n     make you know, in the best way I can, that God our Lord, one\n     and eternal, created the heaven and the earth, and one man and\n     one woman, from whom you and we, and all the people of the\n     earth proceeded, and are descendants, as well as all those who\n     shall come hereafter.' The formula then went on to declare the\n     fundamental principles of the Catholic Faith; the supreme power\n     given to St. Peter over the world and all the human race, and\n     exercised by his representative the pope; the donation made by\n     a late pope of all this part of the world and all its\n     inhabitants, to the Catholic sovereigns of Castile; and the\n     ready obedience which had already been paid by many of its\n     lands and islands and people to the agents and representatives\n     of those sovereigns. It called upon those savages present,\n     therefore, to do the same, to acknowledge the truth of the\n     Christian doctrines, the supremacy of the pope, and the\n     sovereignty of the Catholic King, but, in case of refusal, it\n     denounced upon them all the horrors of war, the desolation of\n     their dwelling, the seizure of their property, and the slavery\n     of their wives and children. Such was the extraordinary\n     document, which, from this time forward, was read by the\n     Spanish discoverers to the wondering savages of any newly-found\n     country, as a prelude to sanctify the violence about to be\n     inflicted on them.\"\n\nThe pious manifesto was uttered in vain to the warlike savages: they\nbrandished their weapons, and Ojeda, after a short prayer to the Virgin,\nhad to discard the parchment, brace up his armour, and charge the foe at\nthe head of his followers. He was not long in defeating his naked\nenemies, who fled into the forests. Juan de la Cosa again tried his\ninfluence with his commander, and urged him to desist from pursuit. It\nwas in vain. Ojeda, with Juan faithfully at his side, rushed madly on\nthrough the mazes of unknown woods. The Indians rallied and waylaid the\nimprudent Spaniards. It was in vain that Ojeda inspired them with fresh\ncourage by the example of his undaunted prowess. Numbers prevailed; the\nweapons of the savages were steeped in a deadly poison; and one after\none the invaders were left dead. Among those who fell was the brave Juan\nde la Cosa; and a Spaniard, who was near him when he died, was the only\nsurviver of seventy that had followed Ojeda in his rash and headlong\ninroad.\n\nFor days those who remained at the ships waited the arrival of their\ncompanions. They searched the woods and shouted along the shore, but\nthey could hear no signal from them. What was their surprise one day, at\ncatching in a thicket of mangrove trees, a glimpse of a man in Spanish\nattire. They entered, and found the unfortunate Ojeda; he lay on the\nmatted roots of the trees; he was speechless, wan, and wasted; but his\nhand still grasped his sword. They restored him with wine and a warm\nfire; he recounted the story of his rash expedition; of his struggles\namong rocks and forests to reach the shore; and he bitterly reproached\nhimself with the death of his faithful companion. While the crowd of\nSpaniards were yet on the beach administering to the recovery of their\ncommander, they beheld steering into the harbour, a squadron of ships,\nwhich they soon recognised as that of Nicuesa. Ojeda recollected at once\nhis quarrel; his valiant spirit was quelled by the hardships he had\nsuffered; he feared to meet his rival; and he directed his followers to\nleave him concealed in the woods until the disposition of Nicuesa should\nbe known.--\n\n     \"As the squadron entered the harbour, the boats sallied forth\n     to meet it. The first inquiry of Nicuesa was concerning Ojeda.\n     The followers of the latter replied, mournfully, that their\n     commander had gone on a warlike expedition into the country,\n     but days had elapsed without his return, so that they feared\n     some misfortune had befallen him. They entreated Nicuesa,\n     therefore, to give his word, as a cavalier, that should Ojeda\n     really be in distress, he would not take advantage of his\n     misfortunes to revenge himself for their late disputes.\n\n     \"Nicuesa, who was a gentleman of noble and generous spirit,\n     blushed with indignation at such a request. 'Seek your\n     commander instantly,' said he; 'bring him to me if he be alive;\n     and I pledge myself not merely to forget the past, but to aid\n     him as if he were a brother.'\n\n     \"When they met, Nicuesa received his late foe with open arms.\n     'It is not,' said he, 'for Hidalgos, like men of vulgar souls,\n     to remember past differences when they behold one another in\n     distress. Henceforth, let all that has occurred between us be\n     forgotten. Command me as a brother. Myself and my men are at\n     your orders, to follow you wherever you please, until the\n     deaths of Juan de la Cosa and his comrades are revenged.'\n\n     \"The spirits of Ojeda were once more lifted up by this gallant\n     and generous offer. The two governors, no longer rivals, landed\n     four hundred of their men and several horses, and set off with\n     all speed for the fatal village. They approached it in the\n     night, and, dividing their forces into two parties, gave orders\n     that not an Indian should be taken alive.\"\n\nDreadful indeed was the carnage, and fierce the vengeance the two\ncommanders wreaked upon the natives. Having sacked the village, they\nleft it a smoking ruin, and returned in triumph to their ships. The\nspoil, which was great, was divided among the followers of each\ngovernor, and they now parted with many expressions of friendship,\nNicuesa proceeding westward to his province.\n\nOjeda did not long continue at a spot so fatal. He proceeded along the\ncoast, and at length selected a height on the east side, at the entrance\nof the gulf of Darien, as the place for his town, which he named St.\nSebastian. He immediately erected a fortress to defend himself against\nthe natives, and considering this as his permanent seat of government,\ndespatched a ship to Hispaniola, with a letter to the bachelor Enciso,\nrequesting him to join the colony with the provisions and men he had\ncollected. In the meanwhile, those who remained soon exhausted the\nstores they had, and were reduced to great want. They were fortunately\nrelieved by the arrival of a vessel commanded by _Bernardo de_\n_Talavera_, a reckless adventurer, who being threatened with\nimprisonment by his creditors in St. Domingo, had persuaded a set of\nmen, as reckless as himself, to seize by force a vessel, lying off shore\nloaded with provisions, and join the new colony. While the supply\nbrought by Talavera lasted, Ojeda was able to pacify his murmuring\ncompanions, and to persuade them peacefully to await the arrival of\nEnciso. When this however was exhausted, and famine threatened them,\nthey became outrageous in their clamours, and Ojeda was compelled, as\nthe only means of appeasing them, to agree to go himself to St. Domingo\nfor aid, leaving those who stayed under the command of Francisco\nPizarro, as his lieutenant. Talavera, already tired of the hardships he\nhad encountered, was willing enough to return, and set sail with the\ncommander in his vessel. The ill luck which had attended Ojeda during\nthis expedition still continued. The vessel was cast on the island of\nCuba, and completely wrecked; and the unhappy Spaniards had no choice\nbut to perish on the beach, or to traverse the wide morasses that spread\nalong the coast, until they reached some place where they could obtain\naid. These morasses, as they proceeded, became deeper and deeper, the\nwater sometimes reaching to their girdles; and when they slept, they had\nto creep up among the twisted roots of the mangrove trees, which grew in\nclusters in the waters. Of all the party, Ojeda alone kept up his spirit\nundaunted. He cheered his companions; he shared his food among them;\nwhenever he stopped to repose in the mangrove trees, he took out his\ntreasured picture of the Virgin, which he had carefully preserved\nthrough all his troubles, and placing it before him, commended himself\nto the Holy Mother; and by persuading his companions to join him, he\nrenewed their patience and courage. It was on one of these occasions\nthat he made a vow to erect a chapel and leave his relic in the first\nIndian town to which he came. At length, after incredible sufferings,\nthey reached a village; the natives gathered round the poor wanderers,\nand gazed at them with wonder; they treated them with humanity, and\nafter restoring them to health and strength, aided and accompanied them\ntill they reached the point of land nearest Jamaica. At that spot they\nprocured canoes, arrived at a settlement of their countrymen, and thence\nreturned to St. Domingo.\n\nOjeda was too pious a Catholic to forget the vow he had made in his\ndistress, though it must have sorely grieved him to part with the relic\nto which he attributed his safety in so many perils. At the village,\nhowever, where he had been so kindly succoured, he faithfully performed\nit.\n\n     \"He built a little hermitage or oratory in the village, and\n     furnished it with an altar, above which he placed the picture.\n     He then summoned the benevolent cacique, and explained to him,\n     as well as his limited knowledge of the language, or the aid of\n     interpreters would permit, the main points of the Catholic\n     faith, and especially the history of the Virgin, whom he\n     represented as the mother of the Deity that reigned in the\n     skies, and the great advocate for mortal man.\n\n     \"The worthy cacique listened to him with mute attention, and\n     though he might not clearly comprehend the doctrine, yet he\n     conceived a profound veneration for the picture. The sentiment\n     was shared by his subjects. They kept the little oratory always\n     swept clean, and decorated it with cotton hangings, laboured by\n     their own hands, and with various votive offerings. They\n     composed couplets or areytos in honour of the Virgin, which\n     they sang to the accompaniment of rude musical instruments,\n     dancing to the sound under the groves which surrounded the\n     hermitage.\n\n     \"A further anecdote concerning this relique may not be\n     unacceptable. The venerable Las Casas, who records these facts,\n     informs us that he arrived at the village of Cuebas some time\n     after the departure of Ojeda. He found the oratory preserved\n     with the most religious care, as a sacred place, and the\n     picture of the Virgin regarded with fond adoration. The poor\n     Indians crowded to attend mass, which he performed at the\n     altar; they listened attentively to his paternal instructions,\n     and at his request brought their children to be baptized. The\n     good Las Casas having heard much of this famous relique of\n     Ojeda, was desirous of obtaining possession of it, and offered\n     to give the cacique in exchange, an image of the Virgin which\n     he had brought with him. The chieftain made an evasive answer,\n     and seemed much troubled in mind. The next morning he did not\n     make his appearance.\n\n     \"Las Casas went to the oratory to perform mass, but found the\n     altar stripped of its precious relique. On inquiring, he learnt\n     that in the night the cacique had fled to the woods, bearing\n     off with him his beloved picture of the Virgin. It was in vain\n     that Las Casas sent messengers after him, assuring him that he\n     should not be deprived of the relique, but, on the contrary,\n     that the image should likewise be presented to him. The cacique\n     refused to venture from the fastnesses of the forest, nor did\n     he return to his village and replace the picture in the\n     oratory, until after the departure of the Spaniards.\"\n\nThe fate of Ojeda was that of a ruined man. He lingered for some time at\nSan Domingo, but he no longer appeared there as the governor of a\nprovince. He was a needy wanderer. His health was broken down by wounds\nand hardships, and he died at last so poor that he did not leave money\nenough to pay for his interment; and so broken in spirit, that he\nentreated with his last breath, that his body might be buried at the\nportal of the Monastery of St. Francisco, in humble expiation of his\npast pride, \"so that every one who entered might tread upon his grave.\"\n\nWhen the gallant and generous minded Nicuesa left Ojeda, he sailed to\nthe west to encounter perils still greater than his rival endured. His\nsquadron arrived safely on the coast of Veragua. He there embarked\nhimself in a small caravel belonging to it, that he might the better\nexplore the inlets and places along the shore, committing the charge of\nthe other vessels to his lieutenant Lope de Olano. One night, shortly\nafter making this arrangement, a violent storm came on, and when day\ndawned, Nicuesa was left without one of the squadron in sight. Taking\nrefuge in a river, his caravel was wrecked, and the unfortunate\ncommander was left on the desert shore with the crew of the vessel, and\nnothing remaining to them but the boat, which was accidentally cast on\nthe beach. Day after day they hoped for the arrival of their\ncompanions, until they began to suspect that the lieutenant had\ndetermined to profit by the absence of Nicuesa, assume his power, and\nleave him to perish. They wandered along shore, in the direction, as\nthey supposed, of the place where they had been separated from the\nsquadron. They crossed the rivers and sailed to the islands near the\ncoast in their boat. At length, to complete their misfortunes, at one of\nthe latter, four of the party deserted, took with them the boat, and\nleft their commander and the rest of the party, without food,\nassistance, or means to regain the land. In this sad situation they\nremained for weeks; many of them died, and those who lived envied,\ninstead of mourning over, their fate. At length one of the brigantines\nof the squadron appeared; it had been sent by Lope de Olano, who had\nbeen found by the four mariners in the boat; and Nicuesa and the\nsurvivers were conveyed to their companions, who had made a settlement\nat the mouth of the river Belen. Finding that spot unhealthy, Nicuesa\nbroke up the settlement, and established the remnant of his once large\ncolony, now reduced to a hundred emaciated wretches, at \"El Nombre de\nDios.\" \"Here let us stop,\" exclaimed the weary commander to his\ncompanions, \"in the name of God (en el nombre de Dios,)\"--whence the\nport derived its name.\n\nWhile the two governors were thus struggling to establish their\ncolonies, the bachelor Enciso, whom we have mentioned as having enlisted\nwith Ojeda, set out from St. Domingo to join that adventurer with the\nmen and provisions he had collected. Among his recruits was _Vasco Nunez\nde Balboa_, another name destined to become famous on these seas. The\nbachelor had hardly reached Terra Firma before he fell in with Francisco\nPizarro, and the small remains of the colony left by Ojeda at St.\nSebastian. He heard the story of their misfortunes and the departure of\ntheir commander, but nothing daunted, the worthy gentleman of the robe\nassumed the courageous bearing of a knight errant, and determined to\npursue the adventures on which he had embarked. Having heard of a great\nsepulchre not far in the interior, where the natives were said to be\nburied with all their ornaments of gold, he determined at once to pounce\non so valuable a mine. He held it no sacrilege to plunder the graves of\npagans and infidels, and he took care to secure the law on his side, by\ncausing to be read and interpreted to all the caciques, a declaration,\ninforming them of the nature of the Deity, the supremacy of the pope,\nand the undoubted validity of his grant of their country to the Catholic\nsovereigns.\n\n     \"The caciques listened to the whole very attentively, and\n     without interruption, according to the laws of Indian courtesy.\n     They then replied, that, as to the assertion that there was but\n     one God, the sovereign of heaven and earth, it seemed to them\n     good, and that such must be the case; but as to the doctrine\n     that the pope was regent of the world in place of God, and\n     that he had made a grant of their country to the Spanish king,\n     they observed that the pope must have been drunk to give away\n     what was not his, and the king must have been somewhat mad to\n     ask at his hands what belonged to others. They added, that they\n     were lords of those lands, and needed no other sovereign, and\n     if this king should come to take possession, they would cut off\n     his head and put it on a pole; that being their mode of dealing\n     with their enemies.--As an illustration of this custom, they\n     pointed out to Enciso the very uncomfortable spectacle of a row\n     of grisly heads impaled in the neighbourhood.\"\n\nOn hearing this answer, the bachelor at once discarded the legal, and\nassumed the warlike character. He charged the Indians, and routed them\nwith ease. He forthwith plundered the sepulchres, but whether he\nobtained the expected booty is not recorded. After this exploit, the\nworthy bachelor set about establishing the provincial government as\nAlcalde Mayor of Ojeda. St. Sebastian being in ruins, and the scene of\nso many misfortunes, was speedily deserted, and by the advice of Vasco\nNunez he seized on the village of Darien, drove out the inhabitants,\ncollected at it great quantities of food and golden ornaments, and\nestablished his capital under the sounding title of Santa Maria de la\nAntigua del Darien.\n\nIt so happened that this new town was on the western shore of the river\nDarien, and consequently within the province of Nicuesa, not of Ojeda.\nSome discontented or ambitious persons in the colony took advantage of\nthis, and attacked the alcalde in his own way, with legal weapons,\nquestioning his right to rule. Among these Vasco Nunez and one Zamudio\nwere the leaders, and aspired to the bachelor's post. It was however at\nlast determined to seek for the rightful head of the colony, Nicuesa;\nand bring him to the new capital. That woe-worn commander accepted with\ndelight the unexpected proffer; foolishly however he assumed at once the\nhaughty airs of a governor, and before he had seen his new colony, spoke\nof the punishment he would inflict on the disturbers of its harmony. The\ninhabitants of Darien heard of this language, and repented of their\nhasty measure. Placing Vasco Nunez at their head, they awaited the\narrival of Nicuesa on the beach, and when they saw his vessel enter the\nbay, refused him permission to land. It was in vain that the unfortunate\ncavalier entreated, promised, and explained. Even Vasco Nunez, who was\nof a generous spirit, supplicated for his reception as a private\nindividual, without effect. The determination of the populace was made\nup; and sad to tell, Nicuesa was driven to sea in his crazy bark, and\nnever heard of more.\n\nThe bachelor Enciso now again claimed his right to command the colony.\nThe people, however, were all on the side of Vasco Nunez; he had become\na great favourite, from his frank and fearless character, and his\nwinning affability; in fact, he was peculiarly calculated to manage the\nfiery and the factious, yet generous and susceptible nature of his\ncountrymen, and in addition to this he was in the vigour of his age,\ntall, well formed and hardy. After a fruitless struggle, Enciso left the\ncolony, and Vasco Nunez, well aware of the appeal he would make to the\nSpanish government, sent at the same time Zamudio to represent and\ndefend him before the same tribunal. Vasco Nunez at once exerted himself\nto prove his capacity as governor. His first expedition was against\nCareta, the neighbouring cacique of Coyba, for the purpose of obtaining\nsupplies. By a stratagem he made captives of the cacique, his wives, and\nchildren, and many of his people. He discovered also their store of\nprovisions, and returned with his booty and his captives to Darien.\n\n     \"When the unfortunate cacique beheld his family in chains, and\n     in the hands of strangers, his heart was wrung with despair;\n     'What have I done to thee,' said he to Vasco Nunez, 'that thou\n     shouldst treat me thus cruelly? None of thy people ever came to\n     my land that were not fed, and sheltered, and treated with\n     loving kindness. When thou camest to my dwelling, did I meet\n     thee with a javelin in my hand? Did I not set meat and drink\n     before thee, and welcome thee as a brother? Set me free\n     therefore, with my family and people, and we will remain thy\n     friends. We will supply thee with provisions, and reveal to\n     thee the riches of the land. Dost thou doubt my faith? Behold\n     my daughter, I give her to thee as a pledge of friendship. Take\n     her for thy wife, and be assured of the fidelity of her family\n     and her people!'\n\n     \"Vasco Nunez felt the force of these words, and knew the\n     importance of forming a strong alliance among the natives. The\n     captive maid, also, as she stood trembling and dejected before\n     him, found great favour in his eyes, for she was young and\n     beautiful. He granted, therefore, the prayer of the cacique,\n     and accepted his daughter, engaging, moreover, to aid the\n     father against his enemies, on condition of his furnishing\n     provisions to the colony.\n\n     \"Careta remained three days at Darien, during which time, he\n     was treated with the utmost kindness. Vasco Nunez took him on\n     board of his ships and showed him every part of them. He\n     displayed before him also the war horses, with their armour and\n     rich caparisons, and astonished him with the thunder of\n     artillery. Lest he should be too much daunted by these warlike\n     spectacles, he caused the musicians to perform a harmonious\n     concert on their instruments, at which the cacique was lost in\n     admiration. Thus having impressed him with a wonderful idea of\n     the power and endowments of his new allies, he loaded him with\n     presents and permitted him to depart.\n\n     \"Careta returned joyfully to his territories, and his daughter\n     remained with Vasco Nunez, willingly for his sake giving up her\n     family and native home. They were never married, but she\n     considered herself his wife, as she really was, according to\n     the usages of her own country, and he treated her with\n     fondness, allowing her gradually to acquire great influence\n     over him. To his affection for this damsel, his ultimate ruin\n     is, in some measure, to be ascribed.\"\n\nVasco Nunez did not neglect the favourable occasion these circumstances\noffered, of extending his power among the neighbouring Indians. Those\nwho were hostile he attacked; those who were friendly he conciliated.\nFrom all he obtained supplies of provisions and gold, to support and\nenrich his colony. It was in one of his excursions to a friendly chief,\nthe cacique of Comagre, that he obtained the information which gave\ngreater scope to his adventurous spirit, and enabled him to place\nhimself in the same degree with Pizarro and Cortez among the\ndiscoverers who succeeded the great admiral. The cacique had made a\npresent or tribute of a large quantity of gold, and the followers of\nVasco Nunez quarrelled as they were dividing among them their respective\nshares in the presence of the Indian chief.\n\n     \"The high minded savage was disgusted at this sordid brawl\n     among beings whom he had regarded with such reverence. In the\n     first impulse of his disdain he struck the scale with his fist,\n     and scattered the glittering gold about the porch. Before the\n     Spaniards could recover from their astonishment at this sudden\n     act, he thus addressed them: 'Why should you quarrel for such a\n     trifle? If this gold is indeed so precious in your eyes, that\n     for it alone you abandon your homes, invade the peaceful lands\n     of others, and expose yourselves to such sufferings and perils,\n     I will tell you of a region where you may gratify your wishes\n     to the utmost.--Behold those lofty mountains,' continued he,\n     pointing to the south; 'beyond these lies a mighty sea, which\n     may be discerned from their summit. It is navigated by people\n     who have vessels almost as large as yours, and furnished, like\n     them, with sails and oars. All the streams which flow down the\n     southern side of those mountains into that sea abound in gold;\n     and the kings who reign upon its borders eat and drink out of\n     golden vessels. Gold, in fact, is as plentiful and common among\n     those people of the south as iron is among you Spaniards.'\n\n     \"Struck with this intelligence, Vasco Nunez inquired eagerly as\n     to the means of penetrating to this sea and to the opulent\n     regions on its shores. 'The task,' replied the prince, 'is\n     difficult and dangerous. You must pass through the territories\n     of many powerful caciques, who will oppose you with hosts of\n     warriors. Some parts of the mountains are infested by fierce\n     and cruel cannibals, a wandering lawless race: but, above all,\n     you will have to encounter the great cacique Tubanama, whose\n     territories are at the distance of six days journey, and more\n     rich in gold than any other province; this cacique will be sure\n     to come forth against you with a mighty force. To accomplish\n     your enterprise, therefore, will require at least a thousand\n     men armed like those who follow you.\"\n\nThe effect of this intelligence, on the enterprising spirit of Vasco\nNunez, may be well imagined. The Pacific ocean and its golden realms\nseemed to be at his feet. He beheld within his power an enterprise which\nwould at once elevate him from a wandering and desperate man, to a rank\namong the great captains and discoverers of the earth. He lost no time\nin making every preparation to realize the splendid vision. With this\nobject he sent for aid to Don Diego Columbus, who then governed at St.\nDomingo; and in the mean time endeavoured to strengthen himself with the\nsurrounding tribes of natives, and to quiet the spirit of\ninsubordination which would occasionally break out at Darien. At length,\non the 1st of September, 1513, he set out with one hundred and ninety\nSpaniards, and a number of Indians. At Coyba he left half his company\nwith the cacique Careta, to await his return, and with the residue, on\nthe sixth of the month, struck off towards the mountains. By some of the\nIndian tribes he was kindly received, by others hostile intentions were\ndisplayed. These were soon overcome by the use of fire arms and blood\nhounds, which terrified the natives and put them at once to flight. On\nthe evening of the 25th of September, the party, now reduced to\nsixty-seven Spaniards, arrived at the foot of the last mountain, from\nwhose top they were told they would command the long sought prospect.\nVasco Nunez obtained fresh Indian guides, and ordered his men to retire\nearly to repose, that they might be ready to set off at the cool and\nfresh hour of daybreak, so as to reach the summit of the mountain before\nthe noontide heat.\n\n     \"The day had scarcely dawned, when Vasco Nunez and his\n     followers set forth from the Indian village and began to climb\n     the height. It was a severe and rugged toil for men so wayworn,\n     but they were filled with new ardour at the idea of the\n     triumphant scene that was so soon to repay them for all their\n     hardships.\n\n     \"About ten o'clock in the morning they emerged from the thick\n     forests through which they had hitherto struggled, and arrived\n     at a lofty and airy region of the mountain. The bald summit\n     alone remained to be ascended, and their guides pointed to a\n     moderate eminence from which they said the southern sea was\n     visible.\n\n     \"Upon this Vasco Nunez commanded his followers to halt, and\n     that no man should stir from his place. Then, with a\n     palpitating heart, he ascended alone the bare mountain-top. On\n     reaching the summit the long-desired prospect burst upon his\n     view. It was as if a new world were unfolded to him, separated\n     from all hitherto known by this mighty barrier of mountains.\n     Below him extended a vast chaos of rock and forest, and green\n     savannahs and wandering streams, while at a distance the waters\n     of the promised ocean glittered in the morning sun.\n\n     \"At this glorious prospect Vasco Nunez sank upon his knees, and\n     poured out thanks to God for being the first European to whom\n     it was given to make that great discovery. He then called his\n     people to ascend: 'Behold, my friends,' said he, 'that glorious\n     sight which we have so much desired. Let us give thanks to God\n     that he has granted us this great honour and advantage. Let us\n     pray to him that he will guide and aid us to conquer the sea\n     and land which we have discovered, and in which Christian has\n     never entered to preach the holy doctrine of the Evangelists.\n     As to yourselves, be as you have hitherto been, faithful and\n     true to me, and by the favour of Christ you will become the\n     richest Spaniards that have ever come to the Indies; you will\n     render the greatest services to your king that ever vassal\n     rendered to his lord; and you will have the eternal glory and\n     advantage of all that is here discovered, conquered, and\n     converted to our holy Catholic faith.'\n\n     \"The Spaniards answered this speech by embracing Vasco Nunez,\n     and promising to follow him to death. Among them was a priest,\n     named Andres de Vara, who lifted up his voice and chanted _Te\n     Deum laudamus_--the usual anthem of Spanish discoverers. The\n     people, kneeling down, joined in the strain with pious\n     enthusiasm and tears of joy; and never did a more sincere\n     oblation rise to the Deity from a sanctified altar than from\n     that wild mountain summit. It was indeed one of the most\n     sublime discoveries that had yet been made in the New World,\n     and must have opened a boundless field of conjecture to the\n     wondering Spaniards. The imagination delights to picture forth\n     the splendid confusion of their thoughts. Was this the great\n     Indian Ocean, studded with precious islands, abounding in gold,\n     in gems, and spices, and bordered by the gorgeous cities and\n     wealthy marts of the East? Or was it some lonely sea, locked up\n     in the embraces of savage uncultivated continents, and never\n     traversed by a bark, excepting the light pirogue of the Indian?\n     The latter could hardly be the case, for the natives had told\n     the Spaniards of golden realms, and populous and powerful and\n     luxurious nations upon its shores. Perhaps it might be bordered\n     by various people, civilized in fact, but differing from Europe\n     in their civilization; who might have peculiar laws and customs\n     and arts and sciences; who might form, as it were, a world of\n     their own, intercommuning by this mighty sea, and carrying on\n     commerce between their own islands and continents; but who\n     might exist in total ignorance and independence of the other\n     hemisphere.\n\n     \"Such may naturally have been the ideas suggested by the sight\n     of this unknown ocean. It was the prevalent belief of the\n     Spaniards, however, that they were the first Christians who had\n     made the discovery. Vasco Nunez, therefore, called upon all\n     present to witness that he took possession of that sea, its\n     islands, and surrounding lands, in the name of the sovereigns\n     of Castile, and the notary of the expedition made a testimonial\n     of the same, to which all present, to the number of sixty-seven\n     men, signed their names. He then caused a fair and tall tree to\n     be cut down and wrought into a cross, which was elevated on the\n     spot from whence he had at first beheld the sea. A mound of\n     stones was likewise piled up to serve as a monument, and the\n     names of the Castilian sovereigns were carved on the\n     neighbouring trees. The Indians beheld all these ceremonials\n     and rejoicings in silent wonder, and, while they aided to erect\n     the cross and pile up the mound of stones, marvelled\n     exceedingly at the meaning of these monuments, little thinking\n     that they marked the subjugation of their land.\"\n\nFrom the summit of the mountain Vasco Nunez cheerfully pursued his\njourney to the coast; when he tasted the water and found it salt, he\nfelt assured that he had indeed discovered an ocean; he again returned\nthanks to God, and drawing his dagger from his girdle, marked three\ntrees with crosses in honour of the Trinity and in token of possession.\n\nHe remained on the shore of the Pacific ocean till the 3d of November.\nIn the interval, he conciliated by his good management the kind feelings\nof the natives; he visited some of the neighbouring islands; he was\nshown the valuable pearl fisheries; and was loaded when he left there\nwith pearls and gold. On his return he had several hostile rencounters\nwith the natives, and reached Darien on the 19th of January, 1514.\n\n     \"Thus ended one of the most remarkable expeditions of the early\n     discoverers. The intrepidity of Vasco Nunez in penetrating,\n     with a handful of men, far into the interior of a wild and\n     mountainous country, peopled by warlike tribes; his skill in\n     managing his band of rough adventurers, stimulating their\n     valour, enforcing their obedience, and attaching their\n     affections, show him to have possessed great qualities as a\n     general. We are told that he was always foremost in peril, and\n     the last to quit the field. He shared the toils and dangers of\n     the meanest of his followers, treating them with frank\n     affability; watching, fighting, fasting and labouring with\n     them; visiting and consoling such as were sick or infirm, and\n     dividing all his gains with fairness and liberality. He was\n     chargeable at times with acts of bloodshed and injustice, but\n     it is probable that these were often called for as measures of\n     safety and precaution; he certainly offended less against\n     humanity than most of the early discoverers; and the unbounded\n     amity and confidence reposed in him by the natives, when they\n     became intimately acquainted with his character, speak strongly\n     in favour of his kind treatment of them.\n\n     \"The character of Vasco Nunez had, in fact, risen with his\n     circumstances, and now assumed a nobleness and grandeur from\n     the discovery he had made, and the important charge it had\n     devolved upon him. He no longer felt himself a mere soldier of\n     fortune, at the head of a band of adventurers, but a great\n     commander conducting an immortal enterprise. 'Behold,' says old\n     Peter Martyr, 'Vasco Nunez de Balboa, at once transformed from\n     a rash royster to a politic and discreet captain:' and thus it\n     is that men are often made by their fortunes; that is to say,\n     their latent qualities are brought out, and shaped and\n     strengthened by events, and by the necessity of every exertion\n     to cope with the greatness of their destiny.\"\n\nWhile Vasco Nunez was thus exulting in his successful expedition,\nfortune was preparing for him a sad reverse. The bachelor Enciso had\narrived in Spain, and notwithstanding the statements of Zamudio, had\nmade an unfavourable impression in regard to Vasco Nunez. The result\nwas, that a new governor of Darien was appointed, in the person of Pedro\nArias Davila, commonly called Pedrarias, a brave warrior, but little\nfitted to command in a colony such as that to which he was sent. A\nnumber of young Spanish nobles and gentlemen determined to accompany\nhim, having heard wild stories of the wealth and adventures which the\nnew world offered. Pedrarias was also attended by his heroic wife, Dona\nIsabella de Bobadilla, and by the bishop Quevedo, a just and benevolent\npriest. Scarcely had the new expedition left the shores of Spain, when\nnews arrived there of the splendid discoveries of Vasco Nunez, and the\nking repented that he had so hastily superseded him.\n\nIn the month of June, the squadron of Pedrarias anchored before Darien.\nWhen the hardy veterans of the colony heard that their beloved commander\nwas to be thus removed, they were loud in their murmurs, and eagerly\ndesired to resist the newly arrived governor. Not so Vasco Nunez; he\nbowed at once to the mandates of the king, and acknowledged the\nauthority of Pedrarias. This frank and honourable conduct was ill repaid\nby the new chief; he took advantage of the unsuspecting confidence of\nVasco Nunez, and directed him to be prosecuted for usurpation and\ntyrannical abuse of power. Fortunately, the bishop was opposed to the\nconduct of the governor, and even his wife ventured to express her\nrespect and sympathy for the discoverer. This alone saved him from being\nsent in irons to Spain. In the mean time, the gallant Spanish cavaliers\nsunk beneath the fatal climate, to which they were unaccustomed, and the\naffairs of the colony became distracted. Pedrarias, to engage them,\nfitted out an expedition for the Pacific, but it ended in disappointment\nand disaster, and had little result but to change some of the friendly\nIndian tribes into implacable enemies.\n\nWhile things were in this state, despatches arrived from Spain. In a\nletter addressed to Vasco Nunez, the king expressed his high sense of\nhis merits and services, and constituted him adelantado of the South\nSea, though subordinate to the general command of Pedrarias. That\ngovernor, still envious of the renown of his rival, refused to confer on\nhim the powers belonging to his new office, and all that Vasco Nunez\ncould obtain was the recognition of the title. Still further to thwart\nthe honourable plans of the discoverer, he determined to explore, under\nhis own auspices, the pearl fisheries and islands discovered by Vasco\nNunez on the Pacific, and for this purpose fitted out an expedition\nunder the command of his own relative Morales; he sent with him,\nhowever, Francisco Pizarro, who had accompanied Vasco Nunez on his first\nexpedition. These explorers were kindly received by the caciques, who\nwillingly gave them pearls for hatchets, beads, and hawks' bills, which\nthey valued much more. An incident occurred on their visit to Isla\nRica, which, connected with the future history of Pizarro, was\nsingularly interesting.\n\n     \"Finding that pearls were so precious in the eyes of the\n     Spaniards, the cacique took Morales and Pizarro to the summit\n     of a wooden tower, commanding an unbounded prospect. 'Behold\n     before you,' said he, 'the infinite sea, which extends even\n     beyond the sun-beams. As to these islands which lie to the\n     right and left, they are all subject to my sway. They possess\n     but little gold, but the deep places of the sea around them are\n     full of pearls. Continue to be my friends, and you shall have\n     as many as you desire; for I value your friendship more than\n     pearls, and, as far as in me lies, will never forfeit it.'\n\n     \"He then pointed to the main land, where it stretched away\n     towards the east, mountain beyond mountain, until the summit of\n     the last faded in the distance, and was scarcely seen above the\n     watery horizon. In that direction, he said, there lay a vast\n     country of inexhaustible riches, inhabited by a mighty nation.\n     He went on to repeat the vague but wonderful rumours which the\n     Spaniards had frequently heard about the great kingdom of Peru.\n     Pizarro listened greedily to his words, and while his eye\n     followed the finger of the cacique, as it ranged along the line\n     of shadowy coast, his daring mind kindled with the thought of\n     seeking this golden empire beyond the waters.\"\n\nOn their way back through the mountains, the Spaniards were attacked by\nthe savages with great ferocity; and when they reached Darien their\nparty was greatly diminished, though the spoil they brought with them\nwas great.\n\nIn the mean time, the disagreement between Pedrarias and Vasco Nunez\ncontinued, to the great regret of the bishop Quevedo, and the\nmortification of Dona Isabella. At length a plan was suggested by the\nformer which had the fortunate effect of producing a reconciliation. It\nwas agreed that Vasco Nunez should marry the daughter of the governor,\nthen in Spain, and he was accordingly betrothed at once. Pedrarias now\nlooked upon the exploits of his rival as those of one of his own family,\nand no longer thwarted him. He cheerfully aided him in a new expedition\nwhich was planned for transporting timber across the isthmus, building\nbrigantines on the Pacific, and exploring the country farther to the\nsouth. When Vasco Nunez found himself floating in large vessels, on the\nwaves of the vast ocean he had discovered, he felt an honourable pride,\nand a thousand visions of discoveries yet to be made crowded on his\nfancy. Alas! they were not destined to be realized. A person who had a\nprivate pique against him, insinuated himself into the confidence of\nPedrarias; declared that Vasco Nunez had schemes of boundless ambition;\nthat he would soon throw off his connexion with the governor, and above\nall, that such was his devotion to the Indian damsel, the daughter of\nCareta, that he would never wed her to whom he was betrothed. All the\nancient enmity of Pedrarias was renewed; he determined at once to put an\nend to the rivalry of Vasco Nunez; by fair promises he induced him\nunsuspectingly to return; and as soon as he arrived within his power had\nhim arrested and tried for treason. His condemnation was to be\nexpected, but deep was the emotion and surprise among the colonists when\nthey learned that it was to be followed by the immediate death of the\nunfortunate soldier. No entreaties, however, could induce the governor\nto relent. He had his victim now in his power and he determined he\nshould not escape.\n\n     \"It was a day of gloom and horror at Acla, when Vasco Nunez and\n     his companions were led forth to execution. The populace were\n     moved to tears at the unhappy fate of a man, whose gallant\n     deeds had excited their admiration, and whose generous\n     qualities had won their hearts. Most of them regarded him as\n     the victim of a jealous tyrant; and even those who thought him\n     guilty, saw something brave and brilliant in the very crime\n     imputed to him. Such, however, was the general dread inspired\n     by the severe measures of Pedrarias, that no one dared to lift\n     up his voice, either in murmur or remonstrance.\n\n     \"The public crier walked before Vasco Nunez, proclaiming, 'This\n     is the punishment inflicted by command of the king, and his\n     lieutenant Don Pedrarias Davila, on this man, as a traitor and\n     an usurper of the territories of the crown.'\n\n     \"When Vasco Nunez heard these words, he exclaimed, indignantly,\n     'It is false! never did such a crime enter my mind. I have ever\n     served my king with truth and loyalty, and sought to augment\n     his dominions.'\n\n     \"These words were of no avail in his extremity, but they were\n     fully believed by the populace.\n\n     \"Thus perished, in his forty-second year, in the prime and\n     vigour of his days and the full career of his glory, one of the\n     most illustrious and deserving of the Spanish discoverers--a\n     victim to the basest and most perfidious envy.\n\n     \"How vain are our most confident hopes, our brightest triumphs!\n     When Vasco Nunez, from the mountains of Darien, beheld the\n     Southern ocean revealed to his gaze, he considered its unknown\n     realms at his disposal. When he had launched his ships upon its\n     waters, and his sails were in a manner flapping in the wind, to\n     bear him in quest of the wealthy empire of Peru, he scoffed at\n     the prediction of the astrologer, and defied the influence of\n     the stars. Behold him interrupted at the very moment of his\n     departure; betrayed into the hands of his most invidious foe;\n     the very enterprise that was to have crowned him with glory\n     wrested into a crime; and himself hurried to a bloody and\n     ignominious grave, at the foot, as it were, of the mountain\n     from whence he had made his discovery! His fate, like that of\n     his renowned predecessor Columbus, proves, that it is sometimes\n     dangerous even to discern too greatly!\"\n\nThere yet remain in this interesting volume the history of _Valdivia_\nand his companions, and of the bold _Juan Ponce de Leon_. Each contains\nscenes and incidents scarcely less interesting than those we have\nrapidly noticed; but the termination of the story of Vasco Nunez affords\nus a place to pause, and we are recalled from the agreeable task of\nnarrating to that of expressing some opinion on the merits of the work\nwhich has so delightfully detained us. We may add that there is also an\nappendix, containing a narrative of a visit or pilgrimage, truly\nAmerican, made by the author to the little port of Palos, where Columbus\nand so many of his followers embarked for America; it is in the happiest\nstyle, and cannot be read without the strongest emotions; we can\nscarcely refrain, notwithstanding its length, from presenting it entire\nto the reader.\n\nThe copious quotations we have made, and the abstract of some of the\nmore interesting parts of the narrative, will be sufficient to relieve\nus in a great degree from the necessity of criticism. Our readers will,\nthemselves, be able to form a just estimate of the power and skill of\nthe writer, and of the pleasure to be derived from the story he has\nrecorded. We venture to say, that by none will that estimate be\notherwise than favourable, either to the talents of the author, or the\ninterest of the work.\n\nThe style of Mr. Irving has been objected to as somewhat elaborate, as\nsacrificing strength and force of expression, to harmony of periods and\nextreme correctness of language. We cannot say that we have been\ninclined to censure him for this. If he assumed a style more than\nusually refined, it was in those works of fiction, those short but\nagreeable narratives, in which he desired to win the fond attention of\nthe reader, but in which he never endeavoured to call up violent\nemotions, to engage in the wild speculations of a discursive fancy, or\nto treat topics requiring logical or historical correctness. For such\nworks as the Sketch Book, we believe the style adopted by Mr. Irving to\nbe eminently well fitted, and we do not hesitate to attribute much of\nthe success of those charming tales to this very circumstance. We\nbelieve so the more readily, because we find him adopting in the Life of\nColumbus, and in the volume before us, a different manner, but one\nequally well suited to the different nature of the subject he treats.\nWithout losing the elegance and general purity by which it has been\nalways characterized, it seems to us to have acquired more freshness,\nmore vivacity; to flow on more easily with the course of the spirited\nnarrative; to convey to the reader that exquisite charm in historical\nwriting--an unconsciousness of any elaboration on the part of the\nwriter, yet a quick and entire understanding of every sentiment he\ndesires to convey.\n\nBut connected with this, the writing of Mr. Irving possesses another\ncharacteristic, which has never been more strongly and beautifully\nexhibited than in the present volume. We mean that lively perception of\nall those sentiments and incidents, which excite the finest and the\npleasantest emotions of the human breast. As he leads us from one savage\ntribe to another--as he paints successive scenes of heroism,\nperseverance, and self-denial--as he wanders among the magnificent\nscenes of nature--as he relates with scrupulous fidelity the errors, and\nthe crimes, even of those whose lives are for the most part marked with\ntraits to command admiration, and perhaps esteem--every where we find\nhim the same undeviating, but beautiful moralist, gathering from all\nlessons to present, in striking language, to the reason and the heart.\nWhere his story leads him to some individual, or presents some incident\nwhich raises our smiles, it is recorded with a naive humour, the more\neffective from its simplicity; where he finds himself called on to tell\nsome tale of misfortune or wo--and how often must he do so when the\nhistory of the gentle and peaceful natives of the Antilles is his\nsubject--the reader is at a loss whether most to admire the beauty of\nthe picture he paints, or the deep pathos which he imperceptibly\nexcites.\n\nNor has he shown less judgment in the selection of his subject. To all\npersons the discovery of this continent is one which cannot fail to\nengage and reward attention--to him who loves to speculate on the\nchanges and progress of society, to him who loves to trace the paths of\nscience and knowledge, to him who loves to dwell on bold adventures and\nsingular accidents, to him who loves carefully to ascertain historical\ntruth. We scarcely know any topics at the present day, explored and\nexhausted as so many fields have been, that afford a richer harvest than\nthose which Mr. Irving has now selected. We trust that many more works\nare yet to be the fruits of his most fortunate visit to the peninsula.\nThe sources of information so liberally opened to him, and already so\njudiciously used--and which have contributed to add new reputation to so\nmany names honourable to Spain--must yet furnish ample materials to\nillustrate other men, to disclose the incidents attending other\nadventures; and we trust that three years more may not elapse, before we\nagain sail with our author over the newly discovered billows of the\nPacific, or explore the plains of Mexico and Peru, or wander with some\nof the hardy adventurers who first dared to penetrate the defiles of the\nAndes.\n\nWe have already mentioned, in the notice of the Life of Columbus, the\ncircumstances which led Mr. Irving to the investigation of this period\nof Spanish history, and the facilities afforded him in the prosecution\nof his labours. The materials for this volume were procured during the\nsame visit. In addition to the historical collections of Navarrete, Las\nCasas, Herrera, and Peter Martyr, he profited by the second volume of\nOviedo's history, of which he was shown a manuscript copy in the\nColumbian library of the cathedral of Seville, and by the legal\ndocuments of the law case between Diego Columbus and the crown, which\nare deposited in the Archives of the Indies.\n\n\n\n\nART. VIII.--_The History of Louisiana, from the earliest period._ By\nFRANCOIS-XAVIER MARTIN: 2 vols. 8vo. New-Orleans: Lyman and Beardslee.\n1827.\n\n\nIt is about a year and a half since a very good translation of the\nHistory of Louisiana by _Barbe Marbois_, was laid before the public.\nAnother work on the same subject, by _Francis Xavier Martin_, has\nrecently come to our knowledge. We use this expression, because,\nalthough the title page shows a publication of the book in 1827, we\nneither saw it nor heard of it until the close of the last year; and,\neven now, we know of no copy but that in our possession. It may be that\nthe honourable author, (for he is a Judge of the Supreme Court of the\nstate whose history he has written,) was satisfied with collecting and\npreserving his materials by printing them, and cared not for the fame or\nprofit of an extensive circulation and sale of his work. His philosophy\nmay make him as indifferent to the one as his fortune does to the other,\nor his modesty may be greater than either. We think we shall perform an\nacceptable service by introducing the stranger to our readers, who will\nnot fail to derive from him many things which will reward the time and\ntrouble given to acquire them.\n\nHistory has seldom appeared under the sanction of names better entitled\nto credit and respect than those we have mentioned. M. Marbois is known\nto us by his residence in the United States, as the secretary of the\nFrench legation, and Consul General of France, during the revolutionary\nwar; and, afterwards, as _Charge d' Affaires_; in which situations he\nwas distinguished for his extraordinary capacity in the business of\ndiplomacy, as well as for the integrity of his principles, and the\nfrankness and amenity of his manners. By living long among us, he seems\nto have acquired not only an affection and respect for the American\npeople, but an ardent admiration of our political institutions, which\nhave adhered to him with undiminished strength through the various\nfortunes he has since encountered. He has prefixed to his History, an\n\"Introduction,\" which is, as it professes to be, \"An Essay on the\nConstitution and Government of the United States of America;\" and\nalthough the venerable author had passed his eightieth year, he had lost\nnone of the freshness of his attachment to our republic and its\ncitizens, or of the vigour of his pen in portraying them. No foreigner\nhas ever understood us so well, and few Americans better.\n\nThat part of his history which relates to the cession of Louisiana to\nthe United States, is particularly entitled to attention from its\ncurious details, and will be received with implicit belief, as M.\nMarbois was the negotiator on the part of France in that extraordinary\ntransaction, fraught with consequences so momentous. He relates nothing\nbut what was in his personal knowledge. We will not anticipate our\nnotice of this event, but we cannot suppress the remark, that the\nacquisition of this vast region by the United States, now so prosperous,\nso loyal and efficient a portion of our grand confederacy, by which we\nwere not only saved from a war, but liberty, happiness, and wealth have\nbeen spread over a country, before that time neglected, mismanaged, and\nunproductive, and dispensed to an intelligent and industrious people,\nwho had for a century been struggling with oppression and innumerable\ndifficulties, changing with their repeated changes of masters, was owing\nto the keen sagacity and prompt decision of Napoleon. It is thus that\nthe destinies of mankind wait upon the fortunes, the caprice, the\nforesight, and the blunders of the great, and are determined, for weal\nor wo, by causes and accidents in which those who are most affected by\nthem have no agency. The people of Louisiana, and their fertile\nterritory, which from their first settlement had been a subject of\nbarter among the powers of Europe, to make a peace, to round off a\ntreaty, or answer some policy or interest of a distant sovereign, are\nnow irrevocably fixed as a member of a great republic, never again to be\na helpless and degraded makeweight in the bargains of foreign princes.\n\n_F. X. Martin_, the author of the work now in our review, has held for\nmany years the high station of a Judge of the Supreme Court of\nLouisiana; respected for the learning and integrity with which he\ndischarges the duties of his office, and equally so, in all his public\nand private relations. He, also, is at once the historian and the\nwitness of some of the interesting transactions he narrates; and the\nveracity of his testimony is unquestionable, as to those matters of\nwhich he speaks from his personal knowledge. Being as independent in his\ncircumstances as he is in his principles, and having no resentments, of\nwhich we have heard, to gratify, by calumniating any man, there is\nnothing to draw him from the line of rectitude, and we presume that no\nerrors, at least of intention, will be imputed to him.\n\nWith this acquaintance with the character of the author, and his means\nof information, we may open his book with more than the confidence\nusually due to similar productions.\n\nBefore we introduce our readers to the materials of which these volumes\nare composed, we would say a word, and do it frankly, upon the plan\nadopted by the author in presenting them to the world. We speak not of\nthe language or style of the composition, which is sufficiently clear\nand correct to be secure from criticism, especially under the apology of\nthe writer, that \"as he does not write in his vernacular tongue,\nelegance of style is beyond his hope, and consequently without the scope\nof his ambition.\" We are not so well satisfied with his reasons for the\nwide range he has taken over time and space in a \"History of Louisiana.\"\nHe has commenced, as every annalist of an American village has done,\nwith the discoveries of Columbus; he has given us, with considerable\ndetail, the circumstances which attended the settlements of the English\nand French provinces in this hemisphere; and has drawn \"the attention of\nhis readers to transactions on the opposite side of the Atlantic,\"\nwhich have no apparent connexion with his subject. The \"chronological\norder\" which he has adopted, is not confined to the affairs of\nLouisiana, but comprehends occurrences in every part of the globe, and\nsometimes brings together on the same page such a heterogeneous mass, as\nto force a smile from us in spite of the official gravity which belongs\nto the office of a reviewer. The assemblages of events are often so\nunexpected and grotesque, that we should believe a joke was intended, if\nthey had not been brought together on the summons of a Judge of a\nSupreme Court. Assuredly nothing like them was ever seen in a jury-box,\neven in the mixed population of Louisiana. A few references will explain\nthe nature and meaning of our criticism.\n\nThe \"Discovery of America\" being disposed of, the reader of the History\nof Louisiana has his recollection recalled to the reigns of Charles\nVIII. in France; of Henry VII. of England; and Ferdinand and Isabella,\nof course; with notices of various movements in those countries in their\nseveral reigns. The second chapter is got up in the same manner, taking\na zigzag course over our continent, north, south, east, and west, with\noccasional excursions to Europe to keep up the variety. This procedure\noften produces an assemblage of events, as we have said, on the same\npage, rather startling to themselves as well as to us.--Thus on page 48\nof the first volume--\"On the 20th of December, a ship from England\nlanded one hundred and twenty men near Cape Cod, who laid the foundation\nof a colony, which, in course of time, became greatly conspicuous in the\nannals of the northern continent. They called their first town Plymouth.\nPhilip III. on the 21st of March of the following year, the forty-third\nof his age, transmitted the crown of Spain to his son Philip IV. This\nyear James I. of England granted to Sir William Alexander, all the\ncountry taken by Argal from the French in America. The Iroquois,\napprehending that if the French were suffered to gain ground in\nAmerica.\" So on page 157--\"Iberville returned to France in the\nfleet--William III. of England died on the 16th of March, in consequence\nof a fall from his horse, in the fifty-third year of his age. Mary, his\nqueen, had died in 1694; neither left issue. Anne, her sister, succeeded\nher.\" Can we avoid to ask what has all this to do with Louisiana? In\npage 234--John Law's well known scheme is thus abruptly introduced.\n\"Another Guinea-man landed three hundred <DW64>s a few days after. John\nLaw, of Lauriston in North Britain, was a celebrated financier,\" &c.\n\nThe work abounds with such odd combinations, nor have we selected the\nmost singular, arising from the \"chronological order\" adopted by the\nauthor, which, while it has advantages in narrations confined to one\nobject, will not do in a history extended over half of the world. We\nhave presented to us, in the same incongruous manner, the settlement of\nMaryland--of Nova Scotia--sketches of English history under Oliver\nCromwell--an account of the hooping cough in Quebec--and an earthquake\nin Canada. The cough was supposed to be the effect of enchantment,--\"and\nmany of the faculty did, or affected to believe it.\" \"It was said a\nfiery crown had been observed in the air at Montreal; lamentable cries\nheard at Trois Rivieres, in places in which there was not any person;\nthat, at Quebec, a canoe, all on fire, had been seen on the river, with\na man armed _cap-a-pie_, surrounded by a circle of the same element.\" On\nthe subject of the earthquake, the account of which is taken from\nCharlevoix, it was indeed a fearful visitation, if the truth be not\nexaggerated by terror and superstition.--\n\n     \"A dreadful earthquake was felt in Canada, on the fifth of\n     February, 1663. The first shock is said by Charlevoix, to have\n     lasted half an hour; after the first quarter of an hour, its\n     violence gradually abated. At eight o'clock in the evening, a\n     like shock was felt; some of the inhabitants said they had\n     counted as many as thirty-two shocks, during the night. In the\n     intervals between the shocks, the surface of the ground\n     undulated as the sea, and the people felt, in their houses, the\n     sensations which are experienced in a vessel at anchor. On the\n     sixth, at three o'clock in the morning, another most violent\n     shock was felt. It is related that at Tadoussac, there was a\n     rain of ashes for six hours. During this strange commotion of\n     nature, the bells of the churches were kept constantly ringing,\n     by the motion of the steeples; the houses were so terribly\n     shaken, that the eaves, on each side, alternately touched the\n     ground. Several mountains altered their positions; others were\n     precipitated into the river, and lakes were afterwards found in\n     the places on which they stood before. The commotion was felt\n     for nine hundred miles from east to west, and five hundred from\n     north to south.\n\n     \"This extraordinary phenomenon was considered as the effect of\n     the vengeance of God, irritated at the obstinacy of those, who,\n     neglecting the admonitions of his ministers, and contemning the\n     censures of his church, continued to sell brandy to the\n     Indians. The reverend writer, who has been cited, relates it\n     was said, ignited appearances had been observed in the air, for\n     several days before; globes of fire being seen over the cities\n     of Quebec and Montreal, attended with a noise like that of the\n     simultaneous discharge of several pieces of heavy artillery;\n     that the superior of the nuns, informed her confessor some time\n     before, that being at her devotions, she believed 'she saw the\n     Lord irritated against Canada, and she involuntarily demanded\n     justice from him for all the crimes committed in the country;\n     praying the souls might not perish with the bodies: a moment\n     after, she felt conscious the divine justice was going to\n     strike; the contempt of the church exciting God's wrath. She\n     perceived almost instantaneously four devils, at the corners of\n     Quebec, shaking the earth with extreme violence, and a person\n     of majestic mien alternately slackening and drawing back a\n     bridle, by which he held them.' A female Indian, who had been\n     baptized, was said to have received intelligence of the\n     impending chastisement of heaven. The reverend writer concludes\n     his narration by exultingly observing, 'none perished, all were\n     converted.'\"\n\nThe fourth chapter still keeps us at a distance from the \"promised\nland.\" The discontents and disturbances which agitated Canada, are\nminutely narrated, and, in some respects, not without considerable\ninterest. One of the causes of the commotion, was an arbitrary act of\npower of the Count de Frontenac, who \"had imprisoned the Abbe de\nFenelon, then a priest of the seminary of St. Sulpice at Montreal, who\nafterwards became archbishop of Cambray.\" Thus were the genius, the\nlearning, and the virtues of this great and good man, laid prostrate at\nthe feet of a petty tyrant; and might have been for ever lost to the\nworld. It is by such abuses of power that men learn and feel the value\nof a government of laws, supreme and superior to the influence of office\nand the power of the sword. In this chapter we are introduced to the\nname of Robert C. Lasalle, afterwards so conspicuous for his courage and\nperseverance in the settlement of these regions. Some interesting\ndetails of his life and adventures, which may be called romantic, are\ngiven, for which we refer to the book.\n\nAs the character and conduct of the Founder of Pennsylvania has been\nlately assailed, with exceeding injustice, by a Pennsylvanian, and a\njudge too, it will add something to the testimony already so abundant in\nhis behalf, to quote the following extract--\n\n     \"The year 1680 is remarkable for the grant of Charles the\n     Second, to William Penn, of the territory that now constitutes\n     the states of Pennsylvania and Delaware. The grantee, who was\n     one of the people called Quakers, imitating the example of\n     Gulielm Usseling and Roger Williams, disowned a right to any\n     part of the country included within his charter, till the\n     natives voluntarily yielded it on receiving a fair\n     consideration. There exists not any other example of so liberal\n     a conduct towards the Indians of North America, on the erection\n     of a new colony. The date of Penn's charter is the twentieth of\n     February.\"\n\nWe follow our author into his fifth chapter, which we find occupied with\na variety of matters, sufficiently interesting in themselves, but having\nno relation to the professed subject of our history; and which have been\ncollected from works of no difficult access to any body. We notice,\nhowever, an occurrence, especially worthy of our attention at this time,\nwhen a project is entertained of introducing a government paper currency\ninto the United States.--\n\n     \"Louis the Fourteenth having approved the emission of card\n     money made in Canada, during the preceding year, another\n     emission was now prepared in Paris, in which pasteboard was\n     used instead of cards. An impression was made on each piece, of\n     the coin of the kingdom, of the corresponding value.\n\n     \"Pasteboard proving inconvenient, cards were again resorted to.\n     Each had the flourish which the intendant usually added to his\n     signature. He signed all those of the value of four livres and\n     upwards, and those of six livres and above were also signed by\n     the governor.\n\n     \"Once a year, at a fixed period, the cards were required to be\n     brought to the colonial treasury, and exchanged for bills on\n     the treasurer-general of the marine, or his deputy at\n     Rochefort. Those which appeared too ragged for circulation were\n     burnt, and the rest again paid out of the treasury.\n\n     \"For a while the cards were thus punctually exchanged once a\n     year; but in course of time bills ceased to be given for them.\n     Their value, which till then had been equal to gold, now began\n     to diminish; the price of all commodities rose proportionably,\n     and the colonial government was compelled, in order to meet the\n     increased demands on its treasury, to resort to new and\n     repeated emissions; and the people found a new source of\n     distress in the means adopted for their relief.\"\n\nThis subject is frequently referred to, and always as a source of\ndistress; as a disastrous measure of policy.--\n\n     \"Louisiana suffered a great deal from the want of a circulating\n     medium. Card money had caused the disappearance of the gold and\n     silver circulating in the colony before its emission, and its\n     subsequent depreciation had induced the commissary ordonnateur\n     to have recourse to an issue of _ordonances_, a kind of bills\n     of credit, which although not a legal tender, from the want of\n     a metallic currency, soon became an object of commerce. They\n     were followed by treasury notes, which being receivable in the\n     discharge of all claims of the treasury, soon got into\n     circulation. This cumulation of public securities in the\n     market, within a short time threw them all into discredit, and\n     gave rise to an _agiotage_, highly injurious to commerce and\n     agriculture.\"\n\n     \"The province was at this time inundated by a flood of paper\n     money. The administration, for several years past, had paid in\n     due bills all the supplies they had obtained, and they had been\n     suffered to accumulate to an immense amount. A consequent\n     depreciation had left them almost without any value. This had\n     been occasioned, in a great degree, by a belief that the\n     officers who had put these securities afloat, had, at times,\n     attended more to their own than to the public interest, and\n     that the French government, on the discovery of this, would not\n     perhaps be found ready to indemnify the holders against the\n     misconduct of its agents. With a view, however, to prepare the\n     way for the redemption of the paper, the colonial treasurer was\n     directed to receive all that might be presented, and to give in\n     its stead certificates, in order that the extent of the evil\n     being known, the remedy might be applied.\"\n\n     \"The province laboured under great difficulties, on account of\n     a flood of depreciated paper, which, inundating it, annihilated\n     its industry, commerce, and agriculture. So sanguine were the\n     inhabitants of their appeal to the throne, that they instructed\n     their emissary, after having accomplished the principal object\n     of his mission, to solicit relief in this respect.\"\n\nWe turn also to Marbois, on this subject, and trust we shall be excused\nfor giving so much of our time to it, by the interest the people of the\nUnited States now have in it. We have had our own experience of the\nfatal consequences of such schemes; let us also listen to the experience\nof others, which points to the distress and ruin that attend such\nexperiments. Speaking of Law's great scheme of finance, this wise and\nvenerable statesman says--\"A foreigner of an eccentric mind, though a\nskilful calculator, had engaged the regent in operations the most\ndisastrous to the finances of the state. John Law, after having\npersuaded credulous people that paper money might advantageously take\nthe place of specie, drew from this false principle the most extravagant\nconsequences. They were adopted by ignorance and cupidity.\" This writer,\nwith the experience of more than half a century in public affairs,\nadds--\"These chimeras, called by the name of system, do not differ much\nfrom the schemes that are brought forward in the present age, under the\nname of credit.\"\n\nSpeaking of the paper money created for Louisiana, M. Marbois tells us--\n\n     \"The expenses resulting from want of order had no limits: in no\n     condition to provide for them, the heads of the government had\n     recourse to paper money, the desperate resource of financiers\n     without capacity. The following remarks on this subject are\n     from a despatch of M. Rouille, minister of marine.\n\n     \"'The disorder, which has for some time prevailed in the\n     finances and trade of Louisiana, principally arises from\n     pouring into the province treasury orders and other kinds of\n     paper money; all of which soon fell into discredit, and\n     occasioned a depreciation of the currency, which has been the\n     more injurious to the colony and its trade, as the prices of\n     all things, and particularly of manual labour, have increased\n     in proportion to the fall in the treasury notes.'\n\n     \"It was on the 30th of November, 1744, that this minister thus\n     expressed himself with regard to the chimerical systems of\n     credit, which have never been more in vogue than in our time.\"\n\nWe pass over the sixth chapter of our book, without any particular\nnotice of its contents. It is occupied with miscellaneous transactions\nin other provinces; with Indian wars; the abdication of James II., and\nthe accession of William and Mary to the throne of England; which, in\npursuance of the chronological order, we find snugly deposited between\nthe census of Canada and some affairs in Fort Louis. These things, with\nthe peace made between the Marquess de Denonville and some Indians, and\nsome other matters, cover one page.\n\nThe seventh chapter of this volume brings us again in sight of\nLouisiana; and we thought our author was a little like Louis XIV., who,\nit is said, \"seemed to have lost sight of Louisiana in the prosecution\nof the war,\" &c. Some interesting details are here given of the early\nattempts to plant a French colony in this territory, interrupted by\nhostilities with the Indians, and other impediments not unusual to\nenterprises of this kind. The northern provinces, however, are not\nneglected; and we are specially informed of the determination of the\nBritish cabinet to attack Montreal and Quebec--this was in 1710.\n\nIn tracing the history of a country which has attained the strength and\nimportance of Louisiana, it is gratifying, occasionally, to look back to\nthe days of its weakness, and particularly so when the advance has been\nsurprisingly rapid, and may be fairly traced to the freedom of the\ngovernment under which it was made. Our author has, from time to time,\nexhibited the population, agriculture, production, and trade of this\nprovince, at various periods, and under different circumstances.\n\n     \"In 1713, there were in Louisiana two companies of infantry of\n     fifty men each, and seventy-five Canadian volunteers in the\n     king's pay. The rest of the population consisted of\n     twenty-eight families; one half of whom were engaged, not in\n     agriculture, but in horticulture: the heads of the others were\n     shop and tavern keepers, or employed in mechanical occupations.\n     A number of individuals derived their support by ministering to\n     the wants of the troops. There were but twenty <DW64>s in the\n     colony: adding to these the king's officers and clergy, the\n     aggregate amount of the population was three hundred and eighty\n     persons. A few female Indians and children were domesticated in\n     the houses of the white people, and groups of the males were\n     incessantly sauntering or encamped around them.\n\n     \"The collection of all these individuals, on one compact spot,\n     could have claimed no higher appellation than that of a hamlet;\n     yet they were dispersed through a vast extent of country, the\n     parts of which were separated by the sea, by lakes, and wide\n     rivers. Five forts, or large batteries, had been erected for\n     their protection at Mobile, Biloxi, on the Mississippi, and at\n     Ship and Dauphine Islands.\n\n     \"Lumber, hides, and peltries, constituted the objects of\n     exportation, which the colony presented to commerce. A number\n     of woodsmen, or _coureurs de bois,_ from Canada, had followed\n     the missionaries, who had been sent among the nations of\n     Indians, between that province and Louisiana. These men plied\n     within a circle, of a radius of several hundred miles, of which\n     the father's chapel was the centre, in search of furs,\n     peltries, and hides. When they deemed they had gathered a\n     sufficient quantity of these articles, they floated down the\n     Mississippi, and brought them to Mobile, where they exchanged\n     them for European goods, with which they returned. The natives\n     nearer to the fort, carried on the same trade. Lumber was\n     easily obtained around the settlement: of late, vessels, from\n     St. Domingo and Martinique, brought sugar, coffee, molasses,\n     and rum, to Louisiana, and took its peltries, hides, and\n     lumber, in exchange. The colonists procured some specie from\n     the garrison of Pensacola, whom they supplied with vegetables\n     and fowls. Those who followed this sort of trade, by furnishing\n     also the officers and troops, obtained flour and salt\n     provisions from the king's stores, which were abundantly\n     supplied from France and Vera Cruz. Trifling but successful\n     essays had shown, that indigo, tobacco, and cotton, could be\n     cultivated to great advantage: but hands were wanting.\n     Experience had shown, that the frequent and heavy mists and\n     fogs were unfavourable to the culture of wheat, by causing it\n     to rust.\"\n\nWhat a change have a few years of good government and undisturbed\nindustry and enterprise made in this country; for up to the time of its\ncession to the United States, its improvement was slow, uncertain, and\nby no means remarkable! Who can now recognise in this rich and\nprosperous state, the member of a great confederation, of a powerful\nrepublic, known and respected by every nation of the earth, the desolate\nwilds, the miserable and scattered habitations, \"few and far between,\"\nwith a population half savage and half civilized, of various bloods and\ncolours, and scarcely able to support a pinched and comfortless\nexistence, by excessive toil and a constant exposure to hardships and\nperil!\n\nAfter the charter of Crouzat, in September 1712, and a subsequent\ncharter to a new corporation five years after, the settlement of the\ncolony was better attended to, and measures taken to advance its\nprosperity. Unfortunately for humanity, and perhaps for the ultimate\nhappiness of the province, it was found, or thought, to be necessary, to\nintroduce the <DW64>s of Africa, for the cultivation of the soil. This\nspecies of labour was resorted to in Louisiana in the year 1719.\n\n     \"Experience had shown the great fertility of the land in\n     Louisiana, especially on the banks of the Mississippi, and its\n     aptitude to the culture of tobacco, indigo, cotton, and rice;\n     but the labourers were very few, and many of the new comers had\n     fallen victims to the climate. The survivers found it\n     impossible to work in the field during the great heats of the\n     summer, protracted through a part of the autumn. The necessity\n     of obtaining cultivators from Africa, was apparent; the company\n     yielding thereto, sent two of its ships to the coast of Africa,\n     from whence they brought five hundred <DW64>s, who were landed\n     at Pensacola. They brought thirty recruits to the garrison.\"\n\nWhatever may hereafter be the consequences of this determination to\nemploy slave-labour, its immediate effects were beneficial to the\nplanters; and in the next year, it is said that the company represented\nto the king that \"the planters had been enabled, by the introduction of\na great number of <DW64>s, to clear and cultivate large tracts of land.\"\nIt will be observed, that at this time the cultivation of sugar was not\nthought of.\n\nThe discursive manner of our author frequently furnishes us with\nanecdotes of interest, sometimes relating to habits of the Indians, and\nsometimes to other persons and subjects. In this class we reckon an\naccount of a female adventurer who appeared in Louisiana so early as the\nyear 1721.--\n\n     \"There came, among the German new comers, a female adventurer.\n     She had been attached to the wardrobe of the wife of the\n     Czarowitz Alexius Petrowitz, the only son of Peter the Great.\n     She imposed on the credulity of many persons, but particularly\n     on that of an officer of the garrison of Mobile, (called by\n     Bossu, the Chevalier d'Aubant, and by the king of Prussia,\n     Maldeck) who having seen the princess at St. Petersburg,\n     imagined he recognised her features in those of her former\n     servant, and gave credit to the report which prevailed, that\n     she was the Duke of Wolfenbuttle's daughter, whom the Czarowitz\n     had married, and who, finding herself treated with great\n     cruelty by her husband, caused it to be circulated that she had\n     died, while she fled to a distant seat, driven by the blows he\n     had inflicted on her--that the Czarowitz had given orders for\n     her private burial, and she had travelled incog. into France,\n     and had taken passage at L'Orient, in one of the company's\n     ships, among the German settlers.\n\n     \"Her story gained credit, and the officer married her. After a\n     long residence in Louisiana, she followed him to Paris and the\n     Island of Bourbon, where he had a commission of major. Having\n     become a widow in 1754, she returned to Paris, with a daughter,\n     and went thence to Brunswick, when her imposture was\n     discovered; charity was bestowed on her, but she was ordered to\n     leave the country. She died in 1771, at Paris, in great\n     poverty.\n\n     \"A similar imposition was practised for a while with\n     considerable success, in the southern British provinces, a few\n     years before the declaration of their independence. A female,\n     driven for her misconduct from the service of a maid of honour\n     of Princess Matilda, sister to George the Third, was convicted\n     at the Old Bailey, and transported to Maryland. She effected\n     her escape before the expiration of her time, and travelled\n     through Virginia and both the Carolinas, personating the\n     princess, and levying contributions on the credulity of\n     planters and merchants; and even some of the king's officers.\n     She was at last arrested in Charleston, prosecuted, and\n     whipped.\"\n\nWhen we read the account of New-Orleans, a century ago, we can hardly\ncredit that it is the same New-Orleans which we now know.--\n\n     \"New-Orleans, (according to his account,) consisted at that\n     time of one hundred cabins, placed without much order, a large\n     wooden warehouse, two or three dwelling houses, that would not\n     have adorned a village, and a miserable storehouse, which had\n     been at first occupied as a chapel; a shed being now used for\n     this purpose. Its population did not exceed two hundred\n     persons.\"\n\nIn the enormous increase of population and wealth which this highly\nfavoured city exhibits, a Pennsylvanian may feel pride in observing,\nthat the industrious Germans, who have never failed to improve and\nenrich the soil they inhabit, have had their share. John Randolph once\nsaid on the floor of Congress, that the land on which a slave set his\nfoot was cursed with barrenness. The reverse of this may be truly\nasserted of the German settlers. To their persevering industry, patient\nlabour, and habitual economy, every difficulty yields, and every soil\nbecomes fertile. An accident brought them to New-Orleans, with no\nintention of remaining; and their usefulness was felt and encouraged.\n\n     \"Since the failure of Law, and his departure from France, his\n     grant at the Arkansas had been entirely neglected, and the\n     greatest part of the settlers, whom he had transported thither\n     from Germany, finding themselves abandoned and disappointed,\n     came down to New-Orleans, with the hope of obtaining a passage\n     to some port of France, from which they might be enabled to\n     return home. The colonial government being unable or unwilling\n     to grant it, small allotments of land were made to them twenty\n     miles above New-Orleans, on both sides of the river, on which\n     they settled in cottage farms. The Chevalier d'Arensbourg, a\n     Swedish officer, lately arrived, was appointed commandant of\n     the new post. This was the beginning of the settlement, known\n     as the German coast, or the parishes of St. Charles and St.\n     John the Baptist. These laborious men supplied the troops and\n     the inhabitants of New-Orleans with garden stuff. Loading their\n     pirogues with the produce of their week's work, on Saturday\n     evening, they floated down the river, and were ready to spread\n     at sun-rise, on the first market that was held on the banks of\n     the Mississippi, their supplies of vegetables, fowls, and\n     butter. Returning, at the close of the market, they reached\n     their homes early in the night, and were ready to resume their\n     work at sun-rise; having brought the groceries and other\n     articles needed in the course of the week.\"\n\nA few years later, the Jesuit and Ursuline nuns arrived at New-Orleans,\nand began the improvement of a tract of land immediately above the city.\nThey erected a house and chapel; they planted the front of their land\nwith the myrtle wax shrub. Soon after, the foundation was laid for a\nlarge nunnery, into which the ladies removed in 1730, and occupied it\nuntil 1824. On every side the work of improvement proceeded gradually,\nbut effectually. Among other expedients to hasten the progress of\npopulation, \"a company ship brought out a number of poor girls, shipped\nby the company. They had not been taken, as those whom it had\ntransported before, in the houses of correction in Paris. It had\nsupplied each of them with a small box, _cassette_, containing a few\narticles of clothing. From this circumstance, and to distinguish them\nfrom those who had preceded them, they were called girls _de la\ncassette_. Till they could be disposed of in marriage, they remained\nunder the care of the nuns.\"\n\nThe fig tree was introduced from Provence, and the orange from\nHispaniola, both now so abundant and so excellent at New-Orleans.\n\nInjustice to the aborigines seems to have marked the march of the white\nman in all its stages; nor were the victims of his cupidity slow in\ntheir revenge, or wanting in courage and ingenuity in prosecuting it. We\nhave an instance of this, which we think interesting enough to be\nextracted.--\n\n     \"The indiscretion and ill conduct of Chepar, who commanded at\n     Fort Rosalie, in the country of the Natchez, induced these\n     Indians to become principals, instead of auxiliaries, in the\n     havock.\n\n     \"This officer, coveting a tract of land in the possession of\n     one of the chiefs, had used menaces to induce him to surrender\n     it, and unable to intimidate the sturdy Indian, had resorted to\n     violence. The nation, to whom the commandant's conduct had\n     rendered him obnoxious, took part with its injured member--and\n     revenge was determined on. The suns sat in council to devise\n     the means of annoyance, and determined not to confine\n     chastisement to the offender; but, having secured the\n     co-operation of all the tribes hostile to the French, to effect\n     the total overthrow of the settlement, murder all white men in\n     it, and reduce the women and children to slavery. Messengers\n     were accordingly sent to all the villages of the Natchez and\n     the tribes in their alliance, to induce them to get themselves\n     ready, and come on a given day to begin the slaughter. For this\n     purpose bundles of an equal number of sticks were prepared and\n     sent to every village, with directions to take out a stick\n     everyday, after that of the new moon, and the attack was to be\n     on that on which the last stick was taken out.\n\n     \"This matter was kept a profound secret among the chiefs and\n     the Indians employed by them, and particular care was taken to\n     conceal it from the women. One of the female suns, however,\n     soon discovered that a momentous measure, of which she was not\n     informed, was on foot. Leading one of her sons to a distant and\n     retired spot, in the woods, she upbraided him with his want of\n     confidence in his mother, and artfully drew from him the\n     details of the intended attack. The bundle of sticks for her\n     village had been deposited in the temple, and to the keeper of\n     it, the care had been intrusted of taking out a stick daily.\n     Having from her rank access to the fane at all times, she\n     secretly, and at different moments, detached one or two sticks,\n     and then threw them into the sacred fire. Unsatisfied with\n     this, she gave notice of the impending danger to an officer of\n     the garrison, in whom she placed confidence. But the\n     information was either disbelieved or disregarded.\"\n\nThis well concerted plan of revenge was carried into a terrible\nexecution; and the aggressor who had caused it was among the victims.\n\nA circumstance, purely accidental, and, in itself, altogether\ninsignificant, was the beginning of an agricultural experiment in\nLouisiana, which, long afterwards, was followed by a success, important\nnot only to that territory, but to these United States.\n\n     \"Two hundred recruits arrived from France on the 17th of April,\n     for the completion of the quota of troops allotted to the\n     province. The king's ships, in which they were embarked,\n     touched at the cape, in the Island of Hispaniola, where, with a\n     view of trying with what success the sugar cane could be\n     cultivated on the banks of the Mississippi, the Jesuits of that\n     island were permitted to ship to their brethren in Louisiana, a\n     quantity of it. A number of <DW64>s, acquainted with the\n     culture and manufacture of sugar, came in the fleet. The canes\n     were planted on the land of the fathers immediately above the\n     city, in the lower part of the spot now known as the suburb St.\n     Mary. Before this time, the front of the plantation had been\n     improved in the raising of the myrtle wax shrub; the rest was\n     sown with indigo.\"\n\nIn this humble manner was the sugar cane introduced into Louisiana,\nwhich has now become a principal source of its wealth. We will here\nadvance upon our work in order to trace, in a connected manner, the\nvarious attempts which were made to fix the cultivation of this plant,\nwith their failures and success, for many years vibrating in\nuncertainty. The experiment we have just alluded to was made in 1751;\neight years afterwards, our author tells us:--\n\n     \"Although the essay, which the Jesuits had made in 1751, to\n     naturalize the sugar cane in Louisiana, had been successful,\n     the culture of it, on a large scale, was not attempted till\n     this year, when Dubreuil erected a mill for the manufacture of\n     sugar, on his plantation, immediately adjoining the lower part\n     of New-Orleans--the spot now covered by the suburb Marigny.\"\n\nIn 1769, the project seems to have been given up, as we are then\ninformed that--\"the indigo of Louisiana was greatly inferior to that of\nHispaniola, the planters being quite unskilful and inattentive in the\nmanufacture of it; that of sugar had been abandoned, but some planters\nnear New-Orleans raised a few canes for the market.\"\n\nNo explanation is given of the causes of the abandonment of this most\nvaluable product, which subsequent experience has shown is so admirably\nadapted to the soil and climate of Louisiana. It is the more\nunaccountable, as a large capital had been embarked in it, for the\npurchase of slaves principally. It may be that it did not receive the\nprotection from jealous rivals, which is indispensable for the success\nof every new enterprise of this kind, even under the most favourable\ncircumstances; at least until it is firmly established; its expenditures\nsecured or reimbursed; and its capacity brought into full development\nand operation.\n\nFrom the period we have last spoken of, 1769, until 1796, we hear, from\nour author, of no effort to resume the cultivation of the sugar cane;\nalthough we may presume it was not absolutely extinguished; for in the\nrecord of the events of this year, (1796) he tells us--\"Bore's success,\nin his first attempt to manufacture sugar, was very great, and he sold\nhis crop for ten thousand dollars. His example induced a number of other\nplanters to plant cane.\" In the transactions of 1794, we are indeed\ninformed upon this point; and of the origin of Bore's undertaking this\nculture.\n\n     \"Since the year 1766, the manufacture of sugar had been\n     entirely abandoned in Louisiana. A few individuals had,\n     however, contrived to plant a few canes in the neighbourhood of\n     the city: they found a vent for them in the market. Two\n     Spaniards, Mendez and Solis, had lately made larger\n     plantations. One of them boiled the juice of the cane into\n     syrup, and the other had set up a distillery, in which he made\n     indifferent taffia.\n\n     \"Etienne Bore, a native of the Illinois, who resided about six\n     miles above the city, finding his fortune considerably reduced\n     by the failure of the indigo crops for several successive\n     years, conceived the idea of retrieving his losses by the\n     manufacture of sugar. The attempt was considered by all as a\n     visionary one. His wife, (a daughter of Destrehan, the colonial\n     treasurer under the government of France, who had been one of\n     the first to attempt, and one of the last to abandon, the\n     manufacture of sugar) remembering her father's ill success,\n     warned him of the risk he ran of adding to instead of repairing\n     his losses, and his relations and friends joined their\n     remonstrances to hers. He, however, persisted; and, having\n     procured a quantity of canes from Mendez and Solis, began to\n     plant.\"\n\nSo that in two years after Bore began to plant, he was able to make a\ncrop which sold for ten thousand dollars. From this time the culture of\nthe cane may be considered as established in Louisiana, constantly and\nrapidly increasing in its importance, until it has become a principal\nproduct of its soil, in which an immense capital is embarked. We have\nbefore us a copy of a \"Letter of Mr. Johnston of Louisiana, to the\nsecretary of the treasury, in reply to his circular of the 1st July\n1830, relative to the culture of the sugar cane.\" This interesting\ndocument contains a mass of authentic information, which leaves no doubt\nof the importance of the culture of the cane, not only to those regions\nof the United States which are suitable to it, but to all or most of the\nother states; and the inference he justly draws from it is, that it\ndeserves and still requires all the protection it now receives from the\ngovernment. If it should be discontinued or diminished so as to affect\nmaterially the sugar planter, the injury will not stop there, but be\nextended to thousands of our citizens, who may not have reflected upon\nthe direct interest they have in this question. We deem it to be so\nimportant, that we believe our readers, many of whom may not see the\nletter of the honourable senator, will not find a page or two\nunprofitably given to some extracts from it. In the introduction of his\nsubject he says:\n\n     \"When Louisiana was acquired by the United States, there was a\n     duty on brown sugar of two and a half cents a pound, levied for\n     revenue. The people of that state, who had already made some\n     experiments in the culture of the cane, saw that the duty\n     afforded them some protection from foreign competition, and\n     secured the benefit of the home market, which was then of\n     considerable extent, and rapidly increasing. This induced them,\n     within the region then considered adapted to the cane, to turn\n     their attention to the production of sugar. They embarked their\n     whole fortunes, and for a long time struggled, under very\n     discouraging circumstances, against the effects of the climate,\n     the vicissitudes of seasons, the deficiency of capital, the\n     want of skill, and all the difficulties incident to the\n     commencement of such an enterprise. It was for many years a\n     doubtful experiment and hazardous undertaking, but they\n     persevered.\n\n     \"The cane gradually adapted itself to the climate. Different\n     kinds of cane were introduced, skill was acquired by\n     experience, capital increased, machinery and steam power\n     applied, improvements adopted, and expenses diminished.\n\n     \"At the close of the war, Congress, for the purpose of\n     increasing the revenue, and of protecting the domestic\n     industry, increased the rate of duty on sugar half a cent a\n     pound, as a part of a general system. This had a most decisive\n     effect in bringing this great national interest to its present\n     state, and they have now finally triumphed over every obstacle.\n\n     \"It was more than twenty years before they could produce 40,000\n     hogsheads; and during the greater part of that time very little\n     profit was made upon the capital employed.\n\n     \"The increase of capital, the introduction of machinery, the\n     diversion of labour from other less profitable pursuits, the\n     acquisition of skill, and, above all, the confidence of the\n     people in the protection of the government, have vastly\n     augmented the means of production. It now promises an ample\n     supply for the consumption of the country, and a steady but\n     moderate profit. They are in a course of experiment, that will\n     in a short period establish this great interest upon a scale\n     adequate to the wants of the people.\n\n     \"Under the faith of the laws, they have embarked their capital\n     in the production of one of the great necessaries of life, and\n     in support of a national system, which they understood it was\n     the object of the government to establish. They have opened a\n     new and extensive field of agricultural industry; directed\n     labour to more profitable employment; maintained the value of\n     slaves; and increased the internal commerce of the country.\n     They have contributed their full share to all the duties paid\n     on other articles. They came into this Union, charged with _an\n     immense public debt_, which was greatly increased by the war,\n     in which they suffered in common: they have freely contributed\n     their portion to its payment.\"\n\nHe proceeds to show that the value of lands and slaves \"is predicated\nupon the value of the sugar, and that depends upon the rate of duty\nestablished by the laws.\" The effects of a reduction of the duty is thus\ndetailed.\n\n     \"The present price of sugar, at 5-1/2 cents, is sustained by a\n     duty of 3 cents a pound. If that duty was removed, foreign\n     sugar would be sold 3 cents less, and ours would fall in the\n     same proportion. That reduction would bring sugar below the\n     actual cost, and therefore it could not be made, even if slaves\n     and lands cost nothing. A reduction of 2 cents would bring the\n     price to the exact amount of 3-1/2 cents a pound, the precise\n     cost of the sugar, independent of the capital, and therefore\n     would yield nothing to the cultivator. A reduction of 1 cent\n     would bring sugar to 4-1/2 cents, which would leave only 1 cent\n     profit to pay for the capital--that is, the lands and slaves.\n     That would diminish the present profit one half, and the value\n     of the slaves in the same proportion. This reduction of duty\n     operates entirely upon the _profit_; and a reduction of\n     one-third of the duty operates a reduction of one-half of the\n     profit, and thereby one-half of the value of the capital, and\n     one-half of the slaves. Capital has been invested in Louisiana\n     by the present standard of value. A reduction in that standard\n     would produce a corresponding reduction in the value of all\n     property. A reduction of one-third of the duty would sink half\n     the value of property in the state, and ruin all those who have\n     made engagements upon the faith of the laws.\"\n\nThe writer subsequently presents very precise and satisfactory\nstatements, to show the capital required for this branch of agriculture,\nand the prices which are necessary to sustain it; with some calculated\nanticipations of its increase, if not crushed by foreign competition.\nShould it be asked, what interest have the other states of the Union in\nthis concern? It may be a very profitable employment of the money and\nslaves of the rich planters of Louisiana; but is this a fair reason for\nimposing heavy duties on a necessary of life, thus enhancing its cost to\nthose who consume it? To meet this inquiry, and remove the objection\ncontained in it; to show that the citizens of the states who consume the\nsugar have an immediate participation in the profits of its cultivator,\nMr. Johnston says--\n\n     \"It is said that this is a local concern, interesting only to\n     Louisiana. The slaves are taken, as beforementioned, from\n     cotton and tobacco, and are furnished by the Southern States.\n\n     \"The provisions and animals come from the Western States.\n\n     \"The clothing from the North.\n\n     \"The engines, machinery, &c. come from the different foundries\n     in the United States--principally from the West.\n\n     \"One-third of the capital comes from the South--and more than\n     three-fifths of the whole production goes either in sugar or\n     money to the other states, as their portion of the contribution\n     in making it. The remaining two-fifths, being the profit on\n     the capital, goes back chiefly to Virginia and Maryland, to\n     purchase more slaves.\n\n     \"There are estimated now, 35,000 slaves: it will require 26,000\n     more to supply the consumption of 1835.\n\n     \"There are estimated 725 plantations, which, when brought into\n     operation, will yield an average of 300 hogsheads, sufficient\n     for the consumption of 1836.\n\n     \"These have required 725 mills for grinding, as many sets of\n     kettles, &c. There are now about 100 steam engines--there will\n     be required in addition, upwards of 600 steam engines.\n\n     \"These plantations require also a large amount of horses,\n     mules, and oxen; carts, wagons, ploughs, tools, iron, &c.\n\n     \"The present consumption for the slaves, is 35,000 barrels of\n     pork.\n\n     \"Which will be increased in 1835 to--say 60,000     \"    \"\n\n     \"They purchase now about ... 50,000 barrels of corn.\n\n     \"Each mill, with steam engine and kettles, &c. will cost\n     $5,000.\n\n     \"There are employed on the sugar plantations (independent of\n     the cotton estates) 22,000 horses--value $1,500,000. These are\n     to be renewed every seven years, or it will require $200,000 a\n     year to supply the market. There were purchased in 1827-8,\n     2,500 horses--in 1828-9, 2,800--in 1829-30, 3,000 horses.\n\n     \"Of the 100,000 hogsheads of sugar made in Louisiana, 50,000\n     hogsheads are transported up the Mississippi in steam-boats,\n     for the supply of the Western States, who obtain it in exchange\n     for their productions. Here, then, there is an internal trade\n     of five millions, created in the Western States.\n\n     \"The remainder of the sugar is transported coastwise by our\n     vessels, to the North, to restore the balance of trade with\n     that quarter, as well as with foreign nations.\n\n     \"Thus every interest of agriculture, manufactures, commerce,\n     and navigation, connects itself intimately with this object.\n\n     \"The sugar is indeed made in Louisiana, but a portion of the\n     money on which the establishments are founded, the whole of the\n     labour by which it is produced, the chief supply of food, and\n     the entire amount of clothing, and the transportation of the\n     article, are furnished from the different states.\"\n\nA prospect is reasonably held out of the reduction of the price of the\narticle, by continuing the protection, to a point as low as need be\ndesired, or could be obtained if we were to depend upon a foreign\nsupply.\n\n     \"When the estates are paid for, and the general diminution of\n     value in other things takes place, with the improvements in\n     machinery and other causes, sugar will be profitably made at 4\n     cents, and that is about the price at which we purchase it now\n     in the islands: at that price we can, after supplying this\n     country, enter into the general market of the Baltic,\n     Mediterranean, and Black Seas.\"\n\nOn this part of the case a more satisfactory ground is taken; and it is\nmade manifest, by authentic documents, that since the production of\nsugar in Louisiana, with the duties by which it is protected, a\nreduction has taken place in the price of the article, of _one-half_.\nThe results of the tables annexed to the letter are thus given.\n\n     \"The protecting duty on sugar, besides opening a new field of\n     industry, diverting a large portion of labour from other\n     objects, maintaining the value of all the slave property in the\n     country, and supplying the people with an article of general\n     use and prime necessity, has actually diminished the price\n     one-half in twelve years.\n\n     \"In paper A, it will be seen that the prices in 1818 ranged\n     from $14 to 15, and that in 1829 they had fallen to $7.50.\n\n     \"In paper marked B, it will be seen, that the brown of Havana\n     has fallen 3 cents in 6 years, from 10 to 7 cents, while the\n     sugar of Louisiana has varied from 8-1/2 to 6-1/2. The price\n     of sugar has in that time depreciated more than the duty, and\n     will produce still greater effect. The general average of\n     Havana brown, for six years, is 9-3/4, which now sells at from\n     7 to 8. The general average of Louisiana for the same period is\n     8-1/4; the present price ranges from 6-1/2 to 7-1/2. The sugar\n     of Louisiana now sells in New-Orleans at 5-1/2; freight, &c.\n     will bring it to 6-1/2 in the Atlantic ports.\"\n\nMr. Johnston has no doubt of the capacity of the sugar region of the\nUnited States to supply all our demands for it, for a long period to\ncome.\n\n     \"Without entering into any exact calculation, I can with\n     confidence assure you, that Louisiana alone can produce enough\n     for the consumption of the country for twenty-five or thirty\n     years, and including Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, and Georgia\n     south of the 32d degree, will supply it for twice that period.\n\n     \"It thus appears, that the people of Louisiana, under a\n     confidence in the permanency of the policy of the government,\n     have embarked their fortunes in the production of an article of\n     extensive use; that they are now in the course of successful\n     experiment, which promises, in a few years, to supply the\n     consumption of the country; that they have opened a new field\n     of agricultural industry and enterprise, requiring a vast\n     amount of labour and capital; that they have actually reduced\n     the price of the article one-half, and have saved the country\n     an expense of six or seven millions a-year, and will reduce the\n     price still lower, when the experiment is complete.\"\n\nHaving found in our \"History of Louisiana,\" the feeble commencement of\nthe culture of the sugar cane in that country, we thought it not beside\nour purpose, and likely to be agreeable to our readers, to trace it to\nits present strong and flourishing condition; to show the causes of its\nincrease, and its immense value to those who have embarked their\nfortunes in it; to those by whom its produce is consumed, and finally to\nthe revenue of the government. All these matters, doubtless, will be\ncarefully examined and considered by the public councils whose right and\nduty it is to decide upon them.\n\nWe return to our history; the colony seems now to have attracted the\nattention of the mother country, and liberal assistance was given to\nadvance its population.\n\n     \"The ships landed also sixty poor girls, who were brought over\n     at the king's expense. They were the last succour of this kind,\n     which the mother country supplied. They were given in marriage\n     to such soldiers whose good conduct entitled them to a\n     discharge. Land was allotted to each couple, with a cow and\n     calf, a cock and five hens; a gun, axe, and hoe. During the\n     three first years, rations were allowed them, with a small\n     quantity of powder, shot, and grain for seed.\"\n\nThis was in 1751.\n\nAn anecdote is recorded, exhibiting at once a feature of aboriginal\njustice, and the strength of parental affection in the \"poor Indian.\"\n\n     \"In a quarrel between a Choctaw and a Colapissa, the former\n     told the latter his countrymen were the dogs of the\n     French--meaning their slaves. The Colapissa, having a loaded\n     musket in his hands, discharged its contents at the Choctaw,\n     and fled to New-Orleans. The relations of the deceased came to\n     the Marquis de Vaudreuil to demand his surrender: he had in the\n     mean while gone to the German coast. The Marquis, having vainly\n     tried to appease them, sent orders to Renaud, the commandant\n     of that post, to have the murderer arrested; but he eluded the\n     pursuit. His father went to the Choctaws and offered himself a\n     willing victim: the relations of the deceased persisted in\n     their refusal to accept any compensation in presents. They at\n     last consented to allow the old man to atone, by the loss of\n     his own life, for the crime of his son. He stretched himself on\n     the trunk of an old tree, and a Choctaw severed his head from\n     the body, at the first stroke. This instance of paternal\n     affection was made the subject of a tragedy by Leblanc de\n     Villeneuve, an officer of the troops lately arrived from\n     France. This performance is the only dramatic work which the\n     republic of letters owes to Louisiana.\"\n\nIn the same year the white men furnished a subject for a tragedy far\nmore cruel and vindictive than the self-immolation of an Indian father,\nand far less just and amiable.\n\n     \"During the summer, some soldiers of the garrison of Cat\n     Island, rose upon and killed Roux, who commanded there. They\n     were exasperated at his avarice and cruelty. He employed them\n     in burning coal, of which he made a traffic, and for trifling\n     delinquencies had exposed several of them, naked and tied to\n     trees in a swamp, during whole nights, to the stings of\n     musquetoes. Joining some English traders in the neighbourhood\n     of Mobile, they started in the hope of reaching Georgia,\n     through the Indian country. A party of the Choctaws, then about\n     the fort, was sent after and overtook them. One destroyed\n     himself; the rest were brought to New-Orleans, where two were\n     broken on the wheel--the other, belonging to the Swiss regiment\n     of Karrer, was, according to the law of his nation, followed by\n     the officers of the Swiss troops in the service of France,\n     sawed in two parts. He was placed alive in a kind of coffin, to\n     the middle of which two sergeants applied a whip saw. It was\n     not thought prudent to make any allowance for the provocation\n     these men had received.\"\n\nThe removal of the Acadians from their country; stripping them of their\nlands and goods; permitting them to carry nothing away but their\nhousehold furniture and money, of which they had but little; laying\nwaste their fields and their dwellings, and consuming their fences by\nfire, was another awful tragedy performed by civilized man upon the weak\nand defenceless, upon the pretences of policy. It was an act of British\ninhumanity; the sufferings of these miserable outcasts and wanderers are\ndescribed by our author.\n\n     \"Thus beggared, these people were, in small numbers and at\n     different periods, cast on the sandy shores of the southern\n     provinces, among a people of whose language they were ignorant,\n     and who knew not theirs, whose manners and education were\n     different from their own, whose religion they abhorred, and who\n     were rendered odious to them, as the friends and countrymen of\n     those who had so cruelly treated them, and whom they considered\n     as a no less savage foe, than he who wields the tomahawk and\n     the scalping knife.\n\n     \"It is due to the descendants of the British colonists, to say,\n     that their sires received with humanity, kindness, and\n     hospitality, those who so severely smarted under the calamities\n     of war. In every province the humane example of the legislature\n     of Pennsylvania was followed, and the colonial treasury was\n     opened to relieve the sufferers; and private charity was not\n     outdone by the public. Yet but a few accepted the proffered\n     relief, and sat down on the land that was offered them.\n\n     \"The others fled westerly, from what appeared to them a hostile\n     shore--wandering till they found themselves out of sight of any\n     who spoke the English language. They crossed the mighty spine,\n     and wintered among the Indians. The scattered parties, thrown\n     off on the coast of every colony from Pennsylvania to Georgia,\n     united, and trusting themselves to the western waters, sought\n     the land on which the spotless banner waved, and the waves of\n     the Mississippi brought them to New-Orleans.\"\n\nThe practice of _shipping off_ individuals who were obnoxious to the\ndominant party, seems to have obtained in Louisiana at a very early\nperiod; and, as we shall see, became a favourite process in the\nadministration of justice. A pretty strong case of this employment of\nphysical force, without any consultation with the officers of the law,\nor any regard to the civil rights of the people, occured in 1759. We\nshall give it to our readers.\n\n     \"Diaz Anna, a Jew from Jamaica, came to New-Orleans, on a\n     trading voyage. We have seen, that by an edict of the month of\n     March, 1724, that of Louis the Thirteenth, of the 13th of\n     April, 1615, had been extended to Louisiana. The latter edict\n     declared, that Jews, as enemies of the Christian name, should\n     not be allowed to reside in Louisiana; and if they staid in\n     spite of the edict, their bodies and goods should be\n     confiscated: Rochemore had the vessel of the Israelite and her\n     cargo seized. Kerlerec sent soldiers to drive away the guard\n     put on board the vessel, and had her restored to the Jew.\n     Imagining he had gone too far to stop there, he had Belot,\n     Rochemore's secretary, and Marigny de Mandeville, de Lahoupe,\n     Bossu, and some other officers, whom he suspected to have\n     joined the ordonnateur's party, arrested, and a few days after\n     shipped them for France.\"\n\nThus far we have seen this province under the dominion of France, and\ngradually ameliorating its condition under her government. We come now\nto the period when a new master was to be given to it, or rather, when\nit was to be given to a new master. It is thus that kings have used\nterritories and their people, their industry and their wealth, as\nsubjects of diplomatic traffic and political accommodation. \"On the 3d\nof November 1763, a secret treaty was signed between the French and\nSpanish kings, by which the former ceded to the latter the part of the\nprovince of Louisiana which lies on the western side of the Mississippi,\nwith the city of New-Orleans, and the island on which it stands.\" When\nthe rumours of this cession reached the colonists, it produced the\ndeepest distress; they had a dread of passing \"under the yoke of Spain.\"\nOfficial intelligence of the event was not received until October 1764,\nwhen an order came from the king to deliver possession of the ceded\nterritory to the governor of the Catholic king. \"This intelligence\nplunged the inhabitants in the greatest consternation;\" especially as it\nestranged them from their kindred and friends in the eastern part of the\nprovince--transferring them to a foreign potentate. Every effort was\nmade by meetings and memorials to avert the calamity. The actual\ndelivery was delayed; and a hope was entertained that the cession might\nbe rescinded, for two years had elapsed since the direction had been\ngiven to surrender the province to Spain. In the summer of 1766,\nintelligence was received that Don Ulloa had arrived at Havana, to take\nthe possession, for Spain, of Louisiana. Soon after he landed at\nNew-Orleans, and was received \"with dumb respect.\" He declined\nexhibiting his powers, and of course delayed to receive the possession\nof the country. In 1768 the council insisted that Don Ulloa should\nproduce his powers or depart from the province; he chose the latter\nalternative, and sailed for Havana, and from thence to Spain. In the\nfollowing year a governor of a different temperament was sent from\nSpain, attended by a strong military force, with a large supply of arms\nand ammunition. On the 24th of July, Don Alexander O'Reilly landed on\nthe levee. \"The inhabitants immediately came to a resolution to choose\nthree gentlemen to wait on him, and inform him that the people of\nLouisiana were determined to abandon the colony, and had no other favour\nto ask from him, but that he would allow them two years to remove\nthemselves and their effects.\" O'Reilly received the deputies with great\npoliteness; made professions of his desire to promote the interests of\nthe colonists, and said every thing he thought would flatter the people.\nAt this time the Spanish armament had not reached the city; it cast\nanchor on the 16th of August. In the afternoon of the 18th, the\nSpaniards disembarked; the French flag was lowered, and the Spanish was\nseen flying in its place in the middle of the square. We have been thus\nparticular in narrating these events, because they were the precursors\nof a proceeding of military violence, astonishing _even for that day_,\nand under circumstances of open disaffection and opposition to the\ngovernment; for some of the planters had taken up arms on the arrival of\nO'Reilly.\n\nOne of the first acts of O'Reilly's administration was to take a census\nof the inhabitants of New-Orleans. The aggregate population was 3190, of\nevery age, sex, and colour; of these 1902 were free; 1225 slaves, and\nsixty domesticated Indians; the number of houses was 468; the whole\nprovince contained but 13,538 inhabitants.\n\nWe have seen that the cession of the province had created the utmost\ndiscontent; and the arrival of O'Reilly was considered as a general\ncalamity. The transfer had been impeded and resisted by all the means in\nthe power of the colonists. Although Don Ulloa had not ventured to\nexecute his commission with the force at his command, he had,\nnevertheless, \"set about building forts and putting troops into them.\"\nOn the other side, plans of resistance were contemplated by the people;\nand assistance looked for from their English neighbours in West Florida;\nand in the fall of 1768 Don Ulloa was, as we have seen, ordered away. By\nthis brief retrospect, the temper of the colonists, on the arrival of\nO'Reilly, will be understood, and will serve as a key to his\nproceedings. He resolved to lose nothing by timidity and hesitation. In\nthe reckless pride and unbridled passions of military despotism, he\ndisdained to temporize, or endeavour to sooth the irritated feelings of\nthe people, or to conciliate their confidence, or calm their fears. He\nhad been accustomed to rely upon no power but that of the sword, and to\nrespect no authority but a military commission. To him the _law_ was a\nsubject of scorn, and the civil rights of citizens or subjects an idle\ntale. He looked upon his five thousand troops, with their arms and\nammunition, and he saw there the only power be respected, or would\ncondescend to use to maintain his government. Such principles led or\ndrove him to a course of desperate violence, having then no parallel in\nany country pretending to a government of laws, or any civil rights. We\nshall give his proceedings in the language of our historian.\n\n     \"Towards the last day of August, the people were alarmed by the\n     arrest of Foucault, the commissary-general and ordonnateur, De\n     Noyant and Boisblanc, two members of the superior council; La\n     Freniere, the attorney-general, and Braud, the king's printer.\n     These gentlemen were attending O'Reilly's leve, when he\n     requested them to step into an adjacent apartment, where they\n     found themselves immediately surrounded by a body of\n     grenadiers, with fixed bayonets, the commanding officer of whom\n     informed them they were the king's prisoners. The two first\n     were conveyed to their respective houses, and a guard was left\n     there: the others were imprisoned in the barracks.\n\n     \"It had been determined to make an example of twelve\n     individuals; two from the army, and an equal number from the\n     bar; four planters, and as many merchants. Accordingly, Marquis\n     and De Noyant, officers of the troop; La Freniere, the\n     attorney-general, and Doucet, (lawyers,) Villere, Boisblanc,\n     Mazent, and Petit, (planters,) and John Milhet, Joseph Milhet,\n     Caresse and Poupet, (merchants,) had been selected.\n\n     \"Within a few days, Marquis, Doucet, Petit, Mazant, the two\n     Milhets, Caresse, and Poupet, were arrested and confined.\n\n     \"Villere, who was on his plantation at the German coast, had\n     been marked as one of the intended victims; but his absence\n     from the city rendering his arrest less easy, it had been\n     determined to release one of the prisoners on his being\n     secured. He had been apprized of the impending danger, and it\n     had been recommended to him to provide for his safety by\n     seeking the protection of the British flag waving at Manshac.\n     When he was deliberating on the step it became him to take, he\n     received a letter from Aubry, the commandant of the French\n     troops, assuring him he had nothing to apprehend, and advising\n     him to return to the city. Averse to flight, as it would imply\n     a consciousness of guilt, he yielded to Aubry's recommendation,\n     and returned to New-Orleans; but as he passed the gate, the\n     officer commanding the guard arrested him. He was immediately\n     conveyed on board of a frigate that lay at the levee. On\n     hearing of this, his lady, a grand daughter of La Chaise, the\n     former commissary-general and ordonnateur, hastened to the\n     city. As her boat approached the frigate, it was hailed and\n     ordered away. She made herself known, and solicited admission\n     to her husband, but was answered she could not see him, as the\n     captain was on shore, and had left orders that no communication\n     should be allowed with the prisoner. Villere recognised his\n     wife's voice, and insisted on being permitted to see her. On\n     his being refused, a struggle ensued, in which he fell, pierced\n     by the bayonets of his guards. His bloody shirt thrown into the\n     boat, announced to the lady that she had ceased to be a wife;\n     and a sailor cut the rope that fastened the boat to the\n     frigate.\n\n     \"O'Reilly's assessors heard and recorded the testimony against\n     the prisoners, and called on them for their pleas.\n\n     \"The prosecution was grounded on a statute of Alfonso the\n     eleventh, which is the first law of the seventh title of the\n     first partida, and denounces the punishment of death and\n     confiscation of property against those who excite any\n     insurrection against the king or state, or take up arms under\n     pretence of extending their liberty or rights, and against\n     those who give them any assistance.\n\n     \"Foucault pleaded he had done nothing, except in his character\n     of commissary-general and ordonnateur of the king of France in\n     the province, and to him alone he was accountable for the\n     motives that had directed his official conduct. The plea was\n     sustained; he was not, however, released; and a few days\n     afterwards, he was transported to France.\n\n     \"Brand offered a similar plea, urging he was the king of\n     France's printer in Louisiana. The only accusation against him,\n     was that he had printed the petition of the planters and\n     merchants to the superior council, soliciting that body to\n     require Ulloa to exhibit his powers or depart. He concluded\n     that he was bound, by his office, to print whatever the\n     ordonnateur sent to his press; and he produced that officer's\n     order to print the petition. His plea was sustained and he was\n     discharged.\n\n     \"The other prisoners declined also the jurisdiction of the\n     tribunal before which they were arraigned: their plea was\n     overruled. They now denied the facts with which they were\n     charged, contended that if they did take place, they did so\n     while the flag of France was still waving over the province,\n     and the laws of that kingdom retained their empire in it, and\n     thus the facts did not constitute an offence against the laws\n     of Spain; that the people of Louisiana could not bear the yokes\n     of two sovereigns; that O'Reilly could not command the\n     obedience, nor even the respect of the colonists, until he made\n     known to them his character and powers; and that the Catholic\n     king could not count on their allegiance, till he extended to\n     them his protection.\n\n     \"It had been determined at first, to proceed with the utmost\n     rigour of the law against six of the prisoners; but, on the\n     death of Villere, it was judged sufficient to do so against\n     five only. The jurisprudence of Spain authorizing the\n     infliction of a less severe punishment than that denounced by\n     the statute, when the charge is not proved by two witnesses to\n     the same act, but by one with corroborating\n     circumstances.--Accordingly two witnesses were produced against\n     De Noyant, La Freniere, Marquis, Joseph Milhet, and Caresse.\n     They were convicted; and O'Reilly, by the advice of his\n     assessor, condemned them to be hanged, and pronounced the\n     confiscation of their estates.\n\n     \"The most earnest and pathetic entreaties were employed by\n     persons in every rank of society, to prevail on O'Reilly to\n     remit or suspend the execution of his sentence till the royal\n     clemency could be implored. He was inexorable; and the only\n     indulgence that could be obtained, was, that death should be\n     inflicted by shooting, instead of hanging. With this\n     modification, the sentence was carried into execution on the\n     twenty-eighth of September.\n\n     \"On the morning of that day, the guards, at every gate and post\n     of the city, were doubled, and orders were given not to allow\n     any body to enter it. All the troops were under arms, and\n     paraded the streets or were placed in battle array along the\n     levee and on the public square. Most of the inhabitants fled\n     into the country. At three o'clock of the afternoon, the\n     victims were led, under a strong guard, to the small square in\n     front of the barracks, tied to stakes, and an explosion of\n     musketry soon announced to the few inhabitants who remained in\n     the city, that their friends were no more.\n\n     \"Posterity, the judge of men in power, will doom this act to\n     public execration. No necessity demanded, no policy justified\n     it. Ulloa's conduct had provoked the measures to which the\n     inhabitants had resorted. During nearly two years, he had\n     haunted the province as a phantom of dubious authority. The\n     efforts of the colonists, to prevent the transfer of their\n     natal soil to a foreign prince, originated in their attachment\n     to their own, and the Catholic king ought to have beheld in\n     their conduct a pledge of their future devotion to himself.\n     They had but lately seen their country severed, and a part of\n     it added to the dominion of Great Britain; they had bewailed\n     their separation from their friends and kindred; and were\n     afterwards to be alienated, without their consent, and\n     subjected to a foreign yoke. If the indiscretion of a few of\n     them needed an apology, the common misfortune afforded it.\n\n     \"A few weeks afterwards, the proceedings against the six\n     remaining prisoners were brought to a close. One witness only\n     deposing against any of them, and circumstances corroborating\n     the testimony, Boisblanc was condemned to imprisonment for\n     life; Doucet, Mazent, John Milhet, Petit, and Poupet, were\n     condemned to imprisonment for various terms of years. All were\n     transported to Havana, and cast into the dungeons of the Moro\n     Castle.\"\n\nO'Reilly was not satisfied with this bloody vengeance on the individuals\nwho had incurred his resentment and offended his pride. The \"Superior\ncouncil\" in a body must be prostrated by his power.\n\n     \"A proclamation of O'Reilly, on the twenty-first of November,\n     announced to them that the evidence received during the late\n     trials, having furnished full proof of the part the superior\n     council had in the revolt during the two preceding years, and\n     of the influence it had exerted in encouraging the leaders,\n     instead of using its best endeavours to keep the people in the\n     fidelity and subordination they owed to the sovereign, it had\n     become necessary to abolish that tribunal, and to establish, in\n     Louisiana, that form of government and mode of administering\n     justice prescribed by the laws of Spain, which had long\n     maintained the Catholic king's American colonies in perfect\n     tranquillity, content, and subordination.\"\n\nA year after these deeds of military heroism, O'Reilly took passage for\nEurope. But what said his royal master, the King of Spain, for such\noutrages upon the lives and liberty of his newly acquired subjects? We\nare told in one short paragraph--\"Charles III. _disapproved_ of\nO'Reilly's conduct, and he received on his landing at Cadiz, an order\nprohibiting his appearance at court.\" Well, it is something that his\nconduct was _disapproved_ of, and not rewarded with new honours and\npowers. Some _sovereigns_ might have done this.\n\nWe pass from these distressing and disgraceful scenes, and find nothing\nof peculiar interest in our History, until we come to the period of our\nrevolution. Although in 1778, the people of Louisiana could have had no\nprophetic vision to warn them that they would become a member of the\nAmerican Republic, they felt and manifested a friendly disposition\ntoward us, and rendered us efficient aid in the struggle then carrying\non for our independence.\n\n     \"During the month of January, Captain Willing made a second\n     visit to New-Orleans. Oliver Pollock now acted openly as the\n     agent of the Americans, with the countenance of Galvez, who\n     now, and at subsequent periods, afforded them an aid of upwards\n     of seventy thousand dollars out of the royal treasury. By this\n     means, the posts occupied by the militia of Virginia on the\n     Mississippi, and the frontier inhabitants of the state of\n     Pennsylvania, were supplied with arms and ammunition.\"\n\nNow that we have become one people, and our Independence has made the\nindependence of Louisiana, it is gratifying to recall to our\nrecollection every testimony that may draw us closer together in our\naffections, as we are in our interests and common welfare. We take\npleasure also in presenting an instance of American enterprise and\ngallantry, which ought not to be forgotten.\n\n     \"Colonel Hamilton, who commanded at the British post at\n     Detroit, came this year to Vincennes, on the Wabash, with about\n     six hundred men, chiefly Indians, with a view to an expedition\n     against Kaskaskia, and up the Ohio as far as Fort Pitt, and the\n     back settlements of Virginia. Colonel Clark heard, from a\n     trader who came down from Vincennes to Kaskaskia, that\n     Hamilton, not intending to take the field until spring, had\n     sent most of his force to block up the Ohio, or to harass the\n     frontier settlers, keeping at Vincennes sixty soldiers only,\n     with three pieces of cannon and some swivels. The resolution\n     was immediately taken to improve the favourable opportunity for\n     averting the impending danger; and Clark accordingly despatched\n     a small galley, mounting two four pounders and four swivels, on\n     board of which he put a company of soldiers, with orders to\n     pursue her way up the Wabash, and anchor a few miles below\n     Vincennes, suffering nothing to pass her. He now sat off with\n     one hundred and twenty men, the whole force he could command,\n     and marched towards Vincennes. They were five days in crossing\n     the low lands of the Wabash, in the neighbourhood of Vincennes,\n     after having spent sixty in crossing the wilderness, wading for\n     several nights up to their breasts in water. Appearing suddenly\n     before the town, they surprised and took it. Hamilton for a\n     while defended the fort, but was at last compelled to\n     surrender.\"\n\nWe now approach a period in the History of Louisiana when her direct\ncommunication and commerce with the United States began; and from this\nmoment she became an object of great and growing interest to us. The\ncommencement of this intercourse is of a singular character, and was\nconducted with singular address.\n\n     \"The foundation was now laid of a commercial intercourse,\n     through the Mississippi, between the United States and\n     New-Orleans, which has been continued, with but little\n     interruption, to this day, and has increased to an immense\n     degree; and, to the future extent of which, the imagination can\n     hardly contemplate any limit. Hitherto, the boats of the\n     western people, venturing on the Mississippi, were arrested by\n     the first Spanish officer who met them; and confiscation\n     ensued, in every case; all communication between the citizens\n     of the United States and the Spaniards being strictly\n     prohibited. Now and then, an emigrant, desirous of settling in\n     the district of Natchez, by personal entreaty and the\n     solicitations of his friends, obtained a tract of land, with\n     permission to settle on it with his family, slaves, farming\n     utensils, and furniture. He was not allowed to bring any thing\n     to sell without paying an enormous duty. An unexpected incident\n     changed the face of affairs in this respect.\n\n     \"The idea of a regular trade was first conceived by General\n     Wilkinson, who had served with distinction as an officer in the\n     late war, and whose name is as conspicuous in the annals of the\n     west, as any other. He had connected with it a scheme for the\n     settlement of several thousand American families in that part\n     of the present state of Louisiana, now known as the parishes of\n     East and West Feliciana, and that of Washita, and on White\n     river, and other streams of the present territory of Arkansas.\n     For these services to the Spanish government, he expected to\n     obtain the privilege of introducing, yearly, a considerable\n     quantity of tobacco into the Mexican market.\n\n     \"With a view to the execution of his plan, Wilkinson descended\n     the Mississippi, with an adventure of tobacco, flour, butter,\n     and bacon. He stopped at Natchez while his boat was floating\n     down the stream to New-Orleans, the commandant at the former\n     place having been induced to forbear seizing it, from an\n     apprehension that such a step would be disapproved by Miro, who\n     might be desirous of showing some indulgence to a general\n     officer of a nation with whom his was at peace--especially as\n     the boat and its owner were proceeding to New-Orleans, where he\n     could act towards them as he saw fit.\n\n     \"Wilkinson having stopped at a plantation on the river, the\n     boat reached the city before him. On its approaching the levee,\n     a guard was immediately sent on board, and the revenue officers\n     were about taking measures for its seizure, when a merchant,\n     who was acquainted with Wilkinson, and had some influence with\n     Miro, represented to him that the step Navarro was about to\n     take might be attended with unpleasant consequences; that the\n     people of Kentucky were already much exasperated at the conduct\n     of the Spaniards in seizing all the property of those who\n     navigated the Mississippi, and if this system was pursued, they\n     would probably, in spite of Congress, take means themselves to\n     open the navigation of the river by force. Hints were, at the\n     same time, thrown out, that the general was a very popular\n     character among those who were capable of inflaming the whole\n     of the western people, and that, probably, his sending a boat\n     before him, that it might be seized, was a scheme laid by the\n     government of the United States, that he might, on his return,\n     influence the minds of his countrymen; and, having brought them\n     to the point he wished, induce them to choose him for their\n     leader, and, spreading over the country, carry fire and\n     desolation from one part of Louisiana to the other.\n\n     \"On this, Miro expressed his wish to Navarro that the guard\n     might be removed. This was done; and Wilkinson's friend was\n     permitted to take charge of the boat, and sell the cargo,\n     without paying any duty.\n\n     \"On his first interview with Miro, Wilkinson, that he might not\n     derogate from the character his friend had given him, by\n     appearing concerned in so trifling an adventure as a boat-load\n     of tobacco, flour, &c. observed that the cargo belonged to\n     several of his fellow-citizens in Kentucky, who wished to avail\n     themselves of his visit to New-Orleans to make a trial of the\n     temper of the colonial government. On his return he could then\n     inform the United States government, of the steps taken under\n     his eye; so that, in future, proper measures might be adopted.\n     He acknowledged with gratitude the attention and respect\n     manifested towards himself, and the favour shown to the\n     merchant who had been permitted to take care of the boat;\n     adding, he did not wish that the intendant should expose\n     himself to the anger of the court, by forbearing to seize the\n     boat and cargo, if such were his instructions, and he had no\n     authority to depart from them when circumstances might require\n     it.\n\n     \"Miro supposed, from this conversation, that Wilkinson's object\n     was to produce a rupture rather than to avoid one. He became\n     more and more alarmed. For two or three years before,\n     particularly since the commissioners of the state of Georgia\n     came to Natchez to claim the country, he had been fearful of an\n     invasion at every rise of the water; and the rumour of a few\n     boats having been seen together on the Ohio, was sufficient to\n     excite his apprehensions. At his next interview with Wilkinson,\n     having procured further information of the character, number,\n     and disposition of the western people, and having revolved, in\n     his mind, what measures he could take, consistently with his\n     instructions, he concluded that he could do no better than to\n     hold out a hope to Wilkinson, in order to secure his influence\n     in restraining his countrymen from an invasion of Louisiana,\n     till further instructions could be received from Madrid. The\n     general sailed in September for Philadelphia.\"\n\nIn 1788, Don Martin Navarro, the intendant, left the province for Spain,\nand we cannot deny him the credit of sagacity, in his last communication\nto the king.\n\n     \"Navarro's last communication to the king was a memorial which\n     he had prepared, by order of the minister, on the danger to be\n     apprehended by Spain, in her American colonies, from the\n     emancipation of the late British provinces on the Atlantic. In\n     this document, he dwells much on the ambition of the United\n     States, and their thirst for conquest; whose views he states to\n     be an extension of territory to the shores of the Pacific\n     ocean; and suggests the dismemberment of the western country,\n     by means of pensions and the grant of commercial privileges, as\n     the most proper means, in the power of Spain, to arrest the\n     impending danger. To effect this, was not, in his opinion, very\n     difficult. The attempt was therefore strongly recommended, as\n     success would greatly augment the power of Spain, and forever\n     arrest the progress of the United States to the west.\n\n     \"It would not have been difficult for the King of Spain, at\n     this period, to have found, in Kentucky, citizens of the United\n     States ready to come into his views. The people of that\n     district met, this year, in a second convention, and agreed on\n     a petition to congress for the redress of their grievances--the\n     principal of which was, the occlusion of the Mississippi. Under\n     the apprehension that the interference of congress could not be\n     obtained, or might be fruitless, several expedients were talked\n     of, no one of which was generally approved; the people being\n     divided into no less than five parties, all of which had\n     different, if not opposite, views.\n\n     \"The first was for independence of the United States, and the\n     formation of a new republic, unconnected with them, who was to\n     enter into a treaty with Spain.\n\n     \"Another party was willing that the country should become a\n     part of the province of Louisiana, and submit to the admission\n     of the laws of Spain.\n\n     \"A third desired a war with Spain, and the seizure of\n     New-Orleans.\n\n     \"A fourth plan was to prevail on congress, by a show of\n     preparation for war, to extort from the cabinet of Madrid, what\n     it persisted in refusing.\n\n     \"The last, as unnatural as the second, was to solicit France to\n     procure a retrocession of Louisiana, and extend her protection\n     to Kentucky.\"\n\nWe think the Don's scheme, for preventing the evils he anticipated,\naltogether chimerical; but our author has more faith in it, and believes\n\"it would not have been difficult for the King of Spain, at this period,\nto find, in Kentucky, citizens of the United States ready to come into\nhis views.\" We trust this is a mistake. The occlusion of the Mississippi\nwas the grievance they deplored. It is, however, worthy of our special\nattention, that at the period when these matters were agitated in our\nwestern country, our states were held together by the weak and\ninefficient bonds of the old confederation, under which, state\nselfishness and state pride, now called _state rights_, predominated\nover the great and general interests of the Union; and the weaker\nmembers were neglected, having no superintending, supreme federal power\nto give an equal care and protection to every part. Our author\ndistinctly says, that \"it was in the western part of the United States\nthat the inefficacy of the power of Congress was most complained of.\"\nThe present strength and prosperity of the west, are the fruits of our\n\"more perfect union,\" and the wisdom and gratitude of the west will\nforever make it the friend and support of that Union.\n\nWe are now introduced to the Baron de Carondelet, a name which\nafterwards became conspicuous in the History of Louisiana, and familiar\nto the citizens of the United States. He was appointed governor of the\nprovince, and entered upon his duties in 1792. \"The sympathies and\npartialities of the people of Louisiana began to manifest themselves\nstrongly in favour of the French patriots, principally in New-Orleans.\"\nThe Baron thought it to be his duty, especially as he was a native of\nFrance, \"to restrain excesses against monarchical government.\" He began\nby stopping \"the exhibition of certain martial dances and revolutionary\nairs\" at the theatre. He afterwards thought it necessary to adopt\nstronger measures to suppress the growing inclination to popular\ndoctrines, and betook himself to the _custom of the country_, the\nNew-Orleans _common law_, or rather the law of its governors, _to ship\noff the obnoxious persons_, without any form of trial or condemnation.\nHe caused six individuals to be arrested and confined in the fort, and\nsoon afterwards, \"shipped them for Havana, where they were detained a\ntwelve month.\" This may be a very pretty military mode of getting rid of\ndisagreeable or troublesome people--the summary arrest--the fort--the\nship and banishment; but we cannot reconcile it to our notions of\nliberty and law.\n\nWe pass over, as matters well known, the plans of _Genet_ at this\nperiod, and the proceedings of the Baron to defeat them.--The Baron also\nfollowed up, with great perseverance, \"his favourite plan for the\nseparation of the western people from the Union,\" and he continued to do\nso, subsequent to the ratification of the treaty between the United\nStates and Spain. The report made by _Power_, the Baron's agent, of the\ndispositions of the western people, was altogether unpropitious to his\ndesign. He, however, delayed the delivery of the posts, to which the\nUnited States were entitled, under various pretences; still having the\nseparation in view. His proceedings to effect this object are detailed,\nand will be read with interest. It is needless to say, that no ray of\nsuccess shone upon his enterprise. Power, the active agent of the\nmischief, came very near to be tarred and feathered at Louisville, and\nwas afterwards arrested by General Wilkinson, at Detroit. The Baron must\nhave opened his eyes in astonishment at his egregious miscalculation of\nthe dispositions of the West, when Wilkinson informed him, \"that the\npeople of Kentucky had proposed to him to raise an army of ten thousand\nmen to take New-Orleans in case of a rupture with Spain.\"\n\nOur author gives a concise account of the cession of Louisiana by Spain\nto France, and again by France to the United States. The negotiator by\nwhom the latter transfer was conducted, on the part of France, was M.\nMarbois, and his work is the most satisfactory authority for the curious\ndetails of that extraordinary proceeding. The general character of the\ntransaction, and the terms of purchase, are sufficiently known; but M.\nMarbois lets us into some of the secrets of the negotiation, and of the\nreasons which induced the first consul to part with this valuable\nterritory as soon as he had acquired it. We will be brief with them.\n\nThe cession of Louisiana by France to Spain in 1763, was not only, as we\nhave seen, a cause of violent discontent to the inhabitants of that\nprovince, but was considered in all the maritime and commercial cities\nof France, as impolitic and injurious; and a general wish prevailed to\nrecover the colony. This did not escape Bonaparte, who did not delay to\nrenew with the court of Madrid, a negotiation on the subject; having\nalso in view a diminution of the power of England, which was never out\nof his mind. Profiting by the ascendancy he acquired by the victory of\nMarengo, he easily persuaded the Prince of Peace to restore Louisiana to\nFrance. This was done by a treaty made in October 1800. It was\nstipulated that the surrender should be made six months after. The\ntreaty of 21st March 1801, renews these dispositions; but Louisiana\ncontinued for some time longer under the dominion of Spain. The\ndifferences between the United States and the French republic were\nterminated by a convention at Paris, on 30th of September 1800; and on\nthe next day the treaty above mentioned with Spain was concluded at St.\nIldephonso. As the war between France and England still continued, the\ncession of Louisiana to France was not made public; nor was possession\ntaken. This difficulty was not removed for some time. In October 1801,\npreliminaries of peace were signed at London, followed up by the treaty\nof Amiens in March 1802. In the following September General Victor was\nappointed governor general of Louisiana; and Laussat the prefect sailed\nfor New-Orleans in January.\n\nThe retrocession of the province to France created much uneasiness and\nalarm in the United States. The free navigation of the Mississippi\nbecame daily of more importance, and it was apprehended that the French\nwould not be found as peaceable neighbours as the Spaniards. Every one\nremembers the short and uneasy existence of the insincere peace of\nAmiens. A renewal of the war was seen to be inevitable, and the American\ncabinet perceived that, in such an event, France would postpone the\noccupation of Louisiana. This state of things was justly thought to be\nfavourable to an arrangement with France on the subject of the deposit\nat New-Orleans and the navigation of the river. Mr. Monroe was sent to\nthat country for this purpose, where Mr. Livingston, our minister, had\nbeen pursuing it for many months; his overtures received little or no\nattention. The debates in our senate are not forgotten, on the motion of\nMr. Ross; nor the prospect then in view of our taking by force of arms\nwhat it was believed would never be gained by treaty. In the spring of\n1803, war was clearly inevitable between France and England; and\nBonaparte knew that Louisiana, in that event, would be at the mercy of\nhis enemy. He at once determined to change his policy in regard to that\nprovince, and to part with it, as the only means of saving it from\nEngland. On the 10th of April 1803, he entered upon the execution of his\ndesign, and called two counsellors to him, and addressed them \"with that\nvehemence and passion which he particularly manifested in political\naffairs.\" He said he knew the full value of Louisiana, and had been\ndesirous of repairing the fault by which it was lost--that \"a few lines\nof a treaty have restored it to me, and I have scarcely recovered it\nwhen I must expect to lose it.\" Looking to the strength it would give to\nthe United States, he said: \"But if it escapes from me, it shall one\nday cost dearer to those who oblige me to strip myself of it, than to\nthose to whom I wish to deliver it.\" After some remarks upon the naval\nstrength in the Gulf of Mexico, and the ease with which they might take\nLouisiana, he added;--\n\n     \"I think of ceding it to the United States. I can scarcely say\n     that I cede it to them, for it is not yet in our possession.\n     If, however, I leave the least time to our enemies, I shall\n     only transmit an empty title to those republicans whose\n     friendship I seek. They only ask of me one town in Louisiana,\n     but I already consider the colony as entirely lost, and it\n     appears to me that in the hands of this growing power, it will\n     be more useful to the policy and even to the commerce of\n     France, than if I should attempt to keep it.\"\n\nThe counsellors differed in their opinions, diametrically, each giving\nhis reasons at large. The first consul decided the question immediately;\nhe promptly declared, that\n\n     \"Irresolution and deliberation are no longer in season. I\n     renounce Louisiana. It is not only New-Orleans that I will\n     cede, it is the whole colony without any reservation. I know\n     the price of what I abandon, and I have sufficiently proved the\n     importance that I attach to this province, since my first\n     diplomatic act with Spain had for its object the recovery of\n     it. I renounce it with the greatest regret. To attempt\n     obstinately to retain it would be folly. I direct you to\n     negotiate this affair with the envoys of the United States. Do\n     not even await the arrival of Mr. Monroe: have an interview\n     this very day with Mr. Livingston.\"\n\nWe hope and believe that one of the predictions of this luminous mind\nwill not be fulfilled, although we have lately seen some appearances of\nits accomplishment.\n\n     \"Perhaps it will also be objected to me, that the Americans may\n     be found too powerful for Europe in two or three centuries: but\n     my foresight does not embrace such remote fears. Besides, we\n     may hereafter expect rivalries among the members of the Union.\n     The confederations, that are called perpetual, only last till\n     one of the contracting parties finds it to its interest to\n     break them, and it is to prevent the danger, to which the\n     colossal power of England exposes us, that I would provide a\n     remedy.\"\n\n\"The conferences began the same day between Mr. Livingston and M. Barbe\nMarbois, to whom the first consul confided the negotiation.\" Pending the\npreliminary discussions, Mr. Monroe arrived at Paris; but even then Mr.\nLivingston despaired of success, and said to Mr. Monroe, \"I wish that\nthe resolution offered by Mr. Ross in the senate had been adopted. Only\nforce can give us New-Orleans; we must employ force; let us first get\npossession of the country and negotiate afterwards.\" Mr. Livingston,\nhowever, was happily mistaken. \"The first difficulties,\" says M.\nMarbois, \"were smoothed by a circumstance which is rarely met with in\ncongresses and diplomatic conferences. The plenipotentiaries having been\nlong acquainted, were disposed to treat each other with confidence.\" The\nnegotiation, under such auspices, proceeded rapidly, but not without\nsome distrust on our part.\n\n     \"Mr. Monroe, still affected by the distrust of his colleague,\n     did not hear without surprise the first overtures that were\n     frankly made by M. de Marbois. Instead of the cession of a\n     town and its inconsiderable territory, a vast portion of\n     America was in some sort offered to the United States. They\n     only asked for the mere right of navigating the Mississippi,\n     and their sovereignty was about to be extended over the largest\n     rivers of the world. They passed over an interior frontier to\n     carry their limits to the great Pacific ocean.\"\n\nThe termination of this important negotiation was as speedy and\nsatisfactory, as it has been and will be important in its consequences.\nM. Marbois truly observes, \"the cession of Louisiana was a certain\nguarantee of the future greatness of the United States; and opposed an\ninsurmountable obstacle to any design formed by the English of becoming\npredominant in America.\" In relation to the stipulations in the treaty,\nthat the inhabitants should be incorporated in the Union, and, in due\ntime, be admitted as a state, &c. M. Marbois records.\n\n     \"The first consul, left to his natural disposition, was always\n     inclined to an elevated and generous justice. He himself\n     prepared the article which has been just recited. The words\n     which he employed on the occasion are recorded in the journal\n     of the negotiation, and deserve to be preserved. 'Let the\n     Louisianians know that we separate ourselves from them with\n     regret; that we stipulate in their favour every thing that they\n     can desire, and let them hereafter, happy in their\n     independence, recollect that they have been Frenchmen, and that\n     France, in ceding them, has secured for them advantages which\n     they could not have obtained from a European power, however\n     paternal it might have been. Let them retain for us sentiments\n     of affection; and may their common origin, descent, language,\n     and customs, perpetuate the friendship.'\"\n\nThe arrangement being completed, M. Marbois says--\"the following words\nsufficiently acquaint us with the reflections which then influenced the\nfirst consul. This accession of territory, said he, strengthens forever\nthe power of the United States, and I have just given to England a\nmaritime rival, that will sooner or later humble her pride.\"\n\nWe return to the History of Judge Martin, who describes the ceremonies\nof delivering the colony to the United States. Some citizens of the\nUnited States waved their hats, but \"no emotion was manifested by any\nother part of the crowd. The colonists did not appear conscious that\nthey were reaching the _Latium sedes ubi fata quietas ostendunt_.\"\n\nWe pass on to the year 1806, when the celebrated plot of Aaron Burr is\nintroduced. The president had received information of it, but not at\nfirst with such certainty as warranted any steps to be taken against the\naccused. General Wilkinson, then commanding in the west, afterwards made\ncommunications to the president, \"involving men distinguished for\nintegrity and patriotism; men of talents, honoured by the confidence of\nthe government, in the flagitious plot.\" The designs of Burr and his\nassociates were fully developed on his trial, and we need not repeat\nthem here; but the proceedings of General Wilkinson are not so generally\nunderstood, and it is well that they should be. Nobody can be better\nqualified than our historian to give the information, nor to obtain\nimplicit belief of all he narrates. We shall here see again that the old\npractice of _shipping off_ obnoxious individuals was resorted to by a\nmilitary commander; as if there was something in the climate of\nNew-Orleans to excite men in power to this mode of punishment or\nrevenge. We cannot present these transactions better than in the\nlanguage of our author.\n\n     \"On Sunday, the fourteenth, Dr. Erick Bollman was arrested by\n     order of Wilkinson, and hurried to a secret place of\n     confinement, and on the evening of the following day\n     application was made on his behalf, for a writ of habeas\n     corpus, to Sprigg, one of the territorial judges, who declined\n     acting, till he could consult Mathews, who could not then be\n     found. On the sixteenth, the writ was obtained from the\n     superior court; but Bollman was, in the meanwhile, put on board\n     of a vessel and sent down the river. On the same day,\n     application was made to Workman, the judge of the county of\n     Orleans, for a writ of habeas corpus, in favour of Ogden and\n     Swartwout, who had been arrested a few days before, by order of\n     Wilkinson, at Fort Adams, and were on board of a bomb ketch of\n     the United States lying before the city. Workman immediately\n     granted the writ, and called on Claiborne to inquire whether he\n     had assented to Wilkinson's proceedings: Claiborne replied he\n     had consented to the arrest of Bollman, and his mind was not\n     made up as to the propriety of that of Ogden and Swartwout.\n     Workman then expatiated on the illegality and evil tendency of\n     such measures, beseeching Claiborne not to permit them, but to\n     use his own authority, as the constitutional guardian of his\n     fellow-citizens, to protect them; but he was answered that the\n     executive had no authority to liberate those persons, and it\n     was for the judiciary to do it, if they thought fit. Workman\n     added, that he had heard that Wilkinson intended to ship off\n     his prisoners, and if this was permitted, writs of habeas\n     corpus would prove nugatory.\n\n     \"From the alarm and terror prevalent in the city, the deputy\n     sheriff could procure no boat to take him on board of the\n     ketch, on the day the writ issued. This circumstance was made\n     known early on the next morning, to Workman, who thereupon\n     directed the deputy sheriff to procure a boat by the offer of a\n     considerable sum of money, for the payment of which he\n     undertook the county would be responsible. The writ was served\n     soon afterwards, and returned at five in the evening by\n     Commodore Shaw, and the commanding officer of the ketch,\n     Lieutenant Jones; Swartwout had been taken from the ketch\n     before the service of the writ. Ogden was produced and\n     discharged, as his detention was justified on the order of\n     Wilkinson only.\n\n     \"On the eighteenth of December, Wilkinson returned the writ of\n     habeas corpus into the superior court, stating that, as\n     commander in chief of the army of the United States, he took on\n     himself all responsibility for the arrest of Erick Bollman,\n     charged with misprison of treason against the government of the\n     United States, and he had adopted measures for his safe\n     delivery to the government of the United States: that it was\n     after several conversations with the governor and one of the\n     judges of the territory, that he had hazarded this step for the\n     national safety, menaced to its basis by a lawless band of\n     traitors, associated under Aaron Burr, whose accomplices were\n     extended from New-York to New-Orleans: that no man held in\n     higher reverence the civil authorities of his country, and it\n     was to maintain and perpetuate the holy attributes of the\n     constitution, against the uplifted arm of violence, that he had\n     interposed the force of arms in a moment of the utmost peril,\n     to seize upon Bollman, as he should upon all others, _without\n     regard to standing or station_, against whom any proof might\n     arise of a participation in the lawless combination.\n\n     \"This return was, afterwards, amended, by an averment that, at\n     the time of the service of the writ, Bollman was not in the\n     possession or power of the person to whom it was addressed.\n\n     \"On the following day Ogden was arrested a second time by the\n     commanding officer of a troop of cavalry of the militia of the\n     territory, in the service of the United States, by whom\n     Alexander was also taken in custody; on the application of\n     Livingston, Workman issued writs of habeas corpus for both\n     prisoners.\n\n     \"Instead of a return, Wilkinson sent a written message to\n     Workman, begging him to accept his return to the superior\n     court, as applicable to the two traitors, who were the subjects\n     of his writs. On this, Livingston procured from the court, a\n     rule that Wilkinson make a further and more explicit return to\n     the writs, or show cause why an attachment should not issue\n     against him.\n\n     \"Workman now called again on Claiborne, and repeated his\n     observations, and recommended, that Wilkinson should be opposed\n     by force of arms. He stated, that the violent measures of that\n     officer had produced great discontent, alarm, and agitation, in\n     the public mind; and, unless such proceeding were effectually\n     opposed, all confidence in government would be at an end. He\n     urged Claiborne to revoke the order, by which he had placed the\n     Orleans volunteers under Wilkinson's command, and to call out\n     and arm the rest of the militia force, as soon as possible. He\n     stated it as his opinion, that the army would not oppose the\n     civil power, when constitutionally brought forth, or that, if\n     they did, the governor might soon have men enough to render the\n     opposition ineffectual. He added, that, from the laudable\n     conduct of Commodore Shaw and Lieutenant Jones, respecting\n     Ogden, he not only did not apprehend any resistance to the\n     civil authority from the navy, but thought they might be relied\n     on. Similar representations were made to Claiborne by Hall and\n     Mathews; but they were unavailing.\n\n     \"On the twenty-sixth, Wilkinson made a second return to the\n     writ of habeas corpus, stating that the body of neither of the\n     prisoners was in his possession or control. On this, Livingston\n     moved for process of attachment.\n\n     \"Workman now made an official communication to Claiborne. He\n     began by observing, that the late extraordinary events, which\n     had taken place within the territory, had led to a\n     circumstance, which authorized the renewal, in a formal manner,\n     of the request he had so frequently urged in conversation, that\n     the executive would make use of the constitutional force placed\n     under his command, to maintain the laws, and protect his\n     fellow-citizens against the unexampled tyranny exercised over\n     them.\n\n     \"He added, it was notorious that the commander in chief of the\n     military forces had, by his own authority, arrested several\n     citizens for civil offences, and had avowed on record, that he\n     had adopted measures to send them out of the territory, openly\n     declaring his determination to usurp the functions of the\n     judiciary, by making himself the only judge of the guilt of the\n     persons he suspected, and asserting in the same manner, and as\n     yet without contradiction, that his measures were taken, after\n     several consultations with the governor.\n\n     \"He proceeded to state, that writs of habeas corpus had been\n     issued from the court of the county of New-Orleans: on one of\n     them, Ogden had been brought up and discharged, but he had\n     been, however, again arrested, by order of the general,\n     together with an officer of the court, who had aided\n     professionally in procuring his release. The general had, in\n     his return to a subsequent writ, issued on his behalf, referred\n     the court to a return made by him to a former writ of the\n     superior court, and in the further return which he had been\n     ordered to make, he had declared that neither of the prisoners\n     was in his power, possession, or custody; but he had not\n     averred what was requisite, in order to exempt him from the\n     penalty of a contempt of court, that these persons were not in\n     his power, possession, or custody, at the time when the writs\n     were served, and, in consequence of the deficiency, the court\n     had been moved for an attachment.\n\n     \"The judge remarked, that although a common case would not\n     require the step he was taking, yet, he deemed it his duty,\n     before any decisive measure was pursued against a man, who had\n     all the regular force, and in pursuance of the governor's\n     public orders, a great part of that of the territory, at his\n     disposal, to ask whether the executive had the ability to\n     enforce the decrees of the court of the county, and if he had,\n     whether he would deem it expedient to do it, in the present\n     instance, or whether the allegation by which he supported these\n     violent measures was well founded?\n\n     \"Not only the conduct and power of Wilkinson, said the judge,\n     but various other circumstances, peculiar to our present\n     situation, the alarm excited in the public mind, the\n     description and character of a large part of the population of\n     the country, might render it dangerous, in the highest degree,\n     to adopt the measure usual in ordinary cases, of calling to the\n     aid of the sheriff, the _posse comitatus_, unless it were done\n     with the assurance of being supported by the governor in an\n     efficient manner.\n\n     \"The letter concluded by requesting a precise and speedy answer\n     to the preceding inquiries, and an assurance that, if certain\n     of the governor's support, the judge should forthwith punish,\n     as the law directs, the contempt offered to his court: on the\n     other hand, should the governor not think it practicable or\n     proper to afford his aid, the court and its officers would no\n     longer remain exposed to the contempt or insults of a man, whom\n     they were unable to punish or resist.\n\n     \"The legislature met on the twelfth of January. Two days after,\n     General Adair arrived in the city, from Tennessee, and reported\n     he had left Burr at Nashville, on the twenty-second of\n     December, with two flat boats, destined for New-Orleans. In the\n     afternoon of the day of Adair's arrival, the hotel at which he\n     had stopped was invested by one hundred and twenty men, under\n     Lieutenant Colonel Kingsbury, accompanied by one of Wilkinson's\n     aids. Adair was dragged from the dining table, and conducted to\n     head quarters, where he was put in confinement. They beat to\n     arms through the streets; the battalion of the volunteers of\n     Orleans, and a part of the regular troops, paraded through the\n     city, and Workman, Kerr, and Bradford, were arrested and\n     confined. Wilkinson ordered the latter to be released, and the\n     two former were liberated on the following day, on a writ of\n     habeas corpus, issued by the district judge of the United\n     States. Adair was secreted until an opportunity offered to ship\n     him away.\"\n\nWe approach a very interesting portion of our history, in which certain\ntransactions are detailed, with great precision, for some of which\nGeneral Jackson has obtained, and deserved, a brilliant crown of\nmilitary glory, and for others has been visited with deep and indignant\nreproaches; whether justly or not, the reader will decide by the facts\nof the case.\n\nOn the 2d of December 1814, General Jackson reached New-Orleans; and on\nthe next day commenced his operations to put the city in a state of\ndefence against the attack expected to be made upon it. A large naval\nforce of the enemy was off the port of Pensacola; and it was understood\nthat New-Orleans was their object. The force in New-Orleans consisted of\nseven hundred men of the United States regiments; one thousand state\nmilitia, and some sailors and marines. Reinforcements from Tennessee and\nKentucky were looked for. It is not to our purpose, and must be\nunnecessary, to recapitulate all the interesting occurrences which took\nplace at this alarming crisis; all evincing the gallantry and patriotism\nof our countrymen. In this early stage of the contest, our author, with\ngreat warmth and strong testimony, asserts the unshaken fidelity and\nactive efficient attachment of the people of New-Orleans to the\ngovernment of the United States, and repels with an honest indignation\nthe charges of disaffection and treason which were on various occasions\nmade upon them, to justify the tyrannical violence of certain\nproceedings against them. He says, \"although the population of\nNew-Orleans was composed of individuals of different nations, it was as\npatriotic as that of any city in the Union.\" We believe him most\nsincerely; and who does not? Can any just and candid man doubt it after\na sober perusal of his details, having a particular relation to this\nquestion? To suppose that they had any sympathies with the invading foe;\nany treasonable correspondence with them; any desire for their success;\nis to calumniate a people as deeply and dearly interested in our\nindependence, as devotedly attached to our institutions, as any portion\nof the republic. We therefore not only excuse, but applaud, the feelings\nof resentment with which Judge Martin, himself one of the people of\nLouisiana, and honoured by her confidence, meets every assertion and\ninsinuation of treachery or disaffection cast upon her. He assures us,\nthat \"Claiborne (the governor) was sincerely attached to the government\nof his country, and the legislature was prepared to call forth and place\nat Jackson's disposal, all the resources of the state.\" Again he says,\n\"If some, in the beginning, doubted whether General Jackson's military\nexperience had been of a kind to fit him for this service, his conduct\nvery soon dispelled the doubt.\"\n\n     \"The want of an able military chief was sensibly felt, and\n     notwithstanding any division of sentiment on any other subject,\n     the inclination was universal to support Jackson, and he had\n     been hailed on his arrival by all. There were some, indeed, who\n     conceived that the crisis demanded a general of some experience\n     in ordinary warfare; that one whose military career had begun\n     with the current year, and who had never met with any but an\n     Indian force, was ill calculated to meet the warlike enemy who\n     threatened; but all were willing to make a virtue of necessity,\n     and to take their wishes for their opinions, and manifested an\n     unbounded confidence in him. All united in demonstrations of\n     respect and reliance, and every one was ready to give him his\n     support. His immediate and incessant attention to the defence\n     of the country, the care he took to visit every vulnerable\n     point, his unremitted vigilance, and the strict discipline\n     enforced, soon convinced all that he was the man the occasion\n     demanded.\"\n\nThe general had, however, imbibed strong prejudices against the\ninhabitants of the city, _infused into him by bad advisers who\nsurrounded him_.\n\n     \"Unfortunately he had been surrounded, from the moment of his\n     arrival, by persons from the ranks of the opposition to\n     Claiborne, Hall, and the state government, and it was soon\n     discovered that he had become impressed with the idea, that a\n     great part of the population of Louisiana was disaffected, and\n     the city full of traitors and spies. It appears such were his\n     sentiments as early as the 8th of September; for in a letter of\n     Claiborne, which he since published, the governor joins in the\n     opinion, and writes to him, 'I think with you, that our country\n     is full of spies and traitors.'\"\n\nThe interest we feel to vindicate the people of Louisiana from the\nsuspicions that were long entertained of their loyalty, and may not be\nyet wholly eradicated, induces us to trouble our readers with further\nextracts on this subject.\n\n     \"The legislature was in session, since the beginning of the\n     preceding month. We have seen that Claiborne, at the opening of\n     the session, had offered them his congratulations on the\n     alacrity with which the call of the United States for a body of\n     militia had been met, which, with the detail of the proceedings\n     of that body, is the best refutation of the charges which have\n     been urged against them. It will show, that in attachment to\n     the Union, in zeal for the defence of the country, in\n     liberality in furnishing the means of it, and in ministering to\n     the wants of their brave fellow-citizens who came down to\n     assist them in repelling the foe, the general assembly of\n     Louisiana does not suffer by a comparison of its conduct with\n     that of any legislative body in the United States. The\n     assertion, that any member of it entertained the silly opinion,\n     that a capitulation, if any became necessary, was to be brought\n     about or effected by the agency of the houses, any more than by\n     that of a court of justice, or the city council of New-Orleans,\n     is absolutely groundless.\"\n\nA proposition was made by the governor to the legislature, to suspend\nthe writ of habeas corpus, in order that men might be pressed for the\nservice, particularly naval, of the United States: the legislature knew\nit to be a dangerous measure, and thought it unnecessary.\n\n     \"Coming from every part of the state, the representatives had\n     witnessed the universal alacrity with which Jackson's\n     requisitions for a quota of the militia of the state had been\n     complied with; they knew their constituents could be depended\n     on; they knew that Jackson, Claiborne, and many of the\n     military, were incessantly talking of sedition, disaffection,\n     and treason; but better acquainted with the people of\n     Louisiana, than those who were vociferating against it, they\n     were conscious, that no state was more free from sedition,\n     disaffection, and treason, than their own; they thought the\n     state should not outlaw her citizens, when they were rushing to\n     repel the enemy. They dreaded the return of those days, when\n     Wilkinson filled New-Orleans with terror and dismay, arresting\n     and transporting whom he pleased. They recollected that in 1806\n     Jefferson had made application to congress for a suspension of\n     the writ of _habeas corpus_, but that the recommendation of the\n     president was not deemed sufficient to induce the legislature\n     of the Union to suspend it: that of Claiborne, as far as it\n     concerned Jackson, was not therefore acted on. The members had\n     determined not to adjourn during the invasion, and thought they\n     would suspend the writ when they deemed the times required it,\n     but not till then.\"\n\nThat the refusal to put an uncontrouled power over the persons of the\ncitizens, to withdraw from them the protection of the law, did not\nproceed from an unwillingness to obtain for the service the force\nrequired, is made manifest by the substitute adopted. \"A sum of five\nthousand dollars was placed at the disposal of the commodore, to be\nexpended in bounties; and, to remove the opportunity of seamen being\ntempted to decline entering the service of the United States, by the\nhope of employment on board of merchant vessels, an embargo was passed.\"\n\nThe general does not seem to have been satisfied with the reasons of the\nlegislature for denying the power he desired, nor with their substitute\nfor it.\n\n     \"The suspension of the writ of _habeas corpus_, and adjournment\n     of the houses, were measures which Jackson anxiously desired.\n     There was a great inclination in the members of both houses to\n     gratify him, in every instance in which they could do it with\n     safety: in these two only, they were of opinion it would be\n     unsafe to adopt his views.\"\n\nGeneral Carroll, with a brigade of Tennessee militia, arrived on the\n19th, and the legislature were indefatigable in preparing for the\nexpected attack.\n\n     \"At this period the forces at New-Orleans amounted to between\n     six and seven thousand men. Every individual exempted from\n     militia duty on account of age, had joined one of the\n     companies of veterans, which had been formed for the\n     preservation of order. Every class of society was animated with\n     the most ardent zeal; the young, the old, women, children, all\n     breathed defiance to the enemy, firmly disposed to oppose to\n     the utmost the threatened invasion. There were in the city a\n     very great number of French subjects, who from their national\n     character could not have been compelled to perform military\n     duty; these men, however, with hardly any exception,\n     volunteered their services. The Chevalier Tousard, the Consul\n     of France, who had distinguished himself, and had lost an arm\n     in the service of the United States, during the revolutionary\n     war, lamenting that the neutrality of his nation did not allow\n     him to lead his countrymen in New-Orleans to the field,\n     encouraged them to flock to Jackson's standard. The people were\n     preparing for battle as cheerfully as if for a party of\n     pleasure: the streets resounded with martial airs: the several\n     corps of militia were constantly exercising, from morning to\n     night: every bosom glowed with the feelings of national honour:\n     every thing showed nothing was to be apprehended from\n     disaffection, disloyalty, or treason.\"\n\nOn the 21st, the enemy landed with a strong force, and a proud one,\nconfident of an easy victory. They looked upon all the wealth and\ncomforts of New-Orleans as already their own. The battle that shortly\nafter ensued, _sought for and won_ by the Americans, can never be\nforgotten. The promptitude, decision, and skill, with which General\nJackson took his measures; the bravery with which they were executed;\nand the glorious success which crowned the bold attack upon an enemy\ngreatly superior in numbers, discipline, and experience, will be ranked\namong the most gallant achievements of military history. Our author\nassures us that the invading army \"had a force of very near five\nthousand men; that which opposed him was not above two thousand.\"\nPreparations against the grand attack upon the city continued with\nunceasing vigilance and labour. The members of the legislature--_the\nsuspected legislature_--old and young, joined some of the military\ncorps; but lest their legislative aid might also be required, they\ncontinued their sessions; when a most extraordinary proceeding occurred.\n\n     \"Every day, towards noon, three or four of the members of each\n     house, who served among the veterans or on the committees,\n     attended in their respective halls to effect an adjournment, in\n     order that, if any circumstance rendered the aid of the\n     legislature necessary, it might be instantly afforded. On going\n     for this purpose to the government house, Skipwith, the speaker\n     of the senate, and two of its members, found a sentinel on the\n     staircase, who, presenting his bayonet, forbade them to enter\n     the senate chamber. They quietly retired, and proceeded to the\n     hall of the sessions of the city council, where an adjournment\n     took place. The members of the other house, who attended for\n     the same purpose, were likewise prevented from entering its\n     hall, and acted like those of the senate.\"\n\nA committee was appointed to wait upon the general, and inquire into the\nreasons of these violent measures against the legislature. The general\ngave his reasons, which, in short, were, that he had received\ninformation \"that the assembly were about to give up the country to the\nenemy.\" The author goes into a full examination of this charge; and the\nrefutation of it is entirely satisfactory.\n\nThe spirit of defence even entered the walls of the prisons.\n\n     \"A number of debtors, who had taken the benefit of the acts\n     establishing the prison bounds, were anxious to join in the\n     defence of the city, but were apprehensive of exposing their\n     sureties. On this being represented to the legislature, an act\n     was passed, extending the prison bounds, until the first of May\n     following, so as to include Jackson's line.\"\n\nThe last effort of the invader was made by the battle of the 8th of\nJanuary, and is described in our book with much effect. Long may it be\nread and remembered with an unextinguishable glow of pride and\npatriotism! The contest was ended; the foe hastily abandoned our shores,\non which they left nothing but memorials of their defeat and shame, in\nthe melancholy monuments of their slaughtered companions. Our author\nconcludes his narrative of these eventful days, with an eloquent tribute\nto the general, by whose indefatigable activity and fearless gallantry a\nrich and populous city was saved.\n\n     \"If the vigilance, the activity, and the intrepidity of the\n     general had been conspicuous during the whole period of the\n     invasion, his prudence, moderation, and self-denial, on the\n     departure of the enemy, deserves no less commendation and\n     admiration. An opportunity was then presented to him of\n     acquiring laurels by a pursuit, which few, elated as he must\n     have been by success, could have resisted. But, he nobly\n     reflected that those who fled from him were mercenaries--those\n     who surrounded his standard, his fellow-citizens, almost\n     universally fathers of families;--sound policy, to use his own\n     expressions, neither required nor authorized him to expose the\n     lives of his companions in arms, in a useless conflict. He\n     thought the lives of ten British soldiers would not requite the\n     loss of one of his men. He had not saved New-Orleans to\n     sacrifice its inhabitants.\"\n\nOn his return to the city, he was greeted with \"tears of gratitude\"--why\nwere they not perpetual? His cruel suspicions; his unjust accusations of\ntreason and disaffection, were forgotten or forgiven, and no sentiment\nremained in the hearts of the people of Louisiana, but admiration of his\nconduct in the day of trial, and gratitude for his services; why was not\nthis perpetual? We shall see.\n\n\"By a communication of the 13th of January, from Admiral Cochrane,\nJackson was informed that the Admiral had just received a bulletin from\nJamaica, (a copy of which was enclosed) proclaiming that a treaty of\npeace had been signed by the respective plenipotentiaries of Great\nBritain and the United States, at Ghent, on the 24th of December. The\ndespatch did not arrive till the 21st, by way of Balize; but the\nintelligence had been brought to the city by one of Jackson's aids, who\nhad returned from the British fleet with a flag of truce.\" As in\ncanvassing the subsequent proceedings of the General at New-Orleans, his\nadvocates have pretended that he had no information of the peace to\nwhich he ought to have trusted, that point must not be overlooked in our\ninquiries. What was the evidence at this period, that is, on the 21st of\nJanuary? A communication directly addressed to him, by and under the\nname of the British Admiral, with every sanction that honour and good\nfaith could give it. This communication, so vouched, was accompanied by\na copy of a bulletin which the Admiral declared he had just received\nfrom Jamaica, too distant to have been fabricated there for the\noccasion; and all this was confirmed by the intelligence brought by one\nof the General's aids from the fleet. Is there any degree of military\ncaution that would have doubted the truth of this information, _in the\nmanner and for the purposes_ for which the doubts, real or pretended,\nwere used by the General? We will not say that he should, on such\nintelligence, have exposed himself to an attack from the enemy; that he\nshould have disbanded his army, or thrown by his guards and defence, as\nif the intelligence had been authentic from his own government; but,\nassuredly there was that in the information he received, on which a\nstrong reliance might reasonably and safely have been placed; at least\nenough to have suspended military operations _against his own\nfellow-citizens_. He must have imputed fraud, falsehood, and forgery, to\nan officer, who, although an enemy, was entitled to a more just and\nrespectful consideration. No usage of modern warfare would have\njustified such practices, and therefore they ought not to have been\npresumed. With no disposition to \"set down aught in malice\" against the\nGeneral, we cannot refrain from saying, that, whatever he may have found\nit convenient to believe or disbelieve, to justify the extravagance of\nungovernable passions inflamed by evil counsellors, in his moments of\nsober thoughts, if any such happened to him, he could not reject the\ntestimony before him, of the termination of the war. He certainly, at\nleast, thought it worthy to be announced to the people, although he\n\"forewarned them from being thrown into security by hopes that might be\ndelusive.\" This was a prudent caution, and sufficient. \"On the 22d, the\ngladsome tidings were confirmed, and a _Gazette of Charleston_ was\nreceived, announcing the _ratification of the Treaty_ by the Prince\nRegent.\" We assume then, that on the 22d of January, such intelligence\nwas received of the Peace at New-Orleans, as might, and should have\nsatisfied the most sceptical military caution, of its truth, at least to\nthe extent required for our examination into the General's subsequent\nconduct.\n\nIt seems that a discontent had arisen, which led to serious\nconsequences. The _French subjects_ resident at New-Orleans, \"had\nflocked round Jackson's standard, determined to leave it with the\nnecessity that called them to it, and not till then.\" They endured much\nprivation, toil, and danger; their families also were in a state of\nsuffering, to whose relief they were anxious to return _after the enemy\nhad left the state_. A few solicited a discharge; but the General\ninsisted on their being retained. Some then demanded of the French\nconsul, certificates of their national character, which were presented\nto the General, who countersigned them, and the bearers were permitted\nto return home. So many, however, applied for this indulgence, that the\nGeneral believed that the consul too easily granted his certificates,\n\"and considering a compliance with his duty, as evidence of his adhesion\nto the enemy, ordered him out of the city.\"\n\nWe now come to a false step, of more importance, made by the General, to\nwhich he was led by that which has overthrown many men placed in\nelevated stations. It has been the misfortune and ruin of great men who\nwere high; and, more frequently so, of high men who were not great;\n_weak and evil counsellors_.\n\n     \"Yielding to the advice of many around him, who were constantly\n     filling his ears with their clamours about the disloyalty,\n     disaffection, and treason of the people of Louisiana, and\n     particularly the state officers and the people of French\n     origin, Jackson, on the last day of February, issued a general\n     order, commanding all French subjects, possessed of a\n     certificate of their national character, subscribed by the\n     consul of France, and countersigned by the commanding general,\n     to retire into the interior, to a distance above Baton\n     Rouge:--a measure, which was stated to have been rendered\n     indispensable by the frequent applications for discharges. The\n     names were directed to be taken of all persons of this\n     description, remaining in the city, after the expiration of\n     three days.\n\n     \"Time has shown this to have been a most unfortunate step; and\n     those by whose suggestions it was taken, soon found themselves\n     unable to avert from the general the consequences to which it\n     exposed him. The people against whom it was directed were\n     loyal--many of them had bled, all had toiled and suffered in\n     the defence of the state. Need, in many instances, improvidence\n     in several, had induced the families of these people to part\n     with the furniture of their houses to supply those immediate\n     wants, which the absence of the head of the family occasioned.\n     No exception, no distinction was made. The sympathetic feelings\n     of every class of inhabitants were enlisted in favour of these\n     men; they lacked the means of sustaining themselves on the way,\n     and must have been compelled, on their arrival at Baton Rouge,\n     then a very insignificant village, to throw themselves on the\n     charity of the inhabitants. Another consideration rendered the\n     departure of these men an evil to be dreaded. The apprehension\n     of the return of the enemy was represented, as having had much\n     weight with Jackson in issuing his order. Their past conduct\n     was a sure pledge that, in case of need, their services would\n     again be re-offered; there were among them a number of\n     experienced artillery-men; a description of soldiers, which was\n     not easily to be found among the brave who had come down from\n     Kentucky, or Tennessee, or even in the army of the United\n     States. These considerations induced several respectable\n     citizens to wait on Jackson, for the purpose of endeavouring to\n     induce him to reconsider a determination, which was viewed as\n     productive of flagrant injustice and injury to those against\n     whom it was directed, without any possible advantage, and\n     probably very detrimental, to those for whose benefit it was\n     intended.\"\n\nTo quiet and console this distressed and injured people under this\nwanton decree of military power; this cruel exile; it was recommended to\nthem to submit without resistance to the order.\n\n     \"They were assured, that the laws of the country would protect\n     them, and punish, even in a successful general, a violation of\n     the rights of, or a wanton injury to, the meanest individual,\n     citizen or alien. They were referred to the case of Wilkinson,\n     against whom an independent jury of the Mississippi territory\n     had given a verdict in favour of Adair, who had been illegally\n     arrested and transported, during the winter of 1806.\"\n\nIt must be recollected, that this order was issued and executed on the\nlast day of February, six weeks after the Charleston Gazette had\nannounced at New-Orleans, the ratification of the treaty of peace, as\nabove stated. During all this period, there had not been an appearance\nof the enemy, or a movement by them, or the slightest occurrence or\nrumour, to raise a doubt of the truth of this intelligence. Not a doubt\nof it was expressed by any body or from any quarter. On the 14th of\nFebruary, two weeks after the sentence of banishment upon the French\nsubjects, \"the mail brought northern Gazettes, announcing the arrival of\nthe treaty at Washington.\" Was this also a British trick and delusion,\nnot to be trusted even by a relaxation of the severest military\ndiscipline, or a mitigation of the dangerous predominance of martial\nlaw? Our author says, \"the hope that had been entertained that Jackson\nwould now allow these unfortunate people to stay with their families,\nwas disappointed.\"\n\n_Louallier_, a member of the House of Representatives, had been\nconspicuous in bringing forth the energies of the state for its defence.\nHis activity and usefulness were properly appreciated by his\nfellow-citizens. An opinion prevailed, that Jackson was unfriendly to\nthe French citizens, and to the officers of the state government.\n\n     \"A report, which now was afloat, that those who surrounded\n     Jackson were labouring to induce him to arrest some\n     individuals, alluded to in the general orders of the 28th of\n     February, roused his indignation, to which (perhaps more\n     honestly than prudently) he gave vent in a publication, of\n     which the following is a translation, in the _Courier de la\n     Louisiane_ of the 3d of March.\"\n\nThe publication is of considerable length, and written with warmth and\nability. Our author, after giving it at large, proceeds--\n\n     \"Man bears nothing with more impatience, than the exposure of\n     his errors, and the contempt of his authority. Those who had\n     provoked Jackson's violent measure against the French subjects,\n     availed themselves of the paroxysms of the ire which the\n     publication excited: they threw fuel into the fire, and blew it\n     into a flame. They persuaded him Louallier had been guilty of\n     an offence, punishable with death, and he should have him tried\n     by a court martial, as a spy. Yielding to this suggestion, and\n     preparatory to such a trial, he ordered the publication of the\n     second section of the rules and articles of war, which\n     denounces the punishment of death against spies, and directed\n     Louallier to be arrested and confined. Eaton is mistaken when\n     he asserts that the section had been published _before_. The\n     adjutant's letter to Leclerc, the printer of the _Ami des\n     Lois_, requesting him to publish it, bears date of the _fourth_\n     of March, the day _after_ Louallier's publication made its\n     appearance. The section was followed by a notice that 'the city\n     of New-Orleans and its environs, being under martial law, and\n     several encampments and fortifications within its limits, it\n     was deemed necessary to give publicity to the section, _for the\n     information of all concerned_.'\n\n     \"Great, indeed, must have been Jackson's excitement, when he\n     suffered himself to be persuaded, that Louallier could\n     successfully be prosecuted as a spy. Eaton informs us,\n     Louallier was prosecuted as one _owing allegiance to the United\n     States_. The very circumstance of his owing that allegiance,\n     prevented his being liable to a prosecution as a spy. He was a\n     citizen of the United States: his being a member of the\n     legislature, was evidence of this. If he, therefore, committed\n     any act, which would constitute an alien a _spy_, he was guilty\n     of high treason, and ought to have been delivered to the\n     legitimate magistrate, to be prosecuted as a traitor.\"\n\nJudge Martin goes into a short, but satisfactory argument, to prove that\na citizen cannot be prosecuted as a spy under the articles of war.\nWhether, however, the General and his advisers considered Louallier as a\nspy, or a traitor, he \"was arrested on Sunday the _5th of March_, at\nnoon, near the Exchange Coffee-house.\" He applied to a gentleman of the\nbar for legal relief. An application for this purpose was made to Judge\nMartin, (our author) one of the members of the Supreme Court of the\nstate. The judge thought he had no jurisdiction over the case, and could\nnot interfere. _Hall_, the District Judge of the United States, was then\ncalled upon for a writ of habeas corpus, which was granted. The attorney\nwas directed by the Judge to inform the General of his application for\nthe writ and the order for issuing it.--This was in courtesy.\n\n     \"On receiving Morel's communication, the ebullition of\n     Jackson's anger was such, that reason appeared to have lost its\n     control. Those who had suggested the harsh measure against the\n     French citizens, and the still more harsh one against\n     Louallier, imagined the moment was come, when their enmity\n     towards Hall might be gratified. We have seen that a number of\n     individuals, who had hitherto sustained a fair character, were\n     now known as accomplices of the Barrataria pirates.\n     Prosecutions had been commenced against some of them, and Hall\n     manifested that stern severity of character, which appals\n     guilt. The counsel of these men had conceived the idea that he\n     did not view their efforts to screen their clients, with the\n     liberality and indulgence they deserved. The opportunity now\n     offered of humbling this worthy magistrate, was not suffered to\n     remain unimproved; and Jackson was assured that Hall, like\n     Louallier, was guilty of an offence punishable with death.\n\n     \"The general's attention was drawn to the seventh section of\n     the rules and articles of war, which denounces the last\n     punishment against persons aiding or abetting mutiny; and he\n     was pressed to prosecute the judge before a court martial. As a\n     preparatory step, with that promptitude of decision, which\n     Eaton says is a leading trait in his character, he signed an\n     instrument at once, the warrant for the arrest, and the\n     _mittimus_ for the imprisonment of Hall. He wrote to Colonel\n     Arbuckle, who commanded at the barracks, that having received\n     proof that Dominick A. Hall had been _aiding_, _abetting_, _and\n     exciting mutiny_ in his camp, he desired that a detachment\n     might be ordered forthwith, to arrest and _confine_ him; and\n     that a report might be made as soon as he was arrested. 'You\n     will,' as it is said in the conclusion of this paper, 'be\n     vigilant; as the agents of our enemy are more numerous than we\n     expected. You will be guarded against escapes.'\n\n     \"The prosecution of the judge was intended to be grounded on\n     the seventh section of the articles of war, which is in these\n     words:--'Any _officer or soldier_, who shall begin, cause,\n     excite, or join in, any mutiny or sedition, in any troop or\n     company, in the service of the United States, or in any post,\n     detachment, or guard, shall suffer death, or any other\n     punishment, as by a court martial shall be inflicted.'\n\n     \"Hall was not an officer, in the sense of the act of\n     Congress--he was not a soldier, in the ordinary meaning of that\n     word; but, according to the jurisprudence of head quarters, the\n     proclamation of martial law had transformed every inhabitant of\n     New-Orleans into a soldier, and rendered him punishable under\n     the articles of war.\n\n     \"The judge was accordingly arrested in his own house, at nine\n     o'clock, and confined in the same apartment with Louallier, in\n     the barracks.\n\n     \"As soon as this was reported at head quarters, Major Chotard\n     was despatched to demand from Claiborne, the clerk of the\n     district court of the United States, the surrender of\n     Louallier's petition, on the back of which Hall had written the\n     order for issuing the writ of _habeas corpus_. It has been seen\n     that there was not any officer of the state government, nor of\n     the United States, out of the army, who imagined that a\n     proclamation of martial law gave the general any right, nor\n     imposed on others any obligation, which did not exist before.\n     The clerk accordingly answered that there was a rule of court,\n     which forbade him to part with any original paper lodged in his\n     office; and he was ignorant of any right, in the commander of\n     the army, to interfere with the records of the court. He\n     however was, after much solicitation, prevailed on to take the\n     document in his pocket, and accompany Chotard to head quarters.\n\n     \"In the meanwhile, an express from the department of war had\n     arrived, with the intelligence that the President of the United\n     States had ratified the treaty, and an exchange of the\n     ratifications had taken place at Washington, on the 17th of\n     February, the preceding month. By an accident, which was not\n     accounted for, a packet had been put into the hands of the\n     messenger, instead of the one containing the official\n     information of the exchange of the ratifications. But the man\n     was bearer of an open order of the postmaster, to all his\n     deputies on the road, to expedite him with the utmost celerity,\n     as he carried _information of the recent peace_. He declared he\n     had handed an official notice of this event to the governor of\n     the state of Tennessee.\n\n     \"On the arrival of the clerk at head quarters, Jackson asked\n     him whether it was his intention to issue the writ: he replied\n     it was his bounden duty to do so, and he most assuredly would.\n     He was threatened with an arrest, but persisted in his\n     asseveration that he would obey the judge's order. He had\n     handed Louallier's petition to Jackson, and, before he retired,\n     demanded the return of it; this was peremptorily refused, and\n     the paper was withheld. It appears the date of the _fifth_ of\n     March had been originally on this document, and that being\n     Sunday, Hall changed it to that of the following day, the\n     _sixth_. The idea had been cherished, that this alteration\n     might support an additional article, in the charges against\n     Hall. It is not extraordinary, that those who imagined that, as\n     Louallier might be tried for a _libel_, in a court martial,\n     Hall might for _forgery_. Thus one inconsistency almost\n     universally leads to another.\n\n     \"Duplessis, the marshal of the United States, had volunteered\n     his services, as an aid to Jackson; a little after midnight he\n     visited head quarters. The imprisonment of Hall, and the\n     accounts from Washington, had brought a great concourse of\n     people near the general; who, elated by the success of the\n     evening, met the marshal at the door, and announced to him, _he\n     had shopped the judge_. Perceiving that Duplessis did not show\n     his exultation, he inquired whether he would serve Hall's writ.\n     The marshal replied, he had ever done his duty, which obliged\n     him to execute all writs directed to him by the court, whose\n     ministerial officer he was; and, looking sternly at the person\n     who addressed him, added, he would execute the court's writ _on\n     any man_. A copy of the proclamation of martial law, that lay\n     on the table, was pointed to him, and Jackson said, he _also_\n     would do his duty.\n\n     \"A large concourse of people had been drawn to the Exchange\n     coffee-house, during the night, by the passing events, which\n     were not there, as at head quarters, a subject of exultation\n     and gratulation. The circumstances were not unlike those of the\n     year 1806, which Livingston describes as 'so new in the history\n     of our country, that they will not easily gain belief, at a\n     distance, and can scarcely be realized by those who beheld\n     them. A dictatorial power, assumed by the commander of the\n     American army--the military arrest of citizens, charged with a\n     civil offence--the violation of the sanctuary of justice--an\n     attempt to overawe, by denunciations, those who dared,\n     professionally, to assert the authority of the laws--the\n     unblushing avowal of the employment of military force, to\n     punish a civil offence, and the hardy menace of persevering in\n     the same course, were circumstances that must command\n     attention, and excite the corresponding sentiments of grief,\n     indignation, and contempt.'\"\n\nWe have made our extract so copiously of this dangerous and extravagant\nproceeding, because we wish it to be represented in the language of the\nauthor, and not by any abridgment of ours. General Jackson having\nreceived intelligence of the treaty which he chose to agree that he\nrelied upon, addressed a despatch to the British commander \"to\nanticipate the happy return of peace.\" We again take up our author.\n\n     \"Jackson now paused to deliberate, whether these circumstances\n     did not require him, by a cessation of all measures of\n     violence, to allow his fellow-citizens in New-Orleans, to\n     anticipate this happy return of peace, the account of which,\n     the first direct intelligence was to bring to him, in an\n     official form--the untoward arrival of an orderly sergeant,\n     with a message from Arbuckle, to whom the custody of Hall had\n     been committed, prevented Jackson coming to that conclusion,\n     which his unprejudiced judgment would have suggested. The\n     prisoner had requested, that a magistrate might be permitted to\n     have access to him, to receive an affidavit, which he wished to\n     make, in order to resort to legal measures, for his release.\n     Arbuckle desired to know the general's pleasure, on this\n     application. Naturally impatient of any thing like control or\n     restraint, the idea of a superior power to be employed against\n     his decisions, threw Jackson into emotions of rage. Before they\n     had sufficiently subsided to allow him to act on the message,\n     some of his ordinary advisers came in, to recommend the arrest\n     of Hollander, a merchant of some note. What was the offence of\n     this man, has never been known; but Jackson's temper of mind\n     was favourable to the views of his visiters. He ordered the\n     arrest of the merchant, and forbade the access of the\n     magistrate to Hall; the idea of allowing his fellow-citizens to\n     anticipate the happy return of peace was abandoned, and\n     measures were directed to be taken for the trial of Louallier.\"\n\nThe boasted \"promptitude and decision\" of the General's character,\nadmirable qualities in their proper places and under proper regulation,\ncarried him on, deeper and deeper, into the violation of the most sacred\nrights of a free citizen, and of the immunities of the officers of the\nlaw in the administration of the laws.\n\n     \"Dick, the attorney of the United States, made application to\n     Lewis, one of the district judges of the state, who was serving\n     as a subaltern officer, in the Orleans rifle company, and whose\n     conduct during the invasion, had received Jackson's particular\n     commendation. Believing that his duty as a military man, did\n     not diminish his obligation, as a judge, to protect his\n     fellow-citizens from illegal arrest, Lewis, without hesitation,\n     on the first call of Dick, laid down his rifle, and allowed the\n     writ.\n\n     \"Information of this having been carried to head quarters,\n     Jackson immediately ordered the arrest of Lewis and Dick.\n\n     \"Arbuckle, to whom Lewis's writ, in favour of Hall, was\n     directed, refused to surrender his prisoner, on the ground he\n     was committed by Jackson, under the authority of the United\n     States.\n\n     \"The orders for the arrest of Lewis and Dick were\n     countermanded.\"\n\nThe effect of such proceedings, without parallel in a free government,\nand without apology any where, may be well imagined.\n\n     \"The irritation of the public mind manifested itself, in the\n     evening, by the destruction of a transparent painting, in\n     honour of Jackson, which the proprietor of the Exchange\n     coffee-house displayed, in the largest hall.\"\n\nThis brought the military in support of their General.\n\n     \"A number of officers had compelled the proprietor of the\n     Exchange coffee-house, to exhibit a new transparent painting,\n     and to illuminate the hall in a more than usual manner. They\n     attended in the evening, and stood near the painting, with the\n     apparent intention of indicating a determination, to resist the\n     attempt of taking down the painting. It was reported, a number\n     of soldiers were in the neighbourhood, ready to march to the\n     coffee-house, at the first call. This was not calculated to\n     allay the excitement of the public mind. The prostration of the\n     legitimate government; the imprisonment of the district judge\n     of the United States, the only magistrate, whose interference\n     could be successfully invoked, on an illegal arrest, under\n     colour of the authority of the United States, the ascendency\n     assumed by the military, appeared to have dissolved all the\n     bands of social order in New-Orleans.\"\n\nThe good sense, we are told, of some of the most influential characters\nin the city, prevented the extremities to which these proceedings were\nfast approaching. The injured and the irritated were assured, \"that\nJackson's day of reckoning would arrive; that _Hall_, with the authority\n(though now without the power) of chastising the encroachments of the\nmilitary, possessed the resolution, and would soon have the power to\npunish the violators of the law.\" The court martial, by whom Louallier\nwas tried, acquitted him.\n\n     \"Jackson was greatly disappointed at the conclusion to which\n     the court martial had arrived; he, however, did not release\n     either of his prisoners, and on the tenth issued the following\n     general order:--\n\n     \"'The commanding general disapproves of the sentence of the\n     court martial, of which Major-general Gaines is president, on\n     the several charges and specifications exhibited against Mr.\n     Louallier; and is induced by the novelty and importance of the\n     matters submitted to the decision of that court, to assign the\n     reasons of this disapproval.'\"\n\nHe gave his reasons at length, which only show how hard it is for\ncertain tempers to acknowledge a wrong, or return to the right.\n\n     \"The court martial consoled themselves, by the reflection, that\n     their sentence, though disapproved by Jackson, was in perfect\n     conformity with decisions of the President of the United\n     States, and of the supreme court of the state of New-York, in\n     similar cases.\"\n\nThere is something in the name and character of a _Court_, which assures\nus of its respect for justice and the law.\n\n     \"The independent stand, taken by the court martial, had left no\n     glimpse of hope, at head quarters, that the prosecution of\n     Hall, on the charge of mutiny, on which he had been imprisoned,\n     could be attempted with any prospect of success--the futility\n     of any further proceedings against Louallier was\n     evident--Jackson, therefore, put an end to Hall's imprisonment\n     on Saturday, the 11th of March. The word _imprisonment_ is\n     used, because Eaton assures his readers, that '_Judge Hall was\n     not imprisoned_; it was merely an arrest.' Hall had been taken\n     from his bed chamber, on the preceding Sunday, at 9 o'clock in\n     the evening, by a detachment of about one hundred men, dragged\n     through the streets, and confined in the same apartment with\n     Louallier, in the barracks. Three days after, it had been\n     officially announced to the inhabitants of New-Orleans, that\n     Jackson was in possession of persuasive evidence, that a state\n     of peace existed, and the militia had been discharged, the door\n     of Hall's prison was thrown open, but not for his release. He\n     was put under a guard, who led him several miles beyond the\n     limits of the city, where they left him, with a prohibition to\n     return, 'till the ratification of the treaty was _regularly_\n     announced, or the British shall have left the southern coast.'\n\n     \"This last, and useless display of usurped power, astonished\n     the inhabitants. They thought, that, if the general feared the\n     return of the British, the safety of New-Orleans would be\n     better insured, by his recall of the militia, than by the\n     banishment of the legitimate magistrate. It was the last\n     expansion of light, and momentary effulgence, that precedes the\n     extinguishment of a taper.\n\n     \"At the dawn of light, on Monday, the 13th, an express reached\n     head quarters, with the despatch which had accidentally been\n     misplaced, in the office of the secretary of war, three weeks\n     before. The cannon soon announced the arrival of this important\n     document, and Louallier was indebted for his liberation, to the\n     precaution, which Eaton says, the President of the United\n     States had taken, to direct Jackson to issue a proclamation for\n     the pardon of all military offences.\"\n\nJudge Hall had suffered indignity without being disgraced; he had\nsubmitted to physical force without yielding his spirit to debasement;\nor surrendering one of his official or personal rights. His reward\nawaited him, and it is eloquently recorded by our historian.\n\n     \"Hall's return to the city was greeted by the acclamations of\n     the inhabitants. He was the first judge of the United States\n     they had received, and they had admired in him the\n     distinguishing characteristics of an American magistrate--a\n     pure heart, clean hands, and a mind susceptible of no fear, but\n     that of God. His firmness had, eight years before, arrested\n     Wilkinson in his despotic measures. He was now looked upon to\n     show, that if he had been unable to stop Jackson's arbitrary\n     steps, he would prevent him from exulting, in the impunity of\n     his trespass.\"\n\n_Dick_, the District Attorney, has a fair claim to a participation in\nthese honours.\n\n     \"He was anxious to lose no time, in calling the attention of\n     the district court of the United States, to the violent\n     proceedings, during the week that had followed the arrival of\n     the first messenger of peace; but Hall insisted on a few days\n     being exclusively given to the manifestation of the joyous\n     feelings, which the termination of the war excited. He did not\n     yield to Dick's wishes till the 21st. The affidavits of the\n     clerk of the district court, of the marshal of the United\n     States, of the attorney of Louallier, and of the commander at\n     the barracks, were then laid before the court.\"\n\nThe case presented to the court, was substantially such as appears in\nthe foregoing narrative. Hall was as resolute in his court, as Jackson\nat the head of an army; the Judge was as fearless in maintaining the\nlaw, as the General had been in trampling upon it. \"On motion of the\nAttorney of the United States, a rule to show cause, why process of\nattachment should not issue against Jackson, was granted.\"\n\nOn the return day, the General, accompanied by one of his aids, appeared\nbefore the court, and presented his answer to the rule. Some legal\nquestions were discussed and decided on the propriety of admitting the\nanswer. Finally, the rule was made absolute, that is, the _attachment\nwas ordered_. The General is still haunted by bad advisers.\n\n     \"Jackson's advisers now found he could not be defended on the\n     merits, with the slightest hope of success, as the attorney of\n     the United States would probably draw from him by\n     interrogatories, the admission, that both Louallier and the\n     judge were kept in prison, long after persuasive evidence had\n     been received at head quarters, of the cessation of the state\n     of war. They therefore recommended to him not to answer the\n     interrogatories, which would authorize the insinuation that he\n     had been condemned unheard.\n\n     \"It appears that some of his party, at this period, entertained\n     the hope that Hall could be intimidated, and prevented from\n     proceeding further. A report was accordingly circulated, that a\n     mob would assemble in and about the court-house--that the\n     pirates of Barataria, to whom the judge had rendered himself\n     obnoxious before the war, by his zeal and strictness, in the\n     prosecution that had been instituted against several of their\n     ringleaders, would improve this opportunity of humbling him.\n     Accordingly, groups of them took their stands, in different\n     parts of the hall, and gave a shout when Jackson entered it. It\n     is due to him to state, that it did not appear that he had the\n     least intimation that a disturbance was intended, and his\n     influence was honestly exercised to prevent disorder.\"\n\nWhen the General was called, \"he addressed a few words to the court,\nexpressive of his intention not to avail himself of the faculty to\nanswer interrogatories.\" The District Attorney then addressed the court,\nwith firmness, but good temper. In conclusion he said,--\n\n     \"That credulity itself could not admit the proposition, that\n     persuasive evidence that the war had ceased, and belief that\n     necessity required that violent measures should be persisted in\n     to prevent the exercise of the judicial power of the legitimate\n     tribunal, could exist, at the same time, in the defendant's\n     mind.\"\n\nThe defendant--General Jackson--resorted to a strange equivocation to\nextricate himself.\n\n     \"The general made a last effort to avert the judgment of the\n     court against him, by an asseveration, he had imprisoned\n     Dominick A. Hall, and _not the judge:_ his attention was drawn\n     to the affidavit of the marshal, in which he swore Jackson had\n     told him, 'I have _shopped the judge_.'\"\n\nWe come, with unaffected gratification, to the final triumph of the law,\nin this contest with military power.\n\n     \"The court, desirous of manifesting moderation, in the\n     punishment of the defendant for the want of it, said that, in\n     consideration of the services the general had rendered to his\n     country, imprisonment should make no part of the sentence, and\n     condemned him to pay a fine of one thousand dollars and costs,\n     only.\"\n\nWe should indeed regret, if our history terminated these memorable\ntransactions here. Every reader will be anxious to learn--How did the\nimpetuous spirit of the General, inflamed by his recent triumphs and\nglories in the field, receive the condemnation of the law? What bursts\nof passionate violence did he exhibit? What terrible explosion followed\nthe sentence of the court? Not a symptom or movement of the kind. He\nseemed to awaken, as from a tempestuous dream, \"the helm of reason\nlost,\" and to fall into the character of a good citizen with dignity and\ngrace.\n\n     \"On Jackson's coming out of the court-house, his friends\n     procured a hack, in which he entered, and they dragged it to\n     the Exchange coffee-house, where he made a speech, in the\n     conclusion of which he observed, that, 'during the invasion, he\n     had exerted every faculty in support of the constitution and\n     laws--on that day, he had been called on to submit to their\n     operation, under circumstances, which many persons might have\n     deemed sufficient to justify resistance. Considering obedience\n     to the laws, even when we think them unjustly applied, as the\n     first duty of the citizen, he did not hesitate to comply with\n     the sentence they had heard pronounced;' and he entreated the\n     people, to remember the example he had given them, of\n     respectful submission to the administration of justice.\"\n\nWe heartily wish that the scene had closed here, and the General had\nappeared no more on _that stage_. But there was that within him which\nforbade a quiet and unresisting resignation to his discomfiture and\nhumiliation.\n\n     \"A few days after, he published, in the _Ami des Lois_, the\n     answer he had offered to the district court, preceded by an\n     exordium, in which he complained, that the court had refused to\n     hear it. He added, that the judge 'had indulged himself, on his\n     route to Bayou Sarah, in manifesting apprehensions as to the\n     fate of the country, equally disgraceful to himself, and\n     injurious to the interest and safety of the state,' and\n     concluded--'should Judge Hall deny this statement, the general\n     is prepared to prove it, fully and satisfactorily.'\n\n     \"The gauntlet did not long remain on the ground, and the\n     following piece appeared in the _Louisiana Courier_:\n\n     \"'It is stated in the introductory remarks of General Jackson,'\n     that 'on the judge's route to Bayou Sarah, he manifested\n     apprehensions as to the safety of the country, disgraceful to\n     himself, and injurious to the state.' Judge Hall knows full\n     well, how easy it is for one, with the influence and patronage\n     of General Jackson, to procure certificates and affidavits. He\n     knows that men, usurping authority, have their delators and\n     spies: and that, in the sunshine of imperial or dictatorial\n     power, swarms of miserable creatures are easily generated, from\n     the surrounding corruption, and rapidly changed into the shape\n     of buzzing informers. Notwithstanding which, Judge Hall\n     declares, that on his route to Bayou Sarah, he uttered no\n     sentiment disgraceful to himself, or injurious to the state. He\n     calls upon General Jackson, to furnish that full and\n     satisfactory evidence of his assertion, which he says he is\n     enabled to do.' The pledge was never redeemed.\"\n\nJudge Martin's book is here brought to a conclusion, with some\nappropriate and forcible reflections upon the duties and uses of\nHistory, in affording lessons to men, high in authority, to bridle their\npassions; to select capable and honest advisers; with other wise and\nwholesome admonitions.\n\nWe heartily unite with the Judge in his just and patriotic aspirations\nin behalf of the Judiciary.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     NOTE.--In quoting from our history the anecdote respecting the\n     residence and imprisonment of _Fenelon_ in Canada, we do not\n     intend to express a belief in its authenticity. It is the first\n     time we have heard that the celebrated author of Telemachus had\n     ever been in this country; and, as Judge Martin does not inform\n     us of the authority on which the story is related, we know not\n     what credit it is entitled to.\n\n\n\n\nART. IX.--_A Full and Accurate Method of Curing Dyspepsia, Discovered\nand Practised_ by O. HALSTED. New-York: 1830.\n\n\nEvery era has possessed its false prophet in religion, from the days of\nMahomet to those of Joanna Southcot and Fanny Wright; not that the race\ncommenced with the former, or has terminated with the latter; the\nrecords of history supply us with examples of \"lying augurs,\" in every\nperiod previously to the career of the Impostor of Mecca, and our daily\nexperience furnishes us with proofs that the tribe is by no means\nextinct. As in religion, so has it been, and still continues, in\nphilosophy, and the whole circle of science: pretenders to excellence\nhave started up in every age, and although their efforts in the cause of\nimposition have not been so splendid as the exertions of those who have\nmade religion their tool, they have yet been sufficiently remarkable to\nexcite the eager attention of mankind, and sufficiently profitable to\nreward themselves. Medical science in particular may boast of a numerous\nhost of these worthies: it would far exceed the limits of this\npublication to trace the progress of the charlatan, through the records\nof ancient history; for the sake of brevity, a retrospective glance must\nnot be directed beyond the fifteenth century, when the arch priest of\n\"modern quackery\" made his appearance upon the medical stage. In the\nyear 1493, Phillippus Aureolus Theophrastus Paracelsus Bombastus de\nHohenheim, was ushered into existence, and at a very early age announced\nhis discovery, that the recognised principles of medical science were\nerroneous, and that in him alone was vested \"the art divine, to heal\neach lurking ill.\" Possessing a panacea capable, as he boasted, of\ncuring all diseases, and even of prolonging life to an indefinite\nperiod, this empiric made war upon the health of mankind, and at last,\nafter a life of the most infamous debauchery, he died, in the\nforty-eighth year of his age, with a bottle of the \"Elixir Vitae\" in his\npocket. The mantle of Paracelsus has been left behind, and a rich\ninheritance of ignorance, insolence, and vanity, bequeathed to a\nmultitude of heirs; the value of the legacy, however, would have been\ntrifling, but for the credulity of mankind, which renders these\nworthless possessions of inestimable importance: during the last\ncentury, in particular, these descendants have attained an eminence\ntruly astonishing. Medicine is admitted to be one of the noblest\nsciences, as tending, in its practice, to relieve the most irksome\nrestraints upon existence; it is acknowledged to be a science founded\nupon close observation, and so nearly allied to other sciences, that its\npursuit is impracticable without them; that it requires years of\npatient toil to fathom its mysteries, and the undivided efforts of a\nmind to comprehend its purposes; and yet we are daily told of the most\nextraordinary cures, and of the discovery of sovereign remedies, in all\ncases and descriptions of disease, by individuals who have never\n\n    \"Toil'd an hour in physic's cause,\n    Or giv'n one thought to Nature's laws:\"\n\nBy men, in short, who are incapable of forming one rational opinion upon\nthe subject, and unprepared, by previous study or information, to detect\nor remove one symptom.\n\nIt is an old and apt saying, that \"the wilder the tale, the wider the\near;\" and experience proves, that from the nursery to the tomb, no\nlegend is too marvellous for the faith of the credulous, and that in\nmany instances, the more incomprehensible the story, the more confirmed\nis the belief.\n\nIn the numerous newspapers daily published in the United States, a list\nof cures are detailed with sufficient precision to satisfy the\nsceptical, and sufficient plausibility to convince the ignorant, while a\nstring of medicines is set forth, of such unrivalled excellence, that no\ndisease is protected from their action; the panacea of Paracelsus is\nrivalled, and every calamity that can afflict the body, from the crown\nof the head to the sole of the foot, is at once relieved. \"Vegetable\nPowders,\" \"Botanical Syrup,\" \"Bilious Pills,\" \"Jaundice Bitters,\" \"Eye\nWaters,\" ointments, &c. &c. are proclaimed as veritable specifics by\nthese veritable physic-mongers: no disease is too subtle, no train of\nsymptoms too severe, for them to contend with; they only meet the foe to\nconquer, and confer an immortality on suffering humanity and themselves.\nThus they flourish, the quacks of the day, the impostors of the\nmultitude, and, perhaps, the dupes of themselves! But if Reason, that\nplain and simple attribute, in its uncontrouled state, unfettered either\nby prejudice or wilfulness, can be brought to bear on the question\nbetween them and mankind, how little will their claims appear! Reason,\nin the exertion of a capable authority, is taught to discriminate\nfairly, and test candidly, and must therefore refuse the evidence\ntendered by folly, or something worse, by which ignorance is bewitched.\nWill the man of reflecting mind, and of candid judgment, admit the\nclaims of these pretenders, and match the speculations of avarice and\nignorance with the conclusions of science? Impossible! Safety consorts\nwith skill in every path of life; he would not trust himself on the wide\nocean with a man ignorant of navigation; nay, he would not trust a bale\nof merchandise with him; and surely he will not abandon his bark of\nexistence to the command of a charlatan, who knows nothing of the\nprinciples of the art he professes, and is altogether incompetent to\nsteer clear of the numerous rocks and quicksands in the course of life;\nbut a man of reflection and judgment is not a very common character; he\nis surrounded by hundreds who examine not for themselves; and are easily\ndeluded, by the fairest promises, to surrender their opinions to\nanother's guidance: these are the supporters of quackery, and the\nencouragers of those needy plunderers, who would render medicine a\nfarce, that they might practice jugglery the better.\n\nIf the system of man resembled a machine, which, once in motion,\ncontinued an unvaried power, and retained an equality of force, merely\nrequiring, when deranged, the tightening of a screw, the readjustment of\na strap, or the addition of a quantity of oil, little knowledge would be\nrequired in the regulation of its functions; but when we find the\nconstitutions of men as varied as their countenances, the affections of\nthe body, numerous and diversified, never preserving identically the\nsame characters in two cases, or requiring the same exact treatment in\ndiseases, apparently of the same nature, we discover that something more\nthan the artifice of the quack is necessary in their government and\nrepair.\n\nIt would indeed be a Herculean task to administer the rod of correction\nto all the advertizing medical gentry of the day: it could be done, and\nwith justice to the community; but it would be wearisome. A champion,\nhowever, has recently entered the medical arena, with whom we would fain\ncontend, not only in the hope of conquest, but in the expectation that\nothers may take warning by his defeat. With him we will now alone\nengage, and thus throw down our gauntlet.\n\nA work has very lately appeared, professing to be a \"New Method of\nCuring Dyspepsia, discovered and practised by O. Halsted of New-York.\"\nThis publication sails in the wake of a tolerably successful practice\namongst the dyspeptics of the day, who have resorted to the temple of\nour author \"with faith sufficient to promote a cure.\" So long as this\ncontinued, all interference was of course out of the question, as every\nindividual possesses an undoubted right to tamper either with his\njudgment or his money; but when this aspirer after dyspeptic fame leaves\nhis concealment, and issues his discoveries and practices to the world,\nhe invites the battery of opinion, and renders himself at once amenable\nto remark and investigation. A few words, however, on the subject of\ndyspepsia, may not be amiss, before we take leave to reply to Mr.\nHalsted.\n\nThis much abused term, is a compound of two Greek words, signifying \"bad\nconcoction,\" or bad digestion, _alias_ indigestion, and sufficiently\nexpressive of a condition in which the aliments supplied to the stomach\nare not met by a vigorous and sufficient action for the purposes of\nhealth; but this definition, however just, is not comprehensive enough\nfor the genius of mankind. That genius, which, in former times, has\nsanctioned the appellations of nervous disorders, and bilious\ncomplaints, as comprising nearly all others, has now selected the term\nof dyspepsia, as the covering for a multitude of real and imaginary\nwoes; so that when an invalid approaches with a variety of symptoms, and\na host of pains or whimsies, he is at once pronounced to be a Dyspeptic.\n\nThe book before us, commences with a short account of the organs engaged\nin the process of digestion, copied from a periodical work of the day,\nvery good as far as it goes, and leaving nothing to be desired on the\nscore of brevity: our author then pursues his task, by a detail of the\nsymptoms of what he calls dyspepsia; from what work he procured these,\nor from what unhappy wretch he could gain such a list of grievances, as\nhe describes arising from indigestion, does not appear; if they be in\nexistence now, the sooner the one is burnt and the other buried, the\nbetter. It is evident that Mr. Halsted is unaware that dyspepsia occurs,\nin one of two ways; either as a primary affection, or as a symptom of\nother diseases; that he is unacquainted with the share the liver, with\nits biliary apparatus, the pancreas, the spleen, the mesentery, the\nomentum, &c. take in digestion, and of the symptoms occasioned by an\naffection of these organs; it may therefore be adviseable to devote a\nfew lines to the consideration of these points, as well for the\nsatisfaction of the public, as for his instruction and the improvement\nof his second edition. Dyspepsia, or indigestion in its simple form,\noccurs either as a disease of debility, or as a consequence of excess:\nthe first arises from numerous causes, and seldom exists alone: the\nsecretion of the gastric juice is not only impaired, for the office of\nno organ continues in a state of activity, all alike feeling the result\nof that general depression affecting the system at large: the second may\nbe referred to the stomach itself, as a natural effect from\nover-feeding, or indulgence in spirituous liquors. Dyspepsia, occurring\nas a symptom in other diseases, appears under numerous characters,\neither from the effects of sympathy, or from an extension of the malady\nto the stomach itself. It may be readily granted that all the symptoms\ndescribed by Mr. Halsted, take place, in consequence of an affection of\nthe stomach, either primarily or secondarily; but to assert that they\nare the results of a bad concoction of the viands we eat and drink, and\nto act accordingly, is to misunderstand the meaning of a term, as well\nas the treatment of a disorder.\n\nIt is stated, in this work, that dyspepsia is Protean in its symptoms,\nbut single and uniform in its nature; the very reverse is the fact; its\nsymptoms are of a single character, and of an uniform attack, while its\nnature is variable and inconstant. A dyspeptic will complain of a want\nof appetite, a degree of squeamishness and irritability, eructations,\nheart-burn, pain in the head, stomach, and bowels, with costiveness; his\ntongue will be furred, and his pulse a little increased in strength and\nquickness. To use the language of Dr. Armstrong, \"the most constant\nsymptoms of dyspepsia, are a furred tongue, flatulence of the stomach,\nand fretfulness, or depression of spirits;\" he goes on to say, \"these\nmay arise primarily from disorder or disease in the stomach itself, or\nthey may depend upon an affection of the brain, liver, bowels, or some\nother remote or adjacent part.\" The nature of dyspepsia depends totally\nupon its cause, and where so many circumstances may occasion it, it is\ndifficult to imagine one more variable. The important organs before\nalluded to, so necessary to the economy of life, are all liable to the\nmost severe visitations of disease. Not to be too prolix, take, for the\nsake of example, the first on the list, the liver: both in the acute and\nchronic forms of inflammation of this viscus, how important a change is\nwrought in the digestive functions, how enfeebled does the system become\nduring its continuance, and how futile would be the attempt to relieve\nthe malady by merely attacking one of its symptoms! And so, of the other\nviscera, all marked when in a morbid state by peculiar characteristics,\nnot only affecting their own action, but all the parts in their\nneighbourhood, the stomach as one of the great centres of the system in\nparticular; and yet, with all these facts in review, are we presented\nwith a list of ailments as dependant upon an impropriety in digestion,\nwhich may in all probability (at least the greater part of them) be\ntraced to a source totally different. A careful discrimination of the\norigin of disease is as necessary as any after treatment, which can\nnever, indeed, be applied with a reasonable chance of success without\nit.\n\nMr. Halsted recommends a change to a more temperate climate, travelling,\nregular exercise, particularly on horseback, and above all, moderation\nin eating and drinking; asserting, that if these means of recovery be\nneglected, things will inevitably go on from bad to worse. Astonishing!\nThese new precepts, from the pen of such a distinguished practitioner,\ncannot be too highly extolled, and should be classed with the\nrecommendation of old Parr; \"keep your head cool by temperance, your\nfeet warm by exercise; never eat but when you are hungry, nor drink but\nwhen nature requires it.\" Had the author stopped here, there would have\nbeen no occasion for a rejoinder to his work; for directions so\nadmirable could only have obtained a ready compliance. In addition,\nhowever, to these usual modes of recovering health and appetite, we are\nput in possession of a few others, as purely original as can be\nimagined--but of these anon.\n\nMr. Halsted arranges dyspepsia in three stages; he has the incipient,\nthe confirmed, and the complicated; in other words, dyspepsia in its\ncommencement, in its continuance, and in its union with other\naffections. The two first may undoubtedly belong to dyspepsia, but the\nlast, or complicated stage, is the one to which we must object; it is\nsaid, that this occurs when other organs are deranged, and a double set\nof symptoms produced; \"when the patient will be said to die of liver\ncomplaint, an affection of the lungs, marasmus, dysentery, diarrhoea,\nor some anomalous complication of all these affections, conveniently\nclassed by the Doctor when he renders his account to the sexton, under\nthe sweeping term, consumption.\" The medical profession will doubtless\nappreciate the value of the connexion which Mr. Halsted is anxious to\nestablish between the physician and the respectable officer who acts as\nthe last gentleman-usher to mankind, and duly estimate the candid and\ngentlemanly mode of introduction of both parties to the public.\n\nDyspepsia, Mr. H. continues, is the original fountain from whence all\nthis mischief, described in his third stage, proceeds; thus, according\nto him, a catarrh, pneumonia, and the numerous diseases attacking the\nrespiratory organs, as \"affections of the lungs,\" are occasioned by\ndyspepsia; the liver cannot be affected but by dyspepsia; marasmus\nproceeds from dyspepsia; dysentery depends on dyspepsia; and even\ndiarrhoea must own dyspepsia as its parent. The effects of cold and\ndamp, of obstructed perspiration, of scrofulous tendencies, and a\nthousand other causes, pass for nought; dyspepsia rears its head as the\nsole parent of ill, and little doubt can be entertained, that in the\nevent of a man, a little weakened by sickness, falling and breaking his\nleg, this dyspeptic monitor would call the case dyspeptic fracture. Well\nmay the poor patient who peruses the pages of his work be called \"an\nunhappy dyspeptic;\" and if he be not so already, he cannot read long, if\nhis attention and conviction go hand in hand, before the discovery of\nsuch an accumulation of horrors, and all referred to his own person,\nwill render him a fit subject for the author's experiments. Some of\nthese symptoms are of too extraordinary a character to be passed over\nwithout notice: coldness in the head, ears, and eyes, difficulty of\nspeech, and a jarring through the chest, numbness and coldness at the\nstomach, and sometimes a weight as if a lump of lead were there: if this\nbe the case--\n\n    \"Who breathes, must suffer; and who thinks, must mourn,\n    And he alone is bless'd, who ne'er was born.\"\n\nThen again, our author has been told by a sufferer, that he felt as if a\nnumber of wires passed up from the stomach to the brain, and there\nramifying into small branches, communicated a sort of jarring or\nvibrating sensation to each particular nerve. This is a perfect musical\ncase of a dyspeptic, who has a sort of piano-forte stomach; we might\nfancy him exclaiming in the language of Shakspeare,--\n\n    \"This music mads me; let it sound no more;\n    For though it have help'd madmen to their wits,\n    In me, it seems, it will make wise men mad.\"\n\nThen come \"pains between the shoulders and in the small of the back,\ncramps, stitches, pains in joints, with universal soreness and\nweariness.\" This is as bad as the plague, a very wilderness of agonies.\nHeaven guard us from them! To crown all, the sufferings of Caliban under\nthe magical touches of Prospero are applied to the wretched dyspeptic,\nwho has \"cramps by night, and side-stitches to pen his breath up; old\ncramps (one attack is not sufficient) shall rack him and fill his bones\nwith aches, making him roar so loud, that beasts shall tremble at his\ndin;\" this is the very climax of bodily suffering--long may we all be\npreserved from the Halsted Dyspepsia!\n\nError in diet, and want of proper exercise, are correctly assigned as\ntwo great causes of this disease; the former as respects the quantity,\nquality, time and manner of taking food, and the latter as it affects\npersons of a sedentary habit. These causes lead to actual dyspepsia, or\na bad concoction of the food in the stomach, from whence the evils\ndescribed arise; and which are sufficient of themselves, without adding\nto the list those affections, dependant upon diseases of other organs,\nalthough occupying the stomach as their seat, and all of which our\nauthor has indiscriminately classed under _his sweeping term_,\ndyspepsia. A very common error of diet, as respects the time and manner\nof taking food, is not treated of with sufficient force, when its\nbaneful tendency is considered:--the custom that prevails, of dining\nwithin a very short period, sometimes only a few minutes, and returning\nimmediately to the avocations of the day; the food is sent to the\nstomach only half masticated, and the system directly subjected to\nexertion, during which, the process of digestion cannot take place. If\nwe make a hearty meal, and at once proceed to labour of any kind, the\nfood remains for hours in an unaltered state; whereas, if we give a\nshort repose to our bodies, by assuming an easy posture, and partially\ndismissing the remembrance of past, and the prospect of future cares,\nallowing, in fact, the whole business of life a short rest, as far as\nmay be, the stomach will perform its office with ease and certainty. Mr.\nHalsted devotes one section to the consideration \"of the particular\ncondition of the stomach in dyspepsia;\" and as he confesses that doctors\ndiffer on this subject, he kindly lends his assistance to relieve their\nindecision, by roundly asserting \"that it consists mainly, in a debility\nor loss of power of action, in the muscular coat of the stomach.\" That a\nfeebleness of the system may affect the muscular coat of the stomach,\nis far from a novel doctrine; but the idea that dyspepsia _mainly_\ndepends upon this cause, is certainly as new as it is startling: the\nvery meaning of the word would dispose us to consider that any want of\naction in the stomach, preventing the due concoction, or the breaking\ndown of aliment for the purposes of nourishment to the frame, would\napply to it, and, strictly speaking, it would; not that the muscular\ncoat is alone, or the most powerful agent, in reducing the food to pulp\nor chyme; it is one of the many forces in the service of nature. It must\nbe remembered that digestion, however well commenced in the stomach, is\nnot perfected there; that, in the words of Dr. Mason Good, \"it ranges\nthrough a wide spread of organs closely sympathizing with each other,\nand each, when disordered, giving rise to dyspepsia.\" After the\nformation of chyme, and the food has passed the pyloric orifice of the\nstomach, it undergoes a new process in the duodenum, when it is\nconverted into chyle, probably by the action of the bile, although this\nis a point not absolutely determined by physiological experiment; even\nnow, digestion is only half finished, the lacteals (a class of absorbing\nvessels particularly numerous in the duodenum, and also existing in the\nlarger intestines) take up this fluid, for the purpose of conveying it\ninto the thoracic duct, which terminates in the left subclavian vein,\nnor is the total process of digestion completed, until, in the language\nof the author above quoted, \"it has been exposed to the action of the\natmosphere, travelling, for this purpose, through the lungs, when it\nbecomes completely assimilated with the vital fluids.\" Hence, although\nthe meaning of dyspepsia must be restricted, as its derivations demand;\nthe term, digestion, bears a much more extensive signification than it\ngenerally receives, and any error in its process may be properly\ndenominated indigestion; however, Mr. Halsted regards the term dyspepsia\nas equivalent to indigestion, and we may, for once, adopt the same\nphraseology. Now, as digestion is of so complicated a nature, how will\nMr. H. explain his reference to the muscular coat of the stomach as a\nchief cause of its derangement? Is he so admirable a pathologist as to\ndiscriminate, when called to a case of dyspepsia, whether, to use his\nown words, \"it consists in a diminished quantity or vitiated state of\nthe gastric fluid, in a morbid secretion from the inner coats of the\nstomach, or from a peculiar acid generated there; whether chronic\ninflammation of the mucous membrane of that organ, or a torpid state of\nthe liver and a deficient secretion of the bile occasion it: it would\nappear that such conditions _may_ exist, and then produce their\ndifferent symptoms, requiring a _modified_ treatment;\" but it frequently\nhappens that these cases, slight in themselves, determine principally to\nthe stomach, and are not apparent to the keenest eye in any other organ\nupon the first attack. Besides, it is the practice of Mr. Halsted, when\nhe discovers that the digestive apparatus is not originally in fault,\nbut that a chronic inflammation of the stomach, or a torpor of the\nliver, prevails, to _modify_ his treatment; this, at all events, is new\ndoctrine, to treat inflammation and torpor upon _modified_ principles.\nIf, however, diagnosis is so slight an affair in his hands, let him,\nwithout delay, inform his countrymen at what college he studied, and\nwhat were his plans of improvement.--Pathology is a difficult science,\nand needs mentors to point out the best paths for its attainment.\n\nThe muscular coat of the stomach has undoubtedly its proper office to\nperform, and, failing in its functions, it may, in conjunction with\nother causes, lead to dyspepsia; but to fix upon this, in particular, is\nto negative the effects of other organs, and to deceive both your\npatient and yourself.\n\nOne of the most important discoveries in this work appears under the\ntitle of \"the state of the abdominal muscles during dyspepsia;\" which is\npronounced to be a very characteristic feature of the disease, never yet\nnoticed by writers on the subject, or particularly attended to by\nphysicians. It would certainly have been somewhat strange for medical\nwriters to enlarge upon a symptom of one disease, which absolutely\nbelongs to another; or for physicians to attend to what they could not\ndetect; and it is equally singular, that this very characteristic\nfeature should only have favoured Mr. Halsted and his patients with a\nvisitation. Whenever the muscles of the abdomen are in a state of\nconstriction, as described by him, the usual cause is spasm of some part\nof the intestinal canal, produced by _colic_, either of an accidental\nnature, arising from some acrid ingesta, which irritate the bowels\nwithout producing diarrhoea, attended with griping pains and\ndistention, and _spasmodic contraction of the abdominal muscles_, with\ncostiveness; or of a bilious form, closely allied to bilious diarrhoea\nand cholera (Gregory.) These are the varieties of colic which have been\nconfounded with dyspepsia, particularly the first described; the symptom\nalluded to has little or nothing to do with the office of the stomach,\nbut depends chiefly upon acrid substances, which have passed from that\norgan, to exercise their pernicious qualities upon the intestines; the\nsufferings of Mr. Halsted, so pathetically described, may at once be\nreferred to a fit of the colic, which a due want of care rendered very\nfrequent.\n\nPass we now to the treatment, premising that a ride in a stage-coach led\nto the discovery of its advantages, and taking care, at the same time,\nof our abdominal muscles, lest the exertion of laughter should occasion\none of the muscular spasms so much dreaded by our author. The plan is\ndivided into four compartments; tickling, pickling, ironing, and\nthrowing up the bowels. The tickling is performed by gentle taps and\nslight pushes in the pit of the stomach. (Who could bear it? It would\nthrow nine patients out of ten into convulsions!) The pickling, by\nwrapping up the patient from the chest to the hips with flannel cloths,\nwrung out in a mixture of equal parts of hot vinegar and water. (This at\nall events tends to _keep_ him.) The ironing, by spreading a coarse dry\ntowel on the bowels, and passing over them \"a bottle filled with boiling\nwater, or, what is better, a common flat-iron, such as is used in\nsmoothing linen, _heated as warm as can well be borne_, for fifteen or\ntwenty minutes.\" Make an ironing-board of a patient's bowels! This is\nworse than all: a man might consent to be tickled and pickled--but to\niron him for twenty minutes--mercy on us! the very thought is sudorific.\n\nThe throwing up of the bowels comes the last: fancy Mr. Halsted seated\non the right side of his patient, and facing him; then placing his right\nhand upon the lower part of the abdomen, in such a manner, as to effect\na lodgment (we quote his words) as it were, under the bowels, suffering\nthem to rest directly upon the edge of the extended palm, and then, by a\nquick but not violent motion of the hand, in an upward direction, the\nbowels are thrown up much in the same manner as in riding on horseback,\na sensation being communicated like that produced by a slight blow. (It\nis difficult to imagine who is entitled to the greatest admiration, the\npractitioner or the patient.) This treatment, it is said, will generally\neffect an increase in the strength of the pulse, a warmth in the\nextremities, and a gentle perspiration. So we should imagine: if such a\nmode of riding, with one's bowels in another man's hands, will not\nproduce perspiration, what will? The position of the sufferer, during\nthe last most remarkable process, may be occasionally altered, the\npractitioner taking his station behind him; or he may be placed with his\nback against the wall, whilst all these freedoms are taken with his\nbowels. Nay, more,--he may be instructed to perform the operation on his\nown person.\n\n    \"Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him.\"\n\nThis, then, is the Halstedian treatment!\n\nThe former rules of quackery, reduced to the administration of sundry\npills or elixirs, must be abandoned in favour of the manipulating and\nscouring process of the great medical wizard of the day, who relieves by\na tap, and cures by a flat-iron; and although it may be difficult to\nconceive the chain of ideas by which the imagination can connect the\nbumpings of a stage-coach with the operations we have described, we may\nexclaim,--\n\n                         \"Your art\n    As well may teach an ass to scour the plain,\n    And bend obedient to the forming rein,\"\n\nas cure dyspepsia; still, we must yield our admiration to the novelty of\ninvention, and to the ingenuity of application of these stomach and\nbowel working wonders.\n\nIt unfortunately happens sometimes, that the dyspepsia is connected with\ninflamed stomach, in which case the _punching_ practice is death. We\nhave heard from eminent physicians, that several lives have, within\ntheir knowledge, been endangered by it. Moreover, the real indecency of\nthe Halstedian process, particularly in the case of women, has greatly\nshocked even the medical observers.\n\nBefore we dismiss this book from actual review, we will devote a short\nspace to its probable effect upon the public, and upon the best means of\ncounteracting its tendency.\n\nMan, like a child, is amused by a novelty, and \"tickled by a straw.\" His\n\"reason too often stoops not\" to inquiry before a ready surrender, and\nwhat is least comprehensible will occasionally receive the readiest\ncredence: bare assertion is admitted without proof, the rhodomontade of\nenthusiasts passes for gospel, and the \"leather and prunella\" of\nimpostors are regarded as commodities of sterling value. No wonder,\nthen, that success attends a certain race, who are willing to prey upon\nthe infirmity of reason; that the mountebanks of former days are\nemulated by the quacks of the present time; that Mr. Halsted has met\nwith abundance of patients, and a ready sale for his work: a hope of\nrelief from disease acts as a stimulant to faith, but \"Hope is a\ncur-tail dog in some affairs.\"\n\nIt is said of Dr. Cameron, one of the most remarkable charlatans of his\nday, that when reproached by a physician concerning his deception on the\npublic, he replied, \"Out of twenty persons who pass this house in an\nhour, nineteen are fools who come to me, whilst the one wise man applies\nto you--which has the better practice? Believe me, doctor, that although\nthe wise seek the wise in your person, the fools will find me out.\" How\nexactly is this assertion fulfilled in the present day! The wise man,\nwho values his health as his greatest earthly blessing, scorns to resign\nit to the care of one who knows not the value of the trust; who cannot\ncomprehend the principles upon which it depends, the cause which\nderanges it; or discover the particular organ requiring assistance:\ncommon sense interposes a bar to any communication between a wise man\nand a charlatan; while the multitude will flock to the snare, or swallow\nthe bait; first the gulls, and then the victims; the nostrums, injurious\nor poisonous as they may be, find ready mouths for their reception; the\ndogmas, willing ears; and the system of Mr. Halsted, ready sufferers. Is\nit not to be lamented, that a man who claims a caste above this\nmultitude, will sometimes forget himself so far as to follow their\nroute, heedless of the lines of Horace?--\n\n    \"When in a wood we leave the certain way\n    One error fools us, though we various stray.\"\n\nHe madly leaves the track of reason to tread in the steps of folly; but\n_he_ may perhaps retrace them, and if an injured, yet a wiser man. Not\nso the generality,--they pursue an _ignis fatuus,_ which, dazzling their\nperceptions as it lures them on, at last leaves them in the mire (from\nwhich no skill perhaps can extricate them) to curse themselves and their\ndeceiver.\n\nThe exertion of medical science is sufficient for the removal of\ndiseases capable of cure, and is unaccompanied by the risk of leaving\nothers in their place: quackery, on the contrary, attempts what it\ncannot, from ignorance, perform, and frequently establishes a malady of\nmore serious character than the one it professed to relieve. The medical\nman, aware of the structure of the human form, of the disposition and\narrangement of its several parts in a state of health, is gradually led\nto a consideration of their condition in disease: that grand master,\nexperience, enables him to discriminate between the cause and effect of\nmorbid action; a long attention to the detail of practice gives him\npower over a list of remedies whose properties he has ascertained by\nobservation; and in addition to all this, his daily thoughts are engaged\nin the investigation of sickness in its many forms, and, frequently, his\nmidnight oil expended, while he peruses the observations, and profits by\nthe researches of others. Again, the advertising quack is frequently an\nunlettered, never a well-informed man, at least on medical topics: his\neducation, his habits, his purposes, are all foreign to science; the\nfirst has not been devoted to the accomplishment of a particular duty;\nthe second have not received that polish, or acquired that delicacy so\nnecessary in the hour of sickness and distress; and the third are\ndirected solely to the purposes of gain, rather than to the noble aim of\nassisting his fellow-creatures; and yet such a character finds support.\nTo the individual who can depend upon his abilities we may exclaim,\n\"tibi seris, tibi metis,\" and so dismiss him to his fate.\n\nAfter all that has been said of the exertions of the charlatan to abuse\nthe confidence of mankind, particularly as far as dyspepsia is\nconcerned, it is due to the medical profession, to state what claims\nthey may fairly advance, to entitle them to the good opinion of the\npublic, in the cure of this much talked of affection.\n\nA physician, who understands what he is about, knows very well, when a\ncase of this nature comes before him, that it may proceed from a variety\nof causes; that it may arise in the stomach from a want of digestive\npower, from the small intestines by a partial failure in the process of\nchymification; that it may depend upon the morbid action of the large\nintestines, or exist merely as a symptom of an affection in other\norgans. Sedentary habits, or irregularities of diet, are causes which\nmay be supposed to act locally on the digestive organs themselves; but\nthe history of a case will generally show that the derangement of the\ndigestive organs is secondary. When it arises from local irritation, it\ncan only be produced through the medium of the sensorium; when it is\nidiopathic, it frequently originates in causes which affect the nervous\nsystem primarily; such as anxiety, too great exertion of body and mind,\nand impure air; in many instances, the nervous irritation which has\ninduced the disease, being trivial, is only kept up by the reaction of\nits effects. Thus says Abernethy, one of the luminaries of modern\nmedical science.\n\nThe first duty of a physician, therefore, is to ascertain from what\nsource indigestion proceeds, and to frame his treatment accordingly. To\nact upon one system of cure, like our friend Mr. Halsted, in a disease\narising from such a variety of circumstances, would be as reasonable as\napplying splints to an arm, when the thigh happens to be fractured; but\nenough, we would hope, has been said to disabuse the mind of the public\nof a predilection for these pretenders. Dyspepsia is a disease that has\nexisted for ages, and through ages has it readily been cured. In its\nsimple form there is no mystery about it, and when it becomes\ncomplicated, it requires more than the knowledge of a quack to master\nit. Confidence in a medical attendant, and an adherence to his\ndirections, will surely suffice now, as in former times; and if the\npublic will restrain a longing after novelty, and abandon those \"who\nrather talk than act, and rather kill than cure,\" in short, who work\nupon their prejudices by artifice, we shall hear less of dyspepsia,\nsimply because it exists too frequently but in their own fancies. True,\nthere is a certain class, with such mental, as well as bodily\ninfirmities, who, worn down by depraved habits, or suffering under\nweakened intellects, will permit the wildest chimeras to haunt them;\nhypochondriacs may be met with every day, and these may be fit patients\nfor the charlatan, or legally subjected to the tickling, pickling, and\nironing of Mr. Halsted: extraordinary maladies may justify extraordinary\nexperiments.\n\nThe absurd and improper treatment proposed in the work we have noticed,\ncan afford but little hope to any but the hypochondriacal dyspeptic; he\nmay fly to any measures, however desperate or ludicrous; for \"a mind\ndiseased no medicine can cure.\" Let others, however, who cannot plead a\nmalady of the mind as an excuse for resorting to such practice, be\ninformed, that in most of the affections arising from, or confounded\nwith dyspepsia, it is unavailing, and may prove injurious. There are\nmany diseases which it is impossible that Mr. Halsted can distinguish\nfrom dyspepsia, and to which he would apply his irons and bottles,\ntowels and vinegar, at the risk of his patient's safety.\n\nHis views may be sound if adapted to the animal economy of a horse, but\nare certainly unsuitable to the constitution of a man.\n\nWe would say, then, to the public, in conclusion; be cautious how you\ntrust your health and lives with those who neither comprehend the nature\nof the one, nor the value of the other--and who would exclaim behind\nyour backs, with Shakspeare's Autolycus, merely altering the description\nof his wares:--\n\n     \"Ha! ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother,\n     a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a\n     counterfeit stone, not a riband, glass, pomander, brooch,\n     table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet,\n     horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who should\n     buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed, and brought a\n     benediction to the buyer; by which means, I saw whose purse was\n     best in picture, and, what I saw, to my good use I remembered.\"\n\nTo the gentle pretenders themselves, we have but a few words to say at\nparting:--\n\n                        \"Out you impostors,\n    Quack-salving cheating mountebanks--your skill\n    Is to make sound men sick, and sick men, kill.\"\n\n\n\n\nART. X.--BANK OF THE UNITED STATES.\n\n1.--_Report of the Committee of Ways and Means of the House of\nRepresentatives of the United States, to which was referred so much of\nthe President's Message as relates to the Bank of the United States._\nApril 13th, 1830: pp. 31. 8vo.\n\n2.--_Message of the President of the United States to both Houses of\nCongress._ December 8th, 1830.\n\n\nWhen the President first presented the question of re-chartering the\nBank of the United States to the national legislature, at the opening of\nthe session of 1829-30, the measure was viewed very differently by\ndifferent men. We do not speak of the vulgar herd of politicians, great\nand small, who approve or condemn indiscriminately all measures of the\ngovernment, but of that more elevated and independent class, who ask\nnothing of any administration than that it shall do its duty; and who\njudge of its acts as they seem to be legal, useful, and wise. To some\nthe president's course appeared to be highly objectionable. The bank\ncharter had then six years to run, and, consequently, they said, neither\nthis congress nor the next had any control over the subject. Nor could\nit furnish matter of legislation, they added, whilst president Jackson\nremained in office, unless he should, by being elected for a second\nterm, give his sanction to a principle which he had pronounced impolitic\nand dangerous. To have brought forward the subject, under these\ncircumstances, with no very doubtful intimation of his own wishes, was\nas unnecessary as it was unusual, and implied a want of confidence in\nthose who were ultimately to decide the question.\n\nTo others, however, this early notice of the subject seemed to be\njustified by its importance, and they thought that the public could not\nbe too soon engaged in discussing the merits of a question which in so\nmany ways concerned the general welfare. Of this opinion seemed to be\nthe committee of the house of representatives, to which this part of the\nmessage was referred, and which, after giving the subject a full\nconsideration, reported in favour of renewing the charter of the present\nbank, and against the substitute for it which the president had ventured\nto suggest.\n\nThe subject being thus fairly before the people, and in fact undergoing\na very thorough investigation in the public journals, it was expected\nthat the president would be contented with having done his duty on the\noccasion, and, if not silenced by the gentle dissuasive of the senate,\nor the bold and uncompromising logic of the house, he would merely\nregret that truth should be so hoodwinked by prejudice, or that error\nshould have found so many apologists and supporters in those august\nbodies, and that he would leave the question where it properly belonged,\nand where he himself had placed it--with \"the legislature and the\npeople.\" It was, then, with no little surprise, perceived, that the\nsucceeding annual message, which is at the head of this article, had\nbrought the same subject to the notice of the legislature, consisting\nprecisely of the same individuals as before, when nothing was pretended\nto have occurred to induce them to change their former opinion, and when\nthe only reason which had been given, at the preceding session, for\ninviting the consideration of what neither required nor admitted\nimmediate legislation, no longer existed. Public attention had been\nfully drawn to the subject. The stockholders of the bank, who are\nprofiting by the good management of the institution, and who naturally\nwish the charter renewed, had taken the alarm, and, trusting to the\nomnipotence of truth, had every where invited investigation and\ndiscussion--and all those who hoped to profit by the new national bank,\nor who felt themselves bound to second the wishes of the administration,\nhad opposed the renewal of the charter, through the prints devoted to\nthe same cause.\n\nWhen the avowed purpose of the president had been thus completely\nanswered, by his first communication to congress, it is natural to ask\nwhat could have prompted the second? Were the majorities in both houses\nof congress personally hostile to the president, or unfriendly to his\nadministration; and was it necessary for him to defend himself from\nparty prejudice by an appeal to the people? That could not be; for it is\nnotorious that the president's friends, personal or political, are most\nnumerous in both houses, and this advantage is a daily theme of party\nboast and congratulation. Were the chairmen of the respective committees\nhis political opponents, and did they insidiously endeavour to bring his\nparty into discredit for the purpose of advancing their own? But they\nwere among his most zealous adherents--nay, it may be questioned whether\nthere was a single individual in the United States to whom the president\nwas more indebted for the vindication of his character before the\npeople, than to Mr. M'Duffie, who wrote one of the reports;--unless it\nmight be to Mr. Adams, when secretary of state. Was it then expected,\nthat the house of representatives, which had disregarded his\nrecommendation, would now approve his project? It is impossible that the\npresident or his advisers could have believed they would carry their\ncomplaisance so far. They must have known that the subject would be\nreferred to the same committee, composed of the same persons, as that of\nthe preceding year, and who would be likely, if they reported at all,\nnot only to support their first opinions by further arguments, but to\nexpress their disapprobation of a course so wanting in respect to the\nlegislature, and so little calculated to promote harmony between the\ndifferent branches of the government. As, then, we are compelled to give\nthe negative to all these suppositions, we must infer that the object of\nthis extraordinary course has been to influence public opinion. It seems\nessential to the views of the present executive of the United States, to\nput down the present national bank, and to erect another on its ruins;\nand this favourite purpose it hopes to attain by bringing the\npresident's personal and official influence to bear on the question;\nand, under the forms of the constitution, to appeal from his party in\ncongress, to his party in the nation.\n\nOn the dignity or good faith of this course we will not make any\ncomment; but since the question is thus brought before the people, we\nwill cheerfully meet it, and inquire how far the measure recommended by\nthe president, against the opinions of the immediate representatives of\nthe people, seems calculated to advance the public interest, or to\npromote a distinct and peculiar interest. We shall fearlessly, though\ntemperately, examine the president's propositions, both as to the\nexisting national bank and its proposed substitute; and we shall look at\nthe subject with a single eye to the public good, for we have no other\ninterest in the question than what is common to every citizen of the\nUnited States. We know that there is much good sense in this nation,\nand although there is a full share of prejudice too, yet no one need\ndespair, that the former, if properly addressed, will eventually\nprevail.\n\nThat part of the Message which relates to the bank is in these words,--\n\n     \"The importance of the principles involved in the inquiry,\n     whether it will be proper to re-charter the Bank of the United\n     States, requires that I should again call the attention of\n     congress to the subject. Nothing has occurred to lessen, in any\n     degree, the dangers which many of our citizens apprehended from\n     that institution, as at present organized. In the spirit of\n     improvement and compromise which distinguishes our country and\n     its institutions, it becomes us to inquire whether it be not\n     possible to secure the advantages afforded by the present bank\n     through the agency of a bank of the United States, so modified\n     in its principles and structure as to obviate constitutional\n     and other objections.\n\n     \"It is thought practicable to organize such a bank, with the\n     necessary officers, as a branch of the treasury department,\n     based on the public and individual deposits, without power to\n     make loans or purchase property, which shall remit the funds of\n     the government, and the expenses of which may be paid, if\n     thought advisable, by allowing its officers to sell bills of\n     exchange to private individuals at a moderate premium. Not\n     being a corporate body, having no stockholders, debtors, or\n     property, and but few officers, it would not be obnoxious to\n     the constitutional objections which are urged against the\n     present bank; and having no means to operate on the hopes,\n     fears, or interests, of large masses of the community, it would\n     be shorn of the influence which makes that bank formidable. The\n     states would be strengthened by having in their hands the means\n     of furnishing the local paper currency through their own banks;\n     while the bank of the United States, though issuing no paper,\n     would check the issues of the state banks, by taking their\n     notes in deposit, and for exchange, only so long as they\n     continue to be redeemed with specie. In times of public\n     emergency, the capacities of such an institution might be\n     enlarged by legislative provisions.\n\n     \"These suggestions are made, not so much as a recommendation,\n     as with a view of calling the attention of congress to the\n     possible modifications of a system, which cannot continue to\n     exist in its present form without occasional collisions with\n     the local authorities, and perpetual apprehensions and\n     discontent on the part of the states and the people.\"\n\nWhen the president's views, as here disclosed, are analyzed, they seem\nto involve the following propositions, to each of which we will give a\nseparate consideration.\n\n1. That the present Bank of the United States is unconstitutional.\n\n2. That it exercises a dangerous influence.\n\n3. That it creates discontent with the people, and collisions with the\nstates.\n\n4. That such a bank as is proposed in its place, is free from all these\nobjections.\n\n1. On the constitutionality of the bank, we have little to add to the\nremarks made on the subject in our last number. The arguments then urged\nhaving received no answer, and being, as we conceive, unanswerable, we\nmust consider that the more the question is investigated, the more it\nwill be found that a power which has been recognised by every branch of\nthe government, and at some time or other, by every party that has\nadministered the affairs of the nation, will be found to be correct. We\ncannot, however, forbear to add one other, because of its peculiar\nfitness to the present occasion.\n\nIt is known, that the power of the general government to establish a\nnational bank, mainly turns on that clause of the Constitution of the\nUnited States, which gives congress the power \"to make all laws which\nshall be _necessary and proper_ for carrying into execution\" the powers\nspecifically granted--one party deducing the constitutionality of the\nbank from a liberal interpretation of the word \"necessary,\" and the\nother drawing the opposite inference from their interpreting the same\nword in a narrower sense; both reasoning justly from their respective\npremises, and both agreeing, that on the true meaning of that term, rest\nthe merits of the controversy.\n\nWhenever a doubt occurs about the meaning of a phrase in a written\ninstrument, it has always been considered a good rule of interpretation,\nto refer to the use of the same phrase in other parts of the same\ninstrument, for the purpose of discovering the sense attached to it by\nthose who used it. Applying this rule, we find in the article concerning\nthe duties and powers of the president, (3d section) that \"he shall,\nfrom time to time, give to the congress information of the state of the\nUnion, and recommend to their consideration such measures as he shall\njudge _necessary and_ expedient.\" It is by virtue of this power thus\ngranted, and of this alone, that the president has recommended the\ncreation of a new bank to the legislature. Now, it will not be pretended\nthat he could have judged this recommendation to be _necessary_, in the\nstrictest sense of the term, but at most, that it was highly useful and\nimportant. It must then be admitted, either that the narrow\ninterpretation of the word \"necessary,\" relied on by those who deny the\nconstitutionality of the bank, is erroneous, or that the president\nhimself has violated the constitution in the recommendation he has made.\nIf it be insisted, that he had the constitutional right to recommend a\nmeasure, which both houses of congress had pronounced highly\ninexpedient, because he believed it prudent, and politic, and\nsalutary--the ground on which he himself places it--then the same\nliberal interpretation of the term \"necessary,\" which we admit to be the\ntrue one, will make the bank constitutional. We have resorted to this\nrule, not so much because it furnishes an argument _ad hominem_ which is\nirresistible, as for the higher purpose of throwing light on one of the\nmost controverted parts of the constitution.\n\nBut admitting, for the sake of argument, the constitutionality of the\nbank to be one of those difficult and complicated questions about which\nmen's minds may always be divided, and that there are reasons on either\nside, sufficient, if not to convince, to perplex and bewilder, and to\nafford pretexts for those who seek some sinister or selfish ends--and of\nsuch character are most constitutional questions--we would ask, if this\nis never to have a termination? Are questions of this kind to be always\nunsettled, so that no length of time, however sufficient to quiet\nprivate controversies, shall put an end to those which most nearly\nconcern the tranquillity and permanence of the Union?\n\nOn this subject of constitutional questions generally, we would trespass\nawhile on the patience of our readers. It involves far higher\nconsiderations than whether this or that individual shall be\npresident--this party or that shall exert a transient sway over the\ndestinies of the country. Our remarks are independent of men, or times,\nor circumstances; and they are addressed to men of no party--to the\nintelligent and patriotic of all parties--to that fund of good sense\nwhich has ever characterized this nation.\n\nAs every officer of the government takes an oath to support the\nconstitution, his conscience is appealed to, and that which he honestly\nand truly believes to be the meaning of the obligation he has incurred,\nmust influence his votes and acts under the constitution. It is\nseriously and earnestly maintained by many of our citizens, that every\nman's own interpretation of the constitution must be his guide; and no\nmatter what the public tribunals have determined--no matter for what\nlength of time, or by what degree of unanimity a particular\ninterpretation may have prevailed, it is to weigh as nothing with him,\nso far as it seems contrary to the conviction of his own mind. But is\nthis a true understanding of the character of a written constitution,\nand of the oath which it enjoins? If so, would not the means devised to\nsecure its more faithful observance be the most likely to defeat its\nprovisions; and would it not make such a constitution the most\nimpracticable and absurd form of government that human folly ever\ndevised? Let us consider the consequences of this doctrine.\n\nIn the first place, let us call to mind the great number of\nconstitutional questions which have arisen during the short period of\nlittle more than forty years, since the Federal government went into\noperation. In General Washington's administration, the most prominent of\nthose questions were suggested by the establishment of a national\nbank--by the carriage tax--the proclamation of neutrality--and the\nappropriations to carry the British treaty into effect: in that of Mr.\nAdams, the elder, the alien and sedition laws: in Mr. Jefferson's, the\nrepeal of the Judiciary law--the embargo for an indefinite period--the\npurchase of Louisiana: in Mr. Madison's, the United States Bank again,\nthe power of the federal government over the militia of a state--the\nright of that government to construct roads: in Mr. Monroe's, the right\nin congress to pass the bankrupt law--to lay a duty on imports for the\nencouragement of manufactures--to appropriate money for the relief of\nthe poor of the district of Columbia: and in Mr. John Quincy Adams's,\nthe Cherokee treaty--the nullification doctrine--the power of appointing\npublic officers, together with several of the others previously\nmentioned.\n\nTo these questions we might add many of minor importance or interest,\nand that multitude which have arisen and been decided in the Supreme\nCourt of the United States. But if the number is already so great, what\nwill it be a century or two hence? Let it be remembered, too, that each\nof these legislative questions may give rise to many others connected\nwith them, and that each one may be multiplied to infinity in the courts\nof justice. Thus, if protecting duties for the encouragement of\nmanufactures are unconstitutional, the duty claimed on every bale of\nimported goods may be called in question.\n\nWhenever, then, any of these constitutional questions can be made, it\nwould be competent for the party interested, by the doctrines of these\npolitical puritans, to make them. So that in every controversy, public\nor private, every conflict of right or interest, as the question of\nconstitutionality would be completely open to the judge, and in criminal\ncases, to the jury, either party may take his chance of success by\nurging that interpretation of the constitution which best suits him, and\nthe same question would, of course, be decided one way in one place, and\nanother way in another. One man would be convicted for an offence for\nwhich another would go unpunished; and one citizen, or one state, be\nsubjected to taxes under the constitution, from which others would be\nshielded by the same instrument.\n\nDoes any one doubt, that if a constitution is left to the unrestricted\ninterpretation of every one who swears to support it, there would be\nthis diversity? Let him look at the various commentaries on the same\ntext in the New Testament. Let him look at the various interpretations\nof the same decrees of the Senate by the Edicts of the Pretors in Roman\njurisprudence--to say nothing of those countless decisions of the civil\nlaw, by which, before the time of Justinian, it was buried beneath its\nown rubbish. Let him look at the voluminous reports in our own language\non the written, as well as common law--on the infinite number of\nquestions that have arisen, and are yet arising on a single statute, or\neven one of its sections,--let him consider these apposite examples, and\nask whether our constitution is likely to share a different fate? Such,\nindeed, is the indefinite nature of language, the ever-varying character\nof human concerns, and the subtlety of the human intellect, that it is\nutterly impossible to pen a constitution on which numerous questions\nwould not arise, which no sagacity of man could foresee, and which his\nlanguage is too vague to provide for.\n\nConstitutional questions then must arise, and the true point of inquiry\nis, whether our constitution meant that they should be finally settled,\nor whether they are to remain suspended between heaven and earth, until\nthey are compelled to make their appearance by the necromancy of legal\nsubtlety, or occasionally laid in the Red Sea.\n\nBut the evil would not stop with the federal government. We know that\neach state has also its own constitution, and that if their legislatures\nor executives transcend their powers, their acts, by the doctrines we\nare considering, are utterly void. They cannot exceed the limits of\ntheir charter, and those limits they have no exclusive right to define.\nWho that has attended the deliberations of a state legislature, and\nremarked the frequent recurrence of constitutional questions about their\npowers, but must see that there is scarcely any law concerning property,\nor office, or crime, on which ingenuity may not raise a doubt respecting\neither the letter or spirit of the constitution? And the same\nuncertainty and want of uniformity which would arise in the federal\ngovernment, would arise in a much greater ratio in that of a state; so\nthat no man could say certainly what were his duties or his rights. If\nsuch a state of things may now ensue, how would it be when the\npopulation of a single state should amount to several millions, and when\nthe spirit of litigation, united with the extension of legal science,\nwould give more than Norman acuteness to our constitutional lawyers?\nWhen that era shall arrive, if this quibbling spirit that is now so\nrife, shall not receive a timely check, where is the law, whose\nauthority may not be questioned? Now is the time to arrest it, before\nour habits become indurated, and while our national character has that\nductility which the changes our country is ever undergoing, naturally\nproduces. Whoever is capable of taking a wide survey of human affairs,\nand of comparing ages and nations, must perceive that every generation\nof the civilized world is becoming more and more metaphysical--that the\nunderstanding is more appealed to, and has greater sway than formerly,\nand the imagination less. The age of magic, and witches, and ghosts, has\npassed away. That of poetry is on the wane. Speculation has taken the\nplace of taste. What once passed unheeded, or was perceived only as it\nwas felt, must now be analyzed, and sifted, and decompounded, until we\nhave reached its elements, and a reason is required for every thing.\nSuch is the spirit of the age, and it is eminently favourable to\nconstitutional doubts and scruples.\n\nWe may already perceive the progress of this captious, inquisitive,\nhair-splitting spirit, in the brief chronicle of the federal\ngovernment. When congress met, immediately after the formation of the\nconstitution, in laying an impost, they endeavoured so to lay it, as to\ngive encouragement to those species of industry for which the country\nseemed best suited, and their successors continued the same policy for\nabout thirty years, when it was discovered, (we think by a member from\nMaine) that the policy was contrary to the constitution. The discovery\nwas soon welcomed by many of the politicians of the South, and it has\nsince been so cordially embraced by them, that the opposite opinion is\nnow looked upon as downright political heresy.\n\nA bankrupt law was passed during the first Mr. Adams's administration,\nby virtue of the express power given to congress on that subject. When\nMr. Jefferson came into power, the law was repealed as inexpedient,\nbecause it was believed to produce as much fraud and mischief in some\nways as it prevented in others. But nobody had then discovered that the\nlaw was unconstitutional. Yet in 1822, that doctrine was broached and\nzealously maintained by three or four members from the South, so as to\ninduce Mr. Lowndes, who was himself opposed to a bankrupt law, to\ndisavow the doctrines of his associates. That exemplary man, the\ncharacter of whose mind was sufficiently inclined to refined\nspeculation, if it had not been so tempered by candour and sound\npractical sense, never lost sight of the end of government, in his view\nof the means; and he believed that in interpreting the constitution, we\nought not to look at it through a microscope, for this plain reason, if\nfor no other, because those who are finally to decide on it look at it\nwith their ordinary eyes. Accordingly, in the first half of his speech,\nhe aimed to show that congress had the power to pass the law, and in the\nlast, that they ought not to exercise it.\n\nAgain: Mr. Jefferson gave his sanction to the Cumberland road, to be\nmade at the national expense, provided the states through which it would\npass gave their express assent to it. The states of Virginia, Maryland,\nand Pennsylvania, did pass laws giving such consent. It was not then\nconsidered that congress had not the power of appropriating the money in\nthe treasury to all purposes of general utility, provided they did not\nassume any other power, in the exercise of this; and it is clear that\nMr. Jefferson did not think that the construction of a road, _with the\nconsent_ of the states through which it passed, was such an exercise of\npower. Yet after the road was made, by this growing disposition to\nstrict construction, it was discovered that congress had no power to\nmake such appropriations, under the constitution, and if the power could\nnot be derived from that instrument, the consent of the states\ninterested could not give it. It is here worthy of remark, that many of\nthose who maintained that the general government possessed the power of\nmaking roads, independently of the states, concurred in the preceding\nposition; and thus a majority was obtained who agreed that congress\ncould use the public money for no purpose, which they had not the\nindependent power of executing. Each party hoped to derive strength by\nthis decision. The one, because it advanced a step forward in strict\nconstruction; and the other, looking to the influence of the practical\nbenefits to be derived from the exercise of the power of making roads\nand canals, flattered themselves that many, when they found themselves\nnot able to attain their object by mere appropriations, would, rather\nthan forego the promised benefits altogether, support a still more\nenlarged construction of the constitution; and the issue seems so far to\nhave justified their expectations.\n\nWe will give one more example. It had been supposed that the\nvice-president, as presiding officer of the senate, had, by the force of\nthe term itself, the power of keeping order and regulating the debate;\nyet three or four years ago, it was discovered by that officer, or some\nof his friends, that he did not possess that power, in certain cases,\nand he accordingly forbore to exercise it.\n\nThese remarks are made in no invidious spirit. We do not mean to give\nany opinions on these questions. In some of them, indeed, we scarcely\nknow whether, in this age of nice discrimination, our impressions\ndeserve to be called opinions. But we merely meant to refer to facts\nwhich are a part of the history of the country. They go to show, that\nconstitutional doubts and difficulties are continually increasing, not\nonly from the new positions and aspects of things in the endless\nvicissitudes of human affairs, but also by the progress of refinement in\nreasoning; because much is now considered unconstitutional that was not\ndeemed so formerly.\n\nIf this doubting, disputatious spirit--this habit of questioning every\nthing whenever a quibble can be raised--should continue to advance,\nwhere is the law, which, after fighting its way through both houses of\nthe legislature, and, perhaps, escaping the veto, may not be eventually\ncontested and defeated? We know that in many of the states there are\n_Bills of Rights_, which are considered to have equal authority with\ntheir constitutions. Some, indeed, regard them as settling the\nprinciples of primordial law, which the constitution itself cannot\ncountervail. These, then, may also be appealed to for the purpose of\nproving the unconstitutionality of a state law; and in the inferences\nwhich ingenuity, or even stupidity, may draw from such broad and\nindefinite principles, the clearest right may be disputed, and the most\natrocious crime defended. The right of a community to take the life of\nany one of its citizens has been gravely denied, and the argument rests\nfor its support on the imprescriptible and immutable rights of man. If\nthe net-work of the laws shall be thus chafed and frittered away, little\nfish, as well as big ones, may break through it when and where they\nplease.\n\nWe are aware, that, in the ordinary concerns of life, nature and reason\nwill often assert their empire. They cannot be altogether cheated out of\ntheir rights by sophisms and quibbling. But the latter will but too\noften prevail. They have prevailed, are yet prevailing; and, if a\nbarrier is to be presented to their further progress, it must be by the\ncommon sense of the nation, frowning into contempt this constitutional\ncasuistry, which would degrade our legislative halls into schools of\nsophists--would employ the best powers of the human mind, not in\nclearing up doubts, but in creating them--which considers that the most\nobvious and direct meaning of the constitution is always the wrong one,\nand that what the convention made the people say by that instrument, can\nbe understood but by one man in ten thousand, who cannot show he is\nright, but by a commentary a hundred times as large as the text. It must\nbe by going further, and saying that after a question has been fully\ndiscussed and solemnly decided--after it has been recognised by every\ndepartment of the government--and acquiesced in by the people, it should\nbe considered as the best exposition the constitution is capable of, and\nas no longer open to controversy: and if the decision was wrong,\naccording to a maxim of the common law, and which became common law only\nbecause it was common sense, the universality of the error makes it\nright.\n\nLet it not be supposed, that if a false or inconvenient construction is\nput on the constitution, or its meaning is considered doubtful and\nuncertain, the evil may be corrected by an amendment. Supposing it to\ntake place, may we not, like bad tinkers, in stopping one hole, make\ntwo? We can judge of the probable success of this course, by the various\nlaws passed to alter, or amend, or repeal, previous emendatory acts. But\nif the remedy were effectual when attained, is it attainable? What\nprobability is there that three-fourths of the states will concur in any\namendment, or that motives of interest--of party sympathy--of delusive\nargument--or the mere _nonchalance_ of men about evils which are not\nimmediately pressing, would not unite more than one-fourth of the\nstates? Besides, if the constitution were always to be changed whenever\na serious question of its construction arose, and amendments were as\npracticable as they are difficult, the time required for the operation\nwould leave us nothing else to do. A century would scarcely suffice to\nsettle the questions which may occur in a single year.\n\nThere is another mischief, of no insignificant character, which results\nfrom these excessive refinements in interpreting the constitution, and\nfrom the doctrine that no length of time can settle its meaning. They\nafford ready pretexts to cunning and timid politicians for screening\ntheir real motives from the people. When they wish to evade\nresponsibility for their votes, they have nothing more to do than to\nplead scruples of conscience, and the sacred obligation of an oath.\nWhere is the measure which a moderate degree of ingenuity may not\nshow--we may almost say--has not shown to be against the words, or the\nmeaning and spirit of the constitution? It is true, if the people\ndistrust the sincerity of this plea of conscience, or disapprove it,\nthey may remove their representative. But that remedy may come too late,\nand may not always be applied. The people have always shown great\nindulgence and forbearance towards this plea: besides, before the time\nof re-election comes about, these inconvenient scruples may, in the din\nof new contests, be forgotten, or remembered only to be forgiven, and,\nby the hocus pocus of party, even metamorphosed into a recommendation.\nWhen, then, it is so easy to take shelter behind the ark of the\nconstitution, ought we to enlarge the limits of this place of refuge for\ncunning and cowardice?\n\nOne more argument in favour of a fair, liberal, manly construction of\nthe constitution. There would be a certain degree of inconvenience\nincident to every written constitution, if there were no difficulties in\nits interpretation, and its language was always understood in the same\nsense by all men. In making that distribution of its various powers\nwhich is deemed most likely to secure a safe and healthy action, the\nhands of its functionaries must often be tied up from doing that which\nparticular circumstances may make highly expedient. Some imperative\nclaim of humanity, some yet more pressing emergency of state, may call\nfor powers which the constitution has withheld. Mr. Jefferson considered\nthe acquisition of Louisiana to be a case of that character. He\nquestioned the power of acquiring foreign territory under the\nconstitution. But when he reflected that France could not retain\npossession of Louisiana, and that hither the constitution must be\nstretched, (his letter to W. C. Nicholas might almost justify a stronger\nexpression,) or we must submit to having the greatest commercial nation\nin Europe--our most active rival in peace, our most powerful enemy in\nwar--posted on our right and left flank, and, by and by, in our\nrear,--he sacrificed his opinions to the safety of the republic. The\npresent president was no doubt actuated by similar considerations, when\nhe pursued the Seminoles into the Spanish territory, and made war on the\ncountry in which they had taken refuge--the occasion not appearing to\nhim to admit of the delay of a formal declaration by congress. Commodore\nPorter may be presumed to have acted on the same principle in Cuba. No\none regards these as fit cases for precedents. All agree, that if we\nhave a constitution, its mandates should be obeyed, and that we must be\ncontent to put up with its partial inconvenience, for the sake of its\ngeneral benefits. But surely we ought not to go to the other extreme,\nand so fetter the constituted authorities of the nation, by a spirit of\ninterpretation which will deprive them of all salutary power, except by\nusurping it. Let us not lose sight of \"the expedient,\" in discussing\n\"the right;\" but rather, as the common sense of mankind dictates in\nordinary cases of conscience or morality, be liberal in construing the\nconstitution, when its power is to be used for the good of the people,\nand captious and astute only when its exercise may be pernicious.\n\nOn these grounds, we earnestly beseech those who are friendly to our\npolitical institutions--who believe that no other than the complex\ngovernment we have adopted can unite the adaptation of laws to local\ncircumstances with the strength and security of a great empire, to\ndiscountenance the pestilent and absurd doctrine that the constitution\nis to be on all points forever unsettled. We beseech them to save this\nmonument of our country's wisdom--this instrument of its safety, its\nliberty, and its future greatness, from the peril and reproach to which\nit is thus exposed. It is in their power to protect it from an evil\nwhich would convert a government intended to secure domestic peace, into\none of perpetual civil strife, and which would confide the destinies of\nthe country to sophists, and quibblers, and casuists--or rather to those\npolitical managers who would use them as tools to persuade the people\nthat a good measure was unconstitutional, that they might pursue a bad\none with impunity.\n\n2. The next objection is, that the bank possesses a \"formidable\"\ninfluence on the community. It must be admitted, that this complaint of\nbank influence is not now brought forward for the first time. It was a\nfavourite theme of the demagogue, from the time the first Bank of the\nUnited States was established, until its charter expired, when it\nappeared that its influence was not equal to its own preservation.\n\nIf, indeed, no other corporation had the right to issue notes of\ncirculation, then the power of enlarging or contracting the common\ncurrency at pleasure would be a very great one--greater than ought to be\nput into the hands of any others than persons chosen by the people, or\ntheir representatives, and responsible to them. But as the bank and its\noffices are every where surrounded by competitors, some of which have a\nyet larger capital than themselves, they have no such exclusive control\nover the amount of money in circulation, and their influence, whatever\nit may be, can be exerted only as to its quality. It is precisely on\nthis last influence that the friends of the bank mainly rely for the\npublic favour.\n\nLet us inquire a little further into the extent of the bank's influence.\nThe principal functions of this institution, except the services it\nrenders the government, consist in discounting promissory notes, selling\nor buying bills of exchange, and receiving deposits of coin, or of its\nown notes, for safe keeping. It has no exclusive privilege of doing\neither of these acts, as every state bank may do, and actually does the\nsame. But by means of its superior capital, and consequently its\nsuperior credit and resources, it can, in some of its operations, either\nundersell the other banks, or command a preference in the market;--aye,\nthere's the rub. The banks in some of the large cities have persuaded\nthemselves that if this \"formidable\" rival was out of the way, they\nwould be able to buy and sell more bills, and upon better terms than at\npresent. But if this consideration should make them an object of dread\nand dislike to the state banks, it should also recommend them to the\nfavour of the public. Their notes, too, are generally preferred by\ntravellers, and for distant remittances. But neither does this fact\nfurnish any ground of dread to the community, whatever it may to their\nrivals.\n\nIt thus appears that they have the same advantage over other banks,\nwhich one tradesman or mechanic occasionally has over others of the same\ncalling. He who does his work best, and sells it cheapest, will always\nget the most and best custom; and it would be just as reasonable for his\nrivals in business to complain of his making better wares, of being more\naccommodating, and of underselling them, as for the other banks to\ncomplain of the Bank of the United States. It is clear, that if the\nrival banks are losers, the public is a gainer, unless they can succeed\nin persuading the people, that competition, which is so salutary and\nbeneficial to the public in every other business, should be mischievous\nonly in this. The argument thus used against the Bank of the United\nStates, is precisely that which might have been used, and, we presume,\nwas used, by the owners of the Albany sloops against steam-boats; and\nwhich might be used against canals and rail-roads, by those who would\nfind employment for their wagons in the former more expensive modes of\nconveyance.\n\nBut by an influence which is supposed to be so \"formidable,\" is meant,\nperhaps, a political and corrupt influence. If there be such a one, it\nmust be seen and felt; and we would ask in what way does it exert\nitself? Does the bank use its money in the elections? If so, its\naccounts must show it; and as there are men of all parties who own, or\nmay own, shares in the stock, let those who suspect this abuse\nscrutinize those accounts for the purpose of detecting it. But those who\nmanage the banks, know very well, and so do those who accuse them, that\nnine-tenths, or rather ninety-nine hundredths of the stockholders, would\nnot have given a five dollar note to get the president elected, or to\nget him turned out. Your office-seekers, indeed, might pay pretty\nliberally for such service, but they are seldom stockholders. These are,\nfor the most part, thrifty, cautious men, who choose to vest their money\nin some fund which gives them regular returns; and they are content that\nthey shall be small, provided they be certain. The rest are widows,\nguardians of orphan children, trustees of public institutions, and\nmerchants who have more capital than they can safely and profitably\nemploy. Now, who of these would allow a president and directors to\nsquander their money in a matter in which they felt little interest, and\nthat probably a divided one. No body believes this, and yet it is not\neasy to say in what other mode they could exercise a corrupt influence.\n\nBut if the stockholders were disposed to spend their money in\nelectioneering, can they be prevented from acting so foolishly by\nputting down the bank? If the charter is not renewed, their money will\nbe returned to them, and they would then have both the power and the\ninducement to use it for political purposes, which they cannot have\nwhile it is supplying a currency to the country, and invigorating its\nindustry and commerce. But, in truth, it is well known, that those\npersons do not make ducks and drakes of their money now, and are not\nlikely to do it then.\n\nIt is true, that in case of an extraordinary demand for money, beyond\nthe means of supply by the state banks, the Bank of the United States\nmay sometimes prefer discounting the note of one man to that of\nanother--the paper of A to that of B; and that some of the directors\nmight have given the preference to A, because he was a neighbour--others\nby his being a friend or relative, and others again by mere party\nsympathies. But we believe that none of these things go very far at\nbank. The object of its directors being to make money, they prefer the\npaper of a rich man they hate, to that of a poor friend. Nor do they\nwidely differ from the rest of the world in this particular. But\ngranting that moral and political considerations do influence the bank\nin its loans, who does not see that they could have no effect, except\nwhen the supply of money for loan was not equal to the demand, and that\nthe mischief would be increased by putting down the richest and most\nsubstantial bank in the country?\n\nUpon the whole, this cry against the influence of the bank, resolves\nitself into that of wealth and property. These do exert a certain\ninfluence in the community on some occasions, and it is more than\ncounteracted on others, by the jealousy and ill will it engenders.\nWhatever influence wealth may have, it is inseparable from our present\ncondition, as we presume the United States are not yet prepared for the\nAgrarian system, and every man will be permitted to enjoy the fruits of\nhis own industry, or that of his ancestors; but be it little or much, we\ncannot reasonably expect to see it exerted more harmlessly or more\nbeneficially than in a solid, well managed bank. If, however, in spite\nof all these considerations, the power of these institutions be thought\ntoo great, and too liable to abuse, then there is no more effectual way\nof weakening it than by diffusion. As most of the state banks are more\nor less under the control of the state authorities, who may use the\ninfluence of these banks for political purposes, it must be desirable to\nall those who wish the public mind as free and unbiassed as possible, to\nsee this influence weakened, if not neutralized; and there seems no more\neffectual mode of doing this than establishing a rival bank, over which\nthe state politicians could exercise no sort of authority. Let us, for\nexample, suppose that a system of banking was adopted for a state, by\nwhich, under the colour of guarding the public against their insolvency,\nthose institutions were subjected to a _surveillance_ and control which\nwere calculated to make them feel their dependence on the state\ngovernment, and when the plan was matured, to make them obsequious to\nits will. Would not every friend to the political purity of the state,\nand the independent spirit of its citizens, wish to see a scheme of this\ncharacter frustrated? and what means so conducive to this end as the\nBank of the United States, which, in the first place, by bringing so\nmuch capital into the market for loans, lessens the influence of all\nbanks, and, in the next, may perform its several functions without\nregard to the smiles or frowns of any politicians whatever.\n\nThis is probably the influence which is really objected to in the Bank\nof the United States, that of disenthralling the people from an utter\ndependence on the state banks for the various accommodations those\ninstitutions afford--an influence which it appears to us no true friend\nto his country should wish to see diminished, however inconvenient it\nmay be to those who would make banks and every thing else subservient to\ntheir purposes.\n\n3. But the Bank of the United States, it seems, must be brought into\ncollision with the local authorities, and occasion perpetual\napprehensions and discontent on the part of the states and the people.\nWe know not upon what facts the president or his advisers have made this\nstatement. It is in direct contradiction to that made by the committee\nof ways and means, who say--\n\n     \"It is due to the persons, who for the last ten years, have\n     been concerned in the administration of the bank, to state,\n     that they have performed the delicate and difficult trust\n     committed to them, in such a manner as, at the same time, to\n     accomplish the great national ends for which it was\n     established, and promote the permanent interest of the\n     stockholders, with the least practicable pressure upon the\n     local banks. As far as the committee are enabled to form an\n     opinion, from careful inquiry, the bank has been liberal and\n     indulgent in its dealings with these institutions, and, with\n     scarcely an exception, now stands in the most amicable relation\n     to them. Some of those institutions have borne the most\n     disinterested and unequivocal testimony in favour of the bank.\n\n     \"It is but strict justice also to remark, that the direction of\n     the mother bank appears to have abstained, with scrupulous\n     care, from bringing the power and influence of the bank to bear\n     upon political questions, and to have selected, for the\n     direction of the various branches, business men in no way\n     connected with party politics. The Committee advert to this\n     part of the conduct of the directors, not only with a view to\n     its commendation, but for the purpose of expressing their\n     strong and decided conviction that the usefulness and stability\n     of such an institution will materially depend upon a steady and\n     undeviating adherence to the policy of excluding party politics\n     and political partisans from all participation in its\n     management. It is gratifying to conclude this branch of the\n     subject by stating, that the affairs of the present bank, under\n     the able, efficient, and faithful guidance of its two last\n     presidents and their associates, have been brought from a state\n     of great embarrassment into a condition of the highest\n     prosperity. Having succeeded in restoring the paper of the\n     local banks to a sound state, its resources are now such as to\n     justify the directors in extending the issue and circulation of\n     this paper so as to satisfy the wants of the community, both as\n     it regards bank accommodations and a circulating medium.\"\n\nThe committee, coming immediately from the people, are somewhat more\nlikely to have accurate information on this subject than the president.\nWe have heard of no recent collisions between any state and the bank;\nand those which formerly took place with the states of Ohio and\nMaryland, respectively, have been long since settled in the Supreme\nCourt. The people of Tennessee, too, once objected, through their\nrepresentatives, to the location of a branch bank in that state; but a\nsubsequent legislature, believing that they better understood the\ninterests or wishes of their constituents, withdrew their opposition,\nand the branch bank which was therefore established, is now in\nsuccessful operation. The legislature of Mississippi, in like manner,\nhas, within a few months, repealed a hostile act passed two years ago,\nand invited the establishment of a branch. The executive council of\nFlorida, has recently requested a branch, and we understand that there\nare numerous applications for branches from all parts of the Western and\nSouthern states. Surely the people of these and the neighbouring states\ncannot seriously object, that a portion of the moneyed capital which has\nbeen accumulated in the Atlantic states should be brought among them, to\nencourage their industry and facilitate their trade--to enable their own\nmerchants to give them ready money, and a somewhat higher price for\ntheir cotton--to furnish one man with the means of building a\nmill--another a manufactory--and a third a steam-boat. We cannot believe\nthat they are such novices in political economy. If their citizens do\nnot want the money, they need not borrow it; and if they do, it is\nbetter to find it at home, than to be dependant on New-York,\nPhiladelphia, or Boston, for it. In the state of Alabama, if we are to\nbelieve the public prints, the United States Bank there has afforded\ngreat and most seasonable aid to the state bank. Nor do we know of a\nsingle state, in which there are any manifestations of popular\ndiscontent with the bank, notwithstanding the pains taken by some of the\nfriends of the president to excite them.\n\nPerhaps the apprehensions mentioned in the message may refer to the\nstate banks rather than the people; and the president has presumed,\nthat, as some of the states are interested in the stock of these\ninstitutions, and as their interests may conflict with those of the Bank\nof the United States, the people would be likely to side with their own\ninstitutions. The presumption is far from being unfounded. The\nsympathies of the people will always be with the states, rather than the\ngeneral government, when the two are in conflict--a fact of which\npoliticians are sufficiently apt to avail themselves. Thus, when the\npresent Bank of the United States first went into operation, fears were\nentertained by the state banks and their friends, that the United States\nBank and its branches would prove troublesome and dangerous neighbours.\nTheir strength to oppress, and even crush, a rival, was supposed to be\nin proportion to their capital; and, comparing them with things with\nwhich they had no sort of analogy, it was argued, that a state bank, in\nthe neighbourhood of a branch of the national bank, would be not more\nlikely to thrive, than a delicate shrub under the shade of a spreading\noak, or to find safety, than a light armed brig under the battery of a\nseventy-four. These arguments prevailed for a season in some of the\nstates; but at length the experiment was made, in spite of these gloomy\npredictions, and it was found, as well it might be, that a small\ncapital, _if prudently managed_, is as independent of the attacks of a\nrival, in banking, as in any other business. And why should there be a\ndifference? A tailor or shoemaker who employs but two or three\njourneymen, may do as safe, though not so profitable a business, as he\nwho employs twenty or thirty--in the same way as a small vessel may\nnavigate the ocean as safely as a large one, and may be even less likely\nto overset in a storm, if it carry less sail in proportion to its\nballast.\n\nWe do not mean to deny, that a bank with a superior capital, if it were\ndisposed to injure a rival at all hazards, might prove an inconvenient\nneighbour, and greatly curtail its business. If it were to put itself to\nthe trouble of procuring the paper of the other, as soon as it was\nissued, and convert it immediately into specie, the loans of that other\nmight be restricted to the amount of its specie capital. But this could\nnot be effected without a degree of trouble and expense which would make\nit impracticable. What means does such a bank possess of drawing in the\npaper of the other bank, except so far as the debtors of the one\ninstitution chance to be the debtors of the other, or it choose to give\na premium for the notes of its rival? It is not likely, that the same\nindividuals would be the debtors to both banks, to a great extent; and\nas to a premium, such sacrifices seldom take place in individual\ncompetition, much less in that of banks. Besides, as soon as the bank\nwhich was thus assailed found that a premium was given for its paper, it\nwould issue notes for the purpose of obtaining it, and the faster its\nnotes were bought up and returned for specie, the more would be found in\nthe market--a new swarm being attracted by the premium as soon as the\nfirst disappeared--until in a few months its hostile rival would share\nthe fate of those who attempt to break another sort of banks--its own\ncoffers would be exhausted.\n\nThe means then which a bank possesses of narrowing the sphere of\ncirculation of a rival's paper, are much more limited than is commonly\nimagined; and such as they are, it will be cautious of exerting, lest\nthe same game should be played on itself. A combination of the state\nbanks, or even a single one of respectable capital, may practise the\nsame means of annoyance against a Bank of the United States, as that\ncould put in operation against them. But if both parties were wise, or\nrather not utterly foolish, they would each pursue their own business;\nand one not otherwise interfere with the other, than by occasionally\nexchanging notes, and receiving the difference in specie. This course\nmight indeed prove a check to extravagant issues by either, but it is\nprecisely that check which the public is interested in maintaining.\n\nThere is a further security against the wanton and bootless mischief\nwhich fear or design has imputed to the Bank of the United States.\nPublic opinion would cry out against its illiberal course, and would\nfully avenge the wrong. Some of their best customers would desert them.\nThey would lose most of their deposits. Their notes would be\nindustriously collected and prematurely returned to them, and they would\nthus not only lessen their present profits, but furnish their enemies\nwith arguments against the renewal of their charter. The supposition of\nsuch a course presumes the bank to be utterly regardless of\ntheir own interests, as well as of all sense of fairness and\nliberality--considerations which still have some weight with some\nmen--and it is at variance with all that we have ever heard of the\nofficers of that institution. As a proof that no fears or jealousies\nagainst the Bank of the United States are entertained by safe and\nsubstantial banks, we may remind our readers, that Mr. Girard, the\ngreatest banker we have, was one of the most efficient supporters of the\npresent national bank. No other individual in the United States would be\nso much affected as he, if its competition and neighbourhood were\npernicious, and yet no one subscribed so largely to its stock, and no\none, we have reason to believe, deplores more strongly the confusion in\nthe moneyed concerns of the country, which he thinks would be inevitable\non the destruction of the bank.\n\nIt is probable enough, that although these alleged causes of jealousy\nand alarm are known to be groundless by the state banks, the proposition\nagainst re-chartering the bank addresses itself to those institutions in\nanother way. They have been led to believe that the benefits of the\nbusiness now done by the bank, and of the government deposits, would be\napportioned among them. But let them not flatter themselves with\nprofiting by a division of this spoil. That great void in the\ncirculation which the withdrawal of the capital of the bank would\noccasion, would immediately and imperatively call for new banks, which\nthe states would be sure to establish; and when once they began to meet\nthe demand, it would not be strange if the supply sometimes exceeded it,\naccording to the common occurrence of a scarcity being followed by a\nglut. In that event, the present state banks might find too late that\nthey had exchanged one old and liberal rival for two or more new ones,\nof a different character, who would be their competitors not only for\nthe profits of banking, but also for the favour or forbearance of the\nstate politicians. What the community at large is likely to regret or to\nwish after the change, it is not difficult to conjecture.\n\nOne of the complaints against the Bank of the United States has been,\nthat the notes issued by any one of its offices were not payable at\nevery other indiscriminately; and to this the president must have\nreferred, when, in his first message, he said that the bank \"had failed\nin the great end of establishing a uniform and sound currency.\" As the\nsame objection is not repeated in the last message, we are left at a\nloss to decide whether he has been convinced, by the very lucid and\nsatisfactory views of Mr. Lowndes and Mr. M'Duffie, that the complaint\nwas unfounded, or whether he means to comprehend this among the causes\nof discontent on the part of the states and the people.\n\nAs this subject has received so thorough an investigation in the report\nof the committee, and in our last number, it cannot be necessary to say\nmore on it. It is there shown, as we think conclusively, that the Bank\nof the United States has done in this matter all that a bank can\ndo--more, indeed, than could have been reasonably expected of\nit--towards furnishing the community with a sound and uniform currency:\nthat its notes, at the places where they are issued, are, for all\npurposes, worth as much as gold and silver, and for distant payments\nsomething more: that if its notes are sometimes worth, in one place, a\ntrifle less than specie, it is because they have been worth, at another\nplace, more than specie, since no one would transfer them to a great\ndistance from the place of emission, unless he found them more\nconvenient than specie: that as every bank has a direct interest in\ngiving its notes as great a credit and as wide a circulation as it can,\nthis institution will, for its own sake, redeem its notes at par,\nwherever issued, when it can safely do so; and that in most cases, it\nhas actually done this; but that to make this obligatory would not only\nbe unjust to the bank, but would be highly impolitic, by counteracting\nthe natural and most efficient corrective of the over issues of banks,\nand the overtrading of individuals; and would be moreover impracticable.\n\nTo these irrefragable positions we may add, that the public has quite as\nmuch interest as the bank in keeping this matter on its present footing.\nOne of the greatest benefits which a community derives from banking\ninstitutions, is the substitution for a part of its currency of the\ncheap article of paper for the costly one of specie, by which the\ncapital that would otherwise have been used as money, may be employed\nfor other useful purposes. But if the Bank of the United States, and\neach of its offices, were obliged, as a matter of right, to redeem the\nnotes of every other, it would require an increase of specie which would\ndeprive the country of the benefits of this substitution, as well as the\nbank of its profits. The same remark applies to their demanding a small\npremium for their drafts on each other. For each of the offices to be\nprepared not only to redeem its own paper, but to meet the drafts which\nothers may draw on it, it is obliged to keep on hand an extra supply of\nspecie; but if the check of the premium were removed, and it was no\nlonger a matter of discretion, a much larger amount would be necessary,\nand nothing but experience could determine whether any thing short of\nthe whole capital of the bank, or even that, would be sufficient for the\npurpose, under extraordinary circumstances, and great fluctuations of\ntrade. So that upon the whole this complaint against the bank seems to\nbe pretty much of the same character as these--that rivers do not run\nupwards as well as downwards--or that the same season which gives us ice\ndoes not also give us melons and peaches--or that a rail-road or a\ncanal, which reduces the expense of carriage to one-tenth, does not\nreduce it to nothing.\n\n4. Having thus noticed all the objections which the president has made\nto the bank, let us now turn our attention to the substitute that he has\nproposed. This is a national bank, at the seat of government, which is\nto be a branch of the treasury department, and which is, we presume, to\nhave subordinate offices distributed among the several states. Its\nbusiness will be to receive the public revenue from the collectors of\nthe customs, receivers of the land offices, and postmasters, together\nwith such deposits as individuals choose to make, and to give drafts,\nfrom time to time, on distant offices, for a premium.\n\nAccording to this project, the funds of the treasury, instead of being,\nas now, deposited in the several banks convenient to the receiving\noffices, are to be in the immediate keeping of the new corps of the\ntreasury to be levied for the purpose, by which means the public is to\nlose one of its present checks on the malversation of its agents. It is\nknown that there are in most banks various officers, each with his\nappropriate duty--as--one or more to keep accounts--another to receive\nmoney--another to pay it away--another to be its general depositary--and\nthat they are all placed under the superintendence of a president, whose\ncharacter and station in society give assurance for the faithful\ndischarge of his duty. That there is, moreover, a board of directors,\nwho hold their offices only for a year, and who, once a month or\noftener, appoint a committee to examine the affairs of the bank, and\nespecially to ascertain whether the amount of notes, securities, and\nspecie, correspond with the accounts of the institution. Yet, with all\nthese safeguards, it is found, now and then, that men who had previously\nbeen above all suspicion, have not been able to withstand the temptation\nto use the money thus placed in their charge, and that, occasionally,\nthese frauds and peculations are practised a long time without\ndetection. If this is the case, when there is such strict\naccountability, and unremitted vigilance, how would it be when there was\nneither, and when those who received the public money, instead of being\ncompelled to deposit it in a bank, as soon as they received it, and to\ncheck for it when they paid it over, might use it as they pleased,\nprovided they were always ready to meet the drafts of the government. At\nmany places they might do this, and yet, in consequence of the large sum\nwhich is always lying idle, or rather unappropriated in the treasury,\nthey might have the use of the excess, to a considerable amount, as long\nas they remained in office. For several years the amount in the treasury\nhas never been less than five millions, and sometimes considerably more;\nand of this, according to the ordinary current of business, one-third or\nupwards would commonly be in the city of New-York, if it were not\ntransferred to Washington; and this money, which is now invigorating\nindustry and trade, it is proposed to consign either to utter idleness,\nor to the exclusive use of the officers of the treasury. In addition to\nthat aversion to change which is felt by all office-holders, this plan\nmight furnish them with no ordinary means of effecting their object.\n\nBut if for the sake of guarding against such strong temptation to\nspeculate with the public funds, and against such an encouragement to\ncorruption, by affording materials for it, the public money were\nrequired, as now, to be deposited in the banks; though that plan would\nbe free from the objection we have just made, it would be liable to\nanother quite as great--the very one of influence which the president\nhas made to the bank of the United States--with this difference,\nhowever, that the influence derived from the government funds is now\nexercised by the Bank of the United States, and is a salutary check upon\nthat exercised by the state banks, but _then_, it would be added to that\npatronage which is already thought sufficiently great for every\ndesirable purpose, and sometimes for purposes not desirable. The large\nreceipts of public money in our chief importing cities, would be\ndistributed among those banks which were most in favour with the\ngovernment, by which is always meant those that were its most zealous\nand efficient supporters; and thus the revenue of the nation, that is,\nthe use of it, would be set up at auction, to be purchased by the\nobsequious devotion of the state banks to the existing administration.\nIn a division of parties, not more equal than that we often witness in\nour country, the vote of a single state may decide that of the Union,\nand the vote of its principal city may decide that of the state. All\nthis is perfectly well known to some of the friends of the scheme, but\nit is not so to those who are to pay for it, and who are less familiar\nwith the workings of the political wires.\n\nThere is another part of this notable scheme, (we mean no pun,) which\nmerits our attention. This new bank and its offices are to sell drafts\non each other for a premium, and as the bank itself is to issue no\npaper, the drafts may be paid for in the notes of the state banks, \"only\nso long as they continue to be redeemed in specie,\"--such are the\nPresident's words. But suppose the very common case of a bank paying\nspecie to-day, and not paying it, and not being able to pay it,\nto-morrow, what becomes of the public revenue then? To be placed no\ndoubt first to the account of \"unavailable funds,\" and then, to the\ncredit of the treasury. When these new bureaux of finance are\ndistributed over the Union, and having no paper of their own, must carry\non their operations altogether in gold and silver, and the paper of the\nbanks in their vicinity, it is impossible that, with the highest degree\nof vigilance, prudence, impartiality, and firmness, united, they would\nalways avoid loss. But does any one believe that this delicate and\nimportant trust would always be exercised with impartiality and\nfirmness? To believe it, would be to disregard all experience, and to\nshut our eyes to what is passing before them every day. When the\nofficers of the government--themselves dependant more or less directly\non popular favour--were to have the power of discriminating between what\npaper they would take and what refuse, how many motives would be for\never presenting themselves for exercising it improperly? To reject the\npaper of a substantial bank, that was hostile to the administration, if\nthere were any such, and to take that of a tottering one, which was\nfriendly. Let us suppose, by way of illustration, that some orator, or\npolitical manager, no matter which, being about to set out for congress,\nshould apply to one of the treasury banks for a draft on Washington for\na few thousand dollars, and should offer in payment of it the paper, not\nof a substantial bank, but of one which though poorer, was more\npatriotic,--this being the best he could get--is it probable that his\napplication would be rejected? or that the officer would do more than\ninquire whether the bank then paid specie, without troubling his head to\nascertain whether it merely made a show of paying it, and whether it\nwould not be insolvent in a month. Let it not be said, that if doubts\nwere entertained of the solidity of the bank, its paper might be\nimmediately converted into specie; for, in the first place, the bank may\nbe some hundreds of miles distant; and though it were in the immediate\nvicinity, payment of specie would not always be demanded before it was\ntoo late. Besides, the very demand of specie may, like a new weight\nbreaking down an overloaded packhorse, make it stop payment at once. The\nbill now before congress, for allowing the treasury credit for certain\n\"unavailable funds,\" received some years since, would form an excellent\nprecedent for such occurrences, and it is one to which there would be\nfrequent occasions of appealing. And this mode of managing the public\nrevenue is proposed to take the place of that which now exists through\nthe Bank of the United States, by which the government has not lost a\ndollar; and it is next to impossible can lose one. Verily, if the nation\nwere to suffer itself to be gulled by such a scheme as this, they would\ndeserve to suffer the loss they would be sure to incur.\n\nBut pecuniary loss may be but a small part of the price which the nation\nwould pay for this new treasury bank. It may be made to pay, in\naddition, the richest jewel it possesses--its political purity. The\ninfluence which the national executive exercises over the present Bank\nof the United States, is moderate, and not more than is salutary. It\nannually appoints a part of its directors, and, at stated periods, may,\nmoreover, exercise its right, of having the government funds transferred\nfrom one part of the Union to the other, in a more or less accommodating\nway. But here its influence stops. The law, in pursuance of the charter,\ndirects that the public money shall be deposited in the Bank of the\nUnited States or its branches, and in these it must be deposited,\nwhether the president or his secretaries have good will or ill will to\nthe bank, or whether the bank is willing to give any thing in return for\ntheir favour or not. These public deposits are valuable to the bank;\nand, for the benefit, they have paid, and we presume are yet willing to\npay, a fair price. But the compensation is not paid to any officer of\nthe government; it goes into the national treasury, and it consists of\ngold and silver, and not in the base metal of political influence.\n\nWe are well aware that many of the state banks are under the management\nof high-minded and honourable men, who would not be bidders at this\nauction, and who would scorn to purchase a share of the public deposits,\nat the price of their independence. But such might not prove to be the\ncharacter of the greater number. Besides, in some of these cases, a\nmajority of the stockholders might not sit idly by, and see the bank\ndeprived of its share of government favour by the squeamishness of its\nofficers, and might therefore either coerce them into compliance, or\nremove them.\n\nIf so much has been said about the influence attached to the office of\nthe secretary of state, arising from the paltry patronage of printing\nthe laws of the United States, what should be thought of that privilege\nof giving the permanent and uncompensated use of many millions of\ndollars to such powerful corporations as the state banks--embracing some\nthousands of directors, and some tens, nay, hundreds of thousands of\nstockholders and borrowers? We would appeal to that intelligent class of\nour citizens, who are quietly pursuing their occupations or professions\nat home, by which they secure to themselves independence and\nrespectability, and who see, in the purity of our political\ninstitutions, their country's present happiness and future greatness, to\ntake these things into consideration, and say whether they are willing\nto give to any administration such powerful means of exercising an\ninfluence of the worst sort over the minds of the people--whether they\nwill take the money now gained or saved to the nation by means of the\nBank of the United States, to enable a president and his cabinet to buy\ngolden opinions of that numerous class who have them to sell.\n\nThe president lays some stress on the circumstance that his proposed\ntreasury bank would not be a corporation, as is the Bank of the United\nStates. But the lawyers tell us that there are two kinds of\ncorporations--aggregate and sole--and the question is, whether influence\nis likely to be less extensive, or less dangerous, when it is\ntransferred from the corporation aggregate, (the bank) to the\ncorporation sole, (the executive). In the first case, the influence of\nthe bank has checks from its charter--from its stockholders--from its\ndirectors--from public opinion--and, lastly, from the legislature. In\nthe last, the influence would be added to that which is already deemed\nby many too great for the public tranquillity or safety. Whatever means\nthe Bank of the United States possesses, of operating \"on the hopes,\nfears, or interests of large masses of the community,\" the state banks\npossess, to a far greater extent; and it would always be in the power\nof the government to act on these corporations, either by the treasury\nbank \"checking their issues,\" as the president proposes; or, in case\nthat monstrous scheme should be rejected, by means of the public\ndeposits; so that, in any event, if the charter of the present bank is\nnot renewed, the influence of the executive will receive a most\nformidable increase.\n\nNor could the proposed national bank answer the same useful purposes to\nthe commercial world, as the present Bank of the United States. And,\nfirst, as to transmitting values from one part of the Union to another,\nby means of bills of exchange. The president informs us the new bank\nmight sell these at a moderate premium. But its means of doing so would\nbe evidently far more limited than those of the present bank, since the\nlatter, in addition to all the means possessed by the treasury bank, has\nits own large capital and credit. In the year 1829, the amount of drafts\non each other which the bank and its offices sold, was upwards of\ntwenty-four millions, and the amount of its transfers of public money,\nby means of treasury drafts, amounted to upwards of nine millions;\nmaking, in all, more than thirty-three millions. Now, although the\nannual public revenue is about twenty-four millions, yet as the\nexpenditures of the nation are going on at the same time as its\nreceipts, the money on hand, at any one time, seldom exceeds six or\nseven millions. According to the monthly statement of the bank, for the\n1st of January of the present year, the amount of deposits on account of\nthe treasury of the United States, was, after deducting over drafts,\n6,940,628 dollars. But as this sum would be distributed very unequally\nover the United States, there would be in some places more money than\nthe government had occasion for, and in others less, so that it would be\ncompelled to draw on the former, to meet the public exigencies, without\nregard to the state of the exchange market, by reason of which, it would\nnot only not be able to afford the public that general accommodation\nwhich the Bank of the United States now does, but be sometimes obliged\nto sell its drafts for a _discount_, instead of a premium. Thus, suppose\nthe government has a large sum lying in New-York, (it sometimes has more\nthan two millions there,) and it has occasion for 200,000 dollars in\nMaine, as much in Missouri, &c. Although it might have found a ready\nsale in these places for its drafts, for a small amount, at par, or even\nat a premium, yet the amount offered exceeding the demands of the\nmarket, the government must either sell its drafts at a discount, or be\nat the expense of transmitting the specie. In the mean while, the drafts\nwhich are thus sold at one place at a loss, might be in demand at\nanother, but that demand the government cannot meet, because it must\ngive its money another direction. We therefore think that this part of\nthe scheme cannot be of much utility to the public, or of profit to the\ntreasury.\n\nIt must be recollected, too, that the Bank of the United States is a\nbuyer as well as a seller of bills of exchange, to the great advantage\nof the commercial community. Its purchases, during the same year, 1829,\namounted to upwards of twenty-nine millions of dollars; and that in this\nbusiness, the treasury bank, according to the president's programme,\ncould not engage.\n\nBut besides the want of the accommodation now afforded by the purchase\nor sale of inland bills to all parts of the Union, there is a large\nfurther arrear of utility which the treasury bank would owe to the\npublic. In what way would it make amends for the immense amount of\ncurrency withdrawn from circulation? The notes of the United States Bank\nin actual circulation, commonly amount to fourteen or fifteen millions,\nexclusive of its drafts, which, to a certain extent, perform the office\nof currency. As the new bank is to issue no paper, the chasm must be\nfilled, either with the paper of the state banks, or not filled at all.\nIf with the former, whence are they to derive their increased means of\ncirculation, seeing that nearly all of them have carried their issues to\nthe extreme verge of safety, and some of them, perhaps, beyond it? It\nwill, however, be said, that there will be new banks established--the\ncapital that is vested in the Bank of the United States will not be\nannihilated by the termination of that establishment, but will seek\nemployment in new banks. Let it be so. In that case what becomes of the\nincreased profits of which many of the state banks have been dreaming,\nand the hope of obtaining which has been so artfully appealed to?\n\nBut an addition to the state banks would fall far short of filling the\nvoid. Much of the capital of the present bank was obtained from Europe.\nWe are told in the report of the committee, that foreigners own stock to\nthe amount of seven millions. Is it probable that these capitalists will\nbe as ready to venture their money in the state banks, as in one\nchartered by the general government? Would they even venture it again in\na national bank, after we had shown so vacillating a policy? We\nestablish a bank of that description in 1791--we put it down in 1811, as\nunconstitutional--we charter another, five years afterwards, 1816, and\ndiscontinue that in 1836. Assuredly, after this experience, they would\nprefer a somewhat smaller interest nearer home, rather than risk their\nmoney in a country exhibiting so little stability, and where what had\nbeen long determined to be legal by the highest authorities of the\ncountry, is liable to be revoked on the first revolution of parties.\n\nThere are persons who will consider the withdrawal of seven millions\nfrom our circulation, as no source of regret; and who think the money\npaid for the use of foreign capital, is so much lost to the country;\nfor the truths of political economy are not obvious to all. But no one\nwho is acquainted with the elements of that science, will doubt, that a\nnation, not having as much capital as it can advantageously employ, may\nbe improved and enriched by foreign capital as well as its own; and the\nbenefit of these seven millions in stimulating the productive industry\nof the country--in building ships, and wharves, and mills, and\nmanufactories, and steam-boats, is precisely the same as if they were\ndomestic capital, with the single difference of the interest. Ask the\nowner of a thriving manufactory of woollens in Cincinnati, or of iron in\nPittsburg, if he had been assisted in his enterprise by a loan of\n10,000, or 20,000 dollars from the Bank of the United States--and he\nmight answer, that, by the use of the money, in a few years, he had,\nbesides paying the interest, realized the sum borrowed. Ask him further\nwhether he would gain more by keeping the money longer, or returning it\nto the European stockholder, and he would laugh at you, thinking your\nquestion conveyed its own answer, as he had not chosen to return the\nmoney.\n\nThe president's project then of a treasury bank, seems to be liable to\nall the objections he makes to the present Bank of the United States, in\na tenfold degree, as to influence, by adding so enormously to the\nexecutive patronage. It offers a far inferior substitute for the safety,\nand the easy transmission of the revenue; and no substitute at all for\nmuch of the accommodation now afforded to commerce, and the large amount\nof active capital it would throw out of circulation.\n\nIn making this comparison, we have had no reference to the former\nservices of the Bank of the United States in restoring the currency of\nthe country to a sound state, or to its power of so preserving it, if\nthe country should be again involved in war. We have contented ourselves\nwith refuting the objections which have been brought forward against\nthat institution, under the sanction of the chief magistrate of the\ncountry, and with pointing out to the unprejudiced mind the\ninconveniences and serious mischiefs attendant on the scheme which has\nbeen proposed in its stead. In our last number, we asserted that the\nresumption of specie payments by the state banks, in 1817, was to be\nprobably attributed to the establishment of the Bank of the United\nStates, and we stated the facts upon which that opinion was founded. It\nwas, then, with some surprise, that we saw the position roundly denied\nin a quarter (the North American Review) where we have been accustomed\nto look for just views on all commercial affairs; and the resumption of\ncash payments imputed to the resolution of congress, forbidding the\nofficers of the government from receiving the notes of any banks which\nwere not redeemable in specie. The question is not one of primary\nimportance, yet as it may affect our future policy, and concerns our\npresent justice, we will add a few remarks on the subject. When we see\nthat the measure of the government alluded to was not immediately\nfollowed by the desired effect, but that as soon as the Bank of the\nUnited States was about to go into operation, an arrangement was\nvoluntarily entered into with it by the banks of New-York, Philadelphia,\nBaltimore, and Virginia, by which they all agreed to resume cash\npayments at the same time, it seems to afford _prima facie_ evidence,\nthat it is to the Bank of the United States, and not to the legislature,\nthat the resumption is directly attributable. Whether the state banks\nmight not, at some subsequent time, have paid specie, and at what time,\nmust now remain a matter of conjecture; but we think it quite as likely,\nthat the banks, making extraordinary profits as they were, so long as\nthey were not compelled to redeem their notes in specie, would have\nprocured a repeal of the resolution of congress, as that that measure\nwould have operated coercively on them. In some of the states, the\nresumption of specie payments was discountenanced by the state\nlegislatures; and in Virginia, if we mistake not, after the measure had\nbeen enjoined on the banks by the legislature, it afterwards retraced\nits steps, on the ground, that if they ventured to pay specie, the Bank\nof the United States, then about to go into operation, would immediately\ndraw every dollar from their vaults. The banks of that state thus had\nthe express sanction of its legislature for continuing the suspension;\nnor was it until after the meeting of the convention, mentioned in our\nlast number, that they paid specie.\n\nBut in what way, it may be asked, could the Bank of the United States\nhave compelled the state banks to resume specie payments, if they had\nnot been so disposed? We answer, by giving the public the option of a\nbetter currency than theirs, and presenting an easy and ready standard\nin every part of the Union, by which the depreciation of their notes\nwould have been manifest. As soon as the paper of the national bank had\nbeen put into circulation, it would command, by its convertibility into\nspecie, a preference in the market over the paper of the state banks,\nand the difference would have been shown by the reduced rate at which\nthe latter would have passed. The public then having such a standard of\ncomparison, could no longer be deceived, and every one would have seen\nthe depreciation, and known the extent of it. What would have been the\nnatural consequence? The paper of the state banks, thus depreciated in\nthe market, would have been bought up by their more prudent and\nsubstantial borrowers, and returned to them in discharge of their debts;\nand thus they would have had no notes in circulation except what was\nrepresented by the paper of their most straitened and doubtful\ncustomers, nor would any others have continued to borrow of them. Thus,\nwith a business decreased in amount and impaired in character, they\nwould have found it impossible to make a profit equal to defraying their\nexpenses and yielding a dividend to the stockholders.\n\nAll this the state banks distinctly foresaw, and not wishing to be\ncompelled to resume specie payments, by which their profits would be\ndiminished, they generally opposed the establishment of a national bank.\nBut when they found that all opposition had been ineffectual, and that\nthe bank was about to go into operation, and to pay specie, they\nimmediately saw that they must follow the example, or that their gains\nwere at an end--that the public, which took their paper, during the war\nand immediately after the peace, when there was no other currency, would\nnot continue to take it, when they had the choice of a better--and thus\nthe compact which has been mentioned was formed.\n\nIt is said, however, that the depreciated paper of the Baltimore banks\nwould have circulated so long as the government received it at the\ncustom-house, and that it was only after the government decided to\nreceive it no longer, that those banks found themselves compelled to pay\nspecie. But would this measure have been effectual without a national\nbank? We have already intimated that we thought not. It would have been\nvehemently attacked in congress and out, and all the states, except\nperhaps Massachusetts, might have instructed their representatives that\nthe measure was premature, oppressive, and detrimental to the public\ninterests. But after the Bank of the United States went into operation,\nthe question was at an end. The government, whether the resolution of\ncongress had been passed or not, could not with decency have taken, or\nbeen asked to take, any more than an individual, depreciated paper for\nits dues, when there was good paper and specie in circulation; and the\nBaltimore banks, as well as all others, must have followed suit, or\ngiven up the game.\n\nFor these reasons we must continue to think, that the claim urged by the\nfriends of the Bank of the United States, that it operated, by its\nexample, a salutary coercion on the state banks in their return to\nspecie payments, is as well established as a question of its character\ncan be, and that the same means by which it proved that remedy for the\nmischiefs of an unsound currency--its solid capital--unquestionable\ncredit--and practical skill in business--would operate, on future\noccasions, as a preventive of similar mischiefs.\n\nThe same distinguished critic differs from the chairman of the committee\nof ways and means, as to the effect of an increase of money in producing\ndepreciation. The proposition controverted is thus stated by Mr.\nM'Duffie in the Report.\n\n     \"No proposition is better established than that the value of\n     money, whether it consists of specie or paper, is depreciated\n     in exact proportion to the increase of its quantity, in any\n     given state of the demand for it. If, for example, the banks,\n     in 1816, doubled the quantity of the circulating medium by\n     their excessive issues, they produced a general degradation of\n     the entire mass of the currency, including gold and silver,\n     proportioned to the redundancy of the issues, and wholly\n     independent of the relative depreciation of bank paper at\n     different places as compared with specie. The nominal money\n     price of every article was of course one hundred per cent.\n     higher than it would have been, but for the duplication of the\n     quantity of the circulating medium. Money is nothing more nor\n     less than the measure by which the relative value of all\n     articles of merchandise is ascertained. If, when the\n     circulating medium is fifty millions, an article should cost\n     one dollar, it would certainly cost two, if, without any\n     increase of the uses of a circulating medium, its quantity\n     should be increased to one hundred millions. This rise in the\n     price of commodities, or depreciation in the value of money, as\n     compared with them, would not be owing to the want of credit in\n     the bank bills, of which the currency happened to be composed.\n     It would exist, though these bills were of undoubted credit,\n     and convertible into specie at the pleasure of the holder, and\n     would result simply from the redundancy of their quantity. It\n     is important to a just understanding of the subject, that the\n     relative depreciation of bank paper at different places, as\n     compared with specie, should not be confounded with this\n     general depreciation of the entire mass of the circulating\n     medium, including specie.\"\n\nAlthough the principle appears to us to be laid down somewhat too\nbroadly by Mr. M'Duffie, as we shall presently state, yet he is\nsupported in his position, to the letter, by Hume, by Mr. Jefferson, and\nvirtually by Adam Smith, if we suppose that from any cause the excess of\ngold and silver, which causes the depreciation, cannot be exported. They\nall agree in this, that the amount of money which can circulate, and\nwhich does in fact circulate in any country, depends upon the number and\nvalue of its exchanges, and that, as its quantity increases, its value\ndiminishes. But Hume and Smith, concurring in this general principle,\ndrew very different inferences from it as to the paper currency of\nbanks. Hume thought that the equilibrium between the money required for\nthe country and that in circulation, was effected by depreciation; while\nSmith considered, that it was maintained by an exportation of the\nprecious metals in proportion to the increase of paper. And the general\nprinciple thus ably supported by authority, was all, no doubt, that Mr.\nM'Duffie meant to assert. There is then probably no real difference\nbetween him and his reviewer in the North American.\n\nWe conceive that Mr. M'Duffie, in his application of the principle to\nour own situation, twelve or fifteen years since, has not greatly\noverrated the depreciation, if we regard the effect of the increase of\nmoney on every species of exchangeable value; but that it was very\ndifferent with the different kinds. This difference requires\nexplanation; but first, of the general principle itself, which, it seems\nto us, must be received with some qualification.\n\nThe effect of an increase of money is certainly to diminish its value;\nbut the extent of the diminution is one of those nice problems in\npolitical economy which has never been accurately settled. It has not\nyet been adjusted to a formula which will explain all the facts\nattending such increase. Although the quantity of money required in a\ncountry mainly depends upon the number and value of its purchases in a\ngiven time, yet with the same amount of these, much less money may be in\ncirculation at one time than another. There are various expedients and\nsubstitutes for supplying a temporary deficiency of currency, which make\nthe quantity of money in a commercial country a variable one, capable of\nconsiderable contraction or expansion. The actual money can be more or\nless aided by credit. A farmer, a horse-dealer, a shopkeeper, a\nmechanic--will all wait with a substantial purchaser for their money,\nrather than lose the sale of their commodities; and a sudden rise in the\nprice of the staples of the country, such as our own often experience,\nwhile it increases the demand for money, proportionally improves the\ncredit of individuals, and fits it as a substitute for cash. Money too\nmay be much more active at one time than another; and when there has\nbeen a considerable increase of it, the greater comparative idleness of\na part of it, in the strong boxes or pocket-books of individuals, may\nprevent or lessen its depreciation. These circumstances, and others\nwhich might be added, all inappreciable except by approximations,\nprevent the value of money from either rising or falling, in exact\nproportion to its increase or decrease in quantity.\n\nTo this qualification of the general principle, we would add another.\nWhen the money of a country has been considerably increased, and the\nexcess cannot be exported, as was the case with our paper currency\nduring the suspension of cash payments, the depreciation is much greater\nupon some articles than others. Its effect is least upon those\ncommodities which find a market abroad, because the price there\nregulates the price here. It is by reason of this irregularity that\ndepreciation is often so disguised as not to be perceptible to all, and\nthat sometimes it is a matter of dispute whether it exists or not; as\nwas the case in England in the controversy between the bullionists and\ntheir opponents, concerning the fact of the depreciation of their bank\npaper during the suspension of cash payments.\n\nBut if the increase of the currency has little effect on the prices of\nsome articles, it has the greater on those for the estimation of which\nthere is no such definite standard--as lands, town lots, and houses--and\nthose domestic products which look exclusively to domestic consumption\nfor a market, as butchers' meat, game, &c. All these took a prodigious\nrise in all parts of the Union, and most men mistaking the effect of a\nredundancy of money for a real rise of price consequent on our\nincreased population and capital, believed that real estate was the\nbest investment they could make of their money, and purchased it\naccordingly--looking for remuneration, not to the rent or immediate\nprofit, but to that future rise in value which was inferred from the\npast. This erroneous opinion brought capitalists into the market for\nreal estate, and the competition created by their money, and that which\nothers borrowed from the banks, raised the price extravagantly high. A\nnatural though singular result of this state of things was, that those\nwho had sold lands or lots at these factitious prices, could have made\nno use of their money that would have been so profitable as not using it\nat all; and the policy of hoarding, usually as unwise as it is odious,\nwould have been, on this occasion, the most rational and gainful that\ncould have been pursued.\n\nIf, then, we take the prices of every species of merchandise among us,\ntogether with that of real estate, we believe it will be found that such\naverage of prices then, is very near double of what it is now; and\nconsequently that Mr. M'Duffie's estimate of the late depreciation of\nour currency was not extravagant. But granting that it was exaggerated,\nhe appears to us to have taken juster views than his critic, of its\npernicious effects, as well as of the agency of the bank in arresting\nthem; and we must think that he is the safer physician, who merely\noverrates the danger of a disease, than he, who, though he rightly\njudges it not mortal, mistakes both its cause and its remedy.\n\nWe think, too, that the report of the committee was correct in\nsupposing, that the depreciation would not have taken place, if the Bank\nof the United States had then been in existence. At any rate it would\nhave been postponed, and if not prevented altogether, under the\ndisadvantages of having neither a navy to protect our commerce, nor\nmanufactures to supply its place, it would have been greatly mitigated.\nIt is probable that the suspension of cash payments would not have taken\nplace at all, if the bank had followed the prudent course of the banks\nof Boston, and not lent its money to the government; but though it had,\nits paper would have been more nearly at par and more uniform than that\nof the state banks, which varied in value according to the public\nopinion of their prudence and solidity, as well as of the varying\nquantity of notes thrown into circulation in different places. It is\npossible that the national bank, being conducted with greater skill and\nknowledge of banking, would have seen that they could not safely\naccommodate the government with any large loan, and that when they were\nreduced to the dilemma of either suspending cash payments and having a\ndepreciated currency, or of maintaining the currency sound, by\nwithholding assistance to the government, they would have preferred the\nlatter; and that the government would have been thereby induced to\nresort sooner than they did to a system of taxation to support the war.\nIt is indeed impossible to say, at this time, what would have been the\nprecise result if we had possessed a national bank, but we think that\nthis much may be affirmed with confidence, that the depreciation of its\nnotes would have been far less, would have been uniform, and would have\ntaken the place of much paper which had no solid foundation for the\nshort-lived credit it obtained.\n\nIt remains for us now to see what will be the extent of the immediate\npecuniary cost to the nation for pulling down the Bank of the United\nStates, and building up the Treasury Bank on its ruins. This view is\nintelligible to all, and there are minds who will give more weight to\nthis objection than that of increasing executive influence.\n\nWe know that it is an important function of every government to regulate\nits money, weights, and measures, not from any mystical notions of\nsovereignty, but because uniformity in these several standards is of the\ngreatest utility in saving time and trouble, and in preventing frauds\nand disputes, and there is no effectual way of attaining uniformity\nexcept by the legislative power. It is, therefore, that these subjects\nwere placed under the control of the general government, by the\nconstitution, and it is in the exercise of the powers thus granted that\nit coins money of gold and silver, and determines their relative value.\n\nBut as among the inventions of commerce, it is found that such metallic\nmoney can be, to a considerable extent, substituted by paper, and thus a\nmeasure of value which costs nothing, can be made and is made to answer\nthe same, and even a better purpose, than that which would cost a great\ndeal, the same reasons which made the regulation of the coin by the\ngovernment, necessary and proper, apply to the regulation of its\nsubstitute. The government thus having control over the subject, is\nfurnished with the ready means of making a great profit by the\nsubstitution; and this it may do in two ways. It may either become a\nbanker itself, and issue notes of circulation, having currency as money,\nin return for the notes of individuals bearing interest, or it may\ntransfer the right of doing this to such a set of men as it deems worthy\nof the trust, and make them pay a fair price for the valuable privilege\nthus conferred.\n\nOf these two modes of profiting by the substitution of paper for specie,\nthe last is by far the best, for the same reason that it is best for the\ngovernment to sell its public lands, rather than to cultivate them. It\nis incapable of commanding agents who will practise the same economy,\nindustry, and skill, in the management of the public concerns, as their\nown. It must always pay higher than individuals for the same work, and\nthe various peculations to which it is exposed, besides the costly\napparatus of superintendents, would make banking, carried on by itself,\na bad measure of economy, to say nothing of the objections arising from\nits disturbing the distribution of political power, by affording the\nmeans of influence, patronage, and corruption.\n\nBut the scheme which the president has been persuaded to recommend,\nproposes, that the government should give up the advantages of both\nplans: that it should forego both the profit of issuing paper itself,\nand that of disposing of it to a corporate body, in which the community\nhad entire confidence, and which has proved, by its previous unexampled\nsuccess, its fitness for the duty--and in lieu of these plans, to let\nthe valuable privilege evaporate into a sort of electioneering material,\nfor whomsoever may hold the office of president, or may rule his\ncabinet. And what is it which the people of the United States are thus\nasked to surrender? Let us estimate it.\n\nAccording to the bank charter, the government takes stock to the amount\nof seven millions of dollars, on which it pays to the bank an interest\nof 5 per cent., and it now receives on this stock an interest of 7 per\ncent, making a clear profit of 140,000 dollars a year, equal to a gross\ncapital of 2,800,000 dollars, all of which must be lost on the proposed\nplan. But this is not all. The bank keeps the money of the\ngovernment--keeps its accounts--keeps its officers out of\ntemptation--and transfers the money from one part of the Union to\nanother with promptitude and certainty, without the loss of a single\ndollar. We have seen that for some of these operations the treasury bank\nwould be obliged to pay.\n\nWe do not mean to say that these various services of the bank are\ngratuitous. On the contrary, it is fairly remunerated for them by the\nprivileges it enjoys, and by the public deposits; but still they are\nvaluable services, and in this way the government obtains a fair\nequivalent for what it surrenders. Nor let it be supposed that as good a\nbargain could be made with the state banks. The general government could\nnot be interested in their stock, nor could they afford to give as much\nfor the privileges, because they would be more local. Being connected\nonly by voluntary compacts, they could not do the business of the\ngovernment to the same advantage as a single corporation. They could not\ncirculate as much paper with the same safety, nor could they sell or buy\nbills at as small a profit. The superior advantages which the Bank of\nthe United States enjoys in capital, in banking skill, and in the\ngreater credit and wider circulation of its notes, enables it to give a\nliberal price for its charter, and the government would be false to the\npeople to surrender this benefit.\n\nBut it would not become the government to attempt to extort, or to be\nilliberal, but to act on the principle of justice to the public and the\nbank. The legislature should not furnish the bank with either the\ntemptation or excuse of an Irish middle man, who grinds his sub-tenants\nin proportion as his landlord has pressed him. Upon these principles, we\nthink the government should, by way of bonus, charge the bank a moderate\ninterest on its deposits, and pay a small commission for the services of\nthe bank. An adjustment of these several claims, by some general\nestimate, might leave to the nation the clear annual gain of perhaps\n200,000 dollars, or a gross capital of four millions, instead of giving\nit away for the improvement of the machinery of our political\nwire-workers.\n\nThere is yet another mode by which the government might derive a profit\nfrom the bank, and which has this further recommendation, that it would\nnot be at the expense of the stockholders, and it would be a value saved\nto the nation that would be otherwise lost. It is now a favourite object\nboth with the people and the government to pay off the national debt;\nand from the novelty of the phenomenon it will give great eclat to the\nadministration in which it takes place. It is known that upwards of\nthirteen millions of this debt bears an interest of but 3 per cent. This\npart of the public funds is held chiefly in Europe by large capitalists,\nit being preferred by them, because it could not be redeemed but at par,\nunless with the consent of the holders, and it was hardly expected that\nthe government would choose to redeem it at par rather than pay so low\nan interest on it. They thus thought that the owners of the stock had\nthe means of postponing its redemption in their own hands. For these\nreasons this stock has always been something higher in the market than\nany other, and it now sells at 93 dollars a share of 100 dollars, which\nis about 3-1/4 per cent. At the price at which the commissioners of the\nsinking fund are limited, they cannot buy this stock; but when all the\nrest of the debt is paid, this must come next, and as soon as the\ngovernment offers to purchase, it will rise still higher, perhaps to\npar. In that event, the government will have to pay upwards of thirteen\nmillions of dollars, drawn from the pockets of the poor as well as the\nrich, which they might keep for ever, by paying an annual interest of 3\nper cent, or 390,000 dollars.\n\nNow the use of this money, has been of immense advantage to this\ncountry, and may continue to be so, considering how inadequately many\nparts of it are supplied with real capital. It will build ships--erect\nmills and manufactories--salt works and iron works--and help to make\nrail roads and canals, by which our free and industrious population will\nbe able to improve the condition of the country in bettering their own.\nThis money, too, does not consist of paper which we can create at will,\nbut of gold and silver, or their equivalents, which we must send out of\nthe country. Had it not better remain here? Every good economist will\nsay yes. It will be not difficult, we should presume, for the government\nto make an arrangement with the bank to pay this 390,000 dollars, and\nrelease us from our obligations, and to receive a less sum than the\nthirteen millions. Their capital may be enlarged, and the rapid growth\nof our country will soon require its enlargement. The holders of this\nstock will indeed have a right to look to the United States for their\nmoney, but that would make only a nominal difference, and they might be\noffered stock of the bank in exchange on advantageous terms. Thus the\nmoney which would be appropriated to the payment of this debt, might be\nkept in the country and be vested in banking capital, by which it would\ngive vigour to commerce, manufactures, and navigation, and, through\nthem, render benefit to the whole nation.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The American Quarterly Review, No. 17,\nMarch 1831, by Various\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Distributed Proofreaders\n\n\n\n\nBITS ABOUT HOME MATTERS.\n\nBy H. H.,\n\nAuthor of \"Verses\" and \"Bits of Travel.\"\n\n\n1873\n\n\n\nContents.\n\n\n\nThe Inhumanities of Parents--Corporal Punishment\nThe Inhumanities of Parents--Needless Denials\nThe Inhumanities of Parents--Rudeness\nBreaking the Will\nThe Reign of Archelaus\nThe Awkward Age\nA Day with a Courteous Mother\nChildren in Nova Scotia\nThe Republic of the Family\nThe Ready-to-Halts\nThe Descendants of Nabal\n\"Boys not allowed\"\nHalf an Hour in a Railway Station\nA Genius for Affection\nRainy Days\nFriends of the Prisoners\nA Companion for the Winter\nChoice of Colors\nThe Apostle of Beauty\nEnglish Lodging-Houses\nWet the Clay\nThe King's Friend\nLearning to speak\nPrivate Tyrants\nMargin\nThe Fine Art of Smiling\nDeath-bed Repentance\nThe Correlation of Moral Forces\nA Simple Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner\nChildren's Parties\nAfter-supper Talk\nHysteria in Literature\nJog Trot\nThe Joyless American\nSpiritual Teething\nGlass Houses\nThe Old-Clothes Monger in Journalism\nThe Country Landlord's Side\nThe Good Staff of Pleasure\nWanted--a Home\n\n\n\n\nBits of Talk.\n\n\n\nThe Inhumanities of Parents--Corporal Punishment.\n\n\nNot long ago a Presbyterian minister in Western New York whipped his\nthree-year-old boy to death, for refusing to say his prayers. The little\nfingers were broken; the tender flesh was bruised and actually mangled;\nstrong men wept when they looked on the body; and the reverend murderer,\nafter having been set free on bail, was glad to return and take refuge\nwithin the walls of his prison, to escape summary punishment at the hands\nof an outraged community. At the bare mention of such cruelty, every heart\ngrew sick and faint; men and women were dumb with horror: only tears and a\nhot demand for instant retaliation availed.\n\nThe question whether, after all, that baby martyr were not fortunate among\nhis fellows, would, no doubt, be met by resentful astonishment. But it is\na question which may well be asked, may well be pondered. Heart-rending as\nit is to think for an instant of the agonies which the poor child must\nhave borne for some hours after his infant brain was too bewildered by\nterror and pain to understand what was required of him, it still cannot\nfail to occur to deeper reflection that the torture was short and small in\ncomparison with what the next ten years might have held for him if he had\nlived. To earn entrance on the spiritual life by the briefest possible\nexperience of the physical, is always \"greater gain;\" but how emphatically\nis it so when the conditions of life upon earth are sure to be\nunfavorable!\n\nIf it were possible in any way to get a statistical summing-up and a\ntangible presentation of the amount of physical pain inflicted by parents\non children under twelve years of age, the most callous-hearted would be\nsurprised and shocked. If it were possible to add to this estimate an\naccurate and scientific demonstration of the extent to which such pain, by\nweakening the nervous system and exhausting its capacity to resist\ndisease, diminishes children's chances for life, the world would stand\naghast.\n\nToo little has been said upon this point. The opponents of corporal\npunishment usually approach the subject either from the sentimental or the\nmoral standpoint. The argument on either of these grounds can be made\nstrong enough, one would suppose, to paralyze every hand lifted to strike\na child. But the question of the direct and lasting physical effect of\nblows--even of one blow on the delicate tissues of a child's body, on the\nfrail and trembling nerves, on the sensitive organization which is trying,\nunder a thousand unfavoring conditions, to adjust itself to the hard work\nof both living and growing--has yet to be properly considered.\n\nEvery one knows the sudden sense of insupportable pain, sometimes\nproducing even dizziness and nausea, which follows the accidental hitting\nof the ankle or elbow against a hard substance. It does not need that the\nblow be very hard to bring involuntary tears to adult eyes. But what is\nsuch a pain as this, in comparison with the pain of a dozen or more quick\ntingling blows from a heavy hand on flesh which is, which must be as much\nmore sensitive than ours, as are the souls which dwell in it purer than\nours. Add to this physical pain the overwhelming terror which only utter\nhelplessness can feel, and which is the most recognizable quality in the\ncry of a very young child under whipping; add the instinctive sense of\ndisgrace, of outrage, which often keeps the older child stubborn and still\nthrough-out,--and you have an amount and an intensity of suffering from\nwhich even tried nerves might shrink. Again, who does not know--at least,\nwhat woman does not know--that violent weeping, for even a very short\ntime, is quite enough to cause a feeling of languor and depression, of\nnervous exhaustion for a whole day? Yet it does not seem to occur to\nmothers that little children must feel this, in proportion to the length\nof time and violence of their crying, far more than grown people. Who has\nnot often seen a poor child receive, within an hour or two of the first\nwhipping, a second one, for some small ebullition of nervous\nirritability, which was simply inevitable from its spent and worn\ncondition?\n\nIt is safe to say that in families where whipping is regularly recognized\nas a punishment, few children under ten years of age, and of average\nbehavior, have less than one whipping a week. Sometimes they have more,\nsometimes the whipping is very severe. Thus you have in one short year\nsixty or seventy occasions on which for a greater or less time, say from\none to three hours, the child's nervous system is subjected to a\ntremendous strain from the effect of terror and physical pain combined\nwith long crying. Will any physician tell us that this fact is not an\nelement in that child's physical condition at the end of that year? Will\nany physician dare to say that there may not be, in that child's life,\ncrises when the issues of life and death will be so equally balanced that\nthe tenth part of the nervous force lost in such fits of crying, and in\nthe endurance of such pain, could turn the scale?\n\nNature's retributions, like her rewards, are cumulative. Because her\nsentences against evil works are not executed speedily, therefore the\nhearts of the sons of men are fully set in them to do evil. But the\nsentence always is executed, sooner or later, and that inexorably. Your\nson, O unthinking mother! may fall by the way in the full prime of his\nmanhood, for lack of that strength which his infancy spent in enduring\nyour hasty and severe punishments.\n\nIt is easy to say,--and universally is said,--by people who cling to the\nold and fight against the new, \"All this outcry about corporal punishment\nis sentimental nonsense. The world is full of men and women, who have\ngrown up strong and good, in spite of whippings; and as for me, I know I\nnever had any more whipping than I deserved, or than was good for me.\"\n\nAre you then so strong and clear and pure in your physical and spiritual\nnature and life, that you are sure no different training could have made\neither your body or your soul better? Are these men and women, of whom the\nworld is full, so able-bodied, whole-souled, strong-minded, that you think\nit needless to look about for any method of making the next generation\nbetter? Above all, do you believe that it is a part of the legitimate\noutworking of God's plan and intent in creating human beings to have more\nthan one-half of them die in childhood? If we are not to believe that this\nfearful mortality is a part of God's plan, is it wise to refuse to\nconsider all possibilities, even those seemingly most remote, of\ndiminishing it?\n\nNo argument is so hard to meet (simply because it is not an argument) as\nthe assumption of the good and propriety of \"the thing that hath been.\" It\nis one of the devil's best sophistries, by which he keeps good people\nundisturbed in doing the things he likes. It has been in all ages the\nbulwark behind which evils have made stand, and have slain their\nthousands. It is the last enemy which shall be destroyed. It is the only\nreal support of the cruel evil of corporal punishment.\n\nSuppose that such punishment of children had been unheard of till now.\nSuppose that the idea had yesterday been suggested for the first time that\nby inflicting physical pain on a child's body you might make him recollect\ncertain truths; and suppose that instead of whipping, a very moderate and\nharmless degree of pricking with pins or cutting with knives or burning\nwith fire had been suggested. Would not fathers and mothers have cried out\nall over the land at the inhumanity of the idea?\n\nWould they not still cry out at the inhumanity of one who, as things are\nto-day, should propose the substitution of pricking or cutting or burning\nfor whipping? But I think it would not be easy to show in what wise small\npricks or cuts are more inhuman than blows; or why lying may not be as\nlegitimately cured by blisters made with a hot coal as by black and blue\nspots made with a ruler. The principle is the same; and if the principle\nbe right, why not multiply methods?\n\nIt seems as if this one suggestion, candidly considered, might be enough\nto open all parents' eyes to the enormity of whipping. How many a loving\nmother will, without any thought of cruelty, inflict half-a-dozen quick\nblows on the little hand of her child, when she could no more take a pin\nand make the same number of thrusts into the tender flesh, than she could\nbind the baby on a rack. Yet the pin-thrusts would hurt far less, and\nwould probably make a deeper impression on the child's mind.\n\nAmong the more ignorant classes, the frequency and severity of corporal\npunishment of children, are appalling. The facts only need to be held up\nclosely and persistently before the community to be recognized as horrors\nof cruelty far greater than some which have been made subjects of\nlegislation.\n\nIt was my misfortune once to be forced to spend several of the hottest\nweeks of a hot summer in New York. In near neighborhood to my rooms were\nblocks of buildings which had shops on the first floor and tenements\nabove. In these lived the families of small tradesmen, and mechanics of\nthe better sort. During those scorching nights every window was thrown\nopen, and all sounds were borne with distinctness through the hot still\nair. Chief among them were the shrieks and cries of little children, and\nblows and angry words from tired, overworked mothers. At times it became\nalmost unbearable: it was hard to refrain from an attempt at rescue. Ten,\ntwelve, twenty quick, hard blows, whose sound rang out plainly, I counted\nagain and again; mingling with them came the convulsive screams of the\npoor children, and that most piteous thing of all, the reiteration of \"Oh,\nmamma! oh, mamma!\" as if, through all, the helpless little creatures had\nan instinct that this word ought to be in itself the strongest appeal.\nThese families were all of the better class of work people, comfortable\nand respectable. What sounds were to be heard in the more wretched haunts\nof the city, during those nights, the heart struggled away from fancying.\nBut the shrieks of those children will never wholly die out of the air. I\nhear them to-day; and mingling with them, the question rings perpetually\nin my ears, \"Why does not the law protect children, before the point at\nwhich life is endangered?\"\n\nA cartman may be arrested in the streets for the brutal beating of a horse\nwhich is his own, and which he has the right to kill if he so choose.\nShould not a man be equally withheld from the brutal beating of a child\nwho is not his own, but God's, and whom to kill is murder?\n\n\n\n\nThe Inhumanities of Parents--Needless Denials.\n\n\n\nWebster's Dictionary, which cannot be accused of any leaning toward\nsentimentalism, defines \"inhumanity\" as \"cruelty in action;\" and \"cruelty\"\nas \"an act of a human being which inflicts unnecessary pain.\" The word\ninhumanity has an ugly sound, and many inhuman people are utterly and\nhonestly unconscious of their own inhumanities; it is necessary therefore\nto entrench one's self behind some such bulwark as the above definitions\nafford, before venturing the accusation that fathers and mothers are\nhabitually guilty of inhuman conduct in inflicting \"unnecessary pain\" on\ntheir children, by needless denials of their innocent wishes and impulses.\n\nMost men and a great many women would be astonished at being told that\nsimple humanity requires them to gratify every wish, even the smallest, of\ntheir children, when the pain of having that wish denied is not made\nnecessary, either for the child's own welfare, physical or mental, or by\ncircumstances beyond the parent's control. The word \"necessary\" is a very\nauthoritative one; conscience, if left free, soon narrows down its\nboundaries; inconvenience, hindrance, deprivation, self-denial, one or\nall, or even a great deal of all, to ourselves, cannot give us a shadow of\nright to say that the pain of the child's disappointment is \"necessary.\"\nSelfishness grasps at help from the hackneyed sayings, that it is \"best\nfor children to bear the yoke in their youth;\" \"the sooner they learn that\nthey cannot have their own way the better;\" \"it is a good discipline for\nthem to practise self-denial,\" &c. But the yoke that they _must_ bear, in\nspite of our lightening it all we can, is heavy enough; the instances in\nwhich it is, for good and sufficient reasons, impossible for them to have\ntheir own way are quite numerous enough to insure their learning the\nlesson very early; and as for the discipline of self-denial,--God bless\ntheir dear, patient souls!--if men and women brought to bear on the\nthwartings and vexations of their daily lives, and their relations with\neach other, one hundredth part of the sweet acquiescence and brave\nendurance which average children show, under the average management of\naverage parents, this world would be a much pleasanter place to live in\nthan it is.\n\nLet any conscientious and tender mother, who perhaps reads these words\nwith tears half of resentment, half of grief in her eyes, keep for three\ndays an exact record of the little requests which she refuses, from the\nbaby of five, who begged to stand on a chair and look out of the window,\nand was hastily told, \"No, it would, hurt the chair,\" when one minute\nwould have been enough time to lay a folded newspaper over the\nupholstery, and another minute enough to explain to him, with a kiss and\na hug, \"that that was to save his spoiling mamma's nice chair with his\nboots;\" and the two minutes together would probably have made sure that\nanother time the dear little fellow would look out for a paper himself,\nwhen he wished to climb up to the window,--from this baby up to the pretty\ngirl of twelve, who, with as distinct a perception of the becoming as her\nmother had before her, went to school unhappy because she was compelled to\nwear the blue necktie instead of the scarlet one, and surely for no\nespecial reason! At the end of the three days, an honest examination of\nthe record would show that full half of these small denials, all of which\nhad involved pain, and some of which had brought contest and punishment,\nhad been needless, had been hastily made, and made usually on account of\nthe slight interruption or inconvenience which would result from yielding\nto the request. I am very much mistaken if the honest keeping and honest\nstudy of such a three days' record would not wholly change the atmosphere\nin many a house to what it ought to be, and bring almost constant sunshine\nand bliss where now, too often, are storm and misery.\n\nWith some parents, although they are neither harsh nor hard in manner, nor\nyet unloving in nature, the habitual first impulse seems to be to refuse:\nthey appear to have a singular obtuseness to the fact that it is, or can\nbe, of any consequence to a child whether it does or does not do the thing\nit desires. Often the refusal is withdrawn on the first symptom of grief\nor disappointment on the child's part; a thing which is fatal to all real\ncontrol of a child, and almost as unkind as the first unnecessary\ndenial,--perhaps even more so, as it involves double and treble pains, in\nfuture instances, where there cannot and must not be any giving way to\nentreaties. It is doubtless this lack of perception,--akin, one would\nthink, to color-blindness,--which is at the bottom of this great and\ncommon inhumanity among kind and intelligent fathers and mothers: an\ninhumanity so common that it may almost be said to be universal; so common\nthat, while we are obliged to look on and see our dearest friends guilty\nof it, we find it next to impossible to make them understand what we mean\nwhen we make outcry over some of its glaring instances.\n\nYou, my dearest of friends,--or, rather, you who would be, but for this\none point of hopeless contention between us,--do you remember a certain\nwarm morning, last August, of which I told you then you had not heard the\nlast? Here it is again: perhaps in print I can make it look blacker to you\nthan I could then; part of it I saw, part of it you unwillingly confessed\nto me, and part of it little Blue Eyes told me herself.\n\nIt was one of those ineffable mornings, when a thrill of delight and\nexpectancy fills the air; one felt that every appointment of the day must\nbe unlike those of other days,--must be festive, must help on the \"white\nday\" for which all things looked ready. I remember how like the morning\nitself you looked as you stood in the doorway, in a fresh white muslin\ndress, with lavender ribbons. I said, \"Oh, extravagance! For breakfast!\"\n\n\"I know,\" you said; \"but the day was so enchanting, I could not make up my\nmind to wear any thing that had been worn before.\" Here an uproar from the\nnursery broke out, and we both ran to the spot. There stood little Blue\nEyes, in a storm of temper, with one small foot on a crumpled mass of pink\ncambric on the floor; and nurse, who was also very red and angry,\nexplained that Miss would not have on her pink frock because it was not\nquite clean. \"It is all dirty, mamma, and I don't want to put it on!\nYou've got on a nice white dress: why can't I?\"\n\nYou are in the main a kind mother, and you do not like to give little Blue\nEyes pain; so you knelt down beside her, and told her that she must be a\ngood girl, and have on the gown Mary had said, but that she should have on\na pretty white apron, which would hide the spots. And Blue Eyes, being\nonly six years old, and of a loving, generous nature, dried her tears,\naccepted the very questionable expedient, tried to forget the spots, and\nin a few moments came out on the piazza, chirping like a little bird. By\nthis time the rare quality of the morning had stolen like wine into our\nbrains, and you exclaimed, \"We will have breakfast out here, under the\nvines! How George will like it!\" And in another instant you were flitting\nback and forth, helping the rather ungracious Bridget move out the\nbreakfast-table, with its tempting array.\n\n\"Oh, mamma, mamma,\" cried Blue Eyes, \"can't I have my little tea-set on a\nlittle table beside your big table? Oh, let me, let me!\" and she fairly\nquivered with excitement. You hesitated. How I watched you! But it was a\nlittle late. Bridget was already rather cross; the tea-set was packed in a\nbox, and up on a high shelf.\n\n\"No, dear. There is not time, and we must not make Bridget any more\ntrouble; but\"--seeing the tears coming again--\"you shall have some real\ntea in papa's big gilt cup, and another time you shall have your tea-set\nwhen we have breakfast out here again.\" As I said before, you are a kind\nmother, and you made the denial as easy to be borne as you could, and Blue\nEyes was again pacified, not satisfied, only bravely making the best of\nit. And so we had our breakfast; a breakfast to be remembered, too. But as\nfor the \"other time\" which you had promised to Blue Eyes; how well I knew\nthat not many times a year did such mornings and breakfasts come, and that\nit was well she would forget all about it! After breakfast,--you remember\nhow we lingered,--George suddenly started up, saying, \"How hard it is to\ngo to town! I say, girls, walk down to the station with me, both of you.\"\n\n\"And me too, me too, papa!\" said Blue Eyes. You did not hear her; but I\ndid, and she had flown for her hat. At the door we found her, saying\nagain, \"Me too, mamma!\" Then you remembered her boots: \"Oh, my darling,\"\nyou said, kissing her, for you are a kind mother, \"you cannot go in those\nnice boots: the dew will spoil them; and it is not worth while to change\nthem, we shall be back in a few minutes.\"\n\nA storm of tears would have burst out in an instant at this the third\ndisappointment, if I had not sat down on the door-step, and, taking her in\nmy lap, whispered that auntie was going to stay too.\n\n\"Oh, put the child down, and come along,\" called the great, strong,\nuncomprehending man--Blue Eyes' dear papa. \"Pussy won't mind. Be a good\ngirl, pussy; I'll bring you a red balloon to-night.\"\n\nYou are both very kind, you and George, and you both love little Blue Eyes\ndearly.\n\n\"No, I won't come. I believe my boots are too thin,\" said I; and for the\nequivocation there was in my reply I am sure of being forgiven. You both\nturned back twice to look at the child, and kissed your hands to her; and\nI wondered if you did not see in her face, what I did, real grief and\npatient endurance. Even \"The King of the Golden River\" did not rouse her:\nshe did not want a story; she did not want me; she did not want a red\nballoon at night; she wanted to walk between you, to the station, with her\nlittle hands in yours! God grant the day may not come when you will be\nheart-broken because you can never lead her any more!\n\nShe asked me some questions, while you were gone, which you remember I\nrepeated to you. She asked me if I did not hate nice new shoes; and why\nlittle girls could not put on the dresses they liked best; and if mamma\ndid not look beautiful in that pretty white dress; and said that, if she\ncould only have had her own tea-set, at breakfast, she would have let me\nhave my coffee in one of her cups. Gradually she grew happier, and began\nto tell me about her great wax-doll, which had eyes that could shut; which\nwas kept in a trunk because she was too little, mamma said, to play very\nmuch with it now; but she guessed mamma would let her have it to-day; did\nI not think so? Alas! I did, and I said so; in fact, I felt sure that it\nwas the very thing you would be certain to do, to sweeten the day, which\nhad begun so sadly for poor little Blue Eyes.\n\nIt seemed very long to her before you came back, and she was on the point\nof asking for her dolly as soon as you appeared; but I whispered to her to\nwait till you were rested. After a few minutes I took her up to your\nroom,--that lovely room with the bay window to the east; there you sat, in\nyour white dress, surrounded with gay worsteds, all looking like a\ncarnival of humming-birds. \"Oh, how beautiful!\" I exclaimed, in\ninvoluntary admiration; \"what are you doing?\" You said that you were going\nto make an affghan, and that the morning was so enchanting you could not\nbear the thought of touching your mending, but were going to luxuriate in\nthe worsteds. Some time passed in sorting the colors, and deciding on the\ncontrasts, and I forgot all about the doll. Not so little Blue Eyes. I\nremembered afterward how patiently she stood still, waiting and waiting\nfor a gap between our words, that she need not break the law against\ninterrupting, with her eager--\n\n\"Please, mamma, let me have my wax dolly to play with this morning! I'll\nsit right here on the floor, by you and auntie, and not hurt her one bit.\nOh, please do, mamma!\"\n\nYou mean always to be a very kind mother, and you spoke as gently and\nlovingly as it is possible to speak when you replied:--\n\n\"Oh, Pussy, mamma is too busy to get it; she can't get up now. You can\nplay with your blocks, and with your other dollies, just as well; that's a\ngood little girl.\"\n\nProbably, if Blue Eyes had gone on imploring, you would have laid your\nworsteds down, and given her the dolly; for you love her dearly, and never\nmean to make her unhappy. But neither you nor I were prepared for what\nfollowed.\n\n\"You're a naughty, ugly, hateful mamma! You never let me do _any_ thing,\nand I wish you were dead!\" with such a burst of screaming and tears that\nwe were both frightened. You looked, as well you might, heart-broken at\nsuch words from your only child. You took her away; and when you came\nback, you cried, and said you had whipped her severely, and you did not\nknow what you should do with a child of such a frightful temper.\n\n\"Such an outburst as that, just because I told her, in the gentlest way\npossible, that she could not have a plaything! It is terrible!\"\n\nThen I said some words to you, which you thought were unjust. I asked you\nin what condition your own nerves would have been by ten o'clock that\nmorning if your husband (who had, in one view, a much better right to\nthwart your harmless desires than you had to thwart your child's, since\nyou, in the full understanding of maturity, gave yourself into his hands)\nhad, instead of admiring your pretty white dress, told you to be more\nprudent, and not put it on; had told you it would be nonsense to have\nbreakfast out on the piazza; and that he could not wait for you to walk to\nthe station with him. You said that the cases were not at all parallel;\nand I replied hotly that that was very true, for those matters would have\nbeen to you only the comparative trifles of one short day, and would have\nmade you only a little cross and uncomfortable; whereas to little Blue\nEyes they were the all-absorbing desires of the hour, which, to a child in\ntrouble, always looks as if it could never come to an end, and would never\nbe followed by any thing better.\n\nBlue Eyes cried herself to sleep, and slept heavily till late in the\nafternoon. When her father came home, you said that she must not have the\nred balloon, because she had been such a naughty girl. I have wondered\nmany times since why she did not cry again, or look grieved when you said\nthat, and laid the balloon away. After eleven o'clock at night, I went to\nlook at her, and found her sobbing in her sleep, and tossing about. I\ngroaned as I thought, \"This is only one day, and there are three hundred\nand sixty-five in a year!\" But I never recall the distorted face of that\npoor child, as, in her fearful passion, she told you she wished you were\ndead, without also remembering that even the gentle Christ said of him who\nshould offend one of these little ones, \"It were better for him that a\nmill-stone were hanged about his neck, and he were drowned in the depths\nof the sea!\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Inhumanities of Parents--Rudeness.\n\n\n/#\n  \"_Inhumanity_--Cruelty. _Cruelty_--The disposition to give unnecessary\n  pain.\"--_Webster's Dict_.\n#/\n\nI had intended to put third on the list of inhumanities of parents\n\"needless requisitions;\" but my last summer's observations changed my\nestimate, and convinced me that children suffer more pain from the\nrudeness with which they are treated than from being forced to do needless\nthings which they dislike. Indeed, a positively and graciously courteous\nmanner toward children is a thing so rarely seen in average daily life,\nthe rudenesses which they receive are so innumerable, that it is hard to\ntell where to begin in setting forth the evil. Children themselves often\nbring their sharp and unexpected logic to bear on some incident\nillustrating the difference in this matter of behavior between what is\nrequired from them and what is shown to them: as did a little boy I knew,\nwhose father said crossly to him one morning, as he came into the\nbreakfast-room, \"Will you ever learn to shut that door after you?\" and a\nfew seconds later, as the child was rather sulkily sitting down in his\nchair, \"And do you mean to bid anybody 'good-morning,' or not?\" \"I don't\nthink you gave _me_ a very nice 'good-morning,' anyhow,\" replied satirical\njustice, aged seven. Then, of course, he was reproved for speaking\ndisrespectfully; and so in the space of three minutes the beautiful\nopening of the new day, for both parents and children, was jarred and\nrobbed of its fresh harmony by the father's thoughtless rudeness.\n\nWas the breakfast-room door much more likely to be shut the next morning?\nNo. The lesson was pushed aside by the pain, the motive to resolve was\ndulled by the antagonism. If that father had called his son, and, putting\nhis arm round him, (oh! the blessed and magic virtue of putting your arm\nround a child's neck!) had said, \"Good-morning, my little man;\" and then,\nin a confidential whisper in his ear, \"What shall we do to make this\nforgetful little boy remember not to leave that door open, through which\nthe cold wind blows in on all of us?\"--can any words measure the\ndifference between the first treatment and the second? between the success\nof the one and the failure of the other?\n\nScores of times in a day, a child is told, in a short, authoritative way,\nto do or not to do such little things as we ask at the hands of older\npeople, as favors, graciously, and with deference to their choice. \"Would\nyou be so very kind as to close that window?\" \"May I trouble you for that\ncricket?\" \"If you would be as comfortable in this chair as in that, I\nwould like to change places with you.\" \"Oh, excuse me, but your head is\nbetween me and the light: could you see as well if you moved a little?\"\n\"Would it hinder you too long to stop at the store for me? I would be very\nmuch obliged to you, if you would.\" \"Pray, do not let me crowd you,\" &c.\nIn most people's speech to children, we find, as synonyms for these polite\nphrases: \"Shut that window down, this minute.\" \"Bring me that cricket.\" \"I\nwant that chair; get up. You can sit in this.\" \"Don't you see that you are\nright in my light? Move along.\" \"I want you to leave off playing, and go\nright down to the store for me.\" \"Don't crowd so. Can't you see that there\nis not room enough for two people here?\" and so on. As I write, I feel an\ninstinctive consciousness that these sentences will come like home-thrusts\nto some surprised people. I hope so. That is what I want. I am sure that\nin more than half the cases where family life is marred in peace, and\nalmost stripped of beauty, by just these little rudenesses, the parents\nare utterly unconscious of them. The truth is, it has become like an\nestablished custom, this different and less courteous way of speaking to\nchildren on small occasions and minor matters. People who are generally\ncivil and of fair kindliness do it habitually, not only to their own\nchildren, but to all children. We see it in the cars, in the stages, in\nstores, in Sunday schools, everywhere.\n\nOn the other hand, let a child ask for any thing without saying \"please,\"\nreceive any thing without saying \"thank you,\" sit still in the most\ncomfortable seat without offering to give it up, or press its own\npreference for a particular book, chair, or apple, to the inconveniencing\nof an elder, and what an outcry we have: \"Such rudeness!\" \"Such an\nill-mannered child!\" \"His parents must have neglected him strangely.\" Not\nat all: they have been steadily telling him a great many times every day\nnot to do these precise things which you dislike. But they themselves have\nbeen all the while doing those very things to him; and there is no proverb\nwhich strikes a truer balance between two things than the old one which\nweighs example over against precept.\n\nHowever, that it is bad policy to be rude to children is the least of the\nthings to be said against it. Over this they will triumph, sooner or\nlater. The average healthy child has a native bias towards gracious good\nbehavior and kindly affections. He will win and be won in the long run,\nand, the chances are, have better manners than his father. But the pain\nthat we give these blessed little ones when we wound their\ntenderness,--for that there is no atoning. Over that they can never\ntriumph, either now or hereafter. Why do we dare to be so sure that they\nare not grieved by ungracious words and tones? that they can get used to\nbeing continually treated as if they were \"in the way\"? Who has not heard\nthis said? I have, until I have longed for an Elijah and for fire, that\nthe grown-up cumberers of the ground, who are the ones really in the way,\nmight be burned up, to make room for the children. I believe that, if it\nwere possible to count up in any one month, and show in the aggregate, all\nof this class of miseries borne by children, the world would cry out\nastonished. I know a little girl, ten years old, of nervous temperament,\nwhose whole physical condition is disordered, and seriously, by her\nmother's habitual atmosphere of rude fault-finding. She is a sickly,\nfretful, unhappy, almost unbearable child. If she lives to grow up, she\nwill be a sickly, fretful, unhappy, unlovely woman. But her mother is just\nas much responsible for the whole as if she had deranged her system by\nfeeding her on poisonous drugs. Yet she is a most conscientious, devoted,\nand anxious mother, and, in spite of this manner, a loving one. She does\nnot know that there is any better way than hers. She does not see that her\nchild is mortified and harmed when she says to her, in the presence of\nstrangers, \"How do you suppose you _look_ with your mouth open like that?\"\n\"Do you want me to show you how you are sitting?\"--and then a grotesque\nimitation of her stooping shoulders. \"_Will_ you sit still for one\nminute?\" \"_Do_ take your hands off my dress.\" \"Was there ever such an\nawkward child?\" When the child replies fretfully and disagreeably, she\ndoes not see that it is only an exact reflection of her own voice and\nmanners. She does not understand any of the things that would make for her\nown peace, as well as for the child's. Matters grow worse, instead of\nbetter, as the child grows older and has more will; and the chances are\nthat the poor little soul will be worried into her grave.\n\nProbably most parents, even very kindly ones, would be a little startled\nat the assertion that a child ought never to be reproved in the presence\nof others. This is so constant an occurrence that nobody thinks of\nnoticing it; nobody thinks of considering whether it be right and best, or\nnot. But it is a great rudeness to a child. I am entirely sure that it\nought never to be done. Mortification is a condition as unwholesome as it\nis uncomfortable. When the wound is inflicted by the hand of a parent, it\nis all the more certain to rankle and do harm. Let a child see that his\nmother is so anxious that he should have the approbation and good-will of\nher friends that she will not call their attention to his faults; and\nthat, while she never, under any circumstances, allows herself to forget\nto tell him afterward, alone, if he has behaved improperly, she will spare\nhim the additional pain and mortification of public reproof; and, while\nthat child will lay these secret reproofs to heart, he will still be\nhappy.\n\nI know a mother who had the insight to see this, and the patience to make\nit a rule; for it takes far more patience, far more time, than the common\nmethod.\n\nShe said sometimes to her little boy, after visitors had left the parlor,\n\"Now, dear, I am going to be your little girl, and you are to be my papa.\nAnd we will play that a gentleman has just come in to see you, and I will\nshow you exactly how you have been behaving while this lady has been\ncalling to see me. And you can see if you do not feel very sorry to have\nyour little girl behave so.\"\n\nHere is a dramatic representation at once which that boy does not need to\nsee repeated many times before he is forever cured of interrupting, of\npulling his mother's gown, of drumming on the piano, &c.,--of the thousand\nand one things which able-bodied children can do to make social visiting\nwhere they are a martyrdom and a penance.\n\nOnce I saw this same little boy behave so boisterously and rudely at the\ndinner-table, in the presence of guests, that I said to myself, \"Surely,\nthis time she will have to break her rule, and reprove him publicly.\" I\nsaw several telegraphic signals of rebuke, entreaty, and warning flash\nfrom her gentle eyes to his; but nothing did any good. Nature was too much\nfor him; he could not at that minute force himself to be quiet. Presently\nshe said, in a perfectly easy and natural tone, \"Oh, Charley, come here a\nminute; I want to tell you something.\" No one at the table supposed that\nit had any thing to do with his bad behavior. She did not intend that they\nshould. As she whispered to him, I alone saw his cheek flush, and that he\nlooked quickly and imploringly into her face; I alone saw that tears were\nalmost in her eyes. But she shook her head, and he went back to his seat\nwith a manful but very red little face. In a few moments he laid down his\nknife and fork, and said, \"Mamma, will you please to excuse me?\"\n\"Certainly, my dear,\" said she. Nobody but I understood it, or observed\nthat the little fellow had to run very fast to get out of the room without\ncrying. Afterward she told me that she never sent a child away from the\ntable in any other way. \"But what would you do,\" said I, \"if he were to\nrefuse to ask to be excused?\" Then the tears stood full in her eyes. \"Do\nyou think he could,\" she replied, \"when he sees that I am only trying to\nsave him from pain?\" In the evening, Charley sat in my lap, and was very\nsober. At last he whispered to me, \"I'll tell you an awful secret, if you\nwon't tell. Did you think I had done my dinner this afternoon when I got\nexcused? Well, I hadn't. Mamma made me, because I acted so. That's the way\nshe always does. But I haven't had to have it done to me before for ever\nso long,--not since I was a little fellow\" (he was eight now); \"and I\ndon't believe I ever shall again till I'm a man.\" Then he added,\nreflectively, \"Mary brought me all the rest of my dinner upstairs; but I\nwouldn't touch it, only a little bit of the ice-cream. I don't think I\ndeserved any at all; do you?\"\n\nI shall never, so long as I live, forget a lesson of this sort which my\nown mother once gave me. I was not more than seven years old; but I had a\ngreat susceptibility to color and shape in clothes, and an insatiable\nadmiration for all people who came finely dressed. One day, my mother said\nto me, \"Now I will play 'house' with you.\" Who does not remember when to\n\"play house\" was their chief of plays? And to whose later thought has it\nnot occurred that in this mimic little show lay bound up the whole of\nlife? My mother was the liveliest of playmates, she took the worst doll,\nthe broken tea-set, the shabby furniture, and the least convenient corner\nof the room for her establishment. Social life became a round of\nfestivities when she kept house as my opposite neighbor. At last, after\nthe washing-day, and the baking-day, and the day when she took dinner with\nme, and the day when we took our children and walked out together, came\nthe day for me to take my oldest child and go across to make a call at her\nhouse. Chill discomfort struck me on the very threshold of my visit. Where\nwas the genial, laughing, talking lady who had been my friend up to that\nmoment? There she sat, stock-still, dumb, staring first at my bonnet, then\nat my shawl, then at my gown, then at my feet; up and down, down and up,\nshe scanned me, barely replying in monosyllables to my attempts at\nconversation; finally getting up, and coming nearer, and examining my\nclothes, and my child's still more closely. A very few minutes of this\nwere more than I could bear; and, almost crying, I said, \"Why, mamma, what\nmakes you do so?\" Then the play was over; and she was once more the wise\nand tender mother, telling me playfully that it was precisely in such a\nway I had stared, the day before, at the clothes of two ladies who had\ncome in to visit her. I never needed that lesson again. To this day, if I\nfind myself departing from it for an instant, the old tingling shame burns\nin my cheeks.\n\nTo this day, also, the old tingling pain burns my cheeks as I recall\ncertain rude and contemptuous words which were said to me when I was very\nyoung, and stamped on my memory forever. I was once called a \"stupid\nchild\" in the presence of strangers. I had brought the wrong book from my\nfather's study. Nothing could be said to me to-day which would give me a\ntenth part of the hopeless sense of degradation which came from those\nwords. Another time, on the arrival of an unexpected guest to dinner, I\nwas sent, in a great hurry, away from the table, to make room, with the\nremark that \"it was not of the least consequence about the child; she\ncould just as well have her dinner afterward.\" \"The child\" would have been\nonly too happy to help on the hospitality of the sudden emergency, if the\nthing had been differently put; but the sting of having it put in that way\nI never forgot. Yet in both these instances the rudeness was so small, in\ncomparison with what we habitually see, that it would be too trivial to\nmention, except for the bearing of the fact that the pain it gave has\nlasted till now.\n\nWhen we consider seriously what ought to be the nature of a reproof from a\nparent to a child, and what is its end, the answer is simple enough. It\nshould be nothing but the superior wisdom and strength, explaining to\ninexperience and feebleness wherein they have made a mistake, to the end\nthat they may avoid such mistakes in future. If personal annoyance,\nimpatience, antagonism enter in, the relation is marred and the end\nendangered. Most sacred and inalienable of all rights is the right of\nhelplessness to protection from the strong, of ignorance to counsel from\nthe wise. If we give our protection and counsel grudgingly, or in a\nchurlish, unkind manner, even to the stranger that is in our gates, we are\nno Christians, and deserve to be stripped of what little wisdom and\nstrength we have hoarded. But there are no words to say what we are or\nwhat we deserve if we do thus to the little children whom we have dared,\nfor our own pleasure, to bring into the perils of this life, and whose\nwhole future may be blighted by the mistakes of our careless hands.\n\n\n\n\nBreaking the Will.\n\n\n\nThis phrase is going out of use. It is high time it did. If the thing it\nrepresents would also cease, there would be stronger and freer men and\nwomen. But the phrase is still sometimes heard; and there are still\nconscientious fathers and mothers who believe they do God service in\nsetting about the thing.\n\nI have more than once said to a parent who used these words, \"Will you\ntell me just what you mean by that? Of course you do not mean exactly what\nyou say.\"\n\n\"Yes, I do. I mean that the child's will is to be once for all\nbroken!--that he is to learn that my will is to be his law. The sooner he\nlearns this the better.\"\n\n\"But is it to your will simply _as_ will that he is to yield? Simply as\nthe weaker yields to the stronger,--almost as matter yields to force? For\nwhat reason is he to do this?\"\n\n\"Why, because I know what is best for him, and what is right; and he does\nnot.\"\n\n\"Ah! that is a very different thing. He is, then, to do the thing that you\ntell him to do, because that thing is right and is needful for him; you\nare his guide on a road over which you have gone, and he has not; you are\nan interpreter, a helper; you know better than he does about all things,\nand your knowledge is to teach his ignorance.\"\n\n\"Certainly, that is what I mean. A pretty state of things it would be if\nchildren were to be allowed to think they know as much as their parents.\nThere is no way except to break their wills in the beginning.\"\n\n\"But you have just said that it is not to your will as will that he is to\nyield, but to your superior knowledge and experience. That surely is not\n'breaking his will.' It is of all things furthest removed from it. It is\neducating his will. It is teaching him how to will.\"\n\nThis sounds dangerous; but the logic is not easily turned aside, and there\nis little left for the advocate of will-breaking but to fall back on some\ntexts in the Bible, which have been so often misquoted in this connection\nthat one can hardly hear them with patience. To \"Children, obey your\nparents,\" was added \"in the Lord,\" and \"because it is right,\" not \"because\nthey are your parents.\" \"Spare the rod\" has been quite gratuitously\nassumed to mean \"spare blows.\" \"Rod\" means here, as elsewhere, simply\npunishment. We are not told to \"train up a child\" to have no will but our\nown, but \"in the way in which he should go,\" and to the end that \"when he\nis old\" he should not \"depart from it,\"--i.e., that his will should be so\neducated that he will choose to walk in the right way still. Suppose a\nchild's will to be actually \"broken;\" suppose him to be so trained that he\nhas no will but to obey his parents. What is to become of this helpless\nmachine, which has no central spring of independent action? Can we stand\nby, each minute of each hour of each day, and say to the automata, Go\nhere, or Go there? Can we be sure of living as long as they live? Can we\nwind them up like seventy-year clocks, and leave them?\n\nBut this is idle. It is not, thank God, in the power of any man or any\nwoman to \"break\" a child's \"will.\" They may kill the child's body, in\ntrying, like that still unhung clergyman in Western New York, who whipped\nhis three-year-old son to death for refusing to repeat a prayer to his\nstep-mother.\n\nBodies are frail things; there are more child-martyrs than will be known\nuntil the bodies terrestrial are done with.\n\nBut, by one escape or another, the will, the soul, goes free. Sooner or\nlater, every human being comes to know and prove in his own estate that\nfreedom of will is the only freedom for which there are no chains\npossible, and that in Nature's whole reign of law nothing is so largely\nprovided for as liberty. Sooner or later, all this must come. But, if it\ncomes later, it comes through clouds of antagonism, and after days of\nfight, and is hard-bought.\n\nIt should come sooner, like the kingdom of God, which it is,--\"without\nobservation,\" gracious as sunshine, sweet as dew; it should begin with the\ninfant's first dawning of comprehension that there are two courses of\naction, two qualities of conduct: one wise, the other foolish; one right,\nthe other wrong.\n\nI am sure; for I have seen, that a child's moral perceptions can be so\nmade clear, and his will so made strong and upright, that before he is ten\nyears old he will see and take his way through all common days rightly and\nbravely.\n\nWill he always act up to his highest moral perceptions? No. Do we? But one\nright decision that he makes voluntarily, unbiassed by the assertion of\nauthority or the threat of punishment, is worth more to him in development\nof moral character than a thousand in which he simply does what he is\ncompelled to do by some sort of outside pressure.\n\nI read once, in a book intended for the guidance of mothers, a story of a\nlittle child who, in repeating his letters one day, suddenly refused to\nsay A. All the other letters he repeated again and again, unhesitatingly;\nbut A he would not, and persisted in declaring that he could not say. He\nwas severely whipped, but still persisted. It now became a contest of\nwills. He was whipped again and again and again. In the intervals between\nthe whippings the primer was presented to him, and he was told that he\nwould be whipped again if he did not mind his mother and say A. I forget\nhow many times he was whipped; but it was almost too many times to be\nbelieved. The fight was a terrible one. At last, in a paroxysm of his\ncrying under the blows, the mother thought she heard him sob out \"A,\" and\nthe victory was considered to be won.\n\nA little boy whom I know once had a similar contest over a letter of the\nalphabet; but the contest was with himself, and his mother was the\nfaithful Great Heart who helped him through. The story is so remarkable\nthat I have long wanted all mothers to know it. It is as perfect an\nillustration of what I mean by \"educating\" the will as the other one is of\nwhat is called \"breaking\" it.\n\nWilly was about four years old. He had a large, active brain, sensitive\ntemperament, and indomitable spirit. He was and is an uncommon child.\nCommon methods of what is commonly supposed to be \"discipline\" would, if\nhe had survived them, have made a very bad boy of him. He had great\ndifficulty in pronouncing the letter G,--so much that he had formed almost\na habit of omitting it. One day his mother said, not dreaming of any\nspecial contest, \"This time you must say G.\" \"It is an ugly old letter,\nand I ain't ever going to try to say it again,\" said Willy, repeating the\nalphabet very rapidly from beginning to end, without the G. Like a wise\nmother, she did not open at once on a struggle; but said, pleasantly, \"Ah!\nyou did not get it in that time. Try again; go more slowly, and we will\nhave it.\" It was all in vain; and it soon began to look more like real\nobstinacy on Willy's part than any thing she had ever seen in him. She has\noften told me how she hesitated before entering on the campaign. \"I always\nknew,\" she said, \"that Willy's first real fight with himself would be no\nmatter of a few hours; and it was a particularly inconvenient time for me,\njust then, to give up a day to it. But it seemed, on the whole, best not\nto put it off.\"\n\nSo she said, \"Now, Willy, you can't get along without the letter G. The\nlonger you put off saying it, the harder it will be for you to say it at\nlast; and we will have it settled now, once for all. You are never going\nto let a little bit of a letter like that be stronger than Willy. We will\nnot go out of this room till you have said it.\"\n\nUnfortunately, Willy's will had already taken its stand. However, the\nmother made no authoritative demand that he should pronounce the letter as\na matter of obedience to her. Because it was a thing intrinsically\nnecessary for him to do, she would see, at any cost to herself or to him,\nthat he did it; but he must do it voluntarily, and she would wait till he\ndid.\n\nThe morning wore on. She busied herself with other matters, and left Willy\nto himself; now and then asking, with a smile, \"Well, isn't my little boy\nstronger than that ugly old letter yet?\"\n\nWilly was sulky. He understood in that early stage all that was involved.\nDinner-time came.\n\n\"Aren't you going to dinner, mamma?\"\n\n\"Oh! no, dear; not unless you say G, so that you can go too. Mamma will\nstay by her little boy until he is out of this trouble.\"\n\nThe dinner was brought up, and they ate it together. She was cheerful and\nkind, but so serious that he felt the constant pressure of her pain.\n\nThe afternoon dragged slowly on to night. Willy cried now and then, and\nshe took him in her lap, and said, \"Dear, you will be happy as soon as you\nsay that letter, and mamma will be happy too, and we can't either of us be\nhappy until you do.\"\n\n\"Oh, mamma! why don't you _make_ me say it?\"\n\n(This he said several times before the affair was over.)\n\n\"Because, dear, you must make yourself say it. I am helping you make\nyourself say it, for I shall not let you go out of this room, nor go out\nmyself, till you do say it; but that is all I shall do to help you. I am\nlistening, listening all the time, and if you say it, in ever so little a\nwhisper, I shall hear you. That is all mamma can do for you.\"\n\nBed-time came. Willy went to bed, unkissed and sad. The next morning, when\nWilly's mother opened her eyes, she saw Willy sitting up in his crib, and\nlooking at her steadfastly. As soon as he saw that she was awake, he\nexclaimed, \"Mamma, I can't say it; and you know I can't say it. You're a\nnaughty mamma, and you don't love me.\" Her heart sank within her; but she\npatiently went again and again over yesterday's ground. Willy cried. He\nate very little breakfast. He stood at the window in a listless attitude\nof discouraged misery, which she said cut her to the heart. Once in a\nwhile he would ask for some plaything which he did not usually have. She\ngave him whatever he asked for; but he could not play. She kept up an\nappearance of being busy with her sewing, but she was far more unhappy\nthan Willy.\n\nDinner was brought up to them. Willy said, \"Mamma, this ain't a bit good\ndinner.\"\n\nShe replied, \"Yes, it is, darling; just as good as we ever have. It is\nonly because we are eating it alone. And poor papa is sad, too, taking\nhis all alone downstairs.\"\n\nAt this Willy burst out into an hysterical fit of crying and sobbing.\n\n\"I shall never see my papa again in this world.\"\n\nThen his mother broke down, too, and cried as hard as he did; but she\nsaid, \"Oh! yes, you will, dear. I think you will say that letter before\ntea-time, and we will have a nice evening downstairs together.\"\n\n\"I can't say it. I try all the time, and I can't say it; and, if you keep\nme here till I die, I shan't ever say it.\"\n\nThe second night settled down dark and gloomy, and Willy cried himself to\nsleep. His mother was ill from anxiety and confinement; but she never\nfaltered. She told me she resolved that night that, if it were necessary,\nshe would stay in that room with Willy a month. The next morning she said\nto him, more seriously than before, \"Now, Willy, you are not only a\nfoolish little boy, you are unkind; you are making everybody unhappy.\nMamma is very sorry for you, but she is also very much displeased with\nyou. Mamma will stay here with you till you say that letter, if it is for\nthe rest of your life; but mamma will not talk with you, as she did\nyesterday. She tried all day yesterday to help you, and you would not help\nyourself; to-day you must do it all alone.\"\n\n\"Mamma, are you sure I shall ever say it?\" asked Willy.\n\n\"Yes, dear; perfectly sure. You will say it some day or other.\"\n\n\"Do you think I shall say it to-day?\"\n\n\"I can't tell. You are not so strong a little boy as I thought. I believed\nyou would say it yesterday. I am afraid you have some hard work before\nyou.\"\n\nWilly begged her to go down and leave him alone. Then he begged her to\nshut him up in the closet, and \"see if that wouldn't make him good.\" Every\nfew minutes he would come and stand before her, and say very earnestly,\n\"Are you sure I shall say it?\"\n\nHe looked very pale, almost as if he had had a fit of illness. No wonder.\nIt was the whole battle of life fought at the age of four.\n\nIt was late in the afternoon of this the third day. Willy had been sitting\nin his little chair, looking steadily at the floor, for so long a time\nthat his mother was almost frightened. But she hesitated to speak to him,\nfor she felt that the crisis had come. Suddenly he sprang up, and walked\ntoward her with all the deliberate firmness of a man in his whole bearing.\nShe says there was something in his face which she has never seen since,\nand does not expect to see till he is thirty years old.\n\n\"Mamma!\" said he.\n\n\"Well, dear?\" said his mother, trembling so that she could hardly speak.\n\n\"Mamma,\" he repeated, in a loud, sharp tone, \"G! G! G! G!\" And then he\nburst into a fit of crying, which she had hard work to stop. It was over.\n\nWilly is now ten years old. From that day to this his mother has never had\na contest with him; she has always been able to leave all practical\nquestions affecting his behavior to his own decision, merely saying,\n\"Willy, I think this or that will be better.\"\n\nHis self-control and gentleness are wonderful to see; and the blending in\nhis face of childlike simplicity and purity with manly strength is\nsomething which I have only once seen equalled.\n\nFor a few days he went about the house, shouting \"G! G! G!\" at the top of\nhis voice. He was heard asking playmates if they could \"say G,\" and \"who\nshowed them how.\" For several years he used often to allude to the affair,\nsaying, \"Do you remember, mamma, that dreadful time when I wouldn't say\nG?\" He always used the verb \"wouldn't\" in speaking of it. Once, when he\nwas sick, he said, \"Mamma, do you think I could have said G any sooner\nthan I did?\"\n\n\"I have never felt certain about that, Willy,\" she said. \"What do _you_\nthink?\"\n\n\"I think I could have said it a few minutes sooner. I was saying it to\n_myself_ as long as that!\" said Willy.\n\nIt was singular that, although up to that time he had never been able to\npronounce the letter with any distinctness, when he first made up his mind\nin this instance to say it, he enunciated it with perfect clearness, and\nnever again went back to the old, imperfect pronunciation.\n\nFew mothers, perhaps, would be able to give up two whole days to such a\nbattle as this; other children, other duties, would interfere. But the\nsame principle could be carried out without the mother's remaining\nherself by the child's side all the time. Moreover, not one child in a\nthousand would hold out as Willy did. In all ordinary cases a few hours\nwould suffice. And, after all, what would the sacrifice of even two days\nbe, in comparison with the time saved in years to come? If there were no\nstronger motive than one of policy, of desire to take the course easiest\nto themselves, mothers might well resolve that their first aim should be\nto educate their children's wills and make them strong, instead of to\nconquer and \"break\" them.\n\n\n\n\nThe Reign of Archelaus.\n\n\n\nHerod's massacre had, after all, a certain mercy in it: there were no\nlingering tortures. The slayers of children went about with naked and\nbloody swords, which mothers could see, and might at least make effort to\nflee from. Into Rachel's refusal to be comforted there need enter no\nbitter agonies of remorse. But Herod's death, it seems, did not make Judea\na safe place for babies. When Joseph \"heard that Archelaus did reign in\nthe room of his father, Herod, he was afraid to return thither with the\ninfant Jesus,\" and only after repeated commands and warnings from God\nwould he venture as far as Nazareth. The reign of Archelaus is not yet\nover; he has had many names, and ruled over more and more countries, but\nthe spirit of his father, Herod, is still in him. To-day his power is at\nits zenith. He is called Education; and the safest place for the dear,\nholy children is still Egypt, or some other of the fortunate countries\ncalled unenlightened.\n\nSome years ago there were symptoms of a strong rebellion against his\ntyranny. Horace Mann lifted up his strong hands and voice against it;\nphysicians and physiologists came out gravely and earnestly, and fortified\ntheir positions with statistics from which there was no appeal. Thomas\nWentworth Higginson, whose words have with the light, graceful beauty of\nthe Damascus blade its swift sureness in cleaving to the heart of things,\nwrote an article for the \"Atlantic Monthly\" called \"The Murder of the\nInnocents,\" which we wish could be put into every house in the United\nStates. Some changes in school organizations resulted from these protests;\nin the matter of ventilation of school-rooms some real improvement was\nprobably effected; though we shudder to think how much room remains for\nfurther improvement, when we read in the report of the superintendent of\npublic schools in Brooklyn that in the primary departments of the grammar\nschools \"an average daily number of 33,275 pupils are crowded into\none-half the space provided in the upper departments for an average daily\nattendance of 26,359; or compelled to occupy badly lighted, inconvenient,\nand ill-ventilated galleries, or rooms in the basement stories.\"\n\nBut in regard to the number of hours of confinement, and amount of study\nrequired of children, it is hard to believe that schools have ever been\nmuch more murderously exacting than now.\n\nThe substitution of the single session of five hours for the old\narrangement of two sessions of three hours each, with a two-hours interval\nat noon, was regarded as a great gain. So it would be, if all the\nbrain-work of the day were done in that time; but in most schools with\nthe five-hours session, there is next to no provision for studying in\nschool-hours, and the pupils are required to learn two, three, or four\nlessons at home. Now, when is your boy to learn these lessons? Not in the\nmorning, before school; that is plain. School ends at two. Few children\nlive sufficiently near their schools to get home to dinner before half\npast two o'clock. We say nothing of the undesirableness of taking the\nhearty meal of the day immediately after five hours of mental fatigue; it\nis probably a less evil than the late dinner at six, and we are in a\nregion where we are grateful for _less_ evils! Dinner is over at quarter\npast three; we make close estimates. In winter there is left less than two\nhours before dark. This is all the time the child is to have for out-door\nplay; two hours and a half (counting in his recess) out of twenty-four.\nAsk any farmer, even the stupidest, how well his colt or his lamb would\ngrow if it had but two hours a day of absolute freedom and exercise in the\nopen air, and that in the dark and the chill of a late afternoon! In spite\nof the dark and the chill, however, your boy skates or slides on until he\nis called in by you, who, if you are an American mother, care a great deal\nmore than he does for the bad marks which will stand on his week's report\nif those three lessons are not learned before bed-time. He is tired and\ncold; he does not want to study--who would? It is six o'clock before he is\nfairly at it. You work harder than he does, and in half an hour one lesson\nis learned; then comes tea. After tea half an hour, or perhaps an hour,\nremains before bed-time; in this time, which ought to be spent in light,\ncheerful talk or play, the rest of the lessons must be learned. He is\nsleepy and discouraged. Words which in the freshness of the morning he\nwould have learned in a very few moments with ease, it is now simply out\nof his power to commit to memory. You, if you are not superhuman, grow\nimpatient. At eight o'clock he goes to bed, his brain excited and wearied,\nin no condition for healthful sleep; and his heart oppressed with the fear\nof \"missing\" in the next day's recitations. And this is one out of the\nschool-year's two hundred and sixteen days--all of which will be like\nthis, or worse. One of the most pitiful sights we have seen for months was\na little group of four dear children, gathered round the library lamp,\ntrying to learn the next day's lessons in time to have a story read to\nthem before going to bed. They had taken the precaution to learn one\nlesson immediately after dinner, before going out, cutting their out-door\nplay down by half an hour. The two elder were learning a long\nspelling-lesson; the third was grappling with geographical definitions of\ncapes, promontories, and so forth; and the youngest was at work on his\nprimer. In spite of all their efforts, bed-time came before the lessons\nwere learned. The little geography student had been nodding over her book\nfor some minutes, and she had the philosophy to say, \"I don't care; I'm so\nsleepy. I had rather go to bed than hear any kind of a story.\" But the\nelder ones were grieved and unhappy, and said, \"There won't _ever_ be any\ntime; we shall have just as much more to learn to-morrow night.\" The next\nmorning, however, there was a sight still more pitiful: the baby of seven,\nwith a little bit of paper and a pencil, and three sums in addition to be\ndone, and the father vainly endeavoring, to explain them to him in the\nhurried moments before breakfast. It would be easy to show how fatal to\nall real mental development, how false to all Nature's laws of growth,\nsuch a system must be; but that belongs to another side of the question.\nWe speak now simply of the effect of it on the body; and here we quote\nlargely from the admirable article of Col. Higginson's, above referred to.\nNo stronger, more direct, more conclusive words can be written:--\n\n\"Sir Walter Scott, according to Carlyle, was the only perfectly healthy\nliterary man who ever lived. He gave it as his deliberate opinion, in\nconversation with Basil Hall, that five and a half hours form the limit of\nhealthful mental labor for a mature person. 'This I reckon very good work\nfor a man,' he said. 'I can very seldom work six hours a day.' Supposing\nhis estimate to be correct, and five and a half hours the reasonable limit\nfor the day's work of a mature intellect, it is evident that even this\nmust be altogether too much for an immature one. 'To suppose the youthful\nbrain,' says the recent admirable report, by Dr. Ray, of the Providence\nInsane Hospital, 'to be capable of an amount of work which is considered\nan ample allowance to an adult brain is simply absurd.' 'It would be\nwrong, therefore, to deduct less than a half-hour from Scott's estimate,\nfor even the oldest pupils in our highest schools, leaving five hours as\nthe limit of real mental effort for them, and reducing this for all\nyounger pupils very much further.'\n\n\"But Scott is not the only authority in the case; let us ask the\nphysiologists. So said Horace Mann before us, in the days when the\nMassachusetts school system was in process of formation. He asked the\nphysicians in 1840, and in his report printed the answers of three of the\nmost eminent. The late Dr. Woodward, of Worcester, promptly said that\nchildren under eight should never be confined more than one hour at a\ntime, nor more than four hours a day.\n\n\"Dr. James Jackson, of Boston, allowed the children four hours schooling\nin winter and five in summer, but only one hour at a time; and heartily\nexpressed his detestation of giving young children lessons to learn at\nhome.\n\n\"Dr. S.G. Howe, reasoning elaborately on the whole subject, said that\nchildren under eight years of age should never be confined more than half\nan hour at a time; by following which rule, with long recesses, they can\nstudy four hours daily. Children between eight and fourteen should not be\nconfined more than three-quarters of an hour at a time, having the last\nquarter of each hour for exercise on the play-ground.\n\n\"Indeed, the one thing about which doctors do _not_ disagree is the\ndestructive effect of premature or excessive mental labor. I can quote\nyou medical authority for and against every maxim of dietetics beyond the\nvery simplest; but I defy you to find one man who ever begged, borrowed,\nor stole the title of M.D., and yet abused those two honorary letters by\nasserting under their cover that a child could safely study as much as a\nman, or that a man could safely study more than six hours a day.\"\n\n\"The worst danger of it is that the moral is written at the end of the\nfable, not at the beginning. The organization in youth is so dangerously\nelastic that the result of these intellectual excesses is not seen until\nyears after. When some young girl incurs spinal disease from some slight\nfall, which she ought not to have felt for an hour, or some business man\nbreaks down in the prime of his years from some trifling over-anxiety,\nwhich should have left no trace behind, the popular verdict may be\n'Mysterious Providence;' but the wiser observer sees the retribution for\nthe folly of those misspent days which enfeebled the childish constitution\ninstead of ripening it. One of the most striking passages in the report of\nDr. Ray, before mentioned, is that in which he explains that, 'though\nstudy at school is rarely the immediate cause of insanity, it is the most\nfrequent of its ulterior causes, except hereditary tendencies.' _It\ndiminishes the conservative power of the animal economy to such a degree\nthat attacks of disease which otherwise would have passed off safely\ndestroy life almost before danger is anticipated_.\"\n\nIt would be easy to multiply authorities on these points. It is hard to\nstop. But our limits forbid any thing like a full treatment of the\nsubject. Yet discussion on this question ought never to cease in the land\nuntil a reform is brought about. Teachers are to blame only in part for\nthe present wrong state of things. They are to blame for yielding, for\nacquiescing; but the real blame rests on parents. Here and there,\nindividual fathers and mothers, taught, perhaps, by heart-rending\nexperience, try to make stand against the current of false ambitions and\nunhealthy standards. But these are rare exceptions. Parents, as a class,\nnot only help on, but create the pressure to which teachers yield, and\nchildren are sacrificed. The whole responsibility is really theirs. They\nhave in their hands the power to regulate the whole school routine to\nwhich their children are to be subjected. This is plain, when we once\nconsider what would be the immediate effect in any community, large or\nsmall, if a majority of parents took action together, and persistently\nrefused to allow any child under fourteen to be confined in school more\nthan four hours out of the twenty-four, more than one hour at a time, or\nto do more than five hours' brain-work in a day. The law of supply and\ndemand is a first principle. In three months the schools in that community\nwould be entirely reorganized, to accord with the parents' wishes; in\nthree years the improved average health of the children in that community\nwould bear its own witness in ruddy bloom along the streets; and perhaps\neven in one generation so great gain of vigor might be made that the\nmelancholy statistics of burial would no longer have to record the death\nunder twelve years of age of more than two-fifths of the children who are\nborn.\n\n\n\n\nThe Awkward Age.\n\n\n\nThe expression defines itself. At the first sound of the words, we all\nthink of some one unhappy soul we know just now, whom they suggest. Nobody\nis ever without at least one brother, sister, cousin, or friend on hand,\nwho is struggling through this social slough of despond; and nobody ever\nwill be, so long as the world goes on taking it for granted that the\nslough is a necessity, and that the road must go through it. Nature never\nmeant any such thing. Now and then she blunders or gets thwarted of her\nintent, and turns out a person who is awkward, hopelessly and forever\nawkward; body and soul are clumsy together, and it is hard to fancy them\ntranslated to the spiritual world without too much elbow and ankle.\nHowever, these are rare cases, and come in under the law of variation. But\nan awkward age,--a necessary crisis or stage of uncouthness, through which\nall human beings must pass,--Nature was incapable of such a conception;\nlaw has no place for it; development does not know it; instinct revolts\nfrom it; and man is the only animal who has been silly and wrong-headed\nenough to stumble into it. The explanation and the remedy are so simple,\nso close at hand, that we have not seen them. The whole thing lies in a\nnutshell. Where does this abnormal, uncomfortable period come in? Between\nchildhood, we say, and maturity; it is the transition from one to the\nother. When human beings, then, are neither boys nor men, girls nor women,\nthey must be for a few years anomalous creatures, must they? We might,\nperhaps, find a name for the individual in this condition as well as for\nthe condition. We must look to Du Chaillu for it, if we do; but it is too\nserious a distress to make light of, even for a moment. We have all felt\nit, and we know how it feels; we all see it every day, and we know how it\nlooks.\n\nWhat is it which the child has and the adult loses, from the loss of which\ncomes this total change of behavior? Or is it something which the adult\nhas and the child had not? It is both; and until the loss and the gain,\nthe new and the old, are permanently separated and balanced, the awkward\nage lasts. The child was overlooked, contradicted, thwarted, snubbed,\ninsulted, whipped; not constantly, not often,--in many cases, thank God,\nvery seldom. But the liability was there, and he knew it; he never forgot\nit, if you did. One burn is enough to make fire dreaded. The adult, once\nfairly recognized as adult, is not overlooked, contradicted, thwarted,\nsnubbed, insulted, whipped; at least, not with impunity. To this\ngratifying freedom, these comfortable exemptions, when they are once\nestablished in our belief, we adjust ourselves, and grow contentedly\ngood-mannered. To the other _regime_, while we were yet children, we also\nsomewhat adjusted ourselves, were tolerably well behaved, and made the\nbest of it. But who could bear a mixture of both? What genius could rise\nsuperior to it, could be itself, surrounded by such uncertainties?\n\nNo wonder that your son comes into the room with a confused expression of\nuncomfortable pain on every feature, when he does not in the least know\nwhether he will be recognized as a gentleman, or overlooked as a little\nboy. No wonder he sits down in his chair with movements suggestive of\nnothing but rheumatism and jack-knives, when he is thinking that perhaps\nthere may be some reason why he should not take that particular chair, and\nthat, if there is, he will be ordered up.\n\nNo wonder that your tall daughter turns red, stammers, and says foolish\nthings on being courteously spoken to by strangers at dinner, when she is\nafraid that she may be sharply contradicted or interrupted, and remembers\nthat day before yesterday she was told that children should be seen and\nnot heard.\n\nI knew a very clever girl, who had the misfortune to look at fourteen as\nif she were twenty. At home, she was the shyest and most awkward of\ncreatures; away from her mother and sisters, she was self-possessed and\ncharming. She said to me, once, \"Oh! I have such a splendid time away from\nhome. I'm so tall, everybody thinks I am grown up, and everybody is civil\nto me.\"\n\nI know, also, a man of superb physique, charming temperament, and uncommon\ntalent, who is to this day--and he is twenty-five years old--nervous and\nill at ease in talking with strangers, in the presence of his own family.\nHe hesitates, stammers, and never does justice to his thoughts. He says\nthat he believes he shall never be free from this distress; he cannot\nescape from the recollections of the years between fourteen and twenty,\nduring which he was so systematically snubbed that his mother's parlor was\nto him worse than the chambers of the Inquisition. He knows that he is now\nsure of courteous treatment; that his friends are all proud of him; but\nthe old cloud will never entirely disappear. Something has been lost which\ncan never be regained. And the loss is not his alone, it is theirs too;\nthey are all poorer for life, by reason of the unkind days which are gone.\n\nThis, then, is the explanation of the awkward age. I am not afraid of any\ndissent from my definition of the source whence its misery springs.\nEverybody's consciousness bears witness. Everybody knows, in the bottom of\nhis heart, that, however much may be said about the change of voice, the\nthinness of cheeks, the sharpness of arms, the sudden length in legs and\nlack of length in trousers and frocks,--all these had nothing to do with\nthe real misery. The real misery was simply and solely the horrible\nfeeling of not belonging anywhere; not knowing what a moment might bring\nforth in the way of treatment from others; never being sure which impulse\nit would be safer to follow, to retreat or to advance, to speak or to be\nsilent, and often overwhelmed with unspeakable mortification at the rebuff\nof the one or the censure of the other. Oh! how dreadful it all was! How\ndreadful it all is, even to remember! It would be malicious even to refer\nto it, except to point out the cure.\n\nThe cure is plain. It needs no experiment to test it. Merely to mention it\nought to be enough. If human beings are so awkward at this unhappy age,\nand so unhappy at this awkward age, simply because they do not know\nwhether they are to be treated as children or as adults, suppose we make a\nrule that children are always to be treated, in point of courtesy, as if\nthey were adults? Then this awkward age--this period of transition from an\natmosphere of, to say the least, negative rudeness to one of gracious\npoliteness--disappears. There cannot be a crisis of readjustment of social\nrelations: there is no possibility of such a feeling; it would be hard to\nexplain to a young person what it meant. Now and then we see a young man\nor young woman who has never known it. They are usually only children, and\nare commonly spoken of as wonders. I know such a boy to-day. At seventeen\nhe measures six feet in height; he has the feet and the hands of a still\nlarger man; and he comes of a blood which had far more strength than\ngrace. But his manner is, and always has been, sweet, gentle,\ncomposed,--the very ideal of grave, tender, frank young manhood. People\nsay, \"How strange! He never seemed to have any awkward age at all.\" It\nwould have been stranger if he had. Neither his father nor his mother ever\ndeparted for an instant, in their relations with him, from the laws of\ncourtesy and kindliness of demeanor which governed their relations with\nothers.\n\nHe knew but one atmosphere, and that a genial one, from his babyhood up;\nand in and of this atmosphere has grown up a sweet, strong, pure soul, for\nwhich the quiet, self-possessed manner is but the fitting garb.\n\nThis is part of the kingdom that cometh unobserved. In this kingdom we are\nall to be kings and priests, if we choose; and all its ways are\npleasantness. But we are not ready for it till we have become peaceable\nand easy to be entreated, and have learned to understand why it was that\none day, when Jesus called his disciples together, he set a little child\nin their midst.\n\n\n\n\nA Day with a Courteous Mother.\n\n\n\nDuring the whole of one of last summer's hottest days I had the good\nfortune to be seated in a railway car near a mother and four children,\nwhose relations with each other were so beautiful that the pleasure of\nwatching them was quite enough to make one forget the discomforts of the\njourney.\n\nIt was plain that they were poor; their clothes were coarse and old, and\nhad been made by inexperienced hands. The mother's bonnet alone would have\nbeen enough to have condemned the whole party on any of the world's\nthoroughfares. I remembered afterward, with shame, that I myself had\nsmiled at the first sight of its antiquated ugliness; but her face was one\nwhich it gave you a sense of rest to look upon,--it was so earnest,\ntender, true, and strong. It had little comeliness of shape or color in\nit, it was thin, and pale; she was not young; she had worked hard; she had\nevidently been much ill; but I have seen few faces which gave me such\npleasure. I think that she was the wife of a poor clergyman; and I think\nthat clergyman must be one of the Lord's best watchmen of souls. The\nchildren--two boys and two girls--were all under the age of twelve, and\nthe youngest could not speak plainly. They had had a rare treat; they had\nbeen visiting the mountains, and they were talking over all the wonders\nthey had seen with a glow of enthusiastic delight which was to be envied.\nOnly a word-for-word record would do justice to their conversation; no\ndescription could give any idea of it,--so free, so pleasant, so genial,\nno interruptions, no contradictions; and the mother's part borne all the\nwhile with such equal interest and eagerness that no one not seeing her\nface would dream that she was any other than an elder sister. In the\ncourse of the day there were many occasions when it was necessary for her\nto deny requests, and to ask services, especially from the eldest boy; but\nno young girl, anxious to please a lover, could have done either with a\nmore tender courtesy. She had her reward; for no lover could have been\nmore tender and manly than was this boy of twelve. Their lunch was simple\nand scanty; but it had the grace of a royal banquet. At the last, the\nmother produced with much glee three apples and an orange, of which the\nchildren had not known. All eyes fastened on the orange. It was evidently\na great rarity. I watched to see if this test would bring out selfishness.\nThere was a little silence; just the shade of a cloud. The mother said,\n\"How shall I divide this? There is one for each of you; and I shall be\nbest off of all, for I expect big tastes from each of you.\"\n\n\"Oh, give Annie the orange. Annie loves oranges,\" spoke out the oldest\nboy, with a sudden air of a conqueror, and at the same time taking the\nsmallest and worst apple himself.\n\n\"Oh, yes, let Annie have the orange,\" echoed the second boy, nine years\nold.\n\n\"Yes, Annie may have the orange, because that is nicer than the apple, and\nshe is a lady, and her brothers are gentlemen,\" said the mother, quietly.\nThen there was a merry contest as to who should feed the mother with\nlargest and most frequent mouthfuls; and so the feast went on. Then Annie\npretended to want apple, and exchanged thin golden strips of orange for\nbites out of the cheeks of Baldwins; and, as I sat watching her intently,\nshe suddenly fancied she saw longing in my face, and sprang over to me,\nholding out a quarter of her orange, and saying, \"Don't you want a taste,\ntoo?\" The mother smiled, understandingly, when I said, \"No, I thank you,\nyou dear, generous little girl; I don't care about oranges.\"\n\nAt noon we had a tedious interval of waiting at a dreary station. We sat\nfor two hours on a narrow platform, which the sun had scorched till it\nsmelt of heat. The oldest boy--the little lover--held the youngest child,\nand talked to her, while the tired mother closed her eyes and rested. Now\nand then he looked over at her, and then back at the baby; and at last he\nsaid confidentially to me (for we had become fast friends by this time),\n\"Isn't it funny, to think that I was ever so small as this baby? And papa\nsays that then mamma was almost a little girl herself.\"\n\nThe two other children were toiling up and down the banks of the\nrailroad-track, picking ox-eye daisies, buttercups, and sorrel. They\nworked like beavers, and soon the bunches were almost too big for their\nlittle hands. Then they came running to give them to their mother. \"Oh\ndear,\" thought I, \"how that poor, tired woman will hate to open her eyes!\nand she never can take those great bunches of common, fading flowers, in\naddition to all her bundles and bags.\" I was mistaken.\n\n\"Oh, thank you, my darlings! How kind you were! Poor, hot, tired little\nflowers, how thirsty they look! If they will only try and keep alive till\nwe get home, we will make them very happy in some water; won't we? And you\nshall put one bunch by papa's plate, and one by mine.\"\n\nSweet and happy, the weary and flushed little children stood looking up in\nher face while she talked, their hearts thrilling with compassion for the\ndrooping flowers and with delight in the giving of their gift. Then she\ntook great trouble to get a string and tie up the flowers, and then the\ntrain came, and we were whirling along again. Soon it grew dark, and\nlittle Annie's head nodded. Then I heard the mother say to the oldest boy,\n\"Dear, are you too tired to let little Annie put her head on your shoulder\nand take a nap? We shall get her home in much better case to see papa if\nwe can manage to give her a little sleep.\" How many boys of twelve hear\nsuch words as these from tired, overburdened mothers?\n\nSoon came the city, the final station, with its bustle and noise. I\nlingered to watch my happy family, hoping to see the father. \"Why, papa\nisn't here!\" exclaimed one disappointed little voice after another. \"Never\nmind,\" said the mother, with a still deeper disappointment in her own\ntone; \"perhaps he had to go to see some poor body who is sick.\" In the\nhurry of picking up all the parcels, and the sleepy babies, the poor\ndaisies and buttercups were left forgotten in a corner of the rack. I\nwondered if the mother had not intended this. May I be forgiven for the\ninjustice! A few minutes after I passed the little group, standing still\njust outside the station, and heard the mother say, \"Oh, my darlings, I\nhave forgotten your pretty bouquets. I am so sorry! I wonder if I could\nfind them if I went back. Will you all stand still and not stir from this\nspot if I go?\"\n\n\"Oh, mamma, don't go, don't go. We will get you some more. Don't go,\"\ncried all the children.\n\n\"Here are your flowers, madam,\" said I. \"I saw that you had forgotten\nthem, and I took them as mementoes of you and your sweet children.\" She\nblushed and looked disconcerted. She was evidently unused to people, and\nshy with all but her children. However, she thanked me sweetly, and\nsaid,--\n\n\"I was very sorry about them. The children took such trouble to get them;\nand I think they will revive in water. They cannot be quite dead.\"\n\n\"They will _never_ die!\" said I, with an emphasis which went from my heart\nto hers. Then all her shyness fled. She knew me; and we shook hands, and\nsmiled into each other's eyes with the smile of kindred as we parted.\n\nAs I followed on, I heard the two children, who were walking behind,\nsaying to each other, \"Wouldn't that have been too bad? Mamma liked them\nso much, and we never could have got so many all at once again.\"\n\n\"Yes, we could, too, next summer,\" said the boy, sturdily.\n\nThey are sure of their \"next summers,\" I think, all six of those\nsouls,--children, and mother, and father. They may never again gather so\nmany ox-eye daisies and buttercups \"all at once.\" Perhaps some of the\nlittle hands have already picked their last flowers. Nevertheless, their\nsummers are certain. To such souls as these, all trees, either here or in\nGod's larger country, are Trees of Life, with twelve manner of fruits and\nleaves for healing; and it is but little change from the summers here,\nwhose suns burn and make weary, to the summers there, of which \"the Lamb\nis the light.\"\n\nHeaven bless them all, wherever they are.\n\n\n\n\nChildren in Nova Scotia.\n\n\n\nNova Scotia is a country of gracious surprises. Instead of the stones\nwhich are what strangers chiefly expect at her hands, she gives us a\nwealth of fertile meadows; instead of stormy waves breaking on a frowning\ncoast, she shows us smooth basins whose shores are soft and wooded to the\nwater's edge, and into which empty wonderful tidal rivers, whose courses,\nwhere the tide-water has flowed out, lie like curving bands of bright\nbrown satin among the green fields. She has no barrenness, no\nunsightliness, no poverty; everywhere beauty, everywhere riches. She is\nbiding her time.\n\nBut most beautiful among her beauties, most wonderful among her wonders,\nare her children. During two weeks' travel in the provinces, I have been\nconstantly more and more impressed by their superiority in appearance,\nsize, and health to the children of the New England and Middle States. In\nthe outset of our journey I was struck by it; along all the roadsides they\nlooked up, boys and girls, fair, broad-cheeked, sturdy-legged, such as\nwith us are seen only now and then. I did not, however, realize at first\nthat this was the universal law of the land, and that it pointed to\nsomething more than climate as a cause. But the first school that I saw,\n_en masse_, gave a startling impetus to the train of observation and\ninference into which I was unconsciously falling. It was a Sunday school\nin the little town of Wolfville, which lies between the Gaspcreau and\nCornwallis rivers, just beyond the meadows of the Grand Pre, where lived\nGabriel Lajeunesse, and Benedict Bellefontaine, and the rest of the\n\"simple Acadian farmers.\"\n\n\"Mists from the mighty Atlantic\" more than \"looked on the happy valley\"\nthat Sunday morning. Convicting Longfellow of a mistake, they did descend\n\"from their stations,\" on solemn Blomidon, and fell in a slow, unpleasant\ndrizzle in the streets of Wolfville and Horton. I arrived too early at one\nof the village churches, and while I was waiting for a sexton a door\nopened, and out poured the Sunday school, whose services had just ended.\nOn they came, dividing in the centre, and falling to the right and left\nabout me, thirty or forty boys and girls, between the ages of seven and\nfifteen. I looked at them in astonishment. They all had fair skins, red\ncheeks, and clear eyes; they were all broad-shouldered, straight, and\nsturdy; the younger ones were more than sturdy,--they were fat, from the\nankles up. But perhaps the most noticeable thing of all was the quiet,\nsturdy, unharassed expression which their faces wore; a look which is the\ngreatest charm of a child's face, but which we rarely see in children over\ntwo or three years old. Boys of eleven or twelve were there, with\nshoulders broader than the average of our boys at sixteen, and yet with\nthe pure, childlike look on their faces. Girls of ten or eleven were there\nwho looked almost like women,--that is, like ideal women,--simply because\nthey looked so calm and undisturbed. The Saxon coloring prevailed;\nthree-fourths of the eyes were blue, with hair of that pale ash-brown\nwhich the French call \"_blonde cendree_\" Out of them all there was but one\nchild who looked sickly. He had evidently met with some accident, and was\nlame. Afterward, as the congregation assembled, I watched the fathers and\nmothers of these children. They, too, were broad-shouldered, tall, and\nstraight, especially the women. Even old women were straight, like the\n<DW64>s one sees at the South, walking with burdens on their heads.\n\nFive days later I saw in Halifax the celebration of the anniversary of the\nsettlement of the province. The children of the city and of some of the\nneighboring towns marched in \"bands of hope\" and processions, such as we\nsee in the cities of the States on the Fourth of July. This was just the\nopportunity I wanted. It was the same here as in the country. I counted on\nthat day just eleven sickly-looking children; no more! Such brilliant\ncheeks, such merry eyes, such evident strength; it was a scene to kindle\nthe dullest soul. There were scores of little ones there, whose droll, fat\nlegs would have drawn a crowd in Central Park; and they all had that same,\nquiet, composed, well-balanced expression of countenance of which I spoke\nbefore, and of which it would be hard to find an instance in all Central\nPark.\n\nClimate undoubtedly has something to do with this. The air is moist, and\nthe mercury rarely rises above 80 deg. or falls below 10 deg.. Also the\ncomparative quiet of their lives helps to make them so beautiful and\nstrong. But the most significant fact to my mind is that, until the past\nyear, there have been in Nova Scotia no public schools, comparatively few\nprivate ones; and in these there is no severe pressure brought to bear on\nthe pupils. The private schools have been expensive, consequently it has\nbeen very unusual for children to be sent to school before they were\n_eight or nine_ years of age; I could not find a person who had ever known\nof a child's being sent to school _under seven!_ The school sessions are\non the old plan of six hours per day,--from nine till twelve, and from one\ntill four; but no learning of lessons out of school has been allowed.\nWithin the last year a system of free public schools has been introduced,\n\"and the people are grumbling terribly about it,\" said my informant.\n\"Why?\" I asked; \"because they do not wish to have their children\neducated?\" \"Oh, no,\" said he; \"because they do not like to pay the taxes!\"\n\"Alas!\" I thought, \"if it were only their silver which would be taxed!\"\n\nI must not be understood to argue from the health of the children of Nova\nScotia, as contrasted with the lack of health among our children, that it\nis best to have no public schools; only that it is better to have no\npublic schools than to have such public schools as are now killing off our\nchildren.\n\nThe registration system of Nova Scotia is as yet imperfectly carried out.\nIt is almost impossible to obtain exact returns from all parts of so\nthinly settled a country. But such statistics as have been already\nestablished give sufficient food for reflection in this connection. In\nMassachusetts more than two-fifths of all the children born die before\nthey are twelve years old. In Nova Scotia the proportion is less than\none-third. In Nova Scotia one out of every fifty-six lives to be over\nninety years of age; and one-twelfth of the entire number of deaths is\nbetween the ages of eighty and ninety. In Massachusetts one person out of\none hundred and nine lives to be over ninety.\n\nIn Massachusetts the mortality from diseases of the brain and nervous\nsystem is eleven per cent. In Nova Scotia it is only eight per cent.\n\n\n\n\nThe Republic of the Family.\n\n\n\n\"He is lover and friend and son, all in one,\" said a friend, the other\nday, telling me of a dear boy who, out of his first earnings, had just\nsent to his mother a beautiful gift, costing much more than he could\nreally afford for such a purpose.\n\nThat mother is the wisest, sweetest, most triumphant mother I have ever\nknown. I am restrained by feelings of deepest reverence for her from\nspeaking, as I might speak, of the rare and tender methods by which her\nmotherhood has worked, patiently and alone, for nearly twenty years, and\nmade of her two sons \"lovers and friends.\" I have always felt that she\nowed it to the world to impart to other mothers all that she could of her\ndivine secret; to write out, even in detail, all the processes by which\nher boys have grown to be so strong, upright, loving, and manly.\n\nBut one of her first principles has so direct a bearing on the subject\nthat I wish to speak of here that I venture to attempt an explanation of\nit. She has told me that she never once, even in their childish days, took\nthe ground that she had right to require any thing from them simply\n_because_ she was their mother. This is a position very startling to the\naverage parent. It is exactly counter to traditions.\n\n\"Why must I?\" or \"Why cannot I?\" says the child. \"Because I say so, and I\nam your father,\" has been the stern, authoritative reply ever since we can\nany of us remember; and, I presume, ever since the Christian era, since\nthat good Apostle Paul saw enough in the Ephesian families where he\nvisited to lead him to write to them from Rome, \"Fathers, provoke not your\nchildren to wrath.\"\n\nIt seems to me that there are few questions of practical moment in\nevery-day living on which a foregone and erroneous conclusion has been\nadopted so generally and so undoubtingly. How it first came about it is\nhard to see. Or, rather, it is easy to see, when one reflects; and the\nvery clearness of the surface explanation of it only makes its injustice\nmore odious. It came about because the parent was strong and the child\nweak. Helplessness in the hands of power,--that is the whole story.\nSuppose for an instant (and, absurd as the supposition is practically, it\nis not logically absurd), that the child at six were strong enough to whip\nhis father; let him have the intellect of an infant, the mistakes and the\nfaults of an infant,--which the father would feel himself bound and _would\nbe_ bound to correct,--but the body of a man; and then see in how\ndifferent fashion the father would set himself to work to insure good\nbehavior. I never see the heavy, impatient hand of a grown man or woman\nlaid with its brute force, even for the smallest purpose, on a little\nchild, without longing for a sudden miracle to give the baby an equal\nstrength to resist.\n\nWhen we realize what it is for us to dare, for our own pleasure, even with\nsolemnest purpose of the holiest of pleasures, parenthood, to bring into\nexistence a soul, which must take for our sake its chance of joy or\nsorrow, how monstrous it seems to assume that the fact that we have done\nthis thing gives us arbitrary right to control that soul; to set our will,\nas will, in place of its will; to be law unto its life; to try to make of\nit what it suits our fancy or our convenience to have it; to claim that it\nis under obligation to us!\n\nThe truth is, all the obligation, in the outset, is the other way. We owe\nall to them. All that we can do to give them happiness, to spare them\npain; all that we can do to make them wise and good and safe,--all is too\nlittle! All and more than all can never repay them for the sweetness, the\nblessedness, the development that it has been to us to call children ours.\nIf we can also so win their love by our loving, so deserve their respect\nby our honorableness, so earn their gratitude by our helpfulness, that\nthey come to be our \"lovers and friends,\" then, ah! then we have had\nenough of heaven here to make us willing to postpone the more for which we\nhope beyond!\n\nBut all this comes not of authority, not by command; all this is perilled\nalways, always impaired, and often lost, by authoritative, arbitrary\nruling, substitution of law and penalty for influence.\n\nIt will be objected by parents who disagree with this theory that only\nauthority can prevent license; that without command there will not be\ncontrol. No one has a right to condemn methods he has not tried. I know,\nfor I have seen, I know, for I have myself tested, that command and\nauthority are short-lived; that they do not insure the results they aim\nat; that real and permanent control of a child's behavior, even in little\nthings, is gained only by influence, by a slow, sure educating,\nenlightening, and strengthening of a child's will. I know, for I have\nseen, that it is possible in this way to make a child only ten years old\nquite as intelligent and trustworthy a free agent as his mother; to make\nhim so sensible, so gentle, so considerate that to say \"must\" or \"must\nnot\" to him would be as unnecessary and absurd as to say it to her.\n\nBut, if it be wiser and better to surround even little children with this\natmosphere of freedom, how much more essential is it for those who remain\nunder the parental roof long after they have ceased to be children! Just\nhere seems to me to be the fatal rock upon which many households make\nutter shipwreck of their peace. Fathers and mothers who have ruled by\nauthority (let it be as loving as you please, it will still remain an\narbitrary rule) in the beginning, never seem to know when their children\nare children no longer, but have become men and women. In any average\nfamily, the position of an unmarried daughter after she is twenty years\nold becomes less and less what it should be. In case of sons, the question\nis rarely a practical one; in those exceptional instances where invalidism\nor some other disability keeps a man helpless for years under his father's\nroof, his very helplessness is at once his vindication and his shield, and\nalso prevents his feeling manly revolt against the position of unnatural\nchildhood. But in the case of daughters it is very different. Who does not\nnumber in his circle of acquaintance many unmarried women, between the\nages of thirty and forty, perhaps even older, who have practically little\nmore freedom in the ordering of their own lives than they had when they\nwere eleven? The mother or the father continues just as much the\nautocratic centre of the family now as of the nursery, thirty years\nbefore. Taking into account the chance--no, the certainty--of great\ndifferences between parents and children in matters of temperament and\ntaste, it is easy to see that great suffering must result from this;\nsuffering, too, which involves real loss and hindrance to growth. It is\nreally a monstrous wrong; but it seems to be rarely observed by the world,\nand never suspected by those who are most responsible for it. It is\nperhaps a question whether the real tyrannies in this life are those that\nare accredited as such. There are certainly more than even tyrants know!\n\nEvery father and mother has it within easy reach to become the intimate\nfriend of the child. Closest, holiest, sweetest of all friendships is this\none, which has the closest, holiest tie of blood to underlie the bond of\nsoul. We see it in rare cases, proving itself divine by rising above even\nthe passion of love between man and woman, and carrying men and women\nunwedded to their graves for sake of love of mother or father. When we\nrealize what such friendship is, it seems incredible that parents can\nforego it, or can risk losing any shade of its perfectness, for the sake\nof any indulgence of the habit of command or of gratifying of selfish\npreference.\n\nIn the ideal household of father and mother and adult children, the one\ngreat aim of the parents ought to be to supply, as far as possible to each\nchild, that freedom and independence which they have missed the\nopportunity of securing in homes of their own. The loss of this one thing\nalone is a bitterer drop in the loneliness of many an unmarried woman than\nparents, especially fathers, are apt even to dream,--food and clothes and\nlodgings are so exalted in unthinking estimates. To be without them would\nbe distressingly inconvenient, no doubt; but one can have luxurious\nprovision of both and remain very wretched. Even the body itself cannot\nthrive if it has no more than these three pottage messes! Freedom to come,\ngo, speak, work, play,--in short, to be one's self,--is to the body more\nthan meat and gold, and to the soul the whole of life.\n\nJust so far as any parent interferes with this freedom of adult children,\neven in the little things of a single day or a single hour, just so far it\nis tyranny, and the children are wronged. But just so far as parents\nhelp, strengthen, and bestow this freedom on their children, just so far\nit is justice and kindness, and their relation is cemented into a supreme\nand unalterable friendship, whose blessedness and whose comfort no words\ncan measure.\n\n\n\n\nThe Ready-to-Halts.\n\n\n\nMr. Ready-to-Halt must have been the most exasperating pilgrim that Great\nHeart ever dragged over the road to the Celestial City. Mr. Feeble Mind\nwas bad enough; but genuine weakness and organic incapacity appeal all the\nwhile to charity and sympathy. If people really cannot walk, they must be\ncarried. Everybody sees that; and all strong people are, or ought to be,\nready to lift babies and <DW36>s. There are plenty of such in every\nparish. The Feeble Minds are unfortunately predisposed to intermarry; and\nour schools are overrun with the little Masters and Misses Feeble Mind.\nBut, heavy as they are (and they are apt to be fat), they are precious and\npleasant friends and neighbors in comparison with the Ready-to-Halts.\n\nThe Ready-to-Halts are never ready for any thing else. They can walk as\nwell as anybody else, if they only would; but they are never quite sure on\nwhich road they would better go. Great Hearts have to go back, and go\nback, to look them up. They are found standing still, helpless and\nbewildered, on all sorts of absurd side-paths, which lead nowhere; and\nthey never will confess, either, that they need help. They always think\nthey are doing what they call \"making up their mind.\" But, whichever way\nthey make it, they wish they had made it the other; so they unmake it\ndirectly. And by this time the crisis of the first hour which they lost\nhas become complicated with that of the second hour, for which they are in\nno wise ready; and so the hours stumble on, one after another, and the day\nis only a tangle of ineffective cross purposes. Hundreds of such days\ndrift on, with their sad burden of wasted time. Year after year their\nlives fail of growth, of delight, of blessing to others. Opportunity's\ngreat golden doors, which never stay long open for any man, have always\njust closed when they reach the threshold of a deed; and it is hard, very\nhard, to see why it would not have been better for them if they had never\nbeen born.\n\nAfter all, it is not right to be impatient with them; for, in nine cases\nout of ten, they are no more responsible for their mental limp than the\npoor Chinese woman is for her feeble feet. From their infancy up to what\nin our comic caricature of words we call \"maturity,\" they have been\nbandaged. How should their muscles be good for any thing? From the day\nwhen we give, and take, and arrange the baby's playthings for him, hour by\nhour, without ever setting before him to choose one of two and give up the\nother, to the day when we take it upon ourselves to decide whether he\nshall be an engineer or a lawyer, we persist in doing for him the work\nwhich he should do for himself. This is because we love him more than we\nlove our own lives. Oh! if love could but have its eyes opened and see!\nIf we were not blind, we should know that whenever a child decides for\nhimself deliberately, and without bias from others, any question, however\nsmall, he has had just so many minutes of mental gymnastics,--just so much\nstrengthening of the one faculty on whose health and firmness his success\nin life will depend more than upon any other thing.\n\nSo many people do not know the difference between obstinacy and\nclear-headed firmness of will, that it is hardly safe to say much in\npraise or blame of either without expressly stating that you do not mean\nthe other. They are as unlike as digestion and indigestion, and one would\nsuppose could not be much more easily confounded; but it is constantly\ndone. It has not yet ceased to be said among fathers and mothers that it\nis necessary to \"break the will\" of children; and it has not yet ceased to\nbe seen in the land that men by virtue of simple obstinacy are called men\nof strong character. The truth is that the stronger, better-trained will a\nman has, the less obstinate he will be. Will is of reason; obstinacy, of\ntemper. What have they in common?\n\nFor want of strong will kingdoms and souls have been lost. Without it\nthere is no kingdom for any man,--no, not even in his own soul. It is the\none attribute of all we possess which is most God-like. By it, we say,\nunder his laws, as he says, enacting those laws, \"So far and no further.\"\nIt is not enough that we do not \"break\" this grand power. It should be\nstrengthened, developed, trained. And, as the good teacher of gymnastics\ngives his beginners light weights to lift and swing, so should we bring to\nthe children small points to decide; to the very little children, very\nlittle points. \"Will you have the apple, or the orange? You cannot have\nboth. Choose; but after you have chosen you cannot change.\" \"Will you have\nthe horseback ride to-day, or the opera to-morrow night? You can have but\none.\"\n\nEvery day, many times a day, a child should decide for himself points\ninvolving pros and cons,--substantial ones too. Let him even decide\nunwisely, and take the consequences; that too is good for him. No amount\nof Blackstone can give such an idea of law as a month of prison. Tell him\nas much as you please of what you know on both sides; but compel him to\ndecide, and also compel him not to be too long about it. \"Choose ye this\nday whom ye will serve\" is a text good for every morning.\n\nIf men and women had in their childhood such training of their wills as\nthis, we should not see so many putting their hands to the plough and\nlooking back, and \"not fit for the kingdom of heaven.\" Nor for any kingdom\nof earth, either, unless it be for the wicked little kingdom of the Prince\nof Monaco, where there are but two things to be done,--gamble, or drown\nyourself.\n\n\n\n\nThe Descendants of Nabal.\n\n\n\nThe line has never been broken, and they have married into respectable\nfamilies, right and left, until to-day there can hardly be found a\nhousehold which has not at least one to worry it.\n\nThey are not men and women of great passionate natures, who flame out now\nand then in an outbreak like a volcano, from which everybody runs. This,\nthough terrible while it lasts, is soon over, and there are great\ncompensations in such souls. Their love is worth having. Their tenderness\nis great. One can forgive them \"seventy times seven,\" for the hasty words\nand actions of which they repent immediately with tears.\n\nBut the Nabals are sullen; they are grumblers; they are never done. Such\nsons of Belial are they to this day that no man can speak peaceably unto\nthem. They are as much worse than passionate people as a slow drizzle of\nrain is than a thunder-storm. For the thunder-storm, you stay in-doors,\nand you cannot help having pleasure in its sharp lights and darks and\nechoes; and when it is over, what clear air, what a rainbow! But in the\ndrizzle, you go out; you think that with a waterproof, an umbrella, and\novershoes, you can manage to get about in spite of it, and attend to your\nbusiness. What a state you come home in,--muddy, limp, chilled,\ndisheartened! The house greets you, looking also muddy and cold,--for the\nbest of front halls gives up in despair and cannot look any thing but\nforlorn in a long, drizzling rain; all the windows are bleared with\ntrickling, foggy wet on the outside, which there is no wiping off nor\nseeing through, and if one could see through there is no gain. The street\nis more gloomy than the house; black, slimy mud, inches deep on crossings;\nthe same black, slimy mud in footprints on side-walks; hopeless-looking\npeople hurrying by, so unhappy by reason of the drizzle that a weird sort\nof family likeness is to be seen in all their faces. This is all that can\nbe seen outside. It is better not to look. For the inside is no redemption\nexcept a wood-fire,--a good, generous wood-fire,--not in any of the modern\ncompromises called open stoves, but on a broad stone hearth, with a big\nbackground of chimney, up which the sparks can go skipping and creeping.\n\nThis can redeem a drizzle; but this cannot redeem a grumbler. Plump he\nsits down in the warmth of its very blaze, and complains that it snaps,\nperhaps, or that it is oak and maple, when he paid for all hickory. You\ncan trust him to put out your wood-fire for you as effectually as a\nwater-spout. And, if even a wood-fire, bless it! cannot outshine the gloom\nof his presence, what is to happen in the places where there is no\nwood-fire, on the days when real miseries, big and little, are on hand, to\nbe made into mountains of torture by his grumbling? Oh, who can describe\nhim? There is no language which can do justice to him; no supernatural\nforesight which can predict where his next thrust will fall, from what\nunsuspected corner he will send his next arrow. Like death, he has all\nseasons for his own; his ingenuity is infernal. Whoever tries to forestall\nor appease him might better be at work in Augean stables; because, after\nall, we must admit that the facts of life are on his side. It is not\nintended that we shall be very comfortable. There is a terrible amount of\ntotal depravity in animate and inanimate things. From morning till night\nthere is not an hour without its cross to carry. The weather thwarts us;\nservants, landlords, drivers, washerwomen, and bosom friends misbehave;\nclothes don't fit; teeth ache; stomachs get out of order; newspapers are\nstupid; and children make too much noise. If there are not big troubles,\nthere are little ones. If they are not in sight, they are hiding. I have\nwondered whether the happiest mortal could point to one single moment and\nsay, \"At that moment there was nothing in my life which I would have had\nchanged.\" I think not.\n\nIn argument, therefore, the grumbler has the best of it. It is more than\nprobable that things are as he says. But why say it? Why make four\nmiseries out of three? If the three be already unbearable, so much the\nworse. If he is uncomfortable, it is a pity; we are sorry, but we cannot\nchange the course of Nature. We shall soon have our own little turn of\ntorments, and we do not want to be worn out before it comes by having\nlistened to his; probably, too, the very things of which he complains are\npressing just as heavily on us as on him,--are just as unpleasant to\neverybody as to him. Suppose everybody did as he does. Imagine, for\ninstance, a chorus of grumble from ten people at a breakfast-table, all\nsaying at once, or immediately after each other, \"This coffee is not fit\nto drink.\" \"Really, the attendance in this house is insufferably poor.\" I\nhave sometimes wished to try this homoeopathic treatment in a bad case of\ngrumble. It sounds as if it might work a cure.\n\nIf you lose your temper with the grumbler, and turn upon him suddenly,\nsaying, \"Oh, do not spoil all our pleasure. Do make the best of things:\nor, at least, keep quiet!\" then how aggrieved he is! how unjust he thinks\nyou are to \"make a personal matter of it\"! \"You do not, surely, suppose I\nthink you are responsible for it, do you?\" he says, with a lofty air of\nastonishment at your unreasonable sensitiveness. Of course, we do not\nsuppose he thinks we are to blame; we do not take him to be a fool as well\nas a grumbler. But he speaks to us, at us, before us, about the cause of\nhis discomfort, whatever it may be, precisely as he would if we were to\nblame; and that is one thing which makes his grumbling so insufferable.\nBut this he can never be made to see. And the worst of it is that\ngrumbling is contagious. If we live with him, we shall, sooner or later,\nin spite of our dislike of his ways, fall into them; even sinking so low,\nperhaps, before the end of a single summer, as to be heard complaining of\nbutter at boarding-house tables, which is the lowest deep of vulgarity of\ngrumbling. There is no help for this; I have seen it again and again. I\nhave caught it myself. One grumbler in a family is as pestilent a thing as\na diseased animal in a herd: if he be not shut up or killed, the herd is\nlost.\n\nBut the grumbler cannot be shut up or killed, since grumbling is not held\nto be a proof of insanity, nor a capital offence,--more's the pity.\n\nWhat, then, is to be done? Keep out of his way, at all costs, if he be\ngrown up. If it be a child, labor day and night, as you would with a\ntendency to paralysis, or distortion of limb, to prevent this blight on\nits life.\n\nIt sounds extreme to say that a child should never be allowed to express a\ndislike of any thing which cannot be helped; but I think it is true. I do\nnot mean that it should be positively forbidden or punished, but that it\nshould never pass unnoticed; his attention should be invariably called to\nits uselessness, and to the annoyance it gives to other people. Children\nbegin by being good-natured little grumblers at every thing which goes\nwrong, simply from the outspokenness of their natures. All they think they\nsay and act. The rudiments of good behavior have to be chiefly negative at\nthe outset, like Punch's advice to those about to marry,--\"Don't.\"\n\nThe race of grumblers would soon die out if all children were so trained\nthat never, between the ages of five and twelve, did they utter a needless\ncomplaint without being gently reminded that it was foolish and\ndisagreeable. How easy for a good-natured and watchful mother to do this!\nIt takes but a word.\n\n\"Oh, dear! I wish it had not rained to-day. It is too bad!\"\n\n\"You do not really mean what you say, my darling. It is of much more\nconsequence that the grass should grow than that you should go out to\nplay. And it is so silly to complain, when we cannot stop its raining.\"\n\n\"Mamma, I hate this pie.\"\n\n\"Oh! hush, dear! Don't say so, if you do. You can leave it. You need not\neat it. But think how disagreeable it sounds to hear you say such a\nthing.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I am too cold.\"\n\n\"Yes, dear, I know you are. So is mamma. But we shall not feel any warmer\nfor saying so. We must wait till the fire burns better; and the time will\nseem twice as long if we grumble.\"\n\n\"Oh, mamma! mamma! My steam-engine is all spoiled. It won't run. I hate\nthings that wind up!\"\n\n\"But, my dear little boy, don't grumble so! What would you think if mamma\nwere to say, 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! My little boy's stockings are full of\nholes. How I hate to mend stockings!' and, 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! My little\nboy has upset my work-box! I hate little boys'?\"\n\nHow they look steadily into your eyes for a minute,--the honest,\nreasonable little souls!--when you say such things to them; and then run\noff with a laugh, lifted up, for that time, by your fitly spoken words of\nhelp.\n\nOh! if the world could only stop long enough for one generation of\nmothers to be made all right, what a millennium could be begun in thirty\nyears!\n\n\"But, mamma, you are grumbling yourself at me because I grumbled!\" says a\nquick-witted darling not ten years old. Ah! never shall any weak spot in\nour armor escape the keen eyes of these little ones.\n\n\"Yes, dear! And I shall grumble at you till I cure you of grumbling.\nGrumblers are the only thing in this world that it is right to grumble\nat.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"Boys Not Allowed.\"\n\n\n\nIt was a conspicuous signboard, at least four feet long, with large black\nletters on a white ground: \"Boys not allowed.\" I looked at it for some\nmoments in a sort of bewildered surprise: I did not quite comprehend the\nmeaning of the words. At last I understood it. I was waiting in a large\nrailway station, where many trains connect; and most of the passengers\nfrom the train in which I was were eating dinner in a hotel near by. I was\nentirely alone in the car, with the exception of one boy, who was perhaps\neleven years old. I made an involuntary ejaculation as I read the words on\nthe sign, and the boy looked around at me.\n\n\"Little boy,\" said I, solemnly, \"do you see that sign?\"\n\nHe turned his head, and, reading the ominous warning, nodded sullenly, but\nsaid nothing.\n\n\"Boy, what does it mean?\" said I. \"Boys must be allowed to come into this\nrailway station. There are two now standing in the doorway directly under\nthe sign.\"\n\nThe latent sympathy in my tone touched his heart. He left his seat, and,\ncoming to mine, edged in past me; and, putting his head out of the window,\nread the sentence aloud in a contemptuous tone. Then he offered me a\npeanut, which I took; and he proceeded to tell me what he thought of the\nsign.\n\n\"Boys not allowed!\" said he. \"That's just the way 'tis everywhere; but I\nnever saw the sign up before. It don't make any difference, though,\nwhether they put the sign up or not. Why, in New York (you live in New\nYork, don't you?) they won't even stop the horse-cars for a boy to get on.\nNobody thinks any thing'll hurt a boy; but they're glad enough to 'allow'\nus when there's any errands to be done, and\"--\n\n\"Do you live in New York?\" interrupted I; for I did not wish to hear the\npoor little fellow's list of miseries, which I knew by heart beforehand\nwithout his telling me, having been hopeless knight-errant of oppressed\nboyhood all my life.\n\nYes, he \"lived in New York,\" and he \"went to a grammar school,\" and he had\n\"two sisters.\" And so we talked on in that sweet, ready, trustful talk\nwhich comes naturally only from children's lips, until the \"twenty minutes\nfor refreshments\" were over, and the choked and crammed passengers, who\nhad eaten big dinners in that breath of time, came hurrying back to their\nseats. Among them came the father and mother of my little friend. In angry\nsurprise at not finding him in the seat where they left him, they\nexclaimed,--\n\n\"Now, where _is_ that boy? Just like him! We might have lost every one of\nthese bags.\"\n\n\"Here I am, mamma,\" he called out, pleasantly. \"I could see the bags all\nthe time. Nobody came into the car.\"\n\n\"I told you not to leave the seat, sir. What do you mean by such conduct?\"\nsaid the father.\n\n\"Oh, no, papa,\" said poor Boy, \"you only told me to take care of the\nbags.\" And an anxious look of terror came into his face, which told only\ntoo well under how severe a _regime_ he lived. I interposed hastily with--\n\n\"I am afraid I am the cause of your little son's leaving his seat. He had\nsat very still till I spoke to him; and I believe I ought to take all the\nblame.\"\n\nThe parents were evidently uncultured, shallow people. Their irritation\nwith him was merely a surface vexation, which had no real foundation in a\ndeep principle. They became complaisant and smiling at my first word, and\nBoy escaped with a look of great relief to another seat, where they gave\nhim a simple luncheon of saleratus gingerbread. \"Boys not allowed\" to go\nin to dinner at the Massasoit, thought I to myself; and upon that text I\nsat sadly meditating all the way from Springfield to Boston.\n\nHow true it was, as the little fellow had said, that \"it don't make any\ndifference whether they put the sign up or not!\" No one can watch\ncarefully any average household where there are boys, and not see that\nthere are a thousand little ways in which the boys' comfort, freedom,\npreference will be disregarded, when the girls' will be considered. This\nis partly intentional, partly unconscious. Something is to be said\nundoubtedly on the advantage of making the boy realize early and keenly\nthat manhood is to bear and to work, and womanhood is to be helped and\nsheltered. But this should be inculcated, not inflicted; asked, not\nseized; shown and explained, not commanded. Nothing can be surer than the\ngrowth in a boy of tender, chivalrous regard for his sisters and for all\nwomen, if the seeds of it be rightly sown and gently nurtured. But the\ncommon method is quite other than this. It begins too harshly and at once\nwith assertion or assumption.\n\n\"Mother never thinks I am of any consequence,\" said a dear boy to me, the\nother day. \"She's all for the girls.\"\n\nThis was not true; but there was truth in it. And I am very sure that the\nselfishness, the lack of real courtesy, which we see so plainly and\npitiably in the behavior of the average young man to-day is the slow,\ncertain result of years of just such feelings as this child expressed. The\nboy has to scramble for his rights. Naturally he is too busy to think much\nabout the rights of others. The man keeps up the habit, and is negatively\nselfish without knowing it.\n\nTake, for instance, the one point of the minor courtesies (if we can dare\nto call any courtesies minor) of daily intercourse. How many people are\nthere who habitually speak to a boy of ten, twelve, or fourteen with the\nsame civility as to his sister, a little younger or older?\n\n\"I like Miss----,\" said this same dear boy to me, one day; \"for she\nalways bids me good-morning.\"\n\nAh! never is one such word thrown away on a loving, open-hearted boy. Men\nknow that safe through all the wear and tear of life they keep far greener\nthe memory of some woman or some man who was kind to them in their boyhood\nthan of the friend who helped or cheered them yesterday.\n\nDear, blessed, noisy, rollicking, tormenting, comforting Boy! What should\nwe do without him? How much we like, without suspecting it, his breezy\npresence in the house! Except for him, how would errands be done, chairs\nbrought, nails driven, cows stoned out of our way, letters carried, twine\nand knives kept ready, lost things found, luncheon carried to picnics,\nthree-year-olds that cry led out of meeting, butterflies and birds' nests\nand birch-bark got, the horse taken round to the stable, borrowed things\nsent home,--and all with no charge for time?\n\nDear, patient, busy Boy! Shall we not sometimes answer his questions? Give\nhim a comfortable seat? Wait and not reprove him till after the company\nhas gone? Let him wear his best jacket, and buy him half as many neckties\nas his sister has? Give him some honey, even if there is not enough to go\nround? Listen tolerantly to his little bragging, and help him \"do\" his\nsums?\n\nWith a sudden shrill scream the engine slipped off on a side-track, and\nthe cars glided into the great, grim city-station, looking all the grimmer\nfor its twinkling lights. The masses of people who were waiting and the\nmasses of people who had come surged toward each other like two great\nwaves, and mingled in a moment. I caught sight of my poor little friend,\nBoy, following his father, struggling along in the crowd, carrying two\nheavy carpet-bags, a strapped bundle, and two umbrellas, and being sharply\ntold to \"Keep up close there.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" said I, savagely, to myself, \"doing porters' work is not one of the\nthings which 'boys' are 'not allowed.'\"\n\n\n\n\nHalf an Hour in a Railway Station.\n\n\n\nIt was one of those bleak and rainy days which mark the coming of spring\non New England sea-shores. The rain felt and looked as if it might at any\nminute become hail or snow; the air pricked like needles when it blew\nagainst flesh. Yet the huge railway station was as full of people as ever.\nOne could see no difference between this dreariest of days and the\nsunniest, so far as the crowd was concerned, except that fewer of the\npeople wore fine clothes; perhaps, also, that their faces looked a little\nmore sombre and weary than usual.\n\nThere is no place in the world where human nature shows to such sad\ndisadvantage as in waiting-rooms at railway stations, especially in the\n\"Ladies' Room.\" In the \"Gentlemen's Room\" there is less of that ghastly,\napathetic silence which seems only explainable as an interval between two\nterrible catastrophes. Shall we go so far as to confess that even the\nunsightly spittoons, and the uncleanly and loquacious fellowship resulting\nfrom their common use, seem here, for the moment, redeemed from a little\nof their abominableness,--simply because almost any action is better than\nutter inaction, and any thing which makes the joyless, taciturn American\nspeak to his fellow whom he does not know, is for the time being a\nblessing. But in the \"Ladies' Room\" there is not even a community of\ninterest in a single bad habit, to break the monotone of weary stillness.\nWho has not felt the very soul writhe within her as she has first crossed\nthe threshold of one of these dismal antechambers of journey? Carpetless,\ndingy, dusty; two or three low sarcophagi of greenish-gray iron in open\nspaces, surrounded by blue-lipped women, in different angles and attitudes\nof awkwardness, trying to keep the soles of their feet in a perpendicular\nposition, to be warmed at what they have been led to believe is a\nsteam-heating apparatus; a few more women, equally listless and\nweary-looking, standing in equally difficult and awkward positions before\na counter, holding pie in one hand, and tea in a cup and saucer in the\nother, taking alternate mouthfuls of each, and spilling both; the rest\nwedged bolt upright against the wall in narrow partitioned seats, which\nonly need a length of perforated foot-board in front to make them fit to\nbe patented as the best method of putting whole communities of citizens\ninto the stocks at once. All, feet warmers, pie-eaters, and those who sit\nin the red-velvet stocks, wear so exactly the same expression of vacuity\nand fatigue that they might almost be taken for one gigantic and unhappy\nfamily connection, on its way to what is called in newspapers \"a sad\nevent.\" The only wonder is that this stiffened, desiccated crowd retains\nvitality enough to remember the hours at which its several trains depart,\nand to rise up and shake itself alive and go on board. One is haunted\nsometimes by the fancy that some day, when the air in the room is\nunusually bad and the trains are delayed, a curious phenomenon will be\nseen. The petrifaction will be carried a little farther than usual, and,\nwhen the bell rings and the official calls out, \"Train made up for Babel,\nHinnom, and way stations?\" no women will come forth from the \"Ladies'\nRoom,\" no eye will move, no muscle will stir. Husbands and brothers will\nwait and search vainly for those who should have met them at the station,\nwith bundles of the day's shopping to be carried out; homes will be\ndesolate; and the history of rare fossils and petrifactions will have a\nnovel addition. Or, again, that, if some sudden convulsion of Nature, like\nthose which before now have buried wicked cities and the dwellers in them,\nwere to-day to swallow up the great city of New Sodom in America, and keep\nit under ground for a few thousand years, nothing in all its circuit would\nso puzzle the learned archaeologists of A.D. 5873 as the position of the\nskeletons in these same waiting-rooms of railway stations.\n\nThinking such thoughts as these, sinking slowly and surely to the level of\nthe place, I waited, on this bleak, rainy day, in just such a \"Ladies'\nRoom\" as I have described. I sat in the red-velvet stocks, with my eyes\nfixed on the floor.\n\n\"Please, ma'am, won't you buy a basket?\" said a cheery little voice. So\nnear me, without my knowing it, had the little tradesman come that I was\nas startled as if the voice had spoken out of the air just above my head.\n\nHe was a sturdy little fellow, ten years old, Irish, dirty, ragged; but he\nhad honest, kind gray eyes, and a smile which ought to have sold more\nbaskets than he could carry. A few kind words unsealed the fountain of his\nchildish confidences. There were four children younger than he; the mother\ntook in washing, and the father, who was a <DW36> from rheumatism, made\nthese baskets, which he carried about to sell.\n\n\"Where do you sell the most?\"\n\n\"Round the depots. That's the best place.\"\n\n\"But the baskets are rather clumsy to carry. Almost everybody has his\nhands full, when he sets out on a journey.\"\n\n\"Yis'm; but mostly they doesn't take the baskets. But they gives me a\nlittle change,\" said he, with a smile; half roguish, half sad.\n\nI watched him on in his pathetic pilgrimage round that dreary room,\nseeking help from that dreary circle of women.\n\nMy heart aches to write down here the true record that out of those scores\nof women only three even smiled or spoke to the little fellow. Only one\ngave him money. My own sympathies had been so won by his face and manner\nthat I found myself growing hot with resentment as I watched woman after\nwoman wave him off with indifferent or impatient gesture. His face was a\nface which no mother ought to have been able to see without a thrill of\npity and affection. God forgive me! As if any mother ought to be able to\nsee any child, ragged, dirty, poor, seeking help and finding none! But his\nface was so honest, and brave, and responsive that it added much to the\nappeal of his poverty.\n\nOne woman, young and pretty, came into the room, bringing in her arms a\nlarge toy horse, and a little violin. \"Oh,\" I said to myself, \"she has a\nboy of her own, for whom she can buy gifts freely. She will surely give\nthis poor child a penny.\" He thought so, too; for he went toward her with\na more confident manner than he had shown to some of the others. No! She\nbrushed by him impatiently, without a word, and walked to the\nticket-office. He stood looking at the violin and the toy horse till she\ncame back to her seat. Then he lifted his eyes to her face again; but she\napparently did not see him, and he went away. Ah, she is only half mother\nwho does not see her own child in every child!--her own child's grief in\nevery pain which makes another child weep!\n\nPresently the little basket-boy went out into the great hall. I watched\nhim threading his way in and out among the groups of men. I saw one\nman--bless him!--pat the little fellow on the head; then I lost sight of\nhim.\n\nAfter ten minutes he came back into the Ladies' Room, with only one basket\nin his hand, and a very happy little face. The \"sterner sex\" had been\nkinder to him than we. The smile which he gave me in answer to my glad\nrecognition of his good luck was the sunniest sunbeam I have seen on a\nhuman face for many a day. He sank down into the red-velvet stocks, and\ntwirled his remaining basket, and swung his shabby little feet, as idle\nand unconcerned as if he were some rich man's son, waiting for the train\nto take him home. So much does a little lift help the heart of a child,\neven of a beggar child. It is a comfort to remember him, with that look on\nhis face, instead of the wistful, pleading one which I saw at first. I\nleft him lying back on the dusty velvet, which no doubt seemed to him\nunquestionable splendor. In the cars I sat just behind the woman with the\ntoy-horse and the violin. I saw her glance rest lovingly on them many\ntimes, as she thought of her boy at home; and I wondered if the little\nbasket-seller had really produced no impression whatever on her heart. I\nshall remember him long after (if he lives) he is a man!\n\n\n\n\nA Genius For Affection.\n\n\nThe other day, speaking superficially and uncharitably, I said of a woman,\nwhom I knew but slightly, \"She disappoints me utterly. How could her\nhusband have married her? She is commonplace and stupid.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said my friend, reflectively; \"it is strange. She is not a\nbrilliant woman; she is not even an intellectual one; but there is such a\nthing as a genius for affection, and she has it. It has been good for her\nhusband that he married her.\"\n\nThe words sank into my heart like a great spiritual plummet They dropped\ndown to depths not often stirred. And from those depths came up some\nshining sands of truth, worth keeping among treasures; having a\nphosphorescent light in them, which can shine in dark places, and, making\nthem light as day, reveal their beauty.\n\n\"A genius for affection.\" Yes; there is such a thing, and no other genius\nis so great. The phrase means something more than a capacity, or even a\ntalent for loving. That is common to all human beings, more or less. A man\nor woman without it would be a monster, such as has probably never been on\nthe earth. All men and women, whatever be their shortcomings in other\ndirections, have this impulse, this faculty, in a degree. It takes shape\nin family ties: makes clumsy and unfortunate work of them in perhaps two\ncases out of three,--wives tormenting husbands, husbands neglecting and\nhumiliating wives, parents maltreating and ruining children, children\ndisobeying and grieving parents, and brothers and sisters quarrelling to\nthe point of proverbial mention; but under all this, in spite of all this,\nthe love is there. A great trouble or a sudden emergency will bring it\nout. In any common danger, hands clasp closely and quarrels are forgotten;\nover a sick-bed hard ways soften into yearning tenderness; and by a grave,\nalas! what hot tears fall! The poor, imperfect love which had let itself\nbe wearied and harassed by the frictions of life, or hindered and warped\nby a body full of diseased nerves, comes running, too late, with its\neffort to make up lost opportunities. It has been all the while alive, but\nin a sort of trance; little good has come of it, but it is something that\nit was there. It is the divine germ of a flower and fruit too precious to\nmature in the first years after grafting; in other soils, by other waters,\nwhen the healing of the nations is fulfilled, we shall see its perfection.\nOh! what atonement will be there! What allowances we shall make for each\nother, then! with what love we shall love!\n\nBut the souls who have what my friend meant by a \"genius for affection\"\nare in another atmosphere than that which common men breathe. Their \"upper\nair\" is clearer, more rarefied than any to which mere intellectual genius\ncan soar. Because, to this last, always remain higher heights which it\ncannot grasp, see, nor comprehend.\n\nMichel Angelo may build his dome of marble, and human intellect may see as\nclearly as if God had said it that no other dome can ever be built so\ngrand, so beautiful. But above St. Peter's hangs the blue tent-dome of the\nsky, vaster, rounder, elastic, unfathomable, making St. Peter's look small\nas a drinking-cup, shutting it soon out of sight to north, east, south,\nand west, by the mysterious horizon-fold which no man can lift. And beyond\nthis horizon-fold of our sky shut down again other domes, which the wisest\nastronomer may not measure, in whose distances our little ball and we,\nwith all our spinning, can hardly show like a star. If St. Peter's were\nswallowed up to-morrow, it would make no real odds to anybody but the\nPope. The probabilities are that Michel Angelo himself has forgotten all\nabout it.\n\nTitian and Raphael, and all the great brotherhood of painters, may kneel\nreverently as priests before Nature's face, and paint pictures at sight of\nwhich all men's eyes shall fill with grateful tears; and yet all men shall\ngo away, and find that the green shade of a tree, the light on a young\ngirl's face, the sleep of a child, the flowering of a flower, are to their\npictures as living life to beautiful death.\n\nComing to Art's two highest spheres,--music of sound and music of\nspeech,--we find that Beethoven and Mozart, and Milton and Shakespeare,\nhave written. But the symphony is sacred only because, and only so far as,\nit renders the joy or the sorrow which we have felt. Surely, the\ninterpretation is less than the thing interpreted. Face to face with a\njoy, a sorrow, would a symphony avail us? And, as for words, who shall\nexpress their feebleness in midst of strength? The fettered helplessness\nin spite of which they soar to such heights? The most perfect sentence\never written bears to the thing it meant to say the relation which the\nchemist's formula does to the thing he handles, names, analyzes, can\ndestroy, perhaps, but cannot make. Every element in the crystal, the\nliquid, can be weighed, assigned, and rightly called; nothing in all\nscience is more wonderful than an exact chemical formula; but, after all\nis done, will remain for ever unknown the one subtle secret, the vital\ncentre of the whole.\n\nBut the souls who have a \"genius for affection\" have no outer dome, no\nhigher and more vital beauty; no subtle secret of creative motive force to\nelude their grasp, mock their endeavor, overshadow their lives. The\nsubtlest essence of the thing they worship and desire, they have in their\nown nature,--they are. No schools, no standards, no laws can help or\nhinder them.\n\nTo them the world is as if it were not. Work and pain and loss are as if\nthey were not. These are they to whom it is easy to die any death, if good\ncan come that way to one they love. These are they who do die daily\nunnoted on our right hand and on our left,--fathers and mothers for\nchildren, husbands and wives for each other. These are they, also, who\nlive,--which is often far harder than it is to die,--long lives, into\nwhose being never enters one thought of self from the rising to the going\ndown of the sun. Year builds on year with unvarying steadfastness the\ndivine temple of their beauty and their sacrifice. They create, like God.\nThe universe which science sees, studies, and explains, is small, is\npetty, beside the one which grows under their spiritual touch; for love\nbegets love. The waves of eternity itself ripple out in immortal circles\nunder the ceaseless dropping of their crystal deeds.\n\nAngels desire to look, but cannot, into the mystery of holiness and beauty\nwhich such human lives reveal. Only God can see them clearly. God is their\nnearest of kin; for He is love.\n\n\n\n\nRainy Days.\n\n\nWith what subtle and assured tyranny they take possession of the world!\nStoutest hearts are made subject, plans of conquerors set aside,--the\nheavens and the earth and man,--all alike at the mercy of the rain. Come\nwhen they may, wait long as they will, give what warnings they can, rainy\ndays are always interruptions. No human being has planned for them then\nand there. \"If it had been but yesterday,\" \"If it were only to-morrow,\" is\nthe cry from all lips. Ah! a lucky tyranny for us is theirs. Were the\nclouds subject to mortal call or prohibition, the seasons would fail and\ndeath get upper hand of all things before men agreed on an hour of common\nconvenience.\n\nWhat tests they are of people's souls! Show me a dozen men and women in\nthe early morning of a rainy day, and I will tell by their words and their\nfaces who among them is rich and who is poor,--who has much goods laid up\nfor just such times of want, and who has been spend-thrift and foolish.\nThat curious, shrewd, underlying instinct, common to all ages, which takes\nshape in proverbs recognized this long ago. Who knows when it was first\nsaid of a man laying up money, \"He lays by for a rainy day\"? How close\nthe parallel is between the man who, having spent on each day's living the\nwhole of each day's income, finds himself helpless in an emergency of\nsickness whose expenses he has no money to meet, and the man who, having\nno intellectual resources, no self-reliant habit of occupation, finds\nhimself shut up in the house idle and wretched for a rainy day. I confess\nthat on rainy mornings in country houses, among well-dressed and so-called\nintelligent and Christian people, I have been seized with stronger\ndisgusts and despairs about the capacity and worth of the average human\ncreature, than I have ever felt in the worst haunts of ignorant\nwickedness.\n\n\"What is there to do to-day?\" is the question they ask. I know they are\nabout to ask it before they speak. I have seen it in their listless and\ndisconcerted eyes at breakfast. It is worse to me than the tolling of a\nbell; for saddest dead of all are they who have only a \"name to live.\"\n\nThe truth is, there is more to do on a rainy day than on any other. In\naddition to all the sweet, needful, possible business of living and\nworking, and learning and helping, which is for all days, there is the\nbeauty of the rainy day to see, the music of the rainy day to hear. It\ndrums on the window-panes, chuckles and gurgles at corners of houses,\ntinkles in spouts, makes mysterious crescendoes and arpeggio chords\nthrough the air; and all the while drops from the eaves and upper\nwindow-ledges are beating time as rhythmical and measured as that of a\nmetronome,--time to which our own souls furnish tune, sweet or sorrowful,\ninspiriting or saddening, as we will. It is a curious experiment to try\nrepeating or chanting lines in time and cadence following the patter of\nraindrops on windows. It will sometimes be startling in its effect: no\nmetre, no accent fails of its response in the low, liquid stroke of the\ntender drops,--there seems an uncanny _rapport_ between them at once.\n\nAnd the beauty of the rain, not even love can find words to tell it. If it\nleft but one trace, the exquisite shifting sheen of pearls on the outer\nside of the window glass, that alone one might watch for a day. In all\ntimes it has been thought worthy of kings, of them who are royally rich,\nto have garments sown thick in dainty lines and shapes with fine seed\npearls. Who ever saw any such embroidery which could compare with the\nbeauty of one pane of glass wrought on a single side with the shining\nwhite transparent globulets of rain? They are millions; they crowd; they\nblend; they become a silver stream; they glide slowly down, leaving\ntiniest silver threads behind; they make of themselves a silver bank of\nminiature sea at the bottom of the pane; and, while they do this, other\nmillions are set pearl-wise at the top, to crowd, blend, glide down in\ntheir turn, and overflow the miniature sea. This is one pane, a few inches\nsquare; and rooms have many windows of many panes. And looking past this\nspectacle, out of our windows, how is it that we do not each rainy day\nweep with pleasure at sight of the glistening show? Every green thing,\nfrom tiniest grass-blade lying lowest, to highest waving tips of elms,\nalso set thick with the water-pearls; all tossing and catching, and\ntossing and catching, in fairy game with the wind, and with the rain\nitself, always losing, always gaining, changing shape and place and number\nevery moment, till the twinkling and shifting dazzle all eyes.\n\nThen at the end comes the sun, like a magician for whom all had been made\nready; at sunset, perhaps, or at sunrise, if the storm has lasted all\nnight. In one instant the silver balls begin to disappear. By countless\nthousands at a time he tosses them back whence they came; but as they go,\nhe changes them, under our eyes, into prismatic globes, holding very light\nof very light in their tiny circles, shredding and sorting it into blazing\nlines of rainbow color.\n\nAll the little children shout with delight, seeing these things; and call\ndull, grown-up people to behold. They reply, \"Yes, the storm is over;\" and\nthis is all it means to most of them. This kingdom of heaven they cannot\nenter, not being \"as a little child.\"\n\nIt would be worth while to know, if we only could, just what our\nbetters--the birds and insects and beasts--do on rainy days. But we cannot\nfind out much. It would be a great thing to look inside of an ant-hill in\na long rain. All we know is that the doors are shut tight, and a few\nsentinels, who look as if India-rubber coats would be welcome, stand\noutside. The stillness and look of intermission in the woods on a really\nrainy day is something worth getting wet to observe. It is like Sunday in\nLondon, or Fourth of July in a country town which has gone bodily to a\npicnic in the next village. The strays who are out seem like accidentally\narrived people, who have lost their way. One cannot fancy a caterpillar's\nbeing otherwise than very uncomfortable in wet hair; and what can there be\nfor butterflies and dragon-flies to do, in the close corners into which\nthey creep, with wings shut up as tight as an umbrella? The beasts fare\nbetter, being clothed in hides. Those whom we oftenest see out in rains\n(cows and oxen and horses) keep straight on with their perpetual munching,\nas content wet as dry, though occasionally we see them accept the partial\nshelter of a tree from a particularly hard shower.\n\nHens are the forlornest of all created animals when it rains. Who can help\nlaughing at sight of a flock of them huddled up under lee of a barn, limp,\ndraggled, spiritless, shifting from one leg to the other, with their silly\nheads hanging inert to right or left, looking as if they would die for\nwant of a yawn? One sees just such groups of other two-legged creatures in\nparlors, under similar circumstances. The truth is, a hen's life at best\nseems poorer than that of any other known animal. Except when she is\nsetting, I cannot help having a contempt for her. This also has been\nrecognized by that common instinct of people which goes to the making of\nproverbs; for \"Hen's time ain't worth much\" is a common saying among\nfarmers' wives. How she dawdles about all day, with her eyes not an inch\nfrom the ground, forever scratching and feeding in dirtiest places,--a\nsort of animated muck-rake, with a mouth and an alimentary canal! No\nwonder such an inane creature is wretched when it rains, and her soulless\nbusiness is interrupted. She is, I think, likest of all to the human\nbeings, men or women, who do not know what to do with themselves on rainy\ndays.\n\n\n\n\nFriends of the Prisoners.\n\n\n\nIn many of the Paris prisons is to be seen a long, dreary room, through\nthe middle of which are built two high walls of iron grating, enclosing a\nspace of some three feet in width.\n\nA stranger visiting the prison for the first time would find it hard to\ndivine for what purpose these walls of grating had been built. But on the\nappointed days when the friends of the prisoners are allowed to enter the\nprison, their use is sadly evident. It would not be safe to permit wives\nand husbands, and mothers and sons, to clasp hands in unrestrained\nfreedom. A tiny file, a skein of silk, can open prison-doors and set\ncaptives free; love's ingenuity will circumvent tyranny and fetters, in\nspite of all possible precautions. Therefore the vigilant authority says,\n\"You may see, but not touch; there shall be no possible opportunity for an\ninstrument of escape to be given; at more than arm's length the wife, the\nmother must be held.\" The prisoners are led in and seated on a bench upon\none side of these gratings; the friends are led in and seated on a similar\nbench on the other side; jailers are in attendance in both rooms; no words\ncan be spoken which the jailers do not hear. Yearningly eyes meet eyes;\nfaces are pressed against the hard wires; loving words are exchanged; the\npoor prisoned souls ask eagerly for news from the outer world,--the world\nfrom which they are as much hidden as if they were dead. Fathers hear how\nthe little ones have grown; sometimes, alas! how the little ones have\ndied. Small gifts of fruit or clothing are brought; but must be given\nfirst into the hands of the jailers. Even flowers cannot be given from\nloving hand to hand; for in the tiniest flower might be hidden the secret\npoison which would give to the weary prisoner surest escape of all. All\nday comes and goes the sad train of friends; lingering and turning back\nafter there is no more to be said; weeping when they meant and tried to\nsmile; more hungry for closer sight and voice, and for touch, with every\nmoment that they gaze through the bars; and going away, at last, with a\nnew sense of loss and separation, which time, with its merciful healing,\nwill hardly soften before the visiting-day will come again, and the same\nheart-rending experience of mingled torture and joy will again be borne.\nBut to the prisoners these glimpses of friends' faces are like manna from\nheaven. Their whole life, physical and mental, receives a new impetus from\nthem. Their blood flows more quickly, their eyes light up, they live from\none day to the next on a memory and a hope. No punishment can be invented\nso terrible as the deprivation of the sight of their friends on the\nvisiting-day. Men who are obstinate and immovable before any sort or\namount of physical torture are subdued by mere threat of this.\n\nA friend who told me of a visit he paid to the Prison Mazas, on one of the\ndays, said, with tears in his eyes, \"It was almost more than I could bear\nto see these poor souls reaching out toward each other from either side of\nthe iron railings. Here a poor, old woman, tottering and weak, bringing a\nlittle fruit in a basket for her son; here a wife, holding up a baby to\nlook through the gratings at its father, and the father trying in an agony\nof earnestness to be sure that the baby knew him; here a little girl,\nlooking half reproachfully at her brother, terror struggling with\ntenderness in her young face; on the side of the friends, love and\nyearning and pity beyond all words to describe; on the side of the\nprisoners, love and yearning just as great, but with a misery of shame\nadded, which gave to many faces a look of attempt at dogged indifference\non the surface, constantly betrayed and contradicted, however, by the\nflashing of the eyes and the red of the cheeks.\"\n\nThe story so impressed me that I could not for days lose sight of the\npicture it raised; the double walls of iron grating; the cruel,\ninexorable, empty space between them,--empty, yet crowded with words and\nlooks; the lines of anxious, yearning faces on either side. But presently\nI said to myself, It is, after all, not so unlike the life we all live.\nWho of us is not in prison? Who of us is not living out his time of\npunishment? Law holds us all in its merciless fulfilment of penalty for\nsin; disease, danger, work separate us, wall us, bury us. That we are not\nnumbered with the number of a cell, clothed in the uniform of a prison,\nlocked up at night, and counted in the morning, is only an apparent\ndifference, and not so real a one. Our jailers do not know us; but we know\nthem. There is no fixed day gleaming for us in the future when our term of\nsentence will expire and we shall regain freedom. It may be to-morrow; but\nit may be threescore years away. Meantime, we bear ourselves as if we were\nnot in prison. We profess that we choose, we keep our fetters out of\nsight, we smile, we sing, we contrive to be glad of being alive, and we\ntake great interest in the changing of our jails. But no man knows where\nhis neighbor's prison lies. How bravely and cheerily most eyes look up!\nThis is one of the sweetest mercies of life, that \"the heart knoweth its\nown bitterness,\" and, knowing it, can hide it. Hence, we can all be\nfriends for other prisoners, standing separated from them by the\nimpassable iron gratings and the fixed gulf of space, which are not\ninappropriate emblems of the unseen barriers between all human souls. We\ncan show kindly faces, speak kindly words, bear to them fruits and food,\nand moral help, greater than fruit or food. We need not aim at\nphilanthropies; we need not have a visiting-day, nor seek a prison-house\nbuilt of stone. On every road each man we meet is a prisoner; he is dying\nat heart, however sound he looks; he is only waiting, however well he\nworks. If we stop to ask whether he be our brother, he is gone. Our one\nsmile would have lit up his prison-day. Alas for us if we smiled not as we\npassed by! Alas for us if, face to face, at last, with our Elder Brother,\nwe find ourselves saying, \"Lord, when saw we thee sick and in prison!\"\n\n\n\n\nA Companion for the Winter.\n\n\n\nI have engaged a companion for the winter. It would be simply a\nsuperfluous egotism to say this to the public, except that I have a\nphilanthropic motive for doing so. There are many lonely people who are in\nneed of a companion possessing just such qualities as his; and he has\nbrothers singularly like himself, whose services can be secured. I despair\nof doing justice to him by any description. In fact, thus far, I discover\nnew perfections in him daily, and believe that I am yet only on the\nthreshold of our friendship.\n\nIn conversation he is more suggestive than any person I have ever known.\nAfter two or three hours alone with him, I am sometimes almost startled to\nlook back and see through what a marvellous train of fancy and reflection\nhe has led me. Yet he is never wordy, and often conveys his subtlest\nmeaning by a look.\n\nHe is an artist, too, of the rarest sort. You watch the process under\nwhich his pictures grow with incredulous wonder. The Eastern magic which\ndrops the seed in the mould, and bids it shoot up before your eyes,\nblossom, and bear its fruit in an hour, is tardy and clumsy by side of the\ncreative genius of my companion. His touch is swift as air; his coloring\nis vivid as light; he has learned, I know not how, the secrets of hidden\nplaces in all lands; and he paints, now a tufted clump of soft cocoa\npalms; now the spires and walls of an iceberg, glittering in yellow\nsunlight; now a desolate, sandy waste, where black rocks and a few\ncrumbling ruins are lit up by a lurid glow; then a cathedral front, with\ncarvings like lace; then the skeleton of a wrecked ship, with bare ribs\nand broken masts,--and all so exact, so minute, so life-like, that you\nbelieve no man could paint thus any thing which he had not seen.\n\nHe has a special love for mosaics, and a marvellous faculty for making\ndrawings of curious old patterns. Nothing is too complicated for his\nmemory, and he revels in the most fantastic and intricate shapes. I have\nknown him in a single evening throw off a score of designs, all beautiful,\nand many of them rare: fiery scorpions on a black ground; pale lavender\nfilagrees over scarlet; white and black squares blocked out as for tiles\nof a pavement, and crimson and yellow threads interlaced over them; odd\nChinese patterns in brilliant colors, all angles and surprises, with no\nlikeness to any thing in nature; and exquisite little bits of landscape in\nsoft grays and whites. Last night was one of his nights of reminiscences\nof the mosaic-workers. A furious snow-storm was raging, and, as the flaky\ncrystals piled up in drifts on the window-ledges, he seemed to catch the\ninspiration of their law of structure, and drew sheet after sheet of\ncrystalline shapes; some so delicate and filmy that it seemed as if a jar\nmight obliterate them; some massive and strong, like those in which the\nearth keeps her mineral treasures; then, at last, on a round charcoal\ndisk, he traced out a perfect rose, in a fragrant white powder, which\npiled up under his fingers, petal after petal, circle after circle, till\nthe feathery stamens were buried out of sight. Then, as we held our breath\nfor fear of disturbing it, with a good-natured little chuckle, he shook it\noff into the fire, and by a few quick strokes of red turned the black\ncharcoal disk into a shield gay enough for a tournament.\n\nHe has talent for modelling, but this he exercises more rarely. Usually,\nhis figures are grotesque rather than beautiful, and he never allows them\nto remain longer than for a few moments, often changing them so rapidly\nunder your eye that it seems like jugglery. He is fondest of doing this at\ntwilight, and loves the darkest corner of the room. From the half-light he\nwill suddenly thrust out before you a grinning gargoyle head, to which he\nwill give in an instant more a pair of spider legs, and then, with one\nroll, stretch it out into a crocodile, whose jaws seem so near snapping\nthat you involuntarily draw your chair further back. Next, in a freak of\nventriloquism, he startles you still more by bringing from the crocodile's\nmouth a sigh, so long drawn, so human, that you really shudder, and are\nready to implore him to play no more tricks. He knows when he has reached\nthis limit, and soothes you at once by a tender, far-off whisper, like the\nwind through pines, sometimes almost like an Aeolian harp; then he rouses\nyou from your dreams by what you are sure is a tap at the door. You turn,\nspeak, listen; no one enters; the tap again. Ah! it is only a little more\nof the ventriloquism of this wonderful creature. You are alone with him,\nand there was no tap at the door.\n\nBut when there is, and the friend comes in, then my companion's genius\nshines out. Almost always in life the third person is a discord, or at\nleast a burden; but he is so genial, so diffusive, so sympathetic, that,\nlike some tints by which painters know how to bring out all the other\ncolors in a picture, he forces every one to do his best. I am indebted to\nhim already for a better knowledge of some men and women with whom I had\ntalked for years before to little purpose. It is most wonderful that he\nproduces this effect, because he himself is so silent; but there is some\nsecret charm in his very smile which puts people _en rapport_ with each\nother, and with him at once.\n\nI am almost afraid to go on with the list of the things my companion can\ndo. I have not yet told the half, nor the most wonderful; and I believe I\nhave already overtaxed credulity. I will mention only one more,--but that\nis to me far more inexplicable than all the rest. I am sure that it\nbelongs, with mesmerism and clairvoyance, to the domain of the higher\npsychological mysteries. He has in rare hours the power of producing the\nportraits of persons whom you have loved, but whom he has never seen. For\nthis it is necessary that you should concentrate your whole attention on\nhim, as is always needful to secure the best results of mesmeric power. It\nmust also be late and still. In the day, or in a storm, I have never\nknown him to succeed in this. For these portraits he uses only shadowy\ngray tints. He begins with a hesitating outline. If you are not tenderly\nand closely in attention, he throws it aside; he can do nothing. But if\nyou are with him, heart and soul, and do not take your eyes from his, he\nwill presently fill out the dear faces, full, life-like, and wearing a\nsmile, which makes you sure that they too must have been summoned from the\nother side, as you from this, to meet on the shadowy boundary between\nflesh and spirit. He must see them as clearly as he sees you; and it would\nbe little more for his magic to do if he were at the same moment showing\nto their longing eyes your face and answering smile.\n\nBut I delay too long the telling of his name. A strange hesitancy seizes\nme. I shall never be believed by any one who has not sat as I have by his\nside. But, if I can only give to one soul the good-cheer and strength of\nsuch a presence, I shall be rewarded.\n\nHis name is Maple Wood-fire, and his terms are from eight to twelve\ndollars a month, according to the amount of time he gives. This price is\nridiculously low, but it is all that any member of the family asks; in\nfact, in some parts of the country, they can be hired for much less. They\nhave connections by the name of Hickory, whose terms are higher; but I\ncannot find out that they are any more satisfactory. There are also some\ndistant relations, named Chestnut and Pine, who can be employed in the\nsame way, at a much lower rate; but they are all snappish and uncertain in\ntemper.\n\nTo the whole world I commend the good brotherhood of Maple, and pass on\nthe emphatic indorsement of a blessed old black woman who came to my room\nthe other day, and, standing before the rollicking blaze on my hearth,\nsaid, \"Bless yer, honey, yer's got a wood-fire. I'se allers said that, if\nyer's got a wood-fire, yer's got meat, an' drink, an' clo'es.\"\n\n\n\n\nChoice of Colors.\n\n\n\nThe other day, as I was walking on one of the oldest and most picturesque\nstreets of the old and picturesque town of Newport, R.I., I saw a little\ngirl standing before the window of a milliner's shop.\n\nIt was a very rainy day. The pavement of the side-walks on this street is\nso sunken and irregular that in wet weather, unless one walks with very\ngreat care, he steps continually into small wells of water. Up to her\nankles in one of these wells stood the little girl, apparently as\nunconscious as if she were high and dry before a fire. It was a very cold\nday too. I was hurrying along, wrapped in furs, and not quite warm enough\neven so. The child was but thinly clothed. She wore an old plaid shawl and\na ragged knit hood of scarlet worsted. One little red ear stood out\nunprotected by the hood, and drops of water trickled down over it from her\nhair. She seemed to be pointing with her finger at articles in the window,\nand talking to some one inside. I watched her for several moments, and\nthen crossed the street to see what it all meant. I stole noiselessly up\nbehind her, and she did not hear me. The window was full of artificial\nflowers, of the cheapest sort, but of very gay colors. Here and there a\nknot of ribbon or a bit of lace had been tastefully added, and the whole\neffect was really remarkably gay and pretty. Tap, tap, tap, went the small\nhand against the window-pane; and with every tap the unconscious little\ncreature murmured, in a half-whispering, half-singing voice, \"I choose\n_that_ color.\" \"I choose _that_ color.\" \"I choose _that_ color.\"\n\nI stood motionless. I could not see her face; but there was in her whole\nattitude and tone the heartiest content and delight. I moved a little to\nthe right, hoping to see her face, without her seeing me; but the slight\nmovement caught her ear, and in a second she had sprung aside and turned\ntoward me. The spell was broken. She was no longer the queen of an\nair-castle, decking herself in all the rainbow hues which pleased her eye.\nShe was a poor beggar child, out in the rain, and a little frightened at\nthe approach of a stranger. She did not move away, however; but stood\neying me irresolutely, with that pathetic mixture of interrogation and\ndefiance in her face which is so often seen in the prematurely developed\nfaces of poverty-stricken children.\n\n\"Aren't the colors pretty?\" I said. She brightened instantly.\n\n\"Yes'm. I'd like a goon av thit blue.\"\n\n\"But you will take cold standing in the wet,\" said I. \"Won't you come\nunder my umbrella?\"\n\nShe looked down at her wet dress suddenly, as if it had not occurred to\nher before that it was raining. Then she drew first one little foot and\nthen the other out of the muddy puddle in which she had been standing,\nand, moving a little closer to the window, said, \"I'm not jist goin' home,\nmem. I'd like to stop here a bit.\"\n\nSo I left her. But, after I had gone a few blocks, the impulse seized me\nto return by a cross street, and see if she were still there. Tears sprang\nto my eyes as I first caught sight of the upright little figure, standing\nin the same spot, still pointing with the rhythmic finger to the blues and\nreds and yellows, and half chanting under her breath, as before, \"I choose\n_that_ color.\" \"I choose _that_ color.\" \"I choose _that_ color.\"\n\nI went quietly on my way, without disturbing her again. But I said in my\nheart, \"Little Messenger, Interpreter, Teacher! I will remember you all my\nlife.\"\n\nWhy should days ever be dark, life ever be colorless? There is always sun;\nthere are always blue and scarlet and yellow and purple. We cannot reach\nthem, perhaps, but we can see them, if it is only \"through a glass,\" and\n\"darkly,\"--still we can see them. We can \"choose\" our colors. It rains,\nperhaps; and we are standing in the cold. Never mind. If we look earnestly\nenough at the brightness which is on the other side of the glass, we shall\nforget the wet and not feel the cold. And now and then a passer-by, who\nhas rolled himself up in furs to keep out the cold, but shivers\nnevertheless,--who has money in his purse to buy many colors, if he likes,\nbut, nevertheless, goes grumbling because some colors are too dear for\nhim,--such a passer-by, chancing to hear our voice, and see the\natmosphere of our content, may learn a wondrous secret,--that\npennilessness is not poverty, and ownership is not possession; that to be\nwithout is not always to lack, and to reach is not to attain; that\nsunlight is for all eyes that look up, and color for those who \"choose.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Apostle of Beauty.\n\n\n\nHe is not of the twelve, any more than the golden rule is of the ten. \"A\ngreater commandment I give unto you,\" was said of that. Also it was called\nthe \"new commandment.\" Yet it was really older than the rest, and greater\nonly because it included them all. There were those who kept it ages\nbefore Moses went up Sinai: Joseph, for instance, his ancestor; and the\nking's daughter, by whose goodness he lived. So stands the Apostle of\nBeauty, greater than the twelve, newer and older; setting Gospel over\nagainst law, having known law before its beginning; living triumphantly\nfree and unconscious of penalty.\n\nHe has had martyrdom, and will have. His church is never established; the\nworld does not follow him; only of Wisdom is he known, and of her\nchildren, who are children of light. He never speaks by their mouths who\nsay \"Shalt not.\" He knows that \"shalt not\" is illegitimate, puny, trying\nalways to usurp the throne of the true king, \"Thou shalt.\"\n\n\"This is delight,\" \"this is good to see,\" he says of a purity, of a fair\nthing. It needs not to speak of the impurity, of the ugliness. Left\nunmentioned, unforbidden, who knows how soon they might die out of men's\nlives, perhaps even from the earth's surface? Men hedging gardens have for\ncenturies set plants under that \"letter of law\" which \"killeth,\" until the\nvery word hedge has become a pain and an offence; and all the while there\nhave been standing in every wild country graceful walls of unhindered\nbrier and berry, to which the apostles of beauty have been silently\npointing. By degrees gardeners have learned something. The best of them\nnow call themselves \"landscape gardeners;\" and that is a concession, if it\nmeans, as I suppose it does, that they will try to copy Nature's\nlandscapes in their enclosures. I have seen also of late that on rich\nmen's estates tangled growths of native bushes are being more let alone,\nand hedges seem to have had some of the weights and harness taken off of\nthem.\n\nThis is but one little matter among millions with which the Apostle of\nBeauty has to do; but it serves for instance of the first requisite he\ndemands, which is freedom. \"Let use take care of itself.\" \"It will,\" he\nsays. \"There is no beauty without freedom.\"\n\nNothing is too high for him, nothing too low or small. To speak more\ntruly, in his eyes there is no small, no low. From a philanthropy down to\na gown, one catholic necessity, one catholic principle; gowns can be\nbenefactions or injuries; philanthropies can be well or ill clad.\n\nHe has a ministry of co-workers,--men, women, and guileless little\nchildren. Many of them serve him without knowing him by name. Some who\nserve him best, who spread his creeds most widely, who teach them most\neloquently, die without dreaming that they have been missionaries to\nGentiles. Others there are who call him \"Lord, Lord,\" build temples to him\nand teach in them, who never know him. These are they who give their goods\nto the poor, their bodies to be burned; but are each day ungracious,\nunloving, hard, cruel to men and women about them. These are they also who\nmake bad statues, bad pictures, invent frightful fashions of things to be\nworn, and make the houses and the rooms in which they live hideous with\nunsightly adornments. The centuries fight such,--now with a Titian, a\nMichel Angelo; now with a great philanthropist, who is also peaceable and\neasy to be entreated; now with a Florence Nightingale, knowing no sect;\nnow with a little child by a roadside, holding up a marigold in the sun;\nnow with a sweet-faced old woman, dying gracefully in some almshouse. Who\nhas not heard voice from such apostles?\n\nTo-day my nearest, most eloquent apostle of beauty is a poor shoemaker,\nwho lives in the house where I lodge. How poor he must be I dare not even\ntry to understand. He has six children: the oldest not more than thirteen,\nthe third a deaf-mute, the baby puny and ill,--sure, I think (and hope),\nto die soon.\n\nThey live in two rooms, on the ground-floor. His shop is the right-hand\ncorner of the front room; the rest is bedroom and sitting-room; behind are\nthe bedroom and kitchen. I have never seen so much as I might of their way\nof living; for I stand before his window with more reverent fear of\nintruding by a look than I should have at the door of a king's chamber. A\nnarrow rough ledge added to the window-sill is his bench. Behind this he\nsits from six in the morning till seven at night, bent over, sewing slowly\nand painfully on the coarsest shoes. His face looks old enough for sixty\nyears; but he cannot be so old. Yet he wears glasses and walks feebly; he\nhas probably never had in any one day of his life enough to eat. But I do\nnot know any man, and I know only one woman, who has such a look of\nradiant good-cheer and content as has this poor shoemaker, Anton Grasl.\n\nIn his window are coarse wooden boxes, in which are growing the common\nmallows. They are just now in full bloom,--row upon row of gay-striped\npurple and white bells. The window looks to the east, and is never shut.\nWhen I go out to my breakfast the sun is streaming in on the flowers and\nAnton's face. He looks up, smiles, bows low, and says, \"Good-day, good my\nlady,\" sometimes holding the mallow-stalks back with one hand, to see me\nmore plainly. I feel as if the day and I had had benediction. It is always\na better day because Anton has said it is good; and I am a better woman\nfor sight of his godly contentment. Almost every day he has beside the\nmallows in the boxes a white mug with flowers in it,--nasturtiums,\nperhaps, or a few pinks. This he sets carefully in shade of the thickest\nmallows; and this I have often seen him hold down tenderly, for the little\nones to see and to smell.\n\nWhen I come home in the evenings, between eight and nine o'clock, Anton\nis always sifting in front of the door, resting his head against the wall.\nThis is his recreation, his one blessed hour of out-door air and rest. He\nstands with his cap in his hand while I pass, and his face shines as if\nall the concentrated enjoyment of my walk in the woods had descended upon\nhim in my first look. If I give him a bunch of ferns to add to his\nnasturtiums and pinks, he is so grateful and delighted that I have to go\ninto the house quickly for fear I shall cry. Whenever I am coming back\nfrom a drive, I begin to think, long before I reach the house, how glad\nAnton will look when he sees the carriage stop. I am as sure as if I had\nomniscient sight into the depths of his good heart that he has distinct\nand unenvious joy in every pleasure that he sees other people taking.\n\nNever have I, heard one angry or hasty word, one petulant or weary cry\nfrom the rooms in which this father and mother and six children are\nstruggling to live. All day long the barefooted and ragged little ones\nplay under my south windows, and do not quarrel. I amuse myself by\ndropping grapes or plums on their heads, and then watching them at their\nfeast; never have I seen them dispute or struggle in the division. Once I\npurposely threw a large bunch of grapes to the poor little mute, and only\na few plums to the others. I am sorry to say that voiceless Carl ate all\nhis grapes himself; but not a selfish or discontented look could I see on\nthe faces of the others,--they all smiled and beamed up at me like suns.\n\nIt is Anton who creates and sustains this rare atmosphere. The wife is\nonly a common and stupid woman; he is educating her, as he is the\nchildren. She is very thin and worn and hungry-looking, but always smiles.\nBeing Anton's wife, she could not do otherwise.\n\nSometimes I see people passing the house, who give a careless glance of\ncontemptuous pity at Anton's window of mallows and nasturtiums. Then I\nremember that an apostle wrote:--\n\n\"There are, it may be, so many kinds of voices in the world, and none of\nthem is without signification.\n\n\"Therefore, if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be unto him\nthat speaketh a barbarian, and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto\nme.\"\n\nAnd I long to call after them, as they go groping their way down the\nbeautiful street,--\n\n\"Oh, ye barbarians, blind and deaf! How dare you think you can pity Anton?\nHis soul would melt in compassion for you, if he were able to comprehend\nthat lives could be so poor as yours. He is the rich man, and you are\npoor. Eating only the husks on which you feed, he would starve to death.\"\n\n\n\n\nEnglish Lodging-Houses.\n\n\n\nSomebody who has written stories (is it Dickens?) has given us very wrong\nideas of the English lodging-house. What good American does not go into\nLondon with the distinct impression that, whatever else he does or does\nnot do, he will upon no account live in lodgings? That he will even be\ncontent with the comfortless coffee-room of a second-rate hotel, and\nfraternize with commercial travellers from all quarters of the globe,\nrather than come into relations with that mixture of vulgarity and\ndishonesty, the lodging-house keeper?\n\nIt was with more than such misgiving that I first crossed the threshold of\nMrs. ----'s house in Bedford Place, Bloomsbury. At this distance I smile\nto remember how welcome would have been any alternative rather than the\nremaining under her roof for a month; how persistently for several days I\ndoubted and resisted the evidence of all my senses, and set myself at work\nto find the discomforts and shortcomings which I believed must belong to\nthat mode of life. To confess the stupidity and obstinacy of my ignorance\nis small reparation, and would be little worth while, except for the hope\nthat my account of the comfort and economy in living on the English\nlodging-house system may be a seed dropped in due season, which shall\nspring up sooner or later in the introduction of a similar system in\nAmerica. The gain which it would be to great numbers of our men and women\nwho must live on small incomes cannot be estimated. It seems hardly too\nmuch to say that in the course of one generation it might work in the\naverage public health a change which would be shown in statistics, and rid\nus of the stigma of a \"national disease\" of dyspepsia. For the men and\nwomen whose sufferings and ill-health have made of our name a by-word\namong the nations are not, as many suppose, the rich men and women,\ntempted by their riches to over-indulgence of their stomachs, and paying\nin their dyspepsia simply the fair price of their folly; they are the\nmoderately poor men and women, who are paying cruel penalty for not having\nbeen richer,--not having been rich enough to avoid the poisons which are\ncooked and served in American restaurants and in the poorer class of\nAmerican homes.\n\nMrs. ----'s lodging-house was not, so far as I know, any better than the\naverage lodging-houses of its grade. It was well situated, well furnished,\nwell kept, and its scale of prices was moderate. For instance, the rent of\na pleasant parlor and bedroom on the second floor was thirty-four\nshillings a week, including fire and gas,--$8.50, gold. Then there was a\ncharge of two shillings a week for the use of the kitchen-fire, and three\nshillings a week for service; and these were the only charges in addition\nto the rent. Thus for $9.75 a week one had all the comforts that can be\nhad in housekeeping, so far as room and service are concerned. There were\nfour good servants,--cook, scullery maid, and two housemaids. Oh, the\npleasant voices and gentle fashions of behavior of those housemaids! They\nwere slow, it must be owned; but their results were admirable. In spite of\nLondon smoke and grime, Mrs. ----'s floors and windows were clean; the\ngrates shone every morning like mirrors, and the glass and silver were\nbright. Each morning the smiling cook came up to take our orders for the\nmeals of the day; each day the grocer and the baker and the butcher\nstopped at the door and left the sugar for the \"first floor front,\" the\nbeef for the \"drawing-room,\" and so on. The smallest article which could\nbe required in housekeeping was not overlooked. The groceries of the\ndifferent floors never got mixed, though how this separateness of stores\nwas accomplished will for ever remain a mystery to me; but that it was\nsuccessfully accomplished the smallness of our bill was the best of\nproof,--unless, indeed, as we were sometimes almost afraid, we did now and\nthen eat up Dr. A----'s cheese, or drink the milk belonging to the B's\nbelow us. We were a party of four; our fare was of the plain, substantial\nsort, but of sufficient variety and abundance; and yet our living never\ncost us, including rent, service, fires, and food, over $60 a week. If we\nhad chosen to practise closer economies, we might have lived on less.\nCompare for one instant the comfort of such an arrangement as this, which\nreally gave us every possible advantage to be secured by housekeeping, and\nwith almost none of the trouble, with any boarding or lodging possible in\nNew York. We had two parlors and two bedrooms; our meals served promptly\nand neatly, in our own parlor. The same amount of room, and service, and\nsuch a table, for four people, cannot be had in New York for less than\n$150 or $200 a week; in fact, they cannot be had in New York for any sum\nof money. The quiet respectfulness of behavior and faithful interest in\nwork of English servants on English soil are not to be found elsewhere. We\nafterward lived for some weeks in another lodging-house in Great Malvern,\nWorcestershire, at about the same price per week. This house was even\nbetter than the London one in some respects. The system was precisely the\nsame; but the cooking was almost faultless, and the table appointments\nwere more than satisfactory,--they were tasteful. The china was a\npleasure, and there were silver and linen and glass which one would be\nglad to have in one's own home.\n\nIt may be asked, and not unnaturally, how does this lodging-house system\nwork for those who keep the houses? Can it be possible that all this\ncomfort and economy for lodgers are compatible with profits for landlords?\nI can judge only from the results in these two cases which came under my\nown observation. In each of these cases the family who kept the house\nlived comfortably and pleasantly in their own apartment, which was, in the\nLondon house, almost as good a suite of rooms as any which they rented.\nThey certainly had far more apparent quiet, comfort, and privacy than is\ncommonly seen in the arrangements of the keepers of average\nboarding-houses. In the Malvern house, one whole floor, which was less\npleasant than the others, but still comfortable and well furnished, was\noccupied by the family. There were three little boys, under ten years of\nage, who had their nursery governess, said lessons to her regularly, and\nwere led out decorously to walk by her at appointed seasons, like all the\nrest of good little English boys in well-regulated families; and yet the\nmother of these children came to the door of our parlor each morning, with\nthe respectful air of an old family housekeeper, to ask what we would have\nfor dinner, and was careful and exact in buying \"three penn'orth\" of herbs\nat a time for us, to season our soup. I ought to mention that in both\nthese places we made the greater part of our purchases ourselves, having\nweekly bills sent in from the shops, and in our names, exactly as if we\nwere living in our own house. All honest lodging-house keepers, we were\ntold, preferred this method, as leaving no opening for any unjust\nsuspicions of their fairness in providing. But, if one chooses to be as\nabsolutely free from trouble as in boarding, the marketing can all be done\nby the family, and the bills still made out in the lodgers' names. I have\nbeen thus minute in my details because I think there may be many to whom\nthis system of living is as unknown as it was to me; and I cannot but hope\nthat it may yet be introduced in America.\n\n\n\n\nWet the Clay.\n\n\nOnce I stood in Miss Hosmer's studio, looking at a statue which she was\nmodelling of the ex-queen of Naples. Face to face with the clay model, I\nalways feel the artist's creative power far more than when I am looking at\nthe immovable marble.\n\nA touch here--there--and all is changed. Perhaps, under my eyes, in the\ntwinkling of an eye, one trait springs into life and another disappears.\n\nThe queen, who is a very beautiful woman, was represented in Miss Hosmer's\nstatue as standing, wearing the picturesque cloak that she wore during\nthose hard days of garrison life at Gaeta, when she showed herself so\nbrave and strong that the world said if she, instead of that very stupid\nyoung man her husband, had been king, the throne need not have been lost.\nThe very cloak, made of light cloth showily faced with scarlet, was draped\nover a lay figure in one corner of the room. In the statue the folds of\ndrapery over the right arm were entirely disarranged, simply rough clay.\nThe day before they had been apparently finished; but that morning Miss\nHosmer had, as she laughingly told us, \"pulled it all to pieces again.\"\n\nAs she said this, she took up a large syringe and showered the statue\nfrom head to foot with water, till it dripped and shone as if it had been\njust plunged into a bath. Now it was in condition to be moulded. Many\ntimes a day this process must be repeated, or the clay becomes so dry and\nhard that it cannot be worked.\n\nI had known this before; but never did I so realize the significant\nsymbolism of the act as when I looked at this lifeless yet lifelike thing,\nto be made into the beauty of a woman, called by her name, and cherished\nafter her death,--and saw that only through this chrysalis of the clay, so\ncared for, moistened, and moulded, could the marble obtain its soul.\n\nAnd, as all things I see in life seem to me to have a voice either for or\nof children, so did this instantly suggest to me that most of the failures\nof mothers come from their not keeping the clay wet.\n\nThe slightest touch tells on the clay when it is soft and moist, and can\nproduce just the effect which is desired; but when the clay is too dry it\nwill not yield, and often it breaks and crumbles beneath the unskilful\nhand. How perfect the analogy between these two results, and the two\natmospheres which one often sees in the space of one half-hour in the\nmanagement of the same child! One person can win from it instantly a\ngentle obedience: that person's smile is a reward, that person's\ndispleasure is a grief it cannot bear, that person's opinions have utmost\nweight with it, that person's presence is a controlling and subduing\ninfluence. Another, alas! the mother, produces such an opposite effect\nthat it is hard to believe the child can be the same child. Her simplest\ncommand is met by antagonism or sullen compliance; her pleasure and\ndispleasure are plainly of no account to the child, and its great desire\nis to get out of her presence.\n\nWhat shape will she make of that child's soul? She does not wet the clay.\nShe does not stop to consider before each command whether it be wholly\njust, whether it be the best time to make it, and whether she can explain\nits necessity. Oh! the sweet reasonableness of children when disagreeable\nnecessities are explained to them, instead of being enforced as arbitrary\ntyrannies! She does not make them so feel that she shares all their\nsorrows and pleasures that they cannot help being in turn glad when she is\nglad, and sorry when she is sorry. She does not so take them into constant\ncompanionship in her interests, each day,--the books, the papers she\nreads, the things she sees,--that they learn to hold her as the\nrepresentative of much more than nursery discipline, clothes, and bread\nand butter. She does not kiss them often enough, put her arms around them,\nwarm, soften, bathe them in the ineffable sunshine of loving ways. \"I\ncan't imagine why children are so much better with you than with me,\"\nexclaims such a mother. No, she cannot imagine; and that is the trouble.\nIf she could, all would be righted. It is quite probable that she is a far\nmore anxious, self-sacrificing, hard-working mother than the neighbor,\nwhose children are rosy and frolicking and affectionate and obedient;\nwhile hers are pale and fretful and selfish and sullen.\n\nShe is all the time working, working, with endless activity, on hard, dry\nclay; and the neighbor, who, perhaps half-unconsciously, keeps the clay\nwet, is with one-half the labor modelling sweet creatures of Nature's own\nloveliest shapes.\n\nThen she says, this poor, tired mother, discouraged because her children\ntell lies, and irritated because they seem to her thankless, \"After all,\nchildren are pretty much alike, I suppose. I believe most children tell\nlies when they are little; and they never realize until they are grown up\nwhat parents do for them.\"\n\nHere again I find a similitude among the artists who paint or model.\nStudios are full of such caricatures, and the hard-working, honest souls\nwho have made them believe that they are true reproductions of nature and\nlife.\n\n\"See my cherub. Are not all cherubs such as he?\" and \"Behold these trees\nand this water; and how the sun glowed on the day when I walked there!\"\nand all the while the cherub is like a paper doll, and the trees and the\nwater never had any likeness to any thing that is in this beautiful earth.\nBut, after all, this similitude is short and paltry, for it is of\ncomparatively small moment that so many men and women spend their lives in\nmaking bad cherubs in marble, and hideous landscapes in oil. It is\nindustry, and it keeps them in bread; in butter, too, if their cherubs and\ntrees are very bad. But, when it is a human being that is to be moulded,\nhow do we dare, even with all the help which we can ask and find in earth\nand in heaven, to shape it by our touch!\n\nClay in the hands of the potter is not more plastic than is the little\nchild's soul in the hands of those who tend it. Alas! how many shapeless,\nhow many ill-formed, how many broken do we see! Who does not believe that\nthe image of God could have been beautiful on all? Sooner or later it will\nbe, thank Christ! But what a pity, what a loss, not to have had the sweet\nblessedness of being even here fellow-workers with him in this glorious\nmodelling for eternity!\n\n\n\n\nThe King's Friend.\n\n\n\nWe are a gay party, summering among the hills. New-comers into the little\nboarding-house where we, by reason of prior possession, hold a kind of\nsway are apt to fare hardly at our hands unless they come up to our\nstandard. We are not exacting in the matter of clothes; we are liberal on\ncreeds; but we have our shibboleths. And, though we do not drown unlucky\nEphraimites, whose tongues make bad work with S's, I fear we are not quite\nkind to them; they never stay long, and so we go on having it much our own\nway.\n\nWeek before last a man appeared at dinner, of whom our good little\nlandlady said, deprecatingly, that he would stay only a few days. She knew\nby instinct that his presence would not be agreeable to us. He was not in\nthe least an intrusive person,--on the contrary, there was a sort of mute\nappeal to our humanity in the very extent of his quiet inoffensiveness;\nbut his whole atmosphere was utterly uninteresting. He was untrained in\nmanner, awkwardly ill at ease in the table routine; and, altogether, it\nwas so uncomfortable to make any attempt to include him in our circle that\nin a few days he was ignored by every one, to a degree which was neither\ncourteous nor Christian.\n\nIn all families there is a leader. Ours is a charming and brilliant\nmarried woman, whose ready wit and never-failing spirits make her the best\nof centres for a country party of pleasure-seekers. Her keen sense of\nhumor had not been able entirely to spare this unfortunate man, whose\nattitudes and movements were certainly at times almost irresistible.\n\nBut one morning such a change was apparent in her manner toward him that\nwe all looked up in surprise. No more gracious and gentle greeting could\nshe have given him if he had been a prince of royal line. Our astonishment\nalmost passed bounds when we heard her continue with a kindly inquiry\nafter his health, and, undeterred by his evident readiness to launch into\ndetailed symptoms, listen to him with the most respectful attention. Under\nthe influence of this new and sweet recognition his plain and common face\nkindled into something almost manly and individual. He had never before\nbeen so spoken to by a well-bred and beautiful woman.\n\nWe were sobered, in spite of ourselves, by an indefinable something in her\nmanner; and it was with subdued whispers that we crowded around her on the\npiazza, and begged to know what it all meant. It was a rare thing to see\nMrs. ---- hesitate for a reply. The color rose in her face, and, with a\nhalf-nervous attempt at a smile, she finally said, \"Well, girls, I suppose\nyou will all laugh at me; but the truth is, I heard that man say his\nprayers this morning. You know his room is next to mine, and there is a\ngreat crack in the door. I heard him praying, this morning, for ten\nminutes, just before breakfast; and I never heard such tones in my life. I\ndon't pretend to be religious; but I must own it was a wonderful thing to\nhear a man talking with God as he did. And when I saw him at table, I felt\nas if I were looking in the face of some one who had just come out of the\npresence of the King of kings, and had the very air of heaven about him. I\ncan't help what the rest of you do or say; _I_ shall always have the same\nfeeling whenever I see him.\"\n\nThere was a magnetic earnestness in her tone and look, which we all felt,\nand which some of us will never forget.\n\nDuring the few remaining days of his stay with us, that untutored,\nuninteresting, stupid man knew no lack of friendly courtesy at our hands.\nWe were the better for his homely presence; unawares, he ministered unto\nus. When we knew that he came directly from speaking to the Master to\nspeak to us, we felt that he was greater than we, and we remembered that\nit is written, \"If any man serve me, him will my Father honor.\"\n\n\n\n\nLearning to Speak.\n\n\n\nWith what breathless interest we listen for the baby's first word! What a\nnew bond is at once and for ever established between its soul and ours by\nthis mysterious, inexplicable, almost incredible fact! That is the use of\nthe word. That is its only use, so far as mere gratification of the ear\ngoes. Many other sounds are more pleasurable,--the baby's laugh, for\ninstance, or its inarticulate murmurs of content or sleepiness.\n\nBut the word is a revelation, a sacred sign. Now we shall know what our\nbeloved one wants; now we shall know when and why the dear heart sorrows\nor is glad. How reassured we feel, how confident! Now we cannot make\nmistakes; we shall do all for the best; we can give happiness; we can\ncommunicate wisdom; relation is established; the perplexing gulf of\nsilence is bridged. The baby speaks!\n\nBut it is not of the baby's learning to speak that we propose to write\nhere. All babies learn to speak; or, if they do not, we know that it means\na terrible visitation,--a calamity rare, thank God! but bitter almost\nbeyond parents' strength to bear.\n\nBut why, having once learned to speak, does the baby leave off speaking\nwhen it becomes a man or a woman? Many of our men and women to-day need,\nalmost as much as when they were twenty-four months old, to learn to\nspeak. We do not mean learning to speak in public. We do not mean even\nlearning to speak well,--to pronounce words clearly and accurately; though\nthere is need enough of that in this land! But that is not the need at\nwhich we are aiming now. We mean something so much simpler, so much\nfurther back, that we hardly know how to say it in words which shall be\nsimple enough and also sufficiently strong. We mean learning to speak at\nall! In spite of all which satirical writers have said and say of the\nloquacious egotism, the questioning curiosity of our people, it is true\nto-day that the average American is a reticent, taciturn, speechless\ncreature, who, for his own sake, and still more for the sake of all who\nlove him, needs, more than he needs any thing else under heaven, to learn\nto speak.\n\nLook at our silent railway and horse-cars, steamboat-cabins, hotel-tables,\nin short, all our public places where people are thrown together\nincidentally, and where good-will and the habit of speaking combined would\ncreate an atmosphere of human vitality, quite unlike what we see now. But\nit is not of so much consequence, after all, whether people speak in these\npublic places or not. If they did, one very unpleasant phase of our\nnational life would be greatly changed for the better. But it is in our\nhomes that this speechlessness tells most fearfully,--on the breakfast and\ndinner and tea-tables, at which a silent father and mother sit down in\nhaste and gloom to feed their depressed children. This is especially true\nof men and women in the rural districts. They are tired; they have more\nwork to do in a year than it is easy to do. Their lives are\nmonotonous,--too much so for the best health of either mind or body. If\nthey dreamed how much this monotony could be broken and cheered by the\nconstant habit of talking with each other, they would grasp at the\nslightest chance of a conversation. Sometimes it almost seems as if\ncomplaints and antagonism were better than such stagnant quiet. But there\nneed not be complaint and antagonism; there is no home so poor, so remote\nfrom affairs, that each day does not bring and set ready, for family\nwelcome and discussion, beautiful sights and sounds, occasions for\nhelpfulness and gratitude, questions for decision, hopes, fears, regrets!\nThe elements of human life are the same for ever; any one heart holds in\nitself the whole, can give all things to another, can bear all things for\nanother; but no giving, no bearing, no, not even if it is the giving up of\na life, if it is done without free, full, loving interchange of speech, is\nhalf the blessing it might be.\n\nMany a wife goes down to her grave a dulled and dispirited woman simply\nbecause her good and faithful husband has lived by her side without\ntalking to her! There have been days when one word of praise, or one word\neven of simple good cheer, would have girded her up with new strength. She\ndid not know, very likely, what she needed, or that she needed any thing;\nbut she drooped.\n\nMany a child grows up a hard, unimpressionable, unloving man or woman\nsimply from the uncheered silence in which the first ten years of life\nwere passed. Very few fathers and mothers, even those who are fluent,\nperhaps, in society, habitually _talk_ with their children.\n\nIt is certain that this is one of the worst shortcomings of our homes.\nPerhaps no other single change would do so much to make them happier, and,\ntherefore, to make our communities better, as for men and women to learn\nto speak.\n\n\n\n\nPrivate Tyrants.\n\n\n\nWe recognize tyranny when it wears a crown and sits on an hereditary\nthrone. We sympathize with nations that overthrow the thrones, and in our\nsecret hearts we almost canonize individuals who slay the tyrants. From\nthe days of Ehud and Eglon down to those of Charlotte Corday and Marat,\nthe world has dealt tenderly with their names whose hands have been red\nwith the blood of oppressors. On moral grounds it would be hard to justify\nthis sentiment, murder being murder all the same, however great gain it\nmay be to this world to have the murdered man put out of it; but that\nthere is such a sentiment, instinctive and strong in the human soul, there\nis no denying. It is so instinctive and so strong that, if we watch\nourselves closely, we shall find it giving alarming shape sometimes to our\nsecret thoughts about our neighbors.\n\nHow many communities, how many households even, are without a tyrant? If\nwe could \"move for returns of suffering,\" as that tender and thoughtful\nman, Arthur Helps, says, we should find a far heavier aggregate of misery\ninflicted by unsuspected, unresisted tyrannies than by those which are\npatent to everybody, and sure to be overthrown sooner or later.\n\nAn exhaustive sermon on this subject should be set off in three divisions,\nas follows:--\n\n  PRIVATE TYRANTS.\n\n  _1st._ Number of--\n  _2d._ Nature of--\n  _3d._ Longevity of--\n\n_First_. Their number. They are not enumerated in any census. Not even the\nmost painstaking statistician has meddled with the topic. Fancy takes bold\nleaps at the very suggestion of such an estimate, and begins to think at\nonce of all things in the universe which are usually mentioned as beyond\nnumbering. Probably one good way of getting at a certain sort of result\nwould be to ask each person of one's acquaintance, \"Do you happen to know\na private tyrant?\"\n\nHow well we know beforehand the replies we should get from _some_ beloved\nmen and women,--that is, if they spoke the truth!\n\nBut they would not. That is the saddest thing about these private\ntyrannies. They are in many cases borne in such divine and uncomplaining\nsilence by their victims, perhaps for long years, the world never dreams\nthat they exist. But at last the fine, subtle writing, which no control,\nno patience, no will can thwart, becomes set on the man's or the woman's\nface, and tells the whole record. Who does not know such faces? Cheerful\nusually, even gay, brave, and ready with lines of smile; but in repose so\nmarked, so scarred with unutterable weariness and disappointment, that\ntears spring in the eyes and love in the hearts of all finely organized\npersons who meet them.\n\n_Secondly_. Nature of private tyrants. Here also the statistician has not\nentered. The field is vast; the analysis difficult.\n\nSelfishness is, of course, their leading characteristic; in fact, the very\nsum and substance of their natures. But selfishness is Protean. It has as\nmany shapes as there are minutes, and as many excuses and wraps of sheep's\nclothing as ever ravening wolf possessed.\n\nOne of its commonest pleas is that of weakness. Here it often is so\ninextricably mixed with genuine need and legitimate claim that one grows\nbewildered between sympathy and resentment. In this shape, however, it\ngets its cruelest dominion over strong and generous and tender people.\nThis kind of tyranny builds up and fortifies its bulwarks on and out of\nthe very virtues of its victims; it gains strength hourly from the very\nstrength of the strength to which it appeals; each slow and fatal\nencroachment never seems at first so much a thing required as a thing\noffered; but, like the slow sinking inch by inch of that great, beautiful\ncity of stone into the relentless Adriatic, so is the slow, sure going\ndown and loss of the freedom of a strong, beautiful soul, helpless in the\nomnipresent circumference of the selfish nature to which it is or believes\nitself bound.\n\nThat the exactions never or rarely take shape in words is, to the\nunbiassed looker-on, only an exasperating feature in their tyranny. While\nit saves the conscience of the tyrant,--if such tyrants have any,--it\nmakes doubly sure the success of their tyranny. And probably nothing short\nof revelation from Heaven, in shape of blinding light, would ever open\ntheir eyes to the fact that it is even more selfish to hold a generous\nspirit fettered hour by hour by a constant fear of giving pain than to\ncoerce or threaten or scold them into the desired behavior. Invalids, all\ninvalids, stand in deadly peril of becoming tyrants of this order. A\nchronic invalid who entirely escapes it must be so nearly saint or angel\nthat one instinctively feels as if their invalidism would soon end in the\nhealth of heaven. We know of one invalid woman, chained to her bed for\nlong years by an incurable disease, who has had the insight and strength\nto rise triumphant above this danger. Her constant wish and entreaty is\nthat her husband should go freely into all the work and the pleasure of\nlife. Whenever he leaves her, her farewell is not, \"How soon do you think\nyou shall come back? At what hour, or day, may I look for you?\" but, \"Now,\npray stay just as long as you enjoy it. If you hurry home one hour sooner\nfor the thought of me, I shall be wretched.\" It really seems almost as if\nthe longer he stayed away,--hours, days, weeks even,--the happier she\nwere. By this sweet and wise unselfishness she has succeeded in realizing\nthe whole blessedness of wifehood far more than most women who have\nhealth. But we doubt if any century sees more than one such woman as she\nis.\n\nAnother large class, next to that of invalids the most difficult to deal\nwith, is made up of people who are by nature or by habit uncomfortably\nsensitive or irritable. Who has not lived at one time or other in his life\nin daily contact with people of this sort,--persons whose outbreaks of\ntemper, or of wounded feeling still worse than temper, were as\nincalculable as meteoric showers? The suppressed atmosphere, the chronic\nstate of alarm and misgiving, in which the victims of this species of\ntyranny live are withering and exhausting to the stoutest hearts. They are\nalso hardening; perpetually having to wonder and watch how people will\n\"take\" things is apt sooner or later to result in indifference as to\nwhether they take them well or ill.\n\nBut to define all the shapes of private tyranny would require whole\nhistories; it is safe, however, to say that so far as any human being\nattempts to set up his own individual need or preference as law to\ndetermine the action of any other human being, in small matters or great,\nso far forth he is a tyrant. The limit of his tyranny may be narrowed by\nlack of power on his part, or of response on the part of his fellows; but\nits essence is as purely tyrannous as if he sat on a throne with an\nexecutioner within call.\n\n_Thirdly._ Longevity of private tyrants. We have not room under this head\nto do more--nor, if we had all room, could we do better--than to quote a\nshort paragraph from George Eliot's immortal Mrs. Poyser: \"It seems as if\nthem as aren't wanted here are th' only folks as aren't wanted i' th'\nother world.\"\n\n\n\n\nMargin.\n\n\n\nWide-margined pages please us at first sight. We do not stop to ask why.\nIt has passed into an accepted rule that all elegant books must have\nbroad, clear margins to their pages. We as much recognize such margins\namong the indications of promise in a book, as we do fineness of paper,\nclearness of type, and beauty of binding. All three of these last, even in\nperfection, could not make any book beautiful, or sightly, whose pages had\nbeen left narrow-margined and crowded. This is no arbitrary decree of\ncustom, no chance preference of an accredited authority. It would be\ndangerous to set limit to the power of fashion in any thing; and yet it\nseems almost safe to say that not even fashion itself can ever make a\nnarrow-margined page look other than shabby and mean. This inalienable\nright of the broad margin to our esteem is significant. It lies deep. The\nbroad margin means something which is not measured by inches, has nothing\nto do with fashions of shape. It means room for notes, queries, added by\nany man's hand who reads. Meaning this, it means also much more than\nthis,--far more than the mere letter of \"right of way.\" It is a fine\ncourtesy of recognition that no one page shall ever say the whole of its\nown message; be exhaustive, or ultimate, even of its own topic; determine\nor enforce its own opinion, to the shutting out of others. No matter if\nthe book live and grow old, without so much as an interrogation point or a\nline of enthusiastic admiration drawn in it by human hand, still the\ngracious import and suggestion of its broad white spaces are the same.\nEach thought invites its neighbor, stands fairly to right or left of its\nopponent, and wooes its friend.\n\nThinking on this, we presently discover that margin means a species of\nfreedom. No wonder the word, and the thing it represents, wherever we find\nthem, delight us.\n\nWe use the word constantly in senses which, speaking carelessly, we should\nhave called secondary and borrowed. Now we see that its application to\npages, or pictures, or decorations, and so forth, was the borrowed and\nsecondary use; and that primarily its meaning is spiritual.\n\nWe must have margin, or be uncomfortable in every thing in life. Our plan\nfor a day, for a week, for our lifetime, must have it,--margin for change\nof purpose, margin for interruption, margin for accident. Making no\nallowance for these, we are fettered, we are disturbed, we are thwarted.\n\nIs there a greater misery than to be hurried? If we leave ourselves proper\nmargin, we never need to be hurried. We always shall be, if we crowd our\nplan. People pant, groan, and complain as if hurry were a thing outside\nof themselves,--an enemy, a monster, a disease which overtook them, and\nagainst which they had no shelter. It is hard to be patient with such\nnonsense. Hurry is almost the only known misery which it is impossible to\nhave brought upon one by other people's fault.\n\nIf our plan of action for an hour or a day be so fatally spoiled by lack\nof margin, what shall we say of the mistake of the man who leaves himself\nno margin in matters of belief? No room for a wholesome, healthy doubt? No\nprovision for an added enlightenment? No calculation for the inevitable\nprogress of human knowledge? This is, in our eyes, the crying sin and\ndanger of elaborate creeds, rigid formulas of exact statement on difficult\nand hidden mysteries.\n\nThe man who is ready to give pledge that the opinion he will hold\nto-morrow will be precisely the opinion he holds to-day has either thought\nvery little, or to little purpose, or has resolved to quit thinking\naltogether.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fine Art of Smiling.\n\n\nSome theatrical experiments are being made at this time to show that all\npossible emotions and all shades and gradations of emotion can be\nexpressed by facial action, and that the method of so expressing them can\nbe reduced to a system, and taught in a given number of lessons. It seems\na matter of question whether one would be likely to make love or evince\nsorrow any more successfully by keeping in mind all the while the detailed\ncatalogue of his flexors and extensors, and contracting and relaxing No.\n1, 2, or 3, according to rule. The human memory is a treacherous thing,\nand what an enormous disaster would result from a very slight\nforgetfulness in such a nicely adjusted system! The fatal effect of\ndropping the superior maxillary when one intended to drop the inferior, or\nof applying nervous stimuli to the up track, instead of the down, can\neasily be conceived. Art is art, after all, be it ever so skilful and\ntriumphant, and science is only a slow reading of hieroglyphs. Nature sits\nhigh and serene above both, and smiles compassionately on their efforts\nto imitate and understand. And this brings us to what we have to say about\nsmiling. Do many people feel what a wonderful thing it is that each human\nbeing is born into the world with his own smile? Eyes, nose, mouth, may be\nmerely average commonplace features; may look, taken singly, very much\nlike anybody's else eyes, nose, or mouth. Let whoever doubts this try the\nsimple but endlessly amusing experiment of setting half a dozen people\nbehind a perforated curtain, and making them put their eyes at the holes.\nNot one eye in a hundred can be recognized, even by most familiar and\nloving friends. But study smiles; observe, even in the most casual way,\nthe variety one sees in a day, and it will soon be felt what subtle\nrevelation they make, what infinite individuality they possess.\n\nThe purely natural smile, however, is seldom seen in adults; and it is on\nthis point that we wish to dwell. Very early in life people find out that\na smile is a weapon, mighty to avail in all sorts of crises. Hence, we see\nthe treacherous smile of the wily; the patronizing smile of the pompous;\nthe obsequious smile of the flatterer; the cynical smile of the satirist.\nVery few of these have heard of Delsarte; but they outdo him on his own\ngrounds. Their smile is four-fifths of their social stock in trade. All\nsuch smiles are hideous. The gloomiest, blankest look which a human face\ncan wear is welcomer than a trained smile or a smile which, if it is not\nactually and consciously methodized by its perpetrator, has become, by\nlong repetition, so associated with tricks and falsities that it partakes\nof their quality.\n\nWhat, then, is the fine art of smiling?\n\nIf smiles may not be used for weapons or masks, of what use are they? That\nis the shape one would think the question took in most men's minds, if we\nmay judge by their behavior! There are but two legitimate purposes of the\nsmile; but two honest smiles. On all little children's faces such smiles\nare seen. Woe to us that we so soon waste and lose them!\n\nThe first use of the smile is to express affectionate good-will; the\nsecond, to express mirth.\n\nWhy do we not always smile whenever we meet the eye of a fellow-being?\nThat is the true, intended recognition which ought to pass from soul to\nsoul constantly. Little children, in simple communities, do this\ninvoluntarily, unconsciously. The honest-hearted German peasant does it.\nIt is like magical sunlight all through that simple land, the perpetual\ngreeting on the right hand and on the left, between strangers, as they\npass by each other, never without a smile. This, then, is \"the fine art of\nsmiling;\" like all fine art, true art, perfection of art, the simplest\nfollowing of Nature.\n\nNow and then one sees a face which has kept its smile pure and undefiled.\nIt is a woman's face usually; often a face which has trace of great sorrow\nall over it, till the smile breaks. Such a smile transfigures; such a\nsmile, if the artful but knew it, is the greatest weapon a face can have.\nSickness and age cannot turn its edge; hostility and distrust cannot\nwithstand its spell; little children know it, and smile back; even dumb\nanimals come closer, and look up for another.\n\nIf one were asked to sum up in one single rule what would most conduce to\nbeauty in the human face, one might say therefore, \"Never tamper with your\nsmile; never once use it for a purpose. Let it be on your face like the\nreflection of the sunlight on a lake. Affectionate good-will to all men\nmust be the sunlight, and your face is the lake. But, unlike the sunlight,\nyour good-will must be perpetual, and your face must never be overcast.\"\n\n\"What! smile perpetually?\" says the realist. \"How silly!\"\n\nYes, smile perpetually! Go to Delsarte here, and learn even from the\nmechanician of smiles that a smile can be indicated by a movement of\nmuscles so slight that neither instruments nor terms exist to measure or\nstate it; in fact, that the subtlest smile is little more than an added\nbrightness to the eye and a tremulousness of the mouth. One second of time\nis more than long enough for it; but eternity does not outlast it.\n\nIn that wonderfully wise and tender and poetic book, the \"Layman's\nBreviary,\" Leopold Schefer says,--\n\n  \"A smile suffices to smile death away;\n  And love defends thee e'en from wrath divine!\n  Then let what may befall thee,--still smile on!\n  And howe'er Death may rob thee,--still smile on!\n  Love never has to meet a bitter thing;\n  A paradise blooms around him who smiles.\"\n\n\n\n\nDeath-Bed Repentance.\n\n\nNot long since, a Congregationalist clergyman, who had been for forty-one\nyears in the ministry, said in my hearing, \"I have never, in all my\nexperience as a pastor, known of a single instance in which a repentance\non what was supposed to be a death-bed proved to be of any value whatever\nafter the person recovered.\"\n\nThis was strong language. I involuntarily exclaimed, \"Have you known many\nsuch cases?\"\n\n\"More than I dare to remember.\"\n\n\"And as many more, perhaps, where the person died.\"\n\n\"Yes, fully as many more.\"\n\n\"Then did not the bitter failure of these death-bed repentances to bear\nthe tests of time shake your confidence in their value under the tests of\neternity?\"\n\n\"It did,--it does,\" said the clergyman, with tears in his eyes. The\nconversation made a deep impression on my mind. It was strong evidence,\nfrom a quarter in which I least looked for it, of the utter paltriness and\ninsufficiency of fear as a motive when brought to bear upon decisions in\nspiritual things. There seem to be no words strong enough to stigmatize it\nin all other affairs except spiritual. All ages, all races, hold cowardice\nchief among vices; noble barbarians punished it with death. Even\ncivilization the most cautiously legislated for, does the same thing when\na soldier shows it \"in face of the enemy.\" Language, gathering itself up\nand concentrating its force to describe base behavior, can do no more than\ncall it \"cowardly.\" No instinct of all the blessed body-guard of instincts\nborn with us seems in the outset a stronger one than the instinct that to\nbe noble, one must be brave. Almost in the cradle the baby taunts or is\ntaunted by the accusation of being \"afraid.\" And the sting of the taunt\nlies in the probability of its truth. For in all men, alas! is born a\ncertain selfish weakness, to which fear can address itself. But how\nstrange does it appear that they who wish to inculcate noblest action,\nraise to most exalted spiritual conditions, should appeal to this lowest\nof motives to help them! We believe that there are many \"death-bed\nrepentances\" among hale, hearty sinners, who are approached by the same\nmethods, stimulated by the same considerations, frightened by the same\nconceptions of possible future suffering, which so often make the chambers\nof dying men dark with terrors. Fear is fear all the same whether its\ndread be for the next hour or the next century. The closer the enemy, the\nswifter it runs. That is all the difference. Let the enemy be surely and\nplainly removed, and in one instance it is no more,--is as if it had\nnever been. Every thought, word, and action based upon it has come to end.\n\nI was forcibly reminded of the conversation above quoted by some\nobservations I once had opportunity of making at a Methodist camp-meeting.\nMuch of the preaching and exhortation consisted simply and solely of\nurgent, impassioned appeals to the people to repent,--not because\nrepentance is right; not because God is love, and it is base not to love\nand obey him; not even because godliness is in itself great gain, and\nsinfulness is, even temporarily, loss and ruin; but because there is a\nwrath to come, which will inflict terrible and unending suffering on the\nsinner. He is to \"flee\" for his life from torments indescribable and\neternal; he is to call on Jesus, not to make him holy, but to save him\nfrom woe, to rescue him from frightful danger; all and every thing else is\nsubordinate to the one selfish idea of escaping future misery. The effect\nof these appeals, of these harrowing pictures, on some of the young men\nand women and children was almost too painful to be borne. They were in an\nhysterical condition,--weeping from sheer nervous terror. When the\nexcitement had reached its highest pitch, an elder rose and told the story\nof a wicked and impenitent man whom he had visited a few weeks before. The\nman had assented to all that he told him of the necessity of repentance;\nbut said that he was not at leisure that day to attend the class meeting.\nHe resolved and promised, however, to do so the next week. That very\nnight he was taken ill with a disease of the brain, and, after three days\nof unconsciousness, died. I would not like to quote here the emphasis of\napplication which was made of this story to the terrors of the weeping\nyoung people. Under its influence several were led, almost carried by\nforce, into the anxious seats.\n\nIt was hard not to fancy the gentle Christ looking down upon the scene\nwith a pain as great as that with which he yearned over Jerusalem. I\nlonged for some instant miracle to be wrought on the spot, by which there\nshould come floating down from the peaceful blue sky, through the sweet\ntree-tops, some of the loving and serene words of balm from his Gospel.\n\nTheologians may theorize, and good Christians may differ (they always\nwill) as to the existence, extent, and nature of future punishment; but\nthe fact remains indisputably clear that, whether there be less or more of\nit, whether it be of this sort or of that, fear of it is a base motive to\nappeal to, a false motive to act from, and a worthless motive to trust in.\nPerfect love does not know it; spiritual courage resents it; the true\nKingdom of Heaven is never taken by its \"violence.\"\n\nSomewhere (I wish I knew where, and I wish I knew from whose lips) I once\nfound this immortal sentence: \"A woman went through the streets of\nAlexandria, bearing a jar of water and a lighted torch, and crying aloud,\n'With this torch I will burn up Heaven, and with this water I will put out\nHell, that God may be loved for himself alone.'\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Correlation of Moral Forces.\n\n\n\nScience has dealt and delved patiently with the laws of matter. From\nCuvier to Huxley, we have a long line of clear-eyed workers. The\ngravitating force between all molecules; the law of continuity; the\ninertial force of matter; the sublime facts of organic co-ordination and\nadaptation,--all these are recognized, analyzed, recorded, taught. We have\nlearned that the true meaning of the word law, as applied to Nature, is\nnot decree, but formula of invariable order, immutable as the constitution\nof ultimate units of matter. Order is not imposed upon Nature. Order is\nresult. Physical science does not confuse these; it never mistakes nor\ndenies specific function, organic progression, cyclical growth. It knows\nthat there is no such thing as evasion, interruption, substitution.\n\nWhen shall we have a Cuvier, a Huxley, a Tyndall for the immaterial\nworld,--the realm of spiritual existence, moral growth? Nature is one. The\nthings which we have clumsily and impertinently dared to set off by\nthemselves, and label as \"immaterial,\" are no less truly component parts\nor members of the real frame of natural existence than are molecules of\noxygen or crystals of diamond. We believe in the existence of one as much\nas in the existence of the other. In fact, if there be balance of proof in\nfavor of either, it is not in favor of the existence of what we call\nmatter. All the known sensible qualities of matter are ultimately\nreferable to immaterial forces,--\"forces acting from points or volumes;\"\nand whether these points are occupied by positive substance, or \"matter\"\nas it is usually conceived, cannot to-day be proved. Yet many men have\nless absolute belief in a soul than in nitric acid; many men achieve\nlifetimes of triumph by the faithful use and application of Nature's\nlaw--that is, formula of uniform occurrence--in light, sound, motion,\nwhile they all the while outrage and violate and hinder every one of those\nsweet forces equally hers, equally immutable, called by such names as\ntruth, sobriety, chastity, courage, and good-will.\n\nThe suggestions of this train of thought are too numerous to be followed\nout in the limits of a single article. Take, for instance, the fact of the\nidentity of molecules, and look for its correlative truth in the spiritual\nuniverse. Shall we not thence learn charity, and the better understand the\nfull meaning of some who have said that vices were virtues in excess or\nrestraint? Taking the lists of each, and faithfully comparing them from\nbeginning to end, not one shall be found which will not confirm this\nseemingly paradoxical statement.\n\nTake the great fact of continuous progressive development which applies\nto all organisms, vegetable or animal, and see how it is one with the law\nthat \"the holy shall be holy still, the wicked shall be wicked still.\"\n\nDare we think what would be the formula in statement of spiritual life\nwhich would be correlative to the \"law of continuity\"? Having dared to\nthink, then shall we use the expression \"little sins,\" or doubt the\nterrible absoluteness of exactitude with which \"every idle word which men\nspeak\" shall enter upon eternity of reckoning.\n\nOn the other hand, looking at all existences as organisms, shall we be\ndisturbed at seeming failure?--long periods of apparent inactivity? Shall\nwe believe, for instance, that Christ's great church can be really\nhindered in its appropriate cycle of progressive change and adaptation?\nThat any true membership of this organic body can be formed or annulled by\nmere human interference? That the lopping or burning of branches of the\ntree, even the uprooting and burning of the tree itself, this year, next\nyear, nay, for hundreds of years, shall have power to annihilate or even\ndefer the ultimate organic result?\n\nThe soul of man is not outcast from this glory, this freedom, this safety\nof law. We speak as if we might break it, evade it; we forget it; we deny\nit: but it never forgets us, it never refuses us a morsel of our estate.\nIn spite of us, it protects our growth, makes sure of our development. In\nspite of us, it takes us whithersoever we tend, and not whithersoever we\nlike; in spite of us, it sometimes saves what we have carelessly perilled,\nand always destroys what we wilfully throw away.\n\n\n\n\nA Simple Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner.\n\n\nAll good recipe-books give bills of fare for different occasions, bills of\nfare for grand dinners, bills of fare for little dinners; dinners to cost\nso much per head; dinners \"which can be easily prepared with one servant,\"\nand so on. They give bills of fare for one week; bills of fare for each\nday in a month, to avoid too great monotony in diet. There are bills of\nfare for dyspeptics; bills of fare for consumptives; bills of fare for fat\npeople, and bills of fare for thin; and bills of fare for hospitals,\nasylums, and prisons, as well as for gentlemen's houses. But among them\nall, we never saw the one which we give below. It has never been printed\nin any book; but it has been used in families. We are not drawing on our\nimagination for its items. We have sat at such dinners; we have helped\nprepare such dinners; we believe in such dinners; they are within\neverybody's means. In fact, the most marvellous thing about this bill of\nfare is that the dinner does not cost a cent. Ho! all ye that are hungry\nand thirsty, and would like so cheap a Christmas dinner, listen to this\n\n\nBILL OF FARE FOR A CHRISTMAS DINNER.\n\n_First Course._.--GLADNESS.\n\nThis must be served hot. No two housekeepers make it alike; no fixed rule\ncan be given for it. It depends, like so many of the best things, chiefly\non memory; but, strangely enough, it depends quite as much on proper\nforgetting as on proper remembering. Worries must be forgotten. Troubles\nmust be forgotten. Yes, even sorrow itself must be denied and shut out.\nPerhaps this is not quite possible. Ah! we all have seen Christmas days on\nwhich sorrow would not leave our hearts nor our houses. But even sorrow\ncan be compelled to look away from its sorrowing for a festival hour which\nis so solemnly joyous as Christ's Birthday. Memory can be filled full of\nother things to be remembered. No soul is entirely destitute of blessings,\nabsolutely without comfort. Perhaps we have but one. Very well; we can\nthink steadily of that one, if we try. But the probability is that we have\nmore than we can count. No man has yet numbered the blessings, the\nmercies, the joys of God. We are all richer than we think; and if we once\nset ourselves to reckoning up the things of which we are glad, we shall be\nastonished at their number.\n\nGladness, then, is the first item, the first course on our bill of fare\nfor a Christmas dinner.\n\n_Entrees_.--LOVE garnished with Smiles.\n\nGENTLENESS, with sweet-wine sauce of Laughter.\n\nGRACIOUS SPEECH, cooked with any fine, savory herbs, such as Drollery,\nwhich is always in season, or Pleasant Reminiscence, which no one need be\nwithout, as it keeps for years, sealed or unsealed.\n\n_Second Course_.--HOSPITALITY.\n\nThe precise form of this also depends on individual preferences. We are\nnot undertaking here to give exact recipes, only a bill of fare.\n\nIn some houses Hospitality is brought on surrounded with Relatives. This\nis very well. In others, it is dished up with Dignitaries of all sorts;\nmen and women of position and estate for whom the host has special likings\nor uses. This gives a fine effect to the eye, but cools quickly, and is\nnot in the long-run satisfying.\n\nIn a third class, best of all, it is served in simple shapes, but with a\ngreat variety of Unfortunate Persons,--such as lonely people from\nlodging-houses, poor people of all grades, widows and childless in their\naffliction. This is the kind most preferred; in fact, never abandoned by\nthose who have tried it.\n\n_For Dessert_.--MIRTH, in glasses.\n\nGRATITUDE and FAITH beaten together and piled up in snowy shapes. These\nwill look light if run over night in the moulds of Solid Trust and\nPatience.\n\nA dish of the bonbons Good Cheer and Kindliness with every-day mottoes;\nKnots and Reasons in shape of Puzzles and Answers; the whole ornamented\nwith Apples of Gold in Pictures of Silver, of the kind mentioned in the\nBook of Proverbs.\n\nThis is a short and simple bill of fare. There is not a costly thing in\nit; not a thing which cannot be procured without difficulty.\n\nIf meat is desired, it can be added. That is another excellence about our\nbill of fare. It has nothing in it which makes it incongruous with the\nrichest or the plainest tables. It is not overcrowded by the addition of\nroast goose and plum-pudding; it is not harmed by the addition of herring\nand potatoes. Nay, it can give flavor and richness to broken bits of stale\nbread served on a doorstep and eaten by beggars.\n\nWe might say much more about this bill of fare. We might, perhaps, confess\nthat it has an element of the supernatural; that its origin is lost in\nobscurity; that, although, as we said, it has never been printed before,\nit has been known in all ages; that the martyrs feasted upon it; that\ngenerations of the poor, called blessed by Christ, have laid out banquets\nby it; that exiles and prisoners have lived on it; and the despised and\nforsaken and rejected in all countries have tasted it. It is also true\nthat when any great king ate well and throve on his dinner, it was by the\nsame magic food. The young and the free and the glad, and all rich men in\ncostly houses, even they have not been well fed without it.\n\nAnd though we have called it a Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner, that\nis only that men's eyes may be caught by its name, and that they, thinking\nit a specialty for festival, may learn and understand its secret, and\nhenceforth, laying all their dinners according to its magic order, may\n\"eat unto the Lord.\"\n\n\n\n\nChildren's Parties.\n\n\n\"From six till half-past eleven.\"\n\n\"German at seven, precisely.\"\n\nThese were the terms of an invitation which we saw last week. It was sent\nto forty children, between the ages of ten and sixteen.\n\n\"Will you allow your children to stay at this party until half-past\neleven?\" we said to a mother whose children were invited. \"What can I do?\"\nshe replied. \"If I send the carriage for them at half-past ten, the\nchances are that they will not be allowed to come away. It is impossible\nto break up a set. And as for that matter, half-past ten is two hours and\na half past their bed-time; they might as well stay an hour longer. I wish\nnobody would ever ask my children to a party. I cannot keep them at home,\nif they are asked. Of course, I _might_; but I have not the moral courage\nto see them so unhappy. All the other children go; and what can I do?\"\n\nThis is a tender, loving mother, whose sweet, gentle, natural methods with\nher children have made them sweet, gentle, natural little girls, whom it\nis a delight to know. But \"what can she do?\" The question is by no means\none which can be readily answered. It is very easy for off-hand severity,\nsweeping condemnation, to say, \"Do! Why, nothing is plainer. Keep her\nchildren away from such places. Never let them go to any parties which\nwill last later than nine o'clock.\" This is the same thing as saying,\n\"Never let them go to parties at all.\" There are no parties which break up\nat nine o'clock; that is, there are not in our cities. We hope there are\nsuch parties still in country towns and villages,--such parties as we\nremember to this day with a vividness which no social enjoyments since\nthen have dimmed; Saturday-afternoon parties,--_matinees_ they would have\nbeen called if the village people had known enough; parties which began at\nthree in the afternoon and ended in the early dusk, while little ones\ncould see their way home; parties at which there was no \"German,\" only the\nsimplest of dancing, if any, and much more of blind-man's-buff; parties at\nwhich \"mottoes\" in sugar horns were the luxurious novelty, caraway cookies\nthe staple, and lemonade the only drink besides pure water. Fancy offering\nto the creature called child in cities to-day, lemonade and a caraway\ncooky and a few pink sugar horns and some walnuts and raisins to carry\nhome in its pocket! One blushes at thought of the scornful contempt with\nwhich such simples would be received,--we mean rejected!\n\nFrom the party whose invitation we have quoted above the little girls came\nhome at midnight, radiant, flushed, joyous, looking in their floating\nwhite muslin dresses like fairies, their hands loaded with bouquets of\nhot-house flowers and dainty little \"favors\" from the German. At eleven\nthey had had for supper champagne and chicken salad, and all the other\nunwholesome abominations which are set out and eaten in American evening\nentertainments.\n\nNext morning there were no languid eyes, pale cheeks. Each little face was\neager, bright, rosy, though the excited brain had had only five or six\nhours of sleep.\n\n\"If they only would feel tired the next day, that would be something of an\nargument to bring up with them,\" said the poor mother. \"But they always\ndeclare that they feel better than ever.\"\n\nAnd so they do. But the \"better\" is only a deceitful sham, kept up by\nexcited and overwrought nerves,--the same thing that we see over and over\nand over again in all lives which are temporarily kindled and stimulated\nby excitement of any kind.\n\nThis is the worst thing, this is the most fatal thing in all our\nmismanagements and perversions of the physical life of our children. Their\nbeautiful elasticity and strength rebound instantly to an apparently\nuninjured fulness; and so we go on, undermining, undermining at point\nafter point, until suddenly some day there comes a tragedy, a catastrophe,\nfor which we are as unprepared as if we had been working to avert, instead\nof to hasten it. Who shall say when our boys die at eighteen, twenty,\ntwenty-two, our girls either in their girlhood or in the first strain of\ntheir womanhood,--who shall say that they might not have passed safely\nthrough the dangers, had no vital force been unnecessarily wasted in their\nchildhood, their infancy?\n\nEvery hour that a child sleeps is just so much investment of physical\ncapital for years to come. Every hour after dark that a child is awake is\njust so much capital withdrawn. Every hour that a child lives a quiet,\ntranquil, joyous life of such sort as kittens live on hearths, squirrels\nin sunshine, is just so much investment in strength and steadiness and\ngrowth of the nervous system. Every hour that a child lives a life of\nexcited brain-working, either in a school-room or in a ball-room, is just\nso much taken away from the reserved force which enables nerves to triumph\nthrough the sorrows, through the labors, through the diseases of later\nlife. Every mouthful of wholesome food that a child eats, at seasonable\nhours, may be said to tell on every moment of his whole life, no matter\nhow long it may be. Victor Hugo, the benevolent exile, has found out that\nto be well fed once in seven days at one meal has been enough to transform\nthe apparent health of all the poor children in Guernsey. Who shall say\nthat to take once in seven days, or even once in thirty days, an\nunwholesome supper of chicken salad and champagne may not leave as lasting\neffects on the constitution of a child?\n\nIf Nature would only \"execute\" her \"sentences against evil works\" more\n\"speedily,\" evil works would not so thrive. The law of continuity is the\nhardest one for average men and women to comprehend,--or, at any rate, to\nobey. Seed-time and harvest in gardens and fields they have learned to\nunderstand and profit by. When we learn, also, that in the precious lives\nof these little ones we cannot reap what we do not sow, and we must reap\nall which we do sow, and that the emptiness or the richness of the harvest\nis not so much for us as for them, one of the first among the many things\nwhich we shall reform will be \"children's parties.\"\n\n\n\n\nAfter-Supper Talk.\n\n\n\"After-dinner talk\" has been thought of great importance. The expression\nhas passed into literature, with many records of the good sayings it\nincluded. Kings and ministers condescend to make efforts at it; poets and\nphilosophers--greater than kings and ministers--do not disdain to attempt\nto shine in it.\n\nBut nobody has yet shown what \"after-supper talk\" ought to be. We are not\nspeaking now of the formal entertainment known as \"a supper;\" we mean the\nevery-day evening meal in the every-day home,--the meal known heartily and\ncommonly as \"supper,\" among people who are neither so fashionable nor so\nfoolish as to take still a fourth meal at hours when they ought to be\nasleep in bed.\n\nThis ought to be the sweetest and most precious hour of the day. It is too\noften neglected and lost in families. It ought to be the mother's hour;\nthe mother's opportunity to undo any mischief the day may have done, to\nforestall any mischief the morrow may threaten. There is an instinctive\ndisposition in most families to linger about the supper-table, quite\nunlike the eager haste which is seen at breakfast and at dinner. Work is\nover for the day; everybody is tired, even the little ones who have done\nnothing but play. The father is ready for slippers and a comfortable\nchair; the children are ready and eager to recount the incidents of the\nday. This is the time when all should be cheered, rested, and also\nstimulated by just the right sort of conversation, just the right sort of\namusement.\n\nThe wife and mother must supply this need, must create this atmosphere. We\ndo not mean that the father does not share the responsibility of this, as\nof every other hour. But this particular duty is one requiring qualities\nwhich are more essentially feminine than masculine. It wants a light touch\nand an _undertone_ to bring out the full harmony of the ideal home\nevening. It must not be a bore. It must not be empty; it must not be too\nmuch like preaching; it must not be wholly like play; more than all\nthings, it must not be always--no, not if it could be helped, not even\ntwice--the same! It must be that most indefinable, most recognizable\nthing, \"a good time.\" Bless the children for inventing the phrase! It has,\nlike all their phrases, an unconscious touch of sacred inspiration in it,\nin the selection of the good word \"good,\" which lays peculiar benediction\non all things to which it is set.\n\nIf there were no other reason against children's having lessons assigned\nthem to study at home, we should consider this a sufficient one, that it\nrobs them of the after-supper hour with their parents. Even if their\nbrains could bear without injury the sixth, seventh, or eighth hour, as\nit may be, of study, their hearts cannot bear the being starved.\n\nIn the average family, this is the one only hour of the day when father,\nmother, and children can be together, free of cares and unhurried. Even to\nthe poorest laborer's family comes now something like peace and rest\nforerunning the intermission of the night.\n\nEverybody who has any artistic sense recognizes this instinctively when\nthey see through the open doors of humble houses the father and mother and\nchildren gathered around their simple supper. Its mention has already\npassed into triteness in verse, so inevitably have poets felt the sacred\ncharm of the hour.\n\nPerhaps there is something deeper than on first thoughts would appear in\nthe instant sense of pleasure one has in this sight; also, in the\nuniversal feeling that the evening gathering of the family is the most\nsacred one. Perhaps there is unconscious recognition that dangers are near\nat hand when night falls, and that in this hour lies, or should lie, the\nspell to drive them all away.\n\nThere is something almost terrible in the mingling of danger and\nprotection, of harm and help, of good and bad, in that one thing,\ndarkness. God \"giveth his beloved sleep\" in it; and in it the devil sets\nhis worst lures, by help of it gaining many a soul which he could never\nget possession of in sunlight.\n\nMothers, fathers! cultivate \"after-supper talk;\" play \"after-supper\ngames;\" keep \"after-supper books;\" take all the good newspapers and\nmagazines you can afford, and read them aloud \"after supper.\" Let boys and\ngirls bring their friends home with them at twilight, sure of a pleasant\nand hospitable welcome and of a good time \"after supper,\" and parents may\nlaugh to scorn all the temptations which town or village can set before\nthem to draw them away from home for their evenings.\n\nThese are but hasty hints, bare suggestions. But if they rouse one heart\nto a new realization of what evenings at home _ought_ to be, and what\nevenings at home too often are, they have not been spoken in vain nor out\nof season.\n\n\n\n\nHysteria In Literature.\n\n\n\nPhysicians tell us that there is no known disease, no known symptom of\ndisease, which hysteria cannot and does not counterfeit. Most skilful\nsurgeons are misled by its cunning into believing and pronouncing\nable-bodied young women to be victims of spinal disease, \"stricture of the\noesophagus,\" \"gastrodynia,\" \"paraplegia,\" \"hemiplegia,\" and hundreds of\nother affections, with longer or shorter names. Families are thrown into\ndisorder and distress; friends suffer untold pains of anxiety and\nsympathy; doctors are summoned from far and near; and all this while the\nvertebra, or the membrane, or the muscle, as it may be, which is so\nhonestly believed to be diseased, and which shows every symptom of\ndiseased action or inaction, is sound and strong, and as well able as ever\nit was to perform its function.\n\nThe common symptoms of hysteria everybody is familiar with,--the crying\nand laughing in inappropriate places, the fancied impossibility of\nbreathing, and so forth,--which make such trouble and mortification for\nthe embarrassed companions of hysterical persons; and which, moreover, can\nbe very easily suppressed by a little wholesome severity, accompanied by\njudicious threats or sudden use of cold water. But few people know or\nsuspect the number of diseases and conditions, supposed to be real,\nserious, often incurable, which are simply and solely, or in a great part,\nundetected hysteria. This very ignorance on the part of friends and\nrelatives makes it almost impossible for surgeons and physicians to treat\nsuch cases properly. The probabilities are, in nine cases out of ten, that\nthe indignant family will dismiss, as ignorant or hard-hearted, any\npractitioner who tells them the unvarnished truth, and proposes to treat\nthe sufferer in accordance with it.\n\nIn the field of literature we find a hysteria as widespread, as\nundetected, as unmanageable as the hysteria which skulks and conquers in\nthe field of disease.\n\nIts commoner outbreaks everybody knows by sight and sound, and everybody\nexcept the miserably ignorant and silly despises. Yet there are to be\nfound circles which thrill and weep in sympathetic unison with the\nridiculous joys and sorrows, grotesque sentiments, and preposterous\nadventures of the heroes and heroines of the \"Dime Novels\" and novelettes,\nand the \"Flags\" and \"Blades\" and \"Gazettes\" among the lowest newspapers.\nBut in well-regulated and intelligent households, this sort of writing is\nnot tolerated, any more than the correlative sort of physical phenomenon\nwould be,--the gasping, shrieking, sobbing, giggling kind of behavior in a\nman or woman.\n\nBut there is another and more dangerous working of the same thing; deep,\nunsuspected, clothing itself with symptoms of the most defiant\ngenuineness, it lurks and does its business in every known field of\ncomposition. Men and women are alike prone to it, though its shape is\nsomewhat affected by sex.\n\nAmong men it breaks out often, perhaps oftenest, in violent illusions on\nthe subject of love. They assert, declare, shout, sing, scream that they\nlove, have loved, are loved, do and for ever will love, after methods and\nin manners which no decent love ever thought of mentioning. And yet, so\ndoes their weak violence ape the bearing of strength, so much does their\ncheat look like truth, that scores, nay, shoals of human beings go about\nrepeating and echoing their noise, and saying, gratefully, \"Yes, this is\nlove; this is, indeed, what all true lovers must know.\"\n\nThese are they who proclaim names of beloved on house-tops; who strip off\nveils from sacred secrets and secret sacrednesses, and set them up naked\nfor the multitude to weigh and compare. What punishment is for such\nbeloved, Love himself only knows. It must be in store for them somewhere.\nDimly one can suspect what it might be; but it will be like all Love's\ntrue secrets,--secret for ever.\n\nThese men of hysteria also take up specialties of art or science; and in\ntheir behoof rant, and exaggerate, and fabricate, and twist, and lie in\nsuch stentorian voices that reasonable people are deafened and bewildered.\n\nThey also tell common tales in such enormous phrases, with such gigantic\nstructure of rhetorical flourish, that the mere disproportion amounts to\nfalse-hood; and, the diseased appetite in listeners growing more and more\ndiseased, feeding on such diseased food, it is impossible to predict what\nit will not be necessary for story-mongers to invent at the end of a\ncentury or so more of this.\n\nBut the worst manifestations of this disease are found in so-called\nreligious writing. Theology, biography, especially autobiography, didactic\nessays, tales with a moral,--under every one of these titles it lifts up\nits hateful head. It takes so successfully the guise of genuine religious\nemotion, religious experience, religious zeal, that good people on all\nhands weep grateful tears as they read its morbid and unwholesome\nutterances. Of these are many of the long and short stories setting forth\nin melodramatic pictures exceptionally good or exceptionally bad children;\nor exceptionally pathetic and romantic careers of sweet and refined\nMagdalens; minute and prolonged dissections of the processes of spiritual\ngrowth; equally minute and authoritative formulas for spiritual exercises\nof all sorts,--\"manuals of drill,\" so to speak, or \"field tactics\" for\nsouls. Of these sorts of books, the good and the bad are almost\nindistinguishable from each other, except by the carefulest attention and\nthe finest insight; overwrought, unnatural atmosphere and meaningless,\nshallow routine so nearly counterfeit the sound and shape of warm, true\nenthusiasm and wise precepts.\n\nWhere may be the remedy for this widespread and widely spreading disease\namong writers we do not know. It is not easy to keep up courageous faith\nthat there is any remedy. Still Nature abhors noise and haste, and shams\nof all sorts. Quiet and patience are the great secrets of her force,\nwhether it be a mountain or a soul that she would fashion. We must believe\nthat sooner or later there will come a time in which silence shall have\nits dues, moderation be crowned king of speech, and melodramatic,\nspectacular, hysterical language be considered as disreputable as it is\nsilly. But the most discouraging feature of the disease is its extreme\ncontagiousness. All physicians know what a disastrous effect one\nhysterical patient will produce upon a whole ward in a hospital. We\nremember hearing a young physician once give a most amusing account of a\nwoman who was taken to Bellevue Hospital for a hysterical cough. Her\nlungs, bronchia, throat, were all in perfect condition; but she coughed\nalmost incessantly, especially on the approach of the hour for the\ndoctor's visit to the ward. In less than one week half the women in the\nward had similar coughs. A single--though it must be confessed rather\nterrific--application of cold water to the original offender worked a\nsimultaneous cure upon her and all of her imitators.\n\nNot long ago a very parallel thing was to be observed in the field of\nstory-writing. A clever, though morbid and melodramatic writer published a\nnovel, whose heroine, having once been an inmate of a house of ill-fame,\nescaped, and, finding shelter and Christian training in the home of a\nbenevolent woman, became a model of womanly delicacy, and led a life of\nexquisite and artistic refinement. As to the animus and intent of this\nstory there could be no doubt; both were good, but in atmosphere and\nexecution it was essentially unreal, overwrought, and melodramatic. For\nthree or four months after its publication there was a perfect outburst\nand overflow in newspapers and magazines of the lower order of stories,\nall more or less bad, some simply outrageous, and all treating, or rather\npretending to treat, the same problem which had furnished theme for that\nnovel.\n\nProbably a close observation and collecting of the dreary statistics would\nbring to light a curious proof of the extent and certainty of this sort of\ncontagion.\n\nReflecting on it, having it thrust in one's face at every book-counter,\nrailway-stand, Sunday-school library, and parlor centre-table, it is hard\nnot to wish for some supernatural authority to come sweeping through the\nwards, and prescribe sharp cold-water treatment all around to half drown\nall such writers and quite drown all their books!\n\n\n\n\nJog Trot.\n\n\nThere is etymological uncertainty about the phrase. But there is no doubt\nabout its meaning; no doubt that it represents a good, comfortable gait,\nat which nobody goes nowadays.\n\nA hundred years ago it was the fashion: in the days when railroads were\nnot, nor telegraphs; when citizens journeyed in stages, putting up prayers\nin church if their journey were to be so long as from Massachusetts into\nConnecticut; when evil news travelled slowly by letter, and good news was\ncarried about by men on horses; when maidens spun and wove for long,\nquiet, silent years at their wedding _trousseaux_, and mothers spun and\nwove all which sons and husbands wore; when newspapers were small and\ninfrequent, dingy-typed and wholesomely stupid, so that no man could or\nwould learn from them more about other men's opinions, affairs, or\noccupations than it concerned his practical convenience to know; when even\nwars were waged at slow pace,--armies sailing great distances by chance\nwinds, or plodding on foot for thousands of miles, and fighting doggedly\nhand to hand at sight; when fortunes also were slowly made by simple,\nhonest growths,--no men excepting freebooters and pirates becoming rich\nin a day.\n\nIt would seem treason or idiocy to sigh for these old days,--treason to\nideas of progress, stupid idiocy unaware that it is well off. Is not\nto-day brilliant, marvellous, beautiful? Has not living become subject to\na magician's \"presto\"? Are we not decked in the whole of color, feasted on\nall that shape and sound and flavor can give? Are we not wiser each moment\nthan we were the moment before? Do not the blind see, the deaf hear, and\nthe crippled dance? Has not Nature surrendered to us? Art and science, are\nthey not our slaves,--coining money and running mills? Have we not built\nand multiplied religions, till each man, even the most irreligious, can\nhave his own? Is not what is called the \"movement of the age\" going on at\nthe highest rate of speed and of sound? Shall we complain that we are\nmaddened by the racket, out of breath with the spinning and whirling, and\ndying of the strain of it all? What is a man, more or less? What are one\nhundred and twenty millions of men, more or less? What is quiet in\ncomparison with riches? or digestion and long life in comparison with\nknowledge? When we are added up in the universal reckoning of races, there\nwill be small mention of individuals. Let us be disinterested. Let us\nsacrifice ourselves, and, above all, our children, to raise the general\naverage of human invention and attainment to the highest possible mark. To\nbe sure, we are working in the dark. We do not know, not even if we are\nHuxley do we know, at what point in the grand, universal scale we shall\nultimately come in. We know, or think we know, about how far below us\nstand the gorilla and the seal. We patronize them kindly for learning to\nturn hand-organs or eat from porringers. Let us hope that, if we have\nbrethren of higher races on other planets, they will be as generously\nappreciative of our little all when we have done it; but, meanwhile, let\nus never be deterred from our utmost endeavor by any base and envious\nmisgivings that possibly we may not be the last and highest work of the\nCreator, and in a fair way to reach very soon the final climax of all\nwhich created intelligences can be or become. Let us make the best of\ndyspepsia, paralysis, insanity, and the death of our children. Perhaps we\ncan do as much in forty years, working night and day, as we could in\nseventy, working only by day; and the five out of twelve children that\nlive to grow up can perpetuate the names and the methods of their fathers.\nIt is a comfort to believe, as we are told, that the world can never lose\nan iota that it has gained; that progress is the great law of the\nuniverse. It is consoling to verify this truth by looking backward, and\nseeing how each age has made use of the wrecks of the preceding one as\nmaterial for new structures on different plans. What are we that we should\nmention our preference for being put to some other use, more immediately\nremunerative to ourselves!\n\nWe must be all wrong if we are not in sympathy with the age in which we\nlive. We might as well be dead as not keep up with it. But which of us\ndoes not sometimes wish in his heart of hearts, that he had been born long\nenough ago to have been boon companion of his great-grandfather, and have\ngone respectably and in due season to his grave at a good jog trot?\n\n\n\n\nThe Joyless American.\n\n\nIt is easy to fancy that a European, on first reaching these shores, might\nsuppose that he had chanced to arrive upon a day when some great public\ncalamity had saddened the heart of the nation. It would be quite safe to\nassume that out of the first five hundred faces which he sees there will\nnot be ten wearing a smile, and not fifty, all told, looking as if they\never could smile. If this statement sounds extravagant to any man, let him\ntry the experiment, for one week, of noting down, in his walks about town,\nevery face he sees which has a radiantly cheerful expression. The chances\nare that at the end of his seven days he will not have entered seven faces\nin his note-book without being aware at the moment of some conscientious\ndifficulty in permitting himself to call them positively and unmistakably\ncheerful.\n\nThe truth is, this wretched and joyless expression on the American face is\nso common that we are hardened to seeing it, and look for nothing better.\nOnly when by chance some blessed, rollicking, sunshiny boy or girl or man\nor woman flashes the beam of a laughing countenance into the level gloom\ndo we even know that we are in the dark. Witness the instant effect of\nthe entrance of such a person into an omnibus or a car. Who has not\nobserved it? Even the most stolid and apathetic soul relaxes a little. The\nunconscious intruder, simply by smiling, has set the blood moving more\nquickly in the veins of every human being who sees him. He is, for the\nmoment, the personal benefactor of every one; if he had handed about money\nor bread, it would have been a philanthropy of less value.\n\nWhat is to be done to prevent this acrid look of misery from becoming an\norganic characteristic of our people? \"Make them play more,\" says one\nphilosophy. No doubt they need to \"play more;\" but, when one looks at the\naverage expression of a Fourth of July crowd, one doubts if ever so much\nmultiplication of that kind of holiday would mend the matter. No doubt we\nwork for too many days in the year, and play for too few; but, after all,\nit is the heart and the spirit and the expression that we bring to our\nwork, and not those that we bring to our play, by which our real vitality\nmust be tested and by which our faces will be stamped. If we do not work\nhealthfully, reasoningly, moderately, thankfully, joyously, we shall have\nneither moderation nor gratitude nor joy in our play. And here is the\nhopelessness, here is the root of the trouble, of the joyless American\nface. The worst of all demons, the demon of unrest and overwork, broods in\nthe very sky of this land. Blue and clear and crisp and sparkling as our\natmosphere is, it cannot or does not exorcise the spell. Any old man can\ncount on the fingers of one hand the persons he has known who led lives of\nserene, unhurried content, made for themselves occupations and not tasks,\nand died at last what might be called natural deaths.\n\n\"What, then?\" says the congressional candidate from Mettibemps; the \"new\ncontributor\" to the oceanic magazine; Mrs. Potiphar, from behind her\nliveries; and poor Dives, senior, from Wall Street; \"Are we to give up all\nambition?\" God forbid. But, because one has a goal, must one be torn by\npoisoned spurs? We see on the Corso, in the days of the Carnival, what\nspeed can be made by horses under torture. Shall we try those methods and\nthat pace on our journeys?\n\nSo long as the American is resolved to do in one day the work of two, to\nmake in one year the fortune of his whole life and his children's, to earn\nbefore he is forty the reputation which belongs to threescore and ten, so\nlong he will go about the streets wearing his present abject, pitiable,\noverwrought, joyless look. But, even without a change of heart or a reform\nof habits, he might better his countenance a little, if he would. Even if\nhe does not feel like smiling, he might smile, if he tried; and that would\nbe something. The muscles are all there; they count the same in the\nAmerican as in the French or the Irish face; they relax easily in youth;\nthe trick can be learned. And even a trick of it is better than none of\nit. Laughing masters might be as well paid as dancing masters to help on\nsociety! \"Smiling made Easy\" or the \"Complete Art of Looking\nGood-natured\" would be as taking titles on book-sellers' shelves as \"The\nComplete Letter-writer\" or \"Handbook of Behavior.\" And nobody can\ncalculate what might be the moral and spiritual results if it could only\nbecome the fashion to pursue this branch of the fine arts. Surliness of\nheart must melt a little under the simple effort to smile. A man will\ninevitably be a little less of a bear for trying to wear the face of a\nChristian.\n\n\"He who laughs can commit no deadly sin,\" said the wise and sweet-hearted\nwoman who was mother of Goethe.\n\n\n\n\nSpiritual Teething\n\n\nMilk for babes; but, when they come to the age for meat of doctrine, teeth\nmust be cut. It is harder work for souls than for bodies; but the\nprocesses are wonderfully parallel,--the results too, alas! If clergymen\nknew the symptoms of spiritual disease and death, as well as doctors do of\ndisease and death of the flesh, and if the lists were published at end of\neach year and month and week, what a record would be shown! \"Mortality in\nBrooklyn, or New York, or Philadelphia for the week ending July 7th.\" We\nare so used to the curt heading of the little paragraph that our eye\nglances idly away from it, and we do not realize its sadness. By tens and\nby scores they have gone,--the men, the women, the babies; in hundreds new\nmourners are going about the streets, week by week. We are as familiar\nwith black as with scarlet, with the hearse as with the pleasure-carriage;\nand yet \"so dies in human hearts the thought of death\" that we can be\nmerry.\n\nBut, if we knew as well the record of sick and dying and dead souls, our\nhearts would break. The air would be dark and stifling. We should be\nafraid to move,--lest we might hasten the last hour of some neighbor's\nspiritual breath. Ah, how often have we unconsciously spoken the one word\nwhich was poison to his fever!\n\nOf the spiritual deaths, as of the physical, more than half take place in\nthe period of teething. The more one thinks of the parallelism, the closer\nit looks, until the likeness seems as droll as dismal. Oh, the sweet,\nunquestioning infancy which takes its food from the nearest breast; which\nknows but three things,--hunger and food and sleep! There is only a little\nspace for this delight. In our seventh month we begin to be wretched. We\ndrink our milk, but we are aware of a constant desire to bite; doubts\nwhich we do not know by name, needs for which there is no ready supply,\nmake us restless. Now comes the old-school doctor, and thrusts in his\nlancet too soon. We suffer, we bleed; we are supposed to be relieved. The\ntooth is said to be \"through.\"\n\nThrough! Oh, yes; through before its time. Through to no purpose. In a\nweek, or a year, the wounded flesh, or soul, has reasserted its right,\nshut down on the tooth, making a harder surface than ever, a cicatrized\ncrust, out of which it will take double time and double strength for the\ntooth to break.\n\nThe gentle doctor gives us a rubber ring, it has a bad taste; or an ivory\none, it is too hard and hurts us. But we gnaw and gnaw, and fancy the new\npain a little easier to bear than the old. Probably it is; probably the\ntooth gets through a little quicker for the days and nights of gnawing.\nBut what a picture of patient misery is a baby with its rubber ring!\nReally one sees sometimes in the little puckered, twisting face such\ngrotesque prophecy of future conflicts, such likeness to the soul's\nprocesses of grappling with problems, that it is uncanny.\n\nWhen we come to the analysis of the diseases incident to the teething\nperiod, and the treatment of them, the similitude is as close.\n\nWe have sharp, sudden inflammations; we have subtle and more deadly\nthings, which men do not detect till it is, in nine cases out of ten, too\nlate to cure them,--like water on the brain; and we have slow wastings\naway; atrophies, which are worse than death, leaving life enough to\nprolong death indefinitely, being as it were living deaths.\n\nWho does not know poor souls in all stages of all these,--outbreaks of\nrebellion against all forms, all creeds, all proprieties; secret adoptions\nof perilous delusions, fatal errors; and slow settling down into\nindifferentism or narrow dogmatism, the two worst living deaths?\n\nThese are they who live. Shall we say any thing of those of us who die\nbetween our seventh and eighteenth spiritual month? They never put on\nbabies' tombstones \"Died of teething.\" There is always a special name for\nthe special symptom or set of symptoms which characterized the last days.\nBut the mother believes and the doctor knows that, if it had not been for\nthe teeth that were coming just at that time, the fever or the croup would\nnot have killed the child.\n\nNow we come to the treatments; and here again the parallelism is so close\nas to be ludicrous. The lancet and the rubber ring fail. We are still\nrestless, and scream and cry. Then our self-sacrificing nurses walk with\nus; they rock us, they swing us, they toss us up and down, they jounce us\nfrom top to bottom, till the wonder is that every organ in our bodies is\nnot displaced. They beat on glass and tin and iron to distract our\nattention and drown out our noise by a bigger one; they shake back and\nforth before our eyes all things that glitter and blaze; they shout and\nsing songs; the house and the neighborhood are searched and racked for\nsomething which will \"amuse\" the baby. Then, when we will no longer be\n\"amused,\" and when all this restlessness outside and around us, added to\nthe restlessness inside us, has driven us more than frantic, and the day\nor the night of their well-meant clamor is nearly over, their strength\nworn out, and their wits at end,--then comes the \"soothing syrup,\"\ndeadliest weapon of all. This we cannot resist. If there be they who are\nmighty enough to pour it down our throats, physically or spiritually, to\nsleep we must go, and asleep we must stay so long as the effect of the\ndose lasts.\n\nIt is of this, we oftenest die,--not in a day or a year, but after many\ndays and many years; when in some sharp crisis we need for our salvation\nthe force which should have been developing in our infancy, the muscle or\nthe nerve which should have been steadily growing strong till that moment.\nBut the force is not there; the muscle is weak; the nerve paralyzed; and\nwe die at twenty of a light fever, we fall down at twenty, under sudden\ngrief or temptation, because of our long sleeps under soothing syrups when\nwe were babies.\n\nOh, good nurses and doctors of souls, let them cut their own teeth, in the\nnatural ways. Let them scream if they must, but keep you still on one\nside; give them no false helps; let them alone so far as it is possible\nfor love and sympathy to do so. Man is the only animal that has trouble\nfrom the growing of the teeth in his body. It must be his own fault\nsomehow that he has that; and he has evidently been always conscious of a\nlikeness between this difficulty and perversion of a process natural to\nhis body, and the difficulty and perversion of his getting sensible and\njust opinions; for it has passed into the immortality of a proverb that a\nshrewd man is a man who has \"cut his eye-teeth;\" and the four last teeth,\nwhich we get late in life, and which cost many people days of real\nillness, are called in all tongues, all countries, \"wisdom teeth!\"\n\n\n\n\nGlass Houses.\n\n\nWho would live in one, if he could help it? And who wants to throw stones?\n\nBut who lives in any thing else, nowadays? And how much better off are\nthey who never threw a stone in their lives than the rude mob who throw\nthem all the time?\n\nReally, the proverb might as well be blotted out from our books and\ndropped from our speech. It has no longer use or meaning.\n\nIt is becoming a serious question what shall be done, or rather what can\nbe done, to secure to fastidious people some show and shadow of privacy in\ntheir homes. The silly and vulgar passion of people for knowing all about\ntheir neighbors' affairs, which is bad enough while it takes shape merely\nin idle gossip of mouth, is something terrible when it is exalted into a\nregular market demand of the community, and fed by a regular market supply\nfrom all who wish to print what the community will read.\n\nWe do not know which is worse in this traffic, the buyer or the seller; we\nthink, on the whole, the buyer. But then he is again a seller; and so\nthere it is,--wheel within wheel, cog upon cog. And, since all these\nsellers must earn their bread and butter, the more one searches for a fair\npoint of attacking the evil, the more he is perplexed.\n\nThe man who writes must, if he needs pay for his work, write what the man\nwho prints will buy. The man who prints must print what the people who\nread will buy. Upon whom, then, shall we lay earnest hands? Clearly, upon\nthe last buyer,--upon him who reads. But things have come to such a pass\nalready that to point out to the average American that it is vulgar and\nalso unwholesome to devour with greedy delight all sorts of details about\nhis neighbors' business seems as hopeless and useless as to point out to\nthe currie-eater or the whiskey-drinker the bad effects of fire and\nstrychnine upon mucous membranes. The diseased palate craves what has made\nit diseased,--craves it more, and more, and more. In case of stomachs,\nNature has a few simple inventions of her own for bringing reckless abuses\nto a stand-still,--dyspepsia, and delirium-tremens, and so on.\n\nBut she takes no account, apparently, of the diseased conditions of brains\nincident to the long use of unwholesome or poisonous intellectual food.\nPerhaps she never anticipated this class of excesses. And, if there were\nto be a precisely correlative punishment, it is to be feared it would fall\nmore heavily on the least guilty offender. It is not hard to fancy a poor\nsoul who, having been condemned to do reporters' duty for some years, and\nhaving been forced to dwell and dilate upon scenes and details which his\nvery soul revolted from mentioning,--it is not hard to fancy such a soul\nvisited at last by a species of delirium-tremens, in which the speeches of\nmen who had spoken, the gowns of women who had danced, the faces, the\nfigures, the furniture of celebrities, should all be mixed up in a\ngrotesque phantasmagoria of torture, before which he should writhe as\nhelplessly and agonizingly as the poor whiskey-drinker before his snakes.\nBut it would be a cruel misplacement of punishment. All the while the true\nguilty would be placidly sitting down at still further unsavory banquets,\nwhich equally helpless providers were driven to furnish!\n\nThe evil is all the harder to deal with, also, because it is like so many\nevils,--all, perhaps,--only a diseased outgrowth, from a legitimate and\njustifiable thing. It is our duty to sympathize; it is our privilege and\npleasure to admire. No man lives to himself alone; no man can; no man\nought. It is right that we should know about our neighbors all which will\nhelp us to help them, to be just to them, to avoid them, if need be; in\nshort, all which we need to know for their or our reasonable and fair\nadvantage. It is right, also, that we should know about men who are or\nhave been great all which can enable us to understand their greatness; to\nprofit, to imitate, to revere; all that will help us to remember whatever\nis worth remembering. There is education in this; it is experience, it is\nhistory.\n\nBut how much of what is written, printed, and read to-day about the men\nand women of to-day comes under these heads? It is unnecessary to do more\nthan ask the question. It is still more unnecessary to do more than ask\nhow many of the men and women of to-day, whose names have become almost as\nstereotyped a part of public journals as the very titles of the journals\nthemselves, have any claim to such prominence. But all these\nconsiderations seem insignificant by side of the intrinsic one of the\nvulgarity of the thing, and its impudent ignoring of the most sacred\nrights of individuals. That there are here and there weak fools who like\nto see their names and most trivial movements chronicled in newspapers\ncannot be denied. But they are few. And their silly pleasure is very small\nin the aggregate compared with the annoyance and pain suffered by\nsensitive and refined people from these merciless invasions of their\nprivacy. No precautions can forestall them, no reticence prevent; nothing,\napparently, short of dying outright, can set one free. And even then it is\nmerely leaving the torture behind, a harrowing legacy to one's friends;\nfor tombs are even less sacred than houses. Memory, friendship,\nobligation,--all are lost sight of in the greed of desire to make an\neffective sketch, a surprising revelation, a neat analysis, or perhaps an\nadroit implication of honor to one's self by reason of an old association\nwith greatness. Private letters and private conversations, which may touch\nliving hearts in a thousand sore spots, are hawked about as coolly as if\nthey had been old clothes, left too long unredeemed in the hands of the\npawn-broker! \"Dead men tell no tales,\" says the proverb. One wishes they\ncould! We should miss some spicy contributions to magazine and newspaper\nliterature; and a sudden silence would fall upon some loud-mouthed living.\n\nBut we despair of any cure for this evil. No ridicule, no indignation\nseems to touch it. People must make the best they can of their glass\nhouses; and, if the stones come too fast, take refuge in the cellars.\n\n\n\n\nThe Old-Clothes Monger in Journalism.\n\n\n\nThe old-clothes business has never been considered respectable. It is\nsupposed to begin and to end with cheating; it deals with very dirty\nthings. It would be hard to mention a calling of lower repute. From the\nmen who come to your door with trays of abominable china vases on their\nheads, and are ready to take any sort of rags in payment for them,\ndown--or up?--to the bigger wretches who advertise that \"ladies and\ngentlemen can obtain the highest price for their cast-off clothing by\ncalling at No. so and so, on such a street,\" they are all alike odious and\ndespicable.\n\nWe wonder when we find anybody who is not an abject Jew, engaged in the\nbusiness. We think we can recognize the stamp of the disgusting traffic on\ntheir very faces. It is by no means uncommon to hear it said of a sorry\nsneak, \"He looks like an old-clothes dealer.\"\n\nBut what shall we say of the old-clothes mongers in journalism? By the\nvery name we have defined, described them, and pointed them out. If only\nwe could make the name such a badge of disgrace that every member of the\nfraternity should forthwith betake him or herself to some sort of honest\nlabor!\n\nThese are they who crowd the columns of our daily newspapers with the\ndreary, monotonous, worthless, scandalous tales of what other men and\nwomen did, are doing, or will do, said, say, or will say, wore, wear, or\nwill wear, thought, think, or will think, ate, eat, or will eat, drank,\ndrink, or will drink: and if there be any other verb coming under the head\nof \"to do, to be, to suffer,\" add that to the list, and the old-clothes\nmonger will furnish you with something to fill out the phrase.\n\nThese are they who patch out their miserable, little, sham \"properties\"\nfor mock representations of life, by scraps from private letters, bits of\nconversation overheard on piazzas, in parlors, in bedrooms, by odds and\nends of untrustworthy statements picked up at railway-stations,\nchurch-doors, and offices of all sorts, by impudent inferences and\nsuppositions, and guesses about other people's affairs, by garblings and\npartial quotings, and, if need be, by wholesale lyings.\n\nThe trade is on the increase,--rapidly, fearfully on the increase. Every\nlarge city, every summer watering-place, is more or less infested with\nthis class of dealers. The goods they have to furnish are more and more in\ndemand. There is hardly a journal in the country but has column after\ncolumn full of their tattered wares; there is hardly a man or woman in the\ncountry but buys them.\n\nThere is, perhaps, no remedy. Human nature has not yet shed all the\nmonkey. A lingering and grovelling baseness in the average heart delights\nin this sort of cast-off clothes of fellow-worms. But if the trade must\ncontinue, can we not insist that the profits be shared? If A is to receive\nten dollars for quoting B's remarks at a private dinner yesterday, shall\nnot B have a small percentage on the sale? Clearly, this is only justice.\nAnd in cases where the wares are simply stolen, shall there be no redress?\nHere is an opening for a new Bureau. How well its advertisements would\nread:--\n\n\"Ladies and gentlemen wishing to dispose of their old opinions,\nsentiments, feelings, and so forth, and also of the more interesting facts\nin their personal history, can obtain good prices for the same at No.--\nTittle-tattle street. Inquire at the door marked 'Regular and Special\nCorrespondence.'\n\n\"N. B.--Persons willing to be reported _verbatim_ will receive especial\nconsideration.\"\n\nWe commend this brief suggestion of a new business to all who are anxious\nto make a living and not particular how they make it. Perhaps the class of\nwhom we have been speaking would find it profitable to set it up as a\nbranch of their own calling. It is quite possible that nobody else in the\ncountry would like to meddle with it.\n\n\n\n\nThe Country Landlord's Side.\n\n\n\nIt is only one side, to be sure. But it is the side of which we hear\nleast. The quarrel is like all quarrels,--it takes two to make it; but\nas, of those two, one is only one, and the other is from ten to a hundred,\nit is easy to see which side will do most talking in setting forth its\ngrievances.\n\n\"It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer; and when he is gone his way\nthen he boasteth.\" We are oftener reminded of this text of Scripture than\nof any other when we listen to conversations in regard to boarders in\ncountry houses.\n\n\"Oh, let me tell you of such a nice place we have found to board in the\ncountry. It is only--miles from Mt.--or--Lake; the drives are delightful,\nand board is only $7 a week.\"\n\n\"Is the table a good one?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; very good for the country. We had good butter and milk, and eggs\nin abundance. Meats, of course, are never very good in the country. But\neverybody gained a pound a week; and we are going again this year, if they\nhave not raised their prices.\"\n\nThen this model of a city woman, in search of country lodgings, sits down\nand writes to the landlord:--\n\n\"Dear Sir,--We would like to secure our old rooms in your house for the\nwhole of July and August. As we shall remain so long a time, we hope you\nmay be willing to count all the children at half-price. Last year, you may\nremember, we paid full price for the two eldest, the twins, who are not\nyet quite fourteen. I hope, also, that Mrs. ---- has better arrangements\nfor washing this summer, and will allow us to have our own servant to do\nthe washing for the whole family. If these terms suit you, the price for\nmy family--eight children, myself, and servant--would be $38.50 a week.\nPerhaps, if the servant takes the entire charge of my rooms, you would\ncall it $37; as, of course, that would save the time of your own\nservants.\"\n\nThen the country landlord hesitates. He is not positively sure of filling\nall his rooms for the season. Thirty-seven dollars a week would be, he\nthinks, better than nothing. In his simplicity, he supposes that, if he\nconfers, as he certainly does, a favor on Mrs.----, by receiving her great\nfamily on such low terms, she will be thoroughly well disposed toward him\nand his house, and will certainly not be over-exacting in matter of\naccommodations. In an evil hour, he consents; they come, and he begins to\nreap his reward. The twins are stout boys, as large as men, and much\nhungrier. The baby is a sickly child of eighteen months, and requires\nespecial diet, which must be prepared at especial and inconvenient hours,\nin the crowded little kitchen. The other five children are average boys\nand girls, between the ages of three and twelve, eat certainly as much as\nfive grown people, and make twice as much trouble. The servant is a slow,\ninefficient, impudent Irish girl, who spends the greater part of four days\nin doing the family washing, and makes the other servants uncomfortable\nand cross.\n\nIf this were all; but this is not. Mrs.----, who writes to all her friends\nboastingly of the cheap summer quarters that she has found, and who gains\nby the village shop-keeper's scales a pound of flesh a week, habitually\nfinds fault with the food, with the mattresses, with the chairs, with the\nrag-carpets, with every thing, in short, down to the dust and the flies,\nfor neither of which last the poor landlord could be legitimately held\nresponsible. This is not an exaggerated picture. Everybody who has boarded\nin country places in the summer has known dozens of such women. Every\ncountry landlord can produce dozens of such letters, and of letters still\nmore exacting and unreasonable.\n\nThe average city man or woman who goes to a country house to board, goes\nexpecting what it is in the nature of things impossible that they should\nhave. The man expects to have boots blacked and hot water ready, and a\nbell to ring for both. What experienced country boarder has not laughed in\nhis sleeve to see such an one, newly arrived, putting his head out\nsnappingly, like a turtle, from his doorway, and calling to chance\npassers, \"How d'ye get at anybody in this house?\"\n\nIf it is a woman, she expects that the tea will be of the finest flavor,\nand never boiled; that steaks will be porter-house steaks; that green peas\nwill be in plenty; and that the American girl, who is chambermaid for the\nsummer, and school-teacher in the winter, and who, ten to one, could put\nher to the blush in five minutes by superior knowledge on many subjects,\nwill enter and leave her room and wait upon her at the table with the\nsilent respectfulness of a trained city servant.\n\nThis is all very silly. But it happens. At the end of every summer\nhundreds of disappointed city people go back to their homes grumbling\nabout country food and country ways. Hundreds of tired and discouraged\nwives of country landlords sit down in their houses, at last emptied, and\nvow a vow that never again will they take \"city folks to board.\" But the\ngreat law of supply and demand is too strong for them. The city must come\nout of itself for a few weeks, and get oxygen for its lungs, sunlight for\nits eyes, and rest for its overworked brain. The country must open its\narms, whether it will or not, and share its blessings. And so the summers\nand the summerings go on, and there are always to be heard in the land the\nvoices of murmuring boarders, and of landlords deprecating, vindicating.\nWe confess that our sympathies are with the landlords. The average country\nlandlord is an honest, well-meaning man, whose idea of the profit to be\nmade \"off boarders\" is so moderate and simple that the keepers of city\nboarding-houses would laugh it and him to scorn. If this were not so,\nwould he be found undertaking to lodge and feed people for one dollar or a\ndollar and a half a day? Neither does he dream of asking them, even at\nthis low price, to fare as he fares. The \"Excelsior\" mattresses, at which\nthey cry out in disgust, are beds of down in comparison with the straw\n\"tick\" on which he and his wife sleep soundly and contentedly. He has paid\n$4.50 for each mattress, as a special concession to what he understands\ncity prejudice to require. The cheap painted chamber-sets are holiday\nadorning by the side of the cherry and pine in the bedrooms of his family.\nHe buys fresh meat every day for dinner; and nobody can understand the\nimportance of this fact who is not familiar with the habit of salt-pork\nand codfish in our rural districts. That the meat is tough, pale, stringy\nis not his fault; no other is to be bought. Stetson, himself, if he dealt\nwith this country butcher, could do no better. Vegetables? Yes, he has\nplanted them. If we look out of our windows, we can see them on their\nwinding way. They will be ripe by and by. He never tasted peas in his life\nbefore the Fourth of July, or cucumbers before the middle of August. He\nhears that there are such things; but he thinks they must be \"dreadful\nunhealthy, them things forced out of season,\"--and, whether healthy or\nnot, he can't get them. We couldn't ourselves, if we were keeping house in\nthe same township. To be sure, we might send to the cities for them, and\nbe served with such as were wilted to begin with, and would arrive utterly\nunfit to be eaten at end of their day's journey, costing double their\nmarket price in the added express charge. We should not do any such thing.\nWe should do just as he does, make the best of \"plum sauce,\" or even dried\napples. We should not make our sauce with molasses, probably; but he does\nnot know that sugar is better; he honestly likes molasses best. As for\nsaleratus in the bread, as for fried meat, and fried doughnuts, and\nubiquitous pickles,--all those things have he, and his fathers before him,\neaten, and, he thinks, thriven on from time immemorial. He will listen\nincredulously to all we say about the effects of alkalies, the change of\nfats to injurious oils by frying, the indigestibility of pickles, &c.;\nfor, after all, the unanswerable fact remains on his side, though he may\nbe too polite or too slow to make use of it in the argument, that, having\nfed on these poisons all his life, he can easily thrash us to-day, and his\nwife and daughters can and do work from morning till night, while ours\nmust lie down and rest by noon. In spite of all this, he will do what he\ncan to humor our whims. Never yet have we seen the country boarding-house\nwhere kindly and persistent remonstrance would not introduce the gridiron\nand banish the frying-pan, and obtain at least an attempt at yeast-bread.\nGood, patient, long-suffering country people! The only wonder to us is\nthat they tolerate so pleasantly, make such effort to gratify, the\npreferences and prejudices of city men and women, who come and who remain\nstrangers among them; and who, in so many instances, behave from first to\nlast as if they were of a different race, and knew nothing of any common\nbonds of humanity and Christianity.\n\n\n\n\nThe Good Staff of Pleasure.\n\n\n\nIn an inn in Berchtesgaden, Bavaria, where I dined every day for three\nweeks, one summer, I made the acquaintance of a little maid called\nGretchen. She stood all day long washing dishes, in a dark passageway\nwhich communicated in some mysterious fashion with cellar, kitchen,\ndining-room, and main hall of the inn. From one or other of these quarters\nGretchen was sharply called so often that it was a puzzle to know how she\ncontrived to wash so much as a cup or a plate in the course of the day.\nPoor child! I am afraid she did most of her work after dark; for I\nsometimes left her standing there at ten o'clock at night. She was\nblanched and shrunken from fatigue and lack of sunlight. I doubt if ever,\nunless perhaps on some exceptional Sunday, she knew the sensation of a\nfull breath of pure air or a warm sunbeam on her face.\n\nBut whenever I passed her she smiled, and there was never-failing\ngood-cheer in her voice when she said \"Good-morning.\" Her uniform\natmosphere of contentedness so impressed and surprised me that, at last, I\nsaid to Franz, the head waiter,--\n\n\"What makes Gretchen so happy? She has a hard life, always standing in\nthat narrow dark place, washing dishes.\"\n\nFranz was phlegmatic, and spoke very little English. He shrugged his\nshoulders, in sign of assent that Gretchen's life was a hard one, and\nadded,--\n\n\"Ja, ja. She likes because all must come at her door. There will be no one\nwhich will say not nothing if they go by.\"\n\nThat was it. Almost every hour some human voice said pleasantly to her,\n\"Good-morning, Gretchen,\" or \"It is a fine day;\" or, if no word were\nspoken, there would be a friendly nod and smile. For nowhere in\nkind-hearted, simple Germany do human beings pass by other human beings,\nas we do in America, without so much as a turn of the head to show\nrecognition of humanity in common.\n\nThis one little pleasure kept Gretchen not only alive, but comparatively\nglad. Her body suffered for want of sun and air. There was no helping\nthat, by any amount of spiritual compensation, so long as she must stand,\nyear in and year out, in a close, dark corner, and do hard drudgery. But,\nif she had stood in that close, dark corner, doing that hard drudgery, and\nhad had no pleasure to comfort her, she would have been dead in three\nmonths.\n\nIf all men and women could realize the power, the might of even a small\npleasure, how much happier the world would be! and how much longer bodies\nand souls both would bear up under living! Sensitive people realize it to\nthe very core of their being. They know that often and often it happens\nto them to be revived, kindled, strengthened, to a degree which they could\nnot describe, and which they hardly comprehend, by some little\nthing,--some word of praise, some token of remembrance, some proof of\naffection or recognition. They know, too, that strength goes out of them,\njust as inexplicably, just as fatally, when for a space, perhaps even a\nshort space, all these are wanting.\n\nPeople who are not sensitive also come to find this out, if they are\ntender. They are by no means inseparable,--tenderness and sensitiveness;\nif they were, human nature would be both more comfortable and more\nagreeable. But tender people alone can be just to sensitive ones; living\nin close relations with them, they learn what they need, and, so far as\nthey can, supply it, even when they wonder a little, and perhaps grow a\nlittle weary.\n\nWe see a tender and just mother sometimes sighing because one\nover-sensitive child must be so much more gently restrained or admonished\nthan the rest. But she has her reward for every effort to adjust her\nmethods to the instrument she does not quite understand. If she doubts\nthis, she has only to look on the right hand and the left, and see the\neffect of careless, brutal dealing with finely strung, sensitive natures.\n\nWe see, also, many men,--good, generous, kindly, but not\nsensitive-souled,--who have learned that the sunshine of their homes all\ndepends on little things, which it would never have entered into their\nbusy and composed hearts to think of doing, or saying, or providing, if\nthey had not discovered that without them their wives droop, and with them\nthey keep well.\n\nPeople who are neither tender nor sensitive can neither comprehend nor\nmeet these needs. Alas! that there are so many such people; or that, if\nthere must be just so many, as I suppose there must, they are not\ndistinguishable at first sight, by some mark of color, or shape, or sound,\nso that one might avoid them, or at least know what to expect in entering\ninto relation with them. Woe be to any sensitive soul whose life must, in\nspite of itself, take tone and tint from daily and intimate intercourse\nwith such! No bravery, no philosophy, no patience can save it from a slow\ndeath. But, while the subtlest and most stimulating pleasures which the\nsoul knows come to it through its affections, and are, therefore, so to\nspeak, at every man's mercy, there is still left a world of possibility of\nenjoyment, to which we can help ourselves, and which no man can hinder.\n\nAnd just here it is, I think, that many persons, especially those who are\nhard-worked, and those who have some special trouble to bear, make great\nmistake. They might, perhaps, say at hasty first sight that it would be\nselfish to aim at providing themselves with pleasures. Not at all. Not one\nwhit more than it is for them to buy a bottle of Ayer's Sarsaparilla (if\nthey do not know better) to \"cleanse their blood\" in the spring! Probably\na dollar's worth of almost any thing out of any other shop than a\ndruggist's would \"cleanse their blood\" better,--a geranium, for instance,\nor a photograph, or a concert, or a book, or even fried oysters,--any\nthing, no matter what, so it is innocent, which gives them a little\npleasure, breaks in on the monotony of their work or their trouble, and\nmakes them have for one half-hour a \"good time.\" Those who have near and\ndear ones to remember these things for them need no such words as I am\nwriting here. Heaven forgive them if, being thus blessed, they do not\nthank God daily and take courage.\n\nBut lonely people, and people whose kin are not kind or wise in these\nthings, must learn to minister even in such ways to themselves. It is not\nselfish. It is not foolish. It is wise. It is generous. Each contented\nlook on a human face is reflected in every other human face which sees it;\neach growth in a human soul is a blessing to every other human soul which\ncomes in contact with it.\n\nHere will come in, for many people, the bitter restrictions of poverty.\nThere are so many men and women to whom it would seem simply a taunt to\nadvise them to spend, now and then, a dollar for a pleasure. That the poor\nmust go cold and hungry has never seemed to me the hardest feature in\ntheir lot; there are worse deprivations than that of food or raiment, and\nthis very thing is one of them. This is a point for charitable people to\nremember, even more than they do.\n\nWe appreciate this when we give some plum-pudding and turkey at Christmas,\ninstead of all coal and flannel. But, any day in the year, a picture on\nthe wall might perhaps be as comforting as a blanket on the bed; and, at\nany rate, would be good for twelve months, while the blanket would help\nbut six. I have seen an Irish mother, in a mud hovel, turn red with\ndelight at a rattle for her baby, when I am quite sure she would have been\nindifferently grateful for a pair of socks.\n\nFood and physicians and money are and always will be on the earth. But a\n\"merry heart\" is a \"continual feast,\" and \"doeth good like-a medicine;\"\nand \"loving favor\" is \"chosen,\" \"rather than gold and silver.\"\n\n\n\n\nWanted.--A Home.\n\n\n\nNothing can be meaner than that \"Misery should love company.\" But the\nproverb is founded on an original principle in human nature, which it is\nno use to deny and hard work to conquer. I have been uneasily conscious of\nthis sneaking sin in my own soul, as I have read article after article in\nthe English newspapers and magazines on the \"decadence of the home spirit\nin English family life, as seen in the large towns and the metropolis.\" It\nseems that the English are as badly off as we. There, also, men are\nwide-awake and gay at clubs and races, and sleepy and morose in their own\nhouses; \"sons lead lives independent of their fathers and apart from their\nsisters and mothers;\" \"girls run about as they please, without care or\nguidance.\" This state of things is \"a spreading social evil,\" and men are\nat their wit's end to know what is to be done about it. They are\nransacking \"national character and customs, religion, and the particular\ntendency of the present literary and scientific thought, and the teaching\nand preaching of the public press,\" to find out the root of the trouble.\nOne writer ascribes it to the \"exceeding restlessness and the desire to be\ndoing something which are predominant and indomitable in the Anglo-Saxon\nrace;\" another to the passion which almost all families have for seeming\nricher and more fashionable than their means will allow. In these, and in\nmost of their other theories, they are only working round and round, as\ndoctors so often do, in the dreary circle of symptomatic results, without\nso much as touching or perhaps suspecting their real centre. How many\npeople are blistered for spinal disease, or blanketed for rheumatism, when\nthe real trouble is a little fiery spot of inflammation in the lining of\nthe stomach! and all these difficulties in the outworks are merely the\ncreaking of the machinery, because the central engine does not work\nproperly. Blisters and blankets may go on for seventy years coddling the\npoor victim; but he will stay ill to the last if his stomach be not set\nright.\n\nThere is a close likeness between the doctor's high-sounding list of\nremote symptoms, which he is treating as primary diseases, and the hue and\noutcry about the decadence of the home spirit, the prevalence of excessive\nand improper amusements, club-houses, billiard-rooms, theatres, and so\nforth, which are \"the banes of homes.\"\n\nThe trouble is in the homes. Homes are stupid, homes are dreary, homes are\ninsufferable. If one can be pardoned for the Irishism of such a saying,\nhomes are their own worst \"banes.\" If homes were what they should be,\nnothing under heaven could be invented which could be bane to them, which\nwould do more than serve as useful foil to set off their better cheer,\ntheir pleasanter ways, their wholesomer joys.\n\nWhose fault is it that they are not so? Fault is a heavy word. It\nincludes generations in its pitiless entail. Sufficient for the day is the\nevil thereof is but one side of the truth. No day is sufficient unto the\nevil thereof is the other. Each day has to bear burdens passed down from\nso many other days; each person has to bear burdens so complicated, so\ninterwoven with the burdens of others; each person's fault is so fevered\nand swollen by faults of others, that there is no disentangling the\nquestion of responsibility. Every thing is everybody's fault is the\nsimplest and fairest way of putting it. It is everybody's fault that the\naverage home is stupid, dreary, insufferable,--a place from which fathers\nfly to clubs, boys and girls to streets. But when we ask who can do most\nto remedy this,--in whose hands it most lies to fight the fight against\nthe tendencies to monotony, stupidity, and instability which are inherent\nin human nature,--then the answer is clear and loud. It is the work of\nwomen; this is the true mission of women, their \"right\" divine and\nunquestionable, and including most emphatically the \"right to labor.\"\n\nTo create and sustain the atmosphere of a home,--it is easily said in a\nvery few words; but how many women have done it? How many women can say to\nthemselves or others that this is their aim? To keep house well women\noften say they desire. But keeping house well is another affair,--I had\nalmost said it has nothing to do with creating a home. That is not true,\nof course; comfortable living, as regards food and fire and clothes, can\ndo much to help on a home. Nevertheless, with one exception, the best\nhomes I have ever seen were in houses which were not especially well kept;\nand the very worst I have ever known were presided (I mean tyrannized)\nover by \"perfect housekeepers.\"\n\nAll creators are single-aimed. Never will the painter, sculptor, writer\nlose sight of his art. Even in the intervals of rest and diversion which\nare necessary to his health and growth, every thing he sees ministers to\nhis passion. Consciously or unconsciously, he makes each shape, color,\nincident his own; sooner or later it will enter into his work.\n\nSo it must be with the woman who will create a home. There is an evil\nfashion of speech which says it is a narrowing and narrow life that a\nwoman leads who cares only, works only for her husband and children; that\na higher, more imperative thing is that she herself be developed to her\nutmost. Even so clear and strong a writer as Frances Cobbe, in her\notherwise admirable essay on the \"Final Cause of Woman,\" falls into this\nshallowness of words, and speaks of women who live solely for their\nfamilies as \"adjectives.\"\n\nIn the family relation so many women are nothing more, so many women\nbecome even less, that human conception may perhaps be forgiven for losing\nsight of the truth, the ideal. Yet in women it is hard to forgive it.\nThinking clearly, she should see that a creator can never be an adjective;\nand that a woman who creates and sustains a home, and under whose hands\nchildren grow up to be strong and pure men and women, is a creator, second\nonly to God.\n\nBefore she can do this, she must have development; in and by the doing of\nthis comes constant development; the higher her development, the more\nperfect her work; the instant her own development is arrested, her\ncreative power stops. All science, all art, all religion, all experience\nof life, all knowledge of men--will help her; the stars in their courses\ncan be won to fight for her. Could she attain the utmost of knowledge,\ncould she have all possible human genius, it would be none too much.\nReverence holds its breath and goes softly, perceiving what it is in this\nwoman's power to do; with what divine patience, steadfastness, and\ninspiration she must work.\n\nInto the home she will create, monotony, stupidity, antagonisms cannot\ncome. Her foresight will provide occupations and amusements; her loving\nand alert diplomacy will fend off disputes. Unconsciously, every member of\nher family will be as clay in her hands. More anxiously than any statesman\nwill she meditate on the wisdom of each measure, the bearing of each word.\nThe least possible governing which is compatible with order will be her\nfirst principle; her second, the greatest possible influence which is\ncompatible with the growth of individuality. Will the woman whose brain\nand heart are working these problems, as applied to a household, be an\nadjective? be idle?\n\nShe will be no more an adjective than the sun is an adjective in the\nsolar system; no more idle than Nature is idle. She will be perplexed; she\nwill be weary; she will be disheartened, sometimes. All creators, save\nOne, have known these pains and grown strong by them. But she will never\nwithdraw her hand for one instant. Delays and failures will only set her\nto casting about for new instrumentalities. She will press all things into\nher service. She will master sciences, that her boys' evenings need not be\ndull. She will be worldly wise, and render to Caesar his dues, that her\nhusband and daughters may have her by their side in all their pleasures.\nShe will invent, she will surprise, she will forestall, she will remember,\nshe will laugh, she will listen, she will be young, she will be old, and\nshe will be three times loving, loving, loving.\n\nThis is too hard? There is the house to be kept? And there are poverty and\nsickness, and there is not time?\n\nYes, it is hard. And there is the house to be kept; and there are poverty\nand sickness; but, God be praised, there is time. A minute is time. In one\nminute may live the essence of all. I have seen a beggar-woman make half\nan hour of home on a doorstep, with a basket of broken meat! And the most\nperfect home I ever saw was in a little house into the sweet incense of\nwhose fires went no costly things. A thousand dollars served for a year's\nliving of father, mother, and three children. But the mother was a creator\nof a home; her relation with her children was the most beautiful I have\never seen; even a dull and commonplace man was lifted up and enabled to\ndo good work for souls, by the atmosphere which this woman created; every\ninmate of her house involuntarily looked into her face for the key-note of\nthe day; and it always rang clear. From the rose-bud or clover-leaf which,\nin spite of her hard housework, she always found time to put by our plates\nat breakfast, down to the essay or story she had on hand to be read or\ndiscussed in the evening, there was no intermission of her influence. She\nhas always been and always will be my ideal of a mother, wife, home-maker.\nIf to her quick brain, loving heart, and exquisite tact had been added the\nappliances of wealth and the enlargements of a wider culture, hers would\nhave been absolutely the ideal home. As it was, it was the best I have\never seen. It is more than twenty years since I crossed its threshold. I\ndo not know whether she is living or not. But, as I see house after house\nin which fathers and mothers and children are dragging out their lives in\na hap-hazard alternation of listless routine and unpleasant collision, I\nalways think with a sigh of that poor little cottage by the seashore, and\nof the woman who was \"the light thereof;\" and I find in the faces of many\nmen and children, as plainly written and as sad to see as in the newspaper\ncolumns of \"Personals,\" \"Wanted,--a home.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Bits About Home Matters, by Helen Hunt Jackson\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Anne Soulard, Jon Ingram and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  THE PUBLIC ORATIONS OF DEMOSTHENES\n  IN TWO VOLUMES\n  VOL I\n\n  TRANSLATED BY\n  ARTHUR WALLACE PICKARD\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nThe translations included in this volume were written at various times\nduring the last ten years for use in connexion with College Lectures,\nand a long holiday, for which I have to thank the Trustees of the\nBalliol College Endowment Fund, as well as the Master and Fellows of\nBalliol College, has enabled me to revise them and to furnish them with\nbrief introductions and notes. Only those speeches are included which\nare generally admitted to be the work of Demosthenes, and the spurious\ndocuments contained in the MSS. of the Speech on the Crown are omitted.\nThe speeches are arranged in chronological order, and the several\nintroductions to them are intended to supply an outline of the history\nof the period, sufficient to provide a proper setting for the speeches,\nbut not more detailed than was necessary for this purpose. No\ndiscussion of conflicting evidence has been introduced, and the views\nwhich are expressed on the character and work of Demosthenes must\nnecessarily seem somewhat dogmatic, when given without the reasons for\nthem. I hope, however, before long to treat the life of Demosthenes\nmore fully in another form. The estimate here given of his character as\na politician falls midway between the extreme views of Grote and\nSchaefer on the one hand, and Beloch and Holm on the other.\n\nI have tried to render the speeches into such English as a political\norator of the present day might use, without attempting to impart to\nthem any antique colouring, such as the best-known English translations\neither had from the first or have acquired by lapse of time. It is of\nthe essence of political oratory that it is addressed to\ncontemporaries, and the translation of it should therefore be into\ncontemporary English; though the necessity of retaining some of the\nmodes of expression which are peculiar to Greek oratory and political\nlife makes it impossible to produce completely the appearance of an\nEnglish orator's work. The qualities of Demosthenes' eloquence\nsometimes suggest rather the oratory of the pulpit than that of the\nhustings or that of Parliament and of the law-courts. I cannot hope to\nhave wholly succeeded in my task; but it seemed to be worth\nundertaking, and I hope that the work will not prove to have been\naltogether useless.\n\nI have made very little use of other translations; but I must\nacknowledge a debt to Lord Brougham's version of the Speeches on the\nChersonese and on the Crown, which, though often defective from the\npoint of view of scholarship and based on faulty texts, are (together\nwith his notes) very inspiring. I have also, at one time or another,\nconsulted most of the standard German, French, and English editions of\nDemosthenes. I cannot now distinguish how much I owe to each; but I am\nconscious of a special debt to the editions of the late Professor Henri\nWeil, and of Sir J.E. Sandys, and (in the Speech on the Crown) to that\nof Professor W.W. Goodwin. I also owe a few phrases in the earliest\nspeeches to Professor W.R. Hardie, whose lectures on Demosthenes I\nattended twenty years ago. My special thanks are due to my friend Mr.\nP.E. Matheson of New College, for his kindness in reading the\nproof-sheets, and making a number of suggestions, which have been of\ngreat assistance to me.\n\nThe text employed has been throughout that of the late Mr. S.H. Butcher\nin the _Bibliotheca Classica Oxoniensis_. Any deviations from this are\nnoted in their place.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nINTRODUCTION                                 i. 7\n\nLIST OF SPEECHES TRANSLATED\n\n  Traditional Order                   In this Edition\n  ORATION I. OLYNTHIAC I                       i. 87\n         II. OLYNTHIAC II                      i. 99\n        III. OLYNTHIAC III                     i. 109\n         IV. PHILIPPIC I                       i. 68\n          V. ON THE PEACE                      i. 120\n         VI. PHILIPPIC II                      i. 133\n       VIII. ON THE CHERSONESE                ii. 3\n         IX. PHILIPPIC III                    ii. 26\n        XIV. ON THE NAVAL BOARDS               i. 31\n         XV. FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE RHODIANS   i. 56\n        XVI. FOR THE MEGALOPOLITANS            i. 45\n      XVIII. ON THE CROWN                     ii. 47\n        XIX. ON THE EMBASSY                    i. 144\n\n  NOTES                                       ii. 149\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nDemosthenes, the son of Demosthenes of Paeania in Attica, a rich and\nhighly respected factory-owner, was born in or about the year 384 B.C.\nHe was early left an orphan; his guardians mismanaged his property for\ntheir own advantage; and although, soon after coming of age in 366, he\ntook proceedings against them and was victorious in the law-courts, he\nappears to have recovered comparatively little from them. In preparing\nfor these proceedings he had the assistance of Isaeus, a teacher and\nwriter of speeches who was remarkable for his knowledge of law, his\ncomplete mastery of all the aspects of any case with which he had to\ndo, and his skill in dealing with questions of ownership and\ninheritance. Demosthenes' speeches against his guardians show plainly\nthe influence of Isaeus, and the teacher may have developed in his\npupil the thoroughness and the ingenuity in handling legal arguments\nwhich afterwards became characteristic of his work.\n\nApart from this litigation with his guardians, we know little of\nDemosthenes' youth and early manhood. Various stories have come down to\nus (for the most part not on the best authority), of his having been\ninspired to aim at an orator's career by the eloquence and fame of\nCallistratus; of his having overcome serious physical defects by\nassiduous practice; of his having failed, nevertheless, owing to\nimperfections of delivery, in his early appearances before the people,\nand having been enabled to remedy these by the instruction of the\ncelebrated actor Satyrus; and of his close study of the _History_ of\nThucydides. Upon the latter point the evidence of his early style\nleaves no room for doubt, and the same studies may have contributed to\nthe skill and impressiveness with which, in nearly every oration, he\nappeals to the events of the past, and sums up the lessons of history.\nWhether he came personally under the influence either of Plato, the\nphilosopher, or of Isocrates, the greatest rhetorical teacher of his\ntime, and a political pamphleteer of high principles but little\npractical insight, is much more doubtful. The two men were almost as\ndifferent in temperament and aims as it was possible to be, but\nDemosthenes' familiarity with the published speeches of Isocrates, and\nwith the rhetorical principles which Isocrates taught and followed, can\nscarcely be questioned.\n\nIn the early years of his manhood, Demosthenes undertook the\ncomposition of speeches for others who were engaged in litigation. This\ntask required not only a very thorough knowledge of law, but the power\nof assuming, as it were, the character of each separate client, and\nwriting in a tone appropriate to it; and, not less, the ability to\ninterest and to rouse the active sympathy of juries, with whom feeling\nwas perhaps as influential as legal justification. This part, however,\nof Demosthenes' career only concerns us here in so far as it was an\nadmirable training for his later work in the larger sphere of politics,\nin which the same qualities of adaptability and of power both to argue\ncogently and to appeal to the emotions effectively were required in an\neven higher degree.\n\nAt the time when Demosthenes' interest in public affairs was beginning\nto take an active form, Athens was suffering from the recent loss of\nsome of her most powerful allies. In the year 358 B.C. she had counted\nwithin the sphere of her influence not only the islands of Lemnos,\nImbros, and Scyros (which had been guaranteed to her by the Peace of\nAntalcidas in 387), but also the chief cities of Euboea, the islands of\nChios, Cos, Rhodes, and Samos, Mytilene in <DW26>s, the towns of the\nChersonese, Byzantium (a city of the greatest commercial importance),\nand a number of stations on the south coast of Thrace, as well as\nPydna, Potidaea, Methone, and the greater part of the country bordering\nupon the Thermaic Gulf. But her failure to observe the terms of\nalliance, laid down when the new league was founded in 378, had led to\na revolt, which ended in 355 or 354 in the loss to her of Chios, Cos,\nRhodes, and Byzantium, and of some of the ablest of her own commanders,\nand left her treasury almost empty. About the same time Mytilene and\nCorcyra also took the opportunity to break with her. Moreover, her\nposition in the Thermaic region was threatened first by Olynthus, at\nthe head of the Chalcidic League, which included over thirty towns; and\nsecondly by Philip, the newly-established King of Macedonia, who seemed\nlikely to displace both Olynthus and Athens from their positions of\ncommanding influence.[1]\n\nNevertheless, Athens, though unable to face a strong combination, was\nprobably the most powerful single state in Greece. In her equipment and\ncapacity for naval warfare she had no rival, and certainly no other\nstate could vie with her in commercial activity and prosperity. The\npower of Sparta in the Peloponnese had declined greatly. The\nestablishment of Megalopolis as the centre of a confederacy of Arcadian\ntribes, and of Messene as an independent city commanding a region once\nentirely subject to Sparta, had seriously weakened her position; while\nat the same time her ambition to recover her supremacy kept alive a\nfeeling of unrest throughout the Peloponnese. Of the other states of\nSouth Greece, Argos was hostile to Sparta, Elis to the Arcadians;\nCorinth and other less important cities were not definitely attached to\nany alliance, but were not powerful enough to carry out any serious\nmovement alone. In North Greece, Thebes, though she lacked great\nleaders, was still a great power, whose authority throughout Boeotia\nhad been strengthened by the complete or partial annihilation of\nPlatacae, Thespiae, Orchomenus,[2] and Coroneia. In Athens the ill\nfeeling against Thebes was strong, owing to the occupation by the\nThebans of Oropus,[2] a frontier town which Athens claimed, and their\ntreatment of the towns just mentioned, towards which the Athenians were\nkindly disposed. The Phocians, who had until recently been unwilling\nallies of Thebes, were now hostile and not insignificant neighbours,\nand about this time entered into relations with both Sparta and Athens.\nThe subject of contention was the possession or control of the Temple\nof Apollo at Delphi, which the Phocians had recently taken by force\nfrom the Delphians, who were supported by Thebes; and in the 'Sacred\nWar' to which this act (which was considered to be sacrilege) gave rise\nin 355 B.C., the Thebans and Locrians fought against the Phocians in\nthe name of the Amphictyonic Council, a body (composed of\nrepresentatives of tribes and states of very unequal importance[3]) to\nwhich the control of the temple traditionally belonged. Thessaly\nappears to have been at this time more or less under Theban influence,\nbut was immediately dominated by the tyrants of Pherae, though the\nseveral cities seem each to have possessed a nominally independent\ngovernment. The Greek peoples were disunited in fact and unfitted for\nunion by temperament. The twofold desire, felt by almost all the more\nadvanced Greek peoples, for independence on the one hand, and for\n'hegemony' or leadership among other peoples, on the other, rendered\nany effective combination impossible, and made the relations of states\nto one another uncertain and inconstant. While each people paid respect\nto the spirit of autonomy, when their own autonomy was in question,\nthey were ready to violate it without scruple when they saw their way\nto securing a predominant position among their neighbours; and although\nthe ideal of Panhellenic unity had been put before Greece by Gorgias\nand Isocrates, its realization did not go further than the formation of\nleagues of an unstable character, each subject, as a rule, to the more\nor less tyrannical domination of some one member.\n\nProbably the power which was most generally feared in the Greek world\nwas that of the King of Persia. Several times in recent years (and\nparticularly in 387 and 367) he had been requested to make and enforce\na general settlement of Hellenic affairs. The settlement of 387 (called\nthe King's Peace, or the Peace of Antalcidas, after the Spartan officer\nwho negotiated it) had ordained the independence of the Greek cities,\nsmall and great, with the exception of those in Asia Minor, which were\nto form part of the Persian Empire, and of Lemnos, Imbros, and Scyros,\nwhich were to belong to Athens as before. The attempt to give effect to\nthe arrangement negotiated in 367 failed, and the terms of the Peace of\nAntalcidas, though it was still appealed to, when convenient, as a\ncharter of liberty, also came to be disregarded. But there was always a\nsense of the possibility or the danger of provoking the great king to\nexert his strength, or at least to use his wealth, to the detriment of\nsome or all of the Greek states; though at the moment of which we are\nspeaking (about 355) the Persian Empire itself was suffering from\nrecent disorders and revolutions, and the king had little leisure for\ninterfering in the affairs of Greece.\n\nIt was to the department of foreign and inter-Hellenic affairs that\nDemosthenes principally devoted himself. His earliest political\nspeeches, however, were composed and delivered in furtherance of\nprosecutions for the crime of proposing illegal legislation. These were\nthe speeches against Androtion (spoken by Diodorus in 355) and against\nLeptines (in 354). Both these were written to denounce measures which\nDemosthenes regarded as dishonest or unworthy of Athenian traditions.\nIn the former he displays that desire for clean-handed administration\nwhich is so prominent in some of his later speeches; and in the\nprosecution of Leptines he shows his anxiety that Athens should retain\nher reputation for good faith. Both speeches, like those of the year\n352 against Timocrates (spoken by Diodorus), and against Aristocrates\n(spoken by Euthycles), are remarkable for thoroughness of argument and\nfor the skill which is displayed in handling legal and political\nquestions, though, like almost all Athenian forensic orations, they are\nsometimes sophistical in argument.\n\nThe first speech which is directly devoted to questions of external\npolicy is that on the Naval Boards in 354; and this is followed within\nthe next two years by speeches delivered in support of appeals made to\nAthens by the people of Megalopolis and by the exiled democratic party\nof Rhodes. From these speeches it appears that the general lines of\nDemosthenes' policy were already determined. He was in opposition to\nEubulus, who, after the disastrous termination of the war with the\nallies, had become the leading statesman in Athens. The strength of\nEubulus lay in his freedom from all illusion as to the position in\nwhich Athens stood, in his ability as a financier, and in his readiness\nto take any measures which would enable him to carry out his policy. He\nsaw that the prime necessity of the moment was to recruit the financial\nand material strength of the city; that until this should be effected,\nshe was quite incapable of carrying on war with any other power; and\nthat she could only recover her strength through peace. In this policy\nhe had the support of the well-to-do classes, who suffered heavily in\ntime of war from taxation and the disturbance of trade. On the other\nhand, the sentiments of the masses were imperialistic and militant. We\ngather that there were plenty of orators who made a practice of\nappealing to the glorious traditions of the past and the claim always\nmade by Athens to leadership among the Greek states. To buy off the\nopposition which his policy might be expected to encounter, Eubulus\ndistributed funds freely to the people, in the shape of\n'Festival-money', adopting the methods employed before him by\ndemagogues, very different from himself, in order that he might\noverride the real sentiments of the democracy; and in spite of the\nlarge amounts thus spent he did in fact succeed, in the course of a few\nyears, in collecting a considerable sum without resorting to\nextraordinary taxation, in greatly increasing the navy and in enlarging\nthe dockyards. For the success of this policy it was absolutely\nnecessary to avoid all entanglement in war, except under the strongest\ncompulsion. The appeals of the Megalopolitans and the Rhodians, to\nyield to which would probably have meant war with Sparta and with\nPersia, must be rejected. Even in dealing with Philip, who was making\nhimself master of the Athenian allies on the Thermaic coast, the fact\nof the weakness of Athens must be recognized, and all idea of a great\nexpedition against Philip must be abandoned for the present. At the\nsame time, some necessary measures of precaution were not neglected. It\nwas essential to secure the route to the Euxine, over which the\nAthenian corn-trade passed, if corn was not to be sold at famine\nprices. For this purpose, therefore, alliance was made with the\nThracian prince, Cersobleptes; and when Philip threatened Heraeon\nTeichos on the Propontis, an expedition was prepared, and was only\nabandoned because Philip himself was forced to desist from his attempt\nby illness. Similarly, when Philip appeared likely to cross the Pass of\nThermopylae in 352, an Athenian force was sent (on the proposal of\nDiophantus, a supporter of Eubulus) to prevent him. The failure of\nEubulus and his party to give effective aid to Olynthus against Philip\nwas due to the more pressing necessity of attempting to recover control\nof Euboea: it had clearly been their intention to save Olynthus, if\npossible. But when this had proved impossible, and the attempt to form\na Hellenic league against Philip had also failed, facts had once more\nto be recognized; and, since Athens was now virtually isolated, peace\nmust be made with Philip on the only terms which he would accept--that\neach side should keep what it _de facto_ possessed at the time.\n\nDemosthenes was generally in opposition to Eubulus and his party, of\nwhich Aeschines (once an actor and afterwards a clerk, but a man of\neducation and great natural gifts) was one of the ablest members.\nDemosthenes was inspired by the traditions of the past, but had a much\nless vague conception of the moral to be drawn from them than had the\nmultitude. Athens, for him as for them, was to be the first state in\nHellas; she was above all to be the protectress of democracy\neverywhere, against both absolutism and oligarchy, and the leader of\nthe Hellenes in resistance to foreign aggression. But, unlike the\nmultitude, Demosthenes saw that this policy required the greatest\npersonal effort and readiness for sacrifice on the part of every\nindividual; and he devotes his utmost energies to the task of arousing\nhis countrymen to the necessary pitch of enthusiasm, and of effecting\nsuch reforms in administration and finance as, in his opinion, would\nmake the realization of his ideal for Athens possible. In the speeches\nfor the Megalopolitans and the Rhodians, the nature of this ideal is\nalready becoming clear both in its Athenian and in its Panhellenic\naspects. But so soon as it appeared that Philip, at the head of the\nhalf-barbarian Macedonians, and not Athens, was likely to become the\npredominant power in the Hellenic world, it was against Philip that all\nhis efforts were directed; and although in 346 he is practically at one\nwith the party of Eubulus in his recognition of the necessity of peace,\nhe is eager, when the opportunity seems once more to offer itself, to\nresume the conflict, and, when it is resumed, to carry it through to\nthe end.\n\nWe have then before us the sharp antagonism of two types of\nstatesmanship. The strength of the one lies in the recognition of\nactual facts, and the avoidance of all projects which seem likely,\nunder existing circumstances, to fail. The other is of a more sanguine\ntype, and believes in the power of enthusiasm and self-sacrifice to\ntransform the existing facts into something better, and to win success\nagainst all odds. Statesmen of the former type are always attacked as\nunpatriotic and mean-spirited; those of the latter, as unpractical and\nreckless. There is truth and falsehood in both accusations: but since\nno statesman has ever combined all the elements of statesmanship in a\nperfect and just proportion, and since neither prudence and\nclear-sightedness, nor enthusiastic and generous sentiment, can ever be\ndispensed with in the conduct of affairs without loss, a larger view\nwill attach little discredit to either type. While, therefore, we may\nview with regret some of the methods which both Demosthenes and\nAeschines at times condescended to use in their conflicts with one\nanother, and with no less regret the disastrous result of the policy\nwhich ultimately carried the day, we need not hesitate to give their\ndue to both of the contending parties: nor, while we recognize that\nEubulus and Phocion (his sturdiest supporter in the field and in\ncounsel) took the truer view of the situation, and of the character of\nthe Athenians as they were, need we (as it is now fashionable to do)\ndenounce the orator who strove with unstinting personal effort and\nself-sacrifice to rouse the Athenians into a mood in which they could\nand would realize the ideal to which they, no less than he, professed\ntheir devotion.\n\nBut the difficulties in the way of such a realization were wellnigh\ninsuperable. Neither the political nor the military system of Athens\nwas adapted to such a policy. The Sovereign Assembly, though capable of\nsensible and energetic action at moments of special danger, was more\nlikely to be moved by feeling and prejudice than by businesslike\nargument, particularly at a time when the tendency of the best educated\nand most intelligent men was to withdraw from participation in public\nlife; and meeting, as the Assembly did (unless specially summoned),\nonly at stated intervals, it was incapable of taking such rapid,\nwell-timed, and decisive action as Philip could take, simply because he\nwas a single man, sole master of his own policy, and personally in\ncommand of his own forces. The publicity which necessarily attached to\nthe discussions of the Assembly was a disadvantage at a time when many\nplans would better have been kept secret; and rapid modifications of\npolicy, to suit sudden changes in the situation, were almost\nimpossible. Again, while no subjects are so unsuited under any\ncircumstances for popular discussion as foreign and military affairs,\nthe absence in Athens of a responsible ministry greatly increased the\ndifficulties of her position. It is true that the Controller of the\nFestival Fund (whose office gradually became more and more important)\nwas now appointed for four years at a time, while all other offices\nwere annual; and that he and his friends, and their regular opponents,\nwere generally ready to take the lead in making proposals to the\nCouncil or the Assembly. But if they chose to remain silent, they could\ndo so;[4] no one was bound to make any proposal at all; and, on the\nother hand, any one might do so. With such a want of system, far too\nmuch was left to chance or to the designs of interested persons.\nMoreover, the Assembly felt itself under no obligation to follow for\nany length of time any lead which might be given to it, or to maintain\nany continuity or consistency between its own decrees. In modern times,\na minister, brought into power by the will of the majority of the\npeople, can reckon for a considerable period upon the more or less\nloyal support of the majority for himself and his official colleagues.\nIn Athens the leader of the moment had to be perpetually adapting\nhimself afresh to the mood of the Assembly, and even to deceive it, in\norder that he might lead at all, or carry out the policy which, in his\nopinion, his country's need required. It is therefore a remarkable\nthing that both Eubulus and Demosthenes succeeded for many years in\nmaintaining a line of action as consistent as that taken by practical\nmen can ever be.\n\nThe fact that the Council of Five Hundred, which acted as a standing\ncommittee of the people, and prepared business for the Assembly and was\nresponsible for the details of measures passed by the Assembly in\ngeneral form, was chosen by lot and changed annually, as did\npractically all the civil and the military officials (though the latter\nmight be re-elected), was all against efficiency and continuity of\npolicy.[5] After the system of election by lot, the most characteristic\nfeature of the Athenian democracy was the responsibility of statesmen\nand generals to the law-courts.[6] Any citizen might accuse them upon\ncharges nominally limited in scope, but often serving in reality to\nbring their whole career into question. Had it been certain that the\ncourts would only punish incompetence or misconduct, and not failure as\nsuch, little harm would have resulted. But although there were very\nmany acquittals in political trials, the uncertainty of the issue was\nso great, and the sentences inflicted upon the condemned so severe\n(commonly involving banishment at least), that the liability to trial\nas a criminal must often have deterred the statesman and the general\nfrom taking the most necessary risks; while the condemnation of the\naccused had usually the result of driving a really able man out of the\ncountry, and depriving his fellow countrymen of services which might be\nurgently required when they were no longer available.\n\nThe financial system was also ill adapted for the purposes of a people\nconstantly liable to war. The funds required for the bare needs of a\ntime of peace seem indeed to have been sufficiently provided from\npermanent sources of income (such as the silver mines, the rent of\npublic lands, court fees and fines, and various indirect taxes): but\nthose needed for war had to be met by a direct tax upon property,\nlevied _ad hoc_ whenever the necessity arose, and not collected without\ndelays and difficulties. And although the equipment of ships for\nservice was systematically managed under the trierarchic laws,[7] it\nwas still subject to delays no less serious. There was no regular\nsystem of contribution to State funds, and no systematic accumulation\nof a reserve to meet military needs. The raising of money by means of\nloans at interest to the State was only adopted in Greece in a few\nisolated instances:[8] and the practice of annually distributing\nsurplus funds to the people,[9] however necessary or excusable under\nthe circumstances, was wholly contrary to sound finance.\n\nAn even greater evil was the dependence of the city upon mercenary\nforces and generals, whose allegiance was often at the call of the\nhighest bidder, and in consequence was seldom reliable. There is no\ndemand which Demosthenes makes with greater insistence, than the demand\nthat the citizens themselves shall serve with the army. At a moment of\nsupreme danger, they might do so. But in fact Athens had become more\nand more an industrial state, and men were not willing to leave their\nbusiness to take care of itself for considerable periods, in order to\ngo out and fight, unless the danger was very urgent, or the interests\nat stake of vital importance; particularly now that the length of\ncampaigns had become greater and the seasons exempted from military\noperations shorter. In many minds the spread of culture, and of the\nideal of self-culture, had produced a type of individualism indifferent\nto public concerns, and contemptuous of political and military\nambitions. Moreover, the methods of warfare had undergone great\nimprovement; in most branches of the army the trained skill of the\nprofessional soldier was really necessary; and it was not possible to\nleave the olive-yard or the counting-house and become an efficient\nfighter without more ado. But the expensiveness of the mercenary\nforces; the violent methods by which they obtained supplies from\nfriends and neutrals, as well as foes, if, as often happened, their pay\nwas in arrear; and the dependence of the city upon the goodwill of\ngenerals and soldiers who could without much difficulty find employment\nunder other masters, were evils which were bound to hamper any attempt\nto give effect to a well-planned and far-sighted scheme of action.\n\nIt also resulted from the Athenian system of government that the\ngeneral, while obviously better informed of the facts of the military\nsituation than any one else could be, and at the same time always\nliable to be brought to trial in case of failure, had little influence\nupon policy, unless he could find an effective speaker to represent\nhim. In the Assembly and in the law-courts (where the juries were large\nenough to be treated in the same manner as the Assembly itself) the\norator who could win the people's ear was all powerful, and expert\nknowledge could only make itself felt through the medium of oratory.\n\nA constitution which gave so much power to the orator had grave\ndisadvantages. The temptation to work upon the feelings rather than to\nappeal to the reason of the audience was very strong, and no charge is\nmore commonly made by one orator against another than that of deceiving\nor attempting to deceive the people. It is, indeed, very difficult to\njudge how far an Athenian Assembly was really taken in by sophistical\nor dishonest arguments: but it is quite certain that such arguments\nwere continually addressed to it; and the main body of the citizens can\nscarcely have had that first-hand knowledge of facts, which would\nenable them to criticize the orator's statements. Again, the oration\nappealed to the people as a performance, no less than as a piece of\nreasoning. Ancient political oratory resembled the oratory of the\npulpit at the present day, not only because it appealed perpetually to\nthe moral sense, and was in fact a kind of preaching; but also because\nthe main difficulty of the ancient orator and the modern preacher was\nthe same: for the Athenians liked being preached at, as the modern\ncongregation 'enjoys' a good sermon, and were, therefore, almost\nequally immune against conversion. The conflicts of rival orators were\nregarded mainly as an entertainment. The speaker who was most likely to\ncarry the voting (except when a great crisis had roused the Assembly to\nseriousness) was the one who found specious and apparently moral\nreasons for doing what would give the audience least trouble; and\nconsequently one who, like Demosthenes, desired to stir them up to\naction and personal sacrifices, had always an uphill fight: and if he\nalso at times 'deceived the people' or employed sophistical arguments\nin order to secure results which he believed to be for their good, we\nmust remember the difficulty (which, in spite of the wide circulation\nof authentic information, is at least equally great at the present day)\nof putting the true reasons for or against a policy, before those who,\nwhether from want of education or from lack of training in the\nsubordination of feeling to thought, are not likely to understand or to\nlisten to them. Nor, if we grant the genuineness of Demosthenes'\nconviction as to the desirability of the end for which he contended,\ncan many statesmen be pointed out, who have not been at least as guilty\nas he in their choice of means. That he did not solve the problem, how\nto lead a democracy by wholly honest means, is the less to his\ndiscredit, in that the problem still remains unsolved.\n\nIt should be added that with an audience like the Athenian, whose\naesthetic sensitiveness was doubtless far greater than that of any\nmodern assembly, delivery counted for much. Aeschines' fine voice was a\nreal danger to Demosthenes, and Demosthenes himself spoke of delivery,\nor the skilled acting of his part, as the all-important condition of an\norator's success. But it is clear that this can have been no advantage\nfrom the standpoint of the public interest.\n\nIn the law-courts the drawbacks to which the commanding influence of\noratory was liable were intensified. In the Assembly a certain amount\nof reticence and self-restraint was imposed by custom: an opponent\ncould not be attacked by name or on purely personal grounds; and an\nappearance of impartiality was commonly assumed. But in the courts much\ngreater play was allowed to feeling; and the arguments were often much\nmore disingenuous, not only because the personal interests at stake\nmade the speaker more unscrupulous, but also, perhaps, because the\njuries ordinarily included a larger proportion of the poorer, the\nidler, and the less-educated citizens than the Assembly. The legal\nquestion was often that to which the jury were encouraged to pay least\nattention, and the condemnation or acquittal of the accused was\ndemanded upon grounds quite extraneous to the indictment. (The two\ncourt-speeches contained in these volumes afford abundant illustrations\nof this.) Personalities were freely admitted, of a kind which it is\ndifficult to excuse and impossible to justify. To attempt to blacken\nthe personal character of an opponent by false stories about his\nparentage and his youth, and by the ascription to him and his relations\nof nameless immoralities, is a very different thing from the assignment\nof wrong motives for his political actions, though even in purely\npolitical controversy the ancients far exceeded the utmost limits of\nmodern invective. And this both Demosthenes and Aeschines do freely.\nThere is also reason to suspect that some of the tales which each tells\nof the other's conduct, both while serving as ambassadors and on other\noccasions, may be fabrications. The descriptive passages for which such\nfalsehoods gave an opening had doubtless their dramatic value in the\noratorical performance: possibly they were even expected by the\nlisteners; but their presence in the speeches does not increase our\nadmiration either for the speaker or for his audience.\n\nAll the force of Demosthenes' oratory was unable to defeat the great\nantagonist of his country. To Philip of Macedon failure was an\ninconceivable idea. Resident during three impressionable years of his\nyouth at Thebes, he had there learned, from the example of Epaminondas,\nwhat a single man could do: and he proceeded to each of the three great\ntasks of his life--the welding of the rough Macedonians into one great\nengine of war, the unification of Greece under his own leadership, and\nthe preparation for the conquest of the East by a united Greece and\nMacedonia--without either faltering in face of difficulties, or\nhesitating, out of any scrupulosity, to use the most effective means\ntowards the end which he wished at the moment to achieve; though in\nfact the charges of bad faith made against him by Demosthenes are found\nto be exaggerated, when they are impartially examined. Philip intended\nto become master of Greece: Demosthenes realized this early, and, with\nall the Hellenic detestation of a master, resolved to oppose him to the\nend. Philip was, indeed, in spite of the barbarous traits which\nrevealed themselves in him at times, not only gracious and courteous by\nnature, but a sincere admirer of Hellenic--in other words, of\nAthenian--culture; the relations between his house and the people of\nAthens had generally been friendly; and there was little reason to\nsuppose that, if he conquered Athens, he would treat her less\nhandsomely than in fact he did. Yet this could not justify one who\nregarded freedom as Demosthenes regarded it, in making any concession\nnot extorted by the necessities of the situation: his duty and his\ncountry's duty, as he conceived it, was to defeat the enemy of Hellenic\nindependence or to fall in the attempt. Nor was it for him to consider\n(as Isocrates might) whether or no Philip's plans had now developed\ninto, or could be transformed into, a beneficent scheme for the\nconquest of the barbarian world by a united Hellas, if the union was to\nbe achieved at the price of Athenian liberty. It is because, in spite\nof errors and of the questionable methods to which he sometimes\nstooped, Demosthenes devoted himself unflinchingly to the cause of\nfreedom, for Athens and for the Hellenes as a whole, that he is\nentitled, not merely as an orator but as a politician, to the\nadmiration which posterity has generally accorded him. It is, above\nall, by the second part of his career, when his policy of antagonism to\nPhilip had been accepted by the people, and he was no longer in\nopposition but, as it were, in office, that Demosthenes himself claims\nto be justified; and Aeschines' attempt to invalidate the claim is for\nthe most part unconvincing.\n\nIt is not easy to describe in a few paragraphs the characteristics of\nDemosthenes as an orator. That he stands on the highest eminence that\nan orator has ever reached is generally admitted. But this is not to\nsay that he was wholly free from faults. His contemporaries, as well as\nlater Greek critics, were conscious of a certain artificiality in his\neloquence. It was, indeed, the general custom of Athenian orators to\nprepare their speeches with great care: the speakers who, like\nAeschines and Demades, were able to produce a great effect without\npreparation, and the rhetoricians who, like Alcidamas, thought of the\nstudied oration as but a poor imitation of true eloquence, were only a\nsmall minority; and in general, not only was the arrangement of topics\ncarefully planned, but the greatest attention was paid to the sound and\nrhythm of the sentences, and to the appropriateness and order of the\nwords. The orator had also his collections of passages on themes which\nwere likely to recur constantly, and of arguments on either side of\nmany questions; and from these he selected such passages as he\nrequired, and adapted them to his particular purpose. The rhetorical\nteachers appear to have supplied their pupils with such collections; we\nfind a number of instances of the repetition of the same passage in\ndifferent speeches, and an abundance of arguments formed exactly on the\nmodel of the precepts contained in rhetorical handbooks.[10] Yet with\nall this art nothing was more necessary than that a speech should\nappear to be spontaneous and innocent of guile. There was a general\nmistrust of the 'clever speaker', who by study or rhetorical training\nhad learned the art of arguing to any point, and making the worse cause\nappear the better. To have studied his part too carefully--even to have\nworked up illustrations from history and poetry--might expose the\norator to suspicion.[11] Demosthenes, in spite of his frequent attempts\nto deprecate such suspicion, did not succeed wholly in keeping on the\nsafe side. Aeschines describes him as a wizard and a sophist, who\nenjoyed deceiving the people or the jury. Another of his opponents\nlevelled at him the taunt that his speeches 'smelt of the lamp'.\nDionysius of Halicarnassus, one of the best of the ancient critics,\nsays that the artificiality of Demosthenes and his master Isaeus was\napt to excite suspicion, even when they had a good case. Nor can a\nmodern reader altogether escape the same impression. Sometimes,\nespecially in the earlier speeches to the Assembly, the argument seems\nunreal, the joints between the previously prepared commonplaces or\nillustrations and their application to the matter in hand are too\nvisible, the language is artificially phrased, and wanting in\nspontaneity and ease. There are also parts of the court speeches in\nwhich the orator seems to have calculated out all the possible methods\nof meeting a particular case, and to be applying them in turn with more\ningenuity than convincingness. An appearance of unreality also arises\nat times (again principally in the earlier speeches) from a certain\nwant of imagination. He attributes feelings and motives to others,\nwhich they were really most unlikely to have entertained, and argues\nfrom them. Some of the sentiments which he expects Artaxerxes or\nArtemisia to feel (in the Speeches on the Naval Boards and for the\nRhodians) were certainly not to be looked for in them. Similar\nmisconceptions of the actual or possible sentiments of the Spartans\nappear in the Speech for the Megalopolitans, and of those of the\nThebans in the Third Olynthiac (Sec. 15). The early orations against\nPhilip also show some misunderstanding of his character. And if, in\nfact, Demosthenes lived his early years largely in solitary\nstudiousness and was unsociable by disposition, this lack of a quick\ngrasp of human nature and motives is quite intelligible. But this\ndefect grew less conspicuous as his experience increased; and though\neven to the end there remained something of the sophist about him, as\nabout all the disciples of the ancient rhetoric, the greatness of his\nbest work is not seriously affected by this. For, in his greatest\nspeeches, and in the greatest parts of nearly all his speeches, the\norator is white-hot with genuine passion and earnestness; and all his\nstudy and preparation resulted, for the most part, not in an artificial\nproduct, but in the most convincing expression of his real feeling and\nbelief; so that it was the man himself, and not the rhetorical\npractitioner that spoke.\n\nThe lighter virtues of the orator are not to be sought for in him. In\ngracefulness and humour he is deficient: his humour, indeed, generally\ntakes the grim forms of irony and satire, or verges on personality and\nbad taste. Few of his sentences can be imagined to have been delivered\nwith a smile; and something like ferocity is generally not far below\nthe surface. Pathos is seldom in him unmixed with sterner qualities,\nand is usually lost in indignation. But of almost every other variety\nof tone he has a complete command. The essential parts of his reasoning\n(even when it is logically or morally defective) are couched, as a\nrule, in a forcible and cogent form;[12] and he has a striking power of\nclose, sustained, and at the same time lucid argumentation. His matter\nis commonly disposed with such skill that each topic occurs where it\nwill tell most powerfully; and while one portion of a speech affords\nrelief to another (where relief is needed, and particularly in the\nlonger orations) all alike bear on the main issue or strengthen the\norator's position with his audience. Historical allusions are not (as\nthey often are by Aeschines and Isocrates) enlarged out of proportion\nto their importance, but are limited to what is necessary, in order to\nillustrate the orator's point or drive his lesson home. Add to these\nqualities his combination of political idealism with absolute mastery\nof minute detail; the intensity of his appeal to the moral sense and\npatriotism of his hearers; the impressiveness of his denunciation of\npolitical wrong; the vividness of his narrative, the rapid succession\nof his impassioned phrases, and some part of the secret of his power\nwill be explained. For the rest, while there is in his writing every\ndegree of fullness or brevity, there is no waste of words, no 'fine\nlanguage' out of place. His language, indeed, is ordinarily\nsimple--sometimes even colloquial; though in the arrangement of his\nwords in their most telling order he shows consummate art, and his\nmetaphors are often bold and sometimes even violent. In the use of the\n'figures of speech' he excels; above all, in the use of antitheses\n(whether for the purpose of vivid contrast or of precise logical\nexpression), and of the rhetorical question, used now in indignation,\nnow in irony, now in triumphant conclusion of an argument: and at times\nthere are master-strokes of genius, which defy all analysis, such as\nthe great appeal to the men of Marathon in the Speech on the Crown.[13]\nHe does not as a rule (and this is particularly true of the Speech on\nthe Crown) cover the whole of the ground with the same adequacy; but so\nconcentrates all his forces upon certain points as to be irresistible,\nand thus 'with thunder and lightning confounds'[14] the orators who\noppose him. It is no wonder that some of the greatest of English\norators, and notably of those of the eighteenth and early nineteenth\ncenturies, borrow from him not only words and phrases, but inspiration\nand confidence in their cause, and look upon him as a model whom they\nmay emulate, but cannot excel.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n[1] See Introduction to First Philippic.\n\n[2] See notes on Speech for the Megalopolitans.\n\n[3] See note on Speech on the Crown, Sec. 140.\n\n[4] See Speech on the Crown, Secs. 170 ff.\n\n[5] See Zimmern, _The Greek Commonwealth_, pp. 159 ff., for an\nexcellent short account of the constitution and functions of the\nCouncil. That the councillors themselves sat (for administrative\npurposes) in relays, changing ten times a year, was also against\ncontinuity.\n\n[6] See Speech on Embassy, Sec. 2 n.\n\n[7] See Introduction to Speech on Naval Boards, and Philippic I, Secs. 36,\n37.\n\n[8] See Zimmern, _The Greek Commonwealth_, p. 205.\n\n[9] See Zimmern, _The Greek Commonwealth_, p. 205.\n\n[10] The 'Art' of Anaximenes is an interesting extant example of a\nfourth-century handbook for practical orators. The Rhetoric of\nAristotle stands on a higher plane, but probably follows the lines laid\ndown by custom in the rhetorical schools.\n\n[11] See Speech on Embassy, Sec. 246, and note.\n\n[12] He is especially fond of the dilemma, which is not indeed cogent\nin strict logic, but is peculiarly telling and effective in producing\nconviction in large audiences.\n\n[13] See [Longinus] 'On the Sublime', especially chap, xvi-xviii\n(English translation by A. O. Prickard in this series). This treatise\nshould be read by all students of Demosthenes, especially chap. xii,\nxvi-xviii, xxxii, xxxiv, xxxix.\n\n[14] 'On the Sublime', chap. xxxiv.\n\n\n\n\n[TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: The text for all notes marked [n] will be found at\nthe end of the second volume.]\n\n\n\n\nON THE NAVAL BOARDS (OR. XIV)\n\n\n[_Introduction_. The speech was delivered in 354 B.C. News had been\nbrought to Athens that the Persian King Artaxerxes Ochus was making\ngreat military and naval preparations, and though these were, in fact,\ndirected against his own rebellious subjects in Egypt, Phoenicia, and\nCyprus, the Athenians had some ground for alarm: for, two years before\nthis, Chares, in command of an Athenian fleet, had given assistance to\nArtabazus, Satrap of Ionia, who was in revolt against the king. The\nking had made a protest, and (late in 355) Athens had ordered Chares to\nwithdraw his aid from Artabazus. A party in Athens now wished to\ndeclare war on Persia, and appealed strongly to Athenian traditions in\nfavour of the proposal. Demosthenes opposes them, on the ground that it\nwas not certain that the king was aiming at Athens at all, and that the\ndisunion of the Hellenic peoples would render any such action unsafe:\nAthens had more dangerous enemies nearer home, and her finances were\nnot in a condition for such a campaign. But he takes advantage of the\ninterest aroused, to propose a reform of the trierarchic system,\ndesigned to secure a more efficient navy, and to remedy certain abuses\nin the existing method of equipping vessels for service.\n\nIn earlier times, the duty of equipping and commanding each trireme was\nlaid upon single citizens of means, the hull and certain fittings being\nfound by the state. When, early in the fourth century, the number of\nwealthy men had diminished, each ship might be shared by two citizens,\nwho commanded in turn. In 357 a law was passed, on the proposal of\nPeriander, transferring the responsibility from individuals to\n'Symmories' or Boards. (The system had been instituted in a slightly\ndifferent form for the collection of the war-tax in the archonship of\nNausinicus, 378-7 B.C.) The collection of the sums required became the\nwork of twenty Boards, formed by the subdivision of the 1,200 richest\ncitizens: each contributor, whatever his property, paid the same share.\nThe richer men thus got off with the loss of a very small proportion of\ntheir income, as compared with the poorer members of the Boards,[1] and\nin managing the business of the Boards they sometimes contrived to\nexact the whole sum from their colleagues, and to escape payment\nthemselves. At the same time the duties of the several Boards and their\nmembers were not allocated with sufficient precision to enable the\nresponsibility to be brought home in case of default; and the nominal\nTwelve Hundred had fallen to a much smaller number, on whom the burden\naccordingly fell with undue weight. Demosthenes' proposal provided for\nthe distribution of the responsibility of equipping the vessels and\nproviding the funds, in the most detailed manner, with a view to\npreventing all evasion; but it was not carried. In fact, it was not\nuntil 340 that he succeeded in reforming the trierarchy, and he then\nmade the burden vary strictly with property. The proposal, however, to\ndeclare war upon Persia went no further.\n\nWhile, in this speech, Demosthenes is in accord with the policy of\nEubulus, so far as concerns the avoidance of war with Persia, his\nproposals of financial reform would not be viewed with favour by the\nwealthy men who were Eubulus' firm supporters. Some of the themes which\nrecur continually in later speeches are prominent in this--the futility\nof rhetorical appeals to past glories, without readiness for personal\nservice, and the need of a thorough organization of the forces. While\nthe speech shows rather too strongly the marks of careful preparation,\nand seldom rises to eloquence--the style, indeed, is often rather\ncramped and stiff, and the sentiments, especially at the beginning,\nartificially phrased--it is moderate and practical in tone, and shows a\ncharacteristic mastery of minute detail.]\n\n\n{1} Those who praise your forefathers,[n] men of Athens, desire, no\ndoubt, to gratify you by their speeches; and yet I do not think that\nthey are acting in the interests of those whom they praise. For the\nsubject on which they attempt to speak is one to which no words can do\njustice; and so, although they thus win for themselves the reputation\nof capable speakers, the impression which they convey to their hearers\nof the merit of our forefathers is not adequate to our conception of\nit. For my part I believe that their highest praise is constituted by\nTime: for the time that has passed has been long, and still no\ngeneration has arisen, whose achievements could be compared with\nadvantage to theirs. {2} As for myself, I shall attempt to point out\nthe way in which, in my opinion, you can best make your preparations.\nFor the truth is, that if all of us who propose to address you were to\nsucceed in proving to you our rhetorical skill, there would not be the\nslightest improvement in your condition--I am sure of it; but if a\nsingle speaker were to come forward, whoever he might be, who could\ninstruct and convince you as to the nature of the preparations which\nwould meet the city's need, as to their extent, and the resources upon\nwhich we can draw for them, your present fears would instantly be\ndissolved. This I will attempt to do--if indeed it is in my power. But\nfirst I must briefly express my views as to our relations with the king.\n\n{3} I hold the king to be the common enemy of all the Hellenes; and yet\nI should not on that account urge you, alone and unsupported, to raise\nwar against him. For I observe that there is no common or mutual\nfriendship even among the Hellenes themselves: some have more faith in\nthe king than in some other Hellenes. When such are the conditions,\nyour interest requires you, I believe, to see to it that you only begin\nwar from a fair and just cause, and to make all proper preparations:\nthis should be the basis of your policy. {4} For I believe, men of\nAthens, that if it were made plain to the eyes and understandings of\nthe Hellenes, that the king was making an attempt upon them, they would\nboth fight in alliance with those who undertook the defence for them\nand with them, and would feel very grateful to them. But if we quarrel\nwith him prematurely, while his intentions are still uncertain, I am\nafraid, men of Athens, that we may be forced to fight not only against\nthe king, but also against those for whose benefit we are exercising\nsuch forethought. {5} For he will pause in the execution of his\nproject, if indeed he has really resolved to attack the Hellenes, and\nwill bribe some of them with money and offers of friendship; while\nthey, desirous of bringing their private wars to a successful end, and\nanimated only by such a spirit, will disregard the common safety of\nall. I urge you then, not to hurl the city needlessly into the midst of\nany such chaos of selfish passions. {6} Moreover, I see that the\nquestion of the policy to be adopted towards the king does not even\nstand on the same footing for the other Hellenes as for you. It is\nopen, I think, to many of them to manage certain of their own interests\nas they please, and to disregard the rest of the Hellenes. But for you\nit is not honourable, even if you are the injured party, and are\ndealing with those who have injured you, to punish them so severely as\nto leave some of them to fall under the domination of the foreigner:\n{7} and this being so, we must take care, first, that we do not find\nourselves involved in an unequal war, and secondly, that he, whom we\nbelieve to be plotting against the Hellenes, does not gain credit from\nthe supposition that he is their friend. How then can this be achieved?\nIt will be achieved if it is manifest to all that the forces of Athens\nhave been overhauled and put in readiness, and if her intentions in\nregard to their use are plainly righteous. {8} But to those who take a\nbold line, and urge you, without any hesitation whatever, to go to war,\nmy reply is this--that it is not difficult to win a reputation for\nbravery, when the occasion calls for deliberation; nor to prove\nyourself an accomplished orator, when danger is at the door: but to\ndisplay your courage in the hour of danger, and, in debate, to have\nwiser advice to offer than others--that is the hard thing, and that is\nwhat is required of you. {9} For my part, men of Athens, I consider\nthat the proposed war with the king would be a difficult undertaking\nfor the city; while the decisive conflict in which the war would result\nwould be an easier matter, and for this reason. Every war, I suppose,\nnecessarily requires ships and money and the command of positions. All\nsuch advantages the king, I find, possesses more abundantly than we.\nBut a conflict of forces requires nothing so much as brave men; and of\nthese, I believe, the larger number is with us, and with those who\nshare our danger. {10} For this reason I exhort you not to be the\nfirst, in any way whatever, to take up the war; but for the decisive\nstruggle I think you ought to be ready and your preparations made. And\nfurther, if the forces[n] with which foreigners and Hellenes could\nrespectively be repelled were really different in kind, the fact that\nwe were arraying our forces against the king would naturally, it may\nbe, admit of no concealment. {11} But since all military preparations\nare of the same character, and the main points of a force must always\nbe the same--the means to repel enemies, to help allies, and to retain\nexisting advantages--why, when we have our acknowledged foes,[n] do we\nseek to procure others? Let us rather prepare ourselves to meet the\nenemies whom we have, and we shall then repel the king also, if he\ntakes the aggressive against us. {12} Suppose that you yourselves\nsummon the Hellenes to your side now. If, when the attitude of some of\nthem towards you is so disagreeable, you do not fulfil their demands,\nhow can you expect that any one will listen to you? 'Why,' you say, 'we\nshall tell them that the king is plotting against them.' Good Heavens!\nDo you imagine that they do not foresee this themselves? Of course they\ndo. But their fear of this does not yet outweigh the quarrels which\nsome of them have against you and against each other. And so the tour\nof your envoys will end in nothing but their own rhapsodies.[n] {13}\nBut if you wait, then, if the design which we now suspect is really on\nfoot, there is not one of the Hellenes who stands so much upon his\ndignity that he will not come and beg for your aid, when he sees that\nyou have a thousand cavalry, and infantry as many as any one can\ndesire, and three hundred ships: for he will know that in these lies\nhis surest hope of deliverance. Appeal to them now, and we shall be\nsuppliants, and, if unsuccessful, rejected suppliants. Make your own\npreparations and wait, and then they will be the suppliants and we\ntheir deliverers; and we may rest assured that they will all come to us\nfor help.\n\n{14} In thinking out these points and others like them, men of Athens,\nmy object was not to devise a bold speech,[n] prolonged to no purpose:\nbut I took the greatest pains to discover the means by which our\npreparations could be most effectively and quickly made; and therefore,\nif my proposal meets with your approval, when you have heard it, you\nought, I think, to pass it. Now the first element in our preparation,\nmen of Athens (and it is the most important), must be this: your minds\nmust be so disposed, that every one of you will perform willingly and\nheartily any service that is required of him. {15} For you see, men of\nAthens, that whenever you have unanimously desired any object, and the\ndesire has been followed by a feeling on the part of every individual,\nthat the practical steps towards it were for himself to take, the\nobject has never yet slipped from your grasp: but whenever the wish has\nhad no further result than that each man has looked to his neighbour,\nexpecting his neighbour to act while he himself does nothing, the\nobject has never yet been attained. {16} But supposing you to be filled\nwith the keenness that I have described, I am of opinion that we should\nmake up the Twelve Hundred to their full number, and increase it to\n2,000, by the addition of 800. For if you can display this total, then,\nwhen you have allowed for the unmarried heiresses and orphans,[n] for\nproperty outside Attica,[n] or held in partnership, and for any persons\nwho may be unable to contribute,[n] you will, I believe, actually have\nthe full 1,200 persons available. {17} These you must divide into\ntwenty boards, as at present, with sixty persons to each board; and\neach of these boards you must divide into five sections of twelve\npersons each, taking care in every case to associate with the richest\nman the poorest men,[n] to maintain the balance. Such is the\narrangement of persons which I recommend, and my reason you will know\nwhen you have heard the nature of the entire system. {18} I pass to the\ndistribution of the ships. You must provide a total complement of 300\nships, forming twenty divisions of fifteen ships apiece, and including\nin each division five of the first hundred vessels,[n] five of the\nsecond hundred, and five of the third hundred. Next, you must assign by\nlot[n] to each board of persons its fifteen ships, and each board must\nassign three ships to each of its sections. {19} This done, in order\nthat you may have the payments also systematically arranged, you must\ndivide the 6,000 talents (for that is the taxable capital[n] of the\ncountry) into 100 parts of sixty talents each. Five of each of these\nparts you must allot to each of the larger boards--the twenty--and each\nboard must assign one of these sums of sixty talents to each of its\nsections; {20} in order that, if you need 100 ships,[n] there may be\nsixty talents to be taxed for the expense of each ship, and twelve\npersons responsible for it; if 200, thirty talents will be taxed to\nmake up the cost, and six persons will be responsible; if 300, then\ntwenty talents must be taxed to defray the expense, and four persons\nwill be responsible. {21} In the same way, men of Athens, I bid you\nmake a valuation according to the register of all those fittings of the\nships which are in arrear,[n] divide them into twenty parts, and allot\nto each of the large boards one-twentieth of the debtors: these must\nthen be assigned by each board in equal numbers to each of its\nsections, and the twelve persons composing each section must call up\ntheir share of the arrears, and provide, ready-equipped, the ships\nwhich fall to them. {22} Such is the plan by which, in my opinion, the\nexpense, the ships, the trierarchs, and the recovery of the fittings\ncould best be provided for and put into working order. I proceed to\ndescribe a simple and easy scheme for the manning of the vessels. I\nrecommend that the generals should divide the whole space of the\ndockyards into ten, taking care to have in each space thirty slips for\nsingle vessels close together. This done they should apportion to each\nspace two of the boards and thirty ships; and should then assign a\ntribe to each space by lot. {23} Each captain should divide into three\nparts the space which falls to his tribe, with the corresponding ships,\nand should allot these among the three wards[n] of each tribe, in such\na way that if each tribe has one division of the entire docks, each\nward will have a third of one of these divisions; and you will know, in\ncase of need, first the position assigned to the tribe; next, that of\nthe ward; and then the names of the trierarchs and their ships; each\ntribe will be answerable for thirty, and each ward for ten ships. If\nthis system is put in train, circumstances as they arise will provide\nfor anything that I may have overlooked to-day (for perhaps it is\ndifficult to think of everything), and there will be a single\norganization for the whole fleet and every part of it.\n\n{24} But what of funds? What resources have we immediately at our\ncommand? The statement which I am about to make on this subject will no\ndoubt be astonishing; but I will make it nevertheless; for I am\nconvinced that upon a correct view of the facts, this statement alone\nwill be proved true, and will be justified by the event. I say then,\nthat this is not the time to discuss the financial question. We have\nlarge resources upon which, in case of necessity, we may honourably and\nrightly draw: but if we inquire for them now, we shall not believe that\nwe can rely upon them even against the hour of need; so far shall we be\nfrom supplying them now. 'What then,' you will ask me, 'are these\nresources, which are non-existent now, but will be ours then? This is\nreally like a riddle.' I will tell you. {25} Men of Athens, you see all\nthis great city.[n] In this city there is wealth which will compare, I\nhad almost said, with the united wealth of all other cities. But such\nis the disposition of those who own it, that if all your orators were\nto raise the alarm that the king was coming--that he was at the\ndoors--that there was no possible escape; and if with the orators an\nequal number of prophets foretold the same thing; even then, far from\ncontributing funds, they would show no sign[2] [and make no\nacknowledgement] of their possession of them. {26} If, however, they\nwere to see in course of actual realization all the terrors with which\nat present we are only threatened in speeches, not one of them is so\nblind that he would not both offer his contribution, and be among the\nfirst to pay the tax. For who will prefer to lose his life and\nproperty, rather than contribute a part of his substance to save\nhimself and the remainder of it? Funds, then, we can command, I am\ncertain, if there is a genuine need of them, and not before; and\naccordingly I urge you not even to look for them now. For all that you\nwould provide now, if you decided upon a levy, would be more ludicrous\nthan nothing at all. {27} Suppose that we are told to pay 1 per cent.\nnow; that gives you sixty talents. Two per cent. then--double the\namount; that makes 120 talents. And what is that to the 1,200 camels\nwhich (as these gentlemen tell us) are bringing the king's money for\nhim? Or would you have me assume a payment of one-twelfth, 500 talents?\nWhy, you would never submit to this; and if you paid the money down, it\nwould not be adequate to the war. {28} You must, therefore, make all\nyour other preparations, but allow your funds to remain for the present\nin the hands of their owners--they could nowhere be more safely kept\nfor the use of the State; and then, if ever the threatened crisis\narises, you will receive them as the voluntary gift of their\npossessors. This, men of Athens, is not only a possible course of\naction, but a dignified and a politic one. It is a course of action\nwhich is worthy to be reported to the ears of the king, and which would\ninspire him with no slight apprehension. {29} For he well knows that by\ntwo hundred ships, of which one hundred were Athenian,[n] his ancestors\nwere deprived of one thousand; and he will hear that Athens alone has\nnow equipped three hundred; so that, however great his infatuation, he\ncould certainly not imagine it a light thing to make this country his\nfoe. But if it is his wealth that suggests proud thoughts to his mind,\nhe will find that in this respect too his resources are weaker than\nours. {30} It is true that he is said to be bringing a great quantity\nof gold with him. But if he distributes this, he must look for more:\nfor just so it is the way of springs and wells to give out, if large\nquantities are drawn from them all at once; whereas we possess, as he\nwill hear, in the taxable capital of the country, resources which we\ndefend against attack in a way of which those ancestors of his who\nsleep at Marathon can best tell him: and so long as we are masters of\nthe country there is no risk of our resources being exhausted.\n\n{31} Nor again can I see any grounds for the fear, which some feel,\nlest his wealth should enable him to collect a large mercenary force.\nIt may be that many of the Hellenes would be glad to serve under him\nagainst Egypt,[n] against Orontas,[n] or against certain other foreign\npowers--not from a wish that the king should conquer any such enemies,\nbut because each desires individually to obtain some private means to\nrelieve his present poverty. But I cannot believe that any Hellene\nwould march against Hellas. Whither will he turn afterwards? Will he go\nto Phrygia and be a slave? {32} For the war with the foreigner is a war\nfor no other stake than our country, our life, our habits, our freedom,\nand all that we value. Where is the wretch who would sacrifice self,\nparents, sepulchres, fatherland, for the sake of some short-lived gain?\nI do not believe that he exists. And indeed it is not even to the\nking's own interest to conquer the Hellenes with a mercenary force; for\nan army which has conquered us is, even more certainly,[n] stronger\nthan he; and his intention is not to destroy us only that he may fall\ninto the power of others: he wishes to rule, if it may be, over all the\nworld; but if not, at least over those who are already his slaves.\n\n{33} It may be supposed that the Thebans will be on the king's side.\nNow this subject is one upon which it is hard to address you. For such\nis your hatred of them, that you cannot hear a good word about them,\nhowever true, without displeasure. And yet those who have grave\nquestions to consider must not on any pretext pass over any profitable\nline of argument. {34} I believe, then, that so far are the Thebans\nfrom being likely ever to march with him against the Hellenes, that\nthey would give a great deal, if they had it to give, for an\nopportunity of cancelling their former sins against Hellas.[n] But if\nany one does believe that the Thebans are so unhappily constituted, at\nleast you are all aware, I presume, that if the Thebans take the part\nof the king, their enemies must necessarily take the part of the\nHellenes.\n\n{35} My own belief is that our cause, the cause of justice, and its\nsupporters, will prove stronger in every emergency than the traitor and\nthe foreigner. And therefore I say that we need feel no excessive\napprehension, and that we must not be led on into taking the first step\ntowards war. Indeed, I cannot even see that any of the other Hellenes\nhas reason to dread this war. {36} Are they not all aware, that so long\nas they thought of the king as their common foe, and were at unity with\none another, they were secure in their prosperity; but that ever since\nthey imagined that they could count upon the king as their friend, and\nfell to quarrelling over their private interests, they have suffered\nsuch evils as no malediction could have devised for them? Must we then\ndread a man whose friendship, thanks to Fortune and Heaven, has proved\nso unprofitable, and his enmity so advantageous? By no means! Let us\nnot, however, commit any aggression, in view of our own interests, and\nof the disturbed and mistrustful spirit which prevails among the rest\nof the Hellenes. {37} Were it possible, indeed, to join forces with\nthem all, and with one accord to attack the king in his isolation, I\nshould have counted it no wrong even were we to take the aggressive.\nBut since this is impossible, we must be careful to give the king no\npretext for trying to enforce the claims of the other Hellenes against\nus. If you keep the peace, any such step on his part would arouse\nsuspicion; but if you are the first to begin war, his hostility to you\nwould make his desire to befriend your rivals appear natural enough.\n{38} Do not then lay bare the evil condition of Hellas, by calling the\npowers together when they will not obey, or undertaking a war which you\nwill be unable to carry on. Keep the peace; take courage, and make your\npreparations. Resolve that the news which the king hears of you shall\ncertainly not be that all Hellas, and Athens with it, in distress or\npanic or confusion. Far from it! {39} Let him rather know that if\nfalsehood and perjury were not as disgraceful in Hellenic eyes as they\nare honourable in his, you would long ago have been on the march\nagainst him: and that though, as it is, your regard for yourselves\nforbids you to act thus, you are praying to all the gods that the same\nmadness may seize him as once seized his ancestors. And if it occurs to\nhim to reflect upon this, he will find that your deliberations are not\nconducted in any careless spirit. {40} He at least shares the knowledge\nthat it was your wars with his own ancestors that raised Athens to the\nsummit of prosperity and greatness; while the peaceful policy which she\npreviously pursued never gave her such a superiority as she now enjoys\nover any single state in Hellas. Aye, and he sees that the Hellenes are\nin need of one who, whether intentionally or not, will reconcile them\none to another; and he knows that if he were to stir up war, he himself\nwould assume that character in relation to them; so that the news which\nhe will hear of you will be intelligible and credible to him.\n\n{41} But I do not wish to trouble you, men of Athens, by unduly\nprolonging my speech. I will therefore recapitulate my advice and\nretire. I bid you prepare your forces with a view to the enemies whom\nyou have. If the king or any other power attempts to do you injury, you\nmust defend yourselves with these same forces. But you must not take\nthe aggressive by word or deed; and you must take care that it is your\ndeeds, and not your platform speeches, that are worthy of your\nforefathers. If you act thus, you will be consulting both your own\ninterests and those of the speakers who are opposing me; since you will\nhave no cause to be angry with them afterwards, because you have\ndecided wrongly to-day.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n[1] See Speech on Crown, Secs. 102 ff. and notes.\n\n[2] See Speech on Crown, Secs. 102 ff. and notes.\n\n\n\n\nFOR THE MEGALOPOLITANS (OR. XVI)\n\n[_Introduction_. In 371 B.C. the Thebans under Epaminondas defeated the\nSpartans at Leuctra, and, assisted by Thebes, the Arcadians and\nMessenians threw off the Spartan yoke. The former founded Megalopolis\nas their common centre, the latter Messene. But after the death of\nEpaminondas in 362, Thebes was left without a leader; and when, in 355,\nshe became involved in the 'Sacred War' with the Phocians, the new\nPeloponnesian states turned towards Athens, and Messene received a\nsolemn promise of Athenian assistance, if ever she was attacked by\nSparta. In 353 Thebes was suffering considerably from the Sacred War,\nand the Spartans made an ingenious attempt to recover their power, in\nthe form of a proposal for the restoration of territory to its original\nowners. This meant that Athens would recover Oropus, which had been in\nthe hands of Thebes since 366, and had previously been the subject of a\nlong-standing dispute; that Orchomenus, Thespiae, and Plataeae, which\nhad all been overthrown by Thebes, would be restored; and that Elis and\nPhlius would also recover certain lost possessions. All these states\nwould then be morally bound (so the Spartans thought) to help Sparta to\nreconquer Arcadia and Messenia.\n\nOn the occasion of this speech (delivered in 353) the Megalopolitans\nhad appealed to Athens, and an Arcadian and a Spartan embassy had each\nhad an audience of the Assembly, and had each received strong support\nfrom Athenian speakers. The principal motives of the supporters of\nSparta were their hostility to Thebes, and their desire not to break\nwith the Spartans, whom Athens had assisted at Mantineia in 362 against\nthe Thebans and Megalopolitans. Demosthenes supports the Arcadians, and\nlays great stress on the desirability of maintaining a balance of power\nbetween Sparta and Thebes, so that neither might become too strong. To\nallow Sparta to reconquer Arcadia, and, as the next step, Messenia,\nwould be to render her too formidable; and to reject the proposal of\nSparta would not preclude Athens from recovering Oropus and demanding\nthe restoration of the Boeotian towns. But the promise of assistance to\nthe Arcadians should be accompanied by a request for the termination of\ntheir alliance with Thebes.\n\nDemosthenes' advice was not followed. In fact Athens was hardly in a\nposition to risk becoming entangled in a war with Sparta, particularly\nin view of the danger to her northern possessions from Philip. She\ntherefore remained neutral, while the Thebans, relieved from the\npressure of the Sacred War owing to the defeat of the Phocian leader\nOnomarchus by Philip, were able to send aid to Megalopolis. A truce\nbetween Sparta and Megalopolis was made about 350. It was, however, a\nresult of the neutrality of Athens, that she was unable, a few years\nlater, to secure the support of the Arcadians against Philip, whose\nallies they subsequently became.\n\nLord Brougham describes the oration as 'one of extraordinary subtlety\nand address in handling delicate topics'; and, after quoting the\npassage in which Demosthenes urges the necessity of maintaining a\nbalance of power between rival states, adds that 'this is precisely the\nlanguage of modern policy'. At the same time, the speech has in places\na somewhat academic and theoretical air: it is much occupied with the\nweighing of hypothetical considerations and obligations against one\nanother: and though it enunciates some plain and reasonable political\nprinciples, and makes an honest attempt to satisfy those who wished to\nhelp the Arcadians, but at the same time desired to regain ground\nagainst Thebes, it is not always convincing, and the tone is more\nfrankly opportunist than is usually the case with Demosthenes.]\n\n {1} I think, men of Athens, that those who have spoken on the Arcadian side and\nthose who have spoken on the Spartan, are alike making a mistake. For\ntheir mutual accusations and their attacks upon one another would\nsuggest that they are not, like yourselves, Athenians, receiving the\ntwo embassies, but actually delegates of the two states. Such attacks\nit was for the two deputations to make. The duty of those who claim to\nadvise you here was to discuss the situation impartially, and to\ninquire, in an uncontentious spirit, what course is best in your\ninterests. {2} As it is, if one could alter the fact that they are\nknown to us, and that they speak the dialect of Attica, I believe that\nmany would imagine that those on the one side actually were Arcadians,\nand those on the other, Spartans. For my part, I see plainly enough the\ndifficulty of offering the best advice. For you, like them, are\ndeluded, in your desire for one extreme or the other: and one who\nendeavours to propose an intermediate course, which you will not have\nthe patience to understand, will satisfy neither side and will forfeit\nthe confidence of both. {3} But in spite of this, I shall prefer, for\nmy own part, to risk being regarded as an idle chatterer (if such is\nreally to be my lot), rather than to abandon my conviction as to what\nis best for Athens, and leave you to the mercy of those who would\ndeceive you. And while I shall deal with all other points later, by\nyour leave, I shall take for my starting-point, in explaining the\ncourse which I believe to be best, those principles which are admitted\nby all.\n\n{4} There can be no possible question that it is to the interest of the\ncity that both the Spartans and these Thebans should be weak; and the\npresent situation, if one may judge at all from what has constantly\nbeen asserted in your presence, is such, that if Orchomenus, Thespiae,\nand Plataeae[n] are re-established, Thebes becomes weak; and that if\nthe Spartans can reduce Arcadia to subjection and destroy Megalopolis,\nSparta will recover her former strength. {5} We must, therefore, take\ncare not to allow the Spartans to attain a formidable degree of\nstrength, before the Thebans have become insignificant, lest there\nshould take place, unobserved by us, such an increase in the power of\nSparta as would be out of proportion to the decrease in the power of\nThebes which our interests demand. For it is, of course, out of the\nquestion that we should desire merely to substitute the rivalry of\nSparta for that of Thebes: that is not the object upon which we are\nbent. Our object is rather that neither people shall be capable of\ndoing us any injury. That is what will best enable us to live in\nsecurity.\n\n{6} But, granted that this is what ought to be, still, we are told, it\nis a scandalous thing to choose for our allies the men against whom we\nwere arrayed at Mantineia, and further, to help them against those\nwhose perils we shared that day. I agree; but I think that we need to\ninsert the condition, 'provided that the two parties are willing to act\nrightly.' {7} For if all alike prove willing to keep the peace, we\nshall not go to the aid of the Megalopolitans, since there will be no\nneed to do so; and so there will be no hostility whatever on our part\ntowards our former comrades in battle. They are already our allies, as\nthey tell us; and now the Arcadians will become our allies as well.\nWhat more could we desire? {8} But suppose they act wrongfully and\nthink fit to make war. In that case, if the question before us is\nwhether we are to abandon Megalopolis to Sparta or not, then I say\nthat, wrong though it is, I will acquiesce in our permitting this, and\ndeclining to oppose our former companions in danger. But if you all\nknow that, after capturing Megalopolis, they will march against\nMessene, let me ask any of those who are now so harshly disposed\ntowards Megalopolis to say what action he will _then_ advise. No answer\nwill be given. {9} In fact you all know that, whether they advise it or\nnot, we _must_ then go to the rescue, both because of the oath which we\nhave sworn to the Messenians, and because our interests demand the\ncontinued existence of that city. Ask yourselves, then, on which\noccasion you can most honourably and generously interpose to check the\naggressions of Sparta--in defence of Megalopolis, or in defence of\nMessene? {10} On the present occasion it will be understood that you\nare succouring the Arcadians, and are anxious that the Peace, which you\nfought for and risked your lives to win, may be secure. But if you\nwait, all the world will see plainly that it is not in the name of\nright that you desire the existence of Messene, but because you are\nafraid of Sparta. And while we should always seek and do the right, we\nshould at the same time take good care that what is right shall also be\nadvantageous.\n\n{11} Now an argument is used by speakers on the other side to the\neffect that we ought to attempt to recover Oropus,[n] and that if we\nmake enemies of those who might come to our assistance against it we\nshall have no allies. I too say that we should try to recover Oropus.\nBut the argument that the Spartans will be our enemies now, if we make\nalliance with those Arcadians who desire our friendship, is an argument\nwhich no one has less right even to mention, than those who induced you\nto help the Spartans when they were in danger. {12} Such was not their\nargument, when all the Peloponnesians came to you,[n] entreating you to\nsupport them in their campaign against Sparta, and they persuaded you\nto reject the entreaty, with the result that the Peloponnesians took\nthe only remaining course and applied to Thebes--when they bade you\ncontribute funds and imperil your lives for the deliverance of the\nSpartans. Nor, I presume, would you have been willing to protect them,\nhad they warned you that you must expect no gratitude for their\ndeliverance, unless, after saving them, you allowed them once more to\ndo as they pleased and commit fresh aggressions. {13} And further,\nhowever antagonistic it may be to the designs of the Spartans, that we\nshould make the Arcadians our allies, they are surely bound to feel a\ngratitude towards us for saving them when they were in the utmost\nextremity, which will outweigh their vexation at our preventing their\npresent wrongdoing. Must they not then either assist us to recover\nOropus, or else be regarded as the basest of mankind? For, by Heaven, I\ncan see no other alternative.\n\n{14} I am astonished, also, to hear it argued that if we make the\nArcadians our allies, and carry out my advice, it will seem as though\nAthens were changing her policy, and were utterly unreliable. I believe\nthat the exact reverse of this is the case, men of Athens, and I will\ntell you why. I suppose that no one in the world can deny that when\nthis city saved the Spartans,[n] and before them the Thebans,[n] and\nfinally the Euboeans,[n] and subsequently made them her allies, she had\none and the same end always in view. {15} And what was this? It was to\ndeliver the victims of aggression. And if this is so, it is not we that\nshould be changing, but those who refuse to adhere to the right; and it\nwill be manifest that, although circumstances change from time to time\nwith the ambitious designs of others, Athens does not change.\n\n{16} I believe that the Spartans are playing a very unscrupulous part.\nAt present they tell us that the Eleans are to recover part of\nTriphylia,[n] and the Phliasians, Tricaranum;[n] other Arcadians are to\nrecover their own possessions, and we ourselves are to recover\nOropus--not that they have any desire to see every state enjoying its\nown--far from it!-- such generosity on their part would be late indeed\nin showing itself. {17} They wish rather to present the appearance of\nco-operating with each separate state in the recovery of the territory\nthat it claims, in order that when they themselves march against\nMessene, all may take the field with them, and give them their hearty\nassistance, on pain of seeming to act unfairly, in refusing to return\nan equivalent for the support which each of them received from Sparta\nin regard to their own several claims. {18} My own view is that, even\nwithout the tacit surrender of some of the Arcadians to Sparta, we can\nrecover Oropus, aided not only by the Spartans, if they are ready to\nact honourably, but by all who disapprove of allowing Thebes to retain\nwhat is not her own. But even if it were made quite plain to us, that\nwithout allowing Sparta to subdue the Peloponnese, we should not be\nable to take Oropus, I should still think it preferable, if I may dare\nto say so, to let Oropus go, rather than sacrifice Messene and the\nPeloponnese to Sparta. For our quarrel with them would not, I believe,\nbe confined to this; since--I will not say what occurs to me; but there\nare many risks which we should run.\n\n{19} But, to pass on, it is a monstrous thing to use the hostile\nactions which, they say, the Megalopolitans committed against us, under\nthe influence of Thebes, as a ground of accusation against them to-day;\nand, when they wish to be friends and so atone for their action by\ndoing us good, to look askance at them, to seek for some way of\navoiding their friendship, to refuse to recognize that in proportion to\nthe zeal which my opponents can prove the Megalopolitans to have shown\nin supporting Thebes will be the resentment to which my opponents\nthemselves will deservedly be exposed, for depriving the city of such\nallies as these, when they have appealed to you before appealing to\nThebes. {20} Such a policy is surely the policy of men who wish to make\nthe Arcadians for the second time the allies of others. And so far as\none can forecast the future by calculation, I am sure, and I believe\nthat most of you will agree with me, that if the Spartans take\nMegalopolis, Messene will be in peril; and if they take Messene also,\nthen I predict that we shall find ourselves allies of Thebes.[n] {21}\nIt is a far more honourable, a far better, course that we should\nourselves take over the Theban confederacy,[n] refusing to leave the\nfield open to the cupidity of the Spartans, than that we should be so\nafraid of protecting the allies of Thebes, as first to sacrifice them,\nand then to save Thebes itself; and, in addition, to be in a state of\napprehension for our own safety. {22} For if the Spartans capture\nMegalopolis and become a great power once more, the prospect, as I\nconceive it, is not one which this city can view without alarm. For I\ncan see that even now they are determining to go to war, not to prevent\nany evil which threatens them, but to recover their own ancient power:\nand what their aims were when they possessed that power, you, I think,\nknow[n] perhaps better than I, and with that knowledge may well be\nalarmed.\n\n{23} Now I should be glad if the speakers who profess their hatred for\nThebes on the one side, or for Sparta on the other, would tell me if\ntheir professed hatred is based on consideration for you and your\ninterests, or whether the one party hates Thebes from an interest in\nSparta, and the other Sparta from an interest in Thebes. If the latter\nis the case, you should not listen to either, but treat them as insane:\nbut if the former, why this inordinate exaltation of one side or the\nother? {24} For it is possible, perfectly possible, to humiliate Thebes\nwithout rendering Sparta powerful. Indeed, it is by far the easier\ncourse; and I will try to tell you how it can be done. We all know\nthat, however unwilling men may be to do what is right, yet up to a\ncertain point they are ashamed not to do so, and that they withstand\nwrongdoers openly, particularly if there are any who receive damage\nthrough the wrong done: and we shall find that what ruins everything\nand is the source of all evil is the unwillingness to do what is right\nwithout reserve. {25} Now in order that no such obstacle may stand in\nthe way of the humiliation of Thebes, let us demand the\nre-establishment of Thespiae, Orchomenus, and Plataeae, co-operating\nwith their citizens ourselves, and requiring others to do so; for the\nprinciple of refusing to allow ancient cities to lie desolate is a\nright and honourable one. But let us at the same time decline to\nabandon Megalopolis and Messene to the aggressors, or to suffer the\ndestruction of existing and inhabited cities, on the pretext of\nrestoring Plataeae and Thespiae. {26} Then, if our policy is made plain\nto all, there is no one who will not wish to terminate the Thebans'\noccupation of territory not their own. But if it is not, not only will\nour designs be opposed by the Arcadians, in the belief that the\nrestoration of these towns carries with it their own ruin, but we shall\nhave troubles without end. For, honestly, where can we expect to reach\nan end, when we permit the annihilation of existing cities, and require\nthe restoration of those that have been annihilated?\n\n{27} It is demanded by those whose speeches display the strongest\nappearance of fairness, that the Megalopolitans shall take down the\npillars[n] which commemorate their alliance with Thebes, if they are to\nbe trustworthy allies of Athens. The Megalopolitans reply that for them\nit is not pillars, but interest, that creates friendship; and that it\nis those who help them, that they consider to be their allies. Well,\nthat may be their attitude. Nevertheless, my own view is, roughly\nspeaking, this:--I say that we should simultaneously require the\nMegalopolitans to take down the pillars, and the Spartans to keep the\npeace: and that in the event of either side refusing to fulfil our\nrequest, we should at once take the part of those who are willing to\nfulfil it. {28} For if the Megalopolitans obtain peace, and yet adhere\nto the Theban alliance, it will be clear to all that they prefer the\ngrasping policy of Thebes to that which is right. If, on the other\nhand, Megalopolis makes alliance frankly with us, and the Spartans then\nrefuse to keep the peace, it will surely be clear to all that what the\nSpartans desire so eagerly is not the re-establishment of Thespiae, but\nan opportunity of subduing the Peloponnese while the Thebans are\ninvolved in the war.[n] {29} And I am surprised to find that there are\nsome who are alarmed at the prospect of the enemies of Sparta becoming\nallies of Thebes, and yet see nothing to fear in the subjugation of\nthese enemies by Sparta herself; whereas the experience of the past can\nteach us that the Thebans always use such allies against Sparta, while,\nwhen Sparta had them, she used to use them against us.\n\n{30} There is another point which I think you should consider. Suppose\nthat you reject the overtures of the Megalopolitans. If they are\nannihilated and dispersed, Sparta can recover her power at once. If\nthey actually survive--for things have happened before now beyond all\nhope--they will quite rightly be the firm allies of Thebes. But suppose\nyou receive them. Then the immediate result, so far as they are\nconcerned, is that they are saved by you: and as to the future, let us\nnow transfer our calculation of possible risks to the case of the\nThebans and Spartans. {31} If the Thebans are crushed, as they ought to\nbe, the Spartans will not be unduly powerful, for they will always have\nthese Arcadians at their doors to hold them in check. But if the\nThebans actually recover and survive the attack, they will at least be\nweaker; for the Arcadians will have become our allies, and will owe\ntheir preservation to us. Thus on every ground it is to our interest\nnot to sacrifice the Arcadians, nor to let them think that their\ndeliverance, if they are really saved, is due to themselves, or to any\nother people than you.\n\n{32} And now, men of Athens, I solemnly declare that what I have said\nhas been prompted by no personal feeling, friendly or hostile, towards\neither side. I have told you only what I believe to be expedient for\nyou; and I exhort you not to sacrifice the people of Megalopolis, and\nto make it your rule, never to sacrifice a smaller power to a greater.\n\n\n\n\nFOR THE FREEDOM OF THE RHODIANS (OR. XV)\n\n\n[_Introduction_. Dionysius of Halicarnassus places the speech in 351\nB.C. He is not always accurate, and the internal evidence has been\nthought by some to suggest a date perhaps two years earlier. The\nreasons, however, for this are not strong, and there has recently been\na disposition to accept Dionysius' date.\n\nAs the result of the Social War, Chios, Cos, Rhodes, and Byzantium had\nmade themselves independent of Athens. They had been assisted by\nMausolus, King of Caria, a vassal of Persia. After the termination of\nthe war, a Carian garrison occupied Cos and Rhodes; the democratic\nconstitution of Rhodes was overthrown and the democratic party driven\ninto banishment, as the result of an oligarchic plot, which Mausolus\nhad fostered. In 353 Mausolus died, and was succeeded by Artemisia, his\nsister and wife. The exiles appealed to Athens for restoration, and for\nthe liberation of Rhodes from the Carian domination. It is evident that\nthe feeling in Athens against the Rhodians was very strong, owing to\ntheir part in the late war, for which the democratic party had been\nresponsible; and there was some fear of the possible consequences of\noffending Artemisia and perhaps becoming involved in war with Persia.\nDemosthenes, nevertheless, urges the people to assist them, and to\nforget their misconduct. He appeals to the traditional policy of\nAthens, as the saviour of the oppressed and protectress of democracies,\nand warns them of the danger which would threaten Athens herself, if\nthe conversion of free constitutions into oligarchies were allowed to\ngo unchecked. He takes a different view from that of his opponents of\nthe probable attitude of Artemisia, and utters an impressive warning\nagainst corrupt and unpatriotic statesmen, which foreshadows his more\nvehement attacks in the orations against Philip.\n\nThe appeal was unsuccessful, for in the speech on the Peace (Sec. 25)\nDemosthenes speaks of Cos and Rhodes as still subject to Caria.\n\nThe speech is more eloquent than the last, and more outspoken.\nPolitical principles and ideals are enunciated with some confidence,\nand illustrated by striking examples from history. But there also\nappears for the first time that sense of the difficulty of rousing the\nAthenians to action of any kind, which is so strongly expressed in\nlater speeches.]\n\n\n{1} It is, I think, your duty, men of Athens, when you are deliberating\nupon affairs of such importance, to grant freedom of speech to every\none of your advisers. And for my part, I have never yet felt any\ndifficulty in pointing out to you the best course; for I believe that,\nbroadly speaking, you all know from the first what this is. My\ndifficulty is to persuade you to act upon your knowledge. For when a\nmeasure is approved and passed by you, it is as far from execution as\nit was before you resolved upon it. {2} Well, you have to render thanks\nto Heaven for this, among other favours--that those who went to war\nwith you not long ago, moved by their own insolent pride, now place\ntheir own hopes of preservation in you alone. Well may we rejoice at\nour present opportunity! For if your decision in regard to it is what\nit should be, you will find yourselves meeting the calumnies of those\nwho are slandering this city with a practical and a glorious\nrefutation. {3} For the peoples of Chios, Byzantium, and Rhodes accused\nus of entertaining designs against them; and on this ground they\ncombined against us in the recent war. But now it will be seen[n] that,\nwhile Mausolus, who under the pretence of friendship towards Rhodes,\ndirected and instigated their efforts, in reality robbed the Rhodians\nof their freedom; while their declared allies, Chios and Byzantium,\nnever came to aid them in their misfortunes; {4} you, of whom they were\nafraid, and you alone, have been the authors of their salvation. And\nbecause all the world will have seen this, you will cause the popular\nparty in every city to consider your friendship a guarantee of their\nown safety; nor could you reap any greater blessing than the goodwill\nwhich will thus be offered to you, spontaneously and without\nmisgivings, upon every hand.\n\n{5} I notice, to my surprise, that those who urge us to oppose the king\nin the interest of the Egyptians,[n] are the very persons who are so\nafraid of him when it is the interest of the popular party in Rhodes\nthat is in question. And yet it is known to every one that the Rhodians\nare Hellenes, while the Egyptians have a place assigned them in the\nPersian Empire. {6} I expect that some of you remember that, when you\nwere discussing our relations with the king, I came forward and was the\nfirst to advise you[n] (though I had, I believe, no supporters, or one\nat the most), that you would show your good sense, in my opinion, if\nyou did not make your hostility to the king the pretext of your\npreparations, but prepared yourselves against the enemies whom you\nalready had; though you would resist him also, if he attempted to do\nyou any injury. {7} Nor, when I spoke thus, did I fail to convince you,\nbut you also approved of this policy. What I have now to say is the\nsequel to my argument on that occasion. For if the king were to call me\nto his side and make me his counsellor, I should give him the same\nadvice as I gave you--namely, that he should fight in defence of his\nown possessions, if he were opposed by any Hellenic power, but should\nabsolutely forego all claim to what in no way belongs to him. {8} If,\ntherefore, you have made a general resolve, men of Athens, to retire\nfrom any place of which the king makes himself master, either by\nsurprise or by the deception of some of the inhabitants, you have not\nresolved well, in my judgement: but if you are prepared, in defence of\nyour rights, even to fight, if need be, and to endure anything that may\nbe necessary, not only will the need for such a step be less, the more\nfirmly your minds are made up, but you will also be regarded as showing\nthe spirit which you ought to show.\n\n{9} To prove to you that I am not suggesting anything unprecedented in\nbidding you liberate the Rhodians, and that you will not be acting\nwithout precedent, if you take my advice, I will remind you of one of\nthose incidents in the past which have ended happily for you. You once\nsent out Timotheus, men of Athens, to assist Ariobarzanes,[n] adding to\nyour resolution the provision that he must not break our treaty with\nthe king; and Timotheus, seeing that Ariobarzanes was now openly in\nrevolt against the king, but that Samos was occupied by a garrison\nunder Cyprothemis, who had been placed there by Tigranes, the king's\nviceroy, abandoned his intention of helping Ariobarzanes, but sat down\nbefore Samos, relieved it, and set it free. {10} And to this day no war\nhas ever arisen to trouble you on account of this. For to enter upon a\nwar for the purpose of aggrandizement is never the same thing as to do\nso in defence of one's own possessions. Every one fights his hardest to\nrecover what he has lost; but when men endeavour to gain at the expense\nof others, it is not so. They desire to do this, if it is allowed them;\nbut if they are prevented, they do not consider that their opponents\nhave done them any wrong.\n\n{11} Now listen for a moment, and consider whether I am right or wrong,\nwhen I conclude that if Athens were actively at work, Artemisia herself\nwould now not even oppose our action. If the king effects in Egypt all\nthat he is bent upon, I believe that Artemisia would make every attempt\nto secure for him the continued possession of Rhodes--not from any\ngoodwill towards him, but from the desire to be credited with a great\nservice to him, while he is still in her neighbourhood,[n] and so to\nwin from him as friendly a reception as possible. {12} But if he is\nfaring as we are told, if all his attempts have failed, she will\nconsider, and rightly, that the island can be of no further use to the\nking, except as a fortified post to command her own dominions--a\nsecurity against any movement on her part. Accordingly she would\nprefer, I believe, that you should have it, without her openly\nsurrendering it to you, rather than that he should occupy it. I think,\ntherefore, that she would not even make an attempt to save it; or that\nif she actually did so, it would be but weakly and ineffectively. {13}\nFor although I cannot, of course, profess to know what the king will\ndo, I must insist that it is high time that it should be made clear, in\nthe interests of Athens, whether he intends to lay claim to Rhodes or\nnot: for if he does so, we have then to take counsel, not for the\nRhodians alone, but for ourselves and for the Hellenes as a whole.\n\n{14} At the same time, even if the Rhodians who are now in\npossession[n] of the town held it by their own strength, I should never\nhave urged you to take them for your allies, for all the promises in\nthe world. For I observe that they took to their side some of their\nfellow citizens, to help them overthrow the democracy, and that, having\ndone this, they turned and expelled them: and I do not think that men\nwho failed to keep faith with either party would ever be trustworthy\nallies for yourselves. {15} And further, I should never have made my\npresent proposal, had I been thinking only of the interests of the\npopular party in Rhodes. I am not their official patron,[n] nor have I\na single personal friend among them; and even if both these things were\notherwise, I should not have made this proposal, had I not believed it\nto be for your advantage. For as for the Rhodians, if I may use such an\nexpression when I am pleading with you to save them, I share your\njoy[1] at what has happened to them. For it is because they grudged you\nthe recovery of your rights that they have lost their own freedom; and\nthat, instead of the equal alliance which they might have had with\nHellenes, better than themselves, they are in bondage to foreigners and\nslaves, whom they have admitted to their citadels. {16} Indeed, if you\nresolve to go to their aid, I may almost say that this calamity has\nbeen good for them; for, Rhodians as they are, I doubt if they would\never have come to their right mind in prosperity; whereas actual\nexperience has now taught them that folly generally leads to manifold\nadversities; and perhaps they will be wiser for the future. This\nlesson, I feel sure, will be no small advantage to them. I say then\nthat you should endeavour to save these men, and should bear no malice,\nremembering that you too have been greatly deceived by conspirators\nagainst you, and yet would not admit that you deserved yourselves to\nsuffer for such mistakes.\n\nObserve this also, men of Athens. {17} You have waged many wars both\nagainst democracies and against oligarchies; and of this no doubt you\nare as well aware as I. But I doubt whether any of you considers for\nwhat objects you are fighting in each case. What then are these\nobjects? In fighting against a democracy, you are fighting either over\nsome private quarrel, when the parties have failed to settle their\ndisputes by the means publicly provided;[n] or you are contending for a\npiece of territory, or about a boundary, or for a point of honour, or\nfor paramountcy. But in fighting against an oligarchy, it is not for\nany such objects--it is your constitution and your freedom that are at\nstake. {18} And therefore I should not hesitate to say that I believe\nit would be better for you, that all the Hellenic peoples should be\ndemocracies, and be at war with you, than that they should be governed\nby oligarchies, and be your friends. For with a free people you would\nhave no difficulty, I believe, in making peace whenever you desired:\nbut with an oligarchical State friendship itself cannot be safe. For\nthere can be no goodwill between Few and Many--between those who seek\nfor mastery, and those who have chosen the life of political equality.\n\n{19} It surprises me also that though Chios and Mytilene are ruled by\noligarchies, and though now the Rhodians and all mankind, I may almost\nsay, are being brought into the same bondage, no one considers that any\ndanger threatens our own constitution also, or reflects that if every\nState is organized upon an oligarchic basis, it is not possible that\nyour own democracy should be suffered to remain. For they know that no\npeople but you could ever bring them forth into a state of liberty\nagain; and they will wish to put an end to so likely a source of\ntrouble to themselves. {20} As a rule we may regard wrongdoers as\nenemies only to those whom they have wronged. But when men destroy free\nconstitutions and convert them into oligarchies, I say that you must\nthink of them as the common enemies of all whose hearts are set on\nfreedom. {21} Again, men of Athens, it is only right that you, a\ndemocracy yourselves, should show towards other democracies in distress\nthe same spirit as you would expect them to show towards you, if any\nsuch calamity (which God forbid!) should happen to you. It may be said\nthat the Rhodians are justly punished. If so, this is not the time to\nexult over them. When men are prosperous they should always be found\ntaking thought how best to help the distressed; for the future is\nunknown to all men.\n\n{22} I have often heard it stated here in your presence, that when our\ndemocracy had met with disaster,[n] you were joined by certain others\nin your anxiety for its preservation. Of these I will only refer on the\npresent occasion to the Argives, and that briefly. For I cannot desire\nthat you, who enjoy the reputation of being always the saviours of the\ndistressed, should prove inferior to the Argives in that work. These\nArgives, though their territory borders on that of the Spartans, whom\nthey saw to be masters by land and sea, neither hesitated nor feared to\ndisplay their goodwill towards you; but when envoys came from Sparta\n(so the story goes) to demand the persons of certain Athenian refugees,\nthey even voted that unless the envoys departed before sunset, they\nshould be adjudged public enemies. {23} If then the democracy of Argos\nin those days showed no fear of the might of the Spartan Empire, will\nit not be a disgrace if you, who are Athenians, are afraid of one who\nis a barbarian--aye, and a woman?[n] The Argives, moreover, could point\nto many defeats sustained at the hands of Sparta, while you have often\ndefeated the king, and have not once proved inferior either to his\nservants or to himself. For if ever the king has gained any success\nagainst Athens, it has been by bribing the basest of the Hellenes to\nbetray their countrymen; in no other way has he ever succeeded. {24}\nIndeed, even such success has done him no good. You will find that no\nsooner had he rendered Athens weak,[n] by the help of the Spartans,\nthan he had to fight for his own kingdom against Clearchus and Cyrus.\nHis successes, therefore, have not been won in the open field, nor have\nhis plots brought him any good. Now some of you, I notice, are in the\nhabit of speaking contemptuously of Philip, as though he were not worth\nreckoning with; while you dread the king, as a powerful enemy to any\nwhom he chooses to oppose. But if we are not to defend ourselves\nagainst Philip, because he is so mean a foe, and are to give way in\neverything to the king, because he is so formidable, who is there, men\nof Athens, against whom we shall ever take the field?\n\n{25} Men of Athens, you have among you those who are particularly\nskilful in pleading with you the rights of the rest of the world; and I\nshould be glad to give them this single piece of advice--that they\nshould seek to plead your rights with the rest of the world,[n] and so\nset an example of duty. It is monstrous to instruct you about rights,\nwithout doing right oneself; and it is not right that a fellow citizen\nof yours should have studied all the arguments against you and none of\nthose in your favour. {26} Ask yourselves, in God's name, why it is\nthat there is no one in Byzantium to tell the Byzantines that they must\nnot occupy Chalcedon,[n] which belongs to the king and formerly\nbelonged to you, but upon which they had no sort of claim; or that they\nmust not make Selymbria, once your ally, a contributory portion of the\nByzantine state; or include the territory of Selymbria[n] within the\nByzantine frontier, in defiance of the sworn treaty which ordains the\nindependence of the cities? {27} Why was there no one to tell Mausolus,\nwhile he lived, and Artemisia after his death, that they must not\noccupy Cos and Rhodes and other Hellenic cities as well, which the king\ntheir master ceded to the Hellenes by the treaty,[n] and for the sake\nof which the Hellenes of those days faced many a peril and fought many\na gallant fight? Even if there actually are such advisers[n] in both\ncases, at least it is not likely that they will find listeners. {28}\nFor my part I believe that it is right to restore the exiled democracy\nof Rhodes. But even if it were not right, I think it would be proper to\nurge you to do it, when I consider the course taken by such speakers as\nthese; and for this reason. If all the world, men of Athens, were bent\nupon doing right, it would be a disgrace to us if we alone were\nunwilling to do so: but when all the world is preparing itself in order\nto be able to commit wrong, then for us alone to abstain from every\nenterprise, on the plea of right, is no righteousness, to my mind, but\ncowardice. For I observe that the extent to which rights are admitted\nis always in proportion to the claimant's power at the moment. {29} I\ncan illustrate this by an instance familiar to all of you. There are\ntwo treaties[n] between the Hellenes and the king. The first was made\nby our own city, and all men praise it; the second by the Spartans, and\nit is denounced by all. The rights defined in these two treaties are\nnot the same. For whereas a common and equal share of private rights is\ngiven by law to weak and strong alike, in a settlement of international\nrights it is the stronger who legislate for the weaker.\n\nWell, you already know what the right course is.[n] {30} It remains to\ninquire how you can carry out your knowledge into action; and this will\nbe possible, if you come to be regarded as public champions of\nuniversal liberty. But the great difficulty which you find in doing\nyour duty is, to my mind, natural enough. All other men have only one\nconflict to face--the conflict with their declared foes; and when these\nare subdued, there is no further obstacle to their secure enjoyment of\ntheir happiness. {31} But for you there is a double conflict. In\naddition to that to which all men are liable, there is another which is\nharder, and which must be faced first: for you have to win the victory\nin your councils over those who are deliberately working in your midst\nagainst the interests of the city; and because, thanks to them, you can\neffect nothing that is demanded of you without a struggle, it is\nnatural that you should often miss your mark. {32} The chief reason for\nthe fearless adoption of such a course in public life by so many men is\nperhaps to be found in the benefits which they obtain from those who\nhire them. Yet at the same time, some of the blame may fairly be laid\nat your own doors. For you ought, men of Athens, to think of a man's\npost in public life as you think of his post in the army in the field.\nAnd how do you think of this? If a man leaves the post assigned to him\nby his general, you think that he deserves to be disfranchised and to\nlose all share in the privileges of a citizen. {33} And so when men\ndesert the post of civil duty, committed to them by our forefathers,\nand follow an oligarchical[n] policy, they should forfeit the privilege\nof acting as advisers to yourselves. As it is, while you believe that\nthose of your allies are best disposed towards you, who have sworn to\nhave the same friends and foes as yourselves, the politicians in whom\nyou place most faith are those whom you well know to have chosen the\nside of the enemies of Athens.\n\n{34} It is easy enough, however, to find reasons for accusing them and\nreproaching all of you. But to find words or actions which will enable\nus to rectify what is now amiss with us, is a task indeed. Moreover,\nthe present is not, perhaps, the time for entering into every point:\nbut if only you can confirm the policy which you have chosen by some\nsuitable action, it may be that other conditions will each in turn show\nsome improvement. {35} I think, therefore, that you ought to take this\nenterprise in hand with vigour, and to act worthily of your country.\nRemember with what delight you listen to the praises of your\nforefathers,[n] the recital of their deeds, the enumeration of their\ntrophies. Consider then that your forefathers dedicated these trophies,\nnot that you might gaze at them in idle wonder, but that you might\nimitate the actions of those who placed them there.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n[1] [Greek: humin sygchair_o].\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST PHILIPPIC (OR. IV)\n\n\n[_Introduction_. Philip became King of Macedonia in 359 B.C. Being in\ngreat difficulties both from external enemies and from internal\ndivision, he made peace with the Athenians, who were supporting the\npretensions of Argaeus to the throne, in the hope of recovering (by\nagreement with Argaeus) the colony of Amphipolis on the Strymon, which\nthey had lost in 424. Philip acknowledged the title of Athens to\nAmphipolis, and sent home the Athenian prisoners, whom he had captured\namong the supporters of Argaeus, without ransom. The Athenians,\nhowever, neglected to garrison Amphipolis. In 358 (the year in which\nAthens temporarily recovered her hold over Euboea, by compelling the\nThebans to evacuate the island), Philip carried on a successful\ncampaign against the Paeonian and Illyrian tribes, who were standing\nenemies of Macedonia. For the next three years Athens was kept occupied\nby the war with her allies, and Philip saw his opportunity. He besieged\nAmphipolis: when the citizens sent Hierax and Stratocles to ask Athens\nfor help, he dispatched a letter promising the Athenians that he would\ngive them Amphipolis when he had taken it; and a secret understanding\nwas arrived at between Philip and the Athenian envoys sent to him, that\nAthens should give him Pydna (once a Macedonian town, but now an ally\nof Athens) in exchange. Athens, therefore, listened neither to\nAmphipolis nor to Olynthus, which had also made overtures to her. The\nOlynthians in consequence made a treaty with Philip, who gave them\nAnthemus and promised to help them against their old rival Poteidaea, a\ntown in alliance with Athens. The Olynthians on their part agreed not\nto make peace with Athens except in conjunction with him. But Philip,\nwhen he had captured Amphipolis by a combination of siege and intrigue,\ndid not give it up to Athens, and instead of waiting to receive Pydna\nfrom Athens, besieged and took it, aided once more by treachery from\nwithin. In 356 he took Poteidaea (in conjunction with the Olynthians,\nto whom he gave the town), the Athenians arriving too late to relieve\nit; and then pursued his conquests along the Thracian coast. Further\ninland he expelled the Thasians (allies of Athens) from Crenides and\nfounded Philippi on the site, in the centre of the gold-mines of Mount\nPangaeus, from which he henceforward derived a very large revenue;\nwhile the forests of the district provided him with timber for\nship-building, of which he took full advantage: for in the next few\nyears his ships made descents upon the Athenian islands of Lemnos and\nImbros, plundered the Athenian corn-vessels off the coast of Euboea,\nand even landed a force at Marathon. In the latter part of 356 and in\n355 he was occupied with the conquest of the Paeonians and Illyrians,\nwith whom Athens had made an alliance in 356. At the end of 355 he laid\nsiege to Methone, the last Athenian port on the Thermaic gulf, and\ncaptured it in 354. (Some place the siege and capture of Methone in\n354-3, but an inscription, C.I.G. II. 70, makes it at least probable\nthat the siege had begun by the last month of 355.) In 353 Philip made\nhis way to the Thracian coast, and conquered Abdera and Maroneia. At\nMaroneia we find him in company with Pammenes (his former host at\nThebes), who had been sent by the Thebans to assist Artabazus in his\nrevolt against the Persian king; and at the same place he received\nApollonides of Cardia, the envoy of the Thracian prince Cersobleptes.\nOn his way home his ships escaped from Chares, off Neapolis, by a ruse.\nIn the same year he interfered in the affairs of Thessaly, where the\nAleuadae of Larissa had invited his assistance against Lycophron and\nPeitholaus of Pherae, who had invoked the aid of the Phocians. (In\nopposing the Phocians, the antagonists of the Thebans in the Sacred\nWar, Philip was also helping the Thebans themselves, and gaining credit\nas the opponent of the plunderers of the temple of Apollo at Delphi.)\nOnomarchus, the Phocian leader, twice defeated Philip, but was\noverthrown and slain in 352. Philip took Pherae and Pagasae (its port),\noccupied Magnesia, and, by means of promises, obtained financial aid\nfrom the Thessalians. The expedition sent by Athens to relieve Pagasae\narrived too late; but when Philip, after putting down the tyrants of\nPherae and arranging matters in Thessaly, advanced towards the Pass of\nThermopylae, an Athenian force, sent on the advice of Diophantus and\nEubulus, appeared in time to oblige him to retire to Macedonia. Late in\nthe autumn of 352 we find him once more in Thrace. It was probably now\nthat he assisted the peoples of Byzantium and Perinthus, together with\nAmadocus, a rival of Cersobleptes, against the latter; with the result\nthat Cersobleptes was obliged to give up his son to Philip as a\nhostage. Philip had also made alliance with Cardia, which, like\nByzantium, was on bad terms with Athens. He now laid siege to Heraeon\nTeichos, a fortress on the Propontis, but illness obliged him to\nsuspend operations, and the rumour of his death prevented the Athenians\nfrom sending against him the expedition which they had resolved upon.\n(The retention of her influence in this region was essential for\nAthens, if her corn-supply was to be secure.) In 351, on recovering\nfrom his illness, he entered the territory of Olynthus, which, contrary\nto the agreement with him, had made peace with Athens in the previous\nyear, apart from himself: but he did not at present pursue the invasion\nfurther. In October 351 Athens sent Charidemus to the Hellespont with\nten ships, but no soldiers and little money. If these are the ships\nalluded to in Sec. 43 of the present Speech, the Speech must have been\ndelivered after that date. Otherwise any date after Philip's incursion\ninto the territory of Olynthus would suit the contents of the Speech,\nand many writers place it earlier in the year. The question of the\nrelations of Athens with Philip had been brought forward; and\nDemosthenes, who had risen first to speak, proposes the creation of a\nlarge permanent fleet, and of a smaller force for immediate action,\nlaying great stress on the necessity of sending Athenian citizens both\nto command and to form a substantial proportion of the troops, which,\nhad so far been mostly mercenaries. The scheme was worked out in\ndetail, both in its military and in its financial aspects, and\nsupported with an eloquence and an earnestness which are far in advance\nof those displayed in the earlier speeches.\n\nThe statement of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, that the Speech as we have\nit, is really a conflation of two speeches, of which the second\n(beginning at Sec. 30) was delivered in 347, is generally (and rightly)\ndiscredited.]\n\n\n{1} If some new subject were being brought before us, men of Athens, I\nwould have waited until most of your ordinary advisers had declared\ntheir opinion; and if anything that they said were satisfactory to me,\nI would have remained silent, and only if it were not so, would I have\nattempted to express my own view. But since we find ourselves once more\nconsidering a question upon which they have often spoken, I think I may\nreasonably be pardoned for rising first of all. For if their advice to\nyou in the past had been what it ought to have been, you would have had\nno occasion for the present debate.\n\n{2} In the first place, then, men of Athens, we must not be downhearted\nat our present situation, however wretched it may seem to be. For in\nthe worst feature of the past lies our best hope for the future-in the\nfact, that is, that we are in our present plight because you are not\ndoing your duty in any respect; for if you were doing all that you\nshould do, and we were still in this evil case, we could not then even\nhope for any improvement. {3} In the second place, you must bear in\nmind (what some of you have heard from others, and those who know can\nrecollect for themselves), how powerful the Spartans were, not long\nago, and yet how noble and patriotic your own conduct was, when instead\nof doing anything unworthy of your country you faced the war with\nSparta [n] in defence of the right. [n] Now why do I remind you of\nthese things? It is because, men of Athens, I wish you to see and to\nrealize, that so long as you are on your guard you have nothing to\nfear; but that if you are indifferent, nothing can be as you would\nwish: for this is exemplified for you both by the power of Sparta in\nthose days, to which you rose superior because you gave your minds to\nyour affairs; and by the insolence of Philip to-day, which troubles us\nbecause we care nothing for the things which should concern us. {4} If,\nhowever, any of you, men of Athens, when he considers the immense force\nnow at Philip's command, and the city's loss of all her strongholds,\nthinks that Philip is a foe hard to conquer, I ask him (right though he\nis in his belief) to reflect also that there was a time when we\npossessed Pydna and Poteidaea and Methone; when all the surrounding\ncountry was our own, and many of the tribes [n] which are now on his\nside were free and independent, and more inclined to be friendly to us\nthan to him. {5} Now if in those days Philip had made up his mind that\nit was a hard thing to fight against the Athenians, with all their\nfortified outposts on his own frontiers, while he was destitute of\nallies, he would have achieved none of his recent successes, nor\nacquired this great power. But Philip saw quite clearly, men of Athens,\nthat all these strongholds were prizes of war, displayed for\ncompetition. He saw that in the nature of things the property of the\nabsent belongs to those who are on the spot, and that of the negligent\nto those who are ready for toil and danger. {6} It is, as you know, by\nacting upon this belief, that he has brought all those places under his\npower, and now holds them--some of them by right of capture in war,\nothers in virtue of alliances and friendly understandings; for every\none is willing to grant alliance and to give attention to those whom\nthey see to be prepared and ready to take action as is necessary. {7}\nIf then, men of Athens, you also will resolve to adopt this principle\nto-day--the principle which you have never observed before--if each of\nyou can henceforward be relied upon to throw aside all this pretence of\nincapacity, and to act where his duty bids him, and where his services\ncan be of use to his country; if he who has money will contribute, and\nhe who is of military age will join the campaign; if, in one plain\nword, you will resolve henceforth to depend absolutely on yourselves,\neach man no longer hoping that he will need to do nothing himself, and\nthat his neighbour will do everything for him; then, God willing, you\nwill recover your own; you will take back all that your indolence has\nlost, and you will have your revenge upon Philip. {8} Do not imagine\nthat his fortune is built to last for ever, as if he were a God. He\nalso has those who hate him and fear him, men of Athens, and envy him\ntoo, even among those who now seem to be his closest friends. All the\nfeelings that exist in any other body of men must be supposed to exist\nin Philip's supporters. Now, however, all such feelings are cowed\nbefore him: your slothful apathy has taken away their only rallying\npoint; and it is this apathy that I bid you put off to-day. {9} Mark\nthe situation, men of Athens: mark the pitch which the man's outrageous\ninsolence has reached, when he does not even give you a choice between\naction and inaction, but threatens you, and utters (as we are told)\nhaughty language: for he is not the man to rest content in possession\nof his conquests: he is always casting his net wider; and while we\nprocrastinate and sit idle, he is setting his toils around us on every\nside. {10} When, then, men of Athens, when, I say, will you take the\naction that is required? What are you waiting for? 'We are waiting,'\nyou say, 'till it is necessary.' But what must we think of all that is\nhappening at this present time? Surely the strongest necessity that a\nfree people can experience is the shame which they must feel at their\nposition! What? Do you want to go round asking one another, 'Is there\nany news?' Could there be any stranger news than that a man of\nMacedonia is defeating Athenians in war, and ordering the affairs of\nthe Hellenes? {11} 'Is Philip dead?' 'No, but he is sick.' And what\ndifference does it make to you? For if anything should happen to him,\nyou will soon raise up for yourselves a second Philip, if it is thus\nthat you attend to your interests. Indeed, Philip himself has not risen\nto this excessive height through his own strength, so much as through\nour neglect. I go even further. {12} If anything happened to Philip--if\nthe operation of Fortune, who always cares for us better than we care\nfor ourselves, were to effect this too for us--you know that if you\nwere at hand, you could descend upon the general confusion and order\neverything as you wished; but in your present condition, even if\ncircumstances offered you Amphipolis, you could not take it; for your\nforces and your minds alike are far away.\n\n{13} Well, I say no more of the obligation which rests upon you all to\nbe willing and ready to do your duty; I will assume that you are\nresolved and convinced. But the nature of the armament which, I\nbelieve, will set you free from such troubles as these, the numbers of\nthe force, the source from which we must obtain funds, and the best and\nquickest way, as it seems to me, of making all further\npreparations--all this, men of Athens, I will at once endeavour to\nexplain when I have made one request of you. {14} Give your verdict on\nmy proposal when you have heard the whole of it; do not prejudge it\nbefore I have done; and if at first the force which I propose appears\nunprecedented, do not think that I am merely creating delays. It is not\nthose whose cry is 'At once', 'To-day', whose proposals will meet our\nneed; for what has already happened cannot be prevented by any\nexpedition now. {15} It is rather he who can show the nature, the\nmagnitude, and the financial possibility of a force which when provided\nwill be able to continue in existence either until we are persuaded to\nbreak off the war, or until we have overcome the enemy; for thus only\ncan we escape further calamity for the future. These things I believe I\ncan show, though I would not stand in the way of any other speaker's\nprofessions. It is no less a promise than this that I make; the event\nwill soon test its fulfilment, and you will be the judges of it.\n\nFirst then, men of Athens, I say that fifty warships must {16} at once\nbe got in readiness: and next, that you must be in such a frame of mind\nthat, if any need arises, you will embark in person and sail. In\naddition, you must prepare transports for half our cavalry, and a\nsufficient number of boats. {17} These, I think, should be in readiness\nto meet those sudden sallies of his from his own country against\nThermopylae, the Chersonese, Olynthus, and any other place which he may\nselect. For we must make him realize that there is a possibility of\nyour rousing yourselves out of your excessive indifference, just as\nwhen once you went to Euboea,[n] and before that (as we are told) to\nHaliartus,[n] and finally, only the other day, to Thermopylae. {18}\nSuch a possibility, even if you are unlikely to make it a reality, as I\nthink you ought to do, is not one which he can treat lightly; and you\nmay thus secure one of two objects. On the one hand, he may know that\nyou are on the alert--he will in fact know it well enough: there are\nonly too many persons, I assure you, in Athens itself, who report to\nhim all that happens here: and in that case his apprehensions will\nensure his inactivity. But if, on the other hand, he neglects the\nwarning, he may be taken off his guard; for there will be nothing to\nhinder you from sailing to his country, if he gives you the\nopportunity. {19} These are the measures upon which I say you should\nall be resolved, and your preparations for them made. But before this,\nmen of Athens, you must make ready a force which will fight without\nintermission, and do him damage. Do not speak to me of ten thousand or\ntwenty thousand mercenaries. I will have none of your paper-armies. [n]\nGive me an army which will be the army of Athens, and will obey and\nfollow the general whom you elect, be there one general or more, be he\none particular individual, or be he who he may. {20} You must also\nprovide maintenance for this force. Now what is this force to be? how\nlarge is it to be? how is it to be maintained? how will it consent to\nact in this manner? I will answer these questions point by point. The\nnumber of mercenaries--but you must not repeat the mistake which has so\noften injured you, the mistake of, first, thinking any measures\ninadequate, and so voting for the largest proposal, and then, when the\ntime for action comes, not even executing the smaller one; you must\nrather carry out and make provision for the smaller measure, and add to\nit, if it proves too small--{21} the total number of soldiers, I say,\nmust be two thousand, and of these five hundred must be Athenians,\nbeginning from whatever age you think good: they must serve for a\ndefinite period--not a long one, but one to be fixed at your\ndiscretion--and in relays. The rest must be mercenaries. With these\nmust be cavalry, two hundred in number, of whom at least fifty must be\nAthenians, as with the infantry; and the conditions of service must be\nthe same. {22} You must also find transports for these. And what next?\nTen swift ships of war. For as he has a fleet, we need swift-sailing\nwarships too, to secure the safe passage of the army. And how is\nmaintenance to be provided for these? This also I will state and\ndemonstrate, as soon as I have given you my reasons for thinking that a\nforce of this size is sufficient, and for insisting that those who\nserve in it shall be citizens.\n\n{23} The size of the force, men of Athens, is determined by the fact\nthat we cannot at present provide an army capable of meeting Philip in\nthe open field; we must make plundering forays, and our warfare must at\nfirst be of a predatory nature. Consequently the force must not be\nover-big--we could then neither pay nor feed it--any more than it must\nbe wholly insignificant. {24} The presence of citizens in the force\nthat sails I require for the following reasons. I am told that Athens\nonce maintained a mercenary force in Corinth,[n] under the command of\nPolystratus, Iphicrates, Chabrias and others, and that you yourselves\njoined in the campaign with them; and I remember hearing that these\nmercenaries, when they took the field with you, and you with them, were\nvictorious over the Spartans. But even since your mercenary forces have\ngone to war alone, it is your friends and allies that they conquer,\nwhile your enemies have grown more powerful than they should be. After\na casual glance at the war to which Athens has sent them, they sail off\nto Artabazus,[n] or anywhere rather than to the war; and the general\nfollows them naturally enough, for his power over them is gone when he\ncan give them no pay. You ask what I bid you do. {25} I bid you take\naway their excuses both from the general and the soldiers, by supplying\npay and placing citizen-soldiers at their side as spectators of these\nmysteries of generalship;[n] for our present methods are a mere\nmockery. Imagine the question to be put to you, men of Athens, whether\nyou are at peace or no. 'At peace?' you would say; 'Of course not! We\nare at war with Philip.' {26} Now have you not all along been electing\nfrom among your own countrymen ten captains and generals,[n] and\ncavalry-officers, and two masters-of-the-horse? and what are they\ndoing? Except the one single individual whom you happen to send to the\nseat of war, they are all marshalling your processions for you with the\ncommissioners of festivals. You are no better than men modelling\npuppets of clay. Your captains and your cavalry-officers are elected to\nbe displayed in the streets, not to be sent to the war. {27} Surely,\nmen of Athens, your captains should be elected from among yourselves,\nand your master-of-the-horse from among yourselves; your officers\nshould be your own countrymen, if the force is to be really the army of\nAthens. As it is, the master-of-the-horse who is one of yourselves has\nto sail to Lemnos; while the master-of-the-horse with the army that is\nfighting to defend the possessions of Athens is Menelaus.[n] I do not\nwish to disparage that gentleman; but whoever holds that office ought\nto have been elected by you.\n\n{28} Perhaps, however, while agreeing with all that I have said, you\nare mainly anxious to hear my financial proposals, which will tell you\nthe amount and the sources of the funds required. I proceed, therefore,\nwith these at once. First for the sum. The cost of the bare rations for\nthe crews, with such a force, will be 90 talents and a little over--40\ntalents for ten swift ships, and 20 minae a month for each ship; and\nfor the soldiers as much again, each soldier to receive rations to the\nvalue of 10 drachmae a month; and for the cavalry (two hundred in\nnumber, each to receive 30 drachmae a month) twelve talents. {29} It\nmay be said that the supply of bare rations to the members of the force\nis an insufficient initial provision; but this is a mistake. I am quite\ncertain that, given so much, the army will provide everything else for\nitself from the proceeds of war, without injury to a single Hellene or\nally of ours, and that the full pay will be made up by these means. I\nam ready to sail as a volunteer and to suffer the worst, if my words\nare untrue. The next question then is of ways and means, in so far as\nthe funds are to come from yourselves. I will explain this at once.\n\n[_A schedule of ways and means is read_.]\n\n{30} This, men of Athens, is what we have been able to devise; and when\nyou put our proposals to the vote, you will pass them, if you approve\nof them; that so your war with Philip may be a war, not of resolutions\nand dispatches, but of actions.\n\n{31} I believe that the value of your deliberations about the war and\nthe armament as a whole would be greatly enhanced, if you were to bear\nin mind the situation of the country against which you are fighting,\nremembering that most of Philip's plans are successfully carried out\nbecause he takes advantage of winds and seasons; for he waits for the\nEtesian winds[n] or the winter-season, and only attacks when it would\nbe impossible for us to effect a passage to the scene of action. {32}\nBearing this in mind, we must not carry on the war by means of isolated\nexpeditions; we shall always be too late. We must have a permanent\nforce and armament. As our winter-stations for the army we have Lemnos,\nThasos, Sciathos, and the islands in that region, which have harbours\nand corn, and are well supplied with all that an army needs. And as to\nthe time of year, whenever it is easy to approach the shore and the\nwinds are not dangerous, our force can without difficulty lie close to\nthe Macedonian coast itself, and block the mouths of the ports.\n\n{33} How and when he will employ the force is a matter to be\ndetermined, when the time comes, by the commander whom you put in\ncontrol of it. What must be provided from Athens is described in the\nscheme which I have drafted. If, men of Athens, you first supply the\nsum I have mentioned, and then, after making ready the rest of the\narmament--soldiers, ships, cavalry--bind the whole force in its\nentirety,[n] by law, to remain at the seat of war; if you become your\nown paymasters, your own commissioners of supply, but require your\ngeneral to account for the actual operations; {34} then there will be\nan end of these perpetual discussions of one and the same theme, which\nend in nothing but discussion: and in addition to this, men of Athens,\nyou will, in the first place, deprive him of his chief source of\nsupply. For what is this? Why, he carries on the war at the cost of\nyour own allies, harrying and plundering those who sail the seas! And\nwhat will you gain besides this? You will place yourselves out of reach\nof disaster. It will not be as it was in the past, when he descended\nupon Lemnos and Imbros, and went off, with your fellow-citizens as his\nprisoners of war, or when he seized the vessels off Geraestus,[n] and\nlevied an enormous sum from them; or when (last of all) he landed at\nMarathon, seized the sacred trireme,[n] and carried it off from the\ncountry; while all the time you can neither prevent these aggressions,\nnor yet send an expedition which will arrive when you intend it to\narrive. {35} But for what reason do you think, men of Athens, do the\nfestival of the Panathenaea and the festival of the Dionysia[n] always\ntake place at the proper time, whether those to whom the charge of\neither festival is allotted are specially qualified persons or\nnot--festivals upon which you spend larger sums of money than upon any\narmament whatsoever, and which involve an amount of trouble[n] and\npreparation, which are unique, so far as I know, in the whole world--;\nand yet your armaments are always behind the time--at Methone, at\nPagasae, at Potidaea? {36} It is because for the festivals all is\narranged by law. Each of you knows long beforehand who is to supply the\nchorus,[n] and who is to be steward of the games,[n] for his tribe: he\nknows what he is to receive, and when, and from whom, and what he is to\ndo with it. No detail is here neglected, nothing is left indefinite.\nBut in all that concerns war and our preparation for it, there is no\norganization, no revision, no definiteness. Consequently it is not\nuntil the news comes that we appoint our trierarchs and institute\nexchanges of property for them, and inquire into ways and means. When\nthat is done, we first resolve that the resident aliens and the\nindependent freedmen[n] shall go on board; then we change our minds and\nsay that citizens shall embark; then that we will send substitutes; and\nwhile all these delays are occurring, the object of the expedition is\nalready lost. {37} For we spend on preparation the time when we should\nbe acting, and the opportunities which events afford will not wait for\nour slothful evasions; while as for the forces on which we think we can\nrely in the meantime, when the critical moment comes, they are tried\nand found wanting. And Philip's insolence has reached such a pitch,\nthat he has sent such a letter as the following to the Euboeans.\n\n[_The letter is read_.]\n\n{38} The greater part of the statements that have been read are true,\nmen of Athens; and they ought not to be true! but I admit that they may\npossibly be unpleasant to hear; and if the course of future events\nwould pass over all that a speaker passes over in his speech, to avoid\ngiving pain, we should be right in speaking with a view to your\npleasure. But if attractive words, spoken out of season, bring their\npunishment in actual reality, then it is disgraceful to blind our eyes\nto the truth, to put off everything that is unpleasant, {39} to refuse\nto understand even so much as this, that those who conduct war rightly\nmust not follow in the wake of events, but must be beforehand with\nthem: for just as a general may be expected to lead his army, so those\nwho debate must lead the course of affairs, in order that what they\nresolve upon may be done, and that they may not be forced to follow at\nthe heels of events. {40} You, men of Athens, have the greatest power\nin the world-warships, infantry, cavalry, revenue. But none of these\nelements of power have you used as you ought, down to this very day.\nThe method of your warfare with Philip is just that of barbarians in a\nboxing-match. Hit one of them, and he hugs the place; hit him on the\nother side, and there go his hands; but as for guarding, or looking his\nopponent in the face, he neither can nor will do it. {41} It is the\nsame with you. If you hear that Philip is in the Chersonese, you\nresolve to make an expedition there; if he is at Thermopylae, you send\none there; and wherever else he may be, you run up and down in his\nsteps. It is he that leads your forces. You have never of yourselves\ncome to any salutary decision in regard to the war. No single event do\nyou ever discern before it occurs--before you have heard that something\nhas happened or is happening. Perhaps there was room for this\nbackwardness until now; but now we are at the very crisis, and such an\nattitude is possible no longer. {42} Surely, men of Athens, it is one\nof the gods--one who blushes for Athens, as he sees the course which\nevents are taking--that has inspired Philip with this restless\nactivity. If he were content to remain at peace, in possession of all\nthat he has won by conquest or by forestalling us--if he had no further\nplans--even then, the record against us as a people, a record of shame\nand cowardice and all that is most dishonourable, would, I think, seem\ncomplete enough to some of you. But now he is always making some new\nattempt, always grasping after something more; and unless your spirit\nhas utterly departed, his conduct will perhaps bring you out into the\nfield. {43} It amazes me, men of Athens, that not one of you remembers\nwith any indignation, that this war had its origin in our intention to\npunish Philip; and that now, at the end of it, the question is, how we\nare to escape disaster at his hands. But that he will not stay his\nprogress until some one arrests it is plain enough. Are we then to wait\nfor that? Do you think that all is right, when you dispatch nothing but\nempty ships and somebody's hopes? Shall we not embark? {44} Shall we\nnot now, if never before, go forth ourselves, and provide at least some\nsmall proportion of Athenian soldiers? Shall we not sail to the enemy's\ncountry? But I heard the question, 'At what point on his coast are we\nto anchor?' The war itself, men of Athens, if you take it in hand, will\ndiscover his weak points: but if we sit at home listening to the mutual\nabuse and recriminations of our orators, you can never realize any of\nthe results that you ought to realize. {45} I believe that whenever any\nportion of Athens is sent with the forces, even if the whole city does\nnot go, the favour of Heaven and of Fortune fights on our side. But\nwhenever you dispatch anywhere a general with an empty resolution and\nsome platform-hopes to support him, then you achieve nothing that you\nought to achieve, your enemies laugh at you, and your allies are in\ndeadly fear of all such armaments. {46} It is impossible, utterly\nimpossible, that any one man should be able to effect all that you wish\nfor you. He can give undertakings and promises;[n] he can accuse this\nman and that; and the result is that your fortunes are ruined. For when\nthe general is at the head of wretched, unpaid mercenaries, and when\nthere are those in Athens who lie to you light-heartedly about all that\nhe does, and, on the strength of the tales that you hear, you pass\ndecrees at random, what _must_ you expect?\n\n{47} How then can this state of things be terminated? Only, men of\nAthens, when you expressly make the same men soldiers, witnesses of\ntheir general's actions, and judges at his examination[n] when they\nreturn home; for then the issue of your fortunes will not be a tale\nwhich you hear, but a thing which you will be on the spot to see. So\nshameful is the pass which matters have now reached, that each of your\ngenerals is tried for his life before you two or three times, but does\nnot dare to fight in mortal combat with the enemy even once. They\nprefer the death of kidnappers and brigands to that of a general. {48}\nFor it is a felon's death, to die by sentence of the court: the death\nof a general is to fall in battle with the enemy. Some of us go about\nsaying that Philip is negotiating with Sparta[n] for the overthrow of\nthe Thebans and the breaking up of the free states; others, that he has\nsent ambassadors to the king;[n] others, that he is fortifying cities\nin Illyria. {49} We all go about inventing each his own tale. I quite\nbelieve, men of Athens, that he is intoxicated with the greatness of\nhis successes, and entertains many such visions in his mind; for he\nsees that there are none to hinder him, and he is elated at his\nachievements. But I do not believe that he has chosen to act in such a\nway that the most foolish persons in Athens can know what he intends to\ndo; for no persons are so foolish as newsmongers. {50} But if we\ndismiss all such tales, and attend only to the certainty--that the man\nis our enemy, that he is robbing us of our own, that he has insulted us\nfor a long time, that all that we ever expected any one to do for us\nhas proved to be against us, that the future is in our own hands, that\nif we will not fight him now in his own country we shall perhaps be\nobliged to do so in ours--if, I say, we are assured of this, then we\nshall have made up our minds aright, and shall be quit of idle words.\nFor you have not to speculate what the future may be: you have only to\nbe assured that the future must be evil, unless you give heed and are\nready to do your duty.\n\n{51} Well, I have never yet chosen to gratify you by saying anything\nwhich I have not felt certain would be for your good; and to-day I have\nspoken freely and without concealment, just what I believe. I could\nwish to be as sure of the good that a speaker will gain by giving you\nthe best advice as of that which you will gain by listening to him. I\nshould then have been far happier than I am. As it is, I do not know\nwhat will happen to me, for what I have said: but I have chosen to\nspeak in the sure conviction that if you carry out my proposals, it\nwill be for your good; and may the victory rest with that policy which\nwill be for the good of all!\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLYNTHIAC ORATIONS (OR. I-III)\n\n\n[_Introduction_. It has already been noticed that when Philip took\nAmphipolis in 357 B.C., the Olynthians made overtures to the Athenians,\nwith whom they had been at war for some years, and that, being\nrejected, they became allies of Philip, who gave them Anthemus and\nPoteidaea. In 352, alarmed at Philip's growing power, they once more\napplied to Athens. Peace was made, and negotiations began with regard\nto an alliance. In 351 Philip appeared in the territory of Olynthus. He\ndid not, however, at once carry the invasion further, but took pains,\nduring this year and the next, to foster a Macedonian party in the\ntown. In 349 Philip virtually declared war on the Olynthians by\ndemanding the surrender of his step-brother Arrhidaeus, who had taken\nrefuge with them. The Olynthians again appealed to Athens; an alliance\nwas made; Chares was sent with thirty ships and 2,000 mercenaries, but\nseems to have mismanaged the war by misfortune or by design. Probably\nhe had been badly supplied with funds, and instead of helping Olynthus,\nresorted to acts of piracy to satisfy his men. The Macedonian troops\nproceeded to take Stageira and other towns of the Olynthian League,\nthough Philip still professed to have no hostile intentions against\nOlynthus (see Phil. III, Sec. ii). Chares was recalled and put on his\ntrial; and, probably in response to a further message from Olynthus,\nCharidemus was transferred thither from the Hellespont. With a\nconsiderable mercenary force at his disposal, Charidemus overran\nPallene and Bottiaea, and did some damage to Philip's territory, but\nafterwards gave himself up to dissipation in Olynthus. In the meantime,\nsome of the Thessalians had become restless under Philip's supremacy\n(see Olynth. I, Sec. 22, II, Sec. ii), and he was obliged to undertake an\nexpedition to suppress the revolt, and to put down Peitholaus (who had\napparently become tyrant of Pherae once more, though he had been\nexpelled in 352). But early in 348 he appeared in person in Chalcidice,\nand took one after another of the towns of the League, including\nMecyberna the port of Olynthus, and Torone. He thrice defeated the\nOlynthians in battle, and at last obtained possession of Olynthus\nitself by the treachery of Euthycrates and Lasthenes, the commanders of\nthe Olynthian cavalry.\n\nAthens had probably been occupied during the early part of the year [1]\nwith an expedition which she sent (against the advice of Demosthenes)\nto help Plutarchus of Eretria to repel attacks which were partly, at\nleast, instigated by Philip; and in consequence she had done little for\nOlynthus, though on a request of the Olynthians for cavalry, she had\nordered some of those which had been sent to Euboea to go to Olynthus,\nand these may have been the Athenians whom Philip captured in that\ncity. The seventeen ships, 2,000 infantry, and 300 cavalry (all\ncitizens), which Athens dispatched under Chares in response to a last\nurgent appeal from Olynthus, were delayed by storms and arrived too\nlate. Philip entirely destroyed Olynthus and thirty-two other towns,\nsold their inhabitants into slavery, brought the whole of Chalcidice\nwithin the Macedonian Empire, and celebrated his conquests by a\nfestival in honour of the Olympian Zeus at Dium.\n\nThe First Olynthiac Oration was delivered before Olynthus itself was\nattacked or any other towns actually taken (Olynth. I, Sec. 17); and both\nthe First and Second before the discontent with Philip in Thessaly had\ntaken an active form (I, Sec. 22, II, Sec. 7). Both, that is, belong to the\nsummer of 349, and the situation implied is very much the same in both.\nThe First was perhaps spoken when the Olynthians first appealed to\nAthens in that year, before the mission of Chares; the Second, to\ncounteract the effect of something which had caused despondency in\nAthens (possibly the conduct of the Athenian generals, or the account\ngiven by other orators of Philip's power). In both Demosthenes urges\nthe importance of resisting Philip while he is still far away, and of\nsending, not mercenaries, but a citizen-army; and while hinting at what\nhe regards as the true solution of the financial difficulty, proposes a\nspecial war-tax. The solution which he thinks the right one is more\nexplicitly described in the Third Olynthiac, spoken (probably\n[Footnote: See note on Olynth. III, Section 4]) in the autumn of the\nsame year, and certainly at a time when the situation had become much\nmore grave. The root of the financial difficulty lay in the existence\nof a law which prohibited (evidently under severe penalties, Olynth.\nIII, Section 12) any proposal to devote to military purposes that\nportion of the revenues which constituted the 'Festival' or 'Theoric\nFund', and was for the most part distributed to the citizens to enable\nthem to take part in the public festivals, and so join in fulfilling\nwhat was no doubt a religious duty as well as a pleasure. This\nparticular form of expenditure is stated to have been introduced by the\ndemagogue Agyrrhius in 394, when it revived in an extended form a\ndistribution of theatre money instituted late in the fifth century by\nCleophon; but the special law in question appears to have been of\nrecent date (Olynth. III, Section 12), and was almost certainly the\nwork of Eubulus and his party. Demosthenes himself proposes an\nextraordinary Legislative Commission, to repeal the mischievous laws\nand leave the way clear for financial reform. At the same time he\nattacks the whole policy of Eubulus, charging him with distributing\ndoles without regard to public service, adding to the amenities of\nAthens instead of maintaining her honour in war, and enriching her\npoliticians while degrading her people. The main object of the speech\nwas unsuccessful; and just about this time (though whether before or\nafter the speech is disputed) Apollodorus proposed that the people\nshould decide whether the surplus revenues should go to the Festival\nFund, or be applied to military purposes, and was heavily fined for the\nillegality of the proposal.\n\nThe Three Olynthiacs rank high among the Orations of Demosthenes. Some\npassages, indeed, show that he had hardly as yet appreciated the genius\nof Philip, or the unlikelihood of his making a false move either\nthrough over-confidence or because he had come to the end of his\nresources. But the noble patriotism of the speaker, the lofty tone of\nhis political reflections, the clearness of his diagnosis of the evils\nof his time, and the fearlessness of his appeal for loyal and united\nself-sacrifice, are nowhere more conspicuous.]\n\n\nTHE FIRST OLYNTHIAC\n\n{1} I believe, men of Athens, that you would give a great sum to know\nwhat policy, in reference to the matter which you are now considering,\nwill best serve the interests of the city, and since that is so, you\nought to be ready and eager to listen to those who desire to give you\ntheir advice. For not only can you hear and accept any useful proposals\nwhich a speaker may have thought out before he came here; but such, I\nconceive, is your fortune, that the right suggestion will often occur\nto some of those present on the spur of the moment; and out of all\nthese suggestions it should be easy for you to choose the most\nadvantageous course.\n\n{2} The present time, men of Athens, seems almost to cry aloud that you\nmust take matters into your own hands yonder, if you have any interest\nin a successful termination of the crisis: and yet our attitude appears\nto be--I do not know what. My own opinion, at all events, is that you\nshould at once resolve to send this assistance; that you should prepare\nfor the departure of the expedition at the first possible moment--you\nmust not fall victims to the same error as before--and that you should\ndispatch an embassy to announce our intention, and to be present at the\nscene of action. {3} For what we have most to fear is this--that he,\nwith his unscrupulous cleverness in taking advantage of\ncircumstances--now, it may be, by making concessions; now by uttering\nthreats, which he may well seem likely to fulfil; now by\nmisrepresenting ourselves and our absence from the scene--may turn and\nwrest to his own advantage some of the vital elements of our power. {4}\nAnd yet it may fairly be said, men of Athens, that our best hope lies\nin that very circumstance which renders Philip's power so hard to\ngrapple with. The fact that the entire control over everything, open or\nsecret,[n] is concentrated in the hands of a single man; that he is at\none and the same time general, master, and treasurer; that he is always\npresent in person with his army--all this is a great advantage, in so\nfar as military operations must be prompt and well-timed. But as\nregards the compact which he would so gladly make with the Olynthians,\nthe effect is just the reverse. {5} For the Olynthians know well that\nthey are not fighting now for honour and glory, nor for a strip of\nterritory, but to avert the devastation and enslavement of their\ncountry. They know how he treated[n] those who betrayed to him their\ncity at Amphipolis, and those who received him at Pydna; and it is, I\nimagine, universally true that tyranny is a faithless friend to a free\nstate, and that most of all, when they occupy adjoining territories.\n{6} With this knowledge, men of Athens, and with all the reflections\nthat the occasion calls for in your minds, I say that now, if ever\nbefore, you must make your resolve, rouse all your energies, and give\nyour minds to the war: you must contribute gladly, you must go forth in\nperson, you must leave nothing undone. There is no longer any reason or\nexcuse remaining, which can justify you in refusing to do your duty.\n{7} For every one was but recently harping on the desirability of\nexciting Olynthus to war with Philip; and this has now come to pass of\nitself, and in the way which most completely suits your interests. Had\nthey taken up the war because you had persuaded them to do so, their\nalliance might perhaps have been precarious, and their resolution might\nonly have carried them a certain way. But now their detestation of\nPhilip is based upon grievances which affect themselves; and we may\nsuppose that a hostility which is occasioned by their own fears and\nsufferings will be a lasting one. {8} Since, therefore, men of Athens,\nsuch an opportunity has been thrown in your way, you must not let it\ngo, nor fall victims to the mistake from which you have often suffered\nbefore. If, for instance, when we had returned from our expedition in\naid of the Euboeans,[n] and Hierax and Stratocles came from Amphipolis\nand stood upon this platform and urged us to sail and take over the\ncity; if, I say, we had continued to display in our own interest the\neagerness which we displayed in the deliverance of the Euboeans, you\nwould have kept Amphipolis then, and we should have been free from all\nthe trouble that we have had since. {9} And again, when news kept\ncoming of the investment of Pydna, Poteidaea, Methone, Pagasae, and all\nthe other places--I will not stay to enumerate them all--if we had\nacted at once, and had gone to the rescue of the first place attacked,\nwith the energy which we ought to have shown, we should now have found\nPhilip much less proud and difficult to deal with. As it is, we are\nalways sacrificing the present, always fancying that the future will\nturn out well of itself; and so we have raised Philip to a position of\nsuch importance as no king of Macedonia has ever before attained. {10}\nAnd now an opportunity has come to Athens, in this crisis at Olynthus,\nas great as any of those former ones: and I believe, men of Athens,\nthat one who was to draw up a true account of the blessings which have\nbeen given us by the gods, would, in spite of much that is not as it\nshould be, find great cause for thankfulness to them; and naturally so.\nFor our many losses in the war must in fairness be set down to our own\nindifference; but that we did not suffer such losses long ago, and that\nan alliance has presented itself to us, which, if we will only take\nadvantage of it, will act as a counterpoise to them--all this I, for\none, should set down as a favour due to their goodness towards us. But\nit is, I imagine, in politics, as it is in money-making. {11} If a man\nis able to keep all that he gets, he is abundantly grateful to Fortune;\nbut if he loses it all before he is aware, he loses with it his memory\nof Fortune's kindness. So it is in politics. When men have not made a\nright use of their opportunities, they do not remember any good that\nheaven may actually have granted them: for it is by the ultimate issue\nthat men estimate all that they have enjoyed before. Therefore, men of\nAthens, you must pay the very utmost heed to the future, that by the\nbetter use you make of it, you may wipe out the dishonour of the past.\n{12} But if you sacrifice these men also, men of Athens, and Philip in\nconsequence reduces Olynthus to subjection, I ask any of you to tell me\nwhat is to prevent him from marching where he pleases. Is there a man\namong you, men of Athens, who considers or studies the steps by which\nPhilip, weak enough at first, has become so strong? First he took\nAmphipolis, next Pydna, then again Poteidaea, and then Methone. Next he\nset foot in Thessaly. {13} Then when Pherae, Pagasae, Magnesia[n] were\nsecured for his purposes, just as it suited him, he departed to Thrace.\nIn Thrace, after expelling one prince and setting up another, he fell\nill. When he grew easier again, he showed no inclination to take things\neasily, but at once attacked the Olynthians[n]--and I am passing over\nhis campaigns against the Illyrians and the Paeonians, against\nArybbas,[n] and in every possible direction.\n\n{14} Why, I may be asked, do I mention these things at the present\nmoment? I wish you to understand, men of Athens, and to realize these\ntwo points: first, the unprofitableness of perpetually sacrificing your\ninterests one by one; and, secondly, the restless activity which is a\npart of Philip's very being, and which will not allow him to content\nhimself with his achievements and remain at peace. For if it is to be\nhis fixed resolve, that he must always be aiming at something greater\nthan he has yet attained; and ours, that we will never set ourselves\nresolutely to work; ask yourselves what you can expect to be the end of\nthe matter. {15} In God's name, is there one of you so innocent as not\nto know that the war will be transferred from Olynthus to Attica, if we\npay no heed? But if that happens, men of Athens, I fear that we shall\nbe like men who light-heartedly borrow at a high rate of interest, and\nafter a brief period of affluence, lose even their original estate;\nthat like them we shall find that our carelessness has cost us dear;\nthat through making pleasure our standard in everything, we shall find\nourselves driven to do many of those unpleasant things which we wished\nto avoid, and shall find our position even in our own country\nimperilled.\n\n{16} I may be told that it is easy to criticize--any one can do that;\nbut that a political adviser is expected to offer some practical\nproposal to meet the existing situation. Now I am well aware, men of\nAthens, that in the event of any disappointment, it is not upon those\nwho are responsible that your anger falls, but upon those who have\nspoken last upon the subject in question. Yet I do not think that\nconsideration for my own safety should lead me to conceal my conviction\nas to the course which your interests demand. {17} I say then that\nthere are two things which you must do to save the situation. You must\nrescue these towns [n] for the Olynthians, and send troops to\naccomplish this: and you must damage Philip's country with your ships\nand with a second body of troops. {18} If you neglect either of these\nthings, our campaign, I greatly fear, will be in vain. For suppose that\nyou inflict damage on his country, and that he allows you to do so,\nwhile he reduces Olynthus; he will have no difficulty in repelling you\nwhen he returns. Suppose, on the other hand, that you only go to the\nhelp of Olynthus; he will see that he has nothing to fear at home, and\nso he will sit down before the town and remain at his task, until time\nenables him to get the better of the besieged. The expedition,\ntherefore, must be large, and it must be in two parts.\n\nSuch is my view with regard to the expedition. {19} As to the sources\nof supply, you have funds, men of Athens--funds larger than any one\nelse in the world; but you appropriate these without scruple, just as\nyou choose. Now if you will assign these to your troops, you need no\nfurther supplies: otherwise, not only do you need further supplies--you\nare destitute of supplies altogether. 'Well' (does someone say?), 'do\nyou move that this money should form a war-fund?' I assure you that I\nmake no such motion. {20} For while I do indeed believe that a force\nought to be made ready [and that this money should form a war-fund],\nand that the receipt of money should be connected, as part of one and\nthe same system, with the performance of duty; you, on the contrary,\nthink it right to take the money, after your present fashion, for your\nfestivals, and spare yourselves trouble. And therefore, I suppose, our\nonly resource is a general tax--larger or smaller, according to the\namount required. In any case, we need funds, and without funds nothing\ncan be done that we ought to do. Various other sources of supply are\nsuggested by different persons. Choose whichever you think best of\nthese, and get to work, while you have the opportunity.\n\n{21} It is worth while to remember and to take into account the nature\nof Philip's position at this moment. For neither are his affairs at\npresent in such good order, or in so perfectly satisfactory a state, as\nmight appear to any but a careful observer; nor would he ever have\ncommenced this present war, if he had thought that he would really have\nto fight. He hoped at first that by his mere advance he would carry all\nbefore him; and he has since discovered his mistake. This\ndisappointment, then, is the first thing which disturbs him and causes\nhim great despondency: {22} and next there is the disposition of the\nThessalians, naturally inconstant as we know it has always been found\nby all men; and what it has always been, that, in the highest degree,\nPhilip finds it now. For they have formally resolved to demand from him\nthe restitution of Pagasae; they have prevented him from fortifying\nMagnesia, and I myself heard it stated that they intend even to refuse\nhim the enjoyment of their harbour and market dues for the future.\nThese, they say, should go to maintain the public administration of\nThessaly, instead of being taken by Philip. But if he is deprived of\nthese funds, the resources from which he must maintain his mercenaries\nwill be reduced to the narrowest limits. {23} Nay, more: we must surely\nsuppose that the chieftains of the Paeonians and Illyrians, and in fact\nall such personages--would prefer freedom to slavery; for they are not\naccustomed to obey orders, and the man, they say, is a bully. Heaven\nknows, there is nothing incredible in the statement. Unmerited success\nis to foolish minds a fountain-head of perversity, so that it is often\nharder for men to keep the good they have, than it was to obtain it.\n{24} It is for you then, men of Athens, to regard his difficulty as\nyour opportunity, to take up your share of the burden with readiness,\nto send embassies to secure all that is required, to join the forces\nyourselves, and to stir up every one else to do so. Only consider what\nwould happen, if Philip got such an opportunity to strike at us, and\nthere was war on our frontier. Can you not imagine how readily he would\nmarch against us? Does it arouse no shame in you, that, when you have\nthe opportunity, you should not dare to do to him even as much as you\nwould have to suffer, were he able to inflict it?\n\n{25} There is a further point, men of Athens, which must not escape\nyou. I mean that you have now to choose whether you are to carry on war\nyonder, or whether he is to do so in your own country. If the\nresistance of Olynthus is maintained, you will fight there and will\ninflict damage on Philip's territory, while you remain secure in the\nenjoyment of this land of your own which you now possess. But if Philip\ncaptures Olynthus, who is to hinder him from marching to Athens? The\nThebans? {26} It seems, I fear, too bitter a thing to say; but they\nwill be glad to join him in the invasion. The Phocians? They cannot\nprotect their own country, unless you go to their aid, or some other\npower. 'But, my good Sir,'[n] you say, 'he will not want to march\nhere.' And yet it would be one of the strangest things in the world,\nif, when he has the power, he does not carry out the threats, which he\nnow blurts out in spite of the folly that they show. {27} But I suppose\nthat I need not even point out how vast is the difference between war\nhere and war in his country. For had you to camp outside the walls\nyourselves, for only thirty days, and to take from the country such\nthings as men in camp must have--and I am assuming that there is no\nenemy in the country--I believe that the loss your farmers would suffer\nwould exceed your whole expenditure on the war up to the present time.\nWhat then must we think will be the extent of our loss, if ever war\ncomes to our doors? And besides the loss there is his insolence, and\nthe shame of our position, which to right-minded men is as serious as\nany loss.\n\n{28} When you take a comprehensive view of these things you must all go\nto the rescue and stave the war off yonder; you who are well-to-do, in\norder that, with a small expense in defence of the great fortunes which\nyou quite rightly enjoy, you may reap the benefit of the remainder\nwithout fear; you who are of military age, that you may gain your\nexperience of war in Philip's country, and so become formidable\nguardians of a fatherland unspoiled; and your orators, that they may\nfind it easy to render an account of their public life; for your\njudgement upon their conduct will itself depend upon the position in\nwhich you find yourselves. And may that be a happy one, on every ground!\n\n\nTHE SECOND OLYNTHIAC\n\n{1} Many as are the occasions, men of Athens, on which we may discern\nthe manifestation of the goodwill of Heaven towards this city, one of\nthe most striking is to be seen in the circumstances of the present\ntime. For that men should have been found to carry on war against\nPhilip; men whose territory borders on his and who possess some power;\nmen, above all, whose sentiments in regard to the war are such that\nthey think of the proposed compact with him, not only as untrustworthy,\nbut as the very ruin of their country--this seems to be certainly the\nwork of a superhuman, a divine, beneficence. {2} And so, men of Athens,\nwe must take care that we do not treat ourselves less well than\ncircumstances have treated us. For it is a shameful thing--nay, it is\nthe very depth of shame--to throw away openly, not only cities and\nplaces which were once in our power, but even the allies and the\nopportunities which have been provided for us by Fortune.\n\n{3} Now to describe at length the power of Philip, men of Athens, and\nto incite you to the performance of your duty by such a recital, is\nnot, I think, a satisfactory proceeding; and for this reason--that\nwhile all that can be said on this subject tends to Philip's glory, it\nis a story of failure on our part. For the greater the extent to which\nhis success surpasses his deserts, the greater is the admiration with\nwhich the world regards him; while, for your part, the more you have\nfallen short of the right use of your opportunities, the greater is the\ndisgrace that you have incurred. {4} I will therefore pass over such\nconsiderations. For any honest inquirer must see that the causes of\nPhilip's rise to greatness lie in Athens, and not in himself. Of the\nservices for which he has to thank those whose policy is determined by\nhis interest--services for which you ought to require their\npunishment--the present is not, I see, the moment to speak. But apart\nfrom these, there are things which may be said, and which it is better\nthat you should all have heard--things which (if you will examine them\naright) constitute a grave reproach against him; and these I will try\nto tell you.\n\n{5} If I called him perjured and faithless, without giving his actions\nin evidence, my words would be treated as idle abuse, and rightly: and\nit happens that to review all his actions up to the present time, and\nto prove the charge in every case, requires only a short speech. It is\nwell, I think, that the story should be told, for it will serve two\npurposes; first, to make plain the real badness of the man's character;\nand secondly, to let those who are over-alarmed at Philip, as if he\nwere invincible, see that he has come to the end of all those forms of\ndeceit by which he rose to greatness, and that his career is already\ndrawing to its close. {6} For I, too, men of Athens, should be\nregarding Philip with intense fear and admiration, if I saw that his\nrise was the result of a righteous policy. {7} But when I study and\nconsider the facts, I find that originally, when certain persons wished\nto drive from your presence the Olynthians who desired to address you\nfrom this place, Philip won over our innocent minds by saying that he\nwould deliver up Amphipolis to us, and by inventing the famous secret\nunderstanding; that he afterwards conciliated the Olynthians by seizing\nPoteidaea, which was yours, and injuring their former allies by handing\nit over to themselves; and that, last of all, he recently won over the\nThessalians, by promising to give up Magnesia to them, and undertaking\nto carry on the war with the Phocians on their behalf. There is\nabsolutely no one who has ever had dealings with him that he has not\ndeluded; and it is by deceiving and winning over, one after another,\nthose who in their blindness did not realize what he was, that he has\nrisen as he has done. {8} And therefore, just as it was by these\ndeceptions that he rose to greatness, in the days when each people\nfancied that he intended to do some service to themselves; so it is\nthese same deceptions which should drag him down again, now that he\nstands convicted of acting for his own ends throughout. Such, then, is\nthe crisis, men of Athens, to which Philip's fortunes have now come. If\nit is not so, let any one come forward and show me (or rather you) that\nwhat I say is untrue; or that those who have been deceived at the\noutset trust him as regards the future; or that those who have been\nbrought into unmerited bondage would not gladly be free.\n\n{9} But if any of you, while agreeing with me so far, still fancies\nthat Philip will maintain his hold by force, because he has already\noccupied fortified posts and harbours and similar positions, he is\nmistaken. When power is cemented by goodwill, and the interest of all\nwho join in a war is the same, then men are willing to share the\nlabour, to endure the misfortunes, and to stand fast. But when a man\nhas become strong, as Philip has done, by a grasping and wicked policy,\nthe first excuse, the least stumble, throws him from his seat and\ndissolves the alliance. {10} It is impossible, men of Athens, utterly\nimpossible, to acquire power that will last, by unrighteousness, by\nperjury, and by falsehood. Such power holds out for a moment, or for a\nbrief hour; it blossoms brightly, perhaps, with fair hopes; but time\ndetects the fraud, and the flower falls withered about its stem. In a\nhouse or a ship, or any other structure, it is the foundations that\nmust be strongest; and no less, I believe, must the principles, which\nare the foundation of men's actions, be those of truth and\nrighteousness. Such qualities are not to be seen to-day in the past\nacts of Philip.\n\n{11} I say, then, that we should help the Olynthians; and the best and\nquickest method which can be proposed is the method which I approve.\nFurther, we should send an embassy to the Thessalians--to some, to\ninform them of our intention; to others, to spur them on; for even now\nthey have resolved to demand the restitution of Pagasae, and to make\nrepresentations in regard to Magnesia. {12} Take care, however, men of\nAthens, that our envoys may not only have words to speak, but also\nactions of yours to point to. Let it be seen that you have gone forth\nin a manner that is worthy of Athens, and are already in action. Words\nwithout the reality must always appear a vain and empty thing, and\nabove all when they come from Athens; for the more we seem to excel in\nthe glib use of such language, the more it is distrusted by every one.\n{13} The change, then, which is pointed out to them must be great, the\nconversion striking. They must see you paying your contributions,\nmarching to war, doing everything with a will, if any of them is to\nlisten to you. And if you resolve to accomplish all this in very deed,\nas it should be accomplished, not only will the feeble and\nuntrustworthy nature of Philip's alliances be seen, but the weakness of\nhis own empire and power will also be detected.\n\n{14} The power and empire of Macedonia is, indeed, to speak generally,\nan element which tells considerably as an addition to any other power.\nYou found it so when it helped you against the Olynthians in the days\nof Timotheus;[n] the Olynthians in their turn found its help of some\nvalue, in combination with their own strength, against Poteidaea; and\nit has recently come to the aid of the Thessalians, in their disordered\nand disturbed condition, against the ruling dynasty: and wherever even\na small addition is made to a force, it helps in every way. {15} But in\nitself the Macedonian Empire is weak and full of manifold evils. Philip\nhas in fact rendered his own tenure of it even more precarious than it\nnaturally was, by these very wars and campaigns which might be supposed\nto prove his power. For you must not imagine, men of Athens, that\nPhilip and his subjects delight in the same things. Philip has a\npassion for glory--that is his ambition; and he has deliberately chosen\nto risk the consequences of a life of action and danger, preferring the\nglory of achieving more than any King of Macedonia before him to a life\nof security. {16} But his subjects have no share in the honour and\nglory. Constantly battered about by all these expeditions, up and down,\nthey are vexed with incessant hardships: they are not suffered to\npursue their occupations or attend to their own affairs: for the little\nthat they produce, as best they can, they can find no market, the\ntrading stations of the country being closed on account of the war.\n{17} From these facts it is not difficult to discover the attitude of\nthe Macedonians in general towards Philip; and as for the mercenaries\nand Infantry of the Guard who surround him, though they have the\nreputation of being a fine body of well-drilled warriors, I am told by\na man who has been in Macedonia, and who is incapable of falsehood,\nthat they are no better than any other body of men. {18} Granted that\nthere may be experienced campaigners and fighters among them; yet, he\ntells me, Philip is so jealous of honour, that he thrusts all such men\naway from him, in his anxiety to get the credit of every achievement\nfor himself; for in addition to all his other qualities, his jealousy\nis insurpassable. On the other hand, any generally temperate or upright\nman, who cannot endure the dissolute life there, day by day, nor the\ndrunkenness and the lewd revels, is thrust on one side and counts for\nnothing. {19} Thus he is left with brigands and flatterers, and men\nwho, when in their cups, indulge in dances of a kind which I shrink\nfrom naming to you now. And it is evident that this report is true; for\nmen whom every one tried to drive out of Athens, as far viler than even\nthe very juggler in the street--Callias the public slave and men like\nhim, players of farces, composers of indecent songs, written at the\nexpense of their companions in the hope of raising a laugh--these are\nthe men he likes and keeps about him. {20} You may think that these are\ntrivial things, men of Athens: but they are weighty, in the judgement\nof every right-minded man, as illustrations of the temper with which\nPhilip is cursed. At present, I suppose, these facts are overshadowed\nby his continual prosperity. Success has a wonderful power of throwing\na veil over shameful things like these. But let him only stumble, and\nthen all these features in his character will be displayed in their\ntrue light. And I believe, men of Athens, that the revelation is not\nfar off, if Heaven be willing and you desirous of it. {21} So long as a\nman is in good health, he is unconscious of any weakness; but if any\nillness comes upon him, the disturbance affects every weak point, be it\na rupture or a sprain or anything else that is unsound in his\nconstitution. And as with the body, so it is with a city or a tyrant.\nSo long as they are at war abroad, the mischief is hidden from the\nworld at large, but the close grapple of war on the frontier brings all\nto light.\n\n{22} Now if any of you, men of Athens, seeing Philip's good fortune,\nthinks that this makes him a formidable enemy to fight against, he\nreasons like a sensible man: for fortune weighs heavily in the\nscale--nay, fortune is everything, in all human affairs. And yet, if I\nwere given the choice, it is the fortune of Athens that I should\nchoose, rather than that of Philip, provided that you yourselves are\nwilling to act even to a small extent as you should act. For I see that\nthere are far more abundant grounds for expecting the goodwill of\nHeaven on your side than on his. {23} But here, of course, we are\nsitting idle; and one who is a sluggard himself cannot require his\nfriends to help him, much less the gods. It is not to be wondered at\nthat Philip, who goes on campaigns and works hard himself, and is\nalways at the scene of action, and lets no opportunity go, no season\npass, should get the better of us who delay and pass resolutions and\nask for news; nor do I wonder at it. It is the opposite that would have\nbeen wonderful--if we, who do nothing that those who are at war ought\nto do, were successful against one who leaves nothing undone. {24} But\nthis I do wonder at, that you who once raised your hand against Sparta,\nin defence of the rights of the Hellenes--you, who with opportunities\noften open to you for grasping large advantages for yourselves, would\nnot take them, but to secure for others their rights spent your own\nfortunes in war-contributions, and always bore the brunt of the dangers\nof the campaign--that you, I say, are now shrinking from marching, and\nhesitating to make any contribution to save your own possessions; and\nthat, though you have often saved the rest of the Hellenes, now all\ntogether and now each in their turn, you are sitting idle, when you\nhave lost what was your own. {25} I wonder at this; and I wonder also,\nmen of Athens, that none of you is able to reckon up the time during\nwhich you have been fighting with Philip, and to consider what you have\nbeen doing while all this time has been going by. Surely you must know\nthat it is while we have been delaying, hoping that some one else would\nact, accusing one another, bringing one another to trial, hoping\nanew--in fact, doing practically what we are doing now--that all the\ntime has passed. {26} And have you now so little sense, men of Athens,\nas to hope that the very same policy, which has made the position of\nthe city a bad one instead of a good, will actually make it a good one\ninstead of a bad? Why, it is contrary both to reason and to nature to\nthink so! It is always much easier to retain than to acquire. But now,\nowing to the war, none of our old possessions is left for us to retain;\nand so we must needs acquire. {27} This, therefore, is our own personal\nand immediate duty; and accordingly I say that you must contribute\nfunds, you must go on service in person with a good will, you must\naccuse no one before you have become masters of the situation; and then\nyou must honour those who deserve praise, and punish the guilty, with a\njudgement based upon the actual facts. You must get rid of all excuses\nand all deficiencies on your own part; you cannot examine mercilessly\nthe actions of others, unless you yourselves have done all that your\nduty requires. {28} For why is it, do you think, men of Athens, that\nall the generals whom you dispatch avoid this war,[n] and discover\nprivate wars of their own--if a little of the truth must be told even\nabout the generals? It is because in this war the prizes for which the\nwar is waged are yours, and if they are captured, you will take them\nimmediately for your own; but the dangers are the personal privilege of\nyour commanders, and no pay is forthcoming: while in those wars the\ndangers are less, and the profits--Lampsacus, Sigeum, and the ships\nwhich they plunder--go to the commanders and their men. Each force\ntherefore takes the road that leads to its own advantage. {29} For your\npart, when you turn your attention to the serious condition of your\naffairs, you first bring the commanders to trial; and then, when you\nhave given them a hearing, and have been told of the difficulties which\nI have described, you acquit them. The result, therefore, is that while\nyou are quarrelling with one another and broken into factions-one party\npersuaded of this, another of that--the public interest suffers. You\nused, men of Athens, to pay taxes by Boards:[n] to-day you conduct your\npolitics by Boards. On either side there is an orator as leader, and a\ngeneral under him; and for the Three Hundred, there are those who come\nto shout. The rest of you distribute yourselves between the two\nparties, some on either side. {30} This system you must give up: you\nmust even now become your own masters; you must give to all alike their\nshare in discussion, in speech and in action. If you assign to one body\nof men the function of issuing orders to you, like tyrants; to another,\nthat of compulsory service as trierarchs or tax-payers or soldiers; and\nto another, only that of voting their condemnation, without taking any\nshare in the labour, nothing that ought to be done will be done in\ntime. For the injured section will always be in default, and you will\nonly have the privilege of punishing them instead of the enemy. {31} To\nsum up, all must contribute, each according to his wealth, in a fair\nproportion: all must go on active service in turn, until you have all\nserved: you must give a hearing to all who come forward, and choose the\nbest course out of all that you hear--not the course proposed by this\nor that particular person. If you do this, you will not only commend\nthe proposer of that course at the time, but you will commend\nyourselves hereafter, for the whole position of your affairs will be a\nbetter one.\n\n\nTHE THIRD OLYNTHIAC\n\n{1} Very different reflections suggest themselves to my mind, I men of\nAthens, when I turn my eyes to our real situation, and when I think of\nthe speeches that I hear. For I observe that the speeches are all\nconcerned with the taking of vengeance upon Philip; whereas in reality\nmatters have gone so far, that we have to take care that we are not\nourselves the first to suffer: so that those who speak of vengeance are\nactually, as it seems to me, suggesting to you a false conception of\nthe situation which you are discussing. {2} That there was a time when\nthe city could both keep her own possessions in safety, and punish\nPhilip, I am very well aware. For it was not long ago, but within my\nown lifetime, that both these things were so. But I am convinced that\nit is now quite enough for us as a first step to make sure of the\npreservation of our allies. If this is safely secured, we shall then be\nable to consider upon whom vengeance is to fall, and in what way. But\nuntil the first step is properly conceived, I consider it idle to say\nanything whatever about the last.\n\n{3} If ever the most anxious deliberation was required, it is required\nin the present crisis; and my greatest difficulty is not to know what\nis the proper advice to give you in regard to the situation: I am at a\nloss rather to know, men of Athens, in what manner I should address you\nin giving it. For I am convinced by what I have heard with my own ears\nin this place that, for the most part, the objects of our policy have\nslipped from our grasp, not because we do not understand what our duty\nis, but because we will not do it; and I ask you to suffer me, if I\nspeak without reserve, and to consider only whether I speak truly, and\nwith this object in view--that the future may be better than the past.\nFor you see that it is because certain speakers make your gratification\nthe aim of their addresses, that things have gone on getting worse,\ntill at last the extremity has been reached.\n\n{4} I think it necessary, first, to remind you of a few of the events\nwhich have taken place. You remember, men of Athens, that two or three\nyears ago[n] the news came that Philip was in Thrace, besieging Heraeon\nTeichos. That was in the month of November. Amidst all the discussion\nand commotion which took place in this Assembly, you passed a\nresolution that forty warships should be launched, that men under\nforty-five years of age should embark in person, and that we should pay\na war-tax of 60 talents. {5} That year came to an end, and there\nfollowed July, August, September. In the latter month, after the\nMysteries,[n] and with reluctance, you dispatched Charidemus[n] with\nten ships, carrying no soldiers, and 5 talents of silver. For so soon\nas news had come that Philip was sick or dead--both reports were\nbrought--you dismissed the armament, men of Athens, thinking that there\nwas no longer any occasion for the expedition. But it was the very\noccasion; for had we then gone to the scene of action with the same\nenthusiasm which marked our resolution to do so, Philip would not have\nbeen preserved to trouble us to-day. {6} What was done then cannot be\naltered. But now a critical moment in another campaign has arrived; and\nit is in view of this, and to prevent you from falling into the same\nerror, that I have recalled these facts. How then shall we use this\nopportunity, men of Athens? For unless you will go to the rescue 'with\nmight and main to the utmost of your power',[n] mark how in every\nrespect you will have served Philip's interest by your conduct of the\nwar. {7} At the outset the Olynthians possessed considerable strength,\nand such was the position of affairs, that neither did Philip feel safe\nagainst them, nor they against Philip. We made peace with them, and\nthey with us. It was as it were a stumbling-block in Philip's path, and\nan annoyance to him, that a great city which had made a compact with us\nshould sit watching for any opportunity he might offer. We thought that\nwe ought to excite them to war with him by every means; and now this\nmuch-talked-of event has come to pass--by what means, I need not\nrelate. {8} What course then is open to us, men of Athens, but to go to\ntheir aid resolutely and eagerly? I can see none. Apart from the shame\nin which we should be involved, if we let anything be lost through our\nnegligence, I can see, men of Athens, that the subsequent prospect\nwould be alarming in no small degree, when the attitude of the Thebans\ntowards us is what it is, when the funds of the Phocians are\nexhausted,[n] and when there is no one to prevent Philip, so soon as he\nhas made himself master of all that at present occupies him, from\nbringing his energies to bear upon the situation further south. {9} But\nif any of you is putting off until then his determination to do his\nduty, he must be desirous of seeing the terrors of war close at hand,\nwhen he need only hear of them at a distance, and of seeking helpers\nfor himself, when now he can give help to others. For that this is what\nit must come to, if we sacrifice the present opportunity, we must all,\nI think, be fairly well aware.\n\n{10} 'But,' some one may say, 'we have all made up our minds that we\nmust go to their aid, and we will go. Only tell us how we are to do\nit.' Now do not be surprised, men of Athens, if I give an answer which\nwill be astonishing to most of you. You must appoint a Legislative\nCommission.[n] But when the commissioners meet, you must not enact a\nsingle law--you have laws enough--you must cancel the laws which, in\nview of present circumstances, are injurious to you. {11} I mean the\nlaws which deal with the Festival Fund--to put it quite plainly--and\nsome of those which deal with military service: for the former\ndistribute your funds as festival-money to those who remain at home;\nwhile the latter give immunity to malingerers,[n] and thereby also take\nthe heart out of those who want to do their duty. When you have\ncancelled these laws, and made the path safe for one who would give the\nbest advice, then you can look for some one to propose what you all\nknow to be expedient. {12} But until you have done this, you must not\nexpect to find a man who will be glad to advise you for the best, and\nbe ruined by you for his pains; for you will find no one, particularly\nwhen the only result will be that some unjust punishment will be\ninflicted on the proposer or mover of such measures, and that instead\nof helping matters at all, he will only have made it even more\ndangerous in future than it is at present to give you the best advice.\nAye, and you should require the repeal of these laws, men of Athens,\nfrom the very persons who proposed them.[n] {13} It is not fair that\nthose who originally proposed them should enjoy the popularity which\nwas fraught with such mischief to the whole State, and that the\nunpopularity, which would lead to an improvement in the condition of us\nall, should be visited to his cost upon one who now advises you for the\nbest. Until you have thus prepared the way, men of Athens, you must\nentertain no expectation whatever that any one will be influential\nenough here to transgress these laws with impunity, or senseless enough\nto fling himself to certain ruin.\n\n{14} At the same time, men of Athens, you must not fail to realize this\nfurther point. No resolution is worth anything, without the willingness\nto perform at least what you have resolved, and that heartily. For if\ndecrees by themselves could either compel you to do what you ought, or\ncould realize their several objects unaided, you would not be decreeing\nmany things and performing few--nay, none--of the things that you\ndecree, nor would Philip have insulted you so long. {15} If decrees\ncould have done it, he would have paid the penalty long ago. But it is\nnot so. Actions come later than speeches and voting in order of\nprocedure, but in effectiveness they are before either and stronger\nthan either. It is action that is still needed; all else you already\nhave. For you have those among you, men of Athens, who can tell you\nwhat your duty is; and no one is quicker than you are to understand the\nspeaker's bidding. Aye, and you will be able to carry it out even now,\nif you act aright. {16} What time, what opportunity, do you look for,\nbetter than the present? When, if not now, will you do your duty? Has\nnot the man seized every position from us already? If he becomes master\nof this country too, will not our fate be the most shameful in the\nworld? And the men whom we promised to be ready to save, if they went\nto war--are they not now at war? {17} Is he not our enemy? Are not our\npossessions in his hands? Is he not a barbarian? Is he not anything\nthat you choose to call him? In God's name, when we have let everything\ngo, when we have all but put everything into his hands, shall we then\ninquire at large who is responsible for it all? That we shall never\nadmit our own responsibility, I am perfectly sure. Just so amid the\nperils of war, none of those who have run away accuses himself; he\naccuses his general, his neighbour--any one but himself; and yet, I\nsuppose, all who have run away have helped to cause the defeat. He who\nnow blames the rest might have stood fast; and if every one had done\nso, the victory would have been theirs. {18} And so now, if a\nparticular speaker's advice is not the best, let another rise and make\na proposal, instead of blaming him; and if some other has better advice\nto give, carry it out, and good fortune be with you. What? Is the\nadvice disagreeable? That is no longer the speaker's fault--unless, of\ncourse, he leaves out the prayer that you expect of him. There is no\ndifficulty in the prayer, men of Athens; a man need only compress all\nhis desires into a short sentence. But to make his choice, when the\nquestion for discussion is one of practical policy, is by no means\nequally easy. _Then_ a man is bound to choose what is best, instead of\nwhat is pleasant, if both are not possible at once. {19} But suppose\nthat some one is able, without touching the Festival Fund, to suggest\nother sources of supply for military purposes--is not he the better\nadviser? Certainly, men of Athens--if such a thing _is_ possible. But I\nshould be surprised if it ever has happened or ever should happen to\nany one to find, after spending what he has upon wrong objects, that\nwhat he has _not_ is wealth enough to enable him to effect right ones.\nSuch arguments as these find, I think, their great support in each\nman's personal desire, and, for that reason, nothing is easier than to\ndeceive oneself; what a man desires, he actually fancies to be true.\n{20} But the reality often follows no such principle. Consider the\nmatter, therefore, men of Athens, after this fashion; consider in what\nway our objects can be realized under the circumstances, and in what\nway you will be able to make the expedition and to receive your pay.\nSurely it is not like sober or high-minded men to submit\nlight-heartedly to the reproach which must follow upon any shortcomings\nin the operations of the war through want of funds--to seize your\nweapons and march against Corinthians and Megareans,[n] and then to\nallow Philip to enslave Hellenic cities, because you cannot find\nrations for your troops.\n\n{21} These words do not spring from a wanton determination to court the\nill-will of any party among you. I am neither so foolish nor so\nunfortunate as to desire unpopularity when I do not believe that I am\ndoing any good. But a loyal citizen ought, in my judgement, to care\nmore for the safety of his country's fortunes than for the popularity\nof his utterances. Such, I have heard, and perhaps you have heard it\nalso, was the principle which the orators of our forefather's time\nhabitually followed in public life--those orators who are praised by\nall who rise to address you, though they are far from imitating\nthem--the great Aristides, and Nicias, and my own namesake, and\nPericles. {22} But ever since these speakers have appeared who are\nalways asking you, 'what would you like?' 'what may I propose for you?'\n'what can I do to please you?' the interests of the city have been\nwantonly given away for the sake of the pleasure and gratification of\nthe moment; and we see the consequences--the fortunes of the speakers\nprosper, while your own are in a shameful plight. {23} And yet\nconsider, men of Athens, the main characteristics of the achievements\nof your forefathers' time, and those of your own. The description will\nbe brief and familiar to you; for you need not have recourse to the\nhistory of others, when your own will furnish examples, by following\nwhich you may achieve prosperity. {24} Our forefathers, who were not\ncourted and caressed by their politicians as you are by these persons\nto-day, were leaders of the Hellenes, with their goodwill, for\nforty-five years;[n] they brought up into the Acropolis more than\n10,000 talents; the king[n] who then ruled Macedonia obeyed them as a\nforeigner ought to obey a Hellenic people; serving in person, they set\nup many glorious trophies for victories by land and sea; and alone of\nall mankind they left behind them, as the crown of their exploits, a\nfame that is beyond the reach of envy. {25} Such was the part they\nplayed in the Hellenic world: and now contemplate the manner of men\nthey were in the city, both in public and in private life. As public\nmen, they gave us buildings and objects of such beauty and grandeur, in\nthe temples which they built and the offerings which they dedicated in\nthem, that no room has been left for any of those that come after to\nsurpass them: while in private life they were so modest, {26} so\nintensely loyal to the spirit of the constitution, that if any one\nactually knows what the house of Aristides, or Miltiades, or any other\nof the glorious men of that day, is like, he can see that it is no more\nimposing than those of their neighbours. For it was not to win a\nfortune that they undertook affairs of State; but each thought it his\nduty to add to the common weal. And thus, acting in a spirit of good\nfaith towards the Hellenes, of piety towards the gods, and of equality\ntowards one another, they naturally attained great prosperity. {27}\nSuch was the national life of those times, when those whom I have\nmentioned were the foremost men in the State. How do matters stand\nto-day, thanks to these worthy persons? Is there any likeness, any\nresemblance, to old times? Thanks to them (and though I might say much,\nI pass over all but this), when we had the field, as you see,\ncompletely open to us--when the Spartans had been ruined,[n] and the\nThebans had their hands full,[n] and no other power could seriously\ndispute the supremacy with us on the field of battle--when we could\nhave retained our own possessions in safety, and have stood as umpires\nof the rights of others--we have been deprived of our own territory;\n{28} we have spent more than 1,500 talents to no good purpose; the\nallies whom we had gained in the war,[n] these persons have lost in\ntime of peace; and we have trained Philip to be the powerful enemy to\nus that he is. Let any one rise and tell me how Philip has grown so\nstrong, if we ourselves are not the source of his strength. {29} 'But,\nmy good Sir,' you say, 'if we are badly off in these respects, we are\nat any rate better off at home.' And where is the proof of this? Is it\nin the whitewashing of the battlements, the mending of the roads, the\nfountains, and all such trumperies? Look then at the men whose policy\ngives you these things. Some of them who were poor have become rich;\nothers, who were unknown to fame, have risen to honour; some of them\nhave provided themselves with private houses more imposing than our\npublic buildings; and the lower the fortunes of the city have fallen,\nthe higher theirs have risen.\n\n{30} What is the cause of all these things? Why is it that all was well\nthen, and all is amiss to-day? It is because then the people itself\ndared to act and to serve in the army; and so the people was master of\nits politicians; all patronage was in its own hands; any separate\nindividual was content to receive from the people his share of honour\nor office or other emolument. The reverse is now the case. {31} All\npatronage is in the hands of the politicians, while you, the people,\nemasculated, stripped of money and allies, have been reduced to the\nposition of servile supernumeraries, content if they give you\ndistributions of festival-money, or organize a procession at the\nBoedromia;[n] and to crown all this bravery, you are expected also to\nthank them for giving you what is your own. They pen you up closely in\nthe city; they entice you to these delights; they tame you till you\ncome to their hand. {32} But a high and generous spirit can never, I\nbelieve, be acquired by men whose actions are mean and poor; for such\nas a man's practice is, such must his spirit be. And in all solemnity I\nshould not be surprised if I suffered greater harm at your hands for\ntelling you the things that I have told you, than the men who have\nbrought them to pass. Even freedom of speech is not possible on all\nsubjects in this place, and I wonder that it has been granted me to-day.\n\n{33} If, even now, you will rid yourselves of these habits, if you will\nresolve to join the forces and to act worthily of yourselves,\nconverting the superfluities which you enjoy at home into resources to\nsecure our advantage abroad, then it may be, men of Athens, it may be,\nthat you will gain some great and final good, and will be rid of these\nyour perquisites, which are like the diet that a physician gives a sick\nman--diet which neither puts strength into him nor lets him die. For\nthese sums which you now share among yourselves are neither large\nenough to give you any adequate assistance, nor small enough to let you\nrenounce them and go about your business; but these it is that[2]\nincrease the indolence of every individual among you. {34} 'Is it,\nthen, paid service that you suggest?'[n] some one will ask. I do, men\nof Athens; and a system for immediate enforcement which will embrace\nall alike; so that each, while receiving his share of the public funds\nmay supply whatever service the State requires of him.[3] If we can\nremain at peace, then he will do better to stay at home, free from the\nnecessity of doing anything discreditable through poverty. But if a\nsituation like the present occurs, then supported by these same sums,\nhe will serve loyally in person, in defence of his country. If a man is\noutside the military age, then let him take, in his place among the\nrest, that which he now receives irregularly and without doing any\nservice, and let him act as an overseer and manager of business that\nmust be done. {35} In short, without adding or subtracting anything,[n]\nbeyond a small sum, and only removing the want of system, my plan\nreduces the State to order, making your receipt of payment, your\nservice in the army or the courts, and your performance of any duty\nwhich the age of each of you allows, and the occasion requires, all\npart of one and the same system. But it has been no part of my proposal\nthat we should assign the due of those who act to those who do nothing;\nthat we should be idle ourselves and enjoy our leisure helplessly,\nlistening to tales of victories won by somebody's mercenaries;[n] for\nthis is what happens now. {36} Not that I blame one who is doing some\npart of your duty for you; but I require you to do for yourselves the\nthings for which you honour others, and not to abandon the position\nwhich your fathers won through many a glorious peril, and bequeathed to\nyou.\n\nI think I have told you all that, in my belief, your interest demands.\nMay you choose the course which will be for the good of the city and of\nyou all!\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n[1] See notes to Speech on the Peace, Sec. 5. Some date the Euboean\nexpedition and the sending of the cavalry one or two years earlier, and\nthe whole chronology is much disputed; but there are strong arguments\nfor the date (348) given in the text.\n\n[2] [Greek: esti tauta ta].\n\n[3] [Greek: touto parechae].\n\n\n\n\nON THE PEACE (OR. V)\n\n\n[_Introduction_. After the fall of Olynthus in 348, the Athenians, on\nthe proposal of Eubulus, sent embassies to the Greek States in the\nPeloponnese and elsewhere, to invite them to join in a coalition\nagainst Philip. Aeschines went for this purpose to Megalopolis, and did\nhis best to counteract Philip's influence in Arcadia. When the\nembassies proved unsuccessful, it became clear that peace must be made\non such terms as were possible. Philip himself was anxious for peace,\nsince he wished to cross the Pass of Thermopylae without such\nopposition from Athens as he had encountered in 352, and to be free\nfrom the attacks of hostile ships upon his ports. Even before the fall\nof Olynthus, informal communications passed between himself and Athens\n(see Speech on Embassy, Secs. 12, 94, 315); and in consequence of these,\nPhilocrates proposed and the Assembly passed a decree, under which ten\nambassadors were appointed to go to Philip and invite him to send\nplenipotentiaries to Athens to conclude a peace. Demosthenes (who had\nstrongly supported Philocrates) was among the ten, as well as Aeschines\nand Philocrates himself. Delighted with Philip's reception of them, and\ngreatly attracted by his personality, the ambassadors returned with a\nletter from him, promising in general terms to confer great benefits\nupon Athens, if he were granted alliance as well as peace: in the\nmeantime he undertook not to interfere with the towns allied to Athens\nin the Chersonese. Demosthenes proposed (in the Council, of which he\nwas a member in the year 347-346) the usual complimentary resolution in\nhonour of the ambassadors, and on his motion it was resolved to hold\ntwo meetings of the Assembly, on the 18th and 19th of the month\nElaphebolion (i.e. probably just after the middle of April 346), when\nPhilip's envoys would have arrived, to discuss the terms of peace. The\nenvoys--Antipater, Parmenio, and Eurylochus--reached Athens shortly\nafter this; and before the first of the two meetings was held, the\nSynod of the allies of Athens, now assembled in the city, agreed to\npeace on such terms as the Athenian people should decide, but added a\nproposal that it should be permitted to any Greek State to become a\nparty to the Peace within three months. They said nothing of alliance.\nOf the two meetings of the Assembly, in view of the conflicting\nstatements of Demosthenes and Aeschines, only a probable account can be\ngiven. At the first, Philocrates proposed that alliance as well as\npeace should be made by Athens and her allies with Philip and his\nallies, on the understanding that both parties should keep what they\n_de facto_ possessed--a provision entailing the renunciation by Athens\nof Amphipolis and Poteidaea; but that the Phocians and the people of\nHalus should be excluded. Aeschines opposed this strongly; and both he\nand Demosthenes claim to have supported the resolution of the allies,\nwhich would have given the excluded peoples a chance of sharing the\nadvantage of the Peace. The feeling of the Assembly was with them,\nalthough the Phocians had recently insulted the Athenians by declining\nto give up to Proxenus (the Athenian admiral) the towns guarding the\napproaches to Thermopylae, which they had themselves offered to place\nin the hands of Athens. But Philocrates obtained the postponement of\nthe decision till the next day. On the next day, if not before, it\nbecame plain that Philip's envoys would not consent to forgo the\nexclusion of the Phocians and Halus; but in order that the Assembly\nmight be induced to pass the resolution, the clause expressly excluding\nthem was dropped, and peace and alliance were made between Athens and\nPhilip, each with their allies.[n] Even this was not secured before\nAeschines and his friends had deprecated rash attempts to imitate the\nexploits of antiquity by continuing the war, and had explained that\nPhilip could not openly accept the Phocians as allies, but that when\nthe Peace was concluded, he would satisfy all the wishes of the\nAthenians in every way; while Eubulus threatened the people with\nimmediate war, involving personal service and heavy taxation, unless\nthey accepted Philocrates' decree. A few days afterwards the Athenians\nand the representatives of the allies took the oath to observe the\nPeace: nothing was said about the Phocians and Halus: Cersobleptes'\nrepresentative was probably not permitted to swear with the rest. The\nsame ten ambassadors as before were instructed to receive Philip's\noath, and the oaths of his allies, to arrange for the ransom of\nprisoners, and generally to treat with Philip in the interests of\nAthens. Demosthenes urged his colleagues (and obtained an instruction\nfrom the Council to this effect) to sail at once, in order that Philip,\nwho was now in Thrace, might not make conquests at the expense of\nAthens before ratifying the Peace; but they delayed at Oreus, went by\nland, instead of under the escort of Proxenus by sea, and only reached\nPella (the Macedonian capital) twenty-three days after leaving Athens.\nPhilip did not arrive for twenty-seven days more. By this time he had\ntaken Cersobleptes prisoner, and captured Serrhium, Doriscus, and other\nThracian towns, which were held by Athenian troops sent to assist\nCersobleptes. Demosthenes was now openly at variance with his\ncolleagues. He had no doubt realized the necessity of peace, but\nprobably regarded the exclusion of the Phocians as unwarrantable, and\nthought that the policy of his colleagues must end in Philip's conquest\nof all Greece. At Pella he occupied himself in negotiations for the\nransom of prisoners. After taking the oath, Philip kept the ambassadors\nwith him until he had made all preparations for his march southward,\nand during this time he played with them and with the envoys from the\nother Greek States who were present at the same time. His intention of\nmarching to Thermopylae was clear; but he seems to have led all alike\nto suppose that he would fulfil their particular wishes when he had\ncrossed the Pass. The ambassadors accompanied him to Pherae, where the\noath was taken by the representatives of Philip's allies; the Phocians,\nHalus, and Cersobleptes were excluded from the Peace. (Halus was taken\nby Philip's army shortly afterwards.) The ambassadors of Athens then\nreturned homewards, bearing a letter from Philip, but did not arrive at\nAthens before Philip had reached Thermopylae. On their return\nDemosthenes denounced them before the Council, which refused them the\ncustomary compliments, and (on Demosthenes' motion) determined to\npropose to the people that Proxenus with his squadron should be ordered\nto go to the aid of the Phocians and to prevent Philip from crossing\nthe Pass. When the Assembly met on the 16th of Scirophorion (shortly\nbefore the middle of July), Aeschines rose first, and announced in\nglowing terms the intention of Philip to turn round upon Thebes and to\nre-establish Thespiae and Plataeae; and hinted at the restoration to\nAthens of Euboea and Oropus. Then Philip's letter was read, containing\nno promises, but excusing the delay of the ambassadors as due to his\nown request. The Assembly was elated at the promises announced by\nAeschines; Demosthenes' attempt to contradict the announcement failed;\nand on Philocrates' motion, it was resolved to extend the Peace and\nalliance with Philip to posterity, and to declare that if the Phocians\nrefused to surrender the Temple of Delphi to the Amphictyons, Athens\nwould take steps against those responsible for the refusal. Demosthenes\nrefused to serve on the Embassy appointed to convey this resolution to\nPhilip: Aeschines was appointed, but was too ill to start. The\nambassadors set out, but within a few days returned with the news that\nthe Phocian army had surrendered to Philip (its leader, Phalaecus, and\nhis troops being allowed to depart to the Peloponnese). The surrender\nhad perhaps been accelerated by the news of the Athenian resolution.\nThe Assembly, in alarm lest Philip should march southwards, now\nresolved to take measures of precaution and defence, and to send the\nsame ambassadors to Philip, to do what they could. They went, Aeschines\namong them, and arrived in the midst of the festivities with which\nPhilip was celebrating the success of his plans. The invitation which\nPhilip sent to Athens--to send a force to join his own, and to assist\nin settling the affairs of Phocis--was (on Demosthenes' advice)\ndeclined by the Assembly; and soon afterwards another letter from\nPhilip expressed surprise at the unfriendly attitude taken up by the\nAthenians towards him. Philip next summoned the Amphictyonic Council\n(the legitimate guardians of the Delphian Temple, on whose behalf the\nThebans and Thessalians, aided by Philip, were now at war with the\nPhocians): and the Council, in the absence of many of its members,\nresolved to transfer the votes of the Phocians in the Council-meeting\nto Philip, to break up the Phocian towns into villages, disarming their\ninhabitants and taking away their horses, to require them to repay the\nstolen treasure to the temple by instalments, and to pronounce a curse\nupon those actually guilty of sacrilege, which would render them liable\nto arrest anywhere. The destructive part of the sentence was rigorously\nexecuted by the Thebans. In order to punish the former supporters of\nthe Phocians, the right to precedence in consulting the oracle was\ntransferred from Athens to Philip, by order of the Council, and the\nSpartans were excluded from the temple: Orchomenus and Coroneia were\ndestroyed and their inhabitants enslaved; and Thebes became absolute\nmistress of all Boeotia. The Pythian games (at Delphi) in September 346\nwere celebrated under Philip's presidency; but both Sparta and Athens\nrefused to send the customary deputation to them, and Philip\naccordingly sent envoys to Athens, along with representatives of the\nAmphictyons, to demand recognition for himself as an Amphictyonic\npower. Aeschines supported the demand, his argument being apparently to\nthe effect that Philip had been forced to act as he had done by the\nThebans and Thessalians; but the Assembly was very angry at the results\n(as they seemed to be) of Aeschines' diplomacy and the calamities of\nthe Phocians; and it was only when Demosthenes, in the Speech on the\nPeace, advised compliance, that they were persuaded to give way. To\nhave refused would have brought the united forces of the Amphictyonic\nStates against Athens: and these she could not have resisted. It was\ntherefore prudent to keep the Peace, though Demosthenes evidently\nregarded it only as an armistice.]\n\n\n{1} I see, men of Athens, that our present situation is one of great\nperplexity and confusion, for not only have many of our interests been\nsacrificed, so that it is of no use to make eloquent speeches about\nthem; but even as regards what still remains to us, there is no general\nagreement in any single point as to what is expedient: some hold one\nview, and some another. {2} Perplexing, moreover, and difficult as\ndeliberation naturally is, men of Athens, you have made it far more\ndifficult. For while all the rest of mankind are in the habit of\nresorting to deliberation before the event, you do not do so until\nafterwards: and consequently, during the whole time that falls within\nmy memory, however high a reputation for eloquence one who upbraids you\nfor all your errors may enjoy, the desired results and the objects of\nyour deliberation pass out of your grasp. {3} And yet I believe--and it\nis because I have convinced myself of this that I have risen--that if\nyou resolve to abandon all clamour and contention, as becomes men who\nare deliberating on behalf of their country upon so great an issue, I\nshall be able to describe and recommend measures to you, by which the\nsituation may be improved, and what we have sacrificed, recovered.\n\n{4} Now although I know perfectly well, men of Athens, that to speak to\nyou about one's own earlier speeches, and about oneself, is a practice\nwhich is always extremely repaying, I feel the vulgarity and\noffensiveness of it so strongly, that I shrink from it even when I see\nthat it is necessary. I think, however, that you will form a better\njudgement on the subject on which I am about to speak, if I remind you\nof some few of the things which I have said on certain previous\noccasions. {5} In the first place, men of Athens, when at the time of\nthe disturbances in Euboea[n] you were being urged to assist\nPlutarchus, and to undertake an inglorious and costly campaign, I came\nforward first and unsupported to oppose this action, and was almost\ntorn in pieces by those who for the sake of their own petty profits had\ninduced you to commit many grave errors: and when only a short time had\nelapsed, along with the shame which you incurred and the treatment\nwhich you received--treatment such as no people in the world ever\nbefore experienced at the hands of those whom they went to\nassist--there came the recognition by all of you of the baseness of\nthose who had urged you to this course, and of the excellence of my own\nadvice. {6} Again, men of Athens, I observed that Neoptolemus[n] the\nactor, who was allowed freedom of movement everywhere on the ground of\nhis profession, and was doing the city the greatest mischief, was\nmanaging and directing your communications with Philip in Philip's own\ninterest: and I came forward and informed you; and that, not to gratify\nany private dislike or desire to misrepresent him, as subsequent events\nhave made plain. {7} And in this case I shall not, as before, throw the\nblame on any speakers or defenders of Neoptolemus--indeed, he had no\ndefenders; it is yourselves that I blame. For had you been watching\nrival tragedies in the theatre, instead of discussing the vital\ninterests of a whole State, you could not have listened with more\npartiality towards him, or more prejudice against me. {8} And yet, I\nbelieve, you have all now realized that though, according to his own\nassertion, this visit to the enemy's country was paid in order that he\nmight get in the debts owing to him there, and return with funds to\nperform his public service[n] here; though he was always repeating the\nstatement that it was monstrous to accuse those who were transferring\ntheir means from Macedonia to Athens; yet, when the Peace had removed\nall danger, he converted his real estate here into money, and took\nhimself off with it to Philip. {9} These then are two events which I\nhave foretold--events which, because their real character was exactly\nand faithfully disclosed by me, are a testimony to the speeches which I\nhave delivered. A third, men of Athens, was the following; and when I\nhave given you this one instance, I will immediately proceed to the\nsubject on which I have come forward to speak. When we returned from\nthe Embassy, after receiving from Philip his oath to maintain the\nPeace, {10} there were some[n] who promised that Thespiae and\nPlataeae[n] would be repeopled, and said that if Philip became master\nof the situation, he would save the Phocians, and would break up the\ncity of Thebes into villages; that Oropus would be yours, and that\nEuboea would be restored to you in place of Amphipolis--with other\nhopes and deceptions of the same kind, by which you were seduced into\nsacrificing the Phocians in a manner that was contrary to your interest\nand perhaps to your honour also. But as for me, you will find that\nneither had I any share in this deception, nor yet did I hold my peace.\nOn the contrary, I warned you plainly, as, I know you remember, that\n_I_ had no knowledge and no expectations of this kind, and that I\nregarded such statements as nonsense.\n\n{11} All these plain instances of superior foresight on my part, men of\nAthens, I shall not ascribe to any cleverness, any boasted merits, of\nmy own. I will not pretend that my foreknowledge and discernment are\ndue to any causes but such as I will name; and they are two. The first,\nmen of Athens, is that good fortune, which, I observe, is more powerful\nthan all the cleverness and wisdom on earth. {12} The second is the\nfact that my judgement and reasoning are disinterested. No one can\npoint to any personal gain in connexion with my public acts and words:\nand therefore I see what is to our interest undistorted, in the light\nin which the actual facts reveal it. But when you throw money into one\nscale of the balance, its weight carries everything with it; your\njudgement is instantly dragged down with it, and one who has acted so\ncan no longer think soundly or healthily about anything.\n\n{13} Now there is one primary condition which must be observed by any\none who would furnish the city with allies or contributions or anything\nelse--he must do it without breaking the existing Peace: not because\nthe Peace is at all admirable or creditable to you, but because,\nwhatever its character, it would have been better, in the actual\ncircumstances, that it should never have been made, than that having\nbeen made, it should now be broken through our action. For we have\nsacrificed many advantages which we possessed when we made it, and\nwhich would have rendered the war safer and easier for us then than it\nis now. {14} The second condition, men of Athens, is that we shall not\ndraw on these self-styled Amphictyons,[n] who are now assembled, until\nthey have an irresistible or a plausible reason for making a united war\nagainst us. My own belief is that if war broke out again between\nourselves and Philip about Amphipolis or any such claim of our own, in\nwhich the Thessalians and Argives and Thebans had no interest, none of\nthese peoples would go to war against us, least of all--{15} and let no\none raise a clamour before he hears what I have to say--least of all\nthe Thebans; not because they are in any pleasant mood towards us; not\nbecause they would not be glad to gratify Philip; but because they know\nperfectly well, however stupid one may think them,[n] that if war\nsprings up between themselves and you, _they_ will get all the\nhardships of war for their share, while another will sit by, waiting to\nsecure all the advantages; and they are not likely to sacrifice\nthemselves for such a prospect, unless the origin and the cause of the\nwar are such as concern all alike. {16} Nor again should we, in my\nopinion, suffer at all, if we went to war with Thebes on account of\nOropus[n] or any other purely Athenian interest. For I believe that\nwhile those who would assist ourselves or the Thebans would give their\naid if their ally's own country were invaded, they would not join\neither in an offensive campaign. For this is the manner of\nalliances--such, at least, as are worth considering; and the\nrelationship is naturally of this kind. {17} The goodwill of each\nally--whether it be towards ourselves or towards the Thebans--does not\nimply the same interest in our conquest of others as in our existence.\nOur continued existence they would all desire for their own sakes; but\nnone of them would wish that through conquest either of us should\nbecome their own masters. What is it then that I regard with\napprehension? What is it that we must guard against? I fear lest a\ncommon pretext should be supplied for the coming war, a common charge\nagainst us, which will appeal to all alike. {18} For if the Argives[n]\nand Messenians and Megalopolitans, and some of the other Peloponnesians\nwho are in sympathy with them, adopt a hostile attitude towards us\nowing to our negotiations for peace with Sparta, and the belief that to\nsome extent we are giving our approval to the policy which the Spartans\nhave pursued: if the Thebans already (as we are told) detest us, and\nare sure to become even more hostile, because we are harbouring those\nwhom they have exiled,[n] and losing no opportunity of displaying our\nill-will towards them; {19} and the Thessalians, because we are\noffering a refuge to the Phocian fugitives;[n] and Philip, because we\nare preventing his admission to Amphictyonic rank; my fear is that,\nwhen each power has thus its separate reasons for resentment, they may\nunite in the war against us, with the decrees of the Amphictyons for\ntheir pretext: and so each may be drawn on farther than their several\ninterests would carry them, just as they were in dealing with the\nPhocians. {20} For you doubtless realize that it was not through any\nunity in their respective ambitions, that the Thebans and Philip and\nthe Thessalians all acted together just now. The Thebans, for instance,\ncould not prevent Philip from marching through and occupying the\npasses, nor even from stepping in at the last moment to reap the credit\nof all that they themselves had toiled for.[n] {21} For, as it is,\nthough the Thebans have gained something so far as the recovery of\ntheir territory is concerned, their honour and reputation have suffered\nshamefully, since it now appears as though they would have gained\nnothing, unless Philip had crossed the Pass. This was not what they\nintended. They only submitted to all this in their anxiety to obtain\nOrchomenus and Coroneia, and their inability to do so otherwise. {22}\nAnd as to Philip, some persons,[n] as you know, are bold enough to say\nthat it was not from any wish to do so that he handed over Orchomenus\nand Coroneia to Thebes, but from compulsion; and although I must part\ncompany with them there, I am sure that at least he did not want to do\nthis _more_ than he desired to occupy the passes, and to get the credit\nof appearing to have determined the issue of the war, and to manage the\nPythian games by his own authority. These, I am sure, were the objects\nwhich he coveted most greedily. {23} The Thessalians, again, did not\ndesire to see either the Thebans or Philip growing powerful; for in any\nsuch contingency they thought that they themselves were menaced. But\nthey did desire to secure two privileges--admission to the Amphictyonic\nmeeting, and the recovery of rights at Delphi;[n] and in their\neagerness for these privileges, they joined Philip in the actions in\nquestion. Thus you will find that each was led on, for the sake of\nprivate ends, to take action which they in no way desired to take. But\nthis is the very thing against which we have now to be on our guard.\n\n{24} 'Are we then, for fear of this, to submit to Philip? and do _you_\nrequire this of us?' you ask me. Far from it. Our action must be such\nas will be in no way unworthy of us, and at the same time will not lead\nto war, but will prove to all our good sense and the justice of our\nposition: and, in answer to those who are bold enough to think that we\nshould refuse to submit to anything whatever,[n] [2] and who cannot\nforesee the war that must follow, I wish to urge this consideration. We\nare allowing the Thebans to hold Oropus; and if any one asked us to\nstate the reason honestly, we should say that it was to avoid war. {25}\nAgain, we have just ceded Amphipolis to Philip by the Treaty of\nPeace;[n] we permit the Cardians[n] to occupy a position apart from the\nother colonists in the Chersonese; we allow the Prince of Caria[n] to\nseize the islands of Chios, Cos, and Rhodes, and the Byzantines to\ndrive our vessels to shore[n]--obviously because we believe that the\ntranquillity afforded by peace brings more blessings than any collision\nor contention over these grievances would bring: so that it would be a\nfoolish and an utterly perverse policy, when we have behaved in this\nmanner towards each of our adversaries individually, where our own most\nessential interests were concerned, to go now to war with all of them\ntogether, on account of this shadow at Delphi.[n]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n[1] The term 'the allies of Athens' was ambiguous. It might be taken\n(as it was taken by Philip and his envoys) to include only the\nremaining members of the League (see p. 9), who were represented by the\nSynod then sitting, and whose policy Athens could control. But it was\nevidently possible to put a wider interpretation upon it, as the\nAssembly probably did and as Demosthenes often does (e.g. Speech on\nEmbassy, Sec. 278), and to understand it as including the Phocians and\nothers (such as Cersobleptes) with whom Athens had a treaty of\nalliance. Much of the trouble which followed arose out of this\nambiguity.\n\n[2] [Greek: oud hotioun].\n\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND PHILIPPIC (OR. VI)\n\n\n[_Introduction_. After settling affairs at Delphi in 346, Philip\nreturned to Macedonia. During a considerable part of 345 and in the\nearly months of 344 he was occupied with campaigns against the\nIllyrians, Dardani, and Triballi. But in the summer (probably) of 344\nhe resumed his activities in Greece, garrisoning Pherae and other towns\nof Thessaly with Macedonians, appropriating the revenues derived from\nthe Thessalian ports, and establishing oligarchical governments\nthroughout the country. At the same time negotiations were going on\nbetween himself and Athens with regard to the Thracian strongholds\nwhich he had captured in 346. He refused to give these up, though he\noffered to cut a canal across the Chersonese, for the protection of the\nAthenian allies there from the attacks of the Thracians. He also sent\nmoney and mercenaries to help the Messenians and Argives, who, like the\nMegalopolitans, were anxious to secure their independence of Sparta.\nAthens, which was on friendly terms with Sparta, sent envoys to the\nPeloponnesian states to counteract Philip's influence, and of these\nDemosthenes was one. In return, Argos and Messene complained to Athens\nof her interference with their attempt to secure freedom, and Philip\nsent envoys to deprecate the charges made against him by the Athenian\nambassadors in the Peloponnese. He pointed out that he had not broken\nany promises made to Athens at the time of the Peace, for he had made\nnone. (In fact, if Demosthenes' account is correct, he had confined\nhimself to vague expressions of goodwill; the promises had been made by\nAeschines.) The Second Philippic, spoken late in 344, proposes a reply\nto Philip, the text of which has unfortunately not come down to us. The\nPeloponnesian envoys appear also to have been in Athens at the time;\nand Philip's supporters had put forward various explanations of his\nconduct at the time when the Peace was made. To these also Demosthenes\nreplies.]\n\n\n{1} In all our discussions, men of Athens, with regard to the acts of\nviolence by which Philip contravenes the terms of the Peace, I observe\nthat, although the speeches on our side are always manifestly just and\nsympathetic,[n] and although those who denounce Philip are always\nregarded as saying what ought to be said, yet practically nothing is\ndone which ought to be done, or which would make it worth while to\nlisten to such speeches. {2} On the contrary, the condition of public\naffairs as a whole has already been brought to a point at which, the\nmore and the more evidently a speaker can convict Philip both of\ntransgressing the Peace which he made with you and of plotting against\nall the Hellenes, the harder it is for him to advise you how you should\nact. {3} The responsibility for this rests with us all, men of Athens.\nIt is by deeds and actions, not by words, that a policy of encroachment\nmust be arrested: and yet, in the first place, we who rise to address\nyou will not face the duty of proposing or advising such action, for\nfear of unpopularity with you, though we dilate upon the character of\nPhilip's acts, upon their atrocity, and so forth; and, in the second\nplace, you who sit and listen, better qualified though you doubtless\nare than Philip for using the language of justice and appreciating it\nat the mouths of others, are nevertheless absolutely inert, when it is\na question of preventing him from executing the designs in which he is\nnow engaged. {4} It follows as the inevitable and perhaps reasonable\nconsequence, that you are each more successful in that to which your\ntime and your interest is given--he in actions, yourselves in words.\nNow if it is still enough for you, that your words are more just than\nhis, your course is easy, and no labour is involved in it. {5} But if\nwe are to inquire how the evil of the present situation is to be\ncorrected; if its advance is not still to continue, unperceived, until\nwe are confronted by a power so great that we cannot even raise a hand\nin our own defence; then we must alter our method of deliberation, and\nall of us who speak, and all of you who listen, must resolve to prefer\nthe counsels which are best, and which can save us, to those which are\nmost easy and most attractive.\n\n{6} I am amazed, men of Athens, in the first place, that any one who\nsees the present greatness of Philip and the wide mastery which he has\ngained, can be free from alarm, or can imagine that this involves no\nperil to Athens, or that it is not against you that all his\npreparations are being made. And I would beg you, one and all, to\nlisten while I put before you in a few words the reasoning by which I\nhave come to entertain the opposite expectation, and the grounds upon\nwhich I regard Philip as an enemy; that so, if my own foresight appears\nto you the truer, you may believe me; but if that of the persons who\nhave no fears and have placed their trust in him, you may give your\nadhesion to them. {7} Here then, men of Athens, is my argument. Of\nwhat, in the first place, did Philip become master, when the Peace was\nconcluded? Of Thermopylae, and of the situation in Phocis. Next, what\nuse did he make of his power? He deliberately chose to act in the\ninterests of Thebes, not in those of Athens. And why? He scrutinized\nevery consideration in the light of his own ambition and of his desire\nfor universal conquest: he took no thought for peace, or tranquillity,\nor justice; {8} and he saw quite correctly that our state and our\nnational character being what they are, there was no attraction that he\ncould offer, nothing that he could do, which would induce you to\nsacrifice any of the other Hellenes to him for your own advantage. He\nsaw that you would take account of what was right; that you would\nshrink from the infamy attaching to such a policy; that you would\nexercise all the foresight which the situation demanded, and would\noppose any such attempt on his part, as surely as if you were at open\nwar with him. {9} But the Thebans, he believed--and the event proved\nthat he was right--in return for what they were getting would let him\ndo as he pleased in all that did not concern them; and far from acting\nagainst him, or preventing him effectively, would even join him in his\ncampaign, if he bade them. His services to the Messenians and the\nArgives at the present moment are due to his having formed the same\nconception of them. And this, men of Athens, is the highest of all\ntributes to yourselves: {10} for these actions of his amount to a\nverdict upon you, that you alone of all peoples would never, for any\ngain to yourselves, sacrifice the common rights of the Hellenes, nor\nbarter away your loyalty to them for any favour or benefit at his\nhands. This conception of you he has naturally formed, just as he has\nformed the opposite conception of the Argives and the Thebans, not only\nfrom his observation of the present, but also from his consideration of\nthe past. {11} He discovers, I imagine, and is told, how when your\nforefathers might have been rulers of the rest of the Hellenes, on\ncondition of submitting to the king themselves, they not only refused\nto tolerate the suggestion, on the occasion when Alexander [n], the\nancestor of the present royal house, came as his herald to negotiate,\nbut chose rather to leave their country and to face any suffering which\nthey might have to endure; and how they followed up the refusal by\nthose deeds which all are so eager to tell, but to which no one has\never been able to do justice; and for that reason, I shall myself\nforbear to speak of them, and rightly; for the grandeur of their\nachievements passes the power of language to describe. He knows, on the\nother hand, how the forefathers of the Thebans and Argives, in the one\ncase, joined the barbarian army, in the other, offered no resistance to\nit. {12} He knows, therefore, that both these peoples will welcome what\nis to their own advantage, instead of considering the common interests\nof the Hellenes: and so he thought that, if he chose you for his\nallies, he would be choosing friends who would only serve a righteous\ncause; while if he joined himself to them, he would win accomplices who\nwould further his own ambitions. That is why he chose them, as he\nchooses them now, in preference to you. For he certainly does not see\nthem in possession of more ships than you; nor has he discovered some\ninland empire, and withdrawn from the seaboard and the trading-ports;\nnor does he forget the words and the promises, on the strength of which\nhe was granted the Peace.\n\n{13} But some one may tell us, with an air of complete knowledge of the\nmatter, that what then moved Philip to act thus was not his ambition\nnor any of the motives which I impute to him, but his belief that the\ndemands of Thebes were more righteous than your own. I reply, that this\nstatement, above all others, is one which he cannot possibly make\n_now_. How can one who is ordering Sparta to give up Messene put\nforward his belief in the righteousness of the act, as his excuse for\nhanding over Orchomenus and Coroneia to Thebes?\n\n{14} 'But,' we are told (as the last remaining plea), 'he was forced to\nmake these concessions, and did so against his better judgement,\nfinding himself caught between the cavalry of Thessaly and the infantry\nof Thebes.' Admirable! And so, we are informed, he intends henceforth\nto be wary of the Thebans, and the tale goes round that he intends to\nfortify Elateia [n]. 'Intends,' indeed! and I expect that it will\nremain an intention! {15} But the help which he is giving to the\nMessenians and Argives is no 'intention'; for he is actually sending\nmercenaries to them and dispatching funds, and is himself expected to\narrive on the spot with a great force. Is he trying to annihilate the\nSpartans, the existing enemies of Thebes, and at the same time\nprotecting the Phocians, whom he himself has ruined? Who will believe\nsuch a tale? {16} For if Philip had really acted against his will and\nunder compulsion in the first instance--if he were now really intending\nto renounce the Thebans--I cannot believe that he would be so\nconsistently opposing their enemies. On the contrary, his present\ncourse plainly proves that his former action also was the result of\ndeliberate policy; and to any sound observation, it is plain that the\nwhole of his plans are being organized for one end--the destruction of\nAthens. {17} Indeed, this has now come to be, in a sense, a matter of\nnecessity for him. Only consider. It is empire that he desires, and\nyou, as he believes, are his only possible rivals in this. He has been\nacting wrongfully towards you for a long time, as he himself best\nknows; for it is the occupation of your possessions that enables him to\nhold all his other conquests securely, convinced, as he is, that if he\nhad let Amphipolis and Poteidaea go, he could not dwell in safety even\nat home. {18} These two facts, then, he well knows--first, that his\ndesigns are aimed at you, and secondly, that you are aware of it: and\nas he conceives you to be men of sense, he considers that you hold him\nin righteous detestation: and, in consequence, his energies are roused:\nfor he expects to suffer disaster, if you get your opportunity, unless\nhe can anticipate you by inflicting it upon you. {19} So he is wide\nawake; he is on the alert; he is courting the help of others against\nAthens--of the Thebans and those Peloponnesians who sympathize with\ntheir wishes; thinking that their desire of gain will make them embrace\nthe immediate prospect, while their native stupidity will prevent them\nfrom foreseeing any of the consequences. Yet there are examples,\nplainly visible to minds which are even moderately\nwell-balanced[n]--examples which it fell to my lot to bring before\nMessenian and Argive audiences, but which had better, perhaps, be laid\nbefore yourselves as well.\n\n{20} 'Can you not imagine,' I said, 'men of Messenia, the impatience\nwith which the Olynthians used to listen to any speeches directed\nagainst Philip in those times, when he was giving up Anthemus to\nthem--a city claimed as their own by all former Macedonian kings; when\nhe was expelling the Athenian colonists from Poteidaea and presenting\nit to the Olynthians; when he had taken upon his own shoulders their\nquarrel with Athens, and given them the enjoyment of that territory?\nDid they expect, do you think, to suffer as they have done? if any one\nhad foretold it, would they have believed him? {21} And yet,' I\ncontinued, 'after enjoying territory not their own for a very short\ntime, they are robbed of their own by him for a great while to come;\nthey are foully driven forth--not conquered merely, but betrayed by one\nanother and sold; for it is not safe for a free state to be on these\nover-friendly terms with a tyrant. {22} What, again, of the\nThessalians? Do you imagine,' I asked, 'that when he was expelling\ntheir tyrants, or again, when he was giving them Nicaea and Magnesia,\nthey expected to see the present Council of Ten[n] established in their\nmidst? Did they expect that the restorer of their Amphictyonic rights\nwould take their own revenues from them for himself? Impossible! And\nyet these things came to pass, as all men may know. {23} You\nyourselves,' I continued, 'at present behold only the gifts and the\npromises of Philip. Pray, if you are really in your right minds, that\nyou may never see the accomplishment of his deceit and treachery. There\nare, as you know well,' I said, 'all kinds of inventions designed for\nthe protection and security of cities--palisades, walls, trenches, and\nevery kind of defence. {24} All these are made with hands, and involve\nexpense as well. But there is one safeguard which all sensible men\npossess by nature--a safeguard which is a valuable protection to all,\nbut above all to a democracy against a tyrant. And what is this? It is\ndistrust. Guard this possession and cleave to it; preserve this, and\nyou need never fear disaster. {25} What is it that you desire?' I said.\n'Is it freedom? And do you not see that the very titles that Philip\nbears are utterly alien to freedom? For a king, a tyrant, is always the\nfoe of freedom and the enemy of law. Will you not be on your guard,' I\nsaid, 'lest in striving to be rid of war, you find yourselves\nslaves?'[n]\n\n{26} My audience heard these words and received them with a tumult of\napprobation, as well as many other speeches from the envoys, both when\nI was present and again later. And yet, it seems, there is still no\nbetter prospect of their keeping Philip's friendship and promises at a\ndistance. {27} In fact, the extraordinary thing is not that Messenians\nand certain Peloponnesians should act against their own better\njudgement, but that you who understand for yourselves, and who hear us,\nyour orators, telling you, that there is a design against you, and that\nthe toils are closing round you--that you, I say, by always refusing to\nact at once, should be about to find (as I think you will) that you\nhave exposed yourselves unawares to the utmost peril: so much more does\nthe pleasure and ease of the moment weigh with you, than any advantage\nto be reaped at some future date.\n\n{28} In regard to the practical measures which you must take, you will,\nif you are wise, deliberate by yourselves[n] later. But I will at once\npropose an answer which you may make to-day, and which it will be\nconsistent with your duty to have adopted.\n\n[_The answer is read._]\n\nNow the right course, men of Athens, was to have summoned before you\nthose who conveyed the promises[n] on the strength of which you were\ninduced to make the Peace. {29} For I could never have brought myself\nto serve on the Embassy, nor, I am sure, would you have discontinued\nthe war, had you imagined that Philip, when he had obtained peace,\nwould act as he has acted. What we were then told was something very\ndifferent from this. And there are others, too, whom you should summon.\nYou ask whom I mean? After the Peace had been made, and I had returned\nfrom the Second Embassy, which was sent to administer the oaths, I saw\nhow the city was being hoodwinked, and I spoke out repeatedly,\nprotesting and forbidding you to sacrifice Thermopylae and the\nPhocians: {30} and the men to whom I refer were those who then said\nthat a water-drinker[n] like myself was naturally a fractious and\nill-tempered fellow; while Philip, if only he crossed the Pass, would\nfulfil your fondest prayers; for he would fortify Thespiae and\nPlataeae; he would put an end to the insolence of the Thebans; he would\ncut a canal through the Chersonese at his own charges, and would repay\nyou for Amphipolis by the restoration of Euboea and Oropus. All this\nwas said from this very platform, and I am quite sure that you remember\nit well, though your memory of those who injure you is but short. {31}\nTo crown your disgrace, with nothing but these hopes in view, you\nresolved that this same Peace should hold good for your posterity also;\nso completely had you fallen under their influence. But why do I speak\nof all this now? why do I bid you summon these men? By Heaven, I will\ntell the truth without reserve, and will hold nothing back. {32} My\nobject is not to give way to abuse, and so secure myself as good a\nhearing[n] as others in this place, while giving those who have come\ninto collision with me from the first an opportunity for a further\nclaim[n] upon Philip's money. Nor do I wish to waste time in empty\nwords. {33} No; but I think that the plan which Philip is pursuing will\nsome day trouble you more than the present situation does; for his\ndesign is moving towards fulfilment, and though I shrink from precise\nconjecture, I fear its accomplishment may even now be only too close at\nhand. And when the time comes when you can no longer refuse to attend\nto what is passing; when you no longer hear from me or from some other\nthat it is all directed against you, but all alike see it for\nyourselves and know it for a certainty; then, I think, you will be\nangry and harsh enough. {34} And I am afraid that because your envoys\nhave withheld from you the guilty secret of the purposes which they\nhave been bribed to forward, those who are trying to remedy in some\ndegree the ruin of which these men have been the instruments will fall\nvictims to your wrath. For I observe that it is the general practice of\nsome persons to vent their anger, not upon the guilty, but upon those\nwho are most within their grasp. {35} While then the trouble is still\nto come, still in process of growth, while we can still listen to one\nanother's words, I would remind each of you once more of what he well\nknows--who it was that induced you to sacrifice the Phocians and\nThermopylae, the control of which gave Philip command of the road to\nAttica and the Peloponnesus; who it was, I say, that converted your\ndebate about your rights and your interests abroad into a debate about\nthe safety of your own country, and about war on your own borders--a\nwar which will bring distress to each of us personally, when it is at\nour doors, but which sprang into existence on that day. {36} Had you\nnot been misled by them, no trouble would have befallen this country.\nFor we cannot imagine that Philip would have won victories by sea which\nwould have enabled him to approach Attica with his fleet, or would have\nmarched by land past Thermopylae and the Phocians; but he would either\nhave been acting straightforwardly--keeping the Peace and remaining\nquiet; or else he would have found himself instantly plunged into a war\nno less severe than that which originally made him desirous of the\nPeace. {37} What I have said is sufficient by way of a reminder to you.\nHeaven grant that the time may not come when the truth of my words will\nbe tested with all severity: for I at least have no desire to see any\none meet with punishment, however much he may deserve his doom, if it\nis accompanied by danger and calamity to us all.\n\n\n\n\nON THE EMBASSY (OR. XIX)\n\n\n[_Introduction_. The principal events with which a reader of this\nSpeech ought to be acquainted have already been narrated (see\nespecially the Introductions to the last two Speeches). The influence\nof the anti-Macedonian party grew gradually from the time of the Peace\nonwards. In 346, within a month after the return of the Second Embassy,\nthe ambassadors presented their reports before the Logistae or Board of\nAuditors (after a futile attempt on the part of Aeschines to avoid\nmaking a report altogether); and Timarchus, supported by Demosthenes,\nthere announced his intention of taking proceedings against Aeschines\nfor misconduct on the Second Embassy. But Timarchus' own past history\nwas not above reproach: he was attacked by Aeschines for the\nimmoralities of his youth, which, it was stated, disqualified him from\nacting as prosecutor, and though defended by Demosthenes, was condemned\nand disfranchised (345 B.C.). But early in 343 Hypereides impeached\nPhilocrates for corruption as ambassador, and obtained his condemnation\nto death--a penalty which he escaped by voluntary exile before the\nconclusion of the trial; and, later in the same year, Demosthenes\nbrought the same charge against Aeschines.\n\nIn the meantime (since the delivery of Demosthenes' Second Philippic)\nPhilip had been making fresh progress. The Arcadians and Argives (for\nthe Athenian envoys to the Peloponnese in 344 seem to have had little\nsuccess) were ready to open their gates to him. His supporters in Elis\nmassacred their opponents, and with them the remnant of the Phocians\nwho had crossed over to Elis with Phalaecus. At Megara, Perillus and\nPtoeodorus almost succeeded in bringing a force of Philip's mercenaries\ninto the town, but the attempt was defeated, by the aid of an Athenian\nforce under Phocion. In Euboea Philip's troops occupied Porthmus, where\nthe democratic party of Eretria had taken refuge, owing to an overthrow\nof the constitution (brought about by Philip's intrigues) which\nresulted in the establishment of Cleitarchus as tyrant. In the course\nof the same year (343) occurred two significant trials. The first was\nthat of Antiphon, who had made an offer to Philip to burn the Athenian\ndockyards at the Peiraeus. He was summarily arrested by order of\nDemosthenes (probably in virtue of some administrative office):\nAeschines obtained his release, but he was re-arrested by order of the\nCouncil of Areopagus[1] and condemned to death. The other trial was\nheld before the Amphictyonic Council on the motion of the people of\nDelos, to decide whether the Athenians should continue to possess the\nright of managing the Temple of Delos. The Assembly chose Aeschines as\ncounsel for Athens; but the Council of Areopagus, which had been given\npower to revise the appointment, put Hypereides in his place.\nHypereides won the case. Early in 343 (or at all events before the\nmiddle of the year), Philip sent Python of Byzantium to complain of the\nlanguage used about him by Athenian orators, and to offer to revise and\namend the terms of the Peace of Philocrates. In response, an embassy\nwas sent, headed by Hegesippus, a violent opponent of Macedonia, to\npropose to Philip (1) that instead of the clause 'that each party shall\nretain possession of what they have', a clause, 'that each party shall\npossess what is their own,' should be substituted; and (2) that all\nGreek States not included in the Treaty of Peace should be declared\nfree, and that Athens and Philip should assist them, if they were\nattacked. These proposals, if sanctioned, would obviously have reopened\nthe question of Amphipolis, Pydna, and Poteidaea, as well as of Cardia\nand the Thracian towns taken by Philip in 346. Hegesippus, moreover,\nwas personally objectionable, and the embassy was dismissed with little\ncourtesy by Philip, who even banished from Macedonia the Athenian poet\nXenocleides for acting as host to the envoys. The feeling against\nPhilip in Athens was evidently strong, when the prosecution of\nAeschines by Demosthenes took place.\n\nThe trial was held before a jury (probably consisting of 1,501\npersons), presided over by the Board of Auditors. Demosthenes spoke\nfirst, and Aeschines replied in a speech which is preserved. There is\nno doubt, on a comparison of the two speeches, that each, before it was\npublished, received alterations and insertions, intended to meet the\nadversary's points, or to give a better colour to passages which had\nbeen unfavourably received. Probably not all the refutations 'in\nadvance' were such in reality. But there is no sufficient reason to\ndoubt that the speeches were delivered substantially as we have them.\nAeschines was acquitted by thirty votes.\n\nThe question of the guilt or innocence of Aeschines will probably never\nbe finally settled. A great part of his conduct can be explained as a\nsincere attempt to carry out the policy of Eubulus, or as the issue of\na genuine belief that it was best for Athens to make terms with Philip\nand stand on his side. Even so the wisdom and the veracity of certain\nspeeches which he had made is open to grave question; but this is a\ndifferent thing from corruption. Moreover, to some of Demosthenes'\narguments he has a conclusive reply. It is more difficult to explain\nhis apparent change of opinion between the 18th and 19th of\nElaphebolion, 346 (if Demosthenes' report of the debates is to be\ntrusted); and some writers are disposed to date his corruption from the\nintervening night. Nor is it easy to meet Demosthenes' argument that if\nAeschines had really been taken in by Philip, and believed the promises\nwhich he announced, or if he had actually heard Philip make the\npromises, he would have regarded Philip afterwards as a personal enemy,\nand not as a friend. But even on these points Aeschines might reply\n(though he could not reply so to the Athenian people or jury) that\nthough he did not trust the promises, he regarded the interest of\nAthens as so closely bound up with the alliance with Philip, that he\nconsidered it justifiable to deceive the people into making the\nalliance, or at least to take the risk of the promises which he\nannounced proving untrue. In any case there is no convincing evidence\nof corruption; and it may be taken as practically certain that he was\nnot bribed to perform particular services. It is less certain that he\nwas not influenced by generous presents from Philip in forming his\njudgement of Philip's character and intentions. The standard of\nAthenian public opinion in regard to the receipt of presents was not\nthat of the English Civil Service; and the ancient orators accuse one\nanother of corruption almost as a matter of course. (We have seen that\nDemosthenes began the attack upon Eubulus' party in this form as early\nas the Speech for the Rhodians; it appears in almost every subsequent\noration: and in their turn, his opponents make the same charge against\nhim.) It is, in any case, remarkable that at a time when the people was\nplainly exasperated with the Peace and its authors, and very\nill-disposed towards Philip, a popular jury nevertheless acquitted\nAeschines; and the verdict is not sufficiently explained either by the\nfact that Eubulus supported Aeschines or by the jurors' memory of\nDemosthenes' own part in the earlier peace-negotiations, though this\nmust have weakened the force of his attack. That Demosthenes himself\nbelieved Aeschines to have been bribed, and could himself see no other\nexplanation of his conduct, need not be doubted; and although the\nspeech contains some of those misrepresentations of fact and passages\nof irrelevant personal abuse which deface some of his best work, it\nalso contains some of his finest pieces of oratory and narrative.\n\nThe second part of the speech is more broken up into short sections and\nless clearly arranged than the first; earlier arguments are repeated,\nand a few passages may be due (at least in their present shape) to\nrevision after the trial: but the latter part even as it stands is\nsuccessful in leaving the points of greatest importance strongly\nimpressed upon the mind.\n\nThe following analysis of the speech may enable the reader to find his\nway through it without serious difficulty:--\n\n\nINTRODUCTION (Secs. 1-28)\n\n(i) _Exordium_ (Secs. 1, 2). Impartiality requested of the jury, in view\nof Aeschines' attempt to escape by indirect means.\n\n(ii) _Points of the trial_ (Secs. 3-8). An ambassador must (1) give true\nreports; (2) give good advice; (3) obey his instructions; (4) not lose\ntime; (5) be incorruptible.\n\n(iii) _Preliminary exposition of the arguments_ (Secs. 9-28).\n\n    (1) The previous anti-Macedonian zeal of Aeschines suddenly collapsed\n        after the First Embassy.\n\n    (2) In the deliberations on the Peace, Aeschines supported\n        Philocrates.\n\n    (3) After the Second Embassy, Aeschines prevented Athens from guarding\n        Thermopylae and saving the Phocians, by false reports and\n        promises.\n\n    (4) Such a change of policy is only explicable by corruption.\n\nPART 1 (Secs. 29-178)\n\nThe five points of Introduction (ii) are treated as three, or in three\ngroups.\n\n(i) The reports made by Aeschines on his return from the Second\nEmbassy, and his advice, especially as to the ruin of the Phocians (Secs.\n29-97).\n\n    (1) The reports (a) to the Senate, (b) to the People, and their\n        reception (Secs. 29-46).\n\n    (2) Evidence that Aeschines conspired with Philip against the\n        Phocians, whose ruin is described (Secs. 47-71).\n\n    (3) Refutation of three anticipated objections, beginning at Sec. 72, Sec.\n        78, Sec. 80 respectively (Secs. 72-82).\n\n    (4) The danger to Athens from Aeschines' treachery (Secs. 83-7).\n\n    (5) Request to confine the trial strictly to relevant points\n        (Secs. 88-97).\n\n(ii) The corruption of Aeschines by the bribes of Philip (Secs. 98-149).\n\n    (1) Arguments (beginning Sec. 102, Sec. 111, Sec. 114, Sec. 116) showing the\n        corruption of Aeschines (Secs. 98-119).\n\n    (2) Refutation of anticipated objections (beginning at Sec. 120, Sec. 134,\n        Sec. 147) (Secs. 120-49).\n\n(iii) Aeschines' loss of time, by which Philip profited, and\ndisobedience to his instructions (Secs. 150-77).\n\n    (1) Narrative of the Second Embassy (Secs. 150-62).\n\n    (2) Comparison of the two Embassies (Secs. 163-5).\n\n    (3) Comparison of Demosthenes' own conduct with that of the other\n        ambassadors (Secs. 167-77). Recapitulation of the points established\n        (Secs. 177, 178).\n\nPART II (Secs. 179-343)\n\n(i) The injury done to Athens--\n\n    (a) by the loss of Thrace and the Hellespont;\n\n    (b) generally, by false reports from ambassadors (Secs. 179-86).\n\n(ii) Refutation of anticipated objections--\n\n    (a) 'It is not Philip's fault that he has not satisfied Athens'\n        (Sec. 187).\n\n    (b) 'Demosthenes has no right to prosecute' (Secs. 188-220): including a\n        digression (Secs. 192-200) on Aeschines' character and incidents in\n        his life.\n\n(iii) Demosthenes' object in prosecuting, passing into reproof of the\nlaxity of Athens towards traitors (Secs. 221-33).\n\n(iv) Warning against any attempt by Aeschines to confuse the dates and\nincidents of the two Embassies (Secs. 234-6.)\n\n(v) Criticism of Aeschines' brothers and his prosecution of Timarchus\n(Secs. 237-58).\n\n(vi) The increasing danger from traitors, and the traditional attitude\nof Athens towards them (Secs. 259-87).\n\n(vii) Attack upon Eubulus for defending Aeschines (Secs. 288-99).\n\n(viii) Philip's policy and methods; proofs of Aeschines' complicity\nrepeated (Secs. 300-31).\n\n(ix) Warnings to the jury against Aeschines' attempts to mislead them;\nand conclusion (Secs. 331-43).]\n\n\n{1} How much interest this case has excited, men of Athens, and how\nmuch canvassing has taken place, must, I feel sure, have become fairly\nevident to you all, after the persistent overtures just now made to\nyou, while you were drawing your lots.[n] Yet I will make the request\nof you all--a request which ought to be granted even when unasked--that\nyou will not allow the favour or the person of any man to weigh more\nwith you than justice and the oath which each of you swore before he\nentered the court. Remember that what I ask is for your own welfare and\nfor that of the whole State; while the entreaties and the eager\ninterest of the supporters of the accused have for their aim the\nselfish advantage of individuals: and it is not to confirm criminals in\nthe possession of such advantages that the laws have called you\ntogether, but to prevent their attainment of them. {2} Now I observe\nthat while all who enter upon public life in an honest spirit profess\nthemselves under a perpetual responsibility, even when they have passed\ntheir formal examination, the defendant Aeschines does the very\nreverse. For before entering your presence to give an account of his\nactions, he has put out of the way one of those[n] who appeared against\nhim at his examination; and others he pursues with threats, thus\nintroducing into public life a practice which is of all the most\natrocious and most contrary to your interests. For if one who has\ntransacted and managed any public business is to render himself secure\nagainst accusation by spreading terror round him, rather than by the\njustice of his case, your supremacy[n] must pass entirely out of your\nhands.\n\n{3} I have every confidence and belief that I shall prove the defendant\nguilty of many atrocious crimes, for which he deserves the extreme\npenalty of the law. But I will tell you frankly of the fear which\ntroubles me in spite of this confidence. It seems to me, men of Athens,\nthat the issue of every trial before you is determined as much by the\noccasion as by the facts; and I am afraid that the length of time which\nhas elapsed since the Embassy may have caused you to forget the crimes\nof Aeschines, or to be too familiar with them. {4} I will tell you\ntherefore how, in spite of this, you may yet, as I believe, arrive at a\njust decision and give a true verdict to-day. You have, gentlemen of\nthe jury, to inquire and to consider what are the points on which it is\nproper to demand an account from an ambassador. He is responsible first\nfor his report; secondly, for what he has persuaded you to do; thirdly,\nfor his execution of your instructions; next, for dates; and, besides\nall these things, for the integrity or venality of his conduct\nthroughout. {5} And why is he responsible in these respects? Because on\nhis report must depend your discussion of the situation: if his report\nis true, your decision is a right one: if otherwise, it is the reverse.\nAgain, you regard the counsels of ambassadors as especially\ntrustworthy. You listen to them in the belief that they have personal\nknowledge of the matter with which they were sent to deal. Never,\ntherefore, ought an ambassador to be convicted of having given you any\nworthless or pernicious advice. {6} Again, it is obviously proper that\nhe should have carried out your instructions to him with regard to both\nspeech and action, and your express resolutions as to his conduct. Very\ngood. But why is he responsible for dates? Because, men of Athens, it\noften happens that the opportunity upon which much that is of great\nimportance depends lasts but for a moment; and if this opportunity is\ndeliberately and treacherously surrendered to the enemy, no subsequent\nsteps can possibly recover it. {7} But as to the integrity or\ncorruption of an ambassador, you would all, I am sure, admit that to\nmake money out of proceedings that injure the city is an atrocious\nthing and deserves your heavy indignation. Yet the implied distinction\nwas not recognized by the framer of our law. He absolutely forbade\n_all_ taking of presents, thinking, I believe, that a man who has once\nreceived presents and been corrupted with money no longer remains even\na safe judge of what is to the interest of the city. {8} If then I can\nconvict the defendant Aeschines by conclusive proofs of having made a\nreport that was utterly untrue, and prevented the people from hearing\nthe truth from me; if I prove that he gave advice that was entirely\ncontrary to your interests; that on his mission he fulfilled none of\nyour instructions to him; that he wasted time, during which\nopportunities for accomplishing much that was of great importance were\nsacrificed and lost to the city; and that he received presents in\npayment for all these services, in company with Philocrates; then\ncondemn him, and exact the penalty which his crimes deserve. If I fail\nto prove these points, or fail to prove them all, then regard me with\ncontempt, and let the defendant go.\n\n{9} I have still to charge him, men of Athens, with many atrocious acts\nin addition to these--acts which would naturally call forth the\nexecration of every one among you. But I desire, before all else that I\nam about to say, to remind you (though most of you, I know, remember it\nwell) of the position which Aeschines originally took up in public\nlife, and the speeches which he thought it right to address to the\npeople against Philip; for I would have you realize that his own\nactions, his own speeches at the beginning of his career, are the\nstrongest evidence of his corruption. {10} According to his own public\ndeclaration at that time, he was the first Athenian to perceive that\nPhilip had designs against the Hellenes and was corrupting certain\nleading men in Arcadia. With Ischander, the son of Neoptolemus, to\nsecond him in his performance, he came before the Council and he came\nbefore the people, to speak on the subject: he persuaded you to send\nenvoys in all directions to bring together a congress at Athens to\ndiscuss the question of war with Philip: {11} then, on his return from\nArcadia, he reported to you those noble and lengthy speeches which, he\nsaid, he had delivered on your behalf before the Ten Thousand[n] at\nMegalopolis, in reply to Philip's spokesman, Hieronymus; and he\ndescribed at length the criminal wrong that was done, not only to their\nown several countries, but to all Hellas, by men who took bribes and\nreceived money from Philip. {12} Such was his policy at that time, and\nsuch the sample which he displayed of his sentiments. Then you were\ninduced by Aristodemus, Neoptolemus, Ctesiphon, and the rest of those\nwho brought reports from Macedonia in which there was not an honest\nword, to send ambassadors to Philip and to negotiate for peace.\nAeschines himself is appointed one of them, in the belief, not that he\nwas one of those who would sell your interests, or had placed\nconfidence in Philip, but rather one who would keep an eye on the rest.\nThe speeches which he had already delivered, and his antipathy to\nPhilip, naturally led you to take this view of him. {13} Well, after\nthis he came to me[n] and tried to make an agreement by which we should\nact in concert on the Embassy, and urged strongly that we should both\nkeep an eye upon that abominable and shameless man Philocrates; and\nuntil we returned to Athens from the First Embassy, I at least, men of\nAthens, had no idea that he had been corrupted and had sold himself.\nFor (not to mention the other speeches which, as I have told you, he\nhad made on former occasions) at the first of the assemblies in which\nyou debated about the Peace, he rose and delivered an exordium which I\nthink I can repeat to you word for word as he uttered it at the\nmeeting. {14} 'If Philocrates,' he said, 'had spent a very long time in\nstudying how he could best oppose the Peace, I do not think he could\nhave found a better device than a motion of this kind. The Peace which\nhe proposes is one which I can never recommend the city to make, so\nlong as a single Athenian remains alive. Peace, however, we ought, I\nthink, to make.' {15} And he made a brief and reasonable speech in the\nsame tone. But though he had spoken thus at the first meeting, in the\nhearing of you all, yet at the second meeting, when the Peace was to be\nratified; when I was upholding the resolution of the allies and working\nfor a Peace on just and equitable terms; when you in your desire for\nsuch a Peace would not even listen to the voice of the despicable\nPhilocrates; then, I say, Aeschines rose and spoke in support of him,\nusing language for which he deserves, God knows, to die many deaths,\n{16} saying that you must not remember your forefathers, nor tolerate\nspeakers who recalled your trophies and your victories by sea; and that\nhe would frame and propose a law, that you should assist no Hellene who\nhad not previously assisted you. These words he had the callous\nshamelessness to utter in the very presence and hearing of the\nambassadors[n] whom you had summoned from the Hellenic states, in\npursuance of the advice which he himself had given you, before he had\nsold himself.\n\n{17} You elected him again, men of Athens, to receive the oaths. How he\nfrittered away the time, how cruelly he injured all his country's\ninterests, and what violent mutual enmity arose between myself and him\nin consequence of his conduct and of my desire to prevent it, you shall\nhear presently. But when we returned from this Embassy which was sent\nto receive the oaths, and the report of which is now under examination;\nwhen we had secured nothing, either small or great, of all that had\nbeen promised and expected when you were making the Peace, but had been\ntotally deceived; when they had again acted without regard to their\ninstructions,[n] and had conducted their mission in direct defiance of\nyour decree; we came before the Council: and there are many who have\npersonal knowledge of what I am about to tell you, for the\nCouncil-Chamber was crowded with spectators. {18} Well, I came forward\nand reported to the Council the whole truth: I denounced these men: I\nrecounted the whole story, beginning with those first hopes, aroused in\nyou by the report of Ctesiphon and Aristodemus, and going on to the\nspeeches which Aeschines delivered during the time of the\nPeace-negotiations, and the position into which they had brought the\ncity: as regards all that remained to you--I meant the Phocians and\nThermopylae--I counselled you not to abandon these, not to be victims\nonce more of the same mistake, not to let yourselves be reduced to\nextremities through depending upon a succession of hopes and promises:\nand I carried the Council with me. {19} But when the day of the\nAssembly came, and it was our duty to address you, the defendant\nAeschines came forward before any of his colleagues--and I entreat you,\nin God's name, to follow me, and try to recollect whether what I tell\nyou is true; for now we have come to the very thing which so cruelly\ninjured and ruined your whole cause. He made not the remotest attempt\nto give any report of the results of the Embassy--if indeed he\nquestioned the truth of my allegations at all--but instead of this, he\nmade statements of such a character, promising you benefits so numerous\nand so magnificent, that he completely carried you away with him. {20}\nFor he said that,[n] before his return, he had persuaded Philip upon\nall the points in which the interests of the city were involved, in\nregard both to the Amphictyonic dispute and to all other matters: and\nhe described to you a long speech which he professed to have addressed\nto Philip against the Thebans, and of which he reported to you the\nsubstance, calculating that, as the result of his own diplomacy, you\nwould within two or three days, without stirring from home or taking\nthe field or suffering any inconvenience, hear that Thebes was being\nblockaded, alone and isolated from the rest of Boeotia, {21} that\nThespiae and Plataeae were being repeopled, and that the debt due to\nthe god[n] was being exacted not from the Phocians, but from the\nThebans who had planned the seizure of the temple. For he said that he\ngave Philip to understand that those who planned the act were no less\nguilty of impiety than those whose hands executed the plan; and that on\nthis account the Thebans had set a price upon his head. {22} Moreover,\nhe said that he heard some of the Euboeans, who had been thrown into a\nstate of panic and confusion by the friendly relations established\nbetween Athens and Philip, saying to the ambassadors, 'You have not\nsucceeded, gentlemen, in concealing from us the conditions on which you\nhave made your Peace with Philip; nor are we unaware that while you\nhave given him Amphipolis, he has undertaken to hand over Euboea to\nyou.' There was, indeed, another matter which he had arranged as well,\nbut he did not wish to mention this at present, since even as it was\nsome of his colleagues were jealous of him. {23} This was an\nenigmatical and indirect allusion to Oropus. These utterances naturally\nraised him high in your estimation; he seemed to be an admirable\nspeaker and a marvellous man; and he stepped down with a very lofty\nair. Then I rose and denied all knowledge of these things, and at the\nsame time attempted to repeat some part of my report to the Council.\nBut they now took their stand by me, one on this side, one on that--the\ndefendant and Philocrates; they shouted, they interrupted me, and\nfinally they jeered, while you laughed. {24} You would not hear, and\nyou did not wish to believe anything but what Aeschines had reported.\nHeaven knows, your feelings were natural enough; for who, that expected\nall these marvellous benefits, would have tolerated a speaker who said\nthat the expectation would not be realized, or denounced the\nproceedings of those who made the promise? All else, of course, was of\nsecondary importance at the time, in comparison with the expectations\nand the hopes placed before you; any contradiction appeared to be\nnothing but sheer obstruction and malignity, while the proceedings\ndescribed seemed to be of incredible importance and advantage to the\ncity.\n\n{25} Now with what object have I recalled these occurrences to you\nbefore everything else, and described these speeches of his? My first\nand chief object, men of Athens, is that none of you, when he hears me\nspeak of any of the things that were done and is struck by their\nunparalleled atrocity, may ask in surprise why I did not tell you at\nonce and inform you of the facts; {26} but may remember the promises\nwhich these men made at each critical moment, and by which they\nentirely prevented every one else from obtaining a hearing; and that\nsplendid pronouncement by Aeschines; and that you may realize that in\naddition to all his other crimes, you have suffered this further wrong\nat his hands--that you were prevented from learning the truth\ninstantly, when you ought to have learned it, because you were deluded\nby hopes, deceits and promises. {27} That is my first and, as I have\nsaid, my chief object in recalling all these occurrences. But there is\na second which is of no less importance than the first, and what is\nthis? It is that you may remember the policy which he adopted in his\npublic life, when he was still uncorrupted--his guarded and mistrustful\nattitude towards Philip; and may consider the sudden growth of\nconfidence and friendship which followed; {28} and then, if all that he\nannounced to you has been realized, if the results achieved are\nsatisfactory, you may believe that all has been done out of an honest\ninterest in the welfare of Athens; but if, on the other hand, the issue\nhas been exactly the opposite of that which he predicted: if his policy\nhas involved the city in great disgrace and in grave perils, you may\nthen be sure that his conversion was due to his own base covetousness\nand to his having sold the truth for money.\n\n{29} And now, since I have been led on to this subject, I desire to\ndescribe to you, before everything else, the way in which they took the\nPhocian question entirely out of your hands. And let none of you,\ngentlemen of the jury, when he looks at the magnitude of the\ntransactions, imagine that the crimes with which the defendant is\ncharged are on a grander scale than one of his reputation could\ncompass. You have rather to observe that any one whom you would have\nplaced in such a position as this--a position in which, as each\ncritical moment arrived, the decision would be in his hands--could have\nbrought about disasters equal to those for which Aeschines is\nresponsible, if, like Aeschines, he had wished to sell his services,\nand to cheat and deceive you. {30} For however contemptible[n] may be\nthe men whom you frequently employ in the public service, it does not\nfollow that the part which the world expects this city to play is a\ncontemptible one. Far from it! And further, though it was Philip, of\ncourse, who destroyed the Phocian people, it was Aeschines and his\nparty who seconded Philip's efforts. And so what you have to observe\nand consider is whether, so far as the preservation of the Phocians\ncame within the scope of their mission, these men deliberately\ndestroyed and ruined that whole cause. You have not to suppose that\nAeschines ruined the Phocians by himself. How could he have done so?\n\n{31} (_To the clerk._) Now give me the draft-resolution which the\nCouncil passed in view of my report, and the deposition of the clerk\nwho wrote it. (_To the jury._) For I would have you know that I am not\nrepudiating to-day transactions about which I held my peace at the\ntime, but that I denounced them at once, with full prevision of what\nmust follow; and that the Council, which was not prevented from hearing\nthe truth from me, neither voted thanks to the ambassadors, nor thought\nfit to invite them to the Town Hall.[n] From the foundation of the city\nto this day, no body of ambassadors is recorded to have been treated\nso; nor even Timagoras,[n] whom the people condemned to death. {32} But\nthese men have been so treated. (_To the clerk._) First read them the\ndeposition, and then the resolution.\n\n[_The deposition and resolution are read._]\n\nHere is no expression of thanks, no invitation of the ambassadors to\nthe Town Hall by the Council. If Aeschines asserts that there is any,\nlet him point it out and produce it, and I give way to him. But there\nis none. Now on the assumption that we all fulfilled our mission in the\nsame way, the Council had good reason not to thank any of us, for the\ntransactions of all alike were in that case atrocious. But if some of\nus acted uprightly, while others did the reverse, it must, it seems,\nhave been owing to the knavery of their colleagues that the virtuous\nwere forced to take their share of this dishonour. {33} How then can\nyou all ascertain without any difficulty who is the rogue? Recall to\nyour minds who it is that has denounced the transaction from the\noutset. For it is plain that it must have been the guilty person who\nwas well content to be silent, to stave off the day of reckoning for\nthe moment, and to take care for the future not to present himself to\ngive an account of his actions; while it must have been he whose\nconscience was clear to whom there occurred the thought of the danger,\nlest through keeping silence he might be regarded as a partner in such\natrocious villany. Now it is I that have denounced these men from the\noutset, while none of them has accused me. {34} Such then was the\nresolution of the Council. The meeting of the Assembly took place when\nPhilip was already at Thermopylae: for this was the first of all their\ncrimes, that they placed Philip in command of the situation, so that,\nwhen you ought first to have heard the facts, then to have deliberated,\nand afterwards to have taken such measures as you had resolved upon,\nyou in fact heard nothing until he was on the spot, and it was no\nlonger easy to say what steps you ought to take. {35} In addition to\nthis, no one read the resolution of the Council to the people, and the\npeople never heard it; but Aeschines rose and delivered the harangue\nwhich I just now described to you, recounting the numerous and\nimportant benefits which he said he had, before his return, persuaded\nPhilip to grant, and on account of which the Thebans had set a price\nupon his head. In consequence of this, appalled though you were at\nfirst at the proximity of Philip, and angry with these men for not\nhaving warned you of it, you became as mild as possible, having now\nformed the expectation that all your wishes would be realized; and you\nwould not hear a word from me or from any one else. {36} After this was\nread the letter from Philip, which Aeschines had written[n] when we had\nleft him behind, a letter which was nothing less than a direct and\nexpress defence in writing of the misconduct of the ambassadors. For in\nit is stated that Philip himself prevented them, when they were anxious\nto go to the several cities and receive the oaths, and that he retained\nthem in order that they might help him to effect a reconciliation\nbetween the peoples of Halus and Pharsalus. He takes upon his own\nshoulders the whole of their misconduct, and makes it his own. {37} But\nas to the Phocians and Thespiae, and the promises contained in\nAeschines' report to you--why, there is not the slightest mention of\nthem! And it was no mere accident that the proceedings took this form.\nFor the failure of the ambassadors to carry out or give effect to any\nof the instructions imposed upon them by your resolution--the failure\nfor which you were bound to punish them--Philip makes himself\nresponsible in their stead, and says that the fault was his; for you\nwere not likely, of course, to be able to punish _him_. {38} But the\npoints in regard to which Philip wished to deceive you and to steal a\nmarch upon the city were made the subject of the defendant's report, in\norder that you might be able to find no ground of accusation or\nreproach against Philip, since these points were not mentioned either\nin his letter or in any other part of the communications received from\nhim. But (_to the clerk_) read the jury the actual letter--written by\nAeschines, sent by Philip; and (_to the jury_) do you observe that it\nis such as I have described. (_To the clerk._) Read on.\n\n[_The letter is read._]\n\n{39} You hear the letter, men of Athens; you hear how noble and\ngenerous it is. But about the Phocians or the Thebans or the other\nsubjects of the defendant's report--not a syllable. Indeed, in this\nletter there is not an honest word, as you will very shortly see for\nyourselves. He says that he retained the ambassadors to help him\nreconcile the people of Halus: and such is the reconciliation that they\nhave obtained, that they are exiles from their country, and their city\nis laid waste. And as to the prisoners, though he professed to be\nwondering what he could do to gratify you, he says that the idea of\nprocuring their release had not occurred to any one. {40} But evidence\nhas, as you know, been laid before you many times in the Assembly, to\nthe effect that I myself went to ransom them, taking a talent[n] for\nthe purpose; and it shall now be laid before you once more. It follows,\ntherefore, that it was to deprive me of my laudable ambition[n] that\nAeschines persuaded Philip to insert this statement. But the strongest\npoint of all is this. In his former letter--the letter which we brought\nback--he wrote, 'I should have mentioned expressly the great benefits\nthat I propose to confer upon you, if I felt sure that you would grant\nme the alliance as well.' And yet when the alliance has been granted,\nhe says that he does not know what he can do to gratify you. He does\nnot even know what he had himself promised! Why, he must obviously have\nknown that, unless he was trying to cheat you! To prove that he did\nwrite thus and in these terms, (_to the clerk_) take his former letter,\nand read the very passage, beginning at this point. Read on.\n\n[_An extract from the letter is read._]\n\n{41} Thus, before he obtained the Peace, he undertook to set down in\nwriting the great benefits he would confer on the city, in the event of\nan alliance also being granted him. But as soon as he had obtained both\nhis wishes, he says that he does not know what he can do to gratify\nyou, but that if you will inform him, he will do anything that will not\ninvolve any disgrace or stigma upon himself. Such are the excuses in\nwhich he takes refuge, to secure his retreat, in case you should\nactually make any suggestion or should be induced to ask any favour.\n\n{42} It would have been possible to expose this whole proceeding at the\ntime--and a great deal more--without delay; to inform you of the facts,\nand to prevent you from sacrificing your cause, had not the thought of\nThespiae and Plataeae, and the idea that the Thebans were on the very\npoint of paying the penalty, robbed you of the truth. While, however,\nthere was good reason for mentioning these prospects, if the city was\nto hear of them and then be cheated, it would have been better, if\ntheir realization was actually intended, that nothing should have been\nsaid about them. For if matters had already reached a stage at which\nthe Thebans would be no better off, even if they perceived the design\nagainst them, why was the design not fulfilled? But if its fulfilment\nwas prevented because they perceived it in time, who was it that\nbetrayed the secret? {43} Must it not have been Aeschines? Its\nfulfilment, however, was not in fact intended, nor did the defendant\neither desire or expect it; so that he may be relieved of the charge of\nbetraying the secret. What was intended was that you should be\nhoodwinked by these statements, and should refuse to hear the truth\nfrom me; that you should not stir from home, and that such a decree\nshould carry the day as would involve the destruction of the Phocians.\nHence this prodigality in promises, and their proclamation in his\nspeech to the people.\n\n{44} When I heard Aeschines making all these magnificent promises, I\nknew perfectly well that he was lying; and I will tell you how I knew.\nI knew it first, because when Philip was about to take the oath in\nratification of the Peace, the Phocians were openly excluded from it.\nThis was a point which it would have been natural to pass over in\nsilence, if the Phocians were really to be saved. And secondly, I knew\nit because the promises were not made by Philip's ambassadors or in\nPhilip's letter, but by the defendant. {45} Accordingly, drawing my\nconclusions from these facts, I rose and came forward and attempted to\ncontradict him; but as you were not willing to hear me, I held my\npeace, with no more than these words of solemn protest, which I entreat\nyou, in Heaven's name, to remember. 'I have no knowledge of these\npromises,' I said, 'and no share in making them; and,' I added, 'I do\nnot believe they will be fulfilled.' This last expression roused your\ntemper, and I proceeded, 'Take care, men of Athens, that if any of\nthese things comes to pass, you thank these gentlemen for it, and give\nyour honours and crowns to them, and not to me. If, however, anything\nof an opposite character occurs, you must equally vent your anger on\nthem: I decline all responsibility.' {46} 'No, no!' interrupted\nAeschines, 'do not decline responsibility now! Take care rather that\nyou do not claim credit, when the time comes.' 'Indeed, it would be an\ninjustice if I did so,' I replied. Then Philocrates arose with a most\ninsolent air, and said, 'It is no wonder, men of Athens, that I and\nDemosthenes should disagree; for he drinks water, I drink wine.' And\nyou laughed.\n\n{47} Now consider the decree which Philocrates proposed and handed\nin.[n] An excellent resolution it sounds, as you hear it now. But when\nyou take into account the occasion on which it was proposed, and the\npromises which Aeschines was then making, you will see that their\naction amounts to nothing less than a surrender of the Phocians to\nPhilip and the Thebans, and that, practically, with their hands tied\nbehind their backs. (_To the clerk._) Read the decree.\n\n[_The decree is read._]\n\n{48} There, men of Athens, is the decree, overflowing with expressions\nof gratitude and auspicious language. 'The Peace,' it says, 'which is\ngranted to Philip shall be granted on the same terms to his\ndescendants, and also the alliance.' Again, we are 'to thank Philip for\nhis promised acts of justice'. Yet Philip made no promises: so far was\nhe from making promises that he said he did not know what he could do\nto gratify you. {49} It was Aeschines who spoke in his name, and made\nthe promises. Then Philocrates took advantage of the enthusiasm which\nAeschines' words aroused in you, to insert in the decree the clause,\n'and unless the Phocians act as they are bound, and surrender the\ntemple to the Amphictyons, the Athenian people will render their\nassistance against those who still stand in the way of such surrender.'\n{50} Thus, men of Athens, at a time when you were still at home and had\nnot taken the field, when the Spartans had foreseen the deception and\nretired, and when none of the Amphictyons were on the spot but the\nThessalians and Thebans, he proposes in the most innocent-sounding\nlanguage in the world that they shall deliver up the temple to these.\nFor he proposes that they shall deliver it up to the Amphictyons. But\nwhat Amphictyons? for there were none there but the Thessalians and\nThebans. He does not propose that the Amphictyons should be convoked,\nor that they should wait until the Amphictyons met or that Proxenus\nshould render assistance in Phocis, or that the Athenians should take\nthe field, or anything of the sort. {51} Philip did indeed actually\nsend two letters to summon you.[n] But he did not intend you really to\nmarch from Athens. Not a bit of it! For he would not have waited to\nsummon you until he had seen the time go by in which you could have set\nout; nor would he have tried to prevent me, when I wished to set sail\nand return hither; nor would he have instructed Aeschines to speak to\nyou in the terms which would be least likely to cause you to march. No!\nhe intended that you should fancy that he was about to fulfil your\ndesires, and in that belief should abstain from any resolution adverse\nto him; and that the Phocians should, in consequence, make no defence\nor resistance, in reliance upon any hopes inspired by you, but should\nput themselves into his hands in utter despair. (_To the clerk._) Read\nto the jury the letters of Philip.\n\n[_The letters are read._]\n\n{52} Now these letters summon you, and that, forsooth, instantly; and\nit was surely for Aeschines and his party, if the proceeding was in any\nway genuine, to support the summons, to urge you to march, and to\npropose that Proxenus, whom they knew to be in those parts, should\nrender assistance at once. Yet it is plain that their action was of\nprecisely the opposite character; and naturally so. For they did not\nattend to the terms of the letter, but to the intention with which\nPhilip wrote it. {53} With this intention they co-operated, and to this\nthey strove to give effect. As soon as the Phocians had learned the\nnews of your proceedings in the Assembly, and had received this decree\nof Philocrates, and heard the defendant's announcement and his\npromises, everything combined to effect their doom. Consider the\ncircumstances. There were some of them who had the wisdom to distrust\nPhilip. These were induced to trust him. And why? Because they believed\nthat even if Philip were trying to deceive them ten times over, the\nambassadors of Athens, at least, would never dare to deceive their own\ncountrymen. This report which Aeschines had made to you must therefore\nbe true: it was the Thebans, and not themselves, whose hour had come.\n{54} There were others who advocated resistance at all hazards; but\nthese too were weakened in their resolution, now that they were\npersuaded that they could count upon Philip's favour, and that, unless\nthey did as they were bidden, you, whose assistance they were hoping\nfor, would march against them. There was also a third party, who\nthought that you repented of having made the Peace with Philip; but to\nthese they pointed out that you had decreed that the same Peace should\nhold good for posterity also; so that on every ground, all assistance\nfrom you was despaired of. That is why they crowded all these points\ninto one decree. {55} And in this lies, I think, the very greatest of\nall their crimes against you. To have made a Peace with a mortal man,\nwhose power was due to the accidents of the moment--a Peace, whereby\nthey covenanted that the disgrace brought upon the city should be\neverlasting; to have robbed the city, not only of all beside, but even\nof the benefits that Fortune might hereafter bestow: to have displayed\nsuch superabundant villany as to have done this wicked wrong not only\nto their countrymen now living, but also to all those who should ever\nthereafter be born--is it not utterly atrocious? {56} And this last\nclause, by which the Peace was extended to your descendants, you would\ncertainly never have allowed to be added to the conditions of peace had\nyou not then placed your trust in the promises announced by Aeschines,\nas the Phocians placed their trust in them and perished. For, as you\nknow, they delivered themselves up to Philip; they gave their cities\ninto his hands; and the consequences which befell them were the exact\nopposite of all that Aeschines had predicted to you.\n\n{57} That you may realize plainly that this calamity was brought about\nin the manner that I have described, and that they are responsible for\nit, I will go through the dates at which each separate event occurred;\nand if any one can contradict me on any point, I invite him to rise and\nspeak in the time allotted to me. The Peace was made on the 19th of\nElaphebolion, and we were away on the mission which was sent to receive\nthe oaths three whole months. {58} All this time the Phocians remained\nunharmed. We returned from that mission on the 13th of Scirophorion.\nPhilip had already appeared at Thermopylae, and was making promises to\nthe Phocians, none of which they believed--as is proved, when you\nconsider that otherwise they would not have appealed to you. Then\nfollowed the Assembly, at which, by their falsehoods and by the\ndeception which they practised upon you, Aeschines and his party ruined\nthe whole cause. {59} That was on the 16th of Scirophorion. Now I\ncalculate that it was on the fifth day that the report of your\nproceedings reached the Phocians: for the Phocian envoys were here on\nthe spot, and were deeply concerned to know what report these men would\nmake, and what your resolution would be. That gives us the 20th as the\ndate on which, as we calculate, the Phocians heard of your proceedings;\nfor, counting from the 16th, the 20th is the fifth day. Then followed\nthe 21st, the 22nd, and the 23rd. {60} On the latter day the truce was\nmade, and the ruin of the Phocians was finally sealed. This can be\nproved as follows. On the 27th you were holding an Assembly in the\nPeiraeus, to discuss the business connected with the dockyards, when\nDercylus arrived from Chalcis with the news that Philip had put\neverything into the hands of the Thebans, and that this was the fifth\nday since the truce had been made. 23rd, 24th, 25th, 26th, 27th--the\n27th is the fifth day precisely. Thus the dates, and their reports and\ntheir proposals--everything, in short, convicts them of having\nco-operated with Philip, and of sharing with him the responsibility for\nthe overthrow of the Phocians. {61} Again, the fact that none of the\ntowns in Phocis was taken by siege or by an attack in force, and that\nthe utter ruin of them all was the direct consequence of their truce\nwith Philip, affords the strongest evidence that it was the belief\ninspired in the Phocians by these men, that they would be preserved\nfrom destruction by Philip, which was the cause of their fate. Philip\nhimself they knew well enough. (_To the clerk._) Bring me our treaty of\nalliance with the Phocians, and the decrees under which they demolished\ntheir walls. (_To the jury._) You will then realize what were the\nrelations between themselves and you, upon which they relied, and what\nnevertheless was the fate which befell them through the action of these\naccursed men. (_To the clerk._) Read.\n\n[_The Treaty of Alliance between the Athenians and Phocians is read._]\n\n{62} These, then, were the things for which they relied upon\nyou--friendship, alliance, and assistance. Now listen to what befell\nthem, because Aeschines prevented your going to their assistance. (_To\nthe clerk._) Read.\n\n [_The Agreement between Philip and the Phocians is read._]\n\nYou hear it, men of Athens. 'An Agreement between Philip and the\nPhocians,' it runs--not between the Thebans and the Phocians, nor the\nThessalians and the Phocians, nor the Locrians, nor any one else who\nwas there. Again, 'the Phocians shall deliver up their cities to\nPhilip'--not to the Thebans or Thessalians or any one else. {63} And\nwhy? Because the defendant's report to you was that Philip had crossed\nthe Pass with a view to the preservation of the Phocians. Thus it was\nAeschines in whom all their trust was placed; it was with him in their\nminds that they considered the whole situation; it was with him in\ntheir minds that they made the Peace. (_To the clerk._) Now read the\nremainder. (_To the jury._) And do you observe for what they trusted\nhim, and what treatment they received. Does it show any resemblance or\nsimilarity to what Aeschines predicted in his report? (_To the clerk._)\nRead on.\n\n[_The decrees of the Amphictyons are read._]\n\n{64} Men of Athens, the horror and the immensity of this calamity have\nnever been surpassed in our day in the Hellenic world, nor even, I\nbelieve, in the time before us. Yet these great and dreadful events a\nsingle man has been given power to bring about, by the action of these\nmen, while the city of Athens was still in being--Athens, whose\ntraditional policy is to stand as the champion of the Hellenic peoples,\nand not to suffer anything like this to take place. The nature of the\nruin which the unhappy Phocians have suffered may be seen, not only\nfrom these decrees, but also from the actual results of the action\ntaken, and an awful and piteous sight it is, men of Athens. {65} For\nwhen recently we were on our way to Delphi[n] we could not help seeing\nit all--houses razed to the ground, cities stripped of their walls, the\nland destitute of men in their prime--only a few poor women and little\nchildren left, and some old men in misery. Indeed, no words can\ndescribe the distress now prevailing there. Yet this was the people, I\nhear you all saying, that once gave its vote against the Thebans,[n]\nwhen the question of your enslavement was laid before them. {66} What\nthen, men of Athens, do you think would be the vote, what the sentence,\nthat your forefathers would give, if they could recover consciousness,\nupon those who were responsible for the destruction of this people? I\nbelieve that if they stoned them to death with their own hands, they\nwould hold themselves guiltless of blood. Is it not utterly\nshameful--does it not, if possible, go beyond all shame--that those who\nsaved us then, and gave the saving vote for us, should now have met\nwith the very opposite fate through these men, suffering as no Hellenic\npeople has ever suffered before, with none to hinder it? Who then is\nresponsible for this crime? Who is the author of this deception? Who\nbut Aeschines?\n\n{67} Of all the many reasons for which Philip might be congratulated\nwith good cause upon his fortune, the chief ground of congratulation is\na piece of good fortune, to which, by every Heavenly Power, I cannot\nfind any parallel in our days. To have captured great cities, to have\nreduced a vast expanse of territory to subjection, and all similar\nactions, are, of course, enviable and brilliant\nachievements--undeniably so. But many other persons might be mentioned\nwho had achieved as much. {68} The good fortune of which I am about to\nspeak is peculiar to Philip, and has never been given to any other. It\nis this--that when he needed scoundrels to do his work for him, he\nfound even greater scoundrels than he wanted. For as such we have\nsurely good reason to think of them. For when there were falsehoods\nwhich Philip himself, in spite of the immense interests which he had at\nstake, did not dare to utter on his own behalf--which he did not set\ndown in any of his letters, and which none of his envoys uttered--these\nmen sold their services for the purpose, and undertook your deception.\n{69} Antipater and Parmenio, servants of a master as they were, and\nunlikely ever to find themselves in your presence again, none the less\nsecured for themselves that _they_ should not be the instruments in\nyour deception, while these men, who were Athenians, citizens of the\nmost free city, and held an official position as your\nambassadors--though they would have to meet you and look you in the\nface, and pass the remainder of their lives among you, and render\nbefore you an account of their actions--they, I say, undertook the task\nof deceiving you. How could vileness or desperation go further than\nthis?\n\n{70} But I would have you understand further that he is under your\ncurse, and that you cannot, without violation of religion and piety,\nacquit him, when he has thus lied to you. (_To the clerk._) Recite the\nCurse. Take it from me, and read it out of the law.\n\n[_The Curse is read._]\n\nThis imprecation is pronounced in your name, men of Athens, by the\nherald, at every meeting of the Assembly, as the law appoints; and when\nthe Council sits, it is pronounced again there. Nor can Aeschines say\nthat he did not know it well. He was your under-clerk and servant to\nthe Council, and used himself to read this law over[n] to the herald.\n{71} Surely, then, you will have done a strange and monstrous thing,\nmen of Athens, if to-day, when you have it in your power, you should\nfail to do for yourselves the thing which you enjoin upon the gods, or\nrather claim from them as your due; and should acquit a man whom you\npray to the gods to destroy utterly--himself, his race and his house.\nYou must not do this. You may leave it to the gods to punish one whom\nyou cannot yourselves detect; but when you have yourselves caught the\ncriminal, you must no longer lay the task of punishing him upon the\ngods.\n\n{72} Now I am told that he intends to carry his shamelessness and\nimpudence so far, as to avoid all mention of his own proceedings--his\nreport, his promises, the deception he has practised upon the city--as\nthough his trial were taking place before strangers, instead of before\nyou, who know all the facts; and that he intends to accuse first the\nSpartans,[n] then the Phocians,[n] and then Hegesippus.[n] {73} That is\nmere mockery; or rather, it is atrocious shamelessness. For all that he\nwill allege to-day against the Phocians or the Spartans or\nHegesippus--their refusal to receive Proxenus, their impiety--let him\nallege what he will--all these allegations refer, as you know, to\nactions which were already past when these ambassadors returned to\nAthens, and which were no obstacle to the preservation of the\nPhocians--the admission is made by whom? By the defendant Aeschines\nhimself. For what was his report on that occasion? {74} Not that if it\nhad not been for their refusal to receive Proxenus, nor that if it had\nnot been for Hegesippus, nor that if it had not been for such and such\nthings, the Phocians would have been saved. No! he discarded all such\nqualifications, and stated expressly that before he returned he had\npersuaded Philip to save the Phocians, to repeople Boeotia, and to\narrange matters to suit your convenience; that within two or three days\nthese things would be accomplished facts, and that for this reason the\nThebans had set a price upon his head. {75} Refuse then, to hear or to\ntolerate any mention of what had already been done, either by the\nSpartans or by the Phocians, before he made his report; and do not let\nhim denounce the rascality of the Phocians. It was not for their virtue\nthat you once saved the Spartans, nor the Euboeans, that accursed\npeople! nor many others; but because the interests of the city demanded\ntheir preservation, as they demanded that of the Phocians just now. And\nwhat wrong was done either by the Phocians or by the Spartans, or by\nyourselves, or by any one else in the world after he made those\ndeclarations, to prevent the fulfilment of the promises which he then\nmade? Ask him that: for that is what he will {76} not be able to show\nyou. It was within five days--five days and no more--that Aeschines\nmade his lying report, that you believed him, that the Phocians heard\nof it, surrendered themselves and perished. This, I think, makes it as\nplain as it can possibly be, that the ruin of the Phocians was the\nresult of organized deceit and trickery, and of nothing else.[n] For so\nlong as Philip was unable to proceed to Phocis on account of the\nPeace,[n] and was only waiting in readiness to do so, he kept sending\nfor the Spartans, promising to do all that they wished,[n]in order that\nthe Phocians might not win {77} them over to their side by your help.\nBut when he had arrived at Thermopylae, and the Spartans had seen the\ntrap and retired, he now sent Aeschines in advance to deceive you, in\norder that he might not, owing to your perceiving that he was playing\ninto the hands of the Thebans, find himself once more involved in loss\nof time and war and delay, through the Phocians defending themselves\nand your going to their assistance, but might get everything into his\npower without a struggle; and this is what has in fact happened. Do\nnot, then, let the fact that Philip deceived the Spartans and Phocians\nas well as yourselves enable Aeschines to escape his punishment for\ndeceiving you. That would not be just.\n\n{78} But if he tells you that, to compensate for the Phocians and\nThermopylae and all your other losses, you have retained possession of\nthe Chersonese, do not, in Heaven's name, accept the plea! Do not\ntolerate the aggravation of all the wrong that you have suffered\nthrough his conduct as ambassador, by the reproach which his defence\nwould bring upon the city--the reproach of having sacrificed the\nexistence of your allies, in an underhand attempt to save part of your\nown possessions! You did not act thus; for when the Peace had already\nbeen made, and the Chersonese was no longer in danger, there followed\nfour whole months[n] during which the Phocians remained unharmed; and\nit was not until after this that the lying statements of Aeschines\nbrought about their ruin by deceiving you. {79} And further, you will\nfind that the Chersonese is in much greater danger now than it was\nthen. For when do you think that we had the greater facilities for\npunishing Philip for any trespass against the Chersonese?--before he\nstole any of these advantages from the city, or now? For my part, I\nthink we had far greater facilities then. What, then, does this\n'retention of the Chersonese' amount to, when all the fears and the\nrisks which attended one who would have liked to attack it have been\nremoved?\n\n{80} Again, I am told that he will express himself to some such effect\nas this--that he cannot think why he is accused by Demosthenes, and not\nby any of the Phocians. It is better that you should hear the true\nstate of the case from me beforehand. Of the exiled Phocians, the best,\nI believe, and the most respectable, after being driven into banishment\nand suffering as they have suffered, are content to be quiet, and none\nof them would consent to incur an enmity which would fall upon himself,\non account of the calamities of his people: while those who would do\nanything for money have no one to give it to them. {81} For assuredly\n_I_ would never have given any one anything whatever to stand by my\nside here and cry aloud how cruelly they have suffered. The truth and\nthe deeds that have been done cry aloud of themselves. And as for the\nPhocian people,[n] they are in so evil and pitiable a plight, that\nthere is no question for them of appearing as accusers at the\nexamination of every individual ambassador in Athens. They are in\nslavery, in mortal fear of the Thebans and of Philip's mercenaries,\nwhom they are compelled to support, broken up into villages as they are\nand stripped of their arms. {82} Do not, then, suffer him to urge such\na plea. Make him prove to you that the Phocians are not ruined, or that\nhe did not promise that Philip would save them. For the questions upon\nwhich the examination of an ambassador turns are these: 'What have you\neffected? What have you reported? If the report is true, you may be\nacquitted; if it is false, you must pay the penalty.' How can you plead\nthe non-appearance of the Phocians, when it was you yourself, I fancy,\nthat brought them, so far as it lay in your power, into such a\ncondition that they could neither help their friends nor repel their\nenemies.\n\n{83} And further, apart from all the shame and the dishonour in which\nalso these proceedings are involved, it is easy to show that in\nconsequence of them the city has been beset with grave dangers as well.\nEvery one of you knows that it was the hostilities which the Phocians\nwere carrying on, and their command of Thermopylae, that rendered us\nsecure against Thebes, and made it impossible that either Philip or the\nThebans should ever march into the Peloponese or into Euboea or into\nAttica. {84} But this guarantee of safety which the city possessed,\narising out of the position of Thermopylae and the actual circumstances\nof the time, you were induced to sacrifice by the deceptions and the\nlying statements of these ambassadors--a guarantee, I say, fortified by\narms, by a continuous campaign, by great cities of allies, and by a\nwide tract of territory; and you have looked on while it was swept\naway. Fruitless has your first expedition to Thermopylae become--an\nexpedition made at a cost of more than two hundred talents, if you\ninclude the private expenditure of the soldiers--and fruitless your\nhopes of triumph over Thebes! {85} But of all the wicked services which\nhe has done for Philip, let me tell you of that which is in reality the\ngreatest outrage of all upon Athens and upon you all. It is this--that\nwhen Philip had determined from the very first to do for the Thebans\nall that he has done, Aeschines, by reporting the exact opposite to\nyou, and so displaying to the world your antagonism to Philip's\ndesigns, has brought about for you an increase in the enmity between\nyourselves and the Thebans, and for Philip an increase in their\ngratitude. How could a man have treated you more outrageously than this?\n\n(_To the clerk._) {86} Now take and read the decrees of Diophantus[n]\nand Callisthenes[n]; (_to the jury_) for I would have you realize that\nwhen you acted as you ought, you were thought worthy to be honoured\nwith public thanksgivings and praises, both at home and abroad; but\nwhen once you had been driven astray by these men, you had to bring\nyour children and wives in from the country, and to decree that the\nsacrifice to Heracles[n] should take place within the walls, though it\nwas a time of peace. And in view of this it is an amazing idea, that\nyou should dismiss unpunished a man who even prevented the gods from\nreceiving their worship from you after the manner of your fathers. (_To\nthe clerk._) Read the decree.\n\n[_The decree of Diophantus is read._]\n\nThis decree, men of Athens, was one which your conduct nobly deserved.\n(_To the clerk._) Now read the next decree.\n\n[_The decree of Callisthenes is read._]\n\n{87} This decree you passed in consequence of the action of these men.\nIt was not with such a prospect in view that you made the Peace and the\nalliance at the outset, or that you were subsequently induced to insert\nthe words which extended them to your posterity. You expected their\naction to bring you benefits of incredible value. Aye, and besides\nthis, you know how often, after this, you were bewildered by the report\nthat Philip's forces and mercenaries were threatening Porthmus or\nMegara. You have not then to reflect contentedly that Philip has not\nyet set foot in Attica. You have rather to consider whether their\naction has not given him power to do so when he chooses. It is that\ndanger that you must keep before your eyes, and you must execrate and\npunish the man who is guilty of putting such power into Philip's hands.\n\n{88} Now I am aware that Aeschines will eschew all defence of the\nactions with which he is charged, and that, in his desire to lead you\nas far away as possible from the facts, he will enumerate the great\nblessings which Peace brings to all mankind, and will set against them\nthe evils that follow in the train of war. His whole speech will be a\neulogy of peace, and in that will consist his defence. But such an\nargument actually incriminates the defendant further. If peace, which\nbrings such blessings to all other men, has been the source of such\ntrouble and confusion to us, what explanation can be found, except that\nthey have taken bribes and have cruelly marred a thing by nature so\nfair? {89} 'What?' he may say, 'have you not to thank the Peace for\nthree hundred ships, with their fittings, and for funds which remain\nand will remain yours?' In answer to this, you are bound to suppose\nthat, thanks to the Peace, Philip's resources too have become far more\nample--aye, and his command of arms, and of territory, and of revenues,\nwhich have accrued to him to such large amounts. {90} We, too, have had\nsome increase of revenue. But as for power and alliances, by the\nestablishment of which all men retain their advantages, either for\nthemselves or their masters, ours have been sold by these men--ruined\nand enfeebled; while Philip's have become more formidable and extensive\nby far. Thus it is not fair that while Philip has been enabled by their\naction to extend both his alliances and his revenue, all that would in\nany case have been ours, as the result of the Peace, should be set off\nagainst what they themselves sold to Philip. The former did not come to\nus in exchange for the latter. Far from it! For had it not been for\nthem, not only should we have had the former, as we have now, but we\nshould have had the latter as well.\n\n{91} You would doubtless admit, men of Athens, in general terms, that,\non the one hand, however many and terrible the disasters that have\nbefallen the city, your anger cannot justly be visited upon Aeschines,\nif none of them has been caused by him; and that, on the other hand,\nAeschines is not entitled to be acquitted on account of any\nsatisfactory results that may have been accomplished through the action\nof others. You must examine the acts of Aeschines himself, and then\nshow him your favour if he is worthy of it, or your resentment, on the\nother hand, if his acts prove to be deserving ing of that. {92} How,\nthen, can you solve this problem fairly? You will do so if, instead of\nallowing him to confound all questions with one another--the criminal\nconduct of the generals, the war with Philip, the blessings that flow\nfrom peace--you consider each point by itself. For instance, were we at\nwar with Philip? We were. Does any one accuse Aeschines on that ground?\nDoes any one wish to bring any charge against him in regard to things\nthat were done in the course of the war? No one whatever. He is\ntherefore acquitted in regard to such matters, and must not say\nanything about them; for the witnesses and the proofs which a defendant\nproduces must bear upon the matters which are in dispute; he must not\ndeceive you by offering a defence upon points which are not disputed.\nTake care, then, that you say nothing about the war; for no one charges\nyou with any responsibility for that. {93} Later on we were urged by\ncertain persons to make peace. We consented; we sent ambassadors; and\nthe ambassadors brought commissioners to Athens who were to conclude\nthe Peace. Once more, does any one blame Aeschines for this? Does any\none allege that Aeschines introduced the proposal of peace, or that he\ncommitted any crime in bringing commissioners here to make it? No one\nwhatever. He must therefore say nothing in regard to the fact that the\ncity made peace; for he is not responsible for that. {94} 'Then what\n_is_ your assertion, sir?' I may be asked. 'At what point _do_ your\ncharges begin?' They begin, men of Athens, from the time when the\nquestion before you was not whether you should make peace or not (for\nthat had already been settled), but what sort of peace you should\nmake--when Aeschines opposed those who took the side of justice,\nsupported for a bribe the hireling mover of the decree, and afterwards,\nwhen he had been chosen to receive the oaths, failed to carry out every\none of your instructions, destroyed those of your allies who had passed\nunscathed through the war, and told you falsehoods whose enormity and\ngrossness has never been surpassed, either before or since. At the\noutset, before Philip was given a hearing in regard to the Peace,\nCtesiphon and Aristodemus took the leading part in the work of\ndeception; but when the time had come for action, they surrendered\ntheir role to Philocrates and Aeschines, who took it up and ruined\neverything. {95} And then, when he is bound to answer for his actions\nand to give satisfaction for them--like the unscrupulous God-forsaken\nclerk that he is--he will defend himself as though it were the Peace\nfor which he was being tried. Not that he wishes to account for more\nthan is charged against him--that would be lunacy. No! He sees rather\nthat in all his own proceedings no good can be found--that his crimes\nare his whole history; while a defence of the Peace, if it has no other\nmerits, has at least the kindly sound of the name to recommend it. {96}\nI fear, indeed, men of Athens, I fear that, unconsciously, we are\nenjoying this Peace like men who borrow at heavy interest. The\nguarantees of its security--the Phocians and Thermopylae--they have\nbetrayed. But, be that as it may, it was not through _Aeschines_ that\nwe originally made it; for, paradoxical as it may seem, what I am about\nto say is absolutely true--that if any one is honestly pleased at the\nPeace, it is the generals, who are universally denounced, that he must\nthank for it: for had they been conducting the war as you desired them\nto do, {97}you would not have tolerated even the name of peace. For\npeace, then, we must thank the generals; but the perilous, the\nprecarious, the untrustworthy nature of the Peace is due to the\ncorruption of these men. Cut him off, then, cut him off, I say, from\nall arguments in defence of the Peace! Set him to defend his own\nactions! Aeschines is not being tried on account of the Peace. On the\ncontrary, the Peace stands discredited owing to Aeschines. And here is\nevidence of the fact:--if the Peace had been made, and if no subsequent\ndeception had been practised upon you, and none of your allies had been\nruined, who on earth would have been hurt by the Peace, except in so\nfar as it was inglorious? And for its inglorious character the\ndefendant in fact shares the responsibility, for he spoke in support of\nPhilocrates. At least no irreparable harm would have been done; whereas\nnow, I believe, much has been done, and the guilt rests with the\ndefendant. {98} That these men have been the agents in this shameful\nand wicked work of ruin and destruction, I think you all know. Yet so\nfar am I, gentlemen of the jury, from putting any unfair construction\nupon these facts or asking you to do so, that if it has been through\nstupidity or simplicity, or ignorance in any form whatever, that such\nresults have been so brought about, I acquit Aeschines myself, and I\n{99} recommend you also to acquit him. At the same time none of these\nexcuses is either constitutional[n] or justifiable. For you neither\ncommand nor compel any one to undertake public business; but when any\none has satisfied himself of his own capacity and has entered political\nlife, then, like good-hearted, kindly men, you welcome him in a\nfriendly and ungrudging manner, and even elect him to office and place\nyour own interests in his hands. {100} Then, if a man succeeds, he will\nreceive honour and will so far have an advantage over the crowd. But if\nhe fails, is he to plead palliations and excuses? That is not fair. It\nwould not satisfy our ruined allies, or their children, or their wives,\nor the rest of the victims, to know that it was through my\nstupidity--not to speak of the stupidity of the defendant--that they\nhad suffered such a fate. Far from it! {101} Nevertheless, I bid you\nforgive Aeschines for these atrocious and unparalleled crimes if he can\nprove that it was simplicity of mind, or any form of ignorance\nwhatever, which led him to work such ruin. But if it was the rascality\nof a man who had taken money and bribes--if he is plainly convicted of\nthis by the very facts themselves--then, if it be possible, put him to\ndeath; or if not, make him, while he lives, an example to others.\n\nAnd now give your thoughts to the proof by which he is convicted on\nthese points, and observe how straightforward it will be.\n\n{102} If the defendant Aeschines was not deliberately deceiving you for\na price, he must necessarily, I presume, have had one of two reasons\nfor making the statements in question to you, in regard to the Phocians\nand Thespiae and Euboea. Either he must have heard Philip promise in\nexpress terms that such would be his policy and the steps he would\ntake; or else he must have been so far bewitched and deluded by\nPhilip's generosity in all other matters as to conceive these further\nhopes of him. There is no possible alternative besides these two. {103}\nNow in both these cases he, more than any living man, ought to detest\nPhilip. And why? Because, so far as Philip could bring it about, all\nthat is most dreadful and most shameful has fallen upon him. He has\ndeceived you; his reputation is gone [he is rightly ruined]; he is on\nhis trial; aye, and were the course of the proceedings in any way that\nwhich his conduct called for, he would long ago have been impeached;[n]\n{104-109} whereas now, thanks to your innocence and meekness, he\npresents his report, and that at the time which suits his own wishes. I\nask, then, if there is one among you who has ever heard Aeschines raise\nhis voice in denunciation of Philip--one, I say, who has seen Aeschines\nexposing him or saying a word against him? Not one! All Athens\ndenounces Philip before Aeschines does so. Every one whom you meet does\nso, though not one of them has been injured by him--I mean, of course,\npersonally. On the assumption that Aeschines had not sold himself, I\nshould have expected to hear him use some such expressions as\nthese--'Men of Athens, deal with _me_ as you will. I trusted Philip; I\nwas deceived; I was wrong; I confess my error. But beware of _him_, men\nof Athens. He is faithless--a cheat, a knave. Do you not see how he has\ntreated me? how he has deceived me?' {110} But I hear no such\nexpressions fall from him, nor do you. And why? Because he was _not_\nmisled; he was _not_ deceived; he made these statements, he betrayed\nall to Philip, because he had sold his services and received the money\nfor them; and gallantly and loyally has he behaved--as Philip's\nhireling. But as your ambassador, as your fellow citizen, he is a\ntraitor who deserves to die, not once, but thrice.\n\n{111} This is not the only evidence which proves that all those\nstatements of his were made for money. For, recently, the Thessalians\ncame to you, and with them envoys from Philip, demanding that you\nshould decree the recognition of Philip as one of the Amphictyons. Who\nthen, of all men, should naturally have opposed the demand? The\ndefendant Aeschines. And why? Because Philip had acted in a manner\nprecisely contrary to the announcement which Aeschines had made to you.\n{112} Aeschines declared that Philip would fortify Thespiae and\nPlataeae; that he intended, not to destroy the Phocians, but to put\ndown the insolence of Thebes. But in fact Philip has raised the Thebans\nto an undue height of power, while he has utterly destroyed the\nPhocians; and instead of fortifying Thespiae and Plataeae, he has\nbrought Orchomenus and Coroneia into the same bondage with them. How\ncould any contradiction be greater than this? Aeschines did not oppose\nthe demand. He neither opened his lips nor uttered a sound in\nopposition to it. {113} But even this, monstrous as it is, is not yet\nthe worst. For he, and he alone, in all Athens, actually supported the\ndemand. This not even Philocrates dared to do, abominable as he was; it\nwas left for the defendant Aeschines. And when you raised a clamour and\nwould not listen to him, he stepped down from the platform, and,\nshowing off before the envoys who had come from Philip, told them that\nthere were plenty of men who made a clamour, but few who took the field\nwhen it was required of them--you remember the incident, no\ndoubt--being himself, of course, a marvellous soldier, God knows!\n\n{114} Again, if we had been unable to prove that any of the ambassadors\nhad received anything--if the fact were not patent to all--we might\nthen have resorted to examination by torture,[n] and other such\nmethods. But if Philocrates not only admitted the fact frequently in\nyour presence at the Assembly, but used actually to make a parade of\nhis guilt--selling wheat, building houses, saying that he was going[n]\nwhether you elected him or not, importing timber, changing Macedonian\ngold openly at the bank--it is surely impossible for _him_ to deny that\nhe received money, when he himself confesses and displays his guilt.\n{115} Now, is any human being so senseless or so ill-starred that, in\norder that Philocrates might receive money, while he himself incurred\ninfamy and disgrace, he would want to fight against those upright\ncitizens in whose ranks he might have stood, and to take the side of\nPhilocrates and face a trial? I am sure that there is no such man; but\nin all these considerations, if you examine them aright, you will find\nstrong and evident signs of the corruption of the defendant.\n\n{116} Consider next an incident which occurred last in order of time,\nbut which is second to none as an indication that Aeschines had sold\nhimself to Philip. You doubtless know that in the course of the recent\nimpeachment of Philocrates by Hypereides, I came forward and expressed\nmy dissatisfaction with one feature of the impeachment--namely, the\nidea that Philocrates alone had been responsible for all these\nmonstrous crimes, and that the other nine ambassadors had no share in\nthem. I said that it was not so, for Philocrates by himself would have\nbeen nowhere, had he not had some of them to co-operate with him. {117}\n'And therefore,' I said, 'in order that I may not personally acquit or\naccuse any one, and that the guilty may be detected, and those who have\nhad no share in the crime acquitted by the evidence of their own\nconduct, let any one who wishes to do so rise and come forward into\nyour midst, and let him declare that he has no share in it, and that\nthe actions of Philocrates are displeasing to him. Any one who does\nthis,' I said, 'I acquit.' You remember the incident, I am sure. {118}\nWell, no one came forward or showed himself. Each of the others has\nsome excuse. One was not liable to examination; another, perhaps, was\nnot present; a third is related to Philocrates. But Aeschines has no\nsuch excuse. No! So completely has he sold himself, once for all--so\nplain is it that his wages are not for past services only, but that, if\nhe escapes now, Philip can equally count upon his help against you in\nthe future--that to avoid letting fall even a word that would be\nunfavourable to Philip, he does not accept his discharge[n] even when\nyou offer to discharge him, but chooses to suffer infamy, to stand his\ntrial and to endure any treatment in this court, rather than to take a\nstep that would not please Philip. {119} But what is the meaning of\nthis partnership, this careful forethought for Philocrates? For if\nPhilocrates had by his diplomacy accomplished the most honourable\nresults and achieved all that your interest required, and yet admitted\n(as he did admit) that he had made money by his mission, this very fact\nwas one by which an uncorrupted colleague should have been repelled and\nset him on his guard, and led to protest to the best of his power.\nAeschines has not acted in this way. Is it not all clear, men of\nAthens? Do not the facts cry aloud and tell you that Aeschines has\ntaken money, that he is a rascal for a price, and that\nconsistently--not through stupidity, or ignorance, or bad luck? {120}\n'But where is the witness who testifies to my corruption?' he asks.\nWhy, this is the finest thing of all![n] The witnesses, Aeschines, are\nfacts; and they are the surest of all witnesses: none can assert or\nallege against them, that they are influenced by persuasion or by\nfavour to any one: what your treachery and mischief have made them,\nsuch, when examined, they must appear. But, besides the facts, you\nshall at once bear witness against yourself. Come, stand up[n] and\nanswer me! Surely you will not plead that you are so inexperienced as\nnot to know what to say. For when, under the ordinary limitations of\ntime, you prosecute and win cases that have all the novelty of a\nplay[n]--cases, too, that have no witness to support them--you must\nplainly be a speaker of tremendous genius.\n\n{121} Many and atrocious as are the crimes of the defendant Aeschines,\nand great as is the wickedness which is implied by them (as I am sure\nyou also feel) there is none which is more atrocious than that of which\nI am about to speak to you, and none which will afford more palpable\nproof that he has taken bribes and sold everything. For when once more,\nfor the third time, you sent the ambassadors to Philip on the strength\nof those high and noble expectations which the defendant's promises had\nroused, you elected both Aeschines and myself, and most of those whom\nyou had previously sent. {122} For my part I came forward and declined\nupon oath to serve;[n] and though some raised a clamour and bade me go,\nI declared that I would not; but the defendant had already been\nelected. Afterwards, when the Assembly had risen, he and his party met\nand discussed whom they should leave behind in Athens. For while\neverything was still in suspense, and the future doubtful, there were\nall kinds of gatherings and discussions in the market-place. {123} They\nwere afraid, no doubt, that a special meeting of the Assembly might\nsuddenly be called, and that you might then hear the truth from me, and\npass some of the resolutions which it was your duty to pass in the\ninterest of the Phocians, and that so Philip's object might slip from\nhis grasp. For had you merely passed a resolution and shown them the\nfaintest ray of hope of any kind, the Phocians would have been saved.\nIt was absolutely impossible for Philip to stay where he was, unless\nyou were misled. There was no corn in the country, for, owing to the\nwar, the land had not been sown; and to import corn was impossible so\nlong as your ships were there and in command of the sea; while the\nPhocian towns were many in number, and difficult to take except by a\nprolonged siege. Even assuming that he were taking a town a day, there\nare two and twenty of them. {124} For all these reasons they left\nAeschines in Athens, to guard against any alteration of the course\nwhich you had been deluded into taking. Now to decline upon oath to\nserve, without any cause, was a dangerous and highly suspicious\nproceeding. 'What?' he would have been asked, 'are you not going on the\nmission which is to secure all those wonderful good things which you\nhave foretold?' Yet he was bound to remain. How could it be done? He\npleads illness. His brother took with him Execestus the physician, came\nbefore the Council, swore that Aeschines was too ill to serve, and was\nhimself elected in his place. {125} Five or six days later the ruin of\nthe Phocians had been accomplished, and Aeschines' contract--a mere\nmatter of business--had been fulfilled. Dercylus turned back, and on\nhis arrival here from Chalcis announced to you the destruction of the\nPhocians, while you were holding an Assembly in the Peiraeus. On\nhearing the news you were naturally struck with sympathy for them, and\nwith terror for yourselves. You passed resolutions to bring in your\nchildren and wives from the country, to repair the garrison-forts, to\nfortify the Peiraeus, and to celebrate the sacrifice to Heracles within\nthe city walls: {126} and in the midst of all this, in the midst of the\nconfusion and the tumult which had fallen upon the city, this learned\nand able speaker, so loud of voice, though not elected[n] either by the\nCouncil or by the people, set off as ambassador to the man who had\nwrought the destruction, taking no account of the illness which he had\npreviously made his excuse, upon oath, for not serving, nor of the\nelection of another ambassador in his place, nor of the law which\nimposes the penalty of death for such offences; {127} nor yet\nreflecting how utterly atrocious it was, that after announcing that the\nThebans had placed a price on his head, he should choose the moment\nwhen the Thebans had (in addition to all Boeotia, which they already\npossessed) become masters of the territory of the Phocians as well, to\ngo into the very midst of Thebes, and into the very camp of the\nThebans. But so beside himself was he, so utterly bent upon his profits\nand his bribe, that he ruled out and overlooked all such\nconsiderations, and took his departure.\n\n{128} Such was the nature of this transaction; and yet his proceedings\nwhen he arrived at his destination are far worse. All of you who are\npresent, and all other Athenians as well, thought the treatment of the\nunhappy Phocians so atrocious and so cruel that you sent to the Pythian\ngames neither the official deputation from the Council, nor the\nThesmothetae,[n] but abandoned that ancient representation of\nyourselves at the festival. But Aeschines went to the triumphal\nfeast[n] with which the Thebans and Philip were celebrating the victory\nof their cause and their arms. He joined in the festival: he shared in\nthe libations and the prayers which Philip offered over the ruined\nwalls and country and arms of your allies: with Philip he set garlands\non his head, and raised the paean, and drank the loving-cup. {129} Nor\nis it possible for the defendant to give a different version of the\nfacts from that which I have given. As regards his sworn refusal to\nserve, the facts are in your public records in the Metroon,[n] guarded\nby your officer; and a decree stands recorded with express reference to\nthe name of Aeschines.[n] And as for his conduct there, his fellow\nambassadors, who were present, will bear witness against him. They told\nme the story; for I was not with them on this Embassy, having entered a\nsworn refusal to serve.\n\n(_To the clerk._) {130} Now read me the resolution [and the record],\nand call the witnesses.\n\n[_The decree is read, and the witnesses called._]\n\nWhat prayers, then, do you imagine Philip offered to the gods, when he\npoured his libation, or the Thebans? Did they not ask them to give\nsuccess in war, and victory, to themselves and their allies, and the\ncontrary to the allies of the Phocians? In these prayers, therefore--in\nthese imprecations upon his own country--Aeschines joined. It is for\nyou to return them upon his own head to-day.\n\n{131} His departure, then, was a contravention of the law which imposes\nthe penalty of death for the offence, and it has been shown that on his\narrival he acted in a manner for which he deserves to die again and\nagain, while his former proceedings and the work which he did as\nambassador, in their interest,[n] would justly slay him. Ask yourselves\nwhat penalty can be found, which will adequately atone for all these\ncrimes? {132} It would surely be shameful, men of Athens, that while\nall of you, and the whole people, denounce publicly all the\nconsequences of the Peace; while you decline to take part in the\nbusiness of the Amphictyons; while your attitude towards Philip is one\nof vexation and mistrust, because the deeds that have been done are\nimpious and atrocious, instead of righteous and advantageous to you;\nthat nevertheless, when you have come into court as the sworn\nrepresentatives of the State, to sit in judgement upon the report of\nthese proceedings, you should acquit the author of all the evil, when\nyou have taken him red-handed in actions like these. {133} Who is there\nof all your fellow citizens--nay, who of all the Hellenes--that would\nnot have good cause for complaint against you, when he saw that though\nyou were enraged against Philip, who in making peace after war was\nmerely purchasing the means to his end from those who offered them for\nsale--a very pardonable transaction--you were yet acquitting Aeschines,\nwho sold your interests in this shameful manner, notwithstanding the\nextreme penalties which the laws appoint for such conduct?\n\n{134} Now it is possible that an argument may also be used by the other\nside to some such effect as this--that the condemnation of those whose\ndiplomacy brought about the Peace will mean the beginning of enmity\nwith Philip. If this is true, then, I can imagine, upon consideration,\nno more serious charge that I could bring against the defendant, than\nthis. If Philip, who spent his money on the Peace which he wished to\nobtain, has become so formidable, so powerful, that you have already\nceased to regard your oaths and the justice of the case, and are\nseeking how you can gratify Philip, what penalty, that those who are\nresponsible for this could suffer, would be adequate to the offence?\n{135} I believe, however, that I shall actually show you that it would\nmore probably mean the beginning of a friendship, advantageous to you.\nFor you must be well assured, men of Athens, that Philip does not\ndespise your city; nor was it because he regarded you as less\nserviceable than the Thebans, that he preferred them to you. No! {136}\nHe had been instructed by these men and had heard from them, what I\nonce told you in the Assembly, without contradiction from any of them,\nthat the People is the most unstable thing in the world, and the most\nincalculable, inconstant as a wave of the sea, stirred by any chance\nwind. One comes, another goes; but no one cares for the public\ninterest, or remembers it. Philip needs (he is told) friends upon whom\nhe can rely to execute and manage his business with you--such friends,\nfor instance, as his informant.[n] If this were secured for him, he\nwould easily effect all that he desired in Athens. {137} Now if he\nheard that those who had used such language to him had immediately upon\ntheir return been beaten to death, he would doubtless have behaved as\nthe Persian king did. And how was this? He had been deceived by\nTimagoras,[n] and had given him, it is said, forty talents; but when he\nheard that Timagoras had been put to death here, and had not even power\nto secure his own life, much less to carry out the promises he had made\nto him, he recognized that he had not paid the price to the man who had\nthe power to effect his object. For first, as you know, he sent a\ndispatch, acknowledging once more your title to Amphipolis, which he\nhad previously described as in alliance and friendship with himself;\nand secondly, he thenceforward wholly abstained from giving money to\nany one. {138} This is exactly what Philip would have done, if he had\nseen that any of these men had paid the penalty, and what, if he sees\nit, he will still do. But when he hears that they address you, and\nenjoy a high reputation with you, and prosecute others, what is he to\ndo? Is he to seek to spend much, when he can spend less? or to desire\nto court the favour of all, when he need but court two or three? That\nwould be madness. For even those public benefits which Philip conferred\nupon the Thebans he conferred not from choice-- far from it--but\nbecause he was induced to do so by their ambassadors; and I will tell\nyou how. {139} Ambassadors came to him from Thebes just at the time\nwhen we were there upon our mission from you. Philip wished to give\nthem money, and that (so they said) in very large amounts. The Theban\nambassadors would not accept or receive it. After that, while drinking\nat a sacrificial banquet and displaying his generosity towards them,\nPhilip offered, as he drank to them, presents of many kinds--captives\nand the like--and finally he offered them goblets of gold and silver.\nAll these they steadily refused, declining to put themselves in his\npower in any way. {140} At last Philo, one of the ambassadors, made a\nspeech, men of Athens, which was worthy to be made in the name, not of\nThebes, but of yourselves. For he said that it gave them pleasure and\ndelight to see the magnanimous and generous attitude of Philip towards\nthem; but for their own personal part, they were already his good\nfriends even without these presents; and they begged him to apply his\ngenerosity to the existing political situation of their country, and to\ndo something worthy of himself and Thebes, promising that, if he did\nso, their whole city, as well as themselves, would become attached to\nhim. {141} And now observe what the Thebans have gained by this, and\nwhat consequences have followed; and contemplate in a real instance the\nadvantages of refusing to sell your country's interests. First of all,\nthey obtained peace when they were already distressed and suffering\nfrom the war, in which they were the losing side. Next, they secured\nthe utter ruin of their enemies, the Phocians, and the complete\ndestruction of their walls and towns. And was this all? No, indeed! For\nbesides all this they obtained Orchomenus, Coroneia, Corsia, the\nTilphossaeum, and as much of the territory of the Phocians as they\ndesired. {142} This then was what the Thebans gained by the Peace; and\nsurely no more could they have asked even in their prayers. And the\nambassadors of Thebes gained--what? Nothing but the credit of having\nbrought this good fortune to their country; and a noble reward it was,\nmen of Athens, a proud record on the score of merit and honour--that\nhonour which Aeschines and his party sold for money. Let us now set\nagainst one another the consequences of the Peace to the city of Athens\nand to the Athenian ambassadors respectively; and then observe whether\nits effects have been similar in the case of the city and of these men\npersonally. {143} The city has surrendered all her possessions and all\nher allies; she has sworn to Philip that even if another approaches\nthem to preserve them for her, you will prevent him; that you will\nconsider any one who wishes to give them up to you as your enemy and\nfoe, and the man who has robbed you of them as your ally and friend.\n{144} That is the resolution which Aeschines supported, and which was\nmoved by his accomplice Philocrates; and although on the first day I\nwas successful, and had persuaded you to ratify the decree of the\nallies and to summon Philip's envoys,[n] the defendant forced an\nadjournment of the question till the next day, and persuaded you to\nadopt the resolution of Philocrates, in which these proposals, and many\nothers even more atrocious, are made. {145} These were the consequences\nof the Peace to Athens. It would not be easy to devise anything more\nshameful. What were the consequences to the ambassadors who brought\nthese things about? I say nothing of all that you have seen for\nyourselves--the houses, the timber, the wheat. But they also possess\nproperties and extensive estates in the country of your ruined allies,\nbringing in incomes of a talent to Philocrates and thirty minae to the\ndefendant. {146} Yet surely, men of Athens, it is an atrocious and a\nmonstrous thing, that the calamities of your allies should have become\nsources of revenue to your ambassadors, and that the same Peace which\nto the city that sent them meant the ruin of her allies, the surrender\nof her possessions, and shame in the place of honour, should have\ncreated for the ambassadors who brought these things to pass against\ntheir country, revenue, affluence, property, and wealth, in the place\nof abject poverty. To prove, however, that what I am telling you is\ntrue (_to the clerk_) call me the witnesses from Olynthus.\n\n[_The witnesses are called._]\n\n{147} Now I should not wonder if he even dared to make some such\nstatement as this--that the Peace which we were making could not have\nbeen made an honourable one, or such as I demanded, because our\ngenerals had mismanaged the war. If he argues thus, then remember, in\nHeaven's name, to ask him whether[n] it was from some other city that\nhe went as ambassador, or from this city itself? If it was from some\nother, to whose success in war and to whose excellent generals he can\npoint, then it was natural for him to take Philip's money: but if it\nwas from Athens itself, why do we find him taking presents as part of a\ntransaction which involved the surrender of her possessions by the city\nwhich sent him? For in any honest transaction the city that sent the\nambassadors ought to have shared the same fortune as the ambassadors\nwhom she sent. {148} Consider also this further point, men of Athens.\nDo you think that the successes of the Phocians against the Thebans in\nthe war, or the successes of Philip against you, were the more\nconsiderable? Those of the Phocians against the Thebans, I am quite\ncertain. At least, they held Orchomenus and Coroneia and the\nTilphossaeum;[n] they had intercepted the Theban garrison at Neones;[n]\nthey had slain two hundred of them on Hedyleum;[n] a trophy had been\nraised, their cavalry were victorious, and a whole Iliad of misfortunes\nhad beset the Thebans. You were in no such position as this, and may\nyou never be so in the future! Your most serious disadvantage in your\nhostilities with Philip was your inability to inflict upon him all the\ndamage that you desired; you were completely secure against suffering\nany harm yourselves. How is it then that, as the result of one and the\nsame Peace, the Thebans, who were being so badly worsted in the war,\nhave recovered their own possessions and, in addition, have gained\nthose of their enemies; while you, the Athenians, have lost under the\nPeace even what you retained safely through the war? It is because\ntheir ambassadors did not sell their interests, while these men have\nsold yours. [Ah! he will say,[n] but the allies were exhausted by the\nwar....]. That this is how these things were accomplished, you will\nrealize still more clearly from what I have yet to say.\n\n{150}For when this Peace was concluded--the Peace of Philocrates, which\nAeschines supported--and when Philip's envoys had set sail, after\nreceiving the oaths from us--and up to this time nothing that had been\ndone was irreparable, for though the Peace was disgraceful and unworthy\nof Athens, still we were to get those marvellous good things in\nreturn--then I say, I asked and told the ambassadors to sail as quickly\nas possible to the Hellespont, and not to sacrifice any of our\npositions there, nor allow Philip to occupy them in the interval. {151}\nFor I knew very well that everything that is sacrificed when peace is\nin process of being concluded after war, is lost to those who are so\nneglectful; since no one who had been induced to make peace with regard\nto the situation as a whole ever yet made up his mind to fight afresh\nfor the sake of possessions which had been left unsecured; such\npossessions those who first take them keep. And, apart from this, I\nthought that, if we sailed, the city could not fail to secure one of\ntwo useful results. Either, when we were there and had received\nPhilip's oath according to the decree, he would restore the possessions\nof Athens which he had taken, and keep his hands off the rest; {152}\nor, if he did not do so, we should immediately report the fact to you\nhere, and so, when you saw his grasping and perfidious disposition in\nregard to those your remoter and less important interests, you would\nnot in dealing with greater matters close at hand--in other words, with\nthe Phocians and Thermopylae--let anything be lost. If he failed to\nforestall you in regard to these, and you were not deceived, your\ninterests would be completely secured, and he would give you your\nrights without hesitation. {153} And I had good reason for such\nexpectations. For if the Phocians were still safe and sound, as they\nthen were, and were in occupation of Thermopylae, Philip would have had\nno terror to brandish before you, which could make you overlook any of\nyour rights. For he was not likely either to make his way through by\nland, or to win a victory by sea, and so reach Attica; while if he\nrefused to act as was right, you would instantly close his ports,\nreduce him to straits for money and other supplies, and place him in a\nstate of siege; and in that case it would be he, and not you, to whom\nthe advantages of peace would be the overmastering consideration. {154}\nAnd that I am not inventing this or claiming wisdom after the\nevent--that I knew it at once, and, with your interest in view, foresaw\nwhat must happen and told my colleagues--you will realize from the\nfollowing facts. When there was no longer any meeting of the Assembly\navailable (since you had used up all the appointed days) and still the\nambassadors did not depart, but wasted time here, I proposed a decree\nas a member of the Council, to which the people had given full powers,\nthat the ambassadors should depart directly, and that the admiral\nProxenus should convey them to any district in which he should\nascertain Philip to be. My proposal was just what I now tell you,\ncouched expressly in those terms. (_To the clerk_.) Take this decree\nand read it.\n\n[_The decree is read_.]\n\n{155} I brought them away, then, from Athens, sorely against their\nwill, as you will clearly understand from their subsequent conduct.\nWhen we reached Oreus and joined Proxenus, instead of sailing and\nfollowing their instructions, they made a circuitous journey by land,\nand before we reached Macedonia we had spent three and twenty days. All\nthe rest of the time, until Philip's arrival, we were sitting idle at\nPella; and this, with the journey, brought the time up to fifty days in\nall. {156} During this interval, in a time of peace and truce, Philip\nwas taking Doriscus,[n] Thrace, the district towards the Walls, the\nSacred Mountain--everything, in fact, and making his own arrangements\nthere; while I spoke out repeatedly and insistently, first in the tone\nof a man giving his opinion to his colleagues, then as though I were\ninforming the ignorant, till at last I addressed them without any\nconcealment as men who had sold themselves and were the most impious of\nmankind. {157} And the man who contradicted me openly and opposed\neverything which I urged and which your decree enjoined, was Aeschines.\nWhether his conduct pleased all the other ambassadors as well, you will\nknow presently; for as yet I allege nothing about any of them, and make\nno accusation: no one of them need appear an honest man to-day because\nI oblige him to do so, but only of his own free will, and because he\nwas no partner in Aeschines' crimes. That the conduct in question was\ndisgraceful, atrocious, venal, you have all seen. Who were the partners\nin it, the facts will show.\n\n{158} 'But of course, during this interval they received the oaths from\nPhilip's allies, or carried out their other duties.' Far from it! For\nthough they had been absent from home three whole months, and received\n1,000 drachmae from you for their expenses, they did not receive the\noaths from a single city, either on their journey to Macedonia, or on\nthe way back. It was in the inn before the temple of the Dioscuri--any\none who has been to Pherae will understand me--when Philip was already\non the march towards Athens at the head of an army, that the oaths were\ntaken, in a fashion which was disgraceful, men of Athens, and insulting\nto you. {159} To Philip, however, it was worth anything that the\ntransaction should have been carried out in this form. These men had\nfailed in their attempt to insert among the terms of the Peace the\nclause which excluded the people of Halus and Pharsalus; Philocrates\nhad been forced by you to expunge the words, and to write down\nexpressly 'the Athenians and the allies of the Athenians'; and Philip\ndid not wish any of his own allies to have taken such an oath; for then\nthey would not join him in his campaign against those possessions of\nyours which he now holds, but would plead their oaths in excuse; {160}\nnor did he wish them to be witnesses of the promises on the strength of\nwhich he was obtaining the Peace. He did not wish it to be revealed to\nthe world that the city of Athens had not, after all, been defeated in\nthe war, and that it was Philip who was eager for peace, and was\npromising to do great things for Athens if he obtained it. It was just\nto prevent the revelation of these facts that he thought it inadvisable\nthat the ambassadors should go to any of the cities; while for their\npart, they sought to gratify him in everything, with ostentatious and\nextravagant obsequiousness. {161} But when all this is proved against\nthem--their waste of time, their sacrifice of your position in Thrace,\ntheir complete failure to act in accordance either with your decree or\nyour interests, their lying report to you--how is it possible that\nbefore a jury of sane men, anxious to be true to their oath, Aeschines\ncan be acquitted? To prove, however, that what I say is true (_to the\nclerk_), first read the decree, under which it was our duty to exact\nthe oaths, then Philip's letter, and then the decree of Philocrates and\nthat of the people.\n\n[_The decrees and letter are read._]\n\n{162} And now, to prove that we should have caught Philip in the\nHellespont, had any one listened to me, and carried out your\ninstructions as contained in the decrees, (_to the clerk_) call the\nwitnesses who were there on the spot.\n\n[_The witnesses are called._]\n\n(_To the clerk._) Next read also the other deposition--Philip's answer\nto Eucleides,[n] who is present here, when he went to Philip afterwards.\n\n[_The deposition is read._]\n\n{163} Now listen to me, while I show that they cannot even deny that it\nwas to serve Philip's interest that they acted as they did. For when we\nset out on the First Embassy--that which was to discuss the Peace--you\ndispatched a herald in advance to procure us a safe conduct. Well, on\nthat occasion, as soon as ever they had reached Oreus, they did not\nwait for the herald, or allow any time to be lost; but though Halus was\nbeing besieged, they sailed there direct, and then, leaving the town\nagain, came to Parmenio, who was besieging it, set out through the\nenemy's camp to Pagasae, and, continuing their journey, only met the\nherald at Larissa: with such eager haste did they proceed. {164} But at\na time when there was peace and they had complete security for their\njourney and you had instructed them to make haste, it never occurred to\nthem either to quicken their pace or to go by sea. And why? Because on\nthe former occasion Philip's interest demanded that the Peace should be\nmade as soon as possible; whereas now it required that as long an\ninterval as possible should be wasted before the oaths were taken.\n{165} To prove that this is so, (_to the clerk_) take and read this\nfurther deposition.\n\n[_The deposition is read._]\n\nHow could men be more clearly convicted of acting to serve Philip's\ninterest throughout, than by the fact that they sat idle, when in your\ninterest they ought to have hurried, on the very same journey over\nwhich they hastened onward, without even waiting for the herald, when\nthey ought not to have moved at all?\n\n{166} Now observe how each of us chose to conduct himself while we were\nthere, sitting idle at Pella. For myself, I chose to rescue and seek\nout the captives, spending my own money and asking Philip to procure\ntheir ransom[n] with the sums which he was offering us in the form of\npresents. How Aeschines passed his whole time you shall hear presently.\n{167} What then was the meaning of Philip's offering money to us in\ncommon? He kept sounding us all--for this too I would have you know.\nAnd how? He sent round privately to each of us, and offered us, men of\nAthens, a very large sum in gold. But when he failed in a particular\ncase (for I need not mention my own name myself, since the proceedings\nand their results will of themselves show to whom I refer), he thought\nthat we should all be innocent enough to accept what was given to us in\ncommon; and then, if we all alike had a share, however small, in the\ncommon present, those who had sold themselves privately would be\nsecure. {168} Hence these offers, under the guise of presents to his\nguest-friends. And when I prevented this, my colleagues further divided\namong themselves the sum thus offered. But when I asked Philip to spend\nthis sum on the prisoners, he could neither, without discredit,\ndenounce my colleagues, and say, 'But So-and-so has the money, and\nSo-and-so,' nor yet evade the expense. So he gave the promise, but\ndeferred its fulfilment, saying that he would send the prisoners home\nin time for the Panathenaea. (_To the clerk._) Read the evidence of\nApollophanes, and then that of the rest of those present.\n\n[_The evidence is read._]\n\n{169} Now let me tell you how many of the prisoners I myself ransomed.\nFor while we were sitting waiting there at Pella, before Philip's\narrival, some of the captives--all, in fact, who were out on bail--not\ntrusting, I suppose, my ability to persuade Philip to act as I wished,\nsaid that they wished to ransom themselves, and to be under no\nobligation to Philip for their freedom: and they borrowed, one three\nminae, another five, and another--whatever the amount of the ransom was\nin each case. {170} But when Philip had promised that he would ransom\nthe rest, I called together those to whom I had advanced the money; I\nreminded them of the circumstances; and, lest they should seem to have\nsuffered by their impatience, and to have been ransomed at their own\ncost, poor men as they were, when all their comrades expected to be set\nfree by Philip, I made them a present of their ransom. To prove that I\nam speaking the truth, (_to the clerk_) read these depositions.\n\n[_The depositions are read._]\n\n{171} These, then, are the sums which I excused them, and gave as a\nfree gift to fellow citizens who had met with misfortune. And so, when\nAeschines says presently, in his speech to you, 'Demosthenes, if, as\nyou say, you knew, from the time when I supported Philocrates'\nproposal, that we were acting altogether dishonestly, why did you go\nagain as our colleague on the subsequent mission to take the oaths,\ninstead of entering a sworn excuse?' remember this, that I had promised\nthose whose freedom I had procured that I would bring them their\nransom, and deliver them to the best of my power. {172} It would have\nbeen a wicked thing to break my word and abandon my fellow citizens in\ntheir misfortune; while, on the other hand, if I had excused myself\nupon oath from service, it would not have been altogether honourable,\nnor yet safe, to make a tour there in a private capacity. For let\ndestruction, utter and early, fall upon me, if I would have joined in a\nmission with these men for a very large sum of money, had it not been\nfor my anxiety to rescue the prisoners. It is a proof of this, that\nthough you twice elected me to serve on the Third Embassy, I twice\nswore an excuse. And all through the journey in question my policy was\nentirely opposed to theirs. {173} All, then, that it was within my own\npower to decide in the course of my mission resulted as I have\ndescribed; but wherever in virtue of their majority they gained their\nway, all has been lost. And yet, had there been any who listened to me,\nall would have been accomplished in a manner congruous with my own\nactions. For I was not so pitiful a fool as to give away money, when I\nsaw others receiving it, in my ambition to serve you, and yet not to\ndesire what could have been accomplished without expense, and would\nhave brought far greater benefits to the whole city. I desired it\nintensely, men of Athens; but, of course, they had the advantage over\nme.\n\n{174} Come now and contemplate the proceedings of Aeschines and those\nof Philocrates, by the side of my own; for the comparison will bring\nout their character more vividly. Well, they first pronounced the\nexclusion from the Peace of the Phocians and the people of Halus, and\nof Cersobleptes, contrary to your decree and to the statements made to\nyou. Then they attempted to tamper with and alter the decree, which we\nhad come there as ambassadors to execute. Then they entered the\nCardians as allies of Philip and voted against sending the dispatch\nwhich I had written to you, sending in its stead an utterly unsound\ndispatch of their own composition. {175} And then the gallant gentleman\nasserted that I had promised Philip that I would overthrow your\nconstitution, because I censured these proceedings, not only from a\nsense of their disgracefulness, but also from fear lest through the\nfault of these men I might have to share their ruin: while all the time\nhe was himself having incessant private interviews with Philip. And, to\npass over all besides, Dercylus (not I) watched him through the night\nat Pherae, along with my slave who is here present; and as the slave\ncame out of Philip's tent he took him and bade him report what he had\nseen, and remember it himself; and finally, this disgusting and\nshameless fellow was left behind with Philip for a night and a day,\nwhen we went away. {176} And to prove that I am speaking the truth, I\nwill myself give evidence which I have committed to writing,[n] so as\nto put myself in the position of a responsible witness; and after that\nI call upon each of the other ambassadors, and I will compel them to\nchoose their alternative--either to give evidence, or to swear that\nthey have no knowledge of the matter. If they take the latter course, I\nshall convict them of perjury beyond doubt.\n\n[_Evidence is read._]\n\n{177} You have seen now by what mischief and trouble I was hampered,\nthroughout our absence from home. For what must you imagine their\nconduct to have been there, with their paymaster close at hand, when\nthey act as they do before your very eyes, though you have power either\nto confer honour or, on the other hand, to inflict punishment upon them?\n\nI wish now to reckon up from the beginning the charges which I have\nmade, in order to show you that I have done all that I undertook to do\nat the beginning of my speech. {178} I have proved that there was no\ntruth in his report--that, on the contrary, he deceived you--by the\nevidence not of words but of the actual course of events. I have proved\nthat he was the cause of your unwillingness to hear the truth from my\nmouth, captivated as you were at the time by his promises and\nundertakings; that he gave you advice which was the exact opposite of\nthat which he ought to have given, opposing the Peace which was\nsuggested by the allies, and advocating the Peace of Philocrates; that\nhe wasted time, in order that you might not be able to march to the aid\nof the Phocians, even if you wished to do so; and that he has done many\natrocious deeds during his absence from home; for he has betrayed and\nsold everything, he has taken bribes, and has left no form of rascality\nuntried. These are the points which I promised at the outset to prove,\nand I have proved them. {179} Observe, then, what follows; for what I\nhave now to say to you has already become a simple matter. You have\nsworn that you will vote according to the laws and the decrees of the\npeople and the Council of Five Hundred. The defendant is proved, in all\nhis conduct as ambassador, to have acted in contravention of the laws,\nof the decrees, and of justice. He ought, therefore, to be convicted in\nany court composed of rational men. Even if there were no other crimes\nat his door, two of his actions are sufficient to slay him; for he\nbetrayed to Philip not only the Phocians but also Thrace. {180} Two\nplaces in the whole world of greater value to Athens than Thermopylae\non land, and the Hellespont over sea, could not possibly be found; and\nboth these places these men have shamefully sold, and placed in\nPhilip's hands to be used against you. The enormity of this crime\nalone--the sacrifice of Thrace and the Walls--apart from all the rest,\nmight be proved in countless ways,[n] and it is easy to point out how\nmany men have been executed or fined vast sums of money by you for such\noffences--Ergophilus,[n] Cephisodotus,[n] Timomachus,[n] Ergocles[n]\nlong ago, Dionysius, and others; all of whom together, I may almost\nsay, have done the city less harm than the defendant. {181} But in\nthose days, men of Athens, you still guarded against danger by\ncalculation and forethought; whereas now you overlook any danger which\ndoes not annoy you from day to day, or cause you pain by its immediate\npresence, and then pass such resolutions here as 'that Philip shall\ntake the oath in favour of Cersobleptes also,' 'that we will not take\npart in the proceedings of the Amphictyons,' 'that we must amend the\nPeace.' But none of these resolutions would have been required, had\nAeschines then been ready to sail and to do what was required. As it\nis, by urging us to go by land, he has lost all that we could have\nsaved by sailing; and by lying, all that could have been saved by\nspeaking the truth.\n\n{182} He intends, I am told, to express immediately his indignation\nthat he alone of all the speakers in the Assembly should have to render\nan account of his words. I will not urge that all speakers would\nreasonably be called upon to render such an account, if any of their\nwords were spoken for money; I only say this. If Aeschines in his\nprivate capacity has spoken wildly on some occasion or committed some\nblunder, do not be over-strict with him, but let it pass and grant him\npardon: but if as your ambassador he has deliberately deceived you for\nmoney, then do not let him go, or tolerate the plea that he ought not\nto be called to account for what he _said_. {183} Why, for what, if not\nfor his words, is an ambassador to be brought to justice? Ambassadors\nhave no control over ships or places or soldiers or citadels--no one\nputs such things in their hands--but over words and times. As regards\ntimes, if he did not cause the times of the city's opportunities to be\nlost, he is not guilty; but if he did so, he has committed crime. And\nas to his words, if the words of his report were true or expedient, let\nhim escape; but if they were at once false, venal, and disastrous, let\nhim be convicted. {184} No greater wrong can a man do you, than is done\nby lying speeches. For where government is based upon speeches, how can\nit be carried on in security, if the speeches are not true? and if, in\nparticular, a speaker takes bribes and speaks to further the interests\nof the enemy, how can you escape real danger? For to rob you of your\nopportunities is not the same thing as to rob an oligarchy or a tyrant.\nFar from it. {185} Under such governments, I imagine, everything is\ndone promptly at a word of command. But with you the Council must first\nhear about everything, and pass its preliminary resolution--and even\nthat not at any time, but only when notice has been given of the\nreception of heralds and embassies: then you must convoke an Assembly,\nand that only when the time comes for one, as ordained by law: then\nthose who speak for your true good have to master and overcome those\nwho, through ignorance or wickedness, oppose them. {186} Besides all\nthis, even when a measure is resolved upon, and its advantages are\nalready plain, time must be granted to the impecuniosity of the\nmajority, in which they may procure whatever means they require in\norder to be able to carry out what has been resolved. And so he who\ncauses times so critical to be lost, in a state constituted as ours is,\nhas not caused you to lose times, but has robbed you absolutely of the\nrealization of your aims.\n\n{187} Now all those who are anxious to deceive you are very ready with\nsuch expressions as 'disturbers of the city,' 'men who prevent Philip\nfrom conferring benefits on the city.' In reply to these, I will use no\nargument, but will read you Philip's letters, and will remind you of\nthe occasion on which each piece of deception took place, that you may\nknow that Philip has got beyond this exaggerated title of\n'benefactor',[n] of which we are so sickened, in his attempts to take\nyou in by it.\n\n[_Philip's letters are read._]\n\n{188} Now although his work as ambassador has been so shameful, so\ndetrimental to you in many--nay, in all points, he goes about asking\npeople what they think of Demosthenes, who prosecutes his own\ncolleagues. I prosecute you indeed, whether I would or no, because\nthroughout our entire absence from home you plotted against me as I\nhave said, and because now I have the choice of only two alternatives:\neither I must appear to share with you the responsibility for such work\nas yours, or I must prosecute you. {189} Nay, I deny that I was ever\nyour colleague in the Embassy. I say that your work as ambassador was\nan atrocious work, while my own was for the true good of those present\nhere. It is Philocrates that has been your colleague, as you have been\nhis, and Phrynon. For your policy was the same as theirs, and you all\napproved of the same objects. But 'where are the salt, the table, the\nlibations that we shared?' So he asks everywhere in his theatrical\nstyle--as though it were not the criminals, but the upright, that were\nfalse to such pledges! {190} I am certain that though all the Prytanes\noffer their common sacrifice on each occasion, and join one with\nanother in their meal and their libation, the good do not on this\naccount copy the bad; but if they detect one of their own number in\ncrime they report the fact to the Council and the people. In the very\nsame way the Council offers its inaugural sacrifice and feasts\ntogether, and joins in libations and sacred rites. So do the generals,\nand, one may practically say, every body of magistrates. Does that mean\nthat they grant an indemnity to any of their number who is guilty of\ncrime? Very far from it. {191} Leon accuses Timagoras,[n] after being\nhis fellow ambassador for four years: Eubulus accuses Tharrex and\nSmicythus, after sharing the banquet with them: the great Conon, the\nelder, prosecuted Adeimantus,[n] though they were generals together.\nWhich sinned against the salt and the libation, Aeschines--the traitors\nand the faithless ambassadors and the hirelings, or their accusers?\nPlainly those who violated, as you have done, the sanctity, not of\nprivate libations, but of libations poured in the name of the whole\ncountry.\n\n{192} That you may realize that these men have been the most worthless\nand wicked not only of all who have ever gone to Philip in a public\ncapacity, but even of those who have gone as private persons, and\nindeed of all mankind, I ask you to listen to me while I describe\nbriefly an incident which falls outside the story of this Embassy. When\nPhilip took Olynthus he celebrated Olympian games, and gathered\ntogether all the artists to the sacrifice and the festal gathering.\n{193} And while he was entertaining them at a banquet, and crowning the\nvictors, he asked Satyrus, the well-known comic actor, why he alone\nrequested no favour of him. Did he see any meanness in him, or any\ndislike towards himself? Satyrus answered (so the story goes) that he\nhappened to stand in no need of the things for which the rest were\nasking, but that the boon which he would like to ask was a favour which\nit would be very easy indeed for Philip to bestow; only he was afraid\nthat he might fail to obtain it. {194} Philip bade him name his\nrequest, declaring with some spirit that there was nothing that he\nwould not do for him. Satyrus is then said to have stated that\nApollophanes of Pydna was formerly his friend and guest-friend,[n] and\nthat when he had perished by a treacherous assassination, his kinsman\nhad, in alarm, conveyed his daughters, then little children, to\nOlynthus secretly. 'These girls,' said Satyrus, 'have been taken\nprisoners at the capture of the city; they are with you, and they are\nnow of marriageable age. {195} It is these girls that I beg and entreat\nyou to give to me. But I should like you to hear and understand what\nsort of present you will be giving me, if you really give it. I shall\ngain nothing by receiving it: I shall give them in marriage, and a\ndowry with them, and shall not allow them to suffer anything unworthy\nof us or of their father.' When those who were present at the feast\nheard this, there was such applause and cheering and approbation on all\nhands, that Philip was moved and granted the request, although the\nApollophanes who was spoken of was one of the murderers of Alexander,\nPhilip's brother. {196} Now let us examine side by side with this\nbanquet of Satyrus, that in which these men took part in Macedonia.\nObserve what likeness and resemblance there is between the two! For\nthese men were invited to the house of Xenophron, the son of Phaedimus,\nwho was one of the Thirty,[n] and went. I did not go. But when it came\nto the time for wine, he brought in an Olynthian woman--good-looking,\nbut well-bred and modest, as the event proved. {197} At first, I\nbelieve (according to the account which Iatrocles gave me the next\nday), they only forced her to drink a little wine quietly and to eat\nsome dessert; but as the feast proceeded and they waxed warm, they bade\nher recline and even sing a song. And when the poor creature, who was\nin great distress, neither would nor could do as they bade her,\nAeschines and Phrynon declared that it was an insult and quite\nintolerable, that a captive woman--one of those god-forsaken devils the\nOlynthians--should give herself airs. 'Call a slave,' they cried, 'and\nlet some one bring a strap.' A servant came with a lash; they had been\ndrinking, I imagine, and were easily annoyed; and as soon as she said\nsomething and burst into tears, the servant tore open her dress and\ngave her a number of cuts across the back. {198} Beside herself with\nthe pain and the sense of her position, the woman leaped up and fell\nbefore the knees of Iatrocles, overturning the table as she did so. And\nhad he not rescued her, she would have perished as the victim of a\ndrunken debauch; for the drunkenness of this abominable creature is\nsomething horrible.[n] The case of this woman was also mentioned in\nArcadia before the Ten Thousand, and Diophantus reported to you what I\nshall now force him to testify; for the matter was much talked of in\nThessaly and everywhere.\n\n{199} Yet with all this on his conscience this unclean creature will\ndare to look you in the face, and will very soon be speaking to you of\nthe life he has lived, in that magnificent voice of his. It chokes me\nto hear him! Does not the jury know how at first you used to read over\nthe books to your mother at her initiations,[n] and wallow amid bands\nof drunken men at their orgies, while still a boy? {200} and how you\nwere afterwards under-clerk to the magistrates, and played the rogue\nfor two or three drachmae?[n] and how at last, in recent days, you\nthought yourself lucky to get a parasitic living in the training-rooms\nof others, as a third-rate actor? What then is the life of which you\npropose to speak? Where have you lived it? For the life which you have\nreally lived has been what I have described. And how much does he take\nupon himself! He brought another man to trial here for unnatural\noffences! But I leave this point for the moment. (_To the clerk._)\nFirst, read me these depositions.\n\n[_The depositions are read._]\n\n{201} So many, then, and so gross, gentlemen of the jury, being the\ncrimes against you of which he stands convicted--and what wickedness do\nthey not include? he is corrupt, he is a minion, he is under the curse,\na liar, a betrayer of his own people; all the most heinous offences are\nthere--he will not defend himself against a single one of these\ncharges, and will have no defence to offer that is either just or\nstraightforward. But the statement which, I am told, he intends to\nmake, borders on madness; though perhaps a man who has no other plea to\noffer must contrive anything that he can. {202} For I hear that he is\nto say that I, forsooth, have been a partner in everything of which I\naccuse him; that at first I used to approve of his policy and to act\nwith him; and that I have suddenly changed my mind and become his\naccuser. As a defence of his conduct such assertions are, of course,\nneither legitimate nor to the point, though they do imply some kind of\ncharge against myself; for, of course, if I have acted thus, I am a\nworthless person. But the conduct itself is no better for that. Far\nfrom it! {203} At the same time, I think it is proper for me to prove\nto you both the points in question--first, that if he makes such an\nassertion he will be lying; and secondly, what is the just line of\ndefence. Now a just and straightforward defence must show either that\nthe acts charged against him were not committed, or that having been\ncommitted, they are to the advantage of the city. {204} But Aeschines\ncannot do either of these things. For I presume that it is not possible\nfor him to say that it is to the advantage of the city that the\nPhocians have been ruined, that Thermopylae is in Philip's hands, that\nThebes is powerful, that there are soldiers in Euboea and plotting\nagainst Megara, and that the Peace should not have been sworn to,[n]\nwhen on the former occasion he announced the very contrary of all these\nthings to you in the guise of advantages, and advantages about to be\nrealized? Nor will he be able to persuade you that these things have\nnot been done, when you yourselves have seen them and know the facts\nwell. {205} It remains for me, therefore, to show you that I have had\nno share in any of their proceedings. Shall I then dismiss everything\nelse from consideration--all that I have said against them in your\npresence, all my collisions with them during our absence, all my\nantagonism to them from first to last--and produce my opponents\nthemselves as witnesses to the fact that my conduct and theirs have\nbeen absolutely contrary the one to the other--that they have taken\nmoney to your detriment, and that I refused to receive it? Then mark\nwhat I say.\n\n{206} Who, would you say, was of all men in Athens the most offensive,\nmost overflowing with effrontery and contemptuousness? I am sure that\nnone of you, even by mistake, would name any other than Philocrates.\nAnd who, would you say, possessed the loudest voice and could enunciate\nwhatever he pleased most clearly? Aeschines the defendant, I am sure.\nWho is it then that these men describe as cowardly and timid before a\ncrowd, while I call him cautious? It is myself; for I have never\nannoyed you or forced myself upon you against your will. {207} Now at\nevery meeting of the Assembly, as often as a discussion has arisen upon\nthese subjects, you hear me accusing and convicting these men,\ndeclaring explicitly that they have taken money and have sold all the\ninterests of the city. And not one of them has ever to this day\ncontradicted the statement, when he heard it, or opened his mouth, or\nshown himself. {208} What then is the reason, why the most offensive\nmen in the city, the men with the loudest voices, are so cowed before\nme, the timidest of men, whose voice is no louder than any other? It is\nbecause Truth is strong; while to them, on the other hand, the\nconsciousness of having sold public interests is a source of weakness.\nIt is this that steals away the boldness of these men, this that binds\ndown their tongues and stops their mouths--chokes them, and makes them\nsilent. {209} You remember, of course, how at the recent meeting in the\nPeiraeus, when you would not have him for your representative,[n] he\nwas shouting that he would impeach me and indict me, and crying, 'Oh!\nOh!' But such steps are the beginning of long and numerous trials and\nspeeches; whereas the alternative was but to utter perhaps two or three\nwords, which even a slave purchased yesterday could have\npronounced--'Men of Athens, this is utterly atrocious. Demosthenes is\naccusing me here of crimes in which he himself was a partner; he says\nthat I have taken money, when he has taken money, or shared it,\nhimself.' {210} But no such words, no such sound, did he utter, nor did\none of you hear him do so; he only uttered threats to a different\neffect. And why? Because he knew that he had done what he was charged\nwith doing; he was abjectly afraid to use any such expressions; his\nresolution could not rise to them, but shrank back; for it was in the\ngrip of his conscience; whereas there was nothing to hinder him from\nuttering irrelevant abuse and slander. {211} But here is the strongest\nproof of all, and it consists not in words, but in fact. For when I was\nanxious to do what it was right to do, namely, to make a second report\nto you, after serving a second time as ambassador, Aeschines came\nbefore the Board of Auditors with a number of witnesses, and forbade\nthem to call me before the court, since I had rendered my account\nalready, and was no longer liable to give it. The incident was\nextremely ridiculous. And what was the meaning of it? He had made his\nreport with reference to the First Embassy, against which no one\nbrought any charge, and did not wish to go before the court again with\nregard to the Second Embassy, with reference to which he now appears\nbefore you, and within which all his crimes fell. {212} But if I came\nbefore you twice, it became necessary for him also to appear again; and\nso he tried to prevent them from summoning me. But this action of his,\nmen of Athens, plainly proves to you two things--first, that he had so\ncondemned himself that none of you can now acquit him without impiety;\nand secondly, that he will not speak a word of truth about me. Had he\nanything true to assert, he would have been found asserting it and\naccusing me then; he would certainly not have tried to prevent my being\nsummoned. {213} To prove the truth of what I say, (_to the clerk_) call\nme the witnesses to the facts.\n\nBut further, if he makes slanderous statements against me which have\nnothing to do with the Embassy, there are many good reasons for your\nrefusing to listen to him. For I am not on my trial to-day, and when I\nhave finished my speech I have no further time allotted to me.[n] What\ncan such statements mean, except that he is bankrupt of legitimate\narguments? For who that was on his trial and had any defence to make,\nwould prefer to accuse another? {214} And consider also this further\npoint, gentlemen of the jury. If I were on my trial, with the defendant\nAeschines for accuser and Philip for judge; and if, being unable to\ndisprove my guilt, I abused Aeschines and tried to sully his character,\ndo you not think that Philip would be indignant at the very fact of a\nman abusing _his_ benefactors in his own presence? Do not _you_ then\nprove worse than Philip; but force Aeschines to defend himself against\nthe charges which are the subject of the trial. (_To the clerk._) Read\nthe deposition.\n\n[_The deposition is read._]\n\n{215} So for my part, because I had nothing on my conscience, I felt it\nmy duty to render an account and submit all the information that the\nlaws required, while the defendant took the opposite view. How then can\nhis conduct and mine have been the same? or how can he possibly assert\nagainst me now things of which he has never even accused me before? It\nis surely impossible. And yet he will assert these things, and, Heaven\nknows, it is natural enough. For you doubtless know well that ever\nsince the human race began and trials were instituted, no one was ever\nconvicted admitting his crime: they brazen it out, they deny it, they\nlie, they make up excuses, they take every means to escape paying the\npenalty. {216} _You_ must not let any of these devices mislead you\nto-day; your judgement must be given upon the facts, in the light of\nyour own knowledge; you must not attend to words, whether mine or his,\nstill less to the witnesses whom he will have ready to testify\nanything, since he has Philip to pay his expenses--you will see how\nglibly they will give evidence for him; nor must you care whether his\nvoice is fine and loud, or whether mine is poor. {217} For it is no\ntrial of orators or of speeches that you have to hold to-day, if you\nare wise men. You have rather, in the name of a cause shamefully and\nterribly ruined, to thrust off the present disgrace on to the shoulders\nof the guilty, after a scrutiny of those results which are known to you\nall. {218} And these results, which you know and do not require us to\ntell you of--what are they? If the consequences of the Peace have been\nall that they promised you; if you admit that you were so filled with\nan unmanly cowardice, that, though the enemy was not in your land,\nthough you were not blockaded by sea, though your city was menaced by\nno other danger whatever, though, on the contrary, the price of corn\nwas low and you were in other respects as well off as you are to-day,\n{219} though you knew beforehand on the information of these men that\nyour allies were about to be ruined and Thebes to become powerful, that\nPhilip was about to occupy the Thracian strongholds and to establish a\nbasis of operations against you in Euboea, and that all that has now\nhappened was about to come to pass, you nevertheless made peace\ncheerfully;--if that is so, then acquit Aeschines, and do not add\nperjury to all your disgrace. For in that case he is guilty of no crime\nagainst you; it is I that am mad and brainsick to accuse him now. {220}\nBut if what they told you was altogether the reverse of this, if it was\na tale of great generosity--of Philip's love for Athens, of his\nintention to save the Phocians, to check the insolence of the Thebans,\nand beside all this (if he obtained the Peace) to confer on you\nbenefits that would more than compensate for Amphipolis, and to restore\nto you Euboea and Oropus; if, I say, they stated and promised all this,\nand have now totally deceived and cheated you, and have all but robbed\nyou of Attica itself, then condemn him, and do not, in addition to all\nthe outrages--I know not what other word to use--that you have\nsuffered, carry with you to your homes, through upholding their\ncorruption, the curse and the guilt of perjury.\n\n{221} Again, gentlemen of the jury, ask yourselves what reason I could\nhave had for choosing to accuse these men, if they had done no wrong?\nYou will find none. Is it pleasant to have many enemies? Pleasant? It\nis not even safe. Was there any quarrel between me and Aeschines? None.\nWhat then? 'You were afraid for yourself, and in your cowardice thought\nto save yourself this way:' for that, I have heard, is what he says.\nWhat? I was afraid, when, according to your own statement, there was\nnothing to be afraid of, and no crime had been committed? If he repeats\nsuch an assertion, men of Athens, consider[n] what these men\nthemselves, the actual criminals, ought to suffer for their offences,\nif I, who am absolutely guiltless, was afraid of being ruined owing to\nthem. {222} But what is my motive for accusing you? I am an informer,\nof course, and want to get money out of you![n] And which was the\neasier course for me--to get money out of Philip, who offered a large\nsum--to get as much as any of these men, and to have not only Philip\nfor my friend, but also my opponents (for they would assuredly have\nbeen friends, had I been partner with them, since even now they have no\ninherited quarrel against me, but only the fact that I refused to join\nin their actions); or to beg them for a share of their gains, and be\nregarded with hostility both by Philip and by them? Is it likely that\nwhen I was ransoming the prisoners at such cost to myself, I should ask\nto receive a paltry sum from these men, in a disgraceful manner and\nwith their enmity accompanying it? {223} Impossible! My report was\ntrue. I abstained from taking money for the sake of justice and truth\nand my own future. For I thought, as others among you have thought,\nthat my own uprightness would receive its reward, and that I must not\nbarter my ambition to stand well with you for gain of any kind. And I\nabhor these men, because I saw that they were vile and impious in the\nconduct of their mission, and because I have been robbed of the objects\nof my own ambition, owing to their corruption, now that you have come\nto be vexed with the Embassy as a whole. And it is because I foresee\nwhat must happen that I now accuse him, and appear to challenge his\nreport; for I would have it decided here, in a trial before a jury,\nthat my conduct has been the opposite of his. {224} And I am\nafraid--afraid, I say, for I will speak all my mind to you--that though\nwhen the time comes you may drag me in spite of my entire innocence to\nthe same ruin with them, you are now utterly supine. For, men of\nAthens, you appear to me to be altogether unstrung, waiting to suffer\nthe horrors which others are suffering before your eyes, and taking no\nprecautions, no thought for the city, which for so long has been\nexposed to destruction in many a dreadful form. {225} Is it not, think\nyou, dreadful and preternatural? For even where I had resolved upon\nsilence, I am driven to speak. You doubtless know Pythocles here, the\nson of Pythodorus. I had been on very kindly terms with him, and to\nthis day there has been no unpleasantness between us. He avoids me now,\nwhen he meets me--ever since he visited Philip--and if he is obliged to\nencounter me anywhere, he starts away immediately, lest any one should\nsee him talking with me. But with Aeschines he walks all round the\nmarketplace, discussing their plans. {226} Now is it not a terrible and\nshocking thing, men of Athens, that those who have made it their choice\nto foster Philip's interests should be able to rely upon so accurate a\ndiscrimination on Philip's part, that all that any one of them does\nhere can no more be hid from Philip (so they believe) than if he were\nstanding by their side, and that his friends and foes alike are those\nthat Philip chooses; while those whose life is lived for _your_ good,\nwho are greedy of honour at _your_ hands, and have not betrayed you,\nshould be met by such deafness, such blindness, on your part, that\nto-day I have to wrestle with these devils incarnate on equal terms,\nand that before you, who know the whole truth? {227} Would you know or\nhear the cause of these things? I will tell you, and I beg that none of\nyou be angry with me for speaking the truth. It is, I imagine, that\nPhilip has but one body and one soul, and it is with all his heart that\nhe cherishes those who do him good and detests those who do him evil:\nwhereas each of you, in the first place, has no feeling that the good\nor the evil which is being done to the city, is being done to himself;\n{228} other feelings are of more consequence, and often lead you\nastray--pity, envy, anger, favour towards the suppliant, and an\ninfinite number of other motives: while if a man has actually escaped\nall these, he will still not escape from those who do not want such a\nman to exist at all. And so the error due to each of these single\ncauses steals on little by little, till the state is exposed to the\nwhole accumulated mischief.\n\n{229} Do not fall victims to any such error to-day, men of Athens: do\nnot let the defendant go, when he has done you all this wrong. For\nhonestly, if you let him go, what will be said of you? 'Certain men,'\nit will be said, 'went as ambassadors to Philip yonder--Philocrates,\nAeschines, Phrynon, and Demosthenes; and, what happened? One of them\nnot only gained nothing by his mission, but ransomed the prisoners at\nhis private expense; another, with the money for which he sold the\ninterests of his country, went about purchasing harlots and fish. {230}\nOne of them, the abominable Phrynon, sent his son to Philip before he\nhad registered him as an adult; the other did nothing unworthy of\nhimself or his city. One, though serving as choregus and trierarch,[n]\nfelt it his duty voluntarily to incur that further expense [to ransom\nthe prisoners] rather than see any of his fellow citizens suffering\nmisfortune for want of means; the other, so far from rescuing any of\nthose who were already in captivity, joined in bringing a whole\ndistrict, and more than 10,000 infantry and 1,000 cavalry with them,\nthe forces of the actual allies of his country, into captivity to\nPhilip. What followed? {231} When the Athenians got them into their\nhands (for they had long known the truth) what did they do? They let go\nthe men who had received bribes and had disgraced themselves, and their\ncity, and their children; they thought that these were wise men, and\nthat all was well[n] with the city; and as for their accuser, they\nthought him thunderstruck--a man who did not understand his country,\nand did not know where to fling his money away.' {232} And who, men of\nAthens, with this example before his eyes, will be willing to offer you\nhis honest service? who will act as ambassador for nothing, if he is\nnot only to gain nothing by it, but is not to be more trustworthy in\nyour eyes than those who have taken money? You are not only trying\nthese men to-day, but you are laying down a law for all future time--a\nlaw which will declare whether your ambassadors are to serve the enemy\nfor a price, or to act disinterestedly for your true good and to take\nno bribe? {233} On all the other points you require no evidence; but to\nprove that Phrynon sent his son, (_to the clerk_) call me the witnesses\nto the facts.\n\nAeschines then did not prosecute Phrynon, for sending his own son to\nPhilip for a disgraceful purpose. But because a man, who in his youth\nwas above the average in appearance, did not foresee the suspicion\nwhich his good looks might entail, and afterwards lived a somewhat fast\nlife, he has prosecuted him for unnatural offences.\n\n{234} Now let me speak of the banquet and the decree; for I had almost\noverlooked what I was especially bound to tell you. In drawing up the\nresolution of the Council with reference to the First Embassy, and\nagain in addressing the people, at the assemblies in which you were to\ndiscuss the question of peace, not a single word or act of a criminal\nnature on the part of these men having so far come to light, I followed\nthe ordinary custom, and proposed to accord them a vote of thanks, and\nto invite them to the Town Hall. {235} And I did, of course, entertain\nPhilip's ambassadors as well, and on a very splendid scale, men of\nAthens. For when I saw that in their own country they prided themselves\neven on things like these, as showing their prosperity and splendour, I\nthought that I must begin by outdoing them in this respect, and\ndisplaying even greater magnificence. These incidents Aeschines will\nshortly bring forward to prove that 'Demosthenes himself voted thanks\nto us, and gave a banquet to the ambassadors', without telling you the\nprecise time when the incidents occurred. {236} For these things belong\nto a time before any injury had been done to the city, and before it\nwas evident that they had sold themselves. The ambassadors had only\njust arrived on their first visit; the people had still to hear what\nthey proposed; and there was nothing as yet to show that Aeschines\nwould support Philocrates, or that Philocrates would make such\nproposals as he did. If, then, Aeschines uses any such argument,\nremember that the dates of the incidents are earlier than those of his\ncrimes. But since then there has been no friendliness between myself\nand them, and no common action. (_To the clerk._) Read the deposition.\n\n[_The deposition is read._]\n\n{237} Now perhaps his brother Philochares will support him, and\nAphobetus. There is much that you may fairly urge in reply to both; and\nI am obliged, men of Athens, to speak to you quite freely and without\nany reserve. You, Philochares, are a painter of vase-cases and drums;\nyour brothers are under-clerks and quite ordinary men--not that there\nis any harm in these things, but at the same time they do not qualify a\nman to be a general.[n] And yet, Aphobetus and Philochares, we thought\nyou worthy to be ambassadors and generals, and to receive the highest\nhonours; {238} so that even if none of you were guilty of any crime, we\nshould owe no gratitude to you; you would rather owe gratitude to us\nfor your preferment. For we passed by many others, more deserving of\nsuch honours than you were, and exalted you instead. But if in the\nenjoyment of these very honours one of you has actually committed\ncrimes, and crimes of such a nature, how much more deserving are you of\nexecration than of acquittal? Much more, I am sure. Perhaps they will\nforce their claims upon you, for they are loud-voiced and shameless,\nand they have taken to themselves the motto that 'it is pardonable for\nbrother to help brother'. {239} But you must not give way. Remember\nthat if it is right for them to think of Aeschines, it is for you to\nthink of the laws and the whole State, and, above all, of the oath\nwhich you yourselves, who sit here, have taken. Yes, and if they have\nentreated some of you to save the defendant, then ask yourselves\nwhether you are to save him if he is proved innocent of crime, or even\nif he is proved guilty. If they ask you to do so, should he be\ninnocent, I too say that you must acquit him. But if you are asked to\nacquit him, whatever he has done, then they have asked you to commit\nperjury. For though your vote is secret, it will not be hidden from the\ngods; and the framer of our law [which enjoins secret voting] was\nabsolutely right, when he saw that though none of these men will know\nwhich of you has granted his request, the gods will know, and the\nunseen powers, who has given the unjust vote. {240} And it is better\nfor a man to lay up, for his children and himself, those good hopes\nwhich _they_ can bestow, by giving the decision that is just and right,\nthan to win credit from these men for a favour of whose reality they\ncan have no certain knowledge, and to acquit the defendant, when his\nown testimony condemns him. For what stronger testimony can I produce,\nAeschines, to prove how terrible your work as ambassador has been, than\nyour own testimony against yourself? For when you thought it necessary\nto involve in so great and dreadful a calamity one who wished to reveal\nsome of your actions as ambassador, it is plain that you expected your\nown punishment to be a terrible one, if your countrymen learned what\nyou had done.\n\n{241} That step, if you are wise, he will prove to have taken to his\nown detriment; not only because it is an overwhelming proof of the\nnature of his conduct as ambassador, but also because of those\nexpressions which he used in the course of the prosecution, and which\nare now at our disposal against himself. For the principles of justice,\nas defined by you when you were prosecuting Timarchus, must, I presume,\nbe no less valid when used by others against yourself. {242} His words\nto the jury on that occasion were these. 'Demosthenes intends to defend\nTimarchus, and to denounce my acts as ambassador. And then, when he has\nled you off the point by his speech, he will brag of it, and go about\nsaying, \"Well? what do you think?[2] Why I led the jury right away from\nthe point, and stole the case triumphantly out of their hands.\"' Then\nyou at least must not act thus, but must make your defence with\nreference to the real points of your case, though, when you were\nprosecuting Timarchus on that occasion, you permitted yourself to make\nany charges and assertions that you chose.\n\n{243} But there were verses too, which you recited before the jury, in\nyour inability to produce any witness to the charges on which you were\nprosecuting Timarchus:--\n\n  Rumour, the voice of many folk, not all\n  Doth die, for Rumour too a goddess is.[3]\n\nWell, Aeschines, all those who are present say that you have made money\nout of your mission; and so it holds true against you, I suppose, that\n'Rumour, the voice of many folk, not all doth die'. {244} For observe\nhow easily you can ascertain how much larger a body of accusers appears\nin your case than in his. Timarchus was not known even to all his\nneighbors; while there is not a man, Hellene or foreigner, but says\nthat you and your fellow ambassadors made money out of your mission.\nAnd so, if the rumour is true, then the rumour which is the voice of\nmany folk is against you; and you have yourself laid down that such a\nrumour is to be believed, that 'Rumour too a goddess is', and that the\npoet who composed these lines was a wise man.\n\n{245} Then, you remember, he collected some iambic verses, and recited\nthe whole passage; for instance:--\n\n  Whoso in evil company delights\n  Of him I ne'er enquired, for well I trow,\n  As is his company, such is the man.[3]\n\nAnd 'when a man goes to the cockpit[n] and walks about with\nPittalacus'--he added more to the same effect--'surely,' said he, 'you\nknow what to think of him.' Well, Aeschines, these same verses will now\nexactly serve my turn against you, and if I quote them to the jury, the\nquotation will be true and apposite. 'But whoso in the company\ndelights' of Philocrates, and that when he is an ambassador, 'Of him I\nne'er enquired, for well I trow' that he has taken money, as did\nPhilocrates who does not deny it.\n\n{246} He attempts to insult others by labelling them hack-writers[n]\nand sophists. He shall himself be proved liable to these very\nimputations. The verses he quoted are derived from the _Phoenix_ of\nEuripides--a play which has never to this day been acted either by\nTheodorus or Aristodemus, the actors under whom Aeschines always played\nthird-rate parts, though it was performed by Molon, and no doubt by\nother actors of former times. But the _Antigone_ of Sophocles has often\nbeen acted by Theodorus and often by Aristodemus; and in this play\nthere are some admirable and instructive verses, which he must know\nquite well by heart, since he has often delivered them himself, but\nwhich he has omitted to quote. {247} For you know, I am sure, that in\nevery tragedy it is, as it were, the special privilege of third-rate\nactors to play in the role of tyrants and sceptred kings. Consider,\nthen, these excellent lines, placed by the poet in the mouth of our\nCreon-Aeschines in this play--lines which he neither repeated to\nhimself to guide him as an ambassador, nor yet quoted to the jury. (_To\nthe clerk._) Read the passage.\n\n  _Verses from the 'Antigone' of Sophocles._\n\n  To learn aright the soul and heart and mind\n  Of any man--for that, device is none,\n  Till he be proved in government and law,\n  And so revealed. For he who guides the State,\n  Yet cleaves not in his counsels to the best,\n  But from some fear in prison locks his tongue,\n  Is in mine eyes, as he hath ever been,\n  Vilest of men. And him, who sets his friend\n  Before his land, I count of no esteem.\n  For I--be it known to God's all-viewing eye--\n  Would ne'er keep silence, seeing the march of doom\n  Upon this city--doom in safety's stead,\n  Nor ever take to me as mine own friend\n  My country's foe.' For this I know, that she,\n  Our country, is the ship that bears us safe,\n  And safe aboard her, while she sails erect,\n  We make good friends.\n\n{248} None of these lines did Aeschines ever repeat to himself during\nhis mission. Instead of preferring his country he thought that to be\nfriend and guest-friend of Philip was much more important and\nprofitable for himself, and bade a long farewell to the wise Sophocles.\nHe saw the 'march of doom' draw near, in the campaign against the\nPhocians; but he gave no warning, no announcement of what was to come.\nOn the contrary, he helped to conceal it, he helped to carry out the\ndoom, he prevented those who would have given warning--{249} not\nremembering that 'Our country is the ship that bears us safe, and safe\naboard her' his mother with the help of her initiations and\npurifications and the property of the clients, on whom she lived,\nreared up these sons of hers to their destined greatness;[n] while his\nfather, who kept an elementary school, as I am told by my elders, near\nthe temple of the Hero-Physician,[n] made a living, such as he could\nindeed, but still on the same ship. The sons, who had received money as\nunder-clerks and servants in all the magistrates' offices, were finally\nelected clerks by you, and for two years continued to get their living\nin the Round Chamber;[n] and Aeschines was just now dispatched as your\nambassador--from this same ship. He regarded none of these things.\n{250} He took no care that the ship should sail erect. Nay, he capsized\nher; he sank the ship; he did all that he could to bring her into the\npower of the enemy. What then? Are you not a sophist? Aye, and a\nvillanous one. Are you not a hack? Aye, and one detested of Heaven--for\nyou passed over the scene which you had so often performed and knew\nwell by heart, while you sought out a scene which you had never acted\nin your life, and produced the passage in the hope of injuring one of\nyour fellow citizens.\n\n{251} And now examine his speech about Solon. He told us that the\nstatue of Solon, with his hand concealed in the drapery of his robe,\nwas erected as an illustration of the self-restraint of the orators of\nthat day. (This was in the course of a scurrilous attack upon the\nimpetuosity of Timarchus.) But the Salaminians tell us that this statue\nwas erected less than fifty years ago, whereas some two hundred and\nforty years have passed between the time of Solon and the present day;\nso that not only was the artist, who modelled him in this attitude, not\nliving in Solon's day, but even his grandfather was not. {252} That\nthen is what he told the jury, copying the attitude as he did so. But\nthat which it would have done his country far more good to see--the\nsoul and the mind of Solon--he did not copy. No, he did the very\nreverse. For when Salamis had revolted from Athens and the\ndeath-penalty had been decreed against any one who proposed to attempt\nits recovery, Solon, by singing, at the risk of his own life,[n] a lay\nwhich he had composed, won back the island for his country, and wiped\nout her disgrace: {253} while Aeschines, when the king and all the\nHellenes had decided that Amphipolis was yours, surrendered and sold\nit, and supported Philocrates, who proposed the resolution for this\npurpose. It is indeed worth his while (is it not?) to remember Solon!\nNor was he content with acting thus in Athens; for when he had gone to\nMacedonia, he did not even mention the name of the place which it was\nthe object of his mission to secure. This, in fact, he reported to you\nhimself, in words which doubtless you remember: 'I too had something to\nsay about Amphipolis; but in order that Demosthenes might have an\nopportunity of speaking upon the subject, I left it to him.' {254} Upon\nwhich I came forward and denied that Aeschines had left to me anything\nwhich he was anxious to say to Philip; he would rather have given any\none a share in his lifeblood than in his speech. The truth is, I\nimagine, that he had taken money; and as Philip had given him the money\nin order that he might not have to restore Amphipolis, he could not\nspeak in opposition to Philip's case. Now (_to the clerk_) take this\nlay of Solon's and read it; and (_to the jury_) then you will know how\nSolon used to hate all such men as this.\n\n{255} It is not when you are speaking, Aeschines, but when you are upon\nan embassy, that you should keep your hand within your robe. But on the\nEmbassy you held out your hand, and held it open; you brought shame to\nyour countrymen: and do you here assume a solemn air and recite in\nthose practised tones the miserable phrases that you have learned by\nheart, and expect to escape the penalty for all your heinous\ncrimes--even if you do go round with a cap on your head,[n] uttering\nabuse against me? (_To the clerk._) Read the verses.\n\n  _Solon's Lay._\n\n  The Father's voice hath spoken,\n    Whose word is Destiny,\n  And the blest Gods have willed it,\n    The Gods who shall not die;\n  That ne'er shall the Destroyer\n    Prevail against our land;\n  The Dread Sire's valiant Daughter\n    Guards us with eye and hand.\n  Yet her own sons, in folly,\n    Would lay their country low,\n  For pelf; and in her leaders\n    An heart of sin doth grow.\n  For them--their pride's fell offspring--\n    There waiteth grievous pain;\n  For sated still, they know not\n    Their proud lust to contain.\n  Not theirs, if mirth be with them,\n    The decent, peaceful feast;\n  To sin they yield, and sinning\n    Rejoice in wealth increased.\n  No hallowed treasure sparing,\n    Nor people's common store,\n  This side and that his neighbour\n    Each robs with havoc sore.\n  The holy law of Justice\n    They guard not. Silent she,\n  Who knows what is and hath been,\n    Awaits the time to be.\n  Then cometh she to judgement,\n    With certain step, tho' slow;\n  E'en now she smites the city,\n    And none may 'scape the blow.\n  To thraldom base she drives us,\n    From slumber rousing strife,--\n  Fell war of kin, destroying\n    The young, the beauteous life.\n  The foemen of their country\n    In wicked bands combine,\n  Fit company; and stricken\n    The lovely land doth pine.\n  These are the Wrong, the Mischief,\n    That pace the earth at home;\n  But many a beggared exile\n    To other lands must roam--\n  Sold, chained in bonds unseemly;\n    For so to each man's hall\n  Comes home the People's Sorrow,\n    And leaps the high fence-wall.\n  No courtyard door can stay it;\n    It follows to his side,\n  Flee tho' he may, and crouching\n    In inmost chamber hide.\n  Such warning unto Athens\n    My spirit bids me sound,\n  That Lawlessness in cities\n    Spreads evil all around;\n  But Lawfulness and Order\n    Make all things good and right,\n  Chaining Sin's hands in fetters,\n    Quenching the proud soul's light,\n  Smoothing the rough, the sated\n    Staying, and withering\n  The flowers, that, fraught with ruin,\n    From fatal seed upspring.\n  The paths of crooked justice\n    Are turned into straight;\n  The ways of Pride grow gentle,\n    The ways of Strife and Hate;\n  Then baleful Faction ceases,\n    Then Health prevails alway,\n  And Wisdom still increases,\n    Beneath Law's wholesome sway.\n\n{256} You hear, men of Athens, how Solon speaks of men like these, and\nof the gods, who, he says, preserve the city. It is my belief and my\nhope that this saying of his, that the gods preserve our city, is true\nat all times; but I believe that all that has happened in connexion\nwith the present examination is, in a sense, a special proof of the\ngoodwill of some unseen power towards the city. {257} Consider what has\nhappened. A man who as ambassador did a work of great wickedness, and\nhas surrendered countries in which the gods should have been worshipped\nby yourselves and your allies, has disfranchised one who accepted the\nchallenge[n] to prosecute him. To what end? To the end that he himself\nmight meet with no pity or mercy for his own iniquities. Nay, more;\nwhile prosecuting his victim he deliberately set himself to speak evil\nof me; and again, before the People, he threatened to enter an\nindictment against me, and said more to the same effect. And to what\nend? To the end that I, who had the most perfect knowledge of all his\nacts of villany, and had followed them closely throughout, might have\nyour full indulgence in prosecuting him. {258} Aye, and through\npostponing his appearance before you continually up to the present\nmoment, he has been insensibly brought to a time when, on account of\nwhat is coming upon us, if for no other reason, it is neither possible\nnor safe for you to allow him (after his corruption) to escape\nunscathed. For though, men of Athens, you ought always to execrate and\nto punish those who are traitors and corrupt, to do so at this time\nwould be more than ever seasonable, and would confer a benefit upon all\nmankind in common. {259} For a disease, men of Athens, an awful disease\nhas fallen upon Hellas--a disease hard to cope with, and requiring\nabundant good fortune, and abundant carefulness on your own part. For\nthe most notable men in their several cities, the men who claim[n] to\nlead in public affairs, are betraying their own liberty--unhappy\nmen!--and bringing upon themselves a self-chosen servitude, under the\nmilder names of friendship and companionship with Philip, and other\nsuch phrases; while the other citizens, and the sovereign bodies in\neach city, however composed, whose duty it was to punish these men and\nslay them out of hand, are so far from taking any such action, that\nthey admire and envy them, and every one would be glad to be in the\nsame case. {260} Yet it is from this very cause--it is through\nentertaining ambitions like these--that the Thessalians, who up to\nyesterday or the day before had lost thereby only their paramount\nposition[n] and their dignity as a state, are now already being\nstripped of their very liberty; for there are Macedonian garrisons in\nsome of their citadels. This same disease it is which has invaded the\nPeloponnese and brought about the massacres in Elis, infecting the\nunhappy people of that country with such insanity and frenzy, that in\norder to be lords over one another and to gratify Philip, they murder\ntheir kinsmen and fellow citizens. {261} Not even here has the disease\nbeen stayed: it has penetrated Arcadia and turned it upside-down; and\nnow many of the Arcadians, who should be no less proud of liberty than\nyourselves--for you and they alone are indigenous peoples--are\ndeclaring their admiration for Philip, erecting his image in bronze,\nand crowning him; and, to complete the tale, they have passed a\nresolution that, if he comes to the Peloponnese, they will receive him\nwithin their walls. {262} The Argives have acted in exactly the same\nway. These events, I say it in all solemnity and earnestness, call for\nno small precautions: for this plague, men of Athens, that is spreading\nall around us, has now found its way to Athens itself. While then we\nare still safe, ward it off, and take away the citizenship of those who\nfirst introduced it. Beware lest otherwise you realize the worth of the\nadvice given you this day, only when there is no longer anything that\nyou can do. {263} Do you not perceive, men of Athens, how vivid and\nplain an example has been afforded you by the unhappy Olynthians? The\ndestruction of those wretched men was due to nothing so much as to\nconduct like that of which I speak. You can test this clearly if you\nreview their history. {264} For at a time when they possessed only 400\ncavalry, and numbered not more than 5,000 men in all, since the\nChalcidians were not yet all united under one government, the Spartans\ncame against them with a large force, including both army and fleet\n(for you doubtless remember that at that period the Spartans were\nvirtually masters both of land and sea); and yet, though this great\nforce came against them, the Olynthians lost neither the city nor any\nsingle fortress, but won many battles, killed three of the enemy's\ncommanders, and finally concluded the war on their own terms.[n] {265}\nBut when some of them began to take bribes, and the people as a whole\nwere foolish enough, or rather unfortunate enough, to repose greater\nconfidence in these men than in those who spoke for their own good;\nwhen Lasthenes roofed his house with the timber which came from\nMacedonia, and Euthycrates was keeping a large herd of cattle for which\nhe had paid no one anything; when a third returned with sheep, and a\nfourth with horses, while the people, to whose detriment all this was\nbeing done, so far from showing any anger or any disposition to\nchastise men who acted so, actually gazed on them with envy, and paid\nthem honour and regarded them as heroes--{266} when, I say, such\npractices were gaining ground in this way, and corruption had been\nvictorious; then, though they possessed 1,000 cavalry and numbered more\nthan 10,000 men; though all the surrounding peoples were their allies;\nthough you went to their assistance with 10,000 mercenaries and 50\nships, and with 4,000 citizen-soldiers as well, none of these things\ncould save them. Before a year of the war had expired they had lost all\nthe cities in Chalcidice, while Philip could no longer keep pace with\nthe invitations of the traitors, and did not know which place to occupy\nfirst. {267} Five hundred horsemen were betrayed by their own\ncommanders and captured by Philip, with their arms--a larger number\nthan were ever before captured by any one. And the men who acted thus\nwere not ashamed to face the sun or the earth--the soil of their native\nland--on which they stood, or the temples, or the sepulchres of the\ndead, or the disgrace which was bound to follow upon such deeds\nafterwards. Such is the madness and distraction which corruption\nengenders. So it is for you--for you, the People--to be wise, to refuse\nto suffer such things, and to visit them with public chastisement. For\nit would be monstrous indeed, if, after the terrible condemnation which\nyou passed upon those who betrayed the Olynthians, it were seen that\nyou allowed the criminals who are in your very midst to go unpunished.\n(_To the clerk._) Read the decree passed with reference to the\nOlynthians.\n\n[_The decree is read._]\n\n{268} This decree, gentlemen of the jury, is one which in the eyes of\nall, Hellenes and foreigners alike, it was right and honourable in you\nto have passed in condemnation of traitors and men detested of Heaven.\nAnd so, since the taking of the bribe is the step which precedes such\nactions, and it is the bribe that prompts the traitor's deeds,\nwhenever, men of Athens, you find a man receiving a bribe, you must\ncount him a traitor as well. That one man betrays opportunities, and\nanother affairs of state, and another soldiers, means only, I imagine,\nthat each works mischief in the particular department over which he has\ncontrol; but there should be no distinction in your execration of all\nsuch men. {269} You, men of Athens, are the only people in the world\nwho can draw from your own history examples which bear upon this\nmatter, and who have those ancestors, whom you rightly praise, to\nimitate in your actions. You may not be able, at the present time, to\nimitate them in the battles, the campaigns, the perils in which they\ndistinguished themselves, since at the present moment you are at peace;\nbut at least you can imitate their wisdom. {270} For of wisdom there is\nneed everywhere; and a right judgement is no more laborious or\ntroublesome a thing than a wrong one. Each of you need sit here no\nlonger, in order to judge and vote on the question before him aright,\nand so to make his country's position a better one, and worthy of our\nancestors, than he must in order to judge and vote wrongly, and so make\nit worse and unworthy of our ancestors. What then were their sentiments\non this matter? (_To the clerk._) Take this, clerk, and read it: (_to\nthe jury_) for I would have you see that the acts towards which you are\nso indifferent are acts for which your forefathers voted death to the\ndoers. (_To the clerk._) Read.\n\n[_An inscription is read._]\n\n{271} You hear the inscription, men of Athens, declaring that\nArthmius[n] of Zeleia, son of Pythonax, is a foe and a public enemy to\nthe people of Athens and their allies--both he and all his house. And\nwhy? Because he brought the gold from the foreigner to the Hellenes.\nApparently, therefore, we may judge from this, that your ancestors\nsought to ensure that no one, not even a stranger, should work mischief\nagainst Hellas for money; whereas you do not even seek to prevent any\nof your fellow citizens from injuring his own city. {272} 'But,' it may\nbe said, 'the inscription occupies a quite unimportant position.' On\nthe contrary, although all yonder Acropolis is sacred and there is no\nlack of space upon it, this inscription stands on the right hand of the\ngreat bronze statue of Athena, the prize of valour in the war against\nthe barbarians, set up by the State with funds which the Hellenes had\npresented to her. In those days, therefore, uprightness was so sacred,\nand such merit was attached to the punishment of actions like these,\nthat the sentences passed upon such crimes were thought to deserve the\nsame position as the prize-statue of the goddess. And now, unless you,\nin your turn, set a check upon this excess of licence, the result must\nbe ridicule, impunity, and shame.[5] {273} You would do well, I think,\nmen of Athens, to imitate your forefathers, not in this or that point\nalone, but continuously, and in all that they did. Now I am sure that\nyou have all heard the story of Callias,[n] the son of Hipponicus, to\nwhose diplomacy was due the Peace which is universally celebrated, and\nwhich provided that the king should not come down by land within a\nday's ride of the sea, nor sail with a ship of war between the\nChelidonian islands and the Cyanean rocks. He was thought to have taken\nbribes on his mission; and your forefathers almost put him to death,\nand actually fined him, at the examination of his report, a sum of 50\ntalents. {274} True it is, that no more honourable peace can be\nmentioned than this, of all which the city ever made before or\nafterwards. But it was not to this that they looked. The nature of the\nPeace they attributed to their own prowess and the glory of their city:\nbut whether the transaction was disinterested or corrupt, depended upon\nthe character of the ambassador; and they expected the character\ndisplayed by one who took part in public affairs to be upright and\nincorruptible. {275} Your ancestors, then, regarded corruption as so\ninimical, so unprofitable, to the state, that they would not admit it\nin connexion with any single transaction or any single man; while you,\nmen of Athens, though you have seen that the Peace which has laid low\nthe walls of your own allies is building the houses of your\nambassadors--that the Peace which has robbed the city of her\npossessions has secured for them more than they had ever before hoped\nfor even in their dreams--you, I say, instead of putting them to death\nof your own accord, need a prosecutor to assist you; and when all can\nsee their crimes in very deed, you are making their trial a trial of\nwords.\n\n{276} It is not, however, by the citation of ancient history, nor by\nthese examples alone, that one may stimulate you to vengeance: for even\nwithin the lifetime of yourselves, who are here and still living, many\nhave paid the penalty. All the rest of these I will pass over; but I\nwill mention one or two of those who were punished with death, on\nreturning from a mission whose results have been far less disastrous to\nthe city than those of the present Embassy. (_To the clerk._) Take then\nthis decree and read it.\n\n[_The decree is read._]\n\n{277} In this decree, men of Athens, you passed sentence of death upon\nthose ambassadors, one of whom was Epicrates,[n] a good man, as I am\ntold by my elders, and one who had in many ways been of service to his\ncountry--one of those who brought the people back from the Peiraeus,[n]\nand who was generally an upholder of the democracy. Yet none of these\nservices helped him, and rightly. For one who claims to manage affairs\nof such magnitude has not merely to be half honest; he must not secure\nyour confidence and then take advantage of it to increase his power to\ndo mischief; he must do absolutely no wrong against you of his own\nwill. {278} Now if there is one of the things for which those men were\nsentenced to death, that these men have not done, you may put me to\ndeath without delay. Observe what the charges were. 'Since they\nconducted their mission,' says the decree,[n] 'contrary to the terms of\nthe resolution'--that is the first of the charges. And have not these\nmen contravened the terms of the resolution? Does not the decree speak\nof peace 'for the Athenians and the allies of the Athenians?' and did\nthey not exclude the Phocians from the treaty? Does not the decree bid\nthem administer the oath to the magistrates in the several cities? and\ndid they not administer it to men sent to them by Philip? Does not the\nresolution forbid them 'to meet Philip anywhere alone?' and did they\nnot incessantly do business with him privately? {279} Again I read,\n'And some of them have been convicted of making a false report before\nthe Council.' But these men have been convicted of doing so before the\nPeople as well. And convicted by whom? for this is the splendid\nthing.[n] Convicted by the actual facts; for all that has happened, as\nyou know, has been the exact reverse of what they announced. 'And,' the\ndecree goes on, 'of not sending true dispatches.' Nor did these men.\n'And of accusing our allies falsely and taking bribes.' Instead of\n'accusing falsely', say, 'of having utterly ruined'--surely a far more\nheinous thing than a false accusation. And as for the charge of taking\nbribes, if it had been denied, it would still have required proof; but\nsince they admitted it, a summary procedure was surely the proper one.\n{280} What then will you do, men of Athens? You are the offspring of\nthat generation, and some of you are actually survivors from it; and\nwill you endure it, that Epicrates, the benefactor of the people, one\nof the men from the Peiraeus, should have been exiled and punished;[n]\nthat Thrasybulus, again, the son of the great Thrasybulus, the People's\nfriend, who brought the people back from Phyle, should recently have\nbeen fined ten talents; and that the descendant of Harmodius,[n] and of\nthose who achieved for you the greatest of blessings, and whom, for the\nbenefits which they conferred upon you, you have caused to share in the\nlibations and the bowls outpoured, in every temple where sacrifice is\noffered, singing of them and honouring them as you honour heroes and\ngods--{281} that all these, I say, should have undergone the penalty\nordained by the laws, and that no feeling of compassion or pity, nor\nthe tears of their children who bore the names of our benefactors, nor\naught else, should have availed them anything: and yet, when you have\nto do with the son of Atrometus the schoolmaster, and Glaucothea, who\nused to hold those meetings of the initiated, a practice for which\nanother priestess[n] was put to death--when you have in your hands the\nson of such parents, a man who never did a single service to his\ncountry--neither himself, nor his father, nor any of his house--will\nyou let him go? {282} Where is the horse, the trireme, the military\nservice, the chorus, the burden undertaken[n] for the state, the\nwar-contribution, the loyal action, the peril undergone, for which in\nall their lifetime the city has had to thank him or his? Aye, and even\nif all these stood to his credit, and those other qualifications, of\nuprightness and integrity in his mission, were not also to be found in\nhim, it would surely have been right that he should perish. But when\nneither the one nor the other are to be found, will you not avenge\nyourselves upon him? {283} Will you not call to mind his own words,\nwhen he was prosecuting Timarchus--that there was no help for a city\nwhich had no sinews to use against the criminal, nor for a constitution\nin which compassion and solicitation were more powerful than the\nlaws--that it was your duty not to pity the aged mother of Timarchus,\nnor his children, nor any one else, but to attend solely to one point,\nnamely, that if you abandoned the cause of the laws and the\nconstitution, you would look in vain for any to have pity on\nyourselves. {284} Is that unhappy man to have lost his rights as a\ncitizen, because he witnessed the guilt of Aeschines, and will you then\nsuffer Aeschines to escape unscathed? On what ground can you do so? for\nif Aeschines demanded so heavy a penalty from those whose sins were\nagainst their own persons, what must be the magnitude of the penalty\nwhich _you_ should require--you, the sworn judges of the case--from\nthose who have sinned so greatly against their country's interests, and\nof whom Aeschines is convincingly proved to be one? {285} 'But,' we are\ntold, 'that was a trial which will raise the moral standard of our\nyoung men.' Yes, and this trial will raise that of our statesmen, upon\nwhose character the supreme interests of the city are staked. For your\ncare ought to extend to them also. But you must realize that his real\nmotive for ruining Timarchus himself was not, Heaven knows, to be found\nin any anxiety for the virtue of your sons. Indeed, men of Athens, they\nare virtuous even now; for I trust that the city will never have fallen\nso low, as to need Aphobetus and Aeschines to reform the morals of the\nyoung. {286} No! the reason was that Timarchus had proposed in the\nCouncil, that if any one was convicted of conveying arms or fittings\nfor ships of war to Philip, the penalty should be death. And here is a\nproof. How long had Timarchus been in the habit of addressing you? For\na long time. Now throughout all this time Aeschines was in Athens, and\nnever showed any vexation or indignation at the fact of such a man\naddressing you, until he had been to Macedonia and made himself a\nhireling. (_To the clerk._) Come, take the actual decree which\nTimarchus proposed, and read it.\n\n[_The decree is read._]\n\n{287} So the man who proposed on your behalf the resolution which\nforbade, on pain of death, the supply of arms to Philip during the war,\nhas been ruined and treated with contumely; while Aeschines, who had\nsurrendered the arms of your very allies to Philip, was his accuser,\nand charged him--I call Heaven and Earth to witness--with unnatural\noffences, although two of his own kinsmen stood by his side, the very\nsight of whom would call forth a cry of protest from you--the\ndisgusting Nicias, who went to Egypt and hired himself to Chabrias, and\nthe accursed Cyrebion,[n] who joins in processions, as a reveller,[n]\nwithout a mask. Nay, why mention these things? His own brother\nAphobetus was there before his eyes! In very truth all the words that\nwere spoken on that day about unnatural offences were water flowing up\nstream.[n]\n\n{288} And now, to show you the dishonour into which the villainy and\nmendacity of the defendant have brought our country, passing by all\nbesides, I will mention a fact known to you all. Formerly, men of\nAthens, all the other Hellenes used to watch attentively, to see what\nhad been resolved in your Assembly; but now we are already going about\nand inquiring what others have decided--trying to overhear what the\nArcadians are doing, or the Amphictyons, or where Philip will be next,\nand whether he is alive or dead. {289} We do this, do we not? But for\nme the terrible question is not whether Philip is alive, but whether in\nthis city the habit of execrating and punishing criminals is dead.\nPhilip has no terrors for me, if your own spirit is sound; but the\nprospect that you may grant security to those who wish to receive their\nwages from him--that they may be supported by some of those whom you\nhave trusted, and that those who have all along denied that they were\nacting in Philip's interests may now mount the platform in their\ndefence--that is the prospect which terrifies me. {290} Tell me,\nEubulus, why it was, that at the recent trial of your cousin\nHegesilaus,[n] and of Thrasybulus, the uncle of Niceratus, when the\nprimary question[n] was before the jury, you would not even respond\nwhen they called upon you; and that when you rose to speak on the\nassessment of the penalty,[n] you uttered not a word in their defence,\nbut only asked the jury to be indulgent to you? Do you refuse to ascend\nthe platform in defence of kinsmen and relations, {291} and will you\nthen do so in defence of Aeschines, who, when Aristophon was\nprosecuting Philonicus, and in accusing him was denouncing your own\nacts, joined with him in accusing you, and was found in the ranks of\nyour enemies? You frightened your countrymen here by saying that they\nmust either march down to the Peiraeus at once, and pay the war-tax,\nand convert the festival-fund into a war-fund, or else pass the decree\nadvocated by Aeschines and proposed by the shameless Philocrates--{292}\na decree, of which the result was that the Peace became a disgraceful\ninstead of a fair one, and that these men have ruined everything by\ntheir crimes: and have you, after all this, become reconciled to him?\nYou uttered imprecations upon Philip, in the presence of the people,\nand swore by the life of your children that you would be glad if\nperdition seized him; and will you now come to the aid of Aeschines?\nHow can perdition seize Philip, when you are trying to save those who\ntake bribes from him? {293} Why is it that you prosecuted Moerocles for\nmisappropriating 20 drachmae out of the sums paid by each of the\nlessees of the mines, and indicted Ctesiphon for the theft of sacred\nmoneys, because he paid 7 minae into the bank three days too late; and\nyet, when men have taken money and confess it, and are convicted, by\nbeing caught in the very act, of having done so in order to bring about\nthe ruin of our allies, you do not prosecute them, but even command\ntheir acquittal? {294} But the appalling character of these crimes and\nthe great watchfulness and caution that they call for, and the\ntriviality of the offences for which you prosecuted those other men,\nmay further be seen in this way. Were there any men in Elis who stole\npublic funds? It is very likely indeed. Well, had any of them anything\nto do with the overthrow of the democracy there? Not one of them.\nAgain, while Olynthus was standing, were there others of the same\ncharacter there? I am sure that there were. Was it then through them\nthat Olynthus was destroyed? No. Again, do you not suppose that in\nMegara there was someone who was a thief and who embezzled public\nfunds? There must have been. Well, has any such person been shown to be\nresponsible for the recent crisis there? {295} Not one. But of what\nsort _are_ the men who commit crimes of such a character and magnitude?\nThey are those who count themselves worthy to be styled friends and\nguest-friends of Philip, who would fain be generals, who claim[n] to be\nleaders, who must needs be exalted above the people. Was not Perillus\nput on his trial lately before the Three Hundred at Megara, because he\nwent to Philip's court; and did not Ptoeodorus, the first man in Megara\nin wealth, family, and distinction, come forward and beg him off, and\nsend him back again to Philip? and was not the consequence that the one\ncame back at the head of the mercenaries, while the other was churning\nthe butter[n] at home? {296} For there is nothing, nothing, I say, in\nthe world, which you must be so careful not to do, as not to allow any\none to become more powerful than the People. I would have no man\nacquitted or doomed, to please any individual. Only let us be sure that\nthe man whose actions acquit or condemn him will receive from you the\nverdict he deserves. {297} That is the true democratic principle. And\nfurther, it is true that many men have come to possess great influence\nwith you at particular times--Callistratus, and again Aristophon,\nDiophantus, and others before them. But where did each of these\nexercise his primacy? In the Assembly of the People. But in the\nlaw-courts no man has ever, to this day, carried more influence than\nthe laws and the juror's oath. Do not then allow the defendant to have\nsuch influence to-day. To prove to you that there is good reason for\nyou not to trust, but to beware of such influence, I will read you an\noracle of the gods, who always protect the city far better than do its\nforemost citizens. (_To the clerk._) Read the oracles.\n\n[_The oracles are read._]\n\n{298} You hear, men of Athens, the warnings of the gods. If these\nresponses were given by them when you were at war, they mean that you\nmust beware of your generals, since in war it is the generals who are\nleaders; but if they were uttered after you had made peace, they must\nrefer to those who are at the head of your government; for these are\nthe leaders whom you obey, and it is by these that you are in danger of\nbeing led astray. 'And hold the state together' [says the oracle]\n'until all are of one mind, and afford no joy to their foes.' {299}\nWhich event then, men of Athens, do you think would afford joy to\nPhilip--the acquittal of one who has brought about all this evil, or\nhis punishment? His acquittal, I am sure. But the oracle, you see, says\nthat we should so act as not to afford joy to our foes; and therefore,\nby the mouth of Zeus, of Dione,[n] and of all the gods, is this\nexhortation given to us all, that with one mind we chastise those who\nhave done any service to our enemies. Without are those who are\nplotting against us, within are their confederates. The part of the\nplotters is to offer the bribe; that of their confederates is to\nreceive it, and to save from condemnation those who have received it.\n\n{300} And further, it needs no more than human reason to arrive at the\nconclusion that nothing can be more hateful and dangerous than to allow\nyour first citizen to be intimate with those whose objects are not\nthose of the People. Consider by what means Philip has become master of\nthe entire situation, and by what means he has accomplished the\ngreatest of his successes. It has been by purchasing the opportunities\nfor action from those who offered them for sale--by corrupting and\nexciting the aspirations of the leaders of their several cities. {301}\nThese have been the means. Now both of these methods it is in your\npower, if you wish it, to render futile to-day, if you will refuse to\nlisten to prominent persons who speak in defence of such practices, and\nwill thus prove that they have no power over you--for now they assert\nthat they have you under their control--while at the same time you\npunish the man who has sold himself, and let all the world see what you\nhave done. {302} For you would have reason enough, men of Athens, for\nbeing angry with any man who had acted so, and had betrayed your allies\nand your friends and your opportunities (for with these are bound up\nthe whole prosperity or adversity of every people), but with no one\nmore than with Aeschines, or with greater justice. After taking up a\nposition as one of those who mistrusted Philip--after being the first\nand the only man to perceive that Philip was the common enemy of all\nthe Hellenes--he deserted, he betrayed you; he suddenly became Philip's\nsupporter. Surely he deserves to die many times over! {303} Nay, he\nhimself will not be able to deny that these things are so. For who was\nit that brought Ischander forward before you originally, stating that\nhe had come from the friends of Athens in Arcadia? Who was it that\ncried out that Philip was organizing Hellas and the Peloponnese against\nyou, while you were asleep? Who was it that delivered those long and\nnoble orations to the people, that read to you the decrees of Miltiades\nand Themistocles, and the oath of the young soldiers[n] in the temple\nof Aglaurus? {304} Was it not the defendant? Who was it that persuaded\nyou to send embassies almost as far as the Red Sea, on the ground that\nPhilip was plotting against Hellas, and that it was for you to foresee\nthis and not to sacrifice the interests of the Hellenes? Was it not\nEubulus who proposed the decree, while the ambassador to the\nPeloponnese was the defendant Aeschines? What expressions he used in\nhis address to the people, after he arrived there, is best known to\nhimself: but I know you all remember what he reported to you. {305}\nMany a time in the course of his speech he called Philip 'barbarian'\nand 'devil'; and he reported the delight of the Arcadians at the\nthought that Athens was now waking up and attending to public affairs.\nOne thing he told us, which caused him, he said, more distress than\nanything else. As he was leaving, he met Atrestidas, who was travelling\nhome from Philip's court, and with him were walking some thirty women\nand children. Wondering at this, he asked one of the travellers who the\nman was, and what this crowd was along with him; {306} and on hearing\nthat it was Atrestidas, who was on his way home, and that these with\nhim were captives from Olynthus whom Philip had given him as a present,\nhe was struck with the atrocity of the thing and burst into tears, and\nlamented the unhappy condition of Hellas, that she should allow such\ntragedies to pass unnoticed. At the same time he counselled you to send\nrepresentatives to Arcadia to denounce Philip's agents, saying that his\nfriends told him that if Athens took notice of the matter and sent\nenvoys, Philip's agents would be punished. {307} Such, men of Athens,\nwas the tenor of his speeches then; and very noble they were, and\nworthy of this city. But when he had been to Macedonia, and had seen\nthe enemy of himself and of the Hellenes, were his speeches couched any\nmore in the same or a similar tone? Far from it! He told you that you\nmust neither remember your forefathers nor mention your trophies, nor\ngo to the aid of any one. He was amazed, he said, at those who urged\nyou to confer with the rest of the Hellenes in regard to the Peace with\nPhilip, as though there was any need to convince some one else about a\nmatter which was purely your own affair. {308} And as for Philip, 'Why,\ngood gracious!' said he, 'Philip is the most thorough Hellene in the\nworld, a most able speaker, and most friendly towards Athens: only\nthere are certain persons in Athens so unreasonable and so churlish,\nthat they are not ashamed to slander him and call him \"barbarian\".' Now\nis it possible that the man who had formerly spoken as Aeschines did,\nshould now have dared to speak in such a way, if he had not been\ncorrupted? What? {309} Is there a man who after conceiving such\ndetestation for Atrestidas, owing to those children and women from\nOlynthus, could have endured to act in conjunction with Philocrates,\nwho brought freeborn Olynthian women here to gratify his lust, and is\nso notorious for his abominable living, that it is unnecessary for me\nnow to use any offensive or unpleasant expression about him; for if I\nsay that Philocrates brought women here, the rest will be understood by\nall of you and of the bystanders, and you will, I am sure, pity the\npoor unhappy creatures--though Aeschines felt no pity for them, and\nshed no tears for Hellas at the sight of them, or at the thought of the\noutrages they were suffering among their own allies at the hands of our\nambassadors. {310} No! he will shed tears on his own behalf--he whose\nproceedings as ambassador have had such results--and perhaps he will\nbring forward his children, and mount them upon the platform. But,\ngentlemen of the jury, when you see the children of Aeschines, remember\nthat the children of many of your allies and friends are now vagabonds,\nwandering in beggary, owing to the cruel treatment they have suffered\nin consequence of his conduct, and that these deserve your compassion\nfar more than those whose father is a criminal and a traitor. Remember\nthat your own children have been robbed even of their hopes by these\nmen, who inserted among the terms of the Peace the clause which\nextended it to posterity. And when you see the tears of Aeschines,\nremember that you have now before you a man who urged you to send\nrepresentatives to Arcadia to denounce the agents of Philip. {311} Now\nto-day you need send no embassy to the Peloponnese; you need take no\nlong journey; you need incur no travelling expenses. Each of you need\nonly come as far as this platform, to deposit the vote which piety and\njustice demand of him, on behalf of your country; and to condemn the\nman who--I call Earth and Heaven to witness!--after originally\ndelivering the speeches which I described, speaking of Marathon and of\nSalamis, and of your battles and your trophies, suddenly--so soon as he\nhad set foot in Macedonia--changed his tone completely, and told you\nthat you must not remember your forefathers, nor recount your trophies,\nnor go to the aid of any one, nor take common counsel with the\nHellenes--who all but told you that you must pull down your walls.\n{312} Never throughout all time, up to this day, have speeches more\nshameful than these been delivered before you. What Hellene, what\nforeigner, is so dense, or so uninstructed, or so fierce in his hatred\nof our city, that if one were to put to him this question, and say,\n'Tell me now; of all Hellas, as it now is--all this inhabited\ncountry--is there any part which would have been called by this name,\nor inhabited by the Hellenes who now possess it, unless those who\nfought at Marathon and Salamis, our forefathers, had displayed that\nhigh prowess on their behalf?' Why, I am certain that not one would\nanswer 'Yes': they would say that all these regions must have been\nconquered by the barbarians. {313} If then no single man, not even one\nof our enemies, would have deprived them of these their panegyrics and\npraises, does Aeschines forbid you to remember them--you their\ndescendants--in order that he himself may receive money? In all other\nblessings, moreover, the dead have no share; but the praises which\nfollow their noble deeds are the peculiar possession of those who have\ndied thus; for then even envy opposes them no longer. Of these praises\nAeschines would deprive them; and justly, therefore, would he now be\ndeprived of his privileges as as a citizen, and justly, in the name of\nyour forefathers, would you exact from him this penalty. Such words you\nused, nevertheless, in the wickedness of your heart, to despoil and\ntraduce the deeds of our forefathers, and by your word you ruined all\nour interests in very deed. {314} And then, as the outcome of this, you\nare a landed gentleman, and have become a personage of consequence! For\nthis, too, you must notice. Before he had wrought every kind of\nmischief against the city he acknowledged that he had been a clerk; he\nwas grateful to you for having elected him, and behaved himself\nmodestly. But since he has wrought countless evils, he has drawn up his\neyebrows, and if any one speaks of 'Aeschines the late clerk', he is\nhis enemy at once, and declares that he has been insulted: he walks\nthrough the market-place with his cloak trailing down to his ankles,\nkeeping step with Pythocles,[n] and puffing out his cheeks--already one\nof Philip's friends and guest-friends, if you please--one of those who\nwould be rid of the democracy, and who regard the established\nconstitution as so much tempestuous madness--he who was once the humble\nservant of the Round Chamber.\n\n{315} I wish now to recapitulate to you summarily the ways in which\nPhilip got the better of you in policy, when he had taken these\nheaven-detested men to aid him. It is well worth while to review and\ncontemplate the course of his deception as a whole. It began with his\nanxiety for peace; for his country was being plundered, and his ports\nwere closed, so that he could enjoy none of the advantages which they\nafforded; and so he sent the messengers who uttered those generous\nsentiments on his behalf--Neoptolemus, Aristodemus, and Ctesiphon.\n{316} But so soon as we went to him as your ambassadors, he immediately\nhired the defendant to second and co-operate with the abominable\nPhilocrates, and so get the better of those who wished to act\nuprightly; and he composed such a letter to you as he thought would be\nmost likely to help him to obtain peace. {317} But even so, he had no\nbetter chance than before of effecting anything of importance against\nyou, unless he could destroy the Phocians. And this was no easy matter.\nFor he had now been reduced, as if by chance, to a position in which he\nmust either find it impossible to effect any of his designs, or else\nmust perforce lie and forswear himself, and make all men, whether\nHellenes or foreigners, witnesses of his own baseness. {318} For if, on\nthe one hand, he received the Phocians as allies, and administered the\noath to them together with yourselves, it at once became necessary for\nhim to break his oaths to the Thessalians and Thebans; for he had sworn\nto aid the latter in the reduction of Boeotia, and the former in the\nrecovery of their place in the Amphictyonic Council; but if, on the\nother hand, he refused to receive them (as in fact he did reject them),\nhe thought that you would not let him cross the Pass, but would rally\nto Thermopylae--and so you would have done, had you not been misled;\nand if this happened, he calculated that he would be unable to march\nacross. {319} Nor had he to learn this from others; he had already the\ntestimony of his own experience. For on the occasion of his first\ndefeat of the Phocians, when he destroyed their mercenaries and their\nleader and general, Onomarchus, although not a single human being,\nHellene or foreigner, came to the aid of the Phocians, except\nyourselves, so far was he from crossing the Pass and thereafter\ncarrying out any of his designs, that he could not even approach near\nit. {320} He realized, I imagine, quite clearly, that at a time when\nthe feelings of the Thessalians were turning against him, and the\nPheraeans (to take the first instance) refused to accompany him--when\nthe Thebans were being worsted and had lost a battle, and a trophy had\nbeen erected to celebrate their defeat--it was impossible for him to\ncross the Pass, if you rallied to its defence; and that if he made the\nattempt he would regret it, unless some cunning could be called in to\naid him. How then, he asked, can I avoid open falsehood, and yet\naccomplish all that I wish without appearing perjured? How can it be\ndone? It can be done, if I can get some of the Athenians to deceive the\nAthenians. In that case the discredit no longer falls to my share.\n{321} And so Philip's own envoys first informed you that Philip\ndeclined to receive the Phocians as allies; and then these men took up\nthe tale, and addressed you to the effect that it was inconvenient to\nPhilip to receive the Phocians as your allies openly, on account of the\nThebans and the Thessalians; but if he gets command of the situation,\nthey said, and is granted the Peace, he will do just what we should now\nrequest him to promise to do. {322} So they obtained the Peace from\nyou, by holding out these seductive hopes, without including the\nPhocians. But they had still to prevent the expedition to Thermopylae,\nfor the purpose of which, despite the Peace, your fifty ships were\nstill lying ready at anchor, in order that, if Philip marched, you\nmight prevent him. {323} How then could it be done? what cunning could\nbe used in regard to this expedition in its turn? They must deprive you\nof the necessary time, by bringing the crisis upon you suddenly, so\nthat, even if you wished to set out, you might be unable to do so. So\nthis, it appears, was what these men undertook to do; while for my\npart, as you have often been told, I was unable to depart in advance of\nthem, and was prevented from sailing even when I had hired a boat for\nthe purpose. {324} But it was further necessary that the Phocians\nshould come to believe in Philip and give themselves up to him\nvoluntarily, in order that there might be no delay in carrying out the\nplan, and that no hostile decree whatever might issue from you. 'And\ntherefore,' said he, 'the Athenian ambassadors shall announce that the\nPhocians are to be preserved from destruction, so that even if any one\npersists in distrusting me, he will believe them, and put himself in my\nhands. We will summon the Athenians themselves, so that they may\nimagine that all that they want is secured, and may pass no hostile\ndecree: but the ambassadors shall make such reports about us, and give\nsuch promises, as will prevent them from moving under any\ncircumstances.' {325} It was in this way, and by such trickery as this,\nthat all was ruined, through the action of these doomed wretches. For\nimmediately afterwards, as you know, instead of seeing Thespiae and\nPlataeae repeopled, you heard that Orchomenus and Coroneia had been\nenslaved; instead of Thebes being humbled and stripped of her insolence\nand pride, the walls of your own allies were being razed, and it was\nthe Thebans who were razing them--the Thebans who, according to\nAeschines' story, were as good as broken up into villages. {326}\nInstead of Euboea being handed over to you in exchange for Amphipolis,\nPhilip is making new bases of operations against you in Euboea itself,\nand is plotting incessantly against Geraestus and Megara. Instead of\nthe restoration of Oropus to you, we are making an expedition under\narms to defend Drymus and the country about Panactum[n]--a step which\nwe never took so long as the Phocians remained unharmed. {327} Instead\nof the restoration of the ancestral worship in the temple, and the\nexaction of the debt due to the god, the true Amphictyons are\nfugitives, who have been banished and their land laid desolate; and\nMacedonians, foreigners, men who never were Amphictyons in the past,\nare now forcing their way to recognition; while any one who mentions\nthe sacred treasures is thrown from the rocks, and our city has been\ndeprived of her right to precedence in consulting the oracle. {328}\nIndeed, the story of all that has happened to the city sounds like a\nriddle. Philip has spoken no falsehood, and has accomplished all that\nhe wished: you hoped for the fulfilment of your fondest prayers, and\nhave seen the very opposite come to pass; you suppose yourselves to be\nat peace, and have suffered more terribly than if you had been at war;\nwhile these men have received money for all this, and up to this very\nday have not paid the penalty. {329} For that the situation has been\nmade what it is solely by bribery, and that these men have received\ntheir price for it all, has, I feel sure, long been plain to you in\nmany ways; and I am afraid that, quite against my will, I may long have\nbeen wearying you by attempting to prove with elaborate exactness what\nyou already know for yourselves. {330} Yet this one point I ask you\nstill to listen to. Is there, gentlemen of the jury, one of the\nambassadors whom Philip sent, whose statue in bronze you would erect in\nthe market-place? Nay, one to whom you would give maintenance in the\nTown Hall, or any other of those complimentary grants with which you\nhonour your benefactors? I think not. And why? For you are of no\nungrateful or unfair or mean disposition. You would reply, that it is\nbecause all that they did was done in the interest of Philip, and\nnothing in your own; and the reply would be true and just. {331} Do you\nimagine then that, when such are your sentiments, Philip's are not also\nsuch? Do you imagine that he gives all these magnificent presents\nbecause your ambassadors conducted their mission honourably and\nuprightly with a view to _your_ interest? Impossible. Think of\nHegesippus, and the manner in which he and the ambassadors who\naccompanied him were received by Philip. To go no further, he banished\nXenocleides, the well-known poet, by public proclamation, because he\nreceived the ambassadors, his own fellow citizens. For so it is that he\nbehaves to men who honestly say what they think on your behalf: while\nto those who have sold themselves he behaves as he has to these men. Do\nwe then need witnesses? do we need stronger proofs than these to\nestablish my conclusions? Will any one be able to steal these\nconclusions from your minds?\n\n{332} Now I was told a most extraordinary thing just now by some one\nwho accosted me in front of the Court, namely, that the defendant is\nprepared to accuse Chares, and that by such methods and such arguments\nas that, he hopes to deceive you. I will not lay undue stress on the\nfact that Chares,[n] subjected to every form of trial, was found to\nhave acted on your behalf, so far as was in his power, with\nfaithfulness and loyalty, while his frequent shortcomings were due to\nthose who, for money, were cruelly injuring your cause. But I will go\nmuch further. Let it be granted that all that the defendant will say of\nChares is true. {333} Even so it is utterly absurd that Aeschines\nshould accuse him. For I do not lay the blame on Aeschines for anything\nthat was done in the course of the war--it is the generals who have to\naccount for all such proceedings--nor do I hold him responsible for the\ncity's having made peace. So far I acquit him of everything. What then\ndo I allege, and at what point does my accusation begin? I accuse him\nof having supported Philocrates, at the time when the city was making\npeace, instead of supporting those who proposed what was for your real\ngood. I accuse him of taking bribes, and subsequently, on the Second\nEmbassy, of wasting time, and of not carrying out any of your\ninstructions. I accuse him of cheating the city, and ruining\neverything, by the suggestion of hopes that Philip would do all that we\ndesired; and then I accuse him of speaking afterwards in defence of one\nof whom[n] all warned him to beware, on account of the great crimes of\nwhich he had been guilty. {334} These are my charges, and these are\nwhat you must bear in mind. For a Peace that was honest and fair, and\nmen that had sold nothing and had told no falsehoods afterwards, I\nwould even have commended, and would have bidden you crown them. But\nthe injuries which some general may have done you have nothing to do\nwith the present examination. Where is the general who has caused the\nloss of Halus? or of the Phocians? or of Doriscus? or of Cersobleptes?\nor of the Sacred Mountain? or of Thermopylae? Who has secured Philip a\nroad to Attica that leads entirely through the country of allies and\nfriends? who has given Coroneia and Orchomenus and Euboea to others?\nwho has all but given Megara to the enemy, only recently? who has made\nthe Thebans powerful? {335} Not one of all these heavy losses was the\nwork of the generals; nor does Philip hold any of these places because\nyou were persuaded to concede it to him by the treaty of peace. The\nlosses are due to these men and to their corruption. If then he evades\nthese points, and tries to mislead you by speaking of every other\npossible subject, this is how you must receive his attempt. 'We are not\nsitting in judgement upon any general,' you must say, 'nor are you on\nyour trial for the things of which you speak. Do not tell us whether\nsome one else may not also be responsible for the ruin of the Phocians:\nprove to us that no responsibility attaches to yourself. Why do you\ntell us _now_ of the alleged iniquities of Demosthenes, instead of\naccusing him when his report was under examination? For such an\nomission alone you deserve to perish. {336} Do not speak of the beauty\nof peace, nor of its advantages. No one holds you responsible for the\ncity's having made peace. But show that it was not a shameful and\ndiscreditable peace; that we have not since been deceived in many ways;\nthat all was not lost. It is for all these things that the\nresponsibility has been proved to be yours. And why, even to this hour,\ndo you praise the man who has done us all this evil?' If you keep a\nwatch upon him thus, he will have nothing to say; and then he will lift\nup his voice here, in spite of all his vocal exercises, to no purpose.\n\n{337} And yet perhaps it is necessary for me to speak about his voice\nalso. For of this too, I am told, he is extremely proud, and expects to\ncarry you away by his declamation. But seeing that you used to drive\nhim away and hiss him out of the theatre and almost stone him, when he\nwas performing the tragic story of Thyestes or of the Trojan War, so\nthat at last he gave up his third-rate playing, you would be acting in\nthe most extraordinary way if, now that he has wrought countless ills,\nnot on the stage, but in the most important affairs in the public life\nof the state, you listened to him for his fine voice. {338} By no means\nmust you do this, or give way to any foolish sentiment. Rather reflect,\nthat if you were testing the qualifications of a herald, you would then\nindeed look for a fine voice; but when you are testing those of an\nambassador, or a man who claims the administration of any public\nbusiness, you must look for an upright man--a man who bears himself\nproudly indeed, as your representative, but seeks no more than equality\nwith yourselves--as I myself refused to pay respect to Philip, but did\npay respect to the captives, whom I saved, and never for a moment drew\nback; whereas Aeschines rolled at Philip's feet, and chanted his\npaeans, while he looks down upon you. {339} And further, whenever you\nnotice that cleverness or a good voice or any other natural advantage\nhas been given to an honest and public-spirited man, you ought all to\ncongratulate him and help him to cultivate his gift; for the gift is an\nadvantage in which you all share, as well as he. But when the gift is\nfound in a corrupt and villainous man, who can never resist the chance\nof gain, then you should exclude him from your presence, and give a\nharsh and hostile reception to his words: for villainy, which wins from\nyou the reputation of ability, is the enemy of the State. {340} You see\nwhat great troubles have fallen upon the city, through those qualities\nwhich have brought renown to Aeschines. But whereas all other faculties\nare more or less independent, the gift of eloquence, when it meets with\nhostility from you who listen, is a broken thing. Listen, then, to the\ndefendant as you would listen to a corrupt villain, who will not speak\na single word of truth.\n\n{341} Observe also that the conviction of the defendant is in every way\nexpedient, not only on all other grounds, but even when you consider\nour relations with Philip himself. For if ever Philip finds himself\ncompelled to give the city any of her rights, he will change his\nmethods. As it is, he has chosen to deceive the people as a whole, and\nto show his favours to a few persons; whereas, if he learns that these\nmen have perished, he will prefer for the future to act in the interest\nof yourselves collectively, in whose hands all power rests. {342} If,\nhowever, he intends to persist in his present domineering and\noutrageous insolence, you will, by getting rid of these men, have rid\nthe city of those who would do anything in the world for him. For when\nthey have acted as they have done, with the expectation of having to\npay the penalty in their minds, what do you think they will do, if you\nrelax your severity towards them? Where is the Euthycrates,[n] or the\nLasthenes, or the traitor of any description, whom they will not outdo?\n{343} And who among all the rest will not be a worse citizen, when he\nsees that, for those who have sold themselves, the friendship of Philip\nserves, in consequence, for revenue, for reputation, and for capital;\nwhile to those who have conducted themselves uprightly, and have spent\ntheir own money as well, the consequences are trouble, hatred, and ill\nwill from a certain party. Let it not be so. It is not for your\ngood--whether you regard your reputation or your duty towards Heaven or\nyour safety or any other object, that you should acquit the defendant;\nbut rather that you should avenge yourselves upon him, and make him an\nexample in the eyes of all your fellow citizens and of the whole\nHellenic world.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n[1] This body was composed of life-members, the archons passing into it\nannually at the conclusion of their term of office. A certain religious\nsolemnity attached to it, and it was generally respected as a\npublic-spirited and high-minded body.\n\n[2] [Greek: p_os: ti;].\n\n[3] Hesiod, _Works and Days_, 761.\n\n[4] Euripides, _Phoenix_ fragment.\n\n[5] [Greek: adeia, aischuv_e.].\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Public Orations of Demosthenes,\nvolume 1, by Demosthenes\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHAUNTED LONDON\n\n\n\n\nDR. JOHNSON'S OPINIONS OF LONDON.--\"It is not in the showy evolution of\nbuildings, but in the multiplicity of human habitations, that the\nwonderful immensity of London consists.... The happiness of London is not\nto be conceived but by those who have been in it. I will venture to say\nthere is more learning and science within the circumference of where we\nnow sit than in all the rest of the kingdom.... A man stores his mind [in\nLondon] better than anywhere else.... No place cures a man's vanity or\narrogance so well as London, for no man is either great or good, _per se_,\nbut as compared with others, not so good or great, and he is sure to find\nin the metropolis many his equals and some his superiors.... No man of\nletters leaves London without regret.... By seeing London I have seen as\nmuch of life as the world can show.... When a man is tired of London he is\ntired of life, for there is in London all life can afford, and [London] is\nthe fountain of intelligence and pleasure.\"--_Boswell's Life of Johnson._\n\nBOSWELL'S OPINION OF LONDON.--\"I have often amused myself with thinking\nhow different a place London is to different people. They whose narrow\nminds are contracted to the consideration of some one particular pursuit,\nview it only through that medium, a politician thinks of it merely as the\nseat of government, etc.; but the intellectual man is struck with it _as\ncomprehending the whole of human life in all its variety, the\ncontemplation of which is inexhaustible_.\"--_Boswell's Life of Johnson_\n(Croker, 1848), p. 144.\n\n\n\n\n  HAUNTED LONDON\n\n\n  BY WALTER THORNBURY\n\n  EDITED BY EDWARD WALFORD, M.A.\n\n\n  [Illustration: TEMPLE BAR, 1761.]\n\n\n  _ILLUSTRATED BY F. W. FAIRHOLT, F.S.A._\n\n\n  London\n  CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY\n  1880\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThis book deals less with the London of the ghost-stories, the scratching\nimpostor in Cock Lane, or the apparition of Parson Ford at the Hummums,\nthan with the London consecrated by manifold traditions--a city every\nstreet and alley of which teems with interesting associations, every\npaving-stone of which marks, as it were, the abiding-place of some ancient\nlegend or biographical story; in short, this London of the present haunted\nby the memories of the past.\n\nThe slow changes of time, the swifter destructions of improvement, and the\ninevitable necessities of modern civilisation, are rapidly remodelling\nLondon.\n\nIt took centuries to turn the bright, swift little rivulet of the Fleet\ninto a foetid sewer, years to transform the palace at Bridewell into a\nprison; but events now move faster: the alliance of money with enterprise,\nand the absence of any organised resistance to needful though sometimes\nreckless improvements, all combine to hurry forward modern changes.\n\nIf an alderman of the last century could arise from his sleep, he would\nshudder to see the scars and wounds from which London is now suffering.\nViaducts stalk over our chief roads; great square tubes of iron lie heavy\nas nightmares on the breast of Ludgate Hill. In Finsbury and Blackfriars\nthere are now to be seen yawning chasms as large and ghastly as any that\nbreaching cannon ever effected in the walls of a besieged city. On every\nhand legendary houses, great men's birthplaces, the haunts of poets, the\nscenes of martyrdoms, and the battle-fields of old factions, heave and\ntotter around us. The tombs of great men, in the chinks of which the\nnettles have grown undisturbed ever since the Great Fire, are now being\nuprooted. Milton's house has become part of the _Punch_ office. A printing\nmachine clanks where Chatterton was buried. Almost every moment some\nbuilding worthy of record is shattered by the pickaxes of ruthless\nlabourers. The noise of falling houses and uprooted streets even now in my\nears tells me how busily Time, the Destroyer and the Improver, is working;\nerasing tombstones, blotting out names on street-doors, battering down\nnarrow thoroughfares, and effacing one by one the memories of the good,\nthe bad, the illustrious, and the infamous.\n\nA sincere love of the subject, and a strong conviction of the importance\nof the preservation of such facts as I have dredged up from the Sea of\nOblivion, have given me heart for my work. The gradual changes of Old\nLondon, and the progress of civilisation westward, are worth noting by all\nstudents of the social history of England. It will be found that many\ntraits of character, many anecdotes of interest, as illustrating\nbiography, are essentially connected with the habitations of the great men\nwho have either been born in London, or have resorted to it as the centre\nof progress, art, commerce, government, learning, and culture. The fact of\nthe residence of a poet, a painter, a lawyer, or even a rogue, at any\ndefinite date, will often serve to point out the social status he either\naimed at or had acquired. It helps also to show the exact relative\ndistinctions in fashion and popularity of different parts of London at\nparticular epochs, and contributes to form an illustrated history of\nLondon, proceeding not by mere progression of time, and dealing with the\nabstract city--the whole entity of London--but marching through street\nafter street, and detailing local history by districts at a time.\n\nA century after the martyrs of the Covenant had shed their blood for the\ngood old cause, an aged man, mounted on a little rough pony, used\nperiodically to make the tour of their graves; with a humble and pious\ncare he would scrape out the damp green moss that filled up the letters\nonce so sharp and clear, cut away the thorny arches of the brambles, tread\ndown the thick, prickly undergrowth of nettles, and leave the brave names\nof the dead men open to the sunlight. It is something like this that I\nhave sought to do with London traditions.\n\nI have especially avoided, in every case, mixing truth with fiction. I\nhave never failed to give, where it was practicable, the actual words of\nmy authorities, rather than run the risk of warping or distorting a\nquotation even by accident, or losing the flavour and charm of original\ntestimony. Aware of the paramount value of sound and verified facts, I\nhave not stopped to play with words and colours, nor to sketch imaginary\ngroups and processions. Such pictures are often false and only mislead;\nbut a fact proved, illustrated, and rendered accessible by index and\nheading, is, however unpretentious, a contribution to history, and has\nwith certain inquirers a value that no time can lesson.\n\nIn a comprehensive work, dealing with so many thousand dates, and\nintroducing on the stage so many human beings, it is almost impossible to\nhave escaped errors. I can only plead for myself that I have spared no\npains to discover the truth. I have had but one object in view, that of\nrendering a walk through London a journey of interest and of pilgrimage to\nmany shrines.\n\nIn some cases I have intentionally passed over, or all but passed over,\noutlying streets that I thought belonged more especially to districts\nalien to my present plan. Maiden Lane, for example, with its memories of\nVoltaire, Marvell, and Turner, belongs rather to a chapter on Covent\nGarden, of which it is a palpable appanage; and Chancery Lane I have left\ntill I come to Fleet Street.\n\nI should be ungrateful indeed if, in conclusion, I did not thank Mr.\nFairholt warmly for his careful and valuable drawings on wood. To that\naccomplished antiquary I am indebted, as my readers will see, for several\noriginal sketches of bygone places, and for many curious illustrations\nwhich I should certainly not have obtained without the aid of his learning\nand research.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n  CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION                                          pp. 1-3\n\n\n  CHAPTER II. TEMPLE BAR.\n\n    The Devil Tavern--London Bankers and Goldsmiths--A Whim\n    of John Bushnell, the Sculptor--Irritating Processions--\n    The Bonfire at Inner Temple Gate--A Barbarous Custom--\n    Called to the Bar--A Curious Old Print of 1746--The\n    White Cockades--An Execution on Kennington Common--\n    Shenstone's \"Jemmy Dawson\"--Counsellor Layer--Dr.\n    Johnson in the Abbey--The Proclamation of the Peace of\n    Amiens--The Dispersion of the Armada--City Pageants and\n    Festivities--The Guildhall--The Guildhall Twin Giants--\n    Proclamation of War--A Reflection                             pp. 4-24\n\n\n  CHAPTER III. THE STRAND (SOUTH SIDE).\n\n    Essex Street--Beheading a Bishop--Exeter Place--The\n    Gipsy Earl--Running a-muck--Lettice Knollys--A Portrait\n    of Essex--Robert, Earl of Essex, the Parliamentary\n    General--The Poisoning of Overbury--An Epicurean\n    Doctor--Clubable Men--The Grecian--The Templar's\n    Lounge--Tom's Coffee-house--A Princely Collector--\"The\n    Long Strand\"--\"Honest Shippen\"--Boswell's Enthusiasm--\n    Sale and the Koran--The Infamous Lord Mohun--A fine\n    Rebuke--Jacob Tonson                                         pp. 25-55\n\n\n  CHAPTER IV. SOMERSET HOUSE.\n\n    The Protector Somerset--Denmark House--The Queen's\n    French Servants--The Lying-in-State of Cromwell--Scenes\n    at Somerset House--Sir Edmondbury Godfrey--Old Somerset\n    House--Erection of the Modern Building--Carlini's\n    Grandeur--A Hive of Red Tapists--Expensive Auditing--The\n    Royal Society--The Geological and the Antiquarian\n    Societies--A Legend of Somerset House--St. Martin's Lane\n    Academy--An Insult to Engravers--Rebecca's Practical\n    Jokes--A Fashionable Man actually Surprised--Lying in\n    State                                                        pp. 56-81\n\n\n  CHAPTER V. THE STRAND (SOUTH SIDE, CONTINUED).\n\n    The Folly--Fountain Court and Tavern--The Coal-hole--The\n    Kit-cat Club--Coutts's Bank--The Eccentric Philosopher--\n    Old Salisbury House--Robert the Devil--Little Salisbury\n    House--Toby Matthew--Ivy Bridge--The Strand Exchange--\n    Durham House--Poor Lady Jane--The Parochial Mind--A\n    Strange Coalition--Garrick's Haunt--Shipley's School of\n    Art--Barry's Temper--The Celestial Bed--Sir William\n    Curtis                                                      pp. 82-105\n\n\n  CHAPTER VI. THE SAVOY.\n\n    The Earl of Savoy--John Wickliffe--A French King\n    Prisoner--The Kentish Rebellion--John of Gaunt--The\n    Hospital of St. John--Cowley's Regrets--Secret\n    Marriages--Conference between Church of England and\n    Presbyterian Divines--An Illegal Sanctuary--A Lampooned\n    General--A Fat Adonis--John Rennie--Waterloo Bridge--The\n    Duchy of Lancaster                                         pp. 106-125\n\n\n  CHAPTER VII. FROM THE SAVOY TO CHARING CROSS.\n\n    York House--Lord Bacon--\"To the Man with an Orchard give\n    an Apple\"--\"Steenie\"--Buckingham Street--Zimri--York\n    Stairs--Pepys and Etty--Scenery on the Banks of the\n    Thames--The London Lodging of Peter the Great--The Czar\n    and the Quakers--The Hungerford Family--The Suspension\n    Bridge--Grinling Gibbons--The Two Smiths--Cross\n    Readings--Northumberland Street--Armed Clergymen           pp. 126-145\n\n\n  CHAPTER VIII. THE NORTH SIDE OF THE STRAND (FROM TEMPLE BAR TO CHARING\n  CROSS).\n\n    Faithorne, the Engraver--The Stupendous Arch--The Murder\n    of Miss Ray--One of Wren's Churches--Thomas Rymer--Dr.\n    Johnson at Church--Shallow's Revelry--Low Comedy\n    Preachers--New Inn--Alas! poor Yorick!--The first\n    Hackney Coaches--Doyley--The Beef-steak Club--Beef and\n    Liberty--Madame Vestris--Old Thomson--Irene in a\n    Garret--Mathews at the Adelphi--The Bad Points of\n    Mathew's Acting--The Old Adelphi--A Riot in a Theatre--\n    Dr. Johnson's Eccentricities                               pp. 146-189\n\n\n  CHAPTER IX. CHARING CROSS.\n\n    The Gunpowder Plot--Lord Herbert's Chivalry--A Schoolboy\n    Legend--Goldsmith's Audience--Dobson Buried in a\n    Garret--Charing--Queen Eleanor--A Brave Ending--\n    Great-hearted Colonel Jones--King Charles at Charing\n    Cross--A Turncoat--A Trick of Curll's--The Cock Lane\n    Ghost--Savage the Poet--The Mews--The Nelson Column--The\n    Trafalgar Square Fountains--Want of Pictures of the\n    English School--Turner's Pictures--Mrs. Centlivre of\n    Spring Gardens--Maginn's Verses--The Hermitage at\n    Charing Cross--Ben Jonson's Grace--The Promised Land       pp. 190-238\n\n\n  CHAPTER X. ST. MARTIN'S LANE.\n\n    A Certain Proof of Insanity--An Eccentric Character--\n    Experimentum Crucis--St. Martin's-in-the-Fields--Gibb's\n    Opportunity--St. Martin's Church--Good Company--The\n    Thames Watermen--Copper Holmes--Old Slaughter's--\n    Gardelle the Murderer--Hogarth's Quack--St. Martin's\n    Lane Academy--Hayman's Jokes--The Old Watch-house and\n    Stocks--Garrick's Tricks--An Encourager of Art--John\n    Wilkes--The Royal Society of Literature--The Artist\n    Quarter                                                    pp. 239-261\n\n\n  CHAPTER XI. LONG ACRE AND ITS TRIBUTARIES.\n\n    The Plague--Great Queen Street--Burning Panama--Lord\n    Herbert's Poetry--Kneller's Vanity--Conway House--\n    Winchester House--Ryan the Actor--An Eminent Scholar and\n    Antiquary--Miss Pope--The Freemasons' Hall--Gentleman\n    Lewis--Franklin's Self-denial--The Gordon Riots--Colonel\n    Cromwell--An Eccentric Poetaster--Black Will's Rough\n    Repartee--Ned Ward--Prior's Humble Cell--Stothard--The\n    Mug-houses--Charles Lamb                                   pp. 262-286\n\n\n  CHAPTER XII. DRURY LANE.\n\n    Drury House--Donne's Vision--Donne in his Shroud--The\n    Queen of Bohemia--Brave Lord Craven--An Anecdote of\n    Gondomar--Drury Lane Poets--Nell Gwynn--Zoffany--The\n    King's Company--Memoranda by Pepys--Anecdotes of Joe\n    Haines--Mrs. Oldfield's Good Sense--The Wonder of the\n    Town--Quin and Garrick--Barry and Garrick--The Bellamy--\n    The Siddons--Dicky Suett--Liston's Hypochondria--The\n    First Play--Elliston's Tears--The End of a Man about\n    Town--Edmund Kean--Grimaldi--Kelly and Malibran--Keeley\n    and Harley--Scenes at Drury Lane--\"Wicked Will\n    Whiston\"--Henley's Butchers--\"Il faut vivre\"--Henley's\n    Sermons--The Leaden Seals                                  pp. 287-348\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIII. ST. GILES'S.\n\n    The Lollards--Cobham's Death--The Lazar House--Holborn\n    First Paved--The Mud Deluge--French Protestants--The\n    Plague Cart--The Plague Time--Brought to his Knees--The\n    New Church--The Grave of Flaxman--The Thorntons--Hog\n    Lane--The Tyburn Bowl--The Swan on the Hop--The Irish\n    Deluge--Sham Abraham--Simon and his Dog--Hiring Babies--\n    Pavement Chalkers--Monmouth Street                         pp. 349-386\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIV. LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS.\n\n    The Earl of Lincoln's Garden--The Headless Chancellor--\n    Spelman a late Ripener--Denham and Wither--Lord\n    Lyndhurst--Warburton and Heber--Ben Jonson the\n    Bricklayer--A Murder in Whetstone Park--The Dangers of\n    Lincoln's Inn Fields--Shelter in St. John's Wood--Lord\n    William Russell--A Brave Wife--Pelham--The Caricature of\n    a Duke--Wilde and Best--Lindsey House--The Dukes of\n    Ancaster--Skeletons--Lady Fanshawe--Lord Kenyon's\n    Latin--The Belzoni Sarcophagus--Sir John Soane--Worthy\n    Mrs. Chapone--The Duke's House--Betterton--Mrs.\n    Bracegirdle--A Riot--Rich's Pantomime--The Jump            pp. 387-442\n\n  APPENDIX                                                     pp. 443-465\n\n  INDEX                                                        pp. 467-476\n\n\n\n\nDESCRIPTIVE LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n  TEMPLE BAR, 1761, from a drawing by S. Wale. The view is\n  taken from the City side of the Bar, looking through the\n  arch to Butcher Row and St. Clement's Church. The sign\n  projecting from the house to the spectator's left is that\n  of the famous Devil Tavern                           _Vignette on Title_\n\n                                                                      PAGE\n\n  OLD HOUSES, SHIP YARD, TEMPLE BAR, circa 1761, from a plate\n  in Wilkinson's _Londina Illustrata_                                    4\n\n  THE LORD MAYOR'S SHOW. From the picture by Hogarth                    19\n\n  TEMPLE BAR, 1746, copied from an undated print published soon\n  after the execution of the rebel adherents of the young\n  Pretender. The view is surrounded by an emblematic framework,\n  and contains representations of the heads of Townley and\n  Fletcher, remarkable as the last so exposed; they remained\n  there till 1772                                                       23\n\n  ST. CLEMENT'S CHURCH AND THE STRAND IN 1753, from a print by\n  I. Maurer                                                             25\n\n\n  TWO VIEWS OF ARUNDEL HOUSE, 1646, after Hollar. These views,\n  unique of their kind, are particularly valuable for the\n  clear idea they give of a noble London mansion of the period.\n  Arundel House retains many ancient features, particularly in\n  its dining-hall, which, with the brick residence for the\n  noble owner, is the only dignified portion of the building.\n  The rest has the character of an inn-yard--a mere collection\n  of ill-connected outhouses and stabling. The shed with the\n  tall square window in the roof was the depository of the\n  famous collection of pictures and antiques made by the\n  renowned Earl, part of which still forms the Arundel\n  Collection at Oxford                                              40, 41\n\n  PENN'S HOUSE, NORFOLK STREET, 1749, from a view by J. Buck.\n  The view is taken from the river, looking up Norfolk Street\n  to a range of old houses, still standing, in the Strand.\n  Penn's house was the last on the west side of the street (to\n  the spectator's left), overlooking the water                          55\n\n  SOMERSET HOUSE FROM THE RIVER, 1746, from an engraving by I.\n  Knyff. Upon a barge moored in the river is seen the famous\n  coffee-house known as \"The Folly,\" which, originally used as\n  a musical summer-house, ended in being the resort of depravity        56\n\n  STRAND FRONT OF SOMERSET HOUSE, 1777, from a large engraving\n  after I. Moss                                                         80\n\n  JACOB TONSON'S BOOK-SHOP, 1742, from an etching by Benoist.\n  The shop of this famous bibliopole was opposite Catherine\n  Street. The view is obtained from the background of the\n  print representing a burlesque procession of Masons, got up\n  by some humourist in ridicule of the craft                            82\n\n  OLD HOUSES IN THE STRAND, 1742, copied from the same print as\n  the preceding view. These houses stood on the site of the\n  present Wellington Street                                            104\n\n  THE SAVOY, FROM THE THAMES, IN 1650, after Hollar                    106\n\n  THE SAVOY CHAPEL, from an original drawing                           119\n\n  THE SAVOY PRISON, 1793, from an etching by J. T. Smith               125\n\n  DURHAM HOUSE, 1790, from an etching by J. T. Smith                   126\n\n  THE WATER GATE, 1860, from a Sketch                                  133\n\n  YORK STAIRS AND SURROUNDING BUILDINGS, circa 1745, after an\n  original drawing by Canaletti in the British Museum. This is\n  one of the few interesting views of Old London sketched by\n  Canaletti during his short stay in England. It comprises the\n  famous water-gate designed by Inigo Jones, and the tall\n  wooden tower of the York Buildings Water Company. The large\n  mansion behind this (at the south-west corner of Buckingham\n  Street) was that inhabited by Pepys from 1684, and in which\n  he entertained the members of the Royal Society during his\n  presidency. The house at the opposite corner (seen above the\n  trees) is that in which the Czar Peter the Great resided for\n  some time, when he visited England for instruction in\n  shipbuilding                                                         144\n\n  CROCKFORD'S FISH-SHOP, from an original sketch                       146\n\n  THE OLD ROMAN BATH, from a drawing                                   169\n\n  EXETER CHANGE, 1821, from an etching by Cooke                        188\n\n  TITUS OATES IN THE PILLORY, from an anonymous contemporary\n  Dutch engraving                                                      190\n\n  THE KING'S MEWS, 1750, from a print by I. Maurer. This\n  building, erected in 1732 at the expense of King George II.,\n  was pulled down in 1830. In the foreground of this view the\n  King is represented returning to his carriage after\n  inspecting his horses                                                238\n\n  BARRACK AND OLD HOUSES on the site of Trafalgar Square in\n  1826, from an original sketch by F. W. Fairholt. The view is\n  taken from St. Martin's Church, looking toward Pall Mall;\n  the building in the distance, to the left, is the College of\n  Physicians                                                           239\n\n  OLD SLAUGHTER'S COFFEE-HOUSE, 1826, from an original sketch\n  by F. W. Fairholt                                                    260\n\n  SALISBURY AND WORCESTER HOUSES IN 1630, from a drawing by\n  Hollar in the Pepysian Library, Cambridge                            262\n\n  LYON'S INN, 1804, from an engraving in Herbert's _History of\n  the Inns of Court_                                                   286\n\n  CRAVEN HOUSE, 1790, from an original drawing in the British\n  Museum                                                               287\n\n  DRURY LANE THEATRE, 1806, from an original drawing by Pugin.\n  This was the _third_ theatre, succeeding Garrick's. It was\n  built by Henry Holland, opened March 12, 1794, and burnt down\n  Feb. 24, 1809. It was never properly finished on the side\n  toward Catherine Street, where this view was taken                   347\n\n  CHURCH LANE AND DYOT STREET, from an original sketch by F. W.\n  Fairholt                                                             349\n\n  THE SEVEN DIALS, from an original sketch by F. W. Fairholt           386\n\n  LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS THEATRE IN 1821, from an original sketch\n  by F. W. Fairholt                                                    387\n\n  THE BLACK JACK, Portsmouth Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, from\n  an original sketch by F. W. Fairholt. This public-house was\n  the resort of the actors from the theatre, and among them Joe\n  Miller, who was buried in the graveyard close by, where the\n  hospital now stands. The house was also frequented by Jack\n  Sheppard, and was sometimes termed \"The Jump,\" from the\n  circumstance of his having once jumped from one of the\n  first-floor windows to escape from officers of justice               441\n\n\n\n\nHAUNTED LONDON.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nOne day when Fuseli and Haydon were walking together, they reached the\nsummit of a hill whence they could catch a glimpse of St. Paul's.\n\nThere was the grey dome looming out by fits through rolling drifts of\nmurky smoke. The two little lion-like men stood watching \"the sublime\ncanopy that shrouds the city of the world.\"[1] Now it spread and seethed\nlike the incense from Moloch's furnace; now it lifted and thinned into the\npurer blue, like the waft of some great sacrifice, or settled down to\ndeeper and gloomier grandeur over \"the vastness of modern Babylon.\" That\nbrown cloud hid a huge ants' nest teeming with three millions of people.\nThat dome, with its golden coronet and cross, rose like the globe in an\nemperor's hand--a type of the civilisation, and power, and Christianity of\nEngland.\n\nThe hearts of the two men beat faster at the great sight.\n\n\"Be George!\" said Fuseli, shaking his white hair and stamping his little\nfoot, \"be George! sir, it's like the smoke of the Israelites making bricks\nfor the Egyptians.\"\n\n\"It is grander, Fuseli,\" said Haydon, \"for it is the smoke of a people who\nwould _have made the Egyptians make bricks for them_.\"\n\nIt is of the multitudinous streets of this more than Egyptian city, their\ntraditions, and their past and present inhabitants, that I would now\nwrite. I shall not pass by many houses where any eminent men dwell or\ndwelt, without some biographical anecdote, some epigram, some\nillustration; yet I will not stop long at any door, because so many others\nawait me. I have \"set down,\" I hope, \"nought in malice.\" Truth I trust has\nbeen, and truth alone shall be, my object. I shall stay at Charing Cross\nto point out the heroism of the dying regicides; I shall pause at\nWhitehall to narrate some redeeming traits even in the character of a\nwilful king.\n\nThe growth of London, and its conquest of suburb after suburb, has roused\nthe imagination of poets and essayists ever since the days of Queen\nElizabeth.\n\nWhen James I. forbade the building of fresh houses outside London walls,\nhe little foresaw the time when the City would become almost impassable;\nwhen practical men would burrow roads under ground, or make subterranean\nrailways to drain off the choking traffic; when cool-headed people would\nseriously propose to have flying bridges thrown over the chief\nthoroughfares; when new manners and customs, new diseases, new follies,\nnew social complications would arise, from the fact of three millions of\nmen silently agreeing to live together on only eleven square miles of\nland; when fish would cease to inhabit the poisoned river; when the roar\nof the traffic would render it almost impossible to converse; when, in\nfact, London would grow too large for comfort, safety, pleasure, or even\nsocial intercourse.\n\nIt is difficult to select from what centre to commence a pilgrimage. For\nold Roman London we might start from the Exchange or the Tower; for\nmediaeval London from Chepe or Aldermanbury; for fashionable London from\nCharing Cross; for Shaksperean London from the Globe or Blackfriars. Even\nthen our tours would be circuitous, and sometimes retrograde, and we\nshould turn and double like hares before the hounds.\n\nI have for several reasons, therefore, and after some consideration,\ndecided to start from Temple Bar, and walk westward along the Strand to\nCharing Cross; then to turn up St. Martin's Lane, and return by Longacre\nand Drury Lane to Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.\n\nThat walk embraces the long line of palaces which once adorned the Strand,\nor river-bank street, the countless haunts of artists in St. Martin's\nLane, the legends of Longacre, the theatrical reminiscences of Drury Lane,\nand the old noblemen's houses in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. It comprises a\nperiod not so remote as East London, and not so modern as that of the West\nEnd. It brings us acquainted not only with many of the contemporaries of\nShakspere and Dryden, but also with many celebrities of Garrick's time and\nof Dr. Johnson's age.\n\nIf this is not the best point of departure, it has at least much to be\nsaid in its favour, as the loop I have drawn includes nothing intramural,\nand comprises a part of London inhabited by persons who lived more within\nthe times of memoir-writing than those in the farther East,--a district,\ntoo, more within the range of the antiquary than the newer region of the\nWest.\n\nI trust that in these remarks I have in some degree explained why I have\nspent so much time in pouring \"old wine into new bottles.\"\n\nA preface is too often a pillory made by an author, in which he exposes\nhimself to a shower of the most unsavoury missiles. I trust that mine may\nbe considered only as a wayside stone on which I stand to offer a fitting\napology for what I trust is a venial fault.\n\nIt is the glory of my old foster-mother, London, I would celebrate; it is\nher virtues and her crimes I would record. Her miles of red-tiled roofs,\nher quiet green squares, her vast black mountain of a cathedral, her\nsilver belt of a river, her acres and acres of stony terraces, her\nbeautiful parks, her tributary fleets, seem to me as so many episodes in\none great epic, the true delineation of which would form a new chapter in\nthe HISTORY OF MANKIND.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: SHIP YARD, TEMPLE BAR, 1761.]\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTEMPLE BAR.\n\n\nTemple Bar, that old dingy gateway of blackened Portland stone which\nseparates the Strand from Fleet Street, the City from the Shire, and the\nFreedom of the City of London from the Liberty of the City of Westminster,\nwas built by Sir Christopher Wren in the year 1670, four years after the\nGreat Fire, and ten after the Restoration.\n\nIn earlier days there were at this spot only posts, rails, and a chain, as\nat Holborn, Smithfield, and Whitechapel. In later times, however, a house\nof timber was erected, with a narrow gateway and one passage on the south\nside.[2]\n\nThe original Bar seems to have crossed Fleet Street, several yards farther\nto the east of its successor. In the time of James I. it consisted of an\niron railing with a gate in the middle. A man sat on the spot for many\nyears after the erection of the new gate, to take toll from all carts\nwhich had not the City arms painted on them.\n\nTemple Bar, if described now in an architect's catalogue, would be noted\nas pierced with two side posterns for foot passengers, and having a\ncentral flattened archway for carriages. In the upper story is an\napartment with semicircular arched windows on the eastern and western\nsides, and the whole is crowned with a sweeping pediment.\n\nOn the western or Westminster side there are two niches, in which are\nplaced mean statues of Charles I. and Charles II. in fluttering Roman\nrobes, and on the east or Fleet Street side there are statues of James I.\nand Queen Elizabeth. They are all remarkable for their small feeble heads,\ntheir affected and crinkled drapery, and the piebald look produced by\ntheir projecting hands and feet being washed white by years of rain, while\nthe rest of their bodies remains a sooty black.\n\nThe upper room is held of the City by the partners of the very ancient\nfirm of Messrs. Child, bankers. There they store their books and records,\nas in an old muniment-chamber. The north side ground floor, next to Shire\nLane, was occupied as a barber's shop from the days of Steele and the\n_Tatler_.\n\nThe centre slab on the east side of Temple Bar once contained the\nfollowing inscription, now all but obliterated:--\"Erected in the year\n1670, Sir Samuel Sterling, Mayor; continued in the year 1671, Sir Richard\nFord, Lord Mayor; and finished in the year 1672, Sir George Waterman,\nLord Mayor.\" It is probable that the corresponding western slab, and also\nthe smaller one over the postern, once bore inscriptions.\n\nTemple Bar was doomed to destruction by the City as early as 1790, through\nthe exertions of Alderman Picket. \"Threatened men live long,\" says an old\nItalian proverb. Temple Bar still stands[3] a narrow neck to an immense\ndecanter; an impeder of traffic, a venerable nuisance, with nothing\ninteresting but its associations and its dirt. But then let us remember\nthat as Holborn Hill has tormented horses and drivers ever since the\nConquest, and its steepness is not yet in any way mitigated,[4] we must\nnot expect hasty reforms in London.\n\nIt does not enter into my purpose (unless I walked like a crab, backwards)\nto give the history of Child's bank. Suffice it for me to say that it\nstands on part of the site of the old Devil Tavern, kept by old Simon\nWadloe, where Ben Jonson held his club. It was taken down in 1788, and\nChild's Place built in its stead.[5] Alderman Backwell, who was ruined by\nthe shutting up of the Exchequer in the reign of Charles II., and became a\npartner in this, the oldest banking-house in London, was the agent for\nGovernment in the sale of Dunkirk to the French.\n\nPepys makes frequent allusions to his friend Child, probably one of the\nfounders of this bank. The Duke of York opposed his interference in\nAdmiralty matters, and had a quarrel with a gentleman who declared that\nwhoever impugned Child's honesty must be a knave. Child wrote an\nenlightened work on Indian trade, supporting the interests of the East\nIndia Company.\n\nApollo Court, exactly opposite the bank, marks a passage that once faced\nthe Apollo room, from whose windows Ben Jonson must have often glowered\nand Herrick laughed.\n\nArchenholz says that in his day there were forty-eight bankers in London.\n\"The Duke of Marlborough,\" writes the Prussian traveller, \"had some years\nago in the hands of Child the banker, a fund of ten, fifteen, or twenty\nthousand pounds. Drummond had often in his hands several hundred thousand\npounds at one time belonging to the Government.\"[6]\n\nIn the earliest London Directory (1677),[7] among \"the goldsmiths that\nkeep running cashes,\" we find \"Richard Blanchard and Child, at the\nMarygold in Fleet Street.\" The huge marigold (really a sun in full shine),\nabove four feet high, the original street-sign of the old goldsmiths at\nTemple Bar, is still preserved in one of the rooms of Child's bank.\n\nJohn Bushnell, the sculptor who executed the statues on Temple Bar, being\ncompelled by his master, Burman, of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, to marry a\ndiscarded servant-maid, went to Italy, and resided in Rome and Venice, and\nin the latter place executed a monument to a Procuratore, representing a\nnaval engagement between the Venetians and the Turks. His best works are\nCowley's monument, that of Sir Palmes Fairborne in Westminster Abbey, and\nLord Mordaunt's statue in Fulham church. He also executed the statues of\nCharles I., Charles II., and Sir Thomas Gresham for the Royal Exchange. He\nhad agreed to complete the set of kings, but Cibber being also engaged,\nBushnell would not finish the six or seven he had begun. Being told by\nrival sculptors that he could carve only drapery, and not the naked\nfigure, he produced a very despicable Alexander the Great.\n\nThe next whim of this vain, fantastic, and crazy man, was to prove that\nthe Trojan Horse could really have been constructed.[8] He therefore had a\nwooden horse built with huge timbers, which he proposed to cover with\nstucco. The head held twelve men and a table; the eyes served as windows.\nBefore it was half completed, however, it was demolished by a storm of\nwind, and no entreaties of the two vintners who had contracted to use the\nhorse for a drinking booth could induce the mortified projector to rebuild\nthe monster, which had already cost him L500. A wiser plan of his, that of\nbringing coal to London by sea, also miscarried; and the loss of an estate\nin Kent, through an unsuccessful lawsuit, completed the overthrow of\nBushnell's never very well-balanced brain. He died in 1701, and was buried\nat Paddington. His two sons (to one of whom he left L100 a year, and to\nthe other L60) became recluses, moping in an unfinished house of their\nfather's, facing Hyde Park, in the lane leading from Piccadilly to Tyburn,\nnow Park Lane. This strange abode had neither staircase nor doors, but\nthere they brooded, sordid and impracticable, saying that the world had\nnot been worthy of their father. Vertue, in 1728, describes a visit to the\nhouse, which was then choked with unfinished statues and pictures. There\nwas a ruined cast of an intended brass equestrian statue of Charles II.:\nan Alexander and other unfinished kings completed the disconsolate\nbrotherhood. Against the wall leant a great picture of a classic triumph,\nalmost obliterated; and on the floor lay a bar of iron, as thick as a\nman's wrist, that had been broken by some forgotten invention of\nBushnell's.\n\nAfter the discovery of the absurd Meal-Tub Plot, in 1679, the 17th of\nNovember, the anniversary of the accession of Queen Elizabeth was kept,\naccording to custom, as a high Protestant festival, and celebrated by an\nextraordinary procession, at the expense of the Green-Ribbon Club, a few\ncitizens, and some gentlemen of the Temple. The bells began to ring out at\nthree o'clock in the morning; at dusk the procession began at Moorgate,\nand passed through Cheapside and Fleet Street, where it ended with a huge\nbonfire, \"just over against the Inner Temple gate.\"[9]\n\nThe stormy procession was thus constituted:--\n\n1. Six whifflers, in pioneer caps and red waistcoats, who cleared the\nway. 2. A bellman, ringing his bell, and with a doleful voice crying,\n\"Remember Justice Godfrey.\" 3. A dead body, representing the wood-merchant\nof Hartshorne Lane (Sir E. Godfrey), in a decent black habit, white\ngloves, and the cravat wherewith he was murdered about his neck, with\nspots of blood on his wrists, breast, and shirt. This figure was held on a\nwhite horse by a man representing one of the murderers. 4. A priest in a\nsurplice and cope, embroidered with bones, skulls, and skeletons. He\nhanded pardons to all who would meritoriously murder Protestants. 5. A\npriest, bearing a great silver cross. 6. Four Carmelite friars, in white\nand black robes. 7. Four Grey Friars. 8. Six Jesuits with bloody daggers.\n9. The waits, playing all the way. 10. Four bishops in purple, with lawn\nsleeves, golden crosses on their breasts, and croziers in their hands. 11.\nFour other bishops, in full pontificals (copes and surplices), wearing\ngilt mitres. 12. Six cardinals, in scarlet robes and caps. 13. The Pope's\nchief physician, with Jesuits' powder and other still more grotesque\nbadges of his office. 14. Two priests in surplices, bearing golden\ncrosses. 15. Then came the centre of all this pageant, the Pope himself,\nsitting in a scarlet and gilt fringed chair of state. His feet were on a\ncushion, supported by two boys in surplices, with censers and white silk\nbanners, painted with red crosses and bloody consecrated daggers. His\nHoliness wore a scarlet gown, lined with ermine and daubed with gold and\nsilver lace. On his head he had the triple tiara, and round his neck a\ngilt collar, strung with precious stones, beads, Agnus Dei's, and St.\nPeter's keys. At the back of his chair climbed and whispered the devil,\nwho hugged and caressed him, and sometimes urged him aloud to kill King\nCharles, or to forge a Protestant plot and to fire the city again, for\nwhich purpose he kept a torch ready lit.\n\nThe number of spectators in the balconies and windows was computed at two\nhundred thousand. A hundred and fifty flambeaux followed the procession by\norder, and as many more came as volunteers.\n\nRoger North also describes a fellow with a stentorophonic tube (a\nspeaking-trumpet), who kept bellowing out--\"Abhorrers! abhorrers!\"[10]\n\nLastly came a complaisant, civil gentleman, who was meant to represent\neither Sir Roger l'Estrange, or the King of France, or the Duke of York.\n\"Taking all in good part, he went on his way to the fire.\"\n\nAt Temple Bar some of the mob had crowned the statue of Elizabeth with\ngilt laurel, and placed in her hand a gilt shield with the motto, \"The\nProtestant Religion and Magna Charta.\" A spear leant against her arm, and\nthe niche was lit with candles and flambeaux, so that, as North said, she\nlooked like the goddess Pallas, the object of some solemn worship and\nsacrifice.\n\nAll this time perpetual battles and skirmishes went on between the Whigs\nand Tories at the different windows, and thousands of volleys of squibs\nwere discharged.\n\nWhen the pope was at last toppled into the fire a prodigious shout was\nraised, that spread as far as Somerset House, where the queen then was,\nand, as a pamphleteer of the time says, before it ceased, reached\nScotland, France, and even Rome.\n\nFrom these processions the word MOB (_mobile vulgus_) became introduced\ninto our language.[11] In 1682, Charles II. tried to prohibit this annual\nfestival, but it continued nevertheless till the reign of Queen Anne, or\neven later.[12]\n\nAt Temple Bar, where the houses seemed turned into mountains of heads, and\nmany fireworks were let off, a man representing the English cardinal\n(Philip Howard, brother of the Duke of Norfolk) sang a rude part-song with\nother men who personated the people of England. The cardinal first\nbegan:--\n\n  \"From York to London town we come\n    To talk of Popish ire,\n  To reconcile you all to Rome,\n    And prevent Smithfield fire.\"\n\nTo which the people replied, valorously:--\n\n  \"Cease, cease, thou Norfolk cardinal,\n    See! yonder stands Queen Bess,\n  Who saved our souls from Popish thrall:\n    Oh, Bess! Queen Bess! Queen Bess!\n\n  \"Your Popish plot, and Smithfield threat,\n    We do not fear at all,\n  For, lo! beneath Queen Bess's feet,\n    You fall! you fall! you fall!\n\n  \"'Tis true our king's on t'other side,\n    A looking t'wards Whitehall,\n  But could we bring him round about,\n    He'd counterplot you all.\n\n  \"Then down with James and up with Charles,\n    On good Queen Bess's side,\n  That all true commons, lords, and earls\n    May wish him a fruitful bride.\n\n  \"Now God preserve great Charles our king,\n    And eke all honest men,\n  And traitors all to justice bring:\n    Amen! Amen! Amen!\"\n\nIt was formerly the barbarous and brutal custom to place the heads and\nquarters of traitors upon Temple Bar as scarecrows to all persons who did\nnot consider William of Orange, or the Elector of Hanover, the rightful\npossessors of the English crown.\n\nSir Thomas Armstrong was the first to help to deck Wren's new arch. When\nShaftesbury fled in 1683, and the Court had partly discovered his\nintrigues with Monmouth and the Duke of Argyle, the more desperate men of\nthe Exclusion Party plotted to stop the king's coach as he returned from\nNewmarket to London, at the Rye House, a lonely mansion near Hoddesden.\nThe plot was discovered, and Monmouth escaped to Holland. In the meantime\nthe informers dragged Russell and Sydney into the scheme, for which they\nwere falsely put to death. Sir Thomas Armstrong, who had been taken at\nLeyden and delivered up to the English Ambassador at the Hague, claimed a\ntrial as a surrendered outlaw, according to the 6th Edward VI. But Judge\nJeffreys refused him his request, as he had not surrendered voluntarily,\nbut had been brought by force. Armstrong still claiming the benefit of the\nlaw, the brutal judge replied:--\"And the benefit of the law you shall\nhave, by the grace of God. See that execution be done on Friday next,\naccording to law.\"\n\nArmstrong had sinned deeply against the king. He had sold himself to the\nFrench ambassador, he had urged Monmouth on in his undutiful conduct to\nhis father, and he had been an active agent in the Rye House Plot. Charles\nwould listen to no voice in his favour. On the scaffold he denied any\nintention of assassinating the king or changing the form of\ngovernment.[13]\n\nSir William Perkins and Sir John Friend were the next unfortunate\ngentlemen who lent their heads to crown the Bar. They were rash,\nhot-headed Jacobites, who, too eagerly adopting the \"ultima ratio\" of\npolitical partisans, had planned, in 1696, to stop King William's coach in\na deep lane between Brentford and Turnham Green, as he returned from\nhunting at Richmond. Sir John Friend was a person who had acquired wealth\nand credit from mean beginnings, but Perkins was a man of fortune,\nviolently attached to King James, though as one of the six clerks of\nChancery he had taken the oath to the new Government. Friend owned that he\nhad been at a treasonable meeting at the King's Head Tavern in Leadenhall\nStreet, but denied connivance in the assassination-plot. Perkins made an\nartful and vigorous defence, but the judge acted as counsel for the Crown\nand guided the jury. They both suffered at Tyburn, three nonjuring\nclergymen absolving them, much to the indignation of the loyal\nbystanders.[14]\n\nJohn Evelyn calls the sight of Temple Bar \"a dismal sight.\"[15] Thank God,\nthis revolting spectacle of traitors' heads will never be seen here again.\n\nIn 1716 Colonel Henry Oxburgh's head was added to the quarters of Sir\nJohn Friend (a brewer) and the skull of Sir William Perkins. Oxburgh was a\nLancashire gentleman, who had served in the French army. General Foster\n(who escaped from Newgate, in 1716) had made him colonel directly he\njoined the Pretender's army. To him, too, had been entrusted the\nhumiliating task of proposing capitulation to the king's troops at\nPreston, when the Highlanders, frenzied with despair, were eager to sally\nout and cut their way through the enemy's dragoons. He met death with a\nserene temper. A fellow-prisoner described his words as coming \"like a\ngleam from God. You received comfort,\" he says, \"from the man you came to\ncomfort.\" Oxburgh was executed at Tyburn, May 14; his body was buried at\nSt. Giles', all but his head, and that was placed on Temple Bar two days\nafterwards.\n\nA curious print of 1746 represents Temple Bar with the three heads raised\non tall poles or iron rods. The devil looks down in triumph and waves the\nrebel banner, on which are three crowns and a coffin, with the motto, \"A\ncrown or a grave.\" Underneath are written these wretched verses:\n\n  \"Observe the banner which would all enslave,\n  Which ruined traytors did so proudly wave.\n  The devil seems the project to despise;\n  A fiend confused from off the trophy flies.\n\n  \"While trembling rebels at the fabrick gaze,\n  And dread their fate with horror and amaze,\n  Let Briton's sons the _emblematick_ view,\n  And plainly see what to rebellion's due.\"\n\nA curious little book \"by a member of the Inner Temple,\" which has\npreserved this print, has also embalmed the following stupid and\ncold-blooded impromptu on the heads of Oxburgh, Townley, and Fletcher:--\n\n  \"Three heads here I spy,\n  Which the glass did draw nigh,\n    The better to have a good sight;\n  Triangle they're placed,\n  Old, bald, and barefaced,\n    Not one of them e'er was upright.\"[16]\n\nThe heads of Fletcher and Townley were put up on Temple Bar August 2,\n1746. On August 16, Walpole writes to Montague to say that he had \"passed\nunder the new heads at Temple Bar, where people made a trade of letting\nspying-glasses at a halfpenny a look.\"\n\nTownley was a young officer about thirty-eight years of age, born at\nWigan, and of a good family. His uncle had been out in 1715, but was\nacquitted on his trial. Townley had been fifteen years abroad in the\nFrench army, and was close to the Duke of Berwick when the duke's head was\nshot off at the siege of Philipsburgh. When the Highlanders came into\nEngland he met them near Preston, and received from the young Pretender a\ncommission to raise a regiment of foot. He had been also commandant at\nCarlisle, and directed the sallies from thence.\n\nFletcher, a young linen chapman at Salford, had been seen pulling off his\nhat and shouting when a sergeant and a drummer were beating up for\nvolunteers at the Manchester Exchange. He had been seen also at Carlisle,\ndressed as an officer, with a white cockade in his hat and a plaid sash\nround his waist.[17]\n\nSeven other Jacobites were executed on Kennington Common with Fletcher and\nTownley. They were unchained from the floor of their room in Southwark new\ngaol early in the morning, and having taken coffee, had their irons\nknocked off. They were then, at about ten o'clock, put into three sledges,\neach drawn by three horses. The executioner, with a drawn scimitar, sat in\nthe first sledge with Townley; a party of dragoons and a detachment of\nfoot-guards conducted him to the gallows, near which a pile of <DW19>s and\na block had been placed. While the prisoners were stepping from their\nsledges into a cart drawn up beneath a tree, the wood was set on fire, and\nthe guards formed a circle round the place of execution. The prisoners had\nno clergyman, but Mr. Morgan, one of their number, put on his spectacles\nand read prayers to them, which they listened and responded to with\ndevoutness. This lasted above an hour. Each one then threw his\nprayer-book and some written papers among the spectators; they also\ndelivered notes to the sheriff, and then flung their hats into the crowd.\n\"Six of the hats,\" says the quaint contemporary account, \"were laced with\ngold,--all of these prisoners having been genteelly dressed.\" Immediately\nafter, the executioner took a white cap from each man's pocket and drew it\nover his eyes; then they were turned off. When they had hung about three\nminutes, the executioner pulled off their shoes, white stockings, and\nbreeches, a butcher removing their other clothes. The body of Mr. Townley\nwas then cut down and laid upon a block, and the butcher seeing some signs\nof life remaining, struck it on the breast, then took out the bowels and\nthe heart, and threw them into the fire. Afterwards, with a cleaver, they\nsevered the head and placed it with the body in the coffin. When the last\nheart, which was Mr. Dawson's, was tossed into the fire, the executioner\ncried, \"God save King George!\" and the immense multitude gave a great\nshout. The heads and bodies were then removed to Southwark gaol to await\nthe king's pleasure.\n\nAccording to another account the bodies were cloven into quarters; and as\nthe butcher held up each heart he cried, \"Behold the heart of a traitor!\"\n\nMr. James Dawson, one of the unhappy men thus cruelly punished, was a\nyoung Lancashire gentleman of fortune, just engaged to be married. The\nunhappy lady followed his sledge to the place of execution, and approached\nnear enough to see the fire kindled and all the other dreadful\npreparations. She bore it well till she heard her lover was no more, but\nthen drew her head back into the coach, and crying out, \"My dear, I follow\nthee!--I follow thee! Sweet Jesus, receive our souls together!\" fell on\nthe neck of a companion and expired. Shenstone commemorated this\noccurrence in a plaintive ballad called \"Jemmy Dawson.\"\n\nMr. Dawson is described as \"a mighty gay gentleman, who frequented much\nthe company of the ladies, and was well respected by all his acquaintance\nof either sex for his genteel deportment. He was as strenuous for their\nvile cause as any one in the rebel army. When he was condemned and double\nfettered, he said he did not care if they were to put a ton weight of iron\non him; it would not in the least daunt his resolution.\"[18]\n\nOn January 20 (between 2 and 3 A.M.), 1766, a man was taken up for\ndischarging musket-bullets from a steel crossbow at the two remaining\nheads upon Temple Bar. On being examined he affected a disorder in his\nsenses, and said his reason for doing so was \"his strong attachment to the\npresent Government, and that he thought it was not sufficient that a\ntraitor should merely suffer death; that this provoked his indignation,\nand that it had been his constant practice for three nights past to amuse\nhimself in the same manner. And it is much to be feared,\" says the\nrecorder of the event, \"that he is a near relation to one of the unhappy\nsufferers.\"[19] Upon searching this man, about fifty musket-bullets were\nfound on him, wrapped up in a paper with a motto--\"Eripuit ille vitam.\"\n\n\"Yesterday,\" says a news-writer of the 1st of April, 1772, \"one of the\nrebel heads on Temple Bar fell down. There is only one head now\nremaining.\"\n\nThe head that fell was probably that of Councillor Layer, executed for\nhigh treason in 1723. The blackened head was blown off the spike during a\nviolent storm. It was picked up by Mr. John Pearce, an attorney, one of\nthe Nonjurors of the neighbourhood, who showed it to some friends at a\npublic-house, under the floor of which it was buried. In the meanwhile Dr.\nRawlinson, a Jacobite antiquarian, having begged for the relic, was\nimposed on with another. In his will the doctor desired to be buried with\nthis head in his right hand,[20] and the request was complied with.\n\nThis Dr. Rawlinson, one of the first promoters of the Society of\nAntiquaries, and son of a lord mayor of London, died in 1755. His body was\nburied in St. Giles' churchyard, Oxford, and his heart in St. John's\nCollege. The sale of his effects lasted several days, and produced L1164.\nHe left upwards of 20,000 pamphlets; his coins he bequeathed to Oxford.\n\nThe last of the iron poles or spikes on which the heads of the unfortunate\nJacobite gentlemen were fixed, was removed only at the commencement of the\npresent century.[21]\n\nThe above-named Christopher Layer was a barrister, living in Old\nSouthampton Buildings, who had engaged in a plot to seize the Bank and the\nTower, to arm the Minters in Southwark, to seize the king, Walpole, and\nLord Cadogan, to place cannon on the terrace of Lincoln's-Inn-Fields\ngardens, and to draw a force of armed men together at the Exchange. The\nprisoner had received blank promissory-notes signed in the Pretender's own\nhand, and also treasonable letters full of cant words of the party in\ndisguised names--such as Mr. Atkins for the Pretender, Mrs. Barbara Smith\nfor the army, and Mr. Fountaine for himself.\n\nIt was proved that, at an audience in Rome, Layer had assured the\nPretender that the South Sea losses had done good to his cause; and the\nPretender and the Pretender's wife (through their proxies, Lord North and\nGrey, and the Duchess of Ormond) had stood as godfather and godmother to\nhis (Layer's) daughter's child.\n\nHe was executed at Tyburn in May 1723, and avowed his principles even\nunder the gallows. His head was taken to Newgate, and the next day fixed\nupon Temple Bar; but his quarters were delivered to his relations to be\ndecently interred.\n\nIn April 1773 Boswell dined at Mr. Beauclerk's with Dr. Johnson, Lord\nCharlemont, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and some other members of the Literary\nClub--it being the evening when Boswell was to be balloted for as\ncandidate for admission into that distinguished society.[22] The\nconversation turned on Westminster Abbey, and on the new and commendable\npractice of erecting monuments to great men in St. Paul's; upon which the\ndoctor observed--\n\n\"I remember once being with Goldsmith in Westminster Abbey. While we\nsurveyed the Poets' Corner, I said to him--\n\n  'Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur illis.'\n\nWhen we got to Temple Bar he stopped me, pointed to the heads upon it, and\nslily whispered--\n\n  'Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur _istis_.'\"[23]\n\nThis walk must have taken place a year or two before 1773, for in 1772, as\nwe have seen, the last head but one fell.\n\nO'Keefe, the dramatist, who arrived in England on August 12, 1762, the day\non which the Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.) was born, describes\nthe heads of poor Townley and Fletcher as stuck up on high poles, not over\nthe central archway, but over the side posterns. Parenthetically he\nmentions that he had also seen the walls of Cork gaol garnished with\nheads, like the ramparts of the seraglio at Constantinople.[24]\n\nO'Keefe tells us that he heard the unpopular peace of 1763 proclaimed at\nTemple Bar, and witnessed the heralds in the Strand knock at the city\ngate. The duke of Nivernois, the French ambassador on that occasion, was a\nvery little man, who wore a coat of richly-embroidered blue velvet, and a\nsmall _chapeau_, which set the fashion of the Nivernois hat.[25]\n\nAt the proclamation of the short peace of Amiens, the king's marshal, with\nhis officers, having ridden down the Strand from Westminster, stopped at\nTemple Bar, which was kept shut to show that there commenced the Lord\nMayor's jurisdiction. The herald's trumpets were blown thrice; the junior\nofficer then tapped at the gate with his cane, upon which the City\nmarshal, in the most unconscious way possible, answered, \"Who is there?\"\nThe herald replied, \"The officers-of-arms, who seek entrance into the City\nto publish his majesty's proclamation of peace.\" On this the gates were\nflung open, and the herald alone was admitted, and conducted to the Lord\nMayor. The latter then read the royal warrant, and returning it to the\nbearer, ordered the City marshal to open the gate for the whole\nprocession. The Lord Mayor and aldermen then joined it, and proceeded to\nthe Royal Exchange, where the proclamation, that was to bid the cannon\ncease and chain up the dogs of war, was read for the last time.\n\n[Illustration: THE LORD MAYOR'S SHOW. AFTER HOGARTH.]\n\nThe timber work and doors of Temple Bar have been often renewed since\n1672. New doors were hung for Nelson's funeral, when the Bar was to be\nclosed; and again at the funeral of Wellington, when the plumes and\ntrophies had to be removed in order that the car might pass through the\ngate, which was covered with dull theatrical finery.[26]\n\nThe old, black, mud-splashed gates of Temple Bar are also shut whenever\nthe sovereign has occasion to enter the City. This is an old custom, a\ntradition of the times when the city was proud of its privileges, and\nsometimes even jealous of royalty. When the cavalcade approaches, a\nherald, in his tabard of crimson and gold lace, sounds a trumpet before\nthe portal of the City; another herald knocks; a parley ensues; the gates\nare then thrown open, and the Lord Mayor appearing, kneels and hands the\nsword of the city to his sovereign, who graciously returns it.\n\nStow describes a scene like this in the old days of the \"timber house,\"\nwhen Queen Elizabeth was on her way to old St. Paul's to return thanks to\nGod for the discomfiture of the Armada. The City waits fluted, trumpeted,\nand fiddled from the roof of the gate; while below, the Lord Mayor and his\nbrethren, in scarlet gowns, received and welcomed their brave queen,\ndelivering up the sword which, after certain speeches, she re-delivered to\nthe mayor, who, then taking horse, rode onward to St. Paul's bearing it in\nits shining sheath before her.[27]\n\nIn the June after the execution of Charles I., when Cromwell had dispersed\nthe mutinous regiments with his horse, and pistolled or hanged their\nleaders, a day of thanksgiving was appointed, and the Parliament, the\nCouncil of State, and the Council of the Army, after endless sermons,\ndined together at Grocers' Hall; on that day Lenthall, the Speaker,\nreceived the sword of state from the mayor at the Bar, and assumed the\nfunctions of royalty.\n\nThe same ceremony took place when Queen Anne went to St. Paul's to return\nthanks for the Duke of Marlborough's victories, and again when George III.\ncame to return thanks for a recovery from his fit of insanity, and when\nQueen Victoria passed on her way to Cornhill to open the Royal Exchange.\n\nTemple Bar naturally does not figure much in the early City pageants,\nbecause, after proceeding to Westminster by water, the mayor and aldermen\nusually landed at St. Paul's Stairs.\n\nIt is, we believe, first mentioned in the great festivities when the City\nbrought poor Anne Boleyn, in 1533, from Greenwich to the Tower, and on the\nsecond day after conducted her through the chief streets and honoured her\nwith shows. On that day the Fleet Street conduit ran claret, and Temple\nBar was newly painted and repaired; there also stood singing men and\nchildren, till the company rode on to Westminster Hall. The next day was\nthe coronation.[28]\n\nOn the 19th of February 1546-7 the young King Edward VI. passed through\nLondon, the day before his coronation. At the Fleet Street conduit two\nhogsheads of wine were given to the people. The gate at Temple Bar was\nalso painted and fashioned with varicoloured battlements and buttresses,\nrichly hung with cloth of arras, and garnished with fourteen standards.\nThere were eight French trumpeters blowing their best, besides a pair of\n\"regals,\" with children singing to the same.[29]\n\nIn September 1553 Queen Mary rode through London, the day before her\ncoronation, in a chariot covered with cloth of tissue, and drawn by six\nhorses draped with the same. Minstrels played at Ludgate, and the Temple\nBar was newly painted and hung.[30]\n\nBut even a greater time came for the old City boundary in January 1558-9,\nwhen Queen Elizabeth went from the Tower to Westminster. Temple Bar was\n\"finely dressed\" up with the two giants--Gog and Magog (now in the\nGuildhall)--who held between them a poetical recapitulation of all the\nother pageantries, both in Latin and English. On the south side was a\nnoise of singing children, one of whom, richly attired as a poet, gave the\nqueen farewell in the name of the whole city.[31]\n\nIn 1603 King James, Queen Anne of Denmark, and Prince Henry Frederick\npassed through \"the honourable City and Chamber\" of London, and were\nwelcomed with pageants. The last arch, that of Temple Bar, represented a\ntemple of Janus. The principal character was Peace, with War grovelling at\nher feet; by her stood Wealth; below sat the four handmaids of\nPeace,--Quiet treading on Tumult, Liberty on Servitude, Safety on Danger,\nand Felicity on Unhappiness. There was then recited a poetical dialogue by\nthe Flamen Martialis and the Genius Urbis, written by Ben Jonson.\n\nHere, hitherto, the pageantry had always ceased, but the Strand suburbs\nhaving now greatly increased, there was an additional pageant beyond\nTemple Bar, which had been thought of and perfected in only twelve days.\nThe invention was a rainbow; and the moon, sun, and pleiades advanced\nbetween two magnificent pyramids seventy feet high, on which were drawn\nout the king's pedigrees through both the English and the Scottish\nmonarchs. A speech composed by Ben Jonson was delivered by Electra.[32]\n\nWhen Charles II. came through London, according to custom, the day before\nhis coronation, I suspect that \"the fourth arch in Fleet Street\" was close\nto Temple Bar. It was of the Doric and Ionic orders, and was dedicated to\nPlenty, who made a speech, surrounded by Bacchus, Ceres, Flora, Pomona,\nand the Winds; but whether the latter were alive or only dummies, I cannot\nsay.\n\nThe _London Gazette_ of February 8, 1665-6, announces the proclamation of\nwar against France; and Pepys mentions this as also the day on which they\nwent into mourning at court for the King of Spain. War was proclaimed by\nthe herald-at-arms and two of his brethren, his majesty's\nsergeants-at-arms, and trumpeters, with the other usual officers before\nWhitehall, and afterwards (the Lord Mayor and his brethren assisting) at\nTemple Bar, and in other usual parts of the City.\n\nJames II., in 1687, honoured Sir John Shorter as Lord Mayor with his\npresence at an inaugurative banquet at Guildhall. The king was accompanied\nby Prince George of Denmark, and was met by the two sheriffs at Temple\nBar.\n\n[Illustration: TEMPLE BAR, 1746.]\n\nOn Lord Mayor's Day, 1689, when King William and Queen Mary came to the\nCity to see the show, the City militia regiments lined the street as far\nas Temple Bar, and beyond came the red and blue regiments of Middlesex and\nWestminster; the soldiers, at regulated distances, holding lighted\nflambeaux in their hands, and all the houses being illuminated.[33]\n\nIn 1697, when Macaulay's hero, William III., made a triumphant entry into\nLondon to celebrate the conclusion of the peace of Ryswick, the procession\nincluded fourscore state coaches, each with six horses; the three City\nregiments guarded Temple Bar, and beyond them came the liveries of the\nseveral companies, with their banners and ensigns displayed.[34]\n\nGeorge III. in his day, and Queen Victoria in her and our own, passed\nthrough Temple Bar in state more than once, on their way into the City;\nthe last occasion was on February 1872, when the Queen proceeded to St.\nPaul's to offer thanks for the recovery of her son the Prince of Wales.\nThrough it also the bodies of Nelson and of Wellington were borne to their\nlast resting place in St. Paul's.\n\nOn the auspicious entrance into London of the fair Princess Alexandra, the\nold gate was hung with tapestry of gold tissue, powdered with crimson\nhearts; and very mediaeval and gorgeous it looked; but the real days of\npageants are gone by. We shall never again see fountains running wine, nor\nmaidens blowing gold-leaf into the air, as in the luxurious days of our\nPlantagenet kings.\n\nThere are many portals in the world loftier and more beautiful than our\ndull, black arch of Temple Bar. The Vatican has grander doorways, the\nLouvre more stately entrances, but through no gateway in the world have\nsurely passed onwards to death so many millions of wise and brave men, or\nso many thinkers who have urged forward learning and civilisation, and\ncarried the standard of struggling humanity farther into space.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ST. CLEMENT'S CHURCH IN THE STRAND, 1753.]\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE STRAND (SOUTH SIDE).\n\n\nEssex Street was formerly part of the Outer Temple, the western wing of\nthe Knight Templars' quarter. The outer district of these proud and\nwealthy Crusaders stretched as far as the present Devereux Court; those\ngentler spoilers, the mediaeval lawyers, having extended their frontiers\nquite as far as their rooted-out predecessors. From the Prior and Canons\nof the Holy Sepulchre[35] it was transferred, in the reign of Edward II.\nto the Bishops of Exeter, who built a palace here and occupied it till the\nreign of Henry VII. or Henry VIII.\n\nThe first tenant of Exeter House was the ill-fated Walter Stapleton, Lord\nTreasurer of England, a firm adherent to the luckless Edward II., against\nhis queen and the turbulent barons. In 1326, when Isabella landed from\nFrance to chase the Spensers from her husband's side, and advanced on\nLondon, the weak king and his evil counsellors fled to the Welsh frontier;\nbut the bishop held out stoutly for his king, and, as custos of the City\nof London, demanded the keys from the Lord Mayor, Hammond Chickwell, to\nprevent the treachery of the disaffected city. The watchful populace,\nroused by Isabella's proclamation that had been hung on the new cross in\nCheapside, rose in arms, seized the vacillating mayor, and took the keys.\nThey next ran to Exeter House, then newly erected, fired the gates, and\nburnt all the plate, jewels, money, and goods. The bishop, at that time in\nthe fields, being almost too proud to show fear, rode straight to the\nnorthern door of St. Paul's to take sanctuary. There the mob tore him from\nhis horse, stripped him of his armour, and dragging him to Cheapside,\nproclaimed him a traitor, a seducer of the king, and an enemy of their\nliberties, and lopping off his head, set it on a pole. The corpse was\nburied without funeral service in an old churchyard of the Pied\nFriars.[36] His brother and some servants were also beheaded, and their\nbleeding and naked bodies thrown on a heap of rubbish by the river side.\n\nExeter Place was shortly afterwards rebuilt, but the new house seemed a\ndoomed place, and brought no better fortune to its new owners. Lord Paget,\nwho changed its name to Paget House, fought at Boulogne under the poet\nEarl of Surrey, was ambassador at the court of Charles V., and on his\nreturn obtained a peerage and the garter. He fell with the Protector\nSomerset, being accused of having planned the assassination of the Duke of\nNorthumberland at Paget House. Released from the Tower, he was deprived of\nthe garter upon the malicious pretence that he was not a gentleman by\nblood. Queen Mary, however, restored the fallen man to honour, made him\nLord Privy Seal, and sent him on an embassy.\n\nThe next occupier of the unlucky house, Thomas Howard, fourth Duke of\nNorfolk, and son of the poet Earl of Surrey, maintained in its chambers an\nalmost royal magnificence. It was here he was arrested for conspiring,\nwith the aid of Mary Queen of Scots, the Pope, and the King of Spain, to\nmarry Mary and restore the Popish religion.\n\nThe duke's ambition and treason were fully proved by his own intercepted\nletters; indeed, he himself confessed his guilt, though he had denounced\nMary to Elizabeth as a \"notorious adulteress and murderer.\" To crown his\nrashness, meanness, and treason, he wrote from the Tower the most abject\nletters to Elizabeth, imploring her clemency. He was privately beheaded in\n1572, but his estates were restored to his children.[37] It was under the\nmat, hard by a window in the entry towards the duke's bedchamber, that the\ncelebrated alphabet in cipher[38] was hidden, which the duke afterwards\nconcealed under a roof tile, where it was found, unmasking all his plans.\n\nIn the Tower the unhappy plotter had written affecting letters to his son\nPhilip, bidding him worship God, avoid courts, and beware of ambition.[39]\nThe warning of the man whose eyes had been opened too late is touching.\nThe writer, speaking of court life, remarks, \"It hath no certainty. Either\na man, by following thereof, hath too much worldly pomp, which in the end\nthrows him down headlong, or else he liveth there unsatisfied, either that\nhe cannot obtain to himself that he would, or else that he cannot do for\nhis friends as his heart desireth.\"\n\nPoor Philip did not benefit much by these lessons, but remained simple\nEarl of Arundel, was repeatedly committed to the Tower, as by necessity an\nill-wisher to Elizabeth, and eventually died there after ten weary years\nof imprisonment. His initials are still to be found on the walls of one of\nthe chambers in the Beauchamp Tower.\n\nFools never learn the lessons which Time tries so hard to beat into them.\nPlotter succeeds plotter, and the rough lesson of the headsman seldom\nteaches the conspirator's successor to cease from conspiring.\n\nTo the Norfolks succeeded Dudley, the false Earl of Leicester, the black\nor gipsy earl, as he was called from his swarthy Italian complexion.\nLeicester, like the duke before him, plotted with Mary's Jesuits and\nassassins, and at the same time contrived to keep in favour with his own\njealous queen, in spite of all his failures and schemings in Holland, and\nhis suspected assassinations of his enemies in England. Leicester died of\nfever the year of the Armada (1588), on his return from the camp at\nTilbury, leaving Leicester Place to Robert Devereux, his step-son, the\nEarl of Essex,[40] who succeeded to his favour at court, but was doomed to\nan untimely death.\n\nIt was to the great Lord of Kenilworth--that dark, mysterious man, who\nperhaps deserved more praise than historians usually give him--that\nSpenser dedicated his poem of \"Virgil's Gnat.\" In his beautiful\n\"Prothalamion\" on the marriage of Lady Elizabeth and Lady Catherine\nSomerset, he speaks somewhat abjectly of Leicester, ingeniously contriving\nto remind Essex of his father-in-law's bounty. \"Near to the Temple,\" the\nneedy poet says,\n\n              \"Stands a stately place,\n  _Where I gayned giftes_ and the goodly grace\n  Of that great lord who there was wont to dwell,\n  Whose want too well now feels my friendless case;\n  But, ah! here fits not well\n  Old woes.\"\n\nThen the poet goes on to eulogise Essex, who, however, it is supposed,\nafter all allowed him to die in want. But there is a mystery about\nSpenser's death. He returned from Ireland, beggared and almost\nbroken-hearted, in October or November 1599, and died in the January\nfollowing, just as Essex was preparing to start to Ireland. In that whirl\nof ambition, the poor poet may perhaps have been rather overlooked than\nwilfully slighted. This at least is certain, that he was buried in\nWestminster Abbey, near Chaucer's tomb, the Earl of Essex defraying the\nexpenses of his public funeral.\n\nIt was in his prison-house near the Temple that the hair-brained Earl of\nEssex shut himself sulkily up, when Queen Elizabeth had given him a box on\nthe ears, after a dispute about the new deputy for Ireland, in which the\nearl had shown a petulant violence unworthy of the pupil of Burleigh.\n\nFar too much sympathy has been shown with this rash, imperious, and\nunbearable young noble. He was sent to Ireland, and there concluded a\ndisgraceful, wilful, and traitorous treaty with one of England's most\ninveterate and dangerous enemies. He returned from that \"cursedest of all\nislands,\" as he called it, against express command, and was with\ndifficulty dissuaded from landing in open rebellion. Generous and frank he\nmay have been, but his submission to the mild and well-deserved punishment\nof confinement to his own house was as base and abject as it was false and\nhypocritical.\n\nAlarmed, mortified, and enraged at the duration of his banishment from\ncourt, and at the refusal of a renewed grant for the monopoly of sweet\nwines, Essex betook himself to open rebellion, urged on by ill-advisers\nand his own reckless impatient spirit. He invited the Puritan preachers to\nprayers and sermons; he plotted with the King of Scotland. It was arranged\nat secret meetings at Drury House (then Sir Charles Daver's) to seize\nWhitehall and compel the queen to dismiss Cecil and other ministers\nhostile to Essex.\n\nSir Christopher Blount was to seize the palace gates, Davies the hall,\nDavers the guard-room and presence-chamber, while Essex, rushing in from\nthe Mews with some hundred and twenty adherents, was to compel the queen\nto assemble a parliament to dismiss his enemies, and to fix the\nsuccession. All these plans were proposed to Essex in writing--the\narch-conspirator was never himself present.\n\nThe delay of letters from Scotland led to the premature outbreak of the\nplot. An order was at once sent summoning Essex to the council, and the\npalace guards were doubled.\n\nOn Sunday, February 7, 1601, Essex, fearing instant arrest, assembled his\nfriends, and determined to arm and sally forth to St. Paul's Cross, where\nthe Lord Mayor and aldermen were hearing the sermon, and urge them to\nfollow him to the palace. On the Lord Keeper and other noblemen coming to\nthe house to know the cause of the assembly, Essex locked them into a back\nparlour, guarded by musketeers, and followed by two hundred gentlemen,\ndrew his sword and rushed into the street like a madman \"running a-muck.\"\n\nTemple Bar was opened for him; but at St. Paul's Cross he found no\nmeeting. The citizens crowded round him, but did not join his band. When\nhe reached the house of Sheriff Smith, the crafty Sheriff had stolen away.\n\nIn the meantime Lord Burleigh and the Earl of Cumberland, with a herald,\nhad entered the City and proclaimed Essex a traitor; a thousand pounds\nbeing offered for his apprehension. Despairing of success, the mad earl\nthen turned towards his own house, and finding Ludgate barricaded by a\nstrong party of citizens under Sir John Levison, attempted to force his\nway, killing two or three citizens, and losing Tracy, a young friend of\nhis own. Then striking down to Queenhithe, the earl and some fifty\nfollowers who were left took boat for Essex Gardens.\n\nOn entering his house, he found that his treacherous confidant, Sir\nFerdinand Gorges, had made terms with the court and released the hostages.\nEssex then, by the advice of Lord Sandys, resolved to fortify the place,\nhold out to the last extremity, and die sword in hand. In a few minutes,\nhowever, the Lord Admiral's troops surrounded the building. A parley\nensued between Sir Robert Sidney in the garden, and Essex and his rash\nally, Shakspere's patron, the Earl of Southampton, who were on the roof.\nThe earl's demands were proudly refused, but a respite of two hours was\ngiven him, that the ladies and female servants might retire. About six\nthe battering train arrived from the Tower, and Essex then wisely\nsurrendered at discretion.[41]\n\nThe night being very dark, and the tide not serving to pass the dangers of\nLondon Bridge, Essex and Southampton were taken by boat to Lambeth Palace,\nand the next morning to the Tower.\n\nEssex had fully deserved death. He was executed privately, by his own\nrequest, at the Tower, February 25, 1601. Meyrick, his steward, and Cuffe,\nhis secretary, were hanged and quartered at Tyburn. Sir Charles Davers and\nSir Christopher Blount perished on Tower Hill. Other prisoners were fined\nand imprisoned, and the Earl of Southampton pined in durance till the\naccession of James I. (1603).\n\nAmong the even older tenants of Essex House, we must not forget that\nunhappy woman, the earl's mother, who, first as Lettice Knollys, then as\nCountess of Essex, afterwards as Lady Leicester, and next as wife of Sir\nChristopher Blount, was a barb in Elizabeth's side for thirty years.\nMarried as a girl to a noble husband, she gave up her honour to a seducer,\nand there is reason to think that she consented to the taking of his life.\nWhile Devereux lived, she deceived the queen by a scandalous amour, and,\nafter his death, by a clandestine marriage with the Earl of Leicester.\nWhile Dudley lived, she wallowed in licentious love with Christopher\nBlount, his groom of the horse. When her second husband expired in agony\nat Cornbury, not an hour's gallop from the place in which Amy Robsart\ndied, she again mortified the queen by a secret union with her last\nseducer, Blount. Her children rioted in the same vices. Essex himself,\nwith his ring of favourites, was not more profligate than his sister\nPenelope, Lady Rich.[42]\n\nThis sister was the (Platonic?) mistress of Sydney, whose stolen love for\nher is pictured in his most voluptuous verse. On his death at Zuetphen, she\nlived with Lord Montjoy, though her husband, Lord Rich, was still alive.\nNor was her sister Dorothy one whit better. After marrying one husband\nsecretly and against the canon, she wedded Percy, the wizard Earl of\nNorthumberland, whom she led the life of a dog, until he indignantly\nturned her out of doors.[43] It is not easy, observes Mr. Dixon, except in\nItalian story, to find a group of women so depraved and so detestable as\nthe mother and sisters of the Earl of Essex.\n\nEssex, the rash noble, who died at the untimely age of thirty-three, had a\ndangerous, ill-tempered face, if we may judge by More's portrait of him.\nHe stooped in walking, danced badly, and was slovenly in his dress;[44]\nyet being a generous, frank friend, an impetuous and chivalrous if not\nwise soldier, and an enemy of Spain and the Cecils, he became a favourite\nof the people. The legend of the ring sent by Essex to the queen,[45] and\nmaliciously detained by the Countess of Nottingham, we shall presently\ndiscuss. No applications for mercy by Essex (and he made many during his\ntrial) affect the question of his deserving death. That the queen\nconsented with regret to the death of Essex, on the other hand, needs no\ndoubtful legend to serve as proof.\n\nElizabeth had forgiven the earl's joining the Cadiz fleet against her\nwish, she forgave his secret marriage, she forgave his shameful\nabandonment of his Irish command and even his dishonourable treaty with\nTyrone, but she could not forgive an open and flagrant rebellion at a time\nwhen she was so surrounded by enemies.\n\nAn historical writer, gifted with an eminently analytical mind, Mr.\nHepworth Dixon, has lately, with great ingenuity, endeavoured to refute\nthe charges of ingratitude brought against Bacon for his time serving and\n(to say the least) undue eagerness in aggravating the crimes of his old\nand generous friend. There can be, however, no doubt that Bacon too soon\nabandoned the unfortunate Essex, and, moreover, threw the weight of much\nmisapplied learning into the scale against the prisoner. No minimising of\nthe favours received by him from Essex can in my mind remove this stain\nfrom Bacon's reputation.\n\nIn Essex House was born a less brilliant but a happier and a more prudent\nman--Robert, Earl of Essex, afterwards the well-known Parliamentary\ngeneral. A child when his father died on the scaffold, he was placed under\nthe care of his grandmother, Lady Walsingham, and was afterwards at Eton\nunder the severe Saville. A good, worthy, heavy lad, brought up a\nPresbyterian, he was betrothed when only fourteen to Lady Frances Howard,\ndaughter of the Earl of Suffolk, who was herself only thirteen.\n\nThe earl travelled on the Continent for four years, and on his return was\nmarried at Essex House. It was for this inauspicious marriage that Ben\nJonson wrote one of his most beautiful and gorgeous masques, Inigo Jones\ncontributing the machinery, and Ferrabosco the music. The rough-grained\npoet seems to have been delighted with the success of the entertainment,\nfor he says, \"Nor was there wanting whatsoever might give to the furniture\na complement, either in riches or strangeness of the habits, delicacy of\ndances, magnificence of the scene, or divine rapture of music.\"[46]\n\nThe countess was already, even at this time, the mistress of Robert Carr,\nthe handsome minion of James I. She obtained a divorce from her husband in\n1613, and espoused her infamous lover. The cruel poisoning of Sir Thomas\nOverbury for opposing the new marriage followed; and the earl and\ncountess, found guilty, but spared by the weak king, lingered out their\nlives in mutual reproaches and contempt, loathed and neglected by all.\nFate often runs in sequences--the earl was unhappy with his second wife,\nfrom whom he also was divorced.\n\nEssex emerged from a country retirement to turn general for the\nParliament. Just, affable, and prudent, he was a popular man till he\nbecame marked as a moderatist desirous for peace, and was ousted by the\nartful \"Self-denying Ordinance.\" If he had lived it is probable he would\neither have lost his head or have fled to France and turned cavalier. His\ndeath during the time that Charles I. remained a prisoner with the Scotch\narmy at Newcastle saved him from either fate. With him the Presbyterian\nmoderatists and the House of Peers finally lost even their little\nremaining power.\n\nWhen the earl resigned his commission, the House of Commons went to Essex\nHouse to return their ex-general thanks for his great services. A year\nlater they followed him to the grave (1646), little perhaps thinking how\nbitterly the earl had reproached them for ingratitude, and what plans he\nhad devised to reform the army and to check Cromwell and Fairfax.[47]\n\nOn the earl's death, his Royalist brother-in-law, the Marquis of Hertford,\nattempted to seize his ready money and papers, but was frustrated by the\nParliament.[48]\n\nWhether the next earl, who on being arrested for sharing in the Rye-House\nplot destroyed himself at the Tower, lived in his father's house, I do not\nknow, but the mansion, so unlucky to its owners, was occupied by families\nof rank for some time after the Restoration, and then falling into neglect\nand ruin, as fashion began to flow westward, was subdivided, and a street,\ncalled Essex Street, was built on part of its site.\n\nSamuel Patterson, the bookseller and auctioneer, lived in Essex Street, in\n1775, in rooms formerly the residence of Sir Orlando Bridgeman. He was\noriginally a bag-maker. Afterwards Charles Dibdin commenced his\nentertainments in these rooms, and here his fine song of \"Poor Jack\"\nbecame famous.[49] Patterson's youngest child was Dr. Johnson's godson,\nand became a pupil of Ozias Humphrey.[50] Patterson wrote a book of\ntravels in Sterne's manner, but claimed a priority to that strange writer.\n\nGeorge Fordyce, a celebrated epicurean doctor of the eighteenth century,\nlived in the same street. For twenty years he dined daily at Dolly's\nChop-house, and at his solitary meal he always took a tankard of strong\nale, a quarter of a pint of brandy, and a bottle of port. After these\npotations, he walked to his house and gave a lecture to his pupils.[51]\n\nDr. Johnson, the year before he died, formed a club in Essex Street, at\nthe Essex Head, a tavern kept by an old servant of his friend, Thrale, the\nbrewer. It was less select than the Literary Club, but cheaper. Johnson,\nwriting to Sir Joshua Reynolds to join it, says, \"the terms are lax and\nthe expences light--we meet thrice a week, and he who misses forfeits\ntwopence.\"[52] Sir John Hawkins spitefully calls it \"a low ale-house\nassociation;\" but Windham, Daines Barrington, Horsley, Boswell, and\nBrocklesby were members of it; for rich men were less luxurious than they\nare now, and enjoyed the sociable freedom of a tavern. Sir Joshua refused\nto join, probably because Barry, who had insulted him, and was very\npugnacious, had become a member.[53] It went on happily for many years,\nsays Boswell, whom Johnson, when he proposed him for election, called \"a\nclubable man.\" Towards the end of his life the great lexicographer grew\nmore and more afraid of solitude, and a club so near his home was probably\na great convenience to him.\n\nNear Devereux Court are the premises of the well-known tea-dealers,\nMessrs. Twining. The graceful recumbent stone figures of Chinamen over the\nStrand front have much elegance, and must have come from some good hand.\nOne of this family was a Colchester rector, and a translator of\nAristotle's _Poetics_. He was an excellent man, a good linguist and\nmusician, and a witty companion. He was contemporary with Gray and Mason,\nthe poets, at Cambridge. In the back parlour is a portrait of the founder\nof the house. A century and a half ago ladies used to drive to the door of\nTwining's and drink tiny cups of the new and fashionable beverage as they\nsat in their coaches. There is an epigram extant, written either by\nTheodore Hook or one of the Smiths; the point of it is, that if you took\naway his T, Twining would be Wining.\n\nIn 1652 Constantine, the Greek servant of a Levant merchant, opened in\nDevereux Court a coffee-house, which became known as \"The Grecian.\" In\n1664-5 advertised his Turkey \"coffee bery,\" chocolate, \"sherbet,\" and tea,\nas good and cheap, and announced his readiness to give gratuitous\ninstructions in the art of preparing the said liquors.[54]\n\nIn the same year, a Greek named Pasqua Rosee had also established a house\nin St. Michael's Alley, Cornhill, for the sale of \"the coffee drink.\"[55]\n\nJohn Evelyn describes a Greek fellow-student, afterwards Bishop of Smyrna,\ndrinking coffee when he was at college in about 1637.[56]\n\nIn April 1709 Steele, in No. 1 of the _Tatler_, announces that he shall\ndate all learned articles from the \"Grecian,\" all gallantry from\n\"White's,\" all poetry from \"Wills's,\" all foreign and domestic news from\n\"St. James's.\"\n\nIn 1710-11 Addison, starting the \"_Spectator_ along with Steele,\" tells us\nhis own grave face was well known at the Grecian; and in No. 49 (April\n1711), the _Spectator_ describes the spleen and inward laughter with which\nhe views at the Grecian the young Templars come in, about 8 A.M., either\ndressed for Westminster, and with the preoccupied air of assumed business,\nor in gay cap, slippers, and particoloured dressing-gowns, rising early to\npublish their laziness, and being displaced by busier men towards noon.\nDr. King relates a story of two hot-blooded young gentlemen quarrelling\none evening at this coffee-house about the accent of a Greek word.\nStepping out into Devereux Court, they fought, and one of them being run\nthrough the body, died on the spot.[57] This Dr. King was principal of St.\nMary's Hall, Oxford, and a staunch Tory. It is he who relates the secret\nvisit of the Pretender to London. He died in 1763.\n\nRalph Thoresby, the Leeds topographer, met Dr. Sloane, the secretary of\nthe Royal Society, by appointment at the Grecian in May 1712; and again in\nJune he describes retiring to the Grecian after a meeting of the Royal\nSociety, of which he was a fellow, with the president, Sir Isaac\nNewton,[58] Dr. Halley, who published the _Principia_ for Newton, and\nKeill, who opposed Leibnitz about the invention of Fluxions, and defended\nNewton's doctrines against the Cartesians. (The Royal Society held its\nmeetings at this time in Crane Court, Fleet Street.) Roger North,\nAttorney-General under James II., who died in 1733, describes in his\n_Examen_ the Privy Council Board, as held at the Grecian coffee-house. The\nGrecian was closed in 1843, and has been since turned into the Grecian\nChambers. On what was once the front of the coffee-house frequented by\nSteele and Addison, there is a bust of Essex, with the date 1676.\n\nIn this court, at the house of one Kedder, in 1678, died Marchmont\nNeedham, a vigorous but unprincipled turncoat and newspaper writer, who\nthree times during the civil wars changed his principles to save his\nworthless neck. He was alternately the author of the _Mercurius\nBritannicus_ for the Presbyterians, _Mercurius Pragmaticus_ for the king,\nand _Mercurius Politicus_ for the Independents. The great champion of the\nlate usurper, as the Cavaliers called him, \"whose pen, compared with\nothers', was as a weaver's beam,\" latterly practised as a physician, but\nwith small success.[59]\n\nThere is a letter of Pope addressed to Fortescue, his \"counsel learned in\nthe law,\" at Tom's coffee-house, in Devereux Court. Fortescue, the poet's\nkind, unpaid lawyer, was afterwards (in 1738) Master of the Rolls. Pope's\nimitation of the first satire of Horace, suggested by Bolingbroke, was\naddressed to Mr. Fortescue, and published in 1733. This lawyer was the\nauthor of the droll report in _Scriblerus_ of \"Stradling _versus_ Styles,\"\nwherein Sir John Swale leaves all his black and white horses to one\nStradling, but the question is whether this bequest includes Swale's\npiebald horses. It is finally proved that the horses are all mares.[60]\n\nDr. Birch, the antiquary, the dull writer but good talker, frequented\nTom's; and there Akenside--short, thin, pale, strumous, and lame,\nscrupulously neat, and somewhat petulant, vain, and irritable--spent his\nwinter evenings, entangled in disputes and altercations, chiefly on\nsubjects of literature and politics, that fixed on his character the stamp\nof haughtiness and self-conceit, and drew him into disagreeable\nsituations.[61] Akenside was a contradictory man. By turns he was placid,\nirritable; simple, affected; gracious, haughty; magnanimous, mean;\nbenevolent, yet harsh, and sometimes even brutal. At times he manifested a\nchildlike docility, and at other times his vanity and arrogance made him\nseem almost a madman.[62]\n\nGay, in his _Trivia_, describes Milford Lane so faithfully that it might\npass for a yesterday's sketch of the same place. He writes--\n\n  \"Where the fair columns of St. Clement stand,\n  Whose straitened bounds incroach upon the Strand;\n  Where the low pent-house bows the walker's head,\n  And the rough pavement wounds the yielding tread;\n  Where not a post protects the narrow space,\n  And strung in twines combs dangle in thy face.\n  Summon at once thy courage--rouse thy care;\n  Stand firm, look back, be resolute, beware!\n  Forth issuing from steep lanes, the collier's steeds\n  Drag the black load; another cart succeeds;\n  Team follows team, crowds heap'd on crowds appear.\"\n\nStow mentions Milford Lane, but gives no derivation for its name.[63] The\ncoarse poem by Henry Savill, commonly attributed to the witty Earl of\nDorset, beginning--\n\n  \"In Milford Lane, near to St. Clement's steeple.\"[64]\n\ngave the street for a time such a disagreeable notoriety as the pillory\ngives to a rogue.\n\nArundel House, in the Strand, was the old inn or town-house of the Bishops\nof Bath, stolen by force in the rough, greedy times of Edward VI., by the\nbad Lord Thomas Seymour, the admiral, and the brother of the Protector;\nfrom him it derived the name of Seymour Place, and must have been\nconveniently near to the ambitious kinsman who afterwards beheaded him.\nThis Admiral had married Henry VIII.'s widow, Catherine Parr; and she\ndying in childbed, he began to woo, in his coarse boisterous way, the\nyoung Princess Elizabeth, who had been living under the protection of her\nmother-in-law, who was indeed generally supposed to have been poisoned by\nthe admiral. His marriage with Elizabeth would have smoothed his way to\nthe throne in spite of her father's cautious will. It was said that\nElizabeth always blushed when she heard his name. He died on the scaffold.\nOld Bishop Latimer, in a sermon, declared \"he was a wicked man, and the\nrealm is well rid of him.\"[65] It is certain that, whatever were his\nplots, he had projected a marriage between Lady Jane Grey and the young\nking.\n\nThe admiral's house was bought, on its owner's fall, by Henry Fitz-Alan,\nEarl of Arundel, for the nominal sum of L41: 6: 8, with several other\nmessuages and lands adjoining.[66] The earl dying in 1579, was succeeded\nby his grandson, Philip Howard, son of the Duke of Norfolk, the owner of\nEssex House adjoining, who was beheaded for his intrigues with Mary of\nScotland. He died in the Tower in 1598. The house then passed into the\nkeeping of Robert Cary, Earl of Monmouth,[67] during the minority of\nThomas Howard, Philip's son.\n\nIn Arundel Palace, in 1603, died the Countess of Nottingham, sister of Sir\nRobert Cary;[68] she was buried at Chelsea. It is of this countess that\nLady Spelman, a granddaughter of Sir Robert Cary, used to tell the\ndoubtful legend of the ring[69] given by Queen Elizabeth to Lord Essex,\nwhich an acute writer of the present day believes to be a pure fabrication\nof the times of James I.\n\n[Illustration: ARUNDEL HOUSE, 1646.]\n\nThe story runs thus:--When the Countess Catherine was dying, she sent to\nthe Queen to tell her that she had a secret to reveal, without disclosing\nwhich she could not die in peace. The Queen came, and the countess then\ntold her that when Essex was in the Tower, under sentence of death, he one\nmorning threw a ring from his window to a boy passing underneath, hiring\nhim to carry it to his friend Lady Scrope, the countess's sister, and beg\nof her to present it in his name to the queen, who had promised to protect\nhim whenever he sent her that keepsake, and who was then waiting for some\nsuch sign of his submission. The boy not clearly understanding the\nmessage, brought the ring to the countess, who showed it to her husband,\nand he insisted on her keeping it. The countess, having made this\ndisclosure, begged her majesty's forgiveness; but the queen answered,\n\"God may forgive you, but I never can!\" and burst from the room in a\nparoxysm of rage and grief. From that time Elizabeth became perturbed in\nmind, refused to eat or sleep, and died a fortnight after the countess.\nNow this is absurd. The queen never repented the death of that wrongheaded\ntraitor, and really died of a long-standing disease which had well-defined\nsymptoms.[70]\n\nAt Arundel House lodged that grave, wise minister of Henry IV. of France,\nthe Duc de Sully, then only the Marquis de Rosny. He describes the house\nwith complacency as fine and commodious, and having a great number of\napartments on the same floor. It was really a mean and low building, but\ncommanding a fine prospect of the river and Westminster, so fine, indeed,\nthat Hollar took a view of London from the roof. The first night of his\narrival Sully slept at the French ambassador's house in Butcher Row\nadjoining, a poor house with low rooms, a well staircase lit by a\nskylight, and small casements.[71]\n\n[Illustration: ARUNDEL HOUSE, 1646.]\n\nIn the time of James I., in whose reign the earldom was restored to Thomas\nHoward, Arundel House became a treasury of art. The travelled earl's\ncollection comprised thirty-seven statues, one hundred and twenty-eight\nbusts, and two-hundred and fifty inscribed marbles, exclusive of\nsarcophagi, altars, medals, gems, and fragments. Some of his noblest\nrelics, however, he was not allowed to remove from Rome. Of this proud and\nprincely amateur of art Lord Clarendon speaks with too obvious prejudice.\nHe describes him as living in a world of his own, surrounded by strangers,\nand though illiterate, willing to be thought a scholar because he was a\ncollector of works of art. Yet the historian admits that he had an air of\ngravity and greatness in his face and bearing. He affected an ancient and\ngrave dress; but Clarendon asserts that this was all outside, and that his\nreal disposition was \"one of levity,\" as he was fond of childish and\ndespicable amusements. Vansomer's portraits of the earl and countess\ncontain views of the statue and picture galleries.[72] This illustrious\nnobleman, whom the excellent Evelyn calls \"my noble friend,\" died in 1646.\nAt the Restoration his house and marbles were restored to his grandson,\nMr. Henry Howard; the antiquities were then lying scattered about Arundel\nGardens, and were neglected and corroding, blanching with rain, and green\nwith damp, much to the horror of Evelyn and other antiquaries, who\nregarded their fate with alarm and pity.\n\nThe old Earl of Arundel (whom Clarendon disliked) had been a collector of\nart in a magnificent and princely way. He despatched artist-agents to\nItaly, and even to Asia Minor, to buy pictures, drawings, statues, votive\nslabs, and gems. William Petty collected sculpture for him at Paros and\nDelos, but the collections were lost off Samos in a storm. He collected\nHolbein's and Albert Duerer's drawings, discovered the genius of Inigo\nJones, and brought Hollar from Prague. He left England just before the\ntroubles, having received many affronts from Charles's ministers, who had\nneglected to restore his ancient titles, went to Padua, and there died.\nThe marbles Mr. Evelyn induced Mr. Howard, in 1667, to send to the\nUniversity of Oxford; the statues were also given to Oxford by a later\ndescendant; and the earl's library (originally part of that of the King of\nHungary) Mr. Evelyn persuaded the Duke of Norfolk to bestow on the Royal\nSociety.[73]\n\nThe old earl was, I suspect, a proud, soured, and a rather arrogant,\nformal person. In a certain dispute about a rectory, he once said to King\nCharles I.: \"Sir, this rectory was an appendant and a manour of mine until\nmy grandfather unfortunately lost both his life and seven lordships, for\nthe love he bore to your grandmother.\"[74]\n\nAfter the Great Fire of London, Mr. Howard lent the Royal Society rooms in\nhis house. In 1678 the palace was taken down, and the present Arundel,\nSurrey, Howard, and Norfolk streets were erected in its stead. The few\nmarbles that remained were removed to Tart Hall, Westminster, and to\nCuper's Gardens across the river.[75] Tart Hall was the residence of the\nCountess of Arundel: Cuper's Gardens belonged to a gardener of the Earl of\nArundel. The Duke of Norfolk originally intended to build a more\nmagnificent house on the old site, and even obtained an act of Parliament\nfor the purpose; but fashion was already setting westward, and the design\nwas abandoned.[76]\n\nIn Arundel Street lived Rymer, the historical antiquary, who died here in\n1715; John Anstis, the Garter king-at-arms, resided here in 1715-16;[77]\nalso Mrs. Porter, the actress, \"over against the Blue Ball.\"\n\nGay, in his delightful _Trivia_ sketches the \"long Strand,\" and pauses to\nmourn over the glories of Arundel House. His walk is from \"the Temple's\nsilent walls,\" and he stays to look down at the site of the earl's\nmansion--\n\n  ----\"That narrow street, which steep descends,\n  Whose building to the shining shore extends;\n  Here Arundel's famed structure rear'd its frame--\n  The street alone retains an empty name;\n  Where Titian's glowing paint the canvas warm'd,\n  And Raphael's fair design with judgment charm'd,\n  Now hangs the bellman's song, and pasted here\n  The  prints of Overton appear;\n  Where statues breathed, the work of Phidias' hands,\n  A wooden pump or lonely watch-house stands;\n  There Essex' stately pile adorned the shore;\n  There Cecil's, Bedford's, Villiers'--now no more.\"\n\nIn the Strand, between Arundel and Norfolk Streets, in the year 1698,\nlived Sir Thomas Lyttelton, Speaker of the House of Commons, and father of\nPope's friend, and the author of the _History of Henry the Second_, a\nponderous and pompous work.\n\nNext door to him lived the father of Bishop Burnet--a remarkable person,\nfor he was a poor but honest lawyer, born at Edinburgh in 1643. A\nbookseller of the same name--a collateral descendant of the bishop whom\nSwift hated so cordially--afterwards occupied the house.\n\nAt the south-west corner of Norfolk Street, near the river, in his wild\ndays lodged the Quaker Penn, son of Cromwell's stout Bristol admiral. He\nhad been twice beaten and turned out of doors by his father for his\nfondness for Nonconformist society and prayer-meetings, and for refusing\nto stand uncovered in the presence of Charles II. or of the Duke of York,\nof whom later he became the suspected favourite. We do not generally\nassociate the grave and fanatic Penn with a gay and licentious court, nor\ndo we portray him to ourselves as slinking away from hawk-eyed bailiffs;\nand yet the venerated founder of repudiating Pennsylvania chose this house\nwhen he was sued for debts, as being convenient for slipping unobserved\ninto a boat. In the eastern entrance he had a peep-hole, through which he\ncould reconnoitre any suspicious visitor. On one occasion a dun, having\nsent in his name and waited an unconscionable time, knocked again. \"Will\nnot thy master see me?\" he said to the servant. The knave was at least\ncandid, for he replied: \"Friend, he _has_ seen thee, and he does not like\nthee.\"[78]\n\nIn Norfolk Street, in Penn's old house, afterwards resided for thirty\nyears that truly good man, Dr. Richard Brocklesby, who in early life,\nduring the Seven Years' War, had practised as an army surgeon. He was a\nfriend of Burke and Dr. Johnson. To the former he left, or rather gave, a\nthousand pounds, and to the latter he offered an annuity of a hundred\npounds a year, to enable him to travel for his health, and also apartments\nin his own house for the sake of medical advice, which Johnson\naffectionately and gratefully declined. The doctor was one of the most\ngenerous and amiable of men; he attended the poor for nothing, and had\nmany pensioners. He died the day after returning from a visit to Burke at\nBeaconsfield. He had been warned against the fatigue of this journey, but\nhad replied with true Christian philosophy, \"My good friend, where's the\ndifference whether I die at a friend's house, at an inn, or in a\npost-chaise? I hope I am prepared for such an event, and perhaps it would\nbe as well to elude the anticipation of it.\"\n\nDr. Brocklesby was ridiculed by Foote, but Foote attacked virtue quite as\noften as vice. He was the physician who had attended Lord Chatham when he\nwas struck down by illness in the House of Lords, a short time before his\ndeath.\n\nIn January 1698 Peter the Great arrived from Holland, and went straight to\na house prepared for him in Norfolk Street, near the water side. On the\nfollowing day he was visited by King William and the principal nobility.\nIncommoded here by visitors, the Czar removed to Admiral Benbow's house at\nDeptford, where he could live more retired. This Deptford house was Sayes\nPlace, afterwards the Victualling Office, and had once belonged to the\ncelebrated John Evelyn.\n\nThe \"Honest Shippen\" of Pope--William Shippen, M.P.--lived also in Norfolk\nStreet: a brave, honest man, in an age when nearly every politician had\nhis price. It was of him Sir Robert Walpole remarked \"that he would not\nsay who was corrupted, but he would say who was not corruptible, and that\nwas Shippen.\"\n\nMortimer, a rough, picturesque painter, who was called \"the English\nSalvator Rosa,\" and imitated that unsatisfactory artist in a coarse,\nsketchy kind of way, dwelt in this street.\n\nAt No. 21 lived Albany Wallis, a friend and executor of Garrick. In this\nstreet also Addison makes that delightful old country gentleman, Sir Roger\nde Coverley, put up before he goes to Soho Square.[79]\n\nAt No. 8, in 1795, lived Samuel Ireland, the father of the celebrated\nliterary impostor; and here were shown to George Chalmers, John Kemble,\nand other Shaksperian scholars, the forged plays which the public\nultimately scented out as ridiculous.\n\nIn 1796 Mr. W. H. Ireland published a full confession of his forgeries,\nfully exonerating his father from all connivance in his foolish fraud,\nclaiming forgiveness for a boyish deception begun without evil intention\nand without any thought of danger. \"I should never have gone so far,\" he\nsays, \"but that the world praised the papers too much, and thereby\nflattered my vanity.\"[80] After the failure of \"Vortigern,\" the father,\nMr. S. Ireland, still credulous, had written a pamphlet, accusing Malone,\nhis son's chief assailant, of mean malice and unbearable arrogance.\n\nThe true story of the forgery is this. W. H. Ireland, then only eighteen,\nwas articled to a solicitor in New Inn, where he practised Elizabethan\nhandwriting for the sake of deceiving credulous antiquaries. A forged deed\nexciting the admiration of his father, who was a collector of old tracts\nand a worshipper of Shakspere, led him to continue his deceptions, and to\npretend to have discovered a hoard of Shaksperian MSS. A fellow clerk, one\nTalbot, afterwards an actor, discovering the forgeries, Ireland made him\nan accomplice. They then produced a \"Profession of Faith,\" signed by\nShakspere, which Dr. Parr and Dr. Warton (brother of the poet) declared\ncontained \"finer things\" than all the Church Service. This foolish praise\nset the secretive lawyer's clerk on writing original verse,--a poem to\nAnne Hathaway, and the play of \"Vortigern,\" the most recklessly impudent\nof all his impostures. Boswell was the first to propose a certificate to\nbe signed by all believers in the productions. Dr. Parr, thinking\nBoswell's writing too feeble, drew up another, which was signed by\ntwenty-one noblemen, authors, and \"celebrated literary characters.\"\nBoswell, characteristically enough, previous to signing his name, fell on\nhis knees, and, \"in a tone of enthusiasm and exultation, thanked God that\nhe had lived to witness this discovery, and exclaimed that he could now\ndie in peace.\"[81] Lords Kinnaird, Somerset, and Lauderdale were the\nnoblemen. There were also present Bindley, Valpy, Pinkerton, Pye the poet\nlaureate, Matthew Wyatt, and the present author's grandfather, the Rev.\nNathaniel Thornbury, an intimate friend of Jenner and of Dr. Johnson, who\nhad at this time been twelve years dead. The elder Ireland, in his\npamphlet, alludes to the solemn and awful manner in which, before crowds\nof eminent characters, his son attested the genuineness of his forgeries.\n\"I could not,\" says the honest fellow, \"suffer myself to cherish the\nslightest suspicion of his veracity.\"[82]\n\nSingularly enough Mr. Albany Wallis--(a solicitor, I believe), of Norfolk\nStreet,--who had given to Garrick a mortgage deed bearing Shakspere's\nsignature, became the most ardent believer in the unprincipled young\nclerk's deceptions.\n\nThe terms agreed upon for Ireland's forgery of \"Vortigern\" was L300 down,\nand a division of the receipts, deducting charges, for sixty nights. The\nplay, however, lived only one night, for which the Irelands received their\nhalf, L103. The commentators Malone and Steevens remained sceptical, and\nKemble was suspicious and cold in the cause, though he was to be the hero;\nbut the gulls and quidnuncs were numerous enough to cram the house, and\nthat most commonplace of poets, Sir James Bland Burges, wrote the\nprologue. The final damnation of the play was secured by a rhapsody of\nVortigern's, a patch-work thing from \"Richard II.\" and \"Henry IV.\" The\nfatal line--\n\n  \"And when the solemn mockery is o'er,\"\n\nconvulsed the house.[83] Mr. W. H. Ireland in later life was editor of the\n_York Herald_, and died in 1835.[84]\n\nAnother eminent historical antiquary, Dr. Birch, lived in Norfolk Street.\nThe son of a Quaker tradesman at Clerkenwell, he became a London clergyman\nand an historian, famous for his Sunday evenings' conversaziones, and was\nkilled by a fall from his horse in 1766. He seems to have been a most\npleasant, generous, and honest man. He edited Bacon's _Letters and\nSpeeches_, and Thurloe's _State Papers_, etc. His chief work was his\n_Memoirs of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth_. He left books, manuscripts, and\nmoney to the British Museum, for which let all scholars bless the good\nman's memory. He appears to have been a student of boundless industry, as\nfrom the Lambeth Library alone he transcribed with his own hand sixteen\nquarto volumes. He was rector of St. Margaret Pattens in Fenchurch Street.\nDr. Birch must have been a kind husband, for his wife on her deathbed\nwrote him the following tender letter:--\n\n    \"This day I return you, my dearest life, my sincere, hearty thanks for\n    every favour bestowed on your most faithful and obedient wife,\n\n      HANNAH BIRCH.\"\n\nWe leave it to the watchful cynic to remark that the doctor had been\nmarried only one year. It was of this worthy book-worm that Johnson\nsaid--\"Yes, sir, he is brisk in conversation, but when he takes up the pen\nit benumbs him like a torpedo.\"\n\nStrype describes Surrey Street as replenished with good buildings,\nespecially that of Nevison Fox, Esq., towards the Strand, \"which is a\nfine, large, and curious house of his own building,\" and the two houses\nthat front the Thames, that on the east side being the Hon. Charles\nHoward's, brother to the Duke of Norfolk. Both of these houses had\npleasant though small gardens towards the Thames.[85]\n\nIn 1736 died here George Sale, the useful translator of the Mohammedan\nBible, the Koran, that strange compound of pure prayers and impure\nplagiarisms from the laws of Moses. Sale had published his Koran in 1734,\nand in the year of his death he joined Paul Whitehead, Dr. Birch, and Mr.\nStrutt, in founding a \"Society for the Encouragement of Learning.\" He\nspent many years in writing for the _Universal History_, in which Bayle's\nten folio volumes were included.\n\nEdward Pierce, a sculptor, son of a painter of altar-pieces and\nchurch-ceilings, and a pupil of Vandyke, lived at the corner of Surrey\nStreet, and was buried in the Savoy. He helped Sir Christopher Wren to\nbuild St. Clement's church, and carved the four guardian dragons on the\nMonument of London. The statue of Sir William Walworth at the fishmongers'\nHall is from his hand, and so is the bust of Thomas Evans in the hall of\nthe painters and stainers. He executed also busts of Cromwell, Wren, and\nMilton.[86]\n\nThe charming actress, Mrs. Bracegirdle, lived in Howard Street. She was\nthe belle and toast of London; every young man of mode was, or pretended\nto be, in love with her; and the wits wrote verses upon her beauty, in\nimitation of Sedley and Waller. Congreve tells us that it was the fashion\nto avow a tenderness for her. Rowe, in an imitation of an ode of Horace,\nurges the Earl of Scarsdale to marry her (though he had a wife living) and\nset the town at defiance.\n\nAmong this crowd of admirers was a Captain Hill, a half-cracked\nman-about-town, a drunken, profligate bully, of low character, and a\nfriend of the infamous duellist, Lord Mohun. One of Mrs. Bracegirdle's\nfavourite parts was Statira, her lover Alexander being her friend and\nneighbour, the eminent actor Mountfort. Cibber describes him in this\ncharacter as \"great, tender, persistent, despairing, transported,\namiable.\" Hill, \"that dark-souled fellow in the pit,\" as Leigh Hunt calls\nhim, mistook the frantic extravagance of stage-passion for real love, and\nin a fit of mad jealousy swore to be revenged on Mountfort, and to carry\noff the lady by force. Lord Mohun, always ready for any desperate\nmischief, agreed to help him in his design. On the night appointed the\nfriends dined together, and having changed clothes, went to Drury Lane\nTheatre at six o'clock; but as Mrs. Bracegirdle did not act that night,\nthey next took a coach and drove to her lodgings in Howard Street. They\nthen, finding that she had gone to supper with a Mr. Page, in Princes\nStreet, Drury Lane, went to his house and waited till she came out. She\nappeared at last at the door, with her mother and brother, Mr. Page\nlighting them out.\n\nHill immediately seized her, and endeavoured, with the aid of some hired\nruffians, to drag her into the coach, where Lord Mohun sat with a loaded\npistol in each hand; but her brother and Mr. Page rushing to the rescue,\nand an angry crowd gathering, Hill was forced to let go his hold and\ndecamp. Mrs. Bracegirdle and her escort then proceeded to her lodgings in\nHoward Street, followed by Captain Hill and Lord Mohun on foot. On\nknocking at the door, as it was said, to beg Mrs. Bracegirdle's pardon,\nthey were refused admittance; upon which they sent for a bottle of wine to\na neighbouring tavern, which they drank in the street, and then began to\npatrol up and down with swords drawn, declaring they were waiting to be\nrevenged on Mountfort the actor. Messengers were instantly despatched to\nwarn Mountfort, both by Mrs. Bracegirdle's landlady and his own wife, but\nhe could not be found. The watch were also sent for, and they begged the\ntwo ruffians to depart peaceably. Lord Mohun replied, \"He was a peer of\nthe realm, that he had been drinking a bottle of wine, but that he was\nready to put up his sword if they particularly desired it: but as for his\nfriend, he had lost his scabbard.\" The cautious watch then went away.\n\nIn the meantime the unlucky Mountfort, suspecting no evil, passed down the\nstreet on his way home, heedless of warnings. On coming up to the\nswordsmen, a female servant heard the following conversation:--\n\nLord Mohun embraced Mountfort, and said--\n\n\"Mr. Mountfort, your humble servant. I am glad to see you.\"\n\n\"Who is this?--Lord Mohun?\" said Mountfort.\n\n\"Yes, it is.\"\n\n\"What brings your lordship here at this time of night?\"\n\nLord Mohun replied--\n\n\"I suppose you were sent for, Mr. Mountfort?\"\n\n\"No, indeed, I came by chance.\"\n\n\"Have you not heard of the business of Mrs. Bracegirdle?\"\n\n\"Pray, my lord,\" said Hill, breaking in, \"hold your tongue. This is not a\nconvenient time to discuss this business.\"\n\nHill seemed desirous to go away, and pulled Lord Mohun's sleeve; but\nMountfort, taking no notice of Hill, continued to address Lord Mohun,\nsaying he was sorry to see him assisting Captain Hill in such an evil\naction, and begging him to forbear.\n\nHill instantly gave the actor a box on the ear, and on Mountfort demanding\nwhat that was for, attacked him sword in hand, and ran him through before\nhe had time to draw his weapon. Mountfort died the next day of the wound,\ndeclaring with his last breath that Lord Mohun had offered him no\nviolence. Hill fled from justice, and Lord Mohun was tried for murder, but\nunfortunately acquitted for want of evidence.\n\nThat fortunate poet, Congreve, whom Pope declared to be one of the three\nmost honest-hearted and really good men in the Kit-cat Club, lived for\nsome time in Howard Street, where he was a neighbour and frequent guest of\nMrs. Bracegirdle.\n\nCongreve, on becoming acquainted with the Duchess of Marlborough, removed\nfrom Howard Street to a better house in Surrey Street, where he died,\nJanuary 19, 1729. The career of this son of a Yorkshire officer had been\none long undisturbed triumph. His first play had been revised by Dryden\nand praised by Southerne. Besides being commissioner of hackney-coach and\nwine licences, he also held a place in the Pipe Office, a post in the\nCustom House, and a secretaryship in Jamaica. He never quarrelled with the\nwits: both Addison and Steele admired and praised him, and Voltaire\neulogises his comedies.\n\nIt was here that Voltaire, while lodging in Maiden Lane, visited the gouty\nand nearly blind dramatist, then infirm and on the verge of life. \"Mr.\nCongreve,\" he says, \"had one defect, which was his entertaining too mean\nan idea of his profession--that of a writer--though it was to this he owed\nhis fame and fortune. He spoke of his works as of trifles that were\nbeneath him, and hinted to me in our first conversation that I should\nvisit him upon no other footing than that of a gentleman who led a life of\nplainness and simplicity. I answered, that _had he been so unfortunate as\nto be a mere gentleman_ I should never have come to see him; and I was\nvery much disgusted at so unseasonable a piece of vanity.\"\n\nThe body of Congreve lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber, and was\nafterwards interred with great solemnity in Henry VII.'s Chapel. The Duke\nof Bridgewater and the Earl of Godolphin were amongst those who bore the\npall. The monument was erected by the Duchess of Marlborough, to whom the\nfavoured poet had left L10,000. Above his body--\n\n  \"The ancient pillars rear their marble heads\n  To bear aloft the arch'd and pond'rous roof,\n  By its own weight made steadfast and immoveable.\"[87]\n\nCongreve's bequest to the duchess of all his property, except L1000,\nincluding L200 to Mrs. Bracegirdle (a legacy afterwards cancelled),\ncreated much scandal. The shameless bookseller, Curll, instantly launched\nforth a life of Congreve, professing to be written by one Charles Wilson,\nEsq., but generally attributed to Oldmixon. The duchess's friends were\nalarmed, and Arbuthnot interfered. Upon being told that some genuine\nletters and essays were to be published in the work, Mrs. Bracegirdle or\nthe duchess[88] cried out with defiant affectation and a dramatic drawl,\n\"Not one single sheet of paper, I dare to swear.\"\n\nThe duchess, who raised a monument in the Abbey to her brilliant but\nartificial friend, is said to have had a wax image of him made to place on\nher toilette table. \"To this she would talk as to the living Mr. Congreve,\nwith all the freedom of the most _polite_ and unreserved\nconversation.\"[89]\n\nStrand Lane used formerly to lead to a small landing-pier for wherries,\ncalled Strand Bridge. In Stow's time the lane passed under a bridge down\nto the landing-place.[90] A writer in the _Spectator_ describes how he\nlanded here on a summer morning, arriving with ten sail of apricot boats,\nconsigned to Covent Garden,[91] after having first touched at Nine Elms\nfor melons. In this lane there is a fine Roman bath which, if indeed\nRoman, is the most western relic of Roman London, the centre of which was\non the east end of the Royal Exchange.\n\nNo. 165 has been long used as a warehouse for the sale of Dr. Anderson's\npills. Dr. Patrick Anderson was physician to Charles I., and as early as\n1649 a man named Inglis sold these quack pills at the Golden Unicorn, over\nagainst the Maypole in the Strand. Tom Brown says, \"There are at least a\nscore of pretenders to Anderson's Scotch pills, and the Lord knows who has\nthe true preparation.\" Brown died in 1704. Sir Walter Scott used to tell\none of his best stories about these pills. It dwelt on the passion for\nthem entertained by a certain hypochondriacal Lowland laird. Bland or\nrough, old or young, no visitor at his house escaped a dose--\"joost ane\nleetle Anderson;\" and his toady \"the doer\" used always to swallow a\nbrace.[92]\n\nThe Turk's Head Coffee-house stood on the site of No. 142 Strand. Dr.\nJohnson used to sup at this house to encourage the hostess, who was a\ngood civil woman, and had not too much business. July 28, 1763, Boswell\nmentions supping there with Dr. Johnson; and again, on August 3, in the\nsame year, just before he set out for his wildgoose chase in Corsica.[93]\nNo. 132 was the shop of a bookseller named Bathoe. The first circulating\nlibrary in London was established here in 1740.\n\nJacob Tonson, Dryden's grinding publisher and bookseller, lived at the\nShakspere's Head, over against Catherine Street, now No. 141 Strand, from\nabout 1712 till he died, in 1735-6. Tonson seems to have been rough, hard,\nand penurious. The poet and publisher were perpetually squabbling, and\nDryden was especially vexed at his trying to force him to dedicate his\ntranslation of Virgil to King William, and when he refused, making the\nengraver of the frontispiece aggravate the nose of AEneas till it became \"a\nhooked promontory,\" like that of the Protestant king. It was to Tonson's\nshop at Gray's Inn, however, that Dryden, on being refused money, probably\nsent that terrible triplet to the obdurate bibliopole:--\n\n  \"With leering looks, bull-faced, and freckled fair,\n  With two left legs, and Judas-colour'd hair,\n  And frowsy pores that taint the ambient air.\"[94]\n\n\"Tell the dog,\" said Dryden to his messenger, \"that he who wrote those can\nwrite more.\" But Tonson was perfectly satisfied with this first shot, and\nsurrendered at discretion. The irascible poet afterwards accused him of\nintercepting his letters to his sons at Rome, and he confessed to\nBolingbroke on one occasion that he was afraid of Tonson's tongue.[95]\n\nTonson's house, since rebuilt, was afterwards occupied by Andrew Millar,\nthe publisher and friend of Thomson, Fielding, Hume, and Robertson, and\nafter his death by Thomas Cadell, his apprentice, and the friend and\npublisher of Gibbon the historian. The _Seasons_, _Tom Jones_, and the\nHistories of Hume, Robertson, and Gibbon were first published at this\nhouse. Millar was a Scotchman, and distinguished his shop by the sign of\nBuchanan's Head, afterwards the badge of Messrs. Blackwood.\n\nThe _Illustrated London News_, whose office is near Somerset House, was\nstarted in 1842 by Mr. Herbert Ingram, originally a humble newsvendor at\nNorthampton; an industrious man, who would run five miles with a newspaper\nto oblige an old customer. In the first year he sold a million copies; in\nthe second, two; and in 1848, three millions. Dr. Mackay, the song-writer,\nwrote leaders; Mr. Mark Lemon aided him; Mr. Peter Cunningham collected\nhis column of weekly chat; Thomas Miller, the basket-maker poet, was also\non his staff. Mr. Ingram obtained a seat in Parliament, and was eventually\ndrowned in a steamboat collision on Lake Michigan.\n\n[Illustration: PENN'S HOUSE, NORFOLK STREET, 1749.]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: SOMERSET HOUSE FROM THE RIVER, 1746.]\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nSOMERSET HOUSE.\n\n  \"And every day there passes by my side,\n  Up to its western reach, the London tide--\n  The spring tides of the term. My front looks down\n  On all the pride and business of the town;\n  My other fair and more majestic face\n  For ever gazes on itself below,\n  In the best mirror that the world can show.\"\n                                          COWLEY.\n\n\nThat ambitious and rapacious noble the Protector Somerset, brother of\nQueen Jane Seymour, and maternal uncle of Edward VI., the owner of more\nthan two hundred manors,[96] and who boasted that his own friends and\nretainers made up an army of ten thousand men, determined to build a\npalace in the Strand. For this purpose he demolished the parish church of\nSt. Mary, and pulled down the houses of the Bishops of Worcester,\nLlandaff, and Lichfield. He also began to remove St. Margaret's, at\nWestminster, for building materials, till his masons were driven away by\nrioters. He destroyed a chapel in St. Paul's Churchyard, with a cloister\ncontaining the \"Dance of Death,\" and a charnel-house, the bones of which\nhe buried in unconsecrated ground,[97] and finally stole the stones of the\nchurch of St. John of Jerusalem, near Smithfield,[98] and those of Strand\nInn (belonging to the Temple), where Occleve the poet, a contemporary of\nGower and Chaucer, had studied law.\n\nThe unwise Protector determined in this building to rival Whitehall and\nHampton Court. It was begun probably about 1549, and no doubt remained\nunfinished at his death. He had at that time lavished on it L50,000 of our\npresent money.\n\nThe architect was John of Padua,[99] Henry VIII.'s architect, who built\nLongleat, in Wiltshire, the seat of the Marquis of Bath, a magnificent\nspecimen of the Italian-Elizabethan style, and also the gates of Caius\nCollege, at Cambridge. The Protector is said to have spent at one time\nL100 a day in building, every stone he laid bringing him nearer to his own\nnarrow home. A plan of the house is still preserved in the Soane\nMuseum.[100]\n\nAfter the attainder of the duke, when the new palace became the property\nof the crown, little was done to complete the building. The screen\nprepared for the hall was bought for St. Bride's, where it was probably\ndestroyed in the Great Fire.[101] The Protector was a good friend to the\npeople, but he was weak and ambitious, and the plotters of Ely House had\nno difficulty in dragging him to the scaffold. The minority of Edward\nbrought many of the Strand noblemen to the axe, but the fate of the\nadmiral and his brother did not deter their neighbours Northumberland,\nRaleigh, Norfolk, and Essex.\n\nElizabeth granted the keeping of Somerset House to her faithful cousin\nLord Hunsdon, for life,[102] and here she frequently would visit him, in a\njewelled farthingale, with Raleigh and Essex in her train.\n\nIn 1616 that Scotch Solomon, James I., commanded the place to be called\nDenmark House; and his queen kept her gay and not very decent court here,\nso that Ben Jonson must have often seen his glorious masques acted in this\npalace, to which his coadjutor Inigo Jones built a chapel, and made other\nadditions. Anne of Denmark and her maids-of-honour kept up here a\ncontinual masquerade,[103] appearing in various dresses, and transforming\nthemselves to the delight of all whose interest it was to be delighted.\n\nHere too that impetuous queen, Henrietta Maria, resided with her wilful\nand extravagant French household, whose insolence irritated and disgusted\nthe people and offended Charles the First. The king at last, losing\npatience, summoned them together one evening and dismissed them all. They\nbehaved like sutlers at the sack of a town. They claimed fictitious debts;\nthey invented exorbitant bills; they greedily divided among each other the\nqueen's wardrobe and jewels, scarcely leaving her a change of linen. The\nking paid nearly L50,000 to get rid of them; Madame St. George alone\nclaiming several thousand pounds besides jewels.[104] They still delayed\ntheir departure; on which the king, at last roused, wrote the following\nimperative letter to Buckingham:--\n\n    \"STEENIE--I have received your letter by Dick Greame. This is my\n    answer. I command you to send all the French away to-morrow out of the\n    town, if you can by fair means (but stick not long in disputing),\n    otherways force them away--driving them away like so many wild beasts\n    until ye have shipped them; and the devil go with them. Let me hear no\n    answer, but of the performance of my command. So I rest\n\n      \"Your faithful, constant, loving friend,\n        \"C. R.\n\n    \"Oaking, the seventh of August, 1626.\"\n\nAs the French invented all sorts of vexatious delays, the yeomen of the\nguard at last jostled them out, carting them off in nearly forty coaches.\nThey arrived at Dover after four days' tedious travelling, wrangling, and\nbewailing. The squib did not burn out without one final detonation. As the\nvivacious Madame St. George stepped into the boat, with perhaps some\ninsolent gesture of adieu, a man in the mob flung a stone at her French\ncap. A gallant Englishman who was escorting her instantly quitted his\ncharge, ran the fellow through the body, and returned to the boat. The man\ndied on the spot, but no notice, it appears, was taken of the murderer.\n\nIn Somerset House, at the Christmas masque of 1632-3, Charles's\nhigh-spirited queen took part for the last time in a masque. Unfortunately\nfor Prynne, the next day out came his _Histriomastix_, with a scurrilous\nmarginal note, \"Women actors notorious whores!\" for which the stubborn\nfanatic lost his ears.\n\nQueen Henrietta had, in Somerset House, an ostentatiously magnificent\nCatholic chapel built by Inigo Jones, which became the scene of spectacles\nthat were gall and wormwood to the Puritans, who were already couching for\ntheir spring.\n\nTheir time came in March 1643, when Roundheads, grimly rejoicing, burnt\nall the pictures, images, Jesuitical books, and tapestry.[105]\n\nFive of the unhappy queen's French Roman Catholic servants are entombed in\nthe cellars of the present building, under the great quiet square.[106]\n\nHere, close to his own handiwork, that distinguished architect, Inigo\nJones, who had lodgings in the palace, died in 1652.\n\nAbout the same time the House of Peers permitted the Protestant service to\nbe held in Somerset House instead of in Durham House. This drove out the\nQuakers and Anabaptists, and prevented the pulling down of the palace and\nthe making of a street from the garden through the chapel and back-yard up\ninto the Strand.[107]\n\nThe Protector's palace was the scene of a great and sad event in November\n1658; for the body of Cromwell, who had died at Whitehall, lay in state\nhere for several days. He lay in effigy on a bed of royal crimson velvet,\ncovered with a velvet gown, a sceptre in his hand, and a crown upon his\nhead. The Cavaliers, whose spirits were recovering, were very angry at\nthis foolish display,[108] forgetting that it was not poor Oliver's own\ndoing; and the baser people, who follow any impulse of the day, threw dirt\nin the night upon the blazoned escutcheon that was displayed over the\ngreat gate of Somerset House.\n\nThe year after, an Act was passed to sell all royal property, and Somerset\nHouse was disposed of for L10,000. The Restoration soon stepped in and\nannulled the bargain. After the return of the son who so completely\nrevenged upon us the death of his father, the luckless palace became the\nresidence of its former inhabitant, now older and gentler--the\nqueen-mother. She improved and beautified it. The old courtier, Waller,\nonly fifty-seven at the time, wrote some fulsome verses on the occasion.\nHe talks of her adorning the town as with a brave revenge, to show--\n\n  \"That glory came and went with you.\"\n\nHe mentions also the view from the palace:--\n\n  \"The fair view her window yields,\n  The town, the river, and the fields.\"\n\nCowley, the son of a Fleet Street grocer, flew still higher, larded his\nflattery with perverted texts, like a Puritanised Cavalier time-server,\nand wrote--\n\n  \"On either side dwells Safety and Delight;\n  Wealth on the left and Power sits on the right.\"\n\nIn May 1665, when the queen-mother, who had lived in Somerset House with\nher supposed husband, the Earl of St. Albans, took her farewell of England\nfor a gayer court, Cowley wrote these verses to the setting sun, in hopes\nto propitiate the rising sun; for here, too, lived Catherine of Braganza,\nthe unhappy wife of Charles II.\n\nThere were strange scenes at Somerset House even during the queen-mother's\nresidence, for the old court gossip Pepys describes being taken one day to\nthe Presence-chamber.[109] He found the queen not very charming, but still\nmodest and engaging. Lady Castlemaine was there, Mr. Crofts, a pretty\nyoung spark of fifteen (her illegitimate child), and many great ladies. By\nand by in came the king and the Duke and Duchess of York. The conversation\nwas not a very decorous one; and the young queen said to Charles, \"You\nlie!\" which made good sport, as the chuckling and delighted Pepys remarks,\nthose being the first English words he had heard her say; and the king\nthen tried to make her reply, \"Confess and be hanged.\"\n\nIn another place Pepys indignantly describes \"a little proud, ugly,\ntalkative lady crying up the queen-mother's court as more decorous than\nthe king's;\" yet the diary-keeper confesses that the former was the better\nattended, the old nobility dreading, I suppose, the scandal of\nWhitehall.[110]\n\nIn 1670 Monk, Duke of Albemarle, having died at his lodgings in the\nCockpit, at Whitehall, lay in state in Somerset House, and was afterwards\nburied with almost regal pomp in Henry VII.'s Chapel.\n\nIn October 1678, the infamous devisers of the Popish plot connected\nSomerset House and the attendants in the Queen's Chapel with the murder of\na City magistrate, the supposed Protestant martyr, Sir Edmondbury Godfrey,\nwho was found murdered in a field near Primrose Hill, \"between Kilburn and\nHampstead,\" as it was then thought necessary to specify. The lying\nwitnesses, Prance and Bedloe, swore that the justice had been inveigled\ninto Somerset House under pretence of being wanted to keep the peace\nbetween two servants who were fighting in the yard; that he was then\nstrangled, his neck broken, and his own sword run through his body. The\ncorpse was kept four days, then carried in a sedan-chair to Soho, and\nafterwards on a horse to Primrose Hill, nearly three miles off. The\nsecrecy and convenient neighbourhood of the river for hiding a murdered\nman seem never to have struck the rogues, who forgot even to \"lie like\ntruth,\" so credulous and excited was the multitude.\n\nWaller, says Aubrey, though usually very temperate, was once made drunk at\nSomerset House by some courtiers, and had a cruel fall when taking boat at\nthe water stairs, \"'Twas a pity to use such a sweet man so\ninhumanly.\"[111] Saville used to say that \"nobody should keep him company\nwithout drinking but Mr. Waller.\"\n\nIn 1692 that poor ill-used woman and unhappy wife, Catherine of Braganza,\nleft Somerset House, and returned thence to Portugal, the home of her\nhappy childhood and happier youth.\n\nThe palace, never the home of very happy inmates, then became a lodging\nfor foreign kings and ambassadors, and a home for a few noblemen and poor\nretainers of the court, much as Hampton Court is now. Lewis de Duras, Earl\nof Feversham, the incompetent commander at Sedgemoor, who lies buried at\nthe Savoy, lived here in 1708; and so did Lady Arlington, the widow of\nSecretary Bennet, that butt of Killigrew and Rochester. In the reign of\nGeorge III., Charlotte Lennox, the authoress of the _Female Quixote_, had\napartments in Somerset House.\n\nHouses, like men, run their allotted courses. In 1775 the old palace,\nwhich had been settled on the queen-consort in the event of her surviving\nthe king, was exchanged for Buckingham House; and the Government instantly\nbegan to pull down the river-side palace, and erect new public offices\ndesigned by Sir William Chambers, a Scotch architect, who had given\ninstruction in his art to George III., when Prince of Wales.\n\nIn 1630, a row of fishmongers' stalls, in the middle of the street, over\nagainst Denmark House (Somerset House), was broken down by order of\nGovernment to prevent stalls from growing into sheds, and sheds into\ndwelling houses, as had been the case in Old Fish Street, Saint Nicholas\nShambles, and other places.[112]\n\nOn the 2d of February, 1659-60, Pepys tells us in his diary, that having\nL60 with him of his lord's money, on his way from London Bridge, and\nhearing the noise of guns, he landed at Somerset House, and found the\nStrand full of soldiers. Going upstairs to a window, Pepys looked out and\nsaw the foot face the horse and beat them back, all the while bawling for\na free parliament and money. By and by a drum was heard to sound a march\ntowards them, and they all got ready again, but the new comers proving of\nthe same mind, they \"made a great deal of joy to see one another.\"[113]\nThis was the beginning of Monk's change, for the king returned in the\nfollowing May. On the 18th of February two soldiers were hanged opposite\nSomerset House for a mutiny, of which Pepys was an eye-witness.\n\nThe prints of old Somerset House show a long line of battlemented wall\nfacing the river, and a turreted and partially arcaded front. There is\nalso a scarce view of the place by Hollar.[114] The river front has two\nporticos. The chapel is to the left, and near it are the cloisters of the\nCapuchins. The bowling-green seems to be to the right, between the two\nrows of trees. The garden is formal. The royal apartments were on the\nriver side. The only memorial left of the outhouses of the old palace was\nthe sign of a lion in the wall of a house in the Strand, that is mentioned\nin old records.[115]\n\nDryden describes his two friends, Eugenius and Neander, landing at\nSomerset Stairs, and gives us a pleasant picture of the summer evening,\nthe water on which the moonbeams played looked like floating quicksilver,\nand some French people dancing merrily in the open air as the friends walk\nonwards to the Piazza.[116]\n\nOf the old views of Somerset House, that of Moss is considered the best.\nThere is also an early and curious one by Knyff. A picture in Dulwich\nGallery (engraved by Wilkinson) represents the river front before Inigo\nJones had added a chapel for the queen of Charles I.[117]\n\nSir William Chambers built the present Somerset House. The old palace,\nwhen the clearance for the demolition began, presented a singular\nspectacle.[118] At the extremity of the royal apartments two large\nfolding-doors joined Inigo Jones's additions to John of Padua's work. They\nopened into a long gallery on the first floor of the water garden wing, at\nthe lower end of which was another gallery, making an angle which formed\nthe original river front, and extended to Strand Lane. This old part had\nbeen long shut up, and was supposed to be haunted. The gallery was\npanelled and floored with oak. The chandelier chains still hung from the\nstucco ceilings. The furniture of the royal apartment was removed into\nlumber-rooms by the Royal Academy. There were relics of a throne and\ncanopy; the crimson velvet curtains for the audience-chamber had faded to\nolive colour; and the fringe and lace were there, but a few threads and\nspangles had been peeled off them. There were also scattered about in\ndisorder, broken chairs, stools, couches, screens, and fire-dogs.\n\nIn the older apartments much of Edward VI.'s furniture still remained. The\nsilk hangings of the audience-chamber were in tatters, and so were the\ncurtains, gilt-leather covers, and painted screens; one gilt chandelier\nalso remained, and so did the sconces. A door beyond, with difficulty\nopened, led into a small tower on the first floor, built by Inigo Jones,\nand used as a breakfast-room or dressing-room by Queen Catherine. It was a\nbeautiful octagonal domed apartment, with a tasteful cornice. The walls\nwere frescoed, and there were pictures on the ceiling. A door from this\nplace opened on the staircase and led to a bath-room, lined with marble,\non the ground floor.\n\nThe painters of the day compared the ruined palace, characteristically\nenough, to the gloomy precincts of the dilapidated castles in Mrs.\nRadcliffe's wax-work romances.\n\nSir William Chambers completed his work in about five years, clearing two\nthousand a year. It cost more than half a million of money. The Strand\nfront is 135 feet long; the quadrangle 210 feet wide and 296 feet deep.\nThe main buildings are 54 feet deep and six stories high. They are faced\nwith Portland stone, now partly sooty black, partly blanched white with\nthe weather. The basement is adorned with rustic work, Corinthian\npilasters, balustrades, statues, masks, and medallions. The river terrace\nwas intended in anticipation of the possible embankment of the Thames.\nSome critics think Chambers's great work heavy, others elegant but timid.\nThere is too much rustic work, and the whole is rather \"cut up.\" The vases\nand niches are unmeaning, and it was a great structural fault to make the\nportico columns of the fine river side stand on a brittle-looking arch.\n\nIt was to Somerset House that the Royal Academy came after the split in\nthe St. Martin's Lane Society. Here West exhibited his respectable\nplatitudes, Reynolds his grand portraits, and Lawrence his graceful,\nbrilliant, but meretricious pictures. In the great room of the Academy, at\nthe top of the building, Reynolds, Opie, Barrie, and Fuseli lectured.\nThrough the doorway to the right of the vestibule, Reynolds, Wilkie,\nTurner, Flaxman, and Chantrey have often stepped. Under that bust of\nMichael Angelo almost all our great men from Johnson to Scott must have\npassed.\n\nCarlini, an Italian friend of Cipriani, executed the two central statues\non the Strand front of Somerset House, and also three of the nine colossal\nkey-stone masks--the rivers Dee, Tyne, and Severn. Carlini was one of the\nunsuccessful candidates for the Beckford monument in Guildhall. When\nCarlini was keeper of the Academy, he used to walk from his house in Soho\nto Somerset Place, dressed in a deplorable greatcoat, and with a broken\ntobacco pipe in his mouth; but when he went to the great annual Academy\ndinner, he would make his way into a chair, full dressed in a purple silk\ncoat, and scarlet gold-laced waistcoat, with point-lace ruffles, and a\nsword and bag.[119] Wilton, the sculptor, executed the two outer figures.\n\nGiuseppe Ceracchi, who carved some of the heads of the river gods for the\nkey-stones of the windows of the Strand front of Somerset House, was an\nItalian, but it is uncertain whether he was born at Rome or in Corsica. He\ngave the accomplished Mrs. Damer (General Conway's daughter) her first\nlessons in sculpture, an art which she afterwards perfected in the studio\nof the elder Bacon. Ceracchi executed the only bust in marble that\nReynolds ever sat for. A statue of Mrs. Damer, from a model by him, is now\nin the British Museum. This sculptor was guillotined in 1801, for a plot\nagainst Napoleon.[120] He is said to have lost his wits in prison, and to\nhave mounted the scaffold dressed as a Roman emperor. It was to Mrs. Damer\n(the daughter of his old friend) that Horace Walpole, our most French of\nmemoir-writers, bequeathed his fantastic villa at Strawberry Hill, and its\nincongruous but valuable curiosities. She is said to have sent a bust of\nNelson to the Rajah of Tanjore, who wished to spread a taste for English\nart in India.\n\nThe rooms round the quadrangle are hives of red-tapists. There are about\nnine hundred Government clerks nestled away in them, and maintained at an\nannual cost to us of about L275,000. There is the office of the Duchy of\nCornwall, and there are the Legacy Duty, the Stamps, Taxes, and Excise\nOffices, the Inland Revenue Office, the Registrar General's Office\n(created pursuant to 6 and 7 Will. IV., c. 86), part of the Admiralty and\nthe Audit Office, and lastly the Will Office.\n\nThe east wing of Somerset House, used as King's College, was built in\n1829. The bronze statue of George III., and the fine recumbent figure of\nFather Thames, in the chief court, were cast by John Bacon, R.A.\n\nThe office for auditing the public accounts existed, under the name of the\nOffice of the Auditors of the Imprests, as far back as the time of Henry\nVIII. The present commission was established in 1785, and the salaries\nformerly paid for the passing of accounts are now paid out of the Civil\nList, all fees being abolished. The average annual cost of the office for\nauditing some three hundred and fifty accounts is L50,000. There are six\ncommissioners, a secretary, and upwards of a hundred clerks. Almost all\nthe home and colonial expenditure is examined at this office. Edward\nHarley and Arthur Maynwaring (the wit of the Kit-Cat Club) were the two\nAuditors of the Imprests in the reign of Queen Anne. The Earl of Oxford,\nthe collector of MSS., obtained many curious public documents from his\nbrother. If he had taken the whole the nation would have been a gainer;\nfor the Government bought his collection for the British Museum, and all\nthat he left (except what Sir William Musgrave, a commissioner, scraped\ntogether and gave to the British Museum) were barbarously destroyed by\nGovernment, heedless of their historical value. Maynwaring's fees were\nabout L2000 a year. The present salary of a commissioner is L1200; the\nchairman's salary is L500. In 1867 the western front of Somerset House was\nadded; it is from the designs of Pennethorne, to accommodate the clerks of\nthe Inland Revenue Department.\n\nThe Astronomical Society, Geographical Society, and Geological Society,\nwere for many years sheltered in Somerset House, before removing\nwestwards.\n\nHither, in 1782, from Crane Court, came the Royal Society. The entrance\ndoor to the society's rooms, to the left of the vestibule, is marked out\nby the bust of Sir Isaac Newton; Herschel, Davy, and Wollaston, as well as\nWalpole and Hallam, must have passed here, for the same door leads to the\napartments of the Society of Antiquaries.\n\nThis society, when burnt out of Aldersgate Street by the Great Fire, held\nits meetings for a time in Arundel House. At first its doings were\ntrifling and sometimes absurd. Enthusiasts and pedants often made the\nsociety ludicrous by their aberrations. Charles II. pretended to admire\ntheir Baconic inductions, but must have laughed at Boyle's essays and\nplatitudes, and the hope of Wilkins, the Bishop of Chester, of flying to\nthe moon. Evelyn's suggestions were unpractical and dilettantish, and\nPepys's ramblings not over wise. We may be sure that there was food for\nlaughter, when Butler could thus sketch the occupations of these\nphilosophers:--\n\n  \"To measure wind and weigh the air,\n  To turn a circle to a square,\n  And in the braying of an ass\n  Find out the treble and the bass,\n  If mares neigh _alto_, and a cow\n  In double diapason low.\"\n\nYet how can we wonder that in the vast gold mines of the new philosophy\nour wise men hesitated where first to sink their shafts? Cowley\nchivalrously sprang forward to ward off from them the laughter and scorn\nof the Rochesters and the Killigrews of the day, and to prove that these\ninitiative studies were not \"impertinent and vain and small,\" nothing in\nnature being worthless. He ends his fine, rambling ode with the following\nnoble simile:--\n\n  \"Lo! when by various turns of the celestial dance,\n      In many thousand years,\n      A star so long unknown appears,\n  Though Heaven itself more beauteous by it grow,\n  It troubles and alarms the world below;\n  Does to the wise a star, to fools a meteor show.\"[121]\n\nThe Royal Society's traditions belong more to Gresham College than to\nSomerset House, the later home of our wise men. It originated in 1645, in\nmeetings held in Wood Street and Gresham College, suggested by Theodore\nHank, a German of the Palatinate. During the Civil War its discussions\nwere continued at Oxford. The present entrance-money is L10, and the\nannual subscription is L4. The society consists at present of between 700\nand 800 fellows, and the anniversary is held every 30th of November, being\nSt. Andrew's Day. The Transactions of the society fill upwards of 150\nquarto volumes. The first president was Viscount Brouncker, and the\nsecond Sir Joseph Williamson. Mr. William Spottiswoode is the present\npresident. The society possesses some valuable pictures, including three\nportraits of Sir Isaac Newton--one by C. Jervas, presented by the great\nphilosopher himself, and hung over the president's chair; a second by D.\nC. Marchand, and a third by Vanderbank; two portraits of Halley, by Thomas\nMurray and Dahl; two of Hobbes, the great advocate of despotism--one taken\nin 1663 (three years after the Restoration), and the other by Gaspars,\npresented by Aubrey; Sir Christopher Wren, by Kneller; Wallis, by West;\nFlamstead, by Gibson; Robert Boyle, by F. Kerseboom (a good likeness, says\nBoyle); Pepys, the cruel expositor of his own weaknesses, by Kneller; Sir\nA. Southwell, by the same portrait-painter; Dr. Birch, the great\nhistorical compiler, by Wills (the original of the mezzotint done by Faber\nin 1741, and bequeathed by Dr. Birch); Martin Folkes, the great\nantiquarian, by Hogarth; Dr. Wollaston, the eccentric discoverer, by\nJackson; and Sir Humphrey Davy, by Sir Thomas Lawrence.\n\nAmongst the curiosities of the society are the silver-gilt mace presented\nto the society by Charles II. in 1662--(long supposed to be the bauble\nwhich Cromwell treated with such contempt); a solar dial, made by Sir\nIsaac Newton himself when a boy; a reflecting telescope, made by Newton in\n1671; the precious MS. of the _Principia_ in Newton's handwriting; a\nsilvery lock of Newton's hair; the MS. of the _Parentalia, or Memoirs of\nthe Family of the Wrens_, written by young Wren; the charter-book of the\nsociety, bound in crimson velvet, and containing the signatures of the\nfounder and fellows; a Rumford fireplace, one of the earliest in use; and\na marble bust of Mrs. Somerville, the great mathematician and philosopher,\nby Chantrey. The society gives annually two gold medals--one the Rumford,\nthe other the Copley medal, called by Sir Humphrey Davy \"the ancient olive\ncrown of the Royal Society.\"\n\nThe Geological Society has a museum of specimens and fossils from all\nquarters of the globe. The number of its fellows is about 875, and the\ntime of meeting alternate Wednesday evenings from November till June. It\nalso publishes a quarterly journal. The entrance-money is six guineas, the\nannual subscription two.\n\nThe Society of Antiquaries was fairly started in 1707, by Wanley, Bagford,\nand Talman, who agreed to meet together every Friday under penalty of\nsixpence. It had originated about 1580, when it held its first sittings in\nthe Heralds' College; but it did not obtain a charter till 1751, both\nElizabeth and James being afraid of its meddling with royal prerogatives\nand illustrious genealogies, and the Civil War having interrupted its\nproceedings. Its first meeting was at the Bear Tavern, in the Strand. In\n1739 the members were limited to one hundred, and the terms were one\nguinea entrance and twelve shillings annually. The society agreed to\ndiscuss antiquarian subjects, and chiefly those relating to English\nhistory prior to James I. In 1751 George II. granted its members a\ncharter, and in 1777 George III. gave them apartments in Somerset House,\nwhere they continued till their recent removal to Burlington House. The\nterms now are eight guineas admission, and four guineas annually. The\n_Archaeologia_, a journal of the society's proceedings, commenced in 1770.\nThe meetings are every Thursday evening from November to June, and the\nanniversary meeting is the 23d of April.\n\nThe museum of this society contains, among other treasures, the _Household\nBook_ of the Duke of Norfolk; a large and valuable collection of early\nproclamations and ballads; T. Porter's unique map of London (Charles I.);\na folding picture in panel, of the \"Preaching at Old St. Paul's in 1616;\"\nearly portraits of Edward IV. and Richard III., engraved for the third\nseries of _Ellis's Letters_; a three-quarter portrait of Mary I. with the\nmonogram of Lucas de Heere, and the date 1546; a curious portrait of the\nMarquis of Winchester (who died 1571); the portrait by Sir Antonio More,\nof Schorel, a Dutch painter; portraits of antiquaries--Burton, the\nLeicestershire antiquary, Peter le Neve, Humphrey Wanley Baker, of St.\nJohn's College, William Stukeley, George Vertue, and Edward, Earl of\nOxford, presented by Vertue; a Bohemian astronomical clock of gilt brass,\nmade in 1525 for Sigismund, King of Poland, and bought at the sale of the\neffects of James Ferguson, the astronomer; and a spur of gilt brass, found\non Towton field, the scene of the bloody conflict between Edward IV. and\nthe Lancastrian forces. Upon the shank is engraved the following\nposey--\"En loial amour tout mon coer.\"[122]\n\nThe Astronomical Society was instituted in 1820, and received the royal\ncharter in 1st William IV. The entrance-money is two guineas, and the\nannual subscription the same amount. The annual general meeting is the\nsecond Friday in February. A medal is awarded every year. The society has\na small but good mathematical library, and a few astronomical instruments.\n\nA little above the entrance door to \"the Stamps and Taxes\" there is a\nwhite watch-face let into the wall. Local tradition declares it was left\nthere in votive gratitude by a labourer who fell from a scaffolding and\nwas saved by the ribbon of his watch catching in some ornament. It was\nreally placed there by the Royal Society as a meridian mark for a portable\ntransit instrument in a window of an ante-room.[123]\n\nA tradition of Nelson belongs to this quiet square. An old clerk at\nSomerset House used to describe seeing the hero of the Nile pass on his\nway to the Admiralty. Thin and frail, with only one arm, he would enter\nthe vestibule at a smart pace, and make direct for his goal, pushing\nacross the rough round stones of the quadrangle, instead of taking, like\nothers, the smooth pavement. Nelson always took the nearest way to the\nobject he wished to attain.[124]\n\nThe Royal Academy soon found a home in Somerset House. Germs of this\ninstitution are to be found as early as the reign of Charles I., when Sir\nFrancis Kynaston, a translator of Chaucer into Latin (_circa_ 1636), was\nchosen regent of an academy in Covent Garden.[125]\n\nIn 1643 that shifty adventurer, Sir Balthazar Gerbier, who had been fellow\nambassador with Rubens in Spain, started some quack establishment of the\nsame kind at Bethnal Green. He afterwards went to Surinam, was turned out\nby the Dutch, came back, designed an ugly house at Hampstead Marshal, in\nBerks, and died in 1667.\n\nIn 1711 Sir Godfrey Kneller instituted a private art academy, of which he\nbecame president. Hogarth, writing about 1760, says, that sixty years\nbefore some artists had started an academy, but their leaders assuming too\nmuch pomposity, a caricature procession was drawn on the walls of the\nstudio, upon which the society broke up in dudgeon. Sir James Thornhill,\nin 1724, then set up an academy at his own house in Covent Garden, while\nothers, under Vanderbank, turned a neighbouring meeting-house into a\nstudio; but these rival confederations broke up at Sir James's death in\n1734.\n\nHogarth, his son-in-law, opened an academy, under the direction of Mr.\nMoser, at the house of a painter named Peter Hyde, in Greyhound Court,\nArundel Street. In 1739 these artists removed to a more commodious house\nin Peter's Court, St. Martin's Lane, where they continued till 1767, when\nthey removed to Pall Mall.\n\nIn 1738 the Duke of Richmond threw open to art-students his gallery at\nWhitehall, closed it again when his absence in the German war prevented\nthe paying of the premiums, was laughed at, and then re-opened it again.\nIt lasted some years, and Edwards, author of the _Anecdotes_, studied\nthere.\n\nIn 1753 some artists meeting at the Turk's Head, Gerrard Street, Soho,\ntried ineffectually to organise an academy; but in 1765 they obtained a\ncharter, and appointed Mr. Lambert president.\n\nIn 1760 their first exhibition of pictures was held in the rooms of the\nSociety of Arts, and in 1761 there were two exhibitions, one at Spring\nGardens: for the latter Hogarth illustrated a catalogue, with a compliment\nto the young king and a caricature of rich connoisseurs.\n\nIn 1768 eight of the directors of the Spring Gardens Society, indignant at\nMr. Kirby being made president of the society in the place of Mr. Hayman,\nresigned; and, co-operating with sixteen others who had been ejected,\nsecretly founded a new society. Wilton, Chambers, West, Cotes, and Moser,\nwere the leaders in this scheme, and Reynolds soon joined them, tempted,\nit is supposed, by a promise of knighthood.\n\nWest was the chief mover in this intrigue. The Archbishop of York, who had\ntried to raise L3000 to enable the American artist to abandon\nportrait-painting, had gained the royal ear, and West was painting the\n\"Departure of Regulus\" for the king, who was even persuaded and flattered\ninto drawing up several of the laws of the new society with his own\nhand.[126] The king, in the meantime, with unworthy dissimulation,\naffected outwardly a complete neutrality between the two camps, presented\nthe Spring Gardens Society with L100, and even attended their exhibition.\n\nThe king's patronage of the new society was disclosed to honest Mr. Kirby\n(father of Mrs. Trimmer, and the artist who had taught the king\nperspective) in a very malicious and mortifying manner, and the story was\nrelated to Mr. Galt by West, with a quiet, cold spite, peculiarly his own.\nMr. Kirby came to the palace just as West was submitting his sketch for\n\"Regulus\" to the king. West was a true courtier, and knew well how to make\na patron suggest his own subject. Kirby praised the picture, and hoped Mr.\nWest intended to exhibit it. The Quaker slily replied that that depended\non his majesty's pleasure. The king, like a true confederate, immediately\nsaid, \"Assuredly I shall be happy to let the work be shown to the public.\"\n\"Then, Mr. West,\" said the perhaps too arrogant president, \"you will send\nit to my exhibition?\" \"No!\" said the king, and the words must have been\nthunderbolts to poor Kirby; \"it must go to _my_ exhibition.\"[127] \"Poor\nKirby,\" says West, \"only two nights before, had declared that the design\nof forming such an institution was not contemplated. His colour forsook\nhim--his countenance became yellow with mortification--he bowed with\nprofound humility, and instantly retired, _nor did he long survive the\nshock_!\"\n\nMr. West is wrong, however, in the last statement, for his rival did not\ndie till 1774. Mr. Kirby, a most estimable man, was originally a\nhouse-painter at Ipswich. He became acquainted with Gainsborough, was\nintroduced by Lord Bute to the king, and wrote and edited some valuable\nworks on perspective, to one of which Hogarth contributed an inimitable\nfrontispiece.\n\nSir Robert Strange says that much of this intrigue was carried out by Mr.\nDalton,[128] a print seller in Pall Mall, and the king's librarian, in\nwhose rooms the exhibition was held in 1767 and 1768.\n\nThus an American Quaker, a Swiss, and a Swede--(a gold-chaser, a\ncoach-painter, an architect, and a third-rate painter, West)--ignobly\nestablished the Royal Academy. Many eminent men refused to join the new\nsociety. Allan Ramsay, Hudson, Scott the marine-painter, and Romney were\nopposed to it. Engravers (much to the disgrace of the Academy) were\nexcluded; and worst of all, one of the new laws forbade any artist to be\neligible to academic honours who did not exhibit his works in the\nAcademy's rooms: thus depriving for ever every English artist of the right\nto earn money by exhibiting his own works.[129]\n\nThe proportion of foreigners in the Academy was very large. The two ladies\nwho became members (Angelica Kauffmann and Mrs. Moser) were both\nSwiss.[130]\n\nThe other unlucky society, deprived of its share of the St. Martin's Lane\ncasts, etc., and shut out from the Academy, furnished a studio over the\nCyder Cellars in Maiden Lane, struggled on till 1807, and then ceased to\nexist.[131]\n\nThe Academy, with all its tyranny and injustice, has still been useful to\nEnglish art in perpetuating annual exhibitions which attract purchasers.\nBut what did more good to English art than twenty academies was the king's\npatronage of West, the spread of engraving, and the rise of middle-class\npurchasers, who rendered it no longer necessary for artists to depend on\nthe caprice and folly of rich aristocratic patrons.\n\nOne word more about the art oligarchy. The first officers of the new\nsociety were--Reynolds, president; Moser, keeper; Newton, secretary;\nPenny, professor of painting; Sandby, professor of architecture; Wale,\nprofessor of perspective; W. Hunter, professor of anatomy; Chambers,\ntreasurer; and Wilson, librarian. Goldsmith was chosen professor of\nhistory at a later period.\n\nThe catalogue of the first exhibition of the Royal Academy contains the\nnames of only one hundred and thirty pictures: Hayman exhibited scenes\nfrom _Don Quixote_; Rooker some Liverpool views; Reynolds some allegorised\nportraits; Miss Kauffmann some of her tame Homeric figures; West his\n\"Regulus\" (that killed Kirby), and a Venus and Adonis; Zuccarelli two\nlandscapes.\n\nIn 1838, the first year after the opening of the National Gallery, 1382\nworks of art, including busts and architectural designs, were exhibited.\nAmong the pictures then shown were--Stanfield's \"Chasse Maree off the\nGulf-stream Light,\" \"The Privy Council,\" by Wilkie; portraits of men and\ndogs, by Landseer; \"The Pifferari,\" \"Phryne,\" and \"Banishment of Ovid,\" by\nTurner; \"A Bacchante,\" by Etty; \"Gaston de Foix,\" by Eastlake; Allan's\n\"Slave Market,\" Leslie's \"Dinner Scene from the Merry Wives of Windsor;\"\n\"A View on the Rhine,\" by Callcott; Shee's portrait of Sir Francis\nBurdett; portraits by Pickersgill; Maclise's \"Christmas in the Olden\nTime,\" and \"Olivia and Sophia fitting out Moses for the Fair;\" \"The\nMassacre of the Innocents,\" by Hilton; and a picture by Uwins.[132]\n\nAngelica Kauffmann and Biaggio Rebecca helped to decorate the Academy's\nold council-chamber at Somerset House. The paintings still exist. Rebecca\nwas an eccentric, conceited Italian artist, who decorated several rooms at\nWindsor, and offended the worthy precise old king by his practical jokes.\nOn one occasion, knowing he would meet the king on his way to Windsor with\nWest, he stuck a paper star on his coat. The next time West came, the king\nwas curious to know who the foreign nobleman was he had seen--\"Person of\ndistinction, eh? eh?\"--and was doubtless vexed at the joke.\n\nRebecca's favourite trick was to draw a half-crown on paper, and place it\non the floor of one of the ante-rooms at Windsor, laughing immoderately at\nthe eagerness with which some fat courtier in full dress, sword and bag,\nwould run and scuffle to pick it up.[133]\n\nFuseli took his place as Keeper of the Academy in 1805. Smirke had been\nelected, but George III., hearing that he was a democrat, refused to\nconfirm the appointment. Haydon, who called on Fuseli in Berners Street in\n1805, when he had left his father the bookseller at Plymouth, describes\nhim as \"a little white-headed, lion-faced man, in an old flannel\ndressing-gown tied round his waist with a piece of rope, and upon his head\nthe bottom of Mrs. Fuseli's work-basket.\" His gallery was full of\ngalvanised devils, malicious witches brewing incantations, Satan bridging\nchaos or springing upwards like a pyramid of fire, Lady Macbeth, Paolo and\nFrancesca, Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly.\n\nElsewhere the impetuous Haydon sketches him vigorously. Fuseli was about\nfive feet five inches high, had a compact little form, stood firmly at his\neasel, painted with his left hand, never held his palette upon his thumb,\nbut kept it upon his stone slab, and being very near-sighted and too vain\nto wear glasses, used to dab his beastly brush into the oil, and sweeping\nround the palette in the dark, take up a great lump of white, red, or\nblue, and plaster it over a shoulder or a face; then prying close in, he\nwould turn round and say, \"By Gode! dat's a fine purple! it's very like\nCorreggio, by Gode!\" and then all of a sudden burst out with a quotation\nfrom Homer, Tasso, Dante, Ovid, Virgil, or the Niebelungen, and say,\n\"Paint dat!\" \"I found him,\" says Haydon, \"a most grotesque mixture of\nliterature, art, scepticism, indelicacy, profanity, and kindness. He put\nme in mind of Archimago in Spenser.\"[134]\n\nWhen Haydon came first to town from Plymouth, he lodged at 342\nStrand,[135] near Charing Cross, and close to his fellow-student, the\ngood-natured, indolent, clever Jackson. The very morning he arrived he\nhurried off to the Exhibition, and mistaking the new church in the Strand\nfor Somerset House, ran up the steps and offered his shilling to a beadle.\nWhen he at last found the right house, Opie's _Gil Blas_ and Westall's\n_Shipwrecked Sailor Boy_ were all the historical pictures he could find.\n\nSir Joshua read his first discourse before the Academy in 1769. Barry\ncommenced his lectures in 1784, ended them in 1798, and was expelled the\nAcademy in 1799. Opie delivered his lectures in 1807, the year in which he\ndied. Fuseli began in 1801, and delivered but twelve lectures in all.\n\nIt was on St. George's Day, 1771, that Sir Joshua Reynolds took the chair\nat the first annual dinner of the Royal Academy. Dr. Johnson was there,\nwith Goldsmith and Horace Walpole. Goldsmith got the ear of the company,\nbut was laughed at by Johnson for professing his enthusiastic belief in\nChatterton's discovery of ancient poems. Walpole, who had believed in the\npoet of Bristol till he was laughed at by Mason and Gray, began to banter\nGoldsmith on his opinions, when, as he says, to his surprise and concern,\nand the dashing of his mirth, he first heard that the poor lad had been to\nLondon and had destroyed himself. Goldsmith had afterwards a quarrel with\nDr. Percy on the same subject.\n\nOne day, while Reynolds was lecturing at Somerset House, the floor\nsuddenly began to give way. Turner, then a boy, was standing near the\nlecturer. Reynolds remained calm, and said afterwards that his only\nthought was what a loss to English art the death of that roomful would\nhave been.\n\nOn the death of Mr. Wale, the Professor of Perspective, Sir Joshua was\nanxious to have Mr. Bonomi elected to the post, but he was treated with\ngreat disrespect by Mr. Copley and others, who refused to look at Bonomi's\ndrawings, which Sir Joshua (as some maintained, contrary to rule) had\nproduced at Fuseli's election as Academician. Reynolds at first threatened\nto resign the presidency; but thought better of it afterwards.\n\nIn the catalogues in 1808 Turner's name first appeared with the title of\nProfessor of Perspective attached to it. His lectures were bad, from his\nutter want of language, but he took great pains with his diagrams, and his\nideas were often original. On one celebrated occasion Turner arrived in\nthe lecture-room late, and much perturbed. He dived first into one pocket,\nand then into another; at last he ejaculated these memorable words:\n\"Gentlemen, I've been and left my lecture in the hackney-coach!\"[136]\n\nIn 1779 O'Keefe describes a visit paid to Somerset House to hear Dr.\nWilliam Hunter lecture on anatomy. He describes him as a jocose little\nman, in \"a handsome modest\" wig. A skeleton hung on a pivot by his side,\nand on his other hand stood a young man half stripped. Every now and then\nhe paused, to turn to the dead or the living example.[137]\n\nIn 1765, when Fuseli was living humbly in Cranbourn Alley, and translating\nWinckelmann, he used to visit Smollett, whose _Peregrine Pickle_ he was\nthen illustrating; and also Falconer, the author of _The Shipwreck_, who,\nbeing poor, was allowed to occupy apartments in Somerset House.[138] The\npoet was a mild, inoffensive man, the son of an Edinburgh barber. He had\nbeen apprenticed on board a merchant vessel, after which he entered the\nroyal navy. In 1762 he published his well-known poem. He went out to India\nin 1769, in the _Aurora_, which is supposed to have foundered in the\nMozambique Channel.[139] Falconer was a short thin man, with a\nhard-featured, weather-beaten face and a forbidding manner; but he was\ncheerful and generous, and much liked by his messmates. That hearty\nsea-song, \"Cease, rude Boreas,\" has been attributed to him.\n\nFuseli succeeded Barry as Lecturer on Painting in 1799, and became Keeper\non the death of Wilton, the sculptor, in 1803. He died in 1825, aged\neighty-four, and was buried in St. Paul's, between Reynolds and Opie.\nLawrence, Beechey, Reinagle, Chalon, Jones, and Mulready followed him to\nhis stately grave. The body had previously been laid in state in Somerset\nHouse, his pictures of \"The Lazar House\" and \"The Bridging of Chaos\" being\nhung over the coffin.\n\nWhen Sir Joshua died, in 1792, his body lay in state in a velvet coffin,\nin a room hung with sable, in Somerset House. Burke and Barry, Boswell and\nLangton, Kemble and John Hunter, Towneley and Angerstein came to witness\nthe ceremony.\n\nWhere events are so interwoven as they are in topographical history, I\nhope to be pardoned if I am not always chronological in my arrangement,\nfor it must be remembered that I have anecdotes to attend to as well as\ndates. Let me here, then, dilate on a cruel instance of misused academic\npower. My story relates to a young genius as unfortunate as Chatterton,\nyet guiltless of his lies and forgeries, who died heart-broken by neglect\nmore than half a century ago.\n\n[Illustration: SOMERSET HOUSE FROM THE STRAND, 1777.]\n\nProcter, a young Yorkshire clerk, came up to London in 1777, and became a\nstudent of the Royal Academy. In 1783 he carried off a silver medal, and\nthe next year won the gold medal for an historical picture. When Procter\ngained this last prize, his fellow-students, raising him on their\nshoulders, bore him downstairs, and then round the quadrangle of Somerset\nHouse, shouting out, \"Procter! Procter!\" Barry was delighted at this, and\nexclaimed with an oath, \"Bedad! the lads have caught the true spirit of\nthe ould Greeks.\" Sir Abraham Hume bought Procter's \"Ixion,\" which was\npraised by Reynolds. His colossal \"Diomede\" the poor fellow had to break\nup, as he had no place to keep it in, and no one would buy it. In 1794 Mr.\nWest, wishing that Procter should go to Rome as the travelling student,\ndiscovered him, after much inquiry, in poor lodgings in Maiden Lane. A day\nor two afterwards he was found dead in his bed. The Academicians had been,\nperhaps, just a little too late with their patronage.[140]\n\nAnd now, when through grey twilight glooms I steal a glance as I pass by\nat that grave black figure of the river god, presiding solemn as\nRhadamanthus over the central quadrangle of Somerset House, I sometimes\ndream I see little leonine Fuseli, stormy Barry, and courtly Reynolds\npacing together the dim quadrangle that on these autumnal evenings, when\nthe rifle drills are over, wears so lonely and purgatorial an aspect; and\nfar away from them, in murky corners, I fancy I hear muttering the ghosts\nof Portuguese monks, while scowling at them, stalks by pale Sir\nEdmondbury, with a sword run through his shadowy body.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: JACOB TONSON'S BOOK-SHOP, 1742.]\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE STRAND (SOUTH SIDE, CONTINUED).\n\n\nOn the Thames, off Somerset House, was a timber shed built on a strong\nbarge, and called \"the Folly.\" In William III.'s reign it was anchored\nhigher up the stream, near the Savoy. Tom Brown calls it \"a musical\nsummer-house.\" Its real name was \"The Royal Diversion.\" Queen Mary\nhonoured it with her presence.[141] It was at first frequented by \"persons\nof quality,\" but latterly it became disreputable, and its orchestra and\nrefreshment alcoves were haunted by thieves, gamesters, and courtesans.\n\nNear the Savoy stood the palace of the bishops of Carlisle, which was\nobtained by exchange with Henry VIII. for Rochester Place at Lambeth. The\nEnglish sultan gave it to his lucky favourite, Bedford, who took it as his\nresidence. In the reign of James I. the Earl of Worcester bought it; and\nin 1627 the Duke of Beaufort let it to Lord Clarendon, while his ill-fated\nhouse was building in Piccadilly. It was then rebuilt on a smaller scale\nby the duke, and eventually burnt down in 1695.[142] The present Beaufort\nBuildings were then erected. Beaufort House, which occupies the site of\none in which Cardinal Beaufort died, is now a printing-office.\n\nBlake, the mystical painter, died in 1828, at No. 3 Fountain Court, after\nfive years' residence there. In these dim rooms he believed he saw the\nghost of a flea, Satan himself looking through the bars of the staircase\nwindow, to say nothing of hosts of saints, angels, evil spirits, and\nfairies. Here also he wrote verse passionate as Shelley's and pure and\nsimple-hearted as Wordsworth's. Here he engraved, tinted, railed at\nWoollett, and raved over his Dante illustrations; for though poor and\nunknown, he was yet regal in his exulting self-confidence. Here, just\nbefore his death, the old man sat up in bed, painting, singing, and\nrejoicing. He died without a struggle.[143]\n\nThe office of the _Sun_ is on this side the Strand. This paper was\nestablished in 1792. Mr. Jerdan left the _Sun_ in 1816, selling his share\nfor L300. He had quarrelled with the co-proprietor, Mr. John Taylor, who\naspired to a control over him. In 1817 he set up the _Literary Gazette_,\nthe first exclusive organ of literary men.[144] The first editor of the\n_Sun_ got an appointment in the West Indies. The paper was then edited by\nRobert Clark, printer of the _London Gazette_, and afterwards by Jerdan,\nassisted by Fladgate the facetious lawyer, Mulloch, and John Taylor. After\ngetting his sop in the pan of L300 a year from Government, that\nlow-principled satirist, Dr. Wolcot (Peter Pindar), wrote epigrams for it.\n\nFountain Court was in Strype's time famous for an adjacent tavern from\nwhich it derived its name. It was well paved, and its houses were\nrespectably inhabited.[145] The Fountain Tavern was renowned for its good\nrooms, excellent vaults, \"curious kitchen,\" and old wine. The Fountain\nClub, of which Pulteney was a member (circa 1737), held its meetings in\nthis tavern, to oppose that fine old Whig gentleman Sir Robert\nWalpole.[146] Sir Charles Hanbury Williams thus mentions it in one of his\nlampoons:--\n\n  \"Then enlarge on his cunning and wit,\n    Say how he harangued at the Fountain,\n  Say how the old patriots were bit,\n    And a mouse was produced by a mountain.\"\n\nHere Pulteney may have planned the _Craftsman_ with Bolingbroke, and\nperhaps have arranged his duel with Lord Hervey, the \"Sporus\" of Pope.\n\nDennis, the critic, mentions in his _Letters_ dining here with Loggen, the\npainter, and Wilson, a writer praised by poor Otway in Tonson's first\n_Miscellany_. \"After supper,\" he says, \"we drank Mr. Wycherly's health by\nthe name of Captain Wycherly.\"[147] This was the dramatist, the celebrated\nauthor of _The Plain Dealer_ and _The Country Wife_.\n\nThe great room of the Fountain Tavern was afterwards Akermann's well-known\npicture shop; and is now Simpson's cigar divan.\n\nCharles Lillie, the perfumer recommended by Steele in the _Tatler_ (Nos.\n92, 94), lived next door to the Fountain Tavern. He was burnt out and went\nto the east corner of Beaufort Buildings in 1709. Good-natured Steele,\npitying him probably for his losses, praised his Barcelona snuff, and his\norange-flower water prepared according to the Royal Society's receipt.\n\nThe Coal Hole, in this court, was so named by Rhodes, its first landlord,\nfrom its having been originally the resort of coal-heavers. In his and\nEdmund Kean's time it was respectably frequented. It was once the\n\"Evans's\" of London, famous for steaks and ale; afterwards it sank to a\nlow den with _poses plastiques_ and ribald sham trials, that used to be\nconducted by \"Baron\" Nicholson, a fat gross man, but not without a certain\nunctuous humour, who is now dead.\n\nEdmund Kean, always low in his tastes, used to fly the society of men like\nLord Byron to come hither and smoke and drink. The dress, the ceremony,\nand the compulsory good behaviour of respectable society made him silent\nand melancholy.[148] He used to say that noblemen talked such nonsense\nabout the stage, and that only literary men understood the subject.\n\nThe Kit-Cat Club was instituted in 1700, and died away about the year\n1720. There were originally thirty-nine members, and they increased\ngradually to the forty-eight whose portraits Kneller painted for their\nsecretary, Jacob Tonson, Dryden's bookseller. Their earliest rendezvous\nwas at the house of a pastry-cook, one Christopher Cat, in Shire Lane,\nnear Temple Bar. When he grew wealthier, the club removed with him to the\nFountain Tavern in the Strand. The club derived its name from the\ncelebrated mutton pie,[149] which had been christened after its\nmaker.[150] The first members were those Whig patriots who brought about\nthe Revolution and drove out King James. Their object was the\nencouragement of literature and the fine arts, and the diffusion of\nloyalty to the House of Hanover. They elected their \"toast\" for the year\nby ballot. The lady's name, when chosen, was written on the club\ndrinking-glasses with a diamond. Among the more celebrated of the members\nof this club were Kneller, Vanbrugh, Congreve, Addison, Garth, Steele,\nLord Mohun, the Duke of Wharton, Sir Robert Walpole, the Earl of\nBurlington, the Earl of Bath, the Earl of Dorset, the Earl of Halifax, the\nproud Duke of Somerset, and the Duke of Newcastle.\n\nIn summer the Club met at Tonson's house at Barn Elms in Surrey, or at the\nUpper Flask Tavern at Hampstead.[151] There seems to have been always some\ndoubt about the derivation of the name of the club; for an epigram still\nextant, written either by Pope or Arbuthnot, attributes the name to the\nfact of the members toasting \"old Cats and young kits.\" Mr. Defoe mentions\nthe landlord's name as Christopher Catt,[152] while Ned Ward says that\nthough his name was Christopher, he lived at the sign of the Cat and\nFiddle.\n\nLady Mary Wortley Montagu was once brought by her father to this club when\na child, and made the toast for the year. \"Petted, praised, fondled, and\nfed with sweetmeats,\" she used to say in her old age that it was the\nhappiest day of her life![153]\n\nNo. 59 is Coutts's Bank. It was built for Mr. Coutts, in 1768, by the Adam\nbrothers--to whom we are indebted for the Adelphi. The old house of the\nfirm, of the date of Queen Anne, was situated in St. Martin's Lane. The\npresent house contains some fine marble chimney-pieces of the Cipriani and\nBacon school. The dining-room is hung with quaint Chinese subjects on\npaper, sent to Mr. Coutts by Lord Macartney, while on his embassy to\nChina, in 1792-95. In another room hang portraits of some early friends of\nthis son of Mammon, including Dr. Armstrong, the poet and physician,\nFuseli's friend, by Reynolds. The strong rooms consist of cloistered\nvaults, wherein the noblemen and rich commoners who bank in the house\ndeposit patents, title-deeds, and plate of fabulous value.\n\nMr. Coutts was the son of a Dundee merchant. His first wife was a servant,\na Lancashire labourer's offspring. He had three daughters, one of whom\nbecame the wife of Sir Francis Burdett, a second Countess of Guilford, and\na third Marchioness of Bute. On becoming acquainted with Miss Mellon, and\ninducing her to leave the stage to avoid perpetual insults, Mr. Coutts\nbought for her of Sir W. Vane Tempest, a small villa called Holly Lodge,\nat the foot of Highgate Hill, for which he gave L25,000. His banking-house\nstrong rooms alone cost L10,000 building. The first deposit in the\nenlarged house was the diamond aigrette that the Grand Signor had placed\nin Nelson's hat. Mr. Coutts, though very charitable, was precise and\nexact. On one occasion, there being a deficit of 2s. 10d. in the day's\naccounts, the clerks were detained for hours, or, as is said, all night.\nOne of Coutts's clerks, who took the western walk, was discovered to be\nmissing with L17,000.[154] Rewards were offered, and the town placarded,\nbut all in vain. The next day, however, the note-case arrived from\nSouthampton. The clerk's story was, that on his way through Piccadilly,\nbeing seized with a stupor, he had got into a coach in order to secure the\nmoney. He had remained insensible the whole journey, and had awoke at\nSouthampton. Mr. Coutts gave him a handsome sum from his private purse,\nbut dismissed him.\n\nCoutts's Bank stands on nearly the centre of the site of the \"New\nExchange.\" When the Adelphi was built in Durham Gardens, Mr. Coutts\npurchased a vista to prevent his view being interrupted, stipulating that\nthe new street leading to the entrance should face this opening; and on\nthis space, up to the level of the Strand, he built his strong rooms. Some\nyears after, wishing to enlarge them, he erected over the office a\ncounting-house and a set of offices extending from William Street to\nRobert Street, and threw a stone bridge over William Street to connect the\nfront and back premises.\n\nMr. Coutts, late in life, married Harriet Mellon, who, after his death,\nbecame the wife of the Duke of St. Albans, a descendant of Nell Gwynn,\nthat light-hearted wanton, whom nobody could hate. \"Miss Mellon,\" says\nLeigh Hunt, \"was arch and agreeable on the stage; she had no genius; but\nthen she had fine eyes and a good-humoured mouth.\" The same gay writer\ndescribes her when young as bustling about at sea-ports, selling tickets\nfor her benefit-night; but then, says the kindly apologist for everybody,\nshe had been left with a mother to support.[155]\n\nEdmund Kean, the great tragedian, was lodging at 21 Cecil Street when,\npoor and unknown, he made his first great triumph as Shylock, at Drury\nLane; a few days after, his mantelpiece was strewn with bank-notes, and\nhis son Charles was seen sitting on the floor playing with a heap of\nguineas.[156] This great actor brought the theatre, in sixty-eight nights\nof 1814, no less than twenty thousand pounds.\n\nThe last house on the west side of Cecil Street was inhabited in 1706 by\nLord Gray, and in 1721-4 by the Archbishop of York. In the opposite house\nlived for many years Major-General Sir William Congreve, the inventor of\nthe rockets which bear his name, and a great friend and companion of\nGeorge IV., to whom he is said to have borne a striking personal\nresemblance. Sir William was a descendant of Congreve the dramatist; and\nhe was the inventor of a number of successful projects and contrivances,\namong which may be mentioned the engines employed in dredging the Thames.\nThe east side of Cecil Street is in the Savoy precinct, the west in the\nparish of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields.\n\nDr. Wollaston was living in Cecil Street (No. 28) in the year 1800. This\neccentric philosopher, originally a physician, was born in 1766, and died\nof brain disease in 1828. He discovered two new metals--palladium and\nrhodium--and acquired more than L30,000, by inventing a plan to make\nplatinum malleable. He improved and invented the camera lucida, and was\nthe first to demonstrate the identity of galvanism and common\nelectricity. He carried on his experiments with the simplest instruments,\nand never allowed even his most intimate friends to enter his laboratory.\nWhen a foreign philosopher once called on him and asked to see his study,\nhe instantly produced, in his strange way, a small tray, on which were\nsome glass tubes and a twopenny blow-pipe. Once, shortly after inspecting\na grand galvanic battery, on meeting a brother philosopher in the street\nhe led him by the button into a mysterious corner, took from his pocket a\ntailor's thimble, poured into it some liquid from a small phial, and\ninstantly heated a platinum wire to a white heat.[157]\n\nSalisbury Street, in the Strand, was originally built about 1678, but was\nextensively rebuilt by Payne in the early part of the reign of George III.\n\nOld Salisbury House stood on the sites of Salisbury and Cecil Streets,\nbetween Worcester House, now Beaufort Buildings, and Durham House, now the\nAdelphi. It was so called after Sir Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, and\nLord High Treasurer to James I., who died 1612. Queen Elizabeth was\npresent at the house-warming. This Cecil was the bad minister of a bad\nking. He was Raleigh's enemy and Bacon's; he was the foe of reform, and\nthe friend of Spain, from whom he received bribes, and the slave of vice.\nBacon painted this vicious hunchback in his _Essay on Deformity_. The\nhouse was divided subsequently into Great and Little Salisbury House--the\nlatter being let to persons of quality. About 1678 it was pulled down, and\nSalisbury Street built; but it proved too steep and narrow, and was not a\nsuccessful speculation.[158] The other part, next to Great Salisbury House\nand over the Long Gallery, was turned into the \"Middle Exchange.\" This\neventually gave way to Cecil Street,--a fair street, with very good\nhouses, fit for persons of repute.[159]\n\nOn the death of Sackville the poet, Cecil took the white staff, being\nalready Premier-Secretary. His ambition stretched into every department of\nthe State. \"He built a new palace at Hatfield, and a new Exchange in the\nStrand. Countesses intrigued for him. His son married a Howard, his\ndaughter a Clifford. Ambassadors started for Italy, less to see Doges and\nGrand Dukes than to pick up pictures and statues, and bronzes and\nhangings, for his vast establishment at Hatfield Chase. His gardeners\ntravelled through France to buy up mulberries and vines. Salisbury House,\non the Thames, almost rivalled the luxurious villas of the Roman\ncardinals; yet, under this blaze of worldly success, Cecil was the most\nmiserable of men. Friends grudged his rise; his health was broken; the\nreins which his ambition drew into his hands were beyond the powers of a\nsingle man to grasp; and the vigour of his frame, wasted by years of\nvoluptuous licence, failed him at the moment when the strain on his\nfaculties was at the full.\"[160]\n\nIn Little Salisbury House lived William Cavendish, third Earl of\nDevonshire, and father of the first Duke of Devonshire, one of the leaders\nof the great revolution that drove out the Stuarts. Two or three days\nafter the Restoration, King Charles, passing in his coach through the\nStrand, espied Hobbes, that mischievous writer in favour of absolute\npower, standing at the door of his patron the earl. The king took off his\nhat very kindly to the old man, gave him his hand to kiss, asked after his\nhealth, ordered Cooper to take his portrait, and settled on him a pension\nof L100 a year. Hobbes had been an assistant of Bacon, and a friend of Ben\nJonson and of Lord Herbert of Cherbury. He had taught Charles II.\nmathematics, and corresponded with Descartes.\n\nIn the street standing on the site of Sir Robert Cecil's house was the\nresidence of the famous Partridge, the cobbler, impudent sham-almanac\nmaker, and predecessor of our own Moore and Zadkiel, who had foretold the\ndeath of the French king. To expose this noisy charlatan and upset his\nridiculous hap-hazard predictions, Swift with cruel and trenchant malice\nreported and lamented his decease in the _Tatler_ (1708), to which he\ncontributed under the name of Bickerstaff. The article raised a laugh\nthat has not even quite died away in the present day. Partridge, furious\nat his losses and the extinguishing of his ill-earned fame, knocked down a\nhawker who passed his stall crying an account of his death. This happening\njust as the joke was fading, revived it again, and finally ruined the\nalmanac of poor Partridge.[161] \"The villain,\" says the poor outwitted\nastrologer, \"told the world I was dead, and how I died, and that he was\nwith me at the time of my death. I thank God, by whose mercy I have my\nbeing, that I am still alive, and, excepting my age, as well as ever I was\nin my life.\" He actually died in 1715.\n\nA little beyond Cecil Street formerly stood Ivy Bridge, under which there\nwas a narrow passage to the Thames, once forming a boundary line between\nthe Duchy of Lancaster and the City of Westminster. Near Ivy Bridge stood\nthe mansion of the Earls of Rutland. Opposite this spot Old Parr had\nlodgings when he came to court to be shown to Charles I., and died of the\nvisit. Parr was a Shropshire labourer. He was born in 1483, and died aged\n152. His grandson lived to 120, and in the year of his death had married a\nwidow. Parr's London lodging became afterwards the Queen's Head\npublic-house.[162]\n\nMrs. Siddons was living at 149 Strand, during the time of her earlier\nsuccesses. Probably she returned there on that glorious October night of\n1782, when she achieved her first great triumph in Southerne's tragedy of\n_Isabella_, when her younger son, who acted with her, burst into tears,\novercome by the reality of the dying scene. \"I never heard,\" she says,\n\"such peals of applause in all my life.\" She returned home solemnly and\ncalmly, and sat down to a frugal, neat supper with her father and husband,\nin silence uninterrupted, except by exclamations of gladness from Mr.\nSiddons.\n\nDurham Street marks the site of old Durham House, built by Hatfield,\nBishop of Durham, in 1345. In Henry IV.'s time wild Prince Hal lodged\nthere for some nights.\n\nIn the reign of Henry VIII. Bishop Tunstall exchanged the house with the\nking for one in Thames Street. Here, in 1550, lodged the French\nambassador, M. de Chastillon, and his colleagues.\n\nEdward VI. granted the house to his sister Elizabeth for life, and here\nthat princess bore the scorn and persecution of Bonner and his spies. On\nMary coming to the throne and finding Tunstall driven from the Strand and\nwithout a shelter, she restored to him Durham House. This Tunstall led a\nlife of great vicissitudes. Henry VIII. had moved him from London to\nDurham; Edward VI. had dissolved his bishopric altogether; Mary had\nrestored it; and Elizabeth again stripped him in 1559, the year in which\nhe died.\n\nThe virgin queen kept the house some time in her own tenacious hands, but\nin 1583 granted it to Raleigh, whom she had loaded with favours, and who,\nin 1591, was Captain of the Guard, Lord Warden of the Stannaries, and\nLieutenant of Cornwall.\n\nOn the death of Queen Elizabeth Raleigh's sun of fortune set for ever, and\nthat sly time-server Toby Matthew, Bishop of Durham, claimed the old town\nhouse of the see, relying on Cecil's help and King James's dislike to the\ngreat enemy of Spain. Sir Walter opposed him, but the king in council,\n1603, recognised the claim, and stripped Raleigh of his possession. The\naggrieved man, in a letter of remonstrance to the Lord Keeper Egerton,\nstates that he had occupied the house about twenty years, and had expended\non it L2000 out of his own purse.[163] Raleigh did not die at Tower Hill\ntill 1618; but Durham House was never occupied again either by bishop or\nnoble, and five years after the stables of the house came down to make way\nfor the New Exchange.\n\nIn Charles I.'s reign the Earl of Pembroke bought Durham Yard from the\nBishop of Durham for L200 a year, and built a handsome street leading to\nthe river.[164] The river front and the stables remained in ruins till the\nMessrs. Adam built the Adelphi on the site of Raleigh's old turret study.\nIvy Street had been the eastward boundary of the bishop's domain.[165]\n\nThe New Exchange was opened April 11, 1609, in the presence of King James\nand his Danish queen. It was built principally through the intervention of\nCecil, Earl of Salisbury, who lived close by. It was called by the king\n\"Britain's Bourse,\" but it could not at first compete with the Royal\nExchange. At the Restoration, however, when Covent Garden grew into a\nfashionable quarter, the New Exchange became more frequented than\nGresham's building in the city.\n\nIn the year 1653 (Cromwell), the New Exchange was the scene of a tragedy.\nDon Pantaleon de Saa, brother of the Portuguese ambassador, quarrelled\nwith a gentleman named Giraud, who was flirting with the milliners, and\nwho had used some contemptuous expression. The Portuguese, bent on\nrevenge, hired some bravos, who the next day stabbed to death a gentleman\nwhom they mistook for Mr. Giraud. They were instantly seized, and Don\nPantaleon was found guilty and executed. Singularly enough, the intended\nvictim perished on the same day on the same scaffold, having in the\nmeantime been condemned for a plot against the Protector.\n\nThere are many legends existing about the New Exchange. Thomas Duffet, an\nactor of Charles II.'s time, kept originally a milliner's shop here. At\nthe Eagle and Child, in Britain's Bourse, the first edition of _Othello_\nwas sold in 1622. At the sign of the \"Three Spanish Gypsies\" lived Thomas\nRadford, who sold wash-balls, powder, and gloves, and taught sempstresses.\nHis wife, the daughter of John Clarges, a farrier in the Savoy before or\nafter Radford's death, married General Monk, became the vulgar Duchess of\nAlbemarle, and was eventually buried in Westminster Abbey. At the sign of\nthe <DW2>'s Head lived, in 1674, Will Cademan, a player and\nplay-publisher.[166] Henry Herringham, the chief London publisher before\nDryden's petty tyrant, Tonson, had his shop at the Blue Anchor in the\nLower Walk. Mr. and Mrs. Pepys frequented the New Exchange. Here the\nAdmiralty clerk's wife had \"a mind to\" a petticoat of sarcenet bordered\nwith black lace, and probably purchased it. Here also, in April, 1664,\nPepys and his friend Creed partook of \"a most delicate dish of curds and\ncream.\"[167] Both Wycherly and Etherege have laid scenes of their comedies\nat the New Exchange; and here, too, Dryden's intriguing Mrs. Brainsick\npretends to visit her \"tailor\" to try on her new stays.\n\nThis Strand Bazaar, in the time of William and Mary, was the scene of the\npretty story of the \"White Widow.\" For several weeks a sempstress appeared\nat one of the stalls, clothed in white, and wearing a white mask. She\nexcited great curiosity, and all the fashionable world thronged her stall.\nThis mysterious milliner was at last discovered to be no less a person\nthan the Duchess of Tyrconnel, widow of Talbot, the Lord Deputy of Ireland\nunder James II. Unable to obtain a secret access to her family, and almost\nstarving, she had been compelled to turn shopwoman. Her relatives provided\nfor her directly the story became known.[168] This duchess was the Frances\nJennings mentioned by Grammont, and sister to Sarah, Duchess of\nMarlborough.\n\nThis long arcade, leading from the Strand to the water stairs, was divided\ninto four parts--the outward walk below stairs, the inner walk below\nstairs, the outward walk above stairs, and the inner walk above stairs.\nThe lower walk was a place of assignations. In the upper walk the air rang\nwith cries of \"Gloves or ribands, sir?\" \"Very good gloves or ribands.\"\n\"Choice of fine essences.\"[169] Here Addison used to pace, watching the\n<DW2>s and fools with a kindly malice.[170] The houses in the Strand, over\nagainst the Exchange door, were often let to rich country families, who\nglared from the balconies and stared from the windows.[171]\n\nSoon after the death of Queen Anne the New Exchange became disreputable.\nNo one would take stalls, so it was pulled down in 1737, and a frontage of\ndwelling-houses and shops made to the Strand, facing what is now the\nAdelphi Theatre. But we must return for a moment to old Durham House and a\nfew more of its earlier tenants.\n\nIn Henry VIII.'s time Durham House had been the scene of great banquets\ngiven by the challengers after the six days' tournament that celebrated\nthe butcher king's ill-omened marriage with that \"Flemish mare,\" as he\nused ungallantly to call Anne of Cleves. To these sumptuous feasts the\nbruised and battered champions, together with all the House of Commons and\nCorporation of London, were invited. To reward the challengers, among whom\nwas Oliver Cromwell's ancestor, Dick o' the Diamond, the burly king gave\nthem each a yearly pension of one hundred marks out of the plundered\nrevenues of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem.\n\nLater a mint was established at Durham House by Sir William Sherrington,\nto aid the Lord Admiral Seymour in his treasonable efforts against his\nbrother, the Protector, who finally offered him up a victim to his\nambition. Sherrington, however, escaped, and worked the mint for the\nequally unfortunate Protector.\n\nBut no loss of heads could warn the Strand noblemen. It was here that the\nambitious Duke of Northumberland married his son, Lord Guildford Dudley,\nto poor meek-hearted Lady Jane Grey, who, the luckless queen of an hour,\nlonged only for her Greek books, her good old tutor Ascham, and the quiet\ncountry house where she had been so happy. On that great day for the duke,\nLady Jane's sister also married Lord Herbert, and Lord Hastings espoused\nLady Catherine Dudley. It was from Durham House that the poor martyr of\nambition, Lady Jane, was escorted in pomp to the Tower, which was so soon\nto be her grave.\n\nIn 1560 Jean Nicot, a French ambassador, had carried tobacco from Lisbon\nto Paris. In 1586[172] Drake brought tobacco from Raleigh's colony in\nVirginia. Raleigh was fond of smoking over his books. His tobacco-box\nstill existed in 1715; it was of gilt leather, as large as a muff-case,\nand contained cases for sixteen pipes.[173] There is a doubtful legend\nabout Raleigh's first pipe, the scene of which may be not unfairly laid at\nDurham House, where Raleigh then lived.\n\nOne day his servant, bringing in a tankard of spiced ale as usual into the\nturret study, found Raleigh (it is said) smoking a pipe over his folios.\nThe clown, seeing smoke issue in clouds from his master's mouth, dropped\nthe tankard in a fright, and ran downstairs to shout to the family that\n\"master was on fire, and that he would be burnt to ashes if they did not\nrun directly to his help.\"[174]\n\nThe stalwart, sour-faced Raleigh disported himself at Durham House in a\nsuit of clothes beset with jewels and valued at sixty thousand\npounds,[175] and in diamond court-shoes valued at six thousand six hundred\npieces of gold. Here he lived with his wife Elizabeth, and his two unlucky\nsons Walter and Carew. Here, as he sat in his study in the little turret\nthat looked over the Thames,[176] he must have written against the\nSpaniards, told his adventures in Virginia, and described his discovery of\nthe gold country of Guiana, his quarrel with Essex at Fayal, and the\ncapture of the rich caracks laden with gold, pearls, and cochineal.\n\nThe estate of Durham Place was purchased from the Earl of Pembroke, about\n1760, by four brothers of the name of Adam, sons of an architect at\nKirkaldy, who were patronised by the handsome and much-abused Earl of\nBute, and who built Caen Wood House, near Hampstead, afterwards the wise\nLord Mansfield's. Robert, the ablest of the brothers, had visited Palmyra,\nand was supposed from those gigantic ruins to have borrowed his grand\nspirit of construction, as well as much of that trivial ornament which he\nmight surely have found nearer home. When the brothers Adam began their\nwork, Durham Yard (the court-yard of Raleigh's old house) was a tangle of\nsmall sheds, coal-stores, wine-vaults, and lay-stalls. They resolved to\nleave the wharves, throw some huge arches over the declivity, connect the\nriver with the Strand, and over these vaults erect a series of well-built\nstreets, a noble river terrace, and lofty rooms for the newly-established\nSociety of Arts.\n\nIn July 1768,[177] when the Adelphi Buildings were commenced, the Court\nand City were at war, and the citizens, wishing to vex Bute, applied to\nParliament to prevent the brothers encroaching on the river, of which\nsable stream the Lord Mayor of London is the conservator, but not the\npurifier; but they lost their cause, and the worthy Scotchmen\ntriumphed.[178]\n\nThe Scotch are a patriotic people, and stand bravely by their own folk.\nThe Adams sent to Scotland for workmen, whose labours they stimulated by\ncountless bagpipes; but the canny men, finding the bagpipes played their\ntunes rather too quick, threw up the work, and Irishmen were then\nemployed. The joke of the day was, that the Scotchmen took their bagpipes\naway with them, but left their _fiddles_![179]\n\nThe Adelphi at once became fashionable. Garrick, then getting old, left\nhis house in Southampton Street to occupy No. 5, the centre building of\nthe terrace, and lived there till his death in 1779. Singularly enough,\nthis great and versatile actor had, on first coming to London with his\nfriend Johnson, started as a wine merchant below in Durham Yard. Here he\nmust have raved in \"Richard,\" and wheedled as Abel Drugger; and in the\nrooms at No. 5 half the celebrities of his century must have met. He died\nin the \"first floor back,\" and his widow died in the same house as long\nafter as 1822. The ceiling in the front drawing-room was painted by\nAntonio Zucchi. A white marble chimney-piece in the same room is said to\nhave cost L300.[180] Garrick died after only nine years' residence in the\nnew terrace; but his sprightly widow, a theatrical critic to the last,\nlived till she was past ninety, still an enthusiast about her husband's\ngenius. The first time she re-opened the house after Davy's death, Dr.\nJohnson, Boswell, Sir Joshua, Mrs. Carter, and Mrs. Boscawen were present.\n\"She looked well,\" says Boswell; \"and while she cast her eyes on her\nhusband's portrait, which was hung over the chimney-piece, said, that\ndeath was now the most agreeable object to her.\" Worthy woman! and so she\nhonestly thought at the time; but she lived exactly forty-three years\nlonger in the same house.\n\nIf there is a spot in London which Johnson's ghost might be expected to\nrevisit, it is that quiet and lonely Adelphi Terrace. At night no sound\ncomes to you but a shout from some passing barge, or the creak of a ship's\nwindlass. Here Johnson and Boswell once leant over, looking at the Thames.\nThe latter said, \"I was thinking of two friends we had lost, who once\nlived in the buildings behind us, Beauclerk and Garrick.\" \"Ay, sir,\"\nreplied Johnson, seriously, \"and two _such_ friends as cannot be\nsupplied.\" This is a recollection that should for ever hallow the Adelphi\nTerrace to us.\n\nThe Beauclerk above mentioned was one of the few rakes whom Johnson loved.\nHe was a friend of Langton, and as such had become intimate with the great\ndoctor. Topham Beauclerk was a man of acute mind and elegant manners, and\nardently fond of literature. He was of the St. Albans family, and had a\nresemblance to swarthy Charles II., a point which pleased his elder\nfriend. The doctor liked his gay, young manner, and flattered himself much\nas women do who marry rakes, that he should reform him in time.\n\n\"What a coalition!\" said Garrick, when he heard of the friendship; \"why, I\nshall have my old friend to bail out of the Round House.\" Beauclerk, says\nBoswell, \"could take more liberties with Johnson than any one I ever saw\nhim with;\"[181] but, on the other hand, Beauclerk was not spared. On one\noccasion Johnson said to him, \"You never open your mouth, sir, without an\nintention to give pain, and you have often given me pain--not from the\npower of what you said, but from seeing your intention.\" At another time\nhe said, \"Thy body is all vice, and thy mind all virtue.\"\n\nWhen the Adelphi was building, Garrick applied for the corner house of\nAdam Street for his friend Andrew Beckett, the bookseller in the Strand,\nand he obtained it. In this letter he calls the architects \"the dear\nAdelphi,\" and the western house \"the corner blessing.\" Garrick's house was\nfor some years occupied by the Royal Literary Fund, but is now a Club.\n\nGarrick promised the brothers, if the request was granted, to make the\nshop, as old Jacob Tonson's once was, the rendezvous of the first people\nin England. \"I have,\" he says, \"a little selfishness in this request. I\nnever go to coffee-houses, seldom to taverns, and should constantly (if\nthis scheme takes place), be at Beckett's at one at noon and six at\nnight.\"[182]\n\nGarrick was a frequent visitor at the house of Mr. Thomas Beckett, the\nbookseller, in Pall Mall, and he obtained the appointment of sub-librarian\nat Carlton Palace for the son Andrew, who had written a comedy on the\n_Emile_ of Rousseau at the age of fourteen, and produced a poem called\n_Theodosius and Constantia_. For nearly ten years he wrote for the British\nand Monthly Reviews. He was born in 1749, and died in 1843. His most\nuseful work is called _Shakspere Himself Again_, in which he released the\noriginal text from much muddy nonsense of commentators. He complained\nbitterly of Griffiths, of the _Monthly Review_, having given him only L45\nfor four or five years' work--280 articles, produced after reading and\ncondensing 590 volumes; Mr. Griffiths' annual profit by the _Monthly_\nbeing no less than L2000.\n\nInto a house in John Street the Society of Arts, established in 1753 by\nMr. Shipley, an artist, moved, about 1772. This society still give\nlectures and rewards, and does about as much good as ever it did. Art\nmust grow wild--it will not thrive in hot-houses. The great room is still\nadorned with the six large pictures illustrating the \"Progress of\nSociety,\" painted by poor, half-crazed Barry, the ill-educated artist,\nwho, too proud to paint cabinet pictures, could yet paint nothing larger\nsound or well.\n\nShipley, who established the society of Arts in imitation of one already\nestablished at Dublin, was originally a drawing-master at Northampton.\nFrom its commencement in 1753-4 to 1778 the society distributed in\npremiums and bounties L24,616. A year after its foundation Josiah Wedgwood\nbegan to infuse a classical and purer taste among the proprietors of the\nStaffordshire potteries,[183] and employed Flaxman to draw some of his\ndesigns, and was the first to improve the shape and character of our\nsimplest articles of use.\n\nMr. Shipley was a brother of the Bishop of St. Asaph, and had studied\nunder a portrait-painter named Phillips. In 1738 the Society of Arts voted\ntheir founder a gold medal for his public spirit. His school was continued\nby a Mr. Pars. He died, aged upwards of ninety, in 1784.[184]\n\nNollekens, the sculptor, learned drawing there, and Cosway, afterwards the\nfashionable miniature-painter, was the errand-boy. The house was\nsubsequently inhabited by Rawle, the antiquary, a friend of fat, coarse,\nclever Captain Grose.[185]\n\nDr. Ward, the inventor of \"Friar's Balsam,\" a celebrated quack doctor\nridiculed by Hogarth, left his statue by Carlini to the Society of Arts.\nThe doctor allowed Carlini L100 a year, so that he should work at this\nstatue for life.[186]\n\nThis Joshua Ward, celebrated for his drop and pill, by which and his\nbalsam he made a fortune, was the son of a drysalter in Thames Street.\nPraised by General Churchill and Lord Chief Baron Reynolds, he was called\nin to prescribe for King George. The king recovering in spite of the\nquack, \"Spot\" Ward was rewarded by a solemn vote of a credulous House of\nCommons, and he obtained the privilege of being allowed to drive his\ncarriage through St. James's Park. Ward is conspicuous in one of Hogarth's\ncaricatures by a claret mark covering half his brazen face.\n\nThe housekeeper at the Society of Arts in Haydon's time (1842) remembered\nBarry at work on the frescoes that are so deficient in colour and taste,\nbut show such a fine grasp of mind. She said his violence was dreadful,\nhis oaths horrid, and his temper like insanity. In summer he came at five\nand worked till dark; he then lit his lamp and went on etching till eleven\nat night. He was seven years at his task. Burke and Johnson called once;\nbut no artist came to see him. He would have almost shot any painter who\ndared to do so. He had his tea boiled in a quart pot, dined in Porridge\nIsland, and took milk for supper.[187]\n\nYears after Barry lay in state in the great room which his own genius had\nadorned, and was buried in the Abbey; but few of the Academicians attended\nhis funeral. The Adelphi pictures have been recently lined and restored.\n\nBarry having vainly attempted to decorate St. Paul's, executed the\npaintings now at the Society of Arts for his mere expenses, but\neventually, one way and another, cleared a considerable sum by them. He\npainted them, as he said, to prove that Englishmen had a genius for high\nart, music, and other refinements of life. They are fairly drawn, often\nelegantly and reasonably well grouped, but bad in colour. The\nheterogeneous dresses are jumbled together with bad taste--Dr. Burney in a\ntoupee floats among water-nymphs, and William Penn's wig and hat are\nludicrously obtrusive. The perspective is often \"out,\" and the attitudes\nare stiff; still, historically speaking, the pictures are large-minded and\ninteresting; and, in spite of his faults, one likes to think of the brave\nIrishman busy on his scaffold, railing at Reynolds and defying everybody.\nBarry was really a self-deceiver, like Haydon, and aimed far beyond his\npowers.\n\nAt Osborne's Hotel, in John Street, the King and Queen of the Sandwich\nIslands resided while on a visit to England in the reign of George IV. A\ncomic song written on their arrival was once popular, though now\nforgotten; and Theodore Hook produced a quaint epigram on their death by\nsmall-pox, the point of which was, that one day Death, being hungry,\ncalled for \"two Sandwiches.\" The epigram was not without the unfeeling wit\npeculiar to that heartless lounger at the clubs, who spent his life\namusing the great people, and who died at last a worn-out spendthrift,\n_sans_ character, _sans_ everything.\n\nOf all London's charlatans, perhaps the most impudent was Dr. Graham, a\nScotchman, whose brother married Catherine Macaulay, the author of a\nforgotten History of England, much vaunted by Horace Walpole. In or about\n1780 this plausible cheat opened what he called a \"Temple of Health,\" in a\ncentral house in the Adelphi Terrace. His rooms were stuffed with glass\nglobes, marble statues, medico-electric apparatus, figures of dragons,\nstained glass, and other theatrical properties. The air was drugged with\nincense and strains of music. The priestess of this temple was said to be\nno less a person than Emma Lyons, afterwards Lady Hamilton, the fatal\nCleopatra of Lord Nelson. She had been first a housemaid and afterwards a\npainter's model. She was as beautiful as she was vulgar and abandoned. The\nhouse was hung with crutches, ear-trumpets, and other trophies.[188] For\none night in the celestial bed, that secured a beautiful progeny, this\nimpostor obtained L100; for a supply of his elixir of life L1000 in\nadvance, and for his earth-baths a guinea each. Yet this arrant knave and\nhypocrite was patronised by half the English nobility. Archenholz, a\nGerman traveller, writing about 1784, describes Dr. Graham and his L60,000\ncelestial bed. He dilates on the vari- transparent glasses, and\nthe rich vases of perfume that filled the impudent quack's temple, the\nhalf-guinea treatises on health, the _moonshine_ admitted into the rooms,\nand the divine balm at a guinea a bottle.\n\nA magneto-electric bed, to be slept in for the small sum of L50 a night,\nwas on the second floor, on the right hand of the orchestra, and near the\nhermitage. Electricity and perfumes were laid on in glass tubes from\nadjoining reservoirs. The beds (there were two or three at least) rested\non six massy transparent columns. The perfumed curtains were of purple and\ncelestial blue, like those of the Grand Turk. Graham was blasphemous\nenough to call this chamber his \"Holy of Holies.\" His chief customers were\ncaptains of privateers, nabobs, spendthrifts, and old noblemen. The farce\nconcluded in March 1784, when the rooms were shut for ever, and the temple\nof Apollo, the immense electrical machine, the self-playing organ, and the\ncelestial bed, were sold in open daylight by a ruthless auctioneer.[189]\n\nBannister \"took off\" Graham in a farce called _The Genius of Nonsense_,\nproduced at the Haymarket in 1780. His satin sofas on glass legs, his\ncelestial bed, his two porters in long tawdry greatcoats and immense\ngold-laced cocked hats, distributing handbills at the door, while his\ngoddess of health was dying of a sore-throat from squalling songs at the\ntop of the staircase, were all hit off by a speaking harlequin, who also\ncaricatured the doctor's sliding walk and bobbing bows. The younger Colman\nand Bannister had been to the Temple of Health on purpose to take the\nquack's portrait.[190]\n\nMr. Thomas Hill, the fussy, good-natured Hull of Theodore Hook's _Gilbert\nGurney_, lived for many years and finally died in the second floor of No.\n1 James Street, Adelphi. He was the supposed prototype of the obtrusive\nPaul Pry. It was Hill's boast always to have what you wanted. \"Cards, sir?\nPooh! pooh! Nonsense! thousands of packs in the house.\" Liston made the\nname of Paul Pry proverbial and world-wide.\n\nThe names of the four Scotch brothers, John, Robert, James, and William\nAdam, are preserved by the existing Adelphi Streets. When will any of our\nstreets be named after great thinkers? It is a disgrace to us to allow new\ndistricts to be christened, without Government supervision, by worthless,\nignoble, and ridiculous names, confusing in their vulgar repetition.\nIndifferent kings, and nobles not much better, give their names to half\nthe suburbs of London, while Shakespere is unremembered by the builders,\nand Spenser and Byron have as yet no brick-and-mortar godchildren.\n\n[Illustration: OLD HOUSES ON THE SITE OF WELLINGTON STREET, 1742.]\n\nThe eldest of the brothers, Robert Adam, died in 1792, and was buried in\nthe south aisle of Westminster Abbey. His pall was supported by the Duke\nof Buccleuch, the Earl of Coventry, the Earl of Lauderdale, Lord Stormont,\nLord Frederick Campbell, and Mr. Pulteney.\n\nIt was told as a joke invented against that fat butt, Sir William Curtis,\nthat at a public dinner some lover of royalty and Terence proposed the\nhealths of George IV. and the Duke of York as \"the Adelphi,\" upon which\nthe alderman, who followed with the next toast, determining that the East\nshould not be far behind the West, rose and said that \"as they were now on\nthe subject of streets, he would beg to propose Finsbury Square.\" But,\nafter all, why should we laugh at the poor alderman because he did not\nhappen to know Greek? That surely is a venial sin.\n\nAnd here, retracing our steps, we must make an episode and turn back down\nthe Savoy.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THE SAVOY FROM THE THAMES, 1650.]\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE SAVOY.\n\n    \"Their leaders, John Ball, Jack Straw, and Wat Tyler, then marched\n    through London, attended by more than twenty thousand men, to the\n    PALACE OF THE SAVOY, which is a handsome building on the road to\n    Westminster, situated on the banks of the Thames, and belonging to the\n    Duke of Lancaster. They immediately killed the porters, pressed into\n    the house, and set it on fire.\"--_Froissart's Chronicles._\n\n\nA minute's walk down a turning on the south side of the Strand, and we are\nin the precinct of an old palace, and standing on royal property.\n\nIn a ramble by moonlight one cannot fail to meet under the churchyard\ntrees in the Savoy, John of Gaunt, who once lived there; John, King of\nFrance, who died there; George Wither, the poet, and sweet Mistress Anne\nKilligrew, who are buried there, and Chaucer, who was married there.\n\nDown that steep, dray-traversed street, now so dull and lonely, kings and\nbishops, knights and ladies, have paced, and mobs have hurried with sword\nand fire. Now it is a congeries of pickle warehouses, printing offices,\nand glass manufactories.\n\nSimon de Montfort, that ambitious Earl of Leicester who married the sister\nof Henry III., and whose father persecuted the Albigenses, dwelt in the\nSavoy. Here he must have first won the barons, the people, and the humbler\nclergy by his opposition to the extortions of the king and the bishops.\nHere for a time he must have all but reigned, till that fatal August day\nwhen he fell at Evesham. Simon was a friend of the monks, and after his\ndeath endless miracles were said to have been wrought at his grave,[191]\nas might have been expected.\n\nThe Savoy derives its foreign name from a certain Peter, Earl of Savoy,\nuncle of Eleanor, the daughter of Raymond, Count of Provence, and queen of\nthat good man, but weak monarch, Henry III. This earl was the leader of\nthat rapacious and insolent train of Frenchmen and Savoyards which\nfollowed Queen Eleanor to England, and drove Simon de Montfort and his\nimpetuous barons to rebellion by their hunger for titles, lands, and\nbenefices. In 30 Henry III. the king granted to Peter, Earl of Richmond\nand Savoy, all those houses in the Strand, adjoining the river, formerly\nbelonging to Brian de Lisle, upon paying yearly to the king's exchequer,\nat the Feast of St. Michael, three barbed arrows for all services.\n\nIn 1322 an Earl of Lancaster, then master of the Savoy, on the return of\nthe Spensers, formed an alliance with the Scots, and broke out into open\nrebellion against Edward II. He was taken at Boroughbridge, led to\nPontefract, and there beheaded. As he was led to execution on a bridleless\npony, the mob pelted him with mud, taunting him as King Arthur--the royal\nname he had assumed in his treasonable letters to the Scots.[192]\n\nEarl Peter, in due time growing weary of stormy England, and sighing for\nhis cool Savoy mountains, transferred his mansion to the provost and\nchapter of Montjoy (Fratres de Monte Jovis) at Havering-atte-Bower, a\nsmall village in Essex. At the death of the foolish king, his widow\npurchased the palace of the Savoy of the Montjoy chapter, as a residence\nfor her son Edmund, afterwards Earl of Lancaster, to whom had been given\nthe chief estates of the defeated Montfort.\n\nHis son Henry, Duke of Lancaster, repaired and partly rebuilt the palace,\nat an expense of upwards of 50,000 marks. From this potent lord it\ndescended to Edward III.'s son, John of Gaunt (Ghent), who lived here in\nthe splendour befitting the son of Edward III., the uncle of Richard II.,\nand the father of a prince hereafter to become Henry IV.\n\nIt was in the chapel of this river-side palace (about 1360, Edward III.)\nthat our great poet, Geoffrey Chaucer, married Philippa, daughter of a\nknight of Hainault and sister to a mistress of the Duke's. He mentions his\nmarriage in his poem of _The Dream_.[193] He says harmoniously--\n\n            \"On the morrow,\n  When every thought and every sorrow\n  Dislodg'd was out of mine heart,\n  With every woe and every smart,\n  Unto a tent prince and princess\n  Methought brought me and my mistress.\n\n     *       *       *       *       *\n\n  With ladies, knighten, and squiers,\n  And a great host of ministers,\n  Which tent was church parochial.\"\n\nThose marriage bells have long since rung, the smoke of that incense has\nlong since risen to heaven, yet we seldom pass the Savoy without thinking\nhow the poet and his fair Philippa went\n\n          \"To holy church's ordinance,\n  And after that to dine and dance,\n              ... and divers plays.\"\n\nIt was to his great patron--\"time-honoured\" Lancaster, claimant, through\nhis wife, of the throne of Castile--that Chaucer owed all his court\nfavours, his Genoese embassy, his daily pitcher of wine, his wardship, his\ncontrollership, and his annuity of twenty marks. It was in this palace he\nmust have imbibed his attachment to Wickliffe, and his hatred of all proud\nand hypocritical priests.\n\nBuildings seem, like men, to be born under special stars. It was the fate\nof the Savoy to enjoy a hundred and forty years of splendour, and then to\nsink into changeless poverty and desolation. It was also its ill fate to\nbe once sacked and once burnt. In 1378, under Richard II., its first\npunishment overtook it. John Wickliffe, a Yorkshireman, had been appointed\nrector of Lutterworth, in Leicestershire, by the favour of John of Ghent,\nwho was delighted with a speech of Wickliffe in Parliament denying that\nKing John's tribute to the Pope necessarily bound King Edward III. The\nPapal bull for Wickliffe's prosecution did not reach England till the\nking's death, but Wickliffe was cited on the 19th of February, 1378, to\nappear before the Bishop of London at St. Paul's. In the interval before\nhis appearance he had promised the Parliament, at their request, to prove\nthe legality of its refusal to pay tribute to the Pope.\n\nOn the day appointed Wickliffe appeared in Our Lady's Chapel, accompanied\nby the Earl Marshall, Percy, and the Duke of Lancaster, who openly\nencouraged him, to the horror of the populace and the bitter rage of the\npriests. A quarrel instantly began by Courtenay, the Bishop of London,\nopposing a motion of the Earl Marshall that Wickliffe should be allowed a\nseat. The proud duke, pale with anger, whispered fiercely to the bishop\nthat, \"rather than take such language from him, he would drag him out of\nthe church by the hair of his head.\" The threat was heard by an unfriendly\nbystander, and it passed round the church in whispers. Rumour, with her\nthousand babbling tongues, was soon busy in the churchyard, where the\npeople had assembled, eager for the reformer's condemnation. They\ninstantly broke forth like hounds which have recovered a scent. It was at\nonce proposed to break into the church and pull the duke from the\njudgment-seat. When he appeared at the door, he was received with ominous\nyells, and was chased and pelted by the mob. Furious and beside himself\nwith rage, he instantly proceeded to Westminster, where the Parliament was\nsitting, and moved that from that day forth all the privileges of the\ncitizens of London should be annulled, that they should no longer elect a\nmayor or sheriff, and that Lord Percy should possess the entire\njurisdiction over them--a severe penalty, it must be owned, for pelting a\nduke with mud.\n\nThe following day, the citizens, hearing of this insolent proposal,\nsnatched up their arms, and swore to take the proud duke's life. After\npillaging the Marshalsea, where Lord Percy resided, they poured down on\nthe Savoy and killed a priest whom they took to be Percy in disguise. They\nthen broke all the furniture and threw it into the Thames, leaving only\nthe bare walls standing. While the mob were shouting at the windows,\nfeeding the river with torrents of spoiled wealth, or cutting the beds and\ntapestry to pieces, the duke and Lord Percy, who had been dining with John\nof Ypres, a merchant in the City, escaped in disguise by rowing up the\nriver to Kingston in an open boat. Eventually, at the entreaties of the\nBishop of London, who pleaded the sanctity of Lent, the rioters dispersed,\nhaving first hung up the duke's arms in a public place as those of a\ntraitor. The Londoners finally appeased their opponent by carrying to St.\nPaul's a huge taper of wax, blazoned with the duke's arms, which was to\nburn continually before the image of Our Lady in token of reconciliation.\n\nThis John of Gaunt, fourth son[194] of Edward III., married Blanche,\ndaughter of Henry, Duke of Lancaster, who died of the plague in 1360, John\nsucceeding to the title in right of his wife. He married his daughter\nPhilippa to the King of Portugal, and his daughter Catharine to the Infant\nof Spain. From Henry Plantagenet, fourth Earl and first Duke of\nLancaster, the Savoy descended to this John of Ghent, who married that\namiable princess, Blanche Plantagenet, daughter and co-heir of Earl Henry.\n\nInto this same king-haunted precinct John of France, after the slaughter\nat Poitiers, was brought with chivalrous and almost ostentatious humility\nby the Black Prince. One thousand nine hundred English lances had routed\nwith great slaughter eight thousand French. The lanes and moors of\nMaupertuis were choked with dead knights; the French king had been\nwounded, beaten to the ground, and taken prisoner, together with his son\nPhilip, by a gentleman of Artois.[195] Sailing from Bordeaux, the Black\nPrince arrived at Sandwich with his prisoner, and was received at\nSouthwark by the citizens of London on May 5, 1357. Triumphal arches were\nerected, and tapestry hung from every window. The King of France rode like\na conqueror on a richly trapped cream- horse, while by his side\nsat the young prince on a small black palfrey. Some hours elapsed before\nthe procession could reach Westminster Hall, where King Edward was\nsurrounded by his prelates, knights, and barons. When John entered, our\nking arose, embraced him, and led him to a splendid banquet prepared for\nhim. The palace of the Savoy was allotted to King John and his son, till\nhis removal to Windsor.\n\nHere the royal Frenchman may have been when he heard the tidings of the\nferocity of the Jacquerie, and of the dreadful riots in his capital. To\nthe Savoy he returned when his son, the Duke of Anjou, broke his parole\nand fled to Paris, desirous to exculpate himself of this dishonour, and to\narrange for a crusade to recover Cyprus from the Turk.[196] To his\ncouncil, dissuading him from returning, like a second Regulus, to\ncaptivity and perhaps death, the king addressed these memorable words--\"If\nhonour were banished from every other place, it should at least find an\nasylum in the breast of kings.\"\n\nJohn was affectionately received by the chivalrous Edward, and again\nreturned to his old quarters in the Savoy, with his hostages of the blood\nroyal--\"the three lords of the fleur-de-lys.\" Here he spent several weeks\nin giving and receiving entertainments; but before he could proceed to\nbusiness, he was attacked with a dangerous illness, and expired in 1364.\nHis obsequies were performed with regal magnificence, and his corpse was\nsent with a splendid retinue to be interred at St. Denis.\n\nWhen treaties are broken by statesmen, or unjust wars declared, let the\nreader go to the Savoy, and think of that brave promise-keeper, King John\nof France.\n\nDuring the latter years of King Edward III., John of Gaunt became very\nunpopular. \"The good Parliament\" (1376) remonstrated against the expense\nof his unsuccessful wars in Spain, Scotland, and France, and against the\nexcessive taxation. The duke imprisoned the Speaker, and banished wise\nWilliam of Wyckeham from the king's person, but in vain attempted to alter\nthe law of succession.\n\nIn Wat Tyler's rebellion the duke's palace was the first to be destroyed.\nA refusal to pay oppressive poll-tax led to a riot at Fobbing, a village\nin Essex; from this place the flame spread like wildfire through the whole\ncounty, and the people rose, led by a priest named Jack Straw. At\nDartford, a tiler bravely beat out the brains of a tax-collector who had\ninsulted his daughter. Kent instantly rose, took Rochester Castle, and\nmassed together at Maidstone, under Wat, a tiler, and Ball, a preacher. In\na few days a hundred thousand men, rudely armed with clubs, bills, and\nbows, poured over Blackheath and hurried on to London.[197] In Southwark\nthey demolished the Marshalsea and the King's Bench; then they sacked\nLambeth Palace, destroyed Newgate, fired the house of the Knights\nHospitallers at Clerkenwell, and that of the Knights of St. John at\nHighbury, and seizing the Tower, beheaded an archbishop and several\nknights. All Flemings hidden in churches were dragged out and put to\ndeath. Yet, with all this intoxication of new liberty, the claims of\nthese Kentish men were simple and just. They demanded--The abolition of\nslavery; the reduction of rent to fourpence an acre; the free liberty of\nbuying and selling in all fairs and markets; and lastly a general pardon.\n\nAt the great bivouacs at Mile End and on Tower Hill, Wat Tyler's men\nrequired all recruits to swear to be true to King Richard and the Commons,\nand to admit no monarch of the name of John.[198] This last clause of the\noath was aimed at John of Gaunt, to whom the people attributed all their\nmisery. On June 13, 1381, a deluge of billmen, bowmen, artisans, and\nploughmen rolled down on the Savoy. The duke was at the time negotiating\nwith the Scots on the Borders, while his castles of Leicester and Tutbury\nwere being plundered. The attack was sudden, and there was no defence. A\nproclamation had previously been made by Wat Tyler, that, as the common\nobject was justice and not plunder, any one found stealing would be put to\ndeath.\n\nFor beauty and stateliness of building, as well as all manner of princely\nfurniture, there was, says Holinshed, no palace in the realm comparable to\nthe duke's house that the Kentish and Essex men burnt and marred. They\ntore the silken and velvet hangings; they beat up the gold and silver\nplate, and threw it into the Thames; they crushed the jewels and mortars,\nand poured the dust into the river. One of the men--unfortunate\nrogue!--being seen to slip a silver cup into the breast of his doublet,\nwas tossed into the fire and burnt to death, amid shouts and \"fell\ncries.\"[199] The cellars were ruthlessly plundered, probably in spite of\nWat Tyler, and thirty-two of the poor wretches, buried under beams and\nstones, were either starved or suffocated. In the wildest of the storm,\nsome barrels were at last found which were supposed to contain money. They\nwere flung into the huge bonfire; in an instant they exploded, blew up the\ngreat hall, shook down several houses, killed many men, and reduced the\npalace to ruins. That was on the 13th; on the 15th, the Essex men had\ndispersed; and Wat Tyler, the impetuous reformer, during a conference\nwith the king in Smithfield, was slain by a sudden blow from the sword of\nLord Mayor Walworth.\n\nJohn of Gaunt died at the Bishop of Ely's palace in Holborn, at Christmas\n1398--his old home being now a ruin--and he was buried on the north side\nof the high altar of Saint Paul's, beside the Lady Blanche, his first\nwife. Instantly on his death, the wilful young king, to the rage of the\npeople, seized on all his uncle's lands, rents, and revenues, and banished\nthe duke's attorney, who resisted his shameless theft. Amongst this pile\nof plunder the Savoy must have also passed.\n\nThe Savoy had bloomed, and after the bloom came in its due time the \"sere\nand yellow leaf.\" The precinct must have remained a waste during the Wars\nof the Roses;[200] but its blackened ruins preached their silent lesson in\nvain to the turbulent and tormented Londoners.\n\nIn the reign of that dark and wily king, Henry VII., sunshine again fell\non the Savoy. That prince, who was fond of erecting convents, founded on\nthe old site a hospital, intended to shelter one hundred poor almsmen. It\nwas not, however, finished when he died, nor was it completed till the\nfifteenth year of his son's reign (1524), the year in which the French\nwere driven out of Italy.\n\nThe hospital, which was dedicated to John the Baptist, was in the form of\na cross, and over the entrance-gate, facing the Strand, was the following\ninsipid inscription:--\n\n  \"_Hospitium hoc inopi turba Savoia vocatum,\n  Septimus Henricus solo fundavit ab imo._\"\n\nThe master and four brethren were to be priests and to officiate in turns,\nstanding day and night at the gate to invite in and feed any poor or\ndistressed persons who passed down the river-side road. If those so\nreceived were pilgrims or travellers, they were to be dismissed the next\nmorning with a letter of recommendation to the next hospital, and with\nmoney to defray their expenses on the journey.\n\nIn the reign of Edward VI., part of the revenues of the new hospital, to\nthe value of six hundred pounds, was transferred to Bridewell prison and\nChrist's Hospital school for poor orphan children; for already abuses had\ncrept in, and indiscriminate charity had led to its usual melancholy\nresults. The old palace had become no mere shelter for the deserving poor,\nbut a den of loiterers, sham <DW36>s, and vagabonds of either sex, who\nbegged all day in the fields and came to the Savoy to sleep and sup.[201]\n\nQueen Mary, whose Spanish blood made her a friend to all monastic\ninstitutions, re-endowed the unlucky place with fresh lands; but it went\non in its old courses till the twelfth year of Elizabeth, who suddenly\npounced in her own stern way on the nest of rogues, and, to the terror of\nsinecurists, deprived Thomas Thurland, then master, of his office, for\ncorruption and embezzlement of the hospital estates.\n\nWe hear nothing more of the unlucky and neglected Hospital of St. John\ntill the Restoration, when Dr. Henry Killigrew was appointed master, much\nto the chagrin and disappointment of the poet Cowley, to whom the sinecure\nhad been promised by Charles I. and Charles II.\n\nCowley, the clever son of a London stationer, had been secretary to the\nqueen-mother, but returning as a spy to England, was apprehended, and upon\nthat made his peace with Cromwell. This latter fact the Royalists never\nforgave, and considering his play of _The Cutter of Colman Street_ as\ncaricaturing the old roystering Cavalier officers, they damned his comedy,\nlampooned him, and gave the Savoy to Killigrew, father of the court wit.\nUpon this the mortified poet wrote his poem of \"The Complaint,\"[202]\nwherein he calls the Savoy the Rachel he had served with \"faith and labour\nfor twice seven years and more,\" and querulously describes himself as left\nalone gasping on the naked beach, while all his fellow voyagers had\nmarched up to possess the promised land. The poem, though ludicrously\nquerulous, contains some lines, such as the following, which are truly\nbeautiful. The muse is reproaching the truant poet.\n\n  \"Art thou returned at last,\" said she,\n  \"To this forsaken place and me,\n  Thou prodigal who didst so loosely waste,\n  Of all thy youthful years, the good estate?\n  Art thou return'd here to repent too late,\n  And gather husks of learning up at last,\n  Now the rich harvest-time of life is past,\n  And winter marches on so fast?\"\n\nWith this farewell lament Cowley withdrew \"from the tumult and business of\nthe world,\" to his long-coveted retirement[203] at pleasant, green\nChertsey, where, seven years after, he died.\n\nThe Savoy, always an abused sinecure, that made the master a rogue and its\ninmates professional beggars, was finally suppressed in the reign of Queen\nAnne.[204] It was then used as a barrack for five hundred soldiers, and as\na deserters' prison, till the approaches to Waterloo Bridge rendered its\nremoval necessary.\n\nSavoy Street occupies the site of the old central Henry VII.'s Tudor gate.\nCoal wharves cover the site of the ancient front of the hospital, and the\nhouses in Lancaster Place, leading to Waterloo Bridge, another part of its\narea.\n\nIn 1661, the year after the restoration of Charles II., a celebrated\nconference between the Church of England bishops and the Presbyterian\ndivines took place, with very small result, in the Bishop of London's\nlodgings in the Savoy. Among the twelve bishops were Sheldon and Gauden,\nthe author of _Ikon Basilike_: among the Presbyterians Baxter, Calamy, and\nReynolds. They were to revise the Liturgy, and to discuss rules and forms\nof prayer; but there was so much distrust and reserve on both sides, that\nat the end of two months the conference came to an untimely end.[205] It\nwas the bishops' hour of triumph, and no concessions could be expected\nfrom them after their many mortifications. In the same year Charles II.\nestablished a French church in the Savoy, and Dr. Durel preached the first\nsermon to the foreign residents in London, July 14, 1661.[206]\n\nIn Queen Anne's time, after its suppression, the Savoy became, like the\nClink and Whitefriars, a sanctuary for fraudulent debtors. On one\noccasion, in 1696, a creditor entering that nest of thieves to demand a\ndebt, was tarred and feathered, carried in a wheelbarrow into the Strand,\nand there bound to the May-pole; but some constables coming up dispersed\nthe rabble and rescued the tormented man from his persecutors.[207]\n\nStrype, writing about 1720 (George I.), describes the Savoy as a great\nruinous building, divided into several apartments. In one a cooper stored\nhis hoops and butts; in another there were rooms for deserters, pressed\nmen, Dutch recruits, and military prisoners. Within the precinct there was\nthe king's printing-press, where gazettes, proclamations, and Acts of\nParliament were printed; and also a German Lutheran church, a French\nProtestant church, and a Dissenting chapel; besides \"harbours for refugees\nand poor people.\"[208] The worthy writer thus describes the hall of the\nold hospital:--\n\n\"In the midst of its buildings is a very spacious hall, the walls three\nfoot broad, of stone without and brick and stone inward. The ceiling is\nvery curiously built with wood, having knobs in one place hanging down,\nand images of angels holding before their breasts coats of arms, but\nhardly discoverable. One is a cross gules between four stars, or else\nmullets. It is covered with lead, but in divers places open to the\nweather. Towards the east end of the hall is a fair cupola with glass\nwindows, but all broken, which makes it probable the hall was as long\nagain, since cupolas are wont to be built about the middle of great\nhalls.\"\n\nIn 1754 (George II.) clandestine marriages were performed at the Savoy\nchurch; and the advantages of secrecy, privacy, and access by water were\nboldly advertised in the papers of the day. The _Public Advertiser_ of\nJanuary 2, 1754, contains the following impudent and touting\nadvertisement:--\n\n\"BY AUTHORITY.--Marriages performed with the utmost privacy, secrecy, and\nregularity, at the ancient royal chapel of St. John the Baptist in the\nSavoy, where regular and authentic registers have been kept from the time\nof the Reformation (being two hundred years and upwards) to this day. The\nexpense not more than one guinea, the five shilling stamp included. There\nare five private ways by land to this chapel, and two by water.\"\n\nAt this time the Savoy was still a large cruciform building, with two rows\nof mullioned windows facing the Thames; a court to the north of it was\ncalled the Friary. The north front, the most ornamented, had large pointed\nwindows and embattled parapets, lozenged with flint.\n\nAt the west end, in 1816, stood the guard-house, or military prison, its\ngateway secured by a strong buttress, and embellished with Henry VII.'s\narms and the badges of the rose and the portcullis: above these were two\nhexagonal oriel windows.\n\nIn 1816, when the ruins were to be removed, crowds thronged to see the\nremains of John of Gaunt's old palace.[209] The workmen found it difficult\nto destroy the mossy and ivy-covered walls and the large north window; the\nmasses of flint, stone, and brick being eight or ten feet thick. The\nscrew-jack was powerless to destroy the work of Chaucer's time. The masons\nhad to dig, pickaxe holes, and loosen the foundations, then to drive\ncrowbars into the windows and fasten ropes to them, so as to pull the\nstones inwards. The outer buttresses would in any other way have defied\narmies.\n\nSome of the stone was soft and white. This, according to tradition, was\nthat brought from Caen by Queen Mary. The industrious costermongers\ndiscovered this, and cut it into blocks to sell as hearthstones. A fire\nabout 1777 had thrown down much of the hospital, so that the old level was\nfifteen or twenty feet deeper. The vaults and subterranean passages were\nunexplored. The wells were filled up. The workmen then pulled down the\nGerman chapel, which stood next Somerset House, and the red-brick house in\nthe Savoy Square that was used for barracks. \"The entrance,\" says a writer\nof 1816, \"to the Strand or Waterloo Bridge will be spacious, and the\nhouses in the Strand now only stop the opening.\"[210]\n\nThe Chapel of St. Mary, Savoy, is a late and plain Perpendicular\nstructure, with a fine  ceiling. This small, quiet chapel holds a\nsilent congregation of illustrious dead.\n\n[Illustration: THE SAVOY CHAPEL.]\n\nHere are interred Sir Robert and Lady Douglas (temp. James I.); the\nCountess of Dalhousie, daughter of Sir Allen Apsley, Lieutenant of the\nTower, and sister to that admirable wife, Mrs. Hutchinson, who died in\n1663; William Chaworth, who died in 1582, a member of that Nottinghamshire\nfamily, one of whom, Lord Byron's predecessor, killed in a tavern duel;\nand Mrs. Anne Killigrew, who died in 1685, the paintress and poetess on\nwhom Dryden wrote an extravagant but glorious ode, beginning--\n\n  \"That youngest virgin daughter of the skies,\n  Made in the last promotion of the blest.\"[211]\n\nThis accomplished young lady was daughter of Dr. Henry Killigrew, and\nniece of Thomas Killigrew the wit, of whom Denham, the poet, bitterly\nsaid--\n\n  \"Had Cowley ne'er spoke, Killigrew ne'er writ,\n  Combined in one they'd made a matchless wit.\"\n\nThe father of Mistress Killigrew was author of a tragedy called _The\nConspiracy_, which both Ben Jonson and Lord Falkland eulogised. Even old\nAnthony Wood says, in his own quaint way, that this lady \"was a Grace for\nbeauty, and a Muse for wit.\"[212]\n\nWe must add to this list Sir Richard and Lady Rokeby, who died in 1523,\nand Gawin Douglas, that good Bishop of Dunkeld who first translated Virgil\ninto Lowland Scotch. He was pensioned by Henry VIII., was a friend of\nPolydore Virgil, and died of the plague in London in 1521. The brass is on\nthe floor, about three feet south of the stove in the centre of the\nchapel.[213]\n\nDr. Cameron, the last victim executed for the daring rebellion of 1745,\nlies here also in good company among knights and bishops. His monument, by\nM. L. Watson, was not erected till 1846. Here, too, is that great admiral\nof Elizabeth--George, third Earl of Cumberland, who used to wear the glove\nwhich his queen had given him, set in diamonds, in his tilting helmet. He\ndied in the Duchy House in the Savoy, October 3, 1605; but his bowels\nalone were buried here, the rest of his body lies at Skipton. He was the\nfather of the brave, proud Countess, who, when Charles II.'s secretary\npressed on her notice a candidate for Appleby, wrote that celebrated\ncannon-shot of a letter:--\n\n    \"I have been bullied by an usurper; I have been neglected by a court,\n    but I will not be dictated to by a subject. Your man shan't stand.\n\n      \"ANNE, DORSET, PEMBROKE, AND MONTGOMERY.\"\n\nHere also there is a tablet to the memory of Richard Lander, the\ntraveller, originally a servant of that energetic discoverer Captain\nClapperton, who was the first to cross Africa from Tripoli and Benin.\nLander had the honour also of first discovering the course of the Niger.\nHe died in February 1834, from a gunshot-wound, at Fernando Po, aged only\nthirty-one. Such are the lion-men who extend the frontiers of English\ncommerce.\n\nIn the Savoy reposes a true poet, but an unhappy man--George Wither, the\nsatirist and idyllist, who died in 1667, and lies here between the east\ndoor and the south end of the chapel.[214] He was one of Cromwell's\nmajor-generals, and had a hard time of it after the Restoration. It was to\nsave Wither's life that Denham used that humorous petition--\"As long as\nWither lives I should not be considered the worst poet in England.\"\n\nWither anticipated Wordsworth in simple earnestness and a regard for the\nhumblest subjects. The soldier-poet himself says--\n\n  \"In my former days of bliss,\n  Her divine skill taught me this:\n  That from everything I saw\n  I could some invention draw,\n  And raise pleasure to her height\n  Through the meanest object's sight,\n  By the murmur of a spring,\n  By the least bough's rustling.\"[215]\n\nThese charming lines were written when Wither lay in the Marshalsea,\nimprisoned for writing a satire--_Abuses stripped and whipped_.\n\nIn the same church lies one of the smallest of military heroes--Lewis de\nDuras, Earl of Feversham, who died in the reign of Queen Anne. He was\nnephew of the great Turenne, and was one of the few persons present when\nCharles II. received extreme unction. He commanded, or rather followed,\nKing James II.'s troops at Sedgemoor, in 1685, and at that momentous\ncrisis \"thought only of eating and sleeping.\"[216] Upon this shambling\ngeneral the Duke of Buckingham wrote one of his latest lampoons.[217]\n\nIn 1552 the first manufactory of glass in England was established at the\nold Savoy House. It was here that, in 1658, the Independents met and drew\nup their famous Declaration of Faith. In 1671 the Royal Society's\npublications were printed here. In Dryden's time, the wounded English\nsailors who had been mangled by Van Tromp's and De Ruyter's shot were\nnursed here. The good and witty Fuller, who wrote the _Worthies_ lectured\nhere. Half-crazed Alexander Cruden, who compiled the laborious Concordance\nto the Bible, lived here; and here grinding Jacob Tonson had a warehouse.\n\nIn 1843 the Queen repaired the Savoy Chapel, in virtue of her being the\npatron of it. The duty, indeed, fell upon the Crown, for the chapel stood\nin the Liberty of the Duchy of Lancaster, and the office of the Duchy is\nin Lancaster Place, to the right as you approach Waterloo Bridge.\n\nIn July 1864 the Savoy Chapel was unfortunately destroyed by a fire\noccasioned by an explosion of gas. The  ceiling, the altar window,\ncontaining a figure of St. John the Baptist, and a solitary niche with\nsome tabernacle work at the east end, all perished. It was shortly\nafterwards restored and decorated afresh throughout, at the cost of Her\nMajesty.\n\nMr. George Augustus Sala has admirably sketched the present condition of\nthe Precinct,--its almost solemn silence and its gravity,--its loneliness,\nas of Juan Fernandez, Norfolk Island, or Key West,[218] although on the\nvery verge of the roaring world of London, and but five minutes' walk from\nTemple Bar.\n\nThe royal property is chiefly covered now by shops, public-houses, and\nprinting-offices. The Precinct still retains traditions of the vagabond\nsquatters who, till about the middle of the last century, assumed\npossession of the ruinous tenements in the Savoy, till the Footguards\nturned them out, and the houses were pulled down, rebuilt, and let to\nrespectable tenants.\n\nThe old churchyard has long since been sealed up by the Board of Health,\nbut the trees and grass still flourish round the old stones. Clean-shaved,\nnattily dressed actors come to this quiet purlieu to study their parts.\nMusicians of theatrical orchestras, penny-a-liners, and printers haunt the\nbar of the Savoy tavern. Those quiet houses with the white door-steps,\nshining brass plates and green blinds, are inhabited by accountants'\nclerks, retired and retiring small tradesmen, and commission agents\ninterested in pale ale, pickles, and Wallsend coals.\n\n\"So,\" says Mr. Sala, \"run the sands of life through this quiet hour-glass;\nso glides the life away in the old Precinct. At its base a river runs for\nall the world; at its summit is the brawling, raging Strand; on either\nside are darkness and poverty and vice, the gloomy Adelphi arches, the\nBridge of Sighs that men call Waterloo. But the Precinct troubles itself\nlittle with the noise and tumult; it sleeps well through life without its\nfitful fever.\"\n\nWearied of its old grandeur, pondering, as old men ponder, over its dead\nkings--for Wat Tyler and his Kentish men need no Riot Act to quiet them\nnow--the Savoy and its crowned ghosts drift on with our methodical planet,\nmeekly awaiting the death-blow that time must some day inflict.\n\nTait Wilkinson's father was a minister of the Savoy. Garrick helped to\ntransport him by informing against him for illegally performing the\nmarriage ceremony. In return, Garrick helped forward the son--\"an exotic,\"\nas he called him, rather than an actor--but a wonderful mimic, not only of\nvoice and manner, but even of features. He used to reproduce Foote's\nimitations of the older actors--as Mathews afterward imitated Wilkinson,\nwho in his time had imitated Foote, to that impudent buffoon's great\nvexation.\n\nThe _Examiner_, whose office is near Waterloo Bridge, was started by Leigh\nHunt and his brother John in 1808. It began by boldly asserting the\nnecessity for reform, lampooning the Regent, and attacking the cant and\nexcesses of Methodism. In 1812 both the Hunts were found guilty of having\ncalled the Prince Regent \"the Prince of Whales\" and \"a fat Adonis of\nfifty,\" and were sentenced to two years' imprisonment in Horsemonger Lane\ngaol, and to pay a fine of L500. At a later period, Hazlitt joined the\npaper, and wrote for it the essays reprinted (in 1817) under the title of\n_The Round Table_.[219] Close to it is the office of the _Spectator_,\nanother paper of the same calibre and class, and more important than the\n_Examiner_ now, though its early history is not so interesting.\n\nWaterloo Bridge, one of those marvels built by the industrious\nsimple-hearted John Rennie, was opened by the Prince Regent in 1817. Dupin\ndeclared it was a colossal monument worthy of Sesostris or the Caesars; and\nwhat most struck Canova in England was that the foolish Chinese Bridge\nthen in St. James's Park should be the production of the Government, while\nWaterloo Bridge was the result of mere private enterprise.[220] The bridge\ndid not settle more than a few inches after the centres were struck.\n\nThe project of erecting the Strand Bridge, as it was first called, was\nstarted by a company in 1809, a joint-stock-fever year. Rennie received\nL1000 a year for himself and assistants, or L7: 7s. a day, and expenses.\nThe bridge consists of nine arches, of 120 feet span, with piers 20 feet\nthick, the arches being plain semi-ellipses, with their crowns 30 feet\nabove high water. Over the points of each pier are placed Doric column\npilasters, after a design taken from the Temple of Segesta in Sicily. In\nthe construction of the bridge the chief features of Rennie's management\nwere the following:--The employment of coffer-dams in founding the piers;\nnew methods of constructing, floating, and fixing the centres; the\nintroduction and working of Aberdeen granite to an extent before unknown;\nand the adoption of elliptical stone arches of an unusual width.\n\nNearly all the bur stone was brought to the bridge by one horse, called\n\"Old Jack.\" On one occasion the driver, a steady man, but too fond of his\nmorning dram, kept \"Old Jack\" waiting a longer time than usual at the\npublic-house, upon which he poked his head in at the open door, and gently\ndrew out his master by the coat collar.[221]\n\nRennie, the architect of the three great London bridges, the engineer of\nthe Plymouth Breakwater and of the London and East India Docks, and a\ndrainer of the Fens, was the son of a small farmer in East Lothian, and\nwas born in 1761.[222]\n\n[Illustration: THE SAVOY PRISON, 1793.]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: DURHAM HOUSE, 1790.]\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nFROM THE SAVOY TO CHARING CROSS.\n\n\nOld York House stood on the site of Buckingham and Villiers Streets. In\nancient times, York House had been the inn of the Bishops of Norwich.\nAbandoned to the crown, King Henry VIII. gave the place to that gay knight\nCharles Brandon, the husband of his beautiful sister Mary, the Queen of\nFrance. When the Church rose again and resumed its scarlet pomp, the house\nwas given to Queen Mary's Lord Chancellor, Nicholas Heath, Archbishop of\nYork, in exchange for Suffolk House in Southwark, which was presented by\nQueen Mary to the see of York in recompense for York House, Whitehall,\ntaken from Wolsey by her father. On the fall of that minister, once more a\nchange took place, and the house passed to the Lord Keeper, Sir Nicholas\nBacon, who rented it of the see of York.\n\nIn this house the great Francis Bacon was born, on the 22d of January,\n1561. York House stood near the royal palace, from which it was parted by\nlanes and fields. Its courtyard and great gates opened to the street. The\nmain front, with its turrets and water stair, faced the river. The garden,\nfalling by an easy <DW72> to the Thames, commanded a view as far south as\nthe Lollards' Tower at Lambeth, as far east as London Bridge. \"All the gay\nriver life[223] swept past the lawn, the salmon-fishers spreading their\nnets, the watermen paddling gallants to Bankside, and Shakspere's theatre,\nthe city barges rowing past in procession, and the queen herself, with her\ntrain of lords and ladies, shooting by in her journeys from the Tower to\nWhitehall Stairs. From the lattice out of which he gazed, the child could\nsee over the palace roof the pinnacles and crosses of the old abbey.\"\n\nThe Lord Keeper Pickering died at York House in 1596, and Lord Chancellor\nEgerton in 1616 or 1617. In 1588 it is supposed the Earl of Essex tried to\nobtain the house, as Archbishop Sandys wrote to Burghley begging him to\nresist some such demand. Essex was in ward here for six months, fretting\nunder the care of Lord Keeper Egerton.\n\n\"York House was the scene,\" says a clever pleader for a great man's good\nfame, \"of Bacon's gayest hours, and of his sharpest griefs--of his highest\nmagnificence, and of his profoundest prostration. In it his studious\nchildhood passed away. In it his father died. On going into France, to the\ncourt of Henry IV., he left it a lively, splendid home; on his return from\nthat country, he found it a house of misery and death. From its gates he\nwandered forth with his widowed mother into the world. Though it passed\ninto other hands, his connection with it never ceased. Under Egerton its\ngates again opened to him. It was the scene of that inquiry into the Irish\ntreason when he was the queen's historian. During his courtship of Alice\nBarnham, York House was his second home. In one of its chambers he watched\nby the sick-bed of Ellesmere, and on Ellesmere's surrender of the Seals,\npresented the dying Chancellor with the coronet of Brackley. It became his\nown during his reign as Keeper and Chancellor. From it he dated his great\nInstauration; in its banqueting-hall he feasted poets and scholars; from\none of its bed-rooms he wrote his Submission and Confession; in the same\nroom he received the Earls of Arundel, Pembroke, and Southampton, as\nmessengers from the House of Lords; there he surrendered the Great Seal.\nTo regain York House, when it had passed into other hands, was one of the\nwarmest passions of his heart, and the resolution to retain it against the\neager desires of Buckingham was one of the secret causes of his fall.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the fallen great man; \"York House is the house wherein my\nfather died and wherein I first breathed, and there will I yield my last\nbreath, if it so please God, and the king will give me leave.\"[224]\n\nSome of the saddest and some of the happiest events of Bacon's life must\nhave happened in the Strand. From thence he rode, sumptuous in purple\nvelvet from cap to shoe, along the lanes to Marylebone Chapel, to wed his\nbride Alice Barnham.\n\nYork House was famous for its aviary, on which Bacon had expended L300. It\nwas in the garden here that we are told the Chancellor once stood looking\nat the fishers below throwing their nets. Bacon offered them so much for a\ndraught, but they refused. Up came the net with only two or three little\nfish; upon which his lordship told them that \"hope was a good breakfast,\nbut an ill supper.\"[225]\n\nIt was on the death of his friend, Lord Chancellor Ellesmere, and on his\nown installation, that Bacon bought the lease of York House from the\nformer's son, the first Earl of Bridgewater. He found the rooms vast and\nnaked. His friends and votaries furnished the house, giving him books and\ndrawings, stands of arms, cabinets, jewels, rings, and boxes of money.\nLady Caesar contributed a massive gold chain, and Prince Charles a diamond\nring.\n\nBacon, when young, had been often taken to court by his father; and the\nqueen, delighting in the gravity and wisdom of the boy, used to call him\nher \"young Lord Keeper.\" Even then his mind was philosophically observant;\nand it is said that he used to leave his playmates in St. James's Fields\nto try and discover the cause of the echo in a certain brick conduit.[226]\n\nAt Durham House, on January 22, 1620, the year in which he published his\n_magnum opus_, the _Novum Organon_, and a twelvemonth before his disgrace,\nBacon gave a grand banquet to his friends. Ben Jonson was one of the\nguests, and is supposed to have himself recited a set of verses, in which\nhe says--\n\n  \"Hail th' happy genius of the ancient pile!\n  How comes it that all things so about thee smile,--\n  The fire, the wine, the men?--and in the midst\n  Thou stand'st as if some mystery thou didst.\n\n  \"England's High Chancellor, the destined heir,\n  In his soft cradle to his father's chair,\n  Whose even thread the Fates spin round and full,\n  Out of their choicest and their richest wool.\n  'Tis a brave cause of joy.        *        *\n  Give me a deep-crowned bowl, that I may sing,\n  In raising him, the wisdom of my king.\"\n\nWho till he dies can boast of having been happy? The year after, the\nking's anger fell like an axe upon the great courtier. Solitary and\ncomfortless at Gorhambury, Bacon petitioned the Lords in almost abject\nterms to be allowed to return to York House, where he could advance his\nstudies and consult his physicians, creditors, and friends, so that \"out\nof the carcass of dead and rotten greatness, as out of Samson's lion,\nthere may be honey gathered for future times.\" Sir Edward Sackville prayed\nhim in vain to remove his straitest shackles by surrendering York House to\nthe king's favourite; and so did his creditor, Mr. Meautys, who, says\nBacon, used him \"coarsely,\" and meant \"to saw him asunder.\" \"The great\nlords,\" says Meautys, \"long to be in York House. I know your lordship\ncannot forget they have such a savage word among them as _fleecing_.\" This\nword has grown tame in modern times, but it had a terrible significance in\nthose days, when it hinted at flaying.\n\nAn episode about Bacon's younger days may be pardoned here. The Gray's Inn\nChambers occupied by Bacon were in Coney Court, looking over the gardens\nand past St. Pancras Church to Hampstead Hill. They are no longer\nstanding. The site of them was No. 1 Gray's Inn Square. Bacon began to\nkeep his terms at the age of eighteen, in June 1579. His uncle Burleigh\nwas bencher in this inn, and his cousins, Robert, Cecil, and Nicholas\nTrott, students. In his latter days, when Attorney-General, and even when\nLord Chancellor, he retained a lease of his old rooms in Coney Court. He\nwas called to the bar when he was twenty-one, in 1582; and as soon as he\nwas called he appeared in Fleet Street in his serge and bands, as a sign\nthat he was going to practise for his bread. At the close of his first\nsession, however, he was raised to the bench. Bacon always remained\nattached to Gray's Inn; he laid out the gardens, planted the elm-trees,\nraised the terrace, pulled down and rebuilt the chambers, dressed the dumb\nshow, led off the dances, and invented the masques.[227]\n\nAfter Lord Bacon's disgrace, the first Duke of Buckingham of the Villiers\nfamily borrowed the house from Toby Mathew, the courtly archbishop of\nYork, in hopes of a final exchange, which did eventually take place.[228]\nIn 1624, two years before Bacon's death, a bill was passed to enable the\nking to exchange some lands for York House, so coveted by his proud\nfavourite. Buckingham soon partially pulled down the old mansion, and\nlined the walls of his temporary structure with huge mirrors. Here he\nentertained the foreign ambassadors. Of all his splendour, the only relic\nleft is the water gate usually ascribed to Inigo Jones.\n\nThis Duke of Buckingham, the \"Steenie\" of King James, and of Scott's\n_Fortunes of Nigel_, was the younger son of a poor knight, who won James\nI. by his personal beauty, vivacity, and accomplishments--by his dancing,\njousting, leaping, and masquerading. At first page, cupbearer, and\ngentleman of the bedchamber, he rose to power on the disgrace of Carr.\n\nIt was at York House--\"Yorschaux,\" as he calls it, with the usual\ninsolence and carelessness of his nation--that Bassompierre visited the\nduke in 1626. He praises the mansion as more richly fitted up than any\nother he had ever seen.[229] Yet the duke did not live here, but at\nWallingford House, on the site of the Admiralty, keeping York House for\npageants and levees, till Felton's knife severed his evil soul from his\nbody, August 23, 1628. His son, the Zimri of Dryden, was born at\nWallingford House.\n\nThe \"superstitious pictures\" at York House were sold in 1645,[230] and the\nhouse given by Cromwell to General Fairfax, whose daughter married the\nsecond and last Duke of Buckingham, of the Villiers line, the favourite of\nCharles II., the rival of Rochester, the plotter with Shaftesbury, the\nselfish profligate who drove Lee into Bedlam and starved Samuel Butler.\n\nIn 1661 the galleries of York House were famous for the antique busts and\nstatues that had belonged to Rubens on his visit to this country, when he\npainted James I. in jackboots being hauled heavenward by a flock of\nangels. In the riverside gardens--not far, I presume, from the water\ngate--stood John of Bologna's \"Cain and Abel,\" which the King of Spain had\ngiven to Prince Charles on his luckless visit to Madrid, and which Charles\nhad bestowed on his dangerous favourite.[231]\n\nThe great rooms, even then emblazoned with the lions and peacocks of the\nVilliers and Manners families, were traversed by Evelyn, who describes the\nhouse and gardens as much ruined through neglect. Pepys also, who thrust\nhis nose into every show-place, went to York House when the Russian\nambassador was there, and rapturously and poetically vows he saw \"the\nremains of the noble soul of the late Duke of Buckingham appearing in the\nhouse in every place, in the door-cases and the windows,\"[232]--odd places\nfor a noble soul to make its abode!\n\nThe Duke of Buckingham, in King Charles's days, had turned York House into\na treasury of art. He bought Rubens's private collection of pictures for\nL10,000, Sir Henry Wotten having purchased them for him at Venice. He had\nseventeen Tintorets, and thirteen works of Paul Veronese. For an \"Ecce\n<DW25>\" by Titian, containing nineteen figures as large as life, he refused\nL7000 from the Earl of Arundel. During the Civil Wars the pictures were\nremoved by his son to Antwerp, and there sold by auction.\n\nWho can look down Buckingham Street in the twilight, and see the pediment\nof the old water gate of the duke's house, without repeating to himself\nthe scourging lines of Dryden when he drew Buckingham as Zimri?--\n\n  \"A man so various that he seem'd to be\n  Not one but all mankind's epitome;\n  Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong;\n  Was everything by turns, and nothing long;\n  But, in the course of one revolving moon,\n  Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon.\"[233]\n\nIn vain Settle eulogised the mercurial and licentious spendthrift.\nSettle's verse is forgotten, but we all remember Pope's ghastly but\nexaggerated picture of the rake's death in \"the worst inn's worst room\"--\n\n  \"No wit to flatter left of all his store,\n  No fool to laugh at, which he valued more,\n  There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends,\n  And fame, this lord of useless thousand ends.\"\n\nThe first Duke of Buckingham, to judge by Clarendon, who was the friend of\nall friends of absolutism, must have been a man of magnificent generosity\nand \"flowing courtesy,\" a staunch friend, and a desperate and unrelenting\nhater; but he was an enemy of the people; and had he survived the knife of\nFelton he must have been the first of a faithless king's bad counsellors\nto perish on the scaffold.\n\n[Illustration: THE WATER GATE, 1860.]\n\nThe second duke was a base-tempered, shameless profligate, a fickle,\ndishonest intriguer, who perished at last, a poor worn-out man, in a\nfarmer's house in Yorkshire, from a cold caught while hunting. He was the\nauthor of several obscene lampoons, from which Swift took some hints; and\nhe was the godfather of a mock tragedy, _The Rehearsal_, in which he was\nhelped by Martin Clifford and Butler, the author of _Hudibras_, the latter\nof whom he left to starve. Baxter, it is true, drops a redeeming word or\ntwo on behalf of the gay scoundrel; but then Buckingham had intrigued with\nthe Puritans.\n\nYork Stairs, the only monument of Zimri's splendour left, stand now in the\nmiddle of the gardens of the new Embankment. Till the Embankment was made,\nthe gate was approached by a small enclosed terrace planted with lime\ntrees. The water gate consists of a central archway and two side windows.\nFour rusticated columns support an arched pediment and two couchant lions\nholding shields. On a scroll are the Villiers arms. On the street side\nrise three arches, flanked by pilasters and an entablature, on which are\nfour stone globes. Above the keystone of the arches are shields and\nanchors. In the centre are the arms of Villiers impaling those of Manners.\nThe Villiers' motto, _Fidei coticula crux_, \"The cross is the whetstone of\nfaith,\" is inscribed on the frieze. The gate, as it now stands, is\nridiculous, and is almost buried in the soil. It would be a charity to\nremove it to a water-side position.\n\nIn 1661, on the day of the great affray at the Tower Wharf between the\nretinues of the French and Spanish ambassadors, arising out of a dispute\nfor precedence, Pepys saw the latter return to York House in triumph,\nguarded with fifty drawn swords, having killed several Frenchmen. \"It is\nstrange,\" says the amusing quidnunc, \"to see how all the city did rejoice,\nand, indeed, we do naturally all love the Spanish and hate the French.\"\nWorthy man! the fact was, all time-servers were then agog about the queen\nwho was expected from Portugal. From York House Pepys went peering about\nthe French ambassador's, and found his retainers all like dead men and\nshaking their heads. \"There are no men in the world,\" he says, \"of a more\ninsolent spirit when they do well, and more abject if they miscarry, than\nthese people are.\"[234]\n\nIn 1683 the learned and amiable John Evelyn, being then on the Board of\nTrade, took a house in Villiers Street for the winter, partly for business\npurposes, partly to educate his daughters.[235] Evelyn's works gave a\nvaluable impetus to art and agriculture.\n\nAddison's jovial friend, that delightful writer, Sir Richard Steele, lived\nin Villiers Street from 1721 to 1724, after the death of his wife, the\njealous \"Prue.\" Here he wrote his _Conscious Lovers_. The big,\nswarthy-faced ex-trooper, so contrasting with his grave and colder friend\nAddison, is a salient personage in the English Temple of Fame.\n\nDuke Street, built circa 1675,[236] was named from the last Duke of\nBuckingham. Humphrey Wanley, the great Harleian librarian, lived here, and\nthe son of Shadwell, the poet and Dryden's enemy, who was an eminent\nphysician, and inherited much of his father's excellent sense.\n\nIn 1672 the \"chemyst, statesman, and buffoon\" Duke of Buckingham sold York\nHouse and gardens for L30,000 to a brewer and woodmonger, who pulled it\ndown and laid out the present streets, naming them, with due respect to\nrank and wealth, even in a rascal, George Street, Villiers Street, Duke\nStreet, and Buckingham Street. In 1668 their rental was L1359: 10s.[237]\n\nIn Charles II.'s time waterworks were started at York Buildings by a\ncompany chartered to supply the West end with water, but they failed,\nbeing in advance of the time. The company, however, did not concentrate\nits energies on waterworks; it gave concerts, bought up forfeited estates\nin Scotland, and started many wild and eccentric projects, in some of\nwhich Steele figured prominently. The company has long been forgotten,\nthough kept in memory by a tall water tower, which was standing in the\nreign of George III.\n\nIn Buckingham Street, built in 1675, Samuel Pepys, the diarist, came to\nlive in 1684. The house, since rebuilt, was the last on the west side, and\nlooked on the Thames. It had been his friend Hewer's before him. A view of\nthe library shows us the tall plain book-cases, and a central window\nlooking on the river. Pepys, the son of an army tailor, and as fond of\ndress and great people as might be expected of a tailor's son, was for a\nlong time Secretary of the Admiralty under Charles II. He was President of\nthe Royal Society; and it is largely to his five folio books of ballads\nthat we owe Dr. Percy's useful compilation, _The Relics of Ancient\nPoetry_. Pepys died in 1703, at the house of his friend Hewer, at Clapham.\n\nPepys's house (No. 14) became afterwards, in the summer of 1824, the home\nof Etty, the painter, and remained so till within a few months of his\ndeath in 1849. Etty first took the ground floor (afterwards occupied by\nMr. Stanfield), then the top floor; the special object of his ambition\nbeing to watch sunsets over the river, which he loved as much as Turner\ndid, who frequently said, \"There is finer scenery on its banks than on\nthose of any river in Italy.\" Its ebb and flow, Etty used to declare, was\nlike life, and \"the view from Lambeth to the Abbey not unlike Venice.\" In\nthose river-side rooms the artists of two generations have\nassembled--Fuseli, Flaxman, Holland, Constable, and Hilton--then Turner,\nMaclise, Dyce, Herbert, and all the younger race. Etty's rooms looked on\nto a terrace, with a small cottage at one end; the keeper once was a man\nnamed Hewson, supposed to be the original Strap of _Roderick Random_.[238]\nAn amiable, dreamy genius was the son of the miller and gingerbread-maker\nof York.\n\nThe witty Earl of Dorset lived in this street in 1681.\n\nOpposite Pepys's house, and on the east side (left-hand corner), was a\nhouse where Peter the Great lodged when in England. Here, after rowing\nabout the Thames, watching the boat-building, or pulling to Deptford and\nback, this brave half-savage used to return and spend his rough evenings\nwith Lord Caermarthen, drinking a pint of hot brandy and pepper, after\nendless flasks of wine. It was certainly \"brandy for heroes\" in this case.\n\nLord Caermarthen was at this time Lord President of the Council, and had\nbeen appointed Peter's cicerone by King William. The Russian czar was a\nhard drinker, and on one occasion is said to have drunk a pint of brandy,\na bottle of sherry, and eight flasks of sack, after which he calmly went\nto the play. While in York Buildings, the rough czar was so annoyed with\nthe vulgar curiosity of intrusive citizens, that he would sometimes rise\nfrom his dinner and leave the room in a rage. Here the Quakers forced\nthemselves upon him, and presented him with _Barclay's Apology_, after\nwhich the czar attended their meeting in Gracechurch Street. He once asked\nthem of what use they were in any kingdom, since they would not bear arms.\nOn taking his farewell of King William, Peter drew a rough ruby, valued at\nL10,000, from his waistcoat pocket, and presented it to him screwed up in\nbrown paper.[239] He went back just in time to crush the Strelitzes,\nimprison his sister Sophia, and wage war on Charles XII. The great\nreformer was only twenty-six years old when he visited England.\n\nIn 1706 Robert Harley, Esq., afterwards Swift's great patron and Earl of\nOxford, lived here;[240] and (1785) John Henderson, the actor, died in\nthis street.\n\nWalter, Lord Hungerford, of Farleigh Castle, Somerset, took the Duke of\nOrleans prisoner at Agincourt. He was Lord High Steward of Henry V. and\none of the executors to his will, and Lord High Treasurer in the reign of\nHenry VI. This illustrious noble was the son of Sir Thomas de Hungerforde,\nwho in 51 Edward III. was the first to take the chair as Speaker of the\nHouse of Commons.\n\nHungerford Market covered the site of the seat of the Hungerford family.\nPepys mentions a fire at the house of old Lady Hungerford in Charles II.'s\ntime.\n\nSir Edward (her husband), created a Knight of the Bath at the coronation\nof Charles II., pulled down the old mansion and divided it in 1680 into\nseveral houses, enclosing also a market-place. On the north side of the\nmarket-house was a bust of one of the family in a full-bottomed wig.[241]\nIt grew a disused and ill-favoured place before 1833. When a new market\n(Fowler, architect) was opened, it was intended to put an end to the\nmonopoly of Billingsgate. The old market had at first answered well for\nfruit and vegetables, as there was no need of porters from the water side;\nbut by 1720 Covent Garden had beaten it off.[242] It attempted too much in\nrivalling at once Leadenhall and Billingsgate, and failed--only a few\nfishmongers lingering on to the last.\n\nIn 1845 a suspension bridge, crossing from Hungerford to Lambeth (built\nunder Mr. I. K. Brunel's supervision), was opened. It consisted of three\nspans, and two brick towers in the Italian style; the main span, at the\ntime of its erection, was larger than that of any other in the country,\nand only second to that of the bridge at Fribourg. It cost L110,000, and\nconsumed more than 10,000 tons of iron.[243]\n\nIn the same year the bridge was sold to the original proprietors for\nL226,000, but the purchase was never carried out. It was replaced in 1864\nby a railway bridge, and the market itself was filled up by an enormous\nrailway station. The market had sunk to zero years before. In 1850 some\nrogue of a speculator had opened in it a pretended exhibition of the\nsurplus articles rejected for want of room from the glass palace in Hyde\nPark. It proved a total failure, and swallowed up a vast sum of money and\na fine northern estate or two. Latterly it had become a gratuitous\nmusic-hall, a billiard-room, and a penny-ice house, conducted by an\nItalian.\n\nThe railway station, built by Mr. Barry, the son of the architect of the\nNew Houses of Parliament, faces the Strand. It is of a most creditable\ndesign, and the high Mansard roofs, which surmounted the hotel which forms\nits front, are of a freer and grander character than those of any modern\nLondon building. A model of the Eleanor Cross has been erected in the\ncourtyard in front of it. This building is one of the first omens of\nbetter things that we have yet seen in our still terribly mean and ugly\ncity.\n\nCraven Street was called Spur Alley till 1742.[244] Grinling Gibbons, the\ngreat wood-carver, born at Rotterdam, and whose genius John Evelyn\ndiscovered, lived here after leaving the Belle Sauvage Yard. Here he must\nhave fashioned those fragile strings of birds and fruit and flowers that\nadorn so many city churches, and the houses of so many English noblemen.\nAt No. 7, in 1775, lodged the great Benjamin Franklin, then no longer a\npoor printer, but the envoy of the American colonies. Here Lords Howe and\nStanhope visited him to propose terms from Lords Camden and Chatham, but\nunfortunately only in vain.[245] That weak and unfortunate man, the Rev.\nMr. Hackman, who shot Miss Ray, the actress and the mistress of Lord\nSandwich, who had encouraged his suit, lived in this street.\n\nJames Smith, one of the authors of the _Rejected Addresses_,--a series of\nparodies rivalled only by those of _Bon Gaultier_, lived at No. 27. It was\non his own street that he wrote the well-known epigram--[246]\n\n  \"In Craven Street, Strand, the attorneys find place,\n  And ten dark coal barges are moor'd at its base.\n  Fly, Honesty, fly! seek some safer retreat:\n  There's _craft_ in the river and _craft_ in the street.\"\n\nBut Sir George Rose capped this in return, retorting in extemporaneous\nlines, written after dinner:--\n\n  \"Why should Honesty fly to some safer retreat,\n    From attorneys and barges?--'od rot 'em!\n  For the lawyers are _just_ at the top of the street,\n    And the barges are _just_ at the bottom.\"\n\nJames Smith, the intellectual hero of this street, the son of a solicitor\nto the Ordnance, was born in 1775. In 1802 he joined the staff of the\n_Pic-Nic_ newspaper, with Combe, Croker, Cumberland, and that mediocre\npoet, Sir James Bland Burgess. It changed its name to the _Cabinet_, and\ndied in 1803. From 1807 to 1817 James Smith contributed to the _Monthly\nMirror_ his \"Horace in London.\" In 1812 came out the _Rejected Addresses_,\ninimitable parodies by himself and his brother, not merely of the manner\nbut of the very mode of thought of Wordsworth, Cobbett, Southey,\nColeridge, Crabbe, Lord Byron, Scott, etc. The copyright, originally\noffered to Mr. Murray for L20, but declined, was purchased by him in 1819,\nafter the sixteenth edition, for L131; so much for the foresight of\npublishers. The book has since deservedly gone through endless editions,\nand has not been approached even by the talented parody writers of\n_Punch_. Those who wish to see the story of this publication in detail,\nmust hunt it up in the edition of the _Addresses_ illustrated by George\nCruickshank.\n\nMr. Smith was the chief deviser of the substance of the _Entertainments_\nof the elder Charles Mathews. He wrote the _Country Cousins_ in 1820, and\nin the two succeeding years the _Trip to France_ and the _Trip to\nAmerica_. For these last two works the author received a thousand pounds.\n\"A thousand pounds!\" he used to ejaculate, shrugging his shoulders, \"and\nall for nonsense.\"[247]\n\nJames Smith was just the man for Mathews, with his slight frameworks of\nstories filled up with songs, jokes, puns, wild farcical fancies, and\nmerry conceits, and here and there among the motley, with true touches of\nwit, pathos, and comedy, and faithful traits of life and character, such\nas only a close observer of society and a sound thinker could pen.\n\nHe was lucky enough to obtain a legacy of L300 for a complimentary epigram\non Mr. Strahan, the king's printer. Being patted on the head when a boy by\nChief-Justice Mansfield, in Highgate churchyard, and once seeing Horace\nWalpole on his lawn at Twickenham, were the two chief historical events of\nMr. Smith's quiet life. The four reasons that kept so clever a man\nemployed on mere amateur trifling were these--an indolent disinclination\nto sustained work, a fear of failure, a dislike to risk a well-earned\nfame, and a foreboding that literary success might injure his practice as\na lawyer. His favourite visits were to Lord Mulgrave's, Mr. Croker's,\nLord Abinger's, Lady Blessington's, and Lord Harrington's.\n\nPretty Lady Blessington used to say of him, that \"James Smith, if he had\nnot been a _witty_ man, must have been a _great_ man.\" He died in his\nhouse in Craven Street, with the calmness of a philosopher, on the 24th of\nDecember 1839, in the sixty-fifth year of his age.[248] Fond of society,\nwitty without giving pain, a bachelor, and therefore glad to escape from a\nsolitary home, James Smith seems to have been the model of a diner-out.\n\nCaleb Whitefoord, a wine merchant in Craven Street, and an excellent\nconnoisseur in old pictures, was one of the legacy-hunters who infested\nthe studio of Nollekens, the miserly sculptor of Mortimer Street. He was a\nfoppish dresser, and was remarkable for a dashing three-cornered hat, with\na sparkling black button and a loop upon a rosette. He wore a wig with\nfive tiers of curls, of the Garrick cut, and he was one of the last to\nwear such a monstrosity. This crafty wine merchant used to distribute\nprivately the most whimsical of his _Cross Readings_, _Ship News_, and\n_Mistakes of the Press_--things in their day very popular, though now\nsurpassed in every number of _Punch_. Some of the best were the\nfollowing:--\"Yesterday Dr. Pretyman preached at St. James's,--and\nperformed it with ease in less than sixteen minutes.\" \"Several changes are\ntalked of at Court,--consisting of 9050 triple bob-majors.\" \"Dr. Solander\nwill, by Her Majesty's command, undertake a voyage--round the head-dress\nof the present month.\" \"Sunday night.--Many noble families were\nalarmed--by the constable of the ward, who apprehended them at cards.\" A\nsimple-hearted age could laugh heartily at these things: would that we\ncould!\n\nIt has often been asserted that Goldsmith's epitaph on Whitefoord was\nwritten by the wine merchant himself, and sent to the editor of the fifth\nedition of the Poems by a convenient common friend. It is not very\npointed, and the length of the epitaph is certainly singular,\nconsidering that the poet dismissed Burke and Reynolds in less than\neighteen lines.\n\nAdam built an octagon room in Whitefoord's house in order to give his\npictures an equal light; and Mr. Christie adopted the idea when he fitted\nup his large room in King Street, St. James's.[249]\n\nGoldsmith is said to have been intimate with witty, punning Caleb\nWhitefoord, and certain it is his name is found in the postscript to the\npoem of _Retaliation_, written by Oliver on some of his friends at the St.\nJames's Coffee-house. These were the Burkes, fretful Cumberland, Reynolds,\nGarrick, and Canon Douglas. In this poem Goldsmith laments that Whitefoord\nshould have confined himself to newspaper essays, and contented himself\nwith the praise of the printer of the _Public Advertiser_; he thus sums\nhim up:--\n\n  \"Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun,\n  Who relish'd a joke and rejoiced in a pun;\n  Whose temper was generous, open, sincere;\n  A stranger to flattery, a stranger to fear.\n\n     *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I admit\n  That a Scot may have humour--I'd almost said wit;\n  This debt to thy memory I cannot refuse,\n  Thou best-humour'd man with the worst-humour'd Muse.\"\n\nWhitefoord became Vice-President of the Society of Arts.\n\nAnthony Pasquin (Williams), a celebrated art critic and satirist of Dr.\nJohnson's time, was articled to Matt Darley, the famous caricaturist of\nthe Strand, to learn engraving.[250]\n\nThe old name of Northumberland Street was Hartshorne Lane or Christopher\nAlley.[251] Here Ben Jonson lived when he was a child, and after his\nmother had taken a bricklayer for her second husband.\n\nAt the bottom of this lane Sir Edmondbury Godfrey had his wood wharf. This\nfact shows how much history is illustrated by topography, for the\nresidence of the unfortunate justice explains why it should have been\nsupposed that he had been inveigled into Somerset House.\n\nIn 1829 Mr. Wood, who kept a coal wharf, resided in Sir Edmondbury's old\npremises at the bottom of Northumberland Street. It was here the court\njustice's wood-wharf was, but his house was in Green's Lane, near\nHungerford Market.[252] During the Great Plague Sir Edmondbury had been\nvery active; on one occasion, when his men refused to act, he entered a\npest-house alone to apprehend a wretch who had stolen at least a thousand\nwinding-sheets. Four medals were struck on his death. There is also a\nportrait of the unlucky woodmonger in the waiting-room adjoining the\nVestry of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields.[253] He wore, it seems, a full black\nwig, like Charles II.\n\nThree men were tried for his murder--the cushion-man at the Queen's\nChapel, the servant of the treasurer of the chapel, and the porter of\nSomerset House. The truculent Scroggs tried the accused, and those\ninfamous men, Oates, Prance, and Bedloe, were the false witnesses who\nmurdered them. The prisoners were all executed. Sir Edmondbury's corpse\nwas embalmed and borne to its funeral at St. Martin's from Bridewell. The\npall was supported by eight knights, all justices of the peace, and the\naldermen of London followed the coffin. Twenty-two ministers marched\nbefore the body, and a great Protestant mob followed. Dr. William Lloyd\npreached the funeral sermon from the text 2 Sam. iii. 24. The preacher was\nguarded in the pulpit by two clergymen armed with \"Protestant flails.\"\n\n[Illustration: YORK STAIRS, WITH THE HOUSES OF PEPYS AND PETER THE GREAT,\nAFTER CANALETTI (CIRCA 1745).]\n\nIn July 1861, No. 16 Northumberland Street, then an old-fashioned,\ndingy-looking house, with narrow windows, which had been divided into\nchambers, was the scene of a fight for life and death between Major Murray\nand Mr. Roberts, a solicitor and bill-discounter; the latter attempted the\nlife of the former for the sake of getting possession of his mistress, to\nwhom he had lent money. Under pretext of advancing a loan to the Grosvenor\nHotel Company, of which the major was a promoter, he decoyed him into a\nback room on the first floor of No. 16, then shot him in the back of the\nneck, and immediately after in the right temple. The major, feigning to be\ndead, waited till Roberts's back was turned, then springing to his feet\nattacked him with a pair of tongs, which he broke to pieces over his\nassailant's head. He then knocked him down with a bottle which lay near,\nand escaped through the window, and from thence by a water-pipe to the\nground. Roberts died soon afterwards, but Major Murray recovered, and the\njury returning a verdict of \"Justifiable Homicide,\" he was released. The\npapers described Roberts's rooms as crowded with dusty Buhl cabinets,\ninlaid tables, statuettes, and drawings. These were smeared with blood and\nwine, while on the glass shades of the ornaments a rain of blood seemed\nto have fallen.\n\nThe embankment, which here is very wide, and includes several acres of\ngarden on the spot where the Thames once flowed, has largely altered the\ncharacter of the streets below the Strand and the river, destroying the\npicturesque wharves and spoiling the appearance of the Water Gate, which\nis half buried in gravel and flowers, like the Sphynx in Egypt. Between it\nand the Thames now stands Cleopatra's Needle, brought over to England at\ngreat cost of money and life, and set up here in 1878.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: CROCKFORD'S FISH SHOP.]\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n    THE NORTH SIDE OF THE STRAND, FROM TEMPLE BAR TO CHARING CROSS, WITH\n    DIGRESSIONS ON THE SOUTH.\n\n\nThe upper stratum of the Strand soil is composed of a reddish yellow\nearth, containing coprolites. Below this runs a seam of leaden-\nclay, mixed with a few martial pyrites, calcined-looking lumps of iron\nand sulphur with a bright silvery fracture.\n\nA petition of the inhabitants of the vicinity of the King's Palace at\nWestminster (8 Edward II.) represents the footway from Temple Bar to their\nneighbourhood as so bad that both rich and poor men received constant\ndamage, especially in the rainy season, the footway being interrupted by\n_bushes and thickets_. A tax was accordingly levied for the purpose, and\nthe mayor and sheriffs of London and the bailiff of Westminster were\nappointed overseers of the repairs.\n\nIn the 27th of Edward III. the Knights Templars were called upon to\nrepair[254] \"the bridge of the new Temple,\" where the lords who attended\nParliament took water on their way from the City. Workmen constructing a\nnew sewer in the Strand, in 1802, discovered, eastward of St.\nClement's,[255] a small, one-arched stone bridge, supposed to be the one\nabove alluded to, unless it was an arch thrown over some gully when the\nStrand was a mere bridle-road.\n\nIn James I.'s time, Middleton, the dramatist, describes a lawyer as\nembracing a young spendthrift, and urging him to riot and excess, telling\nhim to make acquaintance with the Inns of Court gallants, and keep rank\nwith those that spent most; to be lofty and liberal; to lodge in the\nStrand; in any case, to be remote from the handicraft scent of the\nCity.[256]\n\nIt is but right to remind the reader that within the last few years the\nwhole of that part of the north side of the Strand lying between Temple\nBar and St. Clement's Inn, including what was once known as Pickett\nStreet, and extending backward almost as far as Lincoln's Inn, has been\ndemolished, in order to make room for the new Law Courts, which are now\nfast rising towards completion.\n\nThe house which immediately adjoined Temple Bar on the north side, to the\nlast a bookseller's, stood on the site of a small pent-house of lath and\nplaster, occupied for many years by Crockford as a shell-fish shop. Here\nthis man made a large sum of money, with which he established a gambling\nclub, called by his name, on the west side of St. James's Street. It was\nshut up at Crockford's death in 1844, and, having passed through sundry\nphases, is now the Devonshire Club. Crockford would never alter his shop\nin his lifetime; but at his death the quaint pent-house and James I.\ngable[257] were removed, and a yellow brick front erected.\n\nThat great engraver, William Faithorne, after being taken prisoner as a\nRoyalist at Basing in the Civil Wars, went to France, where he was\npatronised by the Abbe de Marolles. He returned about 1650, and set up a\nshop--where he sold Italian, Dutch, and English prints, and worked for\nbooksellers--without Temple Bar, at the sign of the Ship, next the Drake\nand opposite the Palsgrave Head Tavern. He lived here till after 1680.\nGrief for his son's misfortunes induced consumption, of which he died in\n1691. Flatman wrote verses to his memory. _Lady Paston_ is thought his\n_chef d'oeuvre_.[258]\n\nShip Yard, now swept away, had been granted to Sir Christopher Hatton in\n1571. Wilkinson gives a fine sketch of an old gable-ended house in Ship\nYard, supposed to have been the residence of Elias Ashmole, the celebrated\nantiquarian. Here, probably, he stored his alchemic books and those\ntreasures of the Tradescants which he gave to Oxford.\n\nIn 1813 sundry improvements projected by Alderman Pickett led to the\nremoval of one of the greatest eye-sores in London--Butcher Row. This\nstreet of ragged lazar-houses extended in a line from Wych Street to\nTemple Bar. They were overhanging, drunken-looking, tottering\ntenements,[259] receptacles of filth, and invitations to the cholera. In\nDr. Johnson's time they were mostly eating-houses.\n\nThis stack of buildings on the west side of Temple Bar was in the form of\nan acute-angled triangle; the eastern point, nearest the Bar, was formed\nlatterly by a shoemaker's and a fishmonger's shop, with wide fronts; its\nwestern point being blunted by the intersection of St. Clement's\nvestry-room and almshouse. On both sides of it resided bakers, dyers,\nsmiths, combmakers, and tinplate-workers.\n\nThe decayed street had been a flesh-market since Queen Elizabeth's time,\nwhen it flourished. A scalemaker's, a fine-drawer's, and Betty's\nchophouse, were all to be found there.[260] The whole stack was built of\nwood, and was probably of about the age of Edward VI. The ceilings were\nlow, traversed by huge unwrought beams, and dimly lit by small casement\nwindows. The upper stories overhung the lower, according to the old London\nplan of widening the footway.\n\nIt was at Clifton's Eating-house, in Butcher Row, in 1763, that that\nadmirable gossip and useful parasite, Boswell, with a tremor of foolish\nhorror, heard Dr. Johnson disputing with a petulant Irishman about the\ncause of <DW64>s being black.\n\n\"Why, sir,\" said Johnson, with judicial grandeur, \"it has been accounted\nfor in three ways--either by supposing that they were the posterity of\nHam, who was cursed; or that God first created two kinds of men, one black\nand the other white; or that by the heat of the sun the skin is scorched,\nand so acquires a sooty hue. This matter has been much canvassed among\nnaturalists, but has never been brought to any certain issue.\"[261]\n\nWhat the Irishman's arguments were, Boswell of course forgot, but as his\nantagonist became warm and intemperate, Johnson rose and quietly walked\naway. When he had retired, the Irishman said--\"He has a most ungainly\nfigure, and an affectation of pomposity unworthy of a man of genius.\"\n(This very same evening Boswell and his deity first supped together at the\nMitre.) It was here, many years later, that Johnson spent pleasant\nevenings with his old college friend Edwards,[262] whom he had not seen\nsince the golden days of youth. Edwards, a good, dull, simple-hearted\nfellow, talked of their age. \"Don't let us discourage one another,\" said\nJohnson, with quiet reproof. It was this same worthy fellow who amused\nBurke at the club by saying--\"You are a philosopher, Dr. Johnson. I have\ntried in my time to be a philosopher too, but I don't know how it was,\ncheerfulness was always breaking in.\" This was a wise blunder, worthy of\nGoldsmith, the prince of wise blunderers.\n\nIt was in staggering home from the Bear and Harrow in Butcher Row, through\nClare Market, that Lee, the poet, lay down or fell on a bulk, and was\nstifled in the snow (1692).\n\nNat Lee was the son of a Hertfordshire rector; a pupil of Dr. Busby, a\ncoadjutor of Dryden, and an unsuccessful actor. He drank himself into\nBedlam, where, says Oldys, he wrote a play in twenty-five acts.[263] Two\nof his maddest lines were--\n\n  \"I've seen an unscrewed spider spin a thought\n  And walk away upon the wings of angels.\"\n\nThe Duke of Buckingham, who brought Lee up to town,[264] neglected him,\nand his extreme poverty no doubt drove him faster to Moorfields. Poor\nfellow! he was only thirty-five when he died. He is described as\nstout,[265] handsome, and red faced. The Earl of Pembroke, whose daughter\nmarried a son of the brutal Judge Jefferies, was Lee's chief patron. The\npoet, when visiting him at Wilton, drank so hard that the butler is said\nto have been afraid he would empty the cellar. Lee's poetry, though noisy\nand ranting, is full of true poetic fire,[266] and in tenderness and\npassion the critics of his time compared him to Ovid and Otway.\n\nThanks to the alderman, whose name is forgotten, though it well deserved\nto live,--the streets, lanes, and alleys which once blocked up St.\nClement's Church, like so many beggars crowding round a rich man's door,\nwere swept away, and the present oval railing erected. The enlightened\nCorporation at the same time built the big, dingy gateway of Clement's\nInn--people at the time called it \"stupendous;\"[267] and to it were added\nthe restored vestry-room and almshouse. The south side of the Strand was\nalso rebuilt, with loftier and more spacious shops. In the reign of Edward\nVI. this beginning of the Strand had been a mere loosely-built suburban\nstreet, the southern houses, then well inhabited, boasting large gardens.\n\nThere is a fatality attending some parts of London. In spite of Alderman\nPickett and his stupendous arch of stucco, the new houses on the north\nside did not take well. They were found to be too large and expensive;\nthey became under-let,[268] and began by degrees to relapse into their old\nButcher Row squalor; the tide of humanity setting in towards Westminster\nflowing away from them to the left. As in some rivers the current, for no\nobvious reason, sometimes bends away to the one side, leaving on the other\na broad bare reach of grey pebble, so the human tide in the Strand has\nalways, in order to avoid the detour of the twin streets (Holywell and\nWych), borne away to the left.\n\nIt is probable that Palsgrave Place, on the south side, just beyond\nChild's bank, in Temple Bar without, marks the site of the Old Palsgrave's\nHead Tavern. The Palsgrave was that German prince who was afterwards King\nof Bohemia, and who married the daughter of James I.\n\nNo. 217 Strand, on the south side, was Snow's, the goldsmith. Gay has\npreserved his memory in some pleasant verses. It was, a few years ago, the\nbank of those most decent of defrauders, Strachan, Paul, and Bates, and\nthrough them proved the grave of many a fortune. Next to it, westwards,\nis Messrs. Twinings bank, and their still more ancient tea shop.\n\nThe Crown and Anchor Tavern in the Strand (south side), afterwards the\nWhittington Club, and now the Temple Club, is described by Strype as a\n\"large and curious house,\" with good rooms and other conveniences for\nentertainments.[269] Here Dr. Johnson occasionally supped with Boswell,\nand bartered his wisdom for the flattering Scotchman's inanity. In this\nsame tavern the sultan of literature quarrelled with amiable but\nhigh-spirited Percy about old Dr. Mounsey; and here, when Sir Joshua\nReynolds was gravely and calmly upholding the advantages of wine in\nstimulating and inspiring conversation, Johnson said, with good-natured\nirony, \"I have heard none of these drunken--nay, drunken is a coarse\nword--none of these _vinous flights_!\"[270]\n\nSt. Clement's is one of Wren's fifty churches, and it was built by Edward\nPierce, under Wren's superintendence.[271] It took the place of an old\nchurch mentioned by Stow, that had become old and ruinous, and was taken\ndown circa 1682, during the epidemic for church-building after the Great\nFire.\n\nThis church has many enemies and few friends. One of its bitterest haters\ncalls it a \"disgusting fabric,\" obtruded dangerously and inconveniently\nupon the street. A second opponent describes the steeple as fantastic, the\nportico clumsy and heavy, and the whole pile poor and unmeaning. Even\nLeigh Hunt abuses it as \"incongruous and ungainly.\"[272]\n\nThere have been great antiquarian discussions as to why the church is\ncalled St. Clement's \"Danes.\" Some think there was once a massacre of the\nDanes in this part of the road to Westminster; others declare that Harold\nHarefoot was buried in the old church; some assert that the Danes, driven\nout of London by Alfred, were allowed to settle between Thorney Island\n(Westminster) and Ludgate, and built a church in the Strand; so, at\nleast, we learn, Recorder Fleetwood told Treasurer Burleigh. The name of\nSaint Clement was taken from the patron saint of Pope Clement III., the\nfriend of the Templars, who dwelt on the frontier line of the City.\n\nIn 1725 there was a great ferment in the parish of St. Clement's, in\nconsequence of an order from Dr. Gibson, Bishop of London, to remove at\nonce an expensive new altar-piece painted by Kent, a fashionable\narchitectural quack of that day; who, however, with \"Capability Brown,\"\nhad helped to wean us from the taste for yew trees cut into shapes, Dutch\ncanals, formal avenues, and geometric flower-beds.\n\nKent was originally a coach-painter in Yorkshire, and was patronised by\nthe Queen, the Duke of Newcastle, and Lord Burlington. He helped to adorn\nStowe, Holkham, and Houghton. He was at once architect, painter, and\nlandscape gardener. In the altar-piece, the vile drawing of which even\nHogarth found it hard to caricature, the painter was said to have\nintroduced portraits of the Pretender's wife and children. The \"blue\nprint,\" published in 1725, was followed by another representing Kent\npainting Burlington Gate. The altar-piece was removed, but the nobility\npatronised Kent till he died, twenty years or so afterwards. We owe him,\nhowever, some gratitude, if, according to Walpole, he was the father of\nmodern gardening.\n\nThe long-limbed picture caricatured by Hogarth was for some years one of\nthe ornaments of the coffee-room of the Crown and Anchor in the Strand.\nThence it was removed to the vestry-room of the church, over the old\nalmshouses in the churchyard. After 1803 it was transported to the new\nvestry-room on the north side of the churchyard.[273]\n\nIn the old church Sir Robert Cecil, the first Earl of Salisbury, was\nbaptized, 1563; as were Sir Charles Sedley, the delightful song-writer and\nthe oracle of the licentious wits of his day, 1638-9; and the Earl of\nShaftesbury, the son of that troublous spirit \"Little Sincerity,\" and\nhimself the author of the _Characteristics_.\n\nThe church holds some hallowed earth: in St. Clement's was buried Sir John\nRoe, who was a friend of Ben Jonson, and died of the plague in the sturdy\npoet's arms.\n\nDr. Donne's wife, the daughter of Sir George More, and who died in\nchildbed during her husband's absence at the court of Henri Quatre, was\nburied here. Her tomb, by Nicholas Stone, was destroyed when the church\nwas rebuilt. Donne, on his return, preached a sermon here on her death,\ntaking the text--\"Lo! I am the man that has seen affliction.\" John Lowin,\nthe great Shaksperean actor, lies here. He died in 1653. He acted in Ben\nJonson's \"Sejanus\" in 1605, with Burbage and Shakspere. Tradition reports\nhim to have been the favourite Falstaff, Hamlet, and Henry VIII. of his\nday.[274] Burbage was the greatest of the Shaksperean tragedians, and\nTarleton the drollest of the comedians; but Lowin must have been as\nversatile as Garrick if he could represent Hamlet's vacillations, and also\nconvey a sense of Falstaff's unctuous humour. Poor mad Nat Lee, who died\non a bulk in Clare Market close by, was buried at St. Clement's, 1692; and\nhere also lies poor beggared Otway, who died in 1685. In the same year as\nLee, Mountfort, the actor, whom Captain Hill stabbed in a fit of jealousy\nin Howard Street adjoining, was interred here.\n\nIn 1713 Thomas Rymer, the historiographer of William III. and the compiler\nof the _Foedera_ and fifty-eight manuscript volumes now in the British\nMuseum, was interred here. He had lived in Arundel Street. In 1729 James\nSpiller, the comedian of Hogarth's time, was buried at St. Clement's. A\nbutcher in Clare Market wrote his epitaph, which was never used. Spiller\nwas the original Mat of the Mint in the \"Beggars' Opera.\" His portrait, by\nLaguerre, was the sign of a public-house in Clare Market.[275]\n\nIn this church was probably buried, at the time of the Plague, Thomas\nSimon, Cromwell's celebrated medallist. His name, however, is not on the\nregister.[276]\n\nMr. Needham, who was buried at St. Clement's with far better men, was an\nattorney's clerk in Gray's Inn, who, in 1643, commenced a weekly paper. He\nseems to have been a mischievous, unprincipled hireling, always ready to\nsell his pen to the best bidder.\n\nIt is not for us in these later days to praise a church of the Corinthian\norder, even though its southern portico be crowned by a dome and propped\nup with Ionic pillars. Its steeple of the three orders, in spite of its\nvases and pilasters, does not move me; nor can I, as writers thought it\nnecessary to do thirty years ago,[277] waste a churchwarden's unreasoning\nadmiration on the wooden cherubim, palm-branches, and shields of the\nchancel; nor can even the veneered pulpit and cumbrous galleries, or the\nTuscan carved wainscot of the altar draw any praise from my reluctant\nlips.\n\nThe arms of the Dukes of Norfolk and the Earls of Arundel and Salisbury,\nin the south gallery, are worthy of notice, because they show that these\nnoblemen were once inhabitants of the parish.\n\nAmong the eminent rectors of St. Clement's was Dr. George Berkeley, son of\nthe Platonist bishop, the friend of Swift, to whom Pope attributed \"every\nvirtue under heaven.\" He died in 1798. It was of his father that Atterbury\nsaid, he did not think that so much knowledge and so much humility existed\nin any but the angels and Berkeley.[278]\n\nDr. Johnson, the great and good, often attended service at St. Clement's\nChurch. They still point out his seat in the north gallery, near the\npulpit. On Good Friday, 1773, Boswell tells us he breakfasted with his\ntremendous friend (Dr. Levett making tea), and was then taken to church by\nhim. \"Dr. Johnson's behaviour,\" he says, \"was solemnly devout. I never\nshall forget the tremulous earnestness with which he pronounced the awful\npetition in the Litany, 'In the hour of death and in the day of judgment,\ngood Lord, deliver us.'\"[279]\n\nEleven years later the doctor writes to Mrs. Thrale, \"after a confinement\nof 129 days, more than the third part of a year, and no inconsiderable\npart of human life, I this day returned thanks to God in St. Clement's\nChurch for my recovery--a recovery, in my 75th year, from a distemper\nwhich few in the vigour of youth are known to surmount.\"\n\nClement's Inn (of Chancery), a vassal of the Inner Temple, derives its\nname from the neighbouring church, and the \"fair fountain called Clement's\nWell,\"[280] the Holy Well of the neighbouring street pump.\n\nOver the gate is graven in stone an anchor without a stock and a capital C\ncouchant upon it.[281] This device has reference to the martyrdom of the\nguardian saint of the inn, who was tied to an anchor and thrown into the\nsea by order of the emperor Trajan. Dugdale states that there was an inn\nhere in the reign of Edward II.\n\nThere is, indeed, a tradition among antiquaries, that as far back as the\nSaxon kings there was an inn here for the reception of penitents who came\nto the Holy Well of St. Clement's; that a religious house was first\nestablished, and finally a church. The Holy Lamb, an inn at the west end\nof the lane, was perhaps the old Pilgrims' Inn. In the Tudor times the\nClare family, who had a mansion in Clare Market, appears to have occupied\nthe site. From their hands it reverted to the lawyers. As for the well, a\npump now enshrines it, and a low dirty street leads up to it. This is\nmentioned in Henry II.'s time[282] as one of the excellent springs at a\nsmall distance from London, whose waters are \"sweet, healthful, and clear,\nand whose runnels murmur over the shining pebbles: they are much\nfrequented,\" says the friend of Archbishop Becket, \"both by the scholars\nfrom the school (Westminster) and the youth from the City, when on a\nsummer's evening they are disposed to take an airing.\" It was seven\ncenturies ago that the hooded boys used to play round this spring, and at\nthis very moment their descendants are drinking from the ladle or\nsplashing each other with the water, as they fill their great brown\npitchers. The spring still feeds the Roman Bath in the Strand already\nmentioned.\n\n  \"For men may come, and men may go,\n      But I flow on for ever.\"[283]\n\nThe hall of St. Clement's Inn is situated on the south side of a neat\nsmall quadrangle. It is a small Tuscan building, with a large florid\nCorinthian door and arched windows, and was built in 1715. In the second\nirregular area there is a garden, with a statue of a kneeling black figure\nsupporting a sun-dial on the east side.[284] It was given to the inn by an\nEarl of Clare, but when is unknown. It was brought from Italy, and is said\nto be of bronze, but ingenious persons having determined on making it a\nblackamoor, it has been painted black. A stupid, ill-rhymed, cumbrous old\nepigram sneers at the sable son of woe flying from cannibals and seeking\nmercy in a lawyers' inn. The first would not have eaten him till they had\nslain him; but lawyers, it is well known, will eat any man alive.[285]\n\nPoor Hollar, the great German engraver, lived in 1661 just outside the\nback door of St. Clement's, \"as soon as you come off the steps, and out of\nthat house and dore at your left hand, two payre of stairs, into a little\npassage right before you.\" He was known for \"reasons' sake\" to the people\nof the house only as \"the Frenchman limner.\" Such was the direction he\nsent to that gossiping Wiltshire gentleman, John Aubrey.\n\nThe inn has very probably reared up a great many clever men; but it is\nchiefly renowned for having fostered that inimitable old bragging twaddler\nand country magistrate, the immortal Justice Shallow. Those chimes that\n\"in a ghostly way by moonlight still bungle through Handel's psalm tunes,\nhoarse with age and long vigils\"[286] as they are, must surely be the same\nthat Shallow heard. How deliciously the old fellow vapours about his wild\ntimes!\n\n\"Ha, Cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that this knight and I have\nseen!--Ha, Sir John, said I well?\"\n\n_Falstaff_--\"We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.\"\n\n_Shal._--\"That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith, Sir John, we\nhave; our watchword was--Hem, boys!--Come, let's to dinner; come, let's to\ndinner. Oh, the days that we have seen!--Come, come.\"[287]\n\nAnd before that, how he glories in the impossibility of being detected\nafter bragging fifty-five years! This man, as Falstaff says, \"lean as a\nman cut after supper out of a cheese-paring,\" was once mad Shallow, lusty\nShallow, as Cousin Silence, his toady, reminds him.\n\n\"By the mass,\" says again the old country gentleman, \"I was called\nanything, and I would have done anything, indeed, and roundly too. There\nwas I and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Barnes of\nStaffordshire, and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele, a Cotswold man: you\nhad not four such swinge-bucklers in all the inns of court again.\"\n\nAnd thus he goes maundering on with dull vivacity about how he played Sir\nDagonet in Arthur's Show at Mile End, and once remained all night\nrevelling in a windmill in St. George's Fields.\n\nA curious record of Shakspere's times serves admirably to illustrate\nShallow's boast. In Elizabeth's time the eastern end of the Strand was the\nscene of frequent disturbances occasioned by the riotous and unruly\nstudents of the inns of court, who paraded the streets at night to the\ndanger of peaceable passengers. One night in 1582, the Recorder himself,\nwith six of the honest inhabitants, stood by St. Clement's Church to see\nthe lanterns hung out, and to try and meet some of the brawlers, the\nShallows of that time. About seven at night they saw young Mr. Robert\nCecil, the Treasurer's son, pass by the church and salute them civilly, on\nwhich they said, \"Lo, you may see how a nobleman's son can use himself,\nand how he pulleth off his cap to poor men--our Lord bless him!\" Upon\nwhich the Recorder wrote to his father, like a true courtier, making\ncapital of everything, and said, \"Your lordship hath cause to thank God\nfor so virtuous a child.\"\n\nThrough the gateway in Pickett Street, a narrow street led to New Court,\nwhere stood the Independent Meeting House in which the witty Daniel\nBurgess once preached. The celebrated Lord Bolingbroke was his pupil, and\nthe Earl of Orrery his patron. He died 1712, after being much ridiculed by\nSwift and Steele for his sermon of _The Golden Snuffers_, and for his\npulpit puns in the manner followed by Rowland Hill and Whitfield. This\nchapel was gutted during the Sacheverell riots, and repaired by the\nGovernment. Two examples of Burgess's grotesque style will suffice. On one\noccasion, when he had taken his text from Job, and discoursed on the \"Robe\nof Righteousness,\" he said--\n\n\"If any of you would have a good and cheap suit, you will go to Monmouth\nStreet; if you want a suit for life, you will go to the Court of Chancery;\nbut if you wish for a suit that will last to eternity, you must go to the\nLord Jesus Christ and put on His robe of righteousness.\"[288] On another\noccasion, in the reign of King William, he assigned as a motive for the\ndescendants of Jacob being called Israelites, that God did not choose that\nHis people should be called _Jacobites_.\n\nDaniel Burgess was succeeded in his chapel by Winter and Bradbury, both\ncelebrated Nonconformists. The latter of these was also a comic preacher,\nor rather a \"buffoon,\" as one of Dr. Doddridge's correspondents called\nhim. It was said of his sermons that he seemed to consider the Bible to be\nwritten only to prove the right of William III. to the throne. He used to\nderide Dr. Watts's hymns from the pulpit, and when he gave them out always\nsaid--\n\n  \"Let us sing one of Watts's whims.\"\n\nBat Pidgeon, the celebrated barber of Addison's time, lived nearly\nopposite Norfolk Street. His house bore the sign of the Three Pigeons.\nThis was the corner house of St. Clement's churchyard, and there Bat, in\n1740, cut the boyish locks of Pennant[289]. In those days of wigs there\nwere very few hair-cutters in London.\n\nThe father of Miss Ray, the singer, and mistress of old Lord Sandwich, is\nsaid to have been a well-known staymaker in Holywell Street, now\nBooksellers' Row. His daughter was apprenticed in Clerkenwell, from whence\nthe musical lord took her to load her with a splendid shame. On the day\nshe went to sing at Covent Garden in \"Love in a Village,\" Hackman, who had\nleft the army for the church, waited for her carriage at the Cannon\nCoffee-house in Cockspur Street. At the door of the theatre, by the side\nof the Bedford Coffee-house, Hackman rushed out, and as Miss Ray was being\nhanded from her carriage he shot her through the head, and then attempted\nhis own life[290]. Hackman was hanged at Tyburn, and he died declaring\nthat shooting Miss Ray was the result of a sudden burst of frenzy, for he\nhad planned only suicide in her presence.\n\nThe Strand Maypole stood on the site of the present church of St. Mary le\nStrand, or a little northward towards Maypole Alley, behind the Olympic\nTheatre. In the thirteenth century a cross had stood on this spot, and\nthere the itinerant justices had sat to administer justice outside the\nwalls. A Maypole stood here as early as 1634[291]. Tradition says it was\nset up by John Clarges, the Drury Lane blacksmith, and father of General\nMonk's vulgar wife.\n\nThe Maypole was Satan's flag-staff in the eyes of the stern Puritans, who\ndreaded Christmas pies, cards, and dances. Down it came when Cromwell went\nup. The Strand Maypole was reared again with exulting ceremony the first\nMay day after the Restoration. The parishioners bought a pole 134 feet\nhigh, and the Duke of York, the Lord High Admiral, lent them twelve seamen\nto help to raise it. It was brought from Scotland Yard with drums, music,\nand the shouts of the multitude; flags flying, and three men bare-headed\ncarrying crowns.[292] The two halves being joined together with iron\nbands, and the gilt crown and vane and king's arms placed on the top, it\nwas raised in about four hours by means of tackle and pulleys. The Strand\nrang with the people's shouts, for to them the Maypole was an emblem of\nthe good old times. Then there was a morris dance, with tabor and pipe,\nthe dancers wearing purple scarfs and \"half-shirts.\" The children laughed,\nand the old people clapped their hands, for there was not a taller Maypole\nin Europe. From its summit floated a royal purple streamer; and half way\ndown was a sort of cross-trees or balcony adorned with four crowns and the\nking's arms. It bore also a garland of vari- favours, and beneath\nthree great lanterns in honour of the three admirals and all seamen, to\ngive light in dark nights. On this spot, a year before, the butchers of\nClare Market had rung a peal with their knives as they burnt an\nemblematical Rump.[293]\n\nIn the year 1677 a fatal duel was fought under the Maypole, which had been\nsnapped by a tempest in 1672.[294] One daybreak Mr. Robert Percival, a\nnotorious duellist, only nineteen years of age, was found dead under the\nMaypole, with a deep wound in his left breast. His drawn and bloody sword\nlay beside him. His antagonist was never discovered, though great rewards\nwere offered. The only clue was a hat with a bunch of ribbons in it,\nsuspected to belong to the celebrated Beau Fielding, but it was never\ntraced home to him. The elder brother, Sir Philip Percival, long after,\nviolently attacked a total stranger whom he met in the streets of Dublin.\nThe spectators parted them. Sir Philip could account for his conduct only\nby saying he felt urged on by an irresistible conviction that the man he\nstruck at was his brother's murderer.[295]\n\nThe Maypole, disused and decaying, was pulled down in 1713, when a new\none, adorned with two gilt balls and a vane, was erected in its stead. In\n1718 the pole, being found in the way of the new church, was given to Sir\nIsaac Newton as a stand for a large French telescope that belonged to his\nfriend Mr. Pound, the rector of Wanstead.\n\nSaint Mary-le-Strand was begun in 1714, and consecrated in 1723-4.[296] It\nwas one of the fifty ordered to be built in Queen Anne's reign. The old\nchurch, pulled down by that Ahab, the Protector Somerset, to make room for\nhis ill-omened new palace, stood considerably nearer to the river.\n\nGibbs, the shrewd Aberdeen architect, who succeeded to Wren and Vanbrugh,\nand became famous by building St. Martin's Church, reared also St. Mary's.\nGibbs, according to Walpole, was a mere plodding mechanic. He certainly\nwanted originality, simplicity, and grace. St. Mary's is broken up by\nunmeaning ornament; the pagoda-like steeple is too high,[297] and crushes\nthe church, instead of as it were blossoming from it. One critic (Mr.\nMalton) alone is found to call St. Mary's pleasant and picturesque; but I\nconfess to having looked on it so long that I begin almost to forget its\nugliness.\n\nGibbs himself tells us how he set to work upon this church. It was his\nfirst commission after his return from Rome. As the site was a very public\none, he was desired to spare no cost in the ornamentation, so he framed it\nof two orders, making the lower walls (but for the absurd niches to hold\nnothing) solid, so as to keep out the noises of the street. There was at\nfirst no steeple intended, only a small western campanile, or bell-turret;\nbut, eighty feet from the west front, there was to be erected a column 250\nfeet high, crowned by a statue of Queen Anne. This absurdity was forgotten\nat the death of that rather insipid queen, and the stone still lying\nthere, the thrifty parish authorities, unwilling to waste the materials,\nresolved to build a steeple. The church being already twenty feet from the\nground, it was necessary to spread it north and south, and so the church,\noriginally square, became oblong.\n\nPope calls St. Mary's Church bitterly the church that--\n\n  Collects \"the _saints_ of Drury Lane.\"[298]\n\nAddison describes his Tory fox-hunter's horror on seeing a church\napparently being demolished, and his agreeable surprise when he found it\nwas really a church being built.[299]\n\nSt. Mary's was the scene of a tragedy during the proclamation of the short\npeace in 1802. Just as the heralds came abreast of Somerset House, a man\non the roof of the church pressed forward too strongly against one of the\nstone urns, which gave way and fell into the street, striking down three\npersons: one of these died on the spot; the second, on his way to the\nhospital; and the third, two days afterwards. A young woman and several\nothers were also seriously injured. The urn, which weighed two hundred\npounds, carried away part of the cornice, broke a flag-stone below, and\nburied itself a foot deep in the earth. The unhappy cause of this mischief\nfell back on the roof and fainted when he saw the urn fall. He was\ndischarged, no blame being attached to him. It was found that the urn had\nbeen fastened by a wooden spike, instead of being clamped with iron.[300]\n\nThe church has been lately refitted in an ecclesiastical style, and filled\nwith painted windows. There are no galleries in its interior. The ceiling\nis encrusted with ornament. It contains a tablet to the memory of James\nBindley, who died in 1818. He was the father of the Society of\nAntiquaries, and was a great collector of books, prints, and medals.\n\nNew Inn, in Wych Street, is an inn of Chancery, appertaining to the Middle\nTemple. It was originally a public inn, bearing the sign of Our Lady the\nVirgin, and was bought by Sir John Fineux, Chief Justice of the King's\nBench, in the reign of King Edward IV., to place therein the students of\nthe law then lodged in St. George's Inn, in the little Old Bailey, which\nwas reputed to have been the most ancient of all the inns of\nChancery.[301]\n\nSir Thomas More, the luckless minister of Henry VIII., was a member of\nthis inn till he removed to Lincoln's Inn. When the Great Seal was taken\nfrom this wise man, he talked of descending to \"New Inn fare, wherewith\nmany an honest man is well contented.\"[302] Addison makes the second best\nman of his band of friends (after Sir Roger de Coverley) a bachelor\nTemplar; an excellent critic, with whom the time of the play is an hour of\nbusiness. \"Exactly at five he passes through New Inn, crosses through\nRussell Court, and takes a turn at Wills's till the play begins. He has\nhis shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered at the barber's as you go into\nthe Rose.\"[303]\n\nWych Street derives its name from the old name for Drury Lane--_via de\nAldewych_. Till some recent improvements were effected in its tenants, it\nbore an infamous character, and was one of the disgraces of London.\n\nThe Olympic Theatre, in Wych Street, was built in 1805 by Philip Astley, a\nlight horseman, who founded the first amphitheatre in London on the garden\nground of old Craven House. It was opened September 18, 1806, as the\nOlympic Pavilion, and burnt to the ground March 29, 1849. It was built out\nof the timbers of the captured French man-of-war, _La Ville de Paris_, in\nwhich William IV. went out as midshipman. The masts of the vessel formed\nthe flies, and were seen still standing amidst the fire after the roof\nfell in. In 1813 it was leased by Elliston, and called the Little Drury\nLane Theatre. Its great days were under the rule of Madame Vestris,[304]\nwho, both as a singer and an actress, contributed to its success. More\nrecently it was under the able and successful management of the late Mr.\nFrederick Robson. Born at Margate in 1821, he was early in life\napprenticed to a copperplate engraver in Bedfordbury. He appeared first,\nunsuccessfully, at a private theatre in Catherine Street, and played at\nthe Grecian Saloon as a comic singer and low comedian from 1846 to 1849.\nIn 1853 he joined Mr. Farren at the Olympic. He there acquired a great\nreputation in various pieces--\"The Yellow Dwarf,\" \"To oblige Benson,\" \"The\nLottery Ticket,\" and \"The Wandering Minstrel,\"--the last being an old\nfarce originally written to ridicule the vagaries of Mr. Cochrane.\n\nLyon's Inn, an inn of Chancery belonging to the Inner Temple, was\noriginally a hostelry with the sign of the Lion. It was purchased by\ngentlemen students in Henry VIII.'s time, and converted into an inn of\nChancery.[305]\n\nIt degenerated into a haunt of bill-discounters and Bohemians of all\nkinds, good and bad, clever and rascally, and remained a dim, mouldy place\ntill 1861, when it was pulled down. Its site is now occupied by the Globe\nTheatre. Just before the demolition of the inn, when I visited it, a\nwasherwoman was hanging out wet and flopping clothes on the site of Mr.\nWilliam Weare's chambers.\n\nOn Friday, 24th of October 1823, Mr. William Weare, of No. 2 Lyon's Inn,\nwas murdered in Gill's Hill Lane, Hertfordshire, between Edgware and St.\nAlban's. His murderer was Mr. John Thurtell, son of the Mayor of Norwich,\nand a well-known gambler, betting man, and colleague of prize-fighters.\nUnder pretence of driving him down for a shooting excursion, Thurtell shot\nWeare with a pistol, and when he leaped out of the chaise, pursued him\nand cut his throat. He then sank the body in a pond in the garden of his\nfriend and probable accomplice, Probert, a spirit merchant, and afterwards\nremoved it to a slough on the St. Alban's road. His confederate, Hunt, a\npublic singer, turned king's evidence, and was transported for life.\nThurtell was hanged at Hertford. He pleaded that Weare had robbed him of\nL300 with false cards at Blind Hookey, and he had sworn revenge; but it\nappeared that he had planned several other murders, and all for money.\nProbert was afterwards hanged in Gloucestershire for horse-stealing.\n\nAt the sale of the building materials some Jews were observed to be very\neager to acquire the figure of the lion that adorned one of the walls.\nThere were various causes assigned for this eagerness. Some said that a\nJew named Lyons had originally founded the inn; others declared that the\nlion was considered to be an emblem of the Lion of the tribe of Judah.\nDirectly the auctioneer knocked it down the Jewish purchaser drew a knife,\nmounted the ladder, and struck his weapon into the lion. \"S'help me, Bob!\"\nsaid he, in a tone of disgust, \"if they didn't tell me it was lead, and\nit's only stone arter all!\"\n\nGay, who speaks of the dangers of \"mazy Drury Lane,\" gives Catherine\nStreet a very bad character. He describes the courtesans, with their\nnew-scoured manteaus and riding-hoods or muffled pinners, standing near\nthe tavern doors, or carrying empty bandboxes, and feigning errands to the\nChange.[306] The street is now almost entirely occupied by newspaper\npublishers. The _Morning Herald_, the _Court Journal_, the _Naval and\nMilitary Gazette_, the _Gardener's Gazette_, the _Builder_, the _Weekly\nRegister_, and the _Court Gazette_, all either are or have been published\nin Catherine Street. Scott's Sanspareil Theatre was opened here about 1810\nfor the performance of operettas, dancing, and pantomimes.[307] In\nSeptember 1741 a man named James Hall was executed at the end of Catherine\nStreet.\n\nThe Maypole close to St. Mary's Church is said to have been the first\nplace in London where hackney coaches were allowed to stand. Coaches were\nfirst introduced into England from Hungary in 1580 by Fitzalan, Earl of\nArundel; but for a time they were thought effeminate. The Thames watermen\nespecially railed against them, as might be expected. In the year 1634, a\nCaptain Baily who had accompanied Raleigh in his famous expedition to\nGuiana, started four hackney coaches, with drivers in liveries, at the\nMaypole; but as, in the year 1613, sixty hackney coaches from London[308]\nplied at Stourbridge fair, perhaps there had been coach-stands in the\nstreets before Baily's time. In 1625 there were only twenty coaches in\nLondon; in 1666, under Charles II., the number had so increased that the\nking issued a proclamation complaining of the coaches blocking up the\nnarrow streets and breaking up the pavement, and forbade coach-stands\naltogether.\n\nPeter Molyn Tempest, the engraver of \"The Cries of London,\" published at\nthe end of King William's reign, lived in the Strand opposite Somerset\nHouse. \"The Cries\" were designed by Marcellus Laroon, a Dutch painter\n(1653-1702), who painted draperies for Kneller.[309] He was celebrated for\nhis conversation pieces and his knack of imitating the old masters.\nTempest's quaint advertisement of the \"Cries\" in the _London Gazette_, May\n28 and 31, 1688, runs thus:--\n\n\"There is now published the Cryes and Habits of London, lately drawn after\nthe life in great variety of actions, curiously engraved upon fifty\ncopper-plates, fit for the ingenious and lovers of art. Printed and sold\nby P. Tempest, over against Somerset House, in the Strand.\"\n\nThe _Morning Chronicle_, whose office was opposite Somerset House, was\nstarted in 1770. It was to Perry, of the _Morning Chronicle_, that\nColeridge, when penniless and about to enlist in a cavalry regiment, sent\na poem and a request for a guinea, which he got. Hazlitt was theatrical\ncritic to this paper, succeeding Lord Campbell in the post. In 1810 David\nRicardo began his letters on the depreciation of the currency in the\n_Chronicle_. James Perry, whose career we have no room to follow, lived in\ngreat style at Tavistock House, the house afterwards occupied for many\nyears by Mr. Charles Dickens. _The Sketches by Boz_ of Charles Dickens\nfirst appeared in the columns of the _Chronicle_. The last _Morning\nChronicle_ appeared on Wednesday, March 19, 1862. Latterly the paper was\nsaid to have been in the pay of the Emperor of France.\n\nNo. 346, at the east corner of Wellington Street, now the office of the\n_Law Times_, the _Queen_, and the _Field_, was Doyley's celebrated\nwarehouse for woollen articles. Dryden, in his _Kind Keeper_, speaks of\n\"Doyley\" petticoats; Steele, in his _Guardian_,[310] of his \"Doyley\" suit;\nwhile Gay, in the _Trivia_, describes a \"Doyley\" as a poor defence against\nthe cold.\n\nDoyley's warehouse stood on the ancient site of Wimbledon House, built by\nSir Edward Cecil, son to the first Earl of Exeter, and created Viscount\nWimbledon by Charles I. The house was burnt to the ground in 1628, and the\nday before the viscount had had part of his house at Wimbledon\naccidentally blown up by gunpowder. Pennant, when a boy, was brought by\nhis mother to a large glass shop, a little beyond Wimbledon House; the old\nman who kept it remembered Nell Gwynne coming to the shop when he was an\napprentice; her footman, a country lad, got fighting in the street with\nsome men who had abused his mistress.[311]\n\nMr. Doyley was a much respected warehouseman of Dr. Johnson's time, whose\nfamily had resided in their great old house, next to Hodsall the banker's,\nat the corner of Wellington Street, ever since Queen Anne's time. The\ndessert napkins called Doyleys derived their name from this firm. Mr.\nDoyley's house was built by Inigo Jones, and forms a prominent feature in\nold engravings of the Strand, as it had a covered entrance that ran out\nlike a promontory into the carriage-way. It was pulled down about\n1782.[312] Mr. Doyley, a man of humour and a friend of Garrick and\nSterne, was a frequenter of the Precinct Club, held at the Turk's Head,\nopposite his own house. The rector of St. Mary's attended the same club,\nand enjoyed the seat of honour next the fire.\n\n[Illustration: THE OLD ROMAN BATH, STRAND.]\n\nNot far from this stood the Strand Bridge, which crossed the street, and\nreceived the streams flowing from the higher grounds down Catharine Street\nto the Thames. Strand Lane, hard by on the south, famous still for its old\nRoman bath, passed under the arch, and led to a water stair or landing\npier. Addison, in his bright pleasant way, describes landing there one\nmorning with ten sail of apricot boats, after having put in at Nine Elms\nfor melons, consigned by Mr. Cuffe of that place to Sarah Sewell and\nCompany at their stall in Covent Garden.[313]\n\nThe _Morning Post_, whose office is in Wellington Street, was started in\n1772; when almost defunct it was bought in 1796 by Daniel Stuart, and\nChristie the auctioneer, who gave only L600 for copyright, house, and\nplant. Coleridge, Southey, Lamb, Wordsworth, and Mackintosh all wrote for\nStuart's paper. Coleridge commenced his political papers in 1797, and on\nhis return from Germany (November 1799) joined the badly-paid staff, but\nrefused to become a parliamentary reporter. Fox declared in the House of\nCommons that Coleridge's essays had led to the rupture of the peace of\nAmiens, an announcement which led to a pursuit by a French frigate, when\nthe poet left Rome, where he then was, and sailed from Leghorn. Lamb wrote\nfacetious paragraphs at sixpence a-piece.[314] The _Morning Post_ soon\nbecame second only to the _Chronicle_, and the great paper for\nbooksellers' advertisements. It is mentioned by Byron as the organ of the\naristocracy and of West End society, and it has maintained that position\nto the present time with little change.\n\nThe _Athenaeum_, whose office is in Wellington Street, is identified with\nthe name of Mr. (afterwards) Sir C. Wentworth Dilke. He was born in 1789,\nand was originally in the Navy Pay Office. He bought the paper, which had\nbeen unsuccessful since 1828 under its originator, that shifty adventurer,\nMr. J. S. Buckingham, and also under Mr. John Sterling. Under his care it\ngradually grew into a sound property, and became what it now is, the\n_Times_ of weekly papers. Its editor, Mr. Hervey, the author of many\nwell-known poems, was replaced in 1853 by Mr. Hepworth Dixon, under whom\nit steadily throve, till his retirement in 1871.\n\nA little farther up the street is the office of _All the Year Round_, a\nweekly periodical which, in 1859, took the place of _Household Words_,\nstarted by Mr. Charles Dickens in 1850. It contains essays by the best\nwriters of the day, graphic descriptions of current events, and continuous\nstories. Mrs. Gaskell, Mr. Wilkie Collins, Charles Reade, Lord Lytton,\nMr. Sala, and Mr. Dickens himself, are among those who have published\nnovels in its pages.\n\nThe original Lyceum was built in 1765 as an exhibition-room for the\nSociety of Arts, by Mr. James Payne, an architect, on ground once\nbelonging to Exeter House. The society splitting, and the Royal Academy\nbeing founded at Somerset House in 1768, the Lyceum Society became\ninsolvent. Mr. Lingham, a breeches-maker, then purchased the room, and let\nit out to Flockton for his Puppet-show and other amusements. About 1794\nDr. Arnold partly rebuilt it as a theatre, but could not obtain a licence\nthrough the opposition of the winter houses.[315] It was next door to the\nshop of Millar the publisher.\n\nThe Lyceum in 1789-94 was the arena of all experimenters--of Charles\nDibdin and his \"Sans Souci,\" of the ex-soldier Astley's feats of\nhorsemanship, of Cartwright's \"Musical Glasses,\" of Philipstal's\nsuccessful \"Phantasmagoria.\" Lonsdale's \"Egyptiana\" (paintings of Egyptian\nscenes, by Porter, Mulready, Pugh, and Cristall), with a lecture, was a\nfailure. Here Ker Porter exhibited his large pictures of Lodi, Acre, and\nthe siege of Seringapatam. Then came Palmer with his \"Portraits,\" Collins\nwith his \"Evening Brush,\" Incledon with his \"Voyage to India,\" Bologna\nwith his \"Phantascopia,\" and Lloyd with his \"Astronomical Exhibition.\"\nSubscription concerts, amateur theatricals, debating societies, and\nschools of defence were also tried here. One day it was a Roman Catholic\nchapel; next day the \"Panther Mare and Colt,\" the \"White <DW64> Girl,\" or\nthe \"Porcupine Man\" held their levee of dupes and gapers in its changeful\nrooms.[316]\n\nIn 1809 Dr. Arnold's son obtained a licence for an English opera-house.\nShortly afterwards the Drury Lane company commenced performing here, their\nown theatre having been burnt. Mr. T. Sheridan was then manager. In 1815\nMr. Arnold erected the predecessor of the present theatre, on an enlarged\nscale, at an expense of nearly L80,000, and it was opened in 1816. In 1817\nthe experiment of two short performances on the same evening was\nunsuccessfully tried. On April 1, 1818, Mr. Mathews, the great comedian,\nbegan here his entertainment called \"Mail-coach Adventures,\" which ran\nforty nights.\n\nThe Beef-steak Club was established in the reign of Queen Anne (before\n1709).[317] The _Spectator_ mentions it, 1710-11. The club met in a noble\nroom at the top of Covent Garden Theatre, and never partook of any dish\nbut beef-steaks. Their Providore was their president and wore their badge,\na small gold gridiron, hung round his neck by a green silk riband.[318]\nEstcourt had been a tavern-keeper, and is mentioned in a poem of\nParnell's, who was himself too fond of wine. He died in 1712. Steele gives\na delightful sketch of him. He had an excellent judgment, he was a great\nmimic, and he told an anecdote perfectly well. His well-turned compliments\nwere as fine as his smart repartees. \"It is to Estcourt's exquisite talent\nmore than to philosophy,\" says Steele, \"that I owe the fact that my person\nis very little of my care, and it is indifferent to me what is said of my\nshape, my air, my manner, my speech, or my address. It is to poor Estcourt\nI chiefly owe that I am arrived at the happiness of thinking nothing a\ndiminution of myself but what argues a depravity of my will.\"\n\nThe kindly essay ends beautifully. \"None of those,\" says the true-hearted\nman, \"will read this without giving him some sorrow for their abundant\nmirth, and one gush of tears for so many bursts of laughter. I wish it\nwere any honour to the pleasant creature's memory that my eyes are too\nmuch suffused to let me go on.\"\n\nLater, Churchill and Wilkes, those partners in dissoluteness and satire,\nwere members of this social club. After Estcourt, that jolly companion,\nBeard the singer, became president of this jovial and agreeable company.\n\nIt was an old custom at theatres to have a Beef-steak Club that met every\nSaturday, and to which authors and wits were invited. In 1749 Mr.\nSheridan, the manager, founded one at Dublin. There were fifty or sixty\nmembers, chiefly noblemen and members of Parliament, and no performer was\nadmitted but witty Peg Woffington, who wore man's dress, and was president\nfor a whole season.[319]\n\nA Beef-steak Society was founded in 1735 by John Rich, the great\nharlequin, and manager of Covent Garden Theatre, and George Lambert, the\nscene-painter.[320] Lambert, being much visited by authors, wits, and\nnoblemen, whilst painting, and being too hurried to go to a tavern, used\nto have a steak cooked in the room, inviting his guests to share his snug\nand savoury but hurried meal. The fun of these accidental and impromptu\ndinners led to a club being started, which afterwards moved to a more\nconvenient room in the theatre. After many years the place of meeting was\nchanged to the Shakspere Tavern, where Mr. Lambert's portrait, painted by\nHudson, Reynolds's pompous master, was one of the decorations of the\nclub-room.[321] They then returned to the theatre, but being burned out in\n1812, adjourned to the Bedford. Lambert was the merriest of fellows, yet\nwithout buffoonery or coarseness. His manners were most engaging, he was\nsocial with his equals, and perfectly easy with richer men.[322] He was\nalso a great leader of fun at old Slaughter's artist-club.\n\nThe club throve down to about 1869, when it was dissolved; steaks were\nperennial as a dish, whatever the wit may have been, to the last.\nTwenty-four noblemen and gentlemen, each of whom might bring a friend,\npartook of a five o'clock dinner of steaks in a room of their own behind\nthe scenes at the Lyceum Theatre every Saturday from November till June.\nThey called themselves \"The Steaks,\" disclaimed the name of \"Club,\" and\ndedicated their hours to \"Beef and Liberty,\" as their ancestors did in the\nanti-Walpole days.[323]\n\nTheir room was a little typical Escurial. The doors, wainscot, and floor,\nwere of stout oak, emblazoned with gridirons, like a chapel of St.\nLaurence. The cook was seen at his office through the bars of a vast\ngridiron, and the original gridiron of the society (the survivor of two\nterrific fires) held a conspicuous position in the centre of the ceiling.\nThis club descended lineally from Wilkes's and from Lambert's. To the end\nthere was Attic salt enough to sprinkle over \"the Steaks,\" and to justify\nthe old epicure's lines to the club:--\n\n  \"He that of honour, wit, and mirth partakes,\n  May be a fit companion o'er beef-steaks;\n  His name may be to future times enrolled\n  In Estcourt's book, whose gridiron's framed of gold.\"[324]\n\nIts gridiron and other treasures were sold by auction, and fetched\nfabulous prices.\n\nDr. William King, the author of the above quoted verses, was an indolent,\nwrong-headed genius. Some three years after the Restoration he took part\nagainst the irascible Bentley in the dispute about the Epistles of\nPhalaris, satirised Sir Hans Sloane, and supported Sacheverell. He wrote\n_The Art of Cookery_, _Dialogues of the Dead_, _The Art of Love_, and\n_Greek Mythology for Schools_. Recklessly throwing up his Irish Government\nappointment, he came to London. There Swift got him appointed manager of\nthe _Gazette_; but being idle, and fond of the bottle, he resigned his\noffice in six months, and went to live at a friend's house in the garden\ngrounds between Lambeth and Vauxhall. He died in 1712, in lodgings\nopposite Somerset House, procured for him by his relation, Lord Clarendon.\nHe was buried in the north cloisters of Westminster Abbey, close to his\nmaster, Dr. Knipe, to whom he had dedicated his _School Mythology_.\n\nMr. T. P. Cooke obtained some of his early triumphs at the Lyceum as\nFrankenstein, and at the Adelphi as Long Tom Coffin. His serious pantomime\nin the fantastic monster of Mrs. Shelley's novel is said to have been\nhighly poetical. He made his debut in 1804, at the Royalty Theatre, and\nsoon afterwards left Astley's to join Laurent, the manager of the Lyceum.\nThis best of stage seamen since Bannister's time was born in 1780, and\ndied only recently.\n\nMadame Lucia Elizabeth Vestris had the Lyceum in 1847. This fascinating\nactress was the daughter of Francesco Bartolozzi, the engraver, and was\nborn in 1797. She married the celebrated dancer, Vestris, in 1813, and in\n1813 appeared at the King's Theatre, in Winter's opera of \"Proserpina.\" In\n1820, after a wild and disgraceful life in Paris, she appeared at Drury\nLane as Lilla, Adela, and Artaxerxes, and exhibited the archness, and\nvivacity of Storace without her grossness. In a burlesque of \"Don\nGiovanni,\" as \"Paul\" and as \"Apollo,\" she was much abused by the critics\nfor her wantonness of manner and dress, but she still won her audiences by\nher sweet and powerful contralto, and by her songs, \"The Light Guitar\" and\n\"Rise, gentle Moon.\" Harley played Leporello to her under Mr. Elliston's\nmanagement. After this she took to \"first light comedy\" and melodrama, and\nmarried Mr. Charles Mathews. The theatre was burnt down in 1830, and\nrebuilt soon afterwards. Madame Vestris herself died in 1856.\n\n\"That little crowded nest\" of shops and wild beasts,[325] Exeter Change,\nstood where Burleigh Street now stands, but extended into the main road,\nso that the footpath of the north side of the Strand ran directly through\nit.[326] It was built about 1681,[327] and contained two walks below and\ntwo walks above stairs, with shops on each side for sempsters, milliners,\nhosiers, etc. The builders were very sanguine, but the fame of the New\nExchange (now the Adelphi) blighted it from the beginning;[328] the shops\nnext the street alone could be let; the rest lay unoccupied. The Land Bank\nhad rooms here. The body of the poet Gay lay in state in an upper room,\nafterwards used for auctions. In 1721 a Mr. Normand Corry exhibited here a\ndamask bed, with curtains woven by himself; admission two shillings and\nsixpence. About 1780 Lord Baltimore's body lay here in state, preparatory\nto its interment at Epsom.\n\nThis infamous lord, of unsavoury reputation, had married a daughter of the\nDuke of Bridgewater: he lived on the east side of Russell Square, and was\nnotorious for an unscrupulous profligacy, rivalling even that of the\ndetestable Colonel Charteris. In 1767 his agents decoyed to his house a\nyoung woman named Woodcock, a milliner on Tower Hill. After suffering all\nthe cruelty which Lovelace showed to Clarissa, the poor girl was taken to\nLord Baltimore's house at Epsom, where her disgrace was consummated. The\nrascal and his accomplices were tried at Kingston in 1768, but\nunfortunately acquitted through an informality in Miss Woodcock's\ndeposition. The disgraced title has since become extinct.\n\nThe last tenants of the upper rooms were Mr. Cross and his wild beasts.\nThe Royal Menagerie was a great show in our fathers' days. Leigh Hunt\nmentions that one day at feeding time, passing by the Change, he saw a\nfine horse pawing the ground, startled at the roar of Cross's lions and\ntigers.[329] The vast skeleton of Chunee, the famous elephant, brought to\nEngland in 1810, and exhibited here, is to be seen at the College of\nSurgeons in Lincoln's Inn Fields. In 1826, after a return of an annual\nparoxysm, aggravated by inflammation of the large pulp of one of his\ntusks, Chunee became dangerous, and it was necessary to kill him. His\nkeeper first threw him buns steeped in prussic acid, but these produced no\neffect. A company of soldiers was then sent for, and the monster died\nafter upwards of a hundred bullets had pierced him. In the midst of the\nshower of lead, the poor docile animal knelt down at the well-known voice\nof his keeper, to turn a vulnerable point to the soldiers. At the College\nof Surgeons the base of his tusk is still shown, with a spicula of ivory\npressing into the pulp.\n\nDe Loutherbourg, after Garrick's retirement, left Covent Garden and\nexhibited his _Eidophusikon_ in a room over Exeter Change. The stage was\nabout six feet wide and eight feet deep. The first scene was the view\nfrom One-tree Hill in Greenwich Park. The lamps were above the proscenium,\nand had screens of  glass which could be rapidly changed. His best\nscenes were the loss of the _Halsewell_ East Indiaman and the rising of\nPandemonium. A real thunder-storm once breaking out when the shipwreck\nscene was going on, some of the audience left the room, saying that \"the\nexhibition was presumptuous.\" Gainsborough was such a passionate admirer\nof the _Eidophusikon_ that for a time he spent every evening at\nLoutherbourg's exhibition.[330]\n\nMr. William Clarke, a seller of hardware (steel buttons, buckles, and\ncutlery), was proprietor of Exeter Change for nearly half a century. He\nwas an honest and kind man, much beloved by his friends, and known to\neverybody in Johnson's time. When he became infirm he was allowed by King\nGeorge the special privilege of riding across St. James's Park to\nBuckingham Gate, his house being in Pimlico. He died rich.\n\nAnother character of Clarke's age was old Thomson, a music-seller, and a\ngood-natured humourist. He was deputy organist at St. Michael's, Cornhill,\nand had been a pupil of Boyce. His shop was a mere sloping stall, with a\nlittle platform behind it for a desk, rows of shelves for old pamphlets\nand plays, and a chair or two for a crony. Thomson furnished Burney and\nHawkins with materials for their histories of music. It was said that\nthere was not an air from the time of Bird that he could not sing. Poor\nsoured Wilson used to be fond of sitting with Thomson and railing at the\ntimes. Garrick and Dr. Arne also frequented the shop.[331]\n\nThe nine o'clock drum at old Somerset House and the bell rung as a signal\nfor closing Exeter Change were once familiar sounds to old Strand\nresidents: but alas! times are changed; and they are heard no more.\n\nIt was in Thomson's shop that the elder Dibdin (Charles), together with\nHubert Stoppelaer, an actor, singer, and painter, planned the Patagonian\nTheatre, which was opened in the rooms above. The stage was six feet wide,\nthe puppet actors only ten inches high. Dibdin wrote the pieces, composed\nthe music, helped in the recitations, and accompanied the singers on a\nsmall organ. His partner spoke for the puppets and painted the scenes.\nThey brought out \"The Padlock\" here. The miniature theatre held about 200\npeople.[332]\n\nExeter Hall was built by Mr. Deering, in 1831, for various charitable and\nreligious societies that had scruples about holding their meetings in\ntaverns or theatres. It stands a little west of the site of the \"old\nChange.\" The front, with its two massy plain Greek pillars, is a good\ninstance of making the most of space, though it still looks as if it were\nriding \"bodkin\" between the larger houses. The building contains two\nhalls--one that will hold eight hundred persons, and another, on the upper\nfloor, able to hold three thousand. The latter is a noble room, 131 feet\nlong by 76 wide, and contains the Sacred Harmonic Society's gigantic\norgan. There are also nests of offices and committee-rooms. In May the\nwhite neckcloths pour into Exeter Hall in perfect regiments.\n\nIn the Strand, near Exeter House, lived the beautiful Countess of\nCarlisle, a beauty of Charles I.'s court, immortalised by Vandyke,\nSuckling, and Carew. She paid L150 a year rent, equal to L600 of our\ncurrent money.[333]\n\nExeter Street had no western outlet when first built; for where the street\nends was the back wall of old Bedford House. Dr. Johnson, after his\narrival with Garrick from Lichfield, lodged here, in a garret, at the\nhouse of Norris, a staymaker. In this garret Johnson wrote part at least\nof that sonorous tragedy, \"Irene.\" He used to say he dined well and with\ngood company for eightpence, at the Pine Apple in the street close by.\nSeveral of the guests had travelled. They met every day, but did not know\neach other's names. The others paid a shilling, and had wine. Johnson paid\nsixpence for a cut of meat (a penny for bread, a penny to the waiter),\nand was served better than the rest, for the waiter that is forgotten is\napt also to forget.\n\nIn Cecil's time Bedford House became known as Exeter House. From hence, in\n1651, Cromwell, the Council of State, and the House of Commons followed\nGeneral Popham's body to its resting-place at Westminster.[334] It was\nwhile receiving the sacrament on Christmas Day at the chapel of Exeter\nHouse that that excellent gentleman, Evelyn, and his wife were seized by\nsoldiers, warned not to observe any longer the \"superstitious time of the\nNativity,\" and dismissed with pity.\n\nIn Exeter House lived that shifty and unscrupulous turncoat, Antony Ashley\nCooper, Earl of Shaftesbury, the great tormentor of Charles II., and the\nfather of the author of the _Characteristics_, who was born here 1670-1,\nand educated by the amiable philosopher Locke. \"The wickedest fellow in my\ndominions,\" as Charles II. once called \"Little Sincerity,\" afterwards\nremoved hence about the time of the Great Fire to Aldersgate Street, in\norder to be near his City intriguers. After the Great Fire, till new\noffices could be built, the Court of Arches, the Admiralty Court, etc.,\nwere held in Exeter House. The property still belongs to the Cecil family.\n\nThat great statesman, Burleigh, Bacon's uncle, lived on the site of the\npresent Burleigh Street. He was of birth so humble that his father could\nonly be entitled a gentleman by courtesy. Slow but sure of judgment,\nsilent, distrustful of brilliant men, such as Essex and Raleigh, he made\nhimself, by unremitting skill, assiduity, and fidelity, the most trusted\nand powerful person in Queen Elizabeth's privy council. Here, fresh from\nhis frets with the rash Essex, the old wily statesman pondered over the\nfate of Mary of Scotland, or strove for means to foil Philip of Spain and\nhis Armada. Here also lived his eldest son, Sir Thomas Cecil, subsequently\nthe second Lord Burleigh and Earl of Exeter, who died 1622, whose daughter\nmarried the heir of Lord Chancellor Hatton, the dancing chancellor.\nBurleigh Street replaced the old house in 1678, when Salisbury Street was\nbuilt.\n\nThe \"Little Adelphi\" Theatre was opened in 1806 under the name of the\n\"Sans Souci\" by Mr. John Scott, a celebrated colour-maker, famous for a\ncertain fashionable blue dye. The entertainments (optical and mechanical)\nwere varied by songs, recitations, and dances, the proprietor's daughter\nbeing a clever amateur actress. Its real success did not begin till 1821,\nwhen Pierce Egan's dull and rather vulgar book of London low life, _Tom\nand Jerry_, was dramatised--Wrench as Tom, Reeve as Jerry. Subsequently\nPower, the best Irishman that trod the boards in London, appeared here in\nmelodrama. In 1826 Terry and Yates became joint lessees and managers.\nBallantyne and Scott backed up Terry, Sir Walter being always eager for\nmoney. Scott eventually had to pay L1750 for the speculative printer; he\nseems from the outset to have entertained fears of Terry's failure.[335]\nHere Keely too made his first hit as Jemmy Green.\n\nIn 1839 Mr. Rice, \"the original Jim Crow,\" was playing at the\nAdelphi.[336] This Mr. Rice was an American actor who had studied the\ndrolleries of the <DW64> singers and dancers, especially those of one Jim\nCrow, an old boatman who hung about the wharfs of Vicksburg, the same town\non the Mississippi that has lately stood so severe a siege. He initiated\namong us <DW64> tunes and <DW64> dances. This was the fatal beginning of\nthose \"<DW64> entertainments,\" falsely so called.\n\nIn 1808 Mr. Mathews gave his first entertainment, \"The Mail-coach\nAdventures,\" at Hull. Mr. James Smith had strung together some sketches of\ncharacter, and written for him those two celebrated comic songs, \"The Mail\nCoach\" and \"Bartholomew Fair.\" In 1818 Mr. Mathews, unfortunately for his\npeace of mind, sold himself for seven years to a very sharp practiser, Mr.\nArnold, of the Lyceum, for L1000 a year, liable to the deduction of L200\nfine for any non-appearance. This becoming unbearable, Mr. Arnold made a\nnew agreement, by which he took to himself L40 every night, and shared the\nrest with Mr. Mathews, who also paid half the expenses.[337] The shrewd\nmanager made L30,000 by this first speculation. Rivalling Mr. Dibdin, the\nwonderful mimic appeared in plain evening dress with no other apparent\npreparation than a drawing-room scene, a small table covered with a green\ncloth, and two lamps. His first entertainment included \"Fond Barney, the\nYorkshire Idiot\" and the \"Song of the Royal Visitors,\" full of droll\nRussian names. In 1819 he produced \"The Trip to Paris.\" In 1820 he brought\nout \"The Country Cousins,\" with the two celebrated comic songs, \"The White\nHorse Cellar,\" and \"O, what a Town!--what a Wonderful Metropolis!\" both\nfull of the most honest and boisterous fun. In 1821 Peake wrote for him\nthe \"Polly Packet,\" introducing a caricature of Major Thornton, the great\nsportsman, as Major Longbow. The entertainment was called \"Earth, Air, and\nWater,\" and contained the song of \"The Steam-Boat.\"\n\nIn 1824 Mr. Mathews gave his \"Trip to America,\" with Yankee songs, <DW64>\nimitations, and that fine bit of pathos, \"M. Mallet at the Post-Office.\"\nIn 1825 appeared his \"memorandum Book,\" and in 1826 his \"Invitations,\"\nwith the \"Ruined Yorkshire Gambler (Harry Ardourly),\" and \"A Civic Water\nParty.\"\n\nIn 1828 he opened the Adelphi Theatre in partnership with Mr. Yates,\nplaying the drunken Tinker in Mr. Buckstone's \"May Queen,\" and singing\nthat prince of comic songs, \"The Humours of a Country Fair,\" written for\nhim by his son Charles. Mr. Moncrief wrote his \"Spring Meeting for 1829,\"\nand Mr. Peake his \"Comic Annual for 1830.\" In 1831 his son Charles aided\nMr. Peake in producing an entertainment, and again in 1832. In 1833 his\nhealth began to fail; he lost much money in bubble companies, and had an\naction brought against him for L30,000. In 1833 Mr. Peake and Mr. Charles\nMathews wrote the \"At Home.\" Subsequently the great mimic went to\nAmerica, whence he returned in 1838, only to die a few months after.[338]\n\nLeigh Hunt praises Mr. Mathews's valets and old men, but condemns his\nnervous restlessness and redundance of bodily action. While Munden,\nListon, and Fawcett could not conceal their voices, Mathews rivalled\nBannister in his powers of mimicry. His delineation of old age was\nremarkable for its truthfulness and variety. Leigh Hunt confesses that\ntill Mathews acted Sir Fretful Plagiary, he had ranked him as an actor of\nhabits and not of passions, and far inferior to Bannister and Dowton; but\nthe extraordinary blending of vexation and conceit in Sheridan's\ncaricature of Cumberland proved Mathews, Mr. Hunt allowed, to be an actor\nwho knew the human heart.[339]\n\nIn 1820 Hazlitt criticised Mathews's third entertainment, \"The Country\nCousins,\" a melange of songs, narrative, ventriloquism, imitations, and\ncharacter stories. He had left Covent Garden on the ground that he had not\nsufficiently frequent opportunities for appearing in legitimate comedy.\nThe severe critic says, \"Mr. Mathews shines particularly neither as an\nactor nor a mimic of actors; but his forte is a certain general tact and\nversatility of comic power. You would say he is a clever performer--you\nwould guess he is a cleverer man. His talents are not pure, but mixed. He\nis best when he is his own prompter, manager, performer, orchestra, and\nscene-shifter.\"[340]\n\nHazlitt then goes on to accuse his \"subject\" of a want of taste, of his\ngross and often superficial surprises, and of his too restless disquietude\nto please. \"Take from him,\" says Hazlitt, \"his odd shuffle in the gait, a\nrestless volubility of speech and motion, a sudden suppression of\nfeatures, or the continued repetition of a cant phrase with unabated\nvigour, and you reduce him to almost total insignificance.\" It should be\nsaid that his \"shuffle\" was rather a \"limp.\"\n\nAs a mimic of other actors, the same writer says Mathews often failed. He\ngabbled like Incledon, entangled himself like Tait Wilkinson, croaked like\nSuett, lisped like Young, but he could make nothing of John Kemble's\n\"expressive, silver-tongued cadences.\" He blames him more especially for\nturning nature into pantomime and grimace, and dealing too much with\nworn-out topics, like Cockneyisms, French blunders, or the ignorance of\ncountry people in stage-coaches, Margate hoys, and Dover packet-boats. In\nanother place the severe critic, who could be ill-tempered if he chose,\nblames Mathews for many of his songs, for his meagre jokes, dry as\nscrapings of \"Shabsuger cheese,\" and for his immature ventriloquism. \"His\nbest imitations,\" says Hazlitt, \"were founded on his own observation, and\non the absurd characteristics of chattering footmen, drunken coachmen,\nsurly travellers, and garrulous old men. His old Scotchwoman, with her\npointless story, was a portrait equal to Wilkie or Teniers, as faithful,\nas simple, as delicately humorous, with a slight dash of pathos, but\nwithout one particle of caricature, vulgarity, or ill-nature.\" His best\nbroad jokes were these: the abrupt proposal of a mutton-chop to a man who\nwas sea-sick, and the convulsive marks of abhorrence with which he\nreceived it; and the tavern beau who was about to swallow a lighted candle\nfor a glass of brandy-and-water as he was going drunk to bed. Poor\nWiggins, the fat, hen-pecked husband, who, unwieldy and helpless, is\npursued by a rabble of boys, was one of his best characters. Hazlitt\nmentions also as a stroke of true genius his imitation of a German family,\nthe wife grumbling at her husband returning drunk, and the little child's\npaddling across the room to its own bed at its father's approach.[341]\n\nTerry, who in 1825 joined partnership with Yates, and died in 1829, was a\nquiet, sensible actor, praised in his Mephistopheles, and even in King\nLear. His Peter Teazle was inferior to Farren's, and his Dr. Cantwell came\nafter Dowton's.\n\nYates was born in 1797. He made his debut at Covent Garden as Iago in\n1818. He was very versatile, and triumphed alternately in tragedy,\ncomedy, farce, and melodrama. A critic of 1834 says, \"Mr. Yates is\noccasionally capital, and always respectable. In burlesque he is\nexcellent, but a little too broad, and given to an exaggeration which is\nsometimes vulgar. He is a better buck than <DW2>, and a better rake than\neither, were he more refined.\"\n\nJohn Reeve was another of the Adelphi celebrities. He was born in 1799,\nand was originally a clerk at a Fleet Street banking-house. He appeared\nfirst at Drury Lane in 1819 as Sylvester Daggerwood. His imitations were\npronounced perfect, and he soon rose to great celebrity in broad farce,\nburlesque, and the comic parts of melodrama. Lord Grizzle, Bombastes, and\nPedrillo, were favourite early characters of his. He was considered too\nheavy for Caleb Quotem, and not quiet enough for Paul Pry. Liston excelled\nhim in the one, and Harley in the other.\n\nBenjamin Webster was born at Bath in 1800. He took the management of the\nHaymarket in 1837, and built the New Adelphi Theatre in 1858. In melodrama\nMr. Webster excels. His best parts are--Lavater, Tartuffe, Belphegor,\nTriplet, and Pierre Leroux in \"The Poor Stroller.\" He is excellent in poor\nauthors and strolling players, and achieved a great triumph in Mr. Watts\nPhilips's play of \"The Dead Heart.\" He is energetic and forcible, but he\nhas a bad hoarse voice, and he protracts and details his part so\nelaborately as often to become tedious.\n\nIn 1844 Madame Celeste, who in 1837 had appeared at Drury Lane on her\nreturn from America, was directress of the Adelphi. She then left and took\nthe Lyceum, which she held until the close of 1860-1.\n\nThe old Adelphi closed in June 1858. Although a small and incommodious\nhouse, it had long earned a special fame of its own. It began its career\nwith \"True Blue Scott,\" and went on with Rodwell and Jones during the \"Tom\nand Jerry\" mania, when young men about town wrenched off knockers, knocked\ndown old men who were paid to apprehend thieves, and attended beggars'\nsuppers. Under Terry and Yates, Buckstone and Fitzball produced pieces in\nwhich T. P. Cooke, O. Smith, Wilkinson, and Tyrone Power shone (this\nactor was drowned in 1841). There also flourished Wright, Paul Bedford,\nMrs. Yates, and Mrs. Keeley, in \"The Pilot,\" \"The Flying Dutchman,\" \"The\nWreck Ashore,\" \"Victorine,\" \"Rory O'More,\" and \"Jack Sheppard,\"[342]--the\nlast of these a play to be branded as a demoralising apotheosis of a\nclever thief.\n\nIn 1844 Mr. Webster became proprietor of the Adelphi, and Madame Celeste,\na good melodramatic actress, became the directress. Then was brought out\nthat crowning triumph of the theatre, \"The Green Bushes,\" by Mr.\nBuckstone--a tremendous success.\n\nAmong the greatest \"hits\" at the Adelphi have been of later years Mr.\nWatts Philips's \"Dead Heart,\" a powerful melodrama of the French\nRevolution period, Miss Bateman's \"Leah,\" an American-German play of the\nold school, and \"The Colleen Bawn,\" Mr. Boucicault's clever dramatic\nversion of poor Gerald Griffin's novel, full of fine melodramatic\nsituations.\n\nThe old town house of the Earls of Bedford stood on the site of the\npresent Southampton Street, and was taken down in 1704, in Queen Anne's\nreign. It was a large house with a courtyard before it, and a spacious\ngarden with a terrace walk.[343] Before this house was built the Bedford\nfamily lived at the opposite side of the Strand, in the Bishop of\nCarlisle's inn, which, in 1598, was called Russell or Bedford House.[344]\nIn 1704 the family removed to Bloomsbury. The neighbouring streets were\nchristened by this family. Russell Street bears their family name, and\nTavistock Street their second title.\n\nGarrick lived at No. 36 Southampton Street before he went to the Adelphi.\nIn 1755, to give himself some rest, he brought out a magnificent ballet\npantomime, called \"The Chinese Festival,\" composed by \"the great Noverre.\"\nUnfortunately for Garrick, war had just broken out between England and\nFrance, and the pit and gallery condemned the Popish dancers in spite of\nKing George II. and the quality. Gentlemen in the boxes drew their swords,\nleaped down into the pit, and were bruised and beaten. The galleries\nlooked on and pelted both sides. The ladies urged fresh recruits against\nthe pit, and each fresh levy was mauled. The pit broke up benches, tore\ndown hangings, smashed mirrors, split the harpsichords, and storming the\nstage, cut and slashed the scenery.[345] The rioters then sallied out to\nMr. Garrick's house (now Eastey's Hotel) in Southampton Street, and broke\nevery window from basement to garret.\n\nMrs. Oldfield, who lived in Southampton Street, was the daughter of an\nofficer, and so reduced as to be obliged to live with a relation who kept\nthe Mitre Tavern in St. James's Market. She was overheard by Mr. Farquhar\nreading a comedy, and recommended by him to Sir John Vanbrugh. She was\nexcellent as Lady Brute and also as Lady Townley. She died in 1730; her\nbody lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber, and was afterwards buried in\nthe Abbey. Lord Hervey and Bubb Doddington supported her pall. Her corpse,\nby her own request, was richly adorned with lace--a vanity which Pope\nridiculed in those bitter lines--\n\n  \"One would not sure be ugly when one's dead;\n    And, Betty, give this cheek a little red.\"\n\nIn 1712 Arthur Maynwaring, in his will, describes this street as New\nSouthampton Street.\n\nBedford Street was first so named in 1766 by the Paving Commissioners. The\nlower part of the street was called Half-Moon Street; after the fire of\nLondon it became fashionable with mercers, lacemen, and drapers.[346] The\nlower part of the street is in the parish of St. Martin's in the Fields,\nthe upper in that of St. Paul's, Covent Garden. In the overseers' accounts\nof St. Martin's mention is made of the names of persons who were fined in\n1665 for drinking on the Lord's Day at the Half-Moon Tavern in this\nstreet, also for carrying linen, for shaving customers, for carrying home\nvenison or a pair of shoes, and for swearing. Sir Charles Sedley and the\nDuke of Buckingham were fined by the Puritans in 1657-58 for riding in\ntheir coaches on that day.[347] Ned Ward, the witty publican, in his\n_London Spy_, mentions the Half-Moon Tavern in this street.\n\nOn the eastern side of the same street, in 1645, lived Remigius van\nLimput, a Dutch painter, who, at the sale of King Charles's pictures,\nbought Vandyke's florid masterpiece, now at Windsor, of the king on\nhorseback. After the Restoration he was compelled to disgorge it. Had this\ngrand picture been the portrait of any better king, Cromwell would not\nhave parted with it.\n\nThe witty bulky Quin lived here from 1749 to 1752. It was in 1749 that\nthis great tragedian, reappearing after a retirement, performed in his\nfriend Thomson's posthumous play of \"Coriolanus.\" Good-natured Quin had\nonce rescued the fat lazy poet from a sponging-house. It was about this\ntime that the great elocutionist was instructing Prince George in\nrecitation. When, afterwards, as king, he delivered his first speech\nsuccessfully in Parliament, the actor exclaimed triumphantly, \"Sir, it was\nI taught the boy.\"\n\nOn the west side, at No. 15, lived Chief \"Justice\" Richardson, the\nhumourist. He died in 1635. The interior of the house is ancient. Sir\nFrancis Kynaston, an esquire of the body to Charles I., and author of\n_Leoline and Sydanis_, lived in this street in 1637. He died in 1642. The\nEarl of Chesterfield, one of Grammont's gay and heartless gallants, lived\nin Bedford Street in 1656. In the same street, in his old age, at the\nhouse of his son, a rich silk-mercer, dwelt Kynaston, the great actor of\nCharles II.'s time, so well known for his female characters. Thomas\nSheridan, the lecturer on elocution, the son of Swift's friend, and the\nfather of the wit and orator, lived in Bedford Street, facing Henrietta\nStreet and the south side of Covent Garden. Here Dr. Johnson often visited\nhim. \"One day,\" says Mr. Whyte, \"we were standing together at the\ndrawing-room window expecting Johnson, who was to dine with us.[348] Mr.\nSheridan asked me could I see the length of the garden. 'No, sir.' 'Take\nout your opera-glass then: Johnson is coming, you may know him by his\ngait.' I perceived him at a good distance, walking along with a peculiar\nsolemnity of deportment, and an awkward, measured sort of step. At that\ntime the broad flagging at each side of the streets was not universally\nadopted, and stone posts were in fashion to prevent the annoyance of\ncarriages. Upon every post, as he passed along, I could observe he\ndeliberately laid his hand; but missing one of them, when he had got to\nsome distance he seemed suddenly to recollect himself, and immediately\nreturning back, carefully performed the accustomed ceremony, and resumed\nhis former course, not omitting one, till he gained the crossing. This,\nMr. Sheridan assured me, however odd it might appear, was his constant\npractice, but why or wherefore he could not inform me.\" This eccentric\nhabit of Johnson, the result of hypochondriacal nervousness, is also\nmentioned by Boswell.\n\n[Illustration: EXETER CHANGE, 1821.]\n\nRichard Wilson, the great landscape-painter--\"Red-nosed Dick,\" as he was\nfamiliarly called--was a great ally of Mortimer, \"the English Salvator.\"\nThey used to meet over a pot of porter at the Constitution, Bedford\nStreet. Mortimer, who was a coarse joker, used to make Dr. Arne, the\ncomposer of \"Rule Britannia,\" who had a red face and staring eyes, very\nangry by telling him that his eyes looked like two oysters just opened for\nsauce, and put on an oval side dish of beetroot.\n\nClose to the Lowther Arcade there is one of those large cafes that are\nbecoming features in modern London. It was started by an Italian named\nCarlo Gatti. There you may see refugees of all countries, playing at\ndominoes, sipping coffee, or groaning over the wrongs of their native land\nand their own exile. No music is allowed in this large hall, because it\nmight interfere with the week-day services at St. Martin's Church.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: TITUS OATES IN THE PILLORY.]\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nCHARING CROSS.\n\n\nOn July 20, 1864, was laid the first stone of the great Thames Embankment,\nwhich now forms the wall of our river from Blackfriars to Westminster. A\ncouple of flags fluttered lazily over the stone as a straggling procession\nof the members of the Metropolitan Board of Works moved down to the\nwooden causeway leading to the river. For two years about a thousand men\nwere at work on it night and day. Iron caissons were sunk below the mud,\ndeep in the gravel, and within ten feet of the clay which is the real\nfoundation of London, and the Victoria Embankment rose gradually into\nbeing. It was opened by Royalty in the summer of 1870. This scheme,\noriginally sketched out by Wren, was designed by Colonel Trench, M.P., and\nalso by Martin the painter; but it was never carried out until the days of\nLord Palmerston and the Metropolitan Board of Works. Its piers, its\nflights of steps, its broad highway covering a railway, its gardens, its\nterraces, are complete; and when the buildings along it are finished\nLondon may for the first time claim to compare itself in architectural\ngrandeur with Nineveh, Rome, or modern Paris.\n\nNorthumberland House, which faced Charing Cross, covering the site of\nNorthumberland Avenue, was a good but dull specimen of Jacobean\narchitecture; it was built by Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton, son of\nthe poet Earl of Surrey, about 1605.[349] Walpole attributes the building\nto Bernard Jansen, a Fleming, and an imitator of Dieterling, and to Gerard\nChristmas, the designer of Aldersgate. Jansen probably built the house,\nwhich was of brick, and Christmas added the stone frontispiece, which was\nprofusely ornamented with rich carved scrolls, and an open parapet worked\ninto letters and other devices. John Thorpe is also supposed to have been\nassociated in the work; and plans of both the quadrangles of this enormous\npalace are preserved among the _Soane MSS._[350] Jansen was the architect\nof Audley End, in Essex, one of the wonders of the age. Thorpe built\nBurghley. The front was originally 162 feet long, the court 82 feet\nsquare; as Inigo Jones has noted in a copy of _Palladio_ preserved at\nWorcester College, Oxford.\n\nThe Earl of Northampton left the house by his will, in 1614, to his\nnephew, Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk, who died in 1626. This was the\nfather of the memorable Frances, Countess of Essex and Somerset; and from\nhim the house took the name of Suffolk House, till the marriage in 1642 of\nElizabeth, daughter of Theophilus, second Earl of Suffolk, with Algernon\nPercy, tenth Earl of Northumberland, when it changed its name accordingly.\n\nDorothy, sister of the rash and ungrateful Earl of Essex, whose violence\nand follies nothing less than the executioner's axe could cure, married\nthe \"wizard\" Earl of Northumberland, as he was called, whom \"she led the\nlife of a dog, till he indignantly turned her out of doors.\" He was\nafterwards engaged in the Gunpowder Plot, being angry with the Government\nthat had overlooked him. \"His name was used and his money spent by the\nconspirators; one of his servants hired the vault, and procured the lease\nof Vineyard House. Thomas Percy, his kinsman and steward, supped with him\non the very night of the plot. His servant, Sir Dudley Carleton, who hired\nthe house, was thrust into the Tower, and the earl joined him there not\nlong after; but Cecil was either unable or unwilling to touch his\nlife.\"[351] Northumberland, with Cobham and Raleigh, had before this\nengaged in schemes with the French against the Government. Thomas Percy\nhad been beheaded for plotting with Mary. Henry Percy had shot himself\nwhile in the Tower, on account of the Throckmorton Conspiracy. Compounding\nfor a fine of L11,000, the earl devoted himself in the Tower to scientific\nand literary pursuits, and gave annuities to six or seven eminent\nmathematicians, who ate at his table. In 1611 he was again examined, and\nfinally released in 1617. The king's favourite, Hay, afterwards Earl of\nCarlisle, had married the earl's daughter Lucy against his will, which so\nirritated him that he was with difficulty persuaded to accept his own\nrelease, because it was obtained through the intercession of Hay.\n\nJoceline Percy, son of Algernon, dying in 1670, without issue male,\nNorthumberland House became the property of his only daughter Elizabeth\nPercy, the heiress of the Percy estates. Her first husband was Henry\nCavendish, Earl of Ogle; her second, Thomas Thynne, of Longleat, in\nWilts, who was shot in his coach in Pall Mall, on Sunday, February 12,\n1681-2; her third husband was Charles Seymour, the _proud_ Duke of\nSomerset, who married her in 1682. This lady was twice a widow and three\ntimes a wife before the age of seventeen.\n\nThe \"proud\" duke and duchess lived in great state and magnificence at\nNorthumberland House. The duchess died in 1722, and the duke followed in\n1748. He was succeeded by his eldest son, Algernon, Earl of Hertford, and\nthe seventh Duke of Somerset, who was created Earl of Northumberland in\n1749, with remainder, failing issue male, to his son-in-law, Sir Hugh\nSmithson, who in 1766 was raised to the dukedom. The lion which country\ncousins for two centuries remember to have crowned the central gateway of\nthe duke's house, represented the Percy crest. It is of this stiff-tailed\nanimal, for the exact angle of the tail is treated by heralds as a matter\nof the most vital importance, that the old story imputed to Sheridan is\ntold. Probably some audacious wit did once collect a London crowd by\ndeclaring that its tail wagged--but certainly it was not Sheridan.\n\nTom Thynne, or, as he was called, \"Tom of Ten Thousand,\" was shot at the\neast end of Pall Mall, opposite the Opera Arcade, by Borosky, a Polish\nsoldier urged on by Count Koenigsmark, a Swedish adventurer, son of one of\nGustavus's old generals, and who was enraged with Thynne for having just\nmarried the youthful widow of the Earl of Ogle, Lady Elizabeth Percy.\nThynne was a favourite of the Duke of Monmouth. Shaftesbury had been\nlately released from the Tower, in spite of Dryden's onslaught on him as\n\"Achitophel,\" on the foolish duke as \"Absalom,\" and on Thynne as\n\"Issachar,\" his wealthy western friend. The three murderers were hanged in\nPall Mall, but their master strangely escaped, partly owing to the\ninfluence of Charles II. The count, who had shown great courage at Tangier\nagainst the Moors, and had boarded a Turkish galley at his eminent peril,\ndied in 1686, at the battle of Argos in the Morea. His younger brother was\nassassinated at Hanover, on suspicion of an intrigue with Sophia of Zell,\nthe young and beautiful wife of the Elector, afterwards George I. of\nEngland.[352]\n\nThe Earl of Northampton, Surrey's son, who built Northumberland House (as\nOsborne, who loved scandal, says with Spanish gold), seems to have been an\nunscrupulous time-server, flatterer, and parasite. In 1596 he wrote to\nBurleigh, and spoke of his reverend awe at his lordship's \"piercing\njudgment;\" yet a year after he writes a plotting letter to Burleigh's\ngreat enemy, Essex, and says: \"Your lordship by your last purchase hath\nalmost enraged the dromedary that would have won the Queen of Sheba's\nfavour by bringing pearls. If you could once be so fortunate in dragging\nold Leviathan (Burghley) and his rich tortuosum colubrum (Sir Robert\nCecil), as the prophet termeth them, out of their den of mischievous\ndevice, the better part of the world would prefer your virtue to that of\nHercules.\" The earl became a toady and creature of the infamous Carr, Earl\nof Somerset, and is thought to have died just in time to escape\nprosecution for the poisoning of Sir Thomas Overbury in the Tower.[353]\n\nIt was shortly before Suffolk House changed its name that it became the\nscene of one of Lord Herbert of Cherbury's mad Quixotic quarrels. His\nchivalrous lordship had had sundry ague fits, which had made him so lean\nand yellow that scarce any man could recognise him. Walking towards\nWhitehall he one day met a Mr. Emerson, who had spoken very disgraceful\nwords of Lord Herbert's friend, Sir Robert Harley. Lord Herbert therefore,\nsensible of the dishonour, took Emerson by his long beard, and then,\nstepping aside, drew his sword; Captain Thomas Scriven being with Lord\nHerbert, and divers friends with Mr. Emerson. All who saw the quarrel\nwondered at the Welsh nobleman, weak and \"consumed\" as he was, offering to\nfight; however, Emerson ran and took shelter in Suffolk House, and\nafterwards complained to the Lords in Council, who sent for Lord Herbert,\nthe lean, yellow Welsh Quixote, but did not so much reprehend him for\ndefending the honour of his friend as for adventuring to fight, being at\nthe same time in such weak health.[354]\n\nAlgernon, the tenth Earl of Northumberland, is called by Clarendon \"the\nproudest man alive.\" He had been Lord High Admiral to King Charles I., and\nwas appointed general against the Scotch Covenanters, but, being unable to\ntake the command from ill health, gave up his commission. He gradually\nfell away from the king's cause, but nevertheless refused to continue High\nAdmiral against the king's wish. He treated the Dukes of York and\nGloucester and the Princess Elizabeth with \"such consideration\" that they\nwere removed from his care, and from that time he turned Royalist again.\n\nSir John Suckling refers to Suffolk House in his exquisite little poem on\nthe wedding of Roger Boyle, Lord Broghill, with Lady Margaret Howard,\ndaughter of the Earl of Suffolk. The well known poem begins--\n\n  \"At Charing-cross, hard by the way\n  Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay,\n    There is a house with stairs.\"\n\nAnd then the gay and graceful poet goes on to sketch Lady Margaret--\n\n  \"Her lips were red, and one was thin,\n  Compared with that was next her chin.\n    Some bee had stung it newly.\"\n\nAnd then follows that delightful, fantastic simile, comparing her feet to\nlittle mice creeping in and out her petticoat.[355] Sir John was born in\n1609.\n\nThe oldest part of Northumberland House was the Strand entrance. This was\ncrowned, as stated above, by a frieze or balustrade of large stone\nletters, probably including the name and titles of the earl and the\nglorified name of the architect. At the funeral of Anne of Denmark, 1619,\na young man, named Appleyard, was killed by the fall of the letter S[356]\nfrom the house, which was then occupied by the Earl of Strafford, Lord\nTreasurer. The house was originally only three sides of a quadrangle, the\nriver side remaining open to the gardens; but traffic and noise\nincreasing, the quadrangle was completed along the river side and the\nprincipal apartments. There is a drawing by Hollar of the house in his\ntime, and another, a century later, by Canaletti. The new front towards\nthe gardens was spoiled by a clumsy stone staircase, which was attributed\nto Inigo Jones, but probably incorrectly.\n\nThe date, 1746, on the facade referred to the repairs made in that year,\nand the letters \"A. S. P. N.\" stood for Algernon Somerset, Princeps\nNorthumbriae. The lion over the gateway was said to be a copy of one by\nMichael Angelo; it is now at Sion House, Isleworth. The gateway was\ncovered with ornaments and trophies. Double ranges of grotesque pilasters\nenclosed eight niches on the sides, and there was a bow window and an open\narch above the chief gate. Between each of the fourteen niches in the\nfront there were trophies of crossed weapons, and the upper stories had\ntwenty-four windows, in two ranges, and pierced battlements. Each wing\nterminated in a little cupola, and the angles had rustic quoins. The\nquadrangle within the gate was simpler and in better taste, and the house\nwas screened from the river by elm trees.[357]\n\nThere used to be a schoolboy tradition, prevalent at King's College in the\nauthor's time, that one of the niches in the front of Northumberland House\nwas of copper and movable. So far the story was true; but the tradition\nwent on to relate how, once upon a time, a certain enemy of the house of\nPercy obtained secret admission by this niche and murdered one of the\ndukes, his enemy. History is, however, fortunately, quite silent on this\nsubject.\n\nIn February 1762 Horace Walpole and a party of quality set out from\nNorthumberland House to hear the ghost in Cock Lane that Dr. Johnson\nexposed, and that Hogarth and Churchill ridiculed with pen and pencil.\nThe Duke of York, Lady Northumberland, Lady Mary Coke, and Lord Hertford,\nall returned from the Opera with Horace Walpole, then changed their dress,\nand set out in a hackney coach. It rained hard, and the lane and house\nwere \"full of mob.\" The room of the haunted house, small and miserable,\nwas stuffed with eighty persons, and there was no light but one tallow\ncandle. As clothes-lines hung from the ceiling, Walpole asked drily if\nthere was going to be rope-dancing between the acts. They said the ghost\nwould not come till 7 A.M., when only 'prentices and old women remained.\nThe party stayed till half-past one. The Methodists had promised\ncontributions, provisions were sent in like forage, and the neighbouring\ntaverns and ale-houses were making their fortunes.[358]\n\nOn May 14, 1770, poor Chatterton, who suffered so terribly for the\ndeceptions of his ambitious boyhood, writes from the King's Bench (for the\npresent) that a gentleman who knew him at the Chapter coffee-house, in\nPaternoster Row--frequented by authors and publishers--would have\nintroduced him to the young Duke of Northumberland as a companion in his\nintended general tour, \"but, alas! I spake no tongue but my own.\"[359] But\nthis is taken from a most questionable work, full of fictions and\nforgeries. Its author was a Bristol man, who afterwards fled to America.\nHe also wrote a series of Conversations with the poets of the Lake school,\nmany of which are too obviously imaginary.\n\nOn March 18, 1780, the Strand front of Northumberland House was totally\ndestroyed by fire. The apartments of Dr. Percy, the Duke's kinsman and\nchaplain, afterwards Bishop of Dromore and editor of the _Reliques of\nAncient Poetry_ were consumed; but great part of his library escaped.\n\nGoldsmith's simple-hearted ballad of _Edwin and Angelina_ was originally\n\"printed for the amusement of the Countess of Northumberland.\" Two years\nafter, Kenrick accused him in the papers of plagiarising it from Percy's\npasticcio from Shakspere in the _Reliques_, which was probably written in\n1765.[360]\n\nIt is probable that Goldsmith often visited Percy, when acting as chaplain\nat Northumberland House. Sir John Hawkins, indeed, describes meeting the\npoet waiting for an audience in an outer room. At his own audience Hawkins\nmentioned that the doctor was waiting. On their way home together,\nGoldsmith told Hawkins that his lordship said that he had read the\n_Traveller_ with delight, that he was going as Lord Lieutenant to Ireland,\nand should be glad, as Goldsmith was an Irishman, to do him any kindness.\nHawkins was enraptured at the rich man's graciousness. But Goldsmith had\nmentioned only his brother, a clergyman there, who needed help. \"As for\nmyself,\" he added, bitterly, \"I have no dependence on the promises of\ngreat men. I look to the booksellers for support; they are my best\nfriends, and I am not inclined to forsake them for others.\" \"Thus,\" says\nHawkins, \"did this idiot in the affairs of the world trifle with his\nfortunes and put back the hand that was held out to assist him.\" The earl\ntold Percy, after Goldsmith's death, that had he known how to help the\npoet he would have done so, or he would have procured him a salary on the\nIrish establishment that would have allowed him to travel. Let men of the\nworld remember that the poet a few days before had been forced to borrow\n15s. 6d. to meet his own wants.\n\nThis conversation took place in 1765. In 1771, when Goldsmith was stopping\nat Bath with his good-natured friend Lord Clare, he blundered by mistake\nat breakfast time into the next door on the same Parade, where the Duke\nand Duchess of Northumberland were staying. As he took no notice of them,\nbut threw himself carelessly on a sofa, they supposed there was some\nmistake, and therefore entered into conversation with him, and when\nbreakfast was served up, invited him to stay and partake of it. The poet,\nhot, stammering, and irrecoverably confused, withdrew with profuse\napologies for his mistake, but not till he had accepted an invitation to\ndinner. This story, a parallel to the laughable blunder in _She Stoops to\nConquer_, was told by the duchess herself to Dr. Percy.\n\nIt was probably of the first of these interviews that Goldsmith used to\ngive the following account:--\n\n\"I dressed myself in the best manner I could, and, after studying some\ncompliments I thought necessary on such an occasion, proceeded to\nNorthumberland House, and acquainted the servants that I had particular\nbusiness with the duke. They showed me into an ante-chamber, where, after\nwaiting some time, a gentleman, very elegantly dressed, made his\nappearance. Taking him for the duke, I delivered all the fine things I had\ncomposed, in order to compliment him on the honour he had done me; when to\nmy fear and astonishment, he told me I had mistaken him for his master,\nwho would see me immediately. At that instant the duke came into the\napartment, and I was so confounded on the occasion that I wanted words\nbarely sufficient to express the sense I entertained of the duke's\npoliteness, and went away exceedingly chagrined at the blunder I had\ncommitted.\"[361]\n\nDr. Waagen, the picture critic, seems to have been rather dazzled at the\nsplendour of Northumberland House. He praises the magnificent staircase,\nlighted from above and reaching up through three stories, the white marble\nfloors, the balustrades and chandeliers of gilt bronze, the cabinets of\nFlorentine mosaic, and the arabesques of the drawing-room.[362] The great\npicture of the duke's collection was the Cornaro family, by Titian; I\nbelieve from the Duke of Buckingham's collection. It is a splendid\nspecimen of the painter's middle period and golden tone. The faces of the\nkneeling Cornari are grand, simple, senatorial, and devout. There was also\na Saint Sebastian, by Guercino, \"clear and careful,\" and large as life; a\nfine Snyders and Vandyke; many copies by Mengs (particularly \"The School\nof Athens\"); and a good Schalcken, with his usual candlelight effect. The\ngem of all the English pictures was one by Dobson, Vandyke's noble pupil.\nIt contained the portrait of the painter and those of Sir Balthasar\nGerbier, the architect, and Sir Charles Cotterell. The colour is as rich\nand juicy as Titian's, the drapery learned and graceful, the faces are\nfull of fire and spirit. Dobson died at the age of thirty-six. Sir Charles\nwas his patron.[363] Vandyke is said to have disinterred Dobson from a\ngarret, and recommended him to the king. Gerbier was a native of Antwerp,\na painter, architect, and ambassador. This picture of Dobson was bought at\nBetterton's sale for L44.[364] The gallery of the Duke of Northumberland\nwas removed in 1875, when the house was demolished, to Sion House.\n\nNorthumberland House was connected with, at all events, one period of\nEnglish history. In the year 1660, when General Monk was in quarters at\nWhitehall, the Earl of Northumberland, in the name of the nobility and\ngentry of England, invited him here to the first conference in which the\nrestoration of the Stuarts was publicly talked of. Algernon Percy, the\ntenth earl, had been Lord High Admiral under Charles I.\n\nThat staunch, brave, crotchety man, Sir Harry Vane the younger (the son of\nLord Strafford's enemy), lived next door to Northumberland House,\neastwards, in the Strand. The house in Charles II.'s time became the\nofficial residence of the Secretary of State, and Mr. Secretary Nicholas\ndwelt there, when meetings were held to found a commonwealth and put down\nthat foolish, good-natured, incompetent Richard Cromwell. To the great\nProtector, Vane was a thorn in the flesh, for he wanted a republic when\nthe nation required a stronger and more compact government. Oliver's\nexclamation, \"Oh, Sir Harry Vane! Sir Harry Vane!--The Lord deliver me\nfrom Sir Harry Vane!\" expresses infinite vexation with an impracticable\nperson. Vane was a \"Fifth-monarchy man,\" and believed in universal\nsalvation. He must have been a good man, or Milton would never have\naddressed the sonnet to him in which he says--\n\n  \"Therefore, on thy firm hand Religion leans\n  In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.\"\n\nSir Harry left behind him some very tough and dark treatises on prophecy,\nand other profound matters that few but angels or fools dare to meddle\nwith.\n\nThere is a foolish tradition that Charing Cross was so named originally by\nEdward I. in memory of his _chere reine_. Peele, one of the glorious band\nof Elizabethan dramatists, helped to spread this tradition. He makes King\nEdward say--\n\n  \"Erect a rich and stately carved cross,\n  Whereon her statue shall with glory shine;\n  And henceforth see you call it Charing Cross.\n  For why?--the _chariest_ and the choicest queen\n  That ever did delight my royal eyes\n  There dwells in darkness.\"[365]\n\nThe inconsolable widower, however, in spite of his costly grief, soon\nmarried again.\n\nThe truth is, there are in England one or two Charings; one of them is a\nvillage thirteen miles from Maidstone. \"_Ing_\" means meadow in Saxon.[366]\nThe meaning of \"_Char_\" is uncertain; it may be the contraction of the\nname of some long-forgotten landowner, \"rich in the possession of\ndirt.\"[367] The Anglo-Saxon word _cerre_--a turn (says Mr. Robert\nFerguson, an excellent authority), is retained in the name given in\nCarlisle and other northern towns to the chares, or _wynds_--small\nstreets. In King Edward's time Charing was bounded by fields, both north\nand west. There has been a good deal of nonsense, however, written about\n\"the pleasant village of Charing.\" In Aggas's map, published under\nElizabeth, Hedge Lane (now Whitcombe Street) is a country lane bordered\nwith fields; so is the Haymarket, and all behind the Mews up to St.\nMartin's Lane is equally rural.\n\nHorne Tooke[368] derives the word Charing from the Saxon verb _charan_--to\nturn; but the etymology is still doubtful, however much the river may bend\non its way to Westminster. However, doubtless, the place was named\nCharing as far back as the Saxon times.\n\nIt was Peele also who kept alive the old tradition of Queen Eleanor\nsinking at Charing Cross and rising again at Queenhithe. When falsely\naccused of _her crimes_, his heroine replies in the words of a rude old\nballad well known in Elizabeth's time--\n\n  \"If that upon so vile a thing\n    Her heart did ever think,\n  She wished the ground might open wide,\n    And therein she might sink.\n\n  With that at Charing Cross she sank\n    Into the ground alive,\n  And after rose with life again,\n    In London at Queenhithe.\"[369]\n\nThe Eleanor crosses were erected at Lincoln, Geddington, Northampton,\nStony Stratford, Woburn, Dunstable, St. Albans, Waltham, Cheap, and\nCharing. Three only now remain,--Northampton, Geddington, and Waltham.\nCharing Cross was probably the most costly; it was octagonal, and was\nadorned with statues in tiers of niches, which were crowned with\npinnacles. It was begun by Master Richard de Crundale, \"cementarius,\" but\nhe died about 1293, before it was finished, and the work went on under the\nsupervision of Roger de Crundale. Richard received about L500 for his\nwork, exclusive of materials furnished him, and Roger L90: 7: 5. The stone\nwas brought from Caen, and the marble steps from Corfe in Dorsetshire.\nOnly one foreigner was employed on all the crosses, and he was a\nFrenchman. The Abbot Ware brought mosaics, porphyry, and perhaps designs\nfrom Italy, but there is no proof that he brought over Cavallini. A\nreplica of the original cross, designed by Mr. Barry, has been erected at\nthe west end of the Strand, opposite the Charing Cross Railway Station and\nHotel.\n\nThe cluster of houses at Charing acquired the name of Cross from the\nmonument set up by Edward I. to the memory of his gentle, pious, and\nbrave wife Eleanor, the sister of Alphonso, King of Castille. This good\nwoman was the daughter of Ferdinand III., and after the death of her\nmother, heiress of Ponthieu. She bore to her fond husband four sons and\neleven daughters, of whom only three are supposed to have survived their\nfather.\n\nQueen Eleanor died at Hardley, near Lincoln, in 1290. The king followed\nthe funeral to Westminster, and afterwards erected a cross to his wife's\nmemory at every place where the corpse rested for the night. In the\ncircular which the king sent on the occasion to his prelates and nobles,\nhe trusts that prayers may be offered for her soul at these crosses, so\nthat any stains not purged from her, either from forgetfulness or other\ncauses, may through the plenitude of the Divine grace be removed.[370] It\nwas Queen Eleanor who, when Edward was stabbed at Acre, by an emissary of\nthe Emir of Joppa, according to a Spanish historian,[371] sucked the\npoison from the wounds at the risk of her own life.\n\nThis warlike king, who subdued Wales and Scotland, who expelled the Jews\nfrom England, who hunted Bruce, hanged Wallace, and who finally died on\nhis march to crush Scotland, had a deep affection for his wife, and strove\nby all that art could do to preserve her memory.\n\nOld Charing Cross was long supposed to have been built from the designs of\nPietro Cavallini, a contemporary of Giotto. He is said to have assisted\nthat painter in the great mosaic picture over the chief entrance of St.\nPeter's. But there is little ground for accepting the tradition as true,\nthough asserted by Vertue, as we learn from Horace Walpole's 'Anecdotes.'\nCavallini was born in 1279, and died in 1364. The monument to Henry III.\nat the Abbey, and the old paintings round the chapel of St. Edward are\nalso attributed to this patriarch of art by Vertue.[372]\n\nQueen Eleanor had three tombs--one in Lincoln Cathedral, over her viscera;\nanother in the church of the Blackfriars in London, over her heart; a\nthird in Westminster Abbey, over the rest of her body. The first was\ndestroyed by the Parliamentarians; the second probably perished at the\ndissolution of the monasteries; the third has escaped. It is a valuable\nexample of the thirteenth century beau-ideal. The tomb was the work of\nWilliam Torel, a London goldsmith. The statue is not a portrait statue any\nmore than the statue of Henry III. by the same artist. Torel seems to have\nreceived for his whole work about L1700 of our money.[373]\n\nThe beautiful cross, with its pinnacles and statues, was demolished in\n1647 under an order of the House of Commons, which had remained dormant\nfor three years; and at the same time fell its brother cross in Cheapside.\n\nThe Royalist ballad-mongers, eager to catch the Puritans tripping,\nproduced a lively street song on the occasion, beginning--\n\n  \"Undone, undone the lawyers are,\n    They wander about the town,\n  Nor can find the way to Westminster,\n    Now Charing Cross is down.\n  At the end of the Strand they make a stand,\n    Swearing they are at a loss,\n  And chaffing say that's not the way,\n    They must go by Charing Cross.\"\n\nThe ballad-writer goes on to deny that the Cross ever spoke a word against\nthe Parliament, though he confesses it might have inclined to Popery; for\ncertain it was that it \"never went to church.\"\n\nThe workmen were engaged for three months in pulling down the Cross.[374]\nSome of the stones went to form the pavement before Whitehall; others were\npolished to look like marble, and were sold to antiquaries for\nknife-handles. The site remained vacant for thirty-one years.\n\nAfter the Restoration Charing Cross was turned into a place of execution.\nHere Hugh Peters, Cromwell's chaplain, and Major-General Harrison, the\nsturdy Anabaptist, Colonel Jones, and Colonel Scrope were executed. They\nall died bravely, without a doubt or a fear.\n\nHarrison was the son of a Staffordshire farmer, and had fought bravely at\nthe siege of Basing; he had been major-general in Scotland; had helped\nCromwell at the disbanding of the Rump; had served in the Council of\nState; and finally having expressed honest Anabaptist scruples about the\nProtectorate, had been imprisoned to prevent rebellion. Cromwell's son\nOliver had been captain in Harrison's regiment.[375] As he was led to the\nscaffold some base scullion called out to the brave old Ironside, \"Where\nis your good _old_ cause now?\" Harrison replied with a cheerful smile,\nclapping his hand on his breast, \"Here it is, and I am going to seal it\nwith my blood.\" When he came in sight of the gallows he was transported\nwith joy; his servant asked him how he did? He answered, \"Never better in\nmy life.\" His servant told him, \"Sir, there is a crown of glory prepared\nfor you.\"[376] \"Yes,\" replied he, \"I see.\" When he was taken off the\nsledge, the hangman desired him to forgive him. \"I do forgive thee,\" said\nhe, \"with all my heart, as it is a sin against me,\" and told him he wished\nhim all happiness; and further said, \"Alas, poor man, thou dost it\nignorantly; the Lord grant that this sin may not be laid to thy charge!\"\nand putting his hand into his pocket he gave him all the money he had; and\nso parting with his servant, hugging him in his arms, he went up the\nladder with an undaunted countenance. The cruel rabble observing him\ntremble in his hands and legs, he took notice of it, and said, \"Gentlemen,\nby reason of some scoffing that I do hear, I judge that some do think I am\nafraid to die by the shaking I have in my hands and knees. I tell you\n_No_; but it is by reason of much blood I have lost in the wars, and many\nwounds I have received in my body, which caused this shaking and weakness\nin my nerves. I have had it this twelve years. I speak this to the praise\nand glory of God. He hath carried me above the fear of death, and I value\nnot my life, because I go to my Father, and I am assured I shall take it\nagain. Gentlemen, take notice, that for being an instrument in that cause\n(an instrument of the Son of God) which hath been pleaded amongst us, and\nwhich God hath witnessed to by many appeals and wonderful victories, I am\nbrought to this place to suffer death this day, and if I had ten thousand\nlives I could freely and cheerfully lay them down all to witness to this\nmatter.\"\n\nThen he prayed to himself with tears, and having ended, the hangman pulled\ndown his cap, but he thrust it up and said, \"I have one word more to the\nLord's people. Let them not think hardly of any of the good ways of God\nfor all this, for I have found the way of God to be a perfect way, and He\nhath covered my head many times in the day of battle. By my God I have\nleaped over a wall, by my God I have run through a troop, and by my God I\nwill go through this death, and He will make it easy to me. Now, into thy\nhands, O Lord Jesus, I commit my spirit.\"\n\nAfter he was hanged they cut down this true martyr, and stripping him,\nslashed him open in order to disembowel him. In the last rigour of his\nagony this staunch soldier is said to have risen up and struck the\nexecutioner.\n\nThree days after, Carew and Cook were hanged at the same place, rejoicing\nand praying cheerfully to the last. As Cook parted from his wife he said\nto her, \"I am going to be married in glory this day. Why weepest\nthou?--let them weep who part and shall never meet again.\"\n\nOn the 17th, Thomas Scot perished at the same place. His last words\nwere--\"God engaged me in a cause not to be repented of--I say, in a cause\nnot to be repented of.\"\n\nJones and Scrope (both old men) were drawn in one sledge. Their grave yet\ncheerful and courageous countenances caused great admiration and\ncompassion among the crowd. Observing one of his friend's children weeping\nat Newgate, Colonel Jones took her by the hand. He said, \"Suppose your\nfather were to-morrow to be King of France, and you were to tarry a little\nbehind, would you weep so? Why, he is going to reign with the King of\nkings.\" When he saw the sledge, he said, \"It is like Elijah's fiery\nchariot, only it goes through Fleet Street.\" The night before he suffered,\nhe told a friend the only temptation he had was lest he should be too much\ntransported, and so neglect and slight his life, so greatly was he\nsatisfied to die in such a cause. Another friend he grasped in his arms\nand said, \"Farewell! I could wish thee in the same condition as myself,\nthat our souls might mount up to heaven together and share in eternal\njoys.\" To another friend he said, \"Ah, dear heart! if we had perished\ntogether in that storm going to Ireland, we had been in heaven to welcome\nhonest Harrison and Carew; but we will be content to go after them--we\nwill go after.\" It is added that \"the executioner, having done his part\nupon three others that day, was so surfeited with blood and sick, that he\nsent his boy to finish the tragedy on Colonel Jones.\"\n\nHugh Peters was much afraid while in Newgate lest his spirits should fail\nhim when he saw the gibbet and the fire, but his courage did not fail him\nin that hour of great need. On his way to execution he looked about and\nespied a man to whom he gave a piece of gold, having bowed it first, and\ndesired him to carry that as a token to his daughter, and to let her know\nthat her father's heart was as full of comfort as it could be, and that\nbefore the piece should come into her hands he should be with God in\nglory.\n\nWhile Cook was being hanged they made Peters sit within the rails to\nbehold his death. While sitting thus, one came to him and upbraided the\nold preacher with the king's death, and bade him repent. Peters replied,\n\"Friend, you do not well to trample upon a dying man: you are greatly\nmistaken--I had nothing to do in the death of the king.\"\n\nWhen Mr. Cook was cut down and about to be quartered, Colonel Turner told\nthe sheriff's men to bring Mr. Peters nearer to see the body. By and by\nthe hangman came to him, rubbing his bloody hands, and tauntingly asked\nhim, \"Come, how do you like this--how do you like this work?\" To whom Mr.\nPeters calmly replied, \"I am not, I thank God, terrified at it--you may do\nyour worst.\"\n\nBeing upon the ladder, he spoke to the sheriff and said, \"Sir, you have\nhere slain one of the servants of God before mine eyes, and have made me\nto behold it on purpose to terrify and discourage me, but God hath made it\nan ordinance to me for my strengthening and encouragement.\"\n\nWhen he was going to die, he said, \"What, flesh! art thou unwilling to go\nto God through the fire and jaws of death? Oh! this is a good day. He is\ncome that I have long looked for, and I shall soon be with Him in glory.\"\nAnd he smiled when he went away. \"What Mr. Peters said further it could\nnot be taken, in regard his voice was low at the time and the people\nuncivil.\"\n\nIn May 1685 that consummate scoundrel Titus Oates came to the pillory at\nCharing Cross. He had been condemned to pay a thousand marks fine, to be\nstripped of his gown, to be whipped from Newgate to Tyburn, from Aldgate\nto Newgate, and to stand in the pillory at the Royal Exchange and before\nWestminster Hall. He was also condemned to stand one hour in the pillory\nat Charing Cross every 10th of August, and there an eye-witness describes\nseeing him in 1688.[377]\n\nIn 1666 and 1667 an Italian puppet-player set up his booth at Charing\nCross, and there and then probably introduced \"Punch and Judy\" into\nEngland. He paid a small rent to the overseers of St. Martin's parish, and\nis called in their books \"Punchinello.\" In 1668 we learn that a Mr. Devone\nerected a small playhouse in the same place.[378]\n\nThere is still extant a song written to ridicule the long delay in setting\nup the king's statue, and it contains an allusion to \"Punch\"--\n\n  \"What can the mistry be, why Charing Cross\n    These five months continues still blinded with board?\n  Dear Wheeler, impart--wee are all att a loss,\n    Unless Punchinello is to be restored.\"[379]\n\nThe royal statue at Charing Cross is the work of Hubert Le Soeur, a\nFrenchman and a pupil of the famous John of Bologna, the sculptor of the\n\"Rape of the Sabines\" in the Loggia at Florence. Le Soeur's copy of the\n\"Fighting Gladiator,\" which is praised by Peacham in his \"Compleat\nGentleman,\" once at the head of the canal in St. James's Park, is now at\nHampton Court. Le Soeur also executed the monuments of Sir George\nVilliers, and Sir Thomas Richardson the judge, in Westminster Abbey.\n\nThe original contract for the brazen equestrian statue, a foot larger than\nlife, is dated 1630. The sculptor was to receive L600. The agreement was\ndrawn up by Sir Balthasar Gerbier for the purchaser, the Lord High\nTreasurer Weston. Yet the existing statue was not cast till 1633, and the\nabove-mentioned agreement speaks of it as to be erected in the Lord\nTreasurer's garden at Roehampton; so that the agreement may not refer to\nthe same work, although it certainly specifies that the sculptor shall\n\"take advice of his Maj. riders of greate horses, as well for the shape of\nthe horse and action as for the graceful shape and action of his Maj.\nfigure on the same.\"[380]\n\nThe present statue was cast in 1633, on a piece of ground near the church\nin Covent Garden, and not being actually erected when the Civil War broke\nout, it was sold by the Parliament to John Rivet, a brazier, living at\n\"the Dial, near Holburn Conduit,\" with strict orders to break it up. But\nthe man, being a shrewd Royalist, produced some fragments of old brass,\nand hid the statue underground till the Restoration. Rivet refusing to\ndeliver up the statue after Charles's return, a replevin was served upon\nhim to compel its surrender. The dispute, however, lasted many years, and\nhe probably pleaded compensation. The statue was erected in its present\nposition about 1674, by an order from the Earl of Danby, afterwards Duke\nof Leeds. Le Soeur died, it is supposed, before the statue was erected.\n\nHorace Walpole, who praises the \"commanding grace of the figure,\" and the\n\"exquisite form of the horse,\"[381] incorrectly says, \"The statue was made\nat the expense of the family of Howard, Lord Arundel, who have still the\nreceipt to show by whom and for whom it was cast.\"\n\nThere is still extant a very rare large sheet print of the statue,\nengraved in the manner and time of Faithorne, but without name or date.\nThe inscription beneath it describes the statue as almost ten feet high,\nand as \"preserved underground,\" with great hazard, charge, and care, by\nJohn Rivet, a brazier.[382]\n\nJohn Rivet may have been a patriot, but he was certainly a shrewd one. To\nsecure his concealed treasure he had manufactured a large quantity of\nbrass handles for knives and forks, and advertised them as being forged\nfrom the destroyed statue. They sold well; the Royalists bought them as\nsad and precious relics; the Puritans as mementos of their triumph. He\ndoubled his prices, and still his shop was crowded with eager customers,\nso that in a short time he realised a considerable fortune.[383]\n\nThe brazier, or the brazier's family, probably sold the statue to Charles\nII. at his restoration. The Parliament voted L70,000 for solemnising the\nfuneral of Charles I., and for erecting a monument to his memory.[384]\nPart of this sum went for the pedestal, but whether the brazier or his kin\nwere rewarded is not known. Charles II. probably spent most of the money\non his pleasures.\n\nThere is a fatality attending the verses of most time-serving poets.\nWaller never wrote a court poem well but when he lauded that great man,\nthe Protector. When the statue of \"the Martyr\" was set up, _fourteen\nyears_ after the Restoration--so tardy was filial affection--Waller wrote\nthe following dull and unworthy lines about the statue of a faithless\nking:--\n\n  \"That the first Charles does here in triumph ride,\n  See his son reign where he a martyr died,\n  And people pay that reverence as they pass\n  (Which then he wanted) to the sacred brass\n  Is not th' effect of gratitude alone,\n  To which we owe the statue and the stone;\n  But Heaven this lasting monument has wrought,\n  That mortals may eternally be taught\n  Rebellion, though successful, is but vain,\n  And kings so kill'd rise conquerors again.\n  This truth the royal image does proclaim\n  Loud as the trumpet of surviving fame.\"\n\nAndrew Marvell, one of the most powerful of lampoon writers, and the very\nGillray of political satirists, wrote some bitter lines on the statue of\nthe so-called Martyr at Charing Cross, lines which in an earlier reign\nwould have cost the honest daring poet his ears, if not his head.\n\nThere was an equestrian stone statue of Charles II. at Woolchurch\n(Woolwich?), and the poet imagines the two horses, the one of stone and\nthe other of brass, talking together one evening, when the two riders,\nweary of sitting all day, had stolen away together for a chat.\n\n  \"WOOLCHURCH.--To see Dei gratia writ on the throne,\n                         And the king's wicked life says God there is none.\n\n     CHARING.--That he should be styled Defender of the Faith\n                        Who believes not a word what the Word of God saith.\n\n  WOOLCHURCH.--That the Duke should turn <DW7> and that church defy\n                        For which his own father a martyr did die.\n\n     CHARING.--Tho' he changed his religion, I hope he's so civil\n                        Not to think his own father has gone to the devil.\"\n\nUpon the brazen horse being asked his opinion of the Duke of York, it\nreplies with terrible truth and force:--\n\n  \"The same that the frogs had of Jupiter's stork.\n  With the Turk in his head and the Pope in his heart,\n  Father Patrick's disciple will make England smart.\n  If e'er he be king, I know Britain's doom:\n  We must all to the stake or be converts to Rome.\n  Ah! Tudor! ah! Tudor! of Stuarts enough.\n  None ever reigned like old Bess in her ruff.\n\n     *       *       *       *       *\n\n  WOOLCHURCH.--But can'st thou devise when kings will be mended?\n\n     CHARING.--When the reign of the line of the Stuarts is ended.\"\n\nIn April 1810 the sword, buckles, and straps fell from the statue.[385]\nThe king's sword was stolen on the day on which Queen Victoria went to\nopen the Royal Exchange.\n\nLondon has its local traditions as well as the smallest village. There is\na foolish story that the sculptor of Charles I. and his steed committed\nsuicide in vexation at having forgotten to put a girth to the horse. The\nmyth has arisen from the supposition of there being no girth, and\nretailers of such stories, Mr. Leigh Hunt included, did not take the\ntrouble to ascertain whether there was or was not a girth. Unfortunately\nfor the story there is a girth, and it is clearly visible.\n\nThe pedestal, by some assigned to Marshal, by others to Grinling Gibbons,\nthe great wood-carver, and a Dutchman by birth, is seventeen feet high,\nand is enriched with the arms of England, trophies of armour, cupids, and\npalm-branches. It is erected in the centre of a circular area, thirty feet\nin diameter, raised one step from the roadway, and enclosed with iron\nrails. The lion and unicorn are much mutilated, and the trophies are\nhoneycombed and corroded by the weather. It has not been generally\nobserved that on the south side of the pedestal two weeping children\nsupport a crown of thorns, and that the same emblem is repeated on the\nopposite side, below the royal arms.\n\nIn 1727 (1st George II.) that infamous rogue, Edmund Curll, the publisher\nof all the filth and slander of his age, stood in the pillory at Charing\nCross for printing a vile work called _Venus in a Cloyster_. He was not,\nhowever, pelted or ill-used; for, with the usual lying and cunning of his\nreptile nature, he had circulated printed papers telling the people that\nhe stood there for daring to vindicate the memory of Queen Anne. The mob\nallowed no one to touch him; and when he was taken down they carried him\noff in triumph to a neighbouring tavern.[386]\n\nArchenholz, an observant Prussian officer who was in England in 1784,\ntells a curious anecdote of the statue at Charing Cross. During the war in\nwhich General Braddock was defeated by the French in America, about the\ntime when Minorca was in the enemy's hands, and poor Byng had just fallen\na victim to popular fury, an unhappy Spaniard, who did not know a word of\nEnglish, and had just arrived in England, was surrounded by a mob near\nWhitehall, who took him by his dress for a French spy. One of the rabble\ninstantly proposed to mount him on the king's horse. The idea was adopted.\nA ladder was brought, and the miserable Spaniard was forced upon its back,\nto be loaded with insults and pelted with mud. Luckily for the stranger,\nat that moment a cabinet minister happening to pass by, stopped to inquire\nthe cause of the crowd. On addressing the man in French he discovered the\nmistake, and informed the mob. They instantly helped the man down, and the\nminister, taking him in his coach to the Spanish ambassador, apologised in\nthe name of the nation for a mistake that might have been fatal.[387]\n\nIn June 1731 Japhet Crook, _alias_ Sir Peter Stranger, who had been found\nguilty of forging the writings to an estate, was sentenced to imprisonment\nfor life.[388] He was condemned to stand for one hour in the pillory at\nCharing Cross. He was then seated in an elbow-chair; the common hangman\ncut off both his ears with an incision knife, and then delivered them to\nMr. Watson, a sheriff's officer. He also slit both Crook's nostrils with a\npair of scissors, and seared them with a hot iron, pursuant to the\nsentence. A surgeon attended on the pillory and instantly applied styptics\nto prevent the effusion of blood. The man bore the operations with\nundaunted courage. He laughed on the pillory, and denied the fact to the\nlast. He was then removed to the Ship Tavern at Charing Cross, and thence\ntaken back to the King's Bench prison, to be confined there for life.[389]\n\nThis Crook had forged the conveyance, to himself, of an estate, upon which\nhe took up several thousand pounds. He was at the same time sued in\nChancery for having fraudulently obtained a will and wrongfully gained an\nestate. In spite of losing his ears, he enjoyed the ill-gained money in\nprison till the day of his death, and then quietly left it to his\nexecutor. He is mentioned by Pope in his 3d epistle, written in 1732.\nTalking of riches, he says--\n\n  \"What can they give?--to dying Hopkins heirs?\n  To Chartres vigour? Japhet nose and ears?\"[390]\n\nIt was in this essay that, having been accused of attacking the Duke of\nChandos, Pope first began to attack vices instead of follies, and, in\norder to prevent mistakes, boldly to publish the names of the malefactors\nwhom he gibbeted.\n\nCrook had been a brewer on Tower Hill. The 2d George II., c. 25, made\nforgery a felony; and the first sufferer under the new law was Richard\nCooper, a Stepney victualler, who was hanged at Tyburn, in June 1731, six\ndays only after the older and luckier thief had stood in the pillory.\n\nIn 1763 Parsons, the parish-clerk of St. Sepulchre's, and the impudent\ncontriver of the \"Cock Lane ghost\" deception, mounted here to the same bad\neminence. Parsons's child, a cunning little girl of twelve years, had\ncontrived to tap on her bed in a way that served to convey what were\nsupposed to be supernatural messages. It proved to be a plot devised by\nParsons out of malice against a gentleman of Norfolk who had sued him for\na debt. This gentleman was a widower, who had taken his wife's sister as\nhis mistress--a marriage with her being forbidden by law--and had brought\nher to lodge with Parsons, from whence he had removed her to other\nlodgings, where she had died suddenly of small-pox. The object of Parsons\nwas to obtain the ghost's declaration that she had been poisoned by\nParsons's creditor. The rascal was set three times in the pillory and\nimprisoned for a year in the King's Bench. The people, however, singularly\nenough, did not pelt the impudent rogue, but actually collected money for\nhim.\n\nThere is a rare sheet-print of Charing Cross by Sutton Nicholls, in the\nreign of Queen Anne. It shows about forty small square stone posts\nsurrounding the pedestal of the statue. The spot seems to have been a\nfavourite standing-place for hackney coaches and sedan chairs. Every house\nhas a long stepping-stone for horsemen at a regulated distance from the\nfront.\n\nIn 1737 Hogarth published his four prints of the \"Times of the Day.\"[391]\nThe scene of _Night_ is laid at Charing Cross; it is an\nillumination-night. Some drunken Freemasons and the Salisbury \"High-flyer\"\ncoach upset over a street bonfire near the Rummer Tavern, fill up the\npicture, which is curious as showing the roadway much narrower than it is\nnow, and impeded with projecting signs above and bulkheads below.\n\nThe place is still further immortalised in the old song--\n\n  \"I cry my matches by Charing Cross,\n  Where sits a black man on a black horse.\"\n\nIn a sixpenny book for children, published about 1756, the absurd figure\nof King George impaled on the top of Bloomsbury Church is contrasted with\nthat of King Charles at the Cross.\n\n    \"No longer stand staring,\n    My friend, at Cross Charing,\n  Amidst such a number of people;\n    For a man on a horse\n    Is a matter of course,\n  But look! here's a king on a steeple.\"[392]\n\nIt was at Robinson's coffee-house, at Charing Cross, that that clever\nscamp, vigorous versifier, and, as I think, great impostor, Richard\nSavage, stabbed to death a Mr. Sinclair in a drunken brawl. Savage had\ncome up from Richmond to settle a claim for lodgings, when, meeting two\nfriends, he spent the night in drinking, till it was too late to get a\nbed. As the three revellers passed Robinson's, a place of no very good\nname, they saw a light, knocked at the door, and were admitted. It was a\ncold, raw, November night; and hearing that the company in the parlour\nwere about to leave, and that there was a fire there, they pushed in and\nkicked down the table. A quarrel ensued, swords were drawn, and Mr.\nSinclair received a mortal wound. The three brawlers then fled, and were\ndiscovered lurking in a back-court by the soldiers who came to stop the\nfray. The three men were taken to the Gate House at Westminster, and the\nnext morning to Newgate. That cruel and bullying judge, Page, hounded on\nthe jury at the trial in the following violent summing up:--\"Gentlemen of\nthe jury, you are to consider that Mr. Savage is a very great man, a much\ngreater man than you or I, gentlemen of the jury; that he wears very fine\nclothes, much finer than you or I, gentlemen of the jury; that he has\nabundance of money in his pocket, much more money than you or I, gentlemen\nof the jury; but, gentlemen of the jury, is it not a very hard case,\ngentlemen of the jury, that Mr. Savage should therefore kill you or me,\ngentlemen of the jury?\"\n\nThe verdict was of course \"Guilty,\" for these homicides during tavern\nbrawls had become frightfully common, and quiet citizens were never sure\nof their lives. Sentence of death was recorded against him. Eventually a\nlady at court interceded for the poet, who escaped with six months'\nimprisonment in Newgate, which he certainly well deserved.\n\nThere is every reason to suppose from the researches of Mr. W. Moy Thomas,\nthat Savage was an impostor. He claimed to be the illegitimate son of the\nCountess of Macclesfield by Lord Rivers. The lady had an illegitimate\nchild born in Fox Court, Gray's Inn Lane in 1697; but this child, there\nis reason to think, died in 1698.[393] Savage imposed on Dr. Johnson and\nother friends with stories of being placed at school and apprenticed to a\nshoemaker in Holborn by his countess mother, until among his nurse's old\nletters he one day accidentally discovered the secret of his birth. There\nis no proof at all of his being persecuted by the countess, whose life he\nrendered miserable by insults, lampoons, abuse, slander, and begging\nletters.\n\nPope has embalmed Page in the _Dunciad_ just as a scorpion is preserved in\na spirit-bottle:--\n\n  \"Morality by her false guardians drawn,\n  Chicane in furs, and Casuistry in lawn,\n  Gasps as they straighten at each end the cord,\n  And dies when Dulness gives her _Page_ the word.\"[394]\n\nAnd again, with equal bitterness and truth, in his _Imitations of\nHorace_:--\n\n  \"Slander or poison dread from Delia's rage,\n  Hard words or hanging if your judge be Page.\"\n\nThis \"hanging judge,\" who enjoyed his ermine and his infamy till he was\neighty, first obtained preferment by writing political pamphlets. He was\nmade a Baron of the Exchequer in 1718, a Justice of the Common Pleas in\n1726, and in 1727 transferred to the Court of King's Bench. Page was so\nilliterate that he commenced one of his charges to the grand jury of\nMiddlesex with this remarkable statement: \"I dare venture to affirm,\ngentlemen, on my own knowledge, that England never was so happy, both _at\nhome and abroad_, as it now is.\" Horace Walpole mentions that when Crowle,\nthe punning lawyer, was once entering an assize court, some one asked him\nif Judge Page was not \"just behind.\" Crowle replied, \"I don't know, but I\nam sure he never was just before.\"[395]\n\nThe various mews, now stables, about London, derive their name from the\nenclosure where falcons in the Middle Ages were kept to mew (_mutare_,\nMinshew) their feathers. The King's Mews stood on the site of the present\nTrafalgar Square. In the 13th Edward II. John de la Becke had the custody\nof the Mews \"apud Charing, juxta Westminster.\" In the 10th Edward III.\nJohn de St. Albans succeeded Becke. In Richard II.'s time the office of\nking's falconer, a post of importance, was held by Sir Simon Burley, who\nwas constable of the castles of Windsor, Wigmore, and Guilford, and also\nof the royal manor of Kennington. This Sir Simon had been selected by the\nBlack Prince as guardian of Richard II., and he also negotiated his\nmarriage. One of the complaints of Wat Tyler and his party was that he had\nthrown a burgher of Gravesend into Rochester Castle. The Duke of\nGloucester had him executed in 1388, in spite of Richard's queen praying\nupon her knees for his life. At the end of this reign or in the first year\nof Henry IV., the poet Chaucer was clerk of the king's works and also of\nthe Mews at Charing; and here, from his fluttering, angry little feathered\nsubjects, he must have drawn many of those allusions to the brave sport of\nhawking to be found in the immortal _Canterbury Tales_.\n\nThe falconry continued at Charing till 1534 (26th Henry VIII.), when the\nking's fine stabling, with many horses and a great store of hay, being\ndestroyed by fire, the Mews was rebuilt and turned into royal stables, in\nthe reigns of Edward VI. and Mary.[396]\n\nM. St. Antoine, the riding-master, whose portrait Vandyke painted,\nperformed his caracoles and demi-tours at the Mews. Here Cromwell\nimprisoned Lieut.-Colonel George Joyce, who, when plain cornet, had\narrested the king at Holmby. An angry little Puritan pamphlet of four\npages, published in 1659, gives an account of Cromwell's troubles with the\nfractious Joyce, and how he had resolved to cashier him and destroy his\nestate.\n\nThe colonel was carried by musqueteers to the common Dutch prison at the\nMews, and seems to have been much tormented by Cavalier vermin. There he\nremained ten days, and was then removed to another close room, where he\nfell sick from the \"evil smells,\" and remained so for ten weeks, refusing\nall the time to lay down his commission, declaring that he had been\nunworthily dealt with, and that all that had been sworn against him was\nfalse.\n\nThere was at the Mews gate a celebrated old book shop, opened in 1750 by\nMr. Thomas Payne, who kept it alive for forty years. It was the rendezvous\nof all noblemen and scholars who sought rare books. It may be remarked, by\nthe way, that booksellers' shops have always been the haunts of wits and\npoets. Dodsley, the ex-footman, gathered round him the wisest men of his\nage, as Tonson had also done before him; while, as for John Murray's back\nparlour, it was in Byron's and Moore's days a very temple of the Muses.\n\nIn Charles II.'s time the famous but ugly horse Rowley lived at the Mews,\nand gave a nickname to his swarthy royal master.\n\nIn 1732 that impudent charlatan, Kent, rebuilt the Mews, which was only\nremarkable after that for sheltering for a time Mr. Cross's menagerie,\nwhen first removed from Exeter Change in 1829.\n\nThe National Gallery, one of the poorest buildings in London (which is\nsaying a good deal), was built between 1832 and 1838, from the designs of\na certain unfortunate Mr. Wilkins, R.A. It is not often that Fortune is so\nmalicious as to give an inferior artist such ample room to show his\ninability. The vote for founding the Gallery passed in Parliament in April\n1824. The columns of the portico were part of the screen of Carlton\nHouse--interesting memorials of a debasing regency, and, if possible, of a\nworse reign. The site has been called \"the finest in Europe:\" it is,\nhowever, a fine site, which is more than can be said of the building that\ncovers it. The front is 500 feet long. In the centre is a portico, on\nstilts, with eight Corinthian columns approached by a double flight of\nsteps; a low squat dome not much larger than a washing basin; and two\npepper-castor turrets that crown the eyesore of London. Though on high\nground--very high ground for a rather flat city--the architect, pinched\nfor money, contrived to make the building lower than the grand portico of\nSt. Martin's Church, and even than the houses of Suffolk Place.\n\nOne of the last occasions on which William IV. appeared in public was in\n1837, before the opening of the first Academy Exhibition here in May. The\ngood-natured king is said to have suggested calling the square\n\"Trafalgar,\" and erecting a Nelson monument. A subscription was opened,\nand the Duke of Buccleuch was appointed chairman.\n\nThe square was commenced in 1829, but was not completed till after 1849.\nThe Nelson column was begun in 1837, and the statue set up in November\n1843. Three premiums were offered for the three best designs, and Mr.\nRailton carried off the palm. Upwards of L20,480 were subscribed, and,\nL12,000 it was thought would be required to complete the monument.[397] It\nwas originally intended to expend only L30,000 upon the whole.[398] Alas\nfor estimates so sanguine, so fallacious! the granite work alone cost\nupwards of L10,000.\n\nMr. Railton chose a column, after mature reflection; although triumphal\ncolumns are bad art, and the invention of a barbarous people and a corrupt\nage.[399] He rejected a temple, as too expensive and too much in the way;\na group of figures he condemned as not visible at a distance; he finally\nchose a Corinthian column as new, as harmonious, and as uniting the\nlabours of sculptor and architect.\n\nThe column, with its base and pedestal, measures 193 feet. The fluted\nshaft has a torus of oak leaves. The capital is copied from the fine\nexample of Mars Ultor at Rome; from it rises a circular pedestal wreathed\nwith laurel, and surmounted by a statue of Nelson, eighteen feet high, and\nformed of two blocks of stone from the Granton quarry. The great pedestal\nis adorned with four bassi-relievi, eighteen feet square each,\nrepresenting four of Nelson's great victories. It is difficult to say\nwhich is tamest of the four. That of \"Trafalgar\" is by Mr. Carew; the\n\"Nile,\" by Mr. Woodington; \"St. Vincent,\" by Mr. Watson; and \"Copenhagen,\"\nby Mr. Ternouth.\n\nThe pedestal is raised on a flight of fifteen steps, at the angles of\nwhich are placed couchant lions from the designs of Sir Edwin Landseer.\nThey are forged out of French cannon. The capital is of the same costly\nmaterial, which, considering the brave English blood it has cost, should\nhave been painted crimson. Many years passed by after the commission was\ngiven to Sir Edwin Landseer before they were placed _in situ_.\n\nThe cocked hat on Mr. Baily's statue has been somewhat unjustly ridiculed,\nand so has the coil of rope or pigtail supporting the hero.\n\nThe bronze equestrian statue of George IV., at the north-east end of the\nsquare, is by Chantrey. It was ordered by the king in 1829. The price was\nto be 9000 guineas, but the worthy monarch never paid the sculptor more\nthan a third of that sum; the rest was given by the Woods and Forests out\nof the national taxes, and the third instalment in 1843, after Chantrey's\ndeath, by the Lords of the Treasury. It is a sprightly and clever statue,\nbut of no great merit. It should have been paid for by William IV., just\nas the Nelson statue should have been erected by Parliament, the honour\nbeing one due to Nelson from an ungrateful nation. This statue of George\nIV. was originally intended to crown the arch in front of Buckingham\nPalace--an arch that cost L80,000, and that was hung with gates that cost\n3000 guineas. The so-called Chartist riots of 1848 were commenced by boys\ndestroying the hoarding round the base of the Nelson monument.\n\nThe fountains in the centre of the Square are of Peterhead granite, and\nwere made at Aberdeen. They are mean, despicable, and unworthy of the\nnoble position which they occupy. Some years ago there was a fuss about an\nArtesian well that was to feed these stone punch-bowls with inexhaustible\ngushes of silvery water. This supply has dwindled down to a sort of\noverflow of a ginger-beer bottle once a day. I blush when I take a\nforeigner to see Trafalgar Square, with its squat domes, its mean statues,\nits tame bassi-relievi, and its disgraceful fountains.\n\nI will not trust myself to criticise the statues of Napier and Havelock.\nThe figures are poor, and unworthy of the fiery soldier and the Christian\nhero they misrepresent. They should be in the Abbey. Why has the Abbey\ngrown, like the Court, less receptive than ever? What passport is there\ninto the Abbey, where such strange people sleep, if the conquest of Scinde\nand the relief of Lucknow will not take a body there.\n\nBut to return to the National Gallery. Mr. G. Agar-Ellis, afterwards Lord\nDover, first proposed a National Gallery in Parliament in 1824; Government\nhaving previously purchased thirty-eight pictures from Mr. Angerstein for\nL57,000. This collection included \"The Raising of Lazarus,\" by Del Piombo.\nIt is supposed that Michael Angelo, jealous of Raphael's\n\"Transfiguration,\" helped Sebastian in the drawing of his cartoon, which\nwas to be a companion picture for Narbonne Cathedral. It was purchased\nfrom the Orleans Gallery for 3500 guineas.[400]\n\nIn 1825 some pictures were purchased for the Gallery from Mr. Hamlet.\nThese included the \"Bacchus and Ariadne\" of Titian, for L5000. This golden\npicture (extolled by Vasari) was painted about 1514 for the Duke of\nFerrara. Titian was then in the full vigour of his thirty-seventh\nyear.[401]\n\nIn the same year \"La Vierge au Panier\" of Correggio was purchased from Mr.\nNieuwenhuy, a picture-dealer, for L3800. It is a late picture, and hurt in\ncleaning. It was one of the gems of the Madrid Gallery.\n\nIn 1826, Sir George Beaumont presented sixteen pictures, valued at 7500\nguineas. These included one of the finest landscapes of Rubens, \"The\nChateau,\" which originally cost L1500, and Wilkie's _chef-d'oeuvre_, that\nfine Raphaelesque composition, \"The Blind Fiddler.\"\n\nIn 1834 the Rev. William Holwell Carr left the nation thirty-five\npictures, including fine specimens of the Caracci, Titian, Luini,\nGarofalo, Claude, Poussin, and Rubens.\n\nAnother important donation was that of the great \"Peace and War,\" bought\nfor L3000 by the Marquis of Stafford, and given to the nation. It was\noriginally presented to Charles I., by Rubens, who gave unto the king not\nas a painter but as almost a king.\n\nThe British Institution also gave three esteemed pictures by Reynolds,\nGainsborough, and West, and a fine Parmigiano.\n\nBut the greatest addition to the collection was made in 1834, when\nL11,500[402] were given for the two great Correggios, the \"Ecce <DW25>\" and\nthe \"Education of Cupid,\" from the Marquis of Londonderry's collection. To\nthe \"Ecce <DW25>\" Pungileoni assigns the date 1520, when the great master\nwas only twenty-six. It once belonged to Murat. The \"Education of Cupid,\"\nwhich once belonged to Charles I., has been a good deal retouched.[403]\n\nIn 1836 King William IV. presented to the gallery six pictures; in 1837\nColonel Harvey Ollney gave seventeen; in 1838 Lord Farnborough bequeathed\nfifteen, and R. Simmons, Esq., fourteen. The last pictures were chiefly of\nthe Netherlands school. In 1854 the nation possessed two hundred and\nsixteen pictures, and of these seventy only had been purchased.\n\nIn 1857 that greatest of all landscape-painters, Joseph M. W. Turner, left\nthe nation 362 oil-paintings, and about 19,000 sketches (including 1757\nwater-colour drawings of value). In his will this eccentric man\nparticularly desired that two of his pictures--a Dutch coast-scene and\n\"Dido Building Carthage\"--should be hung between Claude's \"Sea-Port\" and\n\"Mill.\"\n\nThe will was disputed, and the engravings and the money, all but L20,000,\nwent to the next of kin.\n\nThe diploma pictures (that formerly were annually exhibited to the public)\nare of great interest. They were given by various members of the Royal\nAcademy at their elections. That of the parsimonious Wilkie--\"Boys digging\nfor Rats\" (fine as Teniers)--is remarkably small. There is a very fine\ngraceful portrait of Sir William Chambers, the architect, by Reynolds, and\none still more robust and glowing of Sir Joshua by himself. He is in his\ndoctor's robes. There is a splendid but rather pale Etty--\"A Satyr\nsurprising a Nymph;\" and a fine vigorous picture by Briggs, of \"Blood\nstealing the Crown.\"\n\nIn 1849, Robert Vernon, Esq., nobly left the nation one hundred and\nsixty-two fine examples of the English school. These are now removed to\nthe Kensington Museum.\n\nOf the pictures given by Turner to the nation, the masterpieces are the\n\"Temeraire\" and the \"Escape of Ulysses,\"--both triumphs of colour and\nimagination. The one is a scene from the _Odyssey_; the other represents\nan old man-of-war being towed to its last berth--a scene witnessed by the\nartist himself while boating near Greenwich. The works of Turner may be\ndivided very fairly into three eras: those in which he imitated the Dutch\nlandscape-painters, the period when he copied idealised Nature, and the\ntime when he resorted from eccentricity or indifference to reckless\nexperiments in colour and effect--most of them quite unworthy of his\ngenius. Not in drawing the figure, but in aerial perspective, did Turner\nexcel. The great portfolios of drawings that he left the nation show with\nwhat untiring and laborious industry he toiled. In habits sordid and mean,\nin tastes low and debased, this great genius, the son of a humble\nhairdresser in Maiden Lane, succeeded in attaining an excellence in\nlandscape, fitful and unequal it is true, but often rising to poetic\nregions unknown to Claude, Ruysdael, Vandervelde, Salvator, or Backhuysen.\n\nEver since the modern pictures were removed to South Kensington, there has\nbeen a constant effort to transfer the ancient pictures and to abandon the\nNational Gallery to the Royal Academy--a rich society, making L5000 or\nL6000 a year, which its members cannot spend, and which tenants the\nnational building only by permission. To remove the pictures from the\ncentre of London is to remove them from those who cannot go far to see\nthem, to the neighbourhood of rich people who do not need their teaching,\nand who have picture-galleries of their own.\n\nIn 1859, twenty pictures were bequeathed to the gallery by Mr. Jacob Bell,\nand a few years later twenty-two others were added as a gift by Her\nMajesty. The last great addition is the presentation of ninety-four\npictures by Mr. Wynn Ellis. But in spite of all these treasures, acquired\nby purchase or by bequest, the nation cannot boast that its gallery does\njustice to our taste or national wealth. It is still lamentably deficient\nin more than one department; and there are not wanting those who assert\nthat the Royal Academy stifles art rather than promotes it. It is regarded\nby the outside world as a close-borough, in which the interests of the\npublic and of students are postponed to those of its Associates and\nMembers, the A.R.A.'s and R.A.'s of the age.\n\nThe building in which the collection is deposited was erected at the\nnational expense, from the designs of Mr. William Wilkins, R.A., and\nopened to the public in 1838. It was considerably altered and enlarged in\n1860, and in 1869 five other rooms were added by the surrender to the\nTrustees of those hitherto appropriated by the Royal Academy. In 1876 a\nnew wing was added, after a design by Mr. E. M. Barry, R.A., and the whole\ncollection is now under one roof.\n\nThe Royal College of Physicians is a large classic building at the\nnorth-west corner of Trafalgar Square. It was built in 1823 from the\ndesigns of Sir Robert Smirke. The college was founded in 1518 by Dr.\nLinacre, the successor to Shakspeare's Dr. Butts, and physician to Henry\nVII. From Knightrider Street the doctors moved to Amen Corner, and thence\nto Warwick Lane, between Newgate Street and Paternoster Row. The number of\nfellows, originally thirty, is now as unlimited as the \"dira cohors\" of\ndiseases that the college has to encounter.\n\nIn the gallery above the library there are seven preparations made by the\ncelebrated Harvey when at Padua--\"learned Padua.\" There are also some\nexcellent portraits--Harvey, by Jansen; Sir Thomas Browne, the author of\n_Religio Medici_; Sir Theodore Mayerne, the physician of James I.; Sir\nEdmund King, who, on his own responsibility, bled Charles II. during a\nfit; Dr. Sydenham, by Mary Beale; Doctor Radcliffe, William III.'s doctor,\nby Kneller; Sir Hans Sloane, the founder of the British Museum, by\nRichardson, whom Hogarth rather unjustly ridiculed; honest Garth (of the\n\"Dispensary\"), by Kneller; Dr. Freind, Dr. Mead, Dr. Warren (by\nGainsborough); William Hunter, and Dr. Heberden.\n\nThere are also some valuable and interesting busts--George IV., by\nChantrey (a _chef-d'oeuvre_); Dr. Mead, by the vivacious Roubilliac; Dr.\nSydenham, by Wilton; Harvey, by Scheemakers; Dr. Baillie, by Chantrey,\nfrom a model by Nollekens; Dr. Babington, by poor Behnes. One of the\ntreasures of the place is Dr. Radcliffe's gold-headed cane, which was\nsuccessively carried by Drs. Mead, Askew, Pitcairn, and Baillie. There is\nalso a portrait-picture by Zoffany of Hunter delivering a lecture on\nanatomy to the Royal Academy. Any fellow can give an order to see this\nhoarded collection, which should be thrown open to the public on certain\ndays. It is selfish and utterly wanting in public spirit to keep such\ntreasures in the dark.\n\nThe wits buzzed about Charing Cross between 1680 and 1730 as thick as bees\nround May flowers. In this district, between those years, stood \"The\nElephant,\" \"The Sugarloaf,\" \"The Old Man's Coffee-house,\" \"The Old Vine,\"\n\"The Three Flower de Luces,\" \"The British Coffee-house,\" \"The Young Man's\nCoffee-house,\" and \"The Three Queens.\"\n\nThere is an erroneous tradition that Cromwell had a house on the site of\nDrummond's bank. He really lived farther south, in King Street. When the\nbank was built, the houses were set back full forty yards more to the\nwest, upon an open square place called \"Cromwell's Yard.\"[405]\n\nDrummond's is said to have gained its fame by advancing money secretly to\nthe Pretender. Upon this being known, the Court withdrew all their\ndeposits. The result was that the Scotch Tory noblemen rallied round the\nhouse and brought in so much money that the firm soon became leading\nbankers, dividing the West End custom with Messrs. Coutts.\n\nCraig's Court, on the east side of Charing Cross, was built in 1702. It is\ngenerally supposed to have been named after the father of Mr. Secretary\nCraggs, the friend of Pope and Addison: Mr. Cunningham, an excellent and\nreliable authority, says that as early as the year 1658 there was a James\nCragg living on the \"water side,\" in the Charing Cross division of St.\nMartin's-in-the-Fields. The Sun Fire-office was established in this court\nin 1726; and here is Cox and Greenwood's, the largest army agency office\nin Great Britain.\n\nLocket's, the famous ordinary, so called from Adam Locket, the landlord in\n1674, stood on the site of Drummond's bank. An Edward Locket succeeded to\nhim in 1688, and remained till 1702.[406] In 1693 the second Locket took\nthe Bowling-green House at Putney Heath. That fair, slender, genteel Sir\nGeorge Etherege, whom Rochester praises for \"fancy, sense, judgment, and\nwit,\" frequented Locket's, and displayed there his courtly foppery, which\nserved as a model for his own Dorimant, and that prince and patriarch of\n<DW2>s Sir Fopling Flutter. Sir George was always gentle and courtly, and\nwas compared in this to Sedley.\n\nHe once got into a violent passion at the ordinary, and abused the\n\"drawers\" for some neglect. This brought in Mrs. Locket, hot and fuming.\n\"We are so provoked,\" said Sir George, \"that even I could find it in my\nheart to pull the nosegay out of your bosom, and fling the flowers in your\nface.\" This mild and courteous threat turned his friends' anger into a\ngeneral laugh.\n\nSir George having run up a long score at Locket's, added to the injury by\nceasing to frequent the house. Mrs. Locket began to dun and threaten him.\nHe sent word back by the messenger that he would kiss her if she stirred a\nstep in it. When Mrs. Locket heard this, she bridled up, called for her\nhood and scarf, and told her anxious husband that she'd see if there was\nany fellow alive who had the impudence! \"Prythee, my dear, don't be so\nrash,\" said her milder husband; \"you don't know what a man may do in his\npassion.\"[407]\n\nWycherly, that favourite of Charles II. till he married his titled wife,\nwrites in one of his plays (1675), \"Why, thou art as shy of my kindness as\na Lombard Street alderman of a courtier's civility at Locket's.\"[408]\nShadwell too, Dryden's surly and clever foe, says (1691), \"I'll answer you\nin a couple of brimmers of claret at Locket's at dinner, where I have\nbespoke an admirable good one.\"[409]\n\nA poet of 1697 describes the sparks, dressed by noon hurrying to the Mall,\nand from thence to Locket's.[410] Prior proposes to dine at a crown a head\non ragouts washed down with champagne; then to go to court; and lastly he\nsays[411]--\n\n  \"With evening wheels we'll drive about the Park,\n  Finish at Locket's, and reel home i' the dark.\"\n\nIn 1708, Vanbrugh makes Lord Foppington doubtful whether he shall return\nto dinner, as the noble peer says--\"As Gad shall judge me I can't tell,\nfor 'tis possible I may dine with some of our House at Lacket's.\"[412]\n\nAnd in the same play the very energetic nobleman remarks--\"From thence\n(the Park) I go to dinner at Lacket's, where you are so nicely and\ndelicately served that, stap my vitals! they shall compose you a dish no\nbigger than a saucer shall come to fifty shillings. Between eating my\ndinner and washing my mouth, ladies, I spend my time till I go to the\nplay.\"\n\nIn 1709 the epicurean and ill-fated Dr. King, talking of the changes in\nSt. James's Park, says--\n\n  \"For Locket's stands where gardens once did spring,\n  And wild ducks quack where grasshoppers did sing.\"[413]\n\nTom Brown also mentions Locket's, for he writes--\"We as naturally went\nfrom Mann's Coffee-house to the Parade as a coachman drives from Locket's\nto the play-house.\"\n\nPrior, the poet, when his father the joiner died, was taken care of by his\nuncle, who kept the Rummer Tavern at the back of No. 14 Charing Cross, two\ndoors from Locket's. It was a well-frequented house, and in 1685 the\nannual feast of the nobility and gentry of St. Martin's parish was held\nthere. Prior was sent by the honest vintner to study under the great Dr.\nBusby at Westminster: and in a window-seat at the Rummer the future poet\nand diplomatist was found reading Horace, according to Bishop Burnet, by\nthe witty Earl of Dorset, who is said to have educated him. Prior, in the\ndedication of his poems to the earl's son, proves his patron to have been\na paragon. Waller and Sprat consulted Dorset about their writings. Dryden,\nCongreve, and Addison praised him. He made the court read _Hudibras_, the\ntown praise Wycherly's \"Plain Dealer,\" and Buckingham delay his\n\"Rehearsal\" till he knew his opinion. Pope imitated his \"Dorinda,\" and\nKing Charles took his advice upon Lely's portraits.\n\nOne of Prior's gayest and pleasantest poems seems to prove, however, that\nFleetwood Shepherd was a more essential patron than even the earl. The\npoet writes--\n\n  \"Now, as you took me up when little,\n  Gave me my learning and my vittle,\n  Asked for me from my lord things fitting,\n  Kind as I'd been your own begetting,\n  Confirm what formerly you've given,\n  Nor leave me now at six and seven,\n  As Sunderland has left Mun Stephen.\"\n\nAnd again, still more gaily--\n\n  \"My uncle, rest his soul! when living,\n  Might have contrived me ways of thriving,\n  Taught me with cider to replenish\n  My vats or ebbing tide of Rhenish;\n  So when for hock I drew pricked white-wine,\n  Swear't had the flavour, and was right wine;\n  Or sent me with ten pounds to Furni-\n  val's Inn, to some good rogue attorney,\n  Where now, by forging deeds and cheating,\n  I'd found some handsome ways of getting.\n  All this you made me quit to follow\n  That sneaking, whey-faced god, Apollo;\n  Sent me among a fiddling crew\n  Of folks I'd neither seen nor knew,\n  Calliope and God knows who,\n  I add no more invectives to it:\n  You spoiled the youth to make a poet.\"\n\nThat rascally housebreaker, Jack Sheppard, made his first step towards the\ngallows by the robbery of two silver spoons at the Rummer Tavern. This\nyoung rogue, whose deeds Mr. Ainsworth has so mischievously recorded, was\nborn in 1701, and ended his short career at Tyburn in 1724.[414] The\nRummer Tavern is introduced by Hogarth into his engraving of \"Night.\" The\nbusiness was removed to the water side of Charing Cross in 1710, and the\nnew house burnt down in 1750. In 1688, Samuel Prior offered ten guineas\nreward for the discovery of some persons who had accused him of clipping\ncoin.[415]\n\nMrs. Centlivre, whom Pope pilloried in the _Dunciad_[416] was the daughter\nof a Lincolnshire gentleman, who, being a Nonconformist, fled to Ireland\nat the Restoration to escape persecution. Being left an orphan at the age\nof twelve, she travelled to London on foot to seek her fortune. In her\nsixteenth year she married a nephew of Sir Stephen Fox, who, however, did\nnot live more than a twelvemonth after. She afterwards wedded an officer\nnamed Carrol, who was killed in a duel soon after their marriage. Left a\nsecond time a widow, she then took to dramatic writing for a subsistence,\nand from 1700 to 1705 produced six comedies, to one of which--\"The\nGamester\"--the poet Rowe contributed a prologue. She next tried the stage;\nand while performing Alexander the Great, at Windsor, won the heart of Mr.\nCentlivre, \"a Yeoman of the Mouth,\" or principal cook to Queen Anne, who\nmarried her. She lived happily with her husband for eighteen years, and\nwrote some good, bustling, but licentious plays. \"The Busybody,\" and\n\"Wonder; a Woman keeps a Secret,\" act well.\n\nIn May, 1716, Mrs. Centlivre visited her native town of Holbeach for her\nhealth, and on King George's birthday[417] invited all the pauper widows\nof the place to a tavern supper. The windows were illuminated, the\nchurch-bells were set ringing, there were musicians playing in the room,\nthe old women danced, and most probably got drunk, the enthusiastic\nloyalist making them all fall on their knees and drink the healths of the\nroyal family, the Duke of Marlborough, Mr. Walpole, the Duke of Argyle,\nGeneral Cadogan, etc. etc. She ended the feast by sending the ringers a\ncopy of stirring verses denouncing the Jacobites;--\n\n  \"Disdain the artifice they use\n  To bring in mass and wooden shoes\n    With transubstantiation:\n  Remember James the Second's reign,\n  When glorious William broke the chain\n    Rome had put on this nation.\"\n\nThis clever but not too virtuous woman died at her house in Buckingham\nCourt, Spring Gardens, December 1, 1723.[418]\n\nPope's dislike to Mrs. Centlivre is best explained by one of his own notes\nto the _Dunciad_:--\"She (Mrs. C.) wrote many plays and a song before she\nwas seven years old: she also wrote a ballad against Mr. Pope's _Homer_\nbefore he began it.\" And why should not an authoress have expressed her\nopinion of Mr. Pope's inability to translate Homer?\n\nMrs. Centlivre is rather bitterly treated by Leigh Hunt, who says that\nshe, \"without doubt, wrote the most entertaining dramas of intrigue, with\na genius infinitely greater, and a modesty infinitely less, than that of\nher sex in general; and she delighted, whenever she could not be obscene,\nto be improbable.\"[419]\n\nMilton lodged at one Thomson's, next door to the Bull-head Tavern at\nCharing Cross, close to the opening to the Spring Gardens, during the time\nhe was writing his book _Joannis Philippi Angli Defensio_.[420]\n\nThe Golden Cross ran up beside the King's Mews a little east of its\npresent site; it was the \"Bull and Mouth\" of the West End till railways\ndrew travellers from the old roads; it then became a railway parcel\noffice. Poor reckless Dr. Maginn wrote a ballad lamenting the change, in\nwhich he mourned the Mews Gate public-house, Tom Bish and his lotteries,\nand the barrack-yard. He curses Nash and Wyatville, and then bursts\nforth--\n\n  \"No more I'll eat the juicy steak\n    Within its boxes pent,\n  When in the mail my place I take,\n    For Bath or Brighton bent.\n\n  \"No more the coaches I shall see\n    Come trundling from the yard,\n  Nor hear the horn blown cheerily\n    By brandy-sipping guard.\n  King Charles, I think, must sorrow sore,\n    E'en were he made of stone,\n  When left by all his friends of yore\n    (Like Tom Moore's rose) alone.\n\n  \"No wonder the triumphant Turk\n    O'er Missolonghi treads,\n  Roasts bishops, and in bloody work\n    Snips off some thousand heads!\n  No wonder that the Crescent gains,\n    When we the fact can't gloss,\n  That we ourselves are at such pains\n    To trample down the Cross!\n\n  \"Oh! London won't be London long,\n    For 'twill be all pulled down,\n  And I shall sing a funeral song\n    O'er that time-honoured town.\n  One parting curse I here shall make,\n    And then lay down my quill,\n  Hoping Old Nick himself may take\n    Both Nash and Wyatville.\"[421]\n\nTill late in the last century a lofty straddling sign-post and a long\nwater-trough, just such as still adorn country towns, stood before this\ninn.[422]\n\nCharing Cross Hospital, one of those great charities that atone for so\nmany of the sins of London, relieved, in the year 1878, 15,854 necessitous\npersons, including more than 1000 cases of severe accident, while above\n1500 persons were admitted on the recommendation of governors and\nsubscribers.[423] Surely, if anything can redeem our national vices, our\nselfishness, our commercial dishonesty, our unjust wars, and our\nunrighteous conquests, it must be such vast charities as these.\n\nOne authority represents that great scholar and divine, Dr. Isaac Barrow,\nthe friend of Newton, as having died \"in mean lodgings at a saddler's near\nCharing Cross, an old, low, ill-built house, which he had used for many\nyears.\" Barrow was then Master of Trinity College, Cambridge. Roger North,\nhowever, says that he died of an overdose of opium, and \"ended his days in\nLondon in a prebendary's house that had a little stair to it out of the\ncloisters, which made him call it a _man's nest_.\"[424] Barrow died in\n1677, and was buried in the Abbey. Rhodes, the bookseller and actor, lived\nat the Ship at Charing Cross. He had been wardrobe-keeper at the\nBlackfriars Theatre; and in 1659 he reopened the Cockpit Theatre in Drury\nLane.\n\nOn September 7, 1650, as that dull, learned man, Bulstrode Whitelock, one\nof the Commissioners for the Great Seal, was going in his coach towards\nChelsea, a messenger from Scotland stopped him about Charing Cross, and\ncried, \"Oh, my lord, God hath appeared gloriously to us in Scotland; a\nglorious day, my lord, at Dunbar in Scotland.\" \"I asked him,\" says\nWhitelock, \"how it was. He said that the General had routed all the Scots\narmy, but that he could not stay to tell me the particulars, being in\nhaste to go to the House.\"[425]\n\nLord Dartmouth relates a story in Burnet of Sir Edward Seymour the\nSpeaker's coach breaking down at Charing Cross, in Charles II.'s time. He\ninstantly, with proud coolness, ordered the beadles to stop the next\ngentleman's coach that passed and bring it to him. The expelled gentleman\nwas naturally both surprised and angry; but Sir Edward gravely assured him\nthat it was far more proper for him than for the Speaker of the House of\nCommons to walk the streets, and accordingly left him to do so without any\nfurther apology.[426]\n\nHorace Walpole was a diligent attender at the State Trials of 1746. The\nday \"poor brave old\" Balmerino retracted his plea, asked pardon, and\ndesired the Peers to intercede for mercy, Walpole tells us that his\nlordship stopped the coach at Charing Cross as he returned to the Tower,\ncarelessly to buy \"honey-blobs,\" as the Scotch call gooseberries.\n\nBut we must not leave Charing Cross without specially remembering that\nwhen Boswell dared to praise Fleet Street as crowded and cheerful, Dr.\nJohnson replied in a voice of thunder, \"Why, sir, Fleet Street _has_ a\nvery animated appearance; but I think the full tide of existence is at\nCharing Cross.\"[427]\n\nNearly where the Post Office at Charing Cross now stands, there was once\n(of all things in the world) a hermitage. Even Prince George of Denmark\nmight have been pardoned by James II., his sour father-in-law, for making\nhis invariable reply, \"Est-il possible?\" to this statement. Yet the patent\nrolls of the 47th Henry III. grant permission to William de Radnor, Bishop\nof Llandaff, to lodge, with all his retainers, within the precinct of the\nHermitage at Charing, whenever he came to London.[428]\n\nOpposite this stood the ancient Hospital of St. Mary Roncevalles. It was\nfounded by William Marechal, Earl of Pembroke, a son, I believe, of the\nearly English conqueror of Ireland. It was suppressed by Henry V. as an\nalien priory, restored by Edward IV., and finally suppressed by Edward\nVI., who granted it to Sir Thomas Carwarden, to be held in free soccage of\nthe honour of Westminster.\n\nThe mesh and labyrinth of obscure alleys and lanes running between the\nbottom of St. Martin's Lane and Bedford Street, towards Bedfordbury, with\nold Round Court, so called in mockery, for its centre, were swept away by\nthe besom of improvement in 1829, when Trafalgar Square was begun, never\nto be finished. In Elizabeth's or James's time, gallants who had cruised\nin search of Spanish galleons wittily nicknamed these Straits \"the\nBermudas,\" from their narrow and intricate channels. Here the valorous\nCaptain Bobadill must have lived in Barmecidal splendour, and have taught\nhis dupes the true conduct of the weapon. Justice Overdo mentions the\nBermudas with a righteous indignation. \"Look,\" says that great legal\nfunctionary, \"into any angle of the town, the Streights or the Bermudas,\nwhere the quarrelling lesson is read, and how do they entertain the time\nbut with bottled ale and tobacco?\"[429] How natural for Drake's men to\ngive such a name to a labyrinth of devious alleys! At a subsequent period\nthe cluster of avenues exchanged the title of _Bermudas_ for that of the\n_C'ribbee Islands_, the learned possessors corrupting the name into a\nhappy allusion to the arts cultivated there.[430]\n\nGay, writing in 1715, describes the small streets branching from Charing\nCross as resounding with the shoeblacks' cry, \"Clean your honour's shoes?\"\nGreat improvements were made in 1829-30, when the present arcade leading\nfrom West Strand to St. Martin's Church, and inhabited chiefly by German\ntoymen, was built and named after Lord Lowther then Chief Commissioner of\nthe Woods and Forests.[431] The Strand was also widened, and many old\ntottering houses were removed.\n\nPorridge Island was the cant name for a paved alley near St. Martin's\nChurch, originally a congeries of cookshops erected for the workmen at the\nnew church, and destroyed when the great rookery there was pulled down in\n1829. It was a part of Bedfordbury, and derived its name from being full\nof cookshops, or \"slap-bangs,\" as street boys called such odorous places.\nA writer in _The World_, in 1753, describes a man like Beau Tibbs, who had\nhis dinner in a pewter plate from a cookshop in Porridge Island, and with\nonly L100 a year was foolish enough to wear a laced suit, go every evening\nin a chair to a rout, and return to his bedroom on foot, shivering and\nsupperless, vain enough to glory in having rubbed elbows with the quality\nof Brentford.[432]\n\nIt was in Round Court, in the centre of the key shops, herb shops, and\nfurniture warehouses of Bedfordbury that, in 1836, Robson the actor was\napprenticed to a Mr. Smellie, a copperplate engraver, and the printer of\nthe humorous caricatures of Mr. George Cruikshank.[433]\n\nThe Swan at Charing Cross, over against the Mews, flourished in 1665, when\nMarke Rider was the landlord. The token of the house bore the figure of a\nswan holding a sprig in its mouth. Its memory is embalmed in a curious\nextempore grace once said by Ben Jonson before King James. These are the\nverses:--\n\n  \"Our king and queen the Lord God bless,\n  The Palsgrave and the Lady Besse;\n  And God bless every living thing\n  That lives and breathes, and loves the king;\n  God bless the Council of Estate,\n  And Buckingham the fortunate;\n  God bless them all, and keep them safe,\n  And God bless me, and God bless Ralph.\"\n\nThe schoolmaster king being mighty inquisitive to know who this Ralph was,\nBen told him it was the drawer at the Swan Tavern, who drew him good\ncanary. For this drollery the king gave Ben a hundred pounds.[434] The\nstory is probably true, for it is confirmed by Powell the actor.[435]\n\nThe street signs of London were condemned in the second year of George\nIII.'s reign; but the sweeping Act for their final removal was not passed\ntill nine years later. In 1762, Bonnel Thornton (aided by Hogarth) opened\nan exhibition of street signs in Bow Street[436] in ridicule of the Spring\nGardens exhibition. But as early as 1761 the street signs seem to have\nbeen partially removed as dangerous obstructions. A writer in a\ncontemporary paper says,[437] \"My master yesterday sent me to take a place\nin the Canterbury stage; he said that when I came to Charing Cross I\nshould see which was the proper inn by the words on the sign. I rambled\nabout, but could see no sign at all. At last I was told that there used to\nbe such a sign under a little golden cross which I saw at a two pair of\nstairs window. I entered and found the waiter swearing about innovations.\nHe said that the members of Parliament were unaccountable enemies to signs\nwhich used to show trades; that, for his master's part, he might put on\nsackcloth, for nobody came to buy sack. 'If,' said he, 'any of the signs\nwere too large, could they not have limited their size without pulling\ndown the sign-posts and destroying the painted ornaments of the Strand?'\nOn my return I saw some men pulling with ropes at a curious sign-iron,\nwhich seemed to have cost some pounds: along with the iron down came the\nleaden cover to the pent-house, which will cost at least some pounds to\nrepair.\"\n\nThis was written the year of the first Act (2d George III.), and was\nprobably a groan from some one interested in the existence of the abuse.\nThe inferior artists gained much money from this source. Mr. Wale, one of\nthe first Academicians, painted a Shakspere five feet high[438] for a\npublic-house at the north-west corner of Little Russell Street, Covent\nGarden. The picture was enclosed in a sumptuous carved gilt frame, and was\nsuspended by rich foliated ironwork. A London street a hundred years ago\nmust have been one long grotesque picture-gallery.\n\nWhen the meat is all good it is difficult to know where to insert the\nknife. In travelling, how hard it is to turn back almost in sight of some\nPromised Land of which one has often dreamed! Like that traveller I feel,\nwhen I find it necessary in this chapter to confine myself strictly to the\nlegends, traditions, and history of Charing Cross proper, leaving for\nother opportunities Spring Gardens, the story of the greater part of which\nbelongs more to St. James's Park, Whitehall, and Scotland Yard.\n\n[Illustration: THE KING'S MEWS, 1750.]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: BARRACK AND OLD HOUSES ON SITE OF TRAFALGAR SQUARE, 1826.]\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nST. MARTIN'S LANE.\n\n\nSaint Martin's Lane, extending from Long Acre to Charing Cross, was built\nbefore 1613, and then called the West Church Lane. The first church was\nbuilt here by Henry VIII. The district was first called St. Martin's Lane\nabout 1617-18.[439]\n\nSir Theodore Mayerne, physician to James I., lived on the west side of\nthis lane. Mayerne was the godson of Beza, the great Calvinist reformer,\nand one of Henry IV.'s physicians. He came to England after that king's\ndeath. He then became James I.'s doctor, and was blamed for his treatment\nof Prince Henry, whom many thought to have been poisoned. He was\nafterwards physician to Charles I., and nominally to Charles II.; but he\ndied in 1655, five years before the Restoration. He gave his library to\nthe College of Physicians, and is said to have disclosed some of his\nchemical secrets to the great enameller, Petitot.[440] Mayerne died of\ndrinking bad wine at a Strand tavern, and foretold the time of his death.\n\nA good story is told of Sir Theodore, which is the more curious because it\nrecords the fashionable fee of those days. A friend consulting Mayerne,\nand expecting to have the fee refused, ostentatiously placed on the table\ntwo gold broad pieces (value six-and-thirty shillings each). Looking\nrather mortified when Mayerne swept them into his pouch, \"Sir.\" said Sir\nTheodore, gravely, \"I made my will this morning, and if it should become\nknown that I refused a fee the same afternoon I might be deemed _non\ncompos_.\"[441]\n\nNear this fortunate doctor, honoured by kings, lived Sir John Finett, a\nwit and a song-writer, of Italian extraction. He became Master of the\nCeremonies to Charles I., and wrote a pedantic book on the treatment of\nambassadors, and other questions of precedency, of the gravest importance\nto courtiers, but to no one else. He died in 1641.\n\nTwo doors from Mayerne and five from Finett, from 1622 to 1634, lived\nDaniel Mytens, the Dutch painter. On Vandyke's arrival Mytens grew jealous\nand asked leave to return to the Hague. But the king persuaded him to\nstay, and he became friendly with his rival, who painted his portrait.\nThere are pictures by this artist at Hampton Court. Prince Charles gave\nhim his house in the lane for twelve years at the peppercorn rent of 6d. a\nyear.\n\nNext to Sir John Finett lived Sir Benjamin Rudyer, and on the same side\nAbraham Vanderoort, keeper of the pictures to Charles I., and necessarily\nan acquaintance of Mytens and Vandyke.\n\nCarew Raleigh, son of the great enemy of Spain, and born in the Tower,\nlived in this lane, on the west side, from 1636 to 1638, and again in\n1664. This unfortunate man spent all his life in writing to vindicate his\nfather's memory, and in efforts to recover his Sherborne estate. In 1659,\nby the influence of General Monk, he was made Governor of Jersey.\n\nThe chivalrous wit, Sir John Suckling, dwelt in St. Martin's-in-the-Fields\nin 1641, the year in which he joined in a rash plot to rescue Strafford\nfrom the Tower. He fled to France, and died there in poverty the same\nyear, in the thirty-second year of his age. Suckling had served in the\narmy of Gustavus Adolphus, and was famous for his sparkling repartee.\nThere is an exquisite quaint grace about his poem of \"The Wedding,\" which\nhas its scene at Charing Cross.\n\nDr. Thomas Willis, a great physician of his day, who died here in 1678,\nwas grandfather of Browne Willis, the antiquary. Dr. Willis was a friend\nof Wren, and a great anatomist and chemist. He mapped out the nerves very\nindustriously, and in his _Cerebri Anatome_ forestalled many future\nphrenological discoveries.[442]\n\nIn the same year that eccentric charlatan, Sir Kenelm Digby, was living in\nthe lane. The son of one of the gunpowder conspirators, and the\n\"Mirandola\" of his age, he was one of Ben Jonson's adopted sons.[443] He\nwas generous to the poets; he understood ten or twelve languages; he\nshattered the Venetian galleys at Scanderoon; he studied chemistry, and\nprofessed to cure wounds with sympathetic powder. He held offices of\nhonour under Charles I., in France became a friend of Descartes, and after\nthe Restoration was an active member of the Royal Society. He was born,\nwon his naval victory, and died on the same day of the month. Ben Jonson,\nin a poem on him, calls him \"prudent, valiant, just, and temperate,\" and\nadds quaintly--\n\n  \"His breast is a brave palace, a broad street,\n  Where all heroic ample thoughts do meet,\n  Where Nature such a large survey hath ta'en,\n  As others' souls to _his dwelt in a lane_.\"\n\nI cannot here help observing that the ridiculous story about Ben Jonson in\nhis old age refusing money from Charles I., and rudely sending back word\n\"that the king's soul dwelt in a lane,\" must have originated in some\ncareless or malicious perversion of this line of the rough old poet's.\n\n\"Immortal Ben\" wrote ten poems on the death of Sir Kenelm's wife, who was\nthe daughter of Sir Edward Stanley, and, it is supposed, the mistress of\nthe Earl of Dorset. Randolph, Habington, and Feltham also wrote elegies on\nthis beautiful woman, who was found dead in her bed, accidentally\npoisoned, it is supposed, by viper wine, or some philtre or cosmetic given\nher by her experimentalising husband in order to heighten her beauty.[444]\nIn one of Ben Jonson's poems there are the following incomparable verses\nabout Lady Venetia:--\n\n  \"Draw first a cloud, all save her neck,\n  And out of that make day to break,\n  Till like her face it do appear,\n  And men may think all light rose there.\"\n\nAnd again--\n\n  \"Not swelling like the ocean proud,\n  But stooping gently as a cloud,\n  As smooth as oil pour'd forth, and calm\n  As showers, and sweet as drops of balm.\"\n\nSir Kenelm, when imprisoned in Winchester House, in Southwark, wrote an\nattack on Sir Thomas Browne's sceptical work _Religio Medici_. He also\nproduced a book on cookery, and a commentary on the _Faerie Queen_. This\nstrange being was buried in Christ Church, Newgate Street.\n\nSt. Martin's-in-the-Fields is an ancient parish, but it was first made\nindependent of St. Margaret's, Westminster, in 1535, by that tyrant Henry\nVIII., who, justly afraid of death, disliked the ceaseless black funeral\nprocessions of the outlying people of St. Martin's passing the courtly\ngate of Whitehall, and who therefore erected a church near Charing Cross,\nand constituted its neighbourhood into a parish.[445] In 1607, that\nunfortunate youth of promise, Henry Prince of Wales, added a chancel to\nthe very small church, which soon proved insufficient for the growing and\npopulous suburb. But though so modern, this parish formerly included in\nits vast circle St. Paul's Covent Garden, St. James's Piccadilly, St.\nAnne's Soho, and St. George's Hanover Square. It extended its princely\ncircle as far north as Marylebone, as far south as Whitehall, as far east\nas the Savoy, and as far west as Chelsea and Kensington. When first rated\nto the poor in Queen Elizabeth's time it contained less than a hundred\nrateable persons. The chief inhabitants lived by the river side or close\nto the church. Pall Mall and Piccadilly were then unnamed, and beyond the\nchurch westward were St. James's Fields, Hay-hill Farm, Ebury Farm, and\nthe Neat houses about Chelsea.[446]\n\nIn 1638 this overgrown parish, had carved out of it the district of St.\nPaul's, Covent Garden; in 1684, St. James's, Westminster; and in 1686, St.\nAnne's, Soho. But even in 1680, Richard Baxter, with brave fervour,\ndenounced what he called \"the greatest cure in England,\"[447] with its\npopulation of forty thousand more persons than the church could\nhold--people who \"lived like Americans, without hearing a sermon for many\nyears.\" From such parishes of course crept forth Dissenters of all creeds\nand colours. In 1826 the churchyard was removed to Camden Town, and the\nstreet widened, pursuant to 7 George IV. c. 77.\n\nThat shrewd native of Aberdeen, Gibbs--a not unworthy successor of\nWren--came to London at a fortunate time. Wren was fast dying; Vanbrugh\nwas neglected; there was room for a new architect, and no fear of\ncompetition. His first church, St. Martin's, was a great success. Though\nits steeple was heavy and misplaced, and the exterior flat and without\nlight or shade,[448] the portico was foolishly compared to that of the\nParthenon, and was considered unique for dignity and unity of combination.\nThe interior was so constructed as to render the introduction of further\nornaments or of monuments impossible. Savage did but express the general\nopinion when he wrote with fine pathos--\n\n  \"O Gibbs! whose art the solemn fanes can raise,\n  Where God delights to dwell and man to praise.\"\n\nThe church was commenced in 1721 and finished in 1726, at a cost of\nL36,891: 10: 4, including L1500 for an organ.\n\nWith all its faults, it is certainly one of the finest buildings in\nLondon, next to St. Paul's and the British Museum; but its cardinal fault\nis the unnatural union of the Gothic steeple and the Grecian portico. The\none style is Pagan, the other Christian; the one expresses a sensuous\ncontentment with this earth, the other mounts towards heaven with an\neternal aspiration. The steeple leaps like a fountain from among lesser\npinnacles that all point upwards. The Grecian portico is a cave of level\nshadow and of philosophic content.\n\nSt. Martin's Church enshrines the dust of some illustrious persons. Here\nlies Nicholas Hilliard, the miniature-painter to Queen Elizabeth, and who\ndied in 1619. He was a very careful painter, in the manner of Holbein. The\ngreat Isaac Oliver was his pupil. He must have had some trouble with the\nmanly queen when she began to turn into a hag and to object to any shadow\nin her portraits. Near him, in 1621, was buried Paul Vansomer, a Flemish\npainter, celebrated for his portraits of James I. and his Danish queen.\nAnd here rests, too, a third and greater painter, William Dobson,\nVandyke's protege, who, born in an unlucky age, and forgotten amid the\ntumult of the Civil War, died in 1646, in poverty, in his house in St.\nMartin's Lane. Dobson had been apprenticed to a picture-dealer, and was\ndiscovered in his obscurity by Vandyke, whose style he imitated, giving\nit, however, a richer colour and more solidity. Charles I. and Prince\nRupert both sat to him for their portraits. In this church reposes Sir\nTheodore Mayerne, an old court physician. His conserve of bats and\nscrapings of human skulls could not keep him from the earthy bed it seems.\nNicholas Stone, the sculptor, who died 1647, sleeps here (Stone's son was\nCibber's master), all unknown to the learned Thomas Stanley, who died in\n1678, and was known for his _History of Philosophy_ and translation of\nAEschylus. Here, also, is John Lacey--first a dancing-master, afterwards a\ntrooper, lastly a comedian. He died in 1681. Charles II. was a great\nadmirer of Lacey, but unfortunately more so of Nell Gwynn, who also came\nto sleep here in 1687. Poor Nell! with her good-nature and simple\nfrankness, she stands out, wanton and extravagant as she was, in pleasant\ncontrast with the proud painted wantons of that infamous court.\n\nIf the dead could shudder, Secretary Coventry, who was buried here the\nyear before Nell, must have shuddered at the neighbourhood in which he\nfound himself; for he was the son of Lord Keeper Coventry, who died at\nDurham House in 1639-40. He had been Commissioner to the Treasury, and had\ngiven his name to Coventry Street. This great person became a precedent of\nburial to the Hon. Robert Boyle. This wise and good man, whom Swift\nridiculed, was the inventor of the air-pump, and one of the great\npromoters of the Royal Society and of the Society for the Propagation of\nthe Gospel. He died in 1691, and his funeral sermon was preached by\nSwift's _bete noir_, that fussy time-server, Bishop Burnet.\n\nIn the churchyard lies a far inferior man, Sir John Birkenhead, who died\nin 1679. He was a great pamphlet-writer for the Royalists, and Lawes set\nsome of his verses to music.[449] He left directions that he should not be\nburied within the church, as coffins were often removed. In or out of the\nchurch was buried Rose, Charles II.'s gardener, the first man to grow a\npine-apple in England--a slice of which the king graciously handed to Mr.\nEvelyn.\n\nWorst of all--a scoundrel, and fool among sensible men--here lies the\nbully and murderer, Lord Mohun, who fell in a duel in Hyde Park with the\nDuke of Hamilton, immortalised in Mr. Thackeray's _Esmond_. Mohun died\nin 1712. Here also, in 1721, came that vile and pretentious French\npainter, Louis Laguerre, whom Pope justly satirised. He was brought over\nby Verrio, and painted the \"sprawling\" \"Labours of Hercules\" at Hampton\nCourt. He died of apoplexy at Drury Lane Theatre. That clever and\ndetermined burglar, Jack Sheppard, is said to have been buried in St.\nMartin's in 1724. Farquhar, the Irish dramatist, author of \"The Beaux'\nStratagem,\" was interred here in 1707. Roubilliac, the French sculptor,\nwho lived close by, was also buried in this spot, and Hogarth attended his\nfuneral.\n\nMr. J. T. Smith, author of the _Life of Nollekens_, speaking of his own\nvisits to the vaults of St. Martin's Church, says, \"It is a curious fact\nthat Mrs. Rudd requested to be placed near the coffins of the Perreaus.\nMelancholy as my visits to this vault have been, I frankly own that\npleasant recollections have almost invited me to sing, 'Did you ne'er hear\nof a jolly young waterman?' when passing by the coffin of my father's old\nfriend, Charles Bannister.\"[450]\n\nMr. F. Buckland that delightful writer on natural history, who visited the\nsame charnel-house in his search for the body of the great John Hunter,\ndescribes the vaults as piled with heaps of leaden coffins, horrible to\nevery sense; but as I write from memory, I will not give the ghastly\ndetails.\n\nThat indefatigable and too restless exposer of abuses, Daniel Defoe, wrote\na pamphlet in 1720 entitled \"Parochial Tyranny; or, the Housekeeper's\nComplaint against the Exactions of Select Vestries.\" In this pamphlet he\npublished one of the bills of the vestry of St. Martin's in 1713, which\ncontains the following impudent items:--\n\n  \"Spent at May meetings or visitation         L65  0 4\n\n  Ditto at taverns, with ministers, justices,\n  overseers, &c.                                72 19 7\n\n  Sacrament bread and wine                      88 10 0\n\n  Paid towards a robbery                        21 14 0\n\n  Spent for dinner at the Mulberry Gardens      49 13 4\"\n\nIn 1818 the churchwardens' dinner cost L56: 18s. Archdeacon Potts' sermon\non the death of Queen Charlotte not selling, the parish paid the loss,\nL48: 12: 9. In 1813 the vestry charged the parish L5 for petitioning\nagainst the Roman Catholics.\n\nThe Thames watermen have a plot set apart for themselves in St. Martin's\nChurchyard. These amphibious and pugnacious beings were formerly notorious\nfor their powers of sarcasm, though Dr. Johnson on a celebrated occasion\nput one of them out of countenance. In spite of coaches and sedan\nchairs--their horror in the times of the \"Water Poet,\" who must often have\nferried Shakspere over to the Globe Theatre at the Bankside--they\ncontinued till the days of omnibuses and cheap cabs, rowing and singing,\nrejoicing in their scarlet tunics, and skimming to and fro over the Thames\nlike swallows.\n\nThere is a Westminster tradition of a waterman who pretended to be deaf,\nand who was much employed by lovers, barristers who wished to air their\neloquence, and young M.P.s who wanted to recite their speeches\nundisturbed.\n\nIn 1821 died Copper Holms, a well-known character on the river. He lived,\nwith his wife and children, somewhere along the shore in an ark, which he\nhad artfully framed from a West-country vessel, and which, coppers and\nall, cost him L150. The City brought an action to compel him to remove the\nobstruction. The honest fellow was buried in \"The Waterman's Churchyard,\"\non the south side of St. Martin's Church.[451]\n\nIn 1683 Dr. Thomas Tenison, vicar of the parish, afterwards Archbishop of\nCanterbury, lived in this street; he died at Lambeth in 1715. He founded\nin this parish a school and library. Though Swift did say he was \"hot and\nheavy as a tailor's iron,\" he seems to have been one of the best and most\ntolerant of men, notwithstanding he attacked Hobbes and Bellarmine with\nhis pen. He worked bravely during the plague, and was princely in his\ncharities during the dreadful winter of 1683. It was he who prepared\nMonmouth for death, and smoothed Queen Mary's dying pillow. He was a\nsteady friend of William of Orange.\n\nTwo doors from Slaughter's, on the west side, but lower down, lived\nAmbrose Philips, from 1720 to 1724. Pope laughed at his \"Pastorals,\" which\nhad been overpraised by Tickell. Though a friend of Addison and Steele,\nhis sprightly but effeminate copies of verses procured him from Henry\nCarey the name of \"Namby Pamby.\" His \"Winter Scene,\" a sketch of a Danish\nwinter, is, however, admirable.\n\nAmbrose Philips was laughed at for advertising in the _London Gazette_, of\nJanuary 1714, for contributions to a _Poetical Miscellany_. He was a\nLeicestershire man, and chiefly remarkable for translating Racine's\n\"Distressed Mother.\" When the Whigs came into power under George I. he was\nput into the commission of the peace, and made a Commissioner of the\nLottery. He afterwards became Registrar of the Prerogative Court at\nDublin, wrote in the _Free Thinker_, and died in 1749. Pope laughed at the\nsmall poet as--\n\n  \"The bard whom pilfered Pastorals renown,\n  Who turns a Persian tale for half-a-crown,\n  Just writes to make his barrenness appear,\n  And strains from hide-bound brains eight lines a year.\"[452]\n\nIt was always one of Pope's keenest strokes to call a man poor. Philips,\nin 1714, had industriously translated the _Thousand and One Days_, a\nseries of Persian tales, and gained very honourably earned money. The wasp\nof Twickenham, whose malice never grew old, sketched Philips again as\n\"Macer,\" a simple, harmless fellow, who borrowed ends of verse, and whose\nhighest ambition was \"to wear red stockings and to dine with Steele.\"\nAmbrose, naturally indignant to hear himself accused of stealing the\nlittle fame he had, very spiritedly hung up a birch at the bar of Button's\nCoffee-house, with which he threatened to chastise the AEsop of the age if\nhe dared show himself, but Pope wisely stayed at home.[453]\n\nThe first house from the corner of Newport Street, on the right hand going\nto Charing Cross, was occupied by Beard, the celebrated public singer, who\nin 1738-9 married Lady Henrietta Herbert, the only daughter of the Earl\nWaldegrave. After her death the widower married the daughter of Mr. John\nRich, the inventor of English pantomime, the best harlequin that probably\never lived, and the patentee of Covent Garden Theatre from 1732 to 1762.\nThe parlour of the house had two windows facing the south towards Charing\nCross. Here Mr. J. T. Smith describes his father smoking a pipe with Beard\nand George Lambert, the latter the founder of the Beef-steak Club and the\nclever scene-painter of Covent Garden Theatre. The fire of 1808 destroyed\nmost of Lambert's work with the theatre.[454]\n\nNext to this house stood \"Old Slaughter's\" Coffee-house, the great haunt\nof artists from Hogarth to Wilkie. Towards the end of its existence it was\nthe head-quarters of naval and military officers before the establishment\nof West End Clubs. It was pulled down in 1844 to make way for the new\nstreet between Long Acre and Leicester Square. The original landlord, John\nSlaughter, started it in 1692, and died about 1740.[455] It first became\nknown as \"Old Slaughter's\" in 1760, when an opposition set up in the\nstreet under the name of \"Young\" or \"New Slaughter's.\"\n\nThere is a foolish tradition that the coffee-house derived its name from\nbeing frequented by the butchers of Newport Market. Mr. Smith gives a\ncharming chapter on the frequenters of this old haunt of Dryden and\nafterwards of Pope. The first he mentions was Mr. Ware, the architect, who\npublished a folio edition of Palladio, the great Italian architect of\nElizabeth's time. Ware was originally a chimney-sweeper's boy in Charles\nCourt, Strand; but being one day seen chalking houses on the front of\nWhitehall, a gentleman passing became his patron, educated him, and sent\nhim to Italy. His bust was one of Roubilliac's best works. His skin is\nsaid to have retained the stain of soot to the day of his death.[456]\n\nGravelot, who kept a drawing-school in the Strand, nearly opposite\nSouthampton Street, was another frequenter of Old Slaughter's. Henri\nFrancois Bourignon Gravelot was born in Paris in 1699, and died in that\ncity in 1773. His drawings were always minutely finished, and his designs\ntasteful, particularly those which he etched himself for Sir John Hanmer's\nsmall edition of Shakspere. He found an excellent engraver in poor Charles\nGrignon, Le Bas' pupil, who in his old age was driven off the field, fell\ninto poverty, and so remained till he died in 1810, aged 94.\n\nJohn Gwynn, the architect, who lived in Little Court, Castle Street,\nLeicester Fields, also frequented this house. He built the bridge at\nShrewsbury, and wrote a work on London improvements, which his friend Dr.\nJohnson revised and prefaced. The doctor also wrote strongly in favour of\nGwynn's talent and integrity when he was unsuccessfully competing with\nMylne for the erection of old Blackfriars Bridge.\n\nHogarth, too, \"used\" Slaughter's, and came there to rail at the \"black old\nmasters,\" the follies of patrons, and the knavery of dealers. Here he\nwould banter and brag, and sketch odd faces on his thumb-nail. Perhaps the\n\"Midnight Conversation\" was partly derived from convivial scenes in St.\nMartin's Lane.\n\nRoubilliac, the eccentric French sculptor, was another habitue of the\nplace. His house and studio were opposite on the east side of the lane,\nand were approached by a long passage and gateway. Here his friends must\nhave listened to his rhapsodies in broken English about his great statues\nof Handel, Sir Isaac Newton, and that of Shakspere now at the British\nMuseum, which cost Garrick, who left it to the nation, three hundred\nguineas.[457]\n\nThat pompous and wretched portrait-painter, Hudson, Reynolds's master and\nRichardson's pupil, used also to frequent Slaughter's. Hudson was the most\nignorant of painters, yet he was for a time the fashion. He painted the\nportraits of the members of the Dilettanti Society, and was a great and\nignorant collector of Rembrandt etchings. Hogarth used to call him, in his\nbrusque way, \"a fat-headed fellow.\"\n\nHere Hogarth would meet his own engraver, M'Ardell, who lived in Henrietta\nStreet. One of the finest English mezzotints in respect of brilliancy is\nHogarth's portrait of Captain Coram, the brave old originator of the\nFoundling Hospital, by M'Ardell. His engravings after Reynolds are superb.\nThat painter himself said that they would immortalise him.[458]\n\nHere, also, came Luke Sullivan, another of Hogarth's engravers, from the\nWhite Bear, Piccadilly. His etching of \"The March to Finchley\" is\nconsidered exquisite.[459] Sullivan was also an exquisite\nminiature-painter, particularly of female heads. He was a handsome,\nlively, reckless fellow, and died in miserable poverty.\n\nAt Slaughter's, too, Hogarth must have met the unhappy Theodore Gardelle,\nthe miniature-painter, who afterwards murdered his landlady in the\nHaymarket and burnt her body. Hogarth is said to have sketched him in his\nghostly white cap on the day of his execution. Gardelle, like Greenacre,\npleaded that he killed the woman by an accidental blow, and then destroyed\nthe body in fear. Foote notices his gibbet in _The Mayor of Garratt_.\n\nOld Moser, keeper of the drawing academy in Peter's Court--Roubilliac's\nold rooms--was often to be seen at the same haunt. Moser was a German\nSwiss, a gold-chaser and enameller; he became keeper of the Royal Academy\nin 1768. His daughter painted flowers.\n\nThat great painter, poor old Richard Wilson, neglected and almost starved\nby the senseless art-patrons of his day, occasionally came to Slaughter's,\nprobably to meet his countryman, blind Parry, the Welsh harper and great\ndraught-player.\n\nAnd, last of all, we must mention Nathanael Smith, the engraver, and Mr.\nRawle, the accoutrement maker in the Strand, and the inseparable companion\nof Captain Grose, the great antiquary, on whom Burns wrote poems--a\nlearned, fat, jovial Falstaff of a man, who compiled an indecorous but\nclever slang dictionary. It was at Rawle's sale that Dickey Suett bought\nCharles II.'s black wig, which he wore for years in \"Tom Thumb.\"\n\nNos. 76 and 77 St. Martin's Lane were originally one house, built by\nPayne, the architect of Salisbury Street and the original Lyceum. He built\ntwo small houses in his garden for his friends Gwynn, the competitor for\nBlackfriars Bridge, and Wale, the Royal Academy lecturer on perspective,\nand well-known book-illustrator. The entrances were in Little Court,\nCastle Street. In old times the street on this side, from Beard's Court,\nto St. Martin's Court, was called the Pavement; but the road has since\nbeen heightened three feet.\n\nBelow Payne's, in Hogarth's time, lived a bookseller named Harding, a\nseller of old prints, and author of a little book on the _Monograms of Old\nEngravers_. It was to this shop that Wilson, the sergeant painter, took an\netching of his own, which was sold to Hudson as a genuine Rembrandt. That\nsame night, by agreement, Wilson invited Hogarth and Hudson to supper.\nWhen the cold sirloin came in, Scott, the marine-painter, called out, \"A\nsail, a sail!\" for the beef was stuck with skewers bearing impressions of\nthe new Rembrandt, of which Hudson was so proud.[460]\n\nNos. 88 and 89 were built on the site of a large mansion, the staircase of\nwhich was adorned with allegorical figures. It was here that Hogarth's\nparticular friend, John Pine, lived. Pine was the engraver and publisher\nof the scenes from the Armada tapestry in the House of Lords, now\ndestroyed. He was a round, fat, oily man; and Hogarth drew him, much to\nhis annoyance, as the fat friar eyeing the beef at the \"Gate of Calais.\"\nHis son Robert, who painted one of the best portraits of Garrick, and\ncarried off the hundred guinea prize of the Society of Arts for his\npicture of the \"Siege of Calais,\" also lived here, and, after him, Dr.\nGartshore.\n\nThe house No. 96, on the west side, was Powell the colourman's in 1828; it\nhad then a Queen Anne door-frame, with spread-eagle and carved foliage and\nflowers, like the houses in Carey Street and Great Ormond Street, and a\nshutter sliding in grooves in the old-fashioned way. Mr. Powell's mother\nmade for many years annually a pipe of wine from the produce of a vine\nnearly a hundred feet long.[461] This house had a large staircase, painted\nwith figures in procession, by a French artist named Clermont, who claimed\none thousand guineas for his work, and received five hundred. Behind the\nhouse was the room which Hogarth has painted in \"Marriage a la Mode.\" The\nquack is Dr. Misaubin, whose vile portrait the satirist has given. The\nsavage fat woman is his Irish wife. Dr. Misaubin, who lived in this house,\nwas the son of a pastor of the Spitalfields French Church. The quack\nrealised a great fortune by a famous pill. His son was murdered; his\ngrandson squandered his money, and died in St. Martin's Workhouse.\n\nNo. 104 was at one time the residence of Sir James Thornhill, Hogarth's\naugust father-in-law, a poor yet pretentious painter, who decorated St.\nPaul's. He painted the staircase wall with allegories that were existing\nsome years since in good condition. The junior Van Nost, the sculptor,\nafterwards lived here--the same artist who took that mask of Garrick's\nface which afterwards belonged to the elder Mathews. After him, before\n1768, came Hogarth's convivial artist-friend, Francis Hayman, who\ndecorated Vauxhall and illustrated countless books. Perhaps it was here\nthat the Marquis of Granby, before sitting to the painter, had a round or\ntwo of sparring. Sir Joshua Reynolds, too, a graver and colder man, came\nto live here before he went to Great Newport Street.\n\nNew Slaughter's, at No. 82 in 1828, was established about 1760, and was\ndemolished in 1843-44, when the new avenue of Garrick Street was made\nbetween Long Acre and Leicester Square. It was much frequented by artists\nwho wished cheap fare and good society. Roubilliac was often to be found\nhere. Wilkie long after enjoyed his frugal dinners here at a small cost.\nHe was always the last dropper-in, and was never seen to dine in the house\nbefore dark. The fact is, the patient young Scotchman always slaved at his\nart till the last glimpse of daylight had disappeared below the red roofs.\n\nUpon the site of the present Quakers' Meeting-house in St. Peter's Court,\nSt. Martin's Lane, stood Roubilliac's first studio after he left Cheere.\nHere he executed, with ecstatic raptures at his own genius, his great\nstatue of Handel for Vauxhall. Here afterwards a drawing academy was\nstarted, Mr. Michael Moser being chosen the keeper. Reynolds, Mortimer,\nNollekens, and M'Ardell were among the earliest members. Hogarth presented\nto it some of his father-in-law's casts, but opposed the principle of\ncheap education to young artists, declaring that every foolish father\nwould send his boy there to keep him out of the streets, and so the\nprofession would be overstocked. In this academy the students sat to each\nother for drapery, and had also male and female models--sometimes in\ngroups.\n\nAmongst the early members of the St. Martin's Lane Academy were the\nfollowing:--Moser, afterwards keeper of the Academy; Hayman, Hogarth's\nfriend; Wale, the book-illustrator; Cipriani, famous for his book-prints;\nAllan Ramsay, Reynolds's rival; F. M. Newton; Charles Catton, the prince\nof coach-painters; Zoffany, the dramatic portrait-painter; Collins, the\nsculptor, who modelled Hayman's \"Don Quixote;\" Jeremy Meyer; William\nWoollett, the great engraver; Anthony Walker, also an engraver; Linnel, a\ncarver in wood; John Mortimer, the Salvator Rosa of that day; Rubinstein,\na drapery-painter and drudge to the portrait-painters; James Paine, son of\nthe architect of the Lyceum; Tilly Kettle, who went to the East, painted\nseveral rajahs, and then died near Aleppo; William Pars, who was sent to\nGreece by the Dilettanti Society; Vandergutch, a painter who turned\npicture-dealer; Charles Grignon, the engraver; C. Norton, Charles\nSherlock, and Charles Bibb, also engravers; Richmond, Keeble, Evans,\nRoper, Parsons, and Black, now forgotten; Russell, the crayon-painter;\nRichmond Cosway, the miniature-painter, a <DW2> and a mystic; W. Marlowe, a\nlandscape-painter; Messrs. Griggs, Rowe, Dubourg, Taylor, Dance, and\nRatcliffe, pupils of gay Frank Hayman; Richard Earlom, engraver of the\n\"Liber Veritatis\" of Claude for the Duke of Richmond; J. A. Gresse, a fat\nartist who taught the queen and princesses drawing; Giuseppe Marchi, an\nassistant of Reynolds; Thomas Beech; Lambert, a sculptor, and pupil of\nRoubilliac; Reed, another pupil of the same great artist, who aided in\nexecuting the skeleton on Mrs. Nightingale's monument, and was famous for\nhis pancake clouds; Biaggio Rebecca, the decorator; Richard Wilson, the\ngreat landscape-painter; Terry, Lewis Lattifere, John Seton, David Martin,\nBurgess; Burch, the medallist; John Collett, an imitator of Hogarth;\nNollekens, the sculptor; Reynolds, and, of course, Hogarth himself, the\n_primum mobile_.[462]\n\nNo. 112 was in old times one of those apothecaries' shops with bottled\nsnakes in the windows. It was kept by Leake, the inventor of a\n\"diet-drink\" once as famous as Lockyer's pill.\n\nFrank Hayman, one of these St. Martin's Lane worthies, was originally a\nscene-painter at Drury Lane. He was with Hogarth at Moll King's when\nHogarth drew the girl squirting brandy at the other for his picture in the\n_Rake's Progress_. Hayman was a Devonshire man, and a pupil of Brown. When\nhe buried his wife, a friend asked him why he spent so much money on the\nfuneral. \"Oh, sir,\" replied the droll, revelling fellow, \"she would have\ndone as much or more for me with pleasure.\"\n\nQuin and Hayman were inseparable boon companions. One night, after\n\"beating the rounds,\" they both fell into the kennel. Presently Hayman,\nsprawling out his shambling legs, kicked his bedfellow Quin. \"Hallo! what\nare you at now?\" growled the Welsh actor. \"At? why, endeavouring to get\nup, to be sure, for this don't suit my palate.\" \"Pooh!\" replied Quin,\n\"remain where you are; the watchman will come by shortly, and he will\n_take us both up_!\"[463]\n\nNo. 113 was occupied by Thomas Major, a die-engraver to the Stamp Office,\na pupil of Le Bas, and an excellent reproducer of subjects from Teniers.\nHe was also an engraver of landscapes after pictures by Ferg, one of the\nartists employed with Sir James Thornhill at the Chelsea china\nmanufactory.\n\nThe old watch-house or round-house used to stand exactly opposite the\ncentre of the portico of Gibbs's church.[464] There is a rare etching\nwhich represents its front during a riot. Stocks, elaborately carved with\nvigorous figures of a man being whipped by the hangman, stood near the\nwall of the watch-house. The carving, much mutilated, was preserved in the\nvaults under the church.\n\nNear the stocks, with an entrance from the King's Mews, stood \"the Barn,\"\nafterwards called \"the Canteen,\" which was a great resort of the chess,\ndraught, and whist players of the City.\n\nAt the south-west corner of St. Martin's Lane was the shop of Jefferys,\nthe geographer to King George III.\n\nNo. 20 was a public-house, latterly the Portobello, with Admiral Vernon's\nship, well painted by Monamy, for its sign. The date, 1638, was on the\nfront of this house, now removed.\n\nNo. 114 stands on the site of the old house of the Earls of Salisbury.\nBefore the alterations of 1827 there were vestiges of the old building\nremaining. It has been a constant tradition in the lane, that in this\nhouse, in James II.'s reign, the seven bishops were lodged before they\nwere conveyed to the Tower.\n\nOpposite old Salisbury House stood a turnpike, and the tradition in the\nlane is that the Earl of Salisbury obtained its removal as a nuisance. At\nthat time the church was literally in the fields. The turnpike-house\nstood (circa 1760) on the site of No. 28, afterwards (in 1828) Pullen's\nwine-vaults. The Westminster Fire Office was first established in St.\nMartin's Lane, between Chandos Street and May's Buildings.\n\nThe White Horse livery-stables were originally tea-gardens,[465] and south\nof these was a hop-garden. The oldest house in the lane overhung the White\nHorse stables, and was standing in 1828.\n\nNo. 60 was formerly Chippendale's, the great upholsterer and\ncabinet-maker, whose folio work was the great authority in the trade\nbefore Mr. Hope's classic style overthrew for a time that of Louis\nQuatorze.\n\nNo. 63 formerly led to Roubilliac's studio. Here, in 1828, the Sunday\npaper _The Watchman_, was printed.\n\nIt must have been here, in the sculptor's time, that Garrick, coming to\nsee how his Shakspere statue progressed, drew out a two-foot rule, and put\non a tragic and threatening face to frighten a great red-headed\nYorkshireman, who was sawing marble for Roubilliac; but who, to his\nsurprise, merely rolled his quid, and coolly said, \"What trick are you\nafter next, my little master?\" Upon the honest sculptor's death, Read, one\nof his pupils, a conceited pretender, took the premises in 1762, and\nadvertised himself as \"Mr. Roubilliac's successor.\"\n\nRead executed the poor monuments of the Duchess of Northumberland and of\nAdmiral Tyrrell, now in Westminster Abbey. His master used to say to Read\nwhen he was bragging, \"Ven you do de monument, den de varld vill see vot\nvon d-- ting you vill make.\" Nollekens used to say of the admiral's\nmonument, \"That figure going to heaven out of the sea looks for all the\nworld as if it were hanging from a gallows with a rope round its\nneck.\"[466]\n\nNo. 70 was formerly the house where Mr. Hone held his exhibition when his\npicture of \"The Conjuror,\" intended to ridicule Sir Joshua Reynolds as a\nplagiarist, and to insult Miss Angelica Kaufmann, was refused admittance\nat Somerset House. Mr. Nathanael Hone was a miniature-painter on enamel,\nwho attempted oil pictures and grew envious of Reynolds. Hone was a tall,\npompous, big, erect man, who wore a broad brimmed hat and a lapelled coat,\npunctiliously buttoned up to his chin. He walked with a measured, stately\nstep, and spoke with an air of great self-importance--in this sort of way:\n\"Joseph Nollekens, Esq., R.A., how--do--you--do?\"[467]\n\nThe corner house of Long Acre, now 72, formed part of the extensive\npremises of Mr. Cobb, George III.'s upholsterer--a proud, pompous man, who\nalways strutted about his workshops in full dress. It was Dance's portrait\nof Mr. Cobb, given in exchange for a table, that led to Dance's\nacquaintance with Garrick. One day in the library at Buckingham House, old\nKing George asked Cobb to hand him a certain book. Instead of doing so,\nmistaken Cobb called to a man who was at work on a ladder, and said,\n\"Fellow, give me that book.\" The king instantly rose and asked the man's\nname. \"Jenkins,\" replied the astonished upholsterer. \"Then,\" observed the\ngood old king, \"Jenkins shall hand me the book.\"[468]\n\nAlderman Boydell, the great encourager of art, when he first began with\nhalf a shop, used to etch small plates of landscapes in sets of six for\nsixpence. As there were few print-shops then in London, he prevailed upon\nthe proprietors of toy-shops to put them in their windows for sale. Every\nSaturday he went the round of the shops to see what had been done, or to\ntake more. His most successful shop was \"The Cricket-Bat,\" in Duke's\nCourt, St. Martin's Lane.[469]\n\nAbraham Raimbach, the engraver, was born in Cecil Court, St. Martin's\nLane, in 1776. Sir Joshua Reynolds, in his early period, lived nearly\nopposite May's Buildings. He afterwards went to Great Newport Street,\nwhere he first met Dr. Johnson.\n\nO'Keefe describes being in a coffee-house in St. Martin's Lane on the very\nmorning when the famous No. 45 came out. The unconscious newsman came in,\nand, as a matter of course, laid the paper on the table before him. About\nthe year 1777 O'Keefe was standing talking with his brother at Charing\nCross, when a slender figure in a scarlet coat with a large bag, and\nfierce three-cocked hat, crossed the way, carefully choosing his steps,\nthe weather being wet--it was John Wilkes.[470]\n\nWhen Fuseli returned to London in 1779, after his foreign tour, he resided\nwith a portrait painter named Cartwright, at No. 100 St. Martin's\nLane,[471] and he remained there till his marriage with Miss Rawlins in\n1788, when he removed to Foley Street. Here he commenced his acquaintance\nwith Professor Bonnycastle, and produced his popular picture of \"The\nNightmare\" (1781), by which the publisher of the print realised L500. Here\nalso he revised Cowper's version of the _Iliad_, and became acquainted\nwith Sir Joshua Reynolds and Dr. Moore, the author of _Zeluco_.\n\nMay's Buildings bear the date of 1739. Mr. May, who built them, lived at\nNo. 43, which he ornamented with pilasters and a cornice. This house used\nto be thought a good specimen of architectural brickwork.\n\nThe club of \"The Eccentrics,\" in May's Buildings, was, in 1812, much\nfrequented by the eloquent Richard Lalor Sheil, by William Mudford, the\neditor of the _Courier_, a man of logical and sarcastic power,--and by\n\"Pope Davis,\" an artist, in later years a great friend of the unfortunate\nHaydon. \"Pope Davis\" was so called from having painted, when in Rome, a\nlarge picture of the \"Presentation of the Shrewsbury Family to the\nPope.\"[472]\n\nThe Royal Society of Literature, at 4 St. Martin's Place, Charing Cross,\nwas founded in 1823, \"for the advancement of literature,\" on which at\npresent it has certainly had no very perceptible influence. It was\nincorporated by royal charter Sept. 13, 1826. George IV. gave 1000 guineas\na year to this body, which rescued the last years of Coleridge's wasted\nlife from utter dependence, and placed Dr. Jamieson above want. William\nIV. discontinued the lavish grant of a king who was generous only with\nother people's money, and was always in debt; and since that the somewhat\neffete society has sunk into a Transaction Publishing Society, or rather a\nclub with an improving library. Sir Walter Scott's opposition to the\nsociety was as determined as Hogarth's against the Royal Academy. \"The\nimmediate and direct favour of the sovereign,\" said Scott, who had a\nsuperstitious respect for any monarch, \"is worth the patronage of ten\nthousand societies.\" Literature wants no patronage now, thank God, but\nonly intelligent purchasers; and whether a king does or does not read an\nauthor's work, is of small consequence to any writer.\n\n[Illustration: OLD SLAUGHTER'S COFFEE-HOUSE.]\n\nAdmission to the Royal Society of Literature is obtained by a certificate,\nsigned by three members, and an election by ballot. Ordinary members pay\nthree guineas on admission, and two guineas annually, or compound by a\npayment of twenty guineas. The society devotes itself for the most part to\nthe study of Greek and Latin inscriptions and Egyptian literature.[473]\nThis learned body also professes to fix the standard of the English\nlanguage; to read papers on history, poetry, philosophy, and philology; to\ncorrespond with learned men in foreign countries; to reward literary\nmerit; and to publish unedited remains of ancient literature.\n\nSt. Martin's Lane has seen many changes. Cranbourne Alley is gone with all\nits bonnet-shops, and the Mews and C'ribbee Islands are no more, but there\nstill remain a few old houses, with brick pilasters and semi-Grecian\npediments, to remind us of the days of Fuseli and Reynolds, Hayman and Old\nSlaughter's, Hogarth and Roubilliac. I can assure my readers that a most\nrespectable class of ghosts haunts the artist quarter in St. Martin's\nLane.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: SALISBURY AND WORCESTER HOUSES, 1630.]\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nLONG ACRE AND ITS TRIBUTARIES.\n\n\nAt the latter end of 1664, says Defoe, two men, said to be Frenchmen, died\nof the plague at the Drury Lane end of Long Acre. Dr. Hodges, however, a\ngreater authority than Defoe, who wrote fifty-seven years after the event,\nsays merely that the pestilence broke out in Westminster, and that two or\nthree persons dying, the frightened neighbours removed into the City, and\nthere carried the contagion. He, however, distinctly states that the pest\ncame to us from Holland, and most probably in a parcel of infected goods\nfrom Smyrna.[474]\n\nAccording to Defoe, the family with which the Frenchmen had lodged\nendeavoured to conceal the deaths; but the rumour growing, the Secretary\nof State heard of it, and sent two physicians and a surgeon to inspect the\nbodies. They certifying that the men had really died of the plague, the\nparish clerk returned the deaths to \"the Hall,\" and they were printed in\nthe weekly bill of mortality. \"The people showed a great concern at this,\nand began to be alarmed all over the town.\"[475] At Christmas Dr. Hodges\nattended a case of plague, and shortly afterwards a proclamation was\nissued for placing watchmen day and night at the doors of infected houses,\nwhich were to be marked with a red St. Andrew cross and the subscription\n\"Lord have mercy upon us!\"[476] By the next September the terrible disease\nhad risen to its height, and the deaths ranged as high as 12,000 a week,\nand in the worst night after the bonfires had been burned in the street,\nto 4000 in the twelve hours.[477]\n\nGreat Queen Street, so called after Henrietta Maria, the imprudent but\nbrave wife of Charles I., was built about 1629, before the troubles. Howes\n(editor of Stow) speaks in 1631, of \"the new fair buildings leading into\nDrury Lane.\"[478] Many of the houses were built by Webb, one of Inigo\nJones's scholars. The south was the fashionable side, looking towards the\nPancras fields; most of the north side houses must, therefore, be of a\nlater date. According to one authority Inigo Jones himself built Queen\nStreet, at the cost of the Jesuits, designing it for a square, and leaving\nin the middle a niche for the statue of Queen Henrietta. \"The stately and\nmagnificent houses,\" begun on the other side near Little Queen Street,\nwere not continued. There were fleurs-de-luce placed on the walls in\nhonour of the queen.[479]\n\nGeorge Digby, the second Earl of Bristol, lived in Great Queen Street, in\na large house with seven rooms on a floor, a long gallery, and gardens.\nEvelyn describes going to see him (probably there), to consult about the\nsite of Greenwich Hospital, with Denham the poet and surveyor, and one of\nInigo Jones's clerks. Digby was a Knight of the Garter, who first wrote\nagainst Popery and then converted himself. He persecuted Lord Strafford,\nyet then turning courtier, lived long enough to persecute Lord Clarendon.\nGrammont, Bussy, and Clarendon all decry the earl; and Horace Walpole\nwrites wittily of him--\"With great parts, he always hurt himself and his\nfriends; with romantic bravery, he was always an unsuccessful commander.\nHe spoke for the Test Act, though a Roman Catholic, and addicted himself\nto astrology on the birthday of true philosophy.\"[480]\n\nIn 1671 Evelyn describes the earl's house as taken by the Commissioners of\nTrade and Plantations, of which he was one, and furnished with tapestry\n\"of the king's.\" The Duke of Buckingham, the earl of Sandwich (Pepys's\npatron), the Earl of Lauderdale, Sir John Finch, Waller the poet, and\nsaturnine Colonel Titus (the author of the terrible pamphlet against\nCromwell, _Killing no Murder_) were the new occupants.\n\nThey sat, says Evelyn, at the board in the council chamber, a very large\nroom furnished with atlases, maps, charts, and globes. The first day's\ndebate was an ominous one: it related to the condition of New England,\nwhich had grown rich, strong, and \"very independent as to their regard to\nOld England or his majesty. The colony was able to contest with all the\nother plantations,[481] and there was fear of her breaking from her\ndependence. Some of the council were for sending a menacing letter, but\nothers who better understood the peevish and touchy humour of that colony\nwere utterly against it.\" A few weeks afterwards Evelyn was at the\ncouncil, when a letter was read from Jamaica, describing how Morgan, the\nWelsh buccaneer, had sacked and burned Panama; the bravest thing of the\nkind done since Drake. Morgan, who cheated his companions and stole their\nspoil, afterwards came to England, and was, like detestable Blood,\nreceived at court.\n\nLord Chancellor Finch, Earl of Nottingham, who lived in Great Queen\nStreet, presided as Lord High Steward at Lord Strafford's trial, at which\nEvelyn was present, noticing the ill-bred impudence of Titus Oates.[482]\nFinch was the son of a recorder of London, and died in 1681. He was living\nhere when that impudent thief, Sadler, stole the mace and purse, and\ncarried them off in procession.\n\nThe choleric and Quixotic Lord Herbert of Cherbury lived in Great Queen\nStreet, in a house on the south side, a few doors east of Great Wyld\nStreet. Here he began his wild Deistic work, _De Veritate_, published in\nParis in 1624, and in London three years before his death. He says that he\nfinished this rhapsody in France, where it was praised by Tilenus, an\nArminian professor at Sedan, and an opponent of the Calvinists, which\nprocured him a pension from James I., and also from the learned Grotius\nwhen he came to Paris, after his escape in a linen-chest from the\nCalvinist fortress of Louvestein. Urged to publish by friends, Lord\nHerbert, afraid of the censure his book might receive, was relieved from\nhis doubts by what his vanity and heated imagination pleased to consider a\nvision from heaven.\n\nThis Welsh Quixote says, \"Being thus doubtful in my chamber one fair day\nin the summer, my casement being open towards the south, the sun shining\nclear and no wind stirring, I took my book, _De Veritate_, in my hand, and\nkneeling on my knees, devoutly said these words: 'Oh, thou eternal God,\nauthor of the light which now shines upon me, and giver of all inward\nilluminations, I do beseech thee of thy infinite goodness to pardon a\ngreater request than a sinner ought to make. I am not satisfied enough\nwhether I shall publish this book, _De Veritate_. If it be for thy glory,\nI beseech thee to give me some sign from heaven; if not, I shall suppress\nit!' I had no sooner spoken these words, but a _loud though gentle\nnoise_[483] came from the heavens (for it was like nothing on earth),\nwhich did so comfort and cheer me that I took my petition as granted. And\nthis (however strange it may seem) I protest before the eternal God is\ntrue. Neither am I in any way superstitiously deceived herein, since I did\nnot only hear the noise, but in the serenest sky that ever I saw--being\nwithout _all_ cloud--did, to my thinking, see the place from whence it\ncame.\"\n\nThe noise was probably some child falling from a chair overhead, or a\nchest of drawers being moved in an upper room; and if it _had_ been\nthunder in a clear sky, it was no more than Horace once heard. Heaven does\nnot often express its approval of Deistical books. Lord Herbert, doubted\nof general, and yet believed in individual revelation. What crazy vanity,\nto think the work of an amateur philosopher of sufficient importance for a\nspecial revelation,[484] that (in his own opinion) had been denied to a\nneglected world! Lord Herbert, though refused the sacrament by Usher, bore\nit very serenely, asked what o'clock it was, then said, \"An hour hence I\nshall depart,\" turned his head to the other side, and expired.[485] He had\nmoved to this quarter from King Street. Lord Herbert, though he wrote a\nLife to vindicate that brutal tyrant Henry VIII., was inconsistent enough\nto join the Parliament against a less wise but more illegal king, Charles\nI. When I pass down Queen Street, wondering whether that southern window\nof the Welsh knight's vision was on the front of the south side, or on the\nback of the southern side of the street, I sometimes think of those soft\nlines of his upon the question \"whether love should continue for ever?\"\n\n  \"Having interr'd her infant birth,\n  The watery ground that late did mourn\n  Was strew'd with flowers for the return\n  Of the wish'd bridegroom of the earth.\n\n  \"The well-accorded birds did sing\n  Their hymns unto the pleasant time,\n  And in a sweet consorted chime,\n  Did welcome in the cheerful spring.\"\n\nAnd then on my return home, I get out brave old Ben Jonson, and read his\nlines addressed to this last of the knights:--\n\n    \"... and on whose every part\n  Truth might spend all her voice, Fame all her art.\n  Whether thy learning they would take, or wit,\n  Or valour, or thy judgment seasoning it,\n  Thy standing upright to thyself, thy ends\n  Like straight, thy piety to God and friends.\"\n\nSir Thomas Fairfax, general of the Parliament, probably lived here, as he\ndated from this street a printed proclamation of the 12th of February\n1648.\n\nSir Godfrey Kneller, the great portrait painter of William and Mary's\nreign, but more especially of Queen Anne's time, once lived in a house in\nthis street. Sir Godfrey, though a humorist, was the vainest of men, and\nwas made rather a butt by his friends Pope and Gay. Kneller was the son of\na surveyor at Luebeck, and intended for the army. King George I., who\ncreated him a baronet, was the last of the sovereigns who sat to him. Sir\nGodfrey was the successor of Sir Peter Lely in England, but was still more\nslight and careless in manner. His portraits may be often known by the\ncurls being thrown behind the back, while in Lely's portraits they fall\nover the shoulders and chest. Kneller was a humorist, but very vain, as a\nman might well be whom Dryden, Pope, Addison, Prior, Tickell, and Steele\nhad eulogised in verse. On one occasion, when Pope was sitting watching\nKneller paint, he determined to fool him \"to the top of his bent.\" \"Do you\nnot think, Sir Godfrey,\" said the little poet, slily, \"that, if God had\nhad your advice at the creation, he would have made a much better world?\"\nThe painter turned round sharply from his easel, fixed his eyes on Pope,\nand laying one hand on his deformed shoulder, replied, \"Fore Gott, Mister\nPope, I theenk I shoode.\"\n\nThere was wit in all Kneller's banter, and even when his quaint sayings\ntold against himself, they seemed to reflect the humour of a man conscious\nof the ludicrous side of his own vanity. To his tailor who brought him his\nson to offer him as an apprentice emulative of Annibale Caracci, whose\nfather had also sat cross-legged, Sir Godfrey said, grandly, \"Dost thou\nthink, man, I can make thy son a painter? No; God Almighty only makes\npainters.\" To a low fellow whom he overheard cursing himself he said, \"God\ndamn you? No, God may damn the Duke of Marlborough, and perhaps Sir\nGodfrey Kneller; but do you think he will take the trouble of damning such\na scoundrel as you?\"[486]\n\nGay on one occasion read some verses to Sir Godfrey (probably those\ndescribing Pope's imaginary welcome from Greece) in which these outrageous\nlines occur--\n\n  \"What can the extent of his vast soul confine--\n  A painter, critic, engineer, divine?\"\n\nUpon which Kneller, remembering that he had been intended for a soldier,\nand perhaps scenting out the joke, said, \"Ay, Mr. Gay, all vot you 'ave\nsaid is very faine and very true, but you 'ave forgot von theeng, my good\nfriend. Egad, I should have been a general of an army, for ven I vos in\nVenice there vos a _girandole_, and all the Place of St. Mark vos in a\nsmoke of gunpowder, and I did like the smell, Mr. Gay--should have been a\ngreat general, Mr. Gay.\"[487]\n\nHis dream, too, was related by Pope to Spence as a good story of the\nGerman's droll vanity. Kneller thought he had ascended by a very high hill\nto heaven, and there found St. Peter at the gate, dealing with a vast\ncrowd of applicants. To one he said, \"Of what sect was you?\" \"I was a\n<DW7>.\" \"Go you there.\" \"What was you?\" \"A Protestant.\" \"Go you there.\"\n\"And you?\" \"A Turk.\" \"Go you there.\" In the meantime St. Luke had descried\nthe painter, and asking if he was not the famous Sir Godfrey Kneller,\nentered into conversation with him about his beloved art, so that Sir\nGodfrey quite forgot about St. Peter till he heard a voice behind him--St.\nPeter's--call out, \"Come in, Sir Godfrey, and take whatever place you\nlike.\"[488]\n\nPope is said to have ridiculed his friend under the name of Helluo.[489]\nHe certainly laughed at his justice in dismissing a soldier who had stolen\na joint of meat, and blaming the butcher who had put it in the rogue's\nway. Whenever he saw a constable, followed by a mob, coming up to his\nhouse at Whitton, he would call out to him, \"Mr. Constable, you see that\nturning; go that way; you will find an ale-house, the sign of the King's\nHead: go and make it up.\"[490]\n\nJacob Tonson got pictures out of Kneller, covetous as he was, by praising\nhim extravagantly, and sending him haunches of fat venison and dozens of\ncool claret. Sir Godfrey used to say to Vandergucht, \"Oh, my goot man,\nthis old Jacob loves me. He is a very goot man, for you see he loves me,\nhe sends me goot things. The venison vos fat.\" Old Geckie, the surgeon,\nhowever, got a picture or two even cheaper, for he sent no present, but\nthen his praises were as fat as Jacob's venison.[491]\n\nSir Godfrey used to get very angry if any doubt was expressed as to the\nlegitimacy of the Pretender. \"His father and mother have sat to me about\nthirty-six times a-piece, and I know every line and bit of their faces.\nMine Gott, I could paint King James _now_ by memory. I say the child is so\nlike both, that there is not a feature in his face but what belongs to\neither father or mother--nay, the nails of his fingers are his\nmother's--the queen that was. Doctor, you may be out in your letters, but\nI cannot be out in my lines.\"[492]\n\nKneller had intended Hogarth's father-in-law, Sir James Thornhill, to\npaint his staircase at Whitton, but hearing that Newton was sitting to\nhim, he was in dudgeon, declared that no portrait-painter should paint\nhis house, and employed \"sprawling\" Laguerre instead.\n\nKneller's prices were fifteen guineas for a head, twenty if with only one\nhand, thirty for a half, and sixty for a whole length. He painted much too\nfast and flimsily, and far too much by the help of foreign assistants--in\nfact, avowedly to fill his kitchen. In thirty years he made a large\nfortune, in spite of losing L20,000 in the South Sea Bubble. His wigs,\ndrapery, and backgrounds were all painted for him. He is said to have left\nat his death 500 unfinished portraits.[493] His favourite work, the\nportrait of a Chinese converted and brought over by Couplet, a Jesuit, is\nat Windsor. But Walpole preferred his Grinling Gibbons at Houghton.\n\nKneller left his house in Great Queen Street to his wife, and after her\ndecease to his godson Godfrey Huckle, who took the name of Kneller.\nAmongst the celebrated persons painted by Kneller in his best manner were\nBolingbroke, Wren, Lady Wortley Montague, Pope, Locke, Burnet, Addison,\nEvelyn, and the Earl of Peterborough. The brittleness of this man's fame\nis another proof that he who paints merely for his time must perish with\nhis time.\n\nConway House was in Great Queen Street. Lord Conway, an able soldier,\nbrought up by Lord Vere, his uncle, was an epicure, who by his agreeable\nconversation was very acceptable at the court of Charles I.[494] He had\nthe misfortune to be utterly routed by the Scotch at Newburn--a defeat\nwhich gave them Newcastle. The previous Lord Conway was that Secretary of\nState of whom James I. said, \"Steenie has given me two proper servants--a\nsecretary (Conway) who can neither write nor read, and a groom of the\nbedchamber (Mr. Clarke, a one-handed man) who cannot truss my\npoints.\"[495] It had been well for England if this sottish pedant had had\nno worse servants than Conway and Clarke. Raleigh might then have been\nspared, and Overbuy would not have been poisoned.\n\nLord Conway, whose son, General Conway, was such an idol of Horace\nWalpole, lived in the family house in Great Queen Street.\n\nWinchester House was not far off. Lord Pawlet figures in all the early\nscenes of the Civil War. He was one of the first nobles to raise forces in\nthe West for the wrong-headed king. On one occasion Basing House was all\nbut lost by a plot hatched between Waller and the Marquis of Winchester's\nbrother, but it was detected in time to save that important place. Basing,\nafter three months' siege by a conjunction of Parliament troops from\nHampshire and Essex, was gallantly succoured by Colonel Gage. The\nMarchioness, a lady of great honour and alliance, being sister to the Earl\nof Essex and to the lady Marchioness of Hertford, enlisted all the Roman\nCatholics in Oxford in this dashing adventure.[496] Basing was, however,\neventually stormed and taken by Cromwell, who put most of the garrison to\nthe sword. William, the fourth marquis, died 1628, and was succeeded by\nhis son, who was the father of Charles, created in 1689 Duke of Bolton, a\ntitle that became extinct in 1794.\n\nJohn Greenhill, a Long Acre celebrity, was one of the most promising of\nLely's scholars. He painted portraits, among others, of Locke,\nShaftesbury, and Davenant. He also drew in crayons, and engraved. It is\nsaid that Lely was jealous of him, and would not let his pupil see him\npaint, till Greenhill's handsome wife was sent to Sir Peter to sit for her\nportrait, which cost twelve broad pieces or L15. Greenhill, at first\nindustrious, became acquainted with the players, and fell into debauched\ncourses. Coming home drunk late one night from the Vine Tavern, he fell\ninto the kennel in Long Acre, and was carried to Perrey Walton's, the\nroyal picture-cleaner, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, where he had been lodging,\nand died in his bed that night (1676), in the flower of his age. He was\nburied at St. Giles's, and shameless Mrs. Aphra Behn, who admired his\nperson and his paintings, wrote a long elegy on his death. Sir Peter is\nsaid to have settled L40 a year on Greenhill's widow and children, but she\ndied mad soon after her husband.[497]\n\nIn June 1718 Ryan, an actor of Lincoln's Inn Theatre, was supping at the\nSun in Long Acre, and had placed his sword quietly in the window, when a\nbully named Kelly came up and made passes at him, provoking him to a duel.\nThe young actor took his sword, drew it, and passed it through the\nrascal's body. The act being one of obvious self-defence, he was not\ncalled to serious account for it. This Ryan had acted with Betterton.\nAddison especially selected him as Marcus in his \"Cato,\" and Garrick\nconfessed he took Ryan's Richard as his model.[498]\n\nSome years after, Ryan, by this time the Orestes, Macduff, Iago, Cassio,\nand Captain Plume of the Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre, in passing down\nGreat Queen Street, after playing Scipio in \"Sophonisba,\" was fired at by\na footpad, and had his jaw shattered. \"Friend,\" moaned the wounded man,\n\"you have killed me, but I forgive you.\" The actor, however, recovered to\nresume his place upon the boards, and generous Quin gave him L1000 in\nadvance that he had put him down for in his will. He died in 1760.\n\nHudson, a wretched portrait-painter, although the master of Sir Joshua\nReynolds, lived in a house now divided into two, Nos. 55 and 56.\nPortrait-painting, being unable to sink lower than Hudson, turned and\nbegan to rise again. When Reynolds in later years took a villa on Richmond\nHill, somewhat above that of Hudson, he said, \"I never thought I should\nlive to look down on my old master.\" Hudson's house was afterwards\noccupied by that insipid poet, Hoole, the translator of Tasso and of\nAriosto.\n\nThe old West End entrance of this street, a narrow passage known as the\n\"Devil's Gap,\" was taken down in 1765.\n\nMartin Folkes, an eminent scholar and antiquarian, was born in Great Queen\nStreet in 1690. He was made vice-president of the Royal Society by Newton\nin 1723, and in 1727, on Sir Isaac's death, disputed the presidentship\nwith Sir Hans Sloane,--a post which he eventually obtained in 1741, on the\nresignation of Sir Hans. Folkes was a great numismatist, and seems to\nhave been a generous, pleasant man. He died in 1784. The sale of his\nlibrary, prints, and coins lasted fifty-six days. He was, as Leigh Hunt\nremarks, one of \"the earliest persons among the gentry to marry an\nactress,\"[499] setting by that means an excellent example. His wife's name\nwas Lucretia Bradshaw.\n\nMiss Pope, of Queen Street, had a face grave and unpromising, but her\nhumour was dry and racy as old sherry. Churchill, in the \"Rosciad,\"\nmentions her as vivaciously advancing in a jig to perform as Cherry and\nPolly Honeycomb. Later she grew into an excellent Mrs. Malaprop.[500]\n\nThis good woman, well-bred lady, and finished actress, lived for forty\nyears in Queen Street, two doors east of Freemasons' Tavern; there, the\nMiss Prue, and Cherry, and Jacinta, and Miss Biddy of years before, the\nfriend of Garrick and the praised of Churchill, sat, surrounded by\nportraits of Lord Nuneham, General Churchill, Garrick, and Holland, and\ntold the story of her first love to Horace Smith.\n\nAn attachment had sprung up between her and Holland, but Garrick had\nwarned her of the man's waywardness and instability. Miss Pope would not\nbelieve the accusations till one day, on her way to see Mrs. Clive at\nTwickenham, she beheld the unfaithful Holland in a boat with Mrs.\nBaddeley, near the Eel-pie Island. She accused him at the next rehearsal,\nhe would confess no wrong, and she never spoke to him again but on the\nstage. \"But I have reason to know,\" said the old lady, shedding tears as\nshe looked up at her cruel lover's portrait, \"that he never was really\nhappy.\"\n\nMiss Pope left Queen Street at last, finding the Freemasons too noisy\nneighbours, especially after dinner. \"Miss Pope,\" says Hazlitt, \"was the\nvery picture of a duenna or an antiquated dowager in the latter spring of\nbeauty--the second childhood of vanity; more quaint, fantastic, and\nold-fashioned, more pert, frothy, and light-headed than can be\nimagined.\"[501]\n\nIt was not very easy to please poor soured Hazlitt, whose opinion of women\nhad not been improved by his having been jilted by a servant girl. This\ngood woman, Miss Pope, died at Hadley in 1801, her latter life having been\nembittered by the loss of her brother and favourite niece.\n\nThe Freemasons' Hall, built by T. Sandby, architect, was opened in 1776,\nby Lord Petre, a Roman Catholic nobleman, with the usual mysterious\nceremonials of the order. The annual assemblies of the lodges had\npreviously been held in the halls of the City's companies. The tavern was\nbuilt in 1786, by William Tyler, and has since been enlarged. In the\ntavern public meetings and dinners take place, chiefly in May and June.\nHere a farewell banquet was given to John Philip Kemble, and a public\ndinner on his birthday, to James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. All the\nwaiters in this tavern are Masons. The house has been lately enlarged. Its\nnew great Hall was inaugurated by the dinner given to Charles Dickens by\nhis friends on his departure for America in November 1857.\n\nIsaac Sparkes, a famous Irish comedian about 1774, was an old, fat,\nunwieldy man, with a vast double chin, and large, bushy, prominent\neyebrows. When in London, he established in Long Acre a Club, which was\nfrequented by Lord Townshend, Lord Effingham, Lord Lindore, Captain\nMulcaster, Mr. Crewe of Cheshire, and \"other nobles and fashionables.\"\nSparkes, who dressed well and had a commanding presence, probably presided\nover it, as he did at Dublin clubs, dressed in robes as Lord Chief Justice\nJoker.[502]\n\nIn one of the grand old houses in Great Queen Street, on the right hand as\none goes towards Lincoln's Inn Fields, occupied before 1830 by Messrs.\nAllman the booksellers, died Lewis the comedian, famous to the last, as\nLeigh Hunt tells us, for his invincible airiness and juvenility. \"Mr.\nLewis,\" says the same veteran play-goer, \"displayed a combination rarely\nto be found in acting--that of the <DW2> and the real gentleman. With a\nvoice, a manner, and a person all equally graceful and light, with\nfeatures at once whimsical and genteel, he played on the top of his\nprofession like a plume. He was the Mercutio of the age, in every sense of\nthe word mercurial. His airy, breathless voice, thrown to the audience\nbefore he appeared, was the signal of his winged animal spirits; and when\nhe gave a glance of his eye or touched with his finger another man's ribs,\nit was the very _punctum saliens_ of playfulness and innuendo. We saw him\ntake leave of the public, a man of sixty-five, looking not more than half\nthe age, in the character of the Copper Captain; and heard him say, in a\nvoice broken with emotion, that for the space of thirty years he had not\nonce incurred their displeasure.\"[503]\n\nBenjamin Franklin, when first in England, worked at the printing-office of\nMr. Watts, in Little Wild Street, after being employed for twelve months\nat one Palmer's, in Bartholomew Close. He lodged close by in Duke Street,\nopposite the Roman Catholic Chapel, with a widow, to whom he paid\nthree-and-sixpence weekly. His landlady was a clergyman's daughter, who\nhad married a Catholic, and abjured Protestantism. She and Franklin were\nmuch together, as he kept good hours and she was lame and almost confined\nto her room. Their frugal supper often consisted of nothing but half an\nanchovy, a small slice of bread and butter each, and half a pint of ale\nbetween them. On Franklin proposing to leave for cheaper lodgings, she\nconsented to let him retain his room at two shillings a week. In the attic\nof the house lived a voluntary nun. She was a lady who early in life had\nbeen sent to the Continent for her health, but unable to bear the climate,\nhad returned home to live in seclusion on L12 a year, devoting the rest of\nher income to charity, and subsisting, healthy and cheerful, on nothing\nbut water-gruel. Her presence was thought a blessing to the house, and\nseveral tenants in succession had charged her no rent. She permitted the\noccasional visits of Franklin and his landlady; and the brave American\nlad, while he pitied her superstition, felt confirmed in his frugality by\nher example.\n\nDuring his first weeks with Mr. Watts, Franklin worked as a pressman,\ndrinking only water while his companions had their five pints of porter\ndaily. The \"Water American,\" as he was called, was, however, stronger than\nhis colleagues, and tried to persuade some of them that strong beer was\nnot necessary for strong work. His argument was that bread contained more\nmaterials of strength than beer, and that it was only corn in the beer\nthat produced the strength in the liquid.\n\nBorn to be a reformer, Franklin persuaded the _chapel_ to alter some of\ntheir laws; he resisted impositions, and conciliated the respect of his\nfellows. He worked as a pressman, as he had done in America, for the sake\nof the exercise. He used, he tells us, to carry up and down stairs with\none hand a large _form_ of type, while the other fifty men required both\nhands to do the same work.\n\nFranklin's fellow pressman drank every day a pint of beer before\nbreakfast, a pint with bread and cheese for breakfast, a pint between\nbreakfast and dinner, one at dinner, one again at six in the afternoon,\nand another after his day's work; and all this he declared to be necessary\nto give him strength for the press. \"This custom,\" said the King of Common\nSense, \"seemed to me abominable.\" Franklin, however, failed to make a\nconvert of this man, and he went on paying his four or five shillings a\nweek for the \"cursed beverage,\" destined probably, poor devil, to remain\nall his life in a state of voluntary wretchedness, serfdom, and poverty.\n\nA few of the men consented to follow Franklin's example, and renouncing\nbeer and cheese, to take for breakfast a basin of warm gruel, with butter,\ntoast, and nutmeg. This did not cost more than a pint of beer--\"namely,\nthree halfpence\"--and at the same time was more nourishing and kept the\nhead clearer. Those who gorged themselves with beer would sometimes run up\na score and come to the Water American for credit, \"their light being\nout.\" Franklin attended at the great stone table every Saturday evening to\ntake up the little debts, which sometimes amounted to thirty shillings a\nweek. \"This circumstance,\" says Franklin in his autobiography, \"added to\nthe reputation of my being a tolerable _gabber_--or, in other words,\nskilful in the art of burlesque--kept up my importance in the 'chapel.' I\nhad, besides, recommended myself to the esteem of my master by my\nassiduous application to business, never observing 'Saint' Monday. My\nextraordinary quickness in composing always procured me such work as was\nmost urgent, and which is commonly best paid; and thus my time passed away\nin a very pleasant manner.\"[504]\n\nFranklin, like a truly great man, was quietly proud of the humble origin\nfrom which he had risen; and when he came to England as the agent and\nambassador of Massachusetts, he paid a visit to his work-room in Wild\nStreet, and going to his old friend the press, said to the two workmen\nbusy at it, \"Come, my friends, we will drink together; it is now forty\nyears since I worked like you at this very press as a journeyman printer.\"\n\nWild House stood on the site of Little Wild Street. The Duchess of Ormond\nwas living there in 1655.[505]\n\nOn the day when King James II. escaped from London the mob grew unruly,\nand assembled in great force to pull down houses where either mass was\nsaid or priests lodged. Don Pietro Ronguillo, the Spanish ambassador, who\nlived at Wild House, and whom Evelyn mentions as having received him with\n\"extraordinary civility\" (March 26, 1681), had not thought it necessary to\nask for soldiers, though the rich Roman Catholics had sent him their money\nand plate as to a sanctuary, and the plate of the Chapel Royal was also in\nhis care. But the house was sacked without mercy; his noble library\nperished in the flames; the chapel was demolished; the pictures, rich\nbeds, and furniture were destroyed,--the poor Spaniard making his escape\nby a back door.[506] His only comfort was that the sacred Host in his\nchapel was rescued.[507]\n\nIn 1780 another savage and thievish Protestant mob, under Lord George\nGordon, assembled in St. George's Fields to petition Parliament against\nthe Test Act, which relieved Roman Catholics from many vexatious penalties\nand unjust disabilities on condition of their taking their oaths of\nallegiance and disbelief in the infamous doctrines of the Jesuits. The mob\nassembled on the 2d of June, and jostled and insulted the Peers going to\nthe House of Lords. The same evening the people demolished the greater\npart of the Roman Catholic Chapel in Duke Street. On Monday they stripped\nthe house and shop of Mr. Maberly, of Little Queen Street, who had been a\nwitness at the trial of some rioters. On Tuesday they passed through Long\nAcre and burnt Newgate, releasing three hundred prisoners, and the same\nday destroyed the house of Justice Cox in Great Queen Street.[508] In\nthese street riots seventy-two private houses and four public gaols were\nburnt, and more than four hundred rioters perished.\n\nAt the above-named chapel Nollekens, the eminent sculptor, was baptized in\n1737. The present chapel is much resorted to on Sundays by the Irish poor\nand foreigners, who live about Drury Lane.\n\nNicholas Stone, the great monumental sculptor, lived in Long Acre. In 1619\nInigo Jones began the new Banqueting House at Whitehall, and replaced the\none destroyed by fire six months before. This master mason was Nicholas\nStone,[509] the sculptor of the fine monument to Sir Francis Vere in\nWestminster Abbey. His pay was 4s. 10d. a day. Stone also designed Dr.\nDonne's splendid monument in St. Paul's. Roubilliac was a great admirer of\nthe kneeling knight at the north-west corner of Vere's tomb. He used to\nstand and watch it, and say, \"Hush! hush! he vill speak presently.\" Mr. J.\nT. Smith seems to think that the Shakspere monument at Stratford is in\nthis sculptor's manner.[510] Inigo Jones, who had been fined for having\nborne arms at the siege of Basing House, joined with Nicholas Stone in\nburying their money near Inigo's house in Scotland Yard; but as the\nParliament encouraged servants to betray such hidden treasures, the\npartners removed their money and hid it again with their own hands in\nLambeth Marsh.\n\nOliver Cromwell, when member for Cambridge, lived from 1637 to 1643, on\nthe south side of Long Acre, two doors from Nicholas Stone the sculptor.\n\nJohn Taylor, the \"Water-Poet\" an eccentric poetaster, kept a public-house\nin Phoenix Alley, now Hanover Court, near Long Acre. He was a Thames\nwaterman, who had fought at the taking of Cadiz, and afterwards travelled\nto Germany and Scotland as a servant to Sir William Waade. He was then\nmade collector of the wine-dues for the lieutenant of the Tower, and wrote\na life of Old Parr, and sixty-three volumes of satire and jingling\ndoggerel, not altogether without vivacity and vigour. He called himself\n\"the King's Water Poet\" and \"the Queen's Waterman;\" and in 1623 wrote a\ntract called \"The World runs on Wheels\"--a violent attack on the use of\ncoaches. \"I dare truly affirm,\" says the writer, \"that every day in any\nterm (especially if the court be at Whitehall) they do rob us of our\nlivings and carry five hundred and sixty fares daily from us.\" In this\nquaint pamphlet Taylor gives a humorous account of his once riding in his\nmaster's coach from Whitehall to the Tower. \"Before I had been drawn\ntwenty yards,\" he says, \"such a timpany of pride puft me up that I was\nready to burst with the wind-cholic of vaine glory.\" He complains\nparticularly of the streets and lanes being blocked with carriages,\nespecially Blackfriars and Fleet Street or the Strand after a masque or\nplay at court; the noise deafening every one and souring the beer, to the\ninjury of the public health. It is Taylor who mentions that William\nBoonen, a Dutchman, first introduced coaches into England in 1564, and\nbecame Queen Elizabeth's coachman. \"It is,\" he says, \"a doubtful question\nwhether the devil brought tobacco into England in a coach, or brought a\ncoach in a fog or mist of tobacco.\" Nor did Taylor rest there, for he\npresented a petition to James I., which was submitted to Sir Francis\nBacon and other commissioners, to compel all play-houses to stand on the\nBankside, so as to give more work to watermen. In the Civil War, Taylor\nwent to Oxford and wrote ballads for the king. On his return to London, he\nsettled in Long Acre with a mourning crown for a sign;[511] but the\nPuritans resenting this emblem, he had his own portrait painted instead\nwith this motto--\n\n  \"There's many a head stands for a sign:\n  Then, gentle reader, why not mine?\"\n\nTaylor was born in 1580, and died in 1654; and the following epitaph was\nwritten on the vain, honest fellow, who was buried at St.\nMartin's-in-the-Fields:--\n\n  \"Here lies the Water-poet, honest John,\n  Who rowed on the streams of Helicon;\n  Where having many rocks and dangers past,\n  He at the haven of Heaven arrived at last.\"[512]\n\nFrom 1682 to 1686 John Dryden lived in Long Acre, on the north side, in a\nhouse facing what formerly was Rose Street. His name appears in the\nrate-books as \"John Dryden, Esq.\"--an unusual distinction--and the sum he\npaid to the poor varied from 18s. to L1.[513] It was here he resided when\nhe was beaten, one December evening in 1679, by three ruffians hired by\nthe Earl of Rochester and the Duchess of Portsmouth. Sir Walter Scott\nmakes the poet live at the time in Gerard Street; but no part of Gerard\nStreet was built in 1679. Rochester had the year before ridiculed Dryden\nas \"Poet Squab,\" and believed that Dryden had helped Mulgrave in\nridiculing him in his clumsy \"Essay on Satire.\" The best lines of this\ndull poem are these:--\n\n  \"Of fighting sparks Fame may her pleasure say,\n  But 'tis a bolder thing to run away.\n  The world may well forgive him all his ill,\n  For every fault does prove his penance still;\n  Falsely he falls into some dangerous noose,\n  And then as meanly labours to get loose.\"\n\nA letter from Rochester to a friend, dated November 21, in the above year,\nis still extant, in which he names Dryden as the author of the satire, and\nconcludes with the following threat:--\"If he (Dryden) falls on me at the\nblunt, which is his very good weapon in wit, I will forgive him, if you\nplease, and _leave the repartee to Black Will with a cudgel_.\"[514]\n\nDryden offered a reward of fifty pounds for the discovery of the men who\ncudgelled him, depositing the money in the hands of \"Mr. Blanchard,\ngoldsmith, next door to Temple Bar,\" but all in vain. The Rose Alley\nsatire, the Rose Alley ambuscade, and the Dryden salutation, became\nestablished jokes with Dryden's countless enemies. Even Mulgrave himself,\nin his _Art of Poetry_ said of Dryden coldly--\n\n  \"Though praised and punished for another's rhymes,\n  His own deserve as great applause sometimes.\"\n\nAnd, in a conceited note, the amateur poet described the libel as one for\nwhich Dryden had been unjustly \"_applauded and wounded_.\" But these lines\nand this note Mulgrave afterwards suppressed.\n\nPoor Otway, whom Rochester had satirised, and who had accused Dryden of\nsaying of his _Don Carlos_ that, \"Egad, there was not a line in it he\nwould be author of,\" stood up bravely for Dryden as an honest satirist in\nthese vigorous verses:--\n\n  \"Poets in honour of the truth should write,\n  With the same spirit brave men for it fight.\n\n     *       *       *       *       *\n\n  From any private cause where malice reigns,\n  Or general pique all blockheads have to brains.\"\n\nDryden never took any poetical revenge on Rochester, and in the prefatory\nessay to his _Juvenal_ he takes credit for that forbearance.[515]\n\nEdward (more generally known as Ned) Ward was the landlord of\npublic-houses alternately in Moorfields, Clerkenwell, Fulwood's Rents, and\nLong Acre. He was born in 1667, and died 1731. He was a High Tory, and\nfond of the society of poets and authors.[516] Attacked in the _Dunciad_,\nhe turned _Don Quixote_ into Hudibrastic verse, and wrote endless songs,\nlampoons, coarse clever satires, and _Dialogues on Matrimony_ (1710).\n\nThe father of Pepys's long-suffering wife lived in Long Acre; and the\nbustling official describes, with a stultifying exactitude, his horror at\na visit which he found himself forced to pay to a house surrounded by\ntaverns.\n\nDr. Arbuthnot, in a letter to Mr. Watkins, gives Bessy Cox--a woman in\nLong Acre whom Prior would have married when her husband died--a\ndetestable character. The infatuated poet left his estate between his old\nservant Jonathan Drift, and this woman, who boasted that she was the\npoet's Emma,--another virago, Flanders Jane, being his Chloe.[517]\n\nIt is said of this careless, pleasant poet, that after spending an\nintellectual evening with Oxford, Bolingbroke, Pope, and Swift, in order\nto unbend, he would smoke a pipe and drink a bottle of ale with a common\nsoldier and his wife in Long Acre. Cibber calls the man a butcher;[518]\nother writers make him a cobbler or a tavern-keeper, which is more likely.\nThe shameless husband is said to have been proud of the poet's preference\nfor his wife. Pope, who was remorseless at the failings of friends, calls\nthe woman a wretch, and said to Spence, \"Prior was not a right good man;\nhe used to bury himself for whole days and nights together with this poor\nmean creature, and often drank hard.\" This person, who perhaps is\nmisrepresented--and where there is a doubt the prisoner at the bar should\nalways have the benefit of it--was the Venus of the poet's verse. To her\nPrior wrote, after Walpole tried to impeach him:--\n\n  \"From public noise and faction's strife,\n  From all the busy ills of life,\n  Take me, my Chloe, to thy breast,\n  And lull my wearied soul to rest.\n\n  \"For ever in this humble cell [ale-house]\n  Let thee and I [me], my fair one, dwell;\n  None enter else but Love, and he\n  Shall bar the door and keep the key.\"\n\nPrior was the son of a joiner,[519] and was brought up, as before\nmentioned, by his uncle, a tavern-keeper at Charing Cross, where the\nclever waiter's knowledge of Horace led to his being sent to college by\nthe Earl of Dorset. Abandoning literature, he finally became our\nambassador to France. He died in retirement in 1721.\n\nIt was in a poor shoemaker's small window in Long Acre,--half of it\ndevoted to boots, half to pictures--that poor starving Wilson's fine\nclassical landscapes were exposed, often vainly, for sale. Here, from his\nmiserable garret in Tottenham Court Road, the great painter, peevish and\nsoured by neglect, would come swearing at his rivals Barret and Smith of\nChichester. I can imagine him, with his tall, burly figure, his red face,\nand his enormous nose, striding out of the shop, thirsting for porter, and\nmuttering that, if the pictures of Wright of Derby had fire, his had air.\nYet this great painter, whose works are so majestic and glowing, so fresh,\nairy, broad, and harmonious, was all but starved. The king refused to\npurchase his \"Kew Gardens,\" and the very pawnbrokers grew weary of taking\nhis Tivolis and Niobes as pledges, far preferring violins, flat-irons, or\ntelescopes.\n\nIt was in Long Acre that that delightful idyllic painter, Stothard, was\nborn in 1755. His father, a Yorkshireman, kept an inn in the street.[520]\nSent for his health into Yorkshire, and placed with an old lady who had\nsome choice engravings, he began to draw. The first subject that he ever\npainted was executed with an oyster-shell full of black paint, borrowed\nfrom the village plumber and glazier. This little man was the father of\nmany a Watteau lover and tripping Boccaccio nymph. That genial and\ngraceful artist, who illustrated Chaucer, _Robinson Crusoe_, and _The\nPilgrim's Progress_, had the road to fame pointed out to him first by\nthat little black man.\n\nOn the accession of King George I. the Tories had such sway over the\nLondon mobs, that the friends of the Protestant succession resolved to\nfound cheap tavern clubs in various parts of the City in order that\nwell-affected tradesmen might meet to keep up their spirit of loyalty, and\nserve as focus-points of resistance in case of Tory tumults.\n\nDefoe, a staunch Whig, describes one of these assemblies in Long Acre,\nwhich probably suggested the rest. At the Mughouse Club in Long Acre,\nabout a hundred gentlemen, lawyers, and tradesmen met in a large room, at\nseven o'clock on Wednesday and Saturday evenings in the winter, and broke\nup soon after ten. A grave old gentleman, \"in his own grey hairs,\"[521]\nand within a few months of ninety, was the president, and sat in an\n\"armed\" chair, raised some steps above the rest of the company, to keep\nthe room in order. A harp was played all the time at the lower end of the\nroom, and every now and then one of the company rose and entertained the\nrest with a song. Nothing was drunk but ale, and every one chalked his\nscore on the table beside him. What with the songs and drinking healths\nfrom one table to another, there was no room for politics or anything that\ncould sour conversation. The members of these clubs retired when they\npleased, as from a coffee-house.\n\nOld Sir Hans Sloane's coach, made by John Aubrey, Queen Anne's coachmaker,\nin Long Acre, and given to him by her for curing her of a fit of the gout,\nwas given by Sir Hans to his old butler, who set up the White Horse Inn\nbehind Chelsea Church, where it remained for half a century.[522]\n\nCharles Catton, one of the early Academicians, was originally a coach and\nsign painter. He painted a lion as a sign for his friend, a celebrated\ncoachmaker, at that time living in Long Acre.[523] A sign painted by\nClarkson, that hung at the north-east corner of Little Russell Street\nabout 1780, was said to have cost L500, and crowds used to collect to\nlook at it.\n\nLord William Russell was led from Holborn into Little Queen Street on his\nway to the scaffold in Lincoln's Inn Fields. As the coach turned into this\nstreet, Lord Russell said to Tillotson, \"I have often turned to the other\nhand with great comfort, but I now turn to this with greater.\" He referred\nto Southampton House, on the opposite side of Holborn, which he inherited\nthrough his brave and good wife, the grand-daughter of Shakspere's early\npatron.\n\nIn the year 1796 Charles Lamb resided with his father, mother, aunt, and\nsister in lodgings at No. 7 Little Queen Street, a house, I believe,\nremoved to make way for the church. Southey describes a call which he made\non them there in 1794-5. The father had once published a small quarto\nvolume of poetry, of which \"The Sparrow's Wedding\" was his favourite, and\nCharles used to delight him by reading this to him when he was in his\ndotage. In 1797 Lamb published his first verses. His father, the\nex-servant and companion of an old Bencher in the Temple, was sinking into\nthe grave; his mother had lost the use of her limbs, and his sister was\nemployed by day in needlework, and by night in watching her mother. Lamb,\njust twenty-one years old, was a clerk in the India House. On the 22d of\nSeptember[524] Miss Lamb, who had been deranged some years before by\nnervous fatigue, seized a case-knife while dinner was preparing, chased a\nlittle girl, her apprentice, round the room, and on her mother calling to\nher to forbear, stabbed her to the heart. Lamb arrived only in time to\nsnatch the knife from his sister's hand. He had that morning been to\nconsult a doctor, but had not found him at home. The verdict at the\ninquest was \"Insanity,\" and Mary Lamb was sent to a mad-house, where she\nsoon recovered her reason. Poor Lamb's father and aunt did not long\nsurvive. Not long after, Lamb himself was for six weeks confined in an\nasylum. There is extant a terrible letter in which he describes rushing\nfrom a party of friends who were supping with him soon after the horrible\ncatastrophe, and in an agony of regret falling on his knees by his\nmother's coffin, asking forgiveness of Heaven for forgetting her so\nsoon.[525]\n\nThere is no doubt that poor Lamb played the sot over his nightly grog; but\nhe had a noble soul, and let us be lenient with such a man--\n\n  \"Be to his faults a little blind,\n  And to his virtues very kind.\"\n\nHe abandoned her whom he loved, together with all meaner ambitions, and\ndrudged his years away as a poor, ignoble clerk, in order to maintain his\nhalf-crazed sister; for this purpose--true knight that he was, though he\nnever drew sword--he gave all that he had--HIS LIFE! Peace, then! peace be\nto his ashes!\n\n[Illustration: LYON'S INN, 1804.]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: CRAVEN HOUSE, 1790]\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nDRURY LANE.\n\n\nThe Roll of Battle Abbey tells us that the founder of the Drury family\ncame into England with that brave Norman robber, the Conqueror, and\nsettled in Suffolk.[526]\n\nFrom this house branched off the Druries of Hawstead, in the same county,\nwho built Drury House in the time of Elizabeth. It stood a little behind\nthe site of the present Olympic Theatre. Of another branch of the same\nfamily was that Sir Drue Drury, who, together with Sir Amias Powlett, had\nat one time the custody of Mary, Queen of Scots.\n\nDrury Lane takes its name from a house probably built by Sir William\nDrury, a Knight of the Garter, and a most able commander in the desultory\nIrish wars during the reign of Elizabeth, who fell in a duel with John\nBurroughs, fought to settle a foolish quarrel about some punctilio of\nprecedency.[527] In this house, in 1600, the imprudent friends of rash\nEssex resolved on the fatal outbreak that ended so lamentably at Ludgate.\nThe Earl of Southampton then resided there.[528] The plots of Blount,\nDavis, Davers, etc., were communicated to Essex by letter. It was noticed\nthat at his trial the earl betrayed agitation at the mention of Drury\nHouse, though he had carefully destroyed all suspicious papers.\n\nSir William's son Robert was a patron of Dr. Donne, the religious poet and\nsatirist, who in 1611 had apartments assigned to him and his wife in Drury\nHouse. Donne, though the son of a man of some fortune, was foolish enough\nto squander his money when young, and in advanced life was so wanting in\nself-respect as to live about in other men's houses, paying for his food\nand lodging by his wit and conversation. He lived first with Lord\nChancellor Egerton, Bacon's predecessor, afterwards at Drury House and\nwith Sir Francis Wooley at Pitford, in Surrey. After his clandestine\nmarriage with Lady Ellesmere's niece, Donne's life was for some time a\nhard and troublesome one.\n\n\"Sir Robert Drury,\" says Isaac Walton, \"a gentleman of a very noble estate\nand a more liberal mind, assigned Donne and his wife a useful apartment in\nhis own large house in Drury Lane, and rent free; he was also a cherisher\nof his studies, and such a friend as sympathised with him and his in all\ntheir joys and sorrows.\"[529]\n\nSir Robert, wishing to attend Lord Hay as King James's ambassador at his\naudiences in Paris with Henry IV., begged Donne to accompany him. But the\npoet refused, his wife being at the time near her confinement and in poor\nhealth, and saying that \"her divining soul boded some ill in his absence.\"\nBut Sir Robert growing more urgent, and Donne unwilling to refuse his\ngenerous friend a request, at last obtained from his wife a faint consent\nfor a two months' absence. On the twelfth day the party reached Paris. Two\ndays afterwards Donne was left alone in the room where Sir Robert and\nother friends had dined. Half an hour afterwards Sir Robert returned, and\nfound Mr. Donne still alone, \"but in such an ecstasy, and so altered in\nhis looks,\" as amazed him. After a long and perplexed pause, Donne said,\n\"I have had a dreadful vision since I saw you; I have seen my dear wife\npass by me twice in this room with her hair hanging about her shoulders\nand a dead child in her arms;\" to which Sir Robert replied, \"Sure, sir,\nyou have slept since I saw you, and this is the result of some melancholy\ndream, which I desire you to forget, for you are now awake.\" Donne assured\nhis friend that he had not been asleep, and that on the second appearance\nhis wife stopped, looked him in the face, and then vanished.\n\nThe next day, however, neither rest nor sleep had altered Mr. Donne's\nopinion, and he repeated the story with only a more deliberate and\nconfirmed confidence. All this inclining Sir Robert to some faint belief,\nhe instantly sent off a servant to Drury House to bring him word in what\ncondition Mrs. Donne was. The messenger returned in due time, saying that\nhe had found Mrs. Donne very sad and sick in bed, and that after a long\nand dangerous labour she had been delivered of a dead child; and upon\nexamination, the delivery proved to have been at the very day and hour in\nwhich Donne had seen the vision. Walton is proud of this late miracle, so\neasily explainable by natural causes; and illustrates the sympathy of\nsouls by the story of two lutes, one of which, if both are tuned to the\nsame pitch, will, though untouched, echo the other when it is played.\n\nFar be it from me to wish to ridicule any man's belief in the\nsupernatural; but still, as a lover of truth, wishing to believe what\n_is_, whether natural or supernatural, without confusing the former with\nthe latter, let me analyse this pictured presentiment. An imaginative man,\nagainst his sick wife's wish, undertakes a perilous journey. Absent from\nher--alone--after wine and friendly revel feeling still more lonely--in\nthe twilight he thinks of home and the wife he loves so much. Dreaming,\nthough awake, his fears resolve themselves into a vision, seen by the\nmind, and to the eye apparently vivid as reality. The day and hour happen\nto correspond, or he persuades himself afterwards that they do correspond\nwith the result, and the day-dream is henceforward ranked among\nsupernatural visions. Who is there candid enough to write down the\npresentiments that do not come true? And after all, the vision, to be\nconsistent, should have been followed by the death of Mrs. Donne as well\nas the child.\n\nSome verses are pointed out by Isaac Walton as those written by Donne on\nparting from her for this journey. But there is internal evidence in them\nto the contrary; for they refer to Italy, not to Paris, and to a lady who\nwould accompany him as a page, which a lady in Mrs. Donne's condition\ncould scarcely have done. I have myself no doubt that the verses cited\nwere written to his wife long before, when their marriage was as yet\nconcealed. With what a fine vigour the poem commences!--\n\n  \"By our first strange and fatal interview,\n  By all desires which thereof did ensue,\n  By our long-striving hopes, by that remorse\n  Which my words' masculine persuasive force\n  Begot in thee, and by the memory\n  Of hurts which spies and rivals threaten me!\"\n\n     *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd how full of true feeling and passionate tenderness is the dramatic\nclose!--\n\n  \"When I am gone dream me some happiness,\n  Nor let thy looks our long-hid love confess;\n  Nor praise nor dispraise me; nor bless nor curse\n  Openly love's force; nor in bed fright thy nurse\n  With midnight startings, crying out, 'Oh! oh!\n  Nurse! oh, my love is slain! I saw him go\n  O'er the white Alps alone; I saw him, I,\n  Assailed, taken, fight, stabbed, bleed, and die.'\"\n\nThe verses really written on Donne's leaving for Paris begin with four\nexquisite lines--\n\n  \"As virtuous men pass mild away,\n    And whisper to their souls to go,\n  Whilst some of their sad friends do say,\n    'The breath goes now,' and some say 'No!'\"\n\nA later verse contains a strange conceit, beaten out into pin-wire a page\nlong by a modern poet--[530]\n\n  \"If we be two, we are two so\n  As stiff twin compasses are two;\n  Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show\n  To move, but does if t'other do.\"\n\nDonne was the chief of what Dr. Johnson unwisely called \"the metaphysical\nschool of poetry.\" Dryden accuses Donne of perplexing the fair sex with\nnice speculations.[531] His poems, often pious and beautiful, are\nsometimes distorted with strange conceits. He has a poem on a flea; and in\nhis lines on Good Friday he thus whimsically expresses himself:--\n\n  \"Who sees God's face--that is, self-life--must die:\n  What a death were it then to see God die!\n  It made his own lieutenant, Nature, shrink;\n  It made his footstool crack and the sun wink.\n  Could I behold those hands, which span the Poles,\n  And tune all sphears at once, pierced with those holes!\"[532]\n\nThis imitator of the worst faults of Marini was made Dean of St. Paul's by\nKing James I., who delighted to converse with him. The king used to say,\n\"I always rejoice when I think that by my means Donne became a divine.\" He\ngave the poet the deanery one day as he sat at dinner, saying \"that he\nwould carve to him of a dish he loved well, and that he might take the\ndish (the deanery) home to his study and say grace there to himself, and\nmuch good might it do him.\"\n\nShortly before his death Donne dressed himself in his shroud, and standing\nthere, with his eyes shut and the sheet opened, \"To discover his thin,\npale, and death-like face,\" he caused a curious painter to take his\npicture. This picture he kept near his bed as a ghostly remembrance, and\nfrom this Nicholas Stone, the sculptor, carved his effigy, which still\nexists in St. Paul's, having survived the Great Fire, though the rest of\nhis tomb and monument has perished.\n\nDrury House took the name of Craven House when rebuilt by Lord Craven.\nThere is a tradition in Yorkshire, where the deanery of Craven is\nsituated, that this chivalrous nobleman's father was sent up to London by\nthe carrier, and there became a mercer or draper. His son was not unworthy\nof the staunch old Yorkshire stock. He fought under Gustavus Adolphus\nagainst Wallenstein and Tilly, and afterwards attached himself to the\nservice of the unfortunate King and Queen of Bohemia, and won wealth and a\ntitle for his family, which the Wars of the Roses had first reduced to\nindigence.\n\nThe Queen of Bohemia had been married in 1613 to Frederic, Count Palatine\nof the Rhine, only a few months after the death of Prince Henry her\nbrother. The young King of Spain had been her suitor, and the Pope had\nopposed her match with a Protestant. She was married on St. Valentine's\nDay; and Donne, from his study in Drury Lane, celebrated the occasion by a\nmost extravagant epithalamion in which is to be found this outrageous\nline--\n\n  \"Here lies a She sun, and a He moon there.\"\n\nThe poem opens prettily enough with these lines--\n\n  \"Hail, Bishop Valentine, whose day this is!\n  All the air is thy diocese;\n  And all the chirping choristers\n  And other birds are thy parishioners.\n    Thou marry'st every year\n  The lyrique lark and the grave whispering dove.\"\n\nAt seventeen Sir William Craven had entered the service of the Prince of\nOrange. On the accession of Charles I. he was ennobled. At the storming of\nCreuzenach he was the first of the English Cavaliers to mount the breach\nand plant the flag. It was then that Gustavus said smilingly to him, \"I\nperceive, sir, you are willing to give a younger brother a chance of\ncoming to your title and estate.\" At Donauwert the young Englishman again\ndistinguished himself. In the same month that Gustavus fell at Lutzen, the\nElector Palatine died at Mentz. While Grotius interceded for the Queen of\nBohemia, Lord Craven fought for her in the vineyards of the\nPalatinate.[533] In consequence, perhaps, of Richelieu's intrigues, four\nyears elapsed before Charles I. took compassion on the children of his\nwidowed sister, whose cause the Puritans had loudly advocated. When\nCharles and Rupert did go to England, they went under the care of the\ntrusty Lord Craven, who was to try to recover the arrears of the widow's\npension. On their return to Germany, to campaign in Westphalia, Rupert and\nLord Craven were taken prisoners and thrown into the castle at Vienna--a\nconfinement that lasted three years, a long time for brave young soldiers\nwho, like the Douglas, \"preferred the lark's song to the mouse's squeak.\"\n\nLater in the Civil War we find this same generous nobleman giving L50,000\nto King Charles, at a time when he was a beggar and a fugitive. Cromwell,\nenraged at the aid thus ministered to an enemy, accused the Cavalier of\nenlisting volunteers for the Stuart, and instantly, with stern\npromptitude, sequestered all his English estates except Combe Abbey. In\nthe meantime Lord Craven served the State and his queen bravely, and\nwaited for better times. It was this faithful servant who consoled the\nroyal widow for her son's ill-treatment, the slander heaped upon her\ndaughter, and the incessant vexations of importunate creditors.\n\nThe Restoration brought no good news for the unfortunate queen. Charles,\nafraid of her claims for a pension, delayed her return to England, till\nthe Earl of Craven generously offered her a house next his own in Drury\nLane. She found there a pleasant and commodious mansion, surrounded by a\ndelightful garden.[534] It does not appear that she went publicly to\ncourt, or joined in the royal revelries; but she visited the theatres with\nher nephew Charles and her good old friend and host, and she was reunited\nto her son Rupert.\n\nIn the autumn of 1661, the year after the Restoration, she removed to\nLeicester House, then the property of Sir Robert Sydney, Earl of\nLeicester, and in the next February she died.[535] Evelyn mentions a\nviolent tempestuous wind that followed her death, as a sign from Heaven to\nshow that the troubles and calamities of this princess and of the royal\nfamily in general had now all blown over, and were, like the ex-queen, to\nrest in repose.\n\nShe left all her books, pictures, and papers to her incomparable old\nfriend and benefactor. The Earl of Leicester wrote to the Earl of\nNorthumberland a cold and flippant letter to announce the departure of\n\"his royal tenant;\" and adds, \"It seems the Fates did not think it fit I\nshould have the honour, which indeed I never much desired, to be the\nlandlord of a queen.\" Charles, who had grudged the dethroned queen even\nher subsistence, gave her a royal funeral in Westminster Abbey.\n\nAt the very time when she died Lord Craven was building a miniature\nHeidelberg for her at Hampstead Marshall, in Berkshire, under the advice\nof that eminent architect and charlatan, Sir Balthasar Gerbier. But the\npalace was ill-fated, like the poor queen, for it was consumed by an\naccidental fire before it could be tenanted. The arrival of the Portuguese\nInfanta, a princess scarcely less unfortunate than the queen just dead,\nsoon erased all recollections of King James's ill-starred daughter.\n\nThe biographers of the Queen of Bohemia do not claim for her beauty, wit,\nlearning, or accomplishments; but she seems to have been an affectionate,\nromantic girl, full of vivacity and ambition, who was ripened by sorrow\nand disappointment into an amiable and high-souled woman.\n\nIt was always supposed that the Queen of Bohemia was secretly married to\nLord Craven, as Bassompierre was to a princess of Lorraine. A base and\nabandoned court could not otherwise account for a friendship so\nunchangeable and so unselfish. There is also a story that when Craven\nHouse was pulled down, a subterranean passage was discovered joining the\neastern and western sides. Similar passages have been found joining\nconvents to monasteries; but, unfortunately for the scandalmongers, they\nare generally proved to have been either sewers or conduits. The \"Queen of\nHearts,\" as she was called--the princess to whose cause the chivalrous\nChristian of Brunswick, the knight with the silver arm, had solemnly\ndevoted his life and fortunes--the \"royal mistress\" to whom shifty Sir\nHenry Wotton had written those beautiful lines--\n\n  \"You meaner beauties of the night,\n  That poorly entertain our eyes\n  More by your number than your light,\n  What are ye when the moon doth rise?\"\n\nwas at \"last gone to dust.\" Her faithful servant, the old soldier of\nGustavus, survived her thirty-five years, and lived to follow to the grave\nhis foster-child in arms, Prince Rupert, whose daughter Ruperta was left\nto his trusty guardianship.\n\nIn 1670, on the death of the stolid and drunken Duke of Albemarle, Charles\nII. constituted Lord Craven colonel of the Coldstreams. Energetic,\nsimple-hearted, benevolent, this good servant of a bad race became a\nmember of the Royal Society, lived in familiar intimacy with Evelyn and\nRay, improved his property, and employed himself in gardening.\n\nAlthough he had many estates, Lord Craven always showed the most\npredilection for Combe Abbey, the residence of the Queen of Bohemia in her\nyouth. To judge by the numerous dedications to which his name is prefixed,\nhe would appear to have been a munificent patron of letters, especially\nof those authors who had been favourites of Elizabeth of Bohemia.[536]\n\nOn the accession of James, Lord Craven, true as ever, was sworn of the\nPrivy Council; but soon after, on some mean suspicion of the king, was\nthreatened with the loss of his regiment. \"If they take away my regiment,\"\nsaid the staunch old soldier, \"they had as good take away my life, since I\nhave nothing else to divert myself with.\" In the hurry of the Popish\ncatastrophe it was not taken away. But King William proved Craven's\nloyalty to the Stuarts by giving his regiment to General Talmash.\n\nThe unemployed officer now expended his activity in attending riots and\nfires. Long before, when the Puritan prentices had pulled down the houses\nof ill-fame in Whettone Park and in Moorfields, Pepys had described the\ncolonel as riding up and down like a madman, giving orders to his men.\nLater Lord Dorset had spoken of the old soldier's energy in a gay ballad\non his mistress--\n\n  \"The people's hearts leap wherever she comes,\n  And beat day and night like my Lord Craven's drums.\"\n\nIn King William's reign the veteran was so prompt in attending fires that\nit used to be said his horse smelt a fire as soon as it broke out.\n\nLord Craven died unmarried in 1697, aged 88, and was buried at Binley,\nnear Coventry. The grandson of a Wharfdale peasant had ended a well-spent\nlife. His biographer, Miss Benger, well remarks:--\"If his claims to\ndisinterestedness be contemned of men, let his cause be (left) to female\njudges,--to whose honour be it averred, examples of nobleness, generosity\nand magnanimity are ever delightful, because to their purer and more\nsusceptible souls they are (never) incredible.\"[537]\n\nDrury House was rebuilt by Lord Craven after the Queen's death. It\noccupied the site of Craven Buildings and the Olympic Theatre. Pennant,\never curious and energetic, went to find it, and describes it in his\npleasant way as a \"large brick pile,\" then turned into a public-house\nbearing the sign of the Queen of Bohemia, faithful still to the worship of\nits old master.\n\nThe house was taken down in 1809, when the Olympic Pavilion was built on\npart of its gardens. The cellars, once stored with good Rhenish from the\nPalatinate, and sack from Cadiz, still exist, but have been blocked up.\nPalsgrave Place, near Temple Bar, perpetuates the memory of the unlucky\nhusband of the brave princess.\n\nIt was Lord Craven who generously founded pest-houses in Carnaby Street,\nsoon after the Great Plague. There were thirty-six small houses and a\ncemetery. They were sold in 1772 to William, third Earl of Craven, for\nL1200. It may be remembered that in the _Memoirs of Scriblerus_ a room is\nhired for the dissection of the purchased body of a malefactor, near the\nSt. Giles's pest-fields, and not far from Tyburn Road, Oxford Street. The\nEarl was their founder.\n\nOn the end wall at the bottom of Craven Buildings there was formerly a\nlarge fresco-painting of the Earl of Craven, who was represented in\narmour, mounted on a charger, and with a truncheon in his hand. This\nportrait had been twice or thrice repainted in oil, but in Brayley's time\nwas entirely obliterated.[538] This fresco is said to have been the work\nof Paul Vansomer, a painter who came to England from Antwerp about 1606,\nand died in 1621. He painted the Earl and Countess of Arundel, and there\nare pictures by him at Hampton Court. He also executed the pleasant and\nquaint hunting scene, with portraits of Prince Henry and the young Earl of\nEssex, now at St. James's Palace.[539]\n\nMr. Moser, keeper of the Royal Academy, a chaser of plate, cane-heads, and\nwatch-cases, afterwards an enameller of watch-trinkets, necklaces, and\nbracelets, lived in Craven Buildings, which were built in 1723 on part of\nthe site of Craven House. He died in his apartments in Somerset House in\n1783.\n\nIt was in Short's Gardens, Drury Lane, \"in a hole,\" that Charles Mathews\nthe elder made one of his first attempts as an actor.\n\nClare House Court, on the left hand going up Drury Lane, derived its name\nfrom John Holles, second Earl of Clare, whose town house stood at the end\nof this court. His son Gilbert, the third Earl, died in 1689, and was\nsucceeded by his son, John Holles, created Marquis of Clare and Duke of\nNewcastle in 1694. He died in 1711, when all his honours became extinct.\nThe corner house has upon it the date 1693.[540]\n\nIn the reign of James I., when Gondomar, the Spanish ambassador, lived at\nEly House, in Holborn, he used to pass through Drury Lane in his litter on\nhis way to Whitehall, Covent Garden being then an enclosed field, and this\ndistrict and the Strand the chief resorts of the gentry. The ladies,\nknowing his hours, would appear in their balconies or windows to present\ntheir civilities to the old man, who would bend himself as well as he\ncould to the humblest posture of respect. One day, as he passed by the\nhouse of Lady Jacob in Drury Lane, she presented herself: he bowed to her,\nbut she only gaped at him. Curious to see if this yawning was intentional\nor accidental, he passed the next day at the same hour, and with the same\nresult. Upon which he sent a gentleman to her to let her know that the\nladies of England were usually more gracious to him than to encounter his\nrespects with such affronts. She answered that she had a mouth to be\nstopped as well as others. Gondomar, finding the cause of her distemper,\nsent her a present, an antidote which soon cured her of her strange\ncomplaint.[541] This Lady Jacob became the wife of the poet Brooke.\n\nThat credulous gossip, the Wiltshire gentleman, Aubrey, tells a quaint\nstory of a duel in Drury Lane, in probably Charles II.'s time, which is a\ngood picture of such rencontres amongst the hot-blooded bravos of that\nwild period.\n\n\"Captain Carlo Fantom, a Croatian,\" he says, \"who spoke thirteen\nlanguages, was a captain under the Earl of Essex. He had a world of cuts\nabout his body with swords, and was very quarrelsome. He met, coming late\nat night out of the Horseshoe Tavern in Drury Lane, with a lieutenant of\nColonel Rossiter, who had great jingling spurs on. Said he, 'The noise of\nyour spurs doe offend me; you must come over the kennel and give me\nsatisfaction.' They drew and passed at each other, and the lieutenant was\nrunne through, and died in an hour or two, and 'twas not known who killed\nhim.\"[542]\n\nAbout this time John Lacy, Charles II.'s favourite comedian, the Falstaff\nof Dryden's time, lived in Drury Lane from 1665 till his death in 1681.\nThe ex-dancing-master and lieutenant dwelt near Cradle Alley and only two\ndoors from Lord Anglesey.\n\nDrury Lane, though it soon began to deteriorate, had fashionable\ninhabitants in Charles II.'s time. Evelyn, that delightful type of the\nEnglish gentleman, mentions in his _Diary_ the marriage of his niece to\nthe eldest son of Mr. Attorney Montague at Southampton Chapel, and talks\nof a magnificent entertainment at his sister's \"lodgings\" in Drury Lane.\nSteele, however, branded its disreputable districts; Gay[543] warned us\nagainst \"Drury's mazy courts and dark abodes;\" and Pope laughed at\nbuilding a church for \"the saints of Drury Lane,\" and derided its proud\nand paltry \"drabs.\" The little sour poet, snugly off and well housed,\ndelighted to sneer, with a cruel and ungenerous contempt, at the poverty\nof the poor Drury Lane poet who wrote for instant bread:--\n\n  \"'Nine years!' cries he, who, high in Drury Lane,\n  Lull'd by soft zephyrs through the broken pane,\n  Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends,\n  Obliged by hunger and request of friends.\"\n\nTo ridicule poverty, and to treat misfortune as a punishable crime, is the\nspecial opprobrium of too many of the heroes of English literature.\n\nHogarth has shown us the poor poet of Drury Lane; Goldsmith has painted\nfor us the poor author, but in a kindlier way, for he must have\nremembered how poor he himself and Dr. Johnson, Savage, Otway, and Lee had\nbeen. Pope, in his notes to the _Dunciad_, expressly says that the poverty\nof his enemies is the cause of all their slander. Poverty with him is\nanother name for vice and all uncleanness. Goldsmith only laughs as he\ndescribes the poor poet in Drury Lane in a garret, snug from the Bailiff,\nand opposite a public-house famous for Calvert's beer and Parsons's \"black\nchampagne.\" The windows are dim and patched; the floor is sanded. The damp\nwalls are hung with the royal game of goose, the twelve rules of King\nCharles, and a black profile of the Duke of Cumberland. The rusty grate\nhas no fire. The mantelpiece is chalked with long unpaid scores of beer\nand milk. There are five cracked teacups on the chimney-board; and the\npoet meditates over his epics and his finances with a stocking round his\nbrows \"instead of bay.\"\n\nEarly in the reign of William III. Drury Lane finally lost all traces of\nits aristocratic character.\n\nVinegar Yard, in Drury Lane, was originally called Vine Garden Yard. Vine\nStreet, Piccadilly, Vine Street, Westminster, and Vine Street, Saffron\nHill, all derived their names from the vineyards they displaced; but there\nis great reason to suppose that in the Middle Ages orchards and\nherb-gardens were often classified carelessly as \"vineyards.\" English\ngrapes might produce a sour, thin wine, but there was never a time when\nhome-made wine superseded the produce of Montvoisin, Bordeaux, or Gascony.\nVinegar Yard was built about 1621.[544] In St Martin's Burial Register\nthere is an entry, \"1624, Feb. 4: Buried Blind John out of Vinagre Yard.\"\nClayrender's letter in Smollett's _Roderick Random_ is written to her\n\"dear kreetur\" from \"Winegar Yard, Droory Lane.\" This fair charmer must\nsurely have lived not far from Mr. Dickens's inimitable Mrs. Megby. The\nnearness of Vinegar Yard to the theatre is alluded to by James Smith in\nhis parody on Sir Walter Scott in the _Rejected Addresses_.\n\nGeneral Monk's gross and violent wife was the daughter of his servant,\nJohn Clarges, a farrier in the Savoy. Her mother, says Aubrey, was one of\nthe five women-barbers[545] that lived in Drury Lane. She kept a\nglove-shop in the New Exchange before her marriage, and as a seamstress\nused to carry the general's linen to him when he was in the Tower.\n\nPepys hated her, because she was jealous of his patron, Lord Sandwich, and\ncalled him a coward. He calls her \"ill-looking\" and \"a plain, homely\ndowdy,\" and says that one day, when Monk was drunk, and sitting with\nTroutbeck, a disreputable fellow, the duke was wondering that Nan Hyde, a\nbrewer's daughter, should ever have come to be Duchess of York. \"Nay,\"\nsaid Troutbeck, \"ne'er wonder at that, for if you will give me another\nbottle of wine I will tell you as great if not a greater miracle, and that\nwas that our Dirty Bess should come to be Duchess of Albemarle.\"[546]\n\nNell Gwynn was born in Coal Yard, on the east side of Drury Lane,[547] the\nnext turning to the infamous Lewknor Lane, which used to be inhabited by\nthe orange-girls who attended the theatres in Charles II.'s reign. It was\nin this same lane that Jonathan Wild, the thief-taker, whom Fielding\nimmortalises, afterwards lived. In a coarse and ruthless satire written by\nSir George Etherege after Nell's death, the poet calls her a \"scoundrel\nlass,\" raised from a dunghill, born in a cellar, and brought up as a\ncinder-wench in a coalyard.[548]\n\nNelly was the vagabond daughter of a poor Cavalier captain and fruiterer,\nwho is said to have died in prison at Oxford. She began life by selling\nfish in the street, then turned orange-girl at the theatres, was promoted\nto be an actress, and finally became a mistress of Charles II. Though not\nas savage-tempered as the infamous Lady Castlemaine, Nelly was almost as\nmischievous, and quite as shameless. She obtained from the king L60,000\nin four years.[549] She bought a pearl necklace at Prince Rupert's sale\nfor L4000. She drank, swore, gambled, and squandered money as wildly as\nher rivals. Nelly was small, with a good-humoured face, and \"eyes that\nwinked when she laughed.\"[550] She was witty, reckless, and good-natured.\nThe portrait of her by Lely, with the lamb under her arm, shows us a very\narch, pretty, dimply little actress. The present Duke of St. Alban's is\ndescended from her.[551]\n\nIn 1667 Nell Gwynn was living in Drury Lane, for on May day of that year\nPepys says--\"To Westminster, in the way meeting many milkmaids with\ngarlands upon their pails, dancing with a fiddler between them; and saw\npretty Nelly standing at her lodging's door in Drury Lane, in her\nsmock-sleeves and boddice, looking upon one. She seemed a mighty pretty\ncreature.\" Nelly had not then been long on the stage, and Pepys had hissed\nher a few months before being introduced to her by dangerous Mrs. Knipp.\nIn 1671 Evelyn saw Nelly, then living in Pall Mall, \"looking out of her\ngarden on a terrace at the top of the wall,\" and talking too familiarly to\nthe king, who stood on the green walk in the park below.[552]\n\nPoor Nell was not \"allowed to starve,\" but ended an ill life by dying of\napoplexy. There is no authority for the name of \"Nell Gwynn's Dairy\" given\nto a house near the Adelphi.\n\nThat infamous and perjured scoundrel, and the murderer of so many innocent\nmen, Titus Oates, was the son of a popular Baptist preacher in Ratcliffe\nHighway, and was educated at Merchant Taylor's. Dismissed from the Fleet,\nof which he was chaplain, for infamous practices, he became a Jesuit at\nSt. Omer's, and came back to disclose the sham Popish plot, for which\natrocious lie he received of the Roman Catholic king, Charles II., L1200 a\nyear, an escort of guards, and a lodging in Whitehall. Oates died in\n1705. He lodged for some time in Cockpit Alley, now called Pitt Place.\n\nIt was in the Crown Tavern, next the Whistling Oyster, and close to the\nsouth side of Drury Lane Theatre, that _Punch_ was first projected by Mr.\nMark Lemon and Mr. Henry Mayhew in 1841; and its first number was\n\"prepared for press\" in a back room in Newcastle Street, Strand. Great\nrivers often have their sources in swampy and obscure places, and our\ngood-natured satirist has not much to boast of in its birthplace. To\n_Punch_ Tom Hood contributed his immortal \"Song of the Shirt,\" and\nTennyson his scorching satire against Bulwer and his \"New Timon;\" almost\nfrom the first, Leech devoted to it his humorous pencil, and Albert Smith\nhis perennial store of good humour and drollery. Amongst its other early\ncontributors should be mentioned Mr. Gilbert A. a Beckett, Mr. W. H.\nWills, and Douglas Jerrold.\n\nZoffany, the artist, lived for some time in poverty in Drury Lane. Mr.\nAudinet, father of Philip Audinet the engraver, served his time with the\ncelebrated clockmaker, Rimbault, who lived in Great St. Andrew's Street,\nSeven Dials. This worthy excelled in the construction of the clocks called\nat that time \"Twelve-tuned Dutchmen,\" which were contrived with moving\nfigures, engaged in a variety of employments. The pricking of the barrels\nof those clocks was performed by Bellodi, an Italian, who lived hard by,\nin Short's Gardens, Drury Lane. This person solicited Rimbault in favour\nof a starving artist who dwelt in a garret in his house. \"Let him come to\nme,\" said Rimbault. Accordingly Zoffany waited upon the clockmaker, and\nproduced some specimens of his art, which were so satisfactory that he was\nimmediately set to work to embellish clock-faces, and paint appropriate\nbackgrounds to the puppets upon them. From clock-faces the young painter\nproceeded to the human face divine, and at last resolved to try his hand\nupon the visage of the worthy clockmaker himself. He hit off the likeness\nof the patron so successfully, that Rimbault exerted himself to serve and\npromote him. Benjamin Wilson, the portrait-painter, who at that time lived\nat 56 Great Russell Street, a house afterwards inhabited by Philip\nAudinet, being desirous of procuring an assistant who could draw the\nfigure well, and being, like Lawrence, deficient in all but the head,\nfound out the ingenious painter of clock-faces, and engaged him at the\nmoderate salary of forty pounds a year, with an especial injunction to\nsecrecy. In this capacity he worked upon a picture of Garrick and Miss\nBellamy in \"Romeo and Juliet,\" which was exhibited under the name of\nWilson. Garrick's keen eye satisfied him that another hand was in the\nwork; so he resolved to discover the unknown painter. This discovery he\neffected by perseverance: he made the acquaintance of Zoffany and became\nhis patron, employing him himself and introducing him to his friends; and\nin this way his bias to theatrical portraiture became established.\nGarrick's favour met with an ample return in the admirable portraits of\nhimself and contemporaries, which have rendered their personal appearance\nso speakingly familiar to posterity both in his pictures and the admirable\nmezzotinto scrapings of Earlom. Zoffany was elected among the first\nmembers of the Royal Academy in 1768.\n\nThe old Cockpit, or Phoenix Theatre, stood on the site of what is now\ncalled Pitt Place. Early in James I.'s reign it had been turned into a\nplayhouse, and probably rebuilt.[553]\n\nOn Shrove Tuesday 1616-17 the London prentices, roused to their annual\nzeal by a love of mischief and probably a Puritan fervour, sacked the\nbuilding, to the discomfiture of the harmless players. Bitter,\nnarrow-headed Prynne, who notes with horror and anger the forty thousand\nplays printed in two years for the five Devil's chapels in London,[554]\ndescribes the Cockpit as demoralising Drury Lane, then no doubt wealthy,\nand therefore supposed to be respectable. In 1647 the Cockpit Theatre was\nturned into a schoolroom; in 1649 Puritan soldiers broke into the house,\nwhich had again become a theatre, captured the actors, dispersed the\naudience, broke up the seats and stage, and carried off the dramatic\ncriminals in open day, in all their stage finery, to the Gate House at\nWestminster.\n\nRhodes, the old prompter at Blackfriars, who had turned bookseller,\nreopened the Cockpit on the Restoration. The new Theatre in Drury Lane\nopened in 1663 with the \"Humorous Lieutenant\" of Beaumont and Fletcher.\nThis was the King's Company under Killigrew. Davenant and the Duke of\nYork's company found a home first in the Cockpit, and afterwards in\nSalisbury Court, Fleet Street.\n\nThe first Drury Lane Theatre was burnt down in 1672. Wren built the new\nhouse, which opened in 1674 with a prologue by Dryden. Cibber gives a\ncareful account of Wren's Drury Lane, the chief entrance to which was down\nPlayhouse Passage. Pepys blamed it for the distance of the stage from the\nboxes, and for the narrowness of the pit entrances.[555] The platform of\nthe stage projected very forward, and the lower doors of entrance for the\nactors were in the place of the stage-boxes.[556]\n\nIn 1681 the two companies united, leaving Portugal Street to the lithe\ntennis-players and Dorset Gardens to the brawny wrestlers. Wren's theatre\nwas taken down in 1791; its successor, built by Holland, was opened in\n1794, and destroyed in 1809. The present edifice, the fourth in\nsuccession, is the work of Wyatt, and was opened in 1812.[557]\n\nHart, Mohun, Burt, and Clun were all actors in Killigrew's company. Hart,\nwho had been a captain in the army, was dignified as Alexander,\nincomparable as Catiline, and excellent as Othello. He died in 1683.\nMohun, whom Nat Lee wrote parts for, and who had been a major in the Civil\nWar, was much applauded in heroic parts, and was a favourite of\nRochester's. Burt played Cicero in Ben Jonson's \"Catiline;\" and poor Clun,\nwho was murdered by footpads in Kentish Town, was great as Iago, and as\nSubtle in \"The Alchymist.\"\n\nFrom Pepys's memoranda of visits to Drury Lane we gather a few facts about\nthe licentious theatre-goers of his day. After the Plague, when Drury Lane\nhad been deserted, the old gossip went there, half-ashamed to be seen, and\nwith his cloak thrown up round his face.[558] The king flaunts about with\nhis mistresses, and Pepys goes into an upper box to chat with the\nactresses and see a rehearsal, which seems then to have followed and not\npreceded the daily performance.[559] He describes Sir Charles Sedley, in\nthe pit, exchanging banter with a lady in a mask. Three o'clock seems to\nhave been about the time for theatres opening.[560] The king was angry, he\nsays, with Ned Howard for writing a play called \"The Change of Crowns,\" in\nwhich Lacy acted a country gentleman who is astonished at the corruption\nof the court. For this Lacy was committed to the porter's lodge; on being\nreleased, he called the author a fool, and having a glove thrown in his\nface, returned the compliment with a blow on Howard's pate with a cane;\nupon which the pit wondered that Howard did not run the mean fellow\nthrough; and the king closed the house, which the gentry thought had grown\ntoo insolent.\n\nAugust 15, 1667, Pepys goes to see the \"Merry Wives of Windsor,\" which\npleased our great Admiralty official \"in no part of it.\" Two days after he\nweeps at the troubles of Queen Elizabeth, but revives when that dangerous\nMrs. Knipp dances among the milkmaids, and comes out in her nightgown to\nsing a song. Another day he goes at three o'clock to see Beaumont and\nFletcher's \"Scornful Lady,\" but does not remain, as there is no one in the\npit. In September of the same year he finds his wife and servant in an\neighteenpenny seat. In October 1667 he ventures into the tiring-room where\nNell was dressing, and then had fruit in the scene-room, and heard Mrs.\nKnipp read her part in \"Flora's Vagaries,\" Nell cursing because there were\nso few people in the pit. A fortnight after he contrives to see a new\nplay, \"The Black Prince,\" by Lord Orrery; and though he goes at two, finds\nno room in the pit, and has for the first time in his life to take an\nupper four-shilling-box. November 1, he proclaims the \"Taming of the\nShrew\" \"a silly old play.\" November 2, the house was full of Parliament\nmen, the House being up. One of them choking himself while eating some\nfruit, Orange Moll thrust her finger down his throat and brought him to\nlife again.\n\nPepys condemns Nell Gwynn as unbearable in serious parts, but considers\nher beyond imitation as a madwoman. In December 1667 he describes a poor\nwoman who had lent her child to the actors, but hearing him cry, forced\nher way on to the stage and bore it off from Hart.\n\nIt would seem from subsequent notes in the _Diary_, that to a man who\nstopped only for one act at a theatre, and took no seat, no charge was\nmade.\n\nIn February 1668 Pepys sees at Drury Lane \"The Virgin Martyr,\" by\nMassinger, which he pronounces not to be worth much but for Becky\nMarshall's acting; yet the wind music when the angel descended \"wrapped\nup\" his soul so, that, remarkably enough, it made him as sick as when he\nwas first in love, and he determined to go home and make his wife learn\nwind music. May 1, 1668, he mentions that the pit was thrown into disorder\nby the rain coming in at the cupola. May 7 of the same year, he calls for\nKnipp when the play is over, and sees \"Nell in her boy's clothes, mighty\npretty.\" \"But, Lord!\" he says, \"their confidence! and how many men do\nhover about them as soon as they come off the stage! and how confident\nthey are in their talk!\"\n\nOn May 18, 1668, Pepys goes as early as twelve o'clock to see the first\nperformance of that poor play, Sir Charles Sedley's \"Mulberry Garden,\" at\nwhich the king, queen, and court did not laugh. While waiting for the\ncurtain to pull up, Pepys hires a boy to keep his place, slips out to the\nRose Tavern in Russell Street, and dines off a breast of mutton from the\nspit.\n\nOn September 15, 1668, there is a play--\"The Ladies a la Mode\"--so bad\nthat the actor who announced the piece to be repeated fell a-laughing, as\ndid the pit. Four days after Pepys sits next Shadwell, the poet,\nadmiring Ben Jonson's extravagant comedy, \"The Silent Woman.\"\n\nIn January 1669 he sat in a box near \"that merry jade Nell,\" who, with a\ncomrade from the Duke's House, \"lay there laughing upon people.\"\n\n\"Les Horaces\" of Corneille he found \"a silly tragedy.\" February 1669\nBeetson, one of the actors, read his part, Kynaston having been beaten and\ndisabled by order of Sir Charles Sedley, whom he had ridiculed. The same\nmonth Pepys went to the King's House to see \"The Faithful Shepherdess,\"\nand found not more than L10 in the house.\n\nA great leader in the Drury Lane troop was Lacy, the Falstaff of his day.\nHe was a handsome, audacious fellow, who delighted the town as \"Frenchman,\nScot, or Irishman, fine gentleman or fool, honest simpleton or rogue,\nTartuffe or Drench, old man or loquacious woman.\" He was King Charles's\nfavourite actor as Teague in \"The Committee,\" or mimicking Dryden as Bayes\nin \"The Rehearsal.\"\n\nThe greatest rascal in the company was Goodman--\"Scum Goodman,\" as he was\ncalled--admirable as Alexander and Julius Caesar. He was a dashing,\nshameless, impudent rogue, who used to boast that he had once taken \"an\nairing\" on the road to recruit his purse. He was expelled Cambridge for\nslashing a picture of the Duke of Monmouth. He hired an Italian quack to\npoison two children of his mistress, the infamous Duchess of Cleveland,\njoined in the Fenwick plot to kill King William, and would have turned\ntraitor against his fellow conspirators had he not been bought off for\nL500 a year, and sent to Paris, where he disappeared.\n\nHaines, one of Killigrew's band, was an impudent but clever low comedian.\nIn Sparkish, in \"The Country Wife,\" he was the very model of airy\ngentlemen. His great successes were as Captain Bluff in Congreve's \"Old\nBachelor,\" Roger in \"AEsop,\" and \"the lively, impudent, and irresistible\nTom Errand\" in Farquhar's \"Constant Couple,\" \"that most triumphant comedy\nof a whole century.\"[561]\n\nThe stories told of Joe Haines are good. He once engaged a simple-minded\nclergyman as \"chaplain to the Theatre Royal,\" and sent him behind the\nscenes ringing a big bell to call the actors to prayers. \"Count\" Haines\nwas once arrested by two bailiffs on Holborn Hill at the very moment that\nthe Bishop of Ely passed in his carriage. \"Here comes my cousin, he will\nsatisfy you,\" said the ready-witted actor, who instantly stepped to the\ncarriage window and whispered Bishop Patrick--\"Here are two Romanists, my\nlord, inclined to become Protestants, but yet with some scruples of\nconscience.\" The anxious bishop instantly beckoned to the bailiffs to\nfollow him to Ely Place, and Joe escaped; the mortified bishop paying the\nmoney out of sheer shame. Haines died in 1701.\n\nAmongst the actresses at this house were pretty but frail Mrs. Hughes, the\nmistress of Prince Rupert, and Mrs. Knipp, Pepys's dangerous friend, who\nacted rakish fine ladies and rattling ladies'-maids, and came on to sing\nas priestess, nun, or milkmaid. Anne Marshall, the daughter of a\nPresbyterian divine, acquired a reputation as Dorothea in \"The Virgin\nMartyr,\" and as the Queen of Sicily in Dryden's \"Secret Love.\"\n\nBut Nell Gwynn was the chief \"toast\" of the town. Little, pretty,\nimpudent, and witty, she danced well, and was a good actress in comedy and\nin characters where \"natural emotion bordering on insanity\" was to be\nrepresented.[562] Her last original part was that of Almahide in Dryden's\n\"Conquest of Granada,\" where she spoke the prologue in a straw hat as\nlarge as a waggon-wheel.\n\nLeigh Hunt says that \"Nineteen out of twenty of Dryden's plays were\nproduced at Drury Lane, and seven out of Lee's eleven; all the good plays\nof Wycherly, except 'The Gentleman Dancing Master;' two of\nCongreve's--'The Old Bachelor' and 'The Double Dealer;' and all\nFarquhar's, except 'The Beau's Stratagem.'\"[563] Dryden's impurity and\ndaring bombast were the attractions to Drury Lane, as Otway's\nsentimentalism and real pathos were to the rival house. Lee's splendid\nbombast was succeeded by Farquhar's gay rakes and not too virtuous women.\n\nDoggett, who was before the public from 1691 to 1713, was a little lively\nIrishman, for whom Congreve wrote the characters of Fondlewife, Sir Paul\nPliant, and Ben. He was partner in the theatre with Cibber and Wilkes from\n1709 to 1712, but left when Booth was taken into the firm. He was a\nstaunch Whig, and left an orange livery and a badge to be rowed for yearly\nby six London watermen.\n\nThe queen of comedy, Mrs. Oldfield, flashed upon the town first as Lady\nBetty Modish in Cibber's \"Careless Husband,\" in 1704-5. When quite a girl\nshe was overheard by Farquhar reading \"The Scornful Lady\" of Beaumont and\nFletcher to her aunt, who kept the Mitre Tavern in St. James's Market.\nFarquhar introduced her to Vanbrugh, and Vanbrugh to Rich. \"She excelled\nall actresses,\" says Davies, \"in sprightliness of wit and elegance of\nmanner, and was greatly superior in the clear, sonorous, and harmonious\ntones of her voice.\" Her eyes were large and speaking, and when intended\nto give special archness to some brilliant or gay thought, she kept them\nmischievously half shut. Cibber praises Mrs. Oldfield for her unpresuming\nmodesty, and her good sense in not rejecting advice--\"A mark of good\nsense,\" says the shrewd old manager, \"rarely known in any actor of either\nsex but herself. Yet it was a hard matter to give her any hint that she\nwas not able to take or improve.\"[564] With all this merit, she was\ntractable and less presuming in her station than several that had not half\nher pretensions to be troublesome. This excellent actress was not fond of\ntragedy, but she still played Marcia in \"Cato;\" Swift, who attended the\nrehearsals with Addison, railed at her for her good-humoured carelessness\nand indifference; and Pope sneered at her vanity in her last moments. It\nis true that she was buried in kid gloves, tucker, and ruffles of best\nlace. Mrs. Oldfield lived first with a Mr. Maynwaring, a rough,\nhard-drinking Whig writer, to whom Addison dedicated one of the volumes of\nthe _Spectator_; and after his death with General Churchill, one of the\nMarlborough family. Nevertheless, she went to court and habitually\nassociated with ladies of the highest rank. Society is cruel and\ninconsistent in these matters. Open scandal it detests, but to secret vice\nit is indifferent.\n\nMrs. Oldfield died in 1730, lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber, and\nwhen she was borne to her grave in the Abbey, Lord Hervey (Pope's\n\"Sporus\"), Lord Delawarr, and that toady Bubb Doddington, supported her\npall. The late Earl of Cadogan was the great-grandson of Anne\nOldfield.[565] This actress, so majestic in tragedy, so irresistible in\ncomedy, was generous enough to give an annuity to poor, hopeless, scampish\nSavage.\n\nRobert Wilkes, a young Irish Government clerk, obtained great successes as\nFarquhar's heroes, Sir Harry Wildair, Mirabel, Captain Plume, and Archer.\nHe played equally well the light gentlemen of Cibber's comedies. Genest\ndescribes him as buoyant and graceful on the stage, irreproachable in\ndress, his every movement marked by \"an ease of breeding and manner.\" This\nactor also excelled in plaintive and tender parts. Cibber hints, however,\nat his professional conceit and overbearing temper. Wilkes on one occasion\nread \"George Barnwell\" to Queen Anne at the Court at St. James's. He died\nin 1732.\n\nBarton Booth, who was at Westminster School with Rowe the poet, identified\nhimself with Addison's Cato. His dignity, pathos, and energy as that lover\nof liberty led Bolingbroke to present him on the first night with a purse\nof fifty guineas. The play was translated into four languages; Pope gave\nit a prologue; Garth decked it with an epilogue; while Denis proved it, to\nhis own satisfaction, to be worthless. Aaron Hill tells us that statistics\nproved that Booth could always obtain from eighteen to twenty rounds of\napplause during the evening. When playing the Ghost to Betterton's Hamlet,\nBooth is said to have been once so horror-stricken as to be unable to\nproceed with his part. He often took inferior Shaksperean parts, and was\nfrequently indolent; but if he saw a man whose opinion he valued among the\naudience he fired up and played to him. This petted actor and manager died\nin 1733.\n\nColley Cibber, to judge from Steele's criticisms, must have been admirable\nas a beau, whether rallying pleasantly, scorning artfully, ridiculing, or\nneglecting.[566] Wilkes surpassed him in beseeching gracefully,\napproaching respectfully, pitying, mourning, and loving. In the part of\nSir Fopling Flutter in \"The Fool of Fashion,\" played in 1695, Cibber wore\na fair, full-bottomed periwig which was so much admired that it used to be\nbrought on the stage in a sedan and put on publicly. To this wonder of the\ntown Colonel Brett, who married Savage's mother, took a special fancy.\n\"The beaux of those days,\" says Cibber, \"had more of the stateliness of\nthe peacock than the pert of the lapwing.\" The colonel came behind the\nscenes, first praised the wig, and then offered to purchase it. On\nCibber's bantering him about his anxiety for such a trifle, the gay\ncolonel began to rally himself with such humour that he fairly won Cibber,\nand they sat down at once, laughing, to finish their bargain over a\nbottle.\n\nQuin's career began at Dublin in 1714, and ended at Bath in 1753. From\n1736 to 1741 he was at Drury Lane. From Booth's retirement till the coming\nof Garrick, Quin had no rival as Cato, Brutus, Volpone, Falstaff, Zanga,\netc. His Macbeth, Othello, and Lear were inferior. Davies says, the tender\nand the violent were beyond his reach, but he gave words weight and\ndignity by his sensible elocution and well-regulated voice. His movements\nwere ponderous and his action languid. Quin was generous, witty, a great\nepicure, and a careless dresser. It was his hard fate, though a\nwarm-hearted man, to be equally warm in temper, and to kill two\nadversaries in duels that were forced upon him. Quin was a friend of\nGarrick and of Thomson the poet, and a frequent visitor at Allen's house\nat Prior Park, near Bath, where Pope, Warburton, and Fielding visited.\n\nSome of Quin's jests were perfect. When Warburton said, \"By what law can\nthe execution of Charles I. be justified?\" Quin replied, \"By all the laws\nhe had left them.\" No wonder Walpole applauded him. The bishop bade the\nplayer remember that the regicides came to violent ends, but Quin gave him\na worse blow. \"That, your lordship,\" he said, \"if I am not mistaken, was\nalso the case with the twelve apostles.\" Quin could overthrow even Foote.\nThey had at one time had a quarrel, and were reconciled, but Foote was\nstill a little sore. \"Jemmy,\" said he, \"you should not have said that I\nhad but one shirt, and that I lay in bed while it was washed.\" \"Sammy,\"\nreplied the actor, \"I never _could_ have said so, for I never knew that\nyou had a shirt to wash.\" Quin died in 1766, and Garrick wrote an epitaph\non his tomb in Bath Abbey, ending with the line--\n\n  \"To this complexion we must come at last.\"\n\nGarrick appeared first at Goodman's Fields Theatre, in 1741, as King\nRichard. In eight days the west flocked eastward, and, as Davies tells us,\n\"the coaches of the nobility filled up the space from Temple Bar to\nWhitechapel.\" Pope came up from Twickenham to see if the young man was\nequal to Betterton. Garrick revolutionised the stage. Tragedians had\nfallen into a pompous \"rhythmical, mechanical sing-song,\"[567] fit only\nfor dull orators. Their style was overlaboured with art--it was mere\ndeclamation. The actor had long ceased to imitate nature. Garrick's first\nappearance at Drury Lane was in 1742. Cumberland, then at Westminster\nSchool, describes his sight of Quin and Garrick, and the first impressions\nthey produced on him. Garrick was Lothario, Mrs. Cibber Calista, Quin\nHoratio, and Mrs. Pritchard Lavinia. Quin, when the curtain drew up,\npresented himself in a green velvet coat, embroidered down the seams, an\nenormous full-bottomed periwig, rolled stockings, and high-heeled square\nshoes.[568] \"With very little variation of cadence, and in a deep full\ntone, accompanied by a sawing kind of action which had more of the senate\nthan the stage in it, he rolled out his heroics with an air of dignified\nindifference that seemed to disdain the plaudits that were bestowed upon\nhim. Mrs. Cibber, in a key high-pitched but sweet withal, sang or rather\nrecitatived Rowe's harmonious strains. But when, after long and anxious\nexpectation, I first beheld little Garrick, then young and light and alive\nin every muscle and every feature, come bounding on the stage and pointing\nat the wittol Altamont and heavy-paced Horatio, heavens! what a\ntransition!--it seemed as if a whole century had been swept over in the\npassage of a single scene.\" And yet, according to fretful Cumberland, \"the\nshow of hands\" was for Quin, though, according to Davies, the best judges\nwere for Garrick. And when Quin was slow in answering the challenge,\nsomebody in the gallery called out, \"Why don't you tell the gentleman\nwhether you will meet him or not?\" Garrick's repertory extended to one\nhundred characters, of which he was the original representative of\nthirty-six. Of his comic characters, Ranger and Abel Drugger were the\nbest--one was irresistibly vivacious, the other comically stupid.\n\nGarrick, who mutilated Shakespere and wrote clever verses and useful\ntheatrical adaptations, was a vain, sprightly man, who got the reputation\nof reforming stage costume, although it was Macklin, pugnacious and\ncourageous, who first dared to act Macbeth dressed as a Highland chief,\nand felt proud of his own anachronism. Garrick had, in fact, a dislike to\nreally truthful costume. He dared to play Hotspur in laced frock and\nRamillies wig.[569] In truth, it was neither Garrick nor Macklin who\noriginated this reform, but the change of public opinion and the widening\nof education. West, in spite of ridicule and condemnation, dared to dress\nthe soldiers in his \"Death of Wolfe\" in English uniform, instead of in the\narmour of stage Romans. Burke said of Garrick that he was the most acute\nobserver of nature he had ever known. Garrick could assume any passion at\nthe moment, and could act off-hand Scrub or Richard, Brute or Macbeth. He\noscillated between tragedy and comedy; he danced to perfection; he was\nlaborious at rehearsals, and yet all that he did seemed spontaneous. In\nFribble he imitated no fewer than eleven men of fashion so that every one\nrecognised them. Garrick died in 1779, and was buried in _the_ Abbey.\n\"Chatham,\" says Dr. Doran, the actor's admirable biographer, \"had\naddressed him living in verse, and peers sought for the honour of\nsupporting the pall at his funeral.\"[570] That he was vain and\nover-sensitive there can be no doubt; but there can be also no doubt that\nhe was generous, often charitable, delightful in society, and never, like\nFoote, eager to give pain by the exercise of his talent. As an actor,\nGarrick has not since been equalled in versatility and equal balance of\npower; nor has any subsequent actor attained so high a rank among the\nintellect of his age.\n\nKitty Clive, born in 1711, took leave of the stage in 1769. She was one of\nthe best-natured, wittiest, happiest, and most versatile of actresses,\nwhether as \"roguish chambermaid, fierce virago, chuckling hoyden, brazen\nromp, stolid country girl, affected fine lady, or thoroughly natural old\nwoman.\"[571] Fielding, Garrick, and Walpole delighted in Kitty Clive.\nAfter years of quadrille at Purcell's, and cards and music at the villa at\nTeddington which Horace Walpole lent her, Kitty Clive died suddenly,\nwithout a groan, in 1785.\n\nWoodward was excellent in <DW2>s, rascals, simpletons, and Shakesperean\nlight characters. His Bobadil, Marplot, and Touchstone were beyond\napproach. Shuter, originally a billiard-marker, came on the stage in 1744,\nand quitted it in 1776. His grimace and impromptu were much praised.\n\nSamuel Foote, born at Truro in 1720, having failed in tragedy, and not\nbeen very successful in comedy, started his entertainments at the\nHaymarket in 1747. He died in 1777. His history belongs to the records of\nanother theatre.\n\nSpanger Barry in 1748-9 acted Hamlet and Macbeth alternately with Garrick.\nDavies says that Barry could not perform such characters as Richard and\nMacbeth, but he made a capital Alexander. \"He charmed the ladies by the\nsoft melody of his love complaints and the noble ardour of his courtship.\"\nOnly Mrs. Cibber excelled him in the expression of love, grief,\ntenderness, and jealous rage. Tall, handsome, and dignified, Barry\nundoubtedly ran Garrick close in the part of Romeo, artificial as\nChurchill in the _Rosciad_ declares him to have been. A lady once said,\n\"that had she been Juliet she should have expected Garrick to have stormed\nthe balcony, he was so impassioned; but that Barry was so eloquent,\ntender, and seductive, that she should have come down to him.\"[572] In\nLear, the town said that Barry \"was every inch a king\" but Garrick \"every\ninch King Lear.\" Barry was amorous and extravagant. He delighted in giving\nmagnificent entertainments, and treated Mr. Pelham in so princely a style\nthat that minister (with not the finest taste) rebuked him for his lavish\nhospitality.\n\nThe brilliant and witching Peg Woffington was the daughter of a small\nhuckster in Dublin, and became a pupil of Madame Violante, a rope-dancer.\nIn 1740 she came out at Covent Garden, and soon won the town as Sir Harry\nWildair. She played Lady Townley and Lady Betty Modish with \"happy ease\nand gaiety.\"[573] She rendered the most audacious absurdities pleasing by\nher beautiful bright face and her vivacity of expression. Peg quarrelled\nwith Kitty Clive and Mrs. Cibber, and detested that reckless woman George\nAnne Bellamy. This witty and enchanting actress, as generous and\ncharitable as Nell Gwynn with all her faults, was struck by paralysis\nwhile acting Rosalind at Covent Garden, and died in 1760.\n\nDuring his career from 1691 to his retirement in 1733, clever, careless\nColley Cibber originated nearly eighty characters, chiefly grand old <DW2>s,\ninane old men, dashing soldiers, and impudent lacqueys. His Fondlewife,\nSir Courtly Nice, and Shallow were his best parts. \"Of all English\nmanagers,\" says Dr. Doran, \"Cibber was the most successful. Of the English\nactors, he is the only one who was ever promoted to the laureateship or\nelected a member of White's Club.\" Even Pope, who hated him and got some\nhard blows from him, praised \"The Careless Husband;\" Walpole, who despised\nplayers, praised Colley; and Dr. Johnson approved of his admirably written\n_Apology_.\n\nCibber's daughter, Mrs. Clarke, led a wild and disreputable life, became a\nwaitress at Marylebone, and died in poverty in 1760. Colley's son\nTheophilus, the best Pistol ever seen on the stage, and the original\nGeorge Barnwell, was drowned in crossing the Irish Sea.\n\nHis wife was a sister of Dr. Arne, the composer. In tragedy she was\nremarkable for her artless sensibility and exquisite variety of\nexpression. As Ophelia she moved even Tate Wilkinson. She was one of the\nfirst actresses to make the woes of the grand tragedy queen natural. She\ndied in 1766, and was buried in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey.\n\nMrs. Pritchard, that \"inspired idiot,\" as Dr. Johnson called her in his\ncontempt for her ignorance, seems to have been a virtuous woman. She left\nthe stage in 1768. Though plain, and in later years very stout, Mrs.\nPritchard was admired in tragedy for her perfect pronunciation and her\nforce and dignity as the Queen in \"Hamlet,\" and as Lady Macbeth. She was\nalso a good comedian in playful and witty parts. She was, however, not\nvery graceful, and inclined to rant.\n\nWhen Mrs. Cibber died in 1765, Mrs. Yates succeeded to her fame, with Mrs.\nBarry for a rival, till Mrs. Siddons came from Bath and unseated both.\nMrs. Yates was wanting in pathos, but in pride and scorn as Medea, or in\nhopeless grief as Constance, she was unapproachable. She died in 1787.\n\nGeorge Anne Bellamy, the reckless and the unfortunate, was the daughter of\na Quakeress, with whom Lord Tyrawley ran away from school. Dr. Doran says,\n\"What with the loves, caprices, charms, extravagances, and sufferings of\nMrs. Bellamy, she excited the wonder, admiration, pity, and contempt of\nthe town for thirty years.\"[574] Now she was squandering money like a\nCleopatra; now she was crouching on the wet steps of Westminster Bridge,\nbrooding over suicide. \"The Bellamy,\" says the critic, was only equal to\n\"the Cibber\" in expressing the ecstasy of love. This follower of the old\nschool of intoners was the original Volumnia of Thomson, the Erixene of\nDr. Young, and the Cleone of the honest footman poet and publisher\nDodsley. She took her farewell benefit in 1784.\n\nIn 1778 Miss Farren appeared at Drury Lane. She was the daughter of a poor\nvagabond strolling player. Walpole says she was the most perfect actress\nhe had ever seen; and he spoke well of her fine ladies, of whom he was a\njudge. Adolphus, not easily appeased, praised her irresistible graces and\n\"all the indescribable little charms which give fascination to the women\nof birth and fashion.\" She was gay as Lady Betty Modish, sentimental as\nCecilia or Indiana, and playful as Rosara in the \"Barber of Seville.\" In\n1797 the little girl who had been helped over the ice to the lock-up at\nSalisbury, to hand up a bowl of milk to her father when a prisoner\nthere,[575] took leave of the stage in the part of Lady Teazle, and\nmarried the Earl of Derby, who had buried his wife just six weeks before.\n\nIn 1798 Mrs. Abington, \"the best affected fine lady of her time,\" retired\nfrom the stage of Drury Lane. She was the daughter of a common soldier,\nand as a girl was known as \"Nosegay Fan,\" and had sold flowers in St.\nJames's Park. She first appeared at Drury Lane in 1756-7.\n\nPoor Mrs. Robinson, the \"Perdita\" so heartlessly betrayed by the Prince of\nWales, was driven on to the stage in 1776 by her husband, a handsome\nscapegrace who had run through his fortune. She passed from the stage in\n1780, and died, forgotten, poor, and paralytic, in 1800.\n\nIn 1767 Samuel Reddish, Canning's stepfather, first appeared at Drury Lane\nas Lord Townley. He was a reasonably good Edgar and Posthumus, but failed\nin parts of passion. He went mad in 1779. In this group of minor actors we\nmay include Gentleman Smith, a good Charles Surface, who retired from the\nstage in 1786; Yates, whose forte was old men and Shakspere's fools\n(1736-1780); Dodd, who, from 1765 to 1796, was the prince of <DW2>s and old\nmen (Master Slender and Master Stephen were said to die with him); and\nlastly, that great comic actor, John Palmer, who died on the stage in\n1798, as he was playing the Stranger. He was the original representative\nof plausible Joseph Surface. \"Plausible,\" he used to say, \"am I? You rate\nme too highly. The utmost I ever did in that way was that I once persuaded\na bailiff who had arrested me to bail me.\" Once when making friends with\nSheridan after a quarrel, Palmer said to the author, \"If you could but see\nmy heart, Mr. Sheridan!\" to which Sheridan replied, \"Why, Jack, you forgot\nI wrote it.\" \"Jack Palmer,\" says Lamb, \"was a gentleman with a slight\ninfusion of the footman.\"[576] He had two voices, both plausible,\nhypocritical, and insinuating.\n\nHenderson was engaged by Sheridan for Drury Lane in 1777. As Falstaff this\nhumorous friend of Gainsborough was seldom equalled. His defects were a\nwoolly voice and a habit of sawing the air. Dr. Doran says, \"he was the\nfirst actor who, with Sheridan, gave public readings\" at Freemasons' Hall;\nand his recitation of \"John Gilpin\" gave impetus to the sale of the\nnarrative of that adventurous ride.[577] Henderson died in 1785, aged only\nthirty-eight, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.\n\nMrs. Siddons, the daughter of an itinerant actor, was born in 1755. After\nstrolling and becoming a lady's-maid, she married a poor second-rate actor\nof Birmingham. She appeared first at Drury Lane in 1775 as Portia. Her\nfirst real triumph was in 1780, as Isabella in Southerne's tragedy. The\nmanagement gave her Garrick's dressing-room, and some legal admirers\npresented her with a purse of a hundred guineas. Soon afterwards, as Jane\nShore, she sent many ladies in the audience into fainting fits. This great\nactress closed her career in 1812 with Lady Macbeth, her greatest triumph.\nShe is said to have made King George III. shed tears. He admired her\nespecially for her repose. \"Garrick,\" he used to say, \"could never stand\nstill. He was a great fidget.\" No actress received more homage in her time\nthan Mrs. Siddons. Reynolds painted his name on the hem of her garment in\nhis portrait of her as the Tragic Muse. Dr. Johnson kissed her hand and\nadmired her genius. In comedy Mrs. Siddons failed; her rigorous Grecian\nface was not arch. \"In comedy\" says Colman, \"she was only a frisking\ngrig.\" \"Those who knew her best,\" says Dr. Doran, \"have recorded her\ngrace, her noble carriage, divine elocution and solemn earnestness, her\ngrandeur, her pathos, her correct judgment.\" Erskine studied her cadences\nand tones. According to Campbell, she increased the heart's capacity for\ntender, intense, and lofty feelings. This lofty-minded actress, as Young\ncalls her, died in 1831.\n\nHer elder brother, John Kemble, first appeared at Drury Lane, in 1783, as\nHamlet. In 1788-9 he succeeded King as manager of the theatre, and\ncontinued so till 1801. In Coriolanus and Cato, Kemble was pre-eminent,\nbut his Richard and Sir Giles were inferior to Cook's and Kean's. In\ncomedy he failed, except in snatches of dignity or pathos. As an actor\nKemble was sometimes heavy and monotonous. He had not the fire or\nversatility of Garrick, or the wild passion of Edmund Kean. As Hamlet he\nwas romantic, dignified, and philosophic. In his Rolla he delighted\nSheridan and Pitt; in Octavian he drew tears from all eyes. He excelled\nalso in Coeur de Lion, Penruddock, and the Stranger. In private life he\nwas always majestic and gravely convivial. When Covent Garden was burnt\ndown in 1808, he bore the loss bravely, and on the night of the opening\nthe generous Duke of Northumberland sent him back his bond for L10,000 to\nbe committed to the flames. Walpole, who saw Kemble, preferred him to\nGarrick in Benedick, and to Quin in Maskwell. Kemble took his solemn\nfarewell of the stage in 1817 as Coriolanus, and died at Lausanne in 1823.\nLeigh Hunt, an excellent dramatic critic, paints the following picture of\nKemble: \"A figure of melancholy dignity, dealing out a most measured\nspeech in sepulchral tones and a pedantic pronunciation, and injuring\nwhat he has made you feel by the want of feeling it himself.\"[578] John\nKemble's brother Charles acted well in Mercutio, Young Mirabel, and\nBenedick. He remained on the stage till 1836.\n\nGeorge Frederick Cooke, whose life was one perpetual debauch, and whose\ncareer on the stage extended from 1801 to 1812, when he died at Boston,\ndid not, I think, appear at Drury Lane. His laurels were won chiefly at\nCovent Garden.\n\nMaster Betty, born in 1791 at Shrewsbury, elegant, and quick of memory,\nappeared at Drury Lane in 1804, fretted his little hour upon the stage,\nand earned a fortune with which he prudently retired in 1808. He lived\ntill 1876.\n\nKing, the original representative of Sir Peter Teazle, Lord Ogleby, Puff,\nand Dr. Cantwell, began his London career at Drury Lane in 1748. He left\nthe stage in 1802. His best characters were Touchstone and Ranger, and in\nthese parts he was always arch, rapid, and versatile. Hazlitt discourses\non King's old, hard, rough face, and his shrewd hints and tart replies.\n\nDickey Suett was a favourite low comedian from 1780 to 1805, when he died.\nHe was a tall, thin, ungainly man, too much addicted to grimace,\ninterpolations, and practical jokes. He drank hard, and suffered from\nmental depression. Hazlitt calls him \"the delightful old croaker, the\neverlasting Dickey Gossip of the stage.\"[579] Lamb describes his \"Oh, la!\"\nas irresistible; \"he drolled upon the stock of those two syllables richer\nthan the cuckoo.\" Shakspere's jesters \"have all the true Suett stamp--a\nloose and shambling gait, and a slippery tongue.\"[580]\n\nMiss Pope, who left the stage in 1808, had played with Garrick and Mrs.\nClive. She was the original Polly Honeycomb, Miss Sterling, Mrs. Candour,\nand Tilburina. In youth she played hoydens, chambermaids, and half-bred\nladies, with a dash and good-humour free from all vulgarity, and in old\nage she took to duennas and Mrs. Heidelburg. In 1761 Churchill mentions\nher as \"lively Pope,\" and in 1807 Horace Smith describes her as \"a bulky\nperson with a duplicity of chin.\"\n\nIn 1741 the theatre, which had been rebuilt by Wren in 1674, in a cheap\nand plain manner, became ruinous, and was enlarged and almost rebuilt by\nthe Adams. In 1747 Garrick became the manager, and Dr. Johnson, as a\nfriend, wrote the celebrated address beginning with the often-quoted\nlines--\n\n  \"When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes\n  First reared the stage, immortal Shakspere rose.\n\n     *       *       *       *       *\n\n  Each change of many- life he drew,\n  Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new;\n  Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,\n  And panting Time toiled after him in vain.\"\n\nIn 1775, the year in which \"The Duenna\" was brought out at Covent Garden,\nGarrick made known his wish to sell a moiety of the patent of this\ntheatre. In June 1776 a contract was signed, Mr. Sheridan taking\ntwo-fourteenths of the whole for L10,000, Mr. Linley the same, and Dr.\nFord three-fourteenths at L15,000.[581] How Sheridan raised the money no\none ever knew.\n\nSheridan's first contribution to this new stage was an alteration of\nVanbrugh's licentious comedy of \"The Relapse,\" which he called \"A Trip to\nScarborough,\" and brought out in 1777. The same year the brilliant\nmanager, then only six-and-twenty, produced the finest and most popular\ncomedy in the English language, \"The School for Scandal.\" On the last slip\nof this miracle of wit and dramatic construction Sheridan wrote--\"Finished\nat last, thank God!--R. B. SHERIDAN.\" Below this the prompter added his\ndevout response--\"Amen.--W. HOPKINS.\"[582] Garrick was proud of the new\nmanager, and boasted of his budding genius.[583]\n\nIn 1778 Sheridan bought out Mr. Lacy for more than L45,000, and Dr. Ford\nfor L77,000. In 1779 Garrick died, and Sheridan wrote a monody to his\nmemory, which was delivered by Mrs. Yates after the play of \"The West\nIndian.\" Slander attributed the finest passage in this monody to Tickell,\njust as it had before attributed Tickell's bad farce to Sheridan.\n\nDowton, who appeared in 1796 as Sheva, was felicitous in good-natured\ntesty old men, and also in crabbed and degraded old villains. His Dr.\nCantwell and Sir Anthony Absolute were in the true spirit of old comedy.\nLeigh Hunt praises Dowton's changes from the irritable to the yielding,\nand from the angry to the tender.\n\nWilly Blanchard was natural and unaffected, but mannered.\n\nMathews first appeared in London in 1803. He excelled in valets and old\nmen, and drew tears as M. Mallet, the poor emigre who is disappointed\nabout a letter.\n\nListon made his debut at the Haymarket in 1805 as Sheepface. Leigh Hunt\npraises his ignorant rustics, and condemns his old men. He sets him down\nas a painter of emotions, and therefore more intellectual than Fawcett and\nless farcical than Munden. Liston was a hypochondriac; below his fun there\nwas always an under-current of melancholy, \"as though,\" says Dr. Doran,\nmysteriously, \"he had killed a boy when, under the name of Williams, he\nwas usher at the Rev. Dr. Burney's at Gosport.\"[584]\n\nIn 1807 Jones and Young made their first appearances, but not at Drury\nLane. Young originated Rienzi, and played Hamlet, Falstaff, and Captain\nMacheath. Jones was a stage rake of great excellence.\n\nAmong the actresses before Kean, we may mention Miss Brunton, afterwards\nCountess of Craven, and Mrs. Davison, a good Lady Teazle.\n\nLewis, who left the stage in 1809, was a draper's son. He died in 1813,\nand out of part of his fortune the new church at Ealing was erected. He\nplayed Young Rapid and Jeremy Diddler, and created the Hon. Tom\nShuffleton in \"John Bull.\" His restless style suited Morton and Reynolds's\ncomedies, and he succeeded in \"all that was frolic, gay, humorous,\nwhimsical, eccentric, and yet elegant.\" He was manager of Covent Garden\nfor twenty-one years, and made everyone do his duty by kindness and good\ntreatment. Leigh Hunt sketches Lewis admirably, with his \"easy\nflutter,\"[585] short knowing respiration, and complacent liveliness. Lewis\nplayed the gentleman with more heart than Elliston. He seemed polite, not\nfrom vanity, but rather from a natural irresistible wish to please. He had\nall the laborious carelessness of action, important indifference of voice,\nand natural vacuity of look that are requisite for the lounger.[586] His\ndefects were a habit of shaking his head and drawing in of the breath. His\n\"flippant airiness,\" \"vivacious importance,\" and \"French flutter\" must\nhave been in their way perfect. \"Gay, fluttering, hair-brained Lewis!\"\nsays Hazlitt; \"nobody could break open a door, or jump over a table, or\nscale a ladder, or twirl a cocked hat, or dangle a cane, or play a\njockey-nobleman or a nobleman's jockey like him.\"[587]\n\nHere a moment's pause for an anecdote. When a riot took place at Drury\nLane in 1740 about the non-appearance of a French dancer, the first\nsymptoms of the outbreak were the ushering of ladies out of the pit. A\nnoble marquis gallantly proposed to fire the house. The proposal was\nconsidered, but not adopted. The bucks and bloods then proceeded to\ndestroy the musical instruments and fittings, to break the panels and\npartitions, and pull down the royal arms. The offence was finally condoned\nby the ringleading marquis sending L100 to the manager.\n\nCharles Lamb describes Drury Lane in his own delightful way. The first\nplay he ever saw was in 1781-2, when he was six years old. \"A portal, now\nthe entrance,\" he writes, \"to a printing-office, at the north end of Cross\nCourt was the pit entrance to old Drury; and I never pass it without\nshaking some forty years from off my shoulders, recurring to the evening\nwhen I passed through it to see my first play. The afternoon was wet: with\nwhat a beating heart did I watch from the window the puddles!\n\n\"It was the custom then to cry, ''Chase some oranges, 'chase some\nnonpareils, 'chase a bill of the play?' But when we got in, and I beheld\nthe green curtain that veiled a heaven to my imagination, the breathless\nanticipations I endured! The boxes, full of well-dressed women of quality,\nprojected over the pit. The orchestra lights arose--the bell sounded\nonce--it rang the second time--the curtain drew up, and the play was\n'Artaxerxes;' 'Harlequin's Invasion' followed.\"\n\nThe next play Lamb went to was \"The Lady of the Manor,\" followed by a\npantomime called \"Lunn's Ghost.\" Rich was not long dead. His third play\nwas \"The Way of the World\" and \"Robinson Crusoe.\" Six or seven years after\nhe went (with what changed feelings!) to see Mrs. Siddons in Isabella.\n\"Comparison and retrospection,\" he says, \"soon yielded to the present\nattraction of the scene, and the theatre became to me, upon a new stock,\nthe most delightful of all recreations.\"[588]\n\nHandsome Jack Bannister, who played in youth with Garrick, and in later\nyears with Edmund Kean, was the model for the Uncle Toby in Leslie's\npicture. Natural, honest, as Hamlet, he was also good as Walter in \"The\nChildren of the Wood.\" Inimitable \"in depicting heartiness,\" says Dr.\nDoran, \"ludicrous distress, grave or affected indifference, honest\nbravery, insurmountable cowardice, a spirited young or an enfeebled yet\nimpatient old fellow, mischievous boyishness, good-humoured vulgarity,\nthere was no one of his time who could equal him.\"[589] Bannister left the\nstage with a handsome fortune. Hazlitt says finely of him that his\n\"gaiety, good-humour, cordial feeling, and natural spirits shone through\nhis characters and lighted them up like a transparency.\"[590] His kind\nheart and honest face were as well known as his good-humoured smile and\nbuoyant activity. \"Jack,\" says Lamb, \"was beloved for his sweet,\ngood-natured moral pretensions.\" He gave us \"a downright concretion of a\nWapping sailor, a jolly warm-hearted Jack Tar.\"\n\nMrs. Jordan's mother was the daughter of a Welsh clergyman who had eloped\nwith an officer. The debutante came out at Drury Lane in 1785 as the\nheroine of \"The Country Girl.\" In 1789 she became the mistress of the Duke\nof Clarence. Good-natured, and endowed with a sweet clear voice, she\nplayed rakes with the airiest grace, and excelled in representing arch,\nbuoyant girls, spirited, buxom, lovable women, and handsome hoydens. The\ncritics complained of her as vulgar. Late in life she retired to France,\nand died in 1815. \"Her wealth,\" says Dr. Doran, \"was lavished on the Duke\nof Clarence, who left her to die untended; but when he became king he\nennobled all her children, the eldest being made Earl of Munster.\"\nHazlitt, speaking of Mrs. Jordan, says eloquently, her voice \"was a\ncordial to the heart, because it came from it full, like the luscious\njuice of the rich grape. To hear her laugh was to drink nectar. Her smile\nwas sunshine; her talking far above singing; her singing was like the\ntwanging of Cupid's bow. Her body was large, soft, and generous like the\nrose. Miss Kelly, if we may accept the judgment of Hazlitt, was in\ncomparison a mere dexterous, knowing chambermaid. Jordan was all\nexuberance and grace. It was her capacity for enjoyment, and the contrast\nshe presented to everything sharp, angular, and peevish, that delighted\nthe spectator. She was Cleopatra turned into an oyster wench.\"[591]\nCharles Lamb praises Mrs. Jordan for her tenderness in such parts as\nOphelia, Helena, and Viola, and for her \"steady, melting eye.\"[592]\n\nRobert William Elliston was the son of a Bloomsbury watchmaker, and was\nborn in 1774. He appeared in London first in 1797, and obtained a triumph\nas Sir Edward Mortimer, a part in which Kemble had failed. He is praised\nby Dr. Doran as one of the best of stage gentlemen, not being so reserved\nand languid as Charles Kemble. All the qualities that go to the making of\na gallant were conspicuous in his Duke Aranza--self-command, kindness,\ndignity, good-humour, a dash of satire, and true amatory fire; but then\nhis voice was too pompously deep in soliloquy, and he was too genteel in\nlow comedy. As a stage lover he was impassioned, tender, and courteous,\nyet he would persist in one uniform dress--blue coat, white waistcoat, and\nwhite knee-breeches. Yet, though a self-deceiving and pompous humbug,\nCharles Lamb reverenced him and Leigh Hunt admired his acting. In turn\nproprietor of the Olympic, the Surrey, and Drury Lane theatres, Elliston\noutlived his fame and fortune. When acting George IV. in a sham coronation\nprocession, having taken too much preliminary wine, he became so affected\nat the delight of the audience that he gave them his grandest benediction\nin these affecting words, \"Bless you, my people!\" When Douglas Jerrold\nsaved the Surrey Theatre by his \"Black-eyed Susan,\" Elliston declared such\nservices should be acknowledged by a presentation of plate--not by\nhimself, however, but by Jerrold's own friends. Elliston's last appearance\nwas in 1826, and he died in 1831.\n\nHull, a heavy, useful, and intelligent actor, left the stage in 1807.\nHolman, an exaggerating actor, had a career that lasted from 1784 to 1800.\nMunden, the broadest of farceurs and drollest of grimacers, appeared first\nin 1790 as Sir Francis Gripe, and last, in 1823, as Sir Robert Bramble and\nDozey. His Crack in \"The Turnpike Gate\" was one of his greatest parts; but\nI am afraid he would be now thought too much of the buffoon. Charles Lamb\ndevotes a whole essay to the subject of Munden's acting as Cockletop, Sir\nChristopher Curry, Old Dornton, and the Cobbler of Preston. He says of\nhim: \"When you think he has exhausted his battery of looks in\nunaccountable warfare with your gravity, suddenly he sprouts out an\nentirely new set of features, like Hydra. He, and he alone, makes faces.\nIn the grand grotesque of farce, Munden stands out as single and\nunaccompanied as Hogarth. Can any man wonder like him, any man see ghosts\nlike him, or fight with his own shadow?\"[593]\n\nLamb praises Dodd for a face formally flat in Foppington, frothily pert in\nFattle, and blankly expressive of no meaning in Acres and Fribble.[594]\n\nIn 1792 Sheridan's affairs began to get entangled. The surveyors reported\nthe theatre unsafe and incapable of repair, and it was therefore resolved\nto build a new one at a cost of L150,000 by means of 300 shares at L500\neach. In the meantime, while Sheridan was paying interest for his loan,\nthe company was playing at an enormous expense on borrowed stages; and the\ncareless and profuse manager, his prudent wife now dead, was maintaining\nthree establishments--one at Wanstead, one at Isleworth, and one in Jermyn\nStreet. In 1794 a new Theatre was built by Henry Holland.\n\nIn 1798 that masterpiece of false, hysterical German sentiment, \"The\nStranger\" (translated from Kotzebue), was rewritten by Sheridan, and\nbrought out at his own theatre. This was one of the earliest importations\nof the Germanism that Canning afterwards, for political purposes, so\npungently denounced in the _Anti-Jacobin_. The great success of \"The\nStranger,\" and the false taste it had implanted, induced Sheridan, in\n1799, to bring out the play of \"Pizarro.\" He wrote scarcely anything in it\nbut the speech of Rolla, which is itself an amplification of a few lines\nof the original.\n\nThe new theatre was to have cost L75,000, and the L150,000 subscribed for\nwas to have paid the architect and defrayed the mortgage debts. The\ntheatre, however, cost more than L150,000; only part of the debt was paid\noff, and a claim of L70,000 remained upon the property.[595]\n\nOn the 24th of February 1809, while the House of Commons was occupied with\nMr. Ponsonby's motion on the conduct of the war in Spain, the debate was\ninterrupted by a great glare of light through the windows. When the cause\nwas ascertained, so much sympathy was felt for Sheridan that it was\nproposed to adjourn; but Sheridan calmly rose and said, \"that whatever\nmight be the extent of his private calamity, he hoped it would not\ninterfere with the public business of the country.\" He then left the\nhouse, and is said to have reached Drury Lane just in time to find all\nhope of saving his property abandoned. According to one story he coolly\nproceeded to the Piazza Coffee-house and discussed a bottle of wine,\nreplying to a friend who praised his philosophic calmness, \"Why, a man may\nsurely be allowed to take a glass of wine _at his own fireside_.\"[596] He\nis said to have been most grieved at the loss of a harpsichord that had\nbelonged to his wife.\n\nEncouraged by the opening presented, and at the tardiness of shareholders\nto rebuild, speculators now proposed to erect a third theatre; but this\ndesign Sheridan and his friends defeated, and Mr. Whitbread, the great\nbrewer of Chiswell Street, Finsbury, who afterwards destroyed himself,\nexerted his energies in the rebuilding of it.\n\nBy the new agreement of 1811, Sheridan was to receive for his moiety\nL24,000, and an additional sum of L4000 for the property of the\nfruit-offices and the reversion of boxes and shares; his son also\nreceiving his quarter of the patent property. Out of this sum the claims\nof the Linley family and other creditors were to be satisfied.\n\nOverwhelmed with debt, dogged by bailiffs, hurried to and from\nsponging-houses, Sheridan, now a broken-down man, died in 1816,\nreproaching the committee with his last breath for refusing to lend him\nmore money.\n\nThe new theatre, built by Mr. B. Wyatt, had been opened in October 1812,\nthe performances consisting of \"Hamlet\" and \"The Devil to Pay.\" The house\nheld 800 persons less than its predecessor. The proprietors being anxious\nto have an opening address equal to that of Dr. Johnson, advertised for a\nsuitable poem, and professed a desire for an open and free competition.\nThe verses were, like Oxford competition poems, to be marked with a word,\nnumber, or motto, and the appended sealed paper containing the name of\nthe writer was not to be opened unless the poem was successful. They\noffered twenty guineas as the prize, and extended the time for sending in\nthe poems. The result was an avalanche of mediocrity, till the secretary's\ndesk and the treasury-office ran over with poems. The proprietors were in\ndespair, when Lord Holland prevailed on Lord Byron to write an address, at\nthe risk, as the poet feared, \"of offending a hundred rival scribblers and\na discerning public.\" The poem was written and accepted, and delivered on\nthe special night by Mr. Elliston, who performed the part of Hamlet. The\naddress was voted tame by the newspapers, with the exception of the\nfollowing passage--\n\n  \"As soars this fane to emulate the last,\n  Oh, might we draw our omens from the past?\n  Some hour propitious to our prayers, may boast\n  Names such as hallow still the dome we lost.\n  On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art\n  O'erwhelmed the gentlest, stormed the sternest heart;\n  On Drury Garrick's latest laurels grew;\n  Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew,\n  Sigh'd his last thanks, and wept his last adieu.\"\n\nThe brothers Smith eagerly seized this fine opportunity for parody, and\nthe \"Rejected Addresses\" made all London shake with laughter.\n\nThe leaden statue of Shakspere over the entrance of old Drury Lane was\nexecuted by Cheere of Hyde Park Corner--\"the leaden figure man\" formerly\nso celebrated--from a design by Scheemakers, a native of Antwerp and the\nmaster of Nollekens. When this sculptor first went to Rome to study, he\ntravelled on foot, and had to sell his shirts by the way in order to\nprocure funds. Mr. Whitbread, one of Sheridan's creditors, gave the figure\nto the theatre.[597]\n\nMr. Whitbread and a committee had erected the house and purchased the old\npatent rights by means of a subscription of L400,000. Of this L20,000 was\npaid to Sheridan, and a like sum to the other holders of the patent. The\ncreditors of the old house took a quarter of what they claimed in full\npayment, and the Duke of Bedford abandoned a claim of L12,000. The company\nconsisted of Elliston, Dowton, Bannister, Rae, Wallack, Wewitzer, Miss\nSmith, Mrs. Davison, Mrs. Glover, Miss Kelly, and Miss Mellon. Mr. C.\nKemble and Grimaldi were at the other house, that the next season boasted\na strong company--John and Charles Kemble, Conway, Terry, and Matthews. At\nDrury Lane no new piece was brought out except Coleridge's \"Remorse.\" At\nCovent Garden there was played \"Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp.\"\n\nAt Drury Lane, says Dr. Doran, neither new pieces nor new players\nsucceeded, till on the 20th of January 1814, the play-bills announced the\nfirst appearance of an actor from Exeter, whose coming changed the evil\nfortunes of the house, scared the old correct, dignified, and classical\nschool of actors, and brought again to the memories of those who could\nlook back as far as Garrick the fire, nature, impulse, and terrible\nearnestness--all, in short, but the versatility, of that great master in\nhis art. This player was Edmund Kean.\n\nKean was born in 1787. He was the son of a low and worthless actress,\nwhose father, George Saville Carey, a poor singer, reciter, and mimic,\nhanged himself. The father of Carey was a dramatist and song-writer, the\nnatural son of the great Lord Halifax, who died in 1695. Kean's father is\nunknown: he may have been Aaron Kean the tailor, or Moses Kean the\nbuilder. In early life the genius was cabin-boy, strolling player, dancer\non the tight-rope, and elocutionist at country fairs. His first\nappearance, as Shylock, in 1814, was a triumph. That night he came home\nand promised his wife a carriage, and his son Charles (then in his cradle)\nan education at Eton. In Richard III. he soon attained great triumphs. He\nwas audacious, sneering, devilish, almost supernatural in his cruelty and\nhypocrisy. His Hamlet, though graceful and earnest, was inferior to his\nOthello; but Kemble thought that the latter was a mistake, Othello being\npalpably \"a slow man.\" When Southey saw Kean and Young, he said, \"It is\nthe arch-fiend himself.\" When Kean played Sir Giles Overreach, and\nremoved it from Kemble's repertory, his wife received him on his return\nfrom the theatre with the anxious question, \"What did Lord Essex think of\nit?\" The triumphant reply is well known: \"D---- Lord Essex, Mary! the pit\nrose at me.\"\n\nIn 1822, after a visit to America, Kean appeared with his rival Young in a\nseries of characters, though he never liked \"the Jesuit,\" as he used to\ncall Young. In 1827, Kean's son Charles appeared as Norval at Drury Lane,\nwhile his father, now sinking fast, was acting at Covent Garden. In 1833\nKean, shattered and exhausted, played Othello to his son's Iago, and died\ntwo months after.\n\nHazlitt has a fine comparison between Kean and Mrs. Siddons. Mrs. Siddons\nnever seemed to task her powers to the utmost. Her least word seemed to\nfloat to the end of the stage; the least motion of her hand commanded\nobedience. \"Mr. Kean,\" he says, \"is all effort, all violence, all extreme\npassion; he is possessed with a fury and demon that leaves him no repose,\nno time for thought, nor room for imagination.[598] Mr. Kean's imagination\nappears not to have the principles of joy or hope or love in it. He seems\nchiefly sensible to pain and to the passion that springs from it, and to\nthe terrible energies of mind or body which are necessary to grapple with\nor to avert it.\"[599]\n\nThe new theatre had small success under its committee of proprietors, and\nsoon became involved in debt and unable to pay the performers. In 1814 it\nwas let to the highest bidder, Elliston, who took it at the yearly rental\nof L10,300, and expended L15,000 on repairs. Captain Polhill afterwards\nbecame the lessee, and sunk in it large sums of money. The two next\nlessees, Messrs. Bunn and Hammond, became bankrupts. Towards the middle of\n1840 the house was reopened, after a closing of some months, for the then\nnew entertainments of promenade concerts.\n\nGrimaldi, the son of Queen Charlotte's dentist, was born in 1779. He made\nhis debut at Drury lane in a \"Robinson Crusoe\" pantomime in 1781, and\nretired from the stage in 1828. His first part of any importance was\nOrson. He remained at Drury Lane for nearly five-and-twenty years, and\nthen played alternately at Covent Garden and Sadler's Wells every night.\n\"He was the very beau-ideal of thieves,\" says a critic of the time:\n\"robbery became a science in his hand; you forgave the larceny from the\nhumour with which Joe indulged his irresistible weakness.\"[600] He was\nfamous for his rich ringing laugh, his complacent chuckle, the roll of his\neyes, the drop of his chin, and his elongated respiration. But we must go\nback to the singers.\n\nMrs. Crouch, the great singer, and the daughter of a Gray's Inn Lane\nattorney, was articled to Mr. Linley, patentee of Drury Lane, in 1779, and\nin 1780 made her debut as Mandane. In 1785 she married a lieutenant in the\nnavy, but returned to the stage in 1786, to be eclipsed by Mrs.\nBillington. In 1787 she acted with Kelly at Drury Lane in the opera of\n\"Richard Coeur de Lion,\" and in the same year, in the character of Selima,\nsang the once popular song of \"No Flower that blows is like the Rose.\" In\n1788 she played Lady Elinor in \"The Haunted Tower\" at Drury Lane. She died\nin 1804.\n\nMrs. Billington, the daughter of a German musician, was born in London in\n1765. In 1801-2 she sang alternately at Drury Lane and Covent Garden. She\ndied in 1818. Bianchi wrote for this lady the opera of \"Inez de Castro.\"\nShe is said to have played and sung at sight Mozart's \"Clemenza di Tito;\"\nher voice ranged from D to G in altissimo. She indulged too much in\nornament, but was especially celebrated for her \"Soldier tired of War's\nAlarms.\"\n\nJohn Braham, a Jew pencil-boy--so the musical _on dit_ goes--was brought\nup by a singer at the Duke's Place Synagogue. He made his debut in 1787.\nHe appeared first, in 1796, in Storace's opera of \"Mahmoud,\" at Drury\nLane. The compass of his song, \"Let Glory's Clarion,\" extended over\nseventeen notes. He died in 1856.\n\nStorace, born in 1763, died in 1796. He was the son of an Italian\ndouble-bass player, was engaged by Linley to compose for Drury Lane, and\nfor that theatre wrote the following operas:--\"The Siege of Belgrade,\"\n1792: \"Lodoiska,\" 1794; and \"The Iron Chest,\" 1796. This brilliant young\nman wrote chiefly for Braham and Kelly.\n\nMadame Storace made her debut at Drury Lane, in 1789, in her brother's\ncomic opera of \"The Haunted Tower.\"\n\nBishop, who was born about 1780, produced his opera of \"The Mysterious\nBride\" at Drury Lane in 1808. In 1809, the night preceding the fire,\nBishop produced his first great success, \"The Circassian Bride,\" the score\nof which was burnt. After being long at Covent Garden, Bishop, in 1826,\nproduced his \"Aladdin\" at Drury Lane to compete with Weber's \"Oberon\" at\nCovent Garden. In 1827 he adapted Rossini's \"Turco in Italia;\" and in\n1830, for Drury Lane, he adapted Rossini's \"William Tell.\"\n\nMichael Kelly, born in 1762, made his first appearance at Drury Lane in\n1787. In his jovial career Kelly composed \"The Castle Spectre,\" \"Blue\nBeard\" (the march in which is very pompously oriental and fine), \"Of Age\nTo-morrow,\" \"Deaf and Dumb,\" etc. He also wrote many Italian, English, and\nFrench songs, and had a good tenor voice. He became superintendent of\nmusic at the Drury Lane Theatre, and died in 1826. He was an agreeable\nman, and much esteemed by George IV. Parkes accuses him of a want of\nknowledge of harmony, and of stealing from the Italians.\n\nIn May 1836 Madame Malibran (de Beriot) appeared at Drury Lane as Isolina\nin Balfe's \"Maid of Artois,\" which was a great success. At the close of\nthe season she went abroad. Returned in September, she sang at the\nManchester Festival, and after a duet with Madame Caradori Allen, was\ntaken ill, and died a few days after. This gifted woman, the daughter of a\nSpanish Jew (an opera-singer), was born in 1808.\n\nTo return to our last batch of actors. James Wallack, born in 1792, began\nto be known about 1816, and in 1820 was principal tragedian at Drury\nLane. His Hamlet, Rolla, and Romeo were very manly and bearable. He\nafterwards became stage-manager at Drury Lane, and was praised for his\nlight comedy.\n\nCharles Young, who played with Kean at Drury Lane, was a dignified but\nrather cold actor. Booth appeared also with Kean in 1817, and again in\n1820 with Wallack and Cooper.\n\nMrs. Mardyn (the supposed mistress of Lord Byron) appeared on the Drury\nLane stage in 1815. She was boisterous, but so full of girlish gaiety and\nreckless wildness that she became for a short time the favourite of the\ntown. She failed, however, when she reappeared in 1833 in a tragic part.\n\nCharming Mrs. Nisbett, \"that peach of a woman,\" as Douglas Jerrold used to\ncall her, died in 1858, aged forty-five. The daughter of a drunken Irish\nofficer who took to the stage, she married an officer in the Life Guards\nin 1831; but on the death of her husband by an accident, she returned to\nher first love in 1832, and reappeared at Drury Lane. Her great triumph\nwas \"The Love Chase,\" which was produced at the Haymarket in 1837, and ran\nfor nearly one hundred nights. It was worth going a hundred miles to hear\nMrs. Nisbett's merry, ringing, silvery laugh.\n\nIrish Johnstone, who died in 1828, is described by Hazlitt as acting at\nDrury Lane, \"with his supple knees, his hat twisted round in his hand, his\ngood-humoured laugh, his arched eyebrows, his insinuating leer, and his\nlubricated brogue curling round the ear like a well-oiled\nmoustachio.\"[601]\n\nOxberry quitted Drury Lane with Elliston in 1820. In 1821 he took the\nCraven's Head Chop-house in Drury Lane, where he used to say to his\nguests, \"We vocalise on a Friday, conversationalise on a Sunday, and\nchopise every day.\" His best characters were Leo Luminati, Slender, and\nAbel Day. Emery surpassed him in Tyke, Little Knight, and Robin Roughhead.\n\nFarren, who was born about 1787, made his debut at Covent Garden in 1818.\nHe was for some time at Drury Lane, and latterly manager of the Olympic.\nIn old men he took the place of Dowton. His finest performance was Lord\nOgleby, but in his prime he excelled also in Sir Peter Teazle, Sir Anthony\nAbsolute, Sir Fretful Plagiary, and the Bailie Nicol Jarvie.\n\nJohn Pritt Harley was the son of a silk-mercer, and originally a clerk in\nChancery Lane. He was born in 1786 or 1790. He made his debut at the\nLyceum in 1815, in \"The Devil's Bridge.\" His first appearance at Drury\nLane was in 1815, as Lissardo in \"The Wonder.\" In farce he was\ngood-humoured, bustling, and droll; and he excelled in Caleb Quotem, Peter\nFidget, Bottom, and many Shaksperean characters. He died only a year or\ntwo ago, repeating, it is said, this line of one of his old parts: \"I have\nan exposition of sleep come upon me.\"\n\nMiss Kelly, born in 1790, was at the Lyceum in 1808, and went from thence\nto Drury Lane. She sang in operas, and was admirable in genteel comedy and\ndomestic tragedy. Her romps were scarcely inferior to Mrs. Jordan's; her\nwaiting-maids were equal to Mrs. Orger's. Charles Lamb, writing in 1818,\nsays of her--\n\n  \"Your tears have passion in them, and a grace,\n    A genuine freshness which our hearts avow;\n  Your smiles are winds whose ways we cannot trace,\n    That vanish and return we know not how.\"\n\nMiss Kelly was twice shot at while acting. In both cases the cruel\nassailants were rejected admirers.\n\nIn 1850 Mrs. Glover took her farewell benefit at Drury Lane; Farren and\nMadame Vestris taking parts in the performance--Mrs. Glover playing Mrs.\nMalaprop. She was born in 1779, and had made her first appearance as\nElvina in good Hannah More's dull tragedy, at Covent Garden, in 1797.\nBeautiful in youth, Mrs. Glover had gracefully passed from sighing Juliets\nand maundering Elvinas into Mrs. Heidelbergs, Mrs. Candours, and the Nurse\nin \"Romeo and Juliet.\"\n\nRobert Keeley, who was brought up a compositor, was born in Grange Court,\nCarey Street, in 1794. He acted at Drury Lane as early as 1819, and at the\nAdelphi as early as 1826 as Jemmy Green in \"Tom and Jerry.\" In 1834 we\nfind the critics ranking him below Liston and Reeve, but he was very\npopular in his representations of cowardly fear and stupid chuckling\nastonishment. He left the stage for several years before his death. Miss\nHelen Faucit, born in 1816, was the original heroine of Sir Bulwer\nLytton's and Mr. Browning's plays. Her Beatrice, Imogen, and Rosalind were\nadmirable, and her Antigone was a great success. She retired from the\nstage in 1851, when she married Mr. Theodore Martin, the accomplished\ntranslator of Horace and Catullus, and the joint author with Professor\nAytoun of those admirable burlesque ballads of \"Bon Gaultier.\"\n\nWilliam Charles Macready, the son of a Dublin upholsterer, appeared in\nLondon first in 1816. Kean approved his Orestes, and he soon advanced to\nRob Roy, Virginius, and Coriolanus. He then removed to Drury Lane, and\ndistinguished himself as Caius Gracchus and William Tell, in two of Mr.\nSheridan Knowles's plays. He reappeared at Drury Lane in 1826. The critics\nsaid that he failed in Rolla and Hamlet, but excelled in Rob Roy,\nCoriolanus, and Richard. He himself preferred his own Hamlet. They\ncomplained that he had a burr in his enunciation, and a catching of the\nbreath--that he was too fond of declamation and violent transitions;\nothers thought him too heavy and colloquial. In 1826 he went to America,\nwhere the fatal riot of Forrest's partisans occurred, and twenty-two men\nwere killed. His season closed at Drury Lane in 1843. His benefit took\nplace in 1851, and he then retired from the stage to live the life of a\nquiet, useful country gentleman in the west of England. He died in 1873,\nand lies buried at Kensal Green.\n\nMr. Charles Kean, struggling with a bad voice and a mean figure, had a\nhard fight for success, and won it only by the most dauntless\nperseverance. Born in 1811, he appeared for the first time upon the boards\nas Norval, in 1827. After repeated failures in London and much success in\nthe provinces and America, Mr. Kean accepted an engagement at Drury Lane\nin 1838--Mr. Bunn offering him L50 a night. He succeeded in Hamlet, and\nwas presented with a silver vase of the value of L200. In Richard and Sir\nGiles Overreach he also triumphed. In 1843 Mr. Kean renewed his engagement\nwith Mr. Bunn. Before retiring from the stage and starting for Australia,\nMr. and Mrs. Kean performed for many nights at Drury Lane. Charles Kean\ndied in 1868.\n\nMiss Ellen Tree first performed at Drury Lane as Violante in \"The Wonder.\"\nShe married Mr. C. Kean in 1842, and aided him in those\nantiquarianly-correct spectacles that for a time rendered a scholarly,\ncareful, but scarcely first-rate actor popular in the metropolis.\n\nWe have room in this brief and imperfect _resume_ of theatrical history\nfor only two pictures of Drury Lane. One is in 1800, when George III. was\nfired at by Hatfield as he entered the house to witness Cribber's comedy\nof \"She Would and She Would Not.\" When the Marquis of Salisbury would have\ndrawn him away, the brave, obstinate king said--\"Sir, you discompose me as\nwell as yourself: I shall not stir one step.\" The queen and princesses\nwere in tears all the evening, but George III. sat calm and collected,\nstaring through his single-barrel opera-glass. In 1783 the king, queen,\nand Prince of Wales went to Drury Lane to see Mrs. Siddons play Isabella.\nThey sat under a dome of crimson velvet and gold. The king wore a\nQuaker- dress with gold buttons, while the handsome scapegrace\nprince was adorned in blue Genoa velvet.\n\nMr. Planche, the accomplished writer of extravaganzas and the _Somerset\nHerald_, brought out his burlesque of \"Amoroso, King of Little Britain,\"\nat Drury Lane in 1818. He afterwards wrote the libretto of \"Maid Marian\"\nfor Mr. Bishop, and that of \"Oberon\" for Weber. In 1828 his \"Charles XII.\"\nwas produced at Drury Lane.\n\nOn Mr. Falconer's clever imitative experiments we have no room to dilate.\nThe \"Peep o' Day,\" a piece which reproduced all the \"Colleen Bawn\"\neffects, was the best.\n\nAnd now leaving the theatres for meaner places, we pass on to the district\nof the butchers. Clare Market stands on a spot formerly called Clement's\nInn Fields, and was built by the Earl of Clare, who lived close by, in\n1657. The family names, Denzil, Holles, etc., are retained in the\nneighbouring streets.\n\nThis market became notorious in Pope's time for the buffoonery, noisy\nimpudence, and extravagances of Orator Henley, a sort of ecclesiastical\noutlaw of a not very religious age, who tried to make his impudence and\nconceit pass for genius. This street-orator, the son of a Leicestershire\nvicar, was born in 1692. After going to St. John's College, Cambridge, he\nreturned home, kept a school, wrote a poem called \"Esther,\" and began a\nUniversal Grammar in ten languages. Heated by an itch for reforming, and\ntired of the country, or driven away, as some say, by a scandalous\nembarrassment, he hurried to London, and for a short time did duty at a\nchapel in Bedford Row. During this time, under the Earl of Macclesfield's\npatronage, he translated Pliny's epistles, Vertot's works, and\nMontfaucon's Italian travels. He then competed for a lecturership in\nBloomsbury, but failed, the parishioners not disliking his language or his\ndoctrine, but complaining that he threw himself about too much in the\npulpit.\n\nNow, \"regular action\" was one of Henley's peculiar prides. The rejection\nhurt his vanity and nearly drove him crazy. Losing his temper, he rushed\ninto the vestry-room. \"Blockheads!\" he roared, \"are _you_ qualified to\njudge of the degree of action necessary for a preacher of God's Word? Were\nyou able to read, or had got sufficient sense, you sorry knaves, to\nunderstand the renowned orator of antiquity, he would tell you almost the\nonly requisite of a public speaker was ACTION, ACTION, ACTION. But I\ndespise and defy you: _provoco ad populum_; the public shall decide\nbetween us.\" He then hurried from the room, soon afterwards published his\nprobationary discourse, and taking a room in Newport Market, started as\nquack divine and public lecturer.\n\nBut he first consulted the eccentric and heretical Whiston, whom Swift\nbantered so ruthlessly--Whiston being, like Henley, a Leicestershire\nman--as to whether he should incur any legal penalties by officiating as a\nseparatist from the Church of England. Whiston, himself an expelled\nprofessor, tried to dissuade the Orator from his wild project.\nDisagreement and abuse followed, and the correspondence ended with the\nfollowing final bomb-shell from the violent demagogue:--\n\n    \"To Mr. WILLIAM WHISTON,\n\n    \"Take notice that I give you warning not to enter my room in Newport\n    Market, at your peril.\n\n      \"JOHN HENLEY.\"[602]\n\nThe Orator patronised divinity on Sundays, and secular subjects on\nWednesdays and Fridays. The admittance was one shilling. He also published\noutrageous pamphlets and a weekly farrago called The _Hyp-Doctor_,\nintended to antidote _The Craftsman_, and for which pompous nonsense Sir\nRobert Walpole is said to have given him L100 a year. He also attacked\neminent persons, even Pope, from his pulpit. Every Saturday an\nadvertisement of the subject of his next week's oration appeared in the\n_Daily Advertiser_, preceded by a sarcastic or libellous motto, and\nsometimes an offer that if any one at home or abroad could be found to\nsurpass him, he would surrender his Oratory at once to his conqueror.\n\nIn 1729 Henley, growing perhaps more popular, removed to Clare Market,\nwhere the butchers became his warm partisans and served as his body-guard.\nThe following are two of his shameless advertisements:--\n\n\"At the Oratory in Newport Market, to-morrow, at half an hour after ten,\nthe sermon will be on the Witch of Endor. At half an hour after five, the\ntheological lecture will be on the conversion and original of the Scottish\nnation and of the Picts and Caledonians, St. Andrew's relics and\npanegyric, and the character and mission of the Apostles.\n\n\"On Wednesday, at six or near the matter, take your chance, will be a\nmedley oration on the history, merits, and praise of confusion and of\nconfounders, in the road and out of the way.\n\n\"On Friday will be that on Dr. Faustus and Fortunatus and conjuration.\nAfter each the Chimes of the Times, Nos. 23 and 24.\"\n\nVery shortly afterwards he advertised from Clare Market:--\n\n1. \"The postil will be on the turning of Lot's wife into a pillar of salt.\n2. The sermon will be on the necessary power and attractive force which\nreligion gives the spirit of a man with God and good spirits.\n\n2. \"At five--1. The postil will be on this point:--In what language our\nSaviour will speak the last sentence to mankind.\n\n3. \"The lecture will be on Jesus Christ's sitting at the right hand of\nGod; where that is; the honours and lustre of his inauguration; the\nlearning, criticism, and piety of that glorious article.\n\n\"The Monday's orations will shortly be resumed. On Wednesday the oration\nwill be on the skits of the fashions, or a live gallery of family pictures\nin all ages; ruffs, muffs, puffs manifold; shoes, wedding-shoes,\ntwo-shoes, slip-shoes, heels, clocks, pantofles, buskins, pantaloons,\ngarters, shoulder-knots, periwigs, head-dresses, modesties, tuckers,\nfarthingales, corkins, minnikins, slammakins, ruffles, round-robins, fans,\npatches; dame, forsooth, madam, my lady, the wit and beauty of my granmum;\nWinnifred, Joan, Bridget, compared with our Winny, Jenny, and Biddy: fine\nladies and pretty gentlewomen; being a general view of the _beau monde_\nfrom before Noah's flood to the year '29. On Friday will be something\nbetter than last Tuesday. After each a bob at the times.\"\n\nThis very year, 1729, the _Dunciad_ was published, and in it this Rabelais\nof the pulpit had, of course, his niche. Pope had been accused of taking\nthe bread out of people's mouths. He denies this, and asks if \"Colley\n(Cibber) has not still his lord, and Henley his butchers;\" and ends with\nthese lines, which, however, had no effect, for Henley went on ranting for\neighteen years longer--\n\n  \"But where each science lifts its modern type,\n  History her pot, Divinity his pipe;\n  While proud Philosophy repines to show,\n  Dishonest sight! his breeches rent below,--\n  Imbrown'd with native bronze, lo! Henley stands,\n  Tuning his voice and balancing his hands.\n  How fluent nonsense trickles from his tongue!\n  How sweet the periods, neither said nor sung!\n  Still break the benches, Henley, with thy strain,\n  While Sherlock, Hare, and Gibson preach in vain.\n  O great restorer of the good old stage,\n  Preacher at once and zany of the age!\n  O worthy thou of Egypt's wise abodes!\n  A decent priest when monkeys were the gods.\n  But Fate with butchers placed thy priestly stall,\n  Meek modern faith to murder, hack, and maul,\n  And bade thee live to crown Britannia's praise\n  In Toland's, Tindal's, and in Woolston's days.\"[603]\n\nIn another place he says--\n\n  \"Henley lay inspired beside a sink,\n  And to mere mortals seemed a priest in drink.\"\n\nPope often attacked Henley in the _Grub Street Journal_, and the Orator\nretaliated. A year or two after the _Essay on Man_ was published, Henley\n(Dec. 1737) announced a lecture, \"Whether Mr. Pope be a man of sense, in\none argument--'Whatever is is right.'\" If whatever is is right, Henley\nthought that nothing could be wrong; ergo, he himself was not a proper\nobject of satire.\n\nHenley's pulpit was covered with velvet and gold lace, and over his altar\nwas written, \"The PRIMITIVE Eucharist.\" A contemporary journalist\ndescribes him entering his pulpit suddenly, like a harlequin, through a\nsort of trap-door at the back, and \"at one large leap jumping into it and\nfalling to work,\" beating his notions into the butcher-audience\nsimultaneously with his hands, arms, legs, and head.\n\nIn one of his arrogant puffs, he boasts that he has singly executed what\n\"would sprain a dozen of modern doctors of the tribe of Issachar;\" that no\none dares to answer his challenges; that he can write, read, and study\ntwelve hours a day and not feel the yoke; and write three dissertations a\nweek without help, and put the Church in danger. He struck medals for his\ntickets, with a star rising to the meridian upon them, and the vain\nsuperscription \"Ad summa\" (\"To the heights\"), and below, \"Inveniam viam\naut faciam\" (\"I will find a way or make one\").\n\nWhen the Orator's funds grew low, his audacity and impudence rose to their\nclimax. He once filled his chapel with shoemakers, whom he had attracted\nby advertising that he could teach a method of making shoes with wonderful\ncelerity. His secret consisted in cutting the tops off old boots. His\nmotto to this advertisement was \"Omne majus continet in se minus\" (\"The\ngreater includes the less\").\n\nIn 1745 Henley was cited before the Privy Council for having used\nseditious expressions in one of his lectures. Herring, then Archbishop of\nYork, had been arming his clergy, and urging every one to volunteer\nagainst the Pretender. The Earl of Chesterfield, then Secretary of State,\nurged on Henley the impropriety of ridiculing such honest exertions at a\ntime when rebellion actually raged in the very heart of the kingdom. \"I\nthought, my lord,\" said Henley, \"that there was no harm in cracking a joke\non a _red herring_.\"\n\nDuring his examination, the restorer of ancient eloquence requested\npermission to sit, on account of a rheumatism that was generally supposed\nto be imaginary. The earl tried to turn the outlaw divine into ridicule;\nbut Henley's eccentric answers, odd gestures, hearty laughs, strong voice,\nmagisterial air, and self-possessed face were a match for his somewhat\nheartless lordship.\n\nBeing cautioned about his disrespectful remarks on certain ministers,\nHenley answered gravely, \"My lords, I must live.\" Lord Chesterfield\nreplied, \"I don't see the necessity,\" and the council laughed. Upon this\nHenley, remembering that the joke was Voltaire's, was somewhat irritated.\n\"That is a good thing, my lord,\" he exclaimed, \"but it has been said\nbefore.\" A few days after the Orator, being reprimanded and cautioned, was\ndismissed as an impudent but entertaining fellow.[604]\n\nDr. Herring whom the rogue ridiculed was a worthy man, who in 1747, on the\ndeath of Potter, became Archbishop of Canterbury, and died in 1757. Swift\nhated Herring for condemning the \"Beggars' Opera\" in a sermon at Lincoln's\nInn, and wrote accordingly: \"The 'Beggars' Opera' will probably do more\ngood than a thousand sermons of so stupid, so injudicious, and so\nprostitute a divine.\"[605]\n\nIn 1748 Dr. Cobden, the Court chaplain, an odd but worthy man, incurred\nthe resentment of King George II. by preaching before him a sermon\nentitled \"A Persuasive to Chastity\"--a virtue not popular then at St.\nJames's. He resigned his post in 1752. The text of this obnoxious sermon\nwas, \"Take away the wicked from before the king.\" Henley's next Saturday's\nmotto was--\n\n  \"Away with the wicked before the king,\n  Away with the wicked behind him;\n      His throne it will bless\n      With righteousness,\n  And we shall know where to find him.\"\n\nIf any of the Orator's old Bloomsbury friends ever caught his eye among\nthe audience, he would gratify his vanity and rankling resentment by a\npause. He would then say, \"You see, sir, all mankind are not exactly of\nyour opinion; there are, you perceive, a few sensible persons in the world\nwho consider me as not totally unqualified for the office I have\nundertaken.\" His abashed adversaries, hot and confused, and with all eyes\nturned on them, would retreat precipitately, and sometimes were pushed out\nof the room by Henley's violent butchers.\n\nThe Orator figures in two caricatures, attributed, as Mr. Steevens thinks,\nwrongly to Hogarth. In one he is christening a child; in another he is on\na scaffold with a monkey by his side. A parson takes the money at the\ndoor, while a butcher is porter. Modesty is in a cloud, Folly in a coach,\nand there is a gibbet prepared for poor Merit.\n\nHenley, who latterly grew coarse, brutal, and drunken, died October 14,\n1756. The _Gentleman's Magazine_ merely announces his death thus:--\"Rev.\nOrator Henley, aged 64.\" \"Nollekens\" Smith says that he died mad.\n\nIt is somewhat uncertain where his Oratory stood: some say in Duke Street;\nothers, in the market. It was probably in Davenant's old theatre, at the\nTennis Court in Vere Street.[606]\n\nThe beginning of one of this buffoon's ribald sermons has been preserved,\nand is worth quoting to prove the miserable claptrap with which he amused\nhis rude audience. The text is taken from Jeremiah xvi. 16, \"I will send\nfor many fishers, saith the Lord, and they shall fish them; and after that\nI will send many hunters, and they shall hunt.\"\n\n\"The former part of the text seems, as Scripture is written for our\nadmonition, on whom the ends of the world are come (an end of all we have\nin the world), to relate to the _Dutch_, who are to be fished by us\naccording to Act of Parliament; for the word 'herrings' in the Act has a\nfigurative as well as a literal sense, and by a metaphor means Dutchmen,\nwho are the greatest stealers of herrings in the world; so that the drift\nof the statute is, that we are to fish for Dutchmen, and catch them,\neither by nets or fishing-rods in return for their repeated catching of\nEnglishmen, then transport them in some of Jonathan Forward's close\nlighters and sell them in the West Indies, to repair the loss which our\nSouth Sea Company endure by the Spaniards denying them the assiento, or\nsale of <DW64>s.\"[607]\n\nAmong other wild sermons of Henley, we find discourses on \"The Tears of\nMagdalen,\" \"St. Paul's Cloak,\" and \"The Last Wills of the Patriarchs.\" He\nleft behind him 600 MSS., which he valued at one guinea a-piece, and 150\nvolumes of commonplaces and other scholarly memoranda. They were sold for\nless than L100. They had been written with great care. When Henley was\nonce accused that he _did all_ for lucre, he retorted \"that some do\nnothing for it.\" He once filled his room by advertising an oration on\nmarriage. When he got into his pulpit he shook his head at the ladies, and\nsaid \"he was afraid they oftener came to church to get husbands than to\nhear the preacher.\" On one occasion two Oxonians whom he challenged came\nfollowed by such a strong party that the butchers were overawed, and\nHenley silently slunk away by a door behind the rostrum.[608]\n\nThere are still popular preachers in London as greedy of praise and as\nbasely eager for applause as Orator Henley. Equally great buffoons, and\nmen equally low in moral tone, still fill some pulpits, and point the way\nto a path they may never themselves take. To such unhappy self-deceivers\nwe can advise no better cure than a moonlight walk in Clare Market in\nsearch of the ghost of Orator Henley.\n\nThere was in Hogarth's time an artists' club at the Bull's Head, Clare\nMarket. Boitard etched some of the characters. Hogarth, Jack Laguerre,\nColley Cibber, Denis the critic (?), Boitard, Spiller the comedian, and\nGeorge Lambert, were members. Laguerre gave Spiller's portrait to the\nlandlord, and drew a caricature procession of his \"chums.\" The inn was\nafterwards called the \"Spiller's Head.\" One of the wags of the club wrote\nan epitaph on Spiller, beginning--\n\n  \"The butchers' wives fall in hysteric fits,\n  For sure as they're alive, poor Spiller's dead;\n  But, thanks to Jack Laguerre, we've got his head.\n\n     *       *       *       *       *\n\n  He was an inoffensive, merry fellow,\n  When sober hipped, blithe as a bird when mellow.\"[609]\n\nThe Bull's Head Tavern in Clare Market, the same place in which Hogarth's\nclub was held, had previously been the favourite resort of that\nillustrious Jacobite, Dr. Radcliffe, who is said to have killed two\nqueens. Swift did not like this overbearing, ignorant, and surly humorist,\nwho, however, rejoiced in doing good, and left a vast sum of money to the\nUniversity of Oxford. When Bathurst, the head of Trinity College, asked\nRadcliffe where his library was, he pointed to a few vials, a skeleton,\nand a herbal, and replied, \"There is Radcliffe's library.\"[610]\n\n[Illustration: DRURY LANE THEATRE, 1806.]\n\nMrs. Bracegirdle, that excellent and virtuous actress, used to be in the\nhabit (says Tony Ashton) of frequently going into Clare market and giving\nmoney to the poor unemployed basketwomen, insomuch that she could not pass\nthat neighbourhood without thankful acclamations from people of all\ndegrees.\n\nIn 1846 there were in and about Clare Market, about 26 butchers who\nslaughtered from 350 to 400 sheep weekly in the stalls and cellars. The\nnumber killed was from 50 to 60 weekly--but in winter sometimes as many as\n200. But the butchers' market has now become almost a thing of the past.\n\nJoe Miller formerly lay buried in a graveyard on the south side of\nPortugal Street, but the graveyard is now turned to other purposes. At the\ncorner of Portugal Street and Lincoln's Inn Fields is the \"Black Jack\"\nInn, a hostelry whose name is connected with some of Jack Sheppard's\nfeats.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: OLD ST. GILES'S--CHURCH LANE AND DYOT STREET, 1869.]\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nST. GILES'S.\n\n\nThat ancient Roman military road (the Watling Street) came from Edgeware,\nand passing over Hyde Park and through St. James's Park by Old Palace\nYard, once the Wool Staple, it reached the Thames. Thence it was continued\nto Canterbury and the three great seaports.\n\nAnother Roman road, the _Via Trinobantica_, which began at Southampton and\nended at Aldborough, ran through London, crossed the Watling Street at\nTyburn, and passed along Oxford Street. In latter times, says Dr.\nStukeley, the road was changed to a more southerly direction, and Holborn\nwas formed, leading to Newgate or the Chamberlain's Gate.\n\nOne of the earliest tolls ever imposed in England is said to have had its\norigin in St. Giles's.[611] In 1346 Edward III. granted to the Master of\nthe Hospital of St. Giles and to John de Holborne, a commission empowering\nthem to levy tolls for two years (one penny in the pound on their value)\non all cattle and merchandise passing along the public highways leading\nfrom the old Temple, _i.e._ Holborn Bars, to the Hospital of St. Giles's,\nand also along the Charing Road and another highway called Portpool, now\nGray's Inn Lane. The money was to be used in repairing the roads, which,\nby the frequent passing of carts, wains, horses, and cattle, had become so\nmiry and deep as to be nearly impassable. The only persons exempted were\nto be lords, ladies, and persons belonging to religious\nestablishments.[612]\n\nHenry V. ascended the throne in 1413, and astonished his subjects by\nsuddenly casting off his slough of vice, and becoming a self-restrained,\nvirtuous, and high-spirited king. His first care was to forget party\ndistinctions, and to put down the Lollards, or disciples of Wickliffe,\nwhom the clergy denounced as dangerous to the civil power. As a good\ngeneral secures the rear of his army before he advances, so the young king\nwas probably desirous to guard himself against this growing danger before\nhe invaded Normandy and made a clutch at the French crown.\n\nArundel, the primate, urged him to indict Sir John Oldcastle, Lord Cobham,\nthe head of the Lollard sect. The king was averse to a prosecution, and\nsuggested milder means. At a conference, therefore, appointed before the\nbishops and doctors in 1414, the following articles were handed Oldcastle\nas tests, and the unorthodox lord was allowed two days to retract his\nheresies. He was required to confess that at the sacrament the material\nbread and wine are turned into Christ's very body and Christ's very\nblood; that every Christian man ought to confess to an ordained priest;\nthat Christ ordained St. Peter and his successors as his vicars on earth;\nthat Christian men ought to obey the priest; and that it is profitable to\ngo on pilgrimages and to worship the relics and images of saints. \"This is\ndetermination of Holy Church. _How feel ye this article?_\" With these\nstern words ended every dogma proposed by the primate.\n\nLord Cobham, who was much esteemed by the king, and had been a good\nsoldier under his father, repeatedly refused to profess his belief in\nthese tenets. The archbishop then delivered the heretic to the secular\narm, to be put to death, according to the usage of the times. The night\nprevious to his execution, however, Lord Cobham escaped from the Tower and\nfled to Wales, where he lay hid for four years while Agincourt was being\nfought, and where he must have longed to have been present with his true\nsword.\n\nSoon after his escape, the frightened clergy spread a report that he was\nin St. Giles's Fields, at the head of twenty thousand Lollards, who were\nresolved to seize the king and his two brothers, the Dukes of Bedford and\nGloucester. For this imaginary plot thirty-six persons were hanged or\nburnt; but the names of only three are recorded, and of these Sir Roger\nActon is the only person of distinction.\n\nA reward of a thousand marks was offered for Lord Cobham, and other\ninducements were held out by Chicheley, the Primate Arundel's successor.\nFour years, however, elapsed before the premature Protestant was\ndiscovered and taken by Lord Powis in Wales.[613] After some blows and\nblood a country-woman in the fray breaking Cobham's leg with a stool, he\nwas secured and sent up to London in a horse-litter. He was sentenced to\nbe drawn on a hurdle to the gallows in St. Giles's Fields, and to be\nhanged over a fire, in order to inflict on him the utmost pain.\n\nHe was brought from the Tower on the 25th of December 1418, and his arms\nbound behind him. He kept a very cheerful countenance as he was drawn to\nthe field where his assumed treason had been committed. When he reached\nthe gallows, he fell devoutly on his knees and piously prayed God to\nforgive his enemies. The cruel preparations for his torment struck no\nterror in him, nor shook the constancy of the martyr. He bore everything\nbravely as a soldier, and with the resignation of a Christian. Then he was\nhung by the middle with chains and consumed alive in the fire, praising\nGod's name as long as his life lasted.\n\nHe was accused by his enemies of holding that there was no such thing as\nfree will; that all sin was inevitable; and that God could not have\nprevented Adam's sin, nor have pardoned it without the satisfaction of\nChrist.[614]\n\nFuller says of him: \"Stage-poets have themselves been very bold with, and\nothers very merry at, the memory of Sir John Oldcastle (Lord Cobham), whom\nthey have fancied a boon companion or jovial roysterer, and yet a coward\nto boot, contrary to the credit of the chronicles, owning him to be a\nmartial man of merit. Sir John Falstaff hath derided the memory of Sir\nJohn Oldcastle, and of late is substituted buffoon in his place; but it\nmatters us little what petulant priests or what malicious poets have\nwritten against him.\"\n\nThe gallows had been removed from the Elms at Smithfield in 1413, the\nfirst year of Henry V.; but Tyburn was a place of execution as early as\n1388.[615] The St. Giles's gallows was set up at the north corner of the\nhospital wall, between the termination of High Street and Crown Street,\nopposite to where the Pound stood.\n\nThe manor of St. Giles was anciently divided from Bloomsbury by a great\nfosse called Blemund's Ditch. The Doomsday Book contains no mention of\nthis district, nor indeed of London at all, except of ten acres of land\nnigh Bishopsgate, belonging to St. Paul's, and a vineyard in Holborn,\nbelonging to the Crown. This yard is supposed to have stood on the site of\nthe Vine Tavern (now destroyed), a little to the east of Kingsgate\nStreet.[616]\n\nBlemund's Ditch was a line of defence running nearly parallel with the\nnorth side of Holborn, and connecting itself to the east with the Fleet\nbrook. It was probably of British origin.[617] On the north-west of\nLondon, in the Roman times, there were marshes and forests, and even as\nlate as Elizabeth, Marylebone and St. John's Wood were almost all chase.\n\nThe manor was crown property in the Norman times, for Matilda, daughter of\nMalcolm king of Scotland and the queen of Henry I., built a leper hospital\nthere, and dedicated it to St. Giles. The same good woman erected a\nhospital at Cripplegate, and another at St. Katharine's, near the Tower,\nand founded a priory within Aldgate. The hospital of St. Giles sheltered\nforty lepers, one clerk, a messenger, the master, and several matrons; the\nqueen gave 60s. a year to each leper. The inmates of lazar hospitals were\nin the habit of begging in the market-places.\n\nThe patron saint, St. Giles, was an Athenian of the seventh century, who\nlived as a hermit in a forest near Nismes. One day some hunters, pursuing\na hind that he had tamed, struck the Greek with an arrow as he protected\nit, but the good man still went on praying, and refused all recompense for\nthe injury. The French king in vain attempted to entice the saint from his\ncell, which in time, however, grew first into a monastery, and then into a\ntown.[618]\n\nThis hospital was built on the site of the old parish church, and it\noccupied eight acres. It stood a little to the west of the present church,\nwhere Lloyd's Court stands or stood; and its gardens reached between High\nStreet and Hog Lane, now Crown Street, to the Pound, which used to stand\nnearly opposite to the west end of Meux's Brewhouse. It was surrounded by\na triangular wall, running in a line with Crown Street to somewhere near\nthe Cock and Pye Fields (afterwards the Seven Dials), in a line with\nMonmouth Street, and thence east and west up High Street, joining near the\nPound.\n\nUnwholesome diet and the absence of linen seem to have encouraged\nleprosy, which was probably a disease of Eastern origin. In 1179 the\nLateran Council decreed that lepers should keep apart, and have churches\nand churchyards of their own. It was therefore natural to build hospitals\nfor lepers outside large towns. King Henry II., for the health of the\nsouls of his grandfather and grandmother, granted the poor lepers a second\n60s. each to be paid yearly at the feast of St. Michael, and 30s. more out\nof his Surrey rents to buy them lights. He also confirmed to them the\ngrant of a church at Feltham, near Hounslow. In Henry III.'s reign, Pope\nAlexander IV. issued a bull to confirm these privileges. Edward I. granted\nthe hospital two charters in 1300 and 1303; and in Edward II.'s reign so\nmany estates were granted to it that it became very rich. Edward III. made\nSt. Giles a cell of Burton St. Lazar in Leicestershire. This annexation\nled to quarrels, and to armed resistance against the visitations of Robert\nArchbishop of Canterbury. In this reign the great plague broke out, and\nthe king commanded the wards of the city to issue proclamations and remove\nall lepers. It is strange that St. Giles's should have been the resort of\npariahs from the very beginning.\n\nBurton St. Lazar (a manor sold in 1828 for L30,000) is still celebrated\nfor its cheeses. It remained a flourishing hospital from the reign of\nStephen till Henry VIII. suppressed it. St. Giles's sank in importance\nafter this absorption, and finally fell in 1537 with its larger brother.\nBy a deed of exchange the greedy king obtained forty-eight acres of land,\nsome marshes, and two inns. Six years after the king gave St. Giles's to\nJohn Dudley, Viscount Lisle, High Admiral of England, who fitted up the\nprincipal part of the hospital for his own residence. Two years after Lord\nLisle sold the manor to Wymond Carew, Esq. The mansion was situated\nwestward of the church and facing it. It was afterwards occupied by the\ncelebrated Alice, Duchess of Dudley, who died there in the reign of\nCharles II., aged ninety. This house was subsequently the residence of\nLord Wharton. It divided Lloyd's Court from Denmark Street.\n\nThe master's house, \"The White House,\" stood on the site of Dudley Court,\nand was given by the duchess to the parish as a rectory-house. The wall\nwhich surrounded the hospital gardens and orchards was not entirely\nremoved till 1639.\n\nEarly in the fourteenth century the parish of St. Giles, including the\nhospital inmates, numbered only one hundred inhabitants. In King John's\nreign it was laid out in garden plots and cottages. In Henry III.'s reign\nit was a scattered country village, with a few shops and a stone cross,\nwhere the High Street now is. As far back as 1225 a blacksmith's shop\nstood at the north-west end of Drury Lane, and remained there till its\nremoval in 1575.\n\nIn Queen Elizabeth's reign the Holborn houses did not run farther than Red\nLion Street; the road was then open as far as the present Hart Street,\nwhere a garden wall commenced near Broad Street, St. Giles's, and the end\nof Drury Lane, where a cluster of houses on the right formed the chief\npart of the village, the rest being scattered houses. The hospital\nprecincts were at this time surrounded by trees. Beyond this, north and\nsouth, all was country; and avenues of trees marked out the Oxford and\nother roads. There was no house from Broad Street, St. Giles's, to Drury\nHouse at the top of Wych Street.[619]\n\nThe lower part of Holborn was paved in the reign of Henry VI., in 1417;\nand in 1542 (33d Henry VIII.) it was completed as far as St. Giles's,\nbeing very full of pits and sloughs, and perilous and noisome to all on\nfoot or horseback. The first increase of buildings in this district was on\nthe north side of Broad Street. Three edicts of 1582, 1593, and 1602\nevince the alarm of Government at the increase of inhabitants and prohibit\nfurther building under severe penalties. The first proclamation, dated\nfrom Nonsuch Palace, in Surrey, assigns the reason of these\nprohibitions:--1. The difficulty of governing more people without new\nofficers and fresh jurisdictions. 2. The difficulty of supplying them with\nfood and fuel at reasonable rates. 3. The danger of plague and the injury\nto agriculture. Regulations were also issued to prevent the further\nresort of country people to town, and the lord mayor took oaths to enforce\nthese proclamations. But London burst through these foolish and petty\nrestraints as Samson burst the green withs. In 1580 the resident\nforeigners in the capital had increased from 3762 to 6462 persons, the\nmajority being Dutch who had fled from the Spaniards, and Huguenots who\nhad escaped from France after the massacre of St. Bartholomew. St. Giles's\ngrew, especially to the east and west, round the hospital. The girdle wall\nwas mostly demolished soon after 1595. Holborn, stretching westward, with\nits fair houses, lodgings for gentlemen, and inns for travellers,[620] had\nnearly reached it. In Aggas's map, cattle graze amid intersecting\nfootpaths, where Great Queen Street now is. There were then only two or\nthree houses in Covent Garden, but in 1606 the east side of Drury Lane was\nbuilt; in the assessment of 1623 upwards of twenty courtyards and alleys\nare mentioned; and 100 houses were added on the north side of St. Giles's\nStreet, 136 in Bloomsbury, 56 on the west side of Drury Lane, and 71 on\nthe south side of Holborn.[621] The south and east sides of the hospital\nsite had been the slowest in their growth. After the Great Fire, these\nstill remained gardens, but the north side, nearer Oxford Road, was\nalready occupied. The first inhabitants of importance were Mr. Abraham\nSpeckart and Mr. Breads, in the reigns of James I. and Charles I., and\nafterwards Sir William Stiddolph. New Compton Street was originally called\nStiddolph Street, but afterwards changed its name when Charles II. gave\nthe adjoining marsh-land to Mr. Francis Compton, who built on the old\nhospital land a continuation of Old Compton Street. Monmouth Street,\nprobably named after the foolish and unfortunate duke, was also built in\nthis reign.\n\nIn 1694, in the reign of William III., a Mr. Neale, a lottery promoter,\ntook on lease the Cock and Pye Fields--then the resort of gambling boys,\nthieves, and beggars, and a sink of filth and cesspools--and built the\nneighbouring streets, placing in the centre a Doric pillar with seven\ndials on it; afterwards a clock was added.[622] This same Mr. Thomas Neale\ntook a large piece of ground on the north side of Piccadilly from Sir\nThomas Clarges, agreeing to lay out L10,000 in building; but he failed to\ncarry out his design, and Sir Walter Clarges, after great trouble, got the\nlease out of his hands, and Clarges Street was then built.[623]\n\nIn 1697 many hundreds of the 14,000 French refugees who fled from Louis\nXIV.'s dragoons after the cruel revocation of the Edict of Nantes settled\nabout Long Acre, the Seven Dials, and Soho. In Strype's time (Queen Anne's\nreign), Stacie Street, Kendrick Yard, Vinegar Yard, and Phoenix Street,\nwere mostly occupied by poor French people; indigent marquises and\nstarving countesses.\n\nIn the reign of Queen Anne, St. Giles's increased with great rapidity--St.\nGiles's Street and Broad Street from the Pound to Drury Lane, the\nsouth-east side of Tottenham Court Road, Crown Street, the Seven Dials,\nand Castle Street were completed; the south side of Holborn was also\nfinished from Broad Street to a little east of Great Turnstile, and, on\nthe north side, the street spread to two doors east of the Vine\nTavern.[624] The Irish had already begun to debase St. Giles's; the French\nrefugees completed the degradation and hopelessness, and spread like a mud\ndeluge towards Soho.\n\nIn 1640 there are in the parish books several entries of money paid to\nsoldiers and distressed men who had lost everything they had in Ireland:--\n\n  Paid to a poor Irishman, and to a prisoner come\n  over from Dunkirk                                  L0 1 0\n\n  Paid for a shroud for an Irishman that died at\n  Brickils                                            0 2 6\n\nIn 1640, 1642, and 1647, there constantly occur donations to poor Irish\nministers and plundered Irish. Clothes were sent by the parish into\nIreland. There is one entry--\n\n  Paid to a poor gentleman undone by the burning of a city\n  in Ireland; having licence from the lords to collect      L0 3 0\n\nThe following entries are also curious and characteristic:--\n\n  1642.--To Mrs. Mabb, a poet's wife, her husband being\n         dead                                             L0 1 0\n\n         Paid to Goody Parish, to buy her boys two\n         shirts; and Charles, their father, a waterman\n         at Chiswick, to keep him at L20 a\n         year from Christmas                              0  3 0\n\n  1648.--Gave to the Lady Pigot, in Lincoln's Inn\n         Fields, poor and deserving relief                0  2 6\n\n  1670.--Given to the Lady Thornbury, being poor\n         and indigent                                     0 10 0\n\n  1641.--To old Goodman Street and old Goody\n         Malthus, very poor                               ------\n\n  1645.--To Mother Cole and Mother Johnson, xiid.\n         a-piece                                          0  2 0\n\n  1646.--To William Burnett, in a cellar in Raggedstaff\n         Yard, being poor and very sick                   0  1 6\n\n         To Goody Sherlock, in Maidenhead-fields\n         Lane, one linen-wheel, and gave her\n         money to buy flax                                0  1 0\n\nThere are also some interesting entries showing what a sink for the\npoverty of all the world the St. Giles's cellars had become, even before\nthe Restoration.\n\n  1640.--Gave to Signor Lifecatha, a distressed\n         Grecian                                         ------\n\n  1642.--To Laylish Milchitaire, of Chimaica, in\n         Armenia, to pass him to his own country,\n         and to redeem his sons in slavery under\n         the Turks                                       L0  5 0\n\n  1654.--Paid towards the relief of the mariners,\n         maimed soldiers, widows and orphans of\n         such as have died in the service of Parliament   4 11 0\n\nThese were for Cromwell's soldiers; and this year Oliver himself gave L40\nto the parish to buy coals for the poor.\n\n  1666.--Collected at several times towards the relief\n         of the poor sufferers burnt out by the late\n         dreadful fire of London                         L25 8 4\n\nIn 1670 nearly L185 was collected in this parish towards the redemption of\nslaves.\n\nAfter 1648 the Irish are seldom mentioned by name. They had grown by this\ntime part and parcel of the district, and dragged all round them down to\npoverty. In 1653 an assistant beadle was appointed specially to search out\nand report all new arrivals of chargeable persons. In 1659 a monthly\nvestry-meeting was instituted to receive the constable's report as to new\nvagrants.\n\nIn 1675 French refugees began to increase, and in 1679-1680, 1690 and 1692\nfresh efforts were made to search out and investigate the cases of all\nnew-comers. In 1710 the churchwardens reported to the commissioners for\nbuilding new churches, that \"a great number of French Protestants were\ninhabitants of the parish.\"\n\nWell-known beggars of the day are frequently mentioned in the parish\naccounts, as for instance--\n\n  1640.--Gave to Tottenham Court Meg, being very\n         sick                                              L0 1 0\n\n  1642.--Gave to the ballad-singing cobbler                 0 1 0\n\n  1646.--Gave to old Friz-wig                               1 6 0\n\n  1657.--Paid the collectors for a shroud for old Guy,\n         the poet                                           0 2 6\n\n  1658.--Paid a year's rent for Mad Bess                    1 4 6\n\n  1642.--Paid to one Thomas, a traveller                    0 0 6\n\n         To a poor woman and her children, almost\n         starved                                            0 5 6\n\n  1645.--For a shroud for Hunter's child, the blind\n         beggar-man                                         0 1 6\n\n  1646.--Paid and given to a poor wretch, name forgot       0 1 0\n\n         Given to old Osborn, a troublesome fellow          0 1 3\n\n         Paid to Rotton, the lame glazier, to carry\n         him towards Bath                                   0 3 0\n\n  1647.--To old Osborne and his blind wife                  0 0 6\n\n         To the old mud-wall maker                          0 0 6\n\nIn 1665 the plague fell heavily on St. Giles's, already dirty and\novercrowded. The pest had already broken out five times within the eighty\nyears beginning in 1592; but no outbreak of this Oriental pest in London\nhad carried off more than 36,000 persons. The disease in 1665, however,\nslew no fewer than 97,306 in ten months.[625] In St. Giles's the plague of\n1592 carried off 894 persons; in 1625 there died of the plague about 1333;\nbut in 1665 there were swept off from this parish alone 3216. The plague\nof 1625 seemed to have alarmed London quite as much as its successor, for\nwe find that in St. Giles's no assessment could be made, as the richer\npeople had all fled into the country. A pest-house was fitted up in\nBloomsbury for the nine adjoining parishes, and this was afterwards taken\nby St. Giles's for itself. The vestry appointed two examiners to inspect\ninfected houses. Mr. Pratt, the churchwarden, who advanced money to\nsuccour the poor when the rich deserted them, was afterwards paid forty\npounds for the sums he had generously disbursed at his own risk. In 1642\nthe entries in the parish books show that the disease had again become\nvirulent and threatening. The bodies were collected in carts by\ntorchlight, and thrown without burial service into large pits. Infected\nhouses were padlocked up, and watchmen placed to admit doctors or persons\nbringing food to the searchers, who at night brought out the dead.\n\nThe following entries (for 1642) in the parish books seem to me even more\nterrible than Defoe's romance written fifty years after the events:--\n\n  Paid for the two padlocks and hasps for visited\n  houses                                           L0  2 6\n\n  Paid Mr. Hyde for candles for the bearers         0 10 0\n\n   \"   to the same for the night-cart and cover     7  9 0\n\n   \"   to Mr. Mann for links and candles for the\n       night-bearers                                0 10 0\n\nThe next year the plague still raged, and the same precautions seem to\nhave been taken as afterwards in 1665, showing that the terrible details\nof that punishment of filth and neglect were not new to London citizens.\n\nThe entries go on:--\n\n  To the bearers for carrying out of Crown Court a woman\n  that died of the plague                                   L0 1 6\n\n  Sent to a poor man shut up in Crown Yard of the plague     0 1 6\n\nThen follow sums paid for padlocks and staples, graves and links:--\n\n  Paid and given Mr. Lyn, the beadle, for a piece of good\n  service to the parish in conveying away of a visited\n  household to Lord's Pest House, forth of Mr. Higgins's\n  house at Bloomsbury                                            L0 1 6\n\n  Received of Mr. Hearle (Dr. Temple's gift) to be given\n  to Mrs. Hockey, a minister's widow, shut up in the\n  Crache Yard of the plague                                      0 10 0\n\nBut now came the awful pestilence of 1665; the streets were so deserted\nthat grass grew in them, and nothing was to be seen but coffins,\npest-carts, link-men, and red-crossed doors. The air resounded with the\ntolling of bells, the screams of distracted mourners crying from the\nwindows, \"Pray for us!\" and the dismal call of the searchers, \"Bring out\nyour dead!\"[626]\n\nThe plague broke out in its most malignant form among the poor of St.\nGiles's;[627] and Dr. Hodges and Sir Richard Manningham, both first-rate\nauthorities on this subject, agree in this assertion.\n\nIn August 1665 an additional rate to the amount of L600 was levied.\nIndependent of this, very large sums were subscribed by persons resident\nin, or interested in, the parish. The following are a few of the items:--\n\n  Mr. Williams, from the Earl of Clare                L10  0  0\n\n  Mr. Justice (Sir Edmondbury) Godfrey, from the\n  Lord Treasurer                                       50  0  0\n\n  Earl Craven and the rest of the justices, towards\n  the visited poor, at various times                  449 16 10\n\n  Earl Craven towards the visited poor                 40  3  0\n\nThere are also these ominous entries:--\n\n  August.--Paid the searchers for viewing the corpse\n           of Goodwife Phillips, who died of the\n           plague                                        L0 0 6\n\n           Laid out for Goodman Phillips and his\n           children, being shut up and visited            0 5 0\n\n           Laid out for Lylla Lewis, 3 Crane Court,\n           being shut up of the plague; and laid\n           out for the nurse, and for the nurse and\n           burial                                        0 18 6\n\nIn July 1666 the constables, etc. were ordered to make an account of all\nnew inmates coming to the parish, and to take security that they would not\nbecome burdensome. They were also directed to be careful to prevent the\ninfection spreading for the future by a timely guard of all \"that are or\nhereafter may happen to be visited.\"\n\n\"During the plague time,\" says an eye-witness, \"nobody put on black or\nformal mourning, yet London was all in tears. The shrieks of women and\nchildren at the doors and windows of their houses where their dearest\nrelations were dying, or perhaps dead, were enough to pierce the stoutest\nhearts. At the west end of the town it was a surprising thing to see those\nstreets which were usually thronged now grown desolate; so that I have\nsometimes gone the length of a whole street (I mean bye streets), and have\nseen nobody to direct me but watchmen[628] sitting at the doors of such\nhouses as were shut up; and one day I particularly observed that even in\nHolborn the people walked in the middle of the street, and not at the\nsides--not to mingle, as I supposed, with anybody that came out of\ninfected houses, or meet with smells and scents from them.\"\n\nDr. Hodges, a great physician, who shunned no danger, describes even more\nvividly the horrors of that period. \"In the streets,\" he says, \"might be\nseen persons seized with the sickness, staggering like drunken men; here\nlay some dozing and almost dead; there others were met fatigued with\nexcessive vomiting, as if they had drunk poison; in the midst of the\nmarket, persons in full health fell suddenly down as if the contagion was\nthere exposed to sale. It was not uncommon to see an inheritance pass to\nthree heirs within the space of four days. The bearers were not sufficient\nto inter the dead.\"[629]\n\nIt is supposed that till the Leper Hospital was suppressed, the St.\nGiles's people used the oratory there as their parish church. Leland does\nnot mention any other church, although he lived and wrote about the time\nof the suppression, and even made an effort to save the monastic MSS. by\nproposing to have them placed in the king's library. The oratory had\nprobably a screen walling off the lepers from the rest of the\ncongregation. It boasted several chantry chapels, and a high altar at the\neast end, dedicated to St. Giles, before which burnt a great taper called\n\"St. Giles's light,\" and towards which, about A.D. 1200, one William\nChristemas bequeathed an annual sum of twelvepence. There was also a\nChapel of St. Michael, appropriated to the infirm, and which had its own\nspecial priest.\n\nIn the reign of Charles I. the south aisle of the hospital church was full\nof rubbish, lumber, and coffin-boards; and Lady Dudley put up a screen to\ndivide the nave from the chancel. In 1623 the church became so ruinous\nthat it had to be rebuilt at an expense of L2068: 7: 2. Among the\nsubscribers appear the names of the Duchess of Lennox, Sir Anthony\nAshleye, Sir John Cotton, and the players at \"the Cockpit playhouse.\" The\n415 householders of the parish subscribed L1065: 9s., the donations\nranging from the L250 of the Duchess of Dudley to Mother Parker's\ntwopence.\n\nNearly five years elapsed before the new church was consecrated. On the\n9th of June 1628 Pym brought a charge against the rector, Dr. Mainwaring,\nfor having preached two obnoxious sermons, entitled \"Religion\" and\n\"Allegiance,\" and accused the imprudent time-server of persuading citizens\nto obey illegal commands on pain of damnation, and framing, like Guy Faux,\na mischievous plot to alter and subvert the Government.[630] The third\nsermon in which Mainwaring defended his two first, the stern Commons found\nupon inquiry[631] had been printed by special command of the king. It was\nas full of mischief as a bomb-shell. It held that on any exigency all\nproperty was transferred to the sovereign; that the consent of Parliament\nwas not necessary for the imposition of taxes; and that the divine laws\nrequired compliance with every demand which a prince should make upon his\nsubjects. For these doctrines the Commons impeached Mainwaring; the\nsentence pronounced on him was, that he should be imprisoned during the\npleasure of the House, that he should be fined L1000, to the king, make\nsubmission of his offence, be suspended from lay and ecclesiastical office\nfor three years, and that his sermons be called in and burnt.\n\nOn June 20 the courtly preacher came to the House, and on his knees\nsubmitted himself in sorrow and repentance for the errors and\nindiscretions he had been guilty of in preaching the sermons \"rashly,\nscandalously, and unadvisedly.\" He further acknowledged the three sermons\nto be full of dangerous passages and aspersions, and craved pardon for\nthem of God and the king. No sooner was the session over than the wilful\nking pardoned him, promoted him to the deanery of Winchester, and some\nyears after to the bishopric of St. David's.[632]\n\nThe new church was consecrated on the 26th of January 1630. Bishop Laud\nperformed the ceremony, and was entertained at the house of a Mr.\nSpeckart, near the church. There were two tables sufficient to seat\nthirty-two persons. The broken churchyard wall was fenced up with boards,\nthe altar hung with green velvet, a rail made to keep the mob from the\nwest door, and a train of constables, armed with bills and halberts,\nappointed to maintain order if the Puritans became threatening. The new\nrector, Dr. Heywood, had been chaplain to Laud, and was probably of the\nHigh Church party. Like his expelled predecessor, he had been chaplain to\none of the most arbitrary of kings. In 1640 the Puritans, gaining\nstrength, petitioned Parliament against him, stating that he had set up\ncrucifixes and images of saints, likewise organs, \"with other confused\nmusic, etc., hindering devotion and maintained at the great and needless\ncharge of the parish.\" They described the carved screen as particularly\nobnoxious, and they objected to the altar rail, the chancel carpet, the\npurple velvet in the desk, the needlework covers of the books, the\ntapestry, the lawn cloth, the bone lace of the altar cloths, and the\ntaffeta curtains on the walls. These \"popish and superstitious\" ornaments\nwere sold by order of Parliament, all but the plate and the great bell.\nThe surplices were given away. The twelve apostles were washed off the\norgan-loft, and the painted glass was taken down from the windows. The\nscreen was sold for forty shillings, and the money given to the poor. The\nCovenant was framed and hung up in the church, and five shillings given to\na pewterer for a new basin cut square on one side for baptisms. The blue\nvelvet carpet, embroidered cushions, and blue curtains were sold, and so\nwere the communion rails. In 1647 Lady Dudley's pew was lined with green\nbaize and supplied with two straw mats. In 1650 the king's arms were taken\nout of the windows, and a sun-dial was substituted. The organ-loft was let\nas a pew.\n\nThe Restoration soon followed on these paltry excesses of a low-bred\nfanaticism. The ringers of St. Giles's rang a peal for three days running.\nThe king's arms in the vestry and the windows were restored. Galleries\nwere erected for the nobility. In 1670 a brass chandelier of sixteen\nbranches was bought for the church, and an hour-glass for the pulpit.\n\nIn 1718 the old hospital church had become damp and unwholesome. The\ngrave-ground had risen eight feet, so that the church lay in a pit.\nParliament was therefore petitioned that St. Giles's should be one of the\nfifty new churches. It was urged that a good church facing the High\nStreet, the chief thoroughfare for all persons who travelled the Oxford\nor Hampstead roads, would be a great ornament. The petitioners also\ncontended that St. Giles's already spent L5300 a year on the poor, and\nthat a new rate would impoverish many industrious persons. The Duke of\nNewcastle, the Lord Chancellor, and other eminent parishioners strenuously\nsupported the petition, which, on the other hand, was warmly opposed by\nthe Archbishop of York, five bishops, and eleven temporal peers. The\nopposition contended that the parish was well able to repair the present\nchurch; that the fund given for building new churches was never meant to\nbe devoted to rebuilding old ones; and that so far from the parish not\nrequiring church accommodation, St. Giles's contained 40,000 persons, a\nnumber for which three new churches would be barely sufficient.[633]\nEleven years longer the church remained a ruin, when in 1729 the\ncommissioners granted L8000 for a new church, provided that the parish\nwould settle L350 a year on the rector of the new parish of Bloomsbury.\n\nThe architect of the new church, opened in 1734, was Henry Flitcroft. The\nroof is supported by Ionic pillars of Portland stone. The steeple is 160\nfeet high, and consists of a rustic pedestal supporting Doric pilasters;\nover the clock is an octangular tower, with three-quarter Ionic columns\nsupporting a balustrade with vases. The spire is octangular and belled.\nThis hideous production of Greek rules was much praised by the critics of\n1736. They called it \"simple and elegant.\" They considered the east end as\n\"pleasing and majestic,\" and found nothing in the west to object to but\nthe smallness and poverty of the doors. The steeple they described as\n\"light, airy, and genteel.\"[634] whether taken with the body of the church\nor considered as a _separate building_.\n\nIn 1827 the clock of St. Giles's Church was illuminated with gas, and the\nnovelty and utility of the plan \"attracted crowds to visit it from the\nremotest parts of the metropolis.\"[635]\n\nSt. Giles's Churchyard was enlarged in 1628, and again soon after the\nRestoration. The garden plot from which the new part was divided was\ncalled Brown's Gardens. In 1670 we find the sexton agreeing, on condition\nof certain windows he had been allowed to introduce into the side of his\nhouse, facing the churchyard, to furnish the rector and churchwardens,\nevery Tuesday se'nnight after Easter, with two fat capons ready dressed.\n\nIn 1687 the Resurrection Gate, or Lich Gate, as it was called, and which\nstill exists, was erected at a cost of L185: 14: 6. It stood for many\nyears farther to the west than the old gate, and contains a heap of\ndully-carved figures in relievo, abridged from Michael Angelo's \"Last\nJudgment,\" and crowded under a large \"compass pediment.\" It has lately,\nhowever, been replaced in its old position. This work was much admired and\ncelebrated, but \"Nollekens\" Smith says that it is poor stuff.\n\nPennant, always shrewd and vivacious, was one of the first writers who\nexposed the disgraceful and dangerous condition of the London churchyards.\nHe describes seeing at St Giles's a great square pit with rows of coffins\npiled one upon the other, exposed to sight and smell, awaiting the\nmortality of the night. \"I turned away,\" he says, \"disgusted at the scene,\nand scandalised at the want of police which so little regards the health\nof the living as to permit so many putrid corpses, packed between some\nslight boards, dispersing their dangerous effluvia over the capital.\"[636]\n\nIn 1808 a new burial-ground for St. Giles's parish was consecrated in St.\nPancras's. It stands in grim loneliness between the Hampstead Road and\nCollege Street, Camden Town.\n\nThe graves of John Flaxman, the sculptor, and his wife and sister, are\nmarked by an altar tomb of brick, surmounted by a thick slab of Portland\nstone. Near it is the ruinous tomb of ingenious, faddling Sir John Soane,\nthe architect to the Bank of England. It is a work of great pretension,\n\"but cut up into toy-shop prettiness, with all the peculiar defects of\nhis style and manner.\" Two black cypresses mark the grave.[637]\n\nA few eminent persons are buried in the old St. Giles's Churchyard.\nAmongst these, the most illustrious is George Chapman, who produced a fine\nthough rugged translation of the _Iliad_ which is to Pope's what heart of\noak is to veneer, and who died in 1634 aged seventy-seven, and lies buried\nhere. Inigo Jones generously erected an altar tomb to his memory at his\nown expense; it is still to be seen in the external southern wall of the\nchurch. The monument is old; but the inscription is only a copy of all\nthat remained visible of the old writing. That chivalrous visionary, Lord\nHerbert of Cherbury, was also buried here, and so was James Shirley, the\ndramatist, who died in 1666. The latter was the last of the great\nante-Restoration play-writers, and of a thinner fibre than any of the\nrest, except melancholy Ford.\n\nRichard Pendrell, the Staffordshire farmer, \"the preserver and conductor\nof King Charles II. after his escape from Worcester Fight,\" has an altar\ntomb to his memory raised in this churchyard. After the Restoration,\nRichard came to town, to be in the way, I suppose, of the good things then\nfalling into Cavaliers' mouths, and probably settled in St. Giles's to be\nnear the Court. The story of the Boscobel oak was one with which the\nswarthy king delighted to buttonhole his courtiers. Pendrell died in 1671,\nand had a monument erected to his memory on the south-east side of the\nchurch. The black marble slab of the old tomb forms the base of the\npresent one. The epitaph is in a strain of fulsome bombast, considering\nthe king who was preserved showed his gratitude to Heaven only by a long\ncareer of unblushing vice, and by impoverishing and disgracing the foolish\ncountry that called him home. It begins thus:--\n\n  \"Hold, passenger! here's shrouded in this hearse\n  Unparalleled Pendrell thro' the universe.\n  Like when the eastern star from heaven gave light\n  To three lost kings, so he in such dark night\n  To Britain's monarch, lost by adverse war,\n  On earth appeared a second eastern star.\"\n\nThe dismal poet ends by assuring the world that Pendrell, the king's\npilot, had gone to heaven to be rewarded for his good steering. In 1702 a\nPendrell was overseer in this parish. About 1827 a granddaughter of this\nRichard lived near Covent Garden, and still enjoyed part of the family\npension. In 1827 Mr. John Pendrell, another descendant of Richard, died at\nEastbourne.[638] His son kept an inn at Lewes, and was afterwards clerk at\na Brighton hotel.\n\nThe only monument at present of interest in the church is a recumbent\nfigure of the Duchess Dudley, the great benefactor of the parish, created\na duchess in her own right by Charles I. She died 1669. The monument was\npreserved by parochial gratitude when the church was rebuilt, in\nconsideration of the duchess's numerous bequests to the parish. She was\nburied at Stoneleigh in Warwickshire. This pious and charitable lady was\nthe daughter of Sir Thomas Leigh of Stoneleigh, and she married Sir Robert\nDudley, son of the great Earl of Leicester, who deserted her and his five\ndaughters, and went and settled in Florence, where he became chamberlain\nto the Grand Duchess. Clever and unprincipled as his father, Sir Robert\ndevised plans for draining the country round Pisa, and improving the port\nof Leghorn. He was outlawed, and his estates at Kenilworth, etc. were\nconfiscated and sold for a small sum to Prince Henry; but Charles I.\ngenerously gave them back to the duchess.\n\nIn her funeral sermon, Dr. Boreman says of this good woman: \"She was a\nmagazine of experience.... I have often said she was a living chronicle\nbound up with the thread of a long-spun age. And in divers incidents and\nthings relating to our parish, I have often appealed to her stupendous\nmemory as to an ancient record.... In short, I would say to any desirous\nto attain some degree of perfection, 'Vade ad Sancti Egidii oppidum, et\ndisce Ducinam Dudleyam'--('Come to St. Giles, and inquire the character of\nLady Dudley').\"[639]\n\nThe oldest monument remaining in the churchyard in 1708 was dated 1611. It\nwas a tombstone, \"close to the wall on the south side, and near the west\nend,\" and was to the memory of a Mrs. Thornton.[640] Her husband was the\nbuilder of Thornton Alley, which was probably his estate. The following\npainful lines were round the margin of the stone:--\n\n  \"Full south this stone four foot doth lie\n  His father John and grandsire Henry\n  Thornton, of Thornton, in Yorkshire bred,\n  Where lives the fame of Thornton's being dead.\"\n\nAgainst the east end of the north aisle of the church was the tombstone of\nEleanor Steward, who died 1725, aged 123 years and five months.\n\nThat good and inflexible patriot, Andrew Marvell, the most poignant\nsatirist of King Charles II., died in 1678, and is buried in St. Giles's.\nMarvell was Latin secretary to Milton, and in the school of that good\nman's house learnt how a true patriot should live. It is recorded that one\nday when he was dining in Maiden Lane, one of Charles II.'s courtiers came\nto offer him L1000 as a bribe for his silence. Marvell refused the gift,\ntook off the dish-cover, and showed his visitor the humble half-picked\nmutton-bone on which he was about to dine. He was member for\nKingston-upon-Hull for nearly twenty years, and was buried at last at the\nexpense of his constituents. They also voted a sum of money to erect a\nmonument to him with a harmless epitaph; to this, however, the rector of\nthe time, to his own disgrace, refused admittance. Thompson, the editor of\nMarvell's works, searched in vain in 1774 for the patriot's coffin. He\ncould find no plate earlier than 1722.\n\nIn the same church with this fixed star rests that comet, Sir Roger\nl'Estrange. His monument was said to be the grandest in the church. Sir\nRoger died in 1704, aged eighty-eight.\n\nIn 1721, after an ineffectual treaty for Dudley Court, where the\nparsonage-house had once stood, a piece of ground called Vinegar Yard was\npurchased for the sum of L2252: 10s. as a burial-ground, hospital, and\nworkhouse for the parish of St. Giles's. At that time St. Giles's relieved\nabout 840 persons, at the cost of L4000 a year. Of this number there were\n162 over seventy years of age, 126 parents overburthened with children,\n183 deserted children and orphans, 70 sick at parish nurses', and 300 men\nlame, blind, and mad.\n\nThe Earl of Southampton granted land for five almshouses in St. Giles's in\n1656.[641] The site was in Broad Street, nearly at the north end of\nMonmouth and King Streets, where they stood until 1782, at which period\nthey were pulled down to widen the road. The new almshouses were erected\nin a close, low, and unhealthy spot in Lewknor's Lane.\n\nIn the year 1661 Mr. William Shelton left lands for a school for fifty\nchildren in Parker's Lane, between Drury Lane and Little Queen Street. The\ntenements, before he bought them, had been in the occupation of the Dutch\nambassador. The premises were poor houses, and a coach-house and stables\nin the occupation of Lord Halifax. In 1687, the funds proving inadequate,\nthe school was discontinued; but in 1815, after being in abeyance for\nfifty-three years, it was re-opened in Lloyd's Court.[642]\n\nThe select vestry of St. Giles's was much badgered in 1828 by the excluded\nparishioners. There were endless errors in the accounts, and items\namounting to L90,000 were found entered only in pencil. The special pleas\nput in by the attorneys of the vestry covered 175 folios of writing.\n\nHog Lane, built in 1680, was rechristened in 1762 Crown Street, as an\ninscription on a stone let into the wall of a house at the corner of Rose\nStreet intimates.[643] Strype calls it a \"place not over well built or\ninhabited.\" The Greeks had a church here, afterwards a French refugee\nplace of worship, and subsequently an Independent chapel. It stood on the\nwest side of the lane, a few doors from Compton Street; and its site is\nnow occupied by St. Mary's Church and clergy-house. Hogarth laid the scene\nof his \"Noon\" in Hog Lane, at the door of this chapel; but the houses\nbeing reversed in the engraving, the truth of the picture is destroyed.\nThe background contains a view of St. Giles's Church. The painter\ndelighted in ridiculing the fantastic airs of the poor French gentry, and\nshowed no kindly sympathy with their honest poverty and their sufferings.\nIt was to St. Giles's that Hogarth came to study poverty and also vice. A\nscene of his \"Harlot's Progress\" is in Drury Lane, close by. Tom Nero, in\nthe \"Four Stages of Cruelty,\" is a St. Giles's charity-boy, and we see him\nin the first stage tormenting a dog near the church. Hogarth's \"Gin\nStreet\" is situated in St. Giles's. The scenes of all the most hideous and\npainful of his works are in this district.\n\n\"Nollekens\" Smith, writing of St. Giles's, says: \"I recollect the building\nof most of the houses at the north end of New Compton Street--so named in\ncompliment to Bishop Compton, Dean of St. Paul's. I also remember a row of\nsix small almshouses, surrounded by a dwarf brick wall, standing in the\nmiddle of High Street. On the left hand of High Street, passing into\nTottenham Court Road, there were four handsome brick houses, probably of\nQueen Anne's time, with grotesque masks as keystones to the first-floor\nwindows. Nearly on the site of the new \"Resurrection Gate,\" in which the\nbasso-relievo is, stood a very small old house towards Denmark Street,\nwhich used to totter, to the terror of passers by, whenever a heavy\ncarriage rolled through the street.\"[644]\n\nExactly where Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road meet in a right\nangle, a large circular boundary-stone was let into the pavement. Here\nwhen the charity-boys of St. Giles's walked the boundaries, those who\ndeserved flogging were whipped, in order to impress the parish frontier on\ntheir memories.\n\nThe Pound originally stood in the middle of the High Street, whence it was\nremoved in 1656 to make way for the almshouses. It had stood there when\nthe village really required a place to imprison straying cattle. The\nlatest pound stood in the broad space where the High Street, Tottenham\nCourt Road, and Oxford Street meet; it occupied a space of about\nthirty-feet, and was removed in 1768. It must have faced Meux's Brewery.\nAn old song that celebrates this locality begins--\n\n  \"At Newgate steps Jack Chance was found,\n  And bred up near St. Giles's Pound.\"\n\nCriminals on their way to Tyburn used to \"halt at the great gate of St.\nGiles's Hospital, where a bowl of ale was provided as their last\nrefreshment in this life.\"[645] A similar custom prevailed at York, which\ngave rise to the proverb, \"The saddler of Bawtry was hung for leaving his\nliquor,\" meaning that if the impatient man had stopped to drink, his\nreprieve would have arrived in time.[646]\n\nBowl Yard was built about 1623, and was then surrounded by gardens. It is\na narrow court on the south side of High Street, over against Dyot Street,\nnow George Street. There was probably here a public-house, the Bowl, at\nwhich in later time ale was handed to the passing thieves.\n\nSwift, in a spirited ballad describes \"clever Tom Clinch,\" who rode\n\"stately through Holborn to die in his calling,\" stopping at the George\nfor a bottle of sack, and promising to pay for it \"_when he came back_.\"\nNo one has sketched the highwayman more perfectly than the Irish prelate.\nTom Clinch wears waistcoat, stockings, and breeches of white, and his cap\nis tied with cherry ribbon. He bows like a beau at the theatre to the\nladies in the doors and to the maids in the balconies, who cry, \"Lackaday,\nhe's a proper young man.\" He swears at the hawkers crying his last speech,\nkicks the hangman when he kneels to ask his pardon, makes a short speech\nexhorting his comrades to ply their calling, and so carelessly and\ndefiantly takes his leave of an ungrateful world.\n\n\"Rainy Day\" Smith describes,[647] when a boy of eight years old, being\ntaken by Nollekens, the sculptor, to see that notorious highwayman John\nRann, alias \"Sixteen-string Jack,\" on his way to execution at Tyburn, for\nrobbing Dr. Bell, chaplain to the Princess Amelia, in Gunnersbury Lane,\nnear Brentford, in 1774. Rann was a smart fellow, and had been a coachman\nto Lord Sandwich, who then lived at the south-east corner of Bedford Row,\nCovent Garden. The undaunted malefactor wore a bright pea-green coat, and\ncarried an immense nosegay, which some mistress of the highwayman had\nhanded him, according to custom, as a last token, from the steps of St.\nSepulchre's Church. The sixteen strings worn by this freebooter at his\nknees were reported to be in ironical allusion to the number of times he\nhad been acquitted. On their return home, Nollekens, stooping to the boy's\near, assured him that had his father-in-law, Mr. Justice Welch, been then\nHigh Constable, they could have walked all the way to Tyburn beside the\ncart.[648]\n\nHolborn used to be called \"the Heavy Hill\" because it led thieves from\nNewgate to Tyburn. Old fat Ursula, the roast-pig seller in Ben Jonson's\n_Bartholomew Fair_ talks of ambling afoot to hear Knockhem the footpad\ngroan out of a cart up the Heavy Hill. This was in James I.'s time. Dryden\nalludes to it in the same way in 1678,[649] and in 1695 Congreve's Sir\nSampson[650] mentions the same doleful procession. In 1709 (Queen Anne)\nTom Browne mentions a wily old counsellor in Holborn who used to turn out\nhis clerks every execution day for a profitable holiday, saying, \"Go, you\nyoung rogues, go to school and improve.\"\n\nSt. Giles's was always famous for its inns.[651] One of the oldest of\nthese was the Croche House, or Croche Hose (Cross Hose), so called from\nits sign--the Crossed Stockings. The sign, still used by hosiers, was a\nred and white stocking forming a St. Andrew's Cross. This inn belonged to\nthe hospital cook in 1300, and was given by him to the hospital. It stood\nat the north of the present entrance to Compton Street, and was probably\ndestroyed before the reign of Henry VIII.\n\nThe Swan on the Hop was an inn of Edward III.'s time; it stood eastward of\nDrury Lane and on the south side of Holborn.[652]\n\nThe White Hart is described in Henry VIII.'s time as possessing eighteen\nacres of pasture. It stood near the Holborn end of Drury Lane, and existed\ntill 1720. In Aggas's Plan it appears surrounded on three sides by a wall.\nIt was bounded on the east by Little Queen Street, and was divided from\nHolborn by an embankment. A court afterwards stood on its site.\n\nThe Rose is mentioned as early as Edward III.'s reign. It was near\nLewknor's Lane, and stood not far from the White Hart.\n\nThe Vine was an inn till 1816. It was on the north side of Holborn, a\nlittle to the east of Kingsgate Street. It is supposed to have stood on\nthe site of a vineyard mentioned in Doomsday Book. It was originally a\ncountry roadside inn, with fields at the back. It became an infamous\nnuisance. The house that replaced it was first occupied by a\ntimber-merchant, and afterwards by Probert, the accomplice of Thurtell,\nwho, escaping death for the murder of Mr. Weare, was soon after hanged for\nhorse-stealing in Gloucestershire. It was at this trial that the\nprisoner's keeping a gig was adduced as an incontestible proof of his\nrespectability--a fact immortalised, almost to the weariness of a\ndegenerate age, by Mr. Thomas Carlyle. The inn was once called the\nKingsgate Tavern, from its having stood near the king's gate or turnpike\nin the adjoining street.\n\nThe Cock and Pye Inn stood at the west corner of what was once a mere or\nmarshland. The fields surrounding it, now Seven Dials, were called from\nit the Cock and Pye Fields.\n\nThe Maidenhead Inn stood in Dyot Street, and formed part of Lord\nMountjoy's estates in Elizabeth's time. It was the house for parish\nmeetings in Charles II.'s reign. It then became a resort for mealmen and\nfarmers, and latterly a brandy-shop and beggars' haunt of the vilest sort.\nIt was finally turned into a stoneyard. Dyot Street, so called after Sir\nJohn Dyot, who left it by wish to the poor, though it was afterwards a\npoor and even dangerous locality, must have been respectable in 1662, when\na Presbyterian chapel was built there for Joseph Read, Baxter's friend, an\nejected minister from Worcestershire. Read was taken up under the\nConventicles Act in 1677, and endured much persecution, but was restored\nto his congregation on the accession of James II. From 1684 to 1708 the\nbuilding was used as a chapel of ease to St. Giles's Church. At the close\nof the last century men would hurry along Dyot Street as through a\ndangerous defile. There was a legend current of a banker's clerk who,\nreturning from his round, with his book of notes and bills fastened by the\nusual chain, as he passed down Dyot Street felt a cellar door sinking\nunder him. Conscious of his danger, he made a spring forward, dashed down\nthe street, and escaped the trap set for him by the thieves. It may be\nadded that Dyot Street gave the name to a song sung by Liston in the\nadmirable burlesque of \"Bombastes Furioso.\"\n\nIrish mendicants--the poorest, dirtiest, and most unimprovable of all\nbeggars--began to crowd into St. Giles's about the time of Queen\nElizabeth.[653]\n\nThe increase of London soon attracted country artisans and country\nbeggars. The closing of the monasteries had filled England with herds of\nsturdy and dangerous vagrants not willing to work, and by no means\ninclined to starve. The new-comers resorting to the suburbs of London to\nescape the penalties of infringing the City jurisdiction, the\nstout-hearted queen ordered all persons within three miles of London\ngates to forbear from allowing any house to be occupied by more than one\nfamily.\n\nA proclamation of 1583 alludes to the very poor and the beggars, who lived\n\"heaped up\" in small tenements and let lodgings. A subsequent warning\norders the suppression of the great multitude of Irish vagrants, many of\nwhom haunted the courts under pretence of suits; by day they mixed with\ndisbanded soldiers from the Low Countries and other impostors and beggars,\nand at night committed robberies and outrages. St. Giles's was then one of\nthe great harbours for these \"misdemeaned persons.\" On one occasion a mob\nof these rogues surrounded the queen as she was riding out in the evening\nto Islington to take the air. That same night Fleetwood, the Recorder,\nissued warrants, and in the morning went out himself and took seventy-four\nrogues, including some blind rich usurers, who were all sent to Bridewell\nfor speedy punishment.\n\nJames I. pursued the same crusade against vagrants, forbidding new\nbuildings in the suburbs, and ordering all newly raised structures to be\npulled down. The beadles had to attend every Sunday at the vestry to\nreport all new inmates, and who lodged them, and to take up all idlers;\nthe constables in 1630 were also required to give notice of such persons\nto the churchwardens every month. In an entry in St. Giles's parish books\nin 1637 \"families in cellars\" are first mentioned.[654] The locality\nafterwards became noted for these dens, and \"a cellar in St. Giles's\"\nbecame a proverbial phrase to signify the lowest poverty.\n\nIn 1640 Irishmen are first mentioned by name, and money was paid to take\nthem back again to their native land.\n\nSir John Fielding, brother of the great novelist, who was an active\nWestminster magistrate in his time and a great hunter down of highwaymen,\nin a pamphlet on the increase of crime in London, lays special stress on\nthe vicious poverty of St. Giles's. He gives a statement on the authority\nof Mr. Welch, the High Constable of Holborn, of the overcrowding of the\nmiserable lodgings where idle persons and vagabonds were sheltered for\ntwopence a night. One woman alone owned seven of these houses, which were\ncrowded with twopenny beds from cellar to garret. In these beds both\nsexes, strangers or not, lay promiscuously, the double bed being a\nhalfpenny cheaper. To still more wed vice to poverty, these lodging-house\nkeepers sold gin at a penny a quartern, so that no beggar was so poor that\nhe could not get drunk. No fewer than seventy of these vile houses were\nfound open at all hours, and in one alone, and not the largest, there were\ncounted fifty-eight persons sleeping in an atmosphere loathsome if not\nactually poisonous.\n\nThis Judge Welch was the father of Mrs. Nollekens, and a brave and\nbenevolent man. He was a friend of Dr. Johnson and of Fielding, whom he\nsucceeded in his justiceship, Mr. Welch having on one occasion heard that\na notorious highwayman who infested the Marylebone lanes was sleeping in\nthe first floor of a house in Rose Street, Long Acre, he hired the tallest\nhackney-coach he could find, drove under the thief's window, ascended the\nroof, threw up the sash, entered the room, actually dragged the fellow\nnaked out of bed on to the roof of the coach, and in that way carried him\ndown New Street and up St. Martin's Lane, amidst the huzzas of an immense\nthrong which followed him, to Litchfield Street, Soho.[655]\n\nArchenholz, the German traveller, writing circa 1784, describes the\nstreets of London as crowded with beggars. \"These idle people,\" says this\ncurious observer, \"receive in alms three, four, and even five shillings a\nday. They have their clubs in the parish of St. Giles's, where they meet,\ndrink and feed well, read the papers, and talk politics. One of my friends\nput on one day a ragged coat, and promised a handsome reward to a beggar\nto introduce him to his club. He found the beggars gay and familiar, and\npoor only in their rags. One threw down his crutch, another untied a\nwooden leg, a third took off a grey wig or removed a plaister from a sound\neye; then they related their adventures, and planned fresh schemes. The\nfemale beggars hire children for sixpence and sometimes even two\nshillings a day: a very deformed child is worth four shillings.\" In the\nsame parish the pickpockets met to dine and exchange or sell snuff-boxes,\nhandkerchiefs, and other stolen property.\n\nAbout fifty years before, says Archenholz, there had been a pickpockets'\nclub in St. Giles's, where the knives and forks were chained to the table\nand the cloth was nailed on. Rules were, however, decorously observed, and\nchairmen chosen at their meetings. Not far from this house was a\ncelebrated gin-shop, on the sign-post of which was written, \"Here you may\nget drunk for a penny, dead drunk for twopence, and straw for nothing.\"\nThe cellars of this public-spirited man were never empty.\n\nArchenholz also sketches the conjurors who told fortunes for a shilling.\nThey wore black gowns and false beards, advertised in the newspapers, and\npainted their houses with magical figures and planetary emblems.[656]\n\nIn 1783 Mr. J. T. Smith describes how he made for Mr. Crowle, the\nillustrator of Pennant, a sketch of Old Simon, a well-known character, who\ntook his station daily under one of the gate piers of the old red and\nbrown brick gateway at the northern end of St. Giles's Churchyard, which\nthen faced Mr. Remnent's timber-yard. This man wore several hats, and was\nremarkable for a long, dirty, yellowish white beard. His chapped fingers\nwere adorned with brass rings. He had several coats and waistcoats--the\nupper wrap-rascle covering bundles of rags, parcels of books, canisters of\nbread and cheese, matches, a tinder-box, meat for his dog, scraps from\n_Fox's Book of Martyrs_, and three or four dog's-eared, thumbed, and\ngreasy numbers of the _Gentleman's Magazine_. From these random leaves he\ngathered much information, which he retailed to persons who stopped to\nlook at him. Simon and his dog lodged under a staircase in an old\nshattered building in Dyot Street, known as \"Rat's Castle.\" It was in this\nbeggars' rendezvous that Nollekens the sculptor used to seek models for\nhis Grecian Venuses. Rowlandson etched Simon several times in his usual\ngross but droll manner.[657] There was also a whole-length print of him\npublished by John Seago, with this monumental inscription--\"Simon Edy,\nborn at Woodford, near Thrapston, Northamptonshire, in 1709. Died May\n18th, 1783.\"\n\nSimon had had several dogs, which, one after the other, were stolen, and\nsent for sale at Islington, or killed for their teeth by men employed by\nthe dentists. The following anecdote is told of his last and most faithful\ndog:--Rover had been a shepherd's dog at Harrow, and having its left eye\nstruck out by a bullock's horn, was left with Simon by its master, a\nSmithfield drover. The beggar tied him to his arm with a long string,\ncured him, and then restored him to the drover. After that, the dog would\nstop at St. Giles's porch every market-day on its way after the drover to\nthe slaughter-house in Union Street, and receive caresses from the hand\nwhich had bathed its wound. Rover would then yelp for joy and gratitude,\nand scamper off to get up with the erring bullocks. At last poor Simon\nmissed the dog for several weeks; at the end of that time it appeared one\nmorning at his feet, and with its one sorrowful and uplifted eye implored\nSimon's protection by licking his tawny beard. His master the drover was\ndead. Simon was only too glad to adopt Rover, who eventually followed him\nto his last home.\n\nThere was an elegy printed for good-natured, inoffensive old Simon, with a\nwoodcut portrait attached. The Hon. Daines Barrington is said to have\nnever passed the old mendicant without giving him sixpence.\n\nMr. J. T. Smith, himself afterwards Curator of the Prints at the British\nMuseum, published some curious etchings of beggars and street characters\nin 1815. Amongst them are ragged men carrying placards of \"The Grand\nGolden Lottery;\" strange old-clothesmen in cocked hats and two-tier wigs;\nitinerant wood-merchants; sellers of toys, such as \"young lambs\" or live\nhaddock; flying piemen in pig tails and shorts; women in gipsy hats;\ndoor-mat sellers; vendors of hot peas, pickled cucumbers, lemons,\nwindmills (toys); and, last and least, Sir Harry Dimsdale, the dwarf Mayor\nof Garratt.\n\nThe condition of the beggars of St. Giles in 1815 we gather pretty\naccurately from the evidence given by Mr. Sampson Stevenson, overseer of\nthe parish, and by trade an ironmonger at No. 11 King Street, Seven Dials,\nbefore a committee of the House of Commons, the Right Honourable George\nRose in the chair.\n\nMr. Stevenson's shop was not more than a few yards from one of the\nbeggars' chief rendezvous, and he had therefore been enabled to closely\nstudy their habits. The inn had lost its licence, as the landlord\nencouraged thieves; and he had made inquiries of petition-writers, the\nhighest class of mendicants. He had gone frequently into the bar of the\nFountain in King Street, another of their haunts, to watch their\ngoings-on. The pretended sailors never carried anything on their backs, as\nthey only begged or extorted money; but the other rogues, who made it\ntheir practice to ask for food and clothing, always carried a knapsack to\nput it in. They returned laden with shoes and clothes, which they would\nsell in Monmouth Street. They had been heard to say that they had made\nthree or four shillings a day by begging shoes alone.[658] Their mode of\nobtaining charity was to go barefoot and scarify their heels so that the\nblood might show. They went out two or three together, or more, and\ninvariably changed their routes each day. Mr. Stevenson had seen them pull\nout their money and share it. Victuals, he believed, they threw away; but\neverything else they sold. They would stop at the Fountain till the house\nclosed, or till they got drunk, began to fight, and were turned out by the\npublican, who feared the losing his licence. They probably went to even\nlower places to finish their revel.\n\n\"They teach other,\" he said, \"different modes of extortion. They are of\nthe worst character, and overwhelm you with cursing and abuse if you\nrefuse them money. There is one special rascal, Gannee Manos, who is\nscarcely three months in the year out of gaol. He always goes barefoot,\nand scratches his ankles to make them bleed. He is the greatest collector\nof shoes and clothes, as he goes the most naked to excite compassion.\"\nAnother man had been known in the streets for fifteen or twenty years. He\ngenerally limped or passed as a <DW36>; but Mr. Stevenson has seen him\nfencing and jumping about like a pugilist. He went without a hat, with\nbare arms, and a canvas bag on his back. He generally began by singing a\nsong, and he carried primroses or something in his hand. He pretended to\nbe scarcely able to move one foot before the other; but if a Bow Street\nofficer or a beadle came in sight, he was off as quick as any one. There\nwas another man, an Irishman who had had a good education, and had been in\nthe medical line; he wrote a beautiful hand, and drew up petitions for\nbeggars at sixpence or a shilling each.\n\n\"These men come out by twenties and thirties from the bottom of Dyot\nStreet, and then branch off five or six together. The one who has still\nsome money left starts them with a pint or half a pint of gin. They have\nall their divisions, and they quarter the town into sections. Some of them\ncollect three, four, or five children, paying sixpence a day for each, and\nthen they go begging in gangs, setting the children crying to excite\npeople's sympathies. The Irish sometimes have the impudence to bring these\nchildren to the board and claim relief, and swear the children are their\nown. In a short time they are found out; but till the discovery their\nlandlords will swear their story is true. Sometimes, by giving their own\ncountry people something, the landlords help to detect them. But even in\ncases where the children are their own, they will not work when they have\nonce got into the habit of begging. If they will not come into the\nworkhouse, their relief is instantly stopped.\n\n\"They spend their evenings drinking, after dining at an eating-house.\nDeserving people never beg: they are ashamed of it. They do not eat broken\nvictuals. They have seldom any lodgings. There are houses where forty or\nfifty of them sleep. A porter stands at the door and takes the money. In\nthe morning there is a general muster to see they have stolen nothing, and\nthen the doors are unlocked. For threepence they have clean straw, for\nfourpence something more decent, and for sixpence a bed. These are all\nprofessional beggars; they beg every day, even Sundays. They will not\nwork; they get more money by begging. Sometimes during hard frosts they\npretend to beg for work; but their children are sent out early by their\nparents to certain prescribed stations to beg, sometimes with a broom. If\nthey do not bring home more or less according to their size, they are\nbeaten. A large family of children is a revenue to these people.\"\n\nWhen beggars did not get enough for their subsistence, Mr. Stevenson\nbelieved that they had a fund amongst themselves, as they so seldom\napplied for relief. The Irish were generally afraid to apply, for fear of\nbeing returned to their own country. Beggars had been heard to brag of\ngetting six, seven, and eight shillings a day, or more; and if one got\nmore than the others, he divided it with the rest. Mr. Stevenson concluded\nhis evidence by saying that there were so many low Irish in St. Giles's,\nthat out of L30,000 a year collected in that parish by poor-rate, L20,000\nwent to this low and shifting population, that decreased in summer and\nincreased in winter.\n\nFrom one or two specimens culled from the London newspapers in 1829 we do\nnot augur much improvement in the character and habits of the St. Giles's\nbeggars. On the 12th of July 1829 John Driscoll, an old professional\nmendicant, was brought up at the Marylebone Police-office, charged with\nbegging, annoying respectable persons, and even following fashionably\ndressed ladies into shops. In his pockets were found a small sum of money,\nsome ham sandwiches, and an invitation ticket signed \"Car Durre,\nchairman.\" It requested the favour of Mr. Driscoll's company on Monday\nevening next, at seven o'clock, at the Robin Hood, Church Street, St.\nGiles's, for the purpose of taking supper with others in his line of\ncalling or profession. Mr. Rawlinson said he supposed that an alderman in\nchains would grace the beggars' festive board, but he would at least\nprevent the prisoner forming one of the party on Monday, and sent him to\nthe House of Correction for fourteen days.[659]\n\nThe same day one of those men who chalk \"I am starving\" on the pavement\nwas also sent to the treadmill for fourteen days. Francis Fisher, the\nprisoner in question, was one of a gang of forty pavement chalkers. In the\nevening, \"after work,\" these men changed their dress, and with their\nladies enjoyed themselves over a good supper, brandy and water, and\ncigars. In the winter time, when they excited more compassion, their\naverage earnings were ten shillings a day. This would make L20 a day for\nthe gang, and no less than L7300 a year.\n\nMonmouth Street is generally supposed to have derived its name from the\nDuke of Monmouth, Charles II.'s natural son, whose town house stood close\nby in Soho Square. It was perhaps named from Carey, Earl of Monmouth, who\ndied in 1626, and his son, who died in 1661: they were both parishioners\nof St. Giles's.[660] It was early known as the great mart for old clothes,\nbut was superseded in later times by Holy Well Street, which in its turn\nwas displaced by the Minories. Lady Mary Wortley alludes to the lace coats\nhung up for sale in Monmouth Street like Irish patents. Even Prior, in his\npleasant metaphysical poem of \"Alma,\" says--\n\n  \"This looks, friend Dick, as Nature had\n  But exercised the salesman's trade,\n  As if she haply had sat down\n  And cut out clothes for all the town,\n  Then sent them out to Monmouth Street,\n  To try what persons they would fit.\"\n\nGay also alludes to this Jewish street in the following distich in his\n\"Trivia\"--\n\n  \"Thames Street gives cheeses, Covent Garden fruits,\n  Moorfields old books, and Monmouth Street old suits.\"\n\nMost of the shops in Monmouth Street were occupied by Jew dealers in 1849,\nand horse-shoes were then to be seen nailed under the door-steps of the\ncellars to scare away witches.[661]\n\nMr. Charles Dickens in his _Sketches by Boz_, published in 1836-7,\ndescribes Seven Dials and Monmouth Street as they then appeared. The maze\nof streets, the unwholesome atmosphere, the men in fustian spotted with\nbrickdust or whitewash, and chronically leaning against posts, are all\npainted by this great artist with the accuracy of a Dutch painter. The\nwriter boldly plunges into the region of \"first effusions and last dying\nspeeches, hallowed by the names of Catnach and of Pitts,\" and carries us\nat once into a fight between two half-drunk Irish termagants outside a\ngin-shop. He then takes us to the dirty straggling houses, the dark\nchandler's shop, the rag and bone stores, the broker's den, the\nbird-fancier's room as full as Noah's ark, and completes the picture with\na background of dirty men, filthy women, squalid children, fluttering\nshuttlecocks, noisy battledores, reeking pipes, bad fruit, more than\ndoubtful oysters, attenuated cats, depressed dogs, and anatomised fowls.\nEvery house has, he says, at least a dozen tenants. The man in the shop is\nin the \"baked jemmy\" line, or deals in firewood and hearthstones. An Irish\nlabourer and his family occupy the back kitchen, while a jobbing\ncarpet-beater is in the front. In the front one pair there's another\nfamily, and in the back one pair a young woman who takes in tambour-work.\nIn the back attic is a mysterious man who never buys anything but coffee,\npenny loaves, and ink, and is supposed to write poems for Mr. Warren.[662]\n\nThe Monmouth Street inhabitants Mr. Dickens describes as a peaceable,\nthoughtful, and dirty race, who immure themselves in deep cellars or small\nback parlours, and seldom come forth till the dusk and cool of the\nevening, when, seated in chairs on the pavement, smoking their pipes, they\nwatch the gambols of their children as they revel in the gutter, a happy\ntroop of infantine scavengers.\n\n\"A Monmouth Street laced coat\" was a byword a century ago, but still we\nfind Monmouth Street the same. Pilot coats, double-breasted check\nwaistcoats, low broad-brimmed coachmen's hats, and skeleton suits, have\nusurped the place of the old attire; but Monmouth Street, said Charles\nDickens, is still \"the burial-place of the fashions, and we love to walk\namong these extensive groves of the illustrious dead, and indulge in the\nspeculations to which they give rise.\"[663]\n\nIn 1816 there were said to be 2348 Irish people resident in St. Giles's;\nbut an Irish witness before a committee of the House declared there were\n6000 Irish, and 3000 children in the neighbourhood of George Street alone.\nIn 1815 there were 14,164 Irish in the whole of London.[664] The Irish\nportion of the parish of St. Giles's was known by the name of the Holy\nLand in 1829.\n\n[Illustration: THE SEVEN DIALS.]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS THEATRE, 1821.]\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nLINCOLN'S INN FIELDS.\n\n\nLincoln's Inn, originally belonging to the Black Friars before they\nremoved Thames-ward, derives its name from Henry de Lacy, Earl of Lincoln,\nto whom it was given by Edward I., and whose town house or inn stood on\nthe same site in the reign of Edward I. Earl Henry died in 1312, the year\nin which Gaveston was killed, and his monument was one of the stateliest\nin the old church. His arms are still those of the inn and of its\ntributaries, Furnival's and Thavies inns. There is yet extant an old\naccount of the earl's bailiff, relating to the sale of the fruit of his\nmaster's garden. The noble's table was supplied and the residue sold. The\napples, pears, large nuts, and cherries, the beans, onions, garlic, and\nleeks, produced a profit of L9: 2: 3 (about L135 in modern money). The\nonly flowers were roses. The bailiff, it appears, expended 8s. a year in\npurchasing small fry, frogs, and eels, to feed the pike in the pond or\nvivary.[665]\n\nPart of the Chancery Lane side of Lincoln's Inn was in 1217 and 1272 \"the\nmansion house\" of William de Haverhill, treasurer to King Henry III. He\nwas attainted for treason, and his house and lands were confiscated to the\nking, who then gave his house to Ralph Neville, Chancellor of England and\nBishop of Chichester, who built there \"a fair house;\" and the Bishops of\nChichester inhabited it there till Henry VII.'s time, when they let it to\nlaw students, reserving lodgings for themselves, and it fell into the\nhands of Judge Sulyard and other feoffees. This family held it till\nElizabeth's time, when Sir Edward Sulyard, of Essex, sold the estate to\nthe Benchers,[666] who then began enlarging their frontier and building.\n\nThe plain Tudor gateway with the two side towers soaked with black smoke,\nthe oldest part of the existing structure, was built in 1518 by Sir Thomas\nLovell, a member of this inn and treasurer of the household to Henry VII.,\nwhen great alterations took place in the inn. What thousands of wise men\nand rogues have passed under its murky shadow! None of the original\nbuilding is left. The Black Friars' House fronted the Holborn end of the\nBishop's Palace.[667] The chambers adjoining the Gate House are of a later\ndate and it was at these that Mr. Cunningham thinks Ben Jonson\nworked.[668]\n\nThe chapel, of debased Perpendicular Gothic, was built by Inigo Jones, and\nconsecrated in 1623, Dr. Donne the poet preaching the consecration sermon.\nThe stained glass was the work of a Mr. Hale of Fetter Lane. The twelve\napostles, Moses, and the prophets still glow like immortal flowers,\nbright as when Donne, or Ussher, watched the light they shed. One of the\nwindows bears the name of Bernard van Linge, the same man probably who\nexecuted the windows at Wadham College, Oxford.[669] Noy, the\nAttorney-General and creature of Charles I., a friend of Laud, and the\nproposer of the writ for ship-money, put up the window representing John\nthe Baptist, rather an ominous saint, surely, in Charles's time. Noy died\nin 1634, before the storm which would certainly have carried his head off.\nHe left his money to a prodigal son, who was afterwards killed in a\nduel,--\"Left to be squandered, and I hope no better from him,\" says the\ndying man, bitterly. It was Noy who decided the curious case of the three\ngraziers who left their money with their hostess. One of them afterwards\nreturned and ran off with the money; upon which the other two sued the\nwoman, denying their consent. Mr. Noy pleaded that the money was ready to\nbe given up directly the three men came together and claimed it.[670]\nRogers tells this story in his poem of \"Italy,\" and gives it a romantic\nturn.\n\nLaud, always restless for novelties that could look like Rome, and yet not\nbe Rome, referred to the Lincoln's Inn windows at his trial. He wondered\nat a Mr. Brown objecting to such things, considering he was not of\nLincoln's Inn, \"where Mr. Prynne's zeal had not yet beaten down the images\nof the apostles in the fair windows of that chapel, which windows were set\nup new long since the statute of Edward VI.; and it is well known,\" says\nthat enemy of the Puritans, \"that I was once resolved to have returned\nthis upon Mr. Brown in the House of Commons, but changed my mind, lest\nthereby I might have set some furious spirit at work to destroy those\nharmless goodly windows, to the just dislike of that worthy society.\"[671]\n\nThe crypt under the chapel rests on many pillars and strong-backed arches,\nand, like the cloisters in the Temple, was intended as a place for\nstudent-lawyers to walk in and exchange learning. Butler describes\nwitnesses of the straw-bail species waiting here for customers,[672] just\nas half a century ago they used to haunt the doors of Chancery Lane\ngin-shops. On a June day in 1663 Pepys came to walk under the chapel by\nappointment, after pacing up and down and admiring the new garden then\nconstructing.\n\nThe great Sir Thomas More, Chancellor of England in Henry VIII.'s time,\nhad chambers at Lincoln's Inn when he was living in Bucklersbury after his\nmarriage. This was about 1506. He wrote his _Utopia_ in 1516. King Henry\ngrew so fond of More's learned and witty conversation, that he used to\nconstantly send for him to supper, and would walk in the garden at Chelsea\nwith his arm round his neck. More was beheaded in 1535 for refusing to\ntake the oath of succession and acknowledge the legality of the king's\ndivorce from Catherine of Arragon. Erasmus, who knew More well, inscribed\nthe \"Nux\" of Ovid to his son. More's skull is still preserved, it is said,\nin the vault of St. Dunstan's Church at Canterbury.[673] More's daughter,\nMargaret Roper, was buried with it in her arms.\n\nDr. Donne, the divine and poet, whose mother was distantly related to Sir\nThomas More and to Heywood the epigrammatist, was a student at Lincoln's\nInn in his seventeenth year, but left it to squander his father's fortune.\nHe was a friend of Bacon, with whom he lived for five years, and also of\nBen Jonson, who corresponded with him. When young, Donne had written a\nthesis to prove that suicide is no sin. \"That,\" he used to say in later\nyears, \"was written by Jack Donne, not by Dr. Donne.\"\n\nThis same poet was for two years preacher at Lincoln's Inn; so was the\ncharitable and amiable Tillotson in 1663. The latter, after preaching the\ndoctrine of non-resistance before King Charles II., was nicknamed \"Hobbes\nin the pulpit;\" he and Dr. Burnet both tried in vain to force the same\ndoctrine on Lord William Russell when he was preparing for death.\nTillotson, who was made Archbishop of Canterbury in 1691 by King William,\nwas a valued friend of Locke. Addison considered Tillotson's three folio\nvolumes of sermons to be the standard of English, and meant to make them\nthe ground-work of a dictionary which he had projected. Warburton, a\nsterner critic, denies that the sermons are oratorical like Jeremy\nTaylor's, or thoughtful like Barrow's, but yet confesses them to be clear,\nrational, equable,[674] and certainly not without a noble simplicity.\n\nAmong the most eminent students of Lincoln's Inn we must remember Sir\nMatthew Hale. After a wild and vain youth, Hale suddenly commenced\nstudying sixteen hours a day,[675] and became so careless of dress that he\nwas once seized by a pressgang. The sight of a friend who fell down in a\nfit from excessive drinking led to this honest man's renouncing all\nrevelry and becoming unchangeably religious. Noy directed him in his\nstudies; he became a friend of Selden, and was one of the counsel for\nStrafford, Laud, and the king himself. Nevertheless, he obtained the\nesteem of Cromwell, who was tolerant of all shades of goodness. He died\n1675-6. When a nobleman once complained to Charles II. that Hale would not\ndiscuss with him the arguments in his cause then before him, Charles\nreplied, \"Ods fish, man! he would have treated me just the same.\"\n\nLord Chancellor Egerton, afterwards Lord Ellesmere, was of Lincoln's Inn.\nHis son became Earl of Bridgewater. He was a friend of Lord Bacon, and had\na celebrated dispute with Chief Justice Coke as to whether \"the Chancery\ncan relieve by subpoena after a judgment at law in the same cause.\"\nPrudent, discreet, and honest, Ellesmere was esteemed by both Elizabeth\nand James, and died at York House in 1617. Bishop Hacket says of him that\n\"He neither did, spoke, nor thought anything in his life but what deserved\npraise.\"[676] It is said that many persons used to go to the Chancery\nCourt only to see and admire his venerable presence.\n\nSir Henry Spelman was admitted of Lincoln's Inn. He was a friend of\nDugdale, and one of our earliest students of Anglo-Saxon. He wrote much\non civil law, sacrilege, and tithes. Aubrey tells us that he was thought a\ndunce at school, and did not seriously sit down to hard study till he was\nabout forty. This eminent scholar died in 1641, and was interred with\ngreat solemnity in Westminster Abbey.\n\nShaftesbury, the subtle and dangerous, and one of the restorers of the\nking he afterwards worked so hard to depose, was of Lincoln's Inn.\n\nAshmole, the great herald, antiquary, and numismatist, originally a London\nattorney, was married in Lincoln's Inn Chapel, in 1668, to the daughter of\nhis great colleague in topography and heraldry, Sir William Dugdale, the\npart compiler of the _Monasticon_.\n\nIn the chapel was buried Alexander Brome, a Royalist attorney, a\ntranslator of Horace, and a great writer of sharp songs against \"The\nRump,\" who died in 1666. Here also--in loving companionship with him only\nbecause dead--rests that irritable Puritan lawyer, William Prynne. He\ntwice lost an ear in the pillory, besides being branded on the cheek. He\nultimately opposed Cromwell and aided the return of Charles, for which he\nwas made Keeper of the Tower Records. His works amount to forty folio and\nquarto volumes. He left copies of them to the Lincoln's Inn library.\nNeedham calls him \"the greatest paper-worm that ever crept into a\nlibrary.\" He died in his Lincoln's Inn chambers in 1669. Wood computes\nthat Prynne wrote as much as would amount to a sheet for every day of his\nlife. His epitaph had been erased when Wood wrote the _Athenae Oxonienses_\nin 1691.\n\nIn the same chapel lies Secretary Thurloe, the son of an Essex rector and\nthe faithful servant of Cromwell. He was admitted of Lincoln's Inn in\n1647, and in 1654 was chosen one of the masters of the upper bench. He\ndied suddenly in his chambers in Lincoln's Inn in 1668. Dr. Birch\npublished several folio volumes of his _State Papers_. He seems to have\nbeen an honest, dull, plodding man. Thurloe's chambers were at No. 24 in\nthe south angle of the great court leading out of Chancery Lane, formerly\ncalled the Gatehouse Court, but now Old Buildings--the rooms on the left\nhand of the ground-floor. Here Thurloe had chambers from 1645 to 1659.\nCromwell must have often come here to discuss dissolutions of Parliament\nand Dutch treaties. State papers sufficient to fill sixty-seven folio\nvolumes were discovered in a false ceiling in the garret by a clergyman\nwho had borrowed the chambers of a friend during the long vacation. He\ndisposed of them to Lord Chancellor Somers.[677] Cautious old Thurloe had\nperhaps sown these papers, hoping to reap the harvest under some new\nCromwellian dynasty that never came.\n\nRushworth the historian was a barrister of Lincoln's Inn. During the Civil\nWars he was assistant clerk to the House of Commons. After the Restoration\nhe became secretary to the Lord Keeper, but falling into distress, died in\nthe King's Bench in 1690. His eight folio volumes of _Historical\nCollections_ are specially valuable.[678]\n\nSir John Denham also studied in this pasturing-ground of English genius;\nand here, after squandering all his money in gaming, he wrote an essay\nupon the vice that brings its own punishment. In 1641, when his tragedy of\n\"The Sophy\" appeared, Waller said that Denham had broken out like the\nIrish rebellion, threescore thousand strong. In 1643 appeared his\n\"Cooper's Hill\" which the lampooners declared the author had bought of a\nvicar for forty pounds.[679] He became mad for a short time at the close\nof life, and was then ridiculed by Butler, so says Dr. Johnson. He died in\n1668, and was interred in Westminster Abbey. Denham and Waller smoothed\nthe way for Dryden,[680] and founded the Pope school of highly polished\nartificial verse. Denham's noble apostrophe to the river Thames is all but\nperfect.\n\nGeorge Wither, one of our fine old poets of a true school, rougher but\nmore natural than Denham's, the son of a Hampshire farmer, entered at\nLincoln's Inn. Sent to the Marshalsea for his just but indiscreet satires,\nhe turned soldier, fought against the Royalists, and became one of\nCromwell's dreaded major-generals. He was in Newgate for a long time after\nthe Restoration, and died in 1667. When taken prisoner by Charles, Sir\nJohn Denham obtained his release on the humorous pretext that, while\nWither lived, he (Denham) would not be the worst poet in England.[681]\n\nIn No. 1 New Square, Arthur Murphy, the friend of Dr. Johnson, resided for\ntwenty-three years. He became a member of the inn in 1757. In 1788 he sold\nhis chambers, and retired from the bar. As a journalist he was ridiculed\nby Wilkes and Churchill. His plays, \"The Grecian Daughter\" and \"Three\nWeeks after Marriage,\" were successful. He also translated Tacitus and\nSallust. He died in 1805.[682]\n\nJudge Fortescue, a great English lawyer of the time of Henry VI., was a\nstudent of this inn. He wrote his great work, _De Laudibus Legum Angliae_\nto educate Prince Edward when in banishment in Lorraine. This pious,\nloyal, and learned man, after being nominal Chancellor, returned to\nretirement in England, and acknowledged Edward IV.\n\nThe Earl of Mansfield belonged to the same illustrious inn. For elegance\nof mind, for honesty and industry, and for eloquence, he stands\nunrivalled. The proceedings against Wilkes, and the destruction of his\nhouse in Bloomsbury by the fanatical mob of 1780, were the chief events of\nhis useful life.\n\nSpencer Perceval was of Lincoln's Inn. A son of the Earl of Egmont, he\nbecame a student here in 1782. In Parliament he supported Pitt and the war\nagainst Napoleon. In 1801, under the Addington ministry, he became\nAttorney-General, and persecuted Peltier for a libel on Bonaparte during\nthe peace of Amiens. On the death of the Duke of Portland he was raised to\nthe head of the Treasury, where he continued till May 1812, when he was\nshot through the heart in the lobby of the House of Commons by Bellingham,\na bankrupt merchant of Archangel, who considered himself aggrieved because\nministers had not taken his part and claimed redress for his losses from\nthe Russian Government. Perceval was a shrewd, even-tempered lawyer,\nfluent and industrious, who, had time been permitted him, might possibly\nhave proved more completely than he did his incapacity for high\nministerial command.\n\nGeorge Canning became a student at Lincoln's Inn in 1781. His father was a\nbankrupt wine-merchant who died of a broken heart. His mother was a\nprovincial actress. His relation, Sheridan, introduced him to Fox, Grey,\nand Burke, the latter of whom, it is said, induced him to make politics\nhis profession. He made his maiden speech, attacking Fox and supporting\nPitt, in 1794. Late in life he gradually began to support some liberal\nmeasures. In 1827 he became First Lord of the Treasury, and died a few\nmonths afterwards in the zenith of his power.\n\nLord Lyndhurst was also one of the glories of this inn. The trial of Dr.\nWatson for treason, in 1817, first gained for this son of an American\npainter a reputation which, joined with his prudent conduct in the trial\nof Cashman the rioter led to his being appointed Solicitor-General in\n1818. From that he rose in rapid succession, to the posts of\nAttorney-General, Master of the Rolls, Lord Chancellor, and Lord\nLyndhurst. Old, eccentric, \"irrepressible\" Sir Charles Wetherell was\nCopley's fellow-advocate in Watson's case, that ended in the prisoner's\nacquittal.[683] In 1827, when Abbott became Lord Tenterden, Copley\naccepted the Great Seal, displacing Lord Eldon, and joined Canning's\ncabinet, becoming Lord Lyndhurst. In 1830 he became Chief Baron of the\nExchequer.\n\nCharles Pepys, Lord Cottenham, born 1781, was called to the bar by the\nSociety of Lincoln's Inn in 1804. He was appointed King's Counsel in 1826,\nwas made Solicitor-General in 1834, succeeded Sir John Leach as Master of\nthe Rolls in the same year, and was elevated to the woolsack in 1836. This\nChancellor, who was a very excellent lawyer, was descended from a branch\nof the family of Samuel Pepys, author of the celebrated _Diary_.\n\nSir E. Sugden was a member of Lincoln's Inn. He was born in the year 1781.\nHe was the son of a Westminster hairdresser who became rich by inventing a\nsubstitute for hair-powder. He was created Lord St. Leonards on the\nformation of a Conservative ministry in 1852, when he accepted the Great\nSeal.\n\nLord Brougham also studied in Lincoln's Inn. He was born in 1778, and\nstarted the _Edinburgh Review_ in 1802. In 1820 he defended Queen\nCaroline; but it would take a volume to follow the career of this\nimpetuous and versatile genius. His struggles for law-reform, for Catholic\nemancipation, for abolition of slavery, for the education of the people,\nand for Parliamentary reform, are matters of history. In his old age,\nthough still vigorous, Lord Brougham grew tamer, and condemned the armed\nemancipation of slaves practised by the Northern States in the present\nAmerican war. He died at his residence at Cannes in the South of France in\n1868.\n\nCottenham and Campbell were students in Lincoln's Inn; so was that\neccentric reformer Jeremy Bentham, who was called to the bar in 1722, and\nwas the son of a Houndsditch attorney; and so was Penn, the founder of\nPennsylvania.\n\nThat \"luminary of the Irish Church,\"[684] Archbishop Ussher, was preacher\nat Lincoln's Inn in 1647, the society giving the good man handsome rooms\nready furnished. He continued to preach there for eight years, till his\neyesight began to fail. He died in 1655, and was buried, by Cromwell's\npermission, with great magnificence, in Erasmus's chapel in Westminster\nAbbey. His library of 10,000 volumes, bought of him by Cromwell's\nofficers, was given by Charles II. to Dublin College. Ussher, when only\neighteen, was the David who discomfited in public dispute the learned\nJesuit Fitz-Simons. He saw Charles beheaded from the roof of a house on\nthe site of the Admiralty.\n\nDr. Langhorne, the joint translator with his brother of the _Lives of\nPlutarch_, was assistant preacher at Lincoln's Inn. An imitator of\nSterne, and a writer in Griffiths's _Monthly Review_, he was praised by\nSmollett and abused by Churchill. Langhorne's amiable poem, _The Country\nJustice_, was praised by Scott. He died in 1779.\n\nThat fiery controversialist Warburton was preacher at Lincoln's Inn in\n1746, and the same year preached and published a sermon on the Highland\nrebellion. He was the son of an attorney at Newark-upon-Trent. His _Divine\nLegation_ was an effort to show that the absence of allusions in the\nwritings of Moses to a system of rewards and punishments was a proof of\ntheir divine origin. The book is full of perverse digressions. His edition\nof Shakspere is, perhaps, to use a fine expression of Burke, \"one of the\npoorest maggots that ever crept from the great man's carcase.\" Pope left\nhalf his library to Warburton, who had suggested to him the conclusion of\nthe _Dunciad_. Wilkes, Bolingbroke, Dr. Louth, and Churchill were all by\nturns attacked by this arrogant knight-errant. Warburton died in 1779.\n\nReginald Heber, afterwards the excellent Bishop of Calcutta, was appointed\npreacher at Lincoln's Inn in 1822, the year before he sailed for India. In\n1826 this good man was found dead in his bath at Trichinopoly. The sudden\ndeath of this energetic missionary was a great loss to East Indian\nChristianity. In the \"company of the preachers\" we must not forget the\nexcellent Dr. Van Mildert, afterwards Bishop of Durham, and Dr. Thomson\nthe present Archbishop of York.\n\nIn the old times the Lord Chancellor held his sittings in the great hall\nof Lincoln's Inn. Here, too, at the Christmas revels, the King of the\nCockneys administered _his_ laws. Jack Straw, a sort of rebellious rival,\nwas put down, with all his adherents, as a bad precedent for the Essexes\nand Norfolks of the inn, by wary Queen Elizabeth, who always kept a firm\ngrip on her prerogative. In the same reign absurd sumptuary laws, vainly\ntrying to fix the quicksilver of fashion, forbade the students to wear\nlong hair, long beards, large ruffs, huge cloaks, or big spurs. The fine\nfor wearing a beard of more than a fortnight's growth was three shillings\nand fourpence.[685] In her father's time beards had been prohibited under\npain of double commons.\n\nIn the old hall, replaced by the new Tudor building, stood one of\nHogarth's most pretentious but worst pictures, \"Paul preaching before\nFelix,\" an ill-drawn and ludicrous caricature of epic work. The society\npaid for it. It is now rolled up and hid away with as much contumely as\nKent's absurdity at St. Clement's when Hogarth parodied it.\n\nThe new hall of Lincoln's Inn was built by Mr. P. Hardwick, the architect\nof the St. Katherine Docks, and was opened by the Queen in person in 1845.\nIt is a fine Tudor building of red brick, with stone dressings. The hall\nis 120 feet, the library 80 feet long. The contract was taken for L55,000,\nbut its cost exceeded that sum. The library contains the unique fourth\nvolume of Prynne's _Records_, which the society bought for L335 at the\nStow sale in 1849, and all Sir Matthew Hale's bequests of books and MSS.:\n\"a treasure,\" says that \"excellent good man,\" as Evelyn calls him[686] in\nhis will, \"that is not fit for every man's view.\" The hall contains a\nfresco representing the \"Lawgivers of the World,\" by Watts. The gardens\nwere much curtailed by the erection of the hall, and their quietude\ndestroyed. Ben Jonson talks of the walks under the elms.[687] Steele seems\nto have been fond of this garden when he felt meditative. In May 1709, he\nsays much hurry and business having perplexed him into a mood too\nthoughtful for company, instead of the tavern \"I went into Lincoln's Inn\nWalk, and having taken a round or two, I sat down, according to the\nallowed familiarity of these places, on a bench.\" In a more thoughtful\nmonth (November) of the same year he goes again for a solitary walk in the\ngarden, \"a favour that is indulged me by several of the benchers, who are\nvery intimate friends, and grown old in the neighbourhood.\" It was this\nbright frosty night, when the whole body of air had been purified into\n\"bright transparent aether,\" that Steele imagined his vision of \"The\nReturn of the Golden Age.\"\n\nBrave old Ben Jonson was the son of a Scotch gentleman in Henry VIII.'s\nservice, who, impoverished by the persecutions of Queen Mary, took orders\nlate in life. His mother married for the second time a small builder or\nmaster bricklayer. He went to Westminster school, where Camden, the great\nantiquary, was his master. A kind patron sent him to Cambridge.[688] He\nseems to have left college prematurely, and have come back to London to\nwork with his father-in-law.[689]\n\nThere is an old tradition that he worked at the garden-wall of Lincoln's\nInn next to Chancery Lane, and that a knight or bencher (Sutton, or\nCamden), walking by, hearing him repeat a passage of Homer, entered into\nconversation with him, and finding him to have extraordinary wit, sent him\nback to college; or, as Fuller quaintly puts it, \"some gentlemen pitying\nthat his parts should be buried under the rubbish of so mean a calling,\ndid by their bounty manumise him freely to follow his own ingenious\ninclinations.\"[690]\n\nGifford sneers at the story, for the poet's own words to Drummond of\nHawthornden were simply these:--\"He could not endure the occupation of a\nbricklayer,\" and therefore joined Vere in Flanders, probably going with\nreinforcements to Ostend in 1591-2.[691] He there fought and slew an\nenemy, and stripped him in sight of both armies. On his return, he became\nan actor at a Shoreditch theatre. His enemies, the rival satirists,\nfrequently sneer at the quondam profession of Ben Jonson, and describe him\nstamping on the stage as if he were treading mortar. For myself, I admire\nbrave, truculent old Ben, and delight even in his most crabbed and\npedantic verse, and therefore never pass Lincoln's Inn garden without\nthinking of Shakspere's honest but rugged friend--\"a bear only in the\ncoat.\"\n\nOn June 27, 1752, there was a dreadful fire in New Square, which\ndestroyed countless historical treasures, including Lord Somers's original\nletters and papers.\n\nAt No. 2 and afterwards at No. 6 New Square, Lincoln's Inn, which is built\non Little Lincoln's Inn Fields, and forms no part of the Inn of court,\nlived Sir Samuel Romilly. This \"great and amiable man,\" as Tom Moore calls\nhim, killed himself in a fit of melancholy produced by overwork joined to\nthe loss of his wife, \"a simple, gay, unlearned woman.\" Sir Samuel was a\nstern, reserved man, and she was the only person in the world to whom he\ncould unbosom himself. When he lost her, he said, \"the very vent of his\nheart was stopped up.\"[692]\n\nIt was in Old Square, Lincoln's Inn, that Benjamin Disraeli, born in\nDecember 1805, much too erratic for Plowden and Coke, used to come to\nstudy conveyancing at the chambers of Mr. Bassevi. He is described as\noften arriving with Spenser's _Faerie Queen_ under his arm, stopping an\nhour or two to read, and then leaving. This led, as might be expected, not\nto the woolsack but to the authorship of _Coningsby_. His Premiership and\nhis Patent of Peerage as Lord Beaconsfield, are due to other causes.\n\nWhetstone Park, now a small quiet passage, full of printing-offices and\nstables, between Great Turnstile and Gate Street, derived its name from a\nvestryman of the time of Charles I. It is now chiefly occupied by mews,\nbut was once filled by infamous houses and low brandy-shops.\n\nIn 1671, the Duke of Monmouth, the Duke of Grafton, and the Duke of St.\nAlban's, three of King Charles II.'s illegitimate sons, killed here a\nbeadle in a drunken brawl. A street-ballad was written on the occasion,\nmore full of spite against the corrupt court than of sympathy with the\nslain man. In poor doggerel the Catnach of 1671 describes the watch coming\nin, disturbed from sleep, to appease their graces--\n\n                  \"Straight rose mortal jars,\n  'Twixt the night blackguard and (the) silver stars;\n  Then fell the beadle by a ducal hand,\n  For daring to pronounce the saucy 'Stand!'\"\n\nSadly enough, the silly fellow's death led to a dance at Whitehall being\nput off,--\n\n  \"Disappoints the queen, 'poor little chuck!'\"[693]\n\nand all the brisk courtiers in their gay coats bought with the nation's\nsubsidies.\n\nThe last two lines are vigorous, sarcastic, and worthy of a humble\nimitator of Dryden. The poet sums up--\n\n  \"Yet shall Whitehall, the innocent and good,\n  See these men dance, all daubed with lace and blood.\"\n\nIn 1682 the misnamed \"Park\" grew so infamous, that a countryman, having\nbeen decoyed into one of the houses and robbed, went into Smithfield and\ncollected an angry mob of about 500 apprentices, who marched on Whetstone\nPark, broke open the houses, and destroyed the furniture. The constables\nand watchmen, being outnumbered, sent for the king's guard, who dispersed\nthem and took eleven of them. Nevertheless, the next night another mob\nstormed the place, again broke in the doors, smashed the windows, and cut\nthe feather-beds to pieces.\n\nLincoln's Inn Fields formed part of the ancient Fickett's Fields, a plot\nof ground of about ten acres, extending formerly from Bell Yard to\nPortugal Street and Carey Street. It seems to have been used in the Middle\nAges for jousts and tournaments by the Templars and Knights of St. John of\nJerusalem, to the priory of which last order it belonged till Henry VIII.\ndissolved the monasteries, when it was granted to Anthony Stringer. In an\ninquest of the time of James I. it is described as having two gates for\nhorses and carriages at the east end--one gate leading into Chancery Lane,\nthe other gate at the western end.[694]\n\nQueen Elizabeth, afraid that London was growing unwieldly, issued several\nproclamations against further building. James I., still more timid and\nconservative, and not thoroughly acquainted with his own capital, issued a\nlike absurd ukase in 1612, by the desire of the benchers and students of\nLincoln's Inn, forbidding the erection of new houses in these fields. But\nno royal edict can prevent a demand for creating a supply, and as the\nbuilding still went on, a commission was appointed in 1618 to lay out the\nsquare in a regular plan. Bacon, then Lord Chancellor, and many noblemen,\njudges, and masters in Chancery, were on this commission, and Inigo Jones,\nthe king's Surveyor-General, drew up the scheme. The report of this body,\ngiven by Rymer, sets out that in the last sixteen years there had been\nmore building near and about the City of London than in ages before, and\nthat as these fields were much surrounded by the dwellings and lodgings of\nnoblemen and gentlemen of quality, \"all small cottages and closes shall be\npaid for and removed, and the square shall be reduced,\" both for\nsweetness, uniformity, and comeliness, as an ornament to the City, and for\nthe health and recreation of the inhabitants, into walks and partitions,\nas Mr. Inigo Jones should in his map devise.[695]\n\nThere is a tradition that the area of the square, according to Inigo\nJones's plan, was to have been made the exact dimensions of the base of\nthe great pyramid of Geezeh. The tradition is probably true, for the area\nof the pyramid is 535,824 square feet, and that of Lincoln's Inn Fields\n550,000.[696] The height of the pyramid was 756 feet.\n\nThe plan proved too costly, and the subscriptions began probably to fail;\nbut in the course of time noblemen and others began to build for\nthemselves, but without much regard to uniformity.\n\nThe elevation of Inigo's plan for the Fields, painted in oil colours, is\nstill preserved at Wilton House, near Salisbury. The view is taken from\nthe south, and the principal feature in the elevation is Lindsey House in\nthe centre of the west side, whose stone facade, still existing, stands\nboldly out from the brick houses which support it on either side. The\ninternal accommodation of Lindsey House was never good.[697]\n\nThese fields in Charles I.'s time became the haunt of wrestlers, bowlers,\nbeggars, and idle boys; and here, in 1624, Lilly the astrologer, then\nservant to a mantua-maker in the Strand, spent his time in bowling with\nWat the cobbler, Dick the blacksmith, and such idle apprentices. Hither,\nafter the Restoration, came every sort of villain--the Rufflers, or maimed\nsoldiers, who told lies of Edgehill and Naseby, and who surrounded the\ncoaches of charitable lords; \"Dommerers,\" or sham dumb men; \"Mumpers,\" or\nsham broken gentlemen; \"Whipjacks,\" or sham seamen with bound-up legs;\n\"Abram-men,\" or sham idiots; \"Fraters,\" or rogues with forged patents;\n\"Anglers,\" wild rogues, \"Clapper-dudgeons,\"[698] and men with gambling\nwheels of fortune.\n\nIn Queen Anne's reign Gay sketches the dangers of night in these fields;\nhe warns his readers to avoid the lurking thief, by day a beggar, or\nelse--\n\n  \"The crutch, which late compassion moved, shall wound\n  Thy bleeding head, and fell thee to the ground.\n\nNor trust the linkman,\" he adds, \"along the lonely wall, or he'll put out\nhis light and rob you, but--\n\n  \"Still keep the public streets where oily rays\n  That from the crystal lamp o'erspread the ways.\"\n\nThe south side of Lincoln's Inn Fields was built and named three years\nbefore the Restoration, by Sir William Cowper, James Cowper, and Robert\nHenley. In 1668 Portugal Row, as it was called, but not from Charles's\nqueen,[699] was extremely fashionable. There were then living here such\nnoble and noted persons as Lady Arden, William Perpoint, Esq., Sir Charles\nWaldegrave, Lady Fitzharding, Lady Diana Curzon, Serjeant Maynard, Lord\nCardigan, Mrs. Anne Heron, Lady Mordant, Richard Adams, Esq., Lady Carr,\nLady Wentworth, Mr. Attorney Montagu, Lady Coventry, Judge Welch, and Lady\nDavenant.[700]\n\nMr. Serjeant Maynard was the brave old Presbyterian lawyer, then\neighty-seven, who replied to the Prince of Orange, when he said that he\nmust have outlived all the men of law of his time--\"Sir, I should have\noutlived the law itself had not your highness come over.\"\n\nLady Davenant was the widow of Sir William Davenant, the Oxford\ninnkeeper's son, the poet and manager, who, aided by Whitlocke and\nMaynard, was allowed in Cromwell's time to perform operas at a theatre in\nCharterhouse Square. After the Restoration he had the theatre in Portugal\nStreet. He died in 1668, insolvent. His poems were published by his widow,\nand dedicated to the Duke of York in 1673.\n\nLord Cardigan was the father of the infamous Countess of Shrewsbury, who\nis said, disguised as a page, to have held her lover the Duke of\nBuckingham's horse while he killed her husband in a duel near Barn Elms.\nThe Earl of Rochester lived in the house next the Duke's Theatre,[701]\nwhich stood behind the present College of Surgeons, as Davenant says in\none of his epilogues--\n\n  \"The prospect of the sea cannot be shown,\n  Therefore be pleased to think that you are all\n  Behind the row which men call Portugal.\"\n\nIn September 1586 Ballard, Babington, and other conspirators against the\nlife of Queen Elizabeth were put to death in Lincoln's Inn Fields.\nBabington was a young man of good family, who had been a page to the Earl\nof Shrewsbury, and had plotted to rescue Mary and assassinate Elizabeth.\nHis plot discovered, he had fled to St. John's Wood for concealment. Seven\nof these plotters were hanged on the first day, and seven on the second.\nThe last seven were allowed to die, by special grace, before being\ndisembowelled by the executioner.\n\nIt was through these fields that, one spring night in 1676-7, Thomas\nSadler, an impudent and well-known thief, rivalling the audacity of Blood,\nhaving with some confederates stolen the mace and purse of Lord Chancellor\nFinch from his house in Great Queen Street, bore them in mock procession\non their way to their lodgings in Knightrider Street, Doctors' Commons.\nSadler was hanged at Tyburn for this theft.\n\nLord William Russell was son of William, Earl of Bedford, by Lady Ann\nCarr, daughter of Carr, Earl of Somerset. He was beheaded in the centre of\nLincoln's Inn Fields, July 21, 1683, the last year but two of the reign of\nKing Charles II., for being, as it was alleged, engaged in a plot to\nattack the guards and kill the king, on his return from Newmarket races,\nat the Rye House Farm, in a by-road near Hoddesdon in Hertfordshire, about\nseventeen miles north-east of London.\n\nThe Whig party, in their eagerness to restrain the <DW7>s and exclude the\nDuke of York from the throne, had gone too far, and their zeal for the\nDissenters had produced a violent reaction in the High Church party.\nCharles and the Duke, taking advantage of the return tide, began to\npersecute the Dissenters, denounce Shaftesbury, assail the liberties of\nthe City, and finally dissolved the Parliament. Soon after this, that\nsubtle politician, Shaftesbury, finding it impossible to rouse the Duke of\nMonmouth, Essex, or Lord Russell, denounced them all as sold and deceived,\nand fled to Holland.\n\nAfter his flight, meetings of his creatures were held at the chambers of\none West, an active talking man. Keeling, a vintner of decaying business,\nbetrayed the plot, as also did Lord Howard, a man so infamous that Charles\nhimself said \"he would not hang the worst dog he had upon his evidence.\"\nKeeling and his brother swore that forty men were hired to intercept the\nking, but that a fire at Newmarket, which had hastened Charles's return,\nhad defeated their plans. Goodenough, an ex-sheriff, had told them that\nthe Duke of Monmouth and other great men were to raise 4000 soldiers and\nL20,000. The brothers also swore that Goodenough had told them that Lord\nRussell had joined in the design of killing the king and the duke.\n\nLord Russell acted with great composure. He would not fly, refused to let\nhis friends surrender themselves to share his fortunes, and told an\nacquaintance that \"he was very sensible he should fall a sacrifice.\"[702]\nWhen he appeared at the council, the king himself said that \"nobody\nsuspected Lord Russell of any design against his own person, but that he\nhad good evidence of his being in designs against his government.\" The\nprisoner denied all knowledge of the intended insurrection, or of the\nattempt to surprise the guards.\n\nThe infamous Jeffries was one of the counsel for his prosecution. Lord\nRussell argued at his trial, that, allowing he had compassed the king's\ndeath, which he denied, he had been guilty only of a conspiracy to levy\nwar, which was not treason except by a recent statute of Charles II., the\nprosecutions upon which were limited to a certain time, which had\nelapsed,[703] so that both law and justice were in this case violated.\n\nThe truth seems to be that Lord Russell was a true patriot, of a slow and\nsober judgment, a taciturn, good man, of not the quickest intelligence,\nwho had allowed himself to listen to dangerous and random talk for the\nsake of political purposes. He wished to debar the duke from the throne,\nbut he had never dreamt of accomplishing his purpose by murder. It has\nsince been discovered that Sidney, doing evil that good might come, had\naccepted secret-service money from France, and that Russell himself had\ninterviews with French agents. Lord John Russell explains away this charge\nvery well. Charles was degraded enough to take money from France. The\npatriots, told that Louis XIV. wished to avoid a war, intrigued with the\nFrench king to maintain peace, fearing that if Charles once raised an army\nunder any pretence, he would first employ it to obtain absolute power at\nhome, which it is most probable he would have done.[704] On the whole,\nthese disingenuous interviews must be lamented; they could not and they\ndid not lead to good. It has been justly regretted also that Lord Russell\non his trial did not boldly denounce the tyranny of the court, and show\nthe necessity that had existed for active opposition.\n\nAfter sentence the condemned man wrote petitions to the king and duke,\nwhich were unjustly sneered at as abject. They really, however, contain no\npromise but that of living beyond sea and meddling no more in English\naffairs. Of one of them at least, Burnet says it was written at the\nearnest solicitation of Lady Rachel; and Lord Russell himself said, with\nregret, \"This will be printed and sold about the streets as my submission\nwhen I am led out to be hanged.\" He lamented to Burnet that his wife beat\nevery bush and ran about so for his preservation; but he acquiesced in\nwhat she did when he thought it would be afterwards a mitigation of her\nsorrow.\n\nWhen his brave and excellent wife, the daughter of Charles I.'s loyal\nservant, Southampton, who was the son of Shakspere's friend, begged for\nher husband's life, the king replied, \"How can I grant that man six weeks,\nwho would not have granted me six hours?\"[705]\n\nThere is no scene in history that \"goes more directly to the heart,\" says\nFox, \"than the story of the last days of this excellent man.\" The night\nbefore his death it rained hard, and he said, \"Such a rain to-morrow will\nspoil a great show,\" which was a dull thing on a rainy day. He thought a\nviolent death only the pain of a minute, not equal to that of drawing a\ntooth; and he was still of opinion _that the king was limited by law, and\nthat when he broke through those limits, his subjects might defend\nthemselves and restrain him_.[706] He then received the sacrament from\nTillotson with much devotion, and parted from his wife with a composed\nsilence; as soon as she was gone he exclaimed, \"The bitterness of death is\npast,\" saying what a blessing she had been to him, and what a misery it\nhad been if she had tried to induce him to turn an informer. He slept\nsoundly that night and rose in a few hours, but would take no care in\ndressing. He prayed six or seven times by himself, and drank a little tea\nand some sherry. He then wound up his watch, and said, \"Now I have done\nwith time and shall go into eternity.\" When told that he should give the\nexecutioner ten guineas, he said, with a smile, that it was a pretty thing\nto give a fee to have his head cut off. When the sheriffs came at ten\no'clock, Lord Russell embraced Lord Cavendish, who had offered to change\nclothes with him and stay in his place in prison, or to attack the coach\nwith a troop of horse and carry off his friend; but the noble man would\nnot listen to either proposal.\n\nIn the street some in the crowd wept, while others insulted him. He said,\n\"I hope I shall quickly see a better assembly.\" He then sang, half to\nhimself, the beginning of the 149th Psalm. As the coach turned into Little\nQueen Street, he said, looking at his own house, \"I have often turned to\nthe one hand with great comfort, but now I turn to this with greater,\" and\nthen a tear or two fell from his eyes. As they entered Lincoln's Inn\nFields he said, \"This has been to me a place of sinning, and God now makes\nit the place of my punishment.\" When he came to the scaffold, he walked\nabout it four or five times: then he prayed by himself, and also with\nTillotson; then he partly undressed himself, laid his head down without\nany change of countenance, and it was cut off in two strokes. Lord\nWilliam's walking-stick and a cotemporary account of his death are kept at\nWoburn Abbey.\n\nLady Rachel Russell, the excellent wife of this patriot, had been his\nsecretary during the trial. She spent her after-life, not in unwisely\nlamenting the inevitable past, but in doing good works, and in educating\nher children. Writing two months after the execution to Dr. Fritzwilliams,\nthis noble woman says:[707] \"_Secretly_, my heart mourns and cannot be\ncomforted, because I have not the dear companion and sharer of all my joys\nand sorrows. I want him to talk with, to walk with, to eat and sleep with.\nAll these things are irksome to me now; all company and meals I could\navoid, if it might be.... When I see my children before me, I remember\nthe pleasure he took in them: this makes my heart shrink.\"\n\nIn 1692 Lady Russell appears to have regained her composure. But she had\nother trials in store: for in 1711 she lost her only son, the Duke of\nBedford, in the flower of his age, and six months afterwards one of her\ndaughters died in childbed.\n\nIt is said that, in his hour of need, James II. was mean enough to say to\nthe Duke of Bedford, \"My lord, you are an honest man, have great credit,\nand can do me signal service.\" \"Ah, sir,\" replied the duke, with a grave\nseverity, \"I am old and feeble now, but I once had a _son_.\"\n\nThe Sacheverell riots culminated in these now quiet Fields. In 1710 Daniel\nDommaree, a queen's waterman, Francis Willis, a footman, and George\nPurchase, were tried at the Old Bailey for heading a riot during the\nSacheverell trial and pulling down meeting-houses. This Sacheverell was an\nignorant, impudent incendiary, the adopted son of a Marlborough\napothecary, and was impeached by the House of Commons for preaching at St.\nAndrew's, Holborn, sermons denouncing the Revolution of 1688. His sermons\nwere ordered to be burnt, and he was sentenced to be suspended for three\nyears. Atterbury helped the mischievous firebrand in his ineffectual\ndefence, and Swift wrote a most scurrilous letter to Bishop Fleetwood, who\nhad lamented the excesses of the mob. Sacheverell had been at Oxford with\nAddison, who inscribed a poem to him. During the trial, a mob marched from\nthe Temple, whither they had escorted Sacheverell, pulled down Dr.\nBurgess's meeting-house, and threw the pulpit, sconces, and gallery pews\ninto a fire in Lincoln's Inn Fields, some waving curtains on poles,\nshouting, \"High Church standard!\" \"Huzza! High Church and Sacheverell!\"\n\"We will have them all down!\" They also burnt other meeting-houses in\nLeather Lane, Drury Lane, and Fetter Lane, and made bonfires of the\nwoodwork in the streets. They were eventually dispersed by the\nhorse-grenadiers and horse-guards and foot. Dommaree was sentenced to\ndeath, but pardoned; Willis was acquitted; and Purchase was pardoned.[708]\n\nWooden posts and rails stood round the Fields till 1735, when an Act was\npassed to enable the inhabitants to make improvements, to put an iron gate\nat each corner, and to erect dwarf walls and iron palisades.[709] Before\nthis time grooms used to break in horses on this spot. One day while\nlooking at these centaurs, Sir Joseph Jekyll, who had brought a very\nobnoxious bill into Parliament in 1736 in order to raise the price of gin,\nwas mobbed, thrown down, and dangerously trampled on. His initials, \"J.\nJ.,\" figure under a gibbet chalked on a wall in one of Hogarth's\nprints.[710] Macaulay's _History_ contains a very highly  picture\nof these Fields. A comparison of the passage with the facts from which it\nis drawn would be a useful lesson to all historical students who love\ntruth in its severity.[711]\n\nNewcastle House stands at the north-west angle of the Fields, at the\nsouth-eastern corner of Great Queen Street. It derived its name from John\nHolles, Duke of Newcastle, a relative of the noble families of Vere,\nCavendish, and Holles. This duke bought the house before 1708, but died in\n1711 without issue, and was succeeded in the house by his nephew, the\nleader of the Pelham administration under George II.\n\nThe house had been bought by Lord Powis about 1686. It was built for him\nby Captain William Winde, a scholar of Webbe's, the pupil and executor of\nInigo Jones.[712] William Herbert, first Marquis of Powis, was outlawed\nand fled to St. Germain's to James II., who made him Duke of Powis.\nGovernment had thought of buying the house when it was inhabited by the\nLord Keeper, Sir Nathan Wright,[713] and to have settled it officially on\nthe Great Seal. It was once the residence of Sir John Somers, the Lord\nChancellor.\n\nIn 1739 Lady Henrietta Herbert, widow of Lord William Herbert, second son\nof the Marquis of Powis, and daughter of James, first Earl of Waldegrave,\nwas married to Mr. John Beard,[714] who seems to have been a fine singer\nand a most charitable, estimable man. Lady Henrietta's grandmother was the\ndaughter of James II. by the sister of the great Duke of Marlborough. Dr.\nBurner speaks of Beard's great knowledge of music and of his intelligence\nas an actor.[715] In an epitaph on him, still extant, the writer says--\n\n  \"Whence had that voice such magic to control?\n  'Twas but the echo of a well-tuned soul;\n  Through life his morals and his music ran\n  In symphony, and spoke the virtuous man.\n  ... Go, gentle harmonist! our hopes approve,\n  To meet and hear thy sacred songs above;\n  When taught by thee, the stage of life well trod,\n  We rise to raptures round the throne of God.\"\n\nBeard, excellent both in oratorios and serious and comic operas, became\npart proprietor of Covent Garden Theatre, and died in 1791.\n\nThe Duke of Newcastle's crowded levees were his pleasure and his triumph.\nHe generally made people of business wait two or three hours in the\nante-chamber while he trifled with insignificant favourites in his closet.\nWhen at last he entered the levee room, he accosted, hugged, embraced, and\npromised everything to everybody with an assumed cordiality and a\ndegrading familiarity.[716]\n\n\"Long\" Sir Thomas Robertson was a great intruder on the duke's time; if\ntold that he was out, he would come in to look at the clock or play with\nthe monkey, in hopes of the great man relenting. The servants, at last\ntired out with Sir Thomas, concocted a formula of repulses, and the next\ntime he came the porter, without waiting for his question, began--\"Sir,\nhis grace is gone out, the fire has gone out, the clock stands, and the\nmonkey is dead.\"[717]\n\nSir Timothy Waldo, on his way from the duke's dinner-table to his own\ncarriage, once gave the cook, who was waiting in the hall, a crown. The\nrogue returned it, saying he did not take silver. \"Oh, don't you, indeed?\"\nsaid Sir Timothy, coolly replacing it in his pocket; \"then I don't give\ngold.\" Jonas Hanway, the great opponent of tea-drinking, published eight\nletters to the duke on this subject,[718] and the custom began from that\ntime to decline. But Hogarth had already condemned the exaction.\n\nThe duke was very profuse in his promises, and a good story is told of the\nresult of his insincerity. At a Cornish election, the duke had obtained\nthe turning vote for his candidate by his usual assurances. The elector,\nwishing to secure something definite, had asked for a supervisorship of\nexcise for his son-in-law on the present holder's death. \"The moment he\ndies,\" said the premier, \"set out post-haste for London; drive directly to\nmy house in the Fields: night or day, sleeping or waking, dead or alive,\nthunder at the door; the porter will show you upstairs directly; and the\nplace is yours.\" A few months after the old supervisor died, and up to\nLondon rushed the Cornish elector.\n\nNow that very night the duke had been expecting news of the death of the\nKing of Spain, and had left orders before he went to bed to have the\ncourier sent up directly he arrived. The Cornish man, mistaken for this\nimportant messenger, was instantly, to his great delight, shown up to the\nduke's bedroom. \"Is he dead?--is he dead?\" cried the duke. \"Yes, my lord,\nyes,\" answered the aspirant, promptly. \"When did he die?\" \"The day before\nyesterday, at half-past one o'clock, after three weeks in his bed, and\ntaking a power of doctor's stuff; and I hope your grace will be as good as\nyour word, and let my son-in-law succeed him.\" \"_Succeed him!_\" shouted\nthe duke; \"is the man drunk or mad? Where are your despatches?\" he\nexclaimed, tearing back the bed-curtains; and there, to his vexation,\nstood the blundering elector, hat in hand, his stupid red face beaming\nwith smiles as he kept bowing like a joss. The duke sank back in a\nviolent fit of laughter, which, like the electric fluid, was in a moment\ncommunicated to his attendants.[719] It is not stated whether the Cornish\nman obtained his petition.\n\nThere is an agreement in all the stories of the duke, who was thirty years\nSecretary of State, and nearly ten years First Lord of the Treasury,\n\"whether told,\" says Macaulay, \"by people who were perpetually seeing him\nin Parliament and attending his levees in Lincoln's Inn Fields, or by Grub\nStreet writers, who had never more than a glimpse of his star through the\nwindows of his gilded coach.\"[720] Smollett and Walpole mixed in different\nsociety, yet they both sketch the duke with the same colours. Smollett's\nNewcastle runs out of his dressing-room with his face covered with\nsoapsuds to embrace the Moorish envoy. Walpole's Newcastle pushes his way\ninto the Duke of Grafton's sick-room to kiss the old nobleman's plaisters.\n\"He was a living, moving, talking caricature. His gait was a shuffling\ntrot, his utterance a rapid stutter. He was always in a hurry--he was\nnever in time; he abounded in fulsome caresses and in hysterical tears.\nHis oratory resembled that of Justice Shallow--it was nonsense\neffervescent with animal spirits and impertinence. 'Oh yes, yes, to be\nsure--Annapolis must be defended; troops must be sent to Annapolis. Pray,\nwhere is Annapolis?'--'Cape Breton an island! Wonderful! Show it me on the\nmap. So it is, sure enough. My dear sir, you always bring us good news. I\nmust go and tell the king that Cape Breton is an island.' His success is a\nproof of what may be done by a man who devotes his whole heart and soul to\none object. His love of power was so intense a passion, that it almost\nsupplied the place of talent. He was jealous even of his own brother.\nUnder the guise of levity, he was false beyond all example.\" \"All the able\nmen of his time ridiculed him as a dunce, a driveller, a child, who never\nknew his own mind for an hour together, and yet he overreached them all\nround.\" If the country had remained at peace, this man might have been at\nthe head of affairs till a new king came with fresh favourites and a\nstrong will; \"but the inauspicious commencement of the Seven Years' War\nbrought on a crisis to which Newcastle was altogether unequal. After a\ncalm of fifteen years, the spirit of the nation was again stirred to its\ninmost depths.\"\n\nThis is strongly etched, but Macaulay was too fond of caricature for a\nreal lover of truth. Walpole, recounting this greedy imbecile's disgrace,\nreviews his career much more forcibly, for in a few words he shows us how\ngreat had been the power which this chatterer's fixed purpose had\nattained. The memoir-writer describes the duke as the man \"who had begun\nthe world by heading mobs against the ministers of Queen Anne; who had\nbraved the heir-apparent, afterwards George I., and forced himself upon\nhim as godfather to his son; who had recovered that prince's favour, and\npreserved power under him, at the expense of every minister whom that\nprince preferred; who had been a rival of another Prince of Wales for the\nchancellorship of Cambridge; and who was now buffeted from a fourth court\nby a very suitable competitor (Lord Bute), and reduced in his tottery old\nage to have recourse to those mobs and that popularity which had raised\nhim fifty years before.\"\n\nLord Bute was mean enough to compliment the old duke on his retirement.\nThe duke replied, with a spirit that showed the vitality of his ambition:\n\"Yes, yes, my lord, I am an old man, but yesterday was my birthday, and I\nrecollected that Cardinal Fleury _began_ to be prime-minister of France\njust at my age.\"[721]\n\nNewcastle House, now occupied by the Society for Promoting Christian\nKnowledge, was, for forty years or more, inhabited by Sir Alan Chambre,\none of King George III.'s judges. The society, then lodged in Bartlett's\nBuildings, in Holborn, derived its first name from that place, and at Sir\nAlan's death they purchased the house and site.\n\nAbout the centre of the west side of the square, in Sir Alan's time, lived\nthe Earl and Countess of Portsmouth. The earl was half-witted, but was\nalways well-conducted and quite producible in society under the guidance\nof his countess, a daughter of Lord Grantley.\n\nNear Surgeons' Hall, at the same epoch, lived the first Lord Wynford, Lord\nChief Justice of the Common Pleas, better known as Serjeant Best. A\nquarrel between this irritable lawyer and Serjeant Wilde, afterwards Lord\nChancellor Truro, one of the most stalwart gladiators who ever won a name\nand title in the legal arena, gave rise to an epigram, the point of which\nwas--\"That Best was wild, and Wilde was best.\"\n\nIn 1774, when Lord Clive had rewarded Wedderburn, his defender, with lacs\nof rupees and a villa at Mitcham, the lawyer had an elegant house in\nLincoln's Inn Fields, not far from the Duke of Newcastle's,--\"a quarter,\"\nsays Lord Campbell, \"which I recollect still the envied resort of legal\nmagnates.\"\n\nWedderburn, afterwards better known as Lord Chancellor Loughborough, had a\nspecial hatred for Franklin, and loaded him with abuse before a committee\nof the Privy Council, for having sent to America letters from the\nLieutenant-Governor of Massachusetts, urging the Government to employ\nmilitary force to suppress the discontents in New England.[722] The effect\nof Wedderburn's brilliant oratory in Parliament was ruined, says Lord\nCampbell, by \"his character for insincerity.\"[723] When George III. heard\nof his death, he is reported to have said, \"He has not left a greater\nknave behind him in my dominions;\" upon which Lord Thurlow savagely said,\nwith his usual oath, \"I perceive that his majesty is quite sane at\npresent.\" Wedderburn was a friend of David Hume; his humanity was\neulogised by Dr. Parr, but he was satirised by Churchill in the _Rosciad_.\n\nMontague, Earl of Sandwich, the great patron of Pepys, lived in Lincoln's\nInn Fields, paying L250 a year rent.[724] Pepys calls it \"a fine house,\nbut deadly dear.\"[725] He visits him, February 10, 1663-4, and finds my\nlord very high and strange and stately, although Pepys had been bound for\nL1000 with him, and the shrewd cit naturally enough did not like my lord\nbeing angry with him and in debt to him at the same time. The earl was a\ndistant cousin of Pepys, and on his marriage received him and his wife\ninto his house, and took Pepys with him when he went to bring home Charles\nII., when he was elected one of the Council of State and General at Sea.\nHe brought the queen-mother to England and took her back again. He also\nbrought the ill-fated queen from Portugal, and became a privy-councillor,\nand was sent as ambassador to Spain. He seems to have been not untainted\nwith the vices of the age. He was in the great battle where Van Tromp was\nkilled, and in 1668 he took forty-five sail from the Dutch at sea, and\nthat is the best thing known of him. He died in 1672, and was buried in\ngreat state.\n\nInigo Jones built only the west side of the square. No. 55 was the\nresidence of Robert Bertie, Earl of Lindsey, a general of King Charles. It\nis described in 1708 as a handsome building of the Ionic order, with a\nbeautiful and strong Court Gate, formed of six spacious brick piers, with\ncurious ironwork between them, and on the piers large and beautiful\nvases.[726] The open balustrade at the top bore six urns.\n\nThe Earl of Lindsey was shot at Edgehill in 1642, when a reckless and\nintemperate charge of Rupert had led to the total defeat of the\nunsupported foot. His son, Lord Willoughby, was taken in endeavouring to\nrescue his father. Clarendon describes the earl as a lavish, generous, yet\npunctilious man, of great honour and experience in foreign war. He was\nsurrounded by Lincolnshire gentlemen, who served in his regiment out of\npersonal regard for him. He was jealous of Prince Rupert's interference,\nand had made up his mind to die. As he lay bleeding to death he reproved\nthe officers of the Earl of Essex, many of them his old friends, for their\ningratitude and \"foul rebellion.\"[727]\n\nThe fourth Earl of Lindsey was created Duke of Ancaster, and the house\nhenceforward bore that now forgotten name. It was subsequently sold to the\nproud Duke of Somerset, the same who married the widow of the Mr. Thynne\nwhom Count Koenigsmarck murdered.\n\nIn the early part of George III.'s reign Lindsey House became a sort of\nlodging-house for foreign members of the Moravian persuasion. The\nstaircase, about 1772, was painted with scenes from the history of the\nHerrnhuthers. The most conspicuous figures were those of a <DW64>\ncatechumen in a white shirt, and a missionary who went over to Algiers to\npreach to the galley-slaves, and died in Africa of the plague. There was\nalso a painting of a Moravian clergyman being saved from a desert rock on\nwhich he had been cast.[728]\n\nRepeated mention of the Berties is made in Horace Walpole's pleasant\n_Letters_. Lord Robert Bertie was third son of Robert the first Duke of\nAncaster and Kesteven. He was a general in the army, a colonel in the\nGuards, and a lord of the bedchamber. He married Lady Raymond in 1762, and\ndied in 1782.\n\nThe proud Duke of Somerset, in 1748, left to his eldest daughter, Lady\nFrances, married to the Marquis of Granby, three thousand a year, and the\nfine house built by Inigo Jones in Lincoln's Inn Fields, which he had\nbought of the Duke of Ancaster for the Duchess, hoping that his daughter\nwould let her mother live with her.[729] In July 1779 the Duke of\nAncaster, dying of drinking and rioting at two-and-twenty, recalls much\nscandal to Walpole's mind. He had been in love with Lady Honoria,\nWalpole's niece; but Horace does not regret the match dropping through,\nfor he says the duke was of a turbulent nature, and, though of a fine\nfigure, not noble in manners. Lady Priscilla Elizabeth Bertie, eldest\nsister of the duke, married the grandson of Peter Burrell, a merchant, who\nbecame husband of the Lady Great Chamberlain of England, and inherited a\nbarony and half the Ancaster estate.[730] \"The three last duchesses,\"\ngoes on the cruel gossip, \"were never sober.\" \"The present\nduchess-dowager,\" he adds, \"was natural daughter of Panton, a disreputable\nhorse-jockey of Newmarket. The other duchess was some lady's woman, or\nyoung lady's governess.\" Mr. Burrell's daughters married Lord Percy and\nthe Duke of Hamilton.\n\nIn 1791 Walpole writes to Miss Berry to describe the marriage of Lord\nCholmondeley with Lady Georgiana Charlotte Bertie: \"The men were in frocks\nand white waistcoats. The endowing purse, I believe, has been left off\never since broad pieces were called in and melted down. We were but\neighteen persons in all.... The poor duchess-mother wept excessively; she\nis now left quite alone,--her two daughters married, and her other\nchildren dead. She herself, I fear, is in a very dangerous way. She goes\ndirectly to Spa, where the new married pair are to meet her. We all\nseparated in an hour and a half.\"[731]\n\nAlfred Tennyson in early life had fourth-floor chambers at No. 55, and\nthere probably his friend Hallam, whose early death he laments in his _In\nMemoriam_ spent many an hour with him. There, in the airy regions of\nAttica, in a low-roofed room, the single window of which is darkened by a\nhuge stone balustrade--a gloomy relic of past grandeur--the young poet may\nhave recited the majestic lines of his \"King Arthur,\" or the exquisite\nlament of \"Mariana,\" and there he may have immortalised the \"plump\nhead-waiter of the Cock,\" in Fleet Street. Mr. John Foster, the author of\nmany sound and delightful historical biographies, had also chambers in\nthis house.\n\nNo. 68, on the west side, stands on the site of the approach to the\nstables of old Newcastle House. Here Judge Le Blanc lived, and at his\ndeath the house was occupied by Mr. Thomas Le Blanc, Master of Trinity\nHall, Cambridge.\n\nAt No. 33, on the same side as the Insolvent Debtors' Court, dwelt Judge\nPark, a man much beloved by his friends; in his early days, as a young\nand poor Scotch barrister, he had lived in Carey Street till his house\nthere was burnt down. He used to say that his great ambition in youth had\nbeen to one day live at No. 33 in the Fields, at that time occupied by\nChief Justice Willis; but in later days, as a judge, leaving the former\ngoal of his ambition, he migrated to Bedford Square, where he died.\n\nNos. 40 and 42, on the south side, form the Museum of the College of\nSurgeons, incorporated in 1800. The Grecian front is a most clever\ncontrivance by Sir John Soane. The building contains the incomparable\nanatomical collection of the eminent John Hunter, bought by the Government\nfor L15,000 and given to the College of Surgeons on condition of its being\nopened to the public. John Hunter died in 1793; and the first courses of\nlectures in the new building were delivered by Sir Everard Home and Sir\nWilliam Blizard, in 1810. The Museum was built by Barry in 1835, and cost\nabout L40,000.[732] It is divided into two rooms, the normal and abnormal.\nThe total number of specimens is upwards of 23,000. The collection is\nunequalled in many respects; every article is authentic and in perfect\npreservation. The largest human skeleton is that of Charles O'Brien, the\nIrish giant, who died in Cockspur Street, Charing Cross, in 1783, aged\ntwenty-two. It measures eight feet four inches. By its side, in ghastly\ncontrast, is the bony sketch of Caroline Crachami, a Sicilian dwarf who\ndied in 1824, aged ten years. There is also a cast of the hand of Patrick\nCotter, another Irish giant, who measured eight feet seven and a half\ninches. Nor must we overlook the vast framework of Chunee, the elephant\nthat went mad with toothache at Exeter Change, and was shot by a company\nof riflemen in 1826. The sawn base of the inflamed tusk shows a spicula of\nivory pressing into the nervous pulp. Toothache is always terrible, but\nonly imagine a square foot of it!\n\nVery curious too, are the jaw of the extinct sabre-toothed tiger, and the\nskeleton of a gigantic extinct Irish deer found under a bed of shell-marl\nin a peat bog near Limerick. The antlers are seven feet long, eight feet\nacross, and weigh seventy-six pounds. The height of the animal (measured\nfrom his skull) was seven feet six inches. Amongst other horrors, there is\na cast of the fleshy band that united the Siamese twins, and one of a\nwoman with a long curved horn growing from her forehead. There are also\nmany skulls of soldiers perforated and torn with bullets, the lead still\nadhering to some of the bony plates of the crania. But the wonder of\nwonders is the iron pivot of a trysail-mast that was driven clean through\nthe chest of a Scarborough lad. The boy recovered in five months, and not\nlong after went to work again. It is a tough race that rules the sea.\n\nThere are also fragments of the skeleton of a rhinoceros discovered in a\nlimestone cavern at Oreston during the formation of the Plymouth\nBreakwater. In a recess from the gallery stands the embalmed body of the\nwife of Martin Van Butchell, an impudent Dutch quack doctor. It is\ncoarsely preserved, and is very loathsome to look at. It was prepared in\n1775 by Dr. W. Hunter and Mr. Cruikshank, the vascular system being\ninjected with oil of turpentine and camphorated spirits of wine, and\npowdered nitre and camphor being introduced into the cavities. On the case\ncontaining the body is an advertisement cut from an old newspaper, stating\nthe conditions which Dr. Van Butchell required of those who came to see\nthe body of his wife. At the feet of Mrs. Van Butchell is the shrunken\nmummy of her pet parrot.\n\nThe pictures include the portrait of John Hunter by Reynolds, which Sharp\nengraved: it has much faded. There is also a posthumous bust of Hunter by\nFlaxman, and one of Clive by Chantrey. Any Fellow of the College can\nintroduce a visitor, either personally or by written order, the first four\ndays of the week. In September the Museum is closed. It would be much more\nconvenient for students if some small sum were charged for admission. It\nis now visited but by two or three people a day, when it should be\ninspected by hundreds.\n\nThat great surgeon, John Hunter, was the son of a small farmer in\nLanarkshire. He was born in 1728, and died in 1793. In early life he went\nabroad as an army-surgeon to study gunshot-wounds; and in 1786 he was\nappointed deputy surgeon-general to the army. In 1772 he made discoveries\nas to the property of the gastric juice. He was the first to use cutting\nas a cure for hydrophobia, and to distinguish the various species of\ncancer. He kept at his house at Brompton a variety of wild animals for the\npurposes of comparative anatomy, was often in danger from their violence,\nand as often saved by his own intrepidity. Sir Joseph Banks divided his\ncollection between Hunter and the British Museum. Unequalled in the\ndissecting-room, Hunter was a bad lecturer. He was an irritable man, and\ndied suddenly during a disputation at St. George's Hospital which vexed\nhim. His death is said to have been hastened by fear of death from\nhydrophobia, he having cut his hand while dissecting a man who had died of\nthat mysterious disease. Hunter used to call an operation \"opprobrium\nmedici.\"\n\nIn Portugal Row, as the southern side of the square used to be called,\nlived Sir Richard Fanshawe, the translator of the _Lusiad_ of Camoens, and\nof Guarini's _Pastor Fido_. Sir Richard was our ambassador in Spain; but\nCharles, wishing to get rid of Lord Sandwich from the navy, recalled\nFanshawe, on the plea that he had ventured to sign a treaty without\nauthority. He died in 1666, on the intended day of his return, of a\nviolent fever, probably caused by vexation at his unmerited disgrace. Sir\nRichard appears to have been a religious, faithful man and a good scholar,\nbut born in unhappy times and to an ill fate. Charles I. had very justly a\ngreat respect for him. His wife was a brave, determined woman, full of\naffection, good sense, and equally full of hatred and contempt for Lord\nSandwich, Pepys's friend, who had supplanted her husband in the embassy.\n\nOn one occasion, on their way to Malaga, the Dutch trading vessel in which\nshe and her husband were was threatened by a Turkish galley which bore\ndown on them in full sail. The captain, who had rendered his sixty guns\nuseless by lumbering them up with cargo, resolved to fight for his L30,000\nworth of goods, and therefore armed his two hundred men and plied them\nwith brandy. The decks were partially cleared, and the women ordered below\nfor fear the Turks might think the vessel a merchant-ship and board it.\nSir Richard, taking his gun, bandolier, and sword, stood with the ship's\ncompany waiting for the Turks.[733] But we must quote the brave wife's own\nsimple words:--\"The beast the captain had locked me up in the cabin. I\nknocked and called long to no purpose, until at length the cabin-boy came\nand opened the door. I, all in tears, desired him to be so good as to give\nme the blue thrum cap he wore and his tarred coat, which he did, and I\ngave him half-a-crown; and putting them on, and flinging away my\nnight-clothes, I crept up softly and stood upon the deck by my husband's\nside, as free from fear as, I confess, from discretion; but it was the\neffect of that passion which I could never master. By this time the two\nvessels were engaged in parley, and so well satisfied with speech and\nsight of each other's forces, that the Turks' man-of-war tacked about and\nwe continued our course. But when your father saw me retreat, looking upon\nme, he blessed himself and snatched me up in his arms, saying, 'Good God!\nthat love can make this change!' and though he seemingly chid me, he would\nlaugh at it as often as he remembered that journey.\" This same vessel, a\nshort time after, was blown up in the harbour with the loss of more than a\nhundred men and all the lading.[734]\n\nThis brave, good woman showed still greater fortitude when her husband\ndied and left her almost penniless in a strange country. She had only\ntwenty-eight doubloons with which to bring home her children, and sixty\nservants, and the dead body of her husband. She, however, instantly sold\nher carriages and a thousand pounds' worth of plate, and setting apart the\nqueen's present of two thousand doubloons for travelling expenses, started\nfor England. \"God,\" she says, in her brave, pious way, \"did hear, and\nsee, and help me, and brought my soul out of trouble.\"\n\nIn 1677 Lady Fanshawe took a house in Holborn Row, the north side of the\nsquare, and spent a year lamenting \"the dear remembrances of her past\nhappiness and fortune; and though she had great graces and favours from\nthe king and queen and whole court, yet she found at the present no\nremedy.\"[735]\n\nLord Kenyon lived at No. 35 in 1805. Jekyll was fond of joking about\nKenyon's stinginess, and used to say he died of eating apple-pie crust at\nbreakfast to save the expense of muffins; and that Lord Ellenborough, who\nsucceeded on Kenyon's death to the Chief Justiceship, always used to bow\nto apple-pie ever afterwards which Jekyll called his \"apple-pie-ety.\" The\nprincesses Augusta and Sophia once told Tom Moore, at Lady Donegall's that\nthe king used to play tricks on Kenyon and send the despatch-box to him at\na quarter past seven, when it was known the learned lord was in bed to\nsave candlelight.[736] Lord Ellenborough used to say that the final word\nin \"Mors janua vitae\" was mis-spelled _vita_ on Kenyon's tomb to save the\nextra cost of the diphthong.[737] George III. used to say to Kenyon, \"My\nLord, let us have a little more of your good law, and less of your bad\nLatin.\"\n\nLord Campbell, who gives a very pleasant sketch of Chief Justice Kenyon,\nwith his bad temper and bad Latin, his hatred of newspaper writers and\ngamblers, and his wrath against pettifoggers, describes his being taken in\nby Horne Tooke, and laughs at his ignorantly-mixed metaphors. He seems to\nhave been a respectable second-rate lawyer, conscientious and upright. \"He\noccupied,\" says Lord Campbell, \"a large gloomy house, in which I have seen\nmerry doings when it was afterwards transferred to the Verulam Club.\" The\ntradition of this house was that \"it was always Lent in the kitchen and\nPassion Week in the parlour.\" On some one mentioning the spits in Lord\nKenyon's kitchen, Jekyll said, \"It is irrelevant to talk about the spits,\nfor nothing _turns_ upon them.\" The judge's ignorance was profound. It is\nreported that in a trial for blasphemy the Chief Justice, after citing the\nnames of several remarkable early Christians, said, \"Above all, gentlemen,\nneed I name to you the Emperor Julian, who was so celebrated for the\npractice of every Christian virtue that he was called Julian the\nApostle?\"[738] On another occasion, talking of a false witness, he is\nsupposed to have said, \"The allegation is as far from truth as 'old\nBoterium from the northern main'--a line I have heard or met with, God\nknows where.\"[739]\n\nLord Erskine lived at No. 36, in 1805, the year before he rose at once to\nthe peerage and the woolsack, and presided at Lord Melville's trial. He\ndid not hold the seals many months, and died in 1823. This great Whig\norator was the youngest son of the Earl of Buchan. He was a midshipman and\nan ensign before he became a student at Lincoln's Inn. He began to be\nknown in 1778; in 1781 he defended Lord George Gordon, in 1794 Horne\nTooke, Hardy, Thelwall, and afterwards Tom Paine.\n\nThe house that contains the Soane Museum, No. 13 on the north side, was\nbuilt in 1812, and, consisting of twenty-four small apartments crammed\nwith curiosities, is in itself a marvel of fantastic ingenuity. Every inch\nof space is turned to account. On one side of the picture-room are\ncabinets, and on the other movable shutters or screens, on which pictures\nare also hung; so that a small area, only thirteen feet long and twelve\nbroad, contains as much as a gallery forty-five feet long and twenty feet\nbroad. A Roman altar once stood in the outer court.\n\nIt is a disgrace to the trustees that this curious museum is kept so\nprivate, and that such impediments are thrown in the way of visitors. It\nis open only two days a week in April, May, and June, but at certain\nseasons a third day is granted to foreigners, artists, and people from the\ncountry. To obtain tickets, you are obliged to get, some days before you\nvisit, a letter from a trustee, or to write to the curator, enter your\nname in a book, and leave your card. All this vexatious hindrance and\nfuss has the desired effect of preventing many persons from visiting a\nmuseum left, not to the trustees or the curator, but to the nation--to\nevery Englishman. In order to read the books, copy the pictures, or\nexamine the plans and drawings, the same tedious and humiliating form must\nbe gone through.\n\nThe gem of all the Soane treasures is an enormous transparent alabaster\nsarcophagus, discovered by Belzoni in 1816 in a tomb in the valley of\nBeban el Molook, near Thebes. It is nine feet four inches long, three feet\neight inches wide, two feet eight inches deep, and is covered without and\nwithin with beautifully-cut hieroglyphics. It was the greatest discovery\nof the runaway Paduan Monk, and was undoubtedly the cenotaph or\nsarcophagus of a Pharaoh or Ptolemy. It was discovered in an enormous tomb\nof endless chambers, which the Arabs still call \"Belzoni's tomb.\" On the\nbottom of the case is a full-length figure in relief, of Isis, the\nguardian of the dead. Sir John Soane gave L2000 for this sarcophagus to\nMr. Salt, Consul General of Egypt and Belzoni's employer. The raised lid\nis broken into nineteen pieces. The late Sir Gardner Wilkinson considered\nthis to be the cenotaph of Osirei, the father of Rameses the Great. But\nthe forgotten king for whom the Soane sarcophagus was really executed was\nSeti, surnamed Meni-en-Ptah, the father of Rameses the Great; he is called\nby Manetho Sethos.[740] Dr. Lepsius dates the commencement of his reign\nB.C. 1439. Dr. Brugsch places it twenty years earlier. Mr. Sharpe, with\nthat delightful uncertainty characteristic of Egyptian antiquaries, drags\nthe epoch down two hundred years later. Seti was the father of the Pharaoh\nwho persecuted the Israelites, and he made war against Syria. His son was\nthe famous Rameses. All three kings were descended from the Shepherd\nChiefs. The most beautiful fragment in Karnak represents this monarch,\nSeti, in his chariot, with a sword like a fish-slice in one hand, while in\nthe other he clutches the topknots of a group of conquered enemies,\nNubian, Syrian, and Jewish. The work is full of an almost Raphaelesque\ngrace.\n\nAfter this come some of Flaxman's and Banks's sketches and models, a cast\nof the shield of Achilles by the former, and one of the Boothby monument\nby the latter. There is also a fine collection of ancient gems and\nintaglios, pure in taste and exquisitely cut, and a set of the Napoleon\nmedals, selected by Denon for the Empress Josephine, and in the finest\npossible state. We may also mention Sir Christopher Wren's watch, some\nivory chairs, and a table from Tippoo Saib's devastated palace at\nSeringapatam, and a richly-mounted pistol taken by Peter the Great from a\nTurkish general at Azof in 1696. The latter was given to Napoleon by the\nRussian emperor at the treaty of Tilsit in 1807, and was presented by him\nto a French officer at St. Helena. The books, too, are of great interest.\nHere is the original MS. copy of the _Gierusalemme Liberata_, published at\nFerrara in 1581, and in Tasso's own handwriting; the first four folio\neditions of Shakspere, once the property of that great actor and\nShaksperean student John Philip Kemble; a folio of designs for Elizabethan\nand Jacobean houses by the celebrated architect John Thorpe; Fauntleroy\nthe forger's illustrated copy of Pennant's _London_, purchased for six\nhundred and fifty guineas; a Commentary on Paul's Epistles, illuminated by\nthe laborious Croatian, Giulio Clovio (who died in 1578), for Cardinal\nGrimani. Vasari raves about the minute finish of this painter.\n\nThe pictures, too, are good. There are three Canalettis full of that Dutch\nVenetian's clear common sense; the finest, a view on the Grand Canal--his\nfavourite subject--and \"The Snake in the Grass,\" better known as \"Love\nunloosing the Zone of Beauty,\" by Reynolds. There is a sadly faded replica\nof this in the Winter Palace at St. Petersburg. This one was purchased at\nthe Marchioness of Thomond's sale for L500. The \"Rake's Progress,\" by\nHogarth, in eight pictures, was purchased by Sir John in 1802 for L598.\nThese inimitable pictures are incomparable, and display the fine, pure,\nsober colour of the great artist, and his broad touch so like that of Jan\nSteen.\n\nThe Soane collection also boasts of Hogarth's four \"Election\" pictures,\npurchased at Garrick's sale for L1732 10s. They are rather dark in tone.\nThere is also a fine but curious Turner, \"Van Tromp's Barge entering the\nTexel;\" a portrait by Goma of Napoleon in 1797, when emaciated and\nhaggard, and a fine miniature of him in 1814, when fat and already on the\ndecline, both physically and mentally, by Isabey the great\nminiature-painter, taken at Elba in 1814. In the dining-room is a portrait\nof Soane by Sir Thomas Lawrence, and in the gallery under the dome a bust\nof him by Chantrey.\n\nSir John Soane was the son of a humble Reading bricklayer, and brought up\nin Mr. Dance's office. Carrying off a gold and silver medal at the\nAcademy, he was sent as travelling student to Rome. In 1791 he obtained a\nGovernment employment, in 1800 enlarged the Bank of England, and in 1806\nbecame Professor of Architecture at the Royal Academy. He built the\nDulwich Gallery, and in 1826 the Masonic Hall in Great Queen Street. In\n1827 he gave L1000 to the Duke of York's monument. At the close of his\nlife he left his collection of works of art, valued at L50,000, to the\nnation, and died in 1837,[741] leaving his son penniless. In 1835 the\nEnglish architects presented Sir John with a splendid medal in token of\ntheir approbation of his conduct and talents.\n\nThe Literary Fund Society, instituted in 1790, and incorporated in 1818,\nhad formerly rooms at No. 4 Lincoln's Inn Fields. The society was\nestablished in order to aid authors of merit and good character who might\nbe reduced to poverty by unavoidable circumstances, or be deprived of the\npower of exertion by enfeebled faculties or old age. George IV. and\nWilliam IV. both contributed one hundred guineas a year to its funds, and\nthis subscription is continued by our present Queen. The society\ndistributed L1407 in 1846. The average annual amount of subscriptions and\ndonations is about L1100. The Literary Fund Society moved afterwards to\n73 Great Russell Street. Some years ago a split occurred in this society.\nCharles Dickens and Mr. C. W. Dilke, the proprietor of the _Athenaeum_,\nobjecting to the wasteful expense of the management, seceded from it; the\nresult of this secession was the founding of the Guild of Literature, and\nthe collection of L4000 by means of private theatricals--a sum which,\nunfortunately, still lies partly dormant. The Fund is now domiciled in\nBloomsbury.\n\nBoth Pepys and Evelyn praise the house of Mr. Povey in Lincoln's Inn\nFields as a prodigy of elegant comfort and ingenuity. The marqueterie\nfloors, \"the perspective picture in the little closet,\" the grotto\ncellars, with a well for the wine, the fountains and imitation porphyry\nvases, his pictures and the bath at the top of the house, seem to have\nbeen the abstract of all luxurious ease.\n\nNames were first put on doors in London in 1760, some years before the\nstreet-signs were removed. In 1764 houses were first numbered; the\nnumbering commenced in New Burlington Street, and Lincoln's Inn Fields was\nthe second place numbered.\n\nIn Carey Street lived that excellent woman Mrs. Hester Chapone, who\nafterwards removed to Arundel Street. She was a friend of Mrs. Carter, who\ntranslated Epictetus, and of Mrs. Montagu, the Queen of the Blue\nStockings. She was one of the female admirers who thronged round\nRichardson the novelist, and she married a young Templar whom he had\nintroduced to her. It was a love match, and she had the misfortune of\nlosing him in less than ten months after their marriage. Her celebrated\nletters on _The Improvement of the Mind_, published in 1773, were written\nfor a favourite niece, who married a Westminster Clergyman and died in\nchildbed. Though Mrs. Chapone's letters are now rather dry and\nold-fashioned, reminding us of the backboards of a too punctilious age,\nthey contain some sensible and well-expressed thoughts. Here is a sound\npassage:--\"Those ladies who pique themselves on the particular excellence\nof neatness are very apt to forget that the decent order of the house\nshould be designed to promote the convenience and pleasure of those who\nare to be in it; and that if it is converted into a cause of trouble and\nconstraint, their husbands' guests would be happier without it.\"[742]\n\nGibbons's Tennis Court stood in Vere Street, Clare Market; it was turned\ninto a theatre by Thomas Killigrew. Ogilby the poet, started a lottery of\nbooks at \"the old theatre\" in June 1668. He describes the books in his\nadvertisements as \"all of his own designment and composure.\"\n\n\"The Duke's Theatre\" stood in Portugal Street, at the back of Portugal\nRow. It was pulled down in 1835 to make room for the enlargement of the\nMuseum of the College of Surgeons. Before that it had been the china\nwarehouse of Messrs. Spode and Copeland.[743] There had been, however,\nfrailer things than china in the house in Pepys's time. Here, the year of\nthe Restoration, came Killigrew with the actors from the Red Bull,\nClerkenwell, and took the name of the King's Company. Three years later\nthey moved to Drury Lane. Davenant's company then came to Portugal Street\nin 1662, deserting their theatre, once a granary, in Salisbury Court. They\nplayed here till 1671, when they returned to their old theatre, then\nrenovated under the management of Charles Davenant and the celebrated\nBetterton, the great tragedian. They afterwards united in Drury Lane, and\nagain fell apart. In 1695 a company, headed by Betterton, with Congreve\nfor a partner, re-opened the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields. It then\nbecame celebrated for pantomimes under Rich, the excellent harlequin. On\nhis removal to Covent Garden it was deserted, re-opened by Gifford from\nGoodman's Fields, and finally ceased to be a theatre about 1737, so that\nits whole life did not extend to more than one generation.\n\nActresses first appeared in London in Prynne's time. Soon after the\nRestoration a lady of Killigrew's company took the part of Desdemona. In\nJanuary 1661 Pepys saw women on the stage at the Cockpit Theatre: the play\nwas Beaumont and Fletcher's \"Beggars' Bush.\" The prologue to \"Othello\" in\n1660 contains the following line:[744]--\n\n  \"Our women are defective and so sized,\n  You'd think they were some of the guard disguised;\n  For, to speak truth, men act that are between\n  Forty and fifty, wenches of fifteen,\n  With bone so large, and nerve so uncompliant,\n  That, when you call Desdemona, enter giant.\"\n\nThe Puritans were now happily in the minority, and so the attempt\nsucceeded. Davenant did not bring forward his actresses till June 1661,\nwhen he produced his \"Siege of Rhodes.\" Kynaston, Hart, Burt, and Clun,\nfamous actors of Charles II.'s time, were all excellent representatives of\nfemale characters.\n\nIt was at the Duke's Theatre, in 1680, that Nell Gwynn who was present,\nbeing reviled by one of the audience, and William Herbert, who had married\na sister of one of the king's mistresses, taking up Nell's quarrel--a\nsword fight took place between the two factions in the house. This\nhot-blooded young gallant Herbert grew up to be Earl of Pembroke and first\nplenipotentiary at Ryswick.\n\nThe chief ladies at the Duke's House were Mrs. Davenport, Mrs. Davies, and\nMrs. Saunderson. The first of these ladies, generally known as \"Roxalana,\"\nfrom a character of that name in the \"Siege of Rhodes,\" resisted for a\nlong time the addresses of Aubrey de Vere, the last Earl of Oxford, a\nwicked brawling roysterer, and a disgrace to his name, who at last\nobtained her hand by the cruel deception of a sham marriage. The pretended\npriest was a trumpeter, the witness a kettle-drummer in the king's\nregiment. The poor creature threw herself in vain at the king's feet and\ndemanded justice, but gradually grew more composed upon an annuity of a\nthousand crowns a year.[745]\n\nAs for Mrs. Davies, who danced well and played ill, she won the\nsusceptible heart of Charles II. by her singing the song, \"My lodging is\non the cold, cold ground.\" \"Through the marriage of the daughter of Lord\nDerwentwater with the eighth Lord Petre,\" says Dr. Doran, \"the blood of\nthe Stuarts and of Moll Davies still runs in their lineal descendant, the\npresent and twelfth lord.\"[746]\n\nMrs. Saunderson became the excellent wife of the great actor Betterton.\nFor about thirty years she played the chief female characters, especially\nin Shakspere's plays, with great success. She taught Queen Anne and her\nsister Mary elocution, and after her husband's death received a pension of\nL500 a year from her royal pupil.\n\nIn 1664 Pepys went to Portugal Street to see that clever but impudent\nimpostor, the German Princess, appear after her acquittal at the Old\nBailey for inveigling a young citizen into a marriage, acting her own\ncharacter in a comedy immortalising her exploit.\n\nIn February 1666-7 Pepys goes again to the Duke's Playhouse, and observes\nthere Rochester the wit and Mrs. Stewart, afterwards Duchess of Richmond,\nthe same lady whose portrait we retain as Britannia on the old\nhalfpennies. \"It was pleasant,\" says the tuft-hunting gossip, \"to see how\neverybody rose up when my Lord John Butler, the Duke of Ormond's son, came\ninto the pit, towards the end of the play, who was a servant to Mrs.\nMallett, and now smiled upon her and she on him.\"[747]\n\nThe same month, 1667-8, Pepys revisits the Duke's House to see Etherege's\nnew play, \"She Would if She Could.\" He was there by two o'clock, and yet\nalready a thousand people had been refused at the pit. The fussy\npublic-office man, not being able to find his wife, who was there, got\ninto an eighteenpenny box, and could hardly see or hear. The play done, it\nbeing dark and rainy, Pepys stays in the pit looking for his wife and\nwaiting for the weather to clear up. And there for an hour and a half sat\nalso the Duke of Buckingham, Sedley, and Etherege talking; all abusing the\nplay as silly, dull, and insipid, except the author, who complained of the\nactors for not knowing their parts.\n\nIn May 1668 Pepys is again at this theatre in the balcony box, where sit\nthe shameless Lady Castlemaine and her ladies and women; on another\noccasion he sits below the same group, and sees the proud lady look like\nfire when Moll Davies ogles the king her lover. In another place he\nobserves how full the pit is, though the seats are two shillings and\nsixpence a piece, whereas in his youth he had never gone higher than\ntwelvepence or eighteenpence.[748]\n\nKynaston, the greatest of the \"boy-actresses,\" was chiefly on this stage\nfrom 1659 to 1699. Evadne was his favourite female part. Later in life he\ntook to heroic characters. Cibber says of him: \"He had something of a\nformal gravity in his mien, which was attributed to the stately step he\nhad been so early confined to. But even that in characters of superiority\nhad its proper graces; it misbecame him not in the part of Leon in\nFletcher's 'Rule a Wife,' which he executed with a determined manliness\nand honest authority. He had a piercing eye, and in characters of heroic\nlife a quick imperious vivacity in his tone of voice that painted the\ntyrant truly terrible. There were two plays of Dryden in which he shone\nwith uncommon lustre; in 'Arungzebe,' he played Morat, and in 'Don\nSebastian' Muley Moloch. In both these parts he had a fierce lion-like\nmajesty in his port and utterance that gave the spectator a kind of\ntrembling admiration.\"[749] Kynaston died in 1712, and left a fortune to\nhis son, a mercer in Covent Garden, whose son became rector of Aldgate.\n\nJames Nokes was Kynaston's contemporary in Portugal Street. Leigh Hunt\ncalls him something between Liston and Munden. Dryden mentions him, in a\npolitical epistle to Southerne, as indispensable to a play. Cibber says,\n\"The ridiculous solemnity of his features was enough to have set the whole\nbench of Bishops into a titter.\" In his ludicrous distresses he sank into\nsuch piteous pusilanimity that one almost pitied him. \"When he debated any\nmatter by himself he would shut up his mouth with a dumb, studious pout,\nand roll his full eye into a vacant amazement.\"[750] He died in 1692,\nleaving a fortune and an estate near Barnet.\n\nBut the great star of Portugal Street was Betterton, the Garrick of his\nage. His most admired part was Hamlet; but Steele especially dilates on\nhis Othello. He acted his Hamlet from traditions handed down by Davenant\nof Taylor, whom Shakspere himself is said to have instructed. Cibber says\nthat there was such enchantment in his voice alone that no one cared for\nthe sense of the words; and he adds, \"I never heard a line in tragedy come\nfrom Betterton wherein my judgment, my ear, and my imagination, were not\nfully satisfied.\" This great man, who created no fewer than 130\ncharacters, was a friend of Dryden, Pope, and Tillotson. Kneller's\nportrait of him is at Knowle;[751] A copy of it by Pope is preserved in\nLord Mansfield's gallery at Caen Wood. When he died, in 1710, Steele wrote\na \"Tatler\" upon him, in which he says \"he laboured incessantly, and lived\nirreproachably. He was the jewel of the English stage.\" He killed himself\nby driving back the gout in order to perform on his benefit night, and his\nwidow went mad from grief. Betterton acted as Colonel Jolly in Colman's\n\"Cutter of Coleman Street,\" as Jaffier in Otway's _chef d'oeuvre_, as fine\ngentlemen in Congreve's vicious but gay comedies, as a hero in Rowe's\nflatulent plays, and as Sir John Brute in Vanbrugh's great comedy.\n\nMrs. Barry was one of the best actresses in Portugal Street. She was the\ndaughter of an old Cavalier colonel, and was instructed for the stage by\nRochester, whose mistress she became. Dryden pronounced her the best\nactress he had ever seen. Her face and colour varied with each passion,\nwhether heroic or tender. \"Her mien and motion,\" says Cibber, \"were superb\nand gracefully majestic, her voice full, clear, and strong.\" In scenes of\nanger, defiance, or resentment, while she was impetuous and terrible, she\npoured out the sentiment with an enchanting harmony. She was so versatile\nthat she played Lady Brute as well as Zara or Belvidera. For her King\nJames II. originated the custom of actors' benefits. After a career of\nthirty-eight years on the boards, she died at Acton in 1713. Kneller's\npicture represents her with beautiful eyes, fine hair drawn back from her\nforehead, \"the face full, fair, and rippling with intellect,\"[752] but her\nmouth a little awry.[753]\n\nMrs. Mountfort also appeared in Portugal Street before the two companies\nunited at Drury Lane in 1682. She was the best of male coxcombs, stage\ncoquettes, and country dowdies, a vivacious mimic, and of the most\nversatile humour. Cibber sketches her admirably as Melantha in \"Marriage a\nla Mode:\"--\"She is a fluttering, finished impertinent, with a whole\nartillery of airs, eyes, and motions. When the gallant recommended by her\nfather brings his letter of introduction, down goes her dainty diving body\nto the ground, as if she were sinking under the conscious load of her own\nattractions; then she launches into a flood of fine language and\ncompliment, still playing her chest forward in fifty falls, and rising\nlike a swan upon waving water; and to complete her impertinence, she is so\nrapidly fond of her own wit that she will not give her lover leave to\npraise it;[754] and at last she swims from him with a promise to return in\na twinkling.\"\n\nThe virtuous, good, and discreet Mrs. Bracegirdle was another favourite in\nPortugal Street. For her Congreve, who affected to be her lover, wrote his\nAraminta and Cynthia, his Angelica, his Almeria, and his Millamant in \"The\nway of the world.\" All the town was in love with her youth, cheerful\ngaiety, musical voice, the happy graces of her manner, her dark eyes,\nbrown hair, and expressive, rosy-brown face. Her Statira justified Nat\nLee's frantic Alexander for all his rant; and \"when she acted Millamant,\nall the faults, follies, and affectation of that agreeable tyrant were\nvenially melted down into so many charms and attractions of a conscious\nbeauty.\" Mrs. Bracegirdle was on the stage from 1680 to 1707. She lived\nlong enough to warn Cibber against envy of Garrick, and died in 1748.\n\nThree of Congreve's plays, \"Love for Love,\" \"The Mourning Bride,\" and \"The\nWay of the World,\" came out in Portugal Street. Steele, in the _Tatler_,\nNo. 1, mentions \"Love for Love\" as being acted for Betterton's\nbenefit--Mrs. Barry, Mrs. Bracegirdle, and Doggett taking parts. He\ndescribes the stage as covered with gentlemen and ladies, \"so that when\nthe curtain was drawn it discovered even there a very splendid audience.\"\n\"In Dryden's time,\" says Steele, \"You used to see songs, epigrams, and\nsatires in the hands of every person you met [at the theatre]; now you\nhave only a pack of cards, and instead of the cavils about the turn of the\nexpression, the elegance of style and the like, the learned now dispute\nonly about the truth of the game.\"\n\nPoor Mountfort, the most handsome, graceful, and ardent of stage lovers,\nthe most admirable of courtly <DW2>s, and the best dancer and singer of the\nday, strutted his little hour in Portugal Street till run through the body\nby Lord Mohun's infamous boon companion. His career extended from 1682 to\n1695. He was only thirty-three when he died.\n\nThe last proprietor of the theatre was Rich, an actor who, failing in\ntragedy, turned harlequin and manager, and became celebrated for producing\nspectacles, ballets, and pantomimes. Under the name of Lun he revelled as\nharlequin, and was admirable in a scene where he was hatched from an egg.\n\nPope, always sore about theatrical matters, describes this manager's\npompousness in the _Dunciad_ (book iii.):--\n\n                          \"At ease\n  'Midst storm of paper fierce hail of pease,\n  And proud his mistress' order to perform,\n  Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm.\"\n\nRich's great success was the production of Gay's _Beggars' Opera_ in\n1727-8. This piece brought L2000 to the author, and for a time drove the\nItalian Opera into the shade. It ran sixty-three nights the first season,\nand then spread to all the great towns in Great Britain. Ladies carried\nabout the favourite songs engraved on their fan-mounts, and they were also\nprinted on fire-screens and other furniture. Miss Lavinia Fenton, who\nacted Polly, became the idol of the town; engravings of her were sold by\nthousands: her life was written, and collections were made of her\njests.[755] Eventually she married the Duke of Bolton. Sir Robert Walpole\nlaughed at the satire against himself, and \"Gay grew rich, and Rich gay,\"\nas the popular epigram went. Hogarth drew the chief scene with Walker as\nMacheath, and Spiller as Mat o' the Mint. Swift was vexed to find his\nGulliver for the time forgotten.\n\nThe custom of allowing young men of fashion to have chairs upon the stage\nwas an intolerable nuisance to the actors before Garrick. In 1721 it led\nto a desperate riot at the Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre. Half-a-dozen\nbeaux, headed by a tipsy earl, were gathered round the wings, when the\nearl reeled across the stage where Macbeth and his lady were then acting,\nto speak to a boon companion at the opposite side. Rich the manager, vexed\nat the interruption, forbade the earl the house, upon which the earl\nstruck Rich and Rich the earl. Half-a-dozen swords at once sprang out and\ndecreed that Rich must die; but Quin and his brother actors rushed to the\nrescue with bare blades, charged the coxcombs, and drove them through the\nstage-door into the kennel. The beaux returning to the front, rushed into\nthe boxes, broke the sconces, slashed the hangings, and threatened to burn\nthe house; upon which doughty Quin and a party of constables and watchmen\nflung themselves on the rioters and haled them to prison. The actors,\nintimidated, refused to re-open the house till the king granted them a\nguard of soldiers, a custom that has not long been discontinued. It was\nnot till 1780 that the habit of admitting the vulgar, noisy, and turbulent\nfootmen gratis was abandoned.[756]\n\nMacklin, afterwards the inimitable Shylock and Sir Pertinax, played small\nparts at Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre till 1731, when a short speech as\nBrazencourt, in Fielding's \"Coffee-house Politicians,\" betrayed the true\nactor. He lived till over a hundred, so long that he did not leave Covent\nGarden till after Braham's appearance, and Braham many of our elder\nreaders have seen.[757]\n\nMacklin, an Irishman, and in early life a Dragoon officer, was irritable,\nrestless, and pugnacious; he obtained his first triumph at Drury Lane, as\nShylock in 1741. In stern malignity, no one has surpassed Macklin. His\nacting was hard, but manly and weighty, though his features were rather\nrigid. He naturally condemned Garrick's action and gesture as\nsuperabundant. His Sir Pertinax was excellent in its sly and deadly\nsuppleness. He was also admirable in Lovegold, Scrub, Peachem, Polonius,\nand many Irish characters.\n\nQuin was at Portugal Street as early as 1718-19. There he first \"delighted\nthe town by his chivalry as Hotspur, his bluntness as Clytus, his\nfieriness as Bajazet, his grandeur as Macbeth, his calm dignity as Brutus,\nhis unctuousness as Falstaff, his duplicity as Maskwell, and his coarse\ndrollery as Sir John Brute.\"[758] It was just before this, that locked in\na room and compelled to fight, he had killed Bowen, who was jealous of his\nacting as Bajazet. When Rich refused to give Quin more than L300 a year,\nhe joined the Drury Lane company, where he instantly got L500 per annum.\n\nWhen Rich grew wealthy enough to hire a new theatre in Covent Garden, he\nleft Portugal Street. Almost the last play acted there was \"The\nAnatomist,\" by Ravenscroft, a second-rate author of Dryden's time.\n\nThe mob attributed the flight of Rich from the old theatre to the\nappearance of a devil during the performance of the pantomime of\n\"Harlequin and Dr. Faustus,\" a play in which demons abound. The\nsupernumerary spirit ascending by the roof instead of leaving by the door\nwith his paid companions, was believed to have so frightened manager Rich\nthat, taking the warning against theatrical profanity to heart, he never\nhad the courage to open the theatre again.[759] The legend is curious, as\nit proves that even in 1732 the old Puritan horror of theatricals had not\nquite died out, and that at that period the poorer part of the audience\nwas still ignorant enough to attribute mechanical tricks to supernatural\ninterference.\n\nGarrick, in one of his prologues, speaks of Rich, under the name of Lun--\n\n  \"When Lun appeared with matchless art and whim,\n  He gave the power of speech to every limb;\n  Though masked and mute, convey'd his quick intent,\n  And told in frolic gestures all he meant;\n  But now the motley coat and sword of wood\n  Require a tongue to make them understood.\"\n\nEvery motion of Rich meant something. His \"statue scene\" and \"catching the\nbutterfly\" were moving pictures. His \"harlequin hatched from an egg by\nsun-heat\" is highly spoken of; Jackson calls it \"a masterpiece of dumb\nshow.\" From the first chipping of the egg, his receiving of motion, his\nfeeling the ground, his standing upright, to his quick harlequin trip\nround the broken egg, every limb had its tongue. Walpole says, \"His\npantomimes were full of wit, and coherent, and carried on a story.\" Yet\nRich was so ignorant that he called a 'turban' a 'turbot,' and an\n'adjective' an 'adjutant.'\n\nSpiller, who died of apoplexy in Portugal Street, in 1729-30 as he was\nplaying in the \"Rape of Proserpine,\" was inimitable in old men. This was\nthe year that Quin played Macheath for his benefit, and Fielding brought\nout his inimitable \"Tom Thumb\" at the Haymarket, to ridicule the bombast\nof Thomson and Young.\n\nKing's College Hospital, which occupies a large portion of the southern\nside of Carey Street, is connected with the medical school of King's\nCollege, and is supported by voluntary contributions. For each guinea a\nyear a subscriber may recommend one in and two out patients. Contributors\nacquire the same right for every donation of ten guineas. Annual\nsubscribers of three guineas, or donors of thirty guineas, are governors\nof the hospital. The house is surrounded by a population of nearly 400,000\npersons, of whom about 20,000 annually receive relief. In one year 363\npoor married women have been attended in confinements at their own houses.\n\nThe last memorial of a gay generation, passed like last year's swallows,\nwas a headstone that used to stand in the burial-ground belonging to St.\nClement's, now the site of King's College Hospital. The slab rose from\nrank green grass that was sprinkled with dead cats, worn-out shoes, and\nfragments of tramps' bonnets; in summer it was half hid by a clump of\nsunflowers.[760] It kept dimly alive the memory of Joe Miller, a taciturn\nactor, in whose mouth Mottley, the poet put his volume of jokes that had\nbeen raked from every corner of the town. Mottley was a place-seeker and a\nwriter of stilted tragedies and a bad comedy, for whose benefit night\nQueen Caroline, wife of George II., condescended to sell tickets at her\nown drawing-room.[761] Miller appears to have been an honest, and stupid\nfellow, but some good sayings are embalmed in the rather coarse book which\nbears his name. His portrait represents Joe as a broad-nosed man with\nlarge saucer eyes, a big absurd mouth, and a look of comic stolid\nsurprise. He died in 1738, and the Jest Book was published the year after,\nprice one shilling.\n\nJoe Miller made his first appearance on the stage in 1715, at Drury Lane,\nin Farquhar's comedy of \"A trip to the Jubilee.\" He also played Clodpole\nin Betterton's \"Amorous Widow,\" Sir H. Gubbin in Steele's \"Tender\nHusband,\" La Foole in Ben Jonson's \"Epicene,\" and above all Sir Joseph\nWhittol in Congreve's \"Old Bachelor.\" Hogarth designed a benefit ticket\nfor this play. As Ben in \"Love for Love,\" Cibber cut out Joe Miller. In\n1721 Joe opened a booth at Bartholomew Fair with Pinkethman. His last\ngreat success was as the Miller in Dodsley's farce of \"The King and the\nMiller of Mansfield.\" Stephen Duck, the Wiltshire thresher, afterwards a\npopular preacher, wrote his epitaph. Joe Miller's monument is still\ncarefully preserved in one of the rooms in King's College Hospital. John\nMottley, his editor, was the son of a Colonel Mottley, a Jacobite who\nfollowed James into France. His son was placed in the Excise Office, and\ngrew up a place-hunter. He wrote a bad tragedy called \"The Imperial\nCaptives,\" and was promised a commissionership of wine licenses by Lord\nHalifax, and a place in the Exchequer by Sir Robert Walpole, but received\nnothing from either. He compiled the Jest-Book, it is said partly from the\nrecollection of the comedian's conversations,[762] but it is doubtful if\nthis is true. The compilation (once so useful to diners-out) went through\nthree editions in 1739, and at about the thirteenth edition was reprinted,\nafter thirty years, by Barker, of Russell Street, Covent Garden.[763]\n\nThe Grange public-house close by, with its picturesque old courtyard, is\nmentioned by Davenant, in his \"Playhouse to Let,\" as an inn patronised by\npoets and actors.\n\nThe Black Jack public-house in Portsmouth Street was Joe Miller's\nfavourite haunt. Some paintings on its walls still testify to the\noccasional presence of artists of the last century. This inn used to be\ncalled \"The Jump,\" from that adroit young scoundrel Jack Sheppard having\nonce jumped from one of its first-floor windows to escape the armed\nemissaries of that still greater thief, the thief-taker, Mr. Jonathan\nWild.\n\nWhen paviours dig deep under the Strand they find the fossil remains of\nantediluvian monsters. A church in the street bears a name that carries us\nback to the times of the Saxons and the Danes. In one lane there is a\nRoman bath, in another there are the nodding gable-ends of houses at which\nBeaumont and Fletcher may have looked, and which Shakspere and Ben Jonson\nmust have visited. So the Present is built out of the Past. The Strand\nteems with associations of every period of history. The story of St.\nGiles's parish alone should embrace the whole records of London vagrancy.\nThe chronicle of Lincoln's Inn Fields embraces reminiscences of half our\ngreat lawyers. In the chapter on St. Martin's Lane I have been glad to\nnote down some interesting incidents in the careers of many of our\ngreatest painters. Long Acre leads us to Dryden, Cromwell, Wilson, and\nStothard. At Charing Cross we have stopped to see how brave men can die\nfor a good cause.\n\nA thorough history of our great city, considered in every aspect, would\nalmost be a condensed history of the world. I offer these pages to my\nreaders only as a humble contribution to the history of London.\n\n[Illustration: THE BLACK JACK, PORTSMOUTH STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS.]\n\nOur commercial wealth and the vastness of our maritime enterprise is shown\nin nothing more than by the distance from which we fetch our commonest\narticles of consumption--tea from China, sugar from the West Indies,\ncoffee from Ceylon, oil from the farthest nooks of Italy, chocolate from\nMexico. An Englishman need not be very rich in order to consume samples\nof all these productions of different hemispheres at a single meal.\n\nIn the same manner many books of far-divided ages have gone to form the\npatchwork of the present volume; I am like the merchant who sends his\nships to collect in different harbours, and across wide and adverse seas,\nthe materials that he needs. In this busy and overworked age there are\nmany persons who have no time themselves to make such voyages, no patience\nto traverse such seas, even if they possessed the charts: it is for them I\nhave written, and it is from them I hope for some kind approval.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n    \"The West End seems to me one vast cemetery. Hardly a street but has\n    in it a house once occupied by dear friends with whom I had daily\n    intercourse: if I stopped and knocked now, who would know or take\n    interest in me? _The streets to me are peopled with shadows: the city\n    is as a city of the dead._\"\n\n      SAMUEL ROGERS.\n\n\nTHE STRAND (SOUTH SIDE).--p. 25.\n\n    \"I often shed tears in the motley Strand for fulness of joy at such\n    multitude of life.\"--CHARLES LAMB'S _Letters_, vol. i.\n\nThe Strand is three-quarters of a mile long. Van de Wyngerede's view,\n1543, shows straggling houses on the south side, but on the north side all\nis open to Covent Garden. There were three water-courses, crossed by\nbridges. Haycock's Ordinary, near Palsgrave Place, was much frequented in\nthe seventeenth century by Parliament men and town gallants. No. 217 was\nthe shop of Snow, a wealthy goldsmith who withstood the South Sea Bubble\nwithout injury. Gay describes him during the panic with black pen behind\nhis ear. He says to Snow--\n\n  \"Thou stoodst (an Indian king in size and hue);\n  Thy unexhausted shop was our Peru.\"\n\nThe Robin Hood Debating Society held its meetings in Essex Street. Burke\nspoke here, and Goldsmith was a member. The great Cottonian Library was\nkept in Essex House from 1712 to 1730, on the site of the Unitarian\nChapel, built about 1774. Mr. Lindsey, Dr. Disney, Mr. Belsham\n(Priestley's successor) preached here, and after Mr. Belsham the Rev.\nThomas Madge. At George's Coffee-house, now 213 Strand, Foote describes\nthe town wits meeting in 1751. Shenstone was a frequenter of this house,\nand came here to read pamphlets--the subscription being one shilling. The\nGrecian Coffee-house was used by Goldsmith and the Irish and Lancashire\nTemplars. Milford Lane was so named from an adjacent ford over the Thames.\nA windmill stood near St. Mary's Church, temp. James I. Sir Richard Baker,\nthe worthy old chronicler whom Sir Roger de Coverley so admired, lived in\nthis lane in 1632-9. The old houses were taken down in 1852. No. 191 was\nthe shop of William Godwin, bookseller, the author of _Caleb Williams_,\nand the friend of Lamb and Shelley.--Strype mentions the Crown and Anchor\nTavern. Here, in 1710, was instituted the Academy of Ancient Music. Here,\non Fox's birthday, in 1798, 2000 guests were feasted. Johnson and Boswell\noccasionally supped here, and here the Royal Societies were held. In\nSurrey Street, in a large garden-house at the east end fronting the river,\nlived the Hon. Charles Howard, the eminent chemist who discovered the\nprocess of sugar-refining _in vacuo_.\n\nAt No. 169, now the Strand Theatre, Barker, an artist, exhibited the\npanorama--his own invention--suggested to him when sketching under an\numbrella on the Calton Hill. No. 217, now a branch of the London and\nWestminster Bank, was formerly Paul, Strahan, and Bates's,[764] who in\n1858 disposed of their customers' securities to the amount of L113,625,\nand were sentenced to fourteen years' penal servitude. The drinking\nfountain opposite St. Mary's Church is a product of a most useful\nassociation. The first fountain erected under its auspices was opened in\nApril 1859, by Lord John Russell, Lord Carlisle, and Mr. Gurney.--At No.\n147 was published the _Sphinx_, and Jan. 2, 1828, No. 1 of the _Athenaeum_.\nNo. 149 is the shop once belonging to Mr. Mawe, the mineralogist, who was\nsucceeded by James Tennant, Professor of Mineralogy at King's College. At\nNo. 132 Strand (site of Wellington Street), the first circulating library\nin London was started by a Mr. Wright, in 1740. Opposite Southampton\nStreet, from 1686 to late in the last century, lived Vaillant, the eminent\nforeign bookseller. No. 143 was the site of the first office of the\n_Morning Chronicle_ (Perry succeeding Woodfall in 1789). Lord Campbell and\nHazlitt were theatrical critics to this paper. Mr. Dickens was a\nparliamentary reporter, Mr. Serjeant Spankie an editor, Campbell the poet\na contributor. On Perry's death, in 1821, it was purchased by Mr. Clement\nfor L42,000. The _Mirror_, the first cheap illustrated periodical was also\npublished at this office. At No. 1 lived Rudolph Ackermann, the German\nprintseller, who introduced lithography and annuals. He illuminated his\ngallery when gas was a novelty. Aaron Hill was born in a dwelling on the\nsite of the present Beaufort House; Lord Clarendon lived here while his\nunlucky western house was building; and here, in 1660, the Duke of York\nmarried the chancellor's daughter.\n\nThe York Buildings Water Company failed in 1731. Hungerford Hall and its\npanoramic pictures were burnt in 1854. At No. 18 Strand, in 1776, the\nelder Mathews the comedian was born; Dr. Adam Clarke and Rowland Hill used\nto visit his father, who was a religious bookseller. No. 7 Craven Street\n(Franklin's old house) was long occupied by the Society for the Relief of\nPersons imprisoned for Small Debts. In Northumberland Court, once known as\n\"Lieutenants' Lodgings,\" Nelson once lodged.\n\n\nNORFOLK STREET.--p. 44.\n\nMr. Dickens has sketched Norfolk Street in his own inimitable way.\n\"Norfolk is a delightful street to lodge in, provided you don't go lower\ndown (Mrs. Lirriper dates from No. 81); but of a summer evening, when the\ndust and waste paper lie in it, and stray children play in it, and a kind\nof gritty calm and bake settles on it, and a peal of church-bells is\npractising in the neighbourhood, it is a trifle dull; and never have I\nseen it since at such a time, and never shall I see it ever more at such a\ntime, without seeing the dull June evening when that forlorn young\ncreature sat at her open corner window on the second, and me at my open\ncorner window (the other corner) on the third.\"[765]\n\n\nTHE STRAND THEATRE.--p. 53.\n\nThe Strand Theatre, No. 169, formerly called Punch's Playhouse, was\naltered in 1831 for Rayner, the low comedian, and Mrs. Waylett, the\nsinger. Here were produced many of Douglas Jerrold's early plays. Under\nMiss Swanborough's management, Miss Marie Wilton, arch and witty as\nShakspere's Maria, delighted the town. Here poor Rogers, now dead, was\ninimitable in burlesque female characters.\n\n\nTHE SOMERSET COFFEE-HOUSE.--p. 56.\n\nThe bold and redoubtable Junius (now pretty well ascertained, after much\ninkshed, to be Sir Philip Francis) occasionally left his letters for\nWoodfall at the bar of the Somerset Coffee-house at the east corner of the\nentrance to King's College. His other houses of call were the bar of the\nNew Exchange, and now and then Munday's in Maiden Lane.\n\n\nSOMERSET HOUSE.--p. 56.\n\nThe School of Design, formerly located in Somerset House, was established\nin 1857, under the superintendence of the Board of Trade, for the\nimprovement of ornamental art, with regard more especially to our staple\nEnglish manufactures. The school is now incorporated with the Science and\nArt Schools at South Kensington, which have been established, under\nGovernment, in connection with South Kensington Museum.\n\n\nKING'S COLLEGE.--p. 56.\n\nKing's College and School (to the latter of which the author owes some\ngratitude for a portion of his education) form a proprietary institution\nthat occupies an east wing of Somerset House which was built to receive\nit. The college was founded in 1828; its fundamental principle is, that\ninstruction in religion is an indispensable part of instruction, without\nwhich knowledge \"will be conducive neither to the happiness of the\nindividual nor the welfare of the State.\" The college education is divided\ninto five departments:--1. Theology. 2. General Literature and Science. 3.\nApplied Sciences. 4. Medicine. 5. The School. A certificate of good\nconduct, signed by his last instructor, is required of each pupil on\nentry. The age for admission is from nine to sixteen years. A limited\nnumber of matriculated students can live within the walls. Each proprietor\ncan nominate two pupils--one to the school, and one to the college. The\nmuseum once contained the celebrated calculating machine of the late Mr.\nCharles Babbage. This scientific toy was given by the Commissioners of the\nWoods and Forests. It is now at South Kensington. The collection of\nmechanical models and philosophical instruments was formed by George III.\nand presented to the college by Queen Victoria.\n\n\nHELMET COURT.--p. 56.\n\nHelmet Court-so called from the Helmet Inn-is over against Somerset House.\nThe inn is enumerated in a list of houses and taverns made in the reign of\nJames I.[766] When the King of Denmark came to see his daughter, he was\nlodged in Somerset House, and new kitchen-ranges were set up at the Helmet\nand the Swan at the expense of the Crown. Henry Condell, a fellow-actor\nwith Shakspere, left his houses in Helmet Court to \"Elizabeth, his\nwell-beloved wife.\"[767]\n\n\nBEAUFORT BUILDINGS.--p. 83.\n\nCharles Dibdin, born 1745, the author of 1300 songs, gave his musical\nentertainments at the Lyceum, and at Scott and Idle's premises in the\nStrand. Latterly, assisted by his pupils, he conducted public musical\nsoirees at Beaufort Buildings.\n\n\nCOUTTS'S BANK.--p. 86.\n\nMr. Coutts died in 1822. He was a pallid, sickly, thin old gentleman, who\nwore a shabby coat and a brown scratch-wig.[768] He was once stopped in\nthe street by a good-natured man, who insisted on giving him a guinea. The\nbanker, however, declined the present with thanks, saying he was in no\n\"immediate want.\" Miss Harriet Mellon first appeared at Drury Lane in\n1795, as Lydia Languish. Mr. Coutts married Miss Mellon in 1815. She made\nher last appearance at Drury Lane, early in the same year, as Audrey. She\nleft the bulk of her fortune to Miss Angela Burdett-Coutts, whose gold the\n_Morning Herald_ once computed at 13 tons, or 107 flour-sacks full. The\nsum, L1,800,000, was the exact sum also left by old Jemmy Wood of\nGloucester. Counting a sovereign a minute, it would take ten weeks to\ncount; and placed sovereign to sovereign, it would reach 24 miles 260\nyards.\n\nCoutts's Bank was founded by George Middleton. Till Coutts's time it stood\nnear St. Martin's Church. Good-natured Gay banked there, and afterwards\nDr. Johnson, Sir Walter Scott, and the Duke of Wellington. The Royal\nFamily have banked at Coutts's ever since the reign of Queen Anne.\n\n\nTHE DARK ARCHES.--p. 97.\n\n\"The Adelphi arches, many of which are used for cellars and coal-wharfs,\nremind one in their grim vastness,\" says Mr. Timbs, \"of the Etruscan\nCloaca of old Rome.\" Beneath the \"dry arches\" the most abandoned\ncharacters used to lurk; outcasts and vagrants came there to sleep, and\nmany a street thief escaped from his pursuers in those subterranean haunts\nbefore the introduction of gas-light and a vigilant police. Mr. Egg, that\ntragic painter, placed the scene of one of his most pathetic pictures by\nthis part of what was once the river-bank.\n\n\nSOCIETY OF ARTS.--p. 99.\n\nLord Folkestone and Mr. Shipley founded the Society of Arts, at a meeting\nat Rawthmell's Coffee-house, in Catharine Street, in March 1754. It was\nproposed to give rewards for the discovery of cobalt and the cultivation\nof madder in England. Premiums were also to be given for the best drawings\nto a certain number of boys and girls under the age of sixteen. The first\nprize, L15, was adjudged by the society to Cosway, then a boy of fifteen.\nThe society was initiated in Crane Court; from thence it removed to\nCraig's Court, Charing Cross; from there to the Strand, opposite Beaufort\nBuildings; and from thence, in 1774, to the Adelphi.\n\nThe subjects of Barry's six pictures in the Council Room are the following\n(beginning on the left as you enter):--1. \"Orpheus.\" The figure of Orpheus\nand the heads of the two reclining women are thought fine. 2. \"A Grecian\nHarvest Home\" (the best of the series). 3. \"Crowning the Victors at\nOlympia.\" 4. \"Commerce, or the Triumph of the Thames.\" (Dr. Burney, the\ncomposer, is composedly floating among tritons and sea-nymphs in his grand\ntie-wig and queue.) 5. \"The Distribution of Premiums by the Society of\nArts.\" (This picture contains a portrait of Dr. Johnson, for which he\nsat.) 6. \"Elysium, or the State of Final Retribution.\"\n\nBarry did pretty well with this work, which occupied him from 1777 to\n1783. The society gave him L300 and a gold medal, and also L500, the\nprofit of two exhibitions-total, L800.\n\nIn 1776 the society had proposed to the Academy to decorate the Council\nRoom, and be reimbursed by the exhibition of the works. Reynolds and the\nrest refused, but Barry soon afterwards obtained permission to execute the\nwhole, stipulating to be paid for his colours and models. Barry at the\ntime had only sixteen shillings in his pocket. During the progress of the\nwork the painter, being in want, applied for a small subscription through\nSir George Savile, but in vain. An insolent secretary even objected to his\ncharge for colours and models. The society afterwards relented and\nadvanced L100. Barry died poor, neglected, and half crazy, in 1806, aged\nsixty-five.\n\nThe Adelphi Rooms contain three poor statues (Mars, Venus, and Narcissus)\nby Bacon, R.A., a portrait of Lord Romney by Reynolds, and a full-length\nportrait of Jacob, Lord Folkestone, the first president, by Gainsborough.\nIn the ante-room, in a bad light, hangs a characteristic likeness of poor,\nwrongheaded Barry. The pictures are to be seen between ten and four any\nday but Wednesday and Saturday. The society meets every Wednesday at eight\nfrom October 31 to July 31.\n\nIn the Council Room, that parade-ground of learned men, Goldsmith once\nmade an attempt at a speech, but was obliged to sit down in confusion. Dr.\nJohnson once spoke there on \"Mechanics,\" \"with a propriety, perspicuity,\nand energy which excited general admiration.\"[769]\n\nJonas Hanway, that worthy old Russian merchant, when he came to see\nBarry's pictures, insisted on leaving a guinea instead of the customary\nshilling. The Prince of Wales gave Barry sittings. Timothy Hollis left him\nL100. Lord Aldborough declared that the painter had surpassed Raphael.\nLord Romney gave him 100 guineas for a copy of one of the heads, and Dr.\nJohnson praised the \"grasping mind\" in the six pictures.[770]\n\n\nDUCHY OF LANCASTER.--p. 110.\n\nThe Duchy of Lancaster is a liberty (whatever that means) in the Strand.\nIt belongs to the Crown, the Queen being \"Duchess of Lancaster.\" It begins\nwithout Temple Bar and runs as far as Cecil Street. The annual revenue of\nthe duchy is about L75,000.\n\n\nWATERLOO BRIDGE.--p. 124.\n\nHood's exquisite poem, \"The Bridge of Sighs,\" appeared in \"Hood's\nMagazine\" in May 1844. The poet's son informs me that he believes that the\npoem was not suggested by any special incident, but that a great many\nsuicides had been reported in the papers about that time.\n\n  \"The bleak wind of _March_\n  Made her tremble and shiver\"\n\nmarks the date of the writing,\n\n  \"But not the dark arch\n  Of the black flowing river.\"\n\nThe dark arch is that of Waterloo Bridge, a spot frequently selected by\nunfortunate women who meditate suicide, on account of its solitude and\nprivacy.\n\n\nYORK HOUSE.--p. 135.\n\nAfter the death of Buckingham, York House was entrusted to the\nguardianship of that Flemish adventurer and quack in art, Sir Balthasar\nGerbier, who here quarrelled and would have fought with Gentilleschi, a\nPisan artist who had been invited over by Charles I., and of whom he was\nintolerably jealous. Some of Gentilleschi's work is still preserved at\nMarlborough House. The York Buildings Waterworks Company was started in\nthe 27th year of Charles II. In 1688 there were forty-eight shares. After\nthe Scotch rebellion in 1715, the company invested large sums in\npurchasing forfeited estates, which no Scotchman would buy. The concern\nbecame bankrupt. The residue of the Scotch estates was sold in 1783 for\nL102,537.[771]\n\n\nBUCKINGHAM STREET.--p. 135.\n\nIt is always pleasant to recall any scenes on which the light of Mr.\nDickens's fancy has even momentarily rested. It was to Buckingham Street\nthat Mr. David Copperfield went with his aunt to take chambers commanding\na view of the river. They were at the top of the house, very near the\nfire-escape, with a half-blind entry and a stone-blind pantry.[772]\n\n\nHUNGERFORD BRIDGE.--p. 138.\n\nThe Hungerford Suspension Bridge was purchased in 1860 by a company of\ngentlemen, and used in the construction of the bridge across the Avon at\nClifton. This aerial roadway has a span of 703 feet, and is built at the\nheight of 245 feet. It cost little short of L100,000. A bridge at Clifton\nwas first suggested in 1753 by Alderman Vick of Bristol, who left a\nnest-egg of L1000. The bridge was completed and opened in 1864.\n\n\nTHE GAIETY THEATRE, STRAND (NORTH SIDE).--p. 147.\n\nThis elegant and well-appointed theatre, near the corner of Wellington\nStreet, was built in 1868, from the designs of Mr. C. J. Phillips. It\noccupies the site of the Strand Music Hall, a large building which had\nbeen erected in the place of an arcade which the late Lord Exeter had\nbuilt here in order to resuscitate the glories of old Exeter 'Change. Both\nthe arcade and music hall proved disastrous failures, whilst the Gaiety\nTheatre, on the other hand, has turned out immensely successful, under the\nmanagement of Mr. John Hollingshead.\n\n\nTHE STRAND (NORTH SIDE).--p. 147.\n\nSir John Denham, the poet, when a student at Lincoln's Inn, in 1638, in a\ndrunken frolic blotted out with ink all the Strand signs from Temple Bar\nto Charing Cross.\n\nIn a house in Butcher Row, Winter, Catesby, Wright, and Guy Fawkes met and\ntook the sacrament together. Raleigh's widow lived in Boswell Court, and\nalso Lord Chief Justice Lyttelton and Sir Richard and Lady Fanshawe; and\nin Clement's Lane resided Sir John Trevor, cousin to Judge Jeffries and\nSpeaker to the House of Commons. Dr. Johnson's pew at St. Clement's is No.\n18 in the north gallery; Dr. Croly put up a tablet to his memory. The\n_Tatler_, 1710, announces a stage-coach from the One Bell in the Strand\n(No. 313) to Dorchester.\n\nNo. 317 was the forge kept by the Duchess of Albemarle's father, and it\nfaced the Maypole; Aubrey describes it as the corner shop, the first\nturning to the right as you come out of the Strand into Drury Lane. Dr.\nKing died at No. 332, once the _Morning Chronicle_ office. The New Exeter\nChange--the site of which is now covered by the Gaiety Theatre and\nRestaurant--was designed by Sydney Smirke, with Jacobean frontage. East of\nExeter Change stood the Canary House, mentioned by Dryden as famous for\nits sack with the \"abricot\" flavour. Pepys mentions Cary House, probably\nthe same place. At No. 352 was born, in 1798, Henry Neale the poet, son of\nthe map and heraldic engraver. In Exeter Change No. 1 of the _Literary\nGazette_ was published, January 25, 1817. Old Parr lodged at No. 405, the\nQueen's Head public-house. No. 429, built for an insurance office by Mr.\nCockerell, has a fine facade. At No. 448 is the Electric Telegraph Office;\nthe time signal-ball, liberated by a galvanic current sent from Greenwich,\nfalls exactly at one, and drops ten feet. The old Golden Cross Hotel stood\nfarther west than the present. The Lowther Arcade, designed by Witherden\nYoung, is 245 feet long and 20 feet broad. Here the electric eel and\nPerkin's steam-gun were exhibited about 1838. In 1832 a Society for the\nExhibition of Models had been formed here. In 1831 the skeleton of a whale\nwas exhibited in a tent in Trafalgar Square; it was 98 feet long, and\nCuvier had estimated it to be nearly a thousand years old.\n\nIt should be added that for most of the facts in this note the author is\nindebted to that treasure-house of topographical anecdote, _Curiosities of\nLondon_, by J. Timbs, Esq., F.S.A., a book displaying an almost boundless\nindustry.\n\n\nTHE CROWN AND ANCHOR TAVERN.--p. 152.\n\nThe Crown and Anchor Tavern, at the corner of Arundel Street, was for some\nyears the Whittington Club. Before the alterations it had an entrance from\nthe Strand, which is now closed, its door being now in Arundel Street.\nDouglas Jerrold was one of the earliest promoters of this club, which was\nmuch used by young men of business. In 1873, after having been closed for\nsome time, it was re-opened as the Temple Club. The King of Clubs was\nstarted about 1801 by Mr. Robert (Bobus) Smith, brother of Sydney, a\nfriend of Canning's, and Advocate-General of Calcutta. It sat every\nSaturday at the Crown and Anchor Tavern, at that time famous for its\ndinners and wine, and a great resort for clubs. Politics were excluded.\nOne of the chief members was Mr. Richard Sharpe, a partner in a West India\nhouse, and a Parliamentary speaker during Addington's and Perceval's\nadministrations. Mackintosh, Scarlett, Rogers the poetical banker, John\nAllen, and M. Dumont, an emigre and friend of the Abbe de Lisle, were also\nmembers. Erskine, too, often dropped in to spend an hour stolen from his\nimmense and overflowing business. He there told his story of Lord\nLoughborough trying to persuade him not to take Tom Paine's brief. He once\nmet Curran there. A member of the club describes the ape's face of the\nIrish orator, with the sunken and diminutive eyes that flashed lightning\nas he compared poor wronged Ireland to \"Niobe palsied with sorrow and\ndespair over her freedom, and her prosperity struck dead before her.\"[773]\n\n\nWYCH STREET.--p. 164.\n\n\"In a horrible little court, branching northward from Wych Street,\" writes\nMr. Sala, in an essay written in America, \"good old George Cruikshank once\nshowed me the house where Jack Sheppard, the robber and prison-breaker,\nserved his apprenticeship to Mr. Wood, the carpenter; and on a beam in the\nloft of this house Jack is said to have carved his name. * * * Theodore\nHook used to say that \"he never passed through Wych Street in a\nhackney-coach without being blocked up by a hearse and a coal waggon in\nthe van, and a mud-cart and the Lord Mayor's carriage in the rear.\"\n\n\nNEWSPAPER OFFICES.--p. 167.\n\nIt is almost impossible to enumerate all the Strand newspaper offices,\npresent and past. It is, perhaps, sufficient to mention _The Spectator_ (a\nvery able paper,--office in Waterloo Place); _The London Journal_ (a\ncheap, well-conducted paper with an enormous circulation); _The Family\nHerald_ (the house formerly of Mr. Leigh, bookseller, a relation of the\nelder Mathews, and the first introducer of the _Guides_ that Mr. Murray\nhas now rendered so complete); _The Illustrated Times_, _The Morning\nPost_, _Notes and Queries_, _The Queen_, _Law Times_, _Athenaeum_, and\n_Field_ (in Wellington Street); _Bell's Life_, _The Globe_, _Bell's\nMessenger_, _The Observer_, and lastly, _The Pall Mall Gazette_, and _The\nSaturday Review_.\n\n\nTHE BEEF-STEAK CLUB.--p. 172.\n\nBubb Doddington, Aaron Hill, \"Leonidas\" Glover, Sir Peere Williams (a\nyouth of promise, shot at the siege of Belleisle), Hoadly, and the elder\nColman (the author of _The Suspicious Husband_), were either guests or\nmembers of this illustrious club, whose origin dates back to Rich's days\nin 1735. Then came the days of Lord Sandwich, Wilkes, Bonnell Thornton,\nArthur Murphy, Churchill, and Tickell. In 1785 the Prince of Wales\n(afterwards George IV.) became the twenty-fifth member.\n\nChurchill resigned when the club began to receive him coldly after his\ndesertion of his wife. Wilkes never visited the club after the\ncontemptuous rejection of his infamous poem, the _Essay on Woman_. Garrick\nwas a great ornament of the club; he once dined there dressed in the\ncharacter of Ranger. Little Serjeant Prime was another club celebrity of\nthat period. An anonymous writer describes a meeting of the club in or\nabout 1799. There were present John Kemble, Cobb of the India House, the\nDuke of Clarence, Sir John Cox Hippisley, Charles Morris (the writer of\nour best convivial songs), Ferguson of Aberdeen, Mingay, and the Duke of\nNorfolk. As the clock struck five, a curtain drew up, discovering the\nkitchen through a gridiron grating, over which was inscribed this motto--\n\n  \"If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well\n  It were done quickly.\"\n\nThe Duke of Norfolk ate at least three steaks, and then when the cloth was\nremoved, took the chair on a dais, elevated some steps above the table,\nand above which hung the small cocked-hat in which Garrick played Ranger,\nand other insignia of the society. He was also invested with an orange\nribbon, to which a silver gridiron was appended. The sound motto \"Beef and\nLiberty\" is inscribed on the buttons of the members. It is the duty of the\njunior member at this club to bring up the wine. The writer before quoted\ndescribes seeing Lord Brougham and the Duke of Leinster performing this\nsubordinate duty. Sir John Hippisley was the man who Windham used to say\nwas very _nearly_ a clever fellow. Cobb was the author of \"First Floor\" (a\nfarce) and of three comic operas--\"The Haunted Tower,\" \"The Siege of\nBelgrade,\" and \"Ramah Drug.\" To the two former Storace set his finest\nmusic.\n\n\"Captain\" Morris, the author of those delightful songs, \"The Town and\nCountry Life\" and \"When the Fancy-stirring Bowl wakes the Soul to\nPleasure,\" used to brew punch and \"out-watch the Bear\" at this club till\nafter his seventy-eighth year. The Duke of Norfolk, at Kemble's\nsolicitation, gave the veteran bard a pleasant little Sabine retreat near\nDorking. Jack Richards, the presbyter of the club, was famous for\ninflicting long verbal harangues on condemned social culprits.\n\nAnother much respected member was old William Linley, Sheridan's\nbrother-in-law; nor must we forget Richard Wilson, Lord Eldon's secretary,\nand Mr. Walsh, who had been in early life valet to Lord Chesterfield. The\nclub secretary, in 1828, was Mr. Henry Stephenson, comptroller to the Duke\nof Sussex; and about this time also flourished, either as guests or\nmembers, Lord Viscount Kirkwall, Rowland Stephenson the banker, and Mr.\nDenison, then M.P. for Surrey.[774]\n\nA literary friend tells me that the last time he saw Mr. Thackeray was one\nevening in Exeter Street. The eminent satirist of snobs was peering about\nfor the stage door of the Lyceum Theatre, or some other means of entrance\nto the Beef-steak Club, with whose members he had been invited to dine.\n\n\nEXETER CHANGE.--p. 175.\n\nThomas Clark, \"the King of Exeter Change,\" took a cutler's stall here in\n1765 with L100 lent him by a stranger. By trade and thrift he grew so rich\nthat he once returned his income at L6000 a year, and before his death in\n1816 he rented the whole ground-floor of the Change. He left nearly half a\nmillion of money, and one of his daughters married Mr. Hamlet, the\ncelebrated jeweller. Some of the old materials of Exeter House, including\na pair of large Corinthian columns at the east end, were used in building\nthe Change, which was the speculation of a Dr. Barbon, in the reign of\nWilliam and Mary.\n\n\nTRAFALGAR SQUARE.--p. 221.\n\nThe fountains were constructed in 1845, after designs from Sir Charles\nBarry.\n\nMorley's Hotel (1 to 3 at the south-east corner) is much frequented by\nAmerican travellers, who may be seen on summer evenings calmly smoking\ntheir cigars outside the chief entrance. The late proprietor, who died a\nfew years since, left nearly a hundred thousand pounds to the Foundling\nand other charities.\n\n\nTHE UNION CLUB.--p. 226.\n\nThe Union Club House, which stands on the south-west of Trafalgar Square\nand faces Cockspur Street, was built by Sir Robert Smirke, R.A. The club,\nconsisting of 1000 members, has been in existence forty-four years; its\nexpenditure is about L10,000 a year. Its trustees are the Earl of\nLonsdale, Viscount Gage, Lord Trimleston, and Sir John Henry Lowther,\nBart. The entrance money is thirty guineas, the annual subscription six\nguineas. Mr. Peter Cunningham, writing in 1849, describes the club as \"the\nresort chiefly of mercantile men of eminence;\" but its present members are\nof all the professions.\n\n\nDRUMMOND'S BANK.--p. 227.\n\nThis bank is older than Coutts's. Pope banked there. The Duke of\nSutherland and many of the Scottish nobility bank there.\n\n\nST. MARTIN'S LANE.--p. 252.\n\nRoger Payne was a celebrated bookbinder in Duke's Court, St. Martin's\nLane, London. This ingenious artist, a native of Windsor Forest, was born\nin 1739, and first became initiated into the rudiments of his business\nunder the auspices of Mr. Pote, bookseller to Eton College. On settling in\nthe metropolis, about the year 1766, he worked for a short time for Thomas\nOsborne, bookseller in Holborn, but principally for _honest_ Thomas Payne,\nof the Mews Gate, who, although of the same name, was not related to him.\nHis talents as an artist, particularly in the finishing department, were\nof the first order, and such as, up to his time, had not been developed by\nany other of his countrymen. \"Roger Payne,\" says Dr. Dibdin, \"rose like a\nstar, diffusing lustre on all sides, and rejoicing the hearts of all true\nsons of bibliomania.\" He succeeded in executing binding with such artistic\ntaste as to command the admiration and patronage of many noblemen. His\n_chef-d'oeuvre_ is a large paper copy of AEschylus, translated by the Rev.\nRobert Potter, the ornaments and decorations of which are most splendid\nand classical. The binding of this book cost Earl Spencer fifteen guineas.\n\nIt was by his artistic talents alone that Roger Payne became so celebrated\nin his day; for, owing to his excessive indulgence in strong ale, he was\nin person a deplorable specimen of humanity. As evidence of this\npropensity, his account-book contains the following memorandum of one\nday's expenditure: \"For bacon, one halfpenny; for liquor, one shilling.\"\nEven his trade bills are literary curiosities in their way, and frequently\nillustrate his unfortunate propensity. On one delivered to Mr. Evans for\nbinding Barry's work on _The Wines of the Ancients_, he wrote:--\n\n  \"Homer the bard, who sung in highest strains,\n  Had, festive gift, a goblet for his pains:\n  Falernian gave Horace, Virgil fire,\n  And barley-wine my British muse inspire;\n  Barley-wine, first from Egypt's learned shore,\n  Be this the gift to me from Calvert's store!\"\n\nDuring the latter part of his life, as might have been expected, Roger\nPayne was the victim of poverty and disease. He closed his earthly career\nat his residence in Duke's Court on Nov. 20, 1787, and was interred in the\nburial-ground of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, at the expense of his worthy\npatron, Mr. Thomas Payne. This excellent man had also a portrait taken and\nengraved of his namesake at his work in his miserable den, under which Mr.\nBindley wrote the following lines:--\n\n    \"ROGERUS PAYNE: Natus Vindesor. MDCCXXXIX.; denatus Londin.\n    MDCCLXXXVII. Effigiem hanc graphicam solertis BIBLIOPEGI [Greek:\n    Mnemosunon] meritis BIBLIOPOLA dedit. Sumptibus Thomae Payne. [Etch'd\n    and published by S. Harding, No. 127 Pall Mall, March 1, 1800.\"][775]\n\n\nHEMINGS' ROW.--p. 252.\n\nHemings' Row, St. Martin's Lane, was originally called Dirty Lane.[776]\nThe place probably derived its name from John Hemings, an apothecary\nliving there in 1679. Peter Cunningham writes in 1849: \"Upon an old wooden\nhouse at the west end of this street, near the second-floor window, is the\nname given above, and the date 1680.\"[777]\n\n\nBEDFORDBURY.--p. 261.\n\nMr. James Payne, a bookseller of Bedfordbury (perhaps the son of Thomas\nPayne), died in Paris in 1809. Mr. Burnet describes him as remarkable for\namenity as for probity and learning. Repeated journeys to Italy, France,\nand Germany had enabled him to collect a great number of precious MSS. and\nrare first editions, most of which went to enrich Lord Spencer's\nlibrary--the most splendid collection ever made by a private person.[778]\n\n\nEARL OF BRISTOL.--p. 264.\n\nDigby, Earl of Bristol, whom Pepys accuses of losing King Charles his head\nby breaking off the treaty of Uxbridge, lived in Lincoln's Inn Fields. His\nsecond daughter, Lady Ann, married the evil Earl of Sutherland. It was\nBristol who was base enough to impeach Lord Clarendon for selling Dunkirk\nand making Charles marry a barren queen. Burnet describes the earl as\nhaving become a Roman Catholic in order to be qualified for serving under\nDon John in Flanders. He was an astrologer,[779] and had the impudence to\ntell the king he was in danger from his brother. He renounced his new\nreligion openly at Wimbledon,[780] and then fled to France.\n\n\nWILD HOUSE.--p. 277.\n\nWild House, Drury Lane, was formerly the town mansion of the Welds of\nLulworth Castle. Short's Gardens were so called from Dudley Short, Esq.,\nwho had a mansion here with fine gardens in the reign of Charles II. In\nParker Street, Philip Parker, Esq., had a mansion in 1623.\n\n\nCRAVEN HOUSE, DRURY LANE.--p. 292.\n\nPepys frequently mentions Lord Craven as attending the meetings at the\nTrinity House upon Admiralty business. The old veteran, whom he\nirreverently calls \"a coxcomb,\" complimented him on several occasions upon\nhis popularity with the Duke of York. Pennant says that Lord Craven and\nthe Duke of Albemarle \"heroically stayed in town during the dreadful\npestilence, and, at the hazard of their lives, preserved order in the\nmidst of the terrors of the time.\"[781] This fine old Don Quixote happened\nto be on duty at St. James's when William's Dutch troops were coming\nacross the park to take possession. Lord Craven would have opposed their\nentrance, but his timid master forbidding him to resist, he marched away\n\"with sullen dignity.\" The date of the sale of the pest-houses should be\n1722, not 1772.\n\n\nDRURY LANE.--p. 299.\n\nIn the Regency time, and before, Drury Lane was what the Haymarket is now.\nOyster shops, low taverns, and singing-rooms of the worst description\nsurrounded the theatre. One of the worst of these, even down to our own\ntimes, was \"Jessop's\" (\"The Finish\")--a great resort of low\nprize-fighters, gamblers, sporting men, swindlers, spendthrifts, and\ndrunkards. \"_H.'s_\" (I veil the infamous name), described in a MS. of\nHorace Walpole, is now a small, dingy theatrical tailor's, and in the\nbesmirched back-shop shreds of gilding and smears of colour still show\nwhere Colonel Hanger knocked off the heads of champagne bottles, and\nafterwards, Lord Waterford and such \"bloods\" squandered their money and\ntheir health.\n\n\nTHE SAVAGE CLUB.--p. 303.\n\nThe Savage Club, which was started at the Crown Tavern in Drury Lane, and\nthen removed to rooms next the Lyceum, and said to have been those once\noccupied by the Beef-steak Club, is now moored at Evans's Hotel, Covent\nGarden. The name of the club has a duplex signification; it refers to\nRichard Savage the poet, and also to the Bohemian freedom of its members.\nIt includes in its number no small share of the literary talent of the\nLondon newspaper and dramatic world.\n\n\nCLARE MARKET.--p. 339.\n\nDenzil Street was so called by the Earl of Clare in 1682, in memory of his\nuncle Denzil, Lord Holles, who died 1679-80. He was one of the five\nmembers of Parliament whom Charles I. so despotically and so unwisely\nattempted to seize. The inscription on the south-west wall of the street\nwas renewed in 1796.\n\n\nSTREET CHARACTERS.--p. 381.\n\nIt would be impossible to recapitulate the street celebrities from\nHogarth's time to the present day which St. Giles's has harboured. A\nwriter in _Notes and Queries_ mentions a man who used to sell dolls'\nbedsteads, and who was always said to have been the king's evidence\nagainst the Cato Street conspirators. Charles Lamb describes, in his own\ninimitable way, an old sailor without legs who used to propel his\nmutilated body about the streets on a wooden framework supported on\nwheels. He was said to have been maimed during the Gordon riots. But I\nhave now myself to add to the list the most remarkable relic of all. There\nis (1868?) to be seen any day in the London streets a gaunt grey-haired\nold blind beggar, with hard strongly-marked features and bushy eyebrows.\nThis is no less a person than Hare the murderer, who years ago aided Burke\nin murdering poor mendicants and houseless people in Edinburgh, and\nselling their bodies to the surgeons for dissection. Hare, a young man\nthen, turned king's evidence and received a pardon. He came to London with\nhis blood money, and entered himself as a labourer under an assumed name\nat a tannery in the suburbs. The men discovering him, threw the wretch\ninto a steeping-pit, from which he escaped, but with loss of both eyes.\n\n\nTHE SEVEN DIALS.--p. 385.\n\nEvelyn describes going (Oct. 5, 1694) to see the seven new streets in St.\nGiles's, then building by Mr. Neale, who had introduced lotteries in\nimitation of those of Venice. The Doric column was removed in July 1773,\nin the hope of finding a sum of money supposed to be concealed under the\nbase. The search was ineffectual; the pillar now ornaments the common at\nWeybridge. Gay describes Seven Dials, in his own pleasant, inimitable way\n(circa 1712).\n\n  \"Where fam'd St. Giles's ancient limits spread,\n  An inrailed column rears its lofty head,\n  Here to seven streets seven dials count the day,\n  And from each other catch the circling ray;\n  Here oft the peasant, with inquiring face,\n  Bewildered trudges on from place to place;\n  He dwells on every sign with stupid gaze,\n  Enters the narrow alley's doubtful maze,\n  Tries every winding court and street in vain,\n  And doubles o'er his weary steps again.\"[782]\n\nMartinus Scriblerus is supposed to have been born in Seven Dials. Horace\nWalpole describes the progress of family portraits from the drawing-room\nto the parlour, from the parlour to the counting-house, from the\nhousekeeper's room to the garret, and from thence to flutter in rags\nbefore a broker's shop in the Seven Dials.[783] Here Taylor laid the scene\nof \"Monsieur Tonson.\"\n\n  \"Be gar! there's Monsieur Tonson come again!\"\n\nThe celebrated Mr. Catnach, the printer of street ballads, lived in Seven\nDials. He died about 1847.\n\n\nSTREETS IN ST. GILES'S.--p. 385.\n\nIn Dyot Street lived Curll's \"Corinna,\" Mrs. Elizabeth Thomas, and her\nmother.[784] At the Black Horse and Turk's Head public-houses in this\nstreet, those wretches Haggerty and Holloway, in November 1802, planned\nthe murder of Mr. Steele on Hounslow Heath, and here they returned after\nthe perpetration of the crime. At the execution of these murderers at the\nOld Bailey, in 1807, twenty-eight persons were trampled to death. The\nstreet was immortalised by a song in _Bombastes Furioso_, an excellent and\nboisterous burlesque tragic opera, written by William Barnes Rhodes, a\nclerk in the Bank of England. Bainbridge and Breckridge Streets, St.\nGiles's, now no more, were built prior to 1672, and derived their names\nfrom the owners, eminent parishioners in the reign of Charles II. Dyot\nStreet was inhabited as late as 1803 by Philip Dyot, Esq., a descendant of\nRichard Dyot, from whom it derived its name. In 1710 there was a\n\"Mendicants' Convivial Club\" held at the Welsh's Head in this street. The\nclub was founded in 1660, when its meetings were held at the Three Crowns\nin the Poultry. Denmark Street was probably built in 1689. Zoffany lived\nat No. 9. Bunbury, the caricaturist, laid the scene of his \"Sunday Evening\nConversation\" in this street. In July 1771 Sir John Murray, the\nPretender's secretary, was carried off in a coach from his house near St.\nGiles's Church by armed men.[785]\n\n\nSAINT GILES.--p. 385.\n\nThis saint has some scurvy worshippers. Pierce Egan, in his _Life in\nLondon_ (1820), afterwards dramatised, describes the thieves' kitchens and\nbeggars' revels, which men about town in those days thought it \"the\ncorrect thing,\" as the slang goes, to see and share. \"The Rookery\" was a\ntriangular mass of buildings, bounded by Bainbridge, George, and High\nStreets. It was swept away by New Oxford Street. The lodgings were\nthreepence a night. Sir Henry Ellis, in 1813, counted seventeen\nhorse-shoes nailed to thresholds in Monmouth Street as antidotes against\nwitches. Jews preponderate in this unsavoury street. Mr. Henry Mayhew\ndescribes a conversation with a St. Giles's poet who wrote Newgate\nballads, Courvousier's Lamentation, and elegies. He was paid one shilling\neach for them. A parliamentary report of 1848 describes Seven Dials as in\na degraded state. \"Vagrants, thieves, sharpers, scavengers, basket-women,\ncharwomen, army seamstresses, and prostitutes, compose its mass. Infidels,\nchartists, socialists, and blasphemers have their head-quarters there.\nThere are a hundred and fifty shops open on the Sunday. The ragged-school\nthere is badly situated and uninviting.\" Mr. Albert Smith says gin shops\nare the only guides in \"the dirty labyrinth\" of the Seven Dials. The\nauthor once accompanied a Scripture-reader to some of the lowest and\npoorest courts and alleys of St. Giles's. In one bare room, he remembers,\non an earth floor, sat a blind beggar waiting for the return of his boy, a\nsweeper, who had been sent out to a street-crossing to try and earn some\nbread. In another room there was a poor old lonely woman who had made a\npet of an immense ram. We ended our tour by visiting an Irishwoman who had\nbeen converted from \"Popery.\" While we were there, some Irish boys\nsurrounded the house and shouted in at the key-hole, threatening to\ndenounce her to the priest. When we emerged from this den we were received\nwith a shower of peculiarly hard small potatoes, a penance which the\nauthor bore somewhat impatiently, while the Scripture-reader, who seemed\naccustomed to such rough compliments, took the blows like an early\nChristian martyr.\n\n\nLINCOLN'S INN HALL.--p. 398.\n\nIn 1800 or 1801 Mackintosh delivered lectures in the old Lincoln's Inn\nHall on the \"Laws of Nature and Nations.\" They were attended by Canning,\nLord Liverpool, and a brilliant audience. They contained a panegyric on\nGrotius. In style Mackintosh was measured and monotonous--of the school of\nRobertson and Gilbert Stuart. He made one mistake in imputing the doctrine\nof the association of ideas to Hobbes, which Coleridge corrected. He\nrefuted the theories of Godwin in a masterly way.[786]\n\n\nSERLE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS.--p. 401.\n\nThis street derived its name from a Mr. Henry Serle, who died intestate\ncirca 1690, much in debt, and with lands heavily mortgaged. He purchased\nthe property from the executors of Sir John Birkenhead, the conductor of\nthe Royalist paper, _Mercurius Aulicus_, during the Civil War, a writer\nwhose poetry Lawes set to music, and who died in 1679. New Square was\nformerly called Serle's Court, and the arms of Serle are over the Carey\nStreet gateway. The second edition of _Barnaby's Journal_ was printed in\n1716, for one Illidge, under Serle's Gate, Lincoln's Inn, New Square.[787]\nAddison seems to have visited Serle's Coffee-house, to study from some\nquiet nook the \"humours\" of the young barristers. There is a letter extant\nfrom Akenside, the poet, addressed to Jeremiah Dyson, that excellent\nfriend and patron who defended him from the attacks of Warburton at\nSerle's Coffee-house.\n\n\nCHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE SOCIETY.--p. 414.\n\nThe Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, now at 66 Lincoln's Inn\nFields, had apartments in 1714 at No. 6 Serle's Court. This society was\nfounded by Dr. Bray and four friends on the 8th of March 1699, and it\ncelebrated its third jubilee, or 150th anniversary, in 1849. The society\nassists schools and colonial churches, and is said to have distributed\nmore than a hundred millions of Bibles and Prayer-books since its\nfoundation.\n\n\nTHE SOANE MUSEUM.--p. 424.\n\nThe following squib is said to have been placed under the plates at an\nAcademic dinner:--\n\n  \"THE MODERN GOTH.\n\n  \"Glory to thee, great artist soul of taste\n  For mending pigsties where a plank's displaced,\n  Whose towering genius plans from deep research\n  Houses and temples fit for Master Birch\n  To grace his shop on that important day\n  When huge twelfth-cakes are raised in bright array.\n  Each pastry pillar shows thy vast design;\n  Hail! then, to thee, and all great works of thine.\n  Come, let me place thee in the foremost rank\n  With him whose dulness discomposed the Bank.\"\n\nThe writer then, apostrophising Wren, adds--\n\n  \"Oh, had he lived to see thy blessed work,\n  To see pilasters scored like loins of pork,\n  To see the orders in confusion move,\n  Scrolls fixed below and pedestals above,\n  To see defiance hurled at Rome and Greece,\n  Old Wren had never left the world in peace.\n  Look where I will--above, below is shown\n  A pure disordered order of thy own;\n  Where lines and circles curiously unite\n  A base compounded, compound composite,\n  A thing from which in turn it may be said,\n  Each lab'ring mason turns abash'd his head;\n  Which Holland reprobates and Dance derides,\n  While tasteful Wyatt holds his aching sides.\"[788]\n\nSoane foolishly brought an action against the bitter writer; but Lord\nKenyon directed the jury to find for the defendant on the ground that the\nsatire was not personal.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX.\n\n\n  Abingdon, Mrs., \"Nosegay Fan,\" 318\n\n  Adam, the Brothers, their design, 96;\n    joke against their Scotch workmen, 103\n\n  Adam, Robert, death and funeral of, 104\n\n  Addison, the \"Cato\" of, 311;\n    Booth's representation of \"Cato,\" _ib._\n\n  Adelphi, site of the, 97;\n    the residence of Garrick, _ib._;\n    Johnson and Boswell at, 98;\n    prowlers in its arches, 448\n\n  Adelphi Rooms, the, 449\n\n  Adelphi Theatre, first success of, 180;\n    Terry and Yates as its lessees, _ib._;\n    appearance of \"Jim Crow\" in, _ib._;\n    the elder Mathews manager of, _ib._;\n    last great successes at, 185\n\n  Akenside, at Tom's Coffee-house, 38\n\n  Albemarle, Duke of. _See_ Monk\n\n  Albemarle, Duchess of, 93;\n    anecdotes of, 301\n\n  \"All the Year Round,\" 170\n\n  Ambassador, Spanish, attack of an anti-Catholic mob on his house, 277\n\n  Ambassadors, French and Spanish, affray between the retainers of, 134\n\n  Amiens, proclamation of peace of, 18\n\n  Anderson, Dr. Patrick, his Scotch pills, 53;\n    story of Sir Walter Scott relating to, _ib._\n\n  Anne of Denmark, her masques and masquerades in Somerset House, 58;\n    accident at the funeral of, 195\n\n  Anstis, John, Garter King at Arms, 43\n\n  Antiquaries, Society of, 70\n\n  Apollo Court and Room, 6\n\n  Armstrong, Sir Thomas, 11\n\n  Arnold, Dr., and the Lyceum, 171\n\n  Art, English, institutions for promoting, 75\n\n  Arts, the Society of, its place of meeting, 99;\n    Barry's paintings, 100, 449;\n    premiums and bounties distributed by, _ib._;\n    Barry at work on its frescoes, 101;\n    foundation and object of, 449;\n    Barry's application to, _ib._\n\n  Artists' Club in Clare Market, 346\n\n  Arundel House, Strand, 39;\n    occupants of, 40;\n    death of the Countess of Nottingham in, 41;\n    the Marquis of Rosney's description of, _ib._;\n    Thomas Howard's treasures of art in, 42;\n    neglect of antiquities in, _ib._;\n    rooms lent to the Royal Society in, 43;\n    streets erected on the site of, _ib._;\n    Gay's remarks on its glories, _ib._\n\n  Arundel Street, Strand, its residents, 43, 164\n\n  Astronomical Society, 71\n\n  \"Athenaeum\" (Newspaper), 170\n\n  Atterbury, Bishop, 155\n\n\n  Bacon, Lord, his ingratitude, 32;\n    birthplace of, 127;\n    events of his life connected with York House, 127-8;\n    anecdotes of his early life, 128;\n    verses addressed to him at Durham House, 129;\n    his early legal studies, 130\n\n  Balmerino, Lord, an anecdote of, 234\n\n  Baltimore, Lord, infamous conduct of, 176\n\n  Banks. _See_ Coutts, Child, and Drummond\n\n  Bannister, Jack, 325\n\n  Barrow, Dr. Isaac, the death of, 232\n\n  Barry, his violence, 101;\n    his diligence at work, _ib._;\n    his paintings in the Council Room of the Society of Arts, _ib._;\n    effect produced by his paintings, 449;\n    his poverty and death, _ib._\n\n  Barry, Mrs., her theatrical career, 433\n\n  Barry, Spanger, an actor, 315\n\n  Basing House, an adventure at, 279\n\n  Beard, singer and actor, 249\n\n  Beauclerk, Topham, 98\n\n  Beaufort, House, Strand, 83, 447\n\n  Beckett, Andrew, works of, 99\n\n  Beckett, Thomas, bookseller, 99\n\n  Bedford, the Earls of, the old town house of, 185;\n    streets named after his family, _ib._\n\n  Bedford Street once fashionable, 186;\n    Half Moon Tavern in, _ib._;\n    residents of, 187;\n    Constitution Tavern in, 197\n\n  Bedfordbury, 236, 459\n\n  Beefsteak Club, 172;\n    badge of, _ib._;\n    members of, 173;\n    Peg Woffington, president of one at Dublin, _ib._;\n    another started by Rich and Lambert, _ib._;\n    its place of meeting, _ib._;\n    distinguished members of, 454;\n    sale of its effects, 174\n\n  Bell, Mr. Jacob, 225\n\n  Bellamy, George Anne, actress, 317\n\n  Berkeley, Dr., 155\n\n  Bermudas, the Justice Overdo's allusion to, 235\n\n  Berties, the, 417\n\n  Betterton, the \"Garrick\" of his age, 433;\n    the parts he represented, _ib._;\n    his death, _ib._\n\n  Betty, Master, 321\n\n  Billington, Mrs., 333\n\n  Bindley, James, father of the Society of Antiquaries, his burial-place,\n        164\n\n  Birch, Dr., the antiquary, 36;\n    his books and literary remains, 48;\n    Dr. Johnson's remark on, _ib._\n\n  Birkenhead, Sir John, 245\n\n  Bishop, operas produced by, 334\n\n  Black Jack, 348, 440\n\n  Blake, the mystical painter, 83\n\n  Blemund's Ditch, 353\n\n  Bohemia, the Queen of, 293;\n    reports concerning, 295;\n    Sir Henry Wotton's lines to, _ib._;\n    memorial of her husband, 296\n\n  Boleyn, Anne, at Temple Bar, 21\n\n  Bonomi, 78\n\n  Booksellers, their shops the haunts of wits and poets, 219\n\n  Booth, Barton, 311\n\n  Boswell, James, admitted into the Literary Club, 17;\n    the supposed Shaksperean MSS., 47.\n\n  Bowl-yard, its name, 373\n\n  Boydell, Alderman, 258\n\n  Bracegirdle, Mrs., 49;\n    her abduction, 50;\n    her charity, 347;\n    her popularity, 434\n\n  Braham, John, 333\n\n  Bristol, Earl of, 264;\n    particulars concerning, 459\n\n  Britain's Bourse. _See_ Exchange\n\n  Brocklesby, Dr. Richard, friend of Burke and Johnson, 45;\n    attends Lord Chatham when he fainted in the House of Lords, _ib._\n\n  Brougham, Lord, 396\n\n  Buckingham, the first Duke of, 130;\n    his residences, _ib._;\n    patronage of art, 131;\n    Dryden's lines on, 132;\n    Pope's lines on, _ib._;\n    Clarendon's view of his character, 133\n\n  Buckingham, the second Duke of, 133\n\n  Buckingham Street, 135;\n    distinguished residents in, 136, 137;\n    Mr. David Copperfield's visit to, 451\n\n  Bull's Head, the, Clare Market, 346\n\n  Burgess, Dr., a witty preacher, 159;\n    successors of, _ib._\n\n  Burleigh, Lord, his residence, 179\n\n  Burleigh Street, site of, 179\n\n  Burley, Sir Simon, 218\n\n  Burnet, Bishop, 44\n\n  Burton St. Lazar, 350\n\n  Bushnell, John, the sculptor, 7, 8\n\n  Butcher Row, 148;\n    Lee's death in, 150\n\n\n  \"Cabinet\" Newspaper, _see_ \"Pic-Nic\"\n\n  Caermarthan, Lord, 136\n\n  Cameron, Dr., burial place of, 120\n\n  Canary House, 452\n\n  Canning, George, 395\n\n  Carey Street, 428\n\n  Carlini, 65\n\n  Carlisle, the Countess of, 178\n\n  Catherine of Braganza, 61;\n    her return to Portugal, 62\n\n  Catherine Street, its newspapers and theatre in, 166;\n    Gay's description of, _ib._\n\n  Cavalini Pietro, works attributed to, 203\n\n  Cavendish, William, Earl of Devonshire, 90\n\n  Cecil, Robert, Earl of Salisbury, 89, 153\n\n  Cecil Street, its residents, 88\n\n  Celeste, Madam, 184\n\n  Centlivre, Mrs., 230;\n    her hatred to the Jacobites, 231;\n    Pope's dislike to, _ib._;\n    Leigh Hunt's treatment of, 232\n\n  Ceracchi, Giuseppe, 66\n\n  Chambers, Sir William, 65\n\n  Chapone, Mrs. Hester, 428\n\n  Charing, village of, 201;\n    population under Edward I., _ib._;\n    the Falconry or Mews at, 218\n\n  Charing Cross, tradition concerning, 201;\n    Peele's lines on, 202;\n    tradition of Queen Eleanor connected with, _ib._;\n    erection and demolition of, 204;\n    a Royalist ballad on, _ib._;\n    executions at, 205;\n    introduction of Punch into England at, 208;\n    Titus Oates, in the pillory at, _ib._;\n    the royal statue at, 209;\n    Waller's lines on the statue, 210;\n    Andrew Marvell's lines on the Cross, 211;\n    loss of parts of, 212;\n    a tradition concerning, _ib._;\n    the pedestal of, _ib._;\n    a rogue exposed in the pillory at, _ib._;\n    punishment of Japhet Crook at, 213;\n    old prints of, 215;\n    poetical eulogiums of, _ib._;\n    coffee-houses in the neighbourhood of, 226;\n    Locket's ordinary at, 227;\n    Milton's lodging at, 232;\n    other memoranda, 248;\n    a strange scene at, _ib._;\n    a remark of Dr. Johnson's on, 234;\n    site of the post office at, _ib._;\n    ancient hospital at, 235;\n    former improvements at, _ib._;\n    the \"Swan,\" and verses by Johnson, 236\n\n  Charing Cross Hospital, 233\n\n  Charles I., letter written by, 58;\n    his statue at Charing Cross, 209;\n    strange story regarding the statue of, 212\n\n  Charles II., his progress through London, his coronation, 22;\n    the two courts in the reign of, 61\n\n  Chatterton, 80;\n    story concerning, 197\n\n  Chaucer, his marriage, 108;\n    favours obtained, 109;\n    royal post held by, 218\n\n  Chesterfield, Earl of, 187\n\n  Child's Bank, 6\n\n  Christian Knowledge, Society for Promoting, 414, 464\n\n  Chunee, the elephant, 95, 419\n\n  Cibber, Colley, 312;\n    characters originated by, 316;\n    his success as actor and manager, _ib._\n\n  Cibber, Theophilus, his fate, 317;\n    his wife, _ib._\n\n  Clare House Court, 298\n\n  Clare Market, 339;\n    Orator Henley's appearances in, _ib._;\n    artists' club at the Bull's Head in, 346;\n    Mrs. Bracegirdle's visits to, 347\n\n  Clarges, John, farrier, 93, 301\n\n  Clarke, William, proprietor of Exeter Change, 177\n\n  Clement's Inn, 156;\n    a tradition concerning, _ib._;\n    the hall of, 157;\n    the New Court and Independent Meeting-house in, 159\n\n  Clement's, St., Church, improvements round, 152;\n    general dislike to, _ib._;\n    a ferment in the parish of, 153;\n    distinguished men baptized and buried in, _ib._;\n    adornments of, 155;\n    Dr. Johnson's attendance in, _ib._\n\n  Clement's, St., Well, 156;\n    Cleopatra's Needle, 145\n\n  Clifton, bridge over the Avon at, 451\n\n  Clifton's Eating-house, 149\n\n  Clinch, Tom, the highwayman, 373\n\n  Clive, Kitty, 315\n\n  Coaches and coach-stands, 166, 167\n\n  Coal Hole, the, 85\n\n  Cobb, the upholsterer, anecdote of, 258\n\n  Cock and Pye Fields, 356\n\n  Cock Lane ghost, the, 196;\n    the contriver of, 214\n\n  Cockpit, or Phoenix Theatre, its site, 304;\n    Puritan violence against, _ib._;\n    its reopening at the Restoration, 305\n\n  Coffee, 36\n\n  Coffee-houses, 36;\n    mentioned by Steele in the _Tatler_, _ib._\n\n  Coleridge, S. T., 170\n\n  Commons, House of, 101\n\n  Congreve, William, 53;\n    Pope's declaration regarding, 51;\n    the successful career of, _ib._;\n    Voltaire's visit to, _ib._;\n    Curll's life of, 52\n\n  Congreve, Sir William, 88\n\n  Conway, Lord, memoranda of, 270\n\n  Cooke, George Frederick, 321\n\n  Cooke, T. P., 174\n\n  Cottenham, Lord, 395\n\n  Coutts's Bank, the strong room of, 86, 87;\n    the first deposit in, 87;\n    story of one of the clerks of, _ib._;\n    the site of, and additions to, _ib._\n\n  Coutts, Thomas, his origin, and marriage, 86;\n    anecdote of, 448\n\n  Covent Garden, 93\n\n  Covent Garden Theatre and Sheridan, 328\n\n  Coventry, Secretary, 245\n\n  Cowley, enmity of the Royalists to, 115;\n    occasion of \"The Complaint\" by, _ib._;\n    beautiful lines by, 116;\n    his death at Chertsey, _ib._\n\n  Cox, Bessy, 282\n\n  Craig's Court, Charing Cross, 227\n\n  Craven, Lord, his life, etc., 294;\n    miniature Heidelberg erected by, _ib._;\n    his services to the Queen of Bohemia, 295;\n    patronage of literature, _ib._;\n    employment in King William's reign, 296;\n    Miss Benger's estimate of, _ib._;\n    Quixotic character of, 460\n\n  Craven Buildings, fresco portrait at, 297\n\n  Craven House, 292, 459\n\n  Craven Street, residents of, 139;\n    diplomatic consultation in, _ib._;\n    epigrams by James Smith and Sir George Rose on it, _ib._\n\n  \"Cries of London,\" the, 167\n\n  Crockford, his shop in the Strand, 148;\n    his club, _ib._\n\n  Cromwell, Oliver, residences of, 226, 279\n\n  Crook, Japhet, his punishment, 213;\n    lines by Pope on, 214\n\n  Crouch, Mrs., the singer, 333\n\n  Crowle, _bon mot_ on Judge Page by, 217\n\n  Crown and Anchor, the, 152, 153;\n    the great room of, 444\n\n  Cumberland, George, Earl of, 120\n\n  Cuper's Gardens, 43\n\n  Curl, Edmund, 212\n\n  Curtis, Mrs., visits Mrs. Siddons, 91\n\n\n  Davenant, Lady, 404\n\n  Davenant, the actor, 429\n\n  Davies, Moll, 430\n\n  Dawson, Jemmy, 15\n\n  Denham, Sir John, works written by, 393;\n    a drunken frolic of, 452\n\n  Denzil Street, 460\n\n  Deptford, and Peter the Great in, 45\n\n  Design, the School of, 446\n\n  De Sully, Duc, 41\n\n  Devereux Court, 36;\n    duel in, _ib._;\n    death of Marchmont Needham in, 37;\n    relic of Pope at Tom's Coffee-house, _ib._\n\n  Devereux, Robert, Earl of Essex, 28;\n    Spenser's relation to, _ib._;\n    his house near the Temple, 29;\n    his plot against Elizabeth, _ib._;\n    his running a-muck in the City, and flight to Essex Gardens, 30;\n    his capture and death 31;\n    his mother and sister, 32;\n    his crimes, 34\n\n  Devonshire Club, 148\n\n  Dibdin, Charles, his entertainments, 34\n\n  Dickens, Charles, 170;\n    on Seven Dials and Monmouth Street, 385;\n\n  Digby, Sir Kenelm, 241;\n    Ben Jonson's lines on, _ib._\n\n  Dilke, Sir C. Wentworth, 170\n\n  Disraeli, B., 400\n\n  Dobson, Vandyke's protege, 200\n\n  Dodd, the actor, 328\n\n  Doggett, the actor, 310\n\n  Donne, Dr., the tomb of his wife, 154;\n    his want of self-respect, 289;\n    strange circumstance recorded, 290;\n    vision seen by, _ib._;\n    conceits of, 291;\n    his picture in his shroud, 292;\n    a divine and a poet, 390\n\n  Dowton, the actor, 323\n\n  Doyley, 168\n\n  Drinking-fountains, the first, 445\n\n  Drummond's Bank, 227, 457\n\n  Drury family, 288\n\n  Drury House, secret meetings there arranged by Essex, 29;\n    outbreak decided on at, 288;\n    site of, 237\n\n  Drury Lane, origin of its name, 288;\n    residents in, 297 _et seq._;\n    a strange scene in, 298;\n    a duel in, _ib._;\n    pictures of, 299;\n    the poor poet's home in, _ib._;\n    its bad repute during the Regency, 460\n\n  Drury Lane Theatre, 305;\n    Pepys's visits to, 306;\n    scuffle in the king's presence in, _ib._;\n    distinguished actresses of, 309 _et seq._;\n    plays produced at, _ib._;\n    Garrick's first appearance at, 313;\n    Dr. Johnson's address on its re-opening, 322;\n    a riot in 1740 in, 324;\n    Charles Lamb's description of, 324, 325;\n    the rebuilding of, 329;\n    competitive poems for the opening of, 330;\n    Byron's opening address at, _ib._;\n    statue over its entrance, _ib._;\n    pecuniary statements relating to, _ib._;\n    revival of its fortunes by Edmund Kean, 331;\n    Grimaldi at, 334;\n    various actors of, _ib._;\n    pictures of royalty at, 338;\n    recent productions at, _ib._\n\n  Drury, Sir Robert, 288\n\n  Dryden, his lines on the death of Buckingham, 132;\n    his squabbles with Jacob Tonson, 54;\n    attack on, 280;\n    established jokes against, _ib._;\n    Mulgrave's lines on, 281;\n    Otway's defence of, _ib._\n\n  Dudley, Sir Robert, 369\n\n  Dudley, Duchess of, 369\n\n  Duke Street, 135\n\n  Duke's Theatre, 429\n\n  Durham House, residents of, 92;\n    sufferings of the Princess Elizabeth in, _ib._;\n    its last occupants, _ib._;\n    banquets given by Henry VII. at, _ib._;\n    mint established at, 95;\n    Lady Jane Grey's marriage in, _ib._;\n    the scene of an old legend, 96;\n    Raleigh in his turret study at, _ib._;\n    purchased by the brothers Adam, _ib._\n\n  Durham Street, 91\n\n  Dyot Street, 462\n\n\n  Eccentrics, club of, 259\n\n  Edward III., 110;\n    his conduct on the death of John of Gaunt, 114\n\n  Edward VI. at Temple Bar, 21\n\n  Egerton, Lord Chancellor, 391\n\n  Eleanor Cross, model of, 138\n\n  Eleanor, Queen, crosses in memory of, 138, 202;\n    tombs of, 203;\n    the preservation of her body, 204\n\n  Elizabeth, Queen, procession on the anniversary of her accession, 9;\n    adornment of her statue at Temple Bar, 10;\n    her reception at Temple Bar, 21;\n    the plot of Essex against, 29;\n    her relations with Admiral Seymour, 39;\n    story of the Essex ring, 40;\n    her favour for Raleigh, 92\n\n  Ellesmere. _See_ Egerton\n\n  Elliston, Robert William, 326;\n    stories told of, 327\n\n  Epigram, an, a legacy gained by, 139\n\n  Erskine, Lord, 424\n\n  Essex House, 29;\n    occupants of, 31;\n    the Parliamentary general a resident in, 33\n\n  Essex, Robert, Earl of, Ben Jonson's masque on his marriage, 33;\n    divorce of his countess, and her marriage with Robert Carr, _ib._;\n    general for the Parliament, _ib._;\n    attempts to seize his papers, 34\n\n  Essex Street, Strand, 25;\n    residents in, 34;\n    Johnson's club at the Essex Head, 35;\n    Unitarian chapel in, 443;\n    memoranda of, _ib._\n\n  Estcourt, 452;\n    Steele's compliments to, 180\n\n  Etherage, Sir George, 301;\n    play by, 431\n\n  Etty, residence of, 136\n\n  Evans's Hotel, Covent Garden, 460\n\n  Evelyn, John, 134\n\n  \"Examiner,\" the, 123\n\n  Exchange, the New, 93;\n    a tragedy in, _ib._;\n    legends about, _ib._;\n    the White Widow, 94;\n    the walks of, _ib._;\n    a frequenter of, _ib._;\n    its destruction, 95\n\n  Exeter Change, 175;\n    exhibitions in, _ib._;\n    last tenants of, 176\n\n  Exeter Hall, 178\n\n  Exeter House, 179\n\n  Exeter Place, 261\n\n  Exeter Street, 178\n\n\n  Faithorne, William, 148\n\n  Fanshawe, Lady, 423\n\n  Fanshawe, Sir Richard, 421\n\n  Farren, Miss, the actress, 318\n\n  Farren, the actor, 335\n\n  Faucit, Helen (Mrs. T. Martin), 337\n\n  \"Field\" newspaper, 168\n\n  Finch, Lord Chancellor, 265\n\n  Finett, Sir John, 240\n\n  Fletcher, his execution, 14\n\n  Folkes, Martin, 272\n\n  Folly, the, 82\n\n  Foote, the actor, 315\n\n  Fordyce, George, 34\n\n  Fortescue, Judge, 394\n\n  Fortescue, Pope's lawyer, 37\n\n  Fountain Club, the, 84\n\n  Fountain Court Tavern, 84;\n    the Coal Hole in, 85\n\n  Fountain, the, King Street, 381\n\n  Franklin, Benjamin, 139;\n    his landlady and the charitable nun, 275;\n    extravagance of his fellow-pressmen, 276;\n    his visit as ambassador of Massachusetts, 277\n\n  Freemasons' Hall, the, 274\n\n  Friend, Sir John, 13\n\n  Fuseli, 76;\n    his residence, 259\n\n\n  Gaiety Theatre, 452\n\n  Gardelle, the artist and murderer, 251\n\n  Garrick, David, 96, 99;\n    Johnson's esteem for, _ib._;\n    his \"Chinese Festival,\" 185, 186;\n    anecdote of, 273;\n    Zoffany's portrait of, 304;\n    his career, 313;\n    his first appearance at Drury Lane, _ib._;\n    his varied talent, 314;\n    appears on the stage with Quin, _ib._;\n    his death, 315\n\n  Gatti's cafe, 189\n\n  George, Madame St., 59\n\n  Geological Society, the, 69\n\n  George III., his patronage of art, 73;\n    his coolness, 338\n\n  George IV., Chantrey's statue of, 226\n\n  Gerbier, Sir Balthasar, 72\n\n  Gibbons, Grinling, 139\n\n  Gibbons's Tennis Court, 429\n\n  Gibbs, the architect, 162\n\n  Giles, St., tradition of, 353;\n    a scurvy worshipper of, 463\n\n  Giles's, St., ancient toll in, 350;\n    hospital for lepers in, 350;\n    death of Sir John Oldcastle in, 351;\n    the gallows in, 352;\n    site of the hospital, 353;\n    the manor of, 352-3;\n    gradual growth of, 355, 356;\n    its progress after the Great Fire, 356;\n    settlement of foreigners in, 357;\n    its increase in Queen Anne's reign, _ib._;\n    resort of Irish to, _ib._;\n    entries in the parish records of, _ib._;\n    increase of French refugees in, 357;\n    relief to well-known mendicants in, 359;\n    the plague in, 360;\n    the plague-cart of, _ib._;\n    rates levied in consequence of the plague, 361;\n    hospital church of, 363;\n    Dr. Mainwaring rector of, _ib._;\n    new church of, 364;\n    Dr. Heywood, the rector of, _ib._;\n    celebration of the Restoration in, 365;\n    church extension in, _ib._;\n    a sexton's bargain with the rector of, 367;\n    the Resurrection Gate in the churchyard of, _ib._;\n    churchyard of, 367, 368;\n    new burial-ground of, 368;\n    celebrated persons buried in the churchyard of, 369, 370;\n    the oldest monument in the burial-ground of, 370;\n    persons relieved in, 371;\n    erection of the new almshouses and school for, _ib._;\n    Hogarth's studies and scenes in, 372;\n    Nollekens Smith's description of, _ib._;\n    the whipping-stone of, _ib._;\n    the Pound in, 373;\n    the inns of, 374;\n    resort of Irish beggars to, 376, 377;\n    the cellars of, 378;\n    lodgings in, _ib._;\n    beggars, conjurors, and pickpockets of, 379;\n    the mendicants of, 381;\n    low Irish in, 385, 386;\n    persons connected with several streets in, 463;\n    the author's visit with a missionary to houses in, 463\n\n  Giles's, St., Hospital, criminals at its gate, on their way to Tyburn,\n        373\n\n  Giraud, his quarrel, 93;\n    execution, _ib._\n\n  Globe Theatre, 165\n\n  Glover, Mrs., as an actress, 336\n\n  Godfrey, Sir E., murder of, 61;\n    residence of, 142\n\n  Godwin, William, 444\n\n  Golden Cross, the, 232\n\n  Goldsmith, Oliver, a quotation of Dr. Johnson's cleverly capped by, 18;\n    lines on Caleb Whitefoord by, 141;\n    his friends, 197;\n    an earl's patronage of, 198;\n    anecdote of, _ib._;\n    his visit to Northumberland House, _ib._\n\n  Gondomar, Spanish ambassador, 298\n\n  Goodman, and the Drury Lane Company, 308\n\n  Gordon, Lord George, 278\n\n  Gorges, Sir Ferdinand, 30\n\n  Graham, Dr., a London Cagliostro, his rooms and their chief priestess,\n        102;\n    his \"celestial bed\" and \"elixir of life,\" 103\n\n  Grange Inn, 440\n\n  Gravelot, the drawing-master, 250\n\n  Gray's Inn, Bacon's chambers in, 130\n\n  Grecian, the, Addison's description of, 36;\n    a quarrel at, _ib._;\n    meetings of savans at, 37;\n    the privy-council held at, _ib._\n\n  Greenhill, John, 271\n\n  Green Ribbon Club, the, 8\n\n  Gresham College, 68\n\n  Grimaldi at Drury Lane, 334\n\n  Gwynn, Nell, her last resting-place, 244;\n    the birthplace, life, and character of, 301;\n    a descendant of, 302;\n    Pepys's allusion in his \"Diary\" to, _ib._;\n    her death, _ib._;\n    a memorandum of Evelyn's regarding, _ib._;\n    Pepys's estimate of the other actresses associated with, 307;\n    her last original part, 308\n\n\n  Hackman, the Rev. Mr., the murderer of Miss Ray, 160;\n    his execution, _ib._\n\n  Haines, Joe, a clever actor, 308\n\n  Hale, Sir Matthew, an eminent student of Lincoln's Inn, 390\n\n  Hare, the murderer, the lamentable condition of, 461\n\n  Harley, John Pritt, actor, 336\n\n  Harrison, General, the Anabaptist, the brave end of, 205\n\n  Haverhill, William de, Henry III.'s treasurer, his mansion and the\n        various uses to which it was put, 388\n\n  Haycock's Ordinary, 443\n\n  Haydon, anecdote of, 1;\n    another, of his early life in London, 77\n\n  Hayman, Frank, a St. Martin's Lane worthy, amusing anecdotes of, 255\n\n  Haymarket Theatre, the, Fielding's \"Tom Thumb\" brought out at, 438\n\n  Hazlitt, William, his criticism of the elder Mathews, 182\n\n  Heber, Bishop, 397\n\n  Helmet Court, memoranda of, 447\n\n  Hemings' Row, St. Martin's Lane, origin of its name, 458\n\n  Henderson, the actor, 319\n\n  Henley, Orator, sketch of his life, 339;\n    his defence of action in a preacher, _ib._;\n    his correspondence with William Whiston, 340;\n    the shameless advertisements issued by, 340, 341;\n    lines by Pope in the \"Dunciad\" on, 342;\n    his controversy with Pope, _ib._;\n    a contemporary description of, _ib._;\n    his plans for raising money, 343;\n    a joke on Archbishop Herring by, _ib._;\n    his appearance before the privy-council, _ib._;\n    Hogarth's two caricatures of, 344;\n    beginning of one of his sermons, 345;\n    overawed by two Oxonians, 346\n\n  Henrietta Maria, queen of Charles I., the insolent conduct of her French\n        household, and the king's difficulty in getting rid of them, 58;\n    her last masques at Somerset House, 59\n\n  Henry VII., hospital founded on the site of the Savoy by, 114\n\n  Herbert, Lord, of Cherbury, a Quixotic quarrel of, 194;\n    commencement of his work, \"De Veritate,\" 265;\n    a remarkable vision which is said to have appeared to, _ib._;\n    reflections on passing the residence of, 266\n\n  Herring, Archbishop, Swift's opposition to, 344\n\n  Hewson, the supposed original Strap of \"Roderick Random,\" 136\n\n  Heywood, Dr., rector of St. Giles's, Puritan petition against, 365\n\n  Hill, Captain, a well-known profligate bully, his drunken jealousy of\n        Mountfort the actor, 49;\n    his attempt to carry off Mrs. Bracegirdle, 50;\n    cowardly murder of Mountfort, by, 51\n\n  Hill, Mr. Thomas, the supposed prototype of Paul Pry, 103\n\n  Hilliard, Nicholas, Queen Elizabeth's miniature-painter, 244\n\n  \"Histriomastix,\" the, Prynne's punishment for a scurrilous note in, 59\n\n  Hodges, Dr., his account of the commencement and progress of the plague,\n        262\n\n  Hogarth, 72;\n    his picture of \"Noon,\" 372\n\n  Hog Lane, St. Giles's (now Crown Street), 371\n\n  Holborn, gradual extension and first pavement of, 355;\n    allusions to a doleful procession up the Heavy Hill of, 374\n\n  Hollar, the German engraver, description of a scarce view of Somerset\n        House by, 63;\n    the residence of, 157\n\n  Holmes, Copper, a well-known character on the river, 247\n\n  Holy Land, the, a part of St. Giles's, 386\n\n  Hone, Nathaniel, 258\n\n  Hood, Thomas, his \"Bridge of Sighs,\" 450\n\n  Hook, Theodore, 102\n\n  Howard, Lady Margaret, Sir John Suckling's fantastic simile in lines on\n        her feet, 195\n\n  Howard, Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, discovery of the cipher used by--his\n        treason and death, 27\n\n  Howard, Thomas, Earl of Arundel, an amateur of art, Clarendon's\n        description of, 42;\n    Vansomer's portrait of, _ib._;\n    his devotion in the pursuit of objects of art, 43;\n    disposal of his statues, marbles, and library, _ib._;\n    remarks made by him in a dispute with Charles I., _ib._\n\n  Howard, Philip, Earl of Arundel, a letter to, 27;\n    memorial in the Tower of, _ib._\n\n  Hudson, the portrait-painter, 272\n\n  Hungerford, Lord Walter, first Speaker of the House of Commons, 137\n\n  Hungerford, Sir Edward, founder of Hungerford Market, 137\n\n  Hungerford Market, the site of, 137;\n    the origin and object of, 138;\n    vicissitudes of, _ib._;\n    an unlucky speculation at, _ib._\n\n  Hungerford Suspension Bridge, 138;\n    the purchase of, 451;\n    the new railway bridge in place of, 138;\n    the railway station at, _ib._\n\n  Hunter, Dr. William, O'Keefe's description of him lecturing on anatomy,\n        78\n\n  Hunter, Dr. John, particulars of his professional life, 420, 421\n\n  Hunt, Leigh, the imprisonment of, 123;\n    his critical remarks on the elder Mathews, 182\n\n\n  \"Illustrated London News,\" the proprietor and staff of, 55\n\n  Ingram, Mr. Herbert, proprietor of the \"Illustrated London News,\" career\n        and death of, 55\n\n  Ireland, Samuel, father of the celebrated literary impostor, the\n        residence of, 46;\n    his belief in the genuineness of \"Vortigern\" as a work of Shakspere's,\n        47\n\n  Ireland, W. H., the true story of the Shakspere forgery committed by, 46;\n    effect of the extraordinary praise lavished on, 47;\n    supporters and opponents of, _ib._;\n    damnation of his play of \"Vortigern,\" _ib._\n\n  \"Isabella,\" Southerne's tragedy of, effect of Mrs. Siddons's acting in,\n        91\n\n  Ivy Bridge, narrow passage to the Thames under, and mansion near, 91\n\n\n  Jacobites, the cant words used by, 15\n\n  James I., pageants on his passage through the city, 21\n\n  James Street, Adelphi, No. 2, the residence of Mr. Thomas Hill, the Hull\n        of \"Gilbert Gurney,\" 103\n\n  Jansen, an architect, works by, 191\n\n  Jekyll, Sir Joseph, his obnoxious bill, and the fury of the mob against,\n        410;\n    his _bon-mot_ on Lord Kenyon's spits, 423\n\n  Jennings, Frances. _See_ Widow, the White\n\n  Jerdan, William, 83\n\n  John, King of France, his entrance as a captive into London, 112;\n    his honourable return to England after having been liberated on\n        parole, _ib._;\n    his death at the Savoy, _ib._\n\n  John of Padua, Henry VIII.'s architect, 57\n\n  John, Saint, the foundation of the hospital of, 114;\n    abuses of, transference of its funds, etc., 115;\n    Dr. John Killigrew appointed master of, _ib._;\n    Strype's description of the old hall of, 117\n\n  John Street, Adelphi, 99\n\n  Johnson, Dr., his conversation with Goldsmith on Westminster Abbey, 17;\n    club formed at the Essex Head by--its principal members, 35;\n    his high estimation for Garrick, 97;\n    Garrick's remark on the philosopher's friendship for Beauclerk, 98;\n    his three reasons for the black skin of the <DW64> race, 149;\n    an Irishman's opinion of, _ib._;\n    his pleasant evenings at the Mitre with an old college friend, 150;\n    Boswell's account of his solemn devotion during divine service, 155;\n    extract from a letter written to Mrs. Thrale by, 156;\n    his first residence in London, 178;\n    an eccentric habit of, 187;\n    beginning of his address for the re-opening of Drury Lane Theatre, 322\n\n  Johnstone, Irish, 335\n\n  Jones, Colonel, his execution, 205\n\n  Jones, Inigo, his plan for laying out Lincoln's Inn Fields, 402\n\n  Jones, the actor, 323\n\n  Jonson, Ben, dialogues, speeches, and masques by, 22, 33;\n    his residence when a child, 142;\n    a story of, 251;\n    early life of, 399;\n    tradition of, _ib._;\n    his exploit in Flanders, _ib._\n\n  Jordan, Mrs., 326\n\n\n  Kauffman, Angelica, 76\n\n  Kean, Charles, 338\n\n  Kean, Mrs. Charles (Miss Ellen Tree), 338\n\n  Kean, Edmund, habits of, 85;\n    his early success in London, 88;\n    his origin, early life, and first triumphs in London, 331;\n    Hazlitt's remarks on, 332\n\n  Keeley, Robert, the actor, 337\n\n  Keelings the, 405\n\n  Kelly, Michael, 334\n\n  Kelly, Miss, actress, 336;\n    attacks on, _ib._\n\n  Kemble, Charles, 321\n\n  Kemble, John, 320;\n    generous act of the Duke of Northumberland to, _ib._;\n    Leigh Hunt's picture of, _ib._\n\n  Kenilworth, Lord of, 28\n\n  Kennington Common, execution of Jacobites on, 14\n\n  Kensington, South, transfer of pictures from the National Gallery to, 224\n\n  Kent, the rising under Wat Tyler, 112\n\n  Kenyon, Lord, jokes on, 423;\n    his stinginess and bad Latin, _ib._\n\n  Killigrew, Dr. Henry, 119\n\n  Killigrew, Mrs. Anne, 119\n\n  Killigrew, Thomas, 119;\n    actors in his company, 308\n\n  King, Dr., Principal of St. Mary's Hall, Oxford, 36\n\n  King, Dr. William, lines on the Beefsteak Club by, 174\n\n  King, the original Sir Peter Teazle, 321\n\n  King's College and its museum, 66, 447;\n    models and instruments presented by Queen Victoria, _ib._\n\n  King's College Hospital, 438\n\n  Kirby, Mr., 73, 74\n\n  Kit Cat Club, 51;\n    institution of the, 85;\n    origin of its name, _ib._;\n    the summer rendezvous of, 86;\n    Lady Mary Wortley Montague the toast of, _ib._\n\n  Kneller, Sir Godfrey, 72;\n    his life and character, 267;\n    the witty banter of, 268;\n    his vanity, 269;\n    how Jacob Tonson got pictures out of, _ib._;\n    his conviction of the legitimacy of the Pretender, _ib._\n\n  Knight Templars, the, 25\n\n  Knollys, Lettice, Countess of Essex, afterwards Lady Leicester, 31\n\n  Knowledge, Christian, the Society for Promoting, 461\n\n  Koenigsmark, Count, 193\n\n  Kynaston, Sir Francis, 71, 187\n\n  Kynaston, the actor, 187, 432\n\n\n  Lacy, a favourite actor, 308\n\n  Laguerre, the French painter, 246\n\n  Lamb, Charles, tragedy in his family, 285;\n    his devotion to his sister, 286\n\n  Lancaster, the Earl of, 107\n\n  Lancaster, John, Duke of, favours Wickliffe, 109;\n    his peril from the London mob, 110;\n    his escape, _ib._;\n    _amende_ of the Londoners to, _ib._;\n    his marriage and connections, _ib._;\n    his unpopularity and violence, 119;\n    clause aimed by Wat Tyler against, 112;\n    destruction of his London palace, etc., 113;\n    his death and burial, 114\n\n  Lancaster, the Duchy of, 122, 450\n\n  Lander, Richard, 120\n\n  Langhorne, Dr., 396\n\n  Law Courts, new, 147\n\n  \"Law Times,\" Office, 168\n\n  Layer, Christopher, 17\n\n  Learning, Society for the encouragement of, 49\n\n  Lee, the poet, his death, 154\n\n  Lepers, 354\n\n  Lewis, the comedian, 274;\n    his acting, 323, 324\n\n  Lillie, Charles, the perfumer, 84\n\n  Limput, Remigius van, 187\n\n  Liston, the comedian, 323\n\n  Lincoln's Inn, origin of its name, 387;\n    the Chancery Lane side of, 388;\n    the gateway of, _ib._;\n    the chapel, 388, 389;\n    distinguished students of, 390 _et seq._;\n    persons buried in the chapel, 392 _et seq._;\n    old customs and laws of, 397, 398;\n    disposal of Hogarth's picture, \"Preaching before Felix,\" at, 398;\n    the new hall, library, and garden of, _ib._, 464;\n    Mr. Disraeli's studies at, 400\n\n  Lincoln's Inn Field, part of Fickett's field, 401;\n    King James regulates building in, 401, 402;\n    Inigo Jones's plan for laying out and building, 402;\n    state in the time of Charles I. and Charles II.;\n    Gay's sketch of its dangers, 403;\n    Earl of Rochester's house in, 404;\n    execution of plotters against Elizabeth in, _ib._;\n    procession of Thomas Sadler, the thief, through, _ib._;\n    Lord Russell's death in, 405;\n    improvements in 1735 in, 410;\n    Macaulay's picture of, _ib._;\n    distinguished inhabitants of, 414 _et seq._;\n    Tennyson's chambers in, 418;\n    Mr. Povey's house in, 428\n\n  Lindsey, Earl, 416, 417\n\n  Lindsey House, 417\n\n  Literary Club, Boswell and Johnson at, 17\n\n  Literary Fund Society, 427\n\n  Literature, Royal Society of, 259\n\n  Locket's Ordinary, 227\n\n  London, growth and changes of, 2;\n    points of departure for tours in, _ib._;\n    start for the author's tour in, 3;\n    banks in, 7;\n    the rebels under Tyler in, 112;\n    King William at the celebration of the peace of Ryswick in, 23, 24;\n    a bishop beheaded by the mob of, 26;\n    cruel treatment of a Spaniard by the mob of, 213;\n    the street signs of, 237;\n    foreigners in 1580 in, 356;\n    a glance at an ancient map of, 356, 357;\n    Pennant on its churchyards, 367;\n    crusade against Irish and other vagrants, 377;\n    royal fears as to its increase, 401;\n    its history an epitome of that of the world, 441;\n    its newspapers and periodicals, 454\n\n  Long Acre, the plague in, 262;\n    Oliver Cromwell's residence in, 279;\n    Tory tavern Club in, 284\n\n  Lord Mayor's Day, 23\n\n  Loutherberg, De, 167\n\n  Lowin, John, 154\n\n  Lyceum, the, 171;\n    exhibitions in, _ib._;\n    experiment in, 172;\n    Mathew's entertainment in, _ib._;\n    Beefsteak Club meet in, _ib._;\n    Mr. T. P. Cooke's early triumphs in, 174\n\n  Lyndhurst, Lord, 395\n\n  Lyons, Emma (afterwards Lady Hamilton), 102\n\n  Lyon's Inn, 165;\n    sale of its materials, _ib._;\n    murder of Mr. Weare, _ib._\n\n  Lyttelton, Sir Thomas, 44\n\n\n  M'Ardell, Hogarth's engraver, 251\n\n  Mackintosh, Sir James, 464\n\n  Macklin, the actor, 436\n\n  Macready, William Charles, 337\n\n  Maginn, Dr., ballad by, 232\n\n  Malibran, Madame, 334\n\n  Manos, Gannee, and other beggars, 382\n\n  Mansfield, the Earl of, 394\n\n  Mardyn, Mrs., the actress, 335\n\n  Marlborough, the Duchess of, Congreve's legacy to, 52;\n    her regard for Congreve, 53\n\n  Martin's St., Lane, residents of, 239 _et seq._;\n    Beard, the singer, 249;\n    Old Slaughter's Coffee-house, _ib._;\n    houses built by Payne in, 252;\n    curious staircase in No. 96, 253;\n    a house favoured by artists in, _ib._;\n    Roubilliac's first studio in, 257;\n    old house of the Earls of Salisbury in, 256;\n    changes in, 261\n\n  Martin's-in-the-Fields, St., 242;\n    the church of, 244;\n    the dust enshrined in, _ib._;\n    J. T. Smith's visit to the vaults of, 246;\n    the parochial abuses of, _ib._;\n    the old watch and stocks of, 256\n\n  Marvell, Andrew, 209;\n    the grave of, 370\n\n  Mary, Queen, 21\n\n  Mary, St. Savoy, the Chapel of, the dead interred in, 121;\n    its destruction by fire, 122;\n    its restoration, _ib._\n\n  Mary, St., Roncevalles, the hospital of, 235\n\n  Mary-le-Strand, St., 162;\n    construction of, _ib._;\n    allusions by Pope and Addison to, 163;\n    tragedy at, _ib._;\n    interior of, _ib._\n\n  Mathews, his entertainment, 140;\n    his \"Mail-coach Adventures,\" 172;\n    his bargains with Mr. Arnold, 181;\n    his various entertainments, _ib._;\n    failure of his health, and death, 182;\n    his first attempts as an actor, 298;\n    his first appearance in London, 323\n\n  Matthews, Bishop of Durham, 98\n\n  Mayerne, Sir Theodore, 239;\n    story of, 240;\n    his death, 260\n\n  Maynard, Mr. Serjeant, 404\n\n  Mainwaring, Dr., 363, 364\n\n  Maypole in the Strand, the, 160;\n    its fall and restoration, 161;\n    removal of, 162\n\n  May's Buildings, 259\n\n  Mellon, Miss, the actress, 87;\n    her first and second marriages, 88;\n    her first appearance at Drury Lane, 448;\n    leaves her fortune to Miss Burdett Coutts, _ib._\n\n  Mendicants' Convivial Club, 462\n\n  Mews, origin of the name, 217;\n    notes concerning, 218;\n    old bookshop at the gate of one, 219\n\n  Michael's, St., Alley, Cornhill, 36\n\n  Milford Lane, 38\n\n  Millar, the publisher, 56\n\n  Miller, Joe, his burial-place, 348;\n    his debut on the stage, 439;\n    his last success, _ib._;\n    his haunt, 440\n\n  Milton, John, 232\n\n  Misaubin, Dr., 253\n\n  Mitre, the, 150\n\n  Mohun, Lord, 50, 245\n\n  Monk, General, his death, 65;\n    the Restoration effected by, 61;\n    his vulgar wife, 301;\n    invited to a conference by the Earl of Northumberland, 200\n\n  Monmouth Street, 385;\n    Mr. Dickens's description of, _ib._;\n    modern civilisation in, 463\n\n  Montague, Lady M. W., 86\n\n  Montfort, Simon de, 107\n\n  More, Sir Thomas, 164\n\n  Morgan, the Welsh buccaneer, 264\n\n  Morley's Hotel, 456\n\n  \"Morning Chronicle,\" 167;\n    the end of, 168\n\n  \"Morning Post,\" 170\n\n  Mortimer, the English Salvator, 46\n\n  Moss, the engraver, 63\n\n  Mottley, the actor, 439;\n    origin of his jest book, 440\n\n  Mountfort, Mrs., 434\n\n  Mountfort, the actor, 50;\n    his career, 435\n\n  Munden, Charles Lamb on, 327\n\n  Murphy, Arthur, 394\n\n  Murray, Major, 143\n\n  Mytens, Daniel, 240\n\n\n  National Gallery, opening of, 219;\n    the paltry design of, 75;\n    the first purchase of pictures for, 222;\n    the gems of, 223, 224;\n    purchases and donations for, _ib._;\n    Turner's bequest to, 224;\n    proposed removal of the pictures from, _ib._;\n    Jacob Bell's bequest, 225;\n    enlargement of the, _ib._\n\n  Needham, Marchmont, 37;\n    his burial-place, 155\n\n  Nelson, Admiral, a tradition of, 71\n\n  Nelson Column, the, original estimate for, 220;\n    bassi relievi on, _ib._;\n    adornment of the pedestal of, 221\n\n  Newcastle, the Duke of, his house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, 410;\n    his levees, _ib._;\n    the porter's reply to an intruder on, 411;\n    impertinence of his cook, 412;\n    anecdote of, _ib._;\n    Smollett's and Walpole's sketches of, 413;\n    Walpole's review of his career, _ib._;\n    his reply to Lord Bute, 414\n\n  Newgate ballads, 463\n\n  New Inn, 164\n\n  Newspaper offices, 454\n\n  Nisbett, Mrs., 335\n\n  Nivernois, the Duc de, 18\n\n  Nokes, James, 432\n\n  Nollekens, the sculptor, 379\n\n  Norfolk Street, 44 _et seq._;\n    Charles Dickens's sketch of, 445\n\n  Northampton, the Earl of, 191\n\n  Northampton, Algernon, tenth Earl of, 192, 195\n\n  Northumberland, the wizard Earl of, his marriage 192;\n    treason, etc., _ib._\n\n  Northumberland, the Duke of, 192\n\n  Northumberland House, 191;\n    the oldest part of, 195;\n    accident at, _ib._;\n    the letters and date on its facade, 196;\n    destruction of the Strand front by fire, 197;\n    Sir John Hawkins's and Goldsmith's visit to Mr. Percy at, 198;\n    Goldsmith's account of a visit to, 199;\n    pictures in the gallery of, _ib._\n\n  Northumberland Street, 142;\n    demolition of, 200\n\n  Nottingham, the Countess of, 39, 40\n\n  Noy, Attorney-general, 389\n\n\n  Oates, Titus, 208, 302\n\n  O'Keefe, the dramatist, 18, 258\n\n  Oldcastle, Sir John, Lord Cobham, 352;\n    his imprisonment, escape, and death, _ib._\n\n  Oldfield, Mrs., actress, 186;\n    her merits as a comedian, 310;\n    her death, 311\n\n  \"Old Slaughter's,\" the frequenters of, 249;\n    Hogarth and Roubilliac at, _ib._\n\n  Olympic, the, 164;\n    Mr. Robson's representations at, 165\n\n  Oratory, Henley's, 339\n\n  Oxberry, the actor, 335\n\n  Oxburgh, Sir John, 13\n\n  Oxford, the Earl of, 137\n\n\n  Page, Judge, 217;\n    the \"Dunciad\" on, _ib._\n\n  Paget, Lord, 26\n\n  Paintings, the first exhibition in London of, 75\n\n  Palsgrave Head Tavern, 148, 151\n\n  Parr, Dr., 47\n\n  Parr, Old, 91\n\n  Parsons, parish-clerk of St. Sepulchre's, 214\n\n  Partridge, the charlatan cobbler, 90\n\n  Pasquin (Williams), Anthony, 142\n\n  Patterson, Samuel, bookseller, 34\n\n  Payne, Mr. James, collector of MSS., 459\n\n  Payne, Roger, bookbinder, 457\n\n  Pendrell, Richard, his tomb and epitaph, 368\n\n  Penn, the Quaker, 44\n\n  Pepys, residence of, 135;\n    his career, 136;\n    residence of his father-in-law, 282;\n    visits Drury Lane Theatre, 302;\n    Lord Cottenham, a descendant of the author of the \"Diary,\" 395\n\n  Perceval, Spencer, 394\n\n  Percy, the Earl Marshal, 109\n\n  Percy, Elizabeth, her marriages, 192\n\n  Perkins, Sir William, 12\n\n  Perry, James, 167\n\n  Pest-houses, 297\n\n  Peter the Great, 45;\n    his evenings in York Buildings, 136\n\n  Peters, Hugh, 207\n\n  Petty, William, 42\n\n  Philips, Ambrose, 248;\n    Pope's lines on, _ib._\n\n  Physicians, the Royal College of, 225\n\n  Pickett, Alderman, 148;\n    street named after, 147\n\n  \"Pic-Nic,\" the, London newspaper, 139\n\n  Pidgeon, Bat, barber, 160\n\n  Pierce, Edward, sculptor, 49\n\n  Pine, the engraver, 252\n\n  \"Pine Apple,\" the, 178\n\n  Plague, the Great, 143;\n    its origin in London, 262;\n    its progress, 263\n\n  Poitiers, the victory of, 111\n\n  Pope, the, 9\n\n  Pope, a relic of, 37;\n    lines on the death of Buckingham by, 132;\n    insolence of, 248;\n    reply of Sir Godfrey Kneller to, 268;\n    his dispute with Orator Henley, 342\n\n  Pope, Miss, the actress, 273;\n    her manner on the stage, 321\n\n  Porridge Island, 236\n\n  Porter, Mrs., the actress, 43\n\n  Portugal Row, 403, 421\n\n  Portugal Street, 429 _et seq._\n\n  Precinct of the Savoy, 122\n\n  Precinct Club, the, 169\n\n  Prior, his boyhood, 229;\n    his attachments, 282;\n    his death, 283\n\n  Pritchard, Mrs., actress, 317\n\n  Proctor, student of the Royal Academy, 80\n\n  Prynne, William, 398\n\n  Punch, the puppet-show, 208\n\n  \"Punch,\" the periodical, 303\n\n\n  Quakers, the, 44\n\n  \"Queen\" newspaper, 168\n\n  Queen Street, Great, 263;\n    residents in, 264 _et seq._;\n    residence of Lord Herbert of Cherbury in, 266\n\n  Quin, the actor, 187, 271;\n    appears on the stage with Garrick, 312;\n    his career as an actor, _ib._;\n    appears at Portugal Street Theatre, 437\n\n\n  Radcliffe, Dr., 347\n\n  Radford, Thomas, 93\n\n  Railton, designer of the Nelson Memorial, 220\n\n  Raimbach, the engraver, 258\n\n  Raleigh, Sir Walter, 92;\n    Durham House unjustly taken from, 96;\n    costly dress worn by, _ib._\n\n  Rann, John, \"Sixteen-stringed Jack,\" 374\n\n  Rawlinson, Dr., 16\n\n  Ray, Miss, murder of, 160\n\n  Rebecca, Biaggio, 76\n\n  Reddish, Samuel, the actor, 318\n\n  Reeve, John, 184\n\n  _Rejected Addresses_, the, 140\n\n  Rennie, John, architect, 124\n\n  Reynolds, Sir Joshua, his club in Essex Street, 35;\n    his adherence to the Spring Garden Society, 73;\n    his lectures, 83;\n    lying-in-state of, 79;\n    residences of, 274\n\n  Rhodes, the bookseller and actor, 233, 305\n\n  Rice, Mr. (\"Jim Crow\"), 180\n\n  Rich, Penelope, 31\n\n  Rich, the actor and manager, 435;\n    legend regarding, 436;\n    Garrick's lines on, 438\n\n  Richardson, the humourist, 187\n\n  Richmond, the Duke of, his gallery at Whitehall, 72\n\n  Rimbault, the clockmaker, 303\n\n  Rivet, John, a brazier, 212\n\n  Roberts, the solicitor, 143\n\n  Robin Hood Debating Society, 443\n\n  Robinson, Mrs., 318\n\n  Robinson's Coffee-house, 215\n\n  Robson, Mr. Frederick, 165, 236\n\n  Roman Bath, in the Strand, 169\n\n  Roman Road, ancient, 349\n\n  Romilly, Sir Samuel, 400\n\n  Rookery, the, 463\n\n  Roubilliac, his burial-place, 246;\n    his studio, 255;\n    a pupil of, 257\n\n  Royal Academy, the, Somerset House, 65;\n    the germs of, 71;\n    its service to English art, 75;\n    its first officers, 74;\n    catalogue, etc., 75\n\n  Royal Academicians, the, 74\n\n  Royal Society, the, 68;\n    its portraits of Newton, and other curiosities, 69\n\n  \"Rummer,\" the, 229;\n    the scene of Jack Sheppard's first robbery, 230\n\n  Russel, Lord William, 285;\n    his alleged plot, 405;\n    his appearance before the Council, 406;\n    his interview with French agents, _ib._;\n    petition presented for his life, 407;\n    the last days of, _ib._;\n    his execution, 408\n\n  Russel, Lady Rachel, her petition for her husband's life, 407;\n    her letter to Dr. Fitzwilliams, 408\n\n  Rutland, the Earls of, 91\n\n  Ryan, the actor, 272\n\n  Rymer, the antiquary, 43, 154\n\n\n  Saa, Don Pantaleon de, his quarrel with Giraud, 93\n\n  Sacheverell, Dr., 409\n\n  Sadler, Thomas, the thief, 404\n\n  St. Leonards, Lord, 396\n\n  Sala, G. A., 122\n\n  Sale, George, 49\n\n  Salisbury, Earls of, old house of the, 256\n\n  Salisbury House, Little, 89\n\n  Salisbury House, Old, 89\n\n  Salisbury Street, 89\n\n  Sandwich Islands, the king and queen of, 102\n\n  Sandwich, Montague, Earl of, 415\n\n  Savage, Richard, 216;\n    his escape from execution, _ib._\n\n  Savage Club, the, 460\n\n  Savoy, Peter, Earl of, 107;\n    Henry III.'s grant to, _ib._;\n    transfer of his manor to the chapter of Montjoy, 108\n\n  Savoy, the, moonlight meetings in, 106;\n    derivation of the name of, 107;\n    occupants of the palace of, 108;\n    Chaucer's marriage in, _ib._;\n    the vicissitudes of, 109;\n    attack of the mob of London on, 110;\n    a residence of John, King of France, 111;\n    its destruction by Wat Tyler, 112;\n    erection of an hospital on its site, 114;\n    its suppression and removal, 115;\n    Conference of the Savoy, 116;\n    a French church in, 117;\n    a sanctuary for debtors, _ib._;\n    Strype's description of it, _ib._;\n    clandestine marriages in, 118;\n    its state in the reign of George II., _ib._;\n    portions of it remaining in 1816, _ib._;\n    the destruction of, 119;\n    Mr. G. A. Sala's description of the Precinct of, 122;\n    traditions still lingering in, 123\n\n  Savoy Street, 116\n\n  Scheemakers, 333\n\n  School of Design, 446\n\n  Serle Street, origin of its name, 464\n\n  Serle's coffee-house, Addison's visit to, 464;\n    a curious letter extant at, _ib._\n\n  Seven Dials, the, Mr. Dickens's description of, 385;\n    Gay's description of, 461;\n    the degraded state of, 462\n\n  Seymour, Lord Thomas, 39;\n    the mint established in aid of his designs, 95\n\n  Seymour, Sir Edward, anecdote of, 234\n\n  Seymour Place. _See_ Arundel House\n\n  Shadwell, son of the poet, 135\n\n  Shaftesbury, Earl of, 179\n\n  Shallow, the revelry of, 158\n\n  Sheppard, Jack, the burial-place of, 246\n\n  Sheridan, Thomas, 187\n\n  Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, produces the \"School for Scandal,\" 322;\n    his extravagance, 328;\n    _sang froid_ exhibited in the House of Commons by, _ib._;\n    his death, 329\n\n  Shipley, Mr., founder of the Society of Arts, 100;\n    his pupils, _ib._\n\n  Shippen, \"Honest,\" 45\n\n  Shipyard, the, gable-ended house in, 148\n\n  Shorter, Sir John, 22\n\n  Siddons, Mrs., 91, 319;\n    the homage of distinguished men to, 320\n\n  Signs, the suppression of, 237;\n    adornment of old London by, 238\n\n  Simon, Old, 379-80;\n    portraits of, 380;\n    anecdotes of his dog \"Rover,\" _ib._\n\n  Singers, theatrical, 333 _et seq._\n\n  Slaughter's, Old, 249;\n    Hogarth and Roubilliac at, _ib._\n\n  Slaughter's, New, 253\n\n  Sloane, Sir Hans, 284\n\n  Smith, the brothers, 330\n\n  Smith, James, 139;\n    epigram by, 140\n\n  Snow, the goldsmith, 151, 443\n\n  Soane, Sir John, 427\n\n  Soane Museum, the, curiosities in, 424;\n    impediments thrown in the way of visitors to, _ib._;\n    its treasures, 425 _et seq._;\n    its pictures and engravings, 426;\n    a satire on, 465\n\n  Soeur, Le, French sculptor, 209\n\n  Somerset, the Protector, 57\n\n  Somerset House, 56;\n    Elizabeth's visits to Lord Hunsdon in, 58;\n    Anne of Denmark's masquerades in, _ib._;\n    pranks of Henrietta Maria's French household in, _ib._;\n    Puritans offended by Henrietta Maria's Roman Catholic chapel in, 59;\n    tombs under the great square of, _ib._;\n    death of Inigo Jones in, _ib._;\n    the celebration of Protestant service in, _ib._;\n    the lying-in-state of Cromwell in, 60;\n    Pepys's description of a strange scene in the presence-chamber of, 61;\n    lying-in-state of Monk, Duke of Albemarle, in, _ib._;\n    the murder of Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, _ib._;\n    Waller made drunk at, 62;\n    apartments for poor noblemen, _ib._;\n    erection of new Government offices on the site of the old palace of,\n        _ib._;\n    scene witnessed by Pepys at, 63;\n    old prints of, _ib._;\n    the architect of the modern buildings of, 64;\n    demolition of the old palace of, _ib._;\n    Edward VI.'s furniture, and Catherine of Braganza's breakfast room in,\n        _ib._;\n    dimensions of the building completed by Sir William Chambers, 65;\n    retirement of the Royal Academy to, _ib._;\n    figures on the Strand front of, _ib._;\n    Government clerks and public offices in, 66;\n    statue and figure in the east wing of, _ib._;\n    office for auditing public accounts in, _ib._;\n    learned societies sheltered in, 67;\n    distinguished men who must have frequented the halls of, _ib._;\n    a legend of, 71;\n    a tradition of Nelson at, _ib._;\n    accident during Reynolds's lecture at, 78;\n    day-dreams in the great quadrangle of, 81\n\n  Somerset Coffee-house, 446\n\n  Somerset House Stairs, 63\n\n  Southampton Street, 185;\n    Garrick's house in, _ib._\n\n  Sparkes, Isaac, Irish comedian, 274\n\n  \"Spectator,\" office of the, 124\n\n  Spelman, Lady, 40\n\n  Spelman, Sir Henry, 391\n\n  Spenser, his death and burial, 28\n\n  Spiller, James, comedian, 154;\n    his death, 438\n\n  Spring Gardens Academy of Art, the, 72;\n    dissimulation of the king in relation to, 73;\n    intrigues against, _ib._\n\n  Stage, the, reform of declamation and costume on, 325;\n    first appearance of actresses, in London, on, 429\n\n  Stapleton, Walter, his death, 26\n\n  Steele, Sir Richard, his coffee-houses, 36;\n    his residence, 135;\n    his allusions to Lincoln's Inn, 398\n\n  Stone, Nicholas, sculptor, 278\n\n  Storace, operas written by, 334\n\n  Stothard, the artist, sketch of his career, 283\n\n  Strahan and Co., bankers, 151, 451 (_note_)\n\n  Strand, the:--\n    Essex Street, 25;\n    Exeter House, 26;\n    Exeter Place, _ib._;\n    Essex House 29;\n    Milford Lane, 38;\n    Devereux Court, _ib._;\n    Arundel House, 39;\n    Arundel Street, 43;\n    Norfolk Street, 44;\n    Surrey Street, 48;\n    Howard Street, 49;\n    Strand Lane, 53;\n    Anderson's pills in, _ib._;\n    Turk's Head Coffee-house, _ib._;\n    residence of Jacob Tonson in, 54;\n    occupants of No. 141, _ib._;\n    office of the \"Illustrated London News\" in, 55;\n    Somerset House, 56;\n    Haydon's first London lodgings in, 77;\n    Beaufort House, 83;\n    the residence of Blake, in, _ib._;\n    office of the \"Sun\" newspaper, 83;\n    Coutts's Bank, 86;\n    Cecil Street, 88;\n    Salisbury Street and House, 89;\n    Mrs. Siddons's residence in, 91;\n    Durham Street and House, _ib._;\n    Buckingham Street, 135;\n    Villiers Street, _ib._;\n    Duke Street, _ib._;\n    York Buildings, _ib._;\n    Hungerford Bridge and Market, 136;\n    Craven Street, 139;\n    Northumberland Street, 143;\n    the strata of, 146;\n    the footway in Edward II.'s time, 147;\n    discovery of a small bridge in, _ib._;\n    houses on the north side of, _ib._ _et seq._;\n    Butcher Row, 148;\n    Palsgrave Place, 151;\n    the Maypole in, 160;\n    St. Clement's Danes, 152;\n    a scene of Elizabeth's time in, 161;\n    St. Mary's-le-Strand, 162;\n    New Inn, 164;\n    Wych Street, _ib._;\n    Lyon's Inn, 165;\n    Catherine Street, 166;\n    Doyley's warehouse in, 168;\n    Wellington Street, _ib._;\n    Lyceum Theatre, 171;\n    Exeter Change, 175;\n    familiar sounds to the old residents in, 177;\n    Exeter Street, 178;\n    Exeter Hall, _ib._;\n    a resident in, _ib._;\n    Exeter House, 179;\n    Burleigh Street, _ib._;\n    Adelphi Theatre, 180;\n    Southampton Street, 185;\n    Bedford Street, 186;\n    Gaiety Theatre, 452;\n    memoranda relating to the south side of, 443;\n    do. relating to the north side of, 452\n\n  Strand, Bridge, the, 169\n\n  Strand Lane, 53;\n    mentioned by Addison, 169\n\n  Strand Theatre, 444, 446\n\n  Streets, the nomenclature of, 103\n\n  Strype, the antiquary, 117\n\n  Suckling, Sir John, 195;\n    his death, 241\n\n  Suett, the actor, 321\n\n  Suffolk House, 194\n\n  Sullivan, Luke, engraver, 251\n\n  \"Sun,\" office of the, 83\n\n  Surrey Street, 48\n\n  Surgeons, College of, 419\n\n  Swan, the, Charing Cross, 236\n\n\n  Tart-Hall, 43\n\n  Taylor, the water-poet, 279;\n    his complaint regarding carriages and tobacco, _ib._;\n    epitaph on, 280\n\n  Tempest, Peter Molyn, engraver, 167\n\n  Temple Bar, its erection, 4;\n    description of, 5;\n    threatened destruction of, 6;\n    fixing the heads of traitors on, 11;\n    curious print of, 13;\n    heads of Fletcher, Townley, and Oxburgh, exposed on, _ib._;\n    apprehension of a man for firing bullets at the two last heads\n        exhibited on, 16;\n    Counsellor Layer's head blown by a terrible wind from, _ib._;\n    removal of the last iron spike from, 17;\n    a quotation of Dr. Johnson's at, _ib._;\n    proclamation of peace at, 18;\n    its adornment on public occasions, 19;\n    opening its gates to the sovereign, 20;\n    reception of Queen Elizabeth at, _ib._;\n    reception of royal persons at, 21;\n    pageants on the passage of King James, _ib._;\n    the mournful celebrity of, 22\n\n  Temple Club, 453\n\n  Tenison, Dr. Thomas, 247\n\n  Tennyson, Alfred, 418\n\n  Terry, an actor, 183\n\n  Thames, the, scenery on its banks, 136;\n    embankment of, 190;\n    old watermen on, 247;\n    Copper Holme's ark on, _ib._\n\n  Theatres, an old custom at, 172;\n    a riot in one, 186\n\n  Theatre, the Duke's, 429;\n    a sword-fight between two factions in, 430;\n    the principal ladies of, _ib._;\n    Pepys's visits to, 431;\n    the principal performers at, 432 _et seq._;\n    plays of Congreve produced at, 434;\n    Steele's account of an audience in, 435;\n    the last proprietor of, _ib._;\n    riot at, 436;\n    Macklin's performance at, 437;\n    Quin's appearance at, _ib._\n\n  Thomson, the music-seller, 177\n\n  Thornbury, the Rev. Nathaniel, 47\n\n  Thornhill, Sir James, 72\n\n  Thurloe, Secretary, 392-393\n\n  Thurtell, the murderer of Weare, 165\n\n  Thynne, Tom, 193\n\n  Tillotson, Dr., 390\n\n  Tobacco, introduction of, 96\n\n  Tom's Coffee-house, 37\n\n  Tonson, Jacob, 54\n\n  Tories, they establish tavern-clubs, 284\n\n  Townley, execution of, 14\n\n  Trafalgar Square, 220;\n    statues and fountains in, 221, 456\n\n  Trojan Horse, Bushnell's, 7\n\n  Tunstall, Bishop, 92\n\n  Turk's Head Coffee-house, 53\n\n  Turk's Head, Gerrard Street, 72\n\n  Turner, J. W. M., anecdote of, 78;\n    his opinion of the Thames scenery, 136;\n    characteristics of his works, 224;\n    his bequests to the nation, _ib._\n\n  Tyburn, criminals on their way to, 373\n\n  Tyler Wat, 112;\n    a mistake of Shakspere regarding, 114 (_note_)\n\n  Tyrconnel, the Duchess of. _See_ Widow, the White\n\n  Twinings, the Messrs., 35, 152\n\n\n  Ussher, Archbishop, 396\n\n  Union Club, the, 457\n\n\n  Vanderbank starts an academy of art, 72\n\n  Vane, Sir Harry, 200\n\n  Vere Street, Clare Market, 345\n\n  Vernon, Robert, 224\n\n  Vertue, 8\n\n  Vestris, Madame, 175\n\n  Via Trinovantica, 349\n\n  Victoria embankment, 191\n\n  \"Ville de Paris,\" the Olympic Theatre partially built of its timbers, 164\n\n  Villiers Street, 135\n\n  \"Vine,\" the, in St. Giles's, 375\n\n  Vine Street, origin of the name, 300\n\n  Vinegar Yard, Drury Lane, 300\n\n  Voltaire rebukes Congreve's vanity, 52\n\n  \"Vortigern,\" by W. H. Ireland, 46\n\n\n  Waagen, Dr., 199\n\n  Waldo, Sir Timothy, 412\n\n  Wallack, the actor, 334\n\n  Waller, the poet, Saville's saying of, 62;\n    lines by, 210\n\n  Wallis, Albany, residence of, 46\n\n  Walpole, a circumstance to surprise, 78;\n    visits the Cock Lane ghost, 196\n\n  Warburton, Bishop, 397\n\n  Ward, Dr., inventor of \"Friar's Balsam,\" disposal of his statue by\n        Carlini, 100;\n    attends on George II., _ib._\n\n  Ward, Edward, 281\n\n  Waterloo Bridge, Dupin and Canova's declaration respecting, 124;\n    chief features of, _ib._;\n    anecdote of Old Jack, a horse employed to drag the stone to, _ib._;\n    the dark arch of, 451\n\n  Watling Street, 349\n\n  Weare, Mr. William, 165\n\n  Webster, Benjamin, as an actor, 184\n\n  Wedderburn, his insincerity, 415;\n    Lord Clive's reward to, _ib._\n\n  Welch, Judge, apprehends a highwayman, 378\n\n  Wellington Street, newspapers and periodicals in, 167, 168, 454\n\n  West, anecdote of, 73;\n    his patronage of Proctor, 80\n\n  Westminster Fire Office, 257\n\n  Whetstone Park, 400\n\n  Whitefoord, Caleb, 141;\n    Adam's room in the house of, 142;\n    Goldsmith's lines on, _ib._\n\n  White Horse livery stables, 257\n\n  Whitelock, Bulstrode, 234\n\n  Whittington Club, the, 152\n\n  Wickliffe, John, refuses tribute to the Pope, 109;\n    appears before the Bishop of London, _ib._\n\n  Widow, the White, the story of, 94\n\n  Wild House, 277, 459\n\n  Wilkes, Robert, actor, 311\n\n  Wilkinson, Tate, 123\n\n  Willis, Dr. Thomas, 241\n\n  Wilson, the painter, 189, 283\n\n  Wimbledon House, Strand, and Doyley's warehouse erected on the site of,\n        168\n\n  Winchester House, 271\n\n  Wither, George, 120, 121\n\n  Woffington, Peg, president of the Beefsteak Club, 173;\n    her career, 316\n\n  Wolcot, Dr. (Peter Pinder), 84\n\n  Wollaston, Dr., discoveries of, 88;\n    anecdote of, 85\n\n  Woodward, the actor, 315\n\n  Wych Street, 164, 454\n\n  Wynford, Lord, epigram on, 415\n\n\n  Yates, Mr., the actor, 183\n\n  Yates, Mrs., actress, 317\n\n  York House, old, 126;\n    river view of, 127;\n    celebrated men connected with, _ib._;\n    Lord Bacon's life here, _ib._;\n    pictures, busts, and statues at, 131;\n    paintings placed in it by the Duke of Buckingham, _ib._;\n    Pepys's visit to, 132;\n    streets built on its site, 135\n\n  York Stairs, description of, 134\n\n  York Buildings, waterworks, 135, 445\n\n  York Buildings, Water Company, 445\n\n  Young, Charles, the actor, 323, 335\n\n\n  Zoffany, the artist, 303;\n    Garrick's patronage of, 304\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Tom Taylor's _Life of Haydon_, vol. i. p. 49.\n\n[2] Strype, B. iii. p. 278.\n\n[3] It was pulled down in January 1878.\n\n[4] The steepness of Holborn Hill was abolished by the new viaduct in\n1869.\n\n[5] Cunningham's _London_, vol. i. p. 260.\n\n[6] Archenholz, p. 227.\n\n[7] Beautifully reprinted in 1863 by Mr. J. C. Hotten.\n\n[8] Walpole's _Anecdotes of Painting_, vol. iii. p. 274.\n\n[9] Pamphlet \"The Burning of the Pope,\" quoted in Brayley's _Londiniana_,\nvol. iv. p. 74.\n\n[10] Roger North's _Examen_, p. 574.\n\n[11] _Ibid._ p. 574.\n\n[12] For a further account of these Anti-Papal proceedings the reader may\nrefer to _Sir Roger de Coverly_, with notes by W. H. Wills.\n\n[13] _State Trials_, x. pp. 105-124; Burnet, ii. p. 407.\n\n[14] Hume, vol. vii. p. 220.\n\n[15] Evelyn, vol. ii. p. 341.\n\n[16] _Temple Bar, the City Golgotha_ (1853), p. 33.\n\n[17] Cobbett's _State Trials_, vol. xviii.\n\n[18] _State Trials_, vol. xviii. p. 375.\n\n[19] _Annual Register_ (1766), p. 52.\n\n[20] Nichol's _Literary Anecdotes_.\n\n[21] Brayley.\n\n[22] Boswell, p. 258.\n\n[23] Ovid, _de Art. Amand._, B. v. 339.\n\n[24] _Recollections of the Life of John O'Keefe_, vol. i. p. 81.\n\n[25] _O'Keefe's Life_, vol. i. p. 101.\n\n[26] _London Scenes_, by Aleph (1863), p. 75.\n\n[27] Stow's _Annals_.\n\n[28] Hall's _Chronicle_ (condensed in Nichols' _London Pageants_).\n\n[29] Leland's _Collectanea_, vol. iv. pp. 310 _et seq._\n\n[30] Holinshed.\n\n[31] Nichols' _Progresses_, vol. i. p. 58.\n\n[32] Nichols' _London Pageants_, p. 63.\n\n[33] _London Gazette._\n\n[34] Nichols p. 83.\n\n[35] Dugdale.\n\n[36] Holinshed's _Chronicles_, vol. iii. p. 338.\n\n[37] Sharon Turner's _Hist. of England_, vol. xii. p. 276.\n\n[38] Hygford's _Exam. Murd._, 57.\n\n[39] _Ibid._\n\n[40] Pennant.\n\n[41] Camden, p. 632.\n\n[42] Hepworth Dixon's _Story of Lord Bacon's Life_ (1862), p. 120.\n\n[43] Hepworth Dixon's _Story of Lord Bacon's Life_ (1862), p. 121.\n\n[44] Wotton, _Reliquiae_, p. 160.\n\n[45] Dr. Birch's _Memoirs of the Reign of James I._\n\n[46] Ben Jonson's _Works_ (Gifford), vol. vii. p. 75.\n\n[47] Clarendon's _History of the Rebellion_, x. 80.\n\n[48] MS. Journal of the House of Commons.\n\n[49] Smith's _Nollekens_.\n\n[50] Boswell's _Johnson_ (1860), p. 751.\n\n[51] Jeaffreson's _Book about Doctors_, p. 97.\n\n[52] Boswell, vol. iv. p. 276.\n\n[53] J. T. Smith's _Streets of London_ (1846), vol. i. p. 412.\n\n[54] _The Intelligencer_, Jan. 23, 1664-5.\n\n[55] Disraeli's _Curios. of Lit._, p. 289.\n\n[56] Evelyn, vol. i. p. 10.\n\n[57] Dr. King's _Anecdotes_, p. 117.\n\n[58] Thoresby's _Diary_, ii. 111-117.\n\n[59] _British Bibliographer_, vol. i. p. 574.\n\n[60] Pope's _Works_ (Carruthers), vol. ii. p. 379.\n\n[61] Hawkins's _Life of Johnson_, pp. 207-244.\n\n[62] Jeaffreson's _Book about Doctors_ (2d edit.) pp. 207, 208.\n\n[63] Stow, p. 161.\n\n[64] Dryden's _Misc. Poems_, iv. 275, ed. 1727 (Cunningham).\n\n[65] Latimer's Fourth Sermon, 1st ed.\n\n[66] Strype, B. iv. p. 105.\n\n[67] _Earl of Monmouth's Mem._, ed. 1759, p. 77.\n\n[68] Lysons.\n\n[69] Dr. Birch's _Mems. of the Peers of England_.\n\n[70] Lingard's _History of England_.\n\n[71] Hughson.\n\n[72] Cunningham (1846), vol. i. p. 38.\n\n[73] Walpole's _Anecdotes_, vol. i. p. 292.\n\n[74] Lilly _On the Life and Death of King Charles I._, p. 224.\n\n[75] Walpole's _Anecdotes_, ii. 153.\n\n[76] Smith's _Streets_, vol. i. p. 385.\n\n[77] Thoresby's _Letters_, ii. 329.\n\n[78] Hawkins's _Life of Johnson_, p. 208.\n\n[79] _Spectator_, 329-335.\n\n[80] Ireland's _Authentic Account_, etc. (1796), i. p. 42.\n\n[81] W. H. Ireland's _Vindication_, p. 21.\n\n[82] Ireland's _Vindication_, p. 19.\n\n[83] Boaden's _Life of Kemble_, vol. ii. p. 172.\n\n[84] Andrews's _History of British Journalism_, vol. ii. p. 285.\n\n[85] Strype, B. iv. p. 118.\n\n[86] Walpole's _Anecdotes_, vol. ii. p. 391.\n\n[87] _The Mourning Bride._\n\n[88] It is doubtful whether it was not the duchess. (Wilson's _Life of\nCongreve_, 8vo, 1730, i. p. 1 of Preface.)\n\n[89] Cibber's _Lives of the Poets_ (1753).\n\n[90] Stow, p. 165.\n\n[91] _Spectator_, No. 454.\n\n[92] Malachi Malagrowther's _Letters_.\n\n[93] Croker's _Boswell_, vol. i. p. 475.\n\n[94] Scott's _Dryden_, vol. i. p. 388.\n\n[95] Johnson's _Life of Dryden_.\n\n[96] Strype, B. ii. p. 508.\n\n[97] Hume.\n\n[98] Dugdale, vol. ii. p. 363.\n\n[99] Mitford, v. 201.\n\n[100] Cunningham, vol. ii. p. 756.\n\n[101] Stow, p. 149.\n\n[102] Burleigh's _Diary in Munden_, p. 811.\n\n[103] Wilson's _Life of James I._\n\n[104] L'Estrange's _Life of Charles I._\n\n[105] _Certain Information_, etc., No. 11, p. 87.\n\n[106] Cunningham, vol. ii. p. 755.\n\n[107] Essay by John D'Espagne.\n\n[108] Ludlow's _Memoirs_, vol. ii. p. 615.\n\n[109] Pepys, 2d. edit. vol. i. p. 309.\n\n[110] Pepys, vol. i. p. 357.\n\n[111] Aubrey's _Lives and Letters_.\n\n[112] Stow, p. 1045, ed. 1631.\n\n[113] Pepys's _Diary_, vol. i. p. 16.\n\n[114] Leigh Hunt's _Town_, p. 166.\n\n[115] _Ibid._ p. 168.\n\n[116] Dryden's _Essay on Dramatick Poesy_, 1668.\n\n[117] Cunningham, vol. ii. p. 756.\n\n[118] _European Magazine_ (Mr. Moser).\n\n[119] Smith's _Life of Nollekens_, vol. ii. p. 205.\n\n[120] Walpole's _Anecdotes_, vol. i. p. 22 (Notes by Northcote and Mr.\nWornum).\n\n[121] Chalmers's _British Poets_, vol. vii. p. 101 (Ode to the Royal\nSociety).\n\n[122] Cunningham, vol. i. p. 26.\n\n[123] _Ibid._ p. 757.\n\n[124] _Ibid._\n\n[125] Walpole's _Anecdotes_, vol. i. p. 282.\n\n[126] Galt's _Life of West_, pt. ii. p. 25.\n\n[127] _Ibid._ pp. 36-38.\n\n[128] Strange's _Enquiry into the Rise and Establishment of the Royal\nAcademy_ (1775).\n\n[129] Pye's _Patronage of British Art_, p. 134.\n\n[130] The original thirty-six Academicians were--Benjamin West, Francesco\nZuccarelli, Nathaniel Dance, Richard Wilson, George Michael Moser, Samuel\nWale (a sign-painter), J. Baptist Cipriani, Jeremiah Meyer, Angelica\nKauffmann, Charles Catton (a coach and sign painter), Francesco\nBartolozzi, Francis Cotes, Edward Penny, George Barrett (Wilson's rival),\nPaul Sandby, Richard Yeo, Mary Moser, Agostino Carlini, William Chambers\n(the architect of Somerset House), Joseph Wilton (the sculptor), Francis\nMilner Newton, Francis Hayman, John Baker, Mason Chamberlin, John Gwynn,\nThomas Gainsborough, Dominick Serres, Peter Toms (a drapery painter for\nReynolds, who finally committed suicide), Nathaniel Hone (who for his\nlibel on Reynolds was expelled the Academy), Joshua Reynolds, John\nRichards, Thomas Sandby, George Dance, J. Tyler, William Hoare of Bath,\nand Johann Zoffani. In 1772 Edward Burch, Richard Cosway, Joseph\nNollekens, and James Barry (expelled in 1797), made up the\nforty.--Wornum's Preface to the _Lectures on Painting_.\n\n[131] Pye's _Patronage of British Art_, 1845, p. 136.\n\n[132] Royal Academy _Catalogues_, Brit. Mus.\n\n[133] Smith's _Nollekens_, vol. i. p. 381.\n\n[134] _Life of Haydon_, by Tom Taylor, vol. i. p. 30.\n\n[135] _Ibid._ p. 20.\n\n[136] Thornbury's _Life of Turner_.\n\n[137] O'Keefe's _Life_ vol. i. p. 386.\n\n[138] Knowles's _Life of Fuseli_, vol. i. p. 32.\n\n[139] Irvine's _Life of Falconer_.\n\n[140] Smith's _Life of Nollekens_, vol. ii. p. 129.\n\n[141] Hatton, p. 785.\n\n[142] _Postman_, No. 80.\n\n[143] _Life of Blake_, by Gilchrist.\n\n[144] Andrews's _History of Journalism_, vol. ii. p. 85.\n\n[145] Strype, B. iii. p. 196.\n\n[146] Glover's _Life_, p. 6.\n\n[147] Dennis's _Letters_, p. 196.\n\n[148] Procter's _Life of Kean_, vol. ii. p. 140.\n\n[149] Dr. King's _Art of Cookery_.\n\n[150] _Spectator_, No. 9.\n\n[151] _Memoirs of the Kit-Cat Club_, p. 6.\n\n[152] Defoe's _Journal_, vol. i. p. 287.\n\n[153] _Letters of Lady M. W. Montagu_, edited by W. M. Thomas, Esq.\n\n[154] _Annual Obituary_, vol. vii.\n\n[155] _Monthly Repository_, by Leigh Hunt, 1836.\n\n[156] Procter's _Life of Kean_.\n\n[157] _The Temple Anecdotes_ (Groombridge), p. 50.\n\n[158] Strype, B. iv. p. 120.\n\n[159] _Ibid._\n\n[160] Dixon's _Bacon_, p. 227.\n\n[161] Appendix to the _Tatler_, vol. iv. p. 615.\n\n[162] Smith's _Streets of London_, vol. iv. p. 244.\n\n[163] _Egerton Papers_, by Collier, p. 376.\n\n[164] Strype, B. vi. p. 76.\n\n[165] Cunningham, vol. i. p. 283.\n\n[166] _London Gazette_, No. 897.\n\n[167] Pepys, vol. i. p. 137, 4to ed.\n\n[168] Horace Walpole.\n\n[169] Otway.\n\n[170] _Spectator_, No. 155.\n\n[171] _Tatler_, No. 26.\n\n[172] _Nouvelle Biographie Univ._, vol. xxxviii. p. 19.\n\n[173] _Ducatus Leodiensis_, fol. 1715, p. 485.\n\n[174] _British Apollo_ (1740), ii. p. 376.\n\n[175] Oldys's _Life of Raleigh_, p. 145.\n\n[176] Aubrey, vol. iii. p. 513.\n\n[177] Gough's _British Topography_, vol. i. p. 743.\n\n[178] Walpole's _Mems. of George III._, vol. iv. p. 173.\n\n[179] Elmes's _Anecdotes_, vol. iii.\n\n[180] Cunningham, vol. i. p. 83.\n\n[181] Boswell, vol. i. p. 225.\n\n[182] Hone's _Everyday Book_, vol. i. p. 237.\n\n[183] Pye's _Patronage of British Art_ (1845), pp. 61, 62.\n\n[184] _Wine and Walnuts_, vol. i. p. 161.\n\n[185] Smith's _Nollekens_, vol. i. p. 3.\n\n[186] _Ibid._ vol. ii. p. 203.\n\n[187] _Haydon's Life_, vol. iii. p. 182.\n\n[188] _Book about Doctors_, by J. C. Jeaffreson, p. 221.\n\n[189] Archenholz, p. 109.\n\n[190] Colman's _Random Records_.\n\n[191] See the Percy Society's Publications.\n\n[192] Rymer, iii. 926.\n\n[193] Chaucer's _Works_.\n\n[194] Dugdale's _Baronetage_, vol. 1. p. 789.\n\n[195] _Scala Chron._, p. 175; Froissart, c. 161.\n\n[196] Rymer, vi. 452.\n\n[197] Froissart, lix.\n\n[198] Walsingham, p. 248.\n\n[199] Holinshed, vol. ii. p. 431.\n\n[200] Shakspere incorrectly makes Jack Cade burn the Savoy. He has\nattributed to that Irish impostor the act of Wat Tyler, a far more\npatriotic man.\n\n[201] Stow.\n\n[202] Cowley's _Works_, 10th edit. (Tonson), 1707, vol. ii. p. 587.\n\n[203] Letter to Evelyn. Cowley's _Works_ (1707), vol. ii. p. 731.\n\n[204] J. T. Smith's _Antiquarian Ramble in the Streets of London_ (1846),\nvol. i. p. 255.\n\n[205] Baker's _Chronicle_ (1730), p. 625.\n\n[206] Cunningham's _London_ (1849), vol. ii. p. 728.\n\n[207] _The Postman_ (1696), No. 180.\n\n[208] Strype, B. iv. p. 107, ed. 1720.\n\n[209] Hughson's _Walks through London_, p. 207.\n\n[210] Hughson's _Walks through London_, p. 209.\n\n[211] Dryden's _Works_ (1821 ed.), vol. ii. p. 105.\n\n[212] _Athenae Ox._ vol. ii. p. 1036.\n\n[213] Cunningham (1849), vol. ii. p. 537.\n\n[214] Wood's _Athen. Ox._ ii. 396, ed. 1721.\n\n[215] _The Shepherd's Hunting_ (1633).\n\n[216] Macaulay's _History of England_, vol. ii. chap. v.\n\n[217] Buckingham's _Works_ (1704), p. 15.\n\n[218] _All the Year Round_, May 12, 1860 (_The Precinct_).\n\n[219] Andrews's _History of British Journalism_, vol. ii. p. 83.\n\n[220] Smiles's _Lives of the Engineers_, vol. ii. p. 187.\n\n[221] Smiles's _Lives of the Engineers_, vol. ii. p. 186.\n\n[222] _Ibid._, vol. ii. p. 93.\n\n[223] Hepworth Dixon's _Story of Lord Bacon's Life_ (1862), p. 14.\n\n[224] Montagu, xii. 420, 432.\n\n[225] Aubrey's _Lives_, vol. ii. p. 224; Dixon's _Bacon_, p. 315.\n\n[226] _Character of Lord Bacon._\n\n[227] Dixon's _Story of Lord Bacon's Life_, p. 33 (1862). Pearce's _Inns\nof Court_.\n\n[228] Sir B. Gerbier.\n\n[229] Bassompierre's _Embassy to England_.\n\n[230] Whitelocke, p. 167.\n\n[231] Peacham's _Compleat Gentleman_, ed. 1661, p. 108.\n\n[232] Pepys, 6th June 1663.\n\n[233] Dryden (Scott), vol. ix. p. 233.\n\n[234] Pepys's _Diary_. vol. i. p. 223.\n\n[235] Evelyn's _Memoirs_, vol. i. p. 530.\n\n[236] Rate Books of St. Martin's.\n\n[237] Cole's _MSS._, vol. xx. folio 220.\n\n[238] Gilchrist's _Life of Etty_, vol. i. p. 221.\n\n[239] Barrow's _Life of Peter the Great_, p. 90.\n\n[240] Ballard's Collection, Bodleian.\n\n[241] Pennant.\n\n[242] Strype, B. vi. p. 76.\n\n[243] Cunningham, vol. i. pp. 402, 403.\n\n[244] Rate-books of St. Martin's.\n\n[245] _Memorials of Franklin_, vol. i. p. 261.\n\n[246] Smith's _Comic Misc._ vol. ii. p. 186.\n\n[247] _Memoirs of James Smith_, by Horace Smith, vol. i. p. 32.\n\n[248] _Memoirs of James Smith_, by Horace Smith, vol. i. p. 54.\n\n[249] Smith's _Nollekens_, vol. i. p. 340.\n\n[250] _Ibid._ vol. i. pt 302.\n\n[251] Harl. MSS. 6850.\n\n[252] Rate-books of St. Martin's.\n\n[253] Smith's _Book for a Rainy Day_, pp. 281, 282.\n\n[254] Cal. Rot. Patentium.\n\n[255] Brayley's _Beauties of England and Wales_, vol. x. part iv. p. 167.\n\n[256] _Father Hubbard's Tale_, 4to, 1604.--Middleton's _Works_, vol. v. p.\n573.\n\n[257] Archer's _Vestiges of Old London_ (View of Crockford's shop).\n\n[258] Walpole's _Anecdotes_, vol. iii. p. 911.\n\n[259] Malcolm's _Londinum Rediviv._ vol. iii. p. 397.\n\n[260] Hughson's _Walks_ (1829).\n\n[261] Boswell's _Life of Johnson_, vol. i. p. 383.\n\n[262] Boswell, vol. iii. p. 331.\n\n[263] _Censura Literaria_, vol. i. p. 176.\n\n[264] Spence's _Anecdotes_.\n\n[265] _State Poems_, vol. ii. p. 143 (\"A Satyr on the Poets.\")\n\n[266] Leigh Hunt's _Town_ (1857), p. 135.\n\n[267] Hughson's _Walks_, p. 184.\n\n[268] Leigh Hunt's _Town_ (1859 ed.), p. 134.\n\n[269] Strype, B. iv. p. 117.\n\n[270] Boswell.\n\n[271] Walpole's _Anecdotes_ (ed. Dallaway), vol. ii. p. 315.\n\n[272] Leigh Hunt's _Town_ (1859), p. 145.\n\n[273] Brayley's _Beauties of England and Wales_, vol. x. part iv. p. 166.\n\n[274] Malone's _Shakspere_, vol. iii. p. 516.\n\n[275] Nichols's _Hogarth_, vol. ii. p. 70.\n\n[276] Cunningham (1849), vol. i. p. 210.\n\n[277] Hughson's _Walks through London_, p. 188.\n\n[278] Chalmers's _Biog. Dict._ vol. v. p. 64.\n\n[279] Boswell, ed. Croker, vol. ii. 201.\n\n[280] Stow, p. 166.\n\n[281] Sir G. Buc, in Howes (ed. 1631), p. 1075.\n\n[282] Fitzstephen, circa, 1178: the quotation refers, however, more to the\nnorth of London.\n\n[283] Tennyson.\n\n[284] Malcolm's _London_, vol. ii.\n\n[285] Knox's _Elegant Extracts_.\n\n[286] Leigh Hunt's _Town_, p. 146.\n\n[287] _Henry IV._ second part, act iii. sc. 2.\n\n[288] _Prot. Dissenters' Magazine_, vol. vi.\n\n[289] Smith's _Life of Nollekens_, vol. i. 365.\n\n[290] Cradock's _Memoirs_, vol. iv. p. 166.\n\n[291] _Garrard to the Earl of Strafford_, vol. i. p. 227.\n\n[292] _Citie's Loyaltie Displayed_, 4to, 1661.\n\n[293] Pepys.\n\n[294] Aubrey's _Anecdotes_, vol. iii. p. 457.\n\n[295] Malcolm's _Streets of London_ (1846), vol. i. p. 363.\n\n[296] _Parish Clerks' Survey_, p. 286.\n\n[297] Cunningham's _Lives of the Painters_, vol. iii. p. 292.\n\n[298] Pope's _Dunciad_.\n\n[299] Addison's _Freeholder_, No. 4.\n\n[300] J. T. Smith's _Streets of London_ (1846), vol. i. pp. 366, 367.\n\n[301] Sir G. Buc (Stow by Howes), p. 1075, ed. 1631.\n\n[302] Roper's _Life of Sir Thomas More_, by Singer, p. 52.\n\n[303] _Spectator_ No. 2, March 2, 1710-11.\n\n[304] Cunningham, vol. ii. p. 606.\n\n[305] Sir G. Buc, in Howes, p. 1076, ed. 1631.\n\n[306] _Trivia._\n\n[307] _Smith's Streets of London_, vol. i. p. 338.\n\n[308] Hone's _Every-day Book_, vol. i. p. 1300.\n\n[309] Walpole's _Anecdotes of Painting_, vol. ii. p. 612.\n\n[310] No. 102.\n\n[311] Pennant's _London_ (1813), p. 204.\n\n[312] _Spectator_, No. 454.\n\n[313] _Spectator_, No. 454.\n\n[314] Andrews's _History of Journalism_, vol. ii. p. 8.\n\n[315] Brayley's _Theatres of London_ (1826), p. 40.\n\n[316] Brayley, p. 42.\n\n[317] Chetwood's _History of the Stage_, p. 141.\n\n[318] _Spectator_, No. 468.\n\n[319] Ward's _Secret History of Clubs_, ed. 1709.\n\n[320] Victor.\n\n[321] Edwards's _Anecdotes of Painting_, p. 20.\n\n[322] _Wine and Walnuts_, vol. i. p. 110.\n\n[323] P. Cunningham.\n\n[324] Dr. King's _Art of Cookery, humbly inscribed to the Beef-steak\nClub_. (1709.)\n\n[325] Leigh Hunt's _Town_ (1859), p. 191.\n\n[326] Cunningham, vol. i. p. 297.\n\n[327] Delaune.\n\n[328] Strype, B. iv. p. 119.\n\n[329] Leigh Hunt's _Town_, ch. iv.\n\n[330] _Wine and Walnuts_, vol. i. p. 281.\n\n[331] _Ibid._ p. 269.\n\n[332] _Wine and Walnuts_, vol. i. p. 276.\n\n[333] Cunningham, p. 187.\n\n[334] Whitelocke.\n\n[335] Lockhart's _Life of Scott_, vol. vi. p. 20.\n\n[336] _The Stage_, by Alfred Bunn, vol. iii. p. 131.\n\n[337] _Life of Mathews_, by Mrs. Mathews (abridged by Mr. Yates), p. 211.\n\n[338] _Life of Mathews_, by Mrs. Mathews.\n\n[339] _Critical Essays_ (1807), p. 140.\n\n[340] Hazlitt's _Criticisms of the English Stage_, p. 98.\n\n[341] Hazlitt's _Criticisms of the English Stage_, p. 98.\n\n[342] Cole's _Life of C. Kean_, vol. ii. p. 260.\n\n[343] Strype, B. vi. p. 93.\n\n[344] Stow.\n\n[345] Davies's _Life of Garrick_, vol. x. p. 217.\n\n[346] Strype, B. vi. p. 93.\n\n[347] Cunningham's _London_ (1850), p. 219.\n\n[348] Whyte's _Miscellanea Nova_, p. 49.\n\n[349] Cunningham, vol. ii. p. 597.--Rate-books of St. Martin's.\n\n[350] Walpole's _Anecdotes_, vol. i. p. 248.\n\n[351] Dixon's _Story of Lord Bacon's Life_, p. 204.\n\n[352] _English Causes Celebres_ (edited by Craik), vol. i. p. 79.\n\n[353] _Memoirs of the Peers of James I._, p. 240.\n\n[354] _Autobiography of Lord Herbert_, p. 110\n\n[355] Suckling's _Poems_.\n\n[356] Camden's _Annals of King James_.\n\n[357] _Londinum Redivivum._\n\n[358] Walpole to Montague, Feb. 2, 1762.\n\n[359] Dix's _Life of Chatterton_, p. 267.\n\n[360] Foster's _Life of Goldsmith_, p. 216.\n\n[361] Irving's _Oliver Goldsmith_ (1850), p. 90.\n\n[362] Dr. Waagen's _Treasures of Art_, vol. i. p. 394.\n\n[363] Walpole's _Anecdotes_, vol. ii. p. 354.\n\n[364] Walpole, vol. i. p. 277.\n\n[365] _The Famous Chronicle of King Edward I._ (4to., 1593).\n\n[366] Bosworth's _Anglo-Saxon Dictionary_.\n\n[367] Hamlet.\n\n[368] _Diversions of Purley._\n\n[369] Peele's _Works_ (Dyce), vii. 575.\n\n[370] Rymer, ii. 498.\n\n[371] Heming, 590.\n\n[372] Walpole, vol. i. p. 32.\n\n[373] _Gleanings from Westminster Abbey_, 2d edition, p. 152 (W. Burges),\nRoxburghe Club.\n\n[374] Lilly's _Observations_.\n\n[375] Carlyle's _Cromwell_, vol. i. p. 99.\n\n[376] _State Trials_, vol. v. pp. 1234-5.\n\n[377] Narcissus Luttrell.\n\n[378] Overseers' Books (_Cunningham_, vol. i. p. 179).\n\n[379] _Harl. MSS._ 7315.\n\n[380] Carpenter (quoted by Walpole, _Anecdotes_, vol. ii. p. 395).\n\n[381] Walpole's _Anecdotes_, vol. ii. p. 394.\n\n[382] Smith's _Streets of London_, vol. i. p. 139.\n\n[383] Archenholz, _Tableau de l'Angleterre_, vol. ii. p. 164, 1788.\n\n[384] _Burnet_, vol. ii. p. 53, ed. 1823.\n\n[385] _Annual Register_ (1810).\n\n[386] Cobbett's _State Trials_, vol. xvii. p. 160.\n\n[387] Archenholz, vol. i. p. 166.\n\n[388] _Daily Advertiser_, 1731.\n\n[389] _Gentleman's Magazine_, vol. i.\n\n[390] v. 85.\n\n[391] Hogarth's _Works_ (Nicholls and Steevens), vol. i. p. 162.\n\n[392] Smith's _London_, vol. i. p. 141.\n\n[393] _Notes and Queries_ (vol. vi., 1858), p. 364.\n\n[394] _Dunciad_, B. iv. 30.\n\n[395] Pope's Works (edited by R. Carruthers), vol. ii. p. 314.\n\n[396] Stow, p. 167.\n\n[397] Report, May 16, 1844.\n\n[398] Smith's _London_, vol. i. p. 133.\n\n[399] Dr. Waagen, vol. i. p. 6.\n\n[400] Waagen, vol. i. p. 322.\n\n[401] _Ibid._ vol. i. p. 331.\n\n[402] Cunningham, nearly always correct, says L10,000 (vol. ii. p. 577).\n\n[403] Waagen, vol. ii. p. 329.\n\n[404] Cunningham's _London_, p. 428.\n\n[405] Smith's _Streets of London_, vol. i. p. 153.\n\n[406] Rate-books of St. Martin's (Cunningham).\n\n[407] MSS., Birch, 4221, quoted in the notes of the _Tatler_.\n\n[408] \"Country Wife.\"\n\n[409] \"The Scowrers.\"\n\n[410] _State Poems._\n\n[411] \"The Hind and the Panther Transversed.\"\n\n[412] \"The Relapse.\"\n\n[413] _The Art of Cookery._\n\n[414] _Weekly Journal_, Nov. 21, 1724.\n\n[415] _London Gazette_, June 4, 1688.\n\n[416] _Dunciad_, B. ii. v. 411.\n\n[417] _Flying Post_, June 23, 1716.\n\n[418] Pope's _Works_ (Carruthers), vol. ii. pp. 309, 310.\n\n[419] Leigh Hunt's _Essays on the Theatres_ (1807), p. 64.\n\n[420] Philips's _Life of Milton_, p. 32, 12mo, 1694.\n\n[421] Cunningham (1850), p. 107.\n\n[422] _Wine and Walnuts_, vol. i. p. 163.\n\n[423] _Royal Guide to the London Charities_, 1878-79.\n\n[424] _Life of Dr. John North._\n\n[425] Whitelock, p. 470, ed. 1732.\n\n[426] Burnet, vol. ii. p. 70, ed. 1823.\n\n[427] Boswell (Croker), vol. iii. p. 213.\n\n[428] Willis's _History of the See of Llandaff_.\n\n[429] _Bartholomew Fair_ (Ben Jonson).\n\n[430] Gifford's _Ben Jonson_, iv. p. 430.\n\n[431] Cunningham, vol. ii. p. 505.\n\n[432] _The World_, Nov. 29, 1753.\n\n[433] _Robson: a Sketch_ (Hotten, 1864).\n\n[434] Aubrey, iii. 415.\n\n[435] \"Treacherous Brothers,\" 4to, 1696.\n\n[436] _St. James's Chronicle_, April 24, 1762.\n\n[437] _Ibid._ May 26, 1761.\n\n[438] Edwards' _Anecdotes_, pp. 116, 117.\n\n[439] Rate-books of St. Martin's.\n\n[440] Lord Orford's _Anecdotes of Painting_.\n\n[441] J. C. Jeaffreson's _Book about Doctors_, p. 109.\n\n[442] _Ath. Ox._ vol. ii.\n\n[443] Gifford's _Ben Jonson_, vol. ix. pp. 48, 63, 64.\n\n[444] Aubrey's _Letters_, vol. ii. p. 332.\n\n[445] Recital in grant to the parish from King James I.\n\n[446] Cunningham's _London_ (1849), vol. ii. p. 526.\n\n[447] Burnet's _Own Times_, vol. i. p. 327, ed. 1823.\n\n[448] Allan Cunningham's _Lives_, vol. iv. p. 290.\n\n[449] _Biog. Brit._\n\n[450] Smith's _Life of Nollekens_, vol. ii. p. 233.\n\n[451] Smith's _Book for a Rainy Day_, pp. 251, 252.\n\n[452] Prologues to the _Satires_, v. 180.\n\n[453] Dr. Johnson's _Life of Ambrose Philips_.\n\n[454] Smith's _Nollekens and his Times_, vol. ii. p. 222.\n\n[455] Cunningham (1850), p. 450.\n\n[456] Smith's _Streets_, vol. ii. p. 208.\n\n[457] Smith, vol. ii. p. 97.\n\n[458] Smith, p. 211.\n\n[459] _Ibid._ vol. ii. p. 212.\n\n[460] Smith, vol. ii. p. 224.\n\n[461] Smith's _Streets of London_, vol. ii. p. 226.\n\n[462] _Wine and Walnuts_, vol. i. p. 178, a curious and amusing book, the\ntruth in which is spoiled by an injudicious and eccentric mixture of\nfiction.\n\n[463] Smith's _Nollekens_, vol. i. pp. 93, 94.\n\n[464] _Ibid._ vol. ii. p. 233.\n\n[465] Smith's _Nollekens_, vol. ii. p. 238.\n\n[466] _Ibid._ p. 241.\n\n[467] Smith's _Nollekens_, vol. i. p. 143.\n\n[468] _Ibid._ vol. ii. p. 244.\n\n[469] _Ibid._ p. 250.\n\n[470] _Recollections of O'Keefe_, vol. i. p. 108.\n\n[471] Knowles's _Life of Fuseli_, vol. i. p. 57.\n\n[472] _Passages of a Working Life_, by Charles Knight, vol. i. pp. 114,\n115.\n\n[473] Hume's _Learned Societies_, pp. 84, 85.\n\n[474] Dr. Hodges' _Letter to a Person of Quality_, p. 15.\n\n[475] Defoe's _Journal of the Plague Year_.\n\n[476] Dr. Hodges' _Loimologia_, p. 7 (from the reprint in 1720, when the\nplague was raging in France).\n\n[477] _Ibid._ pp. 19, 20.\n\n[478] Howes, p. 1048.\n\n[479] Bagford, Harl. MSS. 5900, fol. 50.\n\n[480] Walpole's _Royal and Noble Authors_, vol. ii. p. 25.\n\n[481] Evelyn's _Diary_ (1850), vol. ii. p. 59.\n\n[482] Evelyn's _Diary_, vol. ii. p. 153 (1850).\n\n[483] _Life of Lord Herbert_ (1826), p. 304.\n\n[484] Horace Walpole.\n\n[485] Aubrey's _Lives_, vol. ii. p. 387.\n\n[486] Walpole's _Anecdotes of Painting_ (Dallaway), vol. ii. p. 593.\n\n[487] Richardson.\n\n[488] Walpole, vol. ii. p. 563 (partly from Dallaway's version of the same\nstory).\n\n[489] Dallaway.\n\n[490] Walpole, vol. ii. p. 594.\n\n[491] Spence.\n\n[492] Aubrey, vol. ii p. 132.\n\n[493] Dallaway's Notes.\n\n[494] Clarendon, B. ii. p. 2117.\n\n[495] _Ibid._ B. i. p. 116.\n\n[496] _Clarendon_, B. viii. p. 694.\n\n[497] Walpole's _Anecdotes of Painting_, vol. ii. p. 452.\n\n[498] Doran's _Her Majesty's Servants_, vol. ii. p. 51.\n\n[499] Leigh Hunt's _Town_, p. 226.\n\n[500] _Ibid._ p. 226.\n\n[501] Hazlitt's _Criticisms of the English Stage_, p. 49.\n\n[502] _O'Keefe's Life_, vol. i. p. 322.\n\n[503] Leigh Hunt, p. 226.\n\n[504] _Life of Benjamin Franklin_ (1826), p. 31.\n\n[505] _Life of the Duke of Ormond_ (1747), pp. 67, 80.\n\n[506] Macaulay, vol. ii. p. 560.\n\n[507] Bramston, p. 339.\n\n[508] _Annual Register_ (1780), pp. 254-287.\n\n[509] _Life of Inigo Jones_, by P. Cunningham, p. 22 (Shakspere Society).\n\n[510] Smith's _Nollekens_, vol. ii. p. 90.\n\n[511] Cibber's _Lives_, vol. ii. p. 10.\n\n[512] _Ibid._ p. 11.\n\n[513] Cunningham's _London_, vol. ii. p. 501.\n\n[514] Dryden's Works (Scott), vol. i. p. 204.\n\n[515] Scott's _Dryden_, vol. xiii. p. 7.\n\n[516] Cibber's _Lives_, vol. iv. p. 293.\n\n[517] _Wine and Walnuts_, vol. ii. p. 277.\n\n[518] Cibber's _Lives_, vol. iv. p. 47.\n\n[519] Cibber's _Lives_, vol. iv. p. 47.\n\n[520] Mrs. Bray's _Life of Stothard_, p. 47.\n\n[521] Defoe's _Journey through England_.\n\n[522] _Wine and Walnuts_, vol. ii. p. 167.\n\n[523] Smith's _Nollekens_, vol. i. p. 27.\n\n[524] _Times_, Sept. 26, 1796.\n\n[525] Talfourd's _Final Memorials of Charles Lamb_, vol. i. p. 56.\n\n[526] Burke's _Landed Gentry_ (1858), p. 320.\n\n[527] Pennant.\n\n[528] Lingard, vol. vi. p. 607.\n\n[529] Walton's _Lives_ (1852), p. 22.\n\n[530] _Angel in the House_, by Mr. Coventry Patmore.\n\n[531] Dedication to Translation of Juvenal.\n\n[532] Donne's _Poems_ (1719), p. 291.\n\n[533] Miss Benger's _Memoirs of the Queen of Bohemia_, vol. ii. p. 322.\n\n[534] Miss Benger's _Memoirs of the Queen of Bohemia_, vol. ii. p. 428.\n\n[535] Sydney State Papers, vol. ii. p. 723.\n\n[536] Benger, vol. ii. p. 457.\n\n[537] _Ibid._, Preface.\n\n[538] Brayley's _Londiniana_, vol. iv. p. 301.\n\n[539] Walpole's _Anecdotes_, p. 210.\n\n[540] Cunningham, vol. i. p. 204.\n\n[541] Wilson's _Life of James I._ (1653), p. 146.\n\n[542] Aubrey's _Anecdotes and Traditions_, p. 3.\n\n[543] _Trivia._\n\n[544] Rate-books of St. Martin's, quoted by P. Cunningham.\n\n[545] Granger's _Biographical History of England_ (1824), vol. v. p. 356.\n\n[546] Pepys's _Memoirs_, vol. iii. p. 75.\n\n[547] Curll's _History of the English Stage_, vol. i. p. III.\n\n[548] _Miscellaneous Works by the late Duke of Buckingham, etc._, p. 35\n(1704).\n\n[549] _Miscellaneous Works by the late Duke of Buckingham, etc._, vol. i.\np. 34.\n\n[550] _Burnet's History of his own Times_ (1753), vol. i. p. 387.\n\n[551] Leigh Hunt's _Town_ (1859), p. 282.\n\n[552] Evelyn's _Mems._ vol. ii. p. 339.\n\n[553] Collier, iii. 328.\n\n[554] Prynne's _Histrio-Mastix_ (1633).\n\n[555] Pepys (May 8, 1663).\n\n[556] Cibber's _Apology_, p. 338. ed. 1740.\n\n[557] Doran, vol. i. p. 57.\n\n[558] Dec. 7, 1666.\n\n[559] Jan. 23, 1667.\n\n[560] April 20, 1667.\n\n[561] Doran, p. 97.\n\n[562] Doran, vol. i. p. 79.\n\n[563] Leigh Hunt, p. 267.\n\n[564] Cibber's _Apology_, 250.\n\n[565] Doran, vol. i. p. 466.\n\n[566] _Tatler_, No. 182.\n\n[567] Doran, vol. i. p. 464.\n\n[568] Cumberland's _Memoirs_, p. 59.\n\n[569] Davies's _Miscellanies_, vol. i. p. 126.\n\n[570] Doran, vol. ii. p. 126.\n\n[571] _Ibid._ p. 149.\n\n[572] Doran, vol. i. p. 511.\n\n[573] _Ibid._ vol. ii. p. 7.\n\n[574] Dr. Doran, vol. ii. p. 277.\n\n[575] Dr. Doran's _Knights and their Days_.\n\n[576] _Elia_, p. 217.\n\n[577] Doran, vol. ii. p. 330.\n\n[578] Leigh Hunt's _Essays on the Theatres_, p. 124.\n\n[579] Hazlitt's _Essays_, p. 47.\n\n[580] _Elia_, p. 216.\n\n[581] Moore's _Sheridan_, p. 140.\n\n[582] _Ibid._ p. 181.\n\n[583] Murphy's _Garrick_.\n\n[584] Doran, vol. ii. p. 489.\n\n[585] Leigh Hunt's _Essays on the Theatres_, p. 124.\n\n[586] _Ibid._ p. 78.\n\n[587] Hazlitt's _Criticisms of the Stage_, p. 441.\n\n[588] _Elia_, p. 221.\n\n[589] Doran, vol. ii. p. 476.\n\n[590] Hazlitt's _Essays_, p. 47.\n\n[591] Hazlitt's _Criticisms_, pp. 49, 50.\n\n[592] _Elia_ (1853), p. 206.\n\n[593] _Elia_, p. 232.\n\n[594] _Ibid._ p. 213.\n\n[595] Moore's _Life of Sheridan_, p. 637.\n\n[596] Moore's _Sheridan_, p. 637.\n\n[597] Smith's _Nollekens_, vol. ii. p. 113.\n\n[598] Hazlitt's _Essays_, p. 51.\n\n[599] _Ibid._ p. 212.\n\n[600] _The Georgian Era_, vol. iv. p. 43.\n\n[601] Hazlitt's _Essays_, p. 49.\n\n[602] _Lounger's Commonplace Book_, vol. ii. p. 137.\n\n[603] _Dunciad_, B. iii. p. 199.\n\n[604] _Lounger's Commonplace Book_, vol. ii. p. 141.\n\n[605] _The Intelligencer_, No. 3.\n\n[606] Leigh Hunt's _Town_, p. 248.\n\n[607] _Fly Leaves_ (Miller), vol. i. p. 96.\n\n[608] Disraeli's _Miscellanies_, p. 77.\n\n[609] _Wine and Walnuts_, vol. ii. p. 150.\n\n[610] Jeaffreson's _Book about Doctors_ (2d ed.), p. 85.\n\n[611] The very earliest was granted to Philip the Hermit, for gravelling\nthe road at Highgate.\n\n[612] Rymer's _Foedera_.\n\n[613] Fuller's _Church History_.\n\n[614] Vaughan's _Life of Wickliffe_.\n\n[615] Dobie's _St. Giles's_, p. 11.\n\n[616] _Ibid._ (1829), p. 2.\n\n[617] Pennant (4th ed.), p. 3.\n\n[618] Butler's _Lives of the Saints_.\n\n[619] Aggas's Map, published in 1578 or 1560.\n\n[620] Stow's _Survey_, 1595.\n\n[621] Dobie's _St. Giles's_, p. 46.\n\n[622] Evelyn's _Diary_.\n\n[623] Brayley's _Londiniana_.\n\n[624] Dobie's _St. Giles's_, pp. 58, 59.\n\n[625] Defoe's _History of the Plague_.\n\n[626] Maitland's _History of London_.\n\n[627] Dr. Sydenham.\n\n[628] Dr. Hodgson's _Journal of the Plague_.\n\n[629] Dr. Hodges on the Plague.\n\n[630] Fuller's _Church History_.\n\n[631] Hume.\n\n[632] Fuller.\n\n[633] Parliamentary Report.\n\n[634] Ralph.\n\n[635] Rowland Dobie's _History of St. Giles's_, p. 119.\n\n[636] Pennant's _London_, p. 159.\n\n[637] Cunningham's _London_, vol. i. p. 339.\n\n[638] _Annual Register_, 1827.\n\n[639] Dobie's _St. Giles's_, p. 367.\n\n[640] Strype.\n\n[641] Strype.\n\n[642] Dobie's _St. Giles's_, p. 225.\n\n[643] Cunningham's _London_, vol. i. p. 384.\n\n[644] Smith's _Book for a Rainy Day_, p. 21.\n\n[645] Stow, p. 164.\n\n[646] Pennant.\n\n[647] Smith's _Book for a Rainy Day_, p. 29, date 1774.\n\n[648] Smith's _Book for a Rainy Day_ is one of the best works of a clever\nLondon antiquarian, to whose industry, as well as to Mr. Peter\nCunningham's, the author is much indebted, as his foot-notes pretty well\nshow.\n\n[649] Dryden's _Limberham_.\n\n[650] _Love for Love._\n\n[651] Stow.\n\n[652] Dobie's _St. Giles's_, p. 66.\n\n[653] Parton's account of St. Giles's.\n\n[654] Parton.\n\n[655] Smith's _Nollekens_, vol. i. p. 130.\n\n[656] Archenholz, p. 117.\n\n[657] Smith's _Book for a Rainy Day_, p. 74.\n\n[658] Dobie's _History of St. Giles's_, p. 204.\n\n[659] _Bell's Life in London_, July 12, 1829.\n\n[660] Cunningham, vol. ii. p. 565.\n\n[661] Cunningham, vol. ii. p. 566.\n\n[662] _Sketches by Boz_, p. 44.\n\n[663] _Sketches by Boz_, p. 45.\n\n[664] Dobie's _St. Giles's_, p. 362.\n\n[665] T. Hudson Turner, _Archaeological Journal_, Dec. 1848.\n\n[666] Sir G. Buc in Stow, by Howes, p. 1072 (ed. 1631).\n\n[667] Pennant, p. 176.\n\n[668] Cunningham, vol. ii. p. 480.\n\n[669] _Walpole_, by Dallaway, vol. ii. p. 37.\n\n[670] Lloyd's _State Worthies_.\n\n[671] _State Trials_, iv. 445, fol. ed.\n\n[672] _Hudibras_, part iii. c. 3.\n\n[673] Granger's _Biography_ in art. \"Margaret Roper.\"\n\n[674] Dr. Birch's _Life of Tillotson_.\n\n[675] _Hale's Life_, by Burnet.\n\n[676] _Biog. Brit._, by the Hon. and Rev. F. Egerton.\n\n[677] Preface to Thurloe's _State Papers_, 1742.\n\n[678] _Biog. Brit._\n\n[679] _Session of the Poets._\n\n[680] Johnson's _Lives_.\n\n[681] _Ath. Ox._ vol. ii.\n\n[682] Foote's _Life of Murphy_.\n\n[683] Campbell's _Lives of the Chief Justices_, vol. iii. p. 221.\n\n[684] Dr. Johnson.\n\n[685] Pennant, p. 176.\n\n[686] Evelyn's _Diary_, vol. ii. p. 60 (1850).\n\n[687] _The Devil is an Ass._\n\n[688] Aubrey.\n\n[689] Gifford's _Ben Jonson_, vol. i. p. 9.\n\n[690] Fuller's _Worthies_, vol. ii. p. 112.\n\n[691] Gifford, vol. i. p. 14.\n\n[692] Moore's _Memoirs_, vol. ii. p. 211.\n\n[693] _Poems on Affairs of State_, vol. i. p. 147.\n\n[694] Cunningham.\n\n[695] Rymer's _Foedera_, vol. xvii. p. 120.\n\n[696] Wilkinson's _Handbook for Egypt_, p. 185.\n\n[697] Cunningham's _Life of Inigo Jones_, p. 23 (Shakspere Society).\n\n[698] _Canting Academy_, 1674 (Malcolm).\n\n[699] Cunningham.\n\n[700] Rate-books of St. Clement's Danes (Cunningham).\n\n[701] Wharton's _Works_.\n\n[702] _Life of Lord W. Russell_, by Lord John Russell, 3d ed. vol. ii. p.\n18.\n\n[703] Fox's _History of the Reign of James II._ (Introduction).\n\n[704] Lord John Russell, vol. i. p. 121.\n\n[705] Raplin, vol. xiv. p. 333.\n\n[706] Burnet's _History of his own Times_ (1725), vol. ii.\n\n[707] _Letters of Lady Russell_, 7th ed. 1819.\n\n[708] _State Trials_, vol. xviii. p. 522.\n\n[709] _Daily Journal_, July 9, 1735.\n\n[710] Ireland _Inns of Court_, p. 129.\n\n[711] Macaulay's _History of England_, vol. i. p. 353.\n\n[712] Walpole's _Anecdotes_, vol. iii. p. 167.\n\n[713] Pennant, p. 238.\n\n[714] _Lady M. W. Montague's Letters._\n\n[715] Burney's _Hist. of Music_, vol. iv. p. 667.\n\n[716] Lord Chesterfield (Mahon), vol. ii. p. 264.\n\n[717] Hawkins's _Life of Johnson_, p. 192.\n\n[718] Pugh's _Life of Jonas Hanway_ (1787), p. 184.\n\n[719] _Lounger's Commonplace Book_, vol. i. p. 361.\n\n[720] Macaulay's _Essay on Walpole's Letters_.\n\n[721] Walpole's _Memoirs_, vol. i. p. 169.\n\n[722] Campbell's _Lives of the Lord Chancellors_, vol. vi. p. 105.\n\n[723] Campbell's _Chief Justices_, vol. ii. p. 563.\n\n[724] Pepys, vol. ii. p. 272.\n\n[725] _Ibid._ p. 282.\n\n[726] Hatton's _New View of London_ (1708), p. 627.\n\n[727] Clarendon, vol. vi. pp. 89, 90.\n\n[728] Grosley's _Tour to London_, vol. ii. p. 309.\n\n[729] Walpole's _Letters_, vol. ii. p. 137.\n\n[730] Walpole's _Letters_, vol. vii. p. 223.\n\n[731] _Ibid._ vol. ix. p. 307.\n\n[732] Cunningham, vol. i. p. 228.\n\n[733] _Lady Fanshawe's Memoirs_, p. 92.\n\n[734] _Ibid._ p. 94.\n\n[735] _Lady Fanshawe's Memoirs_, pp. 300, 301.\n\n[736] Moore's _Diary_, vol. iv. p. 193.\n\n[737] _Ibid._ p. 35.\n\n[738] Coleridge's _Table Talk_.\n\n[739] Townsend, vol. i. p. 91.\n\n[740] \"The Alabaster sarcophagus of Oimeneptah I., King of Egypt, now in\nSir John Soane's Museum. Drawn by Joseph Bonomi, and described by Samuel\nSharpe.\" London: Longmans and Co. 1864.\n\n[741] _Annual Register_ (1837).\n\n[742] Chapone's _Letters_, vol. ii. p. 68.\n\n[743] Leigh Hunt's _Town_, p. 237.\n\n[744] Malone, pp. 135, 136.\n\n[745] Grammont's _Mems._ (1811), vol. ii. p. 142.\n\n[746] Doran's _Her Majesty's Servants_, vol. i. p. 80.\n\n[747] Pepys, vol. iii. p. 136.\n\n[748] Pepys, vol. iv. p. 2.\n\n[749] Cibber's _Apology_, chap. v.\n\n[750] _Ibid._\n\n[751] _Doran_, vol. i. p. 119.\n\n[752] Doran, vol. i. p. 149.\n\n[753] Leigh Hunt's _Town_, p. 245.\n\n[754] Cibber's _Apology_, 2d. ed. p. 138.\n\n[755] Baker's _Biog. Dram._, vol. i. p. 270.\n\n[756] Doran, vol. i. p. 542.\n\n[757] Doran, vol. i. p. 424.\n\n[758] _Ibid._ p. 446.\n\n[759] Leigh Hunt's _Town_, p. 427.\n\n[760] Cunningham (1850), p. 406.\n\n[761] Doran, vol. i. p. 327.\n\n[762] Whincop's _Scanderberg_, p. 80 (1747).\n\n[763] _Fly Leaves_, by John Miller, p. 20.\n\n[764] The name of Strahan, Paul, and Bates's firm was originally Snow and\nWalton. It was one of the oldest banking-houses in London, second only to\nChild's. At the period of the Commonwealth Snow and Co. carried on the\nbusiness of pawnbrokers, under the sign of the \"Golden Anchor.\" The firm\nsuspended payment about 1679 (as did many other banks), owing to the\ntyranny of Charles II. Strahan (the partner at the time of the last\nfailure) had changed his name from Snow; his uncle, named Strahan (Queen's\nprinter?) having left him L180,000, making change of name a condition. It\nis curious that on examining Strahan and Co.'s books, it was found by\nthose of 1672 that a decimal system had been then employed. Strahan was\nknown to all religious people. Bates had for many years been managing\nclerk. The firm had also a navy agency in Norfolk Street. They had\nencumbered themselves with the Mostyn Collieries to the amount of\nL139,940, and backed up Gandells, contractors who were making railways in\nFrance and Italy and draining Lake Capestang, lending L300,000 or\nL400,000. They finally pledged securities (L22,000) to the Rev. Dr.\nGriffiths, Prebendary of Rochester. Sir John Dean Paul got into a\nsecond-class carriage at Reigate, the functionaries trying to get in after\nhim; the porter pulled them back, the train being in motion! Paul went to\nLondon alone, and in spite of telegraph got off, but at eight o'clock next\nnight surrendered. The three men were tried October 26 and 27, 1858.\n\n[765] _Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings_ (1863), pp. 6, 7.\n\n[766] _Harleian MS._, 6850.\n\n[767] _Cunningham_, vol. i. p. 378. I may here, as well as anywhere else,\nexpress my thanks to this careful and most industrious antiquary.\n\n[768] Mrs. Cornwall Baron Wilson's _Memoirs of the Duchess of St. Albans_\n(1840), vol. i. p. 331.\n\n[769] Kippis, _Bio. Brit._ iv. p. 266.\n\n[770] Thornbury's _British Artists_, vol. i. p. 171.\n\n[771] _Gentleman's Magazine_, August 1783, p. 709.\n\n[772] _David Copperfield_ (1864), p. 208.\n\n[773] _The Clubs of London_, vol. ii. p. 150.\n\n[774] _The Clubs of London_ (1828), vol. ii.\n\n[775] _Notes and Queries_, vol. vi. 2d series, p. 131.\n\n[776] Hatten, p. 24.\n\n[777] Cunningham, vol. i. p. 378.\n\n[778] _Notes and Queries_ (Bolton Corney), vol. viii. 2d series, p. 122.\n\n[779] Burnet, vol. i. p. 338.\n\n[780] Pepys, vol. v. p. 436.\n\n[781] Pennant, p. 215.\n\n[782] _Trivia._\n\n[783] _Anecdotes of Painting_, iv. 22.\n\n[784] Malone's _Dryden_, ii. 97.\n\n[785] Mr. Rimbault in _Notes and Queries_, Feb. 1850.\n\n[786] _Clubs of London_, vol. ii. p. 263.\n\n[787] All from Cunningham, vol. ii. p. 731, and how much else.\n\n[788] _Notes and Queries_, 2d series, vol. xi. p. 289.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nThe original text includes Greek characters that have been replaced with\ntransliterations in this text version.\n\nFootnote 404 appears on page 224 of the text, but there is no\ncorresponding marker on the page.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Haunted London, by Walter Thornbury\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive/American\nLibraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  REMINISCENCES OF THE\n  Thirty-Fourth Regiment,\n  MASS. VOL. INFANTRY.\n\n\n  _By WILLIAM H. CLARK_,\n  [PRIVATE, CO. E.]\n\n\n  PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n  HOLLISTON:\n  J. C. Clark & Co.\n  1871.\n\n\n\n\n  TO GEN. WM. S. LINCOLN, OF WORCESTER,\n  SO LONG AND HONORABLY ASSOCIATED WITH THE REGIMENT,\n  THESE SKETCHES ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nNOTE.\n\n\nThe Reader will please bear in mind that this little work does not claim\nin any sense to be a _history_ of the Regiment; but simply the\nrecollections of the writer up to May 15th, 1864, when he received the\nwound which disabled him from further military service.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n  CHAPTER I. THE FAREWELL,       9\n\n  CHAPTER II. FUN IN CAMP,      11\n\n  CHAPTER III. HARPER'S FERRY,  14\n\n  CHAPTER IV. THE SKIRMISH,     18\n\n  CHAPTER V. NEWMARKET,         22\n\n  CHAPTER VI. INCIDENTS,        26\n\n  CHAPTER VII. IN MEMORIAM,     29\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE FAREWELL.\n\n\nIt is the afternoon of a summer day, with but little breeze more than\nenough to gently sway the folds of a new and handsome National Flag, which\nis in full view of the multitude who encompass it. We have taken the\nreader, in thought, to the spacious and beautiful Common in Worcester, on\nthe 15th of August, 1862.\n\nA few words concerning this great gathering; the close attention of all\nbeing drawn to the speaker's stand in its centre. Citizens of all classes\nare here, gazing and listening, representing the population of the city\nand suburbs. Its inner circles are clothed in the uniform of their\ncountry's service, and stand in military order. To them, as a Regiment,\nthrough their commander, who is conspicuous on the stand by his uncovered\nhead and noble bearing, the Flag is being presented: a touching farewell\nact of the ladies of Worcester.\n\nIt is delivered with fitting words, and now not only the soldier, but the\norator speaks. Never, while memory lasts, will the picture be erased from\nthe mind of one, at least; the central figure, the devoted Wells: so soon,\ncomparatively, to be the lamented.\n\nThe throng breaks, and the Regiment gradually prepares to leave the city\nfor fields of duty, not to shrink from fields of danger. Hark! as they\nslowly recede from sight, and the clangor of martial music is hushed, can\nyou not almost distinguish, stealing through yonder casement where a\nlonely heart is thinking of the absent ones, the plaintive words:\n\n  \"Thinking no less of them,\n    But loving our country the more;\n  We've sent them forth to fight for the flag,\n    That our fathers before them bore.\n\n  Brave boys are they,\n    Gone at their country's call;\n  And yet, and yet, we cannot forget\n    That many brave boys must fall.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nFUN IN CAMP.\n\n\nWeary and monotonous indeed, would be many of the days spent in camp by\nthe soldier, did not something crop out of an amusing nature, either in\nthe proper members of the camp or in some of its motley group of\nfollowers.\n\nOne such safety-valve was found in a stout, unctuous darkey, who seemed to\nbe the \"right hand man\" of our regimental sutler. Worthy Oscar! I know not\nwhether thou dost still walk on this earth of ours, or hast entered the\nspirit land which so many of thy brave fellow-Africans reached, who with a\nmore warlike spirit than thine, died on fields of duty and glory. Peace to\nthee, in any event, for none more faithfully performed his duty.\n\nOn one occasion, however, the \"even tenor of his way\" was rudely broken in\nupon, to the great amusement of the large number who happened to be in\nview of that part of the camp at the time. It seems that a private soldier\nof mischievous propensities had been for some time teasing our \nfriend by thrusting a burning twig from the camp fire into his face; yet\nduring the ordeal he had kept his patience, and only tried to get rid of\nhis tormentor by entreaties. Suddenly he turns upon him, forbearance\nhaving ceased to be a virtue in the case, and the two fall heavily to the\nground; Oscar having decidedly the advantage of his enemy, which he as\ndecidedly keeps. The roar of laughter which followed this unexpected\ndiscomfiture was probably more pleasant to the ears of Oscar than to those\nof his antagonist.\n\nAnother case in which our hero was concerned related to the legitimate\nbusiness of the sutler's tent, and was told in Company E to the amusement\nof many, by poor Hunter, who afterwards while in the performance of duty\nat the Shenandoah, fell through an opening in the bridge in an unguarded\nmoment and was drowned.\n\nThe story was something like this: \"Well yer see de feller he comes up\n'mongst de crowd, an' says he, I wants a _fried pie_. So I takes de fried\npie an' hands it to him, an' looks for de money; but somehow de feller\ngits shook up in de crowd, an' I hav'nt seen _him_; nor de _money_, nor de\n_fried pie_ since.\" This was given with capital powers of imitation, and\nnever failed to \"bring down the house.\"\n\nThere is something which irresistably appeals, in many phases of the\nAfrican character, to our American sense of humor. At the same time we\ndiscover running through it a vein of sentiment, which blending with the\nother, dignifies the effect.\n\n  \"'Way down upon de Swanee Riber,\n    Far, far away;\n  Dere's where my heart am turning eber,\n    Dere's where de old folks stay.\n\n  When I was in de fields a hoeing,\n    Near set ob sun;\n  So glad to hear de horn a blowing,\n    Telling dat de work was done.\n\n  O, den de <DW54>s frolic sweetly,\n    Banjo in tune;\n  Dinah and Phillis dressed so neatly,\n    Dance by de big round moon.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nHARPER'S FERRY.\n\n\nFor some weeks the Thirty-Fourth had remained in Washington, D. C.,\nfurnishing daily heavy details of neatly equipped men for guard duty;\nprincipally to be employed in guarding the Carroll and Old Capitol\nPrisons. During this time the general soldierly deportment of the rank and\nfile, together with the fine appearance of the regiment on dress parade,\nattracted much attention and called forth many complimentary expressions\nfrom the residents of Washington.\n\nBut \"marching orders\" do not stop to take counsel of their subjects, and\non a well-remembered evening in July, 1863, they turned our quiet barracks\ninto a scene of bustle and confusion. A ride of a few hours over the\nBaltimore and Ohio Railroad brought us into the immediate vicinity of\nHarper's Ferry.\n\nThe activity which prevailed throughout our force on the morning of July\n14th made it evident to all that a movement across the Potomac was\nintended. All needful preparations having been made, a lively cannonade\nwas opened from the heights above, under cover of which our force embarked\nin pontoon boats that were near at hand, and crossing, passed through the\ndeserted streets up to the higher ground beyond; dislodging a small body\nof the enemy which had been holding possession. As the afternoon advanced\na considerable force of cavalry passed through the place, file following\nfile in a seemingly endless succession, till the eye was wearied with\nattempting to take in the living current. Our occupation of Harper's\nFerry, begun under these circumstances, was destined to continue for many\nmonths, with the exception of an occasional brief visit to Martinsburg\ntowards the close of winter.\n\nPerhaps the most notable incident of our service during these months was a\ntrip to Harrisonburg, about one hundred miles into Virginian territory,\nover that noble production of the road-maker's art, the \"Shenandoah Valley\nturnpike.\" This demonstration, which was successfully and safely\naccomplished, was doubtless intended as a diversion in favor of the raid\nat that time being executed by Gen. Averill, with his much larger force.\nAlthough we were closely followed by a brigade of the enemy, in our rapid\nand forced march homewards; yet by the intervention of favorable events,\nthe friendly shadow of the Maryland heights was reached with no loss from\nour hazardous attempt at \"bearding the lion in his den,\" as our adventure\nwas described by the Richmond _Examiner_.\n\nOur long stay in this town gave many opportunities for examining its\nobjects of interest, including the Engine House, worthy of note as the\nfortress occupied by John Brown while he held possession, during the brief\ncampaign destined to end so disastrously for those engaged in it. The\nruins of Armory and other buildings made it very evident that an immense\namount of property had been destroyed in the two years in which the spirit\nof war had held carnival there.\n\nThe climate, through the winter months we spent in this place, seemed to\nsuggest some New England locality rather than a part of the \"sunny South.\"\nSnow storms and bleak, cold winds, find as congenial a home around those\nrocky heights as Massachusetts could offer them; at least, such was the\nimpression made upon the mind of the writer. The sublimity and grandeur of\nNature's works here well repay any effort required to reach an eligible\npoint of view; but it requires no effort to enable the mind nurtured\n\"beneath New England's sky\" to dwell again, in thought, among its native\nhills.\n\n  \"Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil\n    Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by!\n  And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail,\n   Uplift against the blue walls of the sky\n  Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave\n    Its golden net-work in your belting woods,\n    Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods\n  And on your kingly brows at morn and eve\n    Set crowns of fire! So shall my soul receive\n  Haply the secret of your calm and strength,\n    Your unforgotten beauty interfuse\n    My common life, your glorious shapes and hues\n    And sun-dropped splendors at my bidding come,\n    Loom vast through dreams, and stretch in billowy length\n  From the sea-level of my lowland home!\"\n                                        _Whittier._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE SKIRMISH.\n\n\nThe morning of Sunday, October 13, 1863, proved a disastrous one to the\nNinth Maryland Regiment, who were only a few miles distant from our\nencampment at Harper's Ferry. As it proved, the enemy in considerable\nforce, under Gen. Imboden, had made an early and vigorous attack on that\nRegiment at Charlestown, and captured them bodily, in number about three\nhundred. Every available man of the Thirty-Fourth was promptly called out,\nand preceded by a Battery which was stationed near by, we started in\npursuit. Often had the wish been expressed that we might see some actual\nfighting, and at last the wish was to be gratified.\n\nA running fight commenced soon after reaching Charlestown, the Battery\nwhich was still in advance, having engaged the enemy just beyond that\nplace. We pushed on, passing at one time the dead body of a soldier,\nkilled during the morning's engagement, and a few miles of rapid marching\nbring us into close proximity to the foe, as the shells falling within a\nshort distance from our ranks fully prove. Each Company has been assigned\nthe best position allowed by the character of the ground, which is\nsomewhat uneven and obstructed by fences. A lively discharge of musketry\nis kept up from both sides for a time, but finally ceases. At about this\nperiod in the fight, a small body of mounted infantry from the enemy's\nforce charge toward us till but a short space intervenes, and then\nwheeling easily, soon disappear in the distance. We afterwards learn that\nthe Springfield muskets of one of our wing Companies told with effect on\ntheir ranks. The firing has now ceased, and we are ordered to cross the\nopen ground which separates our position from that of the enemy. This is\nsafely accomplished, and it is found that they have again retreated.\n\nOur Commanding Officer now considers that the pursuit has been pushed far\nenough, and the order is given to return to Harper's Ferry. Marching and\nresting alternately, we reach our quarters at a late hour, feeling well\nsatisfied with this first experience of actual fighting. Two of the Color\nCorporals, Clark of Co. K and Gage of Co. E, have laid down their lives;\nbut they died gloriously, and what matters the form in which death comes,\nif it finds us in the path of duty.\n\n  \"Come to the bridal chamber, Death;\n    Come to the mother, when she feels\n  For the first time her first-born's breath:\n   Come when the blessed seals\n  Which close the pestilence are broke,\n  And crowded cities wail its stroke;\n  Come in Consumption's ghastly form;\n  The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;\n  Come when the heart beats high and warm,\n    With banquet song, and dance, and wine,\n  And thou art terrible: the tear,\n  The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,\n  And all we know, or dream, or fear\n    Of agony, are thine.\n  But to the warrior, when his sword\n    Has won the battle for the free,\n  Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,\n  And in its hollow tones are heard\n    The thanks of millions yet to be.\"\n                                        _Halleck._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nNEWMARKET.\n\n\nAfter a march of some hours, our Regiment had arrived in the vicinity of\nNewmarket, Va.; not, however, without an occasional shot being exchanged\nbetween the light artillery which preceded us and that of the enemy. As we\nwere marched to a position somewhat sheltered by a low ridge, this firing\nwas kept up with vigor. The peculiar tone and expression assumed by our\ncommander, Colonel Wells, as he directed our movements will be remembered\nby many. \"Don't you see how they are firing at me?\" was his demand,\nevidently more for its effect on his men than from any special concern as\nto his own safety.\n\nSo passed the afternoon of Saturday, May 14, 1864, and the night, a rainy\nand uncomfortable one, settled down upon us; but war is no respecter of\nthe stillness of night, and the fact of a foe being close at hand is a\ngreat promoter of uneasiness. Suddenly a shot is heard, then a volley, and\nwe are roused up without ceremony; but the alarm proves nothing serious,\nbeing caused by a small reconnoitreing party from the enemy. We lie down\nagain, all save the watchful sentinels, and sheltering ourselves from the\nrain so far as possible, get what sleep may be had under the\ncircumstances. A part of the morning is occupied in putting our arms and\nourselves in good fighting condition, though this is a difficult matter in\nsome cases; the rain having, in spite of our care, reached our muskets to\nsome extent.\n\nThe quiet is broken by an order to a different position, which order is\nrepeated occasionally during the forenoon, keeping us in motion almost\nconstantly from one point to another. At last, a satisfactory position\nhaving been reached, we lie down on our arms for a short time, but soon\nare ordered to rise and then to load and fire as rapidly as we can. In the\nmeantime, a Battery has been stationed on our right and its guns begin to\nplay on the enemy. After firing several volleys a charge is ordered, and\nas we advance, the opposing force comes plainly into view. The yells and\ncheers accompanying this movement make it almost impossible to hear any\norder from our superior officers, but we finally comprehend that a\n\"right-about\" is ordered. This is executed, and we retrace our steps for a\nshort distance, still keeping on a line with the colors, while the\ncontinuous cheering of the enemy shows that they fully appreciate their\nadvantage. We now begin to feel seriously the effect of the heavy fire,\nboth musketry and artillery, which fills the air with deadly missiles. A\nprominent field officer is disabled by a severe wound, and as the enemy\npress close upon us, necessarily falls into their hands; while others who\nare less injured are supported from the field to receive surgical aid.\n\nThe Regiment, having reached a good position, is halted, faced about, and\naids in checking the enemy's advance, much to the satisfaction of the\nwounded, who are making their way to Mt. Jackson, some four miles distant.\nNight falls, and the sounds of battle are hushed; but this Sabbath day, so\ndisturbed by mortal strife, has proved the last for many who had\ncherished hopes of \"bright days yet to be.\"\n\n  \"And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,\n    Dewy with Nature's tear drops, as they pass;\n  Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,\n    Over the unreturning brave: alas!\n    Ere evening to be trodden like the grass;\n  Which now beneath them, but above shall grow\n    In its next verdure, when this fiery mass\n  Of living valor, rolling on the foe,\n  And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.\"\n                                        _Byron._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nINCIDENTS.\n\n\nIt will be remembered by some, that at an early period of our regimental\nhistory, a fever for enlistment into the regular army prevailed to a\ncertain extent. The causes which produced this state of things are unknown\nto the writer, but it seems probable that highly  statements as to\nthe relative advantages of one branch of the service over another had been\nemployed.\n\nCol. Wells, as the event proved, felt no sympathy with this movement, and\nhad no idea of quietly looking on while his Regiment was depleted in\nnumbers to fill the voracious maw of Uncle Sam. Accordingly, taking his\nopportunity when they were drawn up for dress parade, he expressed his\nviews in the case in a manner that held the attention of all to the\nclose. That part of his argument which covered the points of promotion and\ntravel, as nearly as can be recalled, was something like this. \"You have\nbeen promised opportunities for promotion and travel: as for _travel_, you\nwould have plenty of that, and would have to travel _pretty close to the\nline_. With regard to promotion in the regular army, there is a regular\nsystem of promotion, in which non-commissioned officers only stand a\nchance of sharing, and they after years of waiting.\" The address, whether\nfrom its sarcasm or its sense, was effectual in curing the uneasiness that\nhad prevailed.\n\nAt one time, the young and popular Captain of a certain Company saw fit to\ncelebrate his birthday by furnishing his men with an unusual treat. A\nsupply of \"lager\" was secured from a neighboring fort, and placed\nconveniently in one of the tents, with the understanding that all were\nwelcomed to partake. As the evening advanced a spirit of jollity naturally\nprevailed, stimulated a little, it may be, by the influence of the\nTeutonic beverage, till the stentorian voice of Orderly B-- rang out even\nmore loudly than usual, summoning the Company to fall in for evening\nroll-call, after which quiet was restored, and night settled down\npeacefully as usual over our camp.\n\nThe Company in which occurred the last incident numbered among its\noriginal members two, who were truly of a kindred spirit, though of\ndifferent birth. Once, for some infraction of discipline in which both\nwere concerned, they were compelled to wear \"the wooden shirt,\" and to\nmarch back and forth before the Captain's quarters: yet they were far from\nbeing disheartened, but with great merriment performed this unusual sentry\nduty, assisting each other, in case of any accident, with an almost\nbrotherly regard. One of this pair of intimate friends is believed to have\ndied at Andersonville. As to his comrade, many years have passed since the\nwriter last beheld his strongly marked features, and whether he is still\nin the land of the living is a matter of uncertainty. So drops the curtain\nover our heroes.\n\n  \"All the world's a stage,\n  And all the men and women merely players:\n  They have their exits and their entrances;\n  And one man in his time plays many parts,\n  His acts being seven ages.\"\n                                        _Shakspeare._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nIN MEMORIAM.\n\n\nA few closing words as a tribute to the honored dead. While referring\nespecially to a few names in this connection, no peculiar honor is claimed\nfor them above the large number of their comrades in other Companies whose\nrecord is equally honorable; but of those we know best we can, doubtless,\nbest speak.\n\nBrave Christopher Pennell; with a noble ambition leaving his many friends\nto serve in another field, and falling at last before Petersburg.\n\nCaptain William B. Bacon: an able and intrepid soldier, than whom few had\nbrighter prospects of advancement and honor, stricken down at Newmarket\nwhile inspiring his men with his own fearlessness of spirit.\n\nSergeant Henry B. King: of a gentle and obliging spirit and beloved by all\nhis comrades, dying on the field of battle, and leaving only the knowledge\nof his devotion to duty to cheer his youthful and bereaved companion.\n\nThe brothers, Dwight and Henry Chickering: noble and promising youths,\nmaking the woods ring with the sound of their axes, and their whole-souled\nlaughter, as we prepared to encamp after the day's weary march.\n\nBut one more will be particularly mentioned here, in reference to whom\nBrigade Surgeon Clarke uses this language, in a letter informing his\nfriends of his death: \"he was a brave, conscientious and faithful\nsoldier.\" And what shall I say of thee, my brother, my faithful friend?\nThough the snows of seven winters have in their season robed thy grave\nwith a stainless winding-sheet, yet is thy memory cherished fondly as at\nfirst: still shall the flowers of each succeeding summer strew that grave,\nand the lofty pines of thy native state shall furnish thy requiem.\n\n  \"How sleep the brave, who sink to rest\n  By all their Country's wishes blest:\n  By fairy hands their knell is rung;\n  By forms unseen their dirge is sung;\n  Here Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,\n  To deck the turf that wraps their clay;\n  And Freedom shall awhile repair\n  To dwell, a weeping hermit, there.\"\n                                        _Collins._\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Reminiscences of the Thirty-Fourth\nRegiment, Mass. Vol. Infantry, by William H. Clark\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                       THE DORRANCE DOMAIN\n\n                       _By_ CAROLYN WELLS\n\n\n    _Illustrated by_\n    PELAGIE DOANE\n\n    GROSSET & DUNLAP\n    _Publishers_      NEW YORK\n\n    _Copyright, 1905_,\n    BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY,\n    _All rights reserved_.\n\n    The Dorrance Domain.\n\n    Made in the United States of America\n\n\n[Illustration: \"IF THAT'S THE DORRANCE DOMAIN, IT'S ALL RIGHT. WHAT DO\nYOU THINK, FAIRY?\"]\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n    CHAPTER                               PAGE\n\n        I. COOPED UP                         9\n\n       II. REBELLIOUS HEARTS                22\n\n      III. DOROTHY'S PLAN                   35\n\n       IV. THE DEPARTURE                    48\n\n        V. THE MAMIE MEAD                   60\n\n       VI. THE DORRANCE DOMAIN              73\n\n      VII. MR. HICKOX                       86\n\n     VIII. MRS. HICKOX                      99\n\n       IX. THE FLOATING BRIDGE             112\n\n        X. THE HICKOXES AT HOME            124\n\n       XI. SIX INVITATIONS                 137\n\n      XII. GUESTS FOR ALL                  149\n\n     XIII. AN UNWELCOME LETTER             161\n\n      XIV. FINANCIAL PLANS                 174\n\n       XV. A SUDDEN DETERMINATION          188\n\n      XVI. A DARING SCHEME                 201\n\n     XVII. REGISTERED GUESTS               214\n\n    XVIII. AMBITIONS                       226\n\n      XIX. THE VAN ARSDALE LADIES          239\n\n       XX. A REAL HOTEL                    252\n\n      XXI. UPS AND DOWNS                   265\n\n     XXII. TWO BOYS AND A BOAT             278\n\n    XXIII. AN UNWELCOME PROPOSITION        290\n\n     XXIV. DOROTHY'S REWARD                307\n\n\n\n\nThe Dorrance Domain\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nCOOPED UP\n\n\n\"I _wish_ we didn't have to live in a boarding-house!\" said Dorothy\nDorrance, flinging herself into an armchair, in her grandmother's room,\none May afternoon, about six o'clock.\n\nShe made this remark almost every afternoon, about six o'clock, whatever\nthe month or the season, and as a rule, little attention was paid to it.\nBut to-day her sister Lilian responded, in a sympathetic voice,\n\n\"_I_ wish we didn't have to live in a boarding-house!\"\n\nWhereupon Leicester, Lilian's twin brother, mimicking his sister's\ntones, dolefully repeated, \"I wish _we_ didn't have to live in a\nboarding-house!\"\n\nAnd then Fairy, the youngest Dorrance, and the last of the quartet,\nsighed forlornly, \"I wish we didn't have to live in a _boarding-house_!\"\n\nThere was another occupant of the room. A gentle white-haired old lady,\nwhose sweet face and dainty fragile figure had all the effects of an\nivory miniature, or a painting on porcelain.\n\n\"My dears,\" she said, \"I'm sure I wish you didn't.\"\n\n\"Don't look like that, grannymother,\" cried Dorothy, springing to kiss\nthe troubled face of the dear old lady. \"I'd live here a million years,\nrather than have you look so worried about it. And anyway, it wouldn't\nbe so bad, if it weren't for the dinners.\"\n\n\"I don't mind the dinners,\" said Leicester, \"in fact I would be rather\nsorry not to have them. What I mind is the cramped space, and the\nshut-up-in-your-own-room feeling. I spoke a piece in school last week,\nand I spoke it awful well, too, because I just meant it. It began, 'I\nwant free life, and I want fresh air,' and that's exactly what I do\nwant. I wish we lived in Texas, instead of on Manhattan Island. Texas\nhas a great deal more room to the square yard, and I don't believe\npeople are crowded down there.\"\n\n\"There can't be more room to a square yard in one place than another,\"\nsaid Lilian, who was practical.\n\n\"I mean back yards and front yards and side yards,--and I don't care\nwhether they're square or not,\" went on Leicester, warming to his\nsubject. \"My air-castle is situated right in the middle of the state of\nTexas, and it's the only house in the state.\"\n\n\"Mine is in the middle of a desert island,\" said Lilian; \"it's so much\nnicer to feel sure that you can get to the water, no matter in what\ndirection you walk away from your house.\"\n\n\"A desert island would be nice,\" said Leicester; \"it would be more\nexciting than Texas, I suppose, on account of the wild animals. But then\nin Texas, there are wild men and wild animals both.\"\n\n\"I like plenty of room, too,\" said Dorothy, \"but I want it inside my\nhouse as well as out. Since we are choosing, I think I'll choose to\nlive in the Madison Square Garden, and I'll have it moved to the middle\nof a western prairie.\"\n\n\"Well, children,\" said Mrs. Dorrance, \"your ideas are certainly big\nenough, but you must leave the discussion of them now, and go to your\nsmall cramped boarding-house bedrooms, and make yourselves presentable\nto go down to your dinner in a boarding-house dining-room.\"\n\nThis suggestion was carried out in the various ways that were\ncharacteristic of the Dorrance children.\n\nDorothy, who was sixteen, rose from her chair and humming a waltz tune,\ndanced slowly and gracefully across the room. The twins, Lilian and\nLeicester, fell off of the arms of the sofa, where they had been\nperched, scrambled up again, executed a sort of war-dance and then\ndashed madly out of the door and down the hall.\n\nFairy, the twelve year old, who lived up to her name in all respects,\nflew around the room, waving her arms, and singing in a high soprano,\n\"Can I wear my pink sash? Can I wear my pink sash?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said Mrs. Dorrance, \"you may wear anything you like, if\nyou'll only keep still a minute. You children are too boisterous for a\nboarding-house. You _ought_ to be in the middle of a desert or\nsomewhere. You bewilder me!\"\n\nBut about fifteen minutes later it was four decorous young Dorrances who\naccompanied their grandmother to the dining-room. Not that they wanted\nto be sedate, or enjoyed being quiet, but they were well-bred children\nin spite of their rollicking temperaments. They knew perfectly well how\nto behave properly, and always did it when the occasion demanded.\n\nAnd, too, the atmosphere of Mrs. Cooper's dining-room was an assistance\nrather than a bar to the repression of hilarity.\n\nThe Dorrances sat at a long table, two of the children on either side of\ntheir grandmother, and this arrangement was one of their chief\ngrievances.\n\n\"If we could only have a table to ourselves,\" Leicester often said, \"it\nwouldn't be so bad. But set up side by side, like the teeth in a comb,\ncheerful conversation is impossible.\"\n\n\"But, my boy,\" his grandmother would remonstrate, \"you must learn to\nconverse pleasantly with those who sit opposite you. You can talk with\nyour sisters at other times.\"\n\nSo Leicester tried, but it is exceedingly difficult for a fourteen year\nold boy to adapt himself to the requirements of polite conversation.\n\nOn the evening of which we are speaking, his efforts, though well meant,\nwere unusually unsuccessful.\n\nExactly opposite Leicester sat Mr. Bannister, a ponderous gentleman,\nboth physically and mentally. He was a bachelor, and his only idea\nregarding children was that they should be treated jocosely. He also had\nhis own ideas of jocose treatment.\n\n\"Well, my little man,\" he said, smiling broadly at Leicester, \"did you\ngo to school to-day?\"\n\nAs he asked this question every night at dinner, not even excepting\nSaturdays and Sundays, Leicester felt justified in answering only, \"Yes,\nsir.\"\n\n\"That's nice; and what did you learn?\"\n\nAs this question invariably followed the other, Leicester was not wholly\nunprepared for it. But the discussion of air-castles in Texas, or on a\nprairie, had made the boy a little impatient of the narrow dining-room,\nand the narrow table, and even of Mr. Bannister, though he was by no\nmeans of narrow build.\n\n\"I learned my lessons,\" he replied shortly, though there was no rudeness\nin his tone.\n\n\"Tut, tut, my little man,\" said Mr. Bannister, playfully shaking a fat\nfinger at him, \"don't be rude.\"\n\n\"No, sir, I won't,\" said Leicester, with such an innocent air of\naccepting a general bit of good advice, that Mr. Bannister was quite\ndiscomfited.\n\nGrandma Dorrance looked at Leicester reproachfully, and Mrs. Hill, who\nwas a sharp-featured, sharp-spoken old lady, and who also sat on the\nother side of the table, said severely, to nobody in particular,\n\"Children are not brought up now as they were in my day.\"\n\nThis had the effect of silencing Leicester, for the three older\nDorrances had long ago decided that it was useless to try to talk to\nMrs. Hill. Even if you tried your best to be nice and pleasant, she was\nsure to say something so irritating, that you just _had_ to lose your\ntemper.\n\nBut Fairy did not subscribe to this general decision. Indeed, Fairy's\nchief characteristic was her irrepressible loquacity. So much trouble\nhad this made, that she had several times been forbidden to talk at the\ndinner-table at all. Then Grandma Dorrance would feel sorry for the\ndolefully mute little girl, and would lift the ban, restricting her,\nhowever, to not more than six speeches during any one meal.\n\nFairy kept strict account, and never exceeded the allotted number, but\nshe made each speech as long as she possibly could, and rarely stopped\nuntil positively interrupted.\n\nSo she took it upon herself to respond to Mrs. Hill's remark, and at\nthe same time demonstrate her loyalty to her grandmother.\n\n\"I'm sure, Mrs. Hill,\" Fairy began, \"that nobody could bring up children\nbetter than my grannymother. She is the best children bring-upper in the\nwhole world. I don't know how your grandmother brought you up,--or\nperhaps you had a mother,--some people think they're better than\ngrandmothers. I don't know; I never had a mother, only a grandmother,\nbut she's just the best ever, and if us children aren't good, it's our\nfault and not hers. She says we're boist'rous, and I 'spect we are. Mr.\nBannister says we're rude, and I 'spect we are; but none of these\nobjectionaries is grandma's fault!\" Fairy had a way of using long words\nwhen she became excited, and as she knew very few real ones she often\nmade them up to suit herself. And all her words, long or short came out\nin such a torrent of enthusiasm and emphasis, and with such a degree of\nrapidity that it was a difficult matter to stop her. So on she went. \"So\nit's all right, Mrs. Hill, but when we don't behave just first-rate, or\njust as children did in your day, please keep a-remembering to blame us\nand not grandma. You see,\" and here Fairy's speech assumed a\nconfidential tone, \"we don't have room enough. We want free life and we\nwant fresh air, and then I 'spect we'd be more decorious.\"\n\n\"That will do, Fairy,\" said Mrs. Dorrance, looking at her gravely.\n\n\"Yes'm,\" said Fairy, smiling pleasantly, \"that'll do for one.\"\n\n\"And that makes two! now you've had two speeches, Fairy,\" said her\nbrother, teasingly.\n\n\"I have not,\" said Fairy, \"and an explanationary speech doesn't count!\"\n\n\"Yes, it does,\" cried Lilian, \"and that makes three!\"\n\n\"It doesn't, does it, grandma?\" pleaded Fairy, lifting her big blue eyes\nto her grandmother's face.\n\nMrs. Dorrance looked helpless and a little bewildered, but she only\nsaid, \"Please be quiet, Fairy; I might like to talk a little, myself.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's all right, grandma dear,\" said Fairy, placidly; \"I know how\nit is to feel conversationary myself.\"\n\nThe children's mother had died when Fairy was born, and her father had\ngiven her the name of Fairfax because there had always been a Fairfax\nDorrance in his family for many generations. To be sure it had always\nbefore been a boy baby who was christened Fairfax, but the only boy in\nthis family had been named Leicester; and so, one Fairfax Dorrance was a\ngirl. From the time she was old enough to show any characteristics at\nall, she had been fairy-like in every possible way. Golden hair, big\nblue eyes and a cherub face made her a perfect picture of child beauty.\nThen she was so light and airy, so quick of motion and speech, and so\nimmaculately dainty in her dress and person, that Fairy seemed to be the\nonly fitting name for her. No matter how much she played rollicking\ngames, her frock never became rumpled or soiled; and the big white bow\nwhich crowned her mass of golden curls always kept its shape and\nposition even though its wearer turned somersaults. For Fairy was by no\nmeans a quiet or sedate child. None of the Dorrances were that. And the\nyoungest was perhaps the most headstrong and difficult to control. But\nthough impetuous in her deeds and mis-deeds, her good impulses were\nequally sudden, and she was always ready to apologize or make amends for\nher frequent naughtiness.\n\nAnd so after dinner, she went to Mrs. Hill, and said with a most\nengaging smile, \"I'm sorry if I 'fended you, and I hope I didn't. You\nsee I didn't mean to speak so much, and right at the dinner table, too,\nbut I just _have_ to stand up for my grannymother. She's so old, and so\nladylike that she can't stand up for herself. And I was 'fraid you\nmightn't understand, so I thought I'd 'pologize. Is it all right?\"\n\nFairy looked up into Mrs. Hill's face with such angelic eyes and\npleading smile, that even that dignified lady unbent a little.\n\n\"Yes, my dear,\" she said; \"it's all right for you to stand up for your\ngrandmother, as you express it. But you certainly do talk too much for\nsuch a little girl.\"\n\n\"Yes'm,\" said Fairy, contritely, \"I know I do. It's my upsetting sin;\nbut somehow I can't help it. My head seems to be full of words, and they\njust keep spilling out. Don't you ever talk too much, ma'am?\"\n\n\"No; I don't think I do.\"\n\n\"You ought to be very thankful,\" said Fairy, with a sigh; \"it is an\nawful affliction. Why once upon a time----\"\n\n\"Come, Fairy,\" said Mrs. Dorrance; \"say good-night to Mrs. Hill, and\ncome up-stairs with me.\"\n\n\"Yes, grandma, I'm coming. Good-night, Mrs. Hill; I'm sorry I have to go\njust now 'cause I was just going to tell you an awful exciting story.\nBut perhaps to-morrow----\"\n\n\"Come, Fairy,\" said Mrs. Dorrance; \"come at once!\" And at last the\ngentle old lady succeeded in capturing her refractory granddaughter, and\nled the dancing sprite away to her own room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nREBELLIOUS HEARTS\n\n\nAlthough Mrs. Cooper's boarders were privileged to sit in the parlor in\nthe evening, the Dorrances rarely availed themselves of this permission.\nFor the atmosphere of the formal and over-punctilious drawing-room was\neven more depressing than that of the dining-room. And even had the\nchildren wanted to stay there, which they didn't, Mrs. Dorrance would\nhave been afraid that their irrepressible gayety would have been too\nfreely exhibited. And another thing, they had to study their next day's\nlessons, for their hours between school and dinner-time were always\nspent out of doors.\n\nAnd so every evening they congregated in their grandmother's room, and\nwere studious or frivolous as their mood dictated.\n\nTo-night they were especially fractious.\n\n\"Grannymother,\" exclaimed Lilian, \"it just seems as if I _couldn't_\nlive in this house another minute! there is nobody here I like, except\nour own selves, and I just hate it all!\"\n\n\"Did _you_ go to school to-day, my little man?\" said Leicester, shaking\nhis finger in such funny imitation of Mr. Bannister, that Lilian had to\nlaugh, in spite of her discontentment.\n\n\"I'm so tired of him, too,\" went on Lilian, still scowling. \"Can't we go\nand live somewhere else, grandmother?\"\n\nMrs. Dorrance sighed. She knew only too well the difficulty of securing\ndesirable rooms in a desirable locality with her four lively young\ncharges; and especially at the modest price she was able to pay. Already\nthey had moved six times in their two years of boarding-house life, and\nMrs. Dorrance dreaded the thought of a seventh similar experience.\n\n\"Lilian, dear,\" she said, gently, \"you know how hard it is to find any\nnice boarding-house where they will take four noisy children. And I'm\nsure, in many respects, this is the best one we've ever found.\"\n\n\"I suppose it is,\" said Dorothy, looking up from the French lesson she\nwas studying, \"but I know one thing! as soon as I get through school,\nand I don't mean to go many years more, we're going to get away from\nboarding-houses entirely, and we're going to have a home of our own. I\ndon't suppose it can be in Texas, or the Desert of Sahara, but we'll\nhave a house or an apartment or something, and live by ourselves.\"\n\n\"I wish you might do so,\" said her grandmother, \"but I fear we cannot\nafford it. And, too, I think I would not be able to attend to the\nhousekeeping. When we used to have plenty of servants, it was quite a\ndifferent matter.\"\n\n\"But granny, dear,\" cried Dorothy, \"I don't mean for you to housekeep. I\nmean to do that myself. After I get through school, you know, I'll have\nnothing to do, and I can just as well keep house as not.\"\n\n\"Do you know how?\" asked Fairy, staring at her oldest sister with\nwide-open blue eyes.\n\n\"Can you make a cherry pie?\" sang Leicester. \"I don't believe you can,\nDot; and I'll tell you a better plan than yours. You wait until _I_ get\nout of school, and then I'll go into some business, and earn enough\nmoney to buy a big house for all of us.\"\n\n\"Like the one in Fifty-eighth Street?\" said Dorothy, softly.\n\nThe children always lowered their voices when they spoke of the house on\nFifty-eighth Street. Two years ago, when their grandfather died, they\nhad to move out of that beautiful home, and none of them, not even\nlittle Fairy, could yet speak of it in a casual way.\n\nThe children's father had died only a few years after their mother, and\nthe four had been left without any provision other than that offered by\ntheir Grandfather Dorrance. He took them into his home on Fifty-eighth\nStreet, and being a man of ample means, he brought them up in a\ngenerous, lavish way. The little Dorrances led a happy life, free from\ncare or bothers of any sort, until when Dorothy was fourteen,\nGrandfather Dorrance died.\n\nHis wife knew nothing of his business affairs, and placidly supposed\nthere was no reason why she should not continue to live with the\nchildren, in the ways to which they had so long been accustomed.\n\nBut all too soon she learned that years of expensive living had made\ndecided inroads upon Mr. Dorrance's fortune, and that for the future her\nmeans would be sadly limited.\n\nMrs. Dorrance was a frail old lady, entirely unused to responsibilities\nof any kind; her husband had always carefully shielded her from all\ntroubles or annoyances, and now, aside from her deep grief at his death,\nshe was forced suddenly to face her changed circumstances and the\nresponsibility of her four grandchildren.\n\nShe was crushed and bewildered by the situation, and had it not been for\nthe advice and kind assistance of her lawyer, Mr. Lloyd, she would not\nhave known which way to turn.\n\nDorothy, too, though only fourteen years old, proved to be a staunch\nlittle helper. She was brave and plucky, and showed a courage and\ncapability that astonished all who knew her.\n\nAfter Mr. Dorrance's affairs were settled up, it was discovered that the\nfamily could not remain in the home. Although the house was free of\nincumbrance, yet there was no money with which to pay taxes, or to pay\nthe household expenses, even if they lived on a more moderate scale.\nOnly a few years before his death, Mr. Dorrance had invested a large sum\nof money in a summer hotel property. This had not turned out\nadvantageously, and though Mrs. Dorrance could not understand all of the\nbusiness details, she finally became aware that she had but a net income\nof two thousand dollars to support herself and her grandchildren.\n\nHelpless and heart-broken as she was, she yet had a certain amount of\nindomitable pride, which though it might break, would never bend.\n\nIn her quiet, gentle way she accepted the situation, and endeavored to\nfind a suitable boarding-place that would come within her means. The big\nhouse had been rented to strangers, as Mr. Lloyd considered that a\nbetter investment than selling it. The furniture had been sold, except\na few choice personal belongings which had been stored away against\nbetter days.\n\nWith a cheerful placidity, which was but the reaction of her utter\nhelplessness, Mrs. Dorrance began her new life.\n\nThe children took the change more easily. Although they fretted and\nstormed more, yet that very fact gave a sort of outlet to their\ndisappointment, and, too, their youth allowed them to adapt themselves\nmore easily to the changed conditions.\n\nAnd had it been possible for them to have a home of their own, they\nwould perhaps have been as happy as in their grandfather's mansion.\n\nBut Mrs. Dorrance well knew her own limitations, and realized that at\nher age she could not take up the unaccustomed cares of housekeeping.\n\nAnd so they boarded; and it was unsatisfactory to all concerned;\nprincipally because children do not agree with boarding-houses and _vice\nversa_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Well, there is one thing to look forward to,\" said Dorothy, in her\ncheerful way; \"it's the first of May now. In a month, school will be\nover for this term, and then we can go to the seashore or the country,\nand get away from Mrs. Cooper's for the summer, anyhow.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" exclaimed Lilian, \"won't it be fun! I vote for the country this\nyear. What do you say, Leicester?\"\n\nThe twins, though possessing strong individual opinions, usually\nreferred all questions to each other, though this by no means implied a\nchange of mind on the part of either.\n\n\"Country's all right,\" said Leicester, \"but I like mountains.\nMountainous country, you know; I don't mean Pike's Peak or Mount\nWashington.\"\n\n\"I like the seashore,\" said Fairy. \"'Course you needn't go there just\n'cause I like it,--but I do think it's awful nice. There's the water you\nknow, and the big waves come in all tumble-bumble,--oh, it's beautiful\nto see them! And if I could have a new bathing-suit trimmed with red\nbraid like Gladys Miller's, I do think----\"\n\n\"Wait a minute, Fairy,\" said her grandmother; \"you're doing your\nthinking too soon. I'm sorry, children, more sorry than I can tell you,\nbut I don't see how we can go away this summer, to the mountains or\nseashore or anywhere else.\"\n\n\"Oh, grannymother!\" cried Dorothy in dismay; \"you don't mean we must\nstay in the city all summer!\"\n\n\"I'm afraid so, my dear. I can't see any hope for anything else.\"\n\n\"But grandma, we went last year, and we stayed all summer, and we had a\nlovely time.\" This from Lilian, whose brown eyes were already filling\nwith tears.\n\n\"In the city! all summer! well, I just guess _not_!\" shouted Leicester.\n\"I'm going off of Manhattan Island, if I have to go as a tramp.\"\n\n\"Tramping isn't so bad,\" said Lilian, brightening up; \"we could carry\nour things in handkerchiefs slung on sticks over our shoulders.\"\n\n\"But grannymother couldn't tramp,\" said Fairy.\n\n    \"The streets will be broad and the lanes will be narrow,\n    So we'll have to take grannymother in a wheel-barrow,\"\n\nchanted Dorothy. \"But tell us truly, granny, dear, why can't we go\naway?\"\n\nGrandmother Dorrance looked sad, but her face wore that air of placid\ndetermination which the children had come to look upon as indicative of\nfinal and unalterable decision.\n\n\"This last winter,\" she said, \"was much more expensive than the winter\nbefore. There was the doctor and the nurse, when Fairy was ill; we are\npaying a little more board here than we did at Mrs. Watson's; and then,\nsomehow, your clothes seem to cost more every year. I don't know how it\nis, I'm sure,\" and the sweet old face assumed the worried look that\nalways pained Dorothy's heart, \"but somehow there isn't any money left\nfor a summer trip.\"\n\n\"But grandma,\" said Leicester, with a great desire to be businesslike,\n\"can't we find a place to board in the country, for just the same price\nas we pay here?\"\n\n\"No, it always costs a little more per week at any summer place than in\nthe city. And that is not all; there are the traveling expenses, and\nyou'd all need new summer clothes, and there are many extra expenses,\nsuch as laundry work, and things that you children know nothing about.\"\n\nDorothy sat thinking. She had closed her French book and sat with her\nelbows on the table in front of her, and her chin in her hands. Dorothy\nDorrance was a very pretty girl, although it had never occurred to her\nto think so. She had dark eyes like her father's, but had inherited her\nmother's blonde hair. Not golden, but a light golden-brown, which fell\ninto soft shining curls which tossed about her temples, and escaped from\nthe thick twist at the back of her head. She had a sunshiny smile, which\nwas almost always visible, for Dorothy was light-hearted and of a merry\nnature. She was an all-round capable girl, and could turn her hand to\nalmost anything she undertook. She had a capable mind too, and often\nastonished her grandmother by her intelligent grasp of business matters\nor financial problems. Indeed, Dorothy at sixteen had a far more\npractical knowledge of the ways and means of existence than Mrs.\nDorrance at seventy.\n\n\"Grandmother,\" she said at last, after she had sat for some minutes\nstaring straight ahead of her, and looking, as Leicester said, \"almost\nas if she were really thinking.\" \"Grandmother, I think we are old enough\nnow,--at any rate I am,--to know something about our income. How much\nmoney do we have a year?\"\n\n\"That's easily told, my child; since your grandfather's death we have\nvery little. I own the house on Fifty-eighth Street, but from the rent\nof that I have to pay taxes and repairs. Of course Mr. Lloyd attends to\nall these matters, and his judgment is always right, but I can't help\nthinking there is very little profit in that house.\"\n\n\"Wouldn't it be better to sell that house, and invest the money in some\nother way?\" said Dorothy, straightforwardly.\n\n\"Mr. Lloyd says not, dearie, and of course he knows. Then besides that,\nI own the large hotel property which your grandfather bought a few\nyears before he died. But as I cannot rent it, and cannot sell it, it is\nnot only no source of income to me, but it is a great expense.\"\n\n\"Oh, 'Our Domain' up in the mountains,\" said Dorothy.\n\n\"Yes, 'Our Domain'; but I wish it were the Domain of somebody else,\"\nsaid her grandmother.\n\nThis hotel property had always been called \"Our Domain,\" by the family\nand when Mr. Dorrance was alive, had been looked upon as a sort of a\njoke, but the present view of the situation did not seem at all\nhumorous.\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Leicester, who was always hopeful, \"I think it's very\nnice to own a Domain. It makes us seem like landed proprietors, and some\nday, who knows, it may prove valuable.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nDOROTHY'S PLAN\n\n\nOne afternoon, about a week later, the children were again in their\ngrandmother's room waiting for dinner-time.\n\nTo be exact, they weren't in the room, but were literally half in and\nhalf out. For Mrs. Dorrance's room had two front windows, and two\nchildren were hanging out of each, in a precarious and really dangerous\nway.\n\nThe twins, in one window, were vying with each other as to which could\nlean out farthest, without falling out; and in the other window Dorothy\nwas leaning out as far as possible, and at the same time trying to keep\na very excited Fairy from pitching headlong to the street.\n\nThe simple explanation of this acrobatic performance is, that they were\nlooking for the postman. Not that they really thought he would come any\nsooner for their endangering their lives, but each young Dorrance\nconsidered it of the highest importance to catch the first glimpse of\nhim.\n\n\"Oh, dear, do you suppose the house is sold?\" said Lilian, for the\ndozenth time.\n\n\"Hi!\" screamed Dorothy; \"there he is! we'll soon know now.\"\n\nDorothy having won the game, they all tumbled into the room again, and\nLeicester started down-stairs for the mail.\n\n\"Gently, my boy, gently,\" warned his grandmother. \"Don't go down\nwhooping like a wild Indian.\"\n\nLeicester assumed a sudden air of decorum, and disappeared; while the\ngirls clustered around their grandmother, all talking at once.\n\n\"What do you think, grandmother?\" cried Dorothy, \"guess,--which way do\nyou guess?\"\n\n\"I guess, no,\" said Mrs. Dorrance, who was used to guessing games.\n\n\"I guess, _yes_!\" shouted Lilian; \"of course it's sold! and we'll have\nlots of money and we'll go to Europe, and Africa, and Chicago, and\neverywhere!\"\n\n\"And over to Brooklyn,\" chimed in Fairy; \"I do want to go to Brooklyn,\n'cause I've never been there and Gladys Miller says it's awful funny,\nand besides----\"\n\n\"A letter! here's a letter,\" cried Leicester, bouncing into the room;\n\"open it, open it quick, granny dear!\"\n\n\"I can't,\" said the old lady, helplessly; \"you children make such a\nnoise, I'm all bewildered. Open it, Dorothy, and read it aloud; and the\nrest of you, do try to keep still.\"\n\nEagerly, Dorothy tore open the letter, and began to read it:\n\n     MRS. ELIZABETH DORRANCE:\n\n     _Dear Madam_:--I had a final interview to-day with Mr. Ware. As you\n     know, he had about concluded to buy your hotel, but he has been\n     making inquiries concerning it, and has learned that it has not\n     been occupied for several years. He fears that he cannot make it\n     pay as a business venture, and has therefore definitely decided not\n     to buy it.\n\n     I do not wish to discourage you, my dear madam, but it looks to me\n     as if it would not be possible to sell the hotel this season, and\n     indeed, I doubt if you can ever dispose of it to your satisfaction.\n     The next best course, in my opinion, would be for you to allow it\n     to be sold at auction. This plan would enable you to pay the back\n     taxes now due, and relieve you of further obligations of the same\n     sort,--though I fear there would be little or no margin of profit\n     for you in this arrangement.\n\n     However, should you think best to adopt this course, please advise\n     me promptly, and I will take the necessary steps in the matter.\n\n     I am, my dear madam,\n     Respectfully yours,\n     LEWIS H. LLOYD.\n\nAt the conclusion of this letter the four Dorrance children groaned in\nconcert. Their concerted groan was an old-established affair, and by\nreason of much practice they had brought it to a high state of\nperfection. It began with a low wail which deepened and strengthened\nthrough several bass notes, and then slid up to high C with a wild,\nfinal shriek. It was most effective as an expression of utter\nexasperation, but Mrs. Dorrance, though accustomed to it, lived in a\nstate of fear lest it might cause the landlady to request them to give\nup their rooms.\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" said Lilian, after the groan had subsided, \"I felt sure that\nWare man was going to take the old place. I think he's mean!\"\n\n\"I think Mr. Lloyd is mean,\" broke in Dorothy. \"I don't like him!\"\n\n\"It isn't his fault, my dear,\" said her grandmother. \"He has done all in\nhis power to sell the place, but it seems to be unsalable, except at\nauction. And that would probably mean that our financial affairs would\nbe in no better state than they are now.\"\n\n\"I'd like to see Our Domain,\" said Leicester, thoughtfully; \"what's it\nlike, grandmother?\"\n\n\"I don't know, dear; I've never seen it. Your grandfather never saw it\neither. He bought the property through an agent, merely as a\nspeculation.\"\n\n\"Ho!\" cried Leicester, \"the idea of owning a Domain that nobody has ever\nseen! why, perhaps there is nothing there at all, and so of course\nnobody will buy it.\"\n\n\"People!\" exclaimed Dorothy, suddenly, her eyes shining, and her whole\nair expressive of a wonderful discovery. And, too, when Dorothy said,\n\"People!\" in that tone of voice, the others had learned that she meant\nto announce one of her plans. As a rule, her plans were wild and\nimpracticable schemes, but they were always interesting to listen to.\n\n\"People, I'll tell you exactly what we'll do. Grandma says we can't\nafford any extra expense this summer. So,--we'll go and live in our\nDomain!\"\n\n\"Well, of all crazy things,\" said Lilian, in a disappointed tone. \"I\nthought you were going to say something nice.\"\n\n\"It _is_ nice,\" said Dorothy; \"you think it isn't, because you don't\nknow anything about it. I know all about it. Now listen and I'll tell\nyou.\"\n\n\"Know all about it!\" said Leicester; \"you don't even know where it is!\"\n\n\"Anybody can find that out,\" went on Dorothy; \"and then when we find\nout, all we have to do is to go there. And then we'll live in the house,\nno matter what it is. It's ours, and so we won't have to pay any rent,\nand we girls will do all the housework and cooking, and so it won't\ncost near as much as boarding. And the difference will pay our traveling\nexpenses to the Domain, wherever it is. And we won't need any new\nclothes to go to a place like that, and it will be perfectly lovely, as\ngood as a prairie or a Texas, or anything! Now then!\"\n\n\"Whew!\" exclaimed Leicester; \"I do believe you've struck it right this\ntime. It will be great! I'll do my share of the work,--it will be just\nlike camping out. What do you suppose the house is like?\"\n\n\"Isn't it lovely not to know!\" cried Lilian; \"everything about it will\nbe such a surprise. When can we go, grandmother?\"\n\n\"Oh, my dears, how you rattle on,\" said Mrs. Dorrance, half-laughing,\nand yet beginning to take an interest in Dorothy's plan.\n\nFairy was keeping up a running fire of conversation, but nobody paid any\nattention to her.\n\n\"Where is the place, grandmother?\" asked Dorothy, who was taking it all\na little more seriously than the others; \"you must know at least what\nstate it's in.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I know that. It's on the shore of Lake Ponetcong,--in the\nnorthern part of New Jersey.\"\n\n\"What a fearful name!\" cried Leicester; \"but I don't care if it's called\nAlibazan, so long as there's a lake there. You never told us about the\nlake before.\"\n\n\"A lake!\" said Lilian, with an ecstatic air; \"I shall just stay on that\nall the time. I shall have a rowboat and a sailboat and a canoe----\"\n\n\"And a cataraman,\" supplemented her brother; \"you can use the hotel for\na boathouse, Lilian, and we'll build a little cabin to live in.\"\n\n\"Don't go so fast, children,\" said Mrs. Dorrance; \"if you'll give me a\nminute to think, I'm not sure but I could see some sense in this\narrangement.\"\n\n\"Oh, granny, dear,\" cried Dorothy, clasping her hands beseechingly; \"do\ntake a minute to think. Take several minutes, and think hard, and see if\nyou can't think some sense into it.\"\n\n\"As you say,\" began Mrs. Dorrance, while the children were breathlessly\nquiet in their anxiety, \"the living expenses would be very much less\nthan in any boarding-house. And in a country-place like that, you would\nnot need elaborate clothes. But there are many things to be considered;\nyou see, I've no idea what the house is like, or in what condition we\nwould find it.\"\n\n\"Oh, never mind that,\" pleaded Dorothy; \"let's take our chances. That\nwill be the fun of it, to go there, not knowing what we're going to. And\nanyway, we'll have room enough.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Dorrance, smiling; \"in a hotel you will probably have\nroom enough. But what do you mean by saying you can do the housework? In\nthe first place you're not strong enough, and secondly, you don't know\nhow.\"\n\n\"I'll do the work,\" said Fairy. \"I don't care if I am only twelve, I can\ncook; 'cause when I went to Gladys Miller's one day, she had a little\nstove and she showed me how. I'll do all the cooking, and you other\ngirls can do the domesticker work. Leicester can do all the man's work,\nand grannymother can be a Princess of high degree, and just sit and look\non. And then on some days----\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, we know how to work,\" interrupted Dorothy. It was always\nnecessary to interrupt Fairy if anybody wanted to say anything.\n\n\"And I won't mind how much I have to do, if we have some outdoors around\nus. Only think, it's May out of doors now, and here we have to stay shut\nup in this old boarding-house, same as in December.\"\n\n\"You may go out for a while if you care to, little girl,\" said\nLeicester, assuming a grown-up air.\n\n\"I don't want to go out on paved streets,\" said Dorothy; \"I want green\nfields and trees and cows.\"\n\n\"I want free life and I want fresh air,\" sang Leicester, \"and I do\nbelieve we are going to get it. Come, granny, speak the word,--say we\nmay go.\"\n\n\"I can't say, positively,\" said Mrs. Dorrance, \"until I write to Mr.\nLloyd and see what he thinks of it. If he agrees to the plan, I suppose\nwe might try it. But it is all so uncertain.\"\n\n\"Never mind the uncertainty,\" said Dorothy; \"just leave it all to me.\nNow see here, grandmother, for twelve years you've looked after us\nchildren, and taken care of us, and now, I think we're getting old\nenough to look after ourselves. Anyway, let us try it. Let us all go up\nto the Domain, and spend the summer there. We'll do the best we can, and\nif we fail it will be our own fault. You're not to have any\nresponsibility, you're just to be there as a kind of guardian angel and\ngeneral adviser. Nothing very dreadful can happen to us,--at least,\nnothing half so dreadful as staying in the city all summer. Now just\nwrite to Mr. Lloyd, and don't ask his opinion, but tell him you've\ndecided to do this, and just ask him how to get there.\"\n\n\"We can tell how to get there, ourselves,\" said Leicester; \"let's look\nit up on the map. Fairy, get the big atlas, will you?\"\n\nThough Fairy was always called upon to wait on the other children, it\nwas by no means an imposition, for the child was always dancing around\nthe room anyway, and dearly loved to do things for people.\n\nSoon three of the Dorrance children were gathered around the table\nstudying the map. Fairy, in order to see better, had climbed up on the\ntable, and was eagerly following with her tiny forefinger the track of\nLeicester's pencil.\n\n\"It isn't so very far, after all,\" he announced. \"It's just across the\nferry, and then up on the railroad till you get to it. It looks awfully\nnear. Oh, I wish we were going to start to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Why can't we?\" said Lilian, who always favored quick action.\n\n\"There's _no_ reason,\" said Mrs. Dorrance, smiling at the impetuous\nchildren; \"of course we can _just_ as well take the seven o'clock train\nto-morrow morning as not!\"\n\n\"Now you're teasing, grandma,\" said Lilian; \"truly, when can we go?\"\n\n\"Just the minute school closes,\" answered Dorothy. \"I suppose we must\nstay for that,--I must, anyway; but we could get off the last week in\nMay.\"\n\nHere the announcement of dinner put an end to their planning for the\npresent, but so gay of heart were they over their happy anticipations,\nthat for once they didn't mind the gloomy dining-room and their\nirritating fellow boarders.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE DEPARTURE\n\n\nAfter several interviews with Mr. Lloyd, and after discussing the matter\nwith several other friends whose advice she valued, Mrs. Dorrance\nconcluded that it was best to try Dorothy's plan. It did seem hard to\nkeep the children in the city all summer, and however the experiment\nmight result it could do no great harm in any way.\n\nThey were to start the last week in May, and though Mr. Lloyd had\noffered to go up with them, Grandma Dorrance had concluded that would\nnot be necessary.\n\nFor all Mrs. Dorrance's gentle, helpless manner, the fine old lady had a\ncertain reserve force, which often manifested itself in an unexpected\ndecision.\n\nLeicester, too, showed himself capable of rising to an emergency, and\nnow that there was occasion for him to be looked upon as the man of the\nfamily, he determined to play well the part. He suddenly seemed to be as\nold as Dorothy, and though he deferred to her judgment, he made many\ngood suggestions which she was glad to accept.\n\nIndeed, the thought more than once occurred to Grandma Dorrance that the\nexperiences of the coming summer would teach the children a great deal,\nand strengthen their characters in many ways, whatever else its results\nmight be.\n\nNot that the Dorrance children became sedate and responsible all at\nonce. By no means. Their discussions were quite as animated as formerly,\nif not more so; and as the time of departure drew nearer, they became so\nexcited and excitable that had they not been going away, there is a\npossibility that Mrs. Cooper might have invited them to do so.\n\nMany of their friends came to see them during their last few days in the\ncity, and nearly all brought them gifts or remembrances of some sort.\n\nGrandma Dorrance viewed with dismay the collection of souvenirs that the\nchildren planned to take with them. It was the live gifts that troubled\nher most, and she was finally obliged to stipulate that they should be\nallowed to carry only one pet each. So Dorothy took a dog, a large and\nbeautiful St. Bernard, which she had owned for some years. But as he was\neven less desirable in a boarding-house than children, they had been\nobliged to make his home with a friend who lived on Long Island. Dorothy\nhad been in the habit of visiting him frequently, and a great friendship\nexisted between them.\n\nThe twins chose a pair of rabbits, because they had never had any\nrabbits before, and as Leicester said, \"What's a Domain without\nrabbits?\"\n\nFairy hesitated long, between a kitten and a canary, but finally chose\nthe kitten, as being less trouble and more comfort; and the bird was\nabout to be returned to its donor. But Grandma Dorrance declared that\nshe too was entitled to a pet and would take the bird for hers,\nwhereupon Fairy was ecstatically happy.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was a difficult caravan to plan and to move, but one Monday morning\nthe departure was successfully accomplished.\n\nTwo carriages and a dray-load of trunks and boxes formed the procession.\n\nMrs. Dorrance had concluded that much of the necessary work of the\nhouse, especially at first, would be too hard for the girls; and had\ntherefore decided to take with them a strong young Irish girl to help.\n\nOne of the waitresses, who was about to leave Mrs. Cooper's service\nanyway, seemed just the right one. Her name was Tessie, and she was a\ndevoted friend of the young Dorrances. Her Irish sense of humor made her\ndelight in their pranks, and it was to the satisfaction of all that she\naccompanied the party.\n\nThey crossed the city without attracting attention, but the procession\nthat filed onto the ferry-boat could not long remain unnoticed.\n\nFairy persisted in dancing ahead, and then dancing back to know which\nway to go next. She carried her kitten in a basket, and talked to it\nincessantly through the slats. Lilian carried the bird-cage, and\nLeicester, a box containing the rabbits. Dorothy led her big dog by a\nleash, and as she had assumed a sudden dignity, born of the occasion,\nshe made with the magnificent and stately animal beside her, an\nimpressive picture. Tessie was entrusted with the care of Grandma\nDorrance; and this was a wise arrangement, for though accustomed to\ntraveling, Mrs. Dorrance was also accustomed to lean on some one else\nfor the responsibilities of the trip.\n\nDorothy saw this more plainly than ever during their journey, and\nresolved more strongly than ever that she would relieve her grandmother\nof all possible care, and be a real help and support to her.\n\nIt was just as she reached this decision that Fairy lifted the lid of\nher basket and peeped in to talk to the kitten. But she opened the lid a\ntrifle too wide and the frightened kitten jumped out and ran to the edge\nof the deck, where the poor little thing sat quivering, and shivering,\nand apparently just about to tumble into the water.\n\nInvoluntarily the four Dorrances gave one of their best concerted\ngroans. The low moaning notes and the final shriek roused Dare, the\ngreat dog, to a sudden wild excitement. Breaking away from Dorothy's\nhold, he flew after the tiny Maltese kitten, and taking her head in his\nmouth, rescued her from imminent peril.\n\nBut Fairy, not appreciating that it was a rescue, looked upon it as a\nmassacre, and began to howl piteously. Whereupon Dare deposited the\nsquirming kitten at Fairy's feet, and added his bark, which was no faint\none, to the general pandemonium.\n\nAll of which so disturbed poor Mrs. Dorrance, that she was glad to have\nTessie lead her into the cabin, and there make her as comfortable as\npossible with a pillow and some smelling-salts.\n\nMeantime peace and quiet had been restored to the party on deck, and\nthey were waving joyful farewells to the tall buildings on Manhattan\nIsland.\n\n\"There's the old Flatiron,\" cried Leicester; \"good-bye, old Flatiron!\nhope I won't see you again for a long while.\"\n\n\"There's the new Flatiron too,\" cried Lilian. \"I don't want to see that\nagain for ever so long, either.\"\n\n\"You'll see flatirons enough, my lady,\" said Dorothy, \"when you find\nyourself doing the laundry work for a large and able-bodied family.\"\n\n\"I won't have to do that, will I?\" cried Lilian, aghast; \"nobody told me\nthat!\"\n\n\"Well, we needn't wash the clothes,\" said Dorothy; \"but likely we'll\nhave to help iron; that is, if we wear any white dresses.\"\n\n\"I'll promise not to wear any white dresses,\" said Leicester.\n\n\"I don't care what I wear, if we just once get into the country,\" said\nLilian. \"Oh Dorothy, what _do_ you suppose it will be like?\"\n\n\"Just like Mrs. Cooper's,\" said Dorothy, smiling.\n\n\"Well it can't be like that,\" said Lilian; \"and so I don't care what it\nis.\"\n\nAnother excitement came when they were all getting packed into the\ntrain. Dare had to travel in the baggage-car, of which he expressed his\ndisapproval by long and continuous growlings. The rabbits were put\nthere, too, but they made less fuss about it.\n\nThe bird and the kitten were allowed in the car with the children, and\nthis arrangement added to the general gayety.\n\nAlthough Mrs. Dorrance naturally considered herself in charge of the\nexpedition, and though Dorothy felt sure she was, and though Leicester\nhoped he might be, yet it was really quick-witted Tessie who looked\nafter things and kept matters straight.\n\nThe ride through northern New Jersey was not picturesque, and as there\nwas very little to look at from the windows, the four soon returned to\ntheir favorite game of guessing what the new home would be like.\n\n\"What shall we call it?\" asked Leicester; \"it ought to have a name.\"\n\n\"And a nice one, too,\" said Dorothy; \"for, do you know, I think we shall\nlive there always.\"\n\n\"Wait 'til you see it,\" said Lilian; \"we may not even want to stay over\nnight.\"\n\n\"We couldn't stay always,\" said Fairy; \"how would we go to school?\"\n\n\"I suppose we couldn't,\" said Dorothy; \"but after we all get through\nschool, then we can; and it will be lovely to have a home of our own,\nso let's get a good name for it.\"\n\n\"Why not the Domain?\" said Leicester. \"That's what we've always called\nit, and so it sounds natural.\"\n\n\"That isn't enough by itself,\" said Dorothy. \"How do you like the\nDorrance Domain?\"\n\nThey all liked this, and so The Dorrance Domain was decided upon, and\nthey all rushed to tell grandma the name of her new home.\n\nIt was noon when the train reached the Ponetcong Station. Here they all\nbundled out, bag and baggage, children and animals. But as the boat, in\nwhich they were to continue their journey did not leave until one\no'clock, there was ample time to get some luncheon,--which more than\npleased the four hungry Dorrances. Upon inquiry, they were directed to a\nsmall country hotel and soon found themselves confronted with many small\nportions of not over-attractive looking viands.\n\nBut for once, the children cared little about what they ate or how it\nwas served, so eager were they at the prospect of soon reaching their\nnew home.\n\n\"What do you suppose it will be like?\" said Lilian, quite as if she were\npropounding a brand-new conundrum.\n\n\"I've s'posed everything I can possibly think of,\" said Leicester; \"but\nI'm willing to guess again if you want me to.\"\n\n\"It isn't worth while guessing much more,\" said Dorothy; \"for very soon\nwe will _know_. Now, Lilian, you and Fairy stay here with grandma, and\nLeicester and I will go over to that little store across the street and\nbuy some things to take with us for supper to-night. Tessie may go too,\nto help us carry them.\"\n\nBut this plan was far from acceptable.\n\n\"That isn't fair!\" cried Lilian; \"buying things for our own home is the\nmost fun yet, and I think we all ought to go together.\"\n\n\"So do I,\" said Fairy. \"Let Tessie stay with grandma, and us four will\ngo to purchase the eatabubbles.\"\n\nFairy did not stutter, but, when excited, she was apt to put extra\nsyllables in her words.\n\n\"Come on, then,\" said Dorothy, and with Dare bounding beside them, the\nfour ran across the road to the little grocery shop.\n\n\"Let's be very sensible,\" said Dorothy, \"and get just the right things.\nYou know young housekeepers always do ridiculous things when they go to\nbuy provisions. Now what do we need most?\"\n\n\"Bread,\" said the twins together, and surely nobody could have\ncriticised their suggestion as ridiculous.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dorothy, and then turning to the grocer, she said politely,\n\"Have you any bread?\"\n\n\"Yes, miss,\" replied the grocer, staring in amazement at the four\nexcited children; \"what kind?\"\n\n\"Why, just bread,\" said Dorothy; \"fresh bread, you know. Is there more\nthan one kind?\"\n\n\"Yes, miss. Square loaf, long loaf, twist loaf and raisin bread.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Dorothy, appalled by this superabundant variety.\n\nBut Leicester came to the rescue. \"Raisin bread,\" said he; \"that's the\nkind. And then we want some butter, if you please.\"\n\n\"Print, pat or tub?\"\n\n\"Oh, not a whole tub full,\" said Dorothy, diligently trying to be\nsensible; \"we couldn't carry a tub. I think we'll take a--a print.\"\n\n\"Yes, miss; anything else?\"\n\nThe weight of responsibility was so great, that no one spoke for a\nmoment, and then Fairy, in a burst of confidence began:\n\n\"You see, mister, we've never bought anything before; we've just eaten\nother people's things; but now we've got a home of our own, a really\ntruly home, and these things are to eat in it. So of course you see we\nhave to be very careful what we buy. We're trying very hard to be\nsensible housekeepers, 'cause my sister says we must, and she knows\neverything in the world. And so if you could 'vise us a little, we'd\nknow better 'bout selectioning.\"\n\nAfter this speech, a few questions from the grocer resulted in a frank\nand straightforward statement of the case by Dorothy, and then a\njudicious selection was made of immediate necessities for the commissary\ndepartment of The Dorrance Domain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE MAMIE MEAD\n\n\nAs the man of the family and courier of the expedition, Leicester had\nassumed an air of importance, and looked after the baggage checks,\ntickets and time-tables with an effect of official guardianship.\n\n\"Why, it's a steamboat!\" exclaimed Fairy, as a diminutive steamer came\npuffing up to the dock. \"I thought it would be a canal-boat.\"\n\n\"People don't travel to a Domain in a canal-boat, my child,\" said\nLeicester, instructively.\n\n\"But you said we'd go on the canal,\" insisted Fairy; \"and I want to see\nwhat a canal is like. There is one in my geography----\"\n\n\"Skip aboard, kidlums, and you'll soon see what a canal is like,\" said\nLeicester, who was marshaling his party over the gangplank.\n\nThe _Mamie Mead_ was the very smallest steamboat the children had ever\nseen, and it seemed like playing house to establish themselves on its\ntiny deck. Dare seemed to find it inadequate to his ideas of proportion,\nand he stalked around, knocking over chairs and camp-stools with a fine\nair of indifference.\n\nGrandma Dorrance, who by this time was rather tired by the journey, was\nmade as comfortable as possible, and then the children prepared to enjoy\nthe excitements of their first trip on a canal.\n\nThe smoothness of the water amazed them all, and they wondered why it\nwasn't more like a river.\n\nThe locks, especially, aroused awe and admiration.\n\nBy the time they went through the first gate they had made the\nacquaintance of the captain, and could watch the performance more\nintelligently. It seemed nothing short of magic to watch the great gates\nslowly close, and then to feel their own boat rising slowly but\nsteadily, as the water rushed in from the upper sluice.\n\n\"It's just like Noah and the Ark,\" exclaimed Fairy, \"when the floods\nmade them go up and up.\"\n\n\"It's exactly like that,\" agreed Dorothy, as the waters kept rising;\n\"and we've nearly as many animals on board as he had.\"\n\nAll too soon they had risen to the level of the lake, and another pair\nof great gates swung open to let them through.\n\n\"Are we going to stay on top?\" asked Fairy; \"or must we go down again?\"\n\n\"You'll stay on top this time, little missie,\" said good-natured old\nCaptain Kane, smiling at Fairy. \"This boat ain't no submarine to dive\ndown into the lake.\"\n\n\"But you dived up into the lake,\" insisted Fairy.\n\n\"That was the only way to get here, miss. But any day you would like to\ngo back and dive down, here's the man that will take you. The _Mamie\nMead_ is always glad of passengers. She don't get none too many\nnowadays.\"\n\n\"Why doesn't she?\" asked Leicester, with interest.\n\n\"Well, you see, sir, since the hotel's been empty, they ain't no call\nfor _Mamie_ much. So whenever you kids wants a free ride, just come\ndown to the dock and wave something. If so be's I'm goin' by, I'll stop\nand take you on. Is the place you're goin' near the hotel?\"\n\n\"Near the hotel!\" cried Dorothy; \"why we're going _to_ the hotel.\"\n\n\"You can't. 'Tain't open.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" said Dorothy; \"but it will be when we get there. We have\nall the keys.\"\n\n\"For the land's sake! And what are you goin' to do there?\"\n\n\"We're going to live there,\" exclaimed Leicester; \"we own the\nplace,--that is, my grandmother does.\"\n\n\"Own it? Own the Dorrance place?\"\n\n\"Yes; we're all Dorrances.\"\n\n\"For the land's sake! Well, when you want to go down to the station for\nanything, this here boat's at your service,--that is, if I'm up this\nway.\"\n\n\"Do you come up this way often?\" asked Dorothy, who appreciated the\npossible value of this offer.\n\n\"I allus comes once a week, miss. I goes over to Dolan's Point every\nSaturday. Will you be here till Saturday?\"\n\n\"Saturday! Why we're going to stay all summer.\"\n\n\"Beggin' your pardon, miss, but I don't think as how you will. Just the\nfew of you shakin' around in that big hotel! It's ridikilus!\"\n\n\"Ridiculous or not, we're going to do it,\" said Leicester, stoutly; \"but\nwe thank you for your offer, Captain Kane, and very likely we'll be glad\nto accept it.\"\n\n\"Well, there's your home,\" said Captain Kane, as a large white building\nbegan to be visible through the trees.\n\nWithout a word, the Dorrance children looked in the direction the\ncaptain indicated.\n\nHigh up on the sloping shore of the lake, they saw a great house which\nseemed to be an interminable length of tall, white columns supporting\ntiers of verandas.\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Dorothy, \"that can't be it! that great, big place!\"\n\n\"It looks like the Pantheon,\" said Lilian.\n\n\"You mean the Parthenon,\" said Leicester; \"but I never can tell them\napart, myself. Anyway, if that's the Dorrance Domain, it's all right!\nWhat do you think, Fairy?\"\n\nFairy looked at the big hotel, and then said thoughtfully, \"I guess\nwe'll have room enough.\"\n\n\"I guess we will,\" cried Dorothy, laughing; and then they all ran to\nGrandma Dorrance, to show her the wonderful sight.\n\nThe good lady was also astounded at the enormous size of the hotel, and\ngreatly impressed with the beauty of the scene. It was about three\no'clock, on a lovely May afternoon, and the hotel, which faced the west,\ngleamed among trees which shaded from the palest spring tints to the\ndark evergreens. It was at the top of a high <DW72>, but behind it was a\nbackground of other hills, and in the distance, mountains.\n\n\"_Aren't_ you glad we came? Oh, grannymother, _aren't_ you glad we\ncame?\" cried Dorothy, clasping her hands in ecstasy.\n\n\"Indeed I am, dear; but I had no idea it was such an immense house. How\ncan we take care of it?\"\n\n\"That question will come later,\" said Leicester; \"the thing is now, how\nshall we get to it. How _do_ people get to it, Captain Kane?\"\n\n\"Steps,\" answered the captain, laconically.\n\n\"Up from the dock?\"\n\n\"Yep; a hundred and forty of 'em.\"\n\n\"Oh, how can grandmother climb all those?\"\n\n\"Settin'-places all the way along,\" suggested the captain, cheerfully.\n\n\"Oh, you mean landing-places on the stair-way?\"\n\n\"Yep; so folks can rest. I guess your grandma'll get up all right; but\nwhat about all your trunks and things?\"\n\n\"Why I don't know,\" said Leicester, suddenly losing his air of capable\nimportance.\n\n\"Well, there's old Hickox; you might get him.\"\n\n\"Where can we find Mr. Hickox?\"\n\n\"He's most generally settin' around the dock. Favorite restin'-place of\nhis. Think I can see him there now.\"\n\nAfter a few moments more the _Mamie Mead_ bumped against the dock.\n\n\"Our own dock!\" cried Dorothy; \"oh, isn't it gorgeous!\"\n\nProbably such an excited crowd had never before landed from the _Mamie\nMead_. The children all talked at once; Grandma Dorrance seemed\nrejuvenated by the happy occasion; Tessie was speechless with delight;\nDare gave short, sharp barks expressive of deep satisfaction and the\ncanary bird burst into his most jubilant song. Doubtless the kitten was\npurring contentedly, if not audibly.\n\nThe trunks and other luggage were put out on the dock, and Mr. Hickox\nsauntered up and viewed them with an air of great interest.\n\n\"I guess this is where I come in handy,\" he said, with a broad smile and\na deferential bob of his head that somehow seemed to serve as a general\nintroduction all around.\n\nMr. Hickox was a strange looking man. He was very tall, indeed, by far\nthe tallest man the children had ever seen; and he was also very thin.\nOr perhaps _lean_ is a more expressive word to describe Mr. Hickox, for\nhe gave no impression of ill-health, or emaciation, but rather the\nleanness of muscular strength. His brown hair and side-whiskers were\ntouched with gray, and his tanned face was wrinkled, but he did not seem\nlike an old man. His blue eyes twinkled with good-humor, and his voice\nwas delightfully kind.\n\nInstinctively the Dorrance children felt that they had found a friend in\nthis strange man, and they were grateful.\n\n\"Could you tell us, sir,\" said Leicester, \"how we are going to get these\ntrunks and things up to the hotel?\"\n\n\"Well, yes, I can tell you that. I'm going to lug them up myself.\"\n\n\"What, carry them?\" said Leicester, in surprise.\n\n\"Well, no; not carry them,--not exactly carry them. You see I've got a\nlittle contraption of my own; a sort of cart or dray, and I'll just put\nall that duffle of yours into it, and it'll be up to the top before\nyou're there yourselves.\"\n\n\"You don't drag it up the stairs!\"\n\n\"No, I go up the back way,--a roundabout, winding path of my own. But\ndon't you worry,--don't worry,--Hickox'll look after things. It'll be\nall right.\"\n\nAlthough Mr. Hickox spoke in short staccato jerks, his remarks seemed to\ncarry authority; and nodding his head in a manner peculiar to himself,\nhe went off after his cart.\n\n\"He's all right, he is,\" declared Captain Kane; \"but his old woman, she\nisn't so right. But never mind 'bout that. You'll see old Mrs. Hickox\nsooner or later and then you can size her up for yourself. Well, me and\n_Mamie_ must be gettin' along. You all jest stay here till Hickox comes\nback, and he'll get you up the hill all right.\"\n\nAs Captain Kane went away the children could hear him chuckling to\nhimself, and murmuring, \"Goin' to live in the hotel! well, well!\"\n\nAs Grandma Dorrance would want frequent rests by the way, Dorothy\nproposed that she should start on up the steps with Tessie, while the\nrest waited for Mr. Hickox.\n\nThat long specimen of humanity soon came briskly along, trundling a\nqueer sort of push-cart, which it was quite evident was of home\nmanufacture.\n\n\"I made it myself,\" he declared, pointing with pride to the ungainly\nvehicle. \"I was surprised that I could do it,\" he added modestly; \"Mrs.\nHickox, she was surprised, too. But she generally is surprised. You\ndon't know my wife, do you?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Dorothy, politely; \"we haven't that pleasure.\"\n\n\"H'm,\" said Mr. Hickox, rubbing down his side-whiskers; \"she's a nice\nwoman,--a very nice woman, but you must take her easy. Yes, when you\nmeet her, you must certainly take her easy. She doesn't like to be\nsurprised.\"\n\n\"Do you think she will be surprised at us?\" asked Lilian, who was well\naware that many people thought the Dorrances surprising.\n\n\"Yes; I think she will. I certainly think she will. Why, to tell the\ntruth, I'm some surprised at you myself,--and I ain't half so easy\nsurprised as Mrs. Hickox.\"\n\nAs he talked, Mr. Hickox was bundling the luggage into his cart. He\npicked up trunks and boxes as if they weighed next to nothing, and\ndeposited them neatly and compactly in his queer vehicle.\n\n\"Any of the live stock to go?\" he inquired.\n\n\"No,\" said Dorothy, \"we'll take the animals; unless,--yes, you might\ntake the rabbits; their cage is so heavy.\"\n\n\"Yes, do,\" said Leicester; \"then I'll carry the bird-cage, and you girls\ncan manage the dog and the kitten.\"\n\nSo everything else was put into the dray, even the provisions they had\nbought at the grocery shop, and the children watched with astonishment,\nas Mr. Hickox started off, easily pushing the load along a winding path.\n\n\"He's the strongest man I ever saw,\" exclaimed Leicester; \"and I'd like\nto go along with him to see how he does it.\"\n\n\"No, you come with us,\" said Fairy, dancing around, and clasping her\nbrother's hand; \"come on; now we're going up a million steps and then we\nwill come to our own Domain.\"\n\nClimbing the steps was anything but a work of toil, for continually new\ndelights met their eyes, and they paused often to exclaim and comment.\n\nAbout half-way up they found grandma and Tessie sitting on one of the\nsmall landings, waiting for them.\n\n\"Now we'll go the rest of the way together,\" said Dorothy, \"for we must\nall see our Domain at the same time. Go as slowly as you like,\ngrandmother, we're in no hurry.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE DORRANCE DOMAIN\n\n\nAlternately resting and climbing, at last they reached the top, and for\nthe first time had a full view of the Dorrance Domain.\n\n\"Oh,\" said Dorothy in an awe-struck whisper, \"that's our home! All of\nit!\"\n\nLeicester, from sheer lack of words to express his feelings, turned\ndouble somersaults on the grass, while Fairy danced around in her usual\nflutterbudget way, singing at the top of her voice.\n\nLilian, the practical, after one look at the great building, said\nexcitedly, \"Grandmother, where are the keys, quick?\"\n\nThe hotel itself was a white frame building, about two hundred feet long\nand three stories high. Huge pillars supported verandas that ran all\naround the house on each story. Broad steps led up to the main\nentrance, and at one corner was a large tower which rose for several\nstories above the main part of the house.\n\nAlthough the whole place had a deserted aspect,--the shutters were all\nclosed, and the lawns uncared for,--yet it did not seem out of repair,\nor uninhabitable. Indeed, the apparent care with which it had been\nclosed up and made secure was reassuring in itself, and the children\neagerly followed Lilian who had gained possession of the front door key.\n\nWith little difficulty they succeeded in unfastening the great front\ndoors and threw them wide open to admit the May sunshine.\n\nThey found themselves at first in a large hall which ran straight\nthrough the house. It was furnished in red, with a velvet carpet and\nsatin brocade sofas, which seemed to the Dorrances quite the most\nbeautiful furnishings they had ever looked upon.\n\nArched off from this hall was a good-sized room, which Leicester\ndeclared to be the office, and as soon as the windows of that could be\nthrown open, the desks and safe and other office furniture proved he was\nright. Opening a wicket door, he flew in behind the great desk, and\nthrowing open a large book which was there, he turned it around towards\nDorothy with a flourish, and asked her to register.\n\n\"Oh,\" she cried, wild with excitement, \"it's just like the Sleeping\nBeauty's palace. Everything is just as they went off and left it. Who\nregistered last, Leicester?\"\n\n\"The last is Mr. Henry Sinclair, who arrived here in July, summer before\nlast.\"\n\n\"And nobody's been here since!\" exclaimed Lilian; \"just think of it! It\nseems as if we ought to register.\"\n\n\"You may if you like,\" said Leicester; \"it's our register, you know.\"\n\nBut the ink was all dried up, and the pens all rusty, so they left the\noffice and went to make further explorations.\n\nAcross the hall from the office was the great parlor. Many hands make\nlight work at opening windows, and in a jiffy the parlor was flooded\nwith sunshine.\n\nThen there were more exclamations of delight, for the parlor\nappointments were truly palatial. Gorgeous frescoes and wall\ndecorations, mirrors in heavily gilded frames, brocaded hangings, ornate\nfurniture, and a wonderful crystal chandelier made a general effect that\ncontrasted most pleasurably with Mrs. Cooper's unpretentious\ndrawing-room.\n\nEven a piano was there, and flinging it open, Dorothy struck up a brisk\ntwo-step, and in a moment the twins were dancing up and down the long\nroom, while Fairy, who had been dancing all the time, simply kept on.\n\nGrandma Dorrance sank onto a sofa and watched her happy grandchildren,\nno less happy herself.\n\nIt was a daring experiment, and she did not know how it would turn out,\nbut she was glad that at last she was able to give the children, for a\ntime at least, that desire of their heart,--a home in the country.\n\nAfter the grand parlor, and several smaller reception rooms, all equally\nattractive, they went back across the hall, and through the office to\ninvestigate the other side of the house. Here they found the\ndining-rooms. One immense one, containing a perfect forest of tables\nand chairs, and two smaller ones.\n\nOne of the smaller ones which overlooked the lake, Dorothy declared\nshould be their family dining-room.\n\n\"There's more room in the big dining-room,\" said Lilian, slyly.\n\n\"Yes, there is,\" said Dorothy; \"and I _do_ hate to be cramped. Perhaps\nwe had better use the big one, and each one have a whole table all to\nourselves.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Grandma Dorrance, \"we'll use the small one every day, and\nthen some time when we invite all Mrs. Cooper's family to visit us, we\ncan use the large one.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" groaned Lilian, \"don't mention Mrs. Cooper's dining-room while\nwe're in this one.\"\n\nAfter the dining-rooms came the kitchens, supplied with everything the\nmost exacting housekeeper could desire; but all on the large scale\nrequisite for a summer hotel.\n\n\"I should think _anybody_ could cook here,\" said Dorothy; \"and as I\npropose to do the cooking for the family, I'm glad everything is so\ncomplete and convenient.\"\n\n\"You never can cook up all these things,\" said Fairy, looking with awe\nat the rows of utensils; \"not even if we have seventeen meals a day.\"\n\n\"_Will_ you look at the dish towels!\" exclaimed Lilian, throwing open\nthe door of a cupboard, where hundreds of folded dish towels were\narranged in neat piles.\n\nAt this climax, Mrs. Dorrance sank down on a wooden settle that stood in\nthe kitchen, and clasping her hands, exclaimed, \"It's too much, girls,\nit's too big; we never can do anything with it.\"\n\n\"Now you mustn't look at it that way, granny, dear,\" said Dorothy,\nbrightly; \"this is our home; and you know, be it ever so humble, there's\nno place like home. And if a home and all its fixings are too big,\ninstead of too little, why, you'll have to manage it somehow just the\nsame. Of course, I'm overpowered too, at this enormous place, but I\nwon't own up to it! I will _never_ admit to _anybody_ that I think the\nrooms or the house unusually large. I _like_ a big house, and I like\nspacious rooms! I _hate_ to be cramped,--as possibly you may have heard\nme remark before.\"\n\n\"Good for you, Dot!\" cried Leicester. \"I won't be phased either. We're\nhere, and we're here to stay. We're not going to be scared off by a few\nsquare miles of red velvet carpet, and some sixty-foot mirrors!\"\n\n\"I think the place rather small, myself,\" said Lilian, who rarely\nallowed herself to be outdone in jesting; \"I confess _I_ have a little\nof that cramped feeling yet.\"\n\nAt this they all laughed, and went on with their tour of the house.\nMerely taking a peep into the numerous pantries, laundries, storerooms\nand servants' quarters, they concluded to go at once to inspect the\nbedrooms.\n\n\"Don't go up these stairs,\" said Leicester turning away from the side\nstaircase. \"Let's go back to the main hall, and go up the grand\nstaircase, as if we had just arrived, and were being shown to our\nrooms.\"\n\n\"Oh, _isn't_ it fun!\" cried Fairy, as she hopped along by her brother's\nside. \"I never had such a fun in my whole life! Wouldn't it be awful if\nwe were really guests instead of purporietors?\"\n\n\"_You_ wouldn't be a guest,\" said Leicester, teasingly; \"no\nwell-conducted summer hotel would take a flibbertigibbet like you to\nboard!\"\n\n\"Nobody would take us Dorrances to board anyway, if they could help it,\"\nsaid Fairy, complacently; \"we all know how obnoxiorous we are.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Grandma Dorrance, sighing; \"and if we can only make a\nlittle corner of this big place habitable, I shall certainly feel a\ngreat relief in not being responsible for you children to any landlady.\"\n\n\"Oh, come now, granny, we're not so bad, are we?\" said Leicester,\npatting the old lady's cheek.\n\n\"You're not bad at all. You're the best children in the world. But just\nso sure as you get shut up in a boarding-house you get possessed of a\nspirit of mischief, and I never know what you are going to do next. But\nup here I don't _care_ what you do next.\"\n\nBy this time they had reached the entrance hall, and assuming the air\nof a proprietor, Leicester, with an elaborate flourish and a profound\nbow, said suavely:\n\n\"Ah, Mrs. Dorrance, I believe. Would you like to look at our rooms,\nmadam? We have some very fine suites on the second floor that I feel\nsure will please you. Are these your children, madam?\"\n\n\"We're her grandchildren,\" volunteered Fairy, anxious to be in the game.\n\n\"Incredible! Such a young and charming lady with grandchildren! Now I\nshould have said _you_ were the grandmother,\" with another elaborate bow\nto Fairy.\n\nLaughing at Leicester's nonsense, they all went up-stairs together, and\ndiscovered a perfect maze of bedrooms.\n\nScattering in different directions, the children opened door after door,\npulled up blinds, and flung open windows, and screamed to each other to\ncome and see their discoveries. Tessie followed the tribe around,\nwondering if she were really in fairyland. The unsophisticated Irish\ngirl had never seen a house like this before, and to think it belonged\nto the people with whom she was to live, suddenly filled her with a\ngreat awe of the Dorrance family.\n\n\"Do you like it, Tessie?\" asked Mrs. Dorrance, seeing the girl's amazed\nexpression.\n\n\"Oh, yis, mum! Shure, I niver saw anything so grand, mum. It's a castle,\nit is.\"\n\n\"That's right, Tessie,\" said Leicester; \"a castle is the same as a\ndomain. And all these millions of bedrooms are part of our Domain. Our\nvery own! Hooray for the Dorrance Domain!\"\n\nThe wild cheer that accompanied and followed Leicester's hurrah must\nhave been audible on the other side of Lake Ponetcong. At any rate it\nserved as a sort of escape-valve for their overflowing enthusiasm, which\notherwise must soon have gotten beyond their control.\n\n\"I think,\" said Mrs. Dorrance, \"that it would be wise for you each to\nselect the bedroom you prefer,--for to-night at least. If you choose to\nchange your minds to-morrow, I don't know of any one who will object.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Lilian, \"to think of changing your room in a hotel just as\noften as you like, and nobody caring a bit! I shall have a different one\nevery night.\"\n\n\"That won't be my plan,\" said her grandmother, laughing; \"I think I\nshall keep the one I'm in, for mine, and make no change.\"\n\nAs it was a large, pleasant, southwest room, with a delightful view of\nthe lake, it was thought to be just the one for grandma, and they all\nwillingly agreed.\n\n\"Do you suppose there are sheets and pillow-slips and things?\" asked\nDorothy, and a pell-mell rush of four explorers soon brought about the\ndiscovery of a wonderful linen room.\n\nGrandma and Tessie were called to look, and all exclaimed at the sight.\nIt was a large room with shelves on all four sides and the shelves were\npiled with neatly-folded clean linen,--sheets, counterpanes,\ntowels,--everything that was necessary.\n\n\"Whoever left this house last,\" said grandma, \"was a wonderful\nhousekeeper. I should like to see her and compliment her personally.\"\n\n\"Shure, it's wonderful, mum!\" said Tessie, still a little dazed by the\nsuccession of wonders.\n\n\"Well then, children,\" went on grandma, \"pick out your rooms, and Tessie\ncan make up your beds for you, and when Mr. Hickox brings the trunks,\nthey can be brought right up here.\"\n\n\"How clever you are, grannymother,\" cried Dorothy, kissing her. \"I said\nI'd direct the arrangements,--and yet I never once thought of all that.\"\n\n\"Never mind, dearie, we don't expect an old head to grow on young\nshoulders all at once. And besides, you'll have enough to do\ndown-stairs. Did I hear you say you're going to get supper? And is\nanybody going to build a fire in the kitchen?\"\n\n\"I'll build the fire,\" cried Leicester, \"just as soon as I select my\nroom from the hotel clerk.\"\n\nThe boy ran down the hall and in a few moments returned, saying that he\nhad made a selection, and would take the tower-room.\n\nOf course they all flew to see it, and found a large octagon-shaped\nroom with windows on five sides, leaving only enough wall space for the\nnecessary furniture. But it was a beautiful room, \"just like being\noutdoors,\" Leicester said, and they all applauded his choice.\n\nJust then the door-bell was heard to ring, and this gave the children a\nnew sensation.\n\n\"Our own door-bell!\" cried Dorothy; \"only to think of that! Tessie,\nplease go down to the door!\" and Tessie went, with the four Dorrances\nfollowing close behind her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nMR. HICKOX\n\n\nIt was Mr. Hickox who was at the door. By a winding path he had pushed\nhis cart full of luggage up the hill, and now expressed his willingness\nto deposit the goods where they belonged.\n\nThe big man seemed to think nothing of carrying the trunks, one after\nanother, up to the bedrooms; and meantime the children carried the\nprovisions to the kitchen.\n\nAlthough Dorothy was nominally housekeeper, and wanted to assume entire\ncharge of all household arrangements, Grandma Dorrance had a long and\nserious talk with Mr. Hickox regarding ways and means.\n\nIt was most satisfactory; for whenever any apparent difficulty arose,\nthe kind-hearted man summarily disposed of it by waving his hand and\nremarking: \"Don't worry. Hickox'll look after things. It'll be all\nright!\"\n\nSo convincing was his attitude that Mrs. Dorrance at last felt satisfied\nthat there were no serious obstacles in their path; and like the\nsensible lady she was, she determined to let Dorothy have full power and\nmanage her new home in any way she saw fit.\n\nDorothy's nature was, perhaps, a little over-confident. She was not\ninclined to hesitate at anything; indeed, the more difficult the\nundertaking, the greater her determination to succeed.\n\nAnd so, when Mrs. Dorrance informed Mr. Hickox that Miss Dorothy was the\nhousekeeper, and was in authority, Dorothy rose to the occasion and\nassumed at once a certain little air of dignity and responsibility that\nsat well upon her.\n\nShe, too, was encouraged by Mr. Hickox's continued assertions that it\nwould be all right.\n\nShe learned from him that the nearest place where they might buy\nprovisions was Woodville, where a certain Mr. Bill Hodges kept a store.\nHis wares included everything that a country store usually deals in,\n\"and Bill himself,\" said Mr. Hickox, \"is just the cleverest man in these\nparts.\"\n\n\"How do we get there?\" asked Leicester, who had declared his willingness\nto consider going to market as part of his share of the work.\n\n\"Well, there're several ways. Haven't got a horse, have you?\" Mr. Hickox\nsaid this casually, as if he thought Leicester might have one in his\npocket.\n\n\"No,\" said Leicester; \"we don't own a horse. Is it too far to walk?\"\n\n\"No; 'tain't any too much of a sprint for young legs like yours. It's\ntwo miles around by the road and over the bridge. But it's only a mile\nacross by the boat.\"\n\n\"But we haven't any boat.\"\n\n\"Haven't any boat! well I should say you had. Why there is half-a-dozen\nrowboats belongs to this hotel; and a catboat too, and a sneak-box,--my\nland! you've got everything but a steamboat.\"\n\n\"And Captain Kane said we could use his steamboat,\" cried Dorothy,\ngleefully; \"so we've really got a whole navy at our disposal!\"\n\n\"So you have, so you have,\" agreed Mr. Hickox, rubbing his long hands\ntogether, in a curious way he had; \"and don't you worry. Whenever you\nwant anything that you can't get with your navy, Hickox'll look after\nit. It'll be all right!\"\n\n\"Do you live near here, Mr. Hickox?\" asked Lilian.\n\n\"Well, yes, miss. Just a piece up the road. And if you want some nice\nfresh garden truck, now and then,--just now and then;--we haven't got\nenough to supply you regular.\"\n\n\"We'll be very glad to have it, whenever you can spare it,\" said\nDorothy; \"I'll send for it.\"\n\n\"Well, no, Miss Dorothy. I'd some rather you wouldn't send for it. You\nsee Mrs. Hickox she's apt to--to be surprised at anything like that.\"\n\n\"Oh, very well,\" said Dorothy; \"bring it whenever it's convenient. We're\nalways glad of fresh vegetables. And eggs,--do you have eggs?\"\n\n\"Now and again,--just now and again. But when we have them to spare I'll\nbring 'em. It'll be all right. Now I must jog along; Mrs. Hickox will be\nsurprised if I don't get home pretty soon.\"\n\n\"One thing more, Mr. Hickox,\" said Mrs. Dorrance. \"Are there ever any\nburglars or marauders around this neighborhood?\"\n\n\"Land, no, ma'm! Bless your heart, don't you worry a mite! Such a thing\nwas never heard of in these parts. Burglars! ho, ho, well I guess not!\nWhy I've never locked my front door in my life, and I never knew anybody\naround here that did.\"\n\nAfter Mr. Hickox's departure, Leicester observed thoughtfully, \"What a\nvery surprisable woman Mrs. Hickox seems to be.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" agreed Dorothy; \"I'm anxious to see her. I think I'd like to\nsurprise her a few times.\"\n\n\"Well, he's a nice man,\" said Lilian; \"I like him.\"\n\n\"Yes, he is nice,\" said Leicester; \"and isn't that jolly about the\nboats? I'm going right out to hunt them up.\"\n\n\"Hold on, my First Gold-Stick-In-Waiting,\" said Dorothy; \"I think you\npromised to make a kitchen fire.\"\n\n\"Sure enough, Major-domo,\" returned Leicester, gaily; \"I'll do that in a\njiffy. Where's the kindling-wood?\"\n\n\"Where's the kindling-wood, indeed,\" returned Dorothy; \"_you_'re to make\nthe fire, and you're also to make the kindling-wood, and the paper and\nthe matches! I'm not employing assistants who don't assist.\"\n\n\"All right, my lady. I'll make your fire, even if I have to split up\nthat big settle for fire-wood.\"\n\nWith a wild whoop, Leicester disappeared in the direction of the\nkitchen.\n\n\"Oh, grannymother,\" cried Dorothy, \"isn't it splendid that we can make\njust as much noise as we want to! Now you sit right here on the veranda,\nand enjoy the view; and don't you budge until you're called to supper.\"\nAnd with another war-whoop scarcely less noisy than her brother's,\nDorothy went dancing through the big rooms, followed by her two\nsisters.\n\nWhen she reached the kitchen, she found a fine fire blazing in the\nrange.\n\nLeicester sat on the settle, with his hands in his pockets, and wearing\na complacent air of achievement.\n\n\"Anything the matter with that fire?\" he inquired.\n\n\"How did you ever do it in such a minute?\" cried his twin, gazing\nadmiringly at her brother.\n\n\"Magic,\" said Leicester.\n\n\"Magic in the shape of Tessie,\" said Dorothy, laughing, as the\ngood-natured Irish girl appeared from the pantry.\n\n\"Right you are,\" said Leicester; \"that's Tessie's own fire. And she\ndidn't have to split up the furniture, for she says there's lots of wood\nand coal in the cellar.\"\n\n\"Well, did you ever!\" cried Dorothy; \"I wouldn't be a bit surprised to\nlearn that there was a gold mine in the parlor, or a pearl fishery up in\nthe tower.\"\n\n\"I'd rather learn that there is something to eat somewhere,\" said\nLeicester; \"I'm simply starving. What's the use of three sisters if\nthey can't get a fellow some supper?\"\n\n\"That's so,\" agreed Dorothy; \"and we all must go right to work. You\ncan't help with this part, Leicester. You skip away now, your turn will\ncome later. Now girls,\" she went on, as Leicester vanished, not without\nthe usual accompaniment of an ear-splitting yell, \"we're going to have\nan awful lot of fun; and we can make just as much noise and racket as we\nplease; but all the same there's a lot of work to be done, and we're\ngoing to do it, and do it properly. It's a great deal easier if we have\nsystem and method, and so we'll divide up the work and each of us must\ndo our own part, and do it thoroughly and promptly.\"\n\n\"Hear, hear!\" cried Lilian, who adored her older sister, and was more\nthan willing to obey her commands.\n\n\"What can I do?\" screamed Fairy, who was dancing round and round the\nkitchen, perching now on the window-seat, now on the table, and now on\nthe back or arm of the old settle.\n\n\"We must each have our definite work,\" went on Dorothy, who was herself\nsitting on the back of a chair with her feet on the wooden seat. \"Tessie\nwill have her share, but she can't do everything. So there's plenty for\nus to do. Grandma is not to do a thing, that's settled. If four women\nand a man can't take care of one dear old lady, it's high time they\nlearned how.\"\n\nAs the youngest of the four \"women\" was just then clambering up the\ncupboard shelves, and singing lustily at the top of her voice, some\npeople might have thought that the dear old lady in question had an\nuncertain outlook. But Dorothy was entirely undisturbed by the attitudes\nof her audience, and continued her discourse.\n\n\"I shall do the cooking,--that is, most of it. I'm a born cook, and I\nlove it; besides I want to learn, and so I'm going to try all sorts of\ndishes, and you children will have to eat them,--good or bad.\"\n\n\"I like to make cake and fancy desserts,\" said Lilian.\n\n\"All right, you can make them. And I'll make croquettes and omelets, and\nall sorts of lovely things, and Tessie can look after the boiling of\nthe potatoes and vegetables, and plain things like that. You haven't had\nmuch experience in cooking, have you, Tessie?\"\n\n\"No, Miss Dorothy; but I'm glad to learn, and I'll do just whatever you\ntell me.\"\n\n\"Fairy can set the table, and help with the dusting. We girls will each\ntake care of our own rooms, and Tessie can take care of Leicester's.\nI'll attend to grandma's room myself.\"\n\n\"Let me help with that,\" said Lilian.\n\n\"Yes, we'll all help; and we'll keep the parlors tidy, and Tessie can\nwash the dishes and look after the dining-room and kitchen. Leicester\ncan help with the out-of-door work; the grass ought to be mowed and the\npaths kept in order. But good gracious! none of this work is going to\namount to much. If we're spry, we can do it all up in less than no time,\nand have hours and hours left every day to play, and read, and go out on\nthe lake, and tramp in the woods, and just enjoy ourselves. Oh, isn't it\ngreat!\" and jumping to the floor with a bang, Dorothy seized the hands\nof the others, and in a moment all four were dancing around in a ring,\nwhile the three Dorrance voices loudly proclaimed that there was no\nplace like home.\n\nTessie had begun to grow accustomed to the boisterous young people, and\nas she thought everything they did was nothing short of perfection, she\nreadily adapted herself to her own part.\n\n\"What about the laundry-work, Miss Dorothy?\" she asked.\n\n\"Why, I don't know,\" said Dorothy. \"I hadn't really thought of that. I\nwonder if we can find a laundress anywhere around. We must ask Mr.\nHickox.\"\n\n\"Now, Miss Dorothy, if you'll let me, I'm just sure I can do the washing\nand ironing. With all these beautiful tubs and things, it'll be no\ntrouble at all, at all.\"\n\n\"Why if you could, Tessie, that would be fine. Let me see, we won't have\nmany white dresses or fancy things, but there'll be lots of sheets and\ntable linen. You know we're a pretty big family.\"\n\n\"Yes, miss; but I'm sure I can do it all. I'm strong, and I'm a good\nwasher.\"\n\n\"Well, we'll try it, anyway,\" said Dorothy, \"and see how you get along.\nWe girls will help a little more with your work on Mondays and Tuesdays,\nand then I think it will all come out right.\"\n\nDorothy was a singular mixture of capability and inconsequence.\n\nHer power of quick decision, and her confidence in her own ability, made\nher words a little dictatorial; but the gentleness of her nature, and\nthe winning smile which accompanied her orders took from them any touch\nof unpleasant authority. Dorothy's whole attitude was one of good\ncomradeship, and though much given to turbulent demonstration of her joy\nof living, she was innately of an equable temperament and had never been\nknown to lose her temper.\n\nLilian, on the other hand, was more excitable, and more prone to hasty\ndecisions which were afterwards rejected or revised. Lilian could get\nvery angry upon occasion, but she had a fine sense of justice; and if\nshe found herself in the wrong, she was more than ready to confess it\nand to make amends. The two girls really exercised a good influence over\none another, and the bonds of affection between them were very strong.\nIndeed the four Dorrances were a most loyal quartet; and though they\nteased each other, and made fun of each other, it was always in an\nhonest good-humored spirit that was quite willing to take as much as it\ngave.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nMRS. HICKOX\n\n\nAt six o'clock the family sat down to supper.\n\nDorothy had a lingering desire to use the great dining-room, but Mrs.\nDorrance had persuaded her that it was far more sensible to use the\nsmaller one, and she had pleasantly acquiesced.\n\nIndeed the smaller one was a large apartment, about four times the size\nof Mrs. Cooper's dining-room. The outlook across the lake was charming,\nand the room itself prettily decorated and furnished.\n\nFairy had wanted to use small tables, letting two sit at each table, but\nagain Grandma Dorrance had gently insisted on a family table.\n\nSo the small tables had been taken from the room, and a good-sized round\ndining-table substituted, at which Mrs. Dorrance presided. Leicester\nsat opposite her, Dorothy on one side, and the two younger girls on the\nother.\n\nVery attractive the table looked, for the china, glass and plated\nsilverware were all practically new, and of pretty design. Tessie was an\nexperienced and willing waitress; and it is safe to say that the\nDorrance family had never before so enjoyed a meal.\n\nMany hands had made light work, and Dorothy's had made light biscuits,\nand also a delicious omelet. They had strawberry jam and potted cheese,\nand some sliced boiled ham, all of which they had bought at the grocery\nshop on the way up.\n\n\"It's a sort of pick-up supper,\" said Dorothy; \"but I'm not saying this\nby way of apology. You will very often have a pick-up supper. Indeed, I\nthink almost always. We're going to have dinner in the middle of the\nday, because that's the better arrangement in the country.\"\n\nJust at that moment, nobody seemed to care what the dinner hour might\nbe, so interested were they in the supper under consideration.\n\n\"I think pick-ups are lovely,\" said Fairy, taking a fourth biscuit; \"I\nnever tasted anything so good as these biscuits, and I do hope\nDorothy'll make them three times a day. They are perfectly deliciorous!\"\n\n\"You're very flattering,\" said Dorothy. \"But I won't promise to make\nthem three times a day.\"\n\n\"I could eat them six times a day,\" declared Leicester; \"but I don't\nwant Dot to be cooking all the time. What do you think, girls, there are\nlots of boats of every sort and kind. Shall we go out rowing this\nevening, or wait till to-morrow?\"\n\n\"You'll wait till to-morrow,\" said grandma, quietly.\n\n\"All right, grandma,\" said Leicester; \"we'll start to-morrow morning\nright after breakfast; will you go, too?\"\n\n\"No, not on your first trip. I may go with you some time later in the\nseason. And I'll tell you now, children, once for all, that I'm going to\ntrust you to go on the lake whenever you choose; with the understanding\nthat you're to be sensible and honorable about it. The lake is very\ntreacherous; and if there is the least doubt about its being safe to\nventure out, you must ask Mr. Hickox about it, and if he advises you\nagainst it, you must not go. Also I trust you to act like reasonable\nhuman beings when you are in a boat, and not do foolish or rash things.\nIn a word, I trust you not to get drowned, and somehow I feel sure you\nwon't.\"\n\n\"Good for you, grannymother!\" cried Leicester; \"you're of the right\nsort. Why I've known grandmothers who would walk up and down the dock\nwringing their hands, for fear their geese weren't swans,--no, I guess I\nmean for fear their chickens weren't ducks. Well, anyhow, it doesn't\nmake any difference; you're the best grandmother in the world, and\nalways will be.\"\n\nAfter supper the Dorrances strolled through the hotel, and finally\nseated themselves in the great parlor.\n\nFairy plumped herself down in the middle of the floor, and sat\ncross-legged, with her chin in her hands.\n\n\"What's the matter, baby?\" asked Leicester; \"aren't these satin sofas\ngood enough for you?\"\n\n\"Yes, but I like to sit in the middle, and then I can look all around. I\nam just goating over it.\"\n\n\"Goat away; we're all doing the same thing,\" said Dorothy; \"now\ngrandmother, you sit on this sofa; and I'll go 'way down to the other\nend of the room, and sit on that one, and then we'll holler at each\nother. It's _such_ a relief not to be cooped up in a little bunch.\"\n\nThe twins seated themselves on opposite sides of the room, and then the\nconversation was carried on in loud tones, that delighted the hearts of\nthese noise-loving young people.\n\nSo merry were they that their laughter quite drowned the sound of the\ndoor-bell when it rang, and before they knew it, Tessie was ushering a\nvisitor into the parlor.\n\nThe great chandeliers had not been lighted, but the thoughtful Tessie\nhad filled and lighted several side lamps, so they were quite able to\nsee their somewhat eccentric-looking guest. She wore a black silk\nmantilla of an old-fashioned style; and her bonnet which was loaded\nwith dangling black bugles, was not much more modern. She was a small,\nthin little woman, with bright, snapping black eyes, and a sharp nose\nand chin.\n\n\"I'm Mrs. Hickox,\" she said, \"and I'm surprised that you people should\ncome to live in this great big hotel.\"\n\nAs Leicester said afterwards, if there had been any doubt as to the\nlady's identity, they would have felt sure, as soon as she declared her\nsurprise.\n\n\"We are glad to see you, Mrs. Hickox,\" said Grandma Dorrance, rising\nwith her gentle grace, and extending her hand in cordial greeting to her\nvisitor. \"Won't you be seated?\"\n\nMrs. Hickox sat down carefully on the edge of one of the chairs.\n\n\"I'm surprised,\" she said, \"that you should use this best room so\ncommon. Why don't you sit in some of the smaller rooms?\"\n\n\"We like this,\" said Grandma Dorrance, quietly. \"May I present my\ngrandchildren,--this is Dorothy.\"\n\nThe four were duly introduced, and really behaved remarkably well\nconsidering they were choking with laughter at Mrs. Hickox's continual\nsurprises.\n\n\"Do you propose to live in the whole house?\" asked Mrs. Hickox, after\nthe children had seated themselves a little more decorously than usual.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Dorrance, \"my grandchildren have been cooped up in\nsmall city rooms for so long, that they are glad to have plenty of space\nto roam around in.\"\n\n\"'Tisn't good for children to be left so free. It makes 'em regular\nhobbledehoys. Children need lots of training. Now that Dorothy,--my\nhusband tells me she's head of the house. How ridiculous!\"\n\n\"Perhaps it _is_ ridiculous, Mrs. Hickox,\" said Dorothy, dimpling and\nsmiling; \"but I'm over sixteen, and that's quite a big girl, you know.\"\n\n\"Oh, you're big enough for your age, but there's no sense of your\nkeeping house in a great big hotel like this.\"\n\n\"There's no sense in our doing anything else, Mrs. Hickox,\" said\nLeicester, coming to his sister's rescue. \"We own this place, and we\ncan't sell it or rent it, so the only thing to do is to live in it.\"\n\nMrs. Hickox shook her head until the jets on her bonnet rattled, and the\nchildren wondered if she wouldn't shake some of them off.\n\n\"No good will come of it,\" she said. \"This hotel has had six proprietors\nsince it was built, and none of them could make it pay.\"\n\n\"But we're not keeping a hotel, Mrs. Hickox,\" said Grandma Dorrance,\nsmiling; \"we're just living here in a modest, unpretentious way, and I\nthink my grandchildren are going to be happy here.\"\n\n\"Well, that's what Mr. Hickox said; but I wouldn't believe him, and I\nsaid I'd just come over to see for myself. It seems he was right, and I\nmust say I am surprised.\"\n\nMrs. Hickox was a nervous, fidgety woman, and waved her hands about in a\ncontinuous flutter. She was all the time picking at her bonnet-strings,\nor her dress-trimmings, or the fringe of her mantilla. Indeed once she\npulled the feather of her bonnet over in front of her eyes and then\ntossed it back with a satisfied smile. \"I often do that,\" she said, \"to\nmake sure it's there. It blew out one night, and I lost it. I found it\nagain and sewed it in tight, but I get worried about it every once in a\nwhile. I'm awful fond of dress, and I hope you brought a lot of new\npatterns up from the city. I've got a new-fangled skirt pattern, but I\ndon't like it because it has the pocket in the back. The idea! I was\nsurprised at that. I like a pocket right at my finger-ends all the\ntime.\"\n\nAs Mrs. Hickox spoke she thrust her five finger-ends in and out of her\npocket so rapidly and so many times, that Dorothy felt quite sure she\nwould wear her precious pocket to rags.\n\n\"What do you carry in your pocket?\" asked Fairy, fascinated by the\nperformance.\n\n\"Many things,\" said Mrs. Hickox, mysteriously; \"but mostly newspaper\nclippings. I tell you there's lots of good things in newspapers; and we\nhave a paper 'most every week, so of course I can cut out a good many.\nThe only trouble, cutting clippings out of a paper does spoil the paper\nfor covering shelves. The papers on my pantry shelves now have had some\nclippings cut out of them, but I just set piles of plates over the\nholes. Well, I must be going. I just came over to be sociable. I'm your\nnearest neighbor, and of course up here in the country neighbors have to\nbe neighborly, but I'm free to confess I don't favor borrowing nor\nlending. Woodville is nearer you than it is me, and I expect you'll do\nyour trading there.\"\n\n\"Of course we shall, Mrs. Hickox,\" said Dorothy, flushing a little; \"we\nare not the sort of people who borrow from our neighbors. But Mr. Hickox\ntold us that you sometimes had vegetables and eggs to sell; if that is\nso, we'd be glad to buy them.\"\n\n\"When I have them, miss, I'll let you know,\" said Mrs. Hickox, shaking\nher bugles more violently than ever. \"But you needn't come 'round\ninquiring for them; when I have them I'll let you know.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Dorothy, who was only amused, and not at all angry at\nher visitor's hostile attitude.\n\nBut Lilian could not so easily control her indignation. \"We can get\nvegetables and eggs at Woodville,\" she said. \"We don't really need any\nof yours.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, I guess that'll be the least of your troubles,\" said Mrs.\nHickox, edging towards the door, with a restless, jerky gait. \"You're\nlucky if the tank don't burst, or the windmill get out of order, or\nanything happen that will be really worth worrying over.\"\n\nBy this time Mrs. Hickox had backed out and edged along until she was on\nthe veranda. \"Good-bye,\" she said, awkwardly; \"come to see me, when you\nfeel to do so; but I ain't noways set on having company. I like the\nlittle one best, though.\"\n\nThis sudden avowal so startled Fairy, that she fell off the newel-post\nwhere she had been daintily balancing herself on one foot. As Leicester\ncaught her in his arms, no harm was done, but Mrs. Hickox ejaculated,\nwith a little more force than usual, \"Well, I _am_ surprised!\"\n\n\"That's why I tumbled over,\" said Fairy, looking intently at Mrs.\nHickox, \"'cause _I_ was so s'prised that you said you liked me best. If\nyou want me to, I'll come to see you with great pleasure and delight.\"\n\n\"Come once in a while,\" said Mrs. Hickox, cautiously; \"but I don't want\nyou racing there all the time.\"\n\n\"No, I won't race there all the time,\" said Fairy, seriously. \"I'll just\nrace down about once a day. Where do you live?\"\n\n\"I live in the yellow house,--the first one down the road. But you\nneedn't come more than once a week.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Fairy, cheerfully; \"we'll make it Wednesdays then. I\nlove to have things to do on Wednesday, 'cause I used to take my music\nlesson on that day, and it's so lonesome not to have anything special to\ndo.\"\n\nWhile Fairy was talking, Mrs. Hickox had shaken hands all around, and\nhad backed down the steps.\n\n\"Good-bye,\" she said, vigorously waving both hands as she went away.\n\n\"Well, of all queer people!\" exclaimed Dorothy, as they went back to the\nparlor. \"I'm glad we haven't many neighbors, if they're all like that.\nMr. Hickox is funny enough, but she's funnier yet.\"\n\n\"We don't care whether we have neighbors or not, we've got the Dorrance\nDomain,\" said Leicester; \"and that's enough to make us happy, and keep\nus so.\"\n\n\"So say we all of us,\" cried Lilian; \"the Dorrance Domain forever!\"\n\nAs usual, this was merely a signal for a series of jubilant hurrahs, and\nquiet Grandma Dorrance sat on her sofa, and listened contentedly to her\nhappy, if noisy brood.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE FLOATING BRIDGE\n\n\nNext morning the young Dorrances experienced for the first time the joy\nof going to market.\n\nTheir appointed household tasks were all done first, for Dorothy had\ninsisted on that. Then she and Tessie had conferred as to what was\nneeded, and she had made out a list.\n\nGrandma Dorrance had decreed against a sailboat for the children alone;\nbut they were at liberty to go in a rowboat.\n\nSo down the steps the four ran, and found Mr. Hickox waiting for them at\nthe dock.\n\nHe had put a boat in the water for them. It was a round-bottomed boat,\nbut wide and roomy; easy to row and provided with two pairs of shining\noars.\n\n\"Can any of you row?\" inquired Mr. Hickox, looking uncertainly at the\nchildren; \"for I can't go along with you this morning. Mrs. Hickox, she\nwants me to work in the garden,--she says the weeds are higher 'n a\nkite.\"\n\n\"We can row,\" said Leicester; \"but not so very well. We haven't had much\nexperience, you know. But we're going to learn.\"\n\n\"I thought we'd each have a boat,\" said Fairy; \"I want to learn to row.\nI want to be a 'sperinshed boat-lady.\"\n\n\"You can learn to row, baby, but you can't go in a boat all by yourself\nuntil you _have_ learned.\"\n\n\"But I 'most know how now.\"\n\n\"Well I'll tell you how we'll fix it; two of us will row going over, and\nthe other two can row coming back. To divide up evenly, suppose Dorothy\nand Lilian row over, and Fairy and I will row home.\" This was a bit of\nself-sacrifice on Leicester's part, for he was most eager to handle the\noars himself.\n\nMr. Hickox quite appreciated the boy's attitude, and nodded approvingly\nat him but he only said: \"All right, sonny, you sit in the stern and\nsteer, and I make no doubt these young ladies'll row you over in fine\nshape.\"\n\nFairy was safely settled in the bow, with an admonition to sit still for\nonce in her life; and then Dorothy and Lilian excitedly grasped the oars\nand splashed away.\n\nIt was not very skilful rowing, but it propelled the boat, and by the\naid of Leicester's steering, they made a progressive, if somewhat zigzag\ncourse.\n\nThe morning was perfect. The lake calm and placid, with tiny soft\nripples all over it. The green hills sloped down to its shore on all\nsides; while here and there, at long intervals, a house or a building\ngleamed white among the trees. The exhilarating air, and the excitement\nof the occasion roused the Dorrances' spirits far above normal,--which\nis saying a great deal.\n\nThe arms of the rowers grew very tired; partly because they were so\nunused to vigorous exercise, and partly because the rowing was far more\nenergetic than scientific.\n\nBut the girls didn't mind being tired, and pulled away gleefully to an\naccompaniment of laughter and song.\n\nLeicester would have relieved them, but they had promised grandma they\nwould not move around or change places in the boat until they had become\nmore accustomed to nautical ways.\n\nBut it was only a mile, after all, and they finally landed at Dolan's\nPoint, and guided the bow of their boat up on to the beach in a truly\nshipshape manner. Fairy sprang out with a bound that landed her on the\ndry sand; Leicester followed, and then helped the exhausted but\nvictorious galley-slaves to alight.\n\n\"Isn't it glorious!\" cried Dorothy, panting for breath, but aglow with\nhappiness.\n\n\"Fine!\" agreed Lilian, but she looked a little ruefully at eight\nblisters on her pink palms.\n\n\"That's all right,\" said Leicester, cheerfully; \"you'll get calloused\nafter a while; blisters always have to come first.\"\n\n\"Oh, pooh, I don't mind them a bit,\" protested Lilian; for the Dorrances\nwere all of a plucky disposition.\n\nOn they went, following the directions given them by Mr. Hickox, and\nmaking wonderful explorations at every turn.\n\nDolan's Point seemed to be occupied principally by a large boathouse.\nThis belonged to a club-house, which was farther up the hill, and whose\nturrets and gables shining in the morning sunlight, looked like those of\nan old castle.\n\nTheir way lay across the point, and then they were to cross a small arm\nof the lake by means of a bridge.\n\nDorothy had hoped for a rustic bridge, and Leicester had told her that\nit would probably be two foot-planks and a hand-rail.\n\nBut when they saw the bridge itself, they were really struck speechless\nwith wonder and delight. It was a floating bridge, built of logs. It was\nperhaps eight feet wide, and was made by logs laid transversely and\nclose together. They were held in place by immense iron chains which\nwent alternately over and under the logs at their ends. Except at the\nsides of the bridge, the logs were not visible for they were covered\nwith a deep layer of soil on which grew luxuriant green grass. The thick\ngrass had been mowed and cared for until it resembled a soft velvet\ncarpet.\n\nOn either side of the bridge was a hand-rail of rope, supported at\nintervals by wooden uprights. The rope rails and the uprights were both\ncovered with carefully trained vines. Among these were morning-glory\nvines, and their pink and purple blossoms made an exquisite floral\ndecoration.\n\nEvidently the bridge was in charge of somebody who loved to care for it,\nand who enjoyed keeping it in order.\n\n\"Do you suppose we walk on it?\" asked Fairy, with a sort of awe in her\nvoice.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Leicester. \"It must be meant for that; but isn't it the most\nbeautiful thing you ever saw!\"\n\nIt certainly was, and the children stepped on to it gently, and walked\nslowly as one would walk in a church aisle.\n\nAlthough suspended at both ends, almost the whole length of the bridge\nrested on the water, and swayed gently with the rippling of the lake. It\nwas a delicious sensation to walk on the unstable turf, and feel it move\nslightly under foot.\n\nAs they advanced further, it seemed as if they were floating steadily\nalong, and Fairy grasped Leicester's hand with a little tremor. When\nthey reached the middle of the bridge they all sat down on the grass,\nand discussed the wonderful affair.\n\n\"I shall spend most of my time here,\" said Dorothy; \"it seems to be\npublic property, and I like it better than any park I have ever seen.\"\n\n\"It's lovely,\" agreed Lilian; \"I'd like to bring a book and sit here all\nday and read.\"\n\n\"But it's so funny,\" said Fairy; \"it's a bridge, and it's a park, and\nit's a garden, and it's a front yard,--and yet all the time it's a\nbridge.\"\n\n\"Well, let's go on,\" said Leicester. \"I suppose it will keep, and we can\nwalk back over it. And if we don't get our marketing done, we'll be like\nthe old woman who didn't get home in time to make her apple-dumplings.\"\n\n\"If she had found this bridge,\" declared Dorothy, \"she never would have\ngone home at all, and her story would never have been told.\"\n\nBut they all scrambled up and went on merrily towards the grocery store.\n\nThe store itself was a delight, as real country stores always are. Mr.\nBill Hodges was a storekeeper of the affable type, and expressed great\ninterest in his new customers.\n\nHe regaled them with ginger-snaps and thin slivers of cheese, which he\ncut off and proffered on the point of a huge shiny-bladed knife. This\nrefreshment was very acceptable, and when he supplemented it with a\nglass of milk all around, Dorothy was so grateful that she felt as if\nshe ought to buy out his whole stock.\n\nBut putting on a most housewifely air, she showed Mr. Hodges her list of\nneeds, and inquired if he could supply them.\n\n\"Bless your heart, yes,\" he replied. \"Bill Hodges is the man to purvide\nyou with them things. Shall I send 'em to you?\"\n\n\"Oh, can you?\" said Dorothy. \"I didn't know you delivered goods. I'd be\nglad if you would send the bag of flour and the potatoes, but most of\nthe smaller things we can carry ourselves.\"\n\n\"Well I swan!\" exclaimed Mr. Bill Hodges; \"you're real bright, you air.\nHow did ye come over? Walk?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" said Leicester. \"We came in a rowboat; and then walked across\nthe Point and over the bridge. We think that bridge very wonderful.\"\n\n\"And very beautiful,\" added Lilian. \"Who keeps it so nice?\"\n\n\"And doesn't it ever fall down in the water?\" asked Fairy; \"or doesn't\nthe mud wash off, or don't people fall off of it and get drownded? and\nhow do you cut the grass, and how do you water the flowers? It's just\nlike a conservatorory!\"\n\nAs Mr. Bill Hodges was something of a talker himself, he was surprised\nto be outdone in his own line by the golden-haired stranger-child, who,\napparently without effort, reeled off such a string of questions. But as\nthey referred to a subject dear to his heart he was delighted to answer\nthem.\n\n\"That bridge, my young friends, is my joy and delight. Nobody touches\nthat bridge, to take care of it, but Bill Hodges,--that's me. I'm proud\nof that bridge, I am, and I don't know what I'd do, if I didn't have it\nto care for. I'm glad you like it; I ain't got nary chick nor child to\nrun across it. So whenever you young folks feel like coming over to look\nat it, I'll be pleased and proud to have ye; pleased and proud, that's\nwhat I'll be; so come early and come often, come one and come all.\"\n\n\"We'll bring our grandmother over to see it,\" said Dorothy, \"just as\nsoon as we can manage to do so.\"\n\n\"Do,\" said Mr. Hodges, heartily. \"Bring her along, bring her along. Glad\nto welcome her, I'm sure. Now I'll go 'long and help you tote your\nbundles to your boat. I don't have crowds of customers this time of day,\nand I can just as well go as not.\"\n\nThe kind-hearted old man filled a basket with their purchases, and\ntrudged along beside the children.\n\n\"Ain't it purty!\" he exclaimed as they crossed the bridge. \"Oh, _ain't_\nit purty?\"\n\n\"It is,\" said Dorothy. \"I don't wonder you love it.\"\n\n\"And there ain't another like it in the whole world,\" went on the\nprideful Hodges. \"Of course there are floating bridges, but no-wheres is\nthere one as purty as this.\"\n\nThe children willingly agreed to this statement, and praised the bridge\nquite to the content of its owner.\n\n\"Fish much?\" Mr. Hodges inquired casually of Leicester.\n\n\"Well, we haven't yet. You see we only arrived yesterday, and we're not\nfairly settled yet.\"\n\n\"Find plenty of fishin' tackle over to my place. Come along when you're\nready, and Bill Hodges'll fit ye out. Pretty big proposition,--you kids\nshakin' around in that great empty hotel.\"\n\n\"Yes, but we like it,\" said Leicester; \"it just suits us, and we're\ngoing to have a fine time all summer.\"\n\n\"Hope ye will, hope ye will. There ain't been nobody livin' there now\nfor two summers and I'm right down glad to have somebody into it.\"\n\n\"Why do you suppose they couldn't make it pay as a hotel?\" asked\nDorothy.\n\n\"Well, it was most always the proprietor's fault. Yes, it was the\nproprietor's fault. Nice people would come up there to board, and then\nHarding,--he was the last fellow that tried to run it,--he wouldn't\ntreat 'em nice. He'd scrimp 'em, and purty nigh starve 'em. Ye can't\nkeep boarders that way. And so of course the boarders kept leavin', and\nso the hotel got a bad name, and so nobody wants to try a hand at it\nagain.\"\n\nWhen they reached the boat, Mr. Hodges stowed their basket away for\nthem, helped the children in and pushed the boat off.\n\nWith gay good-byes and promises to come soon again, the children rowed\naway.\n\nLeicester and Fairy took the oars this time, and Fairy's comical\nsplashing about made fun for them all. She soon declared she had rowed\nenough for one day, but Leicester proved himself well able to get the\nboat across the lake without assistance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE HICKOXES AT HOME\n\n\nOn Wednesday morning Fairy declared her intention of visiting Mrs.\nHickox. She carried her kitten with her, and danced gaily along the\nroad, singing as she went.\n\nShe found the house without any trouble, as it was the only one in\nsight; and opening the front gate, she walked up the flower-bordered\npath to the house, still singing loudly. She wore the kitten around her\nneck as a sort of boa, and this seemed to be a satisfactory arrangement\nto all concerned, for the kitten purred contentedly.\n\nFairy rapped several times at the front door, but there was no answer;\nso she walked leisurely around to the side of the house. There she saw\nanother outside door, which seemed to open into a small room or ell\nattached to the house. She knocked at this door, and it was opened by\nMrs. Hickox herself, but such a different looking Mrs. Hickox from the\none who had called on them, that Fairy scarcely recognized her. Her hair\nwas done up in crimping pins, and she wore a short black skirt and a\nloose white sacque.\n\n\"Goodness me!\" she exclaimed, \"have you come traipsing over here\na'ready? What's the matter with your hotel, that you can't stay in it?\"\n\n\"There's nothing a matter with the hotel, Mrs. Hickox,\" said Fairy,\namiably; \"but I said I'd come to see you on Wednesday, and so I came.\nI've brought my kitten.\"\n\n\"You've brought your kitten! for the land sake what did you do that for?\nDon't you know this is my milk-room? The idea of a kitten in a\nmilk-room! Well I _am_ surprised!\"\n\n\"Oh, I think a milk-room is just the place for a kitten. Couldn't you\ngive her a little drink of milk, she's awfully fond of it.\"\n\n\"Why I s'pose I could give her a little. Such a mite of a cat wouldn't\nwant much; but I do hate cats; they're such pestering creatures.\"\n\n\"But this one doesn't pester, Mrs. Hickox,\" said Fairy, earnestly.\n\"She's such a dear good little kitty. Her name is Mike.\"\n\n\"What a ridiculous name! I'm surprised that you should call her that.\"\n\n\"It isn't much of a name,\" said Fairy, apologetically. \"But you see it's\nonly temporaneous. I couldn't think of just the right name, so I just\ncall her Mike, because that's short for my kitten.\"\n\n\"Mike! short for my kitten! Well so it is, but I never thought of it\nbefore.\"\n\n\"All our other animals have regular names,\" volunteered Fairy. \"Our\ndog,--his name's Dare; our two rabbits are Gog and Magog,--Leicester\nnamed them; or at least he named one, and let Lilian name the other.\nThey're twins you know,--the rabbits, I mean. Then we have a canary bird\nand he's named Bobab. That's a nice name, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Nice name? It's heathenish! What a queer lot of children you are,\nanyway.\"\n\n\"Yes, aren't we?\" said Fairy, agreeably. \"We Dorrances are all queer. I\nguess we inheritated it from my grandpa's people, because my grandma\nisn't a bit queer.\"\n\n\"Oh, isn't she? I think she's queer to let you children come up here,\nand do what you are doing.\"\n\n\"Oh, that isn't queer. You only think my grandma queer because you don't\nknow her. Why, I used to think you quite queer before I knew you as well\nas I do now.\"\n\n\"You consider yourself well acquainted now, do you?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; when anybody visits anybody sociaberly, like I do you, they\nknow each other quite well. But I think it's queer why you call this\nroom a milk-room.\" Fairy looked around at the shelves and tables which\nwere filled with jars and pans and baskets, and receptacles of all\nsorts. The floor was of brick, and the room was pleasantly cool, though\nthe weather had begun to be rather warm.\n\n\"I call it a milk-room because that's its name,\" said Mrs. Hickox,\nshortly.\n\n\"But _why_ is that its name?\" persisted Fairy. \"You keep everything\nelse here as well as milk. Why don't you call it the butter-room or the\npie-room?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know. Don't pester me so with your questions. Here's a\ncookie; now I'll take you in the house, and show you the best room, and\nthen you must go home. I don't like to have little girls around very\nmuch. Come along, but don't eat your cookie in the house; you'll make\ncrumbs. Put it in your pocket until you get out of doors again.\"\n\n\"I won't pester,\" said Fairy; \"you just go on with your work, whatever\nyou were doing, and I'll play around by myself.\"\n\n\"By yourself! I guess you won't! Do you suppose I want a great girl like\nyou rampoosing around my house! I've seen you fly around! You'd upset\neverything.\"\n\n\"I expect I would, Mrs. Hickox,\" said Fairy, laughing. \"I just certainly\ncan't sit still; it gives me the widgets.\"\n\n\"I guess I won't take you into the best room after all, then. Like as\nnot you'd knock the doves over.\"\n\n\"Oh, do let me go! What are the doves? I'll promise not to knock them\nover, and I'll hold Mike tight so she can't get away. Oh, come, oh,\ncome; show me the best room!\"\n\nAs Mrs. Hickox's parlor was the pride of her life, and as she rarely had\nopportunity to exhibit it to anybody, she was glad of even a child to\nshow it to. So bidding Fairy be very careful not to touch a thing, she\nled her through the hall and opened the door of the sacred best room.\n\nIt was dark inside, and it smelled a little musty. Mrs. Hickox opened\none of the window-blinds for the space of about two inches, but even\nwhile she was doing so, Fairy had flown around the room, and flung open\nall of the other window sashes and blinds. Then before Mrs. Hickox could\nfind words to express her wrath at this desecration, Fairy had begun a\nrunning fire of conversation which left her hostess no chance to utter a\nword.\n\n\"Oh, are these the doves? How perfectly lovely!\" she cried, pausing on\ntip-toe in front of a table on which was a strange-shaped urn of white\nalabaster, filled with gaily- artificial flowers. On opposite\nsides of the rim of the urn were two stuffed white doves, facing each\nother across the flowers. \"Where did you get them? Are they alive? Are\nthey stuffed? What are their eyes made of? Were they your grandmother's?\nOh, one of them had his wing broken. You sewed it on again, didn't you?\nBut the stitches show. My sister has some glue, white glue, that would\nfix that bird up just fine. When I come next Wednesday, I'll bring that\nglue with me and we'll rip off that wing and fix it up all right.\"\n\n\"Well, I _am_ surprised!\" said Mrs. Hickox. \"What do children like you\nknow about such things? But still, if you think it would do well, I'd\nlike to try it. I've got a newspaper clipping about that white glue, but\nI never saw any. Has your grandma unpacked her dress patterns yet?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Fairy. \"I don't think she has any. We never make\nour own dresses.\"\n\n\"For the land sake! Why I thought they looked home-made. Well I _am_\nsurprised! But hurry up and see the room, for I want to get them\nshutters shut again.\"\n\nFairy didn't see anything in the room that interested her greatly. The\nred-flowered carpet, the stiff black horsehair chairs, and the\nmarble-topped centre-table moved her neither to admiration nor mirth.\n\n\"I've seen it all, thank you,\" she said. \"Do you want it shut up again?\nWhat do you keep it so shut up for? Do you like to have it all musty and\ndamp? I should think some of your newspaper clippings would tell you to\nthrow open your windows and let in the fresh air and sunshine.\"\n\n\"Why they do say that,\" said Mrs. Hickox; \"but of course I don't take it\nto mean the best room.\"\n\n\"We do,\" said Fairy, dancing around from window to window as she shut\nthe blinds. \"We have that great big parlor over at the Dorrance Domain\nflung wide open most of the time; and the little parlors, too, and the\ndining-room and all our bedrooms.\"\n\n\"Well, I _am_ surprised!\" said Mrs. Hickox. \"It must fade your carpets\nall out, doesn't it?\"\n\n\"I don't know; we haven't been there three days yet, so of course they\nhaven't faded very much. I guess I must go home now. Leicester went out\nfishing this morning, and Dorothy and Lilian went to market, and I'm\njust crazy to see what they've accumerated.\"\n\n\"Well, run along,\" said Mrs. Hickox; \"and you can come again next\nWednesday, but don't bring your kitten the next time. When you do come\nagain, I wish you'd bring some of that white glue you were talking\nabout; I would certainly like to try it. Here, wait a minute, I'll give\nyou some gum-drops; then you'll remember the glue, won't you?\"\n\n\"I'd remember it anyway, Mrs. Hickox; but I do love candy,\nper-tickle-uly gum-drops.\"\n\n\"Well, here's three; don't eat them all to-day.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Mrs. Hickox,\" said Fairy, taking the three precious bits of\ncandy. Then saying good-bye, she danced away with her kitten tucked\nunder her arm.\n\nShortly after Fairy's departure, Mr. Hickox came dawdling along towards\nhis own home.\n\n\"I do declare, Hickory Hickox, if you haven't been and wasted the whole\nmorning, fooling with those Dorrance young ones! Now what have you been\ndoing?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothin' in particular. Just helpin' 'em get settled a bit. Lookin'\nafter their boats and things, and buildin' a little house for them\nrabbits of theirs. That Leicester, he's a smart chap; handy with tools,\nand quick to catch on to anything.\"\n\n\"Well I _am_ surprised! Wasting a whole morning building a rabbit-coop!\"\n\n\"For the land's sake, Susan, it ain't wasted time. They pay me for all I\ndo for 'em, and they pay me well, too.\"\n\n\"They're extravagant people. They have no business to hire you to work\naround so much, when you've got plenty to do at home.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't worry; Hickox'll look after things. It'll be all right.\"\n\nThough he spoke carelessly, Mr. Hickox was in reality much disturbed by\nhis wife's sharp speeches. Long years of married life with her had not\nyet enabled his gentle, peace-loving nature to remain unruffled under\nher stormy outbursts of temper. He stood, unconsciously and nervously\nfumbling with a wisp of straw he had plucked from a near-by broom.\n\n\"You're shiftless and idle, Hickory, and you don't know what's good for\nyourself. Now do stop fiddling with that straw. First thing you know,\nyou'll be poking it in your ear. I cut out a newspaper clipping only\nyesterday, about a man who poked a straw in his ear, and it killed him.\nThat's what you'll come to some day.\"\n\n\"No, I won't.\"\n\n\"Yes, you will! But just you remember this safe rule: never put anything\nin your ear, but your elbow. But you're so forgetful. I am surprised\nthat a man _can_ be as forgetful as you are! Throw that straw\naway,--it's safer.\"\n\n\"Yes, it's safer, Susan,\" and Mr. Hickox threw his straw away. \"And when\nyou sit down to dinner, I hope you will tie yourself into your chair.\nYou may not fall off, but it's safer.\"\n\nMrs. Hickox gave her husband a scornful look, which was all the reply\nshe usually vouchsafed to his occasional shafts of mild sarcasm.\n\n\"That big dog is a ridiculous extravagance,\" she went on. \"He must eat\nas much as a man. I am surprised that people as poor as they are should\nkeep such a raft of animals.\"\n\n\"Why the Dorrances aren't poor.\"\n\n\"Yes they are; and if they aren't they soon will be. Throwin' open that\ngreat big house for them few people, is enough to ruin a millionaire.\nThat little girl says they use nearly every room in it.\"\n\n\"So they do,\" said Mr. Hickox, chuckling; \"when I went over there this\nmorning, they was every one in a different room; happy as clams, and\nnoisy as a brass band.\"\n\n\"They're a terrible lot! I never saw anything like them.\"\n\n\"That Dorothy is a smart one,\" declared Mr. Hickox, with an air of great\nconviction. \"Some day she'll set Lake Ponetcong on fire!\"\n\n\"I wouldn't be at all surprised,\" said Mrs. Hickox, which was, all\nthings considered, a remarkable statement.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nSIX INVITATIONS\n\n\nJune came, and found the Dorrance Domain in full working order. The\nexperiment seemed to be proving a complete success; and the six people\nwho lived in the big hotel were collectively and individually happy.\n\nGrandma Dorrance realized that all was well, and gave the children\nabsolute liberty to do as they pleased from morning to night, feeling\ngrateful that the circumstances permitted her to do this. Besides\nenjoying their happiness, the dear old lady was quite happy and\ncontented on her own account. The delightful bracing air made her feel\nbetter and stronger; and the entire freedom from care or responsibility\nquieted her nerves.\n\nDorothy was complete mistress of the house. The responsibilities of this\nposition had developed many latent capabilities of her nature, and she\nwas daily proving herself a sensible, womanly girl, with a real talent\nfor administration, and much executive ability. She was very kind to\nTessie, realizing that the Irish, girl had no friends or companions of\nher own class around her; but Dorothy also preserved a certain dignified\nattitude, which became the relation of mistress and maid. She ordered\nthe household affairs with good judgment, and was rapidly becoming an\nexpert cook. This part of the domestic work specially appealed to her,\nand she thoroughly enjoyed concocting elaborate dishes for the\ndelectation of her family. Sometimes these confections did not turn out\nquite right; but Dorothy was not discouraged, and cheerfully threw away\nthe uneatable messes, and tried the same difficult recipes again, until\nshe had conquered them.\n\nThe flaw in Dorothy's character was an over self-confidence; but this\nwas offset by her sunny good-humored disposition, and she gaily accepted\nthe situation, when the others teased her about her failures.\n\nThe days passed like beautiful dreams. The family rose late, as there\nwas no special reason why they should rise early. The children spent\nmuch time on the water in their rowboats, and also renewed their\nacquaintance with Captain Kane, who took them frequently for a little\nexcursion in the _Mamie Mead_.\n\nBut perhaps best of all, Dorothy liked the hours she spent lying in a\nhammock, reading or day-dreaming.\n\nShe was fond of books, and had an ambition to write poetry herself. This\nwas not a romantic tendency, but rather a desire to express in\nbeautiful, happy language the joy of living that was in her heart.\n\nShe rarely spoke of this ambition to the others, for they did not\nsympathize with it, and frankly expressed very positive opinions that\nshe was not a poet and never would be. Indeed, they said that Fairy had\nmore imagination and poetic temperament then Dorothy.\n\nDorothy was willing to agree to this, for she in no way over-estimated\nher own talent,--she was merely acutely conscious of her great desire to\nwrite things.\n\nSo often for a whole afternoon she would lie in a hammock under the\ntrees, looking across the lake at the hills and the sky, and\nassimilating the wonderful beauty of it all. This dreamy side of\nDorothy's nature seemed to be in sharp contrast to her practical\nenergetic power of work; it also seemed incongruous with her intense\nlove of fun and her enjoyment of noisy, rollicking merriment.\n\nBut these different sides reacted on each other, and combined with\nDorothy's natural frankness and honesty, made a sweet and wholesome\ncombination. Had Dorothy been an only child, she might have been given\ntoo much to solitude and introspection; but by the counteracting\ninfluences of her diverting family, and her care of their welfare, she\nwas saved from such a fate.\n\nOne day she was suddenly impressed with a conviction that Grandma\nDorrance must often feel lonely, and that something ought to be done to\ngive her some special pleasure.\n\n\"We all have each other,\" said Dorothy to the other children, \"but\ngrandma can't go chasing around with us, and she ought to have somebody\nto amuse her, at least for a time. So I think it would be nice to invite\nMrs. Thurston up here to spend a week with us.\"\n\nMrs. Thurston was a lifelong friend of Mrs. Dorrance's, and moreover was\na lady greatly liked by the Dorrance children.\n\n\"It would be very nice,\" said grandma, much gratified by Dorothy's\nthoughtfulness; \"I don't really feel lonely, you know; it isn't that.\nBut I would enjoy having Mrs. Thurston here for a time, and I am sure\nshe would enjoy it too.\"\n\n\"Hooray for Mrs. Thurston!\" shouted Leicester; \"and say, Dot, I'd like\nto have company too. S'pose we ask Jack Harris to come up for a few\ndays. I'm the only boy around these parts, and I declare I'd like to\nhave a chum. Meaning no slight to my revered sisters.\"\n\n\"I want Gladys Miller,\" said Fairy. \"The twins have each other, and\nDorothy has grandma, but I don't seem to have any little playmate, 'cept\nMrs. Hickox, and she's so supernumerated.\"\n\nThey all laughed at this, but Dorothy said, \"Why, we'll each invite one\nguest. That's a fine idea! There's plenty of room, and as to the extra\nwork, if we all do a little more each day, it won't amount to much. I'll\nask Edith Putnam, and Lilian, of course, you'll want May Lewis.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course,\" cried Lilian; \"I'd love to have May up here. I never\nonce thought of it before.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you what!\" exclaimed Leicester. \"Now here's a really\nbrilliant idea. Let Tessie invite some friend of hers too, and then she\ncan help you girls with the work.\"\n\n\"That _is_ a good idea,\" said Grandma Dorrance, approvingly. \"We'd have\nto have extra help, with so many more people, and if Tessie has any\nfriend who would like to come for a week, it would be very satisfactory.\nOf course we will pay her wages.\"\n\n\"Wowly-wow-wow!\" exclaimed Leicester; \"won't we have rackets! I say,\nDot, give Jack that other tower room, right over mine, will you? He'd\nlike it first-rate.\"\n\n\"Yes, and we'll give Mrs. Thurston that big pleasant room next to\ngrandma's. Tessie and I will begin to-day to get the rooms ready.\"\n\n\"Hold on, sis, don't go too fast; you haven't had any acceptances yet to\nthe invitations you haven't yet sent!\"\n\n\"No, but they'll all come fast enough; we'll each write to-day, and\nwe'll tell the people to get together, and all come up in a bunch,\" said\nLilian. \"I know May Lewis's mother wouldn't let her come alone, but with\nMrs. Thurston, it will be all right.\"\n\n\"And Captain Kane can bring the whole crowd up from the station,\" said\nLeicester; \"and we'll row down to the lock to meet them. And we'll have\nflags and bonfires and Chinese lanterns for a celebration. There's lots\nof Chinese lanterns up in one of the storerooms,--we'll just have to get\nsome candles. Jiminy! won't it be fun!\"\n\n\"Perhaps it will be too hard on you, Dorothy,\" said Mrs. Dorrance;\n\"doubling the family means a great deal of extra cooking, you know.\"\n\n\"Oh, that will be all right, grannymother; and perhaps the lady Tessie\ninvites will be able to help out with the cooking.\"\n\n\"Gladys's room must be next to mine,\" said Fairy, \"so we can be\nsociarbubble. I shall take her to see Mrs. Hickox the first thing, and\nshe'll proberly give us two gum-drops apiece.\"\n\nFairy's friendship with Mrs. Hickox was a standing joke in the family,\nand that lady's far from extravagant gifts of confectionery caused great\nhilarity among the younger Dorrances.\n\nFull of their new project, they all flew to write their letters of\ninvitation, and within an hour the six missives were ready, and\nLeicester volunteered to row over to Woodville with them. Tessie was\ndelighted at the prospect, when Dorothy explained it to her.\n\n\"Shure, I'll ask me mother,\" she exclaimed; \"she's afther bein' a fine\ncook, Miss Dorothy, an' yez'll niver regret the day she comes. Indade,\nshe can turn her hand to annythin'.\"\n\nAlthough Tessie was a superior type of Irish girl, and usually spoke\nfairly good English, when excited, she always dropped into a rich\nbrogue which greatly delighted the children.\n\n\"Just the thing, Tessie; write for your mother at once, or I'll write\nfor you, if you like, and I hope she'll come up with the rest of them.\"\n\n\"Shure, she will, Miss Dorothy; she lives all alone an' she can come as\naisy as not. An' she's that lonesome for me, you wouldn't believe! Och,\nbut she'll be glad of the chance.\"\n\nFeeling sure that most if not all of their guests would accept the\ninvitations, Dorothy, Lilian and Tessie,--more or less hindered by\nFairy, who tried hard to help,--spent the afternoon arranging the\nbedrooms. It was a delightful task, for everything that was needed\nseemed to be at hand in abundance. The hotel when built, had been most\nlavishly and elaborately furnished, even down to the smallest details.\nThe successive proprietors had apparently appreciated the value of the\nappointments, and had kept them in perfect order and repair. Moreover,\nas their successive seasons had been a continuous series of failures,\nand few guests had stayed at the hotel, there had been little wear and\ntear.\n\nAlthough Mrs. Hickox had not lost her grudging demeanor regarding her\neggs and vegetables, yet Fairy was able to wheedle some flowers from her\nnow and then, with the result that the Dorrance Domain had assumed a\nmost attractive and homelike general effect.\n\nOf course, the individual rooms showed the taste and hobbies of their\nseveral owners; while the large parlor which the family had come to use\nas a general living-room had entirely lost all resemblance to a hotel\nparlor, and had become the crowning glory of the Dorrance Domain. The\nDorrances had a way of leaving the impress of their personality upon all\ntheir belongings; and since the big hotel belonged to them, it had\nnecessarily grown to look like their home.\n\n\"I think,\" said Dorothy, \"if they all come, it would be nicer to use the\nbig dining-room.\"\n\n\"And the little tables,\" cried Fairy; \"two at each one, you know. Me and\nGladys at one, and Leicester and Jack at another, and grandma and----\"\n\n\"Oh, no, Fairy,\" said grandma, \"that wouldn't be nice at all. It\nwouldn't even be polite. Use the big dining-room, if you wish, but let\nus all sit at one table. Surely, you can find a table big enough for\nten.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" cried Leicester; \"there are a lot of great big round\ntable-tops in the storeroom. They're marked 'banquet tables'; one of\nthose will be just the thing.\"\n\n\"What do you do with a table-top, if it doesn't have any legs?\" asked\nFairy. \"Do you put it on the floor, and all of us sit on the floor\naround it, like turkeys?\"\n\n\"I suppose you mean Turks,\" said Leicester, instructively; \"but no, we\ndon't arrange it just that way. We simply put the big round table-top on\ntop of the table we are now using, and there you are!\"\n\n\"It will be beautiful,\" said Dorothy. \"I do love a round table. You can\nmake it look so lovely with flowers and things. I hope they'll all\ncome.\"\n\nDorothy's hopes were fulfilled, and every one of the six who were\ninvited sent a delighted acceptance. Tessie's mother, perhaps,\nexpressed the most exuberant pleasure, but all seemed heartily glad to\ncome.\n\nThey were invited for a week, and were expected to arrive one Thursday\nafternoon at about four o'clock.\n\nVast preparations had been made, for every one was interested especially\nin one guest, and each made ready in some characteristic way.\n\nDorothy, as housekeeper, spent all her energies on the culinary\npreparations. She delighted the heart of Mr. Bill Hodges by her generous\norders, and she and Tessie had concocted a pantry-full of good things\nfor the expected visitors.\n\nLilian had put the hotel in apple-pie order, and given finishing touches\nto the guests' rooms, and Fairy had performed her part by inducing Mrs.\nHickox to let them have an extra lot of flowers. These flowers were all\nof old-fashioned varieties which grew luxuriantly in Mrs. Hickox's\ngarden; and arranged with Lilian's exquisite taste, and by her deft\nfingers, they made really lovely decorations for parlor, dining-room and\nbedrooms.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nGUESTS FOR ALL\n\n\nAs the guests would reach the Dorrance Domain by daylight, Leicester's\nplan of illuminating the grounds was scarcely feasible. But he had hung\nthe Chinese lanterns on the veranda, and among the trees, and had put\ncandles inside them, so they could light them up, and have their\ncelebration in the evening.\n\nIt was arranged that the twins should row down to meet the _Mamie Mead_\nand then get on board, and escort the guests up the lake, towing their\nown rowboat.\n\nDorothy preferred to stay at home, to attend to some last important\ndetails in the kitchen, and Fairy said she would sit with grandma on the\nveranda, and await the arrival.\n\nSoon after four o'clock, Fairy ran into the house screaming to Dorothy\nthat the _Mamie Mead_ was in sight. This gave Dorothy ample time to run\nup-stairs for a final brush to her hair, and a final adjustment of her\nribbons, and there was no air of a flurried or perturbed housekeeper\nabout the calm and graceful girl who sauntered out on the veranda to\ngreet her guests.\n\nFairy danced half-way down the steps to the dock, and then danced back\nagain hand-in-hand with Gladys Miller. The others came up more slowly,\nand Grandma Dorrance rose with pleasure to welcome her dear friend Mrs.\nThurston.\n\nThen there was a general chorus of excited greetings all around.\n\nThe newcomers were so astonished and delighted at the novelty of the\nsituation, that they could not restrain their enthusiasm; and the\nresidents of the Dorrance Domain were so proud and happy to offer such\nunusual hospitality, that they too, were vociferously jubilant.\n\nBut the stranger among the newcomers was of such appalling proportions\nthat Dorothy couldn't help staring in amazement.\n\nTessie's mother was quite the largest woman she had ever seen, and\nDorothy privately believed that she must be the largest woman in the\nwhole world. She was not only very tall, and also very broad, but she\nhad an immense frame, and her muscles seemed to indicate a powerfulness\nfar beyond that of an ordinary man.\n\nTo this gigantic specimen of femininity Dorothy advanced, and said\npleasantly: \"I suppose this is Kathleen?\"\n\n\"Yis, mum; an' it's proud I am to be wid yez. The saints presarve ye,\nfur a foine young lady! An' wud yez be's afther showin' me to me\ndaughter? Och, 'tis there she is! Tessie, me darlint, is it indade\nyersilf?\"\n\nTessie had caught sight of her mother, and unable to control her\nimpatience had run to meet her. Though Tessie was a fair-sized girl she\nseemed to be quite swallowed up in the parental embrace. Her mother's\narms went 'round her, and Leicester exclaimed, involuntarily, \"Somebody\nought to rescue Tessie! she'll have every bone cracked!\"\n\nBut she finally emerged, unharmed and beaming with happiness, and then\nshe led her mother away to the kitchen, the big woman radiating joy as\nshe went.\n\n\"She jars the earth,\" said Jack Harris; \"as long as she's on this side,\nthe lake is liable to tip up, and flood this place of yours. But I say,\nLess, what a magnificent place it is! Do you run the whole\nshooting-match?\"\n\n\"Yes, we do,\" said Leicester, trying to look modest and unostentatious.\n\"It isn't really too big, that is,--I mean,--we like it big.\"\n\n\"Like it? I should think you would like it! It's just the greatest ever!\nI say, take me in the house, and let me see that, will you?\"\n\nThe girls wanted to go too, and so leaving the elder ladies to chat on\nthe veranda, the children ran in, and the Dorrance Domain was exhibited\nto most appreciative admirers.\n\nJack Harris was eager to see it all; and even insisted on going up\nthrough the skylight to the roof. This feat had not before been thought\nof by the Dorrance children, and so the whole crowd clambered up the\nnarrow flight of stairs that led to the skylight, and scrambled out on\nthe roof. Dorothy's dignity was less observable just now, and she and\nEdith Putnam romped and laughed with the other children as if they were\nall of the same age. The view from the roof was beautiful, and the place\nreally possessed advantages as a playground. There was a railing all\naround the edge, and though the gables were sloping, many parts of the\nroof were flat, and Jack declared it would be a lovely place to sit on a\nmoonlight night.\n\nThen down they went again, and showing the guests to their various\nrooms, made them feel that at last they were really established in the\nDorrance Domain. This naturally broke the party up into couples, and\nLeicester carried Jack off to his own room first, to show him the many\nboyish treasures that he had already accumulated.\n\nFairy flew around, as Jack Harris expressed it, \"like a hen with her\nhead off,\" and everywhere Fairy went, she dragged the more slowly moving\nGladys after her, by one hand. Gladys was devoted to Fairy, and admired\nher thistledown ways; but being herself a fat, stolid child, could by\nno means keep up to Fairy's pace.\n\nDorothy took Edith Putnam to her room, and being intimate friends the\ntwo girls sat down together, and became so engrossed in their chat, that\nwhen nearly a half-hour later, Lilian and May Lewis came in to talk with\nthem, Edith had not yet even taken off her hat.\n\nAlthough dear friends of the Dorrances', Edith and May were of very\ndifferent types.\n\nEdith Putnam was a round, rosy girl, very pretty and full of life and\nenthusiasm. She was decidedly comical, and kept the girls laughing by\nher merry retorts. She was bright and capable, but disinclined for hard\nwork, and rather clever in shifting her share of it to other people's\nshoulders.\n\nMay Lewis, on the other hand, was a plain, straightforward sort of girl;\nnot dull, but a little diffident, and quite lacking in self-confidence.\nNot especially quick-witted,--yet what she knew, she knew thoroughly,\nand had no end of perseverance and persistence. She was of a most\nunselfish and helpful disposition, and Lilian well knew that without\nasking, May would assist her at her household tasks during the visit,\nand would even do more than her share.\n\nDorothy frankly explained to the girls what the household arrangements\nwere in the Dorrance Domain, and said, that since certain hours of the\nday must be devoted to regular work by the Dorrance sisters, the guests\nwould at such times be thrown upon their own resources for\nentertainment.\n\n\"Not I!\" cried Edith; \"I shall help you, Dorothy, in everything you have\nto do while I'm here. Indeed, I just think I'll do up your chores for\nyou, and let you take a rest. I'm sure you need one. Not that you look\nso; I never saw you look so fat and rosy in your life; but you mustn't\nwork too hard just because you have company. You mustn't do a single\nthing extra for us, will you?\"\n\n\"You mustn't dictate to your hostess, miss,\" returned Dorothy, gaily;\n\"and I hardly think you can assist me very much, for I look after the\ncookery part, and I think you've given me to understand that you detest\ncooking. Also, I most certainly shall do extra things while you're\nhere. It is my pleasure to entertain my guests properly,\" and Dorothy\nsmiled in her most grown-up manner.\n\n\"Good gracious! Dorothy Dorrance, did your manners come with your\nDomain, or where did you get that highfalutin air of yours?\"\n\n\"Oh, that was put on purposely to impress you with my importance,\" said\nDorothy, dimpling into a little girl again. \"But truly, I must skip down\nto the kitchen now, and see if my Parker House rolls are rising, rose or\nhaving risen. No, you can't come, Edith; you'd spoil the rolls,--though\nyou'd do it in a most well-meaning way. Now you girls all go out, and\ndisport yourselves on the lawn, while I do my noble duty. Though I'm\nfree to confess I'm scared to death of that awe-inspiring mother-person\nthat Tessie has imported.\"\n\n\"I think she'll be helpful,\" said May Lewis. \"She came up with us you\nknow, and really she's wonderful. She looked after us all, and she's as\nfunny as a red wagon.\"\n\n\"Red wagon!\" exclaimed Edith; \"she's nearer the size of a red\nautomobile, and she has the same kind of energy that automobiles are\nsaid to have. I don't own one myself, so I don't know.\"\n\n\"I don't own one either,\" said Dorothy, \"so I don't know how to manage\none. But I suppose I must make a try at managing the bulky Kathleen,--so\nI may as well start.\"\n\nThe whole troop ran down the wide staircase, except Fairy, who slid down\nthe banister, and leaving the others in the hall, Dorothy ran away to\nthe kitchen.\n\nThere she found Kathleen proceeding in a manner quite in accordance with\nher appearance. She had assumed immediate and entire charge of the\nsupper preparations, and was ordering Tessie about in a good-natured,\nbut domineering way.\n\n\"Lave me have a bit o' red pepper, darlint,\" she was saying, as Dorothy\ncame in; \"this dhressin' is flat for the want of it. Ah, Miss Dorothy,\nis that you, thin? an' I'm jist afther shlappin' together yer\nsalad-dhressin'. I obsarved the things all shtandin' ready an' I\nwhacked 'em up.\"\n\n\"Why, that was very kind of you, Kathleen,\" said Dorothy; \"it has helped\nme a great deal. Where are my rolls, Tessie?\"\n\n\"They was risin' too fast, miss,\" said Kathleen, entirely ignoring her\ndaughter's presence, \"an' I set 'em in the pantry forninst, to kape 'em\nback.\"\n\n\"Good for you, Kathleen! you're a jewel. I was afraid those things would\nget too light. Now, if you'll get them for me, I'll mould them over.\"\n\n\"Shure, I moulded them over, miss. They're all ready to bake, an' it's\nKathleen as'll bake 'em for ye.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Dorothy, laughing, \"there doesn't seem to be anything left\nfor me to do. Will you dress the salad, Kathleen?\"\n\n\"I will that, miss! Now don't bother yer purty head anny more about the\nsupper. Shure, it's Kathleen will attind to it all, intoirely. This\nshcapegrace, Tessie, will show me where things do be, an' yez needn't\nshow so much as the tip av yer nose, until it's all on the table.\"\n\n\"Kathleen, you're an angel in disguise, and not much disguised at that.\nNow look here, I'm very practical, and if you're going to stay here a\nweek, we may as well understand each other from the start. I'd be\ndelighted to leave this supper entirely in your hands; but are you sure\nthat you can do everything satisfactorily? I'm rather particular, as\nTessie can tell you, and to-night, I want everything especially nice,\nand well-served, in honor of my guests.\"\n\n\"Now, there's talk for ye! You're the right kind of a lady to wurruk\nfor. But, ye need have niver a fear; Kathleen'll do iverything jist as\nfoine as yersilf or yer lady grandmother cud be afther desirin'.\"\n\n\"Very well, Kathleen, I shall trust you with the whole affair then. You\ncan broil chickens, of course?\"\n\n\"To a turrn, miss.\" Kathleen's large face was so expressive as she said\nthis (and there was so much room on her face for expression), that\nDorothy felt no further doubts as to the chickens.\n\nShe ran from the kitchen, laughing, and joined the group on the veranda.\n\n\"I'm a lady of leisure,\" she announced gaily; \"that large and altogether\ndelightful piece of architecture, called Kathleen, insists upon cooking\nthe supper, over which I had expected to spend a hard-working hour.\"\n\n\"Jolly for Kathleen!\" exclaimed Leicester, throwing his cap high in the\nair, and catching it on his head; \"I do hate to have Dot working for her\nliving, while we're all enjoying ourselves.\"\n\n\"Jolly for Kathleen!\" echoed Jack Harris; \"the lady of magnificent\ndistances.\"\n\nAnd though Grandma Dorrance did not join audibly in the general hurrah,\nshe was no less glad that her pretty Dorothy was relieved from household\ndrudgery on that particularly merry occasion.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nAN UNWELCOME LETTER\n\n\nThe week at the Dorrance Domain passed all too quickly, in the opinion\nof the happy young people.\n\nThere was so much to do, and every day seemed to bring new pleasures.\nThe weather was of the most beautiful June variety, and the lake was as\nsmooth as glass and most pleasant to ride upon.\n\nOne day they all went out in rowboats, and called themselves a regatta.\nAnother day, Captain Kane took them all for a sail in the _Mamie Mead_.\n\nBut perhaps the nicest outing of all, was the day they had a picnic on\nthe floating bridge. They carried their luncheon, and camped out on the\nbridge to eat it. Mr. Bill Hodges was delighted to grant them permission\nto do this, and brought them some fruit from his store as an addition to\ntheir feast.\n\n\"It's the strangest thing,\" said Edith Putnam, \"to be on the land and on\nthe water at the same time. Here we are, sitting on what seems to be\ngood solid grass and earth; and yet if you dug a hole in it, you'd\nstrike the lake right away.\"\n\n\"You'd strike logs first,\" corrected Jack Harris; \"but if you bored\nthrough the logs you'd come to the water.\"\n\n\"It's perfectly lovely to feel the little swaying motion,\" said May\nLewis, who in her quiet way was greatly enjoying the novel experiences.\n\"I shall hate to go back to the city. How I envy you, Lilian, with a\nwhole summer of this before you.\"\n\n\"But you're going away with your mother, next month, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Yes; but we'll be cooped up in one or two little rooms at some seashore\nplace; it is very different from having a whole hotel all to yourself.\"\n\n\"Indeed it is,\" said Dorothy; \"we certainly did the wisest thing when we\ncame up here this summer. And now that Kathleen is here, I have almost\nnothing to do in the kitchen, and the rest of the housework that I do\nhave to look after is so light that I don't mind it a bit.\"\n\n\"That's because you're so clever,\" said Edith, sighing; \"you're\nsystematic and orderly, and have everything arranged just so. I don't\nsee how you do it. I should forget half the things, and get the other\nhalf all mixed up.\"\n\n\"I believe you would,\" said Dorothy, laughing. \"And I did get somewhat\nmixed up at first. But I learned by experience, and besides I was just\n_determined_ that I would succeed. Because I proposed the whole scheme,\nand of course, I wanted it to be a success.\"\n\n\"And it is a success,\" returned Edith; \"and you have made it so. You\nhave lots of perseverance in your nature, Dorothy.\"\n\n\"It's nice of you to call it by that name,\" said Dorothy; \"but I think\nit's just stubbornness. I've always been stubborn.\"\n\n\"We all are,\" said Leicester; \"it's a Dorrance trait. Grandmother hasn't\nmuch of it, but Grandfather Dorrance was a most determined old\ngentleman.\"\n\n\"There's only one thing that's bothering me, about our good times,\" said\nDorothy. \"And that is, that grandma can't enjoy them as much as we do.\nShe doesn't care about going in the boats, and she can't take the long\nwalks that we can.\"\n\n\"It would be nice if you had a horse,\" said May; \"then she could go for\na drive sometimes.\"\n\n\"That would be lovely,\" agreed Dorothy; \"but I know we couldn't afford\nto buy a horse. We haven't very much money. That's the main reason we\ncame up here, because grandma said we couldn't afford to go to the\nplaces we used to go to.\"\n\n\"But you might hire a horse,\" suggested Jack; \"you have a barn.\"\n\n\"Yes, there is a small barn,\" said Leicester. \"I think it would be great\nto hire a horse; that wouldn't cost much, Dot.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Dorothy, \"I don't believe it would. But who'd take care of\nthe horse, and who'd drive grandma around?\"\n\n\"Why, I can drive,\" said Leicester, \"or if grandma wouldn't trust me,\nMr. Hickox could drive her. He could take care of the horse, too.\"\n\n\"It's a good idea,\" said Dorothy; \"let's go and ask Mr. Hodges about it\nnow; he always knows about things of that sort.\"\n\nThe whole crowd scrambled to their feet, and ran gaily towards Mr.\nHodges' place. They were not surprised, when he declared he had just the\nthing for them. A fat, amiable old horse, who was well accustomed to the\nsteep mountain roads, and guaranteed perfectly safe; also a light\nroad-wagon that would hold four, and that was very easy and comfortable.\nHe would rent them this turn-out for ten dollars a week, and he declared\nthat they would find it most convenient; not only for pleasure drives,\nbut for going to market or other errands. Indeed, he said, that the\nproprietor who had last tried to run the hotel, had engaged that horse\nfor the season.\n\nIt struck Dorothy as a good plan; and being always quick at decisions,\nshe agreed then and there to take the horse and carriage for a week,\nsaying she felt sure that Grandma Dorrance would approve.\n\nLeicester said he would drive it home, and any of the girls who wished\nto, could go with him, the rest going back in the boats. Dorothy said\nshe would go with him, as she wanted to tell grandma about it herself.\n\nAs Fairy expressed a great desire to ride behind the new horse, she and\nGladys were tucked in the back seat, and they started off.\n\nSuch a ride as it was. The hills were very steep, \"perfectly\nperpendickle,\" Fairy called them, and if the old horse had not known\njust how to walk on the mountain roads, accidents might very easily have\nhappened.\n\nAs it was they reached home safely, and drove up triumphantly to the\nDorrance Domain where grandma and Mrs. Thurston were sitting on the\nveranda.\n\nAs the children had surmised, grandma was delighted with the opportunity\nto drive about, but said that she would feel safer if Mr. Hickox held\nthe reins.\n\nAs Mr. Hickox was never very far away, he had observed the horse's\narrival, and came over to inquire into the matter.\n\nThe explanation pleased him, and he said amiably, \"Don't worry.\nHickox'll look after the horse; it'll be all right.\"\n\nSo Grandma Dorrance arranged with Mr. Hickox, by an addition to the\npayment they made him for his various services, to take care of the\nhorse, and to drive them whenever they might require him to. Then she\nand Mrs. Thurston planned to go for a drive that very afternoon.\n\nAs the Dorrance children were fond of all animals, the horse at once\nbecame a great pet, and though the elder ladies never went out except\nwith Mr. Hickox, the young people went early and often, and both Dorothy\nand Leicester soon learned to be good and careful drivers.\n\nWith another diversion added to their catalogue of pleasures, the days\nflew by faster than ever, and although the guests stayed a fortnight\ninstead of only a week, everybody was sorry when the day came for them\nto depart.\n\n\"It has been all pleasure,\" said Dorothy, \"and not a bit of trouble; for\nyou all made yourselves so handy and helpful that it was just like one\nbig family.\"\n\n\"It has been a great treat to me,\" said Mrs. Thurston. \"I have enjoyed\nevery minute of it, and I have improved wonderfully in health and\nstrength. I think you are a wonder, Dorothy; not many girls of sixteen\nhave your powers of management. It is a gift, just as other talents are,\nand you not only possess it, but you have appreciated and improved it.\"\n\nDorothy blushed at Mrs. Thurston's kind praise, and inwardly resolved,\nthat since Mrs. Thurston considered her household capability a talent,\nshe certainly would endeavor to cultivate and improve it.\n\nSo the guests all went away, except Kathleen.\n\nShe begged so hard to be allowed to stay for a time longer, that Mrs.\nDorrance consented.\n\n\"Shure, it isn't the wages I do be afther wantin', mum, but I likes to\nshtay here, an' I'll do all the wurruk for me boord.\"\n\nThis seemed a fair arrangement, as Kathleen really wanted to stay with\nher daughter, and the Dorrances were very glad of the big woman's\nservices. She was an indefatigable worker, and really seemed to enjoy\nall sorts of hard work. She would rise early in the morning, and wash\nwindows or scrub floors before breakfast time. She was so capable and\nwilling, that it seemed as if she fairly took charge of the entire\nfamily; and she was so large and strong that no hard work baffled her,\nand no exertion tired her.\n\nAlthough the Dorrances naturally missed their guests, yet when they were\nalone again they were by no means lonely. They were a host in\nthemselves; the children were congenial and thought there was nobody\nquite so nice as each other.\n\nThe days went by happily, and each one only made them more glad that\nthey owned the Dorrance Domain and that they had come to live in it.\n\nIt was the third week in June when Grandma Dorrance received a letter\nfrom Mr. Lloyd, the contents of which were far from pleasant.\n\nShe called the children together in the great parlor, which they had\ncome to use as a living-room, and her pale face quite frightened\nDorothy.\n\n\"What is the matter, grannymother dear?\" she said. \"Has Mr. Lloyd found\nsome one who wants to rent the hotel, and must we vacate at once?\"\n\n\"Oh, don't mention such a calamity as that,\" cried Leicester; \"if a man\ncame up here to rent this hotel I should tell him to march right\nstraight back again. The house is engaged for the season.\"\n\n\"It's far worse than that, children dear,\" said grandma; \"Mr. Lloyd\ntells me in his letter that a great deal of repairing is necessary in\nthe Fifty-eighth Street house. This will cost a great deal of money, and\nI have not enough to pay the bills.\"\n\nMrs. Dorrance looked so pathetically helpless as she made this\nadmission, that Dorothy flew to her and kissed her, exclaiming, \"Don't\nworry, grandma dear, it must all come out right somehow, for you know we\nare saving money this summer.\"\n\n\"I'm not so sure of that, Dorothy; I'm afraid we've been rather\nextravagant of late. Having so much company for a fortnight, was really\nvery expensive; and the horse is an added expense, and the two\nservants,--and altogether I feel quite sure we have spent more money\nthan we could well afford.\"\n\n\"I never once thought of it, grandma,\" said Dorothy; \"I just ordered the\nthings that I thought it would be nice to have, and I didn't realize how\nthe bills would count up. Are they very big?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Dorrance. \"Mr. Hodges' bill is quite three times as\nmuch as I had allowed for it; and I owe Mr. Hickox as much more. He has\ndone a great deal of work for us, you know, and of course he must be\npaid.\"\n\n\"Oh, isn't it dreadful,\" said Lilian, \"to have our lovely summer spoiled\nby money troubles!\"\n\nAt this Fairy began to cry. The Dorrances didn't often cry, but when\nthey did, they did it quite as noisily as they did everything else; and\nFairy's manner of weeping, was to open her mouth as widely as possible\nin a succession of loud wails, at the same time digging her fists into\nher eyes.\n\nShe presented such a ridiculous picture that the children couldn't help\nlaughing.\n\n\"Do stop that hullaballoo, baby,\" implored Leicester, \"or we'll be so\nanxious to get rid of you that we'll offer you to Mr. Bill Hodges in\nsettlement of his account.\"\n\nFairy was not seriously alarmed by this awful threat, but she stopped\ncrying, because she had suddenly thought of a way out of the difficulty.\n\n\"I'll tell you how we can get some money,\" she said earnestly; \"sell the\nhorse!\"\n\nThe other children laughed at this, but Grandma Dorrance said gently,\n\"We can't do that, dear, for the horse isn't ours. We can't sell the\nhotel, for nobody seems to want it; so I can't see any way by which we\ncan get any money except to sell the Fifty-eighth Street house.\"\n\nThe children looked aghast at this, for it was their cherished dream\nsome day to return to the big city house to live. They didn't quite know\nhow this was to be accomplished, but they had always thought that when\nLeicester began to earn money, or perhaps if Dorothy became an author,\nthey would be able to return to the old home.\n\nAnd so Grandma Dorrance's announcement fell on them like a sudden and\nunexpected blighting of their hopes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nFINANCIAL PLANS\n\n\nDorothy felt it the most. As the oldest, she had the greatest sense of\nresponsibility, and she felt that she ought in some way to amend the\nfamily fortunes, but just how she did not know. She well knew how\ndifficult it is for a girl to earn any money without being especially\ntrained in some branch of usefulness; and she had often thought that she\nwould learn some one thing well, and so be prepared against a day of\nmisfortune. And now the day of misfortune had come, and she was not\nready for it. She could not bear to think of selling the town house; she\nwould far rather sell the hotel, but that, it seemed, was out of the\nquestion.\n\nLeicester, on the other hand, took a more cheerful view of the\nsituation.\n\n\"Oh, I don't believe we'll have to sell the house,\" he said. \"It isn't\nso bad as that, is it, grandma?\"\n\n\"I don't know, Leicester,\" said the old lady helplessly; \"I never did\nknow much about business matters, and now I feel more confused than ever\nwhen I try to straighten them out.\"\n\n\"But if we could just get through this summer, grandmother, when we go\nback to the city in the fall I feel sure I can get a position of some\nkind and earn a salary that will help us all out.\"\n\n\"You are a good boy, Leicester,\" said Mrs. Dorrance; \"but it is very\nuncertain about your getting a position; and too, I don't want you to\nleave school yet.\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" said Dorothy. \"It wouldn't be right for Leicester to leave\nschool at fourteen; and anyway, I think he ought to go through college.\nNow I am sixteen, and I have education enough for a girl. So I'm the one\nto get a position of some kind in the fall, and earn money to help\nalong.\"\n\n\"What could you do?\" asked Lilian looking at her sister. She had ample\nfaith that Dorothy could do anything she wanted to, and was merely\nanxious to know in which direction she would turn her talents.\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Dorothy, very honestly; \"skilled labor is the only\nthing that counts nowadays, and I'm really not fitted for anything. I\nwould like best to write things; but I don't believe anybody would buy\nthem,--at least, not at first. So I suppose the only thing that I could\ndo would be to go into a store.\"\n\n\"And sell candy?\" asked Fairy, with a dawning interest in the plan.\n\n\"Don't talk like that, Dorothy dear,\" said grandma, gently; \"of course I\nwouldn't let you go into a store, and also, I'm very much afraid that\nyour poetry wouldn't find a ready market. That may come later, but it\nwill probably be after years of apprenticeship.\"\n\n\"Well, something must be done,\" said Dorothy decidedly; \"and you can't\ndo it, grandma; so we children must. I think we are old enough now to\ntake the responsibility off of your shoulders; or at least to help you\nin these troubles.\"\n\n\"I wish you could, my dear child, but I fear there is no practical way\nby which we can raise the money that I must have, except to sell the\ncity house. It seems like a great sacrifice for a small reason; for you\nsee if we just had money enough to pay our living expenses this summer,\nI could manage, I think, to come out nearly even by fall. But there is\nno way to provide for our living this summer, that I can see.\"\n\n\"Now I'm getting a clearer understanding of the case,\" said Leicester;\n\"then if we children could earn money enough this summer to run the\nDorrance Domain, we'd come out all right?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think so, but how could you earn any?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Leicester, \"but I've often read how other boys\nearned money,--and country boys, too. We might pick huckleberries and\nsell them, or we might raise a garden and sell things.\"\n\n\"Who would you sell them to?\" asked Lilian, who was always practical.\n\"Now I think a more sensible way would be to economize. Send away Tessie\nand Kathleen both; and then get along with fewer good things to eat. You\nknow we've had everything just as we wanted it, and I'm sure we could\ncut down our table expenses. Then we could give up the horse,--although\nhe is a dear----\"\n\nAt this Fairy's wails began again, for she was devotedly attached to old\nDobbin, the horse, and couldn't bear to think of parting with him.\n\n\"I think,\" said Grandma Dorrance, \"that we will have to ask Mr. Lloyd to\ncome up here and advise us; and then whatever he thinks best, we will\ndo.\"\n\n\"Don't you have to pay Mr. Lloyd for his advice?\" asked Dorothy,\nsuddenly struck by the thought of what seemed to her an unnecessary\nexpense.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Dorrance; \"that is, I pay him for attending to all of\nmy business, and of course that includes his advice.\"\n\n\"I suppose we couldn't get along without him,\" said Dorothy, sighing;\n\"but it does seem awful to pay him money that we need so much\nourselves.\"\n\nMrs. Dorrance had a happy faculty of deferring unpleasant things to some\nfuture time; and not worrying about them meanwhile.\n\n\"Well,\" she said, \"I will write to Mr. Lloyd to-morrow, and ask him to\ncome up here; or if he can't come, to write me a letter advising me what\nto do. And until he comes, or his letter comes, we can't do anything in\nthe matter, and there is no use worrying over it. I'd hate to discharge\nthe servants, for you girls couldn't get along without anybody to help;\nand if we keep Tessie, Kathleen is no added expense, for her work well\npays for her board.\"\n\nThis was not quite logical, but all were too miserable to notice it. For\nonce the Dorrances went up-stairs to their beds without any whoops or\nhurrahs for Dorrance Domain.\n\nAs they were going up the great staircase, Lilian offered another of her\npractical, if not very attractive suggestions.\n\n\"We could,\" she said, \"shut up the Domain, and all go to board with Mrs.\nHickox for the rest of the summer. I'm sure she'd take us quite\ncheaply.\"\n\nAt this Leicester started the old Dorrance groan, which had not been\nheard before since their arrival at Lake Ponetcong.\n\nThey all joined in heartily, and groaned in concert, in loud, horrible\ntones that echoed dismally through the long corridors.\n\nIt was characteristic of their different natures that Grandma Dorrance\nwent to bed, and immediately fell asleep in spite of her anxiety about\nher affairs; while Dorothy lay awake far into the night pondering over\nthe problem.\n\nShe could form no plan, she was conscious only of a dogged determination\nthat she would somehow conquer the existing difficulties, and\ntriumphantly save the day.\n\nShe thought of Lilian's practical suggestions, and though she admitted\nthem practical, she could not think them practicable. Surely there must\nbe some way other than boarding at Mrs. Hickox's, or living on bread and\ntea.\n\n\"At any rate,\" she thought to herself as she finally fell asleep,\n\"nothing will be done until Mr. Lloyd is heard from, and that will give\nme at least two or three days to think of a plan.\"\n\nBut try as she would, the next day and the next, no acceptable plan\nwould come into Dorothy's head.\n\n\"We are the most helpless family!\" she thought to herself, as she lay in\nthe hammock under the trees. \"There is positively nothing that we can\ndo, that's of any use. But I will do something,--I _will_! I WILL!\" and\nby way of emphasizing her determination she kicked her heel right\nthrough the hammock.\n\nThe other children did not take it quite so seriously. They were\nyounger, and they had a hazy sort of an idea that money troubles always\nadjusted themselves, and somehow got out of the way.\n\nLeicester and Dorothy talked matters over, for though younger, he\nconsidered himself the man of the house, and felt a certain\nresponsibility for that reason. But he could no more think of a plan\nthan Dorothy could, and so he gave the problem up in despair, and\napparently Dorothy did also.\n\nHowever, even a serious trouble like this, was not sufficient to cast\ndown the Dorrances' spirits to any great extent.\n\nThey went their ways about as usual; they rowed and fished and walked\nand drove old Dobbin around, while their faces showed no sign of gloom\nor depression. That was the Dorrance nature, to be happy in spite of\nimpending disaster.\n\nMr. Lloyd's letter came, but instead of helping matters, it left them in\nquite as much of a quandary as ever. He said that it would be impossible\nto sell the town house during the summer season. That the repairs must\nbe made, or the tenants would not be willing to stay. He advised Mrs.\nDorrance to retrench her expenses in every possible way, and stated\nfurther, that although the repairs must be made at once, it would not be\nnecessary to pay the bills immediately on their presentation.\n\nHe said that although he would be glad to run up to see them in their\ncountry home, he could not leave the city at present, but he might be\nable to visit them later on.\n\nAltogether it was not a satisfactory letter, and Leicester expressed\nopen disapproval.\n\n\"That's a nice thing,\" he said, \"to tell us not to pay our bills! As if\nwe wanted to live with a lot of debts hanging over our heads!\"\n\n\"I think it's lucky that we don't have to pay them right off,\" said\nDorothy; \"something may happen before we have to pay them.\"\n\nDorothy had a decided touch of the Micawber element in her nature and\nusually lived in the hope of something happening. And, to do her\njustice, it often did.\n\nTo the surprise of the others Fairy seemed very much impressed by the\ngravity of the situation, and more than that she seemed to think that it\ndevolved on her to do something to relieve it. She walked over to Mrs.\nHickox's to make her usual Wednesday visit, and though she skipped along\nas usual she was really thinking seriously.\n\nShe found Mrs. Hickox sitting on a bench under a tree paring apples, and\nFairy sat down beside her.\n\n\"Of course I'm only twelve,\" she began, \"but really I can do a great\nmany things; only the trouble is none of them seem to be remunerary.\"\n\nThe two had become great friends, and though Mrs. Hickox was a lady of\nuncertain affections, she had taken a great fancy to Fairy, and in her\nqueer way showed a real fondness for the child. She had also become\naccustomed to Fairy's manner of plunging suddenly into a subject.\n\n\"What is it you want to do now?\" she said.\n\n\"Well, you see,\" said Fairy, \"we've failed, or absconded, or something\nlike that; I don't know exactly all about it, but we're awful poor, and\nwe can't have anything more to eat. Some of us want to come to board\nwith you, and some of us don't. You see it's very complicrated.\"\n\n\"Yes, it seems to be,\" said Mrs. Hickox; \"but how did you get so poor\nall of a sudden? I always said you were all crazy and now I begin to\nbelieve it. Your grandmother----\"\n\n\"Don't you say a word against my grannymother!\" cried Fairy, with\nflashing eyes. \"She's the loveliest, best and wisest lady in the whole\nworld. Only somehow she just happened to lose her money, and so of\ncourse us children want to help her all we can, and I just don't happen\nto know what to do to earn money, that's all. And I thought you might\nknow some way to tell me.\"\n\n\"I don't believe there's anything a child of your age could do to earn\nmoney,\" said Mrs. Hickox. \"But now that I come to think of it, I did cut\nout a clipping just the other day, telling how to earn a good salary at\nhome.\"\n\n\"Oh, that will be just the thing!\" cried Fairy, dancing around in glee;\n\"I'd love to earn a big salary and stay right there at the Dorrance\nDomain to do it. Do try to find it.\"\n\nMrs. Hickox was in the habit of sticking away her clippings in various\nqueer places. She pulled out a bunch from behind the clock, and ran them\nover; \"How to Take Out Ink Stains,\" \"How to Wash Clothes in Six\nMinutes,\" \"How to Protect an Iron Lawn Fence,\" \"How to Stuff Birds,\nTaught by Mail,\" \"Sure Cure for Rheumatism,\" \"Recipe for Soft Soap.\"\n\nNone of these seemed to be what was wanted, so Mrs. Hickox hunted\nthrough another bunch which she took out of an old and unused teapot.\n\nFairy danced around with impatience while her hostess went through\nseveral collections.\n\n\"Oh, here it is,\" she said, at last, and then she read to the child a\nmost promissory advertisement which set forth a tempting description of\nhow any one might earn a large fortune by directing envelopes. The two\ntalked it over, and Fairy wrote for Mrs. Hickox a sample of her\npenmanship, whereupon the lady at once declared that the scheme was\nimpossible. For she said nobody could read such writing as that, and if\nthey could, they wouldn't want to.\n\nFairy's disappointment was quite in proportion to the vivid\nanticipations she had held, and she was on the verge of one of her\nvolcanic crying spells, when Mr. Hickox came in.\n\n\"Well, well, what's the trouble?\" he said in his cheery way, and when\nFairy explained, he responded:\n\n\"Well, well, little miss, don't you worry,--don't you worry one mite!\nHickox'll fix it. It'll be all right!\"\n\nAnd so comforting was this assurance, and so sanguine was the Dorrance\ntemperament, that Fairy felt at once that everything was all right, and\ndismissed the whole subject from her mind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nA SUDDEN DETERMINATION\n\n\nOne afternoon, Dorothy sat on the front veranda, day-dreaming.\n\nIt was difficult to say which was the front veranda,--the one that faced\nthe road, or the one that looked out on the lake. The house could be\nconsidered to front either way.\n\nBut Dorothy was on the veranda that faced the road, and it was a lovely\nwarm, hazy day, almost the last of June, and notwithstanding her\nresponsibilities, Dorothy was in a happy frame of mind.\n\nShe watched with interest, a carriage that was coming along the road\ntowards her. It was nothing unusual in the way of a carriage, but there\nwas so little passing, that anything on four wheels was always\nnoticeable. This was a buggy, and contained a lady and gentleman who\nseemed to be driving slowly and talking fast.\n\nTo Dorothy's surprise, when they reached the entrance of the Dorrance\nDomain, they turned in, and drove up towards the house.\n\nAs they stopped in front of the steps, Dorothy rose to greet them; but\nthough courteous in manner, beyond bestowing a pleasant smile, they took\nno notice of her. The gentleman got out first, then helped the lady out,\nand after a blank look around for a moment, as if expecting somebody, he\nthrew his lines carelessly around the whip and escorted the lady into\nthe house.\n\nThe doors were all open as usual, and Dorothy was so amazed to see them\nwalk past her, that she said nothing.\n\nGrandma Dorrance was lying down in her room; the twins had gone out\nrowing, and Fairy was down at the dock with Mr. Hickox, fishing.\n\nThe two servants were far away in the kitchen, and so the strangers\nwalked through the great hall and out on the west veranda without seeing\nanybody.\n\nNonplussed, they returned to the office, and noted the unused look of\nthe desks and counters there.\n\n\"Where do you suppose the clerk can be?\" said the gentleman.\n\n\"Let us ask that young girl on the veranda,\" said the lady, and together\nthey returned to where Dorothy was sitting.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said the strange gentleman, \"but can you tell me where I\nmay find the clerk of this hotel?\"\n\n\"There isn't any clerk,\" said Dorothy, smiling, as she rose to greet\nthem.\n\n\"Then will you tell me where I can find the proprietor?\"\n\nLike a flash, an inspiration came to Dorothy. She realized in an instant\nthat these people were looking for board; and equally quickly came the\nthought that she might take them to board, and so earn some of the money\nthat she had been worrying about. It would certainly be no more\ndifficult to have boarders than visitors.\n\nAnd so, on the impulse of the moment, Dorothy replied:\n\n\"I am the proprietor.\"\n\n\"But I mean the proprietor of the hotel,--the owner of the place.\"\n\n\"My grandmother is the owner of this hotel; and if anybody is proprietor\nof it, I am. May I ask if you are looking for board?\"\n\n\"Yes, we are,\" said the lady, impulsively; \"and if you are the\nproprietor, I'm quite sure we want board at this hotel.\"\n\n\"Will you sit down, and let us talk this matter over,\" said Dorothy,\noffering them veranda chairs. \"I would like to explain just how things\nare.\"\n\nThe strangers seated themselves, and looked at Dorothy with some\ncuriosity and a great deal of interest. It was certainly unusual to come\nacross a pretty girl of sixteen, who, in her ruffled lawn frock looked\nquite like the typical guest of a summer hotel, and then to be calmly\ntold that she was the proprietor.\n\nDorothy also looked with interest at her visitors. The man was tall and\nlarge, of perhaps middle age; his face was kind and serious, but a smile\nseemed to lurk in his deep blue eyes. The lady seemed to be younger,\nand was very pretty and vivacious. She had curly brown hair, and her\nbrown eyes fairly danced with fun at the idea of Dorothy as a hotel\nproprietor.\n\n\"You see,\" said Dorothy, as they all sat down, \"this hotel is my\ngrandmother's property; but as we couldn't rent it, we have all come\nhere to live for the summer. My grandmother is quite old, and not at all\nstrong, so the household management is entirely in my charge. I would be\nvery glad to take some boarders if I could satisfy them and make them\ncomfortable. I have never kept boarders, but,\" and here Dorothy's smile\nbrought out all her dimples, \"I have entertained company successfully.\"\n\n\"I should be delighted to come,\" exclaimed the lady, \"if you are quite\nsure you want us, and if your grandmother would not object.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, she would not object; the question is, whether I could make\nyour stay satisfactory to you. We have plenty of room; I could promise\nyou a good table and good service. But as there are no other guests,\nyou might be lonely.\"\n\n\"We are not afraid of being lonely,\" said the gentleman, \"for my wife\nand I are not dependent on the society of other people. But let me\nintroduce myself before going further; I am Mr. James Faulkner, of New\nYork City. Mrs. Faulkner and myself have been staying over at the Horton\nHouse, and that hotel is far too gay and noisy to suit our tastes. I'm a\nscientific man, and like to spend much of my day in quiet study. Mrs.\nFaulkner, too, likes to be away from society's demands, at least for a\nseason. Therefore I must confess your proposition sounds most\nattractive, if the minor details can be arranged.\"\n\n\"I am Dorothy Dorrance,\" Dorothy responded, by way of her own\nintroduction, \"and my grandfather was Robert Hampton Dorrance. He has\nbeen dead for two years, and he left us this hotel property, which as we\nhave been unable to rent, we decided to occupy. I would be glad to add\nto our income, and if you think you could be comfortable here, might we\nnot try it for a week?\"\n\n\"Oh, do let us try it,\" cried Mrs. Faulkner, eagerly; \"do say yes,\nJames,--this is such a lovely spot, and this hotel is quite the most\nattractive I have seen anywhere. Only fancy having no other guests but\nourselves! it would be ideal. Oh, we must certainly come! I will decide\nit; we will come for a week at any rate.\"\n\n\"Very well, my dear, you shall have your own way. May I ask your rates,\nMiss Dorrance?\"\n\nDorothy hesitated. She felt very inexperienced, and while she was\nfearful of over-charging, yet her practical instincts made her also\nbeware of undervaluing the accommodations she knew she could supply.\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said, frankly, \"what I ought to charge you. But you\nmay have the best rooms in the house, and,\"--here she smiled,\ninvoluntarily,--\"as many of them as you wish. We have a really superior\ncook, and an experienced waitress. We have boats, and a horse and\ncarriage, which you may use when you care to. As I know nothing of\nsummer hotel charges, I would be glad if you would tell me what you\nthink would be right for you to pay.\"\n\nDorothy's frank honesty, and her gentle refined courtesy made a most\nfavorable impression on Mr. Faulkner, and he responded cordially.\n\n\"For what you offer, Miss Dorrance, I think it would be fair if we\nshould pay you the same as we are now paying over at the Horton House;\nthat is, fifteen dollars a week, each, for Mrs. Faulkner and myself.\"\n\nDorothy considered a moment. She was a quick thinker, and she realized\nthat this amount of money would help considerably towards the living\nexpenses of the family. And the price could not be exorbitant since Mr.\nFaulkner offered it himself.\n\n\"That will be entirely satisfactory to me,\" she said, \"and I shall hope,\non my part, to satisfy you. When would you like to come?\"\n\n\"I'd like to come to-morrow,\" said Mrs. Faulkner. \"I've stood the Horton\nHouse just as long as I can. And our week is up to-morrow. But, excuse\nme, my dear, aren't you very young for these responsibilities?\"\n\n\"I'm sixteen,\" said Dorothy, \"and grandmother thinks my talents are of\nthe domestic order. But I could not undertake to have you here were it\nnot that our cook is not merely a cook, but a general manager and\nall-round housekeeper. And now, Mrs. Faulkner, if you really think of\ncoming, wouldn't you like to select your rooms?\"\n\nJust at this moment, Fairy came flying through the long hall at her\nusual break-neck pace, and landed turbulently in the midst of the group.\n\n\"Oh, Dorothy,\" she cried, \"we caught fish, and fish, and fish!\"\n\n\"This is my sister Fairy,\" said Dorothy, \"and I must explain, that when\nI said it would be quiet here, I neglected to mention that there are\nfour of us children; and the truth is we are dreadfully noisy at times.\nFairy, dear, this is Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner, who are perhaps coming to\nboard with us.\"\n\nWith the pretty politeness that always underlay the boisterousness of\nthe Dorrances, Fairy put out her hand to the strangers, saying: \"I'm\nvery glad to see you. Are you really coming to stay with us? You must\n'scuse me for rushing out like that, and nearly knocking you over, but I\nwas so 'cited about my fish.\"\n\nFairy always looked more than usually fairy-like when she was excited.\nHer gold curls tumbled about her face, and the big white bow which\ntopped them stood at all sorts of flyaway angles. She poised herself on\none foot, and waved her hands dramatically as she talked.\n\nMrs. Faulkner was charmed with the child, and being possessed of some\nartistic ability, she privately resolved to make a sketch of Fairy at\nthe first opportunity.\n\nThe two sisters escorted the guests through the hall, if Fairy's hop,\nskip and jump could be called an escort, and Dorothy showed them the\nlake view from the west piazza.\n\nMrs. Faulkner was enthusiastic over this, and declared that nothing\nwould induce her to stay anywhere else but at the Dorrance Domain.\n\nMr. Faulkner, too, was impressed by the beauty of the lake. It was\nalways most picturesque in the late afternoon, and just now the clouds,\nlit up by the western sun, were especially beautiful. The lake itself\nwas not calm, but was covered with smooth little hills of water, which\nhere and there broke into white foam.\n\nSome distance out, a boat could be seen, containing two people.\n\n\"That's my brother and sister,\" said Dorothy; \"they are twins. They are\nfourteen, and are perhaps the noisiest of us all. You see,\" she went on,\nsmiling, \"I'm preparing you for the worst. Grandmother had great\ndifficulty with the New York boarding-house keepers, because they\nthought the Dorrance children too lively. So I want you to be fully\nwarned that we do make a great deal of noise. Somehow we can't help it.\"\n\n\"We don't yell so much as we used to,\" said Fairy, hopefully; \"you see,\nMrs. Faulkner, when we used to be cooped up in a boarding-house we just\nhad to make an awful racket, 'cause we were so miserabubble. But here we\nhave room enough to scamper around, and so we don't holler so much.\"\n\n\"I rather think we can survive your demonstrations of animal spirits,\"\nsaid Mr. Faulkner, with his kindly smile. \"It will be a pleasant relief\nfrom the brass band which is the noise-producer over at the Horton\nHouse.\"\n\n\"We haven't any brass band,\" said Dorothy, suddenly realizing that they\nlacked many things popularly supposed to belong to a summer hotel.\n\n\"That's one reason why I want to come,\" said Mrs. Faulkner.\n\n\"I hope you will decide to come,\" said Dorothy; \"and now, if you will\nexcuse me a minute, I think I will ask my grandmother to come down and\nsanction our plan.\"\n\nLeaving the strangers to be entertained by Fairy, Dorothy ran up to her\ngrandmother's room and tapped at the door.\n\nA few moments served to explain matters to Mrs. Dorrance, and though a\nlittle bewildered by Dorothy's sudden proposal, she thought the plan a\ngood one, and went down prepared to give the strangers a cordial\nreception.\n\nThe Faulkners were much pleased with the gentle, gracious old lady, and\nMrs. Dorrance decided at a glance that the newcomers were sensible and\nkindly people.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nA DARING SCHEME\n\n\nThe more they talked over the matter the more it seemed a sensible and\nfeasible plan for all concerned. Mrs. Dorrance felt sure that with their\ntwo capable servants, and Mr. Hickox's varied usefulness, two boarders\nwould make no more responsibility for Dorothy than her five guests had.\n\nIt was therefore decided to try the plan for a week, and if both sides\nwere satisfied, to continue for the season.\n\nThen Dorothy took the strangers up to select their rooms, and Mrs.\nFaulkner was as delighted at the idea of choosing from so many empty\nrooms, as the Dorrances had been on the night of their own arrival.\n\nAgreeing to return the next day with their luggage, the Faulkners drove\naway, leaving the Dorrances in a high state of delighted excitement.\n\n\"You see,\" said Dorothy to her grandmother, \"something _has_ happened. I\nfelt sure it would, though of course, I had no idea it would be the\nFaulkners. But thirty dollars a week will help a lot, and I'm sure we\ncan make them have a good time. They're lovely people,--you can see that\nat a glance. Mrs. Faulkner is so sweet, I think I'd be willing to pay\nher just to sit around and smile at me.\"\n\n\"Instead of her paying you to let her do it,\" said grandma. \"But it is a\ngood plan, Dorothy; for now we can afford to keep Kathleen, and pay her\nfair wages, which I did not otherwise feel justified in doing.\"\n\n\"And Kathleen is a whole army of servants, all in one,\" said Dorothy.\n\"She'll be delighted at the idea of staying with us. I'll go and tell\nher about it now.\"\n\n\"I'll go, too,\" cried Fairy. \"I want to hear her talk.\"\n\nOut to the kitchen the two girls ran and noisily burst in upon Tessie\nand her mother.\n\nThe two Irish women were feeling rather blue, for Mrs. Dorrance had told\nthem that she could not afford to let them both stay with her, and she\nwas not sure that she ought to keep even Tessie.\n\n\"Arrah thin, darlints, yez'll be afther breakin' down the dures! Why\nmusht ye always come so shlam-bang?\"\n\n\"We can't help it, Kathleen,\" cried Dorothy; \"we're just made so, I\nguess. But this time we've something to tell you,--something important.\"\n\n\"Im-porrtant, is it? Sorra a good thing cud yez tell me, ixcipt that yer\nlady grandmother wud be afther lettin' me shtay here wid yez. Me an'\nTessie is afther grievin' sore at thoughts of lavin' yez.\"\n\n\"That's just it, Kathleen,\" screamed Fairy, who in her excitement and\nenthusiasm was scrambling up Kathleen's broad back. It was a favorite\ntrick of Fairy's to clamber up and perch herself on the big woman's\nshoulder, and the good-natured giantess assisted her with sundry\npushings and pullings.\n\n\"That's jist it, is it? Well thin yez naden't be afther tellin' me anny\nmore. Yez can kape the rist of yer importance to yersilves. If we can\nshtay up here, me and Tessie, we'll wurruk our finger ends off fer ye,\nwid no wages but a bite an' a sup.\"\n\n\"No, that won't do, Kathleen. Now just listen; we want to engage you as\ncook, and Tessie as waitress for the Dorrance Domain. It has become a\nhotel,--a regular summer hotel, and the boarders will arrive to-morrow.\"\n\n\"For the love of all the saints, miss! Is it boorders yez'll be afther\ntakin'? Shure, an' that's foine. And it's Kathleen as 'll cook fer yez.\nAn' Tessie, you young rascal, see to it that you wait on the table jist\ngrand! Do there be manny a-comin', miss?\"\n\n\"Two,\" replied Dorothy; \"and they're lovely people.\"\n\n\"Yes, lovely people,\" cried Fairy, who, still on Kathleen's shoulder,\nwas emphasizing her remarks by pounding Kathleen with her little fists;\n\"one is a great, big, lovely gentleman, with big, blue eyes, and\ngrayish-blackish hair. That's Mr. Faulkner. And his wife's a beautiful\nlittle lady, who smiles, and smiles, and smiles. Oh, they're scrumptious\npeople, and I expect they will stay all summer. Oh, Dorothy, the twins\nare coming! let's go and tell them!\"\n\nFairy sprang from Kathleen's shoulder to the table, and from there\nbounded to the floor, and grasping Dorothy's hand, the two ran away to\ntell the news, and met the twins on the veranda.\n\nLilian and Leicester were as glad as the rest to learn of the advent of\nthe Faulkners, and at once began to make plans for the comfort and\nentertainment of their boarders.\n\n\"I shall take Mr. Faulkner out fishing,\" said Leicester, \"and show him\nall the best spots to fish.\"\n\n\"I don't believe he'll care much for fishing,\" said Mrs. Dorrance. \"He\nseems to me to be so interested in his scientific work, that I imagine\nhe spends little time in recreation. I think that you'll all have to try\nto be a little quieter than usual, especially in the house.\"\n\n\"We will, granny dear,\" said Lilian; \"if we're going to keep boarders,\nwe're going to do it properly; I guess the Dorrances know when they can\ncut up jinks, and when they can't.\"\n\n\"Isn't it funny, though,\" said Leicester, \"to think of our living in\nthis hotel because nobody would rent it _as_ a hotel, and now here we\nare, running a hotel ourselves. I'm going to get out the big register,\nand clean up that inkstand thing, and have the office all in\nworking-order for them to register when they come to-morrow. Dorothy,\nyou can be proprietor, but I'll be the clerk; and then after they\nregister, I'll ring the bell for a bell-boy. And then I'll be the\nbell-boy. And then I'll send myself for a porter, and Mr. Hickox'll be\nthe porter. Oh, it'll be great!\"\n\n\"Shall we eat in the big dining-room?\" asked Lilian. \"It seems as if it\nwould be more like a hotel.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said grandma; \"that immense room is too large for seven\npeople. The Faulkners seem very congenial, and I can't help thinking\nthey would prefer to sit at the round table with us. However, they\nmight prefer a table to themselves; so I think the best plan is to wait\nuntil they arrive, and ask them. In such matters we should be glad to\nmeet their wishes.\"\n\n\"I shall keep most systematic accounts,\" said Dorothy; \"and then I can\ntell just how much we make by having boarders. There are lots of blank\nbooks in the office, and I shall keep exact lists of everything I buy\nthis week, and then see how it balances up at the end of seven days.\"\n\n\"If you expect to make any money out of this scheme,\" said Leicester,\n\"you mustn't feed us all on the fat of the land, as you did when those\npeople were visiting here.\"\n\n\"No,\" said grandma; \"you can't do it, Dorothy. It is very pleasant to\nset dainty and tempting dishes before one's guests; but when it comes to\na practical business arrangement it is necessary to be careful in such\nmatters. I don't want you to be over-economical, but on the other hand\nyou cannot afford to be extravagant.\"\n\n\"If you're going to be a boarding-house keeper, Dot,\" said Lilian, \"you\nmust set a table exactly like Mrs. Cooper's!\"\n\nAt this speech, Leicester started the famous Dorrance groan, and its\nwails reached the ears of Mr. Hickox, who was sauntering near by in his\naimless, wandering fashion.\n\n\"Thought I'd just come over and see what you're yowling about,\" he said\npleasantly; \"those screeches are enough to kill all the fish in the\nlake!\"\n\n\"Come in, Mr. Hickox,\" cried Leicester; \"we have a grand plan on hand,\nand as usual we shall want your help.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Mr. Hickox, \"as usual. Hickox'll make it all right.\nWhat's up now?\"\n\n\"We expect boarders to-morrow; and when they come, we want you to be on\nhand to look after their trunks and things. The Dorrance Domain has\nsuddenly turned back into a hotel. Dorothy is proprietor, I'm clerk, and\nyou're to be the porter.\"\n\n\"What am I?\" said Lilian; \"I want a regular position.\"\n\n\"Oh, you can be the elevator boy, or the carriage-door opener,\nwhichever you like,\" said her brother.\n\n\"As we haven't any elevator, and our carriage hasn't any door, I won't\nbe over-worked.\"\n\n\"We girls will all have to be upper servants,\" said Dorothy; \"with so\nmuch extra work in the kitchen, we'll have to help a great deal as\nparlor-maids, and chambermaids, and dining-room maids.\"\n\n\"I'll sweep all the verandas every day,\" announced Fairy; \"I do just\nlove to fly around with that funny big broom-brush.\"\n\n\"Well, Hickox is yours to command,\" declared that genial gentleman;\n\"whatever you want Hickory Hickox to do, that's as good as done!\nExcepting, of course, such various times as I might be otherwise\nemployed. But I'll be porter all right, and I'll port them people's\ntrunks right up to their rooms so fast, they'll think I'm an elevator.\nMy! Mrs. Hickox, she'll be surprised to hear you people are going to\nhave boarders! I must say, I'm some surprised myself. Well I must\nshuffle along now, and I'll be on deck when you want me to-morrow.\nHickox will look after things. It'll be all right.\"\n\nAfter the ungainly figure had shuffled away, the children still\ncontinued to make plans and offer suggestions for the new arrangement.\n\n\"We must be very methodical,\" said Dorothy, who was much in earnest in\nthe matter, and who wanted to start out just right. \"Mrs. Faulkner is so\nnice and sweet, I want to please her; and, too, if the Dorrances run a\nhotel, I want it to be run on the most approved plan.\"\n\n\"We'll each have an account book,\" said Fairy; \"and I'll put down in\nmine, how many times I sweep the verandas each day.\"\n\n\"If you get around them all in one day, baby,\" said Leicester, \"you'll\ndo mighty well; and to do that, you'll have to get to work at daybreak\nand stick to it till sundown. There's an awful big number of square feet\nof veranda attached to this palatial mansion, I can tell you.\"\n\n\"Oh, pooh!\" cried Fairy. \"It won't take me all day, at all. I can fly\naround it in a minute. I'll work like a centripepede!\"\n\n\"We'll keep the horse for this week, anyway,\" went on Dorothy; \"for I\nshall have to go to market every morning, and it's so much quicker to go\nin the carriage than the boat. Sometimes you can go for me, Less, if I\nmake out an exact list of what I want.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said her brother; \"I don't think this keeping boarders is\ngoing to be such hard work after all. I wonder we didn't think of it\nsooner.\"\n\n\"I'm glad we didn't,\" said Dorothy; \"I think it was nicer to have a few\nweeks all by ourselves, first. We've got to behave when the Faulkners\nget here. It will be just like it was at Mrs. Cooper's, you know.\"\n\nThis time Fairy started the groan, and again they all chimed in with\nthose deep growling wails that always made Mrs. Dorrance clap her hands\nto her ears.\n\n\"For pity's sake!\" exclaimed the long-suffering old lady; \"don't make\nany reference to Mrs. Cooper while the Faulkners are here; for if they\nheard those fearful groans of yours, they'd leave at once.\"\n\n\"What's Mr. Faulkner like?\" asked Leicester; \"will he say, 'well, my\nlittle man,' to me?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Dorothy, laughing at the remembrance; \"Mr. Faulkner is an\nawful nice man. Not very young, and not very old.\"\n\n\"Like Jack Sprat's pig?\" asked Leicester; \"not very little and not very\nbig.\"\n\n\"He isn't like anybody's pig!\" said Fairy, indignantly. \"He's a\ngentiliferous gentleman. I'm going to ask him to go to Mrs. Hickox's\nwith me. He's scientiferic, and I know he'd like to read her newspaper\nclippings.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't ask him to go just at first, Fairy,\" said grandma; \"wait\nuntil you get better acquainted.\"\n\n\"Well, anyhow? I'll take him to see the rabbits; he's sure to love them,\nthey're such cunning, pudgy-wudgy little things.\"\n\n\"And I'm sure he will like Dare,\" said Lilian, patting the head of the\nbig dog who lay at her feet.\n\n\"Such nice people as they seem to be, will surely like animals,\" said\ngrandma; \"but if they should not, then you must be very careful that\nthey are not annoyed by them. Dare will learn for himself whether he is\nliked or not; but if Mrs. Faulkner doesn't care for kittens you must\nkeep Mike out from under foot.\"\n\n\"I don't believe she'll care for kittens, so I'll take this one and\ndrown it now,\" said Leicester, picking up the ball of fluffy Maltese\nfur, and starting towards the lake.\n\nFairy ran after him, screaming in pretended anguish, though she well\nknew her brother was only joking, being almost as fond of the kitten as\nshe was herself.\n\nThe other two girls followed, and Dare followed them, and a general game\nof romps ensued.\n\nGrandma Dorrance watched them from the veranda, feeling glad for the\nthousandth time that her dear ones were in their own home, where they\ncould follow their own sweet will, without causing annoyance to any\none.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nREGISTERED GUESTS\n\n\nThe next day, true to her word, Dorothy made preparations for methodical\nand systematic hotel management.\n\n\"They may not stay more than a week; probably they won't,\" she said;\n\"but I don't want them to leave because the Dorrance Domain isn't run\nproperly as a summer hotel.\"\n\nThe children had looked upon the whole affair as a great joke; but\nseeing that there was a certain underlying current of seriousness in\nDorothy's attitude, they began to think that it was a business venture\nafter all.\n\n\"Shall we really ask them to register, Dot?\" inquired Leicester, who\ndidn't know quite how far the playing at hotel was to be carried.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dorothy; \"there is no reason why not; it can certainly do\nno harm, and it makes everything seem more shipshape. Have nice fresh\npens, ink and blotters, and put down the date and the number of their\nrooms when Mr. Faulkner signs. Don't laugh about it, but don't put on\nairs either; just be polite and businesslike.\"\n\n\"My, Dot, but you're a wonder!\" exclaimed Leicester, looking at his\nsister with admiration. \"Where did you learn all these things? Nobody\never registered at Mrs. Cooper's.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Dorothy; \"but that was a city boarding-house; an altogether\ndifferent affair from a country summer hotel. It may be foolish, but I\nwant to try to treat the Faulkners just as they would be treated in any\nnice summer hotel.\"\n\n\"It isn't foolish at all,\" spoke up Lilian; \"it's just the right way to\ndo, and we'll all help. We must send a pitcher of ice-water to their\nroom every night.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, I never thought of that!\" exclaimed Dorothy, in dismay; \"why,\nwe haven't any ice.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Leicester, \"but fresh-drawn water from that deep well is\njust as cold as any ice-water. I'll make that one of my duties; I'm a\nbell-boy, you know.\"\n\n\"Another thing,\" went on Lilian, in her practical way, \"is the mail-box\nin the office. We must tell the Faulkners to put their letters in there,\nand they will be collected twice a day, and taken over to Woodville and\nmailed.\"\n\n\"Lilian, you're a trump!\" cried Dorothy; \"tell us more things like\nthat,--that's just what I mean. But we can't go to Woodville twice a\nday!\"\n\n\"I think once a day will be enough,\" said Leicester; \"we'll take the\ncontents of the mail-box every morning when we go over for the\nmarketing.\"\n\n\"I shall write to Gladys Miller every day,\" said Fairy; \"so you'll\nalways have something to take; maybe the Faulkners don't have so very\nmuch corresponderence.\"\n\nAll four of the children went to market that morning. Leicester drove\nthem over, and so much chattering and planning did they do on the way,\nthat the two miles distance seemed very short.\n\nDorothy felt the responsibility of ordering just the right things for\nher table. She realized that she must begin on just the same scale on\nwhich she expected to continue through the week. She must not be too\nlavish, for since her aim now was to earn money, she must be fair and\njust, rather than generous.\n\nAlways sensible and capable, Dorothy seemed suddenly possessed of a new\nsort of self-reliance; and the responsibility which she had voluntarily\nand gladly accepted, seemed to bring with it the executive ability which\npromised success.\n\nMr. Bill Hodges was delighted to hear the news of boarders at the\nDorrance Domain. He possessed that trait, not altogether unusual in\nstorekeepers, of desiring to sell his wares. During the fortnight that\nthe Dorrances had entertained company, he had reaped a golden harvest,\nand, as since then Dorothy's demand on his stock had been much more\nmodest, he now rejoiced in the anticipation of further extravagant\norders.\n\nHe was greatly surprised then, when Dorothy, instead of lavishly\npurchasing whatever struck her fancy, regardless of its price, began to\ninquire the cost of things, and showed a decided leaning towards thrift\nand economy.\n\n\"Ain't goin' to starve them folks, be you?\" he asked, as Dorothy\nhesitated between the relative merits of lettuce and tomatoes.\n\n\"I hope not,\" said Dorothy, politely, for she knew Mr. Bill Hodges\npretty well by this time, and so did not resent what she knew was not\nmeant as a rudeness. \"When our house was last run as a hotel, did they\nbuy their provisions from you?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am, they did;\" and a shade more of respectful deference crept\ninto the voice and manner of Mr. Bill Hodges, as he instinctively\nrealized the touch of added dignity in Dorothy's demeanor. \"Mr. Perkins,\nhe used to do the marketin', and gracious snakes! but he calc'lated\nclose. He give his boarders just enough to keep them alive and no more.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't want to be quite so mean as that,\" said Dorothy; \"but on\nthe other hand, I can't afford to treat my boarders quite as I would\nlike to entertain my guests.\"\n\n\"That's right, that's right!\" exclaimed Mr. Bill Hodges, whose own\nshrewd business mind readily recognized similar qualities in another.\n\"That's right; treat 'em good, but not too good.\"\n\nThis phrase fastened itself in Dorothy's mind, and she determined to\ntake for her line of action all that was expressed in Mr. Bill Hodges'\nhomely phrase, \"Treat'em good, but not too good.\"\n\nTheir purchases satisfactorily completed, the children jogged back home\nover the rough, steep hill, and even old Dobbin seemed to realize that\nhe was now part of the establishment of a first-class summer hotel.\n\nThat afternoon the Faulkners arrived.\n\nEverything was in readiness, and perhaps no hotel proprietor ever took\ngreater pride in the general appearance of his hostelry, than did\nDorothy Dorrance, as, arrayed in a fresh white muslin, she stood on the\neast veranda watching a lumbering stage drawing nearer and nearer to the\nDorrance Domain.\n\nAnd surely no typical hotel clerk, even though decorated with the\ntraditional diamond pin, could show a more faultless array of\nofficial-looking desk-furnishings.\n\nThe Horton House stage rolled slowly up the driveway, and stopped at the\nmain entrance. Mr. Hickox was on hand to open the stage door, and look\nafter the hand luggage.\n\nWith an instinctive grasping of the situation, both Mr. and Mrs.\nFaulkner appreciated Dorothy's frame of mind, and acted precisely as if\nthey were entering a hotel run on regulation lines.\n\nAs Dorothy led the way to the office, Mrs. Faulkner looked at her\ncuriously. It was strange to see a girl, so young and pretty, so\ngraceful and well-bred, yet possessed of a certain quality which could\nonly be designated by the term, \"business instinct.\" She marveled at\nDorothy's poise, which, however, showed no trace of awkwardness or\npertness.\n\nMrs. Faulkner was fond of character study, and felt convinced at once\nthat she would greatly enjoy a better acquaintance with Dorothy\nDorrance.\n\nAt the office, Leicester showed the newcomers the same quiet, polite\ncourtesy. The boy had a frank, straightforward air that always impressed\nstrangers pleasantly. He turned the register around towards Mr.\nFaulkner, and offered him an already-inked pen, with an air of being\nquite accustomed to registering guests.\n\nBut Leicester's sense of humor was strong, and the absurdity of the\nwhole thing struck him so forcibly, that it was with great difficulty he\nrefrained from laughing outright. Had he glanced at Dorothy, he\ncertainly would have done so; but the two were fully determined to play\ntheir part properly, and they succeeded.\n\nNor was Mr. Faulkner to be outdone in the matter of correct deportment.\nHe gravely took the pen offered to him, signed the register in the place\nindicated, and inquired if they might go at once to their rooms.\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Leicester, touching the bell on the desk. The\nubiquitous Hickox appeared with the hand-bags, and Leicester handed him\nthe keys.\n\nThis touch nearly finished Dorothy, for numbered keys seemed so very\nlike a real hotel, that it struck her as quite the funniest thing yet.\n\nAs the Faulkners, following Mr. Hickox, went up the great staircase and\ndisappeared around the corner, Leicester flew out from behind his desk,\ngrasped Dorothy's hand, and fleetly, though silently, the two ran\nthrough the long parlor to one of the smaller rooms, shut the door, and\nthen burst into peals of laughter.\n\nFor a moment they would pause, begin to speak to each other, and then go\noff again into choking spasms of hilarity.\n\nHad they only known it, their two guests on the floor above, were doing\nalmost the same thing. Mrs. Faulkner had thrown herself into an easy\nchair, and was laughing until the tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr.\nFaulkner, who was by nature a grave gentleman, was walking up and down\nthe room, broadly smiling, and saying, \"Well upon my word! well upon my\nword!\"\n\nBefore Dorothy and Leicester had recovered their equilibrium, the two\nyounger girls came rushing into the room where they were.\n\n\"Did they come? Are they here? What is the matter? Do tell us all about\nit!\"\n\nDorothy, in her idea of the fitness of things had asked Lilian and Fairy\nto keep out of sight until after the arrival and registration had been\nsafely accomplished; grandma, it had also been thought best, was not to\nappear until dinner-time. As Dorothy had expressed it, she knew the\nproper propriety for a proprietor, and she proposed to live up to it.\n\nBut of course when Fairy and Lilian, on the west veranda, heard the\ncommotion in the small parlor, they could restrain their curiosity no\nlonger, and insisted on being told all about it.\n\nSo Dorothy and Leicester calmed down a little, and assured them that the\nwhole thing had passed off beautifully; that the arrival had been a\nhowling success, and that Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner were now established\nboarders at the Dorrance Domain.\n\nThen Dorothy went out to the kitchen to superintend carefully the\npreparations for dinner. She had decided that since the Dorrance Domain\nhad become a hotel, it was proper to have dinner at night, and luncheon\nin the middle of the day.\n\nOnce over the comical farce of registering, the advent of the Faulkners\ntook on an aspect not entirely humorous, and Dorothy's sense of serious\nresponsibility came back to her. Kathleen, too, with her native Irish\nwit realized the gravity of the occasion, and went about her duties in a\nsteady, capable way that greatly helped to reassure Dorothy.\n\nAnd indeed, matters seemed to be progressing most smoothly. The dinner\nwas well under way, and the table daintily set.\n\nFairy had brought flowers from Mrs. Hickox's garden, and she and Lilian\nhad decorated the table and the dining-room. Dorothy had concluded that\nthey would all sit together at the round table that night, and then if\nthe Faulkners preferred a table to themselves, it could be arranged\nlater.\n\nAfter a careful supervision, Dorothy left the dinner in charge of her\nreally competent cook and waitress, and went back to the family. She\nfound them all on the west veranda, where they usually congregated at\nsunset time.\n\nWith them were the Faulkners; and in a pretty summer house-gown, Mrs.\nFaulkner looked so sweet and dainty, that Dorothy felt more than ever\nattracted to her. Mr. Faulkner was engaged in a pleasant conversation\nwith Grandma Dorrance; and Dorothy suddenly felt that to be the\nproprietor of a summer hotel was just the nicest thing a girl could do.\n\n\"You've no idea,\" Mrs. Faulkner was saying, as Dorothy came out, \"what a\ndelightful change this is from the noise and glitter of the Horton\nHouse. This lovely great veranda, and the beautiful view of the lake,\nwith no inharmonious elements, makes me feel glad I'm alive.\"\n\n\"I'm glad you are alive, too,\" said Dorothy, smiling at the lady; \"and\nI'm glad you live here.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nAMBITIONS\n\n\nIt was truly astonishing, even to Dorothy, how easily the machinery of a\nbig hotel could be made to move along. The Dorrances all agreed that the\nFaulkners were no trouble at all, and that their presence in the\nDorrance Domain added greatly to the happiness of all concerned.\nDoubtless the explanation of this lay in several different facts. To\nbegin with, the Faulkners were most charming people; refined, tactful,\nand kind-hearted. It was their nature to make as little trouble as\npossible, wherever they might be.\n\nOn the other side, Dorothy's determination to succeed in her enterprise,\ngrew with what it fed upon, and she became day by day more capable\nthrough experience. Also, she was ably assisted by Leicester and the\ngirls, who were always ready to do anything she wished them to. Then,\nthe servants were certainly treasures, and as Dorothy said, it would be\na perfect idiot of a hotel proprietor who couldn't succeed under such\nadvantages as she had.\n\nWith her success her ambitions grew.\n\nAgain sitting on the east veranda, one afternoon, she found herself\nwishing that another buggy would drive up and deposit two more such\npeople as the Faulkners at her hotel office. If she could succeed with\ntwo, why not with four, or even six?\n\nIndeed, in her imagination she saw a long procession of buggies bringing\neager guests to the hospitality of the Dorrance Domain.\n\nActing on an impulse, she went in search of Mrs. Faulkner, and found\nthat lady just coming down-stairs, dressed for afternoon, and quite\nready for a chat.\n\nSo Dorothy carried her off to one of her favorite nooks which was a\nlittle vine-clad arbor on the east lawn.\n\nThis proprietor and guest had become firm friends in the few days they\nhad been together. Dorothy admired Mrs. Faulkner's lovely gracious\ndisposition, and her clever cultivated mind. Mrs. Faulkner saw great\npossibilities in Dorothy's character and took a sincere interest in the\ngirl. Aside from this there was that subtle, inexplicable bond of\nsympathetic congeniality, which makes a real friendship possible.\n\n\"I want to talk to you seriously,\" said Dorothy.\n\n\"I'm all attention,\" said Mrs. Faulkner; \"proceed with your\nseriousness.\"\n\n\"You and Mr. Faulkner have been here a week to-morrow,\" Dorothy went on,\n\"and----\"\n\n\"And you can't stand us any longer,--and you want to break it to me\ngently?\"\n\n\"No, indeed, nothing of the sort! and you know that well. But I want to\nask you frankly, and I want you to tell me honestly, how I have\nsucceeded this week in what I have undertaken.\"\n\n\"What have you undertaken?\" said Mrs. Faulkner, who dearly loved to make\nDorothy formulate her thoughts.\n\n\"Why, I undertook to give you and Mr. Faulkner, in a general way, and so\nfar as I could, just such comforts and accommodations as you would get\nat the average summer hotel.\"\n\n\"Is that all you tried to do?\"\n\n\"I think,\" said Dorothy, speaking slowly, and thinking hard, \"I think I\ntried to give you a little bit extra, in the way of home comforts and\ndainty service, to make up for the things that the average summer hotel\nprovides, but which I can't give you.\"\n\n\"Like a brass band, for instance.\"\n\n\"Yes, a brass band, and a great array of bell-boys and porters, and\nSaturday night hops, and,--lots of things like that.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Mrs. Faulkner, \"to tell you the truth, I don't care two\nstraws for brass bands, or Saturday night hops; and Mr. Faulkner doesn't\neither. We are both charmed with this place, and we are both absolutely\nhappy and comfortable. So, if you are willing, we are quite ready to\nprolong our stay indefinitely. Mr. Faulkner enjoys the quiet and freedom\nfrom interruption, while he is pursuing his scientific studies. And as\nfor myself, I want to get well rested this summer, for during the\nwinter, my city life is very full of gayety and excitement.\"\n\n\"I'm so glad you are satisfied,\" said Dorothy, earnestly; \"for this was\nan experiment, and I was so anxious it should succeed. Of course, on my\nside it is more than satisfactory. You and Mr. Faulkner are ideal\nboarders; you make no trouble at all, and you have helped me in lots of\nways by your advice and suggestions. Now I want to ask your advice some\nmore. You know what I can do,--you know the house, and all,--do you\nthink, if I could get them, I could take two or three more boarders?\"\n\n\"Do _you_ think you could?\" asked Mrs. Faulkner, smiling at Dorothy's\neager face.\n\n\"Yes, I think so; but sometimes, you know, I'm apt to overrate my own\nability. I could do the work all right,--or have it done,--but I'm not\nsure whether I could manage to satisfy people who might not be so lovely\nand amiable as you and Mr. Faulkner are. And another thing, I wouldn't\nwant any more boarders if it would bother or annoy you two the least\nmite.\"\n\n\"Why do you think you would like to have more?\"\n\n\"Because, Mrs. Faulkner, I want to earn more money. Grandmother is\nbothered with her financial affairs, and if we children could help her\nany, we'd all be so glad. You see we are an awful expense to her; but\nsoon, I hope we'll be old enough to earn money for her instead. Now of\ncourse to have two boarders is a good help towards the living expenses\nof our own family; and I've counted up, and I think if I could have\nfour, it would almost entirely pay our running account. And if I had\nsix, I think we might begin to save money. Oh, Mrs. Faulkner, do you\nthink we could do it?\"\n\n\"Where would you get these boarders?\"\n\n\"I don't know; but I thought I would ask you first, and see if you\nobjected to having other people here. And then, if you didn't, I thought\nperhaps I'd write to some of my friends in the city, and see if any of\nthem wanted to come up for a few weeks.\"\n\n\"You are a brave little girl, Dorothy,\" said Mrs. Faulkner, looking into\nthe eager anxious eyes upturned to hers; \"and I must tell you how much\nI appreciate your love for your grandmother, and your courage and pluck\nin taking up this burden of the family fortunes. I have watched you\nthrough the week, and I have noticed your many little self-denials and\nyour unfailing patience and perseverance. _I_ know who walked over to\nWoodport and back yesterday in the hot sun, in order that I might have\ncream for my peaches last night at dinner.\"\n\n\"Oh, how did you know?\" cried Dorothy, blushing at her friend's praise;\n\"but there was really nobody to send,--the children had been on several\nerrands,--and so I just went myself.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know it; and that is only one instance that shows your\ndetermination to have things right. And with that plucky perseverance of\nyours, and with your pleasant house, and good helpers, I see no reason\nwhy you shouldn't take a few more boarders if you can get the right\nkind. Of course it wouldn't annoy Mr. Faulkner nor myself to have some\nother people here; and even if it did, we would have no right or wish\nto stand in your way. When you reach the stage of brass bands, and\nSaturday hops, that will be time for us to leave you, and push on into\nthe wilderness.\"\n\n\"You needn't begin to pack your things to-day,\" said Dorothy, smiling,\n\"as it isn't at all likely I can persuade anybody to come,--let alone a\nbrass band.\"\n\n\"Suppose I present you with two more guests,\" said Mrs. Faulkner.\n\n\"Oh,\" cried Dorothy, \"do you know of anybody? Who are they?\"\n\n\"You may not like them altogether. They are two ladies who are now over\nat the Horton House. They are not enjoying it there, and they asked me\nto let them know if I found any place which I thought they would like.\nI'm sure they would like it here, and I know they would be glad to come;\nbut, to be honest about it, they are a little fussy in some ways. They\nare spinsters, from Boston, and though they are refined and well-bred\nladies, they are sometimes a little exacting in their requirements.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't mind what their requirements were, if I could meet them to\ntheir satisfaction.\"\n\n\"You mustn't take that stand too strictly, Dorothy dear; it is well to\ntry to give your guests satisfaction, but some requirements are\nunreasonable, and it is a mistake to grant them. If these ladies come,\nyou must exercise your judgment in your treatment of them, for they're\nthe kind who are quite likely to impose on your good nature.\"\n\n\"Do you think they would come? How can I find out about them?\"\n\n\"Yes, I'm sure they would come; and if you wish me to, I will write to\nthem.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you; I wish you would, please; that is, after I have spoken\nto grandma, and to the other children about it. What are their names?\"\n\n\"Van Arsdale. Miss Marcia and Miss Amanda. They are quite as imposing as\ntheir names sound; but you need not be really afraid of them. Remember\nthe Faulkners will always protect you from their ferocity.\"\n\nDorothy laughed; and kissing her good friend, ran away to find the\nother children. Having gathered them together, they all went up to\nGrandma Dorrance's room for a caucus.\n\n\"It's a new plan!\" exclaimed Dorothy, perching herself on grandma's\nbureau. As a rule, the more excited the Dorrances were, the higher seats\nthey selected. At present the twins were sitting on the headboard of the\nbed, and Fairy was making unsuccessful endeavors to climb up on the\nmantelpiece.\n\nGrandma Dorrance, well accustomed to these gymnastics, sat in her easy\nchair, and placidly awaited Dorothy's further announcement.\n\n\"You see,\" Dorothy went on, \"we've made, and we are making a great\nsuccess of our boarders. I've just had a talk with Mrs. Faulkner and\nshe's quite satisfied; and goodness knows _we_ are.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Fairy, from a heap of sofa-pillows into which she had just\ntumbled, \"I do think they are the loveliest people. Why, Mr. Faulkner\nsays he's going to send to New York for a book, a-purpose for me. It's a\nlovely book, all about bugs and slugs and ear-wigs. We went walking\nyesterday, and he showed me the funny little houses where beetles and\nthings live in. Oh, he _is_ a nice man!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dorothy, starting afresh; \"it's a great success all around;\nand therefore, my beloved brethren, this is my plan. If two boarders are\ngood, four boarders are twice as good; and so, what do you think of\ntaking two more guests into our hotel?\"\n\n\"At the same rates?\" asked Lilian.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dorothy, \"at the same rates. Just think! that will give us\nsixty dollars a week income, and it won't cost us much more than that to\nlive, even with four boarders.\"\n\n\"Hooray!\" cried Leicester, flinging a pillow up in the air, and catching\nit on his head, \"hooray for the great financier! proprietor of the\nDorrance Domain!\"\n\nThis was followed by a series of ear-splitting cheers; a performance in\nwhich the Dorrances had indulged but seldom during the past week; but\njust now the occasion really seemed to demand it.\n\n\"Who are your millionaire friends?\" asked Leicester, \"and when do they\narrive?\"\n\n\"Oh, they don't know yet themselves, that they're coming,\" said Dorothy,\nairily; \"and they're two ladies, and their name is Van Arsdale, and\nthey're very aristocratic, and they want to be waited on every minute,\nand I'm sure they won't want any of us to make a speck of noise while\nthey're here.\"\n\nA long low growl from Lilian, started the Dorrance groan, and the other\nthree joined in with such force and energy, that the next day Mr.\nFaulkner inquired privately of grandma the meaning of the fearful sounds\nhe had heard the day before.\n\nWhen they were quiet again, Dorothy explained the whole thing\nrationally, and they were all much pleased with her plan.\n\nGrandma feared that the added responsibility would be too much for her\noldest granddaughter; but the rest all promised to help, and the girls\nagreed that they could do even more of the parlor and dining-room work,\nand so give Tessie more time to help Kathleen in the kitchen.\n\n\"I suppose the Van Arsdale ladies will register,\" said Leicester, with a\nsudden remembrance of his last experience as a clerk.\n\n\"Yes, of course,\" said Dorothy; \"and we mustn't giggle this time,\neither. I'm not at all sure they'll come, but I hope they will; and of\ncourse, if they do they must be received properly.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE VAN ARSDALE LADIES\n\n\nThe Van Arsdale ladies did decide to come. On the receipt of Mrs.\nFaulkner's note they concluded that the Dorrance Domain was just the\nplace for them, and they immediately began to make preparations for\nleaving the Horton House.\n\n\"Though it's a very queer thing, Amanda,\" the elder Miss Van Arsdale\nsaid to her sister, \"it's a very queer thing for a young girl to be\nproprietor of a hotel. I must confess I don't understand it. And I'm not\nsure I want to be mixed up with any such ridiculous doings.\"\n\n\"But Mrs. Faulkner says that it's all right; and that we four will be\nthe only boarders. That seems to me very exclusive. You know the\nFaulkners are all right,--her mother was a Frelinghuysen. I'm not afraid\nto risk it, as long as they recommend it.\"\n\n\"Well, we'll try it for a week, as Mrs. Faulkner advised; and if we\ndon't like the girl proprietor, we won't have to stay any longer.\"\n\n\"I don't know what she can be, I'm sure. She can't be of our kind.\"\n\nJudging from the effect presented to the eye, the Van Arsdale ladies and\nDorothy Dorrance were not of the same kind.\n\nThey were both elderly spinsters of the type that looks older than it\nreally is, yet tries to seem younger. They were tall and spare with high\ncheek bones, and aquiline, aristocratic noses. These noses seemed to\nturn up at everything; and though literally they didn't turn up at all,\nyet the effect of turning up was always there. Their large, light blue\neyes were capable of a powerful and penetrating gaze, that was apt to be\nextremely disconcerting to the object of their stare. Both ladies had\nreally beautiful hair of a soft, gray color, which they wore rolled over\nhigh pompadours. They were wealthy, and though economical and even\npenurious in some respects, each possessed an inordinate love of dress,\nand was willing to spend large sums for gorgeous fabrics made up in the\nlatest styles. The incongruity of these middle aged and far from\nbeautiful spinsters, trailing around soft exquisite robes of dainty\ncoloring, and exquisitely made, afforded much scope for wonderment and\ncuriosity wherever they went.\n\nBut the sisters cared little or nothing for the comments passed upon\nthem. They bought their clothes, and wore them, purely for their own\nselfish enjoyment; and met with stares of cold contempt, the\nhalf-sarcastic praises offered by some daring ladies at the hotel.\n\nThe day that the Van Arsdales were expected at the Dorrance Domain,\nDorothy and Leicester were prepared to receive them as they had the\nothers. Lilian and Fairy were allowed to witness the performance this\ntime, on the strict conditions that they were not to laugh, and none of\nthe four were to look at each other.\n\nAnd so when the Horton House stage came over for the second time,\nGrandma Dorrance, the three Dorrance girls, and the two Faulkners were\non the veranda, while Leicester stood nobly at his post in the office.\n\nMr. Hickox appeared duly, and made everything all right as usual. But\nwhen he assisted the Van Arsdale ladies out of the stage, he remarked to\nhimself that his wife would certainly be surprised if she could see them\ndresses.\n\nThe elder Miss Van Arsdale wore a silk of the exquisite shade known as\npastel blue; it was made with a jaunty little jacket, opening over an\nelaborate white lace waist. A long gold chain hung around her neck, from\nwhich depended innumerable lockets, charms, pencils, purses and\nvinaigrettes, in a bewildering array. Her blue hat was decked with white\nostrich plumes, and though Dorothy had been prepared by Mrs. Faulkner\nfor this display, yet she had not expected quite such a gorgeous\nspectacle.\n\nMiss Amanda Van Arsdale followed her sister; she wore a liberty silk\ngown of an old rose color, and a hat with long black ostrich feathers.\nShe wore no necklace, but from her belt was suspended a large square bag\nmade entirely of overlapping plates of gold, in which doubtless she\ncarried the various impedimenta that her sister exhibited.\n\nThough over-elaborate, these costumes were made in the latest fashion,\nand they looked like beautiful and costly gowns, which by some absurd\nmistake had been put on the wrong wearers.\n\nThe two advanced with a haughty and somewhat supercilious air, and Mr.\nand Mrs. Faulkner rose to greet them. Introductions to the Dorrances\nfollowed, and then Miss Van Arsdale raised her _lorgnon_, and treated\nDorothy to a prolonged inspection.\n\n\"And you are the proprietor of this hotel?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dorothy, smiling; \"I am.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Miss Van Arsdale, \"you can't fool me. You look to me quite\ncapable of being the proprietor of anything.\"\n\nAnd somehow, in spite of her peculiar appearance and her brusque ways,\nDorothy felt at once a decided liking for Miss Marcia Van Arsdale.\n\nMrs. Faulkner gave a little nod of satisfaction as she saw the good\nunderstanding between these two, and Mr. Faulkner said, genially:\n\n\"Yes, we think our proprietor a very capable young woman.\"\n\nThen Dorothy ushered the ladies in to the office and paused at the desk.\n\nLeicester confessed afterwards that he almost fell off his stool when he\nsaw Dorothy bringing in two Birds of Paradise, with their feathers\nfreshly painted. But at the time he preserved a straight face, and\npolitely offered the register and the pen.\n\nMiss Marcia, in a bold, dashing hand, signed for them both, and then\nDorothy went herself to their rooms with them,--the faithful Hickox\nbringing up the rear.\n\nOn reaching the rooms, Dorothy offered to assist the ladies in removing\ntheir hats and veils, but Miss Marcia only stared at her. \"Send me a\nmaid,\" she said; \"a lady's maid.\"\n\nThen Dorothy, who was acting under Mrs. Faulkner's direction, said\nquietly:\n\n\"Miss Van Arsdale, this is not a fully equipped hotel, and we do not\nhave ladies' maids. The chambermaid, Tessie, will attend to your rooms,\nand such outside service as you may require. Also, my sisters and I will\nbe glad to help you occasionally, as we often help one another. But a\nregular ladies' maid to assist at your toilet, we cannot provide. May I\nhelp you unpin your veil?\"\n\nMiss Marcia Van Arsdale looked at Dorothy again through her glasses.\n\n\"You're the right sort,\" she said, \"and I like your plain speaking. I'm\nplain-spoken myself. We'll get along all right, and I shall send for my\nparrot.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" exclaimed Dorothy, \"have you a parrot?\"\n\n\"Yes, a very beautiful and valuable bird. But I never take her anywhere,\nuntil I know just what sort of a place it's going to be. I shall send\nfor her to-morrow.\"\n\nNot knowing the high esteem in which Miss Van Arsdale held her parrot,\nDorothy did not fully appreciate the magnitude of this compliment. So\nshe merely said, \"We shall be very glad to welcome Polly.\"\n\n\"I do not allow her to be called Polly,\" said Miss Van Arsdale, with a\nsudden return to her supercilious manner. \"My bird's name is Mary,--and\nI strongly disapprove of nicknames of any sort.\"\n\nA parrot named Mary struck Dorothy as very funny, but she was learning\nto control her sense of humor when necessary, and she replied: \"Very\nwell, Miss Van Arsdale, we shall be glad to welcome Mary.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Miss Van Arsdale, formally; \"and I will ask you to\nhave her cage moved about at my direction, during the day, in accordance\nwith the sun and the weather.\"\n\nDorothy considered a minute, and concluded that this was one of the\ntimes to humor Miss Van Arsdale.\n\nSo she said, \"I will see to it that the cage is placed wherever you\ndesire.\"\n\nThe repetition of this conversation to the others caused great hilarity.\n\n\"Mary!\" cried Leicester; \"a parrot called Mary! but _I_ should not dare\nbe so familiar with the bird as to call her Mary. I shall say Miss Mary,\nand shall always address her with my best dancing-school bow.\"\n\nThe parrot arrived duly, and proved to be such a superior bird, and so\ninteresting and attractive, that the children all fell in love with her.\nThe name of Polly was entirely unsuited to such a dignified creature,\nand Mary seemed far more appropriate.\n\nThe bird's plumage was of brilliant coloring, and Lilian declared that\nthe Van Arsdale ladies copied their own clothes from Miss Mary's. The\nparrot was an exceedingly fine talker, and readily picked up new\nphrases.\n\nWhenever the Van Arsdale ladies entered the room, Mary would remark,\n\"Hurrah for Miss Marcia!\" or, \"Hurrah for Miss Amanda!\" as the case\nmight be. This hurrahing was quite in line with the Dorrances' own mode\nof expression, and they soon taught Mary to hurrah for each of them by\nname.\n\nAlthough on the whole, the Misses Van Arsdale were satisfactory\nboarders, they were far more difficult than the easy-going Faulkners.\nMiss Marcia had a most irritating way of popping out of her room, and\ncalling over the banister, \"Clerk, clerk!\"\n\nSince the moment of registration, she had looked upon Leicester as the\nofficial clerk of the hotel, and applied to him a dozen times a day for\nthings that she wanted or thought she wanted.\n\nUsually these applications were made by screaming from the head of the\nstaircase. Sometimes the request was for stationery,--again for hot\nwater, warm water, cold water, or ice water. Miss Amanda, too, made\nsimilar demands, and was given to calling for a glass of milk at five\no'clock in the morning, or a few sandwiches after everybody had retired\nfor the night.\n\nBut Dorothy was learning that the way to success is not always a\nprimrose path, and she cheerfully did her best to accede to such of\nthese demands as she considered just and reasonable. And she tried, too,\nto look at the justice and reasonableness from the standpoint of her\nguests' rather than her own opinions.\n\nThe children had agreed that whenever Miss Marcia desired Mary's cage\nmoved, any one of the four was to do it. And it was fortunate that the\ntask was thus divided, for Miss Marcia was fussy, and twenty times a\nday, or more, one of the Dorrances might be seen carrying the large cage\nfrom the hall to the veranda, from the veranda to the parlor, from the\nparlor to the upper balcony, and so on.\n\nBut as careful attention to Mary's welfare was one of the principal\nconditions of the Van Arsdales' continued stay at the Dorrance Domain,\nand too, as the children were one and all devoted to the bird, this work\nwas not objected to.\n\nDorothy was most anxious to keep her four boarders through the rest of\nthe summer. For the plan was working successfully, and though providing\na well-spread and even bounteous table, Dorothy found she could save a\nlittle money. She was not avaricious nor mercenary, but she longed to be\nable, at the close of the season, to present Grandma Dorrance with at\nleast a small sum of money, to help pay their winter expenses.\n\nAnd so, when Miss Marcia one day made a proposition to her, Dorothy\nhailed it with delight.\n\nThe suggestion was that Miss Van Arsdale should ask her niece to come up\nto the Dorrance Domain to board, and to bring her whole family.\n\nThe family consisted of Mrs. Black, three small children and two nurses;\nMr. Black might possibly come up occasionally, but would remain only a\nfew days at a time.\n\nChildren! Dorothy remembered only too well, how children were objected\nto in boarding-houses, and she wondered if she dare undertake to have\nthem in her hotel. She realized, too, that six or seven more people\nwould necessitate some radical changes in her methods, and in her\nhousehold appointments. Indeed, it meant a change from an experiment to\nthe real thing. It meant assuming obligations much more formal than she\nwas under towards her present guests.\n\nOn the other hand, Mrs. Black was wealthy, Miss Van Arsdale said, and\nquite willing to pay generously for all she received.\n\n\"I want to do it, Miss Marcia,\" said Dorothy,--\"I want to do it very\nmuch; but it is a big question to decide. So I'll take twenty-four hours\nto think it over, and to discuss it with the others, and to-morrow I\nwill let you know.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nA REAL HOTEL\n\n\nAt the family conference on the subject, Grandma Dorrance said No. The\ngentle old lady was more than usually decided, and she said, that while\nthe Faulkners and Van Arsdales were charming people, and more like\nvisitors than boarders, a family of children, with nurses, was an\naltogether different matter, and meant far more trouble and\ncomplications than Dorothy could realize.\n\n\"Oh, grannymother dear,\" said Dorothy, \"I don't think so. Miss Marcia\nsays that Mrs. Black is a lovely lady, not a bit fussy; and children and\nnurses can't be as much responsibility as grown people. Why, they\nwouldn't be critical at all.\"\n\n\"Not critical, perhaps, but far more troublesome in their own way.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know,\" said Leicester; \"the reason people didn't want us\nchildren in boarding-houses was because we made so much noise. Now we\ndon't care how much noise these kids make, and there's room enough for\nthe people who do care, to get away from the racket.\"\n\n\"We would have to have more servants,\" said Lilian; \"and wouldn't that\ncut down the profits a good deal?\"\n\n\"I've been thinking about that,\" said Dorothy, \"and I've come to this\nconclusion. If we should take all these people, we would have to get\nanother chambermaid, and another helper in the kitchen. A young girl to\npare the vegetables, and help with the dish washing. Of course with so\nmany extra people, more waitresses will be necessary; but as you say,\nLilian, if we hire a lot of servants it will make our profits pretty\nslim. And so I propose that we three girls wait on the table.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, children,\" cried Grandma Dorrance; \"I won't allow anything of\nthat sort!\"\n\n\"Now wait a minute, grandma,\" said Dorothy; \"don't say things that\nyou'll just have to take back afterwards. There is no disgrace at all in\nwaiting on a table. Lots of college girls and boys do it right along,\nin the colleges,--and they go to summer hotels, too, and wait on the\ntables there. Now we children want to earn some money to help you; after\nyou've taken care of us all these years, I'm sure it's no more than\nright. And if this way of earning money isn't easier and pleasanter than\ngoing into a store, I'll give up. What do the rest of you say?\"\n\n\"I say, let's go ahead,\" declared Leicester; \"if the four of us agree,\nwe can persuade grandma. She never really refused us anything in our\nlives. And as to waiting on the table, I'd just as leave do it myself,\nas not. As you say, Dot, lots of college fellows do it, and it's no more\ndisgrace than being president. And then we can all eat by ourselves\nafterwards, and have a jolly old time.\"\n\n\"I'd love to wait on the table,\" said Fairy; \"I think it would be\ngorgeous fun. Shall we all wear caps, and aprons with big white wings\nsticking out of the shoulders?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Dorothy, \"not caps. We'll wear white aprons, but not with\nshoulder-ruffles.\"\n\n\"I shall have shoulder-ruffles on mine,\" said Leicester, decidedly;\n\"and I shall wear a cap, too.\"\n\nEven grandma laughed at this; but Dorothy said, \"No, Less, I don't want\nyou to wait on the table, at least not until we really need you. We\ngirls can do it, with Tessie's help.\"\n\n\"Well, what _can_ I do?\" said Leicester; \"it won't take all my time to\nregister the people who come.\"\n\n\"There'll be enough for you to do, old fellow,\" said Dorothy; \"you can\ngo to market every day, and answer Miss Marcia's calls, and move Mary\naround. Then if you have any time left, you can amuse the three Black\nbabies.\"\n\n\"Pickaninnies, are they?\" said Leicester; \"then I'll fill them up on\nwatermelon.\"\n\nAlthough Grandma Dorrance weakened somewhat in her disapproval of the\nplan, yet it was not until Mrs. Faulkner was called in, and her opinion\nasked, that grandma gave an entire consent.\n\nMrs. Faulkner was so sweet and sensible about the whole matter, and so\njudicious in her advice and suggestions, that grandma was much\ninfluenced by her view of the case.\n\nMrs. Faulkner quite agreed with Dorothy about the girls acting as\nwaitresses, and strongly approved of the children's desire to add to\ntheir finances.\n\nShe also advised Dorothy to charge good prices for the accommodation of\nthe children and nurses, because, she said, they were quite as great a\nresponsibility in their way, as Mrs. Black herself.\n\nAs Dorothy had hoped, Mr. Bill Hodges was able to recommend a young girl\nwhom he knew, to help Kathleen in the kitchen; and Tessie knew of a\ncompetent chambermaid who would be glad to come up from the city for a\nwhile.\n\nSo Dorothy wrote to Mrs. Black, and stated frankly what she had to\noffer, and what her rates were, and Mrs. Black telegraphed back that she\nmight expect the whole family as soon as they could get there.\n\nAnd so it came to pass, that again Leicester stood behind his open\nregister, and the proprietor of the Dorrance Domain awaited her new\nrelay of guests.\n\nThough Dorothy was not as much embarrassed this time, as when she\nexpected her first guests, and had far less sense of humor in the\nsituation, she had a better poise and a greater self-confidence, which\ncame necessarily from her so far successful experiences.\n\nBut when she saw the cavalcade approaching, her heart began to beat a\nlittle faster, and worse than that, she found it impossible to keep from\nlaughing.\n\nThe Blacks had come up by rail, and had apparently annexed all the\navailable vehicles at the station to transport them. There was a\nrockaway first, then two buggies, then two large spring wagons, and then\na buckboard. In the wagons were several trunks, three baby-carriages and\na number of queer-shaped forms carefully wrapped, which afterwards\nproved to be portable bath-tubs, a cradle and a folding crib.\n\nDorothy began to think that for once, Mr. Hickox would not prove equal\nto the occasion; but he reassured her with his usual statements that it\nwould be all right, and that he would look after things.\n\nThe rockaway came first, and Mr. and Mrs. Black were helped out by Mr.\nHickox in his most official manner.\n\nMrs. Black was a delicate, helpless-looking little lady; very pretty, in\na pale blonde way, and seemingly very dependent on her big, good-looking\nhusband. Mr. Benjamin Black was one of those hearty, cordial-mannered\nmen, who make friends at once.\n\nHe brought Mrs. Black up the steps, and advancing to Dorothy with\noutstretched hand, said pleasantly: \"I'm sure this is our proprietor,\nMiss Dorrance.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dorothy, put at her ease at once, and shaking hands with\nthem both; \"I'm very glad to see you.\"\n\n\"We are glad to be here,\" said Mr. Black. \"The trip was very warm and\ntiresome. But this place is most charming.\"\n\n\"And so cool and quiet,\" said Mrs. Black, sinking into a chair, and\nlooking, Dorothy thought, as if she never meant to rise again.\n\nBy this time the other vehicles were depositing their cargoes, both\nhuman and freight, and for a moment Dorothy wondered if the Dorrance\nDomain were large enough to hold the entire collection.\n\nOne of the nurses was French, and was talking volubly in her own\nlanguage to the two children who held her by the hands. One of these\nchildren, a girl of five years, was answering her nurse, also in French;\nwhile the other, a younger boy, was crying loudly, but whether in French\nor English, nobody could quite make out.\n\nThe other nurse was a large and stout German woman, who was crooning a\nGerman folk-song to the baby she carried in her arm. Apparently the baby\ncared little for German music, for the small infant was pounding its\nnurse's face with both tiny fists, and making strange gurgling sounds\nwhich might be caused either by joy or grief.\n\nAll these people came up on the veranda; and after persuading one of the\ndrivers to stay and help him, Mr. Hickox began to carry the luggage into\nthe house.\n\nWith a successful effort at composure, Dorothy paid no attention to the\nchildren and nurses, and conducted Mr. Black to the office.\n\n\"Ah,\" said he to Leicester; \"how do you do, sir, how do you do? Fine\nplace you have up here. Very fine place. Glad I brought my family. Hope\nthey won't make you any trouble.\"\n\nAs the commotion on the veranda seemed to increase each moment,\nLeicester did not echo this hope, but spoke pleasantly to Mr. Black, and\nturned the register towards him.\n\nThe gentleman registered Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Black, Miss Sylvia Black,\nMaster Montmorency Black, Miss Gwendolen Genevieve Black, Mlle.\nCelestine, and Fraulein Lisa Himmelpfennig.\n\nLeicester looked proudly at this array of names which reached half-way\ndown the page, and ringing for Mr. Hickox, he gave him the keys of the\nrooms set aside for the party, and the caravan started up-stairs.\n\nDorothy went with them, both because she thought it proper to do so, and\nbecause she felt an interest in seeing the family properly distributed.\n\nLeicester left his official desk, and found plenty to do in disposing of\nthe baby-carriages, and the other paraphernalia.\n\nIt was strange, Dorothy thought to herself as she came down-stairs, how\nmuch more easily, and as a matter of course she took the Blacks' arrival\nthan she had the previous ones.\n\n\"I must have been born for a hotel proprietor,\" she said to herself;\n\"for I don't feel any worry or anxiety about the dinner or anything. I\njust _know_ everything will be all right.\"\n\nAs she reached the foot of the staircase, she met Fairy, who was just\ncarrying Mary's cage into the north parlor.\n\n\"Hurrah for Dorothy!\" croaked the parrot, catching sight of her.\n\n\"Ah, Miss Mary, you'll have a lot of new names to hurrah for now, and\njaw-breakers at that. I shouldn't wonder if they'd break even a parrot's\njaw, and they may bend that big yellow beak of yours.\"\n\n\"She can learn them,\" said Fairy, confidently. \"Miss Mary can learn\nanything. She's the cleverest, smartest, educatedest bird in the whole\nworld. There's _nothing_ she can't learn.\"\n\n\"Pretty Mary,\" said the bird in its queer, croaking voice; \"move Mary's\ncage. Hurrah for Fairy!\"\n\n\"There, just hear that!\" exclaimed Fairy, proudly; \"now I rather guess a\nbird like that could learn to hurrah for anybody.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Dorothy, \"but you don't know yet that these children's\nnames are Gwendolen Genevieve, and Montmorency.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Fairy, nearly dropping the cage, \"of course no parrot\ncould learn such names as those.\"\n\n\"And Miss Marcia objects to nicknames,\" said Dorothy. \"These new people\naren't a bit like their aunts, though.\"\n\n\"When are they coming down?\" asked Lilian, who had joined her sisters;\n\"I wish they'd get that procession of baby-carriages started. I want to\nsee the show.\"\n\nAt that moment, the French nurse, Celestine, came down-stairs with the\ntwo older children. The little ones had been freshly dressed, and looked\nextremely pretty. Sylvia was in crisp white muslin, with fluttering\nbows of pink ribbon, and Montmorency wore a boyish garb of white pique.\n\n\"Won't you speak to me?\" asked Lilian, putting out her hand to the\nlittle girl.\n\n\"No,\" said the child, hiding her face in her nurse's apron; \"do away.\nI's af'aid.\"\n\n\"Mees Sylvie,--she is afraid of everything,\" said Celestine; \"she is a\nnaughty--naughty,--a bad ma'amselle.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried Sylvia; \"me not bad. Me dood ma'selle.\"\n\n\"Me dood!\" announced three year old Montmorency; \"me no ky. On'y babies\nky. Me bid man!\"\n\n\"You are good,\" said Fairy, \"and you're a nice big man. Come with me,\nand I'll show you where I'm going to put this pretty green bird.\"\n\n\"Ess,\" said the little boy, and grasping hold of Fairy's frock he\nwillingly trotted along by her side.\n\nWhereupon Sylvia, overcoming her bashfulness, concluded she, too, wanted\nto go with the green bird.\n\nSo Celestine and her charges accompanied the Dorrance girls to the north\nparlor, and there they found the Van Arsdale ladies, who sat waiting in\nstate to receive their newly arrived relatives.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nUPS AND DOWNS\n\n\nThe days that followed were crammed full of both business and pleasure.\nDorothy rose each morning, buoyant with eager hope that all would go\nwell, and went to bed each night, rejoicing in the fact that in the main\nit had done so.\n\nThere was plenty of work to do; but it was cheerfully done, and many\nhands made it light, and comparatively easy. There were many small\nworries and anxieties, but they were overcome by perseverance and\ndetermination.\n\nThe Dorrance pride was inherent in all four children, and having set\ntheir hand to the plough, not only were they unwilling to turn back, but\nthey were determined to make the best possible furrow. Although Dorothy\nwas at the helm, and all important matters were referred to her, yet the\nothers had their appointed tasks and did them each day, promptly and\nwell.\n\nNow that the Domain had assumed more of the character of a hotel, the\nDorrances saw less of their boarders, socially. Also the large\ndining-room was used, and the guests seated in families at various\ntables. This gave a far more hotel-like air to the house, and though\nperhaps not quite as pleasant, it seemed to Dorothy the right thing to\ndo.\n\nThe Faulkners were ideal boarders; the Van Arsdales, though more\nexacting, were just and considerate; but the Blacks, as Leicester\nexpressed it, were a caution.\n\nMrs. Black was a continual and never-pausing fusser. Mr. Black remained\ntwo days to get them settled, and then returned to the city. Immediately\nafter his departure, Mrs. Black insisted on changing her room.\n\n\"I didn't want to bother my husband about it,\" she said to Dorothy, \"for\nhe thinks I'm so fickle-minded; but truly, it isn't that. You see, the\nsun gets around to this room at just half-past three, and that's the\ntime I'm always taking my nap, and so of course it wakes me up. Now you\nsee, I can't stand that,--when I came up here for rest and recuperation.\nAnd so, my dear Miss Dorrance, if you don't mind, I'll just take some\nother room. I'm sure you have plenty of them, and if that big, strong\nMr. Hickox will help move my things, I'm sure it will be no trouble at\nall. Perhaps your sister Fairy will look after the children a little\nbit, while Celestine and Lisa assist me. The baby is asleep, and perhaps\nshe won't waken, but if she does, would Miss Lilian mind holding her for\njust a little while? or she might take her out in her baby-carriage for\na bit of a ride. I'm sorry to be troublesome, but you see for yourself,\nI really can't help it.\"\n\nIf Mrs. Black really _was_ sorry to be troublesome, she must have been\nsorry most of the time. For she was everlastingly making changes of some\nsort, or desiring attention from somebody, and she quite imposed on the\ngood nature of the younger Dorrances, by begging them to take care of\nher children upon all too frequent occasions. Once, even Leicester was\nsurprised to find himself wheeling Montmorency up and down the veranda,\nwhile Mrs. Black finished a letter to go in the mail.\n\nThe Van Arsdale ladies also were under the calm, but imperious sway of\ntheir fragile-looking niece. It was nothing unusual to see Miss Marcia\nand Miss Amanda each holding one of the fretful children, and making\nfrantic endeavors to amuse their young relatives. The nurses were\ncompetent, but Mrs. Black so often had errands for them that their young\ncharges were frequently in the care of other people.\n\nDorothy talked this matter over with Mrs. Faulkner, and as usual was\nwisely counseled by that lady. She advised, that in so far as Lilian and\nFairy wished to play with the Black children, they should do so; but in\nno way were they under obligation to assist Mrs. Black in the care of\nher little ones. And, if she requested this at times when the girls had\nduties to perform, or indeed at a time when they wished to take their\nrecreation, Mrs. Faulkner said they were perfectly justified in asking\nMrs. Black to excuse them.\n\nDorothy told this to her sisters, who were thereby much relieved; for\nthough fond of the children, they did not, as Lilian said, wish to be\npushing around those Black babies in perambulators from morning till\nnight. But somehow the babies caused a great deal of commotion, and\nDorothy began to understand why boarding-house keepers preferred grown\npeople.\n\nOne day as the Dorrance girls sat on the veranda, Celestine came running\nto them, wringing her hands, after her French method of showing great\ndismay, and exclaiming:\n\n\"Mees Sylvie,--she have fallen into ze lake!\"\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed the three girls at once, jumping up, and running\ntowards the lake; \"where did she fall in? How did it happen?\"\n\n\"Non, non,--not zat way! zis a-way,\" and Celestine started down a path\nthat did not lead towards the lake. \"I have pull her out; she is not\ndrown,--but she is,--oh, so ver' soil,--so, vat you say,--muddy, oh, so\nmuch muddy!\"\n\n\"Never mind the mud if the child isn't drowned,\" cried Lilian; \"but\nthis is not the way to the lake. You said she fell in the lake.\"\n\n\"Not ze gran' lake, mees, but ze small lake,--ze ver' small, p'tit\nlake.\"\n\n\"Oh, she means nothing but a mud-puddle!\" cried Fairy, who had run ahead\nof the rest, and found Sylvia lying on the grass, chuckling with\nlaughter, while her pretty clothes were a mass of mud and wet.\n\n\"I falled in!\" she cried, gleefully; \"I failed in all myself, when\nC'lestine wasn't looking. Ain't I a funny dirl?\"\n\n\"No, I don't think it's funny,\" began Dorothy, and then she paused,\nrealizing that it was not her duty to reprimand Mrs. Black's children,\nand, too, Sylvia certainly did look funny. Not only her white dress, but\nher face and hands, and her dainty white slippers and stockings were\nbespattered with brown mud, and Lilian said that she looked like a\nchocolate eclair.\n\nAnother day, Celestine approached Dorothy with the pleasing news that,\n\"Master Montmorency, he must have upsetted the blanc-mange.\"\n\nDorothy flew to verify this statement, and found that the son of the\nhouse of Black had indeed overturned a large dish of Bavarian cream,\nwhich Kathleen had made for that evening's dessert. It had been set out\non the back porch to cool, and though protected by a wire screen cover,\nthe enterprising youth had succeeded in wrecking the whole affair.\n\nDorothy's record for good-nature was seriously menaced by this\nmischievous prank, and she would probably have told Mrs. Black her\nhonest opinion of the transgressing infant; but Kathleen's view of the\ncase disarmed her.\n\n\"Whisht, now, darlint,\" said the big peace-maker, \"niver you mind. I'll\nwhishk up another bowl full in a minute, shure. The shpalpeen didn't\nmane anny harrum. Troth, he's nothin' but a baby. Wasn't ye wan yersilf\nwanst? Go 'long wid ye, now, and lave me to me wurruk.\"\n\nThis Dorothy was glad enough to do, and she walked away, feeling that\nKathleen had taught her a lesson in making allowance for the\nunconsciousness of a child's wrongdoing.\n\nWhen she reached the west veranda she found the whole family and all\nthe guests gathered there in a great state of excitement.\n\nFollowing Lilian's pointing finger with her eyes, she saw Mary, the\nparrot, perched calmly on a high limb of an evergreen-tree.\n\n\"How did she get out?\" cried Dorothy, aghast.\n\n\"Sylvia opened the cage door,\" answered Lilian, \"when no one was\nlooking,--and Mary just walked out. You should have seen her climbing\nthat tree. She went up branch by branch.\"\n\nThe parrot looked triumphantly down at the crowd, and remarked, \"Mary is\nhigh up; Mary is very high up.\"\n\n\"Come down, Mary,\" said Dorothy, beseechingly; \"come down, Mary,--pretty\nMary,--come down to Dorothy.\"\n\n\"Hurrah for Dorothy!\" cried the parrot,--\"hurrah for Sylvia! hurrah for\nthe Dorrance Domain!\"\n\nThis last cheer had been taught to Mary by Leicester, after many long\nand patient lessons, and never before had Mary spoken it so plainly and\ndistinctly.\n\nBy this time the Van Arsdale ladies were in tears; Fairy, too, was\nweeping, for she felt sure Mary would fly away and never come back. The\nBlack children required very little encouragement to start their\nlachrymal glands, and seeing the others' tears, immediately began to\nhowl in various keys.\n\n\"Don't cry, don't cry!\" said Mary, from her high perch.\n\n\"Come down, Mary,\" said Dorothy, coaxingly, and showing an apple and a\ncracker which she had procured; \"come down and get your dinner.\"\n\nBut no urgings would induce the bird to come down. She cocked her eye\nwickedly, and hurrahed for everybody in turn, but utterly refused to\ndescend.\n\n\"Ach, donnerblitzen!\" exclaimed German Lisa. \"Denn du bist ein dumkopf!\nKommst du jetz hinein!\"\n\n\"Ciel! what a bird it is!\" wailed Celestine, wringing her hands; \"ah,\nMarie, belle Marie, come down, cherie!\"\n\nBut the French coaxing, and the German scolding had no more effect on\nMary than the weeping of the Van Arsdale ladies and the screaming of\nthe children. She fluttered her wings, and seemed about to depart. Then\nshe would look at them again, and with her exasperating winks, would\nhurrah enthusiastically.\n\n\"If she'll only stay there long enough, perhaps I can lasso her,\" said\nLeicester, running in the house for a string.\n\n\"No,\" said Mr. Faulkner, who followed him in, \"I'm afraid that would\nfrighten her; but if you had a butterfly net, with a very long handle,\nwe might catch her with that.\"\n\n\"Just the thing,\" said Leicester; \"and there is one in the storeroom; I\nremember seeing it there.\"\n\nHe brought it, but the handle was not long enough; so Mr. Faulkner\nproposed that they try placing a ladder against another tree near by,\nand then from the top of that, endeavor to reach the bird with a net.\n\nMary watched the proceedings with great interest. \"Catch Mary!\" she\ncried; \"catch pretty Mary!\"\n\n\"You bet we will!\" cried Leicester, and when the ladder was adjusted he\nclimbed to the top of it, carrying the long-handled net with him.\n\nThey all thought the bird would be frightened at the net and fly away,\nor at least attempt to do so.\n\nBut she seemed to think it a game in which she played an important part,\nand she sat quietly on the branch, occasionally remarking, \"Catch Mary,\npretty Mary!\"\n\nWith a sure aim, Leicester pushed the net towards the bird and brought\nit down over her head, then with a dextrous twist, he turned it upside\ndown, with the bird in it, and lowered it carefully to Mr. Faulkner, who\nwas standing below. At this unexpected indignity, Mary set up a\nferocious squawking, the Black children redoubled their yells, and the\nDorrance children cheered with delight.\n\nMary was taken from the net, unharmed, and restored to her happy\nmistress, who determined to send to town at once for a padlock for the\ncage door.\n\nBut though commotions such as these were of frequent, almost daily\noccurrence; yet when they were not such as to interfere with the\nroutine of her household management, Dorothy did not allow them to worry\nher.\n\nAlthough usually busy all the morning, she found many spare hours for\nrest and recreation in the afternoon; and the evenings were always\ndelightful. The Black children were then safely in bed, and could make\nno trouble. The Dorrances were at liberty to be by themselves, or with\ntheir boarders, as they wished.\n\nAs Mr. Faulkner played the guitar, and Leicester could pick a little on\nthe mandolin, and as they all could sing,--or fancied they could,--there\nwere often very jolly concerts on the veranda, or, on moonlight\nevenings, out in the boat.\n\nMr. Black came up every week, and when he discovered the array of\nmusical talent already there, he brought his banjo, and added greatly to\nthe fun. Sometimes on rainy evenings, they would all congregate in the\ngreat empty ballroom, and play merry games. On such occasions, the\nBlacks and Faulkners seemed almost as young, and nearly as noisy as the\nDorrances.\n\nOne day Leicester came to Dorothy, with a letter.\n\n\"Jack Harris has just written me,\" he said, \"and he wants to come up\nhere and board for a month; what do you think?\"\n\n\"Let him come, by all means,\" said Dorothy, heartily; \"he won't be a bit\nof extra trouble, and if he will pay our regular rates I shall be glad\nto have him. The Dorrance Domain is now a fully established summer\nhotel; and we are prepared to receive all who apply.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTWO BOYS AND A BOAT\n\n\nIt was nearly a week after Leicester had written to Jack Harris, telling\nhim that he might come up and board at the hotel, when, one afternoon,\nthe Dorrance children heard queer sounds coming up from the direction of\nthe dock.\n\nAll four ran to look over the rail of the upper landing, and saw a\nstrange-looking craft anchored at the dock. On the dock were two boys\nand Mr. Hickox; the latter gentleman apparently much excited and\ninterested.\n\n\"It's Jack Harris!\" cried Leicester, \"and another fellow with him; and,\noh, I say, girls, they've got a motor-boat!\"\n\n\"What's a motor-boat?\" cried Fairy; but as all four were then flying\ndown the steps at a rapid speed, nobody answered her.\n\nWondering who the second boy could be, and filled with delightful\ncuriosity as to the wonderful motor-boat, the Dorrances reached the\ndock with astonishing rapidity.\n\n\"Hi, Jack,\" cried Leicester, \"thought you were coming up by train. What\na dandy boat! Yours?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Jack, whipping off his cap, and shaking hands with Dorothy;\n\"it belongs to my chum here, Bob Irwin. I've brought him along, Dorothy,\nand I hope you can take us both in. Less said you had plenty of room. I\nwould have written, but Bob only decided to come at the last minute, and\nwe were so busy and excited getting the boat off, that I forgot to\ntelegraph, though I meant to do so.\"\n\nBob Irwin was a big, jolly-looking boy, of about seventeen or eighteen,\nand his smile was so broad and comprehensive that the Dorrances felt\nacquainted at once.\n\n\"Indeed we have plenty of room,\" said Dorothy, answering young Irwin's\ngreeting; \"and we're very glad to have you both,--and your boat too,\"\nshe added, still looking with a sort of fascination at the trim little\naffair.\n\n\"She is a jolly little craft,\" said Bob Irwin, frankly; \"I've only had\nher a few weeks. I named her _Shooting Star_, because she goes like one.\nWe came all the way up from Jersey City by the canal.\"\n\n\"All the way!\" exclaimed Lilian; \"what fun you must have had coming\nthrough the locks!\"\n\n\"Well yes,--but there were so many of them. The planes were worse,\nthough; _Shooting Star_ didn't take to those kindly at all. However,\nwe're here; and if you'll keep us, we'll all have a good deal of fun on\nthis lake.\"\n\n\"I didn't know you could come all the way by canal,\" said Leicester.\n\"Are they willing to open the locks for you?\"\n\n\"Oh, Bob's uncle is a Grand High Mogul or something in the canal\ncompany, and he gave us a permit. I tell you it was great fun; the boat\ngoes like a greased arrow.\"\n\n\"Would you like to go for a little spin around the lake, now, all of\nyou?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"No,--not now,\" said Dorothy, looking at her watch. \"We'd love to, but\nit is too near dinner-time for us to go now. You know, as hotel\nproprietors, we have duties to attend to at scheduled hours; and we must\nbe found at our posts.\"\n\nThough said with apparent carelessness, this was really a brave bit of\nself-denial on Dorothy's part. For she was eager to try the pretty boat,\nand, too, there was nearly a half hour before her presence at the hotel\nwas actually necessary.\n\nBut she had learned by experience that to go out on the lake was a\nproceeding which could not be accurately timed, and she knew that her\nduty pointed towards keeping on the safe side. Beside this, she must\nhave another room put in readiness, for she had expected only Jack.\n\n\"But I _do_ want to go out in the motor-boater,\" cried Fairy, dancing\naround the dock, and waving her arms. \"Will you take us some other time,\nMr. Bob?\"\n\n\"Indeed I will,\" said Bob, heartily; \"and anyway, it's just as well to\ntake our traps up now, and get settled.\"\n\n\"Hickox is your man,\" said that long individual, suddenly interrupting\nhis own investigation of the marvelous boat. \"Hickox'll cart your truck\nup the hill. Where might it be?\"\n\n\"Here you are,\" and Bob sprang into the _Shooting Star_ and tossed out\nthree suit cases and a lot of odds and ends of luggage. \"But we fellows\ncan carry them up.\"\n\n\"No, sir, no, sir; Hickox'll look after things. It'll be all right.\"\n\nJack laughed at the familiar phrases, and Bob Irwin looked on with\namusement while Mr. Hickox stowed the things in his queer-looking cart.\n\n\"And this is for you and your sisters, Miss Dorothy,\" said Bob, as he\nemerged with a final parcel.\n\nThere was no mistaking the contents of the neatly tied up box of candy;\nbut it was of such a size that it nearly took the girls' breath away.\n\n\"Oh, thank you,\" cried Dorothy, dimpling with smiles. \"I haven't had a\nspeck of New York candy since I've been here. And the Woodville\ngum-drops are so highly  and so stiff inside, that they're not a\nbit of fun.\"\n\n\"They were made summer before last, too,\" said Leicester; \"they ought to\nbe sold as antiques.\"\n\n\"A whole big box of candy for our very own!\" cried Fairy; \"oh, that's\nbetter than the promoter-boat, or whatever you call it. And part of the\ncandy is _my_ very own, isn't it, Mr. Bob?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed; to do whatever you like with.\"\n\n\"Then I shall give half of my share to Mrs. Hickox. She'll be _so_\nsurprised. I don't believe she ever saw any real choklits or\nbutter-cuppers.\"\n\nLeicester carried the precious box, and the six children climbed the\nsteps to the Dorrance Domain. Naturally, Fairy reached the top first,\nand ran up the veranda steps, shouting, \"Oh, grannymother! we've got two\nnew boarders, and they came in an automobile-ship, and they brought a\nbushel of candy, real splendiferous New York candy,--and his name is\nBob!\"\n\nGrandma Dorrance had always liked Leicester's friend Jack, and she\nwillingly extended her welcome to the pleasant-faced Bob.\n\nThe two boys were a decided addition to the gayety of the Dorrance\nDomain.\n\nAnd the _Shooting Star_ proved to be an equally desirable adjunct.\nInstead of rowing over to Dolan's Point each morning for the marketing,\nor harnessing old Dobbin and driving there, the swift little motor-boat\ndid the errand in less than half the time, and was moreover a pleasure\nand delight.\n\nBesides this there were merry excursions on the lake in the afternoons\nand evenings.\n\nOne day, when they had started out immediately after luncheon, and,\nowing to Mr. Black's expected arrival, were to have a late dinner, the\nsix children made an exploring tour of the whole lake.\n\n\"I want to find out,\" said Bob, as they started off, \"what feeds this\nlake. There must be several inlets and some of them large ones. A lake\nnine miles long has got to be fed by something.\"\n\n\"This lake is so tame it would eat out of your hand,\" said Leicester.\n\n\"Even so, _I_ wouldn't want to feed it,\" said Dorothy; \"my present array\nof table boarders is quite enough for me, thank you.\"\n\n\"There _is_ an inlet,\" said Lilian, \"just this side of Dolan's Point.\nThe one that has the floating bridge across it, you know.\"\n\n\"But that isn't enough to make any impression on this big lake,\"\ninsisted Bob; \"there must be two or three arms somewhere, and if there\nare, we'll find them to-day; for I'm going all around the shores of the\nlake.\"\n\nSo the _Shooting Star_ shot ahead, and skirted the margin of the lake\nfor miles and miles.\n\nBut except the one at Dolan's Point, no inlet of any sort was\ndiscovered, and the round trip was completed by a crowd of mystified\nexplorers.\n\n\"It's the queerest thing!\" said Bob, whose scientific inquiries were\nprompted by a tenacious mind. \"The water in Lake Ponetcong certainly\nmust come from somewhere.\"\n\n\"I think it rains in,\" said Fairy, with a sage expression. \"It hasn't\nrained much this summer, but it rained a lot when we were in New York,\nand I s'pose the water just stayed in.\"\n\n\"I think it just was here from the beginning,\" said Lilian, \"and somehow\nit never got away.\"\n\n\"That would do for some lakes,\" said Dorothy; \"but here, they're always\nletting it out through the locks; and it does seem as if it would have\nto be filled up again, some way.\"\n\nThat evening the children put the puzzling question to Mr. Faulkner. He\nwas a great favorite with the crowd of young people, and though a\nscientific man, he was capable of making explanations that were entirely\ncomprehensible to their youthful minds.\n\nThey were all interested, though perhaps Bob Irwin was more especially\nso, in learning that Lake Ponetcong was fed entirely by springs in its\nbed.\n\nThis phrase pleased the Dorrance children very much, as their sense of\nhumor was touched by what they chose to call the spring-bed of the lake.\n\nBut Bob was more seriously interested, and listened attentively to Mr.\nFaulkner's description of what was an unusual, though not unprecedented\nphenomenon.\n\nSometimes Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner accompanied them on their motor-boat\ntrips; sometimes, too, Mr. and Mrs. Black went; but the Van Arsdale\nladies refused to be persuaded to risk their lives in any such\nmysterious contrivance.\n\nThe Black children and their nurses were taken out once, but upon their\nreturn Bob Irwin declared himself unwilling ever again to carry such an\nemotional and cosmopolitan crowd. The baby shrieked and yelled in\nEnglish, the French nurse and German nurse shrieked in their respective\nlanguages, and the way they all jumped about was really a serious menace\nto safety.\n\nThere seemed to be no end to the energies or the resources of the three\nboys in providing pleasure and entertainment.\n\nJack and Bob shared Leicester's duties as a matter of course; and though\nLeicester protested, the others insisted on helping him in whatever he\nhad to do. They froze ice cream, they mowed the grass, they split\nkindling-wood,--and they looked on these things as pastimes rather than\ntasks. They were big, strong, good-natured fellows, and firm friends and\nadmirers of all the Dorrances.\n\nBob declared that although he drew the line at pushing the Black babies'\nperambulators, yet he was perfectly willing to act as Miss Mary's escort\nwhenever desired.\n\nOne notable achievement of the boys', was a roof-garden. Jack had\ndiscovered the possibilities of the hotel roof during his earlier visit;\nand at his proposition it was arranged most attractively.\n\nSmall evergreen trees were brought from the woods and taken up to the\nroof where they were made to stand about in hedges or clusters. Rustic\nchairs, settees and tables were found in the storerooms, and rugs were\nplaced about. Hammocks were swung, and over the top of all was rigged an\nawning, which could be rolled away if desired.\n\nChinese lanterns made the place gay by night, and flags and bunting\nformed part of the decoration.\n\nSummer night concerts were often held here, and when Tessie would\nappear with iced lemonade and cakes and fruit, everybody declared that\nnever had there been a hotel so admirably managed as the Dorrance\nDomain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nAN UNWELCOME PROPOSITION\n\n\nThough Dorothy enjoyed the fun of the motor-boat and the roof-garden,\nand was always happy whether working or playing, yet perhaps she liked\nbest of all, to lie in her hammock of a summer afternoon, and read or\nday-dream as she looked across the lake and watched the shadows on the\ndistant hills.\n\nOn these occasions she felt sure she could be a poet, if she only knew\nhow to express properly the fancies that danced through her brain.\n\nSometimes she would provide herself with a pencil and paper, but though\nshe might write a line or a phrase, she never could get any further. The\nattempt to put her thoughts into words always produced a crude and\nstilted result which she knew instinctively was not poetry.\n\n\"If I only could learn the wordy part of it,\" she said to herself, \"I am\nsure I have the right thoughts to put into a poem.\"\n\nAs she lay thinking about all this, one warm afternoon, she suddenly\nheard a voice say: \"_Is_ this a hotel, or isn't it?\"\n\nDorothy jumped, and sitting up in her hammock, saw a strange lady, who\nhad apparently just walked into the Domain.\n\nThe newcomer was of the aggressive type. She was short and stout, with a\ndetermined-looking face and a rather unattractive personal appearance.\nShe wore a short, thick brown walking-skirt, and a brown linen\nshirt-waist, and heavy common-sense shoes. A plain brown felt hat was\ntied securely to her head by means of a brown veil knotted under her\nchin. She carried in one hand a small suit-case, and in the other a\nstout walking-stick.\n\nPretty Dorothy, in her fluffy summer muslin, looked at the stranger\ncuriously a moment, and then, quickly recovering her poise, said\npolitely: \"Yes, this is a hotel. Are you looking for board?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the stranger, \"I am on a tramp. In fact I _am_ a tramp, a\nlady-tramp. I am spending the whole summer walking about the country,\nenjoying myself.\"\n\n\"You are fond of walking, then?\" said Dorothy, by way of making\nconversation.\n\n\"No, I am not,\" replied the lady-tramp; \"I am doing it to reduce my\nflesh, and I am enjoying myself because I have succeeded. Success is\nalways enjoyable.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is;\" and Dorothy herself, felt a satisfaction in the thought\nthat she too was succeeding in her summer's work.\n\n\"My name,\" went on her visitor, \"is Lucille Dillingham. I tramp all day,\nand at night I stay at any hotel or farmhouse near which I happen to\nfind myself. And so I want to stay at this hotel to-night, and if you\nwill tell me where to find the proprietor, I won't trouble you further.\"\n\n\"I am the proprietor,\" said Dorothy, smiling, for she felt quite sure\nthis statement would surprise Miss Lucille Dillingham.\n\n\"If that's a joke,\" was the response, \"I can't see any particular fun in\nit. But no matter, I will inquire at the hotel myself.\"\n\n\"But truly, Miss Dillingham, I am the proprietor,\" and Dorothy stood up\nand put on the most dignified air of which she was capable. \"I am\nDorothy Dorrance, and this hotel is the property of my grandmother; but\nI am the acknowledged proprietor, and I shall be very glad to talk to\nyou as such.\"\n\n\"You don't mean it, child! well if that is not the greatest I ever heard\nof! I am a great believer myself in the capability of women; but for a\ngirl like you to run a hotel, is one ahead of _my_ experience! Tell me\nall about it.\"\n\n\"There isn't much to tell,\" said Dorothy, who was not at all pleasantly\nimpressed by the air and manner of the lady-tramp, and she couldn't help\nthinking to herself that the tramp was more in evidence than the lady.\n\"However,\" she went on, courteously, \"I live here with my grandmother,\nand my brother and two sisters. We have entire charge of this hotel, and\nwe try to manage it in a way to satisfy our guests and ourselves. If\nyou wish to stay for the night, Miss Dillingham, I am sure we can make\nyou comfortable.\"\n\nMiss Dillingham's eyes sparkled.\n\n\"I will do better than that,\" she cried; \"I will stay all the time, and\nI will run the hotel for you. I am a splendid manager, and much better\nfitted for that sort of thing than a frivolous young girl like you. Oh,\nwe'll get along famously!\"\n\nDorothy began to wonder whether Miss Dillingham might not have escaped\nfrom some lunatic asylum, but she only said, \"Thank you very much for\nyour kind offer, but the hotel is running smoothly, and I really can't\nsee the necessity for any change in the administration.\" Just at this\nmoment Fairy came flying across the lawn, and flinging herself into the\nhammock, drew the sides of it together around her athletic little body,\nand with a peculiar kicking motion twisted herself and the hammock over\nand over in a sort of revolving somersault. Then still holding the sides\nshe poked up her golden head, crowned with its big white bow, and gazed\nat the stranger.\n\n\"You must 'scuse me,\" she said, \"for 'pearing so unsuspectedly. But I\nalways come that way when I am in a hurry, and I'm always in a hurry.\"\n\n\"This is my sister Fairy, Miss Dillingham,\" said Dorothy, and Fairy\nbounced out of the hammock, and gracefully offered her hand to the\nstranger.\n\n\"How do you do?\" she said. \"I am very glad to see you, and I hope you\nhave come to stay, 'cause it's time we had some new boarders. I am\n'fraid we are running behind with our 'spenses.\"\n\nDorothy bit her lip to keep from laughing at Fairy's attitude of\nproprietorship, and Miss Dillingham stared at the child in blank\namazement.\n\n\"Ah,\" she said, \"is this another proprietor of this very remarkable\nhotel?\"\n\n\"I'm not purporietor,\" said Fairy, \"my sister is that; and my brother is\nclerk. I am just a general helper, and sometimes I help with the babies\nand the parrot.\"\n\nMiss Dillingham seemed more and more bewildered, but she said, \"I think\nyou're all lunatics, and need somebody to look after you, and straighten\nyou out. I shall stay here for the night, and look into this thing. It\ninterests me extremely. Pray have you many boarders, and are they all as\ncrazy as yourselves?\"\n\nDorothy resented this question, but she kept her temper under control,\nand replied, \"We have a number of boarders and we consider them quite\nsane, and they seem to think us so. If you wish to stay for the night, I\nwill take you to the house at once and give you a room.\"\n\nMiss Dillingham gave a sort of exasperated sniff, which Dorothy took to\nmean acquiescence, and they all started for the house.\n\nFairy walked backwards in front of the others, whirling all the way\nround, now and then, to make sure her path was clear.\n\n\"Did you really think we were crazy?\" she asked, much interested in the\nidea.\n\n\"I did,\" replied Miss Dillingham, \"and I am not yet convinced to the\ncontrary.\"\n\nSuddenly Fairy realized that this was another occasion for registration,\nand with one of her loudest shrieks at the thought, she darted towards\nthe house and disappeared through the front door.\n\n\"Leicester!\" she cried, and then with a prolonged yell, \"Les--ter!\"\nLeicester appeared by a jump through a window. \"What's up?\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, Less, there's a new boarder, and she's crazy, and she thinks we\nare, and she will want to register. Do get in the coop, quick!\"\n\nGrasping the situation, Leicester flung himself through the wicket door\nand behind the office desk. In a jiffy, he had assumed his clerkly air,\nand had opened the great register at the proper date.\n\nWhen Dorothy appeared, a moment later, with Miss Dillingham, Leicester\noffered the pen to the newcomer with such a businesslike air that there\nseemed really no further room to doubt the responsibility of the hotel\nmanagement. Then he rang a bell, and in a moment Mr. Hickox appeared,\nand with the deferential demeanor of a porter picked up Miss\nDillingham's suit-case and stick.\n\nThen Dorothy escorted the lady-tramp to her room, and returned a few\nmoments later, to find the other children waiting for an explanation.\n\n\"Where did you catch it?\" asked Leicester.\n\n\"What is it?\" inquired Lilian.\n\n\"It's only for one night,\" explained Dorothy, laughing; \"but, Less, she\nwants to run the hotel! She thinks we aren't responsible!\"\n\nIt really seemed inevitable, so Lilian started the Dorrance groan. The\nothers took it up, with their usual enthusiasm, and though it was of\nlate a forbidden indulgence, they let themselves go for once, and the\nresult was an unearthly din that brought grandma to the scene at once.\n\n\"Children!\" she exclaimed. \"You know you promised not to do that!\"\n\n\"I know, grandma,\" explained Fairy, \"but truly, this is a specialty\noccasion. You don't know what's happened, and what she wants to do.\"\n\nBut before Mrs. Dorrance could learn what had happened, the\nnewly-registered guest herself, came flying down the staircase.\n\n\"What _is_ the matter?\" she cried; \"is the house on fire? Has anybody\nbeen killed?\"\n\n\"We must 'pollergize, Miss Dillingham,\" spoke up Fairy; \"that's our\nDorrance groan, it belongs to the family; we don't use it much up here,\n'cause it wakes up the baby and otherwise irritations the boarders.\"\n\n\"I should think it would,\" put in Miss Dillingham, with conviction.\n\n\"Yes, it does,\" went on Fairy, agreeably; \"and so you see, we don't 'low\nourselves to 'spress our feelings that way very often. But to-day we had\na purtickular reason for it, and so somehow we found ourselves\na-groaning before we knew it.\"\n\nIgnoring Fairy and her voluble explanation, Miss Dillingham turned to\nMrs. Dorrance, and inquired with dignity: \"Are you the lady of the\nhouse?\"\n\n\"I am the owner of the house,\" said Grandma Dorrance, with her own\ngentle dignity, \"and my granddaughter Dorothy is in charge of it. I\nmust ask you to forgive the disturbance the children just made, and I\nthink I can safely assure you it will not happen again.\"\n\nGrandma Dorrance looked at her grandchildren, with an air of confidence\nthat was responded to by a look of loving loyalty from each pair of\nlaughing young eyes.\n\n\"I don't understand it at all,\" said Miss Dillingham; \"but I will now\nreturn to my room, and take a short nap, if the house can be kept quiet.\nThen later, I have a proposition which I wish to lay before you, and\nwhich will doubtless prove advantageous to all concerned.\"\n\nMiss Dillingham stalked majestically up the stairs again, and the\nDorrances consulted as to what she could mean by her extraordinary\nproposition.\n\n\"I know,\" said Dorothy, \"she wants to run the hotel. She informed me\nthat she was much better qualified for such a business than I am.\"\n\n\"Oh, ho!\" cried Leicester, \"she is, is she! Well I like her nerve!\"\n\n\"I wish she hadn't come,\" said Fairy, beginning to cry. \"I don't want\nher to run this hotel, and Dorothy and all of us only be just boarders.\"\n\n\"Don't cry, Fairy, whatever you do,\" exclaimed Leicester. \"If you put up\none of your best crying-spells, it will make more noise than the groan\ndid, and our new friend will come racing down-stairs again.\"\n\nThis suggestion silenced Fairy, and Leicester went on: \"Do you really\nmean, Dot, that she proposed seriously to take charge of the Domain?\"\n\n\"Yes, she did; and I think she expects to make a business proposition to\nthat effect.\"\n\n\"All right, then; let's give her as good as she sends. Let's pretend\nthat we entertain her proposition, and see what she has to say for\nherself.\"\n\n\"You'd better be careful,\" said Lilian, the practical, \"sometimes people\nget caught in their own trap; and if you pretend you're going to let her\nhave charge of affairs here, first thing you know she'll be at the head\nof things, and we will all be nowhere.\"\n\n\"Huh!\" exclaimed Dorothy. \"I'm not afraid of being dethroned by any\nlady-tramp that happens along. Just let her try it!\"\n\n\"However she might frighten us singly,\" said Leicester, \"I rather guess\nthat the Dorrance family as a whole, can stand up for their rights.\"\n\n\"Don't be foolish, children,\" said grandma; \"Dorothy must have\nmisunderstood the lady. She couldn't have meant to make such a strange\nproposition at a moment's notice.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut apparently that is just what Miss Lucille Dillingham did mean. For\nthat evening, after dinner, she gathered the Dorrance children round her\nin one of the small drawing-rooms, and talked to them in a\nstraightforward if unacceptable way.\n\n\"Now don't say a word,\" she said, \"until I have thoroughly explained my\nintention.\"\n\n\"We won't say a word, Miss Dillingham,\" said Fairy, \"until you say your\nspeech. But please say it plain, 'cause I'm the littlest one and\nsometimes I can't understand big words. 'Course I say big words myself,\nsometimes, but I understand my own, only other people's aren't always\ntellergibble to me. And so, you see I just have to----\"\n\n\"That will do, Fairy,\" interrupted Leicester; \"we've agreed not to do\nour talking until Miss Dillingham is through.\"\n\n\"In a few words, then,\" began Miss Dillingham, with the air of one who\nis satisfied of a foregone conclusion, \"I want to say that in the few\nhours I have been here I have thoroughly acquainted myself with the\nconditions and possibilities of this hotel. And I have discovered that\nit is improperly managed by incompetent hands, and that it is,\ntherefore, a lucky stroke of fortune for you that I happened along just\nnow. I propose to assume entire charge of the hotel, give it a new name,\nestablish new methods of management, and control absolutely the receipts\nand expenditures.\"\n\nIf the four Dorrances hadn't been possessed of a strong sense of humor,\nthey would have been appalled by this extraordinary proposition. As it\nwas, it struck them all as being very funny, and though with difficulty\nrestraining a smile, Leicester inquired, with every appearance of\nserious interest, \"And where do we come in?\"\n\n\"You will be merely boarders,\" announced Miss Dillingham, \"and can run\nand play as befits children of your ages. It may seem strange to you at\nfirst, that I should make you this generous proposition on so short an\nacquaintance, but it is my habit to make quick decisions, and I rarely\nregret them.\"\n\n\"Would you mind telling us your reasons for wanting to do this thing?\"\nasked Lilian.\n\n\"My reasons are perhaps too subtle for young minds to understand. They\nare partly ethical, for I cannot make it seem right that a girl of\nsixteen should be so weighted with responsibility; and, too, I am\nactuated in part by motives of personal advantage. I may say the project\nseems to possess a pecuniary interest for me----\"\n\n\"Miss Dillingham,\" said Fairy fixing her wide-open eyes on the lady's\nface, \"'scuse me for interrupting, but truly I can't understand all\nthose words. What does etherkle mean? and what is tercumerary? They are\nnice words and I would like to save them to use myself, if I knew a\nlittle bit what they meant.\"\n\n\"Never mind what they mean, Fairy,\" said Leicester; \"and Miss\nDillingham, it is not necessary for us to consider this matter any\nfurther. You have made your proposition, and I am sure that I speak for\nthe four of us, when I say that we decline it absolutely and without\nfurther discussion.\"\n\nWhen Leicester chose, he could adopt a tone and manner that seemed far\nmore like a man, than like a boy of his years; and Miss Dillingham\nsuddenly realized that she was not dealing with quite such childish\nminds as she had supposed.\n\n\"My brother is quite right,\" said Dorothy, and she, too, put on her most\ngrown-up manner, which, by the way, was very grown-up indeed. \"Although\nsurprised at what you have said, we understand clearly your offer, and\nwe respectfully but very positively decline it _in toto_.\"\n\nAs Dorothy confessed afterwards, she didn't know exactly what _in toto_\nmeant, but she felt quite certain it came in appropriately just there.\n\nMiss Dillingham seemed to think so too, or at any rate she was impressed\nby the attitude of the Dorrance young people, and without a further\nword, she rose and stalked away and they saw her no more that night. The\nnext morning she was up early and after a somewhat curt leave-taking,\nshe tramped away.\n\n\"I think I could have liked her,\" said Dorothy, thoughtfully, \"if she\nhadn't tried to steal away from us our Dorrance Domain.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nDOROTHY'S REWARD\n\n\nFairy continued her weekly visits to Mrs. Hickox, but she was positively\nforbidden by her hostess ever to bring any one with her.\n\nMrs. Hickox was possessed of a peculiar kind of shyness, and she shrank\nfrom meeting people more sophisticated than herself. She had become\ndevotedly attached to Fairy, and really looked forward eagerly to the\nafternoons the child spent with her. She continued to be surprised at\nthe doings of the Dorrances, but had never been to the Domain since her\nfirst call upon the family.\n\n\"Mr. Hickox tells me you've got a roof-garden,\" she said to Fairy one\nday, as they sat sociably in the milk-room. \"Now for the land's sake do\ntell me what that is. Is it the thing that runs by electrics?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Fairy, who never laughed at Mrs. Hickox's ignorance; \"it's\nthe _Shooting Star_ that runs by electricity; the roof-garden doesn't\nrun at all,--it just stays still.\"\n\n\"Well what is it, anyhow?\"\n\n\"Why, the roof-garden is just a garden on the roof.\"\n\n\"A garden on a roof! well I _am_ surprised! What do you raise in the\ngarden? peas and beans? It must be an awful trouble to get the dirt up\nthere, and to get the water up there to water things with. As for\ngetting the potatoes and pumpkins down, I suppose you can just throw\nthem down,--though I must say I should think it would spoil the\npumpkins.\"\n\n\"Oh, we don't raise vegetables in the roof-garden, Mrs. Hickox,\" said\nFairy, laughing in spite of herself.\n\n\"Well, what _do_ you raise?\"\n\n\"Why we don't raise anything; we just stay there.\"\n\n\"Humph! I can't see any garden about that. But I did want to know what\nthe thing was like. 'Cause I cut out a clipping yesterday,--Hickory, he\ngot his shoes home from the cobbler's, and they was wrapped in a piece\nof a New York newspaper; my, but I had a good time! I cut so many\nclippings out of that newspaper, that what's left would do for a picture\nframe. The worst of it was, so many clippings backed up against others,\nand they wasn't the same length. People ought to be more careful how\nthey print their newspapers. Well, as I was saying, I cut out a piece\nabout a roof-garden, but I guess you're right about their not raisin'\nthings in it. My land! I couldn't get head or tail to the whole yarn. So\nthat's why I wanted to ask you just what a roof-garden is. But I ain't\nfound out much.\"\n\nFairy endeavored to explain further, but Mrs. Hickox's mind seemed\nincapable of grasping the real intent of a roof-garden, after all; and\nso after intimating her continued surprise, she changed the subject.\n\nMrs. Hickox was the only one who could sustain the greater part in a\nconversation with Fairy. For some reason the child liked the queer old\nlady, and was contented to listen while she talked; though usually\nFairy's own loquacity was not so easily curbed.\n\n\"I told Hickory, long ago, that that biggest sister of yours would set\nLake Ponetcong on fire yet; or he told me, I don't know which, and it\ndon't make no difference now; but, anyway, I'm free to confess she's\ndone it. To think of a girl of sixteen takin' a pack of boarders into\nthat big hotel, and makin' a success of it! It is surprisin'! and she\ndoes everything up so slick, too. Why, Hickory says the meals is always\non time, and the whole place is always as neat and cleared-up lookin' as\nmy best room.\"\n\n\"My sister Dorothy _is_ a smart girl,\" agreed Fairy, who was always\nready to stand up for her family; \"Mr. Faulkner says she has great\n'zecutive billerty,--and I guess she has.\"\n\n\"You all have,\" said Mrs. Hickox, heartily. \"You're as queer as Dick's\nhatband,--every one of you,--but you're smarter 'n steel-traps. And the\nrest of you work just as good as Dorothy does. You ain't none of you\nshirks. Of course you have lots of help, but I s'pose you need it.\nHickory, he does a lot of work for you, but, land! he gets paid enough,\nso it's all right.\"\n\n\"Wouldn't you like to come over and see the roof-garden?\" asked Fairy,\nthough without much hope that her invitation would be accepted.\n\n\"No, child, no; I ain't got no use for new-fangled doin's. My\nold-fashioned garden is good enough for me. I like to read about things\nin newspapers, but I don't hanker none about being mixed up in 'em. Run\nalong now, here comes Mr. Hickox and he'll be wantin' his supper. Run\nalong, quick now,--good-bye. Well I _am_ surprised!\"\n\nThe last remark was addressed to the approaching Mr. Hickox, but having\nbeen so peremptorily dismissed, Fairy did not turn to see what the new\noccasion for Mrs. Hickox's surprise might be.\n\nThe month of August went pleasantly along at the Dorrance Domain. No new\nboarders were registered, but all who were there, stayed through the\nmonth, and all except the Blacks stayed into the early September. The\nDorrances had given up all idea of Mr. Lloyd's coming to visit them, as\nhe had written earlier in the season that he would do.\n\nBut one day a letter came, saying that he would run up for a couple of\ndays.\n\nAside from their appreciation of Mr. Lloyd's kindness in a business way,\nthe Dorrances all liked that genial gentleman as a friend, and the news\nof his visit was gladly received. The Dorrance Domain was put into gala\ndress for the occasion, and a special program was arranged for the\nevening's entertainment.\n\nHe was taken for a sail in the _Shooting Star_, given a drive behind old\nDobbin, and initiated into the picturesque pleasures of the roof-garden.\n\nMr. Lloyd was most appreciative and enthusiastic; and it was fun for the\nDorrances to see his astonishment at the success of their hotel\nmanagement. Although Grandma Dorrance had written to him what the\nchildren were doing, in a general way, he had formed no idea of the\nmagnitude of their enterprise.\n\nThe second day of his stay they held a family conference in one of the\nsmall parlors. He had told Grandma Dorrance that he wished for a\nbusiness talk with her alone, but she had said that the children were\nquite as capable of understanding their financial situation as she\nherself, if not more so; and that, after their interest and assistance\nthrough the summer, they were entitled to a hearing of whatever Mr.\nLloyd might have to say.\n\nSo the family conclave was called, and Mr. Lloyd took the occasion to\nexpress his hearty appreciation of what they had done.\n\n\"You seem to have the Dorrance grit,\" he said; \"your Grandfather\nDorrance would have been proud of his grandchildren, could he have known\nwhat they would accomplish. He little thought when he bought this hotel\nproperty that his family would ever live here,--let alone running it as\na hotel.\"\n\n\"It seems so strange,\" said Dorothy, \"to think that this old Domain that\nwe've made fun of for so many years, and never thought was good for\nanything, should have helped us through this summer.\"\n\n\"I hope, my dear,\" said Mr. Lloyd, \"that you have been careful and\nprudent about your expenditures. For sometimes, these exciting\nenterprises look very fine and desirable, but are exceedingly costly in\nthe end.\"\n\nMr. Lloyd was a kind friend, and felt great interest in the Dorrance\nfortunes; but his cautious, legal mind, could not avoid a careful\nconsideration of the exact state of their finances.\n\n\"We have kept our accounts very strictly, sir,\" said Dorothy, \"and we\nfind that the Dorrance Domain has entirely supported our family for the\nsummer,--I mean that we are in debt to nobody as a consequence of having\nspent our summer here.\"\n\n\"That is fine, my dear child, that is fine,\" said Mr. Lloyd, rubbing his\nhands together, as he always did when pleased; \"I must congratulate you\non that result.\"\n\n\"And we've had such fun, too,\" exclaimed Fairy, whose big white bow and\nsmiling face suddenly appeared over the back of the sofa which she was\nclambering up. \"I do some of the work, but I don't mind it a bit, and we\nall of us get plenty of time to play, and go sailing, and fishing and\neverything.\" As Fairy continued talking she kept rapidly scrambling over\nthe sofa, down to the floor, under the sofa, and up its back, and over\nit again, repeatedly. This in no way interfered with her flow of\nconversation, and she went on: \"We can make all the racket we like,\ntoo,--nobody minds a speck,--not even Miss Marcia Van Arsdale. She says\nit's nothing but animal spiritualism.\"\n\n\"It has been one of the greatest comforts,\" said Grandma Dorrance, \"to\nthink that the children _could_ make all the noise they wanted to; for I\nsuffered tortures at Mrs. Cooper's, trying to keep them quiet. Here,\nthey are free to do as they choose, and there is room enough to do as\nthey choose, without annoying other people. I think myself, that they\ndeserve great commendation for their work this summer. It has not been\neasy; but fortunately, they are blessed with temperaments that take\ntroubles lightly, and make play out of hard work. But I want you to tell\nus, Mr. Lloyd, just how we stand financially. The children are anxious\nto know, and so am I. They insist that hereafter they shall share my\nanxieties and responsibilities, and I am more than glad to have them do\nso.\"\n\n\"I am gratified, Mrs. Dorrance, and my dear young people, to be able to\ntell you,\"--here Mr. Lloyd paused impressively,--\"to be able to tell you\nthat the outlook is highly satisfactory. Since you have not called upon\nme for any of your money during the summer months, I have been able to\napply it towards the repairs that were so necessary on the Fifty-eighth\nStreet house. Except for a few small bills, that indebtedness is thus\nprovided for. Your next quarter's allowance is, therefore,\nunencumbered.\"\n\n\"I think,\" said Dorothy, her eyes shining in the excitement of the\nmoment, \"that this is a good time to present our statement of accounts.\nWe've been keeping it as a little surprise for grandma, and we want Mr.\nLloyd to know about it too. I wanted Leicester to tell you, and he said\nfor me to tell you; but we all had just as much to do with it as each\nother, so we're all going to tell you together. Come on, all of you.\"\n\nThe other three Dorrances sprang towards Dorothy in their usual\nhop-skip-and-jump fashion, and in a moment they stood in a straight\nline, toeing a mark.\n\nThey took hold of hands, and swinging their arms back and forth, recited\na speech which had evidently been rehearsed before-hand.\n\n\"We've paid all expenses,\" they said, speaking in concert, but not as\nloudly as usual, \"and besides that, we've cleared three hundred\ndollars!\"\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Mr. Lloyd, holding up his hands in astonishment.\n\n\"Oh, my dear children!\" cried Grandma Dorrance, uncertain whether she\nshould laugh or weep.\n\n\"Yes, isn't it perfectly wonderful?\" cried Dorothy, and the concerted\nspeech being over, the four children precipitated themselves headlong in\nevery direction.\n\n\"We wanted to holler it all out,\" explained Fairy; \"but we were afraid\nthe boarder-people would hear us, and they mightn't think it polite.\"\n\n\"It's all right,\" said Lilian, stoutly; \"we didn't overcharge anybody,\nand we didn't scrimp them. The reason we made money was because we did\nso much of the work ourselves, and because Dorothy is such a good\nmanager.\"\n\n\"Hurrah for Dorothy,\" shrieked Leicester, in a perfect imitation of Miss\nMarcia's parrot.\n\nThe cheer that went up for Dorothy was deafening, but nobody minded, for\neverybody was so happy.\n\n\"I couldn't have done anything without the others' help,\" protested\nDorothy; \"and of course we couldn't any of us have carried out this plan\nat all, without grandma. So you see it took the whole five of us to make\na success of the Dorrance Domain.\"\n\n\"Hurrah for the Dorrance Domain,\" shouted Fairy, and then every one in\nthe room, not excepting Grandma Dorrance and Mr. Lloyd, cheered from\ntheir very hearts,\n\n\"Hurrah for the Dorrance Domain!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Carolyn Wells Books for Girls\n\n\nTHE FAMOUS \"PATTY\" BOOKS\n\n    Patty Fairfield\n    Patty at Home\n    Patty in the City\n    Patty's Summer Days\n    Patty in Paris\n    Patty's Friend\n    Patty's Pleasure Trip\n    Patty's Success\n    Patty's Motor Car\n    Patty's Butterfly Days\n    Patty's Social Season\n    Patty's Suitors\n    Patty's Romance\n    Patty's Fortune\n    Patty Blossom\n    Patty--Bride\n    Patty and Azalea\n\n\nTHE MARJORIE BOOKS\n\n    Marjorie's Vacation\n    Marjorie's Busy Days\n    Marjorie's New Friend\n    Marjorie in Command\n    Marjorie's Maytime\n    Marjorie at Seacote\n\n\nTWO LITTLE WOMEN SERIES\n\n    Two Little Women\n    Two Little Women and Treasure House\n    Two Little Women on a Holiday\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE TOM SWIFT SERIES\n\nBy VICTOR APPLETON\n\nAuthor of \"The Don Sturdy Series.\"\n\n\nTom Swift, known to millions of boys of this generation, is a bright\ningenious youth whose inventions, discoveries and thrilling adventures\nare described in these spirited tales that tell of the wonderful\nadvances in modern science.\n\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT\n    TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS\n    TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE\n    TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER\n    TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL\n    TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH\n    TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING BOAT\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT OIL GUSHER\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS CHEST OF SECRETS\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRLINE EXPRESS\n    TOM SWIFT CIRCLING THE GLOBE\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS TALKING PICTURES\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS HOUSE ON WHEELS\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG DIRIGIBLE\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY TRAIN\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT MAGNET\n    TOM SWIFT AND HIS TELEVISION DETECTOR\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dorrance Domain, by Carolyn Wells\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Brendan Lane, Stacy Brown Thellend and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n_THE MAKERS OF CANADA_\n\n\nBISHOP LAVAL\n\nBY\n\nA. LEBLOND DE BRUMATH\n\n\n\n\nTORONTO\n\nMORANG & CO., LIMITED\n\n1912\n\n\n\n\n_Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada in the year 1906\nby Morang & Co., Limited, in the Department of Agriculture._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n                                             Page\n_CHAPTER I_\nESTABLISHMENT OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH IN\nCANADA                                          1\n\n_CHAPTER II_\nTHE EARLY YEARS OF FRANCOIS DE LAVAL           15\n\n_CHAPTER III_\nTHE SOVEREIGN COUNCIL                          31\n\n_CHAPTER IV_\nESTABLISHMENT OF THE SEMINARY                  47\n\n_CHAPTER V_\nMGR. DE LAVAL AND THE SAVAGES                  61\n\n_CHAPTER VI_\nSETTLEMENT OF THE COLONY                       77\n\n_CHAPTER VII_\nTHE SMALLER SEMINARY                           97\n\n_CHAPTER VIII_\nTHE PROGRESS OF THE COLONY                    113\n\n_CHAPTER IX_\nBECOMES BISHOP OF QUEBEC                      129\n\n_CHAPTER X_\nFRONTENAC IS APPOINTED GOVERNOR               143\n\n_CHAPTER XI_\nA TROUBLED ADMINISTRATION                     157\n\n_CHAPTER XII_\nTHIRD VOYAGE TO FRANCE                        169\n\n_CHAPTER XIII_\nLAVAL RETURNS TO CANADA                       181\n\n_CHAPTER XIV_\nRESIGNATION OF MGR. DE LAVAL                  195\n\n_CHAPTER XV_\nMGR. DE LAVAL COMES FOR THE LAST TIME TO\nCANADA                                        211\n\n_CHAPTER XVI_\nMASSACRE OF LACHINE                           223\n\n_CHAPTER XVII_\nTHE LABOURS OF OLD AGE                        235\n\n_CHAPTER XVIII_\nLAST DAYS OF MGR. DE LAVAL                    249\n\n_CHAPTER XIX_\nDEATH OF MGR. DE LAVAL                        261\n\nINDEX                                         271\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nESTABLISHMENT OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH\nIN CANADA\n\n\nIf, standing upon the threshold of the twentieth century, we cast a look\nbehind us to note the road traversed, the victories gained by the great\narmy of Christ, we discover everywhere marvels of abnegation and\nsacrifice; everywhere we see rising before us the dazzling figures of\napostles, of doctors of the Church and of martyrs who arouse our\nadmiration and command our respect. There is no epoch, no generation,\neven, which has not given to the Church its phalanx of heroes, its quota\nof deeds of devotion, whether they have become illustrious or have\nremained unknown.\n\nBorn barely three centuries ago, the Christianity of New France has\nenriched history with pages no less glorious than those in which are\nenshrined the lofty deeds of her elders. To the list, already long, of\nworkers for the gospel she has added the names of the Recollets and of\nthe Jesuits, of the Sulpicians and of the Oblate Fathers, who crossed\nthe seas to plant the faith among the hordes of barbarians who inhabited\nthe immense regions to-day known as the Dominion of Canada.\n\nAnd what daring was necessary, in the early days of the colony, to\nplunge into the vast forests of North America! Incessant toil,\nsacrifice, pain and death in its most terrible forms were the price that\nwas gladly paid in the service of God by men who turned their backs upon\nthe comforts of civilized France to carry the faith into the unknown\nwilderness.\n\nThink of what Canada was at the beginning of the seventeenth century!\nInstead of these fertile provinces, covered to-day by luxuriant\nharvests, man's gaze met everywhere only impenetrable forests in which\nthe woodsman's axe had not yet permitted the plough to cleave and\nfertilize the soil; instead of our rich and populous cities, of our\ninnumerable villages daintily perched on the brinks of streams, or\nrising here and there in the midst of verdant plains, the eye perceived\nonly puny wigwams isolated and lost upon the banks of the great river,\nor perhaps a few agglomerations of smoky huts, such as Hochelaga or\nStadacone; instead of our iron rails, penetrating in all directions,\ninstead of our peaceful fields over which trains hasten at marvellous\nspeed from ocean to ocean, there were but narrow trails winding through\na jungle of primeval trees, behind which hid in turn the Iroquois, the\nHuron or the Algonquin, awaiting the propitious moment to let fly the\nfatal arrow; instead of the numerous vessels bearing over the waves of\nthe St. Lawrence, at a distance of more than six hundred leagues from\nthe sea, the products of the five continents; instead of yonder\nfloating palaces, thronged with travellers from the four corners of the\nearth, then only an occasional bark canoe came gliding slyly along by\nthe reeds of the shore, scarcely stopping except to permit its crew to\nkindle a fire, to make prisoners or to scalp some enemy.\n\nA heroic courage was necessary to undertake to carry the faith to these\nsavage tribes. It was condemning one's self to lead a life like theirs,\nof ineffable hardships, dangers and privations, now in a bark canoe and\npaddle in hand, now on foot and bearing upon one's shoulders the things\nnecessary for the holy sacrament; in the least case it was braving\nhunger and thirst, exposing one's self to the rigours of an excessive\ncold, with which European nations were not yet familiar; it often meant\nhastening to meet the most horrible tortures. In spite of all this,\nhowever, Father Le Caron did not hesitate to penetrate as far as the\ncountry of the Hurons, while Fathers Sagard and Viel were sowing the\nfirst seeds of Christianity in the St. Lawrence valley. The devotion of\nthe Recollets, to the family of whom belonged these first missionaries\nof Canada, was but ill-rewarded, for, after the treaty of St.\nGermain-en-Laye, which restored Canada to France, the king refused them\npermission to return to a region which they had watered with the sweat\nof their brows and fertilized with their blood.\n\nThe humble children of St. Francis had already evangelized the Huron\ntribes as far as the Georgian Bay, when the Company of the Cent-Associes\nwas founded by Richelieu. The obligation which the great cardinal\nimposed upon them of providing for the maintenance of the propagators of\nthe gospel was to assure the future existence of the missions. The\nmerit, however, which lay in the creation of a society which did so much\nfor the furtherance of Roman Catholicism in North America is not due\nexclusively to the great cardinal, for Samuel de Champlain can claim a\nlarge share of it. \"The welfare of a soul,\" said this pious founder of\nQuebec, \"is more than the conquest of an empire, and kings should think\nof extending their rule in infidel countries only to assure therein the\nreign of Jesus Christ.\"\n\nThink of the suffering endured, in order to save a soul, by men who for\nthis sublime purpose renounced all that constitutes the charm of life!\nNot only did the Jesuits, in the early days of the colony, brave\nhorrible dangers with invincible steadfastness, but they even consented\nto imitate the savages, to live their life, to learn their difficult\nidioms. Let us listen to this magnificent testimony of the Protestant\nhistorian Bancroft:--\n\n\"The horrors of a Canadian life in the wilderness were resisted by an\ninvincible, passive courage, and a deep, internal tranquillity. Away\nfrom the amenities of life, away from the opportunities of vain-glory,\nthey became dead to the world, and possessed their souls in unalterable\npeace. The few who lived to grow old, though bowed by the toils of a\nlong mission, still kindled with the fervour of apostolic zeal. The\nhistory of their labours is connected with the origin of every\ncelebrated town in the annals of French Canada; not a cape was turned\nnor a river entered but a Jesuit led the way.\"\n\nMust we now recall the edifying deaths of the sons of Loyola, who\nbrought the glad tidings of the gospel to the Hurons?--Father Jogues,\nwho returned from the banks of the Niagara with a broken shoulder and\nmutilated hands, and went back, with sublime persistence, to his\nbarbarous persecutors, to pluck from their midst the palm of martyrdom;\nFather Daniel, wounded by a spear while he was absolving the dying in\nthe village of St. Joseph; Father Brebeuf, refusing to escape with the\nwomen and children of the hamlet of St. Louis, and expiring, together\nwith Father Gabriel Lalemant, in the most frightful tortures that Satan\ncould suggest to the imagination of a savage; Father Charles Garnier\npierced with three bullets, and giving up the ghost while blessing his\nconverts; Father de Noue dying on his knees in the snow!\n\nThese missions had succumbed in 1648 and 1649 under the attacks of the\nIroquois. The venerable founder of St. Sulpice, M. Olier, had foreseen\nthis misfortune; he had always doubted the success of missions so\nextended and so widely scattered without a centre of support\nsufficiently strong to resist a systematic and concerted attack of all\ntheir enemies at once. Without disapproving the despatch of these flying\ncolumns of missionaries which visited tribe after tribe (perhaps the\nonly possible method in a country governed by pagan chiefs), he believed\nthat another system of preaching the gospel would produce, perhaps with\nless danger, a more durable effect in the regions protected by the flag\nof France. Taking up again the thought of the Benedictine monks, who\nhave succeeded so well in other countries, M. Olier and the other\nfounders of Montreal wished to establish a centre of fervent piety which\nshould accomplish still more by example than by preaching. The\ndevelopment and progress of religious work must increase with the\nmaterial importance of this centre of proselytism. In consequence,\nsuccess would be slow, less brilliant, but surer than that ordinarily\nobtained by separate missions. This was, at least, the hope of our\nfathers, and we of Quebec would seem unjust towards Providence and\ntowards them if, beholding the present condition of the two seminaries\nof this city, of our Catholic colleges, of our institutions of every\nkind, and of our religious orders, we did not recognize that their\nthought was wise, and their enterprise one of prudence and blessed by\nGod.\n\nUp to 1658 New France belonged to the jurisdiction of the Bishops of St.\nMalo and of Rouen. At the time of the second voyage of Cartier, in\n1535, his whole crew, with their officers at their head, confessed and\nreceived communion from the hands of the Bishop of St. Malo. This\njurisdiction lasted until the appointment of the first Bishop of New\nFrance. The creation of a diocese came in due time; the need of an\necclesiastical superior, of a character capable of imposing his\nauthority made itself felt more and more. Disorders of all kinds crept\ninto the colony, and our fathers felt the necessity of a firm and\nvigorous arm to remedy this alarming state of affairs. The love of\nlucre, of gain easily acquired by the sale of spirituous liquors to the\nsavages, brought with it evils against which the missionaries\nendeavoured to react.\n\nFrancois de Laval-Montmorency, who was called in his youth the Abbe de\nMontigny, was, on the recommendation of the Jesuits, appointed apostolic\nvicar by Pope Alexander VII, who conferred upon him the title of Bishop\nof Petraea _in partibus_. The Church in Canada was then directly\nconnected with the Holy See, and the sovereign pontiff abandoned to the\nking of France the right of appointment and presentation of bishops\nhaving the authority of apostolic vicars.\n\nThe difficulties which arose between Mgr. de Laval and the Abbe de\nQueylus, Grand Vicar of Rouen for Canada, were regrettable, but, thanks\nto the truly apostolic zeal and the purity of intention of these two men\nof God, these difficulties were not long in giving place to a noble\nrivalry for good, fostered by a perfect harmony. The Abbe de Queylus had\ncome to take possession of the Island of Montreal for the company of St.\nSulpice, and to establish there a seminary on the model of that in\nParis. This creation, with that of the hospital established by Mlle.\nMance, gave a great impetus to the young city of Montreal. Moreover,\nreligion was so truly the motive of the foundation of the colony by M.\nOlier and his associates, that the latter had placed the Island of\nMontreal under the protection of the Holy Virgin. The priests of St.\nSulpice, who had become the lords of the island, had already given an\nearnest of their labours; they too aspired to venerate martyrs chosen\nfrom their ranks, and in the same year MM. Lemaitre and Vignal perished\nat the hands of the wild Iroquois.\n\nMeanwhile, under the paternal direction of Mgr. de Laval, and the\nthoroughly Christian administration of governors like Champlain, de\nMontmagny, d'Ailleboust, or of leaders like Maisonneuve and Major\nClosse, Heaven was pleased to spread its blessings upon the rising\ncolony; a number of savages asked and received baptism, and the fervour\nof the colonists endured. The men were not the only ones to spread the\ngood word; holy maidens worked on their part for the glory of God,\nwhether in the hospitals of Quebec and Montreal, or in the institution\nof the Ursulines in the heart of the city of Champlain, or, finally, in\nthe modest school founded at Ville-Marie by Sister Marguerite\nBourgeoys. It is true that the blood of the Indians and of their\nmissionaries had been shed in floods, that the Huron missions had been\nexterminated, and that, moreover, two camps of Algonquins had been\ndestroyed and swept away; but nations as well as individuals may promise\nthemselves the greater progress in the spiritual life according as they\ncommence it with a more abundant and a richer record; and the greatest\ntreasure of a nation is the blood of the martyrs who have founded it.\nMoreover, the fugitive Hurons went to convert their enemies, and even\nfrom the funeral pyres of the priests was to spring the spark of faith\nfor all these peoples. Two hamlets were founded for the converted\nIroquois, those of the Sault St. Louis (Caughnawaga) and of La Montagne\nat Montreal, and fervent neophytes gathered there.\n\nCertain historians have regretted that the first savages encountered by\nthe French in North America should have been Hurons; an alliance made\nwith the Iroquois, they say, would have been a hundred times more\nprofitable for civilization and for France. What do we know about it?\nMan imagines and arranges his plans, but above these arrangements hovers\nProvidence--fools say, chance--whose foreseeing hand sets all in order\nfor the accomplishment of His impenetrable design. Yet, however firmly\nconvinced the historian may be that the eye of Providence never sleeps,\nthat the Divine Hand is never still, he must be sober in his\nobservations; he must yield neither to his fancy nor to his imagination;\nbut neither must he banish God from history, for then everything in it\nwould become incomprehensible and inexplicable, absurd and barren. It\nwas this same God who guides events at His will that inspired and\nsustained the devoted missionaries in their efforts against the\nrevenue-farmers in the matter of the sale of intoxicating liquors to the\nsavages. The struggle which they maintained, supported by the venerable\nBishop of Petraea, is wholly to their honour; it was a question of saving\neven against their will the unfortunate children of the woods who were\naddicted to the fatal passion of intoxication. Unhappily, the Governors\nd'Avaugour and de Mezy, in supporting the greed of the traders, were\nperhaps right from the political point of view, but certainly wrong from\na philanthropic and Christian standpoint.\n\nThe colony continuing to prosper, and the growing need of a national\nclergy becoming more and more felt, Mgr. de Laval founded in 1663 a\nseminary at Quebec. The king decided that the tithes raised from the\ncolonists should be collected by the seminary, which was to provide for\nthe maintenance of the priests and for divine service in the established\nparishes. The Sovereign Council fixed the tithe at a twenty-sixth.\n\nThe missionaries continued, none the less, to spread the light of the\ngospel and Christian civilization. It seems that the field of their\nlabour had never been too vast for their desire. Ever onward! was their\nmotto. While Fathers Garreau and Mesnard found death among the\nAlgonquins on the coasts of Lake Superior, the Sulpicians Dollier and\nGallinee were planting the cross on the shores of Lake Erie; Father\nClaude Allouez was preaching the gospel beyond Lake Superior; Fathers\nDablon, Marquette, and Druilletes were establishing the mission of Sault\nSte. Marie; Father Albanel was proceeding to explore Hudson Bay; Father\nMarquette, acting with Joliet, was following the course of the\nMississippi as far as Arkansas; finally, later on, Father Arnaud\naccompanied La Verendrye as far as the Rocky Mountains.\n\nThe establishment of the Catholic religion in Canada had now witnessed\nits darkest days; its history becomes intimately interwoven with that of\nthe country. Up to the English conquest, the clergy and the different\nreligious congregations, as faithful to France as to the Holy See,\nencouraged the Canadians in their struggles against the invaders.\nAccordingly, at the time of the invasion of the colony by Phipps, the\nAmericans of Boston declared that they would spare neither monks nor\nmissionaries if they succeeded in seizing Quebec; they bore a particular\ngrudge against the priests of the seminary, to whom they ascribed the\nravages committed shortly before in New England by the Abenaquis. They\nwere punished for their boasting; forty seminarists assembled at St.\nJoachim, the country house of the seminary, joined the volunteers who\nfought at Beauport, and contributed so much to the victory that\nFrontenac, to recompense their bravery, presented them with a cannon\ncaptured by themselves.\n\nThe Church of Rome had been able to continue in peace its mission in\nCanada from the departure of Mgr. de Laval, in 1684, to the conquest of\nthe country by the English. The worthy Bishop of Petraea, created Bishop\nof Quebec in 1674, was succeeded by Mgr. de St. Vallier, then by Mgr. de\nMornay, who did not come to Canada, by Mgr. de Dosquet, Mgr. Pourroy de\nl'Aube-Riviere, and Mgr. de Pontbriant, who died the very year in which\nGeneral de Levis made of his flags on St. Helen's Island a sacred pyre.\n\nIn 1760 the Protestant religion was about to penetrate into Canada in\nthe train of the victorious armies of Great Britain, having been\nproscribed in the colony from the time of Champlain. With conquerors of\na different religion, the role of the Catholic clergy became much more\narduous and delicate; this will be readily admitted when we recall that\nMgr. Briand was informally apprised at the time of his appointment that\nthe government of England would appear to be ignorant of his\nconsecration and induction by the Bishop of Rome. But the clergy managed\nto keep itself on a level with its task. A systematic opposition on its\npart to the new masters of the country could only have drawn upon the\nwhole population a bitter oppression, and we would not behold to-day the\nprosperity of these nine ecclesiastical provinces of Canada, with their\ntwenty-four dioceses, these numerous parishes which vie with each other\nin the advancement of souls, these innumerable religious houses which\neverywhere are spreading education or charity. The Act of Quebec in 1774\ndelivered our fathers from the unjust fetters fastened on their freedom\nby the oath required under the Supremacy Act; but it is to the prudence\nof Mgr. Plessis in particular that Catholics owe the religious liberty\nwhich they now enjoy.\n\nTo-day, when passions are calmed, when we possess a full and complete\nliberty of conscience, to-day when the different religious denominations\nlive side by side in mutual respect and tolerance of each other's\nconvictions, let us give thanks to the spiritual guides who by their\nwisdom and moderation, but also by their energetic resistance when it\nwas necessary, knew how to preserve for us our language and our\nreligion. Let us always respect the worthy prelates who, like those who\ndirect us to-day, edify us by their tact, their knowledge and their\nvirtues.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE EARLY YEARS OF FRANCOIS DE LAVAL\n\n\nCertain great men pass through the world like meteors; their brilliance,\nlightning-like at their first appearance, continues to cast a dazzling\ngleam across the centuries: such were Alexander the Great, Mozart,\nShakespeare and Napoleon. Others, on the contrary, do not instantly\ncommand the admiration of the masses; it is necessary, in order that\ntheir transcendent merit should appear, either that the veil which\ncovered their actions should be gradually lifted, or that, some fine\nday, and often after their death, the results of their work should shine\nforth suddenly to the eyes of men and prove their genius: such were\nSocrates, Themistocles, Jacquard, Copernicus, and Christopher Columbus.\n\nThe illustrious ecclesiastic who has given his name to our\nFrench-Canadian university, respected as he was by his contemporaries,\nhas been esteemed at his proper value only by posterity. The reason is\neasy to understand: a colony still in its infancy is subject to many\nfluctuations before all the wheels of government move smoothly, and Mgr.\nde Laval, obliged to face ever renewed conflicts of authority, had\nnecessarily either to abandon what he considered it his duty to\nsupport, or create malcontents. If sometimes he carried persistence to\nthe verge of obstinacy, he must be judged in relation to the period in\nwhich he lived: governors like Frontenac were only too anxious to\nimitate their absolute master, whose guiding maxim was, \"I am the\nstate!\" Moreover, where are the men of true worth who have not found\nupon their path the poisoned fruits of hatred? The so-called praise that\nis sometimes applied to a man, when we say of him, \"he has not a single\nenemy,\" seems to us, on the contrary, a certificate of insignificance\nand obscurity. The figure of this great servant of God is one of those\nwhich shed the most glory on the history of Canada; the age of Louis\nXIV, so marvellous in the number of great men which it gave to France,\nlavished them also upon her daughter of the new continent--Brebeuf and\nLalemant, de Maisonneuve, Dollard, Laval, Talon, de la Salle, Frontenac,\nd'Iberville, de Maricourt, de Sainte-Helene, and many others.\n\n\"Noble as a Montmorency\" says a well-known adage. The founder of that\nillustrious line, Bouchard, Lord of Montmorency, figures as early as 950\nA.D. among the great vassals of the kingdom of France. The\nheads of this house bore formerly the titles of First Christian Barons\nand of First Barons of France; it became allied to several royal houses,\nand gave to the elder daughter of the Church several cardinals, six\nconstables, twelve marshals, four admirals, and a great number of\ndistinguished generals and statesmen. Sprung from this family, whose\norigin is lost in the night of time, Francois de Laval-Montmorency was\nborn at Montigny-sur-Avre, in the department of Eure-et-Loir, on April\n30th, 1623. This charming village, which still exists, was part of the\nimportant diocese of Chartres. Through his father, Hugues de Laval,\nSeigneur of Montigny, Montbeaudry, Alaincourt and Revercourt, the future\nBishop of Quebec traced his descent from Count Guy de Laval, younger son\nof the constable Mathieu de Montmorency, and through his mother,\nMichelle de Pericard, he belonged to a family of hereditary officers of\nthe Crown, which was well-known in Normandy, and gave to the Church a\ngoodly number of prelates.\n\nLike St. Louis, one of the protectors of his ancestors, the young\nFrancois was indebted to his mother for lessons and examples of piety\nand of charity which he never forgot. Virtue, moreover, was as natural\nto the Lavals as bravery on the field of battle, and whether it were in\nthe retinue of Clovis, when the First Barons received the regenerating\nwater of baptism, or on the immortal plain of Bouvines; whether it were\nby the side of Blanche of Castile, attacked by the rebellious nobles, or\nin the terrible holocaust of Crecy; whether it were in the _fight of the\ngiants_ at Marignan, or after Pavia during the captivity of the\n_roi-gentilhomme_; everywhere where country and religion appealed to\ntheir defenders one was sure of hearing shouted in the foremost ranks\nthe motto of the Montmorencys: _\"Dieu ayde au premier baron chretien!\"_\n\nYoung Laval received at the baptismal font the name of the heroic\nmissionary to the Indies, Francois-Xavier. To this saint and to the\nfounder of the Franciscans, Francois d'Assise, he devoted throughout his\nlife an ardent worship. Of his youth we hardly know anything except the\nmisfortunes which happened to his family. He was only fourteen years old\nwhen, in 1636, he suffered the loss of his father, and one of his near\nkinsmen, Henri de Montmorency, grand marshal of France, and governor of\nLanguedoc, beheaded by the order of Richelieu. The bravery displayed by\nthis valiant warrior in battle unfortunately did not redeem the fault\nwhich he had committed in rebelling against the established power,\nagainst his lawful master, Louis XIII, and in neglecting thus the\ntraditions handed down to him by his family through more than seven\ncenturies of glory.\n\nSome historians reproach Richelieu with cruelty, but in that troublous\nage when, hardly free from the wars of religion, men rushed carelessly\non into the rebellions of the duc d'Orleans and the duc de Soissons,\ninto the conspiracies of Chalais, of Cinq-Mars and de Thou, soon\nfollowed by the war of La Fronde, it was not by an indulgence synonymous\nwith weakness that it was possible to strengthen the royal power. Who\nknows if it was not this energy of the great cardinal which inspired the\nyoung Francois, at an age when sentiment is so deeply impressed upon the\nsoul, with those ideas of firmness which distinguished him later on?\n\nThe future Bishop of Quebec was then a scholar in the college of La\nFleche, directed by the Jesuits, for his pious parents held nothing\ndearer than the education of their children in the fear of God and love\nof the good. They had had six children; the two first had perished in\nthe flower of their youth on fields of battle; Francois, who was now the\neldest, inherited the name and patrimony of Montigny, which he gave up\nlater on to his brother Jean-Louis, which explains why he was called for\nsome time Abbe de Montigny, and resumed later the generic name of the\nfamily of Laval; the fifth son, Henri de Laval, joined the Benedictine\nmonks and became prior of La Croix-Saint-Leuffroy. Finally the only\nsister of Mgr. Laval, Anne Charlotte, became Mother Superior of the\nreligious community of the Daughters of the Holy Sacrament.\n\nFrancois edified the comrades of his early youth by his ardent piety,\nand his tender respect for the house of God; his masters, too, clever as\nthey were in the art of guiding young men and of distinguishing those\nwho were to shine later on, were not slow in recognizing his splendid\nqualities, the clear-sightedness and breadth of his intelligence, and\nhis wonderful memory. As a reward for his good conduct he was admitted\nto the privileged ranks of those who comprised the Congregation of the\nHoly Virgin. We know what good these admirable societies, founded by the\nsons of Loyola, have accomplished and still accomplish daily in Catholic\nschools the world over. Societies which vie with each other in piety and\nencouragement of virtue, they inspire young people with the love of\nprayer, the habits of regularity and of holy practices.\n\nThe congregation of the college of La Fleche had then the good fortune\nof being directed by Father Bagot, one of those superior priests always\nso numerous in the Company of Jesus. At one time confessor to King Louis\nXIII, Father Bagot was a profound philosopher and an eminent theologian.\nIt was under his clever direction that the mind of Francois de Laval was\nformed, and we shall witness later the germination of the seed which the\nlearned Jesuit sowed in the soul of his beloved scholar.\n\nAt this period great families devoted to God from early youth the\nyounger members who showed inclination for the religious life. Francois\nwas only nine years old when he received the tonsure, and fifteen when\nhe was appointed canon of the cathedral of Evreux. Without the revenues\nwhich he drew from his prebend, he would not have been able to continue\nhis literary studies; the death of his father, in fact, had left his\nfamily in a rather precarious condition of fortune. He was to remain to\nthe end of his career the pupil of his preferred masters, for it was\nunder them that, having at the age of nineteen left the institution\nwhere he had brilliantly completed his classical education, he studied\nphilosophy and theology at the College de Clermont at Paris.\n\nHe was plunged in these noble studies, when two terrible blows fell upon\nhim; he learned of the successive deaths of his two eldest brothers, who\nhad fallen gloriously, one at Freiburg, the other at Noerdlingen. He\nbecame thus the head of the family, and as if the temptations which this\ntitle offered him were not sufficient, bringing him as it did, together\nwith a great name a brilliant future, his mother came, supported by the\nBishop of Evreux, his cousin, to beg him to abandon the ecclesiastical\ncareer and to marry, in order to maintain the honour of his house. Many\nothers would have succumbed, but what were temporal advantages to a man\nwho had long aspired to the glory of going to preach the Divine Word in\nfar-off missions? He remained inflexible; all that his mother could\nobtain from him was his consent to devote to her for some time his clear\njudgment and intellect in setting in order the affairs of his family. A\nfew months sufficed for success in this task. In order to place an\nimpassable abyss between himself and the world, he made a full and\ncomplete renunciation in favour of his brother Jean-Louis of his rights\nof primogeniture and all his titles to the seigniory of Montigny and\nMontbeaudry. The world is ever prone to admire a chivalrous action, and\nto look askance at deeds which appear to savour of fanaticism. To Laval\nthis renunciation of worldly wealth and honour appeared in the simple\nlight of duty. His Master's words were inspiration enough: \"Wist ye not\nthat I must be about my Father's business?\"\n\nReturning to the College de Clermont, he now thought of nothing but of\npreparing to receive worthily the holy orders. It was on September 23rd,\n1647, at Paris, that he saw dawn for him the beautiful day of the first\nmass, whose memory perfumes the whole life of the priest. We may guess\nwith what fervour he must have ascended the steps of the holy altar; if\nup to that moment he had merely loved his God, he must on that day have\ndedicated to Jesus all the powers of his being, all the tenderness of\nhis soul, and his every heart-beat.\n\nMgr. de Pericard, Bishop of Evreux, was not present at the ordination of\nhis cousin; death had taken him away, but before expiring, besides\nexpressing his regret to the new priest for having tried at the time,\nthinking to further the aims of God, to dissuade him from the\necclesiastical life, he gave him a last proof of his affection by\nappointing him archdeacon of his cathedral. The duties of the\narchdeaconry of Evreux, comprising, as it did, nearly one hundred and\nsixty parishes, were particularly heavy, yet the young priest fulfilled\nthem for seven years, and M. de la Colombiere explains to us how he\nacquitted himself of them: \"The regularity of his visits, the fervour of\nhis enthusiasm, the improvement and the good order which he established\nin the parishes, the relief of the poor, his interest in all sorts of\ncharity, none of which escaped his notice: all this showed well that\nwithout being a bishop he had the ability and merit of one, and that\nthere was no service which the Church might not expect from so great a\nsubject.\"\n\nBut our future Bishop of New France aspired to more glorious fields. One\nof those zealous apostles who were evangelizing India at this period,\nFather Alexander of Rhodes, asked from the sovereign pontiff the\nappointment for Asia of three French bishops, and submitted to the Holy\nSee the names of MM. Pallu, Picquet and Laval. There was no question of\nhesitation. All three set out immediately for Rome. They remained there\nfifteen months; the opposition of the Portuguese court caused the\nfailure of this plan, and Francois de Laval returned to France. He had\nresigned the office of archdeacon the year before, 1653, in favour of a\nman of tried virtue, who had been, nevertheless, a prey to calumny and\npersecution, the Abbe Henri-Marie Boudon; thus freed from all\nresponsibility, Laval could satisfy his desire of preparing himself by\nprayer for the designs which God might have for him.\n\nIn his desire of attaining the greatest possible perfection, he betook\nhimself to Caen, to the religious retreat of M. de Bernieres. St.\nVincent de Paul, who had trained M. Olier, was desirous also that his\npupil, before going to find a field for his apostolic zeal among the\npeople of Auvergne, should prepare himself by earnest meditation in\nretirement at St. Lazare. \"Silence and introspection seemed to St.\nVincent,\" says M. de Lanjuere, the author of the life of M. Olier, \"the\nfirst conditions of success, preceding any serious enterprise. He had\nnot learned this from Pythagoras or the Greek philosophers, who were,\nindeed, so careful to prescribe for their disciples a long period of\nmeditation before initiation into their systems, nor even from the\nexperience of all superior men, who, in order to ripen a great plan or\nto evolve a great thought, have always felt the need of isolation in the\nnobler acceptance of the word; but he had this maxim from the very\nexample of the Saviour, who, before the temptation and before the\ntransfiguration, withdrew from the world in order to contemplate, and\nwho prayed in Gethsemane before His death on the cross, and who often\nled His disciples into solitude to rest, and to listen to His most\nprecious communications.\"\n\nIn this little town of Caen, in a house called the Hermitage, lived Jean\nde Bernieres of Louvigny, together with some of his friends. They had\ngathered together for the purpose of aiding each other in mutual\nsanctification; they practised prayer, and lived in the exercise of the\nhighest piety and charity. Francois de Laval passed three years in this\nHermitage, and his wisdom was already so highly appreciated, that during\nthe period of his stay he was entrusted with two important missions,\nwhose successful issue attracted attention to him and led naturally to\nhis appointment to the bishopric of Canada.\n\nAs early as 1647 the king foresaw the coming creation of a bishopric in\nNew France, for he constituted the Upper Council \"of the Governor of\nQuebec, the Governor of Montreal and the Superior of the Jesuits, _until\nthere should be a bishop_.\" A few years later, in 1656, the Company of\nMontreal obtained from M. Olier, the pious founder of the Seminary of\nSt. Sulpice, the services of four of his priests for the colony, under\nthe direction of one of them, M. de Queylus, Abbe de Loc-Dieu, whose\nbrilliant qualities, as well as the noble use which he made of his great\nfortune, marked him out naturally as the probable choice of his\nassociates for the episcopacy. But the Jesuits, in possession of all the\nmissions of New France, had their word to say, especially since the\nmitre had been offered by the queen regent, Anne of Austria, to one of\ntheir number, Father Lejeune, who had not, however, been able to accept,\ntheir rules forbidding it. They had then proposed to the court of France\nand the court of Rome the name of Francois de Laval; but believing that\nthe colony was not ready for the erection of a see, they expressed the\nopinion that the sending of an apostolic vicar with the functions and\npowers of a bishop _in partibus_ would suffice. Moreover, if the person\nsent should not succeed, he could at any time be recalled, which could\nnot be done in the case of a bishop. Alexander VII had given his consent\nto this new plan, and Mgr. de Laval was consecrated by the nuncio of the\nPope at Paris, on Sunday, December 8th, 1658, in the church of St.\nGermain-des-Pres. After having taken, with the assent of the sovereign\npontiff, the oath of fidelity to the king, the new Bishop of Petraea said\nfarewell to his pious mother (who died in that same year) and embarked\nat La Rochelle in the month of April, 1659. The only property he\nretained was an income of a thousand francs assured to him by the\nQueen-Mother; but he was setting out to conquer treasures very different\nfrom those coveted by the Spanish adventurers who sailed to Mexico and\nPeru. He arrived on June 16th at Quebec, with letters from the king\nwhich enjoined upon all the recognition of Mgr. de Laval of Petraea as\nbeing authorized to exercise episcopal functions in the colony without\nprejudice to the rights of the Archbishop of Rouen.\n\nUnfortunately, men's minds were not very certain then as to the title\nand qualities of an apostolic vicar. They asked themselves if he were\nnot a simple delegate whose authority did not conflict with the\njurisdiction of the two grand vicars of the Jesuits and the Sulpicians.\nThe communities, at first divided on this point, submitted on the\nreceipt of new letters from the king, which commanded the recognition of\nthe sole authority of the Bishop of Petraea. The two grand vicars obeyed,\nand M. de Queylus came to Quebec, where he preached the sermon on St.\nAugustine's Day (August 28th), and satisfied the claim to authority of\nthe apostolic vicar.\n\nBut a new complication arose: the _St. Andre_, which had arrived on\nSeptember 7th, brought to the Abbe de Queylus a new appointment as grand\nvicar from the Archbishop of Rouen, which contained his protests at\ncourt against the apostolic vicar, and letters from the king which\nseemed to confirm them. Doubt as to the authenticity of the powers of\nMgr. de Laval might thus, at least, seem permissible; no act of the Abbe\nde Queylus, however, indicates that it was openly manifested, and the\nvery next month the abbe returned to France.\n\nWe may understand, however, that Mgr. de Laval, in the midst of such\ndifficulties, felt the need of early asserting his authority. He\npromulgated an order enjoining upon all the secular ecclesiastics of the\ncountry the disavowal of all foreign jurisdictions and the recognition\nof his alone, and commanded them to sign this regulation in evidence of\ntheir submission. All signed it, including the devoted priests of St.\nSulpice at Montreal.\n\nTwo years later, nevertheless, the Abbe de Queylus returned with bulls\nfrom the Congregation of the Daterie at Rome. These bulls placed him in\npossession of the parish of Montreal. In spite of the formal forbiddance\nof the Bishop of Petraea, he undertook, strong in what he judged to be\nhis rights, to betake himself to Montreal. The prelate on his side\nbelieved that it was his duty to take severe steps, and he suspended the\nAbbe de Queylus. On instructions which were given him by the king,\nGovernor d'Avaugour transmitted to the Abbe de Queylus an order to\nreturn to France. The court of Rome finally settled the question by\ngiving the entire jurisdiction of Canada to Mgr. de Laval. The affair\nthus ended, the Abbe de Queylus returned to the colony in 1668. The\npopulation of Ville-Marie received with deep joy this benefactor, to\nwhose generosity it owed so much, and on his side the worthy Bishop of\nPetraea proved that if he had believed it his duty to defend his own\nauthority when menaced, he had too noble a heart to preserve a petty\nrancour. He appointed the worthy Abbe de Queylus his grand vicar at\nMontreal.\n\nWhen for the first time Mgr. de Laval set foot on the soil of America,\nthe people, assembled to pay respect to their first pastor, were struck\nby his address, which was both affable and majestic, by his manners, as\neasy as they were distinguished, but especially by that charm which\nemanates from every one whose heart has remained ever pure. A lofty brow\nindicated an intellect above the ordinary; the clean-cut long nose was\nthe inheritance of the Montmorencys; his eye was keen and bright; his\neyebrows strongly arched; his thin lips and prominent chin showed a\ntenacious will; his hair was scanty; finally, according to the custom of\nthat period, a moustache and chin beard added to the strength and energy\nof his features. From the moment of his arrival the prelate produced the\nbest impression. \"I cannot,\" said Governor d'Argenson, \"I cannot highly\nenough esteem the zeal and piety of Mgr. of Petraea. He is a true man of\nprayer, and I make no doubt that his labours will bear goodly fruits in\nthis country.\" Boucher, governor of Three Rivers, wrote thus: \"We have a\nbishop whose zeal and virtue are beyond anything that I can say.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE SOVEREIGN COUNCIL\n\n\nThe pious bishop who is the subject of this study was not long in\nproving that his virtues were not too highly esteemed. An ancient\nvessel, the _St. Andre_, brought from France two hundred and six\npersons, among whom were Mlle. Mance, the foundress of the Montreal\nhospital, Sister Bourgeoys, and two Sulpicians, MM. Vignal and Lemaitre.\nNow this ship had long served as a sailors' hospital, and it had been\nsent back to sea without the necessary quarantine. Hardly had its\npassengers lost sight of the coasts of France when the plague broke out\namong them, and with such intensity that all were more or less attacked\nby it; Mlle. Mance, in particular, was almost immediately reduced to the\npoint of death. Always very delicate, and exhausted by a preceding\nvoyage, she did not seem destined to resist this latest attack.\nMoreover, all aid was lacking, even the rations of fresh water ran\nshort, and from a fear of contagion, which will be readily understood,\nbut which was none the less disastrous, the captain at first forbade the\nSisters of Charity who were on board to minister to the sick. This\nprecaution cost seven or eight of these unfortunate people their lives.\nAt least M. Vignal and M. Lemaitre, though both suffering themselves,\nwere able to offer to the dying the consolations of their holy office.\nM. Lemaitre, more vigorous than his colleague, and possessed of an\nadmirable energy and devotion, was not satisfied merely with encouraging\nand ministering to the unfortunate in their last moments, but even\nwatched over their remains at the risk of his own life; he buried them\npiously, wound them in their shrouds, and said over them the final\nprayers as they were lowered into the sea. Two Huguenots, touched by his\ndevotion, died in the Roman Catholic faith. The Sisters were finally\npermitted to exercise their charitable office. Although ill, they as\nwell as Sister Bourgeoys, displayed a heroic energy, and raised the\nmorale of all the unfortunate passengers.\n\nTo this sickness were added other sufferings incident to such a voyage,\nand frightful storms did not cease to attack the ship until its entry\ninto the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Several times they believed themselves on\nthe point of foundering, and the two priests gave absolution to all. The\ntempest carried these unhappy people so far from their route that they\ndid not arrive at Quebec until September 7th, exhausted by disease,\nfamine and trials of all sorts. Father Dequen, of the Society of Jesus,\nshowed in this matter an example of the most admirable charity. He\nbrought to the sick refreshments and every manner of aid, and lavished\nupon all the offices of his holy ministry. As a result of his\nself-devotion, he was attacked by the scourge and died in the exercise\nof charity. Several more, after being conveyed to the hospital,\nsuccumbed to the disease, and the whole country was infected. Mgr. of\nPetraea was admirable in his devotion; he hardly left the hospital at\nall, and constituted himself the nurse of all these unfortunates, making\ntheir beds and giving them the most attentive care. \"He is continually\nat the hospital,\" wrote Mother Mary of the Incarnation, \"in order to\nhelp the sick and to make their beds. We do what we can to prevent him\nand to shield his health, but no eloquence can dissuade him from these\nacts of self-abasement.\"\n\nIn the spring of the year 1662, Mgr. de Laval rented for his own use an\nold house situated on the site of the present parochial residence at\nQuebec, and it was there that, with the three other priests who then\ncomposed his episcopal court, he edified all the colonists by the\nsimplicity of a cenobitic life. He had been at first the guest of the\nJesuit Fathers, was later sheltered by the Sisters of the Hotel-Dieu,\nand subsequently lodged with the Ursulines. At this period it was indeed\nincumbent upon him to adapt himself to circumstances; nor did these\nmodest conditions displease the former pupil of M. de Bernieres, since,\nas Latour bears witness, \"he always complained that people did too much\nfor him; he showed a distaste for all that was too daintily prepared,\nand affected, on the contrary, a sort of avidity for coarser fare.\"\nMother Mary of the Incarnation wrote: \"He lives like a holy man and an\napostle; his life is so exemplary that he commands the admiration of the\ncountry. He gives everything away and lives like a pauper, and one may\nwell say that he has the very spirit of poverty. He practises this\npoverty in his house, in his manner of living, and in the matter of\nfurniture and servants; for he has but one gardener, whom he lends to\npoor people when they have need of him, and a valet who formerly served\nM. de Bernieres.\"\n\nBut if the reverend prelate was modest and simple in his personal\ntastes, he became inflexible when he thought it his duty to maintain the\nrights of the Church. And he watched over these rights with the more\ncircumspection since he was the first bishop installed in the colony,\nand was unwilling to allow abuses to be planted there, which later it\nwould be very difficult, not to say impossible, to uproot. Hence the\ncontinual friction between him and the governor-general, d'Argenson, on\nquestions of precedence and etiquette. Some of these disputes would seem\nto us childish to-day if even such a writer as Parkman did not put us on\nour guard against a premature judgment.[1] \"The disputes in question,\"\nwrites Parkman, \"though of a nature to provoke a smile on irreverent\nlips, were by no means so puerile as they appear. It is difficult in a\nmodern democratic society to conceive the substantial importance of the\nsigns and symbols of dignity and authority, at a time and among a people\nwhere they were adjusted with the most scrupulous precision, and\naccepted by all classes as exponents of relative degrees in the social\nand political scale. Whether the bishop or the governor should sit in\nthe higher seat at table thus became a political question, for it\ndefined to the popular understanding the position of Church and State in\ntheir relations to government.\"\n\nIn his zeal for making his episcopal authority respected, could not the\nprelate, however, have made some concessions to the temporal power? It\nis allowable to think so, when his panegyrist, the Abbe Gosselin,\nacknowledges it in these terms: \"Did he sometimes show too much ardour\nin the settlement of a question or in the assertion of his rights? It is\npossible. As the Abbe Ferland rightly observes, 'no virtue is perfect\nupon earth.' But he was too pious and too disinterested for us to\nsuspect for a moment the purity of his intentions.\" In certain passages\nin his journal Father Lalemant seems to be of the same opinion. All men\nare fallible; even the greatest saints have erred. In this connection\nthe remark of St. Bernardin of Siena presents itself naturally to the\nreligious mind: \"Each time,\" says he, \"that God grants to a creature a\nmarked and particular favour, and when divine grace summons him to a\nspecial task and to some sublime position, it is a rule of Providence\nto furnish that creature with all the means necessary to fulfil the\nmission which is entrusted to him, and to bring it to a happy\nconclusion. Providence prepares his birth, directs his education,\nproduces the environment in which he is to live; even his faults\nProvidence will use in the accomplishment of its purposes.\"\n\nDifficulties of another sort fixed between the spiritual and the\ntemporal chiefs of the colony a still deeper gulf; they arose from the\ntrade in brandy with the savages. It had been formerly forbidden by the\nSovereign Council, and this measure, urged by the clergy and the\nmissionaries, put a stop to crimes and disorders. However, for the\npurpose of gain, certain men infringed this wise prohibition, and Mgr.\nde Laval, aware of the extensive harm caused by the fatal passion of the\nIndians for intoxicating liquors, hurled excommunication against all who\nshould carry on the traffic in brandy with the savages. \"It would be\nvery difficult,\" writes M. de Latour, \"to realize to what an excess\nthese barbarians are carried by drunkenness. There is no species of\nmadness, of crime or inhumanity to which they do not descend. The\nsavage, for a glass of brandy, will give even his clothes, his cabin,\nhis wife, his children; a squaw when made drunk--and this is often done\npurposely--will abandon herself to the first comer. They will tear each\nother to pieces. If one enters a cabin whose inmates have just drunk\nbrandy, one will behold with astonishment and horror the father cutting\nthe throat of his son, the son threatening his father; the husband and\nwife, the best of friends, inflicting murderous blows upon each other,\nbiting each other, tearing out each other's eyes, noses and ears; they\nare no longer recognizable, they are madmen; there is perhaps in the\nworld no more vivid picture of hell. There are often some among them who\nseek drunkenness in order to avenge themselves upon their enemies, and\ncommit with impunity all sorts of crimes under the pretext of this fine\nexcuse, which passes with them for a complete justification, that at\nthese times they are not free and not in their senses.\" Drunken savages\nare brutes, it is true, but were not the whites who fostered this fatal\npassion of intoxication more guilty still than the wretches whom they\nignominiously urged on to vice? Let us see what the same writer says of\nthese corrupters. \"If it is difficult,\" says he, \"to explain the\nexcesses of the savage, it is also difficult to understand the extent of\nthe greed, the hypocrisy and the rascality of those who supply them with\nthese drinks. The facility for making immense profits which is afforded\nthem by the ignorance and the passions of these people, and the\ncertainty of impunity, are things which they cannot resist; the\nattraction of gain acts upon them as drunkenness does upon their\nvictims. How many crimes arise from the same source? There is no mother\nwho does not fear for her daughter, no husband who does not dread for\nhis wife, a libertine armed with a bottle of brandy; they rob and\npillage these wretches, who, stupefied by intoxication when they are not\nmaddened by it, can neither refuse nor defend themselves. There is no\nbarrier which is not forced, no weakness which is not exploited, in\nthese remote regions where, without either witnesses or masters, only\nthe voice of brutal passion is listened to, every crime of which is\ninspired by a glass of brandy. The French are worse in this respect than\nthe savages.\"\n\nGovernor d'Avaugour supported energetically the measures taken by Mgr.\nde Laval; unfortunately a regrettable incident destroyed the harmony\nbetween their two authorities. Inspired by his good heart, the superior\nof the Jesuits, Father Lalemant, interceded with the governor in favour\nof a woman imprisoned for having infringed the prohibition of the sale\nof brandy to the Indians. \"If she is not to be punished,\" brusquely\nreplied d'Avaugour, \"no one shall be punished henceforth!\" And, as he\nmade it a point of honour not to withdraw this unfortunate utterance,\nthe traders profited by it. From that time license was no longer\nbridled; the savages got drunk, the traders were enriched, and the\ncolony was in jeopardy. Sure of being supported by the governor, the\nmerchants listened to neither bishop nor missionaries. Grieved at seeing\nhis prayers as powerless as his commands, Mgr. de Laval decided to\ncarry his complaint to the foot of the throne, and he set sail for\nFrance in the autumn of 1662. \"Statesmen who place the freedom of\ncommerce above morality of action,\" says Jacques de Beaudoncourt, \"still\nconsider that the bishop was wrong, and see in this matter a fine\nopportunity to inveigh against the encroachments of the clergy; but\nwhoever has at heart the cause of human dignity will not hesitate to\ntake the side of the missionaries who sought to preserve the savages\nfrom the vices which have brought about their ruin and their\ndisappearance. The Montagnais race, which is still the most important in\nCanada, has been preserved by Catholicism from the vices and the misery\nwhich brought about so rapidly the extirpation of the savages.\"\n\nMgr. de Laval succeeded beyond his hopes; cordially received by King\nLouis XIV, he obtained the recall of Governor d'Avaugour. But this\npurpose was not the only one which he had made the goal of his ambition;\nhe had in view another, much more important for the welfare of the\ncolony. Fourteen years before, the Iroquois had exterminated the Hurons,\nand since this period the colonists had not enjoyed a single hour of\ncalm; the devotion of Dollard and of his sixteen heroic comrades had\nnarrowly saved them from a horrible danger. The worthy prelate obtained\nfrom the king a sufficiently large assignment of troops to deliver the\ncolony at last from its most dangerous enemies. \"We expect next year,\"\nhe wrote to the sovereign pontiff, \"twelve hundred soldiers, with whom,\nby God's help, we shall try to overcome the fierce Iroquois. The Marquis\nde Tracy will come to Canada in order to see for himself the measures\nwhich are necessary to make of New France a strong and prosperous\ncolony.\"\n\nM. Dubois d'Avaugour was recalled, and yet he rendered before his\ndeparture a distinguished service to the colony. \"The St. Lawrence,\" he\nwrote in a memorial to the monarch, \"is the key to a country which may\nbecome the greatest state in the world. There should be sent to this\ncolony three thousand soldiers, to be discharged after three years of\nservice; they could make Quebec an impregnable fortress, subdue the\nIroquois, build redoubtable forts on the banks of the Hudson, where the\nDutch have only a wretched wooden hut, and in short, open for New France\na road to the sea by this river.\" It was mainly this report which\ninduced the sovereign to take back Canada from the hands of the Company\nof the Cent-Associes, who were incapable of colonizing it, and to\nreintegrate it in the royal domain.\n\nMust we think with M. de la Colombiere,[2] with M. de Latour and with\nCardinal Taschereau, that the Sovereign Council was the work of Mgr. de\nLaval? We have some justification in believing it when we remember that\nthe king arrived at this important decision while the energetic Laval\nwas present at his court. However it may be, on April 24th, 1663, the\nCompany of New France abandoned the colony to the royal government,\nwhich immediately created in Canada three courts of justice and above\nthem the Sovereign Council as a court of appeal.\n\nThe Bishop of Petraea sailed in 1663 for North America with the new\ngovernor, M. de Mezy, who owed to him his appointment. His other\nfellow-passengers were M. Gaudais-Dupont, who came to take possession of\nthe country in the name of the king, two priests, MM. Maizerets and\nHugues Pommier, Father Rafeix, of the Society of Jesus, and three\necclesiastics. The passage was stormy and lasted four months. To-day,\nwhen we leave Havre and disembark a week later at New York, after having\nenjoyed all the refinements of luxury and comfort invented by an\nadvanced but materialistic civilization, we can with difficulty imagine\nthe discomforts, hardships and privations of four long months on a\nstormy sea. Scurvy, that fatal consequence of famine and exhaustion,\nsoon broke out among the passengers, and many died of it. The bishop,\nhimself stricken by the disease, did not cease, nevertheless, to lavish\nhis care upon the unfortunates who were attacked by the infection; he\neven attended them at the hospital after they had landed.\n\nThe country was still at this time under the stress of the emotion\ncaused by the terrible earthquake of 1663. Father Lalemant has left us a\nstriking description of this cataclysm, marked by the naive exaggeration\nof the period: \"It was February 5th, 1663, about half-past five in the\nevening, when a great roar was heard at the same time throughout the\nextent of Canada. This noise, which gave the impression that fire had\nbroken out in all the houses, made every one rush out of doors in order\nto flee from such a sudden conflagration. But instead of seeing smoke\nand flame, the people were much surprised to behold walls tottering, and\nall the stones moving as if they had become detached; the roofs seemed\nto bend downward on one side, then to lean over on the other; the bells\nrang of their own accord; joists, rafters and boards cracked, the earth\nquivered and made the stakes of the palisades dance in a manner which\nwould appear incredible if we had not seen it in various places.\n\n\"Then every one rushes outside, animals take to flight, children cry\nthrough the streets, men and women, seized with terror, know not where\nto take refuge, thinking at every moment that they must be either\noverwhelmed in the ruins of the houses or buried in some abyss about to\nopen under their feet; some, falling to their knees in the snow, cry for\nmercy; others pass the rest of the night in prayer, because the\nearthquake still continues with a certain undulation, almost like that\nof ships at sea, and such that some feel from these shocks the same\nsickness that they endure upon the water.\n\n\"The disorder was much greater in the forest. It seemed that there was a\nbattle between the trees, which were hurled together, and not only their\nbranches but even their trunks seemed to leave their places to leap upon\neach other with a noise and a confusion which made our savages say that\nthe whole forest was drunk.\n\n\"There seemed to be the same combat between the mountains, of which some\nwere uprooted and hurled upon the others, leaving great chasms in the\nplaces whence they came, and now burying the trees, with which they were\ncovered, deep in the earth up to their tops, now thrusting them in, with\nbranches downward, taking the place of the roots, so that they left only\na forest of upturned trunks.\n\n\"While this general destruction was going on on land, sheets of ice five\nor six feet thick were broken and shattered to pieces, and split in many\nplaces, whence arose thick vapour or streams of mud and sand which\nascended high into the air; our springs either flowed no longer or ran\nwith sulphurous waters; the rivers were either lost from sight or became\npolluted, the waters of some becoming yellow, those of others red, and\nthe great St. Lawrence appeared quite livid up to the vicinity of\nTadousac, a most astonishing prodigy, and one capable of surprising\nthose who know the extent of this great river below the Island of\nOrleans, and what matter must be necessary to whiten it.\n\n\"We behold new lakes where there never were any; certain mountains\nengulfed are no longer seen; several rapids have been smoothed out; not\na few rivers no longer appear; the earth is cleft in many places, and\nhas opened abysses which seem to have no bottom. In short, there has\nbeen produced such a confusion of woods upturned and buried, that we see\nnow stretches of country of more than a thousand acres wholly denuded,\nand as if they were freshly ploughed, where a little before there had\nbeen but forests.\n\n\"Moreover, three circumstances made this earthquake most remarkable. The\nfirst is the time of its duration, since it lasted into the month of\nAugust, that is to say, more than six months. It is true that the shocks\nwere not always so rude; in certain places, for example, towards the\nmountains at the back of us, the noise and the commotion were long\ncontinued; at others, as in the direction of Tadousac, there was a\nquaking as a rule two or three times a day, accompanied by a great\nstraining, and we noticed that in the higher places the disturbance was\nless than in the flat districts.\n\n\"The second circumstance concerns the extent of this earthquake, which\nwe believe to have been universal throughout New France; for we learn\nthat it was felt from Ile Perce and Gaspe, which are at the mouth of our\nriver, to beyond Montreal, as likewise in New England, in Acadia and\nother very remote places; so that, knowing that the earthquake occurred\nthroughout an extent of two hundred leagues in length by one hundred in\nbreadth, we have twenty thousand square leagues of land which felt the\nearthquake on the same day and at the same moment.\n\n\"The third circumstance concerns God's particular protection of our\nhomes, for we see near us great abysses and a prodigious extent of\ncountry wholly ruined, without our having lost a child or even a hair of\nour heads. We see ourselves surrounded by confusion and ruins, and yet\nwe have had only a few chimneys demolished, while the mountains around\nus have been overturned.\"\n\nFrom the point of view of conversions and returns to God the results\nwere marvellous. \"One can scarcely believe,\" says Mother Mary of the\nIncarnation, \"the great number of conversions that God has brought\nabout, both among infidels who have embraced the faith, and on the part\nof Christians who have abandoned their evil life. At the same time as\nGod has shaken the mountains and the marble rocks of these regions, it\nwould seem that He has taken pleasure in shaking consciences. Days of\ncarnival have been changed into days of penitence and sadness; public\nprayers, processions and pilgrimages have been continual; fasts on bread\nand water very frequent; the general confessions more sincere than they\nwould have been in the extremity of sickness. A single ecclesiastic,\nwho directs the parish of Chateau-Richer, has assured us that he has\nprocured more than eight hundred general confessions, and I leave you to\nthink what the reverend Fathers must have accomplished who were day and\nnight in the confessional. I do not think that in the whole country\nthere is a single inhabitant who has not made a general confession.\nThere have been inveterate sinners, who, to set their consciences at\nrest, have repeated their confession more than three times. We have seen\nadmirable reconciliations, enemies falling on their knees before each\nother to ask each other's forgiveness, in so much sorrow that it was\neasy to see that these changes were the results of grace and of the\nmercy of God rather than of His justice.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] _The Old Regime in Canada_, p. 110.\n\n[2] Joseph Sere de la Colombiere, vicar-general and archdeacon of\nQuebec, pronounced Mgr. de Laval's funeral oration.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nESTABLISHMENT OF THE SEMINARY\n\n\nNo sooner had he returned, than the Bishop of Petraea devoted all the\nstrength of his intellect to the execution of a plan which he had long\nmeditated, namely, the foundation of a seminary. In order to explain\nwhat he understood by this word we cannot do better than to quote his\nown ordinance relating to this matter: \"There shall be educated and\ntrained such young clerics as may appear fit for the service of God, and\nthey shall be taught for this purpose the proper manner of administering\nthe sacraments, the methods of apostolic catechism and preaching, moral\ntheology, the ceremonies of the Church, the Gregorian chant, and other\nthings belonging to the duties of a good ecclesiastic; and besides, in\norder that there may be formed in the said seminary and among its clergy\na chapter composed of ecclesiastics belonging thereto and chosen from\namong us and the bishops of the said country, our successors, when the\nking shall have seen fit to found the seminary, or from those whom the\nsaid seminary may be able of itself to furnish to this institution\nthrough the blessing of God. We desire it to be a perpetual school of\nvirtue, and a place of training whence we may derive pious and capable\nrecruits, in order to send them on all occasions, and whenever there may\nbe need, into the parishes and other places in the said country, in\norder to exercise therein priestly and other duties to which they may\nhave been destined, and to withdraw them from the same parishes and\nduties when it may be judged fitting, reserving to ourselves always, and\nto the bishops, our successors in the said country, as well as to the\nsaid seminary, by our orders and those of the said lords bishops, the\npower of recalling all the ecclesiastics who may have gone forth as\ndelegates into the parishes and other places, whenever it may be deemed\nnecessary, without their having title or right of particular attachment\nto a parish, it being our desire, on the contrary, that they should be\nrightfully removable, and subject to dismissal and displacement at the\nwill of the bishops and of the said seminary, by the orders of the same,\nin accordance with the sacred practice of the early ages of the Church,\nwhich is followed and preserved still at the present day in many\ndioceses of this kingdom.\"\n\nAlthough this foregoing period is somewhat lengthy and a little obscure,\nso weighty with meaning is it, we have been anxious to quote it, first,\nbecause it is an official document, and because it came from the very\npen of him whose life we are studying; and, secondly, because it shows\nthat at this period serious reading, such as Cicero, Quintilian, and the\nFathers of the Church, formed the mental pabulum of the people. In our\ndays the beauty of a sentence is less sought after than its clearness\nand conciseness.\n\nIt may be well to add here the Abbe Gosselin's explanation of this\n_mandement_: \"Three principal works are due to this document as the\nglorious inheritance of the seminary of Quebec. In the first place we\nhave the natural work of any seminary, the training of ecclesiastics and\nthe preparation of the clergy for priestly virtues. In the next place we\nhave the creation of the chapter, which the Bishop of Petraea always\nconsidered important in a well organized diocese; it was his desire to\nfind the elements of this chapter in his seminary, when the king should\nhave provided for its endowment, or when the seminary itself could bear\nthe expense. Finally, there is that which in the mind of Mgr. de Laval\nwas the supreme work of the seminary, its vital task: the seminary was\nto be not only a perpetual school of virtue, but also a place of supply\non which he might draw for the persons needed in the administration of\nhis diocese, and to which he might send them back when he should think\nbest. All livings are connected with the seminary, but they are all\ntransferable. The prelate here puts clearly and categorically the\nquestion of the transfer of livings. In his measures there is neither\nhesitation nor circumlocution. He does not seek to deceive the sovereign\nto whom he is about to submit his regulation. For him, in the present\ncondition of New France, there can be no question of fixed livings; the\npriests must be by right removable, and subject to recall at the will of\nthe bishop; and, as is fitting in a prelate worthy of the primitive\nChurch, he always lays stress in his commands on the _holy practice of\nthe early centuries_. The question was clearly put. It was as clearly\nunderstood by the sovereign, who approved some days later of the\nregulation of Mgr. de Laval.\"\n\nIt was in the month of April, 1663, that the worthy prelate had obtained\nthe royal approval of the establishment of his seminary; it was on\nOctober 10th of the same year that he had it registered by the Sovereign\nCouncil.\n\nA great difficulty arose: the missionaries, besides the help that they\nhad obtained from the Company of the Cent-Associes, derived their\nresources from Europe; but how was the new secular clergy to be\nsupported, totally lacking as it was in endowment and revenue? Mgr. de\nLaval resolved to employ the means adopted long ago by Charlemagne to\nassure the maintenance of the Frankish clergy: that of tithes or dues\npaid by the husbandman from his harvest. Accordingly he obtained from\nthe king an ordinance according to which tithes, fixed at the amount of\nthe thirteenth part of the harvests, should be collected from the\ncolonists by the seminary; the latter was to use them for the\nmaintenance of the priests, and for divine service in the established\nparishes. The burden was, perhaps, somewhat heavy. Mgr. de Laval, who,\ninspired by the spirit of poverty, had renounced his patrimony and lived\nsolely upon a pension of a thousand francs which the queen paid him from\nher private exchequer, felt that he had a certain right to impose his\ndisinterestedness upon others, but the colonists, sure of the support of\nthe governor, M. de Mezy, complained.\n\nThe good understanding between the governor-general and the bishop had\nbeen maintained up to the end of January, 1664. Full of respect for the\ncharacter and the virtue of his friend, M. de Mezy had energetically\nsupported the ordinances of the Sovereign Council against the brandy\ntraffic; he had likewise favoured the registration of the law of tithes,\nbut the opposition which he met in the matter of an increase in his\nsalary impelled him to arbitrary action. Of his own authority he\ndisplaced three councillors, and out of petty rancour allowed strong\nliquors to be sold to the savages. The open struggle between the bishop\nand himself produced the most unfavourable impression in the colony. The\nking decided that the matter must be brought to a head. M. de Courcelles\nwas appointed governor, and, jointly with a viceroy, the Marquis de\nTracy, and with the Intendant Talon, was entrusted with the\ninvestigation of the administration of M. de Mezy. They arrived a few\nmonths after the death of de Mezy, whom this untimely end saved perhaps\nfrom a well-deserved condemnation. He had become reconciled in his\ndying hour to his old and venerable friend, and the judges confined\nthemselves to the erasure of the documents which recalled his\nadministration.\n\nThe worthy Bishop of Petraea had not lost for a moment the confidence of\nthe sovereign, as is proved by many letters which he received from the\nking and his prime minister, Colbert. \"I send you by command of His\nMajesty,\" writes Colbert, \"the sum of six thousand francs, to be\ndisposed of as you may deem best to supply your needs and those of your\nChurch. We cannot ascribe too great a value to a virtue like yours,\nwhich is ever equally maintained, which charitably extends its help\nwherever it is necessary, which makes you indefatigable in the functions\nof your episcopacy, notwithstanding the feebleness of your health and\nthe frequent indispositions by which you are attacked, and which thus\nmakes you share with the least of your ecclesiastics the task of\nadministering the sacraments in places most remote from the principal\nsettlements. I shall add nothing to this statement, which is entirely\nsincere, for fear of wounding your natural modesty, etc....\" The prince\nhimself is no less flattering: \"My Lord Bishop of Petraea,\" writes Louis\nthe Great, \"I expected no less of your zeal for the exaltation of the\nfaith, and of your affection for the furtherance of my service than the\nconduct observed by you in your important and holy mission. Its main\nreward is reserved by Heaven, which alone can recompense you in\nproportion to your merit, but you may rest assured that such rewards as\ndepend on me will not be wanting at the fitting time. I subscribe,\nmoreover, to my Lord Colbert's communications to you in my name.\"\n\nPeace and harmony were re-established, and with them the hope of seeing\nfinally disappear the constant menace of Iroquois forays. The\nmagnificent regiment of Carignan, composed of six hundred men, reassured\nthe colonists while it daunted their savage enemies. Thus three of the\nFive Nations hastened to sue for peace, and they obtained it. In order\nto protect the frontiers of the colony, M. de Tracy caused three forts\nto be erected on the Richelieu River, one at Sorel, another at Chambly,\na third still more remote, that of Ste. Therese; then at the head of six\nhundred soldiers, six hundred militia and a hundred Indians, he marched\ntowards the hamlets of the Mohawks. The result of this expedition was,\nunhappily, as fruitless as that of the later campaigns undertaken\nagainst the Indians by MM. de Denonville and de Frontenac. After a\ndifficult march they come into touch with the savages; but these all\nflee into the woods, and they find only their huts stocked with immense\nsupplies of corn for the winter, and a great number of pigs. At least,\nif they cannot reach the barbarians themselves, they can inflict upon\nthem a terrible punishment; they set fire to the cabins and the corn,\nthe pigs are slaughtered, and thus a large number of their wild enemies\ndie of hunger during the winter. The viceroy was wise enough to accept\nthe surrender of many Indians, and the peace which he concluded afforded\nthe colony eighteen years of tranquillity.\n\nThe question of the apportionment of the tithes was settled in the\nfollowing year, 1667. The viceroy, acting with MM. de Courcelles and\nTalon, decided that the tithe should be reduced to a twenty-sixth, by\nreason of the poverty of the inhabitants, and that newly-cleared lands\nshould pay nothing for the first five years. Mgr. de Laval, ever ready\nto accept just and sensible measures, agreed to this decision. The\nrevenues thus obtained were, none the less, insufficient, since the king\nsubsequently gave eight or nine thousand francs to complete the\nendowment of the priests, whose annual salary was fixed at five hundred\nand seventy-four francs. In 1707 the sum granted by the French court was\nreduced to four thousand francs. If we remember that the French farmers\ncontributed the thirteenth part of their harvest, that is to say, double\nthe quantity of the Canadian tithe, for the support of their pastors,\nshall we deem excessive this modest tax raised from the colonists for\nmen who devoted to them their time, their health, even their hours of\nrest, in order to procure for their parishioners the aid of religion? Is\nit not regrettable that too many among the colonists, who were yet such\ngood Christians in the observance of religious practices, should have\nopposed an obstinate resistance to so righteous a demand? Can it be\nthat, by a special dispensation of Heaven, the priests and vicars of\nCanada are not liable to the same material needs as ordinary mortals,\nand are they not obliged to pay in good current coin for their food,\ntheir medicines and their clothes?\n\nThe first seminary, built of stone,[3] rose in 1661 on the site of the\npresent vicarage of the cathedral of Quebec; it cost eight thousand five\nhundred francs, two thousand of which were given by Mgr. de Laval. The\nfirst priest of Quebec and first superior of the seminary, M. Henri de\nBernieres, was able to occupy it in the autumn of the following year,\nand the Bishop of Petraea abode there from the time of his return from\nFrance on September 15th, 1663, until the burning of this house on\nNovember 15th, 1701. The first directors of the seminary were, besides\nM. de Bernieres, MM. de Lauson-Charny, son of the former\ngovernor-general, Jean Dudouyt, Thomas Morel, Ange de Maizerets and\nHugues Pommier. Except the first, who was a Burgundian, they were all\nborn in the two provinces of Brittany and Normandy, the cradles of the\nmajority of our ancestors.\n\nThe founder of the seminary had wished the livings to be transferable;\nlater the government decided to the contrary, and the edict of 1679\ndecreed that the tithes should be payable only to the permanent\npriests; nevertheless the majority of them remained of their own free\nwill attached to the seminary. They had learned there to practise a\ncomplete abnegation, and to give to the faithful the example of a united\nand fervent clerical family. \"Our goods were held in common with those\nof the bishop,\" wrote M. de Maizerets, \"I have never seen any\ndistinction made among us between poor and rich, or the birth and rank\nof any one questioned, since we all consider each other as brothers.\"\n\nThe pious bishop himself set an example of disinterestedness; all that\nhe had, namely an income of two thousand five hundred francs, which the\nJesuits paid him as the tithes of the grain harvested upon their\nproperty, and a revenue of a thousand francs which he had from his\nfriends in France, went into the seminary. MM. de Bernieres, de\nMaizerets and Dudouyt vied in the imitation of their model, and they\nlikewise abandoned to the holy house their goods and their pensions. The\nprelate confined himself, like the others, from humility even more than\nfrom economy on behalf of the community, to the greatest simplicity in\ndress as well as in his environment. Aiming at the highest degree of\npossible perfection, he was satisfied with the coarsest fare, and\nincessantly added voluntary privations to the sacrifices demanded of him\nby his difficult duties. Does not this apostolic poverty recall the\nseminary established by the pious founder of St. Sulpice, who wrote:\n\"Each had at dinner a bowl of soup and a small portion of butcher's\nmeat, without dessert, and in the evening likewise a little roast\nmutton\"?\n\nMortification diminished in no wise the activity of the prelate;\nlearning that the Seminary of Foreign Missions at Paris, that nursery of\napostles, had just been definitely established (1663), he considered it\nhis duty to establish his own more firmly by affiliating it with that of\nthe French capital. \"I have learned with joy,\" wrote he, \"of the\nestablishment of your Seminary of Foreign Missions, and that the gales\nand tempests by which it has been tossed since the beginning have but\nserved to render it firmer and more unassailable. I cannot sufficiently\npraise your zeal, which, unable to confine itself to the limits and\nfrontiers of France, seeks to spread throughout the world, and to pass\nbeyond the seas into the most remote regions; considering which, I have\nthought I could not compass a greater good for our young Church, nor one\nmore to the glory of God and the welfare of the peoples whom God has\nentrusted to our guidance, than by contributing to the establishment of\none of your branches in Quebec, the place of our residence, where you\nwill be like the light set upon the candlestick, to illumine all these\nregions by your holy doctrine and the example of your virtue. Since you\nare the torch of foreign countries, it is only reasonable that there\nshould be no quarter of the globe uninfluenced by your charity and\nzeal. I hope that our Church will be one of the first to possess this\ngood fortune, the more since it has already a part of what you hold most\ndear. Come then, and be welcome; we shall receive you with joy. You will\nfind a lodging prepared and a fund sufficient to set up a small\nestablishment, which I hope will continue to grow....\" The act of union\nwas signed in 1665, and was renewed ten years later with the royal\nassent.\n\nThanks to the generosity of Mgr. de Laval and of the first directors of\nthe seminary, building and acquisition of land was begun. There was\nerected in 1668 a large wooden dwelling, which was in some sort an\nextension of the episcopal and parochial residence. It was destroyed in\n1701, with the vicarage, in the conflagration which overwhelmed the\nwhole seminary. Subsequently, there was purchased a site of sixteen\nacres adjoining the parochial church, upon which was erected the house\nof Madame Couillard. This house, in which lodged in 1668 the first\npupils of the smaller seminary, was replaced in 1678 by a stone edifice,\nlarge enough to shelter all the pupils of both the seminaries. The\nseigniory of Beaupre was also acquired, which with remarkable foresight\nthe bishop exchanged for the Ile Jesus. \"It was prudent,\" remarks the\nAbbe Gosselin, \"not to have all the property in the same place; when the\nseasons are bad in one part of the country they may be prosperous\nelsewhere; and having thus sources of revenue in different places, one\nis more likely never to find them entirely lacking.\"\n\nThe smaller seminary dates only from the year 1668. Up to this time the\nlarge seminary alone existed; of the five ecclesiastics who were its\ninmates in 1663, Louis Joliet abandoned the priestly career. It was he\nwho, impelled by his adventurous instincts, sought out, together with\nFather Marquette, the mouth of the Mississippi.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[3] The house was first the presbytery.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nMGR. DE LAVAL AND THE SAVAGES\n\n\nNow, what were the results accomplished by the efforts of the\nmissionaries at this period of our history? When in their latest hour\nthey saw about them, as was very frequently the case, only the wild\nchildren of the desert uttering cries of ferocious joy, had they at\nleast the consolation of discerning faithful disciples of Christ\nconcealed among their executioners? Alas! we must admit that North\nAmerica saw no renewal of the days when St. Peter converted on one\noccasion, at his first preaching, three thousand persons, and when St.\nPaul brought to Jesus by His word thousands of Gentiles. Were the\nmissionaries of the New World, then, less zealous, less disinterested,\nless eloquent than the apostles of the early days of the Church? Let us\nlisten to Mgr. Bourgard: \"A few only among them, like the Brazilian\napostle, Father Anthony Vieyra, died a natural death and found a grave\nin earth consecrated by the Church. Many, like Father Marquette, who\nreconnoitred the whole course of the Mississippi, succumbed to the\nburden of fatigue in the midst of the desert, and were buried under the\nturf by their sorrowful comrades. He had with him several Frenchmen,\nFathers Badin, Deseille and Petit; the two latter left their venerable\nremains among the wastes. Others met death at the bedside of the\nplague-stricken, and were martyrs to their charity, like Fathers Turgis\nand Dablon. An incalculable number died in the desert, alone, deprived\nof all aid, unknown to the whole world, and their bodies became the\nsustenance of birds of prey. Several obtained the glorious crown of\nmartyrdom; such are the venerable Fathers Jogues, Corpo, Souel,\nChabanel, Ribourde, Brebeuf, Lalemant, etc. Now they fell under the\nblows of raging Indians; now they were traitorously assassinated; again,\nthey were impaled.\" In what, then, must we seek for the cause of the\nfutility of these efforts? All those who know the savages will\nunderstand it; it is in the fickle character of these children of the\nwoods, a character more unstable and volatile than that of infants. God\nalone knows what restless anxiety the conversions which they succeeded\nin bringing about caused to the missionaries and the pious Bishop of\nPetraea. Yet every day Mgr. de Laval ardently prayed, not only for the\nflock confided to his care but also for the souls which he had come from\nso far to seek to save from heathenism. If one of these devout men of\nGod had succeeded at the price of a thousand dangers, of a thousand\nattempts, in proving to an Indian the insanity, the folly of his belief\nin the juggleries of a sorcerer, he must watch with jealous care lest\nhis convert should lapse from grace either through the sarcasms of the\nother redskins, or through the attractions of some cannibal festival, or\nby the temptation to satisfy an ancient grudge, or through the fear of\nlosing a coveted influence, or even through the apprehension of the\nvengeance of the heathen. Did he think himself justified in expecting to\nsee his efforts crowned with success? Suddenly he would learn that the\npoor neophyte had been led astray by the sight of a bottle of brandy,\nand that he had to begin again from the beginning.\n\nNo greater success was attained in many efforts which were exerted to\ngive a European stamp to the character of the aborigines, than in divers\nattempts to train in civilized habits young Indians brought up in the\nseminaries. And we know that if success in this direction had been\npossible it would certainly have been obtained by educators like the\nJesuit Fathers. \"With the French admitted to the small seminary,\" says\nthe Abbe Ferland, \"six young Indians were received; on the advice of the\nking they were all to be brought up together. This union, which was\nthought likely to prove useful to all, was not helpful to the savages,\nand became harmful to the young Frenchmen. After a few trials it was\nunderstood that it was impossible to adapt to the regular habits\nnecessary for success in a course of study these young scholars who had\nbeen reared in complete freedom. Comradeship with Algonquin and Huron\nchildren, who were incapable of limiting themselves to the observance\nof a college rule, tended to give more force and persistence to the\nindependent ideas which were natural in the young French-Canadians, who\nreceived from their fathers the love of liberty and the taste for an\nadventurous life.\"\n\nBut we must not infer, therefore, that the missionaries found no\nconsolation in their troublous task. If sometimes the savage blood\nrevealed itself in the neophytes in sudden insurrections, we must admit\nthat the majority of the converts devoted themselves to the practice of\nvirtues with an energy which often rose to heroism, and that already\nthere began to appear among them that holy fraternity which the gospel\neverywhere brings to birth. The memoirs of the Jesuits furnish numerous\nevidences of this. We shall cite only the following: \"A band of Hurons\nhad come down to the Mission of St. Joseph. The Christians, suffering a\ngreat dearth of provisions, asked each other, 'Can we feed all those\npeople?' As they said this, behold, a number of the Indians,\ndisembarking from their little boats, go straight to the chapel, fall\nupon their knees and say their prayers. An Algonquin who had gone to\nsalute the Holy Sacrament, having perceived them, came to apprise his\ncaptain that these Hurons were praying to God. 'Is it true?' said he.\n'Come! come! we must no longer debate whether we shall give them food or\nnot; they are our brothers, since they believe as well as we.'\"\n\nThe conversion which caused the most joy to Mgr. de Laval was that of\nGarakontie, the noted chief of the Iroquois confederation. Accordingly\nhe wished to baptize him himself in the cathedral of Quebec, and the\ngovernor, M. de Courcelles, consented to serve as godfather to the new\nfollower of Christ. Up to this time the missions to the Five Nations had\nbeen ephemeral; by the first one Father Jogues had only been able to\nfertilize with his blood this barbarous soil; the second, established at\nGannentaha, escaped the general massacre in 1658 only by a genuine\nmiracle. This mission was commanded by Captain Dupuis, and comprised\nfifty-five Frenchmen. Five Jesuit Fathers were of the number, among them\nFathers Chaumonot and Dablon. Everything up to that time had gone\nwonderfully well in the new establishment; the missionaries knew the\nIroquois language so well, and so well applied the rules of savage\neloquence, that they impressed all the surrounding tribes; accordingly\nthey were full of trust and dreamed of a rapid extension of the Catholic\nfaith in these territories. An Iroquois chief dispelled their illusion\nby revealing to them the plans of their enemies; they were already\nwatched, and preparations were on foot to cut off their retreat. In this\nperil the colonists took counsel, and hastily constructed in the\ngranaries of their quarters a few boats, some canoes and a large barge,\ndestined to transport the provisions and the fugitives. They had to\nhasten, because the attack against their establishment might take place\nat any moment, and they must profit by the breaking up of the ice, which\nwas impending. But how could they transport this little flotilla to the\nriver which flowed into Lake Ontario twenty miles away without giving\nthe alarm and being massacred at the first step? They adopted a singular\nstratagem derived from the customs of these people, and one in which the\nfugitives succeeded perfectly. \"A young Frenchman adopted by an Indian,\"\nrelates Jacques de Beaudoncourt, \"pretended to have a dream by which he\nwas warned to make a festival, 'to eat everything,' if he did not wish\nto die presently. 'You are my son,' replied the Iroquois chief, 'I do\nnot want you to die; prepare the feast and we shall eat everything.' No\none was absent; some of the French who were invited made music to charm\nthe guests. They ate so much, according to the rules of Indian civility,\nthat they said to their host, 'Take pity on us, and let us go and rest.'\n'You want me to die, then?' 'Oh, no!' And they betook themselves to\neating again as best they could. During this time the other Frenchmen\nwere carrying to the river the boats and provisions. When all was ready\nthe young man said: 'I take pity on you, stop eating, I shall not die. I\nam going to have music played to lull you to sleep.' And sleep was not\nlong in coming, and the French, slipping hastily away from the banquet\nhall, rejoined their comrades. They had left the dogs and the fowls\nbehind, in order the better to deceive the savages; a heavy snow,\nfalling at the moment of their departure, had concealed all traces of\ntheir passage, and the banqueters imagined that a powerful Manitou had\ncarried away the fugitives, who would not fail to come back and avenge\nthemselves. After thirteen days of toilsome navigation, the French\narrived in Montreal, having lost only three men from drowning during the\npassage. It had been thought that they were all massacred, for the plans\nof the Iroquois had become known in the colony; this escape brought the\ngreatest honour to Captain Dupuis, who had successfully carried it out.\"\n\nM. d'Argenson, then governor, did not approve of the retreat of the\ncaptain; this advanced bulwark protected the whole colony, and he\nthought that the French should have held out to the last man. This\nselfish opinion was disavowed by the great majority; the real courage of\na leader does not consist in having all his comrades massacred to no\npurpose, but in saving by his calm intrepidity the largest possible\nnumber of soldiers for his country.\n\nThe Iroquois were tricked but not disarmed. Beside themselves with rage\nat the thought that so many victims about to be sacrificed to their\nhatred had escaped their blows, and desiring to end once for all the\nfeud with their enemies, the Onondagas, they persuaded the other nations\nto join them in a rush upon Quebec. They succeeded easily, and twelve\nhundred savage warriors assembled at Cleft Rock, on the outskirts of\nMontreal, and exposed the colony to the most terrible danger which it\nhad yet experienced.\n\nThis was indeed a great peril; the dwellings above Quebec were without\ndefence, and separated so far from each other that they stretched out\nnearly two leagues. But providentially the plan of these terrible foes\nwas made known to the inhabitants of the town through an Iroquois\nprisoner. Immediately the most feverish activity was exerted in\npreparations for defence; the country houses and those of the Lower Town\nwere abandoned, and the inhabitants took refuge in the palace, in the\nfort, with the Ursulines, or with the Jesuits; redoubts were raised,\nloop-holes bored and patrols established. At Ville-Marie no fewer\nprecautions were taken; the governor surrounded a mill which he had\nerected in 1658, by a palisade, a ditch, and four bastions well\nentrenched. It stood on a height of the St. Louis Hill, and, called at\nfirst the Mill on the Hill, it became later the citadel of Montreal.\nAnxiety still prevailed everywhere, but God, who knows how to raise up,\nin the very moment of despair, the instruments which He uses in His\ninfinite wisdom to protect the countries dear to His heart, that same\nGod who gave to France the heroic Joan of Arc, produced for Canada an\nunexpected defender. Dollard and sixteen brave Montrealers were to offer\nthemselves as victims to save the colony. Their devotion, which\nsurpasses all that history shows of splendid daring, proves the\nexaltation of the souls of those early colonists.\n\nOne morning in the month of July, 1660, Dollard, accompanied by sixteen\nvaliant comrades, presented himself at the altar of the church in\nMontreal; these Christian heroes came to ask the God of the strong to\nbless the resolve which they had taken to go and sacrifice themselves\nfor their brothers. Immediately after mass, tearing themselves from the\nembraces of their relatives, they set out, and after a long and toilsome\nmarch arrived at the foot of the Long Rapid, on the left bank of the\nOttawa; the exact point where they stopped is probably Greece's Point,\nfive or six miles above Carillon, for they knew that the Iroquois\nreturning from the hunt must pass this place. They installed themselves\nwithin a wretched palisade, where they were joined almost at once by two\nIndian chiefs who, having challenged each other's courage, sought an\noccasion to surpass one another in valour. They were Anahotaha, at the\nhead of forty Hurons, and Metiomegue, accompanied by four Algonquins.\nThey had not long to wait; two canoes bore the Iroquois crews within\nmusket shot; those who escaped the terrible volley which received them\nand killed the majority of them, hastened to warn the band of three\nhundred other Iroquois from whom they had become detached. The Indians,\nrelying on an easy victory, hastened up, but they hurled themselves in\nvain upon the French, who, sheltered by their weak palisade, crowned\nits stakes with the heads of their enemies as these were beaten down.\nExasperated by this unexpected check, the Iroquois broke up the canoes\nof their adversaries, and, with the help of these fragments, which they\nset on fire, attempted to burn the little fortress; but a well sustained\nfire prevented the rashest from approaching. Their pride yielding to\ntheir thirst for vengeance, these three hundred men found themselves too\nfew before such intrepid enemies, and they sent for aid to a band of\nfive hundred of their people, who were camped on the Richelieu Islands.\nThese hastened to the attack, and eight hundred men rushed upon a band\nof heroes strengthened by the sentiment of duty, the love of country and\nfaith in a happy future. Futile efforts! The bullets made terrible havoc\nin their ranks, and they recoiled again, carrying with them only the\nassurance that their numbers had not paralyzed the courage of the\nFrench.\n\nBut the aspect of things was about to change, owing to the cowardice of\nthe Hurons. Water failed the besieged tortured by thirst; they made\nsorties from time to time to procure some, and could bring back in their\nsmall and insufficient vessels only a few drops, obtained at the\ngreatest peril. The Iroquois, aware of this fact, profited by it in\norder to offer life and pardon to the Indians who would go over to their\nside. No more was necessary to persuade the Hurons, and suddenly thirty\nof them followed La Mouche, the nephew of the Huron chief, and leaped\nover the palisades. The brave Anahotaha fired a pistol shot at his\nnephew, but missed him. The Algonquins remained faithful, and died\nbravely at their post. The Iroquois learned through these deserters the\nreal number of those who were resisting them so boldly; they then took\nan oath to die to the last man rather than renounce victory, rather than\ncast thus an everlasting opprobrium on their nation. The bravest made a\nsort of shield with fagots tied together, and, placing themselves in\nfront of their comrades, hurled themselves upon the palisades,\nattempting to tear them up. The supreme moment of the struggle has come;\nDollard is aware of it. While his brothers in arms make frightful gaps\nin the ranks of the savages by well-directed shots, he loads with grape\nshot a musket which is to explode as it falls, and hurls it with all his\nmight. Unhappily, the branch of a tree stays the passage of the terrible\nengine of destruction, which falls back upon the French and makes a\nbloody gap among them. \"Surrender!\" cries La Mouche to Anahotaha. \"I\nhave given my word to the French, I shall die with them,\" replies the\nbold chief. Already some stakes were torn up, and the Iroquois were\nabout to rush like an avalanche through this breach, when a new Horatius\nCocles, as brave as the Roman, made his body a shield for his brothers,\nand soon the axe which he held in his hand dripped with blood. He fell,\nand was at once replaced. The French succumbed one by one; they were\nseen brandishing their weapons up to the moment of their last breath,\nand, riddled with wounds, they resisted to the last sigh. Drunk with\nvengeance, the wild conquerors turned over the bodies to find some still\npalpitating, that they might bind them to a stake of torture; three were\nin their mortal agony, but they died before being cast on the pyre. A\nsingle one was saved for the stake; he heroically resisted the\nrefinements of the most barbarous cruelty; he showed no weakness, and\ndid not cease to pray for his executioners. Everything in this glorious\ndeed of arms must compel the admiration of the most remote posterity.\n\nThe wretched Hurons suffered the fate which they had deserved; they were\nburned in the different villages. Five escaped, and it was by their\nreports that men learned the details of an exploit which saved the\ncolony. The Iroquois, in fact, considering what a handful of brave men\nhad accomplished, took it for granted that a frontal attack on such men\ncould only result in failure; they changed their tactics, and had\nrecourse anew to their warfare of surprises and ambuscades, with the\npurpose of gradually destroying the little colony.\n\nThe dangers which might be risked by attacking so fierce a nation were,\nas may be seen, by no means imaginary. Many would have retreated, and\nawaited a favourable occasion to try and plant for the third time the\ncross in the Iroquois village. The sons of Loyola did not hesitate;\nencouraged by Mgr. de Laval, they retraced their steps to the Five\nNations. This time Heaven condescended to reward in a large measure\ntheir persistent efforts, and the harvest was abundant. In a short time\nthe number of churches among these people had increased to ten.\n\nThe famous chief, Garakontie, whose conversion to Christianity caused so\nmuch joy to the pious Bishop of Petraea and to all the Christians of\nCanada, was endowed with a rare intelligence, and all who approached him\nrecognized in him a mind as keen as it was profound. Not only did he\nkeep faithfully the promises which he had made on receiving baptism, but\nthe gratitude which he continued to feel towards the bishop and the\nmissionaries made him remain until his death the devoted friend of the\nFrench. \"He is an incomparable man,\" wrote Father Millet one day. \"He is\nthe soul of all the good that is done here; he supports the faith by his\ninfluence; he maintains peace by his authority; he declares himself so\nclearly for France that we may justly call him the protector of the\nCrown in this country.\" Feeling life escaping, he wished to give what\nthe savages call their \"farewell feast,\" a touching custom, especially\nwhen Christianity comes to sanctify it. His last words were for the\nvenerable prelate, to whom he had vowed a deep attachment and respect.\n\"The guests having retired,\" wrote Father Lamberville, \"he called me to\nhim. 'So we must part at last,' said he to me; 'I am willing, since I\nhope to go to Heaven.' He then begged me to tell my beads with him,\nwhich I did, together with several Christians, and then he called me and\nsaid to me: 'I am dying.' Then he gave up the ghost very peacefully.\"\n\nThe labour demanded at this period by pastoral visits in a diocese so\nextended may readily be imagined. Besides the towns of Quebec, Montreal\nand Three Rivers, in which was centralized the general activity, there\nwere then several Christian villages, those of Lorette, Ste. Foy,\nSillery, the village of La Montagne at Montreal, of the Sault St. Louis,\nand of the Prairie de la Madeleine. Far from avoiding these trips, Mgr.\nde Laval took pleasure in visiting all the cabins of the savages, one\nafter another, spreading the good Word, consoling the afflicted, and\nhimself administering the sacraments of the Church to those who wished\nto receive them.\n\nFather Dablon gives us in these terms the narrative of the visit of the\nbishop to the Prairie de la Madeleine in 1676. \"This man,\" says he,\nspeaking of the prelate, \"this man, great by birth and still greater by\nhis virtues, which have been quite recently the admiration of all\nFrance, and which on his last voyage to Europe justly acquired for him\nthe esteem and the approval of the king; this great man, making the\nrounds of his diocese, was conveyed in a little bark canoe by two\npeasants, exposed to all the inclemencies of the climate, without other\nretinue than a single ecclesiastic, and without carrying anything but a\nwooden cross and the ornaments absolutely necessary to a _bishop of\ngold_, according to the expression of authors in speaking of the first\nprelates of Christianity.\"\n\n     [The expedition of Dollard is related in detail by Dollier de\n     Casson, and by Mother Mary of the Incarnation in her letters. The\n     Abbe de Belmont gives a further account of the episode in his\n     history. The _Jesuit Relations_ place the scene of the affair at\n     the Chaudiere Falls. The sceptically-minded are referred to\n     Kingsford's _History of Canada_, vol. I., p. 261, where a less\n     romantic view of the affair is taken.]--Editors' Note on the\n     Dollard Episode.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nSETTLEMENT OF THE COLONY\n\n\nTo the great joy of Mgr. de Laval the colony was about to develop\nsuddenly, thanks to the establishment in the fertile plains of New\nFrance of the time-expired soldiers of the regiment of Carignan. The\nimportance of the peopling of his diocese had always been capital in the\neyes of the bishop, and we have seen him at work obtaining from the\ncourt new consignments of colonists. Accordingly, in the year 1663,\nthree hundred persons had embarked at La Rochelle for Canada.\nUnfortunately, the majority of these passengers were quite young people,\nclerks or students, in quest of adventure, who had never worked with\ntheir hands. The consequences of this deplorable emigration were\ndisastrous; more than sixty of these poor children died during the\nvoyage. The king was startled at such negligence, and the three hundred\ncolonists who embarked the following year, in small detachments, arrived\nin excellent condition. Moreover, they had made the voyage without\nexpense, but had in return hired to work for three years with the\nfarmers, for an annual wage which was to be fixed by the authorities.\n\"It will seem to you perhaps strange,\" wrote M. de Villeray, to the\nminister Colbert, \"to see that we make workmen coming to us from France\nundergo a sort of apprenticeship, by distribution among the inhabitants;\nyet there is nothing more necessary, first, because the men brought to\nus are not accustomed to the tilling of the soil; secondly, a man who is\nnot accustomed to work, unless he is urged, has difficulty in adapting\nhimself to it; thirdly, the tasks of this country are very different\nfrom those of France, and experience shows us that a man who has\nwintered three years in the country, and who then hires out at service,\nreceives double the wages of one just arriving from the Old Country.\nThese are reasons of our own which possibly would not be admitted in\nFrance by those who do not understand them.\"\n\nThe Sovereign Council recommended, moreover, that there should be sent\nonly men from the north of France, \"because,\" it asserted, \"the Normans,\nPercherons, Picards, and people from the neighbourhood of Paris are\ndocile, laborious, industrious, and have much more religion. Now, it is\nimportant in the establishment of a country to sow good seed.\" While we\naccept in the proper spirit this eulogy of our ancestors, who came\nmostly from these provinces, how inevitably it suggests a comparison\nwith the spirit of scepticism and irreverence which now infects,\ntransitorily, let us hope, these regions of Northern France.\n\nNever before had the harbour of Quebec seen so much animation as in the\nyear 1665. The solicitor-general, Bourdon, had set foot on the banks of\nthe St. Lawrence in early spring; he escorted a number of girls chosen\nby order of the queen. Towards the middle of August two ships arrived\nbearing four companies of the regiment of Carignan, and the following\nmonth three other vessels brought, together with eight other companies,\nGovernor de Courcelles and Commissioner Talon. Finally, on October 2nd,\none hundred and thirty robust colonists and eighty-two maidens,\ncarefully chosen, came to settle in the colony.\n\nIf we remember that there were only at this time seventy houses in\nQuebec, we may say without exaggeration that the number of persons who\ncame from France in this year, 1665, exceeded that of the whole white\npopulation already resident in Canada. But it was desirable to keep this\npopulation in its entirety, and Commissioner Talon, well seconded by\nMgr. de Laval, tenaciously pursued this purpose. The soldiers of\nCarignan, all brave, and pious too, for the most part, were highly\ndesirable colonists. \"What we seek most,\" wrote Mother Mary of the\nIncarnation, \"is the glory of God and the welfare of souls. That is what\nwe are working for, as well as to assure the prevalence of devotion in\nthe army, giving the men to understand that we are waging here a holy\nwar. There are as many as five hundred of them who have taken the\nscapulary of the Holy Virgin, and many others who recite the chaplet of\nthe Holy Family every day.\"\n\nTalon met with a rather strong opposition to his immigration plans in\nthe person of the great Colbert, who was afraid of seeing the Mother\nCountry depopulated in favour of her new daughter Canada. His\nperseverance finally won the day, and more than four hundred soldiers\nsettled in the colony. Each common soldier received a hundred francs,\neach sergeant a hundred and fifty francs. Besides, forty thousand francs\nwere used in raising in France the additional number of fifty girls and\na hundred and fifty men, which, increased by two hundred and thirty-five\ncolonists, sent by the company in 1667, fulfilled the desires of the\nBishop of Petraea.\n\nThe country would soon have been self-supporting if similar energy had\nbeen continuously employed in its development. It is a miracle that a\nhandful of emigrants, cast almost without resources upon the northern\nshore of America, should have been able to maintain themselves so long,\nin spite of continual alarms, in spite of the deprivation of all\ncomfort, and in spite of the rigour of the climate. With wonderful\ncourage and patience they conquered a vast territory, peopled it,\ncultivated its soil, and defended it by prodigies of valour against the\nforays of the Indians.\n\nThe colony, happily, was to keep its bishop, the worthy Governor de\nCourcelles, and the best administrator it ever had, the Commissioner\nTalon. But it was to lose a lofty intellect: the Marquis de Tracy, his\nmission ended to the satisfaction of all, set sail again for France.\nFrom the moment of his arrival in Canada the latter had inspired the\ngreatest confidence. \"These three gentlemen,\" say the annals of the\nhospital, speaking of the viceroy, of M. de Courcelles and M. Talon,\n\"were endowed with all desirable qualities. They added to an attractive\nexterior much wit, gentleness and prudence, and were admirably adapted\nto instil a high idea of the royal majesty and power; they sought all\nmeans proper for moulding the country and laboured at this task with\ngreat application. This colony, under their wise leadership, expanded\nwonderfully, and according to all appearances gave hope of becoming most\nflourishing.\" Mgr. de Laval held the Marquis de Tracy in high esteem.\n\"He is a man powerful in word and deed,\" he wrote to Pope Alexander VII,\n\"a practising Christian, and the right arm of religion.\" The viceroy did\nnot fear, indeed, to show that one may be at once an excellent Christian\nand a brave officer, whether he accompanied the Bishop of Petraea on the\npilgrimage to good Ste. Anne, or whether he honoured himself in the\nreligious processions by carrying a corner of the dais with the\ngovernor, the intendant and the agent of the West India Company. He was\nseen also at the laying of the foundation stone of the church of the\nJesuits, at the transfer of the relics of the holy martyrs Flavian and\nFelicitas, at the consecration of the cathedral of Quebec and at that of\nthe chief altar of the church of the Ursulines, in fact, everywhere\nwhere he might set before the faithful the good example of piety and of\nthe respect due to religion.\n\nThe eighteen years of peace with the Iroquois, obtained by the\nexpedition of the Marquis de Tracy, allowed the intendant to encourage\nthe development of the St. Maurice mines, to send the traveller Nicolas\nPerrot to visit all the tribes of the north and west, in order to\nestablish or cement with them relations of trade or friendship, and to\nentrust Father Marquette and M. Joliet with the mission of exploring the\ncourse of the Mississippi. The two travellers carried their exploration\nas far as the junction of this river with the Arkansas, but their\nprovisions failing them, they had to retrace their steps.\n\nThis state of peace came near being disturbed by the gross cupidity of\nsome wretched soldiers. In the spring of 1669 three soldiers of the\ngarrison of Ville-Marie, intoxicated and assassinated an Iroquois chief\nwho was bringing back from his hunting some magnificent furs. M. de\nCourcelles betook himself at once to Montreal, but, during the process\nof this trial, it was learned that several months before three other\nFrenchmen had killed six Mohegan Indians with the same purpose of\nplunder. The excitement aroused by these two murders was such that a\ngeneral uprising of the savage nations was feared; already they had\nbanded together for vengeance, and only the energy of the governor saved\nthe colony from the horrors of another war. In the presence of all the\nIndians then quartered at Ville-Marie, he had the three assassins of the\nIroquois chief brought before him, and caused them to be shot. He\npledged himself at the same time to do like justice to the murderers of\nthe Mohegans, as soon as they should be discovered. He caused, moreover,\nto be restored to the widow of the chief all the furs which had been\nstolen from him, and indemnified the two tribes, and thus by his\nfirmness induced the restless nations to remain at peace. His vigilance\ndid not stop at this. The Iroquois and the Ottawas being on the point of\nrecommencing their feud, he warned them that he would not allow them to\ndisturb the general order and tranquillity. He commanded them to send to\nhim delegates to present the question of their mutual grievances.\nReceiving an arrogant reply from the Iroquois, who thought their country\ninaccessible to the French, he himself set out from Montreal on June\n2nd, 1671, with fifty-six soldiers, in a specially constructed boat and\nthirteen bark canoes. He reached the entrance to Lake Ontario, and so\ndaunted the Iroquois by his audacity that the Ottawas sued for peace.\nProfiting by the alarm with which he had just inspired them, M. de\nCourcelles gave orders to the principal chiefs to go and await him at\nCataraqui, there to treat with him on an important matter. They obeyed,\nand the governor declared to them his plan of constructing at this very\nplace a fort where they might more easily arrange their exchanges. Not\nsuspecting that the French had any other purpose than that of protecting\nthemselves against inroads, they approved this plan; and so Fort\nCataraqui, to-day the city of Kingston, was erected by Count de\nFrontenac, and called after this governor, who was to succeed M. de\nCourcelles.\n\nTheir transitory apprehensions did not interrupt the construction of the\ntwo churches of Quebec and Montreal, for they were built almost at the\nsame time; the first was dedicated on July 11th, 1666, the second, begun\nin 1672, was finished only in 1678. The church of the old city of\nChamplain was of stone, in the form of a Roman cross; its length was one\nhundred feet, its width thirty-eight. It contained, besides the\nprincipal altar, a chapel dedicated to St. Joseph, another to Ste. Anne,\nand the chapel of the Holy Scapulary. Thrice enlarged, it gave place in\n1755 to the present cathedral, for which the foundations of the older\nchurch were used. When the prelate arrived in 1659, the holy offices\nwere already celebrated there, but the bishop hastened to end the work\nwhich it still required. \"There is here,\" he wrote to the Common Father\nof the faithful, \"a cathedral made of stone; it is large and splendid.\nThe divine service is celebrated in it according to the ceremony of\nbishops; our priests, our seminarists, as well as ten or twelve\nchoir-boys, are regularly present there. On great festivals, the mass,\nvespers and evensong are sung to music, with orchestral accompaniment,\nand our organs mingle their harmonious voices with those of the\nchanters. There are in the sacristy some very fine ornaments, eight\nsilver chandeliers, and all the chalices, pyxes, vases and censers are\neither gilt or pure silver.\"\n\nThe Sulpicians as well as the Jesuits have always professed a peculiar\ndevotion to the Virgin Mary. It was the pious founder of St. Sulpice, M.\nOlier, who suggested to the Company of Notre-Dame the idea of\nconsecrating to Mary the establishment of the Island of Montreal in\norder that she might defend it as her property, and increase it as her\ndomain. They gladly yielded to this desire, and even adopted as the seal\nof the company the figure of Our Lady; in addition they confirmed the\nname of Ville-Marie, so happily given to this chosen soil.\n\nIt was the Jesuits who placed the church of Quebec under the patronage\nof the Immaculate Conception, and gave it as second patron St. Louis,\nKing of France. This double choice could not but be agreeable to the\npious Bishop of Petraea. Learning, moreover, that the members of the\nSociety of Jesus renewed each year in Canada their vow to fast on the\neve of the festival of the Immaculate Conception, and to add to this\nmortification several pious practices, with the view of obtaining from\nHeaven the conversion of the savages, he approved this devotion, and\nordered that in future it should likewise be observed in his seminary.\nHe sanctioned other works of piety inspired or established by the Jesuit\nFathers; the _novena_, which has remained so popular with the\nFrench-Canadians, at St. Francois-Xavier, the Brotherhoods of the Holy\nRosary and of the Scapulary of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. He encouraged,\nabove all, devotion to the Holy Family, and prescribed wise regulations\nfor this worship. The Pope deigned to enrich by numerous indulgences the\nbrotherhoods to which it gave birth, and in recent years Leo XIII\ninstituted throughout the Church the celebration of the Festival of the\nHoly Family. \"The worship of the Holy Family,\" the illustrious pontiff\nproclaims in a recent bull, \"was established in America, in the region\nof Canada, where it became most flourishing, thanks chiefly to the\nsolicitude and activity of the venerable servant of God, Francois de\nMontmorency Laval, first Bishop of Quebec, and of God's worthy\nhandmaiden, Marguerite Bourgeoys.\" According to Cardinal Taschereau, it\nwas Father Pijard who established the first Brotherhood of the Holy\nFamily in 1650 in the Island of Montreal, but the real promoter of this\ncult was another Father of the Company of Jesus, Father Chaumonot, whom\nMgr. de Laval brought specially to Quebec to set at the head of the\nbrotherhood which he had decided to found.\n\nIt was the custom, in these periods of fervent faith, to place\nbuildings, cities and even countries under the aegis of a great saint,\nand Louis XIII had done himself the honour of dedicating France to the\nVirgin Mary. People did not then blush to practise and profess their\nbeliefs, nor to proclaim them aloud. On the proposal of the Recollets in\na general assembly, St. Joseph was chosen as the first patron saint of\nCanada; later, St. Francois-Xavier was adopted as the second special\nprotector of the colony.\n\nMontreal, which in the early days of its existence maintained with its\nrival of Cape Diamond a strife of emulation in the path of good as well\nas in that of progress, could no longer do without a religious edifice\nworthy of its already considerable importance. Mgr. de Laval was at this\ntime on a round of pastoral visits, for, in spite of the fatigue\nattaching to such a journey, at a time when there was not yet even a\ncarriage-road between the two towns, and when, braving contrary winds,\nstorms and the snares of the Iroquois, one had to ascend the St.\nLawrence in a bark canoe, the worthy prelate made at least eight visits\nto Montreal during the period of his administration. In a general\nassembly of May 12th, 1669, presided over by him, it was decided to\nestablish the church on ground which had belonged to Jean de\nSaint-Pere, but since this site had not the elevation on which the\nSulpicians desired to see the new temple erected, the work was suspended\nfor two years more. The ecclesiastics of the seminary offered on this\nvery height (for M. Dollier had given to the main street the name of\nNotre-Dame, which was that of the future church) some lots bought by\nthem from Nicolas Gode and from Mme. Jacques Lemoyne, and situated\nbehind their house; they offered besides in the name of M. de\nBretonvilliers the sum of a thousand _livres tournois_ for three years,\nto begin the work. These offers were accepted in an assembly of all the\ninhabitants, on June 10th, 1672; Francois Bailly, master mason, directed\nthe building, and on the thirtieth of the same month, before the deeply\nmoved and pious population, there were laid, immediately after high\nmass, the first five stones. There had been chosen the name of the\nPurification, because this day was the anniversary of that on which MM.\nOlier and de la Dauversiere had caught the first glimpses of their\nvocation to work at the establishment of Ville-Marie, and because this\nfestival had always remained in high honour among the Montrealers. The\nfoundation was laid by M. de Courcelles, governor-general; the second\nstone had been reserved for M. Talon, but, as he could not accept the\ninvitation, his place was taken by M. Philippe de Carion, representative\nof M. de la Motte Saint-Paul. The remaining stones were laid by M.\nPerrot, governor of the island, by M. Dollier de Casson, representing M.\nde Bretonvilliers, and by Mlle. Mance, foundress of the Montreal\nhospital. The sight of this ceremony was one of the last joys of this\ngood woman; she died on June 18th of the following year.\n\nMeanwhile, all desired to contribute to the continuation of the work;\nsome offered money, others materials, still others their labour. In\ntheir ardour the priests of the seminary had the old fort, which was\nfalling into ruins, demolished in order to use the wood and stone for\nthe new building. As lords of the island, they seemed to have the\nincontestable right to dispose of an edifice which was their private\nproperty. But M. de Bretonvilliers, to whom they referred the matter,\ntook them to task for their haste, and according to his instructions the\nwork of demolition was stopped, not to be resumed until ten years later.\nThe colonists had an ardent desire to see their church finished, but\nthey were poor, and, though a collection had brought in, in 1676, the\nsum of two thousand seven hundred francs, the work dragged along for two\nyears more, and was finished only in 1678. \"The church had,\" says M.\nMorin, \"the form of a Roman cross, with the lower sides ending in a\ncircular apse; its portal, built of hewn stone, was composed of two\ndesigns, one Tuscan, the other Doric; the latter was surmounted by a\ntriangular pediment. This beautiful entrance, erected in 1722, according\nto the plans of Chaussegros de Lery, royal engineer, was flanked on the\nright side by a square tower crowned by a campanile, from the summit of\nwhich rose a beautiful cross with _fleur-de-lis_ twenty-four feet high.\nThis church was built in the axis of Notre-Dame Street, and a portion of\nit on the Place d'Armes; it measured, in the clear, one hundred and\nforty feet long, and ninety-six feet wide, and the tower one hundred and\nforty-four feet high. It was razed in 1830, and the tower demolished in\n1843.\"\n\nMontreal continued to progress, and therefore to build. The Sulpicians,\nfinding themselves cramped in their old abode, began in 1684 the\nconstruction of a new seigniorial and chapter house, of one hundred and\nseventy-eight feet frontage by eighty-four feet deep. These vast\nbuildings, whose main facade faces on Notre-Dame Street, in front of the\nPlace d'Armes, still exist. They deserve the attention of the tourist,\nif only by reason of their antiquity, and on account of the old clock\nwhich surmounts them, for though it is the most ancient of all in North\nAmerica, this clock still marks the hours with average exactness. Behind\nthese old walls extends a magnificent garden.\n\nThe spectacle presented by Ville-Marie at this time was most edifying.\nThis great village was the school of martyrdom, and all aspired thereto,\nfrom the most humble artisan and the meanest soldier to the brigadier,\nthe commandant, the governor, the priests and the nuns, and they found\nin this aspiration, this faith and this hope, a strength and happiness\nknown only to the chosen. From the bosom of this city had sprung the\nseventeen heroes who gave to the world, at the foot of the Long Sault, a\nmagnificent example of what the spirit of Christian sacrifice can do; to\na population which gave of its own free will its time and its labour to\nthe building of a temple for the Lord, God had assigned a leader, who\ntook upon his shoulders a heavy wooden cross, and bore it for the\ndistance of a league up the steep flanks of Mount Royal, to plant it\nsolemnly upon the summit; within the walls of the seminary lived men\nlike M. Souart, physician of hearts and bodies, or like MM. Lemaitre and\nVignal, who were destined to martyrdom; in the halls of the hospital\nMlle. Mance vied with Sisters de Bresoles, Maillet and de Mace, in\nattending to the most repugnant infirmities or healing the most tedious\nmaladies; last but not least, Sister Bourgeoys and her pious comrades,\nSisters Aimee Chatel, Catherine Crolo, and Marie Raisin, who formed the\nnucleus of the Congregation, devoted themselves with unremitting zeal to\nthe arduous task of instruction.\n\nAnother favour was about to be vouchsafed to Canada in the birth of\nMlle. Leber. M. de Maisonneuve and Mlle. Mance were her godparents, and\nthe latter gave her her baptismal name. Jeanne Leber reproduced all the\nvirtues of her godmother, and gave to Canada an example worthy of the\nprimitive Church, and such as finds small favour in the practical world\nof to-day. She lived a recluse for twenty years with the Sisters of the\nCongregation, and practised, till death relieved her, mortifications\nmost terrifying to the physical nature.\n\nAt Quebec, the barometer of piety, if I may be excused so bold a\nmetaphor, held at the same level as that of Montreal, and he would be\ngreatly deceived who, having read only the history of the early years of\nthe latter city, should despair of finding in the centre of edification\nfounded by Champlain, men worthy to rank with Queylus and Lemaitre, with\nSouart and Vignal, with Closse and Maisonneuve, and women who might vie\nwith Marguerite Bourgeoys, with Jeanne Mance or with Jeanne Leber. To\nthe piety of the Sulpicians of the colony planted at the foot of Mount\nRoyal corresponded the fervour both of the priests who lived under the\nsame roof as Mgr. de Laval, and of the sons of Loyola, who awaited in\ntheir house at Quebec their chance of martyrdom; the edifying examples\ngiven by the military chiefs of Montreal were equalled by those set by\ngovernors like de Mezy and de Courcelles; finally the virtues bordering\non perfection of women like Mlle. Leber and the foundresses of the\nhospital and the Congregation found their equivalents in those of the\npious Bishop of Petraea, of Mme. de la Peltrie and those of Mothers Mary\nof the Incarnation and Andree Duplessis de Sainte-Helene.\n\nThe Church will one day, perhaps, set upon her altars Mother Mary of\nthe Incarnation, the first superior of the Ursulines at Quebec. The\nTheresa of New France, as she has been called, was endowed with a calm\ncourage, an incredible patience, and a superior intellect, especially in\nspiritual matters; we find the proof of this in her letters and\nmeditations which her son published in France. \"At the head,\" says the\nAbbe Ferland, \"of a community of weak women, devoid of resources, she\nmanaged to inspire her companions with the strength of soul and the\ntrust in God which animated herself. In spite of the unteachableness and\nthe fickleness of the Algonquin maidens, the troublesome curiosity of\ntheir parents, the thousand trials of a new and poor establishment,\nMother Incarnation preserved an evenness of temper which inspired her\ncomrades in toil with courage. Did some sudden misfortune appear, she\narose with all the greatness of a Christian of the primitive Church to\nmeet it with steadfastness. If her son spoke to her of the ill-treatment\nto which she was exposed on the part of the Iroquois, at a time when the\naffairs of the French seemed desperate, she replied calmly: 'Have no\nanxiety for me. I do not speak as to martyrdom, for your affection for\nme would incline you to desire it for me, but I mean as to other\noutrages. I see no reason for apprehension; all that I hear does not\ndismay me.' When she was cast out upon the snow, together with her\nsisters, in the middle of a winter's night, by reason of a\nconflagration which devoured her convent, her first act was to prevail\nupon her companions to kneel with her to thank God for having preserved\ntheir lives, though He despoiled them of all that they possessed in the\nworld. Her strong and noble soul seemed to rise naturally above the\nmisfortunes which assailed the growing colony. Trusting fully to God\nthrough the most violent storms, she continued to busy herself calmly\nwith her work, as if nothing in the world had been able to move her. At\na moment when many feared that the French would be forced to leave the\ncountry, Mother of the Incarnation, in spite of her advanced age, began\nto study the language of the Hurons in order to make herself useful to\nthe young girls of this tribe. Ever tranquil, she did not allow herself\nto be carried away by enthusiasm or stayed by fear. 'We imagine\nsometimes,' she wrote to her former superior at Tours, 'that a certain\npassing inclination is a vocation; no, events show the contrary. In our\nmomentary enthusiasms we think more of ourselves than of the object we\nface, and so we see that when this enthusiasm is once past, our\ntendencies and inclinations remain on the ordinary plane of life.' Built\non such a foundation, her piety was solid, sincere and truly\nenlightened. In perusing her writings, we are astonished at finding in\nthem a clearness of thought, a correctness of style, and a firmness of\njudgment which give us a lofty idea of this really superior woman.\nClever in handling the brush as well as the pen, capable of directing\nthe work of building as well as domestic labour, she combined, according\nto the opinion of her contemporaries, all the qualities of the strong\nwoman of whom the Holy Scriptures give us so fine a portrait. She was\nentrusted with all the business of the convent. She wrote a prodigious\nnumber of letters, she learned the two mother tongues of the country,\nthe Algonquin and the Huron, and composed for the use of her sisters, a\nsacred history in Algonquin, a catechism in Huron, an Iroquois catechism\nand dictionary, and a dictionary, catechism and collection of prayers in\nthe Algonquin language.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE SMALLER SEMINARY\n\n\nThe smaller seminary, founded by the Bishop of Petraea in 1668, for\nyouths destined to the ecclesiastical life, justified the expectations\nof its founder, and witnessed an ever increasing influx of students. On\nthe day of its inauguration, October 9th, there were only as yet eight\nFrench pupils and six Huron children. For lack of teachers the young\nneophytes, placed under the guidance of directors connected with the\nseminary, attended during the first years the classes of the Jesuit\nFathers. Their special costume was a blue cloak, confined by a belt. At\nthis period the College of the Jesuits contained already some sixty\nresident scholars, and what proves to us that serious studies were here\npursued is that several scholars are quoted in the memoirs as having\nsuccessfully defended in the presence of the highest authorities of the\ncolony theses on physics and philosophy.\n\nIf the first bishop of New France had confined himself to creating one\nlarge seminary, it is certain that his chosen work, which was the\npreparation for the Church of a nursery of scholars and priests, the\napostles of the future, would not have been complete.\n\nFor many young people, indeed, who lead a worldly existence, and find\nthemselves all at once transferred to the serious, religious life of the\nseminary, the surprise, and sometimes the discomfort, may be great. One\nmust adapt oneself to this atmosphere of prayer, meditation and study.\nThe rules of prayer are certainly not beyond the limits of an ordinary\nmind, but the practice is more difficult than the theory. Not without\neffort can a youthful imagination, a mind ardent and consumed by its own\nfervour, relinquish all the memories of family and social occupations,\nin order to withdraw into silence, inward peace, and the mortification\nof the senses. To the devoutly-minded our worldly life may well seem\npetty in comparison with the more spiritual existence, and in the\nreligious life, for the priest especially, lies the sole source and the\nindispensable condition of happiness. But one must learn to be thus\nhappy by humility, study and prayer, as one learns to be a soldier by\nobedience, discipline and exercise, and in nothing did Laval more reveal\nhis discernment than in the recognition of the fact that the transition\nfrom one life to the other must be effected only after careful\ninstruction and wisely-guided deliberation.\n\nThe aim of the smaller seminary is to guide, by insensible gradations\ntowards the great duties and the great responsibilities of the\npriesthood, young men upon whom the spirit of God seems to have rested.\nThere were in Israel schools of prophets; this does not mean that their\ntraining ended in the diploma of a seer or an oracle, but that this\nnovitiate was favourable to the action of God upon their souls, and\ninclined them thereto. A smaller seminary possesses also the hope of the\nharvest. It is there that the minds of the students, by exercises\nproportionate to their age, become adapted unconstrainedly to pious\nreading, to the meditation and the grave studies in whose cycle the life\nof the priest must pass.\n\nWe shall not be surprised if the prelate's followers recognized in the\nworks of faith which sprang up in his footsteps and progressed on all\nhands at Ville-Marie and at Quebec shining evidences of the protection\nof Mary to whose tutelage they had dedicated their establishments. This\nprotection indeed has never been withheld, since to-day the fame of the\nuniversity which sprang from the seminary, as a fruit develops from a\nbud, has crossed the seas. Father Monsabre, the eloquent preacher of\nNotre-Dame in Paris, speaking of the union of science and faith,\nexclaimed: \"There exists, in the field of the New World, an institution\nwhich has religiously preserved this holy alliance and the traditions of\nthe older universities, the Laval University of Quebec.\"\n\nMgr. de Laval, while busying himself with the training of his clergy,\nwatched over the instruction of youth. He protected his schools and his\ndioceses; at Quebec the Jesuits, and later the seminary, maintained even\nelementary schools. If we must believe the Abbe de Latour and other\nwriters of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the children of the\nearly colonists, skilful in manual labour, showed, nevertheless, great\nindolence of mind. \"In general,\" writes Latour, \"Canadian children have\nintelligence, memory and facility, and they make rapid progress, but the\nfickleness of their character, a dominant taste for liberty, and their\nhereditary and natural inclination for physical exercise do not permit\nthem to apply themselves with sufficient perseverance and assiduity to\nbecome learned men; satisfied with a certain measure of knowledge\nsufficient for the ordinary purposes of their occupations (and this is,\nindeed, usually possessed), we see no people deeply learned in any\nbranch of science. We must further admit that there are few resources,\nfew books, and little emulation. No doubt the resources will be\nmultiplied, and clever persons will appear in proportion as the colony\nincreases.\" Always eager to develop all that might serve for the\npropagation of the faith or the progress of the colony, the devoted\nprelate eagerly fostered this natural aptitude of the Canadians for the\narts and trades, and he established at St. Joachim a boarding-school for\ncountry children; this offered, besides a solid primary education,\nlessons in agriculture and some training for different trades.\n\nMgr. de Laval gave many other proofs of his enlightened charity for the\npoor and the waifs of fortune; he approved and encouraged among other\nworks the Brotherhood of Saint Anne at Quebec. This association of\nprayer and spiritual aid had been established but three years before his\narrival; it was directed by a chaplain and two directors, the latter\nelected annually by secret ballot. He had wished to offer in 1660 a more\nstriking proof of his devotion to the Mother of the Holy Virgin, and had\ncaused to be built on the shore of Beaupre the first sanctuary of Saint\nAnne. This temple arose not far from a chapel begun two years before,\nunder the care of the Abbe de Queylus. The origin of this place of\ndevotion, it appears, was a great peril to which certain Breton sailors\nwere exposed: assailed by a tempest in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, about\nthe beginning of the seventeenth century, they made a vow to erect, if\nthey escaped death, a chapel to good Saint Anne on the spot where they\nshould land. Heaven heard their prayers, and they kept their word. The\nchapel erected by Mgr. de Laval was a very modest one, but the zealous\nmissionary of Beaupre, the Abbe Morel, then chaplain, was the witness of\nmany acts of ardent faith and sincere piety; the Bishop of Petraea\nhimself made several pilgrimages to the place. \"We confess,\" says he,\n\"that nothing has aided us more efficaciously to support the burden of\nthe pastoral charge of this growing church than the special devotion\nwhich all the inhabitants of this country dedicate to Saint Anne, a\ndevotion which, we affirm it with certainty, distinguishes them from\nall other peoples.\" The poor little chapel, built of uprights, gave\nplace in 1675 to a stone church erected by the efforts of M. Filion,\nproctor of the seminary, and it was noted for an admirable picture given\nby the viceroy, de Tracy, who did not disdain to make his pilgrimage\nlike the rest, and to set thus an example which the great ones of the\nearth should more frequently give. This church lasted only a few years;\nMgr. de Laval was still living when a third temple was built upon its\nsite. This was enlarged in 1787, and gave place only in 1878 to the\nmagnificent cathedral which we admire to-day. The faith which raised\nthis sanctuary to consecrate it to Saint Anne did not die with its pious\nfounder; it is still lively in our hearts, since in 1898 a hundred and\ntwenty thousand pilgrims went to pray before the relic of Saint Anne,\nthe precious gift of Mgr. de Laval.\n\nIn our days, hardly has the sun melted the thick mantle of snow which\ncovers during six months the Canadian soil, hardly has the majestic St.\nLawrence carried its last blocks of ice down to the ocean, when caravans\nof pious pilgrims from all quarters of the country wend their way\ntowards the sanctuary raised upon the shores of Beaupre. Whole families\nfill the cars; the boats of the Richelieu Company stop to receive\npassengers at all the charming villages strewn along the banks of the\nriver, and the cathedral which raises in the air its slender spires on\neither side of the immense statue of Saint Anne does not suffice to\ncontain the ever renewed throng of the faithful.\n\nEven in the time of Mgr. de Laval, pilgrimages to Saint Anne's were\nfrequent, and it was not only French people but also savages who\naddressed to the Mother of the Virgin Mary fervent, and often very\nartless, prayers. The harvest became, in fact, more abundant in the\nmissions, and\n\n     \"Les pretres ne pouvaient suffire aux sacrifices.\"[4]\n\nFrom the banks of the Saguenay at Tadousac, or from the shore of Hudson\nBay, where Father Albanel was evangelizing the Indians, to the recesses\nof the Iroquois country, a Black Robe taught from interval to interval\nin a humble chapel the truths of the Christian religion. \"We may say,\"\nwrote Father Dablon in 1671, \"that the torch of the faith now illumines\nthe four quarters of this New World. More than seven hundred baptisms\nhave this year consecrated all our forests; more than twenty different\nmissions incessantly occupy our Fathers among more than twenty diverse\nnations; and the chapels erected in the districts most remote from here\nare almost every day filled with these poor barbarians, and in some of\nthem there have been consummated sometimes ten, twenty, and even thirty\nbaptisms on a single occasion.\" And, ever faithful to the established\npower, the missionaries taught their neophytes not only religion, but\nalso the respect due to the king. Let us hearken to Father Allouez\nspeaking to the mission of Sault Ste. Marie: \"Cast your eyes,\" says he,\n\"upon the cross raised so high above your heads. It was upon that cross\nthat Jesus Christ, the son of God, become a man by reason of His love\nfor men, consented to be bound and to die, in order to satisfy His\nEternal Father for our sins. He is the master of our life, the master of\nHeaven, earth and hell. It is He of whom I speak to you without ceasing,\nand whose name and word I have borne into all these countries. But\nbehold at the same time this other stake, on which are hung the arms of\nthe great captain of France, whom we call the king. This great leader\nlives beyond the seas; he is the captain of the greatest captains, and\nhas not his peer in the world. All the captains that you have ever seen,\nand of whom you have heard speak, are only children beside him. He is\nlike a great tree; the rest are only little plants crushed under men's\nfootsteps as they walk. You know Onontio, the famous chieftain of\nQuebec; you know that he is the terror of the Iroquois, his mere name\nmakes them tremble since he has desolated their country and burned their\nvillages. Well, there are beyond the seas ten thousand Onontios like\nhim. They are only the soldiers of this great captain, our great king,\nof whom I speak to you.\"\n\nMgr. de Laval ardently desired, then, the arrival of new workers for the\ngospel, and in the year 1668, the very year of the foundation of the\nseminary, his desire was fulfilled, as if Providence wished to reward\nHis servant at once. Missionaries from France came to the aid of the\npriests of the Quebec seminary, and Sulpicians, such as MM. de Queylus,\nd'Urfe, Dallet and Brehan de Gallinee, arrived at Montreal; MM. Francois\nde Salignac-Fenelon and Claude Trouve had already landed the year\nbefore. \"I have during the last month,\" wrote the prelate, \"commissioned\ntwo most good and virtuous apostles to go to an Iroquois community which\nhas been for some years established quite near us on the northern side\nof the great Lake Ontario. One is M. de Fenelon, whose name is\nwell-known in Paris, and the other M. Trouve. We have not yet been able\nto learn the result of their mission, but we have every reason to hope\nfor its complete success.\"\n\nWhile he was enjoining upon these two missionaries, on their departure\nfor the mission on which he was sending them, that they should always\nremain in good relations with the Jesuit Fathers, he gave them some\nadvice worthy of the most eminent doctors of the Church:--\n\n\"A knowledge of the language,\" he says, \"is necessary in order to\ninfluence the savages. It is, nevertheless, one of the smallest parts of\nthe equipment of a good missionary, just as in France to speak French\nwell is not what makes a successful preacher. The talents which make\ngood missionaries are:\n\n\"1. To be filled with the spirit of God; this spirit must animate our\nwords and our hearts: _Ex abundantia cordis os loquitur_.\n\n\"2. To have great prudence in the choice and arrangement of the things\nwhich are necessary either to enlighten the understanding or to bend the\nwill; all that does not tend in this direction is labour lost.\n\n\"3. To be very assiduous, in order not to lose opportunities of\nprocuring the salvation of souls, and supplying the neglect which is\noften manifest in neophytes; for, since the devil on his part _circuit\ntanquam leo rugiens, quaerens quem devoret_, so we must be vigilant\nagainst his efforts, with care, gentleness and love.\n\n\"4. To have nothing in our life and in our manners which may appear to\nbelie what we say, or which may estrange the minds and hearts of those\nwhom we wish to win to God.\n\n\"5. We must make ourselves beloved by our gentleness, patience and\ncharity, and win men's minds and hearts to incline them to God. Often a\nbitter word, an impatient act or a frowning countenance destroys in a\nmoment what has taken a long time to produce.\n\n\"6. The spirit of God demands a peaceful and pious heart, not a restless\nand dissipated one; one should have a joyous and modest countenance; one\nshould avoid jesting and immoderate laughter, and in general all that is\ncontrary to a holy and joyful modesty: _Modestia vestra nota sit\nomnibus hominibus_.\"\n\nThe new Sulpicians had been most favourably received by Mgr. de Laval,\nand the more so since almost all of them belonged to great families and\nhad renounced, like himself, ease and honour, to devote themselves to\nthe rude apostleship of the Canadian missions.\n\nThe difficulties between the bishop and the Abbe de Queylus had\ndisappeared, and had left no trace of bitterness in the souls of these\ntwo servants of God. M. de Queylus gave good proof of this subsequently;\nhe gave six thousand francs to the hospital of Quebec, of which one\nthousand were to endow facilities for the treatment of the poor, and\nfive thousand for the maintenance of a choir-nun. His generosity,\nmoreover, was proverbial: \"I cannot find a man more grateful for the\nfavour that you have done him than M. de Queylus,\" wrote the intendant,\nTalon, to the minister, Colbert. \"He is going to arrange his affairs in\nFrance, divide with his brothers, and collect his worldly goods to use\nthem in Canada, at least so he has assured me. If he has need of your\nprotection, he is striving to make himself worthy of it, and I know that\nhe is most zealous for the welfare of this colony. I believe that a\nlittle show of benevolence on your part would redouble this zeal, of\nwhich I have good evidence, for what you desire the most, the education\nof the native children, which he furthers with all his might.\"\n\nThe abbe found the seminary in conditions very different from those\nprevailing at the time of his departure. In 1663, the members of the\nCompany of Notre-Dame of Montreal had made over to the Sulpicians the\nwhole Island of Montreal and the seigniory of St. Sulpice. Their purpose\nwas to assure the future of the three works which they had not ceased,\nsince the birth of their association, to seek to establish: a seminary\nfor the education of priests in the colony, an institution of education\nfor young girls, and a hospital for the care of the sick.\n\nTo learn the happy results due to the eloquence of MM. Trouve and de\nFenelon engaged in the evangelization of the tribes encamped to the\nnorth of Lake Ontario, or to that of MM. Dollier de Casson and Gallinee\npreaching on the shores of Lake Erie, one must read the memoirs of the\nJesuit Fathers. We must bear in mind that many facts, which might appear\nto redound too much to the glory of the missionaries, the modesty of\nthese men refused to give to the public. We shall give an example. One\nday when M. de Fenelon had come down to Quebec, in the summer of 1669,\nto give account of his efforts to his bishop, Mgr. de Laval begged the\nmissionary to write a short abstract of his labours for the memoirs.\n\"Monseigneur,\" replied humbly the modest Sulpician, \"the greatest favour\nthat you can do us is not to allow us to be mentioned.\" Will he, at\nleast, like the traveller who, exhausted by fatigue and privation,\nreaches finally the promised land, repose in Capuan delights? Mother\nMary of the Incarnation informs us on this point: \"M. l'abbe de\nFenelon,\" says she, \"having wintered with the Iroquois, has paid us a\nvisit. I asked him how he had been able to subsist, having had only\nsagamite[5] as sole provision, and pure water to drink. He replied that\nhe was so accustomed to it that he made no distinction between this food\nand any other, and that he was about to set out on his return to pass\nthe winter again there with M. de Trouve, having left him only to go and\nget the wherewithal to pay the Indians who feed them. The zeal of these\ngreat servants of God is admirable.\"\n\nThe activity and the devotion of the Jesuits and of the Sulpicians might\nthus make up for lack of numbers, and Mgr. de Laval judged that they\nwere amply sufficient for the task of the holy ministry. But the\nintendant, Talon, feared lest the Society of Jesus should become\nomnipotent in the colony; adopting from policy the famous device of\nCatherine de Medici, _divide to rule_, he hoped that an order of\nmendicant friars would counterbalance the influence of the sons of\nLoyola, and he brought with him from France, in 1670, Father Allard,\nSuperior of the Recollets in the Province of St. Denis, and four other\nbrothers of the same order. We must confess that, if a new order of\nmonks was to be established in Canada, it was preferable in all justice\nto apply to that of St. Francis rather than to any others, for had it\nnot traced the first evangelical furrows in the new field and left\nglorious memories in the colony?\n\nMgr. de Laval received from the king in 1671 the following letter:\n\n     \"My Lord Bishop of Petraea:\n\n     \"Having considered that the re-establishment of the monks of the\n     Order of St. Francis on the lands which they formerly possessed in\n     Canada might be of great avail for the spiritual consolation of my\n     subjects and for the relief of your ecclesiastics in the said\n     country, I send you this letter to tell you that my intention is\n     that you should give to the Rev. Father Allard, the superior, and\n     to the four monks whom he brings with him, the power of\n     administering the sacraments to all those who may have need of them\n     and who may have recourse to these reverend Fathers, and that,\n     moreover, you should aid them with your authority in order that\n     they may resume possession of all which belongs to them in the said\n     country, to all of which I am persuaded you will willingly\n     subscribe, by reason of the knowledge which you have of the relief\n     which my subjects will receive....\"\n\nThe prelate had not been consulted; moreover, the intervention of the\nnewcomers did not seem to him opportune. But he was obstinate and\nunapproachable only when he believed his conscience involved; he\nreceived the Recollets with great benevolence and rendered them all the\nservice possible. \"He gave them abundant aid,\" says Latour, \"and\nfurnished them for more than a year with food and lodging. Although the\nOrder had come in spite of him, he gave them at the outset four\nmissions: Three Rivers, Ile Perce, St. John's River and Fort Frontenac.\nThese good Fathers were surprised; they did not cease to praise the\ncharity of the bishop, and confessed frankly that, having only come to\noppose his clergy, they could not understand why they were so kindly\ntreated.\"\n\nAfter all, the breadth of character of these brave heroes of evangelic\npoverty could not but please the Canadian people; ever gay and pleasant,\nand of even temper, they traversed the country to beg a meagre pittance.\nEverywhere received with joy, they were given a place at the common\ntable; they were looked upon as friends, and the people related to them\ntheir joys and afflictions. Hardly was a robe of drugget descried upon\nthe horizon when the children rushed forward, surrounded the good\nFather, and led him by the hand to the family fireside. The Recollets\nhad always a good word for this one, a consolatory speech for that one,\nand on occasion, brought up as they had been, for the most part under a\nmodest thatched roof, knew how to lend a hand at the plough, or suggest\na good counsel if the flock were attacked by some sickness. On their\ndeparture, the benediction having been given to all, there was a\nvigorous handshaking, and already their hosts were discounting the\npleasure of a future visit.\n\nOn their arrival the Recollet Fathers lodged not far from the Ursuline\nConvent, till the moment when, their former monastery on the St. Charles\nRiver being repaired, they were able to install themselves there. Some\nyears later they built a simple refuge on land granted them in the Upper\nTown. Finally, having become almoners of the Chateau St. Louis, where\nthe governor resided, they built their monastery opposite the castle,\nback to back with the magnificent church which bore the name of St.\nAnthony of Padua. They reconquered the popularity which they had enjoyed\nin the early days of the colony, and the bishop entrusted to their\ndevotion numerous parishes and four missions. Unfortunately, they\nallowed themselves to be so influenced by M. de Frontenac, in spite of\nrepeated warnings from Mgr. de Laval, that they espoused the cause of\nthe governor in the disputes between the latter and the intendant,\nDuchesneau. Their gratitude towards M. de Frontenac, who always\nprotected them, is easily explained, but it is no less true that they\nshould have respected above all the authority of the prelate who alone\nhad to answer before God for the religious administration of his\ndiocese.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[4] Racine's _Athalie_.\n\n[5] A sort of porridge of water and pounded maize.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE PROGRESS OF THE COLONY\n\n\nThis year, 1668, would have brought only consolations to Mgr. de Laval,\nif, unhappily, M. de Talon had not inflicted a painful blow upon the\nheart of the prelate: the commissioner obtained from the Sovereign\nCouncil a decree permitting the unrestricted sale of intoxicating drinks\nboth to the savages and to the French, and only those who became\nintoxicated might be sentenced to a slight penalty. This was opening the\nway for the greatest abuses, and no later than the following year Mother\nMary of the Incarnation wrote: \"What does the most harm here is the\ntraffic in wine and brandy. We preach against those who give these\nliquors to the savages; and yet many reconcile their consciences to the\npermission of this thing. They go into the woods and carry drinks to the\nsavages in order to get their furs for nothing when they are drunk.\nImmorality, theft and murder ensue.... We had not yet seen the French\ncommit such crimes, and we can attribute the cause of them only to the\npernicious traffic in brandy.\"\n\nCommissioner Talon was, however, the cleverest administrator that the\ncolony had possessed, and the title of the \"Canadian Colbert\" which\nBibaud confers upon him is well deserved. Mother Incarnation summed up\nhis merits well in the following terms: \"M. Talon is leaving us,\" said\nshe, \"and returning to France, to the great regret of everybody and to\nthe loss of all Canada, for since he has been here in the capacity of\ncommissioner the country has progressed and its business prospered more\nthan they had done since the French occupation.\" Talon worked with all\nhis might in developing the resources of the colony, by exploiting the\nmines, by encouraging the fisheries, agriculture, the exportation of\ntimber, and general commerce, and especially by inducing, through the\ngift of a few acres of ground, the majority of the soldiers of the\nregiment of Carignan to remain in the country. He entered every house to\nenquire of possible complaints; he took the first census, and laid out\nthree villages near Quebec. His plans for the future were vaster still:\nhe recommended the king to buy or conquer the districts of Orange and\nManhattan; moreover, according to Abbe Ferland, he dreamed of connecting\nCanada with the Antilles in commerce. With this purpose he had had a\nship built at Quebec, and had bought another in order to begin at once.\nThis very first year he sent to the markets of Martinique and Santo\nDomingo fresh and dry cod, salted salmon, eels, pease, seal and porpoise\noil, clapboards and planks. He had different kinds of wood cut in order\nto try them, and he exported masts to La Rochelle, which he hoped to see\nused in the shipyards of the Royal Navy. He proposed to Colbert the\nestablishment of a brewery, in order to utilize the barley and the\nwheat, which in a few years would be so abundant that the farmer could\nnot sell them. This was, besides, a means of preventing drunkenness, and\nof retaining in the country the sum of one hundred thousand francs,\nwhich went out each year for the purchase of wines and brandies. M.\nTalon presented at the same time to the minister the observations which\nhe had made on the French population of the country. \"The people,\" said\nTalon, \"are a mosaic, and though composed of colonists from different\nprovinces of France whose temperaments do not always sympathize, they\nseem to me harmonious enough. There are,\" he added, \"among these\ncolonists people in easy circumstances, indigent people and people\nbetween these two extremes.\"\n\nBut he thought only of the material development of the colony; upon\nothers, he thought, were incumbent the responsibility for and defence of\nspiritual interests. He was mistaken, for, although he had not in his\npower the direction of souls, his duties as a simple soldier of the army\nof Christ imposed upon him none the less the obligation of avoiding all\nthat might contribute to the loss of even a single soul. The disorders\nwhich were the inevitable result of a free traffic in intoxicating\nliquors, finally assumed such proportions that the council, without\ngoing as far as the absolute prohibition of the sale of brandy to the\nIndians, restricted, nevertheless, this deplorable traffic; it forbade\nunder the most severe penalties the carrying of firewater into the woods\nto the savages, but it continued to tolerate the sale of intoxicating\nliquors in the French settlements. It seems that Cavelier de la Salle\nhimself, in his store at Lachine where he dealt with the Indians, did\nnot scruple to sell them this fatal poison.\n\nFrom 1668 to 1670, during the two years that Commissioner Talon had to\nspend in France, both for reasons of health and on account of family\nbusiness, he did not cease to work actively at the court for his beloved\nCanada. M. de Bouteroue, who took his place during his absence, managed\nto prejudice the minds of the colonists in his favour by his exquisite\nurbanity and the polish of his manners.\n\nIt will not be out of place, we think, to give here some details of the\nstate of the country and its resources at this period. Since the first\ncompanies in charge of Canada were formed principally of merchants of\nRouen, of La Rochelle and of St. Malo, it is not astonishing that the\nfirst colonists should have come largely from Normandy and Perche. It\nwas only about 1660 that fine and vigorous offspring increased a\npopulation which up to that time was renewed only through immigration;\nin the early days, in fact, the colonists lost all their children, but\nthey found in this only a new reason for hope in the future. \"Since God\ntakes the first fruits,\" said they, \"He will save us the rest.\" The wise\nand far-seeing mind of Cardinal Richelieu had understood that\nagricultural development was the first condition of success for a young\ncolony, and his efforts in this direction had been admirably seconded\nboth by Commissioner Talon and Mgr. de Laval at Quebec, and by the\nCompany of Montreal, which had not hesitated at any sacrifice in order\nto establish at Ville-Marie a healthy and industrious population. If the\nreader doubts this, let him read the letters of Talon, of Mother Mary of\nthe Incarnation, of Fathers Le Clercq and Charlevoix, of M. Aubert and\nmany others. \"Great care had been exercised,\" says Charlevoix, \"in the\nselection of candidates who had presented themselves for the\ncolonization of New France.... As to the girls who were sent out to be\nmarried to the new inhabitants, care was always taken to enquire of\ntheir conduct before they embarked, and their subsequent behaviour was a\nproof of the success of this system. During the following years the same\ncare was exercised, and we soon saw in this part of America a generation\nof true Christians growing up, among whom prevailed the simplicity of\nthe first centuries of the Church, and whose posterity has not yet lost\nsight of the great examples set by their ancestors.... In justice to the\ncolony of New France we must admit that the source of almost all the\nfamilies which still survive there to-day is pure and free from those\nstains which opulence can hardly efface; this is because the first\nsettlers were either artisans always occupied in useful labour, or\npersons of good family who came there with the sole intention of living\nthere more tranquilly and preserving their religion in greater security.\nI fear the less contradiction upon this head since I have lived with\nsome of these first colonists, all people still more respectable by\nreason of their honesty, their frankness and the firm piety which they\nprofess than by their white hair and the memory of the services which\nthey rendered to the colony.\"\n\nM. Aubert says, on his part: \"The French of Canada are well built,\nnimble and vigorous, enjoying perfect health, capable of enduring all\nsorts of fatigue, and warlike; which is the reason why, during the last\nwar, French-Canadians received a fourth more pay than the French of\nEurope. All these advantageous physical qualities of the\nFrench-Canadians arise from the fact that they have been born in a good\nclimate, and nourished by good and abundant food, that they are at\nliberty to engage from childhood in fishing, hunting, and journeying in\ncanoes, in which there is much exercise. As to bravery, even if it were\nnot born with them as Frenchmen, the manner of warfare of the Iroquois\nand other savages of this continent, who burn alive almost all their\nprisoners with incredible cruelty, caused the French to face ordinary\ndeath in battle as a boon rather than be taken alive; so that they\nfight desperately and with great indifference to life.\" The consequence\nof this judicious method of peopling a colony was that, the trunk of the\ntree being healthy and vigorous, the branches were so likewise. \"It was\nastonishing,\" wrote Mother Mary of the Incarnation, \"to see the great\nnumber of beautiful and well-made children, without any corporeal\ndeformity unless through accident. A poor man will have eight or more\nchildren, who in the winter go barefooted and bareheaded, with a little\nshirt upon their back, and who live only on eels and bread, and\nnevertheless are plump and large.\"\n\nProperty was feudal, as in France, and this constitution was maintained\neven after the conquest of the country by the English. Vast stretches of\nland were granted to those who seemed, thanks to their state of fortune,\nfit to form centres of population, and these seigneurs granted in their\nturn parts of these lands to the immigrants for a rent of from one to\nthree cents per acre, according to the value of the land, besides a\ntribute in grain and poultry. The indirect taxation consisted of the\nobligation of maintaining the necessary roads, one day's compulsory\nlabour per year, convertible into a payment of forty cents, the right of\n_mouture_, consisting of a pound of flour on every fourteen from the\ncommon mill, finally the payment of a twelfth in case of transfer and\nsale (stamp and registration). This seigniorial tenure was burdensome,\nwe must admit, though it was less crushing than that which weighed upon\nhusbandry in France before the Revolution. The farmers of Canada uttered\na long sigh of relief when it was abolished by the legislature in 1867.\n\nThe habits of this population were remarkably simple; the costume of\nsome of our present out-of-door clubs gives an accurate idea of the\ndress of that time, which was the same for all: the garment of wool, the\ncloak, the belt of arrow pattern, and the woollen cap, called tuque,\nformed the national costume. And not only did the colonists dress\nwithout the slightest affectation, but they even made their clothes\nthemselves. \"The growing of hemp,\" says the Abbe Ferland, \"was\nencouraged, and succeeded wonderfully. They used the nettle to make\nstrong cloths; looms set up in each house in the village furnished\ndrugget, bolting cloth, serge and ordinary cloth. The leathers of the\ncountry sufficed for a great portion of the needs of the population.\nAccordingly, after enumerating the advances in agriculture and industry,\nTalon announced to Colbert with just satisfaction, that he could clothe\nhimself from head to foot in Canadian products, and that in a short time\nthe colony, if it were well administered, would draw from Old France\nonly a few objects of prime need.\"\n\nThe interior of the dwellings was not less simple, and we find still in\nour country districts a goodly number of these old French houses; they\nhad only one single room, in which the whole family ate, lived and\nslept, and received the light through three windows. At the back of the\nroom was the bed of the parents, supported by the wall, in another\ncorner a couch, used as a seat during the day and as a bed for the\nchildren during the night, for the top was lifted off as one lifts the\ncover of a box. Built into the wall, generally at the right of the\nentrance, was the stone chimney, whose top projected a little above the\nroof; the stewpan, in which the food was cooked, was hung in the\nfireplace from a hook. Near the hearth a staircase, or rather a ladder,\nled to the loft, which was lighted by two windows cut in the sides, and\nwhich held the grain. Finally a table, a few chairs or benches completed\nthese primitive furnishings, though we must not forget to mention the\nold gun hung above the bed to be within reach of the hand in case of a\nnight surprise from the dreaded Iroquois.\n\nIn peaceful times, too, the musket had its service, for at this period\nevery Canadian was born a disciple of St. Hubert. We must confess that\nthis great saint did not refuse his protection in this country, where,\nwith a single shot, a hunter killed, in 1663, a hundred and thirty wild\npigeons. These birds were so tame that one might kill them with an oar\non the bank of the river, and so numerous that the colonists, after\nhaving gathered and salted enough for their winter's provision,\nabandoned the rest to the dogs and pigs. How many hunters of our day\nwould have displayed their skill in these fortunate times! This\nabundance of pigeons at a period when our ancestors were not favoured in\nthe matter of food as we are to-day, recalls at once to our memory the\nquail that Providence sent to the Jews in the desert; and it is a fact\nworthy of mention that as soon as our forefathers could dispense with\nthis superabundance of game, the wild pigeons disappeared so totally and\nsuddenly that the most experienced hunters cannot explain this sudden\ndisappearance. There were found also about Ville-Marie many partridge\nand duck, and since the colonists could not go out after game in the\nwoods, where they would have been exposed to the ambuscades of the\nIroquois, the friendly Indians brought to market the bear, the elk, the\ndeer, the buffalo, the caribou, the beaver and the muskrat. On fast days\nthe Canadians did not lack for fish; eels were sold at five francs a\nhundred, and in June, 1649, more than three hundred sturgeons were\ncaught at Montreal within a fortnight. The shad, the pike, the wall-eyed\npike, the carp, the brill, the maskinonge were plentiful, and there was\nbesides, more particularly at Quebec, good herring and salmon fishing,\nwhile at Malbaie (Murray Bay) codfish, and at Three Rivers white fish\nwere abundant.\n\nAt first, food, clothing and property were all paid for by exchange of\ngoods. Men bartered, for example, a lot of ground for two cows and a\npair of stockings; a more considerable piece of land was to be had for\ntwo oxen, a cow and a little money. \"Poverty,\" says Bossuet, speaking\nof other nations, \"was not an evil; on the contrary, they looked upon it\nas a means of keeping their liberty more intact, there being nothing\nfreer or more independent than a man who knows how to live on little,\nand who, without expecting anything from the protection or the largess\nof others, relies for his livelihood only on his industry and labour.\"\nVoltaire has said with equal justice: \"It is not the scarcity of money,\nbut that of men and talent, which makes an empire weak.\"\n\nOn the arrival of the royal troops coin became less rare. \"Money is now\ncommon,\" wrote Mother Incarnation, \"these gentlemen having brought much\nof it. They pay cash for all they buy, both food and other necessaries.\"\nMoney was worth a fourth more than in France, thus fifteen cents were\nworth twenty. As a natural consequence, two currencies were established\nin New France, and the _livre tournois_ (French franc) was distinguished\nfrom the franc of the country. The Indians were dealt with by exchanges,\nand one might see them traversing the streets of Quebec, Montreal or\nThree Rivers, offering from house to house rich furs, which they\nbartered for blankets, powder, lead, but above all, for that accursed\nfirewater which caused such havoc among them, and such interminable\ndisputes between the civil and the religious power. Intoxicating liquors\nwere the source of many disorders, and we cannot too much regret that\nthis stain rested upon the glory of New France. Yet such a society,\nsituated in what was undeniably a difficult position, could not be\nexpected to escape every imperfection.\n\nThe activity and the intelligence of Mgr. de Laval made themselves felt\nin every beneficent and progressive work. He could not remain\nindifferent to the education of his flock; we find him as zealous for\nthe progress of primary education as for the development of his two\nseminaries or his school at St. Joachim. Primary instruction was given\nfirst by the good Recollets at Quebec, at Tadousac and at Three Rivers.\nThe Jesuits replaced them, and were able, thanks to the munificence of\nthe son of the Marquis de Gamache, to add a college to their elementary\nschool at Quebec. At Ville-Marie the Sulpicians, with never-failing\nabnegation, not content with the toil of their ministry, lent themselves\nto the arduous task of teaching; the venerable superior himself, M.\nSouart, took the modest title of headmaster. From a healthy bud issues a\nfine fruit: just as the smaller seminary of Quebec gave birth to the\nLaval University, so from the school of M. Souart sprang in 1733 the\nCollege of Montreal, transferred forty years later to the Chateau\nVaudreuil, on Jacques Cartier Square; then to College Street, now St.\nPaul Street. The college rises to-day on an admirable site on the <DW72>\nof the mountain; the main seminary, which adjoins it, seems to dominate\nthe city stretched at its feet, as the two sister sciences taught\nthere, theology and philosophy, dominate by their importance the other\nbranches of human knowledge.\n\nM. de Fenelon, who was already devoted to the conversion of the savages\nin the famous mission of Montreal mountain, gave the rest of his time to\nthe training of the young Iroquois; he gathered them in a school erected\nby his efforts near Pointe Claire, on the Dorval Islands, which he had\nreceived from M. de Frontenac. Later on the Brothers Charron established\na house at Montreal with a double purpose of charity: to care for the\npoor and the sick, and to train men in order to send them to open\nschools in the country district. This institution, in spite of the\nenthusiasm of its founders, did not succeed, and became extinct about\nthe middle of the eighteenth century. Finally, in 1838, Canada greeted\nwith joy the arrival of the sons of the blessed Jean Baptiste de la\nSalle, the Brothers of the Christian Doctrine, so well known throughout\nthe world for their modesty and success in teaching.\n\nThe girls of the colony were no less well looked after than the boys; at\nQuebec, the Ursuline nuns, established in that city by Madame de la\nPeltrie, trained them for the future irreproachable mothers of families.\nThe attempts made to Gallicize the young savages met with no success in\nthe case of the boys, but were better rewarded by the young Indian\ngirls. \"We have Gallicized,\" writes Mother Mary of the Incarnation, \"a\nnumber of Indian girls, both Hurons and Algonquins, whom we subsequently\nmarried to Frenchmen, who get along with them very well. There is one\namong them who reads and writes to perfection, both in her native Huron\ntongue and in French; no one can discern or believe that she was born a\nsavage. The commissioner was so delighted at this that he induced her to\nwrite for him something in the two languages, in order to take it to\nFrance and show it as an extraordinary production.\" Further on she adds,\n\"It is a very difficult thing, not to say impossible, to Gallicize or\ncivilize them. We have more experience in this than any one else, and we\nhave observed that of a hundred who have passed through our hands we\nhave hardly civilized one. We find in them docility and intelligence,\nbut when we least expect it, they climb over our fence and go off to run\nthe woods with their parents, where they find more pleasure than in all\nthe comforts of our French houses.\"\n\nAt Montreal it was the venerable Marguerite Bourgeoys who began to teach\nin a poor hovel the rudiments of the French tongue. This humble school\nwas transformed a little more than two centuries later into one of the\nmost vast and imposing edifices of the city of Montreal. Fire destroyed\nit in 1893, but we must hope that this majestic monument of Ville-Marie\nwill soon rise again from its ruins to become the centre of operations\nof the numerous educational institutions of the Congregation of\nNotre-Dame which cover our country. M. l'abbe Verreau, the much\nregretted principal of the Jacques Cartier Normal School, appreciates in\nthese terms the services rendered to education by Mother Bourgeoys, a\nwoman eminent from all points of view: \"The Congregation of Notre-Dame,\"\nsays he, \"is a truly national institution, whose ramifications extend\nbeyond the limits of Canada. Marguerite Bourgeoys took in hand the\neducation of the women of the people, the basis of society. She taught\nyoung women to become what they ought to be, especially at this period,\nwomen full of moral force, of modesty, of courage in the face of the\ndangers in the midst of which they lived. If the French-Canadians have\npreserved a certain character of politeness and urbanity, which\nstrangers are not slow in admitting, they owe it in a great measure to\nthe work of Marguerite Bourgeoys.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nBECOMES BISHOP OF QUEBEC\n\n\nThe creation of a bishopric in Canada was becoming necessary, and all\nwas ready for the erection of a separate see. Mgr. de Laval had thought\nof everything: the two seminaries with the resources indispensable for\ntheir maintenance, cathedral, parishes or missions regularly\nestablished, institutions of education or charity, numerous schools, a\nzealous and devoted clergy, respected both by the government of the\ncolony and by that of the mother country. What more could be desired? He\nhad many struggles to endure in order to obtain this creation, but\npatience and perseverance never failed him, and like the drop of water\nwhich, falling incessantly upon the pavement, finally wears away the\nstone, his reasonable and ever repeated demands eventually overcame the\nobstinacy of the king. Not, however, until 1674 was he definitely\nappointed Bishop of Quebec, and could enjoy without opposition a title\nwhich had belonged to him so long in reality; this was, as it were, the\nfinal consecration of his life and the crowning of his efforts. Upon the\nnews of this the joy of the people and of the clergy rose to its height:\nthe future of the Canadian Church was assured, and she would inscribe\nin her annals a name dear to all and soon to be glorified.\n\nShall we, then, suppose that this pontiff was indeed ambitious, who,\ncoming in early youth to wield his pastoral crozier upon the banks of\nthe St. Lawrence, did not fear the responsibility of so lofty a task?\nThe assumption would be quite unjustified. Rather let us think of him as\nmeditating on this text of St. Paul: \"_Oportet episcopum\nirreprehensibilem esse_,\" the bishop must be irreproachable in his\nhouse, his relations, his speech and even his silence. His past career\nguaranteed his possession of that admixture of strength and gentleness,\nof authority and condescension in which lies the great art of governing\nmen. Moreover, one thing reassured him, his knowledge that the crown of\na bishop is often a crown of thorns. When the apostle St. Paul outlined\nfor his disciple the main features of the episcopal character, he spoke\nnot alone for the immediate successors of the apostles, but for all\nthose who in the succession of ages should be honoured by the same\ndignity. No doubt the difficulties would be often less, persecution\nmight even cease entirely, but trial would continue always, because it\nis the condition of the Church as well as that of individuals. The\nprelate himself explains to us the very serious reasons which led him to\ninsist on obtaining the title of Bishop of Quebec. He writes in these\nterms to the Propaganda: \"I have never till now sought the episcopacy,\nand I have accepted it in spite of myself, convinced of my weakness.\nBut, having borne its burden, I shall consider it a boon to be relieved\nof it, though I do not refuse to sacrifice myself for the Church of\nJesus Christ and for the welfare of souls. I have, however, learned by\nlong experience how unguarded is the position of an apostolic vicar\nagainst those who are entrusted with political affairs, I mean the\nofficers of the court, perpetual rivals and despisers of the\necclesiastical power, who have nothing more common to object than that\nthe authority of the apostolic vicar is doubtful and should be\nrestricted within certain limits. This is why, after having maturely\nconsidered everything, I have resolved to resign this function and to\nreturn no more to New France unless a see be erected there, and unless I\nbe provided and furnished with bulls constituting me its occupant. Such\nis the purpose of my journey to France and the object of my desires.\"\n\nAs early as the year 1662, at the time of his first journey to France,\nthe Bishop of Petraea had obtained from Louis XIV the assurance that this\nprince would petition the sovereign pontiff for the erection of the see\nof Quebec; moreover, the monarch had at the same time assigned to the\nfuture bishopric the revenues of the abbey of Maubec. The king kept his\nword, for on June 28th, 1664, he addressed to the common Father of the\nfaithful the following letter: \"The choice made by your Holiness of the\nperson of the Sieur de Laval, Bishop of Petraea, to go in the capacity\nof apostolic vicar to exercise episcopal functions in Canada has been\nattended by many advantages to this growing Church. We have reason to\nexpect still greater results if it please your Holiness to permit him to\ncontinue there the same functions in the capacity of bishop of the\nplace, by establishing for this purpose an episcopal see in Quebec; and\nwe hope that your Holiness will be the more inclined to this since we\nhave already provided for the maintenance of the bishop and his canons\nby consenting to the perpetual union of the abbey of Maubec with the\nfuture bishopric. This is why we beg you to grant to the Bishop of\nPetraea the title of Bishop of Quebec upon our nomination and prayer,\nwith power to exercise in this capacity the episcopal functions in all\nCanada.\"\n\nHowever, the appointment was not consummated; the Propaganda, indeed,\ndecided in a rescript of December 15th, 1666, that it was necessary to\nmake of Quebec a see, whose occupant should be appointed by the king;\nthe Consistorial Congregation of Rome promulgated a new decree with the\nsame purpose on October 9th, 1670, and yet Mgr. de Laval still remained\nBishop of Petraea. This was because the eternal question of jurisdiction\nas between the civil and religious powers, the question which did so\nmuch harm to Catholicism in France, in England, in Italy, and especially\nin Germany, was again being revived. The King of France demanded that\nthe new diocese should be dependent upon the Metropolitan of Rouen,\nwhile the pontifical government, of which its providential role requires\nalways a breadth of view, and, so to speak, a foreknowledge of events\nimpossible to any nation, desired the new diocese to be an immediate\ndependency of the Holy See. \"We must confess here,\" says the Abbe\nFerland, \"that the sight of the sovereign pontiff reached much farther\ninto the future than that of the great king. Louis XIV was concerned\nwith the kingdom of France; Clement X thought of the interests of the\nwhole Catholic world. The little French colony was growing; separated\nfrom the mother country by the ocean, it might be wrested from France by\nEngland, which was already so powerful in America; what, then, would\nbecome of the Church of Quebec if it had been wont to lean upon that of\nRouen and to depend upon it? It was better to establish at once\nimmediate relations between the Bishop of Quebec and the supreme head of\nthe Catholic Church; it was better to establish bonds which could be\nbroken neither by time nor force, and Quebec might thus become one day\nthe metropolis of the dioceses which should spring from its bosom.\"\n\nThe opposition to the views of Mgr. de Laval did not come, however, so\nmuch from the king as from Mgr. de Harlay, Archbishop of Rouen, who had\nnever consented to the detachment of Canada from his jurisdiction.\nEvents turned out fortunately for the apostolic vicar, since the\nArchbishop of Rouen was called to the important see of Paris on the\ndeath of the Archbishop of Paris, Hardouin de Perefixe de Beaumont, in\nthe very year in which Mgr. de Laval embarked for France, accompanied by\nhis grand vicar, M. de Lauson-Charny. The task now became much easier,\nand Laval had no difficulty in inducing the king to urge the erection of\nthe diocese at Quebec, and to abandon his claims to making the new\ndiocese dependent on the archbishopric of Rouen.\n\nBefore leaving Canada the Bishop of Quebec had entrusted the\nadministration of the apostolic vicariate to M. de Bernieres, and, in\ncase of the latter's death, to M. Dudouyt. He embarked in the autumn of\n1671.\n\nTo the keen regret of the population of Ville-Marie, which owed him so\nmuch, M. de Queylus, Abbe de Loc-Dieu and superior of the Seminary of\nMontreal for the last three years, went to France at the same time as\nhis ecclesiastical superior. \"M. l'abbe de Queylus,\" wrote Commissioner\nTalon to the Minister Colbert, \"is making an urgent application for the\nsettlement and increase of the colony of Montreal. He carries his zeal\nfarther, for he is going to take charge of the Indian children who fall\ninto the hands of the Iroquois, in order to have them educated, the boys\nin his seminary, and the girls by persons of the same sex, who form at\nMontreal a sort of congregation to teach young girls the petty\nhandicrafts, in addition to reading and writing.\" M. de Queylus had used\nhis great fortune in all sorts of good works in the colony, but he was\nnot the only Sulpician whose hand was always ready and willing. Before\ndying, M. Olier had begged his successors to continue the work at\nVille-Marie, \"because,\" said he, \"it is the will of God,\" and the\npriests of St. Sulpice received this injunction as one of the most\nsacred codicils of the will of their Father. However onerous the\ncontinuation of this plan was for the company, the latter sacrificed to\nit without hesitation its resources, its efforts and its members with\nthe most complete abnegation.[6] Thus when, on March 9th, 1663, the\nCompany of Montreal believed itself no longer capable of meeting its\nobligations, and begged St. Sulpice to take them up, the seminary\nsubordinated all considerations of self-interest and human prudence to\nthis view. To this MM. de Bretonvilliers, de Queylus and du Bois devoted\ntheir fortunes, and to this work of the conversion of the savages\npriests distinguished in birth and riches gave up their whole lives and\nproperty. M. de Belmont discharged the hundred and twenty thousand\nfrancs of debts of the Company of Montreal, gave as much more to the\nestablishment of divers works, and left more than two hundred thousand\nfrancs of his patrimony to support them after his death. How many\nothers did likewise! During more than fifty years Paris sent to this\nmission only priests able to pay their board, that they might have the\nright to share in this evangelization. This disinterestedness, unheard\nof in the history of the most unselfish congregations, saved, sustained\nand finally developed this settlement, to which Roman Catholics point\nto-day with pride. The Seminary of Paris contributed to it a sum equal\nto twice the value of the island, and during the first sixty years more\nthan nine hundred thousand francs, as one may see by the archives of the\nDepartment of Marine at Paris. These sums to-day would represent a large\nfortune.\n\nFinally the prayers of Mgr. de Laval were heard; Pope Clement X signed\non October 1st, 1674, the bulls establishing the diocese of Quebec,\nwhich was to extend over all the French possessions in North America.\nThe sovereign pontiff incorporated with the new bishopric for its\nmaintenance the abbey of Maubec, given by the King of France already in\n1662, and in exchange for the renunciation by this prince of his right\nof presentation to the abbey of Maubec, granted him the right of\nnomination to the bishopric of Quebec. To his first gift the king had\nadded a second, that of the abbey of Lestrees. Situated in Normandy and\nin the archdeaconry of Evreux, this abbey was one of the oldest of the\norder of Citeaux.\n\nUp to this time the venerable bishop had had many difficulties to\nsurmount; he was about to meet some of another sort, those of the\nadministration of vast properties. The abbey of Maubec, occupied by\nmonks of the order of St. Benedict, was situated in one of the fairest\nprovinces of France, Le Perry, and was dependent upon the archdiocese of\nBourges. Famous vineyards, verdant meadows, well cultivated fields, rich\nfarms, forests full of game and ponds full of fish made this abbey an\nadmirable domain; unfortunately, the expenses of maintaining or\nrepairing the buildings, the dues payable to the government, the\nallowances secured to the monks, and above all, the waste and theft\nwhich must necessarily victimize proprietors separated from their\ntenants by the whole breadth of an ocean, must absorb a great part of\nthe revenues. Letters of the steward of this property to the Bishop of\nQuebec are instructive in this matter. \"M. Porcheron is still the same,\"\nwrites the steward, M. Matberon, \"and bears me a grudge because I desire\nto safeguard your interests. I am incessantly carrying on the work of\nneedful repairs in all the places dependent on Maubec, chiefly those\nnecessary to the ponds, in order that M. Porcheron may have no damages\nagainst you. This is much against his will, for he is constantly seeking\nan excuse for litigation. He swears that he does not want your farm any\nlonger, but as for me, I believe that this is not his feeling, and that\nhe would wish the farm out of the question, for he is too fond of\nhunting and his pleasure to quit it.... He does his utmost to remove me\nfrom your service, insinuating many things against me which are not\ntrue; but this does not lessen my zeal in serving you.\"\n\nMgr. de Laval, who did not hesitate at any exertion when it was a\nquestion of the interests of his Church, did not fail to go and visit\nhis two abbeys. He set out, happy in the prospect of being able to\nadmire these magnificent properties whose rich revenues would permit him\nto do so much good in his diocese; but he was painfully affected at the\nsight of the buildings in ruins, sad relics of the wars of religion. In\norder to free himself as much as possible from cares which would have\nencroached too much upon his precious time and his pastoral duties,\nLaval caused a manager to be appointed by the Royal Council for the\nabbey of Lestrees, and rented it for a fixed sum to M. Berthelot. He\nalso made with the latter a very advantageous transaction by exchanging\nwith him the Island of Orleans for the Ile Jesus; M. Berthelot was to\ngive him besides a sum of twenty-five thousand francs, which was\nemployed in building the seminary. Later the king made the Island of\nOrleans a county. It became the county of St. Lawrence.\n\nMgr. de Laval was too well endowed with qualities of the heart, as well\nas with those of the mind, not to have preserved a deep affection for\nhis family; he did not fail to go and see them twice during his stay in\nFrance. Unhappily, his brother, Jean-Louis, to whom he had yielded all\nhis rights as eldest son, and his titles to the hereditary lordship of\nMontigny and Montbeaudry, caused only grief to his family and to his\nwife, Francoise de Chevestre. As lavish as he was violent and\nhot-tempered, he reduced by his excesses his numerous family (for he had\nhad ten children), to such poverty that the Bishop of Quebec had to come\nto his aid; besides the assistance which he sent them, the prelate\nbought him a house. He extended his protection also to his nephews, and\nhis brother, Henri de Laval, wrote to him about them as follows: \"The\neldest is developing a little; he is in the army with the king, and his\nfather has given him a good start. I have obtained from my petitions\nfrom Paris a place as monk in the Congregation of the Cross for his\nsecond son, whom I shall try to have reared in the knowledge and fear of\nGod. I believe that the youngest, who has been sent to you, will have\ncome to the right place; he is of good promise. My brother desires\ngreatly that you may have the goodness to give Fanchon the advantage of\nan education before sending him back. It is a great charity to these\npoor children to give them a little training. You will be a father to\nthem in this matter.\" One never applied in vain to the heart of the good\nbishop. Two of his nephews owed him their education at the seminary of\nQuebec; one of them, Fanchon (Charles-Francois-Guy), after a brilliant\ncourse in theology at Paris, became vicar-general to the Swan of\nCambrai, the illustrious Fenelon, and was later raised to the bishopric\nof Ypres.\n\nMeanwhile, four years had elapsed since Mgr. de Laval had left the soil\nof Canada, and he did not cease to receive letters which begged him\nrespectfully to return to his diocese. \"Nothing is lacking to animate us\nbut the presence of our lord bishop,\" wrote, one day, Father Dablon.\n\"His absence keeps this country, as it were, in mourning, and makes us\nlanguish in the too long separation from a person so necessary to these\ngrowing churches. He was the soul of them, and the zeal which he showed\non every occasion for the welfare of our Indians drew upon us favours of\nHeaven most powerful for the success of our missions; and since, however\ndistant he be in the body, his heart is ever with us, we experience the\neffects of it in the continuity of the blessings with which God favours\nthe labours of our missionaries.\" Accordingly, he did not lose a moment\nafter receiving the decrees appointing him Bishop of Quebec. On May\n19th, 1675, he renewed the union of his seminary with that of the\nForeign Missions in Paris. \"This union,\" says the Abbe Ferland, \"a union\nwhich he had effected for the first time in 1665 as apostolic bishop of\nNew France, was of great importance to his diocese. He found, indeed, in\nthis institution, good recruits, who were sent to him when needed, and\nfaithful correspondents, whom he could address with confidence, and who\nhad sufficient influence at court to gain a hearing for their\nrepresentations in favour of the Church in Canada.\" On May 29th of the\nsame year he set sail for Canada; he was accompanied by a priest, a\nnative of the city of Orleans, M. Glandelet, who was one of the most\ndistinguished priests of the seminary.\n\nTo understand with what joy he was received by his parishioners on his\narrival, it is enough to read what his brother, Henri de Laval, wrote to\nhim the following year: \"I cannot express to you the satisfaction and\ninward joy which I have received in my soul on reading a report sent\nfrom Canada of the manner in which your clergy and all your people have\nreceived you, and that our Lord inspires them all with just and true\nsentiments to recognize you as their father and pastor. They testify to\nhaving received through your beloved person as it were a new life. I ask\nour Lord every day at His holy altars to preserve you some years more\nfor the sanctification of these poor people and our own.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] _Vie de M. Olier_, par De Lanjuere. As I wrote this life some years\nago with the collaboration of a gentleman whom death has taken from us,\nI believe myself entitled to reproduce here and there in the present\nlife of Mgr. de Laval extracts from this book.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nFRONTENAC IS APPOINTED GOVERNOR\n\n\nDuring the early days of the absence of its first pastor, the Church of\nCanada had enjoyed only days of prosperity; skilfully directed by MM. de\nBernieres and de Dudouyt, who scrupulously followed the line of conduct\nlaid down for them by Mgr. de Laval before his departure, it was\npursuing its destiny peacefully. But this calm, forerunner of the storm,\ncould not last; it was the destiny of the Church, as it had been the lot\nof nations, to be tossed incessantly by the violent winds of trial and\npersecution. The difficulties which arose soon reached the acute stage,\nand all the firmness and tact of the Bishop of Quebec were needed to\nmeet them. The departure of Laval for France in the autumn of 1671 had\nbeen closely followed by that of Governor de Courcelles and that of\nCommissioner Talon. The latter was not replaced until three years later,\nso that the new governor, Count de Frontenac, who arrived in the autumn\nof 1672, had no one at his side in the Sovereign Council to oppose his\nviews. This was allowing too free play to the natural despotism of his\ncharacter. Louis de Buade, Count de Palluau and de Frontenac,\nlieutenant-general of the king's armies, had previously served in\nHolland under the illustrious Maurice, Prince of Orange, then in France,\nItaly and Germany, and his merit had gained for him the reputation of a\ngreat captain. The illustrious Turenne entrusted to him the command of\nthe reinforcements sent to Candia when that island was besieged by the\nTurks. He had a keen mind, trained by serious study; haughty towards the\npowerful of this world, he was affable to ordinary people, and thus made\nfor himself numerous enemies, while remaining very popular. Father\nCharlevoix has drawn an excellent portrait of him: \"His heart was\ngreater than his birth, his wit lively, penetrating, sound, fertile and\nhighly cultivated: but he was biased by the most unjust prejudices, and\ncapable of carrying them very far. He wished to rule alone, and there\nwas nothing he would not do to remove those whom he was afraid of\nfinding in his way. His worth and ability were equal; no one knew better\nhow to assume over the people whom he governed and with whom he had to\ndeal, that ascendency so necessary to keep them in the paths of duty and\nrespect. He won when he wished it the friendship of the French and their\nallies, and never has general treated his enemies with more dignity and\nnobility. His views for the aggrandizement of the colony were large and\ntrue, but his prejudices sometimes prevented the execution of plans\nwhich depended on him.... He justified, in one of the most critical\ncircumstances of his life, the opinion that his ambition and the desire\nof preserving his authority had more power over him than his zeal for\nthe public good. The fact is that there is no virtue which does not\nbelie itself when one has allowed a dominant passion to gain the upper\nhand. The Count de Frontenac might have been a great prince if Heaven\nhad placed him on the throne, but he had dangerous faults for a subject\nwho is not well persuaded that his glory consists in sacrificing\neverything to the service of his sovereign and the public utility.\"\n\nIt was under the administration of Frontenac that the Compagnie des\nIndes Occidentales, which had accepted in 1663 a portion of the\nobligations and privileges of the Company of the Cent-Associes,\nrenounced its rights over New France. Immediately after his arrival he\nbegan the construction of Fort Cataraqui; if we are to believe some\nhistorians, motives of personal interest guided him in the execution of\nthis enterprise; he thought only, it seems, of founding considerable\nposts for the fur trade, favouring those traders who would consent to\ngive him a share in their profits. The work was urged on with energy. La\nSalle obtained from the king, thanks to the support of Frontenac,\nletters patent of nobility, together with the ownership and jurisdiction\nof the new fort.\n\nWith the approval of the governor, Commissioner Talon's plan of having\nthe course of the Mississippi explored was executed by two bold men:\nLouis Joliet, citizen of Quebec, already known for previous voyages and\nfor his deep knowledge of the Indian tongues, and the devoted\nmissionary, Father Marquette. Without other provisions than Indian corn\nand dried meat they set out in two bark canoes from Michilimackinac on\nMay 17th, 1673; only five Frenchmen accompanied them. They reached the\nMississippi, after having passed the Baie des Puants and the rivers\nOutagami and Wisconsin, and ascended the stream for more than sixty\nleagues. They were cordially received by the tribe of the Illinois,\nwhich was encamped not far from the river, and Father Marquette promised\nto return and visit them. The two travellers reached the Arkansas River\nand learned that the sea was not far distant, but fearing they might\nfall into the hands of hostile Spaniards, they decided to retrace their\nsteps, and reached the Baie des Puants about the end of September.\n\nThe following year Father Marquette wished to keep his promise given to\nthe Illinois. His health is weakened by the trials of a long mission,\nbut what matters this to him? There are souls to save. He preaches the\ntruths of religion to the poor savages gathered in attentive silence;\nbut his strength diminishes, and he regretfully resumes the road to\nMichilimackinac. He did not have time to reach it, but died near the\nmouth of a river which long bore his name. His two comrades dug a grave\nfor the remains of the missionary and raised a cross near the tomb. Two\nyears later these sacred bones were transferred with the greatest\nrespect to St. Ignace de Michilimackinac by the savage tribe of the\nKiskakons, whom Father Marquette had christianized.\n\nWith such an adventurous character as he possessed, Cavelier de la Salle\ncould not learn of the exploration of the course of the Upper\nMississippi without burning with the desire to complete the discovery\nand to descend the river to its mouth. Robert Rene Cavelier de la Salle\nwas born at Rouen about the year 1644. He belonged to an excellent\nfamily, and was well educated. From his earliest years he was\npassionately fond of stories of travel, and the older he grew the more\ncramped he felt in the civilization of Europe; like the mettled mustang\nof the vast prairies of America, he longed for the immensity of unknown\nplains, for the imposing majesty of forests which the foot of man had\nnot yet trod. Maturity and reason gave a more definite aim to these\naspirations; at the age of twenty-four he came to New France to try his\nfortune. He entered into relations with different Indian tribes, and the\nextent of his commerce led him to establish a trading-post opposite the\nSault St. Louis. This site, as we shall see, received soon after the\nname of Lachine. Though settled at this spot, La Salle did not cease to\nmeditate on the plan fixed in his brain of discovering a passage to\nChina and the Indies, and upon learning the news that MM. Dollier de\nCasson and Gallinee were going to christianize the wild tribes of\nsouth-western Canada, he hastened to rejoin the two devoted\nmissionaries. They set out in the summer of 1669, with twenty-two\nFrenchmen. Arriving at Niagara, La Salle suddenly changed his mind, and\nabandoned his travelling companions, under the pretext of illness. No\nmore was needed for the Frenchman, _ne malin_,[7] to fix upon the\nseigniory of the future discoverer of the mouth of the Mississippi the\nname of Lachine; M. Dollier de Casson is suspected of being the author\nof this gentle irony.\n\nEight years later the explorations of Joliet and Father Marquette\nrevived his instincts as a discoverer; he betook himself to France in\n1677 and easily obtained authority to pursue, at his own expense, the\ndiscovery already begun. Back in Canada the following year, La Salle\nthoroughly prepared for this expedition, accumulating provisions at Fort\nNiagara, and visiting the Indian tribes. In 1679, accompanied by the\nChevalier de Tonti, he set out at the head of a small troop, and passed\nthrough Michilimackinac, then through the Baie des Puants. From there he\nreached the Miami River, where he erected a small fort, ascended the\nIllinois, and, reaching a camp of the Illinois Indians, made an alliance\nwith this tribe, obtaining from them permission to erect upon their soil\na fort which he called Crevecoeur. He left M. de Tonti there with a few\nmen and two Recollet missionaries, Fathers de la Ribourde and Membre,\nand set out again with all haste for Fort Frontenac, for he was very\nanxious regarding the condition of his own affairs. He had reason to be.\n\"His creditors,\" says the Abbe Ferland, \"had had his goods seized after\nhis departure from Fort Frontenac; his brigantine _Le Griffon_ had been\nlost, with furs valued at thirty thousand francs; his employees had\nappropriated his goods; a ship which was bringing him from France a\ncargo valued at twenty-two thousand francs had been wrecked on the\nIslands of St. Pierre; some canoes laden with merchandise had been\ndashed to pieces on the journey between Montreal and Frontenac; the men\nwhom he had brought from France had fled to New York, taking a portion\nof his goods, and already a conspiracy was on foot to disaffect the\nCanadians in his service. In one word, according to him, the whole of\nCanada had conspired against his enterprise, and the Count de Frontenac\nwas the only one who consented to support him in the midst of his\nmisfortunes.\" His remarkable energy and activity remedied this host of\nevils, and he set out again for Fort Crevecoeur. To cap the climax of\nhis misfortunes, he found it abandoned; being attacked by the Iroquois,\nwhom the English had aroused against them, Tonti and his comrades had\nbeen forced to hasty flight. De la Salle found them again at\nMichilimackinac, but he had the sorrow of learning of the loss of\nFather de la Ribourde, whom the Illinois had massacred. Tonti and his\ncompanions, in their flight, had been obliged to abandon an unsafe\ncanoe, which had carried them half-way, and to continue their journey on\nfoot. Such a series of misfortunes would have discouraged any other than\nLa Salle; on the contrary, he made Tonti and Father Membre retrace their\nsteps. Arriving with them at the Miami fort, he reinforced his little\ntroop by twenty-three Frenchmen and eighteen Indians, and reached Fort\nCrevecoeur. On February 6th, 1682, he reached the mouth of the Illinois,\nand then descended the Mississippi. Towards the end of this same month\nthe bold explorers stopped at the juncture of the Ohio with the Father\nof Rivers, and erected there Fort Prudhomme. On what is Fame dependent?\nA poor and unknown man, a modest collaborator with La Salle, had the\nhonour of giving his name to this little fort because he had been lost\nin the neighbourhood and had reached camp nine days later.\n\nProvidence was finally about to reward so much bravery and perseverance.\nThe sailor who from the yards of Christopher Columbus's caravel, uttered\nthe triumphant cry of \"Land! land!\" did not cause more joy to the\nillustrious Genoese navigator than La Salle received from the sight of\nthe sea so ardently sought. On April 9th La Salle and his comrades could\nat length admire the immense blue sheet of the Gulf of Mexico. Like\nChristopher Columbus, who made it his first duty on touching the soil of\nthe New World to fall upon his knees to return thanks to Heaven, La\nSalle's first business was to raise a cross upon the shore. Father\nMembre intoned the Te Deum. They then raised the arms of the King of\nFrance, in whose name La Salle took possession of the Mississippi, and\nof all the territories watered by the tributaries of the great river.\n\nTheir trials were not over: the risks to be run in traversing so many\nregions inhabited by barbarians were as great and as numerous after\nsuccess as before. La Salle was, moreover, delayed for forty days by a\nserious illness, but God in His goodness did not wish to deprive the\nvaliant discoverers of the fruits of their efforts, and all arrived safe\nand sound at the place whence they had started. After having passed a\nyear in establishing trading-posts among the Illinois, La Salle\nappointed M. de Tonti his representative for the time being, and betook\nhimself to France with the intention of giving an account of his journey\nto the most Christian monarch. His enemies had already forestalled him\nat the court; we have to seek the real cause of this hatred in the\njealousy of traders who feared to find in the future colonists of the\nwestern and southern country competitors in their traffic. But far from\nlistening to them, the son of Colbert, Seignelay, then minister of\ncommerce, highly praised the valiant explorer, and sent, in 1684, four\nships with two hundred and eighty colonists to people Louisiana, this\nnew gem in the crown of France. But La Salle has not yet finally drained\nthe cup of disappointment, for few men have been so overwhelmed as he by\nthe persistence of ill-fortune. It was not enough that the leader of the\nexpedition should be incapable, the colonists must needs be of a\ncontinual evil character, the soldiers undisciplined, the workmen\nunskilful, the pilot ignorant. They pass the mouth of the Mississippi,\nnear which they should have disembarked, and arrive in Texas; the\ncommander refuses to send the ship about, and La Salle makes up his mind\nto land where they are. Through the neglect of the pilot, the vessel\nwhich was carrying the provisions is cast ashore, then a gale arises\nwhich swallows up the tools, the merchandise and the ammunition. The\nIndians, like birds of prey, hasten up to pillage, and massacre two\nvolunteers. The colonists in exasperation revolt, and stupidly blame La\nSalle. He saves them, nevertheless, by his energy, and makes them raise\na fort with the wreck of the ships. They pass two years there in a\nfamine of everything; twice La Salle tries to find, at the cost of a\nthousand sufferings, a way of rescue, and twice he fails. Finally, when\nthere remain no more than thirty men, he chooses the ten most resolute,\nand tries to reach Canada on foot. He did not reach it: on May 20th,\n1687, he was murdered by one of his comrades. \"Such was the end of this\ndaring adventurer,\" says Bancroft.[8] \"For force of will, and vast\nconceptions; for various knowledge and quick adaptation of his genius to\nuntried circumstances; for a sublime magnanimity that resigned itself to\nthe will of Heaven and yet triumphed over affliction by energy of\npurpose and unfaltering hope, he had no superior among his\ncountrymen.... He will be remembered in the great central valley of the\nWest.\"\n\nIt was with deep feelings of joy that Mgr. de Laval, still in France at\nthis period, had read the detailed report of the voyage of discovery\nmade by Joliet and Father Marquette. But the news which he received from\nCanada was not always so comforting; he felt especially deeply the loss\nof two great benefactresses of Canada, Madame de la Peltrie and Mother\nIncarnation. The former had used her entire fortune in founding the\nConvent of the Ursulines at Quebec. Heaven had lavished its gifts upon\nher; endowed with brilliant qualities, and adding riches to beauty, she\nwas happy in possessing these advantages only because they allowed her\nto offer them to the Most High, who had given them to her. She devoted\nherself to the Christian education of young girls, and passed in Canada\nthe last thirty-two years of her life. The Abbe Casgrain draws the\nfollowing portrait of her: \"Her whole person presented a type of\nattractiveness and gentleness. Her face, a beautiful oval, was\nremarkable for the harmony of its lines and the perfection of its\ncontour. A slightly aquiline nose, a clear cut and always smiling mouth,\na limpid look veiled by long lashes which the habit of meditation kept\nhalf lowered, stamped her features with an exquisite sweetness. Though\nher frail and delicate figure did not exceed medium height, and though\neverything about her breathed modesty and humility, her gait was\nnevertheless full of dignity and nobility; one recognized, in seeing\nher, the descendant of those great and powerful lords, of those perfect\nknights whose valiant swords had sustained throne and altar. Through the\nmost charming simplicity there were ever manifest the grand manner of\nthe seventeenth century and that perfect distinction which is\ntraditional among the families of France. But this majestic _ensemble_\nwas tempered by an air of introspection and unction which gave her\nconversation an infinite charm, and it gained her the esteem and\naffection of all those who had had the good fortune to know her.\" She\ndied on November 18th, 1671, only a few days after the departure for\nFrance of the apostolic vicar.\n\n[Illustration: The Ursuline Convent, Quebec\n\nDrawn on the spot by Richard Short, 1761]\n\nHer pious friend, Mother Mary of the Incarnation, first Mother Superior\nof the Ursulines of Quebec, soon followed her to the tomb. She expired\non April 30th, 1672. In her numerous writings on the beginnings of the\ncolony, the modesty of Mother Mary of the Incarnation has kept us in the\ndark concerning several important services rendered by her to New\nFrance, and many touching details of her life would not have reached us\nif her companion, Madame de la Peltrie, had not made them known to us.\nIn Mother Incarnation, who merited the glorious title of the Theresa of\nNew France, were found all the Christian virtues, but more particularly\npiety, patience and confidence in Providence. God was ever present and\nvisible in her heart, acting everywhere and in everything. We see, among\nmany other instances that might be quoted, a fine example of her\nenthusiasm for Heaven when, cast out of her convent in the heart of the\nwinter by a conflagration which consumed everything, she knelt upon the\nsnow with her Sisters, and thanked God for not having taken from them,\ntogether with their properties, their lives, which might be useful to\nothers.\n\nIf Madame de la Peltrie and Mother Mary of the Incarnation occupy a\nlarge place in the history of Canada, it is because the institution of\nthe Ursulines, which they founded and directed at Quebec, exercised the\nhappiest influence on the formation of the Christian families in our\ncountry. \"It was,\" says the Abbe Ferland, \"an inestimable advantage for\nthe country to receive from the schools maintained by the nuns, mothers\nof families reared in piety, familiar with their religious duties, and\ncapable of training the hearts and minds of the new generation.\" It was\nthanks to the efforts of Madame de la Peltrie, and to the lessons of\nMother Incarnation and her first co-workers, that those patriarchal\nfamilies whose type still persists in our time, were formed in the early\ndays of the colony. The same services were rendered by Sister Bourgeoys\nto the government of Montreal.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[7] Allusion to a verse of the poet Boileau.\n\n[8] _History of the United States_, Vol. II., page 821.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nA TROUBLED ADMINISTRATION\n\n\nA thorough study of history and the analysis of the causes and effects\nof great historical events prove to us that frequently men endowed with\nthe noblest qualities have rendered only slight services to their\ncountry, because, blinded by the consciousness of their own worth, and\nthe certainty which they have of desiring to work only for the good of\ntheir country, they have disdained too much the advice of wise\ncounsillors. With eyes fixed upon their established purpose, they\ntrample under foot every obstacle; and every man who differs from their\nopinion is but a traitor or an imbecile: hence their lack of moderation,\ntact and prudence, and their excess of obstinacy and violence. To select\none example among a thousand, what marvellous results would have been\nattained by an _entente cordiale_ between two men like Dupleix and La\nBourdonnais.\n\nCount de Frontenac was certainly a great man: he made Canada prosperous\nin peace, glorious in war, but he made also the great mistake of aiming\nat absolutism, and of allowing himself to be guided throughout his\nadministration by unjustified prejudices against the Jesuits and the\nreligious orders. Only the Sovereign Council, the bishop and the royal\ncommissioner could have opposed his omnipotence. Now the office of\ncommissioner remained vacant for three years, the bishop stayed in\nFrance till 1675, and his grand vicar, who was to represent him in the\nhighest assembly of the colony, was never invited to take his seat\nthere. As to the council, the governor took care to constitute it of men\nwho were entirely devoted to him, and he thus made himself the arbiter\nof justice. The council, of which Peuvret de Mesnu was secretary, was at\nthis time composed of MM. Le Gardeur de Tilly, Damours, de la Tesserie,\nDupont, de Mouchy, and a substitute for the attorney-general.\n\nThe first difficulty which Frontenac met was brought about by a cause\nrather insignificant in itself, but rendered so dangerous by the\nobstinacy of those who were concerned in it that it caused a deep\ncommotion throughout the whole country. Thus a foreign body, sometimes a\nwretched little splinter buried in the flesh, may, if we allow the wound\nto be poisoned, produce the greatest disorders in the human system. We\ncannot read without admiration of the acts of bravery and daring\nfrequently accomplished by the _coureurs de bois_. We experience a\nsentiment of pride when we glance through the accounts which depict for\nus the endurance and physical vigour with which these athletes became\nendowed by dint of continual struggles with man and beast and with the\nvery elements in a climate that was as glacial in winter as it was\ntorrid in summer. We are happy to think that these brave and strong men\nbelong to our race. But in the time of Frontenac the ecclesiastical and\ncivil authorities were averse to seeing the colony lose thus the most\nvigorous part of its population. While admitting that the _coureurs de\nbois_ became stout fellows in consequence of their hard experience, just\nas the fishermen of the French shore now become robust sailors after a\nfew seasons of fishing on the Newfoundland Banks, the parallel is not\ncomplete, because the latter remain throughout their lives a valuable\nreserve for the French fleets, while the former were in great part lost\nto the colony, at a period when safety lay in numbers. If they escaped\nthe manifold dangers which they ran every day in dealing with the\nsavages in the heart of the forest, if they disdained to link themselves\nby the bond of marriage to a squaw and to settle among the redskins, the\n_coureurs de bois_ were none the less drones among their compatriots;\nthey did not make up their minds to establish themselves in places where\nthey might have become excellent farmers, until through age and\ninfirmity they were rather a burden than a support to others.\n\nTo counteract this scourge the king published in 1673, a decree which,\nunder penalty of death, forbade Frenchmen to remain more than\ntwenty-four hours in the woods without permission from the governor.\nSome Montreal officers, engaged in trade, violated this prohibition; the\nCount de Frontenac at once sent M. Bizard, lieutenant of his guards,\nwith an order to arrest them. The governor of Montreal, M. Perrot, who\nconnived with them, publicly insulted the officer entrusted with the\norders of the governor-general. Indignant at such insolence, M. de\nFrontenac had M. Perrot arrested at once, imprisoned in the Chateau St.\nLouis and judged by the Sovereign Council. Connected with M. Perrot by\nthe bonds of friendship, the Abbe de Fenelon profited by the occasion to\nallude, in the sermon which he delivered in the parochial church of\nMontreal on Easter Sunday, to the excessive labour which M. de Frontenac\nhad exacted from the inhabitants of Ville-Marie for the erection of Fort\nCataraqui. According to La Salle, who heard the sermon, the Abbe de\nFenelon said: \"He who is invested with authority should not disturb the\npeople who depend on him; on the contrary, it is his duty to consider\nthem as his children and to treat them as would a father.... He must not\ndisturb the commerce of the country by ill-treating those who do not\ngive him a share of the profits they may make in it; he must content\nhimself with gaining by honest means; he must not trample on the people,\nnor vex them by excessive demands which serve his interests alone. He\nmust not have favourites who praise him on all occasions, or oppress,\nunder far-fetched pretexts, persons who serve the same princes, when\nthey oppose his enterprises.... He has respect for priests and ministers\nof the Church.\"\n\nCount de Frontenac felt himself directly aimed at; he was the more\ninclined to anger, since, the year before, he had had reasons for\ncomplaint of the sermon of a Jesuit Father. Let us allow the governor\nhimself to relate this incident: \"I had need,\" he wrote to Colbert, \"to\nremember your orders on the occasion of a sermon preached by a Jesuit\nFather this winter (1672) purposely and without need, at which he had a\nweek before invited everybody to be present. He gave expression in this\nsermon to seditious proposals against the authority of the king, which\nscandalized many, by dilating upon the restrictions made by the bishop\nof the traffic in brandy.... I was several times tempted to leave the\nchurch and to interrupt the sermon; but I eventually contented myself,\nafter it was over, with seeking out the grand vicar and the superior of\nthe Jesuits and telling them that I was much surprised at what I had\njust heard, and that I asked justice of them.... They greatly blamed the\npreacher, whose words they disavowed, attributing them, according to\ntheir custom, to an excess of zeal, and offered me many excuses, with\nwhich I condescended to seem satisfied, telling them, nevertheless, that\nI would not accept such again, and that, if the occasion ever arose, I\nwould put the preacher where he would learn how he ought to speak....\"\n\nOn the news of the words which were pronounced in the pulpit at\nVille-Marie, M. de Frontenac summoned M. de Fenelon to send him a\nverified copy of his sermon, and on the refusal of the abbe, he cited\nhim before the council. M. de Fenelon appeared, but objected to the\njurisdiction of the court, declaring that he owed an account of his\nactions to the ecclesiastical authority alone. Now the official\nauthority of the diocese was vested in the worthy M. de Bernieres, the\nrepresentative of Mgr. de Laval. The latter is summoned in his turn\nbefore the council, where the Count de Frontenac, who will not recognize\neither the authority of this official or that of the apostolic vicar,\nobjects to M. de Bernieres occupying the seat of the absent Bishop of\nPetraea. In order not to compromise his right thus contested, M. de\nBernieres replies to the questions of the council \"standing and without\ntaking any seat.\" The trial thus begun dragged along till autumn, to be\nthen referred to the court of France. The superior of St. Sulpice, M. de\nBretonvilliers, who had succeeded the venerable M. Olier, did not\napprove of the conduct of the Abbe Fenelon, for he wrote later to the\nSulpicians of Montreal: \"I exhort you to profit by the example of M. de\nFenelon. Concerning himself too much with secular affairs and with what\ndid not affect him, he has ruined his own cause and compromised the\nfriends whom he wished to serve. In matters of this sort it is always\nbest to remain neutral.\"\n\nFrontenac was about to be blamed in his turn. The governor had obtained\nfrom the council a decree ordering the king's attorney to be present\nat the rendering of accounts by the purveyor of the Quebec Seminary, and\nanother decree of March 4th, 1675, declaring that not only, as had been\ncustomary since 1668, the judges should have precedence over the\nchurchwardens in public ceremonies, but also that the latter should\nfollow all the officers of justice; at Quebec these officers should have\ntheir bench immediately behind that of the council, and in the rest of\nthe country, behind that of the local governors and the seigneurs. This\nlatter decree was posted everywhere. A missionary, M. Thomas Morel, was\naccused of having prevented its publication at Levis, and was arrested\nat once and imprisoned in the Chateau St. Louis with the clerk of the\necclesiastical court, Romain Becquet, who had refused to deliver to the\ncouncil the registers of this ecclesiastical tribune. He was kept there\na month. MM. de Bernieres and Dudouyt protested, declaring that M. Morel\nwas amenable only to the diocesan authority. We see in such an incident\nsome of the reasons which induced Laval to insist upon the immediate\nconstitution of a regular diocese. Summoned to produce forthwith the\nauthority for their pretended ecclesiastical jurisdiction, \"they\nproduced a copy of the royal declaration, dated March 27th, 1659, based\non the bulls of the Bishop of Petraea, and other documents, establishing\nincontestably the legal authority of the apostolic vicar.\" The council\nhad to yield; it restored his freedom to M. Morel, and postponed until\nlater its decision as to the validity of the claims of the\necclesiastical court.\n\nThis was a check to the ambitions of the Count de Frontenac. The\nfollowing letter from Louis XIV dealt a still more cruel blow to his\nabsolutism: \"In order to punish M. Perrot for having resisted your\nauthority,\" the prince wrote to him, \"I have had him put into the\nBastille for some time; so that when he returns to your country, not\nonly will this punishment render him more circumspect in his duty, but\nit will serve as an example to restrain others. But if I must inform you\nof my sentiments, after having thus satisfied my authority which was\nviolated in your person, I will tell you that without absolute need you\nought not to have these orders executed throughout the extent of a local\njurisdiction like Montreal without communicating with its governor.... I\nhave blamed the action of the Abbe de Fenelon, and have commanded him to\nreturn no more to Canada; but I must tell you that it was difficult to\nenter a criminal procedure against him, or to compel the priests of St.\nSulpice to bear witness against him. He should have been delivered over\nto his bishop or to the grand vicar to suffer the ecclesiastical\npenalties, or should have been arrested and sent back to France by the\nfirst ship. I have been told besides,\" added the monarch, \"that you\nwould not permit ecclesiastics and others to attend to their missions\nand other duties, or even leave their residence without a passport from\nMontreal to Quebec; that you often summoned them for very slight causes;\nthat you intercepted their letters and did not allow them liberty to\nwrite. If the whole or part of these things be true, you must mend your\nways.\" On his part Colbert enjoined upon the governor a little more\ncalmness and gentleness. \"His Majesty,\" wrote the minister, \"has ordered\nme to explain to you, privately, that it is absolutely necessary for the\ngood of your service to moderate your conduct, and not to single out\nwith too great severity faults committed either against his service or\nagainst the respect due to your person or character.\" Colbert rightly\nfelt that fault-finding letters were not sufficient to keep within\nbounds a temperament as fiery as that of the governor of Canada; on the\nother hand, a man of Frontenac's worth was too valuable to the colony to\nthink of dispensing with his services. The wisest course was to renew\nthe Sovereign Council, and in order to withdraw its members from the too\npreponderant influence of the governor, to put their nomination in the\nhands of the king.\n\nBy the royal edict of June 5th, 1675, the council was reconstituted. It\nwas composed of seven members appointed by the Crown; the\ngovernor-general occupied the first place, the bishop, or in his\nabsence, the grand vicar, the second, and the commissioner the third.\nAs the latter presided in the absence of the governor, and as the king\nwas anxious that \"he should have the same functions and the same\nprivileges as the first presidents of the courts of France,\" as moreover\nthe honour devolved upon him of collecting the opinions or votes and of\npronouncing the decrees, it was in reality the commissioner who might be\nconsidered as actual president. It is, therefore, easy to understand the\ncontinual disputes which arose upon the question of the title of\nPresident of the Council between Frontenac and the Commissioner Jacques\nDuchesneau. The latter, at first \"_President des tresoriers de la\ngeneralite de Tours_,\" had been appointed _intendant_ of New France by a\ncommission which bears the same date as the royal edict reviving the\nSovereign Council. While thinking of the material good of the colony,\nthe Most Christian King took care not to neglect its spiritual\ninterests; he undertook to provide for the maintenance of the parish\npriests and other ecclesiastics wherever necessary, and to meet in case\nof need the expenses of the divine service. In addition he expressed his\nwill \"that there should always be in the council one ecclesiastical\nmember,\" and later he added a clerical councillor to the members already\ninstalled. There were summoned to the council MM. de Villeray, de Tilly,\nDamours, Dupont, Louis Rene de Lotbiniere, de Peyras, and Denys de\nVitre. M. Denis Joseph Ruette d'Auteuil was appointed\nsolicitor-general; his functions consisted in speaking in the name of\nthe king, and in making, in the name of the prince or of the public, the\nnecessary statements. The former clerk, M. Peuvret de Mesnu, was\nretained in his functions.\n\nThe quarrels thus generated between the governor and the commissioner on\nthe question of the title of president grew so embittered that discord\ndid not cease to prevail between the two men on even the most\ninsignificant questions. Forcibly involved in these dissensions, the\nSovereign Council itself was divided into two hostile camps, and letters\nof complaint and denunciation rained upon the desk of the minister in\nFrance: on the one hand the governor was accused of receiving presents\nfrom the savages before permitting them to trade at Montreal, and was\nreproached for sending beavers to New England; on the other hand, it was\nhinted that the commissioner was interested in the business of the\nprincipal merchants of the colony. Scrupulously honest, but of a\nsomewhat stern temperament, Duchesneau could not bend to the imperious\ncharacter of Frontenac, who in his exasperation readily allowed himself\nto be impelled to arbitrary acts; thus he kept the councillor Damours in\nprison for two months for a slight cause, and banished from Quebec three\nother councillors, MM. de Villeray, de Tilly and d'Auteuil. The climax\nwas reached, and in spite of the services rendered to the country by\nthese two administrators, the king decided to recall them both in 1682.\nCount de Frontenac was replaced as governor by M. Lefebvre de la Barre,\nand M. Duchesneau by M. de Meulles.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHIRD VOYAGE TO FRANCE\n\n\nDisembarking in the year 1675 on that soil where as apostolic vicar he\nhad already accomplished so much good, giving his episcopal benediction\nto that Christian throng who came to sing the Te Deum to thank God for\nthe happy return of their first pastor, casting his eyes upon that manly\nand imposing figure of one of the most illustrious lieutenants of the\ngreat king, the Count de Frontenac, what could be the thoughts of Mgr.\nde Laval? He could not deceive himself: the letters received from Canada\nproved to him too clearly that the friction between the civil powers and\nreligious authorities would be continued under a governor of\nuncompromising and imperious character. With what fervour must he have\nasked of Heaven the tact, the prudence and the patience so necessary in\nsuch delicate circumstances!\n\nTwo questions, especially, divided the governor and the bishop: that of\nthe permanence of livings, and the everlasting matter of the sale of\nbrandy to the savages, a question which, like the phoenix, was\ncontinually reborn from its ashes. \"The prelate,\" says the Abbe\nGosselin, \"desired to establish parishes wherever they were necessary,\nand procure for them good and zealous missionaries, and, as far as\npossible, priests residing in each district, but removable and attached\nto the seminary, which received the tithes and furnished them with all\nthey had need of. But Frontenac found that this system left the priests\ntoo dependent on the bishop, and that the clergy thus closely connected\nwith the bishop and the seminary, was too formidable and too powerful a\nbody. It was with the purpose of weakening it and of rendering it, by\nthe aid which it would require, more dependent on the civil authority,\nthat he undertook that campaign for permanent livings which ended in the\noverthrow of Mgr. de Laval's system.\"\n\nColbert, in fact, was too strongly prejudiced against the clergy of\nCanada by the reports of Talon and Frontenac. These three men were\nwholly devoted to the interests of France as well as to those of the\ncolony, but they judged things only from a purely human point of view.\n\"I see,\" Colbert wrote in 1677 to Commissioner Duchesneau, \"that the\nCount de Frontenac is of the opinion that the trade with the savages in\ndrinks, called in that country intoxicating, does not cause the great\nand terrible evils to which Mgr. de Quebec takes exception, and even\nthat it is necessary for commerce; and I see that you are of an opinion\ncontrary to this. In this matter, before taking sides with the bishop,\nyou should enquire very exactly as to the number of murders,\nassassinations, cases of arson, and other excesses caused by brandy ...\nand send me the proof of this. If these deeds had been continual, His\nMajesty would have issued a most severe and vigorous prohibition to all\nhis subjects against engaging in this traffic. But, in the absence of\nthis proof, and seeing, moreover, the contrary in the evidence and\nreports of those that have been longest in this country, it is not just,\nand the general policy of a state opposes in this the feelings of a\nbishop who, to prevent the abuses that a small number of private\nindividuals may make of a thing good in itself, wishes to abolish trade\nin an article which greatly serves to attract commerce, and the savages\nthemselves, to the orthodox Christians.\" Thus M. Dudouyt could not but\nfail in his mission, and he wrote to Mgr. de Laval that Colbert, while\nrecognizing very frankly the devotion of the bishop and the\nmissionaries, believed that they exaggerated the fatal results of the\ntraffic. The zealous collaborator of the Bishop of Quebec at the same\ntime urged the prelate to suspend the spiritual penalties till then\nimposed upon the traders, in order to deprive the minister of every\nmotive of bitterness against the clergy.\n\nThe bishop admitted the wisdom of this counsel, which he followed, and\nmeanwhile the king, alarmed by a report from Commissioner Duchesneau,\nwho shared the view of the missionaries, desired to investigate and come\nto a final decision on the question. He therefore ordered the Count de\nFrontenac to choose in the colony twenty-four competent persons, and to\ncommission them to examine the drawbacks to the sale of intoxicating\nliquors. Unfortunately, the persons chosen for this enquiry were engaged\nin trade with the savages; their conclusions must necessarily be\nprejudiced. They declared that \"very few disorders arose from the\ntraffic in brandy, among the natives of the country; that, moreover, the\nDutch, by distributing intoxicating drinks to the Iroquois, attracted by\nthis means the trade in beaver skins to Orange and Manhattan. It was,\ntherefore, absolutely necessary to allow the brandy trade in order to\nbring the savages into the French colony and to prevent them from taking\ntheir furs to foreigners.\"\n\nWe cannot help being surprised at such a judgment when we read over the\nmemoirs of the time, which all agree in deploring the sad results of\nthis traffic. The most crying injustice, the most revolting immorality,\nthe ruin of families, settlements devastated by drunkenness, agriculture\nabandoned, the robust portion of the population ruining its health in\nprofitless expeditions: such were some of the most horrible fruits of\nalcohol. And what do we find as a compensation for so many evils? A few\ndozen rascals enriched, returning to squander in France a fortune\nshamefully acquired. And let it not be objected that, if the Indians had\nnot been able to purchase the wherewithal to satisfy their terrible\npassion for strong drink, they would have carried their furs to the\nEnglish or the Dutch, for it was proven that the offer of Governor\nAndros, to forbid the sale of brandy to the savages in New England on\ncondition that the French would act likewise in New France, was formally\nrejected. \"To-day when the passions of the time have long been silent,\"\nsays the Abbe Ferland, \"it is impossible not to admire the energy\ndisplayed by the noble bishop, imploring the pity of the monarch for the\nsavages of New France with all the courage shown by Las Casas, when he\npleaded the cause of the aborigines of Spanish America. Disdaining the\nhypocritical outcries of those men who prostituted the name of commerce\nto cover their speculations and their rapine, he exposed himself to\nscorn and persecution in order to save the remnant of those indigenous\nAmerican tribes, to protect his flock from the moral contagion which\nthreatened to weigh upon it, and to lead into the right path the young\nmen who were going to ruin among the savage tribes.\"\n\nThe worthy bishop desired to prevent the laxity of the sale of brandy\nthat might result from the declaration of the Committee of Twenty-four,\nand in the autumn of 1678 he set out again for France. To avoid a\njourney so fatiguing, he might easily have found excuses in the rest\nneeded after a difficult pastoral expedition which he had just\nconcluded, in the labours of his seminary which demanded his presence,\nand especially in the bad state of his health; but is not the first\nduty of a leader always to stand in the breach, and to give to all the\nexample of self-sacrifice? A report from his hand on the disorders\ncaused by the traffic in strong liquors would perhaps have obtained a\nfortunate result, but thinking that his presence at the court would be\nstill more efficacious, he set out. He managed to find in his charity\nand the goodness of his heart such eloquent words to depict the evils\nwrought upon the Church in Canada by the scourge of intoxication, that\nLouis XIV was moved, and commissioned his confessor, Father La Chaise,\nto examine the question conjointly with the Archbishop of Paris.\nAccording to their advice, the king expressly forbade the French to\ncarry intoxicating liquors to the savages in their dwellings or in the\nwoods, and he wrote to Frontenac to charge him to see that the edict was\nrespected. On his part, Laval consented to maintain the _cas reserve_\nonly against those who might infringe the royal prohibition. The Bishop\nof Quebec had hoped for more; for nothing could prevent the Indians from\ncoming to buy the terrible poison from the French, and moreover,\ndiscovery of the infractions of the law would be, if not impossible, at\nleast most difficult. Nevertheless, it was an advantage obtained over\nthe dealers and their protectors, who aimed at nothing less than an\nunrestricted traffic in brandy. A <DW18> was set up against the\ndevastations of the scourge; the worthy bishop might hope to maintain\nit energetically by his vigilance and that of his coadjutors.\nUnfortunately, he could not succeed entirely, and little by little the\ndisorders became so multiplied that M. de Denonville considered brandy\nas one of the greatest evils of Canada, and that the venerable superior\nof St. Sulpice de Montreal, M. Dollier de Casson, wrote in 1691: \"I have\nbeen twenty-six years in this country, and I have seen our numerous and\nflourishing Algonquin missions all destroyed by drunkenness.\"\nAccordingly, it became necessary later to fall back upon the former\nrigorous regulations against the sale of intoxicating liquors to the\nIndians.\n\nBefore his departure for France the Bishop of Quebec had given the\ndevoted priests of St. Sulpice a mark of his affection: he constituted\nthe parish of Notre-Dame de Montreal according to the canons of the\nChurch, and joined it in perpetuity to the Seminary of Ville-Marie, \"to\nbe administered, under the plenary authority of the Bishops of Quebec,\nby such ecclesiastics as might be chosen by the superior of the said\nseminary. The priests of St. Sulpice having by their efforts and their\nlabours produced during so many years in New France, and especially in\nthe Island of Montreal, very great fruits for the glory of God and the\nadvantage of this growing Church, we have given them, as being most\nirreproachable in faith, doctrine, piety and conduct, in perpetuity, and\ndo give them, by virtue of these presents, the livings of the Island of\nMontreal, in order that they may be perfectly cultivated as up to now\nthey have been, as best they might be by their preachings and examples.\"\nIn fact, misunderstandings like that which had occurred on the arrival\nof de Queylus were no longer to be feared; since the authority to which\nLaval could lay claim had been duly established and proved, the\nSulpicians had submitted and accepted his jurisdiction. They had for a\nlonger period preserved their independence as temporal lords, and the\ngovernor of Ville-Marie, de Maisonneuve, jealous of preserving intact\nthe rights of those whom he represented, even dared one day to refuse\nthe keys of the fort to the governor-general, M. d'Argenson. Poor de\nMaisonneuve paid for this excessive zeal by the loss of his position,\nfor d'Argenson never forgave him.\n\nThe parish of Notre-Dame was united with the Seminary of Montreal on\nOctober 30th, 1678, one year after the issuing of the letters patent\nwhich recognized the civil existence of St. Sulpice de Montreal. Mgr. de\nLaval at the same time united with the parish of Notre-Dame the chapel\nof Bonsecours. On the banks of the St. Lawrence, not far from the church\nof Notre-Dame, rises a chapel of modest appearance. It is Notre-Dame de\nBonsecours. It has seen many generations kneeling on its square, and has\nnot ceased to protect with its shadow the Catholic quarter of Montreal.\nThe buildings about it rose successively, only to give way themselves\nto other monuments. Notre-Dame de Bonsecours is still respected; the\npiety of Catholics defends it against all attacks of time or progress,\nand the little church raises proudly in the air that slight wooden\nsteeple that more than once has turned aside the avenging bolt of the\nMost High. Sister Bourgeoys had begun it in 1657; to obtain the funds\nnecessary for its completion she betook herself to Paris. She obtained\none hundred francs from M. Mace, a priest of St. Sulpice. One of the\nassociates of the Company of Montreal, M. de Fancamp, received for her\nfrom two of his fellow-partners, MM. Denis and Lepretre, a statuette of\nthe Virgin made of the miraculous wood of Montagu, and he himself, to\nparticipate in this gift, gave her a shrine of the most wonderful\nrichness to contain the precious statue. On her return to Canada,\nMarguerite Bourgeoys caused to be erected near the house of the Sisters\na wooden lean-to in the form of a chapel, which became the provisional\nsanctuary of the statuette. Two years later, on June 29th, the laying of\nthe foundation stone of the chapel took place. The work was urged with\nenthusiasm, and encouraged by the pious impatience of Sister Bourgeoys.\nThe generosity of the faithful vied in enthusiasm, and gifts flowed in.\nM. de Maisonneuve offered a cannon, of which M. Souart had a bell made\nat his expense. Two thousand francs, furnished by the piety of the\ninhabitants, and one hundred louis from Sister Bourgeoys and her nuns,\naided the foundress to complete the realization of a wish long\ncherished in her heart; the new chapel became an inseparable annex of\nthe parish of Ville-Marie.\n\nThese most precious advantages were recognized on November 6th, 1678, by\nMgr. de Laval, who preserved throughout his life the most tender\ndevotion to the Mother of God. On the other hand, the prelate imposed\nupon the parish priest the obligation of having the Holy Mass celebrated\nthere on the Day of the Visitation, and of going there in procession on\nthe Day of the Assumption. Is it necessary to mention with what zeal,\nwith what devotion the Canadians brought to Mary in this new temple\ntheir homage and their prayers? Let us listen to the enthusiastic\nnarrative of Sister Morin, a nun of St. Joseph: \"The Holy Mass is said\nthere every day, and even several times a day, to satisfy the devotion\nand the trust of the people, which are great towards Notre-Dame de\nBonsecours. Processions wend their way thither on occasions of public\nneed or calamity, with much success. It is the regular promenade of the\ndevout persons of the town, who make a pilgrimage there every evening,\nand there are few good Catholics who, from all the places in Canada, do\nnot make vows of offerings to this chapel in all the dangers in which\nthey find themselves.\"\n\nThe church of Notre-Dame de Bonsecours was twice remodelled; built at\nfirst of oak on stone foundations, it was rebuilt of stone and consumed\nin 1754 in a conflagration which destroyed a part of the town. In 1772\nthe chapel was rebuilt as it exists now, one hundred and two feet long\nby forty-six wide.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nLAVAL RETURNS TO CANADA\n\n\nMgr. de Laval was still in France when the edict of May, 1679, appeared,\ndecreeing on the suggestion of Frontenac, that the tithe should be paid\nonly to \"each of the parish priests within the extent of his parish\nwhere he is established in perpetuity in the stead of the removable\npriest who previously administered it.\" The ideas of the Count de\nFrontenac were thus victorious, and the king retracted his first\ndecision. He had in his original decree establishing the Seminary of\nQuebec, granted the bishop and his successors \"the right of recalling\nand displacing the priests by them delegated to the parishes to exercise\ntherein parochial functions.\" Laval on his return to Canada conformed\nwithout murmur to the king's decision; he worked, together with the\ngovernor and commissioner, at drawing up the plan of the parishes to be\nestablished, and sent his vicar-general to install the priests who were\nappointed to the different livings. He desired to inspire his whole\nclergy with the disinterestedness which he had always evinced, for not\nonly did he recommend his priests \"to content themselves with the\nsimplest living, and with the bare necessaries of their support,\" but\nbesides, agreeing with the governor and the commissioner, he estimated\nthat an annual sum of five hundred livres merely, that is to say, about\nthree hundred dollars of our present money, was sufficient for the\nlodging and maintenance of a priest. This was more than modest, and yet,\nwithout a very considerable extension, there was no parish capable of\nsupplying the needs of its priest. There was indeed, it is true, an\narticle of the edict specifying that in case of the tithe being\ninsufficient, the necessary supplement should be fixed by the council\nand furnished by the seigneur of the place and by the inhabitants; but\nthis manner of aiding the priests who were reduced to a bare competence\nwas not practical, as was soon evident. Another article gave the title\nof patron to any seigneur who should erect a religious edifice; this\narticle was just as fantastic, \"for,\" wrote Commissioner Duchesneau,\n\"there is no private person in this country who is in a position to\nbuild churches of any kind.\"\n\nThe king, always well disposed towards the clergy of Canada, came to\ntheir aid again in this matter. He granted them an annual income of\neight thousand francs, to be raised from his \"_Western Dominions_,\" that\nis to say, from the sum derived in Canada from the _droit du quart_ and\nthe farm of Tadousac; from these funds, which were distributed by the\nseminary until 1692, and after this date by the bishop alone, two\nthousand francs were to be set aside for priests prevented by illness or\nold age from fulfilling the duties of the holy ministry, and twelve\nhundred francs were to be employed in the erection of parochial\nchurches. This aid came aptly, but was not sufficient, as Commissioner\nde Beauharnois himself admits. And yet the deplorable state in which the\ntreasury of France then was, on account of the enormous expenses\nindulged in by Louis XIV, and especially in consequence of the wars\nwhich he waged against Europe, obliged him to diminish this allowance.\nIn 1707 it was reduced by half.\n\nIt was feared for a time by the Sulpicians that the edict of 1679 might\ninjure the rights which they had acquired from the union with their\nseminary of the parishes established on the Island of Montreal, and they\ntherefore hastened to request from the king the civil confirmation of\nthis canonical union. \"There is,\" they said in their request, \"a sort of\nneed that the parishes of the Island of Montreal and of the surrounding\nparts should be connected with a community able to furnish them with\npriests, who could not otherwise be found in the country, to administer\nthe said livings; these priests would not expose themselves to a sea\nvoyage and to leaving their family comforts to go and sacrifice\nthemselves in a wild country, if they did not hope that in their\ninfirmity or old age they would be free to withdraw from the laborious\nadministration of the parishes, and that they would find a refuge in\nwhich to end their days in tranquillity in a community which, on its\npart, would not pledge itself in such a way as to afford them the hope\nof this refuge, and to furnish other priests in their place, if it had\nnot the free control of the said parishes and power to distribute among\nthem the ecclesiastics belonging to its body whom it might judge capable\nof this, and withdraw or exchange them when fitting.\" The request of the\nSulpicians was granted by the king.\n\nIt was not until 1680 that the Bishop of Quebec could return to Canada.\nThe all-important questions of the permanence of livings and of the\ntraffic in brandy were not the only ones which kept him in France;\nanother difficulty, that of the dependence of his diocese, demanded of\nhis devotion a great many efforts at the court. The circumstances were\ndifficult. France was plunged at this period in the famous dispute\nbetween the government and the court of Rome over the question of the\nright of _regale_, a dispute which nearly brought about a schism. The\nArchbishop of Paris, Mgr. de Harlay, who had laboured so much when he\nwas Bishop of Rouen to keep New France under the jurisdiction of the\ndiocese of Normandy, used his influence to make Canada dependent on the\narchbishopric of Paris. The death of this prelate put an end to this\nclaim, and the French colony in North America continued its direct\nconnection with the Holy See.\n\nMgr. de Laval strove also to obtain from the Holy Father the canonical\nunion of the abbeys of Maubec and of Lestrees with his bishopric; if he\nhad obtained it, he could have erected his chapter at once, assuring by\nthe revenues of these monasteries a sufficient maintenance for his\ncanons. The opposition of the religious orders on which these abbeys\ndepended defeated his plan, but in compensation he obtained from the\ngenerosity of the king a grant of land on which his successor,\nSaint-Vallier, afterwards erected the church of Notre-Dame des\nVictoires. The venerable prelate might well ask favours for his diocese\nwhen he himself set an example of the greatest generosity. By a deed,\ndated at Paris, he gave to his seminary all that he possessed: Ile\nJesus, the seigniories of Beaupre and Petite Nation, a property at\nChateau Richer, finally books, furniture, funds, and all that might\nbelong to him at the moment of his death.\n\nLaval returned to Canada at a time when the relations with the savage\ntribes were becoming so strained as to threaten an impending rupture. So\nfar had matters gone that Colonel Thomas Dongan, governor of New York,\nhad urged the Iroquois to dig up the hatchet, and he was only too\nwillingly obeyed. Unfortunately, the two governing heads of the colony\nwere replaced just at that moment. Governor de Frontenac and\nCommissioner Duchesneau were recalled in 1682, and supplanted by de la\nBarre and de Meulles. The latter were far from equalling their\npredecessors. M. de Lefebvre de la Barre was a clever sailor but a\ndeplorable administrator; as for the commissioner, M. de Meulles, his\nincapacity did not lessen his extreme conceit.\n\nOn his arrival at Quebec, Laval learned with deep grief that a terrible\nconflagration had, a few weeks before, consumed almost the whole of the\nLower Town. The houses, and even the stores being then built of wood,\neverything was devoured by the flames. A single dwelling escaped the\ndisaster, that of a rich private person, M. Aubert de la Chesnaie, in\nwhose house mass was said every Sunday and feast-day for the citizens of\nthe Lower Town who could not go to the parish service. To bear witness\nof his gratitude to Heaven, M. de la Chesnaie came to the aid of a good\nnumber of his fellow-citizens, and helped them with his money to rebuild\ntheir houses. This fire injured the merchants of Montreal almost as much\nas those of Quebec, and the _Histoire de l'Hotel-Dieu_ relates that\n\"more riches were lost on that sad night than all Canada now possesses.\"\n\nThe king had the greatest desire for the future reign of harmony in the\ncolony; accordingly he enjoined upon M. de Meulles to use every effort\nto agree with the governor-general: \"If the latter should fail in his\nduty to the sovereign, the commissioner should content himself with a\nremonstrance and allow him to act further without disturbing him, but as\nsoon as possible afterwards should render an account to the king's\ncouncil of what might be prejudicial to the good of the state.\" Mgr. de\nLaval, to whom the prince had written in the same tenor, replied at\nonce: \"The honour which your Majesty has done me in writing to me that\nM. de Meulles has orders to preserve here a perfect understanding with\nme in all things, and to give me all the aid in his power, is so evident\na mark of the affection which your Majesty cherishes for this new Church\nand for the bishop who governs it, that I feel obliged to assure your\nMajesty of my most humble gratitude. As I do not doubt that this new\ncommissioner whom you have chosen will fulfil with pleasure your\ncommands, I may also assure your Majesty that on my part I shall\ncorrespond with him in the fulfilment of my duty, and that I shall all\nmy life consider it my greatest joy to enter into the intentions of your\nMajesty for the general good of this country, which constitutes a part\nof your dominions.\" Concord thus advised could not displease a pastor\nwho loved nothing so much as union and harmony among all who held the\nreins of power, a pastor who had succeeded in making his Church a family\nso united that it was quoted once as a model in one of the pulpits of\nParis. If he sometimes strove against the powerful of this earth, it was\nwhen it was a question of combating injustice or some abuse prejudicial\nto the welfare of his flock. \"Although by his superior intelligence,\"\nsays Latour, \"by his experience, his labours, his virtues, his birth\nand his dignity, he was an oracle whose views the whole clergy\nrespected, no one ever more distrusted himself, or asked with more\nhumility, or followed with more docility the counsel of his inferiors\nand disciples.... He was less a superior than a colleague, who sought\nthe right with them and sought it only for its own sake. Accordingly,\nnever was prelate better obeyed or better seconded than Mgr. de Laval,\nbecause, far from having that professional jealousy which desires to do\neverything itself, which dreads merit and enjoys only despotism, never\ndid prelate evince more appreciative confidence in his inferiors, or\nseek more earnestly to give zeal and talent their dues, or have less\ndesire to command, or did, in fact, command less.\" The new governor\nbrought from France strong prejudices against the bishop; he lost them\nvery quickly, and he wrote to the minister, the Marquis de Seignelay:\n\"We have greatly laboured, the bishop and I, in the establishment of the\nparishes of this country. I send you the arrangement which we have\narrived at concerning them. We owe it to the bishop, who is extremely\nwell affected to the country, and in whom we must trust.\" The minister\nwrote to the prelate and expressed to him his entire satisfaction in his\ncourse.\n\nThe vigilant bishop had not yet entirely recovered from the fatigue of\nhis journey when he decided, in spite of the infirmities which were\nbeginning to overwhelm him, and which were to remain the constant\ncompanions of his latest years, to visit all the parishes and the\nreligious communities of his immense diocese. He had already traversed\nthem in the winter time in his former pastoral visits, shod with\nsnowshoes, braving the fogs, the snow and the bitterest weather. In the\nsuffocating heat of summer, travel in a bark canoe was scarcely less\nfatiguing to a man of almost sixty years, worn out by the hard ministry\nof a quarter of a century. However, he decided on a summer journey, and\nset out on June 1st, 1681, accompanied by M. de Maizerets, one of his\ngrand vicars. He visited successively Lotbiniere, Batiscan, Champlain,\nCap-de-la-Madeleine, Trois Rivieres, Chambly, Sorel, St. Ours,\nContrecoeur, Vercheres, Boucherville, Repentigny, Lachesnaie, and\narrived on June 19th at Montreal. The marks of respectful affection\nlavished upon him by the population compel him to receive continual\nvisits; but he has come especially for his beloved religious\ncommunities, and he honours them all with his presence, the Seminary of\nSt. Sulpice as well as the Congregation of Notre-Dame and the hospital.\nThese labours are not sufficient for his apostolic zeal; he betakes\nhimself to the house of the Jesuit Fathers at Laprairie, then to their\nIndian Mission at the Sault St. Louis, finally to the parish of St.\nFrancois de Sales, in the Ile Jesus. Descending the St. Lawrence River,\nhe sojourns successively at Longueuil, at Varennes, at Lavaltrie, at\nNicolet, at Becancourt, at Gentilly, at Ste. Anne de la Perade, at\nDeschambault. He returns to Quebec; his devoted fellow-workers in the\nseminary urge him to rest, but he will think of rest only when his\nmission is fully ended. He sets out again, and Ile aux Oies,\nCap-Saint-Ignace, St. Thomas, St. Michel, Beaumont, St. Joseph de Levis\nhave in turn the happiness of receiving their pastor. The undertaking\nwas too great for the bishop's strength, and he suffered the results\nwhich could not but follow upon such a strain. The registers of the\nSovereign Council prove to us that only a week after his return he had\nto take to his bed, and for two months could not occupy his seat among\nthe other councillors. \"His Lordship fell ill of a dangerous malady,\"\nsays a memoir of that time. \"For the space of a fortnight his death was\nexpected, but God granted us the favour of bringing him to\nconvalescence, and eventually to his former health.\"\n\nM. de la Barre, on his arrival, desired to inform himself exactly of the\ncondition of the colony. In a great assembly held at Quebec, on October\n10th, 1682, he gathered all the men who occupied positions of\nconsideration in the colony. Besides the governor, the bishop and the\ncommissioner, there were noticed among others M. Dollier de Casson, the\nsuperior of the Seminary of St. Sulpice at Montreal, several Jesuit\nFathers, MM. de Varennes, governor of Three Rivers, d'Ailleboust, de\nBrussy and Le Moyne. The information which M. de la Barre obtained from\nthe assembly was far from reassuring; incessantly stirred up by Governor\nDongan's genius for intrigue, the Iroquois were preparing to descend\nupon the little colony. If they had not already begun hostilities, it\nwas because they wished first to massacre the tribes allied with the\nFrench; already the Hurons, the Algonquins, the Conestogas, the\nDelawares and a portion of the Illinois had fallen under their blows. It\nwas necessary to save from extermination the Ottawa and Illinois tribes.\nNow, one might indeed raise a thousand robust men, accustomed to savage\nwarfare, but, if they were used for an expedition, who would cultivate\nin their absence the lands of these brave men? A prompt reinforcement\nfrom the mother country became urgent, and M. de la Barre hastened to\ndemand it.\n\nThe war had already begun. The Iroquois had seized two canoes, the\nproperty of La Salle, near Niagara; they had likewise attacked and\nplundered fourteen Frenchmen _en route_ to the Illinois with merchandise\nvalued at sixteen thousand francs. It was known, besides, that the\nCayugas and the Senecas were preparing to attack the French settlements\nthe following summer. In spite of all, the expected help did not arrive.\nOne realizes the anguish to which the population must have been a prey\nwhen one reads the following letter from the Bishop of Quebec: \"Sire,\nthe Marquis de Seignelay will inform your Majesty of the war which the\nIroquois have declared against your subjects of New France, and will\nexplain the need of sending aid sufficient to destroy, if possible, this\nenemy, who has opposed for so many years the establishment of this\ncolony.... Since it has pleased your Majesty to choose me for the\ngovernment of this growing Church, I feel obliged, more than any one, to\nmake its needs manifest to you. The paternal care which you have always\nhad for us leaves me no room to doubt that you will give the necessary\norders for the most prompt aid possible, without which this poor country\nwould be exposed to a danger nigh unto ruin.\"\n\nThe expected reinforcements finally arrived; on November 9th, 1684, the\nwhole population of Quebec, assembled at the harbour, received with joy\nthree companies of soldiers, composed of fifty-two men each. The Bishop\nof Quebec did not fail to express to the king his personal obligation\nand the gratitude of all: \"The troops which your Majesty has sent to\ndefend us against the Iroquois,\" he wrote to the king, \"and the lands\nwhich you have granted us for the subsidiary church of the Lower Town,\nand the funds which you have allotted both to rebuild the cathedral\nspire and to aid in the maintenance of the priests, these are favours\nwhich oblige me to thank your Majesty, and make me hope that you will\ndeign to continue your royal bounties to our Church and the whole\ncolony.\"\n\nM. de la Barre was thus finally able to set out on his expedition\nagainst the Iroquois. At the head of one hundred and thirty soldiers,\nseven hundred militia and two hundred and sixty Indians, he marched to\nLake Ontario, where the Iroquois, intimidated, sent him a deputation.\nThe ambassadors, who expected to see a brilliant army full of ardour,\nwere astonished to find themselves in the presence of pale and emaciated\nsoldiers, worn out more by sickness and privations of every kind than by\nfatigue. The governor, in fact, had lost ten or twelve days at Montreal;\non the way the provisions had become spoiled and insufficient, hence the\nname of Famine Creek given to the place where he entered with his\ntroops, above the Oswego River. At this sight the temper of the\ndelegates changed, and their proposals showed it; they spoke with\narrogance, and almost demanded peace; they undertook to indemnify the\nFrench merchants plundered by them on condition that the army should\ndecamp on the morrow. Such weakness could not attract to M. de la Barre\nthe affection of the colonists; the king relieved him from his\nfunctions, and appointed as his successor the Marquis de Denonville, a\ncolonel of dragoons, whose valour seemed to promise the colony better\ndays.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nRESIGNATION OF MGR. DE LAVAL\n\n\nThe long and conscientious pastoral visit which he had just ended had\nproved to the indefatigable prelate that it would be extremely difficult\nto establish his parishes solidly. Instead of grouping themselves\ntogether, which would have given them the advantages of union both\nagainst the attacks of savages and for the circumstances of life in\nwhich man has need of the aid of his fellows, the colonists had built\ntheir dwellings at random, according to the inspiration of the moment,\nand sometimes at long distances from each other; thus there existed, as\nlate as 1678, only twenty-five fixed livings, and it promised to be very\ndifficult to found new ones. To give a pastor the direction of\nparishioners established within an enormous radius of his parish house,\nwas to condemn his ministry in advance to inefficacy. To prove it, the\nAbbe Gosselin cites a striking example. Of the two missionaries who\nshared the southern shore, the one, M. Morel, ministered to the country\nbetween Berthier and Riviere du Loup; the other, M. Volant de\nSaint-Claude, from Berthier to Riviere du Chene, and each of them had\nonly about sixty families scattered here and there. And how was one to\nexpect that these poor farmers could maintain their pastor and build a\nchurch? Almost everywhere the chapels were of wood or clapboards, and\nthatched; not more than eight or nine centres of population could boast\nof possessing a stone church; many hamlets still lacked a chapel and\nimitated the Lower Town of Quebec, whose inhabitants attended service in\na private house. As to priests' houses, they were a luxury that few\nvillages could afford: the priest had to content himself with being\nsheltered by a respectable colonist.\n\nDuring the few weeks when illness confined him to his bed, Laval had\nleisure to reflect on the difficulties of his task. He understood that\nhis age and the infirmities which the Lord laid upon him would no longer\npermit him to bring to so arduous a work the necessary energy. \"His\nhumility,\" says Sister Juchereau, \"persuaded him that another in his\nplace would do more good than he, although he really did a great deal,\nbecause he sought only the glory of God and the welfare of his flock.\"\nIn consequence, he decided to go and carry in person his resignation to\nthe king. But before embarking for France, with his accustomed prudence\nhe set his affairs in order. He had one plan, especially, at heart, that\nof establishing according to the rules of the Church the chapter which\nhad already existed _de facto_ for a long while. Canons are necessary to\na bishopric; their duties are not merely decorative, for they assist the\nbishop in his episcopal office, form his natural council, replace him\non certain occasions, govern the diocese from the death of its head\nuntil the deceased is replaced, and finally officiate in turn before the\naltars of the cathedral in order that prayer shall incessantly ascend\nfrom the diocese towards the Most High. The only obstacle to this\ncreation until now had been the lack of resources, for the canonical\nunion with the abbeys of Maubec and Lestrees was not yet an accomplished\nfact. Mgr. de Laval resolved to appeal to the unselfishness of the\npriests of the seminary, and he succeeded: they consented to fulfil\nwithout extra salary the duties of canons.\n\nBy an ordinance of November 6th, 1684, the Bishop of Quebec established\na chapter composed of twelve canons and four chaplains. The former,\namong whom were five priests born in the colony, were M. Henri de\nBernieres, priest of Quebec, who remained dean until his death in 1700;\nMM. Louis Ange de Maizerets, archdeacon, Charles Glandelet, theologist,\nDudouyt, grand cantor, and Jean Gauthier de Brulon, confessor. The\nceremony of installation took place with the greatest pomp, amid the\nboom of artillery and the joyful sound of bells and music; governor,\nintendant, councillors, officers and soldiers, inhabitants of the city\nand the environments, everybody wished to be present. It remained to\ngive a constitution to the new chapter. Mgr. de Laval had already busied\nhimself with this for several months, and corresponded on this subject\nwith M. Cheron, a clever lawyer of Paris. Accordingly, the constitution\nwhich he submitted for the infant chapter on the very morrow of the\nceremony was admired unreservedly and adopted without discussion.\nTwenty-four hours afterwards he set sail accompanied by the good wishes\nof his priests, who, with anxious heart and tears in their eyes,\nfollowed him with straining gaze until the vessel disappeared below the\nhorizon. Before his departure, he had, like a father who in his last\nhour divides his goods among his children, given his seminary a new\nproof of his attachment: he left it a sum of eight thousand francs for\nthe building of the chapel.\n\nIt would seem that sad presentiments assailed him at this moment, for he\nsaid in the deed of gift: \"I declare that my last will is to be buried\nin this chapel; and if our Lord disposes of my life during this voyage I\ndesire that my body be brought here for burial. I also desire this\nchapel to be open to the public.\" Fortunately, he was mistaken, it was\nnot the intention of the Lord to remove him so soon from the affections\nof his people. For twenty years more the revered prelate was to spread\nabout him good works and good examples, and Providence reserved for him\nthe happiness of dying in the midst of his flock.\n\nHis generosity did not confine itself to this grant. He could not leave\nhis diocese, which he was not sure of seeing again, without giving a\ntoken of remembrance to that school of St. Joachim, which he had\nfounded and which he loved so well; he gave the seminary eight thousand\nfrancs for the support of the priest entrusted with the direction of the\nschool at the same time as with the ministry of the parish, and another\nsum of four thousand francs to build the village church.\n\nA young Canadian priest, M. Guyon, son of a farmer of the Beaupre shore,\nhad the good fortune of accompanying the bishop on the voyage. It would\nhave been very imprudent to leave the venerable prelate alone, worn out\nas he was by troublesome fits of vertigo whenever he indulged too long\nin work; besides, he was attacked by a disease of the heart, whose\nonslaughts sometimes incapacitated him.\n\nIt would be misjudging the foresight of Mgr. de Laval to think that\nbefore embarking for the mother country he had not sought out a priest\nworthy to replace him. He appealed to two men whose judgment and\ncircumspection he esteemed, M. Dudouyt and Father Le Valois of the\nSociety of Jesus. He asked them to recommend a true servant of God,\nvirtuous and zealous above all. Father Le Valois indicated the Abbe Jean\nBaptiste de la Croix de Saint-Vallier, the king's almoner, whose zeal\nfor the welfare of souls, whose charity, great piety, modesty and method\nmade him the admiration of all. The influence which his position and the\npowerful relations of his family must gain for the Church in Canada\nwere an additional argument in his favour; the superior of St. Sulpice,\nM. Tronson, who was also consulted, praised highly the talents and the\nqualities of the young priest. \"My Lord has shown great virtue in his\nresignation,\" writes M. Dudouyt. \"I know no occasion on which he has\nshown so strongly his love for his Church; for he has done everything\nthat could be desired to procure a person capable of preserving and\nperfecting the good work which he has begun here.\" If the Abbe de\nSaint-Vallier had not been a man after God's own heart, he would not\nhave accepted a duty so honourable but so difficult. He was not unaware\nof the difficulties which he would have to surmount, for Mgr. de Laval\nexplained them to him himself with the greatest frankness; and, what was\na still greater sacrifice, the king's almoner was to leave the most\nbrilliant court in the world for a very remote country, still in process\nof organization. Nevertheless he accepted, and Laval had the\nsatisfaction of knowing that he was committing his charge into the hands\nof a worthy successor.\n\nIt was now only a question of obtaining the consent of the king before\npetitioning the sovereign pontiff for the canonical establishment of the\nnew episcopal authority. It was not without difficulty that it was\nobtained, for the prince could not decide to accept the resignation of a\nprelate who seemed to him indispensable to the interests of New France.\nHe finally understood that the decision of Mgr. de Laval was\nirrevocable; as a mark of confidence and esteem he allowed him to choose\nhis successor.\n\nAt this period the misunderstanding created between the common father of\nthe faithful and his most Christian Majesty by the claims of the latter\nin the matter of the right of _regale_[9] kept the Church in a false\nposition, to the grief of all good Catholics. Pope Innocent XI waited\nwith persistent and calm firmness until Louis XIV should become again\nthe elder son of the Church; until then France could not exist for him,\nand more than thirty episcopal sees remained without occupants in the\ncountry of Saint Louis and of Joan of Arc. It was not, then, to be hoped\nthat the appointment by the king of the Abbe de Saint-Vallier as second\nbishop of Quebec could be immediately sanctioned by the sovereign\npontiff. It was decided that Mgr. de Laval, to whom the king granted an\nannuity for life of two thousand francs from the revenues of the\nbishopric of Aire, should remain titular bishop until the consecration\nof his successor, and that M. de Saint-Vallier, appointed provisionally\ngrand vicar of the prelate, should set out immediately for New France,\nwhere he would assume the government of the diocese. The Abbe de\nSaint-Vallier had not yet departed before he gave evidence of his\nmunificence, and proved to the faithful of his future bishopric that he\nwould be to them as generous a father as he whom he was about to\nreplace. By deed of May 10th, 1685, he presented to the Seminary of\nQuebec a sum of forty-two thousand francs, to be used for the\nmaintenance of missionaries; he bequeathed to it at the same time all\nthe furniture, books, etc., which he should possess at his death.\nLaval's purpose was to remain for the present in France, where he would\nbusy himself actively for the interests of Canada, but his fixed resolve\nwas to go and end his days on that soil of New France which he loved so\nwell. It was in 1688, only a few months after the official appointment\nof Saint-Vallier to the bishopric of Quebec, and his consecration on\nJanuary 25th of the same year, that Laval returned to Canada.\n\nM. de Saint-Vallier embarked at La Rochelle in the beginning of June,\n1685, on the royal vessel which was carrying to Canada the new\ngovernor-general, M. de Denonville. The king having permitted him to\ntake with him a score of persons, he made a most judicious choice: nine\necclesiastics, several school-masters and a few good workmen destined\nfor the labours of the seminary, accompanied him. The voyage was long\nand very fatiguing. The passengers were, however, less tried than those\nof two other ships which followed them, on one of which more than five\nhundred soldiers had been crowded together. As might have been\nexpected, sickness was not long in breaking out among them; more than\none hundred and fifty of these unfortunates died, and their bodies were\ncast into the sea.\n\nImmediately after his arrival the grand vicar visited all the religious\nestablishments of the town, and he observed everywhere so much harmony\nand good spirit that he could not pass it over in silence. Speaking with\nadmiration of the seminary, he said: \"Every one in it devoted himself to\nspiritual meditation, with such blessed results that from the youngest\ncleric to the highest ecclesiastics in holy orders each one brought of\nhis own accord all his personal possessions to be used in common. It\nseemed to me then that I saw revived in the Church of Canada something\nof that spirit of unworldliness which constituted one of the principal\nbeauties of the budding Church of Jerusalem in the time of the\napostles.\" The examples of brotherly unity and self-effacement which he\nadmired so much in others he also set himself: he placed in the library\nof the seminary a magnificent collection of books which he had brought\nwith him, and deposited in the coffers of the house several thousand\nfrancs in money, his personal property. Braving the rigours of the\nseason, he set out in the winter of 1685 and visited the shore of\nBeaupre, the Island of Orleans, and then the north shore as far as\nMontreal. In the spring he took another direction, and inspected all\nthe missions of Gaspesia and Acadia. He was so well satisfied with the\ncondition of his diocese that he wrote to Mgr. de Laval: \"All that I\nregret is that there is no more good for me to do in this Church.\"\n\nIn the spring of this same year, 1686, a valiant little troop was making\na more warlike pastoral visit. To seventy robust Canadians, commanded by\nd'Iberville, de Sainte-Helene and de Maricourt, all sons of Charles Le\nMoyne, the governor had added thirty good soldiers under the orders of\nMM. de Troyes, Duchesnil and Catalogne, to take part in an expedition\nfor the capture of Hudson Bay from the English. Setting out on\nsnowshoes, dragging their provisions and equipment on toboggans, then\nadvancing, sometimes on foot, sometimes in bark canoes, they penetrated\nby the Ottawa River and Temiskaming and Abitibi Lakes as far as James\nBay. They did not brave so many dangers and trials without being\nresolved to conquer or die; accordingly, in spite of its twelve cannon,\nFort Monsipi was quickly carried. The two forts, Rupert and Ste. Anne,\nsuffered the same fate, and the only one that remained to the English,\nthat named Fort Nelson, was preserved to them solely because its remote\nsituation saved it. The head of the expedition, M. de Troyes, on his\nreturn to Quebec, rendered an account of his successes to M. de\nDenonville and to a new commissioner, M. de Champigny, who had just\nreplaced M. de Meulles.\n\nThe bishop's infirmities left him scarcely any respite. \"My health,\" he\nwrote to his successor, \"is exceedingly good considering the bad use I\nmake of it. It seems, however, that the wound which I had in my foot\nduring five or six months at Quebec has been for the last three weeks\nthreatening to re-open. The holy will of God be done!\" And he added, in\nhis firm resolution to pass his last days in Canada: \"In any case, I\nfeel that I have sufficient strength and health to return this year to\nthe only place which now can give me peace and rest. _In pace in idipsum\ndormiam et requiescam._ Meanwhile, as we must have no other aim than the\ngood pleasure of our Lord, whatever desire He gives me for this rest and\npeace, He grants me at the same time the favour of making Him a\nsacrifice of it in submitting myself to the opinion that you have\nexpressed, that I should stay this year in France, to be present at your\nreturn next autumn.\" The bad state of his health did not prevent him\nfrom devoting his every moment to Canadian interests. He went into the\nmost infinitesimal details of the administration of his diocese, so\ngreat was his solicitude for his work. \"We must hasten this year, if\npossible,\" he wrote, \"to labour at the re-establishment of the church of\nSte. Anne du Petit-Cap, to which the whole country has such an\nattachment. We must work also to push forward the clearing of the lands\nof St. Joachim, in order that we may have the proper rotation crops on\neach farm, and that the farms may suffice for the needs of the\nseminary.\" In another letter he concerns himself with the sum of three\nthousand francs granted by the king each year for the marriage portion\nof a certain number of poor young girls marrying in Canada. \"We should,\"\nsays he, \"distribute these moneys in parcels, fifty francs, or ten\ncrowns, to the numerous poor families scattered along the shores, in\nwhich there is a large number of children.\" He practises this wise\neconomy constantly when it is a question, not of his personal property,\nbut of the funds of his seminary. He finds that his successor, whom the\nten years which he had passed at court as king's almoner could not have\ntrained in parsimony, allows himself to be carried away, by his zeal and\nhis desire to do good, to a somewhat excessive expense. With what tact\nand delicacy he indulges in a discreet reproach! \"_Magna est fides\ntua_,\" he writes to him, \"and much greater than mine. We see that all\nour priests have responded to it with the same confidence and entire\nsubmission with which they have believed it their duty to meet your\nsentiments, in which they have my approval. My particular admiration has\nbeen aroused by seeing in all your letters and in all the impulses of\nyour heart so great a reliance on the lovable Providence of God that not\nonly has it permitted you not to have the least doubt that it would\nabundantly provide the wherewithal for the support of all the works\nwhich it has suggested to you, but that upon this basis, which is the\nfirm truth, you have had the courage to proceed to the execution of\nthem. It is true that my heart has long yearned for what you have\naccomplished; but I have never had sufficient confidence or reliance to\nundertake it. I always awaited the means _quae pater posuit in sua\npotestate_. I hope that, since the Most Holy Family of our Lord has\nsuggested all these works to you, they will give you means and ways to\nmaintain what is so much to the glory of God and the welfare of souls.\nBut, according to all appearances, great difficulties will be found,\nwhich will only serve to increase this confidence and trust in God.\" And\nhe ends with this prudent advice: \"Whatever confidence God desires us to\nhave in His providence, it is certain that He demands from us the\nobservance of rules of prudence, not human and political, but Christian\nand just.\"\n\nHe concerns himself even with the servants, and it is singular to note\nthat his mind, so apt to undertake and execute vast plans, possesses\nnone the less an astonishing sagacity and accuracy of observation in\npetty details. One Valet, entrusted with the purveyance, had obtained\npermission to wear the cassock. \"Unless he be much changed in his\nhumour,\" writes Mgr. de Laval, \"it would be well to send him back to\nFrance; and I may even opine that, whatever change might appear in him,\nhe would be unfitted to administer a living, the basis of his character\nbeing very rustic, gross, and displeasing, and unsuitable for\necclesiastical functions, in which one is constantly obliged to converse\nand deal with one's neighbours, both children and adults. Having given\nhim the cassock and having admitted him to the refectory, I hardly see\nany other means of getting rid of him than to send him back to France.\"\n\nIn his correspondence with Saint-Vallier, Laval gives an account of the\nvarious steps which he was taking at court to maintain the integrity of\nthe diocese of Quebec. This was, for a short time, at stake. The\nRecollets, who had followed La Salle in his expeditions, were trying\nwith some chance of success to have the valley of the Mississippi and\nLouisiana made an apostolic vicariate independent of Canada. Laval\nfinally gained his cause; the jurisdiction of the bishopric of Quebec\nover all the countries of North America which belonged to France was\nmaintained, and later the Seminary of Quebec sent missionaries to\nLouisiana and to the Mississippi.\n\nBut the most important questions, which formed the principal subject\nboth of his preoccupations and of his letters, are that of the\nestablishment of the Recollets in the Upper Town of Quebec, that of a\nplan for a permanent mission at Baie St. Paul, and above all, that of\nthe tithes and the support of the priests. This last question brought\nabout between him and Mgr. de Saint-Vallier a most complete conflict of\nviews. Yet the differences of opinion between the two servants of God\nnever prevented them from esteeming each other highly. The following\nletter does as much honour to him who wrote it as to him to whom such\nhomage is rendered: \"The noble house of Laval from which he sprang,\"\nwrites Mgr. de Saint-Vallier, \"the right of primogeniture which he\nrenounced on entering upon the ecclesiastical career; the exemplary life\nwhich he led in France before there was any thought of raising him to\nthe episcopacy; the assiduity with which he governed so long the Church\nin Canada; the constancy and firmness which he showed in surmounting all\nthe obstacles which opposed on divers occasions the rectitude of his\nintentions and the welfare of his dear flock; the care which he took of\nthe French colony and his efforts for the conversion of the savages; the\nexpeditions which he undertook several times in the interests of both;\nthe zeal which impelled him to return to France to seek a successor; his\ndisinterestedness and the humility which he manifested in offering and\nin giving so willingly his frank resignation; finally, all the great\nvirtues which I see him practise every day in the seminary where I\nsojourn with him, would well deserve here a most hearty eulogy, but his\nmodesty imposes silence upon me, and the veneration in which he is held\nwherever he is known is praise more worthy than I could give him....\"\n\nMgr. de Saint-Vallier left Quebec for France on November 18th, 1686,\nonly a few days after a fire which consumed the Convent of the\nUrsulines; the poor nuns, who had not been able to snatch anything from\nthe flames, had to accept, until the re-construction of their convent,\nthe generous shelter offered them by the hospitable ladies of the\nHotel-Dieu. Mgr. de Saint-Vallier did not disembark at the port of La\nRochelle until forty-five days after his departure, for this voyage was\none continuous storm.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[9] A right, belonging formerly to the kings of France, of enjoying the\nrevenues of vacant bishoprics.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nMGR. DE LAVAL COMES FOR THE LAST TIME\nTO CANADA\n\n\nMgr. de Saint-Vallier received the most kindly welcome from the king: he\navailed himself of it to request some aid on behalf of the priests of\nthe seminary whom age and infirmity condemned to retirement. He obtained\nit, and received, besides, fifteen thousand francs for the building of\nan episcopal palace. He decided, in fact, to withdraw from the seminary,\nin order to preserve complete independence in the exercise of his high\nduties. Laval learned with sorrow of this decision; he, who had always\nclung to the idea of union with his seminary and of having but one\ncommon fund with this house, beheld his successor adopt an opposite line\nof conduct. Another cause of division rose between the two prelates; the\ntoo great generosity of Mgr. de Saint-Vallier had brought the seminary\ninto financial embarrassment. The Marquis de Seignelay, then minister,\nthought it wiser under such circumstances to postpone till later the\nreturn of Mgr. de Laval to Canada. The venerable bishop, whatever it\nmust have cost him, adhered to this decision with a wholly Christian\nresignation. \"You will know by the enclosed letters,\" he writes to the\npriests of the Seminary of Quebec, \"what compels me to stay in France. I\nhad no sooner received my sentence than our Lord granted me the favour\nof inspiring me to go before the most Holy Sacrament and make a\nsacrifice of all my desires and of that which is the dearest to me in\nthe world. I began by making the _amende honorable_ to the justice of\nGod, who deigned to extend to me the mercy of recognizing that it was in\njust punishment of my sins and lack of faith that His providence\ndeprived me of the blessing of returning to a place where I had so\ngreatly offended; and I told Him, I think with a cheerful heart and a\nspirit of humility, what the high priest Eli said when Samuel declared\nto him from God what was to happen to him: '_Dominus est: quod bonum est\nin oculis suis faciat_.' But since the will of our Lord does not reject\na contrite and humble heart, and since He both abases and exalts, He\ngave me to know that the greatest favour He could grant me was to give\nme a share in the trials which He deigned to bear in His life and death\nfor love of us; in thanksgiving for which I said a Te Deum with a heart\nfilled with joy and consolation in my soul: for, as to the lower nature,\nit is left in the bitterness which it must bear. It is a hurt and a\nwound which will be difficult to heal and which apparently will last\nuntil my death, unless it please Divine Providence, which disposes of\nmen's hearts as it pleases, to bring about some change in the condition\nof affairs. This will be when it pleases God, and as it may please Him,\nwithout His creatures being able to oppose it.\"\n\nIn Canada the return of the revered Mgr. de Laval was impatiently\nexpected, and the governor, M. de Denonville, himself wrote that \"in the\npresent state of public affairs it was necessary that the former bishop\nshould return, in order to influence men's minds, over which he had a\ngreat ascendency by reason of his character and his reputation for\nsanctity.\" Some persons wrongfully attributed to the influence of\nSaint-Vallier the order which detained the worthy bishop in France; on\nthe contrary, Saint-Vallier had said one day to the minister, \"It would\nbe very hard for a bishop who has founded this church and who desires to\ngo and die in its midst, to see himself detained in France. If Mgr. de\nLaval should stay here the blame would be cast upon his successor,\nagainst whom for this reason many people would be ill disposed.\"\n\nM. de Denonville desired the more eagerly the return of this prelate so\nbeloved in New France, since difficulties were arising on every hand.\nConvinced that peace with the Iroquois could not last, he began by\namassing provisions and ammunition at Fort Cataraqui, without heeding\nthe protests of Colonel Dongan, the most vigilant and most experienced\nenemy of French domination in America; then he busied himself with\nfortifying Montreal. He visited the place, appointed as its governor\nthe Chevalier de Callieres, a former captain in the regiment of\nNavarre, and in the spring of 1687 employed six hundred men under the\ndirection of M. du Luth, royal engineer, in the erection of a palisade.\nThese wooden defences, as was to be expected, were not durable and\ndemanded repairs every year. The year 1686, which had begun with the\nconquest of the southern portion of Hudson Bay, was spent almost\nentirely in preparations for war and negotiations for peace; the\nIroquois, nevertheless, continued their inroads. Finally M. de\nDenonville, having received during the following spring eight hundred\npoor recruits under the command of Vaudreuil, was ready for his\nexpedition. Part of these reinforcements were at once sent to Montreal,\nwhere M. de Callieres was gathering a body of troops on St. Helen's\nIsland: eight hundred and thirty-two regulars, one thousand Canadians,\nand three hundred Indian allies, all burning with the desire of\ndistinguishing themselves, awaited now only the signal for departure.\n\n\"With this superiority of forces,\" says one author, \"Denonville\nconceived, however, the unfortunate idea of beginning hostilities by an\nact which dishonoured the French name among the savages, that name\nwhich, in spite of their great irritation, they had always feared and\nrespected.\" With the purpose of striking terror into the Iroquois he\ncaused to be seized the chiefs whom the Five Nations had sent as\ndelegates to Cataraqui at the request of Father de Lamberville, and\nsent them to France to serve on board the royal galleys. This violation\nof the law of nations aroused the fury of the Iroquois, and two\nmissionaries, Father Lamberville and Millet, though entirely innocent of\nthis crime, escaped torture only with difficulty. The king disapproved\nwholly of this treason, and returned the prisoners to Canada; others\nwho, at Fort Frontenac, had been taken by M. de Champigny in as\ntreacherous a manner, were likewise restored to liberty.\n\nThe army, divided into four bodies, set out on June 11th, 1687, in four\nhundred boats. It was joined at Sand River, on the shore of Lake\nOntario, by six hundred men from Detroit, and advanced inland. After\nhaving passed through two very dangerous defiles, the French were\nsuddenly attacked by eight hundred of the enemy ambushed in the bed of a\nstream. At first surprised, they promptly recovered from their\nconfusion, and put the savages to flight. Some sixty Iroquois were\nwounded in this encounter, and forty-five whom they left dead on the\nfield of battle were eaten by the Ottawas, according to the horrible\ncustom of these cannibals. They entered then into the territory of the\nTsonnontouans, which was found deserted; everything had been reduced to\nashes, except an immense quantity of maize, to which they set fire; they\nkilled also a prodigious number of swine, but they did not meet with a\nsingle Indian.\n\nInstead of pursuing the execution of these reprisals by marching\nagainst the other nations, M. de Denonville proceeded to Niagara, where\nhe built a fort. The garrison of a hundred men which he left there\nsuccumbed in its entirety to a mysterious epidemic, probably caused by\nthe poor quality of the provisions. Thus the campaign did not produce\nresults proportionate to the preparations which had been made; it\nhumbled the Iroquois, but by this very fact it excited their rage and\ndesire for vengeance; so true is it that half-measures are more\ndangerous than complete inaction. They were, besides, cleverly goaded on\nby Governor Dongan. Towards the end of the summer they ravaged the whole\nwestern part of the colony, and carried their audacity to the point of\nburning houses and killing several persons on the Island of Montreal.\n\nM. de Denonville understood that he could not carry out a second\nexpedition; disease had caused great havoc among the population and the\nsoldiers, and he could no longer count on the Hurons of Michilimackinac,\nwho kept up secret relations with the Iroquois. He was willing to\nconclude peace, and consented to demolish Fort Niagara and to bring back\nthe Iroquois chiefs who had been sent to France to row in the galleys.\nThe conditions were already accepted on both sides, when the\nnegotiations were suddenly interrupted by the duplicity of Kondiaronk,\nsurnamed the Rat, chief of the Michilimackinac Hurons. This man, the\nmost cunning and crafty of Indians, a race which has nothing to learn\nin point of astuteness from the shrewdest diplomat, had offered his\nservices against the Iroquois to the governor, who had accepted them.\nEnkindled with the desire of distinguishing himself by some brilliant\ndeed, he arrives with a troop of Hurons at Fort Frontenac, where he\nlearns that a treaty is about to be concluded between the French and the\nIroquois. Enraged at not having even been consulted in this matter,\nfearing to see the interests of his nation sacrificed, he lies in wait\nwith his troop at Famine Creek, falls upon the delegates, and, killing a\nnumber of them, makes the rest prisoners. On the statement of the latter\nthat they were going on an embassy to Ville-Marie, he feigns surprise,\nand is astonished that the French governor-general should have sent him\nto attack men who were going to treat with him. He then sets them at\nliberty, keeping a single one of them, whom he hastens to deliver to M.\nde Durantaye, governor of Michilimackinac; the latter, ignorant of the\nnegotiations with the Iroquois, has the prisoner shot in spite of the\nprotestations of the wretched man, who the Rat pretends is mad. The plan\nof the Huron chief has succeeded; it remains now only to reap the fruits\nof it. He frees an old Iroquois who has long been detained in captivity\nand sends him to announce to his compatriots that the French are seeking\nin the negotiations a cowardly means of ridding themselves of their\nfoes. This news exasperated the Five Nations; henceforth peace was\nimpossible, and the Iroquois went to join the English, with whom, on the\npretext of the dethronement of James II, war was again about to break\nout. M. de Callieres, governor of Montreal, set out for France to lay\nbefore the king a plan for the conquest of New York; the monarch adopted\nit, but, not daring to trust its execution to M. de Denonville, he\nrecalled him in order to entrust it to Count de Frontenac, now again\nappointed governor.\n\nWe can easily conceive that in the danger thus threatening the colony M.\nde Denonville should have taken pains to surround himself with all the\nmen whose aid might be valuable to him. \"You will have this year,\" wrote\nM. de Brisacier to M. Glandelet, \"the joy of seeing again our two\nprelates. You will find the first more holy and more than ever dead to\nhimself; and the second will appear to you all that you can desire him\nto be for the particular consolation of the seminary and the good of New\nFrance.\" On the request of the governor-general, in fact, Mgr. de Laval\nsaw the obstacle disappear which had opposed his departure, and he\nhastened to take advantage of it. He set out in the spring of 1688, at\nthat period of the year when vegetation begins to display on all sides\nits festoons of verdure and flowers, and transforms Normandy and\nTouraine, that garden of France, into genuine groves; the calm of the\nair, the perfumed breezes of the south, the arrival of the southern\nbirds with their rich and varied plumage, all contribute to make these\ndays the fairest and sweetest of the year; but, in his desire to reach\nas soon as possible the country where his presence was deemed necessary,\nthe venerable prelate did not wait for the spring sun to dry the roads\nsoaked by the rains of winter; accordingly, in spite of his infirmities,\nhe was obliged to travel to La Rochelle on horseback. However, he could\nnot embark on the ship _Le Soleil d'Afrique_ until about the middle of\nApril.\n\nHis duties as Bishop of Quebec had ended on January 25th preceding, the\nday of the episcopal consecration of M. de Saint-Vallier. It would seem\nthat Providence desired that the priestly career of the prelate and his\nlast co-workers should end at the same time. Three priests of the\nSeminary of Quebec went to receive in heaven almost at the same period\nthe reward of their apostolic labours. M. Thomas Morel died on September\n23rd, 1687; M. Jean Guyon on January 10th, 1688; and M. Dudouyt on the\nfifteenth of the same month. This last loss, especially, caused deep\ngrief to Mgr. de Laval. He desired that the heart of the devoted\nmissionary should rest in that soil of New France for which it had\nalways beat, and he brought it with him. The ceremony of the burial at\nQuebec of the heart of M. Dudouyt was extremely touching; the whole\npopulation was present. Up to his latest day this priest had taken the\ngreatest interest in Canada, and the letter which he wrote to the\nseminary a few days before his death breathes the most ardent charity;\nit particularly enjoined upon all patience and submission to authority.\n\nThe last official document signed by Mgr. de Laval as titulary bishop\nwas an addition to the statutes and rules which he had previously drawn\nup for the Chapter of the city of Champlain. He wrote at the same time:\n\"It remains for me now, sirs and dearly beloved brethren, only to thank\nyou for the good affection that you preserve towards me, and to assure\nyou that it will not be my fault if I do not go at the earliest moment\nto rejoin you in the growing Church which I have ever cherished as the\nportion and heritage which it has pleased our Lord to preserve for me\nduring nearly thirty years. I supplicate His infinite goodness that he\ninto whose hands He has caused it to pass by my resignation may repair\nall my faults.\"\n\nThe prelate landed on June 3rd. \"The whole population,\" says the Abbe\nFerland, \"was heartened and rejoiced by the return of Mgr. de Laval, who\ncame back to Canada to end his days among his former flock. His virtues,\nhis long and arduous labours in New France, his sincere love for the\nchildren of the country, had endeared him to the Canadians; they felt\ntheir trust in Providence renewed on beholding again him who, with them,\nat their head, had passed through many years of trial and suffering.\" He\nhardly took time to rest, but set out at once for Montreal, where he was\nanxious to deliver in person to the Sulpicians the document of\nspiritual and devotional union which had been quite recently signed at\nParis by the Seminary of St. Sulpice and by that of the Foreign\nMissions. Returning to Quebec, he had the pleasure of receiving his\nsuccessor on the arrival of the latter, who disembarked on July 31st,\n1688.\n\nThe reception of Mgr. de Saint-Vallier was as cordial as that offered\ntwo months before to his predecessor. \"As early as four o'clock in the\nmorning,\" we read in the annals of the Ursulines, \"the whole population\nwas alert to hasten preparations. Some arranged the avenue along which\nthe new bishop was to pass, others raised here and there the standard of\nthe lilies of France. In the course of the morning Mgr. de Laval,\naccompanied by several priests, betook himself to the vessel to salute\nhis successor whom the laws of the old French etiquette kept on board\nhis ship until he had replied to all the compliments prepared for him.\nFinally, about two o'clock in the afternoon, the whole clergy, the civil\nand military authorities, and the people having assembled on the quay,\nMgr. de Saint-Vallier made his appearance, addressed first by M. de\nBernieres in the name of the clergy. He was next greeted by the mayor,\nin the name of the whole town, then the procession began to move, with\nmilitary music at its head, and the new bishop was conducted to the\ncathedral between two files of musketeers, who did not fail to salute\nhim and to fire volleys along the route.\" \"The thanksgiving hymn which\nre-echoed under the vaults of the holy temple found an echo in all\nhearts,\" we read in another account; \"and the least happy was not that\nof the worthy prelate who thus inaugurated his long and laborious\nepiscopal career.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nMASSACRE OF LACHINE\n\n\nThe virtue of Mgr. de Laval lacked the supreme consecration of\nmisfortune. A wearied but triumphant soldier, the venerable shepherd of\nsouls, coming back to dwell in the bishopric of Quebec, the witness of\nhis first apostolic labours, gave himself into the hands of his Master\nto disappear and die. \"Lord,\" he said with Simeon, \"now lettest thou thy\nservant depart in peace according to thy word.\" But many griefs still\nremained to test his resignation to the Divine Will, and the most\nshocking disaster mentioned in our annals was to sadden his last days.\nThe year 1688 had passed peacefully enough for the colony, but it was\nonly the calm which is the forerunner of the storm. The Five Nations\nemployed their time in secret organization; the French, lulled in this\ndeceptive security, particularly by news which had come from M. de\nValrennes, in command of Fort Frontenac, to whom the Iroquois had\ndeclared that they were coming down to Montreal to make peace, had left\nthe forts to return to their dwellings and to busy themselves with the\nwork of the fields. Moreover, the Chevalier de Vaudreuil, who commanded\nat Montreal in the absence of M. de Callieres, who had gone to France,\ncarried his lack of foresight to the extent of permitting the officers\nstationed in the country to leave their posts. It is astonishing to note\nsuch imprudent neglect on the part of men who must have known the savage\nnature. Rancour is the most deeply-rooted defect in the Indian, and it\nwas madness to think that the Iroquois could have forgotten so soon the\ninsult inflicted on their arms by the expedition of M. de Denonville, or\nthe breach made in their independence by the abduction of their chiefs\nsent to France as convicts. The warning of their approaching incursion\nhad meanwhile reached Quebec through a savage named Ataviata;\nunfortunately, the Jesuit Fathers had no confidence in this Indian; they\nassured the governor-general that Ataviata was a worthless fellow, and\nM. de Denonville made the mistake of listening too readily to these\nprejudices and of not at least redoubling his precautions.\n\nIt was on the night between August 4th and 5th, 1689; all was quiet on\nthe Island of Montreal. At the end of the evening's conversation, that\nnecessary complement of every well-filled day, the men had hung their\npipes, the faithful comrades of their labour, to a rafter of the\nceiling; the women had put away their knitting or pushed aside in a\ncorner their indefatigable spinning-wheel, and all had hastened to seek\nin sleep new strength for the labour of the morrow. Outside, the\nelements were unchained, the rain and hail were raging. As daring as\nthe Normans when they braved on frail vessels the fury of the seas, the\nIroquois, to the number of fifteen hundred, profited by the storm to\ntraverse Lake St. Louis in their bark canoes, and landed silently on the\nshore at Lachine. They took care not to approach the forts; the darkness\nwas so thick that the soldiers discovered nothing unusual and did not\nfire the cannon as was the custom on the approach of the enemy. Long\nbefore daybreak the savages, divided into a number of squads, had\nsurrounded the houses within a radius of several miles. Suddenly a\npiercing signal is given by the chiefs, and at once a horrible clamour\nrends the air; the terrifying war-cry of the Iroquois has roused the\nsleepers and raised the hair on the heads of the bravest. The colonists\nleap from their couches, but they have no time to seize their weapons;\ndemons who seem to be vomited forth by hell have already broken in the\ndoors and windows. The dwellings which the Iroquois cannot penetrate are\ndelivered over to the flames, but the unhappy ones who issue from them\nin confusion to escape the tortures of the fire are about to be\nabandoned to still more horrible torments. The pen refuses to describe\nthe horrors of this night, and the imagination of Dante can hardly in\nhis \"Inferno\" give us an idea of it. The butchers killed the cattle,\nburned the houses, impaled women, compelled fathers to cast their\nchildren into the flames, spitted other little ones still alive and\ncompelled their mothers to roast them. Everything was burned and\npillaged except the forts, which were not attacked; two hundred persons\nof all ages and of both sexes perished under torture, and about fifty,\ncarried away to the villages, were bound to the stake and burned by a\nslow fire. Nevertheless the great majority of the inhabitants were able\nto escape, thanks to the strong liquors kept in some of the houses, with\nwhich the savages made ample acquaintance. Some of the colonists took\nrefuge in the forts, others were pursued into the woods.\n\nMeanwhile the alarm had spread in Ville-Marie. M. de Denonville, who was\nthere, gives to the Chevalier de Vaudreuil the order to occupy Fort\nRoland with his troops and a hundred volunteers. De Vaudreuil hastens\nthither, accompanied by de Subercase and other officers; they are all\neager to measure their strength with the enemy, but the order of\nDenonville is strict, they must remain on the defensive and run no risk.\nBy dint of insistence, Subercase obtained permission to make a sortie\nwith a hundred volunteers; at the moment when he was about to set out he\nhad to yield the command to M. de Saint-Jean, who was higher in rank.\nThe little troop went and entrenched itself among the debris of a burned\nhouse and exchanged an ineffectual fire with the savages ambushed in a\nclump of trees. They soon perceived a party of French and friendly\nIndians who, coming from Fort Remy, were proceeding towards them in\ngreat danger of being surrounded by the Iroquois, who were already\nsobered. The volunteers wished to rush out to meet this reinforcement,\nbut their commander, adhering to his instructions, which forbade him to\npush on farther, restrained them. What might have been foreseen\nhappened: the detachment from Fort Remy was exterminated. Five of its\nofficers were taken and carried off towards the Iroquois villages, but\nsucceeded in escaping on the way, except M. de la Rabeyre, who was bound\nto the stake and perished in torture.\n\nOn reading these details one cannot understand the inactivity of the\nFrench: it would seem that the authorities had lost their heads. We\ncannot otherwise explain the lack of foresight of the officers absent\nfrom their posts, the pusillanimous orders of the governor to M. de\nVaudreuil, his imprudence in sending too weak a troop through the\ndangerous places, the lack of initiative on the part of M. de\nSaint-Jean, finally, the absolute lack of energy and audacity, the\ncomplete absence of that ardour which is inherent in the French\ncharacter.\n\nAfter this disaster the troops returned to the forts, and the\nsurrounding district, abandoned thus to the fury of the barbarians, was\nravaged in all directions. The Iroquois, proud of the terror which they\ninspired, threatened the city itself; we note by the records of Montreal\nthat on August 25th there were buried two soldiers killed by the\nsavages, and that on September 7th following, Jean Beaudry suffered the\nsame fate. Finding nothing more to pillage or to burn, they passed to\nthe opposite shore, and plundered the village of Lachesnaie. They\nmassacred a portion of the population, which was composed of seventy-two\npersons, and carried off the rest. They did not withdraw until the\nautumn, dragging after them two hundred captives, including fifty\nprisoners taken at Lachine.\n\nThis terrible event, which had taken place at no great distance from\nthem, and the news of which re-echoed in their midst, struck the\ninhabitants of Quebec with grief and terror. Mgr. de Laval was cruelly\naffected by it, but, accustomed to adore in everything the designs of\nGod, he seized the occasion to invoke Him with more fervour; he\nimmediately ordered in his seminary public prayers to implore the mercy\nof the Most High. M. de Frontenac, who was about to begin his second\nadministration, learned the sinister news on his arrival at Quebec on\nOctober 15th. He set out immediately for Montreal, which he reached on\nthe twenty-seventh of the same month. He visited the environments, and\nfound only ruins and ashes where formerly rose luxurious dwellings.\n\nWar had just been rekindled between France and Great Britain. The\ngovernor had not men enough for vast operations, accordingly he prepared\nto organize a guerilla warfare. While the Abenaquis, those faithful\nallies, destroyed the settlements of the English in Acadia and killed\nnearly two hundred persons there, Count de Frontenac sent in the winter\nof 1689-90, three detachments against New England; all three were\ncomposed of only a handful of men, but these warriors were well\nseasoned. In the rigorous cold of winter, traversing innumerable miles\non their snowshoes, sinking sometimes into the icy water, sleeping in\nthe snow, carrying their supplies on their backs, they surprised the\nforts which they went to attack, where one would never have believed\nthat men could execute so rash an enterprise. Thus the three detachments\nwere alike successful, and the forts of Corlaer in the state of New\nYork, of Salmon Falls in New Hampshire, and of Casco on the seaboard,\nwere razed.\n\nThe English avenged these reverses by capturing Port Royal. Encouraged\nby this success, they sent Phipps at the head of a large troop to seize\nQuebec, while Winthrop attacked Montreal with three thousand men, a\nlarge number of whom were Indians. Frontenac hastened to Quebec with M.\nde Callieres, governor of Montreal, the militia and the regular troops.\nAlready the fortifications had been protected against surprise by new\nand well-arranged entrenchments. The hostile fleet appeared on October\n16th, 1690, and Phipps sent an officer to summon the governor to\nsurrender the place. The envoy, drawing out his watch, declared with\narrogance to the Count de Frontenac that he would give him an hour to\ndecide. \"I will answer you by the mouth of my cannon,\" replied the\nrepresentative of Louis XIV. The cannon replied so well that at the\nfirst shot the admiral's flag fell into the water; the Canadians,\nbraving the balls and bullets which rained about them, swam out to get\nit, and this trophy remained hanging in the cathedral of Quebec until\nthe conquest. The _Histoire de l'Hotel-Dieu de Quebec_ depicts for us\nvery simply the courage and piety of the inhabitants during this siege.\n\"The most admirable thing, and one which surely drew the blessing of\nHeaven upon Quebec was that during the whole siege no public devotion\nwas interrupted. The city is arranged so that the roads which lead to\nthe churches are seen from the harbour; thus several times a day were\nbeheld processions of men and women going to answer the summons of the\nbells. The English noticed them; they called M. de Grandeville (a brave\nCanadian, and clerk of the farm of Tadousac, whom they had made\nprisoner) and asked him what it was. He answered them simply: 'It is\nmass, vespers, and the benediction.' By this assurance the citizens of\nQuebec disconcerted them; they were astonished that women dared to go\nout; they judged by this that we were very easy in our minds, though\nthis was far from being the case.\"\n\nIt is not surprising that the colonists should have fought valiantly\nwhen their bishops and clergy set the example of devotion, when the\nJesuits remained constantly among the defenders to encourage and assist\non occasion the militia and the soldiers, when Mgr. de Laval, though\nwithdrawn from the conduct of religious affairs, without even the right\nof sitting in the Sovereign Council, animated the population by his\npatriotic exhortations. To prove to the inhabitants that the cause which\nthey defended by struggling for their homes was just and holy, at the\nsame time as to place the cathedral under the protection of Heaven, he\nsuggested the idea of hanging on the spire of the cathedral a picture of\nthe Holy Family. This picture was not touched by the balls and bullets,\nand was restored after the siege to the Ursulines, to whom it belonged.\n\nAll the attempts of the English failed; in a fierce combat at Beauport\nthey were repulsed. There perished the brave Le Moyne de Sainte-Helene;\nthere, too, forty pupils of the seminary established at St. Joachim by\nMgr. de Laval distinguished themselves by their bravery and contributed\nto the victory. Already Phipps had lost six hundred men. He decided to\nretreat. To cap the climax of misfortune, his fleet met in the lower\npart of the river with a horrible storm; several of his ships were\ndriven by the winds as far as the Antilles, and the rest arrived only\nwith great difficulty at Boston. Winthrop's army, disorganized by\ndisease and discord, had already scattered.\n\nA famine which followed the siege tried the whole colony, and Laval had\nto suffer by it as well as the seminary, for neither had hesitated\nbefore the sacrifices necessary for the general weal. \"All the furs and\nfurniture of the Lower Town were in the seminary,\" wrote the prelate; \"a\nnumber of families had taken refuge there, even that of the intendant.\nThis house could not refuse in such need all the sacrifices of charity\nwhich were possible, at the expense of a great portion of the provisions\nwhich were kept there. The soldiers and others have taken and consumed\nat least one hundred cords of wood and more than fifteen hundred planks.\nIn brief, in cattle and other damages the loss to the seminary will\namount to a round thousand crowns. But we must on occasions of this sort\nbe patient, and do all the good we can without regard to future need.\"\n\nThe English were about to suffer still other reverses. In 1691 Major\nSchuyler, with a small army composed in part of savages, came and\nsurprised below the fort of the Prairie de la Madeleine a camp of\nbetween seven and eight hundred soldiers, whose leader, M. de\nSaint-Cirque, was slain; but the French, recovering, forced the major to\nretreat, and M. de Valrennes, who hastened up from Chambly with a body\nof inhabitants and Indians, put the enemy to flight after a fierce\nstruggle. The English failed also in Newfoundland; they were unable to\ncarry Fort Plaisance, which was defended by M. de Brouillan; but he who\nwas to do them most harm was the famous Pierre Le Moyne d'Iberville, son\nof Charles Le Moyne. Born in Montreal in 1661, he subsequently entered\nthe French navy. In the year 1696 he was ordered to drive the enemy out\nof Newfoundland; he seized the capital, St. John's, which he burned,\nand, marvellous to relate, with only a hundred and twenty-five men he\nsubdued the whole island, slew nearly two hundred of the English, and\ntook six or seven hundred prisoners. The following year he set out with\nfive ships to take possession of Hudson Bay. One day his vessel found\nitself alone before Fort Nelson, facing three large ships of the enemy;\nto the amazement of the English, instead of surrendering, d'Iberville\nrushes upon them. In a fierce fight lasting four hours, he sinks the\nstrongest, compels the second to surrender, while the third flees under\nfull sail. Fort Bourbon surrendered almost at once, and Hudson Bay was\ncaptured.\n\nAfter the peace d'Iberville explored the mouths of the Mississippi,\nerected several forts, founded the city of Mobile, and became the first\ngovernor of Louisiana. When the war began again, the king gave him a\nfleet of sixteen vessels to oppose the English in the Indies. He died of\nan attack of fever in 1706.\n\nDuring this time, the Iroquois were as dangerous to the French by their\ninroads and devastations as the Abenaquis were to the English colonies;\naccordingly Frontenac wished to subdue them. In the summer of 1696,\nbraving the fatigue and privations so hard to bear for a man of his age,\nFrontenac set out from Ile Perrot with more than two thousand men, and\nlanded at the mouth of the Oswego River. He found at Onondaga only the\nsmoking remains of the village to which the savages had themselves set\nfire, and the corpses of two Frenchmen who had died in torture. He\nmarched next against the Oneidas; all had fled at his approach, and he\nhad to be satisfied with laying waste their country. There remained\nthree of the Five Nations to punish, but winter was coming on and\nFrontenac did not wish to proceed further into the midst of invisible\nenemies, so he returned to Quebec.\n\nThe following year it was learned that the Treaty of Ryswick had just\nbeen concluded between France and England. France kept Hudson Bay, but\nLouis XIV pledged himself to recognize William III as King of England.\nThe Count de Frontenac had not the good fortune of crowning his\nbrilliant career by a treaty with the savages; he died on November 28th,\n1698, at the age of seventy-eight years. In reaching this age without\nexceeding it, he presented a new point of resemblance to his model,\nLouis the Great, according to whom he always endeavoured to shape his\nconduct, and who was destined to die at the age of seventy-seven.\n\n     [Note.--The incident of the flag mentioned above on page 230 is\n     treated at greater length in Dr. Le Sueur's _Frontenac_, pp. 295-8,\n     in the \"Makers of Canada\" series. He takes a somewhat different\n     view of the event.--Ed.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE LABOURS OF OLD AGE\n\n\nThe peace lasted only four years. M. de Callieres, who succeeded Count\nde Frontenac, was able, thanks to his prudence and the devotion of the\nmissionaries, to gather at Montreal more than twelve hundred Indian\nchiefs or warriors, and to conclude peace with almost all the tribes.\nChief Kondiaronk had become a faithful friend of the French; it was to\nhis good-will and influence that they were indebted for the friendship\nof a large number of Indian tribes. He died at Montreal during these\npeaceful festivities and was buried with pomp.\n\nThe war was about to break out anew, in 1701, with Great Britain and the\nother nations of Europe, because Louis XIV had accepted for his grandson\nand successor the throne of Spain. M. de Callieres died at this\njuncture; his successor, Philippe de Rigaud, Marquis de Vaudreuil,\nbrought the greatest energy to the support in Canada of a struggle which\nwas to end in the dismemberment of the colony. God permitted Mgr. de\nLaval to die before the Treaty of Utrecht, whose conditions would have\ntorn the patriotic heart of the venerable prelate.\n\nOther reasons for sorrow he did not lack, especially when Mgr. de\nSaint-Vallier succeeded, on his visit to the king in 1691, in obtaining\na reversal of the policy marked out for the seminary by the first bishop\nof the colony; this establishment would be in the future only a seminary\nlike any other, and would have no other mission than that of the\ntraining of priests. By a decree of the council of February 2nd, 1692,\nthe number of the directors of the seminary was reduced to five, who\nwere to concern themselves principally with the training of young men\nwho might have a vocation for the ecclesiastical life; they might also\ndevote themselves to missions, with the consent of the bishop. No\necclesiastic had the right of becoming an associate of the seminary\nwithout the permission of the bishop, within whose province it was to\nemploy the former associates for the service of his diocese with the\nconsent of the superiors. The last part of the decree provided that the\nfour thousand francs given by the king for the diocese of Quebec should\nbe distributed in equal portions, one for the seminary and the two\nothers for the priests and the church buildings. As to the permanence of\npriests, the decree issued by the king for the whole kingdom was to be\nadhered to in Canada. In the course of the same year Mgr. de\nSaint-Vallier obtained, moreover, from the sovereign the authority to\nopen at Quebec in Notre-Dame des Anges, the former convent of the\nRecollets, a general hospital for the poor, which was entrusted to the\nnuns of the Hotel-Dieu. The poor who might be admitted to it would be\nemployed at work proportionate to their strength, and more particularly\nin the tilling of the farms belonging to the establishment. If we\nremember that Mgr. de Laval had consecrated twenty years of his life to\ngiving his seminary, by a perfect union between its members and his\nwhole clergy, a formidable power in the colony, a power which in his\nopinion could be used only for the good of the Church and in the public\ninterest, and that he now saw his efforts annihilated forever, we cannot\nhelp admiring the resignation with which he managed to accept this\ndestruction of his dearest work. And not only did he bow before the\nimpenetrable designs of Providence, but he even used his efforts to\npacify those around him whose excitable temperaments might have brought\nabout conflicts with the authorities. The Abbe Gosselin quotes in this\nconnection the following example: \"A priest, M. de Francheville, thought\nhe had cause for complaint at the behaviour of his bishop towards him,\nand wrote him a letter in no measured terms, but he had the good sense\nto submit it previously to Mgr. de Laval, whom he regarded as his\nfather. The aged bishop expunged from this letter all that might wound\nMgr. de Saint-Vallier, and it was sent with the corrections which he\ndesired.\" The venerable prelate did not content himself with avoiding\nall that might cause difficulties to his successor; he gave him his\nwhole aid in any circumstances, and in particular in the foundation of\na convent of Ursulines at Three Rivers, and when the general hospital\nwas threatened in its very existence. \"Was it not a spectacle worthy of\nthe admiration of men and angels,\" exclaims the Abbe Fornel in his\nfuneral oration on Mgr. de Saint-Vallier, \"to see the first Bishop of\nQuebec and his successor vieing one with the other in a noble rivalry\nand in a struggle of religious fervour for the victory in exercises of\npiety? Have they not both been seen harmonizing and reconciling together\nthe duties of seminarists and canons; of canons by their assiduity in\nthe recitation of the breviary, and of seminarists in condescending to\nthe lowest duties, such as sweeping and serving in the kitchen?\" The\npatience and trust in God of Mgr. de Laval were rewarded by the\nfollowing letter which he received from Father La Chaise, confessor to\nKing Louis XIV: \"I have received with much respect and gratitude two\nletters with which you have honoured me. I have blessed God that He has\npreserved you for His glory and the good of the Church in Canada in a\nperiod of deadly mortality; and I pray every day that He may preserve\nyou some years more for His service and the consolation of your old\nfriends and servants. I hope that you will maintain towards them to the\nend your good favour and interest, and that those who would wish to make\nthem lose these may be unable to alter them. You will easily judge how\ngreatly I desire that our Fathers may merit the continuation of your\nkindness, and may preserve a perfect union with the priests of your\nseminary, by the sacrifice which I desire they should make to the\nlatter, in consideration of you, of the post of Tamarois, in spite of\nall the reasons and the facility for preserving it to them....\"\n\nThe mortality to which the reverend father alludes was the result of an\nepidemic which carried off, in 1700, a great number of persons. Old men\nin particular were stricken, and M. de Bernieres among others fell a\nvictim to the scourge. It is very probable that this affliction was\nnothing less than the notorious influenza which, in these later years,\nhas cut down so many valuable lives throughout the world. The following\nyears were still more terrible for the town; smallpox carried off\none-fourth of the population of Quebec. If we add to these trials the\ndisaster of the two conflagrations which consumed the seminary, we shall\nhave the measure of the troubles which at this period overwhelmed the\ncity of Champlain. The seminary, begun in 1678, had just been barely\ncompleted. It was a vast edifice of stone, of grandiose appearance; a\nsun dial was set above a majestic door of two leaves, the approach to\nwhich was a fine stairway of cut stone. \"The building,\" wrote Frontenac\nin 1679, \"is very large and has four storeys, the walls are seven feet\nthick, the cellars and pantries are vaulted, the lower windows have\nembrasures, and the roof is of slate brought from France.\" On November\n15th, 1701, the priests of the seminary had taken their pupils to St.\nMichel, near Sillery, to a country house which belonged to them. About\none in the afternoon fire broke out in the seminary buildings. The\ninhabitants hastened up from all directions to the spot and attempted\nwith the greatest energy to stay the progress of the flames. Idle\nefforts! The larger and the smaller seminary, the priests' house, the\nchapel barely completed, were all consumed, with the exception of some\nfurniture and a little plate and tapestry. The cathedral was saved,\nthanks to the efforts of the state engineer, M. Levasseur de Nere, who\nsucceeded in cutting off the communication of the sacred temple with the\nbuildings in flames. Mgr. de Laval, confined then to a bed of pain,\navoided death by escaping half-clad; he accepted for a few days,\ntogether with the priests of the seminary, the generous hospitality\noffered them by the Jesuit Fathers. In order not to be too long a burden\nto their hosts, they caused to be prepared for their lodgment the\nepiscopal palace which had been begun by Mgr. de Saint-Vallier. They\nremoved there on December 4th following. The scholars had been divided\nbetween the episcopal palace and the house of the Jesuits. \"The\nprelate,\" says Sister Juchereau, \"bore this affliction with perfect\nsubmission to the will of God, without uttering any complaint. It must\nhave been, however, the more grievous to him since it was he who had\nplanned and erected the seminary, since he was its father and founder,\nand since he saw ruined in one day the fruit of his labour of many\nyears.\" Thanks to the generosity of the king, who granted aid to the\nextent of four thousand francs, it was possible to begin rebuilding at\nonce. But the trials of the priests were not yet over. \"On the first day\nof October, 1705,\" relate the annals of the Ursulines, \"the priests of\nthe seminary were afflicted by a second fire through the fault of a\ncarpenter who was preparing some boards in one end of the new building.\nWhile smoking he let fall in a room full of shavings some sparks from\nhis pipe. The fire being kindled, it consumed in less than an hour all\nthe upper storeys. Only those which were vaulted were preserved. The\npriests estimate that they have lost more in this second fire than in\nthe first. They are lodged below, waiting till Providence furnishes them\nwith the means to restore their building. The Jesuit Fathers have acted\nthis time with the same charity and cordiality as on the former\noccasion. Mgr. L'Ancien[10] and M. Petit have lived nearly two months in\ntheir infirmary. This rest has been very profitable to Monseigneur, for\nhe has come forth from it quite rejuvenated. May the Lord grant that he\nbe preserved a long time yet for the glory of God and the good of\nCanada!\"\n\nWhen Nehemiah returned to Jerusalem to raise it from its ruins, a great\ngrief seized upon him at the sight of the roofs destroyed, the broken\ndoors, the shattered ramparts of the city of David. In the middle of\nthe night he made the circuit of these ruins, and on the morrow he\nsought the magistrates and said to them: \"You see the distress that we\nare in? Come, and let us build up the wall of Jerusalem.\" The same\nfeelings no doubt oppressed the soul of the octogenarian prelate when he\nsaw the walls cracked and blackened, the heaps of ruins, sole remnants\nof his beloved house. But like Nehemiah he had the support of a great\nKing, and the confidence of succeeding. He set to work at once, and\nfound in the generosity of his flock the means to raise the seminary\nfrom its ruins. While he found provisional lodgings for his seminarists,\nhe himself took up quarters in a part of the seminary which had been\nspared by the flames; he arranged, adjoining his room, a little oratory\nwhere he kept the Holy Sacrament, and celebrated mass. There he passed\nhis last days and gave up his fair soul to God.\n\nMgr. de Saint-Vallier had not like his predecessor the sorrow of seeing\nfire consume his seminary; he had set out in 1700 for France, and the\ndifferences which existed between the two prelates led the monarch to\nretain Mgr. de Saint-Vallier near him. In 1705 the Bishop of Quebec\nobtained permission to return to his diocese. But for three years\nhostilities had already existed between France and England. The bishop\nembarked with several monks on the _Seine_, a vessel of the Royal Navy.\nThis ship carried a rich cargo valued at nearly a million francs, and\nwas to escort several merchant ships to their destination at Quebec. The\nconvoy fell in, on July 26th, with an English fleet which gave chase to\nit; the merchant ships fled at full sail, abandoning the _Seine_ to its\nfate. The commander, M. de Meaupou, displayed the greatest valour, but\nhis vessel, having a leeward position, was at a disadvantage; besides,\nhe had committed the imprudence of so loading the deck with merchandise\nthat several cannon could not be used. In spite of her heroic defence,\nthe _Seine_ was captured by boarding, the commander and the officers\nwere taken prisoners, and Mgr. de Saint-Vallier remained in captivity in\nEngland till 1710.\n\nThe purpose of Mgr. de Saint-Vallier's journey to Europe in 1700 had\nbeen his desire to have ratified at Rome by the Holy See the canonical\nunion of his abbeys, and the union of the parish of Quebec with the\nseminary. On setting out he had entrusted the administration of the\ndiocese to MM. Maizerets and Glandelet; as to ordinations, to the\nadministration of the sacrament of confirmation, and to the consecration\nof the holy oils, Mgr. de Laval would be always there, ready to lavish\nhis zeal and the treasures of his charity. This long absence of the\nchief of the diocese could not but impose new labours on Mgr. de Laval.\nNever did he refuse a sacrifice or a duty, and he saw in this an\nopportunity to increase the sum of good which he intended soon to lay\nat the foot of the throne of the Most High. He was seventy-nine years of\nage when, in spite of the havoc then wrought by the smallpox throughout\nthe country, he went as far as Montreal, there to administer the\nsacrament of confirmation. Two years before his death, he officiated\npontifically on Easter Day in the cathedral of Quebec. \"On the festival\nof Sainte Magdalene,\" say the annals of the general hospital, \"we have\nhad the consolation of seeing Mgr. de Laval officiate pontifically\nmorning and evening.... He was accompanied by numerous clergy both from\nthe seminary and from neighbouring missions.... We regarded this favour\nas a mark of the affection cherished by this holy prelate for our\nestablishment, for he was never wont to officiate outside the cathedral,\nand even there but rarely on account of his great age. He was then more\nthan eighty years old. The presence of a person so venerable by reason\nof his character, his virtues, and his great age much enhanced this\nfestival. He gave the nuns a special proof of his good-will in the visit\nwhich he deigned to make them in the common hall.\" The predilection\nwhich the pious pontiff constantly preserved for the work of the\nseminary no whit lessened the protection which he generously granted to\nall the projects of education in the colony; the daughters of Mother\nMary of the Incarnation as well as the assistants of Mother Marguerite\nBourgeoys had claims upon his affection. He fostered with all his power\nthe establishment of the Sisters of the Congregation, both at Three\nRivers and at Quebec. His numerous works left him but little respite,\nand this he spent at his school of St. Joachim in the refreshment of\nquiet and rest. Like all holy men he loved youth, and took pleasure in\nteaching and directing it. Accordingly, during these years when, in\nspite of the sixteen _lustra_ which had passed over his venerable head,\nhe had to take upon himself during the long absence of his successor the\ninterim duties of the diocese, at least as far as the exclusively\nepiscopal functions were concerned, he learned to understand and\nappreciate at their true value the sacrifices of the Charron Brothers,\nwhose work was unfortunately to remain fruitless.\n\nIn 1688 three pious laymen, MM. Jean Francois Charron, Pierre Le Ber,\nand Jean Fredin had established in Montreal a house with a double\npurpose of charity: to care for the poor and the sick, and to train men\nand send them to open schools in the country districts. Their plan was\napproved by the king, sanctioned by the bishop of the diocese,\nencouraged by the seigneurs of the island, and welcomed by all the\ncitizens with gratitude. In spite of these symptoms of future prosperity\nthe work languished, and the members of the community were separated and\nscattered one after the other. M. Charron did not lose courage. In 1692\nhe devoted his large fortune to the foundation of a hospital and a\nschool, and received numerous gifts from charitable persons. Six\nhospitallers of the order of St. Joseph of the Cross, commonly called\nFreres Charron, took the gown in 1701, and pronounced their vows in\n1704, but the following year they ceased to receive novices. The\nminister, M. de Pontchartrain, thought \"the care of the sick is a task\nbetter adapted to women than to men, notwithstanding the spirit of\ncharity which may animate the latter,\" and he forbade the wearing of the\ncostume adopted by the hospitallers. Francois Charron, seeing his work\nnullified, yielded to the inevitable, and confined himself to the\ntraining of teachers for country parishes. The existence of this\nestablishment, abandoned by the mother country to its own strength, was\nto become more and more precarious and feeble. Almost all the\nhospitallers left the institution to re-enter the world; the care of the\nsick was entrusted to the Sisters. Francois Charron made a journey to\nFrance in order to obtain the union for the purposes of the hospital of\nthe Brothers of St. Joseph with the Society of St. Sulpice, but he\nfailed in his efforts. He obtained, nevertheless, from the regent an\nannual subvention of three thousand francs for the training of\nschool-masters (1718). He busied himself at once with finding fitting\nrecruits, and collected eight. The elder sister of our excellent normal\nschools of the present day seemed then established on solid foundations,\nbut it was not to be so. Brother Charron died on the return voyage, and\nhis institution, though seconded by the Seminary of St. Sulpice, after\nestablishing Brothers in several villages in the environs of Montreal,\nreceived from the court a blow from which it did not recover: the regent\nforbade the masters to assume a uniform dress and to pledge themselves\nby simple vows. The number of the hospitallers decreased from year to\nyear, and in 1731 the royal government withdrew from them the annual\nsubvention which supported them, however poorly. Finally their\ninstitution, after vainly attempting to unite with the Brothers of the\nChristian Doctrine, ceased to exist in 1745.\n\nMgr. de Laval so greatly admired the devotion of these worthy men that\nhe exclaimed one day: \"Let me die in the house of these Brothers; it is\na work plainly inspired by God. I shall die content if only in dying I\nmay contribute something to the shaping or maintenance of this\nestablishment.\" Again he wrote: \"The good M. Charron gave us last year\none of their Brothers, who rendered great service to the Mississippi\nMission, and he has furnished us another this year. These acquisitions\nwill spare the missionaries much labour.... I beg you to show full\ngratitude to this worthy servant of God, who is as affectionately\ninclined to the missions and missionaries as if he belonged to our body.\nWe have even the plan, as well as he, of forming later a community of\ntheir Brothers to aid the missions and accompany the missionaries on\ntheir journeys. He goes to France and as far as Paris to find and bring\nback with him some good recruits to aid him in forming a community.\nRender him all the services you can, as if it were to missionaries\nthemselves. He is a true servant of God.\" Such testimony is the fairest\ntitle to glory for an institution.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[10] A respectfully familiar sobriquet given to Mgr. de Laval.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nLAST YEARS OF MGR. DE LAVAL\n\n\nIllness had obliged Mgr. de Laval to hand in his resignation. He wrote,\nin fact, at this period of his life to M. de Denonville: \"I have been\nfor the last two years subject to attacks of vertigo accompanied by\nheart troubles which are very frequent and increase markedly. I have had\none quite recently, on the Monday of the Passion, which seized me at\nthree o'clock in the morning, and I could not raise my head from my\nbed.\" His infirmities, which he bore to the end with admirable\nresignation, especially affected his limbs, which he was obliged to\nbandage tightly every morning, and which could scarcely bear the weight\nof his body. To disperse the unwholesome humours, his arm had been\ncauterized; to cut, carve and hack the poor flesh of humanity formed, as\nwe know, the basis of the scientific and medical equipment of the\nperiod. These sufferings, which he brought as a sacrifice to our Divine\nMaster, were not sufficient for him; he continued in spite of them to\nwear upon his body a coarse hair shirt. He had to serve him only one of\nthose Brothers who devoted their labour to the seminary in exchange for\ntheir living and a place at table. This modest servant, named Houssart,\nhad replaced a certain Lemaire, of whom the prelate draws a very\ninteresting portrait in one of his letters: \"We must economize,\" he\nwrote to the priests of the seminary, \"and have only watchful and\nindustrious domestics. We must look after them, else they deteriorate in\nthe seminary. You have the example of the baker, Louis Lemaire, an\nidler, a gossip, a tattler, a man who, instead of walking behind the\ncoach, would not go unless Monseigneur paid for a carriage for him to\nfollow him to La Rochelle, and lent him his dressing-gown to protect him\nfrom the cold. Formerly he worked well at heavy labour at Cap Tourmente;\nidleness has ruined him in the seminary. As soon as he had reached my\nroom, he behaved like a man worn out, always complaining, coming to help\nme to bed only when the fancy took him; always extremely vain, thinking\nhe was not dressed according to his position, although he was clad, as\nyou know, more like a nobleman than a peasant, which he was, for I had\ntaken him as a beggar and almost naked at La Rochelle.... As soon as he\nentered my room he sat down, and rather than be obliged to pretend to\nsee him, I turned my seat so as not to see him.... We should have left\nthat man at heavy work, which had in some sort conquered his folly and\npride, and it is possible that he might have been saved. But he has been\nentirely ruined in the seminary....\" This humorous description proves to\nus well that even in the good old days not all domestics were perfect.\n\nThe affectionate and respectful care given by Houssart to his master\nwas such as is not bought with money. Most devoted to the prelate, he\nhas left us a very edifying relation of the life of the venerable\nbishop, with some touching details. He wrote after his death: \"Having\nhad the honour of being continually attached to the service of his\nLordship during the last twenty years of his holy life, and his Lordship\nhaving had during all that time a great charity towards me and great\nconfidence in my care, you cannot doubt that I contracted a great\nsympathy, interest and particular attachment for his Lordship.\" In\nanother letter he speaks to us of the submission of the venerable bishop\nto the commands of the Church. \"He did his best,\" he writes,\n\"notwithstanding his great age and continual infirmities, to observe all\ndays of abstinence and fasting, both those which are commanded by Holy\nChurch and those which are observed from reasons of devotion in the\nseminary, and if his Lordship sometimes yielded in this matter to the\ncommand of the physicians and the entreaties of the superiors of the\nseminary, who deemed that he ought not to fast, it was a great\nmortification for him, and it was only out of especial charity to his\ndear seminary and the whole of Canada that he yielded somewhat to nature\nin order not to die so soon....\"\n\nNever, in spite of his infirmities, would the prelate fail to be present\non Sunday at the cathedral services. When it was impossible for him to\ngo on foot, he had himself carried. His only outings towards the end of\nhis life consisted in his visits to the cathedral or in short walks\nalong the paths of his garden. Whenever his health permitted, he loved\nto be present at the funerals of those who died in the town; those\nconsolations which he deigned to give to the afflicted families bear\nwitness to the goodness of his heart. \"It was something admirable,\" says\nHoussart, \"to see, firstly, his assiduity in being present at the burial\nof all who died in Quebec, and his promptness in offering the holy\nsacrifice of the mass for the repose of their souls, as soon as he had\nlearned of their decease; secondly, his devotion in receiving and\npreserving the blessed palms, in kissing his crucifix, the image of the\nHoly Virgin, which he carried always upon him, and placed at nights\nunder his pillow, his badge of servitude and his scapulary which he\ncarried also upon him; thirdly, his respect and veneration for the\nrelics of the saints, the pleasure which he took in reading every day in\nthe _Lives of the Saints_, and in conversing of their heroic deeds;\nfourthly, the holy and constant use which he made of holy water, taking\nit wherever he might be in the course of the day and every time he awoke\nin the night, coming very often from his garden to his room expressly to\ntake it, carrying it upon him in a little silver vessel, which he had\nhad made purposely, when he went to the country. His Lordship had so\ngreat a desire that every one should take it that he exercised\nparticular care in seeing every day whether the vessels of the church\nwere supplied with it, to fill them when they were empty; and during the\nwinter, for fear that the vessels should freeze too hard and the people\ncould not take any as they entered and left the church, he used to bring\nthem himself every evening and place them by our stove, and take them\nback at four o'clock in the morning when he went to open the doors.\"\n\nWith a touching humility the pious old man scrupulously conformed to the\nrules of the seminary and to the orders of the superior of the house.\nOnly a few days before his death, he experienced such pain that Brother\nHoussart declared his intention of going and asking from the superior of\nthe seminary a dispensation for the sick man from being present at the\nservices. At once the patient became silent; in spite of his tortures\nnot a complaint escaped his lips. It was Holy Wednesday: it was\nimpossible to be absent on that day from religious ceremonies. We do not\nknow which to admire most in such an attitude, whether the piety of the\nprelate or his submission to the superior of the seminary, since he\nwould have been resigned if he had been forbidden to go to church, or,\nfinally, his energy in stifling the groans which suffering wrenched from\nhis physical nature. Few saints carried mortification and renunciation\nof terrestrial good as far as he. \"He is certainly the most austere man\nin the world and the most indifferent to worldly advantage,\" wrote\nMother Mary of the Incarnation. \"He gives away everything and lives like\na pauper; and we may truly say that he has the very spirit of poverty.\nIt is not he who will make friends for worldly advancement and to\nincrease his revenue; he is dead to all that.... He practises this\npoverty in his house, in his living, in his furniture, in his servants,\nfor he has only one gardener, whom he lends to the poor when they need\none, and one valet....\" This picture falls short of the truth. For forty\nyears he arose at two o'clock in the morning, summer and winter: in his\nlast years illness could only wrest from him one hour more of repose,\nand he arose then at three o'clock. As soon as he was dressed, he\nremained at prayer till four and then went to church. He opened the\ndoors himself, and rang the bells for mass, which he said, half an hour\nlater, especially for the poor workmen, who began their day by this\npious exercise.\n\nHis thanksgiving after the holy sacrifice lasted till seven o'clock, and\nyet, even in the greatest cold of the severe Canadian winter, he had\nnothing to warm his frozen limbs but the brazier which he had used to\ncelebrate the mass. A good part of his day, and often of the night, when\nhis sufferings deprived him of sleep, was also devoted to prayer or\nspiritual reading, and nothing was more edifying than to see the pious\noctogenarian telling his beads or reciting his breviary while walking\nslowly through the paths of his garden. He was the first up and the last\nto retire, and whatever had been his occupations during the day, never\ndid he lie down without having scrupulously observed all the spiritual\noffices, readings or reciting of beads. It was not, however, that his\nfood gave him a superabundance of physical vigour, for the Trappists did\nnot eat more frugally than he. A soup, which he purposely spoiled by\ndiluting it amply with hot water, a little meat and a crust of very dry\nbread composed his ordinary fare, and dessert, even on feast days, was\nabsolutely banished from his table. \"For his ordinary drink,\" says\nBrother Houssart, \"he took only hot water slightly flavoured with wine;\nand every one knows that his Lordship never took either cordial or\ndainty wines, or any mixture of sweets of any sort whatever, whether to\ndrink or to eat, except that in his last years I succeeded in making him\ntake every evening after his broth, which was his whole supper, a piece\nof biscuit as large as one's thumb, in a little wine, to aid him to\nsleep. I may say without exaggeration that his whole life was one\ncontinual fast, for he took no breakfast, and every evening only a\nslight collation.... He used his whole substance in alms and pious\nworks; and when he needed anything, such as clothes, linen, etc., he\nasked it from the seminary like the humblest of his ecclesiastics. He\nwas most modest in matters of dress, and I had great difficulty in\npreventing him from wearing his clothes when they were old, dirty and\nmended. During twenty years he had but two winter cassocks, which he\nleft behind him on his death, the one still quite good, the other all\nthreadbare and mended. To be brief, there was no one in the seminary\npoorer in dress....\" Mgr. de Laval set an example of the principal\nvirtues which distinguish the saints; so he could not fail in that which\nour Lord incessantly recommends to His disciples, charity! He no longer\npossessed anything of his own, since he had at the outset abandoned his\npatrimony to his brother, and since later on he had given to the\nseminary everything in his possession. But charity makes one ingenious:\nby depriving himself of what was strictly necessary, could he not yet\ncome to the aid of his brothers in Jesus Christ? \"Never was prelate,\"\nsays his eulogist, M. de la Colombiere, \"more hostile to grandeur and\nexaltation.... In scorning grandeur, he triumphed over himself by a\npoverty worthy of the anchorites of the first centuries, whose rules he\nfaithfully observed to the end of his days. Grace had so thoroughly\nabsorbed in the heart of the prelate the place of the tendencies of our\ncorrupt nature that he seemed to have been born with an aversion to\nriches, pleasures and honours.... If you have noticed his dress, his\nfurniture and his table, you must be aware that he was a foe to pomp and\nsplendour. There is no village priest in France who is not better\nnourished, better clad and better lodged than was the Bishop of Quebec.\nFar from having an equipage suitable to his rank and dignity he had not\neven a horse of his own. And when, towards the end of his days, his\ngreat age and his infirmities did not allow him to walk, if he wished to\ngo out he had to borrow a carriage. Why this economy? In order to have a\nstorehouse full of garments, shoes and blankets, which he distributed\ngratuitously, with paternal kindness and prudence. This was a business\nwhich he never ceased to ply, in which he trusted only to himself, and\nwith which he concerned himself up to his death.\"\n\nThe charity of the prelate was boundless. Not only at the hospital of\nQuebec did he visit the poor and console them, but he even rendered them\nservices the most repugnant to nature. \"He has been seen,\" says M. de la\nColombiere, \"on a ship where he behaved like St. Francois-Xavier, where,\nministering to the sailors and the passengers, he breathed the bad air\nand the infection which they exhaled; he has been seen to abandon in\ntheir favour all his refreshments, and to give them even his bed, sheets\nand blankets. To administer the sacraments to them he did not fear to\nexpose his life and the lives of the persons who were most dear to him.\"\nWhen he thus attended the sick who were attacked by contagious fever, he\ndid his duty, even more than his duty; but when he went, without\nabsolute need, and shared in the repugnant cares which the most devoted\nservants of Christ in the hospitals undertake only after struggles and\nheroic victory over revolted nature he rose to sublimity. It was because\nhe saw in the poor the suffering members of the Saviour; to love the\npoor man, it is not enough to wish him well, we must respect him, and we\ncannot respect him as much as any child of God deserves without seeing\nin him the image of Jesus Christ himself. No one acquires love for God\nwithout being soon wholly enkindled by it; thus it was no longer\nsufficient for Mgr. de Laval to instruct and console the poor and the\nsick, he served them also in the most abject duties, going as far as to\nwash with his own hands their sores and ulcers. A madman, the world will\nsay; why not content one's self with attending those people without\nindulging in the luxury of heroism so repugnant? This would have\nsufficed indeed to relieve nature, but would it have taught those\nincurable and desperate cases that they were the first friends of Jesus\nChrist, that the Church looked upon them as its jewels, and that their\nfate from the point of view of eternity was enviable to all? It would\nhave relieved without consoling and raising the poor man to the height\nwhich belongs to him in Christian society. Official assistance, with the\nbest intentions in the world, the most ingenious organization and the\nmost perfect working, can, however, never be charity in the perfectly\nChristian sense of this word. If it could allay all needs and heal all\nsores it would still have accomplished only half of the task: relieving\nthe body without reaching the soul. And man does not live by bread\nalone. He who has been disinherited of the boons of fortune, family and\nhealth, he who is incurable and who despairs of human joys needs\nsomething else besides the most comfortable hospital room that can be\nimagined; he needs the words which fell from the lips of God: \"Blessed\nare the poor, blessed are they that suffer, blessed are they that\nmourn.\" He needs a pitying heart, a tender witness to indigence nobly\nborne, a respectful friend of his misfortune, still more than that, a\nworshipper of Jesus hidden in the persons of the poor, the orphan and\nthe sick. They have become rare in the world, these real friends of the\npoor; the more assistance has become organized, the more charity seems\nto have lost its true nature; and perhaps we might find in this state of\nthings a radical explanation for those implacable social antagonisms,\nthose covetous desires, those revolts followed by endless repression,\nwhich bring about revolutions, and by them all manner of tyranny. Let us\nfirst respect the poor, let us love them, let us sincerely admire their\ncondition as one ennobled by God, if we wish them to become reconciled\nwith Him, and reconciled with the world. When the rich man is a\nChristian, generous and respectful of the poor, when he practises the\nvirtues which most belong to his social position, the poor man is very\nnear to conforming to those virtues which Providence makes his more\nimmediate duty, humility, obedience, resignation to the will of God and\ntrust in Him and in those who rule in His name. The solution of the\ngreat social problem lies, as it seems to us, in the spiritual love of\nthe poor. Outside of this, there is only the heathen slave below, and\ntyranny above with all its terrors. That is what religious enthusiasm\nforesaw in centuries less well organized but more religious than ours.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nDEATH OF MGR. DE LAVAL\n\n\nThe end of a great career was now approaching. In the summer of 1707, a\nlong and painful illness nearly carried Mgr. de Laval away, but he\nrecovered, and convalescence was followed by manifest improvement. This\nsoul which, like the lamp of the sanctuary, was consumed in the\ntabernacle of the Most High, revived suddenly at the moment of emitting\nits last gleams, then suddenly died out in final brilliance. The\nimprovement in the condition of the venerable prelate was ephemeral; the\nillness which had brought him to the threshold of the tomb proved fatal\nsome weeks later. He died in the midst of his labours, happy in proving\nby the very origin of the disease which brought about his death, his\ngreat love for the Saviour. It was, in fact, in prolonging on Good\nFriday his pious stations in his chilly church (for our ancestors did\nnot heat their churches, even in seasons of rigorous cold), that he\nreceived in his heel the frost-bite of which he died. Such is the name\nthe writers of the time give to this sore; in our days, when science has\ndefined certain maladies formerly misunderstood, it is permissible to\nsuppose that this so-called frost-bite was nothing else than diabetic\ngangrene. No illusion could be cherished, and the venerable old man,\nwho had not, so to speak, passed a moment of his existence without\nthinking of death, needed to adapt himself to the idea less than any one\nelse. In order to have nothing more to do than to prepare for his last\nhour he hastened to settle a question which concerned his seminary: he\nreduced definitely to eight the number of pensions which he had\nestablished in it in 1680. This done, it remained for him now only to\nsuffer and die. The ulcer increased incessantly and the continual pains\nwhich he felt became atrocious when it was dressed. His intolerable\nsufferings drew from him, nevertheless, not cries and complaints, but\noutpourings of love for God. Like Saint Vincent de Paul, whom the\ntortures of his last malady could not compel to utter other words than\nthese: \"Ah, my Saviour! my good Saviour!\" Mgr. de Laval gave vent to\nthese words only: \"O, my God! have pity on me! O God of Mercy!\" and this\ncry, the summary of his whole life: \"Let Thy holy will be done!\" One of\nthe last thoughts of the dying man was to express the sentiment of his\nwhole life, humility. Some one begged him to imitate the majority of the\nsaints, who, on their death-bed, uttered a few pious words for the\nedification of their spiritual children. \"They were saints,\" he replied,\n\"and I am a sinner.\" A speech worthy of Saint Vincent de Paul, who,\nabout to appear before God, replied to the person who requested his\nblessing, \"It is not for me, unworthy wretch that I am, to bless you.\"\nThe fervour with which he received the last sacraments aroused the\nadmiration of all the witnesses of this supreme hour. They almost\nexpected to see this holy soul take flight for its celestial mansion. As\nsoon as the prayers for the dying had been pronounced, he asked to have\nthe chaplets of the Holy Family recited, and during the recitation of\nthis prayer he gave up his soul to his Creator. It was then half-past\nseven in the morning, and the sixth day of the month consecrated to the\nHoly Virgin, whom he had so loved (May, 1708).\n\nIt was with a quiver of grief which was felt in all hearts throughout\nthe colony that men learned the fatal news. The banks of the great river\nrepeated this great woe to the valleys; the sad certainty that the\nfather of all had disappeared forever sowed desolation in the homes of\nthe rich as well as in the thatched huts of the poor. A cry of pain, a\ndeep sob arose from the bosom of Canada which would not be consoled,\nbecause its incomparable bishop was no more! Etienne de Citeaux said to\nhis monks after the death of his holy predecessor: \"Alberic is dead to\nour eyes, but he is not so to the eyes of God, and dead though he appear\nto us, he lives for us in the presence of the Lord; for it is peculiar\nto the saints that when they go to God through death, they bear their\nfriends with them in their hearts to preserve them there forever.\" This\nis our dearest desire; the friends of the venerable prelate were and\nstill are to-day his own Canadians: may he remain to the end of the\nages our protector and intercessor with God!\n\nThere were attributed to Mgr. de Laval, according to Latour and Brother\nHoussart, and a witness who would have more weight, M. de Glandelet, a\npriest of the seminary of Quebec, whose account was unhappily lost, a\ngreat number of miraculous cures. Our purpose is not to narrate them; we\nhave desired to repeat only the wonders of his life in order to offer a\npattern and encouragement to all who walk in his steps, and in order to\npay the debt of gratitude which we owe to the principal founder of the\nCatholic Church in our country.\n\nThe body of Mgr. de Laval lay in state for three days in the chapel of\nthe seminary, and there was an immense concourse of the people about his\nmortuary bed, rather to invoke him than to pray for his soul. His\ncountenance remained so beautiful that one would have thought him\nasleep; that imposing brow so often venerated in the ceremonies of the\nChurch preserved all its majesty. But alas! that aristocratic hand,\nwhich had blessed so many generations, was no longer to raise the\npastoral ring over the brows of bowing worshippers; that eloquent mouth\nwhich had for half a century preached the gospel was to open no more;\nthose eyes with look so humble but so straightforward were closed\nforever! \"He is regretted by all as if death had carried him off in the\nflower of his age,\" says a chronicle of the time, \"it is because virtue\ndoes not grow old.\" The obsequies of the prelate were celebrated with a\npomp still unfamiliar in the colony; the body, clad in the pontifical\nornaments, was carried on the shoulders of priests through the different\nreligious edifices of Quebec before being interred. All the churches of\nthe country celebrated solemn services for the repose of the soul of the\nfirst Bishop of New France. Placed in a leaden coffin, the revered\nremains were sepulchred in the vaults of the cathedral, but the heart of\nMgr. de Laval was piously kept in the chapel of the seminary, and later,\nin 1752, was transported into the new chapel of this house. The funeral\norations were pronounced, which recalled with eloquence and talent the\nservices rendered by the venerable deceased to the Church, to France and\nto Canada. One was delivered by M. de la Colombiere, archdeacon and\ngrand vicar of the diocese of Quebec; the other by M. de Belmont, grand\nvicar and superior of St. Sulpice at Montreal.\n\nThose who had the good fortune to be present in the month of May, 1878,\nat the disinterment of the remains of the revered pontiff and at their\nremoval to the chapel of the seminary where, according to his\nintentions, they repose to-day, will recall still with emotion the pomp\nwhich was displayed on this solemn occasion, and the fervent joy which\nwas manifested among all classes of society. An imposing procession\nconveyed them, as at the time of the seminary obsequies, to the\nUrsulines; from the convent of the Ursulines to the Jesuit Fathers',\nnext to the Congregation of St. Patrick, to the Hotel-Dieu, and finally\nto the cathedral, where a solemn service was sung in the presence of the\napostolic legate, Mgr. Conroy. The Bishop of Sherbrooke, M. Antoine\nRacine, pronounced the eulogy of the first prelate of the colony.\n\nThe remains of Mgr. de Laval rested then in peace under the choir of the\nchapel of the seminary behind the principal altar. On December 16th,\n1901, the vault was opened by order of the commission entrusted by the\nHoly See with the conduct of the apostolic investigation into the\nvirtues and miracles _in specie_ of the founder of the Church in Canada.\nThe revered remains, which were found in a perfect state of\npreservation, were replaced in three coffins, one of glass, the second\nof oak, and the third of lead, and lowered into the vault. The opening\nwas closed by a brick wall, well cemented, concealed between two iron\ngates. There they rest until, if it please God to hear the prayers of\nthe Catholic population of our country, they may be placed upon the\naltars. This examination of the remains of the venerable prelate was the\nlast act in his apostolic ordeal, for we are aware with what precaution\nthe Church surrounds herself and with what prudence she scrutinizes the\nmost minute details before giving a decision in the matter of\ncanonization. The documents in the case of Mgr. de Laval have been sent\nto the secretary of the Sacred Congregation of Rites at Rome; and from\nthere will come to us, let us hope, the great news of the canonization\nof the first Bishop of New France.\n\nSleep your sleep, revered prelate, worthy son of crusaders and noble\nsuccessor of the apostles. Long and laborious was your task, and you\nhave well merited your repose beneath the flagstones of your seminary.\nLong will the sons of future generations go there to spell out your\nname,--the name of an admirable pastor, and, as the Church will tell us\ndoubtless before long, of a saint.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\nA\n\nAilleboust, M. d', governor of New France, 8\n\nAlbanel, Father, missionary to the Indians at Hudson Bay, 11, 103\n\nAlexander VII, Pope, appoints Laval apostolic vicar with the title of\n  Bishop of Petraea _in partibus_, 7, 26;\n  petitioned by the king to erect an episcopal see in Quebec, 131;\n  wants the new diocese to be an immediate dependency of the Holy See, 133\n\nAlexander of Rhodes, Father, 23\n\nAlgonquin Indians, 2, 9, 11\n\nAllard, Father, Superior of the Recollets in the province of\n  St. Denis, 109, 110\n\nAllouez, Father Claude, 11;\n  addresses the mission at Sault Ste. Marie, 104\n\nAnahotaha, Huron chief, joins Dollard, 69, 71\n\nAndros, Sir Edmund, governor of New England, 173\n\nArgenson, Governor d', 29;\n  his continual friction with Laval, 34;\n  disapproves of the retreat of Captain Dupuis from the mission of\n  Gannentaha, 67\n\nArnaud, Father, accompanies La Verendrye as far as the Rocky Mountains, 11\n\nAssise, Francois d', founder of the Franciscans, 18\n\nAubert, M., on the French-Canadians, 118, 119\n\nAuteuil, Denis Joseph Ruette d', solicitor-general of the Sovereign\n  Council, 167\n\nAvaugour, Governor d', withdraws his opposition to the liquor trade and\n  is recalled, 38-40;\n  his last report, 40;\n  references, 10, 28\n\n\nB\n\nBagot, Father, head of the college of La Fleche, 20\n\nBailly, Francois, directs the building of the Notre-Dame Church, 88\n\nBancroft, George, historian, quoted, 4, 5, 152, 153\n\nBeaudoncourt, Jacques de, quoted, 39;\n  describes the escape of the Gannentaha mission from the massacre of\n  1658, 66, 67\n\nBeaumont, Hardouin de Perefixe de, Archbishop of Paris, 134\n\nBelmont, M. de, his charitable works, 135, 136;\n  preaches Laval's funeral oration, 265\n\nBernieres, Henri de, first superior of the Quebec seminary, 55, 56;\n  entrusted with Laval's duties during his absence, 134, 143, 162;\n  appointed dean of the chapter established by Laval, 197;\n  his death, 239\n\nBernieres, Jean de, his religious retreat at Caen, 24, 25;\n  referred to, 33, 34\n\nBerthelot, M., rents the abbey of Lestrees from Laval, 138;\n  exchanges Ile Jesus for the Island of Orleans, 138\n\nBishop of Petraea, see _Laval-Montmorency_\n\nBouchard, founder of the house of Montmorency, 16\n\nBoucher, governor of Three Rivers, 29\n\nBoudon, Abbe Henri-Marie, archdeacon of the Cathedral of Evreux, 23\n\nBourdon, solicitor-general, 79\n\nBourgard, Mgr., quoted, 61\n\nBourgeoys, Sister Marguerite, founds a school in Montreal which grows\n  into the Ville-Marie Convent, 9, 126;\n  on board the plague-stricken _St. Andre_, 31, 32;\n  as a teacher, 91, 92, 156;\n  through her efforts the church of Notre-Dame de Bonsecours is\n  erected, 177, 178\n\nBouteroue, M. de, commissioner during Talon's absence, 116\n\nBrebeuf, Father, his persecution and death, 5, 16, 62\n\nBretonvilliers, M. de, superior of St. Sulpice, 88, 89, 135, 162\n\nBriand, Mgr., Bishop of Quebec, 12\n\nBizard, Lieutenant, dispatched by Frontenac to arrest the law-breakers\n  and insulted by Perrot, 160\n\nBrothers of the Christian Doctrine, the, 125\n\nBrulon, Jean Gauthier de, confessor of the chapter established\n  by Laval, 197\n\n\nC\n\nCaen, the town of, 24\n\nCallieres, Chevalier de, governor of Montreal, 214;\n  lays before the king a plan to conquer New York, 218;\n  at Quebec when attacked by Phipps, 229;\n  makes peace with the Indians, 235;\n  his death, 235\n\nCanons, the duties of, 196, 197\n\nCarignan Regiment, the, 53, 77, 79, 114\n\nCarion, M. Philippe de, 88\n\nCataraqui, Fort (Kingston), built by Frontenac and later called after\n  him, 84, 145;\n  conceded to La Salle, 145\n\nCathedral of Quebec, the, 84, 85\n\nChampigny, M. de, commissioner, replaces Meulles, 204, 215\n\nChamplain, Samuel de, governor of New France and founder\n  of Quebec, 4, 8, 12\n\nCharlevoix, Pierre Francois Xavier de, on colonization, 117, 118;\n  his portrait of Frontenac, 144, 145\n\nCharron Brothers, the, make an unsuccessful attempt to establish a\n  charitable house in Montreal, 125, 245-8\n\nChateau St. Louis, 112, 160, 163\n\nChaumonot, Father, 65;\n  the head of the Brotherhood of the Holy Family, 86, 87\n\nChevestre, Francoise de, wife of Jean-Louis de Laval, 139\n\nClement X, Pope, 133;\n  signs the bulls establishing the diocese of Quebec, 136\n\nClosse, Major, 8, 92\n\nColbert, Louis XIV's prime minister, 52;\n  a letter from Villeray to, 77, 78;\n  opposes Talon's immigration plans, 80;\n  receives a letter from Talon, 107;\n  Talon's proposals to, 115;\n  a dispatch from Frontenac to, 161;\n  reproves Frontenac's overbearing conduct, 165;\n  asks for proof of the evils of the liquor traffic, 170, 171\n\nCollege de Clermont, 21, 22\n\nCollege of Montreal, the, 124, 125\n\nColombiere, M. de la, quoted, 23, 256, 257\n\nCompany of Montreal, the, 25;\n  its financial obligations taken up by the Seminary of St. Sulpice, 135\n\nCompany of Notre-Dame of Montreal, 85, 108, 127, 189\n\nCompany of the Cent-Associes, founded by Richelieu, 4;\n  incapable of colonizing New France, abandons it to the royal\n  government, 40, 41;\n  assists the missionaries, 50;\n  a portion of its obligations undertaken by the West India Company, 145\n\nConsistorial Congregation of Rome, the, 132\n\nCouillard, Madame, the house of, 58\n\nCourcelles, M. de, appointed governor in de Mezy's place, 51;\n  acts as godfather to Garakontie, Indian chief, 65;\n  an instance of his firmness, 82, 83;\n  meets the Indian chiefs at Cataraqui, and gains their approval of\n  building a fort there, 84;\n  succeeded by Frontenac, 84;\n  lays the corner-stone of the Notre-Dame Church in Montreal, 88;\n  returns to France, 143\n\n_Coureurs de bois_, the, 158, 159\n\nCrevecoeur, Fort, 148, 149\n\n\nD\n\nDablon, Father, 11, 62, 65;\n  describes Laval's visit to the Prairie de la Madeleine, 74, 75;\n  quoted, 103, 140\n\nDamours, M., member of the Sovereign Council, 158, 166;\n  imprisoned by Frontenac, 167\n\nDaniel, Father, his death, 5\n\nDenonville, Marquis de, succeeds de la Barre, 193, 202, 204;\n  urges Laval's return to Canada, 213;\n  his expedition against the Iroquois, 214-16;\n  seizes Indian chiefs to serve on the king's galleys, 214, 215;\n  builds a fort at Niagara, 216;\n  recalled, 218\n\nDequen, Father, 32, 33\n\nDollard, makes a brave stand against the Iroquois, 39, 68-72, 75 (note)\n\nDollier de Casson, superior of the Seminary of St. Sulpice, 11;\n  at the laying of the first stone of the Church of Notre-Dame, 89;\n  preaching on the shores of Lake Erie, 108;\n  joined by La Salle, 148;\n  speaks of the liquor traffic, 175;\n  at Quebec, 190\n\nDongan, Colonel Thomas, governor of New York, urges the Iroquois to\n  strife, 185, 191, 213, 216\n\nDosquet, Mgr. de, Bishop of Quebec, 12\n\nDruilletes, Father, 11\n\nDuchesneau, intendant, his disputes with Frontenac upon the question of\n  President of the Council, 166, 167;\n  recalled, 168, 185;\n  asked by Colbert for proof of the evils of the liquor traffic, 170, 171;\n  instructed by the king to avoid discord with La Barre, 186, 187\n\nDudouyt, Jean, director of the Quebec seminary, 55, 56, 134, 143, 163;\n  his mission to France in relation to the liquor traffic, 171;\n  grand cantor of the chapter established by Laval, 197;\n  his death, 219;\n  burial of his heart in Quebec, 219\n\nDupont, M., member of the Sovereign Council, 158, 166\n\nDupuis, Captain, commander of the mission at Gannentaha, 65;\n  how he saved the mission from the general massacre of 1658, 65-7\n\n\nE\n\nEarthquake of 1663, 42-5;\n  its results, 45, 46\n\n\nF\n\nFamine Creek, 193, 217\n\nFenelon, Abbe de, see _Salignac-Fenelon_\n\nFerland, Abbe, quoted, 35;\n  on the education of the Indians, 63, 64;\n  his tribute to Mother Mary of the Incarnation, 93-5;\n  on Talon's ambitions, 114;\n  quoted, 130;\n  his opinion of the erection of an episcopal see at Quebec, 133;\n  on the union of the Quebec Seminary with that of the Foreign Missions\n  in Paris, 140;\n  on La Salle's misfortunes, 149;\n  quoted, 155;\n  praises Laval's stand against the liquor traffic, 173;\n  on Laval's return to Canada, 220\n\nFive Nations, the, sue for peace, 53;\n  missions to, 65;\n  references, 217, 223, 234\n\nFrench-Canadians, their physical and moral qualities, 118, 119;\n  habits and dress, 120;\n  houses, 120, 121;\n  as hunters, 121, 122\n\nFrontenac, Fort, 84, 215, 217, 223\n\nFrontenac, Louis de Buade, Count de, governor of Canada, 16;\n  builds Fort Cataraqui, 84, 145;\n  succeeds Courcelles, 84, 143;\n  his disputes with Duchesneau, 112, 166, 167;\n  early career, 144;\n  Charlevoix's portrait of, 144, 145;\n  orders Perrot's arrest, 160;\n  his quarrel with the Abbe de Fenelon, 160-5;\n  reproved by the king for his absolutism, 164, 165;\n  his recall, 168, 185;\n  succeeds in having permanent livings established, 181;\n  again appointed governor, 218, 228;\n  carries on a guerilla warfare with the Iroquois, 228, 229;\n  defends Quebec against Phipps, 129-31;\n  attacks the Iroquois, 233, 234;\n  his death, 234\n\n\nG\n\nGallinee, Brehan de, Sulpician priest, 11, 105, 108, 148\n\nGannentaha, the mission at, 65;\n  how it escaped the general massacre of 1658, 65-7\n\nGarakontie, Iroquois chief, his conversion, 65;\n  his death, 73, 74\n\nGarnier, Father Charles, his death, 5\n\nGarreau, Father, 11\n\nGaudais-Dupont, M., 41\n\nGlandelet, Charles, 141, 197, 218;\n  in charge of the diocese during Saint-Vallier's absence, 243\n\nGosselin, Abbe, quoted, 35;\n  his explanation of Laval's _mandement_, 49, 50;\n  quoted, 58, 59;\n  on the question of permanent livings, 169, 170\n\n\nH\n\nHarlay, Mgr. de, Archbishop of Rouen, opposes Laval's petition for an\n  episcopal see at Quebec, 133;\n  called to the see of Paris, 134;\n  his death, 184\n\nHermitage, the, a religious retreat, 24, 25\n\nHotel-Dieu Hospital (Montreal), established by Mlle. Mance, 8\n\nHotel-Dieu, Sisters of the, 33, 210, 236\n\nHoussart, Laval's servant, 250, 251, 252, 253, 255, 264\n\nHudson Bay, explored by Father Albanel, 11, 103;\n  English forts on, captured by Troyes, 204, 214;\n  Iberville's expedition to, 233\n\nHurons, the, 2, 3, 4, 5, 9, 39;\n  forty of them join Dollard, 69;\n  but betray him, 70, 71;\n  they suffer a well-deserved fate, 72\n\n\nI\n\nIberville, Le Moyne d', takes part in an expedition to capture Hudson\n  Bay, 204, 233;\n  attacks the English settlements in Newfoundland, 233;\n  explores the mouths of the Mississippi, founds the city of Mobile, and\n  becomes the first governor of Louisiana, 233;\n  his death, 233\n\nIle Jesus, 58, 185, 189\n\nIllinois Indians, 148\n\nInnocent XI, Pope, 201\n\nIroquois, the, 2;\n  their attacks on the missions, 5;\n  persecute the missionaries, 8;\n  conclude a treaty of peace with de Tracy which lasts eighteen\n    years, 54, 82;\n  their contemplated attack on the mission of Gannentaha, 65;\n  make an attack upon Quebec, 67-72;\n  threaten to re-open their feud with the Ottawas, 83;\n  urged to war by Dongan, 185, 191;\n  massacre the tribes allied to the French, 191;\n  descend upon the colony, 191, 192;\n  La Barre's expedition against, 193;\n  Denonville's expedition against, 214;\n  several seized to serve on the king's galleys, 214, 215;\n  their massacre of Lachine, 224-7\n\n\nJ\n\nJesuits, the, their entry into New France, 1;\n  their self-sacrificing labours, 4;\n  in possession of all the missions of New France, 25;\n  as educators, 63;\n  their devotion to the Virgin Mary, 85;\n  religious zeal, 109;\n  provide instruction for the colonists, 124;\n  at the defence of Quebec, 230;\n  shelter the seminarists after the fire, 240, 241\n\nJoliet, Louis, with Marquette, explores the upper part of the\n  Mississippi, 11, 59, 82, 146, 153\n\nJogues, Father, his persecution and death, 5, 62, 65\n\nJuchereau, Sister, quoted, 240, 241\n\n\nK\n\nKingston, see _Cataraqui_\n\nKondiaronk (the Rat), Indian chief, his duplicity upsets peace\n  negotiations with the Iroquois, 216-18;\n  his death, 235\n\n\nL\n\nLa Barre, Lefebvre de, replaces Frontenac as governor, 168, 185;\n  holds an assembly at Quebec to inquire into the affairs\n    of the colony, 190;\n  demands reinforcements, 191;\n  his useless expedition against the Iroquois, 193;\n  his recall, 193\n\nLa Chaise, Father, confessor to Louis XIV, 174, 238\n\nLa Chesnaie, M. Aubert de, 186\n\nLachesnaie, village, massacred by the Iroquois, 228\n\nLachine, 116, 147, 148;\n  the massacre of, 225-7\n\nLa Fleche, the college of, 19, 20\n\nLalemant, Father Gabriel, his persecution and death, 5, 62;\n  his account of the great earthquake, 42-5;\n  references, 16, 35, 38\n\nLamberville, Father, describes the death of Garakontie,\n  Indian chief, 74, 215\n\nLa Montagne, the mission of, at Montreal, 9, 74, 125\n\nLa Mouche, Huron Indian, deserts Dollard, 71\n\nLanjuere, M. de, quoted, 24, 135\n\nLa Rochelle, 26, 77, 114, 116, 202, 219\n\nLa Salle, Cavelier de, 16, 116;\n  Fort Cataraqui conceded to, 145;\n  his birth, 147;\n  comes to New France, 147;\n  establishes a trading-post at Lachine, 147, 148;\n  starts on his expedition to the Mississippi, 148;\n  returns to look after his affairs at Fort Frontenac, 149;\n  back to Crevecoeur and finds it deserted, 149;\n  descends the Mississippi, 150;\n  raises a cross on the shore of the Gulf of Mexico and takes possession\n  in the name of the King of France, 151;\n  spends a year in establishing trading-posts among the Illinois, 151;\n  visits France, 151;\n  his misfortunes, 152;\n  is murdered by one of his servants, 152;\n  Bancroft's appreciation of, 152, 153;\n  his version of the Abbe de Fenelon's sermon, 160, 161\n\nLatour, Abbe de, quoted, 33;\n  on the liquor question, 36-8;\n  _re_ the Sovereign Council, 40;\n  describes the characteristics of the young colonists, 100;\n  on Laval, 187, 188, 264\n\nLauson-Charny, M. de, director of the Quebec Seminary, 55, 134\n\nLaval, Anne Charlotte de, only sister of Bishop Laval, 19\n\nLaval, Fanchon (Charles-Francois-Guy), nephew of the bishop, 140\n\nLaval, Henri de, brother of Bishop Laval, 19, 21, 139, 141\n\nLaval, Hugues de, Seigneur of Montigny, etc., father of Bishop Laval, 17;\n  his death, 18\n\nLaval, Jean-Louis de, receives the bishop's inheritance, 19, 21, 22, 139\n\nLaval-Montmorency, Francois de, first Bishop of Quebec, his birth and\n  ancestors, 17;\n  death of his father, 18;\n  his education, 19-21;\n  death of his two brothers, 21;\n  his mother begs him, on becoming the head of the family, to abandon his\n  ecclesiastical career, 21;\n  renounces his inheritance in favour of his brother Jean-Louis, 21, 22;\n    his ordination, 22;\n  appointed archdeacon of the Cathedral of Evreux, 22;\n  spends fifteen months in Rome, 23;\n  three years in the religious retreat of M. de Bernieres, 24, 25;\n  embarks for New France with the title of Bishop of Petraea\n    _in partibus_, 26;\n  disputes his authority with the Abbe de Queylus, 27, 28;\n  given the entire jurisdiction of Canada, 28;\n  his personality and appearance, 28, 29;\n  his devotion to the plague-stricken, 33;\n  private life, 33, 34;\n  friction with d'Argenson on questions of precedence, 34;\n  opposes the liquor trade with the savages, 36-9;\n  carries an appeal to the throne against the liquor traffic, 39;\n  returns to Canada, 41;\n  his efforts to establish a seminary at Quebec, 47-50;\n  obtains an ordinance from the king granting the seminary permission to\n  collect tithes, 50;\n  receives letters from Colbert and the king, 52, 53;\n  takes up his abode in the seminary, 55;\n  his pastoral visits, 74, 75, 87;\n  founds the smaller seminary in 1668, 97-9;\n  his efforts to educate the colonists, 97-100, 124;\n  builds the first sanctuary of Sainte Anne, 101;\n  his ardent desire for more missionaries is granted, 104, 105;\n  his advice to the missionaries, 105-7;\n  receives a letter from the king _re_ the Recollet priests, 110;\n  created Bishop of Quebec (1674), 129;\n  his reasons for demanding the title of Bishop of Quebec, 130, 131;\n  visits the abbeys of Maubec and Lestrees, 138;\n  leases the abbey of Lestrees to M. Berthelot, 138;\n  exchanges the Island of Orleans for Ile Jesus, 138;\n  visits his family, 139;\n  renews the union of his seminary with that of the Foreign Missions, 140;\n  returns to Canada after four years absence, 141;\n  ordered by the king to investigate the evils of the liquor\n    traffic, 171, 172;\n  leaves again for France (1678), 173;\n  acquires from the king a slight restriction over the liquor traffic, 174;\n  confers a favour on the priests of St. Sulpice, 175, 176;\n  returns to Canada (1680), 184, 186;\n  wills all that he possesses to his seminary, 185;\n  makes a pastoral visit of his diocese, 189;\n  his ill-health, 190;\n  writes to the king for reinforcements, 191, 192;\n  decides to carry his resignation in person to the king, 196;\n  establishes a chapter, 197, 198;\n  sails for France, 198;\n  to remain titular bishop until the consecration of his successor, 201;\n  returns to Canada, 202, 220;\n  ill-health, 205;\n  reproves Saint-Vallier's extravagance, 206;\n  an appreciation of, by Saint-Vallier, 209;\n  a letter from Father La Chaise to, 238, 239;\n  officiates during Saint-Vallier's absence, 244;\n  his last illness, 249-53, 261, 262;\n  his death, 263;\n  and burial, 264-6\n\nLaval University, 15, 99, 124\n\nLeber, Mlle. Jeanne, 91, 92\n\nLe Caron, Father, Recollet missionary, 3\n\nLejeune, Father, 25\n\nLemaitre, Father, put to death by the Iroquois, 8;\n  ministers to the plague-stricken on board the _St. Andre_, 31, 32\n\n_Le Soleil d'Afrique_, 219\n\nLestrees, the abbey of, 136, 138, 185\n\nLiquor traffic, the, forbidden by the Sovereign Council, 36;\n  opposed by Laval, 36-9;\n  the Sovereign Council gives unrestricted sway to, 113;\n  again restricted by the council, 115, 116;\n  a much discussed question, 169-75\n\nLorette, the village of, 74\n\nLotbiniere, Louis Rene de, member of the Sovereign Council, 166\n\nLouis XIV of France, recalls d'Avaugour, and sends more troops\n    to Canada, 39;\n  writes to Laval, 52, 53;\n  petitions the Pope for the erection of an episcopal see\n    in Quebec, 131, 132;\n  demands that the new diocese shall be dependent upon the metropolitan\n  of Rouen, 132, 133;\n  granted the right of nomination to the bishopric of Quebec, 136;\n  his decree of 1673, 159, 160;\n  reproves Frontenac for his absolutism, 164, 165;\n  orders Frontenac to investigate the evils of the liquor\n    traffic, 171, 172;\n  forbids intoxicating liquors being carried to the savages in their\n  dwellings or in the woods, 174;\n  contributes to the maintenance of the priests in Canada, 182, 183;\n  his efforts to keep the Canadian officials in harmony, 186, 187;\n  sends reinforcements, 192;\n  grants Laval an annuity for life, 201;\n  at war again, 235\n\n\nM\n\nMaisonneuve, M. de, governor of Montreal, 8, 16, 92, 176\n\nMaizerets, M. Ange de, comes to Canada, 41;\n  director of the Quebec seminary, 55, 56;\n  accompanies Laval on a tour of his diocese, 189;\n  archdeacon of the chapter established by Laval, 197;\n  in charge of the diocese during Saint-Vallier's absence, 243\n\nMance, Mlle., establishes the Hotel-Dieu Hospital in Montreal, 8;\n  on board the plague-stricken _St. Andre_, 31;\n  at the laying of the first stone of the church of Notre-Dame, 89;\n  her death, 89;\n  her religious zeal, 91, 92\n\nMaricourt, Le Moyne de, 16;\n  takes part in an expedition to capture Hudson Bay, 204\n\nMarquette, Father, with Joliet explores the upper part of the\n  Mississippi, 11, 59, 82, 146, 153;\n  his death, 146, 147\n\nMaubec, the abbey of, 131;\n  incorporated with the diocese of Quebec, 136;\n  a description of, 137\n\nMembre, Father, descends the Mississippi with La Salle, 149, 150, 151\n\nMesnu, Peuvret de, secretary of the Sovereign Council, 158, 166\n\nMetiomegue, Algonquin chief, joins Dollard, 69\n\nMeulles, M. de, replaces Duchesneau as commissioner, 168, 185;\n  replaced by Champigny, 204\n\nMezy, Governor de, 10;\n  succeeds d'Avaugour, 41;\n  disagrees with the bishop, 51;\n  his death, 51, 52\n\nMichilimackinac, 146, 149, 216\n\nMillet, Father, pays a tribute to Garakontie, 73, 215\n\nMississippi River, explored by Marquette and Joliet as far as the\n  Arkansas River, 11, 59, 82, 146;\n  La Salle descends to its mouth, 150, 151\n\nMonsipi, Fort (Hudson Bay), captured by the French, 204\n\nMontigny, Abbe de, one of Laval's early titles, 7, 19\n\nMontigny-sur-Avre, Laval's birthplace, 17\n\nMontmagny, M. de, governor of New France, 8\n\nMontmorency, Henri de, near kinsman of Laval, 18;\n  beheaded by the order of Richelieu, 18\n\nMontreal, the Island of, 8, 86;\n  made over to the Sulpicians, 108, 175;\n  the parishes of, united with the Seminary of St. Sulpice, 175, 176, 183\n\nMontreal, the mission of La Montagne at, 9, 74;\n  its first Roman Catholic church, 87-90;\n  its religious zeal, 90-2;\n  see also _Ville-Marie_\n\nMorel, Thomas, director of the Quebec seminary, 55, 101;\n  his arrest, 163;\n  set at liberty, 164;\n  his death, 219\n\nMorin, M., quoted, 89, 90\n\nMornay, Mgr. de, Bishop of Quebec, 12\n\nMother Mary of the Incarnation, on Laval's devotion to the sick, 33;\n  on his private life, 34, 254;\n  on the results of the great earthquake, 45, 46;\n  on the work of the Sisters, 79, 80;\n  her religious zeal and fine qualities, 92, 93;\n  Abbe Ferland's appreciation of, 93-5;\n  speaks of the work of Abbe Fenelon and Father Trouve, 109;\n  on the liquor traffic, 113;\n  sums up Talon's merits, 114;\n  speaks of the colonists' children, 119;\n  on civilizing the Indians, 125, 126;\n  an appreciation of, by Abbe Verreau, 127;\n  her death, 154;\n  her noble character, 155\n\nMouchy, M. de, member of the Sovereign Council, 158\n\n\nN\n\nNelson, Fort (Hudson Bay), held by the English against de Troyes'\n  expedition, 204;\n  captured by Iberville, 233\n\nNewfoundland, English settlements attacked by Iberville, 232\n\nNotre-Dame Church (Montreal), 87-90, 176\n\nNotre-Dame de Bonsecours, chapel (Montreal), 176-9\n\nNotre-Dame de Montreal, the parish of, 175, 176\n\nNotre-Dame des Victoires, church of, 185\n\nNoue, Father de, his death, 5\n\n\nO\n\nOblate Fathers, their entry into New France, 1\n\nOlier, M., founder of the Seminary of St. Sulpice, 5, 6, 25;\n  places the Island of Montreal under the protection of the\n    Holy Virgin, 8, 85;\n  his death, 135;\n  succeeded by Bretonvilliers, 162\n\nOnondagas, the, 67\n\nOttawa Indians, threaten to re-open their feud with the Iroquois, 83, 215\n\n\nP\n\nPallu, M., 23\n\nParkman, Francis, quoted, 34, 35\n\nPericard, Mgr. de, Bishop of Evreux, 21;\n  his death, 22\n\nPericard, Michelle de, mother of Bishop Laval, 17;\n  her death, 26\n\nPeltrie, Madame de la, 92;\n  establishes the Ursuline Convent in Quebec, 125;\n  a description of, by Abbe Casgrain, 153, 154;\n  her death, 154\n\nPermanence of livings, a much discussed question, 169, 181, 184, 236\n\nPerrot, Francois Marie, governor of Montreal, 89;\n  his anger at Bizard, 160;\n  arrested by Frontenac, 160, 164\n\nPerrot, Nicholas, explorer, 82\n\nPeyras, M. de, member of the Sovereign Council, 166\n\nPhipps, Sir William, attacks Quebec, 11, 229-31\n\nPicquet, M., 23\n\nPlessis, Mgr., Bishop of Quebec, 13\n\nPommier, Hugues, comes to Canada, 41;\n  director of the Quebec seminary, 55\n\nPontbriant, Mgr. de, Bishop of Quebec, 12\n\nPourroy de l'Aube-Riviere, Mgr., Bishop of Quebec, 12\n\nPrairie de la Madeleine, 74, 232\n\nPropaganda, the, 130, 131\n\nPrudhomme, Fort, erected by La Salle, 150\n\n\nQ\n\nQuebec, attacked by Phipps, 11, 229-31;\n  the bishops of, 12;\n  attacked by the Iroquois, 67-72;\n  arrival of colonists (1665), 78, 79;\n  the cathedral of, 84, 85;\n  its religious fervour, 92;\n  the Lower Town consumed by fire, 186;\n  overwhelmed by disease and fire, 239\n\nQuebec Act, the, 13\n\nQueylus, Abbe de, Grand Vicar of Rouen for Canada, 7;\n  comes to take possession of the Island of Montreal for the Sulpicians,\n  and to establish a seminary, 8;\n  disputes Laval's authority, 27;\n  goes to France, 27;\n  returns with bulls placing him in possession of the parish\n    of Montreal, 28;\n  suspended from office by Bishop Laval and recalled to France, 28;\n  returns to the colony and is appointed grand vicar at Montreal, 28;\n  his religious zeal, 92;\n  his generosity, 107;\n  returns to France, 134;\n  his work praised by Talon, 134\n\n\nR\n\nRafeix, Father, comes to Canada, 41\n\nRecollets, the, their entry into New France, 1;\n  refused permission to return to Canada after the Treaty of St.\n  Germain-en-Laye, 3, 110;\n  propose St. Joseph as the patron saint of Canada, 87;\n  their popularity, 111, 112;\n  build a monastery in Quebec, 112;\n  espouse Frontenac's cause in his disputes with Duchesneau, 112;\n  provide instruction for the colonists, 124;\n  their establishment in Quebec, 208\n\n_Regale_, the question of the right of, 184, 201\n\nRibourde, Father de la, 149;\n  killed by the Iroquois, 149, 150\n\nRichelieu, Cardinal, founds the Company of the Cent-Associes, 4;\n  orders Henri de Montmorency to be beheaded, 18;\n  referred to, 117\n\nRupert, Fort (Hudson Bay), captured by the French, 204\n\n\nS\n\nSagard, Father, Recollet missionary, 3\n\nSainte Anne, the Brotherhood of, 101\n\nSainte Anne, the first sanctuary of, built by Laval, 101;\n  gives place to a stone church erected through the efforts\n    of M. Filion, 102;\n  a third temple built upon its site, 102;\n  the present cathedral built (1878), 102;\n  the pilgrimages to, 102, 103\n\nSainte-Helene, Andree Duplessis de, 92\n\nSainte-Helene, Le Moyne de, 16;\n  takes part in an expedition to capture Hudson Bay, 204;\n  his death at the siege of Quebec, 231\n\nSaint-Vallier, Abbe Jean Baptiste de la Croix de, king's almoner, 199;\n  appointed provisionally grand vicar of Laval, 201;\n  leaves a legacy to the seminary of Quebec, 202;\n  embarks for Canada, 202;\n  makes a tour of his diocese, 203, 204;\n  his extravagance, 206;\n  pays a tribute to Laval, 209;\n  leaves for France, 210;\n  obtains a grant for a Bishop's Palace, 211;\n  his official appointment and consecration as Bishop of Quebec, 202, 219;\n  returns to Canada, 221;\n  opens a hospital in Notre-Dame des Anges, 236;\n  in France from 1700 to 1705, when returning to Canada is captured by\n  an English vessel and kept in captivity till 1710, 242, 243;\n  the object of his visit to France, 243\n\n_St. Andre_, the, 27;\n  the plague breaks out on board, 31, 32\n\nSte. Anne, Fort (Hudson Bay), captured by the French, 204\n\nSt. Bernardino of Siena, quoted, 35, 36\n\nSt. Francois-Xavier, adopted as the second special protector of\n  the colony, 87\n\nSt. Ignace de Michilimackinac, La Salle's burying-place, 147\n\nSt. Joachim, the seminary of Quebec has a country house at, 12;\n  the boarding-school at, established by Laval, 100, 124, 245;\n  receives a remembrance from Laval, 199\n\nSt. Joseph, the first patron saint of Canada, 87\n\nSt. Malo, the Bishop of, 6, 7\n\nSt. Sulpice de Montreal, see _Seminary of St. Sulpice_\n\nSt. Sulpice, the priests of, see _Sulpicians_\n\nSalignac-Fenelon, Abbe Francois de, goes to the north shore of Lake\n  Ontario to establish a mission, 105, 108;\n  teaches the Iroquois, 125;\n  his sermon preached against Frontenac, 160, 161;\n  his quarrel with Frontenac, 160-5;\n  forbidden to return to Canada, 164\n\nSault St. Louis (Caughnawaga), the mission of, 9, 74, 147, 189\n\nSault Ste. Marie, the mission of, 11;\n  addressed by Father Allouez, 104\n\nSeignelay, Marquis de, Colbert's son, sends four shiploads of colonists\n  to people Louisiana, 151, 152;\n  postpones Laval's return to Canada, 211\n\nSeigniorial tenure, 119, 120\n\nSeminary, the, at Quebec, founded by Laval (1663), 10;\n  the priests of, assist in defending Quebec against Phipps, 11, 12;\n  Laval's ordinance relating to, 47, 48;\n  its establishment receives the royal approval, 50;\n  obtains permission to collect tithes from the colonists, 50;\n  its first superior and directors, 55;\n  affiliated with the Seminary of Foreign Missions at Paris, 57, 58;\n  a smaller seminary built (1668), 58, 59, 97-9;\n  the whole destroyed by fire (1701), 58, 240, 241;\n  its union with the Seminary of Foreign Missions renewed, 140;\n  receives a legacy from Saint-Vallier, 202;\n  sends missionaries to Louisiana, 208;\n  in financial difficulties, 211\n\nSeminary of Foreign Missions at Paris, affiliated with the Quebec\n  Seminary, 57, 58;\n  contributes to the support of the mission at Ville-Marie, 136;\n  its union with the Quebec Seminary renewed, 140;\n  a union with the Seminary of St. Sulpice formed, 221\n\nSeminary of Montreal, see _Ville-Marie Convent_\n\nSeminary of St. Sulpice, the, founded by M. Olier, 5, 6, 25;\n  enlarged, 90;\n  its ancient clock, 90;\n  takes up the financial obligations of the Company of Montreal, 135;\n  joined to the parish of Notre-Dame de Montreal, 175, 176, 183;\n  visited by Laval, 189;\n  affiliated with the Seminary of Foreign Missions, 221\n\n_Seine_, the, captured by the English with Saint-Vallier on board, 242, 243\n\nSouart, M., 91, 92, 124\n\nSovereign Council, the, fixes the tithe at a twenty-sixth, 10;\n  forbids the liquor trade with the savages, 36;\n  registers the royal approval of the establishment of the\n    Quebec Seminary, 50;\n  recommends that emigrants be sent only from the north of France, 78;\n  passes a decree permitting the unrestricted sale of liquor, 113;\n  finds it necessary to restrict the liquor trade, 115, 116;\n  its members, 158;\n  judges Perrot, 160;\n  its re-construction, 165-7;\n  a division in its ranks, 167;\n  passes a decree affecting the policy of the Quebec Seminary, 236\n\nSulpicians, their entry into New France, 1;\n  become the lords of the Island of Montreal, 8, 108;\n  their devotion to the Virgin Mary, 85;\n  at Ville-Marie, 92;\n  more priests arrive, 105, 106;\n  their religious zeal, 109;\n  provide instruction for the colonists, 124;\n  granted the livings of the Island of Montreal, 175, 176;\n  request the king's confirmation of the union of their seminary with\n  the parishes on the Island of Montreal, 183, 184\n\n\nT\n\nTalon, intendant, appointed to investigate the administration\n  of de Mezy, 51;\n  his immigration plans opposed by Colbert, 80;\n  writes to Colbert in praise of the Abbe de Queylus, 107;\n  brings out five Recollet priests, 109;\n  obtains from the Sovereign Council a decree permitting the unrestricted\n  sale of liquor, 113;\n  develops the resources of the country, 114, 115;\n  returns to France for two years, 116;\n  praises Abbe de Queylus' work, 134, 135;\n  retires from office, 143\n\nTaschereau, Cardinal, 40, 86\n\nTesserie, M. de la, member of the Sovereign Council, 158\n\nTilly, Le Gardeur de, member of the Sovereign Council, 158, 166, 167\n\nTithes, the levying of, on the colonists, 10, 50, 51, 54;\n  payable only to the permanent priests, 55;\n  the edict of 1679, 181;\n  Laval and Saint-Vallier disagree upon the question of, 208, 209\n\nTonti, Chevalier de, accompanies La Salle as far as Fort Crevecoeur, 148;\n  attacked by the Iroquois and flees to Michilimackinac, 149;\n  again joins La Salle and descends the Mississippi with him, 150;\n  appointed La Salle's representative, 151\n\nTracy, Marquis de, viceroy, appointed to investigate the administration\n  of de Mezy, 51;\n  builds three forts on the Richelieu River, 53;\n  destroys the hamlets of the Mohawks and concludes a treaty of peace\n  with the Iroquois which lasts eighteen years, 53, 54, 82;\n  reduces the tithe to a twenty-sixth, 54;\n  returns to France, 81;\n  his fine qualities, 81, 82;\n  presents a valuable picture to the church at Sainte Anne, 102\n\nTreaty of Ryswick, 234\n\nTreaty of St. Germain-en-Laye, 3, 110\n\nTreaty of Utrecht, 235\n\nTrouve, Claude, goes to the north shore of Lake Ontario to establish\n  a mission, 105, 108\n\nTroyes, Chevalier de, leads an expedition to capture Hudson Bay, 204\n\nTurgis, Father, 62\n\n\nU\n\nUrsuline Convent (Quebec), established by Madame de la Peltrie, 112, 155;\n  consumed by fire, 210\n\nUrsuline Sisters, 33, 125, 154, 231\n\n\nV\n\nValrennes, M. de, commands Fort Frontenac, 223, 232\n\nVaudreuil, Chevalier de, 214;\n  in command at Montreal, 223;\n  opposing the Iroquois at massacre of Lachine, 226, 227;\n  succeeds Callieres as governor of Montreal, 235\n\nVerreau, Abbe, pays a tribute to Mother Mary of the Incarnation, 127\n\nViel, Father, Recollet missionary, 3\n\nVignal, Father, ministers to the plague-stricken on board\n  the _St. Andre_, 31, 32;\n  referred to, 8, 91, 92\n\nVille-Marie (Montreal), the school at, founded by Marguerite Bourgeoys, 9;\n  the Abbe de Queylus returns to, 28;\n  takes precautions against the Iroquois, 68;\n  the school of martyrdom, 90, 91;\n  fortified by Denonville, 213, 214;\n  governed by Vaudreuil in Callieres' absence, 223;\n  besieged by Winthrop, 229;\n  references, 82, 83, 85, 122, 124, 135, 162, 178, 217\n\nVille-Marie Convent, founded by Marguerite Bourgeoys, 126, 127, 175, 176\n\nVilleray, M. de, writes to Colbert, 77, 78;\n  member of the Sovereign Council, 166, 167\n\nVitre, Denys de, member of the Sovereign Council, 166\n\n\nW\n\nWest India Company, 81\n\nWinthrop, Fitz-John, attacks Montreal, 229, 231\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Makers of Canada: Bishop Laval\nby A. Leblond de Brumath\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Chris Curnow, Anna Whitehead and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE MYSTERY OF MARY STUART\n\n\n\n\nBY THE SAME AUTHOR.\n\n\nA MONK OF FIFE. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\nANGLING SKETCHES. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\nBALLADS OF BOOKS. Fcp. 8vo. 6_s._\n\nBAN AND ARRIERE BAN. Fcp. 8vo. [_Out of print._\n\nBOOK OF DREAMS AND GHOSTS. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\nBOOKS AND BOOKMEN. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nCOCK LANE AND COMMON-SENSE. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\nCOMPANIONS OF PICKLE. 8vo. 16_s._\n\nCUSTOM AND MYTH. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._\n\nESSAYS IN LITTLE. Crown 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._\n\nGRASS OF PARNASSUS. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nHOMER AND THE EPIC. Crown 8vo. 9_s._ _net_.\n\nLETTERS ON LITERATURE. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nLETTERS TO DEAD AUTHORS. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nMAGIC AND RELIGION. 8vo. 10_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nMODERN MYTHOLOGY. 8vo. 9_s._\n\nMYTH, RITUAL, AND RELIGION. 2 vols, crown 8vo. 7_s._\n\nOLD FRIENDS. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_.\n\nPICKLE THE SPY. 8vo. [_Out of print._\n\nST. ANDREWS. 8vo. [_Out of print._\n\nTHE MAKING OF RELIGION. Crown 8vo. 5_s._ _net_.\n\n  LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 39 Paternoster Row, London\n  New York and Bombay.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Mary Stuart\n\nFrom the portrait in the collection of the Earl of Morton.\n\nWalker & Cockerell. ph. sc.]\n\n\n\n\n  THE MYSTERY OF MARY STUART\n\n\n  BY ANDREW LANG\n\n\n  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n  _NEW EDITION_\n\n\n  LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.\n  89 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON\n  NEW YORK AND BOMBAY\n  1901\n\n  All rights reserved\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIn revising this book I have corrected a number of misreadings in the\nArabic numerals of dates of years. I owe much to Mr. David Bruce-Gardyne\nand Mr. Hay Fleming. In deference to other criticisms offered privately, I\nhave somewhat modified certain phrases about the hypothetical forged\nletter, as quoted by Moray and Lennox (pp. 211-236). That such a letter\nonce existed is, of course, an inference on which readers must form their\nown opinion. The passage as to the site of Darnley's house, Kirk o' Field\n(pp. 124-131), ought to have been banished to an Appendix. On any theory\nthe existence of the town wall, shown in the contemporary chart opposite\np. 130, is a difficulty. The puzzle is caused by the chart of 1567,\nreduced in the design given at p. 130. In all published forms the drawing\nis given as it is here. But it reverses the points of the compass, east\nand west. Mr. A. H. Millar has suggested to me that if reflected in a\nmirror some errors of the chart disappear, whence one infers that it was\ndrawn in reverse for an engraving. I have, therefore, corrected the text\nin this sense. But difficulties remain: there is a town wall, running\nsouth to north, of which we have no other knowledge; and Hamilton House\n(if the chart is reversed) is placed east instead of west of Kirk o'\nField, where it actually stood. The original design contains only the name\nof Hamilton House. In our chart the house is copied from the picture of it\nas part of the University buildings, in the map of 1647.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nMr. Carlyle not unjustly described the tragedy of Mary Stuart as but a\npersonal incident in the true national History of Scotland. He asked for\nother and more essential things than these revelations of high life. Yet\nhe himself wrote in great detail the story of the Diamond Necklace of\nMarie Antoinette. The diamonds of the French, the silver Casket of the\nScottish Queen, with all that turned on them, are of real historical\ninterest, for these trifles brought to the surface the characters and\nprinciples of men living in an age of religious revolution. Wells were\nsunk, as it were, deep into human personality, and the inner\ncharacteristics of the age leaped upwards into the light.\n\nFor this reason the Mystery of Mary Stuart must always fascinate:\nmoreover, curiosity has never ceased to be aroused by this problem of\nMary's guilt or innocence. Hume said, a hundred and fifty years ago, that\nthe Scottish Jacobite who believed in the Queen's innocence was beyond the\nreach of reason or argument. Yet from America, Russia, France, and Germany\nwe receive works in which the guilt of Mary is denied, and the arguments\nof Hume, Robertson, Laing, Mignet, and Froude are contested. Every inch of\nthe ground has been inspected as if by detectives on the scene of a recent\nmurder; and one might suppose that the Higher Criticism had uttered its\nlast baseless conjecture and that every syllable of the fatal Casket\nLetters, the only external and documentary testimony to Mary's guilt, must\nhave been weighed, tested, and analysed. But this, as we shall see, is\nhardly the fact. There are 'points as yet unseized by Germans.' Mary was\nnever tried by a Court of Justice during her lifetime. Her cause has been\nin process of trial ever since. Each newly discovered manuscript, like the\nfragmentary biography by her secretary, Nau, and the Declaration of the\nEarl of Morton, and the newly translated dispatches of the Spanish\nambassadors, edited by Major Martin Hume (1894), has brought fresh light,\nand has modified the tactics of the attack and defence.\n\nAs Herr Cardauns remarks, at the close of his 'Der Sturz der Maria\nStuart,' we cannot expect finality, and our verdicts or hypotheses may be\nchanged by the emergence of some hitherto unknown piece of evidence.\nAlready we have seen too many ingenious theories overthrown. From the\ndefence of Mary by Goodall (1754) to the triumphant certainties of\nChalmers (1818), to the arguments of MM. Philippson and Sepp, of Mr.\nHosack, and of Sir John Skelton (1880-1895), increasing knowledge of\nfacts, new emergence of old MSS. have, on the whole, weakened the\nposition of the defence. Mr. Henderson's book 'The Casket Letters and Mary\nStuart' (First Edition 1889) is the last word on the matter in this\ncountry. Mr. Henderson was the first to publish in full Morton's sworn\nDeclaration as to the discovery, inspection, and safe keeping of the fatal\nCasket and its contents. Sir John Skelton's reply[1] told chiefly against\nminor points of criticism and palaeography.\n\nThe present volume is not a Defence of Mary's innocence. My object is to\nshow, how the whole problem is affected by the discovery of the Lennox\nPapers, which admit us behind the scenes, and enable us to see how Mary's\nprosecutors, especially the Earl of Lennox, the father of her murdered\nhusband, got up their case. The result of criticism of these papers is\ncertainly to reinforce Mr. Hosack's argument, that there once existed a\nforged version of the long and monstrous letter to Bothwell from Glasgow,\ngenerally known as 'Letter II.' In this book, as originally written, I had\nmyself concluded that Letter II., as it stands, bears evidence of\ngarbling. The same is the opinion of Dr. Bresslau, who accepts the other\nCasket Papers as genuine. The internal chronology of Letter II. is\ncertainly quite impossible, and in this I detected unskilled dove-tailing\nof genuine and forged elements. But I thought it advisable to rewrite the\nfirst half of the Letter, in modern English, as if it were my own\ncomposition, and while doing this I discovered the simple and ordinary\nkind of accident which may explain the dislocation of the chronology, and\nremove the evidence to unskilled dove-tailing and garbling. In the same\nspirit of rather reluctant conscientiousness, I worked out the scheme of\ndates which makes the Letter capable of being fitted into the actual\nseries of events. Thus I am led, though with diffidence, to infer that,\nthough a forged version of Letter II. probably once existed, the Letter\nmay be, at least in part, a genuine composition by the Queen. The fact,\nhowever, does not absolutely compel belief, and, unless new manuscripts\nare discovered, may always be doubted by admirers of Mary.\n\nSir John Skelton, in his 'Maitland of Lethington,' regarded the supposed\nfalsification of Letter II. as an argument against all the Casket Letters\n('false in one thing, false in all'). But it is clear that forgery may be\nemployed to strengthen the evidence, even of a valid cause. If Mary's\nenemies deemed that the genuine evidence which they had collected was\ninadequate, and therefore added evidence which was not genuine, that\nproves their iniquity, but does not prove Mary's innocence. Portions of\nthe Letter II., and of some of the other Letters, have all the air of\nauthenticity, and suffice to compromise the Queen.\n\nThis inquiry, then, if successfully conducted, does not clear Mary, but\nsolves some of the darkest problems connected with her case. I think that\na not inadequate theory of the tortuous and unintelligible policy of\nMaitland of Lethington, and of his real relations with Mary, is here\npresented. I also hope that new light is thrown on Mary's own line of\ndefence, and on the actual forgers or contaminators of her Letters, if the\nexistence of such forgery or contamination is held to be possible.\n\nBy study of dates it is made clear, I think, that the Lords opposing Mary\ntook action, as regards the Letters, on the very day of their discovery.\nThis destroys the argument which had been based on the tardy appearance of\nthe papers in the dispatches of the period, an argument already shaken by\nthe revelations of the Spanish Calendar.\n\nMary's cause has, hitherto, been best served by her accusers, most injured\nby her defenders. For political and personal reasons her enemies, her\naccomplices, or the conscious allies of her accomplices, perpetually\nstultified themselves and gave themselves the lie. Their case was\notherwise very badly managed. Their dates were so carelessly compiled as\nto make their case chronologically impossible. Their position, as stated,\nprobably by George Buchanan and Makgill, in 'The Book of Articles,' and\nthe 'Detection,' is marred by exaggerations and inconsistencies. Buchanan\nwas by no means a critical historian, and he was here writing as an\nadvocate, mainly from briefs furnished by Lennox, his feudal chief, the\nfather of the murdered Darnley. These briefs we now possess, and the\ngenerosity of Father Pollen, S.J., has allowed me to use these hitherto\nvirgin materials.\n\nThe Lennox Papers also enable us to add new and dramatically appropriate\nanecdotes of Mary and Darnley, while, by giving us some hitherto unknown\nmyths current at the moment, they enable us to explain certain\ndifficulties which have puzzled historians. The whole subject throws a\nlurid light on the ethics and the persons of the age which followed the\nReformation in Scotland. Other novelties may be found to emerge from new\ncombinations of facts and texts which have long been familiar, and\nparticular attention has been paid to the subordinate persons in the play,\nwhile a hitherto disregarded theory of the character of Bothwell is\noffered; a view already, in part, suggested by Mignet.\n\nThe arrangement adopted is as follows:\n\nFirst, in two preliminary chapters, the characters and the scenes of the\nevents are rapidly and broadly sketched. We try to make the men and women\nlive and move in palaces and castles now ruinous or untenanted.\n\nNext the relations of the characters to each other are described, from\nMary's arrival in Scotland to her marriage with Darnley; the murder of\nRiccio, the interval of the eleven predicted months that passed ere beside\nRiccio lay 'a fatter than he,' Darnley: the slaying of Darnley, the\nmarriage with Bothwell, the discovery of the Casket, the imprisonment at\nLoch Leven, the escape thence, and the flight into England.\n\nNext the External History of the Casket Letters, the first hints of their\nexistence, their production before Elizabeth's Commission at Westminster,\nand Mary's attitude towards the Letters, with the obscure intrigues of the\nCommission at York, and the hasty and scuffling examinations at\nWestminster and Hampton Court, are described and explained.\n\nNext the Internal Evidence of the Letters themselves is criticised.\n\nFinally, the later history of the Letters, with the disappearance of the\noriginal alleged autograph texts, closes the subject.\n\nVery minute examination of details and dates has been deemed necessary.\nThe case is really a police case, and investigation cannot be too anxious,\nbut certain points of complex detail are relegated to Appendices.\n\nIn writing the book I have followed, as Socrates advises, where the\n_Logos_ led me. Several conclusions or theories which at first beguiled\nme, and seemed convincing, have been ruined by the occurrence of fresher\nevidence, and have been withdrawn. I have endeavoured to search for, and\nhave stated, as fully as possible, the objections which may be urged to\nconclusions which are provisional, and at the mercy of criticism, and of\nfresh or neglected evidence.\n\nThe character of Mary, _son naturel_, as she says, or is made to say in\nthe most incriminating Letter, is full of fascination, excellence and\ncharm. Her terrible expiation has won the pity of gentle hearts, and\nsentiment has too often clouded reason, while reaction against sentiment\nhas been no less mischievous. But History, the search for truth, should be\nas impersonal as the judge on the bench. I am not unaccustomed to be\nblamed for 'destroying our illusions,' but to cultivate and protect\nillusion has never been deemed the duty of the historian. Mary, at worst,\nand even admitting her guilt (guilt monstrous and horrible to contemplate)\nseems to have been a nobler nature than any of the persons most closely\nassociated with her fortunes. She fell, if fall she did, like the\nClytaemnestra to whom a contemporary poet compares her, under the almost\ndemoniacal possession of passion; a possession so sudden, strange and\noverpowering that even her enemies attributed it to 'unlawful arts.'\n\nI have again to acknowledge the almost, or quite, unparalleled kindness of\nFather Pollen in allowing me to use his materials. He found transcripts of\nwhat I style the 'Lennox MSS.' among the papers of the late learned Father\nStevenson, S.J. These he collated with the originals in the University\nLibrary at Cambridge. It is his intention, I understand, to publish the\nwhole collection, which was probably put together for the use of Dr.\nWilson, when writing, or editing, the 'Actio,' published with Buchanan's\n'Detection.' Father Pollen has also read most of my proof-sheets, but he\nis not responsible for any of my provisional conclusions. I have also\nconsulted, on various points, Mr. George Neilson, Dr. Hay Fleming, Mr. A.\nH. Millar, and others.\n\nMiss Dorothy Alston made reduced drawings, omitting the figures, of the\ncontemporary charts of Edinburgh, and of Kirk o' Field. Mr. F. Compton\nPrice supplied the imitations of Mary's handwriting, and the facsimiles in\nPlates A B, B A, &c.\n\nFor leave to photograph and publish the portrait of Darnley and his\nbrother I have to acknowledge the gracious permission of his Majesty, the\nKing.\n\nThe Duke of Hamilton has kindly given permission to publish photographs of\nthe Casket at Hamilton Palace (see Chapter XVIII.).\n\nThe Earl of Morton has been good enough to allow his admirable portraits\nof Mary (perhaps of 1575) and of the Regent Morton to be reproduced.\n\nMr. Oliphant, of Rossie, has placed at my service his portrait of Mary as\na girl, a copy, probably by Sir John Medina, of a contemporary French\nlikeness.\n\nTo the kindness of the Right Hon. A. J. Balfour and Miss Balfour we owe\nthe photographs of the famous tree at Whittingham, Mr. Balfour's seat,\nwhere Morton, Lethington, and Bothwell conspired to murder Darnley.\n\nThe Lennox Papers are in the Cambridge University Library.\n\n\n_The Suppressed Confessions of Hepburn of Bowton_\n\nToo late for notice in the body of this book, the following curious piece\nof evidence was observed by Father Ryan, S.J., in the Cambridge MS. of\nthe deposition of Hepburn of Bowton. This kinsman and accomplice of\nBothwell was examined on December 8, 1567, before Moray, Atholl,\nKirkcaldy, Lindsay, and Bellenden, Lord Justice Clerk. The version of his\nconfession put in at the Westminster Conference, December 1568, will be\nfound in Anderson, ii. 183-188, and in Laing, ii. 256-259. The MS. is in\nCotton Caligula, C.I. fol. 325. It is attested as a 'true copy' by\nBellenden. But if we follow the Cambridge MS. it is _not_ a true copy. A\nlong passage, following 'and lay down with him,' at the end, is omitted.\nThat passage I now cite:\n\n'Farther this deponar sayis that he inquirit at my lord quhat securitie he\nhad for it quhilk wes done, because their wes sic ane brute and murmo{r}\nin the toun And my lord ansuerit that diuerse noblemen had subscrivit the\ndeid with him And schew the same band[2] to the deponar, quhairat wes the\nsubscriptionis of the erles of huntlie, ergile, boithuile altogether, and\nthe secretares subscriptioun far beneth the rest. And insafar as the\ndeponar remembers this was the effect of it, it contenit sum friuose\n[frivolous?] and licht caussis aganis the king sic as hys behavio{r}\ncontrar the quene, quhilk band wes in ane of twa silver cofferis and wes\nin dunbar, and the deponar saw the same there the tyme that they wer thare\nafter the quenis revissing And understandis that the band wes with the\nremanent letters, and putt in the castell be george dalgleis. Inquirit\nquha deuisit that the king suld ludge at the kirk of feild?\n\n'Answeris S{r} James balfo{r} can better tell nor he And knew better and\nbefoir the deponer yof. And quhen the Quene wes in glasgow my lord\nBoithuile send the deponar to S{r} James balfo{r} desiring that he wald\ncum and meit my lord at the kirk of feild To quhome Schir James ansuerit,\n\"will my lord cum thair? gif he cum it wer gude he war quiet.\" And yit\nthey met not at that place than nor at natyme thairefter to the deponers\nknawledge.\n\n'Thair wes xiiii keyis quhilkis this deponer efter the murtho{r} keist in\nthe grevvell hoill [? quarrel-hoill, _i.e._ quarry hole] betuix the abbay\nand leith. And towardes the makers of the keyis they were maid betuix\nLeuestoun and S{r} James balfo{r} and thai twa can tell. Item deponis that\nIlk ane that wer of the band and siclike the erle of Morton and Sy{r}\nJames balfo{r} suld haif send twa men to the committing of the murther.\nAnd the erle boithuile declarit to the deponar are nyt or twa afore the\nmurtho{r} falland in talking of thame that wer in the kingis chalmer My\nlord said that Sandy Durham wes ane gude fallowe and he wald wische that\nhe weir out of the same.\n\n'This is the trew copy, etc.'\n\nPerhaps few will argue that this passage has been fraudulently inserted in\nthe Cambridge MS. If not, Bellenden lied when he attested the mutilated\ndeposition to be a true copy. His own autograph signature attests the\nCambridge copy. Moray, who heard Bowton make his deposition, was a partner\nto the fraud. The portion of the evidence burked by Moray is corroborated,\nas regards the signatures of the band for Darnley's murder, by Ormistoun,\nmuch later (Dec. 13, 1573) in Laing, ii. 293. Ormistoun, however, probably\nby an error of memory, says that he saw what Bothwell affirmed to be the\nsignature of Sir James Balfour, in addition to those spoken of by Bowton,\nnamely Argyll, Bothwell, Huntly, and Lethington. This statement as to\nBalfour Bowton withdrew in his dying confession as published. Bowton's\nremark that Lethington's signature came 'far beneath the rest' sounds\ntrue. Space would be left above for the signatures of men of higher rank\nthan the secretary.\n\nBowton saw the band at Dunbar (April-May, 1567, during Mary's detention\nthere), 'in one of two silver coffers.' He only 'understands' that the\nband was 'with the remanent letters, and put in the Castle by George\nDalgleish.' If 'the remanent letters' are the Casket Letters, and if\nBowton, at Dunbar, had seen them with the band, and read them, his\nevidence would have been valuable as to the Letters. But as things are, we\nhave merely his opinion, or 'understanding,' that certain letters were\nkept with the band, as Drury, we know, asserted that it was in the Casket\nwith the other papers, and was destroyed, while the Letters attributed to\nMary 'were kept to be shown.' Of course, if this be true, Morton lied\nwhen he said that the contents of the Casket had neither been added to\nnor diminished.\n\nNext, Bowton denied that, to his knowledge, Bothwell and Balfour met at\nthe Kirk o' Field, while Mary was at Glasgow, or at any other time. If\nBowton is right, and he was their go-between, Paris lied in his Deposition\nwhere he says that Bothwell and Sir James had passed a whole night in Kirk\no' Field, while Mary was at Glasgow.[3]\n\nBowton's confession that Morton 'should have sent two men to the\ncommitting of the murder,' explains the presence of Archibald Douglas,\nMorton's cousin, with Binning, his man. These two represented Morton.\nFinally, Bowton's confession in the Cambridge MS. joins the copy of his\nconfession put in at Westminster, on the point of the fourteen false keys\nof Kirk o' Field, thrown by Bowton into a gravel hole. Unless then the\nCambridge MS. is rejected, the Lord Justice Clerk and Moray deliberately\nsuppressed evidence which proved that Moray was allied with two of\nDarnley's murderers in prosecuting his sister for that crime. Such\nevidence, though extant, Moray, of course, dared not produce, but must\nburke at Westminster.\n\nI have shown in the text (p. 144) that, even on Bowton's evidence as\nproduced at Westminster, Moray was aware that Bothwell had allies among\nthe nobles, but that, as far as the evidence declares, he asked no\nquestions. But the Cambridge MS. proves his full knowledge, which he\ndeliberately suppressed. The Cambridge MS. must either have been furnished\nto Lennox, before the sittings at Westminster; or must have been the\noriginal, or a copy of the original, later supplied to Dr. Wilson while\npreparing Buchanan's 'Detection,' the 'Actio,' and other documents for the\npress in November 1571.[4] It will be observed that when Lethington was\naccused of Darnley's murder, in September 1569, Moray could not well have\nprosecuted him to a conviction, as his friends, Atholl and Kirkcaldy,\nhaving been present at Bowton's examination, knew that Moray knew of\nLethington's guilt, yet continued to be his ally. The Cambridge copy of\nthe deposition of Hay of Tala contains no reference to the guilt of Morton\nor Lethington; naturally, for Morton was present at Hay's examination.\nFinally, the evidence of Binning, in 1581, shows that representatives of\nLethington and Balfour, as well as of Morton, were present at the murder,\nas Bowton, in his suppressed testimony, says had been arranged.\n\nIt is therefore clear that Moray, in arraigning his sister with the aid of\nher husband's assassins, could suppress authentic evidence. Mary's\napologists will argue that he was also capable of introducing evidence\nless than authentic.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                      PAGE\n\n         INTRODUCTION                                                  vii\n\n      I. DRAMATIS PERSONAE                                                1\n\n     II. THE MINOR CHARACTERS                                           28\n\n    III. THE CHARACTERS BEFORE RICCIO'S MURDER                          45\n\n     IV. BEFORE THE BAPTISM OF THE PRINCE                               71\n\n      V. BETWEEN THE BAPTISM AND THE MURDER                            105\n\n     VI. THE MURDER OF DARNLEY                                         123\n\n    VII. THE CONFESSIONS OF PARIS                                      154\n\n   VIII. MARY'S CONDUCT AFTER THE MURDER                               171\n\n     IX. THE EMERGENCE OF THE CASKET LETTERS                           193\n\n      X. THE CASKET LETTERS                                            208\n\n     XI. THE LETTERS AT THE CONFERENCE OF YORK                         237\n\n    XII. THE LETTERS AT WESTMINSTER AND HAMPTON COURT                  266\n\n   XIII. MARY'S ATTITUDE AFTER THE CONFERENCE                          283\n\n    XIV. INTERNAL EVIDENCE OF THE LETTERS                              290\n\n     XV. THE SIX MINOR CASKET LETTERS                                  322\n\n    XVI. THE CASKET SONNETS                                            344\n\n   XVII. CONCLUSIONS AS TO THE LETTERS AND THE POSSIBLE FORGERS        346\n\n  XVIII. LATER HISTORY OF CASKET AND LETTERS                           365\n\n\n  _APPENDICES_\n\n  A. THE SUPPOSED BODY OF BOTHWELL                                     371\n\n  B. THE BURNING OF LYON KING OF ARMS                                  374\n\n  C. THE DATE OF MARY'S VISIT TO GLASGOW                               379\n\n  D. THE BAND FOR DARNLEY'S MURDER                                     381\n\n  E. THE TRANSLATIONS OF THE CASKET LETTERS                            385\n\n\n  THE CASKET LETTERS:\n\n  LETTER    I. PUBLISHED SCOTS TRANSLATION AND ENGLISH TRANSLATION\n               AT RECORD OFFICE                                        391\n\n    \"      II. PUBLISHED SCOTS AND ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS                393\n\n    \"     III. ORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION AT HATFIELD                     414\n\n    \"      IV. ORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION                                 416\n\n    \"       V. ORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION AT HATFIELD                     417\n\n    \"      VI. PUBLISHED SCOTS TRANSLATION                             418\n\n    \"     VII. SCOTS VERSION                                           419\n\n    \"    VIII. ORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION                                 420\n\n    \"      IX. THE FRENCH 'SONNETS'                                    422\n\n  CRAWFORD'S DEPOSITION                                                427\n\n\n  INDEX                                                                433\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n_PHOTOGRAVURE PLATES_\n\n  MARY STUART                                               _Frontispiece_\n    _From the Portrait in the Collection of the Earl of\n    Morton._\n\n  MARY AT EIGHTEEN                                        _To face p._   4\n\n  DARNLEY ABOUT THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN                             \"       10\n\n  THE REGENT MORTON                                             \"       30\n    _From the Portrait in the Collection of the Earl of\n    Morton._\n\n  LE DEUIL BLANC                                                \"       48\n    _Sketch by Janet, 1561._\n\n  HOUSE OCCUPIED BY QUEEN MARY AT JEDBURGH                      \"       94\n\n\n_OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS_\n\n  BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF EDINBURGH                                  \"       40\n\n  THE OLD TOWER, WHITTINGHAM                                    \"      116\n\n  THE WHITTINGHAM TREE                                          \"      118\n    _After a Drawing by Richard Doyle._\n\n  THE WHITTINGHAM TREE (External View)                          \"      120\n\n  KIRK O' FIELD SITE IN 1646, SHOWING EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY      \"      126\n\n  KEY PLAN OF KIRK O' FIELD                                     \"      130\n\n  PLACARD OF MARY, 1567 (Mary as a Mermaid)                     \"      174\n\n  TWO SONNETS FROM THE CAMBRIDGE MS. (Plate A)                  \"      344\n\n  EXAMPLES OF MARY'S HAND (Plates A B, B A)                     \"      362\n\n  HANDS OF MARY BEATON, KIRKCALDY, LETHINGTON AND MARY\n  FLEMING (Plate C)                                             \"      364\n\n  SIDE OF CASKET WITH ARMS OF HAMILTON (Plate D)                \"      366\n\n  RAISED WORK ON ROOF OF CASKET (Plate D)                       \"      366\n\n  CASKET SHOWING THE LOCK AND KEY (Plate E)                     \"      368\n\n  FRONT OF CASKET SHOWING PLACE WHENCE THE LOCK HAS BEEN\n  'STRICKEN UP' (Plate E)                                       \"      368\n\n  MODERN IMITATION OF MARY'S HAND (Plate F)                     \"      420\n\n\n\n\n_Errata_\n\n\nPage 38, lines 20-23, _the sentence should read_: Holyrood is altered by\nbuildings of the Restoration; where now is the chapel where Mary prayed,\nand the priests at the altar were buffeted?\n\nPage 165, line 21, _for_ Blackadder, _read_ Blackader.\n\nPage 175, line 18, _for_ Mr. James Spens, _read_ Mr. John Spens.\n\nPages 196-205, 320, 355: Melville was _not_ 'the bearer,' as erroneously\nstated in Bain, ii. 336.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MYSTERY OF MARY STUART\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n_DRAMATIS PERSONAE_\n\n\nHistory is apt to be, and some think that it should be, a mere series of\ndry uncoloured statements. Such an event occurred, such a word was\nuttered, such a deed was done, at this date or the other. We give\nreferences to our authorities, to men who heard of the events, or even saw\nthem when they happened. But we, the writer and the readers, _see_\nnothing: we only offer or accept bald and imperfect information. If we try\nto write history on another method, we become 'picturesque:' we are\ncomposing a novel, not striving painfully to attain the truth. Yet, when\nwe know not the details;--the aspect of dwellings now ruinous; the hue and\ncut of garments long wasted into dust; the passing frown, or smile, or\ntone of the actors and the speakers in these dramas of life long ago; the\nclutch of Bothwell at his dagger's hilt, when men spoke to him in the\nstreet; the flush of Darnley's fair face as Mary and he quarrelled at\nStirling before his murder--then we know not the real history, the real\ntruth. Now and then such a detail of gesture or of change of countenance\nis recorded by an eyewitness, and brings us, for a moment, into more vivid\ncontact with the past. But we could only know it, and judge the actors and\ntheir conduct, if we could see the personages in their costume as they\nlived, passing by in some magic mirror from scene to scene. The stage, as\nin Schiller's 'Marie Stuart,' comes nearest to reality, if only the facts\ngiven by the poet were real; and next in vividness comes the novel, such\nas Scott's 'Abbot,' with its picture of Mary at Loch Leven, when she falls\ninto an hysterical fit at the mention of Bastian's marriage on the night\nof Darnley's death. Far less intimate than these imaginary pictures of\ngenius are the statements of History, dull when they are not\n'picturesque,' and when they are 'picturesque,' sometimes prejudiced,\ninaccurate, and misleading.\n\nWe are to betake ourselves to the uninviting series of contradictory\nstatements and of contested dates, and of disputable assertions, which are\nthe dry bones of a tragedy like that of the 'Agamemnon' of AEschylus. Let\nus try first to make mental pictures of the historic people who play their\nparts on what is now a dimly lighted stage, but once was shone upon by the\nsun in heaven; by the stars of darkling nights on ways dimly discerned; by\nthe candles of Holyrood, or of that crowded sick-room in Kirk o' Field,\nwhere Bothwell and the Lords played dice round the fated Darnley's couch;\nor by the flare of torches under which Mary rode down the Blackfriars Wynd\nand on to Holyrood.\n\nThe foremost person is the Queen, a tall girl of twenty-four, with brown\nhair, and sidelong eyes of red brown. Such are her sidelong eyes in the\nMorton portrait; such she bequeathed to her great-great-grandson, James,\n'the King over the Water.' She was half French in temper, one of the proud\nbold Guises, by her mother's side; and if not beautiful, she was so\nbeguiling that Elizabeth recognised her magic even in the reports of her\nenemies.[5]\n\n'This lady and Princess is a notable woman,' said Knollys; 'she showeth a\ndisposition to speak much, to be bold, to be pleasant, and to be very\nfamiliar. She showeth a great desire to be avenged of her enemies, she\nshoweth a readiness to expose herself to all perils in hope of victory,\nshe delighteth much to hear of hardiness and valiance, commending by name\nall approved hardy men of her country, although they be her enemies, and\nconcealeth no cowardice even in her friends.'\n\nThere was something 'divine,' Elizabeth said, in the face and manner which\nwon the hearts of her gaolers in Loch Leven and in England. 'Heaven bless\nthat sweet face!' cried the people in the streets as the Queen rode by, or\nswept along with the long train, the 'targetted tails' and 'stinking pride\nof women,' that Knox denounced.\n\nShe was gay, as when Randolph met her, in no more state than a burgess's\nwife might use, in the little house of St. Andrews, hard by the desecrated\nCathedral. She could be madly mirthful, dancing, or walking the black\nmidnight streets of Edinburgh, masked, in male apparel, or flitting 'in\nhomely attire,' said her enemies, about the Market Cross in Stirling. She\nloved, at sea, 'to handle the boisterous cables,' as Buchanan tells.\nPursuing her brother, Moray, on a day of storm, or hard on the doomed\nHuntly's track among the hills and morasses of the North; or galloping\nthrough the red bracken of the October moors, and the hills of the\nrobbers, to Hermitage; her energy outwore the picked warriors in her\ncompany. At other times, in a fascinating languor, she would lie long\nabed, receiving company in the French fashion, waited on by her Maries,\nwhose four names 'are four sweet symphonies,' Mary Seton and Mary Beaton,\nMary Fleming and Mary Livingstone. To the Council Board she would bring\nher woman's work, embroidery of silk and gold. She was fabled to have\ncarried pistols at her saddle-bow in war, and she excelled in matches of\narchery and pall-mall.\n\n[Illustration: Mary at Eighteen.]\n\nHer costumes, when she would be queenly, have left their mark on the\nmemory of men: the ruff from which rose the snowy neck; the brocaded\nbodice, with puffed and jewelled sleeves and stomacher; the diamonds,\ngifts of Henri II. or of Diane; the rich pearls that became the spoil of\nElizabeth; the brooches enamelled with sacred scenes, or scenes from\nfable. Many of her jewels--the ruby tortoise given by Riccio; the enamel\nof the mouse and the ensnared lioness, passed by Lethington as a token\ninto her dungeon of Loch Leven; the diamonds bequeathed by her to one whom\nshe might not name; the red enamelled wedding-ring, the gift of Darnley;\nthe diamond worn in her bosom, the betrothal present of Norfolk--are, to\nour fancy, like the fabled star-ruby of Helen of Troy, that dripped with\nblood-gouts which vanished as they fell. Riccio, Darnley, Lethington,\nNorfolk, the donors of these jewels, they were all to die for her, as\nBothwell, too, was to perish, the giver of the diamond carried by Paris,\nthe recipient of the black betrothal ring enamelled with bones and tears.\n'Her feet go down to death,' her feet that were so light in the dance,\n'her steps take hold on hell.... Her lips drop as an honeycomb, and her\nmouth is smoother than oil. But her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a\ntwo-edged sword.' The lips that dropped as honeycomb, the laughing mouth,\ncould wildly threaten, and vainly rage or beseech, when she was entrapped\nat Carberry; or could waken pity in the sternest Puritan when, half-clad,\nher bosom bare, her loose hair flowing, she wailed from her window to the\ncrowd of hostile Edinburgh.\n\nShe was of a high impatient spirit: we seem to recognise her in an\nanecdote told by the Black Laird of Ormistoun, one of Darnley's murderers,\nin prison before his execution. He had been warned by his brother, in a\nletter, that he was suspected of the crime, and should 'get some good way\nto purge himself.' He showed the letter to Bothwell, who read it, and gave\nit to Mary. She glanced at it, handed it to Huntly, 'and thereafter turnit\nunto me, and turnit her back, and gave _ane thring_ with her shoulder, and\npassit away, and spake nothing to me.' But that 'thring' spoke much of\nMary's mood, unrepentant, contemptuous, defiant.\n\nMary's gratitude was not of the kind proverbial in princes. In September\n1571, when the Ridolfi plot collapsed, and Mary's household was reduced,\nher sorest grief was for Archibald Beaton, her usher, and little Willie\nDouglas, who rescued her from Loch Leven. They were to be sent to\nScotland, which meant death to both, and she pleaded pitifully for them.\nTo her servants she wrote: 'I thank God, who has given me strength to\nendure, and I pray Him to grant you the like grace. To you will your\nloyalty bring the greatest honour, and whensoever it pleases God to set me\nfree, I will never fail you, but reward you according to my power.... Pray\nGod that you be true men and constant, to such He will never deny his\ngrace, and for you, John Gordon and William Douglas, I pray that He will\ninspire your hearts. I can no more. Live in friendship and holy charity\none with another, bearing each other's imperfections.... You, William\nDouglas, be assured that the life which you hazarded for me shall never be\ndestitute while I have one friend alive.'\n\nIn a trifling transaction she writes: 'Rather would I pay twice over, than\ninjure or suspect any man.'\n\nIn the long lament of the letters written during her twenty years of\ncaptivity, but a few moods return and repeat themselves, like phrases in a\nfugue. Vain complaints, vain hopes, vain intrigues with Spain, France, the\nPope, the Guises, the English Catholics, succeed each other with futile\niteration. But always we hear the note of loyalty even to her humblest\nservants, of sleepless memory of their sacrifices for her, of unstinting\nand generous gratitude. Such was the Queen's 'natural,' _mon naturel_:\nwith this character she faced the world: a lady to live and die for: and\nmany died.\n\nThis woman, sensitive, proud, tameless, fierce, and kind, was browbeaten\nby the implacable Knox: her priests were scourged and pilloried, her\ncreed was outraged every day; herself scolded, preached at, insulted; her\nevery plan thwarted by Elizabeth. Mary had reason enough for tears even\nbefore her servant was slain almost in her sight by her witless husband\nand the merciless Lords. She could be gay, later, dancing and hunting, but\nit may well be that, after this last and worst of cruel insults, her heart\nhad now become hard as the diamond; and that she was possessed by the evil\nspirits of loathing, and hatred, and longing for revenge. It had not been\na hard heart, but a tender; capable of sorrow for slaves at the galley\noars. After her child's birth, when she was holiday-making at Alloa,\naccording to Buchanan, with Bothwell and his gang of pirates, she wrote to\nthe Laird of Abercairnie, bidding him be merciful to a poor woman and her\n'company of puir bairnis' whom he had evicted from their 'kindly rowme,'\nor little croft.\n\nHer more than masculine courage her enemies have never denied. Her\nresolution was incapable of despair; 'her last word should be that of a\nQueen.' Her plighted promise she revered, but, in such an age, a woman's\nweapon was deceit.\n\nShe was the centre and pivot of innumerable intrigues. The fierce nobles\nlooked on her as a means for procuring lands, office, and revenge on their\nfeudal enemies. To the fiercer ministers she was an idolatress, who ought\nto die the death, and, meanwhile, must be thwarted and insulted. To\nFrance, Spain, and Austria she was a piece in the game of diplomatic\nchess. To the Pope she seemed an instrument that might win back both\nScotland and England for the Church, while the English Catholics regarded\nher as either their lawful or their future Queen. To Elizabeth she was,\nnaturally, and inevitably, and, in part, by her own fault, a deadly rival,\nwhatever feline caresses might pass between them: gifts of Mary's heart,\nin a heart-shaped diamond; Elizabeth's diamond 'like a rock,' a rock in\nwhich was no refuge. Yet Mary was of a nature so large and unsuspicious\nthat, on the strength of a ring and a promise, she trusted herself to\nElizabeth, contrary to the advice of her staunchest adherents. She was no\nnatural dissembler, and with difficulty came to understand that others\ncould be false. Her sense of honour might become perverted, but she had a\nstrong native sense of honour.\n\nOne thing this woman wanted, a master. Even before Darnley and she were\nwedded, at least publicly, Randolph wrote, 'All honour that may be\nattributed unto any man by a wife, he hath it wholly and fully.' In her\nauthentic letters to Norfolk, when, a captive in England, she regarded\nherself as betrothed to him, we find her adopting an attitude of\nsubmissive obedience. The same tone pervades the disputed Casket Letters,\nto Bothwell, and is certainly in singular consonance with the later, and\ngenuine epistles to Norfolk. But the tone--if the Casket Letters are\nforged--may have been borrowed from what was known of her early submission\nto Darnley.\n\nThe second _dramatis persona_ is Darnley, 'The Young Fool.' Concerning\nDarnley but little is recorded in comparison with what we know of Mary. He\nwas the son, by the Earl of Lennox, a royal Stewart, of that daughter whom\nMargaret Tudor, sister of Henry VIII., and widow of James IV., bore to her\nsecond husband, the Earl of Angus. Darnley's father regarded himself as\nnext to the Scottish crown, for the real nearest heir, the head of the\nHamiltons, the Duke of Chatelherault, Lennox chose to consider as\nillegitimate. After playing a double and dishonest part in the troubled\nyears following the death of James V., Lennox retired to England with his\nwife, a victim of the suspicions of Elizabeth.[6] The education of his\nson, Henry, Lord Darnley, seems to have been excellent, as far as the\nintellect and the body are concerned. The letter which, as a child of\nnine, he wrote to Mary Tudor, speaking of a work of his own, 'The New\nUtopia,' is in the new 'Roman' hand, carried to the perfection of\ncopperplate. The Lennox MSS. say that 'the Queen was stricken with the\ndart of love by the comliness of his sweet behaviour, personage, wit, and\nvertuous qualities, as well in languages[7] and lettered sciencies, as\nalso in the art of music, dancing, and playing on instruments.' When his\nmurderers had left his room at midnight, his last midnight, his\nchamber-child begged him to play, while a psalm was sung, but his hand,\nhe replied, was out for the lute, so say the Lennox Papers. Physically he\nwas 'a comely Prince of a fair and large stature, pleasant in countenance\n... well exercised in martial pastimes upon horseback as any Prince of\nthat age.' The Spanish Ambassador calls him 'an amiable youth.' But it is\nplain that 'the long lad,' the _gentil hutaudeau_, with his girlish bloom,\nand early tendency to fulness of body, was a spoiled child. His mother, a\npassionate intriguer, kept this before him, that, as great-grandson of\nHenry VII., and as cousin of Mary Stuart, he should unite the two crowns.\nThere were Catholics enough in England to flatter the pride of a future\nking, though now in exile. This Prince _in partibus_, like his far-away\ndescendant, Prince Charles Edward, combined a show of charming manners,\nwhen he chose to charm, with an arrogant and violent petulance, when he\ndeemed it safe to be insulting. At his first arrival in Scotland he won\ngolden opinions, 'his courteous dealing with all men is well spoken of.'\nAs his favour with Mary waxed he 'dealt blows where he knew that they\nwould be taken;' he is said to have drawn his dagger on an official who\nbrought him a disappointing message, and his foolish freedom of tongue\ngave Moray the alarm. It was soon prophesied that he 'could not continue\nlong.' 'To all honest men he is intolerable, and almost forgetful of her\nalready, that has adventured so much for his sake. What shall become of\nher or what life with him she shall lead, that already taketh so much\nupon him as to control and command her, I leave it to others to think.' So\nRandolph, the English Ambassador, wrote as early as May, 1565. She was\n'blinded, transported, carried I know not whither or which way, to her own\nconfusion and destruction:' words of omen that were fulfilled.\n\n[Illustration: Darnley at about the age of 18.\n\nWalker & Cockerell. ph. sc.]\n\nWhether Elizabeth let Darnley go to Scotland merely for Mary's\nentanglement, whether Mary fell in love with the handsome accomplished lad\n(as Randolph seems to prove) or not, are questions then, and now,\ndisputed. The Lennox Papers, declaring that she was smitten by the arrow\nof love; and her own conduct, at first, make it highly probable that she\nentertained for the _gentil hutaudeau_ a passion, or a passionate caprice.\n\nDarnley, at least, acted like a new chemical agent in the development of\nMary's character. She had been singularly long-suffering; she had borne\nthe insults and outrages of the extreme Protestants; she had leaned on her\nbrother, Moray, and on Lethington; following or even leading these\nadvisers to the ruin of Huntly, her chief coreligionist. Though constantly\nprofessing, openly to Knox, secretly to the Pope, her desire to succour\nthe ancient Church, she was obviously regarded, in Papal circles, as slack\nin the work. She had been pliant, she had endured the long calculated\ndelays of Elizabeth, as to her marriage, with patience; but, so soon as\nDarnley crossed her path, she became resolute, even reckless. Despite the\nopposition, interested, or religious, or based on the pretext of religion,\nwhich Moray and his allies offered, Mary wedded Darnley. She found him a\npetulant, ambitious boy; sullen, suspicious, resentful, swayed by the\nambition to be a king in earnest, but too indolent in affairs for the\nbusiness of a king.\n\nAt tennis, with Riccio, or while exercising his great horses, his\nfavourite amusement, Darnley was pining to use his jewelled dagger. In the\nfeverish days before the deed it is probable that he kept his courage\nscrewed up by the use of stimulants, to which he was addicted. That he\ndevoted himself to loose promiscuous intrigue injurious to his health, is\nnot established, though, when her child was born, Mary warned Darnley that\nthe babe was 'only too much his son,' perhaps with a foreboding of\nhereditary disease. A satirist called Darnley 'the leper:' leprosy being\nconfounded with 'la grosse verole.' Mary, who had fainting fits, was said\nto be epileptic.\n\nDarnley, according to Lennox, represented himself as pure in this regard,\nnor have we any valid evidence to the contrary. But his word was\nabsolutely worthless.\n\nOutraged and harassed, broken, at last, in health, in constant pain,\nexpressing herself in hysterical outbursts of despair and desire for\ndeath, Mary needed no passion for Bothwell to make her long for freedom\nfrom the young fool. From his sick-bed in Glasgow, as we shall see, he\nsent, by a messenger, a cutting verbal taunt to the Queen; so his own\nfriends declare, they who call Darnley 'that innocent lamb.' It is not\nwonderful if, in an age of treachery and revenge, the character of Mary\nnow broke down. 'I would not do it to him for my own revenge. My heart\nbleeds at it,' she says to Bothwell, in the Casket Letter II., if that was\nwritten by her. But, whatever her part in it, the deed was done.\n\nOf Bothwell, the third protagonist in the tragedy of Three, we have no\nportrait, and but discrepant descriptions. They who saw his body, not yet\nwholly decayed, in Denmark, reported that he must have been 'an ugly\nScot,' with red hair, mixed with grey before he died. Much such another\nwas the truculent Morton.[8] Born in 1536 or 1537, Bothwell was in the\nflower of his age, about thirty, when Darnley perished. He was certainly\nnot old enough to have been Mary's father, as Sir John Skelton declared,\nfor he was not six years her senior. His father died in 1556, and Bothwell\ncame young into the Hepburn inheritance of impoverished estates, high\noffices, and wild reckless blood. According to Buchanan, Bothwell, in\nearly youth, was brought up at the house of his great-uncle, Patrick\nHepburn, Bishop of Moray, who certainly was a man of profligate life. It\nis highly probable that Bothwell was educated in France.\n\n'Blockish' or not, Bothwell had the taste of a bibliophile. One of two\nbooks from his library, well bound, and tooled with his name and arms, is\nin the collection of the University of Edinburgh. Another was in the\nGibson Craig Library. The works are a tract of Valturin, on Military\nDiscipline (Paris, 1555, folio), and French translations of martial\ntreatises attributed to Vegetius, Sextus Julius, and AElian, with a\ncollection of anecdotes of warlike affairs (Paris, 1556, folio). The\npossession of books like these, in such excellent condition, is no proof\nof doltishness. Moreover, Bothwell appears to have read his 'CXX Histoires\nconcernans le faite guerre.' The evidence comes to us from a source which\ndiscredits the virulent rhetoric of Buchanan's ally.\n\nIt was the cue of Mary's foes to represent Bothwell as an ungainly,\nstupid, cowardly, vicious monster: because, he being such a man, what a\nwretch must the Queen be who could love him! 'Which love, whoever saw not,\nand yet hath seen him, will perhaps think it incredible.... But yet here\nthere want no causes, for there was in them both a likeness, if not of\nbeauty or outward things, nor of virtues, yet of most extream vices.'[9]\nBuchanan had often celebrated, down to December 1566, Mary's extreme\nvirtues. To be sure his poem, recited shortly before Darnley's death, may\nhave been written almost as early as James's birth, in readiness for the\nfeast at his baptism, and before Mary's intrigue with Bothwell could have\nbegun. In any case, to prove Bothwell's cowardice, some ally of Buchanan's\ncites his behaviour at Carberry Hill, where he wishes us to believe that\nBothwell showed the white feather of Mary's 'pretty venereous pidgeon.' As\na witness, he cites du Croc, the French Ambassador, an aged and sagacious\nman. To du Croc he has appealed, to du Croc he shall go. That Ambassador\nwrites: 'He' (Bothwell) 'told me that there must be no more parley, for he\nsaw that the enemy was approaching, and had already crossed the burn. He\nsaid that, if I wished to resemble the man who tried to arrange a treaty\nbetween the forces of Scipio and Hannibal, their armies being ready to\njoin in battle, like the two now before us, and who failed, and, wishing\nto remain neutral, took a point of vantage, and beheld the best sport that\never he saw in his life, why then I should act like that man, and would\ngreatly enjoy the spectacle of a good fight.' Bothwell's memory was\ninaccurate, or du Croc has misreported his anecdote, but he was certainly\nboth cool and classical on an exciting occasion.\n\nDu Croc declined the invitation; he was not present when Bothwell refused\nto fight a champion of the Lords, but he goes on: 'I am obliged to say\nthat I saw a great leader, speaking with great confidence, and leading his\nforces boldly, gaily, and skilfully.... I admired him, for he saw that his\nfoes were resolute, he could not be sure of the loyalty of half of his own\nmen, and yet he was quite unmoved.'[10] Bothwell, then, was neither dolt,\nlout, nor coward, as Buchanan's ally wishes us to believe, for the purpose\nof disparaging the taste of a Queen, Buchanan's pupil, whose praises he\nhad so often sung.\n\nIn an age when many gentlemen and ladies could not sign their names,\nBothwell wrote, and wrote French, in a firm, yet delicate Italic hand, of\nsingular grace and clearness.[11] His enemies accused him of studying none\nbut books of Art Magic in his youth, and he may have shared the taste of\nthe great contemporary mathematician, Napier of Merchistoun, the inventor\nof Logarithms. Both Mary's friends and enemies, including the hostile\nLords in their proclamations, averred that Bothwell had won her favour by\nunlawful means, philtres, witchcraft, or what we call Hypnotism. Such\nbeliefs were universal: Ruthven, in his account of Riccio's murder, tells\nus that he gave Mary a ring, as an antidote to poison (not that _he_\nbelieved in it), and that both she and Moray took him for a sorcerer. On a\ncharge of sorcery did Moray later burn the Lyon Herald, Sir William\nStewart, probably basing the accusation on a letter in which Sir William\nconfessed to having consulted a prophet, perhaps Napier of Merchistoun,\nthe father, not the inventor of Logarithms.[12] Quite possibly Bothwell\nmay really have studied the Black Art in Cornelius Agrippa and similar\nauthors. In any case it is plain that, as regards culture, the author of\n_Les Affaires du Conte de Boduel_, the man familiar with the Court of\nFrance, where he had held command in the Scots Guards, and had probably\nknown Ronsard and Brantome, must have been a _rara avis_ of culture among\nthe nobles at Holyrood. So far, then, Mary's love for him, if love she\nentertained, was the reverse of 'incredible.' It did not need to be\nexplained by a common possession of 'extreme vices.' The author, as usual,\noverstates his case, and proves too much: Lesley admits that Bothwell was\nhandsome, an opinion emphatically contradicted by Brantome.\n\nBothwell had the charm of recklessness to an unexampled degree. He was\nfierce, passionate, unyielding, strong, and, in the darkest of Mary's\ndays, had been loyal. He had won for her what Knollys tells us that she\nmost prized, victory. A greater contrast could not be to the false\nfleeting Darnley, the bully with 'a heart of wax.' In him Mary had more\nthan enough of bloom and youthful graces: she could master him, and she\nlonged for a master. If then she loved Bothwell, her love, however wicked,\nwas not unnatural or incredible. He had been loved by many women, and had\nruined all of them.\n\nAmong the other persons of the play, Moray is foremost, Mary's natural\nbrother, the son of her whom James V. loved best, and, it was said, still\ndreamed of while wooing a bride in France. Moray is an enigma. History\nsees him, as in Lethington's phrase, 'looking through his fingers,'\nlooking thus at Riccio's and at Darnley's murders. These fingers hide the\nface. He was undeniably a sound Protestant: only for a brief while, in\nMary's early reign, was he sundered from Knox. In war he was, as he aimed\nat being, 'a Captain in Israel,' cool, courageous, and skilled. That he\nwas extremely acquisitive is certain. Born a royal bastard, and trained\nfor the Church, he clung as 'Commendator' to the Church's property which\nhe held as a layman. His enormous possessions in land, collected partly by\nmeans that sailed close to the wind, partly from the grants of Mary,\nexcited the rash words of Darnley, that they were 'too large.'\n\nAn early incident in Moray's life seems characteristic. The battle of\nPinkie was fought in 1547, when he was sixteen. Among the slain was the\nMaster of Buchan, the heir-apparent of the Earl of Buchan. He left a\nchild, Christian Stewart, who was now heiress of the earldom. In January\n1550, young Lord James Stewart, though Prior of St. Andrews, contracted\nhimself in marriage with the little girl. The old earl was extravagant,\nperhaps more or less insane, and was deep in debt. His lands were\nmortgaged. In 1556 the Lord James bought and secured from the Regent, Mary\nof Guise, the right of redemption. In 1562, being all powerful now with\nMary, he secured a grant of the 'ward, non-entries, and reliefs of the\nwhole estates of the earldom of Buchan.' Now, by the proclamation made,\nas usual, before Pinkie fight, all these were left by the Crown, free, to\nthe heirs of such as might fall in the battle. Therefore they ought to\nhave appertained to Christian Stewart, whom Moray had not married, her\ngrandfather being dead. Moray secured everything to himself, by charters\nfrom the Crown. The unlucky Christian went on living at Loch Leven, with\nMoray's mother, Lady Douglas. In February 1562 Moray wedded Agnes Keith,\ndaughter of the Earl Marischal. His brother, apparently without his\nknowledge, then married Christian. Moray wrote a letter to his own mother\ncomplaining of this marriage as an act of treachery. The Old Man peeps out\nthrough the godly and respectful style of this epistle. Moray speaks of\nChristian as 'that innocent;' perhaps she was not remarkable for\nintellect. He adds that whoever tries to take from him the lady's estates\nwill have to pass over 'his belly.' And, indeed, he retained the\npossessions. The whole transaction does seem to savour of worldliness, to\nbe regretted in so good a man.\n\nMoray continued, after he was pardoned for his rebellion, to add estate to\nestate. He was a pensioner of England; from France he received valuable\npresents. His widow endeavoured to retain the diamonds which Mary had\nowned, and wished to leave attached to the Scottish crown. His ambition\nwas probably more limited than his covetousness, and the suspicion that he\naimed at being king, though natural, was baseless. While he must have\nknown, at least as well as Mary, the guilt of Morton, Lethington, Balfour,\nBothwell, and Argyll, he associated familiarly with them, before he left\nScotland prior to Mary's marriage with Bothwell, and he used Bothwell's\naccomplices, including the Bishop who married Bothwell to Mary, in his\nattack on the character of his sister. Whether he betrayed Norfolk, or\nnot, was a question between David Hume and Dr. Robertson. If to report\nNorfolk's private conversation to Elizabeth is to betray,[13] Moray was a\ntraitor, and did what Lethington scorned to do. But Moray's most\nremarkable quality was caution. He always had an _alibi_. He knew of\nRiccio's murder--and came to Edinburgh next day. He left Edinburgh in the\nmorning, some sixteen hours before the explosion of Kirk o' Field. He left\nEdinburgh for England and France, twelve days before the nobles signed the\ndocument upholding Bothwell's innocence, and urging him to marry the\nQueen. He allowed Elizabeth to lie, in his presence, and about her\nencouragement of his rebellion, to the French Ambassador. His own account\nof his first interview with his sister, in prison at Loch Leven, shows him\nas an adept in menace cruelly suspended over her helpless head. The\naccount of Mary's secretary, Nau, is much less unfavourable to Moray than\nhis own, for obvious reasons.\n\nAs Regent he was bold, energetic, and ruthless: the suspicion of his\nintention to give up a suppliant and fugitive aroused the tolerant ethics\nof the Border. A strong, patient, cautious man, capable of deep reserve,\nin his family relations, financial matters apart, austerely moral, Moray\nwould have made an excellent king, but as a Queen's brother he was most\ndangerous, when not permitted to be all powerful. He could not have\nrescued Darnley, or saved Mary from herself, without risks which a Knox or\na Craig would certainly have faced, but which no secular leader in\nScotland would have dreamed of encountering. Did he wish to save the\ndoomed prince? A precise Puritan, he was by no means like a conscience\namong the warring members of the body politic. Mary rejoiced at the news\nof his murder, pensioned the assassin, and, of all people, chose an\nArchbishop as her confidant.\n\nReviled by Mary's literary partisans, Moray to Mr. Froude seemed 'noble'\nand 'stainless.' He was a man of his time, a time when every traitor or\nassassin had 'God' and 'honour' for ever on his lips. At the hypocrisies\nand falsehoods of his party, deeds of treachery and blood, Moray 'looked\nthrough his fingers.'\n\nInfinitely the most fascinating character in the plot was William\nMaitland, the younger, of Lethington. The charm which he exercised over\nhis contemporaries, from Mary herself to diplomatists like Randolph, and\nmen of the sword like Kirkcaldy of Grange, has not yet exhausted itself.\nReaders of Sir John Skelton's interesting book, 'Maitland of Lethington,'\nmust observe, if they know the facts, that, in presence of Lethington, Sir\nJohn is like 'birds whom the charmer serpent draws.' He is an advocate of\nMary, but of Mary as a 'charming sinner.' By Lethington he is dominated:\nhe will scarcely admit that there is a stain on his scutcheon, a\nscutcheon, alas! smirched and defaced. Could a man of to-day hold an\nhour's converse with a man of that age, he would choose Lethington. He was\nbehind all the scenes: he held the threads of all the plots; he made all\nthe puppets dance at his will. Yet by birth he was merely the son of the\ngood and wise poet and essayist, Sir Richard Lethington, laird of a rugged\ntower and of lands in Lauderdale, _pastorum loca vasta_. He was born about\n1525, had studied in France, and was a man of classical culture, without a\ntouch of pedantry. As early as 1555, we find him arguing after supper with\nKnox, on the lawfulness of bowing down in the House of Rimmon, attending\nthe Mass. Knox had the last word, for Lethington was usually tactful; in\nargument Knox was a babe in the hands of the amateur theologian. Appointed\nSecretary to Mary of Guise, in the troubled years of the Congregation,\nLethington deserted her and joined the Lords. He negotiated for them with\nCecil and Elizabeth, and almost to the last he was true to one idea, the\nunion of the crowns of England and Scotland in peace and amity.\n\nThrough all the windings of his policy that idea governed him if not\nthwarted by personal considerations, as at the last. Before Mary's arrival\nin Scotland he hastened to make his peace with her, and her peace and\ntrust she readily granted. Lethington was the spoiled child of the\npolitical world, 'the flower of the wits of Scotland,' as Elizabeth styled\nhim; was reckoned indispensable, was petted, caressed, and forgiven. He\nnot only withstood Knox, in the interests of religious toleration, but he\nmet him with a smile, with the weapons of _persiflage_, which riddled and\nrankled in the vanity of the Reformer. Lethington was modern to the\nfinger-tips, a man of to-day, moving among the bravos, and using the\npoisoned tools, of an age of violence and perfidy.\n\nAllied by marriage to the Earl of Atholl, in hours of peril he placed the\nTay and the Pass of Killiecrankie between himself and the Law.\n\nFrom the time of his restoration to Mary's favour after Riccio's murder,\nhis part in the obscure intrigue of Darnley's murder, indeed all his\nfuture course, is a mystery. Being now over forty he had long wooed and\njust before the murder had won the beautiful Mary Fleming, of all the Four\nMaries the dearest to the Queen. His letter to Cecil on his love affair is\na charming interlude. 'He is no more fit for her than I to be a page,'\nsays the brawny, grizzled, Kirkcaldy of Grange. His devotion is often\nridiculed by perhaps envious acquaintances. But, from September 20, 1566,\nLethington was deep in every scheme against Darnley. He certainly signed\nthe murder 'band.' He was with Mary at Stirling (April 22-23, 1567) when,\nif he did not know that Bothwell meant to carry her off (and perhaps he\nreally did not know), he was alone in his ignorance among the inner circle\nof politicians. Yet he disliked the marriage, and was hated by Bothwell.\nOn the day of Mary's _enlevement_, Bothwell took Lethington, threatened\nhim, and, but for Mary, would probably have slain him. Passive as to\nherself, she defended the Secretary with royal courage. Days darkened\nround the Queen, the nobles rose in arms. Lethington, about June 7, fled\nfirst to Livingstone's house of Callendar, then joined Atholl and the\nenemies of the Queen. We shall later attempt to unfold the secret springs\nof his tortuous and fatal policy.\n\nLethington had been the Ahithophel of the age. 'And the counsel of\nAhithophel, which he counselled in those days, was as if a man had\nenquired at the oracle of God.' But the Lord 'turned the counsel of\nAhithophel into foolishness.' He wrought against Mary, just after she\nsaved his life from the dagger of Bothwell, some secret inexpiable\noffence, besides public injuries. Fear of her vengeance, for she knew\nsomething fatal to him, drove him into her party when her cause was\ndesperate. He escaped the gallows by a natural death; he had long been\nsmitten by creeping paralysis. Mary hated him dead, as after his betrayal\nof her she had loathed him living.\n\nMary was sorely bested, then, between the Young Fool, the Furious Man, the\nPuritan brother, and Michael Wylie (Machiavelli) as the Scots nicknamed\nLethington. She was absolutely alone. There was no man whom she could\ntrust. On every hand were known rebels, half pardoned, half reconciled.\nFeuds, above all that of her husband and his clan, the Lennox Stewarts,\nwith the nearest heirs of the crown, the Hamiltons, broke out eternally.\nThe Protestants hated her: the Preachers longed to drag her down: the\nEnglish Ambassadors were hostile spies. France was far away, the Queen\nMother was her enemy: her kindred, the Guises, were cold or powerless. She\nsaw only one strong man who had been loyal, one protector who had served\nher mother, and saved herself. That man was Bothwell.\n\nMost inscrutable of the persons in the play is Bothwell's wife, Lady Jane\nGordon, a daughter of Huntly, the dead and ruined Cock of the North. If we\nmay accept the Casket Sonnets, Lady Jane, a girl of twenty, resisted her\nbrother's scheme to wed her to Bothwell. She preferred some one whom the\nsonnet calls 'a troublesome fool,' and a note, in the Lennox Papers,\ninforms us that her first love was Ogilvy of Boyne, who consoled himself\nwith Mary Beaton. Still following the sonnets, we learn that the young\nLady Bothwell dressed ill, but won her wild husband's heart by literary\nlove letters plagiarised from 'some illustrious author.' The existing\nletters of the lady, written after the years of storm, are businesslike,\nand deal with business. She consented to her divorce for a valuable\nconsideration in lands which she held till her death, in the reign of\nCharles I. According to general opinion, Bothwell, as we shall see,\ngreatly preferred her to the Queen, and continued to live with her after\nthe divorce. Lady Bothwell kept the dispensation which enabled her to\nmarry Bothwell, though he was divorced from her for the want of it. She\nmarried the Earl of Sutherland in 1573, and, after his death, returned _a\nses premiers amours_, wedding her old true love who had wooed her in her\ngirlhood, Ogilvy of Boyne. Their conversation must have been rich in\ncurious reminiscences. The loves and hatreds of their youth were extinct;\nthe wild hearts of Bothwell, Mary, Mary Beaton, Lethington, Darnley, and\nthe rest, had long ceased to beat, and these two were left, Darby and\nJoan, alone in a new world.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n_THE MINOR CHARACTERS_\n\n\nHaving sketched the chief actors in this tragedy, we may glance at the\nplayers of subordinate parts. They were such men as are apt to be bred\nwhen a religious and social Revolution has shaken the bases of morality,\nwhen acquiescence in theological party cries confers the title of 'godly:'\nwhen the wealth of a Church is to be won by cunning or force, and when\nfeudal or clan loyalty to a chief is infinitely more potent than fidelity\nto king, country, and the fundamental laws of morality. The Protestants,\nthe 'godly,' accused the Idolaters (the Catholics) of throwing their sins\noff their shoulders in the confessional, and beginning anew. But the\ngodly, if naturally ruffians, consoled and cleared themselves by\nrepentances on the scaffold, and one felt assured, after a life of crime,\nthat he 'should sup with God that night.'\n\nThe Earl of Morton is no minor character in the history of Scotland, but\nhis part is relatively subordinate in that of Mary Stuart. The son of the\nmost accomplished and perfidious scoundrel of the past generation, Sir\nGeorge Douglas, brother of Angus the brother-in-law of Henry VIII., Morton\nhad treachery in his blood. His father had alternately betrayed England of\nwhich he was a pensioner, and Scotland of which he was a subject. By a\nperverse ingenuity of shame, he had used the sacred Douglas Heart, the\ncognisance of the House, the achievement granted to the descendants of the\nGood Lord James, as a mark to indicate what passages in his treasonable\nletters might be relied on by his English employers. In Morton's father\nand uncle had lived on the ancient inappeasable feud between Douglases and\nStewarts, between the Nobles and the Crown. It was a feud stained by\nmurder under trust, by betrayal in the field, and perfidy in the closet.\nMorton was heir to the feud of his family, and to the falseness. When the\nReformation broke out, and the Wars of the Congregation against Idolatry,\nMorton wavered long, but at length joined the Protestants when they were\ncertain of English assistance. Henceforth he was one of Mr. Froude's\n'small gallant band' of Reformers, and, as such, was hostile to Mary. His\nsanctimonious snuffle is audible still, in his remark to Throckmorton at\nthe time when the Englishman probably saved the life of the Queen from the\nLords. Throckmorton asked to be allowed to visit Mary in prison: 'The Earl\nMorton answered me that shortly I should hear from them, but the day being\ndestined, as I did see, to the Communion, continual preaching, and common\nprayer, they could not be absent, nor attend matters of the world, but\nfirst they must seek the matters of God, and take counsel of Him who could\nbest direct them.'\n\nA red-handed murderer, living in open adultery with the widow of Captain\nCullen, whom he had hanged, and daily consorting with murderers like his\nkinsman, Archibald Douglas, the Parson of Glasgow, Morton approached the\nDivine Mysteries. His private life was notoriously profligate; he added\navarice to his other and more genial peccadilloes. He intruded on the Kirk\nthe Tulchan Bishops, who were mere filters, or conduits, through which\necclesiastical wealth flowed to the State. Yet he was godly: he was the\nfoe of Idolaters, and the Kirk, while deploring his excesses, cast on him\nno unfavourable eye. He held the office of Chancellor, and, during the\nraids and risings which were protests against Darnley's marriage with\nMary, he was in touch with both parties, but did not commit himself. About\nFebruary, 1566, there seems to have been a purpose to deprive him of the\nSeals. He seized the moment to join hands with Darnley in antagonism to\nRiccio: he and his Douglases, George and Archibald, helped to organise the\nmurder of the favourite: Morton was then driven into England. At\nChristmas, 1566, after signing a band, not involving murder, against\nDarnley, he was pardoned, returned, was made acquainted with the scheme\nfor killing Darnley, but, he declared, declined to join without Mary's\nwritten warrant. His friend and retainer, Archibald Douglas, was present\nat the laying of gunpowder in Kirk o' Field. Morton presently signed a\nband promising to aid and abet Bothwell, but instantly joined the nobles\nwho overthrew him. His retainers discovered the fatal Casket full of\nMary's alleged letters to Bothwell, and he was one of the most ardent of\nher prosecutors. Vengeance came upon him, fourteen years later, from\nStewart, the brother-in-law of John Knox.\n\n[Illustration: The Regent Morton\n\nFrom the portrait in the collection of the Earl of Morton.\n\nWalker & Cockerell. ph. sc.]\n\nIn person, Morton was indeed one of the Red Douglases. A good portrait at\nDalmahoy represents him with a common but grim set of features, and\nreddish tawny hair, under a tall black Puritanic hat.\n\nA jackal constantly attendant on Morton was his kinsman, Archibald\nDouglas, a son of Douglas of Whittingham. In Archibald we see the\n'strugforlifeur' (as M. Daudet renders Darwin) of the period. A younger\nson, he was apparently educated for the priesthood, before the\nReformation. In 1565, he was made 'Parson of Douglas,' drawing the\nrevenues, and also was an Extraordinary Lord of Session. Involved in\nRiccio's murder, he fled to France (where he may have been educated), but\nreturned to negotiate Morton's pardon. He was go-between to Morton,\nBothwell, and Lethington, in the affair of Darnley's murder, and was\npresent at, or just before, the explosion, losing one of his embroidered\nvelvet dress shoes, in which he had perhaps been dancing at Bastian's\nmarriage masque. He was also a spectator of the opening of the Casket\n(June 21, 1567), and so zealous and useful against Mary, that, after her\ndefeat at Langside, he received the forfeited lands of the Laird of\nCorstorphine, near Edinburgh. In 1568 he became an Ordinary, or regular\nJudge of the Court of Session, and, later obtained the parish of Glasgow.\nThe messenger of the Kirk, who came to bid him prepare his first sermon,\nfound him playing cards with the Laird of Bargany. He had previously been\nplucked in the examination for the ministry: this was his second chance.\nBeing examined he declined to attempt the Greek Testament; and requested\nanother minister to pray for him, 'for I am not used to pray.' His sermon\nwas not thought savoury. After Morton became Regent, Archibald, for money,\ntook the Queen's side, and is accused of an ungrateful and unclerical\nscheme to murder his cousin, Morton. Just for the devilry of it, and a\nlittle money, he was intriguing, a traitor to Morton, his benefactor, with\nMary's party, and also acting as a spy for Drury and the English. He was,\nlater, restored to his place on the Bench of Scottish Themis, crowded as\nit was with assassins, but he fled to England when Morton was accused and\ndragged down by Stewart of Ochiltree (1581). Morton, in his dying\ndeclaration, remembered his grudge against Archibald or for some other\nreason freely confessed _his_ iniquities. Archibald had distinguished\nhimself as a forger of letters intended to aid Morton, but was denounced\nby his own brother, also a judge, Douglas of Whittingham. The later career\nof this accomplished gentleman was a series of treacherous betrayals of\nMary. In England his charm and accomplishments recommended him to the\nfriendship of Fulke Greville, who did not penetrate his character. His\nletters reveal a polished irony. He was for some time ambassador of James\nVI. to Elizabeth, was again accused of forgery, and, probably, ended his\nactive career in rural retirement. History sees Archibald in the pulpit, a\nStickit Minister: on the Bench administering justice: hobbling hurriedly\nfrom Kirk o' Field in one shoe; watching the bursting open of the silver\nCasket; playing cards, spying, dancing, and winning hearts, and forging\nletters: a versatile man of considerable charm and knowledge of the world.\nHis life, after 1581, is a varied but always sordid chapter of romance.\n\nA grimmer and a godlier man is Mr. John Wood, secretary of Moray, with\nwhom he had been in France, an austere person, a rebuker of Mary's dances\nand frivolity. He, too, was a Lord of Session, and was wont to spur Moray\non against Idolaters. We shall find him very busy in managing the Casket\nLetters. He was slain by young Forbes of Reres, the son of the corpulent\nLady Reres, rumoured to have been the complacent confidant of Mary's amour\nwith Bothwell. Reres had certainly no reason to love Mr. John Wood. George\nBuchanan, too, is on the scene, the Latin poet, the Latin historian, who\nsang of and libelled his Queen, his pupil. Old now, and a devoted partisan\nof the Lennoxes, no man contributed more to the cause of Mary's innocence\nthan Buchanan, so grossly inaccurate and amusingly inconsistent are his\nvarious indictments of her behaviour. 'He spak and wret as they that wer\nabout him for the tym infourmed him,' says Sir James Melville, 'for he was\nbecom sleprie and cairles.' Melville speaks of a later date, but George's\ninvectives against Mary are 'careless' in all conscience.\n\nBesides these there is a pell-mell of men and women; crafty courteous\ndiplomatists like the two Melvilles; burly Kirkcaldy of Grange, a murderer\nof the Cardinal, a spy of England when he was in French service, a secret\nagent of Cecil, a brave man and good captain, but accused of forgery, and\nby no means 'the second Wallace of Scotland,' the frank, manly,\nopen-hearted Greysteil of historical tradition. Huntly and Argyll make\nlittle mark on the imagination: both astute, both full of promise, both\nbarren of accomplishment. The Hamiltons have a lofty position, but are\ndestitute of brains as of scruples; even the Archbishop, most unscrupulous\nof all, is no substitute for Cardinal Beaton.\n\nThere is a crowd of squires; loyal, gallant Arthur Erskine, Willie\nDouglas, who drew Mary forth of prison, the two Standens, English\nequerries of Darnley, whose lives are unwritten romances (what one of them\ndid write is picturesque but untrustworthy), Lennox Lairds, busy Minto,\nProvost of Glasgow, and Houstoun, and valiant dubious Thomas Crawford,\ncalled 'Gauntlets,' and shifty Drumquhassel; spies like Rokeby, assassins\nif need or opportunity arise; copper captains like Captain Cullen; and\nmost truculent of all, Bothwell's Lambs, young Tala, who ceased reading\nthe Bible when he came to Court; and the Black Laird of Ormistoun, he who,\non the day of his hanging, said 'With God I hope this night to sup.' Said\nhe, 'Of all men on the earth I have been one of the proudest and (_sic_)\nhigh-minded, and most filthy of my body. But specially I have shed\ninnocent blood of one Michael Hunter with my own hands. Alas therefore,\nbecause the said Michael, having me lying on my back, having a pitchfork\nin his hand, might have slain me if he pleased, but did it not, which of\nall things grieves me most in conscience.... Within these seven years I\nnever saw two good men, nor one good deed, but all kind of wickedness; and\nyet my God would not suffer me to be lost, and has drawn me from them as\nout of Hell ... for the which I thank him, and I am assured that I am one\nof his Elect.' This devotee used to hang about Mary in Carlisle, when she\nhad fled into England. 'Not two good men, nor one good deed,' saw\nOrmistoun, in seven long years of riding the Border, and following\nBothwell to Court or Warden's Raid. Few are the good men, rare are the\ngood deeds, that meet us in this tragic History. 'There is none that doeth\ngood, no, not one.'\n\nBut behind the men and the time are the Preachers of Righteousness, grim,\nindeed, as their Geneva gowns, not gentle and easily entreated, crying\nout on the Murderess, Adulteress, Idolatress, to be led to block or stake,\nbut yet bold to rebuke Bothwell when he had cowed all the nobles of the\nland. The future was with these men, with the smaller barons or lairds,\nand with sober burgesses, like the discreet author of the 'Diurnal of\nOccurrents,' and with honest hinds, like Michael Hunter, whom Ormistoun\nslew in cold blood. The social and religious cataclysm withdrew its waves:\na new Creed grew into the hearts of the people: intercourse with England\nslowly abated the ruffianism of the Lords: slowly the Law extended to the\nBorder: swiftly the bonds of feudal duty were broken: but not in Mary's\ntime.\n\nOne strange feature of the age we must not forget: the universal belief in\nsorcery. Mary and Moray (she declares) both believed that Ruthven had\ngiven her a ring of baneful magical properties. Foes and friends alike\nalleged that Bothwell had bewitched Mary 'by unleasom means,' philtres,\n'sweet waters,' magic. The preachers, when Mary fled, urged Moray to burn\nwitches, and the cliffs of St. Andrews flared with the flames wherein they\nperished. The Lyon King at Arms, as has been said, died by fire,\napparently for confessed dealings with a wizard, who foretold the events\nof the year, and for treasure hunting with the divining rod. A Napier of\nMerchistoun did foretell Mary's escape (according to Nau); this man,\n_ayant reputation de grand magicien_, may have been the soothsayer: his\nson sought for hidden treasure by divination. Buchanan tells how a dying\ngentleman beheld Darnley's fate in a clairvoyant vision: and how a dim\nshapeless thing smote and awoke, successively, four Atholl men in\nEdinburgh, on the night of the crime of Kirk o' Field. Old rhyming\nprophecies were circulated and believed. Knox himself was credited with\nwinning his sixteen-year-old bride by witchcraft, as Bothwell won Mary.\nMen listened to his reports of his own 'premonitions.'\n\nWhen Huntly, one of the band for Darnley's murder, died, his death was\nstrange. He had hunted, and taken three hares and a fox, after dinner he\nplayed football, fell into a fit, and expired, crying 'never a word save\none, looking up broad with his eyes, and that word was this, \"Look, Look,\nLook!\"' Unlike the dying murderer of Riccio, Ruthven, he perhaps did not\nbehold the Angel Choir. His coffers were locked up in a chamber, with\ncandles burning. Next day a rough fellow, banished by Lochinvar, and\nreceived by Huntly, fell into unconsciousness for twenty-four hours, and\non waking, cried '_Cauld, cauld, cauld!_' John Hamilton, opening one of\nthe dead Earl's coffers, fell down with the same exclamation. Men carried\nhim away, and, returning, found a third man fallen senseless on the\ncoffer. 'All wrought as the Earl of Huntly wrought in the death thraw.'\nThe chamber was haunted by strange sounds: the word went about that the\nEarl was rising again. Says Knox's secretary, Bannatyne, who tells this\ntale, 'I maun praise the Lord my God, and bless his holy name for ever,\nwhen I behold the five that was in the conspiracy, not only of the King's\n[Darnley's] and the second Regent's murder, but also of the first Regent's\nmurder. Four is past with small provision, to wit, Lethington, Argyll,\nBothwell, and last of all Huntly. I hope in God the fifth [Morton] shall\ndie more perfectly, and declare his life's deeds with his own mouth,\nmaking his repentance at the gallows foot.' Part of his life's deeds\nMorton did declare on his dying day.\n\nIn such a mist of dark beliefs and dreads was the world living, beliefs\nshared by Queen, preacher, and Earl, scholar, poet, historian, and the\nsimple secretary of Knox: while the sun shone fair on St. Leonard's\ngardens, and boys like little James Melville were playing tennis and golf.\nThe scenes in which the wild deeds were done are scarcely recognisable in\nmodern Scotland. Holyrood is altered by buildings of the Restoration; the\nlovely chapel is a ruin, where Mary prayed, and the priests at the altar\nwere buffeted. The Queen's chamber is empty, swept and garnished, as is\nthe little cabinet whereinto came the livid face of Ruthven, clad in\narmour, and Darnley, half afraid, and Standen, later to boast, with\ndifferent circumstances, that he saved the Queen from the dirk of Patrick\nBallantyne. The blood of Riccio, outside the door of the state chamber, is\nwashed away: there are only a tourist or two in the long hall where Mary\nleaned on Chastelard's breast in the dance called 'The Purpose' or\n'talking dance.' The tombs of the kings through which Mary stole,\nstopping, says Lennox, to threaten Darnley above the new mould of Riccio's\ngrave, have long been desecrated.\n\nAt Jedburgh we may still see the tall old house, with crow-stepped gables,\nand winding stairs, and the little chambers where Mary tried to make so\ngood an end, and where the wounded Bothwell was tended. In the long\ngallery above, Lethington, and Moray, and du Croc must have held anxious\nconverse, while physicians came and went, proposing uncouth remedies, and\nthe Confessor flitted through, and the ladies in waiting wept. But least\nchanged are the hills of the robbers, sweeping <DW72>s of rough pasturage,\nbroken by marshes, and the foaming burns of October, through which Mary\nrode to the wounded Bothwell in Hermitage Castle, now a huge shell of grey\nstone, in the pastoral wastes.\n\nMost changed of all is Glasgow, then a pretty village, among trees,\nbetween the burn and the clear water of Clyde. The houses clustered about\nthe Cathedral, the ruined abodes of the religious, and the Castle where\nLennox and Darnley both lay sick, while Mary abode, it would seem, in the\npalace then empty of its Archbishop. We see the little town full of armed\nHamiltons, and their feudal foes, the Stewarts of Lennox, who anxiously\nattend her with suspicious glances, as she goes to comfort their young\nchief.\n\nIn thinking of old Edinburgh, as Mary knew it, our fancy naturally but\nerroneously dwells on the narrow wynds of the old town, cabined between\ngrimy slate-roofed houses of some twelve or fifteen stories in height,\n'piled black and massy steep and high,' and darkened with centuries of\nsmoke, squalid, sunless, without a green tree in the near view, so we are\napt to conceive the Edinburgh of Queen Mary. But we do the good town\ninjustice: we are conceiving the Edinburgh of Queen Mary under the colours\nand in the forms of the Edinburgh of Prince Charles and of Robert Burns.\n\nThere exists a bird's-eye view of the city, probably done by an English\nhand, in 1544. It looks a bright, red-roofed, sparkling little town, in\ncontour much resembling St. Andrews. At St. Andrews the cathedral forms,\nas it were, the handle of a fan, from which radiate, like the ribs of the\nfan, North Street, Market Street, and South Street, with the houses and\nlanes between them. At Edinburgh the Castle Rock was the handle of the\nfan. Thence diverged two spokes or ribs of streets, High Street and\nCowgate, lined with houses with red-tiled roofs. Quaint wooden galleries\nwere suspended outside the first floor, in which, not in the ground floor,\nthe front door usually was, approached by an outer staircase. Quaintness,\nirregularity, broken outlines, nooks, odd stone staircases, were\neverywhere. The inner stairs or turnpikes were within semicircular\ntowers, and these, with the tall crow-stepped gables, high-pitched roofs,\nand dormer windows, made up picturesque clumps of buildings, perforated by\nwynds. St. Giles's Church occupied, of course, its present site, and the\n'ports,' or gates which closed the High Street towards Holyrood, had\nturrets for supporters. Through the gate, the Nether Bow, the Court suburb\nof the Canongate ran down to Holyrood, with gardens, and groves, and green\nfields behind the houses. The towers of the beautiful Abbey of Holyrood,\npartly burned by the English in 1544, ended the line of buildings from the\nCastle eastward.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n1. Kirk o' Field Church\n\n2. Holyrood\n\n3. Canongate\n\n4. Netherbow Port\n\n5. Netherbow\n\n6. St. Giles's Church\n\n7. Cowgate\n\n8. Wynd leading to Kirk o' Field\n\n9. Castle\n\n10. Calton Hill]\n\nFar to the left of the town, on a wooded height, the highest and central\npoint of the landscape, we mark a tall rectangular church tower, crowned\nwith a crow-stepped high-pitched roof. It is the church of Kirk o' Field,\nsoon to be so famous as the scene of Darnley's death.\n\nThe blocks of buildings are intersected, we said, by narrow wynds, not yet\nblack, though, from Dunbar's poem, we know that Edinburgh was\nconspicuously dirty and insanitary. But the narrow, compact, bright little\ntown running down the spine of rock from the Castle to Holyrood, was on\nevery side surrounded by green fields, and there were still trout in the\nNorloch beneath the base of the Castle cliff, where now the railway runs.\nNew town, of course, there was none. Most of the town of Mary's age was\nembraced by the ruinous wall, hastily constructed after the defeat and\ndeath of James IV. Such was the city: of the houses we may gain an idea\nfrom the fine old building traditionally called John Knox's house: if we\nsuppose it neat, clean, its roof scarlet, its walls not grimy with\ncenturies of reek. The houses stood among green gardens, hedges, and\ntrees, and on the grassy hills between the city and the sea, and to the\neast and west, were _chateaux_ and peel-towers of lords and lairds.\n\nSuch was Queen Mary's Edinburgh: long, narrow, and mightily unlike the\npicturesque but stony, and begrimed, and smoke-hidden capital of\nto-day.[14]\n\n'There were fertile soil, pleasant meadows, woods, lakes, and burns, all\naround,' where now is nothing but stone, noisy pavement, and slate. The\nmonasteries of the Franciscans and Dominicans lay on either side of St.\nMary in the Fields, or Kirk of Field, with its college quadrangle and wide\ngardens.[15] But, in Mary's day, the monastic buildings and several\nchurches lay in ruins, owing to the recent reform of the Christian\nreligion, and to English invaders.\n\nThe palaces of the Cowgate and of the Canongate were the homes of the\nnobles; the wynds were crowded with burgesses, tradesmen, prentices, and\nthe throng of artisans. These were less godly than the burgesses, were a\nfickle and fiery mob, ready to run for spears, or use their tools to\ndefend their May-day sport of Robin Hood against the preachers and the\nBible-loving middle classes. Brawls were common, the artisans besieging\nthe magistrates in the Tolbooth, or the rival followings of two lairds or\nlords coming to pistol-shots and sword-strokes on the causeway, while\nburgesses handed spears to their friends from the windows. Among popular\npleasures were the stake, at which witches and murderesses of masters or\nhusbands were burned; and the pillory, where every one might throw what\ncame handy at a Catholic priest, and the pits in the Norloch where\nfornicators were ducked. The town gates were adorned with spikes, on which\nwere impaled the heads of sinners against the Law.\n\nMary rode through a land of new-made ruins, black with fire, not yet green\nwith ivy. On every side, wherever monks had lived, and laboured, and dealt\nalms, and written manuscripts, desolation met Mary's eyes. The altars were\ndesecrated, the illumined manuscripts were burned, the religious skulked\nin lay dress, or had fled to France, or stood under the showers of\nmissiles on the pillory. It was a land of fallen fanes, and of stubborn\nblind keeps with scarce a window, that she passed through, with horse and\nlitter, lace, and gold, and velvet, and troops of gallants and girls. In\nthe black tall Tolbooth lurked the engines of torture, that were to strain\nor crush the limbs of Bothwell's Lambs. Often must Mary have seen, on the\nskyline, the gallows tree, and the fruits which that tree bore, and the\nflocking ravens; one of that company followed Darnley and her from\nGlasgow, and perched ominous on the roof of Kirk o' Field, croaking loudly\non the day of the murder. So writes Nau, Mary's secretary, informed,\nprobably, by one of her attendants.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n_THE CHARACTERS BEFORE RICCIO'S MURDER_\n\n\nAfter sketching the characters and scenes of the tragedy, we must show how\ndestiny interwove the life-threads of Bothwell and Mary. They were fated\nto come together. She was a woman looking for a master, he was a masterful\nand, in the old sense of the word, a 'masterless' man, seeking what he\nmight devour. In the phrase of Aristotle, 'Nature _wishes_' to produce\nthis or that result. It almost seems as if Nature had long 'wished' to\nthrow a Scottish Queen into the hands of a Hepburn. The Hepburns were not\nof ancient _noblesse_. From their first appearance in Scottish history\nthey are seen to be prone to piratical adventure, and to courting widowed\nqueens. The unhappy Jane Beaufort, widow of James I., and of the Black\nKnight of Lome, died in the stronghold of a Hepburn freebooter. A Hepburn\nwas reputed to be the lover of Mary of Gueldres, the beautiful and not\ninconsolable widow of James II. This Hepburn, had he succeeded in securing\nthe person of Mary's son, the boy James III., might have played Bothwell's\npart. The name rose to power and rank on the ruin of the murdered James\nIII., and of Ramsay, his favourite, who had worn, but forfeited to the\nHepburn of the day, the title of Bothwell. The name was strong in the most\nlawless dales of the Border, chiefly in Liddesdale, where the clans\nalternately wore the cross of St. Andrew and of St. George, and\nimpartially plundered both countries. The more profitable Hepburn estates,\nhowever, were in the richer bounds of Lothian.\n\nThe attitude and position of James Hepburn, our Bothwell, were, from the\nfirst, unique. He was at once a Protestant, 'the stoutest and the worst\nthought of,' and also an inveterate enemy of England, a resolute partisan\nof Mary's mother, Mary of Guise, the Regent, in her wars against the\nProtestant rebels, 'the Lords of the Congregation.' From this curious and\nillogical position, adopted in his early youth, Bothwell never wandered.\nHe was to end by making Mary wed him with Protestant rites, while she\nassured her confessor that she only did so in the hope of restoring the\nCatholic Church! We must briefly trace the early career of Bothwell.\n\nWhile Darnley was being educated in England, with occasional visits to\nFrance, and while Mary was residing there as the bride of the Dauphin:\nwhile Moray was becoming the leader of the Protestant opposition to Mary\nof Guise ('the Lords of the Congregation'), while Maitland was entering on\nhis career of diplomacy, Bothwell was active in the field. In 1558, after\nMary of Guise had been deserted by her nobles at Kelso, as her husband\nhad been at Fala, young Bothwell, being now Lieutenant-General on the\nBorder, made a raid into England. In the war between Mary of Guise, as\nRegent, and the Protestant Lords of the Congregation, Bothwell fought on\nher side. A Diary of the Siege of Leith (among the Lennox MSS.) describes\nhis activity in intercepting and robbing poor peaceful tradesmen. From\nanother unpublished source we learn that he, among others, condemned the\nEarl of Arran (in absence) as the cause of the Protestant rebellion.[16]\nOn October 5, 1559, Bothwell seized, near Haddington, Cockburn of\nOrmiston, who was carrying English gold to the Lords.[17] They, in\nreprisal, sacked his castle of Crichton, and nearly caught him. He later\nin vain challenged the Earl of Arran (the son of the chief of the\nHamiltons, the Duke of Chatelherault) to single combat. A feud of\nfar-reaching results now began between Arran and Cockburn on one side, and\nBothwell on the other. When Leith, held for Mary of Guise, in 1560, was\nbesieged by the Scots and English, Bothwell (whose estates had been sold)\nwas sent to ask aid from France. He went thither by way of Denmark, and\nnow, probably, he was more or less legally betrothed to a Norwegian lady,\nAnne Throndssoen, whom he carried from her home, and presently deserted.\nAlready, in 1559, he was said to be 'quietly married or handfasted' to\nJanet Beaton, niece of Cardinal Beaton, and widow of Sir Walter Scott of\nBuccleugh, the wizard Lady of Branxholme in Scott's 'Lay of the Last\nMinstrel.'[18] She was sister of Lady Reres, wife of Forbes of Reres, the\nlady said to have aided Bothwell in his amour with Mary. In 1567 one of\nthe libels issued after Darnley's murder charged the Lady of Branksome\nwith helping Bothwell to win Mary's heart by magic.\n\nAnne Throndssoen, later, accused Bothwell of breach of promise of marriage,\ngiven to her and her family 'by hand and mouth and letters.' In 1560 the\nLady of Branksome circulated a report that Bothwell had wedded a rich wife\nin Denmark: she does not seem to have been jealous.[19] An anonymous\nwriter represents Bothwell as having three simultaneous wives, probably\nAnne, the Branxholme lady, and his actual spouse, Lady Jane Gordon, sister\nof Huntly. But the arrangements in the first two cases were probably not\nlegally valid. There is no doubt that Bothwell, ugly or not, was a great\nconqueror of hearts. He may have been _un beau laid_, and he possessed, as\nwe have said, the qualities, so attractive to many women, of utter\nrecklessness, of a bullying manner, of great physical strength, and of\na reputation for _bonnes fortunes_. That Bothwell was extravagant and a\ngambler is probably true: and, in short, he was, to many women, a most\nattractive character. To the virtuous, like Lady Jane Gordon, he would\nappear as an agreeable brand to be snatched from the burning.\n\n[Illustration: Le Dueil Blanc\n\nSketch by Janet 1561.\n\nWalker & Cockerell. ph. sc.]\n\nDropping poor Anne Throndssoen in the Netherlands, on his way from Denmark,\nBothwell, in 1560, went to the French Court, where he was made Gentilhomme\nde la Chambre, but could not procure aid for Mary of Guise. He acquired\nmore French polish, and (so his enemies and his valet, Paris, said) he\nlearned certain infamous vices. Mary Stuart became a widow, and Dowager of\nFrance, in December 1560: it is not certain whether or not Bothwell was in\nher train at Joinville in April 1561.[20] After Mary's return to Scotland\nthe old feud between Arran and Bothwell broke out afresh. Bothwell and\nd'Elboeuf paid a noisy visit to the handsome daughter of a burgess, said\nto be Arran's mistress. There were brawls, and presently Bothwell attacked\nCockburn of Ormiston, the man he had robbed, Arran's ally, and carried off\nhis son to Crichton Castle. This occurred in March, 1562, and, as early as\nFebruary 21, Randolph, the English minister at Holyrood, had 'marked\nsomething strange' in Arran.[21] His feeble ambitious mind was already\ntottering, which casts doubt on what followed. On March 25, Bothwell\nvisited Knox (whose ancestors had been retainers of the House of Hepburn),\nand invited the Reformer to reconcile him with Arran. The feud, Bothwell\nsaid, was expensive: he dared not move without a company of armed men.\nKnox contrived a meeting at the Hamilton house near the fatal Kirk o'\nField. The enemies were reconciled, and next day went together to 'the\nSermon,' a spiritual privilege of which Bothwell was only too neglectful.\nKnox had done a good stroke for the Anti-Marian Protestant party, of whose\nleft wing Arran was the leader.[22]\n\nBut alas for Knox's hopes! Only three days after the sermon, on March 29,\nArran (who had been wont to confide his love-sorrows to Knox) came to the\nReformer with a strange tale. Bothwell had opened to him, in the effusions\nof their new friendship, his design to seize Mary, and put her in Arran's\nkeeping, in Dumbarton Castle. He would slay Mar (that is Lord James\nStuart, later Moray) and Lethington, whom he detested, 'and he and I would\nrule all,' said Arran, who knew very well what sort of share he would be\npermitted to enjoy in the dual control. I have very little doubt that the\nimpoverished, more or less disgraced Bothwell did make this proposal. He\nwas safe in doing so. If Arran accused him, Arran would, first, be\nincarcerated, till he proved his charge (which he could not do), or,\nsecondly, Bothwell would appeal to Trial by Combat, for which he knew\nthat Arran had no taste. In his opinion, Bothwell merely meant to entrap\nhim, and his idea was to write to Mary and her brother. Whether Knox\nalready perceived that Arran was insane, or not, he gave him what was\nperhaps the best advice--to be silent. Arran's position was perilous. If\nthe plot came to be known, if Bothwell confessed all, then he would be\nguilty of concealing his foreknowledge of it; like Morton in the case of\nDarnley's murder.\n\nArran did not listen to Knox's counsel. He wrote to Mary and Mar, partly\nimplicating his own father; he then fled from his father's castle of\nKeneil, hurried to Fife, and was brought by Mar (Moray) to Mary at\nFalkland, whither Bothwell also came, perhaps warned by Knox, who had a\nfamily feudal attachment to the Hepburns. Arran now was, or affected to\nbe, distraught. He persisted, however, in his charge against Bothwell, who\nwas warded in Edinburgh Castle, while Arran's father was deprived of\nDumbarton Castle.\n\nThe truth of Arran's charge is uncertain. In any case, 'the Queen both\nhonestly and stoutly behaves herself,' Randolph wrote. While Bothwell lay,\na prisoner on suspicion, in Edinburgh Castle, Mary was come to a crisis in\nher reign. Her political position, hitherto, may be stated in broad\noutline. The strains of European tendencies, political and theological,\nwere dragging Scotland in opposite directions. Was the country to remain\nProtestant, and in alliance with England, or was it to return to the\nancient league with France, and to the Church of Rome?\n\nDuring Mary's first years in Scotland, she and the governing politicians,\nher brother Moray and Maitland of Lethington, were fairly well agreed as\nto general policy. With all her affection for her Church and her French\nkinsmen, Mary could not hope, at present, for much more than a certain\nmeasure of toleration for Catholics. As to the choice of the French or\nEnglish alliance, her ambitions appeared to see their best hope in an\nunderstanding with Elizabeth, under which Mary and her issue should be\nrecognised as heirs of the English throne. So far the ruling politicians,\nMoray, Lethington, and Morton, were sufficiently in accord with their\nQueen. A restoration of the Church they would not endure. Not only their\ntheological tenets (sincerely held by Moray) opposed any such restoration,\nbut their hold of Church property was what they would not abandon save\nwith life. The Queen and her chief advisers, therefore, for years enjoyed\na _modus vivendi_: a pacific kind of compromise. Mary was so far from\nbeing ardently Catholic in politics, that, while Bothwell was confined in\nEdinburgh Castle, she accompanied Moray to the North, and overthrew her\nchief Catholic supporter, Huntly, 'the Cock of the North,' and all but the\nking of the Northern Catholics. Before she set foot in Scotland, he had\noffered to restore her by force, and with her, the Church. She preferred\nthe alliance of her brother, of Lethington, and of _les politiques_, the\nmoderate Protestants. Huntly died in battle against his Queen; his family,\nfor the hour, was ruined; but Huntly's son and successor in the title\nrepresented the discontents and ambitions of the warlike North, as\nBothwell represented those of the warlike Borderers. Similarity of\nfortunes and of desires soon united these two ruined and reckless men,\nHuntly and Bothwell, in a league equally dangerous to Moray, to amity with\nEngland, and, finally, to Mary herself.\n\nTo restore his family to land and power, Huntly was ready to sacrifice not\nonly faith and honour, but natural affection. Twice he was to sell his\nsister, Lady Jane, once when he married her to Bothwell against her will:\nonce when, Bothwell having won her love, Huntly compelled or induced her\nto divorce him. But these things lay in the future. For the moment, the\nautumn of 1562, the Huntlys were ruined, and Bothwell (August 28, 1562),\nin the confusion, escaped from prison in Edinburgh Castle. 'Some whispered\nthat he got easy passage by the gates,' says Knox. 'One thing,' he adds,\n'is certain, to wit, the Queen was little offended at his escaping.'[23]\nHe was, at least, her mother's faithful servant.\n\nWe begin to see that the Protestant party henceforward suspected the Queen\nof regarding Bothwell as, to Mary, a useful man in case of trouble.\nBothwell first fled to Hermitage Castle in Liddesdale. As\nLieutenant-General on the Border he commanded the reckless broken clans,\nthe 'Lambs,' his own Hepburns, Hays, Ormistouns of Ormistoun, and others\nwho aided him in his most desperate enterprises; while, as Admiral, he had\nthe dare-devils of the sea to back him.\n\nLord James now became Earl of Moray, and all-powerful; and Bothwell,\nflying to France, was storm-stayed at Holy Island, and held prisoner by\nElizabeth. His kinsfolk made interest for him with Mary, and, on February\n5, 1564, she begged Elizabeth to allow him to go abroad. In England,\nBothwell is said to have behaved with unlooked-for propriety. 'He is very\nwise, and not the man he was reported to be,' that is, not 'rash,\nglorious, and hazardous,' Sir Harry Percy wrote to Cecil. 'His behaviour\nhas been courteous and honourable, keeping his promise.' Sir John Forster\ncorroborated this evidence. Bothwell, then, was not loutish, but, when he\npleased, could act like a gentleman. He sailed to France, and says himself\nthat he became Captain of the Scottish Guards, a post which Arran had once\nheld. In France he is said to have accused Mary of incestuous relations\nwith her uncle, the Cardinal.\n\nDuring Bothwell's residence in England, and in France, the equipoise of\nMary's political position had been disturbed. She had held her ground,\nagainst the extreme Protestants, who clamoured for the death of all\nidolaters, by her alliance with _les politiques_, led by Moray and\nLethington. Their ambition, like hers, was to see the crowns of England\nand Scotland united in her, or in her issue. Therefore they maintained a\nperilous amity with England, and with Elizabeth, while plans for a meeting\nof the Queens, and for the recognition of Mary as Elizabeth's heir, were\nbeing negotiated. But this caused ceaseless fretfulness to Elizabeth, who\nbelieved, perhaps correctly, that to name her successor was to seal her\ndeath-warrant. The Catholics of England would have hurried her to the\ngrave, she feared, that they might welcome Mary. In the same way, no\nconceivable marriage for Mary could be welcome to Elizabeth, who hated the\nvery name of wedlock. Yet, while Bothwell was abroad, and while\nnegotiations lasted, there was a kind of repose, despite the anxieties of\nthe godly and their outrages on Catholics. Mary endured much and endured\nwith some patience. One chronic trouble was at rest. The feud between the\nHamiltons, the nearest heirs of the crown, and the rival claimants, the\nLennox Stewarts, was quiescent.\n\nThe interval of peace soon ended. Lennox, the head of the House hateful to\nthe Hamiltons, was, at the end of 1564, allowed to return to Scotland, and\nwas reinstated in the lands which his treason had forfeited long ago. In\nthe early spring of 1565, Lennox's son, Darnley, followed his father to\nthe North, was seen and admired by Mary, and the peace of Scotland was\nshattered. As a Catholic by education, though really of no creed in\nparticular, Darnley excited the terrors of the godly. His marriage with\nMary meant, to Moray, loss of power; to Lethington, a fresh policy; to the\nHamiltons, the ruin of their hopes of royalty, while, by most men, Darnley\nsoon came to be personally detested.\n\nBefore it was certain that Mary would marry Darnley, but while the friends\nand foes of the match were banding into parties, early in March 1565,\nBothwell returned unbidden to Scotland, and lurked in his Border fastness.\nKnox's continuator says that Moray told Mary that either he or Bothwell\nmust leave the country. Mary replied that, considering Bothwell's past\nservices, 'she could not hate him,' neither could she do anything\nprejudicial to Moray.[24] 'A day of law' was set for Bothwell, for May 2,\nbut, as Moray gathered an overpowering armed force, he sent in a protest,\nby his comparatively respectable friend, Hepburn of Riccartoun, and went\nabroad. Mary, according to Randolph, had said that she 'altogether\nmisliked his home-coming without a licence,' but Bedford feared that she\nsecretly abetted him. He was condemned in absence, but Mary was thought to\nhave prevented the process of outlawry. Dr. Hay Fleming, however, cites\nPitcairn's 'Criminal Trials,' i. 462,[25] as proof that Bothwell actually\nwas outlawed, or put to the horn. Knox's continuator, however, says that\nBothwell 'was not put to the horn, for the Queen continually bore a great\nfavour to him, and kept him to be a soldier.'[26] The Protestants ever\nfeared that Mary would 'shake Bothwell out of her pocket,' against\nthem.[27]\n\nPresently, her temper outworn by the perpetual thwartings which checked\nher every movement, and regardless of the opposition of Moray, of the\nHamiltons, of Argyll, and of the whole Protestant community, Mary wedded\nDarnley (July 29, 1565). Her adversaries assembled in arms, secretly\nencouraged by Elizabeth, and what Kirkcaldy of Grange had prophesied\noccurred: Mary 'shook Bothwell out of her pocket' at her opponents. In\nJuly, she sent Hepburn of Riccartoun to summon him back from France.\nRiccartoun was captured by the English, but Bothwell, after a narrow\nescape, presented himself before Mary on September 20. By October, Moray,\nthe Hamiltons, and Argyll were driven into England or rendered harmless.\nRandolph now reported that Bothwell and Atholl were all-powerful. The\nresult was ill feeling between Darnley and Bothwell. Darnley wished his\nfather, Lennox, to govern on the Border, but Mary gave the post to\nBothwell.[28] Her estrangement from Darnley had already begun. Jealousy of\nMary's new secretary, Riccio, was added.\n\nThe relations between Darnley, Bothwell, Mary, and Riccio, between the\ncrushing of Moray's revolt, in October 1565, and the murder of the\nItalian Secretary, in March 1566, are still obscure. Was Riccio Mary's\nlover? What were the exact causes of the estrangement from Darnley, which\nwas later used as the spring to discharge on Riccio, and on Mary, the\nwrath of the discontented nobles and Puritans? The Lennox Papers inform\nus, as to Mary and Darnley, that 'their love never decayed till their\nreturn from Dumfries,' whence they had pursued Moray into England.\n\nMary had come back to Edinburgh from Dumfries by October 18, 1565. Riccio\nwas already, indeed by September 22, complained of as a foreign upstart,\nbut not as a lover of Mary, by the rebel Lords.[29] The Lennox Papers\nattribute the estrangement of Mary and Darnley to her pardoning without\nthe consent of the King, her husband, 'sundry rebels,' namely the\nHamiltons. The pardon implied humiliation and five years of exile. It was\ngranted about December 3.[30] The measure was deeply distasteful to\nDarnley and Lennox, who had long been at mortal feud, over the heirship to\nthe crown, with the Lennox Stewarts. The pardon is attributed to the\ninfluence of 'Wicked David,' Riccio. But to pardon perpetually was the\nfunction of a Scottish prince. Soon we find Darnley intriguing for the\npardon of Moray, Ruthven, and others, who were not Hamiltons. Next, Lennox\ncomplains of Mary for 'using the said David more like a lover than a\nhusband, forsaking her husband's bed and board very often.' But this was\nnot before November. The 'Book of Articles' put in against Mary by her\naccusers is often based on Lennox's papers. It says 'she suddenly altered\nthe same' (her 'vehement love' of Darnley) 'about November, for she\nremoved and secluded him from the counsel and knowledge of all Council\naffairs.'[31] The 'Book of Articles,' like Lennox's own papers, omits\nevery reference to Riccio that can be avoided. The 'Book of Articles,'\nindeed, never hints at his existence. The reason is obvious: Darnley had\nnot shone in the Riccio affair. Moreover the Lennox party could not accuse\nMary of a guilty amour before mid November, 1565, for James VI. was born\non June 19, 1566. It would not do to discredit his legitimacy. But, as\nearly as September 1565, Bedford had written to Cecil that 'of the\ncountenance which Mary gave to David he would not write, for the honour\ndue to the person of a Queen.'[32] Thus, a bride of six weeks, Mary was\nreported to be already a wanton! Moreover, on October 13, 1565, Randolph\nwrote from Edinburgh that Mary's anger against Moray (who had really\nenraged her by rising to prevent her from marrying Darnley) came from some\ndishonourable secret in Moray's keeping, 'not to be named for reverence\nsake.' He 'has a thing more strange' even than the fact that Mary 'places\nBothwell in honour above every subject that she hath.' As the 'thing' is\n_not_ a nascent passion for Bothwell, it may be an amour with Riccio.[33]\nIndeed, on October 18, 1565, he will not speak of the cause of mischief,\nbut hints at 'a stranger and a varlet,' Riccio.[34] Randolph and the\nEnglish diplomatists were then infuriated against Mary, who had expelled\ntheir allies, Moray and the rest, discredited Elizabeth, their\npaymistress, and won over her a diplomatic victory. Consequently this talk\nof her early amour with Riccio, an ugly Milanese musician, need not be\ncredited. For their own reasons, the Lennox faction dared not assert so\nearly a scandal.\n\nThey, however, insisted that Mary, in November, 'removed and secluded'\nDarnley from her Council. To prevent his knowing what letters were\nwritten, when he signed them with her, she had his name printed on an iron\nstamp, 'and used the same _in all things_,' in place of his subscription.\nThis stamp was employed in affixing his signature to the 'remission' to\nthe Hamiltons.[35]\n\nIn fact, Darnley's ambitions were royal, but he had an objection to the\nbusiness which kings are well paid for transacting. Knox's continuator\nmakes him pass 'his time in hunting and hawking, and such other pleasures\nas were agreeable to his appetite, having in his company gentlemen willing\nto satisfy his will and affections.' He had the two Anthony Standens, wild\nyoung English Catholics. While Darnley hunted and hawked, Lennox 'lies at\nGlasgow' (where he had a castle near the Cathedral), and 'takes, I hear,\nwhat he likes from all men,' says Randolph.[36] He writes (November 6)\nthat Mary 'above all things desires her husband to be called King.'[37]\nYet it is hinted that she is in love with Riccio! On the same date 'oaths\nand bands are taken of all that ... acknowledge Darnley king, and liberty\nto live as they list in religion.' On November 19, Mary was suffering from\n'her old disease that commonly takes her this time of year in her side.'\nIt was a chronic malady: we read of it in the Casket Letters. From\nNovember 14 to December 1, she was ill, but Darnley hunted and hawked in\nFife, from Falkland probably, and was not expected to return till December\n4.[38] Lennox was being accused of 'extortions' at Glasgow, complained of\n'to the Council.' Chatelherault was 'like to speed well enough in his suit\nto be restored,' after his share in Moray's rebellion.\n\nDarnley was better engaged, perhaps, in Fife, than in advocating his needy\nand extortionate father before the Council, or in opposing the limited\npardon to old Chatelherault. In such circumstances, Darnley was often\nabsent, either for pleasure, or because his father was not allowed to\ndespoil the West; while the Hamilton chief, the heir presumptive of the\nthrone, was treated as a repentant rebel, rather than as a feudal enemy.\nHe was an exile, and lost his 'moveables' and all his castles, so he told\nElizabeth.[39] During, or after, these absences of Darnley, that 'iron\nstamp,' of which Buchanan complains, was made and used.\n\nThe Young Fool had brought this on himself. Mary already, according to\nRandolph, had been heard to say that she wished Lennox had never entered\nScotland 'in her days.' Lennox, the father-in-law of the Queen, was really\na competitor for the crown. If Mary had no issue, he and Darnley desired\nthe crown to be entailed on them, passing over the rightful heirs, the\nHouse of Hamilton. A father and son, with such preoccupations, could not\nsafely be allowed to exercise power. The father would have lived on\nrobbery, the son would have shielded him. Yet, so occupied was Darnley\nwith distant field sports, that, says Buchanan, he took the affair of the\niron stamp easily.[40] Next comes a terrible grievance. Darnley was driven\nout, in the depth of winter, to Peebles. There was so much snow, the roads\nwere so choked, the country so bare, that Darnley might conceivably have\nbeen reduced to 'halesome parritch.' Luckily the Bishop of Orkney, the\njovial scoundrel, 'Bishop Turpy,' who married Mary to Bothwell, and then\ndenounced her to Elizabeth, had brought wine and delicacies. This is\nBuchanan's tale. A letter from Lennox to Darnley, of December 20, 1565,\nrepresents the father as anxious to wait on 'Your Majesty' at Peebles,\nbut scarcely expecting him in such stormy weather. Darnley, doubtless,\nreally went for the sake of the deer: which, in Scotland, were pursued at\nthat season. He had been making exaggerated show of Catholicism, at matins\non Christmas Eve, while Mary sat up playing cards.[41] Presently he was to\nbe the ally of the extreme Protestants, the expelled rebels. Moray was\nsaid not to have two hundred crowns in the world, and was ready for\nanything, in his English retreat. Randolph (Dec. 25) reported 'private\ndisorders' between Darnley and Mary, 'but these may be but _amantium\nirae_,' lovers' quarrels.[42] Yet, two months before he had hinted broadly\nthat Riccio was the object of Mary's passion.\n\nOn this important point of Mary's guilt with Riccio, we have no\naffirmative evidence, save Darnley's word, when he was most anxious to\ndestroy the Italian for political reasons. Randolph, who, as we have seen,\nhad apparently turned his back on his old slanders, now accepted, or\nfeigned to accept, Darnley's anecdotes of his discoveries.\n\nIt is strange that Mary at the end of 1565, and the beginning of 1566,\nseems to have had no idea of the perils of her position. On January 31,\n1566, she wrote 'to the most holy lord, the Lord Pope Pius V.,' saying:\n'Already some of our enemies are in exile, and some of them are in our\nhands, but their fury, and the great necessity in which they are placed,\nurge them on to attempt extreme measures.'[43] But, ungallant as the\ncriticism may seem, I fear that this was only a begging letter _in\nexcelsis_, and that Mary wanted the papal ducats, without entertaining any\ngreat hope or intention of aiding the papal cause, or any real\napprehension of 'extreme measures' on the side of her rebels. Her\nintention was to forfeit and ruin Moray and his allies, in the Parliament\nof the coming March. She also wished to do something 'tending to' the\nrestoration of the Church, by reintroducing the spiritual lords. But that\nshe actually joined the Catholic League, as she was certainly requested to\ndo, seems most improbable.[44] Having arranged a marriage between Bothwell\nand Huntly's sister, Lady Jane Gordon, she probably relied on the united\nstrength of the two nobles in the North and the South. But this was a\nfrail reed to lean upon. Mary's position, though she does not seem to have\nrealised it, was desperate. She had incurred the feud of the Lennox\nStewarts, Lennox and Darnley, by her neglect of both, and by Darnley's\njealousy of Riccio. The chiefs of the Hamiltons, who could always be\ntrusted to counterbalance the Lennox faction, were in exile. Moray was\ndesperate. Lethington was secretly estranged. The Protestants were at\nonce angry and terrified: ready for extremes. Finally, Morton was\nthreatened with loss of the seals, and almost all the nobles loathed the\npower of the low-born foreign favourite, Riccio.\n\nEven now the exact nature of the intrigues which culminated in Riccio's\nmurder are obscure. We cannot entirely trust the well-known 'Relation'\nwhich, after the murder, on April 2, Morton and Ruthven sent to Cecil. He\nwas given leave to amend it, and it is, at best, a partisan report. Its\nobject was to throw the blame on Darnley, who had deserted the\nconspirators, and betrayed them. According to Ruthven, it was on February\n10 that Darnley sent to him George Douglas, a notorious assassin, akin\nboth to Darnley and Morton. Darnley, it is averred, had proof of Mary's\nguilt with Riccio, and desired to disgrace Mary by slaying Riccio in her\npresence. The negotiation, then, began with Darnley, on February 10.[45]\nBut on February 5 Randolph had written to Cecil that Mary 'hath said\nopenly that she will have mass free for all men that will hear it,' and\nthat Darnley, Lennox, and Atholl daily resort to it. 'The Protestants are\nin great fear and doubt what shall become of them. The wisest so much\ndislike this state and government, that they design nothing more than the\nreturn of the Lords, either to be put into their own rooms, or once again\nto put all in hazard.'[46] 'The wisest' is a phrase apt to mean\nLethington. Now, on February 9, before Darnley's motion to Ruthven,\nLethington wrote to Cecil: 'Mary! I see no certain way unless we chop at\nthe very root; you know where it lieth.'[47] When Mary, later, was a\nprisoner in England, Knox, writing to Cecil, used this very phrase, 'If ye\nstrike not at the root, the branches that appear to be broken will bud\nagain' (Jan. 2, 1570). When Lethington meant to 'chop at the very root,'\non February 9, 1566, he undoubtedly intended the death of Riccio, if not\nof Mary.\n\nIn four days (February 13) Randolph informed Leicester of Darnley's\njealousy, and adds, 'I know that there are practices in hand, contrived\nbetween the father and son' (Lennox and Darnley), 'to come by the crown\nagainst her will.' 'The crown' may only mean 'the Crown Matrimonial,'\nwhich would, apparently, give Darnley regal power for his lifetime. 'I\nknow that, if that take effect which is intended, David, with the consent\nof the King, shall have his throat cut within these ten days. Many things\ngrievouser and worse than these are brought to my ears: yea, of things\nintended against her own person....'[48]\n\nThe conspiracy seems to have been political and theological in its\nbeginnings. Mary was certainly making more open show of Catholicism: very\npossibly to impress the French envoys who had come to congratulate her on\nher marriage, and to strengthen her claim on the Pope for money. But\nLennox and Darnley were also parading Catholic devoutness: they had no\nquarrel with Mary on this head. The Protestants, however, took alarm.\nDarnley was, perhaps, induced to believe in Mary's misconduct with Riccio\nafter 'the wisest,' and Lethington, had decided 'to chop at the very\nroot.' Ruthven and Morton then won Darnley's aid: he consented to secure\nProtestantism, and, by a formal band, to restore Moray and the exiles:\nwho, in turn, recognised him as their sovereign. Randolph, banished by\nMary for aiding her rebels, conspired with Bedford at Berwick, and sent\ncopies to Cecil of the 'bands' between Darnley and the nobles (March\n6).[49]\n\nDarnley himself, said Randolph, was determined to be present at Riccio's\nslaying. Moray was to arrive in Edinburgh immediately after the deed.\nLethington, Argyll, Morton, Boyd, and Ruthven were privy to the murder,\nalso Moray, Rothes, Kirkcaldy, in England, with Randolph and Bedford. It\nis probable that others besides Riccio were threatened. There is a 'Band\nof Assurance for the Murder.'[50] Darnley says that he has enlisted\n'lords, barons, freeholders, gentlemen, merchants, and craftsmen to assist\nus in this enterprise, which cannot be finished without great hazard. And\nbecause it may chance that there be certain great personages present, who\nmay make them to withstand our enterprise, wherethrough certain of them\nmay be slain,' Darnley guarantees his allies against the blood feud of the\n'great persons.' These, doubtless, are Bothwell, Atholl, and Huntly. The\ndeed 'may chance to be done in presence of the Queen's Majesty, or within\nher palace of Holyrood House.' The band is dated March 1, in other texts,\nMarch 5. The indications point to a design of killing Mary's nobles, while\nshe, in her condition, might die of the shock. She was to be morally\ndisgraced. So unscrupulous were Mary's foes that Cecil told de Foix, the\nFrench Ambassador in London, how Riccio had been slain in Mary's arms,\n_reginam nefario stupro polluens_.[51] Cecil well knew that this was a\nlie: and it is natural to disbelieve every statement of a convicted liar\nand traitor like Darnley.\n\nJust before the explosion of the anti-Riccio conspiracy, Bothwell _se\nrangea_. Mary herself made a match for him (the contract is of February 9,\n1566) with Lady Jane Gordon, a Catholic, a sister of Huntly, and a\ndaughter of that Huntly who fell at Corrichie burn. The lady was only in\nher twentieth year. The parties being akin, a dispensation was necessary,\nand was granted by the Pope, and issued by the Archbishop of St.\nAndrews.[52] The marriage took place in the Protestant Kirk of the\nCanongate, though the bride was a Catholic, and Mary gave the wedding\ndress (February 24). The honeymoon was interrupted, on March 9, by the\nmurder of Riccio.\n\nThe conspirators made the fatal error of not securing Bothwell and Huntly\nbefore they broke into Mary's room and slew Riccio. While Bothwell,\nHuntly, and Atholl were at large, the forces of the Queen's party had\npowerful friends in the North and on the Border. When the tumult of the\nmurderers was heard, these nobles tried to fight their way to Mary's\nassistance, but were overpowered by numbers, and compelled to seek their\napartments. An attempt was made to reconcile them to the situation, but\nthey escaped under cloud of night. In her letter to the French Court (May\n1567) excusing her marriage with Bothwell, Mary speaks of his 'dexterity'\nin escaping, 'and how suddenly by his prudence not only were we delivered\nout of prison,' after Riccio's death, 'but also that whole company of\nconspirators dissolved....' 'We could never forget it,' Mary adds, and\nBothwell's favour had a natural and legitimate basis in the gratitude of\nthe Queen. Very soon after the outrage she had secretly communicated with\nBothwell and Huntly, 'who, taking no regard to hazard their lives,'\narranged a plan for her flight by means of ropes let down from the\nwindows.[53] Mary preferred the passage through the basement into the\nroyal tombs, and, by aid of Arthur Erskine and Stewart of Traquair, she\nmade her way to Dunbar. Here Huntly, Atholl, and Bothwell rallied to her\nstandard: Knox fled from Edinburgh, Morton and Ruthven with their allies\nfound refuge in England: the lately exiled Lords were allowed to remain in\nScotland: Darnley betrayed his accomplices, they communicated to Mary\ntheir treaties with him, and the Queen was left to reconcile Moray and\nArgyll to Huntly, Bothwell, and Atholl.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n_BEFORE THE BAPTISM OF THE PRINCE_\n\n\nMary's task was 'to quieten the country,' a task perhaps impossible. Her\ndefenders might probably make a better case for her conduct and prudence,\nat this time, than they have usually presented. Her policy was, if\npossible, to return to the state of balance which existed before her\nmarriage. She must allay the Protestants' anxieties, and lean on their\ntrusted Moray and on the wisdom of Lethington. But gratitude for the\nhighest services compelled her to employ Huntly and Bothwell, who equally\ndetested Lethington and Moray. Darnley was an impossible and disturbing\nfactor in the problem. He had, publicly, on March 20, and privately,\ndeclared his innocence, which we find him still protesting in the Casket\nLetters. He had informed against his associates, and insisted on dragging\ninto the tale of conspirators, Lethington, who had retired to Atholl.\nMoreover Mary must have despised and hated the wretch. Perhaps her hatred\nhad already found expression.\n\nThe Lennox MSS. aver that Darnley secured Mary's escape to Dunbar 'with\ngreat hazard and danger of his life.' Claude Nau reports, on the other\nhand, that he fled at full speed, brutally taunting Mary, who, in her\ncondition, could not keep the pace with him. Nau tells us that, as the\npair escaped out of Holyrood, Darnley uttered remorseful words over\nRiccio's new-made grave. The Lennox MSS. aver that Mary, seeing the grave,\nsaid 'it should go very hard with her but a fatter than Riccio should lie\nanear him ere one twelvemonth was at an end.' In Edinburgh, on the return\nfrom Dunbar, Lennox accuses Mary of threatening to take revenge with her\nown hands. 'That innocent lamb' (Darnley) 'had but an unquiet life'\n(Lennox MSS.).\n\nOnce more, Mary had to meet, on many sides, the demand for the pardon of\nthe Lords who had just insulted and injured her by the murder of her\nservant. On April 2, from Berwick, Morton and Ruthven told Throckmorton\nthat they were in trouble 'for the relief of our brethren and the\nreligion,' and expected 'to be relieved by the help of our brethren, which\nwe hope in God shall be shortly.'[54] Moray was eager for their\nrestoration, which must be fatal to their betrayer, Darnley. On the other\nside, Bothwell and Darnley, we shall see, were presently intriguing for\nthe ruin of Moray, and of Lethington, who, still unpardoned, dared not\ntake to the seas lest Bothwell should intercept him.[55] Bothwell and\nDarnley had been on ill terms in April, according to Drury.[56] But\ncommon hatreds soon drew them together, as is to be shown.\n\nRandolph's desire was 'to have my Lord of Moray again in Court' (April 4),\nand to Court Moray came.\n\nOut of policy or affection, Mary certainly did protect and befriend Moray,\ndespite her alleged nascent passion for his enemy, Bothwell. By April 25,\nMoray with Argyll and Glencairn had been received by Mary, who had\nforbidden Darnley to meet them on their progress.[57] With a prudence\nwhich cannot be called unreasonable, Mary tried to keep the nobles apart\nfrom her husband. She suspected an intrigue whenever he conversed with\nthem, and she had abundant cause of suspicion. She herself had taken\nrefuge in the Castle, awaiting the birth of her child.\n\nMary and Moray now wished to pardon Lord Boyd, with whom Darnley had a\nprivate quarrel, and whom he accused of being a party to Riccio's\nmurder.[58] On May 13, Randolph tells Cecil that 'Moray and Argyll have\nsuch misliking of their King (Darnley) as never was more of man.'[59]\nMoray, at this date, was most anxious for the recall of Morton, who (May\n24) reports, as news from Scotland, that Darnley 'is minded to depart to\nFlanders,' or some other place, to complain of Mary's unkindness.[60]\nDarnley was an obstacle to Mary's efforts at general conciliation, apart\nfrom the horror of the man which she probably entertained. In England\nMorton and his gang had orders, never obeyed, to leave the country:\nRuthven had died, beholding a Choir of Angels, on May 16.\n\nAt this time, when Mary was within three weeks of her confinement, the\nLennox Papers tell a curious tale, adopted, with a bewildering confusion\nof dates, by Buchanan in his 'Detection.' Lennox represents Mary as trying\nto induce Darnley to make love to the wife of Moray, while 'Bothwell alone\nwas all in all.' This anecdote is told by Lennox himself, on Darnley's own\nauthority. The MS. is headed, 'Some part of the talk between the late King\nof Scotland and me, the Earl of Lennox, riding between Dundas and Lythkoo\n(Linlithgow) in a dark night, taking upon him to be the guide that night,\nthe rest of his company being in doubt of the highway.' Darnley said he\nhad often ridden that road, and Lennox replied that it was no wonder, he\nriding to meet his wife, 'a paragon and a Queen.' Darnley answered that\nthey were not happy. As an instance of Mary's ways, he reported that, just\nbefore their child's birth, Mary had advised him to take a mistress, and\nif possible 'to make my Lord ----' (Moray) 'wear horns, and I assure you I\nshall never love you the worse.' Lennox liked not the saying, but merely\nadvised Darnley never to be unfaithful to the Queen. Darnley replied, 'I\nnever offended the Queen, my wife, in meddling with any woman in thought,\nlet be in deed.' Darnley also told the story of 'horning' Moray to a\nservant of his, which Moray 'is privy unto.'\n\nThe tale of Darnley's then keeping a mistress arose, says Lennox, from the\nfact that one of two Englishmen in his service, brothers, each called\nAnthony Standen, brought a girl into the Castle. The sinner was, when\nLennox wrote, in France. Nearly forty years after James VI. imprisoned him\nin the Tower, and he wrote a romantic memoir of which there is a\nmanuscript copy at Hatfield.\n\nWhatever Mary's feelings towards Darnley, when making an inventory of her\njewels for bequests, in case she and her child both died, she left her\nhusband a number of beautiful objects, including the red enamel ring with\nwhich he wedded her.[61] Whatever her feelings towards Moray, she lodged\nhim and Argyll in the Castle during her labour: 'Huntly and Bothwell would\nalso have lodged there, but were refused.'[62] Sir James Melville (writing\nin old age) declares that Huntly and Lesley, Bishop of Ross, 'envied the\nfavour that the Queen showed unto the Earl of Moray,' and wished her to\n'put him in ward,' as dangerous. Melville dissuaded Mary from this course,\nand she admitted Moray to the Castle, while rejecting Huntly and\nBothwell.[63]\n\nJames VI. and I. was born on June 19. Killigrew carried Elizabeth's\ncongratulations, and found that Argyll, Moray, Mar, and Atholl were\n'linked together' at Court. Bothwell had tried to prejudice Mary against\nMoray, as likely to 'bring in Morton during her child-bed,' but Bothwell\nhad failed, and gone to the Border. 'He would not gladly be in the danger\nof the four that lie in the Castle.' Yet he was thought to be 'more in\ncredit' with Mary than all the rest. If so, Mary certainly 'dissembled her\nlove,' to the proverbial extent. Darnley was in the Castle, but little\nregarded.[64] Moray complained that his own 'credit was yet but small:' he\nwas with the Privy Council, Bothwell was not.[65] By July 11, Moray told\nCecil that his favour 'stands now in good case.'[66]\n\nHe had good reason to thank God, as he did. According to Nau, Huntly and\nBothwell had long been urging Darnley to ruin Moray and Lethington, and\nDarnley had a high regard for George Douglas, now in exile, his agent with\nRuthven for Riccio's murder.[67] This is confirmed by a letter from Morton\nin exile to Sir John Forster in July. Morton had heard from Scotland that\nBothwell and Darnley were urging Mary to recall the said George Douglas,\nwhom they expected to denounce Moray and Lethington as 'the devisers of\nthe slaughter of Davy.' 'I now find,' says Morton, 'that the King and\nBothwell are not likely to speed, as was written, for the Queen likes\nnothing of their desire.'[68]\n\nThus Mary was protecting Moray from the grotesque combination of Bothwell\nand Darnley. This is at a time when 'Bothwell was all in all,' according\nto Lennox, and when she had just tried to embroil Moray and her husband by\nbidding Darnley seduce Lady Moray. By Moray's and Morton's own showing,\nMoray's favour was 'in good case,' and he was guarded from Darnley's\nintrigues.\n\nHowever, Buchanan makes Mary try to drive Darnley and Moray to dagger\nstrokes after her 'deliverance.'[69] We need not credit his tale of Mary's\ninforming Darnley that the nobles meant to kill him, and then calling\nMoray out of bed, half-naked, to hear that he was to be killed by Darnley.\nAll that is known of this affair of the hurried Moray speeding through the\ncorridors in his dressing-gown, comes from certain notes of news sent by\nBedford to Cecil on August 15. 'The Queen declared to Moray that the King\nhad told her he was determined to kill him, finding fault that she bears\nhim so much company. The King confessed that reports were made to him that\nMoray was not his friend, which made him speak that of which he repented.\nThe Queen said that she could not be content that either he or any else\nshould be unfriend to Moray.' 'Any else' included Bothwell. 'Moray and\nBothwell have been at evil words for Lethington. The King has departed; he\ncannot bear that the Queen should use familiarity with man or woman.'[70]\nThis may be the basis of Buchanan's legend. Moray and Darnley hated each\nother. On the historical evidence of documents as against the partisan\nlegends of Lennox and Buchanan, Mary, before and after her delivery, was\nleaning on Moray, whatever may have been her private affection for\nBothwell. She even confided to him 'that money had been sent from the\nPope.' Moray was thus deep in her confidence. That she should distrust\nDarnley, ever weaving new intrigues, was no more than just. His wicked\nfolly was the chief obstacle to peace.\n\nPeace, while Darnley lived, there could not be. Morton was certain to be\npardoned, and of all feuds the deadliest was that between Morton and\nDarnley, who had betrayed him. Meanwhile Mary's dislike of Darnley must\nhave increased, after her fear of dying in child-birth had disappeared.\nWhen once the nobles' were knitted into a combination, with Lethington\nrestored to the Secretaryship (for which Moray laboured successfully\nagainst Bothwell), with Morton and the Douglases brought home, Darnley was\ncertain to perish. Lennox was disgraced, and his Stewarts were powerless,\nand Darnley's own Douglas kinsmen were, of all men, most likely to put\ntheir hands in his blood: as they did. Mary was his only possible shelter.\nNothing was more to be dreaded by the Lords than the reconciliation of the\nroyal pair; whom Darnley threatened with the vengeance he would take if\nonce his foot was on their necks. But of a sincere reconciliation there\nwas no danger.\n\nA difficult problem is to account for the rise of Mary's passion for\nBothwell. In February, she had given him into the arms of a beautiful\nbride. In March, he had won her sincerest gratitude and confidence. She\nhad, Lennox says, bestowed on him the command of her new Guard of\nharquebus men, a wild crew of mercenaries under dare-devil captains. But\nthough, according to her accusers, her gratitude and confidence turned to\nlove, and though that love, they say, was shameless and notorious, there\nare no contemporary hints of it in all the gossip of scandalous\ndiplomatists. We have to fall back on what Buchanan, inspired by Lennox,\nwrote after Darnley's murder, and on what Lennox wrote himself in language\nmore becoming a gentleman than that of Buchanan. If Lennox speaks truth,\nimproper relations between Mary and Bothwell began as soon as she\nrecovered from the birth of her child. He avers that Mary wrote a letter\nto Bothwell shortly after her recovery from child-bed, and just when she\nwas resisting Bothwell's and Darnley's plot against Moray and Lethington.\nBothwell, reading the letter among his friends, exclaimed, 'Gyf any faith\nmight be given to a princess, they' (Darnley and Mary) 'should never be\ntogidder in bed agane.' A version in English (the other paper is in Scots)\nmakes Mary promise this to Bothwell when he entered her room, and found\nher washing her hands. Buchanan's tales of Mary's secret flight to Alloa,\nshortly after James's birth, and her revels there in company with Bothwell\nand his crew of pirates, are well known. Lennox, however, represents her\nas departing to Stirling, 'before her month,' when even women of low\ndegree keep the house, and as 'taking her pleasure in most uncomely\nmanner, arraied in homely sort, dancing about the market cross of the\ntown.'\n\nAccording to Nau, Mary and her ladies really resided at Alloa as guests of\nLord Mar, one of the least treacherous and abandoned of her nobles.\nBedford, in a letter of August 3, 1566, mentions Mary's secret departure\nfrom Edinburgh, her intended meeting with Lethington (who had been exiled\nfrom Court since Riccio's death), at Alloa, on August 2, and her\ndisdainful words about Darnley. He adds that Bothwell is the most hated\nman in Scotland: 'his insolence is such that David [Riccio] was never more\nabhorred than he is now,' but Bedford says nothing of a love intrigue\nbetween Bothwell and Mary.[71] The visit to Alloa, with occasional returns\nto Edinburgh, is of July-August.\n\nIn August, Mary, Bothwell, Moray, and Darnley hunted in Meggatdale, the\nmoorland region between the stripling Yarrow and the Tweed. They had poor\nsport: poachers had been busy among the deer. Charles IX., in France, now\nlearned that the royal pair were on the best terms;[72] and Mary's\nInventories prove that, in August, she had presented Darnley with a\nmagnificent bed; by no means 'the second-best bed.' In September she also\ngave him a quantity of cloth of gold, to make a caparison for his\nhorse.[73] Claude Nau reports, however, various brutal remarks of Darnley\nto his wife while they were in Meggatdale. By September 20, Mary,\naccording to Lethington, reconciled Bothwell and himself. This was a very\nimportant event. The reconciliation, Lethington says, was quietly managed\nat the house of a friend of his own, Argyll, Moray, and Bothwell alone\nbeing present. Moray says: 'Lethington is restored to favour, wherein I\ntrust he shall increase.'[74] This step was hostile to Darnley's\ninterests, for he had attempted to ruin Lethington. It is certain, as we\nshall see, that all parties were now united in a band to resist Darnley's\nauthority, and maintain that of the Queen, though, probably, nothing was\nsaid about violence.\n\nAt this very point Buchanan, supported and probably inspired by Lennox,\nmakes the guilty intimacy of Mary and Bothwell begin in earnest. In\nSeptember, 1566, Mary certainly was in Edinburgh, reconciling Lethington\nto Bothwell, and also working at the budget and finance in the Exchequer\nHouse. It 'was large and had pleasant gardens to it, and next to the\ngardens, all along, a solitary vacant room,' says Buchanan. But the real\ncharm, he declares, was in the neighbourhood of the house of David\nChalmers, a man of learning, and a friend of Bothwell. The back door of\nChalmers's house opened on the garden of the Exchequer House, and\naccording to Buchanan, Bothwell thence passed, through the garden, to\nMary's chamber, where he overcame her virtue by force. She was betrayed\ninto his hands by Lady Reres.[75]\n\nThis lady, who has been mentioned already, was the wife of Arthur Forbes\nof Reres. His castle, on a hill above the north shore of the Firth of\nForth, is now but a grassy mound, near Lord Crawford's house of Balcarres.\nThe lady was a niece of Cardinal Beaton, a sister of the magic lady of\nBranksome, and aunt of one of the Four Maries, Mary Beaton. Buchanan\ndescribes her as an old love of Bothwell, 'a woman very heavy, both by\nunwieldy age and massy substance;' her gay days, then, must long have been\nover. She was also the mother of a fairly large family. Cecil absurdly\navers that Bothwell obtained his divorce by accusing himself of an amour\nwith this fat old lady.[76] Knox's silly secretary, Bannatyne, tells us\nthat the Reformer, dining at Falsyde, was regaled with a witch story by a\nMr. Lundie. He said that when Lady Atholl and Mary were both in labour, in\nEdinburgh Castle, he came there on business, and found Lady Reres lying\nabed. 'He asking her of her disease, she answered that she was never so\ntroubled with no bairn that ever she bare, for the Lady Atholl had cast\nall the pain of her child-birth upon her.'[77] It was a case of\nTelepathy. Lady Reres had been married long enough to have a grown-up son,\nthe young Laird of Reres, who was in Mary's service at Carberry Hill\n(June, 1567). According to Dr. Joseph Robertson, Lady Reres was wet-nurse\nto Mary's baby. But, if we trust Buchanan, she was always wandering about\nwith Mary, while the nurseling was elsewhere. The name of Lady Reres does\nnot occur among those of Mary's household in her _Etat_ of February 1567.\nWe only hear of her, then, from Buchanan, as a veteran procuress of vast\nbulk who, at some remote period, had herself been the mistress of\nBothwell.\n\nA few days after the treasonable and infamous action of Bothwell in\nviolating his Queen, we are to believe that Mary, still in the Exchequer\nHouse, sent Lady Reres for that hero. Though it would have been simple and\neasy to send a girl like Margaret Carwood, Mary and Margaret must needs\nlet old Lady Reres 'down by a string, over an old wall, into the next\ngarden.' Still easier would it have been for Lady Reres to use the key of\nthe back door, as when she first admitted Bothwell. But these methods were\nnot romantic enough: 'Behold, the string suddenly broke, and down with a\ngreat noise fell Lady Reres.' However, she returned with Bothwell, and so\nbegan these tragic loves.\n\nThis legend is backed, according to Buchanan, by the confession of\nBothwell's valet, George Dalgleish, 'which still remaineth upon record,'\nbut is nowhere to be found. In Dalgleish's confession, printed in the\n'Detection,' nothing of the kind occurs. But a passage in the Casket\nSonnet IX. is taken as referring to the condoned rape:\n\n  Pour luy aussi j'ai jete mainte larme,\n  Premier, quand il se fist de ce corps possesseur,\n  Duquel alors il n'avoit pas le coeur.\n\nIn the Lennox MSS. Lennox himself dates the beginning of the intrigue with\nBothwell about September, 1566. But he and Buchanan are practically but\none witness. There is no other.\n\nAs regards this critical period, we have abundant contemporary\ninformation. The Privy Council, writing to Catherine de' Medici, from\nEdinburgh, on October 8, make Mary, ten or twelve days before (say\nSeptember 26), leave Stirling for Edinburgh, on affairs of the Exchequer.\nShe offered to bring Darnley, but he insisted on remaining at Stirling,\nwhere Lennox visited him for two or three days, returning to Glasgow.\nThence he wrote to Mary, warning her that Darnley had a vessel in\nreadiness, to fly the country. The letter reached Mary on September 29,\nand Darnley arrived on the same day. He rode to Mary, but refused to enter\nthe palace, because three or four of the Lords were in attendance. Mary\nactually went out to see her husband, apparently dismissed the Lords, and\nbrought him to her chamber, where he passed the night. On the following\nday, the Council, with du Croc, met Darnley. He was invited, by Mary and\nthe rest, to declare his grievances: his attention was directed to the\n'wise and virtuous' conduct of his wife. Nothing could be extracted from\nDarnley, who sulkily withdrew, warning Mary, by a letter, that he still\nthought of leaving the country. His letter hinted that he was deprived of\nregal authority, and was abandoned by the nobles. To this they reply that\nhe must be _aimable_ before he can be _aime_, and that they will never\nconsent to his having the disposal of affairs.[78]\n\nA similar account was given by du Croc to Archbishop Beaton, and, on\nOctober 17, to Catherine de' Medici, no friend of Mary, also by Mary to\nLennox.[79]\n\nWe have not Darnley's version of what occurred. He knew that all the\npowerful Lords were now united against him. Du Croc, however, had frequent\ninterviews with Darnley, who stated his grievance. It was not that\nBothwell injured his honour. Darnley kept spies on Mary, and had such a\nnoisy and burlesque set of incidents occurred in the garden of Exchequer\nHouse as Buchanan reports, Darnley should have had the news. But he merely\ncomplained to du Croc that he did not enjoy the same share of power and\ntrust as was his in the early weeks of his wedding. Du Croc replied that\nthis fortune could never again be his. The 'Book of Articles' entirely\nomits Darnley's offence in the slaying of Riccio. Du Croc was more\nexplicit. He told Darnley that the Queen had been personally offended, and\nwould never restore him to his authority. 'He ought to be well content\nwith the honour and good cheer which she gave him, honouring and treating\nhim as the King her husband, and supplying his household with all manner\nof good things.' This goes ill with Buchanan's story about Mary's\nstinginess to Darnley. It is admitted by the Lennox MSS. that she did not\nkeep her alleged promise to Bothwell, that she and Darnley should never\nmeet in the marriage bed.\n\nWhen Mary had gone to Jedburgh, to hold a court (about October 8), du Croc\nwas asked to meet Darnley at some place, apparently Dundas, 'three leagues\nfrom Edinburgh.' Du Croc thought that Darnley wished Mary to ask him to\nreturn. But Darnley, du Croc believed, intended to hang off till after the\nbaptism of James, and did not mean to be present on that occasion (_pour\nne s'y trouver point_). He had, in du Croc's opinion, but two causes of\nunhappiness: one, the reconciliation of the Lords with the Queen, and\ntheir favour; the other, a fear lest Elizabeth's envoy to the baptism\nmight decline to recognise him (_ne fera compte de luy_). The night-ride\nfrom Dundas to Linlithgow, in which (according to Lennox) Darnley told the\ntale of Mary's advice to him to seduce Lady Moray, must have occurred at\nthis very time, perhaps after the meeting with du Croc, three leagues from\nEdinburgh. In his paper about the night-ride, Lennox avers that Mary\nyielded to Bothwell's love, before this ride and conversation. But he does\nnot say that he himself was already aware of the amour, and his whole\nnarrative leaves the impression that he was not. We are to suppose that,\nif Buchanan's account is true, the adventures of the Exchequer House and\nof Lady Reres were only known to the world later. Certainly no suspicion\nof Mary had crossed the mind of du Croc, who says that he never saw her so\nmuch loved and respected; and, in short, there is no known contemporary\nhint of the beginning of the guilty amour, flagrant as were its alleged\ncircumstances. This point has, naturally, been much insisted upon by the\ndefenders of Mary.\n\nIt must not escape us that, about this time, almost every Lord, from Moray\ndownwards, was probably united in a signed 'band' against Darnley. The\nprecise nature of its stipulations is uncertain, but that a hostile band\nexisted, I think can be demonstrated. The Lords, in their letter of\nOctober 8 to Catherine, declare that they will never consent to let\nDarnley manage affairs. The evidence as to a band comes from four sources:\nRandolph, Archibald Douglas, a cousin and ally of Morton, Claude Nau,\nMary's secretary, and Moray himself.\n\nFirst, on October 15, 1570, Randolph, being in Edinburgh after the death\nof the Regent Moray, writes: 'Divers, since the Regent's death, either to\ncover their own doings or to advance their cause, have sought to make him\nodious to the world. The universal bruit runs upon three or four persons'\n(Bothwell, Lethington, Balfour(?), Huntly, and Argyll) 'who subscribed\nupon a bond promising to concur and assist one another in the late King's\ndeath. This bond was kept in the Castle, in a little coffer covered with\ngreen, and, after the apprehension of the Scottish Queen at Carberry Hill,\nwas taken out of the place where it lay by the Laird of Lethington, in\npresence of Mr. James Balfour.... This being a thing so notoriously known,\nas well by Mr. James Balfour's own report, as testimony of other who have\nseen the thing, is utterly denied to be true, _and another bond produced\nwhich they allege to be it, containing no such matter, at the which, with\ndivers other noblemen's hands, the Regent's was also made, a long time\nbefore the bond of the King's murder was made_, and now they say that if\nit can be proved by any bond that they consented to the King's death, the\nlate Regent is as guilty as they, and for testimony thereof (as Randolph\nis credibly informed) have sent a bond to be seen in England, which is\neither some new bond made among themselves, and the late Regent's hand\ncounterfeited at the same (which in some cases he knows has been done), or\nthe old bond at which his hand is, containing no such matter.' Randolph\nadds, as an example of forgery of Moray's hand, the order for Lethington's\nrelease by Kirkcaldy to whom Robert Melville attributed the forgery.[80]\nThus both sides could deal in charges of forging hands.\n\nBut what is 'the old band,' _signed by Moray_ 'a long time before the bond\nof the King's murder was made'? To this question we probably find a reply\nin the long letter written by Archibald Douglas to Mary, in April, 1583,\nwhen he (one of Darnley's murderers) was an exile, and was seeking, and\nwinning, Mary's favour. Douglas had fled to France after Riccio's murder,\nbut was allowed to return to Scotland, 'to deal with Earls Murray, Athol,\nBodvel, Arguile, and Secretary Ledington,' in the interests of a pardon\nfor Morton, Ruthven, and Lindsay. This must have been just after September\n20, when the return of Lethington to favour occurred. But Murray, Atholl,\nBothwell, Argyll, and Lethington told Douglas that they had made a band,\nwith other noblemen, to this effect: that they 'were resolved to obey your\nMajesty as their natural sovereign, _and have nothing to do with your\nhusband's command whatsoever_.' So the Lords also told Catherine de'\nMedici. They wished to know, before interfering in Morton's favour,\nwhether he would also sign this anti-Darnley band, which Morton and his\naccomplices did. Archibald Douglas then returned, with their signatures,\nto Stirling, at the time of James's baptism, in mid December, 1566. Morton\nand his friends were then pardoned on December 24.[81] This anti-Darnley\nband, which does not allude to _murder_, must be that produced in 1570,\naccording to Randolph, by 'divers, since Moray's death, either to cover\ntheir own doings, or to advance their own cause, seeking to make him\nodious to the world.' We thus find Moray, and all the most powerful\nnobles, banded against Darnley, some time between September and December\n1566.\n\nNow, Claude Nau, inspired by Mary, attributes Darnley's murder to a band\n'written by Alexander Hay, at that time one of the clerks of the Council,\nand signed by the Earls of Moray, Huntly, Bothwell, and Morton, by\nLethington, James Balfour, and others.' Moray certainly did not sign the\nmurderous band kept in the green-covered coffer, nor, as he alleged at his\ndeath, did Morton. But Nau seems to be confusing _that_ band with the band\nof older date, to which, as Randolph admits, and as Archibald Douglas\ninsists, Moray, Morton, and others put their hands, Morton signing as late\nas December 1566.\n\nNau says: 'They protested that they were acting for the public good of the\nrealm, pretending that they were freeing the Queen from the bondage and\nmisery into which she had been reduced by the King's behaviour. They\npromised to support each other, and to avouch that the act was done\njustly, licitly, and lawfully by the leading men of the Council. They had\ndone it in defence of their lives, which would be in danger, they said, if\nthe King should get the upper hand and secure the government of the realm,\nat which he was aiming.'[82] Randolph denies that there was any hint of\nmurder in the band signed by Moray. Archibald Douglas makes the gist of it\n'that they would have nothing to do with your husband's command\nwhatsoever.' Nau speaks of 'the act,' but does not name murder explicitly\nas part of the band. Almost certainly, then, there did exist, in autumn\n1566, a band hostile to Darnley, and signed by Moray and Morton. It seems\nhighly probable that the old band, made long before the King's murder, and\nof a character hostile to Darnley's influence, and menacing to him, is\nthat which Moray himself declares that he did sign, 'at the beginning of\nOctober,' 1566. When Moray, in London, on January 19, 1569, was replying\nto an account (the so-called 'Protestation of Argyll and Huntly') of the\nconference at Craigmillar, in November 1566, he denied (what was not\nalleged) that he signed any band _there_: at Craigmillar. 'This far the\nsubscriptioun of bandes be me is trew, that indeed I subscrivit ane band\nwith the Erlis of Huntlie, Ergile, and Boithvile in Edinburgh, at the\nbegynning of October the same yeir, 1566: quhilk was devisit in signe of\nour reconciliatioun, in respect of the former grudgis and displesouris\nthat had been amang us. Whereunto I wes constreinit to mak promis, before\nI culd be admittit to the Quenis presence or haif ony shew of hir\nfaveur....'[83]\n\nNow Moray had been admitted to Mary's presence two days after the death of\nRiccio, before her flight to Dunbar. On April 25, 1566, Randolph writes\nfrom Berwick to Cecil: 'Murray, Argyll, and Glencairn are come to Court. I\nhear his (Moray's) credit shall be good. The Queen wills that all\ncontroversies shall be taken up, in especial that between Murray and\nBothwell.'[84] On April 21, 1566, Moray, Argyll, Glencairn, and others\nwere received by Mary in the Castle, and a Proclamation was made to soothe\n'the enmity that was betwixt the Earls of Huntly, Bothwell, and\nMurray.'[85] Thenceforward, as we have proved in detail, Moray was\nostensibly in Mary's favour. Moray would have us believe that he only\nobtained this grace by virtue of his promise to sign a band with Huntly,\nBothwell, and Argyll: the last had been on his own side in his rebellion.\nBut the band, he alleges, was not signed till October, 1566, though the\npromise must have been given, at least his 'favour' with Mary was\nobtained, in April. And Moray signed the band precisely at the moment when\nDarnley was giving most notorious trouble, and had just been approached\nand implored by Mary, the Council, and the French ambassador. That was the\nmoment when the Privy Council assured Catherine that they 'would never\nconsent' to Darnley's sovereignty. Why was that moment selected by Moray\nto fulfil a promise more than four months old? Was the band not that\nmentioned by Randolph, Archibald Douglas, and Nau, and therefore, in some\nsense, an anti-Darnley band, not a mere 'sign of reconciliation'? The\ninference appears legitimate, and this old band signed by Moray seems to\nhave been confused, by his enemies, with a later band for Darnley's\nmurder, which we may be sure that he never signed. He only 'looked through\nhis fingers.'\n\nOn October 7, or 8, or 9, Mary left Edinburgh to hold a Border session at\nJedburgh. She appears to have been in Jedburgh by the 9th.[86] On October\n7, Bothwell was severely wounded, in Liddesdale, by a Border thief. On\nOctober 15, Mary rode to visit him at Hermitage.[87] Moray, says Sir John\nForster to Cecil (October 15), was with her, and other nobles. Yet\nBuchanan says that she rode 'with such a company as no man of any honest\ndegree would have adventured his life and his goods among them.' Life,\nindeed, was not safe with the nobles, but how Buchanan errs! Du Croc,\nwriting from Jedburgh on October 17, reports that Bothwell is out of\ndanger: 'the Queen is well pleased, his loss to her would have been\ngreat.'[88] Buchanan's account of this affair is, that Mary heard at\nBorthwick of Bothwell's wound, whereon 'she flingeth away like a mad\nwoman, by great journeys in post, in the sharp time of winter' (early\nOctober!), 'first to Melrose, then to Jedburgh. There, though she heard\nsure news of his life, yet her affection, impatient of delay, could not\ntemper itself; but needs she must bewray her outrageous lust, and in an\ninconvenient time of the year, despising all incommodities of the way and\nweather, and all dangers of thieves, she betook herself headlong to her\njourney.' The 'Book of Articles' merely says that, after hearing of\nBothwell's wound, she 'took na kindly rest' till she saw him--a prolonged\n_insomnia_. On returning to Jedburgh, she prepared for Bothwell's arrival,\nand, when he was once brought thither, then perhaps by their excessive\nindulgence in their passion, Buchanan avers, Mary nearly died.\n\nAll this is false. Mary stayed at least five days in Jedburgh before she\nrode to Hermitage, whither, says Nau, corroborated by Forster, Moray\naccompanied her. She fell ill on October 17, a week before Bothwell's\narrival at Jedburgh. On October 25, she was despaired of, and some thought\nshe had passed away. Bothwell arrived, in a litter, about October 25.\nForster says October 15, wrongly. These were no fit circumstances for\n'their old pastime,' which they took 'so openly, as they seemed to fear\nnothing more than lest their wickedness should be unknown.' 'I never saw\nher Majesty so much beloved, esteemed, and honoured,' du Croc had written\non October 17.\n\n[Illustration: House occupied by Queen Mary at Jedburgh.\n\nG. W. Wilson & Co. Aberdeen photo\n\nWalker & Cockerell. ph. sc.]\n\nBuchanan's tale is here so manifestly false, that it throws doubt on his\nscandal about the Exchequer House. That Mary abhorred Darnley, and was\nwretched, is certain. 'How to be free of him she sees no outgait,' writes\nLethington on October 24. He saw no chance of reconciliation.[89] That she\nand Bothwell acted profligately together while he was ill at Hermitage,\nand she almost dead at Jedburgh, is a grotesquely malevolent falsehood.\nDarnley now visited Jedburgh: it is uncertain whether or not he delayed\nhis visit long after he knew of Mary's illness. Buchanan says that he was\nreceived with cruel contempt.[90] In some pious remarks of hers when she\nexpected death, she only asks Heaven to 'mend' Darnley, whose misconduct\nis the cause of her malady.[91] On November 20, Mary arrived at\nCraigmillar Castle, hard by Edinburgh. Du Croc mentions her frequent\nexclamation, 'I could wish to be dead,' and, from Darnley, and his own\nobservation, gathered that Darnley would never humble himself, while Mary\nwas full of suspicions when she saw him converse with any noble. For\ndisbelieving that reconciliation was possible du Croc had several reasons,\nhe says; he may have detected the passion for Bothwell, but makes no\nallusion to that subject; and, when Darnley in December behaved sullenly,\nhis sympathy was with the Queen. In the 'Book of Articles' exhibited\nagainst Mary in 1568, it is alleged that, at Kelso, on her return from\nJedburgh, she received a letter from Darnley, wept, told Lethington and\nMoray that she could never have a happy day while united to her husband,\nand spoke of suicide. Possibly Darnley wrote about his letter against her\nto the Pope, and the Catholic Powers. But the anecdote is dubious. She\nproceeded to Craigmillar Castle.\n\nThen came the famous conference at Craigmillar. Buchanan says (in the\n'Detection') that, in presence of Moray, Huntly, Argyll, and Lethington,\nshe spoke of a divorce, on grounds of consanguinity, the Dispensation\n'being conveyed away.' One of the party said that her son's legitimacy\nwould be imperilled. So far the 'Book of Articles' agrees with the\n'Detection.' Not daring to 'disclose her purpose to make away her son'\n(the 'Book of Articles' omits this), she determined to murder her husband,\nand her son. A very different story is told in a document sent by Mary to\nHuntly and Argyll, for their signatures, on January 5, 1569. This purports\nto be a statement of what Huntly had told Bishop Lesley. He and Argyll\nwere asked to revise, omit, or add, as their recollection served, sign,\nand return, the paper which was to be part of Mary's counter-accusations\nagainst her accusers.[92] The document was intercepted, and was never seen\nnor signed by Huntly and Argyll. The statement, whatever its value (it is\nmerely Lesley's recollection of remarks by Huntly), declares that Moray\nand Lethington roused Argyll from bed, and suggested that, to induce Mary\nto recall Morton (banished for Riccio's murder), it would be advisable to\noblige Mary by ridding her of Darnley. Huntly was next brought in, and,\nlast, Bothwell. They went to Mary's rooms, and proposed a divorce. She\nobjected that this would, or might, invalidate her son's legitimacy, and\nproposed to retire to France. Lethington said that a way would be found,\nand that Moray would 'look through his fingers.' Mary replied that nothing\nmust be done which would stain her honour and conscience. Lethington\nanswered that, if they were allowed to guide the matter, 'Your Grace shall\nsee nothing but good, and approved by Parliament.'\n\nThough Huntly and Argyll never saw this piece, they signed, in September,\n1568, another, to like purpose. Starting from the same point, the desire\nto win Morton's pardon, they say that they promised to secure a divorce,\neither because the dispensation for Mary's marriage was not published\n(conceivably the marriage occurred before the dispensation was granted) or\nfor adultery: or to bring a charge of treason against Darnley, 'or quhat\nother wayis to dispeche him; quhilk altogidder hir Grace refusit, as is\nmanifestlie knawin.'[93] It is plain, therefore, that Huntly and Argyll\nwould have made no difficulty about signing the Protestation which never\nreached them.\n\nWhile Buchanan's tale yields no reason for Mary's consent to pardon the\nRiccio murderers (whom of all men she loathed), Huntly and Argyll supply a\npartial explanation. In Buchanan's History, it is casually mentioned,\nlater, that Mary wished to involve Moray and Morton in the guilt of\nDarnley's murder. But how had Morton returned to Scotland? Of _that_, not\na word.[94] In truth, both French and English influence had been used;\nBothwell, acting 'like a very friend,' says Bedford, and others had openly\nadded their intercessions. James's baptism was an occasion for an amnesty,\nand this was granted on Christmas Eve. The pardon might well have been\ngiven, even had no divorce or murder of Darnley been intended, but the\nstep was most threatening to Darnley's safety, as the exiles hated him\nwith a deadly hatred. On the whole, taking the unsigned 'Protestation' of\nHuntly and Argyll with the document which they did sign, it seems\nprobable, or certain, that a conference as to getting rid of Darnley, in\nsome way, was held at Craigmillar, where Moray certainly was.\n\nMoray, in London, was shown the intercepted 'Protestation,' and denied\nthat anything was said, at Craigmillar, in his hearing 'tending to ony\nunlawfull or dishonourable end.'[95] But, if the Protestation can be\ntrusted, nothing positively unlawful was proposed. Lethington promised\n'nothing but good, and approved by Parliament.' Moray also denied having\nsigned a 'band,' except that of October 1566, but about a 'band' the\nProtestation says nothing. Moray _may_ have referred to what (according to\nthe 'Diurnal,' pp. 127, 128) Hay of Talla said at his execution (January\n3, 1568). He had seen a 'band' signed by Bothwell, Huntly, Argyll,\nLethington, and Sir James Balfour. The first four, at least, were at\nCraigmillar. Buchanan, in the 'Detection,' gives Hay's confession, but not\nthis part of it. Much later, on December 13, 1573, Ormistoun confessed\nthat, about Easter, after the murder, Bothwell tried to reassure him by\nshowing him a 'contract subscryvit be four or fyve handwrittes, quhilk he\naffirmit to me was the subscription of the erle of Huntlie, Argyll, the\nSecretar Maitland, and Sir James Balfour.' The contract or band stated\nthat Darnley must be got rid off 'by ane way or uther,' and that all who\nsigned should defend any who did the deed. It was subscribed a quarter of\na year before the murder, that is, taking the phrase widely, after the\nCraigmillar conference.[96]\n\nWhat did Lethington mean, at Craigmillar, by speaking of a method of\ndealing with Darnley which Parliament would approve? He may have meant to\narrest him, for treason, and kill him if he resisted. That this was\ncontemplated, at Craigmillar, we proceed to adduce the evidence of Lennox.\n\nThis hitherto unknown testimony exists, in inconsistent forms, among the\nseveral indictments which Lennox, between July and December, 1568, drew up\nto show to the English Commissioners who, at York and Westminster,\nexamined the charges against Mary. In the evidence which we have hitherto\nseen, the plans of Mary's Council at Craigmillar are left vague, and\nMary's objections, as described by Huntly and Argyll, are spoken of as\nfinal. Mention is made of only one conference, without any sequel. But\nLennox asserts that there was at least one other meeting, at Craigmillar,\nbetween Mary and her advisers. His information is obviously vague, but he\nfirst makes the following assertions.\n\n'In this mean time' (namely in December 1566, when the Court was at\nStirling for James's baptism), 'his father, being advertised ['credibly\ninformed'][97] that at Craigmillar the Queen and certain of her Council\n_had concluded_ upon an enterprise to the great peril and danger of his\n['Majesty's'] person, which was that he should have been _apprehended and\nput in ward_, which rested' (was postponed) 'but only on the finishing of\nthe christening and the departure of the said ambassadors, which thing\nbeing not a little grievous unto his father's heart, did give him warning\nthereof; whereupon he, by the advice of sundry that loved him, departed\nfrom her shortly after the christening, and came to his father to Glasgow,\nbeing fully resolved with himself to have taken ship shortly after, and to\nhave passed beyond the seas, but that sickness prevented him, which was\nthe cause of his stay.'\n\nIn this version, Lennox is warned, by whom he does not say, of a plan,\nformed at Craigmillar, to arrest Darnley. The plan is not refused by the\nQueen, but is 'concluded upon,' yet postponed till the christening\nfestivities are over. _Nothing is said about the design to kill Darnley if\nhe resists._ The scheme is communicated to Darnley by Lennox himself.\n\nNext comes what seems to be the second of Lennox's attempts at producing a\n'discourse.' This can be dated. It ends with the remark that, after\nLangside fight, Mary spoke with Ormistoun and Hob Ormistoun, 'who were of\nthe chiefest murderers of the King, her husband.' These men now live with\nthe Laird of Whithaugh, in Liddesdale, 'who keepeth in his house a\nprisoner, one Andrew Carre, of Fawdonside, by her commandment.' This was\nAndrew Ker of Faldonside, the most brutal of the murderers of Riccio. Now\non October 4, 1568, in a list of 'offences committed by the Queen's\nparty,' a list perhaps in John Wood's hand, we read that Whithaugh, and\nother Elliots, 'took ane honest and trew gentleman, Ker of Faldonside, and\nkeep him prisoner by Mary's command;' while Whithaugh cherishes the two\nOrmistouns.[98] This discourse of Lennox, then, is of, or about, October\n4, 1568, and was prepared for the York Conference to inquire into Mary's\ncase, where it was not delivered.\n\nHe says: 'How she used him (Darnley) at Craigmillar, my said Lord Regent\n(Moray), who was there present, can witness. One thing I am constrainit to\ndeclare, which came to my knowledge by credible persons, which was that\ncertain of her familiar and privy counsellors, of her faction and\nBothwell's, should present her a letter at that house, subscribed with\ntheir hands, the effect of which letter was to apprehend the King my son's\nperson, and to put him in ward, and, _if he happened to resist them, to\nkill him_: she answered that the ambassadors were come,[99] and the\nchristening drew near, so that the time would not then serve well for that\npurpose, till the triumph was done, and the ambassadors departed to their\ncountry.... Also I, being at Glasgow about the same time, and having\nintelligence of the foresaid device for his apprehension at Craigmillar,\ndid give him warning thereof;' consequently, as he was also ill-treated at\nStirling, Darnley went to Glasgow, 'where he was not long till he fell\nsick.' Lennox here adds the plot to kill Darnley if he resisted arrest.\nHis reference to certain of Mary's Privy Council, who laid the plot,\ncannot have been grateful to Lethington, who was at York, where Lennox\nmeant to deliver his speech.\n\nThe final form taken by Lennox's account of what occurred at Craigmillar\nlooks as if it were a Scots draft for the 'Brief Discourse' which he\nactually put in, in English, at Westminster, on November 29, 1568. He\naddresses Norfolk and the rest in his opening sentences. The Privy Council\nwho made the plot are they '_of thay dayis_,' which included Moray,\nArgyll, Huntly, Lethington, and Bothwell. These Lords, or some of them,\neither subscribe 'a lettre' of warrant for Darnley's capture alive or\ndead, or ask Mary to sign one; Lennox is not certain which view is\ncorrect. She answered that they must delay till the ambassadors departed.\n'But seeing in the mean time this purpose divulgate,' she arrested the\n'reportaris,' namely Hiegait, Walker, the Laird of Minto (we do not\nelsewhere learn that he was examined), and Alexander Cauldwell. Perceiving\n'that the truth was like to come to light, she left off further\ninquisition.'\n\nThis version does not state that Lennox, or any one else, revealed the\nCraigmillar plot for his arrest to Darnley. It later describes a quarrel\nof his with Mary at Stirling, and adds, 'Being thus handled, at the end of\nthe christening he came to me to Glasgow.' This tale of a plot to arrest,\nand, if he resisted, to kill Darnley, corresponds with Paris's statement\nthat Bothwell told him, 'We were much inclined to do it lately, when we\nwere at Craigmillar.'\n\nThis evidence of Lennox, then, avers that, after the known conference at\nCraigmillar, which Lethington ended by saying that 'you shall see nothing\nbut good, and approved of by Parliament,' there was another conference. On\nthis second occasion some of the Privy Council suggested the arrest of\nDarnley, who, perhaps, was to be slain if he resisted. Parliament might\napprove of this measure, for there were reasons for charging Darnley with\nhigh treason. Mary, says Lennox, accepted the scheme, but postponed it\ntill after the Baptism. Within two or three weeks Lennox heard of the\nplan, and gave Darnley warning. But Lennox's three versions are hesitating\nand inconsistent: nor does he cite his authority for the conspiracy to\nkill Darnley.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\n_BETWEEN THE BAPTISM AND THE MURDER_\n\n\nMary passed from Craigmillar and Edinburgh to the baptism of her son James\nat Stirling. The 17th December, 1566, was the crowning triumph of her\nlife, and the last. To the cradle came the Ambassadors of France and\nEngland bearing gifts: Elizabeth, the child's godmother, sent a font of\nenamelled gold. There were pageants and triumphs, fireworks, festivals,\nand the chanting of George Buchanan's Latin elegiacs on Mary, the _Nympha\nCaledoniae_, with her crowns of Virtue and of Royalty. Above all, Mary had\nwon, or taken, permission to baptize the child by the Catholic rite, and\nScotland saw, for the last time, the ecclesiastics in their splendid\nvestments. Mary busied herself with hospitable kindnesses, a charming\nhostess in that dark hold where her remote ancestor had dirked his guest\nbetween the table and the hearth. But there was a strange gap in the\nthrong of nobles. The child's father, though in the Castle, did not attend\nthe baptism, was not among the guests, while the grandfather, Lennox,\nremained apart at his castle in Glasgow.\n\nAccording to du Croc, who was at Stirling, Darnley announced his intention\nto depart, two days before the christening, but remained and sulked.\n\nA month before the ceremony, du Croc had expected Darnley to sulk and stay\naway. At Stirling he declined to meet Darnley, so bad had his conduct\nbeen, and said that, if Darnley entered by one door of his house, he would\ngo out by the other. It has been averred by Camden, writing in the reign\nand under the influence of James I., when King of England, that the\nEnglish ambassador, Bedford, warned his suite not to acknowledge Darnley\nas King, and punished one of them, who, having known him in England,\nsaluted him. Nau says that Darnley refused to associate with the English,\nunless they would acknowledge his title of King, and to do this they had\nbeen forbidden by the Queen of England, their mistress,[100] who knew that\nDarnley kept up a more or less treasonable set of intrigues with the\nEnglish Catholics.[101] Bedford, a sturdy Protestant, could not be a\n_persona grata_ to Darnley: and, as to Darnley's kingship, his own father,\nin 1568, rather represented him as an English subject. On the other side\nwe have only the evidence of Sir James Melville, gossiping long after the\nevent, to the effect that Bedford, when leaving Stirling, charged him with\na message to Mary. He bade her 'entertain Darnley as she had done at the\nbeginning, for her own honour and advancement of her affairs,' which\nwarning Melville repeated to her.[102] But there was an awkwardness as\nbetween 'the King' and the English, nor do we hear that Bedford made any\nadvance to Darnley, whose natural sulkiness is vouched for by all\nwitnesses.\n\nAs to what occurred at Stirling in regard to Darnley's ill-treatment, the\nLennox MSS. are copious. Mary, 'after an amiable and gentle manner,'\ninduced him to go to Stirling before her, without seeing the ambassadors.\nAt Stirling, 'she feigned to be in a great choler against the King's\ntailors, that had not made such apparel as she had devised for him against\nthe triumph.' Darnley, to please her, kept out of the way of the\nambassadors. She dismissed his guards, Lennox sent men of his own, and\nthis caused a quarrel.[103] Darnley flushed with anger, and Mary said, 'If\nhe were a little daggered, and had bled as much as my Lord Bothwell had\nlately done, it would make him look the fairer.' This anecdote (about\nwhich, in June 1568, while getting up his case, Lennox made inquiries in\nScotland) is given both in English and Scots, in different versions. The\n'Book of Articles' avers that Bothwell himself was in fear, and was\nstrongly guarded.\n\nWhile all at Stirling seemed gay, while Mary played the hostess admirably,\ndu Croc found her once weeping and in pain, and warned his Government\nthat 'she would give them trouble yet' (December 23).[104] Mary had causes\nfor anxiety of which du Croc was not aware. Strange rumours filled Court\nand town. A man named Walker, a retainer of her ambassador at Paris,\nArchbishop Beaton, reported that the Town Clerk of Glasgow, William\nHiegait, was circulating a tale to the effect that Darnley meant to seize\nthe child prince, crown him, and rule in his name. Now for months Darnley\nhad been full of mad projects; to seize Scarborough, to seize the Scilly\nIslands, and the scheme for kidnapping James had precedents enough.\n\nDarnley was in frequent communication with the discontented Catholics of\nthe North and West of England, and his retainers, the Standens, were young\nmen yearning for adventures. 'Knowing I am an offender of the laws, they\nprofessed great friendship,' wrote William Rogers to Cecil, with some\nhumour.[105]\n\nA rumour of some attempt against Mary reached Archbishop Beaton, in Paris,\nat the end of 1566, through the Spanish Ambassador there, who may have\nheard of it from the Spanish Ambassador in London, with whom the English\nCatholics were perpetually intriguing. There is a good deal of evidence\nthat Darnley had been complaining of Mary to the Pope and the Catholic\nPowers, as insufficiently zealous for the Church. Darnley, not Mary, was\nthe Scottish royal person on whom the Church ought to rely,[106] and Mary,\nsays Knox's continuator, saw his letters, by treachery. Consumed with\nanger at his degraded position, so unlike the royalty for which he\nhungered, and addicted to day dreams about descents on Western England,\nand similar wild projects, Darnley may possibly, at this time, have\ncommunicated to the English Catholics a project for restoring himself to\npower by carrying off and crowning his child. This fantasy would drift\nthrough the secret channels of Catholic diplomacy to the Spanish\nAmbassador in Paris, who gave Beaton a hint, but declined to be explicit.\nMary thanked Beaton for his warning, from Seton, on February 18, nine days\nafter Darnley's death.[107] 'But alas! it came too late.' Mary added that\nthe Spanish ambassador in London had also given her warning.\n\nThere may, then, have been this amount of foundation for the report which,\naccording to Walker, at Stirling, Hiegait was circulating about\nmid-December 1566. Stirling was then full of 'honest men of the Lennox,'\nsent thither by Lennox himself (as he says in one of his manuscript\ndiscourses), because Darnley's usual guard had been withdrawn. Mary\nobjected to the presence of so many of Lennox's retainers, and there arose\nthat furious quarrel between her and her husband. Possibly Mary, having\nheard Walker's story of Darnley's project, thought that his Lennox men\nwere intended to bear a hand in it.\n\nIn any case Walker filled Mary's ears, at Stirling--as she wrote to\nArchbishop Beaton, her ambassador in France, on January 20, 1567--with\nrumours of 'utheris attemptatis and purposis tending to this fyne.' He\nnamed Hiegait 'for his chief author,' 'quha,' he said, 'had communicat the\nmater to hym, as apperyt, of mynd to gratify us; sayand to Walcar, \"gif I\nhad the moyen and crydet with the Quenis Majestie that ze have, I wald not\nomitt to mak hir previe of sic purpossis and bruitis that passes in the\ncuntrie.\"' Hiegait also said that Darnley could not endure some of the\nLords, but that he or they must leave the country. Mary then sent for\nHiegait, before the Council, and questioned _him_. He (probably in fear of\nLennox) denied that he had told Walker the story of Darnley's project, but\nhe had heard, from Cauldwell, a retainer of Eglintoun's, that Darnley\nhimself was to be 'put in ward.' Eglintoun, 'a rank <DW7>,' was described\nby Randolph as never a trustworthy Lennoxite, 'never good Levenax.' His\nretainer, Cauldwell, being summoned, expressly denied that he ever told\nthe rumour about the idea of imprisoning Darnley, to Hiegait. But Hiegait\ninformed the Laird of Minto (a Stewart and a Lennoxite), who again told\nLennox, who told Darnley, by whose desire Cauldwell again spoke to\nHiegait. The trail of the gossip runs from Cauldwell (the estate of that\nname is in Eglintoun's country, Ayrshire) to Hiegait, from him to Stewart\nof Minto, from him to Lennox, and from Lennox to Darnley. Possibly\nEglintoun (the cautious Lord who slipped away when Ainslie's band was\nbeing signed, and hid under straw, after the battle of Langside) was the\noriginal source of the rumour of Darnley's intended arrest. This is a mere\nguess. If there was a very secret plot, at Craigmillar, to arrest Darnley,\nwe cannot tell how it reached Hiegait. Mary 'found no manner of\nconcordance' in their answers, and she rebuked Walker and Hiegait in her\nown name, and that of their master, Beaton himself.[108] These men, with\nMinto, were allied with Lennox, and one of them may have been his\nauthority for the story of the second Craigmillar conference.\n\nWe now see why it was that, in the height of her final triumph, the\nchristening festival at Stirling Mary wept and was ill at ease. Her\nhusband's conduct was intolerable: now he threatened to leave before the\nceremony, next he stayed on, a dismal figure behind the scenes. His guard\nof Lennox men might aim at slaying Bothwell, or Mary might think, on\nWalker's evidence, that they intended to kidnap her child. Worse followed,\nwhen she and her Council examined Walker. Out came the tale of Hiegait,\nand Queen and Council, if they had really plotted to arrest Darnley, knew\nthat their scheme was discovered and was abortive. Finally, on December\n24, either in consequence of Lennox's warning, or because Morton, Lindsay,\nand the other Riccio conspirators whom he betrayed were pardoned, Darnley\nrode off to his father at Glasgow. There he fell ill, soon after his\narrival, but Lennox's MSS. never hint that he was poisoned at Stirling (as\nBuchanan declares), or that he fell sick when he had ridden but a mile\nfrom the town. That they deny.\n\nAfter Darnley's departure, Moray, with Bedford, the English Ambassador,\nwent to St. Andrews, and other places in Fife. Till January 2, 1567, when\nshe returned to Stirling, Mary was at Drummond Castle, and at\nTullibardine, where, says Buchanan, she and Bothwell made love in corners\n'so that all were highly offended.' After January 13, she visited Calendar\nHouse, and then went to Holyrood.\n\nIt is said that she never wrote to Darnley till after January 14, when she\ntook her child to Edinburgh, with the worst purposes, Buchanan declares.\nThen she wrote to Darnley, the Lennox Papers inform us, excusing herself,\nand offering to visit him in his sickness at Glasgow. Darnley told her\nmessenger verbally, say the Lennox MSS., that the Queen must judge herself\nas to the visit to him. 'But this much ye shall declare unto her, that I\nwish Stirling to be Jedburgh, and Glasgow to be the Hermitage, and I the\nEarl of Bothwell as I lie here, and then I doubt not but she would be\nquickly with me undesired.' This was a tactless verbal message, and, if\ngiven, must have proved to Mary that Darnley suspected her amour.\nMoreover, this Lennoxian story, that Mary offered the visit, and that\nDarnley replied with reserve, and with an insult to be verbally delivered,\nagrees ill with what is said in the deposition (December, 1568) of\nLennox's retainer, Thomas Crawford. According to Crawford, 'after theire\nmetinge and shorte spekinge together she asked hym of hys lettres, wherein\nhe complained of the crueletye of som.' 'He answered that he complained\nnot without cause....' 'Ye asked me what I ment bye the crueltye specified\nin my lettres, yt procedeth of you onelye that wille not accept mye\n_offres_ and repentance.' Now, in the Lennox Papers this 'innocent lamb'\nhas nothing to repent of, and has made no offers. These came from Mary's\nside.[109]\n\nThe Lennox account goes on to say that later Mary sent 'very loving\nmessages and letters unto him to drive all suspicions out of his mind,' a\npassage copied by Buchanan in his History. Darnley, therefore, after\nMary's visit to Glasgow, returned with her to Edinburgh, 'contrary to his\nfather's will and consent.' Lennox, however, here emphatically denies that\neither he or Darnley suspected any murderous design on the part of the\nQueen. Yet, in Letter II., she is made to say that he 'fearit his liff,'\nas the passage is quoted in the 'Book of Articles.'[110] As to the story\nthat Darnley's illness at Glasgow was caused by poison; poison, of course,\nwas suspected, but, if the Casket Letters are genuine, Mary therein calls\nhim 'this pocky man,' and Bedford says that he had small-pox: a disease\nfrom which Mary had suffered in early life.[111] He also reports that Mary\nsent to Darnley her own physician, though Buchanan says 'All this while\nthe Queen would not suffer so much as a physician to come at him.' In the\n'Book of Articles' she refuses to send her apothecary. Bedford never hints\nat scandalous doings of Mary and Bothwell at Stirling.\n\nOn January 20, from Edinburgh, Mary wrote that letter to Archbishop Beaton\nin Paris, as to the Hiegait and Walker affair, which we have already\ncited. She also expressed her desire that her son should receive the\ntitular captaincy of the Scots Guard in France, though, according to\nBuchanan, she determined at Craigmillar to 'make away with' her child.\nNothing in Mary's letter of January 20, to Beaton, hints at her desire of\na reconciliation with Darnley. Yet, on or about the very day when she\nwrote it, she set forth towards Glasgow.\n\nThe date was January 20, as given by the Diary of Birrel, and in the\n'Diurnal.' The undesigned coincidence of diaries kept by two Edinburgh\ncitizens is fairly good evidence.[112] Drury makes her arrive at Glasgow\non January 22. What occurred between Mary and her husband at Glasgow is\nsaid to be revealed in two of her Casket Letters written to Bothwell.\nTheir evidence, and authenticity, are to be discussed later: other\nevidence to the point we have none, and can only say, here, that, at the\nend of January, Mary brought Darnley, his face covered with taffeta, to\nthe house of Kirk o' Field, just beside the wall of Edinburgh, where the\nUniversity buildings now stand.\n\nHere he was in an insecure and dangerous house, close to a palace of his\nfeudal foes, the Hamiltons. The Lennox MSS. declare that 'the place was\nalready prepared with [undermining and] trains of powder therein.'[113] We\nreturn to this point, which was later abandoned by the prosecution.\n\nDarnley, say the Lennox MSS., wished to occupy the Hamilton House, near\nKirk o' Field, but Mary persuaded him that 'there passed a privy way [to]\nbetween the palace and it,' Kirk o' Field, 'which she could take without\ngoing through the streets.' The Lennox author adds that, on the night of\nthe murder, Bothwell and his gang 'came the secret way which she herself\nwas wont to come to the King her husband.' The story of the secret way\nrecurs in Lennox MSS., and, of course, is nonsense, and was dropped. There\nwas no subterranean passage from Holyrood to Kirk o' Field. Bothwell and\nthe murderers, in their attack on the Kirk o' Field, had no such\nconvenience for the carriage of themselves and their gunpowder. It is\nstrange that Lennox and his agents, having access to several of the\nservants of Darnley, including Nelson who survived the explosion, accepted\nat one time, or expected others to accept, this legend of a secret\npassage. Edinburgh tradition holds that there was such a tunnel between\nHolyrood and the Castle, which may be the basis of this fairy-tale.\n\nThe tale of the secret passage, then, is told, in the Lennox MSS., as the\nexcuse given by Mary to Darnley for lodging him in Kirk o' Field, not in\nthe neighbouring house of the Hamiltons. But, in the 'Book of Articles,'\nwe read that the Archbishop of St. Andrews was then living in the Hamilton\nHouse 'onely to debar the King fra it.' The fable of the secret way,\ntherefore, was dropped in the final version prepared by the accusers.\n\nMary, whether she wrote the Casket Letters or not, was, demonstrably,\naware that there was a plot against Darnley, before she brought him to a\nhouse accessible to his enemies. It is certain that, hating and desiring\nto be delivered from Darnley, she winked at a conspiracy of which she was\nconscious, and let events take their course. This was, to all appearance,\nthe policy of her brother James, 'the Good Regent Moray;' and one of\nMary's apologists, Sir John Skelton, is inclined to hold that this _was_\nMary's attitude. He states the hypothesis thus: 'that Mary was not\nentirely unaware of the measures which were being taken by the nobility to\nsecure in one way or other the removal of Darnley; that, if she did not\nexpressly sanction the enterprise, she failed, firmly and promptly, to\nforbid its execution.' Hence she was in 'an equivocal position,' could not\nact with firmness and dignity, and in accepting Bothwell could not be\naccounted a free agent, yielded to force, and, with a heavy heart,\n'submitted to the inevitable.'[114]\n\n[Illustration: THE OLD TOWER, WHITTINGHAM]\n\nThat Mary knew of the existence of a plot is proved by a letter to her\nfrom Morton's cousin, Archibald Douglas, whose character and career are\ndescribed in the second chapter, 'Minor Characters.' In a letter of 1583,\nwritten by Douglas to win (as he did win) favour and support from Mary,\nduring his exile in England, he says that, in January, 1567, about the\n18th or 19th, Bothwell and Lethington visited Morton at Whittingham, his\nown brother's place, now the seat of Mr. A. J. Balfour. The fact of the\nvisit is corroborated by Drury's contemporary letter of January 23,\n1567.[115] After they had conferred together, Morton sent Archibald\nDouglas with Bothwell and Lethington to Edinburgh, to learn what answer\nMary would make to a proposal of a nature unknown to Archibald, so he\nsays. 'Which' (answer) 'being given to me by the said persons, as God\nshall be my judge, was no other than these words, \"Schaw to the Earl\nMorton that the Queen will hear no speech of the matter appointed to\nhim,\"' _i.e._ arranged with him. Now Morton's confession, made before his\nexecution, was to the effect that Bothwell, at Whittingham, asked him to\njoin the conspiracy to kill Darnley, but that he refused, unless Bothwell\ncould procure for him a written warrant from the Queen. Obviously it was\nto get this warrant that Archibald Douglas accompanied Lethington and\nBothwell to Edinburgh. But Bothwell and Lethington (manifestly after\nconsulting Mary) told Douglas that 'the Queen will hear no speech of that\nmatter.' Douglas, though an infamous ruffian, could not have reported to\nMary, when attempting, successfully, to win her favour, a compromising\nfact which she, alone of living people, must have known to be false. Mary\nwas not offended.[116] Taking, then, Morton's statement that he asked\nBothwell, at Whittingham, for Mary's warrant, with Douglas's statement to\nMary herself, that he accompanied Lethington and Bothwell from Whittingham\nto Edinburgh, and was informed by them that the Queen 'would hear no\nspeech of the matter,' we cannot but believe that 'the matter' was mooted\nto her. Therefore, in January, 1567, she was well aware that\n_something_ was intended against Darnley by Bothwell, Lethington, and\nothers.[117]\n\n[Illustration: THE WHITTINGHAM TREE\n\n(_After a Drawing by Richard Doyle_)]\n\nYet her next step was to seek Darnley in Glasgow, where he was safe among\nthe retainers of Lennox, and thence to bring him back to Edinburgh, where\nhis deadly foes awaited him.\n\nNow this act of Mary's cannot be regarded as merely indiscreet, or as a\nhalf-measure, or as a measure of passive acquiescence. Had she not brought\nDarnley from Glasgow to Edinburgh, under a semblance of a cordial\nreconciliation, he might, in one way or another, have escaped from his\nenemies. The one measure which made his destruction certain was the\nmeasure that Mary executed, though she was well aware that a conspiracy\nhad been framed against the unhappy lad. Even if he wished to come to\nEdinburgh, uninvited by her, she ought to have refused to bring him.\n\nWe can only escape from these conclusions by supposing that Archibald\nDouglas, destitute and in exile, hoped to enter into Mary's good graces by\ntelling her what she well knew to be a lie; namely that Bothwell and her\nSecretary had declared that she would not hear of the matter proposed to\nher. Douglas tells us even more. While seeking to conciliate Mary, in his\nletter already cited, he speaks of 'the evil disposed minds of the most\npart of your nobility against your said husband ... which I am assured was\nsufficiently known to himself, _and to all that had judgment never so\nlittle in that realm_.' Mary had judgment enough, and, according to the\nsigned declaration of her friends, Huntly and Argyll (Sept. 12, 1568),\nknew that the scheme was, either to divorce Darnley, or convict him of\ntreason, 'or in what other ways to _dispatch him_.' These means, say\nHuntly and Argyll, she 'altogether refused.' Yet she brought Darnley to\nKirk o' Field!\n\nShall we argue that, pitying his illness, and returning to her old love,\nshe deemed him safest in her society? In that case she might have carried\nhim from Glasgow to Dumbarton Castle, or dwelt with him in the hold where\nshe gave birth to James VI.--in Edinburgh Castle. But she brought him to\nan insecure house, among his known foes.\n\nMary's conduct towards Darnley, after Craigmillar, and before his murder,\nand her behaviour later as regards Bothwell, are always capable of being\ncovered by one or other special and specious excuse. On this occasion she\nbrings Darnley to Edinburgh that a tender mother may be near her child;\nthat a loving wife may attend a repentant husband, who cannot be so safe\nanywhere as under the aegis of her royal presence. In each and every case\nthere is a special, and not an incredible explanation. But one cause, if\nit existed, would explain every item of her conduct throughout, from\nCraigmillar to Kirk o' Field: she hated Darnley. On the hypothesis of her\ninnocence, and accepting the special pleas for each act, Mary was a weak,\nailing, timid, and silly woman, with 'a heart of wax.' On the\nhypothesis of her guilt, though ailing, worn, wretched, she had 'a heart\nof diamond,' strong to scheme and act a Clytaemnestra's part, even _contre\nson naturel_. The _naturel_ of Clytaemnestra, too, was good, says Zeus in\nthe Odyssey. But in her case, 'Love was a great master.'\n\n[Illustration: THE WHITTINGHAM TREE\n\n(_External view_)]\n\nStill, we have seen no contemporary evidence, or hint of evidence, that\nlove for Bothwell was Mary's master. Her conduct, from her recovery of\npower, after Riccio's murder, to her reconciliation of Lethington with\nBothwell, is, on the face of it, in accordance with the interests and\nwishes of her brother, Moray, who hated Bothwell. As the English envoy,\nRandolph, had desired, she brought Moray to Court. She permitted him to\nattend in the Castle while she was in child-bed, and 'refused Bothwell.'\nShe protected Moray from Bothwell's and Darnley's intrigues. She took\nMoray's side, as to the readmission of Lethington to favour, though\nBothwell stormed. She even made Moray her confidant as to money received\nfrom the Pope: perhaps Moray had his share! Lethington and Moray, not\nBothwell, seem to have had her confidence. At Moray's request she annulled\nher restoration of consistorial jurisdiction to Archbishop Hamilton. Moray\nand Lethington, not Bothwell, opened the proposals at Craigmillar. Such is\nthe evidence of history. On the other side are the scandals reported by\nBuchanan, and, in details, Buchanan erred: for example, as to the ride to\nHermitage.\n\nIf Mary knew too much, how much was known by 'the noble, stainless Moray'?\n\nAs to Moray's foreknowledge of Darnley's murder, can it be denied? He did\nnot deny that he was at Craigmillar during the conference as to\n'dispatching' Darnley. If the news of the plan for arresting or killing\nhim reached underlings like Hiegait and Walker, could it be hidden from\nMoray, the man most in Mary's confidence, and likely to be best served by\nspies? He glosses over his signature to the band of early October,\n1566--the anti-Darnley band--as if it were a mere 'sign of reconciliation'\nwhich he promised to subscribe 'before I could be admitted to the Queen's\npresence, or have any show of her favour.' But, when he did sign, he had\npossessed Mary's favour for more than three months, and she had even saved\nhim from a joint intrigue of Bothwell and Darnley. In January, 1569, Moray\ndeclared that, except the band of early October, 1566, 'no other band was\nproposed to me in any wise,' either before or after Darnley's murder. And\nnext he says that he would never subscribe any band, 'howbeit I was\nearnestly urged and pressed thereto by the Queen's commandment.'[118] Does\nhe mean that no band was proposed to him, and yet that the Queen did press\nhim to sign a band? Or does he mean that he would never have signed, even\nif the Queen had asked him to do so? We can never see this man's face; the\nfingers through which he looks on at murder hide his shifty eyes.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\n_THE MURDER OF DARNLEY_\n\n\nIt is not easy for those who know modern Edinburgh to make a mental\npicture of the Kirk o' Field. To the site of that unhappy dwelling the\nProfessors now daily march, walking up beneath the frowning Castle, from\nmodern miles of stone and mortar which were green fields in Mary's day.\nThe students congregate from every side, the omnibuses and cabs roll by\nthrough smoky, crowded, and rather uninteresting streets of shops: the\nsolid murky buildings of the University look down on a thronged and busy\npopulace which at every step treads on history, as Cicero says men do at\nAthens. On every side are houses neither new enough to seem clean, nor old\nenough to be interesting: there is not within view a patch of grass, a\ngarden, or a green tree. The University buildings cover the site of Kirk\no' Field, but the ghosts of those who perished there would be sadly at a\nloss could they return to the scene.\n\nIn Mary's time whoever stood on the grassy crest of the Calton Hill,\ngazing on Edinburgh, beheld, as he still does, Holyrood at his feet, and,\ncrowning the highest point of the central part of the town, the tall\nsquare tower of the church of St. Mary in the Fields, on the limit of the\nlandscape. In going, as Mary often went, from Holyrood to Kirk o' Field,\nyou walked straight out of the palace, and up the Canongate, through\nstreets of Court suburb, with gardens behind the houses. You then reached\nthe gate of the town wall, called the Nether Port, and entered the street\nof the Nether Bow, which was a continuation of the High Street. By any one\nof the lanes, or wynds, which cut the Nether Bow at right angles on the\nleft, you reached the Cowgate (the street of palaces, as Alesius, the\nReformer, calls it), running from the Castle parallel to the High Street\nand its continuation, the Nether Bow. From the Cowgate, you struck into\none or other of the wynds which led to the grounds of what were, in Mary's\ntime, the ruined church and houses of the Dominican monastery, or Black\nFriars, and to Kirk o' Field.\n\nBeyond this, all is very difficult to explain and understand. The church\nof Kirk o' Field, and the quadrangle of houses tenanted, just as in Oxford\nor Cambridge, by the Prebendaries and Provost of that collegiate church,\nlay, at an early date, _outside_ of the walls of Edinburgh. This is proved\nby the very name of the collegiate church, 'St. Mary in the Fields.' But\nby 1531, a royal charter speaks of 'the College Church of the Blessed\nVirgin Mary in the Fields, _within the walls_ of the burgh of Edinburgh,'\nthe city wall having been recently extended in that direction.[119] The\nmonastery of the Black Friars, close to Kirk o' Field, was also included,\nby 1531, within the walls of the burgh. But the town wall which encircled\nKirk o' Field and the Black Friars on the south, was always in a ruinous\ncondition. In 1541, we find the Town Council demanding that 'ane honest\nsubstantious wall' shall be made in another quarter.[120] In 1554, the\nProvost and Prebendaries of Kirk o' Field granted part of their grounds to\nthe Duke of Chatelherault, because their own houses had been 'burned down\nand destroyed by their auld enemies of England,' in the invasions of\n1544-1547.[121] In 1544-1547, the town wall encircling Kirk o' Field on\nthe south must also have been partially ruined. Chatelherault built on the\nground thus acquired, quite close to Kirk o' Field, a large new house or\nchateau from which, according to George Buchanan, Archbishop Hamilton sent\nforth ruffians to aid in Darnley's murder.\n\nBy 1557, we find that the town wall, at the point where it encircled the\nBlack Friars, in the vicinity of Kirk o' Field, was 'fallen down,' and was\nto be 'reedified and mended.'[122] By August, 1559, the Town Council\nprotest against a common passage through the 'slap,' or 'slop,' the broken\ngap, in the Black Friars 'yard <DW18>' (garden wall) 'at the east end of the\nblock-house.' This gap, therefore, is to be built up again, 'conform in\nwork to the town wall next adjacent,' but it appears that this was never\ndone. When Bothwell went to the murder, he got into the Black Friars\ngrounds, whence he made his way into Darnley's garden, either by climbing\nthrough a 'slap' or gap in the wall, or by sending an accomplice through,\nwho opened the Black Friars gate. This ruinous condition of the town wall\nwas partly due to the habitual negligence of the citizens: partly to the\ndestruction which fell, in 1559-1560, on the religious houses and\ncollegiate churches. So, in February, 1560, we find the town treasurer\nordered to pull down the walls of the Black Friars, and use the stones to\n'build the town walls therewith.'[123] On August 11, 1564, we again hear\nof repairing slaps, or gaps, 'and in especial _the new wall at the\ncollege_, so that no part thereof be climable.' The college may be Kirk o'\nField, where the burgesses already desired to build a college, the parent\nof Edinburgh University. On the day after Darnley's murder (Feb. 11, 1567)\nthe treasurer was ordered 'to take away the hewen work of the back door of\nthe Provost's lodging of the Kirk o' Field, and to build up the same door\nwith lime and sand.' Conceivably this 'back door,' now to be built up and\nclosed, was that door in Darnley's house which opened through the town\nwall. Finally, on May 7, 1567, the Treasurer was bidden 'to build _the\nwall of the town decayed and fallen down on the south side_ of the Provost\nof the Kirk o' Field's lodging, to be built up of lime and stone,\nconform to the height and thickness of the _new wall_ elsewhere [ellis]\nbuilded, and to pass lineally with the same to the wall of the church yard\nof the said church, and to leave no door nor entry in the said new\nwall.'[124]\n\n[Illustration: KIRK O' FIELD SITE IN 1646\n\n25 is the Town Wall. _w_ indicates the University, including Hamilton\nHouse\n\n_y_ indicates a rectangular ruin, Darnley's house (?)]\n\nAll these facts prove that the old wall which enclosed Kirk o' Field and\nthe Black Friars on the south had fallen into disrepair, and that new\nwalls had for some time before the murder been in course of building. Now,\nin the map of 1647, we find a very neat and regular wall, to the south of\nthe site that had been occupied by Kirk o' Field. Whereas, in Darnley's\ntime, there had been a gate called Kirk o' Field Port to the left, or\nwest, of the Kirk o' Field, by 1647 there was no such name, but, instead,\nPotter Row Port, to the left, or west, of the University buildings; by\n1647 these included Hamilton House, and the ground covered by Kirk o'\nField. This wall, extant in 1647, I take to be 'the new wall,' passing\nlineally 'to the wall of the church yard' of Kirk o' Field. It supplied\nthe place of the wall which, in the chart of 1567 (p. 130), ran south and\nnorth past the gable of Kirk o' Field.\n\nThus Kirk o' Field, in February, 1567, had, to the south of it, an old\ndecayed town wall, much fallen down, and was thus _within_ that town wall.\nBut 'it is traditionally said,' writes the editor of Keith, Mr. Parker\nLawson, in 1845, 'that the house of the Provost of Kirk o' Field' (in\nwhich house, or the one next to it, Darnley was blown up) 'stood as near\nas possible _without_ the then city walls.'[125] Scott follows this\nopinion in 'The Abbot.' Yet certainly Kirk o' Field was not without, but\nwithin, the ruinous town wall mentioned in the Burgh Records of May 7,\n1567. How are we to understand this discrepancy?\n\nThe accompanying chart, drawn from a  design sent to the English\nGovernment in February, 1567, ought to be _reversed_, as in a mirror. So\nregarded, we are facing Kirk o' Field, and are looking from south to\nnorth. At our left hand, or westward, is the gate or port in the town\nwall, called 'the Kirk o' Field Port.' If we pass through it, if the chart\nbe right we are in Potter Row. Just from the Port of Kirk o' Field, the\ntown wall runs due north, for a few yards: then runs due east, enclosing\nthe church yard of Kirk o' Field, on the north, and the church itself,\nshown in ruins, the church, as usual, running from east to west. After\nrunning west to east for some fifty yards, the town wall, battlemented and\nloopholed, turns at a right angle, and runs due south to north, being thus\ncontinued till it reaches the northern limit of the plan. Now this wall,\nhere running due south to north, is not the 'wall of the town decayed and\nfallen down on the south side of the Provost of Kirk o' Field's lodgings,'\nas described in the Burgh Records of May 7, 1567. This wall, on the other\nhand, leaves the collegiate quadrangle of Kirk o' Field inside it, on the\n_east_, and the ruined gable of Darnley's house, a gable running from east\nto west, abuts on this wall, having a door through the wall into the\nThieves' Row. It is true that one of Darnley's servants, Nelson, who\nescaped from the explosion, declared that the gallery of Darnley's house,\nand the gable which had a window 'through the town wall,' ran _south_.\n\nBut, by the contemporary chart, the only part of Darnley's house which was\nin contact with the town wall ran east to west, and impinged on the town\nwall, which here ran south to north. Again, in the map of 1647, the wall\nof that date no longer runs south to north, but is continued 'lineally'\nfrom that short part of the town wall, in the chart of 1567, which _did_\nrun west to east, forming there the northern wall of the church yard of\nKirk o' Field. This continuation was ordered to be made by the Town\nCouncil on May 7, 1567, three months after Darnley's murder. Further, in\n1646, Professor Crawford wrote that the lodgings of the Provost of Kirk o'\nField, in 1567, 'had a garden on the _south_, betwixt it and the _present_\ntown wall.'[126]\n\nNow the ruins of Darnley's house, in the map of 1647, have a space of\ngarden between them and 'the _present_ town wall,' the wall of 1647. But,\nin 1567, the gable of Darnley's house actually impinged on, and had a\nwindow and a door through the town wall on, the _west_ according to the\nchart.\n\nThe chart, then, _reversed_, shows the whole position thus. On our left,\nthe west, is the ruined Kirk o' Field church, the church yard being\nbordered, on the north, by the town wall, here running, for a short way,\neast and west. After the town wall turns at a right angle and runs south\nto north, it is continued west and east by a short prolongation of some\nten yards, having a gate in it. Next, running west to east, are two tall\nhouses, forming the south side of a quadrangle. These Crawford (1646)\nseems to have regarded as the Provost's lodgings. The east side of the\nquadrangle consists of four small houses, as does the north side. The west\nside of the quadrangle was Darnley's house. It was in the shape of an\ninverted L, thus [L]. The long limb faced the quadrangle, the short limb\ntouched the town wall, and had a door through it, into the Thieves' Row.\nBeyond the Thieves' Row were gardens, in one of which Darnley's body and\nthat of his servant, Taylor, were found after the explosion. Mary's room\nin the short limb of the [L] had a garden door, opening into Darnley's\ngarden. Behind Darnley's garden were the grounds of the Black Friars\nmonastery. On the night of the murder Bothwell conveyed the gunpowder into\nthe Black Friars grounds, entering by the gate or through the broken Black\nFriars wall to the north side of the quadrangle, and thence into Darnley's\ngarden, and so, by Mary's garden door, into Mary's chamber: as the\ndepositions of the accomplices declare.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n1. Kirk o' Field Port\n\n2. Church of St. Mary-in-the-Fields\n\n3. Thieves' Row\n\n4. Door from Darnley's House into Thieves' Row\n\n5. Ruins of Darnley's House\n\n6. Darnley's Body\n\n7. Darnley's Garden\n\n8. Grounds of the Black Friars\n\n9. Hamilton House\n\n10. Potter Row\n\n11. Town Wall]\n\nThe whole quadrangle lay amidst wide waste spaces of gardens and trees,\nwith scattered cottages, and with Hamilton House, a hostile house, hard\nby. Such was the situation of Kirk o' Field, Church and College\nquadrangle, as shown by the contemporary plan. The difficulties are caused\nby the wall, in the chart, running south to north, having Darnley's house\nabutting on it at right angles. The old ruined wall, on the other hand,\nwas to the south of the quadrangle, as was the wall of 1647. When or why\nthe wall running from south to north was built, I do not know, possibly\nafter 1559, out of the stones of the Black Friars.[127] The new work was\ndone under James Lindsay, treasurer in 1559, and Luke Wilson, treasurer in\n1560. Perhaps the wall running south to north was the work of these two\ntreasurers. At all events, there the wall was, or there it is in the\ncontemporary design, to the confusion of antiquaries, bewildered between\nthe south to north wall of the chart, as given, and the new wall seen in\nthe map of 1647, a wall which was to the south of Kirk o' Field, while, in\nthe map of 1647, there is no trace of the south to north wall of the chart\nof 1567.\n\nHaving located Darnley's house, as forming the west side of a small\ncollege quadrangle among gardens and trees, we now examine the interior\nof his far from palatial lodgings.\n\nThe two-storied house (the arched vaults on which it probably stood not\ncounting as a story?) was just large enough for the invalid, his servants,\nand his royal nurse. There was a 'hall,' probably long and not wide, there\nwas a lower chamber, used by Mary, which could be entered either from the\ngarden, or from the passage, opened into by the front door, from the\nquadrangle. Mary's room had two keys, and one must have locked the door\nfrom the passage; the other, the door into the garden. If the former was\nkept locked, so that no one could enter the room by the usual way, the\npowder could be introduced, without exciting much attention, by the door\nopening on the garden. In the chamber above Mary's, where Darnley lay,\nthere were also a cabinet and a garderobe. There was a cellar, probably\nthe kind of vaulted crypt on which houses of the period were built, like\nQueen Mary's House in St. Andrews. From the 'cellar' the door, which we\nhave mentioned, led through the town wall into the Thieves' Row. Whoever\nhas seen Queen Mary's House at Jedburgh (much larger than Kirk o' Field),\nor the Queen's room at St. Andrews, knows that royal persons, in Scotland,\nwere then content with very small apartments. A servant named Taylor used\nto share Darnley's sleeping-room, as was usual; three others, including\nNelson, slept in a 'little gallery,' which apparently ran at right angles\nfrom Darnley's chamber to the town wall. He had neither his own guard, nor\na guard of Lennox men, as at Stirling.\n\nIf the rooms were small, the tapestries and velvet were magnificent, and\nin odd contrast with Mary's alleged economic plan of taking a door from\nthe hinges and using it as a bath-cover. This last anecdote, by Nelson,\nappears to be contradicted by Hay of Tala. 'Paris locked the door that\npasses up the turnpike to the King's chamber.'[128] The keys appear to\nhave wandered into a bewildering variety of hands: a superfluous jugglery,\nif Bothwell, as was said, had duplicate keys.\n\nMary often visited Darnley, and the Lennox documents give us copious, if\nuntrustworthy, information as to his manner of life. They do not tell us,\nas Buchanan does, that Mary and the vast unwieldy Lady Reres used to play\nmusic and sing in the garden of Kirk o' Field, in the balmy nights of a\nScotch February! But they do contain a copy of a letter, referred to by\nBuchanan, which Darnley wrote to Lennox three days before his death.\n\n    'My Lord,--I have thought good to write to you by this bearer of my\n    good health, I thank God, which is the sooner come through the good\n    treatment of such as hath this good while concealed their good will; I\n    mean of my love the Queen, which I assure you hath all this while, and\n    yet doth, use herself like a natural and loving wife. I hope yet that\n    God will lighten our hearts with joy that have so long been afflicted\n    with trouble. As I in this letter do write unto your Lordship, so I\n    trust this bearer can satisfy you the like. Thus thanking almighty God\n    of our good hap, I commend your Lordship into his protection.\n\n        'From Edinburgh the vii of February,\n            'Your loving and obedient son,\n                'HENRY REX.'\n\nThe Queen, we are told, came in while Darnley was writing, read the\nletter, and 'kissed him as Judas did the Lord his Master.'\n\n'The day before his death she caused the rich bed to be taken down, and a\nmeaner set up in its place, saying unto him that that rich bed they should\nboth lie in the next night, but her meanings were to save the bed from the\nblowing up of the fire of powder.'[129] There has been a good deal of\ncontroversy about this odd piece of economy, reported also by Thomas\nNelson, Darnley's surviving servant. Where was the bed to be placed for\nthe marriage couch? Obviously not in Holyrood, and Mary's own bed in the\nroom below Darnley's is reported by Buchanan to have been removed.[130]\nThe lost bed which was blown up was of velvet, 'violet brown,' with gold,\nhad belonged to Mary of Guise, and had been given to Darnley, by Mary, in\nthe previous autumn.\n\nMary's enemies insist that, apparently on the night of Friday, February 7,\nshe wrote one of the Casket Letters to Bothwell. The Letter is obscure, as\nwe shall see, but is interpreted to mean that her brother, Lord Robert\nStuart, had warned Darnley of his danger, that Darnley had confided this\nto Mary, that Mary now asked Bothwell to bring Lord Robert to Kirk o'\nField, where she would confront him with Darnley. The pair might come to\nblows, Darnley might fall, and the gunpowder plot would be superfluous.\nThis tale, about which the evidence is inconsistent, is discussed\nelsewhere. But, in his MSS., Lennox tells the story, and adds, 'The Lord\nRegent' (Moray) 'can declare it, who was there present.' Buchanan avers\nthat Mary called in Moray to sever the pair, in hopes that he would be\nslain or compromised: not a plausible theory, and not put forward in the\n'Book of Articles.'\n\nMary twice slept in the room under Darnley's, probably on the 5th and 7th\nof February. In the Lennox MSS. the description of Darnley's last night\nvaries from the ordinary versions. 'The present night of his death she\ntarried with him till eleven of the clock, which night she gave him a\ngoodly ring,' the usual token of loyalty. This ring is mentioned in a\ncontemporary English ballad, and by Moray to de Silva (August 3, 1567),\nalso in the 'Book of Articles.' Mary is usually said to have urged, as a\nreason for not sleeping at Kirk o' Field on the fatal night, her sudden\nrecollection of a promise to be present at Holyrood, at the marriage of\nher servant, Sebastian. This, indeed, is her own story, or Lethington's,\nin a letter written in Scots to her ambassador in France, on February 10,\nor 11, 1567. But, in the Lennox MSS., it is asserted that Bothwell and\nothers reminded her of her intention to ride to Seton, early next morning.\nDarnley then 'commanded that his great horses should have been in a\nreadiness by 5 o'clock in the morning, for that he minded to ride them at\nthe same hour.' After Mary had gone, he remembered, says Lennox, a word\nshe had dropped to the effect that nearly a year had passed since the\nmurder of Riccio, a theme on which she had long been silent. She was\nkeeping her promise, given over Riccio's newly dug grave, that 'a fatter\nthan he should lie anear him 'ere the twelvemonth was out.' His servant\ncomforted him, and here the narrator regrets that Darnley did not\n'consider and mark such cruel and strange words as she had said unto him,'\nfor example, at Riccio's grave. He also gives a _precis_ of 'her letter\nwritten to Bothwell from Glasgow before her departure thence.' This is the\nmysterious letter which was never produced or published: it will be\nconsidered under 'External Evidence as to the Casket Letters.'\n\nAfter singing, with his servants, Psalm V., Darnley drank to them, and\nwent to bed. Fifty men, says the Lennox author, now environed the house,\nsixteen, under Bothwell, 'came the secret way by which she herself was\nwont to come to the King her husband' (a mere fairy tale), used the\nduplicate keys, 'opened the doors of the garden and house,' and so entered\nhis chamber, and suffocated him 'with a wet napkin stipt in vinegar.' They\nhandled Taylor, a servant, in the same way, and laid Darnley in a garden\nat some distance with 'his night gown of purple velvet furred with\nsables.' None of the captured murderers, in their confessions, knew\nanything of the strangling, which was universally believed in, but cannot\neasily be reconciled with the narratives of the assassins. But had they\nconfessed to the strangling, others besides Bothwell would have been\nimplicated, and the confessions are not worthy of entire confidence.[131]\n\nThe following curious anecdote is given by the Lennox MSS. After Mary's\nvisit to Bothwell at Hermitage (October, 1566) her servants were wondering\nat her energy. She replied: 'Troth it was she was a woman, but yet was she\nmore than a woman, in that she could find in her heart to see and behold\nthat which any man durst do, and also could find in her heart to do\nanything that a man durst do, if her strength would serve her thereto.\nWhich appeared to be true, for that some say she was present at the murder\nof the King, her husband, in man's apparel, which apparel she loved\noftentimes to be in, in dancing secretly with the King her husband, and\ngoing in masks by night through the streets.' These are examples of the\nsayings and reports of her servants, which, on June 11, 1568, Lennox urged\nhis friends to collect. This romantic tale proved too great for the belief\nof Buchanan, if he knew it. But Lethington told Throckmorton in July,\n1567, that the Lords had proof against Mary not only in her handwriting,\nbut by 'sufficient witnesses.' Doubtless they saw her on the scene in male\ncostume! Naturally they were never produced.\n\nIf an historical event could be discredited, like a ghost story, by\ndiscrepancies in the evidence, we might maintain that Darnley never was\nmurdered at all. The chief varieties of statement are concerned (1) with\nthe nature of his death. Was he (_a_) taken out of the house and\nstrangled, or (_b_) strangled in trying to escape from the house, or (_c_)\nstrangled in the house, and carried outside, or (_d_) destroyed by the\nexplosion and the fall? Next (2), accepting any of the statements which\nrepresent Darnley as being strangled (and they are, so far, unanimous at\nthe time of the event), who were the stranglers? Were they (_a_) some of\nBothwell's men, (_b_) men of Balfour's or Huntly's, or (_c_) servants of\nArchbishop Hamilton, as the Lennox faction aver, or (_d_) Douglases under\nArchibald Douglas? Finally (3) was Kirk o' Field (_a_) undermined by the\nmurderers, in readiness for the deed, before Darnley's arrival from\nGlasgow, or (_b_) was the powder placed in the Queen's bedroom, under\nDarnley's, on the night of the crime; or (_c_) was it then placed in the\nvaults under the room on the first floor which was occupied by the Queen?\n\nThe reader will find that each of these theories was in turn adopted by\nthe accusers, and that selections were made, later, by the accusers of\nMorton, and Archibald Douglas, and Archbishop Hamilton, just as happened\nto suit the purpose of the several prosecutors at the moment. Moreover it\nis not certain that the miscreants who blew up the house themselves knew\nthe whole details of the crime.\n\nOur plan must be, first, to compare the contemporary descriptions of the\nincident. Taking, first, the 'Diurnal of Occurrents,' we find that the\nexplosion took place at 'two hours before none;' which at that time meant\n2 A.M. The murderers opened the door with false keys, and strangled\nDarnley, and his servant, Taylor, 'in their naked beds,' then threw the\nbodies into a garden, 'beyond the Thief Row' (see the sketch, p. 131),\nreturned, and blew up the house, 'so that there remained not one stone\nupon another undestroyed.' The names of the miscreants are given, 'as\nalleged,' Bothwell, Ormistoun of that ilk; Hob Ormistoun his uncle;\nHepburn of Bowton, and young Hay of Tala. All these underlings were later\ntaken, confessed, and were executed. The part of the entry in the\n'Diurnal' which deals with them, at least, is probably not contemporary.\nThe men named professed to know nothing of the strangling. For what it is\nworth the entry corroborates the entire destruction of the house, which\nwould imply a mine, or powder in the vaulted cellars. The contemporary\ndrawing shows the whole house utterly levelled with the ground.[132]\n\nBirrel, in his Diary, says, 'The house was raised from the ground with\npowder, and the King, if he had not been cruelly strangled, after he fell\nout of the air, with his garters, he had lived.' An official account says,\n'Of the whole lodging, walls and other, there is nothing remaining, no,\nnot one stone above another, but all either carried far away, or dung in\ndross to the very groundstone.'[133] This could only be done by a mine,\nbut the escape of Nelson proves exaggeration. This version is also in\nMary's letter to Archbishop Beaton (February 10, or 11), written in Scots,\nprobably by Lethington, and he, of course, may have exaggerated, as may\nthe Privy Council in their report to the same effect.[134] Clernault, a\nFrenchman who carried the news, averred that a mine was employed. Sir\nJames Melville says that Bothwell 'made a train of powder, or had one made\nbefore, which came under the house,' but Darnley was first strangled 'in a\nlow stable,' by a napkin thrust into his mouth.[135] The Lennox MSS. say\nthat Darnley was suffocated 'with a wet napkin steeped in vinegar.' The\nSavoyard Ambassador, Moretta, on returning to France, expressed the\nopinion that Darnley fled from the house, when he heard the key of the\nmurderers grate in the keyhole, that he was in his shirt, carrying his\ndressing gown, that he was followed, dragged into a little garden outside\nhis own garden wall (the garden across the Thieves' Row), and there\nstrangled. Some women heard him exclaim, 'Pity me, kinsmen, for the love\nof him who pitied all the world.'[136] His kinsmen were Archibald and\nother Douglases. Buchanan, in his 'Detection,' speaks of 'the King's\nlodging, _even from the very foundation_, blown up.' In the 'Actio,' or\nOration, printed with the 'Detection,' the writer, whoever he was, says,\n'they had _undermined the wall_,' and that Mary slept under Darnley's\nroom, lest the servants should hear 'the noise of the underminers\nworking.'\n\nThe 'Detection' and 'Actio' were published to discredit Mary, long after\nthe murderers had confessed that there was no mine at all, that the powder\nwas laid in Mary's room. In the 'Book of Articles,' the powder is placed\n'in the laich house,' whether that means the arched ground floor, or\nMary's chamber; apparently the latter, as we read, 'she lay in the house\nunder the King, where also thereafter the powder was placed.'[137] This is\nmade into conformity with the confessions of Bothwell's men, according to\nwhom but nine or ten were concerned in the deed. But Moray himself, two\nmonths after the murder, told de Silva that 'it is undoubted that over\nthirty or forty persons were concerned' (the fifty of the Lennox Paper)\n'and _the house ... was entirely undermined_.'[138] When Morton, long\nafterwards, was accused of and executed for the deed, the dittay ran that\nthe powder was under the 'angular stones and within the vaults.' In the\nmysterious letter, attributed to Mary, and cited by Moray and the Lennox\nPapers, the 'preparation' of the Kirk o' Field is at least hinted at. The\n'Book of Articles' avers that, 'from Glasgow, by her letters and\notherwise,' Mary 'held him' (Bothwell) 'continually in remembrance of the\nsaid house,' which she _did_, in the letter never produced, but not in any\nof the Casket Letters, unless it be in a note, among other suspicious\nnotes, 'Of the ludgeing in Edinburgh.'[139] The Lennox MSS., as we saw,\nsay 'the place was already prepared with \"undermining and\" trains of\npowder therein.' The whole of the narratives, confirmed by Moray, and by\nthe descriptions of the ruin of the house, prove that the theory of a\nprepared mine was entertained, till Powrie, Tala, and Bowton made their\ndepositions, and, in the 'Actio,' an appendix to Buchanan's 'Detection,'\nand the indictment of Morton, even after that. But when the accusers, of\nwhom some were guilty themselves, came to plead against Mary, they\nnaturally wished to restrict the conspiracy to Bothwell and Mary. The\nstrangling disappears. The murderers are no longer thirty, or forty, or\nfifty. The powder is placed in Mary's own room, not in a mine. All this\naltered theory rests on examinations of prisoners.\n\nWhat are they worth? They were taken in the following order: Powrie, June\n23, Dalgleish, June 26, before the Privy Council. Powrie was again\nexamined in July before the Privy Council, and Hay of Tala on September\n13. A note of news says that Tala was taken in Fife on September 6, 1567\n(annotated) '7th (Nicolas and Bond).'[140] Tala 'can _bleke_ [blacken]\nsome great men with it'--the murder. But as Mr. Hosack cites Bedford to\nCecil, September 5, 1567, Hay of Tala 'opened the whole device of the\nmurder, ... and went so far as to touch a great many not of the smallest,'\nsuch as Huntly, Argyll, Lethington, and others, no doubt.[141] Even Laing,\nhowever, admits that 'the evidence against Huntly was suppressed carefully\nin Hay's deposition.'[142] In Dec.-Jan. 1567-68, anonymous writings say\nthat, if the Lords keep Tala and Bowton alive, they could tell them who\nsubscribed the murder bond, and pray the Lords not to seem to lay all the\nweight on Mary's back. A paper of Questions to the Lords of the Articles\nasks why Tala and Bowton 'are not compelled openly to declare the manner\nof the King's slaughter, and who consented thereunto.'[143]\n\nThe authors of these Questions had absolute right on their side. Moray no\nmore prosecuted the quest for all murderers of Darnley than Mary had done.\nTo prove this we need no anonymous pamphlets or placards, no contradictory\ntattle about secret examinations and dying confessions. When Mary's case\nwas inquired into at Westminster (December, 1568), Moray put in as\nevidence the deposition of Bowton, made in December, 1567. Bothwell, said\nBowton, had assured him that the crime was devised 'by some of the\nnoblemen,' 'other noblemen had entrance as far as he in that matter.'[144]\nThis was declared by Bowton in Moray's own presence. The noble and\nstainless Moray is not said to ask 'What noblemen do you mean?' No torture\nwould have been needed to extract their names from Bowton, and Moray\nshould at once have arrested the sinners. But some were his own allies,\nunited with him in accusing his sister. So no questions were asked. The\npapers which, between Dec.-Jan. 1567-68, did ask disagreeable questions\nmust have been prior to January 3, 1568, when Tala, Bowton, Dalgleish, and\nPowrie, after being 'put to the knowledge of an assize,' were executed;\ntheir legs and arms were carried about the country by boys in baskets!\nAccording to the 'Diurnal,' Tala incriminated, before the whole people\nround the scaffold, Bothwell, Huntly, Argyll, Lethington, and Balfour,\nwith divers other nobles, and the Queen. On January 7, Drury gave the same\nnews to Cecil, making Bowton the confessor, and omitting the charge\nagainst Mary. The incriminated noblemen at once left Edinburgh, 'which,'\nsays the 'Diurnal,' 'makes the matter ... the more probable.'[145]\nMeanwhile Moray 'looked through his fingers,' and carried the incriminated\nLethington with him, later, as one of Mary's accusers, while he purchased\nSir James Balfour!\n\nWhat, we ask once more, in these circumstances, are the examinations of\nthe murderers worth, after passing through the hands of the accomplices?\nOn December 8, 1568, Moray gave in the written records of the examinations\nto the English Commissioners. We have, first, Bothwell's servant, Powrie,\nexamined before the Lords of the Secret Council (June 23, July 3, 1567).\nHe helped to carry the powder to Kirk o' Field on February 9, but did not\nsee what was done with it. Dalgleish, examined at Edinburgh on June 26,\n1567, before Morton, Atholl, the Provost of Dundee, and Kirkcaldy, said\nnothing about the powder. Tala was examined, on September 13, at\nEdinburgh, before Moray, Morton, Atholl, the Lairds of Loch Leven and\nPitarro, James Makgill, and the Justice Clerk, Bellenden. No man\nimplicated, except Morton, was present. Tala said that Bothwell arranged\nto lay the powder in Mary's room, under Darnley's. This was done; the\npowder was placed in 'the nether house, under the King's chamber,' the\nplotters entering by the back door, from the garden, of which Paris had\nthe key. Thus there would be no show at the front door, in the\nquadrangle, of men coming and going: they were in Mary's room, but did not\nenter by the front door. Next, on December 8, Bowton was examined at\nEdinburgh before Moray, Atholl, Lindsay, Kirkcaldy of Grange, and\nBellenden. He implicated Morton, Lethington, and Balfour, but, at\nWestminster, Moray suppressed the evidence utterly. (See Introduction, pp.\nxiii-xviii, for the suppressions). Next we have the trial of Bowton, Tala,\nPowrie, and Dalgleish, on January 3, 1568, before Sir Thomas Craig and a\njury of burgesses and gentlemen. The accused confessed to their previous\ndepositions. The jury found them guilty on the depositions alone, found\nthat 'the whole lodging was raised and blown in the air, and his Grace\n[Darnley] was murdered treasonably, and most cruelly slain and destroyed\nby them therein.' When Mr. Hosack asserts that these depositions 'were\ntaken before the Lords of the Secret Council, namely Morton, Huntly,\nArgyll, Maitland, and Balfour,' he errs, according to the documents cited.\nOnly Powrie is described as having been examined 'before the Lords of the\nSecret Council.' Mr. Hosack must have known that Huntly and Argyll were\nnot in Edinburgh on June 23, when Powrie was examined.[146] We can only\nsay that Powrie's depositions, made before the Lords of the Secret\nCouncil, struck the keynote, to which all later confessions, including\nthat of Bothwell's valet, Paris, correspond.[147] Thus vanish, for the\nmoment, the mine and the strangling, while the deed is done by powder in\nMary's own chamber. Nobody is now left in the actual crime save Bothwell,\nBowton, Tala, Powrie, Dalgleish, Wilson, Paris, Ormistoun, and Hob\nOrmistoun. They knew of no strangling.[148]\n\nBut on February 11, 1567, two women, examined by a number of persons,\nincluding Huntly, stated thus: Barbara Mertine _heard_ thirteen men, and\n_saw_ eleven, pass up the Cowgate, and _saw_ eleven pass down the Black\nFriars wynd, after the explosion. She called them traitors. May Crokat (by\nmarriage Mrs. Stirling), in the service of the Archbishop of St. Andrews\n(whose house was adjacent to Kirk o' Field), heard the explosion, thought\nit was in 'the house above,' ran out, saw eleven men, caught one by his\nsilk coat, and 'asked where the crack was.' They fled.[149] The avenging\nghost of Darnley pursued his murderers for twenty years, and, in their\ncases, we have later depositions, and letters. Thus, as to the men\nemployed, Archibald Douglas, that reverend parson and learned Lord of\nSession, informed Morton that he himself 'was at the deed doing, and came\nto the Kirk o' Field yard with the Earls of Bothwell _and Huntly_.'\nDouglas, at this time (June, 1581), had fled from justice to England:\nMorton was underlying the law. Morton's confession was made, in 1581, on\nthe day of his execution, to the Rev. John Durie and the Rev. Walter\nBalcanquell, who wrote down and made known the declaration. On June 3,\n1581, Archibald Douglas's servant, Binning, was also executed. He\nconfessed that Archibald lost one of his velvet mules (dress shoes) on the\nscene, or on the way from the murder. Powrie had 'deponed' that three of\nBothwell's company wore 'mulis,' whether for quiet in walking, or because\nthey were in evening dress, having been at Bastian's wedding masque and\ndance. Douglas, in a collusive trial before a jury of his kinsmen, in\n1586, was acquitted, and showed a great deal of forensic ability.[150]\n\nIt is thus abundantly evident that the depositions of the murderers put in\nby Mary's accusers did not tell the whole truth, whatever amount of truth\nthey may have told. We cannot, therefore, perhaps accept their story of\nplacing the powder in Mary's room, where it could hardly have caused the\namount of damage described: but that point may be left open. We know that\nBothwell's men were not alone in the affair, and the strangling of\nDarnley, and the removal of his body, with his purple velvet sable-lined\ndressing gown (attested by the Lennox MSS.), may have been done by the men\nof Douglas and Huntly.\n\nThe treatment of the whole topic by George Buchanan is remarkable. In the\n'Book of Articles,' levelled at Mary, in 1568, Darnley is blown up by\npowder placed in Mary's room. In the 'Detection,' of which the first draft\n(in the Lennox MSS.) is of 1568, reference for the method of the deed is\nmade to the depositions of Powrie and the others. In the 'History,' there\nare _three_ gangs, those with Bothwell, and two others, advancing by\nseparate routes. They strangle Darnley and Taylor, and carry their bodies\ninto an adjacent garden; the house is then blown up 'from the very\nfoundations.' Buchanan thus returns to the strangling, omitted, for\nreasons, in the 'Detection.' Darnley's body is unbruised, and his\ndressing-gown, lying near him, is neither scorched nor smirched with dust.\nA light burned, Buchanan says, in the Hamilton House till the explosion,\nand was then extinguished; the Archbishop, contrary to custom, was lodging\nthere, with 'Gloade,' says a Lennox MS. 'Gloade' is--Lord Claude\nHamilton![151] While Buchanan was helping to prosecute Mary, he had not a\nword to say about the strangling of Darnley, and about the dressing-gown\nand slippers laid beside the corpse, though all this was in the papers of\nLennox, his chief. Not a word had he to say about the three bands of men\nwho moved on Kirk o' Field, or the fifty men of the Lennox MS. The crime\nwas to be limited to Bothwell, his gang, and the Queen, as was convenient\nto the accusers. Later Buchanan brought into his 'History' what he kept\nout of the 'Detection' and 'Book of Articles,' adding a slur on\nArchbishop Hamilton.\n\nFinally, when telling, in his 'History,' how the Archbishop was caught at\nDumbarton, and hanged by Lennox, without trial, Buchanan has quite a fresh\nversion. The Archbishop sent six or eight of his bravoes, with false keys\nof the doors (what becomes of Bothwell's false keys?) to Kirk o' Field.\nThey strangle Darnley, and lay him in a garden, and then, on a given\nsignal, other conspirators blow up the house. Where is Bothwell? The\nleader of the Archbishop's gang told this, under seal of confession, to a\npriest, a very respectable man (_viro minime malo_). This respectable\npriest first blabbed in conversation, and then, when the Archbishop was\narrested, gave evidence derived from the disclosure of a Hamilton under\nseal of confession. The Archbishop mildly remarked that such conduct was\ncondemned by the Church. Later, the priest was executed for celebrating\nthe Mass (this being his third conviction), and he repeated the story\nopenly and fully. The tale of the priest was of rather old standing. When\ncollecting his evidence for the York Commission of October, 1568, Lennox\nwrote to his retainers to ask, among other things, for the deposition of\nthe priest of Paisley, 'that heard and testified the last exclamation of\none Hamilton, which the Laird of Minto showed to Mr. John Wood,' who was\nthen helping Lennox to get up his case (June 11, 1568).[152] Buchanan has\nyet another version, in his 'Admonition to the Trew Lordis:' here the\nArchbishop sends only four of his rogues to the murder.\n\nBuchanan's plan clearly was to accuse the persons whom it was convenient\nto accuse, at any given time; and to alter his account of the method of\nthe murder so as to suit each new accusation. Probably he was not\ndishonest. The facts 'were to him ministered,' by the Lords, in 1568, and\nalso by Lennox. Later, different sets of facts were 'ministered' to him,\nas occasion served, and he published them without heeding his\ninconsistencies. He was old, was a Lennox man, and an advanced Liberal.\n\nOf one examination, which ought to have been important, we have found no\nrecord. There was a certain Captain James Cullen, who wrote letters in\nJuly 13 to July 18, 1560, from Edinburgh Castle, to the Cardinal of\nLorraine. He was then an officer of Mary of Guise, during the siege of\nLeith.[153] In the end of 1565, and the beginning of 1566, Captain Cullen\nwas in the service of Frederic II. of Denmark, and was trying to enlist\nEnglish sailors for him.[154] Elizabeth refused to permit this, and\nCaptain Cullen appears to have returned to his native Scotland, where he\nbecame, under Bothwell, an officer of the Guard put about Mary's person,\nafter Riccio's murder. On February 28, 1567, eighteen days after Darnley's\nmurder, Scrope writes that 'Captain Cullen with his company have the\ncredit nearest her' (Mary's) 'person.' On May 13, Drury remarks, 'It was\nCaptain Cullen's persuasion, for more surety, to have the King strangled,\nand not only to trust to the powder,' the Captain having observed, in his\nmilitary experience, that the effects of explosions were not always\nsatisfactory. 'The King was long of dying, and to his strength made debate\nfor his life.'[155]\n\nTo return to honest Captain Cullen: after Bothwell was acquitted, and had\nissued a cartel offering Trial by Combat to any impugner of his honour,\nsome anonymous champion promised, under certain conditions, to fight. This\nhero placarded the names of three Balfours, black John Spens, and others,\nas conspirators; as 'doers' he mentioned, with some companions, Tala,\nBowton, Pat Wilson, and James Cullen. On April 25, the Captain was named\nas a murderer in Elizabeth's Instructions to Lord Grey.[156] On May 8,\nKirkcaldy told Bedford that Tullibardine had offered, with five others, to\nfight Ormistoun, 'Beynston,' Bowton, Tala, Captain Cullen, and James\nEdmonstone, who, says Tullibardine, were at the murder. On June 16, 1567,\nthe day after Mary's capture at Carberry, Scrope writes, 'The Lords have\ntaken Captain Cullen, who, after some strict dealing [torture], has\nrevealed the King's murder with the whole matter thereof.'[157] Scrope was\nmistaken. He had probably heard of the capture of Blackader, who was\nhanged on June 24, denying his guilt. He had no more chance than had James\nStewart of the Glens with a Campbell jury. His jury was composed of Lennox\nmen, Darnley's clansmen. Our Captain had not been taken, but on September\n15 Moray told Throckmorton that Kirkcaldy, in Shetland, had captured\nCullen, 'one of the very executors, he may clear the whole action.'[158]\n\nDid Captain Cullen clear the whole action? We hear no more of his\nembarrassing revelations. But we do know that he was released and returned\nto the crimping trade: he fought for the Castle in 1571, was taken in a\ncupboard and executed. He had a pretty wife, the poor Captain, coveted and\nsecured by Morton.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\n_THE CONFESSIONS OF PARIS_\n\n\nFatal depositions, if trustworthy, are those of the valet lent by Bothwell\nto Mary, on her road to Glasgow, in January, 1567. The case of Paris is\npeculiar. He had escaped with Bothwell, in autumn, 1567, to Denmark, and,\non October 30, 1568, he was extradited to a Captain Clark, a notorious\ncharacter. On July 16, 1567, the Captain had killed one Wilson, a seaman\n'much esteemed by the Lords,' of Moray's faction. They had quarrelled\nabout a ship that was ordered to pursue Bothwell.[159] Nevertheless, in\nJuly, 1568, Clark was Captain of the Scots in Danish service, and was\ncorresponding with Moray.[160] Clark could easily have sent Paris to\nEngland in time for the meetings of Commissioners to judge on Mary's case,\nin December-January, 1568-1569. But Paris was not wanted: he might have\nproved an awkward witness. About August 30, 1569, Elizabeth wrote to Moray\nasking that Paris might be spared till his evidence could be taken. To\nspare him was now impossible: Paris was no more. He had arrived from\nDenmark in June, 1569, when Moray was in the North. Why had he not arrived\nin December, 1568, when Mary's case was being heard at Westminster? He had\nbeen examined on August 9, 10, 1569, and was executed on August 15 at St.\nAndrews. A copy of his deposition was sent to Cecil, and Moray hoped it\nwould be satisfactory to Elizabeth and to Lennox.[161]\n\nIn plain truth, the deposition of Paris was not wanted, when it might have\nbeen given, at the end of 1568, while Moray and Lethington and Morton were\nall working against Mary, before the same Commission. Later, differences\namong themselves had grown marked. Moray and Lethington had taken opposed\nlines as to Mary's marriage with Norfolk in 1569, and the terms of an\nhonourable settlement of her affairs. Lethington desired; Moray, in his\nown interest as Regent, opposed the marriage. A charge of guilt in\nDarnley's murder was now hanging over Lethington, based on Paris's\ndeposition. The cloud broke in storm, he was accused by the useful\nCrawford, Lennox's man, in the first week of September, 1569. Three weeks\nearlier, Moray had conveniently strengthened himself by taking the so long\ndeferred evidence of Paris. Throughout the whole affair the witnesses were\nvery well managed, so as to produce just what was needed, and no more.\nWhile Lethington and other sinners were working with Moray, then only\nevidence to the guilt of Bothwell and Mary was available. When Lethington\nbecame inconvenient, witness against him was produced. When Morton, much\nlater (1581), was 'put at,' new evidence of _his_ guilt was not lacking.\nCaptain Cullen's tale did not fit into the political combinations of\nSeptember, 1567, when the poor Captain was taken. It therefore was not\nadduced at Westminster or Hampton Court. It was judiciously burked.\n\nMoray did not send the 'authentick' record of Paris's deposition to Cecil\ntill October, 1569, though it was taken at St. Andrews on August 9 and\n10.[162] When Moray at last sent it, he had found that Lethington\ndefinitely refused to aid him in betraying Norfolk. The day of\nreconciliation was ended. So Moray sent the 'authentick' deposition of\nParis, which he had kept back for two months, in hopes that Lethington\n(whom it implicated) might join him in denouncing Norfolk after all.\n\nParis, we said, was examined (there is no record showing that he ever was\ntried) at St. Andrews. On the day of his death, Moray caused Sir William\nStewart, Lyon King at Arms, by his own appointment, to be burned for\nsorcery. Of _his_ trial no record exists. He had been accused of a\nconspiracy against Moray, whom he certainly did not admire, no proof had\nbeen found, and he was burned as a wizard, or consulter of wizards.[163]\nThe deposition of Paris on August 10 is in the Record Office, and is\nsigned at the end of each page with his mark. _We are not told who heard\nthe depositions made._ We are only told that when it was read to him\nbefore George Buchanan, John Wood (Moray's man), and Robert Ramsay, he\nacknowledged its truth: Ramsay being the writer of 'this declaration,'\nthat is of the deposition. He wrote French very well, and was a servant of\nMoray. There is another copy with a docquet asserting its authenticity,\nwitnessed by Alexander Hay, Clerk of the Privy Council, who, according to\nNau, wrote the old band against Darnley (October, 1566), and who was a\ncorrespondent of Knox.[164] Hay does not seem to mean that the deposition\nof Paris was taken in his presence, but that II. is a correct copy of\nNumber I. If so, he is not 'guilty of a double fraud,' as Mr. Hosack\ndeclares. Though he omits the names of the witnesses, Wood, Ramsay, and\nBuchanan, he does not represent himself as the sole witness to the\ndeclaration. He only attests the accuracy of the copy of Number I. Whether\nRamsay, Wood, and Buchanan examined Paris, we can only infer: whether they\nalone did so, we know not: that he was hanged and quartered merely on the\nstrength of his own deposition, we think highly probable. It was a great\nday for St. Andrews: a herald was burned, a Frenchman was hanged, and a\nfourth of his mortal remains was fixed on a spike in a public place.\n\nParis said, when examined in August, 1569, that on Wednesday or Thursday\nof the week of Darnley's death, Bothwell told him in Mary's room at Kirk\no' Field, Mary being in Darnley's, that '_we Lords_' mean to blow up the\nKing and this house with powder. But Bowton says, that till the Friday,\nBothwell meant to kill Darnley 'in the fields.'[165] Bothwell took Paris\naside for a particular purpose: he was suffering from dysentery, and said,\n'Ne scais-tu point quelque lieu la ou je pouray aller...?' 'I never was\nhere in my life before,' said Paris.\n\nNow as Bothwell, by Paris's own account (derived from Bothwell himself),\nhad passed an entire night in examining the little house of Kirk o' Field,\nhow could he fail to know his way about in so tiny a dwelling? Finally,\nParis found _ung coing ou trou entre deux portes_, whither he conducted\nBothwell, who revealed his whole design.\n\nRobertson, cited by Laing, remarks that the narrative of Paris 'abounds\nwith a number of minute facts and particularities which the most dexterous\nforger could not have easily assembled and connected together with any\nappearance of probability.' The most bungling witness who ever perjured\nhimself could not have brought more impossible inconsistencies than Paris\nbrings into a few sentences, and he was just as rich in new details, when,\nin a second confession, he contradicted his first. In the insanitary, and,\nas far as listeners were concerned, insecure retreat 'between two doors,'\nBothwell bluntly told Paris that Darnley was to be blown up, because, if\never he got his feet on the Lords' necks, he would be tyrannical. The\nmotive was political. Paris pointed out the moral and social\ninconveniences of Bothwell's idea. 'You fool!' Bothwell answered, 'do you\nthink I am alone in this affair? I have Lethington, who is reckoned one of\nour finest wits, and is the chief undertaker in this business; I have\nArgyll, Huntly, Morton, Ruthven, and Lindsay. These three last will never\nfail me, for I spoke in favour of their pardon, and I have the signatures\nof all those whom I have mentioned, and we were inclined to do it lately\nwhen we were at Craigmillar; but you are a dullard, not fit to hear a\nmatter of weight.' If Bothwell said that Morton, Ruthven, and Lindsay\nsigned the band, he, in all probability, lied. But does any one believe\nthat the untrussed Bothwell, between two doors, held all this talk with a\nwretched valet, arguing with him seriously, counting his allies, real or\nnot, and so forth? Paris next (obviously enlightened by later events)\nobserved that the Lords would make Bothwell manage the affair, 'but, when\nit is once done, they may lay the whole weight of it on you' (which, when\nmaking his deposition, he knew they had done), 'and will be the first to\ncry _Haro!_ on you, and pursue you to death.' Prophetic Paris! He next\nasked, What about a man dearly beloved by the populace, and the French?\n'No troubles in the country when _he_ governed for two or three years, all\nwas well, money was cheap; look at the difference now,' and so forth.\n'Who is the man?' asked Bothwell. 'Monsieur de Moray; pray what side does\nhe take?'\n\n'He won't meddle.'\n\n'Sir, he is wise.'\n\n'Monsieur de Moray, Monsieur de Moray! He will neither help nor hinder,\nbut it is all one.'\n\nBothwell, by a series of arguments, then tried to make Paris steal the key\nof Mary's room. He declined, and Bothwell left the appropriate scene of\nthis prolonged political conversation. It occupies more than three closely\nprinted pages of small type.\n\nParis then devotes a page and a half to an account of a walk, and of his\nreflections. On Friday, Bothwell met him, asked him for the key, and said\nthat _Sunday_ was the day for the explosion. Now, in fact, _Saturday_ had\nbeen fixed upon, as Tala declared.[166] Paris took another walk, thought\nof looking for a ship to escape in, but compromised matters by saying his\nprayers. On Saturday, after dinner, Bothwell again asked for the key:\nadding that Balfour had already given him a complete set of false keys,\nand that they two had passed a whole night in examining the house. So\nParis stole the key, though Bothwell had told him that he need not, if he\nhad not the heart for it. After he gave it to Bothwell, Marguerite\n(Carwood?) sent him back for a coverlet of fur: Sandy Durham asked him for\nthe key, and he referred Sandy to the _huissier_, Archibald Beaton. This\nSandy is said in the Lennox MSS. to have been warned by Mary to leave the\nhouse. He was later arrested, but does not seem to have been punished.\n\nOn Sunday morning, Paris heard that Moray had left Edinburgh, and said\nwithin himself, 'O Monsieur de Moray, you are indeed a worthy man!' The\nwretch wished, of course, to ingratiate himself with Moray, but his want\nof tact must have made that worthy man wince. Indeed Paris's tactless\ndisclosures about Moray, who 'would neither help nor hinder,' and did\nsneak off, may be one of the excellent reasons which prevented Cecil from\nadding Paris's deposition, when he was asked for it, to the English\nedition of Buchanan's 'Detection.'[167] When the Queen was at supper, on\nthe night of the crime, with Argyll (it really was with the Bishop of\nArgyll) and was washing her hands after supper, Paris came in. She asked\nParis whether he had brought the fur coverlet from Kirk o' Field. Bothwell\nthen took Paris out, and they acted as in the depositions of Powrie and\nthe rest, introducing the powder. Bothwell rebuked Tala and Bowton for\nmaking so much noise, which was heard above, as they stored the powder in\nMary's room. Paris next accompanied Bothwell to Darnley's room, and\nArgyll, silently, gave him a caressing dig in the ribs. After some loose\nbabble, Paris ends, 'And that is all I know about the matter.'\n\nThis deposition was made 'without constraint or interrogation.' But it was\nnecessary that he should know more about the matter. Next day he was\n_interrogue_, doubtless in the boot or the pilniewinks, or under threat of\nthese. He _must_ incriminate the Queen. He gave evidence now as to\ncarrying a letter (probably Letter II. is intended) to Bothwell, from Mary\nat Glasgow, in January, 1567. His story may be true, as we shall see, if\nthe dates put in by the accusers are incorrect: and if another set of\ndates, which we shall suggest, are correct.\n\nAsked as to familiarities between Bothwell and Mary, he said, on\nBothwell's information, that Lady Reres used to bring him, late at night,\nto Mary's room; and that Bothwell bade him never let Mary know that Lady\nBothwell was with him in Holyrood! Paris now remembered that, in the long\nconversation in the hole between two doors, Bothwell had told him not to\nput Mary's bed beneath Darnley's, 'for that is where I mean to put the\npowder.' He disobeyed. Mary made him move her bed, and he saw that she was\nin the plot. Thereon he said to her, 'Madame, Monsieur de Boiduel told me\nto bring him the keys of your door, and that he has an inclination to do\nsomething, namely to blow the King into the air with powder, which he will\nplace here.'\n\nThis piece of evidence has, by some, been received with scepticism, which\nis hardly surprising. Paris places the carrying of a letter (about the\nplot to make Lord Robert kill Darnley?) on Thursday night. It ought to be\nFriday, if it is to agree with Cecil's Journal: 'Fryday. She ludged and\nlay all nycht agane in the foresaid chalmer, and frome thence wrayt, that\nsame nycht, the letter concerning the purpose of the abbott of\nHalyrudhouse.' On the same night, Bothwell told Paris to inform Mary that\nhe would not sleep till he achieved his purpose, 'were I to trail a pike\nall my life for love of her.' This means that the murder was to be on\nFriday, which is absurd, unless Bothwell means to wake for several nights.\nLet us examine the stories told by Paris about the key, or keys, of Mary's\nroom. In the first statement, Paris was asked by Bothwell at the\nConference between Two Doors, for the _key_ of Mary's room. This was on\nWednesday or Thursday. On Friday, Bothwell asked again for the _key_, and\nsaid the murder was fixed for Sunday, which it was not, but for Saturday.\nOn Saturday, Bothwell again demands _that key_, after dinner. He says that\nhe has duplicates, from James Balfour, of all the keys. Paris takes the\n_key_, remaining last in Mary's room at Kirk o' Field, as she leaves it to\ngo to Holyrood. Paris keeps the _key_, and returns to Kirk o' Field. Sandy\nDurham, Darnley's servant, asks for the key. Paris replies that keys are\nthe affair of the Usher. 'Well,' says Durham, 'since you don't want to\ngive it to me!' So, clearly, Paris kept it. On Sunday night, Bothwell bade\nParis go to the Queen's room in Kirk o' Field, 'and when Bowton, Tala, and\nOrmistoun shall have entered, and done what they want to do, you are to\nleave the room, and come to the King's room and thence go where you\nlike.... The rest can do without you' (in answer to a remonstrance), 'for\nthey have keys enough.' Paris then went into the kitchen of Kirk o' Field,\nand borrowed and lit a candle: meanwhile Bowton and Tala entered the\nQueen's room, and deposited the powder. Paris does not _say_ that he let\nthem in with the _key_, which he had kept all the time; at least he never\nmentions making any use of it, though of course he did.\n\nIn the second statement, Paris avers that he took the _keys_ (the number\nbecomes plural, or dual) on Friday, not on Saturday, as in the first\nstatement, and _not_ after the Queen had left the room (as in the first\nstatement), but while she was dressing. He carried them to Bothwell, who\ncompared them with other, new, false keys, examined them, and said 'They\nare all right! take back these others.' During the absence of Paris, the\nkeys were missed by the Usher, Archibald Beaton, who wanted to let Mary\nout into the garden, and Mary questioned Paris _aloud_, on his return.\nThis is not probable, as, by his own second statement, he had already told\nher, on Wednesday or Thursday, that Bothwell had asked him for the keys,\nas he wanted to blow Darnley sky high. She would, therefore, know why\nParis had the keys of her room, and would ask no questions.[168] On\nSaturday, after dinner, Bothwell bade him take the _key_ of Mary's room,\nand Mary also told him to do so. He took it. Thus, in statement II., he\nhas his usual De Foe-like details, different from those equally minute in\nstatement I. He takes the keys, or key, at a different time, goes back\nwith them in different circumstances, is asked for them by different\npersons, and takes a key _twice_, once on Friday, once on Saturday, though\nBothwell, having duplicates that were 'all right' (_elles sont bien_), did\nnot need the originals. As to these duplicates, Bowton declared that,\nafter the murder, he threw them all into a quarry hole between Holyrood\nand Leith.[169] Tala declared that Paris had a key of the back door.[170]\nNelson says that Beaton, Mary's usher, kept the keys: he and Paris.[171]\n\nParis, of course under torture or fear of torture, said whatever might\nimplicate Mary. On Friday night, in the second statement, Paris again\ncarried letters to Bothwell; if he carried them both on Thursday and\nFriday, are both notes in the Casket Letters? The Letter of Friday was\nsupposed to be that about the affair of Lord Robert and Darnley. On\nSaturday Mary told Paris to bid Bothwell send Lord Robert and William\nBlackadder to Darnley's chamber 'to do what Bothwell knows, and to speak\nto Lord Robert about it, for it is better thus than otherwise, and he will\nonly have a few days' prison in the Castle for the same.' Bothwell replied\nto Paris that he would speak to Lord Robert, and visit the Queen. This was\non Saturday _evening_ (_au soyr_), after the scene, whatever it was or was\nnot, between Darnley and Lord Robert on Saturday _morning_.[172] As to\n_that_, Mary 'told her people in her chamber that Lord Robert had enjoyed\na good chance to kill the King, because there was only herself to part\nthem.' Lennox in his MSS. avers that Moray was present, and 'can declare\nit.' Buchanan says that Mary called in Moray to separate her wrangling\nhusband and brother, hoping that Moray too would be slain! Though the\nexplosion was for Sunday night, Mary, according to Paris, was still urging\nthe plan of murder by Lord Robert on Saturday night, and Bothwell was\nacquiescing.\n\nThe absurd contradictions which pervade the statements of Paris are\nconspicuous. Hume says: 'It is in vain at present to seek improbabilities\nin Nicholas Hubert's dying confession, and to magnify the smallest\ndifficulty into a contradiction. It was certainly a regular judicial\npaper, given in regularly and judicially, and ought to have been canvassed\nat the time, if the persons whom it concerned had been assured of their\nown innocence.' They never saw it: it was authenticated by no judicial\nauthority: it was not 'given in regularly and judicially,' but was first\nheld back, and then sent by Moray, when it suited his policy, out of\nrevenge on Lethington. Finally, it was not 'a dying confession.' Dying\nconfessions are made in prison, or on the scaffold, on the day of death.\nThat of Paris 'took God to record, at the time of his death' (August 15),\n'that this murder was by your' (the Lords') 'counsel, invention, and\ndrift committed,' and also declared that he 'never knew the Queen to be\nparticipant or ware thereof.' So says Lesley, but we have slight faith in\nhim.[173] He speaks in the same sentence of similar dying confessions by\nTala, Powrie, and Dalgleish.\n\nI omit the many discrepant accounts of dying confessions accusing or\nabsolving the Queen. Buchanan says that Dalgleish, in the Tolbooth,\nconfessed the Exchequer House _fabliau_, and that this is duly recorded,\nbut it does not appear in his Dying Confession printed in the 'Detection.'\nIn his, Bowton says that 'the Queen's mind was acknowledged thereto.' The\nJesuits, in 1568, were informed that Bowton, at his trial, impeached\nMorton and Balfour, and told Moray that he spared to accuse him, 'because\nof your dignity.'[174] These statements about dying confessions were\nbandied, in contradictory sort, by both sides. The confession of Morton,\nattested, and certainly not exaggerated, by two sympathetic Protestant\nministers, is of another species, and, as far as it goes, is evidence,\nthough Morton obviously does not tell all he knew. The part of Paris's\nstatement about the crime ends by saying that Huntly came to Bothwell at\nHolyrood, late on the fatal night, and whispered with him, as Bothwell\nchanged his evening dress, after the dance at Holyrood, for a cavalry\ncloak and other clothes. Bothwell told Paris that Huntly had offered to\naccompany him, but that he would not take him. Morton, in his dying\nconfession, declared that Archibald Douglas confessed that he and Huntly\nwere both present: contradicting Paris as to Huntly.\n\nThe declarations of Paris were never published at the time. On November 8,\n1571, Dr. Wilson, who was apparently translating something--the\n'Detection' of Buchanan, or the accompanying Oration ('Actio'), into sham\nScots--wrote to Cecil, 'desiring you to send unto me \"Paris\" closely\nsealed, and it shall not be known from whence it cometh.' Cecil was\nsecretly circulating libels on Mary, but 'Paris' was not used. His\ndeclarations would have clashed with the 'Detection' as written when only\nBothwell and Mary were to be implicated. The truth, that there was a great\n_political_ conspiracy, including some of Mary's accusers, and perhaps\nMorton, Lindsay, and Ruthven (for so Paris makes Bothwell say), would have\ncome out. The fact that Moray 'would neither help nor hinder,' and sneaked\noff, would have been uttered to the world. The glaring discrepancies would\nhave been patent to criticism. So Cecil withheld documents unsuited to his\npurpose of discrediting Mary.[175]\n\nThe one valuable part of Paris's declarations concerns the carrying of a\nGlasgow letter. And that is only valuable if we supply the accusers with\npossible dates, in place of their own impossible chronology, and if we\ntreat as false their tale[176] that Bothwell 'lodged in the town' when he\nreturned from Calendar to Edinburgh. The earlier confessions, especially\nthose of Tala, were certainly mutilated, as we have seen, and only what\nsuited the Lords came out. That of Paris was a tool to use against\nLethington, but, as it also implicated Morton, Lindsay, and Ruthven, with\nArgyll and Huntly, who might become friends of Morton and Moray, Paris's\ndeclaration was a two-edged sword, and, probably, was little known in\nScotland. In England it was judiciously withheld from the public eye.\nGoodall writes (1754): 'I well remember that one of our late criminal\njudges, of high character for knowledge and integrity, was, by reading it\n[Paris's statement], induced to believe every scandal that had been thrown\nout against the Queen.' A criminal judge ought to be a good judge of\nevidence, yet the statements of Paris rather fail, when closely inspected,\nto carry conviction.\n\nDarnley, in fact, was probably strangled by murderers of the Douglas and\nLethington branches of the conspiracy. On the whole, it seems more\nprobable that the powder was placed in Mary's room than not, though all\ncontemporary accounts of its effects make against this theory. As touching\nMary, the confessions are of the very slightest value. The published\nstatements, under examination, of Powrie, Dalgleish, Tala, and Bowton do\nnot implicate her. That of Bowton rather clears her than otherwise. Thus:\nthe theory of the accusers, supported by the declaration of Paris, was\nthat, when the powder was 'fair in field,' properly lodged in Mary's room,\nunder that of Darnley, Paris was to enter Darnley's room as a signal that\nall was prepared. Mary then left the room, in the time required 'to say a\npaternoster.' But Bowton affirmed that, as he and his fellows stored the\npowder, Bothwell 'bade them make haste, before the Queen came forth of the\nKing's house, for if she came forth before they were ready, they would not\nfind such commodity.' This, for what it is worth, implies that no signal,\nsuch as the entrance of Paris, had been arranged for the Queen's\ndeparture. The self-contradictory statements of Paris can be torn to\nshreds in cross-examination, whatever element of truth they may contain.\nThe 'dying confessions' are contradictorily reported, and all the reports\nare worthless. The guilt of some Lords, and their alliance with the other\naccusers, made it impossible for the Prosecution to produce a sound case.\nAs their case stands, as it is presented by them, a jury, however\nconvinced, on other grounds, of Mary's guilt, would feel constrained to\nacquit the Queen of Scots.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\n_MARY'S CONDUCT AFTER THE MURDER_\n\n\nNothing has damaged Mary's reputation more than her conduct after the\nmurder of Darnley. Her first apologist, Queen Elizabeth, adopted the line\nof argument which her defenders have ever since pursued. On March 24,\n1567, Elizabeth discussed the matter with de Silva. Her emissary to spy\ninto the problem, Killigrew, had dined in Edinburgh at Moray's house with\nBothwell, Lethington, Huntly, and Argyll. All, except Moray, were\nconcerned in the crime, and this circumstance certainly gave force to\nElizabeth's reasoning. She told de Silva, on Killigrew's report, that\ngrave suspicions existed 'against Bothwell, and others who are with the\nQueen,' the members, in fact, of Moray's little dinner party to Killigrew.\nMary, said Elizabeth, 'did not dare to proceed against them, in\nconsequence of the influence and strength of Bothwell,' who was Admiral,\nand Captain of the Guard of 500 Musketeers. Elizabeth added that, after\nKilligrew left Scotland, Mary had attempted to take refuge in the Castle,\nbut had been refused entry by the Keeper, who feared that Bothwell would\naccompany Mary and take possession. This anecdote is the more improbable\nas Killigrew was in London by March 24, and the Earl of Mar was deprived\nof the command of the Castle on March 19.[177] To have retired to the\nCastle, as on other occasions of danger, and to have remained there, would\nhave been Mary's natural conduct, had the slaying of Darnley alarmed and\ndistressed her. Those who defend her, however, can always fall back, like\nElizabeth, on the theory that Bothwell, Argyll, Huntly, and Lethington\noverawed her; that she could not urge the finding of the murderers, or\neven avoid their familiar society, any more than Moray could rescue or\navenge Darnley, or abstain from sharing his salt with Bothwell.[178] De\nSilva inferred from Moray's talk, that he believed Bothwell to be\nguilty.[179]\n\nThe first efforts of Mary and the Council were to throw dust in the eyes\nof France and Europe. The Council met on the day of Darnley's death. There\nwere present Hamilton, Archbishop of St. Andrews, Atholl, Caithness,\nLivingstone, Cassilis, Sutherland, the Bishop of Galloway (Protestant),\nthe Bishop of Ross, the treasurer, Flemyng, Bellenden, Bothwell, Argyll,\nHuntly, and Lethington. Of these the last four were far the most powerful,\nand were in the plot. They must have dictated the note sent by express to\nFrance with the news. The line of defence was that the authors of the\nexplosion had just failed to destroy 'the Queen and most of the nobles and\nlords in her suite, who were with the King till near midnight.' This was\nsaid though confessedly the explosion did not occur till about two in the\nmorning. The Council add that Mary escaped by not staying all night at\nKirk o' Field. God preserved her to take revenge. Yet all the Court knew\nthat Mary had promised to be at Holyrood for the night, and the\nconspirators must have seen her escort returning thither with torches\nburning.[180] The Lennox MSS., in a set of memoranda, insist that Mary\ncaused a hagbut to be fired, as she went down the Canongate, for a signal\nto Bothwell and his gang. They knew that she was safe from any explosion\nat Kirk o' Field.\n\nOn the same day, February 10 (11?), Mary, or rather Lethington for Mary,\nwrote, in Scots, the same tale as that of her Council, to Beaton, her\nambassador in Paris. She had just received his letter of January 27,\ncontaining a vague warning of rumoured dangers to herself. The warning she\nfound 'over true' (it probably arose from the rumour that Darnley and\nLennox meant to seize the infant Prince). The explosion had been aimed at\nher destruction; so the letter said. 'It wes dressit alsweill for us as\nfor the King:' she only escaped by chance, or rather because 'God put it\nin our hede' to go to the masque. Now all the world concerned knew that\nMary was not in Kirk o' Field at two in the morning, and Mary knew that\nall the world knew.[181] To be sure she did not actually write this\nletter. Who had an interest in this supposed plot of general destruction\nby gunpowder? Not Lennox and Darnley, of course; not the Hamiltons, not\nMary and the Lords who were to be exploded. Only the extreme Protestants,\nwhose leader, Moray, left on the morning of the affair, could have\nbenefited by the gunpowder plot. In Paris, on February 21, the deed was\ncommonly regarded as the work of 'the heretics, who desire to do the same\nby the Queen.'[182]\n\nThis was the inference--namely, that the Protestants were guilty--which\nthe letters of Mary and the Council were meant to suggest. To defend Mary\nwe must suppose that she, and the innocent members of Council, were\nconstrained by the guilty members to approve of what was written, or were\nwholly without guile. The secret was open enough. According to Nau, Mary's\nsecretary, she had remarked, as she left Kirk o' Field at midnight, 'Jesu,\nParis, how begrimed you are!' The story was current. Blackwood makes Mary\nask 'why Paris smelled so of gunpowder.' Had Mary wished to find the\nguilty, the begrimed Paris would have been put to the torture at once. The\nsentinels at the palace would have been asked who went in and out after\nmidnight. Conceivably, Mary was unable to act, but, if her secretary tells\ntruth as to the begrimed Paris, she could have no shadow of doubt as to\nBothwell's guilt. A few women were interrogated, as was Nelson, Darnley's\nservant, but the inquiry was stopped when Nelson said that Mary's servants\nhad the keys. Rewards were offered for the discovery of the guilty, but\nproduced only anonymous placards, denouncing some who were guilty, as\nBothwell, and others, like 'Black Mr. James Spens,' against whom nothing\nwas ever proved.\n\n[Illustration: PLACARD OF MARCH 1567. MARY AS A MERMAID]\n\nIt were tedious and bewildering to examine the gossip as to Mary's private\ndemeanour. If she had Darnley buried beside Riccio, she fulfilled the\nprophecy which, Lennox tells us, she made over Riccio's new-made grave,\nwhen she fled from Holyrood after the murder of the Italian: 'ere a\ntwelvemonth was over, a fatter than he should lie beside him.' What she\ndid at Seton and when (Lennox says that, at Seton, she called for the tune\n_Well is me Since I am free_), whether she prosecuted her amour with\nBothwell, played golf, indulged in the unseasonable sport of archery or\nnot, is matter of gossip. Nor need we ask how long she sat under\ncandle-light, in darkened, black-hung chambers.[183] She assuredly made no\neffort to avenge her husband. Neither the strong and faithful\nremonstrances of her ambassador in France, nor the menace of Catherine de\nMedicis, nor the plain speaking of Elizabeth, nor a petition of the godly,\nwho put this claim for justice last in a list of their own demands, and\nlate (April 18), could move Mary. Bothwell 'ruled all:' Lethington,\naccording to Sir James Melville, fell into the background of the Court. He\nhad taken nothing by the crime, for which he had signed the band, and it\nis quite conceivable that Bothwell, who hated him, had bullied him into\nsigning. He may even have had no more direct knowledge of what was\nintended, or when, than Moray himself. He can never have approved of the\nQueen's marriage with Bothwell, which was fatal to his interests. He was\nnewly married, and was still, at least, on terms with Mary which warranted\nhim in urging her to establish Protestantism--or so he told Cecil. But to\nBothwell, Mary was making grants in money, in privileges, and in beautiful\nold ecclesiastical fripperies: chasubles and tunicles all of cloth of\ngold, figured with white, and red, and yellow.[184] Lennox avers, in the\nLennox Papers, that the armour, horses, and other effects of Darnley were\npresented by Mary to Bothwell. Late in March Drury reported that, in the\npopular belief, Mary was likely to marry him.\n\nFrom the first Lennox had pleaded for the arrest and trial of Bothwell and\nothers whom he named, but who never were tried. Writers like Goodall have\ndefended, Laing and Hill Burton have attacked, the manner of Bothwell's\nTrial (April 12). Neither for Lennox nor for Elizabeth, would Mary delay\nthe process. As usual in Scotland, as when Bothwell himself, years before,\nor when John Knox still earlier, or when, later, Lethington, was tried,\neither the accused or the accuser made an overwhelming show of armed\nforce. It was 'the custom of the country,' and Bothwell, looking dejected\nand wretched, says his friend, Ormistoun, was 'cleansed' in the promptest\nmanner, Lennox merely entering a protest. The Parliament on April 19\nrestored Huntly and others to forfeited lands, ratified the tenures of\nMoray, and offended Mary's Catholic friends by practically establishing\nthe Kirk. On the same night, apparently after a supper at Ainslie's\ntavern, many nobles and ecclesiastics signed a band ('Ainslie's band'). It\nran thus: Bothwell is, and has been judicially found, innocent of\nDarnley's death. The signers therefore bind themselves, 'as they will\nanswer to God,' to defend Bothwell to the uttermost, and to advance his\nmarriage with Mary. If they fail, may they lose every shred of honour, and\n'be accounted unworthy and faithless Traytors.'\n\nA copy of the names of the signatories, as given to Cecil by John Read,\nGeorge Buchanan's secretary, 'so far as John Read might remember,' exists.\nThe names are Murray (who was not in Scotland), Argyll, Huntly, Cassilis,\nMorton, Sutherland, Rothes, Glencairn, Caithness, Boyd, Seton, Sinclair,\nSemple, Oliphant, Ogilvy, Ross-Halkett, Carlyle, Herries, Home,\nInvermeath. 'Eglintoun subscribed not, but slipped away.'[185] Names of\necclesiastics, as Lesley, Bishop of Ross, appear in copies where Moray's\nname does not.[186] It is argued that Moray may have signed before leaving\nScotland, that this may have been a condition of his license to depart.\nMary's confessor told de Silva that Moray did not sign.[187] That the\nLords received a warrant for their signatures from Mary, they asserted at\nYork (October, 1568), but was the document mentioned later at Westminster?\nThat they were coerced by armed force, was averred later, but not in\nKirkcaldy's account of the affair, written on the day following. No\nHamilton signs, at least if we except the Archbishop; and Lethington, with\nhis friend Atholl, seems not even to have been present at the Parliament.\n\nOn April 21 (Monday), Mary went to Stirling to see her son, and try to\npoison him, according to a Lennox memorandum. On the 23rd, she went to\nLinlithgow; on the 24th, Bothwell, with a large force, seized her, Huntly,\nand Lethington, at a disputed place not far from Edinburgh. He then\ncarried her to his stronghold of Dunbar. Was Mary playing a collusive\npart? had she arranged with Bothwell to carry her off? The Casket Letters\nwere adduced by her enemies to prove that she was a party to the plot. As\nwe shall see when examining the Letters if we accept them they leave no\ndoubt on this point. But precisely here the darkness is yet more obscured\nby the enigmatic nature of Mary's relations with Lethington, who, as\nSecretary, was in attendance on her at Stirling and Linlithgow. It will\npresently be shown that, as to Lethington's policy at this moment, and for\ntwo years later, two contradictory accounts are given, and on the view we\ntake of his actions turns our interpretation of the whole web of intrigue.\n\nWhether Mary did or did not know that she was to be carried off, did\nLethington know? If he did, it was his interest to ride from Stirling, by\nnight, through the pass of Killiecrankie, to his usual refuge, the safe\nand hospitable house of Atholl, before the abduction was consummated.\nBothwell's success in wedding Mary would mean ruin to Lethington's\nfavourite project of uniting the crowns on the head of Mary or her child.\nIt would also mean Lethington's own destruction, for Bothwell loathed him.\nTo this point was he brought by his accession to the band for Darnley's\nmurder. His natural action, then, if he knew of the intended abduction,\nwas to take refuge with Atholl, who, like himself, had not signed\nAinslie's band. If Lethington was ignorant, others were not. Bothwell had\nchosen his opportunity with skill. He had an excellent excuse for\ncollecting his forces. The Liddesdale reivers had just spoiled the town of\nBiggar, 'and got much substance of coin (corn?), silks, and horses,' so\nwrote Sir John Forster to Cecil on April 24.[188] On the pretext of\npunishing this outrage, Bothwell mustered his forces; but politicians less\nwary than Lethington, and more remote from the capital, were not deceived.\nThey knew what Bothwell intended. Lennox was flying for his life, and was\naboard ship on the west coast, but, as early as April 23, he wrote to tell\nhis wife that Bothwell was to seize Mary. A spy in Edinburgh (Kirkcaldy,\nby the handwriting), and Drury in Berwick, knew of the scheme on April 24,\nthe day of the abduction. If Mary did not suspect what Lennox knew before\nthe event, she was curiously ignorant, but, if Lethington was ignorant, so\nmay she have been.[189]\n\nWhat were the exact place and circumstances of Mary's arrest by Bothwell,\nwhether he did or did not offer violence to her at Dunbar, whether she\nasked succour from Edinburgh, we know not precisely. At all events, she\nwas so far compromised, actually violated, says Melville,[190] that, not\nbeing a Clarissa Harlowe, she might represent herself as bound to marry\nBothwell. Meanwhile Lethington was at Dunbar with her, a prisoner 'under\nguard,' so Drury reports (May 2). By that date, many of the nobles,\nincluding Atholl, had met at Stirling, and, despite their agreement to\ndefend Bothwell, in Ainslie's band, Argyll and Morton, as well as Atholl\nand Mar, had confederated against him, Atholl probably acting under advice\nsecretly sent by Lethington. 'The Earl Bothwell thought to have slain him\nin the Queen's chamber, had not her Majesty come between and saved him,'\nsays Sir James Melville, who had been released on the day after his\ncapture between Linlithgow and Edinburgh.[191] Different rumours prevailed\nas to Lethington's own intentions. He was sometimes thought to be no\nunwilling prisoner, and even to have warned Atholl not to head the\nconfederacy against Bothwell (May 4).[192] Mary wrote to quiet the banded\nLords at Stirling (about May 3), and Lethington succeeded in getting a\nletter delivered in which he expressed his desire to speak with Cecil,\ndeclaring that Mary meant to marry Bothwell. He had only been rescued from\nassassination by Mary, who said that, 'if a hair of Lethington's head\nperished, she would cause Huntly to forfeit lands, goods, and life.'[193]\nCould the Queen who protected Lethington be in love with Bothwell?\n\nMary, then, was, in one respect at least, no passive victim, at Dunbar,\nand Lethington owed his life to her. He explained that his letters,\napparently in Bothwell's interest, were extorted from him, 'but\nimmediately by a trusty messenger he advertised not to give credit to\nthem.'[194] Meantime he had arranged to escape, as he did, later. 'He will\ncome out to shoot with others, and between the marks he will ride upon a\ngood nag to a place where both a fresh horse and company tarries for\nhim.'[195] Lethington made his escape, but not till weeks later, when he\nfled first to Callendar, then to the protection of Atholl; he joined the\nLords, and from this moment the question is, was he, under a pretext of\nsecret friendship, Mary's most deadly foe (as she herself, Morton, and\nRandolph declared) or her loyal servant, working cautiously in her\ninterests, as he persuaded Throckmorton and Sir James Melville to believe?\n\nMy own impression is that Mary, Morton, and Randolph were right in their\nopinion. Lethington, under a mask of gratitude and loyalty, was urging,\nafter his escape, the strongest measures against Mary, till circumstances\nled him to advise 'a dulce manner,' because (as he later confessed to\nMorton)[196] Mary was likely to be restored, and to avenge herself on him.\nMary, he knew, could ruin him by proving his accession to Darnley's\nmurder. His hold over her would be gone, as soon as the Casket Letters\nwere produced before the English nobles: he had then no more that he could\ndo, but she kept her reserve of strength, her proof against him. His bolt\nwas shot, hers was in her quiver. This view of the relations (later to be\nproved) between Lethington and the woman whose courage saved his life,\nexplains the later mysteries of Mary's career, and part of the problem of\nthe Casket Letters.\n\nMeanwhile, in the first days of May, the Queen rushed on her doom. Despite\nthe protestations of her confessor, who urged that a marriage with\nBothwell was illegal: despite the remonstrances of du Croc, who had been\nsent from France to advise and threaten, despite the courageous\ndenunciation of Craig, the Protestant preacher, Mary hurried through a\ncollusive double process of divorce, proclaimed herself a free agent,\ncreated Bothwell Duke of Orkney, and, on May 15, 1567, wedded him by\nProtestant rites, the treacherous Bishop of Orkney, later one of her\nofficial prosecutors, performing the ceremony.[197] To her or to\nLethington's own letter of excuse to the French Court, we return later.\n\nMary, even on the wedding-day, was miserable. Du Croc, James Melville, and\nLethington, who had not yet escaped, were witnesses of her wretchedness.\nShe called out for a knife to slay herself.[198] Mary was 'the most\nchanged woman of face that in so little time without extremity of sickness\nthey have seen.' A Highland second-sighted woman prophesied that she\nshould have five husbands. 'In the fifth husband's time _she shall be\nburned_, which death divers speak of to happen to her, and it is said she\nfears the same.' This dreadful death was the legal punishment of women who\nkilled their husbands. The fires of the stake shone through Mary's dreams\nwhen a prisoner in Loch Leven. Even Lady Reres, now supplanted by a sister\nof Bothwell's, and the Lady of Branxholme, 'both in their speech and\nwriting marvellously rail, both of the Queen and Bothwell.'[199]\n\nA merry bridal!\n\nMary's defenders have attributed her sorrow to the gloom of a captive,\nforced into a hated wedlock. De Silva assigned her misery to a galling\nconscience. We see the real reasons of her wretchedness, and to these we\nmust add the most poignant, Bothwell's continued relations with his wife,\nwho remained in his Castle of Crichton. He, too, was 'beastly suspicious\nand jealous.' No wonder that she called for a knife to end her days, and\ntold du Croc that she never could be happy again.\n\nMeanwhile the Lords, from the first urged on by Kirkcaldy, who said (April\n26) that he must avenge Darnley or leave the country, were banded, and\nwere appealing to Elizabeth for help, which she, a Queen, hesitated to\nlend to subjects confederated against a sister Queen. Kirkcaldy was the\ndealer with Bedford, who encouraged him, but desired that the Prince\nshould be brought to England. Robert Melville dealt with Killigrew (May\n27). Bothwell, to soothe the preachers, attended sermons, Mary invited\nherself to dinner with her reluctant subjects; the golden font, the\nchristening gift of Elizabeth, was melted down and coined for pay to the\nguard of musketeers (May 31). Huntly asked for leave to go to the north.\nMary replied bitterly that he meant to turn traitor, like his father. This\ndistrust of Huntly is clearly expressed in the Casket Letters.[200] On May\n30, Mary summoned an armed muster of her subjects. On June 6, Lethington\ncarried out his deferred scheme, and fled to the Lords. On the 7th, Mary\nand Bothwell retired to Borthwick Castle. On June 11, the Lords advanced\nto Borthwick. Bothwell fled to Dunbar.[201] The Lords then retired to\nDalkeith, and thence, on the same night, to Edinburgh. Thither Mary had\nsent a proclamation, which is still extant, bidding the citizens to arm\nand free her, not from Bothwell, but from the Lords. An unwilling captive\nwould have hurried to their protection. The burgesses permitted the Lords\nto enter the town. Mary at once, on hearing of this, sent the son of Lady\nReres to the commander of Edinburgh Castle, bidding him fire his guns on\nthe Lords. He disobeyed. She then fled in male apparel to Dunbar,\nBothwell meeting her a mile from Borthwick (June 11). On June 12, the\nLords seized the remains of the golden font, and the coin already struck.\nOn the 13th, James Beaton joined Mary and Bothwell at Dunbar, and found\nthem mustering their forces. He returned, with orders to encourage the\nCaptain of the Castle, but was stopped.\n\nNext day (14th) the Lords made a reconnaissance towards Haddington, and\nAtholl, with Lethington, rode into Edinburgh, at the head of 200 horse.\nLethington then for three hours dealt with the Keeper of the Castle, Sir\nJames Balfour, his associate in the band for Darnley's murder. Later,\naccording to Randolph, they opened a little coffer of Bothwell's which had\na covering of green cloth, and was deposited in the Castle, and took out\nthe band. Was this coffer the Casket? Such coffers had usually velvet\ncovers, embroidered. Lethington won over Balfour, who surrendered the\nCastle presently. This was the deadliest stroke at Mary, and it was dealt\nby him whose life she had just preserved.\n\nNext day the Lords marched to encounter Bothwell, met him posted on\nCarberry Hill, and, after many hours of manoeuvres and negotiations, very\nvariously reported, the Lords allowed Bothwell to slip away to Dunbar (he\nwas a compromising captive), and took Mary, clad unqueenly in a 'red\npetticoat, sleeves tied with points, a velvet hat and muffler.' She\nsurrendered to Kirkcaldy of Grange: on what terms, if on any, is not to\nbe ascertained. She herself in Nau's MS. maintains that she promised to\njoin in pursuing Darnley's murderers, and 'claimed that justice should be\ndone upon certain persons of their party now present, who were guilty of\nthe said murder, and were much astonished to find themselves discovered.'\nBut, by Nau's own arrangement of his matter, Mary can only have thus\naccused the Lords (there is other evidence that she did so) _after_\nBothwell, at parting from her, denounced to her Morton, Balfour, and\nLethington, giving her a copy of the murder band, signed by them, and\nbidding her 'take good care of that paper.' She did 'take good care' of\nsome paper, as we shall see, though almost certainly not the band, and not\nobtained at Carberry Hill.[202] She asked for an interview with Lethington\nand Atholl, both of whom, though present, denied that they were of the\nLords' party. Finally, after parting from Bothwell, assuring him that, if\nfound innocent in the coming Parliament, she would remain his loyal wife,\nshe surrendered to Kirkcaldy, 'relying upon his word and assurance, which\nthe Lords, in full Council, as he said, had solemnly warranted him to\nmake.' So writes Nau. James Beaton (whose narrative we have followed)\nmerely says that she made terms, which were granted, that none of her\nparty should be 'invaded or pursued.'[203] Sir James Melville makes the\nLords' promise depend on her abandonment of Bothwell.[204]\n\nWhatever be the truth as to Mary's surrender, the Lords later excused\ntheir treatment of her not on the ground that they had given no pledge,\nbut on that of her adhesion to the man they had asked her to marry.\nAccording to Nau, Lethington persuaded the Lords to place her in the house\nthen occupied by Preston, the Laird of Craigmillar, Provost of Edinburgh.\nShe asked, at night, for an interview with Lethington, but she received no\nanswer. Next morning she called piteously to Lethington, as he passed the\nwindow of her room: he crushed his hat over his face, and did not even\nlook up. The mob were angry with Lethington, and Mary's guards dragged her\nfrom the window. On the other hand, du Croc says that Lethington, on\nhearing her cries, entered her room, and spoke with her, while the mob was\nmade to move on.[205] Lethington told du Croc that, when Mary called to\nhim, and he went to her, she complained of being parted from Bothwell. He,\nwith little tact, told her that Bothwell much preferred his wife. She\nclamoured to be placed in a ship with Bothwell, and allowed to drift at\nthe wind's will.[206] Du Croc said to Lethington that he hoped the pair\nwould drift to France, 'where the king would judge righteously, for the\nunhappy facts are only too well proved.' This is a very strong opinion\nagainst Mary. Years later, when Lethington was holding Edinburgh Castle\nfor Mary, he told Craig that, after Carberry 'I myself made the offer to\nher that, if she would abandon my Lord Bothwell, she should have as\nthankful obedience as ever she had since she came to Scotland. But no ways\nwould she consent to leave my Lord Bothwell.'[207] Lethington's word is of\nslight value.\n\nTo return to Nau, or to Mary speaking through Nau, on June 16 Lethington\ndid go to see her: 'but in such shame and fear that he never dared to lift\nhis eyes to her face while he spoke with her.' He showed great hatred of\nBothwell, and said that she could not be allowed to return to him: Mary,\nmarvelling at his 'impudence,' replied that she was ready to join in the\npursuit of Darnley's murderers: who had acted chiefly on Lethington's\nadvice. She then told him plainly that he, Morton, and Balfour had chiefly\nprevented inquiry into the murder. _They_ were the culprits, as Bothwell\nhad told her, showing her the signatures to the murder band, when parting\nfrom her at Carberry. She reminded Lethington that she had saved his life.\nIf Lethington persecuted her, she would tell what she knew of him. He\nreplied, angrily, that she would drive him to extremities to save his own\nlife, whereas, if matters were allowed to grow quiet, he might one day be\nof service to her. If he were kept talking, and so incurred the suspicion\nof the Lords, her life would be in peril. To 'hedge,' Lethington used to\nencourage Mary, when she was in Loch Leven. But he had, then, no\n'assurance' from her, and, on a false alarm of her escape, mounted his\nhorse to fly from Edinburgh.[208] Thus greatly do the stories of Mary and\nof Lethington differ, concerning their interview after Carberry. Perhaps\nMary is the more trustworthy.\n\nOn June 17, 1567, John Beaton wrote to his brother, Mary's ambassador in\nParis. He says that no man was allowed to speak to Mary on June 16, but\nthat, in the evening, she asked a girl to speak to Lethington, and pray\nhim to have compassion on her, 'and not to show himself so extremely\nopposed to her as he does.'[209] Beaton's evidence, being written the day\nafter the occurrences, is excellent, and leaves us to believe that, in the\ndarkest of her dark hours in Scotland, insulted by the populace, with\nguards placed in her chamber, destitute of all earthly aid, Mary found in\nextreme opposition to her the man who owed to her his lands and his life.\n\nAnd why was Lethington thus 'extremely opposed'? First, Mary, if free,\nwould join Bothwell, his deadly foe. Secondly, he knew from her own lips\nthat Mary knew his share in Darnley's murder, and had proof. While she\nlived, the sword hung over Lethington. He, therefore, insisted on her\nimprisonment in a place whence escape should have been impossible. He is\neven said to have advised that she should be secretly strangled. Years\nlater, when time had brought in his revenges, and Lethington and Kirkcaldy\nwere holding the Castle for Mary, her last hope, Lethington explained his\nchange of sides in a letter to his opponent, Morton. Does Morton hate him\nbecause he has returned to the party of the Queen? He had advised Morton\nto take the same course, 'being assured that, with time, she would recover\nher liberty (as yet I have no doubt but she will). I deemed it neither\nwisdom for him nor me to deserve particular ill will at her hands.' This\nwas a frank enough explanation of his own change of factions. If ever Mary\ncame to her own, Lethington dreaded her feud. We shall see that as soon as\nshe was imprisoned, Lethington affected to be her secret ally. Morton\nreplied that 'it was vain in Lethington to think that he could deserve\nmore particular evil will at Mary's hands than he had deserved\nalready.'[210]\n\nLethington could not be deeper in guilt towards Mary than he was, despite\nhis appearance of friendship. The 'evil will' which he had incurred was\n'particular,' and could not be made worse. In the same revolution of\nfactions (1570-73) Randolph also wrote to Lethington and Kirkcaldy asking\nthem why they had deserted their old allies, Morton and the rest, for the\nQueen's party. 'You yourselves wrote against her, and were the chiefest\ncauses of her apprehension, and imprisonment' (at Loch Leven), 'and\ndimission of her crown.... So that you two were her chiefest occasion of\nall the calamities, _as she hath said_, that she is fallen into. You, Lord\nof Lethington, _by your persuasion and counsel to apprehend her, to\nimprison her, yea, to have taken presently the life from her_.'[211] To\nthis we shall return.\n\nWhen we add to this testimony Mary's hatred of Lethington, revealed in\nNau's MS., a hatred which his death could not abate, though he died in her\nservice, we begin to understand. Sir James Melville and Throckmorton were\n(as we shall see) deluded by the 'dulce manner' of Lethington. But, in\ntruth, he was Mary's worst enemy, till his bolt was shot, while hers\nremained in her hands. Then Lethington, in 1569, went over to her party,\nas a charge of Darnley's murder, urged by his old partisans, was hanging\nover his head.\n\nMeanwhile, after Mary's surrender at Carberry, the counsel of Lethington\nprevailed. She was hurried to Loch Leven, after two dreadful days of tears\nand frenzied threats and entreaties, and was locked up in the Castle on\nthe little isle, the Castle of her ancestral enemies, the Douglases. There\nshe awaited her doom, 'the fiery death.'\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\n_THE EMERGENCE OF THE CASKET LETTERS_\n\n\nI. First hints of the existence of the letters\n\nThe Lords, as we have seen, nominally rose in arms to punish Bothwell\n(whom they had acquitted), to protect their infant Prince, and to rescue\nMary, whom they represented as Bothwell's reluctant captive. Yet their\nfirst success, at Carberry Hill, induced them, not to make Bothwell\nprisoner, but to give him facilities of escape. Their second proceeding\nwas, not to release Mary, but to expose her to the insults of the\npopulace, and then to immure her, destitute and desperate, in the island\nfortress of the Douglases.\n\nThese contradictions between their conduct and their avowed intentions\nneeded excuse. They could not say, 'We let Bothwell escape because he knew\ntoo much about ourselves: we imprisoned the Queen for the same good\nreason.' They had to protect themselves, first against Elizabeth, who\nbitterly resented the idea that subjects might judge princes: next,\nagainst the possible anger of the rulers of France and Spain; next,\nagainst the pity of the mobile populace. There was also a chance that\nMoray, who was hastening home from France, might espouse his sister's\ncause, as, indeed, at this moment he professed to do. Finally, in the\nchanges of things, Mary, or her son, might recover power, and exact\nvengeance for the treasonable imprisonment of a Queen.\n\nThe Lords, therefore, first excused themselves (as in Lethington's\ndiscourses with du Croc) by alleging that Mary refused to abandon\nBothwell. This was, no doubt, true, though we cannot accept Lethington's\nword for the details of her passionate behaviour. Her defenders can fall\nback on the report of Drury, that she was at this time with child, as she\nherself informed Throckmorton, while Nau declares that, in Loch Leven, she\nprematurely gave birth to twins. Mary always had a plausible and possible\nexcuse: in this case she could not dissolve her marriage with Bothwell\nwithout destroying the legitimacy of her expected offspring. Later, in\n1569, when she wished her marriage with Bothwell to be annulled, the Lords\nrefused assent. In the present juncture, of June, 1567, with their Queen a\ncaptive in their hands, the Lords needed some better excuse than her\nobstinate adherence to the husband whom they had selected for her. They\nneeded a reason for their conduct that would have a retro-active effect:\nnamely, positive proof of her guilt of murder.\n\nNo sooner was the proof wanted than it was found. Mary was imprisoned on\nJune 16: her guilty letters to Bothwell, the Casket Letters, with their\ninstigations to Darnley's murder and her own abduction, were secured on\nJune 20, and were inspected, and entrusted to Morton's keeping, on June\n21. To Morton's declaration about the discovery and inspection of the\nCasket and Letters, we return in chronological order: it was made in\nDecember, 1568, before the English Commissioners who examined Mary's case.\n\nThe Lords were now, with these letters to justify them, in a relatively\nsecure position. They could, and did, play off France against England:\nboth of these countries were anxious to secure the person of the baby\nPrince, both were obliged to treat with the Lords who had the alliance of\nScotland to bestow. Elizabeth wavered between her desire, as a Queen, to\nhelp a sister Queen, and her anxiety not to break with the dominant\nScottish party. The Lords had hanged a retainer of Bothwell, Blackader,\ntaken after Carberry, who denied his guilt, and against whom nothing was\nproved: but he had a Lennox jury. Two other underlings of Bothwell, his\nporter Powrie and his 'chamber-child' Dalgleish, were taken and examined,\nbut their depositions, as reported by the Lords themselves, neither\nimplicated Mary, nor threw any light on the date at which the idea of an\nexplosion was conceived. It was then believed to have been projected\nbefore Mary went to bring Darnley from Glasgow. This opinion reflected\nitself in what was conceivably the earlier forged draft, never publicly\nproduced, of the long 'Glasgow Letter' (II.) Later information may have\ncaused that long letter to be modified into its present shape, or, as\nprobably, induced the Lords to fall back on a partly genuine letter, our\nLetter II.\n\nThe Lords did by no means make public use, at first, of the Letters which\nthey had found, and were possibly garbling. We shall later make it clear,\nit is a new point, that, on the very day of the reading, the Lords sent\nRobert Melville post haste to Elizabeth, doubtless with verbal information\nabout their discovery. Leaving Edinburgh on June 21, the day of the\ndiscovery, Melville was in London on June 23 or 24, dispatched his\nbusiness, and was in Berwick again on June 28. He carried letters for\nMoray in France, but, for some reason, perhaps because the letters were\ndelayed or intercepted, Moray had to be summoned again. Meanwhile the\nLords, otherwise, kept their own counsel.[212] For reasons of policy they\nlet their good fortune ooze out by degrees.\n\nOn June 25, Drury, writing from Berwick, reports that 'the Queen has had a\n_box_,' containing papers about her intrigues with France. 'It is\npromised Drury to have his part of it.' This rumour of a 'box' _may_ refer\nto the capture of the Casket.[213] On June 29, Drury again wrote about the\n'box,' and the MSS. in it, 'part in cipher deciphered.' Whether this 'box'\nwas the Casket, a false account of its contents being given to Drury, is\nuncertain. We hear no more of it, nor of any of Mary's own papers and\nletters to her: no letters to her from Bothwell are reported.\n\nThe earliest known decided reference to the Letters is that of the Spanish\nAmbassador, de Silva, writing from London on July 12, 1567. He says that\ndu Croc, the French Ambassador to Mary, has passed through town on his\nreturn from Scotland. The French Ambassador in London, La Forest, reports\nto de Silva that Mary's 'adversaries assert positively that they know she\nhad been concerned in the murder of her husband, which was proved by\nletters under her own hand, copies of which were in his [whose?]\npossession.'[214] Major Martin Hume writes, in his Preface to the\nCalendar, 'The many arguments against their genuineness, founded upon the\nlong delay in their production, thus disappear.'\n\nIt does not necessarily follow, however, that the letters of which du Croc\nprobably carried copies (unless La Forest merely bragged falsely, to vex\nhis Spanish fellow diplomatist) were either wholly genuine, or were\nidentical with the letters later produced. It is by no means certain that\nLethington and Sir James Balfour had not access, before June 21, to the\nCasket, which was in Balfour's keeping, within Edinburgh Castle. Randolph\nlater wrote (as we have already seen) that the pair had opened a little\n'coffer,' with a green cloth cover, and taken out the band (which the pair\nhad signed) for Darnley's murder.[215] Whether the Casket was thus early\ntampered with is uncertain. But, as to du Croc's copies of the Letters,\nthe strong point, for the accusers, is, that, when the Letters were\npublished, in Scots, Latin, and French, four years later, we do not hear\nthat any holders of du Croc's copies made any stir, or alleged that the\ncopies did not tally with those now printed, in 1571-1573, by Mary's\nenemies. This point must be kept steadily in mind, as it is perhaps the\nchief objection to the theory which we are about to offer. But, on\nNovember 29, 1568, when Mary's accusers were gathered in London to attack\nher at the Westminster Conference, La Forest's successor, La Mothe\nFenelon, writes to Charles IX. that they pretend to possess incriminating\nletters '_escriptes et signees de sa main_;' written and _signed_ by her\nhand. Our _copies_ are certainly not signed, which, in itself, proves\nlittle or nothing, but Mary's contemporary defenders, Lesley and\nBlackwood, urge that there was not even a pretence that the Letters were\nsigned, and this plea of theirs was not answered.\n\nMy point, however, is that though La Forest, according to de Silva, had\ncopies in July 1567, his successor at the English Court, doubtless well\ninstructed, knows nothing about them, as far as his despatch shows. But he\ndoes say that the accusers are in search of evidence to prove the Letters\nauthentic, not forged.[216] He says (November 28) to Catherine de' Medici,\nthat he thinks the proofs of Mary's accusers 'very slender and extremely\nimpertinent,' and he has been consulted by Mary's Commissioners.[217]\n\nOf course it is possible that La Mothe Fenelon was not made acquainted\nwith what his predecessor, La Forest, knew: but this course of\nsecretiveness would not have been judicious. For the rest, the Court of\nFrance was not in the habit of replying to pamphlets, like that which\ncontained copies of the Letters. It is unlikely that the copies given to\nLa Forest were destroyed, but we have no hint or trace of them in France.\nConceivably even if they differed (as we are to argue that they perhaps\ndid) from the Letters later produced, the differences, though proof of\ntampering, did not redound to Mary's glory. At the time when France was\nnegotiating Alencon's marriage with Elizabeth, and a Franco-English\nalliance (January-July, 1572), in a wild maze of international, personal,\nand religious intrigue, while Catherine de' Medici was wavering between\nmassacre of the Huguenots and alliance with them, it is far from\ninconceivable that La Forest's copies of the Letters were either\noverlooked, or not critically and studiously compared with the copies now\npublished. To vex Elizabeth by criticism of two sets of copies of Letters\nwas certainly not then the obvious policy of France: though the published\nLetters were thrust on the French statesmen.\n\nThe letters of La Mothe Fenelon, and of Charles IX., on the subject of\nBuchanan's 'Detection,' contain no hint that they thought the Letters,\ntherein published, spurious. They only resent their publication against a\ncrowned Queen.[218] The reader, then, must decide for himself whether La\nForest's copies, if extant, were likely to be critically scanned and\ncompared with the published Letters, in 1571, or in the imbroglio of 1572;\nand whether it is likely that, if this was done, and if the two copies did\nnot tally, French statesmen thought that, in the circumstances, when\nElizabeth was to be propitiated, and the Huguenots were not to be\noffended, it was worth while to raise a critical question. If any one\nthinks that this course of conduct--the critical comparison of La Forest's\ncopies with the published copies, and the remonstrance founded on any\ndiscrepancies detected--was the natural inevitable course of French\nstatecraft, at the juncture--then he must discredit my hypothesis. For my\nhypothesis is, that the Letters extant in June and July, 1567, were not\nwholly identical with the Letters produced in December, 1568, and later\npublished. It is hazarded without much confidence, but certain\ncircumstances suggest that it may possibly be correct.\n\nTo return to the management of the Letters in June-July, 1567. The Lords,\nMary's enemies, while perpetually protesting their extreme reluctance to\npublish Letters to Mary's discredit, had now sent the rumour of them all\nthrough Europe. Spain, and de Silva, were at that time far from friendly\nto Mary. On July 21, 1567, de Silva writes: 'I mentioned to the Queen\n[Elizabeth] that I had been told that the Lords held certain letters\nproving that the Queen [Mary] had been cognisant of the murder of her\nhusband.' (The Letters, if they prove anything, prove more than that.)\n'She told me it was not true, _although Lethington had acted badly in the\nmatter_, and if she saw him she would say something that would not be at\nall to his taste.' Thus Elizabeth had heard the story about Letters (from\nRobert Melville, as we indicate later?) and--what had she heard about\nLethington?[219] On June 21, the very day of the first inspection of the\nLetters, Lethington had written to Cecil.[220] On June 28, Lethington\ntells Cecil that, by Robert Melville's letters, he understands Cecil's\n'good acceptance of these noblemen's quarrel' for punishment of Darnley's\nmurder and preservation of the Prince, 'and her Majesty's' (Elizabeth's)\n'gentle answer by Cecil's furtherance.'[221] Yet, to de Silva, Elizabeth\npresently denounced the ill behaviour of Lethington in the matter, and,\nappearing to desire Mary's safety, she sent Throckmorton to act in her\ncause. To the Lords and Lethington, by Robert Melville, she sent a gentle\nanswer: Melville acting for the Lords. To Mary she averred (June 30) that\nMelville 'used much earnest speech on your behalf' (probably accusing\nLethington of fraud as to the Letters), 'yet such is the general report of\nyou to the contrary ... that we could not be satisfied by him.'[222]\nMelville, we must remember, was acting for the Lords, but he is described\nas 'heart and soul Mary's.' He carried the Lords' verbal report of the\nLetters--but he also discredited it, blaming Lethington. Why did he not do\nso publicly? At the time it was unsafe: later he and Lethington were\nallies in the last stand of Mary's party.\n\nWe do not know how much Elizabeth knew, or had been told; or how much she\nbelieved, or what she meant, by her denunciation of Lethington, as regards\nhis conduct in the affair of the Letters. But we do know that, on June 30,\nthe Lords gave the lie, as in later proclamations they repeatedly did, to\ntheir own story that they had learned the whole secret of Mary's guilt on\nJune 21. On June 30, they issued, under Mary's name, and under her signet,\na summons against Bothwell, for Darnley's murder, and 'for taking the\nQueen's most noble person by force to her Castle of Dunbar, detaining her,\n_and for fear of her life making her promise to marry him_.'[223] The\nLords of Council in Edinburgh, at this time, were Morton (confessedly\nprivy to the murder, and confessedly banded with Bothwell to enable him to\nmarry Mary), Lethington, a signer of the band for Darnley's murder;\nBalfour, who knew all; Atholl, Home, James Makgill, and the Justice Clerk,\nBellenden--who had been in trouble for Riccio's murder.[224] The same men,\nseveral guilty, were spreading _privately_ the rumour of Mary's wicked\nLetters: and, at the same hour, were _publicly_ absolving her, in their\nsummons to Bothwell. As late as July 14, they spoke to Throckmorton of\nMary, 'with respect and reverence,' while alleging that 'for the Lord\nBothwell she would leave her kingdom and dignity to live as a simple\ndamsel with him.' Who can believe one word that such men spoke?\n\nThey assured Throckmorton that du Croc 'carried with him matter little to\nthe Queen's' (Mary's) 'advantage:' possibly, though not certainly, an\nallusion to his copies of the Letters of her whom they spoke of 'with\nrespect and reverence,' and promised 'to restore to her estate'--if she\nwould abandon Bothwell.[225]\n\n'I never saw greater confusion among men,' says Throckmorton, 'for often\nthey change their opinions.' They were engaged in 'continual preaching and\ncommon prayer.' On July 21, they assured Elizabeth that Mary was forced to\nbe Bothwell's wife 'by fear and other unlawful means,' and that he kept\nhis former wife in his house, and would not have allowed Mary to live with\nhim for half a year. Yet Mary was so infatuated that, after her surrender,\n'he offered to give up realm and all, so she might enjoy him.' This\nformula, we shall see later, the Lords placed thrice in Mary's mouth,\nfirst in a reported letter of January, 1567 (never produced), next in a\nletter of Kirkcaldy to Cecil (April 20), and now (July 21).[226]\n\nAt this time of Throckmorton's mission, Lethington posed to him thus. 'Do\nyou not see that it does not lie in my power to do that I would fainest\ndo, which is to save the Queen, my mistress, in estate, person, and in\nhonour?' He declared that the preachers, the populace, and the chief\nnobles wished to take Mary's life.[227] Lethington thus drove his bargain\nwith Throckmorton. 'If Elizabeth interferes,' he said in sum, 'Mary dies,\ndespite my poor efforts, and Elizabeth loses the Scottish Alliance.' But\nThrockmorton believed that Lethington really laboured to secure Mary's\nlife and honour. His true object was to keep her immured. Randolph, as we\nsaw, accuses him to his face of advising Mary's execution, or\nassassination. By his present course with Throckmorton he kept Elizabeth's\nfavour: he gave himself out as Mary's friend.\n\nThe Lords at last made up their minds. On July 25, Lindsay was sent to\nLoch Leven to extort Mary's abdication, consent to the coronation of her\nson, and appointment of Moray, or failing him, other nobles, to the\nRegency. 'If they cannot by fair means induce the Queen to their purpose,\nthey mean to charge her with tyranny for breach of those statutes which\nwere enacted in her absence. Secondly they mean to charge her with\nincontinence with Bothwell, and others. Thirdly, they mean to charge her\nwith the murder of her husband, _whereof they say they have proof by the\ntestimony of her own handwriting_, which they have recovered, as also by\nsufficient _witnesses_.' The witnesses were dropped. Probably they were\nready to swear that Mary was at the murder in male costume, as in a legend\nof the Lennox Papers! Lethington brought this news to Throckmorton between\nten and eleven at night.[228] It was the friendly Lethington who told\nThrockmorton about the guilty Letters.\n\nThe Lords had, at last, decided to make use of the Letters attributed to\nMary, and of the 'witnesses,' and by these, or other modes of coercion,\nthey extorted her assent (valueless, so Throckmorton and Robert Melville\nlet her know, because she was a prisoner) to their proposals.[229] Despite\ntheir knowledge of the Letters, the Lords, in proclamations, continued to\naver that Bothwell had ravished her by fear, force, and other unlawful\nmeans, the very means of coercing Mary which they themselves were\nemploying. The brutality, hypocrisy, and low vacillating cunning of the\nLords, must not blind us to the fact that they certainly, since late in\nJune, held new cards, genuine or packed.\n\nIt is undeniable that the first notices of the Letters, by de Silva, prove\nthat the Lords, about the date assigned by Morton, did actually possess\nthemselves of useful documents. Their vacillations as to how and when they\nwould play these cards are easily explained. Their first care was to\nprejudice the Courts of France, Spain, and Elizabeth against Mary by\ncirculating the tale of their discovery. If they had published the papers\nat once, they might then have proceeded to try and to execute, perhaps (as\nthe Highland seeress predicted) to _burn_ Mary. The preachers urged them\nto severity, but some of them were too politic to proceed to extremes,\nwhich might bring in Elizabeth and France as avengers. But, if Mary was to\nbe spared in life, to publish the Letters at once would ruin their value\nas an 'awe-bond.' They could only be used as a means of coercing Mary,\nwhile they were unknown to the world at large. If the worst was known,\nMary would face it boldly. Only while the worst was not generally known\ncould the Letters be used to 'blackmail' her. Whether the Letters were, in\nfact, employed to extort Mary's abdication is uncertain. She was advised,\nas we said, by Throckmorton and Robert Melville, that her signature, while\na captive, was legally invalid, so she signed the deeds of abdication,\nregency, and permission to crown her son. For the moment, till Moray\narrived, and a Parliament was held, the Lords needed no more. Throckmorton\nbelieved that he had saved Mary's life: and Robert Melville plainly told\nElizabeth so.[230]\n\nThus it is clear that the Lords held documents, genuine, or forged, or in\npart authentic, in part falsified. Their evasive use of the papers, their\nself-contradictions in their proclamations, do not disprove this fact. But\nwere the documents those which they finally published? This question, on\nwhich we may have new light to throw, demands a separate investigation.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\n_THE CASKET LETTERS_\n\n\nII. A POSSIBLY FORGED LETTER\n\nWere the documents in the possession of the Lords, after June 21, those\nwhich they later exhibited before Elizabeth's Commissioners at Westminster\n(December, 1568)? Here we reach perhaps the most critical point in the\nwhole inquiry. A Letter to Bothwell, attributed to Mary, was apparently in\nthe hands of the Lords (1567-1568), a Letter which was highly\ncompromising, _but never was publicly produced_. We first hear of this\nLetter by a report of Moray to de Silva, repeated by de Silva to Philip of\nSpain (July, 1567).\n\nBefore going further we must examine Moray's probable sources of\ninformation as to Mary's correspondence. From April 7, to the beginning of\nJuly, he had been out of Scotland: first in England; later on the\nContinent. As early as May 8, Kirkcaldy desired Bedford to forward a\nletter to Moray, bidding him come to Normandy, in readiness to return,\n(and aid the Lords,) now banding against Bothwell.[231] 'He will haste\nhim after he has seen it.' Moray did not 'haste him,' his hour had not\ncome. He was, however, in touch with his party. On July 8, a fortnight\nafter the discovery of the Casket, Robert Melville, at 'Kernye' in Fife,\nsends 'Jhone a Forret' to Cecil. John is to go on to Moray, and\n(Lethington adds, on July 9) a packet of letters for Moray is to be\nforwarded 'with the greatest diligence that may be.' Melville says, as to\n'Jhone a Forret' (whom Cecil, in his endorsement, calls 'Jhon of\nForrest'), 'Credit the bearer, who knows all occurrents.' Can 'Jhone a\nForret' be a cant punning name for John Wood, sometimes called 'John a\nWood,' by the English, a man whom Cecil knew as Moray's secretary? John\nWood was a Fifeshire man, a son of Sir Andrew Wood of Largo, and from Fife\nMelville was writing. Jhone a Forret is, at all events, a bearer whom, as\nhe 'knows all occurents,' Cecil is to credit.[232] This Wood is the very\ncentre of the secret dealings of Mary's enemies, of the Lords, and Lennox.\nCecil, Elizabeth, and Leicester are asked to 'credit' him, later, as Cecil\n'credited' 'Jhone a Forret.'\n\nUp to this date (July 8) when letters were sent by the Lords to Moray, he\nwas, or feigned to be, friendly to his sister. On that day a messenger of\nhis, from France, was with Elizabeth, who told Cecil that Moray was vexed\nby Mary's captivity in Loch Leven, and that he would be 'her true servant\nin all fortunes.' He was sending letters to Mary, which the Lords were\nnot to see.[233] His messenger was Nicholas Elphinstone, who was not\nallowed to give Mary his letters.[234] After receiving the letters sent to\nhim from Scotland on July 8, Moray turned his back on his promises of\nservice to Mary. But, before he received these letters, Archbishop Beaton\nhad told Alava that Moray was his sister's mortal enemy and by him\nmistrusted.[235] Moray's professions to Elizabeth may have been a blind,\nbut his letters for Mary's private eye have a more genuine air.\n\nMoray arrived in England on July 23.\n\nAbout July 22, Mary's confessor, Roche Mameret, a Dominican, had come to\nLondon. He was much grieved, he said to de Silva, by Mary's marriage with\nBothwell, which, as he had told her, was illegal. 'He swore to me solemnly\nthat, till the question of the marriage with Bothwell was raised, he never\nsaw a woman of greater virtue, courage, and uprightness....' Apparently he\nknew nothing of the guilty loves, and the Exchequer House scandal. 'She\nswore to him that she had contracted the marriage' with the object of\nsettling religion by that means, though Bothwell was so stout a Protestant\nthat he had twice married Catholic brides by Protestant rites! 'As\nregarded the King's murder, her confessor has told me' (de Silva) 'that\nshe had no knowledge whatever of it.' Now de Silva imparted this fact to\nMoray, when he visited London, as we saw, in the end of July, 1567, and\nafter Moray had seen Elizabeth. He gave de Silva the impression that\n'although he always returned to his desire to help the Queen, this is not\naltogether his intention.' Finally, Moray told de Silva 'something that he\nhad not even told this Queen, although she had given him many remote hints\nupon the subject.' The secret was that Mary had been cognisant of\nDarnley's murder. 'This had been proved beyond doubt by a letter which the\nQueen had written to Bothwell, containing more than three double sheets\n(_pliegos_) of paper, written with her own hand and _signed_ with her\nname; in which she says in substance that he is not to delay putting into\nexecution that which he had been ordered (_tenia ordenado_), because her\nhusband used such fair words to deceive her, and bring her to his will,\nthat she might be moved by them if the other thing were not done quickly.\nShe said that she herself would go and fetch him [Darnley], and would stop\nat a house on the road where she would try to give him a draught; but if\nthis could not be done, she would put him in the house _where the\nexplosion was arranged for the night upon which one of her servants was to\nbe married_. He, Bothwell, was to try to get rid of his wife either by\nputting her away or poisoning her, since he knew that she, the Queen, had\nrisked all for him, her honour, her kingdom, her wealth, _which she had in\nFrance_, and her God; contenting herself with his person alone.... Moray\nsaid he had heard of this letter from a man who had read it....'[236]\n\nAs to 'hearing of' this epistle, the reader may judge whether, when the\nLords sent 'Jhone a Forret' (probably John Wood) to Moray, and also sent a\npacket of letters, they did not enclose copies of the Casket Letters as\nthey then existed. Is it probable that they put Moray off with the mere\nhearsay of Jhone a Forret, who 'knows all occurrents'? If so, Jhone, and\nMoray, and de Silva, as we shall prove, had wonderfully good verbal\nmemories, like Chicot when he carried in his head the Latin letter of\nHenri III. to Henri of Navarre.\n\nMr. Froude first quoted de Silva's report of Moray's report of this\nbloodthirsty letter of Mary's: and declared that Moray described\naccurately the long Glasgow Letter (Letter II.).[237] But Moray, as Mr.\nHosack proved, described a letter totally and essentially different from\nLetter II. That epistle, unlike the one described by Moray, is _not_\nsigned. We could not with certainty infer this from the want of signatures\nto our copies; their absence might be due to a common custom by which\ncopyists did not add the writer's signature, when the letter was otherwise\ndescribed. But Mary's defenders, Lesley and Blackwood, publicly complained\nof the absence of signatures, and were not answered. This point is not\nvery important, but in the actual Casket Letter II. Mary does not say, as\nin Moray's account, that there is danger of Darnley's 'bringing her round\nto his will.' She says the reverse, 'The place will hold,' and, therefore,\nshe does not, as in Moray's report, indicate the consequent need of hurry.\nShe does not say that 'she herself will go and fetch him;' she was there\nalready: this must be an error of reporting. She does not speak of 'giving\nhim a draught' in a house on the road. She says nothing of a house where\n'the explosion was arranged.' No explosion had been arranged, though some\nof the earlier indictments drawn up by Lennox for the prosecution declare\nthat this was the case: 'The place was already prepared with [undermining\nand] trains of powder therein.'[238] This, however, was the early theory,\nlater abandoned, and it occurs in a Lennox document which contains a\nletter of Darnley to the Queen, written three days before his death. The\nCasket Letter II. says nothing about poisoning or divorcing Lady Bothwell,\nnor much, in detail, about Mary's abandonment of her God, her wealth _in\nFrance_, and her realm, for her lover. On the other hand she regards God\nas on her side. In short, the letter described by Moray to de Silva agrees\nin no one point with any of the Letters later produced and published:\nexcept in certain points provocative of suspicion. Mr. Froude thought that\nit did harmonise, but the opinion is untenable.\n\nDe Silva's account, however, is only at third hand. He merely reports what\nMoray told him that _he_ had heard, from 'a man who had read the letter.'\nWe might therefore argue that the whole reference is to the long Casket\nLetter II., but is distorted out of all knowledge by passing through three\nmouths. This natural theory is no longer tenable.\n\nIn the Lennox Papers the writer, Lennox, breaks off in his account of\nDarnley's murder to say, 'And before we proceed any further, I cannot omit\nto declare and call to remembrance her Letter written to Bothwell from\nGlasgow before her departure thence, together with such cruel and strange\nwords \"unto\" him, which he her husband should have better considered and\nmarked, but that \"the\" hope \"he\" had to win her \"love\" now did blind him;\ntogether that it lieth not in the power of man to prevent that which the\nsuffering will of God determineth. The contents of her letter to the said\nBothwell was to let him understand that, although the flattering and sweet\nwords of him with whom she was then presently, the King her husband, has\nalmost overcome her, yet the remembering the great affection which she\nbore unto him [Bothwell] there should no such sweet baits dissuade her, or\ncool her said affection from him, but would continue therein, yea though\nshe should thereby abandon her God, put in adventure the loss of her dowry\nin France, \"hazard\" such titles as she had to the crown of England, as\nheir apparent thereof, and also the crown of the realm; wishing him then\npresent in her arms; therefore bid him go forward with all things,\naccording to their enterprize, and that the place and everything might be\nfinished as they had devised, against her coming to Edinburgh, which\nshould be shortly. And for the time of execution thereof she thought it\nbest to be the time of Bastian's marriage, which indeed was the night of\nthe King her husband's murder. She wrote also in her letter that the said\nBothwell should \"in no wise fail\" in the meantime to dispatch his wife,\nand to give her the drink as they had devised before.'[239]\n\nExcept as regards the draught to be given to Darnley, in a house by the\nway, and Mary's promise 'to go herself and fetch him,' this report of the\nletter closely tallies, not with Casket Letter II., but with what the man\nwho had read it told Moray, and with what Moray told de Silva. Did there\nexist, then, such a compromising letter accepted by Moray's informant, the\n'man who read the letter,' and recorded by Lennox in a document containing\ncopy of a letter from Darnley to himself?\n\nThis appears a natural inference, but it is suggested to me that the brief\nreports by Moray and Lennox are 'after all not so very different' from\nLetter II. 'If we postulate a Scots translation' (used by Moray and\nLennox) '_with the allusions explained by a hostile hand in the margin_,\nthen those who professed to give a summary of its \"more than three double\npages\" in half a dozen lines' (there are thirty-seven lines of Lennox's\nversion in my hand, and Mary wrote large) 'would easily take the striking\npoints, not from the Letter, though it was before their eyes, but from the\nexplanations; which were, of course, much more impressive than that\nextraordinary congeries of inconsequences,' our Letter II.\n\nTo this we reply that, in Moray's and Lennox's versions, we have\nexpansions and additions to the materials of Letter II. All the tale about\npoisoning Darnley in a house on the way is not a hostile 'explanation,'\nbut an addition. All the matter about poisoning or divorcing Lady Bothwell\nis not an explanation, but an addition. Marginal notes are brief\nsummaries, but if Moray and Lennox quoted marginal notes, these were so\nexpansive that they may have been longer than the Letter itself.\n\nTake the case of what Mary, as described in the Letter, is to forfeit for\nBothwell's sake. Lennox is in his catalogue of these goods more copious\nthan Moray: and Letter II., in place of these catalogues, merely says\n'honour, conscience, hazard, nor greatness.' Could a marginal annotator\nexpand this into the talk about God, her French dowry, her various titles\nand pretensions? Marginal notes always abbreviate: Moray and Lennox\nexpand; and they clearly, to my mind, cite a common text. Lennox has in\nhis autograph corrected this passage and others.\n\nMoray's and Lennox's statements about the poisoning, about the divorce or\npoisoning for Lady Bothwell, about Bastian (whose marriage Letter II.\nmentions as a proof of Darnley's knowledge of Mary's affairs), about the\n'finishing and preparing of the place' (Kirk o' Field), about 'the house\non the way,'--can all these be taken from marginal glosses, containing\nmere gossip certainly erroneous? If so, never did men display greater\nstupidity than Lennox and Moray. Where it was important to quote a letter,\nboth (according to the theory which has been suggested) neglect the Letter\nand cite, not marginal abbreviations, but marginal _scholia_ containing\nmere tattle. If Moray truly said that he had only 'heard of the Letter\nfrom a \"man who had read it,\"' is it conceivable that the man merely cited\nthe marginal glosses to Moray, while Lennox also selected almost nothing\nbut the same glosses? But, of all impossibilities, the greatest is that\nthe author of the glosses expanded 'honour, conscience, hazard, and\ngreatness' (as in Letter II.) into the catalogue beginning with God, in\nwhich Moray and Lennox abound. 'Honour, conscience, hazard, and\ngreatness,' explain themselves. They need no such long elaborate\nexplanation as the supposed scholiast adds on the margin. Where we do find\nsuch contemporary marginal notes, as on the Lennox manuscript copy of the\nCasket Sonnets, they are brief and simply explain allusions. Thus Sonnet\nIV. has, in the Lennox MSS.,\n\n  'un fascheux sot qu'elle aymoit cherement:'\n\n_elle_ being Lady Bothwell.\n\nThe marginal note is 'This is written of the Lord of Boyn, who was alleged\nto be the first lover of the Earl of Bothwell's wife.'[240] We must\nremember that Lennox was preparing a formal indictment, when he reported\nthe same Letter as Moray talked of to de Silva; and that, when the Casket\nLetters were produced, his discrepancies from Letter II. might perhaps be\nnoticed even in an uncritical age. He would not, therefore, quote the\n_scholia_ and neglect the Letter.\n\nThe passage about Lady Bothwell's poison or divorce is perhaps mirrored\nin, or perhaps originated, Lesley's legend that she was offered a writing\nof divorce to sign, with a bowl of poison to drink if she refused. In\nfact, she received a valuable consideration in land, which she held for\nsome forty years, as Countess of Sutherland.[241] Suppose that the\nannotator recorded this gossip about the poisoning of Lady Bothwell on the\nmargin. Could a man like Moray be so foolish as to recite it _viva voce_\nas part of the text of a letter?\n\nOnce more, the hypothetical marginal notes of explanation explain\nnothing--to Moray and Lennox. They knew from the first about Bastian's\nmarriage, and the explosion. The passage about poisoning Darnley 'in a\nhouse by the way' does not explain, but contradicts, the passage in Letter\nII., where Mary does not say that she is poisoning Darnley, but suggests\nthat Bothwell should find 'a more secret way by medicine,' later. Lennox\nand Moray, again, of all people, did not need to be told, by an annotator,\nwhat Mary's possessions and pretensions were. Finally, the lines about\npoisoning or divorcing Lady Bothwell are not a note explanatory of\nanything that occurs in Letter II., nor even an annotator's added piece of\ninformation; for Lennox cites them, perhaps, from the Letter before him,\n'_She wrote also in her letter_, that the said Bothwell should in no wise\nfail to give his wife the drink as they had devised'--The Mixture as\nBefore! Thus there seems no basis for the ingenious theory of\n_marginalia_, supposed to have been cited, instead of the Letter, by\nLennox and Moray.\n\nIt has again been suggested to me, by a friend interested in the problem\nof the Casket Letters, that Moray and Lennox are both reporting mere\ngossip, reverberated rumours, in their descriptions of the mysterious\nLetter. It is hinted that Lennox heard of the Letters, perhaps from\nBuchanan, before Lennox left Scotland. In that case Lennox heard of the\nLetters just two months before they were discovered. He left Scotland on\nApril 23, the Casket was opened on June 21. Buchanan certainly was not\nMoray's informant: Jhone a Forret carried the news.\n\nAs to the idea that Moray and Lennox both report a fortuitous congeries of\natoms of gossip, Moray and Lennox both (1) begin their description with\nMary's warning that Darnley's flatteries had almost overcome her.\n\n(2) Both speak to the desirability of speedy performance, but Lennox does\nnot, like Moray, assign this need to the danger of Mary's being won over.\n\n(3) Moray does, and Lennox does not, say that Mary 'will go and fetch'\nDarnley, which cannot have been part of a letter purporting to be written\nat Glasgow.\n\n(4) Moray does, and Lennox does not, speak of poisoning Darnley on the\nroad. From a letter of three sheets no two persons will select absolutely\nthe same details.\n\n(5) Moray and Lennox both give the same catalogue, Lennox at more length,\nof all that Mary sacrifices for Bothwell.\n\n(6) Both Moray and Lennox make Mary talk of the house where the explosion\nis already arranged: at least Lennox talks of its being 'prepared,' which\nmay merely mean made inhabitable.\n\n(7) Both make her say that the night of Bastian's marriage will be a good\nopportunity.\n\n(8) Both make Mary advise Bothwell to poison his wife, Moray adding the\nalternative that he may divorce her.\n\n(9) Lennox does, and Moray does not, mention the phrase 'wishing him then\nin her arms,' which occurs in Casket Letter II. The fact does not\nstrengthen the case for the authenticity of Letter II.\n\nAs to order of sequence in these nine items, they run,\n\n  1. Moray 1.             Lennox 1.\n  2. Moray 2.             Lennox 2.\n  3. Moray 3. (an error)  Lennox 0.\n  4. Moray 4.             Lennox 0.\n  5. Moray 8. =         = Lennox 5.\n  6. Moray 6.             Lennox 6.\n  7. Moray 7.             Lennox 7.\n  8. Moray 5. =         = Lennox 8.\n  9. Moray 0.             Lennox 9.\n\nThus, in four out of nine items (Moray 3 being a mere error in reporting),\nthe sequence in Moray's description is the same as the sequence in that of\nLennox. In one item Moray gives a fact not in Lennox. In one Lennox gives\na fact not in Moray. In the remaining items, Moray and Lennox give the\nsame facts, but that which is fifth in order with Lennox is eighth in\norder with Moray.\n\nMathematicians may compute whether these coincidences are due to a mere\nfortuitous concurrence of atoms of gossip, possessing a common basis in\nthe long Glasgow Letter II., and in the facts of the murder, and\naccidentally shaken into the same form, and almost the same sequence, in\nthe minds of two different men, _at two different times_.\n\nMy faith in fortuitous coincidence is not so strong. Is it possible that\nthe report of Lennox and the report of Moray, both of them false, as far\nas regards Letter II., or any letter ever produced, have a common source\nin a letter at one time held by the Lords, but dropped by them?\n\nThe sceptic, however, will doubtless argue, 'We do not know the date of\nthis discourse, in which Lennox describes a letter to very much the same\neffect as Moray does. May not Lennox have met Moray, in or near London,\nwhen Moray was there in July, 1567? May not Moray have told Lennox what he\ntold de Silva, and even more copiously? What he told was (by his account)\nmere third-hand gossip, but perhaps Lennox received it from him as gospel,\nand sat down at once, and elaborated a long \"discourse,\" in which he\nrecorded as fact Moray's tattle. By this means de Silva and Lennox would\noffer practically identical accounts of the long letter; accounts which,\nindeed, correspond to no known Casket Letter, but err merely because\nMoray's information was hearsay, casual, and unevidential.' 'Why,' my\ninquirer goes on, 'do you speak of Lennox and Moray giving their\ndescriptions of the Letter _at two different times_?'\n\nThe answer to the last question may partly be put in the form of another\nquestion. Why should Lennox be making a long indictment, of seven folio\npages, against Mary, in July, 1567, when Moray was passing through town on\nhis way from France to Scotland? Mary was then a prisoner in Loch Leven.\nLennox, though in poverty, was, on July 16, 1567, accepted as a\nJoint-Regent by Mary, if Moray did not become Regent, alone.[242] On July\n29, 1567, James VI. was crowned, a yearling King, and it was decided that\nif Moray, who had not yet arrived in Scotland, refused to be Regent alone,\nLennox should be joined with him and others on a Commission of\nRegency.[243] Moray, of course, did not refuse power, nor did Lennox go to\nScotland. But, even if Lennox had really been made a co-Regent when Moray\nheld his conversation about the Letter with de Silva, he would have had,\nat that moment, no need to draw up his 'discourse' against Mary. The Lords\nhad subdued her, had extorted her abdication, and did not proceed to\naccuse their prisoner. Again, even if they had meant to try her at this\ntime, that would not explain Lennox's supposed conduct in then drawing up\nagainst her an indictment, including the gossip about her Letter, which\n(on the hypothesis) he had, at that hour, obtained from Moray, in London.\nThis can easily be proved: thus. The document in which Lennox describes\nthe Letter was never meant for a _Scottish_ court of justice. It is\ncarefully made out _in English_, by an English scribe, and is elaborately\ncorrected in Lennox's hand, as a man corrects a proof-sheet. Consequently,\nthis early 'discourse' of Lennox's, with its description of the murderous\nletter, never produced, was meant, not for a Scottish, but for an English\nCourt, or meeting of Commissioners. None such could be held while Mary was\na prisoner in Scotland: and no English indictment could then be made by\nLennox. He must have expected the letter he quoted to be produced: which\nnever was done.\n\nTherefore Lennox did not weave this discourse, and describe the mysterious\nLetter, while Moray was giving de Silva a similar description, at London,\nin July, 1567. Not till Mary fled into England, nearly a year later, May\n15, 1568, not till it was determined to hold an inquiry in England (about\nJune 30, 1568), could Lennox construct an indictment in English, to go\nbefore English Commissioners. Consequently his description of the letter\nwas not written at the same time (July, 1567) as Moray described the\nepistle to de Silva. The exact date when Lennox drew up his first\nIndictment, including his description of the Letter described by Moray, is\nunknown. But it contains curious examples of 'the sayings and reports' of\nMary's own _suite_, as to words spoken by her in their own ears. Therefore\nit would seem to have been written _after_ June 11, 1568, when Lennox\nwrote to Scotland, asking his chief clansmen to collect 'the sayings of\nher servants and their reports.'[244] Again, as late as August 25, 1568,\nLennox had not yet received permission from Elizabeth to go to the meeting\nof the Commission of Inquiry which it was then intended to hold at\nRichmond. Elizabeth 'flatly denied him,' though later she assented.[245]\nThus Lennox's composition of this indictment with its account of the\nmysterious epistle, may be provisionally dated between, say, July 1 (when\nhe might have got a letter of information from Scotland in answer to his\nrequest for information) and August 25, 1568.\n\nBut an opponent, anxious to make the date of Lennox's knowledge of the\npoisonous letter seem early, may say, 'Probably Lennox, in July, 1567,\nwhen Moray was in London, met him. Probably Moray told Lennox what he\nwould not tell Elizabeth. Probably Lennox then wrote down Moray's\nsecondhand hearsay gossip about the letter, kept it, and, later, in 1568,\ncopied it into his discourse to go before English Commissioners. Moray's\nverbal report is his only source, and Moray's was hearsay gossip. We have,\nso far, no proof that the letter described by Lennox and Moray ever\nexisted.\n\nTo this I reply that we know nothing of communication between Lennox and\nMoray in July, 1567, but we do know when Lennox began to collect evidence\nfor the 'discourse,' in which this mysterious letter is cited. In June,\n1568, Mary complained to Elizabeth that Lady Lennox was hounding Lennox on\nto prosecute her. Mary had somehow got hold of letters of Wood and of Lady\nLennox.[246] We also infer that, when Lennox first took up his task, he\nmay have already seen Scots translations of the Casket Letters as they\nthen existed. We know too that he had now an adviser who should not have\nallowed him to make a damaging error in his indictment, such as quoting a\nnon-existent letter. This adviser was John Wood. After Mary's flight into\nEngland (May 16, 1568) Moray had sent, on May 21, his agent, John Wood\n('Jhone a Forret'?), to London, where he was dealing with Cecil on June 5,\n1568.[247] Now Wood carried with him Scots translations of the Casket\nLetters, as they then existed. This is certain, for, on June 22, Moray\nsent to the English Council the information that Wood held these\ntranslations, and Moray made the request that the 'judges' in the case\nmight see the Scots versions, and say whether, if the French originals\ncorresponded, they would be reckoned adequate proof of Mary's guilt.[248]\n\nThe judges, that is the Commissioners who sat at York in October,\napparently did not, in June, see Wood's copies: their amazement on seeing\nthem later, at York, is evidence to that. But Lennox, perhaps, did see the\nScots versions in Wood's hands. On June 11, from Chiswick, as has been\nsaid, Lennox wrote three letters to Scotland; one to Moray, one to his\nretainers, the Lairds of Houstoun and Minto, men of his own clan; and one\nto other retainers, Thomas Crawford, Robert Cunningham, and Stewart of\nPeriven. To Moray he said that of evidence against Mary 'there is\nsufficiency in her own hand-writ, _by the faith of her letters_, to\ncondemn her.' But he also wanted to collect extraneous evidence, in\nScotland.\n\nHere Lennox writes as one who has seen, or been told the contents of, the\nCasket Letters on which he remarks. And well might he have seen them, for\nhis three despatches of June 11 are 'all written on the same sheets, _and\nin the same hand_,' as two letters written and sent, on the following day,\nby John Wood, from Greenwich, to Moray and Lethington. Thus Wood, or his\nsecretary, wrote out all five epistles.[249] Consequently Wood, who had\ntranslations of the Casket Letters, was then with Lennox, and was likely\nto be now and then with him, till the Conference at York in October. On\nOctober 3, just before the Conference at York, Lady Lennox tells Cecil\nthat she means to speak to Mr. John Wood, if he is at Court, for he knows\nwho the murderers are.[250] And Wood carried to Lennox, at York, Lady\nLennox's despatches.[251] Being allied with Wood, as the Chiswick and\nGreenwich letters of June 11, 12, prove, and writing to Wood's master,\nMoray, about Mary's Casket Letters, it is hardly probable that Lennox had\nnot been shown by Wood the Scots versions of the Casket Letters, then in\nWood's custody. And when, about this date or later, Lennox composed the\nlong indictment against Mary, and quoted the letter already cited by\nMoray, it is hardly credible that he described the long poisonous document\nfrom mere hearsay, caught from Moray in the previous year. It is at least\nas likely, if not much more so, that his description of the long letter\nwas derived from a translation of the letter itself, as it then existed in\nthe hands of Wood. Is it probable that Wood (who was known to have in his\ncustody the Letters to which Lennox refers, in his epistle to Moray of\nJune 11) could withhold them from the father of the murdered Darnley, a\nnoble who had been selected by the Lords as a co-Regent with Moray, and\nwho was, like himself, a correspondent of Moray and an eager prosecutor of\nthe Queen? If then Wood did in June, 1568, show to Lennox the Casket\nLetters as they then existed, when Lennox presently described the long\nmurderous letter, he described what he had seen, namely a _piece de\nconviction_ which was finally suppressed. And that it was later than his\nmeeting with Wood, on June 11, 1568, that Lennox prepared his elaborate\ndiscourse, is obvious, for what reason had he to compose an indictment\nbefore, in June or later, it became clear that Mary's case would be tried\nin England?\n\nNot till June 8 did Elizabeth send to Moray, bidding him 'impart to her\nplainly all that which shall be meet to inform her of the truth for their\ndefence in such weighty crimes' as their rebellion against Mary.[252]\nMary, Elizabeth declared, 'is content to commit the ordering of our case\nto her,' and Moray has consented, through Wood, 'to declare to us your\nwhole doings.' Elizabeth therefore asks for Moray's evidence against Mary.\nFrom that date, June 8, the negotiations for some kind of trial of Mary\nwent on till October, 1568. In that period, Lennox must have written the\ndiscourse in which he cites the false letter, and in that period he had\nthe aid of Wood, in whose hands the Scots translations were.\n\nThe inference that Lennox borrowed his description of a long poisonous\nepistle from a forged letter, a very long letter, then in Wood's custody\nwith the rest, and occupying the place later taken by Letter II., is\nnatural, and not illogical, but rather is in congruence with the relations\nbetween Wood and Lennox. The letter described had points in common with\nLetter II. (as when Mary wishes Bothwell in her arms) and with the Casket\nSonnets. It certainly was not a genuine document, and certainly raises a\nstrong presumption that fraud was being attempted by Mary's enemies. But\nwe need not, for that reason, infer that Letter II. is a forgery. It may\nbe genuine, and may have been in the hands of Mary's enemies. Yet they may\nhave tried to improve upon it and make it more explicit, putting forward\nto that end the epistle quoted by Lennox and Moray. If so they later fell\nback on Letter II., possibly garbled it, and suppressed their first\nversion.\n\nLennox, as we shall see, did not rest on his earlier form of the\nindictment, with its description of Mary's letter about poisoning Darnley\nand Lady Bothwell, which he originally drew up, say in July-August, 1568.\nIn his letters from Chiswick he asked for all sorts of evidence from\nScotland. He got it, and, then, dropping his first indictment (which\ncontained only parts of such matter), he composed a second. That second\ndocument was perhaps still unfinished, or imperfect, just before the\nmeeting of Commissioners at York (October 6, 1568).\n\nThat the second indictment, about October 1, 1568, was still in the\nmaking, I at first inferred from the following passage which occurs in a\nset of pieces of evidence collected for Lennox, but without date. 'Ferder\nyour h. sall have advertisement of, as I can find, but it is gude that\nthis mater' (Lennox's construction of a new indictment) 'be not endit\nquile' (until) 'your h. _may haif copie of the letter_, quhilk I sall haif\nat _York_, so sone as I may haif a traist berar' (a trusty bearer to carry\nthe copy to Lennox). So I read the letter, but Father Pollen, no doubt\ncorrectly, in place of 'York' reads 'your h.;' that is, 'Your Honour,' a\ncommon phrase. The date yielded by 'York' therefore vanishes. We can,\ntherefore, only infer that this correspondent, writing not to Lennox, it\nappears, but to some one, Wood perhaps, engaged in getting up the case,\nwhile sending him information for his indictment, advises that it be not\nfinished till receipt of a copy of a certain letter, which is to be sent\nby a trusty bearer. It may be our Letter II. We can have no certainty. In\nhis new indictment, substituted for his former discourse, Letter II. is\nthe only one to which Lennox makes distinct allusion.\n\nHe now omits the useful citations of the mysterious epistle which he had\npreviously used; and, instead, quotes Letter II. The old passages cited\nwere more than good enough for Lennox's purpose, but they are no longer\nemployed by him. There can be no doubt as to which of his discourses is\nthe earlier and which the later. That containing the report of Mary's\nletter which agrees with Moray's report to de Silva, lacks the numerous\ndetails about Hiegait, Crawford, Mary's taunts to Darnley, their quarrel\nat Stirling, and so forth, and we know that, on June 11, 1568, Lennox had\nsent to Scotland asking for all these particulars. They all duly appear in\nthe second discourse which contains reference to Letter II. They are all\nabsent from the discourse which contains the letter about the scheme for\npoisoning Darnley and Lady Bothwell. Therefore that indictment is the\nearlier: written on evidence of Darnley's servants, and from 'the sayings\nand reports' of Mary's servants.\n\nFor what reason should Lennox drop the citations from the poisonous\nletter, which he quoted in his earlier discourse, if such a letter was to\nbe produced by the Lords? The words were of high value to his argument.\nBut drop them he did in his later discourse, and, in place of them, quoted\nmuch less telling lines from Letter II.\n\nAll this is explained, if Letter II. was a revised and less explicit\nedition of the letter first reported on by Lennox; or if the letter first\nquoted was an improved and more vigorous version of a genuine Letter II.\nMr. Hosack, when he had only Moray's account of the mysterious letter\nbefore him, considered it fatal to the authenticity of Letter II., which\nhe thought a cleverly watered-down version of the mysterious letter, and,\nlike it, a forgery. Mr. Hosack's theory is reinforced by Lennox's longer\naccount of the mysterious epistle. But he overlooked the possibility that\nLetter II. may not be a diluted copy of the forgery, but a genuine\noriginal on which the forgery was based. It may be asked, if the Letter\ntouched on by Lennox and Moray was a forged letter, why was it dropped,\nand why was another substituted before the meeting of Commissioners at\nYork? As we have only brief condensed reports of the Letter which never\nwas produced, our answer must be incomplete. But Moray's description of\nthe document speaks of 'the house where the explosion was arranged,'\nbefore Mary left Edinburgh for Glasgow. Now, according to one confession,\ntaken after the finding of the Casket, namely on December 8, 1567, the\nexplosion was not dreamed of 'till within two days before the\nmurder.'[253] Therefore Mary could not, on reflection, be made to write\nthat the gunpowder plot was arranged before January 21, 1567, for that\ncontradicted the confession, and the confession was put in as evidence.\n\nThe proceedings of Mary's accusers, therefore, may have taken the\nfollowing line. First, having certainly got hold of a silver casket of\nMary's, about June 21, 1567, they either added a forgery, or, perhaps,\ninterpolated, as her Lords said, 'the most principal and substantious'\nclauses. They probably gave copies to du Croc: and they told Throckmorton\nthat they had not only letters, but _witnesses_ of Mary's guilt. These\nwitnesses doubtless saw Mary at the murder 'in male apparel,' as Lennox\nsays some declared that she was. But these witnesses were never produced.\nThey sent, probably, by 'Jhone a Forret,' copies to Moray, one of which,\nthe mysterious letter, in July, 1567, he partly described to de Silva. In\nJune, 1568, they sent translated copies into England with Wood. These were\nnot seen by Sussex, Norfolk, and Sadleyr (the men who, later, sat as\nCommissioners at York), but Wood, perhaps, showed them, or parts of them,\nto Lennox, who cited portions of the mysterious Letter in his first\nindictment. But, when Moray, Morton, Lethington, and the other\nCommissioners of the Lords were bound for the Inquiry at York, they looked\nover their hand of cards, re-examined their evidence. They found that the\n'long letter' cited by Moray and Lennox contradicted the confession of\nBowton, and was altogether too large and mythical. They therefore\nmanufactured a subtler new edition, or fell back upon a genuine Letter II.\nIf so, they would warn Lennox, or some one with Lennox, in framing his new\nindictment, to wait for their final choice as to this letter. He did\nwait, received a copy of it, dropped the first edition of the letter, and\ninterwove the second edition, which may be partly genuine, with his\n'discourse.'\n\nThis is, at least, a coherent hypothesis. There is, however, another\npossible hypothesis: admirers of the Regent Moray may declare. Though\ncapable of using his sister's accomplices to accuse his sister, 'the noble\nand stainless Moray' was not capable of employing a forged document. On\nreturning to Scotland he found that, in addition to the falsified Letter,\nthere existed the genuine Letter II., really by Mary. Like a conscientious\nman, he insisted that the falsified Letter should be suppressed, and\nLetter II. produced.\n\nThis amiable theory may be correct. It is ruined, however, if we are right\nin guessing that, when Moray sent Wood into England with Scots versions of\nthe Letters (May, 1568), he may have included among these a copy of the\nfalsified Letter, which was therefore cited by Lennox.\n\nThere is another point of suspicion, suggested by the Lennox Papers. In\nGlasgow Letter II., Mary, writing late at night, is made to say, 'I cannot\nsleep as thay do, and as I wald desyre, _that is in zour armes_, my deir\nlufe.' In the Lennox account of the letter quoted by Moray to de Silva,\nshe '_wishes him then present in her arms_.' In the Lennox Paper she\nspeaks of Darnley's 'sweet baits,' '_flattering_ and sweet words,' which\nhave 'almost overcome her.' In the English text of Letter II., Darnley\n'used so many kinds of _flatteries_ so coldly and wisely as you would\nmarvel at.' His speeches 'would make me but to have pity on him.' Finally,\nin the Lennox version of the unproduced Letter, Mary represents herself as\nready to 'abandon her God, put in adventure the loss of her dowry in\nFrance, hazard such titles as she had to the crown of England, as heir\napparent thereof, and also to the crown of the realm.' Nothing of this\ndetailed kind occurs, we have seen, in the Letters, as produced. Similar\nsentiments are found, however, in the first and second Casket Sonnets. 'Is\nhe not in possession of my body, of my heart which recoils neither from\npain, nor dishonour, nor uncertainty of life, nor offence of kindred, nor\nworse woe? For him I esteem all my friends less than nothing.... I have\nhazarded for him name and conscience; for him I desire to renounce the\nworld ... in his hands and in his power I place my son' (which she did not\ndo), 'my honour, my life, my realm, my subjects, my own subject soul.'\n\nIt is certainly open, then, to a defender of Mary to argue that the\nLetters and Sonnets, as produced and published, show traces of the ideas\nand expressions employed in the letter described by Moray, and by Lennox.\nNow that letter, certainly, was never written by Mary. It had to be\ndropped, for it was inconsistent with a statement as to the murder put\nforward by the prosecution; Bowton's examination.\n\nIn short, the letter cited by Moray, and by Lennox, the long letter from\nGlasgow, looks like a sketch, later modified, for Letter II., or a forgery\nbased on Letter II., and suggests that forgeries were, at some period,\nbeing attempted. As the Glasgow Letter (II.), actually produced, also\ncontains (see 'The Internal Evidence') the highly suspicious passage\ntallying verbally with Crawford's deposition, there is no exaggeration in\nsaying that the document would now carry little weight with a jury.\nAgainst all this we must not omit to set the failure to discredit the\nLetters, when published later, by producing the contemporary copies\nreported by de Silva to be in the hands of La Forest, or du Croc, as early\nas July, 1567. But the French Government (if ever it had the copies) was\nnot, as we have said, when Buchanan's 'Detection' was thrust on the\ncourtiers, either certain to compare La Forest's copies and the published\nLetters critically, or to raise a question over discrepancies, if they\nexisted. In any case neither Charles IX., nor La Mothe Fenelon, in 1571,\nwrote a word to suggest that they thought the Casket Papers an imposture.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\n_THE LETTERS AT THE CONFERENCE OF YORK_\n\n\nIn tracing the history of the mysterious letter cited by Moray in July,\n1567, and by Lennox about July, 1568, we have been obliged to diverge from\nthe chronological order of events. We must return to what occurred\npublicly, as regards the Letters, after Throckmorton was told of their\nexistence, by Lethington in Scotland in July, 1567. Till May, 1568, Mary\nremained a prisoner in Loch Leven. For some time after July, 1567, we hear\nnothing more of the Letters. Elizabeth (August 29) bade Throckmorton tell\nMary's party, the Hamiltons, that 'she well allows their proceedings as\nfar as they concern the relief of the Queen.' On August 30, Moray asked\nCecil to move Elizabeth 'to continue in her good will of him and his\nproceedings!'[254] Elizabeth, then, was of both parties: but rather more\ninclined to that of Mary, despite Throckmorton's report as to Mary's\nLetters. They are next alluded to by Drury, writing from Berwick on\nOctober 28, 1567. 'The writings which comprehended the names and consents\nof the chief for the murdering of the King is turned into ashes, the same\nnot unknown to the Queen (Mary) and the same which concerns her part kept\nto be shown.'[255]\n\nOn December 4, the Lords of the Privy Council, 'and other barons and men\nof judgement,' met in Edinburgh. They were mainly members of the\nProtestant Left.[256] Their Declaration (to be reported presently) was the\nresult, they tell us, of several days of reasoning and debate. Nor is it\nsurprising that they found themselves in a delicate posture. Some of them\nhad been in the conspiracy; others had signed the request to Bothwell that\nhe would marry the Queen, and had solemnly vowed to defend his quarrel,\nand maintain his innocence. Yet if they would gain a paper and\nParliamentary security for their lives and estates (subject to be\nattainted and forfeited if ever Mary or her son came to power, and wished\nto avenge Darnley's murder and the Queen's imprisonment), they must prove\nthat, in imprisoning Mary, they had acted lawfully. This they\ndemonstrated, though 'most loth to do so,' by asking Parliament to approve\nof all their doings since Darnley's death (which included their promise to\ndefend Bothwell, and their advice to Mary to marry him). And Parliament\nwas to approve, because their hostile acts 'was in the said Queen's own\ndefault, in as far as by divers her private letters, written and\nsubscribed with her own hand, and sent by her to James, Earl Bothwell,\nchief executor of the said horrible murder, as well before the committing\nthereof as thereafter, and by her ungodly and dishonourable proceeding in\na private marriage with him; ... it is most certain that she was privy,\nart and part, and of the actual device and deed of the forementioned\nmurder, ... and therefore justly deserves whatsoever has been attempted or\nshall be used toward her for the said cause....'\n\nFrom the first, it seems, 'all men in their hearts were fully persuaded of\nthe authors' of the crime. Bothwell, to be sure, had been acquitted, both\npublicly and privately, by his peers and allies. Moray had invited an\nEnglish envoy to meet him, at a dinner where all the other guests were\nmurderers. People, however, only 'awaited until God should move the hearts\nof some to enter in the quarrel of avenging the same'--which they did by\nletting Bothwell go free, and entrapping Mary! The godly assemblage then\nexplains how 'God moved the hearts of some.' The nobles were 'in just\nfear' of being 'handled' like Darnley, 'perceiving the Queen so thrall and\nbloody' (_sic_: probably a miswriting for 'blindly') 'affectionate to the\nprivate appetite of that tyrant,' Bothwell.\n\nThe Council thus gave the lie to their own repeated averments, that\nBothwell caused Mary to wed him by fear and force. Now she is gracefully\nspoken of as 'bloody affectionate.'\n\nIt will be observed that, like Moray earlier, they here describe Mary's\nLetters as 'signed.' The Casket Letters (in our copies) are unsigned. The\noriginals may have been signed, they were reported to La Forest to be\nsigned as late as December, 1568.\n\nOn December 15, a Parliament met in Edinburgh. According to Nau, Mary's\nsecretary, inspired by her, she had already written from prison a long\nletter to Moray. 'She demanded permission to be heard in this Parliament,\neither in person or by deputy, thereby to answer the false calumnies which\nhad been _published_ about her since her imprisonment.' Mary offered to\nlay down her crown 'of free will,' and to 'submit to all the rigour of the\nlaws' which she desired to be enforced against Darnley's murderers. None\nshould be condemned unheard. If not heard, she protested against all the\nproceedings of the Parliament.[257]\n\nThis may be true: this was Mary's very attitude when accused at\nWestminster. Mary made the same assertion as to this demand of hers to be\nheard, in her 'Appeal to Christian Princes,' in June, 1568.[258] Not only\nhad she demanded leave to be present, and act as her own advocate, but\nAtholl and Tullibardine, she said, had admitted the justice of her\nclaim--and just it was. But neither then, nor at Westminster in December,\n1568, was Mary allowed to appear and defend herself. She knew too much,\ncould have proved the guilt of some of her accusers, and would have broken\nup their party. A Scots Parliament always voted with the dominant faction.\nThe Parliament passed an Act in the sense of the resolution of the Council\nand assessors. The Letters, however, are now described, in this Act, not\nas 'signed' or 'subscribed,' but as 'written wholly with her own\nhand.'[259] No valuable inference can be drawn from the discrepancy.\n\nNau says not a word about the Letters, but avers that Herries protested\nthat Mary might not have signed her abdication by free will: her signature\nmight even have been forged. He asked leave, with others, to visit her at\nLoch Leven, but this was refused. 'Following his example, many of the\nLords refused to sign the Acts of this Parliament.'[260] It appears that\nthe Letters really were 'produced' in this Parliament, for Mary's Lords\nsay so in their Declaration of September 12, 1568, just before the\nCommissioners met at York. They add that 'there is in no place' (of 'her\nMajesty's writing') 'mention made, by which her highness might be convict,\nalbeit it were her own handwriting, as it is not.' The Lords add, 'and\nalso the same' (Mary's 'writing') 'is devysit by themselves in some\nprincipal and substantious clauses.'[261] This appears to mean that, while\nthe handwriting of the Letters is not Mary's, parts of the substance were\nreally hers, 'principal and substantious clauses'[262] being introduced by\nthe accusers.\n\nThis theory is upheld by Gerdes, and Dr. Sepp, with his hypothesis that\nthe Casket Letters consist of a Diary of Mary's, mingled with letters of\nDarnley's, and interpolated with 'substantious clauses.'[263] When the\noriginals were produced in England, none of Mary's party were present to\ncompare them with the Letters shown in the Scottish Parliament.\n\nThe Letters are not remarked on again till after Mary's escape from Loch\nLeven, and flight into England (May 16, 1568), when Moray writes about\nthem on June 22, 1568.\n\nWood, in May, as we saw, had carried with him into England copies of the\nLetters translated into our language: so says the instruction given by\nElizabeth's Government to Middlemore. Moray understood that Elizabeth\nintended to 'take trial' of Mary's case, 'with great ceremony and\nsolemnities.' He is 'most loth' to accuse Mary, though, privately or\npublicly, his party had done so incessantly, for a whole year. Now he asks\nthat those who are to judge the case shall read the Scots translations of\nthe Letters in Wood's possession (why in Scots, not in the original\nFrench?), and shall say whether, if the French originals coincide, the\nevidence will be deemed sufficient.\n\nWhatever we may think of the fairness of this proposal, it is clear that\nthe French texts, genuine or forged, as they then stood, were already in\naccordance with the Scots texts, to be displayed by Wood. If the\nmysterious letter was in Wood's hands in Scots, doubtless Moray had a\nforged French version of it. Any important difference in the French texts,\nwhen they came to be shown, would have been fatal. But, apparently, they\nwere not shown at this time to Elizabeth.\n\nIt is unnecessary to enter on the complicated negotiations which preceded\nthe meeting of Elizabeth's Commissioners, at York (October, 1568), with\nMary's representatives, and with Moray (who carried the Casket with him)\nand his allies, Buchanan, Wood, Makgill, Lethington, and others. Mary had\nthe best promises from Elizabeth. She claimed the right of confronting her\naccusers, from the first. If the worst came to the worst, if the Letters\nwere produced, she believed that she had valid evidence of the guilt of\nMorton and Lethington, at least. In a Lennox Paper, of 1569, we read:\n'Whereas the Queen said, when she was in Loch Leven, that she had that in\nblack and white that would cause Lethington to hang by the neck, which\nLetter, if it be possible, it were very needful to be had.' Nau says that\nBothwell, on leaving Mary at Carberry, gave her a band for Darnley's\nmurder, signed by Morton, Lethington, Balfour, and others, 'and told her\nto take good care of that paper.' Some such document, implicating\nLethington at least, Mary probably possessed 'in black and white.' The\nfact was known to her accusers, she had warned Lethington as we saw (p.\n189), and their knowledge influenced their policy. When Wood wrote to\nMoray, from Greenwich, on June 12, 1568, as to Scottish Commissioners to\nmeet Elizabeth's, and discuss Mary's case, he said that it was much\ndoubted, in England, whether Lethington should be one of them. To\nLethington he said that he had expected Mary to approve of his coming,\n'but was then surely informed she had not only written and accused him,\nand my Lord of Morton as privy to the King's murder, but affirmed she had\nboth their handwritings to testify the same, which I am willed to signify\nto you, that you may consider thereof. You know her goodwill towards you,\nand how prompt of spirit she is to invent anything that might tend to your\nhurt. The rest I remit to your wisdom.... Mr. Secretary' (Cecil) 'and Sir\nNicholas' (Throckmorton) 'are both direct against your coming here to this\ntrial.'[264] But it was less unsafe for Lethington to come, and perhaps\ntry to make his peace with Mary, than to stay in Scotland. Mary also, in\nher appeal to all Christian Princes, declares that the handwriting of\nseveral of her accusers proves that they are guilty of the crime they lay\nto her charge.[265] It is fairly certain that she had not the murder band,\nbut something she probably did possess. And Nau says that she had told\nLethington what she knew on June 16, 1567.\n\nIf the Casket Letters were now produced, and if Mary were allowed to\ndefend herself, backed by her own charms of voice and tears, then some, at\nleast, of her accusers would not be listened to by that assemblage of\nPeers and Ambassadors before which she constantly asked leave to plead,\n'in Westminster Hall.' The Casket Letters, produced by men themselves\nguilty, would in these circumstances be slurred as probable forgeries.\nMary would prefer not to come to extremities, but if she did, as Sussex,\none of Elizabeth's Commissioners, declared, in the opinion of some 'her\nproofs would fall out the better.'\n\nThis I take to have been Mary's attitude towards the Letters, this was her\nlast line of defence. Indeed the opinion is corroborated by her letter\nfrom Bolton to Lesley (October 5, 1568). She says that Knollys has been\ntrying _tirer les vers du nez_ ('to extract her secret plans'), a phrase\nused in Casket Letter II. 'My answer is that I would oppose the truth to\ntheir false charges, _and something which they perchance have not yet\nheard_.'[266] Mr. Froude thinks that Mary trusted to a mere theatrical\ndenial, on the word of a Queen. But I conceive that she had a better\npolicy; and so thought Sussex.\n\nMuch earlier, on June 14, 1568, soon after her flight into England, Mary\nhad said to Middlemore, 'If they' (her accusers) 'will needs come, desire\nmy good sister, the Queen, to write that Lethington and Morton (who be\ntwo of the wisest and most able of them to say most against me) may come,\nand then let me be there in her presence, face to face, to hear their\naccusations, and to be heard how I can make my own purgation, but I think\nLethington would be very loath of that commission.'[267]\n\nLethington knew Mary's determination. Wood gave him warning, and his\nknowledge would explain his extraordinary conduct throughout the\nConference at York, and later. As has been said, Mary and he were equally\nable to 'blackmail' each other. Any quarrel with Moray might, and a\nquarrel finally did, bring on Lethington the charge of guilt as to\nDarnley's murder. Once accused (1569), he was driven into Mary's party,\nfor Mary could probably have sealed his doom.\n\nAs to what occurred, when, in October, the Commission of Inquiry met at\nYork, we have the evidence of the letters of Elizabeth's Commissioners,\nNorfolk, Sussex, and Sadleyr. We have also the evidence of one of Mary's\nCommissioners, Lesley, Bishop of Ross, given on November 6, 1571, when he\nwas prisoner of Elizabeth, in the Tower, for his share in the schemes of\nthe Duke of Norfolk. All confessions are suspicious, and Lesley's alleged\ngossip against Mary (she poisoned her first husband, murdered Darnley, led\nBothwell to Carberry that he might be slain, and would have done for\nNorfolk!) is reported by Dr. Wilson, who heard it![268] 'Lord, what a\npeople are these, what a Queen, and what an ambassador!' cries Wilson, in\nhis letter to Burghley. If Lesley spoke the words attributed to him by\nWilson, we can assign scant value to any statement of his whatever: and we\nassign little or none to Wilson's.\n\nIn his confession (1571) he says that, when he visited Mary, at Bolton,\nabout September 18, 1568, she told him that the York Conference was to end\nin the pardon, by herself, of her accusers: her own restoration being\nimplied. Lesley answered that he was sorry that she had consented to a\nconference, for her enemies 'would utter all that they could,' rather than\napologise. He therefore suggested that she should not accuse them at all,\nbut work for a compromise. Mary said that, from messages of Norfolk to his\nsister, Lady Scrope, then at Bolton, she deemed him favourable to her, and\nlikely to guide his fellow-commissioners: there was even a rumour of a\nmarriage between Norfolk and herself. Presently, says Lesley, came Robert\nMelville, '_before our passing to York_,' bearing letters from Lethington,\nthen at Fast Castle. Lethington hereby (according to Lesley) informed Mary\nthat Moray was determined to speak out, and was bringing the letters,\n'whereof he' (Lethington) 'had recovered the copy, and had caused his\nwife' (Mary Fleming) 'write them, which he sent to the Queen.' He added\nthat he himself was coming merely to serve Mary: _how_ she must inform\nhim by Robert Melville. This is Lesley's revelation. The statements are\nquite in accordance with our theory, that Lethington, now when there was\ndire risk that the Letters might come out publicly, and that Mary would\nruin him in her own defence, did try to curry favour with the Queen: did\nsend her copies of the Letters.\n\nFor what it is worth, Lesley's tale to this effect has some shadowy\ncorroboration. At Norfolk's Trial for Treason (1571), Serjeant Barham\nalleged that Lethington 'stole away the Letters, and kept them one night,\nand caused his wife to write them out.' _That_ story Barham took from\nLesley's confession. But he added, from what source we know not, 'Howbeit\nthe same were but copies, translated out of French into Scots: which, when\nLethington's wife had written them out, he caused to be sent to the\nScottish Queen. She laboured to translate them again into French, as near\nas she could to the originals wherein she wrote them, but that was not\npossible to do, but there was some variance in the phrase, by which\nvariance, as God would, the subtlety of that practice came to light.'\n'What if all this be true? What is this to the matter?' asked the\nDuke.[269]\n\nWhat indeed? Mary had not kept copies of her letters to Bothwell, if she\nwrote them. She was short of paper when she wrote Letter II., if she wrote\nit, and certainly could make no copy: the idea is grotesque. What\n'subtlety of practice' could she intend?[270] Conceivably, if Lethington\nsent her copies of both French and Scots (which is denied), she may have\ntried whether she could do the Scots into the French idioms attributed to\nher, and, if she could not, might advance the argument that the French was\nnone of hers. Barham avers that she received no French copies. But did\nLesley say, with truth, that she received any copies? Here, confession for\nconfession, that of Robert Melville gives the lie to Lesley's. Melville\n(who, years later, had been captured with Lethington and Kirkcaldy of\nGrange in the Castle) was examined at Holyrood, on October 19, 1573.[271]\nAccording to Lesley, Melville rode to Bolton with Lethington's letters\nfrom Fast Castle, _before_ the meeting of Commissioners at York. But\nMelville denies this: his account runs thus:\n\n'Inquirit quhat moved him to ryde to the quene in England the tyme that\nthe erll of morey Regent was thair, he not being privie therto? Answeris\nit wes to get a discharge of sic thingis as she had gotten from him. And\nthat the Regent wes privie to the same and grantit him licence to follow\nefter. Bot wald not let him pas in company wt him. _And denys that he past\nfirst to bolton bot come first to York._'\n\nIf Melville told truth, then he did not secretly visit Mary before the\nConference, and she did not deal then with Lethington, or receive copies\nof the Casket Letters, or bid any one 'stay these rigorous accusations and\ntravail with the Duke of Norfolk in her favour,' as Lesley confessed.[272]\nThe persons who examined Melville, in 1573, were acquainted with Lesley's\nconfession of 1571, and Melville is deliberately and consciously\ncontradicting the evidence of Lesley. Both confessed when in perilous\ncircumstances. Which of the two can we believe?\n\nOn Saturday, October 2, Mary's Commissioners arrived in York, but Wood did\nnot ride in from London till October 8.[273] Moray and the other\nCommissioners of the Lords came in on Sunday, followed, an hour later, by\nthe English negotiators: 'mediators,' Mary calls them. Then began a\ncontest of intrigue and infamy. If we believe Melville, he no sooner\narrived in York than Moray sent him to Bolton, 'to deal with the Queen as\nof his awin heid,'--that is, as if the proposal were an unofficial\nsuggestion of his own. He was to propose a compromise: the Lords were not\nto accuse her, and she was to stay in England with a large allowance,\nMoray still acting as Regent. 'The Quene did take it verie hardlie at the\nbegyning ... bot in the end condescendit to it, swa that it come of [part\nobliterated] the Quene of England's sute.' Melville was then kept going to\nand from Bolton, till the Commissioners departed to London. On this\nstatement Moray, apparently as soon as the Commissioners met at York,\ntreated with Mary for a compromise in his favour, and Mary assented,\nthough reluctantly.[274]\n\nTurning to the reports of Elizabeth's Commissioners, we find that, on\nOctober 4, they met Mary's Commissioners, and deemed their instructions\ntoo limited. Mary's men proposed to ask for larger license, and,\nmeanwhile, to proceed. But Herries (Oct. 6) declared that he would 'in no\nways say all in this matter that he knew to be true.'[275] Moray and\nLethington, already 'though most sorry that it is now come to that point,'\nsaid that they must disclose what they knew. Lethington by no means tried\nto 'mitigate these rigours intended,' as in the letter which Lesley says\nthat he sent to Mary by Melville. He already boasted of what 'they could\nan' they would.' Probably Lethington, to use a modern phrase, was\n'bluffing.' Nothing could suit him worse than a public disclosure of the\nletters, laying him open to a _riposte_ from Mary if she were allowed to\nbe present, and speak for herself. His game was to threaten disclosure,\nand even to make it unofficially, so as to frighten Mary into silence, and\nresidence in England, while he kept secretly working for another\narrangement with Norfolk, behind the backs of the other English\nCommissioners.\n\nThis was a finesse in which Lethington delighted, but it was a most\ndifficult game to play. His fellows, except Morton, not a nervous man,\nwere less compromised than he, or not compromised at all, and they might\nbreak away from him, and offer in spite of him (as they finally did) a\npublic disclosure of the Letters. The other English Commissioners, again,\nmight not take their cue from Norfolk. Above all, Norfolk himself must be\nallowed to see the Letters, and yet must be induced to overlook or\ndiscredit the tale of the guilt of Mary, which they revealed. This was the\nonly part of Lethington's arduous task in which he succeeded, and here he\nsucceeded too well.[276]\n\nOn October 6, Norfolk, writing for himself, told Cecil that, from the talk\nof Mary's enemies, 'the matter I feare wyll fall owte very fowle.'[277] On\nOctober 8, Mary's men produced their charges against the Lords. The\nsigners were Lesley, Lord Livingstone (who certainly knew whether the\nanecdote about himself, in the Glasgow Letter II., was true or not),\nHerries (who, in June, had asked Elizabeth what she intended to do if Mary\nwas proved guilty), Cockburn of Skirling, a Hamilton, commendator or lay\nabbot of Kilwinning, and Lord Boyd.\n\nLennox, who was present at York,[278] burning for leave to produce his\nindictment, had asked his retainers to collect evidence against Herries,\nFleming, Lord Livingstone, 'and all these then in England,' with Mary. On\nthis head Lennox got no help, except so far as an anecdote, in the Casket\nLetter II., implied Livingstone's knowledge of Mary's amour with Bothwell.\nHe, therefore, in a paper which we can date about October 4, 1568,[279]\nsuggests 'that the Lord Livingstone may be examined upon his oath of the\nwords between his mistress and him at Glasgow, mentioned in her own\nletter.' But this very proper step was never taken: nor was Lennox then\nheard. The words might have been used, but that would not prove Mary's\nauthorship of the letter containing them. They might have been supplied by\nLady Reres, after her quarrel with Mary in April-May, 1567. Moray next\ndesired to know--\n\n1. Whether the English Commissioners had authority to pronounce Mary\nguilty or not guilty. (She had protested (Oct. 7) that she 'was not\nsubject to any judge on earth.')\n\n2. Whether the Commissioners will promise to give verdict instantly.\n\n3. Whether, if the verdict was 'guilty,' Mary would be handed over to\nthem, or kept prisoner in England.\n\n4. Whether, in that case, Elizabeth would recognise Moray as Regent.\n\nTill these questions were answered (they were sent on to Elizabeth), Moray\ncould not 'enter to the accusation.'[280] Hitherto they had been 'content\nrather to hide and conceal than to publish and manifest to the world'\nMary's dishonour. They had only told all Europe--in an unofficial way. The\nEnglish Commissioners waited for Elizabeth's reply. On the 11th October,\nMoray replied to the charges of Mary, without accusing her of the murder.\nHe also 'privately,' and unofficially, showed to the English Commissioners\nsome of the Casket Papers. Lethington, Wood (?), Makgill, and Buchanan (in\na new suit of black velvet) displayed and interpreted the documents. They\nincluded a warrant of April 19, signed by Mary, authorising the Lords to\nsign the Ainslie band, advising Bothwell to marry her.[281] Of this\nwarrant we hear nothing, as far as I have observed, at Westminster.[282]\nCalderwood, speaking of Morton's trial in 1581, says that 'he had,' for\nsigning Ainslie's band, 'a warrant from the Queen, which none of the rest\nhad.'[283] At York, the Lords said that all of them had this warrant.\n'Before they had this warrant, there was none of them that did, or would,\nset to their hands, saving only the Earl of Huntly.' Yet they also alleged\nthat they signed 'more for fear than any liking they had of the same.'\nThey alleged that they were coerced by 200 musketeers.[284] Now Kirkcaldy,\non April 20, 1567, reports the signing of the Band on the previous day, to\nBedford, but says not a word of the harquebus men. They are not mentioned\ntill ten days later.\n\nLethington kindly explained the reason for Mary's abduction, which\ncertainly needs explanation. A pardon for that, he told the English Lords,\nwould be 'sufficient also for the murder.' The same story is given in the\n'Book of Articles,' the formal impeachment of Mary.[285] Presently the\nEnglish Commissioners were shown 'one horrible and long letter of her own\nhand, containing foul matter and abominable ... with divers fond ballads\nof her own hand, which letters, ballads, and other writings before\nspecified, were closed in a little coffer of silver and gilt, heretofore\ngiven by her to Bothwell.'\n\nAfter expressing abhorrence, the three Commissioners enclose extracts,\npartly in Scots.[286] The Commissioners, after seeing the papers\nunofficially, go on to ask how they are to proceed. Their letter has been\na good deal modified, by the authors, in a rather less positive and more\nsceptical sense than the original, which has been deciphered.[287]\n\nOn the same day, Norfolk wrote separately to Pembroke, Leicester, and\nCecil. He excused the delays of the Scots: 'they stand for their lives,\nlands, goods, and they are not ignorant, if they would, for it is every\nday told them, that, as long as they abstain from touching their Queen's\nhonour, she will make with them what reasonable end they can devise....'\nIn fact, as Melville has told us, he himself was their go-between for the\ncompromise. Norfolk adds that there are two ways, by justice public and\ncondign, 'if the fact shall be thought as detestable and manifest to you,\nas, for aught we can perceive, it seemeth here to us,' or, if Elizabeth\nprefer it, 'to make such composition as in so broken a cause may be.'\n\nNorfolk seems in exactly the mind of an honourable man, horrified by\nMary's guilt, and anxious for her punishment. He either dissembled, or was\na mere weathercock of sentiment, or, presently, he found reason to doubt\nthe authenticity of what he had been shown. Lethington, we saw, showed the\nletters, unofficially, on October 11. On October 12, Knollys had a talk\nwith Mary. 'When,' asked she, 'will they proceed to their odious\naccusations, or will they stay and be reconciled to me, or what will my\ngood sister do for me?' Surely an innocent lady would have said, 'Let them\ndo their worst: I shall answer them. A reconciliation with dastardly\nrebels I refuse.' That was not Mary's posture: 'But,' she said, 'if they\nwill fall to extremities they shall be answered roundly, and at the full,\nand then are we past all reconciliations.' So wrote Knollys to Norfolk, on\nOctober 14.[288] Mary would fall back on her 'something in black and\nwhite.'\n\nOn October 13, Lesley and Boyd rode to Bolton, says Knollys, and told Mary\nwhat Lethington had done: his privy disclosure of her Letters. He himself\nwas doubtless their informant, his plan being to coerce her into a\ncompromise.\n\nOf all things, it now seemed most unlikely that Norfolk would veer round\nto Mary's side, and desire to marry her. But this instantly occurred, and\nthe question is, had he seen reason to doubt the authenticity of the\nletter which so horrified him? Had Lethington told him something on that\nlong ride which they took together, on Saturday, October 16?[289] As shall\nbe shown, in our chapter on the Possible Forgers, this may be what\nLethington had done, and over-done. He had shaken Norfolk's belief in the\nLetter, so much that Norfolk presently forbade Mary to accept a\ncompromise!\n\nThe evidence of Lesley is here, as usual, at cross purposes. In his\nconfession (November 6, 1571) he says that Robert Melville took him to\nLethington's lodgings, _after_ Lethington had secretly shown the Letters.\n'We talked almost a whole night.' Lethington said that Norfolk favoured\nMary, and wished Moray to drop the charges and arrange a compromise.\n\nMeanwhile in a letter to Mary (after October 16)[290] Lesley first, as in\nhis confession, says that he has conferred with Lethington 'great part of\na night.' Lethington had ridden out with Norfolk, on October 16, and\nlearned from him that Elizabeth aimed at delay, and at driving Moray to do\nhis very worst. When they had produced 'all they can against you,'\nElizabeth would hold Mary prisoner, till she could 'show you favour.'\nNorfolk therefore now advised Mary to feign submission to Elizabeth, who\nwould probably be more kind in two or three months.[291] If so,\nLethington's words had not yet their full effect, or Norfolk dissembled.\n\nIf we are to believe Sir James Melville, who was at York, Norfolk also\nconferred with Moray himself, who consulted Lethington and Sir James; but\nnot the other Commissioners, his allies. His friends advised him to listen\nto Norfolk. We have Moray's own account of the transaction. In October,\n1569, when Norfolk was under the suspicion of Elizabeth, Moray wrote to\nher with his version of the affair.[292] 'When first in York I was moved\nto sue familiar conference with the Duke as a mean to procure us\nexpedition.' He found the Duke 'careful to have her schame coverit, hir\nhonour repairit, schew(ed) hir interest to the title of the crown of\nEngland.... It was convenient she had \"ma\" (more) children,' who would be\nfriends of Moray, and so on. The guileless Regent dreamed 'of nothing less\nthan that Norfolk had in any way pretended to the said marriage.' But\n_now_ (1569) Moray sees that Norfolk's idea was to make him seem the\noriginator of the marriage.\n\nMeanwhile Robert Melville was still (he says) negotiating between Mary and\nMoray, on the basis of Mary's abdication and receipt of a large pension\nfrom Scotland. Melville rode to London to act for Mary on October 25.[293]\nBut, before that date, on October 16, Elizabeth wrote to Norfolk as to the\ndemands of Moray made on October 11, and under the influence of what she\nhad now learned from her Commissioners as to the Casket Letters, and,\nperhaps, of suspicions of Norfolk. Practically, she removed the Conference\nto London, ordering Norfolk so to manage that Mary should think her\nrestoration was to be arranged.[294] Mary weakly consented to the change\nof _venue_ (October 22). She sent Lesley and Herries to represent her in\nLondon.\n\nAt this moment, namely (October 22) when Mary consented to the London\nConference, it seems that she expected a compromise on the lines discussed\nbetween Moray and herself. She would resign the crown, and live affluently\nin England, while Moray would not produce his accusations, and would\nexercise the Regency. This course would be fatal to Mary's honour, in the\neyes of history, but contemporaries would soon forget all, except that\nthere had been gossip about compromising letters. The arrangement proposed\nwas, then, reluctantly submitted to by Mary, according to Robert Melville.\nBut it occurred to Norfolk that he could hardly marry a woman on whom such\na blot rested, or, more probably, that his ambition would gain little by\nwedding a Queen retired, under a cloud, from her realm. If I am right, he\nhad now come, under Lethington's influence, to doubt the authenticity of\nthe Casket Letters.\n\nThat Norfolk opposed compromise appears from Robert Melville's deposition.\nOn arriving in London, he met Herries, who, rather to his surprise, knew\nthe instructions of Mary to Robert himself. 'The Lord Herries sayand to\nthis deponair that he' (Melville) 'was cum thither with sic commission to\ndeale privelie with the Quene of England, howbeit thair wes mair honest\nmen thair' (than Melville). 'The men that had bene the caus of hir\ntrouble' (Morton and the rest) 'wald be prefarit in credit to thame. This\nberair (Melville) be the contraire affirmit that the caus of his cumming\nthair wes to be a witness in caise he should be called upon,' namely to\nthe fact that Mary did not sign her abdication (at Loch Leven) as a free\nagent. Melville goes on to say that, 'in the tyme quhan it was thocht that\ncourse' (the compromise with Murray) 'should have past furthair, thair com\na writing from the quene to the Bishop of Ross that the Scotch partie\nheard the Bishop reid, and partly red himself, bearing amangis uther\npurposis that the Duke of Norfolk had send liggynnis' (Liggens, or Lygons\nhis messenger) 'to hir and forbid hir to dimitt hir crown. And sa the\nBishop willit the Secretair' (Lethington) 'to lief of that course' (the\ncompromise) 'as a thing the Quene (Mary) was not willing to, without the\nDuke' (Norfolk) 'gaif hir counsail thairto.'[295]\n\nThus it appears that Norfolk prevented Mary from pursuing her compromise\n(which Lethington was favouring in his own interest) and from abdicating,\nleaving the Letters unproduced. Lethington had shaken his faith in the\nauthenticity of the Casket Letters. That Mary should have acquiesced in a\ncompromise demonstrates that she dreaded Moray's accusations. That, at a\nword from Norfolk, she reconsidered and altered her plan, proves that she\ncould, in her opinion, outface her accusers, and indicates that Norfolk\nnow distrusted the genuine character of the Letters. She knew, if not by\nthe copies of her Letters which Lethington did (or did not) send her, at\nleast by Lesley's report of that which Lethington showed the English\nCommissioners, what her enemies could do. She would carry the war into\nAfrica, accuse her accusers, and, in a dramatic scene in Westminster Hall,\nbefore the Peers and the foreign Ambassadors, would rout her enemies.\nThat, if accused, she would not be allowed to be present, and to reply,\ndid not occur to her. Such injustice was previously unknown. That she\nwould be submitting to a judge, or judges, she could overlook, or would,\nlater, protest that she had never done. According to Nau, she had made the\nsame offer to defend herself (as we have seen) to Moray, before the Scots\nParliament of December, 1567.\n\nMary's plan was magnificent. Sussex himself, writing from York, on October\n22, saw the force of her tactics.[296] He speaks, as well he might, of\n'the inconstancy and subtleness of the people with whom we deal.' Mary\nmust be found guilty, or the matter must be huddled up 'with a show of\nsaving her honour.' 'The first, I think, will hardly be attempted, for two\ncauses: the one for that if her adverse party accuse her of the murder by\nproducing of her letters, she will deny them, and accuse the most of them\nof manifest consent to the murder, _hardly to be denied_; so as, upon the\ntrial on both sides, _her proofs will judicially fall out best_, as it is\nthought.' The other reason for not finding Mary guilty was that, if little\nJames died, the Hamiltons were next heirs. This would not suit Moray, he\n(like Norfolk) would now wish for more children of Mary's, to keep the\nHamiltons out, but, if she were now defamed, there would be a difficulty\nas to their succession to the crown. So Sussex believed (rightly) that a\ncompromise was intended, for which Lethington, as he says, had been\nworking at York, while Robert Melville was also engaged. Sussex then\nstates the compromise in the same terms as Robert Melville did, adding\nthat Moray would probably hand his proofs over to Mary, and clear her by a\nParliamentary decree. The Hamiltons had other ideas. 'You will find\nLethington wholly bent to composition.' A general routing out of evidence\ndid not suit Lethington.\n\nTo Sussex, the one object was to keep Mary in England; a thing easy if\nMoray produced his proofs, and if Elizabeth, 'by virtue of her\nsuperiority over Scotland,' gave a verdict against Mary. But Sussex\nthought that the proofs of Moray 'will not fall out sufficiently to\ndetermine judicially, if she denies her letters.'\n\nThis was the opinion of a cool, unprejudiced, and well-informed observer.\nMary's guilt could not, he doubted, be judicially proved. Moray's party,\nhe might have added, would have been ruined by an acknowledgment of\nEnglish suzerainty. The one thing was to prevent the Scots from patching a\npeace with Mary. And, to that end, though Sussex does not say so, Mary\nmust not be allowed to appear in her own defence.\n\nOn October 30, Elizabeth held a great Council at Hampton Court. Mary's\nCommissioners, and then those of the Lords, were to have audience of her.\nMary's men were to be told that Elizabeth wished 'certain difficulties\nresolved.' To the Lords, she would say that they should produce their\ncharges: if they were valid, Elizabeth would protect them, and detain Mary\nduring their pleasure. As Mary was sure to hear of this plan, she was to\nbe removed from Bolton to Tutbury, which was not done till later. Various\npeers were to be added to the English Commission, but not the foreign\nAmbassadors; though, on June 20, the Council reckoned it fair to admit\nthem.[297]\n\nMary heard of all this, and of Moray's admission to Elizabeth's presence,\nfrom Hepburn of Riccartoun, Bothwell's friend and kinsman (November\n21).[298] On November 22, therefore, she wrote to bid her Commissioners\nbreak up the Conference, if she, the accused, was denied the freedom to be\npresent, conceded to Moray, the accuser. Nothing could be more correct,\nbut, at the same time, in 'a missive letter' Mary suggested to her\nCommissioners that they should again try to compromise, saving her crown\nand honour.[299] These would not have been saved by the compromise which,\naccording to Robert Melville, Norfolk forbade her to make.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\n_THE LETTERS AT WESTMINSTER AND HAMPTON COURT_\n\n\nThe Commission opened on November 25 at Westminster, after Elizabeth had\nprotested that she would not 'take upon her to be judge.'[300]\n\nOn the 26th Moray put in a written Protestation, as to their reluctance in\naccusing Mary. They then put in an 'Eik,' or addition, with the formal\ncharge.[301] On the 29th November, the Lords said that this charge might\nbe handed to Mary's Commissioners. Lennox appeared as an accuser, and put\nin 'A Discourse of the Usage' of Darnley by Mary: the last of his\nIndictments. It covered three sheets of paper. Mary's men now entered,\nreceived Moray's accusation, retired, discussed it, and asked for a delay\nfor consideration. On December 1, they returned. Moray's 'Eik' of\naccusation had been presented to Mary's Commissioners on November 29.\nJames Melville says that Lethington was not present, had 'a sore heart,'\nand whispered to Moray that he had shamed himself for ever. The Letters\nwould come out. Mary would retort. Lethington would be undone. Mary's men\nmight have been expected, as they asked for a delay, to protract it till\nthey could consult their mistress. The wintry weather was evil, the roads\nwere foul, communication was slow, and the injustice to Mary of keeping\nher at four or five days' distance from her representatives was\ndisgraceful. Instead of consulting her, the Commissioners for Mary met the\nEnglish on December 1.\n\nThey had none of her courage, and Herries had plainly shown to Elizabeth\nhis want of confidence in Mary's innocence. In June he had asked Elizabeth\nwhat she meant to do if appearances proved against Mary. And he told Mary\nthat he had done so.[302] He now read a tame speech, inveighing against\nthe accusers, and declaring that, when the cause should be further tried,\nsome of them would be proved guilty of entering into bands for Darnley's\nmurder. Lesley followed, stating that he and his fellows must see\nElizabeth, and communicate to her Mary's demand to be heard in person,\nbefore Elizabeth, the Peers, and the Ambassadors; while the accusers must\nbe detained till the end of the cause.[303] On December 3, Lesley and the\nrest presented these demands to Elizabeth at Hampton Court. The Council\nlater put the request before legal advisers, who replied at length. They\nanswered that even God (though He was fully acquainted with all the\ncircumstances) did not condemn Adam and Eve unheard. But as to Mary's\nnon-recognition of a mortal judge, that was absurd. If she meant to be\nheard, she tacitly acknowledged the jurisdiction: which is perfectly true.\nA door must be open or shut. Thirdly, it was ridiculous to ask Elizabeth\nto be present, but only as a spectator. Fourthly, it was no less absurd to\nask all the nobles to attend a trial which might be long, but they might\nchoose representatives, if Mary desired it, to appear when convenient.\nFifthly, it was ridiculous to demand the presence of ambassadors, who\nwould be neither prosecutors, defenders, judges, clerks, nor witnesses:\nthey could only be lookers-on, like other people. That the scene should be\nLondon was reasonable, but it might be elsewhere.\n\nThere was this addition (_puis est adjouxte_), 'We think this voluntary\noffer' (of Mary) 'so important that, in our opinion, all her demands\nshould be granted, without prejudice or contravention to the Queen of\nEngland, so that none may be able to say a word against the manner of\nprocedure.'[304]\n\nTo myself it appears that the majority of the civilians consulted returned\nthe reply which insists that Mary must be tried with acknowledgment of\njurisdiction, if she is to be heard at all, and that the addition,\ndeclaring her demands just, is the conclusion of a minority. Mary wanted\nthe pomp and publicity of a great trial, which, after all, was to be a\nmere appeal to public opinion. As Queen of Scots, she could not destroy\nthe fruits of Bannockburn and the wars of Independence, by acknowledging\nan English sovereign as her Judge and Superior. She could not return to\nthe position of John Balliol under Edward I. She had been beguiled into\nconfiding her cause to Elizabeth, and this was the result.\n\nOn December 4, Mary's men, without consulting her, made a fatal error.\nBefore seeing Elizabeth they met Leicester and Cecil, in a room apart, and\nasked that Elizabeth should be informed of their readiness, even now, to\nmake a compromise, with surety to Moray and his party. Now Mary had\ndeclared to Knollys that, if once Moray accused her publicly, they were\n'past all reconciliation.' That was the only defensible position, yet her\nCommissioners, perhaps with her approval, receded from it. Elizabeth\nseized the opportunity. It was better, she said, and rightly, for her\nsister's honour, that Mary's accusers should be charged with their\naudacious defaming of their Queen, and punished for the same, unless they\ncould show 'apparent just causes of such an attempt.' In fact, Elizabeth\nmust see the Letters, or cause them to be seen by her nobles. She could\nnot admit Mary in person while, as at present, there seemed so little to\njustify the need of her appearance--for the Letters had not yet been\nshown. When they were shown, it would probably turn out, she said, that\nMary need not appear at all.\n\nThe unhappy Scottish Commissioners tried to repair a blunder, which\nclearly arose from their undeniable want of confidence in their cause. The\nproposal for a compromise, they said, was entirely their own. We remember\nthat, by Norfolk's desire, Mary had already refused a compromise to which\nshe had once consented. She would probably, in the now existing\ncircumstances, have adhered to her resolution.[305]\n\nOn December 6, Moray and his party were at Westminster to produce their\nproofs. But Lesley put in a protest that he must, in that case, withdraw.\nThe English Commissioners declared that, in this protest, Elizabeth's\nwords of December 4 were misrepresented: her words (as to seeing Moray's\nproofs) having, in fact, been utterly ambiguous. She had first averred\nthat Moray must be punished if he should be unable to show some apparent\njust causes 'of such an attempt,' and then, at a later stage of the\nconversation, had 'answered that she meant not to require any proofs.' So\nruns the report, annotated and endorsed by Cecil.[306] But now the Council\nwere sitting to receive the proofs which Elizabeth had first declared that\nshe would, and then that she would not ask for, while, after vowing that\nshe would not ask for them, she had said that she 'would receive them for\nher own satisfaction'!\n\nThe words of the protest by Mary's Commissioners described all this, and\nthe production of proofs in Mary's absence, as 'a preposterous\norder.'[307] No more preposterous proceedings were ever heard of in\nhistory. The English Commissioners, seizing on the words 'a preposterous\norder,' declined to receive the protest till it should be amended, and at\nonce called on Moray to produce his proofs. Moray then put in the 'Book of\nArticles,' 'containing certain conjectures,' a long arraignment of Mary.\nIn the Lennox Papers is a shorter collection of 'Probable and Infallyable\nConjectures,' an early form of Buchanan's 'Detection.' The 'Book of\nArticles' occupies twenty-six closely printed pages, in Hosack, who first\npublished it, and is written in Scots.[308] The band for Bothwell's\nmarriage is said to have been made at Holyrood, and Mary's signature is\ndeclared to have been appended later. This mysterious band seems to have\nreached Cecil _unofficially_, and is marked 'To this the Queen gave\nconsent the night before the marriage,' May 14 (cf. p. 254). Nothing is\nnoted as to Darnley's conduct in seeking to flee the realm in September,\n1566, and this account is given of the well-known scene in which Mary, the\nCouncil, and du Croc attempted to extract from him his grievances. 'He was\nrejected and rebuked opinlie in presence of diverse Lords then of her\nprevie counsale, quhill he was constrenit to return to Streviling.'\nThough less inaccurate than the 'Detection,' the 'Book of Articles' is a\nviolent _ex parte_ harangue.\n\nMoray also put in the Act of Parliament of December, 1567. The English\nheard the 'Book of Articles' and the Act read aloud, on the night of\nDecember 6. On the 7th,[309] Moray hoped that they were satisfied. They\ndeclined to express an opinion. Moray retired with his company, and\nreturned bearing, at last, The Casket. Morton, on oath, declared that his\naccount of the finding of the Casket was true, and that the contents had\nbeen kept unaltered. Then a contract of marriage, said to be in Mary's\nhand, and signed, but without date, was produced. The contract speaks of\nDarnley's death as a past event, but they 'did suppose' that the deed was\nmade _before_ the murder. They may have based this suspicion on Casket\nLetter III. (or VIII.) which, as we shall show, fits into no _known_ part\nof Mary's relations with Bothwell. Another contract, said to be in\nHuntly's hand, and dated April 5, was next exhibited. Papers as to\nBothwell's Trial were shown, and those for his divorce. The Glasgow Letter\nI. (which in sequence of time ought to be II.) was displayed in French,\nand then Letter II.[310] _Neither letter is stated to have been copied in\nFrench from the French original_, and we have no copies of the original\nFrench, which, however, certainly existed. Next day (December 8) Moray\nproduced seven other French writings 'in the lyk Romain hand,' which seven\nwritings, '_being copied_, weare red in Frenche, and a due collation made\nthereof as neare as could be by reading and inspection, and made to accord\nwith the originals, which the said Erle of Murray required to be\nredelivered, and did thereupon deliver the copies being collationd, the\ntenours of which vii wrytinges hereafter follow in ordre, _the first being\nin manner of a sonnett_, \"O Dieux ayez de moy etc.\"' Apparently all the\nsonnets here count as one piece, the other six papers being the Casket\nLetters III.-VIII.\n\nNo French contemporary copies of Letters I. II. have been discovered, as\nin the cases of III. IV. V. VI. It is notable that while the sonnets, and\nLetters III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. are said to have been copied from the\nFrench, this is not said of Letters I. and II. The English versions of I.\nand II. have been collated with the French, whether in copies or the\noriginals. Perhaps no French copies of these have been found, because no\ncopies were ever made: the absence of the copies in French is deplorable.\n\nThe next things were the depositions (not the dying confessions, which\nimplicated some of the Lords) of Tala, Bowton, Powrie, and Dalgleish, and\nother legal documents. It does not appear that Mary's warrant for the\nsigning of the Ainslie band, though exhibited at York, was again\nproduced.[311] On the 9th the Commissioners read the Casket Papers 'duly\ntranslated into English.' They had been translated throughout the night,\nprobably, and very ill translated they were, to judge by the extant\ncopies.[312] Several of the copies are endorsed _in Scots_. Lesley now put\nin a revised and amended copy of his Protest of December 6. Morton put in\na written copy of his Declaration as to the finding of the Casket, and\nswore to its truth.[313]\n\nMorton's tale is that, as he was dining with Lethington in Edinburgh, on\nJune 19, 1567, four days after Mary's surrender at Carberry, 'a certain\nman' secretly informed him that Hepburn, Parson of Auldhamstokes, John\nCockburn, brother of Mary's adherent, Cockburn of Skirling, and George\nDalgleish, a valet of Bothwell's (and witness, at his divorce, to his\nadultery), had entered the Castle, then held by Sir James Balfour, who\nprobably betrayed them. Morton sent Archibald Douglas (the blackest\ntraitor of the age) and two other retainers to seize the men. Robert\nDouglas, brother of Archibald, caught Dalgleish in the Potter Row, not far\nfrom the Kirk o' Field Gate, with charters of Bothwell's lands. Being\ncarried before Morton, Dalgleish denied that he had any other charge: he\nwas detained, and, on June 20, placed in the Tolbooth. Being put into some\ntorture engine, he asked leave to go with Robert Douglas to the Potter\nRow, where he revealed the Casket. It was carried to Morton at 8 o'clock\nat night, and, next day, June 21, was broken open, 'in presence of Atholl,\nMar, Glencairn, Morton, Home, Semple, Sanquhar, the Master of Graham,\nLethington, Tullibardine, and Archibald Douglas.' The Letters were\ninspected (_sichtit_) and delivered over to Morton, who had in no respect\naltered, added to, or subtracted from them.\n\nTrue or false, and it is probably true, the list of persons present adds\nnothing to the credibility of Morton's account. The Commissioners of Mary\nhad withdrawn; there could not be, and there was not, any\ncross-examination of the men named in Morton's list, as witnesses of the\nopening of the Casket. Lethington alone, of these, was now present, if\nindeed he appeared at this sitting, and _his_ emotions may be imagined!\nThe rest might learn, later, that they had been named, from Lethington,\nafter he joined Mary's cause, but it is highly improbable that Lethington\nwanted to stir this matter again, or gave any information to Home (who was\nwith him in the long siege of the Castle). Sanquhar and Tullibardine,\ncited by Morton, signed the band for delivering Mary from Loch Leven; so\nmuch effect had the 'sichting' of the Casket Letters on _them_. The story\nof Morton is probably true, so far: certainly the Lords, about June 21,\ngot the Casket, whatever its contents then were. But that the contents\nremained unadded to and unimpaired, and unaltered, is only attested by\nMorton's oath, and by the necessary silence of Lethington, who, of all\nthose at Westminster, alone was present at the 'sichting,' on June 21,\n1567. But Lethington dared not speak, even if he dared to be present. If\nany minute was made of the meeting of June 21, if any inventory of the\ndocuments in the Casket was then compiled, Morton produced neither of\nthese indispensable corroborations at Westminster. His peril was perhaps\nas great as Lethington's, but he was of a different temperament.\n\nThe case of the Prosecution is full of examples of such unscientific\nhandling by the cautious Scots, as the omission of minutes of June 21.\n\nNext, on December 9, a written statement by Darnley's servant, Nelson, who\nsurvived the explosion, was sworn to by the man himself. His evidence\nchiefly bore on the possession of the Keys of Kirk o' Field by Mary's\nservants, and her economy in using a door for a cover of the 'bath-vat,'\nand in removing a black velvet bed. We have dealt with it already (p.\n133).\n\nNext was put in Crawford's deposition as to his conversations with Darnley\nat Glasgow. This was intended to corroborate Letter II., but, as shall\nlater be shown, it produces the opposite effect.[314] At an unknown date,\nCecil received the Itinerary of Mary during the period under examination,\nwhich is called 'Cecil's Journal,' and is so drawn up as to destroy\nMoray's case, if we accept its chronology. We know not on what authority\nit was compiled, but Lennox, on June 11, had asked his retainers to\nascertain some of the dates contained in this 'Journal.'\n\nOn December 14[315] Elizabeth added Northumberland and Westmorland to her\nCommissioners. They not long after rose in arms for Mary's cause.\nShrewsbury, Huntingdon, Worcester, and Warwick also met, at Hampton Court.\nThey were to be made to understand the case, and were told to keep it\nsecret. Among the other documents, on December 14, the _originals_ of the\nCasket Letters 'being redd, were duly conferred and compared for the\nmanner of writing and fashion of orthography, with sundry other letters,\nlong time heretofore written and sent by the said Quene of Scots to the\nQuene's majesty. And next after, there was produced and redd a declaration\nof the Erle of Morton of the manner of the finding of the said lettres, as\nthe same was exhibited upon his othe, the ix of December. In collation\nwhereof' (of _what_?) 'no difference was found. Of all which letters and\nwritings, the true copies are contained in the memorialls of the actes of\nthe sessions of the 7 and 8 of December.' Apparently the 'collation' is\nintended to refer to the comparison of the Casket Letters with those of\nMary to Elizabeth. Mr. Froude runs the collation into the sentence\npreceding that about Morton, in one quotation.\n\nThe confessions of Tala, Bowton, and Dalgleish were also read, and, 'as\nnight approached' (about 3.30 P.M.), the proceedings ended.[316]\n\nThe whole voluminous proceedings at York and Westminster were read\nthrough: the 'Book of Articles' seems to have been read, _after_ the\nCasket Letters were read, but this was not the case. On a brief December\nday, the Council had work enough, and yet Mr. Froude writes that the\nCasket Letters 'were examined long and minutely by each and every of the\nLords who were present.'[317] We hear of no other examination of the\nhandwriting than this: which, as every one can see, from the amount of\nother work, and the brevity of daylight, must have been very rapid and\nperfunctory.\n\nThere happens to be a recent case in which the reputation of a celebrated\nlady depended on a question of handwriting. Madame Blavatsky was accused\nof having forged the letters, from a mysterious being named Koot Hoomi,\nwhich were wont to drift out of metetherial space into the common\natmosphere of drawing-rooms. A number of Koot Hoomi's _later_ epistles,\nwith others by Madame Blavatsky, were submitted to Mr. Netherclift, the\nexpert, and to Mr. Sims of the British Museum. Neither expert thought that\nMadame Blavatsky had written the letters attributed to Koot Hoomi. But Dr.\nRichard Hodgson and Mrs. Sidgwick procured earlier letters by Koot Hoomi\nand Madame Blavatsky. They found that, in 1878, and 1879, the letter _d_,\nas written in English, occurred 210 times as against the German _d_, 805\ntimes. But in Madame Blavatsky's earlier hand the English _d_ occurred but\n15 times, to 2,200 of the German _d_. The lady had, in this and other\nrespects, altered her writing, which therefore varied more and more from\nthe hand of Koot Hoomi. Mr. Netherclift and Mr. Sims yielded to this and\nother proofs: and a cold world is fairly well convinced that Koot Hoomi\ndid not write his letters. They were written by Madame Blavatsky.[318]\n\nThe process of counting thousands of isolated characters, and comparing\nthem, was decidedly not undertaken in the hurried assembly on that short\nwinter day at Hampton Court, when the letters 'were long and minutely\nexamined by each and every of the Lords who were present,' as Mr. Froude\nsays. On the following day (December 15) the 'Book of Articles' was read\naloud; though the minute of December 14 would lead us to infer that it was\nread on that day. The minute states that 'there was produced a writing in\nmanner of Articles ... but, before these were read,' the Casket Letters\nwere studied. One would imagine that the 'Book of Articles' was read on\nthe same day, after the Casket Letters had been perused. The deposition of\nPowrie, the Casket contracts, and other papers followed, and then another\ndeposition of Crawford, which had been put in on December 13.\n\nThis deposition is in the Lennox MSS. in the long paper containing the\ndescription of the mysterious impossible Letter, which Moray also\ndescribed, to de Silva. Crawford now swore that Bowton and Tala, 'at the\nhour of their death,' confessed, to him, that Mary would never let\nBothwell rest till he slew Darnley. Oddly enough, even Buchanan, or\nwhoever gives the dying confessions of these men, in the 'Detection,' says\nnothing about their special confession to Crawford.[319] The object of\nCrawford's account appears clearly from what the contemporaries, for\ninstance the 'Diurnal,' tell us about the public belief that the\nconfession 'fell out in Mary's favour.'\n\n  Hepburne, Daglace, Peuory, to John Hey, mad up the nesse,\n  Which fowre when they weare put to death the treason did confesse;\n  And sayd that Murray, Moreton to, with others of ther rowte\n  Were guyltie of the murder vyl though nowe they loke full stowte.\n  Yet some perchaunce doo thinke that I speake for affection heare,\n  Though I would so, thre thousan can hearin trew witness beare\n  Who present weare as well as I at thexecution tyme\n  & hard how these in conscience pricte confessed who did the cryme.[320]\n\nA number of Acts and other public papers were then read; 'the whole lying\naltogether on the council table, were one after another showed, rather \"by\nhap\" as they lay on the table than by any choice of their natures, as it\nmight had there been time.' Mr. Henderson argues, as against Hosack,\nSchiern, and Skelton, that this phrase applies only to the proceedings of\nDecember 15, not to the examination of the Casket Letters. This seems more\nprobable, though it might be argued, from the prolepsis about reading the\n'Book of Articles' on the 14th, that the minutes of both days were written\ntogether, on the second day, and that the hugger-mugger described applies\nto the work of both days. This is unimportant; every one must see that the\nexamination of handwriting was too hasty to be critical.\n\nThe assembled nobles were then told that Elizabeth did not think she\n_could_ let Mary 'come into her presence,' while unpurged of all these\nhorrible crimes. The Earls all agreed that her Majesty's delicacy of\nfeeling, 'as the case now did stand,' was worthy of her, and so ended the\nfarce.[321]\n\nMr. Froude, on the authority (apparently) of a Simancas MS., tells us that\n'at first only four--Cecil, Sadleyr, Leicester, and Bacon--declared\nthemselves convinced.'[322] Lingard quotes a Simancas MS. saying that the\nnobles 'showed some heart, and checked a little the terrible fury with\nwhich Cecil sought to ruin' Mary.[323] Camden (writing under James VI.)\nsays that Sussex, Arundel, Clinton, and Norfolk thought that Mary had a\nright to be heard in person. But Elizabeth held this advantage: Mary would\nnot acknowledge her as a judge: she must therefore admit Mary to her\npresence, if she admitted her at all, _not_ as a culprit. Elizabeth (who\nprobably forgot Amy Robsart's affair) deemed herself too good and pure to\nsee, not as a prisoner at the Bar, a lady of dubious character. Thus all\nwas well. Mary was firmly discredited (though after all most of the nobles\npresently approved of her marriage to Norfolk), yet she could not plead\nher cause in person.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\n_MARY'S ATTITUDE AFTER THE CONFERENCE_\n\n\nThe haggling was not ended. On December 16, 1568, Elizabeth offered three\nchoices to Lesley: Mary might send a trusty person with orders to make a\ndirect answer; or answer herself to nobles sent by Elizabeth; or appoint\nher Commissioners, or any others, to answer before Elizabeth's\nCommissioners.[324] Lesley fell back on Elizabeth's promises: and an\nanecdote about Trajan. On December 23 or 24, Mary's Commissioners received\na letter by her written at Bolton on December 19.[325] Mr. Hosack says\nthat 'she commanded them forthwith to charge the Earl of Moray and his\naccomplices' with Darnley's murder.[326] But that was just what Mary did\nnot do as far as her letter goes, though on December 24, Herries declared\nthat she did.[327] Friends and foes of Mary alike pervert the facts. Mary\nfirst said that she had received the 'Eik' in which her accusers lied,\nattributing to her the crimes of which they are guilty. She glanced\nscornfully at the charge that _she_ meant to murder her child, whom _they_\nhad striven to destroy in her womb, at Riccio's murder: 'intending to have\nslane him and us both.' She then, before she answers, asks to see the\ncopies and originals of the Casket Letters, 'the principal writings, if\nthey have any produced,' which she as yet knew not. And then, if she may\nsee Elizabeth, she will prove her own innocence and her adversaries'\nguilt.\n\nThus she does not by any means bid her friends _forthwith_ to accuse her\nfoes. That would have been absurd, till she had seen the documents brought\nagainst her as proofs. But, to shorten a long story, neither at the\nrepeated request of her Commissioners, nor of La Mothe, who demanded this\nact of common justice, would Elizabeth permit Mary to see either the\noriginals, or even copies, of the Casket Letters. She promised, and broke\nher promise.[328]\n\nThis incident left Mary with the advantage. How can an accused person\nanswer, if not allowed to see the documents in the case? We may argue that\nElizabeth refused, because politics drifted into new directions, and\ninspired new designs. But Mary's defenders can always maintain that she\nnever was allowed to see the evidence on which she was accused. From\nMary's letter of December 19, or rather from Lesley's precis of it\n('Extract of the principall heidis') it is plain that she does not bid her\nCommissioners accuse anybody, _at the moment_. But, on December 22,\nLindsay challenged Herries to battle for having said that Moray, and 'his\ncompany here present,' were guilty of Darnley's death. Herries admitted\nhaving said that _some_ of them were guilty. Lindsay lies in his throat if\nhe avers that Herries spoke of him specially: and, on that quarrel,\nHerries will fight. And he will fight any of the principals of them if\nthey sign Lindsay's challenge, 'and I shall point them forth and fight\nwith some of the traitors therein.' He communicated the challenge and\nreply to Leicester.[329] Herries probably hoped to fight Morton and\nLethington.\n\nOn the 24th, Moray having complained that he and his company were\nslandered by Mary's Commissioners, Lesley and Herries answered 'that they\nhad special command sent to them from the Queen their Mistress, to lay the\nsaid crime to their charge,' and would accuse them. They were appointed to\ndo this on Christmas Day, but only put in an argumentative answer to\nMoray's 'Eik.' But on January 11, when Elizabeth had absolved both Moray\nand Mary (a ludicrous conclusion) and was allowing Moray and his company\nto go home, Cecil said that Moray wished to know whether Herries and\nLesley would openly accuse him and his friends, or not. They declared that\nMary had bidden them make the charge, and that they had done so, _on the\ncondition_ that Mary first received copies of the Casket documents. As\nsoon as Mary received these, they would name, accuse, and prove the case,\nagainst the guilty. They themselves, as private persons, had only hearsay\nevidence, and would accuse no man. Moray and his party offered to go to\nBolton, and be accused. But Mary (as her Commissioners at last understood)\nwould not play her card, her evidence in black and white, till she saw the\nhand of her adversaries, as was fair, and she was never allowed to see the\nCasket documents.[330] Mary's Commissioners appear to have blundered as\nusual. They gave an impression, first that they would accuse\nunconditionally, next that they sneaked out of the challenge.[331] But, in\nfact, Mary had definitely made the delivery to her of the Casket Letters,\noriginals or even copies, and her own presence to plead her own cause, the\nnecessary preliminary conditions of producing her own charges and proofs.\n\nMary's attitude as regards the Casket Papers is now, I think,\nintelligible. There was a moment, as we have seen, during the intrigues at\nYork, when she consented to resign her crown, and let the matter be hushed\nup. From that position she receded, at Norfolk's desire. The Letters were\nproduced by her adversaries, at Westminster and at Hampton Court. She then\noccupied at once her last line of defence, as she had originally planned\nit. If allowed to see the documents put in against her, and to confront\nher accusers, she would produce evidence in black and white, which would\nso damage her opponents that her denial of the Letters would be accepted\nby the foreign ambassadors and the peers of England. 'Her proofs will\njudicially fall out best as is thought,' Sussex wrote, and he may have\nknown what 'her proofs' were.\n\nIf we accept this as Mary's line, we can account, as has already been\nhinted, for the extraordinary wrigglings of Lethington. At York, as\nalways, he was foremost to show, or talk of the Casket Papers, _in\nprivate_, as a means of extorting a compromise, and hushing up the affair:\n_publicly_, he was most averse to their production. Whether he had a hand\nin falsifying the papers we may guess; but he knew that their public\nexhibition would make Mary desperate, and drive her to exhibit _her_\n'proofs.' These would be fatal to himself.\n\nWe have said that Mary never forgave Lethington: who had been the best\nliked of her advisers, and, in his own interests, had ever pretended to\nwish to proceed against her 'in dulse manner.' Why did she so detest the\nman who, at least, died in her service?\n\nThe proofs of her detestation are found all through the MS. of her\nsecretary, Claude Nau, written after Lethington's death. They cannot be\nexplained away, as Sir John Skelton tries to do, by a theory that the\nunderlings about Mary were jealous of Lethington. Nau had not known him,\nand his narrative came direct from Mary herself. It is, of course,\nworthless as evidence in her favour, but it is highly valuable as an index\nof Mary's own mind, and of her line of apology _pro vita sua_.\n\nNau, then, declares (we have told all this, but may recapitulate it) that\nthe Lords, in the spring of 1567, sent Lethington, and two others, to ask\nher to marry Bothwell. Twice she refused them, objecting the rumours about\nBothwell's guilt. Twice she refused, but Lethington pointed out that\nBothwell had been legally cleared, and, after the Parliament of April,\n1567, they signed Ainslie's band. Yet no list of the signers contains the\nname of Lethington, though, according to Nau, he urged the marriage. After\nthe marriage, it was Lethington who induced the Lords to rise against\nBothwell, with whom he was (as we elsewhere learn) on the worst terms.\nLethington it was who brought his friend and kinsman, Atholl, into the\nrising. At Carberry Hill, Mary wished to parley with Lethington and\nAtholl, who both excused themselves, as not being in full agreement with\nthe Lords. She therefore yielded to Kirkcaldy; and Bothwell, ere she rode\naway, gave her the murder band (this can hardly be true), signed by\nMorton, Lethington, Balfour, and others, bidding her keep it carefully.\nEntrapped by the Lords, Mary, by Lethington's advice, was imprisoned in\nthe house of the Provost of Edinburgh. Lethington was 'extremely opposed'\nto her, in her dreadful distress; he advised imprisonment in Loch Leven;\nhe even, Randolph says, counselled the Lords to slay her, some said to\nstrangle her, while persuading Throckmorton that he was her best friend.\nLethington tried to win her favour in her prison, but, having 'no\nassurance from her,' fled on a false report of her escape. Lethington\nfought against her at Langside, and Mary knew very well why, though he\nprivately displayed the Casket Letters, he secretly intrigued for her at\nYork. Even his final accession (1569) to her party, and his death in her\ncause, did not win her forgiveness.\n\nShe dated from Carberry Hill her certain knowledge of his guilt in the\nmurder, which she always held in reserve for a favourable opportunity.\nBut, as she neither was allowed to see the Casket Letters, nor to appear\nin person before the Peers, that opportunity never came.\n\nTo conclude this part of the inquiry: Mary's attitude, as regards the\nLetters, was less that of conscious innocence, than of a player who has\nstrong cards in her hand and awaits the chance of bringing out her\ntrumps.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\n_INTERNAL EVIDENCE OF THE LETTERS_\n\n\nLETTER I\n\nThis Letter, usually printed as Letter I., was the first of the Casket\nLetters which Mary's accusers laid before the Commission of Inquiry at\nWestminster (December 7, 1568).[332] It does not follow that the accusers\nregarded this Letter as first in order of composition. There exists a\ncontemporary copy of an English translation, hurriedly made from the\nFrench; the handwriting is that of Cecil's clerk. The endorsing is, as\nusual, by a Scot, and runs, 'Ane short Lettre from Glasco to the Erle\nBothwell. Prufes her disdaign against her husband.' Possibly this Letter,\nthen, was put in _first_, to prove Mary's hatred of Darnley, and so to\nlead up to Letter II., which distinctly means murder. If the accusers,\nhowever, regarded this piece (Letter I.) as first in order of composition,\nthey did not understand the meaning and drift of the papers which they had\nseized.[333]\n\nLetter I., so called, must be, in order of composition, a sequel to Letter\nII. The sequence of events would run as follows: if we reject the\nchronology as given in 'Cecil's Journal,' a chronological summary handed\nto Cecil, we know not by whom, and supply the prosecution with a feasible\nscheme of time. 'Cecil's Journal' makes Mary leave Edinburgh on January\n21, stay at Lord Livingstone's house of Callendar (not Callander in\nPerthshire) till January 23, and then enter Glasgow. If this is right,\nLetters I. and II. are forgeries, for II. could not, by internal evidence,\nhave been finished before Mary's second night, at least, in Glasgow,\nwhich, if she arrived on January 23, would be January 24. Consequently it\ncould not (as in the statement of Paris, the alleged bearer) reach\nBothwell the day before his departure for Liddesdale, which 'Cecil's\nJournal' dates on January 24. Moreover, on the scheme of dates presented\nin 'Cecil's Journal,' Mary must have written and dispatched Letter I. on\nthe morning of January 25 to Bothwell, whom it could not reach (for he was\nthen making a raid on the Elliots, in Liddesdale), and Mary must, at the\nsame time, have been labouring at the long Letter II. All this, with other\nnecessary inferences from the scheme of dates, is frankly absurd.[334]\n\nThe defenders of Mary, like Mr. Hosack, meet the Lords on the field of\nwhat they regard as the Lords' own scheme of dates, and easily rout them.\nIn a court of law this is fair procedure; in history we must assume that\nthe Lords, if the Journal represents their ideas, may have erred in their\ndates. Now two contemporary townsmen of Edinburgh, Birrel, and the author\nof the 'Diurnal of Occurrents,' coincide in making Mary leave Edinburgh on\nJanuary 20. Their notes were separately written, without any possible idea\nthat they might be appealed to by posterity as evidence in a State\ncriminal case. The value of their testimony is discussed in Appendix C,\n'The date of Mary's Visit to Glasgow.'\n\nProvisionally accepting the date of the two diarists, we find that the\nQueen left Edinburgh on January 20, slept at Callendar, and possibly\nentered Glasgow on January 21. Drury from Berwick said that she entered on\nJanuary 22, which, again, makes the letter impossible. Let us, however,\nsuppose her to begin her long epistle, Letter II., at Glasgow on the night\nof January 21, finish it in the midnight hours of January 22, and send it\nto Bothwell by Paris (his valet, who had just entered _her_ service) on\nJanuary 23. Paris, in his declaration of August 10, 1569, avers that he\nmet Bothwell, gave him the letter, stayed in Edinburgh till next day,\nagain met Bothwell returning from Kirk o' Field, then received from him\nfor Mary a letter, a diamond (ring?), and a loving message; he received\nalso a letter from Lethington, and from both a verbal report that Kirk o'\nField was to be Darnley's home. Paris then returned to Glasgow. If Paris,\nleaving Edinburgh 'after dinner,' say three o'clock, on the 24th, did not\nreach Glasgow till the following noon, then the whole scheme of time\nstands out clearly. He left Glasgow on January 23, with the long Letter\n(II.) which Mary wrote on January 21 and 22. He gave it to Bothwell on the\n23rd, received replies 'after dinner' on the 24th, slept at Callendar or\nelsewhere on the way, and reached Glasgow about noon on January 25. If,\nhowever, Paris reached Glasgow on the day he left Edinburgh (January 24),\nthe scheme breaks down.\n\nIf he did not arrive till noon on the 25th, all is clear, and Letter I.\nfalls into its proper place as really Letter II., and is easily\nintelligible. Its contents run thus: Mary, who left Bothwell on January\n21, upbraids him for neglect of herself. She expected news, and an answer\nto her earlier Letter (II.) dispatched on the 23rd, and has received none.\nThe news she looked for was to tell her what she ought to do. If no news\ncomes, she will, 'according to her commission,' take Darnley to\nCraigmillar on Monday: she actually did take him on Monday, as far as\nCallendar. But she is clearly uncertain, when she writes on January 25, as\nto whether Craigmillar has been finally decided upon. A possible\nalternative was present to her mind. After describing the amorous Darnley,\nand her own old complaint, a pain in the side, she says, 'If Paris doth\nbring back unto me that for which I have sent, it should much amend me.'\nNews of Bothwell, brought by Paris, will help to cure her. She had\nexpected news on the day before, January 24.\n\nNothing could be more natural. Mary and Bothwell had parted on January 21.\nShe should have heard from him, if he were a punctual and considerate\nlover, on the 23rd; at latest Paris should have brought back on the 24th\nhis reply to her long letter, numbered II. but really I. But the morning\nof 'this Saturday' (the 25th) has dawned, and brought no news, no answer,\nno Paris. (That is, if Paris either slept in Edinburgh on the night of the\n24th, or somewhere on the long dark moorland road.) Impatient of three\ndays' retarded news, ignorant as to whether Craigmillar is fixed on for\nDarnley, or not, without a reply to the letter carried to Bothwell by\nParis (Letter II.), Mary writes Letter I. on January 25. It is borne by\nher chamberlain, Beaton, who is going on legal business to Edinburgh.\nNothing can be simpler or more easily intelligible.\n\nThere remains a point of which much has been made. In the English, but not\nin the Scots translation, Mary says, '_I send this present to Lethington_,\nto be delivered to you by Beaton.' The Scots is 'I send this be Betoun,\nquha gais' to his legal business. Nothing about Lethington. On first\nobserving this, I inferred--(_a_) that Lethington had the reference to\nhimself cut out of the Scots version, as connecting him with the affair.\n(_b_) I inferred that Lethington could have had no hand in forging the\noriginal French (if forging there was), because he never would have\nallowed his name to appear in such a connection. Later I observed that\nseveral Continental critics had made similar inferences.[335] But all this\nis merely one of the many mare's-nests of criticism. For proof of the\nfutility of such deductions see Appendix E, 'The Translation of the Casket\nLetters.'\n\nOn the whole, I am constrained to regard Letter I. as possibly authentic\nin itself, and as affording a strong presumption that there was an\nauthentic Letter II. Letter I. was written, and sent on a chance\nopportunity, just because no answer had been received to the Letter\nwrongly numbered II. This was a circumstance not likely to be invented.\n\n\nLETTER II\n\nRound this long Letter, of more than 3,000 words, the Marian controversy\nhas raged most fiercely. Believing that they had demonstrated its lack of\nauthenticity, the Queen's defenders have argued that the charges against\nher must be false. A criminal charge, supported by evidence deliberately\ncontaminated, falls to the ground. But we cannot really argue thus: the\nQueen may have been guilty, even if her foes perjured themselves on\ncertain points, in their desire to fortify their case. Yet the objections\nto Letter II. are certainly many and plausible.\n\n1. While the chronology of 'Cecil's Journal' was accepted, the Letter\ncould not be regarded as genuine. We have shown, however, that by\nrectifying the dates of the accusers, the external chronology of the\nLetter can be made to harmonise with real time.\n\n2. The existence of another long letter, never produced (the letter cited\nby Moray and Lennox) was another source of suspicion. While we had only\nMoray's account of the letter in July 1567, and while Lennox's version of\nabout the same date in 1568 was still unknown, Mr. Hosack argued thus:\n'What is the obvious and necessary inference? Is it not that the forgers,\nin the first instance, drew up a letter couched in far stronger terms than\nthat which they eventually produced?' 'Whenever,' says Robertson, 'a paper\nis forged with a particular intention, the eagerness of the forger to\nestablish the point in view, his solicitude to cut off all doubts and\ncavils, and to avoid any appearance of uncertainty, seldom fail of\nprompting him to use expressions the most explicit and full to his\npurpose.' 'In writing this passage, we could well imagine,' says Mr.\nHosack, 'that the historian had his eye on the Simancas' (Moray's)\n'description of the Glasgow Letter (II.), but he never saw it.... We must\nassume that, upon consideration, the letter described by Moray, which\nseems to have been the first draft of the forgery, was withdrawn, and\nanother substituted in its place.'[336] This reasoning, of course, is\nreinforced by the discovery of Lennox's account of the Letter. But Mr.\nHosack overlooked a possibility. The Lords may have, originally, after\nthey captured the Casket, forged the Letter spoken of by Moray and Lennox.\nBut they may actually have discovered Letter II., and, on reflection, may\nhave produced _that_, or a garbled form of that, and suppressed the\nforgery. To Letter II. they _may_ have added 'substantious clauses,' but\nif any of it is genuine, it is compromising.\n\n3. One of the internal difficulties is more apparent than real. It turns\non the internal chronology, which seems quite impossible and absurd, and\nmust, it is urged, be the result of treacherous dovetailing. The\ncircumstance that Crawford, a retainer of Lennox, was put forward at the\nWestminster Commission, in December, 1568, to corroborate part of the\nLetter makes a real difficulty. He declared that Darnley had reported to\nhim the conversations between himself and the Queen, described by Mary, in\nLetter II., and that he wrote down Darnley's words 'immediately, at the\ntime,' for the use of Lennox. But Crawford proved too much. His report\nwas, partly, an English translation of the Scots translation of the French\nof the Letter. Therefore he either took his corroborative evidence from\nthe Letter, or the Letter was in part based on Crawford's report, and\ntherefore was forged. Bresslau, Cardauns, Philippson, Mr. Hosack, and Sir\nJohn Skelton adopted the latter alternative. The Letter, they say, was\nforged, in part, on Crawford's report.\n\n4. The contents of the Letter are alien to Mary's character and style:\nincoherent, chaotic, out of keeping.\n\nWe take these objections in the order indicated. First, as to the internal\ndates of the Letter. These are certainly impossible. Is this the result of\nclumsy dovetailing by a forger?\n\nThere is no date of day of the month or week, but the Letter was clearly\nbegun on the night of Mary's arrival in Glasgow (by our theory, January\n21). Unless it was finished in the night of January 22, and sent off on\nJanuary 23, it cannot be genuine: cannot have reached Bothwell in time. We\nare to suppose that, on sitting down to write, Mary made, first, a list of\ntwelve heads of her discourse, on a separate sheet of paper, and then\nbegan her epistle on another sheet. Through paragraphs 1, 2, 3,[337] she\nfollowed the sequence of her notes of heads, and began paragraph 4, 'The\nKing sent for Joachim' (one of her servants) 'yesternicht, and asked why I\nlodged not beside him.'[338]\n\nIf this means that Mary was in Glasgow on the day before she began\nwriting, the dates cannot be made to harmonise with facts. For her first\nnight of writing must then be January 22, her second January 23; Bothwell,\ntherefore, cannot receive the letter till January 24, on which day he went\nto Liddesdale, and Paris, the bearer, declared that he gave the letter to\nBothwell the day _before_ he rode to Liddesdale.\n\nThe answer is obvious. Joachim probably reached Glasgow on the day before\nMary's arrival, namely on January 20. It was usual to send the royal beds,\ncarpets, tapestries, and 'cloth of State' in front of the travelling\nprince, to make the rooms ready before he came. Joachim would arrive with\nthe upholstery a day in advance of Mary. Therefore, on her first night,\nJanuary 21, she can speak of what the King said to Joachim 'yesterday.'\n\nThe next indication of date is in paragraphs 7, 8. Paragraph 7 ends: 'The\nmorne I wil speik to him upon this point' (part of the affair of Hiegait);\nparagraph 8 is written on the following day: 'As to the rest of Willie\nHiegait's, he' (Darnley) 'confessit it, bot it was the morne efter my\ncumming or he did it.' The English is, 'The rest as [to?] Wille Hiegait\n[he?] hath confessed, but it was the next day that he' (Darnley) 'came\nhither,' that is, came so far on in his confession. Paragraph 8,\ntherefore, tells the results of that examination of Darnley, which Mary\npromised at the end of paragraph 7 to make 'to-morrow.' We are now in a\nnew day, January 22, at night.\n\nBut, while paragraphs 9, 10, 11 (about 500 words) intervene, paragraph 12\nopens thus, '_This is my first journey_' (day's work); '_I will end\nto-morrow_. I write all, of how little consequence so ever it be, to the\nend you may take of the whole that shall be best for your purpose. I do\nhere a work that I hate much, _but I had begun it this morning_.'[339]\n\nHere, then, after 500 words confessedly written on her _second_ night,\nMary says that this is her _first_ day's work. The natural theory is that\nhere we detect clumsy dovetailing by a forger, who has cut a genuine\nletter into pieces, and inserted false matter. But another explanation may\nbe suggested. Mary, on her first night, did not really stop at paragraph\n7: 'I will talk to him to-morrow on that point.' _These words happened to\ncome at the foot of her sheet of paper._ She took up another fresh page,\nand wrote on, 'This is my first journey ...' down to 'I had begun it this\nmorning.' Then she stopped and went to bed. Next night (January 22) she\ntook up the same sheet or page as she had written three sentences on, the\nevening before, but _she took it up on the clean side_, and did not\nobserve her words 'This is my first journey.... I had begun it this\nmorning' till she finished, and turned over the clean side. She then\nprobably ran her pen lightly across the now inappropriate words, written\non the previous night, 'This is my first journey,' as she erased lines in\nher draft for a sonnet in the Bodleian Library.[340] The words, as in the\ncase of the sonnet in the Bodleian, remained perfectly legible, and the\ntranslators--not intelligent men--included them in their versions.\n\nThe letter should run from paragraph 7, 'I will talk to him to-morrow upon\nthat point' to paragraph 12, 'This is my first journey.... I had begun it\nthis morning.' Then back to paragraph 8, 'As to the rest of Willie\nHiegait's,' and so straight on, merely omitting the words written on the\nprevious night, 'This is my first journey, ... but I had begun it this\nmorning.'\n\nMary's mistake in taking for virgin a piece of paper which really had\nwriting on the verso, must have occurred to most people: certainly it has\noften occurred to myself.\n\nThere is one objection to this theory. In paragraph 25, at the end of the\nletter, Mary apologises for having written part of a letter on a sheet\ncontaining the memoranda, or list of topics, which, as we saw, she began\nby writing. She says, in Scots, 'Excuse that thing that is scriblit' (MS.\nC,[341] '_barbulzeit_') 'for I had na paper _yesterday_ quhan I _wrait_\nthat of ye memoriall.' The English runs, 'Excuse also that I scribbled,\nfor I had yesternight no paper _when I took the paper of a memorial_.'\n\nNow the part of Mary's letter which is on the same paper as the\n'memorial,' or scribbled list of topics, must have been written, _not_\n'yesternight,' but 'to-night' (on the night of January 22), unless she is\nconsciously writing in the early morning, after 12 P.M., January 22; in\nthe 'wee sma' hours ayont the twal',' of January 23: which does not seem\nprobable.\n\nIf this however meets the objection indicated, the chronology of the\nletter is consistent; it is of the night of January 21, and the night of\nJanuary 22, including some time past midnight. The apparent breaks or\n'faults,' then, are not the result of clumsy dovetailing by a forger, but\nare the consequence of a mere ordinary accident in Mary's selection of\nsheets of paper.\n\nWe now come to the objections based on Crawford's Deposition. Of Letter\nII., as we have it, paragraph 2, in some degree, and paragraphs 6 (from\n'Ye ask me quhat I mene be the crueltie'), 7, 9, 10, and parts of 21 also\nexist, with, in many places, verbal correspondence in phrase, _in another\nshape_. The correspondence of phrase, above all in 6, is usually with the\n_Scots_ translation, sometimes, on the other hand, with the _English_.\nConsequently, as will be seen on comparison of the Scots Letter II. with\nthis other form of part of its contents, these two texts have a common\nsource and cannot be independent.[342] This new form is contained in a\nDeposition, made on oath by a gentleman, a retainer of Lennox, named\nThomas Crawford, the very man who met Mary outside Glasgow (Letter II. 2).\nHe had attended Darnley in Glasgow, and had received from Darnley, and\nwritten, a verbatim report of his discussions with Mary. Crawford was\ntherefore brought forward, by the accusers, on December 9, 1568, before\nthe Commission of Inquiry at Westminster. The object was to prove that no\none alive but Mary could have written Letter II., because she, and she\nonly, could know the nature of her private talk with her husband, as\nreported in Letter II., and, therefore, no one could have forged the\nLetter in which that talk was recorded. Providentially, however, Darnley\nhad informed Crawford about those private talks, and here was Crawford, to\ncorroborate Letter II.\n\nBut it escaped the notice of the accusers that all the world, or all whom\nCrawford chose to inform as to what Darnley told him about these\nconversations, might know the details of the talk even better than Mary\nherself. For the precise words would fade from Mary's memory, whereas\nCrawford, as he swore, had written them down at once, as reported to him\nby Darnley, probably as soon as Mary left his sick-room. The written copy\nby Crawford must have preserved the words with fidelity beyond that of\nhuman memory, and the written words were in the custody of Crawford, or of\nLennox, so long as they chose to keep the manuscript. This fact is proved\non Crawford's oath. On December 9, 1568, before the Commissioners, he\nswore that, when with Darnley, in Glasgow, in January, 1567, 'he was\nsecretly informed by the King of all things which had passed betwixt the\nsaid Queen and the King, ... to the intent that he should report the same\nto the Earl of Lennox, his Master, and that he did, _immediately at the\nsame time, write the same word by word_ as near as he could possibly carry\nthe same away.' He was certain that his report of Mary's words to himself,\n'the words now reported in his writing,' 'are the very same words, on his\nconscience, that were spoken,' while Darnley's reports of Mary's talk\n(also contained in Crawford's written deposition) are the same in effect,\n'though not percase in all parts the very words themselves.'[343]\n\nWe do not know whether what Crawford now handed in on December 9, 1568,\nwas an English version of his own written verbatim Scots report done in\nJanuary, 1567; or a copy of it; or whether he copied it from Letter II.,\nor whether he rewrote it from memory after nearly two years. The last\nalternative may be dismissed as impossible, owing to the verbal identity\nof Crawford's report with that in the Scots version of the French Letter\nattributed to Mary. Another thing is doubtful: whether Lennox, at\nChiswick, on June 11, 1568, did or did not possess the report which\nCrawford wrote for him in January, 1567. Lennox, on June 11, as we saw,\nwrote to Crawford asking 'what purpose Crawford held with her' (Mary) 'at\nher coming to the town' of Glasgow. He did not ask what conversation Mary\nthen held with Darnley. Either he had that principal part of Crawford's\nreport, in writing, in his possession, or he knew nothing about it (which,\nif Crawford told truth, is impossible), or he forgot it, which is next to\nimpossible. All he asked for on June 11 was Crawford's recollection about\nwhat passed between himself and Mary ere she entered Glasgow, concerning\nwhich Crawford nowhere says that he made any written memorandum. Lennox,\nthen, on June 11, 1568, wanted Crawford's recollections of his own\ninterview with the Queen, either to corroborate Letter II., if it then\nexisted; or for secret purposes of Wood's, who was with him.\n\nIt will be observed that Crawford's account of this interview of his with\nMary presents some verbal identities with Letter II. And this is notable,\nfor these identities occur where neither Crawford nor the Letter is\nreporting the speeches on either side. _These_ might easily be remembered,\nfor a while, by both parties. But both parties could not be expected to\ncoincide verbally in phrases descriptive of their meeting, and its\ndetails. Thus, Crawford, 'I _made my Lord, my Master's humble\ncommendations, with the excuse that he came not to meet her_.' In Letter\nII. we read '_He made his_' (Lennox's) '_commendations, and excuses unto\nme, that he came not to meet me_.'\n\nThe excuses, in Crawford, are first of Lennox's bad health (_not_ in the\nLetter); next, that he was anxious 'because of _the sharp words that she\nhad spoken of him to Robert Cunningham_, his servant,' &c.\n\nIn Letter II. this runs: 'considering _the sharp words that I had spoken\nto Cunningham_.' Crawford next introduces praises of Lennox which are not\nin the Letter, but, where a speech is reported, he uses the very words of\nthe Scots translation of Letter II., which vary from the words in the\nEnglish translation.\n\nIt follows that, even here, the Letter, in the Scots version, and\nCrawford's Deposition, have one source. Either Crawford took the Scots\ntranslation, and (while keeping certain passages) modified it: or the\nmaker of the Letter borrowed from Crawford's Deposition. In the former\ncase, the sworn corroboration is a perjury: in the latter, the Letter is a\nforgery.\n\nCrawford has passages which the Letter has not: they are his own\nreflections. Thus, after reporting Darnley's remark about the English\nsailors, with whom he denied that he meant to go away (Letter II. 19),\nCrawford has, what the Letter has not: 'And if he had' (gone away) 'it had\nnot been without cause, seeing how he was used. For he had neither to\nsustain himself nor his servants, and needed not make further rehearsal\nthereof, seeing she knew it as well as he.' Is this Crawford's addition or\nDarnley's speech? Then there is Crawford's statement that Mary never\nstayed more than two hours, at a time, with Darnley--long enough, in an\ninfected room of which the windows were never opened. It is here, after\nthe grumble about Mary's brief stay, that Crawford adds, 'She was very\npensive, whereat he found fault.'\n\nNow Darnley may have told Crawford (though Crawford does not give this as\npart of the conversation), 'I was vexed by the Queen's moodiness,' or the\nlike. But it is incredible that Mary herself should also say, in the\nLetter, just before she mentions going to supper after her first brief\ninterview (_Scots_) 'he fand greit fault that I was pensive' (Letter II.\n5[344]). To Mary's defenders this phrase appears to be borrowed by the\nforger of the Letter from Crawford's Deposition; not borrowed by Crawford,\nout of place and at random (with a skip from Letter II. 5 to Letter II.\n19), and then thrust in after his own reflections on the brevity of Mary's\nvisits to Darnley. For Crawford is saying that her visits were not only\nshort, but sulky. On the other hand, in the Letter the writer is made to\ncontrast Darnley's blitheness with her gloom.\n\nCrawford does not report, what the Letter makes Mary report, Darnley's\nunconcealed knowledge of her relations with Bothwell, at least in the\npassage, 'It is thocht, and he belevis it to be trew, that I have not the\npower of myself unto myself, and that because of the refuse I maid of his\nofferis.'\n\nCrawford ends with his own reply to Darnley, as to Mary's probable\nintentions: 'I answered I liked it not, because she took him to\nCraigmillar,' not to Holyrood. The 'Book of Articles,' we know, declares\nthat Mary 'from Glasgow, be hir _letteris_ and utherwise, held Bothwell\n_continewally_ in rememberance of _the said house_,' that is, Kirk o'\nField. But the Letters produced do nothing of the kind. Craigmillar, as we\nhave seen, is dwelt on. In the Deposition the idea of Darnley's being\ncarried away as a prisoner is introduced as an original opinion of\nCrawford's, expressed privately to Darnley, and necessarily unknown to\nMary when she wrote Letter II. But it occurs thus, in Letter II. 9, after\nmention of a litter which Mary had brought for his conveyance, and to\nwhich Darnley, who loved riding of all things, made objection. 'I trow he\nbelevit that I wald have send him away Presoner'--a passage _not_ in the\nEnglish translation. Darnley replied to Crawford's remark about his being\ntaken as 'a prisoner' that 'he thought little else himself.' It is\nreckoned odd that Mary in the Letter makes him 'think little else\nhimself.' 'I trow he belevit that I wald have send him away Presoner.'\n\nFor these reasons some German defenders of Mary have decided that the\nparts of Letter II. which correspond with Crawford's Deposition must have\nbeen borrowed from that Deposition by a forger of the Letter. About June,\n1568, Lennox, on this theory, would lend a copy of Crawford's report (made\nin January, 1567, at Glasgow) to Wood, and, on returning to Scotland, Wood\nmight have the matter of Crawford's report worked into Letter II.\n\nI had myself been partly convinced that this was the correct view. But the\nexistence of Mary's memoranda, and the way in which they influence Letter\nII., seem to me an almost insuperable proof that part, at least, of Letter\nII. is genuine. It may, however, be said that the memoranda were genuine,\nbut not compromising, and that the Letter was based, by forgers, on the\nmemoranda (accidentally left lying in her Glasgow room, by Mary) and on\nCrawford's report, obtained from Lennox. This is not impossible. But the\ncraft of the forger in making Mary, on her second night of writing, find\nher forgotten memoranda (II. 15), be reminded by them of her last\nneglected item ('Of Monsieur de Levingstoun'), and then go on (II. 16) to\ntell the anecdote of Livingstone, never publicly contradicted by him,\nseems superhuman. I scarcely feel able to believe in a forger so clever.\nYet I hesitate to infer that Crawford, when asked to corroborate the\nstatements in the Letter, took his report from the Letter itself, and\nperjured himself when he said, on oath, that his Deposition was derived\nfrom a writing taken down from Darnley's lips 'immediately at the time.'\n\nI should come to this conclusion with regret and with hesitation. It is\ndisagreeable to feel more or less in doubt as to Crawford's honour. We\nknow nothing against Crawford's honour, unless it be that he was cruel to\nthe Hamilton tenantry, and that he deposed to having received confessions\non the scaffold, from Bothwell's accomplices, implicating Mary.[345] These\ndo not occur in the dying confessions printed with Buchanan's 'Detection,'\nthough Bowton hinted something against Mary, when he was in prison; so\nthat trustworthy work informs us. Thus Crawford's second Deposition, as to\nthe dying confessions, is certainly rather suspicious. We know nothing\nelse against the man. He lived to be a trusted servant of James VI. (but\nso did the infamous Archibald Douglas); he denounced Lethington of guilt\nin the murder; he won fame by the capture of Dumbarton Castle. Yet some\nare led to suspect that, when asked to corroborate a passage in a letter,\nhe simply took the corroboration, _textually_, from the letter itself. If\nnot the Letter is a forgery.\n\nMr. Henderson (who does not admit the verbal correspondence of Letter and\nDeposition) clearly sees no harm in this course. 'It is by no means\nimprobable that Crawford refreshed his recollection by the aid of the\nLetter, which, in any case, he may have seen before he prepared his\nstatement.' But he swore that he wrote a statement, from Darnley's lips,\n'immediately at the time.'[346] He said nothing about losing the paper,\nwhich he wrote in January, 1567. (Mr. Henderson says it 'had apparently\nbeen destroyed'--why 'apparently'?) But, according to Mr. Henderson, 'he\nmay have seen the letter before he prepared his statement. Probably he\nwould have been ready to have admitted this.' He would have had an evil\nencounter with any judge to whom he admitted that, being called to\ncorroborate part of a letter, written in French, he copied his\ncorroborating statement, verbally on the whole, from a Scots translation\nof the letter itself! I do not think that Crawford would have been 'ready\nto admit' this unconscionable villainy. Yet we must either believe that he\nwas guilty of it, or that the Letter was forged.\n\nThere is one indication which, for what it is worth, corroborates the\ntruth of Crawford's oath. He swore that he had written down Darnley's\nreport of conversations with Mary 'immediately at the time,' in order that\nhe, in turn, might report them to Lennox, 'because the said Earl durst not\nthen, for displeasure of the Queen, come abroad,' and speak to Darnley\nhimself. But Crawford never swore, or said, that he wrote down his own\nconversation with Mary. Now, on June 11, 1568, Lennox does not ask for\nwhat Crawford swore that he _wrote_, much the most important part of his\nevidence, the account of Darnley's talks with Mary. Lennox does not ask\nfor _that_, for what Crawford swore that he wrote 'immediately at the\ntime.' He merely asks 'what purpois' (talk) 'Thomas Crawford held with the\nQueen at her coming to the town.' This may be understood to mean that\nLennox already held, and so did not need, Crawford's written account,\ndictated by Darnley to him, of the conversations between Mary and Darnley.\nFor that document, if he had it not, Lennox would most certainly ask, but\nask he did not. Therefore, it may be argued, Lennox had it all the while\nin his portfolio, and therefore, again, parts of Letter II. are borrowed\nfrom Crawford's written paper of January, 1567.[347]\n\nIn that case, we clear Crawford's character for probity, but we destroy\nthe authenticity of Letter II.[348] I confess that this last argument,\nwith the fact that we have no evidence against the character of Crawford,\na soldier of extraordinary daring and resource, and a country gentleman,\nnot a politician, rather disturbs the balance of probabilities in favour\nof the theory that he borrowed his Deposition textually from the Letter,\nand increases the probability that the Letter is a forgery based on the\nDeposition.[349]\n\n5. The contents of the Letter are said to be incoherent and inconsistent\nwith Mary's style and character. The last objection is worthless. In the\nLetter she says that she acts 'against her natural'--_contre son\nnaturel_--out of character. As for incoherence, the items of her memoranda\nare closely followed in sequence, up to paragraph 8, and the interloping\npart in paragraph 12. The rest, the work of the second night, _is_\nincoherent, as Mary's moods, if she was guilty, must have been.\nInformation, hatred, remorse, jealousy, and passion are the broken and\nblended strata of a mind rent by volcanic affections. The results in the\nLetter are necessarily unlike the style and sentiment of Mary's authentic\nletters, except in certain very remarkable features.\n\nEither Mary wrote the Letter or a forger wished to give the impression\nthat this occurred. He wanted the world to believe that the Queen, her\nconscience tortured and her passion overmastering her conscience, could\nnot cease to converse with her lover while paper served her turn. Her\nmoods alternate: now she is resolved and cruel, now sick with horror, but\nstill, sleepless as she is, she must be writing. Assuredly if this Letter\nbe, in part at least, a forgery, it is a forgery by a master in the\nscience of human nature. We seem to be admitted within the room where\nalone a light burns through the darkling hours, and to see the tormented\nQueen who fears her pillow. She writes, 'I would have almaist had pitie of\nhim.... He salutes everybody, yea unto the least, and makes pitious\ncaressing unto them, to make them have pitie on hym,' a touching picture.\nThere is a pendant to this picture of Darnley, in Buchanan's 'History.' He\nis speaking of Mary's studied neglect of Darnley at the time of his son's\nchristening (December, 1566). Darnley, he says, endured all 'not only with\npatience; he was seen trying to propitiate her unjust anger in every way,\n_that humbly, and almost in servile fashion_, he might keep some share in\nher good graces.'[350] What an etching is this of the man, a little while\nsince so haughty and tyrannous, 'dealing blows where he knew that they\nwould be taken'! Again the passage (Letter II. 11) about Mary's heart\nwherein only Bothwell's 'shot' can make a breach, does certainly seem (as\nLaing notes) to refer to a sonnet of Mary's favourite poet, Ronsard.\n\n  Depuis le jour que la premiere fleche\n  De ton bel oeil m'avanca la douleur,\n  Et que sa blanche et sa noire couleur,\n  Forcant ma force, _au coeur me firent breche_.\n\nAs in later letters, the writer now shows jealousy of Bothwell's wife.\n\nThe writer again and again recurs to her remorse. 'Remember how, gyf it\nwere not to obey you, I had rather be deid or I dyd it, my heart bleides\nat it.... Alas, I nevir deceivit anybody; but I remit me altogidder to\nyour will.' The voice of conscience 'deepens with the deepening of the\nnight,' a very natural circumstance showing the almost inhuman art of the\nsupposed forger. What ensues is even more remarkable. Throughout, Mary\nprofesses absolute submission to Bothwell; she is here, as Sir John\nSkelton remarks, 'the bond slave and humble minister of Bothwell's\nambition.' He argues that she was really 'the last woman in the world who\nwould have prostrated herself in abject submission at the feet of a\nlover.'[351] But, in a later letter to Norfolk, when she regarded herself\nas affianced to him, Mary says 'as you please command me, for I will, for\nall the world, follow your commands....' She promises, in so many words,\n'humble submission'--though, conceivably, she may here mean submission to\nElizabeth.[352] Again, 'I will be true and obedient to you, as I have\npromised.'[353] There are other similar passages in the letters to\nNorfolk, indicating Mary's idea of submission to a future husband, an\nattitude which, according to Randolph, she originally held towards\nDarnley. These letters to Norfolk, of course, were not dictated by\npassion. Therefore, under stress of passion or of a passionate caprice,\nMary might naturally assume a humility otherwise foreign to her nature. It\nwould be a joy to her to lay herself at her lover's feet: the argument _a\npriori_, from character, is no disproof of the authenticity of this part\nof the Letter.\n\nOn the whole, these reasons are the strongest for thinking the Letter, in\nparts, probably genuine. The Lords _may_, conceivably, have added 'some\nprincipal and substantious clauses,' such as the advice to Bothwell 'to\nfind out some more secret invention by medicine' (paragraph 20), and they\n_may_ have added the words 'of the ludgeing in Edinburgh' (Kirk o' Field)\nto the dubious list of directions which we find at the end of the Scots,\nbut not in the English, version. There is no other reference to Kirk o'\nField, though the 'Book of Articles' says that there were many. And there\nwere many, in the forged letter! Paris, indeed, confessed that Mary told\nhim that Letter II. was to ask where Darnley should be placed, at\nCraigmillar or Kirk o' Field. But the evidence of Paris is dubious.\n\nLennox was very anxious, as was the author of the 'Book of Articles,' to\nprove that the Kirk o' Field plan was arranged between Bothwell and Mary,\nbefore she went to meet Darnley at Glasgow in January, 1567. We have\nalready seen that the 'Book of Articles' makes Mary and Bothwell 'devise'\nthis house 'before she raid to Glasgow,' and 'from Glasgow by her letters\nand otherwise she held him continually in remembrance of the said house.'\n\nThe 'Book of Articles' also declares that she 'wrote to Bothwell to see if\nhe might find out _a more secret way by medicine to cut him off_' than the\nKirk o' Field plan. Now this phrase, 'a more secret invention by\nmedicine,' occurs in Letter II. 20, but is instantly followed by 'for he\nshould take medicine and the bath at _Craigmillar_:' not a word of the\nhouse in Edinburgh.\n\nNext, we find Lennox, like the author of the 'Book of Articles,' hankering\nafter, and insisting on, a mention of the 'house in Edinburgh' in Mary's\nLetters. There exists an indictment by Lennox in Scots, no doubt intended\nto be, as it partly was, later done into English. The piece describes\nMoray as present with the English Commissioners, doubtless at York, in\nOctober, 1568. This indictment in Scots is by one who has seen Letter II.,\nor parts of it, for we read 'Of quhilk purpos reported to Heigat she makes\nmention in hir lettre sent to Boithuile from Glasgow, meaning sen that\npurpose' (the plan of arresting Darnley) 'wes reveled that he suld invent\n_a mare secrete way be medecine to cutt him of_' (the very phrase used in\nthe 'Book of Articles') 'as alsua puttes the said Boithuil in mynde of the\nhouse in Edinburgh, divisit betwix thame for the King hir husband's\ndistructioune, termand thair ungodlie conspiracy \"thair affaire.\"'\n\nNow Mary, in Letter II., does not 'put Bothwell in mind of the house in\nEdinburgh,' nor does she here use the expression 'their affair,' though in\nLetter III. she says 'your affair.' In Buchanan's mind (if he was, as I\nfeel convinced, the author of the 'Book of Articles') the forged letter\ndescribed by Moray and Lennox, with its insistence on Kirk o' Field, was\nconfused with Letter II., in which there is nothing of the sort. The same\nconfusion pervades Lennox's indictment in Scots, perhaps followed by\nBuchanan. When parts of the Scots indictment are translated into Lennox's\nlast extant English indictment, we no longer hear that Kirk o' Field is\nmentioned in the Letters, but we _do_ read of 'such a house in Edinburgh\nas she had prepared for him to finish his days in'--which Mary had not\ndone when she wrote Letter II. Consequently the memorandum at the end of\nLetter II., 'remember zow of the ludgeing in Edinburgh,' a memorandum\n_not_ in the English translation, may have been added fraudulently to\nprove the point that Kirk o' Field was, from the first, devised for\nDarnley's destruction.[354] These passages, in any case, prove that the\nfalse letter reported by Moray and Lennox haunted the minds of Lennox and\nBuchanan to the last.\n\nThe evidence of Nelson, Darnley's servant,[355] later with Lady Lennox, to\nthe effect that Craigmillar was proposed, but that Darnley rejected it,\nmay be taken either as corroboration of the intention to lodge Darnley at\nCraigmillar (as is insisted on in Letters I. and II.) or as one of the\nsources whence Letter II. was fraudulently composed. On the whole,\nhowever, the Craigmillar references in the Letters have an air of\nauthenticity. They were not what the accusers wanted; they wanted\nreferences to Kirk o' Field, and these they amply provided in the Letter\nabout poisoning Lady Bothwell, echoes of which are heard in the 'Book of\nArticles,' and in Lennox's indictment in Scots.\n\nThe letter described by Moray and Lennox, when both, at different dates,\nwere in contact with Wood, was full of references to Kirk o' Field, which\nare wholly absent in Letters I. and II. The letter known to Moray and\nLennox was probably forged in the interval between June 21 and July 8,\n1567, when (July 8) the Lords sent 'Jhone a Forret' to Moray. As I shall\nmake it evident that Robert Melville was sent to inform Elizabeth about\nthe capture of the Casket on the very day of the event, the pause of\nseventeen days before the sending of 'Jhone a Forret' to Moray is very\ncurious. In that time the letter noticed by Moray and Lennox may have been\nforged to improve the evidence against Mary. At all events its details\nwere orally circulated. But I think that, finding this letter\ninconsistent, and overcharged, the Lords, in December, 1568, fell back on\nthe authentic, or partially authentic, Letter II., and produced that. My\nscheme of dates for that Letter need not necessarily be accepted. My\ntheory that Mary made a mistake as to her sheets of paper which caused the\nconfusion of the internal chronology is but a conjecture, and the\nobjection to it I have stated. The question is one of the most delicately\nbalanced probabilities. Either Lennox, from January 1567 onwards,\npossessed the notes which Crawford swore that he wrote concerning\nDarnley's conversation (in which case much of Letter II. is a forgery\nbased on Crawford), or Crawford, in December 1568, deliberately perjured\nhimself. The middle course involves the unlikely hypothesis that Crawford\ndid take notes 'immediately at the time;' but that they were lost or\ndestroyed; and that he, with dishonest stupidity, copied his deposition\nfrom Letter II. There appears to me to be no hint of the loss or\ndisappearance of the only notes which Crawford swore that he made.\nConsequently, on either alternative, the conduct of the prosecutors is\ndishonest. Dishonesty is again suggested by the mysterious letter which\nMoray and Lennox cite, and which colours both Lennox's MS. discourses and\nthe 'Book of Articles.' But, on the other hand, parts of Letter II. seem\nbeyond the power of the Genius of Forgery to produce. Perhaps the least\ndifficult theory is that Letter II. is in part authentic, in part\ngarbled.[356]\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\n_THE SIX MINOR CASKET LETTERS_\n\n\nIf the accusers had authentic evidence in Letters I. and II., they needed\nno more to prove Mary's guilt. But the remaining six Letters bear on\npoints which they wished to establish, such as Mary's attempt to make her\nbrother, Lord Robert, assassinate her husband, and her insistence on her\nown abduction. There are some difficulties attendant on these Letters. We\ntake them in order. First Letter III. (or VIII.). This Letter, the third\nin Mr. Henderson's edition, is the eighth and last in that of Laing. As\nthe Letter, forged or genuine, is probably one of the last in the series,\nit shall be discussed in its possible historical place.\n\n\nLETTER III (IV)\n\nOf this Letter, fortunately, we possess a copy of the French\noriginal.[357] The accusers connected the letter with an obscure intrigue\nwoven while Darnley was at Kirk o' Field. Lord Robert Stuart, Mary's\nhalf-brother, commendator of Holyrood, is said by Sir James Melville to\nhave warned Darnley of his danger. Darnley repeated this to Mary, but Lord\nRobert denied the story. The 'Book of Articles' alleges that Mary then\ntried to provoke a fight between her husband and her brother on this\npoint. Buchanan adds that, when Darnley and Lord Robert had their hands on\ntheir swords, Mary called in Moray to part them. She hoped that he would\n'get the redder's stroke,' and be killed, or, if Darnley fell, that Moray\nwould incur suspicion. As usual Buchanan spoils his own case. If Mary did\ncall in Moray to separate the brawlers, she was obviously innocent, or\nrepented at the last moment. Buchanan's theory is absurd, but his\nanecdote, of course, may be false. Lennox, in his MSS., says that Moray\nwas present at the quarrel.[358]\n\nThe indications of the plot, in the Letter, are so scanty, that the\npurpose has to be read into them from the alleged facts which the Letter\nis intended to prove.[359] I translate the copy of the French original.\n\n'I watched later up there' (at Kirk o' Field?) 'than I would have done,\nhad it not been to draw out ['of him,' in Scots] what this bearer will\ntell you: that I find the best matter to excuse your affair that could be\noffered. I have promised him' (Darnley?) 'to bring him' (Lord Robert?) 'to\nhim' (Darnley?) 'to-morrow: if you find it good, put order to it. Now,\nSir, I have broken my promise, for you have commanded me not to send or\nwrite. Yet I do it not to offend you, and if you knew my dread of giving\noffence you would not have so many suspicions against me, which, none the\nless, I cherish, as coming from the thing in the world which I most desire\nand seek, namely your good grace. Of that my conduct shall assure me, nor\nshall I ever despair thereof, so long as, according to your promise, you\nlay bare your heart to me. Otherwise I shall think that my misfortune, and\nthe fair attitude[360] of those' (Lady Bothwell) 'who have not the third\npart of the loyalty and willing obedience that I bear to you, have gained\nover me the advantage won by the second love of Jason [Creusa or Glauce?]\nNot that I compare you _a un si malheureuse_' (_sic_) 'nor myself to one\nso pitiless [as Medea] however much you make me a little like her in what\nconcerns you; or [but?] to preserve and guard you for her to whom alone\nyou belong, if one can appropriate what one gains by honourably, and\nloyally, and absolutely loving, as I do and will do all my life, come what\npain and misery there may. In memory whereof and of all the ills that you\nhave caused me, be mindful of the place near here' (Darnley's chamber?).\n'I do not ask you to keep promise with me to-morrow' (the Scots has,\nwrongly, 'I crave with that ye keepe promise with me the morne,' which\nLaing justifies by a false conjectural restoration of the French), 'but\nthat we meet' (_que nous truvions = que nous nous trouvions ensemble_?),\n'and that you do not listen to any suspicion you may have without letting\nme know. And I ask no more of God than that you may know what is in my\nheart which is yours, and that He preserve you at least during my life,\nwhich shall be dear to me only while my life and I are dear to you. I am\ngoing to bed, and wish you good night. Let me know early to-morrow how you\nfare, for I shall be anxious. And keep good watch if the bird leave his\ncage, or without his mate. Like the turtle I shall abide alone, to lament\nthe absence, however short it may be. What I cannot do, my letter [would\ndo?] heartily, if it were not that I fear you are asleep. For I did not\ndare to write before Joseph' (Joseph Riccio) 'and bastienne (_sic_) and\nJoachim, who only went away when I began.'\n\nThis Letter is, in most parts, entirely unlike the two Glasgow letters in\nstyle. They are simple and direct: this is obscure and affected. As Laing\nhad not the transcript of the original French (a transcript probably\nerroneous in places) before him, his attempts to reconstruct the French\nare unsuccessful. He is more happy in noting that the phrase _vous m'en\ndischargeres votre coeur_, occurs twice in Mary's letters to\nElizabeth[361] (_e.g._ August 13, 1568). But to 'unpack the heart' is, of\ncourse, a natural and usual expression. If Darnley is meant by the bird in\nthe cage, the metaphor is oddly combined with the comparison (a stock one)\nof Mary to a turtle dove. Possibly the phrase 'I do _not_ ask that you\nkeep promise with me to-morrow,' is meant to be understood 'I do not ask\nyou to keep promise except that we may meet,' as Laing supposes. But (1)\nthe sense cannot be got out of the French, (2) it does not help the\ninterpretation of the accusers if, after all, Mary is only contriving an\nexcuse for a meeting between herself and Bothwell. The obscure passage\nabout the turtle dove need not be borrowed from Ronsard, as Laing thinks:\nit is a commonplace. The phrase which I render 'what I cannot do, my\nletter [would do] heartily, if it were not that I fear you are asleep,'\nthe Scots translates 'This letter will do with ane gude hart, that thing\nquhilk I cannot do myself gif it be not that I have feir that ze ar in\nsleiping.' The French is 'ce que je ne puis faire ma lettre de bon coeur\nsi ce nestoit que je ay peur que soyes endormy.' Laing, reconstructing the\nFrench, says, 'Ce que je ne saurois faire moi-meme; that is, instigate\nLord Robert to commit the murder.' The end of the phrase he takes 'in its\nfigurative sense, _d'un homme endormi_; slow, or negligent.' Thus we are\nto understand 'what I cannot do, my letter would do heartily--that is\nexcite you to instigate my brother to kill my husband, if I were not\nafraid that you were slow or negligent.' This is mere nonsense. The writer\nmeans, apparently, 'what I cannot do, my letter would gladly do--that is\nsalute you--if I were not afraid that you are already asleep, the night\nbeing so far advanced.' She is sorry if her letter arrives to disturb his\nsleep.\n\nIt needs much good will, or rather needs much ill will, to regard this\nLetter as an inducement to Bothwell to make Lord Robert draw on Darnley.\nMary, without Bothwell's help, could have summoned Lord Robert on any\npretext, and then set him and Darnley by the ears. The date of Mary's\nattempt to end Darnley by her brother's sword, Buchanan places 'about\nthree days before the King was slain.' 'Cecil's Journal,' as we saw,\nplaces it on February 8. Darnley was murdered after midnight of February\n9. Paris said that, to the best of his memory, he carried letters on the\nFriday night, the 7th, from Mary, at Kirk o' Field, to Bothwell. On\nSaturday, Mary told her attendants of the quarrel between Darnley and Lord\nRobert. 'Lord Robert,' she said, 'had good means of killing the King at\nthat moment, for there was then nobody in the chamber to part them but\nherself.' These are rather suspicious confessions.[362] Moreover, Lennox,\nin his MSS., says that Moray was present at the incident, and could bear\nwitness at Westminster. The statement of Paris is confused: he carried\nletters both on Thursday and Friday nights (February 6 and 7), and his\ndeclaration about all this affair is involved in contradictions.\n\nAccording to the confession of Hay of Tala, it was on February 7 that\nBothwell arranged the method by gunpowder. When he had just settled that,\nMary, _ex hypothesi_, disturbed him with the letter on the scheme of using\nLord Robert and a chance scuffle: an idea suggested to her by what she had\nextracted, that very night, from Darnley--namely, the warning whispered to\nhim by Lord Robert. She thinks that, if confronted, they will fight,\nDarnley will fall, and this will serve 'pour excuser votre affaire,' as\nthe Letter says. Buchanan adds in his 'History,' that Bothwell was present\nto kill anybody convenient (fol. 350). It was a wildly improbable scheme,\nespecially if Mary, as Buchanan says, called in Moray to stop the quarrel,\nor share the blame, or be killed by Bothwell.\n\nThat the Letter, with some others of the set, is written in an odd,\naffected style, does not yield an argument either to the attack or the\ndefence. If it is unlikely that Mary practised two opposite kinds of\nstyle, it is also unlikely that a forger, or forgers, would venture on\nattributing to her the practice. To this topic there will be opportunities\nof returning.\n\n\nLETTER IV\n\nThis Letter merely concerns somebody's distrust of a maid of Mary's. The\nmaid is about to be married, perhaps to Bastian, but there is nothing\nsaid that identifies either the girl, or the recipient of the letter. Its\ntone, however, is that of almost abjectly affectionate submission, and\nthere is a note of a common end, to which the writer and the recipient are\nworking, _ce a quoy nous tandons tous deux_. If Mary dismisses the maid,\nshe, in revenge, may reveal her scheme. The writer deprecates the\nsuspicions of her correspondent, and all these things mark the epistle as\none in this series. As it proves nothing against Mary, beyond affection\nfor somebody, a common aim with him, and fear that the maid may spoil the\nproject, there could be no reason for forging the Letter. A transcript of\nthe original French is in the Record Office.[363] The translators have\nblundered over an important phrase from ignorance of French.[364]\n\n\nLETTER V\n\nOn the night of April 19, 1567, Bothwell obtained the signatures of many\nnobles to 'Ainslie's Band,' as it is called, a document urging Mary to\nmarry Bothwell.[365] On Monday, April 21, Mary went to Stirling, to see\nher child. She was suspected of intending to hand him over to Bothwell. If\nshe meant to do this, her purpose was frustrated. On Wednesday, April 23,\nshe went to Linlithgow, and on Thursday, April 24, was seized by Bothwell,\nnear Edinburgh, and carried to Dunbar. This Letter, if genuine, proves her\ncomplicity; and is intended to prove it, if forged. On the face of it, the\nLetter was written at Stirling. Mary regrets Bothwell's confidence in an\nunworthy person, Huntly, the brother of his wife. Huntly has visited her,\nand, instead of bringing news as to how and when the abduction is to\nmanaged, has thrown cold water on the plot. He has said that Mary can\nnever marry a married man who abducts her, and that the Lords _se\ndediroient_, which the Scots translator renders 'the Lordis wald unsay\nthemselves, and wald deny that they had said.' The reference is to their\nacquiescence in the Ainslie band of April 19. Mary, as usual, displays\njealousy of Bothwell, who has 'two strings to his bow,' herself and his\nwedded wife. The Letter implies that, for some reason, Mary and Bothwell\nhad not arranged the details of the abduction before they separated. A\ntranscript of the original French is at Hatfield; the English translation,\nalso at Hatfield, is not from the French, but is a mere Anglicising of the\nScots version. Oddly enough the French copy at Hatfield, unlike the rest,\nis in a Roman hand, such as Mary wrote. The hand resembles that of the\ncopyist of the Casket Sonnets in the Cambridge (Lennox) MSS., and that of\nMary Beaton, but it is not Mary Beaton's hand.\n\n\nLETTER VI\n\nThis Letter still deals with the manner of the _enlevement_. Mary is now\nreconciled to the idea of trusting Huntly.\n\nShe advises Bothwell as to his relations with the Lords. The passage\nfollows:--\n\n'Methinkis that zour services, and the lang amitie, having ye gude will of\nye Lordis, do weill deserve ane pardoun, gif above the dewtie of ane\nsubject yow advance yourself, not to constrane me, bot to assure yourself\nof sic place neir unto me, that uther admonitiounis or forane [foreign]\nperswasiounis may not let [hinder] me from consenting to that, that ye\nhope your service sall mak yow ane day to attene; and to be schort, to mak\nyourself sure of the Lordis and fre to mary; and that ye are constraint\nfor your suretie, and to be abill to serve me faithfully, to use are\nhumbil requeist, joynit to ane importune actioun.\n\n'And to be schort, excuse yourself, and perswade thame the maist ye can,\nyat ye ar constranit to mak persute aganis zour enemies.'\n\nNow compare Mary's excuses for her marriage, and for Bothwell's conduct,\nas written in Scots by Lethington, her secretary, in May, 1567, for the\nBishop of Dunblane to present to the Court of France.[366] First she tells\nat much length the tale of Bothwell's 'services, and the lang amitie,' as\nbriefly stated in Letter VI. Later she mentions his ambition, and\n'practising with ye nobillmen secretly to make yame his friendis.' This\nanswers to 'having ye gude will of ye Lordis,' in the Letter. In the\ndocument for the French Court, Mary suggests, as one of Bothwell's motives\nfor her abduction, 'incidentis quhilk mycht occur to frustrat him of his\nexpectatioun.' In the Letter he is 'constrainit for his suretie, to carry\nher off. Finally, in the Memorial for the French Court, it is said that\nBothwell '_ceased never till be persuasionis and importune sute\naccumpaneit not the less with force_,' he won Mary's assent. In Letter VI.\nshe advises him to allege that he is obliged '_to use ane humble requeist\njoynit to ane importune action_.' Letter VI., in fact, is almost a\nsuccinct _precis_, before the abduction, of the pleas and excuses which\nMary made to the French Court after her marriage. Could a forger have\naccidentally produced this coincidence? One could: according to Sir John\nSkelton the letter to her ambassador 'is understood to have been drawn by\nMaitland.'[367] The letter of excuses to France is a mere expansion of the\nexcuses that, in the Casket Letter which we are considering, Mary advises\nBothwell to make to the Lords. Either, then, this Letter is genuine, or\nthe hypothetical forger had seen, and borrowed from, the Memorial\naddressed in May to the Court of France. This alternative is not really\ndifficult; for Lethington, as secretary, must have seen, and may even (as\nSkelton suggests) have composed, the Scots letter of excuses carried to\nFrance by the Bishop of Dunblane, and Lethington had joined Mary's enemies\nbefore they got possession of the Casket and Letters. Oddly enough, the\nletter to the ambassador contains a phrase in Scots which Lethington had\nused in writing to Beaton earlier, Mary 'could not find ane outgait.'[368]\nNo transcript of the original French, and no English translation, have\nbeen found.\n\n\nLETTER VII\n\nThis Letter purports to follow on another, 'sen my letter writtin,' and\nmay be of Tuesday, April 22, as Mary reports that Huntly is anxious about\nwhat he is to do 'after to-morrow.' She speaks of Huntly as 'your\nbrother-in-law that _was_,' whereas Huntly, Bothwell not being divorced,\nwas still his brother-in-law. Huntly is afraid that Mary's people, and\nespecially the Earl of Sutherland, will die rather than let her be carried\noff. We do not know, from other sources, that Sutherland was present. Mary\nimplores Bothwell to bring an overpowering force. No transcript of the\noriginal French, nor any English translation, is known. Mary must have\nwritten two of these letters (and apparently eleven sonnets also) while\nill, anxious, and busy, on the 22nd, at Stirling, with the third on the\n23rd, either at Stirling or Linlithgow. She could hardly get answers to\nanything written as late as the 22nd, before Bothwell arrived at Haltoun,\nnear Linlithgow, on the night of April 23.\n\n\nLETTER VIII (III IN HENDERSON)\n\nThere are differences of opinion as to the date of this curious Letter,\nand as to its place in the series. The contemporary transcript, made\nprobably for the Commissioners on December 9, 1568, is in the Record\nOffice. I translate the Letter afresh, since it must be read before any\ninference as to its date and importance can be drawn.\n\n'Sir,--If regret for your absence, the pain caused by your forgetfulness,\nand by fear of the danger which every one predicts to your beloved person,\ncan console me, I leave it to you to judge; considering the ill fortune\nwhich my cruel fate and constant trouble have promised me, in the sequel\nof sorrows and terrors recent and long passed; all which you well know.\nBut, in spite of all, I will not accuse you either of your scant\nremembrance or scant care, and still less of your broken promise, or of\nthe coldness of your letters, I being so much your own that what pleases\nyou pleases me. And my thoughts are so eagerly subject to yours that I am\nfain to suppose that whatsoever comes from you arises not from any of the\naforesaid causes, but from such as are just and reasonable, and desired by\nmyself. Which is the final order that you have promised me to take for the\nsafety[369] and honourable service of the sole support of my life, for\nwhom alone I wish to preserve it, and without which I desire only instant\ndeath. And to show you how humbly I submit me to your commands, I send\nyou, by Paris, in sign of homage, the ornament' (her hair) 'of the head,\nthe guide of the other members, thereby signifying that, in investing you\nwith the spoil of what is principal, the rest must be subject to you with\nthe heart's consent. In place of which heart, since I have already\nabandoned it to you, I send you a sepulchre, of hard stone, painted black,\n_seme_ with tears and bones.[370] I compare it to my heart, which, like\nit, is graven into a secure tomb or receptacle of your commands, and\nspecially of your name and memory, which are therein enclosed, like my\nhair in the ring. Never shall they issue forth till death lets you make a\ntrophy of my bones, even as the ring is full of them' (_i.e._ in enamel),\n'in proof that you have made entire conquest of me, and of my heart, to\nsuch a point that I leave you my bones in memory of your victory, and of\nmy happy and willing defeat, to be better employed than I deserve. The\nenamel round the ring is black, to symbolise the constancy of her who\nsends it. The tears are numberless as are my fears of your displeasure, my\ntears for your absence, and for my regret not to be yours, to outward\nview, as I am, without weakness of heart or soul.\n\n'And reasonably so, were my merits greater than those of the most perfect\nof women, and such as I desire to be. And I shall take pains to imitate\nsuch merits, to be worthily employed under your dominion. Receive this\nthen, my only good, in as kind part as with extreme joy I have received\nyour marriage' (apparently, from what follows, a contract of marriage or a\nring of betrothal), 'which never shall leave my bosom till our bodies are\npublicly wedded, as a token of all that I hope or desire of happiness in\nthis world. Now fearing, my heart, to weary you as much in the reading as\nI take pleasure in the writing, I shall end, after kissing your hands,\nwith as great love as I pray God (O thou, the only prop of my life!) to\nmake your life long and happy, and to give me your good grace, the only\ngood thing which I desire, and to which I tend. I have shown what I have\nlearned to this bearer, to whom I remit myself, knowing the credit that\nyou give him, as does she who wishes to be ever your humble and obedient\nloyal wife, and only lover, who for ever vows wholly to you her heart and\nbody changelessly, as to him whom I make possessor of my heart which, you\nmay be assured, will never change till death, for never shall weal or woe\nestrange it.'\n\nThe absurd affectation of style in this Letter, so different from the\nplain manner of Letters I. and II., may be a poetical effort by Mary, or\nmay be a forger's idea of how a queen in love ought to write. In the\nlatter case, to vary the manner so much from that of the earlier Letters,\nwas a bold experiment and a needless.\n\nMary, to be brief, sends to Bothwell a symbolic mourning ring, enclosing\nher hair. It is enamelled in black, with tears and bones. Such a ring is\ngiven by a girl to her lover, as a parting token, in the _Cent Nouvelles\nNouvelles_ (xxvi.), a ring _d'or, esmailee de larmes noires_.[371] She\npromises always to keep the 'marriage' (that is the contract of marriage,\nor can it be a ring typical of marriage?) in her bosom, till the actual\nwedding in public. Now she had a sentimental habit of wearing love tokens\n'in her bosom.' She writes to Norfolk from Coventry (December, 1569), 'I\ntook the diamant from my Lord Boyd, which I shall keep unseene about my\nneck till I give it agayn to the owner of it and of me both.'[372]\n\nAs to the Contract of Marriage (if Mary wore that in her bosom[373]), two\nalleged contracts were produced for the prosecution. One was a 'contract\nor promise of marriage' by Mary to Bothwell, in the Italic hand, and in\nFrench; the hand was said to be Mary's own. It was undated, and a\nmemorandum in the 'Detection' says, 'Though some words therein seme to the\ncontrary, yet is on credible groundes supposed to have been made and\nwritten by her befoir the death of her husband.' The document explicitly\nmentions that 'God has taken' Darnley. The document, or jewel, treasured\nby Mary would, of course, be Bothwell's solemn promise, or token of\npromise, the counterpart of hers to him, published in Buchanan.[374]\n\nNow there also existed a contract, said to be in Huntly's hand, and signed\nby Mary and Bothwell, of date April 5 (at Seton), 1567. But this contract\nspeaks of the process of divorce 'intentit' between Bothwell and his\n'pretensit spouse.' Now that suit, on April 5, was not yet before the\nCourt (though some documents had been put in), nor did Lady Bothwell move\nin the case till after Mary's abduction.\n\nIf Mary kept _this_ contract, and if it be correctly dated, then Letter\nVIII. is not of January-February, but of April, 1567.\n\nIf Mary regarded herself as now privately married, this pose would explain\nthe phrase 'your brother-in-law _that was_,' in Letter VIII. But this is\nstretching possibilities.\n\nMr. Hosack has argued that the Letter just translated was really written\nto Darnley, between whom and Mary some private preliminary ceremony of\nmarriage was said to have passed. In that case the words _par Paris_, 'I\nsend you by Paris, &c.,' are a forged interpolation, as Paris was not in\nMary's service till January, 1567. The opening sentence about the danger\nwhich, as every one thinks, menaces her correspondent, might refer to\nDarnley. But the tone of remonstrance against indifference, suspicion, and\nviolated promises, is the tone of almost all the Casket Letters, and does\nnot apply to Darnley--before his public marriage.\n\nAs to the 'heart in a ring,' Mary, as Laing notes, had written to\nElizabeth 'Je vous envoye mon coeur en bague.' The phrase in the Letter,\n_seul soutien de ma vie_, also occurs in one of the Casket Sonnets.\n\nTo what known or alleged circumstances in Mary's relations with Bothwell\ncan this Letter refer? The alternatives are (1) either to her receipt of\nBothwell's answer to Letter II., which Paris (on our scheme of dates) gave\nto Mary on January 25, at Glasgow; (2) to the moment of her stay at\nCallendar, where she arrived, with Darnley, on January 27, taking him on\nJanuary 28 to Linlithgow, whence, on January 29, 'she wraytt to Bothwell.'\nShe had learned at Linlithgow, on January 28, by Hob Ormistoun, that\nBothwell was on his way from Liddesdale.[375] Or (3) does the letter refer\nto Monday, April 21, when she was at Stirling till Wednesday, April 23,\nwhen she went to Linlithgow, Bothwell being 'at Haltoun hard by,' and\ncarrying her off on April 24?[376]\n\nTaking first (1)--we find Mary acknowledging in this letter the receipt of\nBothwell's 'marriage.' If this is a contract, did Bothwell send it in the\nletter which, according to Paris, he wrote on January 24, accompanying it\nwith a diamond? 'Tell the Queen,' said Bothwell, 'that I send her this\ndiamond, which you are to carry, and that if I had my heart I would send\nit willingly, but I have it not.' The diamond, a ring probably, might be\nreferred to in Bothwell's letter as a marriage or betrothal ring (French,\n_union_). In return Mary would send her mourning ring; 'the stone I\ncompare to my heart.'\n\nThis looks well, but how could Mary, who, _ex hypothesi_, had just\nreceived a ring, a promise or contract of marriage, and a loving message,\ncomplain, as she does, of 'the coldness of your letters,' 'your violated\npromise,' 'your forgetfulness,' 'your want of care for me'? Danger to\nBothwell, in Liddesdale, she might fear, but these other complaints are\nabsolutely inconsistent with the theory that Bothwell had just sent a\nletter, a ring, a promise of marriage, and a loving verbal message. We\nmust therefore dismiss hypothesis 1.\n\n(2) Did Mary send this Letter on January 29 from Linlithgow? She had no\nneglect to complain of _there_; for, according to her accusers, she was\nmet by Hob Ormistoun, with a letter or message. Paris says this was at\nCallendar, where she slept on January 27.[377] In that case Bothwell was\nyet more prompt. Again, Mary had now no fear of danger to Bothwell's\nperson, as she had just learned that Bothwell had left perilous\nLiddesdale. Here, once more, there is no room, reason, or ground for her\ncomplaints. Again, in the Letter she says that she sends the mourning ring\n'by Paris.' But, if we are to believe Paris, she did not do so. He gave\nher Bothwell's letter, received from Bothwell's messenger, at Callendar,\nJanuary 27. She answered it at bedtime, gave it to Paris to be given to\nBothwell's messenger, enclosing a ring, and the messenger carried ring and\nletter to Bothwell. She could not write, 'I have sent you by Paris' the\nring, if she did nothing of the sort. Later, according to Paris, she did\nsend him, with the bracelets, from Linlithgow to Edinburgh, where he met\nBothwell, just mounting to ride and join Mary and Darnley on their return.\nThe Letter, then, does not fit the circumstances of one written either at\nCallendar, January 27 (Paris), or at Linlithgow, January 29 ('Cecil's\nJournal').\n\n(3) That the ring, and the lamentations, were carried, by Paris, from\nLinlithgow to the neighbouring house of Haltoun, where Bothwell lay, on\nthe night of April 23, the night before he bore Mary off to Dunbar, is not\ncredible. Nothing indicates her receipt of token or contract of marriage\nat that date. The danger to Bothwell was infinitesimal. He was not\nneglecting Mary, he was close to her, and only waiting for daylight to\ncarry her off. He wrote in reply, Paris says, and verbally promised to\nmeet her, 'on the road, at the bridge.'[378]\n\nTo a man who was thus doing his best to please her, a man whom she was to\nmeet next day, Mary could not be writing long, affected complaints and\nlamentations. She would write, if at all, on details of the business on\nhand. No ring was carried by Paris, according to his own deposition.\n\nThus the contents of the Letter do not fit into any recorded or alleged\njuncture in Mary's relations with Bothwell, after January 21, 1567, when\nParis (whom the Letter mentions) first entered her service. Laing places\nthe Letter last in the series, and supposes that the ring and letter were\nsent from Linlithgow, to Bothwell hard by (at Haltoun), the night before\nthe 'ravishment.' But he does not make it plain that the contents of the\nLetter are really consistent with its supposed occasion.[379] When was\nBothwell absent from Mary, cold, forgetful, and in danger, between the\nreturn from Glasgow, and the abduction? The Letter does not help the case\nof the prosecution.\n\nWe have exhausted the three conceivable alternatives as to the date,\noccasion, and circumstances of this Letter. Its contents fit none of\nthese dates and occasions. Mr. Froude adds a fourth alternative. This\nLetter 'was written just before the marriage'[380] when Bothwell (whose\nabsence is complained of) was never out of Mary's company.\n\nThere is not, in short, an obvious place for this Letter in the recorded\ncircumstances of Mary's history, though the lack of obviousness may arise\nfrom our ignorance of facts.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\n_THE CASKET SONNETS_\n\n\nWhen the 'Detection' of Buchanan was first published, La Mothe Fenelon,\nFrench ambassador in England, writing to Charles IX., described the\nSonnets as the worst, or most compromising, of all the evidence. They\nnever allude to Darnley, and must have been written after his death. As is\nwell known, Brantome says that such of Mary's verses as he had seen were\nentirely unlike the Casket Sonnets, which are 'too rude and unpolished to\nbe hers.' Ronsard, he adds, was of the same opinion. Both men had seen\nverses written hastily by Mary, and still 'unpolished,' whether by her, or\nby Ronsard, who may have aided her, as Voltaire aided Frederick the Great.\nBoth critics were, of course, prejudiced in favour of the beautiful Queen.\nBoth were good judges, but neither had ever seen 160 lines of sonnet\nsequence written by her under the stress of a great passion, and amidst\nthe toils of travel, of business, of intense anxiety, all in the space of\ntwo days, April 21 to April 23.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE A\n\nTWO SONNETS FROM THE CAMBRIDGE MS.\n\nThe hand somewhat resembles that of Mary in early youth, and that of Mary\nBeaton\n\nThe copyist is unknown]\n\nThat the most fervent and hurried sonneteer should write eleven sonnets in\nsuch time and circumstances is hard to believe, but we must allow for\nMary's sleepless nights, which she may have beguiled by versifying. It\nis known that a distinguished historian is occupied with a critical\nedition of these Sonnets. We may await his decision as to their relations\nwith the few surviving poems of the Queen. My own comparison of these does\nnot convince me that the favoured rhymes are especially characteristic of\nMary. The topics of the Casket Sonnets, the author's inability to remove\nthe suspicions of the jealous Bothwell; her protestations of submission;\nher record of her sacrifices for him; her rather mean jealousy of Lady\nBothwell, are also the frequent topics of the Casket Letters. The very\nphrases are occasionally the same: so much so as to suggest the suspicion\nthat the Letters may have been modelled on the Sonnets, or the Sonnets on\nthe Letters. If there be anything in this, the Sonnets are probably the\nreal originals. Nothing is less likely than that a forger would think of\nsuch a task as forging verses by Mary: nor do we know any one among her\nenemies who could have produced the verses even if he had the will. To\nsuspect Buchanan is grotesque. On the theory of a literary contest between\nMary and Lady Bothwell for Bothwell's affections, something is to be said\nin the following chapter. Meanwhile, I am obliged to share the opinion of\nLa Mothe Fenelon, that, as proof of Mary's passion for Bothwell, the\nSonnets are stronger evidence than the Letters, and much less open to\nsuspicion than some parts of the Letters.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\n_CONCLUSIONS AS TO THE LETTERS AND THE POSSIBLE FORGERS_\n\n\nA few words must be said as to a now obsolete difficulty, the question as\nto the language in which the Letters were originally written. That\nquestion need not be mooted: it is settled by Mr. Henderson's 'Casket\nLetters.' The original language of the epistles was French.\n\nI. The epistles shown at Westminster were certainly in French, which was\nnot (except in the first one or two sentences) the French later published\nby the Huguenots. _That_ French was translated from the Latin, which was\ntranslated from the Scots, which was translated from the original French.\nVoluminous linguistic criticisms by Goodall, Hosack, Skelton, and others\nhave ceased, therefore, to be in point.\n\nII. Many phrases, whether as mirrored in the Scots and English\ntranslations, or as extant in contemporary copies of the original French,\ncan be paralleled from authentic letters of Mary's. Bresslau proved this\neasily, but it was no less easily proved that many of the phrases were\nconventional, and could be paralleled from the correspondence of Catherine\nde' Medici and other contemporary ladies. A forger would have ample\nopportunities of knowing Mary's phrasing and orthography. It would be easy\nfor me to write a letter reproducing the phrasing and orthography, which\nis very distinctive, of Pickle the Spy. No argument against forgery can be\nbased on imitations of peculiarities of phrase and spelling which the\nhypothetical forger was sure to know and reproduce.\n\nBut phrasing and spelling are not to be confounded with tone and style.\nNow the Letters, in tone, show considerable unity, except at one point.\nThroughout Mary is urging and spurring an indifferent half-hearted wooer\nto commit an abominable crime, and another treasonable act, her abduction.\nReally, to judge from the Letters, we might suppose Bothwell to be almost\nas indifferent and reluctant as Field-Marshal Keith was, when the Czarina\nElizabeth offered him her hand. Keith put his foot down firmly, and\nrefused, but the Bothwell who hesitated was lost. It is Mary who gives him\nno rest till he carries her off: we must blame Bothwell for not arranging\nthe scheme before parting from Mary in Edinburgh; to be sure, Buchanan\ndeclares in his History that the scheme _was_ arranged. In short, we\nbecome almost sorry for Bothwell, who had a lovely royal bride thrust on\nhim against his will, and only ruined himself out of reluctance to\ndisoblige a lady. It is the old Irish tale of Diarmaid and Grainne over\nagain.\n\nBut, on the other hand, Letter II. represents Mary as tortured by remorse\nand regret. Only to please Bothwell would she act as she does. Her heart\nbleeds at it. We must suppose that she not only grew accustomed to the\nsituation, but revelled in it, and insisted on an abduction, which even\nLethington could only explain by her knowledge of the _apices juris_, the\nsublimities of Scots law. A pardon for the abduction would, in Scots law,\ncover the murder.\n\nSuch is the chief difference in tone. In style, though the fact seems to\nhave been little if at all noticed, there are two distinct species. There\nis the simple natural style of Letters I., II., and the rest, and there is\nthe alembicated, tormented, precious, and affected style of Letters VIII.\n(III.) and IV. Have we any other examples, from Mary's hand, of the\nobscure affectations of VIII. (III.) and IV.? Letter VIII., while it\ncontains phrases which recur in the Casket 'Sonnets,' is really more\ncontorted and _symboliste_ in manner than the verses. These 'fond ballads'\ncontain, not infrequently, the same sentiments as the Letters, whether the\nLetters be in the direct or in the affected style. Thus, in Letter II.,\nwhere Lady Bothwell and Mary's jealousy of her are the theme, we read 'Se\nnot hir' (Lady Bothwell) 'quhais feinzeit teiris should not be sa mekle\npraisit or estemit as the trew and faithful travellis quhilk I sustene\nfor to merite her place.' Compare Sonnets ii. iii.:\n\n  Brief je feray de ma foy telle preuve,\n  Qu'il cognoistra sans faulte ma constance,\n  Non par mes pleurs ou fainte obeyssance\n  Comme autres font, mais par divers espreuve.\n\nIn both passages the writer contrasts the 'feigned tears,' 'feigned\nobedience' of Bothwell's wife with her own practical proofs of devotion:\nin the Sonnet using 'them' for 'her' as in Letter IV.\n\nA possible, but unexpected explanation of the extraordinary diversity of\nthe two styles, I proceed to give. We have briefly discussed the Sonnets,\nwhich (despite the opinion of Ronsard) carry a strong appearance of\nauthenticity, though whether their repetitions of the matter and phrasing\nof the Letters be in favour of the hypothesis that _both_ are authentic\nmight be argued variously. Now from the Sonnets it appears that Lady\nBothwell was endeavouring to secure her bridegroom's heart in a rather\nunlooked-for manner: namely, by writing to him elaborately literary love\nletters in the artificial style of the age of the Pleiad. As the Sonnets\nsay, she wooes him 'par les escriptz tout fardez de scavoir.' But Mary\nmaintains that Lady Bothwell is a mere plagiarist. Her ingenious letters,\ntreasured by Bothwell, and the cause of his preference for her, are\n\n  empruntes de quelque autheur luisant!\n\nWe have already tried to show that Bothwell was not the mere 'brave stupid\nstrong-handed Border noble,' 'the rough ignorant moss-trooper,' but a man\nof taste and culture. If the Sonnets be genuine, there was actually a\ncontest in literary excellence between Bothwell's wife and his royal\nmistress. This queer rivalry would account for the style of Letter VIII.,\nin which Mary labours to prove to Bothwell, as it were, that she is as\ncapable as his wife of writing a fashionable, contorted, literary style,\nif she chooses: in poetry, too, if she likes. We naturally feel sorry for\na man of action who received, at a moment when decisive action was\nneedful, such an epistle as Letter VIII., and we naturally suppose that he\nnever read it, but tossed it into the Casket with an explosion of profane\nwords. But it is just conceivable that Bothwell had a taste for the\n'precious,' and that, to gratify this taste, and eclipse Lady Bothwell,\nMary occasionally wrote in the manner of Letter VIII. or quoted Jason,\nMedea, and Creusa.\n\nThis hypothesis, far-fetched as it may seem, at all events is naturally\nsuggested by Sonnet VI. On the other hand, it is difficult to imagine that\na dexterous forger would sit down to elaborate, whether from genuine\nmaterials or not, anything so much out of keeping with his Letter II. as\nis his Letter VIII. Yet Letter VIII., as we saw, cannot be connected with\nany known moment of the intrigue.\n\nWhile the Letters thus vary in style, in tone of sentiment they are all\nuniform, except Letter II. We are to believe that the forger deliberately\nlaid down a theory of this strange wooing. The Queen throughout is much\nmore the pursuer than the pursued. Bothwell is cold, careless, breaks\npromises, is contemptuously negligent, does not write, is suspicious,\nprefers his wedded wife to his mistress. Contemporary gossip averred that\nthis, in fact, was his attitude. Thus, after Mary had been sent to Loch\nLeven, Lethington told du Croc that 'Bothwell had written several times to\nhis first wife, Lady Bothwell, since he lay with the Queen, and in his\nletters assured Lady Bothwell that he regarded her as his wife, and the\nQueen as his concubine.' Lethington reported this to Mary herself, who\ndiscredited the fact, but Lethington relied on the evidence of Bothwell's\nletters.[381] How could he know anything about them? The belief in\nBothwell's preference of his wife was general, and, doubtless, it may be\nurged that this explains the line taken by the forger.\n\nThe passion, in the Letters, is all on the side of Mary. By her eternal\nprotests of entire submission she recalls to us at once her eager service\nto Darnley in the first days of their marriage, and her constant promises\nof implicit obedience to Norfolk. To Norfolk, as to Bothwell (we have\nalready shown), she expresses her hope that 'you will mistrust me no\nmore.'[382] 'If you be in the wrong I will submit me to you for so\nwriting, and ax your pardon thereof.' She will beg pardon, even if Norfolk\nis in the wrong! Precisely in the same tone does Mary (in Letter VIII.),\nafter complaining of Bothwell's forgetfulness, say, 'But in spite of all I\nwill not accuse you, either of your scant remembrance or scant care, and\nstill less of your broken promise, seeing that what pleases you pleases\nme.'\n\nThis woman, whose pride is said to be in contradiction with her\nsubmission, as expressed in the Casket Letters, writes even to Elizabeth,\n'Je me sousmetray a vos commandemants.'[383] In Letter VIII. Bothwell is\ncongratulated on 'votre victoire et mon agreable perte.' To Elizabeth Mary\nwrites 'Vous aures fayt une profitable conqueste de moy.'\n\nThat any forger should have known Mary so well as to place her,\nimaginatively, as regarded Bothwell, in the very attitude which we see\nthat, on occasion, she chose later to adopt in fact, as regarded Norfolk,\nis perhaps beyond belief. It may be urged that she probably, in early\ndays, wrote to Darnley in this very tone, that Darnley's papers would fall\ninto his father's hands, and that Lennox would hand them over as materials\nto the forger. But 'it is to consider too curiously to consider thus.'\n\nSuch are the arguments, for the defence and the attack, which may be drawn\nfrom internal evidence of style. To myself this testimony seems rather in\nfavour of the authenticity of considerable and compromising portions of\nthe papers.\n\nLetter VIII. (intended to prove a contract of marriage with Bothwell)\nremains an enigma to me: the three Letters proving Mary's eagerness for\nthe abduction are not without suspicious traits. The epistle about\nbringing Lord Robert to kill Darnley in a quarrel is involved in the\ninconsistencies which we have shown to beset that affair. The note about\nthe waiting-woman was hardly worth forging, compromising as it is. Letter\nI. seems to me certainly authentic, if we adopt the scheme of dates\nsuggested, and reject that of 'Cecil's Journal,' which appears to be\nofficial, and answers to Lennox's demands for dates. It may be merely\nLennoxian, but no other scheme of chronology is known to have been put in\nby the accusers. Letter I., if our dates are admitted, implies the\nexistence of a letter answering to Letter II., which I have had to regard\nas, in some parts at least, genuine. If forgery and tampering were\nattempted (as I think they certainly were in the letter never produced,\nbut described by Lennox and Moray, and perhaps in other cases), who was\nthe criminal?\n\nMy reply will have been anticipated. Whoever held the pen of the forger,\nLethington must have directed the scheme. This idea, based on we know not\nwhat information, though I shall offer a conjecture, occurred to\nElizabeth, as soon as she heard the first whisper of the existence of the\nLetters, in June-July, 1567. On July 21, de Silva mentioned to her what he\nhad heard--that the Lords held certain Letters 'proving that the Queen had\nbeen cognisant of the murder of her husband. She told me it was not true,\nthough Lethington had behaved badly in the matter.'[384] The person from\nwhom Elizabeth thus early heard something connecting Lethington, in an\nevil way, with the affair must have been Robert Melville. His position was\nthen peculiar. He was first accredited to Elizabeth, on June 5, 1567, by\nMary, Bothwell, and Lethington.[385] Melville left Scotland, for Mary, on\nJune 5, returned to Scotland, and again rode to London on June 21, as the\nenvoy of some of her enemies. Now June 21 was the day of the opening of\nthe Casket, and inspection of its contents. A meeting of the Privy Council\nwas held on that day, but Lethington's name is not among those of the\nnobles who attended it.[386] The minutes of the Council say not a word\nabout the Casket, though the members attending Council were, with several\nothers, present, so Morton declared, at the opening of the Casket. Though\nnot at the Council, Lethington was at the Casket scene, according to\nMorton. And on that very day, Lethington wrote a letter to Cecil, the\nbearer being Robert Melville, who, says Lethington, is sent 'on _sudden_\ndispatch.'[387] Melville, in addition to Lethington's letter, carried a\nverbal message to Cecil, as the letter proves. We may glean the nature of\nthe verbal message from the letter itself.\n\nWe know that the Lords, in December of the same year, publicly and in\nParliament, and with strange logic, declared that the ground of their\nrising and imprisonment of Mary was her guilt as revealed in letters\nwritten by her hand, though these were not discovered when the Lords\nimprisoned Mary. Now Lethington, in his dispatch to Cecil, carried by\nMelville the day of the Casket finding, says that the bearer, Mr. Robert\nMelville, 'can report to you at length the ground of the Lords' so just\nand honourable cause.' Presently that 'ground' was declared to be the\nevidence of the Casket Letters. Melville then would verbally report this\nnew 'ground' to Cecil and Elizabeth. He was dispatched at that very date\nfor no other reason. The Lords were Melville's employers, but his heart\nwas sore for Mary. Elizabeth, on June 30, tells Mary (Throckmorton carried\nher letter) that 'your own faithful servant, Robert Melville, used much\nearnest speech on your behalf.'[388] What Elizabeth knew about\nLethington's bad behaviour as to the Letters, and spoke of to de Silva,\nshe must have heard from Robert Melville. She did not, as far as we are\naware, mention her knowledge of the subject till de Silva introduced it on\nJuly 21, but only from Melville could she learn whatever she did learn\nabout Lethington. Throckmorton, her envoy to Scotland, did not mention the\nLetters till July 25, four days after Elizabeth spoke to de Silva. 'Jhone\na Forret,' whom the Lords sent through London on July 8 to bring Moray,\nwas not exactly the man to blame Lethington and discredit the Letters: for\nhe was probably John Wood, later a chief enemy of Mary.\n\nSuspicions of Lethington, later, were not confined to Elizabeth alone. In\nMary's instructions to her Commissioners (Sept. 9, 1568) she says, 'There\nare divers in Scotland, both men and women, that can counterfeit my\nhandwriting, and write the like manner of writing which I use [the 'Roman'\nor Italic] as well as myself, _and principally such as are in company with\nthemselves_,'[389] as Lethington then was.\n\nLesley stated the matter thus: 'There are sundry can counterfeit her\nhandwriting, who have been brought up in her company, of whom there are\nsome assisting themselves' (the Lords) 'as well of other nations as of\nScots, as I doubt not both your highness' (Elizabeth) 'and divers others\nof your Highness's Court, has seen sundry letters sent here from Scotland,\nwhich would not be known from her own handwriting.'[390]\n\nAll this is vague, and Mary's reference to _women_, Lesley's reference to\nthose 'brought up in her company,' glance, alas! at the Queen's Maries.\nMary Livingstone, wedded to John Sempil, was not on the best terms with\nQueen Mary about certain jewels. Mary Fleming was Lethington's wife. Mary\nBeaton's aunts were at open feud with the Queen. A lady, unnamed, was\nselected as the forger by the author of 'L'Innocence de la Royne\nd'Escosse' (1572).\n\nTo return to Lethington. In 1615, Camden, writing, as it were, under the\neye of James VI. and I., declared that Lethington 'had privately hinted to\nthe Commissioners at York, that he had counterfeited Mary's hand\nfrequently.'[391] There is nothing incredible, _a priori_, in the story.\nBetween October 11, 1568 (when Norfolk, having been _privately_ shown the\nLetters, was blabbing, even to his servant Bannister, his horror of Letter\nII.), and October 16, when Lethington rode out with Norfolk, and the\nscheme for his marrying Mary struck deep root, something may have been\nsaid. Lethington may have told Norfolk that perhaps the Letters were\nforged, that he himself, for amusement, had imitated Mary's hand. As a\nfact, the secretaries of two of the foremost of contemporary statesmen did\nwrite to the innumerable bores who beset well-known persons, in hands\nhardly to be distinguished from those of their chiefs. Norfolk, as Laing\nsays, did acknowledge, at his trial, that Lethington 'moved him to\nconsider the Queen as not guilty of the crimes objected.' Lethington\nappears to have succeeded; possibly by aid of the obvious argument that,\nif _he_ could imitate Mary's hand for pastime, others might do it for evil\nmotives. Nay, we practically know, and have shown, that Lethington did\nsucceed in making Norfolk, to whom, five days before, he had offered the\nLetters as proofs of Mary's guilt, believe that she had not written them.\nFor, as we have seen, whereas Mary at this time was making a compromise\nwith Moray, Norfolk persuaded her to abandon that course. Thus Lethington,\non October 11, 1568, made Norfolk believe in the Letters; on October 16,\nhe made him disbelieve or doubt.\n\nWe are not to suppose Lethington so foolish as to confess that he was\nhimself the forger. Even if Lethington did tell Norfolk that he had often\nimitated Mary's hand, he could not have meant to accuse himself in this\ncase. His son, in 1620, asked Camden for his authority, and we know not\nthat Camden ever replied. He never altered his statement, which meant no\nmore than that, by the argument of his own powers of imitating Mary's\nhandwriting, Lethington kept urging the Duke of Norfolk to doubt her\nguilt.[392] Lethington's illustration of the ease with which Mary's\nwriting could be imitated is rather, if he used it, a proof that he did\n_not_ hold the pen which may have tampered with the Casket Letters. Our\nreasons for suspecting him of engaging, though not as penman, in the\nscheme are:\n\n1. Elizabeth's early suspicion of Lethington, and the probability that\nRobert Melville, who had just parted from Lethington, inspired that\nsuspicion.\n\n2. The probability, derived from Randolph's letter, already cited, that\nLethington had access to the Casket before June 21, 1567, but after\nMary's capture at Carberry.\n\n3. Of all men Lethington, from his knowledge of Mary's disgust at his\ndesertion, ingratitude, and 'extreme opposition' to her, in her darkest\nhour, and from his certainty that Mary held, or professed to hold,\ndocumentary proof of his own guilt, had most reason to fear her, and\ndesire and scheme her destruction.\n\n4. Kirkcaldy of Grange, on April 20, 1567, months before the Letters were\ndiscovered, wrote to Cecil that Mary 'has said that she cares not to lose\n(a) _France_, (b) _England_, and (c) _her own_ country' for Bothwell.[393]\n\nCompare, in the Lennox version of the letter never produced (p. 214)--\n\n    (_a_) The loss of her dowry in _France_.\n\n    (_b_) Her titles to the crown of _England_.\n\n    (_c_) The crown _of her realm_.\n\nUnless this formula of renunciations, _in this sequence_, was a favourite\nof Mary's, in correspondence and in general conversation, its appearance,\nin the letter not produced, and in Kirkcaldy's letter written before the\nCasket was captured, _donne furieusement a penser_.\n\n5. Another curious coincidence between a Casket Letter (VII.) and Mary's\ninstructions to the Bishop of Dunblane, in excuse of her marriage, has\nalready been noticed. We may glance at it again.\n\n    INSTRUCTIONS\n\n    We thocht his continuance in the awayting upon us ... had procedit\n    onelie upoun the ackawlegeing of _his dewtie, being our borne\n    subject_.\n\n    The _persuasionis_ quhilk oure friendis or his unfriendis _mycht cast\n    out for his hinderence_ ...\n\n    Sa ceased he nevir till be persuasionis and _importune sute,\n    accumpaneit nottheles with force_.\n\n\n    LETTER VII.\n\n    Gif _abone the dewtie of ane subject_ yow advance yourself.\n\n    That uther admonitiounis or forane _persuasiounis_ may not let me from\n    consenting ...\n\n    To use _ane humbil requiest joynit to ane importune action_.\n\nThe whole scheme of excuse given in Letter VII. is merely expanded into\nthe later Instructions, a piece of eleven pages in length. 'The\nInstructions are understood to have been drawn by Lethington,' says Sir\nJohn Skelton; certainly Mary did not write them, as they stand, for they\nare in Scots. 'Many things we resolved with ourselves, but never could\nfind ane outgait,' say the Instructions. 'How to be free of him she has no\noutgait,' writes Maitland to Beaton. If Lethington, as Secretary, penned\nthe Instructions, who penned Letter VII.?\n\n6. We have already cited Randolph's letter to Kirkcaldy and Lethington,\nwhen they had changed sides, and were holding the Castle for the Queen.\nBut we did not quote all of the letter. Lethington, says Randolph, with\nGrange, is, as Mary herself has said, the chief occasion of all her\ncalamities, by his advice 'to apprehend her, to imprison her; yea, to have\ntaken presently the life from her.' This follows a catalogue of\nLethington's misdeeds towards Mary, exhaustive, one might think. But it\nends, '_with somewhat more that we might say, were it not to grieve you\ntoo much herein_.' What 'more' beyond arrest, loss of crown, prison, and\nthreatened loss of life, was left that Lethington could do against Mary?\nThe manipulation of the Casket Letters was left: 'somewhat more that we\nmight say, were it not to grieve you too much herein.'[394]\n\nRandolph had been stirring the story of Lethington's opening the coffer in\na green cover, in the autumn of 1570. Charges and counter-charges as to\nthe band for murdering Darnley had been flying about. On January 10, 1571,\nCecil darkly writes to Kirkcaldy that of Lethington he 'has heard such\nthings as he dare not believe.'[395] This cannot refer to the declaration,\nby Paris, that Lethington was in the murder, for _that_ news was stale\nfifteen months earlier.\n\nAs to the hand that may have done whatever unfair work was done, we can\nhope for no certainty. Robert Melville, in 1573, being taken out of the\nfallen Castle, and examined, stated that 'he thinkis that the lard of\nGrange' (Kirkcaldy) 'counterfaitit the Regentis' (Moray's) 'handwrite,\nthat was sent to Alixr Hume that nycht.' But we do not accuse Kirkcaldy.\n\nThere is another possible penman, Morton's jackal, a Lord of Session,\nArchibald Douglas. That political forgery was deemed quite within the\nprovince of a Scottish Judge, or Lord of Session, in the age of the\nReformation, we learn from his case. A kinsman of Morton, one of Darnley's\nmurderers, and present, according to Morton, at the first opening of the\nCasket, Archibald was accused by his elder brother, William Douglas of\nWhittingham, of forging letters from Bishop Lesley to Lennox, the\nfavourite of James VI., and others (1580-1581).[396] Of course a Lord of\nSession might bear false witness against his brother in the flesh, and on\nthe Bench. But perhaps Archibald himself, a forger of other letters,\nforged the Casket Letters; he had been in France, and may have known\nFrench. All things are conceivable about these Douglases.\n\nIt is enough to know that experts in forgery, real or reputed, were among\nMary's enemies. But, for what they are worth, the hints which we can still\npick up, and have here put together, may raise a kind of presumption that,\nif falsification there was, the manager was Lethington. 'The master wit of\nLethington was there to shape the plot,' said Sir John Skelton, though\nlater he fell back on Morton, with his 'dissolute lawyers and unfrocked\npriests'--like Archie Douglas.\n\nI do not, it will be observed, profess to be certain, or even\nstrongly inclined to believe, that there was any forgery of Mary's\nwritings, except in the case of the letter never produced. But, if forgery\nthere was, our scraps and hints of evidence point to Lethington as manager\nof the plot.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE A B\n\nEXAMPLES OF MARY'S HAND\n\nOne of these two is, in part, not genuine, but imitated]\n\n[Illustration: PLATE B A\n\nEXAMPLES OF MARY'S HAND\n\nIn one some parts are not genuine, but imitated\n\nThe text is Mary to Elizabeth, B. Museum, Calig. C.I. Number 421 in Bain.\nCalendar II. p. 659 (1900)]\n\nAs to problems of handwriting, they are notoriously obscure, and the\nevidence of experts, in courts of justice, is apt to be conflicting. The\ntestimony in the case of Captain Dreyfus cannot yet have been forgotten.\nIn Plates BA, AB the reader will find a genuine letter of Mary to\nElizabeth, and a copy in which some of the lines are not her own, but have\nbeen imitated for the purpose of showing what can be done in that way.\n'The puzzle is' to discover which example is entirely by the Queen, and\nwhich is partly in imitation of her hand. In Plate F is an imitation of\nMary's hand, as it might have appeared in writing Letter VIII (Henderson's\nLetter III.). An imitator as clever as Mr. F. Compton Price (who has\nkindly supplied these illustrations) would easily have deceived the crowd\nof Lords who were present at the comparison of the Casket Letters with\ngenuine epistles of Mary to Elizabeth.\n\nScotland, in that age, was rich in 'fause notaries' who made a profession\nof falsification. In the Burgh Records of Edinburgh, just before Mary's\nfall, we find a surgeon rewarded for healing two false notaries, whose\nright hands had been chopped off at the wrists. (Also for raising up a\ndead woman who had been buried for two days.) But these professionals\nwere probably versed only in native forms of handwriting, whereas that of\nMary, as of Bothwell, was the new 'Roman' hand. An example of Mary\nBeaton's Roman hand is given in Plate C. Probably she had the same\nwriting-master as her Queen, in France, but her hand is much neater and\nsmaller than that of Mary, wearied with her vast correspondence. Probably\nMary Beaton, if she chose, could imitate the Queen's hand, especially as\nthat hand was, before the Queen had written so much. The 'Maries' of Mary\nStuart, Mary Beaton, and Mary Flemyng are all very similar. But to a\nlayman, Mary Beaton's hand seems rather akin to that of the copyist of the\nSonnets in the Cambridge MSS. (Plate A). The aunts of Mary Beaton, Lady\nReres and the Lady of Branxholme, were, after April 1567, on the worst\nterms with the Queen, railing at her both in talk and in letters. But that\nMary Beaton forged the Casket Letters I utterly disbelieve.\n\nKirkcaldy, whose signature is given, could not have adapted fingers\nhardened by the sword-hilt to a lady's Roman hand. Maitland of Lethington,\nwhose signature follows Kirkcaldy's, would have found the task less\nimpossible, and, if there is any truth in Camden's anecdote, may perhaps\nhave been able to imitate the Queen's writing. But if any forged letters\nor portions of letters were exhibited, some unheard-of underling is most\nlikely to have been the actual culprit.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE C\n\nHANDS OF MARY BEATON, KIRKCALDY, LETHINGTON, AND MARY FLEMING]\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\n_LATER HISTORY OF CASKET AND LETTERS_\n\n\nThe best official description of the famous Casket is in the Minutes of\nthe Session of Commissioners at Westminster, on December 7, 1568. It was\n'a small gilt coffer, not fully one foot long, being garnished in many\nplaces with the Roman (_Italic_) letter F set under a king's crown.' This\nminute is in the hand of Cecil's clerk, and is corrected by Cecil.[397]\nThe Casket was obviously long in shape, not square, like a coffer\ndecorated with Mary's arms, as Dowager of France, with thistles and other\nbadges, the property of M. Victor Luzarche, and described by him in 'Un\nCoffret de Bijoux de Marie Stuart' (Tours, 1868). Possibly the Casket was\nthe _petite boyte d'argent_, which Mary intended to bequeath to Margaret\nCarwood, if she herself died in childbed in 1566.[398]\n\nThe Casket with the Letters was in Morton's hands till shortly before his\ndeath in 1581. On November 8, 1582, Bowes, Elizabeth's envoy in Scotland,\nwrote to Walsingham about the Casket. He had learned from a bastard of\nMorton's, the Prior (lay) of Pluscarden, that the box was now in the\npossession of Gowrie, son of the Ruthven of Riccio's murder, and himself\nengaged in that deed. Gowrie was at this time master of James's person.\nBowes thought that Gowrie would not easily give up the Casket to\nElizabeth, who desired it.[399]\n\nAfter trying to get agents to steal the Casket, Bowes sought to induce\nGowrie to give it up, with promises of 'princely thanks and gratuity.'\nGowrie was not willing to admit the fact of possession, but Bowes proved\nthat the coffer had reached him through Sandy Jordan, a servant of the\nlate Earl of Morton. Gowrie then said that, without the leave of James,\nand of the nobles, who had dragged down Mary, he could not part with the\ntreasure, as the Letters warranted their action--undertaken before they\nknew that such Letters existed! However, Gowrie promised to look for the\nCasket, and consider of the matter. On November 24, Bowes again wrote.\nMary was giving out that the Letters 'were counterfeited by her rebels,'\nand was trying to procure them, or have them destroyed. To keep them would\ninvolve danger to Gowrie. Bowes would obtain the consent of the other\nlords interested, 'a matter more easy to promise than to perform;' finally\nGowrie ought to give them to Elizabeth 'for the _secrecy_ and benefit of\nthe cause.' Mary's defenders may urge that this 'secrecy' is suspicious.\nGowrie would think of it, but he must consult James, which, Bowes said,\n'should adventure great danger to the cause.' On December 2, Bowes\nwrote about another interview with Gowrie, who said that the Duke of\nLennox (Stewart d'Aubigny, the banished and now dead favourite of James)\nhad sought to get the Letters, and that James knew where they were, and\nnothing could be done without James's consent.[400]\n\n[Illustration: PLATE D\n\nSIDE OF CASKET WITH ARMS OF HAMILTON\n\nRAISED WORK ON ROOF OF CASKET]\n\nGowrie was executed for treason in May, 1584, and of the Casket no more is\nheard. Goodall, in 1754, supposed that the Earl of Angus got it as\nMorton's 'heir by tail,' whereas we know that Gowrie succeeded Morton as\ncustodian. In an anonymous writer of about 1660, Goodall found that 'the\nbox and letters were at that time to be seen with the Marquis of Douglas;\nand it is thought by some they are still in that family, though others say\nthey have since been seen at Hamilton.'[401] In 1810, Malcolm Laing, the\nhistorian, corresponded on the subject with Mr. Alexander Young,\napparently the factor, or chamberlain, of the Duke of Hamilton. He could\nhear nothing of the Letters, but appears to have been told about a silver\ncasket at Hamilton, rather less than a foot in length. A reproduction of\nthat casket, by the kindness of the Duke of Hamilton, is given in this\nbook. Laing maintained that, without the F's, crowned as mentioned in\nCecil's minute, the casket could not be Mary's Casket. In any case it is a\nbeautiful work of art, of Mary's age, and has been well described by Lady\nBaillie-Hamilton in 'A Historical Relic,' _Macmillan's Magazine_.[402]\nLady Baillie-Hamilton, when staying at Hamilton Palace, asked to be shown\na ring which Mary bequeathed to Lord John Hamilton, created Marquis in\n1599. The ring was produced from a silver box, which also contained\npapers. One of these, written probably about 1700-1715, gave the history\nof the box itself. It was 'bought from a <DW7>' by the Marchioness of\nDouglas, daughter of George (first Marquis of Huntly). In 1632 this lady\nbecame the second wife of William, first Marquis of Douglas. Her eldest\nson married Lady Anne Hamilton, heiress of James, first Duke of Hamilton,\nwho later became Duchess of Hamilton in her own right, her husband (Lord\nWilliam Douglas, later Earl of Selkirk) bearing the ducal title. The\nMarchioness of Douglas bought the box from a <DW7> at an unknown date\nafter 1632, the box being sold as the Casket. The Marchioness 'put her own\narms thereon,' the box having previously borne 'the Queen's arms.' The\nMarchioness bequeathed her plate to her son, Lord John Douglas, who sold\nit to a goldsmith. The daughter-in-law of the Marchioness, namely the\nDuchess of Hamilton, purchased the box from the goldsmith, as she had\nlearned from the Marchioness that it was the historical Casket, and, by\nher husband's desire, she effaced the arms of the Marchioness, and put on\nher own, as may be seen in Plate D. Only one key was obtained by the\nDuchess, and is shown lying beside the Casket. The lock has been, at\nsome time, 'stricken up,' as Morton says that the lock of the Casket was\n(see Plate E). The box is 'not fully a foot long'; it measures eight\ninches in length. The scroll-work (Plate E) and bands have been gilded,\nbut the whole piece has not been 'overgilt,' as in Morton's description.\nThat by the English Commissioners at York, 'a little coffer of silver and\ngilt,' better describes the relic. It is pronounced to be 'French work of\nthe early part of the sixteenth century,' but Lady Baillie-Hamilton\nobserves that the scroll-work closely resembles the tooling on a book of\nCatherine de' Medici, now in the British Museum.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE E\n\nCASKET SHOWING THE LOCK AND KEY\n\nFRONT OF CASKET SHOWING PLACE WHENCE THE LOCK HAS BEEN 'STRICKEN UP']\n\nIs the Hamilton Casket the historical Casket? It has the advantage of a\nfairly long pedigree in that character, as we have seen. But where are\n'the many Roman letters F set under a king's crown,' of Cecil's\ndescription, which is almost literally copied in the memorandum added to\nthe English edition of Buchanan's 'Detection'? Buchanan did not insert\nthis memorandum, it is merely borrowed from Cecil's description, a fact of\nwhich Lady Baillie-Hamilton was not aware. There is no room on the panel\nnow occupied by the Duchess of Hamilton's arms for _many_ crowned F's.\nOnly a cypher of two F's interlaced and crowned could have found space on\nthat panel. Conceivably F's were attached in some way, and later removed,\nbut there is no trace of them. We can hardly suppose that, as in the case\nof the coffer with a crimson cover, which was sent to Mary at Loch Leven,\nthe crowned F's were worked in gold on the covering velvet. Dr. Sepp, in\n1884, published, in a small pamphlet, the document rediscovered by Lady\nBaillie-Hamilton. He was informed that there were small crowned F's\nstamped on the bottom of the box, but these Lady Baillie-Hamilton accounts\nfor as 'the mark of a French silversmith, consisting of a distinctive sign\nsurmounted by a fleur-de-lis and a crown.' Thus for lack of any certainty\nabout the 'many or sundry' crowned F's, this beautiful piece of work\nshares in the doubt and mystery which seem inseparable from Mary Stuart.\n\nVery possibly the Hamilton Casket may be the other of the 'twa silver\ncofferis' seen by Hepburn of Bowton at Dunbar (see p. xvi). Tradition,\nknowing that the Casket had been Mary's, would easily confuse it with the\nother more famous coffer, full of evils as the Casket of Pandora.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX A\n\nTHE SUPPOSED BODY OF BOTHWELL\n\n\nMonsieur Jusserand, the well-known writer on English and Scottish\nliterature, has kindly allowed me to print the following letter on the\nburial-place of Bothwell, and on the body which is traditionally regarded\nas his corpse.\n\n\nLegation de France, a Copenhague, December 26, 1900.\n\nMY DEAR LANG,--Our poor Queen's last scoundrel lies low in a darksome\nplace.\n\nThe Faarvejle church is quite isolated on a little eminence formerly\nwashed by the water of a fiord now dried up (the work of an agricultural\ncompany which expected great benefits and lost much money instead). There\nis no village around; the houses are scattered rather thinly throughout\nthe country--a very frequent case in Denmark.\n\n[Illustration: FAARVEJLE CHURCH (ACTUAL STATE).\n\n(1) A side chapel used for burials, now attached to the Zytphen-Adeler\nfamily. 'Bothwell' was buried in it, and removed to the vault under the\nchancel when the Z.-A. family had some time adopted it.\n\n(2) The entrance porch, with a fine oak door ornamented with iron work\nrepresenting the dragons of 'Drags'-holm.]\n\nThis church is, however, the one from which the castle of Dragsholm has\never, ecclesiastically, depended. Castle and church are at some distance:\nabout twenty miles drive.\n\nThe castle was formerly a royal one; it was so in Bothwellian times.[403]\nLittle remains of the old building; it was burnt during the Swedish wars\nin the seventeenth century; and rebuilt by the Zytphen-Adeler family (of\nDutch origin); it still belongs to them.\n\nOnly the walls have been preserved; they are of red brick; but the actual\nowner has caused them to be whitewashed throughout. The characteristic\ngreat tower it used to have in Hepburnian times has been destroyed. Almost\nno trace of any style is left, and the house, big as it is, is plain\nenough. The park around it is fine, with plenty of deer, hares, &c. The\nsea is near at hand and you see it from the walls.\n\nAs for the mummy, it lies in an oak coffin now preserved in a vault under\nthe floor of the nave in the Faarvejle church. This vault is under the\npassage in the middle, near the step leading to the choir. The wooden\nplanks on the floor are removed, a ladder is provided, and you find\nyourself in a subterranean chamber, with coffins piled on the top of one\nanother, right and left. 'Bothwell's' stands apart on the left; it is an\noak chest; as it was in a bad state, the present Baron Zytphen-Adeler has\ncaused it to be placed in another one, with a sheet of glass allowing the\nhead to be seen. But he kindly allowed me to see the body complete. The\nman must have been rather tall, not very; the hands and feet have a very\nfine and aristocratic appearance; the mummifying process may have\nsomething to do with this appearance; yet I think some of it came from\nnature. The head is absolutely hairless; the face is close shaven; the\nskull has no hair. I noticed, however, on the top of it faint traces of\nreddish-brown hair, but extremely close cropped. Horace Marryat, who saw\nit in 1859, says (in the same innocent fashion as if he had been\nperforming a pious rite) that he 'severed a lock of his red and silver\nhair.' If he really did so, he must have severed all that was left.\n('Residence in Jutland,' 1860.)\n\nThe skin remains; the nose, very prominent and arched, is complete; the\nmouth _very_ broad. The jawbone is prominent (partly on account of the\ndrying up of the flesh). The hind part of the skull is broad and deep. The\narms are folded on the chest, below which the body is still wrapped in its\nwinding sheet, only the feet emerging from it. The head lies on some white\nstuff which seems to be silk. All about the body is a quantity of\nvegetable remains, looking like broken sticks; they told me it was hops,\nsupposed to have preserving qualities.\n\nAs for the authenticity of the relic, there is no absolute proof. It is\nprobable and likely; not certain. That Bothwell died in Dragsholm and was\nburied in Faarvejle church is certain. The coffin has no mark, no\ninscription, no sign whatever allowing identification. But, if not\nBothwell, who can this be--for there _it_ is? That careful embalming is\nnot a usual process; the other people buried in the church either have\ntheir names on their coffins or are not of such importance as to justify\nsuch a costly process.\n\nA careful burial and no name on the tomb tally rather well with the\ncircumstances: for the man was a great man, the husband of a Queen; and\nyet what was to be done with his body? would he not be sent back to\nScotland some day? what rites should be allowed him? Even before his\ndeath Bothwell had become, so to say, anonymous; and, to get rid of\nimportunities, the Danish King, Fred. II., had allowed the rumour of his\ndeath to be spread several years before it happened.\n\nThe question remains an open one. J. J. A. Worsaae believed in the\nauthenticity of the relic. The professor of anatomy, I. Ibsen, has also\npronounced in its favour. Others have disagreed. Anatomici certant.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX B\n\nTHE BURNING OF LYON KING OF ARMS\n\n\nAmong the mysteries of Mary's reign, none is more obscure than the burning\nof Sir William Stewart, the Lyon King at Arms: at St. Andrews, in August,\n1569. In 1560, Stewart was Ross Herald, and carried letters between Mary\nand Elizabeth.[404] On February 11, 1568, when Moray was Regent, we find\nStewart sent on a mission to Denmark. He was to try to obtain the\nextradition of Bothwell, or, at least, to ask that he might be more\nstrictly guarded.[405] Now we know that, according to Moray, Bothwell's\nvalet, Paris, did not arrive in Scotland from Denmark till June, 1569,\nthough he was handed over to Captain Clark in October, 1568. Miss\nStrickland conjectured that Sir William Stewart, now Lyon Herald, brought\nback Paris from Denmark, learned from him that Mary was innocent, and\nMoray's associates culpable, and so had to be put out of the way. But the\nLyon Herald returned to Scotland without Paris, a year before Paris; for\nhe was in Scotland by July, 1568, and Paris did not land till June, 1569.\n\nOn July 20, 1568, Drury informs Cecil that Moray 'has understanding who\nhas determined to kill him,' and has enlisted a bodyguard of thirty\ngentlemen. Drury adds--I cite him in his native orthography--\n\n'I send unto your h. herewt. some pease off the woorke that the conjurers\nthat dyd vse theyre develysshe skyle dyd devyse above Edenborogh, the\nplatte whereoff I sente you before paynted.[406] And so ajayne I humbly\ntake my leave.\n\n'Some money they fownde. Will Stwart kyng off herauldee one off the parte\nplayers he that they judge schoold be the fynder off the threasure,\nschoold be the rejente.'\n\nHere Drury speaks of 'conjurers,' who have played some prank involving\ndiscovery of a treasure. Stewart was one of the party, but what is meant\nby 'he that they judge should be finder of the treasure, should be\nRegent'? There is, apparently, some connection between the treasure hunt\nand the plot to kill Moray, and Stewart is mixed up with the magic of the\ntreasure hunters. We know that Napier of Merchistoun, inventor of\nLogarithms, was to assist Logan of Restalrig to find treasure, 'by arts to\nhim known,' at a later date. Probably the divining rod was to be employed,\nas in a case cited by Scott.\n\nBut in 1568, Napier of the Logarithms was only a boy of eighteen.\n\nReturning to the plot to kill Moray: on August 14, 1568, Patrick Hepburn,\nbastard of the Bishop of Moray, and cousin of Bothwell, was taken in\nScone, by Ruthven and Lindsay, brought before Moray at Stirling, and\nthence taken to Edinburgh. He was examined, revealed the nature of the\nplot, and gave up the names of his accomplices.[407]\n\nThis Patrick Hepburn was parson of Kynmoir by simoniacal arrangement with\nhis father, the Bishop. It seems possible that Stewart met Bothwell, when\nhe was in Denmark, in the spring of the year, and induced him to arrange a\nconspiracy with his cousin, Patrick Hepburn. Before Hepburn was taken, the\nLyon Herald, on August 2, fled to Dumbarton, where he was safe under the\nprotection of Lord Fleming, then holding Dumbarton Castle for Mary.[408]\nThe Herald 'was suspecte of conspiracy against the life of the Regent, the\nEarll of Moray.' He lost his place as Lyon King at Arms, and Sir David\nLindsay was appointed to the office, held under James V. by his poet\nnamesake. On August 19, Sir William Stewart wrote, from Dumbarton, a\nletter to a lord, not named. This lord had written to ask Fleming to give\nup Stewart, who believes that he was instigated by some other. 'For I\ncannot think that you can be so ingrate as to seek my innocent life and\nblood, considering that I have so favourably and so oft forewarned you of\nthe great misery that you are like to fall into now, for not following my\ncounsel and admonitions made oft and in due time.' Here we see Stewart\nclaiming foreknowledge of events. 'Desist, I pray you, to seek further my\nblood, for as I shall answer to the eternal God, I never conspired or\nconsented to the Earl of Moray's death.... I fear you not, nor none of\nthat monstrous faction, for, as God is the defender of innocents, so is he\nthe just and severe punisher of cruel monsters and usurpers, who spare not\nto execute all kind of cruelty, under the pretext of religion and\njustice.... But there be some of his own secret Council that both directly\nand indirectly have sought that bloody usurper's life, whom I shall name\nas occasion shall serve....' Stewart again protests his own innocence,\napparently with conviction. He ends 'I pray you be favourable to the\nParson of Kenmore' (Patrick Hepburn), 'and with such as have meddled with\nmy apparel, bows, and books, to keep all well till meeting, which will be\nsoon God willing....'[409]\n\nThis letter shows Stewart as a believer in foreknowledge of events, as one\nwho hates Moray, 'a bloody usurper,' and as acquainted with a plot against\nMoray by his intimates. Lethington and Sir James Balfour were more or less\nat odds with Moray, about this time, but we have no evidence that they\nconspired to kill him.\n\nHow it happened we do not know, but Stewart was captured, despite the\nprotection of Dumbarton Castle. On October 4, 1568, his reception there\nwas one of the charges made, perhaps by John Wood, against Mary's party,\n'Lord Fleming refusing his delivery.'[410] At all events, on August 5,\n1569, we find Stewart imprisoned in Edinburgh Castle, as also was Paris,\nwho, says Moray, arrived at Leith in June of the year. On August 5, both\nmen were taken to St. Andrews, 'there to be punished according to their\ndemerits.'[411]\n\nOn the same day, August 5, 1569, Stewart wrote from the Castle a piteous\nletter to 'the most merciful Regent.' He declared, as to the conspiracy of\n1568, that he only knew of it by public talk. 'The bruit of your Grace's\nmurder was tossed up and down at Edinburgh.' Even if Stewart foreknew and\nconcealed the plot, 'yet till the principal devisers are tried and\nconvicted, I cannot be accused.' Stewart himself first heard of the\nconspiracy on July 21, 1568, from Patrick Hepburn. The comptroller\n(Tullibardine) had, on that day, 'purged himself' of the affair at\nStirling. Now July 21 was the day after Drury gave his second notice of\nthe treasure-hunt by magic, somehow involving a new regent, in which\nStewart was concerned. Stewart cannot be accurate in referring his first\nhearsay knowledge of the conspiracy to July 21, 1568.\n\nHe goes on excusing himself. He could not believe that the persons\nimplicated by Patrick Hepburn ever contemplated the murder of Moray, who\nknows their names. Moreover, there is some one who predicted many events\nto Stewart, such as Darnley's murder, the fall of Bothwell, 'the death of\nLyon Herald, and my promotion, the Queen's deliverance,' Langside, 'and\nother predictions which have proved true.' This soothsayer said that Moray\nwas only in danger from 'domestical treason.' Therefore, Stewart\ndisbelieved wholly in Patrick Hepburn's story of a plot, and so did not\ndivulge it. As witness, he cites 'a certain courtier' to whom he had given\nthe same reason for his scepticism, in the middle of July, 1568. He adds\nthat he thinks it wrong, following St. Paul, to resist 'tyrants and\nusurpers.' He regarded Moray as a tyrant and usurper, we have seen, in\nAugust, 1568. He ends by offering disclosures, privately, and asking for\nmercy.[412]\n\nOn August 15, 1569, 'William Stewart, being convictit for witcherie, was\nburnt, and the said Paris, convictit for ane of the slayaris of the King,\nwes hangit in Sanctandrois,' says the 'Diurnal.'\n\nNow, why was Lyon Herald burned? If there was a conspiracy, in July, 1568,\nno others suffered for it. It was easy to convict Stewart for 'witchery':\nhe confessed to dealings with a soothsayer, and the Kirk was beginning its\ncampaign against witches. But what was the political or personal reason\nfor Moray's cruelty? Had he seen Stewart's letter of August 19, 1568?\n\nAs to the soothsayer, he may have been a familiar spirit, but he may also\nhave been the Laird of Merchistoun, Napier, the father of the inventor of\nLogarithms. One of his prophecies to Stewart dealt with Mary's escape from\nLoch Leven. And Nau, Mary's secretary, writes, 'The Laird of Merchistoun,\nwho had the reputation of being a great wizard, made bets with several\npersons, to the amount of 500 crowns, that by the 5th of May, her Majesty\nwould be out of Loch Leven.'[413]\n\nThus there were two wizard Lairds of Merchistoun, the scientific son (the\ntreasure-hunter for the laird of Restalrig) and his father.\n\nFor the rest, the conspiracy against Moray, in July, 1568, and the secret\nas to the cause of Lyon Herald's death, remain mysterious.[414]\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX C\n\nTHE DATE OF MARY'S VISIT TO GLASGOW\n\n\nThe question of the possibility that Letter II. may be authentic turns on\ndates. If the Lords are right in declaring, in 'Cecil's Journal,' that\nMary left Edinburgh on January 21, 1567, and arrived in Glasgow on January\n23, then the evidence of the Letter is incompatible with that of Paris,\nand one or both testimonies must be abandoned. They fare no better if we\naccept the statement of Drury, writing from Berwick, that Mary entered\nGlasgow on January 22. It is shown in the text that, if we accept the date\nas given in Birrel's 'Diary,' and also in the 'Diurnal of Occurrents': if\nwe make Mary leave Edinburgh on January 20, and (contrary to Drury and\n'Cecil's Journal') make her enter Glasgow on January 21, then the Letter\nmay be brought into harmony with the statement of Paris.\n\nOf course it may be argued that the 'Diurnal' and Birrel's 'Diary'\ncoincide in an error of date. The 'Diary' of Birrel describes itself as\nextending from 1532 to 1605. One man cannot have kept a daily note of\nevents for seventy-three years. The 'Diary,' in fact, is _not_ a daily\nrecord. There is but one entry for 1561, one for 1562, one for 1565, ten\nfor 1566, and twenty-four for 1567; up to Mary's surrender at Carberry\n(June 15). The 'Diurnal,' for our period, is more copious, and is by a\ncontemporary, though probably he did not always write his remarks on the\nday of the occurrence noted.\n\nFrom August 19, 1561, to June 15, 1567, the 'Diurnal' and the 'Diary'\nrecord in common twenty-one events, with date. In seven of these cases\nthey differ, as to date. They differ as to the day of Mary's departure\nfrom Edinburgh to Jedburgh, as to the departure of the ambassadors from\nStirling, as to the arrival of Mary with her infant child in Edinburgh\n(January, 1567), as to the return of Mary and Darnley from Glasgow, as to\nthe day of Darnley's burial, as to the day of opening Parliament, and as\nto the attack on Borthwick Castle by the Lords: while the 'Diurnal' makes\nthe explosion at Kirk o' Field occur at 2 A.M. on February 10, but ends\nthe Parliament on April 29, which is absurd. When the dates are correctly\nknown from other sources, and when the 'Diary' and the 'Diurnal' coincide\nas to these dates, then, of course, we may accept their authority. But\nwhen, as in the case of Mary's departure from Edinburgh, and arrival in\nGlasgow, the 'Diary' and 'Diurnal' oppose 'Cecil's Journal,' and Drury's\nversion, every reader must estimate the value of their coincidence for\nhimself. If their date, January 20, is correct, then a letter may have\nbeen written, and sent, and received, and the facts, so far, are\ncorroborated by Paris's deposition.\n\nThe argument of Chalmers, that Mary was at Edinburgh till January 24,\nbecause there are entries as if of her presence there in the Register of\nPrivy Seal, is not valid, as such entries were occasionally made in the\nabsence of the King or Queen.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX D\n\nTHE BAND FOR DARNLEY'S MURDER\n\n\nThis Band, which is constantly cited in all the troubles from 1567 to\n1586, is a most mysterious document. We have seen that Mary's secretary,\nNau, wilfully or accidentally confuses it with an anti-Darnley band signed\nby Morton, Moray, and many others, early in October, 1566. We have also\nseen that Randolph, in 1570, distinguishes between this 'old band' and the\nband for the murder, which, he says, Lethington and Balfour abstracted\nfrom a little coffer in the Castle, covered with green cloth or velvet,\nimmediately after Mary surrendered at Carberry. I have ventured the theory\nthat this carefully covered little coffer may have been the Casket\nitself.[415] Drury, again, in November, 1567, reports that the band has\nbeen burned, while the papers as to Mary are 'kept to be shewn.' But, in\nScotland, till Morton's execution in June, 1581, the murder band was\nbelieved to be extant: at least Sir James Balfour, if he chose, could give\nevidence about it. What Mary wished to be believed as to this matter, we\nhave seen in Nau, who wrote under her inspiration between 1575 and 1587.\nHe asserts that Bothwell, 'to ease his conscience' gave Mary a copy of the\nband, when he rode away from Carberry (June 15, 1567). He showed Mary the\nsignatures of Morton, Balfour, Lethington, and others. She kept the\ndocument, and, when she met Morton on Carberry Hill, told him that he was\none of the chief murderers, as she had learned. He slunk away.[416]\nProbably Mary did accuse Morton, at Carberry. When he was executed (June\n3, 1581) Sir John Foster, from Alnwick, sent an account of the trial to\nWalsingham. In the evidence against Morton was 'the Queen's confession\nwhen she was taken at Carberry Hill. She said he was the principal man\nthat was the deed-doer, and the drawer of that purpose.' Morton certainly\nwas not present, and it is as good as certain that he did not sign the\nband. Still, Mary, at Carberry, charged him with complicity.[417]\n\nWe have seen that Mary, ever after Carberry, also inculpated Lethington,\nand vowed that she had something in black and white which would hang him.\nSomething she probably did possess, but not a band signed also by Morton.\nConcerning the murder-band, Hay of Tala, before execution (January 3,\n1568), 'in presence of the whole people,' named as subscribers 'Bothwell,\nHuntly, Argyll, Lethington, Balfour, with divers other nobles.'[418] Hay\nsaw their signatures, but not that of Morton. 'He said my Lord Bothwell\nsaid to him that he subscribed the same.' The Black Laird (December 13,\n1573), when in a devout and penitent condition, said that Bothwell had\nshown him the contract, 'subscribed by four or five handwrites, which, he\naffirmed to me, was the subscription of the Earl of Huntly, Argyll, the\nsecretary Maitland, and Sir James Balfour.' Ormistoun repeated part of the\ncontents: the paper was drawn up by Balfour, a Lord of Session.[419] (See\nIntroduction, pp. xiii-xviii.)\n\nMorton, we know, was accused of Darnley's death, and arrested, at the end\nof December, 1580. Archibald Douglas was sought for, but escaped into\nEngland. Elizabeth sent Randolph down to save Morton: Hunsdon was to lead\nan army over the Border. Every kind of violence was designed, and forgery\nwas attempted, but Randolph had to fly to Berwick, at the end of March.\nMeanwhile the arch traitor, Balfour, had been summoned from France, as an\nevidence against Morton. But he was not of much use. On January 30, 1581,\nhe wrote from Edinburgh to Mary. He had arrived in Scotland on December\n17, 1580, when he found Morton in the height of power. Balfour secretly\napproached James's new favourite, Stewart d'Aubigny, recently created Earl\nof Lennox. By giving them information '_had from your Majesty's self_, and\npartly by other intelligence which I knew and learned from others,' he\ngave them grounds for Morton's arrest. But Morton, he says, trusting to\nthe lack of testimony from the absence of Archibald Douglas, boldly\n'denies all things promised by him to Bothwell in that matter,' 'except\nhis signature to the band whereof I did send the copy to your Majesty.'\nNow that was only 'Ainslie's band,' made _after_ the murder, on April 19,\n1567, to defend Bothwell's quarrel. On an extant copy Randolph has\nwritten, 'upon this was grounded thacusation of therle Morton.'[420] This\nwas no hanging matter, and Balfour either had not or would not produce the\nmurder band. He therefore asks Mary for further information: 'all that\nyour Majesty has heard or known thereinto.'[421]\n\nBalfour and Mary corresponded in cypher through Archbishop Beaton, her\nambassador in France. On March 18, 1580, she had written to Beaton, 'if\npossible make Balfour write to me fully about the band which he has seen,\nwith the signatures, for the murder of my late husband, the King, or let\nhim give you a copy in his own hand.' If she really possessed the band\nwhich Nau says Bothwell gave her at Carberry, she needed no copy from\nBalfour. She does not seem to have believed in him and his band. On May\n20, 1580, she writes to Beaton: 'I put no faith in what Balfour has sent\nme, so far, and cannot trust him much having been so wretchedly betrayed\nby him,' for Balfour had put Morton on the trail of the Casket, had sold\nthe Castle, and later, had betrayed Kirkcaldy and Lethington when they\nheld the Castle against Morton. However, she sent to Balfour a civil\nmessage, and bade him go on undermining Morton, in which he succeeded, in\nthe following year. But the murder-band was never produced. On March 16,\n1581, Randolph described a conference which had passed between him and\nJames VI. 'I spoke again of the _band in the green box_, containing the\nnames of all the chief persons consenting to the King's murder, which Sir\nJames Balfour either hath or can tell of.' Randolph, who was working for\nMorton, obviously knew that _he_ did not sign that band: otherwise he\nwould have avoided the subject.[422]\n\nWe have no account of Morton's trial, save what Foster tells Walsingham.\n'The murder of the King was laid to him by four or five witnesses. The\nfirst is the Lord Bothwell's Testament' (usually thought to be forged),\n'the second, Mr. Archibald Douglas, when he was his man.' But Douglas,\nsurely, dared not appear in Court, or in Scotland. Foster clearly means\nthat Archibald's servant, Binning, proved _his_ guilt, and that it\nreflected on Morton, whose 'man' Archibald was, in 1567, and later. Next\ncame the charge that Morton 'spoke with' Bothwell, as he confessed that he\ndid, at Whittingam, about January 20, 1567, when he says that he declined\nto join the plot without Mary's written warrant. How could this be known,\nexcept through Mary or Archibald Douglas? Possibly his brother, at whose\nhouse the conference was held, may have declared the matter, as he\n'split,' in 1581, on Archibald, and all concerned. 'And then' Morton was\ncondemned on 'the consenting to the murder of the King' (how was _that_\nproved?), on Ainslie's band to support Bothwell's quarrel, 'no person\nbeing excepted,' and finally, 'the Queen's confession at Carberry Hill,'\nwhen she confessed nothing, but accused Morton.\n\nMary's conduct, as far as it can be construed, looks as if she knew very\nlittle either about Morton or the murder-band. If Bothwell told her\nanything, what he told her was probably more or less untrue.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX E\n\nTHE TRANSLATIONS OF THE CASKET LETTERS\n\n\nThe casual treatment of the Casket Letters by Mary's accusers, and by the\nEnglish Commissioners, is demonstrated by an inspection of the texts as\nthey now exist. One thing is absolutely certain, the Letters were\nproduced, at Westminster and Hampton Court, in the original French,\nwhether that was forged, or garbled, or authentic. This is demonstrated by\nthe occurrence, in the English translation, of the words 'I have taken the\nworms out of his nose.' This ugly French phrase for extracting a man's\ninmost thoughts is used by Mary in an authentic letter.[423] But the Scots\nversion of the passage runs, 'I have drawn all out of him.' Therefore the\nEnglish translator had a French original before him, _not_ the French\nlater published by the Huguenots, where for _tire les vers du nez_, we\nfind _j'ay sceu toutes choses de luy_.\n\nOriginal French letters were therefore produced; the only doubt rests on\npart of Crawford's deposition, where it verbally agrees with Letter II.\nBut we may here overlook Crawford's part in the affair, merely reminding\nthe reader that the French idioms in that portion of the Letter (Scots\nversion) which most closely resembles his very words, in his deposition,\nmay have come in through the process of translating Crawford's Scots into\nFrench, and out of French into Scots again, to which we return.\n\nThe Casket Letters were produced, in French, on December 7 and 8. On\nDecember 9, the English Commissioners read them, 'being duly translated\ninto English.'[424] We are never told that the Scottish Lords prepared and\nproduced the _English_ translations. These must have been constructed on\nDecember 7 and 8, in a violent hurry. So great was the hurry that Letter\nVI. was not translated from French at all: the English was merely done,\nand badly done, out of the Scots. Thus, Scots, 'I am wod;' English, 'I am\nwood.' As far as this Letter goes, there need have been no original French\ntext.[425] In this case (Letter VI.) the English is the Scots Anglified,\nword for word. The same easy mode of translating French is used in Letter\nV.; it is the Scots done word for word into English. In Letters I. and\nII., M. Philippson makes it pretty clear that the English translator had a\ncopy of the Scots version lying by him, from which he occasionally helped\nhimself to phrases. M. Cardauns, in _Der Sturz der Maria Stuart_, had\nproved the same point, which every one can verify. Dozens of blunders\noccur in the English versions, though, now and then, they keep closer to\nthe originals than do the Scots translators.\n\nOf this we give a singular and significant proof. In the Scots of Letter\nI. the first sentence ends, 'Ze promisit to mak me advertisement of zour\nnewis from tyme to tyme.' The next sentence begins: 'The waiting upon\nyame.' In the English we read 'at your departure you promised to send me\nnewes from you. _Nevertheless I can learn none_:' which is not in the\nScots, but is in the published French, 'et toutes fois je n'en puis\napprendre.' The _published_ French is translated from the Latin, which is\ntranslated from the Scots, but each of the French _published_ letters\nopens with a sentence or two from the _original_ French: thus the\npublished French, in one of these sentences, keeps what the Scots omits.\n\nTherefore, the Scots translator undeniably, in the first paragraph of\nLetter I., omitted a clause which was in his French original, and is in\nthe English translation. Consequently, when, in the same short letter, the\nEnglish has, and the Scots has not, '_to Ledington, to be delivered to\nyou_,' we cannot, as most critics do, and as Herr Bresslau does, infer\nthat Lethington had that mention of him deliberately excised from the\nScots version, as likely to implicate him in the murder. It did not\nimplicate him. Surely a Queen may write to her Secretary of State, on\npublic affairs, even if she is planning a murder with her First Lord of\nthe Admiralty. When the Scots translator omits a harmless clause, by\ninadvertence, in line 6, he may also, by inadvertence, omit another in\nline 41.\n\nFrom these facts it follows that we cannot acquit Lethington of a possible\nshare in the falsification of the Letters, merely because a reference to\nhim, in the original French, existed, and was omitted in the Scots text.\nHe need not have struck out the clause about himself, because the Scots\ntranslator, we see, actually omits another clause by sheer inadvertence.\nIn the same way Mr. Henderson's text of the Casket Letters exhibits\nomissions of important passages, by inadvertence in copying.\n\nAgain, we can found no argument on omissions or changes, in the English\nversions. That text omits (in Letter II.), what we find in the Scots, the\nword _yesternight_, in the clause 'the King sent for Joachim\n_yesternight_.' M. Philippson argues that this was an intentional\nomission, to hide from the English commissioners the incongruity of the\ndates. The translators, and probably the commissioners, did not look into\nthings so closely. The English translators made many omissions and other\nerrors, because they were working at top speed, and Cecil's marginal\ncorrections deal with very few of these blunders. On them, therefore, no\ntheory can be based. Nor can any theory be founded on clauses present in\nthe English, but not in the Scots, as in Letter II., Scots, 'I answerit\nbut rudely to the doutis yat wer in his letteris,' to which the English\ntext appends, 'as though there had been a meaning to pursue him.' This,\nprobably, was in the French; but we must not infer that Lennox had it\nsuppressed, in the Scots, as a reference to what he kept concealed, the\nrumour of Darnley's intention to seize and crown the child prince. The\nreal fact is that the Scots translator, as we have seen, makes inadvertent\nomissions.\n\nThe English text is sometimes right where the Scots is wrong. Thus, Sir\nJames Hamilton told Mary, as she entered Glasgow, that Lennox sent the\nLaird of Houstoun to tell him that he (Lennox) 'wald never have belevit\nthat he (Sir James) wald have persewit him, nor zit accompanyit him with\nthe Hamiltounis.' The English has what seems better, 'he,' Lennox, 'wold\nnot have thought that he would have followed and accompany himself with\nthe Hamiltons.' In the end of a paragraph (3), the Scots is gibberish:\nScots, 'nevertheless he speikis gude, at the leist his son': English\n(_Henderson_), 'and they so speakith well of them, at least his sonne,'\n'and then he speaketh well of them' (Bain). The English then omits (Scots)\n'I se na uthir Gentilman bot thay of my company.'\n\nIn the next line (Scots) 'The King send for Joachim yesternicht,' the\nEnglish omits 'yesternicht,' probably by inadvertence. The word has a\nbearing on the chronology of the Letter, and its omission in the English\ntext may be discounted. It is a peculiarity of that text to write 'he' for\n'I,' and a feature of Mary's hand accounts for the error. Where Darnley,\nin the Scots, says, 'I had rather have passit with yow,' the sentence\nfollows 'I trow he belevit that I wald have send him away Presoner.' This\nis not in the English, but recurs in the end of Crawford's Deposition, 'I\nthought that she was carrying him away rather as a prisoner than as a\nhusband.' Probably the sentence, omitted in English, was in the French:\nwhether derived from Crawford's Deposition or not. Presently the English\ngives a kind of date, not found in the Scots. Scots, 'I am in doing of ane\nwork heir that I hait greitly.' The English adds, '_but I had begun it\nthis morning_.' Now, to all appearance, she had 'begun it' the night\nbefore. How did 'but I had begun it this morning' get into the English?\nFor the answer see page 300. Even in the first set of Memoranda there are\ndifferences: Scots, 'The purpois of Schir James Hamilton.' English, 'The\ntalk of Sir James Hamilton _of the ambassador_.'\n\nThere are other mistranslations, and English omissions: the English\nespecially omits the mysterious second set of notes. What appears most\ndistinctly, from this comparison, is the hasty and slovenly manner of the\nwhole inquiry. The English translators had some excuse for their bad work;\nthe Scots had none for their omissions and misrenderings.\n\nLetter III. (or VIII.) and Letter IV. I have translated, in the body of\nthis book, from the copies of the French originals.\n\nIn Letter V. the copy of the French original enables us to clear up the\nsense. It is a question about a maid or lady in waiting, whom Bothwell, or\nsomebody else, wishes Mary to dismiss. The French is, 'et si vous ne me\nmondes [mandez] ce soir ce que volles que j'en fasse, Je mendeferay [m'en\ndeferay] au hazard de _la_ fayre entreprandre ce qui pourroit nuire a ce a\nquoy nous tandons tous deus.' The Scots has 'I will red myself of _it_,\nand cause _it_ to be interprysit and takin in hand, quhilk micht be\nhurtful to that quhair unto we baith do tend.' The English is the Scots,\nAnglified.\n\nThe real sense, of course, is 'if you do not let me know to-night what\nstep you want me to take, I shall get rid of _her_, at the risk of making\n_her_ attempt something which might harm our project.' We have no other\nknown contemporary English translations. Of the four known, two (I. II.)\nare made with a frequent glance at the Scots, two are merely the Scots\ndone into English, without any reference to the French. Nothing but the\nhasty careless manner of the whole inquiry accounts for these\ncircumstances.\n\nThe most curious point connected with the translations is Crawford's\ndeposition. It was handed in on December 9, 1568. Whoever did it out of\nCrawford's Scots into English had obviously both the Scots and English\nversions of Letter II. before him. Where the deposition is practically\nidentical with the corresponding passages of Letter II., the transcriber\nof it into English usually followed the Scots version of Letter II. But\nthere is a corrected draft in the Lennox MSS. at Cambridge, which proves\nthat the Angliciser of Crawford's Scots occasionally altered it into\nharmony with the English version of Letter II. Thus, in the first\nparagraph, the original draft of Crawford in English has, like the Scots\nversion of Letter II., 'the _rude_ words that I had spoken to Cunningham.'\nBut, in the official copy, in English, of Crawford, and in the Lennox\ndraft of it, 'rude' is changed into '_sharpe_ wordes,' and so on. The part\nof Crawford which corresponds with Letter II. is free from obvious literal\nrenderings of the French idiom, as Mr. Henderson remarks.[426] These\nabound in the English version of the corresponding part of Letter II.,\nbut are absent here in the Scots translation. It is, therefore, open to\nargument that Crawford did make notes of Darnley's and Mary's talk; that\nthese were done into 'the original French,' and thence retranslated into\nthe Scots (free from French idiom here) and into the English, where traces\nof French idiom in this passage are frequent.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CASKET LETTERS\n\n\nI print the Scots Texts with one or two variations from C (the Cambridge\nMS.) and Y (the Yelverton MS.). The English Texts are given, where they\nare not merely taken direct from the Scots translations; these and\nCrawford's Deposition are from MSS. in the Record Office and Hatfield\nCalendar.\n\n\nLETTER I\n\n    PUBLISHED SCOTS TRANSLATION\n\n    It apeiris, that with zour absence thair is alswa joynit forgetfulnes,\n    seand yat at zour departing ze promysit to mak me advertisement of\n    zour newis from tyme to tyme. The waitting upon yame zesterday causit\n    me to be almaist in sic joy as I will be at zour returning, quhilk ze\n    have delayit langer than zour promeis was.\n\n    As to me, howbeit I have na farther newis from zow, according to my\n    commissioun, I bring the Man with me to Craigmillar upon Monounday\n    quhair he will be all Wednisday; and I will gang to Edinburgh to draw\n    blude of me, gif in the meane tyme I get na newis in ye contrarie fra\n    zow.\n\n    He is mair gay than ever ze saw him; he puttis me in remembrance of\n    all thingis yat may mak me beleve he luifis me. Summa, ze will say yat\n    he makis lufe to me: of ye quhilk I tak sa greit plesure, yat I enter\n    never where he is, bot incontinent I tak ye seiknes of my sair syde, I\n    am sa troubillit with it. Gif Paris bringis me that quhilk I send him\n    for, I traist it sall amend me.\n\n    I pray zow, advertise me of zour newis at lenth, and quhat I sall do\n    in cace ze be returnit quhen I am cum thair; for, in cace ze wirk not\n    wysely, I se that the haill burding of this will fall upon my\n    schoulderis. Provide for all thing, and discourse upon it first with\n    zourself. I send this be Betoun, quha gais to ane Day of Law of the\n    Laird of Balfouris. I will say na further, saifing that I pray zow to\n    send me gude newis of zour voyage. From Glasgow this Setterday in the\n    morning.\n\n\n    ENGLISH TRANSLATION AT THE RECORD OFFICE\n\n    (State Papers relating to Mary Queen of Scots, vol. ii. No. 62)\n\n    It seemyth that with your absence forgetfulness is joynid consydering\n    that at your departure you promised me to send me newes from you.\n    Neuertheless I can learn none. And yet did I yesterday looke for that\n    that shuld make me meryer then I shall be. I think you doo the lyke\n    for your returne, prolonging it more than you have promised.\n\n    As for me, if I hear no other matter of you, according to my\n    Commission, I bring the man Monday to Cregmillar, where he shall be\n    vpon Wednisdaye. And I go to Edinboroughe to be lett blud, if I haue\n    no word to the contrary.\n\n    He is the meryest that euer you sawe, and doth remember vnto me all\n    that he can, to make me beleve that he louith me. To conclude, you\n    wold saye that he makith love to me, wherein I take so muche plesure,\n    that I never com in there, but the payne of my syde doth take me. I\n    have it sore to daye. Yf Paris doth bring back unto me that for which\n    I have sent, it suld muche amend me.\n\n    I pray you, send me word from you at large, and what I shall doo if\n    you be not returnid, when I shall be there. For if you be not wyse I\n    see assuredly all the wholle burden falling vpon my shoulders. Prouide\n    for all and consyder well first of all. I send this present to\n    Ledinton to be delivered to you by Beton, who goith to one Day a lau\n    of Lord Balfour. I will saye no more vnto you, but that I pray God\n    send me good newes of your voyage.\n\n    From Glasco this Saturday morning.\n\n\nLETTER II\n\n    PUBLISHED SCOTS TRANSLATION\n\n    1. Being departit from the place quhair I left my hart, it is esie to\n    be judgeit quhat was my countenance, seeing that I was evin als mekle\n    as ane body without ane hart; quhilk was the Occasioun that quhile\n    Denner tyme I held purpois to na body; nor zit durst ony present\n    thameselfis unto me, judging yat it was not gude sa to do.\n\n    2. Four myle or I came to the towne, ane gentilman of the Erle of\n    Lennox come and maid his commendatiounis unto me; and excusit him that\n    he came not to meit me, be ressoun he durst not interpryse the same,\n    becaus of the rude wordis that I had spokin to Cuninghame: And he\n    desyrit that he suld come to the inquisitioun of ye matter yat I\n    suspectit him of. This last speiking was of his awin heid, without ony\n    commissioun.\n\n    I answerit to him that thair was na recept culd serve aganis feir; and\n    that he wold not be affrayit, in cace he wer not culpabill; and that I\n    answerit bot rudely to the doutis yat wer in his letteris. Summa, I\n    maid him hald his toung. The rest wer lang to wryte.\n\n    3. Schir James Hammiltoun met me, quha schawit that the uther tyme\n    quhen he hard of my cumming he[427] departit away, and send Howstoun,\n    to schaw him, that he wald never have belevit that he wald have\n    persewit him, nor zit accompanyit him with the Hammiltounis. He\n    answerit, that he was only cum bot to see me, and yat he wald nouther\n    accompany Stewart nor Hammiltoun, bot be my commandement. He desyrit\n    that he wald cum and speik with him: He refusit it.\n\n    The Laird of Lusse, Howstoun, and Caldwellis sone, with xl. hors or\n    thairabout, come and met me. The Laird of Lusse said, he was chargeit\n    to ane Day of Law be the Kingis father, quhilk suld be this day,\n    aganis his awin hand-writ, quhilk he hes: and zit notwithstanding,\n    knawing of my cumming, it is delayit. He was inquyrit to cum to him,\n    quhilk he refusit, and sweiris that he will indure nathing of him.\n    Never ane of that towne came to speik to me, quhilk causis me think\n    that thay ar his; and neuertheles he speikis gude, at the leist his\n    sone. I se na uther Gentilman bot thay of my company.\n\n    4. The King send for Joachim zisternicht, and askit at him, quhy I\n    ludgeit not besyde him? And that he wald ryse the soner gif that wer;\n    and quhairfoir I come, gif it was for gude appointment? and gif I had\n    maid my estait, gif I had takin Paris [this berer will tell you\n    sumwhat upon this], and Gilbert to wryte to me? And yat I wald send\n    Joseph away. I am abaschit quha hes schawin him sa far; zea he spak\n    evin of ye mariage of Bastiane.\n\n    5. I inquyrit him of his letteris, quhairintill he plenzeit of the\n    crueltie of sum: answerit, that he was astonischit, and that he was sa\n    glaid to se me, that he belevit to die for glaidnes. He fand greit\n    fault that I was pensive.\n\n    6. I departit to supper. Yis beirer wil tell yow of my arryuing. He\n    prayit me to returne: the quhilk I did. He declairit unto me his\n    seiknes, and that he wald mak na testament, bot only leif all thing to\n    me; and that I was the caus of his maladie, becaus of the regrait that\n    he had that I was sa strange unto him. And thus he said: Ze ask me\n    quhat I mene be the crueltie contenit in my letter? it is of zow alone\n    that will not accept my offeris and repentance. I confess that I haue\n    failit, bot not into that quhilk I ever denyit; and siclyke hes failit\n    to sindrie of zour subjectis, quhilk ze haue forgeuin.\n\n    I am zoung.\n\n    Ze wil say, that ze have forgevin me oft tymes, and zit yat I returne\n    to my faultis. May not ane man of my age, for lacke of counsell, fall\n    twyse or thryse, or inlacke of his promeis, and at last repent\n    himself, and be chastisit be experience? Gif I may obtene pardoun, I\n    protest I sall never mak fault agane. And I crafit na uther thing, bot\n    yat we may be at bed and buird togidder as husband and wyfe; and gif\n    ze wil not consent heirunto, I sall never ryse out of yis bed. I pray\n    zow, tell me your resolutioun. God knawis how I am punischit for\n    making my God of zow, and for hauing na uther thocht but on zow; and\n    gif at ony tyme I offend zow, ze ar the caus, becaus quhen ony\n    offendis me, gif, for my refuge, I micht playne unto zow, I wald speik\n    it unto na uther body; bot quhen I heir ony thing, not being familiar\n    with zow, necessitie constranis me to keip it in my breist; and yat\n    causes me to tyne my wit for verray anger.\n\n    7. I answerit ay unto him, but that wald be ovir lang to wryte at\n    lenth. I askit quhy he wald pas away in ye _Inglis_ schip. He denyis\n    it, and sweiris thairunto; bot he grantis that he spak with the men.\n    Efter this I inquyrit him of the inquisitioun of Hiegait. He denyit\n    the same, quhill I schew him the verray wordis was spokin. At quhilk\n    tyme he said, that Mynto had advertisit him, that it was said, that\n    sum of the counsell had brocht an letter to me to be subscrivit to put\n    him in Presoun, and to slay him gif he maid resistance. And he askit\n    the same at Mynto himself; quha answerit, that he belevit ye same to\n    be trew. The morne I wil speik to him upon this Point.\n\n    8. As to the rest of Willie Hiegait's, he confessit it, bot it was the\n    morne efter my cumming or he did it.\n\n    9. He wald verray fane that I suld ludge in his ludgeing. I refusit\n    it, and said to him, that he behovit to be purgeit, and that culd not\n    be done heir. He said to me, I heir say ze have brocht ane lytter with\n    zow; but I had rather have passit with zow. I trow he belevit that I\n    wald have send him away Presoner. I answerit, that I wald tak him with\n    me to Craigmillar, quhair the mediciner and I micht help him, and not\n    be far from my sone. He answerit, that he was reddy quhen I pleisit,\n    sa I wald assure him of his requeist.\n\n    He desyris na body to se him. He is angrie quhen I speik of Walcar,\n    and sayis, that he sal pluk the eiris out of his heid and that he\n    leis. For I inquyrit him upon that, and yat he was angrie with sum of\n    the Lordis, and wald threittin thame. He denyis that, and sayis he\n    luifis thame all, and prayis me to give traist to nathing aganis him.\n\n    10. As to me, he wald rather give his lyfe or he did ony displesure to\n    me. And efter yis he schew me of sa money lytil flattereis, sa cauldly\n    and sa wysely that ze will abasche thairat. I had almaist forzet that\n    he said, he could not dout of me in yis purpois of Hiegaite's; for he\n    wald never beleif yat I, quha was his proper flesche, wald do him ony\n    evill; alsweill it was schawin that I refusit to subscrive the same;\n    But as to ony utheris that wald persew him, at leist he suld sell his\n    lyfe deir aneuch; but he suspectit na body, nor zit wald not; but wald\n    lufe all yat I lufit.\n\n    11. He wald not let me depart from him, bot desyrit yat I suld walk\n    with him. I mak it seme that I beleive that all is trew, and takis\n    heid thairto, and excusit my self for this nicht that I culd not walk.\n    He sayis, that he sleipis not weil. Ze saw him never better, nor speik\n    mair humbler. And gif I had not ane prufe of his hart of waxe, and yat\n    myne wer not of ane dyamont, quhairintill na schot can mak brek, but\n    that quhilk cummis forth of zour hand, I wald have almaist had pietie\n    of him. But feir not, the place sall hald unto the deith. Remember, in\n    recompence thairof, that ye suffer not zouris to be wyn be that fals\n    race that will travell na les with zow for the same.\n\n    I beleve thay[430] have bene at schuillis togidder. He hes ever the\n    teir in his eye; he salutis every body, zea, unto the leist, and makis\n    pieteous caressing unto thame, to mak thame have pietie on him. This\n    day his father bled at the mouth and nose; ges quhat presage that is.\n    I have not zit sene him, he keipis his chalmer. The king desyris that\n    I suld give him meit with my awin handis; bot gif na mair traist\n    quhair ze ar, than I sall do heir.\n\n    This is my first jornay. I sall end ye same ye morne.\n\n    12. I wryte all thingis, howbeit thay be of lytill wecht, to the end\n    that ze may tak the best of all to judge upon. I am in doing of ane\n    work heir that I hait greitly. Have ze not desyre to lauch to se me\n    lie sa weill, at ye leist to dissembill sa weill, and to tell him\n    treuth betwix handis? He schawit me almaist all yat is in the name of\n    the Bischop and Sudderland, and zit I have never twichit ane word of\n    that ze schawit me; but allanerly be force, flattering, and to pray\n    him to assure himself of me. And be pleinzeing on the Bischop, I have\n    drawin it all out of him. Ye have hard the rest.\n\n    13. We ar couplit with twa fals races; the devil sinder us, and God\n    knit us togidder for ever, for the maist faithful coupill that ever be\n    unitit. This is my faith, I will die in it.\n\n    Excuse I wryte evill, ye may ges ye half of it; bot I cannot mend it,\n    because I am not weil at eis; and zit verray glaid to wryte unto zow\n    quhen the rest are sleipand, sen I cannot sleip as thay do, and as I\n    wald desyre, that is in zour armes, my deir lufe, quhome I pray God to\n    preserve from all evill, and send zow repois: I am gangand to seik\n    myne till ye morne, quhen I sall end my Bybill; but I am faschit that\n    it stoppis me to wryte newis of myself unto zow, because it is sa\n    lang.\n\n    Advertise me quhat ze have deliberat to do in the mater ze knaw upon\n    this point, to ye end that we may understand utheris weill, that\n    nathing thairthrow be spilt.\n\n    14. I am irkit, and ganging to sleip, and zit I ceis not to\n    scrible[431] all this paper in sa mekle as restis thairof. Waryit mot\n    this pokische man be that causes me haif sa mekle pane, for without\n    him I suld have an far plesander subject to discourse upon. He is not\n    over mekle deformit, zit he hes ressavit verray mekle. He hes almaist\n    slane me with his braith; it is worse than zour uncle's; and zit I cum\n    na neirer unto him, bot in ane chyre at the bed-seit, and he being at\n    the uther end thairof.\n\n    15. The message of the father in the gait.\n\n    The purpois of Schir James Hamilton.\n\n    Of that the Laird of Lusse schawit me of the delay.\n\n    Of the demandis that he askit at Joachim.\n\n    Of my estait.\n\n    Of my company.\n\n    Of the occasion of my cumming:\n\n    And of Joseph.\n\n    _Item_, The purpois that he and I had togidder. Of the desyre that he\n    hes to pleis me, and of his repentence.\n\n    Of the interpretatioun of his letter.\n\n    Of Willie Hiegaite's mater of his departing.\n\n    Of Monsiure de Levingstoun.\n\n    16. I had almaist forzet, that Monsiure de Levingstoun said in the\n    Lady Reres eir at supper, that he wald drink to ye folk yat I wist of,\n    gif I wald pledge thame. And efter supper he said to me, quhen I was\n    lenand upon him warming me at the fyre, Ze have fair going to se seik\n    folk, zit ze cannot be sa welcum to thame as ze left sum body this day\n    in regrait, that will never be blyth quhill he se zow agane. I askit\n    at him quha that was. With that he thristit my body, and said, that\n    sum of his folkis had sene zow in fascherie; ze may ges at the rest.\n\n    17. I wrocht this day quhill it was twa houris upon this bracelet, for\n    to put ye key of it within the lock thairof, quhilk is couplit\n    underneth with twa cordounis. I have had sa lytill tyme that it is\n    evill maid; bot I sall mak ane fairer in the meane tyme. Tak heid that\n    nane that is heir se it, for all the warld will knaw it, becaus for\n    haist it was maid in yair presence.\n\n    18. I am now passand to my fascheous purpois. Ze gar me dissemble sa\n    far, that I haif horring thairat; and ye caus me do almaist the office\n    of a traitores. Remember how gif it wer not to obey zow, I had rather\n    be deid or I did it; my hart bleidis at it. Summa, he will not cum\n    with me, except upon conditioun that I will promeis to him, that I\n    sall be at bed and buird with him as of befoir, and that I sall leif\n    him na ofter: and doing this upon my word, he will do all thingis that\n    I pleis, and cum with me. Bot he hes prayit me to remane upon him\n    quhil uther morne.\n\n    He spak verray braifly at ye beginning, as yis beirer will schaw zow,\n    upon the purpois of the Inglismen, and of his departing: Bot in ye end\n    he returnit agane to his humilitie.[432]\n\n    19. He schawit, amangis uther purposis, yat he knew weill aneuch that\n    my brother had schawin me yat thing, quhilk he had spoken in\n    Striviling, of the quhilk he denyis ye ane half, and abone all, yat\n    ever he came in his chalmer. For to mak him traist me, it behovit me\n    to fenze in sum thingis with him: Thairfoir, quhen he requeistit me to\n    promeis unto him, that quhen he was haill we suld have baith ane bed:\n    I said to him fenzeingly, and making me to beleve his[433] promisis,\n    that gif he changeit not purpois betwix yis and that tyme, I wald be\n    content thairwith; bot in the meane tyme I bad him heid that he leit\n    na body wit thairof, becaus, to speik amangis our selfis, the Lordis\n    culd not be offendit nor will evill thairfoir: Bot thay wald feir in\n    respect of the boisting he maid of thame, that gif ever we aggreit\n    togidder, he suld mak thame knaw the lytill compt thay take of him;\n    and that he counsallit me not to purchas sum of thame by him.\n\n    Thay for this caus wald be in jelosy, gif at anis, without thair\n    knawledge, I suld brek the play set up in the contrair in thair\n    presence.\n\n    He said verray joyfully, And think zow thay will esteme zow the mair\n    of that? Bot I am verray glaid that ze speik to me of the Lordis; for\n    I beleve at this tyme ze desyre that we suld leif togidder in\n    quyetnes: For gif it wer utherwyse, greiter inconvenience micht come\n    to us baith than we ar war of: bot now I will do quhatever ze will do,\n    and will lufe all that ze lufe; and desyris zow to mak thame lufe in\n    lyke maner: For, sen thay seik not my lyfe, I lufe thame all equallie.\n    Upon yis point this beirer will schaw zow mony small thingis. Becaus I\n    have over mekle to wryte, and it is lait: I give traist unto him upon\n    zour word. Summa, he will ga upon my word to all places.\n\n    20. Allace! I never dissavit ony body: Bot I remit me altogidder to\n    zour will. Send me advertisement quhat I sall do, and quhatsaever\n    thing sall cum thairof, I sall obey zow. Advise to with zourself, gif\n    ze can find out ony mair secreit inventioun be medicine; for he suld\n    tak medicine and the bath at Craigmillar. He may not cum furth of the\n    hous this lang tyme.\n\n    21. Summa, be all that I can leirne, he is in greit suspicioun, and\n    zit notwithstanding, he gevis credit to my word; bot zit not sa far\n    that he will schaw ony thing to me: bot nevertheles, I sall draw it\n    out of him, gif ze will that I avow all unto him. Bot I will never\n    rejoyce to deceive ony body that traistis in me: Zit notwithstanding\n    ze may command me in all thingis. Have na evill opinioun of me for\n    that caus, be ressoun ze ar the occasion of it zourself; becaus, for\n    my awin particular revenge, I wald not do it to him.\n\n    He gevis me sum chekis of yat quhilk I feir, zea, evin in the quick.\n    He sayis this far, yat his faultis wer publeist: bot yair is that\n    committis faultis, that belevis thay will never be spokin of; and zit\n    thay will speik of greit and small. As towart the Lady Reres, he said,\n    I pray God that scho may serve zow for your honour: and said, it is\n    thocht, and he belevis it to be trew, that I have not the power of\n    myself into myself, and that becaus of the refuse I maid of his\n    offeris. Summa, for certanetie he suspectis of the thing ze knaw, and\n    of his lyfe. Bot as to the last, how sone yat I spak twa or thre gude\n    wordis unto him, he rejoysis, and is out of dout.\n\n    22. I saw him not this evening for to end your bracelet, to the quhilk\n    I can get na lokkis. It is reddy to thame: and zit I feir that it will\n    bring sum malhure, and may be sene gif ze chance to be hurt. Advertise\n    me gif ze will have it, and gif ze will have mair silver, and quhen I\n    sall returne, and how far I may speik. He inragis when he heiris of\n    Lethingtoun, or of zow, or of my brother. Of your brother he speikis\n    nathing.[434] He speikis of the Erle of Argyle. I am in feir quhen I\n    heir him speik; for he assuris himself yat he hes not an evill\n    opinioun of him. He speikis nathing of thame that is out, nouther gude\n    nor evill, bot fleis that point. His father keipis his chalmer I have\n    not sene him.\n\n    23. All the Hammiltounis ar heir, that accompanyis me verray\n    honorabilly. All the freindis of the uther convoyis me quhen I gang to\n    se him. He desyris me to come and se him ryse the morne betyme. For to\n    mak schort, this beirer will tell zow the rest. And gif I leirne ony\n    thing heir, I will mak zow memoriall at evin. He will tell zow the\n    occasioun of my remaning. Burne this letter, for it is ovir dangerous,\n    and nathing weill said in it: for I am thinkand upon nathing bot\n    fascherie. Gif ze be in Edinburgh at the ressait of it, send me word\n    sone.\n\n    24. Be not offendit, for I gif not ovir greit credite. Now seing to\n    obey zow, my deir lufe, I spair nouther honour, conscience, hasarde,\n    nor greitnes quhat sumevir tak it, I pray zow, in gude part, and not\n    efter the interpretatioun of zour fals gudebrother, to quhome, I pray\n    zou, gif na credite agains the maist faithful luifer that ever ze had,\n    or ever sall have.\n\n    Se not hir, quhais fenzeit teiris suld not be sa mekle praisit nor\n    estemit, as the trew and faithful travellis quhilk I sustene for to\n    merite hir place. For obtening of the quhilk aganis my naturall, I\n    betrayis thame that may impesche me. God forgive me, and God give zow,\n    my only lufe, the hap and prosperitie quhilk your humble and faithful\n    lufe desyris unto zow, quha hopis to be schortly ane uther thing to\n    zow, for the reward of my irksum travellis.\n\n    25. It is lait: I desyre never to ceis fra wryting unto zou; zit now,\n    efter the kissing of zour handis, I will end my letter. Excuse my\n    evill wryting, and reid it twyse over. Excuse that thing that is\n    scriblit,[435] for I had na paper zisterday quhen I wrait that of ye\n    memoriall. Remember upon zour lufe, and wryte unto hir, and that\n    verray oft. Lufe me as I sall do zow.\n\n    Remember zow of the purpois of the Lady Reres.\n\n    Of the Inglismen.\n\n    Of his mother.\n\n    Of the Erle of Argyle.\n\n    Of the Erle Bothwell.\n\n    Of the ludgeing in Edinburgh.\n\n\n    ENGLISH TRANSLATION\n\n    (State Papers, Mary Queen of Scots, vol. ii. No. 65)\n\n    Being gon from the place, where I had left my harte, it may be easily\n    iudged what my Countenance was consydering what the body may without\n    harte, which was cause that till dynner I had used lyttle talk,\n    neyther wold any --pson-- body advance him selfe therunto, thinking\n    that it was not good so to doo.\n\n    Fowir myles from thence a gentleman of the Erle of Lennox cam and made\n    his commendations and excuses vnto me, that he cam not to meete me,\n    because he durst not enterprise so to doo, consydering the sharp\n    wordes that I had spoken to Conyngham, and that he desyred that I wold\n    com to the inquisition of the facte which I did suspecte him of. This\n    last was of his own head, without commission, and I told him that he\n    had no receipte against feare, and that he had no feare, if he did not\n    feele him self faulty, and that I had also sharply answeared to the\n    doubtes that he made in his letters as though ther had bene a meaning\n    to poursue him. To be short I have made him hold his peace; for the\n    reste it were to long to tell you. Sir James Hamilton came to meete\n    me, who told me that at another tyme he went his waye when he heard of\n    my comming, and that he sent unto him Houstoun, to tell him that he\n    wold not have thought, that he wold have followed and accompany him\n    selfe with the Hamiltons. He answeared that he was not com but to see\n    me; and that he would not follow Stuard nor Hamilton, but by my\n    commandment. He prayed him to go speake to him; he refused it.\n\n    The Lard Luce, Houstoun and the sonne of Caldwell, and about XLty\n    horse cam to meete me and he told that he was sent to one day a law\n    from the father, which shuld be this daye against the signing of his\n    own hand, which he hathe, and that, knowing of my comming, he hath\n    delayed it, and hath prayed him to go see him, which he hath refused\n    and swearith that he will suffer nothing at his handes. Not one of the\n    towne is --to see me-- come to speake with me, which makith me to\n    think that they be his, and then he speakith well of them at leaste\n    his sonne.\n\n    The King sent for Joachim and asked him, why I did not lodge nighe to\n    him, and that he wold ryse sooner and why I cam, whithir it wear for\n    any good appointment, that he[428] cam, and whithir I had not taken\n    Paris and Guilbert to write and that I sent Joseph. I wonder who hath\n    told him so muche evin of the mariage of Bastian. This bearer shall\n    tell you more vpon that I asked him of his letters and where he did\n    complayne of the crueltye of some of them. He said that he did dreme,\n    and that he was so glad to see me that he thought he shuld dye.\n    Indeede that he had found faulte with me....\n\n    I went my waye to supper. This bearer shall tell you of my arryving.\n    He praied me to com agayn, which I did: and he told me his grefe,\n    and that he wold make no testament, but leave all unto me and that I\n    was cause of his sicknes for the sorrow he had, that I was so strange\n    unto him. And (said he) you asked what I ment in my letter to speak of\n    cruelty. It was of your cruelty who will not accepte my offres and\n    repentance I avowe that I have done amisse, but not that I have always\n    disauowed; and so have many other of your subjects don and you have\n    well pardonid them.\n\n    I am young.\n\n    You will saye that you have also pardoned me many tymes and that I\n    returne to my fault. May not a man of my age for want of counsell,\n    fayle twise or thrise and mysse of promes and at the last repent and\n    rebuke him selfe by his experience? Yf I may obtayn this pardon I\n    protest I will neuer make faulte agayne. And I ask nothing but that we\n    may be at bed and table togiether as husband and wife; and if you\n    will not I will never rise from this bed. I pray you tell me your\n    resolution heerof. God knoweth that I am punished to have made my God\n    of you and had no other mynd but of you. And when I offende you\n    somtyme, you are cause thereof: for if I thought, whan anybody doth\n    any wrong to me, that I might for my refuge make my mone thereof unto\n    you, I wold open it to no other, but when I heare anything being not\n    familiar with you, I must keep it in my mynd --makith me out of my\n    wytt-- and that troublith my wittes for anger.\n\n    I did still answair him but that shall be too long. In the end I asked\n    him why he wold go in the English shipp. He doth disavow it and\n    swearith so, and confessith to have spoken to the men. Afterwards I\n    asked him of the inquisition of Hiegate. He denyed it till I told him\n    the very wordes, and then he said that Minto sent him word that it was\n    said, that som of the counsayle had brought me a letter to signe to\n    putt him in prison, and to kill him if he did resiste and that he\n    asked this of Minto himself, who said vnto him that he thought it was\n    true. I will talke with him to morrowe vpon that poynte. The rest as\n    Wille Hiegate hath confessed; but it was the next daye that he cam\n    hither.\n\n    In the end he desyred much that I shuld lodge in his lodging. I have\n    refused it. I have told him that he must be pourged and that could not\n    be don heere. He said unto me 'I have hard saye that you have brought\n    the lytter, but I wold rather have gon with yourselfe.' I told him\n    that so I wolde myself bring him to Cragmillar, that the phisicians\n    and I also might cure him without being farr from my sonne. He said\n    that he was ready when I wolde so as I wolde assure him of his\n    requeste.\n\n    He hath no desyre to be seen and waxeth angry when I speake to him of\n    Wallcar and sayth that he will pluck his eares from his head, and that\n    he lyeth; for I asked him before of that, and what cause he had to\n    complayne of some of the lords and to threaten them. He denyeth it,\n    and sayth that he had allready prayed them to think no such matter of\n    him. As for my selfe he wold rather lose his lyfe than doo me the\n    leaste displeasure; and then used so many kindes of flatteryes so\n    coldly and wysely as you wold marvayle at. I had forgotten that he\n    sayde that he could not mistrust me for Hiegate's word, for he could\n    not beleve, that his own flesh (which was myselfe) wold doo him any\n    hurte; and in deed it was sayd that I refused to have him lett\n    bludd.[429] But for the others he wold at leaste sell his lyfe deare\n    ynoughe; but that he did suspecte nobody nor wolde, but wolde love all\n    that I did love.\n\n    He wold not lett me go, but wold have me to watche with him. I made as\n    though I thought all to be true and that I wold think vpon it, and\n    have excused myself from sytting up with him this nyght, for he sayth\n    that he sleepith not. You have never heard him speake better nor more\n    humbly; and if I had not proofe of his hart to be as waxe, and that\n    myne were not as a dyamant, no stroke but comming from your hand could\n    make me but to have pitie of him. But feare not for the place shall\n    contynue till death. Remember also, in recompense therof, not to\n    suffer yours to be won by that false race that wold do no lesse to\n    your selfe.\n\n    I think they have bene at schoole togither. He hath allwais the teare\n    in the eye. He saluteth every man, even to the meanest, and makith\n    much of them, that they may take pitie of him. His father hath bled\n    this daye at the nose and at the mouth. Gesse what token that is. I\n    have not seene him; he is in his chamber. The king is so desyrous,\n    that I shuld give him meate with my own hands, but trust you no more\n    there where you are than I doo here.\n\n    This is my first journay; I will end to morrow. I write all, how\n    little consequence so ever it be of, to the end that you may take of\n    the wholle, that shall be best _for you to judge_. I doo here a work\n    that I hate muche, _but I had begon it this morning_; had you not lyst\n    to laugh, to see me so trymly make a lie, at the leaste dissemble, and\n    to mingle truthe therewith? He hath almost told me all on the bishops\n    behalfe and of Sunderland, without touching any word unto him of that\n    which you had told me; but only by muche flattering him and praying\n    him to assure him selfe of me, and by my complayning of the bishop. _I\n    have taken the worms out_ of his nose. You have hard the rest.\n\n    We are tyed to by two false races. The _good yeere_ untye us from\n    them. God forgive me and God knytt us togither for ever for the most\n    faythfull couple that ever he did knytt together. This is my fayth; I\n    will dye in it.\n\n    Excuse it, yf I write yll; you must gesse the one halfe. I cannot doo\n    with all, for I am yll at ease, and glad to write unto you when other\n    folkes be a sleepe, seeing that I cannot doo as they doo, according to\n    my desyre, that is betwene your armes my dear lyfe whom I besech God\n    to preserve from all yll, and send you good rest as I go to seeke\n    myne, till to morrow in the morning that will end my bible. But it\n    greevith me, that it shuld lett me from wryting unto you of newes of\n    myself --long the same-- so much I have to write.\n\n    Send me word what you have determinid heerupon, that we may know the\n    one the others mynde for marryng of any thing.\n\n    I am weary, and am a sleepe, and yet I cannot forbeare scribbling so\n    long as ther is any paper. Cursed be this pocky fellow that troublith\n    me thus muche, for I had a pleasanter matter to discourse vnto you but\n    for him. He is not muche the worse, but he is yll arrayed. I thought I\n    shuld have bene kylled with his breth, for it is worse than your\n    uncle's breth; and yet I was sett no nearer to him than in a chayr by\n    his bolster, and he lyeth at the furdre syde of the bed.\n\n    The message of the Father by the waye.\n\n    The talk of Sir James --Hamilton-- of the ambassador.\n\n    That the Lard a Luss hath tolde me of the delaye.\n\n    The questions that he asked of Jochim.\n\n    Of my state.\n\n    Of my companye.\n\n    And of the cause of my comming.\n\n    And of Joseph.\n\n    The talk that he and I haue had, and of his desyre to please me, of\n    his repentance, and of thinterpretation of his letter.\n\n    Of Will Hiegate's doinges, and of his departure, and of the L. of\n    Levinston.\n\n    I had forgotten of the L. of Levinston, that at supper he sayd softly\n    to the Lady Reres, that he dronk to the persons I knew if I wold\n    pledge them. And after supper he sayd softly to me, when I was leaning\n    vpon him and warming myselfe, 'You may well go and see sick folkes,\n    yet can you not be so welcom unto them as you have this daye left som\n    body in payne who shall never be meary till he haue seene you agayne.'\n    I asked him who it was; he tooke me about the body and said 'One of\n    his folkes that hath left you this daye.' Gesse you the rest.\n\n    This day I have wrought till two of the clock vpon this bracelet, to\n    putt the keye in the clifte of it, which is tyed with two laces. I\n    have had so little tyme that it is very yll, but I will make a fayrer;\n    and in the meane tyme take heed that none of those that be heere doo\n    see it, for all the world wold know it, for I have made it in haste in\n    theyr presence.\n\n    I go to my tedious talke. You make me dissemble so much that I am\n    afrayde therof with horrour, and you make me almost to play the part\n    of a traytor. Remember that if it weare not for obeyeng I had rather\n    be dead. My heart bleedith for yt. To be shorte, he will not com but\n    with condition that I shall promise to be with him as heretofore at\n    bed and borde, and that I shall forsake him no more; and vpon my word\n    he will doo whatsoever I will, and will com, but he hath prayed me to\n    tarry till after to morrow.\n\n    He hath spoken at the fyrst more stoutly, as this bearer shall tell\n    you upon the matter of the Englishmen and of his departure; but in the\n    end he cometh to his gentlenes agayne.\n\n    He hath told me, among other talk, that he knew well, that my brother\n    hath told me at Sterling that which he had said there, wherof he\n    denyed the halfe, and specially that he was in his chamber. But now to\n    make him trust me I must fayne somthing vnto him; and therfore when he\n    desyred me to promise that when he shuld be well we shuld make but one\n    bed, I told him fayning to believe his faire promises, that if he did\n    not change his mynd betwene this tyme and that, I was contented, so as\n    he wold saye nothing therof; for (to tell it betwen us two) the Lordis\n    wished no yll to him, but did feare lest, consydering the\n    threateninges which he made in case we did agree together, he wold\n    make them feel the small accompte they have made of him; and that he\n    wold persuade me to poursue som of them, and for this respecte shuld\n    be in --by and by-- jelousy if at one instant, without their knowledge\n    I did brake a game made to the contrary in their presence.\n\n    And he said unto me very pleasant and meary 'Think you that they doo\n    the more esteem you therfore? But I am glad that you talked to me of\n    the Lordes. I hope that you desyre now that we shall lyve a happy\n    lyfe; for if it weare otherwise, it could not be but greater\n    inconvenience shuld happen to us both than you think. But I will doo\n    now whatsoever you will have me doo, and will love all those that you\n    shall love so as you make them to love me allso. For so as they seek\n    not my lyfe, I love them all egally.' Therupon I have willed this\n    bearer to tell you many prety things; for I have to muche to write,\n    and it is late, and I trust him upon your worde. To be short, he will\n    go any where upon my word.\n\n    Alas! and I never deceived any body; but I remitt myself wholly to\n    your will. And send me word what I shall doo, and whatsoever happen to\n    me, I will obey you. Think also yf you will not fynd som invention\n    more secret by phisick, for he is to take physick at Cragmillar and\n    the bathes also, and shall not com fourth of long tyme.\n\n    To be short, for that that I can learn he hath great suspicion, and\n    yet, nevertheles trusteth upon my worde, but not to tell me as yet\n    anything; howbeit, if you will that I shall avow him, I will know all\n    of him; but I shall never be willing to beguile one that puttith his\n    trust in me. Nevertheles you may doo all, and doo not estyme me the\n    lesse therfore, for you are the cause therof. For, for my own revenge\n    I wold not doo it.\n\n    He giuith me certain charges (and these strong), of that that I fear\n    evin to saye that his faultes be published, but there be that committ\n    some secret faultes and feare not to have them spoken of lowdely, and\n    that ther is speeche of greate and small. And even touching the Lady\n    Reres, he said 'God grant, that she serve you to your honour.' And\n    that men may not think, nor he neyther, that myne owne power was not\n    in myselfe, seeing I did refuse his offres. To conclude, for a\n    suerety, he mistrustith vs of that that you know, and for his lyfe.\n    But in the end, after I had spoken two or three good wordes to him, he\n    was very meary and glad.\n\n    I have not sene him this night for ending your bracelet, but I can\n    fynde no claspes for yt; it is ready therunto, and yet I feare least\n    it should bring you yll happ, or that it shuld be known if you were\n    hurte. Send me worde, whether you will have it and more monney, and\n    whan I shall returne, and how farre I may speak. Now as farr as I\n    perceive _I may doo much with you_; gesse you whithir I shall not be\n    suspected. As for the rest, he is wood when he hears of Ledinton, and\n    of you and my brother. Of your brother he sayth nothing, but of the\n    Earl of Arguile he doth; I am afraide of him to heare him talk, at the\n    least he assurith himselfe that he hath no yll opinion of him. He\n    speakith nothing of those abrode, nether good nor yll, but avoidith\n    speaking of them. His father keepith his chamber; I have not seene\n    him.\n\n    All the Hamiltons be heere who accompany me very honestly. All the\n    friendes of the other doo come allwais, when I go to visitt him. He\n    hath sent to me and prayeth me to see him rise to morrow in the\n    morning early. To be short, this bearer shall declare unto you the\n    rest; and if I shall learne anything, I will make every night a\n    memoriall therof. He shall tell you the cause of my staye. Burn this\n    letter, for it is too dangerous, neyther is there anything well said\n    in it, for I think upon nothing but upon greefe if you be at\n    Edinboroughe.\n\n    Now if to please you, my deere lyfe, I spare neither honor,\n    conscience, nor hazard, nor greatnes, take it in good part, and not\n    according to the interpretation of your false brother-in-law, to whom\n    I pray you, give no credit against the most faythfull lover that ever\n    you had or shall have.\n\n    See not also her whose faynid teares you ought not more to regarde\n    than the true travails which I endure to deserve her place, for\n    obteyning of which, against my own nature, I doo betray those that\n    could lett me. God forgive me and give you, my only frend, the good\n    luck and prosperitie that your humble and faythfull lover doth wisshe\n    vnto you, who hopith shortly to be an other thing vnto you, for the\n    reward of my paynes.\n\n    I have not made one worde, and it is very late, althoughe I shuld\n    never be weary in wryting to you, yet will I end, after kyssing of\n    your handes. Excuse my evill wryting, and read it over twise. Excuse\n    also that [I scribbled], for I had yesternight no paper when took the\n    paper of a memorial. [Pray] remember your frend, and wryte vnto her\n    and often. Love me allw[ais as I shall love you].\n\n\nLETTER III\n\nORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION AT HATFIELD\n\n(See Calendar of Hatfield Manuscripts, vol. i. pp. 376-77.)\n\nJ'ay veille plus tard la hault que je n'eusse fait si ce neust este pour\ntirer ce que ce porteur vous dira que Je treuve la plus belle commoditie\npour excuser vostre affaire que se pourroit presenter. Je luy ay promise\nde le luy mener demain ^si^ vous le trouves bon mettes y ordre. Or\nmonsieur j'ay ja rompu ma promesse Car vous ne mavies rien comande ^de^\nvous envoier ni escrire si ne le fais pour vous offencer et si vous\nscavies la craint que j'en ay vous nauries tant des subcons contrairs que\ntoutesfois je cheris comme procedant de la chose du mond que je desire et\ncherche le plus c'est votre ^bonne^ grace de laquelle mes deportemens\nm'asseureront et je n'en disesperay Jamais tant que selon vostre promesse\nvous m'en dischargeres vostre coeur aultrement je penseras que mon malheur\net le bien composer de ceux qui n'ont la troisiesme partie de la fidelite\nni voluntair obeissance que je vous porte auront gaigne sur moy l'avantage\nde la seconde amye de Jason. Non que je vous compare a un si malheureuse\nni moy a une si impitoiable. Combien que vous men fassies un peu resentir\nen chose qui vous touschat ou pour vous preserver et garder a celle a qui\nseulle vous aporteins si lon se peult approprier ce que lon acquiert par\nbien et loyalment voire uniquement aymer comme je fais et fairay toute ma\nvie pour pein ou mal qui m'en puisse avenir. En recompence de quoy et des\ntous les maulx dont vous maves este cause, souvenes vous du lieu icy pres.\nJe ne demande que vous me tennes promesse de main mais que nous truvions\net que nadjousties foy au subcons quaures sans nous en certifier, et Je ne\ndemande a Dieu si non que coignoissies tout ce que je ay au coeur qui est\nvostre et quil vous preserve de tout mal au moyns durant ma vie qui ne me\nsera chere qu'autant qu'elle et moy vous serons agreables. Je m'en vois\ncoucher et vous donner le bon soir mandes moy de main comme vous seres\nporte a bon heur. Car j'enseray en pein et faites bon guet si l'oseau\nsortira de sa cage ou sens son per comme la tourtre demeurera seulle a se\nlamenter de l'absence ^pour^ court quelle soit. Ce que je ne puis faire ma\nlettre de bon coeur si ce nestoit que je ay peur que soyes endormy. Car je\nnay ose escrire devant Joseph et bastienne et Joachim qui ne sont que\npartir quand J'ay commence.\n\n\nLETTER IV\n\nORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION\n\n(In the Record Office State Papers, Mary Queen of Scots, vol. ii. No. 63.)\n\nMon cueur helas fault il que la follie d'une famme dont vous connoisses\nasses l'ingratitude vers moy soit cause de vous donner displesir veu que\nje neusse sceu y remedier sans le scavoir; et despuis que men suis apersue\nJe ne vous lay peu dire pour scauoir comment mi guovejernerois car en cela\nni aultre chose je ne veulx entreprandre de rien fayre sans en scavoir\nvotre volontay, laquelle je vous suplie me fayre entandre car je la\nsuiuray toute ma vie plus volontiers que vous ne me la declareres, et si\nvous ne me mandes ce soir ce que volles que jen faise je men deferay au\nhazard de la fayre entreprandre ce qui pourroit nuire a ce a quoy nous\ntandons tous deus, et quant elle sera mariee je vous suplie donnes men vne\nou ien prandray telles de quoy vous contanteres quant a leur condition\nmayes de leur langue ou fidelite vers vous ie ne vous en respondray Je\nvous suplie qune opinion sur aultrui ne nuise en votre endroit a ma\nconstance. Soupsonnes moi may quant je vous en veulx rendre hors de doubte\net mesclersir ne le refeuses ma chere vie et permetes que je vous face\npreuue par mon obeissance de ma fidelite et constance et subjection\nvolontaire, que je prands pour le plus agreable bien que je scaurois\nresceuoir si vous le voulles accepter, et nen faytes la ceremonie car vous\nne me scauriez dauantage outrasger ou donner mortel ennuy.\n\n\nLETTER V\n\nORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION AT HATFIELD\n\nMonsieur, helas pourquoy est vostre fiance mise en personne si indigne,\npour subconner ce que est entierement vostre. Vous m'avies promise que\nresouldries tout et que ^me^ manderies tous les jours ce que j'aurais a\nfaire. Vous nen aves rien fait. Je vous advertise bien de vous garder de\nvostre =faulx beau frere= Il est venu vers moy et sens me monstrer rien de\nvous me dist que --vous-- luy mandies qu'il vous escrive ce qu'auries a\ndire, et ou, et quant vous me troveres et ce que faires touchant luy et la\ndessubs m'a presche que c'estoit une folle entrepri--n--se, et qu'avecques\nmon honneur Je ne vous pourries Jamaiis espouser, veu qu'estant marie vous\nm'amenies et que ses gens ne l'endureroient pas et que les seigneurs se\ndediroient. Somme il est tout contrair. Je luy ay dist qu'estant venue si\navant si vous ne vous en retiries de vous mesmes que persuasion ne la mort\nmesmes ne me fairoient faillir --de-- a ma promesse. Quant au lieu vous\nestes trop negligent (pardonnes moy) de vous en remettre a moy. Choisisses\nle vous mesmes et me le mandes. Et cependant je suis malade je differeray\nQuant au propose cest trop tard. Il n'a pas tins a moy que n'ayes pense a\nheure. Et si vous neussies non plus change de --propos-- pensee depuis mon\nabsence que moy vous ne series a demander telle resolution. ^Or^ il ne\nmanque rien de ma part et puis que vostre negligence vous met tous deux au\ndanger d'un faux frere, s'il ne succede bien je ne me releveray Jamais. Il\nvous envoy ce porteur. Car Je ne --m--'ose me fier a vostre frere de ces\nlettres ni de la diligence, il vous dira en quelle estat Je suis, et Juges\nquelle amendement--e-- m'a porte ce incertains Nouvelles. Je voudrais\nestre morte. Car Je vois tout aller mal. Vous prometties bien autre chose\nde vostre providence. Mais l'absence peult sur vous, qui aves deux cordes\na vostre arc. Depesches la responce a fin que Je ne faille et ne ^vous^\nfies de ceste entrepri--n--se a vostre frere. Car il la dist, et si y est\ntout contrair.\n\nDieu vous doint le bon soir.\n\n\nLETTER VI\n\nPUBLISHED SCOTS TRANSLATION\n\nOf the place and ye tyme I remit my self to zour brother and to zow. I\nwill follow him, and will faill in nathing of my part. He findis mony\ndifficulteis. I think he dois advertise zow thairof, and quhat he desyris\nfor the handling of himself. As for the handling of myself, I hard it ains\nweill devysit.\n\nMe thinks that zour services, and the lang amitie, having ye gude will of\nye Lordis, do weill deserve ane pardoun, gif abone the dewtie of ane\nsubject yow advance yourself, not to constrane me, bot to asure yourself\nof sic place neir unto me, that uther admonitiounis or forane\nperswasiounis may not let me from consenting to that that ye hope your\nservice sall mak yow ane day to attene. And to be schort, to mak yourself\nsure of the Lordis, and fre to mary; and that ye are constraint for your\nsuretie, and to be abill to serve me faithfully, to use ane humbil\nrequeist joynit to ane importune actioun.\n\nAnd to be schort, excuse yourself, and perswade thame the maist ye can,\nyat ye ar constranit to mak persute aganis zour enemies. Ze sall say\naneuch, gif the mater or ground do lyke yow; and mony fair wordis to\nLethingtoun. Gif ye lyke not the deid, send me word, and leif not the\nblame of all unto me.\n\n\nLETTER VII\n\nSCOTS VERSION\n\nMy Lord, sen my letter writtin, zour brother in law yat was, come to me\nverray sad, and hes askit me my counsel, quhat he suld do efter to morne,\nbecaus thair be mony folkis heir, and amang utheris the Erle of\nSudderland, quha wald rather die, considdering the gude thay have sa\nlaitlie ressavit of me, then suffer me to be caryit away, thay conducting\nme; and that he feirit thair suld sum troubil happin of it: Of the uther\nsyde, that it suld be said that he wer unthankfull to have betrayit me. I\ntald him, that he suld have resolvit with zow upon all that, and that he\nsuld avoyde, gif he culd, thay that were maist mistraistit.\n\nHe hes resolvit to wryte to zow be my opinioun; for he hes abaschit me to\nse him sa unresolvit at the neid. I assure myself he will play the part of\nan honest man: But I have thocht gude to advertise zow of the feir he hes\nyat he suld be chargeit and accusit of tressoun, to ye end yat' without\nmistraisting him, ze may be the mair circumspect, and that ze may have ye\nmair power. For we had zisterday mair than iii. c. hors of his and of\nLevingstoun's. For the honour of God, be accompanyit rather with mair then\nles; for that is the principal of my cair.\n\nI go to write my dispatche, and pray God to send us ane happy enterview\nschortly. I wryte in haist, to the end ye may be advysit in tyme.\n\n\nLETTER VIII\n\nORIGINAL FRENCH VERSION\n\n(In the Record Office State Papers, Mary Queen of Scots, vol. ii. No. 66.)\n\nMonsieur si lenuy de vostre absence celuy de vostre oubli la crainte du\ndangier, tant promis d'un chacun a vostre tant ayme personne peuuent me\nconsoller Je vous en lesse a juger veu le malheur que mon cruel sort et\ncontinuel malheur mauoient promis a la suite des infortunes et craintes\ntant recentes que passes de plus longue main les quelles vous scaves mais\npour tout cela Je me vous accuserai ni de peu de souuenance ni de peu de\nsoigne et moins encores de vostre promesse violee ou de la froideur de vos\nlettres mestant ja tant randue vostre que ce quil vous plaist mest\nagreable et sont mes penses tant volonterement, aux vostres a subjectes\nque je veulx presupposer que tout ce que vient de vous procede non par\naulcune des causes de susdictes ains pour telles qui son justes et\nraisoinables et telles qui Je desir moy --mesme-- qui est lordre que maves\npromis de prendre final pour la seurete et honnorable service du seul\nsoubtien de ma vie pour qui seul Je la veus conserver et sens lequel Je ne\ndesire que breve mort or pour vous tesmoigner combien humblement sous voz\ncommandemens Je me soubmets Je vous ay envoie en signe d'homage par paris\nlornement du cheif conducteur des aultres membres inferant que vous\ninvestant de sa despoille de luy qui est principal le rest ne peult que\nvous estre subject et avecques le consentement du cueur au lieu du quel\npuis que le vous ay Ja lesse Je vous envoie un sepulcre de pierre dure\npoinct de noir seme d'larmes et de ossements, la pierre Je le la compare a\nmon cueur qui comme luy est talle en un seur tombeau ou receptacle de voz\ncommandements et sur tout de vostre nom et memoire qui y sont enclos,\ncomme me cheveulz en la bague pour Jamais nen sortir que la mort ne vous\npermet fair trophee des mes os comme la bague en est remplie en signe que\nvous aves fayt entiere conqueste de moy, de mon cueur et iusque a vous en\nlesser les os pour memoir de vre victoire et de mon agreable perte et\nvolontiere pour estre mieux employe que ie ne le merite Lesmail demiron\nest noir qui signifie la fermete de celle que lenvoie les larmes sont sans\nnombre ausi sont les craintes de vous desplair les pleurs de vostre\nabsence et de desplaisir de ne pouvoir estre en effect exterieur vostre\ncomme je suys sans faintise de cueur et desprit et a bon droit quant mes\nmerites seroint trop plus grands que de la plus perfayte que Jamais feut\net telle que je desire estre et mettray poine en condition de contrefair\npour dignement estre emploiee soubs vostre domination, reseues la donc mon\nseul bien en aussi bonne part, comme avecques extreme Joie Jay fait vostre\nmariage, qui jusques a celuy de nos corps en public ne sortira de mon\nsein, comme merque de tout ce que Jay ou espere ni desire de felicite en\nce monde or craignant mon cueuer de vous ennuyer autant a lire que je me\nplaire descrir Je finiray apres vous avoir baise les mains daussi grande\naffection que je prie Dieu (O le seul soubtien de ma vie) vous la donner\nlongue et heureuse et a moy vre bonne grace le seul bien que je desire et\na quoy je tends Jay dit a ce porteur ce que Jay apris sur le quel Je me\nremets sachant, le credit que luy donnes comme fait celle que vous veult\nestre pour Jamais humble et obeisante loyalle femme et seulle amye qui\npour Jamais vous voue entierement le cueur le corps sans aucun changement\ncomme a celuy que J fait possesseur du cueur du quel vous pouves tenir\nseur Jusques a la mort ne changera car mal ni bien onque ne estrangera.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE F\n\nMODERN IMITATION OF MARY'S HAND\n\nThe text is part of the 'Original French' of Letter VIII. (III.)\n\nThe purpose is to show how far Mary's hand can be imitated]\n\n\nLETTER IX\n\nTHE FRENCH 'SONNETS'\n\n  O dieux ayes de moy compassion\n  E m'enseignes quelle preuue certane\n  Je puis donner qui ne luy semble vain\n  De mon amour et ferme affection.\n  Las n'est il pas ia en possession\n  Du corps, du cueur qui ne refuse peine\n  Ny dishonneur, en la vie incertane,\n  Offence de parents, ne pire affliction?\n  Pour luy tous mes amys i'estime moins que rien,\n  Et de mes ennemis ie veulx esperere bien.\n  I'ay hazarde pour luy & nom & conscience:\n  Ie veux pour luy au monde renoncer:\n  Ie veux mourire pour luy auancer.\n  Que reste il plus pour prouuer ma constance?\n\n  Entre ses mains & en son plein pouuoir\n  Je metz mon filz, mon honneur, & ma vie,\n  Mon pais, mes subjects mon ame assubiectie\n  Et toute a luy, & n'ay autre vouloir\n  Pour mon obiect que sens le disseuoir\n  Suiure ie veux malgre toute l'enuie\n  Qu'issir en peult, car ie nay autre envie\n  Que de ma foy, luy faire apparceuoir\n  Que pour tempest ou bonnace qui face\n  Iamais ne veux changer demeure ou place.\n  Brief ie farray de ma foy telle preuue,\n  Qu'il cognoistra sens feinte ma constance,\n  Non par mes pleurs ou feinte obeissance,\n  Come autres ont fait, mais par diuers espreuue.\n\n  Elle pour son honneur vous doibt obeissance\n  Moy vous obeissant i'en puys resseuoir blasme\n  N'estat, a mon regret, come elle vostre femme.\n  Et si n'aura pourtant en ce point preeminence\n  Pour son proffit elle vse de constance,\n  Car ce n'est peu d'honneur d'estre de voz biens dame\n  Et moy pour vous aymer i'en puix resseuoir blasme\n  Et ne luy veux ceder en toute l'obseruance\n  Elle de vostre mal n'a l'apprehension\n  Moy ie n'ay nul repos tant ie crains l'apparence\n  Par l'aduis des parents, elle eut vostre acointance\n  Moy maugre tous les miens vous port affection\n  Et de sa loyaute prenes ferme asseurance.\n\n  Par vous mon coeur & par vostre alliance\n  Elle a remis sa maison en honneur\n  Elle a jouy par vous de la grandeur\n  Dont tous les siens n'auoyent nul asseurance\n  De vous mon bien elle a eu la constance,[436]\n  Et a guagne pour vn temps vostre cueur,\n  Par vous elle a eu plaisir et bon heur,\n  Et pour vous a receu honneur & reuerence,\n  Et n'a perdu sinon la jouissance\n  D'vn fascheux sot qu'elle aymoit cherement.\n  Ie ne la plains d'aymer donc ardamment,\n  Celuy qui n'a en sens, ni en vaillance,\n  En beaute, en bonte, ni en constance\n  Point de seconde. Ie vis en ceste foy.\n\n  Quant vous l'aymes, elle vsoit de froideur.\n  Sy vous souffriez, pour s'amour passion\n  Qui vient d'aymer de trop d'affection,\n  Son doil monstroit, la tristesse de coeur\n  N'ayant plesir de vostre grand ardeur\n  En ses habitz, mon estroit sens fiction\n  Qu'elle n'auoyt peur qu'imperfection\n  Peult l'affasser hors de ce loyal coeur.\n  De vostre mort ie ne vis la peaur\n  Que meritoit tel mary & seigneur.\n  Somme de vous elle a eu tout son bien\n  Et n'a prise ne iamais estime\n  Vn si grand heur sinon puis qu'il n'est sien\n  Et maintenant dist l'auoyr tant ayme.\n\n  Et maintenant elle commence a voire\n  Qu'elle estoit bien de mauuais iugement\n  De n'estimer l'amour d'vn tel amant\n  Et vouldroit bien mon amy desseuoir,\n  Par les escripts tout fardes de scauoir\n  Qui pour tant n'est en son esprit croissant\n  Ayns emprunte de quelque auteur eluissant.\n  A feint tresbien vn enuoy sans l'avoyr\n  Et toutesfois ses parolles fardez,\n  Ses pleurs, ses plaints remplis de fictions.\n  Et ses hautes cris & lamentations\n  Ont tant guagne que par vous sont guardes.\n  Ses lettres escriptes ausquells vous donnez foy\n  Et si l'aymes & croyez plus que moy.\n\n  Vous la croyes las trop ie l'appercoy\n  Et vous doutez de ma ferme constance,\n  O mon seul bien & mon seul esperance,\n  Et ne vous peux ie[437] asseurer de ma foy\n  Vous m'estimes legier je le voy,\n  Et si n'auez en moy nul asseurance,\n  Et soubconnes mon coeur sans apparence,\n  Vous deffiant a trop grande tort de moy.\n  Vous ignores l'amour que ie vous porte\n  Vous soubconnez qu'autre amour me transporte,\n  Vous estimes mes parolles du vent,\n  Vous depeignes de cire mon las coeur\n  Vous me penses femme sans iugement,\n  Et tout cela augmente mon ardeur.\n\n  Mon amour croist & plus en plus croistra\n  Tant que je viuray, et tiendra a grandeur,\n  Tant seulement d'auoir part en ce coeur\n  Vers qui en fin mon amour paroitra\n  Si tres a cler que iamais n'en doutra,\n  Pour luy ie veux recercher la grandeure,\n  Et faira tant qu'en vray connoistra,\n  Que ie n'ay bien, heur, ni contentement,\n  Qu' a l'obeyr & servir loyamment.\n  Pour luy iattendz toute bon fortune.\n  Pour luy ie veux guarder sante & vie\n  Pour luy tout vertu de suiure i'ay enuie\n  Et sens changer me trouuera tout vne.\n\n  Pour luy aussi ie jete mainte larme.\n  Premier quand il se fit de ce corps possesseur,\n  Du quel alors il n'auoyt pas le coeur.\n  Puis me donna vn autre dure alarme\n  Quand il versa de son sang maint drasme\n  Dont de grief il me vint lesser doleur,[438]\n  Qui me pensa oster la vie, & la frayeur\n  De[439] perdre las la seule rempar qui m'arme.\n  Pour luy depuis iay mesprise l'honneur\n  Ce qui nous peut seul prouoir de bonheur.\n  Pour luy iay hasarde grandeur[440] & conscience.\n  Pour luy tous mes parents i'ay quiste, & amys,\n  Et tous aultres respects sont a part mis.\n  Brief de vous seul ie cherche l'alliance.\n\n  De vous ie dis seul soubtein de ma vie\n  Tant seulement ie cherche m'asseurer,\n  Et si ose de moy tant presumer\n  De vous guagner maugre toute l'enuie.\n  Car c'est le seul desir de vostre chere amye,\n  De vous seruir & loyaument aymer,\n  Et tous malheurs moins que riens estimer,\n  Et vostre volunte de la mien suiure.\n  Vous conoistres avecques obeissance\n  De mon loyal deuoir n'omettant la science\n  A quoy i'estudiray pour tousiours vous complaire\n  Sans aymer rien que vous, soubs la suiection\n  De qui ie veux sens nulle fiction\n  Viure & mourir & a ce j'obtempere.\n\n  Mon coeur, mon sang, mon ame, & mon soussy,\n  Las, vous m'aues promes qu'aurois ce plaisir\n  De deuiser auecques vous a loysir,\n  Toute la nuit, ou ie languis icy\n  Ayant le coeur d'extreme peour transie,\n  Pour voir absent le but de mon desir\n  Crainte d'oubly vn coup me vient a saisir:\n  Et l'autrefois ie crains que rendursi\n  Soit contre moy vostre amiable coeur\n  Par quelque dit d'un meschant rapporteur.\n  Un autrefoys ie crains quelque auenture\n  Qui par chemin deturne mon amant,\n  Par vn fascheux & nouueau accident\n  Dieu deturne toute malheureux augure.\n\n  Ne vous voyant selon qu'aues promis\n  I'ay mis la main au papier pour escrire\n  D'vn different que ie voulou transcrire,\n  le ne scay pas quel sera vostre aduise\n  Mais ie scay bien qui mieux aymer scaura\n  Vous diries bien qui plus y guagnera.\n\n\n\n\nCRAWFORD'S DEPOSITION\n\n(State Papers, Scotland, Elizabeth, vol. xiii. No. 14. Cal. Foreign State\nPapers, Elizabeth, vol. viii. No. 954, February 1566-7.)\n\n\n    The Wordes betwixt the Q. and me Thomas Crawforde bye the waye as she\n    came to Glasco to fetche the kinge, when mye L. my Master sent me to\n    showe her the cause whye he came not to mete her him sellfe.\n\nFirste I made my L. mye masters humble comendacons vnto her Ma{ti} w{th}\nthexcuse y{t} he came not to mete her praing her grace not to thinke it\nwas eath{r} for prowdnesse or yet for not knowinge hys duetye towardes her\nhighnesse, but onelye for want of hely{e} at y{e} present, and allso y{t}\nhe woulde not psume to com in her presence vntille he knewe farder her\nminde bicause of the sharpe Wordes y{t} she had spoken of him to Robert\nCuningh{a}m hys servant in Sterling. Wherebye he thought he Was in her\nMa{tis} displesvre Notwithstanding he hathe sent hys servant and frend to\nwaite vppon her Ma{ti}.\n\nShe aunswered y{t} there was no recept against feare.\n\nI aunswered y{t} mye L. had no feare for anie thinge he knewe in him\nsellf, but onelye of the colde and vnkinde Wordes she had spoken to hys\nservant.\n\nShe aunswered and said y{t} he woulde not be a fraide in case he were not\nculpable.\n\nI aunswered y{t} I knewe so farr of hys Lordsh. y{t} he desired nothing\nmore than y{t} the secretts vf everye creatures harte were writte in\ntheire face.\n\nShe asked me yf I had anie farder comission.\n\nI aunswered no.\n\nThen she comaunded me to holde mye peace.\n\n    The Wordes y{t} I rememb{r} were betwixt the Kinge and the Q. in\n    Glasco when she took him awaie to Edinbrowghe.\n\nThe Kinge for y{t} mye L. hys father was then absent and sicke, bye reason\nwhereof he could not speke w{th} him him sellfe, called me vnto him and\ntheise wordes that had then passed betwixt him and the Quene, he gaue me\nin remembraunce to reporte vnto the said mye Lord hys father.\n\nAfter theire metinge and shorte speking to geth{r} she asked him of his\nlres, wherein he complained of the cruelltye of som.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} he complained not w{th}owt cause and as he beleved, she\nwoulde graunte her sellfe when she was well advised.\n\nShe asked him of hys sicknesse, he answered y{t} she was the cause\nthereof, and moreover he saide, Ye asked me What I ment bye the crueltye\nspecified in mye lres, yt procedeth of yo{w} onelye y{t} wille not accepte\nmye offres and repentaunce, I confesse y{t} I haue failed in som thing,\nand yet greater fautes haue bin made to yo{w} sundrye times, w{ch} ye haue\nforgiue. I am but yonge, and ye will saye ye haue forgiue me diverse\ntymes. Maye not a man of mye age for lacke of Counselle, of w{ch} I am\nverye destitute falle twise or thrise, and yet repent and be chastised bye\nexperience? Yf I haue made anye faile y{t} ye but thinke a faile, howe so\never it be, I crave yo{r} pdone and protest y{t} I shall never faile\nagaine. I desire no oth{r} thinge but y{t} we maye be to geath{r} as\nhusband and wife. And yf ye will not consent hereto, I desire never to\nrise forthe of thys bed. Therefore I praye yo{w} give me an aunswer here\nvnto. God knowethe howe I am punished for makinge mye god of yo{w} and for\nhaving no oth{r} thowght but on yo{w}. And yf at anie tyme I offend yo{w},\nye are the cause, for y{t} whe anie offendethe me, if for mye refuge I\nmight open mye minde to yo{w}, I woulde speak to no other, but whe anie\nthinge ys spoke to me, and ye and I not beinge as husband and wife owght\nto be, necessite compelleth me to kepe it in my breste and bringethe me in\nsuche melancolye as ye see me in.\n\nShe aunswered y{t} it semed him she was sorye for hys sicknesse, and she\nwoulde finde remedye therefore so sone as she might.\n\nShe asked him Whye he woulde haue passed awaye in Thenglishe shipp.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} he had spoke w{t} thenglishe ma but not of minde to goe\nawaie w{t} him. And if he had, it had not bin w{th}owt cause consideringe\nhowe he was vsed. For he had neath{r} to susteine him sellfe nor hys\nservant, and nede not make farder rehersalle thereof, seinge she knewe it\nas well as he.\n\nThen she asked him of the purpose of Hegate, he aunswered y{t} it was\ntolde him.\n\nShe required howe and bye whome it was told him.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} the L. of Minto tolde him y{t} a lre was presented to\nher in Cragmiller made bye her own divise and subscribed by certeine\nothers who desired her to subscribe the same, w{ch} she refused to doe.\nAnd he said that he woulde never thinke y{t} she who was his owne propre\nfleshe, woulde do him anie hurte, and if anie oth{r} woulde do it, theye\nshuld bye it dere, vnlesse theye took him sleping, albeit he suspected\nnone. So he desired her effectuouslye to beare him companye. For she ever\nfownde som adoe to drawe her selfe fro him to her owne lodginge and woulde\nnever abyde w{t} him past two howres at once.\n\nShe was verye pensiffe. Whereat he fownd faulte he said to her y{t} he was\nadv{r}tised she had browght a litter w{t} her.\n\nShe aunswered y{t} bicause she vnderstoode he was not hable to ryde on\nhorseback, she brought a litter, y{t} he might be caried more softlye.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} yt was not mete for a sick ma to travelle y{t} coulde\nnot sitt on horsebacke and especiallye in so colde weather.\n\nShe aunswered y{t} she would take him to Cragmiller where she might be\nw{t} him and not farre from her sonne.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} vppon condicon he would goe w{th} her w{ch} was that he\nand she might be to geath{r} at bedde and borde as husband and wife, and\ny{t} she should leaue him no more. And if she would promise him y{t},\nvppon her worde he would goe w{th} her, where she pleised w{th}owt\nrespecte of anye dang{r} eath{r} of sicknesse, wherein he was, or\notherwise. But if she would not condescend thereto, he would not goe w{th}\nher in anye wise.\n\nShe aunswered that her comminge was onelye to that effecte, and if she had\nnot bin minded thereto, she had not com so farre to fetche him, and so she\ngraunted hys desire and p{o}mised him y{t} it should be as he had spoken,\nand therevppon gave him her hand and faithe of her bodye y{t} she woulde\nlove him and vse him as her husband. Notwithstanding before theye coulde\ncom to geath{r} he must be purged and clensed of hys sicknesse, w{ch} she\ntruisted woulde be shortlye for she minded to giue him the bathe at\nCragmill{r}. Than he said he would doe what soever she would have him doe,\nand would love all that she loved. She required of him in especialle,\nwhome he loved of the nobilitie and Whome he hated.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} he hated no ma, and loved all alike well.\n\nShe asked him how he liked the Ladye Reresse and if he were angrye w{th}\nher.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} he had litle minde of suche as she was, and wished of\nGod she might serve her to her hono{r}.\n\nThen she desired him to kepe to him sellfe the promise betwixt him and\nher, and to open it to nobodye. For padventure the Lordes woulde not\nthinke welle of their suddine agrement, consideringe he and theye were at\nsome wordes before.\n\nHe aunswered that he knew no cause whye theye shulde mislike of it, and\ndesired her y{t} she would not move anye of the against him even as he\nwoulde stirre none againste her, and y{t} theye would worke bothe in one\nmind, otherwise it might tourne to great{r} inconvenience to them bothe.\n\nShe aunswered y{t} she never sowght anye waie bye him, but he was in fault\nhim sellfe.\n\nHe aunswered againe y{t} hys faultes were published and y{t} there were\ny{t} made great{r} faultes than ever he made y{t} beleved were vnknowne,\nand yet theye woulde speke of greate and smale.\n\nFarder the Kinge asked me at y{t} present time what I thowght of hys\nvoyage. I aunswered y{t} I liked it not, bicause she tooke him to\nCragmill{r}. For if she had desired him w{th} her sellf or to have had hys\ncompanye, she would haue taken him to hys owne howse in Edinbr. Where she\nmight more easely visit him, than to travelle two myles owt of the towne\nto a gentlemais house. Therefore mye opinio was y{t} she tooke him awaye\nmore like a prison{r} than her husbande.\n\nHe aunswered y{t} he thowght litle lesse him sellf and feared him sellfe\nindeid save the confidence, he had in her promise onelye, notwithstandinge\nhe woulde goe w{th} her, and put him sellfe in her handes, thowghe she\nshowlde cutte hys throate and besowghte God to be iudge vnto them bothe.\n\n_Endorsed_: 'Thomas Crawford deposit.'\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n  Abercairnie, Laird of, Mary's appeal to him on behalf of evicted\n        cottars, 8\n\n  'Actio,' the, quoted, on Darnley's murder, 141, 142\n\n  'Admonition to the Trew Lordis,' cited, 151\n\n  Ainslie's band, purport of, 177, 178;\n    defaulters from, 181;\n    Morton's stipulation, 254;\n    signers of, 329, 330;\n    Morton's adhesion to, 383\n\n  Alava, Beaton's statement to him about Moray, 210\n\n  Alloa, Mary at, 80\n\n  'Appeal to Christian Princes,' cited, 240\n\n  Argyll, Earl of, disliked by Darnley, 73;\n    lodged by Mary in Edinburgh Castle during her labour, 73, 75;\n    at Craigmillar, 98;\n    Paris's statement as to him and Mary on the night of Darnley's murder,\n        161;\n    in confederation against Bothwell, 181;\n    cited, 38\n\n  Arran, Earl of, blamed by Bothwell as the cause of the Protestant\n        rebellion, 47;\n    feud with Bothwell, 47, 49;\n    reconciled to him through Knox, 50;\n    discloses to Knox Bothwell's plot to seize Mary, 50;\n    apprises Mary of the plot, 51\n\n  Atholl, Earl of (member of council), 172;\n    confederated against Bothwell, 181;\n    cited, 203\n\n\n  Baillie Hamilton, Lady, on the Hamilton casket, 368, 369, 370\n\n  Balcanquell, Rev. Walter, receives Morton's confession, 148\n\n  Balfour, Sir James, concerned in the murder 'band' against Darnley, 88,\n        90, 99;\n    gives Bothwell the keys of Mary's room at Kirk o' Field, 163;\n    persuaded by Lethington to surrender Edinburgh Castle, 186;\n    charged by Mary with complicity in Darnley's murder, 189;\n    the Casket in his keeping, 198;\n    holds Edinburgh Castle, 274\n\n  Ballantyne, Patrick, said to have menaced Mary's life, 38\n\n  'Band of assurance for the murder' of Riccio, 67, 68\n\n  Bannatyne (Knox's secretary), his account of the death of the Earl of\n        Huntly, 38\n\n  Bannister (Norfolk's servant), Norfolk's statement to him regarding\n        Letter II., 357\n\n  Bargany, Laird of, at cards with Archibald Douglas, 32\n\n  Barham, Serjeant, asserts that Lethington stole the Casket Letters and\n        that his wife copied them, 248;\n    denies that Mary received French copies, 249\n\n  Beaton, Archbishop (Mary's ambassador in France), communicates with Mary\n        about Hiegait and Walker, 110, 114;\n    affirms that Moray is Mary's mortal enemy, 210\n\n  Beaton, Archibald (Mary's usher), Mary's concern for, 6;\n    misses the keys at Kirk o' Field, 164, 165\n\n  Beaton, James (Archbishop Beaton's brother), joins Mary at Dunbar, 186;\n    with her at Carberry Hill, 187;\n    on Lethington's treacherous behaviour to Mary, 190\n\n  Beaton, Mary (one of the Queen's Maries), 4;\n    and Ogilvy of Boyne, 26;\n    her aunts at feud with Mary, 356;\n    her handwriting, 364\n\n  Beaufort, Jane (widow of James I.), 45\n\n  Bedford, Earl of (Elizabeth's ambassador), fears that Mary secretly\n        abetted Bothwell, 56;\n    on Riccio, 59;\n    declares Bothwell to be hated in Scotland, 80;\n    instructs his suite not to recognise Darnley as king, 106\n\n  Bellenden (Justice Clerk), member of council, 172, 203;\n    implicated in Riccio's murder, 203\n\n  Binning (Archibald Douglas's servant), his confession, 148\n\n  Birrel ('Diary'), on the blowing up of Kirk o' Field, 140;\n    on the date Mary left Edinburgh, 292;\n    nd that of her visit to Glasgow, 379, 380\n\n  Black Friars, the Dominican Monastery of, 124, 125, 126, 127, 130, 131\n\n  Blackader, William (Bothwell's retainer), hanged denying his guilt, 153,\n        195;\n    cited, 165\n\n  Blackwood, on unsigned letters attributed to Mary, 198, 212\n\n  Blavatsky case, the, cited, 278, 279\n\n  Bolton, Mary at, 249, 250, 251, 283\n\n  Book of Articles, cited, 59, 86, 94, 95, 107, 114, 255, 271, 272, 278,\n        279, 280, 281, 316, 318 note, 322;\n    on the conference at Craigmillar, 96;\n    on Darnley's murder, 141, 142, 148;\n    on the Glasgow letters, 308, 317;\n    its supposed author, 318\n\n  Borthwick Castle, Mary and Douglas at, 185\n\n  Bothwell (James Hepburn, Earl of), personal appearance, 14, 18;\n    age at Darnley's murder, 14;\n    literary tastes, 15;\n    character as depicted by his foes, 15;\n    his courage in question, 16;\n    handwriting, 17;\n    study of works on art magic, 17;\n    accused of winning Mary's favour by witchcraft, 17, 36;\n    his standard of culture compared with that of Scots nobles, 18;\n    masterful nature, 18;\n    hatred of Maitland of Lethington, 25;\n    epitome of early career, 46;\n    espouses the cause of Mary of Guise, 47;\n    seizes Cockburn of Ormiston, 47, 49;\n    deceives and deserts Anne Throndsoen under promise of marriage, 47;\n    said to have had three wives simultaneously, 48;\n    at the French Court, 49;\n    feud and reconciliation with Earl of Arran, 47, 49, 50;\n    solicits Arran's aid in a plot to seize Mary, 50;\n    warded in, but escapes from, Edinburgh Castle, 51, 53;\n    in league with Huntly, 53;\n    Lieut.-General and Admiral, 54;\n    Elizabeth's prisoner at Holy Island, 54;\n    Captain of the Scottish Guards in France, 54;\n    said to have accused Mary of incestuous relations with her uncle the\n        Cardinal, 54;\n    returns to Scotland and his Border fastness, 56;\n    outlawed, 56;\n    summoned by Mary to assist her, 57;\n    ill-feeling towards Darnley, 57;\n    marries Lady Jane Gordon, 26, 68;\n    rescues Mary from prison after Riccio's murder, 69;\n    intrigues with Darnley for the ruin of Moray and Lethington, 72, 73;\n    at the Border during Mary's accouchement, 76;\n    Bedford's statement that he was the most hated man in Scotland, 80;\n    reconciled by Mary to Lethington, 81;\n    his guilty intimacy with Mary, 82, 83;\n    concerned in the murder 'band' against Darnley, 90, 98, 99;\n    wounded in Liddesdale, 93;\n    visited by Mary at Hermitage Castle, 93;\n    his share in Darnley's murder, 117, 118, 136, 139, 142, 144, 145, 147,\n        148, 149, 150, 158, 159, 160, 161, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 171,\n        172, 175;\n    escapes to Denmark, 154;\n    Paris's evidence as to familiarities between him and Mary, 162;\n    his possession of the keys to Mary's room at Kirk o' Field, 163, 164,\n        165;\n    influence over Mary, 176;\n    objects of 'Ainslie's band,' 177, 178, 181, 329, 330, 383;\n    seizes Mary and takes her to Dunbar, 179, 330, 332;\n    is created by Mary Duke of Orkney, and marries her, 183;\n    intimacy with his divorced wife after marriage with Mary, 27, 184;\n    at Carberry Hill, 16, 186;\n    gives Mary a copy of the Darnley murder band, 187;\n    summons from the Lords for Darnley's murder and Mary's abduction, 202;\n    tried and declared innocent of Darnley's murder, 177;\n    Mary's alleged letter inciting him to Darnley's murder, 211, 212\n        (_see_ Casket Letter II.);\n    the Privy Council's Declaration, 239;\n    Mary's submissive attitude to him, 315;\n    said to have been present at the brawl between Darnley and Lord Robert\n        Stuart, 328;\n    advice given by Mary as to his relations with the Lords, 331;\n    ring sent him by Mary, 335, 337, 341;\n    betrothal ring given by him to Mary, 340;\n    letters to his wife after his marriage with Mary, 351;\n    place of his death and burial, 371, 372, 373.\n    _See_ Mary Stuart\n\n  Bothwell, Lady. _See_ Lady Jane Gordon\n\n  Bowes (Elizabeth's envoy to Scotland), 365;\n    tries to induce Gowrie to give up the Casket, 366\n\n  Bowton, Hepburn of, his statement of Darnley's murder, 143, 144, 146,\n        158, 165, 170, 233, 278, 280, 310;\n    dying confession, 167;\n    execution, 139\n\n  Boyd, Lord, 73\n\n  Brantome, on Bothwell's personal appearance, 18;\n    on the Casket Sonnets, 344\n\n  Branxholme, the Lady of, rails at Mary's marriage with Bothwell, 184\n\n  Bresslau, Herr, on the Casket Letters, 387\n\n  Buchan, Earl of (grandfather of Christian Stewart), 19\n\n  Buchan, Master of, killed at Pinkie, 19\n\n  Buchanan, George (poet and historian), celebrates Mary's virtues, 15;\n    his inaccurate accounts of her behaviour, 33, 34;\n    anecdotes of visions portending Darnley's fate, 37;\n    tale of Mary at Alloa with Bothwell, 80;\n    on the guilty intimacy of Mary and Bothwell, 81;\n    respecting Lady Reres, 82, 83;\n    on the Craigmillar conference, 96, 97, 98;\n    Latin elegiacs on Mary, 105;\n    on Darnley's murder, 141;\n    his treatment of the Darnley case, 148-151;\n    on Paris's Deposition, 157;\n    on Darnley's meek endurance of Mary's slights, 314;\n    account of a brawl between Darnley and Lord Robert Stuart, 323, 328\n\n\n  Caithness, Earl of (member of council), 172\n\n  Calderwood, on Morton's warrant from Mary for signing Ainslie's band, 254\n\n  Callendar, Mary at, 112, 318 note\n\n  Camden, on Lethington counterfeiting Mary's handwriting, 357, 358\n\n  Carberry Hill, Mary and Bothwell at, 186\n\n  Cardauns, M., on the translations of the Casket Letters, 386\n\n  Carwood, Margaret, Mary's intended bequest of a casket to, 365\n\n  Casket, the, official description of, 365;\n    the one in possession of the Hamilton family, 367-370\n\n  Casket Letter I., its place in order of composition, 290, 291;\n    question of date, 291, 292;\n    intelligible if classed as Letter II., 293;\n    purport, 293;\n    reference to Lethington in English copy, 294;\n    possibly authentic and indicating a presumptively authentic Letter\n        II., 295;\n    published Scots and English translations, 391-393\n\n  Casket Letter II., shows Mary's complicity in the murder of Darnley, 14;\n    not genuine if the chronology of Cecil's Journal be accepted, 296;\n    authenticity opposed by the letter cited by Moray and Lennox, 296, 320;\n    probably garbled, 297, 300;\n    difficulties of internal chronology, 297;\n    Crawford's corroboration of parts, 297;\n    theory of dovetailing by a forger, 300 et seq.;\n    objections based on Crawford's written Deposition, 302-304;\n    verbal identities with Crawford's account, 305, 306;\n    differences from, 307;\n    reveals Darnley's unconcealed knowledge of Mary's relations with\n        Bothwell, 307;\n    German theory respecting correspondence of deposition with, 308;\n    influence of Mary's memoranda with regard to genuineness, 309;\n    forgery--balance of probabilities, 309, 313, 314;\n    not inconsistent with Mary's style and character, 313;\n    shows Mary's remorse and submission to Bothwell, 315;\n    reasons pointing to partial genuineness, 316;\n    the phrase 'a more secret way by medicine,' 317;\n    confused by Buchanan with the letter described by Moray and Lennox,\n        318;\n    the 'ludgeing' in Edinburgh, 318;\n    the Craigmillar reference, 319, 320;\n    represents Mary as tortured by remorse, 348;\n    published Scots and English translations, 393-414;\n    concerning, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 229, 232, 245, 253\n\n  Casket Letter III., copy of the French original, 322;\n    gives brawl between Darnley and Lord Robert Stuart, 323-328;\n    its affected style, 325, 328;\n    original French version at Hatfield, 414, 415\n\n  Casket Letter IV., subject of, 329;\n    original French version, 416\n\n  Casket Letter V., concerning Mary's abduction by Bothwell, 329, 330;\n    the several translations, 330;\n    original French version at Hatfield, 417, 418\n\n  Casket Letter VI., Mary advises Bothwell as to his relations with the\n        Lords, 331;\n    her excuses for her marriage with Bothwell, 331, 332;\n    published Scots translation, 418\n\n  Casket Letter VII., subject of, 333;\n    coincidence with Mary's instructions to Bishop of Dunblane, 359, 360;\n    Scots version, 419\n\n  Casket Letter VIII. (III. in Henderson): reproaches Bothwell with\n        coldness, 334;\n    concerning the enamel ring sent by Mary to Bothwell, 335;\n    refers to a betrothal ring received by her from Bothwell, 336;\n    affectation of its style, 336;\n    Mary's gift of a symbolic mourning ring to Bothwell, 337, 341;\n    contract of marriage with Bothwell, 337, 338;\n    unknown date, 339;\n    theory of its having been written to Darnley, 339;\n    circumstances in Mary's relations with Bothwell referred to, 339;\n    original French version, 420, 421\n\n  Casket Letter IX.: the French Sonnets, 422, 426\n\n  Casket Letters: their discovery, 195, 274, 275;\n    early tampering with suggested, 198, 199, 200, 208;\n    published in Scots, Latin, and French, 198;\n    Scots versions compared with French originals, 226, 243;\n    unsigned copies, 240;\n    Scots versions sent to Mary by Lethington's wife, 248;\n    French copies, 273;\n    English translations, 274;\n    original language in which they were written, 346;\n    phraseology and orthography, 347;\n    tone and style, 347, 348;\n    compared with the Sonnets, 349, 350;\n    uniformity of sentiment and passion, 350, 351, 352;\n    authenticity considered, 352;\n    Lethington's suspected garbling, 361;\n    Archibald Douglas a possible forger, 362;\n    translations of, 385-391.\n    _See_ under each Casket Letter\n\n  Casket Sonnets, 217;\n    Mary's love for Bothwell depicted, 235;\n    topics of, 345;\n    prove Mary's passion for Bothwell, 345;\n    compared with the Letters, 349;\n    the French, 422, 426\n\n  Cassilis (member of council), 172\n\n  Catherine de Medicis, 84, 85, 87, 89, 92, 192\n\n  Catholic League, the, 64\n\n  Cauldwell, Alexander (a retainer of Eglintoun's), arrested by Mary, 103;\n    denies the rumour that Darnley was to be put in ward, 110, 111\n\n  Cecil (William Lord Burghley), his account of Riccio's murder, 68;\n    avers that Bothwell obtained his divorce by accusing himself of an\n        amour with Lady Reres, 82;\n    circulates libels about Mary, but does not use Paris's confession, 168;\n    knows of the existence of the Casket Letters and their proposed uses,\n        201;\n    Jhone a Forret's mission to him, 209;\n    receives the Itinerary of Mary, 277, 291, 296;\n    on Mary's stay at Callendar, 318 note;\n    Kirkcaldy's letter to him, 359;\n    hints at Lethington's manipulation of the Casket Letters, 361;\n    his description of the Casket, 369\n\n  Chalmers, David (a friend of Bothwell), 82\n\n  Charles IX. of France, 80;\n    resents the publication of the Casket Letters, 200\n\n  Chastelard, cited, 39\n\n  Chatelherault, Duke of (heir to the Scottish Crown), 10;\n    suit to be restored, 61;\n    acquires and builds a chateau on land near Kirk o' Field, 125\n\n  Clark, Captain (in command of Scots in Danish service), Paris extradited\n        to him, 154, 374;\n    in correspondence with Moray, 154\n\n  Clernault (Frenchman), on the blowing up of Kirk o' Field, 140\n\n  Cockburn of Ormiston, seized by Bothwell while carrying English money to\n        the Lords, 47;\n    his son carried off by Bothwell, 49\n\n  Coventry, Mary at, 337 and note\n\n  Craig (Protestant preacher), denounces Mary's marriage with Bothwell,\n        183;\n    Lethington's statement to him of his offer to Mary, 188\n\n  Craigmillar Castle, conference at, 91, 95, 96, 98, 99, 103, 319, 320\n\n  Crawford, Thomas (Lennox's retainer), 35;\n    on Mary's visit to Darnley at Glasgow, 113;\n    Lennox's letter to him, 226;\n    deposition at Westminster, 276;\n    second deposition, 280, 310;\n    substantiates part of Letter II., 297;\n    verbal identities of his deposition with, and differences from, Letter\n        II., 303, 304, 305, 306, 307, 385, 389, 390;\n    his private character, 309, 310, 312;\n    one indication of the truth of his oath, 311;\n    deposition anglicised from the Scots, 312;\n    full text of his deposition, 427-431\n\n  Crokat, May (Mrs. Stirling), sees the murderers of Darnley, 147\n\n  Cullen, Captain James (a soldier of fortune), 35;\n    officer of the guard to Mary, 151;\n    share in the Darnley murder, 152;\n    executed, 153;\n    his evidence burked, 156\n\n  Cunningham, Robert (Lennox's retainer), Lennox's letter to him, 226\n\n\n  Dalgleish, George (Bothwell's valet), his confession regarding Darnley's\n        murder, 84, 143, 144, 145, 146, 167, 195, 274, 278;\n    under torture reveals the Casket, 275;\n    executed, 144\n\n  Darnley, Henry Lord (son of Earl of Lennox), genealogy, 10;\n    letter to Mary Tudor, 10;\n    physical, moral and mental characteristics, 11, 18;\n    influence on Mary, 12;\n    marries her, 13, 57;\n    petulance and arrogance of his disposition, 13;\n    habits and health, 13;\n    on the possessions of Moray, 19;\n    his tragic end foretold in spiritual visions, 37;\n    at feud with the Lennox Stewarts, 58;\n    estranged from Mary, 59;\n    fondness for hunting, 60, 61, 62, 63;\n    removed from Mary's Council, 60, 62;\n    at Peebles, 62;\n    affects to believe in, and have proofs of, Riccio's amour with Mary,\n        63, 65, 67;\n    schemes with his father to obtain the crown, 66;\n    in league with Ruthven and Morton, 67;\n    present at Riccio's slaying, 67;\n    list of those who aided him in the murder, 67;\n    his treachery to his associates after Riccio's murder, 71;\n    Mary's growing dislike of him, 73;\n    tale of Mary's proposal to him to make Lady Moray his mistress, 74, 86;\n    urged to ruin Moray and Lethington, 76;\n    Mary's gift of a bed to him, 81;\n    at Meggatdale with Mary, 81;\n    threatens to fly the country, 84, 85;\n    invited to state his grievances before the Council, 85;\n    powerful nobles against him, 85, 87;\n    determined not to be present at the baptism of his son, 86;\n    evidence of a signed 'band' against him, 87, 88, 90;\n    visits Mary at Jedburgh, 95, 96;\n    warned by Lennox of a plan to put him in ward, 101;\n    does not attend his son's baptism, 105;\n    denied his title to the kingship, 106;\n    will not associate with the English therefor, 106;\n    anecdote of his treatment by Mary, at Stirling, 107;\n    wild projects attributed to him, 108;\n    complains of Mary to the Pope and Catholic Powers, 109;\n    rumours of his intended arrest, 111;\n    falls ill at Glasgow, 112;\n    his reply to Mary when she offers to visit him, 112;\n    Crawford's account of his interview with Mary, 113;\n    returns with her to Edinburgh, 113;\n    the poison suggestion of his illness, 114;\n    brought to Kirk o' Field, 115;\n    situation, environs, and interior of Kirk o' Field, 123-133;\n    his letter to Lennox three days before his death, 133;\n    Mary's interview with him on the eve of the explosion, 135;\n    his last hours, 136;\n    statements and theories of the manner of his death, 136, 138, 139,\n        140, 141, 142, 149, 150;\n    confessions of some of his murderers, 141-153;\n    his probable murderers, 169;\n    the band for his murder, 381-385\n\n  De Foix (French ambassador), Cecil's account to him of Riccio's murder,\n        68\n\n  De Silva (Spanish ambassador) discusses, with Elizabeth, Mary's share in\n        Darnley's murder, 171, 172;\n    knowledge of the Casket Letters, 197;\n    mentions their existence to Elizabeth, 201;\n    statement made to him by Mary's confessor, 210;\n    Moray reports a guilty letter of Mary's, 211, 214;\n    notifies Elizabeth of the Lords' possession of the Casket Letters, 353\n\n  'Detection,' on the Craigmillar conference, 96;\n    on the Casket Letters, 200\n\n  'Diurnal of Occurrents,' quoted, 36, 139, 292, 378, 380\n\n  Douglas, Archibald (cousin of Morton), the 'parson of Glasgow,' 30, 31;\n    in Riccio's murder, 31;\n    in Darnley's murder, 31, 147, 148, 274;\n    Morton's go-between, 31;\n    judge of Court of Session, 32, 147;\n    career of treachery, 32, 33;\n    states the existence of the Darnley murder band, 87, 90;\n    letter to Mary in exile, 89;\n    account of the band signed by Moray, 91;\n    endeavours to propitiate Mary, 117, 118, 119;\n    considered as a forger of the Letters, 362\n\n  Douglas, George, concerned in Riccio's murder, 65;\n    witness against Moray and Lethington, 76\n\n  Douglas, Lady (Moray's mother), 20\n\n  Douglas, Robert (brother of Archibald), at the discovery of the Casket\n        Letters, 275\n\n  Douglas, Sir George (father of the Earl of Morton), his treacherous\n        character, 29\n\n  Douglas, William, rescuer of Mary from Loch Leven, 6, 7, 34\n\n  Douglas, William (of Whittingham), accuses his brother Archibald of\n        forging letters, 32, 362\n\n  Dragsholm, Castle of, in Denmark, where Bothwell died, 372, 373\n\n  Drummond Castle, Mary at, 112\n\n  Drumquhassel, 35\n\n  Drury, quoted, on Captain Cullen, 152;\n    aware of Bothwell's projected seizure of Mary, 180;\n    stays Nelson at Berwick, 319 note\n\n  Du Croc (French ambassador), on Bothwell's courage, 16;\n    on differences between Darnley and Mary, 85, 86, 95;\n    high opinion of Mary, 87;\n    on Bothwell's wound, 93;\n    declines to meet Darnley, 106;\n    finds Mary in tears at Stirling, 107;\n    opposed to Mary's marriage with Bothwell, 183;\n    on Lethington's interview with Mary after Carberry, 188;\n    leaves Scotland with copies of Casket Letters, 197, 198, 199\n\n  Dunbar, Mary at, 180, 186\n\n  Dunblane, Bishop of, letter presented by him to the Court of France in\n        excuse of Mary's marriage with Bothwell, 331, 333;\n    coincidence of Mary's instruction to, with Letter VII., 359, 360\n\n  Durham, Sandy (Bothwell's servant), asks Paris for the key of Kirk o'\n        Field, 163\n\n  Durie, Rev. John, receives Morton's confession, 148\n\n\n  Edinburgh, Mary's midnight revels in, 4;\n    in Mary's time, 40, 41, 42;\n    insanitariness, 41;\n    street brawling, 43;\n    social condition, 43;\n    house in, referred to in Mary's letters, 316, 317, 318\n\n  Edinburgh Castle, Bothwell prisoner in, 51, 53;\n    Mary gives birth to James VI. at, 75;\n    Sir James Balfour holds, 274\n\n  Eglintoun, Lord, an untrustworthy Lennoxite, 110, 111;\n    evades subscription to the Ainslie band, 178\n\n  Elizabeth, Queen, acknowledges Mary's physical and mental charm, 3, 4;\n    regards her as a rival, 9;\n    opinion of Maitland of Lethington, 24;\n    pestered to recognise Mary as her successor, 55;\n    congratulations on birth of James VI., 76;\n    her baptismal gift as godmother, 105;\n    receives Paris's deposition, 154;\n    discusses with De Silva Darnley's murder, 171, 172;\n    Lords appeal to her against Mary, 184, 185;\n    wavers between Mary and the dominant Scots party, 195;\n    acquainted with the discovery of the Casket Letters, 196;\n    angry with Lethington about them, 201;\n    communicates with Mary in Lochleven, 202;\n    demands of Moray the reason of the Lords' rebellion, 228, 229;\n    favourably inclined to Mary, 237;\n    removes the conference from York to London, 260;\n    her Council at Hampton Court, 264;\n    declines Mary's appeal for a hearing before her, 269;\n    asks for the Letters, 269;\n    adds to commissioners at Westminster, 277;\n    debars Mary her presence, 281, 282;\n    offers Mary three choices, 283;\n    refuses to permit Mary the sight of originals or copies of the\n        Letters, 284;\n    absolves both Moray and Mary, 285;\n    suspects Lethington of tampering with Letters, 353, 355, 358;\n    acquaints Mary with Robert Melville's efforts, 355\n\n  Elphinstone, Nicholas (Moray's messenger), not allowed to give Mary\n        Moray's letters at Loch Leven, 210\n\n  Erskine, Arthur, 34;\n    escorts Mary to Dunbar, 69\n\n\n  Faarvejle Church, Denmark, Bothwell's body and grave in, 371 et seq.\n\n  Fitzwilliam, John (of Gray's Inn), Lesley's letter to him, 286 note\n\n  Fleming, Dr. Hay, on Bothwell's outlawry, 56\n\n  Fleming, Mary (Queen Mary's favourite attendant), 4;\n    her love affair with Maitland of Lethington, 24;\n    when Lethington's wife, copies the Letters, 247, 248\n\n  Fleming (member of council), 172\n\n  Forbes of Reres, kills Moray's secretary, 33\n\n  Foster, Sir John, 54;\n    on Mary's visit to Bothwell, 94;\n    on the Liddesdale reivers, 180\n\n  Froude, Mr. (historian), his opinion of Moray, 22;\n    on the discovery of the Casket Letters, 196;\n    on the Glasgow Letter, 212, 213;\n    on Mary's attitude towards the Letters, 245\n\n\n  Galloway, Bishop of (member of council), 172\n\n  Glasgow, in the sixteenth century, 39;\n    Darnley ill at, 112\n\n  Glasgow Letter, the, 135, 162, 168, 211, 212, 213, 214, 225, 229, 255.\n    _See_ Letter II.\n\n  Glencairn, Earl of, received by Mary at Edinburgh Castle, 73, 92\n\n  Goodall, quoted, 312 note\n\n  Gordon, John (Mary's servant), 7\n\n  Gordon, Lady Jane (daughter of Huntly, the Cock of the North), wife of\n        Bothwell, 26, 53, 68;\n    her literary love letters, 26;\n    conditions of her consent to a divorce with Bothwell, 27, 218;\n    relations with Bothwell after her divorce, 27, 184;\n    marries the Earl of Sutherland, and, on his death, Ogilvy of Boyne,\n        27, 218;\n    literary contest with Mary, 349, 350\n\n  Gowrie, Earl of, in possession of the Casket Letters, 366;\n    Bowes seeks to obtain them from him, 366;\n    insists on James's consent before giving them up, 367;\n    executed for treason, 367\n\n  Greville, Fulke, attracted by the personality of Archibald Douglas, 33\n\n  Gueldres, Mary of (widow of James II.), 45\n\n\n  Hamilton, Archbishop of St. Andrews, resides at Hamilton House to\n        prevent Darnley's occupation, 116;\n    there on the eve of Kirk o' Field explosion, 149;\n    accessory to Darnley's murder, 150;\n    member of council, 172;\n    hanged by Lennox, 150\n\n  Hamilton Casket, the, doubts as to its being the true Casket, 369\n\n  Hamilton, present Duke of, the Casket in his possession, 367, 368\n\n  Hamilton House, 115, 116, 131, 149\n\n  Hamilton, John, singular death of, 37\n\n  Hamilton, Lord Claude (Gloade), 149\n\n  Hampton Court, 264, 279\n\n  Handwriting, problems of, 363, 364\n\n  Hay, the Younger, of Tala, his complicity in Darnley's murder, 35, 90,\n        143, 144, 145, 146, 157, 160, 165, 169, 328;\n    confession, 278;\n    execution, 139, 280\n\n  Henderson, quoted, on Letter II. and Crawford's Deposition, 310, 312\n        note;\n    his text of the Casket Letters, 387\n\n  Henri II. of France, 5\n\n  Hepburn of Riccartoun (Bothwell's agent), 56, 57\n\n  Hepburn, Patrick (Bishop of Moray), Bothwell's great-uncle, 14\n\n  Hepburn, Patrick (parson of Kynmoir), evidence to a plot to kill Moray,\n        375, 376, 377, 378\n\n  Hepburns, the, character of, 45, 46\n\n  Hermitage Castle, Bothwell visited by Mary at, 39, 54, 93, 94\n\n  Herries, Lord, on Mary's abduction, 241;\n    at the York Conference, 251;\n    at Westminster, 267;\n    challenged to battle by Lindsay, 285\n\n  Hiegait, William (Town Clerk of Glasgow), arrested by Mary, 103;\n    his tale of Darnley's scheme to kidnap James VI., 108, 109, 110;\n    denies same before the Council, 110, 111;\n    cited, 301\n\n  Holy Island, Bothwell prisoner at, 54\n\n  Holyrood, fable of secret passage between it and Kirk o' Field, 115, 116;\n    its environs, 124;\n    Sebastian's marriage, 136\n\n  Hosack, Mr., on the authenticity of Letter II., 232;\n    on Glasgow Letter, 296\n\n  Hubert, Nicholas, his dying confession, 166\n\n  Hume, on Hubert's confession, 166\n\n  Hume, Major Martin, on the Casket Letters, 197\n\n  Hunter, Michael, slain by the Black Laird of Ormistoun, 35, 36\n\n  Huntly, Earl of (Cock of the North), Mary's chief Catholic supporter, 52;\n    dies in battle against her, 53\n\n  Huntly, Earl of (son of the Cock of the North; Bothwell's\n        brother-in-law), influences his sister Lady Jane in her marriage\n        to and divorce from Bothwell, 53;\n    rescues Mary from prison after Riccio's murder, 69;\n    complicity in Darnley's murder, 90, 167, 168;\n    at Craigmillar, 98;\n    evidence against him suppressed, 143;\n    on the Council, 172;\n    Mary distrusts him, 330;\n    trusts him, 331;\n    manner of his death, 37, 38\n\n\n  James V. of Scotland, 18\n\n  James VI. of Scotland (I. of England), birth of, 59, 75;\n    baptism, 105;\n    his godmother Queen Elizabeth's gift, 105;\n    crowned, 222\n\n  James Stuart (Mary's great-great-grandson), 3\n\n  Jedburgh, Mary at, 93, 94, 95, 96\n\n  Jhone a Forret (? John Wood), supposed bearer of copies of Casket\n        Letters to Moray and Cecil, 209, 212, 219, 226, 233, 321 note\n\n  Joachim (a servant of Mary), cited, 298, 299\n\n  Jordan, Sandy (Earl of Morton's servant), bearer of the Casket to\n        Gowrie, 366\n\n  Jusserand, M., on the corpse of Bothwell, 14 note;\n    on Bothwell's remains and burial place, 371 et seq.\n\n\n  Keith, Agnes (daughter of the Earl Marischal), married to Moray, 20\n\n  Ker, Andrew, of Faldonside (one of Riccio's murderers), 101, 152 note\n\n  Killigrew, his report of the Darnley case, 171\n\n  Kirk o' Field (St. Mary in the Fields), 41, 124;\n    house prepared for Darnley, 115, 140, 141, 142;\n    blown up, 140;\n    site, situation, and environs, 123-132;\n    map of 1647 and chart of 1567, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131;\n    interior of the house, 132, 133;\n    cited in Letter II., 316, 317\n\n  Kirkcaldy of Grange, 34;\n    action against Mary, 184, 185;\n    Mary's surrender to him at Carberry Hill, 187;\n    letter to Cecil, 359\n\n  Knollys, his estimate of the character of Mary, 3;\n    Mary's accusation against him, 245;\n    on Mary at the York Conference, 257\n\n  Knox, John, denounces the fripperies of women, 4;\n    in argument on the Mass with Maitland of Lethington, 23, 24;\n    credited with winning a bride by witchcraft, 37;\n    patches up a reconciliation between Bothwell and Arran, 50;\n    Arran reveals to him Bothwell's plot to seize Mary, 51;\n    on Bothwell's escape from Edinburgh Castle, 53;\n    on Darnley's sporting tastes, 60;\n    his drastic advice in the case of Mary, 66;\n    witch story concerning Lady Reres related to him, 82\n\n  Koot Hoomi's (Blavatsky case) correspondence, cited, 278, 279\n\n\n  La Forest (French ambassador), reports the existence of letters proving\n        Mary's complicity in the death of Darnley, 197;\n    his copies and the published Letters, 200\n\n  La Mothe Fenelon (French ambassador), on the Lords' possession of\n        Letters written and signed by Mary, 198, 199;\n    on their publication in 'Detection,' 200;\n    pleads for Mary to be allowed to see originals or copies of Casket\n        Letters, 284;\n    opinion of the Casket Sonnets, 344, 345\n\n  Laing, Malcolm (historian), on Letter III., 325, 326;\n    on the Hamilton Casket, 367\n\n  Lennox, Earl of (Darnley's father), 10;\n    forfeited estates restored, 55;\n    complains of Mary's intimacy with Riccio, 58;\n    a competitor for the Scottish crown, 62;\n    wishes to see Darnley at Peebles, 62, 63;\n    schemes to get the crown for Darnley, 66;\n    accuses Mary of threatening to avenge Riccio with her own hands, 72;\n    avers that improper relations began between Mary and Bothwell soon\n        after the birth of James VI., 79;\n    on Mary's behaviour at Stirling, 80;\n    warned of a plot to put Darnley in ward, 100;\n    'Discourse' prepared by him for York conference, 101;\n    'Brief Discourse' put in at Westminster, 102;\n    on a second conference at Craigmillar, 103;\n    not present at James VI.'s baptism, 105;\n    sends men to guard Darnley at Stirling, 107, 110, 111;\n    Minto, Walker, and Hiegait working in his interests, 111;\n    denies that either Darnley or himself suspected foul play from Mary,\n        113;\n    Darnley's letter to him respecting Mary, 133;\n    urges the collection of the sayings and reports of all Mary's\n        servants, 138;\n    account of his son's murder, 141;\n    asks for the deposition of the priest of Paisley, 150;\n    states that Mary caused a hagbut to be fired as a signal for the\n        Kirk o' Field explosion, 173;\n    describes Mary's conduct at Seton, 175;\n    asks for the arrest of Bothwell, 176;\n    flight after his son's death, 180;\n    his account of the Glasgow Letter tallies with Moray's, 214, 215;\n    his additions to and differences from that Letter, 216 et seq.;\n    marginal note to Sonnet IV., 217, 218;\n    common source of his and Moray's reports, 221;\n    proposed co-regency, 223;\n    collects extraneous evidence regarding Mary, 224, 226;\n    avers that Wood knows the murderers of Darnley, 227;\n    knowledge of the contents of the Casket Letters, 227, 228;\n    his indictments against Mary, 222, 223, 229, 230;\n    cites Letter II., 231;\n    activity in getting up evidence against Mary before the York\n        Commissioners, 253;\n    attitude at Westminster, 266;\n    on Crawford's talk with Mary, 311, 312 note;\n    seeks to prove that the Kirk o' Field plan was arranged between\n        Bothwell and Mary before Mary met Darnley at Glasgow, 316;\n    Papers, quoted, 58, 59, 74\n\n  Lennox, Lady, Mary complains to Elizabeth of her, 225\n\n  Lesley (Bishop of Ross), considers Bothwell a handsome man, 18;\n    wishes Mary to put Moray in ward, 75;\n    Huntly's statement to, respecting Mary's counter accusations, 96;\n    member of council, 172, 178;\n    asserts the Letters were not signed, 198;\n    on unsigned Letters attributed to Mary, 212;\n    one of Mary's commissioners at York, 246;\n    share in the schemes of the Duke of Norfolk, 246;\n    report of an interview with Mary at Bolton, 247;\n    confession contradicted by Melville's, 250;\n    conference with Lethington about the Letters, 258;\n    pleads for Mary to be heard in person before Elizabeth, 267;\n    protests against Moray's production of the Letters, 270;\n    Elizabeth's three choices to him, 283;\n    charge against Moray and the Lords, 285;\n    curious letter to John Fitzwilliam, 286 note;\n    on counterfeiters of Mary's handwriting, 356\n\n  Lethington, Sir Richard (father of Maitland of Lethington), 23\n\n  Lethington (William Maitland, the younger), early life and culture, 23;\n    arguments with Knox, 23, 24;\n    Secretary to Mary of Guise, 23;\n    desires the union of the crowns of England and Scotland, 23;\n    friendly advances to Mary before her arrival in Scotland, 24;\n    character, 24;\n    allied by marriage with the Earl of Atholl, 24;\n    love affair with Mary Fleming, 24;\n    in every scheme against Darnley, 25;\n    dislikes and is hated by Bothwell, 25;\n    joins Mary's enemies, 25;\n    nicknamed Michael Wylie (Machiavelli), 26;\n    political principles, 52;\n    counsels drastic measures against Riccio, 66;\n    reconciled by Mary to Bothwell, 81;\n    concerned in the murder 'band' against Darnley, 88, 90;\n    his method of dealing with Darnley, which Parliament would support,\n        98, 99, 103;\n    favours a project of marriage between Norfolk and Mary, 155;\n    charged with complicity in the Darnley murder, 155, 156, 159;\n    refuses to aid Moray in betraying Norfolk, 156;\n    in attendance on Mary, 179;\n    prisoner at Dunbar, 179, 180, 181;\n    declares that Mary means to marry Bothwell, 181;\n    escapes from Bothwell, 182;\n    question of friendship for or enmity to Mary, 182;\n    flies to confederated Lords, 185;\n    persuades Sir J. Balfour to surrender Edinburgh Castle, 186;\n    interview with Mary, 188, 189;\n    reasons for his treachery to Mary, 190, 191, 192;\n    statement to Throckmorton respecting his conduct towards her, 204;\n    Randolph accuses him of advising Mary's death, 204;\n    statement to Throckmorton about the letters, 205;\n    Mary's documentary charge against him, 243, 244;\n    conduct at the York Conference, 246, 252;\n    accused of stealing the Casket Letters, and having them copied by his\n        wife, 248;\n    explains the reason for Mary's abduction, 255;\n    his privy disclosure of the Letters, 257;\n    shakes Norfolk's belief in same, 258;\n    discriminating attitude between private and public exhibition of\n        Letters, 287;\n    writes letter to be presented to the French Court concerning Mary's\n        marriage with Bothwell, 331;\n    directs the scheme of garbling the Casket Letters, 353;\n    (?) despatches Melville to Cecil on the day of the finding of the\n        Casket Letters, 355;\n    privately hints that he had counterfeited Mary's handwriting, 357, 358;\n    case against him, 358, 359;\n    'Instructions' drawn by him, 360;\n    Randolph hints at his tampering with the Letters, 361;\n    Herr Bresslau's inferences of tampering, 387\n\n  Liddesdale reivers, the, 180\n\n  Lindsay, Sir David, pardoned, 112;\n    the Lords send him to Loch Leven to induce Mary to abdicate, 204;\n    challenges Herries to combat on Moray's account, 285;\n    appointed Lyon King at Arms, 376\n\n  Livingstone, Lord, member of council, 172;\n    his knowledge of Mary's amour with Bothwell, 253\n\n  Livingstone, Mary (Queen Mary's attendant), 4;\n    wife of John Sempil, 356;\n    on ill terms with Mary, 356\n\n  Loch Leven, Mary imprisoned at, 192;\n    Lindsay sent to, to extort her abdication, 204;\n    Mary's escape from, 242\n\n  Logan of Restalrig, treasure-finding, 375\n\n  Lords, Scots, of the Privy Council, banded against Mary, 185;\n    success at Carberry Hill, 195;\n    Casket Letters in their possession, 196, 201;\n    summons against Bothwell, 202;\n    their mixed character, motives, and statements, 203, 204;\n    demand of Mary her abdication, 204;\n    formulate charges against her, 205;\n    extort from her a consent to their proposals, 205;\n    vacillations with regard to the Letters, 206, 207;\n    obtain Mary's signature to her abdication, 206;\n    forward copies of Casket Letters to Moray, 212;\n    publish their Declaration, 238;\n    accuse Mary of being privy to Darnley's murder, 239;\n    on Mary's handwriting, 241;\n    cause of their action against Mary, 355\n\n  Luzarche, M. Victor, his Coffret de Bijoux, 365\n\n\n  Maitland of Lethington. _See_ Lethington\n\n  Mameret, Roche (Mary's confessor), on the character of the Queen, 210\n\n  Mar, Earl of, entertains Mary at Alloa, 80;\n    deprived of the custody of Edinburgh Castle, 172;\n    confederated against Bothwell, 181\n\n  Marryat, Mr. Horace, and the body of Bothwell, 373\n\n  Mary of Gueldres, 45\n\n  Mary of Guise, Regent, 19;\n    her secretary Lethington, 23;\n    deserted by her nobles, 47;\n    Bothwell espouses her cause, 47\n\n  Mary Stuart Queen of Scotland: the Morton portrait, 3;\n    periwig, 3 note;\n    midnight revels and masculine energy, 4, 5, 8;\n    her 'four Maries,' 4;\n    costumes and jewels and their donors, 5;\n    moods, spirit, and gratitude, 5, 6, 7;\n    brow-beaten by Knox, 7;\n    causes provoking hardness of heart, 8;\n    centre of intrigue, 8, 9;\n    Elizabeth's rival, 9;\n    disposition to yield to masterful men, 9;\n    Bothwell's defects instanced against her, 15;\n    presented by Ruthven with a ring as an antidote to poison, 17, 36;\n    pensions the assassin of Moray, 22;\n    kindness to Lethington, 24;\n    Morton her prosecutor, 31;\n    virulence of the Preachers of Righteousness against her, 35, 36;\n    'bewitched' by Bothwell, 36;\n    social condition of Scotland when she became queen, 43;\n    informed by Arran of Bothwell's plot to seize her, 51;\n    political position during her first years in Scotland, 52, 53, 54;\n    her compromise between Catholicism and Protestantism, 52;\n    suspected by the Protestant party of favouring Bothwell, 53;\n    intercedes with Elizabeth to allow Bothwell to go to France, 54;\n    efforts to fix her as Elizabeth's successor, 55;\n    sees Darnley and admires him, 12, 55;\n    action in Bothwell's outlawry, 56;\n    weds Darnley, 13, 57;\n    summons Bothwell from France against her opponents, 57;\n    estrangement from Darnley, 13, 57;\n    political use made of her intimacy with Riccio, 58;\n    twitted with favouring Riccio and Bothwell, 59;\n    anger against Moray, 56;\n    amour with Riccio not credible, 60, 63;\n    removes Darnley from her Council, 60;\n    illness, 61;\n    letter to Pius V., 63, 64;\n    arranges Bothwell's marriage with Lady Jane Gordon, 64;\n    insists on free Mass for all men, 65;\n    schemes for killing Riccio in her presence, 68;\n    rescued by Bothwell, Huntly, and Atholl after Riccio's murder, 69;\n    at Dunbar, 69, 70, 71;\n    seeks to quiet the country, 71;\n    growing hatred of Darnley, 71;\n    threatens that a fatter than Riccio should soon lie anear him, 72;\n    pardon of the rebel Lords demanded of her, 72;\n    befriends Moray, 73;\n    represented by Lennox as trying to induce Darnley to make love to\n        Moray's wife, 74;\n    her bequests to Darnley, 75;\n    allows Moray and Argyll to be at the Castle during her accouchement,\n        75;\n    gives birth to James VI., 75;\n    protects Moray from Darnley and Bothwell, 77;\n    Darnley's jealousy of her favour to Moray, 77;\n    increasing dislike to Darnley, 78, 80;\n    passion for Bothwell, 18, 26, 79;\n    conduct at Alloa and Stirling, 80;\n    gift of a bed to Darnley, 81;\n    reconciles Lethington and Bothwell, 81;\n    Buchanan's account of her amour with Bothwell, 82, 83;\n    this legend supported by Sonnet IX. and Dalgleish's confession, 84;\n    strained relations with Darnley, 84, 85;\n    in Jedburgh at a Border session, 93;\n    visits wounded Bothwell at Hermitage Castle, 93, 94;\n    illness at Jedburgh, 94;\n    returns to Craigmillar Castle, 95;\n    letter from Darnley, 95;\n    divorce proposed, 96;\n    Buchanan insinuates her desire to involve Moray in the Darnley murder,\n        97;\n    Lennox's statement that she would have Darnley in ward after James's\n        baptism, 100, 102;\n    arrests Hiegait, Walker, Laird of Minto, Cauldwell, 103;\n    festivities at the baptism of her child at Stirling, 105;\n    baptizes him by the Catholic rite, 105;\n    Bedford's advice, 106;\n    treatment of Darnley at Stirling, 107;\n    anxiety concerning Darnley's projects, 108, 109;\n    warned by Beaton and the Spanish ambassador of Darnley's intention to\n        kidnap James VI., 109;\n    causes Hiegait and Walker to be questioned before the Council, 110;\n    distress of mind, 111;\n    at Drummond Castle, Tullibardine, Callendar, and Holyrood, 112;\n    letter to Beaton, 110, 114;\n    offers to visit sick Darnley at Glasgow, 112;\n    Crawford's account of her visit to Darnley, 113;\n    induces Darnley to return with her to Edinburgh, 113, 119;\n    brings him to Kirk o' Field, 115;\n    aware of the plot against Darnley, 116, 117;\n    refuses a written warrant asked for by the conspirators, 118;\n    hypotheses for her conduct, 120, 121;\n    her shift of beds at Kirk o' Field, 134, 162;\n    story drawn from a Casket Letter, 135, 136, 142;\n    visits Darnley on the eve of the explosion, 135;\n    at the marriage of her servant Sebastian that same night, 135, 136,\n        173;\n    curious anecdote respecting her, 137;\n    at supper with the Bishop of Argyle on the night of the murder, 161;\n    Paris's evidence as to familiarities between her and Bothwell, 162;\n    Bothwell asks for the key of her room at Kirk o' Field, 163, 164, 165;\n    said to have endeavoured to incite her brother Lord Robert Stuart\n        against Darnley, 135, 165, 166, 323-328, 353;\n    dying confessions regarding her participation, 167, 169, 170;\n    theory of her accusers, 170;\n    conduct after Darnley's murder, 171;\n    her letters from and to Beaton, 173;\n    inference which her letters were meant to suggest, 174;\n    makes no effort to avenge Darnley, 175, 176;\n    seized by Bothwell and conveyed to Dunbar, 179;\n    evidence of the Casket Letters as to her collusion, 179;\n    Lethington's attitude towards her, 182;\n    creates Bothwell Duke of Orkney and is married to him, 183;\n    her distrust of Huntly, 185;\n    appeals to the loyalty of her subjects, 185;\n    surrenders to Kirkcaldy at Carberry Hill, 186;\n    parting with Bothwell, 187;\n    conditions of her surrender, 187;\n    interview with Lethington, 188, 189;\n    complains of being parted from Bothwell, 188, 194;\n    denounces Lethington and the members of the Darnley murder band, 189;\n    incarcerated in Loch Leven Castle, 192;\n    reported to have prematurely given birth to twins, 194;\n    motives of the Lords against her, 194;\n    the compromising Casket Letters, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201,\n        202, 203, 205, 206, 207 (_see_ Casket Letters);\n    communication from Elizabeth respecting Melville, 202;\n    her abdication demanded by the Council, and charges formulated against\n        her, 204, 205;\n    signs the deeds of her abdication, 207;\n    her confessor's opinion of her, 210;\n    the Glasgow Letter, 135, 162, 168, 211, 212, 213, 214, 225, 229, 255;\n    complains to Elizabeth of Lady Lennox, 225;\n    the Glasgow Letter as rendered in the Lennox Papers, 234, 235;\n    her love for Bothwell as presented in the Casket Sonnets, 235;\n    the Glasgow Letter discredited, 236;\n    the Lords' specific charge against her, 239;\n    demands to be heard in the Parliament at Edinburgh, 240;\n    escapes from Loch Leven, 242;\n    claims the right of confronting her accusers, 243;\n    her line of defence, 243, 245;\n    on the handwriting of her accusers, 244;\n    letter to Lesley, 245;\n    Lesley's details of an interview with her at Bolton, 248;\n    copies of the letters forwarded to her by Lethington, 248, 249;\n    theory of her translation of Scots copies into French, 249 note;\n    arrival of her commissioners at York, 250;\n    assents to Moray's compromise, 251;\n    attitude at York, 257;\n    consents to the removal of inquiry from York to London, 260;\n    terms of her compromise, 260, 262, 265;\n    change in her plan of defence, 262;\n    plea for a hearing before Elizabeth, 267, 268;\n    injury done to her cause by friends' renewed efforts for a compromise,\n        269, 270;\n    withdrawal of her commissioners from Westminster, 275;\n    refuses to acknowledge Elizabeth as a judge, 282;\n    her letter from Bolton, 283;\n    asks to see the copies and originals of the Casket Letters, 284;\n    makes their delivery a condition of her production of charges and\n        proofs, 286, 287;\n    causes of her detestation of Lethington, 288;\n    her submissive attitude to both Bothwell and Norfolk, 315;\n    suggestion of marriage with Norfolk, 155;\n    distrusts Huntly, 330;\n    trusts him, 331;\n    her excuses for marrying Bothwell, addressed to the French Court, 331,\n        332;\n    sends Bothwell a symbolic mourning ring, 337;\n    letter to Norfolk from Coventry, 337 and note;\n    contract of marriage with Bothwell, 338;\n    receives betrothal ring from Bothwell(?), 340;\n    hypothesis of her contest in literary excellence with Lady Bothwell,\n        350;\n    tone of her letters to Norfolk, 351;\n    suspicions of Lethington in her instructions to her commissioners, 356;\n    coincidence between Letter VII. and her instructions to the Bishop of\n        Dunblane, 331, 359, 360;\n    facsimiles of her own and imitated handwriting, 363, 364;\n    date of her visit to Glasgow, 379, 380;\n    charges Balfour, Morton and Lethington with complicity in Darnley's\n        murder, 189, 382\n\n  Meggatdale, Mary and Darnley at, 81\n\n  Melville, Robert, against Mary, 185;\n    sent to Elizabeth with news of the discovery of the Casket Letters,\n        196, 201, 320, 355;\n    acting for the Lords, 202;\n    denies his visit to Mary at Bolton before going to commissioners at\n        York, 249, 250;\n    Lesley's confession contravened by his, 250;\n    Moray sends him to Bolton to compromise with Mary, 251;\n    negotiates with Mary on a compromise, 259;\n    his statement, 261;\n    sent by Lethington on 'sudden despatch' to Cecil, 354, 355;\n    friendly efforts in Mary's behalf, 355;\n    suspects Kirkcaldy of Grange of counterfeiting Moray's handwriting, 361\n\n  Melville, Sir James, on George Buchanan's veracity as a historian, 34;\n    dissuades Mary from putting Moray in ward, 75;\n    on Darnley's murder, 140;\n    on Bothwell's behaviour in the Queen's chamber, 181;\n    at the York conference, 259\n\n  Mertine, Barbara, encounters the murderers of Darnley, 147\n\n  Middlemore, Mary's statement to him regarding her accusers, 245\n\n  Minto, Laird of, arrested by Mary, 103;\n    working in Lennox's interests, 111;\n    cited, 150\n\n  Moray, Regent (natural son of James V.), an enigma, 19;\n    Protestant and warrior, 19;\n    acquisitiveness, 19, 20;\n    secures the Buchan estates in spite of the legal rights of Christian\n        Stewart, 20;\n    marries Agnes Keith, 20;\n    ambition, 20;\n    treachery and caution, 21, 22;\n    alibis, 21;\n    as Regent, 22;\n    Mr. Froude's estimate of him, 22;\n    his secretary, John Wood, 33;\n    believes that Ruthven gave Mary a ring with magical properties, 36;\n    urged by the preachers to burn witches, 36;\n    political bias and theological tenets, 52;\n    tells Mary that either he or Bothwell must quit Scotland, 56;\n    his rising to prevent Mary marrying Darnley, 59;\n    seeks for the restoration of Morton and Ruthven, 72;\n    in favour with Mary, 73, 76, 121;\n    permitted by Mary to reside in the Castle during her accouchement, 75;\n    said to be banded against Darnley, 89, 90, 91, 92, 98;\n    denies that any unlawful ends were mooted at Craigmillar, 98;\n    winks at the conspiracy against Darnley, 116, 122;\n    account of the numbers engaged in Darnley's murder, 141;\n    laxity in their prosecution, 144, 145;\n    gives records of examinations to English commissioners, 145;\n    reasons for not summoning Paris as witness, 154, 155;\n    opposes marriage between Mary and Norfolk, 155;\n    takes the evidence of Paris, 155;\n    delays in forwarding it to Cecil, 156;\n    seeks to betray Norfolk, 156;\n    story of his presence at a wrangle between Darnley and Lord Robert\n        Stuart, 166, 323, 327;\n    informed of the Casket Letters, 196 note;\n    his sources of information as to Mary's correspondence, 208;\n    from friend becomes enemy of Mary, 209, 210;\n    reports a guilty letter from Mary to Bothwell, 211, 213;\n    his additions to and differences from the Glasgow letter, 216 et seq.;\n    common source of his and Lennox's reports, 221;\n    'not capable' of employing a forged document, 234;\n    'most loth' to accuse Mary, 242;\n    Scots translations and French originals of Casket Letters, 242;\n    treats for a compromise with Mary at York, 251;\n    seeks to know the powers of the English commissioners at York, 253;\n    exhibits 'privately' to them the Casket Letters and other papers, 254;\n    confers with Norfolk at York, 259;\n    puts in his proofs at Westminster, 266, 270, 271, 272, 273;\n    complains of being slandered by Mary's commissioners, 285;\n    Mary's joy at the news of his murder, 22\n\n  Moretta (Savoyard ambassador), on Darnley's murder, 140\n\n  Morton, Earl of, joins the Protestants, 29;\n    sanctimonious remark to Throckmorton, 29;\n    private life, 30;\n    schemes with all parties in his own ends, 30;\n    helps to organise the murder of Riccio, 30;\n    portrait of, 31;\n    Regent, 32;\n    political principles, 52;\n    in league with Darnley to restore Moray, 67;\n    Moray endeavours his recall, 73;\n    feud with Darnley, 78;\n    pardoned, 89, 112;\n    concerned in Darnley's murder, 31, 90;\n    desires the Queen's warrant before proceeding to extremities with\n        Darnley, 117;\n    his confession, 118, 147, 148, 167, 168;\n    confederated against Bothwell, 181;\n    advised by Lethington to espouse Mary's cause, 191;\n    accused by Mary of Darnley's murder, 244;\n    Casket Letters entrusted to him, 195, 365;\n    declaration at Westminster respecting them, 272;\n    his story of the discovery of the Casket Letters, 274, 275, 276, 277;\n    in his dying declaration denounces Archibald Douglas, 32;\n    executed, 382\n\n\n  Napier of Merchistoun (soothsayer), 17, 36\n\n  Napier of Merchistoun (inventor of logarithms), 17;\n    treasure-finding, 375\n\n  Nau, Claude, on Mary's escape to Dunbar, 72;\n    on the motives of Darnley's murderers, 90;\n    on Mary's abdication, 241;\n    on the band for Darnley's murder given to Mary by Bothwell, 243;\n    account of Lethington's conduct towards Mary, 288\n\n  Nelson (Darnley's servant), in Kirk o' Field at the explosion, 116;\n    on the position of Kirk o' Field, 129;\n    escape, 140;\n    statement on the custody of the keys, 165, 175;\n    evidence at Westminster, 276;\n    on Darnley's refusal to stay at Craigmillar, 319;\n    detained by Drury at Berwick, 319 note\n\n  Norfolk, Duke of, his proposed marriage with Mary, 155;\n    schemes, 246;\n    on the York commission of inquiry, 246, 252;\n    excuses delays of Scots Lords, 256;\n    for a compromise, 256;\n    confers with Moray, 259;\n    opposes a compromise, 261, 262;\n    doubts authenticity of Letters and would marry Mary, 257, 258, 259,\n        262;\n    prevents Mary from abdicating, 262;\n    Mary's submissive attitude to him, 315;\n    Lethington asks him not to believe in Mary's guilt, 357, 358\n\n  Northumberland, Earl of, in arms for Mary, 277\n\n\n  Ogilvy of Boyne, loved by Lady Jane Gordon and Mary Beaton, 26;\n    marries the divorced Lady Bothwell, 27, 218\n\n  Orkney, Bishop of, marries Mary to Bothwell, 62, 183\n\n  Orkney, Duke of, Bothwell created, 183\n\n  Ormistoun, Black Laird of (one of Darnley's murderers), his treatment by\n        Mary in prison, 6;\n    his exordium before being hanged, 35;\n    confession of a murder-band against Darnley, 99;\n    executed, 139\n\n  Ormistoun, Hob (one of Darnley's murderers), 101, 139, 339, 341;\n    executed, 139\n\n\n  Paris (Nicholas Hubert), on the Craigmillar plot against Darnley, 103;\n    escapes with Bothwell to Denmark, 154;\n    extradited to Captain Clark, 154;\n    evidence taken by Moray, 155, 156;\n    nature of his deposition and the circumstances under which it was\n        made, 156-170;\n    account of Lady Reres, 162;\n    receipt and delivery of Glasgow Letter, 292, 293, 299;\n    on the Glasgow Letter, 316, 327;\n    cited, 339, 340, 341, 342;\n    hanged at St. Andrews, 157, 378\n\n  Percy, Sir Harry, on Bothwell, 54\n\n  Periwigs, worn by Mary, 3 note\n\n  Philippson, M., on the translations of the Casket Letters, 386, 388\n\n  Pinkie, battle of, 19\n\n  Pitcairn's 'Criminal Trials,' cited, 56\n\n  Pius V., Mary's letter to him on political matters, 63\n\n  Pluscarden, Prior of, and the Casket, 365\n\n  Pollen, Father, cited, 230\n\n  Powrie (Bothwell's servant), statement of, concerning Darnley's murder,\n        142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 148, 149, 195, 280\n\n  Preston, Laird of Craigmillar (Provost of Edinburgh), Mary imprisoned in\n        his house, 188\n\n  Price, Mr. F. Compton, cited, 363\n\n\n  Ramsay, Robert (Moray's servant), hears Paris avouch the truth of his\n        deposition, 157\n\n  Randolph (English ambassador at Holyrood), his opinion of Darnley, 11,\n        12;\n    on the Earl of Arran, 49;\n    reports Bothwell and Atholl all-powerful, 57;\n    on Lennox at Glasgow, 61;\n    reports 'private disorders' between Mary and Darnley, 63;\n    on Mary's demand for free Mass for all men, 65;\n    aware of Darnley's and Lennox's schemes for obtaining the crown, 66;\n    favours Moray, 73;\n    on a murder-band, kept in a casket, aimed at Darnley, 87;\n    on the conduct of Lethington and Kirkcaldy towards Mary, 194, 360;\n    accuses Lethington of advising Mary's death, 204;\n    hints at Lethington having tampered with the Letters(?), 361\n\n  Read, John (Buchanan's secretary), supplies Cecil with a list of the\n        signatories to Ainslie's band, 177\n\n  'Relation,' the, cited on Riccio's murder, 65\n\n  Reres, Lady, alleged confidant of Mary's amour with Bothwell, 33, 48,\n        82, 83;\n    telepathic story assigned to her, 82;\n    Paris's account of her as a go-between, 162;\n    rails at Mary's marriage with Bothwell, 184\n\n  Reres, Laird of (son of Lady Reres), 83\n\n  Riccio, David, his intimacy with Mary, 58, 59;\n    complained of as a foreign upstart by Scots nobles, 58, 65;\n    reasons for discrediting his amour with Mary, 60;\n    Darnley's hatred and jealousy of him, 63, 64, 65, 66;\n    'band of assurance' for his murder, 67;\n    nobles and others concerned, 67;\n    murdered, 69\n\n  Ridolfi plot, the, 6\n\n  Robertson, Dr. Joseph, on Lady Reres as wet nurse to Mary's baby, 83;\n    on the Paris deposition, 158;\n    on the Glasgow Letter, 296\n\n  Rogers, William, informs Cecil of Darnley's design to seize the Scilly\n        Isles, 108 note\n\n  Ronsard (poet), quoted, 314;\n    on the Casket Sonnets, 344, 349\n\n  Ross, Bishop of. _See_ Lesley\n\n  Ruthven Earl of, his account of Riccio's murder, 17;\n    presents Mary with a ring as an antidote to poison, 17;\n    conspiring with Darnley, 67;\n    seeks refuge in England, 70;\n    his dying vision, 37;\n    death, 73\n\n\n  Sadleyr (one of Elizabeth's commissioners), at the York inquiry, 246\n\n  St. Andrews, in Mary's time, 40\n\n  St. Mary in the Fields. _See_ Kirk o' Field\n\n  Sanquhar, signs the band for delivering Mary from Loch Leven, 275, 276\n\n  Scarborough, Darnley's designs on, 108\n\n  Schiller's 'Marie Stewart,' cited, 2\n\n  Scilly Isles, Darnley's designs on, 108 note\n\n  Scots Parliament, Casket Letters produced before, 241\n\n  Scottish Guards (in France), Bothwell captain of, 54\n\n  Scott's 'Abbot,' cited, 2\n\n  Scrope, quoted, on Captain Cullen, 151-3\n\n  Sebastian (Mary's servant), his marriage at Holyrood, 136, 148\n\n  Sempil, John, husband of Mary Livingstone, 356\n\n  Sepp, Dr., on the Casket Letters, 242\n\n  Seton, Mary (Mary's attendant), 'the finest busker of a woman's hair,'\n        3, 4\n\n  Seton, Mary's conduct at, 175\n\n  Skelton, Sir John, on Bothwell's age, 14;\n    his 'Maitland of Lethington' cited, 23;\n    on Mary's knowledge of the plot against Darnley, 116, 117;\n    on Mary's submissive attitude to Bothwell, 315\n\n  Sorcery, belief in, in the sixteenth century, 36\n\n  Spens (Black Mr. John), 175\n\n  Standen (brothers Anthony), one of them boasts that he saved Mary from\n        assassination, 38;\n    Darnley's companions, 60;\n    their immorality put to Darnley's account, 75;\n    romantic memoirs of one of them imprisoned in the Tower, 75;\n    assist Darnley in his schemes, 108;\n    the younger, 137, 319 note\n\n  Stewart, Christian (heiress to the Buchan earldom), contracted in\n        marriage with Lord James Stewart, 19;\n    legal inheritress to Buchan estates, 20;\n    married to Lord James, 20\n\n  Stewart d'Aubigny (Duke of Lennox), James's banished favourite, 367\n\n  Stewart, Lord James (Moray's brother), contracts himself in marriage to\n        the Buchan child-heiress, 19;\n    secures the right of redemption of the Buchan estates, 19;\n    marries the heiress but loses the estates, 20\n\n  Stewart of Periven (Lennox's retainer), 226\n\n  Stewart of Traquair, escorts Mary to Dunbar, 69\n\n  Stewart, Sir William (Lyon Herald), burnt for sorcery, 17, 36, 156,\n        374-379\n\n  Stirling, Mary at, 80;\n    baptism of James VI. at, 105, 106, 107;\n    full of 'honest men of the Lennox,' 109\n\n  Strickland, Miss, on Darnley's signature to State documents, 60 note\n\n  Stuart, Lord Robert (Mary's brother), account of him drawn from a Casket\n        Letter, 135;\n    concerned in Darnley's murder, 162, 165, 166;\n    Mary's alleged attempt to provoke a quarrel between him and Darnley,\n        323, 327\n\n  Sussex, Earl of (one of Elizabeth's commissioners), on Mary's defence,\n        245;\n    believes in an intended compromise, 263;\n    doubts in judicial proof of Mary's guilt, 264;\n    on Mary's proofs, 287\n\n  Sutherland, Earl of, marries Bothwell's divorced wife, 27;\n    member of council, 172\n\n\n  Tala. _See_ Hay of Tala\n\n  Taylor (Darnley's servant), killed at Kirk o' Field, 132, 137, 139, 148\n\n  'The Purpose' or talking dance, 39\n\n  Throckmorton, Sir Nicholas (English envoy), visits Mary in prison, 29;\n    in communication with Lords of Council, 203, 204;\n    Lethington acquaints him with Casket Letters, 205, 237;\n    mentions them to Elizabeth, 355\n\n  Throndssoen, Anne (Norwegian lady), Bothwell's treatment of her, 47;\n    alleges breach of promise of marriage against Bothwell, 48\n\n  Tombs of the Kings, the, 39\n\n  Tulchan bishops, the, 30\n\n  Tullibardine, Mary at, 112\n\n  Tullibardine, signs band for releasing Mary from Loch Leven, 276\n\n\n  Walker (Archbishop Beaton's retainer), on Darnley's plot to kidnap the\n        infant James, 108, 110, 111\n\n  Walsingham, Sir Francis, and the Casket Letters, 365\n\n  Westminster Conference, proceedings at, 240, 266, 270-276\n\n  Westmorland, Earl of, in arms for Mary, 277\n\n  Whithaugh, Laird of, holds Ker of Faldonside prisoner, 101;\n    shelters the Ormistouns, 101\n\n  Wilson, Dr., asks Cecil for Paris's confession, 168;\n    on Mary, 247\n\n  Witchcraft and sorcery, 17, 36\n\n  Wood, John (Moray's secretary), helps Lennox in his case against Mary,\n        150;\n    hears Paris testify to his deposition, 157;\n    bears letters to Moray and Cecil, 209, 226;\n    in custody of the Casket Letters, 196, 227, 228, 229;\n    on Lethington as a commissioner at Mary's trial, 244;\n    slain by Forbes of Reres, 33\n\n\n  York, Commission of Inquiry at, 101, 226, 227, 230, 233, 246, 250 et seq.\n\n\n  Zytphen-Adeler, Baron, his care of Bothwell's remains, 372\n\n  PRINTED BY\n  SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE\n  LONDON\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] _Blackwood's Magazine_, December, 1889.\n\n[2] Bond.\n\n[3] Laing, ii. 284.\n\n[4] See Murdin, p. 57.\n\n[5] Among the mysteries which surround Mary, we should not reckon the\ncolour of her hair! Just after her flight into England, her gaoler, at\nCarlisle, told Cecil that in Mary Seton the Queen had 'the finest busker\nof a woman's hair to be seen in any country. Yesterday and this day she\ndid set such a curled hair upon the Queen, that was said to be a perewyke,\nthat showed very delicately, and every other day she hath a new device of\nhead dressing that setteth forth a woman gaily well.' Henceforth Mary\nvaried the colour of her 'perewykes.' She had worn them earlier, but she\nwore them, at least at her first coming into England, for the good reason\nthat, in her flight from Langside, she had her head shaved, probably for\npurposes of disguise. So we learn from Nau, her secretary. Mary was\nflying, in fact, as we elsewhere learn, from the fear of the fiery death\nat the stake, the punishment of husband-murder. Then, and then only, her\nnerve broke down, like that of James VIII. at Montrose; of Prince Charles\nafter Culloden; of James VII. when he should have ridden with Dundee to\nthe North and headed the clans.\n\n[6] The papers used by Lennox in getting up his indictment against Mary\nare new materials, which we often have occasion to cite.\n\n[7] Mr. Henderson doubts if Darnley knew French.\n\n[8] M. Jusserand has recently seen the corpse of Bothwell. Appendix A.\n\n[9] _Actio_, probably by Dr. Wilson, appended to Buchanan's _Detection_.\n\n[10] Teulet, ii. p. 176. Edinburgh, June 17, 1567.\n\n[11] See a facsimile in Teulet, ii. 256.\n\n[12] Appendix B. 'Burning of the Lyon King at Arms.'\n\n[13] The private report is in the Lennox MSS.\n\n[14] See the sketch, , in Bannatyne _Miscellany_, vol. i. p. 184.\n\n[15] See description by Alesius, about 1550, in Bannatyne _Miscellany_, i.\n185-188.\n\n[16] Information from Father Pollen, S.J.\n\n[17] This gentleman must not be confused with Ormistoun of Ormistoun, in\nTeviotdale, 'The Black Laird,' a retainer of Bothwell.\n\n[18] Riddell, _Inquiry into the Law and Practice of the Scottish Peerage_,\ni. 427. Joseph Robertson, _Inventories_, xcii., xciii. Schiern, _Life of\nBothwell_, p. 53.\n\n[19] Randolph to Cecil, Edinburgh, Sept. 23, 1560. Foreign Calendar,\n1560-61, p. 311.\n\n[20] Hay Fleming, _Mary Queen of Scots_, p. 236, note 32.\n\n[21] Cal. For. Eliz. 1561-62, iv. 531-539.\n\n[22] Knox, Laing's edition, ii. 322-327. Randolph to Cecil _ut supra_.\n\n[23] Knox, ii. 347.\n\n[24] Knox, ii. 473.\n\n[25] Hay Fleming, p. 359, note 29.\n\n[26] Knox, ii. 479.\n\n[27] See Cal. For. Eliz. 1565, 306, 312, 314, 319, 320, 327, 340, 341,\n347, 351.\n\n[28] Calendar, Bain, ii. 223.\n\n[29] Bain, ii. 213.\n\n[30] _Ibid._ ii. 242, 243.\n\n[31] Hosack, i. 524.\n\n[32] Cal. For. Eliz. 1564-5, 464.\n\n[33] Bain, ii. 222-223.\n\n[34] Bain, ii. 225. Cal. For. Eliz. 1564-5, 464, 495. Hay Fleming, pp.\n380, 381.\n\n[35] Miss Strickland avers that 'existing documents afford abundant proof,\nthat whenever Darnley and the Queen were together, his name was written by\nhis own hand.'\n\n[36] October 31, 1565. Bain, ii. 232.\n\n[37] Bain, ii. 234.\n\n[38] Randolph to Cecil, Nov. 19, Dec. 1, 1565. Bain, ii. 241, 242.\n\n[39] Bain, ii. 242.\n\n[40] Buchanan, _Historia_, 1582, fol. 210.\n\n[41] Bain, ii. 247.\n\n[42] The Foreign Calendar cites Randolph up to the place where _amantium\nirae_ is quoted, but omits that. The point is important, if it indicates\nthat Randolph had ceased to believe in Mary's amour with Riccio. Cf. Bain,\nii. 248.\n\n[43] Nau, p. 192.\n\n[44] The subject is discussed, with all the evidence, in Hay Fleming, pp.\n379, 380, note 33.\n\n[45] _Ruthven's Narrative._ Keith, iii. 260. There are various forms of\nthis Narrative; one is in the Lennox MSS.\n\n[46] Goodall, i. 274.\n\n[47] Bain, ii. 255.\n\n[48] Printed in a scarce volume, _Maitland's Narrative_, and in Tytler,\niii. 215. 1864.\n\n[49] Bain, ii. 259-261.\n\n[50] Goodall, i. 266-268.\n\n[51] Hosack, ii. 78, note 3.\n\n[52] See Dr. Stewart, _A Lost Chapter in the History of Mary Queen of\nScots_, pp. 93, 94.\n\n[53] This is alleged by Mary, and by Claude Nau, her secretary.\n\n[54] Goodall, i. 264, 265.\n\n[55] Bain, ii. 289.\n\n[56] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 51.\n\n[57] Bain, ii. 276. Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 52.\n\n[58] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 62.\n\n[59] Bain ii. 278.\n\n[60] _Ibid._ ii. 281.\n\n[61] See Joseph Robertson's _Inventories_, 112.\n\n[62] Bain, ii. 283.\n\n[63] Melville, pp. 154, 155.\n\n[64] Bain, ii. 288, 289.\n\n[65] Bain, ii. 290.\n\n[66] Bain, ii. 294.\n\n[67] Nau, 20, 22.\n\n[68] Bain, ii. 296.\n\n[69] _Detection_, 1689, pp. 2, 3.\n\n[70] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 118.\n\n[71] Stevenson, _Selections_, pp. 163-165.\n\n[72] Cheruel, _Marie Stuart et Catherine de Medicis_, p. 47.\n\n[73] Robertson, _Inventories_, p. 167.\n\n[74] Bain, ii. 300.\n\n[75] _Detection_ (1689), p. 4.\n\n[76] Bain, ii. 440.\n\n[77] Bannatyne, _Journal_, p. 238. This transference of disease, as from\nArchbishop Adamson to a pony, was believed in by the preachers.\n\n[78] Teulet, _Papiers d'Etat_, ii. 139-146, 147, 151. See also Keith, ii.\n448-459.\n\n[79] Frazer, _The Lennox_, ii. 350, 351.\n\n[80] Cal. For. Eliz. ix. 354, 355.\n\n[81] Laing, ii. 331, 334.\n\n[82] Nau, p. 35.\n\n[83] Bain, ii. 599, 600.\n\n[84] Bain, ii. 276.\n\n[85] _Diurnal_, p. 99.\n\n[86] See the evidence in Hay Fleming, 414, note 61.\n\n[87] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 139. _Diurnal_, 101.\n\n[88] Teulet, ii. 150.\n\n[89] Laing, ii. 72.\n\n[90] Hay Fleming, 418, 419.\n\n[91] _Queen Mary at Jedburgh_, p. 23.\n\n[92] Bain, ii. 597-599. Anderson, iv. pt. ii. 186. Keith, iii. 290-294.\n\n[93] Goodall, ii. 359.\n\n[94] _Historia_, fol. 214.\n\n[95] Keith, iii. 294. Bain, ii. 600.\n\n[96] Laing, ii. 293, 294.\n\n[97] The original MS. has been corrected by Lennox, in the passages within\nbrackets. The italics are my own.\n\n[98] Bain, ii. 516, 517.\n\n[99] De Brienne came to Craigmillar on November 21, 1566, _Diurnal_.\n\n[100] Nau, p. 33.\n\n[101] Bain, ii. 293, 310.\n\n[102] Melville, p. 172. (1827.)\n\n[103] Crawford, in his deposition against Mary, says that she spoke sharp\nwords of Lennox, at Stirling, to his servant, Robert Cunningham.\n\n[104] Keith, i. xcviii.\n\n[105] Bain, ii. 293. This Rogers it was who, later, informed Cecil that\n'gentlemen of the west country' had sent to Darnley a chart of the Scilly\nIsles. If Darnley, among other dreams, thought of a descent on them, as he\ndid on Scarborough, he made no bad choice. Mr. A. E. W. Mason points out\nto me that the isles 'commanded the Channel, and all the ships from the\nnorth of England,' which passed between Scilly and the mainland,\ntwenty-five miles off. The harbours being perilous, and only known to the\nislesmen, a small fleet at Scilly could do great damage, and would only\nhave to run back to be quite safe. Darnley, in his moods, was capable of\npicturing himself as a pirate chief.\n\n[106] Hay Fleming, p. 415, note 63.\n\n[107] Labanoff, ii.\n\n[108] Labanoff, i. 396-398. Mary to Beaton, Jan. 20, 1567.\n\n[109] Hosack, ii. 580. Crawford's deposition.\n\n[110] Hosack, i. 534.\n\n[111] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 163, 164. January 9, 1567.\n\n[112] See Appendix C, 'The date of Mary's visit to Glasgow.'\n\n[113] The 'undermining and' are words added by Lennox himself to the MS.\nThey are important.\n\n[114] _Maitland of Lethington._\n\n[115] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 167-168.\n\n[116] On July 16, 1583, she wrote from Sheffield to Mauvissiere, the\nFrench Ambassador, bidding him ask the King of France to give Archibald\nDouglas a pension, 'because he is a man of good understanding and\nserviceable where he chooses to serve, as you know.' She intended to\nprocure his pardon from James (Labanoff, v. 351, 368). She employed him,\nand he betrayed her.\n\n[117] Laing, ii. 223-236.\n\n[118] Bain, ii. 599, 600.\n\n[119] _Registrum de Soltre_, p. xxxv, Bannatyne Club, 1861.\n\n[120] Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh, March 14, 1541.\n\n[121] _Registrum de Soltre_, xxxvii.\n\n[122] Burgh Records, Nov. 5, 1557.\n\n[123] Burgh Records, Feb. 19, 1560, March 12, 1560.\n\n[124] Burgh Records.\n\n[125] Keith, ii. 151, 152. Editor's note.\n\n[126] _Registrum de Soltre_, p. xli.\n\n[127] Burgh Records, Feb. 19, March 12, 1560.\n\n[128] Laing, ii. 254.\n\n[129] Lennox MSS.\n\n[130] See Hay Fleming, p. 434.\n\n[131] Lennox's sources must have been Nelson and the younger Standen, to\nwhom Bothwell gave a horse immediately after the murder. Standen returned\nto England four months later.\n\n[132] _Diurnal_, 105, 106.\n\n[133] Keith, i. cii.\n\n[134] Register Privy Council, i. 498.\n\n[135] Melville, p. 174, Bannatyne Club.\n\n[136] Labanoff, vii. 108, 109, Paris. March 16, 1567.\n\n[137] Hosack, i. 536, 537.\n\n[138] Spanish Calendar, i. 635, April 23.\n\n[139] Hosack, i. 534. The 'Book of Articles,' of 1568, was obviously\nwritten under the impression left by a forged letter of Mary's, or by the\nreports of such a letter, as we shall show later. Yet the author cites a\nCasket Letter as we possess it.\n\n[140] Bain, ii. 393.\n\n[141] This is not, I think, a letter of September 5, but of September 16,\nbut in Foreign Calendar Elizabeth, viii. p. 342, most of the passage\nquoted by Mr. Hosack is omitted.\n\n[142] Laing, ii. 28.\n\n[143] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. p. 392.\n\n[144] Laing, ii. 256.\n\n[145] _Diurnal_, 127, 128. Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 393.\n\n[146] Hosack, ii. 245.\n\n[147] This was obvious to Laing. Replying to Goodall's criticism of verbal\ncoincidences in the confessions, Laing says, 'as if in any subsequent\nevidence concerning the same fact, the same words were not often dictated\nby the same Commissioner, or recorded by the Clerk, from the first\ndeposition which they hold in their hands.' It does not seem quite a\nscientific way of taking evidence.\n\n[148] See the Confessions, Laing, ii. 264.\n\n[149] Bain, ii. 312, 313.\n\n[150] Arnott and Pitcairn, _Criminal Trials_.\n\n[151] Buchanan, _History_ (1582), fol. 215.\n\n[152] _Maitland Miscellany_, iv. p. 119.\n\n[153] French Foreign Office, _Registre de Depesches d'Ecosse_, 1560-1562,\nfol. 112.\n\n[154] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. p. 7, No. 31.\n\n[155] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 229. Drury would not here add to our\nconfidence by saying that 'Sir Andrew Ker' (if of Faldonside) 'with others\nwere on horseback near to the place for aid to the cruel enterprize if\nneed had been.' Ker, a pitiless wretch, was conspicuous in the Riccio\nmurder, threatened Mary, and had but lately been pardoned. After Langside,\nhe was kept prisoner, in accordance with Mary's orders, by Whythaugh. But\nthe Sir Andrew of Drury is another Ker.\n\n[156] Bain ii. 321, 325.\n\n[157] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 252.\n\n[158] Bain, ii. 394. Cullen is spelled 'Callan,' and is described as\nBothwell's 'chalmer-chiel.'\n\n[159] Bain, ii. 355.\n\n[160] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 500. Hosack, i. 350, note 2, and Schiern's\n_Bothwell_.\n\n[161] Laing, ii. 269.\n\n[162] Bain, ii. 698.\n\n[163] See Appendix B, 'The Burning of the Lyon King at Arms.'\n\n[164] Bain, ii. 667, 668.\n\n[165] Laing, i. 256, 257.\n\n[166] Laing, ii. 253.\n\n[167] Murdin, i. 57.\n\n[168] Laing, ii. 286, 287.\n\n[169] Laing, ii. 259.\n\n[170] Laing, ii. 254.\n\n[171] Laing, ii. 267, 268.\n\n[172] Laing, ii. 287.\n\n[173] Anderson, 1, part II., 76, 77.\n\n[174] Nau, Appendix ii. 151, 152. The Jesuits' evidence was from letters\nto Archbishop Beaton.\n\n[175] Murdin, p. 57.\n\n[176] In the 'Book of Articles,' and in the series of dated events called\n'Cecil's Journal.'\n\n[177] Hay Fleming, p. 444.\n\n[178] Spanish Calendar, i. 628. For Moray's dinner party, cf. Bain, ii.\n317.\n\n[179] Spanish Calendar, i. 635.\n\n[180] Laing, ii. 244.\n\n[181] Labanoff, ii. 2-4.\n\n[182] Venetian Calendar, vii. 388, 389. There were rumours that Lennox had\nbeen blown up with Darnley, and, later, that he was attacked at Glasgow,\non February 9, by armed men, and owed his escape to Lord Semple. It is\nincredible that this fact should be unmentioned, if it occurred, by Lennox\nand Buchanan.\n\n[183] Hay Fleming, pp. 442-443.\n\n[184] Robertson, _Inventories_, p. 53.\n\n[185] Anderson, i. 112. Bain, ii. 322.\n\n[186] Keith knew a copy in the Scots College at Paris, attested by Sir\nJames Balfour as 'the authentick copy of the principall band.' This copy\nSir James sent to Mary, in January, 1581, after Morton's arrest. The names\nof laymen are Huntly, Argyll, Morton, Cassilis, Sutherland, Errol,\nCrawford, Caithness, Rothes, Boyd, Glamis, Ruthven, Semple, Herries,\nOgilvy, Fleming. John Read's memory must have been fallacious. There are\neight prelates in Balfour's band, including Archbishop Hamilton, the\nBishop of Orkney, who joined in prosecuting Mary, and Lesley, Bishop of\nRoss (Keith, ii. 562-569). On the whole subject see a discussion by Mr.\nBain and Mr. Hay Fleming, in _The Genealogist_, 1900-1901. Some copies are\ndated April 20. See Fraser, _The Melvilles_, i. 89.\n\n[187] Spanish Calendar, i. 662.\n\n[188] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 213.\n\n[189] Bain, ii. 323, 324.\n\n[190] Melville, p. 177.\n\n[191] Melville, p. 178.\n\n[192] Drury to Cecil, Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 222.\n\n[193] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 223-224.\n\n[194] May 6, Drury to Cecil.\n\n[195] Drury to Cecil, May 6. Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 223, 224.\n\n[196] Undated letter in Bannatyne, of 1570-1572.\n\n[197] See Stewart's _Lost Chapter in the History of Queen Mary_ for the\nillegalities of the divorce. The best Catholic opinion is agreed on the\nsubject.\n\n[198] Melville, 182. Teulet, ii. 153, 170.\n\n[199] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 235.\n\n[200] Drury to Cecil, Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 240.\n\n[201] Dates from James Beaton's letter of June 17. Laing, ii. 106, 115.\n\n[202] Nau, 46-48.\n\n[203] Laing, i. 113. June 17, 1567.\n\n[204] Melville, p. 183.\n\n[205] Teulet, ii. 179.\n\n[206] Teulet, ii. 169, 170. June 17.\n\n[207] Bannatyne's _Memorials_, p. 126.\n\n[208] Nau, 50-54.\n\n[209] Laing, ii, 115.\n\n[210] Bannatyne, _Journal_, 477, 482.\n\n[211] Chalmers, _Life of Mary, Queen of Scots_ (1818), ii. 486, 487, note.\nI do not understand Randolph to bring these charges merely on the ground\nof Mary's word. _That_ he only adds as corroboration, I think, of facts\notherwise familiar to him.\n\n[212] Mr. Froude has observed that the Lords, 'uncertain what to do, sent\none of their number in haste to Paris, to the Earl of Moray, to inform him\nof the discovery of the Letters, and to entreat him to return\nimmediately.' Mr. Hosack says that Mr. Froude owes this circumstance\n'entirely to his imagination.' This is too severe. The Lords did not send\n'one of their number' to Moray, but they sent letters which Robert\nMelville carried as far as London, and, seventeen days later, they did\nsend a man who, if not 'one of their number,' was probably Moray's agent,\nJohn Wood (Hosack, i. 352).\n\n[213] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. p. 261.\n\n[214] Spanish Calendar, i. 657.\n\n[215] Cal. For. Eliz. ix. pp. 354, 355.\n\n[216] Fenelon, _Depeches_ (1838), i. 19, 20.\n\n[217] Fenelon, i. 22. To this point we shall return.\n\n[218] La Mothe Fenelon, vii. 275-276.\n\n[219] Cal. Span. i. 659.\n\n[220] Bain, ii. 336.\n\n[221] Bain, ii. 338.\n\n[222] Bain, ii. 339.\n\n[223] Bain, ii. 341.\n\n[224] Melville to Cecil, July 1. Bain, ii. 343.\n\n[225] Bain, ii. 350, 351.\n\n[226] Bain, ii. 322, 360.\n\n[227] _Ibid._ 358.\n\n[228] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 297, 298. Keith, ii. 694, 700.\n\n[229] Already, on July 16, Mary had offered verbally, by Robert Melville,\nto the Lords, to make Moray Regent: or, failing him, to appoint a Council\nof Regency, Chatelherault, Huntly, Argyll, Atholl, Lennox, and, 'with much\nado,' Morton, Moray, Mar, and Glencairn. But she would not abandon\nBothwell, as she was pregnant. Throckmorton does not say that she now\npromised to sign an _abdication_. A letter of Mary's, to Bothwell's\ncaptain in Dunbar, was intercepted, 'containing matter little to her\nadvantage.' It never was produced by her prosecutors (Throckmorton, July\n18. Bain, ii. 355,356). Robert Melville, visiting her, declined to carry\nsuch a letter to Bothwell. See his examination, in Addit. MSS. British\nMuseum, 33531, fol. 119 _et seq._\n\n[230] Bain, ii. 367.\n\n[231] Bain, ii. 328.\n\n[232] _Ibid._ i. 346-348.\n\n[233] Bain, ii. 346.\n\n[234] _Ibid._ 354. July 16.\n\n[235] Alava to Philip, July 17. Teulet, v. 29.\n\n[236] De Silva, July 26, August 2. Spanish Calendar, i. 662, 665. I have\noccasionally preferred the Spanish text to Major Hume's translations. See\nalso Hosack, i. 215, 216.\n\n[237] Froude, iii. 118. 1866.\n\n[238] Lennox MSS.\n\n[239] The words within inverted commas are autograph additions by Lennox\nhimself.\n\n[240] Ogilvy of Boyne, who married his old love, Lady Bothwell, after the\ndeath of her second husband, the Earl of Sutherland. See pp. 26, 27,\n_supra_.\n\n[241] _A Lost Chapter in the History of Mary Stuart._\n\n[242] Throckmorton to Elizabeth, July 18. Bain, ii. 355.\n\n[243] Throckmorton to Elizabeth, July 31, 1567. Bain, ii. 370.\n\n[244] _Maitland Miscellany_, vol. iv. part i. p. 119.\n\n[245] Teulet, ii. 255, 256.\n\n[246] Labanoff, ii. 106.\n\n[247] Bain, ii. 423.\n\n[248] _Ibid._ 441, 442.\n\n[249] I do not know where the originals of these five letters now are.\nThey were among the Hamilton Papers, having probably been intercepted by\nthe Hamiltons before they reached Moray, Lethington, Crawford, and the\nothers.\n\n[250] Bain, ii. 514.\n\n[251] _Ibid._ 523, 524.\n\n[252] For. Eliz. viii. 478, 479. Bain, ii. 426, 427.\n\n[253] Bowton's confession. Laing, ii. 256, 257.\n\n[254] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 331.\n\n[255] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 363.\n\n[256] Moray, Morton, Glencairn, Errol, Buchan, Home, Ruthven, Semple,\nGlamis, Lindsay, Gray, Graham, Ochiltree (Knox's father-in-law),\nInnermeith, the treacherous Bishop of Orkney, Sir James Balfour (deeply\ninvolved in the murder), Makgill, Lethington, Erskine of Dun, Wishart of\nPitarro, Kirkcaldy of Grange, and others of less note.\n\n[257] Nau, pp. 71-73.\n\n[258] Teulet, ii. 247.\n\n[259] Act in Henderson, 177-185.\n\n[260] Nau, 74, 75.\n\n[261] Goodall, ii. 361. B. M. Titus, c. 12, fol. 157 (_olim_ 175). 'And\ngif it beis allegit, yat hir ma{tz} wretting producit in pliamet, sould\nproiff hir g, culpable. It maybe ansrit yat yaere is na plane mentione maid\nin it, be ye quhilk hir hienes may be convict Albeit it wer hir awin hand\nwreitt, as it is not And als the same is cuttit (cullit?) be yame selfis\nin sum principall & substantious clausis.'\n\n[262] Sepp, _Tagebuch_, Munich, 1882.\n\n[263] Bain, ii. 441, 442.\n\n[264] _Maitland Club Miscellany_, iv. 120, 121.\n\n[265] Teulet, ii. 248.\n\n[266] Bain, ii. 517.\n\n[267] Bain, ii. 434.\n\n[268] Nov. 8, 1571. Murdin, p. 57.\n\n[269] State Trials, i. 978.\n\n[270] As to 'the subtlety of that practice,' which puzzled Mr. Froude,\nLaing offers a highly ingenious conjecture. Mary was to do the Scots\ntranslations, procured for her by Lethington, into her own French,\nomitting the compromising portions. Lethington was next 'privately to\nsubstitute or produce the Queen's transcript instead of the originals,\nwith the omission of those criminal passages, which might then be opposed\nas interpolated in the translation.' But in that case 'some variance of\nphrase' by Mary could bring nothing 'to light,' for there would be no\noriginals to compare. Lethington, while slipping Mary's new transcript\ninto the Casket (Laing, i. 145, 146), would, of course, remove the\noriginal letters in French, leaving the modified transcript in their\nplace. 'Variance of phrase' between an original and a translation could\nprove nothing. Moreover, if Lethington had access to the French letters,\nit was not more dangerous for him to destroy them than to substitute a\nversion which Moray, Morton, Buchanan, and all concerned could honestly\nswear to be false. The Bishop of Ross did, later, manage an ingenious\npiece of 'palming' letters on Cecil, but, in the story of 'palming' fresh\ntranscripts into the Casket there is no consistency. Moreover Melville's\nword is at least as good as Lesley's, and Melville denies the truth of\nLesley's confession.\n\n[271] British Museum Addit. MSS. 33531, fol. 119, _et seq._ The MS. is\nmuch injured.\n\n[272] Murdin, pp. 52, 58.\n\n[273] Bain, ii. 524.\n\n[274] Addit. MSS. _ut supra_.\n\n[275] Goodall, ii. 111.\n\n[276] Bain, ii. 518, 519.\n\n[277] _Ibid._ 519.\n\n[278] Bain, ii. 524.\n\n[279] Lennox MSS.\n\n[280] Bain, ii. 520, 521.\n\n[281] Goodall, ii. 140.\n\n[282] The production is asserted, Goodall, ii. 87.\n\n[283] Calderwood, iii. 556.\n\n[284] For the Ainslie Band, and the signatories, see Bain, ii. 322, and\nHay Fleming, p. 446, note 60, for all the accounts.\n\n[285] Hosack, i. 543.\n\n[286] There are two sets of extracts (Goodall, ii. 148-153): one of them\nis in the Sadleyr Papers, edited by Sir Walter Scott, and in Haynes, p.\n480. This is headed 'A brief Note of the chief and principal points of the\nQueen of Scots Letters written to Bothwell for her consent and procurement\nof the murder of her husband, as far forth as we could by the reading\ngather.' The other set is in Scots, 'Notes drawin furth of the Quenis\nletters sent to the Erle Bothwell.' If this were, as Miss Strickland\nsupposed, an abstract made and shown in June-July, it would prove, of\ncourse, that Letter II. was then in its present shape, and would destroy\nmy hypothesis. But Cecil endorses it. 'sent October 29.' I think it\nneedless to discuss the notion that Lethington and his companions showed\nonly the Scots texts, and vowed that they were in Mary's handwriting! They\ncould not conceivably go counter, first, to Moray's statement (June 22,\n1568) that the Scots versions were only translations. Nor could they,\nlater, produce the Letters in French, and pretend that both they and the\nScots texts were in Mary's hand. Doubtless they showed the French (though\nwe are not told that they did), but the English Commissioners, odd as it\nseems, preferred to send to Elizabeth extracts from the Scots.\n\n[287] Bain, ii. 526-528. See also in Hosack, ii. 496-501, with the\nobliterated lines restored.\n\n[288] Bain, ii. 529-530.\n\n[289] Bain, ii. 533, 534.\n\n[290] Goodall, ii. 162-170. The dates here are difficult. Lesley certainly\nrode to Bolton, as Knollys says, on October 13, a Wednesday. (See the\nEnglish Commissioners to Elizabeth. Goodall, ii. 173. York, October 17.)\nBy October 17, Lesley was again at York (Goodall, ii. 174). Therefore I\ntake it that Lesley's letter to Mary (Bain, ii. 533, 534) is of October\n18, or later, and that the 'Saturday' when Norfolk and Lethington rode\ntogether, and when Lethington probably shook Norfolk's belief in the\nauthenticity of the Casket Letters, is Saturday, October 16.\n\n[291] Bain, ii. 533, 534.\n\n[292] _Ibid._ ii. 693.\n\n[293] Bain, ii. 541.\n\n[294] _Ibid._ ii. 533.\n\n[295] Addit. MSS. _ut supra_.\n\n[296] His letter is given in full by Hosack, i. 518-522.\n\n[297] Goodall, ii. 179-182.\n\n[298] Bain, ii. 551.\n\n[299] Goodall, ii. 182, 186.\n\n[300] Goodall, ii. No. lxvi. 189.\n\n[301] Anderson, iv. pt. ii. 115-121. Goodall, ii. 203-207.\n\n[302] Teulet, ii. 237.\n\n[303] Anderson, ii. 125-128. Bain, ii. 562, 563.\n\n[304] See Hosack, i. 432, 583. The opinions of the Legists are taken from\nLa Mothe, i. 51, 54. December 15, 1568.\n\n[305] Goodall, ii. 222-227. But compare her letter of Nov. 22, p. 265,\n_supra_.\n\n[306] Bain, ii. 565, 566.\n\n[307] Goodall, ii. 229.\n\n[308] In my opinion the book is by George Buchanan, who presents many\ncoincident passages in his _Detection_. On February 25, 1569, one Bishop,\nan adherent of Mary's, said, under examination, that 'there were sundry\nbooks in Latin against her, one or both by Mr. George Buchanan,' books not\nyet published (Bain, ii. 624). Can the _Book of Articles_ have been done\ninto Scots out of Buchanan's Latin?\n\n[309] When Goodall and Laing wrote (1754, 1804) the Minutes of December 7\nhad not been discovered.\n\n[310] Bain, ii. 569, 570.\n\n[311] Bain, ii. 571-573. (Cf. pp. 254, note 3, and 271, _supra_.)\n\n[312] See Appendix E, 'The Translation of the Casket Letters.'\n\n[313] The extant copy is marked as of December viii. That is cancelled,\nand the date 'Thursday, December 29' is given; the real date being\nDecember 9. (Bain, ii. 576, 593, 730, 731.) This Declaration was one of\nthe MSS. of Sir Alexander Malet, bought by the British Museum in 1883. The\nFifth Report of the Historical MSS. Commission contains a summary, cited\nby Bresslau, in _Kassetenbriefen_, pp. 21, 23, 1881. In 1889, Mr.\nHenderson published a text in his _Casket Letters_. That of Mr. Bain, _ut\nsupra_, is more accurate (ii. 730 _et seq._). Mr. Henderson substitutes\nAndrew for the notorious _Archibald_ Douglas, and there are other\nmisreadings in the first edition.\n\n[314] See 'The Internal Evidence,' pp. 302-313.\n\n[315] Mr. Bain omits December 13; see Goodall, ii. 252.\n\n[316] Bain, ii. 579, 580.\n\n[317] Froude, 1866, iii. 347.\n\n[318] Proceedings of Society for Psychical Research, vol. iii. pp. 282,\n283, 294.\n\n[319] See Bain, ii. 581, for Crawford; the matter of this his _second_\ndeposition, made on December 13, is not given; we know it from the Lennox\nPapers. The _Diurnal_ avers that Tala, on the scaffold, accused Huntly,\nArgyll, Lethington, Balfour, and others of signing the band for the\nmurder, 'whereto the Queen's grace consented.' Naturally the Queen's\naccusers did not put the confession about Lethington forward, but if Tala\npublicly accused Mary, why did they omit the circumstance?\n\n[320] Ballad by _Tom Truth_, in Bain under date of December, 1568.\n\n[321] Goodall, ii. 257-260. Bain, ii. 580, 581.\n\n[322] Froude, viii. 484. Mr. Froude's page-heading runs: 'The English\nnobles pronounce them' (the Letters) 'genuine.' But this, as he shows in\nthe passage cited, they really did not do. They only said that Elizabeth\nmust not see Mary, 'until some answer had been made first....' However,\nElizabeth would not even let Mary see the Letters; and so no 'answer' was\npossible.\n\n[323] Lingard, vi. 94, note 2 (1855).\n\n[324] Bain, ii. 583.\n\n[325] Another account, by Lesley, but not 'truly nor fully' reported, as\nCecil notes, is in Groodall, ii. 260, 261. Compare La Mothe Fenelon, i.\n82. Bain, ii. 585.\n\n[326] Hosack, i. 460.\n\n[327] Goodall, ii. 281.\n\n[328] La Mothe, January 20, 30, 1569, i. 133-162.\n\n[329] Goodall, ii. 272, 273.\n\n[330] Goodall, ii. 307-309.\n\n[331] Lesley, like Herries, had no confidence in Mary's cause. On December\n28, 1568, he wrote a curious letter to John Fitzwilliam, at Gray's Inn.\nLesley, Herries, and Kilwinning (a Hamilton) had met Norfolk, Leicester,\nand Cecil privately. The English showed the _Book of Articles_, but\nrefused to give a copy, which seems unfair, as Mary could certainly have\npicked holes in that indictment. Lesley found the Englishmen 'almost\nconfirmed in favour of our mistress's adversaries.' Norfolk and Cecil 'war\nsayrest' (most severe), and Norfolk must either have been dissembling, or\nmust have had his doubts about the authenticity of the Casket Letters\nshaken by comparing them with Mary's handwriting. Lesley asks Fitzwilliam\nto go to their man of law, 'and bid him put our defences to the\npresumptions in writ, as was devised before in all events, but we hope for\nsome appointment (compromise), but yet we arm us well.' Mary, however,\nwould not again stoop to compromise. (Bain, ii. 592, 593.)\n\n[332] Bain, ii. 570.\n\n[333] In the Cambridge MS. of the Scots translations (C) our Letter II. is\nplaced first. This MS. is the earliest.\n\n[334] It is indubitable that 'Cecil's Journal' was supplied by the\nprosecution, perhaps from Lennox, who had made close inquiries about the\ndates.\n\n[335] Bresslau, _Hist. Taschenbuch_, p. 71. Philippson, _Revue\nHistorique_, Sept., Oct., 1887, p. 31. M. Philippson suggests that\nLethington's name may not have been mentioned in the French, but was\ninserted (perhaps by Makgill, or other enemy of his, I presume) in the\nEnglish, to damage the Secretary in the eyes of the English Commissioners.\n\n[336] Hosack, i. 217, 218.\n\n[337] See the letter in Appendix, 'Casket Letters.'\n\n[338] 'Yesternicht' is omitted in the English. See Appendix E,\n'Translation of the Casket Letters.'\n\n[339] The last italicised words are in the English translation, not in the\nScots.\n\n[340] Hosack, ii. 24.\n\n[341] Father Pollen kindly lent me collations of this Cambridge MS.\ntranslation into Scots, marked by me 'C.'\n\n[342] See Letter and Crawford's Deposition in Appendix. Mr. Henderson, in\nhis _Casket Letters_ (second edition, pp. xxvi, xxvii, 82-84), argues that\nthe interdependence of Crawford's Deposition and of Letter II. 'does not\nseem to be absolutely proved.' Perhaps no other critic doubts it.\n\n[343] Goodall, ii. 246.\n\n[344] The English runs, 'Indeede that he had found faulte with me....' Mr.\nBain notes 'a blank left thus' (Bain, ii. 723).\n\n[345] Lennox MSS.\n\n[346] Mr. Frazer-Tytler, who did not enter into the controversy, supposed\nthat Crawford's Deposition was the actual written report, made by him to\nLennox in January 1567. If so, Letter II. is forged.\n\n[347] Mr. Henderson writes (_Casket Letters_, second edition, p. xxvi):\n'It must be remembered that while Crawford affirms that he supplied Lennox\nwith notes of the conversation immediately after it took place, he does\nnot state that the notes were again returned to him by Lennox in order to\nenable him to form his deposition.' How else could he get them, unless he\nkept a copy? 'It is also absurd to suppose that Lennox, on June 11, 1568,\nshould have written to Crawford for _notes which he had already in his own\npossession_.' But Lennox did not do that; he asked, not for Mary's\nconversation with Darnley, but for Crawford's with Mary, which Crawford\nnever says that he wrote down 'at the time.' Mr. Henderson goes on to\nspeak of 'the notes having been lost,' and 'these documents had apparently\nbeen destroyed' (p. 84), of which I see no appearance.\n\n[348] Goodall, ii. 246. _Maitland Club Miscellany_, iv. pt. i. p. 119. It\nwill be observed that while Crawford swears to having written down\nDarnley's report for Lennox 'at the time,' he says that he '_caused to be\nmade_' the writing which he handed in to the Commissioners, 'according to\nthe truth of his knowledge.' Crawford's Deposition handed in to the\nCommissioners, in fact, has been 'made,' that is, has been Anglicised from\nthe Scots; this is proved by the draft in the Lennox Papers. This is what\nCrawford means by saying that he 'caused it to be made.' There is a\ncorrected draft of the declaration in the Lennox MSS., but Crawford's\noriginal autograph text, 'written with his hand' (in Scots doubtless), was\nretained by the Lords (Goodall, ii. 88).\n\n[349] The Deposition, in Bain, ii. 313, is given under February, 1567, but\nthis copy of it, being in English, cannot be so early.\n\n[350] _Historia_, fol. 213. Yet the Lennox _dossier_ represents Darnley as\nengaged, at this very time, at Stirling, in a bitter and angry quarrel\nwith Mary. He may have been in contradictory moods: Buchanan omits the\nmood of fury.\n\n[351] _Maitland of Lethington_, ii. 337.\n\n[352] Mary to Norfolk, Jan. 31, 1570. Labanoff, iii. 19.\n\n[353] Labanoff, iii. 62.\n\n[354] The prosecution is in rather an awkward position as to Bothwell's\naction when he returned to Edinburgh, after leaving Mary at Callendar,\nwhich we date January 21, and they date January 23. _Cecil's Journal_\nsays, 'January 23 ... Erle Huntly and Bothwell returnit _that same nycht_\nto Edynt [Edinburgh] _and Bothwell lay in the Town_.' The _Book of\nArticles_ has 'Bot boithuell at his cuming to Edinburgh ludgit in the\ntoun, quhair customably he usit to ly at the abbay,' that is, in Holyrood\n(Hosack, i. 534). The author of the _Book of Articles_ clearly knew\n_Cecil's Journal_; perhaps he wrote it. Yet he makes Mary stay but one\nnight at Callendar; _Cecil's Journal_ makes her stay two nights. However,\nour point is that both sources make Bothwell lie in the town, not at\nHolyrood, on the night of his return from Callendar. His object, they\nimply, was to visit Kirk o' Field privately, being lodged near it and not\nin his official rooms. But here they are contradicted by Paris, who says\nthat when he brought Mary's first Glasgow Letter to Bothwell he found him\nin his chambers _at Holyrood_ (Laing, ii. 282).\n\n[355] Nelson, according to Miss Strickland (_Mary Stuart_, ii. 178, 1873),\nleft Edinburgh for England, and was detained by Drury for some months at\nBerwick. For this Miss Strickland cites Drury to Cecil, Berwick, February\n15, 1567, a letter which I am unable to find in the MSS. But the lady is\nmore or less correct, since, on February 15, Mary wrote to Robert\nMelville, in England, charging him, in very kind terms, to do his best for\nAnthony Standen, Darnley's friend, who was also going to England (Frazer,\n_The Lennox_, ii. 7). A reference to Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 193, No. 1029,\nshows that a letter of Mary to Drury, asking free passage for Standen and\nfour other Englishmen, is really of March 15, not of February 15. Again, a\nletter of March 8, 1567, from Killigrew, at Edinburgh, to Cecil, proves\nthat 'Standen, Welson, and Guyn, that served the late king, intend to\nreturn home when they can get passport' (Bain, ii. 347, No. 479). Now\n'Welson' is obviously Nelson. On June 16, Drury allowed Standen to go\nsouth (Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 252, No. 1305). Nelson, doubtless, also\nreturned to Lennox. It is odd that Lennox, having these two witnesses,\nshould vary so much, in his first indictment, from the accepted accounts\nof events at Kirk o' Field. This Anthony Standen is the younger of the two\nbrothers of the same name. The elder was acting for Darnley in France at\nthe time of the murder. He lived to a great age, recounting romances about\nhis adventures.\n\n[356] Mr. Hay Fleming suggests that 'Jhone a Forret' may be Forret of that\nilk--of Forret near Cairnie. Of him I have no other knowledge.\n\n[357] Hatfield MSS. Calendar, i. 376, 377.\n\n[358] Melville, _Memoirs_, 173, 174. Hosack's _Mary_, i. 536 (_The Book of\nArticles_). Anderson, ii. 18, 19 (_Detection_). _Cecil's Journal_, under\ndate Saturday, February 8, has 'She confronted the King and my lord of\nHalyrodhouse conforme to hir letter wryttin the nycht before:' that is,\nthis Letter III.\n\n[359] Mr. Hosack makes an error in averring that no letter as to this\nintrigue was produced at Westminster or later; that the letter was only\nshown at York in October, 1568. There and then Moray's party '_inferred_,\nupon a letter of her own hand, that there was another meane of a more\ncleanly conveyance devised to kill the King' (Goodall, ii. 142; Hosack, i.\n409, 410). The letter was that which we are now considering.\n\n[360] The Scots has 'handling.' The Cambridge MS. of the Scots translation\nreads 'composing of thame,' from 'le bien composer de ceux' in the\noriginal French.\n\n[361] Dr. Bresslau notes several such coincidences, but stress cannot be\nlaid on phrases either usual, or such as a forger might know to be\nfavourites of Mary's.\n\n[362] Laing, ii. 286.\n\n[363] _Mary Queen of Scots_, vol. ii. No. 63.\n\n[364] 'Je m'en deferay au hazard de _la_ faire entreprandre:' the\ntranslators, not observing the gender referring to the maid, have\nblundered.\n\n[365] It appears that they did not officially put in this compromising\nAinslie paper. Cecil's copy had only such a list of signers 'as John Read\nmight remember.' His copy says that Mary approved the band on May 14,\nwhereas the Lords allege that she approved before they would sign. Bain,\nii. 321, 322. A warrant of approval was shown at York. Bain, ii. 526. Cf.\n_supra_, p. 254, note 3.\n\n[366] Labanoff, ii. 32-44.\n\n[367] _Maitland of Lethington_, ii. 224.\n\n[368] Lethington to Beaton, October 24, 1566; cf. Keith, ii. 542.\n\n[369] 'The safety,' 'la seurete.' Mr. Henderson's text has 'la seincte.'\nThe texts in his volume are strangely misleading and incorrect, both in\nthe English of Letter II. and in the copies of the original French.\n\n[370] This means a ring in black enamel, with representations of tears and\nbones, doubtless in white: a fantastic mourning ring. Mary left a diamond\nin black enamel to Bothwell, in June, 1566.\n\n[371] This coincidence was pointed out to me by Mr. Saintsbury.\n\n[372] By the way, she says to Norfolk, in the same Letter, 'I am resolvid\nthat weale nor wo shall never remove me from yow, If yow cast me not\naway.' Compare the end of this Letter VIII.: 'Till death nor weal nor woe\nshall estrange me' (jusques a la mort ne changera, _car mal ni bien oncque\nne m'estrangera_). Now the forger could not copy a letter not yet written\n(Labanoff, iii. 5). This conclusion of her epistle is not on the same\nlevel as the _customary_ conclusion--the prayer that God will give the\nrecipient long life, and to her--something else. _That_ formula was usual:\n'Je supplie Dieu et de vous donner bonne vie, et longue, et a moy l'eur de\nvotre bonne grasse.' This formula, found in Mary's Letters and in the\nCasket Letters, also occurs in a note from Marguerite de France to the\nDuchesse de Montmorency (De Maulde, _Women of the Renaissance_, p. 309). A\nforger would know, and would insert the stereotyped phrase, if he chose.\n\n[373] On the point of wearing a concealed jewel in her bosom, the curious\nmay consult the anecdote, 'Queen Mary's Jewels,' in the author's _Book of\nDreams and Ghosts_.\n\n[374] In Laing, ii. 234.\n\n[375] _Cecil's Journal._\n\n[376] _Cecil's Journal._\n\n[377] Laing, ii. 285.\n\n[378] Laing, ii. 289.\n\n[379] Laing, ii. 325, 326. Laing holds that between April 21 and April 23\nMary wrote Letters V. VI. VII. VIII. and Eleven Sonnets to Bothwell:\nstrange literary activity!\n\n[380] Froude, iii. 75, note 1.\n\n[381] Teulet, ii. 169, 170.\n\n[382] Labanoff, iii. 5.\n\n[383] Labanoff, iii. 64.\n\n[384] Spanish Calendar, i. 659.\n\n[385] Bain, ii. 329, 330.\n\n[386] Privy Council Register.\n\n[387] Bain, ii. 336. Sir John Skelton did not observe the coincidence\nbetween the opening of the Casket and the 'sudden dispatch' of Robert\nMelville to London. The letter in full is in _Maitland of Lethington_, ii.\n226, 227.\n\n[388] Bain, ii. 339.\n\n[389] Goodall, ii. 342, 343.\n\n[390] Goodall, ii. 388, 389.\n\n[391] Camden, _Annals_, 143-5. Laing, i. 226.\n\n[392] Laing, ii. 224-240.\n\n[393] Bain, ii. 322.\n\n[394] As to Randolph's dark hint, Chalmers says, 'he means their\nparticipation in Darnley's murder' (ii. 487). But that, from Randolph's\npoint of view, was no offence against Mary, and Kirkcaldy was not one of\nDarnley's murderers.\n\n[395] Cal. For. Eliz. ix. 390.\n\n[396] See Hosack, ii. 217, 218. Bowes to Walsingham, March 25, 1581.\n_Bowes Papers_, 174. Ogilvie to Archibald Beaton. Hosack, ii. 550, 551.\n\n[397] Bain, ii. 569.\n\n[398] Robertson _Inventories_, 124.\n\n[399] _Bowes Correspondence_, 236.\n\n[400] Bowes, 265.\n\n[401] Goodall, i. 35, 36.\n\n[402] Vol. lxxx. 131, _et seq._\n\n[403] Before the Reformation it belonged to the Bishops of Roskilde, and\nwas confiscated from them, Henry VIII.'s fashion.\n\n[404] Bain, ii. 250.\n\n[405] Cal. For. Eliz. viii. 413, 414.\n\n[406] This picture seems to be lost.\n\n[407] _Diurnal_, p. 134.\n\n[408] Birrel's _Diary_, p. 17.\n\n[409] Cot. Lib. Calig. B. ix. fol. 272. Apud Chalmers, i. 441, 442.\n\n[410] Bain, ii. 516.\n\n[411] _Diurnal_, p. 146.\n\n[412] Bain, ii. 665.\n\n[413] Nau, p. 80.\n\n[414] Chalmers's date, as to Stewart's expedition to Denmark, differs from\nthat of Drury.\n\n[415] Such coffers were carefully covered. One had a cover of crimson\nvelvet, with the letter 'F' in silver and gold work (Maitland Club,\n_Illustrations of Reigns of Mary and James_). Another coffer, with a cover\nof purple velvet, is described in a tract by M. Luzarche (Tours, 1868).\n\n[416] Nau, p. 48.\n\n[417] Tytler, iv. 324, 1864.\n\n[418] _Diurnal_, p. 127.\n\n[419] Laing, ii. 293, 294.\n\n[420] Bain, ii. 322.\n\n[421] Laing, ii. 314-318.\n\n[422] Tytler, iv. 323, 1864.\n\n[423] Labanoff, ii. 213.\n\n[424] Bain, ii. 576.\n\n[425] Laing's efforts to detect French idioms lead him to take 'all\ncontrary'--as in\n\n  'Mary, Mary,\n  All contrary,\n  How does your garden grow?'--\n\nand 'all goeth ill' for French too literally translated.\n\n[426] _Casket Letters_, pp. 82, 83.\n\n[427] 'He,' that is, Lennox.\n\n[428] 'He,' misread for 'I.'\n\n[429] The English translator apparently mistook 'signer' for 'saigner.'\n\n[430] 'They': Darnley and Lady Bothwell.\n\n[431] 'I cannot ceis to barbulze' (Y).\n\n[432] 'Humanitie' (C).\n\n[433] His fair promises (C).\n\n[434] 'Your brother.' Huntly.\n\n[435] 'Scriblit.' Barbulzeit (C).\n\n[436] Cambridge MS. 'l'acointance.'\n\n[437] Cambridge MS, 'je' omitted.\n\n[438] Cambridge MS. 'Dont de grief doil me vint ceste dolleur.'\n\n[439] Cambridge MS. 'Per.'\n\n[440] Cambridge MS. 'honneur.'\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPassages in italics are indicated by _italics_.\n\nUnderlined passages are indicated by =underline=.\n\nPassages that are struck through are indicated by --word--.\n\nPassages raised above the printed line with a carat are indicated by\n^word^.\n\nSuperscripted characters are indicated by {superscript}.\n\nThe original text contains letters with diacritical marks that are not\nrepresented in this text version.\n\nThe original text includes an inverted L symbol that is represented as [L]\nin this text version.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of Mary Stuart, by Andrew Lang\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by David Edwards, Demian Katz and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images\ncourtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University\n(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  MOTOR STORIES\n\n  THRILLING\n  ADVENTURE\n\n  MOTOR\n  FICTION\n\n  NO. 23\n  JULY 31, 1909\n\n  FIVE\n  CENTS\n\n\n  MOTOR MATT'S\n  PRIZE\n\n  OR THE PLUCK\n  THAT WINS\n\n  _BY THE AUTHOR\n  OF \"MOTOR MATT\"_\n\n  [Illustration: _Unaware of his narrow escape\n  the king of the motor boys\n  flung the Sprite onward\n  to victory._]\n\n  STREET & SMITH\n  PUBLISHERS\n  NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\nMOTOR STORIES\n\nTHRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION\n\n_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to\nAct of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of\nCongress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-80 Seventh Avenue,\nNew York, N. Y._\n\n  No. 23.      NEW YORK, July 31, 1909.      =Price Five Cents.=\n\n\n\n\nMOTOR MATT'S PRIZE\n\nOR,\n\nThe Pluck that Wins.\n\nBy the author of \"MOTOR MATT.\"\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER I. A CLASH IN BLACK AND YELLOW.\n  CHAPTER II. PICKEREL PETE'S REVENGE.\n  CHAPTER III. A \"DARK HORSE.\"\n  CHAPTER IV. PLANS.\n  CHAPTER V. AN ORDER TO QUIT.\n  CHAPTER VI. FACING THE MUSIC.\n  CHAPTER VII. GATHERING CLOUDS.\n  CHAPTER VIII. THE PLOTTERS.\n  CHAPTER IX. FIREBUGS AT WORK.\n  CHAPTER X. SAVING THE \"SPRITE.\"\n  CHAPTER XI. OUT OF A BLAZING FURNACE.\n  CHAPTER XII. WHAT ABOUT THE RACE?\n  CHAPTER XIII. MART RAWLINS WEAKENS.\n  CHAPTER XIV. THE RACE--THE START.\n  CHAPTER XV. THE FINISH.\n  CHAPTER XVI. CONCLUSION.\n  TRICKED BY TWO.\n  HOMES ON THE RIO GRANDE.\n  PIGEONS AS PHOTOGRAPHERS.\n\n\n\n\nCHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.\n\n\n  =Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt.\n\n  =Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and\n  character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A\n  good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive.\n\n  =Ping Pong=, a Chinese boy who insists on working for Motor Matt, and\n  who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable.\n\n  =George Lorry=, who, befriended by Motor Matt at a critical time in\n  his career, proves a credit to himself and to his friends.\n\n  =Mr. Lorry=, George's father; a man who knows how to be generous.\n\n  =Ethel Lorry=, George Lorry's sister; an admirer of Motor Matt.\n\n  =Pickerel Pete=, whose elemental mind evolves a grievance against\n  Motor Matt and is further worked upon by an unscrupulous enemy of\n  Lorry and Matt. The result is almost a tragedy.\n\n  =Ollie Merton=, a rich man's son with many failings, but rather\n  deeper than he appears.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nA CLASH IN BLACK AND YELLOW.\n\n\n\"Woosh!\"\n\n\"Fo' de lan' sakes!\"\n\nThen followed a bump, a clatter of displaced stones, and sounds of\na fall. When quiet once more ensued, two surprised youngsters were\non hands and knees, peering at each other like a couple of hostile\nbantams. Between them lay a string of perch, and off to one side a\nhickory fishpole, and an old tomato can with a choice assortment of\nangleworms squirming out of it.\n\nOne of the lads was a fifteen-year-old Chinese, in fluttering blouse,\nwide trousers, wooden sandals and straw hat; the other was a diminutive\nmoke, black as the ace of spades, barefooted, and wearing a \"hickory\"\nshirt and ragged trousers.\n\nThe bank of Fourth Lake, where they had come together so unexpectedly,\nwas an admirable place for such collisions. In this place the bank was\nsome thirty feet high, steep and rocky. A narrow path, thickly bordered\nwith bushes, angled from top to bottom. At the foot of the path was a\nboathouse.\n\nNow, if a Chinese boy, in a good deal of a hurry, went slipping\nand sliding downward from the top of the path, it will be readily\nunderstood that he could not put on the brakes in time to avoid an\nobstruction appearing suddenly in front of him as he scrambled around a\nbushy angle.\n\nAnd if that obstruction happened to be a diminutive <DW54>, sitting\nsquarely in the path, sunning himself and half asleep, too drowsy to\ntake notice of sounds above and behind him, it will also be understood\nthat a collision was certain.\n\nIt happened. The Chinese took a header over the <DW54>, and when each\nflopped to his hands and knees, they were looking into each other's\neyes with growing animosity.\n\n\"By golly!\" flared the <DW64>, \"is dem glass eyes en yo' haid? Ef dey\nain't, why doan' yu use dem?\"\n\n\"Why blackee boy makee sit in China boy's load?\" gurgled the other.\n\n\"Yo' own dishyer lake?\" taunted the little moke; \"yo' gotter mo'galidge\non dishyer bank? Go on wif yo' highfalutin' talk! Ah'll sot wherebber\nAh wants, en ef yo' comes erlong en goes tuh shovin', by golly, yo'll\nfin' Ah kin do some shovin' mahse'f.\"\n\n\"My gottee light comee down bank,\" asserted the Chinese boy, picking\nhimself up. \"My makee go allee same boathouse; you makee stay in load,\nyou gettee shove. My plenty same choo-choo tlain, you makee sleep on\ntlack. Savvy? You makee some mo' shove, my makee some mo' shove, too.\"\n\nThe Chinese boy stood his ground. The black-skinned youngster sat up\nand pulled his string of fish closer.\n\n\"Ah nebber did lak Chinks,\" he grunted.\n\n\"My no likee blackee boy, all same,\" averred the Celestial.\n\n\"Ah reckons Ah kin lick yu' wif one han' tied behin' mah back. Go\n'long, yaller trash! Ah's er hurriclone en a cynader, all rolled intuh\none, when Ah gits sta'ted. Look out fo' a big blow en a Chink wreck,\ndat's all.\"\n\n\"Woosh! Blackee boy makee plenty blow. Me allee same cannon. My makee\ngo bang, you makee go top-side. No likee your piecee pidgin.\"\n\nThen a comical thing happened, and if any third person with a humorous\nvein in his make-up had been around, the proceeding would have been\nhighly enjoyed.\n\nBoth youngsters glared at each other. Each had his fists doubled,\nand each fiddled back and forth across the steep path. The black boy\nsniffed contemptuously. The Chinese lad was a good imitator, and he\nalso sniffed--even more contemptuously.\n\n\"By golly,\" fumed the little moke, \"Ah dunno whut's er holdin' me back.\nEf any one else had done tuh me whut yo' done, Ah'd hab tromped all\nober him befo' now. Ah's gwine tuh dat boathouse mah'se'f. Git outen de\nway an' le'me pass, er Ah'll butt yo' wif mah haid!\"\n\n\"My makee go to boathouse, too.\"\n\nA little curiosity suddenly crept into the black boy's hostile brain.\n\n\"Whut bizness yo' got at dat boathouse, huh?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Gottee plenty pidgin. My workee fo' Motol Matt.\"\n\n\"Yo' workin' fo' Motor Matt?\" grunted the other. \"By golly, he's mah\nboss.\"\n\n\"Him China boy's boss.\"\n\n\"Naw, he ain't. Yo's talkin' froo yo' hat. Doan' yo' go er prowlin'\nerroun' dat 'ar boathouse. Ah ain't a-lettin' nobody git dat job away\nf'om me.\"\n\n\"Motol Matt my boss, allee same,\" insisted the Chinese boy.\n\n\"When you all git hiahed by Motor Matt?\" demanded the <DW54>.\n\n\"Long time, allee same Flisco.\"\n\n\"Den dat let's yo' out, yaller mug. Motor Matt done hiahed me fo' days\nergo, at two dollahs er day. Skun out. Doan' yo' try cuttin' me loose\nfrom dat 'ar job.\"\n\nThe <DW54> took a step downward, but the Celestial planted himself\nfirmly and put up his fists. Once more there was a hitch in\nproceedings, but the affair was growing more ominous.\n\n\"Ah shuah hates tuh mangle yo' up,\" breathed the <DW54>, \"but de\n'sponsibility fo' what's done gwine tuh happen b'longs on yo' had en\nnot on mine.\"\n\nThe Chinese lifted his yellow hands and crossed two fingers in front of\nhis face, then, in a particularly irritating manner, he snorted at the\nblack boy through his fingers.\n\nThat was about as much as flesh and blood could stand. The  lad\nwas so full of talk that it just gurgled in his throat.\n\n\"Dat's de mos' insulatin' thing what ebber happened tuh me!\" he finally\nmanaged to gasp. \"By golly, Ah doan' take dat f'om nobody. Dat snortin'\ntalk Ah won't stan', dat's all.\"\n\n\"Blackee boy makee heap talk,\" taunted the Chinese; \"him 'flaid makee\nhit with hands.\"\n\n\"'Fraid?\" cried the <DW54>. \"Say, you, Pickerel Pete ain't afraid ob all\nde Chinks dat eber walked de erf. Chinks--waugh! Ah eat's 'em.\"\n\n\"Mebby you tly eatee Ping Pong?\" invited the Celestial.\n\nPickerel Pete, watching his antagonist warily, stooped to pick up a\nsmall pebble. Very carefully he laid the pebble on his shoulder.\n\n\"Knock dat off,\" he gritted, his hand closing on the string that held\nthe perch. \"Yo' all ain't got de nerve. Yo's got gas enough fo' er\nb'loon dissension, but dat's all dere is to yu. Knock de stone offen\nmah shoulder! Go on, now, you yaller trash.\"\n\nPing leaned over and brushed the pebble away. That settled it. There\nwas no retreat for either of the two after that.\n\nPete gave a whoop and struck at Ping with the string of perch. The\nstring broke, and Ping got a perch down the loose collar of his kimono,\nwhile another slapped him across the eyes. For an instant the air was\nfull of fish, and under cover of the finny cloud the enraged Chinese\nrushed at his enemy and gave him a push.\n\nPete sat down with a good deal of force, and, as it happened, he sat\ndown on his fishhook. A fishhook was never known to lie any way but\npoint up and ready for business, so Pete got up about as quick as he\nsat down. The next moment he rushed at Ping, trailing the line and the\nfishpole after him.\n\nThis time the two boys clinched, and the noise they made as they rolled\nabout among the perch and pummeled each other caused a commotion at the\nboathouse. Motor Matt and George Lorry rushed out of the building and\nlooked up the path.\n\n\"Great spark-plugs!\" exclaimed Matt. \"There's a fight going on up\nthere, George.\"\n\n\"It looks that way, that's a fact,\" answered Lorry. \"Let's go up and\nput a stop to it.\"\n\nMatt was already bounding up the path. Before he had ascended more than\nfifteen feet he was met by two rolling, plunging, tumbling forms coming\ndown. A tremendous clatter of sliding stones accompanied the descent,\nand a towed fishpole whacked and slammed in the rear.\n\nBracing himself, Matt succeeded in laying hold of the two closely\ngrappled forms, and in bringing them to a stop; then, when he\nrecognized who the fighters were, his astonishment held him speechless.\n\n\"Pickerel Pete!\" exclaimed George Lorry.\n\n\"And Ping Pong,\" added Matt, as soon as he had recovered a little from\nhis amazement. \"The sight of Ping pretty near gives me a short circuit.\"\n\n\"My gottee job,\" whooped the breathless Ping; \"Pickelel Pete no gottee!\"\n\n\"Hit's my job, en Ah ain't er quittin' fo' no yaller feller like you!\"\n\nThwack, thwack!\n\n\"Here, now,\" cried Matt, \"this won't do. Stop it, you fellows!\"\n\nPickerel Pete had a firm grip on Ping's pigtail--which is about the\nworst hold you can get on a Chinaman. Ping had one hand and arm around\nPete's black neck, and the other hand was twisted in the fishline.\n\nEvery time Pete would pull the queue a sharp wail would go up from\nPing, and every time the fishline was jerked Pete would howl and squirm.\n\n\"You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves,\" said Matt, masking his\ndesire to laugh with all the severity he could muster.\n\nLorry was leaning against a tree, his head bowed and his whole form in\na quiver.\n\n\"Leavee go China boy's pigtail!\" chirped Ping.\n\n\"Stop yo' pullin' on dat 'ar fishline!\" howled Pete.\n\n\"Let go, both of you!\" ordered Matt; then forcibly he pulled the two\nlads apart. \"Here, Lorry,\" he called, \"you hang onto Ping and I'll take\ncare of Pete.\"\n\nThe youngsters were a disordered pair when separated and held at a\ndistance from each other.\n\n\"What's the meaning of this?\" demanded Matt.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nPICKEREL PETE'S REVENGE.\n\n\nFor several moments neither Pete nor Ping was able to reply to Matt's\nquestion. The <DW54> was busy getting the fishhook out of his trousers,\nand the Chinese was hopping up and down on one foot, shaking the perch\nout of his flapping garments. Both the fish and the fishhook were\nextricated at about the same time.\n\n\"Say, boss,\" cried Pete, \"yo' all ain't done passed me up fo' dat\nyaller trash, has yu? Ah's workin' fo' yu yit, ain't Ah? Dat 'ar\nslant-eye hefun was er sayin' dat he had de job, but Ah 'lows yo'\nwouldn't go en cut me offen yo' pay-roll fo' de likes ob him.\"\n\n\"My workee fo' Motol Matt,\" clamored Ping, \"allee time. Blackee boy no\nworkee. Me one piecee fine China boy. Lickee blackee boy allee same Sam\nHill.\"\n\n\"Yo' nebber!\" whooped Pete. \"Ah kin git yo' on de mat wif mah eyes\nshut, en----\"\n\n\"Stand right where you are, Pete!\" cut in Matt sternly. \"I'll not have\nany more rowdying. You and Ping ought to be ashamed of yourselves.\"\n\n\"You ketchee boat my sendee by expless, Motol Matt?\" inquired Ping.\n\nMatt had \"caught\" the boat, all right. Ping, without any instructions,\nhad sent the eighteen-foot _Sprite_, with engine installed and various\naccessories in the lockers, from San Francisco to Madison, Wisconsin,\nby express, charges collect.\n\nAt first the king of the motor boys had been considerably \"put out\" by\nthis unauthorized move of Ping's, but later he had been glad that the\n_Sprite_ had come into his hands.\n\n\"Yes, Ping,\" said Matt, \"I received the boat, and we have now got her\nin the boathouse down there, making some changes in her to fit her for\nthe motor-boat race next week. Where have you been, Ping?\"\n\n\"Makee come flom Flisco,\" answered the Chinese, hunting up his sandals\nand his hat. \"My workee fo' you, so my come findee boss.\"\n\n\"The boat got here quite a while ago. How long have you been in the\ntown?\"\n\n\"Ketchee town yessulday. Makee ask chop-chop where my findee Motol\nMatt. Thisee molnin' 'Melican man say, so my come. Blackee boy allee\nsame stone in China boy's load; China boy no see um, takee tumble;\nblackee boy velly mad, makee fight. Woosh!\"\n\nPete, with snapping eyes, had been standing back listening to this\ntalk. Now he thought it about time that he put in his own oar.\n\n\"Ah's brack, boss,\" said he to Matt, \"but Ah ain't yaller. Cho'ly yo'\nain't goin' tuh frow me down fo' dat 'ar no-'count hefun, is yo'? Ah's\nworkin' fo' you fo' two dollahs er day. Ain't dat right?\"\n\n\"Peter,\" said Matt, \"you're not to be depended on. I hired you for two\ndollars a day to pilot me around the lakes, and I paid you for a day\nin advance. You went with me through the canal to Fourth Lake, and\nthen up the Catfish to Whisky Creek. I left you to watch the boat, and\nyou deserted, and I haven't seen you since until this minute. Now you\nbob up, just as though nothing had happened, and want to keep right on\nworking for me. I don't think I need you any longer, Pete. You didn't\nwork for me more than three hours, but you got paid for a full day, so\nyou ought to be satisfied.\"\n\nPing puffed himself up delightedly. Pickerel Pete, on the other hand,\nseemed struck \"all of a heap.\"\n\n\"Yo' doan' mean dat, does yo', boss?\" he pleaded. \"Ah's er good li'l\nmoke, en Ah got testimendations f'om de gobernor ob de State. Yo' ain't\ngwineter turn down dem testimendations, is yo'?\"\n\n\"I can't depend on you, Pete,\" said Matt. \"I don't need a boy any more,\nanyhow; but I'm under obligations to Ping, so I'll have to take him on.\"\n\n\"Den Ah's kicked out?\" shouted Pete.\n\n\"No, you're not kicked out. I don't need you, that's all.\"\n\n\"We had er contrack, en yo's done busted hit!\" flared Pete savagely.\n\nMatt could not restrain a laugh at the little <DW54>'s rage.\n\n\"You got the best of our contract, Pete,\" said Matt. \"You owe me about\na dollar and a half, but I'm willing to call it square.\"\n\n\"Ah owes yo' more'n dat,\" fumed Pete. \"Yo's done kicked me out, en Ah\nain't er gwine tur fo'git. Hit's dat yaller trash dat's 'sponsible\"--he\nshook his black fist at Ping--\"but Ah's gwine tuh play eben wif yo' all\nfo' whut yo's done. Jess watch mah smoke!\"\n\n\"You little rascal!\" spoke up Lorry; \"what do you mean by talking that\nway? Get out of here!\"\n\n\"Ah's gotter right tuh stay anywhere Ah please erround dishyer lake,\"\ncried Pete. \"Yo' kain't drive me off, nuther. Yah! Dat ole boat you's\nfixin' up fo' de race ain't worf nuffin'. Ollie Merton he's gotter boat\ndat is er boat, en he's gwinter beat yo' outen yo' boots, dat's whut\nhe is. Ah wouldn't 'sociate wif no sich fellers as you, en Ah wouldn't\nwork fo' Motor Matt ef he paid me a millyun dollahs er day! Jess yo'\nwatch mah smoke--Ah'll git eben, yassuh!\"\n\nWith that the angry little rascal turned and ran up the path. But he\ndid not run far. As soon as a bend in the crooked course had hidden him\nfrom the eyes of Matt and Lorry, he plunged off along the side of the\nbank, hiding himself in the undergrowth, and working his way slowly\ndown toward the boathouse.\n\nAs soon as Pete had vanished, Lorry turned to Matt with a laugh.\n\n\"There's another enemy for us to deal with, Matt,\" said he.\n\n\"If he was bigger,\" returned Matt, \"he might prove dangerous; but\nPete's too small to count.\"\n\n\"Blackee boy no good,\" put in the smirking Ping. \"My knockee blame head\noff!\"\n\n\"Don't be so savage, Ping,\" said Matt humorously.\n\n\"So this is the chap that sent the _Sprite_ to Madison by express, eh?\"\ninquired Lorry, grinning as he gave the Celestial an up-and-down look.\n\n\"He's the fellow. Why did you drop out so suddenly in San Francisco,\nPing?\" and Matt turned to the Chinese.\n\n\"My waitee fo' you by Tiburon landing, you savvy?\" said Ping. \"Bumby,\nmy see launly boss come down landing likee house afire. Woosh! No\nlikee launly boss. My say 'goo'-by' and lun away. One, two, tlee\nday, my makee hunt fo' Motol Matt. Him gone. P'licee man say he gone\nMa'son, Wiscon', so my gettee 'Melican man boxee boat, shippee Ma'son.\nYou ketchee awri'. Velly fine. Now my workee fo' you. Hi-lee-lee,\nhi-lo-lo----\"\n\nPing was happy. He had found Matt, and he was back on the job again.\nNot only that, but the \"blackee boy\" was cut out for good.\n\n\"Do you remember the three men who made us so much trouble in San\nFrancisco, Ping?\" asked Matt.\n\n\"Allee same. Red-whiskels 'Melican----\"\n\n\"That's the fellow who's called Big John.\"\n\n\"Sure; him Big John, awri', and big lascal, too. Woosh! My lecollect\nKinky and Loss. All thlee makee Matt heap tlouble.\"\n\n\"Big John, Kinky, and Ross, those are the men. Have you seen anything\nof them, Ping, since you left Frisco?\"\n\n\"No see um, Motol Matt. My punchee head, me see um. Where Joe McGloly,\nhuh? Him big high boy, Joe.\"\n\n\"McGlory's off around Picnic Point on a motor cycle, trying to find\nout how fast the boat is that the _Sprite_ has got to beat. As the\n_Wyandotte_ races through the lake, Joe was to race along the road\non the lake shore, just keeping abreast of the boat. Then Joe's\nspeedometer will tell him how fast the boat is going.\"\n\n\"No savvy,\" murmured Ping, shaking his head.\n\n\"Your talk is too deep for him, Matt,\" laughed Lorry. \"Well, let's get\nback to the boathouse. You were just going to explain the changes you\nwere making in the _Sprite_ in order to make her fast enough to beat\nthe _Wyandotte_.\"\n\n\"When Joe gets back,\" said Matt, \"we'll know just how fast the\n_Wyandotte_ can go, and just how fast the _Sprite_ will have to travel.\"\n\n\"Merton may try to fool us, Matt. If he knows Joe is timing him, he'll\nnot let the _Wyandotte_ put in her best licks.\"\n\n\"I told Joe to be careful and not let any one on the _Wyandotte_ see\nhim. We've got to be just as careful. I'd hate to have Merton know what\nwe were doing to the _Sprite_.\"\n\n\"Sure,\" nodded Lorry, \"it won't do to have our hand tipped at this\nstage of the game.\"\n\nMatt and Lorry started back toward the boathouse, Ping following\nthem and looking back up the path on the chance of catching sight of\nPickerel Pete.\n\n\"All the changes I'm making in the _Sprite_,\" continued Matt, \"are\ndrawn on that roll of papers I left on the work-bench. We'll go\nover those diagrams, one at a time, George, and I think I can make\neverything clear to you.\"\n\n\"Whatever you say, Matt, goes,\" returned Lorry. \"You've got a head on\nyou for such things. I know a good motor launch when I see it, and I\ncan drive such a boat as well as anybody, but I'm no mechanic. All I\nwant,\" and Lorry's eyes flashed and his words became sharp, \"is to get\na boat that will beat Merton's. You know how much that means to me.\"\n\n\"I do,\" said Matt, \"and we're going to make a fast boat out of the\n_Sprite_. We'll give Ollie Merton a run for that prize, and no two ways\nabout it. When Joe gets back, if he has had any kind of luck, we'll\nknow just what we're up against.\"\n\nThe boathouse was large and roomy, and the doors were open, front\nand rear. Matt had transformed part of the interior into a workshop,\nand there was a bench, with a machinist's vise, under an open window\nat the side of the building. Tools and parts of the boat's machinery\nwere scattered about, apparently in great disorder, but really with a\nmethodical carelessness that left them handily in the spot where they\nwould next be needed.\n\nAs the boys entered the boathouse, Matt started directly for the bench\nto get the roll of drawings. They were not where he had left them, and\nhe turned blankly to Lorry.\n\n\"Did you do anything with that bundle of diagrams, George?\" he asked.\n\n\"Never touched 'em, Matt,\" replied Lorry, with some excitement, \"but I\nsaw where you laid them--and it was right there.\"\n\nLorry dropped a hand on the work-bench, close to the open window.\n\n\"They've been stolen!\" exclaimed Matt aghast. \"They were taken while we\nwere up the bank! Who could have done it?\"\n\n\"Who but Merton and some of those rascally friends of his?\" queried\nLorry, his eyes flashing.\n\nMatt ran to the other end of the boathouse and stepped out upon the\nsmall platform above the water, but, strain his eyes as he would, he\ncould see nothing of any boat on that part of the lake.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nA \"DARK HORSE.\"\n\n\nOllie Merton was the only son of a millionaire lumberman. The\nmillionaire and his wife were making an extensive tour of Europe, and\nwhile they were away the son was in complete charge of the big Madison\nmansion, with a large fund in the bank subject to his personal check.\n\nNever before had such a chance to \"spread himself\" came young Merton's\nway, and he was making the most of it.\n\nThe lad was commodore of the Winnequa Yacht Club, which had its\nheadquarters near Winnequa, on Third Lake. Another institution, known\nas the Yahara Motor Boat Club, had its boathouse on Fourth Lake; and\nbetween the Winnequas and the Yaharas there was the most intense\nrivalry.\n\nTwice, in two years hand running, the Winnequas had contested against\nthe Yaharas for power-boat honors. By winning the first race the\nWinnequas had secured a trophy known as the \"De Lancey Cup,\" and by\nwinning the second race they still retained possession of the cup.\nBy winning a third time the cup would pass to them in perpetuity. The\nYaharas, feeling that their very existence as a club was at stake,\nwere bitterly determined to snatch the prize from their rivals. A vast\namount of feeling was wrapped up in the approaching contest.\n\nGeorge Lorry was vice commodore of the Yahara Club. In a secret\nsession, months before, the Yaharas had commissioned Lorry to carry\nthe honors of the club and secure a boat which would outrun any the\nWinnequas might put in the field.\n\nLorry, no less than Merton, was the son of a rich man. Without\nconsulting his father, Lorry ordered a five thousand-dollar hydroplane,\nand, at the last moment, parental authority stepped in and denied the\nyoung man such an extravagance.\n\nGeorge Lorry at this time had rather more pride and conceit than were\ngood for him. His father's action, in the matter of the hydroplane,\nstung him to the quick. He felt that he had been humiliated, and that\nhis comrades, the Yaharas, were giving him the cold shoulder on account\nof his failure to \"make good\" with a winning boat.\n\nGeorge had been wrong in this, but, nevertheless, he resigned from\nthe boat club and went to the other extreme of making a friend and\nassociate of Ollie Merton.\n\nMerton, recognizing in Lorry the only source of danger to the prestige\nof the Winnequas, had advised George to do certain things with the\nobject of clearing a rival from the field during the forthcoming race.\n\nThat Merton had advised unscrupulous acts, and that Lorry had tried to\ncarry them out, matters little. Motor Matt met Lorry at just the right\ntime to keep him from doing something which he would have regretted to\nthe end of his days.\n\nVery recently Lorry had discovered the false friendship of Merton, and,\ncoming to see the folly of what he had done in a misguided moment, had\ngone back to the Yaharas and requested a renewal of the commission to\nfurnish a boat for the coming race that would regain the De Lancey cup\nfor his club. Lorry had been received by his former comrades with open\narms, and they had immediately acceded to his request.\n\nFrom this it will be understood how great a stake George Lorry had\nin the third contest with the Winnequas. Apart from the intense club\nspirit which prompted a winning boat at any cost, there was a personal\nside to the issue which meant everything to Lorry.\n\nMerton's specious counsel, given for the purpose of getting Lorry out\nof the race, had almost brought Lorry to ruin. Now, to best Merton\nin the contest had come to be regarded by Lorry as almost a personal\njustification.\n\nTo Motor Matt young Lorry had turned, and the king of the motor boys\nhad promised a boat that would regain the lost prize for the Yaharas.\n\nMatt felt that the _Sprite_, with certain changes, could beat anything\non the lakes. Lorry shared his confidence, and Matt was working night\nand day to get the swift little eighteen-foot launch in shape for\n\"warming up\" on the water before the regatta.\n\nThe theft of the drawings was the first backset Matt and Lorry had\nreceived. Well aware of Merton's questionable character, it was easy\nfor the lads to believe that he had slipped into the boathouse while\nthey were up the bank and had taken the plans; or he need only have\ncome to the window and reach in in order to help himself to them.\n\nLorry was terribly cut up.\n\n\"Merton has got the better of us,\" he muttered disconsolately. \"He'll\nknow just what we're going to do with the _Sprite_ now, and will make\nchanges in the _Wyandotte_, or else arrange for another boat to stack\nup against us. It's too late for us to order another boat, and we'll\nhave to go on with the _Sprite_ and look at Merton's heels over the\nfinish line. Oh, thunder! I wish this Chink and that Pickerel Pete were\nin the bottom of the lake!\"\n\nNoticing the scowl Lorry gave him, Ping slunk away from his vicinity,\nand came closer to where Matt was walking thoughtfully back and forth\nacross the floor of the boathouse.\n\n\"Don't lose your nerve, Lorry,\" counseled Matt, coming to a halt and\nleaning against the work-bench. \"No fellow ever won a fight unless he\nwent into it with confidence.\"\n\n\"It's all well enough to talk of confidence,\" grumbled Lorry, \"but this\nis enough to undermine all the hopes we ever had.\"\n\n\"Looked at in one way, yes. Those were my working drawings. They\ncontained all the measurements of the _Sprite's_ hull, my plans for\nchanging the gasoline tanks from the bow aft where they would not\nbring the boat down so much by the head, also my arrangement for a new\nreversing-gear, the dimensions of the motor, and the size and pitch of\nour new propeller.\"\n\nLorry groaned.\n\n\"Why, confound it!\" he cried, \"Merton will be able to figure out just\nwhat the _Sprite's_ speed should be--and he can plan accordingly for\nanother boat. There's a way of getting those plans away from him, by\nJupiter!\" He started angrily to his feet.\n\n\"How?\" asked Matt quietly.\n\n\"The police,\" returned Lorry.\n\n\"No, not the police! We don't know that Merton has the plans; it's a\npretty safe guess, all right, but we don't absolutely know. When you\ncall in the law to help you, George, you've got to be pretty sure of\nyour ground.\"\n\nLorry dropped back in his chair dejectedly, and Matt resumed his\nthoughtful pace back and forth across the room.\n\n\"I've thought for the last two days,\" Matt went on finally, \"that\nMerton was rather free in showing off the _Wyandotte_. He has her over\nhere in Fourth Lake when she belongs in Third, and he's trying her out\non the other side of Picnic Point, almost under our noses. I'm not sure\nbut that Merton wants us to see his boat's performances.\"\n\n\"Then he's not running the _Wyandotte_ at her racing speed, Matt,\"\naverred Lorry. \"He's only pretending to, hoping that we'll watch her\nwork and get fooled.\"\n\n\"He'll not fool us much. The _Wyandotte_ is a thirty-seven-footer,\nfive-foot beam, semi-speed model. She has a two-cylinder, twenty-horse,\ntwo-cycle engine, five-and-three-quarter-inch bore by five-inch stroke.\nThe propeller has elliptical blades, and is nineteen inches in diameter\nby twenty-eight-inch pitch----\"\n\nLorry looked up in startled wonder. Motor Matt had reeled off his\nfigures off-hand as readily as though reading them from a written\nmemorandum.\n\n\"Where, in the name of glory, did you find out all that?\" gasped Lorry.\n\nMatt smiled.\n\n\"Why,\" said he, \"I got them in a perfectly legitimate manner from the\nbuilder of the boat, who lives in Bay City. The name of the builder\nwas easily learned, and a letter did the rest. The _Wyandotte_ can log\nfourteen or fifteen miles--no trouble to find that out with pencil and\npaper, since we have all those dimensions. Now, the _Sprite_, as she\nwas, could do her mile in four-twelve--possibly in four--and Merton\nknows it. Why, then, is he showing off a boat that is not much better\nthan the _Sprite_ has been all along? Take it from me, Lorry,\" and Matt\nspoke with supreme conviction, \"the _Wyandotte_ is not the boat the\nWinnequas will have in the race. _There's another one_, and I've felt\nmorally sure of it all along.\"\n\n\"You're a wonder!\" muttered Lorry. \"Why, you never told me you'd\nwritten to Bay City about the _Wyandotte_.\"\n\n\"I intended to tell you at the proper time.\"\n\n\"Well, if Merton is going to spring a surprise boat on us the day of\nthe race, that makes it so much the worse.\"\n\n\"I have other plans for changing the _Sprite_, but I have been holding\nthem back until I could make sure Merton was holding another speed\nboat in reserve. Those plans weren't in that roll that was stolen,\nGeorge; as a matter of fact, they're not down on paper at all. From the\ndrawings and memoranda Merton has secured he can figure the improved\n_Sprite's_ speed at a little less than sixteen miles an hour. Let him\nfigure that way. The other plans I have will enable her to do twenty.\"\n\nLorry bounded off his chair.\n\n\"Twenty?\" he cried. \"Matt, you're crazy!\"\n\nBefore Matt could answer, Joe McGlory staggered into the boathouse,\ndragging a motor cycle after him. Both he and the wheel were splashed\nwith mud, and bore other evidences of wear and tear, but the cowboy's\neyes were bulging with excitement.\n\n\"You've been gone two hours longer than I thought you'd be, Joe,\" said\nMatt, studying his chum with considerable curiosity. \"What's happened?\"\n\n\"That's it!\" exploded McGlory, breathlessly, leaning the motor cycle\nagainst the bench. \"Speak to me about that! Sufferin' thunderbolts! but\nI've made a whale of a discovery.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" demanded George, wildly impatient.\n\n\"Why,\" cried McGlory, \"Merton's got another boat, and she's certainly\na blue streak, if I know the brand. The fat's in the fire, pards. If\nthe poor old _Sprite_ gets into a race with this new boat of Merton's,\nshe'll be in the 'also ran' column.\"\n\nLorry collapsed.\n\n\"A dark horse!\" exclaimed Matt. \"I'd have bet a farm Merton was\nplanning to spring something like that. Buck up, Lorry! Perhaps this\nisn't so bad, after all. Tell us about it, Joe.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nPLANS.\n\n\n\"When I got over the point, pards,\" said Joe, dropping into a chair and\nfanning himself with his hat, \"the _Wyandotte_ was just comin' down\nthe lake to pull off her usual race with herself. I hauled up in the\nroad, with the bushes between me and the water, ready to jump into the\nsaddle the minute the boat came opposite. I was keeping shady, you can\nbet your moccasins on that, and it was some sort of a jolt when I saw\na galoot perched on a stone. He looked like a hobo, and the way he\ngrinned got on my nerves.\n\n\"'I'm funny, all right,' I says to him, 'but where I come from a feller\ngets shot if he looks that way at some one else.'\n\n\"'I ain't laffin' at you,' says the tramp, 'but at the joke them other\nmugs is playin' on you an' your push.'\n\n\"'Where does the joke come in?' I inquires.\n\n\"'Why,' he comes back, 'that other club is foolin' you with a boat\nhere on Fourth Lake when the real boat is over on Third. If what I'm\na-sayin' is worth a dollar to you, just remember and cough up.'\n\n\"Well, say, that hobo wasn't a holy minute grabbin' my attention. I\nfell off the chug wheel right there and proceeded to palaver. It turned\nout that Merton's gard'ner was sick for a few days, and that the tramp\nmowed the lawn and did a few other things around the place. There was\nan open window, Ollie and some of his pards were on the other side\nof it, and the noise of the lawnmower didn't prevent the tramp from\nhearing what was said. You can bet your last dollar it was hot news he\ngot hold of.\n\n\"Merton and the Winnequas were plannin' to fool us with the _Wyandotte_\non Fourth Lake while they were warming up the real boat on Third. The\nhobo said I could wait there at the Point till the _Wyandotte_ came\ncloser, and that I'd see Merton wasn't aboard; then he allowed that if\nI'd sizzle over to the gun club on Third Lake I'd see the real prize\nwinner doing stunts that would curl my hair.\n\n\"The tramp was off for Waunakee, and had just dropped down on a stone\nto rest. My coming along was a happenchance, as he hadn't intended to\npeddle the news he'd got hold of, but he recognized me as being a pard\nof Motor Matt's, and a dollar looked pretty big to him.\n\n\"I waited till the _Wyandotte_ was close, and then I saw that Merton\nwasn't aboard. Would I swallow the hobo's yarn or not? I decided that I\nwould, so I threw him a dollar and burned the air in the direction of\nthe gun club and Third Lake.\n\n\"Well, t'other boat was there, sliding around like a streak of greased\nlightning. Half the time I couldn't see her for the foam she kicked up.\nI managed to pick up the label on her bow as she was making a turn,\nand it's the _Dart_. But go--speak to me about that! Say, she gets\nto a place pretty near before she starts. Merton was aboard, and so\nwas that red-headed pard of his, Halloran. Halloran was working the\nmachinery. I watched my chance and kept abreast of the _Dart_ for a\nmile. Twenty-one miles is what the speedometer registered, although the\ncount may be shy a little one way or the other. I was too excited to\nbe entirely accurate. Our hands are in the air, pards, and no mistake.\nThe _Sprite_'ll look like a turtle wallowin' along in the wake of a\nswordfish.\"\n\nMatt and Lorry had listened to this recital with varying feelings. Matt\nwas deeply interested, but Lorry was visibly cast down.\n\n\"How big is the _Dart_, Joe?\" inquired Matt.\n\n\"Twenty-five or thirty feet, Matt.\"\n\n\"You must be a little wrong in your estimate of the _Dart's_ speed. It\ndoesn't seem possible that she could turn a mile in less than three\nminutes.\"\n\n\"Well, look!\" exclaimed McGlory, catching his first glimpse of Ping.\n\"If there ain't little Washee-washee Slant-eyes I'm a Chink myself.\nWhen and how did he flash out in these parts?\"\n\nMatt, by way of relieving the tension aroused by McGlory's exciting\nnews, told of the scuffle in the path leading up the bank, and then\nallowed the Celestial to finish with an account of the way he had come\nfrom Frisco.\n\n\"Let's get back to the boats,\" put in Lorry impatiently, when Ping had\ngot through with his pidgin English. \"Hadn't I better withdraw the\n_Sprite_, Matt, and let some other fellow meet Merton?\"\n\nMatt stared.\n\n\"I didn't believe you were that sort of a fellow, Lorry,\" he returned,\n\"and I don't think so yet.\"\n\n\"But if the _Sprite_ hasn't any chance----\"\n\n\"She has a chance, and a good one, after I get her ready. There'll have\nto be more extensive changes, that's all.\"\n\n\"What other changes are you thinking about?\"\n\n\"Ping,\" said Matt, turning to the Chinese, \"you go outside the\nboathouse and see that no one hangs around it while we're talking.\"\n\n\"Can do,\" chirped Ping, and shuffled out.\n\nMatt pulled up a chair close to Lorry's and motioned for McGlory to\njoin the inner circle. Then Matt explained about the loss of the roll\nof drawings.\n\nThe cowboy was mad clear through in half a second.\n\n\"It was Merton, all right,\" he scowled, \"and you can bet a ten-dollar\nnote against a last year's bird's nest on that. By this time he'll know\nwhat the improved _Sprite_ can do, and he'll also know that the _Dart_\ncan run circles around her. We're Jonahed, for fair.\"\n\n\"No, we're not,\" said Matt. \"As long as I thought we had only the\n_Wyandotte_ to beat, I was only planning to make the _Sprite_ fast\nenough for that purpose. But I can make the _Sprite_ the fastest thing\non the lakes--it'll take a hustle, though, and I'll have to have a\nmachinist helper.\"\n\n\"I don't care how many men you have to have, Matt, nor how many extra\nsupplies,\" returned Lorry, beginning to gather a little confidence from\nthe quiet, determined air of the king of the motor boys. \"Go ahead, and\ncall on me for what money you need.\"\n\n\"Over at the machine shop, where I've been getting some work done,\"\nproceeded Matt, \"they have a double-opposed, four-cycle automobile\nengine, capable of developing from eighteen to twenty horse-power at\neighteen hundred revolutions per minute. The cylinders are five by\nfive. That's a pretty stiff engine for the _Sprite_, but the hull\ncould be strengthened, and we could put it in and get about ninety or\nninety-five per cent. of the horse-power by gearing down three to one.\nAfter the gears wear a little, the percentage of horse-power might drop\nto eighty. This motor will drive a three-bladed propeller twenty-six\ninches diameter, thirty-two inches pitch. If the vibration don't shake\nme out of the boat at eighteen hundred revolutions per minute, the\nspeed we'll get will be astonishing.\"\n\n\"Whoop!\" exulted McGlory. \"I don't know what it all means, but it\nlistens good. I reckon there's a kick or two in the old _Sprite_ yet.\"\n\n\"You can't run a boat engine like you run an automobile motor, Matt,\"\nsaid Lorry.\n\n\"Of course not. A steady load and steady plugging in the water is a\nwhole lot different from the give-and-take a motor gets in an auto;\nbut we can keep up the eighteen hundred revolutions for ten minutes,\nanyhow--and the race only covers five miles. I'm fixing the _Sprite_\nto win the race, that's all.\"\n\n\"By George!\" exclaimed Lorry, \"it takes you to make a fellow feel good,\nMatt! You know what you're doing, every time and all the time. Go ahead\nwith the work, and bank on me to hold you up with both hands.\"\n\n\"Me, too, pard!\" added McGlory.\n\n\"What we're doing,\" said Matt, \"we want to keep strictly to ourselves.\nMerton has our drawings, and probably thinks he knows just what we're\nabout. Let him think so. If he springs a 'dark horse' on us, we'll get\neven by springing one on him.\"\n\n\"But can you get the _Sprite_ ready in time?\" asked Lorry anxiously.\n\n\"Sure I can! I'll have to begin at once, though, and some of us will\nhave to stay in this boathouse night and day to make sure that none of\nthe Winnequas come prowling around. If you'll stay here with McGlory,\nGeorge, I'll borrow your motor cycle to go over to the machine shop and\ndicker for that second-hand engine.\"\n\n\"Go on,\" said Lorry. \"While you're there you might get a man to help\nyou.\"\n\nMatt got up and pulled the motor cycle away from the bench.\n\n\"I'll be back in an hour, fellows,\" said he.\n\nLeaving the boathouse, he dragged the wheel to the top of the steep\nbank, then, getting into the saddle, he gave the pedals a turn and was\noff like a shot along the wooded road that led past the insane asylum\nand by the Waunakee Road and Sherman Avenue into town.\n\nIf Motor Matt loved one thing more than another, it was a good, clean\nfight for supremacy, such as the one that now confronted him and his\nfriends. There was a zest in such a struggle, and the pleasure of\nwinning out against odds, in a good cause, was its own reward.\n\nAs he whizzed along the wooded road, mechanically steering the wheel\nwhile his mind busied itself with other things, he was confronted\nsuddenly by a rail held breast-high across his course. It was\nimpossible to turn out at that point, and Matt had to shut off the\npower and jam down hard on the brake.\n\nHe caught a glimpse of a silent form at each end of the rail, and then,\nas he halted, of half a dozen other forms rushing out at him from the\nbushes on each side of the road.\n\nIn another moment he was caught and dragged from the motor cycle.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nAN ORDER TO QUIT.\n\n\nThis unexpected attack, coming so suddenly, had taken Matt at a\ndisadvantage. He fought as well as he could, in the circumstances, but\nthere were too many against him.\n\nThere were eight of his foes, all told, and Matt was carried into the\ntimber at one side of the road and dropped unceremoniously in a small\ncleared space. Bounding to his feet, he stood staring about him.\n\nHis eight enemies had formed a narrow circle, hemming him in. They\nwere all young fellows, well dressed, and carried themselves with an\nair of firmness and determination. The face of each was covered with a\nhandkerchief, which left only the eyes visible.\n\n\"What are you trying to do?\" demanded Matt angrily.\n\n\"Don't lose your temper, Motor Matt,\" answered one of the eight, in a\nvoice that was plainly disguised. \"We're not going to hurt you--now. Do\nwhat we want you to and we'll remain good friends. All we've stopped\nyou for is to have a little talk.\"\n\n\"Did you have to head me off with a rail in order to have a little\ntalk?\" asked Matt sarcastically.\n\n\"We wanted to make sure of you for about five minutes, and this was the\nonly way we could think of. We were going over to your boathouse, but\nsaw you coming down the hill from the point, and thought we'd better\nlay for you.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Matt, \"here I am. Hurry up with your talk. I'm in a rush,\nand don't want to stop here long.\"\n\n\"We want to ask you a question: You're a professional motorist, aren't\nyou?\"\n\n\"I've driven a racing automobile, if that's what you mean.\"\n\n\"They say you know gasoline motors forward, backward, and sideways.\"\n\n\"I've studied them, and I've worked in a shop where they were made.\"\n\n\"Then I guess we've got you dead to rights. Do you want to make a\nhundred dollars?\"\n\n\"That depends on how I'm to make it,\" answered the king of the motor\nboys, immediately suspicious.\n\n\"You won't have much to do. We'll give you the money now if you promise\nto leave town to-night, and not come back to this section for a month.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Matt, a light suddenly dawning upon him. \"You're\nrepresentative members of the Winnequa Club, I take it, and you want to\nkeep me from running Lorry's boat in that race.\"\n\n\"We don't care how you take it,\" was the sharp retort. \"The question\nis, will you accept that hundred and get out?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" said Matt promptly.\n\nThere was a silence. One lad was doing all the talking, the others\nremaining silent and watchful.\n\n\"Will you leave for two hundred?\" went on the spokesman.\n\n\"No,\" was Matt's indignant response, \"nor for two thousand! What do you\nfellows take me for? I'm George Lorry's friend, and I'm going to see\nhim through this racing contest.\"\n\n\"I don't think you will,\" was the significant answer. \"You probably\nhave an idea you will, but you'll change your mind before you're many\ndays older.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" observed Matt quietly, \"that your club is composed of\npretty decent fellows. I'm pretty sure the rest of the members don't\nknow what you eight are doing.\"\n\n\"That's nothing to you. You're a professional racer.\"\n\n\"There's nothing in the rules governing the race that bars out a\nprofessional driver,\" said Matt.\n\n\"That may be, but it's hardly fair to stack up a professional driver\nagainst an amateur.\"\n\n\"Halloran is not an amateur,\" returned Matt. \"He has handled motor\nboats for two years. I happen to know this. If Halloran is going to\ndrive Merton's boat, I don't think you fellows can complain if I drive\nLorry's.\"\n\nMatt's knowledge regarding Halloran must have staggered the eight\nmasked youths. Silence reigned again for a space, one set of eyes\nencountering another and the glance traveling around the circle.\n\nThe king of the motor boys was studying those around him. One of the\neight he believed to be Ollie Merton, although of that he could not be\nsure. Merton must have made good time from Third Lake, if he had left\nthe _Dart_, crossed the city, and come around Fourth Lake to that point.\n\n\"We're not here to discuss Halloran,\" went on the young fellow who was\ndoing the talking for the rest of his party. \"We don't want you backing\nup young Lorry. There are going to be some bets made on that race, and\nwe want Merton's boat to have a cinch. If what we've heard of you is\ntrue, you're deep, and when you go into a thing you go in to win. If\nyou won't take a couple of hundred and leave town, how much will you\nask to throw the race?\"\n\nMatt stiffened, and his eyes flashed dangerously. Once before, in the\ncourse of his career, an insult of that sort had been offered him. That\nwas in Arizona, and a gambler had approached him and offered him money\nto \"throw\" a bicycle race on which the gambler and his friends had been\ndoing some heavy betting.\n\nMatt had principles, hard and fast principles which he knew to be right\nand on which he would not turn his back. He had never seen any good\ncome of betting, and he was against it.\n\n\"I guess,\" said he sharply, \"that if you know me better you wouldn't\nmake such a proposition. I'm a friend of Lorry's, and I'm going to\nstand by him. Not only that, but if you fellows have been foolish\nenough to bet on Merton's boat, I'll do my best to see that you lose\nyour money. I guess that finishes our talk. Break away and let me go\non.\"\n\n\"Don't be in a rush,\" growled the spokesman. \"If you won't take our\nmoney and leave town, and if you won't throw the race for a share of\nthe proceeds, then we'll hand you an order which you'll do well to\nobey. It's an order to quit. Understand? You're an outsider and we\ndon't want you around here.\"\n\n\"So is Halloran an outsider,\" said Matt caustically. \"He comes from\nMilwaukee.\"\n\n\"We're talking about you, now, and not about Halloran. Lorry has got to\nstand on his own pins. He's got money enough to see him through this\nrace without any of your help.\"\n\n\"You're a one-sided lot, you fellows,\" went on Matt. \"All you say about\nLorry applies equally well to Merton. Why don't Merton 'stand on his\nown pins,' as you call it? And why do you ask more of Lorry than you do\nof Merton?\"\n\n\"That's our business,\" snapped the other.\n\nMatt laughed.\n\n\"The trouble with you fellows,\" said he, \"is that you're scared. You\nthink the _Wyandotte_ has got a little more than she can take care of\nin the _Sprite_. What kind of sportsmen are you, anyhow, when you try\nto load your dice before you go into this game?\"\n\nMatt's mention of the _Wyandotte_ was made with the deliberate\nintention of hoodwinking the eight. By speaking as he did the masked\nyouths would infer that Matt and Lorry knew nothing, as yet, about the\n_Dart_.\n\nThat Matt's remark had gone home was evident from the quick looks that\npassed around the circle over the tops of the handkerchiefs.\n\n\"We've got you down pretty fine, Motor Matt,\" pursued the spokesman,\nwho could not bring himself to give up the attempt to influence Matt.\n\"If it hadn't been for you, George Lorry would be in San Francisco\nnow. You brought him back here, and you advised him to get back into\nthe Yahara Club and go on with the programme the Yaharas had laid down\nfor him. That was all your doing, and you know it.\"\n\n\"I'm glad to think,\" said Matt, with spirit, \"that I had something to\ndo with that. But you're mistaken if you think I had _everything_ to do\nwith it.\"\n\n\"I suppose this McGlory helped a little.\"\n\n\"He did; but the biggest help came from Lorry himself. Lorry has the\nright kind of stuff in him, and he'll show you, before long, that he's\nworth a dozen Mertons.\"\n\nThis goaded one of the others into speech--and it was the one whom Matt\nsuspected of being Ollie Merton.\n\n\"Oh, splash! Lorry's a sissy and he always was.\"\n\nIt was Merton's voice, Matt felt sure of that. But the king of the\nmotor boys wanted to make assurance doubly sure.\n\n\"_Now_ are you done?\" he asked.\n\n\"You refuse to meet us half way in an amicable arrangement?\"\n\n\"Your amicable arrangement,\" said Matt ironically, \"is an insult to a\nfellow who tries to be square. I'll have nothing to do with it, and\nthat's the last word.\"\n\n\"We're going to have the last word, my gay motorist, and from now on\nup to the hour of the race you and Lorry are going to have your hands\nfull of trouble. The _Sprite_ will never enter the contest, and you'll\nsave yourself something, Motor Matt, if you obey our orders to quit.\nThere----\"\n\nMotor Matt, watching his opportunity, had made a sudden leap forward.\nIt was toward the side of the circle opposite the place where the chap\nwhom he believed to be Merton was standing.\n\nInstantly the eight made a concerted move in that direction, leaving a\ngap in the cordon behind Matt. Like lightning, the king of the motor\nboys whirled about and darted through the gap.\n\nAs he raced past the fellow he supposed to be Merton he snatched the\nhandkerchief from his face. The evidence, then, was plain enough.\n\n\"Merton!\" shouted Matt as he bounded toward the road.\n\nAn angry yell went up behind him, followed by a crashing among the\nbushes as the eight began pursuit. But Matt had the lead, and he was\nfortunate enough to find the motor cycle leaning against the tree near\nthe place where it had been halted.\n\nTo mount, start the gasoline, switch on the spark and pedal off took\nbut a few seconds. By the time Merton and his companions reached the\nroad Matt was sliding around a wooded bend like a shot from a gun.\n\nAround the turn Matt was compelled to sheer off to avoid a big touring\ncar which, deserted and at a standstill, filled the road.\n\nHe noted, as he passed, that it was the Merton touring car. Matt had\nseen the car before, and in circumstances almost as dramatic.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nFACING THE MUSIC.\n\n\nThe automobile repair shop which Matt had started for was in Sherman\nAvenue, not far from the park that skirted the shore of Fourth Lake.\nHe did not make for the shop at once, however, but kept out of sight\nuntil Ollie Merton had passed with the big, seven-passenger car loaded\nto the limit. As soon as the car had vanished Matt went into the shop.\n\nHe was not long in transacting his business there. Before beginning he\nplaced the proprietor under seal of secrecy. The second-hand motor was\nsecured at a bargain, Matt paying spot cash for it. The engine was to\nbe loaded aboard a launch and taken across the lake, in the afternoon,\nto the boathouse by Picnic Point.\n\nWith the engine was to come a young machinist, a son of the proprietor\nof the shop, who was to be well paid for his services, and who promised\nto use his hands and eyes and not his tongue.\n\nMatt's final request was that the engine, when carried down to the\nlanding and while aboard the launch, should be covered with canvas.\nThis was to prevent curious eyes from securing information which might\nbe carried to some of the Winnequas, and so to Merton.\n\nFrom the machine shop Matt rushed on into town for the purpose of\nsending a message. The telegram was to a supply house in Milwaukee and\nrequested immediate shipment of a new propeller. The sudden change in\nplans for the _Sprite_ made quick work necessary.\n\nIt was long after noon when Matt got back to the boathouse, where Lorry\nand McGlory were impatiently awaiting him.\n\n\"You were longer than we thought you'd be,\" remarked Lorry, a look of\nrelief crossing his face as Matt trundled the motor cycle through the\nopen door.\n\n\"Did you get what you wanted, pard?\" inquired McGlory.\n\n\"Yes,\" laughed Matt, leaning the wheel against the wall, \"and a little\nmore than I was expecting. I was stopped by Merton and seven of his\nfriends, just this side of the asylum and----\"\n\n\"By Merton!\" cried Lorry.\n\n\"Sufferin' brain-twisters!\" exclaimed the cowboy. \"How could that be?\nWhy, pard, I left Merton on Third Lake, in the _Dart_.\"\n\n\"Merton must have come ashore, Joe, pretty soon after you left. He\npicked up seven of his friends somewhere and started around Fourth\nLake to have a talk with me at the boathouse. They saw me coming down\nthe hill from the point, stopped the automobile around a bend, tied\nhandkerchiefs over their faces and stopped me with a fence rail. Before\nI fairly realized what was going on, the eight of them had me off the\nwheel and into the timber.\"\n\n\"What an outrage!\" growled Lorry. \"You're getting more than your share\nof rough work, Matt, seems to me. What did those fellows want?\"\n\nMatt pulled out a lunch box of generous size, opened it on the\nworkbench and invited his two companions to help themselves.\n\n\"I went into town to send a telegram for a new propeller,\" he observed,\n\"but I didn't even take time to stop at a restaurant for a meal.\"\n\n\"No matter what happens,\" said Lorry admiringly, \"you never forget\nanything. But go on and tell us what Merton and those other chaps\nstopped you for.\"\n\n\"They were trying to run in a rhinecaboo of some sort. I'll be bound,\"\naverred McGlory.\n\n\"The plain truth of the matter is, fellows,\" declared Matt, \"Merton and\nhis crowd are scared. They offered me two hundred dollars to leave\ntown at once and never come back.\"\n\n\"Tell me about that!\" chuckled the cowboy. \"Scared? You bet they are!\nMotor Matt has put a crimp in the confidence they had about the outcome\nof the race.\"\n\n\"And that leads me to believe,\" went on Matt, \"that, in spite of the\nfact that Merton has that roll of drawings and knows what we were doing\nto the _Sprite_, he's still afraid of us. The _Dart_ can't be such a\nphenomenally fast boat as you imagined, Joe. If it was, why should\nMerton fear the _Sprite_? He's judging her, you understand, according\nto our first plans for changing her. He doesn't know a thing about the\nautomobile engine and the other propeller we're going to install.\"\n\n\"Listen, once,\" said McGlory; \"it's not the plans that's making Merton\nsidestep, but Motor Matt. He and his bunch will feel a heap easier if\nthey can know the king of the motor boys is cut out of Lorry's herd.\"\n\n\"Another thing,\" continued Matt. \"Merton and his friends are doing some\nbetting on the race.\"\n\n\"I've heard about that,\" put in Lorry. \"Merton is plunging with his\nfather's bankroll, and going the limit. His friends are in the pool\nwith him, and they're offering all sorts of fancy odds.\"\n\n\"If I could rake together a stake,\" said McGlory, \"I'd take a little of\nthat Winnequa money myself.\"\n\n\"No, you wouldn't, Joe,\" returned Matt. \"I'm out with a club for that\nsort of thing. Good, clean sport is all right, but when you tangle it\nup with a lot of bookmakers it goes to the dogs.\"\n\n\"Mebby you're right, pard,\" grinned Joe, \"but any kind of a chance,\nwith money in sight, is excitin'.\"\n\n\"Merton and the rest wanted me, if I wouldn't agree to pull out, to\nthrow the race.\"\n\n\"The scoundrels!\" cried Lorry.\n\n\"They didn't know our pard very well, George,\" observed the cowboy.\n\"What did they say when you turned 'em down, Matt?\"\n\n\"Ordered me to quit. Said if I didn't the lot of us, over here, would\nhave to face all kinds of music.\"\n\n\"I always did like music,\" said the cowboy. \"Right this minute I'm\nfeelin' like a brass band and I've got to toot.\"\n\nMcGlory's \"toot\" was more like a steam calliope than a brass band, and\nit was so hilarious that Ping, who was still acting as outside guard,\npushed his yellow face in at the window over the workbench.\n\n\"Who makee low?\" he inquired.\n\n\"There's no row, you heathen,\" answered the cowboy, tossing him a\nsandwich. \"There, take that and stop your face. I'm jubilatin', that's\nall.\"\n\nPing disappeared with a grin and the sandwich.\n\n\"What are you jubilating about, Joe?\" inquired Lorry.\n\n\"Don't you savvy, George? Why, Motor Matt's on his mettle! All that\ntalk that Merton and his pards gave him just cinched him up for the\n'go' of his life. You'll see things at that race. As for facing the\nmusic--there's nothing to it. Why, the _Sprite's_ as good as passed the\nstake boat and over the finish line right now.\"\n\nThere was little doubt but that McGlory's jovial mood and confident\nforecast of coming events heartened Lorry wonderfully.\n\nMatt went more into the details of his experience with Merton and his\nfriends.\n\n\"That's a nice way for the commodore of a rival boat club to act,\"\nremarked Lorry sarcastically.\n\n\"How did Merton ever get to be commodore?\" said McGlory. \"That's what\nsticks in my crop.\"\n\n\"Money,\" was Lorry's brief but significant response.\n\n\"Money cuts a pretty wide swath, and that's a fact. That work of\nMerton's and his friends, though, was a pretty raw blazer. Wonder what\nMerton's thinking of himself, now that Matt's found out he was in the\ngang?\"\n\n\"It won't bother him much,\" said Lorry. \"Between you and me and the\ngatepost, I'll bet Merton has been flying too high. When his father\ngets back from Europe and finds out what's been going on, there'll be\ndoings. Like enough, Merton is plunging on the boat race in the hope of\ngetting back some of the money he has squandered. That would ease the\ntension somewhat when he makes an accounting to his father.\"\n\n\"Too bad if he's got himself into money difficulties,\" observed Matt.\n\n\"A little money has made many a good fellow go wrong, Matt,\" returned\nLorry, with a flush.\n\nGeorge was talking from experience, and it was an experience which he\nwould never forget.\n\n\"There's nothing to do, I reckon,\" said McGlory, changing the subject,\n\"but to plug right along and hustle the changes in the _Sprite_.\"\n\n\"That's all, Joe,\" responded Matt. \"We'll have to do some quick work,\nand do it well. The engine will be delivered this afternoon, and a\nyoung fellow is coming along with it to help me. We'll have to do more\nor less traveling between here and the machine shop, and I suppose it\nwould be well if we had a boat. Going around the lake takes too long.\"\n\n\"I'll get a motor boat for you, Matt,\" said Lorry. \"I'll bring her over\nbefore night.\"\n\n\"Bring a supply of gasoline and oil, too, Lorry.\"\n\n\"It will all come with the boat. If you can think of anything else\nyou want, just let me know. Some one ought to stay here all the time,\ndon't you think? The _Sprite_ ought to be watched every minute, night\nand day. It was no empty threat Merton made when he said he'd make us\ntrouble.\"\n\n\"He and his friends,\" said Matt gravely, \"will do what they can to\nbother us. But I don't think they'll dare go too far. Joe and I and\nPing will stay at the boathouse all the time. That will make quite a\nrespectable force. Then, too, the machinist will be with us during the\nday. Whenever I have to cross the lake to the shop, he and Joe can look\nafter things here.\"\n\n\"I want to do my share, you know,\" protested Lorry; \"I can't let you\nfellows do it all.\"\n\n\"You'll have plenty to do, George,\" laughed Matt. \"There's a telephone\nat the asylum, and we can always get word to you if it's necessary. As\nfor----\"\n\nMatt was interrupted by a shrill yell. It came from outside the\nboathouse and had plainly been raised by Ping. On the instant, all\nthree of the boys jumped for the door.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nGATHERING CLOUDS.\n\n\nMuch to the relief of Matt, McGlory and Lorry, the Chinese boy had not\nencountered intruders. His trouble was of quite another sort.\n\nIn order to watch all sides of the boathouse, he had been tramping\naround three of its walls, from the waterfront on one side to the\nwaterfront on the other. The day was hot and the exertion tiring. Ping,\nafter some reflection, conceived the brilliant idea of climbing to the\nroof and watching from the ridgepole.\n\nAn elevated position of that kind would enable him to rest and keep\neyes on the vicinity in every direction.\n\nSome empty boxes, piled one on the other, lifted him high enough to\nreach the eaves. Kicking off his sandals, he took the <DW72> of the roof\nin his stocking feet and was soon by the flagstaff that arose from one\nend of the peak on the waterside of the building.\n\nA timber, equipped with rope and tackle, projected outward from the\npeak. For no particular reason, other than to test his agility, Ping\nlowered himself astride the projecting timber and hitched outward to\nthe end.\n\nHere a sudden gust of wind struck him. Lifting both hands to save his\nhat, he lost his balance and rolled sidewise off the timber. But he\ndid not fall. His trousers caught in the stout iron hook by which the\npulley was suspended; and, when Matt, McGlory and Lorry finally located\nhim, he was sprawling in midair, badly scared, but as yet unhurt.\n\n\"Motol Matt,\" howled the youngster, \"savee Ping! No lettee fall! Woosh!\"\n\n\"Sufferin' heathens!\" gasped McGlory. \"How in the name of Bob did the\nChink ever get in that fix?\"\n\nThat was no time to guess about the cause. If Ping's clothing was to\ngive way he would suffer a bad fall on the planks of the boathouse\npier. Pulling the tackle rope from the cleat to which it was fastened,\nMatt climbed hand over hand to the projecting timber.\n\n\"Catch hold of my shoulders, Ping,\" he ordered.\n\nPing's arms went around him in a life-and-death grip. Then, supporting\nhimself with one hand, Matt detached the Chinaman from the hook with\nthe other and both slid to the pier in safety.\n\n\"You gave us a scare, Ping,\" said Matt. \"We didn't know but you had\nfound some one sneaking around the boathouse. How did you get in that\nfix?\"\n\nPing explained, and the boys had a good laugh. Shortly afterward Lorry\ndragged his motor cycle to the top of the bank and chugged away home.\n\nIt was about two o'clock when Newt Higgins, the young machinist,\narrived with the new motor. His father had brought him across. The\nengine was unloaded by means of the block and tackle and carried inside.\n\nWhile Higgins was taking the old motor out of the _Sprite_, Matt\nconnected up the new one with gasoline tank and battery and got it to\ngoing. It ran perfectly.\n\nFrom that time on there were several days of feverish activity in\nthe boathouse. The hull of the _Sprite_ had to be strengthened. The\noriginal motor had been installed on short bearers, which, according to\nMatt's view, was entirely wrong. The motor bed, he held, must be rigid\nand the vibration distributed over as great an area as possible.\n\nA heavy bed was put down, and on this two girders were laid, shaped\nup to take the rake of the motor and tapering off at the ends. These\ngirders extended as far forward and aft as the curve of the hull would\nallow.\n\nLining up the shaft was an operation which Matt attended to himself.\nThis job gave some trouble, but was finally finished to his\nsatisfaction.\n\nThe new engine was set farther aft than the old one had been. This\nenabled Matt to bring the gasoline tanks farther aft, as well. The\nhood had to be made longer, and a stout bulkhead was built between the\nengine space and the cockpit.\n\nAll controls were to be on the bulkhead. The electric outfit was placed\nclose to the motor, where it would be protected from wet and dampness\nby the hood. In addition to this, the eight cells of the battery were\ninclosed in a box and filled around with paraffine.\n\nThe hull had already been covered with canvas, given two coats of lead\nand oil and rubbed down. The last thing would be a coat of spar varnish.\n\nSaturday night Matt dismissed the machinist.\n\n\"I wish I knew as much about motors as you do,\" the machinist had said\nas he pocketed his pay. \"You're Class A, Motor Matt, and you've given\nLorry a boat that'll win. I'm goin' to see that race. The Yahara boys\nare on our lake, you know, and this part o' town is with 'em to a man.\nIt's surprisin' how this section of town is set on havin' the Yahara\nclub get back the cup.\"\n\n\"We're going to do our best, Newt,\" Matt had answered, \"and you'll see\na pretty race, no matter how it comes out.\"\n\n\"You bet you!\" averred Newt. \"Good-by and good luck, Matt. I'd be\ntickled if we could work together all the time.\"\n\nDuring the work McGlory had made himself generally useful. He could run\nthe small launch which Lorry had brought to the boathouse for Matt's\nuse, and whenever there were any errands across the lake not requiring\nMatt's attention at the machine shop McGlory attended to them.\n\nPing proved to be a good cook, and prepared the meals on a gasoline\nstove. When he was not busy in the culinary department he was guarding\nthe boathouse against prowlers.\n\nThe boathouse was nicely situated for the work Matt and his friends\nwere doing. There were no other boathouses for half a mile or more\non either side of it, and the steep banks by which it was surrounded\non every side but toward the water gave it an isolation which had\ncommended it to Matt and Lorry.\n\nIt had not been used for some time when Lorry had leased it from the\nowner, but was in a very good state of repair for all that.\n\nIt contained a well which opened directly into a protected cove. An\nincline fitted with rollers made it easy to launch a boat or to haul\nit out upon the floor. The water door came down to the lake level, and\nboth door and well were wide enough to admit a craft of eight-feet beam.\n\nDuring all these days of work Ping had not detected a single person\nskulking around in the boathouse's vicinity. Matt worked until late\nevery night, and there was always some one on guard on the outside from\nsunset till sunrise. Generally it was McGlory, but occasionally Lorry\nwould come over and insist that the cowboy should sleep while he did\nthe sentry duty.\n\nIt was nine o'clock Saturday night when Matt finished with the varnish\ncoat and, dropping his brush, stood back to look at the trim, shadowy\nlines of the boat.\n\n\"She's a beauty, Matt, and no mistake,\" called some one from the door.\n\n\"Hello, George!\" answered Matt, turning to place the lamp on the\nworkbench and scrubbing his hands with a bunch of waste. \"She'll do, I\nthink. Anyhow, the _Dart_ won't run any rings around us.\"\n\n\"You must be about fagged,\" said Lorry as Matt dropped down on his cot\nby the wall. \"You've worked like a galley slave, and if we win the\nprize it will be all owing to you.\"\n\n\"I'm tired, and that's a fact,\" Matt answered, \"but I've got some good\nfeelings in me, as my old Dutch pard used to say. If a fellow's mind is\neasy it doesn't matter so much about his body.\"\n\n\"I came over to see if you'd heard anything from our friends the enemy\nyet,\" said Lorry.\n\n\"They haven't peeped,\" Matt laughed. \"I guess they've decided to let us\nalone.\"\n\n\"Don't you think that for a minute,\" returned Lorry earnestly. \"Merton\nand his pals have been lying low, but the clouds have been gathering.\nThe storm will break before Tuesday, and I'm wondering and worrying as\nto how it is going to hit us.\"\n\n\"We'll weather it,\" said Matt lightly, \"no matter what shape it takes.\nIt's a cinch that Merton hasn't been able to find out a thing about\nwhat we've been doing. That roll of drawings is all he has to base an\nopinion on, and the _Sprite_ is as different from those plans as you\ncan well imagine. We've fooled Merton to the queen's taste.\"\n\n\"And probably he thinks he has fooled us,\" smiled Lorry.\n\n\"Have you been able to discover anything about the _Dart_?\"\n\n\"Not a thing. The Winnequas are guarding her as though she was a lump\nof gold. But there are hair-raising tales, all over town, of the\ntremendous speed a new boat on Third Lake is showing.\"\n\n\"The _Wyandotte_ hasn't been kicking up the water around the point for\na couple of days now.\"\n\n\"I guess Merton thinks we're so busy here we won't pay any attention to\nher. Ever since he stopped sending the _Wyandotte_ to Fourth Lake he\nhas been speeding the _Dart_ in the evening on Third.\"\n\n\"Well, Merton's consistent, anyhow, no matter what else you can say\nabout him.\"\n\n\"I've got orders from dad and sis to take you over to Yankee Hill to\nspend to-night and Sunday,\" said Lorry, after a slight pause. \"Will you\ngo?\"\n\n\"Sorry, old chap, but I can't,\" Matt answered regretfully. \"I'm going\nto be Johnny-on-the-spot right here in this boathouse till the _Sprite_\nleaves to enter the race. I'm not taking any chances with her.\"\n\n\"But can't McGlory and Ping look after the boat?\"\n\n\"They can, yes, and there isn't anybody I'd trust quicker than I would\nMcGlory; but, if anything should happen to the _Sprite_ between now and\nTuesday, I want to be the one who's to blame.\"\n\n\"I guess I know how you stack up,\" observed Lorry, with a touch of\ngenuine feeling. \"You're doing a whole lot for me, Matt, and my folks\nknow it and appreciate it just as much as I do. I hope I can pay you\nback some time.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, George!\" deprecated Matt. \"Do you think there isn't any\nfun in this thing for me? I've enjoyed myself every minute I've been\ntinkering with the _Sprite_, and the best part of it all will come when\nI show the _Dart_ the way across the finish line next Tuesday.\"\n\nHalf an hour later Lorry got into his hired launch and started for\nhome. All was quiet and peaceable in the boathouse, but, even then, a\nstorm of trouble was preparing to break--a storm that was to try the\nthree friends to the uttermost and to come within a hair's breadth of\nruining their prospects in the power-boat contest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE PLOTTERS.\n\n\nMerton and his seven companions were a disgruntled lot when they\nreturned to Madison after forcing an interview with Motor Matt, having\ntheir propositions rejected and then watching him get away after\nunmasking the \"commodore.\"\n\nMerton drove the touring car straight for home, turned it over to the\ngardener--who was also something of a chauffeur--and then ushered his\nfriends into his father's study, in the house.\n\nThe butler and the _chef_ had been left to look after Merton's\ncomfort. Merton immediately sent the butler to the ice box for several\nbottles of beer, and the lads proceeded to drown their disgust and\ndisappointment in drink.\n\nThe idea that any human emotion can be blotted out with an intoxicating\nbeverage is a fallacy. The mind can be drugged, for a time, but when\nit regains its normal state all its impressions are revived even more\nharrowingly than they were before.\n\nAs soon as the glasses had been emptied Merton produced several\npackages of cigarettes, and the air grew thick with the odor of burning\n\"doctored\" tobacco.\n\n\"What're we going to do with Motor Matt?\" demanded Jimmie Hess. \"Take\nit from me, you fellows, something has got to be done with him or the\ncup goes back to the Yaharas. He's a chap that does things, all right.\"\n\n\"And game as a hornet,\" struck in Andy Meigs. \"Wish we could find out\nwhat he's doing to the _Sprite_.\"\n\n\"That's what's worryin' me,\" said Perry Jenkins. \"If he can coax twenty\nmiles an hour out of the _Sprite_ he's got the cup nailed down.\"\n\n\"He don't know anything about the _Dart_,\" spoke up Rush Partington.\n\"As long as he thinks he's only got the _Wyandotte_ to beat, I guess we\ncan hold him.\"\n\n\"Hold nothing!\" growled Martin Rawlins. \"You don't understand how much\nthat chap knows. Where did he grab all that about Halloran? He gets to\nthe bottom of things, he does, and it's a fool notion to try and pull\nthe wool over his eyes by sending the _Wyandotte_ over to Fourth Lake\nevery day. If I----\"\n\n\"Mr. Ollie,\" announced the butler, looking in at the door, \"there's a\nlittle <DW64> boy downstairs and he says he won't leave till he sees\nyou.\"\n\n\"Kick him off the front steps, Peters,\" scowled Merton.\n\nPeters would probably have carried out his orders had not the little\n<DW64> quietly followed him up the stairs. As the butler turned away,\nthe <DW54> pushed past him and jumped into the study.\n\n\"Pickerel Pete!\" went up a chorus of voices.\n\nThe <DW52> boy was one of the town \"characters,\" and was known by\nsight to everybody.\n\n\"Come here, you!\" cried the exasperated Peters, pushing into the room\nand reaching for Pete's collar.\n\n\"Drag him out,\" ordered Merton. \"I haven't got any time to bother with\nhim.\"\n\n\"You all better bothah wif me,\" cried Pete, squirming in the butler's\ngrip. \"Ah kin tell yo' about dat Motor Matt, en Ah got some papahs dat\nyo'd lak tuh have----\"\n\n\"Come along, now, and stop your howlin',\" grunted the butler, making\nfor the door.\n\nA clamor arose from those in the room.\n\n\"Wait, Peters!\"\n\n\"Hear what he's got to say about Motor Matt!\"\n\n\"Maybe he can give us a pointer that will be useful. Let's talk with\nhim, Ollie.\"\n\n\"Leave him here, Peters,\" said Merton.\n\nThe butler let go his hold on Pickerel Pete and went out of the study,\nshaking his head in disapproval of Mr. Ollie's orders.\n\n\"Now, then, you little rascal,\" went on Merton sternly, as soon as the\ndoor had closed behind the butler, \"if you're trying to fool us you'll\nget a thrashing.\"\n\n\"En ef Ah ain't tryin' tuh fool yu,\" returned Pete, \"is Ah gwine tuh\ngit two dollahs?\"\n\n\"You say,\" asked Merton cautiously, \"that you've got a roll of papers?\"\n\n\"Dat's whut Ah has, boss. Ah stole dem f'om de boathouse ovah by the\np'int where Motor Matt is workin' on de _Sprite_.\"\n\n\"Why did you steal them?\"\n\n\"Tuh git even wif Motor Matt, dat's why,\" snorted Pete, glaring. \"He\ndone hiahed me fo' two dollahs er day, en den he turned me down fo' er\nno-count yaller Chink. When er man gits tuh be 'leben yeahs old, lak\nme, he ain't goin' tuh stand fo' dat sort o' work, no, suh. Ah jess\nsneaked up on de boathouse en Ah swiped de papahs.\"\n\nIt was plain to Merton that Pickerel Pete believed he had a grievance\nagainst Motor Matt. This might make him valuable.\n\n\"Let's see the papers, Pete,\" said Merton. \"If they're worth anything\nto me I'll pay you for them.\"\n\n\"Dar dey is, boss,\" and Pete triumphantly drew the roll from the breast\nof his ragged \"hickory\" shirt.\n\nMerton grabbed the roll eagerly, slipped off the rubber band and began\nexamining every sheet. While his friends breathlessly watched, Merton\njammed the papers into his pocket, sprang to his feet and paced back\nand forth across the room.\n\n\"What is it, Ollie?\"\n\n\"Found out anything important?\"\n\n\"Do those papers really belong to Motor Matt?\"\n\n\"Tell us about it, can't you?\"\n\n\"Shut up a minute,\" growled Merton. \"I'm framing up a plan.\"\n\nFor a little while longer Merton continued to pace the floor; then, at\nlast, he halted in front of Pete.\n\n\"There's five dollars for you, Pete,\" said Merton, taking a banknote\nfrom his pocket and handing it to the boy.\n\n\"Oh, by golly!\" sputtered the overwhelmed Pete, grabbing at the bill\nas a drowning man grabs at a straw. \"Ah's rich, dat's whut Ah is. Say,\nboss, is all dis heah money fo' me? Ah ain't got no change.\"\n\n\"It's all yours, Pete,\" went on Merton; \"what's more, if you'll come\nhere and see me Sunday afternoon at four o'clock, I'll give you a\nchance to earn another five-dollar bill. Will you be here?\"\n\n\"Will er duck swim, boss?\" fluttered Pete, kissing the crumpled\nbanknote and tucking it carefully away in a trousers pocket. \"Sunday\naftehnoon at fo' erclock. Ah'll be heah fo' suah, boss.\"\n\n\"Then get out.\"\n\nPickerel Pete effaced himself--one hand in his trousers pocket to make\nsure the banknote was still there, and that he was not dreaming.\n\n\"Now, then, Ollie,\" said Martin Rawlins, \"tell us what your game is.\"\n\n\"Yes, confound it,\" grumbled Meigs. \"We're all on tenterhooks.\"\n\n\"These papers, fellows,\" answered Merton, drawing the crumpled sheets\nfrom his pocket, \"contain Motor Matt's plans for changing the _Sprite_.\nLooking over them hastily, I gather the idea that he's making the\n_Sprite_ just fast enough to beat the _Wyandotte_.\"\n\nA snicker went up from the others.\n\n\"We've got him fooled, all right,\" was the general comment.\n\n\"Don't be too sure you've got that Motor Matt fooled,\" counseled\nRawlins. \"Maybe he put that roll where the <DW64> could get it, and\nexpected he _would_ get it. This king of the motor boys is deep--don't\nlet that get past your guard for a minute. I've put all the money I\ncould rake and scrape into the betting pool, and I don't want to lose\nit by any snap judgments.\"\n\nThat was the way with the rest of them. They had all clubbed their\nfunds together and the result was a big purse for betting purposes.\n\n\"I guess it means as much to the rest of us as it does to you, Martin,\nto have the _Dart_ win,\" said Merton dryly. \"Motor Matt's deep, as\nyou say, but don't make the mistake of crediting him with too much\nknowledge. He's only human, like the rest of us. From the way matters\nlook now, we've got him and Lorry beaten, hands down. Motor Matt isn't\nsharp enough to steer those papers into my hands by way of Pete.\nNow, in all this betting of ours, the money is being placed with the\nunderstanding that if there is _no race_ we take the cash; in other\nwords, if the Yaharas back down and fail to send a boat to the starting\nline, we take the money.\"\n\n\"They won't back down,\" said Jimmie Hess. \"Great Scott, Ollie, you\ndon't think for a second that Lorry will back down, do you?\"\n\n\"He may have to,\" was Merton's vague reply. \"Anyhow, if you fellows\nmake any bets outside of the pool, just make 'em in that way--that the\nstakes are yours if the Yaharas back down and there's no race.\"\n\n\"What's back of that, Ollie?\" said Perry Jenkins. \"You've got something\nup your sleeve, I know blamed well.\"\n\n\"And it's going to stay up my sleeve, so far as you fellows are\nconcerned,\" returned Merton. \"If I evolve a plan, I don't believe in\nadvertising it. This Motor Matt _may_ have steered those papers into\nour hands, and he _may_ be deep enough to make the _Sprite_ a better\nboat than the _Dart_ while not knowing anything about the _Dart_, but\nI don't think so. However, I intend to be on the safe side. It means a\nwhole lot to me to win--personally, and apart from my desire to see the\nWinnequas keep the De Lancey cup. Just how much it means\"--and Merton\nwinced--\"you fellows are not going to know, any more than you're going\nto know what I've got at the back of my head for Sunday night. Put your\ntrust in the commodore--that's all you've got to do. Open up some of\nthat beer, Perry. I'm as dry as gunpowder's great-grandfather.\"\n\nThe glasses were filled again.\n\n\"To our success in the race,\" said Merton, lifting his glass and\nsweeping his keen eyes over the faces of his friends; \"may the _Dart_\nwin, by fair means\"--he paused--\"or otherwise.\"\n\nFour or five peered at Merton distrustfully over their glasses; but, in\nthe end, they drank the toast.\n\nThe success of the _Dart_ meant dollars and cents to them; and money,\nfor those eight plotters, stood for more than club honors and the De\nLancey cup.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nFIREBUGS AT WORK.\n\n\nSunday was a beautiful and a quiet day at the boathouse by the Point.\nMendota, otherwise \"Fourth,\" Lake was never fairer. Across the ripples,\nglimmering in the sun, the city of Madison lifted itself out of a mass\nof green foliage like a piece of fairyland.\n\nThe lake was alive with motor boats, sailboats and rowboats. Matt and\nMcGlory, sitting in the shade on the little pier in front of their\ntemporary home, idled and dreamed away the afternoon until, about\nfour o'clock, a snappy little launch, equipped with canopy and wicker\nchairs, untangled itself from the maze of boats out in the lake and\npushed toward the cove.\n\n\"Visitors!\" exclaimed Matt, jumping out of his chair.\n\n\"Speak to me about that!\" grumbled McGlory. \"Now we've got to get into\nour collars and coats and spruce up. Oh, hang it! I like a boiled shirt\nabout as well as I like the measles.\"\n\nMr. Lorry, his daughter, Ethel Lorry, and George were occupying the\nwicker chairs under the canopy, while Gus, the Lorry chauffeur, was at\nthe bulkhead controls.\n\nGeorge waved his hand. Matt returned the salutation and darted\nincontinently into the boathouse to fix himself up. Ethel Lorry was a\nfine girl and a great admirer of the king of the motor boys, and Matt\nfelt it a duty to look his best.\n\nBy the time the boat drew up in front of the boathouse Matt and\nMcGlory, in full regalia, were out to welcome their guests.\n\nLorry, senior, and his daughter were firm friends of Motor Matt. They\nrealized fully how much the young motorist had done for George.\n\n\"A surprise party, Matt!\" cried George. \"I'll bet you weren't expecting\nthe Lorrys, eh?\"\n\n\"Always glad to receive callers,\" smiled Matt, grabbing the rope Gus\nthrew to him and making it fast to a post.\n\n\"We've got to see the _Sprite_, Matt,\" said Ethel. \"All our hopes are\nwrapped up in the _Sprite_, you know.\"\n\n\"And in Motor Matt,\" chuckled the millionaire, beside her.\n\nA vivid flush suffused Ethel's cheeks, though just why her emotions\nshould express themselves was something of a mystery.\n\nThe party debarked and was conducted into the boathouse. Matt opened\nthe doors at the other end of the building and admitted a good light\nfor inspecting the boat.\n\nAll three of the boys were intensely proud of the _Sprite_. In her\nfresh coat of varnish she looked as spick and span as a new dollar.\n\nMcGlory was a nephew of Mr. Lorry's, and, while he was explaining\nthings at one end of the boat to \"Uncle Dan,\" Matt was performing the\nsame service for Ethel at the other end of the craft.\n\nWhen Mr. Lorry and Ethel had expressed their admiration for the\n_Sprite_, and their confidence in her ability to \"lift\" the cup,\nchairs were carried out on the pier. McGlory went across the lake for\nice cream, and the party visited gayly until sunset. When the launch\ndeparted, George remained behind, having expressed his intention of\nstaying with his friends at the boathouse that night.\n\nPing was engaged in clearing up the dishes--part of the camp\nequipment--on which the ice cream had been served, and McGlory was\nmaking the doors at the other end of the boathouse secure. Dusk was\nfalling gently, and overhead the stars were beginning to glimmer in\na cloudless sky, soft as velvet. It was a time for optimism, and a\nlulling sense of security had taken possession of all the boys.\n\n\"The clouds don't seem to be gathering very much, after all, George,\"\nremarked Matt.\n\n\"I must have been mistaken about Merton,\" returned George. \"That roll\nof drawings, I suppose, has convinced him that the changes we were\nmaking in the _Sprite_ were not of enough account to worry him.\"\n\nMcGlory came from the boathouse in time to hear the words.\n\n\"We've got Merton fooled,\" he chuckled, dropping down in a chair, \"and\nI ain't sure but that it's the best thing that ever happened to us, the\ntheft of those drawings.\"\n\n\"That's the way it may turn out, Joe,\" agreed Matt. \"Still, even if\nMerton knew exactly what we had done to the _Sprite_ I don't see how he\ncould help matters any. The _Dart_, from what I can hear, is supposed\nto be by long odds the fastest boat on the lakes. How could he improve\non her, even if Merton knew the _Sprite_ was a dangerous rival?\"\n\n\"Merton wouldn't try to improve on the _Dart_,\" returned Lorry. \"What\nhe'd do would be to make an attempt to make the _Sprite_ less speedy\nthan she is.\"\n\n\"I'd like to catch him at that!\" exclaimed McGlory. \"That tinhorn would\nhave to hip lock with me some if he ever tried to tamper with the\n_Sprite_ while Joe McGlory was around.\"\n\n\"He'd make sure there wasn't anybody around, George,\" said Lorry,\n\"before he tried any of his underhand games. I've been thinking over\nthe loss of those drawings, Matt,\" he went on, after a pause, \"and\nit strikes me that they weren't stolen by Merton, after all, but by\nPickerel Pete.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried the cowboy, \"that sawed-off moke?\"\n\n\"I've thought a little on that line myself,\" observed Matt. \"Pete was\nmad, when he left us up there in the path, and he could have circled\naround through the bushes and reached the boathouse before we got down\nto it with Ping.\"\n\n\"That's it!\" assented George. \"He hadn't any idea what sort of papers\nwere in the roll, but they were handy to him as he looked through\nthe window, and so he gathered them in. Of course, Pete knew that\nthe papers would be valuable to Merton, if to anybody. It's a dead\nopen-and-shut that he carried them at once to the commodore.\"\n\n\"Which may account for the commodore layin' back on his oars and not\nbotherin' us any while we've been jugglin' with the _Sprite_,\" deduced\nMcGlory. \"We're all to the good, pards, and your Uncle Joe is as happy\nover the outlook as a Piute squaw with a string of glass beads. I'm\nfeelin' like a brass band again, and----\"\n\n\"Don't toot, Joe, for Heaven's sake,\" implored George. \"You've got\nabout as much music in you as a bluejay.\"\n\n\"Some fellows,\" returned McGlory gloomily, \"don't know music when they\nhear it. It takes a cultivated ear to appreciate me when I warble.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" laughed George, \"but I do know that it takes\nsome one with a club to stop you after the warbling begins. When are\nyou going to 'warm up' the _Sprite_, Matt?\" he asked, turning to the\nking of the motor boys. \"Every ship has got to 'find herself,' you\nknow. We've Kipling's word for that.\"\n\n\"Then,\" smiled Matt, \"the _Sprite_ is going to begin finding herself in\nthe gray dawn of to-morrow morning. Glad you made up your mind to stay\nwith us to-night, Lorry. I was going to suggest it, if you hadn't. I\nwant you and Joe to hold a stop-watch on the boat.\"\n\n\"I wish we had one of those patent logs,\" muttered Lorry. \"They go on\nthe bulkhead, and work hydrostatically--no trailing lines behind.\"\n\n\"Too expensive, George,\" said Matt. \"Besides, we didn't have time to\nbother installing one.\"\n\n\"You're the most economical chap I ever heard of, Matt,\" said Lorry\njestingly, \"especially when you're using another fellow's money.\"\n\n\"Sufferin' bankrolls!\" mourned McGlory, \"I wish some one would be kind\nenough to ask me to spend his money.\"\n\n\"Dad told me, when we began fixing up the _Sprite_,\" went on Lorry,\n\"that he wanted me to be sure and let Motor Matt have free play, no\nmatter what it cost. That's the way the governor feels. There has been\na big change in him, Matt, and you're the cause of it.\"\n\n\"That's all the more reason, George,\" answered Matt, \"why I should not\nabuse his confidence.\"\n\n\"I guess dad knows that, and that it has a lot to do with the way you\nstack up in his estimation. He'd trust you with a million.\"\n\n\"I'm glad he feels that way. There isn't any sign of a storm, Joe,\"\nMatt added to the cowboy, \"but we must keep up our guard duty just the\nsame.\"\n\n\"Keno! We're not going to let Merton and his outfit catch us napping,\nif that's their plan. I'll stand guard to-night.\"\n\n\"I'll divide the duty with you, Joe,\" put in Lorry. \"I'll take the\nfirst watch, and will call you at midnight.\"\n\n\"That hits me plumb. I can snooze in good shape for half the night.\nWe'll let Matt put in full time--he needs it.\"\n\n\"Matt ought not to do a thing between now and Tuesday but rest,\"\nasserted George. \"He's got to be fit as a fiddle for that race.\"\n\n\"I'm generally in shape for whatever comes my way,\" laughed Matt,\ngetting up and yawning. \"Right now's when I'm going to turn in, and you\ncan bank on it that I'll sleep like Rip Van Winkle up in the Catskills.\nYou'll see something surprising in the morning, fellows! If the\n_Sprite_, after she gets warmed up, can't do her mile in better than\nthree minutes, I'm no prophet.\"\n\n\"If she does that,\" jubilated McGlory, \"we're apt to have the _Dart_\nlashed to the mast.\"\n\n\"Good night,\" said Matt.\n\nThe parting word was returned, and the king of the motor boys followed\nthe wall of the dark boathouse past the well and on by the workbench to\nhis cot.\n\nInside of two minutes he had turned in, and inside of three he was in\ndreamless slumber.\n\nHow long Matt slept he did not know, but it must have been well beyond\nmidnight when he was awakened. He was half stifled, and he sat up in\nhis cot struggling for breath.\n\nA yellowish gloom was all around him, and a vague snap and crackle came\nto his ears.\n\nSuddenly, like a blow in the face, the realization came that the\nsmothering fog was _smoke_, and that the flickering yellow that played\nthrough it was _flame_.\n\n\"Fire!\" he yelled, springing from the cot. \"Lorry! McGlory! Where are\nyou?\"\n\nMatt's only answer was the whirring rush of the fire and the weird\nsnapping as the flames licked at the wood. For a moment the heat and\nthe smoke almost overcame him, and he reeled backward against the wall.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nSAVING THE \"SPRITE.\"\n\n\nAfter a moment of inaction, Matt realized something else besides the\nfact that there was a fire. Ping and either McGlory or Lorry should be\nin the boathouse with him; also either McGlory or Lorry ought to be on\nguard outside.\n\nWhy had no answer been returned to his startled shout? What had\nhappened to the guard outside, and what had happened to those inside\nthe boathouse?\n\nIn that terrifying moment, when so many dangers threatened him and his\nfriends, Motor Matt had no time to think of the _Sprite_. First he must\nget fresh air, and then he must find out about his friends.\n\nThe landward end of the boathouse seemed to be completely wrapped in\nflames. A breeze had come up during the night, and it was driving the\nfire onward toward the waterfront of the building.\n\nDrawing upon all his reserve strength, Matt staggered to the window\nover the workbench. Picking up a wrench, he smashed the glass, and\na draft of cool night air rushed in. For a moment he hung over the\nworkbench filling his lungs with the clear air; and then, at the top of\nhis voice, he repeated his call for McGlory and George.\n\nStill there was no response. Bewildered by his failure to hear an\nanswering shout from his friends, and dazed by the suddenness of the\ncatastrophe which threatened the boathouse, Matt whirled away from the\nwindow and groped through the blinding smoke toward the other cot.\n\nSome one was lying on the cot, breathing heavily. It was impossible to\ntell whether it was Lorry or the cowboy, but, whichever it was, the\nform was unconscious from the effects of the foul air.\n\nMaking his way to the door, Matt unfastened it and flung it open. The\nbreeze which swept through the building caused the roar of the fire to\nincrease, giving an added impetus to the flames.\n\nDarting back to the cot, Matt picked up the form and staggered with it\nout into the night, falling heavily when a few yards from the blazing\nbuilding.\n\nIn the glare that lighted up the vicinity of the boathouse Matt\ndiscovered that it was Lorry whom he had carried to safety. Lorry! That\nmeant that it was after midnight, and that McGlory had been outside of\nthe boathouse, on guard.\n\nThe fire was not accidental--it could not have been accidental.\nFirebugs must have been at work. What had become of McGlory that he had\nnot interfered?\n\nIt was impossible that the cowboy was in the burning building. Ping,\nhowever, should be there. The Chinese usually bunked under the\nworkbench.\n\nWhirling away, Matt started again for the burning building; but, before\nhe reached the door, Ping, coughing and spluttering, his arms filled\nwith clothes, reeled out and fell in a sprawling heap on the ground.\n\nRushing up to him, and thankful to find that he was safe, Matt grabbed\nhim by the shoulders and drew him farther from the boathouse.\n\n\"Where's McGlory?\" shouted Matt.\n\nIt was necessary for him to talk at the top of his voice in order to\nmake himself heard above the roar of the wind and the flames.\n\n\"No savvy,\" panted Ping, lifting himself to his knees, his\nterror-stricken face showing weirdly in the glare. \"My no makee yell\nwhen you makee yell,\" he added, digging his knuckles into his smarting\neyes. \"My heap full smoke. My blingee clothes----\"\n\n\"Never mind the clothes,\" cut in Matt, wildly alarmed on McGlory's\naccount. \"You---- Here, stop that, Ping! Where you going?\"\n\nThe Chinese had abruptly gained his feet and plunged toward the open\ndoor. At that moment, the door looked like the opening into a raging\nfurnace.\n\n\"My savee _Splite_!\" blubbered Ping. \"No lettee _Splite_ go top-side!\nWoosh!\"\n\nThe yellow boy was as fond of the boat as were Matt, McGlory and Lorry.\nHe had watched her rebuilding, in his curious, heathen way, and every\nstep toward completion lifted his pride and admiration higher and\nhigher.\n\nMatt had grabbed Ping and was holding him back. His mind, dealing with\nMcGlory, worked quickly.\n\nThe cowboy, he reasoned, had been on guard outside. Those who had fired\nthe boathouse must have had to take care of McGlory before they could\ncarry out their nefarious plans. This being true, it could not be\npossible that the cowboy was in any danger from the fire. It was the\n_Sprite_, therefore, that should now claim Matt's attention. McGlory\ncould be looked for afterwards.\n\n\"We'll save her together, Ping,\" cried Matt, \"but we can't go into the\nboathouse that way. We'd be overcome before we got anywhere near the\nwell. We must get into the building by the other end.\"\n\nThe _Sprite_ was in imminent danger, there could not be the least doubt\nabout that. After Mr. Lorry and Ethel had left for home, during the\nafternoon, the boat had been placed upright on the rollers leading to\nthe incline of the well.\n\nThis, bringing her nearer the landward end of the boathouse made the\nboat's danger greater than if she had been left on the skids which had\nsupported her while the work inside her hulk was going on.\n\nNot only that, but, preparatory to the morning's trial, her tanks had\nbeen filled with gasoline. If the flames should reach the tanks----\n\n\"We'll have to hurry!\" yelled Matt.\n\nPicking up a coat from the heap of clothing on the ground, Matt ran\nto the edge of the lake and plunged the coat into the water; the next\nmoment he had darted back to the open window, hoping to reach in and\nget an ax or hammer from the workbench for use in battering down the\nwater-door. This door was secured on the inside, and would have to be\nbroken if entrance was effected from the pier.\n\nPing, frantically eager to help, but hardly knowing what to do, rushed\naround after Matt, copying every move he made.\n\nWhen Matt picked up a coat and submerged it in the lake, Ping followed\nsuit; and when Matt, with the dripping garment in his hand, rushed for\nthe broken window, the Chinese boy was close behind.\n\nAs ill-luck would have it, there was nothing in the shape of an ax or\nhammer lying on the bench within reach of Matt's groping fingers.\n\nThe window was perhaps a dozen feet along the wall from the landward\nend of the building. The fire, apparently, had been started at the\nextreme end, and, although the flames were driving fiercely through the\nbuilding, the blaze was not so formidable near the window as it was by\nthe door.\n\nMatt changed his plans about entering the boathouse by the water door.\nHe would make an essay through the window, push the _Sprite_ along the\nrollers and down into the well, unlock the water door from the inside,\nand then, under her own power, take her out into the cove.\n\nNot a second was to be lost if this plan was to be carried to a\nsuccessful conclusion. There was danger, plenty of it, in making the\nattempt to save the _Sprite_.\n\nBlazing timbers were already falling from the roof of the doomed\nbuilding, and if one of those dropped on the barrel containing the\ngasoline supply, an explosion would result and the flaming oil would be\nhurled everywhere.\n\nBut the king of the motor boys did not hesitate. Hurriedly throwing the\ncoat over his head and shoulders, he climbed through the window and\nrolled off the bench to the smoking floor of the boathouse.\n\nTo see anything between the confining walls was now impossible. The\nsmoke was thick, and the glare that shot through it rendered it opaque\nand blinding.\n\nMatt, however, knew every foot of the building's interior as he knew\nhis two hands. Holding the coat closely around his head to protect\nhis face, he hurried through the blistering fog and finally stumbled\nagainst the _Sprite_.\n\nLaying hold of the boat, he pushed with all his strength. In spite of\nhis fiercest efforts, she stuck and hung to the rollers. It was not a\ntime to hunt for what was wrong, but to force the _Sprite_ into the\nwell at any cost.\n\nWhile Matt tugged and strained, the end of the building fell outward\nwith a crash, and a flurry of sparks and firebrands leaping skyward.\nThis released a section of the roof, which dropped inward.\n\nOne blazing beam landed on Matt's right arm, pinning it against the\nrubstreak. A sickening pain rushed through his whole body, and when he\nhad hurled the timber away with his left hand, the injured arm dropped\nnumb and helpless at his side.\n\n\"Matt! Motol Matt!\"\n\nThe shrill, frightened cry came from Ping. He had followed through\nthe window and had been feeling his way about the interior of the\nboathouse. The crash of the wall and the roof had frightened him, and\nhe would have bolted had not the knowledge that Matt was somewhere in\nthat blazing inferno chained him to the place.\n\n\"Here, Ping!\" cried Matt, hoarsely. \"Lay hold of the boat and help me\nget her into the water. Lively, now--for your life!\"\n\nTheir united strength, even through Matt had only his left hand, was\nsufficient. The _Sprite_ started slowly over the rollers, reached the\nhead of the incline, and her own impetus carried her downward. Matt and\nPing sprang into her blindly as she leaped away.\n\nAcross the well ran the _Sprite_, her nose striking the water door and\ncausing her to recoil backward until her stern brushed the incline.\n\nMatt, dizzy and weak, pawed and floundered toward the bulkhead.\n\nOverhead the roof was all in flames. Any moment it might fall bodily,\nsinking the _Sprite_ and those aboard her under the water of the\nwell--holding them like rats in a blazing trap.\n\nMatt's eyes were of no use to him. They were smarting from the smoke\nand heat. But he did not need his eyes. He knew the place of every\nlever on the bulkhead.\n\nA pull started the gasoline, another started the oil, and another\nswitched on the spark. A third lever was connected with the starting\ndevice. Two pulls at this and the boat took the push of the propeller.\n\n_Boom!_\n\nThe fire had found the gasoline supply, and shafts of lighter fire shot\nthrough the yellower blaze of burning wood.\n\nThere was no time to unlock the water door. Already the fire-eaten\nwreck was swaying.\n\nThe _Sprite_, urged by the automobile engine, must ram the door and\nbreak it down.\n\nGrabbing his companion, Matt dragged him down under the protection of\nthe bulkhead, while the _Sprite_ flung herself toward the door, toward\nthe cove--and toward safety.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nOUT OF A BLAZING FURNACE.\n\n\nThe cool night air quickly wrought its work, so far as George was\nconcerned. Sitting up on the ground, confused and unable to understand\nwhat had happened, he stared at the conflagration at the edge of the\ncove.\n\nRubbing his eyes and muttering to himself, he stared again. He\nremembered calling McGlory, and dropping down into the bunk after\nMcGlory had got out of it. After that he knew nothing until he sat up\nthere on the ground, with the fire dancing in front of his eyes.\n\nThe fog was slower getting out of his brain than out of his lungs.\nRising to his feet, he started for the path leading up the bank,\nanimated by the hazy idea that he ought to get word to the fire\ndepartment.\n\nHe stumbled over something. Being none too steady, he fell headlong,\nonly to lift himself again as the object over which he had fallen gave\nvent to a rumbling, inarticulate sound.\n\n\"Is that you, Matt?\" he asked.\n\nThe answer was a desperate gurgle.\n\nBy that time Lorry had, in a great measure, recovered the use of his\nwits. Creeping to the side of the person who was trying so hard to\nspeak, he saw by the glare of the fire that it was McGlory.\n\n\"Great Scott!\" he murmured, his hands passing over the form. \"It's\ncousin Joe, and he's tied and gagged!\"\n\nLorry was only a moment in freeing the cowboy's jaws of the twisted\nhandkerchief.\n\n\"Tell me about this!\" fumed McGlory. \"I thought I'd never be found.\nWhat are you kneeling there for, George, gawping like you were locoed?\nGet these ropes off me, and see how quick you can do it. Don't you\nknow that Matt's in that boathouse, and that he and Ping are trying to\nsave the _Sprite_? We've got to lend a hand. Sufferin' blockheads, but\nyou're slow! Cut the ropes with a knife if you can't untie 'em.\"\n\n\"I'm in my underclothes,\" answered George. \"I don't know where my knife\nis.\"\n\n\"I've got a knife in my pocket. Take it out, but hustle, for Heaven's\nsake, _hustle_!\"\n\nGeorge was shaking like a man with a chill. The terrors of the moment\nwere dawning upon his bewildered mind. His hands trembled while groping\nthrough McGlory's pockets, and they trembled worse when he opened the\nknife and tried to use it.\n\n\"Who--who set the fire?\" he mumbled.\n\n\"Do you think I'm a mind reader?\" stormed McGlory. \"I was to blame, for\nI was on guard and ought to have seen those <DW64>s before they downed\nme and trussed me up in this fashion. If anything happens to Matt, I'll\nbe to blame for it, and if the _Sprite_ is burned I'll be to blame for\nthat, too. Oh, I've got a lot to think of, I have!\"\n\nThe cowboy's self-reproach was keen.\n\n\"Did some one steal up on you, Joe?\" asked Lorry.\n\n\"What do you take me for, George? Do you think I laid down and put my\nhands behind me so the blacks could tie 'em? They got me, right there\nat the corner of the boathouse, just as I was coming around. A blow\ndazed me, and before I could let out a yip, they had ropes on my wrists\nand ankles and that thing between my jaws. I heard Matt calling, and,\nsufferin' jailbirds! here I lay without bein' able to say a word. Oh,\n_can't_ you cut those ropes? Take a brace--your nerves are in rags.\"\n\nGeorge managed finally to saw the blade through one coil of the cord\nthat secured McGlory's hands. With a swift tug from the shoulders the\ncowboy released himself, then caught the knife from his cousin's hand\nand slashed it through the ropes at his feet.\n\nThe next instant he was up and bounding toward the boathouse.\n\n\"Where are you going?\" shouted George.\n\nMcGlory, rendered desperate by the knowledge that Matt was in the\nboathouse facing death in a fierce effort to save the _Sprite_, was\nheading straight for the door of the building.\n\nThe door was merely a riffle in a wall of flame. Before McGlory could\nreach it, the whole end of the boathouse crashed outward.\n\nHe sprang backward, just in time to avoid the blazing timbers, and\nturned to Lorry with a groan.\n\n\"We can't help him!\" he cried hoarsely. \"Motor Matt's done for, the\n_Sprite's_ done for--everybody's done for, George. And it was all on my\naccount.\"\n\nHere it was that Lorry came to the front with a little common sense.\n\n\"You were not to blame, Joe,\" he asserted. \"You were set on by some\n<DW64>s, and you could no more help what happened than Matt or I. Pull\nyourself together and don't be a fool. Motor Matt knows what he's\nabout. If he's in that boathouse he'll get out of it again. Anyhow, we\ncan't help him from this side. We'll go around by the pier and get the\nlaunch. If we can get the launch through the water door, maybe we can\nhitch on to the _Sprite_ and tow her out.\"\n\nThis talk had a salutary effect on McGlory.\n\n\"The _Sprite_ isn't in the water,\" he answered. \"How could we tow her\nout?\"\n\n\"Matt will get her in the water,\" said Lorry confidently. \"What do you\nsuppose he's doing in there if he isn't getting the _Sprite_ into the\nwell? We left her on rollers at the top of the incline, and Matt could\nlaunch her alone without any trouble. Let's get the launch and be ready\nto help.\"\n\nThe launch referred to by Lorry was the one he had hired and brought\nacross the lake for Matt's use during the work on the _Sprite_. The\nboat was kept at one end of the pier. While the _Sprite_ was on the\nskids, the other boat was housed in the well at night, but this night\nshe had been left outside so as not to interfere with the launching of\nthe _Sprite_ in the early morning.\n\nHoping against hope that they could yet do something that would help\nMotor Matt, the two boys ran alongside the boathouse, jumped to the\npier and unfastened the painter of the launch. Just as they tumbled\ninto it and McGlory was turning the flywheel, a loud explosion came\nfrom inside the boathouse. A cloud of firebrands and sparks geysered up\nfrom the roof.\n\n\"What was that?\" gasped Lorry.\n\n\"The gasoline,\" answered McGlory, dropping down on the thwartships seat\nin front of the motor. \"I don't know what we can do now, George.\"\n\n\"We'll get into the boathouse,\" flung back Lorry. \"If----\"\n\nLorry was interrupted by another crash. Under the startled eyes of\nthe two in the launch, the water door was ripped and splintered, and\nthrough the ragged gap as out of a blazing furnace sped the _Sprite_.\n\nFor a moment she reeled as though undecided which way to turn; then,\nsuddenly, she shot off into the lake. Neither Lorry nor McGlory could\nsee any one aboard her.\n\n\"Where's Matt?\" cried the cowboy.\n\nThe echoes of his voice were taken up by another crash, and the\nremaining walls of the boathouse flattened themselves with a great\nhissing as the burning timbers dropped into the well, and off the pier\ninto the lake.\n\n\"If he was in there,\" added the cowboy huskily, pointing to the wrecked\nbuilding, \"then there's----\"\n\n\"He wasn't in there,\" cut in Lorry. \"He couldn't have been. Do you\nsuppose the _Sprite_ started herself?\"\n\nWhile speaking, Lorry was \"turning over\" the engine. The motor took up\nits cycle, and Lorry steered into the lake after the _Sprite_.\n\nThe _Sprite_ was darting this way and that at terrific speed, following\na course so erratic that it would be easily inferred there was no\nguiding hand on the steering wheel.\n\nAway the boat would rush, directly into the gloom that hovered over the\nlake; then, before she could vanish, she would describe a hair-raising\nturn and jump to starboard or port.\n\n\"But where's Matt if he is in the boat?\" demanded McGlory.\n\n\"On the bottom, perhaps,\" replied Lorry. \"He started her, and that's\nall he was able to do. We've got to lay the _Sprite_ aboard, somehow.\"\n\n\"That's easier said than done,\" said McGlory. \"She's jumping around\nlike a pea on a hot griddle, and is just as likely to slam into us and\ncut us down as to do anything else. Sufferin' sidewinders, look at\nthat!\"\n\nThe _Sprite_ had made a complete turn and was now headed shoreward and\nstreaking straight towards the boys.\n\n\"Here's our chance!\" said Lorry. \"If the _Sprite_ hangs on as she's\ncoming she'll pass close to us. Will you jump aboard her, Joe, or shall\nI?\"\n\n\"I'll do it,\" answered the cowboy. \"Can't you turn the launch and\nfollow the _Sprite_, side by side with her? She'll travel faster than\nwe will, but it'll make it easier to jump without going into the lake.\"\n\nThis manoeuvre was carried out, and Lorry, who could handle a boat\ntolerably well for an amateur, brought the launch about and picked up\nthe _Sprite_ as she dashed onward.\n\nMcGlory cleared a foot of water at a flying leap and dropped into the\n_Sprite's_ cockpit. In a few minutes he had checked the boat's aimless\nracing and had brought her to a halt.\n\n\"Is Matt there?\" queried Lorry anxiously, working the launch close to\nthe _Sprite_.\n\n\"He's here,\" answered McGlory, \"but he's unconscious. Ping's here, too,\nand his wits are wool-gathering, same as Matt's. They're both alive,\nthough, and I reckon they'll be all right with a little care.\"\n\n\"Follow me across the lake,\" said Lorry. \"We'll go to the clubhouse.\nThe quicker we can get a doctor, the better.\"\n\nThe first gray of dawn was just glimmering along the eastern edge of\nthe sky as the two boats stood away for Madison.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nWHAT ABOUT THE RACE?\n\n\nMatt opened his eyes in surroundings that were not familiar to him. The\nroom was big and lofty, and the bed he was lying in was a huge affair\nof brass and had a mosquito canopy. He tried to lift his right arm.\nThe movement was attended with so much pain that he gave it up. He saw\nthat the arm was swathed in bandages.\n\nA sound of whispering came to him from the bedside. Turning his head on\nthe pillow, he saw two figures that had escaped him up to that moment.\nOne was Lorry and the other was McGlory.\n\n\"The doctor says he'll have to stay in bed for a week,\" Lorry was\nsaying.\n\n\"Sufferin' speed boats!\" muttered McGlory. \"Let's kiss our chances\ngood-by. It's glory enough, anyhow, just to know Matt got clear of the\nburnin' boathouse with his life.\"\n\n\"Don't be in a rush about bidding good-by to our chances,\" said Matt.\n\nMcGlory jumped around in his chair, and Lorry started up and hurried to\nthe bedside with a glowing face.\n\n\"Jupiter, but it's good to hear your voice again, Matt,\" said Lorry.\n\n\"We were expectin' you to wake up any minute, pard,\" added McGlory.\n\"How're you feeling?\"\n\n\"A one, except for my arm. What's the matter with it?\"\n\n\"A sprain and a bad burn,\" replied Lorry.\n\n\"I remember, now,\" muttered Matt. \"A blazing timber fell from the roof\nand pinned my arm against the gunwale of the _Sprite_. It isn't a\nfracture?\"\n\n\"Nary, pard,\" said McGlory. \"You were in a heap of luck to get out of\nthat blaze as well as you did.\"\n\n\"I guess that's right. Where am I?\"\n\n\"In the Lorry home on Fourth Lake Ridge,\" smiled George. \"We took you\nacross the lake to the Yahara Club, and when I called up dad on the\nphone, and told him what had happened, he insisted on sending the\ncarriage after you. The doctor was here when we arrived. He has patched\nyou up so you'll be as good as new in a week.\"\n\n\"Is Ping all right?\"\n\nMcGlory chuckled.\n\n\"You can't kill a Chink, pard,\" he answered. \"Ping was unconscious,\nsame as you, when we picked up the _Sprite_, but he drifted back to\nearth while we were crossing the lake.\"\n\n\"And the _Sprite_--did she suffer any damage?\"\n\n\"She's blistered here and there, but otherwise she's just as good as\nshe was when you hit her the last tap.\"\n\n\"What about the race?\"\n\nA glum expression settled over the faces of George and Joe.\n\n\"Well,\" said George, \"this is Monday morning, and the race is to-morrow\nafternoon. The doctor says you ought to keep quiet for a week. Of\ncourse, the race can't be postponed, and if the _Sprite_ doesn't come\nto the line to-morrow, why, the Winnequas keep the cup. Also, Merton\nand his clique keep the money they wagered. That has been their game\nall along, and every bet they made was with the understanding that if\nthe Yahara Club failed to furnish a starter in the race the Winnequa\nfellows were to pull down all the stakes.\"\n\nA glimmer came into Matt's gray eyes.\n\n\"It looks to me,\" he remarked, \"as though Merton and his friends had a\nfeeling all along that something was going to happen to the _Sprite_.\"\n\nMcGlory scowled, and Lorry looked grave.\n\n\"Have you heard anything about who started that fire?\" went on Matt.\n\n\"The latest comes from Merton indirectly,\" said Lorry. \"We hear that\nhe's spreading a report that we were careless with matches, and that we\nkept our gasoline in the boathouse.\"\n\n\"Sufferin' boomerangs!\" snapped McGlory. \"I reckon, if we figure it\ndown to a fine point, people will find that Merton was careless in\nhiring <DW65>s to do his crooked work.\"\n\n\"<DW64>s?\" echoed Matt. \"That reminds me, Joe, that I couldn't find you\nwhen I woke up and found the boathouse in flames. Where were you?\"\n\n\"Speak to me about that!\" gurgled McGlory. \"Why, pard, I was lashed\nhand and foot and smothered with a gag. I could hear you callin', but\nit wasn't possible for me to answer you. That was torture, and don't\nyou forget it. What's more, I could hear you and Ping talking, and by\nturning my head I could see you getting into the boathouse through the\nwindow. It was only when George, half-dazed, stumbled over me, that I\nwas able to let any one know where I was. George got the ropes off me,\nand I'd have gone into the boathouse after you, only the front of it\ntumbled and blocked the attempt. Then we went around and got in the\nlaunch, thinking we'd get in by the water door and give the _Sprite_ a\nlift into the cove. Before we could do that the buildin' began to cave\nin, and the gasoline to let go, and then the _Sprite_ came smashing\nthrough the door and began dancing a hornpipe out in the lake. Lorry\nand I manoeuvred around until we managed to catch her, and then we\nbrought you across to the clubhouse. That's where the _Sprite_ is now,\nand she'll be well taken care of by the Yahara boys.\"\n\n\"But the <DW64>s!\" exclaimed Matt. \"You haven't told me anything about\nthem.\"\n\n\"Keno!\" grinned McGlory. \"I told the last end of my yarn. I reckon the\nfirst end was left out because it don't reflect any credit on your\nUncle Joe. Lorry called me at midnight to go on guard duty. I slid\nout, and hadn't been watching the boathouse more than three hours when\na couple of black villains nailed me as I was going around a corner.\nI was dazed with an upper-cut, and before I could get into shape to\ndo any fighting, they had me on the mat. Then I had to lay there and\nlisten to 'em setting fire to the boathouse, with you, and Lorry, and\nPing inside, never dreaming of what was going on. I reckon I'm a back\nnumber, pard. It was my fault.\"\n\n\"You can't shoulder the responsibility, Joe,\" answered Matt. \"You\ncouldn't help being knocked down, and tied, and gagged.\"\n\n\"Nary, I couldn't,\" was McGlory's gloomy rejoinder; \"but I might have\nstepped high, wide, and handsome when I went around that corner. If\nI'd had as much sense as the law allows I'd have seen that black fist\nbefore it landed, either ducked or side-stepped, and then let off a\nyell. All you fellows inside needed was the right sort of a yell. But\nI didn't give it. When it came to a showdown, pard, I couldn't deliver\nthe goods.\"\n\n\"I still maintain that you have no cause to blame yourself,\" persisted\nMatt. \"If George or I had been in your place, Joe, the same thing would\nhave happened.\"\n\nMcGlory bent his head reflectively.\n\n\"It's mighty good of you, pard, to put it that way,\" said he finally.\n\n\"Would you know those <DW64>s again if you were to see them?\" asked\nMatt.\n\nMcGlory shook his head.\n\n\"It was plumb dark there in the shadow of the boathouse,\" he answered.\n\"I could just make out that they were <DW64>s, and that's all. I\nreckon, though, that Ollie Merton could tell us who those fellows\nwere--if he would.\"\n\n\"I'd be a little careful, Joe,\" cautioned Matt, \"about involving Merton\nin that fire. If it could be proved against him it would be a mighty\nserious business--just as serious as for the fellows who set the fire.\"\n\n\"Well, pard, why was Merton and his friends making their bets in that\nqueer way? In case there isn't any race because of the failure of the\nYahara Club to produce a starter, the Winnequas take the stakes. That\nlooks as though Merton and his pals knew what was going to happen. If\nthe _Sprite_ was burned, there'd be no boat for the Yaharas to produce.\"\n\n\"Joe's right,\" declared Lorry.\n\n\"Well, keep your suspicions to yourselves,\" said Matt. \"In a case of\nthis kind it's positive proof that's needed, not bare suspicion. Wasn't\nthe fire seen from the city? Didn't any one go across the lake to help\nfight it?\"\n\n\"We met a couple of boats going over as we were coming across with you\nand Ping,\" replied Lorry. \"By that time, though, the boathouse was no\nmore than a heap of embers. It went quick after it got started. But\nwhat about the race to-morrow? That's the point that's bothering me. I\ncould take the _Sprite_ over the course, and so could Joe, at a pinch,\nbut we wouldn't get the speed out of her that you would.\"\n\n\"I'll drive her myself,\" said Matt.\n\n\"Speak to me about that!\" gasped McGlory. \"Why, pard, you've only got\none hand--and that's the left.\"\n\n\"A man who's any good at automobile driving has a pretty good left\nhand. In an automobile race, Joe, the driver's left hand has to do a\nbig share of the work. The racer steers with the left hand, holding\nthe right hand free for the emergency brake. The left hand has to be\ntrained to take full charge at all corners, and in a thousand and one\nother places as the need arises. I can do the racing well enough.\"\n\n\"But the doctor says----\" began Lorry.\n\n\"I know what I can do better than the doctor, George,\" laughed Matt.\n\"I'll be in that race every minute--watch me.\"\n\nBoth Lorry and McGlory studied Matt's face carefully.\n\n\"Pluck, that's what it is,\" muttered McGlory. \"It's the sort of pluck\nthat wins. But I don't know whether the doctor will let you----\"\n\nJust at that moment a servant stepped into the room.\n\n\"What is it, James?\" asked Lorry.\n\n\"Mr. Martin Rawlins to see Mr. King,\" was the answer.\n\nLorry looked bewildered.\n\n\"Mart Rawlins!\" he exclaimed. \"Why, he's one of the Winnequa fellows,\nand a crony of Merton's!\"\n\n\"He's here to pump Matt,\" growled McGlory, \"or else to find out what\nhis chances are for being in that race to-morrow. Sufferin' tinhorns,\nwhat a nerve!\"\n\n\"Have him come up, Lorry,\" said Matt. \"It won't do any harm to talk\nwith him. If he's here to pump me, he's welcome to try.\"\n\nLorry nodded to the servant, and a few moments later Mart Rawlins\nentered the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nMART RAWLINS WEAKENS.\n\n\n\"Hello, Lorry!\" said Rawlins, hesitating, just over the threshold, as\nthough a little undecided as to how he would be received.\n\n\"Hello, Rawlins!\" answered Lorry coldly. \"You want to see Motor Matt?\"\n\n\"That's why I came. I hope he isn't hurt very much?\"\n\n\"There he is,\" said Lorry, pushing a chair up to the bed; \"you can ask\nhim about that for yourself.\"\n\nMcGlory, feeling sure that Merton was guiltily concerned in the fire,\nwas far from amiably disposed toward such a close friend of Merton's as\nRawlins. As Rawlins advanced to the bed the cowboy got up, turned his\nback, and looked out of a window.\n\n\"I'm sorry you had such a rough time of it, Motor Matt,\" said Rawlins,\nvisibly embarrassed.\n\n\"I was in luck to get out of the scrape as well as I did,\" returned\nMatt. \"You're a friend of Merton's?\"\n\n\"I was. Early this morning we had a quarrel, so we're not quite so\nfriendly. Have you any idea what caused the fire?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Matt bluntly; \"firebugs.\"\n\n\"You're positive of that?\"\n\n\"My friend McGlory, there, was watching outside the boathouse. He was\nset upon by two <DW64>s, knocked down, tied hand and foot, gagged and\ndragged off where he would not be in the way. Then the two scoundrels\nset fire to the building while Lorry, the Chinese boy, and I were sound\nasleep inside.\"\n\nSomething like trepidation crossed Mart Rawlins' face.\n\n\"McGlory is sure that the men were <DW64>s who assaulted him?\" queried\nRawlins in a shaking voice.\n\n\"He's positive.\"\n\n\"Then,\" breathed Rawlins, as though to himself, \"there's no doubt about\nit.\"\n\n\"No doubt about what?\" demanded McGlory sharply, whirling away from the\nwindow.\n\n\"Why,\" was the answer, \"that there was a conspiracy to destroy the\nboathouse and the _Sprite_, and that Ollie Merton was back of it.\"\n\nRawlins had paled, and he was nervous, but he spoke deliberately.\n\nMatt, Lorry, and McGlory were surprised at the trend Rawlins' talk was\ntaking. They were still a little bit suspicious of him, especially\nMcGlory.\n\n\"What makes you think that?\" asked Matt, eying his caller keenly.\n\n\"Did you lose a roll of drawings a few days ago?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And did you have a disagreement with the little <DW64> called Pickerel\nPete?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, Pete stole those drawings and took them to Merton. It was just\nafter\"--Rawlins flushed--\"just after you were stopped in the woods\nby Merton and the rest of us, and ordered to quit helping Lorry. We\nhad got back to Merton's house, and Pete came there with the roll of\npapers. Merton bought them from Pete, gave Pete five dollars, and asked\nhim to come to see him Sunday afternoon at four o'clock--yesterday\nafternoon. Merton said he had a plan he was going to carry out that\nwould make success sure for the Winnequa boat in the race. He wouldn't\ntell us what the plan was, but when I heard that the boathouse had been\nburned I went over to Merton's and had a talk with him. It wasn't a\npleasant talk, and there was a coldness between Merton and me when I\nleft.\"\n\n\"You think, then,\" said Matt, \"that Merton hired Pete to get those\n<DW64>s to set fire to the boathouse?\"\n\n\"That's the way it looks to me. As a member of the Winnequa club, and\na representative member, I won't stand for any such work. It's--it's\nunsportsman-like, to say the least.\"\n\n\"It's worse than that, Mart,\" frowned Lorry.\n\n\"It was unsportsman-like to stop Matt, drag him off into the woods, and\ntry to bribe him to leave town, or to 'throw' the race, wasn't it?\"\ncried McGlory scornfully.\n\nRawlins stirred uncomfortably.\n\n\"Certainly it was,\" he admitted.\n\n\"And yet you helped Merton in that!\"\n\n\"Merton fooled me. He said Motor Matt was an unscrupulous adventurer,\nand a professional motorist, and that the good of the sport made it\nnecessary for us to get him out of that race. He didn't say he was\ngoing to bribe him to 'throw' the race. I didn't know that offer\nwas going to be made, and I think there were some others who didn't\nknow it. If we could have hired Motor Matt to leave town, I'd have\nbeen willing. I've got up all the money I can spare on the race, and\nnaturally I want our boat to win--but I won't stand for any unfair\npractices. Nor will the Winnequa Club, as a whole. We're game to let\nour boat face the start on its own merits. If we can't win by fair\nmeans, I want to lose my money.\"\n\nRawlins got up.\n\n\"That's all I came here for--to find out how you are, Motor Matt, and\nto let you know how I stand, and how the rest of the club stands. I\nhave come out flat-footed, and for the good of motor boating in this\nsection I hope you will not press this matter to its conclusion. We all\nknow what that conclusion would mean. It would go hard with Merton,\nand there would be a scandal. In order to avoid the scandal, it may be\nnecessary to spare Merton.\"\n\n\"Sufferin' hoodlums!\" cried McGlory. \"That's a nice way to tune up.\nHere's Merton, pulling off a raw deal, and coming within one of killing\nmy two pards, say nothing of the way I was treated, and now you want\nhim spared for the sake of avoiding a scandal!\"\n\nA silence followed this outburst.\n\nWhen Rawlins continued, he turned and addressed himself to Matt.\n\n\"I think I know your calibre pretty well, Motor Matt,\" said he. \"The\nway you turned down that bribe in the woods and declared that you'd\nstand by Lorry at all costs, showed us all you were the right sort.\nOf course, I can't presume to influence you; but, if you won't spare\nMerton on account of the scandal and the good of the sport, or on his\nown account, then think of his father and mother. They'll get back from\nabroad to-morrow morning in time for the race. That's all. I'd like to\nshake hands with you, if you don't mind.\"\n\nRawlins stepped closer to the bed.\n\n\"You'll have to take my left hand,\" laughed Matt. \"The right's\ntemporarily out of business. You're the clear quill, Rawlins,\" he\nadded, as they shook hands, \"and I'll take no steps against Merton,\nproviding he acts on the square from now on. You can tell your club\nmembers that.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I half expected you'd say that.\"\n\n\"Will Merton be allowed to race the boat in the contest?\" inquired\nLorry.\n\n\"We can't very well avoid it. It's his boat, and it's the only entry\non our side. He'll have to race her, with Halloran. The club will\nmake that concession. After that--well, Merton will cease to act as\ncommodore, and will no longer be a member of the club. Good-by, Motor\nMatt, and may the best boat win, no matter who's at the motor!\"\n\nAs Rawlins went out, Ethel Lorry and her father stepped into the room.\nThey had heard the loud voices, and inferring that Matt was able to\nreceive company, had come upstairs.\n\n\"You'd hardly think there was a sick person up here,\" said Mr. Lorry,\n\"from the talk that's been going on. How are you, my lad?\" and he\nstepped toward Matt.\n\n\"Doing finely,\" said Matt.\n\n\"I'm glad,\" said Ethel, drawing close to the bed and slipping her arm\nthrough her father's.\n\n\"He's going to race the _Sprite_ to-morrow, Uncle Dan,\" chirped McGlory.\n\n\"No!\" exclaimed the astounded Mr. Lorry.\n\n\"Fact. You can't down him. He's in that race with only one hand--and\nthe left, at that.\"\n\n\"It will be the death of you!\" cried Ethel. \"You mustn't think of it.\"\n\n\"You know, my boy,\" added Mr. Lorry gravely, \"it won't do to take\nchances.\"\n\n\"I know that, sir,\" returned Matt, \"but I'm as well as ever, barring my\narm. I can't lie here and let the _Sprite_ get beaten for lack of a man\nat the motor who understands her. I'd be in a bad way, for sure, if I\nhad to do that.\"\n\n\"I think he's a bit flighty,\" grinned McGlory. \"I reckon I can prove\nthat by telling you what just happened.\"\n\n\"What happened?\" and Mr. Lorry turned to face McGlory.\n\nThe cowboy repeated all that Rawlins had said, winding up with the\npromise Matt had made to spare Merton.\n\nA soft light crept into Ethel's eyes.\n\n\"What else could you expect from Motor Matt?\" she asked.\n\n\"I shall have to shake hands with you myself, Matt,\" said Mr. Lorry,\ntaking Matt's left hand and pressing it cordially. \"That was fine of\nyou, but, as Ethel says, no more than we ought to expect. I hope you'll\nbe able to drive the _Sprite_ to victory, but you'll have to have less\ntalk in the room and more rest if you're going to be able to take your\nplace in the boat to-morrow. Come on, Ethel.\"\n\nMr. Lorry and his daughter left the room and Lorry and McGlory resumed\ntheir chairs, but gave over their conversation.\n\nAn hour later Matt called for something to eat, and a substantial meal\nwas served to him, piping hot.\n\nThe doctor came while he was eating.\n\n\"Well,\" laughed the doctor, \"I guess you'll do. Don't eat too much,\nthat's all.\"\n\n\"He's got to corral enough ginger to get into that race to-morrow\nafternoon, doc,\" sang out the cowboy.\n\n\"He don't intend to try that, does he?\" asked the doctor aghast.\n\n\"I've got to, doctor,\" said Matt.\n\n\"It may be,\" remarked the doctor, \"that action is the sort of tonic\nyou need. But, whatever you do, don't attempt to use that arm. That'll\nbe about all. If you do get into the race, though, be sure and win.\nYou see,\" he added whimsically, \"I live on the Fourth Lake side of the\ntown.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nTHE RACE--THE START.\n\n\nThe Winnequa-Yahara race was open to all boats of the respective clubs\nunder forty feet, each boat with a beam one-fifth the water-line\nlength. It was to be a five-mile contest, each end of the course marked\nby a stake boat anchored at each end of Fourth Lake. The stake boat,\nwith the judges, was to be moored off Maple Bluff. From this boat the\nracers would start, round the other stake boat, and finish at the\nstarting point.\n\nFurthermore, although the race was open to all members of the two\nrespective clubs with boats under the extreme length, there was a\nmutual agreement, from the beginning, that one member of each club\nshould be commissioned to provide the boat to be entered in the\ncontest. Inasmuch as a speed boat costs money, it was natural that the\nsons of rich men should be told off to carry the honors.\n\nMr. Merton and Mr. Lorry were both millionaires. They were known to be\nindulgent fathers, and it had not been foreseen that Mr. Lorry would\nrebel, at first, against George's extravagance.\n\nBut George had gone too far. Mr. Lorry, even at that, might have paid\nfor George's $5,000 hydroplane had he understood that his son was\nbearing the Yahara honors on his own shoulders and had been lured into\nextravagance by a misguided notion of his responsibility.\n\nHowever, this initial misunderstanding, with all its disastrous\nentanglements, was a thing of the past. Both Mr. Lorry and George had\nburied it deep, and were meeting each other in a closer relationship\nthan they had ever known before.\n\nThe struggle for the De Lancey cup had become, to Madison, what the\nfight for the America Cup had become to the United States. Only, in\nthe case of the De Lancey cup, the city was divided against itself.\n\nThe entire population had ranged itself on one side or the other.\n\nThe gun that started the race was to be fired at 2 o'clock, but early\nin the forenoon launches began passing through the chain of lakes, and\nthrough the canal and locks that led to the scene of the contest.\n\nThe distance had already been measured and the stake boats placed.\nAll along the course buoys marked the boundaries. Later there were to\nbe police boats, darting here and there to see that the boundary line\nwas respected and the course kept clear. Through this lane of water,\nhemmed in by craft of every description, the two boats were to speed to\nvictory or defeat.\n\nObservers, however, did not confine themselves to the boats. The\ncottages on Maple Bluff, and the surrounding heights, offered splendid\nvantage ground for sightseers. Early in the forenoon automobiles\nbegan moving out toward Maple Bluff, loaded with passengers. And each\nautomobile carried a hamper with lunch for those who traveled with it.\nMost of the citizens made of the event a picnic affair.\n\nThe asylum grounds also held their quota of sightseers with opera\nglasses or more powerful binoculars; and Governor's Island, and the\nshore all the way around to Picnic Point.\n\nThe day was perfect. Fortunately for the many craft assembled, the wind\nwas light, and what little there was was not from the west. Fourth Lake\nwas to be as calm as a pond.\n\nSteadily, up to 1 o'clock, the throng of sightseers afloat and ashore\nwas added to.\n\nThe sixty-five-foot motor yacht, serving as stake boat at the starting\nand finishing point, was boarded by Mr. Lorry and Ethel. The judges\nwere from both clubs, and so the boat was given over to the use of a\nlimited number of Winnequas and Yaharas and their partisans.\n\nAs Mr. Lorry and Ethel came over the side of the yacht they were\ngreeted by a tall, gray-haired man and a stout, middle-aged lady.\n\n\"Why, Merton!\" exclaimed Mr. Lorry. \"You had to get back in time for\nthe race, eh? Madam,\" and he doffed his hat to the lady at Merton's\nside, \"I trust I find you well?\"\n\n\"Very well, thank you, Mr. Lorry,\" replied Mrs. Merton. \"How are you,\nmy dear?\" and the lady turned and gave her hand to Ethel.\n\n\"There's where they start and finish, Lorry,\" said Mr. Merton, pointing\nto the port side of the boat. \"Bring up chairs and we'll preëmpt our\nplaces now.\"\n\nWhen the four were all comfortably seated, a certain embarrassment born\nof the fact that each man was there to watch the performance of his\nson's boat crept into their talk.\n\n\"Will George be in his boat?\" inquired Mr. Merton, taking a glance\naround at the gay bunting with which the assembled craft were dressed.\n\n\"No,\" said Mr. Lorry.\n\n\"Ollie will be in _his_ launch,\" and there was ever so small a taunt in\nthe words.\n\n\"Ollie's boat is bigger than George's, Merton,\" answered the other\nmildly. \"George's driver figured that an extra hundred-and-forty pounds\nhad better stay out of the _Sprite_.\"\n\n\"Who drives for George?\"\n\n\"Motor Matt.\"\n\nMr. Merton was startled.\n\n\"Why,\" said he, \"I thought he was hurt in that boathouse fire and\ncouldn't be out of bed?\"\n\n\"He's hurt, and only one-handed, but he's too plucky to stay out of the\nrace.\"\n\n\"Probably,\" said Mr. Merton coolly, \"the pay he receives is quite an\nitem. I understand Motor Matt is poor, and out for all the money he can\nget.\"\n\n\"You have been wrongly informed, Merton. Not a word as to what he shall\nreceive has passed between George and Motor Matt. The boys are friends.\"\n\n\"I'd be a little careful, if I were you, how I allowed my son to pick\nup with a needy adventurer.\"\n\n\"Motor Matt is neither needy nor an adventurer,\" said Mr. Lorry warmly.\n\"I'm proud to have George on intimate terms with him.\"\n\n\"Oh, well,\" laughed Mr. Merton; \"have a cigar.\"\n\nEthel was having a conversation along similar lines with Mrs. Merton,\nand she was as staunchly upholding Motor Matt as was her father. So\nearnestly did the girl speak that the elder lady drew back and eyed her\nthrough a lorgnette.\n\n\"Careful, my dear,\" said she.\n\nEthel knew what she meant, and flushed with temper. But both Ethel and\nher father, deep down in their hearts, pitied Mr. and Mrs. Merton. If\nthey had known of the unscrupulous attack their son had caused to be\nmade on Motor Matt, they would perhaps have spoken differently--or not\nat all.\n\nFortunately, it may be, for the four comprising the little party, a\nband on a near-by cruising boat began to play.\n\nThen, a moment later, a din of cheers rolled over the lake.\n\n\"There's Ollie!\" cried Mrs. Merton, starting up excitedly to flutter\nher handkerchief.\n\nYes, the _Dart_ was coming down the open lane, having entered the\ncourse from the boathouse, where she had been lying ever since early\nmorning. She was a 25-foot boat, with trim racing lines, and she shot\nthrough the water in a way that left no doubt of her speed.\n\n\"How's that?\" cried Mr. Merton, nudging Mr. Lorry with his elbow.\n\"Nearly everybody was expecting the _Wyandotte_, and just look what\nwe're springing on you!\"\n\n\"She looks pretty good,\" acknowledged Mr. Lorry.\n\n\"Well, I should say so!\"\n\n\"But not good enough,\" went on Mr. Lorry.\n\n\"Have you got five thousand that thinks the same way?\"\n\n\"No, Merton. I quit betting a good many years ago.\"\n\nThe _Dart_ raced up and down the course, showing what she could do in\nshort stretches, but not going over the line for a record. Halloran,\nthe red-haired driver of the _Dart_, and Ollie Merton were fine-looking\nyoung fellows in their white yachting caps, white flannel shirts, and\nwhite duck trousers.\n\nFrom time to time Mr. Lorry consulted his watch, checking off the\nquarter hours impatiently and wondering why Motor Matt and the _Sprite_\ndid not put in an appearance. Could it be possible that Matt had not\nbeen able to leave the house on Yankee Hill, after all? If he was able\nto be out, then why didn't he come along and give the _Sprite_ a little\nwarming up?\n\nThe boat had not had an actual try-out since the changes had been made\nin her.\n\nMr. Lorry did not realize that it was too late, then, for a try-out;\nnor did he know that Matt was saving himself for the contest, and not\nintending to reach the course much before the time arrived for the\nstarting gun to be fired.\n\nFive minutes before two a little saluting gun barked sharply from the\nforward deck of the stake boat.\n\n\"I guess your boat isn't coming, Lorry,\" said Mr. Merton. \"There's only\nfive minutes left for----\"\n\nThe words were taken out of his mouth by a roaring cheer from down the\nline of boats. The cheer was caught up and repeated from boat to boat\nuntil the whole surface of the lake seemed to echo back the frantic\nyells.\n\nMr. Lorry leaped to his feet and waved his hat, while Ethel sprang up\nin her chair and excitedly shook her veil.\n\nFor the _Sprite_ was coming!\n\nMotor Matt, a little pale and carrying his right arm in a sling, came\njogging down the wide lane toward the stake boat. There was a resolute\nlight in his keen, gray eyes, and his trained left hand performed its\nmany duties unerringly.\n\nThe danger from which Matt had plucked the _Sprite_ at the burning\nboathouse was known far and wide, and it was his gameness in entering\nthe race handicapped as he was that called forth the tremendous ovation.\n\nDexterously he passed the stake boat and brought the _Sprite_ slowly\naround for the start.\n\nThe _Sprite_ was charred and blistered, and, as McGlory had humorously\nput it, the \"skin was barked all off her nose,\" because of her\ncollision with the water door; but there she was, fit and ready for\nthe race of her life.\n\nShe did not compare favorably with the handsome _Dart_; but then,\nbeauty is only skin deep. It's what's inside of a boat, as well as of a\nman, that counts.\n\nSlowly the boats manoeuvred, waiting for the gun. The silence was\nintense, breathless. Then----\n\nBang!\n\nThe little saluting gun puffed out its vapory breath. Matt could be\nseen leaning against the wheel, holding it firm with his body while his\nleft hand played over the levers.\n\nIt was a pretty start. Both the _Sprite_ and the _Dart_ passed the\nstake boat neck and neck.\n\n\"They're off,\" muttered Lorry, with a wheeze, drawing a handkerchief\nover his forehead.\n\nIt is nothing to his discredit that his hand shook a little.\n\n\"Oh, dad,\" whispered Ethel, clasping her father's arm, \"didn't he look\nfine and--and determined? I know he'll win, I just _know_ it.\"\n\n\"Say, Lorry,\" asked Mr. Merton, \"who's that youngster over there on\nthat launch--the one that's making such a fool of himself.\"\n\n\"That?\" asked Mr. Lorry, squinting in the direction indicated. \"Oh,\nthat's my nephew, McGlory. But don't blame him for acting the fool--I\nfeel a little inclined that way myself.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nTHE FINISH.\n\n\nThe doctor's guess was a good one. The excitement of that race was\nexactly what Motor Matt needed. It was a tonic, and from the moment\nhe had entered the _Sprite_ in the Yahara Club boathouse, he was the\nMile-a-Minute Matt of motor cycle and automobile days. His nerves were\nlike steel wires, his brain was steady, and his eye keen and true.\n\nThere was a good deal of vibration--much more, in fact, than Matt had\nreally thought there would be. The more power used up in vibration, the\nless power delivered at the wheel. But what would the vibration have\nbeen if he had not exercised so much care in preparing the engine's bed?\n\nPerfectly oblivious of the spectators, and with eyes only for his\ncourse, Matt saw nothing and no one apart from the boundary buoys,\nuntil he turned the _Sprite_ for the start. Then, while waiting for the\nstarting gun, he caught a glimpse of the taunting face of Ollie Merton.\n\n\"Fooled you, eh?\" called Merton. \"You'll do sixteen miles, at your\nbest, and we'll go over twenty.\"\n\nMotor Matt did not reply. If Merton had only known what was under the\nhood of the _Sprite_, his gibe would never have been uttered.\n\nAs they passed the stake boat side by side, Merton and Halloran began\nto suspect something. The _Sprite_ hung to them too persistently for a\nsixteen-mile-an-hour boat.\n\n\"He's got something in that boat of his,\" breathed Halloran, \"that we\ndon't know anything about.\"\n\n\"Confound him!\" snorted Merton, enraged at the very suspicion. \"If he\nfools us with any of his low-down tricks, I'll fix him before he leaves\nthat made-over catamaran of his.\"\n\n\"You'll treat him white, Merton, win or lose,\" scowled Halloran.\n\n\"Then you see to it that you win!\" said Merton.\n\nAlong the double line of boats rushed the racers. The waves tossed up\nfrom the bows rose high, creamed into froth, and the spray drifted and\neddied around Matt, Halloran, and Merton. At the edge of the lane, the\ncraft of the sightseers rocked with the heave the flying boats kicked\nup.\n\nHalfway between the stake boats the _Dart_ began to draw ahead. A shout\nof exultation went up from Merton.\n\n\"Good boy, Halloran! In another minute we'll show him our heels.\"\n\nBut what Matt lost on the outward stretch of the course he more than\nmade up at the turn around the stake boat. The shorter length of the\n_Sprite_ enabled her to be brought around with more facility, and she\ncame to on the inner side and was reaching for the home-stretch when\nthe _Dart_ got pointed for the straight-away.\n\nThe hum of the engine was like a crooning song of victory in Matt's\nears. He _knew_ he was going to win; he felt it in his bones.\n\nHalloran's juggling with gasoline and spark brought the _Dart_ slowly\nalongside and gave her the lead by half a length.\n\nBut still Matt did not waver. He could juggle a little with the\nmake-and-break ignition and the fuel supply himself. His brain was full\nof calculations. He knew where he was at every minute of the race, and\nhe knew just when to begin making the throbbing motor spin the wheel at\nits maximum.\n\nThe rack of the hull was tremendous. It seemed to grow instead of to\nlessen.\n\nWould the hull stand the strain with the engine urging the wheel at its\nbest?\n\nIt _must_ stand the strain! The crisis was at hand and there was\nnothing else for it.\n\nHugging the steering wheel with his body, Matt's left hand toyed with\nswitch and lever. The yacht at the finish line was in plain view.\n\nMatt did not see the waving hats or fluttering handkerchiefs, nor did\nhe hear the bedlam of yells that went up on every side. All he saw was\nthe _Dart_, his eye marking the gain of the _Sprite_.\n\nIt was already apparent to Ollie Merton and Halloran that the race\nwas lost--_unless something unexpected happened to Motor Matt or the\nSprite_.\n\nHalloran was getting the last particle of speed out of the _Dart's_\nengine, and steadily, relentlessly, the _Sprite_ was creeping ahead.\n\nDeep down in Merton's soul a desperate purpose was fighting with his\nbetter nature. Suddenly the evil got the upper hand. Merton waited, his\nsinister face full of relentless determination.\n\n\"When the _Sprite_ takes the lead,\" he said to himself, \"something is\ngoing to happen.\"\n\nIn one minute more Matt forged ahead. The finish line was close now,\nand Merton was already stung with the bitterness of defeat.\n\nHis hand reached inside his sweater. When it was withdrawn, a revolver\ncame with it.\n\nWhy Merton had brought that revolver with him, he alone could tell. It\nmay have been for some such purpose as this.\n\nMatt's back was toward Merton, and Matt's eyes were peering steadily\nahead.\n\nIf that left hand could be touched--just scratched--the king of the\nmotor boys would be powerless to manage the _Sprite_.\n\nMany of the spectators saw the leveling of the weapon. Cries of\n\"Coward!\" and \"Shame!\" and \"Stop him!\" went up from a hundred throats.\n\nMr. Merton, watching breathlessly, saw the glimmering revolver, and\nsomething very like a sob rushed through his lips as he bowed his head.\nWhat those who saw felt for his son, _he_ felt for him--and for himself.\n\nBefore Merton could press the trigger, Halloran turned partly around.\n\n\"You're mad!\" shouted Halloran, gripping Merton's wrist with a deft\nhand and shoving the point of the revolver high in the air.\n\nUnaware of his narrow escape, the king of the motor boys flung the\n_Sprite_ onward to victory.\n\nA good half-length ahead of the _Dart_, Matt and his boat crossed the\nfinish line--regaining the De Lancey cup for the Yahara Club, winning\nthe race for George Lorry and gaining untold honors for himself.\n\nThe lake went wild; and the enthusiasm spilled over its edges and ran\nriot along the shores. Steam launches tooted their sirens, and motor\nboats emptied their compressed air tanks through their toy whistles;\nthe band played, but there was so much other noise that it was not\nheard. The Yaharas and their partisans went wild.\n\nSomewhere in that jumble of humanity was Newt Higgins, adding his\njoyful clamor to the roar of delight; and somewhere, also, was the\ndoctor, letting off the steam of his pent-up excitement.\n\nBut there was one man on the stake boat whose heart was heavy, who had\nno word for any one but his wife. To her he offered his arm.\n\n\"Come,\" said he, in a stifled voice, \"this is no place for us. Let us\ngo.\"\n\nMatt, as soon as he had checked the speed of the _Sprite_ and pointed\nher the other way, jogged back along the line of boats and picked Lorry\nand McGlory off one of the launches.\n\nLorry was radiant.\n\n\"You've done it, old boy!\" he cried. \"By Jupiter! you've done it. You\nsit down and take it easy--I'll look after the _Sprite_!\"\n\n\"Speak to me about this!\" whooped McGlory, throwing his arms around\nMatt in a bear's hug. \"Oh, recite this to me, in years to come, and the\nblood will bound through my veins with all the--er--the---- Hang it,\npard, you know what I mean! I've gone off the jump entirely. Hooray for\nMotor Matt!\"\n\nAs Lorry laid the _Sprite_ alongside the stake boat, somebody tossed\nher a line.\n\n\"Come aboard, all of you,\" called a voice.\n\nIt was Spicer, commodore of the Yahara Club.\n\nWhile Matt, Lorry, and McGlory were going up one side of the yacht, Mr.\nand Mrs. Merton were descending the other, getting into the boat that\nwas to take them ashore to their waiting automobile.\n\nMr. Lorry, red as a beet, his collar wilted, his high hat on the back\nof his head, and his necktie around under his ear, met the victors,\ngiving one hand to Matt and the other to George.\n\n\"Jove!\" he said huskily, \"I've yelled myself hoarse. Oh, but it was\nfine!\"\n\nEthel threw her arms around Matt's neck and gave him a hearty kiss.\n\n\"Nice way to treat a one-armed fellow that can't defend himself,\"\nwhooped McGlory; \"and sick, at that. He ought to be in bed, this\nminute--the doctor said so!\"\n\n\"I--I thought it was George,\" faltered Ethel.\n\n\"Oh, bang!\" howled McGlory. \"It's a wonder you didn't think it was me.\"\n\nThe vice commodore of the Winnequa Club came forward, carrying the\nsilver cup in both hands. He looked sad enough, but he was game.\n\nIn a neat little speech, during which he emphasized the sportsman-like\nconduct which should prevail at all such events as the one that had\njust passed, he tendered the cup to Lorry. Lorry, blushing with\npleasure, in turn tendered it to the commodore of the Yahara Club.\n\nOne of the judges, coming forward with an oblong slip of paper in his\nhands, waved it to command silence. When a measure of quiet prevailed,\nhe eased himself of a few pertinent remarks.\n\n\"Gentlemen, there was another supplementary prize offered in this\ncontest. Unlike the De Lancey cup, which may be fought for again next\nyear, this additional prize inheres to the victor for so long as he\ncan keep it by him. It is not for the owner of the boat, but to the\ngallant youth who presided at the steering wheel and bore the brunt of\nthe battle. Had the _Dart_ won, this extra prize would have gone to\nHalloran, just as surely as it now goes to Motor Matt. It consists of a\ncheck for two thousand dollars, place for the name blank, and signed by\nMr. Daniel Lorry. There you are, son,\" and the judge pushed the check\ninto the hand of the astounded Matt.\n\n\"Great spark-plugs!\" exclaimed Matt. \"I--I---- Well, I hardly know\nwhat to say. I was in the game for the love of it, and--and I was not\nexpecting this!\"\n\n\"That was dad's idea,\" said Ethel happily.\n\n\"Bully for the governor!\" cried George, grabbing his father's hand.\n\"Why, I didn't know anything about this, myself.\"\n\n\"It was a 'dark horse,'\" chuckled Mr. Lorry. \"Come on, now, and let's\ngo home and get out of this hubbub. Matt, you and McGlory will come\nwith us. We're going to have a spread.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\nAll that happened, after Matt received that check for $2,000, was\na good deal like a dream to him. He remembered descending into the\n_Sprite_ for a return to the clubhouse, and finding Ping Pong in the\nboat.\n\nWhere Ping Pong had come from no one seemed to know. Not much attention\nhad been paid to him after Matt boarded the _Sprite_ and started for\nthe stake boat. Yet there the little Chinaman was, kneeling at the\nbulkhead of the boat, fondling the steering wheel, patting the levers,\nlaying his yellow cheek against the gunwale, and all the while crooning\na lot of heathen gibberish.\n\n\"What's the blooming idiot trying to do?\" McGlory shouted.\n\nIt seemed impossible for the cowboy to do anything but yell. His\nexultation suggested noise, and he talked at the top of his lungs.\n\n\"Don't you understand, Joe?\" said Lorry. \"He's trying to thank the\n_Sprite_ for winning the race.\"\n\n\"Sufferin' Hottentots! Why don't he thank the king of the motor boys?\"\n\nThe next moment Ping was alongside of Matt, sitting in the bottom of\nthe boat and looking up at him with soulful admiration.\n\n\"Him allee same my boss,\" pattered Ping, catching his breath. \"He\none-piecee scoot.\"\n\n\"Oh, tell me about that!\" guffawed McGlory. \"One-piecee scoot! Say,\nPing's not so far wide of his trail, after all.\"\n\nThe next thing Matt remembered was standing in the clubhouse, in the\nlocker room, receiving the vociferous congratulations of the Yaharas.\nBefore he realized what was going on, he and Lorry had been picked up\non the members' shoulders.\n\n\"Three times three and a tiger for Motor Matt and Lorry!\" went up a\nshout.\n\nWell, the Yaharas didn't exactly raise the roof, but they came pretty\nnear it. Matt was voted an honorary member of the club on the spot, and\ngiven free and perpetual use of all the clubhouse privileges.\n\n\"There isn't any one going around handing me ninety-nine-year leases\non a bunch of boats and a lot of bathing suits,\" caroled McGlory. \"But\nthen, I don't count. I'm only carrying the banner in this procession.\nMatt's the big high boy; but he's my pard, don't forget that.\"\n\nMcGlory's wail caused the Yaharas to vote him an honorary membership;\nand then, in order not to slight anybody, or make a misdeal while\nfelicitations were being handed around, Ping was likewise voted in.\n\nAfter that there was a ride to Yankee Hill in the Lorry motor car, with\nGus at the steering wheel; then a spread, the like of which Motor Matt\nhad never sat down to before. A good deal was eaten, and a great many\nthings were said, but Matt was still in a daze.\n\nEvery time he made a move he seemed to feel the vibration of the\ntwenty-horse-power motor sending queer little shivers through his body.\n\nWhat was the matter with him? he asked himself. Could it be possible\nthat he was going to be on the sick list?\n\nHe remembered crawling into the same big brass bed with the\nmosquito-bar canopy, and then he dropped off into dreamless sleep.\n\nWhen he came to himself he was pleased to find that his brain was\nclear, and that he could move around without feeling the vibrations of\nthe motor.\n\nHis health was first class, after all, and he never had felt brighter\nin his life.\n\nWhile he was dressing, McGlory and Lorry came into the room.\n\n\"What you going to do with that check, pard?\" asked McGlory.\n\n\"I'm going to cash it, divide the money into three piles, give one pile\nto you, one to Ping, and keep the other for myself,\" said Matt.\n\n\"Don't be foolish, Matt,\" implored the cowboy. \"A third of two thousand\nis more'n six hundred and fifty dollars. What do you suppose would\nhappen to me if all that wealth was shoved into my face?\"\n\n\"Give it up,\" laughed Matt; \"but I'm going to find out.\"\n\n\"And Ping! Say, the Chink will be crazy.\"\n\n\"I can't help that, Joe. He's entitled to the money. I wonder if you\nfellows realize that we've never yet paid Ping for the _Sprite_? Here's\nwhere he gets what's coming to him. He's full of grit, that Ping. You\nought to have seen how he helped me at the burning boathouse.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do with Ping, Matt?\" queried Lorry.\n\n\"I haven't given that a thought,\" said Matt, a little blankly.\n\n\"Well,\" suggested McGlory, \"you'd better hurry up and think it\nover. He's walking around the servants' quarters lording it like a\nmandarin. He says he's working for Motor Matt, and that you're the\nHigh Mucky-muck of everything between Waunakee and the Forbidden City.\nBetter find something for him to do.\"\n\n\"We'll talk that over later,\" said Matt. \"What about Ollie Merton?\"\n\n\"You can hear all sorts of things, Matt,\" answered Lorry. \"They say he\nhad a violent scene with his father, that he has squandered fifteen\nthousand dollars while his parents were in Europe, and that he is to\nbe sent to a military school where there are men who will know how to\nhandle him.\"\n\nThere was a silence between the boys for a moment, broken, at last, by\nMatt.\n\n\"That's pretty tough!\"\n\n\"Tough?\" echoed McGlory. \"If Merton had what's coming to him he'd be in\nthe reform school. Don't waste any sympathy on him.\"\n\n\"Why,\" spoke up George, with feeling, \"he's just the fellow that needs\nsympathy. It's too bad he hasn't a Motor Matt to stand by him and help\nhim over the rough places he has made for himself.\"\n\nGeorge Lorry was speaking from the heart. He knew what he was talking\nabout, for he had \"been through the mill\" himself.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEXT NUMBER (24) WILL CONTAIN\n\nMotor Matt On the Wing;\n\nOR,\n\nFighting for Fame and Fortune\n\n  Wanted: A Man of Nerve--Foiling a Scoundrel--Matt Makes an\n  Investment--Matt Explains to McGlory--Ping and the Bear--A New\n  Venture--A Partner in Villainy--Matt Shifts His Plans--Dodging\n  Trouble--Blanked--Siwash Shows His Teeth; and His Heels--\"Uncle Sam\"\n  Takes Hold--On the Wing--Dastardly Work--The Government Trial--Fame;\n  and a Little Fortune.\n\n\n\n\nMOTOR STORIES\n\nTHRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION\n\nNEW YORK, July 31, 1909.\n\n\nTERMS TO MOTOR STORIES MAIL SUBSCRIBERS.\n\n(_Postage Free._)\n\nSingle Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each.\n\n  3 months                    65c.\n  4 months                    85c.\n  6 months                 $1.25\n  One year                  2.50\n  2 copies one year         4.00\n  1 copy two years          4.00\n\n=How to Send Money=--By post-office or express money-order, registered\nletter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk if sent by\ncurrency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter.\n\n=Receipts=--Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change\nof number on your label. If not correct you have not been properly\ncredited, and should let us know at once.\n\n  ORMOND G. SMITH, }\n  GEORGE C. SMITH, } _Proprietors_.\n\n  STREET & SMITH, Publishers,\n  79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City.\n\n\n\n\nTRICKED BY TWO.\n\n\n\"This is a public path,\" said Guy Hereford quietly.\n\n\"Ay, but you can't use it,\" returned the man he faced, with an ugly\nglint in his eyes.\n\n\"All the same, I'm going to,\" said Guy coolly. \"I'll trouble you to\nmove out of my way, Mr. Harvey Blissett.\"\n\nFor a moment the two faced one another on the narrow sandy road between\nthe bare, barbed-wire fences over which hung the fragrantly blooming\norange branches. Both were mounted, Hereford on a well-groomed Florida\npony, Blissett on a big, rough Montana, an ugly beast with a nose like\na camel and a savage eye.\n\n\"I'll give you one more chance,\" growled Blissett. \"Turn and make\ntracks.\"\n\n\"This is my road,\" said Hereford, as serenely as ever.\n\n\"Then 'twill be your road to kingdom come,\" roared Blissett, and\nflashed his pistol from his hip pocket.\n\nBut Hereford's steady eyes had never wavered. He was no tenderfoot.\nWith the bully's movement he ducked, and at the same moment drove spurs\ninto his pony's flanks.\n\nAs Blissett's bullet whistled harmlessly into the opposite trees the\nchest of Hereford's pony met the shoulder of the Montana with a shock\nthat staggered it, and before Blissett could pull trigger a second time\nthe loaded end of the other's quirt crashed across his head.\n\nBlissett dropped like a shot rabbit. At the same time the Montana gave\na vicious squeal, lashed out violently, and bolted.\n\nHereford was off his pony in a moment, and, with an exclamation of\nhorror ran to Blissett and stooped over him. But a single glance was\nenough. One of the Montana's heels had caught the unfortunate man\nexactly on the same spot where Hereford's blow had fallen and crushed\nhis skull like an eggshell.\n\nHe was dead as a log.\n\n\"This is a rough deal!\" said Hereford slowly, as he rose to his feet.\n\"Wonder what I'd better do.\"\n\nThe trouble was that every one for miles round knew the bad blood which\nexisted between the young orange grower and his neighbor.\n\nBlissett was a cattleman who had bitterly resented the fencing of the\nland which Hereford had bought. He had deliberately cut the wires and\nlet his scrub cattle in among the young trees, doing endless damage.\nHereford had retaliated by pounding the whole bunch so that Blissett\nhad to pay heavily to regain them.\n\nThen Blissett had brought a law suit to force Hereford to give a public\nroad through his place. He had won his suit, but done more than he\nintended, for the authorities extended the road through Blissett's own\nland and forced him to fence it.\n\nIt was on this extension of the road that the tragedy had taken place.\n\n\"If I go to the sheriff there's sure to be trouble,\" said Hereford\naloud. \"Ten to one they'll bring it in manslaughter.\"\n\n\"Murder, more likely,\" came a voice from behind, and Hereford, starting\nround, found himself face to face with his cousin, Oliver Deacon, who,\nhoe in hand, had just come through the fence from among the orange\ntrees.\n\n\"Why murder?\" asked Hereford sharply.\n\nThe other, a sallow-faced man some years older than Hereford, gave a\ndisagreeable chuckle. \"My dear Guy, every one knows the terms you and\nBlissett were on. There'll be a jury of crackers, all pals of the late\nunlamented, and they'll be only too glad to have a chance of taking it\nout of a man they think an aristocrat.\"\n\n\"What's the good of talking rot?\" exclaimed Hereford impatiently. \"If\nyou were working in the grove I suppose you saw the whole thing?\"\n\n\"Yes, I saw it,\" replied Deacon slowly.\n\n\"That's all right then. You know he brought it on himself.\"\n\nThere was a very peculiar look in Deacon's close-set eyes as he glanced\nat his cousin.\n\n\"I saw you hit Blissett over the head with the lead end of your quirt,\"\nhe said in the same measured tones.\n\n\"What in thunder do you mean, Oliver? Didn't you see his pony kick him\non the head?\"\n\n\"I'm not so sure about that,\" was Deacon's reply.\n\nGuy Hereford stared at his cousin in blank amazement.\n\n\"Will you kindly tell me what you do mean?\" he asked icily.\n\n\"Yes, I'll tell you,\" said Deacon harshly. \"Look here, Guy, I'm full up\nwith playing bottle washer, and it seems to me this gives me just the\nchance I've been looking for. Need I explain?\"\n\n\"I think you'd better,\" said Guy Hereford grimly.\n\n\"All right. I'll give you straight goods. I want to be paid, and well\npaid, for my evidence. Here are you with a place of your own and a good\nallowance from your father, you've a decent house and a first-class\npony. And as for me, I haven't a red cent, and am forced to do grove\nwork like an infernal <DW65>. As I said before, I'm sick of it, and\nit's going to stop right here.\"\n\nHereford looked his cousin up and down. Then he said, \"I knew you'd\nsunk pretty low, Oliver, but I didn't quite realize the depths you've\ndropped to. Whose fault is it you are hard up? Your own. You had more\nthan I ever had, and chucked it all away. People were decent to you\ndown here until you were caught cheating at poker. And now you want to\nforce me to pay you hush money under threats of false evidence. May I\nask how much you consider your evidence worth?\"\n\nGuy's tone of icy contempt brought a dull red flush to the other's\nsallow cheeks. But he answered brazenly, \"I'll take a thousand dollars.\"\n\nGuy laughed.\n\n\"I wouldn't give you a thousand cents.\"\n\n\"Then you'll hang,\" retorted Oliver viciously.\n\n\"Well, that won't do you any good.\"\n\n\"Oh, won't it? Plainly, you don't know much about Florida law, my good\nGuy. I'm your cousin. Don't forget that. And by the law of this State\nI'm your next heir. See? When you've left this vale of tears I come in\nfor the whole outfit--your grove and everything. Now, perhaps, you'll\nsing another song.\"\n\nGuy's face went white. Not with fear, but anger. And his gray eyes\nblazed with a sudden fury that made the other step hastily backward.\n\n\"You mean, skulking hound!\" he cried. \"You're worse--a thousand times\nworse--than that fellow who lies dead there. Get out of my sight before\nI kill you.\"\n\nOliver's eyes had the look of a vicious cur. \"All right,\" he snarled.\n\"You'll change your tune before I'm done with you. If you don't fork up\nthe cash by this time to-morrow I'll go and give the sheriff a full and\nparticular account of how you murdered Harvey Blissett.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"What's de matter, boss. Warn't dat supper cooked to suit you?\"\n\n\"Supper was first-rate, Rufe. Only I've got no appetite,\" replied Guy.\n\n\"You done seem plumb disgruntled 'bout something ebber since you come\nin dis evening,\" said Rufus, Guy's faithful <DW64> retainer.\n\nGuy looked at the man's sympathetic face. He felt a longing to talk\nover the black business with somebody, and Rufe, he knew, would never\nrepeat a word to any one else.\n\n\"Heard about Harvey Blissett?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, sah. What he been doing?\"\n\n\"He won't do anything more, Rufe. He's dead.\"\n\n\"You doan' mean tell me dat man dead?\"\n\n\"It's quite true.\"\n\n\"How dat come about?\" inquired Rufus, his eyes fairly goggling with\neager interest.\n\nGuy explained how Blissett had come by his end.\n\n\"Well, boss, I doan' see nuffin to worry about. 'Twaren't your fault as\ndat Montanny animile kick him on de head. An' anyways, we's mighty well\nrid ob him. Dat's my 'pinion.\"\n\n\"But suppose I'm accused of killing him, Rufe?\"\n\n\"Dere ain't nobody as would believe dat, sah,\" stoutly declared Rufus.\n\n\"But if some one who hated me had seen it and gave evidence against me?\"\n\nRufus started.\n\n\"I bet five dollar dat's dat low-down white man, Mistah Deacon!\" he\nexclaimed.\n\n\"You're perfectly right, Rufus. That's who it is.\"\n\n\"And he see you, and sw'ar dat it wasn't de hawse, but your quirt done\nit?\"\n\n\"That's about the size of it.\"\n\n\"Hab you done told de sheriff, sah?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did that at once. Rode straight into Pine Lake.\"\n\n\"And what he say?\"\n\n\"Told me I must come into the inquest the day after to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Den seem to me, sah, you done took de wind out of dat Deacon's sail.\nHe ain't seen de sheriff befoah you.\"\n\n\"That's all right, Rufe, as far as it goes. Trouble is that he'll be in\nat the inquest to-morrow and he'll swear that it was my quirt did the\ntrick. That is, unless I give him a thousand dollars to keep his mouth\nshut.\"\n\nThe <DW64>'s face changed suddenly from its usual smiling expression.\n\"Den I tell you what, Massa Guy,\" he exclaimed with sudden ferocity.\n\"You gib me your gun, an' I sw'ar dat man nebber go to dat inquest\nto-morrow.\"\n\nGuy knew well that Rufe meant what he said. He was touched. \"You're a\ngood chap, Rufe, but I'm afraid your plan is hardly workable. You see\nyou'd be hung, too.\"\n\n\"Not dis <DW65>! I nebber be found out!\" cried Rufe.\n\n\"Still we won't try it,\" said Guy in his quiet way.\n\nRufe stood silent for some moments. Then he turned to go back to the\nkitchen.\n\nHis silence was ominous.\n\n\"Mind, Rufe,\" said Guy sharply. \"No violence. You're not to lay a hand\non my cousin.\"\n\n\"All right, sah,\" said Rufe reluctantly. \"I try t'ink ob some odder\nplan.\"\n\nThe time dragged by slowly. Guy tried to write letters, but found he\ncould not settle to anything. The fact was that he was desperately\nanxious.\n\nHe knew Deacon's callous, revengeful nature, and was perfectly certain\nthat he would carry out his threat if the money to bribe him was not\nforthcoming. It was all true what his cousin had said. A jury of cattle\nowners, \"crackers,\" as they are called in Florida, would certainly find\nhim guilty on his cousin's evidence, and even if he escaped hanging his\nfate would be the awful one of twenty years' penitentiary.\n\nFor a moment he weakened and thought of paying the price. But to do so\nmeant selling his place. He could not otherwise raise the money. Sell\nthe place on which he had spent four years of steady, hard work! No, by\nJove; anything rather than that. And even if he did so, what guarantee\nhad he that this would be the full extent of his cousin's demands?\n\nAbsolutely none. No, he laid himself open to be blackmailed for the\nrest of his life. He hardened his heart, and resolved that, come what\nwould, he would stick it out and let the beggar do his worst.\n\nPresently he got up and went out of his tiny living room onto the\nveranda. The house was only a little bit of a two-roomed shack with a\npenthouse veranda in front. He had built it when he first came, and had\nbeen intending for some time past to put up a bigger place. Now that\ndream was over.\n\nSick at heart, Guy flung himself into a long cane chair, and presently,\nworn out by worry, fell asleep.\n\nHe was wakened by the pad pad of a trotting horse, and looking up\nsharply saw in the faint light of a late-risen moon a figure mounted\non one horse and leading another passing rapidly along the sandy track\noutside his boundary fence.\n\nThe something familiar about the figure of the man struck him like a\nblow.\n\n\"By thunder, it's Deacon! What mischief is the skunk up to?\" he\nmuttered. And on the impulse of the moment he sprang from the veranda,\nand, slipping round the dark end of the house, made for the stable.\n\nIn a minute he had saddle and bridle on Dandy, and, leading the animal\nout through the bars at the far end of the grove, was riding cautiously\non his cousin's track.\n\nAt first he made sure Deacon was going to Pine Lake. To his great\nsurprise the man presently turned off the main road and took a cut\nacross a creek ford, and round the end of a long cypress swamp.\n\n\"Must be going to Orange Port,\" he muttered. \"There's something very\nodd about this. And what in thunder is he doing with that second horse?\"\n\nThey came to a bit of open savanna dotted with great islands of live\noak. The moon was higher now, and the grassy plain was bathed in soft,\nsilver light. As Deacon passed out of the deep shadow of the pine\nforest Guy gave a gasp.\n\nThe horse that Deacon was leading was Blissett's Montana pony.\n\nGuy actually chuckled.\n\n\"I'll bet a farm he's picked it up and means to sell it in Orange\nPort,\" he said to himself. \"Well, it mayn't save me, but at any rate\nI'll be able to make things hot for him.\"\n\nIt was sixteen miles to Orange Port. Deacon, with Guy still at his\nheels, reached the place about six in the morning, and took the animal\nstraight to a small livery stable, the owner of which was Sebastian\nGomez, a mulatto of anything but good repute.\n\nGuy dogged him cautiously, and when he had left the stable and ridden\noff, went in himself, put Dandy up, and had him fed.\n\nThen he went to work cautiously, and by dint of a tip to one of the\n<DW52> men about the place, found that his precious cousin had indeed\nsold the Montana to the owner of the stable, and had got fifty dollars\nfor the animal.\n\n\"Not such a bad night's work,\" said Guy to himself as, after breakfast\nand a bath, he rode home again. He reached his place about nine to find\nRufus much disturbed at his long absence. Merely telling the <DW64> that\nhe had been away on business, he lay down and had a much-needed sleep.\n\nAt four he woke and rode off to Pine Lake. He meant to find a lawyer to\nwhom he could intrust his case on the following day, but to his deep\ndisappointment Vanbuten, a clever young Bostonian and a great pal of\nhis, was away at Ormond for a week's sea bathing. There was nothing for\nit but to send him an urgent telegram, begging him to return at once,\nand then ride home through the warm tropic starlight.\n\n\"Wonder if I shall ever ride back to the dear little old shop again,\"\nthought Guy sadly, as he opened the gate and led his pony in and up the\nneat path through the palmetto scrub. He loved every inch of his place,\nas a man can only love a property which by the sweat of his own brow he\nhas carved out of the primeval forest.\n\nArrived at the house, he stabled Dandy and fed him, a job which he\nnever trusted to any one else, not even the faithful Rufe.\n\nAs he entered the house he could hear Rufe busy with pots and pans in\nthe kitchen. \"He'll miss me, if no one else does,\" muttered Guy; and,\nfeeling desperately depressed, he went into his bedroom to change his\nboots and coat. Hereford, being a Boston-bred man, was one of those\nwho, even when baching it alone in the wilds, still try to keep up\nsomething of their old home customs.\n\nHe struck a match and lighted the lamp, then, as the glow fell upon his\ncot, he started back with a cry of horror.\n\n\nTO BE CONCLUDED.\n\n\n\n\nHOMES ON THE RIO GRANDE.\n\n\nThe Mexican Indian huts in the villages and upon the ranches of the\nlower Rio Grande border region of Texas have a style of architecture\nand construction that is distinctly their own. This type of primitive\nbuildings is rapidly passing out of existence. Modern structures are\ntaking their places. At many places on the border families of Mexicans\nhave abandoned their jacals and moved into more pretentious homes.\n\nOne thing that recommended the old style of residence to the poorer\nMexicans was its cheapness of construction. No money outlay is\nnecessary in erecting the picturesque structures, neither is a\nknowledge of carpentry needed. A double row of upright poles firmly set\nor driven into the ground forms the framework for the walls. Between\nthese two rows of poles are placed other poles or sticks of shorter\nlength, forming a thick and compact wall. At each of the four corners\nof the building posts are set, reaching to a height of about eight\nfeet. Roughly hewn stringers are laid from one post to another and to\nthese stringers are tied the other poles that form the framework of the\nwalls. The strong fibre from the maguey plant or strips of buckskin\nare used to tie the poles into position. The rafters are tied to the\nridgepole and stringers in the same manner. At one end of the building\nis built the opening through which the smoke of the inside fire may\nascend. Stoves are unknown among these Mexicans and the cooking is all\ndone upon the ground.\n\nWhen the rafters are in position the thatched roof is put on. Palm\nleaves form the most satisfactory roof, both as to durability and\neffectiveness in shedding the rain, but owing to the scarcity of this\nmaterial on the Texas side of the international boundary stream,\ngrasses and the leaves of plants are used for the purpose. The roofing\nmaterial is tied to the rafters in layers. Some of the Mexican house\nbuilders exercise great ingenuity in putting on the thatched roofs.\n\nThe only opening in most of these Mexican jacals is the door which\nextends from the ground to the roof. The floor is the bare earth. The\nventilation is obtained through the crude chimney opening. The door\nitself is seldom closed. The Mexican Indian is usually a man of large\nfamily. A one-room house accommodates all. Perhaps several dogs and\na pig or two may share the comforts of the room with them on cool or\ndisagreeable nights.\n\n\n\n\nPIGEONS AS PHOTOGRAPHERS.\n\n\nMany wonderful feats have been credited to the instinct of the homing\nor carrier pigeon, but \"the limit,\" to quote the phrase of the moment,\nseems to have been reached by Herr Neubronner, a Kronberg chemist, who\nhas actually trained pigeons to take photographs. For some time Herr\nNeubronner has been utilizing pigeons, not only for the transmission\nof messages to doctors in the neighborhood, but also to carry small\nquantities of medicine. The latter are inclosed in glove fingers slung\nabout the birds' wings. The method has proved entirely successful,\nexperiments showing that the pigeon can carry a properly distributed\nload of 2-1/2 ounces a distance of 100 miles.\n\nToward the end of last year one of the birds lost its way and did not\narrive at its cote until after the expiration of four weeks. There\nwas, of course, no means of ascertaining where and how the bird had\ngot lost. It then occurred to Herr Neubronner that a pigeon, equipped\nwith a self-acting camera, would bring in a photographic record of\nits journey. He thereupon constructed a camera, weighing less than\n3 ounces, which he fixed to the bird's breast by an elastic strap,\nleaving the wings completely free. The process of snapshotting is,\nof course, automatic. At regular intervals the machine operates by a\nclockwork arrangement, and registers pictures of the various places\ncovered by the bird in its flight.\n\nThe German government has taken a keen interest in Herr Neubronner's\nnotion of utilizing pigeons as photographers, and there certainly seem\ngreat possibilities in the idea. The carrier-pigeon photographer would\nprove extremely valuable for obtaining information in times of war of\nthe country, position, and strength of the enemy.\n\nThe carrier pigeon flies at a height of between 150 feet and 300 feet,\nsafe from small shot and very difficult to hit with bullets. Pigeons\nmight be released from air ships at any height within the enemy's\nlines, and they would carry home with them pictures of great value. The\ncarrier pigeon is peculiarly well suited to service of this character,\nbecause when set free in a strange place it commences its flight by\ndescribing a spiral curve, in the course of which several pictures\ncould be taken from various points of view.\n\nThen, when the pigeon has determined the position of its goal, it flies\nthither in a straight line at a uniform speed of about 40 miles an\nhour. As the moment of exposure can be regulated with a fair amount of\nprecision, the object which it is desired to photograph can generally\nbe caught.\n\nIn besieged fortresses information concerning the besiegers can be\nobtained by tumbler pigeons, which, when released at their home, fly in\ncircles for a time and then return to their cotes.\n\n\n\n\nLATEST ISSUES\n\n\nMOTOR STORIES\n\nThe latest and best five-cent weekly. We won't say how interesting it\nis. See for yourself. =High art  covers. Thirty-two big pages.\nPrice, 5 cents.=\n\n  11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady.\n\n  12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Castaway in the Bahamas.\n\n  13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest.\n\n  14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the _Hawk_.\n\n  15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the _Grampus_.\n\n  16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters.\n\n  17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos.\n\n  18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon.\n\n  19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn.\n\n  20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys.\n\n  21--Motor Matt's Launch; or, A Friend in Need.\n\n  22--Motor Matt's Enemies; or, A Struggle for the Right.\n\n  23--Motor Matt's Prize; or, The Pluck That Wins.\n\n  24--Motor Matt on the Wing; or, Flying for Fame and Fortune.\n\n\nTIP TOP WEEKLY\n\nThe most popular publication for boys. The adventures of Frank and Dick\nMerriwell can be had only in this weekly. =High art  covers.\nThirty-two pages. Price, 5 cents.=\n\n  684--Dick Merriwell at the \"Meet\"; or, Honors Worth Winning.\n\n  685--Dick Merriwell's Protest; or, The Man Who Would Not Play Clean.\n\n  686--Dick Merriwell In The Marathon; or, The Sensation of the Great\n  Run.\n\n  687--Dick Merriwell's Colors; or, All For the Blue.\n\n  688--Dick Merriwell, Driver; or, The Race for the Daremore Cup.\n\n  689--Dick Merriwell on the Deep; or, The Cruise of the _Yale_.\n\n  690--Dick Merriwell in the North Woods; or, The Timber Thieves of the\n  Floodwood.\n\n  691--Dick Merriwell's Dandies; or, A Surprise for the Cowboy Nine.\n\n  692--Dick Merriwell's \"Skyscooter\"; or, Professor Pagan and the\n  \"Princess.\"\n\n  693--Dick Merriwell in the Elk Mountains; or, The Search for \"Dead\n  Injun\" Mine.\n\n  694--Dick Merriwell in Utah; or, The Road to \"Promised Land.\"\n\n  695--Dick Merriwell's Bluff; or, The Boy Who Ran Away.\n\n  696--Dick Merriwell in the Saddle; or, The Bunch from the Bar-Z.\n\n  697--Dick Merriwell's Ranch Friends; or, Sport on the Range.\n\n\nNICK CARTER WEEKLY\n\nThe best detective stories on earth. Nick Carter's exploits are read\nthe world over. =High art  covers. Thirty-two big pages. Price,\n5 cents.=\n\n  646--Three Times Stolen; or, Nick Carter's Strange Clue.\n\n  647--The Great Diamond Syndicate; or, Nick Carter's Cleverest Foes.\n\n  648--The House of the Yellow Door; or, Nick Carter in the Old French\n  Quarter.\n\n  649--The Triangle Clue; or, Nick Carter's Greenwich Village Case.\n\n  650--The Hollingsworth Puzzle; or, Nick Carter Three Times Baffled.\n\n  651--The Affair of the Missing Bonds; or, Nick Carter in the Harness.\n\n  652--The Green Box Clue; or, Nick Carter's Good Friend.\n\n  653--The Taxicab Mystery; or, Nick Carter Closes a Deal.\n\n  654--The Mystery of a Hotel Room; or, Nick Carter's Best Work.\n\n  655--The Tragedy of the Well; or, Nick Carter Under Suspicion.\n\n  656--The Black Hand; or, Chick Carter's Well-laid Plot.\n\n  657--The Black Hand Nemesis; or, Chick Carter and the Mysterious\n  Woman.\n\n  658--A Masterly Trick; or, Chick and the Beautiful Italian.\n\n  659--A Dangerous Man; or, Nick Carter and the Famous Castor Case.\n\n\n_For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt\nof price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_\n\nSTREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York\n\n\n=IF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS= of our Weeklies and cannot procure them\nfrom your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct.\nFill out the following Order Blank and send it to us with the price\nof the Weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail.\n=POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY.=\n\n\n                                    ________________________ _190_\n\n  _STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City._\n\n      _Dear Sirs: Enclosed please find_ ___________________________\n      _cents for which send me_:\n\n  TIP TOP WEEKLY,         Nos. ________________________________\n\n  NICK CARTER WEEKLY,      \"   ________________________________\n\n  DIAMOND DICK WEEKLY,     \"   ________________________________\n\n  BUFFALO BILL STORIES,    \"   ________________________________\n\n  BRAVE AND BOLD WEEKLY,   \"   ________________________________\n\n  MOTOR STORIES,           \"   ________________________________\n\n  _Name_ ________________ _Street_ ________________\n\n  _City_ ________________ _State_ ________________\n\n\n\n\nA GREAT SUCCESS!!\n\nMOTOR STORIES\n\n\nEvery boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of Motor Matt, which\nare making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and\ndelighted. Surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we\nare giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of\nthe stories, second only to those published in the Tip Top Weekly.\n\nMatt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are\nunusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can\nclearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them.\n\n\n_HERE ARE THE TITLES NOW READY AND THOSE TO BE PUBLISHED_:\n\n  1--Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel.\n\n  2--Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends.\n\n  3--Motor Matt's Century Run; or, The Governor's Courier.\n\n  4--Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the \"Comet.\"\n\n  5--Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot.\n\n  6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On the High Gear.\n\n  7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto.\n\n  8--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward.\n\n  9--Motor Matt's Air Ship; or, The Rival Inventors.\n\n  10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot.\n\n  11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady.\n\n  12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Cast Away in the Bahamas.\n\n  13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest.\n\n  14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the \"Hawk.\"\n\n  15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the \"Grampus.\"\n\n  16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters.\n\n  17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos.\n\n  18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon.\n\n  19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn.\n\n  20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys.\n\nTo be Published on July 12th.\n\n  21--Motor Matt's Launch; or, A Friend in Need.\n\nTo be Published on July 19th.\n\n  22--Motor Matt's Enemies; or, A Struggle for the Right.\n\nTo be Published on July 26th.\n\n  23--Motor Matt's Prize; or, The Pluck That Wins.\n\nTo be Published on August 2nd.\n\n  24--Motor Matt on the Wing; or, Flying for Fame and Fortune.\n\n\nPRICE, FIVE CENTS\n\nAt all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt\nof the price.\n\n  STREET & SMITH,      _Publishers_,      NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\n\nAdded table of contents.\n\nRetained some inconsistent hyphenation (\"work-bench\" vs. \"workbench\")\nfrom the original.\n\nFor this text edition, oe ligatures have been replaced with the letters\n\"oe.\"\n\nBold text is represented with =equal signs=, italics with _underscores_.\n\nPage 2, changed \"inisted\" to \"insisted\" after \"Motol Matt my boss, alle\nsame,\" and \"cred\" to \"cried\" after \"Here, now.\"\n\nPage 3, changed \"out\" to \"ought\" in \"You and Ping ought to be ashamed.\"\n\nPage 4, changed \"instiution\" to \"institution\" (\"Another institution,\nknown as...\").\n\nPage 9, changed \"sprit\" to \"spirit\" (\"said Matt, with spirit\").\n\nPage 10, corrected \"stakeboak\" to \"stake boat\" (\"As good as passed the\nstake boat\").\n\nPage 12, changed \"wth\" to \"with\" (\"forcing an interview with\").\n\nPage 19, corrected \"Larry\" to \"Lorry\" (\"While speaking, Lorry...\").\n\nPage 23, added missing close quote after \"prove that by telling you\nwhat just happened.\"\n\nPage 27, corrected \"red as a beat\" to \"red as a beet.\"\n\nPage 28, corrected \"Villiany\" to \"Villainy\" in \"next number\" table of\ncontents.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Motor Matt's Prize, by Stanley R. Matthews\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREAT AMERICAN FRAUD\n\nBy Samuel Hopkins Adams\n\n\nA Series of Articles on the Patent Medicine Evil, Reprinted from\nCollier's Weekly\n\n     I-----The Great American Fraud     3\n     II----Peruna and the Bracers      12\n     III---Liquozone                   23\n     IV----The Subtle Poisons          32\n     V-----Preying on the Incurables   45\n     VI----The Fundamental Fakes       57\n\n     ALSO\n\n     THE PATENT MEDICINE CONSPIRACY AGAINST THE FREEDOM OF THE PRESS\n\n\n\n\nI. THE GREAT AMERICAN FRAUD.\n\nReprinted from Collier's Weekly, Oct. 7, 1905. {003}\n\nThis is the introductory article to a series which will contain a full\nexplanation and exposure of patent-medicine methods, and the harm done\nto the public by this industry, founded mainly on fraud and poison.\nResults of the publicity given to these methods can already be seen\nin the steps recently taken by the National Government, some State\nGovernments and a few of the more reputable newspapers. The object\nof the series is to make the situation so familiar and thoroughly\nunderstood that there will be a speedy end to the worst aspects of the\nevil.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {003}\n\nGullible America will spend this year some seventy-five millions of\ndollars in the purchase of patent medicines. In consideration of this\nsum it will swallow huge quantities of alcohol, an appalling amount of\nopiates and narcotics, a wide assortment of varied drugs ranging from\npowerful and dangerous heart depressants to insidious liver stimulants;\nand, far in excess of all other ingredients, undiluted fraud. For fraud,\nexploited by the skillfulest of advertising bunco men, is the basis of\nthe trade. Should the newspapers, the magazines and the medical journals\nrefuse their pages to this class of advertisements, the patent-medicine\nbusiness in five years would be as scandalously historic as the South\nSea Bubble, and the nation would be the richer not only in lives and\nmoney, but in drunkards and drug-fiends saved.\n\n\"Don't make the mistake of lumping all proprietary medicines in one\nindiscriminate denunciation,\" came warning from all sides when this\nseries was announced. But the honest attempt to separate the sheep from\nthe goats develops a lamentable lack of qualified candidates for the\nsheepfold. External remedies there may be which are at once honest in\ntheir claims and effective for their purposes; they are not to be found\namong the much-advertised ointments or applications which fill the\npublic prints.\n\nCuticura may be a useful preparation, but in extravagance of advertising\nit rivals the most clamorous cure-all. Pond's Extract, one would\nnaturally suppose, could afford to restrict itself to decent methods,\nbut in the recent {004}epidemic scare in New York it traded on the\npublic alarm by putting forth \"display\" advertisements headed, in heavy\nblack type, \"Meningitis,\" a disease in which witch-hazel is about as\neffective as molasses. This is fairly comparable to Peruna's ghoulish\nexploitation, for profit, of the yellow-fever scourge in New Orleans,\naided by various southern newspapers of standing, which published as\n_news_ an \"interview\" with Dr. Hartman, president of the Peruna Company.\n\n\n\n\nDrugs That Make Victims.\n\nWhen one comes to the internal remedies, the proprietary medicines\nproper, they all belong to the tribe of Capricorn, under one of two\nheads, harmless frauds or deleterious drugs. For instance, the laxatives\nperform what they promise; if taken regularly, as thousands of people\ntake them (and, indeed, as the advertisements urge), they become an\nincreasingly baneful necessity. Acetanilid will undoubtedly relieve\nheadache of certain kinds; but acetanilid, as the basis of headache\npowders, is prone to remove the cause of the symptoms permanently by\nputting a complete stop to the heart action. Invariably, when taken\nsteadily, it produces constitutional disturbances of insidious\ndevelopment which result fatally if the drug be not discontinued, and\noften it enslaves the devotee to its use. Cocain and opium stop pain;\nbut the narcotics are not the safest drugs to put into the hands of the\nignorant, particularly when their presence is concealed in the \"cough\nremedies,\" \"soothing syrups,\" and \"catarrhal powders\" of which they are\nthe basis. Few outside of the rabid temperance advocates will deny a\nplace in medical practice to alcohol. But alcohol, fed daily and in\nincreasing doses to women and children, makes not for health, but for\ndrunkenness. Far better whiskey or gin unequivocally labeled than the\nalcohol-laden \"bitters,\" \"sarsaparillas\" and \"tonics\" which exhilerate\nfatuous temperance advocates to the point of enthusiastic testimonials.\n\nNone of these \"cures\" really does cure any serious affection, although\na majority of their users recover. But a majority, and a very large\nmajority, of the sick recover, anyway. Were it not so--were one illness\nout of fifty fatal--this earth would soon be depopulated.\n\n\n\n\nAs to Testimonials.\n\nThe ignorant drug-taker, returning to health from some disease which he\nhas overcome by the natural resistant powers of his body, dips his pen\nin gratitude and writes his testimonial. The man who dies in spite of\nthe patent medicine--or perhaps because of it--doesn't bear witness to\nwhat it did for him. We see recorded only the favorable results: the\nunfavorable lie silent. How could it be otherwise when the only avenues\nof publicity are controlled by the advertisers? So, while many of the\nprinted testimonials are genuine enough, they represent not the average\nevidence, but the most glowing opinions which the nostrum vender\ncan obtain, and generally they are the expression of a low order of\nintelligence. Read in this light, they are unconvincing enough. But the\ninnocent public regards them as the type, not the exception. \"If that\ncured Mrs. Smith of Oshgosh it may cure me,\" says the woman whose\nsymptoms, real or imaginary, are so feelingly described under the\npicture. Lend ear to expert testimony from a certain prominent cure-all:\n\n\"They see my advertising. They read the testimonials. They are\nconvinced. They have faith in Peruna. It gives them a gentle stimulant\nand so they get well.\"\n\nThere it is in a nutshell; the faith cure. Not the stimulant, but the\nfaith inspired by the advertisement and encouraged by the stimulant\ndoes the work--or seems to do it. If the public drugger can convince his\npatron {005}that she is well, she _is_ well--for his purposes. In the\ncase of such diseases as naturally tend to cure themselves, no greater\nharm is done than the parting of a fool and his money. With rheumatism,\nsciatica and that ilk, it means added pangs; with consumption, Bright's\ndisease and other serious disorders, perhaps needless death. No onus of\nhomicide is borne by the nostrum seller; probably the patient would have\ndied anyway; there is no proof that the patent bottle was in any way\nresponsible. Even if there were--and rare cases do occur where the\nresponsibility can be brought home--there is no warning to others,\nbecause the newspapers are too considerate of their advertisers to\npublish such injurious items.\n\n\n\n\nThe Magic \"Red Clause.\"\n\nWith a few honorable exceptions the press of the United States is at the\nbeck and call of the patent medicines. Not only do the newspapers modify\nnews possibly affecting these interests, but they sometimes become their\nactive agents. F. J. Cheney, proprietor of Hall's Catarrh Cure, devised\nsome years ago a method of making the press do his fighting against\nlegislation compelling makers of remedies to publish their formulae, or\nto print on the labels the dangerous drugs contained in the medicine--a\nconstantly recurring bugaboo of the nostrum-dealer. This scheme he\nunfolded at a meeting of the Proprietary Association of America, of\nwhich he is now president. He explained that he printed in red letters\non every advertising contract a clause providing that the contract\nshould become void in the event of hostile legislation, and he boasted\nhow he had used this as a club in a case where an Illinois legislator\nhad, as he put it, attempted to hold him for three hundred dollars on a\nstrike bill.\n\n\"I thought I had a better plan than this,\" said Mr. Cheney to his\nassociates, \"so I wrote to about forty papers and merely said: 'Please\nlook at your contract with me and take note that if this law passes you\nand I must stop doing business,' The next week every one of them had an\narticle and Mr. Man had to go.\"\n\nSo emphatically did this device recommend itself to the assemblage that\nmany of the large firms took up the plan, and now the \"red clause\" is a\nfamiliar device in the trade. The reproduction printed on page 6 {p006}\nis a fac-simile of a contract between Mr. Cheney's firm and the Emporia\n_Gazette_, William Allen White's paper, which has since become one\nof the newspapers to abjure the patent-medicine man and all his ways.\nEmboldened by this easy coercion of the press, certain firms have since\nused the newspapers as a weapon against \"price-cutting,\" by forcing\nthem to refuse advertising of the stores which reduce rates on patent\nmedicines. Tyrannical masters, these heavy purchasers of advertising\nspace.\n\nTo what length daily journalism will go at the instance of the business\noffice was shown in the great advertising campaign of Paine's Celery\nCompound, some years ago. The nostrum's agent called at the office of a\nprominent Chicago newspaper and spread before its advertising manager a\nfull-page advertisement, with blank spaces in the center.\n\n\"We want some good, strong testimonials to fill out with,\" he said.\n\n\"You can get all of those you want, can't you?\" asked the newspaper\nmanager.\n\n\"Can _you?_\" returned the other. \"Show me four or five strong ones from\nlocal politicians and you get the ad.\"\n\n\n\n\nFake Testimonials.\n\nThat day reporters were assigned to secure testimonials with photographs\nwhich subsequently appeared in the full-page advertisement as\npromised. As for the men who permitted the use of their names for this\n{006}purpose, several of them afterward admitted that they had\nnever tasted the \"Compound,\" but that they were willing to sign the\ntestimonials for the joy of appearing in print as \"prominent citizens.\"\nAnother Chicago newspaper compelled its political editor to tout for\nfake indorsements of a nostrum. A man with an inside knowledge of the\npatent-medicine business made some investigations into this phase of the\nmatter, and he declares that such procurement of testimonials became so\nestablished as to have the force of a system, only two Chicago papers\nbeing free from it.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {006}\n\nTo-day, he adds, a similar \"deal\" could be made with half a dozen of\nthat city's dailies. It is disheartening to note that in the case of\none important and high-class daily, the Pittsburg _Gazette_, a trial\nrejection of all patent-medicine advertising received absolutely no\nsupport or encouragement from the public; so the paper reverted to its\nold policy.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {007} A WINDOW EXHIBIT IN A CHICAGO DRUG STORE.\n\n{008} The control is as complete, though exercised by a class of\nnostrums somewhat differently exploited, but essentially the same.\nOnly \"ethical\" preparations are permitted in the representative medical\npress, that is, articles not advertised in the lay press. Yet this\ndistinction is not strictly adhered to. \"Syrup of Figs,\" for instance,\nwhich makes widespread pretense in the dailies to be an extract of the\nfig, advertises in the medical journals for what it is, a preparation\nof senna. Antikamnia, an \"ethical\" proprietary compound, for a long\ntime exploited itself to the profession by a campaign of ridiculous\nextravagance, and is to-day by the extent of its reckless _use_ on the\npart of ignorant laymen a public menace. Recently an article announcing\na startling new drug discovery and signed by a physician was offered to\na standard medical journal, which declined it on learning that the drug\nwas a proprietary preparation. The contribution was returned to the\neditor with an offer of payment at advertising rates if it were printed\nas editorial reading matter, only to be rejected on the new basis.\nSubsequently it appeared simultaneously in more than twenty medical\npublications as reading matter. There are to-day very few medical\npublications which do not carry advertisements conceived in the same\nspirit and making much tin same exhaustive claims as the ordinary quack\n\"ads\" of the daily press, and still fewer that are free from promises\nto \"cure\" diseases which are incurable by any medicine. Thus the medical\npress is as strongly enmeshed by the \"ethical\" druggers as the lay press\nis by Paine, \"Dr.\" Kilmer, Lydia Pinkham, Dr. Hartman, \"Hall\" of the\n\"red clause\" and the rest of the edifying band of life-savers, leaving\nno agency to refute the megaphone exploitation of the fraud. What\nopposition there is would naturally arise in the medical profession, but\nthis is discounted by the proprietary interests.\n\n\n\n\nThe Doctors Are Investigating.\n\n\"You attack us because we cure your patients,\" is their charge. They\nassume always that the public has no grievance against them, or, rather,\nthey calmly ignore the public in the matter. In his address at the last\nconvention of the Proprietary Association, the retiring president, W.\nA. Talbot of Piso's Consumption Cure, turning his guns on the medical\nprofession, delivered this astonishing sentiment:\n\n\"No argument favoring the publication of our formulas was ever uttered\nwhich does not apply with equal force to your prescriptions. It is\npardonable in you to want to know these formulas, for they are good.\nBut you must not ask us to reveal these valuable secrets, to do what you\nwould not do yourselves. The public and our law-makers do not want your\nsecrets nor ours, _and it would be a damage to them to have them_.\"\n\nThe physicians seem to have awakened, somewhat tardily, indeed, to\ncounter-attack. The American Medical Association has organized a Council\non Pharmacy and Chemistry to investigate and pass on the \"ethical\"\npreparations advertised to physicians, with a view to listing those\nwhich are found to be reputable and useful. That this is regarded as\na direct assault on the proprietary interests is suggested by the\nprotests, eloquent to the verge of frenzy in some cases, emanating from\nthose organs which the manufacturers control. Already the council has\nissued some painfully frank reports on products of imposingly scientific\nnomenclature; and more are to follow.\n\n\n\n\nWhat One Druggist Is Doing.\n\nLargely for trade reasons a few druggists have been fighting the\nnostrums, but without any considerable effect. Indeed, it is surprising\nto see that people are so deeply impressed with the advertising claims\nput forth daily as to be impervious to warnings even from experts. {009}\n\nA cut-rate store, the Economical Drug Company of Chicago, started on a\ncampaign and displayed a sign in the window reading:\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {009}\n\nPLEASE DO NOT ASK US\n\nWhat is ANY OLD PATENT MEDICINE Worth?\n\nFor you embarrass us, as our honest answer must be that IT IS WORTHLESS\n\nIf you mean to ask at what price we sell it, that is an entirely\ndifferent proposition.\n\nWhen sick, consult a good physician. It is the only proper course. And\nyou will find it cheaper in the end than self-medication with worthless\n\"patent\" nostrums.\n\nThis was followed up by the salesmen informing all applicants for the\nprominent nostrums that they were wasting money. Yet with all this that\nstore was unable to get rid of its patent-medicine trade, and to-day\nnostrums comprise one-third of its entire business. They comprise about\ntwo-thirds of that of the average small store.\n\nLegislation is the most obvious remedy, pending the enlightenment of\nthe general public or the awakening of the journalistic conscience. But\nlegislation proceeds slowly and always against opposition, which may be\nmeasured in practical terms as $250,000,000 at stake on the other\nside. I note in the last report of the Proprietary Association's annual\nmeeting the significant statement that \"the heaviest expenses were\nincurred in legislative work.\" Most of the legislation must be done by\nstates, and we have seen in the case of the Hall Catarrh cure contract\nhow readily this may be controlled.\n\nTwo government agencies, at least, lend themselves to the purposes of\nthe patent-medicine makers. The Patent Office issues to them trade-mark\nregistration (generally speaking, the convenient term \"patent medicine\"\nis a misnomer, as very few are patented) without inquiry into the nature\nof the article thus safeguarded against imitation. The Post Office\nDepartment permits them the use of the mails. Except one particular\nline, the disgraceful \"Weak Manhood\" remedies, where excellent work has\nbeen done in throwing them out of the mails for fraud, the department\nhas done nothing in the matter of patent remedies, and has no present\nintention of doing anything; yet I believe that such action, powerful as\nwould be {010}the opposition developed, would be upheld by the courts on\nthe same grounds that sustained the Post Office's position in the recent\ncase of \"Robusto.\"\n\n\n\n\nA Post-Office Report.\n\nThat the advertising and circular statements circulated through the\nmails were materially and substantially false, with the result of\ncheating and defrauding those into whose hands the statements came;\n\nThat, while the remedies did possess medicinal properties, these were\nnot such as to carry out the cures promised;\n\nThat the advertiser knew he was deceiving;\n\nThat in the sale and distribution of his medicines the complainant made\nno inquiry into the specific character of the disease in any individual\ncase, but supplied the same remedies and prescribed the same mode of\ntreatment to all alike.\n\nShould the department apply these principles to the patent-medicine\nfield generally, a number of conspicuous nostrums would cease to be\npat-, rons of Uncle Sam's mail service.\n\nSome states have made a good start in the matter of legislation, among\nthem Michigan, which does not, however, enforce its recent strong law.\nMassachusetts, which has done more, through the admirable work of its\nState Board of Health, than any other agency to educate the public on\nthe patent-medicine question, is unable to get a law restricting this\ntrade. In New Hampshire, too, the proprietary interests have proven\ntoo strong, and the Mallonee bill was destroyed by the almost\nunited opposition of a \"red-clause\" press. North Dakota proved more\nindependent. After Jan. 1, 1906, all medicines sold in that state,\nexcept on physicians' prescriptions, which contain chloral, ergot,\nmorphin, opium, cocain, bromin, iodin or any of their compounds or\nderivatives, or more than 5 per cent, of alcohol, must so state on\nthe label. When this bill became a law, the Proprietary Association\nof America proceeded to blight the state by resolving that its members\nshould offer no goods for sale there.\n\nBoards of health in various parts of the country are doing valuable\neducational work, the North Dakota board having led in the legislation.\nThe Massachusetts, Connecticut and North Carolina boards have been\nactive. The New York State board has kept its hands off patent\nmedicines, but the Board of Pharmacy has made a cautious but promising\nbeginning by compelling all makers of powders containing cocain to put\na poison label on their goods; and it proposes to extend this ruling\ngradually to other dangerous compositions.\n\n\n\n\nHealth Boards and Analyses.\n\nIt is somewhat surprising to find the Health Department of New York\nCity, in many respects the foremost in the country, making no use of\ncarefully and rather expensively acquired knowledge which would serve\nto protect the public. More than two years ago analyses were made by the\nchemists of the department which showed dangerous quantities of cocain\nin a number of catarrh powders. These analyses have never been printed.\nEven the general nature of the information has been withheld. Should\nany citizen of New York, going to the Health Department, have asked:\n\"My wife is taking Birney's Catarrh Powder; is it true that it's a\nbad thing?\" the officials, with the knowledge at hand that the drug in\nquestion is a mater of cocain fiends, would have blandly emulated the\nSphinx. Outside criticism of an overworked, undermanned and generally\nefficient department is liable to error through ignorance of the\nproblems involved in its administration; yet one can not but believe\nthat some form of warning against what is wisely admittedly a public\nmenace would have been a wiser form {011}of procedure than that\nwhich has heretofore been discovered by the formula, \"policy of the\ndepartment.\"\n\nPolicies change and broaden under pressure of conditions. The Health\nCommissioner is now formulating a plan which, with the work of the\nchemists as a basis, shall check the trade in public poisons more or\nless concealed behind proprietary names.\n\nIt is impossible, even in a series of articles, to attempt more than an\nexemplary treatment of the patent-medicine frauds. The most degraded\nand degrading, the \"lost vitality\" and \"blood disease\" cures, reeking of\nterrorization and blackmail, can not from their very nature be treated\nof in a lay journal. Many dangerous and health-destroying compounds will\nescape through sheer inconspicuousness. I can touch on only a few of\nthose which may be regarded as typical: the alcohol stimulators, as\nrepresented by Peruna, Paine's Celery Compound and Duffy's Pure Malt\nWhiskey (advertised as an exclusively medical preparation); the catarrh\npowders, which breed cocain slaves, and the opium-containing soothing\nsyrups, which stunt or kill helpless infants; the consumption cures,\nperhaps the most devilish of all, in that they destroy hope where hope\nis struggling against bitter odds for existence; the headache powders,\nwhich enslave so insidiously that the victim is ignorant of his own\nfate; the comparatively harmless fake as typified by that marvelous\nproduct of advertising and effrontery, Liquozone; and, finally, the\nsystem of exploitation and testimonials on which the whole vast system\nof bunco rests, as on a flimsy but cunningly constructed foundation.\n\n\n\n\nII. PERUNA AND THE BRACERS.\n\nReprinted from Collier's Weekly, Oct. 28, 1905. {012}\n\nA distinguished public health official and medical writer once made this\njocular suggestion to me:\n\n\"Let us buy in large quantities the cheapest Italian vermouth, poor gin\nand bitters. We will mix them in the proportion of three of vermouth to\ntwo of gin, with a dash of bitters, dilute and bottle them by the\nshort quart, label them '_Smith's Reviver ana Blood Purifier; dose,\none wineglassful before each meal_'; advertise them to cure erysipelas,\nbunions, dyspepsia, heat rash, fever and ague, and consumption; and to\nprevent loss of hair, smallpox, old age, sunstroke and near-sightedness,\nand make our everlasting fortunes selling them to the temperance trade.\"\n\n\"That sounds to me very much like a cocktail,\" said I.\n\n\"So it is,\" he replied. \"But it's just as much a medicine as Peruna and\nnot as bad a drink.\"\n\nPeruna, or, as its owner, Dr. S. B. Hartman, of Columbus, Ohio (once\na physician in good standing), prefers to write it, Pe-ru-na, is at\npresent the most prominent proprietary nostrum in the country. It has\ntaken the place once held by Greene's Nervura and by Paine's Celery\nCompound, and for the same reason which made them popular. The name of\nthat reason is alcohol.* Peruna is a stimulant pure and simple, and\nit is the more dangerous in that it sails under the false colors of a\nbenign purpose.\n\n     * Dr. Ashbel P. Grinnell of New York City, who has made a\n     statistical study of patent medicines, asserts as a provable\n     fact that more alcohol is consumed in this country in patent\n     medicines than is dispensed in a legal way by licensed\n     liquor venders, barring the sale of ales and beer.\n\nAccording to an authoritative statement given out in private circulation\na few years ago by its proprietors, Peruna is a compound of seven\ndrugs with cologne spirits. This formula, they assure me, has not been\nmaterially changed. None of the seven drugs is of any great potency.\nTheir total is less than one-half of 1 per cent, of the product.\nMedicinally they are too inconsiderable, in this proportion, to produce\nany effect. There remains to Peruna only water and cologne spirits,\nroughly in the proportion of three to one. Cologne spirits is the\ncommercial term for alcohol.\n\n\n\n\nWhat Peruna Is Made Of.\n\nAny one wishing to make Peruna for home consumption may do so by mixing\nhalf a pint of cologne spirits, 190 proof, with a pint and a half of\nwater, adding thereto a little cubebs for flavor and a little burned\nsugar for color. Manufactured in bulk, so a former Peruna agent\nestimates, its cost, including bottle and wrapper, is between fifteen\nand eighteen cents a bottle. Its price is $1.00. Because of this\nhandsome margin of profit, and by way of making hay in the stolen\nsunshine of Peruna advertising, many imitations have sprung up to harass\nthe proprietors of the alcohol-and-water product. Pe-ru-vi-na, P-ru-na,\nPurina, Anurep (an obvious inversion); these, bottled and labeled to\nresemble Peruna, are self-confessed imitations. From what the Peruna\npeople tell me, I gather that they are dangerous and damnable frauds,\nand that they cure nothing.\n\nWhat does Peruna cure? Catarrh. That is the modest claim for it; nothing\nbut catarrh. To be sure, a careful study of its literature will suggest\nits value as a tonic and a preventive of lassitude. But its reputation\n{013}rests on catarrh. What is catarrh? Whatever ails you. No matter\nwhat you've got, you will be not only enabled, but compelled, after\nreading Dr. Hartman's Peruna book, \"The Ills of Life,\" to diagnose\nyour illness as catarrh and to realize that Peruna alone will save\nyou. Pneumonia is catarrh of the lungs; so is consumption. Dyspepsia\nis catarrh of the stomach. Enteritis is catarrh of the intestines.\nAppendicitis--surgeons, please note before operating--is catarrh of the\nappendix. Bright's disease is catarrh of the kidneys. Heart disease is\ncatarrh of the heart. Canker sores are catarrh of the mouth. Measles\nis, perhaps, catarrh of the skin, since \"a teaspoonful of Peruna thrice\ndaily or oftener is an effectual cure\" (\"The Ills of Life\"). Similarly,\nmalaria, one may guess, is catarrh of the mosquito that bit you. Other\ndiseases not specifically placed in the catarrhal class, but yielding to\nPeruna (in the book), are colic, mumps, convulsions, neuralgia, women's\ncomplaints and rheumatism. Yet \"Peruna is not a cure-all,\" virtuously\ndisclaims Dr. Hartman, and grasps at a golden opportunity by advertising\nhis nostrum as a preventive against yellow fever! That alcohol and\nwater, with a little coloring matter and one-half of 1 per cent, of mild\ndrugs, will cure all or any of the ills listed above is too ridiculous\nto need refutation. Nor does Dr. Hartman himself personally make that\nclaim for his product. He stated to me specifically and repeatedly that\nno drug or combination of drugs, with the possible exception of quinin\nfor malaria, will cure disease. His claim is that the belief of the\npatient in Peruna, fostered as it is by the printed testimony, and\naided by the \"gentle stimulation,\" produces good results. It is well\nestablished that in certain classes of disease the opposite is true.\nA considerable proportion of tuberculosis cases show a history of the\nPeruna type of medicines taken in the early stages, with the result of\ndiminishing the patient's resistant power, and much of the typhoid in\nthe middle west is complicated by the victim's \"keeping up\" on this\nstimulus long after he should have been under a doctor's care. But it\nis not as a fraud on the sick alone that Peruna is baneful, but as the\nmaker of drunkards also.\n\n\"It can be used any length of time without acquiring a drug habit,\"\ndeclares the Peruna book, and therein, I regret to say, lies\nspecifically and directly. The lie is ingeniously backed up by Dr.\nHartman's argument that \"nobody could get drunk on the prescribed doses\nof Peruna.\"\n\nPerhaps this is true, though I note three wineglassfuls in\nforty-five minutes as a prescription which might temporarily alter a\nprohibitionist's outlook on life. But what makes Peruna profitable to\nthe maker and a curse to the community at large is the fact that the\nminimum dose first ceases to satisfy, then the moderate dose, and\nfinally the maximum dose; and the unsuspecting patron, who began with\nit as a medicine, goes on to use it as a beverage and finally to be\nenslaved by it as a habit. A well-known authority on drug addictions\nwrites me:\n\n\"A number of physicians have called my attention to the use of Peruna,\nboth preceding and following alcohol and drug addictions. Lydia\nPinkham's Compound is another dangerous drug used largely by drinkers;\nPaine's Celery Compound also. I have in the last two years met four\ncases of persons who drank Peruna in large quantities to intoxication.\nThis was given to them originally as a tonic. They were treated under my\ncare as simple alcoholics.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Government Forbids the Sale of Peruna to Indians.\n\nExpert opinion on the non-medical side is represented in the government\norder to the Indian Department, reproduced on the following page, the\nkernel of which is this: {014}\n\nDEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR,\n\nOFFICE OF INDIAN AFFAIRS,\n\nWashington, D. C., _August 10, 1905._\n\n_To Indian Agents and School Superintendents in charge of Agencies:_\n\nThe attention of the Office has been called to the fact that many\nlicensed traders are very negligent as to the way in which their stores\nare kept. Some lack of order might he condoned, but it is reported that\nmany stores are dirty even to filthiness. Such a condition of affairs\nneed not be tolerated, and improvement in that respect must be insisted\non.\n\nThe Office is not so inexperienced as to suppose that traders open\nstores among Indians from philanthropic motive's. Nevertheless a trader\nhas a great influence among the Indians with whom he has constant\ndealings and who are often dependent upon him, and there are not a few\ninstances in which the trader has exerted this influence for the welfare\nof his customers as well as for his own profit.\n\nA well-kept store, tidy in appearance, where the goods, especially\neatables, are handled in a cleanly way, with due regard to ordinary\nhygiene, and where exact business methods prevail is a civilizing\ninfluence among Indians, while disorder, slovenliness, slipshod ways,\nand dirt are demoralizing.\n\nYou will please examine into the way in which the traders under your\nsupervision conduct their stores, how their goods, particularly edible\ngoods, are handled, stored, and given out, and see to it that in these\nrespects, as well in respect of weights, prices, and account-keep-ing,\nthe business is properly conducted. If any trader, after due notice,\nfails to come up to these requirements you will report him to this\nOffice.\n\nIn connection with this investigation, please give particular attention\n{016}to the proprietary medicines and other compounds which the traders\nkeep in stock, with special reference to the liability of their misuse\nby Indians on account of the alcohol which they contain. The sale of\nPeruna, which is on the lists of several traders, is hereby absolutely\nprohibited. As a medicine, something else can be substituted; as an\nintoxicant, it has been found too tempting and effective. Anything of\nthe sort under another name which is found to lead to intoxication you\nwill please report to this Office. When a compound of that sort gets a\nbad name it is liable to be put on the market with some slight change of\nform and a new name. Jamaica ginger and flavoring extracts of vanilla,\nlemon, and so forth, should be kept in only small quantities and in\nsmall bottles and should not be sold to Indians, or at least only\nsparingly to those who it is known will use them only for legitimate\npurposes.\n\nOf course, you will continue to give attention to the labeling of\npoisonous drugs with skull and cross-bones as per Office circular of\nJanuary 12, 1905.\n\nCopies of this circular letter are herewith to be furnished the traders.\n\nYours, respectfully,\n\nC. F. LARRABEE,\n\n_Acting Commissioner._\n\n\nNote, in the fifth paragraph, these sentences: \"The sale of Peruna which\nis on the list of several traders, _is hereby absolutely prohibited._\nAs a medicine something else can be substituted; as an Intoxicant it has\nbeen found too tempting.\"\n\n\n\nAlcohol In \"Medicines\" And In Liquors.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {015}\n\nThese diagrams show what would be left in a bottle of patent medicine\nIf everything was poured out except the alcohol; they also show the\nquantity of alcohol that would be present if the same bottle had\ncontained whisky, champagne, claret or beer. It is apparent that a\nbottle of Peruna contains as much alcohol as five bottles of beer, or\nthree bottles of claret or champagne--that is, bottles of the same size.\nIt would take nearly nine bottles of beer to put as much alcohol into\na thirsty man's system as a temperance advocate can get by drinking one\nbottle of Hostetter's Stomach Bitters. While the \"doses\" prescribed\nby the patent medicine manufacturers are only one to two teaspoonfuls\nseveral times a day, the opportunity to take more exists, and even small\ndoses of alcohol, taken regularly, cause that craving which is the first\nstep in the making of a drunkard or drag fiend.\n\nSpecific evidence of what Peruna can do will be found in the following\nreport, verified by special investigation:\n\nPinedale, Wyo., Oct. 4.-- (Special.)--\"Two men suffering from delirium\ntremens and one dead is the result of a Peruna intoxication which took\nplace here a few days ago. C. E. Armstrong, of this place, and a\nparty of three others started out on a camping trip to the Yellowstone\ncountry, taking with them several bottles of whisky and ten bottles of\nPeruna, which one of the members of the party was taking as a tonic. The\ntrip lasted over a week. The whisky was exhausted and for two days\nthe party was without liquor. At last some one suggested that they use\nPeruna, of which nine bottles remained. Before they stopped the whole\nremaining supply had been consumed and the four men were in a state of\nintoxication, the like of which they had never known before. Finally,\none awoke with terrible cramps in his stomach and found his companions\nseemingly in an almost lifeless condition. Suffering terrible agony,\nhe crawled on his hands and knees to a ranch over a mile distant, the\nprocess taking him half a day. Aid was sent to his three companions.\nArmstrong was dead when the rescue party arrived. The other two men,\nstill unconscious, were brought to town in a wagon and are still in a\nweak and emaciated condition. Armstrong's body was almost tied in a knot\nand could not be straightened for burial.\"\n\nHere is testimony from a druggist in a Southern \"no license\" town:\n\n\"Peruna is bought by all the druggists in this section by the gross. I\nhave seen persons thoroughly intoxicated from taking Peruna. The common\nremark in this place when a drunken party is particularly obstreperous\nis that he is on a 'Peruna drunk,' It is a notorious fact that a great\nmany do use Peruna to get the alcoholic effect, and they certainly do\nget it good and strong. Now, there are other so-called remedies used for\nthe same purpose, namely, Gensenica, Kidney Specific, Jamaica Ginger,\nHostetter's Bitters, etc.\"\n\nSo well recognized is this use of the nostrum that a number of the\nSouthern newspapers advertise a cure for the \"Teruna habit.\" which\nis probably worse than the habit, as is usually the case with these\n\"cures.\" In southern Ohio and in the mountain districts of West Virginia\nthe \"Peruna jag\" is a standard form of intoxication.\n\n\n\n\nTwo Testimonials.\n\nA testimonial-hunter in the employ of the Peruna company was referred\nby a Minnesota druggist to a prosperous farmer in the neighborhood. The\nfarmer gave Peruna a most enthusiastic \"send-off\"; he had been using\nit for several months and could say, etc. Then he took the agent to his\nbarn and showed him a heap of empty Peruna bottles. The agent counted\nthem. There were seventy-four. The druggist added his testimonial. \"That\nold boy has a 'still' on all the time since he discovered Peruna,\" said\nhe. \"He's my star customer.\" The druggist's testimonial was not printed.\n\nAt the time when certain Chicago drug stores were fighting some of the\nleading patent medicines, and carrying only a small stock of them, a\nboy {017}called one evening at one of the downtown shops for thirty-nine\nbottles of Peruna. \"There's the money,\" he said. \"The old man wants to\nget his before it's all gone.\" Investigation showed that the purchaser\nwas the night engineer of a big downtown building and that the entire\nworking staff had \"chipped in\" to get a supply of their favorite\nstimulant.\n\n\"But why should any one who wants to get drunk drink Peruna when he can\nget whisky?\" argues the nostrum-maker.\n\nThere are two reasons, one of which is that in many places the\n\"medicine\" can be obtained and the liquor can not. Maine, for instance,\nbeing a prohibition state, does a big business in patent medicines. So\ndoes Kansas. So do most of the no-license counties in the South, though\na few have recently thrown out the disguised \"boozes.\" Indiana Territory\nand Oklahoma, as we have seen, have done so because of Poor Lo's\npredilection toward curing himself of depression with these remedies,\nand for a time, at least, Peruna was shipped in in unlabeled boxes.\n\nUnited States District Attorney Mellette, of the western district of\nIndian Territory, writes: \"Vast quantities of Peruna are shipped into\nthis country, and I have caused a number of persons to be indicted for\nselling the same, and a few of them have been convicted or have entered\npleas of guilty. I could give you hundreds of specific cases of 'Peruna\ndrunk' among the Indians. It is a common beverage among them, used for\nthe purposes of intoxication.\"\n\nThe other reason why Peruna or some other of its class is often the\nagency of drunkenness instead of whisky is that the drinker of Peruna\ndoesn't want to get drunk, at least she doesn't know that she wants to\nget drunk. I use the feminine pronoun advisedly, because the remedies\nof this class are largely supported by women. Lydia Pinkham's variety of\ndrink depends for its popularity chiefly on its alcohol. Paine's Celery\nCompound relieves depression and lack of vitality on the same principle\nthat a cocktail does, and with the same necessity for repetition. I\nknow an estimable lady from the middle West who visited her dissipated\nbrother in New York--dissipated from her point of view, because she was\na pillar of the W. C. T. U., and he frequently took a cocktail before\ndinner and came back with it on his breath, whereon she would weep over\nhim as one lost to hope. One day, in a mood of brutal exasperation, when\nhe hadn't had his drink and was able to discern the flavor of her grief,\nhe turned on her:\n\n\"I'll tell you what's the matter with you,\" he said. \"You're\ndrunk--maudlin drunk!\"\n\nShe promptly and properly went into hysterics. The physician who\nattended diagnosed the case more politely, but to the same effect,\nand ascertained that she had consumed something like half a bottle of\nKilmer's Swamp-Root that afternoon. Now, Swamp-Root is a very creditable\n\"booze,\" but much weaker in alcohol than most of its class. The\nbrother was greatly amused until he discovered, to his alarm, that his\ndrink-abhorring sister couldn't get along without her patent medicine\nbottle! She was in a fair way, quite innocently, of becoming a drunkard.\n\nAnother example of this \"unconscious drunkenness\" is recorded by the\n_Journal of the American Medical Association_: \"A respected clergyman\nfell ill and the family physician was called. After examining the\npatient carefully the doctor asked for a private interview with the\npatient's adult son.\n\n\"'I am sorry to tell you that your father undoubtedly is suffering from\nchronic alcoholism,' said the physician.\n\n\"'Chronic alcoholism! Why, that's ridiculous! Father never drank a\ndrop of liquor in his life, and we know all there is to know about his\nhabits.'\n\n\"'Well, my boy, its chronic alcoholism, nevertheless, and at this\npresent {018}moment your father is drunk. How has his health been\nrecently? Has he been taking any medicine?'\n\n\"'Why, for some time, six months, I should say, father has often\ncomplained of feeling unusually tired. A few months ago a friend of\nhis recommended Peruna to him, assuring him that it would build him up.\nSince then he has taken many bottles of it, and I am quite sure that he\nhas taken nothing else.'\"\n\nFrom its very name one would naturally absolve Duffy's Malt Whiskey\nfrom fraudulent pretence. But Duffy's Malt Whiskey is a fraud, for\nit pretends to be a medicine and to cure all kinds of lung and\nthroat diseases. It is especially favored by temperance folk. \"A\ndessertspoonful four to six times a day in water and a tablespoonful on\ngoing to bed\" (personal prescription for consumptive), makes a fair grog\nallowance for an abstainer.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {018}\n\nA SALOON WINDOW DISPLAY AT AUBURN. N. Y.\n\nThis bar-room advertises Duffy's Malt Whiskey, the beverage \"indorsed\"\nby the \"distinguished divines and temperance workers\" pictured below,\nand displays it with other well-known brands of Bourbon and rye--not\nas a medicine, but purely as a liquor, to be served, like others, in\n15-cent drinks across the bar.\n\n\n\n\nMedicine or Liquor?\n\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {019}\n\nTHREE \"DISTINGUISHED TEMPERANCE WORKERS\" WHO ADVOCATE THE USE OF\nWHISKEY.\n\nOf these three \"distinguished divines and temperance workers,\" the Rev.\nDunham runs a Get-Married-Quick Matrimonial Bureau, while the \"Rev.\"\nHoughton derives his income from his salary as Deputy Internal Revenue\nCollector, his business being to collect Uncle Sam's liquor tax. The\nprinted portrait of Houghton is entirely Imaginary; a genuine photograph\nof the \"temperance worker\" and whiskey Indorser is shown above. The\nRev. McLeod lives in Greenleaf, Mich.--a township of 893 inhabitants, in\nSalina County, north of Port Huron, and off the railway line. Mr. McLeod\nwas called to trial by his presbytery for Indorsing Duffy's whiskey and\nwas allowed to \"resign\" from the fellowship. {020}It has testimonials\nranging from consumption to malaria, and indorsements of the clergy.\nOn the opposite page we reproduce a Duffy advertisement showing the\n\"portraits\" of three \"clergymen\" who consider Duffy's Pure Malt Whiskey\na gift of God, and on page 18 [IMAGE ==>] {018}a saloon-window display\nof this product. For the whisky has its recognized place behind the bar,\nbeing sold by the manufacturers to the wholesale liquor trade and by\nthem to the saloons, where it may be purchased over the counter for\n85 cents a quart. This is cheap, but Duffy's Pure Malt Whiskey, is not\nregarded as a high-class article.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {020}\n\nREV. W. N. DUNHAM.\n\nBorn in Vermont eighty-two years ago, Mr. Dunham was graduated from the\nBoston Medical College and practiced medicine until about thirty years\nago, when he moved west. There he became a preacher. He occupied the\npulpit of the South Cheyenne, Wyoming, Congregational Church for ten\nyears. Two years ago he retired from the pulpit and established a\nmarriage bureau for the accommodation of couples who come over from\nColorado to be married. No money was paid by the Duffy's Malt Whiskey\npeople for Dunham's testimonial; but he received about $10 \"to have his\npicture taken.\"\n\n\"REV.\" M. N. HOUGHTON.\n\nThis Is the actual likeness of the \"distinguished divine\" with the side\nwhiskers in the Duffy whiskey advertisement. Mr. Houghton was for a\nnumber of years pastor of the Church of Eternal Hope, of Bradford, Pa.\nHe retired six years ago to enter politics, and is now a deputy Internal\nRevenue collector. Although a member of the Universalist Church, Mr.\nHoughton is a spiritualist and delivered orations last summer at the\nLily Dale assembly, the spiritualistic \"City of Light\" located near\nDunkirk, N. Y. Mr. Houghton owned racehorses and was a patron of the\nturf.\n\nIts status has been definitely settled in New York State, where Excise\nCommissioner Cullinane recently obtained a decision in the supreme court\ndeclaring it a liquor. The trial was in Rochester, where the nostrum is\nmade. Eleven supposedly reputable physicians, four of them members of\nthe Health Department, swore to their belief that the whisky contained\ndrugs which constituted it a genuine medicine. The state was able to\nshow conclusively that if remedial drugs were present they were in\nsuch small {021}quantities as to be indistinguishable, and, of course,\nutterly without value; in short, that the product was nothing more or\nless than sweetened whisky. Yet the United States government has long\nlent its sanction to the \"medicine\" status by exempting Duffy's Pure\nMalt Whiskey from the federal liquor tax. In fact, the government is\nprimarily responsible for the formal establishment of the product as a\nmedicine, having forced it into the patent medicine ranks at the time\nwhen the Spanish war expenses were partly raised by a special tax on\nnostrums. Up to that time the Duffy product, while asserting its virtues\nin various ills, made no direct pretence to be anything but a whisky.\nTransfer to the patent medicine list cost it, in war taxes, more\nthan $40,000. By way of setting a _quid pro quo_, the company began\ningeniously and with some justification to exploit its liquor as \"the\nonly whisky recognised by the government as medicine,\" and continues\nso to advertise, although the recent decision of the Internal Revenue\nDepartment, providing that all patent medicines which have no medicinal\nproperties other than the alcohol in them must pay a rectifier's tax,\nrelegates it to its proper place. While this decision is not a severe\nfinancial blow to the Duffys and their congeners (it means only a few\nhundred dollars apiece), it is important as officially establishing\nthe \"bracer\" class on the same footing with whisky and gin, where they\nbelong. Other \"drugs\" there are which sell largely, perhaps chiefly,\nover the oar, Hostetter's Bitters and Damiana Bitters being prominent in\nthis class.\n\nWhen this series of articles was first projected, _Collier's_ received\na warning from \"Warner's Safe Cure,\" advising that a thorough\ninvestigation would be wise before \"making any attack\" on that\npreparation. I have no intention of \"attacking\" this company or any one\nelse, and they would have escaped notice altogether, because of their\npresent unimportance, but for their letter. The suggested investigation\nwas not so thorough as to go deeply into the nature of the remedy, which\nis an alcoholic liquid, but it developed this interesting fact; Warner's\nSafe Cure, together with all the Warner remedies, is leased, managed\nand controlled by the New York and Kentucky Distilling Company,\nmanufacturers of standard whiskies which do not pretend to remedy\nanything but thirst. Duffy's Malt Whiskey is an another subsidiary\ncompany of the New York and Kentucky concern. This statement is\nrespectfully submitted to temperance users of the Malt Whiskey and the\nWarner remedies.\n\n\n\n\nSome Alcohol Percentages.\n\nHostetter's Bitters contain, according to an official state analysis,\n44 per cent, of alcohol; Lydia Pinkham appeals to suffering womanhood with\n20 per cent, of alcohol; Hood's Sarsaparilla cures \"that tired feeling\"\nwith 18 per cent.; Burdock's Blood Bitters, with 25 per cent.; Ayer's\nSarsaparilla, with 26 per cent., and Paine's Celery Compound, with\n21 per cent. The fact is that any of these remedies could be interchanged\nwith Peruna or with each other, so far as general effect goes, though\nthe iodid of potassium in the sarsaparilla class might have some effect\n(as likely to be harmful as helpful ) which would be lacking in the\nsimpler mixtures.\n\nIf this class of nostrum is so harmful, asks the attentive reader of\nnewspaper advertising columns, how explain the indorsements of so many\npeople of prominence and reputation? \"Men of prominence and reputation\"\nin this connection means Peruna, for Peruna has made a specialty of high\ngovernment officials and people in the public eye. In a self-gratulatory\ndissertation the Peruna Company observes in substance that, while the\nleading minds of the nation have hitherto shrunk from the publicity\nattendant on commending any patent medicine, the transcendent virtues of\nPeruna have overcome this amiable modesty, and, one and all, they stand\nforth its avowed champions. This is followed by an ingenious document\nheaded {022}\"Fifty Members of Congress Send Letters of Indorsement\nto the Inventor of the Great Catarrh Remedy, Pe-ru-na,\" and quoting\nthirty-six of the letters. Analysis of these letters brings out the\nsingular circumstance that in twenty-one of the thirty-six there is no\nindication that the writer has ever tasted the remedy which he so\nwarmly praises. As a sample, and for the benefit of lovers of ingenious\nliterature, I reprint the following from a humorous member of Congress:\n\n\"My secretary has as bad a case of catarrh as I ever saw, and since he\nhas taken one bottle of Peruna he seems like a different man.\n\n\"Taylorsville, N. C. Romulus Z. Linney.\"\n\nThe famous letter of Admiral Schley is a case in point. He wrote to the\nPeruna Company:\n\n\"I can cheerfully say that Mrs. Schley has used Peruna, and, I believe,\nwith good effect. [Signed] W. S. Schley.\"\n\nThis indorsement went the rounds of the country in half-page blazonry,\nto the consternation of the family's friends. Admiral Schley seems\nto have appreciated that this use of his name was detrimental to his\nstanding. He wrote to a Columbus religious journal the following letter:\n\n\"1820 I Street, Washington, D. C., Nov. 10,1904. \"_Editor Catholic\nColumbian_:--The advertisement of the Peruna Company, inclosed, is made\nwithout any authority or approval from me. When it was brought to\nmy attention first I wrote the company a letter, stating that\nthe advertisement was offensive and must be discontinued. Their\nrepresentative here called on me and stated he had been directed to\nassure me no further publication would be allowed, as it was without my\nsanction.\n\n\"I would say that the advertisement has been made without my knowledge\nor consent and is an infringement of my rights as a citizen.\n\n\"If you will kindly inform me what the name and date of the paper was in\nwhich the inclosed advertisement appeared I shall feel obliged.\n\n\"Very truly yours, W. S. Schley.\"\n\nCareful study of this document will show that this is no explicit denial\nof the testimonial. But who gives careful study to such a letter? On the\nface of it, it puts the Peruna people in the position of having forged\ntheir advertisement. Ninety-nine people out of a hundred would get\nthat impression. Yet I have seen the testimonial, signed with Admiral\nSchley's name and interlined in the same handwriting as the signature,\nand I have seen another letter, similarly signed, stating that Admiral\nSchley had not understood that the letter was to be used for such\nadvertising as the recipient based on it. If these letters are forgeries\nthe victim has his recourse in the law. They are on file at Columbus,\nOhio, and the Peruna Company would doubtless produce them in defense of\na suit.\n\n\n\n\nWhat the Government Can Do.\n\nOne thing that the public has a right to demand in its attitude toward\nthe proprietary medicines containing alcohol: that the government carry\nout rigidly its promised policy no longer to permit liquors to disguise\nthemselves as patent medicines, and thereby escape the tax which is put\non other (and probably better) brands of intoxicants. One other demand\nit should make on the purveyors of the concoctions: that they label\nevery bottle with the percentage of alcohol it contains; that they label\nevery man who writes testimonials to Duffy, and the W. C. T. U. member\nwho indorses Peruna, Lydia Pinkham, Warner and their compeers, will\nknow when they imbibe their \"tonics,\" \"invigorators,\" \"swamp roots,\"\n\"bitters,\" \"nerve-builders\" or \"spring medicines\" that they are sipping\nby the tablespoon or wineglassful what the town tippler takes across the\nlicense-paying bar.\n\n\n\n\nIII.--LIQUOZONE.\n\nReprinted from Collier's Weekly, Nov. 18, 1905. {023}\n\nTwenty years ago the microbe was making a great stir in the land. The\npublic mind, ever prone to exaggerate the importance and extent of any\nnew scientific discovery, ascribed all known diseases to microbes. The\ninfinitesimal creature with the mysterious and unpleasant attributes\nbecame the leading topic of the time. Shrewdly appreciating this golden\nopportunity, a quack genius named Radam invented a drug to slay the new\nenemy of mankind and gave it his name. Radam's Microbe Killer filled the\npublic prints with blazonry of its lethal virtues. As it consisted of a\nmixture of muriatic and sulphuric acids with red wine, any microbe which\ntook it was like to fare hard; but the ingenious Mr. Radam's method of\nadministering it to its intended prey via the human stomach failed to\ncommend itself to science, though enormously successful in a financial\nsense through flamboyant advertising.\n\n\n\n\nLiquozone \"Cures\" Thirty-seven Varieties.\n\nIn time some predaceous bacillus, having eluded the \"killer,\" carried\noff its inventor. His nostrum soon languished. To-day it is little heard\nof, but from the ashes of its glories has risen a mightier successor,\nLiquozone. Where twenty years ago the microbe reveled in publicity,\nto-day we talk of germs and bacteria; consequently Liquozone exploits\nitself as a germicide and bactericide. It dispenses with the red wine\nof the Radam concoction and relies on a weak solution of sulphuric\nand sulphurous acids, with an occasional trace of hydrochloric or\nhydrobromic acid. Mostly it is water, and this is what it \"cures\":\n\n     \"Asthma, Gallstones,\n     Abscess--Anemia, Goiter--Gout;\n     Bronchitis, Hay Fever--Influenza,\n     Blood Poison, La Grippe,\n     Bowel Troubles, Leucorrhea,\n     Coughs--Colds, Malaria--Neuralgia,\n     Consumption, Piles--Quinsy,\n     Contagious Diseases, Rheumatism,\n     Cancer--Catarrh, Scrofula,\n     Dysentery--Diarrhea, Skin Diseases,\n     Dyspepsia--Dandruff, Tuberculosis,\n     Eczema--Erysipelas, Tumors--Ulcers,\n     Fevers, Throat Troubles\n\n--all diseases that begin with fever--all inflammations--all\ncatarrh--all contagious diseases--all the results of impure or poisoned\nblood. In nervous diseases Liquozone acts as a vitalizer, accomplishing\nwhat no drugs can do.\"\n\nThese diseases it conquers by destroying, in the human body, the germs\nwhich cause (or are alleged to cause) them. Such is Liquozone's claim.\n\nYet the Liquozone Company is not a patent medicine concern. We have\ntheir own word for it:\n\n\"We wish to state at the start that we are not patent medicine men, and\ntheir methods will not be employed by us.... Liquozone is too important\na product for quackery.\"\n\nThe head and center of this non-patent medicine cure-all is Douglas\nSmith. {024}Mr. Smith is by profession a promoter. He is credited with\na keen vision for profits. Several years ago he ran on a worthy ex-piano\ndealer, a Canadian by the name of Powley (we shall meet him again,\ntrailing clouds of glory in a splendid metamorphosis), who was selling\nwith some success a mixture known as Powley's Liquefied Ozone. This was\nguaranteed to kill any disease germ known to science. Mr. Smith examined\ninto the possibilities of the product, bought out Powley, moved the\nbusiness to Chicago and organized it as the Liquid Ozone Company. Liquid\nair was then much in the public prints. Mr. Smith, with the intuition\nof genius, and something more than genius' contempt for limitations,\nproceeded to catch the public eye with this frank assertion: \"Liquozone\nis liquid oxygen--that is all.\"\n\nIt is enough. That is, it would be enough if it were but true. Liquid\noxygen doesn't exist above a temperature of 229 degrees below zero. One\nspoonful would freeze a man's tongue, teeth and throat to equal solidity\nbefore he ever had time to swallow. If he could, by any miracle, manage\nto get it down, the undertaker would have to put him on the stove to\nthaw him out sufficiently for a respectable burial. Unquestionably\nLiquozone, if it were liquid oxygen, would kill germs, but that wouldn't\ndo the owner of the germs much good because he'd be dead before they had\ntime to realize that the temperature was falling. That it would cost a\ngood many dollars an ounce to make is, perhaps, beside the question. The\nobject of the company was not to make money, but to succor the\nsick and suffering. They say so themselves in their advertising. For\nsome reason, however, the business did not prosper as its new owner had\nexpected. A wider appeal to the sick and suffering was needed. Claude C.\nHopkins, formerly advertising manager for Dr. Shoop's Restorative (also\na cure-all) and perhaps the ablest exponent of his specialty in the\ncountry, was brought into the concern and a record-breaking campaign\nwas planned. This cost no little money, but the event proved it a good\ninvestment. President Smith's next move showed him to be the master of a\nsilver tongue, for he persuaded the members of a very prominent law firm\nwho were acting as the company's attorneys to take stock in the concern,\nand two of them to become directors. These gentlemen represent, in\nChicago, something more than the high professional standing of their\nfirm; they are prominent socially and forward in civic activities; in\nshort, just the sort of people needed by President Smith to bulwark his\ndubious enterprise with assured respectability.\n\n\n\n\nThe Men Who Back the Fake.\n\nIn the Equitable scandal there has been plenty of evidence to show\nthat directors often lend their names to enterprises of which they know\npractically nothing. This seems to have been the case with the lawyers.\nOne point they brought up: was Liquozone harmful? Positively not,\nDouglas Smith assured them. On the contrary, it was the greatest boon to\nthe sick in the world's history, and he produced an impressive bulk of\ntestimonials. This apparently satisfied them; they did not investigate\nthe testimonials, but accepted them at their face value. They did not\nlook into the advertising methods of the company; as nearly as I can\nfind out, they never saw an advertisement of Liquozone in the papers\nuntil long afterward. They just became stockholders and directors, that\nis all. They did as hundreds of other upright and well-meaning men had\ndone in lending themselves to a business of which they knew practically\nnothing.\n\nWhile the lawyers continued to practice law, Messrs. Smith and Hopkins\nwere running the Liquozone Company. An enormous advertising campaign\nwas begun. Pamphlets were issued containing testimonials and claiming\n{025}the soundest of professional backing. Indeed, this matter of\nexpert testimony, chemical, medical and bacteriologic, is a specialty of\nLiquozone. Today, despite its reforms, it is supported by an ingenious\nsystem of pseudoscientific charlatanry. In justice to Mr. Hopkins it is\nbut fair to say that he is not responsible for the basic fraud; that the\ngeneral scheme was devised, and most of the bogus or distorted medical\nletters arranged, before his advent. But when I came to investigate\nthe product a few months ago I found that the principal defense against\nattacks consisted of scientific statements which would not bear analysis\nand medical letters not worth the paper they were written on. In\nthe first place, the Liquozone people have letters from chemists\nasseverating that the compound is chemically scientific.\n\n\n\n\nFaked and Garbled Indorsements.\n\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {025}\n\nANALYSIS OF LIQUOZONE.\n\nSULPHURIC ACID -- About nine-tenths of one per cent. SULPHUROUS ACID --\nAbout three-tenths of one per cent WATER....... -- Nearly ninety-nine\nper cent.\n\nSulphuric acid is oil of vitriol. Sulphurous acid is also a corrosive\npoison. Liquozone is the combination of these two heavily diluted.\n\nMessrs. Dickman, Mackenzie & Potter, of Chicago, furnish a statement\nto the effect that the product is \"made up on scientific principles,\ncontains no substance deleterious to health and is an antiseptic and\ngermicide of the highest order.\" As chemists the Dickman firm stands\nhigh, but if sulphuric and sulphurous acids are not deleterious to their\nhealth there must be something peculiar about them as human beings. Mr.\nDeavitt of Chicago makes affidavit that the preparation is not made by\ncompounding drugs. A St. Louis bacteriologist testifies that it will\nkill germs (in culture tubes), and that it has apparently brought\nfavorable results in diarrhea, rheumatism and a finger which a\nguinea-pig had gnawed. These and other technical indorsements are set\nforth with great pomp and circumstance, but when analyzed they fail to\nbear out the claims of Liquozone as a medicine. Any past investigation\ninto the nature of Liquozone has brought a flood of \"indorsements\"\ndown on the investigator, many of them medical. My inquiries have been\nlargely along medical lines, because the makers of the drug claim the\nprivate support of many physicians and medical institutions, and such\ntestimony is the most convincing. \"Liquozone has the indorsement of an\noverwhelming number of medical authorities,\" says one of the pamphlets.\n\nOne of the inclosures sent to me was a letter from a young physician on\nthe staff of the Michael Reese Hospital, Chicago, who was paid $25 to\nmake bacteriologic tests in pure cultures. He reported: \"This is\nto certify that the fluid Liquozone handed to me for bacteriologic\nexamination has shown bacteriologic and germicidal properties.\" At the\nsame time he {026}informed the Liquozone agent that the mixture would\nbe worthless medicinally. He writes me as follows: \"I have never used or\nindorsed Liquozone; furthermore, its action would be harmful when taken\ninternally. Can report a case of gastric ulcer due probably to its use.\"\n\nLater in my investigations I came on this certificate again. It was\nquoted, in a report on Liquozone, made by the head of a prominent\nChicago laboratory for a medical journal, and it was designated \"Report\nmade by the Michael Reese Hospital,\" without comment or investigation.\nThis surprising garbling of the facts may have been due to carelessness,\nor it may have some connection with the fact that the laboratory\ninvestigation was about that time employed to do work for Mr. Douglas\nSmith, Liquozone's president.\n\nAnother document is an enthusiastic \"puff\" of Liquozone, quoted as being\ncontributed by Dr. W. H. Myers in _The New York Journal of Health_.\nThere is not nor ever has been any such magazine as _The New York\nJournal of Health_. Dr. W. H. Myers, or some person masquerading under\nthat name, got out a bogus \"dummy\" (for publication only, and not as\nguarantee of good faith) at a small charge to the Liquozone people.\n\nFor convenience I list several letters quoted or sent to me, with the\nresult of investigations.\n\nThe Suffolk Hospital and Dispensary of Boston, through its president,\nAlbert C. Smith, writes: \"Our test shows it (Liquozone) to possess great\nremedial value.\" The letter I have found to be genuine. But the hospital\n_medical_ authorities say that they know nothing of Liquozone and never\nprescribe it. If President Smith is prescribing it he is liable to\narrest, as he is not an M.D.\n\nA favoring letter from \"Dr.\" Fred W. Porter of Tampa, Fla., is quoted.\nThe Liquozone recipients of the letter forgot to mention that \"Dr.\"\nPorter is not an M.D., but a veterinary surgeon, as is shown by his\nletter head.\n\nDr. George E. Bliss of Maple Rapids, Mich., has used Liquozone for\ncancer patients. Dr. Bliss writes me, under the flaming headline of his\n\"cancer cure,\" that his letter is genuine and \"not solicitated.\"\n\nDr. A. A. Bell of Madison, Ga., is quoted as saying: \"I found Liquozone\nto invigorate digestion.\" He is _not_ quoted (although he wrote it)\nas saying that his own personal experience with it had shown it to be\nineffective. I have seen the original letter, and the unfavorable part\nof it was blue-penciled.\n\nFor a local indorsement of any medicine perhaps as strong a name as\ncould be secured in Chicago is that of Dr. Frank Billings. In the\noffices of _Collier's_ and elsewhere Dr. Billings has been cited by the\nLiquozone people as one of those medical men who were prevented only by\nethical considerations from publicly indorsing their nostrum, but who,\nnevertheless, privately avowed confidence in it. Here is what Dr.\nBillings has to say of this:\n\nChicago, Ill., July 31, 1905.\n\n_To the Editor of Collier's Weekly._\n\n_Dear Sir_:--I have never recommended Liquozone in any way to any one,\nnor have I expressed to any representative of the Liquozone Company, or\nto any other person, an opinion favorable to Liquozone. (Signed)\n\nFrank Billings, M.D.\n\nUnder the heading, \"Some Chicago Institutions which Constantly Employ\nLiquozone,\" are cited Hull House, the Chicago Orphan Asylum, the Home\nfor Incurables, the Evanston Hospital and the Old People's Home.\n\nLetters to the institutions elicited the information that Hull\nHouse {027}had never used the nostrum, and had protested against the\nstatement; that the Orphan Asylum had experimented with it only for\nexternal applications, and with such dubious results that it was soon\ndropped; that it had been shut out of the Home for Incurables; that a\nfew private patients in the Old People's Home had purchased it, but on\nno recommendation from the physicians; and that the Evanston Hospital\nknew nothing of Liquozone and had never used it.\n\nHaving a professional interest in the \"overwhelming number of medical\nindorsements\" claimed by Liquozone, a Chicago physician, Dr. W. H.\nFelton, went to the company's offices and asked to see the medical\nevidence. None was forthcoming; the lists, he was informed, were in the\npress and could not be shown. He then asked for the official book for\nphysicians advertised by the firm, containing \"a great deal of evidence\nfrom authorities whom all physicians respect.\" This also, they said, was\n\"in the press.\" As a matter of fact, it has never come out of the press\nand never will; the special book project has been dropped.\n\nOne more claim and I am done with the \"scientific evidence.\" In a\npamphlet issued by the company and since withdrawn occurs this sprightly\nsketch:\n\n\"Liquozone is the discovery of Professor Pauli, the great German\nchemist, who worked for twenty years to learn how to liquefy oxygen.\nWhen Pauli first mentioned his purpose men laughed at him. The idea\nof liquefying gas--of circulating a liquid oxygen in the blood--seemed\nimpossible. But Pauli was one of those men who set their whole hearts on\na problem and follow it out either to success or to the grave. So Pauli\nfollowed out this problem though it took twenty years. He clung to it\nthrough discouragements which would have led any lesser man to abandon\nit. He worked on it despite poverty and ridicule,\" etc.\n\n\n\n\nLiquozone Kills a Great German Scientist.\n\nAlas for romance! The scathing blight of the legal mind descended on\nthis touching story. The lawyer-directors would have none of \"Professor\nPauli, the great German chemist,\" and Liquozone destroyed him, as it\nhad created him. Not totally destroyed, however, for from those rainbow\nwrappings, now dissipated, emerges the humble but genuine figure of our\nold acquaintance, Mr. Powley, the ex-piano man of Toronto. He is the\nprototype of the Teutonic savant. So much the Liquozone people now\nadmit, with the defence that the change of Powley to Pauli was, at most,\na harmless flight of fancy, \"so long as we were not attempting to use a\nname famous in medicine or bacteriology in order to add prestige to the\nproduct.\" A plea which commends itself by its ingeniousness at least.\n\nGone is \"Professor Pauli,\" and with him much of his kingdom lies. In\nfact, I believe there is no single definite intentional misstatement in\nthe new Liquozone propaganda. For some months there has been a cessation\nof all advertising, and an overhauling of materials under the censorship\nof the lawyer-directors, who were suddenly aroused to the real situation\nby a storm of protest and criticism, and, rather late in the day, began\nto \"sit up and take notice.\" The company has recently sent me a copy of\nthe new booklet on which all their future advertising is to be based.\nThe most important of their fundamental misstatements to go by the board\nis \"Liquozone is liquid oxygen.\"\n\n\"Liquozone contains no free oxygen,\" declares the revision frankly. No\ntestimonials are to be printed. The faked and garbled letters are to\nbe dropped from the files. There is no claim of \"overwhelming medical\nindorsement.\" Nor is the statement {028}anywhere made that Liquozone\nwill cure any of the diseases in which it is recommended. Yet such is\nthe ingenuity with which the advertising manager has presented his case\nthat the new newspaper exploitation appeals to the same hopes and\nfears, with the same implied promises, as the old. \"I'm well because of\nLiquozone,\" in huge type, is followed by the list of diseases \"where it\napplies.\" And the new list is more comprehensive than the old.\n\n\n\n\nAll Ills Look Alike to Liquozone.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {028}\n\nJust as to Peruna all ills are catarrh, so to Liquozone every disease is\na germ disease. Every statement in the new prospectus of cure \"has been\nsubmitted to competent authorities, and is exactly true and correct.,\"\ndeclares the recently issued pamphlet, \"Liquozone, and Tonic Germicide\";\nand the pamphlet goes on to ascribe, among other ills, asthma, gout,\nneuralgia, dyspepsia, goiter and \"most forms of kidney, liver and heart\ntroubles\" to germs. I don't know just which of the eminent authorities\nwho have been working for the Liquozone Company fathers this remarkable\nand epoch-making discovery. {029}\n\nUnfortunately, the writer of the Liquozone pamphlet, and the experts who\nedited it, got a little mixed on their germs in the matter of malaria.\n\"Liquozone is deadly to vegetable natter, but helpful to animals,\"\ndeclares the pamphlet.... \"Germs are vegetables\"--and that is the reason\nthat Liquozone kills them. But malaria, which Liquozone is supposed to\ncure, is positively known to be due to animal organisms in the blood,\nnot vegetable. Therefore, if the claims are genuine, liquozone, being\n\"helpful to animals,\" will aid and abet the malaria organism in his\nnefarious work, and the Liquozone Company, as well-intentioned men,\nworking in the interests of health, ought to warn all sufferers of this\nclass from use of their animal-stimulator.\n\nThe old claim is repeated that nothing enters into the production of\nLiquozone but gases, water and a little harmless coloring matter, and\nthat the process requires large apparatus and from eight to fourteen\ndays' time. I have seen the apparatus, consisting of huge wooden vats,\nand can testify to their impressive size. And I have the assurance of\nseveral gentlemen whose word (except in print) I am willing to take,\nthat fourteen days' time is employed in impregnating every output of\nliquid with gas. The result, so far as can be determined chemically\nor medicinally, is precisely the same as could be achieved in fourteen\nseconds by mixing the acids with the water. The product is still\nsulphurous and sulphuric acid heavily diluted, that is all.\n\nWill the compound destroy germs in the human body? This is, after all,\nthe one overwhelmingly important point for determination; for if it\nwill, all the petty fakers and forgery, the liquid oxygen and Professor\nPauli and the mythical medical journalism may be forgiven. For more than\nfour months now _Collier's_ has been patiently awaiting some proof of\nthe internal germicidal qualities of Liquozone None has been\nforthcoming except specious generalities from scientific employes of\nthe company--and testimonials. The value of testimonials as evidence is\nconsidered in a later article. Liquozone's are not more convincing than\nothers. Of the chemists and bacteriologists employed by the Liquozone\nCompany there is not one who will risk his professional reputation on\nthe simple and essential statement that Liquozone taken internally kills\ngerms in the human system. One experiment has been made by Mr. Schoen\nof Chicago, which I am asked to regard as indicating in some degree\na deterrent action of Liquozone on the disease of anthrax. Of two\nguinea-pigs inoculated with anthrax, one which was dosed with Liquozone\nsurvived the other, not thus treated, by several hours. Bacteriologists\nemployed by us to make a similar test failed, because of the surprising\nfact that the dose as prescribed by Mr. Schoen promptly killed the first\nguinea-pig to which it was administered. A series of guinea-pig tests\nwas then arranged (the guinea-pig is the animal which responds to germ\ninfection most nearly as the human organism responds), at which Dr.\nGradwohl, representing the Liquozone Company, was present, and in which\nhe took part. The report follows: {030}\n\nLEDERLE LABORATORIES.\n\nSanitary, Chemical and Bacteriologic Investigations.\n\n518 FIFTH AVENUE,\n\nNEW YORK CITY.\n\nOctober 21, 1905,\n\nAnthrax Test. Twenty-four guinea-pigs were inoculated with anthrax\nbacilli, under the same conditions, the same amount being given to each.\nThe representative of the Liquozone people selected the twelve pigs for\ntreatment. These animals were given Liquozone is 5 c.c. doses for three\nhours. In twenty-four hours all pigs were dead--the treated and the\nuntreated ones.\n\nSecond Anthrax Test. Eight guinea-pigs were Inoculated under the same\nconditions with a culture of anthrax sent by the Liquozone people. Four\nof these animals were treated for three hours with Liquozone as in\nthe last experiment. These died also in from thirty-six to forty-eight\nhours, as did the remaining four.\n\nDiphtheria Test. Six guinea-pigs were inoculated with diphtheria\nbacilli and treated with Liquozone. They all died in from forty-eight\nto seventy-two hours. Two out of three controls (i. e., untreated\nguinea-pigs) remained alive after receiving the same amount of culture.\n\nTuberculosis Test. Eight guinea-pigs were inoculated with tubercle\nbacilli. Four of these animals were treated for eight hours with 5 c.c.\nof a 20 per cent, solution of Liquozole. Four received no Liquozone. At\nthe end of twenty-four days all the animals were killed.\n\nFairly developed tuberculosis was present in all.\n\nTo summarize, we would say that the Liquozone had absolutely no curative\neffect, but did, when given in pure form, lower the resistance of the\nanimals, so that they died a little earlier than those not treated.\n\nLederle Laboratories.\n\nBy Ernst J. Lederle.\n\n\nDr. Gradwohl, representing the Liquozone Company, stated that he was\nsatisfied of the fairness of the tests. He further declared that in his\nopinion the tests had proved satisfactorily the total ineffectiveness of\nLiquozone as an internal germicide.\n\nBut these experiments show more than that. They show that in so far as\nLiquozone has any effect, it tends to lower the resistance of the body\nto an invading disease. That is, in the very germ diseases for which\nit is advocated, _Liquozone may decrease the chances of the patient's\nrecovery with every dose that is swallowed, but certainly would not\nincrease them_.\n\nIn its own field Liquozone is _sui generis_. On the ethical side,\nhowever, there are a few \"internal germicides,\" and one of these comes\nin for mention here, not that it is in the least like Liquozone in\nits composition, but because by its monstrous claims it challenges\ncomparison.\n\nSince the announcement of this article, and before, _Collier's_ has been\nin receipt of much virtuous indignation from a manufacturer of remedies\nwhich, he claims, Liquozone copies. Charles Marchand has been the most\nactive enemy of the Douglas Smith product. He has attacked the makers in\nprint, organized a society, and established a publication mainly devoted\nto their destruction, and circulated far and wide injurious literature\n(most of it true) about their product. Of the relative merits of\nHydrozone, Glycozone (Marchand's products); and Liquozone, I know\nnothing; but I know that the Liquozone Company has never in its history\nput forth so shameful an advertisement as the one reproduced on page\n28, [IMAGE ==>] {028} signed by Marchand, and printed in the New Orleans\n_States_ when the yellow-fever scare was at its height. {031}\n\nAnd Hydrozone is an \"ethical\" remedy; its advertisements are to be found\nin reputable medical journals.\n\n\n\n\nThe Same Old Fake.\n\nPartly by reason of Marchand's energy, no nostrum in the country has\nbeen so widely attacked as the Chicago product. Occasional deaths,\nattributed (in some cases unjustly) to its use, have been made the most\nof, and scores of analyses have been printed, so that in all parts\nof the country the true nature of the nostrum is beginning to be\nunderstood. The prominence of its advertising and the reckless breadth\nof its claims have made it a shining mark. North Dakota has forbidden\nits sale. San Francisco has decreed against it; so has Lexington, Ky.,\nand there are signs that it will have a fight tor its life soon in\nother cities. It is this looming danger that impelled Liquozone to an\nattempted reform last summer. Yet, in spite of the censorship of\nits legal lights, in spite of the revision of its literature by its\nscientific experts, in spite of its ingenious avoidance of specifically\nfalse claims in the advertising which is being scattered broadcast\nto-day, Liquozone is now what it was before its rehabilitation, a fraud\nwhich owes its continued existence to the laxity of our public health\nmethods and the cynical tolerance of the national conscience.\n\n\n\n\nIV--THE SUBTLE POISONS.\n\nReprinted from Collier's Weekly, Dec. 2, 1006. {032}\n\nIgnorance and credulous hope make the market for most proprietary\nremedies. Intelligent people are not given largely to the use of the\nglaringly advertised cure-alls, such as Liquozone or Peruna. Nostrums\nthere are, however, which reach the thinking classes as well as the\nreadily gulled. Depending, as they do, for their success on the lure of\nsome subtle drug concealed under a trademark name, or some opiate not\nreadily obtainable under its own label, these are the most dangerous\nof all quack medicines, not only in their immediate effect, but because\nthey create enslaving appetites, sometimes obscure and difficult of\ntreatment, most often tragically obvious. Of these concealed drugs the\nheadache powders are the most widely used, and of the headache powders\nOrangeine is the most conspicuous.\n\nOrangeine prints its formula. It is, therefore, its proprietors claim,\nnot a secret remedy. But to all intents and purposes it is secret,\nbecause to the uninformed public the vitally important word \"acetanilid\"\nin the formula means little or nothing. Worse than its secrecy is its\npolicy of careful and dangerous deception. Orangeine, like practically\nall the headache powders, is simply a mixture of acetanilid with less\npotent drugs. Of course, there is no orange in it, except the orange hue\nof the boxes and wrappers which is its advertising symbol. But this is\nan unimportant deception. The wickedness of the fraud lies in this:\nthat whereas the nostrum, by virtue of its acetanilid content, thins the\nblood, depresses the heart and finally undermines the whole system, it\nclaims _to strengthen the heart and to produce better blood_. Thus\nfar in the patent medicine field I have not encountered so direct and\nspecific an inversion of the true facts.\n\nRecent years have added to the mortality records of our cities a\nsurprising and alarming number of sudden deaths from heart failure. In\nthe year 1902 New York City alone reported a death rate from this cause\nof 1.34 per thousand of population; that is about six times as great as\nthe typhoid fever death record. It was about that time that the headache\npowders were being widely advertised, and there is every reason to\nbelieve that the increased mortality, which is still in evidence, is due\nlargely to the secret weakening of the heart by acetanilid. Occasionally\na death occurs so definitely traceable to this poison that there is\nno room for doubt, as in the following report by Dr. J. L. Miller, of\nChicago, in the _Journal of the American Medical Association_, on the\ndeath of Mrs. Frances Robson:\n\n\"I was first called to see the patient, a young lady, physically\nsound, who had been taking Orangeine powders for a number of weeks for\ninsomnia. The rest of the family noticed that she was very blue, and\nfor this reason I was called. When I saw the patient she complained of\na sense of faintness and inability to keep warm. At this time she had\ntaken a box of six Orangeine powders within about eight hours. She was\nwarned of the danger of continuing the indiscriminate use of the remedy,\nbut insisted that many of her friends had used it and claimed that it\nwas harmless. The family promised to see that she did not obtain any\nmore of the remedy. Three days later, however, I was called to the house\nand found the patient dead. The family said that she had gone to her\nroom the evening before in her usual health. The next morning, the\npatient not appearing, they investigated and found her dead. The case\nwas reported to the coroner, and the coroner's verdict was: 'Death was\nfrom the effect of an overdose of Orangeine {033}powders administered by\nher own hand, whether accidentally or otherwise, unknown to the jury.'\"\n\nLast July an 18-year-old Philadelphia girl got a box of Orangeine\npowders at a drug store, having been told that they would cure headache.\nThere was nothing on the label or in the printed matter inclosed with\nthe preparation warning her of the dangerous character of the nostrum.\nFollowing the printed advice, she took two powders. In three hours she\nwas dead. Coroner Dugan's verdict follows:\n\n\"Mary A. Bispels came to her death from kidney and heart disease,\naggravated by poisoning by acetanilid taken in Orangeine headache\npowders.\"\n\n\n\n\nPrescribing Without Authority.\n\nYet this poison is being recommended every day by people who know\nnothing of it and nothing of the susceptibility of the friends to whom\nthey advocate it. For example, here is a testimonial from the Orangeine\nbooklet:\n\n\"Miss A. A. Phillips, 60 Powers street, Brooklyn, writes: 'I always keep\nOrangeine in my desk at school, and through its frequent applications to\nthe sick I am called both \"doctor and magician.\"'\"\n\nIf the school herein referred to is a public school, the matter is\none for the Board of Education; if a private school, for the Health\nDepartment or the county medical society. That a school teacher should\nbe allowed to continue giving, however well meaning her foolhardiness\nmay be, a harmful and possibly fatal dose to the children intrusted\nto her care seems rather a significant commentary on the quality of\nwatchfulness in certain institutions.\n\nObscurity as to the real nature of the drug, fostered by careful\ndeception, is the safeguard of the acetanilid vender. Were its perilous\nquality known, the headache powder would hardly be so widely used. And\nwere the even more important fact that the use of these powders becomes\na habit, akin to the opium or cocain habits, understood by the public,\nthe repeated sales which are the basis of Orangeine's prosperity would\nundoubtedly be greatly cut down. Orangeine fulfills the prime requisite\nof a patent medicine in being a good \"repeater.\" Did it not foster\nits own demand in the form of a persistent craving, it would hardly be\nprofitable. Its advertising invites to the formation of an addiction to\nthe drug. \"Get the habit,\" it might logically advertise, in imitation of\na certain prominent exploitation along legitimate lines. Not only is\nits value as a cure for nervousness and headaches insisted on, but its\nprospective dupes are advised to take this powerful drug as a _bracer_.\n\n\"When, as often, you reach home tired in body and mind... take an\nOrangeine powder, lie down for thirty minutes' nap--if possible--anyway,\nrelax, then take another.\"\n\n\"To induce sleep, take an Orangeine powder immediately before retiring.\nWhen wakeful, an Orangeine powder will have a normalizing, quieting\neffect.\"\n\nIt is also recommended as a good thing to begin the day's work on in the\nmorning--that is, take Orangeine night, morning and between meals!\n\nThese powders pretend to cure asthma, biliousness, headaches, colds,\ncatarrh and grip (dose: powder every four hours during the day for a\nweek!--a pretty fair start on the Orangeine habit), diarrhea, hay fever,\ninsomnia, influenza, neuralgia, seasickness and sciatica.\n\nOf course, they do not cure any of these; they do practically nothing\nbut give temporary relief by depressing the heart. With the return\nto normal conditions of blood circulation comes a recurrence of the\nnervousness, {034}headache, or what not, and the incentive to more of\nthe drug, until it becomes a necessity. In my own acquaintance I know\nhalf a dozen persons who have come to depend on one or another of these\nheadache preparations to keep them going. One young woman whom I have\nin mind told me quite innocently that she had been taking five or\nsix Orangeine powders a day for several months, having changed from\nKoehler's powders when some one told her that the latter were dangerous!\nBecause of her growing paleness her husband had called in their\nphysician, but neither of them had mentioned the little matter of the\nnostrum, having accepted with a childlike faith the asseverations of\nits beneficent qualities. Yet they were of an order of intelligence that\nwould scoff at the idea of drinking Swamp-Root.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {034}\n\n\n\n\nAn Acetanilid Death Record.\n\nThis list of fatalities is made up from statements published in the\nnewspapers. In every case the person who died had taken to relieve a\nheadache or as a bracer a patent medicine containing acetanilid, without\na doctor's prescription. This list does not include the case of a dog\nin Altoona, Pa., which died immediately on eating some sample headache\npowders. The dog did not know any better.\n\n   Mrs. Minnie Bishop, Louisville, Ky.; Oct. 16, 1903.\n   Mrs. Mary Cusick and Mrs. Julia Ward, of 172 Perry Street,\n                  New York City; Nov. 27, 1903.\n   Fred. P. Stock, Scranton, Pa.; Dec. 7, 1903.\n   C. Frank Henderson, Toledo, 0.; Dec. 13, 1903.\n   Jacob E. Staley, St. Paul, Mich.; Feb. 18, 1904.\n   Charles M. Scott, New Albany, Ind.; March 15, 1904.\n   Oscar McKinley, Pittsburg, Pa.; April 13, 1904.\n   Otis Staines, student at Wabash College; April 13, 1904.\n   Mrs. Florence Rumsey, Clinton, la.; April 23, 1904.\n   Jenny McGee, Philadelphia, Pa.; May 26, 1904.\n   Mrs. William Mabee, Leoni, Midi.; Sept. 9, 1904.\n   Mrs. Jacob Friedman, of South Bend, Ind.; Oct. 19, 1904.\n   Miss Libbie North, Rockdale, N. Y.; Oct. 26, 1904.\n   Margaret Hanahan, Dayton, O.; Oct. 29, 1904.\n   Samuel Williamson, New York City; Nov. 21, 1904.\n   George Kublisch, St. Louis, Mo.; Nov. 24, 1904.\n   Robert Breck, St. Louis, Mo.;'Nov. 27, 1904.\n   Mrs. Harry Haven, Oriskany Falls, N. Y.; Jan. 17, 1905.\n   Mrs. Jennie Whyler, Akron, 0.; April 3, 1905.\n   Mrs. Augusta Strothmann, St. Louis, Mo.; June 20, 1905.\n   Mrs. Mary A. Bispels, Philadelphia, Pa.; July 2, 1905.\n   Mrs. Thos. Patterson, Huntington, W. Va.; Aug. 15, 1905.\n\nSome of these victims died from an alleged overdose; others from the\nprescribed dose. In almost every instance the local papers suppressed\nthe name of the fatal remedy, {035}Peruna. That particular victim\nhad the beginning of the typical blue skin pictured in the street-car\nadvertisements of Orangeine (the advertisements are a little mixed, as\nthey put the blue hue on the \"before taking,\" whereas it should go on\nthe \"after taking\"). And, by the way, I can conscientiously recommend\nOrangeine, Koehler's powders, Royal Pain powders and others of that\nclass to women who wish for a complexion of a dead, pasty white,\nverging to a puffy blueness under the eyes and about the lips. Patient\nuse of these drugs will even produce an interesting and picturesque, if\nnot intrinsically beautiful, purplish-gray hue of the face and neck.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {035}\n\n\n\n\nDrugs That Deprave.\n\nAnother acquaintance writes me that he is unable to dissuade his wife\nfrom the constant use of both Orangeine and Bromo-Seltzer, although her\n{036}health is breaking down. Often it is difficult for a physician to\ndiagnose these cases because the symptoms are those of certain diseases\nin which the blood deteriorates, and, moreover, the victim, as in opium\nand cocain slavery, will positively deny having used the drug. A case\nof acetanilid addiction (in \"cephalgin,\" an ethical proprietary) is thus\nreported:\n\n\"When the drug was withheld the patient soon began to exhibit all the\ntraits peculiar to the confirmed morphine-maniac--moral depravity\nand the like. She employed every possible means to obtain the drug,\nattempting even to bribe the nurse, and, this failing, even members of\nthe family.\" Another report of a similar case (and there are plenty of\nthem to select from) reads:\n\n\"Stomach increasingly irritable; skin a grayish or light purplish hue;\npalpitation and slight enlargement of the heart; great prostration, with\npains in the region of the heart; blood discolored to a chocolate\nhue. The patient denied that she had been using acetanilid, but it was\ndiscovered that for a year she had been obtaining it in the form of\na proprietary remedy and had contracted a regular 'habit.' On the\ndiscontinuance of the drug the symptoms disappeared. She was discharged\nfrom the hospital as cured, but soon returned to the use of the drug and\napplied for readmission, displaying the former symptoms.\"\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {036}\n\nNEW YORK STATE'S NEW POISON LABEL.\n\n\n\n\nOn a cocain-laden medicine.\n\nWhere I have found a renegade physician making his millions out of\nPeruna, or a professional promoter trading on the charlatanry of\nLiquozone, it has seemed superfluous to comment on the personality of\nthe men. They are what their business connotes. With Orangeine the case\nis somewhat different. Its proprietors are men of standing in other and\nreputable spheres of activity. Charles L. Bartlett, its president, is a\ngraduate of Yale University and a man of some prominence in its alumni\naffairs. Orangeine is a side issue with him. Professionally he is the\nwestern representative of Ivory Soap, one of the heaviest of legitimate\nadvertisers, and he doubtless learned from this the value of skillful\nexploitation. Next to Mr. Bartlett, the largest owner of stock (unless\nhe has recently sold out) is William Gillette, the actor, whose\nenthusiastic indorsement of the powders is known in a personal sense to\nthe profession which he follows, and in print to hundreds of thousands\nof theater-goers who have read it in their programs. Whatever these\ngentlemen may think of their product (and I understand that, incredible\nas it may seem, both of them are constant users of it and genuine\nbelievers in it), the methods by which it is sold and the essential and\nmendacious concealment of its real nature illustrate the {037}level to\nwhich otherwise upright and decent men are brought by a business which\ncan not profitably include either uprightness or decency in its methods.\n\nOrangeine is less dangerous, except in extent of use, than many other\nacetanilid mixtures which are much the same thing under a different\nname. A friend of mine with a weak heart took the printed dose of\nLaxative Bromo Quinin and lay at the point of death for a week. There\nis no word of warning on the label. In many places samples of headache\npowders are distributed on the doorsteps. The St. Louis Chronicle\nrecords a result:\n\n\"Huntington, W. Va., Aug. 15, 1905.--While Mrs. Thomas Patterson was\npreparing supper last evening she was stricken with a violent headache\nand took a headache powder that had been thrown in at her door the day\nbefore. Immediately she was seized with spasms and in an hour she was\ndead.\"\n\nThat even the lower order of animals is not safe is shown by a canine\ntragedy in Altoona, Pa., where a prize collie dog incautiously devoured\nthree sample tablets and died in an hour. Yet the distributing agents of\nthese mixtures do not hesitate to lie about them. Rochester, N. Y., has\nan excellent ordinance forbidding the distribution of sample medicines,\nexcept by permission of the health officer. An agent for Miniature\nHeadache Powders called on Dr. Goler with a request for leave to\ndistribute 25,000 samples.\n\n\"What's your formula?\" asked the official.\n\n\"Salicylate of soda and sugar of milk,\" replied the traveling man.\n\n\"And you pretend to cure headaches with that?\" said the doctor. \"I'll\nlook into it.\"\n\nAnalysis showed that the powders were an acetanilid mixture. The sample\nman didn't wait for the result. He hasn't been back to Rochester since,\nalthough Dr. Goler is hopefully awaiting him.\n\nBromo-Seltzer is commonly sold in drug stores, both by the bottle and\nat soda fountains. The full dose is \"a heaping teaspoonful.\" A heaping\nteaspoonful of Bromo-Seltzer means about ten grains of acetanilid. The\nUnited States Pharmacopeia dose is four grains; five grains have been\nknown to produce fatal results. The prescribed dose of Bromo-Seltzer is\ndangerous and has been known to produce sudden collapse.\n\nMegrimine is a warranted headache cure that is advertised in several\nof the magazines. A newly arrived guest at a Long Island house party\nbrought along several lots and distributed them as a remedy for headache\nand that tired feeling. It was perfectly harmless, she declared; didn't\nthe advertisement say \"leaves no unpleasant effects\"? As a late dance\nthe night before had left its impress on the feminine members of the\nhouse party, there was a general acceptance of the \"bracer.\" That\nnight the local physician visited the house party (on special \"rush\"\ninvitation), and was well satisfied to pull all his patients through.\nHe had never before seen acetanilid poisoning by wholesale. A Chicago\ndruggist writes me that the wife of a prominent physician buys Megrimine\nof him by the half-dozen lots secretly. She has the habit.\n\nOn October 9, W. H. Hawkins, superintendent of the American Detective\nAssociation, a mar of powerful physique and apparently in good health,\nwent to a drug store in Anderson, Ind., and took a dose of Dr. Davis'\nHeadache Powders. He then boarded a car for Marion and shortly after\nfell to the floor, dead. The coroner's verdict is reproduced on page 35.\n{035} Whether these powders are made by a Dr. W. C. Davis, of\nIndianapolis, who makes Anti-Headache, I am unable to state.\nAnti-Headache describes itself as \"a compound of mild ingredients and\npositively contains no dangerous drugs.\" It is almost pure acetanilid.\n\nIn the \"ethical\" field the harm done by this class of proprietaries is\nperhaps {038}as great as in the open field, for many of those which are\nsupposed to be sold only in prescriptions are as freely distributed to\nthe laity as Peruna. And their advertising is hardly different.\n\nAntikamnia, claiming to be an \"ethical\" remedy, and advertising through\nthe medical press by methods that would, with little alteration, fit any\npatent painkiller on the market, is no less dangerous or fraudulent than\nthe Orangeine class which it almost exactly parallels in composition. It\nwas at first exploited as a \"new synthetical coal-tar derivative,\"\nwhich it isn't and never was. It is simply half or more acetanilid\n(some analyses show as high as 68 per cent.) with other unimportant\ningredients in varying proportions. In a booklet entitled \"Light on\nPain,\" and distributed on doorsteps, I find under an alphabetical list\nof diseases this invitation to form the Antikamnia habit:\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {038}\n\n\"Nervousness (overwork and excesses)--Dose: One Antikamnia tablet every\ntwo or three hours.\n\n\"Shoppers' or Sightseers' Headache--Dose: Two Antikamnia tablets every\nthree hours.\n\n\"Worry (nervousness, 'the blues')--Dose: One or two Antikamnia and\nCodein tablets every three hours.\"\n\nCodein is obtained from opium. The codein habit is well known to all\ninstitutions which treat drug addictions, and is recognized as being no\nless difficult to cure than the morphin habit.\n\nThe following well-known \"remedies\" both \"ethical\" and \"patent,\" depend\nfor their results upon the heart-depressing action of Acetanilid:\n\n     Orangeine\n     Bromo-Seltzer\n     Megrimine\n     Anti-Headache\n     Ammonol\n     Salacetin\n     Royal Pain Powders Dr. Davis's Headache Phenalgin\n     Cephalgin\n     Miniature Headache Powders\n     Powders\n\nA typical instance of what Antikamnia will do for its users is that of a\nPennsylvania merchant, 50 years old, who had declined, without apparent\nAntikamnia {039}cause, from 140 to 116 pounds, and was finally brought\nto Philadelphia in a state of stupor. His pulse was barely perceptible,\nhis skin dusky and his blood of a deep chocolate color. On reviving he\nwas questioned as to whether he had been taking headache powders. He\nhad, for several years. What kind? Antikamnia; sometimes in the plain\ntablets, at other times Antikamnia with codein. How many? About twelve\na day. He was greatly surprised to learn that this habit was responsible\nfor his condition.\n\n\"My doctor gave it to me for insomnia,\" he said, and it appeared that\nthe patient had never even been warned of the dangerous character of the\ndrug.\n\nWere it obtainable, I would print here the full name and address of\nthat attending physician, as one unfit, either through ignorance or\ncarelessness, to practice his profession. And there would be other\nphysicians all over the country who would, under that description,\nsuffer the same indictment within their own minds for starting innocent\npatients on a destructive and sometimes fatal course. For it is the\ncareless or conscienceless physician who gets the customer for the\n\"ethical\" headache remedies, and the customer, once secured, pays\na profit, very literally, with his own blood. Once having taken\nAntikamnia, the layman, unless informed as to its true nature, will\noften return to the drug store and purchase it with the impression that\nit is a specific drug, like quinin or potassium chlorate, instead of a\ndisguised poison, exploited and sold under patent rights by a private\nconcern. The United States Postoffice, in its broad tolerance, permits\nthe Antikamnia company to send through the mails little sample boxes\ncontaining tablets enough to kill an ordinary man, and these samples are\nsent not only to physicians, as is the rule with ethical remedies,\nbut to lawyers, business men, \"brain workers\" and other prospective\npurchasing classes. The box bears the lying statement: \"No drug\nhabit--no heart effect.\"\n\nJust as this is going to press the following significant case comes in\nfrom Iowa:\n\n\"Farmington, Iowa, Oct. 6.-- (Special to the\nConstitution-Democrat.)--Mrs. Hattie Kick, one of the best and most\nprominent ladies of Farmington, died rather suddenly Wednesday morning\nat 10 o'clock from an overdose of Antikamnia, which she took for a\nsevere headache from which she was suffering. Mrs. Kick was subject to\nsevere headaches and was a frequent user of Antikamnia, her favorite\nremedy for this ailment.\"\n\nThere is but one safeguard in the use of these remedies: to regard them\nas one would regard opium and to employ them only with the consent of\na physician who understands their true nature. Acetanilid has its uses,\nbut not as a generic painkiller. Pain is a symptom; you can drug it away\ntemporarily, but it will return clamoring for more payment until the\nfinal price is hopeless enslavement. Were the skull and bones on every\nbox of this class of poison the danger would be greatly minimized.\n\nWith opium and cocain the case is different. The very words are danger\nsignals. Legal restrictions safeguard the public, to a greater or less\ndegree, from their indiscriminate use. Normal people do not knowingly\ntake opium or its derivatives except with the sanction of a physician,\nand there is even spreading abroad a belief (surely an expression of the\nprimal law of self-preservation) that the licensed practitioner leans\ntoo readily toward the convenient narcotics.\n\nBut this perilous stuff is the ideal basis for a patent medicine because\nits results are immediate (though never permanent), and it is its own\nbest advertisement in that one dose imperatively calls for another.\nTherefore it behooves the manufacturer of opiates to disguise the use of\nthe drug. This he does in varying forms, and he has found his greatest\nsuccess in the \"cough and consumption cures\" and the soothing syrup\nclass. The former of these will be considered in another article. As\nto the \"soothing syrups,\" {040}designed for the drugging of helpless\ninfants, even the trade does not know how many have risen, made their\nbase profit and subsided. A few survive, probably less harmful than\nthe abandoned ones, on the average, so that by taking the conspicuous\nsurvivors as a type I am at least doing no injustice to the class.\n\nSome years ago I heard a prominent New York lawyer, asked by his office\nscrub woman to buy a ticket for some \"association\" ball, say to her:\n\"How can you go to these affairs, Nora, when you have two young children\nat home?\"\n\n\"Sure, they're all right,\" she returned, blithely; \"just wan teaspoonful\nof Winslow's an' they lay like the dead till mornin'.\"\n\nWhat eventually became of the scrub woman's children I don't know. The\ntypical result of this practice is described by a Detroit physician who\nhas been making a special study of Michigan's high mortality rate:\n\n\"Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup is extensively used among the poorer\nclasses as a means of pacifying their babies. These children eventually\ncome into the hands of physicians with a greater or less addiction to\nthe opium habit. The sight of a parent drugging a helpless infant into a\nsemi-comatose condition is not an elevating one for this civilized age,\nand it is a very common practice. [IMAGE ==>] {040}I can give you one\nillustration from my own hospital experience, which was told me by the\nfather of the girl. A middle-aged railroad man of Kansas City had a\nsmall daughter with summer diarrhea. For this she was given a patent\ndiarrhea medicine. It controlled the trouble, but as soon as the remedy\nwas withdrawn the diarrhea returned. At every withdrawal the trouble\nbegan anew, and the final result was that they never succeeded in curing\nthis daughter of the opium habit which had taken its hold on her. It\nwas some years afterward that the parents became aware that she had\ncontracted the habit, when the physician took away the patent medicine\nand gave the girl morphin, with exactly the same result which she had\nexperienced with the patent remedy. At the time the father told me\nthis story his daughter was 19 years of age, an only child of wealthy\nparents, and one who could have had every advantage in life, but who was\na complete wreck in every way as a result of the opium habit. The father\ntold me, with tears in his eyes, that he would rather she had died with\nthe original illness than to have lived to become the creature which she\nthen was.\" The proprietor of a drug store in San Jose, Cal., writes to\n_Collier's_ as follows:\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {041}\n\n\"I have a good customer, a married woman with five children, all under\n10 years of age. When her last baby was born, about a year ago, the\nfirst thing she did was to order a bottle of Winslow's Soothing Syrup,\nand every {042}week another bottle was bought at first, until now a\nbottle is bought every third day. Why? Because the baby has become\nhabituated to the drug. I am not well enough acquainted with the family\nto be able to say that the weaned children show any present abnormality\nof health due to the opium contained in the drug, but the after-effects\nof opium have been thus described.... Another instance, quite as\nstartling, was that of a mother who gave large quantities of soothing\nsyrup to two of her children in infancy; then, becoming convinced of\nits danger, abandoned its use. These children in middle life became\nneurotics, spirit and drug-takers. Three children born later and not\ngiven any drugs in early life grew up strong and healthy.\n\n\"I fear the children of the woman in question will all suffer for their\nmother's ignorance, or worse, in later life, and have tried to do my\nduty by sending word to the mother of the harmful nature of the stuff,\nbut without effect.\n\n\"P. S.--How many neurotics, fiends and criminals may not 'Mrs. Winslow'\nbe sponsor for?\"\n\nThis query is respectfully referred to the Anglo-American Drug Company,\nof New York,' which makes its handsome profit from this slave trade.\n\nRecent legislation on the part of the New York State Board of Pharmacy\nwill tend to decrease the profit, as it requires that a poison label be\nput on each bottle of the product, as has long been the law in England.\n\nAn Omaha physician reports a case of poisoning from a compound bearing\nthe touching name of \"Kopp's Baby Friend,\" which has a considerable\nsale in the middle west and in central New York. It is made of sweetened\nwater and morphin, about one-third grain of morphin to the ounce.\n\n\"The child (after taking four drops) went into a stupor at once, the\npupils were pin-pointed, skin cool and clammy, heart and respiration\nslow. I treated the case as one of opium poisoning, but it took twelve\nhours before my little patient was out of danger.\"\n\nAs if to put a point of satirical grimness on the matter, the\nresponsible proprietor of this particular business of drugging helpless\nbabies is a woman, Mrs. J. A. Kopp, of York, Pa.\n\nMaking cocain fiends is another profitable enterprise. Catarrh powders\nare the medium. A decent druggist will not sell cocain as such,\nsteadily, to any customer, except on prescription, but most druggists\nfind salve for their consciences in the fact that the subtle and\nterrible drug is in the form of somebody's sure cure. There is need to\nsay nothing of the effects of cocain other than that it is destructive\nto mind and body alike, and appalling in its breaking down of all\nmoral restraint. Yet in New York City it is distributed in \"samples\"\nat ferries and railway stations. You may see the empty boxes and the\ninstructive labels littering the gutters of Broadway any Saturday night,\nwhen the drug-store trade is briskest.\n\nSimey's Catarrhal Powder, Dr. Cole's Catarrh Cure, Dr. Gray's Catarrh\nPowder and Crown Catarrh Powder are the ones most in demand. All of\nthem are cocain; the other ingredients are unimportant--perhaps even\nsuperfluous.\n\nWhether or not the bottles are labeled with the amount of cocain makes\nlittle difference. The habitues know. In one respect, however, the\nlabels help them by giving information as to which nostrum is the most\nheavily drugged.\n\n\"People come in here,\" a New York City druggist tells me, \"ask what\ncatarrh powders we've got, read the labels and pick out the one that's\ngot the most cocain. When I see a customer comparing labels I know she's\na fiend.\" {043}\n\nNaturally these owners and exploiters of these mixtures claim that the\nsmall amount of cocain contained is harmless. For instance, the \"Crown\nCure,\" admitting 2% per cent., says:\n\n\"Of course, this is a very small and harmless amount. Cocain is now\nconsidered to be the most valuable addition to modern medicine... it is\nthe most perfect relief known.\"\n\nBirney's Catarrh Cure runs as high as 4 per cent, and can produce\ntestimonials vouching for its harmlessness. Here is a Birney\n\"testimonial\" to the opposite effect, obtained \"without solicitation\nor payment\" (I have ventured to put it in the approved form), which no\nsufferer from catarrh can afford to miss. [IMAGE ==>] {043}\n\nREAD what William Thompson, of Chicago, says of\n\nBIRNEY'S CATARRH CURE.\n\n\"Three years ago Thompson was a strong man. Now he is without money,\nhealth, home or friends.\"\n\n(Chicago Tribune.)\n\n\"I began taking Birney's Catarrh Cure (says Thompson) three years ago,\nand the longing for the drug has grown so potent that I suffer without\nit.\n\n\"I followed the directions at first, then I increased the quantity until\nI bought the stuff by the dozen bottles.\"\n\nA famous drink and drug cure in Illinois had, as a patient, not long\nago, a 14-year-old boy, who was a slave to the Birney brand of cocain.\nHe had run his father $300 in debt, so heavy were his purchases of the\npoison.\n\nChicago long ago settled this cocain matter in the only logical way. The\nproprietor of a large downtown drug store noticed several years ago\nthat at noon numbers of the shop girls from a great department store\npurchased certain catarrh powders over his counter. He had his clerk\nwarn them that the powders contained deleterious drugs. The girls\ncontinued to purchase in increasing numbers and quantity. He sent word\nto the superintendent of the store. \"That accounts for the number of our\ngirls that have gone wrong of late,\" was the superintendent's comment.\nThe druggist, Mr. McConnell, had an analysis made by the Board of\nHealth, which showed that the powder most called for was nearly 4 per\ncent, cocain, whereon he threw it and similar powders out of stock. The\ngirls went elsewhere. Mr. McConnell traced them and started a general\nmovement against this class of remedies, which resulted in an ordinance\nforbidding their sale. Birney's Catarrhal Powders, as I am informed, to\nmeet the new conditions brought-out a powder without cocain, which had\nthe briefest kind of a sale. For weeks thereafter the downtown stores\nwere haunted by haggard young men and women, who begged for \"the old\npowders; these new ones don't do any good.\" As high as $1.00 premium was\npaid for the 4 per cent, cocain species. To-day the Illinois druggist\nwho sells cocain in this form is liable to arrest. Yet in New York,\nat the corner of Forty-second street and Broadway, I saw recently a\nshow-window display of the Birney cure, and similar displays are not\nuncommon in other cities.\n\nRegarding other forms of drugs there may be honest differences of\nopinion as to the limits of legitimacy in the trade. If mendacious\nadvertising were stopped, and the actual ingredients of every nostrum\nplainly published {044}and frankly explained, the patent medicine trade\nmight reasonably claim to be a legitimate enterprise in many of its\nphases. But no label of opium or cocain, though the warning skull and\ncross-bones cover the bottle, will excuse the sale of products that are\nnever safely used except by expert advice. I believe that the Chicago\nmethod of dealing with the catarrh powders is the right method in\ncocain- and opium-bearing nostrums. Restrict the drug by the same\nsafeguards when sold under a lying pretence as when it flies its true\ncolors. Then, and then only, will our laws prevent the shameful trade\nthat stupefies helpless babies and makes criminals of our young men and\nharlots of our young women.\n\n\n\n\nV.--PREYING ON THE INCURABLES.\n\nReprinted from Collier's Weekly, Jan. 13, 1906. {045}\n\nIncurable disease is one of the strongholds of the patent medicine\nbusiness. The ideal patron, viewed in the light of profitable business,\nis the victim of some slow and wasting ailment in which recurrent hope\ninspires to repeated experiments with any \"cure\" that offers. In\nthe columns of almost every newspaper you may find promises to cure\nconsumption. Consumption is a disease absolutely incurable by any\nmedicine, although an increasing percentage of consumptives are saved by\nopen air, diet and methodical living. This is thoroughly and definitely\nunderstood by all medical and scientific men. Nevertheless there are in\nthe patent medicine world a set of harpies who, for their own business\ninterests, deliberately foster in the mind of the unfortunate sufferer\nfrom tuberculosis the belief that he can be saved by the use of some\nabsolutely fraudulent nostrum. Many of these consumption cures contain\ndrugs which hasten the progress of the disease, such as chloroform,\nopium, alcohol and hasheesh. Others are comparatively harmless in\nthemselves, but for their fervent promises of rescue they delude the\nsufferer into misplacing his reliance, and forfeiting his only chance by\nneglecting those rigidly careful habits of life which alone can conquer\nthe \"white plague.\" One and all, the men who advertise medicines to cure\nconsumption deliberately traffic in human life.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {045}\n\nCertain members of the Proprietary Association of America (the patent\nmedicine \"combine\") with whom I have talked have urged on me the claim\nthat there are firms in the nostrum business that are above criticism,\nand have mentioned H. E. Bucklen & Co., of Chicago, who manufacture a\ncertain salve. The Bucklen salve did not particularly interest me.\nBut when I came to take up the subject of consumption cures I ran\nunexpectedly on an interesting trail. In the country and small city\nnewspapers there is now being advertised lavishly \"Dr. King's New\nDiscovery for Consumption.\" It is proclaimed to be the \"only sure cure\nfor consumption.\" Further announcement is made that \"it strikes terror\nto the doctors.\" As it is a morphin and chloroform mixture, \"Dr. King's\nNew Discovery for Consumption\" is well calculated to strike terror to\nthe doctors or to any other class or profession, except, perhaps, the\nundertakers. It is a pretty diabolical concoction to give to any one,\nand particularly to a consumptive. The chloroform temporarily allays\nthe cough, thereby checking Nature's effort to throw off the dead\nmatter from the lungs. The opium drugs the patient into a deceived\ncheerfulness. The combination is admirably designed to shorten the life\nof any consumptive who takes it steadily. Of course, there is nothing on\nthe label of the bottle to warn the purchaser. That would be an example\nof legitimate advertising in the consumption field.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {046}\n\nA TYPICAL FRAUD.\n\nChloroform and Prussic Acid. {047}\n\nAnother \"cure\" which, for excellent reasons of its own, does not print\nits formula, is \"Shiloh's Consumption Cure,\" made at Leroy, N. Y., by\nS. C. Wells & Co. Were it to publish abroad the fact that it contains,\namong other ingredients, chloroform and prussic acid. Under our present\nlax system there is no warning on the bottle that the liquid contains\none of the most deadly of poisons. The makers write me: \"After you have\ntaken the medicine for awhile, if you are not firmly convinced that you\nare very much better we want you to go to your druggist and get back all\nthe money that you have paid for Shiloh.\"\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {047}\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {048}\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {049}\n\nBut if I were a consumptive, after I had taken \"Shiloh\" for awhile I\nshould be less interested in recovering my money than in getting back my\nwasted chance of life. Would S. C. Wells & Co. guarantee that? {050}\n\nMorphin is the important ingredient of Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup.\nNevertheless, the United States Postoffice Department obligingly\ntransmits me a dose of this poison through the mails from A. C. Meyer\n& Co., of Baltimore, the makers. The firm writes me, in response to my\nletter of inquiry:\n\n\"We do not claim that Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup will cure an established\ncase of consumption. If you have gotten this impression you most likely\nhave misunderstood what we claim.... We can, however, say that Dr.\nBull's Cough Syrup has cured cases said to have been consumption in its\nearliest stages.\"\n\nQuite conservative, this. But A. C. Meyer & Co. evidently don't follow\ntheir own advertising very closely, for around my sample bottle (by\ncourtesy of the Postoffice Department) is a booklet, and from that\nbooklet I quote:\n\n\"_There is no case of hoarseness, cough, asthma, bronchitis... or\nconsumption that can not be cured speedily by the proper use of Dr.\nBull's Cough Syrup_.\"\n\nIf this is not a claim that Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup \"will cure an\nestablished case of consumption,\" what is it? The inference from Meyer\n& Co.'s cautious letter is that they realize their responsibility for a\ncruel and dangerous fraud and are beginning to feel an uneasiness\nabout it, which may be shame or may be only fear. One logical effect\nof permitting medicines containing a dangerous quantity of poison to\nbe sold without the poison label is shown in the coroner's verdict\nreproduced on page 47.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {047}\n\nIn the account of the Keck baby's death from the Dr. Bull opium mixture,\nwhich the Cincinnati papers published, there was no mention of the\nname of the cough syrup. Asked about this, the newspapers gave various\nexplanations. Two of them disclosed that they had no information on the\npoint. This is contrary to the statement of the physician in the case,\nand implies a reportorial, laxity which is difficult to credit. One\nascribed the omission to a settled policy and one to the fear of libel.\nWhen the coroner's verdict was given out, however, the name of the\nnostrum got into plain print. On the whole, the Cincinnati papers showed\nthemselves gratifyingly independent.\n\nAnother case of poisoning from this same remedy occurred in Morocco,\nInd., the victim being a 2-year-old child. The doctor reports:\n\n\"In an hour, when first seen, symptoms of opium poisoning were present.\nIn about twelve hours the child had several convulsions, and spasms\nfollowed for another twelve hours at intervals. It then sank into a coma\nand died in the seventy-two hours with cardiac failure. The case was\nclearly one of death from overdose of the remedy.\"\n\nThe baby had swallowed a large amount of the \"medicine\" from a bottle\nleft within its reach. Had the bottle been properly labeled with skull\nand cross-bones the mother would probably not have let it lie about.\n\nCaution seems to have become a suddenly acquired policy of this class\nof medicines, in so far as their correspondence goes. Unfortunately,\nit does not extend to their advertising. The result is a rather painful\ndiscrepancy. G. G. Green runs hotels in California and manufactures\nquack medicines in Woodbury, N. J., one of these being \"Boschee's German\nSyrup,\" a \"consumption cure.\" Mr. Green writes me (per rubber stamp):\n\n\"Consumption can sometimes be cured, but not always. Some cases are\nbeyond cure. However, we suggest that you secure a trial bottle of\nGerman Syrup for 25 cents,\" etc.\n\nOn the bottle I read: \"Certain cure for all diseases of the throat and\nlungs.\" Consumption is a disease of the lungs; sometimes of the throat.\n{051}\n\nIf it \"can sometimes be cured, but not always,\" then the German Syrup\nis not a \"certain cure for all diseases of the throat and lungs,\" and\nsomebody, as the ill-fated Reingelder put it, \"haf lied in brint\" on\nMr. Green's bottle, which must be very painful to Mr. Green. Mr. Green's\nremedy contains morphin and some hydrocyanic acid. Therefore consumption\nwill be much less often curable where Boschee's German Syrup is used\nthan where it is not.\n\n\n\n\nAbsolutely False Claims.\n\nA curious mixture of the cautious, semi-ethical method and the blatant\nclaim-all patent medicine is offered in the Ozomulsion Company.\nOzomulsion does not, like the \"cures\" mentioned above, contain active\npoisons. It is one of the numerous cod-liver oil preparations, and its\nadvertising, in tne medical journals at first and now in the lay\npress, is that of a cure for consumption. I visited the offices of the\nOzomulsion Company recently and found them duly furnished with a regular\nphysician, who was employed, so he informed me, in a purely ethical\ncapacity. There was also present during the interview the president\nof the Ozomulsion Company, Mr. A. Frank Richardson, former advertising\nagent, former deviser of the advertising of Swamp-Root, former\nproprietor of Kranitonic and present proprietor of Slocum's Consumption\nCure, which is the \"wicked partner\" of Ozomulsion. For convenience I\nwill put the conversation in court report form, and, indeed, it partook\nsomewhat of the nature of a cross-examination:\n\nQ.--Dr. Smith, will Ozomulsion cure consumption?\n\nA.--Ozomulsion builds up the tissues, imparts vigor, aids the natural\nresistance of the body, etc. (Goes into a long exploitation in the\nmanner and style made familiar by patent medicine pamphlets. )\n\nQ.--But will it cure consumption?\n\nA.--Well, without saying that it is a specific, etc. (Passes to an\ninstructive, entertaining and valuable disquisition on the symptoms and\nnature of tuberculosis. )\n\nQ.--Yes, but will Ozomulsion cure consumption?\n\nA.--We don't claim that it will cure consumption.\n\nQ.--Does not this advertisement state that Ozomulsion will cure\nconsumption? (SHowing advertisement.)\n\nA.--It seems to.\n\nQ.--Will Ozomulsion cure consumption?\n\nA.--In the early stages of the disease--\n\nQ. (interrupting)--Does the advertisement make any qualifications as to\nthe stage of tne disease?\n\nA.--Not that I find.\n\nQ.--Have you ever seen that advertisement before?\n\nA.--Not to my knowledge.\n\nQ.--Who wrote it?\n\nA. (by President Richardson)--I done that ad. myself.\n\nQ.--Mr. Richardson, will Ozomulsion cure consumption?\n\nA.--Sure; we got testimonials to prove it.\n\nQ.--Have you ever investigated any of these testimonials?\n\nQ. (to Dr. Smith)--Dr. Smith, in view of the direct statement of your\nadvertising, do you believe that Ozomulsion will cure consumption?\n\nA.--Well, I believe in a great many cases it will.\n\n\n\n\nHealth for Five Dollars.\n\nThat is as far as Dr. Smith would go. I wonder what he would have said\nas to the Dr. T. A. Slocum side of the business. Dr. Slocum puts out a\n\"Special Cure Offer\" that will snatch you from the jaws of death, on the\n{052}blanket plan, for $6, and guarantees the cure (or more medicine) for\n$10. His scheme is so noble and broad-minded that I can not refrain from\ndetailing it. For $5 you get,\n\n     1 large bottle of Psychine,\n     1 large bottle of Ozomulsion,\n     1 large bottle of Coltsfoote Expectorant,\n     1 large tube of Ozojell,\n     3 boxes of lazy Liver Pills\n     3 Hot X-Ray Porous Plaster,\n\n\"which,\" says the certificate, \"will in a majority of cases effect a\npermanent care of the malady from which the invalid is now suffering.\"\nWhatever ails you--that's what Dr. T. A. Sloram cures. For $10 you get\nalmost twice the amount, plus the guarantee. Surely there is little left\non earth, unless Dr. Slocum should issue a $15 offer, to include funeral\nexpenses and a tombstone.\n\nThe Slocum Consumption Cure proper consists of a gay-hued substance\nknown as \"Psychine.\" Psychine is about 16 per cent, alcohol, and has a\ndash of strychnin to give the patient his money's worth. Its alluring\ncolor is derived from cochineal. It is \"an infallible and unfailing\nremedy for consumption.\" Ozomulsion is also a sure cure, if the\nliterature is to be believed. To cure one's self twice of the same\ndisease savors of reckless extravagance, but as \"a perfect and permanent\ncure will be the inevitable consequence,\" perhaps it's worth the money.\nIt would not do to charge Dr. T. A. Slocum with fraud, because he is,\nI suppose, as dead as Lydia E. Pinkham; but Mr. A. Frank Richardson is\nvery much alive, and I trust it will be no surprise to him to see here\nstated that his Ozomulsion makes claims that it can not support, that\nhis Psychine is considerably worse, that his special cure offer is a bit\nof shameful quackery, and that his whole Slocum Consumption Cure is a\nfake and a fraud so ludicrous that its continued insistence is a\nbrilliant commentary on human credulousness.\n\nSince the early '60s, and perhaps before, there has constantly been in\nthe public prints one or another benefactor of the human race who wishes\nto bestow on suffering mankind, free of charge, a remedy which has\nsnatched him from the brink of the grave. Such a one is Mr. W. A.\nNoyes, of Rochester, N. Y. To any one who writes him he sends gratis\na prescription which will surely cure consumption. But take this\nprescription to your druggist and you will fail to get it filled,\nfor the simple reason that the ingenious Mr. Noyes has employed a\npharmaceutical nomenclature peculiarly his own If you wish to try the\n\"Cannabis Sativa Remedy\" (which is a mixture of hasheesh and other\ndrugs) you must purchase it direct from the advertiser at a price which\nassures him an abnormal profit. As Mr. Noyes writes me proposing to give\nspecial treatment for my (supposed) case, depending on a diagnosis of\nsixty-seven questions, I fail to see why he is not liable for practicing\nmedicine without a license.\n\n\n\n\nPiso Grows Cautious.\n\nPiso's Consumption Cure, extensively advertised a year or two ago, is\napparently withdrawing from the field, so far as consumption goes,\nand the Pino people are now more modestly promising to cure coughs and\ncolds. Old analyses give as the contents of Piso's Cure for Consumption\nalcohol, chloroform, opium and cannabis indica (hasheesh). In reply\nto an inquiry as to whether their remedy contains morphin and cannabis\nindica, the Piso Company replies: \"Since the year 1872 Piso's Cure has\ncontained no morphin or anything derived from opium.\" The question as to\ncannabis indica is not answered. Analysis shows that the \"cure\" contains\nchloroform, alcohol and apparently cannabis indica. It is, therefore,\nanother of the {053}remedies which can not possibly cure consumption,\nbut, on the contrary, tend by their poisonous and debilitating drugs to\nundermine the victim's stamina.\n\nPeruna, Liquozone, Duffy's Malt Whiskey, Pierce's Golden Medical\nDiscovery and the other \"blanket\" cures include tuberculosis in their\nlists, claiming great numbers of well-authenticated cures. From the\nimposing book published by the R. V. Pierce Company, of Buffalo, I took\na number of testimonials for investigation; not a large number, for I\nfound the consumption testimonial rather scarce. From fifteen letters I\ngot results in nine cases. Seven of the letters were returned to me\nmarked \"unclaimed,\" of which one was marked \"Name not in the dictory,\"\nanother \"No such postoffice in the state\" and a third \"Deceased.\" The\neighth man wrote that the Golden Medical Discovery had cured his cough\nand blood-spitting, adding: \"It is the best lung medisan I ever used for\nlung trubble.\" The last man said he took twenty-five bottles and was\ncured! Two out of nine seems to me a suspiciously small percentage of\ntraceable recoveries. Much stress has been laid by the Proprietary\nAssociation of America through its press committee on the suit brought\nby R. V. Pierce against the Ladies' Home Journal, the implication being\n(although the suit has not yet been tried) that a reckless libeler of a\nnoble and worthy business has been suitably punished. In the full\nappreciation of Dr. Pierce's attitude in the matter of libel, I wish to\nstate that in so far as its claim of curing consumption is concerned his\nGolden Medical Discovery is an unqualified fraud.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {053}\n\nOne might suppose that the quacks would stop short of trying to deceive\nthe medical profession in this matter, yet the \"consumption cure\" may\nbe found disporting itself in the pages of the medical journals. For\ninstance, I find this advertisement in several professional magazines:\n\n\"McArthur's Syrup of Hypophosphites has proved itself, time and time\nagain, to be positively beneficial in this condition [tuberculosis]\nin the hands of prominent observers, clinicians and, what is more,\npracticing physicians, hundreds of whom have written their admiring\nencomiums in {054}its behalf, and it is the enthusiastic conviction of\nmany that _its effect is truly specific_\" Which, translated into lay\nterms, means that the syrup will cure consumption. I find also in the\nmedical press \"a sure cure for dropsy,\" fortified with a picture worthy\nof Swamp-Root or Lydia Pinkham. Both of these are frauds in attempting\nto foster the idea that they will _cure_ the diseases, and they are\nnone the less fraudulent for being advertised to the medical profession\ninstead of to the laity.\n\nIs there, then, no legitimate advertising of preparations useful in\ndiseases such as tuberculosis? Very little, and that little mostly in\nthe medical journals, exploiting products which tend to build up and\nstrengthen the patient. There has recently appeared, however, one\nadvertisement in the lay press which seems to me a legitimate attempt\nto push a nostrum. It is reproduced at the beginning of this article.\nNotice, first, the frank statement that there is no specific for\nconsumption; second, that there is no attempt to deceive the public into\nthe belief that the emulsion will be helpful in all cases. Whether or\nnot Scott's Emulsion is superior to other cod-liver oils is beside the\npresent question. If all patent medicine \"copy\" were written in the same\nspirit of honesty as this, I should have been able to omit from this\nseries all consideration of fraud, and devote my entire attention to the\nfar less involved and difficult matter of poison. Unhappily, all of\nthe Scott's Emulsion advertising is not up to this standard. In another\nnewspaper I have seen an excerpt in which the Scott & Bowne Company come\nperilously near making, if they do not actually make, the claim that\ntheir emulsion is a cure, and furthermore make themselves ridiculous by\nchallenging comparison with another emulsion, suggesting a chemical test\nand offering, if their nostrum comes out second best, _to give to the\ninstitution making the experiment a supply of their oil free for a\nyear_. This is like the German druggist who invented a heart-cure and\noffered two cases to any one who could prove that it was injurious!\n\nConsumption is not the only incurable disease in which there are good\npickings for the birds of prey. In a recent issue of the New York Sunday\n_American-Journal_ I find three cancer cures, one dropsy cure, one\n\"heart-disease soon cured,\" three epilepsy cures and a \"case of\nparalysis cured.\" Cancer yields to but one agency--the knife. Epilepsy\nis either the result of pressure on the brain or some obscure cerebral\ndisease; medicine can never cure it. Heart disease is of many kinds, and\na drug that may be helpful in relieving symptoms in one case might be\nfatal in another. The same is true of dropsy. Medical science knows no\n\"cure\" for paralysis. As space lacks to consider individually the nature\nof each nostrum separately, I list briefly, for the protection of those\nwho read, a number of the more conspicuous swindles of this kind now\nbeing foisted on the public:\n\n     Rupert Wells' Radiatized Fluid, for cancer.\n     Miles' Heart Disease Cure.\n     Miles' Grand Dropsy Cure.\n     Dr. Tucker's Epilepsy Cure.\n     Dr. Grant's Epilepsy Cure.\n     W. H. May's Epilepsy Cure.\n     Dr. Kline's Epilepsy Cure.\n     Dr. W. 0. Bye's Cancer Cure.\n     Mason's Cancer Cure.\n     Dr. Williams' Pink Pills for Pale People,\n\nwhich are advertised to cure paralysis and are a compound of green\nvitriol, starch and sugar.\n\nPurchasers of these nostrums not only waste their money, but in many\ncases they throw away their only chance by delaying proper treatment\nuntil it is too late. {055}\n\nProperly, a \"cure\" known as Bioplasm belongs in this list, but so\ningenious are its methods that it deserves some special attention. In\nsome of the New York papers a brief advertisement, reading as follows,\noccupies a conspicuous position.\n\n\"After suffering for ten years the torture that only an ataxic can know,\nMr. E. P. Burnham, of Delmar, N. Y., has been relieved of all pain and\nrestored to health and strength, and the ability to resume his usual\npursuits, by an easily obtained and inexpensive treatment which\nany druggist can furnish. To any fellow-sufferer who mails him a\nself-addressed envelope Mr. Burnham sends free this prescription which\ncured him.\"--Adv.\n\nNow, people who give away something for nothing, and spend money\nadvertising for a chance to do it, are as rare in the patent medicine\nbusiness as out of it, and Delmar, N. Y., is not included in any map of\nAltruria that I have learned of E. P. Burnham, therefore, seemed worth\nwriting to. The answer came back promptly, inclosing the prescription\nand explaining the advertiser's purpose:\n\n\"My only motive in the notice which caught your attention is to help\nother sufferers. _You owe me nothing. I have nothing to sell_. When\nyou are benefited, however, if you feel disposed and able to send me\na contribution to assist me in making this great boon to our\nfelow-sufferers better known it will be thankfully received and used for\nthat purpose.\"\n\nI fear that Mr. Burnham doesn't make much money out of grateful\ncorrespondents who were cured of locomotor ataxia by his prescription,\nbecause locomotor ataxia is absolutely and hopelessly incurable. Where\nMr. Burnham gets his reward, I fancy, is from the Bioplasm Company, of\n100 William street, New York, whose patent medicine is prescribed for\nme. I should like to believe that his \"only motive is to help other\nsufferers,\" but as I find, on investigation, that the advertising agents\nwho handle the \"Burnham\" account are the Bioplasm Company's agents, I am\nregretfully compelled to believe that Mr. Burnham, instead of being of\nthe tribe of the good Samaritan, is probably an immediate relative of\nAnanias. The Bioplasm Company also proposes to cure consumption, and is\nworthy of a conspicuous place in the Fraud's Gallery of Nostrums.\n\nEven the skin of the Ethiop is not exempt from the attention of the\nquacks. A  correspondent writes, asking that I \"give a paragraph\nto these frauds who cater to the vanity of those of my race who insult\ntheir Creator in attempting to change their color and hair,\" and inclose\na typical advertisement of \"Lustorene,\" which \"straightens kinky, nappy,\ncurly hair,\" and of \"Lustorone Face Bleach,\" which \"whitens the darkest\nskin\" and will \"bring the skin to any desired shade or color.\" Nothing\ncould better illustrate to what ridiculous lengths the nostrum fraud\nwill go. Of course, the Lustorone business is fraudulent. Some time\nsince a Virginia concern, which advertised to turn <DW64>s white, was\nsuppressed by the Postoffice Department, which might well turn its\nattention to Lustorone Face Bleach.\n\nThere are being exploited in this country to-day more than 100 cures,\nfor diseases that are absolutely beyond the reach of drugs. They\nare owned by men who know them to be swindles, and who in private\nconversation will almost always evade the direct statement that their\nnostrums will \"cure\" consumption, epilepsy, heart disease and ailments\nof that nature. Many of them \"guarantee\" their remedies. They will\nreturn your money if you aren't satisfied. And they can afford to. They\ntake the lightest of risks. The real risk is all on the other side.\nIt is their few pennies per bottle against your life. Were the facile\npatter by which they lure to the bargain a menace to the pocketbook\nalone, one might regard them only as ordinary {056}followers of light\nfinance, might imagine them filching their gain with the confidential,\nhalf-brazen, half-ashamed leer of the thimblerigger. But the matter\ngoes further and deeper. Every man who trades in this market, whether he\npockets the profits of the maker, the purveyor or the advertiser, takes\ntoll of blood. He may not deceive himself here, for here the patent\nmedicine is nakedest, most cold-hearted. Relentless greed sets the trap\nand death is partner in the enterprise.\n\n\n\n\nVI--THE FUNDAMENTAL FAKES.\n\nReprinted from Collier's Weekly, Feb. 17, 1906. {057}\n\nAdvertising and testimonials are respectively the aggressive and\ndefensive forces of the Great American Fraud. Without the columns of the\nnewspapers and magazines wherein to exploit themselves, a great majority\nof the patent medicines would peacefully and blessedly fade out of\nexistence. Nearly all the world of publications is open to the swindler,\nthe exceptions being the high-class magazines and a very few independent\nspirited newspapers. The strongholds of the fraud are dailies, great\nand small, the cheap weeklies and the religious press. According to\nthe estimate of a prominent advertising firm, above 90 per cent, of\nthe earning capacity of the prominent nostrums is represented by their\nadvertising. And all this advertising is based on the well-proven\ntheory of the public's pitiable ignorance and gullibility in the vitally\nimportant matter of health.\n\nStudy the medicine advertising in your morning paper, and you will find\nyourself in a veritable goblin-realm of fakery, peopled with monstrous\nmyths. Here is an amulet in the form of an electric belt, warranted\nto restore youth and vigor to the senile; yonder a magic ring or a\nmysterious inhaler, or a bewitched foot-plaster which will draw the\npangs of rheumatism from the tortured body \"or your money back\"; and\nagain some beneficent wizard in St. Louis promises with a secret philtre\nto charm away deadly cancer, while in the next column a firm of magi\nin Denver proposes confidently to exorcise the demon of incurable\nconsumption without ever seeing the patient. Is it credible that a\nsupposedly civilized nation should accept such stuff as gospel? Yet\nthese exploitations cited above, while they are extreme, differ only\nin degree from nearly all patent-medicine advertising. Ponce de Leon,\ngroping toward that dim fountain whence youth springs eternal, might\nbelieve that he had found his goal in the Peruna factory, the Liquozone\n\"laboratory\" or the Vitae-Ore plant; his thousands of descendants in\nthis century of enlightenment painfully drag themselves along poisoned\ntrails, following a will-o'-the-wisp that dances above the open graves.\n\n\n\n\nNewspaper Accomplices.\n\nIf there is no limit to the gullibility of the public on the one hand,\nthere is apparently none to the cupidity of the newspapers on the other.\nAs the Proprietary Association of America is constantly setting forth in\nveiled warnings, the press takes an enormous profit from patent-medicine\nadvertising. Mr. Hearst's papers alone reap a harvest of more than half\na million dollars per annum from this source. The Chicago _Tribune_,\nwhich treats nostrum advertising in a spirit of independence, and\nsometimes with scant courtesy, still receives more than $80,000 a year\nin medical patronage. Many of the lesser journals actually live on\npatent medicines. What wonder that they are considerate of these\nprofitable customers! Pin a newspaper owner down to the issue of fraud\nin the matter, and he will take refuge in the plea that his advertisers\nand not himself are responsible for what appears in the advertising\ncolumns. _Caveat emptor_ is the implied superscription above this\ndepartment. The more shame to those publications {058}which prostitute\ntheir news and editorial departments to their greed. Here are two\nsamples, one from the Cleveland _Plain-Dealer_, the other from a\ntemperance weekly, Green Goods \"Cable News.\"\n\nThe \"Ascatco\" advertisement, which the Plain-Dealer prints as a\ncablegram, without any distinguishing mark to designate it as an\nadvertisement, of course, emanates from the office of the nostrum, and\nis a fraud, as the _Plain-Dealer_ well knew when it accepted payment,\nand became partner to the swindle by deceiving its readers. Tne Vitae-Ore\n\"editorial\" appears by virtue of a full-page advertisement of this\nextraordinary fake in the same issue.\n\nWhether, because church-going people are more trusting, and therefore\nmore easily befooled than others, or from some more obscure reason, many\nof the religious papers fairly reek with patent-medicine fakes.\nTake, for instance, the _Christian Endeavor World_, which is the\nundenominational organ of a large, powerful and useful organization,\nunselfishly working toward the betterment of society. A subscriber who\nrecently complained of certain advertisements received the following\nreply from the business manager of the publication:\n\n\"Dear Sir:--Your letter of the 4th comes to me for reply. Appreciating\nthe good spirit in which you write, let me assure you that, to the best\nof our knowledge and belief, we are not publishing any fraudulent\nor unworthy medicine advertising. We decline every year thousands of\ndollars' worth of patent-medicine advertising that we think is either\nfraudulent or misleading. You would be surprised, very likely, if you\ncould know of the people of high intelligence and good character who are\nbenefited by these {059}medicines. We have taken a great deal of pains\nto make particular inquiries of our subscribers with respect to this\nquestion, and a very large percentage of them are devoted to one or\nmore well-known patent medicines, and regard them as household remedies.\nTrusting that you will be able to understand that we are acting\naccording to our best and sincerest judgment, I remain, yours very\ntruly,\n\n\"The Golden Rule Company,\n\n\"George W. Coleman, Business Manager\"\n\nRunning through half a dozen recent issues of the _Christian Endeavor\nWorld_, I find nineteen medical advertisements of, at best, dubious\nnature. Assuming that the business management of the _Christian Endeavor\nWorld_ represents normal intelligence, I would like to ask whether it\naccepts the statement that a pair of \"magic foot drafts\" applied to the\nbottom of the feet will cure any and every kind of rheumatism in any\npart of the body? Further, if the advertising department is genuinely\ninterested in declining \"fraudulent or misleading\" copy, I would call\ntheir attention to the ridiculous claims of Dr. Shoop's medicines,\nwhich \"cure\" almost every disease; to two hair removers, one an \"Indian\nSecret,\" the other an \"accidental discovery,\" both either fakes or\ndangerous; to the lying claims of Hall's Catarrh Cure, that it is \"a\npositive cure for catarrh\" in all its stages to \"Syrup of Figs,\" which\nis not a fig syrup, but a preparation of senna; to Dr. Kilmer's Swamp\nRoot, of which the principal medicinal constituent is alcohol; and,\nfinally, to Dr. Bye's Oil Cure for cancer, a particularly cruel swindle\non unfortunates suffering from an incurable malady. All of these, with\nother matter, which for the sake of decency I do not care to detail\nin these columns, appear in recent issues of the _Christian Endeavor\nWorld_, and are respectfully submitted to its management and its\nreaders.\n\n\n\n\nQuackery and Religion.\n\nThe Baptist Watchman of Oct. 12, 1905, prints an editorial defending the\nprinciple of patent medicines. It would be interesting to know whether\nthe back page of the number has any connection with the editorial. This\npage is given up to an illustrated advertisement of Vito-Ore, one of\nthe boldest fakes in the whole Frauds' Gallery. Vitae-Ore claims to be\na mineral mined from \"an extinct mineral spring,\" and to contain free\niron, free sulphur and free magnesium. It contains no free iron, no free\nsulphur, and no free magnesium. It announces itself as \"a certain and\nnever-failing cure\" for rheumatism and Bright's disease, dropsy,\nblood poisoning, nervous prostration and general debility, among other\nmaladies. Whether it is, as asserted, mined from an extinct spring\nor bucketed from a sewer has no bearing on its utterly fraudulent\ncharacter. There is no \"certain and never-failing cure\" for the diseases\nin its list, and when the _Baptist Watchman_ sells itself to such an\nexploitation it becomes partner to a swindle not only on the pockets\nof its readers, but on their health as well. In the same issue I find\n\"Piso's Cure for Consumption,\"\n\n\"Bye's Cancer Cure,\"\n\n\"Mrs. M. Summer's Female Remedy,\"\n\n\"Winslow's Soothing Syrup,\" and \"Juven Pills,\" somewhat disguised here,\nbut in other mediums openly a sexual weakness \"remedy.\"\n\nA correspondent sends me clippings from _The Christian Century_, leading\noff with an interesting editorial entitled \"Our Advertisers,\" from which\nI quote in part:\n\n\"We take pleasure in calling the attention of our readers to the high\ngrade of advertising which _The Christian Century_ commands. We shall\ncontinue to advertise only such companies as we know to be thoroughly\nreliable. During the past year we have refused thousands of dollars'\n{060}worth of advertising which other religious journals are running,\nbut which is rated 'objectionable' by the better class of periodicals.\nCompare our advertising columns with the columns of any other purely\nreligious journal, and let us know what you think of the character of\nour advertising patrons.\"\n\nWhether the opinion of a non-subscriber will interest _The Christian\nCentury_ I have no means of knowing, but I will venture it. My opinion\nis that a considerable proportion of its advertisements are such as any\nright-minded and intelligent publisher should be ashamed to print, and\nthat if its readers accept its endorsement of the advertising columns\nthey will have a very heavy indictment to bring against it. Three\n\"cancer cures,\" a dangerous \"heart cure,\" a charlatan eye doctor, Piso's\nConsumption Cure, Dr. Shoop's Rheumatism Cure and Liquozone make up\na pretty fair \"Frauds' Gallery\" for the delectation of _The Christian\nCentury's_ readers.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {060}\n\nAs a convincing argument, many nostrums guarantee, not a cure, as they\nwould have the public believe, but a reimbursement if the medicine is\nunsatisfactory.\n\nLiquozone does this, and faithfully carries out its agreement.\nElectro-gen, a new \"germicide,\" which has stolen Liquozone's advertising\nscheme almost word for word, also promises this. Dr. Shoop's agreement\n{061}is so worded that the unsatisfied customer is likely to have\nconsiderable trouble in getting his money back. Other concerns send\ntheir \"remedies\" free on trial, among these being the ludicrous \"magic\nfoot drafts\" referred to above. At first thought it would seem that\nonly a cure would bring profit to the makers. But the fact is that most\ndiseases tend to cure themselves by natural means, and the delighted and\ndeluded patient, ascribing the relief to the \"remedy,\" which really has\nnothing to do with it, sends on his grateful dollar. Where the money\nis already paid, most people are too inert to undertake the effort of\ngetting it back. It is the easy American way of accepting a swindle as a\nsort of joke, which makes for the nostrum readers ready profits.\n\n\n\n\nSafe Rewards.\n\nThen there is the \"reward for proof\" that the proprietary will not\nperform the wonders advertised. The Liquozone Company offer $1,000, I\nbelieve, for any germ that Liquozone will not kill. This is a pretty\nsafe offer, because there are no restrictions as to the manner in which\nthe unfortunate germ might be maltreated. If the matter came to an\nissue, the defendants might put their bacillus in the Liquozone bottle\nand freeze him solid. If that didn't end him, they could boil the ice\nand save their money, as thus far no germ has been discovered which\ncan survive the process of being made into soup. Nearly all of the\nHall Catarrh Cure advertisements offer a reward of $100 for any case\nof catarrh which the nostrum fails to cure. It isn't enough, though one\nhundred times that amount might be worth while; for who doubts that Mr.\nF. J. Cheney, inventor of the \"red clause,\" would fight for his cure\nthrough every court, exhausting the prospective $100 reward of his\nopponent in the first round? How hollow the \"guarantee\" pretence is, is\nshown by a clever scheme devised by Radam, the quack, years ago, when\nShreveport was stricken with yellow fever. Knowing that his offer could\nnot be accepted, he proposed to the United States Government that he\nshould eradicate the epidemic by destroying all the germs with Radam's\nMicrobe Killer, offering to deposit $10,000 as a guarantee. Of course,\nthe Government declined on the ground that it had no power to accept\nsuch an offer. Meantime, Radam got a lot of free advertising, and his\nfortune was made.\n\nNo little stress is laid on \"personal advice\" by the patent-medicine\ncompanies. This may be, according to the statements of the firm, from\ntheir physician or from some special expert. As a matter of fact, it is\nalmost invariably furnished by a $10-a-week typewriter, following\nout one of a number of \"form\" letters prepared in bulk for the\n\"personal-inquiry\" dupes. Such is the Lydia E. Pinkham method. The\nPinkham Company writes me that it is entirely innocent of any intent to\ndeceive people into believing that Lydia E. Pinkham is still alive, and\nthat it has published in several cases statements regarding her demise.\nIt is true that a number of years ago a newspaper forced the Pinkham\nconcern into a defensive admission of Lydia E. Pinkham's death, but\nsince then the main purpose of the Pinkham advertising has been to\nbefool the feminine public into believing that their letters go to a\nwoman--who died nearly twenty years ago of one of the diseases, it is\nsaid, which her remedy claims to cure.\n\n\n\n\nThe Immortal Mrs. Pinkham.\n\nTrue, the newspaper appeal is always \"Write to Mrs. Pinkham,\" and this\nis technically a saving clause, as there is a Mrs. Pinkham, widow of the\nson of Lydia E. Pinkham. What sense of shame she might be supposed to\nsuffer in the perpetration of an obvious and public fraud is presumably\n{062}salved by the large profits of the business. The great majority\nof the gulls who \"write to Mrs. Pinkham\" suppose themselves to be\naddressing Lydia E. Pinkham, and their letters are not even answered by\nthe present proprietor of the name, but by a corps of hurried clerks and\ntypewriters.\n\nYou get the same result when you write to Dr. Hartman, of Peruna, for\npersonal guidance. Dr. Hartman himself told me that he took no active\npart now in the conduct of the Peruna Company. If he sees the letters\naddressed to him at all, it is by chance. \"Dr. Kilmer,\" of Swamp-Root\nfame, wants you to write to him about your kidneys. There is no Dr.\nKilmer in the Swamp-Root concern, and has not been for many years. Dr.\nT. A. Slocum, who writes you so earnestly and piously about taking care\nof your consumption in time, is a myth. The whole \"personal medical\nadvice\" business is managed by rote, and the letter that you get\n\"special to your case\" has been printed and signed before your inquiry\never reached the shark who gets your money.\n\nAn increasingly common pitfall is the letter in the newspapers from some\nsufferer who has been saved from disease and wants you to write and get\nthe prescription free. A conspicuous instance of this is \"A Notre\nDame Lady's Appeal\" to sufferers from rheumatism and also from female\ntrouble. \"Mrs. Summers,\" of Notre Dame, Ill., whose picture in the\npapers represents a fat Sister of Charity, with the wan, uneasy\nexpression of one who feels that her dinner isn't digesting properly,\nmay be a real lady, but I suspect she wears a full beard and talks in\na bass voice, because my letter of inquiry to her was answered by the\npatent medicine firm of Vanderhoof & Co., who inclosed some sample\ntablets and wanted to sell me more. There are many others of this class.\nIt is safe to assume that every advertising altruist who pretends to\ngive out free prescriptions is really a quack medicine firm in disguise.\n\nOne more instance of bad faith to which the nostrum patron renders\nhimself liable: It is asserted that these letters of inquiry in the\npatent medicine field are regarded as private. \"All correspondence\nheld strictly private and sacredly confidential,\" advertises Dr. R. V.\nPierce, of the Golden Medical Discovery, etc. A Chicago firm of letter\nbrokers offers to send me 50,000 Dr. Pierce order blanks at $2 a\nthousand for thirty days; or I can get terms on Ozomulsion, Theodore\nNoel (Vitae-Ore), Dr. Stevens' Nervous Debility Cure, Cactus Cure,\nwomen's regulators, etc.\n\nWith advertisements in the medical journals the public is concerned only\nindirectly, it is true, but none the less vitally. Only doctors read\nthese exploitations, but if they accept certain of them and treat their\npatients on the strength of the mendacious statements it is at the peril\nof the patients. Take, for instance, the Antikamnia advertising which\nappears in most of the high-class medical journals, and which includes\nthe following statements:\n\n    \"Do not depress the heart.\n     Do not produce habit.\n     Are accurate--safe--sure.\"\n\nThese three lines, reproduced as they occur in the medical journals,\ncontain five distinct and separate lies--a triumph of condensed\nmendacity unequaled, so far as I know, in the \"cure all\" class. For an\ninstructive parallel here are two claims made by Duffy's Malt Whiskey,\none taken from a medical journal, and hence \"ethical,\" the other\ntranscribed from a daily paper and therefore to be condemned by all\nmedical men.\n\nPuzzle: Which is the ethical and which the unethical advertisement?\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {063}\n\n\"It is the only cure and preventative [sic] of consumption, pneumonia,\ngrip, bronchitis, coughs, colds, malaria, low fevers and all wasting,\nweakening, diseased conditions.\" {064}\n\n\"Cures general debility, overwork, la grippe, colds, bronchitis,\nconsumption, malaria, dyspepsia, depression, exhaustion and weakness\nfrom whatever cause.\"\n\nAll the high-class medical publications accept the advertising\nof \"McArthur's Syrup of Hypophosphites,\" which uses the following\nstatement: \"It is the enthusiastic conviction of many (physicians) that\nits effect is truly specific.\" That looks to me suspiciously like a\n\"consumption cure\" shrewdly expressed in pseudo-ethical terms.\n\n\n\n\nThe Germicide Family.\n\nZymoticine, if one may believe various medical publications, \"will\nprevent microbe proliferation in the blood streams, and acts as an\nefficient eliminator of those germs and their toxins which are already\npresent.\" Translating this from its technical language, I am forced to\nthe conviction that Zymoticine is half-brother to Liquozone, and if the\nlatter is illegitimate at least both are children of Beelzebub, father\nof all frauds. Of the same family are the \"ethicals\" Acetozone and\nKeimol, as shown by their germicidal claims.\n\nAgain, I find exploited to the medical profession, through its own\norgana, a \"sure cure for dropsy.\"\n\n\"Hygeia presents her latest discovery,\" declares the advertisement, and\nfortifies the statement with a picture worthy of Swamp-Root or Lydia\nPinkham. Every intelligent physician knows that there is no sure cure\nfor dropsy. The alternative implication is that the advertiser hopes to\nget his profit by deluding the unintelligent of the profession, and\nthat the publications which print his advertisement are willing to hire\nthemselves out to the swindle.\n\nIn one respect some of the medical journals are far below the average of\nthe newspapers, and on a par with the worst of the \"religious\" journals.\nThey offer their reading space for sale. Here is an extract from a\nletter from the _Medical Mirror_ to a well-known \"ethical firm\":\n\n\"Should you place a contract for this issue we shall publish a 300-word\nreport in your interest in our reading columns.\"\n\nMany other magazines of this class print advertisements as original\nreading matter calculated to deceive their subscribers.\n\nBack of all patent medicine advertising stands the testimonial. Produce\nproofs that any nostrum can not in its nature perform the wonders that\nit boasts, and its retort is to wave aloft its careful horde or letters\nand cry:\n\n\"We rest on the evidence of those we have cured.\"\n\nThe crux of the matter lies in the last word. Are the writers of those,\nletters really cured? What is the value of these testimonials? Are\nthey genuine? Are they honest? Are they, in their nature and from their\nsource, entitled to such weight as would convince a reasonable mind?\n\nThree distinct types suggest themselves: The word of grateful\nacknowledgement from a private citizen, couched in such terms as to\nbe readily available for advertising purposes; the encomium from some\nperson in public life, and the misspelled, illiterate epistle which is\nfrom its nature so unconvincing that it never gets into print, and which\noutnumbers the other two classes a hundred to one. First of all,\nmost nostrums make a point of the mass of evidence. Thousands of\ntestimonials, they declare, {065}just as valuable for their purposes as\nthose they print, are in their files. This is not true. I have taken\nfor analysis, as a fair sample, the \"World's Dispensary Medical Book,\"\npublished by the proprietors of Pierce's Favorite Prescription, the\nGolden Medical Discovery, Pleasant Pellets, the Pierce Hospital, etc. As\nthe dispensers of several nostrums, and because of their long career in\nthe business, this firm should be able to show as large a collection of\nfavorable letters as any proprietary concern.\n\n\n\n\nOverworked Testimonials.\n\nIn their book, judiciously scattered, I find twenty-six letters twice\nprinted, four letters thrice printed and two letters produced four\ntimes. Yet the compilers of the book \"have to regret\" (editorially) that\nthey can \"find room only for this comparatively small number in this\nvolume.\" Why repeat those they have if this is true? If enthusiastic\nindorsements poured in on the patent medicine people, the Duffy's Malt\nWhiskey advertising management would hardly be driven to purchasing\nits letters from the very aged and from disreputable ministers of the\ngospel. If all the communications were as convincing as those published,\nthe Peruna Company would not have to employ an agent to secure\npublishable letters, nor the Liquozone Company indorse across the face\nof a letter from a Mrs. Benjamin Charters: \"Can change as we see fit.\"\nMany, in fact I believe I may say almost all, of the newspaper-exploited\ntestimonials are obtained at an expense to the firm. Agents are\nemployed to secure them. This costs money. Druggists get a discount\nfor forwarding letters from their customers. This costs money. Persons\nwilling to have their picture printed get a dozen photographs for\nthemselves. This costs money. Letters of inquiry answered by givers\nof testimonials bring a price--25 cents per letter, usually. Here is a\ndocument sent out periodically by the Peruna Company to keep in line its\n\"unsolicited\" beneficiaries:\n\n\"As you are aware, we have your testimonial to our remedy. It has been\nsome time since we have heard from you, and so we thought best to\nmake inquiry as to your present state of health and whether you still\noccasionally make use of Peruna. We also want to make sure that we have\nyour present street address correctly, and that you are making favorable\nanswers to such letters of inquiry which your testimonial may occasion.\nRemember that we allow 25 cents for each letter of inquiry. You have\nonly to send the letter you receive, together with a copy of your reply\nto the same, and we will forward you 25 cents for each pair of letters.\n\n\"We hope you are still a friend of Peruna and that our continued use\nof your testimonial will be agreeable to you. We are inclosing stamped\nenvelope for reply. Very sincerely yours,\n\n\"The Peruna Drug Manufacturing Company,\n\n\"Per Carr.\"\n\nAnd here is an account of another typical method of collecting this sort\nof material, the writer being a young New Orleans man, who answered an\nadvertisement in a local paper, offering profitable special work to a\nnews paper man with spare time:\n\n\"I found the advertiser to be a woman, the coarseness of whose features\nwas only equaled by the vulgarity of her manners and speech, and whose\nself-assertiveness was in proportion to her bulk. She proposed that I\nset about securing testimonials to the excellent qualities of Peruna,\nwhich she pronounced 'Pay-Runa,' for which I was to receive a fee of $5\nto $10, according to the prominence of 'the guy' from whom I obtained\nit. This I declined {066}flatly. She then inquired whether or not I was\na member of any social organizations or clubs in the city, and receiving\na positive answer she offered me $3 for a testimonial, including the\nstatement that Pay-Runa had been used by the members of the Southern\nAthletic Club with good effects, and raised it to $5 before I left.\n\n\"Upon my asking her what her business was before she undertook the\nPay-Runa work, she became very angry. Now, when a female is both very\nlarge and very angry, the best thing for a small, thin young man to do\nis to leave her to her thoughts and the expression thereof. I did it.\"\n\n[IMAGE: ==>] {066}\n\n\n\n\nNo Questions Desired.\n\n{067} Testimonials obtained in this way are, in a sense, genuine; that\nis, the nostrum firm has documentary evidence that they were given;\nbut it is hardly necessary to state that they are not honest. Often\nthe handling of the material is very careless, as in the case of Doan's\nKidney Pills, which ran an advertisement in a Southern city embodying\na letter from a resident of that city who had been dead nearly a year.\nCause of death, kidney disease.\n\nIn a former article I have touched on the matter of testimonials\nfrom public men. These are obtained through special agents, through\nhangers-on of the newspaper business who wheedle them out of congressmen\nor senators, and sometimes through agencies which make a specialty of\nthat business. A certain Washington firm made a \"blanket offer\" to a\nnostrum company of a $100 joblot of testimonials, consisting of one\nDe Wolf Hopper, one Sarah Bernhardt and six \"statesmen,\" one of them a\nUnited States senator. Whether they had Mr. Hopper and Mme. Bernhardt\nunder agreement or were simply dealing in futures I am unable to say,\nbut the offer was made in business-like fashion. And the \"divine Sarah\"\nat least seems to be an easy subject for patent medicines, as her\nletters to them are by no means rare. Congressmen are notoriously easy\nto get, and senators are by no means beyond range. There are several\nmen now in the United States Senate who have, at one time or another,\nprostituted their names to the uses of fraud medicines, which they do\nnot use and of which they know nothing. Naval officers seem to be easy\nmarks. Within a few weeks a retired admiral of our navy has besmirched\nhimself and his service by acting as pictorial sales agent for Peruna.\nIf one carefully considers the \"testimonials\" of this class it will\nappear that few of the writers state that they have ever tried the\nnostrum. We may put down the \"public man's\" indorsement, then, as\ngenuine (documentarily), but not honest. Certainly it can bear no weight\nwith an intelligent reader.\n\nAlmost as eagerly sought for as this class of letter is the medical\nindorsement. Medical testimony exploiting any medicine advertised in the\nlay press withers under investigation. In the Liquozone article of this\nseries I showed how medical evidence is itself \"doctored.\" This was\nan extreme instance, for Liquozone, under its original administration,\nexhibited less conscience in its methods than any of its competitors\nthat I have encountered. Where the testimony itself is not distorted, it\nis obtained under false pretences or it comes from men of no standing in\nthe profession. Some time ago Duffy's Malt Whiskey sent out an agent to\nget testimonials from hospitals. He got them. How he got them is told\nin a letter from the physician in charge of a prominent Pennsylvania\ninstitution:\n\n\"A very nice appearing man called here one day and sent in his card,\nbearing the name of Dr. Blank (I can't recall the name, but wish I\ncould), a graduate of Vermont University. He was as smooth an article as\nI have ever been up against, and I have met a good many. He at once\ngot down to business and began to talk of the hospitals he had visited,\nmentioning physicians whom I knew either personally or by reputation. He\nthen brought out a lot of documents for me to peruse, all of which were\nbona fide affairs, from the various institutions, signed by the various\nphysicians or resident physicians, setting forth the merits or use of\n'Duffy's Malt Whiskey.' He asked if I had ever used it. I said yes, but\nvery little, and was at the time using some, a fact, as I was sampling\nwhat he handed me. He then placed about a dozen small bottles, holding\npossibly two ounces, on the table, and said I should keep it, and he\nwould send me two quarts free for use here as soon as he got back.\"\n\n\n\n\nGetting a Testimonial from a Physician.\n\n{068} \"He next asked me if I would give him a testimonial regarding\nDuffy's Whiskey. I said I did not do such things, as it was against\nmy principles to do so. 'But this is not for publication,' he said. I\nreplied that I had used but little of it, and found it only the same as\nany other whisky. He then asked if I was satisfied with the results as\nfar as I had used it. I replied that I was. He then asked me to state\nthat much, and I very foolishly said I would, on condition that it was\nnot to be used as an advertisement, and he assured me it would not be\nused. I then, in a few words, said that 'I (or we) have used and are\nusing Duffy's Malt Whiskey, and are satisfied with the results,' signing\nmy name to the same. He left here, and what was my surprise to receive\nlater on a booklet in which was my testimonial and many others, with\ncuts of hospitals ranging along with people who had reached 100 years by\nuse of the whisky, while seemingly all ailments save ringbone and spavin\nwere being cured by this wonderful beverage. I was provoked, but was\npaid as I deserved, for allowing a smooth tongue to deceive me. Duffy's\nMalt Whiskey has never been inside this place since that day and never\nwill be while I have any voice to prevent it. The total amount used at\nthe time and before was less than half a gallon.\"\n\nThis hospital is still used as a reference by the Duffy people.\n\nMany of the ordinary testimonials which come unsolicited to the\nextensively advertised nostrums in great numbers are both genuine and\nhonest. What of their value as evidence?\n\nSome years ago, so goes a story familiar in the drug trade, the general\nagent for a large jobbing house declared that he could put out an\narticle possessing not the slightest remedial or stimulant properties,\nand by advertising it skillfully so persuade people of its virtues that\nit would receive unlimited testimonials to the cure of any disease for\nwhich he might choose to exploit it. Challenged to a bet, he became a\nproprietary owner. Within a year he had won his wager with a collection\nof certified \"cures\" ranging from anemia to pneumonia. Moreover, he\nfound his venture so profitable that he pushed it to the extent of\nthousands of dollars of profits. His \"remedy\" was nothing but sugar. I\nhave heard \"Kaskine\" mentioned as the \"cure\" in the case. It answers the\nrequirements, or did answer them at that time, according to an analysis\nby the Massachusetts State Board of Health, which shows that its\npurchasers had been paying $1 an ounce for pure granulated sugar.\nWhether \"Kaskine\" was indeed the subject of this picturesque bet, or\nwhether it was some other harmless fraud, is immaterial to the point,\nwhich is that where the disease cures itself, as nearly all diseases\ndo, the medicine gets the benefit of this _viae medicatriae naturae_--the\nnatural corrective force which makes for normal health in every human\norganism. Obviously, the sugar testimonials can not be regarded as very\nweighty evidence.\n\n\n\n\nTestimonials for a Magic Ring.\n\nThere is being advertised now a finger ring which by the mere wearing\ncures any form of rheumatism. The maker of that ring has genuine letters\nfrom people who believe that they have been cured by it. Would any one\nother than a believer in witchcraft accept those statements? Yet they\nare just as \"genuine\" as the bulk of patent medicine letters and written\nin as good faith. A very small proportion of the gratuitous indorsements\nget into the newspapers, because, as I have said, they do not lend\nthemselves {069}well to advertising purposes. I have looked over the\noriginals of hundreds of such letters, and more than 90 per cent, of\nthem--that is a very conservative estimate--are from illiterate and\nobviously ignorant people. Even those few that can be used are rendered\nsuitable for publication only by careful editing. The geographical\ndistribution is suggestive. Out of 100 specimens selected at random\nfrom the Pierce testimonial book, eighty-seven are from small,\nremote hamlets, whose very names are unfamiliar to the average man of\nintelligence. Only five are from cities of more than 50,000 inhabitants.\nNow, Garden City, Kas.; North Yamhill, Ore.; Theresa, Jefferson County,\nN. Y.; Parkland, Ky., and Forest Hill, W. Va., may produce an excellent\nbrand of Americanism, but one does not look for a very high average of\nintelligence in such communities. Is it only a coincidence that the\nmountain districts of Kentucky, West Virginia and Tennessee, recognized\nas being the least civilized parts of the country, should furnish a\nnumber of testimonials, not only to Pierce, but to Peruna, Paine's\nCelery Compound and other brands, out of all proportion to their\npopulation? On page 65 {065} is a group of Pierce enthusiasts and a\ngroup of Peruna witnesses. Should you, on the face of this exhibit,\naccept their advice on a matter wholly affecting your physical welfare?\nThis is what the advertiser is asking you to do.\n\nSecure as is the present control of the Proprietary Association over the\nnewspapers, there is one point in which I believe almost any journal may\nbe made to feel the force of public opinion, and that is the matter of\ncommon decency. Newspapers pride themselves on preserving a respectable\nmoral standard in their news columns, and it would require no great\npressure on the part of the reading public (which is surely immediately\ninterested) to extend this standard to the advertising columns. I am\nreferring now not only to the unclean sexual, venereal and abortion\nadvertisements which deface the columns of a majority of papers, but\nalso to the exploitation of several prominent proprietaries.\n\nRecently a prominent Chicago physician was dining _en famille_ with a\nfriend who is the publisher of a rather important paper in a Western\ncity. The publisher was boasting that he had so established the\neditorial and news policy of his paper that every line of it could be\nread without shame in the presence of any adult gathering.\n\n\"Never anything gets in,\" he declared, \"that I couldn't read at this\ntable before my wife, son and daughter.\"\n\nThe visitor, a militant member of his profession, snuffed battle from\nafar. \"Have the morning's issue brought,\" he said. Turning to the second\npage he began on Swift's Sure Specific, which was headed in large black\ntype with the engaging caption, \"Vile, Contagious Blood Poison.\" Before\nhe had gone far the 19-year-old daughter of the family, obedient to\na glance from the mother, had gone to answer an opportune ring at the\ntelephone, and the publisher had grown very red in the face.\n\n\"I didn't mean the advertisements,\" he said.\n\n\"I did,\" said the visitor, curtly, and passed on to one of the extremely\nintimate, confidential and highly corporeal letters to the ghost of\nLydia E. Pinkham, which are a constant ornament of the press. The\npublisher's son interrupted:\n\n\"I don't believe that was written for me to hear,\" he observed. \"I'm\ntoo young--only 25, you know. Call me when you're through. I'll be out\nlooking at the moon.\"\n\nRelentlessly the physician turned the sheet and began on one of the\nChattanooga Medical Company's physiological editorials, entitled \"What\n{070}Men Like in a Girl.\" For loathsome and gratuitous indecency, for\nleering appeal to their basest passions, this advertisement and the\nothers of the Wine of Cardui series sound the depths. The hostess lasted\nthrough the second paragraph, when she fled, gasping.\n\n\"Now,\" said the physician to his host, \"what do you think of yourself?\"\n\nThe publisher found no answer, but thereafter his paper was put under\na censorship of advertising. Many dailies refuse such \"copy\" as this of\nWine of Cardui. And here, I believe, is an opportunity for the entering\nwedge. If every subscriber to a newspaper who is interested in keeping\nhis home free from contamination would protest and keep on protesting\nagainst advertising foulness of this nature, the medical advertiser\nwould soon be restricted to the same limits of decency which other\nclasses of merchandise accept as a matter of course, for the average\nnewspaper publisher is quite sensitive to criticism from his readers. A\nrecent instance came under my own notice in the case of the _Auburn_ (N.\nY.) _Citizen_, which bought out an old-established daily, taking over\nthe contracts, among which was a large amount of low-class patent\nmedicine advertising. The new proprietor, a man of high personal\nstandards, assured his friends that no objectionable matter would be\npermitted in his columns. Shortly after the establishment of the new\npaper there appeared an advertisement of Juven Pills, referred to above.\nProtests from a number of subscribers followed. Investigation showed\nthat a so-called \"reputable\" patent medicine firm had inserted this\ndisgraceful paragraph under their contract. Further insertions of the\noffending matter were refused and the Hood Company meekly accepted the\nsituation. Another central New York daily, the _Utica Press_, rejects\nsuch \"copy\" as seems to the manager indecent, and I have yet to hear of\nthe paper's being sued for breach of contract. No perpetrator of unclean\nadvertising can afford to go to court on this ground, because he knows\nthat his matter is indefensible.\n\nOur national quality of commercial shrewdness fails us when we go into\nthe open market to purchase relief from suffering. The average American,\nwhen he sets out to buy a horse, or a house, or a box of cigars, is a\nmodel of caution. Show him testimonials from any number of prominent\ncitizens and he would simply scoff. He will, perhaps, take the word of\nhis life-long friend, or of the pastor of his church, but only after\nmature thought, fortified by personal investigation. Now observe the\nsame citizen seeking to buy the most precious of all possessions, sound\nhealth. Anybody's word is good enough for him here. An admiral whose\npuerile vanity has betrayed him into a testimonial; an obliging and\nconscienceless senator; a grateful idiot from some remote hamlet; a\nrenegade doctor or a silly woman who gets a bonus of a dozen photographs\nfor her letter--any of these are sufficient to lure the hopeful patient\nto the purchase. He wouldn't buy a second-hand bicycle on the affidavit\nof any of them, but he will give up his dollar and take his chance of\npoison on a mere newspaper statement which he doesn't even investigate.\nEvery intelligent newspaper publisher knows that the testimonials which\nhe publishes are as deceptive as the advertising claims are false. Yet\nhe salves his conscience with the fallacy that the moral responsibility\nis on the advertiser and the testimonial-giver. So it is, but the\nnewspaper shares it. When an aroused public sentiment shall make our\npublic men ashamed to lend themselves to this charlatanry, and shall\nenforce on the profession of journalism those standards of decency in\nthe field of medical advertising which apply to other advertisers, the\nProprietary {071}Association of America will face a crisis more\nperilous than any threatened legislation. For printers' ink is the very\nlife-blood of the noxious trade. Take from the nostrum vendors the means\nby which they influence the millions, and there will pass to the limbo\nof pricked bubbles a fraud whose flagrancy and impudence are of minor\nimport compared to the cold-hearted greed with which it grinds out its\nprofits from the sufferings of duped and eternally hopeful ignorance.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PATENT MEDICINE CONSPIRACY AGAINST THE FREEDOM OF THE PRESS.\n\nReprinted from Collier's Weekly, Nov. 4, 1905. {072}\n\n     \"Here shall the Press the People's rights maintain.\n     Unawed by influence and unbribed by gain.\"\n\n     --Joseph Story: Motto of the Salem Register.\n\n_Would any person believe that there is any one subject upon which the\nnewspapers of the United States, acting in concert, by prearrangement,\nin obedience to wires all drawn by one man, will deny full and free\ndiscussion? If such a thing is possible, it is a serious matter, for we\nrely upon the newspapers as at once the most forbidding preventive and\nthe swiftest and surest corrective of evil. For the haunting possibility\nof newspaper exposure, men who know not at all the fear of God pause,\nhesitate, and turn back from contemplated rascality. For fear \"it might\nget into the papers,\" more men are abstaining from crime and carouse\nto-night than for fear of arrest. But these are trite things--only, what\nif the newspapers fail us? Relying so wholly on the press to undo evil,\nhow shall we deal with that evil with which the press itself has been\nseduced into captivity?_\n\nIn the Lower House of the Massachusetts Legislature one day last March\nthere was a debate which lasted one whole afternoon and engaged some\ntwenty speakers, on a bill providing that every bottle of patent\nmedicine sold in the state should bear a label stating the contents of\nthe bottle. More was told concerning patent medicines that afternoon\nthan often comes to light in a single day. The debate at times was\ndramatic--a member from Salem told of a young woman of his acquaintance\nnow in an institution for inebriates as the end of an incident which\nbegan with patent medicine dosing for a harmless ill. There was humor,\ntoo, in the debate--Representative Walker held aloft a bottle of Peruna\nbought by him in a drug store that very day and passed it around for\nhis fellow-members to taste and decide for themselves whether Dr.\nHarrington, the Secretary of the State Board of Health, was right when\nhe told the Legislative Committee that it was merely a \"cheap cocktail.\"\n\nThe Papers did not Print One Word.\n\nIn short, the debate was interesting and important--the two qualities\nwhich invariably ensure to any event big headlines in the daily\nnewspapers. But that debate was not celebrated by big headlines, nor any\nheadlines at all. Yet Boston is a city, and Massachusetts is a state,\nwhere the proceedings of the legislature figure very large in public\ninterest, and where the newspapers respond to that interest by reporting\nthe sessions with greater fullness and minuteness than in any\nother state. Had that debate {073}been on prison reform, on Sabbath\nobservance, the early closing saloon law, on any other subject, there\nwould have been, in the next day's papers, overflowing accounts of\nverbatim report, more columns of editorial comment, and the picturesque\nfeatures of it would have ensured the attention of the cartoonist.\n\nNow why? Why was this one subject tabooed? Why were the daily accounts\nof legislative proceedings in the next day's papers abridged to a\nfraction of their usual ponderous length, and all reference to the\nafternoon debate on patent medicines omitted? Why was it in vain for the\nspeakers in that patent-medicine debate to search for their speeches\nin the next day's newspapers? Why did the legislative reporters fail to\nfind their work in print? Why were the staff cartoonists forbidden to\nexercise their talents on that most fallow and tempting opportunity--the\nmembers of the Great and General Court of Massachusetts gravely tippling\nPeruna and passing the bottle around to their encircled neighbors, that\npractical knowledge should be the basis of legislative action?\n\nI take it if any man should assert that there is one subject on which\nthe newspapers of the United States, acting in concert and as a\nunit, will deny full and free discussion, he would be smiled at as an\nintemperate fanatic. The thing is too incredible. He would be regarded\nas a man with a delusion. And yet I invite you to search the files of\nthe daily newspapers of Massachusetts for March 16, 1905, for an account\nof the patent-medicine debate that occurred the afternoon of March 15 in\nthe Massachusetts Legislature. In strict accuracy it must be said that\nthere was one exception. Any one familiar with the newspapers of the\nUnited States will already have named it--the Springfield _Republican_.\nThat paper, on two separate occasions, gave several columns to the\nrecord of the proceedings of the legislature on the patent-medicine\nbill. Why the otherwise universal silence?\n\nThe patent-medicine business in the United States is one of huge\nfinancial proportions. The census of 1900 placed the value of the annual\nproduct at $59,611,355. Allowing for the increase of half a decade of\nrapid growth, it must be to-day not less than seventy-five millions.\nThat is the wholesale price. The retail price of all the patent\nmedicines sold in the United States in one year may be very\nconservatively placed at one hundred million dollars. And of this one\nhundred millions which the people of the United States pay for patent\nmedicines yearly, fully forty millions goes to the newspapers. Have\npatience! I have more to say than merely to point out the large revenue\nwhich newspapers receive from patent medicines, and let inference do the\nrest. Inference has no place in this story. There are facts a-plenty.\nBut it is essential to point out the intimate financial relation between\nthe newspapers and the patent medicines. I was told by the man who for\nmany years handled the advertising of the Lydia E. Pinkham Company that\ntheir expenditure was $100,000 a month, $1,200,000 a year. Dr. Pierce\nand the Peruna Company both advertise more extensively than the Pinkham\nCompany. Certainly there are at least five patent-medicine concerns\nin the United States who each pay out to the newspapers more than one\nmillion dollars a year. When the Dr. Greene Nervura Company of Boston\nwent into bankruptcy, its debts to newspapers for advertising amounted\nto $535,000. To the Boston _Herald_ alone it owed $5,000, and to so\nsmall a paper, comparatively, as the Atlanta _Constitution_ it owed\n$1,500. One obscure {074}quack doctor in New York, who did merely an\noffice business, was raided by the authorities, and among the papers\nseized there were contracts showing that within a year he had paid to\none paper for advertising $5,856.80; to another $20,000. Dr. Humphreys,\none of the best known patent-medicine makers, has said to his\nfellow-members of the Patent Medicine Association: \"The twenty thousand\nnewspapers of the United States make more money from advertising\nthe proprietary medicines than do the proprietors of the medicines\nthemselves.... Of their receipts, one-third to one-half goes for\nadvertising.\" More than six years ago, Cheney, the president of the\nNational Association of Patent Medicine Men, estimated the yearly amount\npaid to the newspapers by the larger patent-medicine concerns at twenty\nmillion dollars--more than one thousand dollars to each daily, weekly\nand monthly periodical in the United States.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {074}\n\n\n\n\nSilence is the Fixed Quantity.\n\nDoes this throw any light on the silence of the Massachusetts papers?\n{075}\n\nNaturally such large sums paid by the patent-medicine men to the\nnewspapers suggest the thought of favor. But silence is too important a\npart of the patent-medicine man's business to be left to the capricious\nchance of favor. Silence is the most important thing in his business.\nThe ingredients of his medicine--that is nothing. Does the price of\ngoldenseal go up? Substitute whisky. Does the price of whisky go up? Buy\nthe refuse wines of the California vineyards. Does the price of opium go\ntoo high, or the public fear of it make it an inexpedient thing to use?\nTake it out of the formula and substitute any worthless barnyard\nweed. But silence is the fixed quantity--silence as to the frauds he\npractices; silence as to the abominable stewings and brewings that enter\ninto his nostrum; silence as to the deaths and sicknesses he causes;\nsilence as to the drug fiends he makes, the inebriate asylums he fills.\nSilence he must have. So he makes silence a part of the contract.\n\nRead the significant silence of the Massachusetts newspapers in the\nlight of the following contracts for advertising. They are the regular\nprinted form used by Hood, Ayer and Munyon in making their advertising\ncontracts with thousands of newspapers throughout the United States.\n\nOn page 80 [IMAGE ==>] {080} is shown the contract made by the J. C.\nAyer Company, makers of Ayer's Sarsaparilla. At the top is the name of\nthe firm, \"The J. C. Ayer Company, Lowell,, Mass.,\" and the date. Then\nfollows a blank for the number of dollars, and then the formal contract:\n\"We hereby agree, for the sum of............ Dollars per year,........to\ninsert in the............. published at............... the advertisement\nof the J. C. Ayer Company.\" Then follow the conditions as to space to be\nused each issue, the page the advertisement is to be on and the position\nit is to occupy. Then these two remarkable conditions of the contract:\n\"First--It is agreed in case any law or laws are enacted, either state\nor national, harmful to the interests of the T. C. Ayer Company, that\nthis contract may be canceled by them from date of such enactment, and\nthe insertions made paid for pro-rata with the contract price.\"\n\nThis clause is remarkable enough. But of it more later. For the present\nexamine the second clause: \"Second--It is agreed that the J. C. Ayer Co.\nmay cancel this contract, pro-rata, in case advertisements are published\nin this paper in which their products are offered, with a view to\nsubstitution or other harmful motive; also in case any matter otherwise\ndetrimental to the J. C. Ayer Company's interest is permitted to appear\nin the reading columns or elsewhere in the paper.\"\n\nThis agreement is signed in duplicate, one by the J. C. Ayer Company and\nthe other one by the newspaper.\n\n\n\n\nAll Muzzle-Clauses Alike.\n\nThat is the contract of silence. (Notice the next one, in identically\nthe same language, bearing the name of the C. I. Hood Company, the\nother great manufacturer of sarsaparilla; and then the third--again in\nidentically the same words--for Dr. Munyon.) That is the clause which\nwith forty million dollars, muzzles the press of the country. I wonder\nif the Standard Oil Company could, for forty million dollars, bind\nthe newspapers of the United States in a contract that \"no matter\ndetrimental to the Standard Oil Company's interests be permitted to\nappear in the reading columns or elsewhere in this paper.\"\n\nIs it a mere coincidence that in each of these contracts the silence\n{076}clause is framed in the same words? Is the inference fair that\nthere is an agreement among the patent-medicine men and quack doctors\neach to impose this contract on all the newspapers with which it deals,\none reaching the newspapers which the other does not, and all combined\nreaching all the papers in the United States, and effecting a universal\nagreement among newspapers to print nothing detrimental to patent\nmedicines? You need not take it as an inference. I shall show it later\nas a fact.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {076}\n\n\"In the reading columns or elsewhere in this paper.\" The paper must not\nprint itself, nor must it allow any outside party, who might wish to\ndo so, to pay the regular advertising rates and print the truth about\npatent medicines in the advertising columns. More than a year ago, just\nafter Mr. Bok had printed his first article exposing patent medicines,\na business man in St. Louis, a man of great wealth, conceived that it\nwould {077}help his business greatly if he could have Mr. Bok's article\nprinted as an advertisement in every newspaper in the United States.\nHe gave the order to a firm of advertising agents and the firm began in\nTexas, intending to cover the country to Maine. But that advertisement\nnever got beyond a few obscure country papers in Texas. The contract of\nsilence was effective; and a few weeks later, at their annual meeting,\nthe patent-medicine association \"Resolved\"--I quote the minutes--\"That\nthis Association commend the action of the great majority of the\npublishers of the United States who have consistently refused said false\nand malicious attacks in the shape of advertisements which in whole or\nin part libel proprietary medicines.\"\n\nI have said that the identity of the language of the silence clause\nin several patent-medicine advertising contracts suggests mutual\nunderstanding among the nostrum makers, a preconceived plan; and I\nhave several times mentioned the patent-medicine association. It seems\nincongruous, almost humorous, to speak of a national organization of\nquack doctors and patent-medicine makers; but there is one, brought\ntogether for mutual support, for co-operation, for--but just what\nthis organization is for, I hope to show. No other organization ever\ndemonstrated so clearly the truth that \"in union there is strength.\" Its\nofficial name is an innocent-seeming one--\"The Proprietary Association\nof America.\" There are annual meetings, annual reports, a constitution,\nby-laws. And I would call special attention to Article II of those\nby-laws.\n\n\"The objects of this association,\" says this article, \"are: to protect\nthe rights of its members to the respective trade-marks that they may\nown or control; to establish such mutual co-operation as may be required\nin the various branches of the trade; to reduce all burdens that may\nbe oppressive; to facilitate and foster equitable principles in the\npurchase and sale of merchandise; to acquire and preserve for the use\nof its members such business information as may be of value to them; to\nadjust controversies and promote harmony among its members.\"\n\nThat is as innocuous a statement as ever was penned of the objects of\nany organization. It might serve for an organization of honest cobblers.\nChange a few words, without altering the spirit in the least, and a body\nof ministers might adopt it. In this laboriously complete statement\nof objects, there is no such word as \"lobby\" or \"lobbying.\" Indeed, so\nharmless a word as \"legislation\" is absent--strenuously absent.\n\n\n\n\nWhere the Money Goes.\n\nBut I prefer to discover the true object of the organization of the\n\"Proprietary Association of America\" in another document than Article\nII of the by-laws. Consider the annual report of the treasurer, say\nfor 1904. The total of money paid out during the year was $8,516.26.\nOf this, one thousand dollars was for the secretary's salary, leaving\n$7,516.26 to be accounted for. Then there is an item of postage, one\nof stationery, one of printing--the little routine expenses of every\norganization; and finally there is this remarkable item:\n\nLegislative Committee, total expenses, $6,606.95.\n\nTruly, the Proprietary Association of America seems to have several\n{078}objects, as stated in its by-laws, which cost it very little, and\none object--not stated in its by-laws at all--which costs it all its\nannual revenue aside from the routine expenses of stationery, postage\nand secretary. If just a few more words of comment may be permitted on\nthis point, does it not seem odd that so large an item as $6,606.95,\nout of a total budget of only $8,516.26, should be put in as a lump sum,\n\"Legislative Committee, total expenses\"? And would not the annual report\nof the treasurer of the Proprietary Association of America be a more\nentertaining document if these \"total expenses\" of the Legislative\nCommittee were carefully itemized?\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {078}\n\nNot that I mean to charge the direct corruption of legislatures. The\nProprietary Association of America used to do that. They used to spend,\naccording to the statement of the present president of the organization,\nMr. F. J. Cheney, as much as seventy-five thousand dollars a year. But\nthat was before Mr. Cheney himself discovered a better way. The fighting\nof public health legislation is the primary object and chief activity,\nthe very raison d'etre, of the Proprietary Association. The motive back\nof bringing the quack doctors and patent-medicine manufacturers of the\nUnited States into a mutual organization was this: Here are some\nscores of men, each paying a large sum annually to the newspapers. The\naggregate of these sums is forty million dollars. By organization, the\nfull effect of this money can be got and used as a unit in preventing\nthe passage of laws which would compel them to tell the contents of\ntheir nostrums, and in suppressing the newspaper publicity which would\ndrive them {079}into oblivion. So it was no mean intellect which devised\nthe scheme whereby every newspaper in America is made an active lobbyist\nfor the patent-medicine association. The man who did it is the present\npresident of the organization, its executive head in the work of\nsuppressing public knowledge, stifling public opinion and warding off\npublic health legislation, the Mr. Cheney already mentioned. He makes\na catarrh cure which, according to the Massachusetts State Board of\nHealth, contains fourteen and three-fourths per cent, of alcohol. As\nto his scheme for making the newspapers of America not only maintain\nsilence, but actually lobby in behalf of the patent medicines, I am glad\nthat I am not under the necessity of describing it in my own words.\nIt would be easy to err in the direction that makes for incredulity.\nFortunately, I need take no responsibility. I have Mr. Cheney's own\nwords, in which he explained his scheme to his fellow-members of the\nProprietary Association of America. The quotation marks alone (and the\ncomment within the parentheses) are mine. The remainder is the language\nof Mr. Cheney himself:\n\n\n\n\nMr. Cheney's Plan.\n\n\"We have had a good deal of difficulty in the last few years with the\ndifferent legislatures of the different states.... I believe I have a\nplan whereby we will have no difficulty whatever with these people. I\nhave used it in my business for two years and know it is a practical\nthing.... I, inside of the last two years, have made contracts with\nbetween fifteen and sixteen thousand newspapers, and never had but one\nman refuse to sign the contract, and my saying to him that I could not\nsign a contract without this clause in it he readily signed it. My point\nis merely to shift the responsibility. We to-day have the responsibility\non our shoulders. As you all know, there is hardly a year but we have\nhad a lobbyist in the different state legislatures--one year in New\nYork, one year in New Jersey, and so on.\" (Read that frank confession\ntwice--note the bland matter-of-factness of it.) \"There has been a\nconstant fear that something would come up, so I had this clause in my\ncontract added. This is what I have in every contract I make: 'It is\nhereby agreed that should your state, or the United States Government,\npass any law that would interfere with or restrict the sale of\nproprietary medicines, this contract shall become void.'... In the\nstate of Illinois a few years ago they wanted to assess me three hundred\ndollars. I thought I had a better plan than this, so I wrote to about\nforty papers and merely said: 'Please look at your contract with me and\ntake note that if this law passes you and I must stop doing business,\nand my contracts cease.'\" The next week every one of them had an article,\nand Mr. Man had to go....\n\nI read this to Dr. Pierce some days ago and he was very much taken up\nwith it. I have carried this through and know it is a success. I know\nthe papers will accept it. Here is a thing that costs us nothing. We\nare guaranteed against the $75,000 loss for nothing. It throws the\nresponsibility on the newspapers.... I have my contracts printed and\nI have this printed in red type, right square across the contract, so\nthere can be absolutely no mistake, and the newspaper man can not say\nto me, 'I did not see it.' He did see it and knows what he is doing. It\nseems to me it is a point worth every man's attention.... I think this\nis pretty near a sure thing.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {080}\n\nTHIS IS THE FORM OF CONTRACT--SEE (A) (B) (C)--THAT MUZZLES THE PRESS OF\nTHE UNITED STATES.\n\nThe gist of the contract lies in the clause which is marked with\nbrackets, to the effect that the agreement is voidable, In case any\nmatter detrimental to the advertiser's interests \"Is permitted to appear\nin the reading columns, or elsewhere, in this paper.\" This clause,\nin the same words, appears in all three of these patent-medicine\nadvertising contracts. The documents reproduced here were gathered\nfrom three different newspapers in widely separated parts of the United\nStates. The name of the paper in each case has been suppressed in order\nto shield the publisher from the displeasure of the patent-medicine\ncombination. How much publishers are compelled to fear this displeasure\nis exemplified by the experience of the Cleveland _Press,_ from whose\ncolumns $18,000 worth of advertising was withdrawn within forty-eight\nhours. {081}\n\nI should like to ask the newspaper owners and editors of America what\nthey think of that scheme. I believe that the newspapers, when they\nsigned each individual contract, were not aware that they were being\ndragooned into an elaborately thought-out scheme to make every newspaper\nin the United States, from the greatest metropolitan daily to the\nremotest country weekly, an active, energetic, self-interested lobbyist\nfor the patent-medicine association. If the newspapers knew how they\nwere being used as cat's-paws, I believe they would resent it. Certainly\nthe patent-medicine association itself feared this, and has kept this\nplan of Mr. Cheney's a careful secret. In this same meeting of the\nProprietary Association of America, just after Mr. Cheney had made the\nspeech quoted above, and while it was being resolved that every other\npatent-medicine man should put the same clause in his contract, the\nvenerable Dr. Humphreys, oldest and wisest of the guild, arose and said:\n\"Will it {082}not be now just as well to act on this, each and every one\nfor himself, instead of putting this on record?... I think the idea is\na good one, But really don't think it had better go in our proceedings.\"\nAnd another fellow nostrum-maker, seeing instantly the necessity\nof secrecy said: \"I am heartily in accord with Dr. Humphreys. The\nsuggestion is a good one, but when we come to put in our public\nproceedings, and state that we have adopted such a resolution, I want to\nsay that the legislators are just as sharp as the newspaper men.... As\na consequence, this will decrease the weight of the press comments.\nSome of the papers, also, who would not come in, would publish something\nabout it in the way of getting square.....\"\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {082}\n\nThis contract is the backbone of the scheme. The further details, the\norganization of the bureau to carry it into effect--that, too, has been\nkept carefully concealed from the generally unthinking newspapers,\nwho are all unconsciously mere individual cogs in the patent-medicine\nlobbying machine. At one of the meetings of the association, Dr. R. V.\nPierce of Buffalo arose and said (I quote him verbatim):... \"I would\nmove you that the report of the Committee on Legislation be made a\nspecial order to be taken up immediately... that it be considered\nin executive session, and that every person not a member of the\norganization be asked to retire, so that it may be read and considered\nin executive session. There are matters and suggestions in reference to\nour future action, and measures to be taken which are advised therein,\nthat we would not wish to have published broadcast over the country for\nvery good reasons.\"\n\nNow what were the \"matters and suggestions\" which Dr. Pierce \"would\nnot wish to have published broadcast over the country for very good\nreasons?\" {083}\n\nCan Mr. Cheney Reconcile These Statements?\n\n\nLetter addressed to Mr. William Allen White, Editor of the Gazette,\nEmporia, Kan.\n\nBy Frank J. Cheney.\n\nDear Sir--\n\nI have read with a great deal of interest, to-day, an article in\nColliers illustrating therein the contract between your paper and\nourselves, [see p. 18--Editor.] {018}Mr. S. Hopkins Adams endeavored very\nhard (as I understand) to find me, but I am sorry to say that I was not\nat home. I really believe that I could have explained that clause of\nthe contract to his entire satisfaction, and thereby saved him the\nhumiliation of making an erratic statement.\n\nThis is the first intimation that I ever have had that that clause was\nput into the contract to control the Press in any way, or the editorial\ncolumns of the Press. I believe that if Mr. Adams was making contracts\nnow, and making three-year contracts, the same as we are, taking into\nconsideration the conditions of the different legislatures, he would be\ndesirous of this same paragraph as a safety guard to protect himself, in\ncase any State did pass a law prohibiting the sale of our goods.\n\nHis argument surely falls flat when he takes into consideration the\nconduct of the North Dakota Legislature, because every newspaper in that\nState that we advertise in hid contracts containing that clause. Why\nwe should be compelled to pay for from one to two years' advertising or\nmore, in a State where we could not sell our goods, is more than I can\nunderstand. As before stated, it is merely a precautionary paragraph to\nmeet conditions such as now {084}exist in North Dakota. We were\ncompelled to withdraw from that State because we would not publish our\nformula, and, therefore, under this contract, we are not compelled to\ncontinue our advertising.\n\n\n\n\nExtract from a speech delivered before the Proprietary Association of\nAmerica.\n\nBy Frank J. Cheney.\n\n\"We have had a good deal of difficulty in the last few years with the\ndifferent legislatures of the different states.... I believe I have a\nplan whereby we will have no difficulty whatever with these people. I\nhave used it in my business for two years, and I know it is a practical\nthing.... I, inside of the last two years, have made contracts with\nbetween fifteen and sixteen thousand newspapers, and never had but one\nman refuse to sign the contract, and by saying to him that I could not\nsign a contract without this clause in it he readily signed it. My point\nis merely to shift the responsibility. We to-day have the responsibility\nof the whole matter upon our shoulders....\n\n\"There? has been constant fear that something would come up, so I had\nthis clause in my contract added. This is what I have in every contract\nI make: 'It is hereby agreed that should your State, or the United\nStates government, pass any law that would interfere with or restrict\nthe sale of proprietary medicines, his contract shall become void.'...\nIn the State of Illinois a few years ago they wanted to assess me three\nhundred dollars. I thought I had a better plan than this, so I wrote to\nabout forty papers, and merely said: 'Please look at your contract with\nme and take note that if this law passes you and I must stop doing\nbusiness, and my contracts cease.' The next week every one of them had\nan article.... I have carried this through and know it is a success. I\nknow the papers will accept it. Here is a thing that costs us nothing.\nWe are guaranteed against the $75,000 loss for nothing. It throws the\nresponsibility on the newspapers.... I have my contracts printed and I\nhave this printed in red type, right square across the contract, so\nthere can be absolutely no mistake, and the newspaper man can not say to\nme, 'I did not see it.' He did see it and knows what he is doing. It\nseems to me it is a point worth every man's attention.... I think this\nis pretty near a sure thing.\"\n\nTo illustrate: There are 739 publications in your State--619 of these\nare dailies and weeklies. Out of this number we are advertising in over\n500, at an annual expenditure of $8,000 per year (estimated). We make a\nthree-year contract with all of them, and, therefore, our liabilities in\nyour State are $24,000, providing, of course, all these contracts were\nmade at the same date. Should these contracts all be made this fall\nand your State should pass a law this winter (three months later)\nprohibiting the sale of our goods, there would be virtually a loss to us\nof $24,000. Therefore, for a business precaution to guard against just\nsuch conditions, we add the red paragraph referred to in Collier's.\n\nI make this statement to you, as I am credited with being the originator\nof the paragraph, and I believe that I am justified in adding this\nparagraph to our contract, not for the purpose of controlling the Press,\nbut, as before stated, as a business precaution which any man should\ntake who expects to pay his bills.\n\nWill you kindly give me your version of the situation? Awaiting an early\nreply, I am,\n\nSincerely yours,\n\nFRANK J. CHENEY.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {083}\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {084}\n\n\n\n\nValuable Newspaper Aid.\n\n{085} Dr. Pierce's son, Dr. V. Mott Pierce, was chairman of the\nCommittee on Legislation. He was the author of the \"matters and\nsuggestions\" which must be considered in the dark. \"Never before,\" said\nhe, \"in the history of the Proprietary Association were there so many\nbills in different state legislatures that were vital to our interests.\nThis was due, we think, to an effort on the part of different state\nboards of health, who have of late years held national meetings, to make\nan organized effort to establish what are known as 'pure food laws.'\"\nThen the younger Pierce stated explicitly the agency responsible for the\ndefeat of this public health legislation: \"We must not forget to\nplace the honor where due for our uniform success in defeating class\nlegislation directed against our legitimate pursuits. The American\nNewspaper Publishers' Association has rendered us valued aid through\ntheir secretary's office in New York and we can hardly overestimate the\npower brought to bear at Washington by individual newspapers.\"... (On\nanother occasion, Dr. Pierce, speaking of two bills in the Illinois\nLegislature, said: \"Two things operated to bring these bills to the\ndanger line. In the first place, the Chicago papers were almost wholly\nwithout influence in the Legislature.... Had it not been for the active\nco-operation of the state outside of Chicago there is absolute certainty\nthat the bill would have passed.... I think that a great many members\ndo not appreciate the power that we can bring to bear on legislation\nthrough the press.\") But this power, in young Dr. Pierce's opinion, must\nbe organized and systematized. \"If it is not presumptuous on the part of\nyour chairman,\" he said modestly, \"to outline a policy which experience\nseems to dictate for the future, it would be briefly as follows\"--here\nthe younger Pierce explains the \"matters and suggestions\" which must\nnot be \"published broadcast over the country.\" The first was \"the\norganization of a Legislative Bureau, with its offices in New York or\nChicago. Second, a secretary, to be appointed by the chairman of the\nCommittee on Legislation, who will receive a stated salary, sufficiently\nlarge to be in keeping with such person's ability, and to compensate him\nfor the giving of all his time to this work.\"\n\n\"The benefits of such a working bureau to the Proprietary Association,\"\nsaid Dr. Pierce, \"can be foreseen: First, a systematic plan to acquire\nearly knowledge of pending or threatened legislation could be taken up.\nIn the past we have relied too much on newspaper managers to acquaint us\nof such bills coming up.... Another plan would be to have the regulation\nformula bill, for instance, introduced by some friendly legislator, and\nhave it referred to his own committee, where he could hold it until\nall danger of such another bill being introduced were over, and the\nLegislature had adjourned.\"\n\nLittle wonder Dr. Pierce wanted a secret session to cover up the frank\n{087}naivete of his son, which he did not \"wish to have published\nbroadcast over the country, for very good reasons.\"\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {086}\n\nEXAMPLE OF WHAT MR. CHENEY CALLS \"SHIFTING THE RESPONSIBILITY.\"\n\nThis letter was sent by the publishers of one of the leading newspapers\nof Wisconsin to Senator Noble of that state. It illustrates the method\nadopted by the patent-medicine makers to compel the newspapers In each\nstate to do their lobbying for them. Senator Noble introduced a bill\nrequiring patent-medicine manufacturers to state on their labels the\npercentage of various poisons which every bottle might contain. Senator\nNoble and a few others fought valiantly for their bill throughout\nthe whole of the last session of the Wisconsin Legislature, but were\ndefeated by the united action of the newspaper publishers, who, as this\nletter shows, exerted pressure of every kind, Including threats, to\ncompel members of the Legislature to vote against the bill.\n\nIn discussing this plan for a legislative bureau, another member told\nwhat in his estimation was needed. \"The trouble,\" said he--I quote\nfrom the minutes--\"the trouble we will have in attempting to buy\nlegislation--supposing we should attempt it--is that we will never know\nwhat we are buying until we get through. We may have paid the wrong man,\nand the bill is passed and we are out. It is not a safe proposition, if\nwe consider it legitimate, which we do not.\"\n\nTrue, it is not legitimate, but the main point is, it's not safe; that's\nthe thing to be considered.\n\nThe patent-medicine man continued to elaborate on the plans proposed\nby Dr. Pierce: \"It would not be a safe proposition at all. What this\nassociation should have... is a regularly established bureau.... We\nshould have all possible information on tap, and we should have a list\nof the members of the legislature of every state. We should have a list\nof the most influential men that control them, or that can influence\nthem.... For instance, if in the state of Ohio a bill comes up that is\nadverse to us, turn to the books, find out who are members of the\nlegislature there, who are the publishers of the papers in the state,\nwhere they are located, which are the Republican and which the\nDemocratic papers.... It will take money, but if the money is rightly\nspent, it will be the best investment ever made.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Trust's Club for Legislators.\n\nThat is about as comprehensive, as frankly impudent a scheme of\ncontrolling legislation as it is possible to imagine. The plan was put\nin the form of a resolution, and the resolution was passed. And so the\nProprietary Association of America maintains a lawyer in Chicago, and\na permanent secretary, office and staff. In every state it maintains\nan agent whose business it is to watch during the session of the\nLegislature each day's batch of new bills, and whenever a bill affecting\npatent medicines shows its head to telegraph the bill, verbatim, to\nheadquarters. There some scores of printed copies of the bill are made,\nand a copy is sent to every member of the association--to the Peruna\npeople, to Dr. Pierce at Buffalo, to Kilmer at Birmingham, to Cheney at\nToledo, to the Pinkham people at Lynn, and to all the others. Thereon\neach manufacturer looks up the list of papers in the threatened state\nwith which he has the contracts described above. And to each newspaper\nhe sends a peremptory telegram calling the publisher's attention to the\nobligations of his contract, and commanding him to go to work to defeat\nthe anti-patent-medicine bill. In practice, this organization works with\nsmooth perfection and well-oiled accuracy to defeat the public health\nlegislation which is introduced by boards of health in over a score of\nstates every year. To illustrate, let me describe as typical the\nhistory of the public health bills which were introduced and defeated\nin Massachusetts last year. I have already mentioned them as showing how\nthe newspapers, obeying that part of their contract which requires\nthem to print nothing harmful to patent medicines, refused to print\nany account of the exposures which were made by several members of the\nLegislature during the debate of the bill. I wish here to describe their\nobedience to that other clause of the {088}contract, in living up to\nwhich they printed scores of bitterly partisan editorials against the\npublic health bill, and against its authors personally; threatened with\npolitical death those members of the Legislature who were disposed to\nvote in favor of it, and even, in the persons of editors and owners,\nwent up to the State House and lobbied personally against the bill. And\nsince I have already told of Mr. Cheney's author-ship of the scheme, I\nwill here reproduce, as typical of all the others (all the other large\npatent-medicine concerns sent similar letters and telegrams), the letter\nwhich Mr. Cheney himself on the 14th day of February sent to all\nthe newspapers in Massachusetts with which he has lobbying\ncontracts--practically every newspaper in the state:\n\n\"Toledo, Ohio, Feb. 14, 1905.\n\n\"Publishers\n\n\"----- Mass.\n\n\"Gentlemen:\n\n\"Should House bills Nos. 829, 30, 607, 724, or Senate bill No. 185\nbecome laws, it will force us to discontinue advertising in your state.\nYour prompt attention regarding this bill we believe would be of mutual\nbenefit.\n\n\"We would respectfully refer you to the contract which we have with you.\n\n\"Respectfully,\n\n\"Cheney Medicine Company.\"\n\n\nNow here is the fruit which that letter bore: a strong editorial against\nthe anti-patent-medicine bill, denouncing it and its author in the most\nvituperative language, a marked copy of which was sent to every member\nof the Massachusetts Legislature. But this was not all that this one\nzealous publisher did; he sent telegrams to a number of members, and a\npersonal letter to the representative of his district calling on that\nmember not only to vote, but to use his influence against the bill, on\nthe pain of forfeiting the paper's favor.\n\nNow this seems to me a shameful thing--that a Massachusetts newspaper,\nof apparent dignity and outward high standing, should jump to the\ncracking of the whip of a nostrum-maker in Ohio; that honest and\nwell-meaning members of the Massachusetts Legislature, whom all the\nmoney of Rockefeller could not buy, who obey only the one thing\nwhich they look on as the expression of the public opinion of their\nconstituents, the united voice of the press of their district--that\nthese men should unknowingly cast their votes at the dictate of a\nnostrum-maker in Ohio, who, if he should deliver his command personally\nand directly, instead of through a newspaper supine enough to let him\ncontrol it for a hundred dollars a year, would be scorned and flouted.\n\nAny self-respecting newspaper must be humiliated by the attitude of\nthe patent-medicine association. They don't ASK the newspapers to do\nit--they ORDER it done. Read again Mr. Cheney's account of his plan,\nnote the half-contemptuous attitude toward the newspapers. And read\nagain Mr. Cheney's curt letter to the Massachusetts papers; Observe the\nthreat, just sufficiently veiled to make it more of a threat; and the\nformal order from a superior to a clerk: \"We would respectfully refer\nyou to the contract which we have with you.\"\n\nAnd the threat is not an empty one. The newspaper which refuses to\naid the patent-medicine people is marked. Some time ago Dr. V. Mott\n{089}Pierce of Buffalo was chairman of what is called the \"Committee on\nLegislation\" of the Proprietary Association of America. He was giving\nhis annual report to the association. \"We are happy to say,\" said\nhe, \"that though over a dozen bills were before the different State\nLegislatures last winter and spring, yet we have succeeded in defeating\nall the bills which were prejudicial to proprietary interests without\nthe use of money, and through the vigorous co-operation and aid of the\npublishers. January 23 your committee sent out letters to the principal\npublications in New York asking their aid against this measure. It is\nhardly necessary to state that the publishers of New York responded\ngenerously against these harmful measures. The only small exception was\nthe _Evening Star_ of Poughkeepsie, N. Y., the publisher of which, in a\nvery discourteous letter, refused to assist us in any way.\"\n\nIs it to be doubted that Dr. Pierce reported this exception to his\nfellow patent-medicine men, that they might make note of the offending\npaper, and bear it in mind when they made their contracts the following\nyear? There are other cases which show what happens to the newspaper\nwhich offends the patent-medicine men. I am fortunate enough to be\nable to describe the following incident in the language of the man who\nwielded the club, as he told the story with much pride to his fellow\npatent-medicine men at their annual meeting:\n\n\"Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen of the Proprietary Association,\" said Mr.\nCooper, \"I desire to present to you a situation which I think it is\nincumbent on manufacturers generally to pay some attention to--namely,\nthe publication of sensational drug news which appears from time to time\nin the leading papers of the country.... There are, no doubt, many of\nyou in the room, at least a dozen, who are familiar with the sensational\narticles that appeared in the Cleveland _Press_. Gentlemen, this is a\nquestion that appeals to you as a matter of business.... The Cleveland\nPress indulged in a tirade against the so-called 'drug trust.'... (the\n'drug trust' is the same organization of patent-medicine men--including\nPierce, Pinkham, Peruna, Kilmer and all the well-known ones--which I\nhave referred to as the patent-medicine association. Its official name\nis the Proprietary Association of America.) \"I sent out the following\nletter to fifteen manufacturers\" (of patent medicines):\n\n\"'Gentlemen--Inclosed we hand you a copy of matter which is appearing\nin the Cleveland papers. It is detrimental to the drug business to have\nthis matter agitated in a sensational way.\n\nIn behalf of the trade we would ask you to use your influence with the\npapers in Cleveland to discontinue this unnecessary publicity, and if\nyou feel you can do so, we would like to have you wire the business\nmanagers of the Cleveland papers to discontinue their sensational\ndrug articles, as it is proving very injurious to your business.\nRespectfully, E. R. Cooper.'\n\n\"Because of that letter which we sent out, the Cleveland Press received\ninside of forty-eight hours telegrams from six manufacturers canceling\nthousands of dollars' worth of advertising and causing a consequent\ndearth of sensational matter along drug lines. It resulted in a loss\nto one paper alone of over eighteen thousand dollars in advertising.\nGentlemen, when you touch a man's pocket, you touch him where he lives;\nthat principle {090}is true of the newspaper editor or the retail\ndruggist, and goes through all business.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Trust's Club for Newspapers.\n\nThat is the account of how the patent-medicine man used his club on\nthe newspaper head, told in the patent-medicine man's own words, as he\ndescribed it to his fellows. Is it pleasant reading for self-respecting\nnewspaper men--the exultant air of those last sentences, and the worldly\nwisdom: \"When you touch a man's pocket you touch him where he lives;\nthat principle is true of the newspaper editor...\"?\n\nBut the worst of this incident has not yet been told. There remains the\naccount of how the offending newspaper, in the language of the bully,\n\"ate dirt\". The Cleveland _Press_ is one of a syndicate of newspapers,\nall under Mr. McRae's ownership--but I will use Mr. Cooper's own words:\n\"We not only reached the Cleveland _Press_ by the movement taken up\nin that way, but went further, for the Cleveland _Press_ is one of a\nsyndicate of newspapers known as the Scripps-McRae League, from whom\nthis explanation is self-explanatory:\n\n\"'Office Schipps-McRae Press Association.\n\n\"'Mr. E. R. Cooper, Cleveland, Ohio:\n\n\"'Mr. McRae arrived in New York the latter part of last week after a\nthree months' trip to Egypt. I took up the matter of the recent cut-rate\narticles which appeared in the Cleveland _Press_ with him, and to-day\nreceived the following telegram from him from Cincinnati: 'Scripps-McRae\npapers will contain no more such as Cleveland _Press_ published\nconcerning the medicine trust--M. A. McRae.'\n\n\"'I am sure that in the future nothing will appear in the Cleveland Press\ndetrimental to your interests.\n\n\"'Yours truly,\n\n\"'F. J. Carlisle.'\"\n\n\nThis incident was told, in the exact words above quoted, at the\nnineteenth annual meeting of the Proprietary Association of America.\n\nI could, if space permitted, quote many other telegrams and letters from\nthe Kilmer's Swamp Root makers, from the Piso's Cure people, from all\nthe large patent-medicine manufacturers. The same thing that happened\nin Massachusetts happened last year in New Hampshire, in Wisconsin,\nin Utah, in more than fifteen states. In Wisconsin the response by the\nnewspapers to the command of the patent-medicine people was even more\nhumiliating than in Massachusetts. Not only did individual newspapers\nwork against the formula bill; there is a \"Wisconsin Press\nAssociation,\" which includes the owners and editors of most of the\nnewspapers of the state. That association held a meeting and passed\nresolutions, \"that we are opposed to said bill... providing that\nhereafter all patent medicine sold in this state shall have the formula\nthereof printed on their labels,\" and \"Resolved, That the association\nappoint a committee of five publishers to oppose the passage of the\nmeasure.\" And in this same state the larger dailies in the cities took\nit on themselves to drum up the smaller country papers and get them\nto write editorials opposed to the formula bill. Nor was even this\nthe measure of their activity in response to the command of the patent\nmedicine association. I am able to give the letter which is here\nreproduced [see page 86]. {086} It was sent by the publisher\nof one of the largest daily papers in Wisconsin to the state senator\nwho {091}introduced the bill. In one western state, a board of health\nofficer made a number of analyses of patent medicines, and tried to have\nthe analyses made public, that the people of his state might be warned.\n\"Only one newspaper in the state,\" he says in a personal letter, \"was\nwilling to print results of these analyses, and this paper refused them\nafter two publications in which a list of about ten was published.\n\nIn New Hampshire--but space forbids. Happily there Is a little silver in\nthe situation. The legislature of North Dakota last year passed, and the\ngovernor signed a bill requiring that patent-medicine bottles shall\nhave printed on their labels the percentage of alcohol or of morphin or\nvarious other poisons which the medicine contains. That was the first\nsuccess in a fight which the public health authorities have waged\nin twenty states each year for twenty years. In North Dakota the\npatent-medicine people conducted the fight with their usual weapons,\nthe ones described above. But the newspapers, be it said to their\neverlasting credit, refused to fall in line to the threats of the\npatent-medicine association. And I account for that fact in this way:\nNorth Dakota is wholly a \"country\" community.\n\nIt has no city of over 20,000, and but one over 5,000. The press of the\nstate, therefore, consists of very small papers, weeklies, in which\nthe ownership and active management all lie with one man. The editorial\nconscience and the business manager's enterprise lie under one hat. With\nthem the patent-medicine scheme was not so successful as with the more\nelaborately organized newspapers of older and more populous states.\n\nJust now is the North Dakota editor's time of trial. The law went into\neffect July 1. The patent-medicine association, at their annual meeting\nin May, voted to withdraw all their advertising from all the papers in\nthat state. This loss of revenue, they argued self-righteously, would\nbe a warning to the newspapers of other states. Likewise it would be\na lesson to the newspapers of North Dakota. At the next session of the\nlegislature they will seek to have the label bill repealed, and they\ncount on the newspapers, chastened by a lean year, to help them. For the\nindependence they have shown in the past, and for the courage they will\nbe called on to show in the future, therefore, let the newspapers of\nNorth Dakota know that they have the respect and admiration of all\ndecent people.\n\n\"What is to be done about it?\" is the question that follows exposure of\norganized rascality. In few cases is the remedy so plain as here. For\nthe past, the newspapers, in spite of these plain contracts of silence,\nmust be acquitted of any very grave complicity. The very existence of\nthe machine that uses and directs them has been a carefully guarded\nsecret. For the future, be it understood that any newspaper which\ncarries a patent-medicine advertisement knows what it is doing. The\nobligations of the contract are now public property. And one thing more,\nwhen next a member of a state legislature arises and states, as I have\nso often heard: \"Gentlemen, this label bill seems right to me, but I can\nnot support it; the united press of my district is opposed to it\"--when\nthat happens, let every one understand the wires that have moved \"the\nunited press of my district.\" {092}\n\nThe Following are Extracts and Abstracts from Various Articles in the\nLadies Home Journal?\n\nA PECULIAR \"ETC.\"\n\nA great show of frankness was recently made by a certain \"patent\nmedicine.\" The makers advertised that they had concluded to take the\npublic into their confidence, and that thereafter they would print a\nformula of the medicine on each bottle manufactured.\n\n\"There is nothing secretive about our medicine,\" was the cry. \"We have\nnothing to hide. Here is the formula. Show it to your physician.\"\n\nThen comes the formula: This herb and that herb, this ingredient\nand that ingredient, and the formula winds up, \"etc.\" All good,\nold-fashioned, well recognized drugs were those which were\nmentioned--all except the \"etc.\"\n\nA certain Board of Pharmacy had never heard of a drug called \"etc.,\" and\nso made up Its mind to find out.\n\nAnd the \"etc.\" was found to be 3.76 per cent of cocain!--just the\nsimple, death-dealing cocain!--From _The Ladies' Home Journal_,\nFebruary, 1906.\n\n\nPATENT MEDICINE CONCERNS AND LETTER BROKERS.\n\nOne of the most disgusting and disgraceful features of the patent\nmedicine business is the marketing of letters sent by patients to patent\nmedicine firms. Correspondence is solicited by these firms under the\nseal of sacred confidence. When the concern is unable to do further\nbusiness with a patient it disposes of the patient's correspondence to\na letter-broker, who, in turn, disposes of it to other patent medicine\nconcerns at the rate of half a cent, for each letter.\n\nThis Information was made public by Mark Sullivan in the _Ladies' Home\nJournal_ for January, 1906.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {092}\n\nAn advertisement showing how the names to orders sent to \"Patent\nMedicine\" concerns are offered for sale or rent to be used by others.\n\nYet we are told how \"Sacredly Confidential\" these letters are regarded\nand held. (The advertisement is from the _Mail Order Journal_, April,\n1905.)\n\nSays Mr. Sullivan: \"One of these brokers assured me he could give me\n'choice lots' of 'medical female letters'... Let me now give you, from\nthe printed lists of these 'letter brokers' some idea of the way in\nwhich these {093}'sacredly confidential' letters are hawked about the\ncountry. Here are a few samples, all that are really printable:\n\n\"'55,000 Female Complaint Letters' Is the sum total of one Item, and\nthe list gives the names of the \"medicine company\" or the \"medical\ninstitute\" to whom they were addressed. Here is a barter, then, in\n55,000 letters of a private nature, each one of which, the writer\nwas told, and had a right to expect, would be regarded as sacredly\nconfidential by the \"doctor\" or concern to whom she had been deluded\ninto telling her private ailments. Yet here they are for half a cent\neach!\n\n\"Another batch of some 47,000 letters addressed to five 'doctors' and\n'institutes' is emphasized because they were all written by women! A\nthird batch is:\n\n\"'44,000 Bust Developer Letters'--letters which one man in a \"patent\nmedicine\" concern told me were \"the richest sort of reading you could\nget hold of.\"\n\n\"A still further lot offers: '40,000 Women's Regulator Letters'--letters\nwhich in their context any woman can naturally imagine would be of the\nmost delicate nature. Still, the fact remains, here thy are for sale.\"\n\nIs not this contemptible?\n\nIn the same article Mr. Sullivan exposes the inhuman greed of patent\nmedicine concerns that turn into cold cash the letters of patients\nafflicted with the most vital diseases.\n\nTo quote Mr. Sullivan again: \"All these are made the subject of public\nbarter. Here are offered for sale, for example: 7,000 Paralysis Letters;\n9,000 Narcotic Letters; 52,000 Consumption Letters; 3,000 Cancer\nLetters, and even 65,000 Deaf Letters. Of diseases of the most private\nnature one is offered here nearly one hundred thousand letters--letters\nthe very classification of which makes a sensitive person shudder.\"\n\n\n\n\nAn Appeal To The American Woman.\n\n\"If the American woman would withhold her patronage from these secret\nnostrums the greater part of the industry would go to pieces. I do\nnot ask any woman to take my word for this. Let me give her a personal\nstatement direct from one of these manufacturers himself--a 'doctor' to\nwhom thousands of women are writing to-day, and whose medicines they are\nbuying by the hundreds of thousands of bottles each year. I quote his\nown statement, word for word:\n\n\"'Men are \"on\" to the game; we don't care a damn about them. It is the\nwomen we are after. We have buncoed them now for a good many years, and\nso long as they remain as \"easy\" as they have been, and we can make them\nbelieve that they are sick, we're all right. Give us the women every\ntime. We can make them feel more female troubles In a year than they\nwould really have if they lived to be a hundred.' \".--From \"Why 'Patent\nMedicines' are Dangerous,\" Edward Bok, Ladies' Home Journal, March,\n1905.\n\n\n\"REPEATERS.\"\n\nIt is the \"repeat\" orders that make the profit. Referring to a certain\npatent medicine that had gone to the wall a nostrum agent said that It\nfailed because \"it wasn't a good repeater.\" When these men doubt whether\na new medicine will be a success they say: \"I'm afraid it wouldn't be a\n'repeater.'\"\n\n\"_Cure_ rheumatism\" said a veteran patent medicine man considering\nthe exploitation of a new remedy; \"good Heavens, man, you don't want a\nremedy that _cures_ 'em. Where would you get your 'repeats'? You want to\nget up a medicine that's full of dope, so the more they take of it the\nmore they'll want.\"--From \"The Inside Story of a Sham,\" _Ladies' Home\nJournal_, January, 1906.\n\n\nPATENT MEDICINES AND TESTIMONIALS.\n\nIn the January, 1906, issue of the _Ladies' Home Journal_ Mark Sullivan\ncontributes an article on the business of securing from well-known\npeople testimonials indorsing and praising nostrums. Mr. Sullivan\nlearned that three men, rivals in trade, make a business of securing\nthese indorsements. They are known as \"testimonlal-brokers.\"\n\nA representative of a patent medicine who was anxious to exploit his\npreparation through the press approached one of these brokers and made\narrangements for the delivery of one hundred signed testimonials from\nmembers of {094}congress, governors and men high in the Army and Navy.\nThe following is the memorandum of the agreement as drawn up by the\nbroker:\n\n\"Confirming my talk with Mr. ------, I will undertake to obtain\ntestimonials from senators at $75 each, and from congressmen at $40,\non a prearranged contract.... A contract for not less than $5,000 would\nmeet my requirements In the testimonial line.... I can put your\nmatter in good shape shortly after congress meets if we come to an\nagreement.... We can't get Roosevelt, but we can get men and women of\nnational reputation, and we can get their statements in convincing form\nand language...\"\n\nIt was for this reason that years ago Mrs. Pinkham, at Lynn, Mass.,\ndetermined to step in and help her sex. Having had considerable\nexperience in treating female ills with her Vegetable Compound, she\nencouraged the women of America to write to her for advice in regard to\ntheir complaints, and being a woman, it was easy for help ailing sisters\nto pour into her ears every detail of their suffering.\n\nNo physician in the world has had such a training, or has such an amount\nof information at hand to assist in the treatment of all kinds of female\nills.\n\nThis, therefore, is the reason why Mrs. Pinkham, in her laboratory at\nLynn, Mass., Is able to do more for the ailing women, of America than\nthe family physician.' Any woman, therefore, is responsible for her own\nsuffering who will not take the trouble to write to Mrs. Pinkham for\nadvice.\n\n[IMAGE ==>] {094}\n\nThe way in which the testimonial is actually obtained is thus described\nby the broker:\n\n\"The knowing how to approach each individual is my stock-in-trade. Only\na man of wide acquaintance of men and things could carry it out. Often\nI employ women. Women know how to get around public men. For example,\nI know that Senator A has a poverty-stricken cousin, who works as a\nseamstress. I go to her and offer her twenty-five dollars to get the\nsenator's signature to a testimonial. But most of it I do through\nnewspaper correspondents here in Washington. Take the senator from\nsome southern state. That senator is very dependent on the Washington\ncorrespondent of the leading newspaper in his state. By the dispatches\nwhich that correspondent sends back the senator's career is made or\nmarred. So I go to that correspondent. I offer him $50 to get the\nsenator's testimonial. The senator may squirm, but he'll sign all right.\nThen there are a number of easy-going congressmen who needn't be seen at\nall. I can sign their names to anything, and they'll stand for it. And\nthere are always a lot of poverty-stricken, broken-down Army veterans\nhanging around Washington. For a few dollars they'll go to their old\nArmy officers on a basis of old acquaintance sake and get testimonials.\"\n\nIt goes without saying that such testimonials are a fraud on the\npurchaser of the medicine thus exploited.\n\n\"Not one in a thousand of these letters ever reaches the eyes of the\n'doctor' to whom they are addressed. There wouldn't be hours enough in\nthe day to read them even if he had the desire. On the contrary, these\nletters from women of a private and delicate nature are opened and read\nby young men and girls; they go through not fewer than eight different\nhands before they reach a reply; each in turn reads them, and if there\nis anything 'spicy' you will see the heads of two or three girls get\ntogether and enjoy (!) the 'spice.' Very often these 'spicy bits' are\ntaken home and shown to the friends and families of these girls and men!\nTime and again have I seen this done; time and again have I been handed\nover a letter by one of the young fellows with the remark: 'Read this,\nisn't that rich?' only to read of the recital of some trouble into which\na young girl has fallen, or some mother's sacred story of her daughter's\nall!\n\n\"Then, to cap the climax of iniquity, with some of these houses these\nnames and addresses are sold at two, three or five cents a name to firms\nin other lines of business for the purpose of sending circulars. As\na fact, often the trouble is not taken to copy off the names and\naddresses, but the letters themselves, with all their private contents,\nare sold!\n\n\"This is the true story of the 'sacredly confidential' way in which\nthese private letters from women are treated!\"--Statement of a man who\nspent two years in the employ of a large patent medicine concern, as\ntold in \"How the Private Confidences of Women Are Laughed At.\" Edward\nBok, _Ladies' Home Journal,_ November, 1904.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Great American Fraud, by Samuel Hopkins Adams\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Greg Bergquist, Charlie Howard, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: KIT CARSON.]\n\n\n\n\n    LIFE\n    OF\n    KIT CARSON,\n\n    THE\n    GREAT WESTERN HUNTER AND GUIDE:\n\n    COMPRISING\n\n    WILD AND ROMANTIC EXPLOITS AS A HUNTER AND TRAPPER IN\n    THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS; THRILLING ADVENTURES AND\n    HAIRBREADTH ESCAPES AMONG THE INDIANS AND\n    MEXICANS; HIS DARING AND INVALUABLE\n    SERVICES AS A GUIDE TO SCOUTING\n    AND OTHER PARTIES, ETC., ETC.\n\n    WITH AN ACCOUNT OF VARIOUS GOVERNMENT EXPEDITIONS\n    TO THE FAR WEST.\n\n    BY CHARLES BURDETT.\n\n    ILLUSTRATED.\n\n    PHILADELPHIA:\n    PORTER & COATES,\n\n    NO. 822 CHESTNUT STREET.\n\n\nCopyright, 1869, by JOHN E. POTTER & CO.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIn offering to the public a revised and complete history of the most\nremarkable of American frontiersmen, we perform a pleasing task. All the\nattainable circumstances connected with his life, adventures and death\nare fully set forth, and we offer this in confidence as a reliable\nauthority for the reader.\n\nNo one should hesitate to familiarize himself with the exploits of the\nsubject of this volume. They evince a magnanimity and an uprightness of\ncharacter that is rarely found in one leading so daring and intensely\nwild a life, and cannot but contribute their share of lustre to the\ninteresting records of the Far West. We regret that his modesty, equally\nproverbial with his daring, prompted him to withhold many of the\nexciting incidents of his career from the public.\n\nWe have compiled a portion of this work from such official reports of\nhis great skill, indomitable energy, and unfaltering courage as have\nbeen communicated by his friend and commander, Col. Fremont, who has\ninvariably awarded to him all the best attributes of manhood, when\nopportunity afforded. Added to these, our hero had been prevailed upon\nby a few of his friends to communicate some of the records of the most\nimportant passages in his extraordinary and eventful life, which are\nembodied in this volume.\n\nHis has indeed been a life of peculiarly exciting personal hazards, bold\nadventures, daring coolness, and moral and physical courage, such as has\nseldom transpired in the world, and we have been greatly impressed, in\nits preparation, with the necessity for a thorough work of this kind.\nAll are aware that the young, and even matured, often seek for books of\nwild adventure, and if those of an unhurtful and truthful character are\nnot found, they are apt to betake themselves to trashy and damaging\nliterature. In this view, this work has a purpose which, we trust, will\ncommend it to every family throughout the land.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n                                                                 PAGE\n  Hero of the narrative -- from what race descended -- his fame\n  -- theater of his exploits-nativity -- his father emigrates to\n  Missouri -- father's occupation -- Kit's apprenticeship --\n  dissatisfaction with his trade -- joins an expedition to Santa\n  Fe -- surgical operation -- Santa Fe, its situation, business,\n  style of buildings, water, appearance, altitude, scenery,\n  population -- spends the winter at Taos -- learns the Spanish\n  language -- joins a party bound to Missouri -- returns to\n  Santa Fe -- becomes a teamster -- El Paso, its grape culture,\n  style of living of its people, name -- youth of traveler --\n  new occupation for the winter -- becomes interpreter for a\n  trader.                                                          13\n\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n\n  Chihuahua, cathedral, statues, public buildings, convent,\n  mint, trade, age, population -- Carson longs for the prairie\n  -- changes employment -- returns to Taos -- joins a party of\n  hunters and trappers to punish the Indians -- result of the\n  affray -- Indian style of fighting -- method of trapping for\n  beaver -- beaver signs -- setting the traps -- bait --\n  fastening the traps -- caution in setting the traps.             21\n\n\n  CHAPTER III.\n\n  Carson's qualifications for a trapper -- starts for California\n  -- desert in the route -- Mohave Indians, non-intercourse with\n  whites, appearance, dress, ornaments, painting their bodies,\n  money -- Mission San Gabriel, cattle, horses, sheep, mules,\n  vineyards, income -- other Missions in California, when\n  founded, laborers -- Missions of Upper California --\n  Missionary subscriptions -- management of the fund --\n  Commandante-general -- the Monks -- golden age of the\n  Missions.                                                        29\n\n\n  CHAPTER IV.\n\n  New Mexico and Arizona -- their desert prairies -- Carson in\n  California -- traps on the San Joaquin -- the valley of the\n  Sacramento.                                                      40\n\n\n  CHAPTER V.\n\n  The Digger Indians, a description of them, and their mode of\n  living -- Carson's visit to a ranche in search of a cow -- his\n  journey to the camp with his prize.                              45\n\n\n  CHAPTER VI.\n\n  Carson at the Mission San Gabriel -- recovers sixty stolen\n  horses after a fight with the Indians -- \"Los Angelos\" --\n  climate of California.                                           54\n\n\n  CHAPTER VII.\n\n  Visit to a ranche -- likes California, but likes buffalo\n  better -- leaves Los Angelos, and traps on the Colorado -- in\n  a tight place, but gets out of it.                               66\n\n\n  CHAPTER VIII.\n\n  Trapping with Young upon the Colorado -- captures cattle and\n  horses from the Indians -- goes to Santa Fe, disposes of furs,\n  and sows his wild oats -- _coureurs des bois_, travels,\n  dress, habits -- joins Mr. Fitzpatrick trapping among the Nez\n  Perces -- winters in the New Park -- punishes the Crow Indians\n  for horse-stealing -- pursues and punishes robbers of a\n  _cache_ -- flies from a party of sixty Indians.                  76\n\n\n  CHAPTER IX.\n\n  Hunts with two companions -- saving his money -- trading with\n  Captain Lee -- pursues an Indian horse-thief and recovers the\n  horses without assistance -- traps on the Laramie -- fight\n  with two grizzlies -- description of the grizzly bear, his\n  food -- traps among the Blackfeet -- unsuccessful attempt to\n  chastise Blackfeet horse-thieves -- Carson is wounded --\n  Bridger's pursuit without finding them.                          83\n\n\n  CHAPTER X.\n\n  Carson, recovered, attends summer rendezvous on Green River --\n  description of the rendezvous -- camp, traders, charges --\n  British Fur Company -- the Indians bringing in furs --\n  appearance of Montreal at a fair for the Indians -- trappers\n  and traders from the States -- purchases of the trappers,\n  necessaries, luxuries, Indian wife.                              93\n\n\n  CHAPTER XI.\n\n  Green River rendezvous again -- the backwoodsman -- Carson the\n  peace-maker -- Sherman the bully, his punishment -- cause of\n  the duel -- trapping and parley with the Blackfeet -- on\n  Humboldt River -- explores the desert -- discovers the river\n  afterwards named for him.                                       101\n\n\n  CHAPTER XII.\n\n  Dreary prospect on the Humboldt -- Humboldt Lake -- sinks of\n  other rivers -- overflow of Humboldt Lake and River -- station\n  at the sink, the traders -- Humboldt Indians -- Fourth of July\n  on the Humboldt -- Humboldt sinking -- land available for\n  agriculture on this river.                                      109\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIII.\n\n  Carson on the Humboldt -- sufferings of the return party --\n  Pyramid Circle -- a horse purchased for food -- buffalo hunt,\n  meat jerked -- horses stolen by the Indians -- extent of\n  buffalo ranges -- buffalo upon the Platte in 1857, numbers,\n  trails crossing the river, animals killed.                      116\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIV.\n\n  Carson traps with a party of a hundred in the Blackfeet\n  country -- winter camp among the Crows -- Indian lodges --\n  winter life of the trappers -- fight with the Blackfeet --\n  Carson saves the life of a friend, dislodges the Indians from\n  a rocky fastness, and compels their flight -- no more\n  molestation -- the rendezvous -- trade with the Navajos\n  Indians -- fort at Brown's Hole -- goes again against the\n  Blackfeet, a thousand warriors assemble, retire without an\n  engagement -- traps on the Salmon River -- among the\n  Blackfeet, another fight, leaves their country -- Chinook and\n  Flathead Indians -- process of flattening the head.             126\n\n\n  CHAPTER XV.\n\n  Carson continues trapping -- the trade becomes unprofitable --\n  war of extermination upon the beaver, silk for hats prevents\n  -- Carson's experience enables him to aid one who should\n  explore in behalf of science -- knowledge of the country --\n  comes to Bent's Fort, forsaking trapping -- becomes hunter for\n  the fort -- his employers -- his business -- reputation as a\n  hunter -- fulfills the early hopes of him -- knowledge of the\n  country -- regard shown him, especially by the Indians --\n  diplomatist between the Sioux and the Camanches -- marriage --\n  death of his wife -- takes his child to St. Louis for\n  education -- changes at his old home -- reception at St. Louis\n  -- meets Col. Fremont -- engages to guide Fremont's exploring\n  party to the South Pass in the Rocky Mountains.                 139\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVI.\n\n  Party of explorers starting -- style of encamping -- defense\n  -- morning in camp -- ford of the Kansas -- India-rubber boat\n  -- accident from overloading the boat -- Carson ill -- lies in\n  camp on the prairie.                                            152\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVII.\n\n  Road over rolling prairie -- Pawnee country -- false alarm of\n  the presence of Indians -- Carson rides to discover the cause\n  -- coast of the Platte River -- party of trappers from Fort\n  Laramie -- one of this party joins Fremont's company --\n  buffalo -- appearance of the herds -- feasting in the camp --\n  Carson's mishap in the hunt -- Carson, Maxwell, and Fremont\n  join in the chase.                                              157\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVIII.\n\n  Fremont divides his party -- attempt to lasso a wild horse --\n  Maxwell prevents an Indian attack -- Indians on a buffalo hunt\n  -- return laden with meat -- Cheyenne village -- tripod\n  support for their weapons -- Fremont entertained by the chief\n  -- tribute to the Great Spirit on taking the pipe -- Jim\n  Beckwith -- other settlers on the mountain streams -- St.\n  Vrain's Fort -- Fort Laramie -- Carson's camp -- excitement in\n  the company -- hostile intentions of the Indians --\n  preparations for continuing the explorations -- one of the\n  command dismissed.                                              167\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIX.\n\n  The growth of Artemisia -- fate of the Indian party so much\n  dreaded -- cache of wagons and other effects -- value of\n  Carson's aid to Fremont -- propriety of calling this an\n  exploring party -- ascent to the South Pass -- exploration up\n  a tributary of Green River -- lake at its source -- continue\n  to explore in the mountains -- Fremont climbs the highest\n  summit -- why Carson was not with him.                          179\n\n\n  CHAPTER XX.\n\n  Party returns to Fort Laramie -- Carson remains -- marriage --\n  joins Fremont -- a second exploring expedition -- object of\n  the expedition -- Great Salt Lake -- Fremont's description --\n  current impressions in regard to the lake -- Beer Springs --\n  Hot Springs -- Standing Rock.                                   188\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXI.\n\n  A part of Fremont's men return East -- leave Fort Hall, en\n  route for the valley of the Columbia -- difficulty of finding\n  camping places -- Carson kills buffalo -- melancholy looking\n  country -- crossing Snake River -- fish-eating Indians --\n  refitting equipage at the Dalles -- proposed return route --\n  spirits of the party -- Tlamath Lake -- sufferings of the\n  party.                                                          208\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXII.\n\n  Fremont's story of the difficulties and exposures of his party\n  -- hot springs -- explorations for grass -- mountain lake --\n  central ridge of the Sierra Nevada -- Indians -- talks by\n  signs -- Indian guide -- encouragement afforded by Carson's\n  descriptions of California -- provisions low -- snow deep --\n  animals weak -- Indian harangue -- guide deserts -- Carson\n  recognizes Sacramento valley and the coast range -- taking the\n  horses through the snow -- sleds for the baggage -- pine nuts\n  the food of the Indians -- glorious sunrise.                    217\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXIII.\n\n  Thunder storm -- view of the Sacramento, and Bay of San\n  Francisco -- mauls to path the snow -- Carson saves Fremont\n  from drowning -- rapid river, snow, grass, pines, live oak,\n  mistletoe -- division of the party -- horses lost -- members\n  of the party wander, return -- horses killed for food --\n  country improving in beauty -- arrival at Sutter's Fort --\n  description of a _cache_.                                       237\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXIV.\n\n  Carson at home in Taos -- decides to commence farming --\n  preparations -- Fremont requests his service for a third\n  expedition -- meeting at Bent's Fort -- head-waters -- Great\n  Salt Lake -- expedition divides -- Horse-Thief Indians -- the\n  skirmish.                                                       250\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXV.\n\n  Arrival at Sutter's Fort -- command of Gen. Castro to leave\n  the country -- his march against Fremont -- Fremont departs\n  for Oregon -- Indians instigated by the Mexicans, Fremont's\n  march against them -- he returns to California -- another\n  Indian fight.                                                   264\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXVI.\n\n  Loss to Fremont's party -- Carson's attack upon Indian village\n  -- start for the Sacramento -- Fremont's campaign against the\n  Mexicans -- captures Sonoma -- calls American settlers into\n  his service -- Gen. Castro leaves San Francisco -- Fremont\n  garrisons Sutter's Fort -- marches to Monterey -- Commodore\n  Sloat in possession -- hoists the flag of the United States.    273\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXVII.\n\n  Fremont marches on, and occupies Los Angelos -- appointed\n  Governor of California -- Carson starts for Washington as\n  bearer of dispatches -- unexpected meeting with Apache Indians\n  -- meets the expedition of Gen. Kearney -- returns to\n  California as guide.                                            280\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n  March to California -- Mexicans intercept Kearney's troops --\n  American attack on the Mexican force -- disastrous result --\n  Carson and Lieut. Beale reach San Diego -- reinforcements sent\n  by Com. Stockton -- capture of Los Angelos -- Mexicans\n  surrender to Fremont -- want of harmony in the American camps.  285\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXIX.\n\n  Graphic description of the entrance into Monterey, of Fremont,\n  Carson, and party -- indiscretions of American officers --\n  Kearney's dispatch to the War Department -- Fremont's\n  extraordinary ride.                                             302\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXX.\n\n  Fremont visits his Mariposa purchase -- grand hunt and ball --\n  the fandango -- Carson and Beale ordered to Washington -- kind\n  reception -- appointed to a lieutenancy -- encounter with\n  Camanches -- arrival at Los Angelos -- sent to the Tejon Pass\n  -- again to Washington -- arrival at home -- the warlike\n  Apaches -- Carson entertains Fremont and suffering explorers.   315\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXXI.\n\n  Dreadful sufferings endured by Fremont and party -- error in\n  engaging a guide -- Fremont's letter to his wife -- horrible\n  details.                                                        330\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXXII.\n\n  Mr. Carvalho's narrative -- cravings of hunger -- disgusting\n  food considered a delicacy -- Death of Mr. Fuller -- Carson\n  joins Col. Beale as guide -- the Apache and Camanche Indians.   341\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXXIII.\n\n  Carson and Maxwell's settlement -- exploits in defense of his\n  neighbors -- encounter with the Cheyennes -- rescue.            341\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXXIV.\n\n  Grand trapping expedition -- the Mountain Parks -- Pike's Peak\n  -- Carson drives sheep to California -- San Francisco --\n  appointed Indian Agent -- habits -- services in New Mexico --\n  his death at Fort Lyon -- summing up.                           369\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF CHRISTOPHER CARSON.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nAs, for their intrepid boldness and stern truthfulness, the exploits and\ndeeds of the old Danish sea-kings, have, since the age of Canute, been\njustly heralded in song and story; so now by the world-wide voice of the\npress, this, their descendant, as his name proves him, is brought before\nthe world: and as the stern integrity of the exploits and deeds of the\nold Danes in the age of Canute were heralded by song and story; so too,\nin this brief and imperfect memoir, are those of one who by name and\nbirthright claims descent from them. The subject of the present memoir,\nChristopher Carson, familiarly known under the appellation of Kit\nCarson, is one of the most extraordinary men of the present era. His\nfame has long been established throughout this country and Europe, as a\nmost skillful and intrepid hunter, trapper, guide, and pilot of the\nprairies and mountains of the far West, and Indian fighter. But his\ncelebrity in these characters is far surpassed by that of his individual\npersonal traits of courage, coolness, fidelity, kindness, honor, and\nfriendship. The theatre of his exploits is extended throughout the whole\nwestern portion of the territory of the United States, from the\nMississippi to the Pacific, and his associates have been some of the\nmost distinguished men of the present age, to all of whom he has become\nan object of affectionate regard and marked respect. The narrative which\nfollows will show his titles to this distinction, so far as his modesty\n(for the truly brave are always modest) has permitted the world to learn\nanything of his history.\n\nIt appears, from the various declarations of those most intimate with\nChristopher Carson, as well as from a biography published a number of\nyears before his death, that he was a native of Madison county,\nKentucky, and was born on the 24th of December, 1809. Colonel Fremont in\nhis exhaustive and interesting Report of his Exploring Expedition to\nOregon and North California, in 1843-44, says that Carson is a native\nof Boonslick county, Missouri; and from his long association with the\nhunter, he probably makes the statement on Carson's own authority. The\nerror, if it is an error, may have arisen from the fact stated by Mr.\nPeters, that Carson's father moved from Kentucky to Missouri, when\nChristopher was only one year old. He settled in what is now Howard\ncounty, in the central part of Missouri.\n\nAt the time of Mr. Carson's emigration, Missouri was called Upper\nLouisiana, being a part of the territory ceded to the United States by\nFrance in 1803, and it became a separate State, under the name of\nMissouri, in 1821. When Mr. Carson removed his family from Kentucky, and\nsettled in the new territory, it was a wild region, naturally fertile,\nthus favoring his views as a cultivator; abounding in wild game, and\naffording a splendid field of enterprise for the hunter, but infested on\nall sides with Indians, often hostile, and always treacherous.\n\nAs Mr. Carson united the pursuits of farmer and hunter, and lived in a\nsort of block-house or fort, as a precaution against the attacks of the\nneighboring Indians, his son became accustomed to the presence of\ndanger, and the necessity of earnest action and industry from his\nearliest childhood.\n\nAt the age of fifteen, Kit Carson was apprenticed to Mr. Workman, a\nsaddler. This trade requiring close confinement, was, of course, utterly\ndistasteful to a boy already accustomed to the use of the rifle, and the\nstirring pleasures of the hunter's life, and at the end of two years,\nhis apprenticeship was terminated, for Kit, who, with his experience as\nthe son of a noted hunter, himself perfectly familiar with the rifle,\nand, young as he was, acknowledged to be one of the best and surest\nshots, even in that State, where such merit predominated at that time\nover almost every other, could not bear in patience the silent,\nsedentary monotony of his life, voluntarily abandoned the further\npursuit of the trade, and sought the more active employment of a\ntrader's life.\n\nHis new pursuit was more congenial. He joined an armed band of traders\nin an expedition to Santa Fe, the capital of New Mexico. This, at that\nperiod, (1826,) was rather a perilous undertaking, on account of the\nIndian tribes who were ever ready to attack a trading caravan, when\nthere was any prospect of overcoming it. No attack was made on the\nparty, however, and no incident of importance occurred, if we except\nthe accident to one of the teamsters who wounded himself by carelessly\nhandling a loaded rifle, so as to render it necessary to amputate his\narm. In this operation Carson assisted, the surgical instruments being a\nrazor, an old saw, and an iron bolt, heated red hot, in order to apply\nthe actual cautery. Notwithstanding this rough surgery, the man\nrecovered.[A]\n\nIn November (1826) the party arrived at Santa Fe, the capital, and the\nlargest town in the then Mexican province of New Mexico. This place is\nsituated on the Rio Chiuto, or Santa Fe river, an affluent of the Rio\nGrande, from which it is distant about 20 miles. It was then, as now,\nthe great emporium of the overland trade, which, since 1822, has been\ncarried on with the State of Missouri. The houses are chiefly built of\n_adobes_, or unburnt bricks, each dwelling forming a square, with a\ncourt in the centre upon which the apartments open. This mode of\nbuilding, originally Moorish, prevails in all the colonies settled by\nthe Spaniards, as well as in Old Spain, and the oriental countries. It\nmakes each house a sort of fortress, as General Taylor's troops learned\nto their cost at the siege of Monterey. The front entrance of each\nhouse is large enough to admit animals with their packs.\n\nSanta Fe is well supplied with cool water from springs within its\nlimits, and from fountains above the city near the neighbouring\nmountain. The appearance of the place is inviting and imposing, as it\nstands on a plateau elevated more than 7000 feet above the sea, and near\na snow capped mountain, which rises 5000 feet above the level of the\ntown; but the population is said to be exceedingly depraved. The present\npopulation is about 5000; but at the time of Carson's first visit, it\nwas comparatively a small town.\n\nSoon after their arrival at Santa Fe, Carson left the trading band,\nwhich he had joined when he abandoned the saddlery business, or trade,\nas the reader may choose to term it, and of which we have previously\nspoken, and proceeded to Fernandez de Taos. In this place Carson passed\nthe winter of 1826-7, at the house of a retired mountaineer. And it was\nwhile residing there, that he acquired that thorough familiarity with\nthe Spanish language, which, in after years, proved of such essential\nservice to him. In the spring he joined a party bound for Missouri, but\nmeeting another band of Santa Fe traders, he joined them and returned\nto that place. Here his services being no longer required by the\ntraders, he was again thrown out of employment. He now engaged himself\nas teamster to a party bound to El Paso, a settlement, or more properly\na line of settlements, embracing a population of about 5,000, situated\nin the rich, narrow valley which extends 9 or 10 miles along the right\nbank of the Rio Grande, in the Mexican State of Chihuahua, 350 miles S.\nby W. of Santa Fe. Here the grape is extensively cultivated, and\nconsiderable quantities of light wine and brandy, (called by the traders\n_Pass wine_ and _Pass brandy_,) are made. The houses are like those of\nSanta Fe, built of _adobes_ with earthen floors. With abundance of\nnatural advantages, the people are content to live without those\nappliances of civilized life, considered indispensable by the poorest\nAmerican citizens. Glazed windows, chairs, tables, knives and forks, and\nsimilar every day conveniences are unknown even to the rich among the\npeople of El Paso. The place is the chief emporium of the trade between\nNew Mexico and Chihuahua, and its name, \"the passage\" is derived from\nthe passage of the river through a gorge or gap in the mountain just\nabove the town.\n\nOn his arrival at this place, young Carson might justly be considered\nin view of his age, (not yet 18,) more than an ordinary traveler. He had\narrived at a spot where everything was strange to him. New people, new\ncustoms, a new climate, a wine country, a population of mixed breed,\nhalf Indian, half Spaniard--everything wearing a foreign aspect;\neverything totally different from his home in Missouri.\n\nHe did not remain long in this place, but returned to Santa Fe, whence\nhe again found his way to Taos, where he passed the winter in the\nservice of Mr. Ewing Young, in the humble capacity of cook; this he soon\nforsook for the more pleasant and profitable position of Spanish\ninterpreter to a trader named Tramell, with whom he, for the second\ntime, made the long journey to El Paso and Chihuahua.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nChihuahua, where Carson had now arrived, is the capital of the Mexican\nprovince bearing the same name. It is situated on a small tributary of\nthe Conchos river, in the midst of a plain. It is regularly laid out and\nwell built; the streets are broad and some of them paved. Like other\ncities built by the Spaniards, it has its great public square, or Plaza\nMajor, on one side of which stands the cathedral, an imposing edifice of\nhewn stone, built at a cost of $300,000. It is surmounted with a dome\nand two towers, and has a handsome facade with statues of the twelve\napostles, probably the first statues that Carson had ever seen. Other\npublic buildings surround the square, and there is a fountain in the\nmiddle. The city contains a convent founded by the Jesuits, and an\naqueduct 3-1/2 miles long, supported by vast arches and communicating\nwith the river Chihuahua. It has also its mint, and in the neighborhood\nare silver mines with furnaces for melting the ore. It carries on an\nextensive trade with the United States by means of caravans to St. Louis\nin Missouri, and San Antonio in Texas. It was founded in 1691, and\nduring the time when the silver mines were in successful operation, it\ncontained 70,000 inhabitants. The population at present is 14,000.\n\nAs he had come with one of the trading caravans in the service of\nColonel Tramell as Spanish interpreter, we might naturally expect that\nthe engagement would be a permanent one. But such was not the case. The\nmonotony of this life soon disgusted him, and after weary weeks passed\nin comparative idleness, he longed again for the freedom of the prairie\nand the forest, and gladly abandoning the rather dignified position of\ninterpreter to Colonel Tramell, entered into the service of Mr. Robert\nM. Knight, in the more humble capacity of teamster in an expedition to\nthe copper mines on the river Gila, whence he soon after found his way\nback to Taos.\n\nIt was during this visit to Taos that Carson was first enabled to\ngratify the desire which he had long entertained of becoming a regular\nhunter and trapper. A party of trappers in the service of Carson's old\nfriend, Mr. Ewing Young, had returned to Taos, having been beaten off\nfrom their hunting and trapping grounds by a hostile band of Indians.\nMr. Young raised a party of forty men, for the double purpose of\nchastising the Indians, and resuming the business of trapping, and\nCarson joined them. The fact that he was accepted for this service was a\nmarked token of esteem for his valor, as well as his skill in hunting,\nparties of this description always avoiding the enlistment of\ninexperienced recruits, as likely to embarrass their operations in the\nfield.\n\nThe ostensible object of the expedition was to punish the Indians, but\nits ultimate purpose was to trap for beavers. The Mexicans by an express\nlaw had forbidden granting licenses to any American parties, and in this\ninstance a circuitous route was chosen to conceal their real design.\n\nThey did not fall in with the Indians of whom they were in pursuit,\nuntil they had reached the head of one of the affluents of the Rio Gila,\ncalled Salt River. Once in presence of their enemies they made short\nwork with them, killing fifteen of their warriors, and putting the whole\nband to rout. Such occurrences were by no means unfrequent, as we shall\nsee in the course of this narrative. A small body of experienced\nhunters and trappers, confident in their superior skill and discipline,\nnever hesitates to attack a greatly superior number of Indians, and it\nwas a rare thing that success did not attend their daring. The Indian is\nnot fond of a \"fair stand up fight.\" He prefers stratagem and ambush,\nand reverences as a great \"brave,\" the warrior who is most successful in\ncircumventing his enemies, and bringing off many scalps without the loss\nof a man; but when a considerable number of Indians are shot down in the\nfirst onset, the remainder are very apt to take to flight in every\ndirection.\n\nWe have said that Carson joined the party of trappers under the command\nof Mr. Ewing Young, and it may not be out of place to describe briefly\nthe mode of life which parties in that pursuit have to adopt, with a few\nremarks upon the habits and haunts of the animal, for whose sake men\nwere then so willing to risk their lives, and to undergo such hardships.\n\nThe method of trapping for beaver formerly employed by the trappers in\nthe western country, is thus described by one who has had considerable\nexperience in the art; and we quote it as illustrating the severe\ntraining to which Carson had voluntarily subjected himself:\n\n\"To be a successful trapper, required great caution as well as a perfect\nknowledge of the habits of the animal. The residence of the beaver was\noften discovered by seeing bits of green wood, and gnawed branches of\nthe bass-wood, slippery elm, and sycamore, their favorite food, floating\non the water, or lodged on the shores of the stream below, as well as by\ntheir tracks or foot-marks. These indications were technically called\n_beaver sign_. They were also sometimes discovered by their dams, thrown\nacross creeks and small sluggish streams, forming a pond in which were\nerected their habitations.\n\n\"The hunter, as he proceeded to set his traps, generally approached by\nwater, in his canoe. He selected a steep, abrupt spot in the bank of the\ncreek, in which a hole was excavated with his paddle, as he sat in the\ncanoe, sufficiently large to hold the trap, and so deep as to be about\nthree inches below the surface of the water, when the jaws of the trap\nwere expanded. About two feet above the trap, a stick, three or four\ninches in length, was stuck in the bank. In the upper end of this, the\ntrapper excavated a small hole with his knife, into which he dropped a\nsmall quantity of the essence, or perfume, which was used to attract\nthe beaver to the spot. This stick was attached by a string of horse\nhair to the trap, and with it was pulled into the water by the beaver.\nThe reason for this was, that it might not remain after the trap was\nsprung, and attract other beavers to the spot, and thus prevent their\ngoing to where there was another trap ready for them.\n\n\"The scent, or essence, was made by mingling the fresh castor of the\nbeaver, with an extract of the bark of the roots of the spice-bush, and\nkept in a bottle for use. The making of this essence was held a profound\nsecret, and often sold for a considerable sum to the younger trappers,\nby the older proficients in the mystery of beaver hunting. Where they\nhad no proper bait, they sometimes made use of the fresh roots of\nsassafras, or spice-bush; of both these the beaver was very fond.\n\n\"It is said by old trappers that they will smell the well-prepared\nessence the distance of a mile. Their sense of smell is very acute, or\nthey would not so readily detect the vicinity of man by the smell of his\ntrail. The aroma of the essence having attracted the animal into the\nvicinity of the trap, in his attempt to reach it, he has to climb up on\nto the bank where it is sticking. This effort leads him directly over\nthe trap, and he is usually taken by one of the fore legs. The trap was\nconnected by a chain of iron, six feet in length, to a stout line made\nof the bark of the leather-wood, twisted into a neat cord, of fifteen or\ntwenty feet. These were usually prepared by the trappers at home or at\ntheir camps, for cords of hemp or flax were scarce in the days of beaver\nhunting. The end of the line was secured to a stake driven into the bed\nof the creek under water, and in his struggles to escape, the beaver was\nusually drowned before the arrival of the trapper. Sometimes, however,\nhe freed himself by gnawing off his own leg, though this was rarely the\ncase. If there was a prospect of rain, or it was raining at the time of\nsetting the trap, a leaf, generally of sycamore, was placed over the\nessence stick, to protect it from the rain.\n\n\"The beaver being a very sagacious and cautious animal, it required\ngreat care in the trapper in his approach to its haunts to set his\ntraps, that no scent of his feet or hands was left on the earth, or\nbushes that he touched. For this reason he generally approached in a\ncanoe. If he had no canoe, it was necessary to enter the stream thirty\nor forty yards below, and walk in the water to the place, taking care\nto return in the same manner, lest the beaver should take alarm and not\ncome near the bait, as his fear of the vicinity of man was greater than\nhis sense of appetite for the essence. It also required caution in\nkindling a fire near their haunts, as the smell of smoke alarmed them.\nThe firing of a gun, also, often marred the sport of the trapper, and\nthus it will be seen that to make a successful beaver hunter, required\nmore qualities or natural gifts than fall to the share of most men.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nCarson's previous habits and pursuits had eminently qualified him to\nbecome an useful and even a distinguished member of Mr. Young's company\nof trappers. He had lived in the midst of danger from his childhood. He\nwas familiar with the use of arms; and several years of travel and\nadventure had already given him more knowledge of the western wilds in\nthe neighborhood of the region which was the scene of their present\noperations, than was possessed by many who had seen more years than\nhimself. Added to this, he had become well acquainted with the peculiar\ncharacter and habits of the western Indians, who were now prowling\naround their camp, and occasionally stealing their traps, game, and\nanimals.\n\nThe party pursued their business successfully for some time on the Salt\nand San Francisco rivers, when a part of them returned to New Mexico,\nand the remainder, eighteen in number, under the lead of Mr. Young,\nstarted for the valley of Sacramento, California, and it was to this\nlatter party Carson was attached. Their route led them through one of\nthe dry deserts of the country, and not only did they suffer\nconsiderably from the want of water, but their provisions giving out,\nthey were often happy when they could make a good dinner on horse-flesh.\nNear the Canyon of the Colorado they encountered a party of Mohave\nIndians, who furnished them with some provisions, which relieved them\nfrom the apprehension of immediate want.\n\nThe Mohave Indians are thus described by a recent visitor:\n\n\"These Indians are probably in as wild a state of nature as any tribe on\nAmerican territory. They have not had sufficient intercourse with any\ncivilized people, to acquire a knowledge of their language, or their\nvices. It was said that no white party had ever before passed through\ntheir country without encountering hostility; nevertheless they appear\nintelligent, and to have naturally amiable dispositions. The men are\ntall, erect, and well-proportioned; their features inclined to European\nregularity; their eyes large, shaded by long lashes, and surrounded by\ncircles of blue pigment, that add to their apparent size. The apron, or\nbreech-cloth for men, and a short petticoat, made of strips of the inner\nbark of the cotton-wood, for women, are the only articles of dress\ndeemed indispensable; but many of the females have long robes, or\ncloaks, of fur. The young girls wear beads; but when married, their\nchins are tattooed with vertical blue lines, and they wear a necklace\nwith a single sea-shell in front, curiously wrought. These shells are\nvery ancient, and esteemed of great value.\n\n\"From time to time they rode into the camp, mounted on spirited horses;\ntheir bodies and limbs painted and oiled, so as to present the\nappearance of highly-polished mahogany. The dandies paint their faces\nperfectly black. Warriors add a streak of red across the forehead, nose,\nand chin. Their ornaments consist of leathern bracelets, adorned with\nbright buttons, and worn on the left arm; a kind of tunic, made of\nbuckskin fringe, hanging from the shoulders; beautiful eagles' feathers,\ncalled 'sormeh'--sometimes white, sometimes of a crimson tint--tied to a\nlock of hair, and floating from the top of the head; and, finally,\nstrings of wampum, made of circular pieces of shell, with holes in the\ncentre, by which they are strung, often to the length of several yards,\nand worn in coils about the neck. These shell beads, which they call\n'pook,' are their substitute for money, and the wealth of an individual\nis estimated by the 'pook' cash he possesses.\"\n\nSoon after leaving the Mohave Indians, Mr. Young's party, proceeding\nwestward, arrived at the Mission of San Gabriel. This is one of these\nextensive establishments formed by the Roman Catholic clergy in the\nearly times of California, which form so striking a feature in the\ncountry. This Mission of San Gabriel, about the time of Carson's visit,\nwas in a flourishing condition. By statistical accounts, in 1829, it had\n70,000 head of cattle, 1,200 horses, 3,000 mares, 400 mules, 120 yoke of\nworking cattle, and 254,000 sheep. From the vineyards of the mission\nwere made 600 barrels of wine, the sale of which produced an income of\nupwards of $12,000. There were between twenty and thirty such missions\nin California at that time, of which San Gabriel was by no means the\nlargest. They had all been founded since 1769, when the first, San\nDiego, was established. The labor in these establishments was performed\nby Indian converts, who received in return a bare support, and a very\nsmall modicum of what was called religious instruction. Each mission had\nits Catholic priests, a few Spanish or Mexican soldiers, and hundreds,\nsometimes thousands of Indians.\n\nThe following interesting account of those of Upper California, we\ntranscribe from a recent work of high authority.[B]\n\n\"The missions of Upper California were indebted for their beginning and\nchief success to the subscriptions which, as in the case of the\nmissionary settlements of the lower province, were largely bestowed by\nthe pious to promote so grand a work as turning a great country to the\nworship of the true God. Such subscriptions continued for a long period,\nboth in Old and New Spain, and were regularly remitted to the City of\nMexico, where they were formed into what was called '_The Pious Fund of\nCalifornia_.' This fund was managed by the convent of San Fernando and\nother trustees in Mexico, and the proceeds, together with the annual\nsalaries allowed by the Crown to the missionaries, were transmitted to\nCalifornia. Meanwhile, the Spanish court scarcely interfered with the\ntemporal government of the country. It was true that some of the\nordinary civil offices and establishments were kept up; but this was\nonly in name, and on too small a scale to be of any practical\nimportance. A commandante-general was appointed by the Crown to command\nthe garrisons of the presidios; but as these were originally established\nsolely to protect the missions from the dreaded violence of hostile\nIndians, and to lend them, when necessary, the carnal arm of offence, he\nwas not allowed to interfere in the temporal rule of the Fathers. He\nresided at Monterey, and his annual salary was four thousand dollars.\n\n\"In every sense of the word, then, these monks were practically the\nsovereign rulers of California--passing laws affecting not only\nproperty, but even life and death--declaring peace and war against their\nIndian neighbors--regulating, receiving, and spending the finances at\ndiscretion--and, in addition, drawing large annual subsidies not only\nfrom the pious among the faithful over all Christendom, but even from\nthe Spanish monarchy itself, almost as a tribute to their being a\nsuperior state. This surely was the golden age of the missions--a\ncontented, peaceful, believing people, abundant wealth for all their\nwants, despotic will, and no responsibility but to their own\nconsciences and heaven! Their horn was filled to overflowing; but soon\nan invisible and merciless hand seized it, and slowly and lingeringly,\nas if in malicious sport, turned it over, and spilled the nectar of\ntheir life upon the wastes of mankind, from whence it can never again be\ncollected. The golden age of another race has now dawned, and with it\nthe real prosperity of the country.\n\n\"The missions were originally formed on the same general plan, and they\nwere planted at such distances from each other as to allow abundant room\nfor subsequent development. They were either established on the\nsea-coast, or a few miles inland. Twenty or thirty miles indeed seems\nall the distance the missionaries had proceeded into the interior;\nbeyond which narrow belt the country was unexplored and unknown. Each\nmission had a considerable piece of the best land in the neighborhood\nset aside for its agricultural and pastoral purposes, which was commonly\nabout fifteen miles square. But besides this selected territory, there\nwas generally much more vacant land lying between the boundaries of the\nmissions, and which, as the increase of their stocks required more space\nfor grazing, was gradually occupied by the flocks and herds of the\nFathers, nearest to whose mission lay the previously unoccupied\ndistrict. Over these bounds the Fathers conducted all the operations of\na gigantic farm. Their cattle generally numbered from ten thousand to\ntwenty thousand and their sheep were nearly as numerous--though some\nmissions had upwards of thrice these numbers--which fed over perhaps a\nhundred thousand acres of fertile land.\n\n\"Near the centre of such farms were placed the mission buildings. These\nconsisted of the church--which was either built of stone, if that\nmaterial could be procured in the vicinity, or of _adobes_, which are\nbricks dried in the sun; and was as substantial, large, and richly\ndecorated an erection as the means of the mission would permit, or the\nskill and strength of their servants could construct. In the interior,\npictures and hangings decorated the walls; while the altars were\nornamented with marble pillars of various colors, and upon and near them\nstood various articles of massy gold and silver plate. A profusion of\ngilding and tawdry sparkling objects caught and pleased the eye of the\nsimple congregations. Around, or beside the church, and often in the\nform of a square, were grouped the habitations of the Fathers and their\nhousehold servants, and the various granaries and workshops of the\npeople; while, at the distance of one or two hundred yards, stood the\nhuts of the Indians. The former buildings were constructed of _adobes_,\nand covered with brick tiles, frail and miserable materials at the best.\nThe huts of the Indians were occasionally made of the same materials,\nbut more commonly were formed only of a few rough poles, stuck in the\nground, with the points bending towards the centre like a cone, and were\ncovered with reeds and grass. An _adobe_ wall of considerable height\nsometimes inclosed the whole village. The direction of the affairs of\nthe settlement was in the hands of one of the Fathers, originally called\na president, but afterwards a _prefect_; and each prefect was\nindependent in his own mission, and practically supreme in all its\ntemporal, and nearly in all its spiritual matters, to any human\nauthority.\n\n\"Thus the Fathers might be considered to have lived something in the\nstyle of the patriarchs of the days of Job and Abraham. They indeed were\ngenerally ignorant and unlettered men, knowing little more than the\nmechanical rites of their church, and what else their manuals of\ndevotion and the treasuries of the lives of the saints taught them; but\nthey seem to have been personally devout, self-denying, and beneficent\nin their own simple way. They thought they did God service, and perhaps\nmuch more the Indians themselves, in catching, taming, and converting\nthem to Christianity. That was their vocation in the world, and they\nfaithfully obeyed its calls of duty. Towards the converts and actually\ndomesticated servants, they always showed such an affectionate kindness\nas a father pays to the youngest and most helpless of his family. The\nherds and flocks of the Fathers roamed undisturbed over numberless hills\nand valleys. Their servants or slaves were true born children of the\nhouse, who laboured lightly and pleasantly, and had no sense of freedom\nnor desire for change. A rude but bounteous hospitality marked the\nmaster's reception of the solitary wayfarer, as he traveled from mission\nto mission, perhaps bearing some scanty news from the outer world, all\nthe more welcome that the Fathers knew little of the subject, and could\nnot be affected by the events and dangers of distant societies. All\nthese things have now passed away. The churches have fallen into decay,\ndeserted by the old worshipers, and poverty-stricken; the _adobe_\nhouses of the Fathers are in ruins--and there is scarcely any trace\nleft of the slightly erected huts of the Indians, who themselves have\ndeserted their old hearths and altars, and are silently, though rapidly,\ndisappearing from the land. But the memory of the patriarchal times, for\nthey were only as yesterday, still remains fresh in the minds of the\nearly white settlers.\"\n\nMr. Young's party did not remain long to enjoy the sumptuous fare at the\nMission of San Gabriel; but pushed on to that of San Fernando, and\nthence to the river and fertile valley of Sacramento. In this\nneighborhood they trapped for beaver, and Carson displayed his activity\nand skill as a hunter of deer, elk, and antelope.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nOnly familiarity with one of like character, by actually seeing it, can\ngive a just idea of the country through which they were traveling.\nLivingston's descriptions of localities in Central Africa might be\ntransferred to our pages _verbatim_, to give a word-painting of the\ndesiccated deserts of what is now New Mexico and Arizona. Carson's\ncuriosity, as well as care to preserve the knowledge for future use, led\nhim to note in memory, every feature of the wild landscape, its mountain\nchains, its desert prairies, with only clumps of the poor artemisia for\nvegetation, its rivers, and the oases upon their banks, where there were\nbottom-lands--nor were beaver found elsewhere--with its river beds whose\nstreams had found a passage beneath the surface of the earth, and each\nother general feature that would attract the eye of the natural, rather\nthan the scientific observer.\n\nIn our day, the note book of the pioneer furnishing the data, the\ntraveler carries a guide-book to direct his course from point to point,\nupon a well trodden road, to those places where grass and water will\nfurnish refreshment for his animals, while he regales himself, not upon\nthe spare-rib of a starved mule, killed because it could go no longer,\nbut upon a variety of good things from the well stocked larder of the\npouches of the saddle-bags his pack mule carries, or the provision box\nof his wagon. Or, instead of the meat-diet of the trapper, when he has\nbeen in luck in a fertile locality, the traveler--not trapper--of\nto-day, perhaps has shot a prairie chicken, and prepares his dinner by\nmaking a stew of it, which he consumes with hard bread he has purchased\nat a station not ten miles away.\n\nFamiliarity with the features of the country does not restore the\nexperience of the pioneer of these wilds. The Indian, now, is advised by\nauthority he seldom dares defy, to keep off the roads of the emigrants;\nand seldom does a party leave the road for any great distance; nor are\nthese roads infrequent, but the country is intersected with them, and\nthe guide-books protect against mistake in taking the wrong direction.\nThe test of character, however, with the trappers, was their ability to\nendure hardships when they had to be encountered; and to guard against\nthem, when they could be avoided, by a wise foresight in taking\nadvantage of every favor of fortune, and turning each freak or whim of\nthe wily dame to best account.\n\nCarson was delighted with California from the first, and realizing\nintense satisfaction in his position, yet a youth, on terms of easy\nfamiliarity with the other seventeen old trappers, especially selected\nfor this expedition, circumstances conspired to call into play all the\nactivities of his nature, and nothing intruded to prevent his resigning\nhimself to the impulses of the time, and making the most of every\noccasion that offered.\n\nHe had the confidence of Capt. Young and of all his men, who permitted\nhim to do precisely as he chose, for they found him not only intending\nalways to do what was best, but possessed of foresight to know always\n\"just the things that ought to be done,\" almost without effort, as it\nseemed to them.\n\nAfter leaving the Mission of San Fernando, Young's party trapped upon\nthe San Joaquim, but they found that another party of trappers had been\nthere before them, employed by the Hudson Bay Company, in Oregon. There\nwas however, room for them both, and they trapped near each other for\nweeks. The friendly intercourse kept up between the two parties, was not\nonly one of pleasant interchange of social kindness, but in one sense\nwas essentially useful to Kit, who lost no opportunity of improving\nhimself in the profession (for in those days trapping was a profession)\nwhich he had embraced, and he had the benefit of the experience by way\nof example, not only of his own companions, but of those who were\nconnected with the greatest and most influential company then in\nexistence on this Continent. It is hardly necessary to say that he lost\nno opportunity of acquiring information, and it is quite probable that\nhe would, if called on, allow that the experience acquired on this\nexpedition was among the most valuable of any which he had previously\ngained.\n\nWhen Mr. Young went to the Sacramento, he separated from the Hudson Bay\nparty. The beautiful Sacramento, as its waters glided toward the chain\nof bays that take it to the ocean through the Bay of San Francisco out\nat the Golden gate, had not the aspect of the eastern river's immediate\ntributaries of the Missouri. Its waters then were clear as crystal, and\nthe salmon floated beneath, glistening in the sunlight, as the canoe\nglided through them.\n\nThe very air of this valley is luxurious; and in speaking of it, we will\ninclude the valley of the San Joaquim, for both these streams run\nparallel with the coast, the Sacramento from the north, the San Joaquim\nfrom the south, and both unite at the head of the chain of bays which\npour their waters into the Pacific.\n\nThe Sacramento drains nearly three hundred miles of latitude, and the\nSan Joaquim an hundred and fifty miles of the country bounded by the\nSierra Nevada (snow mountains) on the east, and the coast range on the\nwest, the whole forming a great basin, with the mountains depressed on\nthe north and south, but with no outlet except through the Golden gate.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nNo climate could be more congenial to a full flow of animal spirits,\nthan this region, where, upon the vegetation of the rich black\nsoil--often twenty feet deep--game of the better class in great\nabundance found support. Deer in no part of the world was ever more\nplenty, and elk and antelope bounded through the old oak groves, as they\nmay have done in Eden.\n\nCarson had many opportunities of exploring the country, which he gladly\nembraced, and thus became familiar with many localities, the knowledge\nof which was in after years of such essential service to him and others.\n\nThere were many large tribes of Indians scattered through this country,\nin these and smaller valleys, beside those which the missions had\nattached to them. We know not that any record has been kept of the names\nof these tribes and their numbers; but since the white men intruded,\nthey have melted away as did earlier those east of the Mississippi.\n\nThese Indians were all of the variety called Diggers, but in better\ncondition than we see them, since the small remnants of large tribes\nhave adopted the vices of the white men, and learned improvidence, by\nsometimes having plenty without much toil; so that they can say to-day,\n\"No deer, no acorn; white man come! poor Indian hungry,\" as the happiest\nstyle of begging.\n\nA brief description of the Tlamath or Digger Indians, and their mode of\nliving, may not now be out of place, and having been visited by Carson\nin his earlier years, may not be uninteresting. We quote from the\nlanguage of one who has paid a recent visit to the tribe:\n\n\"There were a dozen wigwams for the nearly hundred that composed the\ntribe, one of which was much larger than the rest, and in the centre of\nthe group, the temple, or \"medicine lodge.\" As we entered, the bones of\ngame consumed, and other offal lay about; and to our inquiry why they\ndid not clear away and be more tidy, only a grunt was returned. The men\nhad gone fishing, said the Indian woman we addressed, so we saw but two\nor three; but in one wigwam which we entered there were fourteen with\nourselves--the rest, besides the boy who went before to announce us,\nwere women and children.\n\n\"We ascended a mound of earth, as it seemed, about six feet high, and\nthrough a circular hole, perhaps two feet and a half in diameter,\ndescended a perpendicular ladder about ten feet. This opening, through\nwhich we entered, performed the double office of door and window to the\nspace below, which was circular, about fourteen feet across, with\narrangements for sleeping, like berths in a steamboat, one over another,\non two sides, suspended by tying with bark a rough stick to upright\nposts, which served to hold the sticks that sustained the roof. The\nwhole was substantially built, the covering being the earth which was\ntaken from the spot beneath, heaped upon a layer of rushes, the floor of\nthe wigwam being four feet below the surface of the ground. On the two\nsides of the wigwam not occupied by the berths, were barrels filled with\nfish--dried salmon, seeds, acorns, and roots.\n\n\"On hooks from the rush lined ceiling hung bags and baskets, containing\nsuch luxuries as dried grasshoppers and berries. About the berths hung\ndeer skins and some skins of other game, seemingly prepared for wear.\nThere was no appearance of other dress, yet in the berths sat three\nwomen, braiding strips of deer skin, and attaching the braids to a\nstring, in the form of long fringe. Each of the women wore an apron of\nthis kind about the waist, and only the dress of nature beside. The\nchildren were dressed '_in puris naturalibus_.'\n\n\"After stopping ten minutes, we were glad to ascend to the open air, for\na sickness came over us from which we did not recover for several hours.\nHow human beings live in such an atmosphere we cannot tell, but this is\nthe way they habitate.\n\n\"When the grasshoppers were abundant, for this insect is one of the\nluxuries of the Diggers, they scoured the valley, gathering them in\nimmense quantities. This is done by first digging holes or pits in the\nground at the spot chosen. Then the whole party of Indians, each with\nthe leafy branch of a tree, form a circle about it and drive in the\ngrasshoppers till they heap them upon each other in the pits: water is\nthen poured in to drown them. Their booty gathered, they proceed to\nanother place and perform the same operation. These insects are prepared\nfor food by kindling a fire in one of these pits, and when it is heated,\nfilling it with them and covering it with a heated stone, where they\nare left to bake. They are now ready for use at any time, and eaten with\ngusto, or they are powdered, and mixed with the acorn meal in a kind of\nbread, which is baked in the ashes.\"\n\nTo return to the camp of trappers, and witness one day's duties, may be\ngratifying to the reader. With early dawn the traps are visited, and the\nbeaver secured. The traps are re-adjusted, and the game brought into\ncamp--or left to be skinned where it is if the camp is far away.\nMeantime breakfast has been prepared by one of the party; others have\nlooked after the animals, relieving the watch which is still kept up\nlest a stampede occur while all are sleeping. Carson could not be cook\nfor the party constantly, but takes his turn with the rest, and by the\nnice browning of his steak, and the delicacy of his acorn coffee, and\nthe addition to their meal of roasted kamas root, he proves the value of\nthe apprenticeship of his earlier years. He has a dish of berries, too,\nand surprises the party with this tempting dessert, as well as with the\ninformation that in his rambles the day before he had dined with an old\nCalifornian, with his wife and daughters, and had the promise from them\nof a cow, if he would call for it on the morrow.\n\nBreakfast over, and the remains put by for lunch at noon, Carson mounts\nhis pony, and riding a few miles down the bank swims the river, and\ndashing out among the hills with a high round mountain peak in view,\nstill miles away, is lost among the oak groves for a score of miles, and\nat length emerges on Susan bay, and doffs his hat and makes his bow to\nthe young Senorita who greets him at the door with a smile of welcome.\nThe sun is low; dinner waits--hot bread, and butter, and cheese, and\ncoffee with sugar, are added to the venison and beef, and Irish and\nsweet potatoes. Amid the civilities and pleasant chat, the hour passes\nhappily, and Carson proposes returning to his party.\n\nThe ladies will not allow him to depart. Will he not accept the\nhospitality of their mansion for a single night? They do not urge after\none refusal, because his every feature indicates the decision of his\ncharacter. He must go. His horse is brought--a young and beautiful\nanimal--and the cow, this object of his second journey thither, given\nhim in charge as he mounts, with a rope attached to her horns, by which\nto lead her. The full moon is rising, on which he had calculated, as he\ntold his hostesses, and with words of pleasant compliment, with which\nthe Spanish language so much more than ours abounds, and a _Buenos\nnoches, senor_, from his entertainers, and _Buenos noches, senoritas_,\nin return, he slowly winds his silent way on and on through the oak\ngroves and the wild oats covering the hill-sides, hearing only the song\nof the owl and the whippoorwill, the music of the insects, and the\nwhispering leaves, but with ear ever open to detect the stealthy tread\nof the monster of the wood and hills--the grizzly bear. Off on the\ndistant hill he sees one, with a cub following her; but game is plenty,\nand deer is good enough food for her. On, on he goes at slow pace, for\nhe has a delicate charge, and already is she restive from very\nweariness, though his pace is slow.\n\nHalf his journey is completed as the gray of dawn and the twinkle of the\nstar of morning relieves the tedium and anxiety of his loneliness. He\nhas made the circuit of the bay. The river is before him as he descends\nthe hill which he has ascended for observation. Morning broadens. The\nflowers glow with variegated beauty as he tramples them, and in some\npatches the odor of the crushed dewy beauties fills the air to satiety.\n\nA few miles more of travel and he crosses the river, and is again in the\nriver-bottom where the party have taken the beaver. He stops at an\nIndian village, and dines from the liberal haunch and the acorn bread\nthe chief presents, and with good feelings displayed on either side,\ntakes in his arms a young papoose, the digger's picaninny, and salutes\nit with a kiss. Kit leaves there a trifling, but to them, valuable\nmemorial of his visit, mounts his sorrel which is restive under the slow\ngait to which he has restrained him, takes the rope again which secures\nhis treasure, the cow, and plods towards home at evening. The camp fire\nsmokes in the distance, while the few horses that remain are staked\nabout, and the sentinel paces up and down to keep off the drowsiness\ninduced by fatigue and a hearty meat supper. The eastern and the western\nhorizon are lighted with pale silver by the departing god of day, and\nthe approaching goddess of the night, and the still river divides the\nplain, bounded only by the horizon, except he look behind him. Such is\nthe scene as, approaching, the sentinel raises his gun and gives the\nchallenge to halt. But the rest of the camp are not yet sleeping, and a\ndozen voices shout in the still evening a glad welcome to Carson, for\nwhom they were not concerned, for they well knew there was not one of\nthe party so well able to take care of himself as he.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nPeters, in his \"Life of Carson,\" tells the story of two expeditions\nwhich Carson led against the Indians, while they trapped upon the\nSacramento, which give proof of his courage, and thorough education in\nthe art of Indian warfare, which had become a necessity to the\n_voyageur_ on the plains, and in the mountains of the western wilds.\nWith his quick discrimination of character, and familiarity with the\nhabits of the race, he could not but know the diggers were less bold\nthan the Apaches and Camanches, with whom he was before familiar.\n\nThe Indians at the Mission San Gabriel, were restive under coerced\nlabor, and forty of them made their escape to a tribe not far away.\n\nThe mission demanded the return of these fugitives, and being refused,\ngave battle to the neighboring tribe, but were defeated. The Padre sent\nto the trappers for assistance to compel the Indians not to harbor their\npeople. Carson and eleven of his companions volunteered to aid the\nmission, and the attack upon the Indian village resulted in the\ndestruction of a third of its inhabitants, and compelled them to\nsubmission. Capt. Young found at this mission a trader to take his furs,\nand from them purchased a drove of horses. Directly after his return, a\nparty of Indians contrived to drive away sixty horses from the trappers,\nwhile the sentinel slept at night. Carson with twelve men were sent in\npursuit. It was not difficult to follow the fresh trail of so large a\ndrove, yet he pursued them a hundred miles, and into the mountains,\nbefore coming up with them. The Indians supposed themselves too far away\nto be followed, and were feasting on the flesh of the stolen horses they\nhad slaughtered. Carson's party arranged themselves silently and without\nbeing seen, and rushing upon the Indian camp, killed eight men, and\nscattered the remainder in every direction. The horses were recovered,\nexcept the six killed, and partly consumed, and with three Indian\nchildren left in camp, they returned to the joyful greetings of their\nfriends.\n\nEarly in the autumn of 1829, Mr. Young and his party of trappers set out\non their return home. On their route they visited Los Angelos, formerly\ncalled Pueblo de los Angelos, \"the city of the angels,\" a name which it\nreceived on account of the exceedingly genial climate, and the beauty of\nthe surrounding country. It is situated on a small river of the same\nname, 30 miles from its mouth, and on the road between the cities of San\nJose and San Diego. It is about three hundred and fifty miles east of\nSan Francisco, and a hundred miles to the south.\n\nAlthough to very many thousands of readers, anything on the subject of\nthe climate of California may seem superfluous, yet there are as many\nthousands who have no really distinct idea of the country or the\nclimate, and we therefore quote from Rev. Dr. Bushnell, whose article on\nthose topics in the \"New Englander,\" in 1858, attracted justly such\nuniversal attention:\n\n\"The first and most difficult thing to apprehend respecting California\nis the climate, upon which, of course, depend the advantages of health\nand physical development, the growths and their conditions and kinds,\nand the _modus operandi_, or general cast, of the seasons. But this,\nagain, is scarcely possible, without dismissing, first of all, the word\n_climate_, and substituting the plural, climates. For it cannot be said\nof California, as of New England, or the Middle States, that it has a\nclimate. On the contrary, it has a great multitude, curiously pitched\ntogether, at short distances, one from another, defying too, not seldom,\nour most accepted notions of the effects of latitude and altitude and\nthe defences of mountain ranges. The only way, therefore, is to dismiss\ngeneralities, cease to look for a climate, and find, if we can, by what\nprocess the combinations and varieties are made; for when we get hold of\nthe manner and going on of causes, all the varieties are easily\nreducible.\n\n\"To make this matter intelligible, conceive that Middle California, the\nregion of which we now speak, lying between the head waters of the two\ngreat rivers, and about four hundred and fifty or five hundred miles\nlong from north to south, is divided lengthwise, parallel to the coast,\ninto three strips, or ribands of about equal width. First, the\ncoast-wise region, comprising two, three, and sometimes four parallel\ntiers of mountains from five hundred to four thousand, five thousand, or\neven ten thousand feet high. Next, advancing inward, we have a middle\nstrip, from fifty to seventy miles wide, of almost dead plain, which is\ncalled the great valley; down the scarcely perceptible <DW72>s of which,\nfrom north to south, and south to north, run the two great rivers, the\nSacramento and the San Joaquim, to join their waters at the middle of\nthe basin and pass off to the sea. The third long strip, or riband, is\nthe <DW72> of the Sierra Nevada chain, which bounds the great valley on\nthe east, and contains in its foot-hills, or rather in its lower half,\nall the gold mines. The upper half is, to a great extent, bare granite\nrock, and is crowned at the summit, with snow, about eight months of the\nyear.\n\n\"Now the climate of these parallel strips will be different almost of\ncourse, and subordinate, local differences, quite as remarkable, will\nresult from subordinate features in the local configurations,\nparticularly of the seaward strip or portion. For all the varieties of\nclimate, distinct as they become, are made by variations wrought in the\nrates of motion, the courses, the temperature, and the dryness of a\nsingle wind; viz., the trade wind of the summer months, which blows\ndirectly inward all the time, only with much greater power during that\npart of the day when the rarefaction of the great central valley comes\nto its aid; that is, from about ten o'clock in the morning, to the\nsetting of the sun. Conceive such a wind, chilled by the cold waters\nthat have come down from the Northern Pacific, perhaps from Behring's\nStraits, combing the tops and wheeling round through the valleys of the\ncoastwise mountains, crossing the great valley at a much retarded rate,\nand growing hot and dry, fanning gently the foot-hills and sides of the\nSierra, still more retarded by the piling necessary to break over into\nUtah, and the conditions of the California climate, or climates, will be\nunderstood with general accuracy. Greater simplicity in the matter of\nclimate is impossible, and greater variety is hardly to be imagined.\n\n\"For the whole dry season, viz., from May to November, this wind is in\nregular blast, day by day, only sometimes approaching a little more\nnearly to a tempest than at others. It never brings a drop of rain,\nhowever thick and rain-like the clouds it sometimes drives before it.\nThe cloud element, indeed, is always in it. Sometimes it is floated\nabove, in the manner commonly designated by the term _cloud_. Sometimes,\nas in the early morning, when the wind is most quiet, it may be seen as\na kind of fog bank resting on the sea-wall mountains or rolling down\nlandward through the interstices of their summits. When the wind begins\nto hurry and take on less composedly, the fog becomes blown fog, a kind\nof lead dust driven through the air, reducing it from a transparent to a\nsemi-transparent or merely translucent state, so that if any one looks\nup the bay, from a point twenty or thirty miles south of San Francisco,\nin the afternoon, he will commonly see, directly abreast of the Golden\nGate where this wind drives in with its greatest power, a pencil of the\nlead dust shooting upwards at an angle of thirty or forty degrees,\n(which is the aim of the wind preparing to leap the second chain of\nmountains, the other side of the bay,) and finally tapering off and\nvanishing, at a mid-air point eight or ten miles inland, where the\nincreased heat of the atmosphere has taken up the moisture, and restored\nits complete transparency. This wind is so cold, that one who will sit\nupon the deck of the afternoon steamer passing up the bay, will even\nrequire his heaviest winter clothing. And so rough are the waters of the\nbay, landlocked and narrow as it is, that sea-sickness is a kind of\nregular experience, with such as are candidates for that kind of\nfelicity.\n\n\"We return now to the middle strip of the great valley where the engine,\nor rather boiler power, that operates the coast wind in a great part of\nits velocity, is located. Here the heat, reverberated as in a forge, or\noven (whence _Cali--fornia_) becomes, even in the early spring, so much\nraised that the ground is no longer able, by any remaining cold there is\nin it, to condense the clouds, and rain ceases. A little further on in\nthe season, there is not cooling influence enough left to allow even the\nphenomena of cloud, and for weeks together, not a cloud will be seen,\nunless, by chance, the skirt of one may just appear now and then,\nhanging over the summit of the western mountains. The sun rises, fixing\nhis hot stare on the world, and stares through the day. Then he returns\nas in an orrery, and stares through another, in exactly the same way.\nThe thermometer will go up, not seldom, to 100 deg. or even 110 deg., and\njudging by what we know of effects here in New England, we should\nsuppose that life would scarcely be supportable. And yet there is much\nless suffering from heat in this valley than with us, for the reason\nprobably that the nights are uniformly cool. The thermometer goes down\nregularly with the sun, and one or two blankets are wanted for the\ncomfort of the night. This cooling of the night is probably determined\nby the fact that the cool sea wind, sweeping through the upper air of\nthe valley, from the coast mountains on one side, over the mountains\nand mountain passes of the Sierra on the other, is not able to get down\nto the ground of the valley during the day, because of the powerfully\nsteaming column of heat that rises from it; but as soon as the sun goes\ndown, it drops immediately to the level of the plain, bathing it for the\nnight with a kind of perpendicular sea breeze, that has lost for the\ntime a great part of its lateral motion. The consequence is that no one\nis greatly debilitated by the heat. On the contrary, it is the general\ntestimony, that a man can do as much of mental or bodily labor in this\nclimate, as in any other. And it is a good confirmation of this opinion,\nthat horses will here maintain a wonderful energy, traveling greater\ndistances, complaining far less of heat, and sustaining their spirit a\ngreat deal better than with us. It is also to be noted that there is no\nspecial tendency to fevers in this hot region, except in what is called\nthe _tule_ bottom, a kind of giant bulrush region, along the most\ndepressed and marshiest portions of the rivers.\n\n\"Passing now to the eastern strip or portion, the <DW72> of the Nevada,\nthe heat, except in those deep canyons where the reverberation makes it\nsometimes even insupportable, is qualified in degree, according to the\naltitude. A gentle west wind, warmer in the lower parts or foothills by\nthe heat of the valley, fans it all day. At points which are higher, the\nwind is cooler; but here also, on the <DW72> of the Nevada, the nights\nare always cool in summer, so cool that the late and early frosts leave\ntoo short a space for the ordinary summer crop to mature, even where the\naltitude is not more than 3,000 or 4,000 feet. Meantime, at the top of\nthe Sierra, where the west wind, piling up from below, breaks over into\nUtah, travelers undertake to say that in some of the passes it blows\nwith such stress as even to polish the rocks, by the gravel and sand\nwhich it drives before it. The day is cloudless on the <DW72> of the\nSierra, as in the valley; but on the top there is now and then, or once\nin a year or two, a moderate thunder shower. With this exception, as\nreferring to a part uninhabitable, thunder is scarcely ever heard in\nCalifornia. The principal thunders of California are underground.\n\n\"We return now to the coast-wise mountain region, where the multiplicity\nand confusion of climates is most remarkable. Their variety we shall\nfind depends on the courses of the wind currents, turned hither and\nthither by the mountains; partly also on the side any given place\noccupies of its valley or mountain; and partly on the proximity of the\nsea. Sprinkled in among these mountains, and more or less inclosed by\nthem, are valleys, large and small, of the highest beauty. But a valley\nin California means something more than a scoop, or depression. It means\na rich land-lake, leveled between the mountains, with a sharply defined,\npicturesque shore, where it meets the sides and runs into the\nindentations of the mountains. What is called the Bay of San Francisco,\nis a large salt water lake in the middle of a much larger land-lake,\nsometimes called the San Jose valley. It extends south of the city forty\nmiles, and northward among islands and mountains, about twenty-five\nmore, if we include what is called San Pueblo Bay. Three beautiful\nvalleys of agricultural country, the Petaluma, Sonora, and Napa valleys,\nopen into this larger valley of the bay, on the north end of it, between\nfour mountain barriers, having each a short navigable creek or inlet.\nStill farther north is the Russian River valley, opening towards the\nsea, and the Clear Lake valley and region, which is the Switzerland of\nCalifornia. East of the San Jose valley, too, at the foot of Diabola,\nand up among the mountains, are the large Amador and San Ramon valleys,\nalso the little gem of the Sunole. Now these valleys, which, if we\nexcept the great valley of the two rivers, comprise the plow-land of\nMiddle California, have each a climate of its own, and productions that\ncorrespond. We have only to observe further, that the east side of any\nvalley will commonly be much warmer than the west; for the very\nparadoxical reason that the cold coast-wind always blows much harder on\nthe side or steep <DW72> even, of a mountain, opposite or away from the\nwind, than it does on the side towards it, reversing all our notions of\nthe sheltering effects of mountain ridges.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nDuring this brief tarry at Los Angelos, Carson had not been idle, but\nentirely without thought that his confidence could be deemed\npresumption, arranging his dress with as much care as its character\npermitted, early in the morning he mounted his horse--always in\nexcellent trim--and rode to the residence of the man he had been\ninformed owned the best _ranche_ in the vicinity, and dismounting at the\nwicket gate, entered the yard, which was fenced with a finely arranged\ngrowth of club cactus; and passing up the gravel walk several rods,\nbetween an avenue of fig trees, with an occasional patch of green\nshrubs, and a few flowers, he stood at the door of the spacious old\nSpanish mansion, which was built of _adobe_ one story in height and\nnearly a hundred feet in length, its roof covered with asphaltum mingled\nwith sand--like all the houses in Los Angelos, a spring of this material\nexisting a little way from the town. After waiting a few moments for an\nanswer to his summons, made with the huge brass knocker, an Indian\nservant made his appearance, and ushered him to an elegantly furnished\nroom, with several guitars lying about as if recently in use. The lordly\nowner of the ranche soon appeared in morning gown and slippers, the\npicture of a well to do old time gentleman, with an air evincing an\nacquaintance with the world of letters and of art, such as only travel\ncan produce.\n\nHe asked the name of his stranger guest, as Carson approaching addressed\nhim, and at once commenced a conversation in English, saying with a look\nof satisfied pleasure, \"I address you in your native tongue, which I\npresume is agreeable, though you speak very good Spanish;\" to which\nCarson, much more surprised to hear his native language so fluently\nspoken, than his host was to be addressed in Spanish, replied,\n\n\"It is certainly agreeable to find you can give me the information\nwhich, as an American, I seek, in the language my mother taught me,\" and\nat once they were on terms of easy familiarity.\n\nAs it was early morning, his host asked Carson to take a cup of coffee\nwith him, and conducting him to the breakfast room, presented him to\nthe family--a wife and several grown sons and daughters.\n\nCarson enjoyed the social part of this treat, more than the tempting\nviands with which the board was loaded. Though Spanish was the language\nmost used by the family, all spoke English, and a young man from\nMassachusetts was with them as a tutor to some of the younger children.\nBreakfast over, the host invited him to visit the vineyard, which he\nsaid was hardly in condition to be exhibited, as the picking had\ncommenced two weeks before. He said his yard, of a thousand varas,\nyielded him more grapes than he could manage to dispose of, though last\nyear he had made several butts of wine, and dried five thousand pounds\nof raisins. The vines were in the form of little trees, so closely had\nthey been trimmed, and were still loaded with the purple clusters.\nTasting them, Carson justly remarked that he had never eaten so good a\ngrape.\n\n\"No,\" said his host, \"I think not; neither have I, though I have\ntraveled through Europe. The valley of the Rhine, nor of the Tagus,\nproduces anywhere a grape like ours. I think that the Los Angelos grape\nis fit food indeed for angels--is quite equal to the grapes of\nEshcol--you remember the heavy clusters that were found there, so that\ntwo men carried one between them on a pole resting upon their shoulders.\nSee that now,\" and he drew Carson to a vine whose trunk was six inches\nthrough, and yet it needed a prop to sustain the weight of the two\nclusters of grapes it bore.\n\nA species of the cactus, called the prickly pear, enclosed the vineyard,\nand this really bore pears, or a fruit of light orange color, in the\nform of a pear, but covered with a down of prickles. The Indian boy\nbrought a towel, and wiping the fruit until it shone, gave to Carson to\ntaste. It was sweetish, juicy, and rich, but with less of flavor than a\npear. Beyond the vineyard were groves of fig and orange trees. The figs\nwere hardly ripe, being the third crop of the season, while the oranges\nwere nearly fit for picking. The host said that his oranges were better\nthan usual this season, but he did not know what he should do with them.\nHe was in the habit of shipping them to Santa Barbara and Monterey, and\nthence taking some to San Jose; but latterly oranges had been brought to\nMonterey from the Sandwich islands by ships in the service of the Hudson\nBay Company, returning from the China trade to the mouth of the\nColumbia, which, arriving before his were ripe, he found the fruit\nmarket forestalled.\n\n\"This is the finest country the sun shines upon,\" said he, \"and we can\nlive luxuriously upon just what will grow on our own farms; but we\ncannot get rich. Our cattle will only bring the value of the hides; our\nhorses are of little value, for there are plenty running wild which good\nhuntsmen can take with the lasso; and, as for fruit, from which I had\nhoped to realize something, the market is cut off by Yankee competition.\nI think we shall have the Americans with us before many years, and for\nmy part I hope we shall. The idea of Californians generally, as well as\nof other Mexicans, that they are too shrewd for them, is true enough;\nbut certainly there is plenty of room for a large population, and I\nshould prefer that the race that has most enterprise, should come and\ncultivate the country with us.\"\n\nCarson's youth commanded him to listen, rather than to advance his own\nsentiments; but he expressed his pleasure at hearing his host compliment\nthe Americans, and said in reply, \"I have not been an extensive\ntraveler, and have chosen the life of a mountaineer, for a time\ncertainly; but since I came to California, I am half inclined to decide\nto make this my home when I get tired of trapping. I like the hunt, and\nhave found game exceedingly plenty here, but there is no buffalo, and I\nwant that. Give me buffalo, and I would settle in California.\"\n\nHe described to his host a buffalo hunt in which he engaged with the\nSioux Indians, before he left his father's home, at fifteen years of\nage, and another later, since he came into the mountains. He had hunted\nbuffalo every year since he was twelve years old.\n\nThe Don was charmed with the earnestness and the frankness, and manifest\nintegrity of the youth, and turning his glance upon him, with the\nslightly quizzical expression the face a Spaniard so readily assumes, he\ninquired how many buffalo he had ever killed.\n\n\"Not so many as I have deer, because I was always in a deer country; but\nin the eight years since I commenced going in the buffalo ranges, I must\nhave killed five hundred. The hunter does not kill without he wishes to\nuse. I was often permitted to take a shot at the animals before I was\nable to help in dressing them.\"\n\nBut Carson felt it might seem like boasting, for him to tell his own\nexploits, and changing the theme, remarked,\n\n\"Your horses would make excellent buffalo hunters, with the proper\ntraining, and I have some at camp that I intend shall see buffalo. But\nwhy do you not deal gently with them when they are first caught, and\nkeep the fire they have in the herd? Pardon me, but I think in taming\nyour horses, you break their spirits.\"\n\n\"My tutor has said the same, and I too have thought so in regard to the\nMexican style of training our horses. We mount one just caught from the\ndrove, and ride him till he becomes gentle from exhaustion. The French\ndo not train horses in that way, nor the English; I have not been in the\nUnited States. Our custom is brought from Spain; and it answers well\nenough with us, where our horses go in droves, and when one is used up,\nwe turn him out and take up another; but when we take this animal again,\nhe is just as wild as at the first; we cannot afford to spend time on\nbreaking him when it must be done over again directly.\"\n\nAnd so the two hours, which Carson had allotted for his visit, passed in\neasy chat, and when he took his leave, his host expressed his thanks\nfor his visit, and promised to return it at the camp.\n\nCarson did not again see his courteous host, for early on the following\nmorning, Mr. Young found it necessary that he should get his men away\nfrom Los Angelos as speedily as possible. They had been indulging to\nexcess in bad liquors, and having none of the best feelings towards the\nMexicans, many quarrels, some ending in bloodshed, had ensued.\n\nHe therefore despatched Carson ahead with a few men, promising to follow\nand overtake him at the earliest moment, and waiting another day, he\nmanaged to get his followers in a tolerably sober condition, and\nsucceeded, though not without much trouble, in getting away without the\nloss of a man, though the Mexicans were desperately enraged at the death\nof one of their townsmen, who had been killed in a chance fray. In three\ndays he overtook Carson, and the party, once more reunited, advanced\nrapidly towards the Colorado River, his men working with a heartiness\nand cheerfulness, resulting from a consciousness of their misconduct at\nLos Angelos, which, but for the prudent discretion of Young and Carson,\nmight have resulted disastrously to all concerned.\n\nIn nine days they were ready to commence trapping on the Colorado, and\nin a short time added here to the large stock of furs they had brought\nfrom California.\n\nHere while left in charge of the camp, with only a few men, Carson found\nhimself suddenly confronted by several hundred Indians. They entered the\ncamp with the utmost assurance, and acted as though they felt the power\nof their numbers. Carson at once suspected that all was not right, and\nattempting to talk with them, he soon discovered that, with all their\n_sang froid_, each of them carried his weapons concealed beneath his\ngarments, and immediately ordered them out of camp. Seeing the small\nnumber of the white men, the Indians were not inclined to obey, but\nchose to wait their time and do as they pleased, as they were accustomed\nto do with the Mexicans. They soon learned that they were dealing with\nmen of different mettle, for Carson was a man not to be trifled with.\n\n[Illustration: CARSON GOES AHEAD WITH THE PARTY.]\n\nHis men stood around him, each with his rifle resting in the hollow of\nthe arm, ready to be dropped to deadly aim on the sign from their young\ncommander. Carson addressed the old chief in Spanish, (for he had\nbetrayed his knowledge of that language,) and warned him that though\nthey were few, they were determined to sell their lives dearly. The\nIndians awed, it would seem, by the bold and defiant language of Carson,\nand finding that any plunder they might acquire, would be purchased at a\nheavy sacrifice, sullenly withdrew, and left the party to pursue their\njourney unmolested.\n\nAny appearance of fear would have cost the lives of Carson and probably\nof the whole party, but the Indian warriors were too chary of their\nlives to rush into death's door unprovoked, even for the sake of the\nrich plunder they might hope to secure. Carson's cool bravery saved the\ntrappers and all their effects; and this first command in an Indian\nengagement is but a picture of his conduct in a hundred others, when the\nbattles were with weapons other than the tongue. The intention of the\nIndians had been to drive away the animals, first causing a stampede,\nwhen they would become lawful plunder, but they dared not undertake it.\n\nThe wily craftiness of the Indians induced the necessity for constant\nvigilance against them, and in the school this youth had been in all his\nlife, he had shown himself an apt scholar.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nWhile on the Colorado, Young's party discovered a company of Indians,\n(with whom they had had a previous skirmish,) as they were coming out\nfrom Los Angelos, and charging suddenly among them, succeeded in taking\na large herd of cattle from them in the Indians' own style. The same\nweek an Indian party came past their camp in the night, with a drove of\na hundred horses, evidently just stolen from a Mexican town in Sonora.\nThe trappers, with their guns for their pillows, were ready in an\ninstant for the onslaught, and captured these horses also, the Indians\nhurrying away for fear of the deadly rifle. The next day they selected\nsuch as they wanted from the herd, choosing of course the finest, and\nturning the rest loose, to be taken again by the Indians, or to become\nthe wild mustangs that roamed the plains of Northern Mexico, in droves\nof tens of thousands, and which could be captured and tamed only by the\nuse of the lasso.\n\nMr. Young and his party trapped down the Colorado and up the Gila with\nsuccess, then crossed to the vicinity of the New Mexican copper mines,\nwhere they left their furs and went to Santa Fe. Having procured there\nlicense to trade with the Indians about the copper mines, they returned\nthither for their furs, went back to Santa Fe and disposed of them to\ngreat advantage. The party disbanded with several hundred dollars\napiece, which most of them expended as sailors do their earnings when\nthey come into port. Of course Carson was hail fellow well met with them\nfor a time. He had not hitherto taken the lesson that all have to learn,\nviz., that the ways of pleasure are deceitful paths; and to resist\ntemptation needs a large amount of courage--larger perhaps than to\nencounter any physical danger; at least the moral courage it requires is\nof a higher tone than the physical courage which would carry one through\na fight with a grizzly bear triumphantly; that the latter assists the\nformer; indeed that the highest moral courage must be aided by physical\nbravery, but that the latter may exist entirely independently of the\nformer.\n\nCarson learned during this season of hilarity the necessity of saying\nNo! and he did so persistently, knowing that if he failed in this he\nwould be lost to himself and to everything dear in life. He was now\ntwenty-one, and though the terrible ordeal of poverty had been nobly\nborne, and he had conquered, the latter ordeal of temptation from the\nsudden possession of what was to him a large sum of money, had proved\nfor once, too much. And it is well for him perhaps it was so; as it\nenabled him to sow his wild oats in early youth.\n\nIt is not improbable that some of this party belonged to the class of\nCanadians called _coureurs des bois_, whose habits Mr. Irving thus\ndescribes in his Astoria:\n\n\"A new and anomalous class of men gradually grew out of this trade.\nThese were called _coureurs des bois_, rangers of the woods; originally\nmen who had accompanied the Indians in their hunting expeditions, and\nmade themselves acquainted with remote tracts and tribes; and who now\nbecame, as it were, pedlers of the wilderness. These men would set out\nfrom Montreal with canoes well stocked with goods, with arms and\nammunition, and would make their way up the mazy and wandering rivers\nthat interlace the vast forests of the Canadas, coasting the most remote\nlakes, and creating new wants and habitudes among the natives.\nSometimes they sojourned for months among them, assimilating to their\ntastes and habits with the happy facility of Frenchmen; adopting in some\ndegree the Indian dress, and not unfrequently taking to themselves\nIndian wives.\n\n\"Twelve, fifteen, eighteen months would often elapse without any tidings\nof them, when they would come sweeping their way down the Ottawa in full\nglee, their canoes laden down with packs of beaver skins. Now came their\nturn for revelry and extravagance. 'You would be amazed,' says an old\nwriter already quoted, 'if you saw how lewd these pedlers are when they\nreturn; how they feast and game, and how prodigal they are, not only in\ntheir clothes, but upon their sweethearts. Such of them as are married\nhave the wisdom to retire to their own houses; but the bachelors do just\nas an East Indiaman and pirates are wont to do; for they lavish, eat,\ndrink, and play all away as long as the goods hold out; and when these\nare gone, they even sell their embroidery, their lace, and their\nclothes. This done, they are forced upon a new voyage for subsistence.'\"\n\nMany of these _coureurs des bois_ became so accustomed to the Indian\nmode of living, and the perfect freedom of the wilderness, that they\nlost all relish for civilization, and identified themselves with the\nsavages among whom they dwelt, or could only be distinguished from them\nby superior licentiousness.\n\nIn the autumn Carson joined another trapping party under Mr.\nFitzpatrick, whom we shall have frequent occasion to mention hereafter.\nThey proceeded up the Platte and Sweet Water past Goose Creek to the\nSalmon River, where they wintered, like other parties, sharing the good\nwill of the Nez Perces Indians, and having the vexations of the\nBlackfeet for a constant fear. Mr. Fitzpatrick, less daring than Carson,\ndeclined sending him to punish this tribe for their depredations.\n\nIn the spring they came to Bear river, which flows from the north to\nSalt Lake. Carson and four men left Mr. Fitzpatrick here, and went ten\ndays to find Captain Gaunt in the place called the New Park, on the head\nwaters of the Arkansas, where they spent the trapping season, and\nwintered. While the party were wintering in camp, being robbed of some\nof their horses by a band of sixty Crow Indians, Carson, as usual, was\nappointed to lead the party sent in pursuit of the plunderers. With only\ntwelve men he took up the trail, came upon the Indians in one of their\nstrongholds, cut loose the animals, which were tied within ten feet of\nthe fort of logs in which the enemy had taken shelter, attacked them,\nkilled five of their warriors, and made good his retreat with the\nrecovered horses; an Indian of another tribe who was with the trappers\nbringing away a Crow scalp as a trophy.[C]\n\nIn the spring, while trapping on the Platte River, two men belonging to\nthe party deserted and robbed a _cache_, or underground deposit of furs,\nwhich had been made by Captain Gaunt, in the neighborhood. Carson, with\nonly one companion, went off in pursuit of the thieves, who, however,\nwere never heard of afterwards.\n\nNot finding the plunderers, Carson and his companion remained at the old\ncamp on the Arkansas, where the _cache_ had been made, until they were\nrelieved by a party sent out from the United States with supplies for\nCaptain Gaunt's trappers. They were soon after joined by a party of\nGaunt's men, and started to his camp. On their way they had repeated\nencounters with Indians attempting to steal their horses, but easily\nbeat them off and saved their property.\n\nOn one occasion when Carson and the other trappers were out in search\nof _beaver sign_, they came suddenly upon a band of sixty warriors well\narmed and mounted. In the presence of such a force their only safety was\nin flight. Amid a shower of bullets from the Indian rifles, they made\ngood their escape. Carson considered this one of his narrowest escapes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nIn the spring of 1832, Mr. Gaunt's party had been unsuccessful, and were\nnow upon a stream where there was no beaver, therefore Carson announced\nhis intention of hunting on his own account. Two of his companions\njoined him, and the three for the whole season pursued their work\nsuccessfully, high up in the mountain streams, while the Indians were\ndown in the plains hunting buffalo; and taking their fur to Taos,\ndisposed of them at a remunerative price. While the two former spent\ntheir money in the usual way, Carson saved his hard earnings which his\ncompanions were so recklessly throwing away. This self-discipline, and\nschooling himself to virtue and temperance, was not without effort on\nthe part of Kit Carson, for he loved the good will and kindly civilities\nof his companions; but he knew also that he could not have his cake and\neat it too, and chose to save his money and his strength for future use.\n\nWhile remaining at Taos, Captain Lee, formerly of the United States\narmy, now a partner of Bent and St. Vrain, at Bent's Fort, invited\nCarson to join an expedition which he was arranging. Carson accepted his\noffer, starting in October. Going northward they came up with a party of\ntwenty traders and trappers, upon a branch of the Green River, and all\nentered winter quarters here together.\n\nMr. Robideau had in his employ a Californian Indian, very skillful in\nthe chase--whether for game or for human prey--very courageous, and able\nto endure the greatest hardships, and whose conduct hitherto had won the\nconfidence of all. This Indian had left clandestinely, taking with him\nsix of Mr. Robideau's most valuable horses, which were worth at least\ntwelve hundred dollars. Mr. Robideau, determined to recover them if\npossible, solicited Carson to pursue and overtake the Indian. Kit asked\nhis employer, Mr. Lees', permission to serve Mr. Robideau, which was\nreadily granted, when he at once prepared himself for hard riding and\nsturdy resistance.\n\nFrom a Utah village near he obtained an intelligent and brave young\nwarrior to join him--for Carson's reputation for courage, skill, and\nefficiency, were known to the tribes, and many of its braves were\nattached to him, and afterwards proved that they cherished a lasting\nfriendship for him.\n\nFor a time the blindness of the trail compelled them to go slowly, but\nonce sure of its direction, they pursued it with the utmost speed, down\nGreen river, Carson concluding the Indian was directing his course\ntoward California. When they had gone a hundred miles on their way, the\nIndian's horse was suddenly taken sick. The Indian would not consent to\ncontinue the pursuit, as Carson suggested, on foot, and he therefore\ndetermined to go on alone, and putting spurs to his horse revolved not\nto return until he had succeeded in recovering Mr. Robideau's property.\nWith practiced eye ever upon the trail, he revolved in his mind the\nexpert skill he might need to exercise in encountering the wily savage.\nThis desperate expedition Carson had boldly entered into, not with\nrashness, but he had accepted it as an occasion that demanded the\nhazard. At the distance of thirty miles from where he left his Utah\ncompanion, he discovered the object of his chase. The Indian too had\ndiscovered him, and to prepare himself for the attack, turned to seek a\nshelter whence he might fire and reload without exposure to the shot\nfrom Carson's rifle--which he had unslung when first he discovered the\nIndian.\n\nWith his horse at full speed, at the moment the Indian reached his\ncover, Carson fired with aim so true that the Indian gave one bound and\nfell dead beside his horse, while his gun went off at the same instant.\nNo further particulars of description or speculation can add to the\ninterest of this picture. We leave it to the imagination of the reader,\nas an illustration of the daring and fidelity of Kit Carson. Collecting\nthe horses, he soon had the pleasure, after a few minor difficulties, of\npresenting to Mr. Robideau, the six animals he had lost, in as good\ncondition as when they were stolen, and of announcing to him the fact\nthat there lived one less rogue.\n\nSoon after Carson's return to camp, some trappers brought them news that\nMessrs. Fitzpatrick and Bridger were camped fifteen miles from them.\nCaptain Lee and Carson at once concluded that to them they might sell\ntheir goods. They started for their camp and were as successful as they\nhad hoped, for they sold their whole stock of goods to this party, and\ntook their pay in furs. Their contract being now completed, Carson\njoined Mr. Fitzpatrick again in a trapping expedition, but did not\nremain long with him, because the party was too large to make it pay, or\neven to work harmoniously together. With three men whom he chose from\nthe many who wished to join him, Carson again commenced trapping on his\nown account. They trapped all summer on the Laramie, with unusual\nsuccess. It was while Carson was out on this tramp that he had the\nadventure with the grizzly bears,[D] which he considered the most\nperilous that he ever passed through. He had gone out from the camp on\nfoot to shoot game for supper, and had just brought down an elk, when\ntwo grizzly bears came suddenly upon him. His rifle being empty, there\nwas no way of escape from instant death but to run with his utmost speed\nfor the nearest tree. He reached a sapling with the bears just at his\nheels. Cutting off a limb of the tree with his knife, he used that as\nhis only weapon of defence. When the bears climbed so as nearly to reach\nhim, he gave them smart raps on the nose, which sent them away growling;\nbut when the pain ceased they would return again only to have the raps\nrepeated. In this way nearly the whole night was spent, when finally\nthe bears became discouraged, and retired from the contest. Waiting\nuntil they were well out of sight, Carson descended from his unenviable\nposition, and made the best of his way into camp, which he reached about\ndaylight. The elk had been devoured by wolves before it could be found,\nand his three companions were only too glad to see him, to be troubled\nabout breakfasting on beaver, as they had supped the night before; for\ntrappers in camp engaged in their business had this resort for food when\nall others failed.\n\nLaramie river flows into the North Platte, upon the south side. The\ncountry through which it flows is open, yet the stream is bordered with\na variety of shrubbery, and in many spots the cottonwood grows\nluxuriantly, and for this reason, the locality is favorable for the\ngrizzly bear.\n\n[Illustration: \"WHEN THE BEARS CLIMBED SO NEAR AS TO REACH HIM, HE GAVE\nTHEM SMART RAPS ON THE NOSE.\"]\n\nBaird says of this bear: \"While the black bear is the bear of the\nforest, the grizzly is the bear of the chapparal, the latter choosing an\nopen country, whether plain or mountain, whose surface is covered with\ndense thickets of manzanita or shrub oak, which furnish him with his\nfavorite food, and clumps of service bushes, and low cherry; and whose\nstreams are lined with tangled thickets of low grape vine and wild\nplumb.\" The grizzly is not so good at climbing as the black bear, and\ncan best manage by resting upon his haunches and mounting with his fore\narms upon the bushes that he cannot pull over, to gather the berries, of\nwhich he is very fond.\n\n\"Only in a condition of hunger will he attack a man unprovoked, but when\nhe does, the energy with which he fights, prevents the Indians from\nseeking the sport of a hunt for the grizzly bear. He is monarch of the\nplain, with only their opposition, and has departed only before the\nrifle of the white hunter. An Indian, who would, alone, undertake to\nconquer a dozen braves of another tribe, would shrink from attacking a\ngrizzly bear; and to have killed one, furnishes a story for a life time,\nand gives a reputation that descends to posterity. The mounted hunter\ncan rarely bring his horse to approach him near enough for a shot.\"\n\nSoon after his encounter with the bears, Carson and his men were\nrejoiced by the arrival of Capt. Bridger, so long a mountaineer of note,\nand with him his whole band. Carson and his three companions joined with\nthem, and were safe; and now for the first time he attended the summer\nrendezvous of trappers on the Green River, where they assembled for the\ndisposal of their furs, and the purchase of such outfit as they needed.\n\nCarson for the Fall hunt joined a company of fifty, and went to the\ncountry of the Blackfeet, at the head waters of the Missouri; but the\nIndians were so numerous, and so determined upon hostility, that a white\nman could not leave his camp without danger of being shot down;\ntherefore, quitting the Blackfeet country, they camped on the Big Snake\nRiver for winter quarters.\n\nDuring the winter months, the Blackfeet had in the night run off\neighteen of their horses, and Kit Carson, with eleven men, was sent to\nrecover them, and chastise their temerity. They rode fifty miles through\nthe snow before coming up with the Indians, and instantly made an\nattempt to recover their animals, which were loose and quietly grazing.\n\nThe Indians, wearing snow shoes, had the advantage, and Carson readily\ngranted the parley they asked. One man from each party advanced, and\nbetween the contending ranks had a talk. The Indians informed them that\nthey supposed they had been robbing the Snake Indians, and did not\ndesire to steal from white men. Of course this tale was false, and\nCarson asked why they did not lay down their arms and ask for a smoke,\nbut to this they had no reply to make. However, both parties laid aside\ntheir weapons and prepared for the smoke; and the lighted calumet was\npuffed by every one of the savages and the whites alternately, and the\nhead men of the savages made several long non-committal speeches, to\nwhich, in reply, the trappers came directly to the point, and said they\nwould hear nothing of conciliation from them until their property was\nreturned.\n\nAfter much talk, the Indians brought in five of the poorest horses. The\nwhites at once started for their guns, which the Indians did at the same\ntime, and the fight at once commenced. Carson and a comrade named\nMarkland having seized their rifles first, were at the lead, and\nselected for their mark two Indians who were near each other and behind\ndifferent trees; but as Kit was about to fire, he perceived Markland's\nantagonist aiming at him with death-like precision, while Markland had\nnot noticed him, and on the instant, neglecting his own adversary, he\nsent a bullet through the heart of the other savage, but at the moment\nsaw that his own enemy's rifle was aimed at his breast. He was not\nquite quick enough to dodge the ball, and it struck the side of his\nneck, and passed through his shoulder, shattering the bone.\n\nCarson was thenceforward only a spectator of the fight, which continued\nuntil night, when both parties retired from the field of battle and went\ninto camp.\n\nCarson's wound was very painful, and bled freely, till the cold checked\nthe flow of blood. They dared not light a fire, and in the cold and\ndarkness, Carson uttered not a word of complaint, nor did even a groan\nescape him. His companions were earnest in their sympathy, but he was\ntoo brave to need it, or to allow his wound to influence the course they\nshould pursue. In a council of war which they held, it was decided that,\nas they had slain several Indians, and had themselves only one wounded,\nthey had best return to camp, as they were in unfit condition to\ncontinue the pursuit. Arriving at camp, another council was held, at\nwhich it was decided to send thirty men under Capt. Bridger, to pursue\nand chastise these Blackfeet thieves. This party followed the Indian\ntrail several days, but finally returned, concluding it was useless to\nsearch further, as they had failed to overtake them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nThe Spring hunt opened on the Green river, and continuing there a while,\nthe party went to the Big Snake; and after trapping with extraordinary\nsuccess for a few weeks, returned to the Summer rendezvous, held again\nupon the Green River. Meantime Carson had recovered from his wound.\n\nAn unusually large number of trappers and traders, with great numbers\nfrom the neighboring Indian tribes, assembled at this rendezvous,\nmade up of Canadians, Frenchmen, Dutchmen, Spaniards, and many a\nbackwoodsman, who had lived upon the borders, perhaps, for three\ngenerations, removing when a neighbor came within ten miles, because\n_near_ neighbors were a nuisance to him. Let us see the parties as they\ncome in, the leader, or the one to whom fitness accords this position,\nhaving selected the spot for the camp, so remote from every other, as to\nhave plenty of grass about it for the animals of the party. Perhaps a\ntent is spread, at least, everything is put in proper order, according\nto the notions and the tastes of the men who make up the party; for the\ncamp is the home of its members, and here they will receive visitors,\nand exchange courtesies.\n\nThe party or parties that have made the special arrangements for the\nrendezvous--traders with a full supply of goods--have spread a large\ntent in a central spot of the general encampment, where the whole\ncompany, save those detained at each camp in charge of the animals\nbelonging to it, will assemble, at certain hours each day, the time upon\nwhich the sales are announced to take place, and the exchanges commence.\n\nThe several parties arriving first, have been obliged to wait until all\nexpected for the season have arrived, because there is a feeling of\nhonor as well as a care for competition, that compels the custom. The\ntraders take furs or money for their goods, which bring prices that seem\nfabulous to those unaccustomed to the sight or stories of mountain life.\nThe charge, of course, is made upon the ground of the expense and risk\nof bringing goods eight hundred and a thousand miles into the\nwilderness, from the nearest points in western Missouri and St. Louis.\n\nIrving opens his Astoria with the following: \"Two leading objects of\ncommercial gain, have given birth to wide daring and enterprise in the\nearly history of the Americas; the precious metals of the South and the\nrich peltries of the North.\" When he wrote this, it was true of the\nlocalities he named--the gold was not yet an attraction, except in the\nsouth, and only the British Fur Company in Canada had become an object\nof history in this branch of trade. He says, \"While the fiery and\nmagnificent Spaniard, influenced with the mania for gold, has extended\nhis discoveries and conquests over those brilliant countries, scorched\nby the ardent sun of the tropics, the adroit Frenchman, and the cool and\ncalculating Briton, have pursued the less splendid, but no less\nlucrative, traffic in furs, amidst the hyper-borean regions of the\nCanadas, until they advanced even within the Artic Circle.\n\n\"These two pursuits have thus, in a manner, been the pioneers and\nprecursors of civilization. Without pausing on the borders, they have\npenetrated at once, in defiance of difficulties and dangers, to the\nheart of savage countries; laying open the hidden secrets of the\nwilderness; leading the way to remote regions of beauty and fertility,\nthat might have remained unexplored for ages, and beckoning after them\nthe slow and pausing steps of agriculture and civilization. It was the\nfur trade, in fact, that gave early sustenance and vitality to the great\nCanadian provinces.\n\n\"Being destitute of the precious metals, they were for a long time\nneglected by the parent country. The French adventurers, however, who\nhad settled on the banks of the St. Lawrence, soon found that in the\nrich peltries of the interior, they had sources of wealth that might\nalmost rival the mines of Mexico and Peru.\" The Indians, as yet\nunacquainted with the artificial value given to some descriptions of\nfurs, in civilized life, brought quantities of the most precious kinds\nand bartered them away for European trinkets and cheap commodities.\nImmense profits were thus made by the early traders, and the traffic was\npursued with avidity.\n\n\"As the valuable furs became scarce in the neighborhood of the\nsettlements, the Indians of the vicinity were stimulated to take a wider\nrange in their hunting expeditions; they were generally accompanied on\nthese expeditions by some of the traders or their dependants, who\nshared in the toils and perils of the chase, and at the same time, made\nthemselves acquainted with the best hunting grounds, and with the remote\ntribes whom they encouraged to bring peltries to the settlements. In\nthis way the trade augmented, and was drawn from remote quarters to\nMontreal. Every now and then a large body of Ottawas, Hurons, and other\ntribes who hunted the countries bordering on the great lakes, would come\ndown in a squadron of light canoes, laden with beaver skins and other\nspoils of the year's hunting. The canoes would be unladen, taken on\nshore, and their contents disposed in order. A camp of birch-bark would\nbe pitched outside of the town, and a kind of primitive fair opened with\nthat grave ceremonial so dear to the Indians.\n\n\"Now would ensue a brisk traffic with the merchants, and all Montreal\nwould be alive with naked Indians, running from shop to shop, bargaining\nfor arms, kettles, knives, axes, blankets, bright- cloths, and\nother articles of use or fancy; upon all which, the merchants were sure\nto clear two hundred per cent.\n\n\"Their wants and caprices being supplied, they would take leave, strike\ntheir tents, launch their canoes, and ply their way up the Ottawa to\nthe lakes.\"\n\nLater, the French traders, _couriers des bois_, penetrated the remote\nforests, carrying such goods as the Indians required, and held\nrendezvous among them, on a smaller scale, but similar to the one Carson\nhad attended, so far as the Indian trade was concerned. But the Yankee\nelement of character preponderated among the traders and trappers from\nthe States; besides the greater difficulty and expense necessarily\nincurred to reach the hunting grounds by land than in canoe, called into\nthe work only men of energy and higher skill than the employees, mostly\nFrench, in the service of the Hudson Bay Fur Company, and a score of\nsmaller parties, each owning no authority outside itself, adopted the\nplan of these summer encampments, during the season when the fur of the\nbeaver and the otter was not good, as an arrangement for mutual\nconvenience; and the Indians of this more southern section availed\nthemselves of the occasion, for their own pleasure and profit, and to\nthe advantage and satisfaction of the traders, whose prices ruled high\nin proportion to the difficulty of transit, as well as the monopoly in\ntheir hands of the articles deemed necessary to the trapper's dress,\nculinary establishment, and outfit. These consisted of a woolen shirt, a\nsash or belt, and with some stockings, coffee, and black pepper, and\nsalt, unless he could supply himself from the licks the buffalo visits;\nwith tin kettle, and cup, and frying pan; the accoutrements of the\nhorse, saddle and packsaddle, bridle, spurs, and horse-shoes; with\nmaterial for bait; and last, but not least, tobacco, which if he did not\nuse, he carried to give to the Indians--made up not only the\nnecessaries, but the luxuries which the Indian and the white man\nindulged in, and for which, at such times, they paid their money or\ntheir furs.\n\nPerhaps the trapper took an Indian wife, and then she must be made fine\nwith dress, denoting the dignity of her position as wife of a white man,\nand presents must be given to the friends of his bride. This was usually\nan expensive luxury, but indulged in most frequently by the French and\nCanadian trappers, many of whom are now living quietly upon their farms\nin Oregon and California, and the numerous valleys of the West. Indeed\nwe might give the names of many a mountain ranger, and pioneer of note,\nfirst a trapper, who still lives surrounded by his Indian wife and\ntheir children, and finds himself thus connected with this people,\nhaving their utmost confidence, chosen the chief of his tribe, and able\nto care for them as no one not in such association could.\n\nAt almost any point upon Green River the grass upon the bottom lands is\nsufficient for a night's encampment for a small party; but at the place\nselected for the rendezvous, in the space of two or three miles upon\neither side of the river, the bottom spreads out in a broad prairie, and\nthe luxuriant growth of grass, with the country open all about it, made\nthe spot desirable for a large encampment.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nEarly in the summer the grass is green, but later it is hay made\nnaturally, root and branch dried on the ground--there is no sod--and\nthis, though less agreeable, is more nutritious for the animals than\nfresh grass.\n\nA scattered growth of fine old trees furnishes shade at every camp, and\nimmediately about the great tent they afford protection from the sun to\nparties of card players, or a \"Grocery stand,\" at which the principal\narticle of sale is \"whiskey by the glass;\" and perhaps, further on is a\n_monte_ table, parties from several Indian tribes, and the pioneer of\nsemi-civilization--the back-woodsman--has come in \"with his traps,\" a\nfew bags of flour, and possibly some cheese and butter, and the never\nfailing cask of whiskey. Perhaps his wagon is the grocery stand, to\nwhich we have just alluded. Without extenuation, these encampments were\ngrand occasions of which a few descriptions may be found written at the\ntime by men of science and intellectual culture, like Sir Wm. Stewart,\nwho traveled upon these plains for pleasure, or the Rev. Samuel Parker,\nwho happened at a Green River rendezvous, in 1835, while on his way to\nthe Columbia River, under the auspices of the American Board of\nCommissioners for Foreign Missions. This was long before Brigham Young\ncame West--before his scheme of religious colonization had its birth.\n\nThere is now--has been for years--a trading post where a Canadian\nFrenchman and an American partner, with Indian wives, have provided\nentertainment or furnished supplies to emigrants and Indians. It is near\nthe Green River crossing, on the road from the South Pass to great Salt\nLake City, via Fort Bridger.\n\nAmid the motley company it might be expected that quarrels would arise,\nand disorderly conduct, growing out of the feuds among the tribes of\nIndians. These were kept in abeyance as much as possible, and already\nCarson's popularity with them enabled him to act the part of peace-maker\nbetween them and the quarrelsome whites, as well as between each other,\nfor many of them recognized him as the brave who had led excursions,\nwhose success they had felt and suffered, and even though leader of\nvictorious parties against themselves, they admired his prowess still;\nfor the party of Blackfeet came to the rendezvous under the protection\nof the white flag, and for the time, no one more truly buried the\nhatchet than Carson, though just recovered from a wound given by a party\nof that tribe, which had nearly cost him his life, and of which we have\nwritten in a previous chapter.\n\nThere was belonging to one of the trapping parties a Frenchman by the\nname of Shuman, known at the rendezvous as \"the big bully of the\nmountains,\" exceedingly annoying on account of his boasts and taunts, a\nconstant exciter of tumult and disorder, especially among the Indians.\nBad enough at any time, with the means now for intoxication, he was even\nmore dangerous.\n\nThe habits of the mountaineers, without law save such as the exigency of\nthe moment demanded, required a firm, steady hand to rule. Carson had\nfeared the results of this man's lawlessness, and had often desired to\nbe rid of him, but he had not as yet found the proper opportunity. The\nmischiefs he committed grew worse and worse, and yet for the sake of\npeace they were borne unresistingly. At length an opportunity offered to\ntry his courage. One day Shuman, boasting of his exploits, was\nparticularly insolent and insulting toward all Americans, whom he\ndescribed as only fit to be whipped with switches. Carson was in the\ncrowd, and immediately stepped forward, saying, \"I am an American, the\nmost inconsiderable one among them, but if you wish to die, I will\naccept your challenge.\"\n\n[Illustration: CARSON WAS IN THE CROWD, AND IMMEDIATELY STEPPED FORWARD\nSAYING, \"I AM AN AMERICAN.\"]\n\nShuman defied him. He was sitting upon his horse, with his loaded rifle\nin his hand. Carson leaped upon his horse with a loaded pistol, and both\nrushed into close combat. They fired, almost at the same moment, but\nCarson an instant before his boasting antagonist. Their horses' heads\ntouched, Shuman's ball just grazing Carson's cheek, near the left eye,\nand cutting off some locks of his hair. Carson's ball entered Shuman's\nhand, came out at the wrist, and passed through his arm above the elbow.\nThe bully begged for his life, and it was spared; and from that time\nforward, Americans were no more insulted by him.\n\nIf, as in other duels, we were to go back to remoter causes, and find in\nthis too, the defence of woman--a Blackfoot beauty--whom Shuman had\ndetermined to abuse, which Carson's interference only had prevented, for\nthe sake of truth, of honor, and virtue, as against insolence,\nfalsehood, and treachery, although the girl did belong to a tribe that\nwas treacherous; we shall be but giving a point to the story that it\nneeds for completeness, and show Carson in the exalted manliness and\nfidelity of his character.\n\nThe trappers made arrangements at the rendezvous for the fall hunt; and\nthe party who were so fortunate as to secure Carson's services, went to\nthe Yellowstone River, in the Blackfeet country, but met with no\nsuccess. Crossing through the Crows' country to the Big Horn River, they\nmet the party of Blackfeet returning from Green River. Carson held a\nparley with them, as was his custom whenever it was safe to go to an\nIndian camp. He told them he had seen none of their people, and that the\ntomahawk was buried if they were faithful to him. \"But,\" said he, \"the\nCrows are my friends, and while I am with them, they must be yours.\"\n\nOn the Big Horn, too, their success was no better, and Carson did not\nmeet his Crow friends. On the Big Snake, too, which they next visited,\nthe result was the same.\n\nThey here met a party from the Hudson Bay Company, led by a Mr. McCoy.\nCarson and five of his companions accepted the offer he made them, and\nwent with him to the Humboldt river, trapping with little success from\nits source to the desert where it loses itself, and where the termini of\nseveral other large rivers are all within a day's ride, according to the\nstatement of residents at this point. Capt. McCoy said to Carson, as he\nand two of the company started off upon the desert,\n\n\"Do not be gone longer than to-morrow night, and if you strike a stream\nwhere there is beaver--there must be water between here and those snow\nmountains--we will trap a few days longer.\"\n\nOn they rode over the artemisia plain till the lake was out of view from\nan eminence which Carson climbed; then struck a tract of country\nentirely destitute of every sign of animal or vegetable life, with\nsurface as smooth as the floor for miles in extent, then broken by a\nridge a few feet high, like the rim to a lake, whose bottom they had\npassed, to plunge immediately upon another like it, with perhaps a white\nand glistening crystalization spread thinly over it.\n\nCarson knew he must be upon the celebrated Mud Lakes of which he had\nheard, and of which he had seen miniature specimens further east. Over\nthese lake bottoms of earth, that broken, seemed like mingled sand and\nashes, but which bore the tread of their horses, and over which they\nseemed to fly rather than to step, so fragrant and exhilarating was the\natmosphere, they traveled thirty miles, then struck the artemisia plains\nagain, only there was less of even this worthless production for the\nnext ten miles than he had seen before for long a distance.\n\nThrough a heavy sand, the weary horses plod, for they had come forty or\nfifty miles beneath a burning sun without food and without water. On\nthey ride, for rest and refreshment to themselves was not to be thought\nof till they have it for the animals. The river is gained! a broad, deep\ncurrent of water, muddy like that of the Platte, supplies the moisture\nto the trees, whose tops ascend only a few feet above the desert level,\nand whose trunks rise from green meadows but little above the surface of\nthe water. The bottom lands are narrow, and the abrupt bank descends to\nthe water perpendicularly twenty feet or more, seemingly of clayey\nearth, so soft, the water constantly wore upon it, and evidently the\nriver channel was settling, as the years advanced. There were no signs\nof beaver, and, from the nature of the banks, there could be none,\nunless high up on the stream.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nCapt. McCoy had calculated that he would soon find game in the country\nthrough which his route lay, and therefore he had turned over to Carson,\nand the division of the party under his command, nearly all the food\nwhich was left, but this was insufficient to give them full meals for\nmore than three days. Their prospect was a dreary one indeed, for at the\nearlier season of coming down the river, they had not half enough to\neat, even with the few beaver they had taken, to add to the supply, and\neven this was now denied them. And now, that the reader may understand\nCarson's position, we invite him to enjoy with us a few of the incidents\npassed through, and views observed in our passage up this river, which\nthe untraveled eastern man would find so entirely new, and the man of\ntravel and of letters would find so full of interest, as did the man\nwhose name the river bears, for it was named by Fremont, after Carson,\nwhom he had learned to love and respect, long before he reached it. We\nshall speak especially of the features of this country, common to so\nmuch that lies between the civilizations of the Atlantic and the Pacific\n<DW72>s, though the latter was not a civilization; and when from the\ndesert Carson gazed with admiration at the snow mountains, he surmised,\nas he afterwards realized through hunger, cold, danger, and suffering,\nthat this was the chain of mountains which separated him from\nCalifornia.\n\nAt the station-house, upon the lake, called the Sink of the Humboldt, we\nwere told that the Humboldt did not connect with this lake, except in\nthe spring season, after the rains; and that for the last two years it\nhad not been connected even at that time; and that in the autumn one\ncould pass between the lake and the limit of the marsh in which the\nriver loses itself, upon dry ground; and that the sinks, or the margins\nof the lakes or marshes in which the Carson, the Walker, and the Susan\nRivers, neither of them less than a hundred miles in length, and some of\nthem several hundred, in the wet season empty or lose themselves, were\nall within the limit of a single day's ride, and in the direct vicinity\nof the desert upon which the reader last saw Carson.\n\nIt was the evening of the second of July, during a rain storm, (an\nunusual occurrence at this season of the year, no traveler having ever\nreported a similar one so far as we had heard,) that, weary, and wet,\nand cold, we found our way in the dark to this river in the wilderness.\nThe house of the traders at the sink was made of logs, with two\nrooms--the logs having been drawn from the mountains, forty miles\ndistant. There was no timber in sight, and nothing that was green except\nsome grass about the lake, which we were told was poison, and on\nexamining, we found it encrusted with a crystalization of potash, left\non it by the subsiding water in which the grass had started.\n\nDuring the wet season, the water of the lake overflows its banks, and\nthe banks of the river are also overflowed, while the water standing\nupon the surface of the ground is strongly impregnated with potash, not\nonly near the sink, but far up the stream, nearly to its source, the\nsame cause existing, though only in occasional spots is it exhibited to\nthe same degree as about the lake. It is not improbable that some\nimmense coal formation might have been consumed here in some remote\npast age, though that is a matter for more scientific examination than\nbecomes this work.\n\nBut, to leave speculation; the occupants of the station, whilom trappers\nin the mountains, furnished barley for our animals, and we might have\npurchased coffee, or a rusty gun, or bad whiskey, but little else, for\ntheir regular supplies for the emigrants who were soon expected to\narrive, had not yet come in. The parties bound east had passed, and the\nMormons, with their herds of cattle for the California markets, had been\nmet beyond the desert. A party of Pah Utah or Piete Indians, a tribe of\nDiggers, were hanging about the encampment, and possibly had caused the\nstampede of the Mormon oxen, which one of their herdsmen had reported to\nus as occurring here. The traders on the plains are charged with\nconniving at such expeditions of the Indians, and of sharing with them\nthe plunder. These traders may not have been privy to any thing of the\nkind, but certain it is they always stood ready to purchase the worn out\nstock of the overland emigrants, much of which is worthless to cross the\ndesert, after the prior fifteen hundred miles of travel.\n\nThis is made a lucrative business, as will be readily imagined, when\nthe number of animals driven over is taken into consideration, which has\namounted to a hundred thousand annually, by this route, during several\nof the years since the quest for gold.\n\nThe traders said they had twenty-five hundred horses and as many oxen,\nin charge of herdsmen in a mountain valley. Shrewd men they were, one of\nthem with an eye we would not warrant to look out from a kindly soul.\n\nMiserable wretches were these Humboldt Diggers, with scarcely a trace of\nhumanity in their composition, for they have not improved since Carson\nfirst met them, many years ago. The old chief was delighted with a lump\nof sugar, which one of our party gave him. He wore a long coat made of\nrabbit skins, warm and durable, strips of the skin with the hair out\nbeing wound around a deerskin thong, and these rolls woven into a\ngarment, but the rest of the party were nearly naked.\n\nPassing Lassen's meadows where the party lunched at a spring, indicated,\nas we approached, by a growth of willows, and striking upon the\nartemisia plain that constitutes the larger portion of the river valley,\nwhen about fifty miles from the station, we left the road by a blind\ntrail, and approached the river, descending to the bottom land by a\nprecipitous bluff thirty feet in height. The mountains approached close\non the opposite side of the river, probably a mile distant, and enclosed\nus in a semi-circle, while the bluff was lined with a scattered growth\nof alders.\n\nIt rained, was raining violently when we halted, and stretching a rope\nfrom alder to alder, with a blanket thrown over it, we thus made a tent,\nand established ourselves cosily to spend here the nation's Sabbath-day,\nthe 4th of July.\n\nThe rain turned into snow towards evening, and covered the mountains to\ntheir base, but melting as it fell where we were encamped, and with the\ncooing of the doves which filled the alders, the croaking of the frogs\nin the marsh next the river, and the patter of the rain upon the bushes,\nwe had other music--nature's deep bass--in a constant roaring sound,\nlike that of old ocean at full tide on a sand beach of the open coast of\nthe Pacific; or like the sound of Niagara, heard half a mile away, but\nthere was no discoverable cause.\n\nGoing a mile up and down the river from the camp--if there is up and\ndown to a dead river--we still heard the sound, the same in tone and\npower. Our Wyandotte--a member of the party who had crossed the plains\nwith Col. Fremont--suggested that it was \"the Humboldt sinking.\"\n\nAll the day of the 4th of July we rested here, with our animals in\nclover, amid the snow which reached even to the foot of the mountains\nopposite, and the dirge played for us by the unseen hand. It was a\nquiet, still sweetly sad day--pleasant in memory, and such an one as we\nshall never spend again--so far from civilized humanity, and in a place\nso remote from human footsteps, it seemed a natural wonder which had\nnever been properly examined and explained.\n\nSooner than the old trappers anticipated, will the Humboldt be lined\nwith farms, and the little mountain valleys filled with grazing herds,\nand the church spire and the cross upon an unassuming building in the\ncentre of a six mile square prairie, indicate the advance of\ncivilization. Yet, except in the mud-lake localities, there is no tract\nof country that can well be more unpromising than that about the\nHumboldt; and not many years will elapse before science will make plain\nand palpable that wonder of the world, \"the sinking of the Humboldt.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nThrough the country we have thus briefly described, Carson and his men\nhad trapped taking some small game, intending to return late in the\nseason when the cold of this high altitude, with the sun low, was\nbecoming terribly severe, while the grass was dead, and the birds of\npassage had all departed. Their prospects were cheerless and\nunpromising, nor were they at all improved after they left the Humboldt;\nfor their route lay through an artemisia desert, varied only by an\noccasional little valley, where springs of water in the early season had\ninduced the growth of grass.\n\nOn reaching Goose Creek, they found it frozen, so that there was no\npossibility of finding even roots, to satisfy their hunger. Though\nto-day this is the trail of California emigration, with plenty of grass,\nfor a great portion of the way, in its season; now all was desolate,\nand inured as they were to hardship, Carson's men had never before\nsuffered so much from hunger, nor did their animals fare much better.\nCapt. McCoy had taken with him all not needed by Carson's party, because\nhe could give them food, and it was fortunate for them he had adopted\nthis course.\n\nThe magnificent mountain scenery on the route could scarcely excite\nadmiration or remark from this company of hungry, toil-worn men; even\nthat unique exhibition of nature's improvised ideality, done in\nstone--pyramid circle--with its pagodas, temples, obelisks, and altars,\nwithin a curiously wrought rock wall, they only wished were the _adobe_\nwalls and houses of Fort Hall. However, nothing daunted by the dreary\nprospect before them, they here bled their horses, and drank the\nprecious draught, well knowing they were taking the wind from the sails\nupon which they must rely to waft them into port, if they ever reached\nit.\n\nThe next day, they were meditating the slaughter of one of their horses,\nwhen a party of Snake Indians fortunately came in sight. They had been\nout on the war trail, and returning, had little food, but Carson managed\nto purchase a fat horse, which they killed at once, and thus managed to\nlive luxuriously till they reached the fort, able now to walk and give\nthe horses the advantage of their diet.\n\nEpicureans of civilization, when the squeamishness of an appetite,\nperverted by too delicate fare, is invited to such a repast, may rest\nassured that they know not the satisfaction such fare afforded to Kit\nCarson and his party. Horse beef was sweeter food to these starving men,\nthan epicures had ever tasted.\n\nAfter recruiting for a few days at the fort, and learning that there\nwere large herds of the game, which they gloried most in hunting, the\nbuffalo, near by, Carson and his party started for the stream on which\nthey could be found, and were not long in discovering a large herd of\nfine fat buffalo. Stretching lines on which to hang the strips, they\nkilled, and dressed, and cut; and soon had dried all the meat their\nanimals could carry, when they returned to the fort.\n\nThree days before reaching the fort, a party of Blackfeet Indians were\nagain upon their trail, and watching for their return.\n\nOn the third morning after their arrival, just as day dawned, two of the\nIndians came past their camp to the _corral_ of the fort in which their\nanimals were confined, let down the bars and drove them all away; the\nsentinel thinking the Indians were men of his party who had come to\nrelieve his watch, had gone into camp and was soundly sleeping before\nthe animals were missed. By this time the Indians had driven them many\nmiles away, and as a similar _ruse_ had been played upon the people at\nthe fort a few days before, by which all their animals were run off,\nthere was no possibility of giving chase.\n\nOf course there was now no alternative but to wait the return of Capt.\nMcCoy from Walla Walla, which he did in about four weeks, bringing\nanimals enough to supply Carson and his party, besides, the men at the\nfort, which had been obtained of the Kiowas, or Kaious Indians, in\nOregon. These Indians range between the Cascade and the Rocky Mountains,\nin what is now the eastern portion of Washington and Oregon Territories,\nliving by the chase, and owning immense herds of horses, of which the\nchief of this tribe owned ten thousand. In this same locality the Indian\nbands reported by the parties of trappers in the American Fur Company,\nhad abundance of horses, with which they hunted deer, \"ringing or\nsurrounding them, and running them down in a circle.\" But while\nantelope, and elk, and deer, as well as beaver, were abundant, their\nlocality was not frequented by the buffalo, its ranges being further\ntoward the south and west.\n\nMany suppose that buffalo never existed west of the Rocky Mountains; but\nto attempt a correction of this impression with our readers, is no\nlonger necessary, as we have seen Carson killing them on the Salmon\nRiver, on the Green River, and lastly, in the valley of a stream that\nflows into the Salmon.\n\nFrom Baird's General Repository, published in 1857, we quote,\n\n\"It will perhaps excite surprise that I include the buffalo in the fauna\nof the Pacific States, as it is common to imagine that the buffalo has\nalways been confined to the Atlantic <DW72>s, because it does not now\nextend beyond the Rocky mountains. This is not true. They once abounded\non the Pacific.\"\n\nThis animal has not been found in California nor in Oregon, west of the\nCascade mountains, within the present generation of men, and the limit\nof its ranges, narrowing every year, is now far this side of the Rocky\nMountains. Really a wild animal, incapable of being domesticated, as the\ncountry is more and more traversed, he retires--is killed by thousands\nby the hunter--and seems destined, as really as the Indian race, to\nbecome extinct. Could either be induced to adopt the modes of life which\nresidence among the races of civilized men requires, their existence\nmight be prolonged perhaps for centuries, but there seems to be no care,\non the part of anybody who has the power, to preserve either the Indian\nor the buffalo as a distinct race of man, and quadruped.\n\nA writer who reports his trip from California in the summer of '57, by\nHumboldt River and Fort Laramie, says:\n\n\"I watched for buffalo, expecting to see them in the valleys of the\nstreams, the head-waters of the Platte. But the hundred miles upon the\nSweet-water revealed no buffalo; upon the North Platte above Laramie\nthere were none, and on to Fort Kearney we looked in vain for this noble\ngame. If we had been a wagon party, and therefore confined to the road,\nthis would not have surprised us, as the immense emigration to\nCalifornia first, to Salt Lake next, and the United States army\nfollowing, might be supposed to have driven them away. Then, too, Col.\nSumner had been through, and with a war party of three hundred mounted\nriflemen, had followed the Cheyennes from Fort Laramie south to the\nhead-waters of the Arkansas. But we frequently left the road for days\ntogether, in pursuit of game and the finer scenery of the immediate\nriver valley, or the hills as it happened.\n\n\"Only until three days after passing Fort Kearney, did the glad sight\ngreet us.\n\n\"In the broad bottom--ten miles at least between the hills that shut in\nthe river valley--they were scattered thickly and quietly grazing.\n\n\"In two hours after coming in sight of them, we pitched our camp upon\nthe river bank, and were soon prepared for the hunt. Though ten thousand\nwere in sight, we had not yet approached within half a mile of one, so\nshy are they, moving off when we came in sight.\n\n\"The Platte was three quarters of a mile wide where we were camped, and\nabove and below us were numerous trails running from the river back into\nthe hills. These were like the cow-paths running to a spring in a New\nEngland pasture. We camped about three o'clock, and soon after the\nbuffalo upon one side of the stream commenced moving towards the river\nby these paths, and following each other close, to wade across it in a\ncontinuous line by half a dozen paths in sight from where we were.\nThese moving lines of huge animals were continued till slumber closed\nour eyes, at ten o'clock in the evening, and we knew not how much\nlonger.\n\n\"Having no fresh animals, and only one that had not made the distance\nfrom the other side the Sierra Nevada within the last fifty days, we\ncould not hunt by the chase. Accordingly, with nicely loaded double\nbarrelled rifle, we crept through the under-brush that lined the bank\nabove us, and came near a line of buffalo crossing the river, and\nchoosing our opportunity, as the animal pauses from the brisk trot\nbefore plunging into the stream, we were able to take good aim, and soon\nhad lodged a ball in the breast of a fine cow, who with a bound leaped\ninto the water, but was not able to proceed, nor needed the other shot\nwhich we lodged in the brain, to float her down the stream.\n\n\"Calling help, we had her dressed directly, and the nicest steaks upon\nthe coals already kindled at the camp, and found them exceedingly\ndelicious--of course more so from the fact that we had taken it. Others\nof the party came in without success; some had shot at a buffalo, others\nhad got a sight of one, and at two of the crossings the line was broken\ntemporarily by an unsuccessful attempt to kill an animal, but without\nhurting him. Most of us had no practice with this kind of game, though\nthey had killed grouse, and some of them had shot antelope during our\njourney. But now their guns would not go off, or they shot too high, or\ncould not get near enough. Just at dark, however, the old gentleman came\nin for help. His French rifle--a gun of Revolutionary times--had done\nexecution, and a big bull was the prize he announced. We invited him to\nour prepared repast, but 'no! he would sup to-night upon his own game,\nhe thanked us.' Of course he had the tongue from the animal he killed,\nnor were the tender-loin and other choice bits bad eating, and taking\nthe tongue ourself, with the rest of the party, (of ten,) we managed to\ncarry away in the morning nearly all of the cow that we had not already\neaten.\n\n\"All night long the bellowing from the other side the river greeted our\ntired senses. The situation was novel, and really in imagination, quite\nterrific. Would they return across the river and stampede our animals?\nWe got a little sleep before midnight, but not much later.\n\n\"In the morning the buffalo were indeed returning in the style they\nwent, but as we rode on over their track, the lines were always broken,\nand the animals scattered before we could approach them, and only once\ndid we come within pistol shot of any of them; nor did the rest of the\nparty do any better.\n\n\"Of course we might have done it had we made this our business; but we\nwere hastening from the El Dorado, after a four years' absence from our\nhomes. So much for our _extemporised_ buffalo hunting. In twenty-four\nhours after striking them, we had passed the buffalo, and saw no more of\nthem. As we estimated it, we had seen in that time at least fifty\nthousand; we had crossed the trail of fifteen lines of them crossing the\nriver after we left camp this morning.\"\n\nWe have quoted this to show the way in which travelers--emigrants\nnow--meet the buffalo. Sometimes a huge drove of them overrun an\nemigrant party; but this seldom occurs, nor do parties often see more of\nthem than did the one we have just presented, though usually they see\nthem for a longer time. So much have the times changed since Carson was\na trapper.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nWith fresh animals, and men well fed and rested, McCoy and Carson and\nall their party soon started from Fort Hall, for the rendezvous again\nupon Green River, where they were detained some weeks for the arrival of\nother parties, enjoying as they best might the occasion, and preparing\nfor future operations.\n\nA party of an hundred was here organized, with Mr. Fontenelle and Carson\nfor its leaders, to trap upon the Yellowstone, and the head waters of\nthe Missouri. It was known that they would probably meet the Blackfeet\nin whose grounds they were going, and it was therefore arranged, that,\nwhile fifty were to trap and furnish the food for the party, the\nremainder should be assigned to guard the camp and cook. There was no\ndisinclination on the part of any to another meeting with the Blackfeet,\nso often had they troubled members of the party, especially Carson, who,\nwhile he could be magnanimous towards an enemy, would not turn aside\nfrom his course, if able to cope with him; and now he was in a company\nwhich justly felt itself strong enough to punish the \"thieving\nBlackfeet,\" as they spoke of them, he was anxious to pay off some old\nscores.\n\nThey saw nothing, however, of these Indians; but afterwards learned that\nthe small-pox had raged terribly among them, and that they had kept\nthemselves retired in mountain valleys, oppressed with fear and severe\ndisease.\n\nThe winter's encampment was made in this region, and a party of Crow\nIndians which was with them, camped at a little distance, on the same\nstream. Here they had secured an abundance of meat, and passed the\nsevere weather with a variety of amusements in which the Indians joined\nthem in their lodges, made of buffalo hides. These lodges, very good\nsubstitutes for houses, are made in the form of a cone, spread by the\nmeans of poles spreading from a common centre, where there was a hole at\nthe top for the passage of the smoke. These were often twenty feet in\nheight, and as many feet in diameter, where they were pinned to the\nground with stakes. In a large village the Indians often had one lodge\nlarge enough to hold fifty persons, and within were performed their war\ndances around a fire made in the centre. During the palmy days of the\nBritish Fur Company, in a lodge like this only made, instead, of\nbirch-bark, Irving says the Indians of the north held their \"primitive\nfairs,\" outside the city of Montreal, where they disposed of their furs.\n\nThere was one drawback upon conviviality for this party, in the extreme\ndifficulty of getting food for their animals; for the food and fuel so\nabundant for themselves did not suffice for their horses. Snow covered\nthe ground, and the trappers were obliged to gather willow twigs, and\nstrip the bark from cottonwood trees, in order to keep them alive. The\ninner bark of the cottonwood is eaten by the Indians when reduced to\nextreme want. Beside, the cold brought the buffalo down upon them in\nlarge herds, to share the nourishment they had provided for their\nhorses.\n\nSpring at length opened, and gladly they again commenced trapping; first\non the Yellowstone, and soon on the head waters of the Missouri, where\nthey learned that the Blackfeet were recovered from the sickness of last\nyear, which had not been so severe as it was reported, and that they\nwere still anxious and in condition for a fight, and were encamped not\nfar from their present trapping grounds.\n\nCarson and five men went forward in advance \"to reconnoitre,\" and found\nthe village preparing to remove, having learned of the presence of the\ntrappers. Hurrying back, a party of forty-three was selected from the\nwhole, and they unanimously selected Carson to lead them, and leaving\nthe rest to move on with the baggage, and aid them if it should be\nnecessary when they should come up with the Indians, they hastened\nforward, eager for a battle.\n\nCarson and his command were not long in overtaking the Indians, and\ndashing among them, at the first fire killed ten of their braves, but\nthe Indians rallied, and retreated in good order. The white men were in\nfine spirits, and followed up their first attack with deadly result for\nthree full hours, the Indians making scarce any resistance. Now their\nfiring became less animated as their ammunition was getting low, and\nthey had to use it with extreme caution. The Indians, suspecting this\nfrom the slackness of their fire, rallied, and with a tremendous whoop\nturned upon their enemies.\n\nNow Carson and his company could use their small arms, which produced a\nterrible effect, and which enabled them again to drive back the\nIndians. They rallied yet again, and charged with so much power, and in\nsuch numbers, they forced the trappers to retreat.\n\nDuring this engagement, the horse of one of the mountaineers was killed,\nand fell with his whole weight upon his rider. Carson saw the condition\nof the man, with six warriors rushing to take his scalp, and reached the\nspot in time to save his friend. Leaping from the saddle, he placed\nhimself before his fallen companion, shouting at the same time for his\nmen to rally around him, and with deadly aim from his rifle, shot down\nthe foremost warrior.\n\nThe trappers now rallied about Carson, and the remaining five warriors\nretired, without the scalp of their fallen foe. Only two of them reached\na place of safety; for the well aimed fire of the trappers leveled them\nwith the earth.\n\nCarson's horse was loose, and as his comrade was safe, he mounted behind\none of his men, and rode back to the ranks, while, by general impulse,\nthe firing upon both sides ceased. His horse was captured and restored\nto him, but each party, now thoroughly exhausted, seemed to wait for the\nother to renew the attack.\n\nWhile resting in this attitude, the other division of the trappers came\nin sight, but the Indians, showing no fear, posted themselves among the\nrocks at some distance from the scene of the last skirmish, and coolly\nwaited for their adversaries. Exhausted ammunition had been the cause of\nthe retreat of Carson and his force, but now with a renewed supply, and\nan addition of fresh men to the force, they advanced on foot to drive\nthe Indians from their hiding places. The contest was desperate and\nsevere, but powder and ball eventually conquered, and the Indians, once\ndislodged, scattered in every direction. The trappers considered this a\ncomplete victory over the Blackfeet, for a large number of their\nwarriors were killed, and many more were wounded, while they had but\nthree men killed, and a few severely wounded.\n\nFontenelle and his party now camped at the scene of the engagement, to\nrecruit their men, and bury here their dead. Afterward they trapped\nthrough the whole Blackfeet country, and with great success; going where\nthey pleased without fear or molestation. The Indians kept off their\n_route_, evidently having acquaintance with Carson and his company\nenough to last them their life time. With the small-pox and the white\nman's rifles the warriors were much reduced, and the tribe which had\nformerly numbered thirty thousand, was already decimated, and a few more\nblows, like the one dealt by this dauntless band, would suffice to break\nits spirit, and destroy its power for future evil.\n\nDuring the battle with the trappers, the women and children of the\nBlackfeet village were sent on in advance, and when the engagement was\nover, and the braves returned to them so much reduced in numbers, and\nwithout a single scalp, the big lodge that had been erected for the war\ndance, was given up for the wounded, and in hundreds of Indian hearts\ngrew a bitterer hatred for the white man.\n\nAn express, despatched for the purpose, announced the place of the\nrendezvous to Fontenelle and Carson, who were now on Green River, and\nwith their whole party and a large stock of furs, they at once set out\nfor the place upon Mud River, to find the sales commenced before their\narrival, so that in twenty days they were ready to break up camp.\n\nCarson now organized a party of seven, and proceeded to a trading post\ncalled Brown's Hole, where he joined a company of traders to go to the\nNavajoe Indians. He found this tribe more assimilated to the white man\nthan any Indians he had yet seen, having many fine horses and large\nflocks of sheep and cattle. They also possessed the art of weaving, and\ntheir blankets were in great demand through Mexico, bringing high\nprices, on account of their great beauty, being woven in flowers with\nmuch taste. They were evidently a remnant of the Aztec race.\n\nThey traded here for a large drove of fine mules, which, taken to the\nfort on the South Platte, realized good prices, when Carson went again\nto Brown's Hole, a narrow but pretty valley about sixteen miles long,\nupon the Colorado River.\n\nAfter many offers for his services from other parties, Carson at length\nengaged himself for the winter, to hunt for the men at this fort, and as\nthe game was abundant in this beautiful valley, and in the canyon country\nfurther down the Colorado, in its deer, elk, and antelope, reminding him\nof his hunts upon the Sacramento, the task was a delightful one to him.\n\nIn the spring, Carson trapped with Bridger and Owen's with passable\nsuccess, and went to the rendezvous upon Wind River, at the head of the\nYellowstone, and from thence, with a large part of the trappers at the\nrendezvous, to the Yellowstone, where they camped in the vicinity for\nthe winter, without seeing their old enemy, the Blackfeet Indians, until\nmid-winter, when they discovered that they were near their principal\nstronghold.\n\nA party of forty was selected to give them battle, with Carson, of\ncourse, for their captain. They found the Indians already in the field,\nto the number of several hundred, who made a brave resistance, until\nnight and darkness admonished both parties to retire. In the morning\nwhen Carson and his men went to the spot whither the Indians had\nretired, they were not to be found. They had given them a \"wide berth,\"\ntaking their all away with them, even their dead.\n\nCarson and his command returned to camp, where a council of war decided\nthat as the Indians would report, at the principal encampment, the\nterrible loss they had sustained, and others would be sent to renew the\nfight, it was wise to prepare to act on the defensive, and use every\nprecaution immediately; and accordingly a sentinel was stationed on a\nlofty hill near by, who soon reported that the Indians were upon the\nmove.\n\nTheir plans matured, they at once threw up a breastwork, under Carson's\ndirection, and waited the approach of the Indians, who came in slowly,\nthe first parties waiting for those behind. After three days, a full\nthousand had reached the camp, about half a mile from the breastwork of\nthe trappers. In their war paint--stripes of red across the forehead,\nand down either cheek--with their bows and arrows, tomahawks, and\nlances, this army of Indians presented a formidable appearance to the\nsmall body of trappers who were opposed to them.\n\nThe war dance was enacted in sight and hearing of the trappers, and at\nearly dawn the Indians advanced, having made every preparation for the\nattack. Carson commanded his men to reserve their fire till the Indians\nwere near enough to have every shot tell; but seeing the strength of the\nwhite men's position, after a few ineffectual shots, the Indians\nretired, camped a mile from them, and finally separated into two\nparties, and went away, leaving the trappers to breathe more freely,\nfor, at the best, the encounter must have been of a desperate character.\n\nThey evidently recognized the leader who had before dealt so severely\nwith them, in the skill with which the defence was arranged, and if the\nname of Kit Carson was on their lips, they knew him for both bravery\nand magnanimity, and had not the courage to offer him battle.\n\nAnother winter gone, saddlery, moccasin-making, lodge-building, to\ncomplete the repairs of the summer's wars and the winter's fight, all\ncompleted, Carson with fifteen men went, past Fort Hall, again to the\nSalmon River, and trapped part of the season there and upon Big Snake,\nand Goose Creeks, and selling his furs at Fort Hall, again joined\nBridger in another trapping excursion into the Blackfeet country.\n\nThe Blackfeet had molested the traps of another party who had arrived\nthere before them, and had driven them away. The Indian assailants were\nstill near, and Carson led his party against them, taking care to\nstation himself and men in the edge of a thicket, where they kept the\nsavages at bay all day, taking a man from their number with nearly every\nshot of their well directed rifles. In vain the Indians now attempted to\nfire the thicket; it would not burn, and sullenly they retired, forced\nagain to acknowledge defeat at the hands of Kit Carson, the \"Monarch of\nthe Prairies.\"\n\nCarson's party now joined with the others, but concluding that they\ncould not trap successfully with the annoyance the Indians were likely\nto give them, as their force was too small to hope to conquer, they left\nthis part of the country for the north fork of the Missouri.\n\nNow they were with the friendly Flatheads, one of whose chiefs joined\nthem in the hunt, and went into camp near them, with a party of his\nbraves. This tribe of Indians, like several other tribes which extend\nalong this latitude to the Pacific, have the custom which gives them\ntheir name, thus described by Irving, in speaking of the Indians upon\nthe Lower Columbia, about its mouth.\n\n\"A most singular custom,\" he says, \"prevails, not only among the\nChinooks, but among most of the tribes about this part of the coast,\nwhich is the flattening of the forehead. The process by which this\ndeformity is effected, commences immediately after birth. The infant is\nlaid in a wooden trough, by way of cradle. The end on which the head\nreposes is higher than the rest. A padding is placed on the forehead of\nthe infant, with a piece of bark above it, and is pressed down by cords\nwhich pass through holes upon the sides of the trough. As the tightening\nof the padding and the pressure of the head to the board is gradual,\nthe process is said not to be attended with pain. The appearance of the\ninfant, however, while in this state of compression is whimsically\nhideous, and 'its little black eyes,' we are told, 'being forced out by\nthe tightness of the bandages, resemble those of a mouse choked in a\ntrap.'\n\n\"About a year's pressure is sufficient to produce the desired effect, at\nthe end of which time, the child emerges from its bandages, a complete\nflathead, and continues so through life. It must be noted, however, that\nthis flattening of the head has something in it of aristocratic\nsignificance, like the crippling of the feet among the Chinese ladies of\nquality. At any rate, it is the sign of freedom. No slave is permitted\nto bestow this deformity upon the head of his children; all the slaves,\ntherefore, are roundheads.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\nIn the spring, Kit Carson proposed a different plan of operations; he\nwent to hunt on the streams in the vicinage of his winter's camp with\nonly a single companion. The Utah Indians, into whose country he came,\nwere also friends of Carson, and, unmolested in his business, his\nefforts were crowned with abundant success. He took his furs to Robideau\nfort, and with a party of five went to Grand River, and thence to\nBrown's Hole on Green River for the winter.\n\nIn the following spring he went to the Utah country, to the streams that\nflow into Great Salt Lake on the South, which was rich in furs and of\nexceeding beauty, with the points of grand old snow mountains ever in\nsight, around him.\n\nFrom here he went to the New Fork, and as it was afterward described by\na party for whom Carson was the guide, we shall not give the\ndescription at this point of our narrative. Again he trapped among the\nUtahs, and disposed of his furs at Robideau Fort; but now the prices did\nnot please him. Beaver fur was at a discount, and the trade of the\ntrapper becoming unprofitable.\n\nBaird, in his general report upon mammals, uses the following language,\nwhich is appropriate in this connection:\n\n\"The beaver once inhabited all of the globe lying in the northern\ntemperate zone; yet from Europe, China, and all the eastern portion of\nthe United States, it has been entirely exterminated, and a war so\nuniversal and relentless has been waged upon this defenceless animal,\nhis great intelligence has been so generally opposed by the intelligence\nof man, it has seemed certain, unless some kind providence should\ninterpose, that the castor, like its congener, the Castorides, would\nsoon be found only in a fossil state.\n\n\"Happily that providence did interpose, through a certain ingenious\nsomebody, who first suggested the use of silk in the place of fur for\nthe covering of hats. The beaver were not yet exterminated from Western\nAmerica, and now, since they are not \"worth killing,\" in those\ninhospitable regions, where there is no encouragement for American\nenterprise or cupidity, we may hope that the beaver will there retain\nexistence, in a home exclusively their own.\n\n\"The price of beaver skins has so much diminished that they were offered\nto some of the party at twenty-five cents by the bale.\"\n\nCarson had pursued the business of trapping for eight years, and his\nlife had been one of unceasing toil, of extreme hardship, full of\ndanger, yet withal full of interest. More than this, while the lack of\nearly scientific training had prevented him from making that record of\nhis travels, which would have given the world the benefit of his\nexplorations, he had treasured in his memory the knowledge of\nlocalities, of their conditions, and seasons, and advantages, which in\nthe good time coming, would enable him to associate his labors with\nanother, who possessed the scientific attainments which Carson lacked,\nand who with Carson's invaluable assistance would come to be known world\nwide as a bold explorer, and who, but for Carson's experience, where\nsuch experience was a chief requisite to success, might have failed in\nhis first efforts in the grand enterprise entrusted to him.\n\nCarson knew the general features of the country, its mountains, plains,\nand rivers, and the minor points of animal and vegetable productions,\nfrom the head waters of the \"monarch of rivers,\" to the mouth of the\nColorado, and from the southern Arkansas to the Columbia, better,\nperhaps, than any one living, though yet but twenty-five years of age.\n\nWe left Carson at Robideau Fort, tired of the pursuit of trapping, as\nsoon as it had become unprofitable, and while there, he arranged with\nthree or four other trappers, to come down to Bent's Fort. The trip was\nlike others made at this season, through a country where the rifle would\nsupply food for the party, and arriving at Bent's Fort, where his name\nwas already well-known, Carson could not long be idle. He engaged\nhimself to Messrs. Bent and St. Vrain, as hunter to the fort, preferring\nthis by far to the idea of seeking employment nearer civilized life.\nIndeed no situation could have pleased him better, if we may judge from\nthe fact that he continued in it for eight years, and until the\nconnection with his employers was broken by the death of one of the\npartners, Col. Bent.\n\nGov. Bent, since appointed to the office of chief magistrate of New\nMexico, by the United States Government, had been killed by Mexican\nIndians, and was universally mourned by Americans and Indians wherever\nhe was known. Mr. St. Vrain, the other partner, was active during the\nMexican war, since the date of which we write, still lives, and is\nesteemed, as a father, by many an early mountaineer. Carson owed him\ngratitude for kindly sympathy and words of counsel, when yet a youth he\nwas commencing his mountain life, and Dr. Peters, the first biographer\nof Kit Carson, dedicates his book to Col. St. Vrain, asserting that he\nwas the first to discover and direct Carson's talents to the path in\nwhich they were employed. For both of these gentlemanly proprietors,\nCarson cherished a warm friendship, nor was there ever an unpleasant\noccurrence between them.\n\nWhen game was plenty, he supplied the forty mouths to be filled with\nease, but when it was scarce, his task was sometimes difficult, but\nskill and experience enabled him to triumph over every obstacle.\n\nIt is not strange that with such long experience Carson became the most\nskillful of hunters, and won the name of the \"Nestor of the Rocky\nMountains.\" Among the Indians he had earned the undisputed title of\n\"Monarch of the Prairies.\"\n\nBut while he killed thousands of elk, deer, and antelope, nor disdained\nthe rabbit and the grouse, and took the wild goose on the wing, of all\nthe game of beast or bird, he liked the best to hunt the buffalo, for\nthere was an excitement in the chase of that noble animal which aroused\nhis spirits to the highest pitch of excitement.\n\nAssuredly, Christopher Carson's _is_ \"a life out of the usual routine,\nand checkered with adventures which have sorely tested the courage and\nendurance of this wonderful man.\" Col. St. Vrain, in the preface to\nPeters' Life of Carson, says,\n\n\"Entering upon his life work at the age of seventeen, choosing now to\nthink for himself, nor follow the lead of those who would detain him in\na quiet life, while he felt the restless fire 'in his bones,' that\nforbade his burying his energy in merely mechanical toil, he had yet\nbeen directed in his choice, by the fitness for it the pursuits of youth\nhad given, and spurning the humdrum monotony of the shop, gave himself\nentirely to what would most aid him in attaining the profession he had\nchosen. We must admire such spirit in a youth, for it augurs well for\nthe energy and will power of the manhood; therefore, when the biographer\nsays of Christopher Carson, that the neighbors who knew him, predicted\nan uncommon life in the child with whom they hunted, and conceded to him\npositions, as well as privileges, that were not accorded to common men,\nwith his life till thirty-three before us, we feel that he has fulfilled\nthe hope of early promise, with a noble manhood.\"\n\nWe have followed Carson's pathway, without much of detail, to the\nlocalities where he practised the profession he had chosen, until we saw\nhim leave it because it ceased longer to afford compensation for his\ntoil, and during as long a period we have written of his quiet pursuit\nof the, to him, pleasant, but laborious life of a hunter; unless we must\nclass the latter eight years with the former, and assume each as a part\nof the profession he had chosen.\n\nIn all, with perhaps the exception of a few weeks at Santa Fe, when\nstill in his minority, we have found him ever strong to resist the\nthousand temptations to evil with which his pathway was beset, and which\ndrew other men away. Strong ever in the maintenance of the integrity of\nhis manhood, even when the convivial circle and the game had a brief\nfascination for him, they taught him the lesson which he needed to\nlearn, that only by earnest resistance, can evil be overcome; and thus\nhe was enabled to admonish others against those temptations which had\nonce overcome even his powers of resistance; and so he learned to school\nhimself to the idea, that good comes ever through the temptation to evil\nto all those who have the courage to extract it.\n\nWe have followed him up and down all the streams of our great central\nwestern wilds, and indicated the store of geographic knowledge which he\nhad acquired by hard experience before they were known so far to any one\nbesides; and then for eight years more we have seen that this knowledge\nwas digested and reviewed in the social circle with other mountain\ntrappers, and beside the lonely mountain river, and 'neath the wild,\nsteep cliff; or on the grassy bottom, or the barren plain, and in the\nless sterile places where the sage hen found a covert, and up among the\noak openings, and in the gigantic parks, where, as a hunter, he\nrevisited old haunts.\n\nIn all his toilsome and adventurous enterprises, while he sought to\nbenefit himself, he never turned away, nor failed to lend a helping hand\nto a needy, suffering brother, or to encourage one who needed such a\nlesson, to turn his youth to the most account; and if affectionate\nregard is a recompense for such service, he had his compensation, as he\npassed along the path he had marked out for himself, not from the white\nman alone, but from the Indian who everywhere came to look upon Kit\nCarson as his friend.\n\nThe Camanches, the Arapahoes, the Utahs, and the Cheyennes, besides\nseveral smaller tribes, knew him personally in the hunt, and he had sat\nby their camp fires, and dandled their children, and sung to them the\nditty,\n\n    \"What makes the lamb love Mary so?\n      The eager children cry;\n    Why Mary loves the lamb, you know,\n      And that's the reason why.\"\n\nThe Indians feared, and reverenced, and loved him, and that this latter\nmay be proved to the reader we relate the following story of private\nhistory, nor will it be esteemed out of taste:\n\nThe powerful Sioux had come from the north beyond their usual hunting\ngrounds, and had had skirmishes with several Indian bands, some of whom\nsent for Carson to the Upper Arkansas to come over and help them drive\nback the Sioux. As the larder at the fort was full, he consented to go\nwith the war-painted Camanche messengers to a camp of their tribe,\nunited with a band of Arapahoes. They told him the Sioux had a thousand\nwarriors and many rifles, and they feared them, but knew that the\n\"Monarch of the Prairies\" could overcome them. Carson sat in council\nwith the chiefs, and finally, instead of encouraging them to fight,\npersuaded them to peace, and acted so successfully the part of mediator,\nthat the Sioux consented to retire from the hunting grounds of the\nCamanches when the season was over, and they separated without a\ncollision.\n\nIt was while engaged as hunter for Messrs. Bent and St. Vrain, Carson\ntook to himself an Indian wife, by whom he had a daughter still living,\nand who forms the connecting link between his past hardships, and his\npresent greatness; for that he is emphatically a great man, the whole\ncivilized world has acknowledged.\n\nThe mother died soon after her birth, and Carson feeling that his rude\ncabin was scarcely the place to rear his child, determined, when of a\nsuitable age, to take her to St. Louis, and secure for her those\nadvantages of education which circumstances had denied to him; and\naccordingly, when his engagement at the fort had expired, he determined\nto go to St. Louis for that purpose, embracing on the route the\nopportunity of visiting the home of his boyhood, which he had not seen\nfor sixteen years.\n\nOf course he found everything changed. Many of those whom he had known\nas men and heads of families, were now grown old, while more had died\noff; but by those to whom he was made known, he was recognized with a\nheartiness of welcome which brought tears to his eyes, though his heart\nwas saddened at the changes which time had wrought. His fame had\npreceded him, and his welcome was therefore doubly cordial, for he had\nmore than verified the promise of his youth.\n\nThence he proceeded to St. Louis, with the intention of placing his\ndaughter at school, but here, to his great amazement, he found himself a\nlion; for the advent of such a man in such a city, which had so often\nrung with his deeds of daring and suffering, could not be permitted to\nremain among its citizens unknown or unrecognized. He was courted and\nfeted and though gratified at the attentions showered upon him, found\nhimself so thoroughly out of his element, that he longed to return to\nmore pleasant and more familiar scenes, his old hunting grounds.\n\nHaving accomplished the object of his visit to St. Louis, in placing his\ndaughter under proper guardianship, he left the city, carrying with him\npleasing, because merited remembrances of the attentions paid to him,\nand leaving behind him impressions of the most favorable character.\n\nSoon after he reached St. Louis, he had the good fortune to fall in with\nLieut. Fremont, who was there organizing a party for the exploration of\nthe far western country, as yet unknown, and who was anxiously awaiting\nthe arrival of Captain Drips, a well known trader and trapper, who had\nbeen highly recommended to him as a guide.\n\nKit Carson's name and fame were familiar as household words to Fremont,\nand he gladly availed himself of his proffered services in lieu of those\nof Capt. Drips. It did not take long for two such men as John C. Fremont\nand Kit Carson to become thoroughly acquainted with each other, and the\naccidental meeting at St. Louis resulted in the cementing of a\nfriendship which has never been impaired,--won as it was on the one part\nby fidelity, truthfulness, integrity, and courage, united to vast\nexperience and consummate skill in the prosecution of the duty he had\nassumed--on the other by every quality which commands honour, regard,\nesteem, and high personal devotion.\n\nAnd now Carson's life has commenced in earnest, for heretofore he has\nonly been fitting himself to live. His name is embodied in the archives\nof our country's history, and no one has been more ready to accord to\nhim the credit he so well earned, as has he who had the good fortune to\nsecure, at the same time, the services of the most experienced guide of\nhis day, and the devotion of a friend.\n\nLieut. Fremont had instructions to explore and report upon the country\nlying between the frontiers of Missouri and the South Pass in the Rocky\nMountains, on the line of the Kansas and Great Platte Rivers, and with\nhis party, leaving St. Louis on the 22nd of May, 1842, by steamboat for\nChouteau's Landing on the Missouri, near the mouth of the Kansas, at a\npoint twelve miles beyond at Chouteau's trading post, he encamped there\nto complete his arrangements for this important expedition.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\nFremont was delayed several days at Chouteau's Landing, by the state of\nthe weather, which prevented the necessary astronomical observations,\nbut finally all his arrangements being completed, and the weather\npermitting, the party started in the highest spirit, and filled with\nanticipations of an exciting and adventurous journey.\n\nHe had collected in the neighborhood of St. Louis twenty-one men,\nprincipally Creole and Canadian _voyageurs_, who had become familiar\nwith prairie life in the service of the fur companies in the Indian\ncountry. Mr. Charles Preuss, a native of Germany, was his assistant in\nthe topographical part of the survey. L. Maxwell, of Kaskaskia, had been\nengaged as hunter, and Christopher Carson as guide.\n\nMr. Cyprian Chouteau, to whose kindness, during their stay at his house,\nall were much indebted, accompanied them several miles on their way,\nuntil they met an Indian, whom he had engaged to conduct them on the\nfirst thirty or forty miles, where he was to consign them to the ocean\nprairie, which stretched, without interruption, almost to the base of\nthe Rocky Mountains.\n\nDuring the journey, it was the customary practice to encamp an hour or\ntwo before sunset, when the carts were disposed so as to form a sort of\nbarricade around a circle some eighty yards in diameter. The tents were\npitched, and the horses hobbled and turned loose to graze; and but a few\nminutes elapsed before the cooks of the messes, of which there were\nfour, were busily engaged in preparing the evening meal. At nightfall,\nthe horses, mules, and oxen, were driven in and picketed--that is,\nsecured by a halter, of which one end was tied to a small steel-shod\npicket, and driven into the ground; the halter being twenty or thirty\nfeet long, which enabled them to obtain a little food during the night.\nWhen they had reached a part of the country where such a precaution\nbecame necessary, the carts being regularly arranged for defending the\ncamp, guard was mounted at eight o'clock, consisting of three men, who\nwere relieved every two hours; the morning watch being horse guard for\nthe day. At daybreak, the camp was roused, the animals turned loose to\ngraze, and breakfast generally over between six and seven o'clock, when\nthey resumed their march, making regularly a halt at noon for one or two\nhours. Such was usually the order of the day, except when accident of\ncountry forced a variation, which, however, happened but rarely.\n\nThey reached the ford of the Kansas late in the afternoon of the 14th,\nwhere the river was two hundred and thirty yards wide, and commenced\nimmediately preparations for crossing. The river had been swollen by the\nlate rains, and was sweeping by with an angry current, yellow and turbid\nas the Missouri. Up to this point, the road traveled was a remarkably\nfine one, well beaten and level--the usual road of a prairie country. By\nthis route, the ford was one hundred miles from the mouth of the Kansas\nriver, on reaching which several mounted men led the way into the\nstream, to swim across. The animals were driven in after them, and in a\nfew minutes all had reached the opposite bank in safety, with the\nexception of the oxen, which swam some distance down the river, and,\nreturning to the right bank, were not got over until the next morning.\nIn the meantime, the carts had been unloaded and dismantled, and an\nIndia-rubber boat, which had been brought for the survey of the Platte\nRiver, placed in the water. The boat was twenty feet long and five\nbroad, and on it were placed the body and wheels of a cart, with the\nload belonging to it, and three men with paddles.\n\nThe velocity of the current, and the inconvenient freight, rendering it\ndifficult to be managed, Basil Lajeunesse, one of the best swimmers,\ntook in his teeth a line attached to the boat, and swam ahead in order\nto reach a footing as soon as possible, and assist in drawing her over.\nIn this manner, six passages had been successfully made, and as many\ncarts with their contents, and a greater portion of the party, deposited\non the left bank; but night was drawing near, and in his great anxiety\nto complete the crossing before darkness set in, he put on the boat,\ncontrary to the advice of Carson, the last two carts with their loads.\nThe consequence was, the boat was capsized, and everything on board was\nin a moment floating down stream. They were all, however, eventually\nrecovered, but not without great trouble. Carson and Maxwell, who had\nbeen in the water nearly all the succeeding day, searching for the lost\narticles, were taken so ill in consequence of the prolonged exposure,\nthe party was obliged to lie by another day to enable them to recruit,\nfor to proceed without them would have been folly.\n\nThe dense timber which surrounded their camp, interfering with\nastronomical observations, and the wet and damaged stores requiring\nexposure to the sun, the tents were struck early the next day but one\nafter this disaster and the party moved up the river about seven miles,\nwhere they camped upon a handsome open prairie, some twenty feet above\nthe water, and where the fine grass afforded a luxurious repast to the\nweary animals. They lay in camp here two days, during which time the men\nwere kept busy in drying the provisions, painting the cart covers, and\notherwise completing their equipage, until the afternoon when powder was\ndistributed to them, and they spent some hours in firing at a mark, as\nthey were now fairly in the Indian country, and it began to be time to\nprepare for the chances of the wilderness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\nLeaving the river bottom, the road which was the Oregon trail, past Fort\nLaramie,--ran along the uplands, over a rolling country, upon which were\nscattered many boulders of red sand-stone, some of them of several tons\nweight; and many beautiful plants and flowers enlivened the prairie. The\nbarometer indicated fourteen hundred feet above the level of the sea,\nand the elevation appeared to have its influence on vegetation.\n\nThe country became more broken, rising still and covered everywhere with\nfragments of silicious limestone, strewn over the earth like pebbles on\nthe sea shore; especially upon the summits and exposed situations; and\nin these places but few plants grew, while in the creek bottoms, and\nravines, a great variety of plants flourished.\n\nFor several days they continued their journey, annoyed only by the lack\nof water, and at length reached the range of the Pawnees who infested\nthat part of the country, stealing horses from companies on their way to\nthe mountains, and when in sufficient force, openly attacking them, and\nsubjecting them to various insults; and it was while encamped here, that\na regular guard was mounted for the first time, but the night passed\nover without annoyance.\n\nSpeaking of the constant watchfulness required when in the neighborhood\nof hostile or thieving Indians, Fremont says,\n\n\"The next morning we had a specimen of the false alarms to which all\nparties in these wild regions are subject. Proceeding up the valley,\nobjects were seen on the opposite hills, which disappeared before a\nglass could be brought to bear upon them. A man, who was a short\ndistance in the rear, came spurring up in great haste, shouting,\nIndians! Indians! He had been near enough to see and count them,\naccording to his report, and had made out twenty-seven. I immediately\nhalted; arms were examined and put in order; the usual preparations\nmade; and Kit Carson, springing upon one of the hunting horses, crossed\nthe river, and galloped off into the opposite prairies, to obtain some\ncertain intelligence of their movements.\n\n\"Mounted on a fine horse, without a saddle, and scouring bareheaded over\nthe prairies, Kit was one of the finest pictures of a horseman I have\never seen. A short time enabled him to discover that the Indian war\nparty of twenty-seven consisted of six elk, who had been gazing\ncuriously at our caravan as it passed by, and were now scampering off at\nfull speed. This was our first alarm, and its excitement broke agreeably\non the monotony of the day. At our noon halt, the men were exercised at\na target; and in the evening we pitched our tents at a Pawnee encampment\nof last July. They had apparently killed buffalo here, as many bones\nwere lying about, and the frames where the hides had been stretched were\nyet standing.\"\n\nLeaving the fork of the \"Blue,\" upon a high dividing ridge, in about\ntwenty-one miles they reached the coast of the Platte, or Nebraska River\nas it is called, a line of low hills, or the break from the prairie to\nthe river bottom. Cacti here were numerous, and the _amorpha_,\nremarkable for its large and luxuriant purple clusters, was in full\nbloom. From the foot of the coast, two miles across the level bottom,\nbrought them to the shore of the river twenty miles below the head of\nGrand Island, and more than three hundred from the mouth of the Kansas.\nThe elevation of the Platte valley here was about two thousand feet\nabove the level of the sea.\n\nThe next day they met a party of fourteen, who had started sixty days\nbefore from Fort Laramie, in barges laden with furs for the American Fur\nCompany, hoping to come down the Platte without difficulty, as they left\nupon the annual flood, and their boats drew only nine inches of water.\nBut at Scott's bluffs, one hundred and thirty miles below Fort Laramie,\nthe river became so broad and shallow, and the current so changeful\namong the sandbars, that they abandoned their boats and _cached_ their\ncargoes, and were making the rest of their journey to St. Louis on foot,\neach with a pack as large as he could carry.\n\nIn the interchange of news, and the renewal of old acquaintanceships,\nthey found wherewithal to fill a busy hour. Among them Fremont had found\nan old companion on the northern prairie, a hardened and hardly served\nveteran of the mountains, who had been as much hacked and scarred as an\nold _moustache_ of Napoleon's \"old guard.\" He flourished in the\nsobriquet of La Tulipe, and his real name no one knew. Finding that he\nwas going to the States only because his company was bound in that\ndirection, and that he was rather more willing to return with Fremont,\nhe was taken again into his service.\n\nA few days more of travel, whose monotony was not relieved by any\nincident worth narrating, brought the party in sight of the buffalo,\nswarming in immense numbers over the plains, where they had left\nscarcely a blade of grass standing. \"Mr. Preuss,\" says Fremont, \"who was\nsketching at a little distance in the rear, had at first noted them as\nlarge groves of timber. In the sight of such a mass of life, the\ntraveler feels a strange emotion of grandeur. We had heard from a\ndistance a dull and confused murmuring, and when we came in view of\ntheir dark masses, there was not one among us who did not feel his heart\nbeat quicker. It was the early part of the day, when the herds are\nfeeding; and everywhere they were in motion. Here and there a huge old\nbull was rolling in the grass, and clouds of dust rose in the air from\nvarious parts of the bands, each the scene of some obstinate fight.\nIndians and buffalo make the poetry and life of the prairie, and our\ncamp was full of their exhilaration. In place of the quiet monotony of\nthe march, relieved only by the cracking of the whip, and an '_avance\ndonc! enfant de garce!_' shouts and songs resounded from every part of\nthe line, and our evening camp was always the commencement of a feast,\nwhich terminated only with our departure on the following morning. At\nany time in the night might be seen pieces of the most delicate meat,\nroasting _en appolas_, on sticks around the fire, and the guard were\nnever without company. With pleasant weather, and no enemy to fear, an\nabundance of the most excellent meat, and no scarcity of bread or\ntobacco, they were enjoying the oasis of a voyageur's life.\"\n\nThree cows were killed on that day, but a serious accident befell Carson\nin the course of the chase, which had nearly cost him his life. Kit had\nshot one, and was continuing the chase, in the midst of another herd,\nwhen his horse fell headlong, but sprang up and joined the flying band.\nThough considerably hurt, he had the good fortune to break no bones; and\nMaxwell, who was mounted on a fleet hunter, captured the runaway after a\nhard chase. He was on the point of shooting him, to avoid the loss of\nhis bridle, (a handsomely mounted Spanish one,) when he found that his\nhorse was able to come up with him.\n\nThis mishap, however, did not deter Kit from his favorite pursuit of\nbuffalo hunting, for on the following day, notwithstanding his really\nserious accident, we find him ready and eager for another chase. Fremont\nin his narrative thus relates the occurrence:--\n\n\"As we were riding quietly along the bank, a grand herd of buffalo, some\nseven or eight hundred in number, came crowding up from the river, where\nthey had been to drink, and commenced crossing the plain slowly, eating\nas they went. The wind was favorable; the coolness of the morning\ninvited to exercise; the ground was apparently good, and the distance\nacross the prairie (two or three miles) gave us a fine opportunity to\ncharge them before they could get among the river hills. It was too fine\na prospect for a chase to be lost; and halting for a few moments, the\nhunters were brought up and saddled, and Kit Carson, Maxwell, and I,\nstarted together. They were now somewhat less than half a mile distant,\nand we rode easily along until within about three hundred yards, when a\nsudden agitation, a wavering in the band, and a galloping to and fro of\nsome which were scattered along the skirts, gave us the intimation that\nwe were discovered. We started together at a hard gallop, riding\nsteadily abreast of each other, and here the interest of the chase\nbecame so engrossingly intense, that we were sensible to nothing else.\nWe were now closing upon them rapidly, and the front of the mass was\nalready in rapid motion for the hills, and in a few seconds the movement\nhad communicated itself to the whole herd.\n\n\"A crowd of bulls, as usual, brought up the rear, and every now and then\nsome of them faced about, and then dashed on after the band a short\ndistance, and turned and looked again, as if more than half inclined to\nstand and fight. In a few moments, however, during which we had been\nquickening our pace, the rout was universal, and we were going over the\nground like a hurricane. When at about thirty yards, we gave the usual\nshout (the hunter's _pas de charge_), and broke into the herd. We\nentered on the side, the mass giving way in every direction in their\nheedless course. Many of the bulls, less active and less fleet than the\ncows, paying no attention to the ground, and occupied solely with the\nhunter, were precipitated to the earth with great force, rolling over\nand over with the violence of the shock, and hardly distinguishable in\nthe dust. We separated on entering, each singling out his game.\n\n[Illustration: \"IN A FEW MOMENTS HE BROUGHT ME ALONG SIDE OF HER, AND\nRISING IN THE STIRRUPS, I FIRED.\"]\n\n\"My horse was a trained hunter, famous in the west under the name of\nProveau, and with his eyes flashing, and the foam flying from his mouth,\nsprang on after the cow like a tiger. In a few moments he brought me\nalongside of her, and rising in the stirrups, I fired at the distance of\na yard, the ball entering at the termination of the long hair, and\npassing near the heart. She fell headlong at the report of the gun, and,\nchecking my horse, I looked around for my companions.\n\n\"At a little distance, Kit was on the ground, engaged in tying his horse\nto the horns of a cow which he was preparing to cut up. Among the\nscattered bands, at some distance below, I caught a glimpse of Maxwell;\nand while I was looking, a light wreath of white smoke curled away from\nhis gun, from which I was too far to hear the report. Nearer, and\nbetween me and the hills, towards which they were directing their\ncourse, was the body of the herd, and giving my horse the rein, we\ndashed after them. A thick cloud of dust hung upon their rear, which\nfilled my mouth and eyes, and nearly smothered me. In the midst of this\nI could see nothing, and the buffalo were not distinguishable until\nwithin thirty feet.\n\n\"They crowded together more densely still as I came upon them, and\nrushed along in such a compact body, that I could not obtain an\nentrance--the horse almost leaping upon them. In a few moments the mass\ndivided to the right and left, the horns clattering with a noise heard\nabove everything else, and my horse darted into the opening.\n\n\"Five or six bulls charged on us as we dashed along the line, but were\nleft far behind; and singling out a cow, I gave her my fire, but struck\ntoo high. She gave a tremendous leap, and scoured on swifter than\nbefore. I reined up my horse, and the band swept on like a torrent, and\nleft the place quiet and clear. Our chase had led us into dangerous\nground. A prairie-dog village, so thickly settled that there were three\nor four holes in every twenty yards square, occupied the whole bottom\nfor nearly two miles in length. Looking around, I saw only one of the\nhunters, nearly out of sight, and the long dark line of our caravan\ncrawling along, three or four miles distant.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nThe encampment of the party on the 4th of July, was a few miles from\nwhere the road crosses over to the north fork of the Platte, where a\ngrand dinner was prepared, toasts drank, and salutes fired; and it was\nhere Fremont decided to divide his party, wishing, himself, to explore\nthe south fork of the Platte, as far as St. Vrain's Fort; and taking\nwith him Maxwell and two others of his men, and the Cheyenne Indians,\nwhose village was upon this river, he left the rest of the party to\nproceed under the direction of Clement Lambert up the north fork to Fort\nLaramie, where they were to wait his arrival, as he intended to cross\nthe country between the two forts.\n\nBuffalo were still plenty upon Fremont's route, and the Indians with him\nmade an unsuccessful attempt to lasso the leader of a drove of wild\nhorses, which they passed. They met a band of two or three hundred\nArapahoe Indians, and were only saved from an attack by Maxwell, who\nsecured a timely recognition from the old chief who led the party, which\nproved to be from a village among whom he had resided as a trader, and\nwhose camp the chief pointed out to them some six miles distant. They\nhad come out to surround a band of buffalo which was feeding across the\nriver, and were making a large circuit to avoid giving them the wind,\nwhen they discovered Fremont's party, whom they had mistaken for\nPawnees. In a few minutes the women came galloping up, astride of their\nhorses, and naked from their knees down, and the hips up. They followed\nthe men to assist in cutting up and carrying off the meat.\n\nThe wind was blowing directly across the river, and the chief having\nrequested Fremont to remain where he then was, to avoid raising the\nherd, he readily consented, and having unsaddled their horses, they sat\ndown to view the scene. The day had become very hot, the thermometer\nstanding at 108 deg. The Indians commenced crossing the river, and as soon\nas they were upon the other side, separated into two bodies.\n\nFremont thus describes this exciting hunt, or massacre, as the reader\nmay choose to designate it,--and his subsequent visit to the Arapahoe\nvillage:\n\n\"One party proceeded directly across the prairie, towards the hills, in\nan extended line, while the other went up the river; and instantly, as\nthey had given the wind to the herd, the chase commenced. The buffalo\nstarted for the hills, but were intercepted and driven back toward the\nriver, broken and running in every direction. The clouds of dust soon\ncovered the whole scene, preventing us from having any but an occasional\nview. It had a very singular appearance to us at a distance, especially\nwhen looking with the glass.\n\n\"We were too far to hear the report of the guns, or any sound, and at\nevery instant, through the clouds of dust, which the sun made luminous,\nwe could see for a moment two or three buffalo dashing along, and close\nbehind them an Indian with his long spear, or other weapon, and\ninstantly again they disappeared. The apparent silence, and the dimly\nseen figures flitting by with such rapidity, gave it a kind of dreamy\neffect, and seemed more like a picture than a scene of real life.\n\n\"It had been a large herd when the _cerne_ commenced, probably three or\nfour hundred in number; but though I watched them closely, I did not\nsee one emerge from the fatal cloud where the work of destruction was\ngoing on. After remaining here about an hour, we resumed our journey in\nthe direction of the village.\n\n\"Gradually, as we rode on, Indian after Indian came dropping along,\nladen with meat; and by the time we had reached the lodges, the backward\nroad was covered with the returning horsemen. It was a pleasant contrast\nwith the desert road we had been traveling. Several had joined company\nwith us, and one of the chiefs invited us to his lodge.\n\n\"The village consisted of about one hundred and twenty-five lodges, of\nwhich twenty were Cheyennes; the latter pitched a little apart from the\nArapahoes. They were disposed in a scattering manner on both sides of a\nbroad, irregular street, about one hundred and fifty feet wide, and\nrunning along the river. As we rode along, I remarked near some of the\nlodges a kind of tripod frame, formed of three slender poles of birch,\nscraped very clean, to which were affixed the shield and spear, with\nsome other weapons of a chief. All were scrupulously clean, the spear\nhead was burnished bright, and the shield white and stainless. It\nreminded me of the days of feudal chivalry; and when, as I rode by, I\nyielded to the passing impulse, and touched one of the spotless shields\nwith the muzzle of my gun, I almost expected a grim warrior to start\nfrom the lodge and resent my challenge.\n\n\"The master of the lodge spread out a robe for me to sit upon, and the\nsquaws set before us a large wooden dish of buffalo meat. He had lit his\npipe in the meanwhile, and when it had been passed around, we commenced\nour dinner while he continued to smoke. Gradually, five or six other\nchiefs came in, and took their seats in silence. When we had finished,\nour host asked a number of questions relative to the object of our\njourney, of which I made no concealment; telling him simply that I had\nmade a visit to see the country, preparatory to the establishment of\nmilitary posts on the way to the mountains.\n\n\"Although this was information of the highest interest to them, and by\nno means calculated to please them, it excited no expression of\nsurprise, and in no way altered the grave courtesy of their demeanor.\nThe others listened and smoked. I remarked, that in taking the pipe for\nthe first time, each had turned the stem upward, with a rapid glance,\nas in offering to the Great Spirit, before he put it in his mouth.\"\n\nRiding near the river, Fremont and Maxwell had an interview with Jim\nBeckwith, who had been chief of the Crow Indians, but had left them some\ntime before, and was now residing in this river bottom, with his wife, a\nSpanish woman from Taos. They also passed a camp of four or five New\nEnglanders, with Indian wives--a party of independent trappers, and\nreached St. Vrain's Fort on the evening of July 10th, where they were\nhospitably entertained by Mr. St. Vrain, and received from him such\nneeded assistance as he was able to render. Maxwell was at home here, as\nhe had spent the last two or three years between the fort and Taos.\n\nOn the evening of the fifteenth, they arrived at Fort Laramie, a post of\nthe American Fur Company, near the junction of the Laramie Creek with\nthe Platte River, which had quite a military appearance, with its lofty\nwalls whitewashed and picketed, and large bastions at the angles. A\ncluster of lodges belonging to the Sioux Indians was pitched under the\nwalls. He was received with great hospitality by the gentleman in charge\nof the fort, Mr. Boudeau, having letters of introduction to him from\nthe company at St. Louis, and it is hardly necessary to say that he was\nhospitably received and most kindly treated. He found Carson with the\nparty under his command camped on the bank near the fort, by whom they\nwere most warmly welcomed, and in the enjoyment of a bountiful supper,\nwhich coffee and bread converted almost into a luxury, they forgot the\ntoils and sufferings of the past ten days.\n\nThe news brought by Mr. Preuss, who it will be remembered was with\nCarson's party, was as exciting as it was unpleasant. He had learned\nthat the Sioux who had been badly disposed, had now broken out into open\nhostility, and his informant, a well known trapper, named Bridger, had\nbeen attacked by them, and had only defeated them after serious losses\non both sides. United with the Cheyennes and Gros Ventre Indians, they\nwere scouring the country in war parties, declaring war upon every\nliving thing which should pass the _Red Buttes_; their special hostility\nbeing, however, directed against the white men. In fact the country was\nswarming with hostile Indians, and it was but too evident that any party\nwho should attempt to enter upon the forbidden grounds, must do so at\nthe certain hazard of their lives. Of course such intelligence created\ngreat commotion throughout the camp, and it formed the sole subject of\nconversation and discussion during the evenings around the camp fires.\n\nSpeaking of this report, and the effect produced upon his men, Fremont\nuses the following language:\n\n\"Carson, one of the best and most experienced mountaineers, fully\nsupported the opinion given by Bridger of the dangerous state of the\ncountry, and openly expressed his conviction that we could not escape\nwithout some sharp encounters with the Indians. In addition to this, he\nmade his will; and among the circumstances which were constantly\noccurring to increase their alarm, this was the most unfortunate; and I\nfound that a number of my party had become so much intimidated that they\nhad requested to be discharged at this place.\"\n\nCarson's apprehensions were fully justified by the circumstances\nsurrounding them; and while we might have omitted the above quotation,\nas tending to exhibit him in a false light, doubtless unintentionally,\nwe choose rather to say a few words which will rob the insinuation of\nits sting.\n\nWhile there was reason to expect an encounter with Indians, in whom it\nwas reported the spirit of revenge was cherished towards the whites,\nmore than ever it had been before, and whom numbers and acquisition of\nfire-arms rendered really formidable foes, he felt that the party with\nwhom he was now associated, were not the men upon whom he could rely\nwith certainty in an engagement against such terrible odds. In the days\nof his earlier experiences, the old trappers with him were men who had\nas little fear as himself, and were also experienced in such little\naffairs, for such they considered them. Now, except Maxwell, an old\nassociate, and two or three others, the men of the party were half\nparalyzed with fear at the prospect which this report presented to them;\nand it was the knowledge of their fear, which they made no attempt to\nconceal, which excited in his mind apprehensions for the worst, for he\ndid not choose to guide others into danger recklessly, even if he had no\ncare for himself.\n\nHeadlong rashness, which some might mistake for courage, was not a trait\nof his character; but the voice of a whole country accords to him cool\nbravery, presence of mind, and courage to meet whatever danger\nforethought could not guard against.\n\nWith a party of men like those he had led several times against the\nBlackfeet, nothing could have persuaded him to turn back from any\nenterprise which he had undertaken, from a fear of hostile Indians. Of\ncourse he could not state his reason for his apprehensions even to his\nemployer, because it would reflect upon his ability to arrange for such\nan enterprise, or his courage to conduct it to a successful termination,\nneither of which he could doubt; and it is therefore with something of\nregret we read in an official report, emanating from one who owed more\nto Kit Carson, of the fame and reputation so justly earned, than to any\nother living man, the assertion that Carson, stimulated by fear, made\nhis will. The best contradiction which can be afforded, is found in the\nfact, that notwithstanding his _apprehensions_, he did accompany the\nparty, discharging with his usual zeal, ability, and fidelity, the\nduties which devolved upon him; and we have yet to learn that Kit Carson\never shrunk from any danger.\n\nHis reputation has, however, outlived this covert insinuation, and we\npresume that no man on this continent would hesitate to award to Kit\nCarson, the highest attributes of moral and physical courage.\n\n\"During our stay here,\" says Fremont in continuation, \"the men had been\nengaged in making numerous repairs, arranging pack-saddles, and\notherwise preparing for the chances of a rough road, and mountain\ntravel, all of which Carson had superintended, urging upon the men that\ntheir comfort and their safety required it. All things of this nature\nbeing ready, I gathered them around me in the evening, and told them\nthat 'I had determined to proceed the next day. They were all well armed.\nI had engaged the services of Mr. Bissonette as interpreter, and had\ntaken, in the circumstances, every possible means to insure our safety.\nIn the rumors we had heard, I believed there was much exaggeration, and\nthen they were men accustomed to this kind of life, and to the country;\nand that these were the dangers of every day occurrence, and to be\nexpected in the ordinary course of their service. They had heard of the\nunsettled condition of the country before leaving St. Louis, and\ntherefore could not make it a reason for breaking their engagements.\nStill, I was unwilling to take with me, on a service of some certain\ndanger, men on whom I could not rely; and as I had understood that there\nwere among them some who were disposed to cowardice, and anxious to\nreturn, they had but to come forward at once, and state their desire,\nand they would be discharged with the amount due to them for the time\nthey had served.' To their honor, be it said, there was but one among\nthem who had the face to come forward and avail himself of the\npermission. I asked him some few questions, in order to expose him to\nthe ridicule of the men, and let him go. The day after our departure, he\nengaged himself to one of the forts, and set off with a party to the\nUpper Missouri.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\nAs our explorers advanced, one of the most prominent features of the\ncountry was the abundance of artemisia growing everywhere, on the hills\nand in the river bottoms, in twisted wiry clumps, filling the air with\nthe odor of mingled camphor and spirits of turpentine, and impeding the\nprogress of the wagons out of the beaten track.\n\nThey met a straggling party of the Indians which had followed the trail\nof the emigrants, and learned from them that multitudes of grasshoppers\nhad consumed the grass upon the road, so that they had found no game,\nand were obliged to kill even their horses, to ward off starvation. Of\ncourse danger from these Indians was no longer to be apprehended, though\nthe prospect was a gloomy one, but new courage seemed to inspire the\nparty when the necessity of endurance seemed at hand.\n\nThe party now followed Carson's advice, given at Fort Laramie, to\ndisencumber themselves of all unnecessary articles, and accordingly they\nleft their wagons, concealing them among low shrubbery, after they had\ntaken them to pieces, and made a _cache_ of such other effects as they\ncould leave, among the sand heaps of the river bank, and then set to\nwork to mend and arrange the pack saddles, and packs, the whole of which\nwas superintended by Carson, and to him was now assigned the office of\nguide, as they had reached a section of the country, with a great part\nof which long residence had made him familiar. Game was found in great\nabundance after they reached the river bottom, off the traveled road,\nboth upon the Platte and after they crossed over the _divide_ to the\nSweet Water.\n\nSpeaking of the gorge where the Platte River issues from the Black\nHills, changing its character abruptly from a mountain stream to a river\nof the plain, Fremont says, \"I visited this place with _my favorite\nman_, Basil Lajeunesse;\" and this extraordinary expression, left\nunexplained, would lead the casual reader to believe or think that\nCarson had lost the confidence of the _official_ leader of the party.\n\nIt has seemed to us, in reading Fremont's narrative of this first\nexpedition to the Rocky Mountains, that in view of some failures to\nachieve what was sought, and to avoid what was suffered, Carson's\nadvice, given with a larger experience, and with less of impetuosity\nthan that of the young Huguenot's, would, if followed, have secured\ndifferent results, both for the comfort of the party, and the benefit of\nscience; and while those of like temperament were chosen for companions\nby Lieutenant Fremont, it detracts nothing from his reputation for\nscientific analysis and skill, or for high courage, but only gives to\nCarson the deserved meed of praise to say, his was the hand that\nsteadied the helm, and kept the vessel on her way, at times when,\nwithout his judgment, sagacity, and experience, it must have been\nseriously damaged, if not destroyed; and with this balance wheel, a part\nof his machinery, the variety of difficulties that might have defeated\nthe scientific purpose of the expedition, or have made it the last\nFremont would desire, or the Government care to have him undertake, were\navoided; and no one inquired to know the cause.\n\nIt often happens that the quiet, simpler offices of life become\nimperative, and first duties, to one who feels that all the\nqualifications fitting for more honorable place, are possessed by him,\nin much larger measure than by the occupant of the higher official\nposition,--as men are wont to esteem it--and, as there is no explanation\ngiven, nor, by declaration, even the fact stated that this was true now\nin respect to Christopher Carson, we shall give no reason, further than\nto say, that the care of finding suitable places for camping, of seeing\nthat the party were all in, and the animals properly cared for, their\nsaddles in order, and the fastenings secure; of finding game, and\nwatching to see that the food is properly expended, so that each supply\nshall last till it can be replenished; of seeing that the general\nproperty of the party is properly guarded, and a variety of other\nmatters, which pertain to the success of an enterprise like this, and\nwithout which it must be a failure, could not all be borne by Fremont;\nand while he had assigned to each his position in the labor of the camp,\nthe place of general care-taker, which comes not by appointment, fell\nnaturally to the lot of Carson; and such supervision was cheerfully\nperformed, though it brought no other reward than the satisfaction of\nknowing that the essential elements of success were not neglected.\n\nShall we not then deem him worthy of all praise for being content to\noccupy such a position? Employed to guide the party, he had hoped to\nshare the confidence of its leader, but the latter had already other\nfriends, jealous of his attentions; he had another hunter, jealous of\nhis own reputation in his profession, and of his knowledge of the\ncountry; then there were two youths in the party, one of whom wished to\nbe amused, and both to be instructed; and in becoming the general\nprovidence of the party, which is scarcely thought of, because it seems\nto come of itself, we find the reason why Fremont's first narrative\nshows Carson so little like the brave, bold hunter we have known him\nhitherto. We allude to two lads, one a son of the Hon. T. H. Benton, who\naccompanied him out during a portion of his first expedition, and for\nwhom it is evident he made many sacrifices.\n\nBuffalo were numerous, and they saw many tracks of the grizzly bear\namong the cherry trees and currant bushes that lined the river banks,\nwhile antelope bounded fitfully before them over the plains.\n\nBut the reader is already familiar with this condition of things in the\ncountry, because the hero of our story has been here before, and to\napply the term explorer here to Fremont, and to call this an exploring\nexpedition, seems farcical, only as we remember that there had not been\nyet any written scientific description of this region, so long familiar\nto the trappers, and to none more than Carson.\n\nThey had now approached the road at what is called the South Pass. The\nascent had been so gradual, that, with all the intimate knowledge\npossessed by Carson, who had made this country his home for seventeen\nyears, they were obliged to watch very closely to find the place at\nwhich they reached the culminating point. This was between two low\nhills, rising on either hand fifty or sixty feet.\n\nApproaching it from the mouth of the Sweet Water, a sandy plain, one\nhundred and twenty miles long, conducts, by a gradual and regular\nascent, to the summit, about seven thousand feet above the sea; and the\ntraveler, without being reminded of any change by toilsome ascents,\nsuddenly finds himself on the waters which flow to the Pacific ocean. By\nthe route they had traveled, the distance from Fort Laramie was three\nhundred and twenty miles, or nine hundred and fifty from the mouth of\nthe Kansas.\n\nThey continued on till they came to a tributary of the Green River, and\nthen followed the stream up to a lake at its source in the mountains,\nand had here a view of extraordinary magnificence and grandeur, beyond\nwhat is seen in any part of the Alps, and here, beside the placid lake,\nthey left the mules, intending to ascend the mountains on foot, and\nmeasure the altitude of the highest point.\n\nFremont had wished to make a circuit of a few miles in the mountains,\nand visit the sources of the four great streams, the Colorado, the\nColumbia, the Missouri, and the Platte, but game was scarce, and his men\nwere not accustomed to their entirely meat fare, and were discontented.\n\nWith fifteen picked men, mounted on the best mules, was commenced the\nascent of the mountains, and amid views of most romantic beauty,\noverlooking deep valleys with lakes nestled in them, surrounded by\nprecipitous ridges, hundreds of feet high, they wound their way up to\nthe summits of the ridges, to descend again, and plod along the valley\nof a little stream on the other side.\n\nFor two days they continued upon their mules, through this magnificent\nregion, when the peak appeared so near, it was decided to leave the\nmules beside a little lake, and proceed on foot; and as the day was\nwarm, some of the party left their coats. But at night they had reached\nthe limit of the piney region, when they were ten thousand feet above\nthe waters of the Gulf of Mexico, and still the peak rose far above\nthem, so that they camped without suffering, in a little green ravine,\nbordered with plants in bloom, and the next morning continued the\nascent. Carson had led this day, and succeeded in reaching the summit of\na snowy peak, supposed to be the highest, but saw from it the one they\nhad been seeking, towering eight hundred or a thousand feet above him.\nThey now descended off the snow, and sent back for mules, and food, and\nblankets, and by a blazing fire all slept soundly until morning.\n\nCarson had understood that they had now done with the mountains, and by\ndirections had gone at day break to the camp, taking with him all but\nfour or five men, who were to remain with Fremont, and take back the\nmules and instruments. But after their departure, the programme was\nchanged, and now understanding the topography of the country better, the\nparty left, continued with the mules as far as possible, and then on\nfoot, over chasms, leaping from point to point of crags, until they\ncame, with extreme difficulty, in the intense cold and rarified air, to\nthe height of the crest, and Fremont stood alone upon the pinnacle, and\nable to tell the story of this victory of Science to the world. He had\nbeen sick the day before, and Carson could not urge the prosecution of\nthe enterprise, to reach the highest point, when the leader of the\nexpedition was too ill to climb the summit, and therefore had not\nobjected to the arrangement of returning to the camp.\n\nBut we have nothing more to say. The reader of the story, as Fremont\ntells it, wishes there were evidences of higher magnanimity, which are\nwanting. Carson finds no fault, seems to notice none. He performed\nfaithfully the duty assigned to him, utters no complaint, but is content\nin carrying out a subordinate's first obligation, that of obeying\norders.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n\nFremont succeeded, but not without much danger and suffering, in\nreaching the highest peak of the Rocky Mountains, and waved over it his\ncountry's flag, in triumph. The return trip to Fort Laramie was not\nmarked by any incident of special note, and Carson's services being no\nlonger required, he left his commander here, and set out for New Mexico.\nIn 1843, he married a Spanish lady, and his time was occasionally\nemployed by Messrs. Bent and St. Vrain, his old and tried friends.\n\nWhile thus engaged at Bent's Fort, he learned that his old commander and\nfriend had passed two days before, on another exploring expedition, and\nbeing naturally anxious to see again one to whom he was so strongly\nattached, he started on his trail, and after following it for seventy\nmiles, came up with him. The meeting was mutually pleasing, but resulted\nquite contrary to Carson's anticipations, for, instead of merely\nmeeting and parting, Fremont, anxious to regain the services of one\nwhose experience, judgment, and courage, had been so well tried,\npersuaded him to join this second expedition, and again we find him\nlaunched as guide and hunter.\n\nCarson was at once despatched to the fort with directions to procure a\nsupply of mules which the party much needed, and to meet him with the\nanimals at St. Vrain's Fort. This was accomplished to Fremont's entire\nsatisfaction. The object of this second exploration was to connect the\nsurvey of the previous year with those of Commander Wilkes on the\nPacific coast, but Fremont's first destination was the Great Salt Lake,\nwhich has since become so famous in the annals of our country.\n\nFremont's description of this journey, and of his passage across the\nlake in a frail India rubber boat, which threatened at every moment\ndestruction to the entire party, is so true to life, and so highly\ninteresting, we quote it entire. The party reached, on the 21st of\nAugust, the Bear River, which was the principal tributary of the lake,\nand from this point we quote Fremont's words:\n\n\"We were now entering a region, which for us, possessed a strange and\nextraordinary interest. We were upon the waters of the famous lake\nwhich forms a salient point among the remarkable geographical features\nof the country, and around which the vague and superstitious accounts of\nthe trappers had thrown a delightful obscurity, which we anticipated\npleasure in dispelling, but which, in the meantime, left a crowded field\nfor the exercise of our imagination.\n\n\"In our occasional conversations with the few old hunters who had\nvisited the region, it had been a subject of frequent speculation; and\nthe wonders which they related were not the less agreeable because they\nwere highly exaggerated and impossible.\n\n\"Hitherto this lake had been seen only by trappers, who were wandering\nthrough the country in search of new beaver streams, caring very little\nfor geography; its islands had never been visited; and none were to be\nfound who had entirely made the circuit of its shores, and no\ninstrumental observations, or geographical survey of any description,\nhad ever been made anywhere in the neighboring region. It was generally\nsupposed that it had no visible outlet; but, among the trappers,\nincluding those in my own camp, were many who believed that somewhere on\nits surface was a terrible whirlpool, through which its waters found\ntheir way to the ocean by some subterranean communication. All these\nthings had been made a frequent subject of discussion in our desultory\nconversations around the fires at night; and my own mind had become\ntolerably well filled with their indefinite pictures, and insensibly\n with their romantic descriptions, which, in the pleasure of\nexcitement, I was well disposed to believe, and half expected to\nrealize.\n\n\"In about six miles' travel from our encampment, we reached one of the\npoints in our journey to which we had always looked forward with great\ninterest--the famous Beer Springs, which, on account of the effervescing\ngas and acid taste, had received their name from the voyageurs and\ntrappers of the country, who, in the midst of their rude and hard lives,\nare fond of finding some fancied resemblance to the luxuries they rarely\nhave the good fortune to enjoy.\n\n\"Although somewhat disappointed in the expectations which various\ndescriptions had led me to form of unusual beauty of situation and\nscenery, I found it altogether a place of very great interest; and a\ntraveler for the first time in a volcanic region remains in a constant\nexcitement, and at every step is arrested by something remarkable and\nnew. There is a confusion of interesting objects gathered together in a\nsmall space. Around the place of encampment the Beer Springs were\nnumerous; but, as far as we could ascertain, were entirely confined to\nthat locality in the bottom. In the bed of the river, in front, for a\nspace of several hundred yards, they were very abundant; the\neffervescing gas rising up and agitating the water in countless bubbling\ncolumns. In the vicinity round about were numerous springs of an\nentirely different and equally marked mineral character. In a rather\npicturesque spot, about 1,300 yards below our encampment and immediately\non the river bank, is the most remarkable spring of the place. In an\nopening on the rock, a white column of scattered water is thrown up, in\nform like a _jet-d'eau_, to a variable height of about three feet, and,\nthough it is maintained in a constant supply, its greatest height is\nattained only at regular intervals, according to the action of the force\nbelow. It is accompanied by a subterranean noise, which, together with\nthe motion of the water, makes very much the impression of a steamboat\nin motion; and, without knowing that it had been already previously so\ncalled, we gave to it the name of the Steamboat Spring. The rock through\nwhich it is forced is slightly raised in a convex manner, and gathered\nat the opening into an urn-mouthed form, and is evidently formed by\ncontinued deposition from the water, and  bright red by oxide of\niron.\n\n\"It is a hot spring, and the water has a pungent, disagreeable metallic\ntaste, leaving a burning effect on the tongue. Within perhaps two yards\nof the _jet-d'eau_, is a small hole of about an inch in diameter,\nthrough which, at regular intervals, escapes a blast of hot air with a\nlight wreath of smoke, accompanied by a regular noise.\n\n\"As they approached the lake, they passed over a country of bold and\nstriking scenery, and through several 'gates,' as they called certain\nnarrow valleys. The 'standing rock' is a huge column, occupying the\ncentre of one of these passes. It fell from a height of perhaps 3,000\nfeet, and happened to remain in its present upright position.\n\n\"At last, on the 6th of September, the object for which their eyes had\nlong been straining was brought to view.\n\n\"_Sept. 6._--This time we reached the butte without any difficulty; and,\nascending to the summit, immediately at our feet beheld the object of\nour anxious search, the waters of the Inland Sea, stretching in still\nand solitary grandeur far beyond the limit of our vision. It was one of\nthe great points of the exploration; and as we looked eagerly over the\nlake in the first emotions of excited pleasure, I am doubtful if the\nfollowers of Balboa felt more enthusiasm when, from the heights of the\nAndes, they saw for the first time the great Western Ocean. It was\ncertainly a magnificent object, and a noble _terminus_ to this part of\nour expedition; and to travelers so long shut up among mountain ranges,\na sudden view over the expanse of silent waters had in it something\nsublime. Several large islands raised their high rocky heads out of the\nwaves; but whether or not they were timbered was still left to our\nimagination, as the distance was too great to determine if the dark hues\nupon them were woodland or naked rock. During the day the clouds had\nbeen gathering black over the mountains to the westward, and while we\nwere looking, a storm burst down with sudden fury upon the lake, and\nentirely hid the islands from our view.\n\n\"On the edge of the stream a favorable spot was selected in a grove, and\nfelling the timber, we made a strong _corral_, or horse-pen, for the\nanimals, and a little fort for the people who were to remain. We were\nnow probably in the country of the Utah Indians, though none reside upon\nthe lake. The India-rubber boat was repaired with prepared cloth and\ngum, and filled with air, in readiness for the next day.\n\n\"The provisions which Carson had brought with him being now exhausted,\nand our stock reduced to a small quantity of roots, I determined to\nretain with me only a sufficient number of men for the execution of our\ndesign; and accordingly seven were sent back to Fort Hall, under the\nguidance of Francois Lajeunesse, who, having been for many years a\ntrapper in the country, was an experienced mountaineer.\n\n\"We formed now but a small family. With Mr. Preuss and myself, Carson,\nBernier, and Basil Lajeunesse had been selected for the boat\nexpedition--the first ever attempted on this interior sea; and Badau,\nwith Derosier, and Jacob (the <DW52> man), were to be left in charge of\nthe camp. We were favored with most delightful weather. To-night there\nwas a brilliant sunset of golden orange and green, which left the\nwestern sky clear and beautifully pure; but clouds in the east made me\nlose an occultation. The summer frogs were singing around us, and the\nevening was very pleasant, with a temperature of 60 deg.--a night of a more\nsouthern autumn. For our supper, we had _yampah_, the most agreeably\nflavored of the roots, seasoned by a small fat duck, which had come in\nthe way of Jacob's rifle. Around our fire to-night were many\nspeculations on what to-morrow would bring forth; and in our busy\nconjectures we fancied that we should find every one of the large\nislands a tangled wilderness of trees and shrubbery, teeming with game\nof every description that the neighboring region afforded, and which the\nfoot of a white man or Indian had never violated. Frequently, during the\nday, clouds had rested on the summits of their lofty mountains, and we\nbelieved that we should find clear streams and springs of fresh water;\nand we indulged in anticipations of the luxurious repasts with which we\nwere to indemnify ourselves for past privations. Neither, in our\ndiscussions, were the whirlpool and other mysterious dangers forgotten,\nwhich Indian and hunters' stories attributed to this unexplored lake.\nThe men had discovered that, instead of being strongly sewed, (like that\nof the preceding year, which had so triumphantly rode the canyons of the\nUpper Great Platte,) our present boat was only pasted together in a very\ninsecure manner, the maker having been allowed so little time in the\nconstruction that he was obliged to crowd the labor of two months into\nseveral days. The insecurity of the boat was sensibly felt by us; and\nmingled with the enthusiasm and excitement that we all felt at the\nprospect of an undertaking which had never before been accomplished, was\na certain impression of danger, sufficient to give a serious character\nto our conversation. The momentary view which had been had of the lake\nthe day before, its great extent, and rugged islands, dimly seen amidst\nthe dark waters in the obscurity of the sudden storm, were well\ncalculated to heighten the idea of undefined danger with which the lake\nwas generally associated.\n\n\"_Sept. 8._--A calm, clear day, with a sunrise temperature of 41 deg. In\nview of our present enterprise, a part of the equipment of the boat had\nbeen made to consist of three air-tight bags, about three feet long, and\ncapable each of containing five gallons. These had been filled with\nwater the night before, and were now placed in the boat, with our\nblankets and instruments, consisting of a sextant, telescope,\nspy-glass, thermometer, and barometer.\n\n\"In the course of the morning we discovered that two of the cylinders\nleaked so much as to require one man constantly at the bellows, to keep\nthem sufficiently full of air to support the boat. Although we had made\na very early start, we loitered so much on the way--stopping every now\nand then, and floating silently along, to get a shot at a goose or a\nduck--that it was late in the day when we reached the outlet. The river\nhere divided into several branches, filled with fluvials, and so very\nshallow that it was with difficulty we could get the boat along, being\nobliged to get out and wade. We encamped on a low point among rushes and\nyoung willows, where there was a quantity of driftwood, which served for\nour fires. The evening was mild and clear; we made a pleasant bed of the\nyoung willows; and geese and ducks enough had been killed for an\nabundant supper at night, and for breakfast next morning. The stillness\nof the night was enlivened by millions of water-fowl.\n\n\"_Sept. 9._--The day was clear and calm; the thermometer at sunrise at\n49 deg. As is usual with the trappers on the eve of any enterprise, our\npeople had made dreams, and theirs happened to be a bad one--one which\nalways preceded evil--and consequently they looked very gloomy this\nmorning; but we hurried through our breakfast, in order to make an early\nstart, and have all the day before us for our adventure. The channel in\na short distance became so shallow that our navigation was at an end,\nbeing merely a sheet of soft mud, with a few inches of water, and\nsometimes none at all, forming the low-water shore of the lake. All this\nplace was absolutely covered with flocks of screaming plover. We took\noff our clothes, and, getting overboard, commenced dragging the\nboat--making, by this operation, a very curious trail, and a very\ndisagreeable smell in stirring up the mud, as we sank above the knee at\nevery step. The water here was still fresh, with only an insipid and\ndisagreeable taste, probably derived from the bed of fetid mud. After\nproceeding in this way about a mile, we came to a small black ridge on\nthe bottom, beyond which the water became suddenly salt, beginning\ngradually to deepen, and the bottom was sandy and firm. It was a\nremarkable division, separating the fresh water of the rivers from the\nbriny water of the lake, which was entirely _saturated_ with common\nsalt. Pushing our little vessel across the narrow boundary, we sprang\non board, and at length were afloat on the waters of the unknown sea.\n\n\"We did not steer for the mountainous islands, but directed our course\ntowards a lower one, which it had been decided we should first visit,\nthe summit of which was formed like the crater at the upper end of Bear\nRiver valley. So long as we could touch the bottom with our paddles, we\nwere very gay; but gradually, as the water deepened, we became more\nstill in our frail batteau of gum cloth distended with air, and with\npasted seams. Although the day was very calm, there was a considerable\nswell on the lake; and there were white patches of foam on the surface,\nwhich were slowly moving to the southward, indicating the set of a\ncurrent in that direction, and recalling the recollection of the\nwhirlpool stories. The water continued to deepen as we advanced; the\nlake becoming almost transparently clear, of an extremely beautiful\nbright green color; and the spray, which was thrown into the boat and\nover our clothes, was directly converted into a crust of common salt,\nwhich covered also our hands and arms. 'Captain,' said Carson, who for\nsome time had been looking suspiciously at some whitening appearances\noutside the nearest islands, 'what are those yonder?--won't you just\ntake a look with the glass?' We ceased paddling for a moment, and found\nthem to be the caps of the waves that were beginning to break under the\nforce of a strong breeze that was coming up the lake. The form of the\nboat seemed to be an admirable one, and it rode on the waves like a\nwater bird; but, at the same time, it was extremely slow in its\nprogress. When we were a little more than half away across the reach,\ntwo of the divisions between the cylinders gave way, and it required the\nconstant use of the bellows to keep in a sufficient quantity of air. For\na long time we scarcely seemed to approach our island, but gradually we\nworked across the rougher sea of the open channel, into the smoother\nwater under the lee of the island, and began to discover that what we\ntook for a long row of pelicans, ranged on the beach, were only low\ncliffs whitened with salt by the spray of the waves; and about noon we\nreached the shore, the transparency of the water enabling us to see the\nbottom at a considerable depth.\n\n\"The cliffs and masses of rock along the shore were whitened by an\nincrustation of salt where the waves dashed up against them; and the\nevaporating water, which had been left in holes and hollows on the\nsurface of the rocks, was covered with a crust of salt about one-eighth\nof an inch in thickness.\n\n\"Carrying with us the barometer and other instruments, in the afternoon\nwe ascended to the highest point of the island--a bare, rocky peak, 800\nfeet above the lake. Standing on the summit, we enjoyed an extended view\nof the lake, inclosed in a basin of rugged mountains, which sometimes\nleft marshy flats and extensive bottoms between them and the shore, and\nin other places came directly down into the water with bold and\nprecipitous bluffs.\n\n\"As we looked over the vast expanse of water spread out beneath us, and\nstrained our eyes along the silent shores over which hung so much doubt\nand uncertainty, and which were so full of interest to us, I could\nhardly repress the almost irresistible desire to continue our\nexploration; but the lengthening snow on the mountains was a plain\nindication of the advancing season, and our frail linen boat appeared so\ninsecure that I was unwilling to trust our lives to the uncertainties of\nthe lake. I therefore unwillingly resolved to terminate our survey here,\nand remain satisfied for the present with what we had been able to add\nto the unknown geography of the region. We felt pleasure also in\nremembering that we were the first who, in the traditionary annals of\nthe country, had visited the islands, and broken, with the cheerful\nsound of human voices, the long solitude of the place.\n\n\"I accidentally left on the summit the brass cover to the object end of\nmy spy-glass; and as it will probably remain there undisturbed by\nIndians, it will furnish matter of speculation to some future traveler.\nIn our excursions about the island, we did not meet with any kind of\nanimal; a magpie, and another larger bird, probably attracted by the\nsmoke of our fire, paid us a visit from the shore, and were the only\nliving things seen during our stay. The rock constituting the cliffs\nalong the shore where we were encamped, is a talcous rock, or steatite,\nwith brown spar.\n\n\"At sunset, the temperature was 70 deg. We had arrived just in time to\nobtain a meridian altitude of the sun, and other observations were\nobtained this evening, which place our camp in latitude 41 deg. 102' 42\",\nand longitude 112 deg. 21' 05\" from Greenwich. From a discussion of the\nbarometrical observations made during our stay on the shores of the\nlake, we have adopted 4,200 feet for its elevation above the Gulf of\nMexico. In the first disappointment we felt from the dissipation of our\ndream of the fertile islands, I called this Disappointment Island.\n\n\"Out of the driftwood, we made ourselves pleasant little lodges, open to\nthe water, and, after having kindled large fires to excite the wonder of\nany straggling savage on the lake shores, lay down, for the first time\nin a long journey, in perfect security; no one thinking about his arms.\nThe evening was extremely bright and pleasant; but the wind rose during\nthe night, and the waves began to break heavily on the shore, making our\nIsland tremble. I had not expected in our inland journey to hear the\nroar of an ocean surf; and the strangeness of our situation, and the\nexcitement we felt in the associated interests of the place, made this\none of the most interesting nights I remember during our long\nexpedition.\n\n\"In the morning, the surf was breaking heavily on the shore, and we were\nup early. The lake was dark and agitated, and we hurried through our\nscanty breakfast, and embarked--having first filled one of the buckets\nwith water from which it was intended to make salt. The sun had risen by\nthe time we were ready to start; and it was blowing a strong gale of\nwind, almost directly off the shore, and raising a considerable sea, in\nwhich our boat strained very much. It roughened as we got away from the\nisland, and it required all the efforts of the men to make any head\nagainst the wind and sea; the gale rising with the sun; and there was\ndanger of being blown into one of the open reaches beyond the island. At\nthe distance of half a mile from the beach, the depth of water was\nsixteen feet, with a clay bottom; but, as the working of the boat was\nvery severe labor, and during the operation of sounding, it was\nnecessary to cease paddling, during which, the boat lost considerable\nway, I was unwilling to discourage the men, and reluctantly gave up my\nintention of ascertaining the depth and character of the bed. There was\na general shout in the boat when we found ourselves in one fathom, and\nwe soon after landed on a low point of mud, where we unloaded the boat,\nand carried the baggage to firmer ground.\"\n\nRoughly evaporated over the fire, the five gallons of water from this\nlake yielded fourteen pints of very fine-grained and very white salt, of\nwhich the whole lake may be regarded as a saturated solution.\n\nOn the 12th they resumed their journey, returning by the same route, and\nat night had a supper of sea gulls, which Carson killed near the lake.\n\nThe next day they continued up the river, hunger making them very quiet\nand peaceable; and there was rarely an oath to be heard in the camp--not\neven a solitary _enfant de garce_. It was time for the men with\nan expected supply of provisions from Fitzpatrick to be in the\nneighborhood; and the gun was fired at evening, to give notice of their\nlocality, but met with no response.\n\nThey killed to-day a fat young horse, purchased from the Indians, and\nwere very soon restored to gaiety and good humor. Fremont and Mr.\nPreuss, not having yet overcome the prejudices of civilization, did not\npartake, preferring to turn in supperless.\n\nThe large number of emigrants constantly encamping here, had driven the\ngame into the mountains, so that not an elk or antelope was seen upon\nthe route; but an antelope was purchased from an Indian, for a little\npowder and some ball, and they camped early to enjoy an abundant supper;\nwhich, while not yet prepared, was interrupted by the arrival of a\ntrapper, who startled and rejoiced all by announcing the glad news, that\nMr. Fitzpatrick was in camp a little way from them, with a plentiful\nsupply of provisions, flour, rice, dried meat, and even butter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\n\nThe difficulty, in view of the approaching winter season, of supporting\na large party, determined Fremont to send back a number of the men who\nhad become satisfied that they were not fitted for the laborious service\nand frequent privation to which they were necessarily exposed, and which\nthere was reason to believe would become more severe in the further\nextension of the voyage. They were accordingly called together, and\nafter being fully informed as to the nature of the duties imposed upon\nthem, and the hardships they would have to undergo, eleven of the party\nconsented to abandon Fremont, and return; but Carson was not one of\nthese.\n\nTaking leave of the homeward party, they resumed their journey down the\nvalley, the weather being very cold, and the rain coming in hard gusts,\nwhich the wind blew directly in their faces. They forded the Portneuf in\na storm of rain, the water in the river being frequently up to the\naxles.\n\nFremont in his official report thus enumerates some of the difficulties\nand sufferings the party had to encounter:\n\n\"_September 27._--It was now no longer possible, as in our previous\njourney, to travel regularly every day, and find at any moment a\nconvenient place for repose at noon, or a camp at night; but the halting\nplaces were now generally fixed along the road, by the nature of the\ncountry, at places where, with water, there was a little scanty grass.\nSince leaving the American falls, the road had frequently been very bad;\nthe many short, steep ascents exhausting the strength of our worn out\nanimals, requiring always at such places the assistance of the men to\nget up each cart, one by one; and our progress with twelve or fourteen\nwheeled carriages, though light and made for the purpose, in such a\nrocky country, was extremely slow.\n\n\"Carson had met here three or four buffalo bulls, two of which were\nkilled. They were among the pioneers which had made the experiment of\ncolonizing in the valley of the Columbia.\n\n\"Opposite to the encampment, a subterranean river bursts out directly\nfrom the face of the escarpment, and falls in white foam to the river\nbelow. The main river is enclosed with mural precipices, which form its\ncharacteristic feature, along a great portion of its course. A\nmelancholy and strange-looking country--one of fracture, and violence,\nand fire.\n\n\"We had brought with us, when we separated from the camp, a large gaunt\nox, in appearance very poor; but, being killed to-night, to the great\njoy of the people, he was found to be remarkably fat. As usual at such\noccurrences, the evening was devoted to gaiety and feasting; abundant\nfare now made an epoch among us; and in this laborious life, in such a\ncountry as this, our men had but little else to enjoy.\"\n\nOn arriving at the ford where the road crosses to the right bank of\nSnake River, an Indian was hired to conduct them through the ford, which\nproved impracticable; the water sweeping away the howitzer and nearly\ndrowning the mules. Fortunately they had a resource in a boat, which was\nfilled with air and launched; and at seven o'clock were safely encamped\non the opposite bank, the animals swimming across, and the carriage,\nhowitzer, and baggage of the camp being carried over in the boat.\n\nIt was while at Fort Boise where Fremont first met Mons. Payette, an\nemployee of the Hudson Bay Co., that he came across the \"Fish-eating\nIndians,\" a class lower if possible in the scale of humanity than the\n\"Diggers.\" He says:\n\n\"Many little accounts and scattered histories, together with an\nacquaintance which I gradually acquired of their modes of life, had left\nthe aboriginal inhabitants of this vast region pictured in my mind as a\nrace of people whose great and constant occupation was the means of\nprocuring a subsistence.\n\n\"While the summer weather and the salmon lasted, they lived contentedly\nand happily, scattered along the different streams where the fish\nwere to be found; and as soon as the winter snows began to fall,\nlittle smokes would be seen rising among the mountains, where they\nwould be found in miserable groups, starving out the winter; and\nsometimes, according to the general belief, reduced to the horror of\ncannibalism--the strong, of course, preying on the weak. Certain it is,\nthey are driven to an extremity for food, and eat every insect, and\nevery creeping thing, however loathsome and repulsive. Snails, lizards,\nants--all are devoured with the readiness and greediness of mere\nanimals.\"\n\nThe remainder of the overland journey, until they reached Nez Perce, one\nof the trading establishments of the Hudson Bay Company, was not marked\nby any incident bringing Carson into special notice.\n\nHaving now completed the connection of his explorations with those of\nCommander Wilkes, and which was the limit of his instructions, Fremont\ncommenced preparations for his return, Carson being left at the _Dalles_\nwith directions to occupy the people in making pack-saddles, and\nrefitting the equippage; while Fremont continued his journey to the\nMission, a few miles down the Columbia River, where he passed a few days\nin comparative luxury.\n\nThe few days of rest, added to an abundance of wholesome food, had so\nfar recruited the party, that they were soon prepared to encounter and\nconquer the difficulties of this overland journey in mid-winter. Three\nprincipal objects were indicated by Fremont for exploration and\nresearch, and which, despite the obstacles which the season must so\nsurely interpose, he had determined to visit.\n\nThe first of these points was the _Tlamath_ Lake, on the table-land\nbetween the head of Fall River, which comes to the Columbia, and the\nSacramento, which goes to the bay of San Francisco; and from which lake\na river of the same name makes its way westwardly direct to the ocean.\n\nFrom this lake their course was intended to be about southeast, to a\nreported lake called Mary's, at some days' journey in the Great Basin;\nand thence, still on southeast, to the reputed _Buenaventura_ River,\nwhich has had a place in so many maps, and countenanced the belief of\nthe existence of a great river flowing from the Rocky Mountains to the\nBay of San Francisco. From the Buenaventura, the next point was intended\nto be in that section of the Rocky Mountains which includes the heads of\nArkansas River, and of the opposite waters of the Californian Gulf; and\nthence down the Arkansas to Bent's Fort, and home. This was the\nprojected line of return--a great part of it absolutely new to\ngeographical, botanical, and geological science--and the subject of\nreports in relation to lakes, rivers, deserts, and savages, hardly above\nthe condition of mere wild animals, which inflamed desire to know what\nthis _terra incognita_ really contained.\n\nIt was a serious enterprise at the commencement of winter to undertake\nthe traverse of such a region, and with a party consisting only of\ntwenty-five persons, and they of many nations--American, French, German,\nCanadian, Indian, and --and most of them young, several being\nunder twenty-one years of age. All knew that a strange country was to be\nexplored, and dangers and hardships to be encountered; but no one\nblenched at the prospect. On the contrary, courage and confidence\nanimated the whole party. Cheerfulness, readiness, subordination, prompt\nobedience, characterized all; nor did any extremity of peril and\nprivation, to which they were afterwards exposed, ever belie, or\nderogate from, the fine spirit of this brave and generous commencement.\n\nFor the support of the party, he had provided at Vancouver a supply of\nprovisions for not less than three months, consisting principally of\nflour, peas, and tallow--the latter being used in cooking; and, in\naddition to this, they had purchased at the mission, some California\ncattle, which were to be driven on the hoof. They had one hundred and\nfour mules and horses--part of the latter procured from the Indians\nabout the mission; and for the sustenance of which, their reliance was\nupon the grass which might be found, and the soft porous wood, which was\nto be substituted when there was no grass.\n\nMr. Fitzpatrick, with Mr. Talbot and the remainder of the party, arrived\non the 21st; and the camp was now closely engaged in the labor of\npreparation. Mr. Perkins succeeded in obtaining as a guide, to the\nTlamath Lake, two Indians--one of whom had been there, and bore the\nmarks of several wounds he had received from some of the Indians in the\nneighborhood.\n\nTlamath Lake, however, on examination, proved to be simply a shallow\nbasin, which, for a short period at the time of melting snows, is\ncovered with water from the neighboring mountains; but this probably\nsoon runs off, and leaves for the remainder of the year a green\nsavannah, through the midst of which, the river Tlamath, which flows to\nthe ocean, winds its way to the outlet on the southwestern side.\n\nAfter leaving Tlamath Lake the party headed for Mary's Lake, which,\nhowever, after incredible sufferings and hardships, they failed to\ndiscover, but they found one which was appropriately christened \"Pyramid\nLake,\" and here the record of toils, dangers and sufferings, undergone\nby the whole party, can only be told in the language of him, who\ncheerfully toiled and suffered with those under his command, and it is\nnot too much to say, that with the exception of the \"Strain expedition,\"\nacross the Isthmus of Darien, no party of men have ever lived to narrate\nsuch sad experiences. We therefore let Fremont, in his own modest way,\ntell the tale of his own and his companions' sufferings.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n\n\"_January 3._--A fog, so dense that we could not see a hundred yards,\ncovered the country, and the men that were sent out after the horses\nwere bewildered and lost; and we were consequently detained at camp\nuntil late in the day. Our situation had now become a serious one. We\nhad reached and run over the position where, according to the best maps\nin my possession, we should have found Mary's Lake or river. We were\nevidently on the verge of the desert which had been reported to us; and\nthe appearance of the country was so forbidding, that I was afraid to\nenter it, and determined to bear away to the southward, keeping close\nalong the mountains, in the full expectation of reaching the\nBuenaventura River. This morning I put every man in the camp on\nfoot--myself, of course, among the rest--and in this manner lightened by\ndistribution the loads of the animals.\n\n\"_January 4._--The fog to-day was still more dense, and the people again\nwere bewildered. We traveled a few miles around the western point of the\nridge, and encamped where there were a few tufts of grass, but no water.\nOur animals now were in a very alarming state, and there was increasing\nanxiety in the camp.\n\n\"_January 5._--Same dense fog continued, and one of the mules died in\ncamp this morning. We moved to a place where there was a little better\ngrass, about two miles distant. Taplin, one of our best men, who had\ngone out on a scouting excursion, ascended a mountain near by, and to\nhis great surprise emerged into a region of bright sunshine, in which\nthe upper parts of the mountain were glowing, while below all was\nobscured in the darkest fog.\n\n\"_January 6._--The fog continued the same, and with Mr. Preuss and\nCarson, I ascended the mountain, to sketch the leading features of the\ncountry, as some indication of our future route, while Mr. Fitzpatrick\nexplored the country below. In a very short distance we had ascended\nabove the mist, but the view obtained was not very gratifying. The fog\nhad partially cleared off from below when we reached the summit; and in\nthe south-west corner of a basin communicating with that in which we\nhad encamped, we saw a lofty column of smoke, 16 miles distant,\nindicating the presence of hot springs. There, also, appeared to be the\noutlet of those draining channels of the country; and, as such places\nafforded always more or less grass, I determined to steer in that\ndirection. The ridge we had ascended appeared to be composed of\nfragments of white granite. We saw here traces of sheep and antelope.\n\n\"Entering the neighboring valley, and crossing the bed of another lake,\nafter a hard day's travel over ground of yielding mud and sand, we\nreached the springs, where we found an abundance of grass, which, though\nonly tolerably good, made this place, with reference to the past, a\nrefreshing and agreeable spot.\n\n\"This is the most extraordinary locality of hot springs we had met\nduring the journey. The basin of the largest one has a circumference of\nseveral hundred feet; but there is at one extremity a circular space of\nabout fifteen feet in diameter, entirely occupied by the boiling water.\nIt boils up at irregular intervals, and with much noise. The water is\nclear, and the spring deep; a pole about sixteen feet long was easily\nimmersed in the centre, but we had no means of forming a good idea of\nthe depth.\n\n\"Taking with me Godey and Carson, I made to-day a thorough exploration\nof the neighboring valleys, and found in a ravine in the bordering\nmountains a good camping place, where was water in springs, and a\nsufficient quantity of grass for a night. Overshadowing the springs were\nsome trees of the sweet cotton-wood, which, after a long interval of\nabsence, we saw again with pleasure, regarding them as harbingers of a\nbetter country. To us, they were eloquent of green prairies and buffalo.\nWe found here a broad and plainly marked trail, on which there were\ntracks of horses, and we appeared to have regained one of the\nthoroughfares which pass by the watering places of the country. On the\nwestern mountains of the valley, with which this of the boiling spring\ncommunicates, we remarked scattered cedars--probably an indication that\nwe were on the borders of the timbered region extending to the Pacific.\nWe reached the camp at sunset, after a day's ride of about forty miles.\n\n\"_January 10._--We continued our reconnoissance ahead, pursuing a south\ndirection in the basin along the ridge; the camp following slowly\nafter. On a large trail there is never any doubt of finding suitable\nplaces for encampments. We reached the end of the basin, where we found,\nin a hollow of the mountain which enclosed it, an abundance of good\nbunch grass. Leaving a signal for the party to encamp, we continued our\nway up the hollow, intending to see what lay beyond the mountain. The\nhollow was several miles long, forming a good pass, the snow deepening\nto about a foot as we neared the summit. Beyond, a defile between the\nmountains descended rapidly about two thousand feet; and, filling up all\nthe lower space, was a sheet of green water, some twenty miles broad. It\nbroke upon our eyes like the ocean. The neighboring peaks rose high\nabove us, and we ascended one of them to obtain a better view. The waves\nwere curling in the breeze, and their dark-green color showed it to be a\nbody of deep water. For a long time we sat enjoying the view, for we had\nbecome fatigued with mountains, and the free expanse of moving waves was\nvery grateful. It was set like a gem in the mountains, which, from our\nposition, seemed to enclose it almost entirely. At the western end it\ncommunicated with the line of basins we had left a few days since; and\non the opposite side it swept a ridge of snowy mountains, the foot of\nthe great Sierra. Its position at first inclined us to believe it Mary's\nLake, but the rugged mountains were so entirely discordant with\ndescriptions of its low rushy shores and open country, that we concluded\nit some unknown body of water; which it afterwards proved to be.\n\n\"We saw before us, in descending from the pass, a great continuous\nrange, along which stretched the valley of the river; the lower parts\nsteep, and dark with pines, while above it was hidden in clouds of snow.\nThis, we felt instantly satisfied was the central ridge of the Sierra\nNevada, the great California mountain, which only now intervened between\nus and the waters of the bay. We had made a forced march of 26 miles,\nand three mules had given out on the road. Up to this point, with the\nexception of two stolen by Indians, we had lost none of the horses which\nhad been brought from the Columbia river, and a number of these were\nstill strong and in tolerably good order. We had now sixty-seven animals\nin the band.\n\n\"We had scarcely lighted our fires, when the camp was crowded with\nnearly naked Indians. There were two who appeared particularly\nintelligent--one, a somewhat old man. He told me that, before the snows\nfell, it was six sleeps to the place where the whites lived, but that\nnow it was impossible to cross the mountain on account of the deep snow;\nand showing us, as the others had done, that it was over our heads, he\nurged us strongly to follow the course of the river, which he said would\nconduct us to a lake in which there were many large fish. There, he\nsaid, were many people; there was no snow on the ground; and we might\nremain there until spring. From their descriptions, we were enabled\nto judge that we had encamped on the upper water of the Salmon-trout\nRiver. It is hardly necessary to say that our communication was only by\nsigns, as we understood nothing of their language; but they spoke,\nnotwithstanding, rapidly and vehemently, explaining what they considered\nthe folly of our intentions, and urging us to go down to the lake.\n_Tah-ve_, a word signifying snow, we very soon learned to know, from its\nfrequent repetition. I told him that the men and the horses were strong,\nand that we would break a road through the snow; and spreading before\nhim our bales of scarlet cloth, and trinkets, showed him what we would\ngive for a guide. It was necessary to obtain one, if possible; for I\nhad determined here to attempt the passage of the mountain. Pulling a\nbunch of grass from the ground, after a short discussion among\nthemselves, the old man made us comprehend, that if we could break\nthrough the snow, at the end of three days we would come down upon\ngrass, which he showed us would be about six inches high, and where the\nground was entirely free. So far he said he had been in hunting for elk;\nbut beyond that (and he closed his eyes) he had seen nothing; but there\nwas one among them who had been to the whites, and, going out of the\nlodge, he returned with a young man of very intelligent appearance.\nHere, said he, is a young man who has seen the whites with his own eyes;\nand he swore, first by the sky, and then by the ground, that what he\nsaid was true. With a large present of goods, we prevailed upon this\nyoung man to be our guide, and he acquired among us the name Melo--a\nword signifying friend, which they used very frequently. He was thinly\nclad, and nearly barefoot; his moccasins being about worn out. We gave\nhim skins to make a new pair, and to enable him to perform his\nundertaking to us. The Indians remained in camp during the night, and we\nkept the guide and two others to sleep in the lodge with us--Carson\nlying across the door, and having made them comprehend the use of our\nfire-arms.\"\n\nFremont here, after a consultation with some Indians who came into his\ncamp, made up his mind to attempt the passage of the mountains at every\nhazard. He therefore, to quote his own words, called his men together,\nand \"reminded them of the beautiful valley of the Sacramento, with which\nthey were familiar from the descriptions of Carson, who had been there\nsome fifteen years ago, and who, in our late privations, had delighted\nus in speaking of its rich pastures and abounding game, and drew a vivid\ncontrast between its summer climate, less than a hundred miles distant,\nand the falling snow around us. I informed them (and long experience had\ngiven them confidence in my observations and good instruments) that\nalmost directly west, and only about seventy miles distant, was the\ngreat farming establishment of Captain Sutter--a gentleman who had\nformerly lived in Missouri, and, emigrating to this country, had become\nthe possessor of a principality. I assured them that, from the heights\nof the mountain before us, we should doubtless see the valley of the\nSacramento River, and with one effort place ourselves again in the\nmidst of plenty. The people received this decision with the cheerful\nobedience which had always characterized them; and the day was\nimmediately devoted to the preparations necessary to enable us to carry\nit into effect. Leggins, moccasins, clothing--all were put into the best\nstate to resist the cold. Our guide was not neglected. Extremity of\nsuffering might make him desert; we therefore did the best we could for\nhim. Leggins, moccasins, some articles of clothing, and a large green\nblanket, in addition to the blue and scarlet cloth, were lavished upon\nhim, and to his great and evident contentment. He arrayed himself in all\nhis colors; and, clad in green, blue, and scarlet, he made a gay-looking\nIndian; and, with his various presents, was probably richer and better\nclothed than any of his tribe had ever been before.\n\n\"I have already said that our provisions were very low; we had neither\ntallow nor grease of any kind remaining, and the want of salt became one\nof our greatest privations. The poor dog which had been found in the\nBear River valley, and which had been a _compagnon de voyage_ ever\nsince, had now become fat, and the mess to which it belonged requested\npermission to kill it. Leave was granted. Spread out on the snow, the\nmeat looked very good; and it made a strengthening meal for the greater\npart of the camp.\n\n\"The people were unusually silent; for every man knew that our\nenterprise was hazardous, and the issue doubtful.\n\n\"The snow deepened rapidly, and it soon became necessary to break a\nroad. For this service, a party of ten was formed, mounted on the\nstrongest horses; each man in succession opening the road on foot, or on\nhorseback, until himself and his horse became fatigued, when he stepped\naside; and, the remaining number passing ahead, he took his station in\nthe rear.\n\n\"The camp had been all the day occupied in endeavoring to ascend the\nhill, but only the best horses had succeeded; the animals, generally,\nnot having sufficient strength to bring themselves up without the packs;\nand all the line of road between this and the springs was strewed with\ncamp stores and equipage, and horses floundering in snow. I therefore\nimmediately encamped on the ground with my own mess, which was in\nadvance, and directed Mr. Fitzpatrick to encamp at the springs, and send\nall the animals, in charge of Tabeau, with a strong guard, back to the\nplace where they had been pastured the night before. Here was a small\nspot of level ground, protected on one side by the mountain, and on the\nother sheltered by a little ridge of rock. It was an open grove of\npines, which assimilated in size to the grandeur of the mountain, being\nfrequently six feet in diameter.\n\n\"To-night we had no shelter, but we made a large fire around the trunk\nof one of the huge pines; and covering the snow with small boughs, on\nwhich we spread our blankets, soon made ourselves comfortable. The night\nwas very bright and clear, though the thermometer was only at 10 deg. A\nstrong wind which sprang up at sundown, made it intensely cold; and this\nwas one of the bitterest nights during the journey.\n\n\"Two Indians joined our party here; and one of them, an old man,\nimmediately began to harangue us, saying that ourselves and animals\nwould perish in the snow; and that, if we would go back, he would show\nus another and a better way across the mountain. He spoke in a very loud\nvoice, and there was a singular repetition of phrases and arrangement of\nwords, which rendered his speech striking, and not unmusical.\n\n\"We had now begun to understand some words, and, with the aid of signs,\neasily comprehended the old man's simple ideas. 'Rock upon rock--rock\nupon rock--snow upon snow--snow upon snow,' said he; 'even if you get\nover the snow, you will not be able to get down from the mountains.' He\nmade us the sign of precipices, and showed us how the feet of the horses\nwould slip, and throw them off from the narrow trails which led along\ntheir sides. Our Chinook, who comprehended even more readily than\nourselves, and believed our situation hopeless, covered his head with\nhis blanket, and began to weep and lament. 'I wanted to see the whites,'\nsaid he; 'I came away from my own people to see the whites, and I\nwouldn't care to die among them; but here'--and he looked around into\nthe cold night and gloomy forest, and, drawing his blanket over his\nhead, began again to lament.\n\n\"Seated around the tree, the fire illuminating the rocks and the tall\nbolls of the pines round about, and the old Indian haranguing, we\npresented a group of very serious faces.\n\n\"_February 5._--The night had been too cold to sleep, and we were up\nvery early. Our guide was standing by the fire with all his finery on;\nand seeing him shiver in the cold, I threw on his shoulders one of my\nblankets. We missed him a few minutes afterwards, and never saw him\nagain. He had deserted. His bad faith and treachery were in perfect\nkeeping with the estimate of Indian character, which a long intercourse\nwith this people had gradually forced upon my mind.\n\n\"While a portion of the camp were occupied in bringing up the baggage to\nthis point, the remainder were busied in making sledges and snow shoes.\nI had determined to explore the mountain ahead, and the sledges were to\nbe used in transporting the baggage.\n\n\"Crossing the open basin, in a march of about ten miles we reached the\ntop of one of the peaks, to the left of the pass indicated by our guide.\nFar below us, dimmed by the distance, was a large, snowless valley,\nbounded on the western side, at the distance of about a hundred miles,\nby a low range of mountains, which Carson recognized with delight as the\nmountains bordering the coast. 'There,' said he, 'is the little\nmountain--it is fifteen years ago since I saw it; but I am just as sure\nas if I had seen it yesterday.' Between us, then, and this low coast\nrange, was the valley of the Sacramento; and no one who had not\naccompanied us through the incidents of our life for the last few\nmonths, could realize the delight with which at last we looked down\nupon it. At the distance of apparently thirty miles beyond us were\ndistinguished spots of prairie; and a dark line, which could be traced\nwith the glass, was imagined to be the course of the river; but we were\nevidently at a great height above the valley, and between us and the\nplains extended miles of snowy fields and broken ridges of pine-covered\nmountains.\n\n\"It was late in the day when we turned towards the camp; and it grew\nrapidly cold as it drew towards night. One of the men became fatigued,\nand his feet began to freeze, and building a fire in the trunk of a dry\nold cedar, Mr. Fitzpatrick remained with him until his clothes could be\ndried, and he was in a condition to come on. After a day's march of\ntwenty miles, we straggled into camp, one after another, at nightfall;\nthe greater number excessively fatigued, only two of the party having\never traveled on snow-shoes before.\n\n\"All our energies were now directed to getting our animals across the\nsnow; and it was supposed that, after all the baggage had been drawn\nwith the sleighs over the trail we had made, it would be sufficiently\nhard to bear our animals.\n\n\"At several places, between this point and the ridge, we had discovered\nsome grassy spots, where the wind and sun had dispersed the snow from\nthe sides of the hills, and these were to form resting places to support\nthe animals for a night in their passage across. On our way across, we\nhad set on fire several broken stumps and dried trees, to melt holes in\nthe snow for the camp. Its general depth was five feet; but we passed\nover places where it was twenty feet deep, as shown by the trees.\n\n\"With one party drawing sleighs loaded with baggage, I advanced to-day\nabout four miles along the trail, and encamped at the first grassy spot,\nwhere we expected to bring our horses. Mr. Fitzpatrick, with another\nparty, remained behind, to form an intermediate station between us and\nthe animals.\n\n\"Putting on our snow-shoes, we spent the afternoon in exploring a road\nahead. The glare of the snow, combined with great fatigue, had rendered\nmany of the people nearly blind; but we were fortunate in having some\nblack silk handkerchiefs, which, worn as veils, very much relieved the\neye.\n\n\"In the evening I received a message from Mr. Fitzpatrick, acquainting\nme with the utter failure of his attempt to get our mules and horses\nover the snow--the half-hidden trail had proved entirely too slight to\nsupport them, and they had broken through, and were plunging about or\nlying half buried in snow. He was occupied in endeavoring to get them\nback to his camp; and in the mean time sent to me for further\ninstructions. I wrote to him to send the animals immediately back to\ntheir old pastures; and, after having made mauls and shovels, turn in\nall the strength of his party to open and beat a road through the snow,\nstrengthening it with branches and boughs of the pines.\n\n\"_February 12._--We made mauls, and worked hard at our end of the road\nall the day. The wind was high, but the sun bright, and the snow\nthawing. We worked down the face of the hill, to meet the people at the\nother end. Towards sundown it began to grow cold, and we shouldered our\nmauls, and trudged back to camp.\n\n\"_February 13._--We continued to labor on the road; and in the course of\nthe day had the satisfaction to see the people working down the face of\nthe opposite hill, about three miles distant. During the morning we had\nthe pleasure of a visit from Mr. Fitzpatrick, with the information that\nall was going on well. A party of Indians had passed on snow-shoes, who\nsaid they were going to the western side of the mountain after fish.\nThis was an indication that the salmon were coming up the streams; and\nwe could hardly restrain our impatience as we thought of them, and\nworked with increased vigor.\n\n\"I was now perfectly satisfied that we had struck the stream on which\nMr. Sutter lived, and turning about, made a hard push, and reached the\ncamp at dark. Here we had the pleasure to find all the remaining\nanimals, 57 in number, safely arrived at the grassy hill near the camp;\nand here, also, we were agreeably surprised with the sight of an\nabundance of salt. Some of the horse guard had gone to a neighboring hut\nfor pine nuts, and discovered unexpectedly a large cake of very white\nfine-grained salt, which the Indians told them they had brought from the\nother side of the mountain; they used it to eat with their pine nuts,\nand readily sold it for goods.\n\n\"On the 19th, the people were occupied in making a road and bringing up\nthe baggage; and, on the afternoon of the next day, _February_ 20, 1844,\nwe encamped with the animals and all the _materiel_ of the camp, on the\nsummit of the PASS in the dividing ridge, 1,000 miles by our traveled\nroad from the Dalles of the Columbia.\n\n\"_February 21._--We now considered ourselves victorious over the\nmountain; having only the descent before us, and the valley under our\neyes, we felt strong hope that we should force our way down. But this\nwas a case in which the descent was _not_ facile. Still, deep fields of\nsnow lay between, and there was a large intervening space of\nrough-looking mountains, through which we had yet to wind our way.\nCarson roused me this morning with an early fire, and we were all up\nlong before day, in order to pass the snow fields before the sun should\nrender the crust soft. We enjoyed this morning a scene at sunrise,\nwhich, even here, was unusually glorious and beautiful. Immediately\nabove the eastern mountains was repeated a cloud-formed mass of purple\nranges, bordered with bright yellow gold; the peaks shot up into a\nnarrow line of crimson cloud, above which the air was filled with a\ngreenish orange; and over all was the singular beauty of the blue sky.\nPassing along a ridge which commanded the lake on our right, of which we\nbegan to discover an outlet through a chasm on the west, we passed over\nalternating open ground and hard-crusted snow-fields which supported\nthe animals, and encamped on the ridge after a journey of six miles. The\ngrass was better than we had yet seen, and we were encamped in a clump\nof trees, twenty or thirty feet high, resembling white pine.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n\n\"We had hard and doubtful labor yet before us, as the snow appeared to\nbe heavier where the timber began further down, with few open spots.\nAscending a height, we traced out the best line we could discover for\nthe next day's march, and had at least the consolation to see that the\nmountain descended rapidly. The day had been one of April; gusty, with a\nfew occasional flakes of snow; which, in the afternoon, enveloped the\nupper mountains in clouds. We watched them anxiously, as now we dreaded\na snow storm. Shortly afterwards we heard the roll of thunder, and\nlooking toward the valley, found it all enveloped in a thunder-storm.\nFor us, as connected with the idea of summer, it had a singular charm;\nand we watched its progress with excited feelings until nearly sunset,\nwhen the sky cleared off brightly, and we saw a shining line of water\ndirecting its course towards another, a broader and larger sheet. We\nknew that these could be no other than the Sacramento and the bay of San\nFrancisco; but, after our long wandering in rugged mountains, where so\nfrequently we had met with disappointments, and where the crossing of\nevery ridge displayed some unknown lake or river, we were yet almost\nafraid to believe that we were at last to escape into the genial country\nof which we have heard so many glowing descriptions, and dreaded again\nto find some vast interior lake, whose bitter waters would bring us\ndisappointment. On the southern shore of what appeared to be the bay,\ncould be traced the gleaming line where entered another large stream;\nand again the Buenaventura rose up in our mind.\n\n\"Carson had entered the valley along the southern side of the bay, but\nthe country then was so entirely covered with water from snow and rain,\nthat he had been able to form no correct impression of watercourses.\n\n\"We had the satisfaction to know that at least there were people below.\nFires were lit up in the valley just at night, appearing to be in answer\nto ours; and these signs of life renewed, in some measure, the gayety of\nthe camp. They appeared so near, that we judged them to be among the\ntimber of some of the neighboring ridges; but, having them constantly\nin view day after day, and night after night, we afterwards found them\nto be fires that had been kindled by the Indians among the _tulares_, on\nthe shore of the bay, eighty miles distant.\n\n\"Axes and mauls were necessary to-day to make a road through the snow.\nGoing ahead with Carson to reconnoitre the road, we reached in the\nafternoon the river which made the outlet of the lake. Carson sprang\nover, clear across a place where the stream was compressed among rocks,\nbut the _parfleche_ sole of my moccasin glanced from the icy rock, and\nprecipitated me into the river. It was some few seconds before I could\nrecover myself in the current, and Carson, thinking me hurt, jumped in\nafter me, and we both had an icy bath. We tried to search a while for my\ngun, which had been lost in the fall, but the cold drove us out; and\nmaking a large fire on the bank, after we had partially dried ourselves\nwe went back to meet the camp. We afterwards found that the gun had been\nslung under the ice which lined the banks of the creek.\n\n\"The sky was clear and pure, with a sharp wind from the northeast, and\nthe thermometer 2 deg. below the freezing point.\n\n\"We continued down the south face of the mountain; our road leading over\ndry ground, we were able to avoid the snow almost entirely. In the\ncourse of the morning, we struck a foot path, which we were generally\nable to keep; and the ground was soft to our animal's feet, being sandy\nor covered with mould. Green grass began to make its appearance, and\noccasionally we passed a hill scatteringly covered with it. The\ncharacter of the forest continued the same; and, among the trees, the\npine with sharp leaves and very large cones was abundant, some of them\nbeing noble trees. We measured one that had ten feet diameter, though\nthe height was not more than one hundred and thirty feet. All along, the\nriver was a roaring torrent, its fall very great; and, descending with a\nrapidity to which we had long been strangers, to our great pleasure oak\ntrees appeared on the ridge, and soon became very frequent; on these I\nremarked unusually great quantities of misletoe.\n\n[Illustration: \"MY MOCCASIN GLANCED FROM THE ICY ROCK, AND PRECIPITATED\nME INTO THE RIVER.\"]\n\n\"The opposite mountain side was very steep and continuous--unbroken\nby ravines, and covered with pines and snow; while on the side we\nwere traveling, innumerable rivulets poured down from the ridge.\nContinuing on, we halted a moment at one of these rivulets, to admire\nsome beautiful evergreen trees, resembling live oak, which shaded the\nlittle stream. They were forty to fifty feet high, and two in diameter,\nwith a uniform tufted top; and the summer green of their beautiful\nfoliage, with the singing birds, and the sweet summer wind which was\nwhirling about the dry oak leaves, nearly intoxicated us with delight;\nand we hurried on, filled with excitement, to escape entirely from the\nhorrid region of inhospitable snow, to the perpetual spring of the\nSacramento.\n\n\"_February 25._--Believing that the difficulties of the road were\npassed, and leaving Mr. Fitzpatrick to follow slowly, as the condition\nof the animals required, I started ahead this morning with a party of\neight, consisting (with myself) of Mr. Preuss, and Mr. Talbot, Carson,\nDerosier, Towns, Proue, and Jacob. We took with us some of the best\nanimals, and my intention was to proceed as rapidly as possible to the\nhouse of Mr. Sutter, and return to meet the party with a supply of\nprovisions and fresh animals.\n\n\"Near nightfall we descended into the steep ravine of a handsome creek\nthirty feet wide, and I was engaged in getting the horses up the\nopposite hill, when I heard a shout from Carson, who had gone ahead a\nfew hundred yards--'Life yet,' said he, as he came up, 'life yet; I have\nfound a hill side sprinkled with grass enough for the night.' We drove\nalong our horses, and encamped at the place about dark, and there was\njust room enough to make a place for shelter on the edge of the stream.\nThree horses were lost to-day--Proveau; a fine young horse from the\nColumbia, belonging to Charles Towns; and another Indian horse which\ncarried our cooking utensils; the two former gave out, and the latter\nstrayed off into the woods as we reached the camp: and Derosier, knowing\nmy attachment to Proveau, volunteered to go and bring him in.\n\n\"Carson and I climbed one of the nearest mountains; the forest land\nstill extended ahead, and the valley appeared as far as ever. The pack\nhorse was found near the camp, but Derosier did not get in.\n\n\"We began to be uneasy at Derosier's absence, fearing he might have been\nbewildered in the woods. Charles Towns, who had not yet recovered his\nmind, went to swim in the river, as if it was summer, and the stream\nplacid, when it was a cold mountain torrent foaming among the rocks. We\nwere happy to see Derosier appear in the evening. He came in, and\nsitting down by the fire, began to tell us where he had been. He\nimagined he had been gone several days, and thought we were still at the\ncamp where he had left us; and we were pained to see that his mind was\nderanged. It appeared that he had been lost in the mountain, and hunger\nand fatigue, joined to weakness of body, and fear of perishing in the\nmountains had crazed him. The times were severe when stout men lost\ntheir minds from extremity of suffering--when horses died--and when\nmules and horses, ready to die of starvation, were killed for food. Yet\nthere was no murmuring or hesitation. In the mean time Mr. Preuss\ncontinued on down the river, and unaware that we had encamped so early\nin the day, was lost. When night arrived and he did not come in, we\nbegan to understand what had happened to him; but it was too late to\nmake any search.\n\n\"_March 3._--We followed Mr. Preuss's trail for a considerable distance\nalong the river, until we reached a place where he had descended to the\nstream below and encamped. Here we shouted and fired guns, but received\nno answer; and we concluded that he had pushed on down the stream. I\ndetermined to keep out from the river, along which it was nearly\nimpracticable to travel with animals, until it should form a valley. At\nevery step the country improved in beauty; the pines were rapidly\ndisappearing, and oaks became the principal trees of the forest. Among\nthese, the prevailing tree was the evergreen oak (which, by way of\ndistinction, we shall call the _live oak_); and with these, occurred\nfrequently a new species of oak, bearing a long, slender acorn, from an\ninch to an inch and a half in length, which we now began to see formed\nthe principal vegetable food of the inhabitants of this region. In a\nshort distance we crossed a little rivulet, where were two old huts, and\nnear by were heaps of acorn hulls. The ground round about was very rich,\ncovered with an exuberant sward of grass; and we sat down for a while in\nthe shade of the oaks, to let the animals feed. We repeated our shouts\nfor Mr. Preuss; and this time we were gratified with an answer. The\nvoice grew rapidly nearer, ascending from the river, but when we\nexpected to see him emerge, it ceased entirely. We had called up some\nstraggling Indian--the first we had met, although for two days back we\nhad seen tracks--who, mistaking us for his fellows, had been only\nundeceived by getting close up. It would have been pleasant to witness\nhis astonishment; he would not have been more frightened had some of the\nold mountain spirits they are so much afraid of suddenly appeared in his\npath. Ignorant of the character of these people, we had now additional\ncause of uneasiness in regard to Mr. Preuss; he had no arms with him,\nand we began to think his chance doubtful. Occasionally we met deer, but\nhad not the necessary time for hunting. At one of these orchard grounds,\nwe encamped about noon to make an effort for Mr. Preuss. One man took\nhis way along a spur leading into the river, in hope to cross his trail;\nand another took our own back. Both were volunteers; and to the\nsuccessful man was promised a pair of pistols--not as a reward, but as a\ntoken of gratitude for a service which would free us all from much\nanxiety.\"\n\nIt was not until the 6th, and after a continuation of the most\nincredible sufferings, already narrated, that the party reached Sutter's\nFort, where, it is needless to say, they were warmly and cordially\nreceived by that gentleman,--and to close this stirring narrative, we\nwill only add as an evidence of the terrible sufferings to which they\nhad been subjected, that out of sixty-seven horses and mules with which\nthe expedition was commenced, only thirty-three reached the valley of\nthe Sacramento, and they had to be led. In quoting above from Fremont's\nnarrative, a continuous record has not been kept, as we have used only\nsuch portions as contain the narrative of incidents directly connected\nwith the expedition, and of which, though scarcely mentioned throughout,\nsave in the most incidental manner, Carson might well say, and with\npride, _magna pars fui_.\n\nIn the course of this narrative we have frequently used the word\n_cache_, and a brief interpretation of its meaning, we are sure will not\nbe uninteresting to the uninitiated.\n\nA cache is a term common among traders and hunters, to designate a\nhiding place for provisions and effects. It is derived from the French\nword _cacher_, to conceal, and originated among the early colonists of\nCanada and Louisiana; but the secret depository which it designates was\nin use among the aboriginals long before the intrusion of the white men.\nIt is, in fact, the only mode that migratory hordes have of preserving\ntheir valuables from robbery, during their long absences from their\nvillages or accustomed haunts on hunting expeditions, or during the\nvicissitudes of war. The utmost skill and caution are required to render\nthese places of concealment invisible to the lynx eye of an Indian.\n\nThe first care is to seek out a proper situation, which is generally\nsome dry low bank of clay, on the margin of a water course. As soon as\nthe precise spot is pitched upon, blankets, saddle-cloths, and other\ncoverings are spread over the surrounding grass and bushes, to prevent\nfoot tracks, or any other derangement; and as few hands as possible are\nemployed. A circle of about two feet in diameter is then nicely cut in\nthe sod, which is carefully removed, with the loose soil immediately\nbeneath it, and laid aside in a place where it will be safe from any\nthing that may change its appearance. The uncovered area is then digged\nperpendicularly to the depth of about three feet, and is then gradually\nwidened so as to form a conical chamber six or seven feet deep.\n\nThe whole of the earth displaced by this process, being of a different\ncolor from that on the surface, is handed up in a vessel, and heaped\ninto a skin or cloth, in which it is conveyed to the stream and thrown\ninto the midst of the current, that it may be entirely carried off.\nShould the cache not be formed in the vicinity of a stream, the earth\nthus thrown up is carried to a distance, and scattered in such a manner\nas not to leave the minutest trace. The cave being formed, is well lined\nwith dry grass, bark, sticks, and poles, and occasionally a dried hide.\nThe property intended to be hidden is then laid in, after having been\nwell aired: a hide is spread over it, and dried grass, brush, and stones\nthrown in, and trampled down until the pit is filled to the neck. The\nloose soil which had been put aside is then brought, and rammed down\nfirmly, to prevent its caving in, and is frequently sprinkled with water\nto destroy the scent, lest the wolves and bears should be attracted to\nthe place, and root up the concealed treasure.\n\nWhen the neck of the cache is nearly level with the surrounding surface,\nthe sod is again fitted in with the utmost exactness, and any bushes,\nstocks, or stones, that may have originally been about the spot, are\nrestored to their former places. The blankets and other coverings are\nthen removed from the surrounding herbage: all tracks are obliterated:\nthe grass is gently raised by the hand to its natural position, and the\nminutest chip or straw is scrupulously gleaned up and thrown into the\nstream. After all is done, the place is abandoned for the night, and,\nif all be right next morning, is not visited again, until there be a\nnecessity for reopening the cache. Four men are sufficient in this way,\nto conceal the amount of three tons weight of merchandize in the course\nof two days.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\n\nCarson had passed the autumn and winter with his family, in the society\nof old companions, amid various incidents amusing to the reader if they\nwere detailed, because so unlike the style of life to which he has been\naccustomed, the particulars of which we must however leave to his\nimagination, aiding it by some general description of the customs of the\ncountry and locality.\n\nThe town of Taos is the second in size in New Mexico, (Santa Fe claiming\nof right to be first,) with very little regard to beauty in its\nconstruction, the houses being huddled upon narrow streets, except in\nthe immediate vicinity of the _plaza_, on which are located the church\nand the better class of houses; and where, as in all Mexican towns, the\nmarketing is carried on. It is situated in the centre of the valley of\nTaos, which is about thirty miles long, and fifteen broad, and\nsurrounded by mountains, upon whose tops snow lies during the greater\npart of the year.\n\nThe valley appears to be a plain, but is intersected by many ravines,\nwhich flow into the Rio Grande on its western side. There is no timber,\nbut in the mountains it is abundant, and of excellent quality. The\npopulation in the whole valley numbers scarcely more than ten thousand,\nand as their farming operations require but a portion of the soil, the\nlarger part of the land is still wild, and grazed only by horses,\ncattle, and sheep, which are raised in large numbers.\n\nThey are obliged to expend much labor upon their crops, as the climate\nis too dry to mature them without irrigation; and yet in their community\nof interest, in a country without fences, they find much satisfaction in\nrendering kind offices to each other; and social life is more cultivated\nthan in communities whose interests are more separate. The high\naltitude, and dryness of the atmosphere, render the climate exceedingly\nhealthful, rather severe in winter, but very mild and salubrious in\nsummer, so that disease is scarcely known in the valley.\n\nThe dress of the people has changed very much since the population\nbecame partially Americanized, so that often the buckskin pants have\ngiven place to cloth, and the blanket to the coat, and the moccasin to\nthe leathern shoe, and the dress of the women has undergone as great a\nchange. They are learning to employ American implements for agriculture,\ninstead of the rude Egyptian yoke fastened to the horns of the oxen; and\nthe plough composed of a single hooked piece of timber, and the axe that\nmore resembles a pick, than the axe of the American woodsman; and the\ncart, whose wheels are pieces sawed from the butt end of a log, with a\nhole bored for the axle, whose squeaking can be heard for miles, and\nwhich are themselves a sufficient burden without any loading. Their diet\nis simple, as it is with all Mexicans, consisting of the products of the\nlocality, with game, which is always to be included in a bill of fare\nsuch as Carson would furnish; corn, and wheat, and peas, beans, eggs,\npumpkins, and apples, pears, peaches, plums, and grapes, constitute the\nprincipal products of their culture. Their great source of enjoyment is\ndancing, and the fandango is so much an institution in a town of the\nsize of Taos, that, during the winter, scarcely a night passes without a\ndance. This is doubtless familiar to the reader, as the acquisition of\nCalifornia has introduced a knowledge of the customs of its natives to\nevery eastern household.\n\nIn the spring of 1845, Carson had decided to commence the business of\nfarming at Taos, and had made the necessary arrangements for building a\nhouse, and for stocking and planting, when an express arrived from Col.\nFremont, bringing despatches to remind him of his promise to join a\nthird exploring expedition, in case he should ever undertake another,\nand to designate the place where he would meet the party Fremont was\norganising.\n\nBefore parting with Fremont in the previous summer, Fremont had secured\nthe promise from Carson, that he would again be his guide and companion,\nshould he ever undertake another expedition; but Carson was not\nexpecting its execution at this time, and yet, though it would entail\nsevere loss on him to make a hasty sale of his possessions, and arrange\nfor leaving his family, he felt bound by his promise, as well as by his\nattachment to Fremont, and at once closing up his business, together\nwith an old friend by the name of Owens, who had become, as it were, a\npartner with him in his enterprise of farming, they having been old\ntrapping friends, they repaired together to the point designated for\njoining the exploring party, upon the upper Arkansas, at Bent's Fort,\nwhere they had last parted from Fremont.\n\nThe meeting was mutually satisfactory, and with Fremont were Maxwell, an\nold and well-tried friend, and a Mr. Walker, who had been in Captain\nBonneville's expedition to the Columbia, and in other trapping parties\nin California and vicinity, so that with other mountain men, whose names\nare less known, but every man of whom was Carson's friend, Fremont's\ncorps was more efficient for the present service, than it had been in\neither of the former expeditions.\n\nAfter some months spent in examining the head-waters of the great rivers\nwhich flow to either ocean, the party descended at the beginning of\nwinter to the Great Salt Lake, and in October encamped on its\nsouthwestern shore, in view of that undescribed country which at that\ntime had not been penetrated, and which vague and contradictory reports\nof Indians represented as a desert without grass or water.\n\nTheir previous visit to the lake had given it a somewhat familiar\naspect, and on leaving it they felt as if about to commence their\njourney anew. Its eastern shore was frequented by large bands of\nIndians, but here they had dwindled down to a single family, which was\ngleaning from some hidden source, enough to support life, and drinking\nthe salt water of a little stream near by, no fresh water being at hand.\nThis offered scanty encouragement as to what they might expect on the\ndesert beyond.\n\nAt its threshold and immediately before them was a naked plain of smooth\nclay surface, mostly devoid of vegetation--the hazy weather of the\nsummer hung over it, and in the distance rose scattered, low, black and\ndry-looking mountains. At what appeared to be fifty miles or more, a\nhigher peak held out some promise of wood and water, and towards this it\nwas resolved to direct their course.\n\nFour men, with a pack animal loaded with water for two days, and\naccompanied by a naked Indian--who volunteered for a reward to be their\nguide to a spot where he said there was grass and fine springs--were\nsent forward to explore in advance for a foothold, and verify the\nexistence of water before the whole party should be launched into the\ndesert. Their way led toward the high peak of the mountain, on which\nthey were to make a smoke signal in the event of finding water. About\nsunset of the second day, no signal having been seen, Fremont became\nuneasy at the absence of his men, and set out with the whole party upon\ntheir trail, traveling rapidly all the night. Towards morning one of the\nscouts was met returning.\n\nThe Indian had been found to know less than themselves, and had been\nsent back, but the men had pushed on to the mountains, where they found\na running stream, with wood and sufficient grass. The whole party now\nlay down to rest, and the next day, after a hard march, reached the\nstream. The distance across the plain was nearly seventy miles, and they\ncalled the mountain which had guided them Pilot Peak. This was their\nfirst day's march and their first camp in the desert.\n\nA few days afterwards the expedition was divided into two parties--the\nlarger one under the guidance of Walker, a well-known mountaineer and\nexperienced traveler, going around to the foot of the Sierra Nevada by a\ncircuitous route which he had previously traveled, and Fremont, with ten\nmen, Delawares and whites, penetrated directly through the heart of the\ndesert.\n\nSome days after this separation, Fremont's party, led by Carson, while\ntraveling along the foot of a mountain, the arid country covered with\ndwarf shrubs, discovered a volume of smoke rising from a ravine. Riding\ncautiously up, they discovered a single Indian on the border of a small\ncreek. He was standing before a little fire, naked as he was born,\napparently thinking, and looking at a small earthen pot which was\nsimmering over the fire, filled with the common ground-squirrel of the\ncountry. Another bunch of squirrels lay near it, and close by were his\nbow and arrows. He was a well-made, good-looking young man, about\ntwenty-five years of age. Although so taken by surprise that he made no\nattempt to escape, and evidently greatly alarmed, he received his\nvisitors with forced gaiety, and offered them part of his _pot au feu_\nand his bunch of squirrels. He was kindly treated and some little\npresents made him, and the party continued their way.\n\nHis bow was handsomely made, and the arrows, of which there were about\nforty in his quiver, were neatly feathered, and headed with obsidian,\nworked into spear-shape by patient labor.\n\nAfter they had separated, Fremont found that his Delawares had taken a\nfancy to the Indian's bow and arrows, and carried them off. They carried\nthem willingly back, when they were reminded that they had exposed the\npoor fellow to almost certain starvation by depriving him, in the\nbeginning of winter, of his only means of subsistence, which it would\nrequire months to replace.\n\nOne day the party had reached one of the lakes lying along the foot of\nthe Sierra Nevada, which was their appointed rendezvous with their\nfriends, and where, at this season, the scattered Indians of the\nneighborhood were gathering, to fish. Turning a point on the lake shore,\na party of Indians, some twelve or fourteen in number, came abruptly in\nview. They were advancing along in Indian file, one following the other,\ntheir heads bent forward, with eyes fixed on the ground. As the two\nparties met, the Indians did not turn their heads or raise their eyes\nfrom the ground, but passed silently along. The whites, habituated to\nthe chances of savage life, and always uncertain whether they should\nfind friends or foes in those they met, fell readily into their humor,\nand they too passed on their way without word or halt.\n\nIt was a strange meeting: two parties of such different races and\ndifferent countries, coming abruptly upon each other, with every\noccasion to excite curiosity and provoke question, pass in a desert\nwithout a word of inquiry or a single remark on either side, or without\nany show of hostility.\n\nWalker's party joined Fremont at the appointed rendezvous, at the point\nwhere Walker's river discharges itself into the lake, but it was now\nmid-winter, they were out of provisions--and there was no guide. The\nheavy snows might be daily expected to block up the passes in the great\nSierra, if they had not already fallen, and with all their experience it\nwas considered too hazardous to attempt the passage with the _materiel_\nof a whole party; it was arranged therefore that Walker should continue\nwith the main party southward along the Sierra, and enter the valley of\nthe San Joaquin by some one of the low passes at its head, where there\nis rarely or never snow. Fremont undertook, with a few men, to cross\ndirectly westward over the Sierra Nevada to Sutter's Fort, with the view\nof obtaining there the necessary supplies of horses and beef cattle with\nwhich to rejoin his party.\n\nAfter some days' travel, leaving the Mercedes River, they had entered\namong the foothills of the mountains, and were journeying through a\nbeautiful country of undulating upland, openly timbered with oaks,\nprincipally evergreen, and watered with small streams.\n\nTraveling along, they came suddenly upon broad and deeply-worn trails,\nwhich had been freshly traveled by large bands of horses, apparently\ncoming from the settlements on the coast. These and other indications\nwarned them that they were approaching villages of the Horse-Thief\nIndians, who appeared to have just returned from a successful foray.\nWith the breaking up of the missions, many of the Indians had returned\nto their tribes in the mountains. Their knowledge of the Spanish\nlanguage, and familiarity with the ranches and towns, enabled them to\npass and repass, at pleasure, between their villages in the Sierra and\nthe ranches on the coast. They very soon availed themselves of these\nfacilities to steal and run off into the mountains bands of horses, and\nin a short time it became the occupation of all the Indians inhabiting\nthe southern Sierra Nevada, as well as the plains beyond.\n\nThree or four parties would be sent at a time from different villages,\nand every week was signalized by the carrying-off of hundreds of horses,\nto be killed and eaten in the interior. Repeated expeditions had been\nmade against them by the Californians, who rarely succeeded in reaching\nthe foot of the mountains, and were invariably defeated when they did.\n\nAs soon as this fresh trail had been discovered, four men, two Delawares\nwith Maxwell and Dick Owens, two of Fremont's favorite men, were sent\nforward upon the trail. The rest of the party had followed along at\ntheir usual gait, but Indian signs became so thick, trail after trail\njoining on, that they started rapidly after the men, fearing for their\nsafety. After a few miles ride, they reached a spot which had been the\nrecent camping ground of a village, and where abundant grass and good\nwater suggested a halting place for the night, and they immediately set\nabout unpacking their animals and preparing to encamp.\n\nWhile thus engaged, they heard what seemed to be the barking of many\ndogs, coming apparently from a village, not far distant; but they had\nhardly thrown off their saddles when they suddenly became aware that it\nwas the noise of women and children shouting and crying; and this was\nsufficient notice that the men who had been sent ahead had fallen among\nunfriendly Indians, so that a fight had already commenced.\n\nIt did not need an instant to throw the saddles on again, and leaving\nfour men to guard the camp, Fremont, with the rest, rode off in the\ndirection of the sounds.\n\nThey had galloped but half a mile, when crossing a little ridge, they\ncame abruptly in view of several hundred Indians advancing on each side\nof a knoll, on the top of which were the men, where a cluster of trees\nand rocks made a good defence. It was evident that they had come\nsuddenly into the midst of the Indian village, and jumping from their\nhorses, with the instinctive skill of old hunters and mountaineers as\nthey were, had got into an admirable place to fight from.\n\nThe Indians had nearly surrounded the knoll, and were about getting\npossession of the horses, as Fremont's party came in view. Their welcome\nshout as they charged up the hill, was answered by the yell of the\nDelawares as they dashed down to recover their animals, and the crack of\nOwens' and Maxwell's rifles. Owens had singled out the foremost Indian\nwho went headlong down the hill, to steal horses no more.\n\nProfiting by the first surprise of the Indians, and anxious for the\nsafety of the men who had been left in camp, the whites immediately\nretreated towards it, checking the Indians with occasional rifle shots,\nwith the range of which it seemed remarkable that they were acquainted.\n\nThe whole camp were on guard until daylight. As soon as it was dark,\neach man crept to his post. They heard the women and children retreating\ntowards the mountains, but nothing disturbed the quiet of the camp,\nexcept when one of the Delawares shot at a wolf as it jumped over a log,\nand which he mistook for an Indian. As soon as it grew light they took\nto the most open ground, and retreated into the plain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\n\nThe record of Fremont and Carson's journey through this region of\ncountry, already so thoroughly explored at such great hazard, and\naccompanied with such unheard-of sufferings, would be but a repetition\nof what has already been written, for they were again driven to mule\nmeat, or whatever else chance or Providence might throw in their way, to\nsustain life. In every need--in every peril--in every quarter where\ncoolness, sagacity, and skill were most required, Carson was ever first,\nand his conduct throughout cemented, if possible, more firmly the\nfriendship between him and his young commander.\n\nThey reached, at last, Sutter's Fort, where they were received with the\nhospitality which has made Mr. Sutter's name proverbial; and leaving his\nparty to recruit there, Fremont pushed on towards Monterey, to make\nknown to the authorities there the condition of his party, and obtained\npermission to recruit and procure the supplies necessary for the\nprosecution of his exploration.\n\nJourneying in the security of this permission, he was suddenly arrested\nin his march, near Monterey, by an officer at the head of a body of\ncavalry, who bore him a violent message from the commanding officer in\nCalifornia--Gen. Castro--commanding him to retire instantly from the\ncountry.\n\nThere was now no alternative but to put himself on the defensive, as he\nhad come to the country for an entirely peaceable purpose, and it was\nnot in the blood of Americans to submit to dictation. The direction of\ntravel was therefore changed; a strong point was selected and fortified\nas thoroughly as could be with the means at their command, which work\nwas hardly completed before Gen. Castro, at the head of several hundred\nmen, arrived and established his camp within a few hundred yards and in\nsight of the exploring party, evidently under the mistaken idea that he\ncould intimidate them by his numbers.\n\nThough the Americans were but forty in number, every man had already\nseen service, and the half score of old traders and trappers, who had\nbeen leaders in many an Indian fight, made the party, small as it was,\nquite equal to that of the ten fold greater number of the Mexicans; for\nthe men, equally with their leader, were determined to maintain their\nrights, and if need be, to sacrifice their lives in defence of the cause\nof American citizens in Mexico; for in the three days during which they\nlay there encamped, expresses came in from the American citizens in\nMonterey, warning them of their danger, and announcing too, the\nprobability of a war with Mexico, and urging the propriety that every\nAmerican should unite in a common defence against the Mexican\nauthorities.\n\nAt the end of three days the council which Fremont now called, agreed\nwith him, that the Mexican General had no intention of attacking them,\nand that it was the more prudent course to break up camp, push on to the\nSacramento River, and endeavor at Lawson's trading post to obtain the\nneeded outfit for their return homeward through Oregon, as further\nexploration in southern California seemed out of the question; and\nbecause, as an officer in the United States service, Fremont felt he\ncould not commence, or willingly court hostility with the Mexican\nauthorities--besides, all the American residents in the country were\nequally in peril; and if the event of war pressed upon them,\npreparation was needed, and should be made at once.\n\nIn council Fremont found Carson ready for such, as for every emergency;\nand, around the camp fires, where the subject was discussed, every man\nwas ready for the affray; and while willing to retire and wait the\ncommand of the leader evinced no disposition to avoid it.\n\nThe party remained ten days at Lawson's post, when information was\nbrought that the Indians were in arms at the instigation of the\nMexicans, as it was supposed, and were advancing to destroy the post,\nand any other American settlement; and it was soon rumored that a\nthousand warriors were collected, and on their way to aid in this\npurpose. The time had now come for action, and, with five men from the\npost, Captain Fremont and his command, with Carson for his Lieutenant,\nby choice of the party, as well as of its leader, took up their march\nagainst the savages, in aid of their countrymen.\n\nThey had no difficulty in finding the Indian war party, and immediately\nmade the attack, which was responded to with vigor by the Indians, and\ncontested bravely; but, of course, with inability to conquer. The red\nmen were defeated with terrible slaughter, and learned here the lesson\nnot forgotten for many years, that it was useless to measure their\nstrength with white men.\n\nCarson was, of course, as was his invariable custom, in the thickest of\nthe fight, and when it was over, and the Indians had retired, cowed and\ndefeated, ventured the opinion that they had received a lesson which\nwould not be required to be repeated in many years.\n\nThis victory won, and present danger from these Indians thus avoided,\nthe party returned to Lawson's post, where, having completed their\noutfit, they turned their backs on Mexican possessions, and started\nnorthward, Fremont looking to Oregon as the field of his future\noperations, intending to explore a new route to the Wah-lah-math\nsettlements.\n\nWhile on that journey, Carson being as ever his guide, companion, and\nfriend, the party was suddenly surprised by the appearance of two white\nmen, who, as all knew from experience, must have incurred the greatest\nperils and hazards to reach that spot.\n\nThey proved to be two of Mr. Fremont's old _voyageurs_, and quickly told\ntheir story. They were part of a guard of six men conducting a United\nStates officer, who was on his trail with despatches from Washington,\nand whom they had left two days back, while they came on to give notice\nof his approach, and to ask that assistance might be sent him. They\nthemselves had only escaped the Indians by the swiftness of their\nhorses. It was a case in which there was no time to be lost, nor a\nmistake made. Mr. Fremont determined to go himself; and taking ten\npicked men, Carson of course accompanying him, he rode down the western\nshore of the lake on the morning of the 9th, (the direction the officer\nwas to come,) and made a journey of sixty miles without a halt. But to\nmeet men, and not to miss them, was the difficult point in this\ntrackless region. It was not the case of a high road, where all\ntravelers must meet in passing each other: at intervals there were\nplaces--defiles, or camping grounds--where both parties might pass; and\nwatching for these, he came to one in the afternoon, and decided that,\nif the party was not killed, it must be there that night. He halted and\nencamped; and, as the sun was going down, had the inexpressible\nsatisfaction to see the four men approaching. The officer proved to be\nLieutenant Gillespie, of the United States marines, who had been\ndespatched from Washington the November previous, to make his way by\nVera Cruz, the City of Mexico, and Mazatlan, to Monterey, in Upper\nCalifornia, deliver despatches to the United States consul there; and\nthen find Mr. Fremont, wherever he should be.\n\nCarson, in a letter to the Washington Union in June 1847, thus describes\nthe interview, and the events consequent upon it:\n\n\"Mr. Gillespie had brought the Colonel letters from home--the first he\nhad had since leaving the States the year before--and he was up, and\nkept a large fire burning until after midnight; the rest of us were\ntired out, and all went to sleep. This was the only night in all our\ntravels, except the one night on the island in the Salt Lake, that we\nfailed to keep guard; and as the men were so tired, and we expected no\nattack now that we had sixteen in the party, the Colonel didn't like to\nask it of them, but sat up late himself. Owens and I were sleeping\ntogether, and we were waked at the same time by the licks of the axe\nthat killed our men. At first, I didn't know it was that; but I called\nto Basil, who was on that side--'What's the matter there?--What's that\nfuss about?'--he never answered, for he was dead then, poor fellow, and\nhe never knew what killed him--his head had been cut in, in his sleep;\nthe other groaned a little as he died. The Delawares (we had four with\nus) were sleeping at that fire, and they sprang up as the Tlamaths\ncharged them. One of them caught up a gun, which was unloaded; but,\nalthough he could do no execution, he kept them at bay, fighting like a\nsoldier, and didn't give up until he was shot full of arrows--three\nentering his heart; he died bravely. As soon as I had called out, I saw\nit was Indians in the camp, and I and Owens together cried out\n'Indians.' There were no orders given; things went on too fast, and the\nColonel had men with him that didn't need to be told their duty. The\nColonel and I, Maxwell, Owens, Godey, and Stepp, jumped together, we\nsix, and ran to the assistance of our Delawares. I don't know who fired\nand who didn't; but I think it was Stepp's shot that killed the Tlamath\nchief; for it was at the crack of Stepp's gun that he fell. He had an\nEnglish half-axe slung to his wrist by a cord, and there were forty\narrows left in his quiver--the most beautiful and warlike arrows I ever\nsaw. He must have been the bravest man among them, from the way he was\narmed, and judging by his cap. When the Tlamaths saw him fall, they ran;\nbut we lay, every man with his rifle cocked, until daylight, expecting\nanother attack.\n\n\"In the morning we found by the tracks that from fifteen to twenty of\nthe Tlamaths had attacked us. They had killed three of our men, and\nwounded one of the Delawares, who scalped the chief, whom we left where\nhe fell. Our dead men we carried on mules; but, after going about ten\nmiles, we found it impossible to get them any farther through the thick\ntimber, and finding a secret place, we buried them under logs and\nchunks, having no way to dig a grave. It was only a few days before this\nfight that some of these same Indians had come into our camp; and,\nalthough we had only meat for two days, and felt sure that we should\nhave to eat mules for ten or fifteen days to come, the Colonel divided\nwith them, and even had a mule unpacked to give them some tobacco and\nknives.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n\nThose who have not been in similar dangers cannot properly appreciate\nthe feelings of the survivors, as they watched with their dead and\nperformed for them the last sad rites. Fremont had lost Lajeunesse, whom\nthey all loved, and the other two, Crane and the Delaware Indian, were\nnot less brave than he. The Indians had watched for Lieutenant\nGillespie, but in Fremont's coming up, while three were taken, more were\nsaved, and the benefit to the country, and perhaps the safety to\nFremont's whole force was secured by the receipt of the dispatches, and\nthis early rencontre. None had apprehended danger that night, being, as\nthey erroneously supposed, far removed from the Tlamath country, and\nequally far from the point where they already had encountered and\ndefeated the red men. The Indians never again found Fremont's party off\nguard, for the events of this night proved a serious and melancholy, as\nwell as a sufficient lesson. That they cherished revenge, is not to be\nwondered at, nor that they vowed to seek it at the earliest opportunity,\nas it was now known that war had been declared with Mexico, for such was\nthe tenor of Lieut. Gillespie's information. Fremont determined to\nreturn to California, and choosing to give his men a chance for revenge\nbefore doing so, he traveled around Tlamath lake, and, camping at a spot\nnearly opposite where his three men had been killed, the next morning\nsent Carson on in advance, with ten chosen men, and with instructions\nthat, if he discovered a large Indian village, without being seen\nhimself, he should send back word, and that he would hasten on with the\nrest of the party and give them battle; but if this could not be done,\nto attack the village himself, if he thought the chances were equal.\n\nOf course Carson and his men were parties to this advice, choosing the\nsituation of danger because only in that way could they revenge the\ndeath of their comrades.\n\nThey were not long in finding a trail, which they followed to a village\nof fifty lodges, in each of which were probably three warriors. The\nvillage was in commotion, which indicated that they had discovered\nCarson and his party; so that no time could be lost, and Carson and his\ncomrades at once determined to take advantage of the confusion in which\nthe Indian camp seemed to be, by making a sudden charge.\n\nThe Indians had their families to defend, and were brave in proportion\nas that motive is an incentive to activity, therefore the attack of the\nwhite men was received and met with desperation. But a panic of fear\nseized them, owing to the suddenness of the attack, and they fled,\nleaving behind them all their possessions, while the victors pursued and\nshot them down without mercy, and when the victory was declared complete\nby their leader Carson, they returned to the richly-stored village. In\nall their travels and adventures, they had never seen an Indian village\nin which the lodges were more tasteful in their workmanship and their\ndecorations, or which were better supplied with utensils of convenience.\nThe wigwams were woven of the broad leaves of a kind of flag which was\nhighly combustible. Carson therefore ordered that they should be burned,\nhaving first visited them to see that their contents were so arranged as\nto be consumed in the conflagration. The work was completed in a few\nmoments and Fremont, seeing the smoke, knew that Carson was engaged\nwith the Indians, and hastened forward to render him any needed\nassistance. But he arrived only to hear the report of his lieutenant,\nand to have the gloom of the whole party dispelled by the news of the\nvictory accomplished; and to move on a little for an encampment, and a\ntalk in regard to their future operations.\n\nThe next day all started for the valley of the Sacramento, and were four\ndays out from their camp when they came to a point on the river where it\npasses through a deep canyon, through which the trail would take them,\nbut Carson advised to avoid this gorge, and they were wise in doing so,\nas Tlamath Indians were concealed there, intending to cut off the party\nof white men. Disappointed that they had lost their prey, the Indians\ncame out from this ambush, and were immediately dispersed by Carson and\nGodey, and a few others, who made a charge upon them. But one old\nIndian, inspired probably by revenge for some friend lost, stood his\nground, and with several arrows in his mouth waited the attack he\ncourted. Carson and Godey advanced, and when within shooting distance,\nwere obliged to dodge rapidly to avoid the arrows leveled at them. The\nIndian was behind a tree, and only by cautiously advancing while\ndodging the death he was sending from his bow, did Carson gain a\nposition where he was able to aim a bullet at his heart. The beautiful\nbow and still unexhausted quiver that Carson took from this Indian, he\npresented to Lieutenant Gillespie on his return to camp.\n\nThey were in a locality where game was scarce, not being able to find\nany, the whole party went supperless that night and breakfastless next\nmorning, but the next day they found some game, and came, after severe\ntraveling for some days longer, safely in to Peter Lawson's Fort, where\nthey rested and hunted a week, and then moved lower down on the\nSacramento, and again camped. But his men were restless from inactivity,\nand Fremont decided it was no longer wise to wait for positive\ninstructions, as the war was probably commenced; he therefore sent a\npart of his force to take the little town and fort at Sonoma, which had\nbut a weak garrison. They captured General Vallejos here, with two\ncaptains and several cannon, and a quantity of arms. The whole force\nunited at Sonoma, and learning that the Mexicans and Americans in the\nsouth were engaged in open hostility, Fremont was preparing to join\nthem, calling in all the Americans in the vicinity to come to his\ncommand, when a large Mexican force, dispatched by General Castro from\nSan Francisco, with orders to drive the Americans out of the country,\ncame into the vicinity, and took prisoners and killed two men, whom\nFremont had sent out as messengers to the American settlers, to inform\nthem that Sonoma was taken, and that they could fly thither for safety.\n\nThe captain of this party of Mexicans, hearing that Fremont and his\nforces were anxious to attack him, lost all courage and fled, to be\npursued by the party of explorers, who followed them closely for six\ndays, and captured many horses which they had abandoned in their fright.\nBut finding they could not overtake them, Fremont returned to Sonoma,\nand the party of Mexicans continued their march to Los Angelos, where\nGeneral Castro joined them.\n\nAround Fremont's party, the American citizens now rallied in great\nnumbers--nearly all who were in the country--knowing that their time to\naid in its emancipation had arrived. Fremont left a strong garrison at\nSonoma, and went to Sutter's Fort, where he left his prisoners, General\nVallejos and the two captains, and an American, a brother-in-law of\nGeneral Vallejos, and having put the fort under military rules, with\nall his mountain men, started to take possession of Monterey. But he had\nbeen anticipated in this work by Commodore Sloat, who was in port with\nthe American squadron, and who left soon after Fremont's arrival,\nCommodore Stockton assuming the command.\n\nWhile at Sonoma, Fremont and his mountain men, with the American\nsettlers, had declared the Independence of California, and assumed the\nBear Flag, which he gallantly tendered to Commodore Sloat, and the flag\nof the United States was hoisted over his camp.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\n\nWith Carson as his constant adviser, as he was now his acknowledged\nfriend, Fremont here obtained the use of the ship Cyanne, to convey\nhimself and his command to San Diego, where they hoped to be able to\nobtain animals, and march upon the Mexicans under General Castro, who\nwas then at Los Angelos, leaving their own for the use of Commodore\nStockton and his marines, who were to meet them at that place.\n\nWith the Americans who joined him at San Diego, all of them pioneers of\nthe true stamp, inured to hardships, hard fare, and Indian fights,\nFremont's command numbered one hundred and fifty men, who started for\nLos Angelos, with perfect confidence in their own success, though the\nforce of the enemy was seven or eight hundred.\n\nFremont camped a league from this beautiful town, to await the arrival\nof the Commodore, who soon joined him, with \"as fine a body of men as I\never looked upon,\" to quote Carson's own words, and the forces thus\nunited, marched at once upon Los Angelos, which they found deserted, as\nGeneral Castro dared not risk a battle with such men as he knew Fremont\ncommanded.\n\nAfter this, Fremont was appointed Governor of California by Commodore\nStockton, and returned to Monterey and the northern portion of the\ncountry, while the Commodore went to San Diego, as that was a better\nport than San Pedro, the port of Los Angelos; and General Castro\nreturned to the possession of Los Angelos.\n\nMeantime, Carson, with a force of fifteen men, was dispatched to make\nthe overland journey to Washington, as the bearer of important\ndispatches. He was instructed to make the journey in sixty days if\npossible, which he felt sure of being able to accomplish, though no one\nknew, better than he did, the difficulties he might expect to encounter.\n\nWhen two days out from the copper mines of New Mexico, he came suddenly\nupon a village of Apache Indians, which his quick wit enabled him to\nelude. He rode forward in his path, as if unmindful of their presence,\nand halted in a wood a few yards from the village, which seemed to\ndisconcert the inhabitants, unused to being approached with so much\nboldness, as they had never been treated in that manner by the Mexicans.\nHe here demanded a parley, which was granted, and he told them that his\nparty were simply travelers on the road to New Mexico, and that they had\ncome to their village for an exchange of animals, as theirs were nearly\nexhausted.\n\nThe Indians were satisfied with his explanation; and Carson, choosing as\nhis camping-ground a suitable spot for defense, traded with the Apaches\nto advantage, and at an early hour on the following morning resumed his\njourney, glad to be thus easily rid of such treacherous, thieving\nrascals. A few more days of travel brought him to the Mexican\nsettlements, and near to his own home and family. The party had been,\nfor some time, short of provisions, as their haste in traveling did not\nallow them to stop to hunt, and on the route--desert much of the\nway--there had been little game; and now, with only a little corn which\nthey ate parched, they were glad of relief, which Carson readily\nobtained from friends at the first ranche he entered; for though the\ncountry was at war with the United States, Carson was a Mexican as much\nas an American, having chosen their country for his home, and taken a\nwife from their people. He was pursuing his course towards Taos, when,\nacross a broad prairie, he espied a speck moving towards him, which his\neagle eye soon discerned could not belong to the country. As it neared\nhim, and its form became visible, hastening on, he met an expedition\nsent out by the United States Government to operate in California, under\nthe command of General Kearney, to which officer he lost no time in\npresenting himself, and narrated to him his errand, and the state of\naffairs in California, with the most graphic fidelity. Kearney was\nextremely glad to meet him, and after detaining him as long as Carson\nthought it wise to remain, proposed to Carson to return with him, while\nhe should send the dispatches to Washington by Mr. Fitzpatrick--with\nwhom Carson had a familiar acquaintance; and knowing how almost\ninvaluable his services would be to General Kearney, Carson gave the\nready answer, \"As the General pleases,\" trusting entirely to his\nfidelity in the matter, and as the exchange was a self-denial to him, he\nhad no occasion to weigh the motives that might influence a man like\nGeneral Kearney in the affair of the dispatches, or the good that his\npresence with them might be to himself when he should arrive in\nWashington, but while he would have been glad to have met his family, he\ncared for the honor of having done his duty.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n\nOn the 18th of October, Gen. Kearney took up his march from his camp\nupon the Rio Grande, having Christopher Carson for his guide, with\ninstructions to lead the party by the most direct route to California:\nand so ably did Carson fulfill this official duty, so unexpectedly\nimposed upon him, that, with their animals in good condition still, they\ncamped within the limit of California on the evening of the third of\nDecember, and the next morning advanced towards San Diego.\n\nBut the Mexicans were not unapprised of the approach of American troops,\nand spies sent out by General Castro, to meet Kearney's force, were\nsurprised and brought into camp by a scout which Carson attended.\nCompelled to give information, they said that the Mexican forces under\nits general, were planning an attack upon the Americans before they\ncould join their California allies. Carson, with the understanding he\nhad of Gen. Kearney, and his knowledge of guerrilla warfare, would have\nadvised another route, to evade the Mexican troops and avoid a battle,\nuntil the weary and newly arrived soldiery had had some rest, and the\nassistance and advice of those who knew the last movements of the\nMexicans, could make a battle more effectual with less of risk than now;\nbut General Kearney was impatient for an encounter with the stupid\nMexicans, as he deemed them, and only learned by experience that the\nCalifornians were superior to those he had known in other of the Mexican\nStates, both in courage and natural tact, and in their military order\nand discipline, as the story will fully show.\n\nHe kept on his course until he approached within fifteen miles of the\nMexican camp, where he halted, and despatched a party to reconnoitre.\nThey reported on their return, that the enemy were strongly fortified in\nan Indian village; but in making the observation the scout had been\ndiscovered and pursued back to camp.\n\nGeneral Kearney determined to make an immediate attack, and commenced\nhis march at one o'clock in the morning, with no rest that night for his\nanimals or for his men; and weary and hungry before day, when within a\nmile of Castro's camp, the advance guard of the Americans came upon the\nadvance guard of the Mexicans, which had been stationed to prevent a\nsurprise.\n\nThis Mexican guard slept in their dress, ready at a five minutes'\nwarning to mount in their saddles, which were their pillows, while their\nhorses were tied to feed close around them. The sound of the trumpet\ncommanded first a rapid trot, then a gallop, and the fifteen Americans\nunder Captain Johnson with Kit Carson, of course, for his next officer,\nhad a brisk fight with this Mexican outpost, but failed to stampede\ntheir animals, as each Mexican mounted his own horse immediately, and\nthe guard drew back into camp. Capt. Johnson and Carson were now joined\nby Capt. Moore with twenty five Americans, a force that had united with\nKearney's since he came into California, when Moore ordered an attack\nupon the centre of the Mexican force, in order to divide it, and cause\nconfusion in the Mexican ranks.\n\nThe command of forty men were within a hundred yards of the enemy, and\nCarson among the foremost, when his horse suddenly fell and threw its\nrider, who was not seriously injured; but the stock of his gun was\nshivered to splinters, and his position one of exceeding danger, as the\nwhole body of dragoons went galloping over him. When he could arise from\nthe ground, he saw a dead horseman lying near, whom he relieved of gun\nand cartridge box, and again mounting his horse, upon whose bridle he\nhad managed to retain his hold, he was speedily in the thickest of the\nfight, where the contest was becoming desperate.\n\nCapt. Johnson and several of the soldiers in the advance had already\nbeen killed, and probably only the fall of his horse had saved Carson's\nlife, but he was now able to assist Moore and his men to dislodge the\nMexicans, and oblige them to retreat. The Americans pursued them, but as\nthere were only forty in the whole of General Kearney's command who were\nmounted on horses, and the mules which were ridden by the rest had\nbecome at once unmanageable when the firing commenced, their success was\nnot complete. The horses they had were wild, having been captured by\nCapt. Davidson and Kit Carson since their arrival in California, from a\nparty of Mexicans bound for Sonora, so that even Moore's party had\nbecome scattered in the chase, and the pursuit accomplished very little.\n\nThe Mexicans immediately discovered the condition of the Americans, and\nturning back, recommenced the fight, which had been nearly a bloodless\nvictory until now, but soon became for the Americans, a terrible\nslaughter. Every moment some dragoon yielded his life to the bullet or\nthe deadly blow of an exasperated Mexican, and of the forty dragoons on\nhorses thirty were either killed or severely wounded. Captain Moore,\nwhom Carson calls, \"as brave a man as ever drew the breath of life,\" was\nalready among the killed. As fast as the American soldiers could come\nup, they joined the battle, but the Mexicans fought with a bravery\nunsurpassed, and seemed to carry all before them.\n\nGen. Kearney now drew his sword, and placed himself at the head of his\nremaining forces, and though severely wounded, attempted to again force\nthe Mexicans to retreat, while Lieutenant Davidson came up with two\nmountain howitzers; but before he could unlimber them for use, the men\nwho were working them were shot down, and the lasso, thrown with\nunerring aim, had captured the horses attached to one of them, and the\ngun was taken to the ranks of the enemy, who, for some reason, could\nnot make it go off, or the American howitzer, at the distance of three\nhundred yards, would have done execution against those who had brought\nit thousands of miles to this point, to have it turned against them;\nthough Lieutenant Davidson had nearly lost his life in the attempt to\nsave it, but to no purpose.\n\nThe Americans were now obliged to take refuge at a point of rocks that\noffered, near where they had been defeated, for they had but two\nofficers besides Carson, who were not either killed or wounded; and here\nthey waited for the Mexicans, but they did not again venture an attack.\n\nThe fighting had continued throughout the entire day; both sides were\nweary and spent, and night closed over this scene of battle, without any\npositive result to either party. Gen. Kearney must now attend to the\nwounded, and all night the camp was occupied in the sad work of burying\nits dead, and alleviating the agony of the sufferers; while, at the same\ntime, a close watch was kept for the enemy, who were constantly\nreceiving reinforcements, of Indians as well as Mexicans, from the\ncountry around. A council of war was held, which at once decided it was\nbest to advance toward San Diego in the morning, with the hope of soon\nreceiving additions to their forces. Gen. Kearney had dispatched three\nmen to San Diego, with messages to Commodore Stockton, and before the\nbattle commenced, they had come back within sight of their comrades,\nwhen they were taken prisoners by the enemy; and whether they had\nsucceeded in getting through to San Diego, Gen. Kearney did not know.\nEarly in the morning, the command was again upon its way, with the\nfollowing order of march: Carson, with twenty-five still able-bodied\nmen, formed the advance, and the remainder, a much crippled band of\nsoldiers, followed in the trail that he had made. Their march was\ncontinued all the morning, in the constant expectation of an attack from\nthe Mexicans, who were also moving on, sometimes out of sight in the\nvalleys, and sometimes seen from the neighboring hills. When the first\nopportunity occurred, Gen. Kearney demanded a parley, and arranged to\nexchange a lieutenant, whose horse had been shot from under him during\nthe battle, and who had consequently fallen into the hands of the\nAmericans, for one of the express messengers the Mexicans were\ndetaining; but it availed nothing, for the expressman stated that,\nfinding it impossible to reach San Diego, he and his companions had\nreturned, when they were captured by the Mexicans.\n\nThe Mexicans had been manoeuvering all day, and toward evening, as the\nAmericans were about going into camp by a stream of water, came down\nupon them in two divisions, making a vigorous charge. The Americans were\nobliged to retire before such vastly superior numbers, and marched in\norder to a hill a little distance off, where they halted to give the\nMexicans battle; but the latter, seeing the advantage of the position,\ndrew off to a neighboring height, where they commenced and continued a\ndeadly cannonade upon the Americans. A party of Americans was sent to\ndislodge them, which they accomplished, and the whole force of the\nAmericans went over to occupy that position, as they were compelled to\nmake a resting place somewhere, because it was no longer possible for\nthem to continue their march, with the Mexican force ready at any time\nto fall upon them. Upon this hill there was barely water enough for the\nmen, and to take the horses to the stream could not be thought of, for\nthe Mexicans would surely capture them; nor had they any food left,\nexcept as they killed and ate their mules.\n\nThe condition of the party had become extremely desperate, and the war\ncouncil that was called, discussed a variety of measures, equally\ndesperate with their condition, for immediate relief, until, when the\nrest had made their propositions, Carson again showed himself \"the right\nman in the right place,\" and when all besides were hopeless, was the\nsalvation of his party. He rose in the council and said:\n\n\"Our case _is_ a desperate one, but there is yet hope. If we stay here,\nwe are all dead men; our animals cannot last long, and the soldiers and\nmarines at San Diego do not know of our coming. But if they receive\ninformation of our position, they would hasten to our rescue. There is\nno use in thinking why or how we are here, but only of our present and\nspeedy escape. I will attempt to go through the Mexican lines, and will\nthen go to San Diego, and send relief from Commodore Stockton.\"\n\nLieutenant Beale, of the United States Navy, at once seconded Carson,\nand volunteered to accompany him.\n\nLieutenant Beale is now widely known for his valuable services to the\ncountry, and, as an explorer, he has few equals in the world.\n\nThe writer is informed that he is now deeply interested in a wagon road\nacross the country by the route he had just crossed, at the time of\nwhich we write. His life has been full of strange adventures, since he\nleft the service of the seas.\n\nGen. Kearney immediately accepted the proposal of Carson and Lieutenant\nBeale, as his only hope, and they started at once, as soon as the cover\nof darkness was hung around them. Their mission was to be one of success\nor of death to themselves, and the whole force. Carson was familiar with\nthe custom of the Mexicans, as well as the Indians, of putting their ear\nto the ground to detect any sound, and knew, therefore, the necessity of\navoiding the slightest noise. As this was not possible, wearing their\nshoes, they removed them, and putting them under their belts, crept on\nover the bushes and rocks, with the greatest caution and silence.\n\nThey discovered that the Mexicans had three rows of sentinels, whose\nbeats extended past each other, embracing the hill where Kearney and his\ncommand were held in siege. They were, doubtless, satisfied that they\ncould not be eluded. But our messengers crept on, often so near a\nsentinel as to see his figure and equipment in the darkness; and once,\nwhen within a few yards of them, one of the sentinels had dismounted\nand lighted his cigarette with his flint and steel. Kit Carson seeing\nthis, as he lay flat on the ground, had put his foot back and touched\nLieutenant Beale, a signal to be still as he was doing. The minutes the\nMexican was occupied in this way, seemed hours to our heroes, who\nexpected they were discovered; and Carson affirms that they were so\nstill he could hear Lieutenant Beale's heart pulsate, and in the agony\nof the time he lived a year. But the Mexican finally mounted his horse,\nand rode off in a contrary direction, as if he were guided by\nProvidence, to give safety to these courageous adventurers. For full two\nmiles Kit Carson and Lieutenant Beale thus worked their way along, upon\ntheir hands and knees, turning their eyes in every direction to detect\nany thing which might lead to their discovery, and having past the last\nsentinel, and left the lines sufficiently behind them, they felt an\nimmeasurable relief in once more gaining their feet.\n\nBut their shoes were gone, and in the excitement of the journey, neither\nof them had thought of their shoes since they first put them in their\nbelts; but they could speak again, and congratulate each other that the\nimminent danger was past, and thank heaven that they had been aided\nthus far. But there were still abundant difficulties, as their path was\nrough with bushes, from the necessity of avoiding the well-trodden trail\nlest they be detected; and the prickly pear covered the ground, and its\nthorns penetrated their feet at every step; and their road was\nlengthened by going around out of the direct path, though the latter\nwould have shortened their journey many a weary mile. All the day\nfollowing they pursued their journey, and on still, without cessation,\ninto the night following, for they could not stop until assured that\nrelief was to be furnished to their anxious and perilous conditioned\nfellow soldiers.\n\nCarson had pursued so straight a course, and aimed so correctly for his\nmark, that they entered the town by the most direct passage, and\nanswering \"friends\" to the challenge of the sentinel, it was known from\nwhence they came, and they were at once conducted to Commodore Stockton,\nto whom they related the errand on which they had come, and the further\nparticulars we have described.\n\nCommodore Stockton immediately detailed a force of nearly two hundred\nmen, and with his usual promptness, ordered them to seek their besieged\ncountrymen by forced marches.\n\nThey took with them a piece of ordnance, which the men were obliged to\ndraw themselves, as there were in readiness no animals to be had. Carson\ndid not return with them, as his feet were in a terrible condition, and\nhe needed to rest or he might lose them, but he described the position\nof General Kearney so accurately, that the party to relieve him would\nfind him with no difficulty; and yet, if the Commodore had expressed the\nwish, he would have undertaken to conduct the relief party upon its\nmarch.\n\nLieutenant Beale was partially deranged for several days, from the\neffects of this severe service, and was sent on board the frigate lying\nin port for medical attendance; but he did not fully recover his former\nphysical health for more than two years; but he never spoke regretfully\nof an undertaking, which was not excelled by any feat performed in the\nMexican war.\n\nThe reinforcement reached General Kearney without a collision with the\nMexicans, and very soon all marched to San Diego, where the wounded\nsoldiers received medical attendance.\n\nWe have spoken of the superiority of character of the California\nMexicans over that of the inhabitants of the other Mexican States. The\nofficials appointed at the Mexican capital for this State, were treated\ndeferentially or cavalierly, as they consulted or disregarded the wishes\nof the people, and often it happened that a Governor-General of\nCalifornia was put on board a ship at Monterey, and directed to betake\nhimself back to those who sent him.\n\nCalifornia was so remote from the headquarters of the general\ngovernment, that these things were done with impunity, for it would have\nbeen difficult to send a force into the State that could subdue it, with\nits scattered population, and if laws obnoxious to them were enacted,\nand they violated them, or expelled an official who proposed their\nenforcement, it was quietly overlooked. Managing their own affairs in\nthis way, a spirit of independence and bold daring had been cultivated,\nespecially since the time when our story of California life commenced in\nCarson's first visit to that State, nor had the intercourse with\nAmericans hitherto lessened these feelings, for the California Mexicans\nadmired the Americans, as they called them, and cultivated good\nfellowship with them generally; so that we see when the Bear Flag and\nIndependence of the State became the order under Fremont and his party,\nmany of its leading citizens came at once into the arrangement, or were\nparties in it at the first.\n\nHad the conquest and government of the country been conducted wholly by\nFremont, it would have exhibited very little expenditure of life, for\nconciliation and the cultivation of kindly feeling was the policy he\npursued; indeed, with Carson as prime counselor, whose wife at home in\nTaos owned kindred with this people as one of the same race, how could\nit have been otherwise! though as Americans and citizens of the United\nStates, in whose employ they acted, first allegiance was ever cheerfully\naccorded to their country, by Carson equally with Fremont, as the\nhistory of California most fully proves.\n\nThe United States forces at San Diego were not in condition to again\ntake the field, until a number of weeks had elapsed, when a command of\nsix hundred had been organized for the purpose of again capturing Los\nAngelos, where the Mexican forces were concentrated; and General Kearney\nand Commodore Stockton were united in conducting it, and in two days\narrived within fifteen miles of the town, near where the Mexican army,\nto the number of seven hundred, had established themselves strongly\nupon a hill beside their camp, and between whom and the Americans flowed\na stream of water.\n\nGeneral Kearney ordered two pieces of artillery planted where they would\nrake the position of the Mexicans, which soon forced them to break up\ntheir camp, when Gen. Kearney and Commodore Stockton immediately marched\ninto the town, but only to find it destitute of any military control, as\nthe Mexican army had gone northward to meet Col. Fremont, who had left\nMonterey with a force of four hundred Americans, to come to Los Angelos.\n\nThe Mexicans found Col. Fremont, and laid down their arms to him,\nprobably preferring to give him the honor of the victory rather than\nGen. Kearney, though if this was or was not the motive, history now\nsayeth not. Col. Fremont continued his march and came to Los Angelos,\nand as the fighting for the present certainly was over, he and his men\nrested here for the winter, where Carson, who had been rendering all the\naid in his power to Gen. Kearney, now gladly joined his old commander.\n\nThe position of the American forces, had the camps been harmonious, was\nas comfortable and conducive to happiness during the winter as it was\npossible for it to be, and the Mexican citizens of Los Angelos had been\nso conciliated, the time might have passed pleasantly. But, as we have\nintimated, Gen. Kearney had a general contempt for the Mexicans, and his\nposition in the camp forbade those pleasant civilities which had\ncommenced in San Diego before his arrival, and would have been\nprosecuted in Los Angelos, to the advantage of all concerned; for, as\nmany of the men in Fremont's camp were old residents of the country, and\nknown and respected by the Mexican citizens, with whom some of them had\ncontracted intimate social relations, it is not wonderful that the\nMexican officers and soldiers chose to lay down their arms to him and\nhis command. Fremont had beside, at the instigation of Carson as well as\nof his own inclination, taken every reasonable opportunity to gratify\ntheir love of social life, by joining in their assemblies as opportunity\noffered; and for this, as well as his magnanimous courage, we can\nappreciate their choice in giving him the palm of victory.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\n\nEvents transpire rapidly when a country is in a state of revolution.\nEarly in March of '46 the little party of explorers received the \"first\nhostile message\" from General Castro--the _Commandant_ General of\nCalifornia--which, though really a declaration of war, upon a party sent\nout by the United States Government on a purely scientific expedition,\nhad been received and acted upon by Fremont with moderation, and actual\nwar had not been declared until July, when Sonoma was taken, and the\nflag of Independence hoisted on the fourth of that month, and Fremont\nelected Governor of California.\n\nWhile hearing indefinitely of these events, Commodore Sloat, who, with\nthe vessels belonging to his command, was lying at Monterey, had hoisted\nthe flag of the United States over that city, anticipating any command\nto do so on the part of his government, and anticipating also the\naction of the commander of the British ship of war, sent for a similar\npurpose, which arrived at Monterey on the 19th of July, under the\ncommand of Sir George Seymour; one of whose officers, in a book\npublished by him after his return to England, describes the entrance of\nFremont and his party into Monterey as follows:\n\n\"During our stay in Monterey,\" says Mr. Walpole, \"Captain Fremont and\nhis party arrived. They naturally excited curiosity. Here were true\ntrappers, the class that produced the heroes of Fennimore Cooper's best\nworks. These men had passed years in the wilds, living upon their own\nresources; they were a curious set. A vast cloud of dust appeared first,\nand thence in long file emerged this wildest wild party. Fremont rode\nahead, a spare, active-looking man, with such an eye! He was dressed in\na blouse and leggings, and wore a felt hat. After him came five Delaware\nIndians, who were his body-guard, and have been with him through all his\nwanderings; they had charge of two baggage horses. The rest, many of\nthem blacker than the Indians, rode two and two, the rifle held by one\nhand across the pommel of the saddle. Thirty-nine of them are his\nregular men, the rest are loafers picked up lately; his original men\nare principally backwoodsmen, from the State of Tennessee and the banks\nof the upper waters of the Missouri. He has one or two with him who\nenjoy a high reputation in the prairies. Kit Carson is as well known\nthere as 'the Duke' is in Europe. The dress of these men was principally\na long loose coat of deer skin, tied with thongs in front; trowsers of\nthe same, of their own manufacture, which, when wet through, they take\noff, scrape well inside with a knife, and put on as soon as dry; the\nsaddles were of various fashions, though these and a large drove of\nhorses, and a brass field-gun, were things they had picked up about\nCalifornia. They are allowed no liquor, tea and sugar only; this, no\ndoubt, has much to do with their good conduct; and the discipline, too,\nis very strict. They were marched up to an open space on the hills near\nthe town, under some large fires, and there took up their quarters, in\nmesses of six or seven, in the open air. The Indians lay beside their\nleader. One man, a doctor, six feet six high, was an odd-looking fellow.\nMay I never come under his hands!\"\n\nCommodore Stockton had arrived the same day with Fremont and Carson and\ntheir command, and under him Fremont had been appointed General in\nChief of the California forces, with Carson for his first Lieutenant;\nStockton assuming the civil office of Governor of the country. This had\nbeen deemed a measure of necessity, from the fact that the California\nMexicans had not yet learned, from the Mexican authorities, the actual\ndeclaration of war between the United States and Mexico; and therefore\nlooked upon the operations of the Americans as the acts of adventurers\nfor their own aggrandizement; and yet, with all the intensity of feeling\nsuch ideas aroused, Fremont and Carson had won their admiration and\ntheir hearts, by the rapidity of their movements, their sudden and\neffective blows, and the effort by dispatch to avoid all cruelty and\nbloodshed as far as possible.\n\nIn this way had San Diego, San Pedro, Los Angelos, Santa Barbara, and\nthe whole country, as the Mexican authorities declared, come into the\npossession of Commodore Stockton and General Fremont, as a conquered\nterritory, taken in behalf of the United States; and the whole work been\ncompleted in about sixty days from the time the first blow was struck;\nand when all was accomplished, and the conquest complete, Carson started\nupon his errand to communicate the intelligence to the general\ngovernment at Washington; with the knowledge that all the leading\ncitizens of California, native as well as the American settlers, were\nfriendly to Fremont, and on his account to Commodore Stockton.\n\nDuring the three months of Carson's absence, events had transpired that\nmade it necessary to do this work over again, resulting in a measure\nfrom the indiscretions of American officers, which induced insurrection\non the part of the Mexicans. The arrival of General Kearney with United\nStates troops still further excited them, and produced results which\nwere everything but pleasant to Fremont and Commodore Stockton, the\ndetails of which we forbear to give, simply saying that Carson's regard\nfor Fremont showed itself by his return to his service, and doing all\nthat he could to forward his interests, and in his often attending him\nin his excursions. Fremont's command was an independent battalion; and\nconcerning the last and final contest, General Kearney thus wrote to the\nWar Department:\n\n\"This morning, Lieutenant-Colonel Fremont, of the regiment of mounted\nriflemen, reached here with four hundred volunteers from the Sacramento;\nthe enemy capitulated with him yesterday, near San Fernando, agreeing\nto lay down their arms; and we have now the prospect of having peace and\nquietness in this country, which I hope may not be interrupted again.\"\n\nIt was during Carson's absence, en route for Washington, that Fremont\naccomplished the most extraordinary feat of physical energy and\nendurance ever recorded. We find it in the \"National Intelligencer,\" of\nNovember 22, 1847, and quote it entire, as illustrating not only the\nphysical powers of human endurance produced by practice and culture, but\nthe wonderful sagacity and enduring qualities of the California horses:\n\n    \"THE EXTRAORDINARY RIDE OF LIEUT. COL. FREMONT, HIS FRIEND DON\n    JESUS PICO, AND HIS SERVANT, JACOB DODSON, FROM LOS ANGELOS TO\n    MONTEREY AND BACK IN MARCH, 1847.\n\n\"This extraordinary ride of 800 miles in eight days, including all\nstoppages and near two days' detention--a whole day and a night at\nMonterey, and nearly two half days at San Luis Obispo--having been\nbrought into evidence before the Army Court Martial now in session in\nthis city, and great desire being expressed by some friends to know how\nthe ride was made, I herewith send you the particulars, that you may\npublish them, if you please, in the National Intelligencer, as an\nincident connected with the times and affairs under review in the trial,\nof which you give so full a report. The circumstances were first got\nfrom Jacob, afterwards revised by Col. Fremont, and I drew them up from\nhis statement.\n\n\"The publication will show, besides the horsemanship of the riders, the\npower of the California horse, especially as one of the horses was\nsubjected, in the course of the ride, to an extraordinary trial, in\norder to exhibit the capacity of his race. Of course this statement will\nmake no allusion to the objects of the journey, but be confined strictly\nto its performance.\n\n\"It was at daybreak on the morning of the 22d of March, that the party\nset out from La Ciudad de los Angelos (the city of the Angels) in the\nsouthern part of Upper California, to proceed, in the shortest time, to\nMonterey on the Pacific coast, distant full four hundred miles. The way\nis over a mountainous country, much of it uninhabited, with no other\nroad than a trace, and many defiles to pass, particularly the maritime\ndefile of _el Rincon_ or Punto Gordo, fifteen miles in extent, made by\nthe jutting of a precipitous mountain into the sea, and which can only\nbe passed when the tide is out and the sea calm, and then in many places\nthrough the waves. The towns of Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo, and\noccasional ranches, are the principal inhabited places on the route.\nEach of the party had three horses, nine in all, to take their turns\nunder the saddle. The six loose horses ran ahead, without bridle or\nhalter, and required some attention to keep to the track. When wanted\nfor a change, say at the distance of twenty miles, they were caught by\nthe _lasso_, thrown either by Don Jesus or the servant Jacob, who,\nthough born in Washington, in his long expeditions with Col. Fremont,\nhad become as expert as a Mexican with the lasso, as sure as the\nmountaineer with the rifle, equal to either on horse or foot, and always\na lad of courage and fidelity.\n\n\"None of the horses were shod, that being a practice unknown to the\nCalifornians. The most usual gait was a sweeping gallop. The first day\nthey ran one hundred and twenty-five miles, passing the San Fernando\nmountain, the defile of the Rincon, several other mountains, and slept\nat the hospitable ranche of Don Thomas Robberis, beyond the town of\nSanta Barbara. The only fatigue complained of in this day's ride, was\nin Jacob's right arm, made tired by throwing the lasso, and using it as\na whip to keep the loose horses to the track.\n\n\"The next day they made another one hundred and twenty-five miles,\npassing the formidable mountain of Santa Barbara, and counting upon it\nthe skeletons of some fifty horses, part of near double that number\nwhich perished in the crossing of that terrible mountain by the\nCalifornia battalion, on Christmas day, 1846, amidst a raging tempest,\nand a deluge of rain and cold more killing than that of the Sierra\nNevada--the day of severest suffering, say Fremont and his men, that\nthey have ever passed. At sunset, the party stopped to sup with the\nfriendly Capt. Dana, and at nine at night San Luis Obispo was reached,\nthe home of Don Jesus, and where an affecting reception awaited\nLieutenant-Colonel Fremont, in consequence of an incident which occurred\nthere that history will one day record; and he was detained till 10\no'clock in the morning receiving the visits of the inhabitants, (mothers\nand children included,) taking a breakfast of honor, and waiting for a\nrelief of fresh horses to be brought in from the surrounding country.\nHere the nine horses from Los Angelos were left, and eight others taken\nin their place, and a Spanish boy added to the party to assist in\nmanaging the loose horses.\n\n\"Proceeding at the usual gait till eight at night, and having made some\nseventy miles, Don Jesus, who had spent the night before with his family\nand friends, and probably with but little sleep, became fatigued, and\nproposed a halt for a few hours. It was in the valley of the Salinas\n(salt river called _Buenaventura_ in the old maps,) and the haunt of\nmarauding Indians. For safety during their repose, the party turned off\nthe trace, issued through a _canyon_ into a thick wood, and laid down,\nthe horses being put to grass at a short distance, with the Spanish boy\nin the saddle to watch. Sleep, when commenced, was too sweet to be\neasily given up, and it was half way between midnight and day, when the\nsleepers were aroused by an _estampedo_ among the horses, and the calls\nof the boy. The cause of the alarm was soon found, not Indians, but\nwhite bears--this valley being their great resort, and the place where\nCol. Fremont and thirty-five of his men encountered some hundred of them\nthe summer before, killing thirty upon the ground.\n\n\"The character of these bears is well known, and the bravest hunters do\nnot like to meet them without the advantage of numbers. On discovering\nthe enemy, Col. Fremont felt for his pistols, but Don Jesus desired him\nto lie still, saying that 'people could scare bears;' and immediately\nhallooed at them in Spanish, and they went off. Sleep went off also; and\nthe recovery of the horses frightened by the bears, building a rousing\nfire, making a breakfast from the hospitable supplies of San Luis\nObispo, occupied the party till daybreak, when the journey was resumed.\nEighty miles, and the afternoon brought the party to Monterey.\n\n\"The next day, in the afternoon, the party set out on their return, and\nthe two horses rode by Col. Fremont from San Luis Obispo, being a\npresent to him from Don Jesus, he (Don Jesus) desired to make an\nexperiment of what one of them could do. They were brothers, one a grass\nyounger than the other, both of the same color, (cinnamon,) and hence\ncalled _el canalo_, or _los canalos_, (the cinnamon or the cinnamons.)\nThe elder was to be taken for the trial; and the journey commenced upon\nhim at leaving Monterey, the afternoon well advanced. Thirty miles under\nthe saddle done that evening, and the party stopped for the night. In\nthe morning, the elder canalo was again under the saddle for Col.\nFremont, and for ninety miles he carried him without a change, and\nwithout apparent fatigue. It was still thirty miles to San Luis Obispo,\nwhere the night was to be passed, and Don Jesus insisted that canalo\ncould do it, and so said the horse by his looks and action. But Col.\nFremont would not put him to the trial, and, shifting the saddle to the\nyounger brother, the elder was turned loose to run the remaining thirty\nmiles without a rider. He did so, immediately taking the lead and\nkeeping it all the way, and entering San Luis in a sweeping gallop,\nnostrils distended, snuffing the air, and neighing with exultation at\nhis return to his native pastures; his younger brother all the time at\nthe head of the horses under the saddle, bearing on his bit, and held in\nby his rider. The whole eight horses made their one hundred and twenty\nmiles each that day, (after thirty the evening before,) the elder\ncinnamon making ninety of his under the saddle that day, besides thirty\nunder the saddle the evening before; nor was there the least doubt that\nhe would have done the whole distance in the same time if he had\ncontinued under the saddle.\n\n\"After a hospitable detention of another half a day at San Luis Obispo,\nthe party set out for Los Angelos, on the same nine horses which they\nhad rode from that place, and made the ride back in about the same time\nthey had made it up, namely, at the rate of 125 miles a day.\n\n\"On this ride, the grass on the road was the food for the horses. At\nMonterey they had barley; but these horses, meaning those _trained and\ndomesticated_, as the canalos were, eat almost anything of vegetable\nfood, or even drink, that their master uses, by whom they are petted and\ncaressed, and rarely sold. Bread, fruit, sugar, coffee, and even wine,\n(like the Persian horses,) they take from the hand of their master, and\nobey with like docility his slightest intimation. A tap of the whip on\nthe saddle, springs them into action; the check of a thread rein (on the\nSpanish bit) would stop them: and stopping short at speed they do not\njostle the rider or throw him forward. They leap on anything--man,\nbeast, or weapon, on which their master directs them. But this\ndescription, so far as conduct and behavior are concerned, of course\nonly applies to the trained and domesticated horse.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\n\nDuring the autumn of 1846, Fremont had had no time to visit his Mariposa\npurchase; but in the winter, while at Los Angelos, inviting Carson and\nGodey and two of his Delaware Indians, and his constant attendant\nDobson, to take a tramp with him for hunting, in the time of sunny skies\nin February, he extended his hunt thither, and accomplished the\ndiscovery that he had a well-wooded and well-watered--for California\nwell watered--tract of land, of exceeding beauty, clothed, as it was at\nthis season, with a countless variety of flowering plants, these being\nthe grasses of the country, and seemingly well adapted for tillage,\ncertainly an excellent spot for an immense cattle ranche. They killed\ndeer and antelope and smaller game, and with the lasso captured a score\nof wild horses from a drove of hundreds that fled at their approach;\nreturning to Los Angelos within a week from the time of their\ndeparture, laden with the spoils of the chase.\n\nNor could these busy men refuse the kindly hospitalities tendered them\nby the old and wealthy natives of Los Angelos. We have described their\nstyle of life as Carson had witnessed it in 1828; and now at a ball\ngiven by Don Pio Pico--for the _fandango_ of the Mexican is a part of\nhis life, and with all his reverses of fortune it must come in for its\nplace--Carson and Fremont are of course guests, and Lieutenant\nGillespie, and some other of the American officers. As the company was a\nmixed one, we will not attempt a description, but quote from Bayard\nTaylor's California, a scene of a similar kind at the close of the\nConstitutional Convention, about two years later, when, with the\ndiscovery of gold, California had a population sufficient to demand a\nState government, and made one for herself, and prepared to knock for\nadmission into the Union of States. In this Convention were the old\nfathers of California, American army officers, and some more recent\narrivals; and well was it for California that the steps for the\norganization of her State government were taken so early, when the fact\nof Mexicans and natives having a claim was not ignored, as it might\nhave been at a later date by the reckless adventurers who thronged the\ngolden shore.\n\nBut it is only the ball at the close of the Convention we propose to\ndescribe, at which Col. Fremont and David C. Broderick were present, as\nmembers of the Convention.\n\n\"The morning Convention was short and adjourned early yesterday, on\naccount of a ball given by the Convention to the citizens of Monterey.\nThe members, by a contribution of $25 each, raised the sum of $1,100 to\nprovide for the entertainment, which was got up in return for that given\nby the citizens about four weeks since.\n\n\"The Hall was cleared of the forms and tables, and decorated with young\npines from the forest. At each end were the American colors tastefully\ndisposed across the boughs. Then chandeliers, neither of bronze or\ncut-glass, but neat and brilliant withal, poured their light upon the\nfestivities. At eight o'clock--the fashionable hour in Monterey--the\nguests began to assemble, and in an hour afterward the Hall was crowded\nwith nearly all the Californian and American residents. There were sixty\nladies present, and an equal number of gentlemen, in addition to the\nmembers of the Convention. The dark-eyed daughters of Monterey, Los\nAngelos, and Santa Barbara mingled in pleasing contrast with the fairer\nbloom of the trans-Nevadian belles. The variety of feature and\ncomplexion was fully equaled by the variety of dress. In the whirl of\nthe waltz, a plain, dark, nun-like robe would be followed by one of pink\nsatin and gauze; next, perhaps, a bodice of scarlet velvet, with gold\nbuttons, and then a rich figured brocade, such as one sees on the\nstately dames of Titian.\n\n\"The dresses of the gentlemen showed considerable variety, but were much\nless picturesque. A complete ball-dress was a happiness attained only by\na fortunate few, many appearing in borrowed robes.\n\n\"The appearance of the company, nevertheless, was genteel and\nrespectable; and perhaps the genial, unrestrained social spirit, that\npossessed all present, would have been less, had there been more\nuniformity of costume. Gen. Riley was there in full uniform, with the\nyellow sash he wore at Contreras; Mayors Canby, Hill, and Smith,\nCaptains Burton, and Kane, and the other officers stationed at Monterey,\naccompanying him. In one group might be seen Capt. Sutter's soldierly\nmustache and blue eye, in another the erect figure and quiet, dignified\nbearing of Gen. Vallejo; Don Peblo de la Guerra, with his handsome,\naristocratic features, was the floor manager, and gallantly discharged\nhis office. Conspicuous among the members were Don Miguel de Rodrazena,\nand Jacinto Rodriguez, both polished gentlemen and deservedly popular.\nDominguez, the Indian member, took no part in the dance, but evidently\nenjoyed the scene as much as any one present. The most interesting\nfigure to me, was that of Padre Remisez, who, in his clerical cassock,\nlooked on until a late hour. If the strongest advocate of priestly\ngravity and decorum had been present, he could not have found in his\nheart to grudge the good old padre the pleasure that beamed from his\nhonest countenance.\n\n\"The band consisted of two violins and two guitars, whose music made up\nin spirit what it lacked in skill. They played, as it seemed to me, but\nthree pieces alternately, for waltz, contra-dance, and quadrille. The\nlatter dance was evidently an unfamiliar one, for once or twice the\nmusic ceased in the middle of the figure. The etiquette of the dance was\nmarked by that grave, stately courtesy, which has been handed down from\nthe old Spanish times. The gentlemen invariably gave the ladies their\nhand to lead them to their places on the floor; in the pauses of the\ndance both parties stood motionless side by side, and at the conclusion\nthe lady was gravely led back to her seat.\n\n\"At twelve o'clock supper was announced. The Court room in the lower\nstory had been fitted up for the purpose, and as it was not large enough\nto admit all the guests, the ladies were first conducted thither, and\nwaited upon by a select committee. The refreshments consisted of turkey,\nroast-pig, beef, tongue, and _pates_, with wines and liquors of various\nsorts, and coffee. A large supply had been provided but after everybody\nwas served, there was not much remaining. The ladies began to leave\nabout two o'clock, but an hour later the dance was still going on with\nspirit.\"\n\nThe dance at the home of Pico, was after the same fashion--and similar\nto those we have mentioned as the constant amusement of the people at\nTaos, where Carson resided, and in all the Mexican cities.\n\nBut Carson was too valuable an aid to be long allowed to be idle. In\nMarch, 1847, he was ordered to be the bearer of important dispatches to\nthe War Department at Washington, and Lieutenant Beale was directed to\naccompany him with dispatches for the Department of the Navy. The\nlatter was still so much an invalid as to require Carson to lift him on\nand off his horse for the first twenty days of the journey, but Carson's\ngenial spirits and kindly care, with the healthful exercise of\nhorsemanship, recovered him rapidly; and the country was so well known\nto Carson, that they avoided collisions with the Indians by eluding\ntheir haunts; except once upon the Gila, when they were attacked in the\nnight, and a shower of arrows sent among them as they lay in camp, from\nwhich his men had escaped, being injured by holding their pack-saddles\nbefore them. They stopped briefly at Taos, and pursued their journey so\nrapidly that the two thousand five hundred miles on horseback, and the\nfifteen hundred by railroad, were accomplished in less than three\nmonths.\n\nThe incidents of such a journey had become every-day scenes to Carson,\nso that their narration would seem to him a waste of words on the part\nof his biographer. And yet the emotions with which he witnessed, for the\nfirst time, the monument of advancing civilization in the Eastern\ncities, and the zest with which he enjoyed the social comforts of the\nhospitality afforded him at the homes of Lieutenant Beale and Col.\nBenton, can be better imagined than described. He had taken but a small\nsupply of provisions from Los Angelos, lest it should be cumbersome to\nhim, and as the road lay often through a country destitute of game,\nthere had been fasting on the way, sometimes days together; but his\nparty, which he had selected, making their ability to endure such an\nenterprise a leading quality of commendation to him, bore all without a\nmurmur; stimulated by the one impulse, of reaching their homes and\nfriends, while Carson cared to secure the approbation of those whom he\nserved, and the consciousness of having been an honor to his country.\n\nCol. Benton met him at St. Louis, and reaching Washington, Mrs. Fremont\nwas at the depot to take him to her's and her father's home. She waited\nfor no introduction, but at once approached him, calling him by name,\nand telling him she should have known him from her husband's\ndescription. After a brief tarry in Washington, a lion himself and\nintroduced to all the lions, he departed with Lieutenant Beale for St.\nLouis, but business detained the latter who went later by sea; while\nCarson, whom President Polk had made a Lieutenant in the army, with\nfifty troops under his command to take through the Camanche country,\nagain commenced his journey across the prairies, having a battle with\nthese Indians as was expected, for they were at war with the whites.\n\nThis did not occur, however, until near the Rocky Mountains, near the\nplace called \"The Point of Rocks,\" on the Santa Fe trail, which place is\nregarded as one of the most dangerous in the New Mexican country,\nbecause affording shelter for ambush at a place where the travel has to\npass a spur of rocky hills, at whose base is found the water and camp\nground travelers seek, and where unwritten history counts many a battle.\n\nArriving here, Carson found a company of United States volunteers, and\nwent into camp near them. Early in the morning the animals of the\nvolunteer company were captured by a band of Indians, while the men were\ntaking them to a spot of fresh pasture. The herders were without arms,\nand in the confusion the cattle came into Carson's camp, who, with his\nmen, were ready with their rifles, and recaptured the cattle from the\nIndians, but the horses of the picketing party were successfully\nstampeded.\n\nSeveral of the thieves had been mortally wounded, as the signs after\ntheir departure showed, but the Indian custom of tying the wounded upon\ntheir horses, prevented taking the Indian's trophy of victory, the\nscalp, and the object of the Indians in their assaults. The success of\nthe Arab-like Camanches is well illustrated by this skirmish, giving\nbest assurance that Carson, who was never surprised in this whole\njourney, possessed that element of caution so requisite in a commander\nin such a country.\n\nOf the two soldiers whose turn it had been to stand guard this morning,\nit was found that one was sleeping when the alarm was given, and when it\nwas reported to Carson, he at once administered the Chinook method of\npunishment--the dress of a squaw--for that day, and resuming his\njourney, arrived safely in Santa Fe, where he left the soldiers, and\nhired sixteen men of his own choosing, to make with him the remainder of\nthe journey, as he had been ordered at Fort Leavenworth. To his great\njoy, his family were here to meet him, as he had requested. Upon Virgin\nRiver, he had to command the obedience of Indians who came into his camp\nand left it tardily, by firing upon them, which required some nerve and\nexperience in a leader of so small a party, while the Indians numbered\nthree hundred warriors. They arrived at Los Angelos without further\nincident than the killing and eating of two mules, to eke out their\nscanty subsistence, in the destitution of game and time to hunt it;\nwhence Carson proceeded to Monterey, to deliver his dispatches at\nheadquarters, and returned to the duty assigned him as an acting\nLieutenant in the United States Army, in the company of dragoons under\nCapt. Smith, allowing himself no time to recruit; and soon he was sent\nwith a command of twenty-five dragoons, to the Tejon Pass, to examine\nthe papers and cargoes of Indians passing this point, the route which\nmost of the Indian depredators took in passing in and out of California;\nand here he did much good service during the winter.\n\nIn the spring he again went overland to Washington with dispatches,\nmeeting no serious difficulty till he came to the Grand River, where in\nthe time of spring flood he was obliged to construct a raft, and the\nsecond load over was swamped, the men barely saving their lives, which\nrendered his party destitute of comforts in their onward journey, but\narriving at Taos he stopped with his family, and at his own home gave\nhis men a few days to recruit, and himself the luxury of intercourse\nwith his family and friends, which no one enjoys more than Christopher\nCarson.\n\nThey had encountered several hundred Indians of the Apaches and Utahs,\nwhom Carson told he had nothing to give, and upon whom the appearance of\nhis men gave assurance they would make little by attacking. At Santa Fe,\nCarson learned that his appointment as Lieutenant by the President had\nnot been confirmed by the Senate, and his friends advised him not to\ncarry the dispatches any further; but Carson was not to be deterred from\ndoing his duty because the honor he deserved was not accorded to him,\nsaying that \"as he had been selected for an important trust, he should\ndo his best to fulfill it, if it cost him his life;\" and he proceeded to\nWashington, feeling that if ill-usage had reached him in connection with\nFremont, to whom he had been of so much service, it was no more than he\nmight have expected; as, for many months past, political considerations\nand rivalries had been seen by him to govern the actions of certain men,\ninstead of a care for the best interests of the country. He had seen men\nin command of troops in the prairies who had the least possible\nknowledge of the country, and especially of Indian warfare. He would\nhave advised that frontier men be chosen for such appointments, rather\nthan those simply educated in the schools and entirely unaccustomed to\nendure privations, but if others neglected the wiser course, that was no\nreason why he should not do his duty.\n\nLearning that the Camanches were upon the Santa Fe road, several hundred\nstrong, he reduced his escort to ten choice mountain men, and determined\nupon making a trail of his own returned to Taos, and struck over to the\nhead-waters of the Platte, and past Fort Kearney to Leavenworth, where\nhe left his escort and proceeded alone to Washington, and delivering his\ndispatches as directed, returned immediately to Leavenworth, and thence\nto Taos, where he arrived in October; and was again at home and free\nfrom the burdens and responsibilities of public life, with the settled\npurpose of making a protracted stay, and providing himself with a\npermanent home.\n\nPerhaps there is no tribe of Indians besides the Seminoles in Florida,\nthat have given the United States more trouble than the Apaches, in the\ntime that we have held the claim of their country; and the best proof of\ntheir bravery may be found in the fact that the warriors nearly all die\nin battle. Living in a country as healthy as any in the world, and\nconstantly occupied in hunting buffalo, or Mexicans and whites, with\nwhom they are at war, they are exceedingly regardful of their national\nhonor, and as their mountain retreats are almost inaccessible, they have\nthe advantage of regular troops, and almost of old mountaineers, only as\nthe latter can equal them in numbers.\n\nCol. Beale was occupying this department at the time of which we write,\nand engaged in an effort to chastise the Apaches under _Clico\nVelasquez_, their exceedingly blood-thirsty and cruel chief, whose habit\nwas to adorn his dress with the finger bones of the victims he had\nslaughtered. Col. Beale took charge of the command himself, and employed\nCarson as his guide. They crossed snow mountains to search for the\nIndians, and returning came upon a village, which they attacked, and\ncaptured a large amount of goods and two of the chiefs of the tribe,\nwith whom Col. Beale had a long talk, and then dismissed to return to\ntheir tribe, hoping thus to convince them of the magnanimity of the\nUnited States Government, when the command returned to Taos to recruit\nhis troops.\n\nMeantime Carson entertained, at his own home in Taos, Fremont and his\nparty of suffering explorers, who were making a winter survey of a pass\nfor a road to California, and by taking a difficult mountain pass, had\nlost all their mules and several of their party. Science is not all\nthat is needed for such undertakings, and as labor and learning should\nact in co-partnership, to be most effective, so theoretic and practical\nskill should be associated in any effort of difficulty, as this trip of\nCol. Fremont, without an experienced mountaineer for a guide, proved to\nhim and his men, some of whom had fed upon the others who had starved.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\n\nIn the last chapter, we left Fremont in the hospitable mansion of his\nold and tried friend Carson, after one of the most extraordinary\njourneys ever performed by any man who survived to tell its horrors; and\nas the names of Carson and Fremont are inseparably cemented in history,\nas in friendship, and as the former had often endured sufferings almost\nas great as those of his old commander and friend, we shall be pardoned\nif we allude to this journey at some length. There is no earthly doubt\nthat had Carson been the guide, many valuable lives of noble, glorious\nmen might have been spared, and sufferings on the part of those who\nsurvived this disastrous expedition, almost too horrible for belief,\navoided.\n\nCol. Fremont, in a letter written to his wife from Taos, the day after\nhis arrival there in a famishing condition, and having lost one full\nthird of his party by absolute starvation and freezing, mentions that\nat Pueblo he engaged as a guide, an old trapper of twenty-five years,\nexperience, named \"Bill Williams,\" and he frankly admits that the \"error\nof his journey was committed in engaging this man.\"\n\nIn narrating some of the incidents of this terribly disastrous journey,\nwe shall use, of course, the language of those best qualified to depict\nits horrors, _i. e._, Col. Fremont, and Mr. Carvalho, a gentleman of\nBaltimore, who accompanied the expedition as daguerreotypist and artist.\n\nCol. Fremont, in his letter to his wife, treats of the subject\ngenerally, but when we quote from the narrative of Mr. Carvalho, we\nthink our readers will admit that such a record of human suffering, and\nhuman endurance, added to such an exhibition of moral and physical\ncourage, has never been paralleled.\n\nCol. Fremont writes, (speaking first of Williams the guide,)\n\n\"He proved never to have in the least known, or entirely to have\nforgotten, the whole region of country through which we were to pass. We\noccupied more than half a month in making the journey of a few days,\nblundering a tortuous way through deep snow which already began to choke\nup the passes, for which we were obliged to waste time in searching.\nAbout the 11th December we found ourselves at the North of the Del Norte\nCanyon, where that river issues from the St. John's Mountain, one of the\nhighest, most rugged and impracticable of all the Rocky Mountain ranges,\ninaccessible to trappers and hunters even in the summer time.\n\n\"Across the point of this elevated range our guide conducted us, and\nhaving still great confidence in his knowledge, we pressed onwards with\nfatal resolution. Even along the river bottoms the snow was already\nbelly deep for the mules, frequently snowing in the valley and almost\nconstantly in the mountains. The cold was extraordinary; at the warmest\nhours of the day (between one and two) the thermometer (Fahrenheit)\nstanding in the shade of only a tree trunk at zero; the day sunshiny,\nwith a moderate breeze. We pressed up towards the summit, the snow\ndeepening; and in four or five days reached the naked ridges which lie\nabove the timbered country, and which form the dividing grounds between\nthe waters of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.\n\n\"Along these naked ridges it storms nearly all winter, and the winds\nsweep across them with remorseless fury. On our first attempt to cross\nwe encountered a _pouderie_ (dry snow driven thick through the air by\nviolent wind, and in which objects are visible only at a short\ndistance,) and were driven back, having some ten or twelve men variously\nfrozen, face, hands, or feet. The guide became nigh being frozen to\ndeath here, and dead mules were already lying about the fires. Meantime,\nit snowed steadily. The next day we made mauls, and beating a road or\ntrench through the snow, crossed the crest in defiance of the\n_pouderie_, and encamped immediately below in the edge of the timber.\n\n\"Westward, the country was buried in deep snow. It was impossible to\nadvance, and to turn back was equally impracticable. We were overtaken\nby sudden and inevitable ruin, and it was instantly apparent that we\nshould lose every animal.\n\n\"I determined to recross the mountain more towards the open country, and\nhaul or pack the baggage (by men) down to the Del Norte. With great\nlabor the baggage was transported across the crest to the head springs\nof a little stream leading to the main river. A few days were sufficient\nto destroy our fine band of mules. They generally kept huddled together,\nand as they froze, one would be seen to tumble down, and the snow would\ncover him; sometimes they would break off and rush down towards the\ntimber until they were stopped by the deep snow, where they were soon\nhidden by the _pouderie_.\n\n\"The courage of the men failed fast; in fact, I have never seen men so\nsoon discouraged by misfortune as we were on this occasion; but, as you\nknow, the party was not constituted like the former ones. But among\nthose who deserve to be honorably mentioned, and who behaved like what\nthey were--men of the old exploring party,--were Godey, King, and\nTaplin; and first of all Godey.\n\n\"In this situation, I determined to send in a party to the Spanish\nsettlements of New Mexico for provisions and mules to transport our\nbaggage to Taos. With economy, and after we should leave the mules, we\nhad not two weeks' provisions in the camp. These consisted of a store\nwhich I had reserved for a hard day, macaroni and bacon. From among the\nvolunteers I chose King, Brackenridge, Creutzfeldt, and the guide\nWilliams; the party under the command of King. In case of the least\ndelay at the settlements, he was to send me an express.\n\n\"Day after day passed by, and no news from our express party. Snow\ncontinued to fall almost incessantly on the mountain. The spirits of the\ncamp grew lower. Prone laid down in the trail and froze to death. In a\nsunshiny day, and having with him means to make a fire, he threw his\nblankets down in the trail and laid there till he froze to death. After\nsixteen days had elapsed from King's departure, I became so uneasy at\nthe delay that I decided to wait no longer. I was aware that our troops\nhad been engaged in hostilities with the Spanish Utahs and Apaches, who\nrange in the North River valley, and became fearful that they (King's\nparty) had been cut off by these Indians; I could imagine no other\naccident. Leaving the camp employed with the baggage and in charge of\nMr. Vincenthaler, I started down the river with a small party consisting\nof Godey, (with his young nephew,) Mr. Preuss and Saunders. We carried\nour arms and provision for two or three days. In the camp the messes had\nprovisions for two or three meals, more or less; and about five pounds\nof sugar to each man. Failing to meet King, my intention was to make the\nRed River settlement about twenty-five miles north of Taos, and send\nback the speediest relief possible. My instructions to the camp were,\nthat if they did not hear from me within a stated time, they were to\nfollow down the Del Norte.\n\n\"About sunset on the sixth day, we discovered a little smoke, in a grove\nof timber off from the river, and thinking perhaps it might be our\nexpress party on its return, we went to see. This was the twenty-second\nday since they had left us, and the sixth since we had left the camp. We\nfound them--three of them--Creutzfeldt, Brackenridge, and Williams--the\nmost miserable objects I have ever seen. I did not recognize\nCreutzfeldt's features when Brackenridge brought him up to me and\nmentioned his name. They had been starving. King had starved to death a\nfew days before. His remains were some six or eight miles above, near\nthe river. By aid of the horses, we carried these three men with us to\nRed River settlement, which we reached (Jan. 20,) on the tenth evening\nafter leaving our camp in the mountains, having traveled through snow\nand on foot one hundred and sixty miles.\n\n\"The morning after reaching the Red River town, Godey and myself rode on\nto the Rio Hondo and Taos, in search of animals and supplies, and on the\nsecond evening after that on which we had reached Red River, Godey had\nreturned to that place with about thirty animals, provisions, and four\nMexicans, with which he set out for the camp on the following morning.\n\n\"You will remember that I had left the camp with occupation sufficient\nto employ them for three or four days, after which they were to follow\nme down the river. Within that time I had expected the relief from King,\nif it was to come at all.\n\n\"They remained where I had left them seven days, and then started down\nthe river. Manuel--you will remember Manuel, the Cosumne Indian--gave\nway to a feeling of despair after they had traveled about two miles,\nbegged Haler to shoot him, and then turned and made his way back to the\ncamp; intending to die there, as he doubtless soon did. They followed\nour trail down the river--twenty-two men they were in all. About ten\nmiles below the camp, Wise gave out, threw away his gun and blanket, and\na few hundred yards further fell over into the snow and died. Two Indian\nboys, young men, countrymen of Manuel, were behind. They rolled up Wise\nin his blanket, and buried him in the snow on the river bank. No more\ndied that day--none the next. Carver raved during the night, his\nimagination wholly occupied with images of many things which he fancied\nhimself eating. In the morning, he wandered off from the party, and\nprobably soon died. They did not see him again.\n\n\"Sorel on this day gave out, and laid down to die. They built him a\nfire, and Morin, who was in a dying condition, and snow-blind, remained.\nThese two did not probably last till the next morning. That evening, I\nthink, Hubbard killed a deer. They traveled on, getting here and there a\ngrouse, but probably nothing else, the snow having frightened off the\ngame. Things were desperate, and brought Haler to the determination of\nbreaking up the party, in order to prevent them from living upon each\nother. He told them 'that he had done all he could for them, that they\nhad no other hope remaining than the expected relief, and that their\nbest plan was to scatter and make the best of their way in small parties\ndown the river. That, for his part, if he was to be eaten, he would, at\nall events, be found traveling when he did die.' They accordingly\nseparated.\n\n\"With Mr. Haler continued five others and the two Indian boys. Rohrer\nnow became very despondent; Haler encouraged him by recalling to mind\nhis family, and urged him to hold out a little longer. On this day he\nfell behind, but promised to overtake them at evening. Haler, Scott,\nHubbard, and Martin agreed that if any one of them should give out, the\nothers were not to wait for him to die, but build a fire for him, and\npush on. At night, Kern's mess encamped a few hundred yards from\nHaler's, with the intention, according to Taplin, to remain where they\nwere until the relief should come, and in the meantime to live upon\nthose who had died, and upon the weaker ones as they should die. With\nthe three Kerns were Cathcart, Andrews, McKie, Stepperfeldt, and Taplin.\n\n\"Ferguson and Beadle had remained together behind. In the evening,\nRohrer came up and remained with Kern's mess. Mr. Haler learned\nafterwards from that mess that Rohrer and Andrews wandered off the next\nday and died. They say they saw their bodies. In the morning Haler's\nparty continued on. After a few hours, Hubbard gave out. They built him\na fire, gathered him some wood, and left him, without, as Haler says,\nturning their heads to look at him as they went off. About two miles\nfurther, Scott--you remember Scott--who used to shoot birds for you at\nthe frontier--gave out. They did the same for him as for Hubbard, and\ncontinued on. In the afternoon, the Indian boys went ahead, and before\nnightfall met Godey with the relief. Haler heard and knew the guns which\nhe fired for him at night, and starting early in the morning, soon met\nhim. I hear that they all cried together like children. Haler turned\nback with Godey, and went with him to where they had left Scott. He was\nstill alive, and was saved. Hubbard was dead--still warm. From Kern's\nmess they learned the death of Andrews and Rohrer, and a little above,\nmet Ferguson, who told them that Beadle had died the night before.\"\n\nSuch is a portion of the brief, but thrilling narrative of this\nextraordinary and disastrous journey, as detailed in a familiar letter\nby Col. Fremont to his wife; but Mr. Carvalho gives in detail some of\nthe particulars of the horrors which overtook them, all through the\nunfortunate error of engaging as guide, a man who either knew nothing,\nor had forgotten all he had ever known, of the localities which the\nparty designed and hoped to reach.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\n\nWe quote now from the closing part of Mr. Carvalho's narrative:\n\n\"At last we are drawn to the necessity of killing our brave horses for\nfood. To-day the first sacrifice was made. It was with us all a solemn\nevent, rendered far more solemn however by the impressive scene which\nfollowed. Col. Fremont came out to us, and after referring to the\ndreadful necessities to which his men had been reduced on a previous\nexpedition, of eating each other, he begged us to swear that in no\nextremity of hunger, would any of his men lift his hand against, or\nattempt to prey upon a comrade; sooner let him die with them than live\nupon them. They all promptly took the oath, and threatened to shoot the\nfirst one that hinted or proposed such a thing.\n\n\"It was a most impressive scene, to witness twenty-two men on a snowy\nmountain, with bare heads, and hands and eyes upraised to heaven,\nuttering the solemn vow, 'So help me God!'--and the valley echoed, 'So\nhelp me God!' I never, until that moment, realized the awful situation\nin which I was placed. I remembered the words of the Psalmist, and felt\nperfectly assured of my final safety. They _wandered in the wilderness\nin a solitary way_; they found _no city to dwell in_. _Hungry and\nthirsty their soul fainteth within them, and they cried unto the Lord in\ntheir trouble, and he delivered them out of their distresses._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"When an animal gave out, he was shot down by the Indians, who\nimmediately cut his throat, and saved all the blood in our camp kettle.\nThis animal was divided into twenty-two-parts. Two parts for Col.\nFremont and his cook, ten parts for the white camp, and ten parts for\nthe Indians. Col. Fremont hitherto messed with his officers; at this\ntime he requested that they would excuse him, as it gave him pain, and\ncalled to mind the horrible scenes which had been enacted during his\nlast expedition--he could not see his officers obliged to partake of\nsuch disgusting food.\n\n\"The rule he adopted was that one animal should serve for six meals for\nthe whole party. If one gave out in the meantime, of course it was an\nexception; but otherwise, on no consideration was an animal to be\nslaughtered, for every one that was killed, placed a man on foot, and\nlimited our chances of escape from our present situation. If the men\nchose to eat up their six meals all in one day, they would have to go\nwithout until the time arrived for killing another. It frequently\nhappened that the white camp was without food from twenty-four to\nthirty-six hours, while Col. Fremont and the Delawares always had a\nmeal. The latter religiously abstained from encroaching on the portion\nallotted for another meal, while many men of our camp, I may say all of\nthem, not content with their portion, would, to satisfy the cravings of\nhunger, surreptitiously purloin from their pile of meat, at different\ntimes, sundry pieces, thus depriving themselves of each other's\nallowance. My own sense of right was so subdued by the sufferings I\nendured by hunger, and walking almost barefooted through the snow, that\nwhile going to guard one night, I stole a piece of frozen horse liver,\nate it raw, and thought it, at the time, the most delicious morsel I\never tasted.\n\n\"The entrails of the horse were 'well shaken' (for we had no water to\nwash them in) and boiled with snow, producing a highly flavored soup,\nwhich the men considered so valuable and delicious that they forbade the\ncook to skim the pot for fear any portion of it might be lost. The hide\nwas divided into equal portions, and with the bones roasted and burnt to\na crisp. This we munched on the road; but the men not being satisfied\nwith the division of the meat by the cook, made him turn his back, while\nanother took up each share separately, and enquired who should have it.\nWhen the snows admitted it, we collected the thick leaves of a species\nof cactus which we also put in the fire to burn off the prickles, and\nate. It then resembled in taste and nourishment an Irish potato peeling.\nWe lived in this way for nearly fifty days, traveling from Grand River\nacross the divide to Green River, and over the first range of the\nWahsach Mountains, on foot, Col. Fremont at our head, tramping a pathway\nfor his men to follow. He, as well as the rest of the party, towards the\nlast was entirely barefoot--some of them had a piece of raw hide on\ntheir feet, which, however, becoming hard and stiff by the frost, made\nthem more uncomfortable than walking without any.\n\n\"Yesterday, Mr. Oliver Fuller, of St. Louis, who had been on foot for\nsome weeks, suddenly gave out. Our engineers and myself were with him.\nHe found himself unable to proceed--the snow was very deep, and his feet\nwere badly frozen. He insisted that we should leave him, and hasten to\ncamp for relief; not being able to render him any assistance by\nremaining, we wrapped his blankets around him and left him on the trail.\nIn vain we searched for material to build him a fire--nothing was\nvisible but a wild waste of snow; we were also badly crippled, and we\ndid not arrive in camp until ten o'clock at night, at which time it\nbegan snowing furiously. We told Col. Fremont of Mr. Fuller's situation,\nwhen he sent a Mexican named Frank, with the two best animals and cooked\nhorsemeat, to bring Mr. Fuller in. There was not a dry eye in the whole\ncamp that night--the men sat up anxiously awaiting the return of our\ncompanions.\n\n\"At daylight, they being still out, Col. Fremont sent three Delawares\nmounted, to look for them. About ten o'clock one of them returned with\nthe Mexican and two mules. Frank was badly frozen, he had lost the\ntrack, and bewildered and cold, he sank down holding on to the animals,\nwhere he was found by the Delaware during the afternoon. The two\nDelawares supporting Mr. Fuller were seen approaching. He was found\nawake, but almost dead from the cold and faintness. Col. Fremont\npersonally rendered him all the assistance in his power. So did all of\nus--for he was beloved and respected by the whole camp for his\ngentlemanly behavior and his many virtues. Col. Fremont remained at this\ndreary place near three days, to allow poor Fuller time to recruit--and\nafterwards assigned to him the best mule to carry him, while two of the\nmen walked on either side to support him. A portion of our scanty food\nwas appropriated at every meal from each man's portion to make Mr.\nFuller's larger, as he required sustenance more than they did.\n\n\"On the 7th February, almost in sight of succor, the Almighty took him\nto himself: he died on horseback--his two companions wrapped him in his\nIndia rubber blanket and laid him across the trail. We arrived next day\nat Parawan. After the men had rested a little, we went in company with\nthree or four of the inhabitants of Parawan, to bury our deceased\nfriend. His remains had not been disturbed during our absence.\"\n\nIn the month of February, and soon after Fremont's arrival and\ndeparture, Col. Beale again solicited Carson to be his guide while he\npaid a visit to a large village of Indians congregated on the Arkansas,\nfor the purpose of carrying out a stipulation of the treaty with Mexico,\nthat the captives the Indians retained in the territory ceded to the\nUnited States, should be returned to Mexico. He found four tribes\ncongregated, to the number of two thousand, for the purpose of meeting\ntheir agent, an experienced mountaineer, who informed Col. Beale that it\nwould be useless to attempt to enforce the provisions of the treaty\nhere, especially when so many Indians were together, and succeeded in\npersuading him to desist from the use of force against them.\n\nThese Indians had been accustomed to dealing with poorly clad Mexican\nsoldiers, and the sight and bearing of Col. Beale and Carson and the men\nunder their command, must have induced a respect for the government they\nrepresented, so that they did not consider the expedition as without\ngood result.\n\nThe Camanche Indians could not well have been induced to fulfill the\nprovisions of the treaty with Mexico, especially as they were not a\nparty to it, for in the very many years past, it had been their custom\nto make incursions upon the Mexican settlements and parties of\ntravelers, and to capture their cattle and take their goods, besides\nbringing away as many children as possible, in order that the girls\nprocured in this way should, when grown, marry the braves of the tribe;\ntill now at least a third of the blood of the tribe was Mexican. This\namalgamation had become more extensive in this than in any of the other\nNew Mexican tribes.\n\nThe Apache is smaller in stature and more closely built than the\nCamanche; less skilled in horsemanship, but equally brave, with\nbeautiful symmetry of form, and \"muscles as hard as iron,\" with an\nelasticity of movement that shows a great amount of physical training,\nand an eye that reveals the treachery of their character.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\n\nArriving again in Taos, to carry into effect at once, the resolution he\nhad formed of establishing for himself a permanent home, he joined his\nold friend Maxwell in the purpose of occupying a beautifully romantic\nmountain valley, fifty miles east of Taos, called by the Indians Rayedo,\nwhich would long since have been settled by the Mexicans, only it was\nvery much exposed to Indian depredations.\n\nThrough the centre of this valley flows a broad mountain stream, and,\nfor the loveliness of the scenery, or the fertility of its broad,\nsloping basin, or the mountain supply of timber, there can scarcely be\nfound a spot to equal it. Carson and Maxwell established a settlement\nabout mid-way in the valley; and at the present date, have an imposing\nlittle village, in which the houses of Carson and Maxwell are prominent\nby reason of their greater dimensions, and indicate to the trader a\nstyle of plenteous comfort, which, while it might offend the pale-faced\ndenizen of our most fashionable thoroughfares, the traveler, who has\nlearned to love nature and health, gazes upon with pleasure, and gladly\ntarries to enjoy the patriarchal hospitality, and the sumptuous, almost\nregal luxury of their hunter occupants, who \"count their horses and\ntheir cattle by the hundreds,\" and whose thousand sheep are on the\nhills; whose larder is replenished from the still countless herds of\nprairie oxen which roam through those magnificent plains, and the lesser\nbands of speed-defying, beauteous quadrupeds of the hills, and the fleet\nclimbers of the rocks and big-horned mountain cliffs, and the flocks\nthat build their eyrie in their crags, all of which are occupants of the\nsheep-pasture of these chevaliers of the wilderness, and in whose\ncourt-yards may be seen specimens of this game, of which they are not\nashamed; for a young Carson has lassoed a little grizzly, while antelope\nand young fawn feed from his sister's fingers.\n\nHere too the Indian braves fear not to come and call the master of the\nmansion, Father,--\"Father Kit,\" is his long time appellation--and they\nhave learned to look on him and his, with all that reverence and\nfondness with which grateful children look upon a worthy sire.\n\nCarson cannot tarry at his pleasant home, much more than to care for its\nnecessary superintendence, for his life is the property of the public;\nand to the quiet settlement of the Indians into the condition which is\nhappiest for them, so far as it can be secured in the condition of the\ncountry and their own habitudes, is the work to which he has wisely\ndevoted himself. He has given to the Indians the best years of his ever\nbusy life, and gives them still, neglectful of immediate personal\ncomfort--or rather finding highest satisfaction in doing what is fittest\nhe should do, because it is the work in which he can accomplish the most\ngood.\n\nIn the vicinity of the home of Carson, and that of his friend Maxwell,\nare gathered a number of their old comrades--men of the mountains, who\nhave survived the multitudinous and conflicting events which have come\nover the spirit of the Yankee, and the activities of the Yankee nation,\nsince the business of trapping first became for her hardy sons a\nlucrative employment; and here, in the society of each other, and the\nconscious security of protection for each other, in a locality\ncongenial to their tastes, with occasional old time occupations, and\nwhere the rivalries of their predilections can be still indulged, and\nquietly maintained, they are ever ready after every test to concede to\nChristopher Carson the palm of being _first_ as a hunter, _first_ as an\nexperienced traveler and guide through the mountain country, whether it\nbe by a route he has, or one he has never before traveled.\n\nThe stories of his exploits in defence of his neighbors and friends, and\nto recover from the Indians property they had stolen, since he left the\nservice of the Army of the United States, would of themselves fill a\nvolume, and we have space to allude to but a very few.\n\nA Mrs. White, the wife of a merchant of Santa Fe, had been taken captive\nwith her child, (which was soon killed before her eyes,) by a party of\nApaches, who had shot her husband, and all the men of his company,\nbefore capturing her. A party of New Mexicans was at once organized to\npursue the Indian band, and effect Mrs. White's release if possible. The\nguidance of this party was entrusted to a neighbor by the name of\nWatkins Leroux, rather than to Carson. They found the Apache murderers,\nand Carson was advancing foremost to attack them, when he discovered\nthat the rest of the party were not following; consequently he had to\nretire, and when the commander ordered the attack to be made, it was too\nlate, for the Indians had murdered Mrs. White and were preparing to\nescape by flight. Carson tells this story with all the generous\nmagnanimity a great soul exercises in speaking of a failure on the part\nof a rival; admitting that, if his advice had been followed, they might\nhave saved Mrs. White, but affirming that the command \"did what seemed\nto it the best, and therefore no one has any right to find fault.\"\n\nThis occurred in the autumn of eighteen hundred and forty-nine, directly\nafter the commencement of the settlement of Rayedo.\n\nNear the close of the following winter, all the animals belonging to the\nparty of ten dragoons which had been stationed there to protect the\nsettlement, were run off by the marauding Apaches, and the two herders\nhaving them in charge, were wounded. Early the following morning, Carson\nand three of the settlers with the ten dragoons, started in pursuit,\ndiscovered the Indians--twenty well armed warriors--and four of the\nparty being obliged to stop, because their animals had given out, the\nremaining ten rode down the Indians, who might themselves have escaped\nbut for their persistance in retaining the stolen horses, which were all\nrecaptured except four, while five of the warriors were killed, and\nseveral more wounded. This expedition was planned and executed under the\ndirection of Carson, and the fact that he was their leader gave every\nman confidence, as they knew that with him an engagement implied success\nor death.\n\nThe next spring Carson went to Fort Laramie with a drove of horses and\nmules, making the journey successfully and pleasantly in company with\nTimothy Goodell, another old mountaineer, being the observed of all\nobservers to the large numbers of overland emigrants to California whom\nhe met at the fort, where Goodell left him to go to California.\n\nCarson found a Mexican to attend him upon his return, and taking a\ncircuitous course, he managed to avoid the Apaches; often traveling by\nmoon-light, and taking their animals into a quiet nook, and climbing a\ntree for a little sleep during the day, they finally reached the Mexican\nsettlements in safety.\n\nThe days of the following summer winged their happy flight with great\nrapidity, while Carson was directing and aiding in his farming, and, of\ncourse, pursuing his favorite employment of hunting, ever returning from\na hunt with his horse laden with deer or antelope, wild turkey and\nducks, or perhaps a half score or more of prairie chickens, to complete\nthe list. Only once was his work interrupted by the harsher business of\nchastising offenders against justice, and this time the guilty parties\nwere two white men.\n\nA party of desperadoes, so frequently the nuisance of a new country, had\nformed a plot to murder and rob two wealthy citizens, whom they had\nvolunteered to accompany to the settlements in the States, and were\nalready many miles on their way, when Carson was informed of the\nnefarious design. In one hour he had organized a party, and was on his\nway in quick pursuit, taking a more direct route to intercept the party,\nand endeavoring at the same time to avoid the vicinity of the Indians,\nwho were now especially hostile, but of whose movements Carson was as\nwell informed as any one could be. In two days out from Taos, they came\nupon a camp of United States recruits, whose officer volunteered to\naccompany him with twenty men, which offer was accepted, and by forced\nmarches they soon overtook the party of traders, and at once arrested\nFox, the leader of the wretches, and then proceeded to inform Messrs.\nBrevoort and Weatherhead of the danger which they had escaped; and they,\nthough at first astounded by the disclosure, had noticed many things to\nconvince them that the plot would soon have been put in execution.\n\nTaking the members of their party whom they knew were trusty, they at\nonce ordered the rest, thirty-five in number, to leave immediately,\nexcept Fox, who remained in charge of Carson, to whom the traders were\nabundant in their thanks for his timely interference in their behalf,\nand who refused every offer of recompense.\n\nFox was taken to Taos, and imprisoned for a number of months; but as a\ncrime only in intent was difficult to be proved, and the _adobe_ walls\nof their houses were not secure enough to retain one who cared to\nrelease himself, Fox was at last liberated, and went to parts unknown.\n\nOn the return of Messrs. Brevoort and Weatherhead from St. Louis, they\npresented Carson with a magnificent pair of pistols, upon whose silver\nmounting were inscribed such words as would laconically illustrate his\nnoble deed, and the appreciation of the donors of the great service\nrendered.\n\nThe summer following was consumed in an excursion for trade, on behalf\nof himself and Maxwell, and a visit to the home of his daughter, now\nmarried in St. Louis; and which was prosecuted without incident worthy\nof note, until he came to a Cheyenne village on the Arkansas, upon his\nreturn. This village had received an affront from the officer of a party\nof United States troops bound to New Mexico, who had whipped one of\ntheir chiefs, some ten days before the arrival of Carson; and to have\nrevenge upon some one of the whites, was now the passion of the whole\ntribe.\n\nThe conduct of this officer is only a specimen of that which thousands\nhave exercised toward the Indians of the different tribes; and the\nresult is the same in all cases. Carson's was the first party to pass\nthe Indian village after this insult; and so many years had elapsed\nsince he was a hunter at Bent's Fort, and so much had this nation been\nstirred by their numberless grievances, that Carson's name was no longer\na talisman of safety to his party, nor even of respect to himself, in\ntheir then state of excitement; and as Carson went deliberately into the\nwar council, which the Indians were holding on the discovery of his\nparty, having ordered his men to keep their force close together, the\nIndians supposing he could not understand them, continued to talk freely\nof the manner of capturing the effects, and killing the whole party, and\nespecially himself, whom they at once concluded was the leader. When Kit\nhad heard all their plans, he coolly addressed them in the Cheyenne\nlanguage, telling them who he was, his former association with and\nkindness to their tribe; and that now, he should be glad to render them\nany assistance they might need; but as to their having his scalp, he\nshould claim the right of saying a word. The Indians departed, and\nCarson went on his way; but there were hundreds of the Cheyennes in\nsight upon the hills, and though they made no attack, Carson knew he was\nin their power, nor had they given up the idea of taking his train. His\ncool deliberation kept his men in spirits, and yet, except upon two or\nthree of the whole fifteen, he could place no reliance in an emergency.\nAt night the men and mules were all brought within the circle of wagons,\ngrass was cut with their sheath-knives, and brought into the mules, and\nas large a guard was placed as possible. When all was quiet, Carson\ncalled outside the camp with him a Mexican boy of the party, and\nexplaining to him the danger which threatened them, told him it was in\nhis power to save the lives of the company, and giving him instructions\nhow to proceed, sent him on alone to Rayedo, a journey of nearly three\nhundred miles, to ask an escort of United States troops to be sent out\nto meet him, telling the brave young Mexican to \"put a good many miles\nbetween him and the camp before morning;\" and so he started him, with a\nfew rations of provisions, without telling the rest of the party that\nsuch a step was necessary. This boy had long been in Carson's service,\nand was well known to him as faithful and active, so that he had no\ndoubts as to the faithful execution of the trust confided to him; and in\na wild country like New Mexico, with the out-door life and habits of its\npeople, a journey like the one on which he was dispatched, was not an\nunusual occurrence: indeed, in that country, parties on foot often\naccompany those on horse, for days together, and do not seem to feel the\nfatigue. Carson now returned to the camp to watch all night himself; and\nat break of day they were again upon the road. No Indians appeared until\nnearly noon, when five warriors came galloping toward them. As they came\nnear enough to hear him, Carson ordered them to halt, and approaching,\ntold them that the night before, he had sent a messenger to Rayedo, to\ninform the troops that their tribe were annoying him; and if he or his\nmen were molested, terrible punishment would be inflicted by those who\nwould surely come to his relief. The Indians replied, that they would\nlook for the moccasin tracks, which they probably found, and Carson\nconsidered this the reason that induced the whole village to pass away\ntoward the hills after a little time, evidently seeking a place of\nsafety. The young Mexican overtook the party of troops whose officer had\ncaused the trouble, to whom he told his story, and failing to secure\nsympathy, he continued to Rayedo, and procured thence immediate\nassistance. Major Grier dispatched a party of troops, under Lieutenant\nR. Johnston, which, making rapid marches, met Carson twenty-five miles\nbelow Bent's Fort; and, though they encountered no Indians, the effect\nof the quick transit of troops from one part of the country to another,\ncould not be other than good, as a means of impressing the Indians with\nthe effective force of the United States troops.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\n\nEighteen years had elapsed, full of eventful history--especially the\nlast ten--since Carson had renounced the business of trapping, and of\nlate there had been an almost irrepressible longing once more to try his\nskill at his old employment, in company with others who had been, with\nhimself, adepts at the business. Accordingly he and Maxwell, by a great\neffort, succeeded in collecting sixteen more of their old companions,\nand taking care to provide themselves abundantly with all the\nnecessaries for such a service, and with such added articles of comfort\nas the pleasurable character of the excursion dictated, they started,\nwith Carson at the head of the band, \"any one of whom would have periled\nhis life for any other, and having voted that the expedition should be\none for hard work, as when they trapped for gain long ago,\" they dashed\non across the plains, till they came to the South Platte, and upon its\nwell remembered waters, formed their camp and set their traps, having\nfirst apprised themselves, by the \"signs,\" that the beaver were\nabundant. Indeed, so long ago had trapping gone into disuse, that the\nhunt proved successful beyond their anticipations, and they worked down\nthis stream, through the Laramie plains to the New Park, on to the Old\nPark, and upon a large number of the streams, their old resorts, and\nreturned to Rayedo with a large stock of furs, having enlivened the time\nby the recital to each other of many of the numberless entertaining\nevents which had crowded upon their lives while they had been separated.\n\nWould not the reader like to have made this excursion with them, and\nwitnessed the infinite zest with which these mature and experienced men\nentered again upon what seemed now to them the sport of their earlier\nyears? They made it, as much as possible, a season of enjoyment. One of\nthe party had lassoed a grizzly, but, finding it inconvenient to retain\nhim, he had been shot, and bear steaks, again enjoyed together, had been\na part of the Fourth of July treat they afforded their visitors, the\nSioux Indians. As we have but little further opportunity, we will quote\nFremont's description of the Mountain Parks, for the sake of giving the\nreader an idea of the locality of this last trapping enterprise of Kit\nCarson:\n\n\"Our course in the afternoon brought us to the main Platte River, here a\nhandsome stream, with a uniform breadth of seventy yards, except where\nwidened by frequent islands. It was apparently deep, with a moderate\ncurrent, and wooded with groves of large willow.\n\n\"The valley narrowed as we ascended, and presently degenerated into a\ngorge, through which the river passed as through a gate. We entered it,\nand found ourselves in the New Park--a beautiful circular valley of\nthirty miles diameter, walled in all round with snowy mountains, rich\nwith water and with grass, fringed with pine on the mountain sides below\nthe snow line, and a paradise to all grazing animals. The Indian name\nfor it signifies \"_cow lodge_,\" of which our own may be considered a\ntranslation; the enclosure, the grass, the water, and the herds of\nbuffalo roaming over it, naturally presenting the idea of a park, 7,720\nfeet above tide water.\n\n\"It is from this elevated _cove_, and from the gorges of the surrounding\nmountains, and some lakes within their bosoms, that the Great Platte\nRiver collects its first waters, and assumes its first form; and\ncertainly no river has a more beautiful origin.\n\n\"Descending from the pass, we found ourselves again on the western\nwaters; and halted to noon on the edge of another mountain valley,\ncalled the Old Park, in which is formed Grand River, one of the\nprincipal branches of the Colorado of California. We were now moving\nwith some caution, as, from the trail, we found the Arapahoe village had\nalso passed this way. As we were coming out of their enemy's country,\nand this was a war ground, we were desirous to avoid them. After a long\nafternoon's march, we halted at night on a small creek, tributary to a\nmain fork of Grand River, which ran through this portion of the valley.\nThe appearance of the country in the Old Park is interesting, though of\na different character from the New; instead of being a comparative\nplain, it is more or less broken into hills, and surrounded by the high\nmountains, timbered on the lower parts with quaking asp and pines.\n\n\"We entered the Bayou Salade, (South Park,) and immediately below us was\na green valley, through which ran a stream; and a short distance\nopposite rose snowy mountains, whose summits were formed into peaks of\nnaked rock.\n\n\"On the following day we descended the stream by an excellent buffalo\ntrail, along the open grassy bottom of the river. On our right, the\nbayou was bordered by a mountainous range, crested with rocky and naked\npeaks; and below it had a beautiful park-like character of pretty level\nprairies, interspersed among low spurs, wooded openly with pine and\nquaking asp, contrasting well with the denser pines which swept around\non the mountain sides.\n\n\"During the afternoon, Pike's Peak had been plainly in view before us.\n\n\"The next day we left the river, which continued its course towards\nPike's Peak; and taking a south-easterly direction, in about ten miles\nwe crossed a gentle ridge, and, issuing from the South Park, found\nourselves involved among the broken spurs of the mountains which border\nthe great prairie plains. Although broken and extremely rugged, the\ncountry was very interesting, being well watered by numerous affluents\nto the Arkansas River, and covered with grass and a variety of trees.\"\n\nCarson had disposed of his furs, and was again quietly attending to his\nranche, when he heard of the exorbitant prices for which sheep were\nselling in California, and determined to enter upon a speculation. He\nhad already visited the Navajos Indians, and thither he went again, and\nin company with Maxwell and another mountaineer, purchased several\nthousand sheep; and with a suitable company of trusty men as shepherds,\ntook them to Fort Laramie, and thence by the regular emigrant route,\npast Salt Lake to California, and arriving without any disaster,\ndisposed of them in one of the frontier towns, and then went down to the\nSacramento valley, to witness the change which had come over old\nfamiliar places; not that the mining did not interest him; he had seen\nthat before in Mexico, but he had not seen the cities which had sprung\ninto existence at a hundred points, in the foot hills of the Sierras,\nnor had he seen San Francisco, that city of wondrous growth, which now\ncontained thirty-five thousand inhabitants.\n\nBut for the remembrance of the hills on which the city rested, Carson\nwould not have known the metropolis of California, as the spot where in\n'48 \"the people could be counted in an hour.\" In San Francisco he met so\nmany old friends, and so many, who, knowing him from the history of his\ndeeds, desired to do him honor, that the attentions he received, while\nit gratified his ambition, were almost annoying.\n\nTired by the anxiety and hard work of bringing his property over a long\nand dangerous journey to a good market, he had looked for rest and\nretirement; but instead, he was everywhere sought out and made\nconspicuous.\n\nHe found himself surrounded with the choice spirits of the new El\nDorado; his name a prestige of strength and position, and his society\ncourted by everybody. The siren voice of pleasure failed not to speak in\nhis ear her most flattering invitations. Good-fellowship took him\nincessantly by the hand, desiring to lead him into the paths of\ndissipation. But the gay vortex, with all its brilliancy, had no\nattractions for him; the wine cup, with its sparkling arguments, failed\nto convince his calm earnestness of character, that his simple habits of\nlife needed remodeling. To the storm, however, he was exposed; but, like\na good ship during the gale, he weathered the fierce blast, and finally\ntook his departure from the new city of a day, with his character\nuntarnished, but nevertheless leaving behind him many golden opinions.\n\nSome newspaper scribbler, last autumn, announced the death of Carson,\nand said, in connection, \"His latest and _most remarkable exploit_ on\nthe plains, was enacted in 1853, when he conducted a drove of sheep\nsafely to California.\" Probably the writer was one of those whose eager\ncuriosity had met a rebuff, in the quiet dignity with which Carson\nreceived the officiousness of the rabble who thronged around him on that\nvisit. Not that he appreciated honor less, but that its unnecessary\nattachments were exceedingly displeasing to him.\n\nIn this terribly fast city, where the _monte_ table, and its kindred\ndissipations, advertised themselves without a curtain, and where to\nindulge was the rule rather than the exception, Carson was able to stand\nfire, for he had been before now tried by much greater temptations.\n\nIn the strange commingling of people from all quarters of the globe,\nwhom Carson witnessed in San Francisco, he saw but a slight exaggeration\nof what he had often witnessed in Santa Fe,--and indeed, for the element\nof variety, in many a trapping party, not to name the summer rendezvous\nof the trappers, or the exploring parties of Col. Fremont. To be sure\nthe Chinamen and the Kanackers were a new feature in society. But\nwhether it be in the many nationalities represented, or in the\npleasures they pursued, except that in San Francisco there was a\nlavishness in the expenditure of wealth commensurate with its speedier\naccumulation, there was little new to him, and while he saw its magic\ngrowth with glad surprise, the attractions this city offered could not\nallure him. Nor could the vista it opened up of a chance to rise into\nposition in the advancing struggles for political ascendency, induce one\nwish to locate his home in a spot so wanting in the kindly social\nrelationships; for he had tried the things and found them vanity and\nvexation of spirit, and now he yearned for his mountain home, and the\nsweet pastoral life which it afforded in his circle of tried friends.\n\nHe saved the money he had secured by the sale of his flocks, and went\ndown overland to Los Angelos to meet Maxwell, who took the trip by sea,\nwhich Carson having tasted once, could not be persuaded to try again,\nand there renewing his outfit, and visiting again some of its honored\ncitizens, they started homeward, and had a pleasant passage till they\nreached the Gila River, where grass became so scarce that they were\ncompelled to take a new course in order to find food for their horses;\nbut Carson had no difficulty in pursuing a measurably direct course,\nand without encountering a snow storm, often terribly severe in the\nmountains of this interior country, he reached Taos on the third of\nDecember 1853.\n\nHe here received the unexpected information that he had been appointed\nIndian agent for New Mexico, and immediately wrote and sent to\nWashington the bonds of acceptance of this office. And now commences\nCarson's official career, in a capacity for which he was better fitted\nthan any other person in the Territory.\n\nLong had the Indians in his vicinity called him \"father,\" but now he had\na new claim to this title, for he was to be to them the almoner of the\nbounty of the United States Government. There was immediate call for the\nexercise of the duties of his office, (for the Indians of New Mexico had\nall buried the tomahawk and calumet,) in visiting and attempting to\nquiet a band of Apaches, among whom he went alone, for they all knew\nhim, and secured from them plenty of promises to do well; but he had\nscarcely left them, before they were tired of the self-imposed\nrestraint, and renewedly continued their depredations, and several\nserious battles were fought with them by the United States troops, the\nfirst having proved unsuccessful, but never was success wanting when\nthe commander of United States dragoons had placed his confidence in the\nadvice, and followed the suggestions of Kit Carson, who was admitted by\nthem to be the prince of Indian fighters--though he never tolerated\ncruelty or the expenditure of life when there was no imperious\nnecessity, but yet regarded severe measures better than a dawdling\npolicy.\n\nThere had been serious fights in New Mexico in 1846, while Carson was\naway with Fremont; and it was better so, as the Mexicans were his blood\nand kin; yet, in the change of authority, he fully sympathized. But now,\nthe enemy was the different tribes of Indians, and in the capacity of\nAgent for them, Carson chose to impress them with the power of the\ngovernment for which he acted for their own good, that they might be\ninduced to desist from their plundering, and be prepared for the\ninfluences and practices of civilization; and all the victories secured\nover them were due, as history truly records, \"To the aid of Kit\nCarson,\" \"With the advice of Kit Carson;\" and never once is his name\nassociated with a defeat; for, if he made a part of an expedition, a\ncondition must be, that such means should be employed as he knew would\naccomplish the end desired; for he did not choose, by one single\nfailure, to give the Indians a chance to think their lawlessness could\nescape its merited retribution.\n\nNor yet did Carson ever advise that confidence in the promises of the\nIndians which was not backed by such exhibition of power as to command\nobedience; knowing that with these children of the forest, schooled in\nthe arts of plunder, and the belief that white men and white men's\nproperty were an intrusion on their hunting grounds, and therefore\nlawful prey--this was and is _their law_--non-resistance would not\nanswer, and only stern command, backed by the rifle, ever has secured\nobedience--though they appreciate the kindnesses done by those friends\nwho have such reliance. But it was Carson's opinion that the country\ncannot be safe while the Indians roam over it in this wild way, or until\nthey are located on lands devoted to them and theirs for permanent\nhomes, and are compelled to settle upon and cultivate the soil, when he\nthinks they will come, by careful teaching, to display sentiments of\nresponsibility for their own acts.\n\nThere is little doubt that, had Carson been appointed Superintendent of\nIndian Affairs for the department of New Mexico, the reliance sometimes\nplaced on treaties would have been discarded, and measures taken at an\nearlier date, to locate the Apaches and Camanches and Utahs, which might\nhave been accomplished with less expenditure of blood and of treasure;\nbut he quietly pursued his business, relying upon the influence which\nhis knowledge and skill had given him to induce his superiors in\nofficial authority to undertake such measures as seemed to him the\nwisest.\n\nThe headquarters of his Indian agency were at Taos, and while he spent\nas much of his time as possible at Rayedo, the duties of his office\ncompelled the larger part of it at Taos. The thousand kindly acts he was\nable to perform for the Indians, by whom he was constantly surrounded,\nhad secured such regard for himself that he needed no protection where\nhe was known--and what Indian of New Mexico did not know him? He went\namong them, and entertained them as the children of his charge, having\ntheir unbounded confidence and love.\n\nEvery year, in the hey-day of the season, Carson continued the custom of\na revival of earlier associations, by indulging, for a few days, or\nperhaps weeks, in the chase; and was joined in these excursions by a\ngoodly company of his old compeers, as well as later acquired friends,\nand men of reputation and culture, from whatever quarter of the world,\nvisiting the territory; and especially by a select few of the braves of\nthe Indian tribes under his charge. These were seasons of grateful\nrecurrence, and their pleasures were long anticipated amid the wearisome\nduties of his office.\n\nThe incidents of his every-day life, intervening his appointment as\nIndian agent and the rebellion, would furnish an abundance of material\nfor a romance even stranger than fiction. A life so exciting as that\namong the Indians and brave frontiersmen, and a name so renowned as that\nof Christopher Carson, could not but attract and concentre wild and\nromantic occurrences. His life during these years is inseparably\nconnected with the history of the Territory of New Mexico, which, could\nit be given to the public in all its copious and interesting details,\nwould unquestionably concede to him all the noblest characteristics in\nman.\n\nThe treaties between the United States and the Indians, during the term\nof his appointment, were mainly the result of his acquaintance with the\nIndians, his knowledge of their character, and his influence over them.\nNor did the Government fail to recognize his valuable services. During\nthe rebellion, and while serving principally in New Mexico, where he\ndistinguished himself by his untiring prosecution of hostilities with\nhis savage foes, then at war with the Government, he was promoted from\nrank to rank, until he finally reached that of Brevet Brigadier-General.\n\nIn a report to the National headquarters, dated at Camp Florilla, near\nFort Canby, N. M., January 26, 1864, we find the following detailed\naccount of operations in New Mexico:\n\n\"The culminating point in this expedition has been reached at last by\nthe very successful operations of our troops at Canyon de Chelly. Col.\nKit Carson left Fort Canby on the sixth instant with a command of four\nhundred men, twenty of whom were mounted. He had a section of mountain\nartillery with him, and taking the road _via_ Puebla, Colorado, he\nstarted for Canyon de Chelly. He gave orders to Capt. Pheiffer with his\ncommand of one hundred men to enter the canyon at the east opening, while\nhe himself intended to enter it at the 'mouth,' or west opening, and by\nthis movement he expected that both columns would meet in the canyon on\nthe second day, as it was supposed to be forty miles in length.\n\n\"Capt. Pheiffer's party proceeded two days through the canyon, fighting\noccasionally; but although the Indians frequently fired on them from\nthe rocky walls above, the balls were spent long before they reached the\nbottom of the canyon, which, in many places, exceeded one thousand five\nhundred feet in depth. It was a singular spectacle to behold. A small\ndetachment of troops moving cautiously along the bottom of one of the\ngreatest canyons on the globe, (the largest is in Asia, I believe,) and\nfiring volleys upward at hundreds of Navajoes, who looked, on the dizzy\nheight above them, like so many pigmies. As they advanced the canyon\nwidened in places, and various spots of cultivated land were passed,\nwhere wheat, maize, beans, melons, etc., had been planted last year;\nwhile more than a thousand feet above their heads they beheld\nneat-looking stone houses built on the receding ledges of rocks, which\nreminded the beholder of the swallows' nests in the house eaves, or on\nthe rocky formation overhanging the 'sea-beat caves.' Further on, an\norchard containing about six hundred peach-trees was passed, and it was\nevident that the Indians had paid great attention to their culture.\n\n\"On the second day a party from Col. Carson's column met the Captain in\nthe canyon, and returned with him to Col. Carson's camp. A party from the\nColonel's command had, in the meantime, attacked a party of Indians,\ntwenty-two of whom were killed. This had a dispiriting effect on many\nothers, who sent in three of their number under a white flag. Col.\nCarson received them, and assured them that the Government did not\ndesire to exterminate them, but that, on the contrary, the President\nwished to save and civilize them; and to that end Gen. Carlton had given\nhim instructions to send all the Navajoes who desired peace to the new\nreservation on the Rio Pecos, where they would be supplied with food for\nthe present, and be furnished with implements, seeds, etc., to cultivate\nthe soil. They departed well-satisfied, and Col. Carson immediately\nordered Capt. A. B. Carey, Thirteenth United States Infantry, with a\nbattalion to enter the canyon, and make a thorough exploration of its\nvarious branches, and at the same time to be in readiness to chastise\nany body of hostile Navajoes he might encounter, and to receive all who\nwere friendly, and who wished to emigrate to the new reservation. Capt.\nCarey, during a passage of twenty-four hours through a branch of the\ncanyon hitherto unexplored, made an exact geographical map of this\nterrible chasm, and discovered many side canyons hitherto unknown. About\none hundred Indians came in to him and declared that 'the Navajo nation\nwas no more;' that they were tired of fighting and nearly starved, and\nthat they wished to be permitted to advise their friends and families in\nthe mountains; many of whom were willing to leave the land forever, and\ngo to a country where they would be cared for and protected. They said\nthey understood agriculture, and were certain they would make\ncomfortable homes on the Pecos. This was, of course, only the opinion of\nsome; others would prefer to remain and culture the soil on which they\nwere born, and live at peace with the territory. However, the latter\nwere positively informed that unless they were willing to remove they\nhad better not come in, and, moreover, that the troops would destroy\nevery blade of corn in the country next summer.\n\n\"On the 20th of January Col. Carson came to Fort Canby, and about six\nhundred Indians had collected there; but when the wagons arrived to\nremove them only one hundred wished to go, and the remainder desired to\nreturn to their villages and caves in the mountains, on pretence of\nbringing in some absent member of their families. Col. Carson very nobly\nand generously permitted them to choose for themselves; but told them if\never they came in again they should be sent to Borgue Redondo, whether\nwilling or not. Col. Carson himself took the Indians to Santa Fe, and\nwill remain absent about a month. Since his departure many Indians came\nin and agreed to go to the reservation.\n\n\"I think the Colonel foresaw this, as no person understands Indian\ncharacter better than he does. Capt. A. B. Carey, Thirteenth Infantry,\ncommanding in his absence, will see that all Indians coming in will be\nremoved, and, I think, before April next, if the present good feeling\nexists, we shall have accomplished the removal of the entire tribe.\nCapt. A. B. Carey, after successfully marching through the canyon and\nnoting its topography, reached Fort Canby on the eighteenth instant, and\nrelieved Capt. Francis M'Cabe, First New Mexico Cavalry, who commanded\nin the absence of Col. Kit Carson.\n\n\"As the Navajo expedition is now entirely successful, it is but justice\nto the officers and men of the First Cavalry of New Mexico, and to Col.\nChristopher Carson and his staff to say that they have all acted with\nzeal and devotion for the accomplishment of that great desideratum--the\nremoval of the Navajoes. Cut off from the enjoyments of civilized life,\ndeprived of its luxuries, comforts, and even many of its necessaries,\nand restricted to the exploration of a wilderness and the castigation\nof an army of savages, who defied them, and endeavored to find a shelter\namong the cliffs, groves, and canyons of their country; in pursuing them\nto their haunts they have encountered appalling difficulties, namely:\nwant of water, grass, and fuel; often exposed to the merciless fury of\nthe elements, and to the bullets and arrows of a hidden foe. In the face\nof these difficulties they have discovered new rivers, springs, and\nmountains in a region hitherto unexplored, and penetrated by companies\ninto the very strongholds of the enemy, who fled farther west as our\ncolumns advanced, and on various occasions the dismounted cavalry have,\nby rapid and unparalleled night marches, surprised that enemy, capturing\nhis camp and securing his flocks and herds, at a time when he imagined\nhimself far beyond our reach, and really when he occupied a country\nnever before trodden by the foot of a white man.\n\n\"Much of the credit is due to the perseverance and courage of Col. Kit\nCarson, commanding the expedition, whose example excited all to great\nenergy, and inspired great resolution; but it may not be out of place to\nremark that it is now demonstrated beyond a doubt that, while the troops\nof New Mexico have long borne the reputation of being the best cavalry,\nthey have proved themselves in the present campaign to be the best\ninfantry in the world.\n\n\"Gen. James H. Carlton, who knows, perhaps, and understands the material\nfor an army as well as any General in our army, has directed the\nformation of a New-Mexican Brigade, and when the savage foe is removed,\nthat Brigade, commanded by Brigadier-Gen. Kit Carson, would surely\nreflect credit on the Territory and on the Department Commander.\"\n\nAfter the close of the war Christopher Carson continued in the employ of\nthe Government, rendering such services as only one equally skilled and\nexperienced could render, until his death. He died at Fort Lyon,\nColorado, on the 23d of May, 1868, from the effects of the rupture of an\nartery, or probably an aneurism of an artery, in the neck. But a few\nweeks previous he had visited Washington on a treaty mission, in company\nwith a deputation of red men, and made a tour of several of the Northern\nand Eastern cities.\n\nIn his death the country has lost the most noted of that intrepid race\nof mountaineers, trappers, and guides that have ever been the pioneers\nof civilization in its advancement westward. As an Indian fighter he was\nmatchless. His rifle, when fired at a redskin, never failed him, and\nthe number that fell beneath his aim, who can tell! (The identical rifle\nwhich Carson used in all his scouts, during the last thirty-five years\nof his life, he bequeathed, just previous to his death, to Montezuma\nLodge, A. F. and A. M., Santa Fe, of which he was a member.) The country\nwill always regard him as a perfect representative of the American\nfrontiersman, and accord to him the most daring valor, consistent\nkindliness, perseverant energy and truthfulness which that whole great\nterritory, that we must still regard as lying between the civilizations,\nis capable of furnishing.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[A] Peters.\n\n[B] Annals of San Francisco. By Frank Soule, John H Gihon, and James\nNisbet. New York, D. Appleton & Co., 1855.\n\n[C] Cutts. Conquest of California and New Mexico.\n\n[D] Peters.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nSimple typographical errors were corrected.\n\nPunctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant\npreference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.\n\nAmbiguous and missing quotation marks remedied on pages 79, 177-178,\nand 334.\n\nPage 301: \"it is not wonderful\" probably should be \"is it not\nwonderful\".\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Life of Kit Carson, by Charles Burdett\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\nE-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Steven Brown, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 37612-h.htm or 37612-h.zip:\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37612/37612-h/37612-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37612/37612-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\n\nBILL'S SCHOOL AND MINE\n\nA Collection of Essays on Education\n\nby\n\nWILLIAM SUDDARDS FRANKLIN\n\n[Illustration of Author's Signature]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSouth Bethlehem, Pennsylvania\nFranklin, Macnutt and Charles\nPublishers of Educational Books\n1913\n\nAll rights reserved\n\nCopyright, 1913\nBy William S. Franklin\n\nPress of\nThe New Era Printing Company\nLancaster, Pa.\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATED\nTO A UNIVERSITY\nSUPPORTED AND CONTROLLED\nBY THE PEOPLE OF\nPENNSYLVANIA.\n\n\n\n\n  The time will come when men will think of nothing but education.\n\n                                                      NIETZSCHE.\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  To face page iv\n\n\n  Since the first of August, 1914, this prophecy of Nietzsche's has\nshaped itself in the author's mind in an altered tense and in an\naltered mood.--The time HAS come when men MUST think of nothing but\neducation; by education the author does not mean inconsequential\nbookishness, and neither did Nietzsche!\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n  The greater part of the essay, _Bill's School and Mine,_ was written\nin 1903, but the title and some of the material were borrowed from my\nfriend and college mate William Allen White in 1912, when the essay\nwas printed in the South Bethlehem _Globe_ to stimulate interest in a\nlocal Playground Movement.\n\n  The second essay, _The Study of Science,_ is taken from Franklin and\nMacNutt's _Elements of Mechanics,_ The Macmillan Company, New York,\n1908. I have no illusions concerning the mathematical sciences, for it\nis to such that the essay chiefly relates. Unquestionably the most\nimportant function of education is to develop personality and\ncharacter; but science is impersonal, and an essay which attempts to\nset forth the meaning of science study must make an unusual demand\nupon the reader. Some things in this world are to be understood by\nsympathy, and some things are to be understood by serious and painful\neffort.\n\n  The third essay, _Part of an Education,_ was privately printed in 1903\nunder the title _A Tramp Trip in the Rockies,_ and it is introduced\nhere to illustrate a phase of real education which is in danger of\nbecoming obsolete. The school of hardship is not for those who love\nluxury, and to the poverty stricken it is not a school--it is a\nJuggernaut.\n\n  The five minor essays are mere splashes, as it were; but in each I\nhave said everything that need be said, except perhaps in the matter\nof exhortation.\n\n  For the illustrations I am under obligations to my cousin Mr. Daniel\nGarber of Philadelphia.\n\n\n    WILLIAM SUDDARDS FRANKLIN\n\n  SOUTH BETHLEHEM, PA.,\n  October 22, 1913.\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  To face page vi\n\n\nSUPPLEMENT TO PREFACE.\n\n\n  Your attention is called especially to the five short essays, or\nsplashes, on pages 25 {3}, 29 {4}, 59 {5}, 91 {8} and 95 {9}; each of\nthese short essays fills about a page, and if you read them you will\nunderstand why the _Independent_ has called this little book A Package\nof Dynamite.\n\n  The first essay, entitled BILL'S SCHOOL AND MINE, is easy reading,\nand if one is not irredeemably literal in one's mode of thinking, it\nis very pleasant reading. The tall talk which is sprinkled throughout\nthis essay and which reaches a climax on pages 19 {1} and 20 {2} is\nnot intended to be actually fatal in its seemingly murderous quality!\nMany contented city people in reading this essay should be prompted\nafter the manner of cow-boy who in a spell of seemingly careless gun\nplay says to his sophisticated friend \"Smile, D---- You, Smile\".\n\n  The essay on The Study of Science is somewhat of a \"sticker\", and if\nany particular reader does not like it he can let it alone, but there\nis an increasing number of young men in this world who must study\nscience whether they like it or not. Indeed the object of this\nparticular essay is to explain this remarkable and in some respects\ndistressing fact. The essay relates primarily to the physical\nsciences, narrowly speaking, because the author's teaching experience\nhas been wholly in physics and chemistry. One can get a fairly good\nidea of the author's point of view by reading the portions of the\nessay which stand in large print, but it is quite necessary to read\nthe small print with more or less painful care if one is to get any\nfundamental idea of the matter under consideration. The reader will\nplease consider thoughtfully the close juxta-position of this essay\nand the following short essay on The Discipline of Work.\n\n  The essay, Part of an Education, is the story of a tramp trip through\nthe Rocky Mountains of Colorado and Wyoming, and it is an introduction\nto the little essay on The Uses of Hardship.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n    TABLE OF CONTENTS.\n\n\n                                           PAGES.\n\n  BILL'S SCHOOL AND MINE                    1-21\n    Play as a Training in Application      22-26\n    The Energizing of Play                 27-30\n\n  THE STUDY OF SCIENCES                    31-56\n    The Discipline of Work                 57-60\n\n  PART OF AN EDUCATION                     61-87\n    The Uses of Hardship                   89-92\n    The Public School                      93-98\n\n\n\n\n  BILL'S SCHOOL AND MINE\n\n\n  It seems that the Japanese have domesticated nature.\n\n    LAFCADIO HEARNE.\n\n\n  I always think of my school as my boyhood. Until I was big enough to\nswim the Missouri River my home was in a little Kansas town, and we\nboys lived in the woods and in the water all Summer, and in the woods\nand on the ice all Winter. We trapped and hunted, we rowed and fished,\nand built dams, and cut stick horses, and kept stick-horse livery\nstables where the grapevines hung, and where the paw-paws mellowed\nin the Fall. We made mud slides into our swimming hole, and we were\nartists in mud-tattoo, painting face and body with thin black mud and\nscraping white stripes from head to foot. We climbed the trees and\ncut our names, we sucked the sap of the box elder and squashed poke\nberries for war paint. We picked wild grapes and gooseberries, and\nmade pop-guns to shoot green haws. In the Autumn we gathered walnuts,\nand in the Spring we greeted the johnny-jump-ups, and the sweet\nwilliams as they peered through the mold.\n\n  Always, we boys were out of doors, as it seems to me; and I did the\nchores. It is something to learn the toughness of hickory under the\nsaw, how easily walnut splits, how mean elm is to handle; and a certain\ndexterity comes to a boy who teaches a calf to drink, or slops hogs\nwithout soiling his Sunday clothes in the evening. And the hay makes\nacrobats. In the loft a boy learns to turn flip-flops, and with a\nlariat rope he can make a trapeze. My rings were made by padding the\niron rings from the hubs of a lumber wagon and swinging them from the\nrafters.\n\n  Bill, little Bethlehem Bill, has a better school than I had; the house\nand the things that go with it. Bill's teachers know more accurately\nwhat they are about than did my teachers in the old days out West half\na century ago. And, of course, Bill is getting things from his school\nthat I did not get. But he is growing up with a woefully distorted\nidea of life. What does Bill know about the woods and the flowers?\nWhere in Bill's makeup is that which comes from browsing on berries\nand nuts and the rank paw paw, and roaming the woods like the\nBander-log? And the crops, what does he know about them?\n\n  The silver-sides used to live in the pool under the limestone ledges\nby the old stone quarry where the snakes would sun themselves at noon.\nThe wild rose, with its cinnamon-scented flower and curling leaves,\nused to bloom in May for me--for me and a little brown-eyed girl who\nfound her ink-bottle filled with them when the school bell called us\nin from play. And on Saturdays we boys roamed over the prairies picking\nwild flowers, playing wild plays and dreaming wild dreams--children's\ndreams. Do you suppose that little Bill dreams such dreams in a\nfifty-foot lot with only his mother's flowers in the window pots to\nteach him the great mystery of life?\n\n  Bill has no barn. I doubt if he can skin a cat, and I am sure he\ncannot do the big drop from the trapeze. To turn a flip-flop would\nfill him with alarm, and yet Jim Betts, out in Kansas, used to turn\na double flip-flop over a stack of barrels! And Jim Betts is a man to\nlook at. He is built by the day. He has an educated body, and it is\ngoing into its fifties with health and strength that Bill will have\nto work for. And Jim Betts and I used to make our own kites and\n<DW65>-shooters and sleds and rabbit traps.\n\n  Bill's school seems real enough, but his play and his work seem rather\nempty. Of course Bill cannot have the fringe of a million square miles\nof wild buffalo range for his out-of-doors. No, Bill cannot have that.\nNever, again. And to imagine that Bill needs anything of the kind is\nto forget the magic of Bill's \"make-believe!\" A tree, a brook, a stretch\nof grass! What old-world things Bill's fancy can create there! What\nuntold history repeat itself in Bill's most fragmentary play! Bill,\nis by nature, a conjuror. Give him but little and he will make a world\nfor himself, and grow to be a man. Older people seem, however, to\nforget, and deprive Bill of the little that he needs; and it is worth\nwhile, therefore, to develop the contrast between Bill's school and\nthat school of mine in the long-ago land of my boyhood out-of-doors.\n\n  The Land of Out-of-Doors! What irony there is in such glowing phrase\nto city boys like Bill! The supreme delight of my own boyhood days was\nto gather wild flowers in a wooded hollow, to reach which led across\na sunny stretch of wild meadow rising to the sky; and I would have\nyou know that I lived as a boy in a land where a weed never grew[A]. I\nwish that Bill might have access to the places where the wild flowers\ngrow, and above all I wish that Bill might have more opportunity to see\nhis father at work. A hundred years ago these things were within the\nreach of every boy and girl; but now, alas, Bill sees no other manual\nlabor than the digging of a ditch in a cluttered street, or stunted in\ngrowth, he has almost become a part of the machine he daily tends, and\nBoyville has become a paved and guttered city, high-walled, desolate,\nand dirty; with here and there a vacant lot hideous with refuse in early\nSpring and overwhelmed with an increasing pestilence of weeds as the\nSummer days go by! And the strangest thing about it all is, that Bill\naccepts unquestioningly, and even with manifestations of joy, just any\nsort of a world, if only it is flooded with sunshine.\n\n  I remember how, in my boyhood, the rare advent of an old tin can in\nmy favorite swimming hole used to offend me, while such a thing as a\ncast-off shoe was simply intolerable, and I wonder that Bill's\nunquenchable delight in outdoor life does not become an absolute rage\nin his indifference to the dreadful pollution of the streams and the\nuniversal pestilence of weeds and refuse in our thickly populated\ndistricts.\n\n  I cannot refrain from quoting an amusing poem of James Whitcomb\nRiley's, which expresses (more completely than anything I know) the\ndelight of boys in outdoor life, where so many things happen and so\nmany things lure; and you can easily catch in the swing of Riley's\nverse that wanton note which is ordinarily so fascinatingly boyish,\nbut which may too easily turn to a raging indifference to everything\nthat makes for purity in this troubled life of ours.\n\n\n  THREE JOLLY HUNTERS.\n\n\n  O there were three jolly youngsters;\n    And a-hunting they did go,\n  With a setter-dog and a pointer-dog\n    And a yaller-dog also.\n  Looky there!\n\n  And they hunted and they hal-looed;\n    And the first thing they did find\n  Was a dingling-dangling hornets' nest\n    A-swinging in the wind.\n  Looky there!\n\n  And the first one said, \"What is it?\"\n    Said the next, \"Let's punch and see,\"\n  And the third one said, a mile from there,\n    \"I wish we'd let it be!\"\n  Looky there! (Showing the back of his neck.)\n\n  And they hunted and they hal-looed;\n    And the next thing they did raise\n  Was a bobbin bunnie cotton-tail\n    That vanished from their gaze.\n  Looky there!\n\n  One said it was a hot baseball,\n    Zippt thru the brambly thatch,\n  But the others said 'twas a note by post\n    Or a telergraph dispatch.\n  Looky there!\n\n  So they hunted and they hal-looed;\n    And the next thing they did sight,\n  Was a great big bull-dog chasing them,\n    And a farmer hollering \"Skite!\"\n  Looky there!\n\n  And the first one said \"Hi-jinktum!\"\n    And the next, \"Hi-jinktum-jee!\"\n  And the last one said, \"Them very words\n    Has just occurred to me!\"\n  Looky there! (Showing the tattered seat of his pants.)\n\n\n  This is the hunting song of the American Bander-log[B], and this kind\nof hunting is better than the kind that needs a gun. To one who falls\ninto the habit of it, the gun is indeed a useless tool. I am reminded\nof a day I spent with a gun at a remote place in the Rocky Mountains,\nwhere, during the 25 days I have camped there on four different trips,\nI have seen as many as 150 of the wildest of North American animals,\nthe Rocky Mountain sheep. I lay in ambush for three hours waiting for\nsheep, and the sheep came; but they were out of range again before I\nsaw them because I had become so interested in killing mosquitoes! I\ntimed myself at intervals, and 80 per minute for three solid hours\nmakes an honest estimate of 14,400. And I was hungry, too. I fancy the\nsheep were not frightened but wished the good work to go on\nundisturbed.\n\n  Do you, perhaps, like candy? Did you ever consider that the only\nsweetmeat our forefathers had for thousands of years was wild honey?\nAnd those sour times--if I may call them such--before the days of\nsugar and candy, come much nearer to us than you realize, for I can\nremember my own grandfather's tales of bee-hunting in Tennessee. Just\nimagine how exciting it must have been in the days of long-ago to find\na tree loaded with--candy! A bee tree! If Bill were to go back with me\nto the wild woods of Tennessee, some thrill of that old excitement would\nwell up from the depths of his soul at finding such a tree. You may\nwonder what I am driving at, so I will tell you, that one of the most\nexciting experiences of my boyhood was a battle with a colony of\nbumble bees. I was led into it by an older companion and the ardor\nand excitement of that battle, as I even now remember it, are wholly\ninexplicable to me except I think of it as a representation through\ninherited instinct of a ten-thousand-years' search for wild honey.\n\n  My schooling grew out of instinctive reactions toward natural things;\nhunting and fishing, digging and planting in the Spring, nutting in\nthe Fall, and the thousands of variations which these things involve,\nand I believe that the play of instinct is the only solid basis of\ngrowth of a boy or girl. I believe, furthermore, that the very\nessence of boy humor is bound up with the amazing incongruity of his\ninstincts. Was there ever a boy whose instincts (many of them mere\nfatuity like his digestive appendix) have not led him time and again\ninto just thin air, to say nothing of water and mud! For my part I\nhave never known anything more supremely funny than learning what a\nhopeless mess of wood pulp and worms a bumble-bee's nest really is,\nexcept, perhaps, seeing another boy learn the same stinging lesson.\n\n  The use of formulas, too, is unquestionably instinctive, and we all\nknow how apt a boy is to indulge in formulas of the hocus-pocus sort,\nlike Tom Sawyer's recipe for removing warts by the combined charm of\nblack midnight and a black cat, dead. And a boy arrives only late\nin his boyhood, if ever, to some sense of the distinction between\nformulas of this kind and such as are vital and rational. I think that\nthere is much instruction and a great deal of humor connected with the\nplay of this instinctive tendency. I remember a great big boy, a hired\nman on my grandfather's farm, in fact, who was led into a fight with a\nnest of hornets with the expectation that he would bear a charmed skin\nif he shouted in loud repetition the words, \"Jew's-harp, jew's-harp.\"\n\n  Talk about catching birds by putting salt on their tails! Once, as\nI rowed around a bend on a small stream, I saw a sand-hill crane\nstalking along the shore. Into the water I went with the suddenly\nconceived idea that I could catch that crane, and, swimming low, I\nreached the shore, about 20 feet from the bird, jumped quickly out\nof the water, made a sudden dash and the bird was captured! Once I\nsaw a catfish, gasping for air at the surface of water that had been\nmuddied by the opening of a sluice-way in a dam. Swimming up behind\nthe fish, I jambed a hand into each gill, and, helped by the fish's\ntail, I pushed it ashore; and it weighed 36 pounds! A friend of mine,\nby the name of Stebbins, once followed his dog in a chase after a jack\nrabbit. The rabbit made a wide circle and came back to its own trail\nsome distance ahead of the dog, then it made a big sidewise jump,\nand sat looking at the dog as it passed by; so intently indeed that\nStebbins walked up behind the rabbit and took it up with his hands.\n\n  I think you will agree with me that my outdoor school was a wonderful\nthing. The Land of Out-of-Doors! To young people the best school and\nplay-house, and to older people an endless asylum of delight.\n\n\n    \"The grass so little has to do,\n    A sphere of simple green\n    With only butterflies to brood\n    And bees to entertain.\n\n    \"And stir all day to pretty tunes\n    The breezes fetch along,\n    And hold the sunshine in its lap\n    And bow--to everything.\n\n    \"And thread the dew all night, like pearls,\n    And make itself so fine,\n    A duchess were too common\n    For such a noticing.\n\n    \"And even when it dies, to pass\n    In odors so divine\n    As lowly spices gone to sleep,\n    Or amulets of pine.\n\n    \"And then to dwell in sovereign barns\n    And dream the days away,\n    The grass so little has to do--\n    I wish I were the hay.\"\n\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n  The most important thing, I should say, for the success of Bill's fine\nschool is that ample opportunity be given to Bill for every variety of\nplay including swimming and skating, and wherever possible, boating.\nIt is ridiculous to attempt to teach Bill anything without the\nsubstantial results of play to build upon. Playgrounds are the\ncheapest and, in many respects, the best of schools, but they are\nalmost entirely lacking in many of our towns which have grown to\ncities in a generation in this great nation of villagers. The Boroughs\nof the Bethlehems, for example, have no playground connected with a\nPublic School, nor any other public place where boys can play ball.\n\n\n\n\n    WHAT DO YOU THINK?\n\n\n    (This and the following communication are from a small paper,\n  printed and published by two Bethlehem boys.)\n\n    We, the editors, have been dragged along back alleys, across\n  open sewers, and through rank growths of weed and thistle to\n  view the Monocacy meadows to consider the possibility of their\n  use as a playground or park. We are not much impressed with\n  the proposal, the place is apparently hopeless, but the park\n  enthusiast could not be touched by argument. To our very\n  practical objection that the cost would be excessive, he made\n  the foolish reply that there is no cost but a saving in using\n  what has hitherto been wasted. To our expressed disgust for\n  the open sewers and filth he replied that that was beside the\n  question, for, as he said, we must sooner or later take care\n  of the filth anyway. But, we said, the creek is contaminated\n  above the town. Very well, he replied, we have the right\n  to prohibit such contamination. But worst of all, in double\n  meaning, was his instant agreement to our statement that we\n  had our cemeteries which, he said, were really better than any\n  Bethlehem park could be.\n\n\n\n\n    COMMUNICATION.\n\n\n    _Dear Editors:_ I took a walk along the Monocacy Creek on\n  Sunday afternoon and discovered clear water several miles\n  above town and a fine skating pond; but I suppose that you and\n  all of your subscribers will have to go to our enterprising\n  neighbor, Allentown, to find any well-kept ice to skate on\n  this Winter. Most people think that you boys can swim in\n  Nature's own water, skate on Nature's own ice, and roam in\n  Nature's own woods, but it is absolutely certain that your\n  elders must take some care and pains if you town boys are to\n  do any of these things. And yet, here in the East, children\n  are said to be brought up (implying care and pains) and hogs\n  are said to be raised (implying only feeding). I thank the\n  Lord that I was \"raised\" in the West where there are no such\n  false distinctions.\n\n    Your subscriber, S.\n\n    P.S.--As I came home covered with beggar-lice and cockle-burrs\n  I saw a ring of fire on South Mountain, an annual occurrence\n  which has been delayed a whole week this Autumn by a flourish\n  of posters in several languages offering One Hundred Dollars\n  Reward! S.\n\n\n  In these days of steam and electricity we boast of having conquered\nnature. Well, we have got to domesticate nature before much else can\nbe accomplished in this country of ours. We have got to take care of\nour brooks and our rivers, of our open lands and our wooded hills. We\nhave got to do it, and Bill would be better off if we took half of the\ncost of his fine school to meet the expense of doing it. When I was a\nboy I belonged to the Bander-log, but Bill belongs to another tribe,\nthe Rats, and there is nothing I would like so much to do as to turn\nPied Piper and lure the entire brood of Bethlehem boys and girls to\nFriedensville[C] and into that awful chasm of crystal water to come\nback no more, no, not even when an awakened civic consciousness had\nmade a park of the beautiful Monocacy meadows and converted the creek\ninto a chain, a regular Diamond Necklace of swimming holes. I beg the\ngarbage men's (not a printer's error for man's) pardon for speaking\nof the beautiful Monocacy meadows. I refer to what has been and to\nwhat might easily continue to be. As for the Diamond Necklace, that,\nof course, would have to be above our gas works where the small stream\nof pure tar now joins the main stream.\n\n  I know a small river in Kansas which is bordered by rich bottom lands\nfrom one-half to one mile in width between beautifully scalloped\nbluffs--where the upland prairie ends. In early days thick covering of\ngrass was everywhere, and the clear stream, teeming with life, wound\nits way along a deep channel among scattered clusters of large walnut\ntrees and dense groves of elm and cotton wood, rippling here and there\nover beds of rock. Now, however, every foot of ground, high and low,\nis mellowed by the plow, and the last time I saw the once beautiful\nvalley of Wolf River it was as if the whole earth had melted with the\nrains of June, such devastation of mud was there! Surely it requires\nmore than the plow to domesticate nature; indeed, since I have lived\nbetween the coal-bearing Alleghenies and the sea, I have come to believe\nthat it may require more than the plow and the crowded iron furnace, such\npestilence of refuse and filth is here! {1}\n\n  I suppose that I am as familiar with the requirements of modern\nindustry as any man living, and as ready to tolerate everything that\nis economically wise, but every day as I walk to and fro I see our\nMonocacy Creek covered with a scum of tar, and in crossing the river\nbridge I see a half mile long heap of rotting refuse serving the\nLehigh as a bank on the southern side; not all furnace refuse either\nby any means, but nameless stinking stuff cast off by an indifferent\npopulation and carelessly left in its very midst in one long\nunprecedented panorama of putrescent ugliness! And when, on splendid\nAutumn days, the nearby <DW72>s of old South Mountain lift the eyes\ninto pure oblivion of these distressing things, I see again and again\na line of fire sweeping through the scanty woods. This I have seen\nevery Autumn since first I came to Bethlehem.\n\n  It is easy to speak in amusing hyperbole of garbage heaps and of\nbrooks befouled with tar, but to have seen one useless flourish\nof posters on South Mountain in fifteen years! That is beyond any\npossible touch of humor. It is indeed unfortunate that our river is\nnot fit for boys to swim in, and it is not, for I have tried it, and\nI am not fastidious either, having lived an amphibious boyhood on\nthe banks of the muddiest river in the world; but it is a positive\ndisgrace that our river is not fit to look at, that it is good for\nnothing whatever but to drink; much too good, one would think, for\npeople who protect the only stretch of woodland that is accessible to\ntheir boys and girls by a mere flourish of posters!{2}\n\n  I was born in Kansas when its inhabitants were largely Indians,\nand when its greatest resource was wild buffalo skins; and whatever\nobjection you may have to this description of my present home-place\nbetween the coal-bearing Alleghenies and the sea, please do not\nimagine that I have a sophisticated sentimentality towards the\nBeauties of Nature! No, I am still enough of an Indian to think\nchiefly of my belly when I look at a stretch of country. In the West\nI like the suggestion of hog-and-hominy which spreads for miles and\nmiles beneath the sky, and here in the East I like the promise of\npillars of fire and smoke and I like the song of steam!\n\n  Bill's School and Mine! It may seem that I have said a great deal\nabout my school, and very little about Bill's. But what is Bill's\nschool? Surely, Bill's fine school-house and splendid teachers, and\nBill's good mother are not all there is to Bill's school. No, Bill's\nschool is as big as all Bethlehem, and in its bigger aspects it is\na bad school, bad because Bill has no opportunity to play as a boy\nshould play, and bad because Bill has no opportunity to work as a boy\nshould work.\n\n\n    \"I b'en a-kindo musin', as the feller says\", and I'm\n    About o' the conclusion that they ain't no better time,\n    When you come to cypher on it, than the times we used to know,\n    When we swore our first 'dog-gone-it' sorto solem'-like and low.\n\n    \"You git my idy, do you?--LITTLE tads, you understand--\n    Jes' a wishin', thue and thue you, that you on'y was a MAN.\n    Yet here I am this minute, even forty, to a day,\n    And fergittin' all that's in it, wishin' jes the other way!\"\n\n\n  I wonder if our Bill will \"wish the other way\" when he is a man?\nIndeed, I wonder if he will ever BE a man. If we could only count on\nthat, Bill's school would not be our problem.\n\n\n\n\n  PLAY AS A TRAINING IN APPLICATION.\n\n\n\n\n  Never yet was a boy who dreamed\n    of ice-cream sundaes while\n         playing ball.\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  To face page 24\n\n\n PLAY AS A TRAINING IN APPLICATION.\n\n  Never yet was a boy who dreamed\n    of ice-cream sundaes while\n         playing ball.\n\n  Every one knows that play means health and happiness to children,\nand nearly every one thinks of the playgrounds movement as based solely\non ideals of health and ideals of happiness in a rather narrow sense;\nbut the movement means much more than health and happiness as these\nterms are generally understood.\n\n  The Indian boy's play, which included practice with the bow and arrow,\nfoot racing, ball playing and horse-back riding, was perfectly adapted\nto the needs of his adult life, but how about base ball and prisoner's\nbase for the boy who is to become a salesman or a mechanic, a physician\nor an engineer? Good fun and a good appetite certainly come from these\ngames, and one may also place to their credit a tempered reasonableness\nand a high regard for what is fair and square; _but as a training in\napplication nothing can take their place._\n\n  Play as a training in application! That certainly is a paradox; and\nyet everyone knows that play is the first thing in life to give rise\nto that peculiar overwhelming eagerness which alone can bring every\natom of one's strength into action. Ability to focus one's whole mind\nupon an undertaking and to apply one's whole body in concentrated\neffort is what our boys and girls are most in need of, and vigorous\ncompetitive play serves better than anything else, if, indeed there\nis anything else to create it.\n\n  Intense and eager application! That means not only an escape from\nlaziness and apathy, but eagerness is the only thing in the world that\ndefies fatigue. A healthy boy can put forth an amazing amount of\nphysical effort and be fresh at the end of a day of play. And a man\nwhose habit of application is so highly developed that it assumes a\nquality of eagerness and never fails in absolute singleness of purpose,\nis there any limit to what such a man can do?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n  Every one knows that play means health and happiness to children,\nand nearly every one thinks of the playgrounds movement as based solely\non ideals of health and ideals of happiness in a rather narrow sense;\nbut the movement means much more than health and happiness as these\nterms are generally understood.{3}\n\n  The Indian boy's play, which included practice with the bow and arrow,\nfoot racing, ball playing and horse-back riding, was perfectly adapted\nto the needs of his adult life, but how about base ball and prisoner's\nbase for the boy who is to become a salesman or a mechanic, a physician\nor an engineer? Good fun and a good appetite certainly come from these\ngames, and one may also place to their credit a tempered reasonableness\nand a high regard for what is fair and square; _but as a training in\napplication nothing can take their place._\n\n  Play as a training in application! That certainly is a paradox; and\nyet everyone knows that play is the first thing in life to give rise\nto that peculiar overwhelming eagerness which alone can bring every\natom of one's strength into action. Ability to focus one's whole mind\nupon an undertaking and to apply one's whole body in concentrated\neffort is what our boys and girls are most in need of, and vigorous\ncompetitive play serves better than anything else, if, indeed there\nis anything else to create it.\n\n  Intense and eager application! That means not only an escape from\nlaziness and apathy, but eagerness is the only thing in the world that\ndefies fatigue. A healthy boy can put forth an amazing amount of\nphysical effort and be fresh at the end of a day of play. And a man\nwhose habit of application is so highly developed that it assumes a\nquality of eagerness and never fails in absolute singleness of purpose,\nis there any limit to what such a man can do?\n\n\n\n\n  THE ENERGIZING OF PLAY.\n\n\n  Strenuous play leads to strenuous work.\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  To face page 28\n\n\nTHE ENERGIZING OF PLAY.\n\n  Strenuous play leads to strenuous work.\n                Play Ball.\n\n\n  Scarcely more than a generation ago every American boy came under the\nspell of hunting and fishing; and there is no more powerful incentive\nto laborious days, nor any anodyne so potent for bodily discomfort\nand hardship! A hunting and fishing boyhood! Such has been the chief\nsource of human energy in this lazy world of ours, the chief basis of\nlife-long habit of persistent and strenuous effort; and the problem\nof educational play is to a great extent the problem of finding an\neffective substitute for the lure of the wild for stimulating young\npeople to intense activity.\n\n  The lure of the wild! Alas it is but a poet's fancy in this tame\nworld of ours. But our boys remain as a perennial race of Wild Indians\nhowever tame the world may come to be; and fortunately they are not\ndependent upon completely truthful externals. The genuine Wild Indian\nbecomes a sorry spectacle, even if he does not sicken and die, when he\nis deprived of his millions of square miles of wild buffalo country;\nbut our boy Bill cannot have such an out-of-doors, never again as long\nas the earth shall last. Indeed he has no need of such a thing, for\nif his fancy is stirred by ardent playmates he will chase an imaginary\nstag around a vacant lot all day if only there is a mixture of earth\nand sky and greenery to set off his make believe--and eat mush and\nmilk when the day is done!\n\n  Indeed youngsters must hunt in packs, as Whitcomb Riley tells in his\nHunting Song of the American Bander-Log, and the gang idea contains\nthe ultimate solution of what would otherwise be an impossible\nproblem, namely, to find an effective substitute for the lure of the\nwild for the energizing of the intensely active kind of play, the kind\nof play that trains for application, the kind that approaches hunting\nand fishing or tribal warfare or the settling of a blood-feud in its\npersistent, single-minded and strenuous activity.\n\n  Many grown-ups seem to think that mere permission is now a sufficient\nbasis for play, as it was in pioneer and rural days. Indeed this is\nlargely true for very small children who can sit in the sunshine and\nmake mud pies or dig holes in a bed of sand; but with older boys it\nis different. They may indeed fight or steal, or engage in the worst\nvarieties of gang activity, or sit by a fire in a back alley talking\nsex like grown-up sordidly imaginative Hottentots in Darkest Africa;\nbut strenuous play requires suggestive example and organization,\nas with our Boy Scouts; and it depends to a very great extent upon\ncompetitive athletics. A dozen large ball fields and two or three\ngood-sized swimming pools are, next to his food, the most important\nthing for our boy Bill; and they would do more to make him into an\nenergetic and industrious man than all the rest of his school work put\ntogether.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n  Scarcely more than a generation ago every American boy came under the\nspell of hunting and fishing; and there is no more powerful incentive\nto laborious days, nor any anodyne so potent for bodily discomfort\nand hardship! A hunting and fishing boyhood! Such has been the chief\nsource of human energy in this lazy world of ours, the chief basis of\nlife-long habit of persistent and strenuous effort; and the problem\nof educational play is to a great extent the problem of finding an\neffective substitute for the lure of the wild for stimulating young\npeople to intense activity.{4}\n\n  The lure of the wild! Alas it is but a poet's fancy in this tame\nworld of ours. But our boys remain as a perennial race of Wild Indians\nhowever tame the world may come to be; and fortunately they are not\ndependent upon completely truthful externals. The genuine Wild Indian\nbecomes a sorry spectacle, even if he does not sicken and die, when he\nis deprived of his millions of square miles of wild buffalo country;\nbut our boy Bill cannot have such an out-of-doors, never again as long\nas the earth shall last. Indeed he has no need of such a thing, for\nif his fancy is stirred by ardent playmates he will chase an imaginary\nstag around a vacant lot all day if only there is a mixture of earth\nand sky and greenery to set off his make believe--and eat mush and\nmilk when the day is done!\n\n  Indeed youngsters must hunt in packs, as Whitcomb Riley tells in his\nHunting Song of the American Bander-Log, and the gang idea contains\nthe ultimate solution of what would otherwise be an impossible\nproblem, namely, to find an effective substitute for the lure of the\nwild for the energizing of the intensely active kind of play, the kind\nof play that trains for application, the kind that approaches hunting\nand fishing or tribal warfare or the settling of a blood-feud in its\npersistent, single-minded and strenuous activity.\n\n  Many grown-ups seem to think that mere permission is now a sufficient\nbasis for play, as it was in pioneer and rural days. Indeed this is\nlargely true for very small children who can sit in the sunshine and\nmake mud pies or dig holes in a bed of sand; but with older boys it\nis different. They may indeed fight or steal, or engage in the worst\nvarieties of gang activity, or sit by a fire in a back alley talking\nsex like grown-up sordidly imaginative Hottentots in Darkest Africa;\nbut strenuous play requires suggestive example and organization,\nas with our Boy Scouts; and it depends to a very great extent upon\ncompetitive athletics. A dozen large ball fields and two or three\ngood-sized swimming pools are, next to his food, the most important\nthing for our boy Bill; and they would do more to make him into an\nenergetic and industrious man than all the rest of his school work put\ntogether.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STUDY OF SCIENCE.\n\n\n    Grau theurer Freund ist alle Theorie\n    Und gruen des Lebens goldener Baum.\n                                  GOETHE\n\n\n  Everyone realizes the constraint that is placed upon the lives of\nmen by the physical necessities of the world in which we live, and\nalthough in one way this constraint is more and more relieved with the\nprogress of the applied sciences, in another way it becomes more and\nmore exacting. It is indeed easier to cross the Atlantic Ocean now\nthan it was in Leif Ericsson's time, but consider the discipline of\nthe shop, and above all consider the rules of machine design! Could\neven the hardy Norsemen have known anything as uncompromisingly\nexacting as these? To do things becomes easier and easier, but to\nlearn how to do things becomes more and more difficult.\n\n  Every person I have ever talked with, old or young, theorist or\npractician, student-in-general or specialist in whatever line, has\nexhibited more or less distinctly a certain attitude of impatience\ntowards the exactions of this or that phase of the precise modes of\nthought of the physical sciences.\n\n\n    \"Da wird der Geist Euch wohl dressiert\n    In spanische Stiefeln eingeschnuert.\"\n\n\n  In a recent article[D] on the distinction between the liberal and\ntechnical in education, my friend and colleague, Professor Percy\nHughes, says that in speaking of an education as liberal we thereby\nassociate it with liberalism in politics, in philosophy and theology,\nand in men's personal relations with each other. In each case\nliberalism seems fundamentally, to denote freedom, and liberalism in\neducation is the freedom of development in each individual of that\ncharacter and personality which is his true nature. All this I accept\nin the spirit of an optimist, assuming men's true natures to be good,\nbut I do not, and I am sure that Professor Hughes does not, consider\nthat technical education, unless it be inexcusably harsh and narrow,\nis illiberal; nor that liberal education, unless it be inexcusably\nsoft and vague, is wholly non-technical. The liberal and the technical\nare not two kinds of education, each complete in itself. Indeed,\nProfessor Hughes speaks of liberal education, not as a category, but\nas a condition which makes for freedom of development of personality\nand character.\n\n  It seems to me, however, that there are phases of education which have\nbut little to do with personality, and I call to your attention this\ndefinition of liberalism in education, in order that I may turn sharply\naway from it as a partial definition which, to a great extent, excludes\nthe physical sciences. Indeed, I wish to speak of a condition in education\nwhich is the antithesis of freedom. I wish to explain the teaching of\nelementary physical science as a mode of constraint, as an impressed\nconstructive discipline without which no freedom is possible in our\ndealings with physical things. I wish to characterize the study of\nelementary physical science as a reorganization of the workaday mind\nof a young man as complete as the pupation of an insect; and I wish\nto emphasize the necessity of exacting constraint as the essential\ncondition of this reorganization.\n\n  There is a kind of salamander, the axolotl, which lives a tadpole-like\nyouth and never changes to the adult form unless a stress of dry\nweather annihilates his watery world; but he lives always and\nreproduces his kind as a tadpole, and a very funny-looking tadpole he\nis, with his lungs hanging like feathery tassels from the sides of\nhis head. When the aquatic home of the axolotl dries up, he quickly\ndevelops a pair of internal lungs, lops off his tassels and embarks on a\nnew mode of life on land. So it is with our young men who are to develop\nbeyond the tadpole stage, they must meet with quick and responsive inward\ngrowth that new and increasing \"stress of dryness,\" as many are wont to\ncall our modern age of science and organized industry.\n\n  Stress of dryness! Indeed no flow of humor is to be found in the\ndetached impersonalities of the sciences, and if we are to understand\nthe characteristics of physical science we must turn our attention\nto things which lead inevitably to an exacting and rigid mathematical\nphilosophy. It certainly is presumptive to tell a reader that he must\nturn his attention to such a thing, but there is no other way; the\nbest we can do is to choose the simplest path. Let us therefore\nconsider the familiar phenomena of motion.\n\n  The most prominent aspect of all phenomena is motion. In that realm\nof nature which is not of man's devising[E] motion is universal. In the\nother realm of nature, the realm of things devised, motion is no less\nprominent. Every purpose of our practical life is accomplished\nby movements of the body and by directed movements of tools and\nmechanisms, such as the swing of scythe and flail, and the studied\nmovements of planer and lathe from which are evolved the strong-armed\nsteam shovel and the deft-fingered loom.\n\n  The laws of motion. Every one has a sense of the absurdity of the idea\nof reducing the more complicated phenomena of nature to an orderly\nsystem of mechanical law. To speak of motion is to call to mind\nfirst of all the phenomena that are associated with the excessively\ncomplicated, incessantly changing, turbulent and tumbling motion of\nwind and water. These phenomena have always had the most insistent\nappeal to us, they have confronted us everywhere and always, and life\nis an unending contest with their fortuitous diversity, which rises\nonly too often to irresistible sweeps of destruction in fire and\nflood, and in irresistible crash of collision and collapse where\nall things mingle in one dread fluid confusion! The laws of motion!\nConsider the awful complexity of a disastrous tornado or the dreadful\nconfusion of a railway wreck, and understand that what we call the\nlaws of motion, although they have a great deal to do with the ways in\nwhich we think, have very little to do with the phenomena of nature. The\nlaws of motion! There is indeed a touch of arrogance in such a phrase\nwith its unwarranted suggestion of completeness and universality, and\nyet the ideas which constitute the laws of motion have an almost unlimited\nextent of legitimate range, _and these ideas must be possessed with a\nperfect precision if one is to acquire any solid knowledge whatever of\nthe phenomena of motion._ The necessity of precise ideas. Herein lies\nthe impossibility of compromise and the necessity of coercion and\nconstraint; one must think so and so, there is no other way. And\nyet there is always a conflict in the mind of even the most willing\nstudent because of the constraint which precise ideas place upon our\nvivid and primitively adequate sense of physical things; and this\nconflict is perennial but it is by no means a one-sided conflict\nbetween mere crudity and refinement, for refinement ignores many\nthings. Indeed, precise ideas not only help to form[F] our sense of\nthe world in which we live but they inhibit sense as well, and their\nrigid and unchallenged rule would be indeed a stress of dryness.\n\n  The laws of motion. We return again and yet again to the subject, for\none is not to be deterred therefrom by any concession of inadequacy,\nno, nor by any degree of respect for the vivid youthful sense of those\nthings which to suit our narrow purpose must be stripped completely\nbare. It is unfortunate, however, that the most familiar type\nof motion, the flowing of water or the blowing of the wind, is\nbewilderingly useless as a basis for the establishment of the simple\nand precise ideas which are called the \"laws of motion,\" and which\nare the most important of the fundamental principles of physics. These\nideas have in fact grown out of the study of the simple phenomena\nwhich are associated with the motion of bodies in bulk without\nperceptible change of form, the motion of rigid bodies, so called.\n\n  Before narrowing down the scope of the discussion, however, let us\nillustrate a very general application of the simplest idea of motion,\nthe idea of velocity. Every one has, no doubt, an idea of what is\nmeant by the velocity of the wind; and a sailor, having what he calls\na ten-knot wind, knows that he can manage his boat with a certain spread\nof canvas and that he can accomplish a certain portion of his voyage in\na given time; but an experienced sailor, although he speaks glibly of\na ten-knot wind, belies his speech by taking wise precaution against\nevery conceivable emergency. He knows that a ten-knot wind is by no\nmeans a sure or a simple thing with its incessant blasts and whirls; and\na sensitive anemometer, having more regard for minutiae than any sailor,\nusually registers in every wind a number of almost complete but\nexcessively irregular stops and starts every minute and variations of\ndirection that sweep around half the horizon!\n\n\n    Wer will was Lebendig's erkennen und beschreiben\n    Sucht erst den Geist heraus zu treiben.\n                                              GOETHE.\n\n\n  We must evidently direct our attention to something simpler than\nthe wind. Let us, therefore, consider the drawing of a wagon or the\npropulsion of a boat. It is a familiar experience that effort is\nrequired to start a body moving and that continued effort is required\nto maintain the motion. Certain very simple facts as to the nature and\neffects of this effort were discovered by Sir Isaac Newton, and on the\nbasis of these facts Newton formulated the laws of motion.\n\n\n    The effort required to start a body or to keep it moving is\n    called force. Thus, if one starts a box sliding along a table\n    one is said to exert a force on the box. The same effect might\n    be accomplished by interposing a stick between the hand and\n    the box, in which case one would exert a force on the stick\n    and the stick in its turn would exert a force on the box. We\n    thus arrive at the notion of force action between inanimate\n    bodies, between the stick and the box in this case, and Newton\n    pointed out that the force action between the two bodies _A_\n    and _B_ always consists of two equal and opposite forces, that\n    is to say, if body _A_ exerts a force on _B,_ then _B_ exerts\n    an equal and opposite force on _A,_ or, to use Newton's words,\n    action is equal to reaction and in a contrary direction.\n\n\n  In leading up to this statement one might consider the force with\nwhich a person pushes on the box and the equal and opposite force with\nwhich the box pushes back on the person, but if one does not wish to\nintroduce the stick as an intermediary, it is better to speak of\nthe force with which the hand pushes on the box, and the equal and\nopposite force with which the box pushes back on the hand, because in\ndiscussing physical phenomena it is of the utmost importance to pay\nattention only to impersonal [42] things. Indeed our modern industrial\nlife, in bringing men face to face with an entirely unprecedented\narray of intricate mechanical and physical problems, demands of every\none a great and increasing amount of impersonal thinking, and the\nprecise and rigorous modes of thought of the physical sciences\nare being forced upon widening circles of men with a relentless\ninsistence--all of which it was intended to imply by referring to\nthe \"stress of dryness\" which overtakes the little axolotl in his\ncontented existence as a tadpole.\n\n\n      When we examine into the conditions under which a body starts\n    to move and the conditions under which a body once started is\n    kept in motion, we come across a very remarkable fact, if we\n    are careful to consider every force which acts upon the body,\n    and this remarkable fact is that the forces which act upon _a\n    body at rest_ are related to each other in precisely the same\n    way as the forces which act upon _a body moving steadily along\n    a straight path._ Therefore it is convenient to consider,\n    _first_ the relation between the forces which act upon a body\n    at rest, or upon a body in uniform motion, and _second_ the\n    relation between the forces which act upon a body which is\n    starting or stopping or changing the direction of its motion.\n\n      Suppose a person _A_ were to hold a box in mid-air. To do so\n    it would of course be necessary for him to push upwards on the\n    box so as to balance the downward pull of the earth, the weight\n    of the box as it is called. If another person _B_ were to take\n    hold of the box and pull upon it in any direction, _A_ would\n    have to exert an equal pull on the box in the opposite direction\n    to keep it stationary. _The forces which act upon a stationary\n    body are always balanced._\n\n      Every one, perhaps, realizes that what is here said about the\n    balanced relation of the forces which act upon a stationary\n    box, is equally true of the forces which act on a box\n    similarly held in a steadily moving railway car or boat.\n    Therefore, _the forces which act upon a body which moves\n    steadily along a straight path are balanced._\n\n      This is evidently true when the moving body is surrounded on\n    all sides by things which are moving along with it, as in a\n    car or a boat; but how about a body which moves steadily along\n    a straight path but which is surrounded by bodies which do not\n    move along with it? Everyone knows that some active agent such\n    as a horse or a steam engine must pull steadily upon such a\n    body to keep it in motion. If left to itself such a moving\n    body quickly comes to rest. Many have, no doubt, reached this\n    further inference from experience, namely, that the tendency\n    of moving bodies to come to rest is due to the dragging\n    forces, or friction, with which surrounding bodies act upon a\n    body in motion. Thus a moving boat is brought to rest by the\n    drag of the water when the propelling force ceases to act; a\n    train of cars is brought to rest because of the drag due to\n    friction when the pull of the locomotive ceases; a box which\n    is moving across a table comes to rest when left to itself,\n    because of the drag due to friction between the box and the\n    table.\n\n      We must, therefore, always consider two distinct forces when\n    we are concerned with a body which is kept in motion, namely,\n    the _propelling force_ due to some active agent such as\n    a horse or an engine, and the _dragging force_ due to\n    surrounding bodies. Newton pointed out that when a body is\n    moving steadily along a straight path, the propelling force\n    is always equal and opposite to the dragging force. Therefore,\n    _The forces which act upon a body which is stationary, or\n    which is moving uniformly along a straight path, are balanced\n    forces._\n\n      Many hesitate to accept as a fact the complete and exact\n    balance of propelling and dragging forces on a body which is\n    moving steadily along a straight path in the open, but\n    direct experiment shows it to be true, and the most elaborate\n    calculations and inferences based upon this idea of the\n    complete balance of propelling and dragging forces on a body\n    in uniform motion are verified by experiment. One may ask, why\n    a canal boat, for example, should continue to move if the pull\n    of the mule does not exceed the drag of the water; but\n    why should it stop if the drag does not exceed the pull?\n    Understand that we are not considering the starting of the\n    boat. The fact is that the conscious effort which one must\n    exert to drive a mule, the cost of the mule, and the expense\n    of his keep, are what most people think of, however hard one\n    tries to direct their attention solely to the state of tension\n    in the rope that hitches the mule to the boat after the\n    boat is in full motion; and most people consider that if the\n    function of the mule is simply to balance the drag of the\n    water so as to keep the boat from stopping, then why should\n    there not be some way to avoid the cost of so insignificant\n    an operation? There is, indeed, an extremely important matter\n    involved here, but it has no bearing on the question as to the\n    balance of propulsion and drag on a body which moves steadily\n    along a straight path.\n\n      Let us now consider the relation between the forces which act\n    upon a body which is changing its speed, upon a body which is\n    being started or stopped, for example. Everyone has noticed\n    how a mule strains at his rope when starting a canal boat,\n    especially if the boat is heavily loaded, and how the boat\n    continues to move for a long time after the mule ceases to\n    pull. In the first case, the pull of the mule greatly exceeds\n    the drag of the water, and the speed of the boat increases; in\n    the second case, the drag of the water of course exceeds the\n    pull of the mule, for the mule is not pulling at all, and\n    the speed of the boat decreases. When the speed of a body is\n    changing, the forces which act on the body are unbalanced. We\n    may conclude therefore that _the effect of an unbalanced force\n    acting on a body is to change the velocity of the body,_ and\n    it is evident that the longer the unbalanced force continues\n    to act the greater the change of velocity. Thus if the mule\n    ceases to pull on a canal boat for one second the velocity of\n    the boat will be but slightly reduced by the unbalanced drag\n    of the water, whereas if the mule ceases to pull for two\n    seconds the decrease of velocity will be much greater. _In\n    fact the change of velocity due to a given unbalanced force\n    is proportional to the time that the force continues to act._\n    This is exemplified by a body falling under the action of the\n    unbalanced pull of the earth; after one second it will have\n    gained a certain amount of velocity (about 32 feet per second),\n    after two seconds it will have made a total gain of twice as\n    much velocity (about 64 feet per second), and so on.\n\n      Since the velocity produced by an unbalanced force is\n    proportional to the time that the force continues to act, it\n    is evident that the effect of the force should be specified as\n    so-much-velocity-produced-per-second, exactly as in the case\n    of earning money, the amount one earns is proportional to\n    the length of time that one continues to work, and we\n    always specify one's earning capacity as\n    so-much-money-earned-per-day.\n\n      Everyone knows what it means to give an easy pull or a hard\n    pull on a body. That is to say, we all have the ideas of\n    greater and less as applied to forces. Everybody knows also\n    that if a mule pulls hard on a canal boat, the boat will get\n    under way more quickly than if the pull is easy, that is, the\n    boat will gain more velocity per unit of time under the\n    action of a hard pull than under the action of an easy\n    pull. Therefore, any precise statement of the effect of an\n    unbalanced force on a given body must correlate the precise\n    value of the force and the exact amount of velocity produced\n    per unit of time by the force. This seems a very difficult\n    thing, but its apparent difficulty is very largely due to\n    the fact that we have not as yet agreed as to what we are to\n    understand by the statement that one force is precisely three,\n    or four, or any number of times as great as another. Suppose,\n    therefore, that _we agree to call one force twice as large as\n    another when it will_ as _produce in a given body twice as\n    much velocity in a given time_ (remembering of course that we\n    are now talking about unbalanced forces, or that we are assuming\n    for the sake of simplicity of statement, that no dragging forces\n    exist). As a result of this definition we may state that _the\n    amount of velocity produced per second in a given body by an\n    unbalanced force is proportional to the force._\n\n\n  Of course we know no more about the matter in hand than we did before\nwe adopted the definition, but we do have a good illustration of how\nimportant a part is played in the study of physical science, by what\nwe may call making-up one's mind, in the sense of putting one's\nmind in order. This kind of thing is very prominent in the study of\nelementary physics, and the rather indefinite reference (in the story\nof the little tasseled tadpole) to an inward growth as needful\nbefore one can hope for any measure of success in our modern world of\nscientific industry was an allusion to this thing, the \"making-up\" of\none's mind. Nothing is so essential in the acquirement of exact and\nsolid knowledge as the possession of precise ideas, not indeed that\na perfect precision is necessary as a means for retaining knowledge,\n_but that nothing else so effectually opens the mind for the\nperception even of the simplest evidences of a subject_[G].\n\n\n      We have now settled the question as to the effect of different\n    unbalanced forces on a given body on the basis of very general\n    experience, and by an agreement as to the precise meaning to\n    be attached to the statement that one force is so many times\n    as great as another; but how about the effect of the same\n    force upon different bodies, and how may we identify the force\n    so as to be sure that it is the same? It is required, for\n    example, to exert a given force on body _A_ and then exert the\n    same force on another body _B._ This can be done by causing\n    a third body _C_ (a coiled spring, for example) to exert the\n    force; then the forces exerted on _A_ and _B_ are the same if\n    the reaction in each case produces the same effect on body\n    _C_ (the same degree of stretch, for example). Concerning the\n    effects of the same unbalanced force on different bodies three\n    things have to be settled by experiment as follows:\n\n      (a) In the first place let us suppose that a certain force\n    _F_ is twice as large as a certain other force _G,_ according\n    to our agreement, because the force _F_ produces twice as much\n    velocity every second as force _G_ when the one and then the\n    other of these forces is caused to act upon a given body, a\n    piece of lead for example. Then, does the force _F_ produce\n    twice as much velocity every second as the force _G_ whatever\n    the nature and size of the given body, whether it be wood, or\n    ice, or sugar? Experiment shows that it does.\n\n      (b) In the second place, suppose that we have such amounts\n    of lead, or iron, or wood, etc., that a certain given force\n    produces the same amount of velocity per second when it is\n    made to act, as an unbalanced force, upon one or another of\n    these various bodies. Then what is the relation between the\n    amounts of these various substances? Experiment shows that\n    they all have the same mass in grams, or pounds, as determined\n    by a balance. That is, a given force produces the same amount\n    of velocity per second in a given number of grams of any kind\n    of substance. Thus the earth pulls with a certain definite\n    force (in a given locality) upon _M_ grams of any substance\n    and, aside from the dragging forces due to air friction, all\n    kinds of bodies gain the same amount of velocity per second\n    when they fall under action of the unbalanced pull of the\n    earth.\n\n      (c) In the third place, what is the relation between the\n    velocity per second produced by a given force and the mass in\n    grams (or pounds) of the body upon which it acts. Experiment\n    shows that _the velocity per second produced by a given force\n    is inversely proportional to the mass of the body upon which\n    the force acts._ In speaking of the mass of the body in grams\n    (or pounds) we here refer to the result which is obtained by\n    weighing the body on a balance scale, and the experimental\n    fact which is here referred to constitutes a very important\n    discovery: namely, when one body has twice the mass of\n    another, according to the balance method of measuring mass, it\n    is accelerated half as fast by a given unbalanced force.\n\n      The effect of an unbalanced force in producing velocity may\n    therefore be summed up as follows: _The velocity per second\n    produced by an unbalanced force is proportional to the force\n    and inversely proportional to the mass of the body upon which\n    the force acts, and the velocity produced by an unbalanced\n    force is always in the direction of the force._\n\n\n             *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n  \"We advise all men,\" says Bacon, \"to think of the true ends of\nknowledge, and that they endeavor not after it for curiosity,\ncontention, or the sake of despising others, nor yet for reputation\nor power or any other such inferior consideration, but solely for\nthe occasions and uses of life.\" It is difficult to imagine any other\nbasis upon which the study of physics can be justified than for the\noccasions and uses of life; in a certain broad sense, indeed, there\nis no other justification. But the great majority of men must needs be\npractical in the narrow sense, and physics, as the great majority\nof men study it, relates chiefly to the conditions which have been\nelaborated through the devices of industry as exemplified in our mills\nand factories, in our machinery of transportation, in optical and\nmusical instruments, in the means for the supply of power, heat,\nlight, and water for general and domestic use, and so on.\n\n  From this narrow practical point of view it may seem that there can\nbe nothing very exacting in the study of the physical sciences; but\nwhat is physics? That is the question. One definition at least is to\nbe repudiated; it is not \"The science of masses, molecules and the\nether.\" Bodies have mass and railways have length, and to speak\nof physics as the _science of masses_ is as silly as to define\nrailroading as the _practice of lengths,_ and nothing as reasonable as\nthis can be said in favor of the conception of physics as the science\nof molecules and the ether; it is the sickliest possible notion of\nphysics, whereas the healthiest notion, even if a student does not\nwholly grasp it, is that physics is the science of the ways of taking\nhold of things and pushing them!\n\n  Bacon long ago listed in his quaint way the things which seemed to\nhim most needful for the advancement of learning. Among other things\nhe mentioned \"A New Engine or a Help to the mind corresponding to\nTools for the hand,\" and the most remarkable aspect of present-day\nphysical science is that aspect in which it constitutes a realization\nof this New Engine of Bacon{6}. We continually force upon the extremely\nmeager data obtained directly through our senses, an interpretation\nwhich, in its complexity and penetration, would seem to be entirely\nincommensurate with the data themselves, and we exercise over physical\nthings a kind of rational control which greatly transcends the native\ncunning of the hand. The possibility of this forced interpretation and\nof this rational control depends upon the use of two complexes:\n(a) A _logical structure,_ that is to say, a body of mathematical and\nconceptual theory which is brought to bear upon the immediate materials\nof sense, and (b) a _mechanical structure,_ that is to say, either (1)\na carefully planned _arrangement of apparatus,_ such as is always\nnecessary in making physical measurements, or (2) a carefully planned\n_order of operations,_ such as the successive operations of solution,\nreaction, precipitation, filtration, and weighing in chemistry.\n\n  These two complexes do indeed constitute a New Engine which helps\nthe mind as tools help the hand; it is through the enrichment of\nthe materials of sense by the operation of this New Engine that the\nelaborate interpretations of the physical sciences are made possible,\nand the study of elementary physics is intended to lead to the\nrealization of this New Engine: (a) By the building up in the mind,\nof the logical structure of the physical sciences; (b) by training\nin the making of measurements and in the performance of ordered\noperations, and (c) by exercises in the application of these things\nto the actual phenomena of physics and chemistry at every step\nand all of the time with every possible variation.\n\n  That, surely, is a sufficiently exacting program; and the only\nalternative is to place the student under the instruction of Jules\nVerne where he need not trouble himself about foundations but may\nfollow his teacher pleasantly on a care-free trip to the moon or with\neasy improvidence embark on a voyage of twenty-thousand leagues under\nthe sea.\n\n  What it means to study physical science may be explained further by\nmentioning the chief difficulties encountered in the teaching of\nthat subject. One difficulty is that the native sense of most men is\nwoefully inadequate without stimulation and direction for supplying\nthe sense material upon which the logical structure of the science is\nintended to operate. A second difficulty is that the human mind is so\nin the habit of considering the practical affairs of life that it can\nhardly be turned to that minute consideration of apparently\ninsignificant details which is so necessary in the scientific analysis\neven of the most practical things. Everyone knows the capacity of the\nIndian for long continued and serious effort in his primitive mode of\nlife, and yet it is difficult to persuade an Indian \"farmer\" to plow.\nEveryone knows also that the typical college student is not stupid,\nand yet it is difficult to persuade the young men of practical and\nbusiness ideals in our colleges and technical schools to study the\nabstract elements of science. Indeed it is as difficult to get the\naverage young man to hold abstract things in mind as to get a young\nIndian to plow, and for almost exactly the same reason. The scientific\ndetails of any problem are in themselves devoid of human value, and\nthis quality of detachment is the most serious obstacle to young\npeople in their study of the sciences.\n\n  A third difficulty which indeed runs through the entire\nfront-of-progress of the human understanding is that the primitive\nmind-stuff of a young man must be rehabilitated in entirely new\nrelations in fitting the young man for the conditions of modern life.\nEvery science teacher knows how much coercion is required for so\nlittle of this rehabilitation; but the bare possibility of the process\nis a remarkable fact, and that it is possible to the extent of bringing\na Newton or a Pasteur out of a hunting and fishing ancestry is indeed\nwonderful. Everyone is familiar with the life history of a butterfly,\nhow it lives first as a caterpillar and then undergoes a complete\ntransformation into a winged insect. It is, of course, evident that\nthe bodily organs of a caterpillar are not at all suited to the needs\nof a butterfly, the very food (of those species which take food) being\nentirely different. As a matter of fact almost every portion of the\nbodily structure of the caterpillar is dissolved as it were, into\na formless pulp at the beginning of the transformation, and the\norganization of a flying insect then grows out from a central nucleus\nvery much as a chicken grows in the food-stuff of an egg. So it is in\nthe development of a young man. In early childhood the individual, if\nhe has been favored by fortune, exercises and develops more or less\nextensively the primitive instincts and modes of the race in a free\noutdoor life, and the result is so much mind-stuff to be dissolved\nand transformed with more or less coercion and under more or less\nconstraint into an effective mind of the twentieth-century type.\n\n  A fourth difficulty is that the possibility of the rehabilitation of\nmind-stuff has grown up as a human faculty almost solely on the\nbasis of language, and the essence of this rehabilitation lies in the\nformation of ideas; whereas _a very large part of physical science is\na correlation in mechanisms._\n\n  The best way of meeting this quadruply difficult situation in the\nteaching of elementary physics is to relate the teaching as much as\npossible to the immediately practical and intimate things of life,\nand to go in for suggestiveness as the only way to avoid a total\ninhibition of the sense that is born with a young man. Such a method\nis certainly calculated to limber up our theories and put them all at\nwork, the pragmatic method, our friends the philosophers call it, a\nmethod which pretends to a conquering destiny.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DISCIPLINE OF WORK.\n\n\n  The first object of all work--not the principal one, but the first\nand necessary one--is to get food, clothes, lodging, and fuel.\n\n  But it is quite possible to have too much of all these things. I\nknow a great many gentlemen, who eat too large dinners; a great many\nladies, who have too many clothes. I know there is lodging to spare in\nLondon, for I have several houses there myself, which I can't let.\nAnd I know there is fuel to spare everywhere, since we get up steam\nto pound the roads with, while our men stand idle; or drink till they\ncan't stand, idle, or otherwise.\n\n                                                           RUSKIN. {5}\n\n\n  Two generations ago school was supplemented by endless opportunity\nfor play, and children had to work about the house and farm more and\nmore as they grew to maturity. Play and work were in those days as\nplentiful as sunshine and air, and it is no wonder that educational\nideals were developed taking no account of them. But we cling to these\nold ideals at the present time when children have no opportunity to\nplay, when there is an almost complete absence of old fashioned chores\nabout the home, when boys never see their fathers at work, and when\nthe only opportunity for boys and girls to work outside the home is\nto face the certainty of reckless exploitation! What a piece of\nstupidity! Our entire educational system, primary and secondary,\ncollegiate and technical, is sick with inconsequential bookishness,\nand school work has become the most inefficient of all the organized\nefforts of men.\n\n  Yes but we have our Manual Training Schools and our college courses\nin Shop Work and Shop Inspection. Away with such scholastic shams! The\nbeginnings of manual training must indeed be provided for in school;\npaper cutting, sewing and whittling. But from the absurdity of an\nAcademic Epitome of Industry may the good Lord deliver us! And he will\ndeliver us, never fear, for the law of economy is His law too.\n\n\n  _The greatest educational problem of our time is how to make use of\n  commercial and industrial establishments as schools to the extent\n  that they are schools._\n\n\n  The first object of all work is indeed to get food and clothes and\nlodging and fuel, but the essence of work is a human discipline as\nkindly and beneficent as the sunshine and the rain, and the greatest\nneed of our time is that the discipline of work come again to its own\nin our entire system of education.\n\n\n  _This book is dedicated to the kind of education that is proving\n   itself at the University of Cincinnati._\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  To face page 60\n\n\nand whittling. But from the absurdity of an Academic Epitome of\nIndustry may the good Lord deliver us! And he will deliver us, never\nfear, for the law of economy is His law too.\n\n\n  _The greatest educational problem of our time is how to make use of\n  commercial and industrial establishments as schools to the extent\n  that they are schools._\n\n\n  The first object of all work is indeed to get food and clothes and\nlodging and fuel, but the essence of work is a human discipline as\nkindly and beneficent as the sunshine and the rain, and the greatest\nneed of our time is that the discipline of work come again to its own\nin our entire system of education.\n\n\n  _This book is dedicated to the kind of education that is proving\n   itself at the University of Cincinnati._\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nPART OF AN EDUCATION.\n\n\n                        Prairie born;\n  Once his feet touch the <DW72> of Western mountain\n  The level road they ever more shall spurn.\n  If once he drink from snow-pure crystal fountain\n  His thirst shall, ever more consuming, burn\n    With deepened draughts from common stream.\n\n  Once his eye catch glimpse of more substantial glory\n  Than prairie horizon high piled with clouded foam\n  His quickened yearning shall inspire old story\n  Of unbounded, deathless realms beyond the sunset--Home!\n\n\n  There were two of us, a prairie born tenderfoot in the person of a\nsixteen-year-old college sophomore and the writer. After months of\nanticipation and planning we hurried away at the close of the college\nterm, leaving the prairies of Iowa to spend a short vacation in the\nmountains; and we arrived in Denver on a perfect, cloudless morning in\nJune.\n\n  Since early daylight we had kept an eager watch to westward across\nthe even plains to catch a first glimpse of the great Front Range of\nthe Rocky Mountains with its covering of summer snow, and after making\nsome purchases of camp supplies we climbed to Capitol Hill in Denver\nto see the foothills soften to purple and the snow fields melt to\nliquid gold as the crystal day turned to crimson glory with the\nsetting of the sun.\n\n\n[Illustration: Sunset Washes]\n\n\n    \"This is the land that the sunset washes,\n    Those are the Banks of the Yellow Sea\n    Where it arose, and whither it rushes\n    This is the western mystery.\"\n\n\n  Late in the evening we took the train for Loveland from which place we\nwere to start on a walking trip to Laramie, up in Wyoming.\n\n  In Loveland we purchased a pony and a pack-saddle. The pony had never\nbeen broken to the saddle, and inasmuch as the art of packing has\nalways to be learned anew when one has not practiced it for several\nyears, both of us were, in some respects, as green as the pony, and\nnaturally somewhat nervous when we started from Loveland. The pony\nserved us well however and at the worst only gave us a name for the\nBucking Horse Pass when we crossed the range of the Medicine Bow\nMountains from the waters of the Grand River to those of the North\nPlatte.\n\n  From Loveland we reached Sprague's Ranch in Estes Park, thirty-five\nmiles away, in two days of easy travel over a good stage road,\nencountering a snow squall in the high foothills which left us cold\nand wet at sundown of the first day. In Estes Park we stayed three\ndays, fishing, running up to timber line as preliminary exercise, and\nwriting letters. The writer had spent two previous summers in Estes\nPark near Sprague's Ranch in company with friends from the University\nof Kansas.\n\n\n    CAMP ACCLIMATIZATION\n    June 21st.\n\n_My dear little Friend:_--\n\n  D. and I reached this place day before yesterday. I saw Fred Sprague\nyesterday. He had already learned of our presence in the Park, having\nseen our characteristic hob-nail tracks, and, as his mother tells me,\nhe remarked upon seeing them that \"God's people had come,\" meaning the\nKansas boys with whom he became acquainted in '86 and '89.\n\n  We have passed thousands of flowers since leaving Loveland, white\npoppies, cactus, blue bells, columbine and others more than I can\ntell. The blue bells are of the same kind that you and I found near\nBloomington several weeks ago. It would be very nice if you and I\ncould make some of our Saturday excursions in this country.\n\n  I wish I could tell you more of our trip. Of course it is scarcely\nbegun as yet, but I know pretty well what it will be; hard, for one\nthing, and lonesome, but strangely fascinating. We are beginning\nalready to have that attitude towards nature which I imagine Indians\nhave, namely, the desire to get something to eat out of everything we\nsee. [M. had written her brother D. at Moraine post office of the pies\nand cakes they were making at home.] This is by no means greediness,\nfor a measured appetite is essentially incompatible with the conditions\nof Indian life. In fact the only wild animals which are not gourmands\non occasion are those which eat grass. Of course, we are at best only\nAgency Indians, but we shall soon be off our reservation.\n\n  Few people realize the utter desolation of many parts of the Rocky\nMountains; and often on my mountain trips, hungry and foot-sore, my\nfancy has turned to what my friend 'Gric[H] has told me of the utterly\ndesolate Funeral Mountains that border Death Valley in southern\nCalifornia, and of the infinite sunshine there. What would _you_\nthink, my little friend, even now amid the comforts and joys of home,\nif you could hear a trustworthy account of an actual trip over those\ndreadful Mountains and into that awful Valley?\n\n  I hope that the map with the accompanying description will help you to\na knowledge of the geography and geology of this country. I send kind\nregards to your father and mother.\n\n    Your friend, F.\n\n\n  Starting from Estes Park for the Grand River country we stopped over\nnight at _Camp Desolation_ in Windy Gulch, an enormous amphitheater\nrising above timber line on the north, east, and west, and opening to\nthe south into Big Thompson Canyon. The mouth of the Gulch is dammed\nby the lateral moraine of an ancient Thompson glacier and behind this\ndam is a level, marshy stretch with a few green spruce and thickets\nof aspen, black alder and mountain willow. Near timber line also is\na scattered fringe of green with dots of white. All the rest is a\ndesolate stretch of burned timber.\n\n  Trailing to the head of Windy Gulch in the morning we gained the\nsummit of Thompson Ridge which we followed in a northwesterly\ndirection for about twelve miles; then we circled around the head of\nBig Thompson river and went down to Camp at the head of the Cache la\nPoudre river, precisely on the Continental Divide in Milner Pass about\ntwo hundred feet below timber line with Specimen Mountain immediately\nto the north of us.\n\n\n    SPECIMEN MOUNTAIN CAMP,\n    June 24th.\n\n_My Dear B:_--\n\n  D. and I are going to run down to Grand Lake settlement to-morrow for\nbacon and flour so I write this today. I have been in camp all morning\ncooking and mending while D. has been looking for sheep up in the\ncrater of Specimen Mountain. He saw two and shot without effect.\nSpecimen Mountain is an extinct volcano and sheep come to the crater\nto lick. I have seen as many as a hundred and fifty sheep there at\ndifferent times during the four trips that I have made to this region,\nbut I have hunted them only one day (the first) of the twenty-five\nthat I have spent in this camp--without success, of course.\n\n  Flowers in profusion are found at these altitudes already where the\nshrinking snow drifts have exposed the ground to the warm June sun,\nbut under the drifts it is yet the dead of winter. As the season\nadvances the snow recedes, and each newly uncovered strip of ground\npasses with exuberant haste through a cycle of spring.\n\n  We came over from Estes Park yesterday and the day before. At one\npoint I carried the horse's pack about a quarter of a mile on account\nof steepness of trail and depth of snow, leaving the pony under D.'s\nguidance to wallow through as best she could. We shall, no doubt, have\nsome hard work getting out of the Grand River valley to the north over\nthe Medicine Bow but we intend to keep at it. We are, of course, likely\nto get cold and wet, tired and hungry. In fact, I am neither very dry\nnor very warm now as I write, for it is half snowing and half raining;\nnor hungry (?) for I have just eaten three slices of bacon, half a corn\ncake eight inches in diameter and an inch thick, with bacon gravy made\nwith flour and water, and nearly a quart of strong coffee of syrupy\nsweetness. I do wish D. had killed that sheep this morning! We hope to\nget some trout to-morrow out of Grand River, but to see the sheets of\nwater which are being shed off the range from rain and melting snow\nmakes one feel uncertain of the trout fishing. I will close for this\ntime and put this into my knapsack. To-morrow D. and I will get our\n\"walkins\" on bright and early, and pack it to Grand Lake. This is a\ntough country beyond imagination.\n\n    Yours sincerely, F.\n\n\n  When trailing above timber line on our way to Specimen Mountain and\nsubsequently we were on snow much of the time; below timber line at\nhigh altitudes we contended about equally with snow and fallen timber;\nand at middle altitudes where the timber is heavy and where fires have\nbeen frequent and disastrous the fallen timber alone is quite enough\nto make travel troublesome. Mud and water, fallen and falling,\nwe encountered everywhere, but without much concern. The greatest\nvexation to the amateur traveler in the Rockies is to slip off a log\nin trying to cross a stream, and thus get wet all over, when if one\nhad been reasonable, one might have been wet only to the middle.\nAn awkward comrade of '89 did this so many times that it became a\nstanding joke; but 'Gric,{7} as we called him, that is to say\n_Agricola,_ after his father \"Farmer\" Funston of Kansas, developed grit\nenough to take him through Death Valley in southern California, to take\nhim, all alone, 1,600 miles down the Yukon River in an open boat and\nacross 200 miles of unexplored country during the winter night to the\nshores of the Arctic Ocean, to take him into the Cuban army, where he\nreceived three serious wounds, and finally to take him through the\nPhilippines with our Volunteer Army where he captured Aguinaldo.\n\n  From _Specimen Mountain Camp_ in Milner Pass we made our way to Grand\nRiver over an extremely difficult trail, nearly breaking our pony's\nleg in the fallen timber, and, finding it impossible to reach Grand\nLake by the river trail without wetting our pack, we went into\n(_Mosquito_) camp and did our week's washing. The next day we left our\npony, and made a flying round trip of thirty miles to the settlement.\nThe next morning, hoping to escape the mosquitoes, we moved camp\nseveral miles up stream and in the afternoon we climbed to the summit\nof one of the high spurs of a nameless[J] peak in the range of the\nMedicine Bow. We got back to camp late in the evening in a sharp rain,\nwhich continued all night.\n\n  The next morning promised fair weather, and after some hesitation, we\npacked up for the trip over to North Park. Starting at eight o'clock\nwe reached the deserted mining camp, Lulu, at eleven, having forded\nGrand River seven times, the water of it ice cold and swift as an arrow.\nWe then began to climb the range, the summit of which we reached at\nthree o'clock at the pass of the Bucking Horse far above timber line. At\nfour o'clock we began the descent into the valley of the Michigan fork\nof the North Platte. The rain, until now fitful, became steady and we,\ndetermined to reach a good camping place, kept our pony at a half-trot\nuntil eight o'clock, when we found a deserted cabin. We were too\nimpatiently hungry to make biscuit, which we ordinarily baked in the\nfrying pan before cooking our bacon, so we made our supper of graham mush,\nbacon, bacon gravy and coffee. Next morning we found to our dismay that\nour baking powder had been left at the Bucking Horse--and no wonder, for\nour pack had been strewn for a quarter of a mile along the trail--so\nwe were reduced to mush again for breakfast.\n\n\n    GOULD'S RANCH,\n    July 7th.\n\n  _My Dear B:_\n\n  We have just returned from a week's hunt in the Medicine Bow Mountains\neast of here. We saw elk, killed a deer, and spent the Fourth of July on\na prominent but nameless peak from which we got a splendid view.\n\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n  After breakfast at Camp _Mush,_ Mr. E.B. Gould, a neighboring cattle\nrancher who has no cattle, was attracted by the smoke of our campfire,\nand coming up to see us, he invited us to his shanty to eat venison.\nWe went. We have now been with him a week and we are starting on our\nsecond carcass.\n\n  Gould lives by hunting and trapping, and by odd work in the Park\nduring the haying season. He came to this country years ago with a\nhunting party and has been hunting ever since. Several years ago\nhe took up a claim in the extreme southeastern corner of North Park\nconveniently near to hunting grounds in the Medicine Bow. He gave\nup his claim, for good, a year ago, and made an overland trip to New\nMexico. That did not satisfy him either, so now he is back in his old\nshanty again. He thinks we are the toughest \"tender-foots\" he ever\nsaw. He approves of us, there is no doubt about that, and he has\npulled up his stakes to travel with us just for the pleasure of our\ncompany! He takes great interest in D.'s knowledge of bugs, and D. and\nhe are both real hunters each according to his experience. Before we\nfell in with Gould I could persuade D. to wanton exertion in the way\nof mountain climbing but now I am in the minority, but the hunters\npropose, with a flourish, the scaling of every peak that comes in sight.\n\n  I had a spell of mountain fever just before the Fourth and Gould dosed\nme with sage brush tea, the vilest concoction I ever had to take.\n\n  Gould is not accustomed to walk except when actually hunting, so he\nhas a riding horse, and a trusty old pack animal whose minimum name\nis \"G---- d---- you Jack,\" and whose maximum name (and load) is\nindeterminate. Gould is going with us to spend a week in the Range\nof the Rabbit's Ear, far to the west across North Park. He has an old\nwagon which, if it holds together, will save D. and me some tedious\nsteps across the desert, for indeed this \"park\" is a desert. We shall\npass through Walden, the metropolis and supply station of the Park.\n\n    Yours, F.\n\n\nFROM D.'S MOTHER\n\n  _My precious boy:_\n\n  I trust you will excuse me for using this paper but I am up stairs,\nand no one [is] here to bring me any other. They tell me I need not\nwonder that we do not hear from you and I shall try not to be\ndisappointed if we do not hear for a while. Nevertheless my dear boy,\nthe uncertainty I feel in regard to your safety will make a letter\nvery welcome indeed. Perhaps I would have more courage if I were\nstrong. For five days I have been very uncomfortable. I am sitting up\nsome today for the first [time] and hope soon to be well as usual.\n\n  We were exceedingly glad to hear from you from Grand Lake. I cannot,\nhowever, say that the account of your experience by stone slide[K] and\nriver have lessened my anxiety. I am writing now, Thursday, in bed. I\nhave been quite poorly again. We shall not look now for a letter from\nyou but hope to see you face to face before many days. May God bless\nand keep you! Give our love to Mr. F. All join me in tenderest love to\nyou.\n\n    Your devoted mother.\n\n\n  At Walden we laid in a fresh supply of flour and bacon, and canned\ngoods, especially canned fruit, to last us while we stayed with the\nwagon. We then pushed on to the west, striking camp on the West Fork\nof the North Platte, where we stayed two nights. Here we tried hard a\nthird time for trout without success, but we turned off the water\nfrom an irrigating ditch and captured a large number of \"squaw fish\"\n(suckers).\n\n  From _Camp Chew_ we made our way well up into the foothills of the\nRange of the Rabbit's Ear, and then packed our animals, minimum Jack\nand our pony, and pushed up the range over the worst trail we had yet\nencountered, through an absolute wilderness of fallen timber. Rain\nwith fog set in as we approached timber line, and we were forced to go\ninto camp early to wait for morning. Morning came with fog and rain,\nand we spent the entire day hunting trail, only to go into camp again\ntowards evening. The next day, however, came clear and we made our way\nover the range, through Frying Pan Meadow, and reached camp down on\nElk river towards evening without difficulty. We found good fishing\nhere at last and great numbers of deer but no elk. After three rainy\ndays in _Elk River Camp,_ one of which was spent jerking venison of\nD.'s killing, we packed up and made the return trip over the range in\none day of hard travel, going into camp by the shore of a shallow\npond well out on the barren level of North Park. The next morning we\nparted company with Gould, and in two days we made sixty stage road\nmiles across North Park and over the northern portion of the Medicine\nBow Mountains to Woods post office at the edge of the Laramie plains,\ntwenty-five miles from Laramie.\n\n\n[Illustration: Looking North Across Specimen Mountain Stone Slide.]\n\n\n  We had intended walking through to Laramie, but ninety miles and two\nmountain ranges in three days, not to mention the writer's terribly\nblistered feet, had temporarily taken some of the ambition out of us,\nand after some fine diplomacy D. and the writer each found that the\nother was willing to descend to stage coach riding. We accordingly\nsold our fine little pony for five dollars, packed our outfit in a\ncompact bundle which we wrapped in our small tent (which had been used\nas a smoke-house for curing venison at _Elk River Camp_), and took the\nstage for Laramie.\n\n  At Laramie we took the train for home, and with eyes eagerly awake we\nwatched for hundreds of miles an increasing luxuriance of vegetation\nwhich reached its climax in the marvelously rich, endless, undulating\nfields of eastern Nebraska and Iowa:\n\n\n    This is the land that the sunset washes\n    These are the Waves of the Yellow Sea;\n    Where it arose and whiter it rushes,\n    This is the western mystery.\n\n\n[Illustration: In the Range of the Rabbit's Ear.]\n\n\n  We had been away from home for thirty-three days, and in the mountains\nfor thirty-one nights--Indians reckon by nights; and we had tramped\nmore than three hundred and fifty miles from Loveland to the edge\nof the Laramie plains. A large portion of the time was spent at high\naltitudes where the weather is not lamb-like in June, and no small\nportion of the three hundred and fifty miles was mud and water, snow\nand fallen timber, through a country as rough, perhaps, as is to be\nfound anywhere, and as interesting. The only way to study Geography\nis with the feet! No footless imagination can realize the sublimity\nof western Mountain and Plain. Nothing but a degree of hardship can\nmeasure their widespread chaos and lonely desolation, and only the\nfreshened eagerness of many mornings can perceive their matchless\nglory.\n\n\n[Illustration: Near Frying Pan Meadow.]\n\n\n  We reached home weather-beaten almost beyond recognition, but in\nrobust health, especially D., who had actually gained in weight\nduring the trip. From the railroad station we carried our outfit, and\nvenison, two miles to the college grounds, reaching D.'s home about\nmidnight.\n\n  Here our madly exuberant spirits were suddenly checked by finding\nthat the illness of D.'s mother had become extremely serious. However\nshe was determined to see us both--to give a last approval.\n\n\n  \"We never know how high we are\n    Till we are called to rise;\n  And then, if we are true to plan,\n    Our statures touch the skies.\n\n  \"The heroism we recite\n    Would be a daily thing,\n  Did not ourselves the cubits warp\n    For fear to be a king.\"\n\n\n  After four days D.'s mother died. It fell to B. and F. to make\na sculptor's plaster mask, and photographs; and to F. to watch\novernight--and hasten to the woods in the morning.\n\n\n    \"The bustle in a house\n    The morning after death\n    Is solemnest of industries\n    Enacted upon earth.\n\n    \"The sweeping up the heart\n    And putting love away\n    We shall not want to use again\n    Until Eternity.\"\n\n\n  A beautiful Campanile now stands on the college campus erected in\nmemory of D.'s mother by the state of Iowa; and from this memory-tower\na chime of bells\n\n\n          Greets\n      Those who pass in joy\n  And those who pass in sorrow;\n      As we have passed,\n         Our time.\n\n\n    \"Superiority to fate\n    Is difficult to learn.\n    'Tis not conferred by any,\n    But possible to earn\n    A pittance at a time,\n    Until, to her surprise,\n    The soul with strict economy\n    Subsists till Paradise.\"\n\n\n\n\n  THE USES OF HARDSHIP.\n\n\n  Did you chance, my friends, any of you, to see, the other day, the\n83rd number of the _Graphic,_ with the picture of the Queen's concert\nin it? All the fine ladies sitting so trimly, and looking so sweet,\nand doing the whole duty of woman--wearing their fine clothes\ngracefully; and the pretty singer, white-throated, warbling \"Home\nsweet home\" to them, so morally, and melodiously! Here was yet to be\nour ideal of virtuous life, thought the _Graphic!_ Surely we are\nsafe back with our virtues in satin slippers and lace veils--and our\nKingdom of Heaven is come _with_ observation!\n\n    RUSKIN.\n\n\n  Ruskin has said that the children of the rich often get the worst\neducation to be had for money, whereas the children of the poor often\nget the best education for nothing. And the poor man's school is\nhardship. {8}\n\n  It is generally admitted that wealthy American parents are too\nindulgent towards their children. However this may be, many an\nAmerican father is determined that his sons shall not go through what\nhe himself went through as a boy, forgetting that the hardships of his\nyouth were largely the hardships of pioneer life which have vanished\nforever. No boy with good stuff in him and with a fair education\nunmixed with extravagant habits of living can possibly have more\nhardship nowadays than is good for him. Every young man must sooner\nor later stand by himself; and hardship, which in its essence is to be\nthrown on one's own resources, is the best school.\n\n  But the most alluring school of hardship, a sort of Summer School of\nthe University of Hard Knocks, is a walking trip into the mountains to\nthe regions of summer snow, carrying one's whole outfit on one's back\nas did the Kansas boys of '89, or indulging in the ownership of a\npack-pony and a miner's tent as did D. and the writer in '95. The\nhardships of such a trip are of the old old type, the facing of all\nkinds of weather and the hunting for food, and they waken a thousand-fold\ndeeper response than the most serious hunt for a job in a modern city.\n\n\n\n\n    THE PUBLIC SCHOOL\n\n\n    DENMARK HILL, April 1st, 1871.\n\n  _My Friends:_\n\n  It cannot but be pleasing to us to reflect, this day, that if we are\noften foolish enough to talk English without understanding it, we are\noften wise enough to talk Latin without knowing it. For this month\nretains its pretty Roman name, which means the month of Opening; of\nthe light in the days, and the life in the leaves, and of the voices\nof birds, and of the hearts of men.\n\n  And being the month of Manifestation, it is pre-eminently the month\nof Fools;--for under the beatific influence of moral sunshine, or\nEducation, the Fools always come out first.\n\n  But what is less pleasing to reflect upon, this spring morning, is,\nthat there are some kinds of education which may be described, not as\nmoral sunshine, but as moral moonshine; and that, under these, Fools\ncome out both First--and Last.\n\n  We have, it seems, now set our opening hearts much on this one point,\nthat we will have education for all men and women now, and for all\ngirls and boys that are to be. Nothing, indeed, can be more desirable,\nif only we determine also what kind of education we are to have. It is\ntaken for granted that any education must be good;--that the more of\nit we get, the better; that bad education only means little education;\nand that the worst we have to fear is getting none. Alas that is not\nat all so. Getting no education is by no means the worst thing that\ncan happen to us. The real thing to be feared is getting a bad one.\n\n    RUSKIN.\n\n\n  The recent exchange of visits between Pennsylvanians and Wisconsinites\nhas resulted in the organization of an association for the carrying\nout of the Wisconsin Idea in Pennsylvania; but the New York _Evening\nPost,_ in commenting upon the Pennsylvania version of the Wisconsin\nIdea, calls attention to the fact that in Wisconsin the idea is\ncarried into effect by public agencies, whereas the Pennsylvania\nversion is to be executed privately! The _Evening Post_ did not,\nindeed, say execute; I, myself, have introduced the word, because it\nso exactly conveys the meaning of the _Post's_ criticism.{9}\n\n  Why is it that so many good people take up things like the Boy Scout\nmovement, privately, never giving a moment's thought to our rusting\nschool machinery? Why are we so privately minded as to enthuse over\nMrs. so-and-so's out-of-the-city movement for children, never thinking\nof the _potentialities_ of establishments like Girard College? The\ntrouble is that we Americans have never learned to do things together;\nwe still have the loyal but lazy habit of looking expectantly for a\nKing, and, of course, we get a Philadelphia Ring, the lowest Circle in\nthe Inferno of the Worst; and all the while our might be doers of good\naffect a kind of private Kingship, and sink into a mire of idiotic[L]\nimpotence.\n\n  The seven wonders of the world all fade into insignificance in\ncomparison with one great fact in modern government, a fact so\nfundamental that we seldom think of it, namely, the great fact of\ntaxation. Funds sufficient to meet every public need of the community\nflow automatically into the public treasury. This is indeed a very\nremarkable thing, but it seems almost ludicrous when we consider that\nwasteful expenditure of public funds is the universal rule, and that\ngood people everywhere are struggling to do public things privately!\nWas there ever before two such horns to a dilemma? Fog horns, grown\ninwardly on every Pennsylvanian's head! When a city of 10,000 people\nhas an annual school budget of $60,000, it is evident that everything\ncan be done that needs to be done for the schooling of children.\n\n  I believe that the school day should be increased to 8 hours, the\nschool week to 6 days, and the school year to 12 months; with elastic\nprovision for home work and out-of-town visiting. I believe that\nschool activities should include a wide variety of simple hand work,\nand a great deal of outdoor play, with ample provision for the things\nthat are done by Boy Scouts and Camp Fire Girls; and when children are\nold enough and strong enough to begin their vocational training, their\nschool activities should be combined with work in office and factory.\nLet no one imagine that such a program is impracticable; for in the\ncity, school is the sum of all influences outside the home, and the\nschool day is now more than eight hours, the school week is more\nthan six days, and school lasts the whole year through; these are the\nfacts, say what you will; and everything is in a dreadful state of\nconfusion--excepting only book work. _It is time for us to think\nof the public school as including everything which makes for the\nefficient organization and orderly control of the juvenile world._\nThe Junior Municipality, which has been recently proposed, added to\nexisting school work with provision for simple manual training and\noutdoor play would constitute a fairly complete realization of this\nwide conception of the public school, and any narrower conception is\nhopeless in a modern city.\n\n  As to educational values there is a widespread misunderstanding.\nImagine a teacher taking his youngsters on a hike two or three times a\nweek all winter long! Every parent, _hoping for his children to escape\nthe necessity of work,_ would howl in stupid criticism \"Is that what\nI send my children to school for?\" Or the School Superintendent might\nhave the point of view of the excessively teachy teacher, who, in a\nrecent discussion of the Boy Scout idea, admitted that cross-country\nhikes would be a good thing, provided, something were associated with\nthem to justify them, and this something was understood to be bookish!\nAs to vocational training, on the other hand, we must reckon with the\nmanufacturer who will not train workmen for his competitors but who\nexpects his competitors to train workmen for him. And we must also\nreckon with the ministerial member of the school-board who meets a\nproposal for vocational training with the question \"How then will you\neducate for life?\"\n\n  \"Ich ging im Walde\n    So fuer mich hin,\n  Und nichts zu suchen\n    Das war mein Sinn.\"\n\n  The youngster who goes on a hike for nothing will get everything, and\nto be fit for service is to be fit for life.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  To face page 98\n\n\n\n\n As to educational values there is a widespread misunderstanding.\nImagine a teacher taking his youngsters on a hike two or three times a\nweek all winter long! Every parent, _hoping for his children to escape\nthe necessity of work,_ would howl in stupid criticism \"Is that what\nI send my children to school for?\" Or the School Superintendent might\nhave the point of view of the excessively teachy teacher, who, in a\nrecent discussion of the Boy Scout idea, admitted that cross-country\nhikes would be a good thing, provided, something were associated with\nthem to justify them, and this something was understood to be bookish!\nAs to vocational training, on the other hand, we must reckon with the\nmanufacturer who will not train workmen for his competitors but who\nexpects his competitors to train workmen for him. And we must also\nreckon with the ministerial member of the school-board who meets a\nproposal for vocational training with the question \"How then will you\neducate for life?\"\n\n  \"Ich ging im Walde\n    So fuer mich hin,\n  Und nichts zu suchen\n    Das war mein Sinn.\"\n\n  The youngster who goes on a hike for nothing will get everything, and\nto be fit for service is to be fit for life.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\nA: The western prairies, except in the very center of the Mississippi\nValley, are beautifully rolling, and they meet every stream with deeply\ncarved bluffs. In the early days every stream was fringed with woods;\nand prairie and woodland, alike, knew nothing beyond the evenly balanced\ncontest of indigenous life. There came, however, a succession of strange\nepidemics, as one after another of our noxious weeds gained foothold in\nthat fertile land. I remember well several years when dog-fennel grew\nin every nook and corner of my home town in Kansas; then, after a few\nyears, a variety of thistle grew to the exclusion of every other\nuncultivated thing; and then followed a curious epidemic of tumble-weed,\na low spreading annual which broke off at the ground in the Fall and\nwas rolled across the open country in countless millions by the Autumn\nwinds. I remember well my first lone \"beggar louse,\" and how pretty I\nthought it was! And my first dandelion, and of that I have never changed\nmy opinion!\n\n\nB: ROAD-SONG OF THE BANDER-LOG.\n\n  (From Kipling's Jungle-Book.)\n\n    Here we go in a flung festoon,\n    Half way up to the jealous moon!\n    Don't you envy our pranceful bands?\n    Don't you wish your feet were hands?\n    Wouldn't you like if your tails were--so--\n    Curved in the shape of a cupid's bow?\n    Now you're angry, but--never mind--\n    Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!\n\n    Here we sit in a branchy row,\n    Thinking of beautiful things we know;\n    Dreaming of deeds we mean to do,\n    All complete in a minute or two--\n    Something noble and grand and good,\n    Done by merely wishing we could.\n    Now we're going to--never mind--\n    Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!\n\n    All the talk we ever have heard\n    Uttered by bat, or beast, or bird--\n    Hide or scale or skin or feather--\n    Jabber it quickly and altogether!\n    Excellent! Wonderful! Once again!\n    Now we are talking just like men.\n    Let's pretend we are--never mind--\n    Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!\n    This is the way of the Monkey-kind.\n\n  Then join our leaping lines that scumfish through the pines,\n    That rocket by where light and high the wild grape swings.\n  By the rubbish in our wake, by the noble noise we make,\n    Be sure, be sure, we're going to do some splendid things.\n\n\nC: The site of an abandoned zinc mine, where a few of the Bethlehem\nboys go to swim.\n\n\nD: Popular Science Monthly, October, 1910.\n\n\nE: Science as young people study it has two chief aspects, or in other\nwords, it may be roughly divided into two parts, namely, the study of\n_the things which come upon us,_ as it were, and the study of _the\nthings which we deliberately devise._ The things that come upon us\ninclude weather phenomena and every aspect and phase of the natural\nworld, the things we cannot escape; and the things we devise relate\nchiefly to the serious work of the world, the things we laboriously\nbuild and the things we deliberately and patiently seek.\n\n\nF: See discussion on Bacon's New Engine on page 52 {6}\n\n\nG: Opens the mind, that is, for those things which are conformable to\nor consistent with the ideas. The history of science presents many\ncases where accepted ideas have closed the mind to contrary evidences\nfor many generations. Let young men beware!\n\n\nH: See Page 71 {7}\n\n\nJ: A volcanic mass of rugged spurs radiating from a great central\ncore; points and ridges rising, beautifully red, from immense fields\nof snow. D. and the writer call it Mt. McDonald, but having made no\nsurvey, the purely sentimental report which we could send to the map\nmakers in Washington would not suffice as a record there.\n\n\nK: The crater of Specimen Mountain is worn away on one side by water,\nand the crater now forms the head of a ragged gulch. Near the head of\nthis gulch is a <DW72> of loose stone, as steep as loose stone can lie,\nwhich has a vertical height of 1500 or 2000 feet.\n\n\nL: Among the Greeks an idiot was a man who thought only of\nhis private affairs, a privately minded man.\n\n\n\n\n\n +---------------------------------------------------------------------+\n |                                                                     |\n | Transcriber's note:                                                 |\n |                                                                     |\n | Some illustrations' captions have been moved out of the paragraph.  |\n |                                                                     |\n | Some text has been rejoined to correct paragraphs.                  |\n |                                                                     |\n | Spelling has been made consistent throughout but reflects the       |\n | author's preference.                                                |\n |                                                                     |\n | Duplicate pages have been left in the text.                         |\n |                                                                     |\n | Footnotes were moved to the end of the book.                        |\n |                                                                     |\n | Supplement to Preface was included in the Preface.                  |\n |                                                                     |\n | Footnote [H] reference to Gric should refer to page 72 not page 71. |\n |                                                                     |\n +---------------------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Richard Tonsing, David Edwards and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THE “STRANGER” IN THE CYCLONE.]\n\n                         _FRANK NELSON SERIES._\n\n\n\n\n                                  THE\n                              BOY TRADERS;\n                                OR, THE\n                   SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AMONG THE BOERS.\n\n\n                          BY HARRY CASTLEMON,\n\n   AUTHOR OF “THE GUNBOAT SERIES,” “SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES,” “ROCKY\n                         MOUNTAIN SERIES,” ETC.\n\n\n                              PHILADELPHIA\n\n                         HENRY T. COATES & CO.\n\n                              CINCINNATI:\n                          R. W. CARROLL & CO.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               CONTENTS.\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I.\n                                                 PAGE\n                   The Sandwich Islands,            5\n\n                              CHAPTER II.\n                   The Gale,                       24\n\n                              CHAPTER III.\n                   The Last of Long Tom,           42\n\n                              CHAPTER IV.\n                   A Change of Programme,          64\n\n                               CHAPTER V.\n                   The Two Champions,              85\n\n                              CHAPTER VI.\n                   The Consul’s “Clark,”          105\n\n                              CHAPTER VII.\n                   More about the Clerk,          129\n\n                             CHAPTER VIII.\n                   On the Quarter-deck again,     149\n\n                              CHAPTER IX.\n                   A Yankee Trick,                169\n\n                               CHAPTER X.\n                   Archie proves Himself a Hero,  192\n\n                              CHAPTER XI.\n                   An Obstinate Captain,          214\n\n                              CHAPTER XII.\n                   Buying an Outfit,              234\n\n                             CHAPTER XIII.\n                   A Surly Boer,                  253\n\n                              CHAPTER XIV.\n                   A Troop of Lions,              274\n\n                              CHAPTER XV.\n                   “Where’s my Horse?”            296\n\n                              CHAPTER XVI.\n                   Deserted,                      317\n\n                             CHAPTER XVII.\n                   Conclusion,                    339\n\n\n\n\n                            THE BOY TRADERS;\n\n                                OR, THE\n\n                   SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AMONG THE BOERS.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I.\n                         THE SANDWICH ISLANDS.\n\n\n“Now, Uncle Dick, what is the matter?”\n\nThe captain of the Stranger looked toward the companion-ladder, up which\nhis nephew had just disappeared, and motioned to Frank to close the\ndoor.\n\n“That is the fourth time I have seen you look at that barometer during\nthe last half hour,” continued Frank.\n\n“Yes, and I find it lower every time I look at it,” answered the old\nsailor. “It is coming; trotting right along, too.”\n\n“What is coming? Another tornado?”\n\n“No, a regular old-fashioned cyclone.”\n\n“I declare, it don’t seem to me that the schooner can stand much more\npounding,” said Frank, drawing a long breath.\n\n“Oh, she is good for a dozen battles like the one she has just passed\nthrough,” continued Uncle Dick, encouragingly. “Give me a tight craft, a\ngood crew, and plenty of elbow-room, and I would much rather be afloat\nduring a storm than on shore. There are no trees, chimneys, or roofs to\nfall on us here.”\n\n“But we haven’t plenty of elbow-room,” said Frank, somewhat anxiously.\n“The islands are scattered around here thicker than huckleberry bushes\nin a New England pasture, and they are all surrounded with coral reefs,\ntoo.”\n\n“I know it; but it is our business to keep clear of the coral reefs.\nNow, let me see how much you know. Where’s the schooner?”\n\nFrank, who now occupied his old position as sailing-master of the\nvessel, took a chart from Uncle Dick’s desk, and pointed out the\nposition of their little craft, which he had marked with a red\nlead-pencil after taking his observation at noon.\n\n“Very good,” said Uncle Dick. “Which side of the equator are we?”\n\n“South,” answered Frank.\n\n“How many motions have cyclones?”\n\n“Two; rotary and progressive.”\n\n“Which way do they revolve in the Southern hemisphere?”\n\n“In the same direction that the sun appears to move.”\n\n“Correct. Now, suppose that while you were in command of the Tycoon, you\nhad found out that there was a cyclone coming—”\n\n“I’m afraid I shouldn’t have found it out,” interrupted Frank, “for I\ndon’t know what the signs are.”\n\n“But we will suppose that you knew all about it. After you have seen one\nor two, you will know how to tell when they are coming. We will suppose,\nnow, that a cyclone comes up, and that the wind blows strongly from the\nnorthwest. Which way from you is the centre of the storm?”\n\n“Southwest.”\n\n“And which way is it coming?”\n\n“Toward the southeast.”\n\n“Then if you bore away to the southwest you would escape, of course?”\n\n“No, sir; I should probably insure my destruction, for I should sail\nstraight into the vortex. A northeasterly course would soon take me out\nof danger.”\n\n“Yes, you would get out of danger that way, but how soon I don’t know.\nThe paths of some of these hurricanes are a thousand miles broad. You’ll\ndo, however, and you are a very good boy to learn your lesson so well.”\n\n“Shall I go to the head?” asked Frank, with a laugh.\n\nThe last time we saw the members of the Sportsman’s Club, they had just\nfound Frank Nelson after a long separation from him. Their vessel was\nlying in the harbor of Honolulu; Captain Barclay, the wounded commander\nof the whaler, had been taken to a hospital on shore; his ship, the\nTycoon, had passed through the hands of the American consul, who placed\na new captain aboard of her with orders to take her to the States, where\nshe belonged; and for the first time in long weeks the Club were free\nfrom excitement, and had leisure to sit down and calmly talk over the\nadventures that had befallen them, and the exploits they had performed\nsince leaving home.\n\nThey had many things to converse about, as we know, and some of their\nnumber had reason to feel elated over what they had done. Walter had\nbeen a hero for once in his life, for had he not been captured by\nrobbers, who believed him to be somebody else, been confined in Potter’s\nranche, and held as a hostage for the chief of the band who was a\nprisoner in the fort? That was the worst predicament that Walter had\never been in, and it was no wonder that there was a warm place in his\nheart for Dick Lewis and Bob Kelly, the men who had rescued him from his\nperilous situation.\n\nArchie Winters was also a hero, for he had lassoed and ridden the wild\nhorse which had so long defied all efforts to capture him, and would in\nall probability have given him, in a few days more, into the possession\nof his lawful owner, Colonel Gaylord, had not he and his two friends,\nFred and Eugene, unfortunately stumbled upon Zack and Silas, the\ntrappers who robbed the emigrant. One thing made Archie hug himself with\ndelight every time he thought of the various exciting incidents that\nhappened while he remained in the trappers’ company, and that was, that\nZack and Silas did not get the million dollars after all. He laughed\noutright when he remembered how astounded and enraged they were to find\nthat the box, which they supposed was filled with nuggets and gold-dust,\ncontained nothing but a small brass machine something like the works of\na clock. Archie wondered what had become of the hospitable Pike, and\nwhether or not he had succeeded in putting his machine together again,\nand running his quartz mill with it.\n\nBut while the members of the Club gave to Walter and Archie all the\ncredit which their adventures and achievements demanded, they were\nunanimous in according the lion’s share of praise to Frank Nelson, who\nhad brought himself safely out of a predicament, the like of which the\nboys had never heard of before. It seemed almost impossible that one who\nhad been “shanghaied” and thrust into the forecastle of a whale-ship to\ndo duty as a common sailor, should, in so short a time and by sheer\nforce of character, have worked his way to the quarter-deck, and into a\nposition for which only men of years and experience are thought to be\nqualified. But they had abundant evidence that such was the fact. There\nwas a witness in the person of the trapper, who was kidnapped at the\nsame time, and who had escaped in a manner so remarkable that even Uncle\nDick, who had seen a world of marvellous things, said the same feat\ncould not be performed again under like circumstances. Besides, the boys\nhad seen Frank on the Tycoon’s quarter-deck, had heard him give orders\nthat were promptly obeyed, had messed with him in his cabin, and he had\nbrought them safely into the harbor of Honolulu, beating the swift\nlittle Stranger out of sight on the way.\n\nAs for Frank himself, he was very well satisfied with what he had done,\nand often declared that an adventure which, at first, threatened to\nterminate in something serious, had had a most agreeable ending. His\nforced sojourn on the Tycoon and all the incidents that had happened\nduring that time—the sight of the first whale he ever struck coming up\non a breach close in front of his boat, and looming up in the air like a\nchurch steeple; the excessive fatigue that followed the long hours spent\nin cutting in and trying out; the sleepless nights; the days and weeks\nof suspense he had endured; the race and the desperate battle under a\nbroiling sun he had had in Mr. Gale’s boat on the day Captain Barclay\ndeserted him; the fight with the natives at the Mangrove Islands, and\nthe rescue of the prisoners—all these things would have seemed like a\ndream to Frank now, had it not been for the large callous spots on the\npalms of his hands, which had been brought there by handling heavy oars\nand by constant pulling at tarred ropes. The sight of these recalled\nvery forcibly to his mind the days and nights of toil which sometimes\ntested his strength and endurance so severely that he hardly expected to\nlive through them. Nothing could have tempted him to submit to the same\ntrials again, but now that they were all over and he was safe among\nfriends once more, he would not have sold his experience at any price.\n\nThe Stranger remained at the Sandwich Islands three weeks, and during\nthat time the boys saw everything of interest there was to be seen.\nEugene, who was impatient to get ashore to see how the “savages” lived,\nwas quite astonished when his brother informed him that the natives were\nconsidered to be the most generally educated people in the world; that\nthere was scarcely a man, woman, or child of suitable age among them who\ncould not read and write; that they had contributed a goodly sum of\nmoney to the Sanitary Commission during our late war; that they had sent\na good many men to serve in our army and navy; and that among them were\na brigadier-general, a major, and several officers of lower grade.\nEugene could hardly believe it; but when he got ashore and saw the fine\nhotel erected by the government at a cost of one hundred and twenty\nthousand dollars, the prison, hospital, churches, and school-houses, he\nwas obliged to confess that he was among civilized people. Frank and\nArchie were equally astonished at the familiar appearance of things, and\ntold their Southern friends that if they could imagine how Honolulu\nwould look without the bananas, palm, and tamarind trees, they could\ntell exactly how the majority of New England villages looked.\n\nThe first Sunday the Club spent ashore they went to the seaman’s chapel\nto hear Father Damon preach to the sailors; and the next day they hired\nhorses, a pack-mule, and guides for a ride around the island. This was a\ngreat relief to them, especially to Dick and Bob, for it gave them a\ntaste of the frontier life to which they had so long been accustomed.\nThey were all glad to find themselves on horseback once more; so they\njourneyed very leisurely, and the ride, which could easily have been\naccomplished in four days, consumed the best part of eight.\n\nHaving explored Oahu pretty thoroughly, the Club returned on board the\nStranger, which set sail for Hilo in the island of Hawaii, which place\nthey reached after a rough passage of four days. At Hilo—the town has\nbeen devastated by a tidal wave since the Club visited it—they had their\nfirst view of a sport for which the natives of these islands are so\nfamous—swimming with the surf-board. It was a fine, not to say a\nthrilling sight to see a party of men, some of whom were lying, others\nkneeling, and still others standing erect upon boards which seemed\nscarcely large enough to support their weight, shooting towards the\nbeach with almost railroad speed, closely followed by a huge comber that\nseemed every instant to be on the point of overwhelming them. The grace\nand skill exhibited by the swimmers made the feat appear very easy of\naccomplishment, and after watching the bathers for a few minutes, Eugene\ndeclared that he could do it as well as anybody, and dared Archie to get\na board somewhere and go into the water with him.\n\n“Find a board yourself, and see if I am afraid to follow where you dare\nlead,” was Archie’s prompt reply; and to show that he meant what he\nsaid, he pulled off his jacket and threw it on the sand.\n\n“Now, Archie,” remonstrated Frank, “I wouldn’t undertake anything I was\ncertain to make a failure of, if I were you. You can’t get beyond the\nsurf to save your life.”\n\n“I’d like to know if I can’t duck my head and let a billow pass over me\nas well as anybody?”\n\n“No, you can’t.”\n\n“There’s where you are mistaken. You’ll see. Our countrymen can dive\ndeeper and come out drier than any people in the world, not even\nexcepting these Sandwich Islanders. I’ll go as far as my leader goes,\nyou may rely upon that. Say, Mr. Kanaker,” added Archie, approaching a\nstalwart swimmer who had just been landed high and dry by a huge billow,\n“you gives me board, I gives you, quarter, eh?”\n\nThe native smiled good-naturedly and astonished Archie by replying in\nplain English, and in much better terms than he had used—\n\n“You may have it certainly, but I wouldn’t advise you to try it.”\n\nWhile Archie stood perplexed and bewildered, wondering how he ought to\napologize to the man for addressing him in such a way, the latter\ncontinued, “I think your friend has given up the idea of going out.”\n\nArchie looked toward Eugene, and saw that he was standing with his boots\nin his hand, gazing intently toward the water. He glanced in the same\ndirection, and was just in time to see a swimmer overtaken by a huge\ncomber, and carried out of sight in an instant. Archie was greatly\nalarmed, and expected to see the man dashed stunned and bruised on the\nbeach; but presently a head bobbed up and out of the water beyond the\nbreaker, and the bold swimmer, still safe and sound and undismayed by\nhis failure, struck out for another trial, diving under the waves as\nthey came rolling in, and finally made his way to the smooth water, half\na mile from shore, where he waited for another high swell to carry him\nin. That was as near as Archie and Eugene ever came to trying their\nskill with the surf-board. One picked up his jacket, the other pulled on\nhis boots, and as both these acts were performed at the same time,\nneither could consistently accuse the other of backing out.\n\nThe first excursion the Club made from Hilo was to a bay, with an\nunpronounceable name, on the opposite side of the island, the scene of\nCaptain Cook’s death; and the next was to the volcano of Kilauea, the\nlargest active crater in the world. The trappers, who accompanied the\nClub wherever they went, set out on this last expedition with fear and\ntrembling. The boys had explained to them the theory of volcanoes as\nbest they could, and to say that the backwoodsmen were astonished would\nbut feebly express their feelings. They had never heard of a burning\nmountain before, and they were overwhelmed with awe. The statement that\nthere was a hole in the ground three miles long, a mile broad, and a\nthousand feet deep, containing two lakes filled with something that\nlooked like red-hot iron, was almost too much for them to believe; but\nthe Club promised to show it to them, and so the trappers mounted their\nhorses and set out with the rest. But they went no farther than the\nVolcano House, at which the party stopped for the night. The Club and\nUncle Dick took up their quarters in the house, but the trappers\npreferred spreading their blankets on the veranda. Some time during the\nnight the rainstorm, that had set in just before dark, cleared away, and\nold Bob, who happened to be awake, suddenly caught sight of something\nthat terrified him beyond measure. He aroused his companion, and the two\nsat there on the veranda until morning looking at it. The top of the\nmountain which had been pointed out to them as the volcano, seemed to be\non fire, and now and then sheets of flame would shoot up above the\nsummit, lighting up the clouds overhead, until it seemed to the two\nanxious watchers that the whole heavens were about to be consumed.\n\nBy the time daylight came they had seen enough of volcanoes, and\nemphatically refused to go another step toward the crater. There was\nsomething up there, they said, that must be dreadful to look at, and\nthey didn’t want to get any nearer to it. The boys went, however, and\ndescended into the crater, and filled their pockets with chunks of lava,\nsaw the burning lakes, breathed the sulphurous fumes that arose from\nthem, walked over a fiery, molten mass from which they were separated by\nonly fourteen inches of something Uncle Dick said was _cold_ lava, but\nwhich was still so hot that it burned the soles of their boots, and\nfinally came back to the Volcano House again at five o’clock, with minds\nso deeply impressed by what they had seen that it could never be\nforgotten. They did not have much to say about their journey—they wanted\nto keep still and think about it; but when at last their tongues were\nloosed, the burning lakes were the only subjects of their conversation\nuntil the new and novel sights of another country took possession of\ntheir minds and thoughts for the time being.\n\nThe trappers were also wonderfully impressed, though in a different way.\nThey were frightened again, and after that they had many long and\nearnest debates on the subject of an immediate return to America. But\nwhen they came to talk it over and ask the advice of others, they found\nthat there were many obstacles in their way. Dick Lewis remembered and\nfeared the boarding-house keeper, while old Bob was afraid to trust\nhimself to any vessel besides the Stranger. Neither he nor Dick wanted\nto cross the Pacific again, for what if one of those big “quids,” or the\nmother of that baby whale they had seen, should meet them and send them\nto the bottom? No, they dared not go back, and they dreaded to go on.\nThere were dangers before as well as behind. New and wonderful sights\nwere being brought to their notice every day, and there were many others\nyet to come that they had often heard the boys talk about. There were\nanimals called lions and tigers, as fierce as panthers, only a great\ndeal larger and stronger, some of which were so bold that they would\nrush into a settlement in broad daylight, and carry off the first man\nthat came in their way. There were other animals called elephants, that\nstood as high at the shoulders as the roof of Potter’s rancho, whose\nteeth weighed fifty pounds apiece, and one of whose feet was so heavy\nthat it took two strong men to shoulder it. There were serpents so\nenormous that they could crush and swallow a deer or a human being, and\nothers so numerous and deadly that more than thirty thousand people had\ndied in one year from the effects of their bites. And, more wonderful\nthan all, here was Uncle Dick, who had brought them safely through so\nmany dangers, and who had met and vanquished all these monsters, and he\nwas going straight back to the countries where they were to be found! He\nwas going to take his nephews and Frank there too, and the reckless\nyoungsters were eager to go. The trappers couldn’t understand it. They\ndidn’t mind an occasional brush with Indians and grizzlies—they rather\nenjoyed it; but the thought of a single man boldly attacking an animal\nas large as a house was enough to terrify them.\n\nThe trappers talked these matters over at every opportunity, and finally\ndecided that they would rather meet the dangers yet to come, provided\nthey could do so in Uncle Dick’s company and Frank’s, than go back alone\nand face those they had left behind them. They announced this decision\nquietly, like men who had determined to bravely meet the fate they could\nnot avert, and suffered themselves to be carried away to new countries\nand new dangers on the other side of the Pacific.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER II.\n                               THE GALE.\n\n\nThe Sandwich Islands having been thoroughly explored, the Stranger set\nsail for the harbor of Hilo, and shaped her course across the Pacific.\nJapan was the Club’s destination, but they were in no hurry to get\nthere, and besides there were objects of interest to be seen on the way.\nThere were numerous islands to be visited, and among them were the\nMangroves. The boys were anxious to see the place where the fight with\nthe natives occurred, and Uncle Dick, yielding to their entreaties, told\nFrank to take the schooner there, a command which he gladly obeyed. The\nboys would also have been delighted could they have seen the village\nwhich had been burned by Frank’s orders. They tried to induce Uncle Dick\nto let them go there, giving as a reason for this insane desire that\npossibly the savages might be holding other prisoners whom they could\nrelease. But the old sailor settled that matter very quickly. He wasn’t\ngoing to put his vessel and crew in danger for nothing, that was\ncertain. The boys might go ashore after terrapins if the schooner\nstopped in the bay over night, and that was all they could do.\n\nWhen they arrived in sight of the principal island, and had approached\nwithin a mile of the beach, Uncle Dick said to Frank:\n\n“The natives of course know by this time that we are coming, and to show\nthem that we are prepared to take care of ourselves, wouldn’t it be a\ngood plan to kick up a little dust out there with a thirty-pound shot?”\n\n“I think it would,” answered Frank. “As our vessel is small, they will\nknow that we have a small crew, and the noise of a shell or two\nwhistling through the trees may save us from an attack if we lie at\nanchor all night.”\n\nSince leaving Bellville the crew had been drilled in the use of small\narms and in handling the big guns almost as regularly as though the\nStranger had been a little man-of-war; but none of the pieces had ever\nspoken yet, and the Club were delighted with the prospect of hearing\nLong Tom’s voice. The crew were at once piped to quarters, the shifting\nmen took their place about the thirty-pounder (the vessel’s company was\ntoo small to allow of a full crew for each of the three guns), and in\nresponse to the old familiar order, “Cast loose and provide,” which they\nhad all heard many a time when it meant something besides shelling an\nunoccupied piece of woods, quickly stripped off the canvas covering and\nmade the piece ready for business. A cartridge was driven home, a shell\nplaced on top of it, the gun was trained in accordance with Frank’s\ndesires, the second captain lowered the breech a little, the first\ncaptain raised his hand, and the crew stood back out of the way.\n\n“Fire!” said Frank.\n\nThe first captain pulled the lock-string, and the little vessel trembled\nall over as Long Tom belched forth its contents. Then something happened\nthat the Club had not looked for. As the smoke arose from the mouth of\nthe cannon, a crowd of natives, who had been lying concealed behind the\nrocks on the beach, jumped to their feet and ran with all haste into the\nwoods. The shell ploughed through the trees above their heads, and\nexploding, sent up a cloud of white smoke to mark the spot.\n\n“That was pretty close to some of them, Frank,” said Uncle Dick.\n\n“It is no matter if it hurt some of them,” said Frank, in reply. “They\nhad an ambush ready for us, didn’t they? Suppose we had been out of\nwater, and had sent a boat’s-crew ashore after some? There wouldn’t a\nman of them have come back to us.”\n\nThree more shells followed the first, being thrown toward other points\non the island, to show the treacherous inhabitants that the schooner’s\ncompany could reach a good portion of their territory if they felt so\ndisposed, and then the cannon was taken in charge by the quarter-gunner,\nwho, after rubbing it inside and out until it shone like a mirror, put\non its canvas covering again. A few minutes afterward, the Stranger\ndropped anchor in the bay, near the spot where the Tycoon had been\nmoored when attacked by the natives.\n\n“This is the place,” said Frank, to the boys who gathered around to hear\nonce more the story of the thrilling scenes that had been enacted in\nthat lonely spot but a few short weeks before. “Here is where the ship\nwas anchored, and that creek over there was the ambush from which the\ncanoes came. The boats’ crews who went ashore after water were attacked\non that white beach you see off the port bow, and there was where we\nlanded when we went out to burn the village, which was located about\nthree-quarters of a mile from the beach.”\n\nThe boys could understand Frank’s description of the fight now that they\nsaw before them the very spot in which it had taken place. They listened\nto the story as attentively as though they had never heard it before,\nand ran down to supper telling one another that they would see and learn\nmore in the morning when they went ashore after terrapins. “And I hope\nthat then the natives will try and see what we are made of,” said Eugene\nto Archie, in a confidential whisper. “My new Henry rifle that I bought\nin ’Frisco to replace the one Jack stole from me will rust for want of\nuse if it lies in its case much longer.”\n\n“I hope we shall have a chance to rescue the prisoners they are still\nholding,” said Archie. “It must be dreadful to pass one’s life here\namong these heathen. The worst part of such a captivity to me would be\nthe knowledge that every now and then friends came here who would be\nonly too willing to take me off if I could only get to them. I wish\nthere were enough of us to take the island.”\n\nProbably the prisoners who were still in the hands of the natives wished\nthe same thing. Perhaps, too, they had some hopes of rescue when they\nheard the roar of the thirty-pounder awaking the echoes among the hills.\nBut the schooner’s company was in no situation to render them\nassistance, and the Club were now as near the island as they ever went.\nWhile they were at supper, the officer of the deck suddenly descended\nthe companion-ladder and interrupted the lively conversation that was\ngoing on by asking the captain if he would come on deck a minute. Uncle\nDick went, and had hardly disappeared before the boys heard the\nboatswain’s whistle, followed by the order: “All hands stand by to get\nthe ship under way.”\n\nWith one accord the Club dropped their knives and forks and ran up the\nladder to see what was the occasion of the order; some of them being in\nsuch a hurry that they did not stop to find their caps.\n\n“Master Frank,” said Dick Lewis, who met his young friend at the top of\nthe ladder, “is that a quid out thar? Is that ole whale comin’ to ax the\ncap’n what he’s done with her baby?”\n\nThe trapper pointed seaward, and Frank, looking in the direction\nindicated by his finger, saw a dark cloud rising rapidly in the horizon,\nand beneath it a long line of foam and a dense bank of mist that was\nmoving toward the island.\n\n“Rodgers says we’re done for now,” continued Dick, whose face was white\nas a sheet. “He says me and Bob never seed a whale yet, but will see one\nnow; that is, if we have a chance to see anything afore she opens her\nmouth and sends us to—, to—; what sort of a place did he say that was,\nBob?” inquired Dick, turning to his frightened companion, who stood\nclose beside him.\n\n“I don’t know; somebody’s cupboard,” replied Bob.\n\n“Davy Jones’s locker, most likely,” explained Frank. “Now, Dick, when\nRodgers or anyone else, says such a thing to you again, you just tell\nhim that you know better. We’re going to have a blow, that’s all. You\nhave seen enough of them among the mountains and on the prairies to know\nwhat they are.”\n\n“But, whar be we goin’?” asked Dick, seeing that the Stranger was\nwalking rapidly up to her anchor.\n\n“We’re going out, of course.”\n\n“In the face and eyes of it?” gasped the trapper, looking dubious at the\nangry clouds, whose appearance was indeed most threatening. “Why don’t\nwe stay here whar we’re safe?”\n\n“Because we are not safe here. This is the most dangerous spot we could\nbe in. The wind will blow directly on shore, and the waves will come\nrolling in here as high as the crosstrees. The first one that struck us\nwould carry us out there in the woods.”\n\n“Then, let’s take our shootin’ irons an’ go ashore,” said Dick. “I’d\nsooner fight the <DW65>s than stay on this little boat and be drownded.”\n\n“And what would we do with the schooner? Leave her to take care of\nherself? That’s a pretty idea, isn’t it? She would be smashed into\nkindling-wood on the beach, and then how would we ever get home again?\nNo, no, Dick; we must take care of the vessel first, so we are going out\nwhere we shall have plenty of room. I wish we were out there now,” added\nFrank, anxiously, as he directed his gaze toward a high rocky promontory\nwhich jutted out into the water a mile in advance of them. “That point\nis a pretty long one, and if we don’t weather it before the storm breaks\nit will be good-bye, Stranger, and Sportsman’s Club, too.”\n\n“Never fear,” exclaimed Uncle Dick, who happened to overhear this last\nremark. “We’ve got a capful of wind, and that is all we need to make an\noffing. Once off this lee-shore, we shall have plenty of room, unless we\nare blown up against the Ladrone Islands.”\n\n“And about the time that happens, look out for pirates,” said Eugene.\n\n“What’s them?” asked Dick.\n\n“Oh, they are wild, lawless men, like Allen and Black Bill,” replied\nEugene.\n\nThe trapper’s brow cleared at once. He was not afraid of lawless men,\nfor he had met too many of them during his career on the plains. He was\nperfectly willing to meet anything that could be resisted by the weapons\nto which he had been accustomed from his earliest boyhood, but storms\nlike this that was now approaching, and whales and “quids,” that could\ndestroy a vessel, and elephants as large as a house, Dick did not want\nto see.\n\nThe Stranger was under sail in a very few minutes, and with all her\ncanvas spread she began to move away from the dangerous shore under her\nlee. What little wind there was stirring was rapidly dying away, but it\nblew long enough to enable the little vessel to pass the threatening\npoint which Frank so much dreaded, and then sail was quickly shortened,\nand every preparation made to meet the on-coming tempest.\n\n“Go below, now, boys,” said Uncle Dick, as he came out of the cabin with\nhis oilcloth suit on, and his speaking-trumpet in his hand. “I am going\nto batten down everything. Take Dick and Bob with you.”\n\nBefore the trappers could refuse to go, as they would probably have done\nhad they been allowed time to think, they were pulled down into the\ncabin, and the door, being closed behind them, was covered with a\ntarpaulin; so were the skylights, and thus the cabin was made so dark\nthat the boys could scarcely distinguish one another’s features. This\nwas the first time these precautions had been taken since rounding Cape\nHorn, and the boys made up their minds that the storm was going to be a\nsevere one.\n\n“I don’t like this at all,” said Eugene. “I’d much rather go on deck and\nface it.”\n\n“You are safer here, for there is no danger of being washed overboard,”\nsaid Featherweight.\n\n“But I want to see what is going on,” said Eugene. “I can’t bear to be\nshut up in this way.”\n\n“How would you like to belong to the crew of a monitor?” asked George.\n“In action, or during a storm at sea, the crew are all below, and they\nare kept there by heavy iron gratings.”\n\n“Whew!” exclaimed Eugene. “They must be regular coffins.”\n\n“They sometimes prove to be, that’s a fact. The Tecumseh was blown up by\na torpedo in Mobile harbor, and went to the bottom, carrying one hundred\nand twelve men with her.”\n\n“Human natur’!” shrieked Dick, as all the occupants of the cabin were\nthrown from their seats by the sudden lurching of the vessel. “We’re\ngoin’, too! We’re goin’, too!”\n\n“Oh, no,” replied Frank, picking himself up from under the table, where\nhe had been pitched headlong. “That was only the first touch of the\nstorm.”\n\n“Well, if that’s a _touch_, I sincerely hope that we shall not get a\nblow,” said Archie, crawling back to his seat and rubbing his elbow with\none hand and his head with the other.\n\n“She will soon come right side up,” said Frank.\n\nBut to Dick and Bob, and even to some of the other occupants of the\ncabin, it seemed for a few minutes as though the Stranger was destined\nto come wrong side up. She heeled over until the floor stood at such an\nangle that it was useless for one to attempt to retain an upright\nposition, and the boys were knocked and bumped about in a way that was\nquite bewildering. But she came up to a nearly even keel at last, as\nFrank had said she would, and then the boys could tell, confined as they\nwere, that she was travelling through the water at a tremendous rate of\nspeed. They looked out at the bull’s-eyes, but could gain no idea of the\nstate of affairs outside, for the glasses were obscured by the rain and\nby the spray which was driven from the tops of the waves. The waves must\nhave rolled mountains high, judging by the way their little vessel was\ntossed about by them, and the wind roared and screeched so loudly that\nthe boys could not hear a single order, or even the tramping of the\nsailors’ feet as they passed over their heads. So completely were all\nsounds of life above decks shut out from them, that the Club might have\nthought that the captain and all his crew had been swept overboard, had\nit not been for the steady course the vessel pursued. That told them\nthat there was somebody watching over them, and that there was a skilful\nand trusty hand at the helm.\n\nThe storm continued with unabated fury all the night long, but with the\nrising of the sun the wind died away almost as suddenly as it had\narisen, the tarpaulin was thrown off, and the captain came into the\ncabin looking like anything in the world except a man who had spent the\nlast twelve hours in fighting a gale. He looked as jolly and\ngood-natured as though he had just arisen from a refreshing sleep.\n\n“Well, Uncle Dick, this is rather more than a sailing wind, isn’t it?”\nasked Eugene.\n\n“Rather,” was the laughing reply. “But the worst of it is over now. We\nshall have a heavy sea for a few hours, but that will not prevent us\nfrom fixing up a little. It was one of the hardest gales I ever\nexperienced; and if the Mangrove Islands had been under our lee when it\nstruck us—”\n\nThe old sailor shrugged his shoulders, and the boys knew what he meant\nby it.\n\n“You said something about fixing up a little,” said Frank. “Was anything\ncarried away?”\n\nUncle Dick nodded his head, and the Club went on deck in a body to take\na survey of the schooner. She did not look much like the Stranger of the\nday before, and the boys wondered how she could have received so much\ndamage without their knowing anything about it. The flying jibboom was\ngone, and so were both the topmasts. Some of the ratlines had parted and\nwere streaming out straight in the wind like signals of distress, the\nport bulwarks were smashed in, the deck was littered with various odds\nand ends, life-lines were stretched along the sides, and altogether the\nhandsome little craft looked very unlike herself. What must have been\nthe power of the elements to work all this ruin to a stanch craft which\nhad been built solely for strength and safety? It must have been\ntremendous, and the boys were reminded that all danger from it had not\nyet passed when they looked at the man who was lashed to the helm.\nPresently they received another convincing proof of the fact. The\nofficer of the deck suddenly called out, “Hold fast, everybody!” and the\nboys looked up just in time to see the schooner plunge her nose into a\nhuge billow which curled up over her bow, and breaking into a small\nNiagara Falls, washed across the deck, sweeping it clean of everything\nmovable, and carrying with it one of the sailors, who missed the\nlife-line at which he grasped. Ready hands were stretched out to his\nassistance, but the man saved himself by clutching at the life-rail and\nholding fast to it.\n\nThe Club knew now how the bulwarks had been smashed in. The wave filled\nthe deck almost waist deep, and they were astounded at the force with\nwhich it swept along. That portion of it which did not flow down into\nthe cabin passed out through the scuppers, leaving behind it a party of\nyoungsters with very wet skins and pale faces, who clung desperately to\nthe life-lines, and looked hastily about to see if any of their number\nwere missing. Their fears on this score being set at rest, they glanced\ndown into the cabin to see how Uncle Dick was getting on. The old sailor\nwas holding fast to the table and standing up to his knees in water, but\nhe had nothing to say. He was used to such things.\n\n“Why don’t we lay to till the storm subsides?” said Eugene, slapping his\nwet trowsers and holding up first one foot and then the other to let the\nwater run out of his boots.\n\n“The gale is over now,” said the officer of the deck; “but we can’t\nexpect the sea to go down at once after such a stirring up as it had\nlast night.”\n\nAlthough the waves did not go down immediately, they subsided gradually,\nso that the men could be set to work to repair the damage done during\nthe storm. At the end of a week the Stranger looked as good as new, and\nwas ready for another and still more severe test of her strength, which\ncame all too soon, and promised for the time being to bring the Club’s\nvoyage to an abrupt ending.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER III.\n                         THE LAST OF LONG TOM.\n\n\nFor four weeks succeeding the gale the weather was delightful. Propelled\nby favoring breezes the Stranger sped rapidly on her way, stopping now\nand then at some point of interest long enough to allow the boys to\nstretch their cramped limbs on shore, a privilege of which they were\nalways glad to avail themselves. Eugene found ample opportunity to try\nhis new Henry rifle on the various species of birds and animals with\nwhich some of the islands abounded, and the others collected such a\nsupply of curiosities, in the shape of weapons and ornaments, which they\npurchased from the natives, that the cabin of the Stranger soon began to\nlook like a little museum. The Club’s absent friends, Chase and Wilson,\nwere not forgotten. If one of their number found any curiosities of\nspecial value, such as bows and arrows, spears, headdresses, or cooking\nutensils, he always tried to procure more just like them to send to the\ntwo boys in Bellville. Everything passed off smoothly for four weeks, as\nwe have said, and then the members of the Club, having made up their\nminds that they had seen enough of the islands of the Pacific, began to\nurge Uncle Dick to shape the schooner’s course toward Japan. On this\nsame day Frank noticed, with some uneasiness, that the captain seemed to\nbe very much interested in his barometer, so much so that he paid\nfrequent visits to it; and every time he looked at it he would come out\nof his cabin and run his eye all around the horizon as if he were\nsearching for something. But he said nothing, and neither did Frank\nuntil dinner was over, and Archie and George and the rest of the Club\nhad ascended to the deck. Then he thought it time to make some\ninquiries, and the result was the conversation we have recorded at the\nbeginning of our first chapter.\n\n“A cyclone!” thought Frank, with a sinking at his heart such as he had\nfrequently felt when threatened by some terrible danger. The very name\nhad something appalling in it. There they were, surrounded by\ntreacherous reefs which rendered navigation extremely difficult and\ndangerous, even under the most favorable circumstances, and Uncle Dick\nknew that there was a hurricane approaching, and still he allowed his\nvessel to run along with all her sails spread. Frank had read of\nshipmasters ordering in every stitch of canvas on the very first\nindication of an approaching storm, and wondered why Uncle Dick did not\ndo the same.\n\nThe old sailor filled his pipe for his after-dinner smoke, and Frank\nwent on deck to see how things looked there. Then he found that some\nprecautions had already been taken to insure the safety of the schooner\nand her company. The islands, which clustered so thickly on all sides of\nthem in the morning, were further away now, and were all lying astern.\nIn front and on both sides of them nothing was to be seen but the sky\nand the blue water. Uncle Dick meant to have plenty of elbow-room.\n\nThe first thing that attracted Frank’s attention after he had noted the\nposition of the islands, was the unusual gloom and silence that seemed\nto prevail everywhere. The men who were gathered about the capstan\nconversed in almost inaudible tones, the two mates seemed to be wholly\nabsorbed in their own reflections and in watching the horizon; and even\nthe voices of the merry group on the quarter-deck were tuned to a lower\nkey. The wind whistled through the cordage as usual, the water bubbled\nup under the bows, the masts and yards creaked and groaned, but all\nthese sounds were subdued—were uttered in a whisper, so to speak, as if\nthe schooner and the element through which she was passing were\ndepressed in the same degree and manner that Frank and the rest were.\nAway off to the eastward he now discovered a large ship, standing along\nwith all her canvas spread that would catch the wind. Frank was glad to\nsee her. During the fearful convulsion that was to follow he thought it\nwould be a great comfort to know that he and his companions were not\nalone on the deep—that there were human beings near who might be able to\nextend a helping hand if they got into trouble. Somebody did get into\ntrouble, and help was needed and freely and promptly given; but it was\nnot to the Stranger or her crew.\n\n“How far is it, Mr. Baldwin?” asked Frank.\n\n“It is close at hand,” was the reply. “Half an hour will tell the\nstory.”\n\n“Why didn’t we take in something then, and get ready for it?” inquired\nFrank.\n\n“Why, we want to run away from it, don’t we? How could we do it with\neverything furled? You may safely trust the captain. There’s a heap of\nknowledge under those gray hairs of his.”\n\n“I know that,” returned Frank, quickly. “I only asked for information.”\n\n“You see,” continued the officer, “hurricanes are not like ordinary\ngales. The wind moves in a circle, and at the same time the body of the\nstorm has a motion in a straight line. The pressure of the atmosphere is\nless the nearer you get to the outside of the storm, and greater as you\napproach the centre; while if you should get into the very centre of it,\nyou wouldn’t feel any wind at all.”\n\n“Has that been proved, or is it merely supposition?” asked Frank.\n\n“It has been proved in a hundred cases, and once in my own experience.\nIt happened two years ago, and off the Mauritius. It began with a rather\nstiff breeze, which in two hours increased to a gale, and in two more to\nthe worst hurricane I ever saw in my life. It blew squarely from the\nnortheast, and when it got so hard that it seemed as if wood and iron\ncouldn’t stand it an instant longer, there came a calm quicker than you\ncould say Jack Robinson, and there wasn’t a breath of air stirring. This\nlasted fifteen minutes, and then without any warning the wind began\nagain with the most terrible screech I ever heard, and blew from the\nsouthwest as hard as ever. Now, we don’t propose to get in there with\nthis little craft. As soon as we can tell which way it is coming from\nwe’ll run off in another direction and get out of its track. There’s the\nfirst puff of it now,” said the officer, as a strong gust of wind filled\nthe sails, and the schooner began to careen under the pressure. “Keep\nher steady, there.”\n\nMr. Baldwin started toward the cabin, but Uncle Dick was on the alert,\nand came up the ladder in two jumps. He looked at the compass, made sure\nof the direction of the wind, then issued some hasty orders, and in five\nminutes more the Stranger was bounding away on another tack, and in a\ndirection lying almost at right angles with the one she had been\nfollowing. This was the time for Frank to see if his ideas were correct.\nHe looked at the compass and found that the wind was coming from the\nnortheast, coming pretty strong, too, which proved that they must be\nsome distance inside of the outer circle of the storm. It proved, too,\nthat the centre of the storm lay to the northwest of them, and as it was\nmoving toward the southeast, of course it was coming directly toward\nthem. The shortest way out of its path lay in a southwesterly direction,\nand that was the way the schooner was heading, as he saw by another\nglance at the compass. It took him some time to think these points all\nout, but Uncle Dick, aided by the skill acquired by long experience, had\ndecided them without a moment’s delay.\n\n“What was the old course, quartermaster?” asked Frank.\n\n“Nor’west, one-half west, sir,” was the answer.\n\n“We were holding as straight for it as we could go,” said Frank, drawing\na long breath. “In a little while we’d have been in the very midst of\nit.”\n\n“In the midst of what?” asked Walter, who with the rest of the Club had\nwatched Uncle Dick’s movements in surprise. “What is the trouble, and\nwhy was the course of the vessel changed so suddenly?”\n\nIt required but a few minutes for Frank to make his explanations, and\nthen there were other interested ones aboard the schooner who watched\nthe progress of the storm with no little anxiety. They noticed with much\nsatisfaction that the strange ship to the eastward was keeping company\nwith them; that she also had changed her course, and was sailing in a\ndirection parallel to the one the Stranger was following. This proved\nthat her captain’s calculations had led to the same result as those of\nUncle Dick.\n\nThe wind steadily increased in force for almost four hours, being\naccompanied at the last by the most terrific thunder and lightning, and\nby such blinding sheets of rain that the boys and the trappers were\ndriven to the cabin and kept close prisoners there. This was all they\nfelt and all they knew of that cyclone until a long time afterward,\nwhen, in another part of the world and under more agreeable\ncircumstances, Eugene received a paper from his friend Chase,\naccompanied by a letter which contained this paragraph:\n\n“I send you to-day a copy of the _Herald_, in which appears an account\nof a terrible and most destructive storm that happened down there\nsomewhere. As the last letter you sent me was written while you were\napproaching the Mangrove Islands, where Nelson performed the exploit\nthat made him master of the Tycoon, I felt a little uneasy, fearing that\nyou might have been caught out in it. Did you see the waves that flooded\nthe islands named in the article referred to, and did you feel the wind\nthat twisted off large trees as if they had been pipe-stems, and carried\nthe tops so far away that they were never seen afterwards?”\n\nNo, the Club saw and felt none of these, but they did see and feel the\neffects of the protracted gale that set in at the close of that eventful\nday, and never abated until the Stranger had been completely dismantled,\nand her consort, the large ship that hove in sight just before the storm\ncommenced, driven high and dry upon the shores of one of those\ninhospitable islands. This happened on the third day after the cyclone.\nDuring the whole of this time the boys and the trappers were confined to\nthe cabin, and did not once sit down to a cooked meal, the storm being\nso severe that it was impossible to build a fire in the galley. During\nthe night that followed the second day the fury of the gale seemed to\nincrease a hundred-fold, and the boys and their two friends passed the\nlong, gloomy hours in a state of anxiety and alarm that cannot be\ndescribed. On the morning of the third day the tarpaulin that covered\nthe cabin was suddenly thrown aside, and Uncle Dick came down. The\nfrightened boys held their breath while they looked at him, for\nsomething told them that he had bad news for them.\n\n“Go on deck, now,” said the old sailor, shouting the words through his\ntrumpet, for the gale roared so loudly that he could not have made\nhimself understood had he addressed them in any other way. “Hold fast\nfor your lives and stand by to do as I tell you. There is an island\nunder our lee and I can’t get away from it, because the schooner is\ndismantled and almost unmanageable. We are driving ashore as fast as the\nwind can send us. I want you boys and Dick and Bob to go to the pumps.\nThe men are tired out.”\n\nThe boys’ hearts seemed to stop beating. They followed Uncle Dick to the\ndeck, and grasping the life-lines he passed to them, gazed in awe at the\nscene presented to their view. Never in their lives, not even when\nrounding the Horn, had they seen such waves as they saw that morning.\nThey seemed to loom up to the sky, and how the Stranger escaped being\nengulfed by some of them, drifting, as she did, almost at their mercy,\nwas a great mystery. Of the beautiful little schooner which had been so\nrecently refitted, there was nothing left but the hull. Both masts were\ngone, the bowsprit was broken short off, and a little piece of sail,\nscarcely larger than a good-sized pillowcase, which was rigged to a jury\nmast, was all the canvas she had to keep her before the wind. Now and\nthen, as she was lifted on the crest of a billow, the boys could see the\nisland a few miles to leeward of them, and the long line of breakers\nrolling over the rocks toward which the vessel was being driven with\ntremendous force. It seemed as if nothing could be done to avert the\ndeath toward which they were hastening, but even yet the crew had not\ngiven up all hope. There was no confusion among them, and every man was\nbusy. Some were at the pumps, and others at work getting up the anchors\nand laying the cables. A sailor never gives up so long as his vessel\nremains afloat.\n\nToward the pumps the boys made their way with the assistance of the\nlife-lines, and taking the places of the weary seamen, went to work with\na will. Frank’s eyes were as busy as his arms, and whenever he could get\na glimpse of the island he closely examined the long line of breakers\nbefore him, in the hope of discovering an opening in it through which\nthe Stranger could be taken to a place of safety. He could see no\nopening, but he saw something else, and that was a crowd of men running\nalong the beach.\n\nBefore Frank had time to make any further observations, one of the mates\ntapped him on the shoulder and made signs for him and his companions to\nincrease their exertions at the pumps, following up these signs by\nothers intended to convey the disagreeable information that the Stranger\nwas taking in water faster than they pumped it out. Frank understood\nhim, and so did the others; and if they had worked hard before, they\nworked harder now. The schooner was sinking, and something must be done\nto lighten her. Frank knew that this was the substance of the\ncommunication which Mr. Baldwin shouted into the ears of his commander,\nalthough he could not hear a word of it on account of the shrieking of\nthe gale, and when Uncle Dick pointed toward the thirty-pounder that\nstood in the waist, Frank knew what he had determined on. The gun was to\nbe thrown overboard, and there was no time lost in doing it, either. The\nmate removed the iron pin which held the gun-carriage to a ring in the\ndeck, and two sailors, with axes in their hands, crept to the waist by\nthe help of the life-lines. They stood there until the schooner made a\nheavy lurch to starboard, and then in obedience to a sign from the mate,\nsevered the fastenings at a blow. The piece being no longer held in\nposition slid rapidly across the deck, through an opening the waves had\nmade in the bulwarks, and disappeared in the angry waters. That was the\nlast of Long Tom. Frank was sorry to see it go, and hoped that the\nschooner was now sufficiently lightened. If she was not, the next things\nto be sacrificed would be the twenty-four pounders, and in case they\nwere thrown overboard, what would they have to defend themselves with if\nthose natives he had seen on the beach should prove to be hostile? Small\narms, even though some of them did shoot sixteen times, could not\naccomplish much against such a multitude.\n\nThe vessel being lightened and the water in the wells declared to be at\na standstill, Uncle Dick turned his attention to the island and to the\nlong line of breakers before him, which he closely examined through his\nglass. He must have discovered something that gave him encouragement,\nfor he turned quickly and issued some hasty orders which the boys could\nnot hear. But they could see them obeyed. Another jury-mast was set up,\nanother little piece of canvas given to the wind, and the course of the\nschooner was changed so that she ran diagonally across the waves,\ninstead of directly before them. She rolled fearfully after this. Wide\nseams opened in her deck and the water arose so rapidly in the wells\nthat the boys grew more frightened than ever. How much longer they would\nhave succeeded in keeping the vessel afloat under circumstances like\nthese, it is hard to tell; but fortunately the most part of the danger\nwas passed a few minutes afterward. The Stranger dashed through an\nopening in the breakers and ran into water that seemed as smooth as a\nmillpond compared with the rough sea they had just left. But the Club\nnever forgot the two minutes’ suspense they endured while they were\npassing the rocks. It was awful! It seemed to them that Uncle Dick was\nguiding the schooner to certain destruction, and so frightened were they\nthat they ceased their exertions at the pumps. The water arose before\nthem like a solid wall, but it was clear there, while on each side it\nwas broken into foam by the rocks over which it passed. The noise of the\nwaves combined with the noise of the gale was almost deafening, and all\non board held their breath when a sudden jar, accompanied by a grating\nsound, which if once heard can never be forgotten, told them that the\nschooner had struck! The blow, however, was a very light one, and did no\ndamage. The next moment a friendly wave lifted her over the obstruction\nand carried her with railroad speed toward the beach. A hearty cheer\nbroke from the tired crew, and Uncle Dick pulled off his hat and drew\nhis hand across his forehead. Then the boys knew that the danger was\nover.\n\n“All ready with the anchor!” shouted Uncle Dick, and that was the first\norder the boys had heard since coming on deck.\n\n“All ready, sir,” was the reply.\n\nThe schooner ran on a quarter of a mile farther, the water growing more\nand more quiet the nearer she approached the beach, and then the order\nwas given to let go. The anchor was quickly got overboard, and when she\nbegan to feel its resisting power, the Stranger came about and rode\nsafely within short rifle-shot of the shore where the boys had expected\nher to lay her bones, and perhaps their own. As soon as she was fairly\nbrought up with her head to the waves, a squad of men was sent to the\npumps, and the boys tottered back, and supporting themselves by the\nfirst objects they could lay hold of, panted loudly. They were almost\nexhausted.\n\n“Mr. Baldwin,” said Uncle Dick, “have a fire started in the galley\nwithout a minute’s delay, and see that the doctor serves up the best\nhe’s got in the lockers to these weary men. We’ll be the better for a\ncup of hot coffee.”\n\nHaving given these orders, Uncle Dick came up and shook each of the boys\nby the hand with as much cordiality as he would have exhibited if he had\nnot seen them for a twelvemonth.\n\n“Now that it is all over, I can tell you that awhile ago I thought it\nwas the last of us,” said he. “Mr. Baldwin,” he added, as the mate came\nup out of the galley, “have the magazine lighted. Frank, I think you had\nbetter send our compliments to those fellows in the shape of a\ntwo-second shell.”\n\nUncle Dick pointed over the stern, and Frank was surprised to see a\nfleet of canoes loaded with natives approaching the schooner. His mind\nhad been so completely occupied with other things that he had not\nthought of them since he saw Long Tom go overboard.\n\n“Perhaps they are coming to help us,” said he.\n\n“Well, we don’t want any of their help, and you had better tell them so\nin language they will understand. Do it, too, before they come much\nnearer.”\n\nIf Frank had been as cool as he usually was, and as cool as Uncle Dick\nwas in spite of the trying scenes through which he had just passed, he\nwould have seen the reason for this apparently hasty order. One glance\nat the approaching canoes would have been enough. He would have noticed\nthat those of the natives who were handling the paddles bent to their\nwork with an eagerness which showed that they were animated by something\nbesides a desire to render assistance to the distressed vessel; that the\nothers brandished their weapons about their heads in the most\nthreatening manner; and, had the wind been blowing from them toward\nhimself, he would have heard yells such as he had never heard before,\nnot even when the Indians attacked the wagon-train to which he once\nbelonged. He went to the gun, which was quietly stripped and cast loose.\nA cartridge with a shrapnel attached was driven home, and the nearest of\nthe approaching canoes was covered by the weapon.\n\n“Shoot to hit,” said Uncle Dick. “If those Malays gain a footing on our\ndeck, our voyage will be ended sure enough.”\n\n“All ready, sir,” said Frank.\n\n“Let them have it, then,” commanded Uncle Dick.\n\nThe twenty-pounder roared, and the shrapnel, true to its aim, struck the\ncrowded canoe amidships, cutting it completely in two and sending all\nher crew into the water. The destruction that followed an instant\nafterwards must have been great. The missile exploded in the very midst\nof the natives, of whom Uncle Dick said there were at least three\nhundred, and created a wonderful panic among them. They had not looked\nfor such a reception from a vessel that was little better than a wreck.\nThe whole crowd turned and made for the shore, those in the uninjured\ncanoes being in such haste to seek a place of safety that they left\ntheir companions who were struggling in the water to take care of\nthemselves as best they could. As the fleet separated a little, Uncle\nDick surveyed the scene with his glass, and announced that the shot had\nbeen well-directed, four boatloads of natives having been emptied out\ninto the bay.\n\n“Perhaps they will let us alone now,” said Frank.\n\n“It will not be safe to relax our vigilance as long as we stay here,\nsimply because they have been once repulsed,” returned Uncle Dick. “I\nknow what those fellows are, for I have had some experience with them.\nThey have been thrashed repeatedly by our own and English vessels of\nwar, but they soon forget it and act as badly as ever. A man who falls\ninto their hands never escapes to tell how he was treated. Now, Frank,\nload that gun and secure it; and Mr. Baldwin, have a sentry kept on that\nquarter-deck night and day, with orders to watch that shore as closely\nas ever—Eh? What’s the matter?”\n\nThe officer in reply pointed seaward. Uncle Dick and the boys looked,\nand were horrified to see a large ship in the offing, drifting\nhelplessly before the gale.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IV.\n                         A CHANGE OF PROGRAMME.\n\n\n“That’s the same ship we saw at the beginning of the cyclone,” said\nFrank. “I know her by her white hull and the black stripe above her\nwater-line.”\n\n“Heaven help her,” said Uncle Dick, “for we can’t.”\n\nThe rest of the schooner’s company could say nothing. They could only\nstand and watch the hapless vessel, which the angry waves tossed about\nas if she had been a boy’s plaything. Like the Stranger, she was\ncompletely dismantled. The stump of her mizzenmast was standing, and\nthere was something in her bow that looked like a jury-mast, with a\nlittle piece of canvas fluttering from it. This was probably the\nremnants of the storm-sail that had been hoisted to give the vessel\nsteerageway, but it had been blown into shreds by the gale, and now the\ngreat ship was helpless. As she drifted along before the waves she would\nnow and then disappear so suddenly when one broke over her, and remain\nout of sight so long, that the anxious spectators thought they had seen\nthe last of her. But she always came up again, and nearer the\nthreatening reefs than before. Her destruction was only a question of\ntime, and a very few minutes’ time too, for she was too close to the\nrocks now to reach the opening through which the schooner had passed,\neven had her captain been aware of its existence, and able to get any\ncanvas on his vessel. The boys looked on with blanched cheeks and\nbeating hearts, and some of them turned away and went into the cabin\nthat they might not see the terrible sight.\n\nIn striking contrast to these exhibitions of sympathy from the\nschooner’s company was the delight the natives on shore manifested when\nthey discovered the doomed ship. They gathered in a body on the beach\nopposite the point on the reefs where the vessel seemed destined to\nstrike, and danced, and shouted, and flourished their weapons, just as\nthey had done when the Stranger first hove in sight. The ship and her\ncargo, which the waves would bring ashore as fast as the hull was broken\nup, would prove a rich booty to them. Perhaps, too, a few prisoners\nmight fall into their hands, and on these the relatives and friends of\nthose who had been killed by Frank’s shot could take ample vengeance.\n\n“Mr. Baldwin,” said Uncle Dick, suddenly, “have the boats put into the\nwater. I don’t know that it will be of any use,” he added, turning to\nFrank, “for it doesn’t look to me, from here, as though a human being\ncould pass through those breakers alive. But a sailor will stand a world\nof pounding, and if one gets through with a breath in him, we must be on\nhand to keep him from falling into the power of those wretches on\nshore.”\n\n“Are you going to send the boats out there, Uncle Dick?” exclaimed\nEugene. “You mustn’t go. The natives would fill you full of arrows and\nspears.”\n\n“Don’t be uneasy,” said the old sailor. “The mates will go, and Frank\nwill see that the savages are kept out of range of the boats.”\n\n“Will you open fire on them? So you can. I didn’t think of that.”\n\nThe schooner’s boats, which were stowed on deck, and which had\nfortunately been but slightly damaged by the gale, were quickly put into\nthe water. Then Uncle Dick, having mustered the crew, told them what he\nwanted to do, and called for volunteers, and there was not a man who was\ntoo weary to lend a hand to the distressed strangers. Every one of them\nstepped forward. The best oarsmen were selected and ordered over the\nside, the mates took command, and the boats pulled away behind the reefs\nto place themselves in a position to assist any one who might survive\nthe wreck. Their departure was announced by another shrapnel from the\ntwenty-four pounder on the quarter-deck, which the natives on shore\nregarded as Uncle Dick intended they should regard it—as a hint that\ntheir presence on the beach was most undesirable. They took to their\nheels in hot haste the instant they saw the smoke arise from the\nschooner’s deck, but some of them were not quick enough in their\nmovements to escape the danger. The shrapnel ploughed through the sand\nat their feet, and, exploding, scattered death on every side. Frank was\namazed at the effect.\n\n“Never mind,” said Uncle Dick, who thought by the expression he saw on\nthe face of his young friend that he did not much like the work, “they\nwould serve us worse than that if they had the power. They are fifty or\na hundred to our one, and as we must remain here for a month at least,\nour safety can only be secured by teaching them a lesson now that they\nwill not forget as long as the Stranger is in sight. Keep it up.”\n\nAnd Frank did keep it up. He threw his shells at regular\nintervals—firing slowly so as not to heat the gun—and dropped them first\nin one part of the woods, and then in another, to show the natives that\nthere was no place of safety anywhere within range of his little\nDahlgren. Having found a safe passage for the boats along the beach, he\nturned to look at the ship once more. She was close upon the reefs. Even\nas he looked she was lifted on the crest of a tremendous billow and\ncarried toward them with lightning speed. Frank turned away his head,\nfor he could not endure the sight, and even Uncle Dick’s weather-beaten\nface wore an expression of alarm that no one had seen there when his own\nvessel was battling with the gale a short half hour before. The shock of\nthe collision must have been fearful, and Frank, who had thus far clung\nto the hope that some of the crew might be saved, lost all heart now.\nThe sea made quick work with what was left of the ship. She began to go\nto pieces at once, and portions of the hull, as fast as they were broken\noff by the waves and the friction of the rocks, were hurled through the\nbreakers toward the beach.\n\n“It is just dreadful, isn’t it?” said George, who had kept close at\nFrank’s side. “I remember that the first time I saw a ship in New\nOrleans, I looked at her beams and braces, and wondered how it was\npossible for so strong a craft to be wrecked. This one is no more than a\nchip in a millpond.”\n\n“An element that sometimes exerts a force of six thousand pounds to the\nsquare foot, and which has been known to move great rocks weighing forty\ntons and over, is a terrible enemy to do battle with,” replied Frank.\n\n“I am afraid the poor fellows are all gone, and that our boats will be\nof no use out there,” said Uncle Dick, “I can’t see anybody.”\n\n“I can,” exclaimed Archie, who had kept his glass directed toward the\nship. “Don’t you see his head bobbing up and down with that mast, or\nspar, or whatever it is? He is the only one I have seen thus far.”\n\n“One life is well worth saving,” returned Uncle Dick. “The boats have\ndiscovered him, have they not? I see one of them pulling toward the\nbreakers.”\n\n“Yes, sir; and now they’ve got him, or what the breakers have left of\nhim,” replied Archie, joyously. “They’re hauling him in.”\n\nAll the crew could see that now without the aid of glasses, and when the\nhalf-drowned man was safe in the boat, their satisfaction found vent in\nloud and long-continued cheers. After that more cheers were given, for,\nas the hull went to pieces, the boys saw several heads bobbing about in\nthe angry waters; and although some of them did not pass the breakers,\nothers did, and those who reached the smooth water on the other side\nwere promptly rescued by the boats. Archie called out the number of the\nsaved as fast as he saw them taken from the water, and when he said,\n“That makes eleven,” Uncle Dick’s surprise and delight were almost\nunbounded.\n\n“I don’t see how in the world they ever got through those breakers,”\nsaid he, “but I’m glad all the same that they did. There’s no loss\nwithout some gain. If we hadn’t been blown in here not one of those\neleven men, that we may be the means of restoring to home and friends\nonce more, would have been left to tell how his ship was destroyed.\nWe’re in a scrape that it will take us a good month to work out of, but\nwe have lost none of our little company, and are still able to be of\nservice to those who are worse off than ourselves. Do you see any more,\nArchie?”\n\n“No, sir. There are a good many pieces of the wreck going through, but I\nsee no more men. They are transferring all the rescued to one boat now.”\n\n“That’s right. They’re going to bring them aboard. Doctor, keep up a\nroaring fire in the galley, and you, men, go below and put on some dry\nclothes, and lay out a suit apiece for these poor fellows who have none\nof their own to put on.”\n\nThe second mate’s boat remained on the ground to pick up any other\nunfortunates who might survive the passage of the breakers, while Mr.\nBaldwin turned back to take those already rescued on board the schooner.\nThe boys awaited his approach with no little impatience. They wanted to\nbe the first to assist the strangers over the side; but when the boat\ncame up they drew back almost horrified. The rescued men lay motionless\non the bottom of the cutter, and there was only one among them who had\nlife enough left in him to hold up his head. Utterly exhausted with\ntheir long conflict with the gale, and bruised and battered by the\nrocks, they were hoisted aboard more dead than alive, and tenderly\ncarried into the forecastle and laid upon the bunks. Uncle Dick was kept\nbusy after that bandaging wounds and administering restoratives from the\nschooner’s medicine-chest, and the boys, who wanted to help but did not\nknow what to do, stood on deck at the head of the ladder watching him.\n\n“I wish we were all doctors,” said Archie, at length. “I don’t like to\nstand here with my hands in my pockets, and if I were to go down there I\nmight be in the way.”\n\n“No doubt you would,” said his cousin. “But still there is something we\ncan do. We can relieve the crew and give them a chance to sleep. I’ll\nspeak to Mr. Baldwin.”\n\nSo saying, Frank hurried off and held a short consultation with the\nfirst officer. When he came forward again he announced with a great show\nof dignity that he was the officer of the deck now, and expected to be\nobeyed accordingly. With an assumption of authority that made all the\nboys laugh, he ordered Archie to relieve the sentry on the quarter-deck,\nplaced Bob and Perk to act as anchor watch, and after telling the others\nthat they might lie down and take a nap if they chose, he placed his\nhands behind his back and began planking the weather side of the\nquarter-deck.\n\nMr. Baldwin was much pleased with this arrangement, for it gave him and\nthe rest of the crew an opportunity to obtain the rest and sleep of\nwhich they stood so much in need. Uncle Dick was satisfied with it, too.\nThe latter came out of the forecastle about midnight, and when he called\nfor the officer of the deck was promptly answered by Frank, who in a few\nwords explained the situation to him. “Have we done right?” he asked.\n\n“Perfectly,” replied Uncle Dick. “It was kind and thoughtful in you, and\nI thank you for it. Our poor fellows are almost worn out, and it is a\npity they can’t have beds to sleep in,” he added, glancing at the\nstalwart sailors who were stretched out on the deck, slumbering heavily.\n“If you and the rest of the boys can stand it until morning they will be\nrefreshed, and a good breakfast will put them in a fit condition for\nwork.”\n\n“Oh, we can stand it,” said Frank, “and will do the best we can.”\n\n“I have no fears. I know you will do just what ought to be done. All you\nhave to do is to see that the anchor holds, and keep your weather eye\ndirected toward the island. The night is pretty dark, and you must look\nout for a surprise, for these natives are bold and cunning. If you see\nor hear anything suspicious, bang away without stopping to call me.”\n\n“I will,” said Frank. “How are our friends below?”\n\n“Pretty well pounded, some of them, but I think they will be about soon.\nThey must have had a hard time by all accounts, but the trouble is they\ndon’t all tell the same story, and there is no officer among them of\nwhom I can make inquiries. They are all foremast hands. One says their\nship, the Sea Gull, was just from Melbourne, and another says she was\nfrom Hobart Town, Tasmania.”\n\n“Tasmania!” repeated Frank. “That used to be called Van Diemen’s Land.”\n\n“Yes; and if four of our new friends ought not to be back there at this\nminute, I am very much mistaken.”\n\n“Are they convicts?” asked Frank, drawing a long breath.\n\n“I don’t know. Wait till you see them, and then tell me what you think\nabout it. This trouble is going to interfere with our arrangements a\ntrifle. This being our second break-up, we have but few spars and little\nspare canvas left, so we can only refit here temporarily—in other words,\nput up such rigging as will last until we can reach some port where we\ncan go into the docks and have a regular overhauling. If we are going to\nNatal we must cross the Indian Ocean, and I don’t want to venture near\nthe Mauritius with a leaky vessel. It blows too hard there sometimes. We\nhave been driven a long way out of our course, and if my calculations\nare correct, our nearest port is Hobart Town. We’ll go there, and while\nthe vessel is being refitted we’ll take a run back into the country and\nsee how the sheep and cattle herders live. We shall be obliged to stay\nthere a month or two, and perhaps by the time we are ready to sail again\nyou boys will decide that you don’t want to go to Japan. If you do, it\nwill suit me. By the way, I wish you would step into the forecastle\nevery half hour or so and see if those men want anything. Good-night.”\n\nUncle Dick went down into his cabin, and Frank walked off where Archie\nstood leaning on his musket and watching the island, whose dim outlines\ncould just be seen through the darkness. “Do you hear or see anything?”\nhe asked.\n\n“Nothing at all,” answered Archie. “It is dull business, this standing\nguard when there’s nothing going on.”\n\n“Well, I’ll relieve you.”\n\n“Oh, no; you stay here and talk to me, and I will hold the musket. What\nwas it Uncle Dick said about going back to Japan?”\n\nFrank repeated the conversation he had had with the captain, adding:\n\n“You know his heart is set on going to Natal, and I believe that was one\nreason why he undertook this voyage. He has often told me that he would\ngo a long distance just to see a wild elephant once more. If we waste\nmuch more time on our journey we can’t stay a great while in Africa.\nUncle Dick’s wishes ought to be respected.”\n\n“Of course they must be,” said Archie, quickly. “Well, I’d as soon go to\nAustralia as to Japan. Perhaps we’ll have a chance to knock over a\nkangaroo, and that’s an animal I’ve never seen yet.”\n\n“I am not sure that they are to be found in Van Diemen’s Land,” said\nFrank.\n\n“Van Diemen’s Land!” echoed Archie. “That’s a convict settlement.”\n\nFrank nodded his head.\n\n“Well, I am just as near the fine fellows who live there as I want to\nbe,” said his cousin.\n\n“Perhaps you are nearer to some of them at this minute than you imagine.\nWhat would you say if you should see four of them come on deck to-morrow\nmorning?”\n\nArchie raised his musket to his shoulder, and looked at his cousin. “Did\nUncle Dick say that there are four of them among these strangers?”\n\n“No, he didn’t say so, but I know he thinks so.”\n\n“Whew!” whistled Archie; “here’s fun. I wonder if they wouldn’t be kind\nenough to get up some excitement for us if we should ask them?”\n\n“Haven’t you had enough during the last few days? I have.”\n\n“There’s too much of a sameness about these gales and cyclones. We want\na change—something new.”\n\nArchie afterward had occasion to recall this remark. Before many weeks\nhad passed over his head he found that the men of whom he was speaking\nwere quite willing to give him all the excitement he wanted, and that,\ntoo, without waiting to be asked to do so.\n\n“But, after all, what can they do?” asked Archie, after thinking a\nmoment. “They are only four in number, and Dick Lewis and Rodgers can\ntake care of them.”\n\nWith this reflection to comfort him, Archie once more turned his\nattention to the island, and Frank went forward to see how the anchor\nwatch were getting on, and to tell them and the rest of the unwelcome\ndiscovery Uncle Dick had made. Of course the boys were all interested\nand excited, and wished that morning would come so that they might see\nwhat sort of looking fellows the convicts were. Frank also told them of\nthe change Uncle Dick proposed to make in their route ahead, and they\nwere all satisfied with it.\n\nNothing happened that night that is worthy of record. The wearied\nsailors slumbered in safety, while Frank and his companions looked out\nfor the vessel, and walked the deck, and told stories to keep themselves\nawake. The Stranger dragged twice before morning, but each time a little\nmore chain was let out, and finally enough weight was added to her\nanchor to make her ride securely. Frank visited the forecastle every\nhalf hour to hand a glass of water to one of the rescued men, or moisten\nthe bandages of another, and during these visits he picked out four of\nthe patients whom he thought to be the escaped convicts. One of them was\nthe nearest approach to a giant he had ever seen. Even Dick Lewis would\nhave looked small beside him. He reminded Frank of Boson, the third mate\nof the Tycoon, only he was a great deal larger and stronger. The man was\nsleeping soundly, and Frank leaned against his bunk and took a good look\nat him.\n\n“If these four fellows should attempt any mischief, I don’t know whether\nDick and Rodgers could take care of them or not,” thought he. “I’m\nafraid they’d have their hands full with this one man.”\n\nFrank went on deck feeling as he had never felt before. He was not sorry\nthat the man had been saved from the breakers, but somehow he could not\nhelp wishing that he had been picked up by some vessel besides the\nStranger. If there was any faith to be put in appearances, the man was\nbut little better than a brute, and Frank told himself that the sooner\nthey reached some port and put him ashore, the sooner he would feel at\nhis ease again.\n\nUncle Dick came on deck at 5 o’clock, and the boys all went below to\ntake a short nap; but their short nap turned out to be a long one, for\nhaving had no sleep worth mentioning for four nights in succession, they\nwere lost in a dreamless slumber almost as soon as they touched their\nbunks, and it was twelve o’clock before they awoke. Then they were\naroused by the roar of the twenty-four pounder over their heads. They\nstarted up in great alarm, and pulling on their clothes with all\npossible haste, rushed to the deck expecting to find the natives\napproaching to attack the vessel, and perhaps clambering over the side.\nBut they were most agreeably disappointed. About half of the crew of the\nStranger, aided by some of the rescued men, were busy setting things to\nrights, and a short distance from the schooner was the cutter, which was\npulling toward the beach.\n\n“Did I frighten you?” asked Uncle Dick, as the boys crowded up the\nladder. “Your faces say I did. That boat out there is going ashore after\nsome timber for spars, and that shrapnel was a notice to the natives to\nkeep out of the way.”\n\n“Oh!” said the boys, who were all greatly relieved.\n\nThey took another look at the boat, ran their eyes along the beach to\nmake sure that there were no natives in sight, and then turned their\nattention to the rescued men, who were working with the crew. There were\nfive of them—Uncle Dick said the others were not yet able to leave their\nbunks—and conspicuous among them was the giant whom Frank had picked out\nas one of the escaped convicts. All the boys opened their eyes as they\nlooked at him. Even Frank was astonished. Now that he could see the\nwhole of him he looked larger than he did while he was lying in his\nbunk. “What do you think of him, Mr. Baldwin?” asked Eugene, after\ntrying in vain to induce his uncle to express an opinion.\n\n“I think there is only one place in the world that he’s fit for,” was\nthe reply.\n\n“What place is that?”\n\n“The place he came from.”\n\nSome other conversation followed, and when the boys went below they told\none another that Mr. Baldwin fully expected that Waters—that was the\nname the giant had given—would occasion trouble sooner or later. “And if\nhe once gets started it will take all the men in the vessel to subdue\nhim,” said Eugene, somewhat anxiously.\n\n“Will it?” exclaimed Archie. “I can show you one who will manage him\nalone.”\n\n“Who is he?”\n\n“Dick Lewis.”\n\n“Now let me tell you what’s a fact,” said Perk. “Dick can’t stand up\nagainst an avalanche.”\n\n“You’ll see,” said Archie, who had unbounded confidence in his backwoods\nfriend. “You’ll see.”\n\nAnd sure enough they did.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER V.\n                           THE TWO CHAMPIONS.\n\n\nFor a week nothing occurred to relieve the dull monotony of their life.\nThe crew worked early and late, and under the skilful hands of the\ncarpenter and his assistants the masts, spars, and booms that were to\ntake the place of those that had been lost during the gale, began to\nassume shape, and were finally ready for setting up. The timber of which\nthe most of them were made was brought from the shore, and Frank kept\nsuch close watch over the boats, and the crews and workmen who went off\nin them, that the natives never molested them. If the Malays had kept\nout of sight on the first day of their arrival, the boys might have\nbelieved the island to be uninhabited, for they saw no signs of life\nthere now.\n\nOn board the schooner everything was done decently and in order, as it\nalways was. The rescued men were all on their feet now, and able to do\nduty. All but four of them—those suspected of being escaped\nconvicts—were able seamen, and these lent willing and effective aid in\nthe work of refitting the vessel. They were all Englishmen, but for some\nreason or other they were not as arrogant and overbearing as the\nmajority of their countrymen seem to be, and the best of feeling\nprevailed between them and the Stranger’s crew.\n\nFor a few days Waters conducted himself with the utmost propriety. He\nseemed to be awed by his recent narrow escape from death, and so\nentirely wrapped up in his meditations that he could hardly be induced\nto speak to anybody. But the impressions he had received gradually wore\noff as his bruises and scratches began to heal and his strength to come\nback to him, and he assumed an impudent swagger as he went about his\nwork, that made the second mate look at him pretty sharply. He recovered\nthe use of his tongue too, and began to talk in a way that did not suit\nthe old boatswain’s mate, who one day sternly commanded him to work more\nand jaw less. This reprimand kept Waters in shape for a day or two, and\nthen he appeared to gain confidence again, and got himself into a\ndifficulty that was rather more serious. Swaggering aft one morning\nafter breakfast with a borrowed pipe in his mouth, he suddenly found\nhimself confronted by the officer of the deck, who stepped before him.\n\n“You have no business back here,” said Mr. Parker. “Go for’ard where you\nbelong.”\n\nWaters took his pipe out of his mouth, and drawing himself up to his\nfull height, scowled down at the officer, “Look ’ere,” said he, with his\nEnglish twang; “hif you knowed me, you’d know hit’s jist a trifle\ndangerous for heny man of your hinches to stand afore me.”\n\n“I am second mate of this vessel,” answered Mr. Parker, hotly, “and any\nmore such language as that will get you in the brig. Go for’ard where\nyou belong.”\n\nLike a surly hound that had been beaten by his master, Waters turned\nabout and went back to the forecastle. He was sullen all that day, and\n“soldiered”—that is, shirked his work—so persistently that the old\nboatswain’s mate was almost beside himself.\n\n“I don’t like the cut of that fellow’s jib, cap’n,” said Barton, as he\nranged up alongside of Frank that night after the boats had been hoisted\nat the davits, and the boarding nettings triced up. “He’s spoiling for a\nrow. He says if Lucas calls him a lubber again he’s going to knock him\ndown. He’s no good. Do you know what he was going aft for this morning?\nWell, I do. He was going to take a look at the old man’s strong box. You\nknow it stands in the cabin right where you can see it through the\nskylights.”\n\n“Why did he want to take a look at the strong box?” asked Frank. “Has he\nany designs upon it?”\n\n“If he hasn’t, what makes him ask so many questions, sir?” asked the\ncoxswain, in reply. “He’s pumped the crew, easy like, till he’s found\nout everything. He wanted to know how much we got a month, and when one\nof the men told him that we could each have a handful of bright new\nyellow-boys to spend in our next port if we wanted it, but that the old\nman had advised us, friendly like, to leave all our earnings in his\nhands and he would pay us interest on it at the end of the cruise, same\nas the bank—when he found this out he wanted to know where the old man\nkept his money and how much he had. Now what did he want to know that\nfor, sir?”\n\n“What, indeed!” thought Frank, as Barton hurried away in obedience to\nsome orders. “He will bear watching, I think. I wish he was safe\nashore.”\n\nFrank lost no time in making Uncle Dick acquainted with what he had\nheard. The old sailor looked grave while he listened, and although he\nsaid nothing in Frank’s hearing, he told Mr. Baldwin privately to keep\nWaters so busily employed that he would have no time to think of\nmischief, and at the very first sign of insubordination to promptly put\nhim where he would be powerless to work harm to the vessel or any of her\ncrew. Waters made the sign the very next morning. At five o’clock he was\nordered to assist in pumping out the schooner, and he obeyed with\naltogether too much deliberation to suit Lucas, who was accustomed to\nsee men hurry when they were spoken to. This was the way Waters always\nobeyed an order. He seemed to think he could do as he pleased, and no\none would dare take him to task for it. But when the old boatswain’s\nmate was on duty he was on duty all over, and any of his men who\nneglected their work were sure to be called to account. He had been very\npatient with Waters because he was a landsman, but he could not stand\n“soldiering.”\n\n“I wish this was a man-o’-war now, and that flogging had not been\nabolished,” said Lucas, as Waters came slowly up to the pump, staring\nimpudently at the mate as if to ask him what he was going to do about\nit. “It would do me good to start you with a cat-o’-nine tails.”\n\n“Do you think the likes o’ you could use a cat on me now?” sneered\nWaters.\n\n“I’ve used it on many a better man,” was the quick reply. “Make haste,\nyou lubber. I’ll stand this no longer. I’ll report”—\n\nWhat it was that the old mate was going to report he did not have time\nto tell, for Waters suddenly drew one of his huge fists back to his\nshoulder, and when he straightened it out again Lucas went spinning\nacross the deck, rolling over and over, and finally bringing up against\nthe bulwarks. Every one who saw it—and every one who belonged to the\nschooner was on deck, except her captain—was amazed at the ease with\nwhich it was done.\n\nOf course the excitement ran high at once. During the two years and more\nthat had passed since the schooner left Bellville, a blow had never been\nstruck on her deck, and never had an oath been heard there until these\nrescued men were brought aboard. The whole crew arose as one man, not to\npunish the offender for striking the petty officer, but to secure him\nbefore he could do any more mischief. But Waters was fairly aroused, and\nacted more like a mad brute than a human being. He backed up against the\nbulwarks, and in less time than it takes to tell it, prostrated the\nentire front rank of his assailants, including Barton, Rodgers, the\nDoctor, as the <DW64> cook was called, and the old gray-headed sailor who\nhad so badly frightened Dick Lewis by telling him that one of the\nSandwich Islands was the equator, and that when they passed it they\nwould be on the under side of the earth.\n\nHaving cleared a space in front of him, Waters sprang to the windlass,\nand seizing a handspike, was back against the bulwarks again before any\none could prevent him. “Stand by me, mates,” he roared, “and we’ll take\nthe ship. Back me hup, and we’ll drive these Yankees hover among the\nsharks.”\n\n“I declare!” gasped Eugene, who was the first of the frightened boys who\ncould find his tongue, “he’s started at last, and he’ll walk across the\ndeck with that handspike as though there was no one here. The best men\nin the crew are like so many straws in his way.”\n\nAll these incidents which we have been so long in describing, occupied\nbut a very few seconds in taking place. Before the astonished officer of\nthe deck could recover himself sufficiently to command the peace, Waters\nhad complete possession of the forecastle. And even when the officer did\nrecover himself the orders he issued might as well have been addressed\nto the mast, for Waters paid no attention to them.\n\n“Drop that handspike,” shouted Mr. Baldwin, starting forward.\n\n“Yes, I’ll drop it no doubt,” replied Waters. “You remember what you\nsaid to me yesterday, don’t you, you fellow with the gold band around\nyour cap? Look hout for yourself, for I’m coming for you now.”\n\nWaters was as good as his word. Swinging his handspike viciously about\nhis head to clear a path before him, he started aft; but before he had\nmade many steps he ran against something, just as Archie had predicted.\nDick Lewis and old Bob Kelly had stood silent and amazed spectators of\nthe scene, and Archie, who had expected so much of his backwoods friend\nin case of disturbance, forgot that he was present. But now the trapper\ncalled attention to himself by giving one or two fierce Indian yells,\nlike those that had so often rung in his ears while he was battling with\nor fleeing from his sworn enemies.\n\n“Whoop! Whoop!” yelled Dick.\n\nThe boys looked towards him and saw that he had prepared himself for\naction by discarding his hat and pushing back his sleeves. Then he\ncrouched like a panther about to make a spring, and in a second more was\nflying across the deck like an arrow from a bow. Waters saw him coming,\nand halting, drew back his handspike in readiness to receive him. As the\ntrapper approached within striking distance, the weapon descended with\nsuch speed and power that the boys all uttered an exclamation of horror,\nand Frank involuntarily started forward as if to shield his friend from\nthe blow that seemed about to annihilate him. But Dick was in no need of\nhelp. Long experience had taught him how to take care of himself in any\nemergency. A flash of lightning is scarcely quicker than was the\nmovement he made to avoid the descending weapon. It passed harmlessly\nthrough the air over his head, and the force with which it was driven\nsent Waters sideways into the arms of the trapper, while the handspike\nflew from his grasp and went over the side.\n\n“Stand by me, mates!” roared the giant, as he felt the trapper’s strong\narms closing about him with crushing power.\n\nThis was all he had time to say—he was not allowed an instant in which\nto do anything—for before the words had fairly left his lips he was\nthrown to the deck with stunning force, and held as firmly as if he had\nbeen in a vice. Just then Uncle Dick appeared on the scene.\n“Master-at-arms!” he exclaimed.\n\n“Here, sir,” replied the petty officer, stepping forward. He knew that\nhis services would be required and he was all ready to act. He had a\npair of irons in his hand—something the boys did not suppose could be\nfound in the schooner’s outfit.\n\n“Put them on,” said Uncle Dick. “Now, Lewis,” he added, after the\nruffian’s hands and ankles had been securely confined, “let him up.”\n\n“Can’t I give him just one leetle whack for every man he’s knocked down,\ncap’n?” asked the trapper, flourishing one of his clenched hands in the\nair.\n\n“Let him up,” repeated Uncle Dick.\n\nThe backwoodsman obeyed the order very reluctantly. He arose to his\nfeet, pulling his antagonist up with him.\n\n“Waters, is this the way you repay us for saving your worthless life?”\ndemanded Uncle Dick, sternly. “Some of the men you struck were the very\nones who kept you from falling into the hands of the savages on shore.”\n\n“I’ll pay you for it hall afore I am done with you,” gasped the\nprisoner, panting from the violence of his exertions. “Hand you, my\nfriend in buckskin, I’ll see you some other day when this thing—”\n\n[Illustration: WATERS FINDS HIS MASTER.]\n\n“Silence!” commanded Uncle Dick.\n\n“There’s honly one way to stop my talking and that is to stop my\nbreath,” declared Waters, boldly.\n\n“You will go without food for twenty-four hours for every word you\nutter,” replied Uncle Dick. “Master-at-arms, take him down and put him\nin the brig. Mr. Baldwin,” he continued, in a lower tone, “have a sentry\nput over him with orders to allow him to hold communication with no\none.”\n\nThe fear of being starved into submission effectually closed the\nprisoner’s mouth, and without another word he allowed the master-at-arms\nto lead him below. The boys breathed easier when they saw his head\ndisappear below the combings of the hatchway.\n\n“How did this trouble begin, Mr. Baldwin?” demanded Uncle Dick.\n\nThe officer told him in a few words and the captain said, with a smile,\n\n“That is a good deal of work to be done in so short a space of time. I\ncame on deck as soon as I could get up from the table. When we reach\nHobart Town I’ll teach this fellow that he can’t strike my men with\nimpunity. You say he called for help from his friends. Did they seem\ninclined to give it?”\n\n“Yes, sir, one of them did. He picked up a handspike, but lacked the\ncourage to use it. The other two stood still and looked on.”\n\n“Send them to the mast, Mr. Baldwin. They all belong to the same class,\nand it may be well to have a fair understanding with them.”\n\nMr. Baldwin passed the order to the old boatswain’s mate, who was going\nabout his work with an eye bunged up, and presently Waters’s three\nfriends came to the mast and respectfully removed their caps. There was\nno swagger or bluster about them. The defeat of their champion had cowed\nthem completely. Uncle Dick first explained why he had brought them\nthere, and then for five minutes talked to them in a way the boys had\nnever heard him talk before. Even Walter and Eugene were surprised to\nknow that their jolly uncle could be so stern and severe. He used words\nthat the men before him could readily understand. He bluntly told them\nthat they were escaped convicts (the start they gave when they heard\nthis showed that he had hit the nail fairly on the head), and that he\nwas just the man to deal with such characters as they were. He would rid\nhis vessel of their unwelcome presence as soon as he could, and give her\na good scrubbing from stem to stern after they went. He did not want\nthem there, but while they stayed they must walk a chalk-mark; and if he\nheard so much as a mutinous eye-wink from any of them, he would show\nthem that the discipline that was maintained on board the Stranger could\nbe made as severe as that to which they had been subjected by their\nprison taskmasters. That was all, and they might go forward and bear\neverything he had said to them constantly in mind.\n\nThe suspected men, glad to be let off so easily, returned to their work,\nand we may anticipate events a little by saying that they took the old\nsailor at his word, and never made the schooner’s company the least\ntrouble—that is, they made them no trouble before they reached Hobart\nTown, whither the Stranger went to refit. What they did afterward is\nanother matter; we have not come to that yet. We may also say that the\ntrapper won a high place in the estimation of all the foremast hands by\nthe exploit he performed that morning. He had peace after that. None of\nthe sailors ever told him any more stories about the Flying Dutchman,\nthe squids, and the whale that swallowed Jonah. It was not because they\nwere afraid of him—no one who behaved himself could look into the\ntrapper’s wild gray eye and feel the least fear of him—but because they\nwanted to reward him for what he had done. When the crew assembled\naround the mess-chest at meals Dick was always the first one waited upon\nby the mess-cook, and if any of the blue jackets found a tit-bit in the\npan, it was always transferred to Dick’s plate. Old Bob also came in for\na large share of their attention, and it was not long before these\nlittle acts of kindness so worked upon the feelings of the two trappers,\nthat they declared that if the schooner wouldn’t pitch about so with the\nwaves, and they could have a chance to use their rifles now and then,\nthey would as soon be there among the sailors as in the mountains.\n\nOf course the exciting scene of which they had been the unwilling\nwitnesses produced a commotion among the boys, who for a long time could\ntalk about nothing else. If they ever forgot it, one glance at the\nbattered face which the old boatswain’s mate carried about with him\nwould instantly recall it, and set their tongues in motion again. The\nease with which the supple trapper had vanquished his huge antagonist,\nwas the occasion of unbounded astonishment to all of them except Frank\nand Archie. The latter always wound up the conversation by saying:\n\n“Didn’t I tell you that Waters would run against a stump if he attempted\nany foolishness? You have heard the expression ’as quick as lightning,’\nand now you know what it means. Hold on till we get ashore,” he added,\none day, “and I’ll show you some more of it.”\n\n“What are you going to do?” asked Fred.\n\n“I’ll borrow or hire a horse somewhere, and run a race with Dick.”\n\n“Ha!” exclaimed Eugene, “I know from what you have said that the trapper\nmust be very fleet, but he can’t beat a good horse if _I_ ride him.”\n\n“He can run a hundred yards, and turn and run back to the\nstarting-point, and beat the swiftest horse that ever moved,” replied\nArchie, emphatically, “and you may ride the horse.”\n\nThe boys looked toward Frank, who confirmed Archie’s statement by saying\nthat he had seen him win a race of that description, but still they were\nnot satisfied. It was a novel idea to them, this matching a man’s\nlightness of foot against the speed of a horse, and they longed for an\nopportunity to see the swift trapper put to the test.\n\nMeanwhile the work of refitting the vessel went steadily on. Having a\nlarge force at his command, the work was accomplished in much less time\nthan the captain expected it could be done. The question whether their\nproposed visit to Japan and India should be given up was discussed, and\ndecided in the affirmative. Uncle Dick gave the boys their choice of two\ncourses of action: they could carry out their original plan, spend a few\nweeks in Asia, and after they had seen all they wanted to see they would\nstart directly for home by the way of the Cape of Good Hope, stopping\nduring the voyage only when it was necessary to take in fresh supplies\nof food and water; or they would go to Natal, purchase there a trader’s\noutfit, and spend a few months travelling about in the interior of\nAfrica, skirmishing with the strange animals they would find there. In\neither case they must first go to the nearest port, and have the\nschooner completely overhauled and refitted. She had been badly strained\nby the gale, and her captain did not consider her safe. The boys decided\non the latter course simply because they knew Uncle Dick wished it.\n\nThis was the first time during the voyage that anything had been said\nabout going “home,” and the simple sound of the word was enough to set\nthem to thinking. Up to this time they had been going away from their\nnative land; but now every mile which the schooner passed over brought\nthem nearer to the loved ones they had left behind.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VI.\n                         THE CONSUL’S “CLARK.”\n\n\nFinally, to the Club’s great relief, the work was all done. The masts\nhad been stepped, the sails bent on, the last ratline knotted, and Uncle\nDick only waited for a high tide to carry the schooner over the coral\nreef that marked the entrance to the bay. When the proper moment arrived\nthe crew gladly responded to the order of the old boatswain’s mate, “All\nhands stand by to get ship under way!” and to the enlivening strains of\n“The girl I left behind me,” which Eugene played on his flute, walked\nthe little vessel up to her anchor. Then the sails were trimmed to catch\nthe breeze, the star-spangled banner was run up to the peak, and the\nlonely island echoed to the unwonted sound of a national salute. The\nfirst two guns were shotted and were pointed toward the island, as a\nparting token of the estimation in which its inhabitants were held by\nthe schooner’s company, and the other eleven were fired with blank\ncartridges.\n\nThe boys could not help shuddering as they passed over the reef. Its\ncourse could be traced for a mile or more on each side of them. The\nopening through which they sailed was the only clear space they could\nsee in the whole length of it, and that was barely wide enough to admit\nof the passage of their little vessel. The Sea Gull could never have got\nthrough it; and how they had ever passed it in their waterlogged craft,\ndriven by a furious gale, was something they could not explain. The\nwaves foamed and roared around them, and being thrown back by the rocks,\nfollowed in the wake of the schooner as if enraged at being cheated of\ntheir prey. The boys trembled while they looked, and all breathed easier\nwhen the man in the fore-chains who was heaving the lead, called out “No\nbottom!” The reef was passed in safety and they were fairly afoot once\nmore; but their vessel was crippled and leaky, and there was not one\namong the five hundred people who saw her sail so gaily out of the\nharbor of Bellville who would have recognized her now. She had no\ntopmasts, yards, or flying jibboom, and could only spread four sails\nwhere she had once spread nine, and, when the wind was light, ten, not\ncounting the studding-sails. All Uncle Dick asked of her was to take\nthem in safety to Hobart Town, where she could be put in trim for her\nlong voyage across the Indian Ocean.\n\nThe Club were three weeks in reaching their destination, and during that\ntime everything passed off smoothly. The weather was favorable, and that\nwas something on which Uncle Dick congratulated himself. Had the\nschooner encountered another cyclone, or even a gale, we should probably\nhave had something unpleasant to record, for she was in no condition to\nstand another conflict with the elements. No one on board, except the\nClub and the officers, knew where she was bound, for Uncle Dick thought\nit best that this matter should be kept secret. If the suspected men\nwere convicts, as he had every reason to believe they were, they might\nobject to going back to their taskmasters, and that was just where Uncle\nDick was resolved they should go, especially Waters, who had shown that\nhe was not a proper person to be intrusted with his liberty. The latter\nwas still confined in the brig, but he was allowed to come out twice\neach day, and take his exercise on deck under the watchful eye of the\nmaster-at-arms; and he it was who first told the crew where the schooner\nwas bound. He found it out one morning when he was brought out of the\nbrig to take a breath of fresh air. Land was then in plain sight; and\nafter Waters had run his eye along the shore, he started and muttered\nsomething under his breath that sounded like an oath.\n\n“Hit’s Tasmania, mates,” he exclaimed. “And there,” he added, pointing\nwith his manacled hands towards the church spire that could be dimly\nseen in the distance, “is ’Obart Town. We’re back ’ere after hall our\ntrouble.”\n\nThe words reached the ears of his three companions for whom they were\nintended, and their action did not escape the notice of the officer of\nthe deck, who had his eyes on them all the time. Leaving their work at\nonce, they gazed eagerly in the direction of the city, then turned and\nlooked along the shore as if searching for some familiar object, and the\nexpression that settled on their faces was all the proof Mr. Parker\nneeded to confirm his suspicions.\n\n“Master-at-arms,” said he, “take your prisoner below and lock him up.\nYou three men,” he added, pointing to Waters’s companions, “go into the\nforecastle until you are told to come on deck again. If you stay there\npeaceably, well and good. Rodgers, go down and keep an eye on them.\nBarton, take a musket and stand at the head of the ladder, and see that\nthey don’t come up without orders.”\n\nMr. Parker was simply obeying the instructions of his commander, which\nwere to the effect that the suspected men were to be watched night and\nday, and ordered below under arrest the instant the officer of the deck,\nwhoever he was, became satisfied that they really were escaped convicts.\nMr. Parker was satisfied now, and so the ruffians were put where they\nwould have no opportunity to escape.\n\nThe schooner rapidly approached the town, and at one o’clock dropped\nanchor at the stern of a large English steamer, which she followed into\nthe harbor. The gig was called away at once, and Uncle Dick got in and\nwas pulled ashore. An hour elapsed, and at the end of that time a large\nyawl, which was slowly propelled by two men, was seen approaching the\nschooner. It came alongside, and a fashionably dressed, kid-gloved young\ngentleman about Frank’s age, seized the man-ropes that were handed to\nhim and was assisted to the deck.\n\n“Aw! thanks,” said he, as he brushed a speck of dust from his\ncoat-sleeve. “Where’s the captain?”\n\n“The captain is ashore, sir,” answered Mr. Baldwin. “I command in his\nabsence.”\n\n“Aw! there’s my card,” continued the visitor, producing the article in\nquestion and handing it to the first mate.\n\n“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Fowler,” replied the officer, glancing at\nthe name on the card. “Can I be of any service to you?”\n\n“I ham consul’s clark, and I’ve come ’ere to see about those seamen you\nrescued from the wreck of the Hinglish ship Sea Gull. Muster them on\ndeck, and I’ll take them hoff at once.”\n\n“Produce a written order from Captain Gaylord to that effect, and I\nshall be glad to do so,” said Mr. Baldwin, who it was plain did not like\nthe commanding tone assumed by the young Englishman. “I suppose you have\none?”\n\n“Naw, I ’ave not. I ’ave an horder from ’er Majesty’s consul, whose\nclark I ham.”\n\n“I am not obliged to obey her Majesty’s consul,” replied Mr. Baldwin. “I\nam an American, and responsible to no one but my commander. Our own\nconsul could not take these men away in Captain Gaylord’s absence,\nwithout first showing me a written order from him.”\n\n“Then you refuse to give them hup?”\n\n“Without an order? Yes, sir.”\n\nThe young Englishman fairly gasped while he listened to these words,\nwhich, had they been spoken by one of his own countrymen, he would no\ndoubt have regarded as highly treasonable. When he found his tongue\nagain he said he would see ’ow this thing stood, and whether or not ’er\nMajesty’s hofficers could be thus set at defiance; and as he spoke he\nthrew one leg over the side as if he were about to climb down into his\nboat. Then he suddenly paused and gazed earnestly towards the nearest\nwharf—or we ought rather to say “quay,” for that is what they are called\nin that part of the world. He saw a boat approaching, and he made that\nan excuse to come back; but the boys, who had been interested and amused\nlisteners to the conversation, shrewdly suspected that the real reason\nwhy he came back was because he knew that Mr. Baldwin was in the right.\nLike many persons who are clothed with a little brief authority, he felt\nhimself to be very important, and wanted to make everybody with whom he\ncame in contact bow to him.\n\n“Aw!” said he, addressing himself to Frank, who had stepped to the side\nto hand him one of the man-ropes, “there’s the police commissioner’s\nboat coming, and I think I’ll stop and ’ave a look at those four\nconvicts I ’ear you’ve got on board. Hif they’re the ones I think they\nhare hit’s a wonder they didn’t take your vessel from you. But it cawn’t\nbe they—it cawn’t be.”\n\n“I don’t know whom you have in your mind, of course,” replied Frank, who\nwas highly amused by the patronizing manner in which the young\nEnglishman addressed him. “One of them showed a disposition to smash\nthings, but he is now in irons, while the others are in the forecastle\nunder guard. The quarrelsome one gave the name of Waters.”\n\n“Waters? Aw! it is he. It is weally wonderful how you managed to secure\nhim, for he is a wetired membaw of the Hinglish prize wing. Hit must\n’ave taken ’alf your crew to do it.”\n\n“On the contrary,” said Frank, “he was very quickly and easily\nvanquished by that man you see standing there.”\n\n“Aw! you surprise me. I must weally ’ave a look at the gentleman,” said\nthe consul’s clerk. “He must be simply prodigious. Hisn’t he an Hinglish\ngentleman?”\n\n“No, sir,” said Frank, hardly able to control himself. “He’s an\nAmerican, every inch of him, and probably the first representative of\nhis class that you ever saw.”\n\nThe consul’s clerk fumbled in his pocket for a few minutes, and\npresently drew out a gold eyeglass. He had some trouble in fixing it\nunder his right eyebrow, and when he got it placed to his satisfaction\nhe looked in the direction Frank pointed, and met the steady gaze of\nDick Lewis’s honest gray eyes. The stalwart backwoodsman, in company\nwith his friend, Bob Kelly, was leaning against the rail, and, although\nthe two men probably did not dream of such a thing, they presented a\npicture that an artist would have been glad to reproduce on canvas.\n\n“Aw!” exclaimed the young Englishman; “what very extraordinary-looking\npersons. If I might be allowed the expression, I should say that they\nhad just come hout of the woods.”\n\n“You have hit the nail squarely on the head,” said Frank. “They are\nprofessional trappers and Indian fighters.”\n\nThe clerk started, and let his eyeglass fall in his excitement. He was\nso surprised that he forgot to put in his usual drawl, and substitute w\nfor r when he spoke again.\n\n“Trappers!” he exclaimed, “Indian fighters! I have often read of such\nthings, and no doubt you will think me simple when I say that I never\nbelieved in their existence.”\n\n“Why don’t you always talk as naturally as that?” thought Frank.\n\n“You’re sure you’re not chaffing me now?” continued the clerk.\n\n“Quite sure. I don’t do such things. I have known these men a long time,\nand have spent months on the prairie and in the mountains in their\ncompany. I know of two Indian fights in which they have been engaged\nsince I became acquainted with them.”\n\n“I wonder!” exclaimed the clerk, whose astonishment and interest were so\ngreat that he could not remove his eyes from the two trappers. “Pray\ntell me about those fights.”\n\nFrank thought of the historian, who, being invited to a dinner party,\nwas requested by a lady to relate the history of the world during the\nfive minutes that the host would probably be occupied in carving the\nturkey, and laughed to himself at the idea of taking less than half an\nhour to describe all the thrilling incidents that had happened during\nthe battle at Fort Stockton, as recounted to him by his friend, Adam\nBrent, who was present on that memorable occasion. “It is rather a long\nstory,” said he.\n\n“Well, then, perhaps at some future time you will oblige me,” replied\nthe clerk. “Were you ever in a battle?”\n\n“Yes, several of them.”\n\n“With the Indians?”\n\n“No. They once attacked a wagon-train to which I belonged, and tried to\nrun off our cattle and horses, but we didn’t call that a battle.”\n\n“Were you ever a prisoner among them?”\n\nFrank replied in the affirmative.\n\n“Were you ever tied to the stake?”\n\n“No, but I’ve seen the man who mastered Waters in that situation, and I\nsaw a tomahawk and a knife thrown within an inch of his head.”\n\nThe young Englishman’s surprise increased every moment, and Frank\nthought by the way he looked at him that he was not quite prepared to\nbelieve all he heard. But Frank did not care for that. He was not trying\nto make himself important; he was only answering the clerk’s questions.\n\n“Are you an officer of this vessel?” asked the latter, glancing at\nFrank’s suit of navy blue.\n\n“I act as sailing master,” was the modest reply.\n\n“What trade are you in?”\n\n“No trade at all. This is a private yacht, and we have got thus far on\nour voyage around the world. Two of those young gentlemen you see\nthere,” he added, directing the clerk’s attention toward the Club, who\nhad withdrawn to the quarter-deck, “are nephews of the owner and\ncaptain.”\n\n“I am delighted to hear it,” exclaimed the clerk, and it was evident\nthat the schooner and her company arose in his estimation at once. At\nany rate, he dropped his patronizing air, and began to act and talk as\nif he considered Frank his equal. He no doubt thought that those who\nwere able to travel around the world in their own vessel were deserving\nof respect, even though they were Americans. “I wish I had time to make\ntheir acquaintance,” he continued, “but here comes the commissioner’s\nboat, and I see your captain is just putting out from the quay. I hope\nto meet you again.”\n\nFrank simply bowed. He could not say that he hoped so too, for he did\nnot. He could see nothing to admire in a young man who seemed to think\nthat only those who were wealthy were deserving of respect. Frank would\nhave been still more disinclined to meet him again had he known the\ncircumstances under which one of their meetings was to take place. This\nwas by no means the end of his acquaintance with Mr. Fowler. It was only\nthe beginning of it.\n\nFrank now stepped to the side in readiness to hand the man-ropes to the\noccupants of the commissioner’s boat, which just then came up. There\nwere four of them, and he was rather surprised at their appearance. Each\nwore a short blue blouse, confined at the waist by a black belt, a very\njuvenile-looking cap, and a broad, white shirt collar, which was turned\ndown over their coats, making them look like so many overgrown boys. But\nthe batons they carried in their hands, and the shields they wore on\ntheir breasts, proclaimed them to be policemen. And very careful members\nof the community they were, too; for without them the law-abiding\ninhabitants of the city would have had anything but a pleasant time of\nit, surrounded as they were by thousands of the worst characters that\nGreat Britain could produce. They climbed to the deck one after the\nother, and the foremost informed Mr. Baldwin, who came forward to meet\nthem, that they had been sent to look at the suspected men, and to take\ncharge of them if they proved to be convicts. The mate accordingly gave\nthe necessary orders to the master-at-arms, and presently the four\nprisoners came up under guard.\n\n“Aw!” exclaimed the clerk, who had by this time recovered from the\nsurprise into which he had been thrown by his conversation with Frank,\n“that one in irons is Waters, sure enough.”\n\n“And he seems to know you, too,” said Frank, as the prisoner, after\nrunning his eye over the vessel, nodded to the clerk, who smiled and\nbowed in return.\n\n“Aw! yes; that is, I have often seen him working in the chain-gang\nashore; but I want you to understand that I have nothing in common with\nhim, nothing whatever.”\n\n“I didn’t suppose you had,” answered Frank, astonished at the clerk’s\nearnest tone and manner. “What will your police do with him?”\n\n“They’ll put him back in the gang again, but Lawd! what’s the use! He’ll\nsoon escape; he always does. He’s been off the island no less than four\ntimes. Once he was half way to Hingland before it was found hout who he\nwas.”\n\n“Why don’t the police watch him closer?”\n\nThe clerk shrugged his shoulders as much as to say that he didn’t know,\nor didn’t care to trouble himself about the matter, and turned to meet\nthe captain, who just then sprang on board. Arrangements were quickly\nmade for removing the strangers, as everybody called the men who had\nbeen rescued from the wreck of the Sea Gull. The sailors were given into\ncharge of the clerk, who ordered them into his boat and pushed off,\nafter telling Frank that he would hear from him again very soon, and the\nconvicts were turned over to the officers, who handcuffed them all, and\ntook them ashore. The boys were glad to see them go, and Uncle Dick\nprivately informed them that he considered himself fortunate in getting\nrid of Waters and his companions so easily. They were a desperate lot,\nif there was any faith to be put in the stories of their exploits which\nhe had heard while he was ashore.\n\n“That clerk told me that Waters belongs in the chain-gang,” said Frank.\n“How did he manage to escape?”\n\n“Ask the police, and if you give them enough, perhaps they will tell\nyou,” returned Uncle Dick.\n\n“The police!” repeated Frank.\n\n“Yes. A five-pound note will accomplish wonders sometimes. I know that\nless than that once bought off the policeman—or ‘man-hunter’ as we used\nto call him—who arrested me.”\n\n“Why, Uncle Dick!” exclaimed Walter.\n\nThe old sailor laughed long and loudly. “It is a fact,” said he. “I was\nat work one morning at the mouth of my shaft in the Bendigo mines, and\nthis man-hunter stepped up and asked me if I had a license. I told him I\nhad, but it was in the pocket of my vest, and that was at the bottom of\nthe mine. Do you suppose he would let me go down after it? No, sir. He\narrested me at once, and was marching me off, when I offered him an\nounce of gold, worth about seventeen dollars and a half, if he would go\nback and let me show him my license. He took the gold, but didn’t go\nback with me, and neither did he trouble me afterward. If he had taken\nme before the commissioner I should have been lucky if I had got off\nwith a fine of five pounds. Stand by, Mr. Baldwin. Here comes the tug,\nand we are going into the docks now. After that, boys, we’ll take a run\nout into the country. I have an acquaintance a few miles away, who is\ngetting rich, raising sheep. The last time I saw him he was glad to\nbreak stones on the road in Melbourne for a pound a day. That would be\nconsidered a good deal of money now, but it didn’t go far during the\ntime of the gold excitement. Everything was so dear that the man who\nearned less than that stood a good chance of starving.”\n\nWe pass over the events of the next few days, as they have nothing to do\nwith our story. The schooner having been hauled into the docks, the Club\nset out in company with the trappers to explore the town, and during the\nday chanced to fall in with the consul’s clerk, who, with two other\nyoung Englishmen of the same stamp as himself, was on his way to visit\nthe schooner. He presented his card, and introduced Frank to his\ncompanions, and he and they were in turn introduced to the Club and to\nthe trappers. This being arranged to the satisfaction of both parties,\nthey adjourned to a restaurant—an Englishman always wants something to\neat—and Frank thought he could have enjoyed the splendid dinner that was\nserved up, had it not been for the presence of the liquors that were\nintroduced. The Englishmen drank freely, and pressed their guests to\nfollow their example; but the Club were proof against temptation, and\nastonished their hosts by telling them that they did not know wine from\nbrandy, and that they had never smoked a cigar. They remained in their\nroom at the restaurant until it began to grow dark, for the Englishmen\nhad many questions to ask, and besides they were determined to force a\nstory out of Dick Lewis; but the trapper was shy in the presence of\nstrangers, and could not be induced to open his mouth. Being\ndisappointed in this, the clerk and his companions, with a laudable\ndesire to increase their store of knowledge, set themselves at work to\nlearn everything that was to be learned regarding the United States and\ntheir inhabitants; but whether or not they gained any really useful\ninformation is a question. The following conversation, which took place\nthat night in the cabin of the Stranger, would seem to indicate that\nthey did not. Walter was relating to Uncle Dick the various amusing\nincidents that had happened at the restaurant, occasioned by the\nEnglishmen’s astounding ignorance of everything that related to America\nand its people, when Frank suddenly inquired:\n\n“Archie, what in the world possessed you to tell that clerk that the\nRocky Mountains were a hundred miles from New York, and that grizzly\nbears and panthers had been known to come into Broadway, and carry off\nmen from behind the counters of their stores?”\n\n“Why, did he believe it?” asked Archie, in reply. “Could he fool me that\nway about his own country? Just before that Eugene had been telling him\nthat wild Indians had often been seen in the streets of New York, and I\nhad to back him up. Wild Indians, and bears, and panthers go together,\ndon’t they? I told him that he could find bears in Wall Street any day,\nand so he can; and if they haven’t been known to take men, not only from\nbehind the counters of their stores, but right out of house and home,\nthen I have read the history of speculations in Wall Street to little\npurpose.”\n\nUncle Dick laughed until the cabin rang again.\n\n“But the idea of the Rocky Mountains being only a hundred miles from New\nYork,” said Frank.\n\n“I didn’t tell him so,” answered Archie, quickly. “I said that they were\nat least that distance away; and so they are. I had to make my\nstatements correspond with Eugene’s, didn’t I? Just before that he had\nbeen telling Fowler that the whole of America was about as large as\nIreland—”\n\n“Hold on,” interrupted Eugene. “Didn’t I tell him that it was fully as\nlarge as Ireland?”\n\n“That’s a fact,” said Archie, accepting the correction; “so you did.\nWell, now, the United States and the British possessions in America\ncover about six million square miles, and of these the Rocky Mountains\ncover nine hundred and eighty thousand, or nearly one-sixth of the\nsurface of the whole country. When I came to build my mountains, I had\nto build them in proportion to the size of the country they were\nsupposed to stand in, didn’t I?”\n\nUncle Dick roared again.\n\n“When Fowler began to question me on distances I had to be careful what\nI said,” continued Archie. “When he asked me how big the Rocky Mountains\nwere, I told him that they covered at least five thousand square miles,\nand you ought to have seen him open his eyes. He said he had no idea\nthat there was room enough in America for any such mountains. Now, since\nIreland contains thirty-three thousand square miles, I think my\nproportion was a pretty good one. If you can come any closer to it in\nround numbers, I’d like to see you do it.”\n\nFrank could not combat such arguments as these, so he went to his room\nand tumbled into bed.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VII.\n                         MORE ABOUT THE CLERK.\n\n\nThe week following the one on which the Stranger was hauled into the\ndry-docks, found the Club settled on a sheep-farm a few miles in the\ninterior, the guests of Uncle Dick’s friend and fellow-miner, Mr.\nWilbur. If we should say that they enjoyed their liberty, their target\nshots, and horseback rides, we should be putting it very mildly. The\nchange from their cramped quarters on board the schooner to the freedom\nof the country was a most agreeable one, and they made the most of it.\nThey were almost constantly on the move, and there was not a station (in\nCalifornia it would have been called a ranche) for miles around that\nthey did not visit, or a piece of woods that they did not explore.\n\nIt was while they remained here that the novel trial of speed which\nArchie had proposed came off. It was no novelty to Uncle Dick and Mr.\nWilbur, who declared that the trapper was certain to prove the winner,\nbut it was a new thing to the old members of the Club, who could not\nbring themselves to believe that a man could beat a horse in a fair\nrace, until they had seen it with their own eyes. The arrangements were\nmade one rainy day, when there was nothing else the Club could do except\nto sit in the house, and sing songs, and tell stories, and the next\nmorning was set apart for the trial.\n\nEugene being allowed his choice of all the horses on the station,\nselected Mr. Wilbur’s own favorite riding nag, which had the reputation\nof being able to run a quarter of a mile in less time than any other\nhorse on the island. After the arrangements had all been made, Archie\nnoticed, with some uneasiness, that Mr. Wilbur and Eugene held frequent\nand earnest consultations, which they brought to a close whenever he\ncame within earshot of them; and when the storm cleared away, just\nbefore night, he saw the horse, against which the trapper was to run,\nbrought out and put through his paces. Mr. Wilbur had explained to\nEugene that the place where the horse would lose the race would be at\nthe turning-point. He would, beyond a doubt, run the hundred yards\nbefore the trapper could; but in stopping and turning he would lose\nground, and Dick would be half way home before he could get under way\nagain. Eugene thought he could remedy that by giving his horse a little\npractice beforehand, and the result of his experiment encouraged him\ngreatly. The intelligent animal seemed to enter into the spirit of the\nmatter with as much eagerness as his rider did, and after he had passed\nover the course a few times, he would stop on reaching the\nturning-point, wheel like a flash, and set out on the homestretch at the\ntop of his speed; and he would do it, too, without a word from Eugene.\n\nArchie, from his post on the veranda, witnessed the whole proceeding,\nand when it was concluded and the horse was led back to the stable, he\nhurried off to find the trapper. To his surprise Dick did not seem to be\nat all uneasy over what he had to tell him. “Never mind, leetle ’un,”\nsaid the trapper. “Sposen I should tell you that I had beat a hoss that\nhad been practiced that way for a hul week, what would you say?”\n\n“I should say that you had done it,” replied Archie.\n\n“Wal, I have, and more’n onct, too.”\n\nThe next morning, at five o’clock, the Club, and Mr. Wilbur and all his\nherdsmen, were on the ground, and the arrangements for the race had all\nbeen completed. If Eugene had been about to ride for his life, he could\nnot have made greater preparations. He had discarded his hat and boots,\ntied a handkerchief around his head to keep the hair out of his eyes,\nand rode in his shirt-sleeves, and without a saddle. Dick simply pulled\noff his hunting shirt, and tightened his belt.\n\n“I want a flying start,” said Eugene.\n\n“Well, I am sorry to say so, but you can’t have it,” answered Archie,\nwho acted as master of ceremonies.\n\n“Why, a man can get under way twice while a horse is getting started\nonce,” said Eugene.\n\n“That isn’t my fault, or the man’s either,” returned Archie. “It’s the\nhorse’s.”\n\n“Give him the flyin’ start,” said Dick Lewis.\n\nUncle Dick and Mr. Wilbur were surprised to hear this, and the latter\ntold his companion in a whisper that the trapper must have the greatest\nconfidence in his speed, or he would not be willing to give the horse so\nmuch of a chance.\n\nEugene rode back twenty yards from the starting-point, the trapper took\nhis stand by his side, and when both were ready they moved off together,\nArchie giving the signal to “go” as they passed the starting-point.\nBefore the word had fairly left his lips the trapper was flying down the\ncourse like an arrow from a bow. He succeeded in getting a fine start,\nbut, after all, it was not so great as everybody thought it would be.\nEugene was on the alert, and so was his horse. The animal made one or\ntwo slow bounds after he passed the starting-point, and then he settled\ndown to his work, and went at the top of his speed, Eugene lying close\nalong his neck, and digging his heels into his side at every jump. The\nhorse came up with and passed the trapper just before the latter reached\nthe end of the course, and remembering his training of the day before,\nmade an effort to stop and wheel quickly; but so great was his speed\nthat he went some distance farther on, and when he did face about,\nEugene saw that it was too late to win the race. The fleet-footed\ntrapper was half-way home; and although the horse quickly responded to\nhis rider’s encouraging yells, Dick won the race very easily. The Club\nwere satisfied now. One thing was certain, and that was, they had never\ndreamed that a human being was capable of such speed as the trapper had\nexhibited that morning.\n\n“If he were not a good runner he wouldn’t be here now,” said Archie, in\nreply to their exclamations of wonder. “His lightness of foot has saved\nhis scalp, I suppose, a score of times. He says he never was beaten.”\n\nThe boys did not doubt it at all. They were now prepared to accept\nwithout question anything that Frank and Archie might tell them\nconcerning the trapper.\n\nIn a very few days the Club had seen everything of interest there was to\nbe seen about the station, and Uncle Dick’s proposition to take a run\nover to Australia was hailed with delight. They went by steamer from\nHobart Town to Melbourne, and during the next three weeks had ample\nopportunity to gain some idea of what the settlers meant when they\ntalked of life in the bush. They first explored every nook and corner of\nthe city of Melbourne, spent a few days in the mines where Uncle Dick\nhad worked during the gold excitement, and finally camped on another\nsheep station, where they made their headquarters as long as they\nremained in Australia. Archie did not succeed in shooting a kangaroo,\nbut his horse was stolen from him by the bushrangers, and the Club spent\na week in trying to recover it. The animal was never seen again,\nhowever, and it took all Archie’s pocket-money, and a good share of\nFrank’s, to make the loss good when they reached Melbourne; for that was\nthe place where the horses had been hired.\n\nAt length a letter from Uncle Dick’s agent in Hobart Town brought the\ninformation that the repairs on the schooner were rapidly approaching\ncompletion, and that she would be ready to sail in a few days. As he had\npromised to spend one more week with his friend, Mr. Wilbur, before he\nstarted for Natal, the captain ordered an immediate return to Tasmania,\nand in due time the Club found themselves once more under the\nsheep-herder’s hospitable roof. We must not forget to say, however, that\nthey stopped two days in Hobart Town, for it was while they were there\nthat an incident happened which had something to do with what afterward\nbefell two of the members of the Club.\n\nOn the morning after their arrival, Uncle Dick and some of the boys went\ndown to the docks to see how the schooner was getting on, and the rest\nsauntered off somewhere, leaving Frank in the reading-room of the hotel,\ndeeply interested in a newspaper. Shortly after the others had gone, he\nwas interrupted in his reading by a slap on the shoulder, and upon\nlooking up he saw the consul’s clerk standing beside him.\n\n“Aw! I’m overjoyed to see you again,” exclaimed Fowler, extending the\nforefinger of his right hand. (The reader will understand that we shall\nhereafter write down this young gentleman’s words as he ought to have\nspoken them, not as he did speak them.) “I have been out to Wilbur’s\ntwice—he is a friend of mine, you know—and I was sorry not to meet you\nthere. I saw you when you landed last night, but was so busy that I\ncould not get a chance to speak to you. Had a good time in Australia?”\n\n“Yes, I enjoyed myself,” replied Frank. “Everything was new and\nstrange.”\n\n“I have been aboard your vessel nearly every day since you have been\ngone, and the foreman tells me that the repairs on her are nearly\ncompleted,” added Fowler. “When do you sail?”\n\n“Not under ten days, and it may possibly be two weeks,” answered Frank.\n\n“What are your arrangements, anyhow? I ask because I want to have a\nchance to visit with you a little before you go.”\n\nFrank did not care to visit with Mr. Fowler, but he could not well\nrefuse to answer his question. “The arrangements, as far as they are\nmade, are these,” he replied. “As soon as the schooner is ready for sea\nshe is to leave the harbor, go around into the river, and come to anchor\nnear Mr. Wilbur’s house.”\n\n“Good!” exclaimed the clerk, settling back in his chair, and slapping\nhis knees. “That will just suit us.”\n\nFrank, somewhat surprised at his enthusiasm, looked at him a moment, and\ninquired: “Whom do you mean by ‘us?’”\n\n“Oh, a party of our fellows, who may be up there to see you before you\nleave. Go on. What next?”\n\n“The captain intends to take Mr. Wilbur and his family out for a short\nexcursion,” replied Frank. “We shall be gone three or four days; and if\nthe weather is fair, we may not be back for a week. When we return we\nshall be ready to start for Natal.”\n\n“All right,” exclaimed the clerk. “Things couldn’t be arranged to suit\nme better. I suppose you will have all your stores and everything else\naboard before you leave the harbor?”\n\n“I suppose so.”\n\n“By the way, who is paymaster of your craft?”\n\n“Walter Gaylord keeps the books and the key of the safe,” answered\nFrank.\n\n“And you act as sailing master, I think you told me?”\n\nFrank replied that he did.\n\n“You must understand seamanship and navigation, then,” continued Fowler.\n\n“I am no seaman, but I know something about navigation.”\n\n“You have commanded a vessel, haven’t you?”\n\n“Yes, two of them.”\n\n“Were they large ones?”\n\n“One of them was a whaler, and the other was a gunboat.”\n\n“So I was told. Could you take a vessel from here to San Francisco?”\n\n“I think I could,” said Frank, with a smile. “I brought the Stranger\nfrom Bellville around the Horn to ’Frisco.”\n\nFowler nodded his head, and sat looking at the floor for some minutes in\nsilence. “Speaking of your paymaster,” said he, suddenly—“the reason I\nasked about him, was because I heard some of your crew wishing that he\nwould make haste and come back. They have spent all their money, and\nwant a new supply. I suppose Walter is able to pay them all their dues?”\n\n“Oh, yes,” said Frank.\n\n“I suppose, too, that the contents of that little safe would make you\nand me rich.”\n\n“I don’t know, I am sure. The captain keeps money enough with him to pay\nall expenses, but whether or not he has any more on hand, I don’t know.\nI have never inquired into the matter.”\n\n“I was told that the safe was full of gold,” said Fowler. “I should\nthink that Walter would be afraid to carry the key about with him.”\n\n“I don’t know that he does,” returned Frank. “But even if he did, why\nshould he be afraid?”\n\n“Oh, because there are plenty of men here who would knock him over for\none-tenth of the sum he is known to control. Money is everything in this\nworld, isn’t it?”\n\n“Some people seem to think so,” replied Frank.\n\n“Well, good-by,” said the clerk, jumping up. “I may not be able to see\nyou again before you go out to Wilbur’s, but I shall surely see you\nwhile you are there.”\n\nFowler went away, and Frank was glad to see him go. He did not resume\nhis reading immediately, but sat for a long time looking down at the\nfloor in a brown study. He recalled every word that had passed between\nhimself and the consul’s clerk, and somehow he could not rid himself of\nthe impression that the latter had some reasons for questioning him so\nclosely, other than those he had given. Frank remembered what Barton had\ntold him about the inquiries Waters had made in regard to the contents\nof Uncle Dick’s strong box, and he could not help connecting that\ncircumstance with the interview he had just had with the consul’s clerk.\nBut when he had done so he laughed at himself.\n\n“What nonsense,” he said mentally. “My short acquaintance with Waters\nand his friends has made me suspicious. Since his attempt to take\npossession of our vessel, I think that every one who makes inquiries\nabout her has some designs upon her. I’ll try to be a little more\nreasonable.”\n\nWith this, Frank resumed his reading, and dismissed all thoughts of the\nconsul’s clerk and the conversation he had had with him.\n\nOn the morning of the next day but one Mr. Wilbur and his big wagon\narrived and took Uncle Dick, the Club, and the trappers out to his\nstation. Two days after that the schooner came up the river, and dropped\nanchor at a short distance from the house. The boys were delighted to\nsee her looking like her old self once more, and as soon as the first\nboat came off, they went on board in a body to take a good look at her.\nUncle Dick’s instructions to the workmen had been faithfully obeyed, and\nthe Club could hardly believe that she was the same vessel that had been\ndriven, waterlogged and helpless, upon the shores of that inhospitable\nisland away off in the Pacific. She looked just as she did on the day\nshe came from the hands of the men who built her.\n\nShortly after she came to anchor there liberty was granted to the blue\njackets, and then there was fun indeed around Mr. Wilbur’s house. A\nsailor always wants to ride when he comes ashore, and there were horses\nenough on the station to mount every one of them. Among the number were\nsome wild young steeds which had never felt the weight of a saddle, and\nthese were the ones that the blue jackets wanted to ride. Mr. Wilbur\ncheerfully gave his consent, and the ludicrous attempts at\nhorse-breaking that followed were beyond our power to describe. The\nowner of the horses and his guests were kept in roars of laughter for\nhours at a time.\n\nOn the second day, to Frank’s great disgust, the consul’s clerk made his\nappearance. He was cordially greeted by Mr. Wilbur, who, after shaking\nhim by the hand, turned to present him to the members of the Club.\n“There’s no need to do that,” said Fowler. “I know them all, and this\ngentleman,” he added, extending his forefinger to Frank, “I think I can\nclaim as an old acquaintance.”\n\n“Then it is all right, and I am glad you have come,” said Mr. Wilbur. “I\nwill leave them in your charge to-day, while the captain and I ride into\nthe country to see an old friend of ours who used to be in the mines\nwith us. You are at home here, Gus, and you will understand that my\nhouse and everything in it, are at your service and theirs. If those\nsailors come on shore and ask for horses, give them as many as they\nwant. It will probably be dark long before the captain and I return.”\n\nThe Club were not at all pleased with this arrangement, but they could\nnot oppose it. They did not like Fowler, and wanted to see as little of\nhim as possible. There was only one thing they could do, and that was to\nget out of sight and hearing of him. This they did as soon as Uncle Dick\nand Mr. Wilbur rode away, all except Frank, to whom the consul’s clerk\nstuck like a leech. Frank could not shake him off without being rude,\nand becoming utterly weary of his company at last, he excused himself,\nwent on board the schooner, and lay down in his bunk. He did not intend\nto go to sleep, but the book he happened to pick up as he passed through\nthe cabin proved to be rather dry reading, and before he knew it, he was\nin the land of dreams.\n\nWhen he awoke it was with a start, and a presentiment that there was\nsomething wrong. As soon as his eyes were open, he saw by the flood of\nlight that streamed in through the open transom over his door, that the\nlamps in the cabin were burning. Hardly able to believe that he had\nslept so long, Frank jumped from his bunk, and looked out at the bull’s\neye. He could see nothing. Even the trees on the bank were concealed by\nthe darkness. Just then the vessel gave a lurch, and laid over in the\nwater as if she were heeling to the pressure of her canvas.\n\n“What does that mean?” thought Frank. “She can’t be under way! She\ncertainly is,” he added, a moment later, as the schooner began to rise\nand fall slowly and regularly as if she were passing over the waves.\n“Where are we going, I wonder?”\n\nFrank turned and laid his hand upon the knob, but the door refused to\nopen for him. He stooped down and looked at the lock, and saw that the\nbolt was thrown into the catch. He was fastened in. “Archie,” he thought\n(if any trick was played upon him he always laid the blame upon his\ncousin’s shoulders), “if I had you here for a minute, I believe I should\nbe tempted to shake you.”\n\nAs Archie was not there, Frank shook the door instead, and listened to\nhear the footsteps of some one coming to release him; but there was no\nstir in the cabin to indicate that there was anybody there. Beyond a\ndoubt the boys were sitting around the table almost bursting with\nlaughter. Hardly able to refrain from laughing himself, Frank placed one\nfoot on his bunk, laid hold of the lower part of the transom with his\nhands, and drew himself up until he could look over into the cabin. Yes,\nthere was Archie, sitting in Uncle Dick’s easy chair, with his hands in\nhis pockets, and looking up at his cousin in the most unconcerned manner\npossible. Frank was about to ask what he meant by locking him in after\nthat fashion, when his eye chanced to light on another occupant of the\ncabin—a man who was seated on the other side of the table, opposite\nArchie. He was a low-browed, villainous-looking fellow, and in his high\ntop-boots, red shirt, and slouch hat, reminded Frank of the descriptions\nhe had read of robbers, smugglers, and such worthy characters. He sat\nwith his elbow resting on the table, one hand supporting his chin, and\nthe other grasping a huge revolver, which lay on the table in front of\nhim.\n\n“How are you?” said Archie, hooking his thumbs in the armholes of his\nvest, and nodding to his cousin.\n\n“What does this mean?” demanded Frank. “Who locked me in here, and why\nis the schooner underway? Where’s Uncle Dick?”\n\nArchie took one thumb out of the armhole of his vest long enough to wave\nhis hand toward the man on the opposite side of the table, and then put\nit back again.\n\n“You will know all about it in good time,” said the man, cheerfully;\n“and until we want you, you had better stay in there and behave\nyourself.”\n\n“You have taken the schooner, have you?”\n\n“That’s the way it looks to us out here. How does it look to you in\nthere?”\n\nWhile Frank was wondering how he should answer this question, the door\nopened, and Waters, the convict, and Fowler, the consul’s clerk, came\ninto the cabin.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER VIII.\n                       ON THE QUARTER-DECK AGAIN.\n\n\nUp to this time Frank had been all in the dark, and utterly at a loss to\nfind any explanation for the situation of affairs; but at the sight of\nthese two worthies a sudden light broke in upon him.\n\n“Everything is clear to me now,” thought he. “I know why Fowler had so\nmany questions to ask concerning the contents of Uncle Dick’s strong\nbox, and why he was so particular to inquire into my abilities as a\nnavigator. He is the one we have to thank for this trouble. He is hale\nfellow well met with these convicts, has assisted them to escape, and\nexpects to get a large share of the money in the safe. Our voyage around\nthe world ends right here, and I am in a lovely scrape besides. These\nfellows expect me to take them to San Francisco. After I get there what\nshall I do with the schooner? What will become of Uncle Dick and the\nrest in the meantime?”\n\nWhile Frank was turning these knotty questions over in his mind, Fowler\nand his companion came into the cabin, and closed the door behind them.\n“Well, Waters, you are off for America once more,” said the consul’s\nclerk, “and this time I think you are all right. I can’t see what\ndrawbacks you are going to have. There was no war vessel in the harbor\nwhen we left.”\n\n“But there was one at Melbourne,” replied Waters, “and it’ll not take\nlong for the commissioners to set her on our track. We must depend on\nour captain to keep us clear of her. I’m sorry you are here, Archie.”\n\n“So am I,” said the latter. “Your man must be a regular blockhead to\ntake me for Walter Gaylord. He looks about as much like me as I look\nlike you.”\n\n“Oh, that’s the way you came here, is it?” said Frank to himself. “These\nfellows wanted to catch Walter because he carries the key of the safe,\nbut made a blunder and captured you in his place. This makes twice that\nWalter has escaped trouble in that way.”\n\n“Mistakes will happen,” said Waters. “I told Bob here to collar a fellow\ndressed in black, and wearing a Panama hat; and as you answered that\ndescription exactly, he took you in. No matter; we can get along without\nthe key. Some of these days, when we feel in the humor, we’ll set Bob at\nwork on the safe with a hammer and cold chisel. He knows how to do such\nthings, and that’s why he’s here in Tasmania; eh, Bob?”\n\nThe man with the revolver grinned his appreciation of the compliment,\nand Archie said:\n\n“How much do you expect to find when you get into the safe?”\n\n“Oh, enough to make us all rich men in America.”\n\n“And how much will you get, Fowler, for your share in this business?”\n\n“Nothing at all,” said Waters, before the consul’s clerk had time to\nspeak. “He isn’t here because he wants to be. We made him come.”\n\n“What use will he be to you?”\n\n“Oh, we can use him easy enough. Seeing that the paymaster ain’t here,\nhe’ll have to act in his place, and get the bills of credit cashed; that\nis, if we find any.”\n\n“That’s too attenuated; it’s altogether too thin,” declared Archie. “He\nis the ringleader in this business, and I know it. In regard to that\nstrong box, you’re going to be disappointed when you see what’s in it.\nYou’ll be as badly disappointed as the two fellows were whom I met in\nthe Rocky Mountains a few months ago. They captured an emigrant family,\nand robbed their wagons, expecting to find a million dollars in them;\nbut when they came to break open the box, which they supposed contained\nthe treasure, they found in it nothing but a little brass model of a\nmachine with which the emigrant intended to run his quartz mill. The\nmillion dollars were yet to be made. There’s money in the safe, no\ndoubt; but not enough to pay you for the risk you are running, or to\nmake you rich in America or anywhere else. The most of it is in bills of\ncredit, and they will be of about as much use to you as so much paper.\nNo one but Walter can get them cashed.”\n\nIt made Frank very uneasy to hear his cousin talk to the ruffian in this\nway, for he fully expected that Waters would become angry, and do him\nsome injury; but the giant took it all in good part, and laughed\nheartily at the “little man’s” impudence. Fowler scowled and looked as\nblack as a thundercloud, but Archie did not seem to notice it.\n\n“I wonder if our captain has woke up yet?” said Waters, glancing toward\nthe door of Frank’s stateroom.\n\n“It looks that way in here; how does it look to you out there?” said\nFrank, repeating the words which the man with the revolver had used in\nreply to one of his questions. “What’s the use of keeping me in here?\nHadn’t you better open the door, and let me out?”\n\n“Yes, Bob’ll let you out,” said Waters.\n\nThe man at the table put his revolver into one pocket, drew a key from\nanother, and unlocked the door. Frank stepped out into the cabin, and\nwas greeted with—\n\n“Well, captain, you didn’t think to see us again so soon, did you?”\n\n“No, I didn’t. I was in hopes I had seen the last of you,” was the\nhonest reply.\n\n“Oh, I am not such a bad fellow as you may think,” said Waters, with a\nlaugh. “I’m as peaceable as a lamb when I ain’t riled; and you and your\nmate here will fare well enough so long as you do as you are told, and\ndon’t try any tricks on us. That’s something we won’t stand from nobody.\nWe’re working for our liberty, and we’re bound to have it. We’ve got the\nschooner now, and we brought you aboard because you are a sailor, and we\nwant you to take us to America.”\n\n“I know what your plans are,” said Frank.\n\n“Will you help us carry them out?”\n\n“I don’t see how I can avoid it,” replied Frank.\n\n“I don’t either,” said Waters. “We’re the gentlest fellows in the world\nwhen you stroke us easy; but when you go against us, we’re a bad lot to\nhave about. We’ll make you captain of the vessel, and our little man\nhere,” he added, pointing to Archie, “we’ll put in for mate. He mustn’t\nlive off our grub for nothing, you know, and we can’t use him in any\nother way. Will he do?”\n\n“Yes, he’ll do,” said Frank. “But now I want you to understand one thing\nbefore we go any further: I don’t claim to be a seaman, and if we are\nblown out of our course or crippled in any way, you mustn’t blame me for\nit.”\n\n“Never mind that,” said Waters, quickly. “I know all about you. I know\nthat you were master of a whaler, and that you commanded a Yankee\ngunboat during the war; so there must be something of the sailor about\nyou. If you will do as well as you can, that’s all I ask, and me and you\nwon’t have no words. Nobody shan’t bother you. You shall do just as you\nplease. The rest of the men can sleep in the forecastle, and us five\nfellows that’s here now will mess in the cabin, and live like\ngentlemen.”\n\n“How much of a crew have I?” asked Frank.\n\n“There’s just an even dozen of us on board. There will be ten to do the\nwork.”\n\n“You will be surprised to learn one thing, Frank,” said Archie. “There\nare four of our own men aboard, and three of them came of their own free\nwill, too. More than that, they helped Fowler and Waters carry out their\nplan of seizing the vessel.”\n\n“Who are they?” exclaimed Frank.\n\nArchie called over the names of the men, and Frank, astonished beyond\nmeasure to learn that any of the Stranger’s crew could be so disloyal,\ndropped into the nearest chair without speaking. “I suppose you offered\nthem a share of the money you expect to find in the safe, didn’t you?”\nsaid he, at length, addressing himself to Fowler.\n\n“All’s fair in war,” replied the consul’s clerk.\n\n“The doctor, who is one of the four, is not in the plot,” continued\nArchie. “He was aboard when these men surprised and captured the vessel,\nand Waters wouldn’t let him go ashore.”\n\n“Of course not,” said the convict. “We ain’t going to starve. There’s\nplenty of good grub on board, and we need a cook to serve it up in\nshape. Mind you now, captain, no fooling with these men. We won’t stand\nthat.”\n\n“You need not borrow any trouble on that score,” answered Frank,\nhastily. “I shall not speak to them if I can avoid it. I want nothing to\ndo with such people.”\n\n“We couldn’t help it,” said Waters. “We couldn’t undertake so long a\nvoyage with a crew of landsmen, for we needed somebody to steer the\nvessel and go aloft. These men wanted money, and were ready to join with\nus, so we took them. If you’re satisfied with everything, captain, you\nmight as well go on deck and take charge.”\n\n“Of course I am not satisfied,” answered Frank, “but I don’t see that\nanything better can be done under the circumstances. What shall I do if\nmy crew refuse to obey my orders?”\n\n“Oh, they’ll obey your orders. Just show me the man that don’t start\nwhen he’s spoke to, and I’ll show you somebody who will hurt himself\nagainst these bones,” said Waters, doubling up his huge fist and\nflourishing it above his head. “I ain’t a sailor, but I’m a bully\noverseer, and I’ll keep the men straight, I bet you. Me and Bob, one of\nus, will be on deck all the time, to see that things go on smooth and\neasy, like they had oughter do. We are working for liberty, mind you,\nand we can’t have no foolishness from nobody. Everything depends on you,\ncaptain, and it may comfort you to know that we’ll have our eyes on you\nnight and day. You can’t make a move that we won’t see.”\n\n“I am glad you told me,” said Frank. “I always like to know what I have\nto expect. Let’s go on deck and set the watch, Archie.”\n\nThe captain and his mate ascended the ladder closely followed by Waters.\nAs Frank stepped upon the deck he looked about him with some curiosity.\nHe wanted to see the men who were so lost to all sense of honor, that\nthey could be induced to betray their trust for money. He glanced toward\nthe wheel, and saw that it was in the hands of one who, next to Freas\nand Barton, Uncle Dick had always regarded as his most faithful and\ntrusty hand. This proved to Frank’s satisfaction the truth of the old\nadage, that you must summer and winter a man before you know him; in\nother words, you must see him in all manners of situations, and in all\nsorts of temptations, before you can say that you are really acquainted\nwith him. It proved, too, that Uncle Dick knew what he was talking about\nwhen he said that a sailor was never satisfied. Give him a brownstone\nfront to live in, and a hundred dollars a month to spend, and he will\ngrumble because he doesn’t live in a palace and get two hundred. The man\nhung his head when Frank looked at him. He could not meet the young\ncaptain’s gaze.\n\nHaving satisfied his curiosity on this point, Frank looked about him to\nnote the position of the schooner. He told himself that he must have\nslept very soundly indeed, for she had probably been under way an hour\nor more before he awoke. She was already a long distance from the shore,\nand the lighthouse at the entrance of the harbor was fast disappearing\nin the darkness. The only thing he could do that night was to make an\noffing, and the next day, as soon as he could take an observation, he\nwould work out a course and fill away for the States. He would do the\nbest he could, too. He would perform his duty as faithfully as though\nthe schooner was his own property, and he and the rest of her company\nwere bound on a pleasure excursion. This much he had made up his mind\nto, and he had done it simply because Archie was on board. Of course, if\nWaters and the rest should relax their vigilance after a few days, and\ngive him an opportunity to assume control of the vessel, he would\npromptly seize upon it, provided he was satisfied that his efforts would\nresult in complete success; but he would take no chance whatever. He had\nseen what the giant was when he became fairly aroused, and he would be\nvery careful not to incur his displeasure. Waters knew that Archie was\nhis cousin; he had been on board the Stranger long enough to learn a\ngood deal of the history of the occupants of the cabin, and if he became\nangry at Frank, Archie would be sure to suffer. The young captain wished\nmost heartily that his cousin was safe ashore with the rest of the Club.\nHe would have felt much more at his ease.\n\n“Muster the crew, Archie, and divide them into two watches,” said Frank.\n“Send the port watch below, and then go below yourself and try to get a\nwink of sleep. Our force is so small that we’ll have to stand watch and\nwatch; and as there are only three men able to manage the wheel, you and\nI will have to take a hand at it now and then. Do you think you can do\nit?”\n\nArchie was quite sure he could. He was in new business now, but the way\nhe went about the execution of his cousin’s command showed that he had\nkept his eyes and ears open. He ordered the foremast hands around like\nany old mate, and they obeyed as promptly and silently as though they\nhad all been trained sailors. The men belonging to the Stranger’s crew\nhung their heads, and would not look at him, and Archie, on his part,\nacted as though he did not recognize them.\n\n“Couldn’t you make her go a little faster, captain?” asked Waters, who\nkept close at Frank’s side all the while. “We’re working for liberty,\nyou know, and we don’t want to waste no time.”\n\n“You’ll go faster presently,” answered Frank. “The breeze is freshening,\nand she’s got as much on now as she can stand. You must remember that we\nhave only three men to work the topsails, and I don’t want to run any\nrisks. If you will let me manage matters my own way I will get you along\njust as fast as I can.”\n\nWaters seemed satisfied with this assurance, and never again offered\nadvice. He kept Frank company during his watch, and although the latter\nat first would have been very glad to be rid of his presence, he finally\nbecame interested in his conversation, and after a little urging induced\nhim to tell how it was that he had been able to escape from the island\nfour different times, and who had first put it into his head to seize\nthe Stranger. The sequel proved that Uncle Dick had not been mistaken\nwhen he hinted that gold would control the police. Waters and all his\ncompanions who were then on board the Stranger had been tried and\ntransported for the same offence. One of them—the convict who was\nkeeping guard over Archie when Frank awoke, and whom he had heard\naddressed as Bob—was a ticket-of-leave man, who had made considerable\nmoney by hauling goods from Melbourne to the Bendigo mines. Instead of\ntaking care of himself he stood by his friends, and it was his gold that\nhad so often released Waters from the chain-gang, and started him on his\nway to England and America. It was his gold, too, that had made a friend\nof the consul’s clerk. The latter knew all about the vessels that were\npreparing to sail, and when the convicts were ready to make an attempt\nat escape he would select a ship for them, and assist them in getting on\nboard. Three times Waters and his friends had gone aboard as gentlemen,\npaid their passage, and messed in the cabin; but twice they had been\novertaken and carried back by a war vessel, and once the captain of\ntheir ship found out, by some means, who they were; secured them all by\nstratagem and carried them back where they came from. Their last attempt\nwas made on the Sea Gull. Assisted by Fowler, they shipped on board of\nher before the mast, and would in all probability have succeeded in\nreaching their destination, had it not been for the gale which wrecked\ntheir vessel, and threw Waters and his three friends into the company of\nthe Stranger’s crew.\n\nIt was Waters himself who first conceived the idea of seizing the\nschooner. He found opportunity to talk to Fowler about it, and the\nlatter was the one who made all the arrangements. Visiting the schooner\nevery day while she was in the dry-docks, he selected three of the\nsailors whom he thought he could induce to lend their assistance, and\nthe result proved that he had not been mistaken in his men. Every one of\nthem had seen the inside of the strong box, for Walter always called the\ncrew into the cabin when he paid them any money, and they declared that\nit was full to the brim with English gold pieces.\n\nUp to this time Fowler and Bob, the ticket-of-leave man, had no\nintention of joining the convicts in their attempt to leave the island.\nThe consul’s clerk held an honorable position which he was in no hurry\nto throw up, while Bob was coining money at his vocation, and was\nsatisfied to remain where he was, for the present at least. His pardon\nwas only a conditional one, and if detected in an attempt at escape, he\nwould be deprived of his liberty and sent back to the penal settlement\nagain. He did not want to go there; but when he learned through Fowler\nthat there was an opportunity for him to make a fortune without work, he\ndetermined to assist the others in seizing the Stranger and take all the\nchances.\n\nBy questioning Frank, the consul’s clerk found out just what Uncle Dick\nintended to do as soon as the repairs on his vessel were completed, and\nthis information was in due time conveyed to Waters. Preparations were\nmade accordingly; and on the night of the second day after the Stranger\nentered the river and came to anchor near Mr. Wilbur’s house, Waters and\nhis companions quietly unlocked their irons and betook themselves to the\nbush. Fowler was already on the ground. He stuck to Frank until he drove\nhim on board the schooner and into his bunk, and then he set to work to\nclear the way for the convicts, so that they would have little or no\ntrouble in boarding the vessel. He mingled freely with the sailors who\nwere ashore, and by giving them a glowing description of a wonderful\nhorse-race that was to come off that afternoon at a station a few miles\ndistant, he induced them to apply to Mr. Baldwin for liberty until\ntwelve o’clock that night, which was granted. Fowler exerted himself to\nsupply the blue jackets with all the horses they needed, and having seen\nthem fairly started on their wild-goose chase, he turned his attention\nto the first mate, whom he tried to induce to remain ashore all night.\nBut in this he failed. The officer knew that his place was on board his\nvessel, and on board his vessel he went as soon as it began to grow\ndark.\n\nAbout nine o’clock that evening Waters and his companions arrived, and\nconcealed themselves among the bushes on the bank opposite the spot\nwhere the schooner lay at anchor. Fowler visited them shortly afterward\nto tell them how their plans were working. After listening to his report\nthe ticket-of-leave man stole off into the woods to carry out a\nparticular part of the programme that had been assigned to him, while\nthe other four entered the water and swam silently off to the vessel,\nwhich they boarded without opposition. The two mates, and the few\nforemast hands who remained on board, were quickly mustered on deck and\nheld passive by loaded revolvers, which two of the convicts kept pointed\nat their heads, while Waters and another proceeded to tie them hand and\nfoot. This being done, they were each gagged to prevent them from\nraising an alarm, and then one of the boats was lowered, and the\nhelpless men were taken ashore and laid in the bushes. All this work was\nperformed so silently that Frank was not awakened. The convicts saw him\nasleep in his bunk, and to make sure of finding him there when they\nwanted him, they quietly locked the door, and fastened him in.\n\nHaving concealed their prisoners among the bushes, the convicts returned\non board the schooner, and, assisted by the three sailors, proceeded to\nget her under way. They slipped the anchor, turned her around with the\nhelp of the cutter, and when she was fairly under the influence of the\ncurrent, one of the convicts returned to the shore in the boat to await\nthe appearance of Fowler and the ticket-of-leave man, who had been\nintrusted with the work of seizing Walter Gaylord. Fortunately for\nWalter, there was a slight hitch in the proceedings right here, and the\nwrong man was taken.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IX.\n                            A YANKEE TRICK.\n\n\nIt had been the custom of the Club, during their sojourn under Mr.\nWilbur’s roof, to pass the hours that intervened between dark and\nbedtime on the veranda, singing songs, or listening to the stories of\none of the sheep-herders. It was to be Fowler’s business to separate\nWalter from his companions, and, under pretence of telling him something\nthat it was very important he should know, conduct him down a shaded\nlane a short distance from the house. Bob was to be concealed somewhere\nalong the route, and when they passed his ambush he was to jump out,\ncollar them both (for reasons of his own Fowler wished to have it appear\nthat he was in no way connected with the plot), and march them down to\nthe river-bank, where the boat was waiting for them.\n\nThe Club, who had gone off somewhere on purpose to be rid of the young\nEnglishman, were absent so long that Fowler began to be very uneasy,\nfearing that they might stay until so late an hour that it would be\nimpossible for him to carry out his part of the programme. But they came\nshortly after dark, to the clerk’s great relief, and after disposing of\na hearty supper gathered on the veranda as usual. Fowler had more\ndifficulty in persuading Walter to “take a walk” with him than he had\nanticipated. The captain’s nephew had taken a great dislike to the\nclerk, for some reason, and wanted little to do with him; but he yielded\nat last, and Fowler took him by the arm and led him toward the lane.\n\nAs bad luck would have it, they encountered Archie Winters, who was also\nout for an after-supper stroll. On Walter’s invitation he joined the two\nand walked with them. This did not suit Fowler. It was a larger party\nthan he had bargained for. Bob had but two hands, and Fowler did not see\nhow he could manage three persons with them. Either Walter or Archie\nmight elude his grasp and slip away in the darkness, and that would be a\nmisfortune. As soon as he had made good his escape he would go straight\nto the house, tell what had been going on in the lane, and that would\nlead to an investigation which would probably result in the discovery of\nthe fact that the schooner was missing. That was a matter that must be\nkept secret as long as possible, in order to give the managers a good\nlong start. After thinking over these points for a few minutes, the\nclerk turned and went back up the lane again with Walter, paying no\nfurther attention to the movements of Archie, who, he hoped, would soon\nget tired of his walk, and leave the coast clear for him.\n\n“I don’t want to speak in the presence of a third party,” said Fowler.\n“We’ll come back as soon as Archie goes away.”\n\n“Why not tell me now?” asked Walter. “We are alone.”\n\n“I know, but it is a long story, and it will take me half an hour to go\ninto all the details.”\n\n“Oh, let it go till morning then. I am too tired to spend half an hour\nmore in walking.”\n\n“Perhaps I can tell it in ten or fifteen minutes,” said Fowler.\n\n“Let it go until morning,” repeated Walter.\n\n“But it is about an attempt to rob your safe while you were gone.”\n\n“Nonsense!”\n\n“I assure you it is a fact, upon my word and honor as a gentleman. I\nfound it out by the merest accident.”\n\n“Then why didn’t one of the mates speak about it?”\n\n“Because they were in the plot,” replied the clerk, sinking his voice\nalmost to a whisper. “I’ll take you to that boat with me if I have to\ncarry you under my arm,” he added, mentally.\n\n“Fowler!” exclaimed Walter, turning upon him almost fiercely, “do you\nwant me to—” Walter finished the sentence by pushing up his coat\nsleeves. “Do you? If you don’t, don’t let me hear you say another word\nagainst Mr. Baldwin or Mr. Parker. My uncle would trust them with the\nkey of his safe as readily as he trusts me with it. They’re honest, and\nthat’s more than I think you are.”\n\nWalter’s leavetaking was so very abrupt and unceremonious that Fowler\ncould have made no attempt to detain him, even had he felt so disposed.\nBut he did not want to make the attempt. He stood silent and motionless\nwhere Walter left him, and saw the latter join the merry group on the\nveranda. Presently they all arose from their seats and went into the\nhouse. It was well for Fowler that he let him go, for the wiry young\npaymaster could have tossed him over the nearest fence with almost as\nmuch ease as Fowler himself could tell a lie.\n\nBeing disappointed in his attempts to make a prisoner of Walter, the\nconsul’s clerk began to think of himself. He ran down the river-bank,\nand presently reached the spot where Bob and the other convict were\nkeeping guard over somebody in a Panama hat and black suit, who was\nseated in the stern of the boat.\n\n“Is that you, Fowler?” demanded the ticket-of-leave man, impatiently. “I\nwas just going to push off. I have waited for you long enough. I caught\nthis fellow half an hour ago.”\n\n“This fellow? What fellow?” demanded the clerk.\n\n“Why, the paymaster, of course. Who else did I want to catch? I saw him\ngoing along the lane, so I just jumped out and nabbed him.”\n\n“Oh,” exclaimed Archie, for he it was who was seated in the stern of the\nboat. “I wondered what you could want of me. Seeing that I am not the\nfellow you’re after, you’ll let me go, won’t you?”\n\n“Winters!” cried the clerk, in great amazement. “Now you have made a\nmess of it, Bob. You’ve grabbed the wrong chap.”\n\n“Jump in here,” replied the ticket-of-leave man, seizing the bow of the\nboat preparatory to shoving off. “I know just what I’ve done. I got\norders from Waters.”\n\n“But I tell you that you don’t know what you’ve done. I left the\npaymaster and saw him go into the house not ten minutes ago,” insisted\nFowler. “This fellow is of no use to us.”\n\n“Not a bit,” chimed in Archie. “If money is what you’re after I can’t\nhelp you to a guinea. I am dead broke.”\n\nThe ticket-of-leave man let go of the boat, and straightening up looked\nfirst at his fellow-convict and then at Fowler. “Well it’s his own\nfault,” said he, after thinking a moment. “He had no business to have\nthem clothes and that hat on. What shall we do with him?”\n\n“Let me go,” said Archie. “That’s all you can do with me.”\n\n“Not by a long shot we won’t let you go,” replied the ticket-of-leave\nman. “You’d talk too much when you got back to your friends. If I only\nhad a piece of rope, I’d tie him and leave him out in the bushes with\nthe others; but I ain’t got it. He’ll have to go with us; there’s no\nother way. Jump in, Fowler. We’ve wasted too much time already. The\nschooner must be a mile or two outside.”\n\nFowler picked up one of the oars, Bob and the other convict, having\npushed the boat away from the shore, sprang in and picked up two more,\nwhile Archie, in obedience to orders, laid hold of the tiller ropes. He\ndid not remonstrate with his captors, for his past experience had taught\nhim that in circumstances like these words were useless. He devoted his\nwhole attention to steering the boat and looking out for the schooner.\nThey found her a mile outside of the mouth of the river, lying to and\nwaiting for them. Waters stormed a little at Fowler because so much\nprecious time had been wasted, and looked as though he wanted to swear\nwhen he found that Bob had captured Archie instead of the paymaster; but\na few words from the ticket-of-leave man smoothed his ruffled temper,\nand Archie was ordered below under guard.\n\nThis is the version of the story which Waters told Frank that night\nduring the latter’s watch. When it was finished the young captain said:\n\n“I don’t see that you need Walter at all. You say that Bob is\nexperienced in such matters, and that he can easily work his way into\nthat safe with a hammer and a cold chisel.”\n\n“I know that,” replied Waters, “and I know another thing, too: when\nfolks travel in this way, they generally carry their money in bills of\ncredit.”\n\n“Well, what of it?” said Frank.\n\n“Well,” repeated Waters, “we wanted the paymaster to get them cashed for\nus.”\n\n“He wouldn’t have done it.”\n\n“I think he would. You could have made him do it easy enough.”\n\n“And do you imagine that I would use my influence to induce him to turn\nhis uncle’s money over to you?”\n\n“I do think just that. You’d do it sooner than see me raise a racket\nlike I did once aboard this very vessel, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t like\nto have me reach for you, would you?”\n\n“Oho!” exclaimed Frank. “Then it appears that you intended to make use\nof me in two different ways. Besides making me act as captain of the\nschooner, you were going to hold me as a sort of hostage to compel\nWalter to do as you wanted him to do.”\n\n“That’s about the way I fixed it up in my own mind,” said Waters.\n\n“If you intended to work on the paymaster’s feelings in that way, you\nought to have captured his brother,” said Frank. “That would have been\nthe surer way.”\n\n“Never mind that. I know all about you and him too. You saved Eugene’s\nlife, and helped Walter out of the worst scrape he ever got into, and\nthey and their old uncle would give you the schooner if you asked for\nit. The paymaster would do anything before he would see harm come to\nyou.”\n\nBy this time it was twelve o’clock. Frank called his cousin, and after\nhe had seen the watch relieved, he went below and tumbled in bed. He was\ntoo excited to sleep much, and at the first peep of day he was up and\ndressed. The first object on which his eyes rested as he stepped out of\nhis stateroom, was Waters’s burly form stretched out in front of the\ncabin door. “He meant that I shouldn’t go on deck without waking him,”\nthought Frank. “It is anything but agreeable to know that I can’t move\nunless this ruffian is at my side.”\n\nFrank seized the man by the shoulder and shook him roughly, intending to\ntell him, when he awoke, that it was time he was going on deck to see\nhow things were working there; but the giant only breathed the harder,\nand rolled from side to side on his mattress without once opening his\neyes. After spending five minutes in the vain effort to arouse him,\nFrank opened the door, stepped over the prostrate figure and ascended to\nthe deck. They were alone on the deep. The schooner was bowling along\nbefore a fine breeze, and there was not a sail in sight. Archie was\nwalking up and down in the waist with his hands in his pockets, and the\nticket-of-leave-man stood leaning against the rail close by, keeping\nguard over him.\n\n“How long has that man been at the wheel?” asked the young captain.\n\n“Since three o’clock,” answered Archie. “I stood there myself until I\ngot so sleepy that I couldn’t hold her steady.”\n\nFrank went aft to relieve the helmsman, who was one of the Stranger’s\ncrew. As he laid his hand upon the wheel the sailor saluted him\nrespectfully, but Frank paid no sort of attention to him. The man seemed\nhurt by this direct cut. He glanced toward the waist, and seeing that\nthe eyes of Archie’s keeper were fastened upon him, he turned and\npointed over the stern towards the horizon, where a faint cloud of smoke\nmarked the path of a steamer.\n\n“That may be a man-o’-war, sir,” said he, in a low tone, “but that ain’t\nwhat I want to say to you. I’d give everything that’s coming to me from\nthis schooner if she was back where she belongs.”\n\n“I wish she was there, too,” said Frank.\n\n“We’re all sick of our bargain, sir, and we don’t see how we come to do\nit,” continued the sailor, still pointing toward the cloud of smoke in\norder to make Archie’s guard believe that he was talking about the\nsteamer in the distance. “If you want to take the ship, sir, we’ll all\nstand by you if we lose our lives by it.”\n\n“I don’t want to take the ship.”\n\n“You’re afraid to trust us, ain’t you, sir?”\n\n“Yes, I am. Men who will prove unfaithful once, will do so again.”\n\n“What’s going on there between you two?” demanded the ticket-of-leave\nman, suddenly.\n\n“There’s a steamer over there,” replied Frank, “and Brown says it may be\na man-of-war.”\n\n“Well, when he gets through saying it he’d better get away from there,”\nreturned Bob.\n\nThe man went, and Frank kept his place at the wheel until breakfast was\nready. All that morning he waited and watched for an opportunity to say\na word to Archie in private, but none was offered until after he had\ntaken his observation at noon. While he was busy with his chart, Archie\ncame into the cabin, apparently for the purpose of changing his coat,\nbut really to exchange a word or two with his cousin. He went into his\nstateroom, pulled off the coat he had on, and came out with the other in\nhis hand.\n\n“I have found out something,” said he, in a low tone, as he bent down\nand looked over Frank’s shoulder.\n\nThe young captain glanced up hastily and saw that Waters was standing on\nthe quarter-deck, watching them closely through the open skylights. To\ndisarm the man’s suspicions, if he had any, Frank caught up his parallel\nruler, and began moving it about over the chart as if he were working\nout a course.\n\n“Be careful,” he whispered, earnestly. “Don’t look up. Waters has his\neyes on us. What have you found out?”\n\n“That all our men are sorry for what they have done, and are ready to\nmake amends for it. Bob doesn’t watch me as closely as Waters does you,\nand so I have had three or four chances to talk with them.”\n\n“I wouldn’t trust them,” said Frank; and then he made some figures on a\nslip of paper and handed it over to Archie, who examined it with a great\nshow of interest.\n\n“I’ve found out another thing, too,” added Archie, shaking his head as\nhe handed the paper back, as if to imply that his cousin’s calculations\nwere not correct, “and that is, that Waters sleeps like a log. I was in\nthe cabin three times last night, and the first time I came in I\nstumbled over him before I saw him and fell flat; but the noise I made\nnever awoke him.”\n\n“I know he sleeps soundly,” returned Frank. “Now, Archie, let me say”—\n\n“And another thing,” interrupted Archie, earnestly, “there are two\nloaded revolvers in Uncle Dick’s bunk, under the foot of the mattress,\nthat these fellows don’t know anything about. I was pretty certain they\nwere there, so I went in last night and satisfied myself.”\n\n“Let them stay there,” replied Frank. “They are of no use to us. Now,\nArchie, while I have the chance, I want to tell you that I shall make no\nattempt to take the vessel out of the hands of these scoundrels. As far\nas I am concerned, I am ready for anything; but if danger should befall\nyou through me, what should I say to your father and mother when I get\nhome? I am responsible for you, in a certain sense, and I wish with all\nmy heart that you were safe ashore.”\n\n“Do you take me for a little boy?” whispered Archie, almost indignantly.\n“I am almost as old as you are, and I want you to understand that I am\nable to take care of myself. You are not responsible for me in any way.\nYou may be glad that I am here before this voyage is ended.”\n\n“What you two fellows talking about down there?” demanded Waters. “Your\nheads are almost too close together to suit me. You had better come up\nhere, my little man.”\n\n“It is his watch below,” said Frank, “I belong on deck myself.”\n\n“Come up here, then.”\n\n“I will as soon as I get through.”\n\n“Then let the little one go to bed,” exclaimed Waters, in a louder tone,\nwhich showed that he was getting angry; “I want you two apart; and if\nyou don’t get apart pretty quick I’ll come down there and separate you.”\n\nArchie went into his stateroom, and closed the door behind him, while\nFrank, having completed his calculations, ran up the ladder, and took\ncharge of the deck.\n\nDuring the day everything passed off smoothly. The crew were obedient\nand prompt, and the schooner was as well sailed as she would have been\nhad her lawful captain been on her quarter-deck. Just before dark some\ninterest was excited among those on board by the discovery of a large\nsteamer, which appeared to be following in their wake. Frank watched her\nthrough his glass until the night shut her out from his view.\n\n“Can you make her out?” asked Waters.\n\n“No, I cannot,” answered Frank. “She is too far off.”\n\n“Brown says she looks rather suspicious.”\n\n“Well, he’s an old sailor, and ought to be able to tell a man-o’-war\nfrom a merchantman, even at that distance.”\n\n“If she is following us, what time will she come up with us?”\n\n“About midnight, perhaps, if this wind holds.”\n\n“Then look out for fun,” exclaimed Waters, striking his open palm with\nhis clenched hand. “We’ve all got two revolvers apiece; we’ve got all\nthe muskets belonging to the schooner piled up in the cabin, where we\ncan get our hands upon them at a moment’s notice; and,” he added,\njerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the twenty-four pounder,\n“Brown says you’re the best fellow to work these guns that he ever saw.”\n\n“I have had some experience with them,” said Frank.\n\n“We’ll give the man-hunters a lively tussle,” added the convict.\n\n“What will be the use of that?” asked Frank. “If you beat off her boats\nwhen she sends them out to board us, she’ll open on us with her big guns\nand sink us.”\n\n“No matter. We’d sooner she’d do that than take us back. But ’spose now,\ncaptain, that you knew that steamer was a war vessel, and that you was a\nsmuggler or something, who had reasons for keeping out of her way, what\nwould you do?”\n\n“I should wait until it was pitch dark, and then I’d put out all lights,\ncome about, and sail right back to meet her,” said Frank, who had\nalready made up his mind that it would be better to put this plan into\noperation than to risk a battle with the steamer if she should prove to\nbe a man-of-war. He knew that the convicts would fight desperately\nbefore they would permit themselves to be taken back. Of course they\nwould be beaten and overpowered, as they deserved to be, but what would\nbecome of himself and Archie in the meantime? How would the beautiful\nlittle Stranger look after a broadside from the man-of-war? “I should,\nof course, pass her at such a distance that she wouldn’t discover me,”\nadded Frank, “and at daylight we would be out of sight of each other.”\n\n“That’s a regular Yankee trick,” exclaimed Waters. “Don’t you think you\nhad better try it?”\n\nThe young captain thought he had, and he did. The ruse was entirely\nsuccessful. They passed the steamer a little after eleven o’clock. They\ncould see the lights at her catheads, and hear the pounding of her\npaddle-wheels, but their own vessel was invisible in the darkness. There\nwere no lamps to betray her to the watchful eyes of the steamer’s\nlookout, for those in the cabin were shut out from view by a tarpaulin\nwhich was thrown over the skylights, and the one in the binnacle threw\nout only sufficient light to show the face of the compass. Waters\nquestioned the sailors, and they told him that the vessel was\nundoubtedly a man-of-war. She showed too few lights for a passenger\nsteamer. Waters breathed easier when she was out of sight.\n\n“Captain,” he exclaimed, taking Frank’s hand in his own, and giving it a\nhearty gripe and shake, “if I had a thousand pounds of my own I’d as\nsoon give it to you as not. It takes Yankees to do things, after all.”\n\n“That’s a fact,” said Archie. “We whipped you English gentlemen twice,\nand we can do it again.”\n\nArchie’s pert speeches seemed to afford the giant a world of amusement.\n“Did you have a hand in it, my little man?” he asked, with a laugh.\n\n“No,” replied Archie, slowly, “I didn’t. There was one little thing that\nprevented me—a very little thing, and I have always been sorry for it.”\n\n“What was that?” asked Waters.\n\n“I wasn’t born.”\n\nEverybody roared except Fowler, and he was angry.\n\nFrank remained on deck till midnight, and then believing that all danger\nof discovery had passed, he told Archie to have the tarpaulin removed\nfrom the skylights, to send one watch below, and then go to bed himself.\n“You go to bed,” replied Archie. “I am not at all sleepy, and I might as\nwell stay on deck as to roll about in my bunk for six hours. As for that\ntarpaulin—if it will suit you as well, I will leave it where it is.”\n\n“Why do you want to do that? It will be more cheerful with a little more\nlight on deck.”\n\n“That’s just what’s the matter. I don’t want more light on deck.”\n\nHis cousin told him to do as he pleased about it, and having seen one of\nthe watches sent below, he went into the cabin, and lay down on his\nbunk. It seemed to him that he had scarcely closed his eyes in sleep\nwhen a hand was laid softly on his shoulder. He started up quickly, and\nsaw Archie standing by the side of his bunk with his finger on his lips.\n\n“Not a word above your breath for your life,” whispered the latter,\nwhose face was as white as a sheet, and as he said it, he put something\ninto Frank’s hand. It was one of Uncle Dick’s revolvers. “It is loaded\nand all ready for use,” whispered Archie. “I have done the worst part of\nthe work. The men are on deck and waiting, and all you have to do is to\ntell them what your wishes are. I’m a little boy, am I, and you’re\nresponsible for me, are you? You wish I was ashore where I belong, don’t\nyou? We’ll have the schooner in five minutes more. Come out here, and\nI’ll show you why I wanted the tarpaulin left over the skylights.”\n\nAll this was Greek to Frank, who, not yet fairly awake, sat up in his\nbunk staring blankly, first at his cousin, and then at the revolver he\nheld in his hand; but when Archie laid hold of his arm, he sprang\nlightly upon the floor and stepped out into the cabin.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER X.\n                     ARCHIE PROVES HIMSELF A HERO.\n\n\n“Look there,” whispered Archie. “Could any little boy do that?”\n\nFrank looked, and was greatly astonished at what he saw. There lay\nWaters, fast asleep on his mattress in front of the cabin door, but he\nwas a prisoner, his hands and feet being securely ironed. Frank could\nscarcely believe that his eyes were not deceiving him.\n\n“That’s why I didn’t want the tarpaulin taken off the skylights,”\ncontinued Archie. “Bob could have looked right down into the cabin and\nseen everything I did. I slipped down here and put the irons on him and\nnever woke him up. It was the hardest piece of work I ever did, too,” he\nadded, drawing his hand across his forehead, on which the perspiration\nstood in great beads.\n\nFrank could well believe it. His cousin’s face bore unmistakable\nevidence that the ordeal through which he had passed had been a most\ntrying one. What if the first touch of the cold irons had aroused the\ngiant from his slumbers! Archie probably never would have lived to tell\nwhat he had attempted to do. He had more nerve than his cousin had ever\ngiven him credit for.\n\n“I am glad it is done,” continued Archie. “I don’t know whether I could\ndo it again or not. I’m afraid I couldn’t. I took his tools, too,” he\nwent on, drawing a huge revolver from each of the outside pockets of his\ncoat. “I’ll give you one and keep the other. The next thing is to make\nsure of our friend Bob, and then we’ll pay our respects to the other\nfellow on deck. He said he was tired, so I made him up a good bed and\ntold him to go to sleep on it.”\n\nBy this time Frank had fully recovered from his amazement and was\nprepared to act. He saw the necessity of promptly completing the good\nwork so well begun. Without saying a word he opened the door, stepped\nover the slumbering giant, and led the way to the quarter-deck. At the\nhead of the ladder he encountered the ticket-of-leave man.\n\n“What have you been doing?” demanded the latter, addressing himself to\nArchie. “I was just coming down after you. The next time you go down\nthere I want to know it, so that I can go with you, do you hear? I don’t\nlike the way you have been skipping about the vessel to-night, and I\nwon’t have any more of it.”\n\n“All right,” said Archie. “I don’t see any reason that you should get on\na high horse simply because I went down to call the captain. Do you want\nme to tell you when I want to wink or sneeze? Any man with half an eye\ncan see that the breeze is freshening. Hallo! What’s that over there?\nLooks like something.”\n\nWhile this conversation was going on, Frank had thrown back one corner\nof the tarpaulin so that the light from the cabin lamps could shine\nthrough the skylights. He had a dangerous piece of work to perform, and\nhe did not want to operate in the dark. As Bob turned to look at the\nobject which Archie pretended he had discovered off the weather beam,\nFrank stepped quickly around the corner of the skylights and laid his\nhand upon his shoulder. The ticket-of-leave man faced about and saw the\nmuzzle of a cocked revolver looking him squarely in the face. He saw\nmore. He saw three figures come out from the shadow of the galley, and\nrange themselves on both sides of him. They were the <DW64> cook, and two\nof the sailors belonging to the crew of the Stranger. They all carried\nhandspikes, and their presence there indicated that Archie had neglected\nno precautions to insure the complete success of his undertaking. How he\nhad managed to lay his plans so well when almost every move he made was\nclosely watched by his keeper, was a great mystery to his cousin.\n\nThe ticket-of-leave man shrank away from the muzzle of Frank’s revolver,\nand brought his head in contact with another six-shooter with which\nArchie had covered him on the opposite side. “Don’t shoot!” he gasped.\n\n“We don’t intend to shoot, unless you make it necessary,” replied Frank.\n“We have things all our own way now, and if you will quietly submit, we\nwill treat you as well as you have treated us with this exception: we\ncan’t allow you your liberty. Brown, you and the Doctor take hold of his\nhands. Stevens, go through his pockets, and if you find any weapons\nthere, throw them overboard. Bob will have no further use for them.”\n\n“Where’s Waters?” demanded the ticket-of-leave man, who showed a\ndisposition to resist when he saw Archie put up his revolver and draw a\npair of handcuffs from his pocket.\n\n“He’s in the cabin, and in irons, too.”\n\n“I don’t believe it.”\n\n“That doesn’t trouble us any, for we know he is. He sleeps like a log,\nas you are aware.”\n\n[Illustration: ARCHIE RECAPTURES THE “STRANGER.”]\n\nThis was all Bob cared to hear. He knew now how the giant had been\nsecured, and without another word or the least show of resistance, he\nallowed Archie to lock the irons about his wrists and ankles. This being\ndone, and the revolvers which Stevens found in his pockets having been\ntossed over the side, the ticket-of-leave man was commanded to sit down\non the deck and remain there quietly under guard of the <DW64> cook,\nwhile Frank and his companions went forward to secure the other\nconvicts. The one who belonged to the starboard watch was fast asleep on\nthe mattress which Archie had provided for him. He was ironed before he\nwas fairly awake, and was marched to the quarter-deck and ordered to sit\ndown by the side of the ticket-of-leave man. His revolvers were also\nconsigned to the care of Old Neptune, for Frank did not think it safe to\nhave too many of these dangerous weapons on board. The two convicts who\nwere asleep in the forecastle were also secured without difficulty. One\nof them made a feeble resistance at first, but a sharp punch from\nBrown’s handspike brought him to his senses. The work was all done in\nfive minutes, and then Frank and his cousin looked at each other and\ndrew a long breath of relief.\n\n“This relieves me from answering a very disagreeable question,” said the\nyoung captain—“one that I could not bear to think of; that is, what\nwould have become of Uncle Dick and the rest if we had been obliged to\ntake these fellows to ’Frisco, and what would we have done with the\nschooner after we got there? I thought our voyage was ended sure\nenough.”\n\nThe two convicts in the forecastle having been secured, Frank ordered\nthem on deck and marched them into the cabin, picking up Bob and his\ncompanion on the way. Waters was still fast asleep on his mattress, and\neach of the prisoners gave him a hearty kick as he stepped over him.\nThis finally aroused the giant, who started up with an angry exclamation\non his lips, but he sank back on his mattress again when he saw Brown\nstanding over him with uplifted handspike. Then his eyes wandered to his\ncompanions, who in obedience to Frank’s orders had seated themselves in\na row against the after bulkhead, and from them they came back to the\nirons on his wrists and ankles. Archie expected him to go into a perfect\ntempest of fury, but Waters did nothing of the kind. He had probably had\nthe bracelets on him often enough to know that they render a man utterly\npowerless for mischief. He leaned his elbow on the mattress and rested\nhis head on his hand. “Who done it, cap’n?” he asked.\n\n“I did,” replied Archie.\n\n“You!” exclaimed the giant. He ran his eyes over Archie’s slender little\nfigure, and then looked down at his own colossal proportions. “Well,\nyou’re the pluckiest little chap I ever saw. There isn’t a man in\nTasmania who could be hired to do such a thing. Did you know that you\nran the biggest kind of a risk?”\n\n“I did, but I took the chances.”\n\n“I might have knowed that I’d have some Yankee trick or another played\non me before I got through with this business,” growled Waters.\n\n“Get up and sit with the rest,” said Archie. “You are right in the way\nthere.”\n\nHe hardly expected that the giant would obey, but he did, and that, too,\nwithout an instant’s hesitation. He arose and took his place with his\ncompanions, who at once began to upbraid him for being the cause of\ntheir misfortunes. “If he had not slept so soundly, that little Yankee\nnever would have thought of putting irons on him,” they said. “Why\ncouldn’t he keep one eye about half open when he knew that his liberty\nwas the price of vigilance?” Waters replied in an angry tone, and the\ndebate grew hotter and louder until Frank commanded silence.\n\n“We’re not going to have bedlam here,” said he, emphatically. “If you\nwant to stay in the cabin you must keep quiet; if you don’t you’ll all\ngo in the brig.”\n\n“What’s the matter out there?” demanded a voice from one of the\nstaterooms.\n\n“Oh! my young cockney friend, is that you?” exclaimed Archie. “We’ve got\nsomething to show you; here it is.”\n\nOnce more Frank had occasion to wonder at the forethought displayed by\nhis cousin. The latter raised one corner of the cloth that covered the\ntable, and brought out a pair of handcuffs, with which he went into the\nclerk’s stateroom. At the sight of the irons Fowler bounded out of his\nbunk, and made an effort to thrust Archie aside so that he could run out\ninto the cabin.\n\n“Easy, easy,” exclaimed Archie, standing his ground in spite of the\nclerk’s efforts to push him away; “it will do no good to raise a rumpus\nnow.”\n\n“What’s the meaning of this, and where’s Waters?” demanded Fowler, as\nsoon as he could speak.\n\n“It means that you have had charge of the vessel long enough,” answered\nArchie. “Our little pleasure trip is ended now, and we are going back to\nHobart Town. If you want to see Waters, there he is.”\n\nArchie stepped aside so that Fowler could look out into the cabin. The\nlatter was almost overwhelmed by the sight that met his gaze.\n\n“You might as well give in, Gus,” said the giant. “The Yankees have the\nupper hand.”\n\n“Don’t put those things on me,” cried the clerk. “I won’t do a thing.\nI—I—”\n\n“Of course,” interrupted Archie. “I know all about it; but you can’t be\ntrusted, and it must be done.”\n\nIt was done, too. The clerk resisted and remonstrated, but all to no\npurpose. With the Doctor’s assistance the irons were put on, and Fowler\nwas led out into the cabin, and commanded to sit down with the rest.\n\nThe enemy were now all secured, and Frank had the vessel to himself. He\nmeant to keep her, too, so he lost no time in providing for any\nemergency that might arise. He knew that his prisoners would not permit\nthemselves to be carried back to Hobart Town if they could help it, and\nif the opportunity were presented, they would make a desperate effort to\nregain control of the schooner. If Frank had had full confidence in his\ncrew, he would have felt no uneasiness whatever; but there were the\nthree foremast hands, who had once betrayed their trust! True, they had\nrepented, and assisted him in securing the convicts; but might they not\nalso repent of that act, and try to undo it? There was no dependence to\nbe placed in such men. There was one he could trust, and that was the\nDoctor. Him Frank armed with a loaded musket, and placed as a guard over\nthe convicts, with instructions to shoot the first one who made any\neffort to free himself from his irons. Then he went on deck, feeling\nperfectly safe.\n\nFrank’s first care was to bring the schooner about, and shape her course\ntoward Hobart Town, as nearly as he could guess at it, and his next to\nput it out of the power of the convicts to do any great damage, even if\nthey should succeed in freeing themselves from their irons, and gaining\na footing on deck. He and Archie had possession of the only loaded\nfirearms on board, and he did not intend that anybody else should get\nany without considerable trouble. The mess-chests were emptied of the\npots and pans they contained, and the muskets and other small arms\nbelonging to the vessel being packed away in them, the chests were\nclosed and locked. The keys were hidden where no one but himself would\never think of looking for them, and the lids were further secured by\nbeing nailed down. The keys to the magazine, which were kept hung up in\nUncle Dick’s stateroom, were also concealed, and then Frank told himself\nthat he was master of the vessel. If Waters and his companions should\nsucceed in regaining their liberty, either by stratagem or through the\ntreachery of some of the crew, they would find nothing but handspikes\nand belaying-pins to fight with, and he and Archie, with their brace of\nrevolvers apiece, could easily overcome them.\n\nWhen he went into the cabin he told himself that he had been wise in\ntaking all these precautions, for Waters had already been trying to\nbribe the guard to procure a key and release him. He had offered him a\nthousand pounds for the service.\n\n“Whar’s you gwine to get so much money to give dis niggah?” the Doctor\nwas saying just as Frank came in.\n\n“Oh, it’s in the strong box,” replied Waters, not at all abashed by the\npresence of the captain.\n\n“Dat money in dar ’longs to Cap’n Gaylord,” said the Doctor. “’Pears\nlike you’s makin’ mighty free wid oder folk’s money.”\n\n“Go on, Waters,” said Frank. “You told me not to tamper with the men,\nand I didn’t; but I’ll give you permission to try all your arts on the\nDoctor. He’s true blue.”\n\n“I call him black,” said Waters.\n\nThe Doctor laughed heartily at this joke, and Frank, after glancing at\neach of the prisoners in turn, went on deck satisfied that he had left\nthem in safe hands. He did not go to bed again that night, and neither\ndid Archie. They and the Doctor relieved one another every two hours in\nkeeping watch over the prisoners; and when not on guard, they stood\nalternate tricks at the wheel in order to give the three foremast hands\na chance to rest.\n\n“Have me and my mates made amends for striking hands with them fellows,\ncap’n?” asked Brown, when Frank went aft to take his place at the helm.\n\n“Yes, I think you have,” was the answer.\n\n“What will the old man do with us when we get to port?” continued Brown.\n\n“I don’t know. If I were in his place, I should call the thing square.\nYou helped take the vessel, but you helped get her back again, and so\nyou’re even.”\n\n“If you was the cap’n would you take us back into the crew again?”\n\n“Yes, I would.”\n\n“You wouldn’t mind saying that much to the old man, would you, sir? We\nwant a chance to show him how sorry we are.”\n\nFrank replied that he would bear the matter in mind, and the repentant\nsailor went forward feeling as if a mountain had been removed from his\nshoulders. The other two approached Frank on the same subject, at the\nfirst opportunity, and were both sent away with the assurance that Uncle\nDick should hear a full account of the services they had rendered, and\nif a word of recommendation from himself and Archie would benefit them\nin any way, they should certainly have it. While he was at the wheel his\ncousin came up.\n\n“I declare, it seems delightful to be able to talk to you once more\nwithout having some one around to hear what I say,” exclaimed the\nlatter. “I hope we shall always get out of the scrapes we get into as\neasily as we got out of this.”\n\n“You have done wonders,” answered Frank. “The honor all belongs to you,\nand I hope no one will rob you of any portion of it.”\n\n“Who’s going to rob me,” demanded Archie.\n\n“Why, after what has been done, we ought to take the vessel and these\nprisoners back to Hobart Town without help from anybody. But if that\nsteamer we saw last night was a man-o’-war—and I think she was, for she\ndidn’t show lights enough for a merchantman—she will soon discover the\ntrick we played upon her, and be back after us.”\n\n“Well, suppose she does come back after us! She’ll not trouble us. There\nis no need of it, for we are in a position to take care of ourselves.”\n\n“You’ll see,” said Frank. “Her captain probably has orders to take\ncharge of the vessel, and if he comes up with us he’ll do it.”\n\nArchie did see, and so did Frank. Shortly after daylight, while the\nlatter was taking his turn guarding the prisoners, Archie suddenly\nappeared at the head of the companion-ladder and shouted:\n\n“Here she comes. Shall I send the Doctor down to relieve you?”\n\nFrank replied in the affirmative, and when the Doctor came down, he\nhurried to the deck. The steamer they had seen the night before was a\nlittle way in advance of them, and about three miles distant. She was\nfollowing a course almost at right angles with the one the Stranger was\npursuing, and that looked as if it was her intention to intercept the\nschooner.\n\n“When I first saw the smoke, she was bearing away to the southwest,”\nsaid Archie. “Then the mist lifted a little, and when she caught sight\nof us, she changed her course at once. That means business, doesn’t it?”\n\nFrank was quite sure it did. He went down into the cabin after Uncle\nDick’s trumpet, and wanted to see what the steamer was going to do. When\nshe had approached within half a mile, the English flag was run up to\nthe peak, and all her broadside ports were dropped. Through their\nglasses the boys could see that her crew were at quarters.\n\n“She couldn’t make greater preparations if she were about to come\nalongside a hostile frigate,” said Archie. “I wish she’d sheer off and\nlet us alone. She is of no use here.”\n\n“Brown, show that captain that we float a prettier flag than he does,”\nsaid Frank.\n\nBrown hurried to the signal-chest, and presently a little round ball,\nthat one could almost cover with his hands, went travelling up to the\nStranger’s peak. Then a little twitch with one of the halliards\nunfastened the bundle, and the American colors streamed out to the\nbreeze. The young captain was as proud of that flag as the English\ncommander was of his.\n\nHaving placed himself directly across the schooner’s path, the steamer\nstopped her engines, and presently her whistle was blown three times.\nFrank replied by bringing his vessel up into the wind, this being a\nsignal that the British captain had something to say to him.\n\n“What schooner is that?” shouted a hoarse voice from the steamer’s deck.\n\n“The Stranger, bound to Hobart Town,” replied Frank, through his\ntrumpet.\n\n“I’ll send a boat aboard of you,” shouted the voice.\n\n“Very good, sir,” said Frank.\n\n“I don’t think it is very good,” exclaimed Archie. “I think it is very\nbad. We’ve got to give up the vessel now, and we’ll be taken into port\nas if we were prisoners ourselves.”\n\n“We’ll have the satisfaction of going in under our own flag,” said\nFrank, “you may depend upon that.”\n\n“Won’t you haul it down if they tell you to do so?”\n\n“By no means. We are not prisoners of war. If an English officer sails\nour craft into port, he will do it with our flag floating over him.”\n\n“Perhaps he will haul it down himself.”\n\n“Perhaps he will, and then again perhaps he won’t touch it. Did you\nnever hear about those young English middies who pulled down the flag\nthat was floating over the American consulate in Honolulu? They put it\nback again in short order, and with an apology, too.”\n\nThe steamer’s boat came in sight while this conversation was going on,\nand Archie, who levelled his glass at it, informed his cousin that there\nwere two officers sitting in the stern sheets, and that it was crowded\nwith men, who were all armed. It came alongside in a few minutes, and\nthe old gray-headed lieutenant who was in charge looked a little\nsurprised when Frank handed the man-ropes to him. He had doubtless\nexpected a very different reception. He clambered aboard, followed by\nhis men, who handled their weapons nervously, and looked all about as if\nexpecting an attack from some quarter. The expression of astonishment\ntheir faces wore was reflected in the countenances of their officers,\nwho acted as if they thought they had got a little out of their\nreckoning.\n\n“Are you the captain, sir?” asked the gray-headed lieutenant, returning\nFrank’s salute.\n\n“At present, yes, sir.”\n\n“There must be some mistake,” continued the officer. “We are in search\nof the American yacht Stranger, who is reported to have been seized by\nescaped convicts and taken to sea.”\n\n“This is the vessel, sir, but I am glad to say that the convicts no\nlonger have control of her. They are safe under guard in the cabin. Step\nthis way, if you please.”\n\nThe officer, lost in wonder, followed Frank into the cabin, and his\nastonishment increased when he saw the convicts seated in a row before\nhim, and all securely ironed. “How did you ever manage to do this,\ncaptain?” he asked.\n\n“It was done before they knew what was going on,” replied Frank.\n\n“How did you get the irons on Waters?”\n\n“They were put on while he was asleep.”\n\n“While he was _asleep_!” exclaimed the officer.\n\n“That’s the gospel truth,” said Waters. “It couldn’t have been done no\nother way. The Yankees didn’t give us no chance at all.”\n\n“They probably knew you too well. My orders are to leave an officer and\ncrew in charge of the yacht, and to take the prisoners aboard our own\nvessel,” added the lieutenant, turning to Frank.\n\n“I protest against such a proceeding, sir,” said the young captain,\nquickly. “Your government has a claim upon these prisoners, but it has\nno claim whatever upon this yacht. With the crew I have, I am able to\ntake care of her myself.”\n\nThe lieutenant drew himself up and looked at Frank without speaking.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XI.\n                         AN OBSTINATE CAPTAIN.\n\n\nFrank now began to see that he had been mistaken in the mental estimate\nhe had made of one of the two officers who came off in the steamer’s\nboat. The midshipman, whose name was Kendall, as he afterwards learned,\nhe had put down as a conceited young prig, who would have made a\nfirst-rate companion for the consul’s clerk; and his conduct a few\nminutes later gave Frank no reason to change his opinion. The\ngray-headed lieutenant he had supposed to be a gentleman, but on that\npoint he now began to have some doubts. The officer seemed to be greatly\nastonished at the audacity Frank exhibited in presuming to object to\nanything he might see fit to do. He drew himself up, and stared at the\nyoung captain in a way that was perfectly insulting, and made the latter\nall the more determined to stick to the course he had marked out for\nhimself.\n\n“I am sailing-master of this craft,” said Frank, “and in the absence of\nmy superior have a right to command her.”\n\n“Her Majesty’s officers are in the habit of obeying any orders they may\nreceive,” returned the lieutenant, loftily.\n\n“But those orders were given to you under the supposition that the\nlawful crew of this vessel were in need of your assistance,” replied\nFrank. “When we passed you last night we should have been glad of your\nhelp; but now we are in a situation to take care of ourselves.”\n\n“Why did you not hail us when you passed us last night?” asked the\nmidshipman.\n\n“Because Waters and his friends had full control of the schooner, and I\nhad no desire to be pitched overboard,” answered Frank.\n\n“If you had been a brave young man, you would have done your duty at all\nhazards. But I do not wish to waste any more time in argument. Mr.\nKendall,” said the lieutenant, turning to the midshipman, “select ten\nmen from that boat’s crew, and remain in charge of the yacht. Follow in\nour wake when we steam away for Hobart Town.”\n\nThe young officer saluted, and hurried up the ladder to obey these\norders, while the lieutenant turned to the prisoners, and commanded them\nto get up and go on deck. Frank followed them up the companion-way, and\nwhen he reached the top, was surprised to find Mr. Kendall and Archie\nengaged in an angry war of words. He had no trouble in guessing at the\ncause of it. He looked toward the stern, and saw Brown standing there\nwith the color halliards in his hand, and the colors themselves were\npartly hauled down.\n\n“I want you to understand that I command this yacht now,” said Mr.\nKendall, shaking his clenched hand at Archie.\n\n“I don’t dispute it, do I?” returned the latter.\n\n“Then why do you countermand my orders?” demanded the midshipman.\n\n“Brown!” exclaimed Frank, sharply, “run that flag up to the peak where\nit belongs. Belay the halliards and go for’ard.”\n\n“There!” said Archie, turning to the officer; “I hope you are satisfied\nnow that that flag was put there to stay.”\n\n“Captain,” said the midshipman, trying to speak calmly, although it was\nplain to be seen that he was very angry, “_I_ ordered those colors\nhauled down.”\n\n“There is not a man in my crew who will obey an order of that kind,”\nreplied Frank.\n\n“But I am in command now, and I don’t sail under that flag.”\n\n“All right, sir. Haul it down yourself, if you wish to take the\nresponsibility.”\n\nThe young officer knew better than to do that. He bit his lips and\nlooked towards his superior, who seemed to be utterly confounded by the\nturn affairs were taking. “I call this a very extraordinary proceeding,\ncaptain,” said he, at length.\n\n“Not at all, sir,” replied Frank. “If you regard our vessel as a prize\nand ourselves as prisoners, you have the power to act accordingly; but\nit will be useless to ask us to smooth the way for you.”\n\n“No, no!” exclaimed the lieutenant, quickly; “you don’t understand the\nmatter at all. We expected to find the convicts in charge of your yacht,\nand to have a fight with them before we could recover possession of\nher.”\n\n“Your expectations were not realized,” said Frank. “We saved you all\ntrouble.”\n\n“Perhaps I had better return and ask further instructions from my\ncaptain,” continued the officer, after thinking a moment. “Mr. Kendall,\nyou will remain in charge until you receive other orders.”\n\nSo saying, the lieutenant ordered the convicts into his boat, jumped in\nhimself, and pushed off towards his own vessel, leaving a very\nunsociable company on board the schooner. During the half hour that\nfollowed not a word was exchanged between any of them, except by the two\ncousins. The midshipman planked the weather side of the quarter-deck in\nsolitary state; his men were gathered in a group on the forecastle; and\nthe crew of the Stranger stood in the waist, Frank and Archie leaning\nagainst the rail a little apart from the others, so that they could\nexchange opinions without being overheard. At the end of the half hour\nthe steamer’s boat came in sight again, and when she had drawn up\nalongside, the coxswain handed a note to the midshipman. The contents,\nwhatever they were, evidently surprised and enraged the officer, who, in\na very gruff voice, ordered his men to tumble into the boat, then jumped\nin himself and shoved off without saying a word to Frank.\n\n“Does that mean that you are in command once more?” asked Archie.\n\n“I don’t know, but I’ll take the risk,” was the reply.\n\nAs soon as the midshipman’s boat was clear of the side, the Stranger\nfilled away on her course and dashed across the bow of the steamer, her\nflag flaunting defiantly in the faces of the English blue jackets, who\nwatched her as she flew by. Neither of the cousins said a word until\nthey were safely out of hearing of the people on the steamer’s deck, and\nthen Archie’s patriotism bubbled over, and he struck up “Unfurl the\nGlorious Banner,” and sang it through to the end.\n\n“You’d better haul it down now,” said Frank, when the song was\nconcluded, “or you’ll not have any flag to rave about very long. The\nbreeze will whip it into ribbons in a few minutes more.”\n\nIt was the Stranger’s holiday flag, and they could not afford to lose\nit; so Archie pulled it down and packed it away in the signal-chest,\nhandling it as tenderly as though the flag could appreciate the care he\nbestowed upon it.\n\nAs soon as the steamer’s boat was hoisted at the davits she turned her\nbow towards Hobart Town, and before night was out of sight in the\ndistance. When the sun set, Frank called up his crew to shorten sail. He\nknew nothing whatever about the coast he was approaching, and was afraid\nto get too close to it in the dark. He and Archie kept a bright lookout\nall that night, and as soon as day began to dawn all sail was hoisted\nagain, and the Stranger once more sped merrily on her way. The smoke of\na steamer was seen in the distance, but Frank did not take a second look\nat it until an hour or two afterwards, when Brown announced that it was\na tug, and that she was headed directly towards the schooner.\n\n“She ain’t coming out to tow us in, sir,” said the sailor, “’cause she\nknows that we don’t want help with such a breeze as this. I shouldn’t\nwonder if your friends were aboard of her, sir.”\n\nAfter hearing this, Frank began to take some interest in the movements\nof the tug. He kept his glass directed toward her, and presently\ndiscovered a group of persons standing on her hurricane-deck. A quarter\nof an hour later he could see that they were signalling to him with\ntheir handkerchiefs; and finally the two vessels approached so near to\neach other that he could see the faces of those composing the group.\nThen he recognized Uncle Dick, his friend Mr. Wilbur, the two trappers,\nand the Club. They had probably learned from the captain of the steamer\nthat the Stranger was safe and approaching Hobart Town as swiftly as the\nbreeze could drive her, but they were so impatient to see her and their\nmissing companions once more that they could not wait until she arrived\nin port, and so had chartered a tug and started out to meet her. Frank\nand Archie were delighted at the prospect of the reunion which was soon\nto take place, but the three sailors looked rather gloomy over it. They\ncould not bear to meet the captain they had wronged.\n\nAs soon as the tug arrived abreast of the vessel she began to round to,\nand Frank threw the Stranger up into the wind to wait for her to come\nalongside. When her bow touched the schooner, the delighted members of\nthe Club scrambled over the rail like so many young pirates, and greeted\nthe cousins in the most boisterous manner. The older members of the\nparty followed more leisurely and were not quite so demonstrative,\nalthough it was plain that they were quite as glad to see Frank and\nArchie once more as the Club were.\n\nIn obedience to a sign from Uncle Dick the tug steamed off toward Hobart\nTown, the Stranger filled away on her course, and then the party went\ninto the cabin to talk over the events of the last few days. Frank first\ntold the story of the seizure of the schooner, as he had heard it from\nthe lips of the convict, and described how they had recovered possession\nof her, giving Archie all the credit for the exploit, as he was in duty\nbound to do. He laid a good deal of stress on the services rendered by\nthe Doctor, and said all he could in praise of the three foremast hands;\nbut when he proposed that they should be retained as if nothing had\nhappened, Uncle Dick shook his head.\n\n“That will hardly do, Frank,” said he. “As far as I am concerned, I\nshould not hesitate to keep them and trust them as I did before; but we\nshould have no peace if I did. The rest of the men have threatened to\ntake vengeance on them, and every time their liberty was granted there\nwould be trouble, which would probably end in all the crew finding their\nway into the lockup. I think I had better discharge them.”\n\nOf course that settled the matter. Frank was sorry, for he believed that\nthe three foremast hands were ready to make amends for their misconduct\nby every means in their power; but he saw the force of the captain’s\nreasoning, and so he said no more about it.\n\nIn accordance with Frank’s request, Uncle Dick then told how he had\nfirst discovered the loss of the schooner. He and his friend, Mr.\nWilbur, had returned from their ride about nine o’clock, he said, and\nhad gone to bed believing that everything was just as it should be. He\nnever troubled himself about his vessel when he was ashore, for he knew\nthat his officers were able to take care of her.\n\nJust before daylight, the sailors whom Fowler had sent off on that\nwild-goose chase, came back, having been lost for hours in the bush.\nThey had found the station which Fowler had described to them, and were\nsurprised to learn that no arrangements for a race had ever been made\nthere. Believing that they were the victims of a practical joke they\nwere very indignant, and promised one another that they would square\nyards with the consul’s clerk before another twenty-four hours had\npassed over their heads. They put their horses into the inclosure where\nthey found them, went down the bank to hail the schooner for a boat, and\nwere amazed to find that she was gone. Far from suspecting that there\nwas anything wrong, they believed that Uncle Dick had taken Mr. Wilbur\nand his family out for the excursion that had been so long talked of;\nand knowing that if this was the case, some of the herdsmen could tell\nthem all about it, they returned to the house and pounded loudly upon\nthe door. The summons was answered by Uncle Dick in person, and the\nbluejackets were as surprised to see him as he was to learn of the\ndiscovery they had just made. An investigation was ordered at once, and\nit resulted in the finding of the two officers and the rest of the crew,\nwhom the convicts had left bound and gagged in the bushes on the bank.\n\nUncle Dick did not wait to hear the whole of the story that Mr. Baldwin\nhad to tell; a very few words were enough to let him into the secret of\nthe matter. Accompanied by Mr. Wilbur he set out on horseback for Hobart\nTown, and the police commissioner being hunted up, the matter was\nexplained to him. That gentleman informed his visitors that there was no\nwar steamer nearer than Melbourne, but she should be sent for at once,\nand Uncle Dick might go home fully assured that his vessel would be\nreturned to him in a very few days, unless she was burnt or sunk by her\nconvict crew before the man-of-war could come up with her. Uncle Dick,\nhowever, did not go home, and neither did Mr. Wilbur. They both remained\nat Hobart Town and boarded every vessel that came in, to inquire if\nanything had been seen of the Stranger; but they could gain no tidings\nof her, and Uncle Dick began to be seriously alarmed. He did not fear\nfor the safety of his vessel—he scarcely thought of her—but he did fear\nfor Frank and his cousin. He remembered what had transpired shortly\nafter Waters and his three friends were rescued from the breakers, and\nhe knew that they had two objects in view when they captured the vessel.\nOne was to regain their liberty, and the other was to make themselves\nrich by stealing the contents of the strong box. They might succeed in\nregaining their liberty, if they could elude the war-vessel that had\ngone in pursuit of them, but they would never make themselves rich as\nthey hoped. There were not more than twenty-five pounds in the safe.\nWhen the Stranger was hauled into the dry-docks, Walter had deposited\nevery cent of the vessel’s funds in the bank; and all there was in the\nstrong box now was a little of his own and Eugene’s pocket-money, which\nthey had put in there for safe keeping. Uncle Dick did not like to think\nwhat would happen when Waters discovered this fact. Beyond a doubt he\nwould be very angry, and if he acted as he had done on a former\noccasion, when he allowed his rage to get the better of him, what would\nbecome of Frank and his cousin?\n\n“While I was worrying about that it never occurred to me that _you_ were\nman enough to take care of him,” added Uncle Dick, nodding to Archie.\n\n“I declare it beats anything I ever heard of,” said Featherweight. “I\ndidn’t know you had so much pluck.”\n\n“If you had seen me while I was doing it and after it was done, you\nwouldn’t give me so much credit,” replied Archie. “I don’t think I was\never before so badly frightened.”\n\nUncle Dick then went on to say that the war-steamer had returned to\nHobart Town about ten o’clock on the morning of the previous day. He and\nMr. Wilbur boarded her as soon as she touched the quay, and sought an\ninterview with her commander, who put all their fears at rest by telling\nthem that he had the convicts safe under guard, and that he had left the\nStranger in the hands of those who seemed fully competent to take care\nof her. Uncle Dick was astonished beyond measure to learn how completely\nthe boys had turned the tables upon their captors, and could hardly\nbelieve it until he was told that Waters himself had confirmed the\nstory. The English commander further stated that he would have brought\nthe yacht into port under convoy, had it not been for the obstinacy of\nher captain. Frank having hoisted his colors would not take them down,\nand as he had no right to do it, and his officers could not be expected\nto sail under a foreign flag, he had left the Stranger to take care of\nherself. Uncle Dick laughed when he came to this part of his story, and\nFrank knew by the stinging slap he received on the back that he had done\njust as the old sailor himself would have done under the same\ncircumstances.\n\nThe schooner sailed into port about three o’clock that afternoon, and as\nsoon as she was made fast to the quay, the three foremast hands were\ncalled into the cabin and paid off. Uncle Dick gave the same reasons for\ndischarging them that he had given Frank, and the sailors accepted the\nsituation without a word of complaint. They took a sorrowful leave of\nthe captain and each of the Club, and the boys never saw them again\nafter they went over the side with their bags and hammocks.\n\nWhen the tide turned the Stranger left the harbor again, Uncle Dick on\nthe quarter-deck and the Club acting as the crew, and in a few hours\ndropped anchor in her old berth near Mr. Wilbur’s house. The sailors and\nthe herdsmen, who had gathered in a body on the bank to see her come in,\ngreeted her with cheers, and when the cutter went ashore with Uncle Dick\nand the rest, the blue jackets crowded into it with an eagerness that\ndid not escape the notice of their officers. They expected to find Brown\nand his two companions on board the schooner, and if they had found them\nthere, it is probable that there would have been trouble directly. When\nthey learned from the Doctor that the three men had been discharged at\nHobart Town, a select party of six, among whom were Lucas and Barton,\nwas appointed to go to the city, hunt them up, and give them a vigorous\ntrouncing. But this fine scheme was defeated at the outset, for when the\nselected six went aft with their caps in their hands to ask their\nliberty, Mr. Baldwin informed them that not a man would be allowed to\nleave the vessel. The disappointed blue jackets growled lustily among\nthemselves, but that did not help the matter.\n\nThe next day Mr. Wilbur and his family came aboard, the sails were\nhoisted, and the Stranger sailed away with them. They spent a week in\ncruising along the coast, stopping at various points of interest, and\nthen returned to their old anchorage. After that more provisions and\nwater were hoisted in, three American sailors, whom Uncle Dick found\nstranded at Hobart Town, were shipped to supply the places of those who\nhad been discharged, and the schooner began her voyage to Natal.\n\nThis proved to be the pleasantest part of their trip around the world,\nso far as the weather was concerned. The topsails were spread at the\nstart, and were scarcely touched until the shores of Africa were in\nsight. Of course the voyage was monotonous, for books were scarce, and\nalmost every topic of conversation had been worn threadbare. The plans\nthey had laid for their campaign in Africa had been discussed until they\nwere heartily tired of them, and it was only when Uncle Dick could be\nprevailed upon to relate some of the adventures that had befallen him\nduring the three years he had spent in the wilds of that almost unknown\ncountry, that the boys exhibited any interest at all. The welcome cry\n“Land, ho!” from the masthead aroused them, and sent them up to the\ncrosstrees with their field-glasses in their hands. They were all\nimpatient to get ashore—all except the two trappers. The latter seemed\nto have forgotten the most of their old fears by this time, and to be\nquite as much at home in the forecastle as they were in the mountains\nand on the prairie. They had come to realize that they were in no danger\nof falling off among the clouds when they reached the under side of the\nearth, and were fully convinced that the phantom ship, the Flying\nDutchman, the whale that swallowed Jonah, and the monstrous “quids”\nwhich had so excited their terror, had no existence except in the brains\nof the foremast hands; but they knew that there were such things as\nelephants, lions, and tigers, for they had heard Uncle Dick and Frank\nsay so. They did not care to meet any of these monsters, and they\napproached the coast with fear and trembling. Perhaps if the Club had\nknown just what was in store for them, they also would have felt a\nlittle less enthusiasm.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XII.\n                           BUYING AN OUTFIT.\n\n\nOn the afternoon of the same day that land was discovered from the\nmasthead, the Stranger sailed into the port of Natal. As soon as the\nanchor was dropped the gig was called away, and Uncle Dick was rowed\nashore, where he remained so long that the boys began to grow impatient\nand uneasy; but finally, to their great relief, they saw him coming back\nagain, and they saw, too, that there was a trunk in the bow of the boat,\nand that a stranger was seated in the stern-sheets beside Uncle Dick—a\ntall, gray-headed man, with a weather-beaten face and mutton-chop\nwhiskers. While they were wondering who he could be, the boat came\nalongside, and Uncle Dick and his companion sprang on board. “Mr.\nBaldwin,” said the captain, “have this trunk taken into the forecastle,\nand give this man a bunk there. Then get under way at once.”\n\n“Under way,” repeated Walter. “What is the matter?”\n\n“Nothing at all,” was the reply. “Come down into the cabin, and I will\ntell you what I have done since I went ashore.”\n\nThe boys followed, lost in wonder. The order to get under way, when they\nhad fully expected that the schooner would remain at her present\nanchorage for six or eight months, surprised them greatly; but the\ncaptain explained it in a few words.\n\n“While I was ashore I had the good fortune to meet an English colonel\nwho has just returned from a hunting trip in the interior,” said he. “He\nhas an outfit that he wants to sell, having no further use for it, and\nwhich is just the thing we want—a span of oxen, a wagon, a dozen\n‘salted’ horses, and a whole armory of double-barrelled rifles. If they\nsuit us we will buy them all in a lump, and that will save us two or\nthree weeks’ time.”\n\nThe boys had read enough to know that a “span” of oxen was six yoke, and\nthat a “salted” horse was an animal which had had the distemper and been\ncured of it. Such horses were hard to find, and it sometimes required\nconsiderable urging, and the display of a good deal of money, to induce\ntheir owners to part with them after they were found, for they were\nconsidered to be proof against the diseases which were so prevalent in\nthe interior. Many a sportsman had the boys read of, who, when a\nthousand miles from the coast and in the midst of a fine hunting\ncountry, had suddenly found himself without a nag to ride, all his\nanimals having been carried off by the distemper. Had he taken the\nprecaution to purchase “salted” horses, he would not have been in so\nmuch danger of being placed in this disagreeable situation. True, the\nlions might kill his stock, or it might die for want of water; but these\nwere perils that could oftentimes be averted by a little extra care and\nforethought.\n\n“This outfit is at Grahamstown,” continued Uncle Dick, “and we are going\ndown to take a look at it. This man I brought off with me is a\nScotchman, named McGregor. He used to be a transport-rider.”\n\n“What is a transport-rider, and where is Grahamstown?” asked Eugene.\n\n“Grahamstown is a few miles farther down the coast, and the point from\nwhich the most of the trading expeditions start for the interior. It is\nto Cape Colony what St. Joe and Independence used to be to our own\ncountry. A transport-rider is a teamster, who makes a business of\ncarrying goods from one settlement to another. This man, McGregor, made\na little money in that way, then went to trading and lost his last cent.\nIt wouldn’t surprise me much if we should sink all the capital we put\ninto the business, either,” said Uncle Dick, with a cheerful wink at the\nClub.\n\n“How did he lose his money?” asked George.\n\n“He lost the cattle he received in exchange for his merchandise,”\nanswered Uncle Dick. “One drove died of thirst while crossing the\ndesert, and the other was stolen by the natives, who came very near\nmaking an end of McGregor at the same time.”\n\n“Why do you think you will lose your money?” asked Walter.\n\n“Oh, because there’s trouble brewing between the Dutch farmers, who are\ncalled Boers, and their sworn enemies, the Griquas; and when they get at\nswords’ points, as they do about twice every year, they make it very\nunpleasant for travellers, and especially for traders. They are so\ncowardly that they seldom come to blows, but if they catch a stranger in\ntheir country, he is almost sure to suffer. Each side is afraid that he\nwill lend aid and comfort to the other, and consequently both treat him\nas an enemy. If he passes through the country of the Griquas, they\nthink, or pretend to think, that he has been selling munitions of war to\nthe Boers, and straightway rob him of all he has; and if the Boers find\nany extra guns in his wagon, or more powder than the law allows, they\naccuse him of selling contraband articles to their enemies, and\nconfiscate what he has left. We have come at the wrong time, and in that\nrespect we are unfortunate. In other ways I think we are very lucky. We\nare lucky in finding this outfit, and in securing the services of\nMcGregor. He knows the country thoroughly, and is capable of acting as\ninterpreter. Having been a trader, he is experienced, and so we will\ngive the management of our expedition entirely into his hands.”\n\n“So we’re bound to be fleeced by one side or the other, are we?” said\nWalter.\n\n“It looks that way now. Shall we give up the journey and go home?”\n\n“No, sir!” cried all the boys at once.\n\n“We have come so far around the world on purpose to see something of\nlife in Africa,” exclaimed Eugene. “It was in our minds when we started,\nand we have abandoned other plans we have laid in order that we might\ncarry out this part of our programme. It would be a pretty thing now if\nwe should be frightened away by a few <DW64>s and Dutchmen.”\n\n“Hear! hear!” cried the rest of the Club.\n\n“All right. We’ll go on,” said Uncle Dick.\n\nAnd they did go on. They reached Grahamstown early the next morning, and\nMcGregor (the boys had become familiar enough with him by this time to\ncall him “Mack”) struck a bargain with the English colonel’s agent in\nless than an hour after he got ashore. The outfit he purchased comprised\neverything our travellers could possibly need during their journey\nexcept provisions, merchandise, and ammunition. It comprised a good many\nthings, too, for which they did not think they should find any use, and\nsome which they thought were entirely unnecessary, such as camp-stools,\neasy-chairs, mattresses, and a carpet to cover the floor of the tent in\nwhich the colonel and his companions had lived like princes. The boys\nlaughed when they saw these things, and told one another that no one but\na very wealthy man could be a hunter if English notions were carried\nout. They had spent months on the prairie with no more luggage than they\ncould carry on their backs, and they had lived well, too, and enjoyed\nthemselves.\n\n“The colonel ought to have had just one more thing, and then he would\nhave been very comfortably fixed,” said Archie; “that is a bath-tub.”\n\n“Just look here!” cried Frank, as he drew one of the double-barrelled\nrifles from its holster. “There’s no one in our party who can use this\nweapon. It was made for a giant.”\n\nIt was an elephant gun, the first the boys had ever seen, and it was a\ngreat curiosity to them. It was so heavy that when Frank raised it to\nhis shoulders and glanced along the barrels, it required the outlay of\nall his strength to hold it steady. His little Maynard, which weighed\njust eight pounds and was warranted to throw a ball a thousand yards,\nwould have looked like a pop-gun beside it.\n\nThe guns were not the only things in their new outfit that the boys\nfound to wonder at. The wagon, and the oxen that were to draw it during\na four or five months’ journey, if they should be fortunate enough to\nescape the lions so long, demanded a good share of their attention. The\nwagon was a huge, clumsy-looking affair—the largest thing the boys had\never seen mounted on wheels. It was eighteen feet long, four feet wide,\nand looked heavy enough to tax the strength of the oxen even when there\nwas nothing in it. It was provided with a cover, like the wagon in which\nFrank and his cousin made their first journey across the plains, but it\nwas not made of canvas. It was made of green boughs fastened together\nwith strips of rawhide. It was furnished with two water-tanks, four\nboxes in which to carry tools and clothing, and there was still space\nenough left in the body of the wagon to accommodate an ample supply of\nprovisions, and also a good-sized cargo of merchandise.\n\nThe oxen that were to draw this unwieldy vehicle were tall, gaunt,\nwiry-looking beasts, with wide-spreading horns. They reminded the\ncousins of the half-wild cattle they had seen in their uncle’s ranche in\nCalifornia.\n\nThe horses too needed a good looking over. At first glance they were\nanything but pleased with them, and they expressed great astonishment\nthat the English colonel, who had spent money so lavishly on other\nportions of his outfit, should have been content with such sorry-looking\nbeasts. There were but two handsome ones in the lot. The rest, to quote\nfrom Archie, looked like the “breaking up of a hard winter,” and the\nsight of them made the boys wish for the sleek, well-conditioned riding\nnags they had left at home. But they proved themselves capable of good\nservice, and after two of them, the homeliest and most vicious horses in\nthe group, had carried their riders safely through an ambuscade, as they\ndid a few weeks later, nothing more was said about their looks.\n\nThis part of their outfit having been purchased, the next thing was to\nlay in a supply of provisions and ammunition, and also a stock of goods\nsuitable for barter. Here Mack proved himself to be an invaluable\nassistant. He knew just what to take and what to leave behind, and he\nshowed as much skill in loading the wagon as any sailor would have\nshowed in stowing away the cargo of his vessel. The boys were as\nsurprised at the quantity of goods he put into it as they were at the\ngreat variety of articles he selected. For the Boers, with whom Uncle\nDick intended to trade for cattle, he had everything, from a piece of\nthread with which to mend a harness, to a gaudy handkerchief for the\nfraus to tie around their necks. For the Griquas he laid in a supply of\nbeads, brass and copper wire, and cheap smooth-bore guns, all of which\nwere to be exchanged for ivory.\n\nWhile Mack was employed in this way the rest of the party were not idle.\nThe horses and guns were to be distributed, and there were servants to\nbe engaged. We have said that there were two desirable animals among the\nhorses, and there were also among the weapons some light handy pieces,\nwhich the boys would have selected in preference to any of the others.\nOf course all could not be exactly suited, and in order to give every\none a fair opportunity to secure the best, it was decided to dispose of\nthe horses and guns by lot. The colonel’s own riding mare and his\nfavorite double-barrel, both of which were pointed out by the agent of\nwhom the outfit was purchased, were first set aside for Uncle Dick.\nThose that were left were then numbered, and corresponding numbers being\nplaced in Walter Gaylord’s hat, each boy drew out one, and became\ntemporary owner of the steed and the rifle whose number agreed with his\nown. Frank drew number three; and on hunting up his property, found that\nthe charger which bore that number on a card tied to his foretop, was a\nlong-legged, raw-boned animal, and the most vicious one in the whole\ndrove. He welcomed his new master by laying back his ears and making a\nsavage bite at his hand. When he came to examine the weapons, he found\nthat number three rifle was the mass of wood and iron which he had\ndeclared to be heavy enough for a giant. He had the worst luck of all;\nand the boys laughed heartily at the wry faces he made, and more\nheartily still at the antics of Archie Winters, who paraded past his\ncousin mounted on a high-stepping thoroughbred, and carrying a handsome\nsilver-mounted rifle, both of which had fallen to his lot.\n\n“Now here’s what I call a horse,” cried Archie, patting the sleek neck\nof the animal he bestrode. “He doesn’t look much like your old crowbait,\ndoes he? I say, Frank, I don’t believe I’d go, if I were in your place.\nYou can’t possibly keep up with us, and neither can you shoot anything;\nfor it will take so long to raise that killdeer to your shoulder, that\nall the game within range will have plenty of time to get safely out of\nsight. Here’s a rifle, if you want to look at one. Just lift it, and see\nhow nicely it is balanced.”\n\nBut Frank said he didn’t care to examine it—he was very well satisfied\nwith his own. He took charge of his property in a quiet, indifferent\nsort of way, that had a volume of meaning in it. He resolved that his\n“crowbait” and “killdeer” should become famous before the journey was\nended.\n\nThe servants, of whom Uncle Dick was in search, were soon forthcoming in\nthe shape of four stalwart Kaffirs, who had accompanied English\nsportsmen on expeditions similar to this, and understood the duties\nrequired of them; but the sequel proved that they were lacking in some\nvery necessary qualities. The letter of recommendation that one of them\nproudly presented to Uncle Dick would have applied to them all. It was\nfrom his last employer, and read as follows:\n\n“This man is a good cook, but he is a fearful twister of the truth, and\na most expert thief. Take him, if you like a good cup of coffee in the\nmorning, but never take your eyes from him; if you do, he will be\nmissing some fine day, and so will your best horse and gun.”\n\nUncle Dick engaged the Kaffir, but took care to post the boys, and his\nhead man, Mack, in order that they might keep watch of him.\n\nAt last Mack announced that all the arrangements had been made, and he\nwas ready to “trek”—that is, to begin the journey. This was followed by\nan order from Uncle Dick to “inspan” (oxen are not “yoked” or “unyoked”\nin Africa—they are “inspanned” and “outspanned”), and that occupied the\nbest part of the forenoon. In the first place the oxen had to be brought\nin from the neighboring hills, where they had been driven to graze, and,\nof course, some of them had strayed away, and had to be hunted up, while\nothers, preferring the freedom of the pasture to labor under the yoke,\ndidn’t want to be driven to camp. The training Frank and Archie had\nreceived while living in California came into play here, and the latter\nshowed that he had not yet lost his skill with the lasso, by capturing\nan obstinate brute which had repeatedly dodged Eugene and Featherweight,\nand seemed determined to follow every road except the one that led\ntoward the wagon. When the oxen were brought in they were surrounded to\nkeep them from running away again, and after a good deal of breath had\nbeen expended in shouting and scolding, and a bushel or two of stones\nhad been thrown, and the hair had been cut from some of the most unruly\nones by the heavy whip which Mack handled as if it had been a feather,\nthe inspanning was completed and the journey begun. The wagon went\nfirst, driven by Mack; behind it followed half a dozen cows, twice as\nmany goats, and three loose horses; while the boys and the trappers\nbrought up the rear, and rode on the flanks of the train to keep these\nextra animals from straying away. The cows and goats were expected to\nfurnish the travellers with milk until they reached the Griqua country,\nwhen they were to be exchanged for ivory. The horses were to mount any\nmember of the party who might be so unfortunate as to injure or lose his\nown nag.\n\nDuring the first six weeks nothing happened that is of sufficient\ninterest to be recorded here. The weather for the most part was\npleasant, the roads much better than they had expected to find them, and\nMack often declared that they were making wonderful headway. Nothing had\nyet been done in the way of trading, for they were too close to the\nsettlements. Mack was gradually drawing away from the travelled routes,\nin order to reach a colony of Boers who had located their farms on the\nvery borders of the Griqua country. Cattle were plenty and cheap there,\nand consequently good bargains could be made. The country through which\nthey were travelling showed some few signs of civilization. Once or\ntwice each week they met a transport rider, and about as often they\nwould encounter a few Boers going to or returning from some remote\nsettlement. About as often, too, they would make their camp near the\nhouse of some farmer, who in the evening would come over and drink tea\nwith Uncle Dick. All these Boers talked of was the impending war with\nthe natives, and every one of them urged Uncle Dick to turn aside and\ngive the Griqua country a wide berth.\n\nThe boys often told one another that if any people in the world ought to\nbe supremely happy it was these same Boers. They owned or controlled\nimmense farms on which horses and cattle, which constituted their sole\nwealth, were raised with scarcely any trouble at all; their tables were\nabundantly supplied; they seemed to possess everything in the way of\nhousehold comforts that any people with their simple habits could ask\nfor; and they lived in the midst of a hunting country which far\nsurpassed anything the boys had ever dreamed of. One of these Boers\ncould get up any morning in the week, take his old “roer” down from the\npegs at the head of his bed, and knock over an eland or a springbok for\nbreakfast, and that too without going any farther than the threshold of\nhis own door. There were antelopes, large and small, zebras, quaggas,\nand buffaloes without number. Time and again had the boys been awakened\nfrom their morning nap by the clatter of countless hoofs, and hurried\nout of their tents to find the plain covered with these animals as far\nas their eyes could reach. Such sights drove the trappers almost wild\nwith excitement. They reminded them of the glorious sport they had\nenjoyed among the noble game of their own country, the buffaloes, which,\nlike the class of men to which Dick and Bob belonged, are fast becoming\nextinct. Of course the boys had ample opportunity to try the speed of\ntheir horses and the accuracy of their new weapons. The wagon did not\nhalt a single day to give them a chance to hunt, for theirs was a\ntrading, not a hunting expedition; but they scoured the country for\nmiles on each side of the route, and already large quantities of\nsomething which Mack called “bell-tongue,” but which the boys called\n“jerked meat,” was packed away in the wagon for use in the days when\ngame was not quite so plenty.\n\nThe place where this good hunting was found was in the uninhabited\nregion lying between the borders of the colony and the remote Dutch\nsettlement toward which Mack was directing his course. As they\napproached the opposite side of it, the game decreased in numbers, until\nfinally an exceedingly wild springbok would be the only animal the boys\ncould find in a day’s hard riding. This was a sign that the settlement\nwas near at hand. Their trading begun now, and trouble followed close on\nthe heels of it.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XIII.\n                             A SURLY BOER.\n\n\nThe “settlement” that Mack was so anxious to reach proved to be no\nsettlement at all, as the boys understood the meaning of the word. It\nwas simply a collection of a dozen or more families who were scattered\nover an immense country, the nearest neighbors living three days’\njourney from each other. They arrived at the first farmhouse one bright\nafternoon, and the sight of the cattle feeding about it delighted Mack,\nwho declared that he would not inspan again until he had traded for a\ndozen or fifteen of the best of them; but the reception they met from\nthe farmer himself, made the boys a little doubtful on that point. They\nhad seen enough of the Boers by this time to learn something of their\ncustoms. One of these customs was, that every traveller must be\ncordially greeted at the door, presented to each member of the family in\nturn, and invited to dinner; and this farmer was the first one who\nneglected this ceremony. When the wagon drew up in front of the house he\nstood in the door with his long pipe in his hand, but he made no move to\nwelcome them, although Mack greeted him as an old acquaintance.\n\n“Well, Mynheer Schrader,” exclaimed the driver, as he jumped off his\nwagon, “I am glad to see you again. Where shall I outspan, and where\nshall the oxen be driven to graze?”\n\n“There is a fountain five miles further on,” replied the Boer in broken\nEnglish.\n\n“But I intend to stop here,” replied Mack. “You have some fine cattle,\nand I have the best stock of goods ever brought out by a trader—ribbons,\nand tea and coffee for the women, cloth to make clothes for the\nchildren, and perhaps something for Mynheer himself. Where shall I\noffload?”\n\n“I want nothing,” growled the Boer.\n\n“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” insisted Mack. “It’s my business to show\ngoods. That’s what I am hired for.”\n\nMack looked around to select a place for the camp, and discovering a\nlittle grove at a short distance from the house, he drove the wagon\nthere and proceeded to outspan, just as he would have done if the Boer\nhad given him the most cordial welcome. As soon as the oxen were freed\nfrom their yokes one of the Kaffirs drove them away to graze, and Mack\nproceeded to make a display of his goods.\n\n“Are you going to unload?” asked Walter. “That Boer says he doesn’t want\nanything.”\n\n“Oh, he don’t know whether he does or not,” replied Mack. “That’s what\nthey all say at first, only they generally say it in a more friendly\nmanner. Wait till the women see what I have to show them, and perhaps he\nwill change his mind.”\n\n“He’s a surly old rascal,” said Eugene.\n\n“That’s true,” answered Mack. “I don’t much like the way he welcomed us.\nWe must make a friend of him if we can, for he’s a field cornet.”\n\n“What’s that?”\n\n“A sort of magistrate. He’s a big man here, and the other farmers will\nbe likely to do just as he does. If he treats us well and trades with\nus, the others will do the same; but if he holds off and acts sulky, we\nmight as well pack up and go on to the Griquas, for we shall get no\ncattle.”\n\n“What do you suppose makes him act so?” asked Bob. “The others have all\nseemed glad to see us.”\n\n“Oh, he knows that we want ivory as well as cattle, and he is afraid\nwe’ll sell guns and powder to the natives. He may take it into his\nstupid head to tell us that we mustn’t go any farther.”\n\n“What will we do in that case?”\n\n“Pay no attention to him. He can’t raise men enough in the settlement to\nturn us back—our twelve men would make a pretty good show drawn up in\nline—and before he can send off for help, we’ll be miles in the Griqua\ncountry, where he dare not follow us. I don’t much like that move\neither.”\n\n“What move?” asked Archie.\n\nMack bobbed his head toward the house by way of reply. The boys looked\nand saw a young Boer, who they afterward learned was the son of the\nowner of the farm, sitting on his horse listening to some instructions\nfrom his father. The old man was excited, if one might judge by the way\nhe paced back and forth in front of his house and swung his arms about\nhis head. When he had finished his speech the young Boer rode off\nposthaste.\n\n“I don’t like that move,” repeated Mack. “I don’t know whether the old\nchap wants help, or whether he is sending word to the other farmers that\nthey mustn’t trade with us. It is one or the other. If he doesn’t change\nhis tactics pretty soon, I’ll put all the things back in the wagon and\nto-morrow we’ll trek again.”\n\nWhile Mack was unloading his goods and spreading them out on the ground\nso that they could be inspected by the Boer and his family, if they\nshould choose to look at them, the boys busied themselves in unsaddling\nthe horses, pitching the tents, and making other preparations for the\nnight. They stopped to look at the retreating figure of the young Boer\noccasionally, and told one another that his mission, whatever it was,\nmust be one of importance, for he kept his horse on the run as long as\nhe remained in sight. Presently a party of <DW64>s, some on foot and\nothers on horseback, rode into camp. The boys, who had by this time\nlearned to look upon these visits as petty annoyances that could not be\nescaped (the natives were great beggars and thieves), did not take a\nsecond look at these newcomers, until they heard Mack say that they were\nZulus and Griquas. He knew the members of all the tribes and could tell\nthem as far as he could see them, just as Dick and Bob could tell a\nSioux Indian or a Comanche.\n\n“Griquas!” repeated George. “There’ll be a row here now, I suppose.”\n\n“Who’ll raise it?” asked Mack.\n\n“Why, that Boer over there,” said Frank. “I should think the natives\nwould have better sense than to go prowling about through an enemy’s\ncountry.”\n\n“Oh, that’s nothing,” returned Mack. “They haven’t come to blows yet.\nThey are only threatening each other.”\n\nAs the boys expected to see a good deal of the Griquas before their\njourney was ended, they looked at their visitors with a good deal of\ninterest. Unlike the majority of the natives they had thus far seen,\nthese were dressed as well as a good many of the Boers with whom they\nhad come in contact, only their clothes were made of leather, and\ninstead of hats they wore gaudy handkerchiefs tied around their heads,\nafter the fashion of some of the <DW64>s in our Southern States. They\nrode sorry-looking beasts, and each of them carried a cheap smooth-bore\nrifle on his shoulder, and an immense powderhorn under his arm. They\nwere a ruffianly looking set, and the boys thought that the efforts of\nthe missionaries, who had lived among them so many years, had not\namounted to much. They had been taught to wear clothing and to use\nfirearms, and that was as far as the white man’s influence had had any\neffect on them. Their companions, the Zulus, were a still harder lot.\nThey looked and acted like genuine savages. They were on foot, and their\nweapons consisted principally of spears and war-clubs.\n\n“They’re the lads that own the ivory,” said Mack. “If you should go to\ntheir country you’d see elephants by the drove, and have no trouble at\nall in filling this wagon with their teeth.”\n\n“Well, why can we not go there?” asked Eugene. “If the Boers will not\ntrade with us—”\n\n“Oh, I wouldn’t go to the Zulu country for all the money the wagon could\nhold,” interrupted Mack, quickly. “There is no water in the desert, and\nthe wild bushmen are thicker than blackberries.”\n\n“And they shoot poisoned arrows,” said Walter.\n\n“That’s what’s the matter,” exclaimed Mack. “I’d sooner face a bullet\nthan one of those arrows.”\n\n“Mack!” shouted Uncle Dick, from his place under the fly of the tent\nwhere he was lying at his ease, with his hands under his head, and his\nbig meerschaum in his mouth, “ask this fellow what he wants. I’ve\nforgotten all my Dutch.”\n\nUncle Dick was surrounded by his visitors, one of whom was holding his\ngun in one hand and making motions around the lock with the other, as if\nhe were trying to explain something about it. When Mack inquired into\nthe matter the Griquas at once gathered about him, and for a few minutes\nan animated discussion was carried on. The conversation was principally\nby signs, as it seemed to the boys, for they could not understand how\nany one could make sense out of words which sounded almost exactly like\nthe grunting of pigs.\n\n“His gun is out of order, sir, and he wants somebody to fix it,” said\nMack. “The notch is worn smooth, and the hammer won’t stay back.”\n\n“Well, tell him that I don’t keep a travelling gun-shop,” replied the\nold sailor.\n\n“Let me see it,” said Frank, extending his hand for the gun, which the\nnative promptly surrendered to him.\n\n“Look out there, my boy,” exclaimed Uncle Dick, “or my first customer\nwill be one of my own party.”\n\n“Now I’ll tell you what’s a fact. What do you mean by that?” asked Perk.\n\n“I mean that if you break that gun among you in trying to fix it, you\nwill have to buy a new one of me to replace it.”\n\n“Why the weapon is useless now,” said Frank, bending back the hammer,\nwhich instantly fell down upon the tube when he released it. “Even if I\nshould break it, it couldn’t be in any worse condition than it is now.”\n\n“No matter. You’ve got a rogue to deal with, and he wouldn’t ask any\nbetter fun than to make you give him a new gun for his wornout piece.”\n\n“But I wouldn’t do it,” said Frank.\n\n“Then in two or three days we should have a band of Griqua warriors down\nhere to ask what’s the reason,” returned Uncle Dick.\n\n“Whew!” whistled Frank. “If that’s the kind of scrape I am likely to get\ninto by being accommodating, I’ll go no further. Here Mr.—Mr.—”\n\n“Jones,” suggested Archie.\n\n“Here, Jones, take your old gun. I can’t do anything with it.”\n\nHe handed the weapon to the owner as he spoke, but to his great surprise\nthe native backed away, put his hands behind his back and refused to\nreceive it. He shook his head vehemently and gabbled loudly in Dutch, at\nthe same time appealing to his companions, who nodded their approval.\n\n“What does he say, Mack?” asked Bob.\n\n“He says that the Englishman must fix it, now that he has begun it.”\n\n“I haven’t begun it, and I’m not an Englishman either,” exclaimed Frank.\n\n“No matter. That’s what he and his friends say,” was Mack’s laughing\nresponse.\n\n“Offer it to him again, and if he doesn’t take it knock him down with\nit,” suggested Eugene.\n\nFor a second or two it seemed as if Frank thought it would be a good\nplan to follow this advice. He was quite willing to undertake the task\nof repairing the weapon as an act of kindness, but his blood rose when\nhe saw that an effort was being made to compel him to do so. The sight\nof the comical monkey-like face which the native turned upon him,\nhowever, was too much for his anger. It disappeared almost immediately,\nand breaking into a laugh Frank turned to the wagon to hunt up a file\nand screw-driver, followed by the Griquas, who watched all his movements\nwith the keenest interest. Seating himself on the ground, he removed the\nlock, took out the tumbler, deepened the smoothly worn notch by a few\npasses of the file, and then put it back again just as it was before.\nThe work was done in five minutes, and to show the native that it was\nwell done, he took a cap from his own box, put it on the tube and pulled\nthe trigger. The cap snapped, and the native with a grunt of\nsatisfaction seized his gun and walked off, surrounded with his\ndelighted friends. Frank put his hands into his pockets and stood\nlooking after him. “You didn’t expect him to thank you, did you?” asked\nUncle Dick.\n\n“N-no, sir; but I didn’t expect him to grab the gun as though he thought\nI was going to steal it.”\n\n“The next time you do a job of that kind throw in a kick, too,” said\nEugene.\n\n“The next time I won’t touch the gun in the first place,” replied Frank.\n“Hallo!”\n\nHe looked up just then and saw the surly farmer standing near the wagon\nenveloped in a cloud of smoke. Now and then the breeze would carry it\naway for an instant, and Frank could see that he was scowling fiercely.\n\n“Ah! Mynheer Schrader,” exclaimed Mack, cheerfully, “you have come out\nat last to look at my fine goods. Why didn’t you bring the frau along?”\n\n“I wants nothing,” growled the Boer.\n\n“Now, Mynheer Schrader,” said Mack, in his most winning tones, “when you\nsee all the fine goods I have brought out here on purpose to—”\n\nThe Scotchman was as persistent as a book agent, but he had met his\nmatch in the obstinate Boer, who declared that he didn’t want anything,\nand neither would he look at anything. Mack might as well put his fine\ngoods back into his wagon, and go his way, for not an ox could he buy of\nhim. A long and animated conversation followed. As it was carried on in\nDutch, the boys could not, of course, understand a single word of it,\nbut they could easily see that the farmer was angry, and that he was\ntaking Mack to task for something. Whether he had any advantage of their\nman, the boys could not quite decide. They rather thought not; for when\nMack became fairly aroused he talked as fast as the others did, and\nslapped his hands and shouted so loudly that he might have been heard\nfor half a mile. The Griquas listened intently, and did not hesitate to\nput in a word, and sometimes a good many of them, whenever an\nopportunity was offered. The boys thought they were taking sides with\ntheir champion. Finally, the debate was ended by the Dutchman, who, with\nan exclamation of disgust, turned on his heel, and walked away, smoking\nfuriously.\n\n“Well, Mack, what is the upshot of the whole matter?” asked Uncle Dick,\nas the driver lifted his hat from his head, and wiped away the\nperspiration into which he had been thrown by his exertions. “Will he\ntrade?”\n\n“No, sir, and neither will any of his people. They want to discourage\ntraders from coming out here, for they sell too much ammunition to the\nnatives.”\n\n“And what did our visitors have to say?” asked Uncle Dick. “I noticed\nthat they chimed in now and then.”\n\n“Yes, sir. They assured me that we would stand a better chance if we\nshould go straight to their own country, and let the Boers alone; and\nthe Zulus say that there is ivory enough in their principal village to\nfill our wagon. But I wouldn’t go after it if I could get it for\nnothing. The Boer gave you particular fits,” added Mack, turning to\nFrank.\n\n“Me! What have I done?”\n\n“You mended that gun for Mr. Jones,” replied Mack; whereupon the boys\nand Uncle Dick broke out into a hearty peal of laughter. The idea of\ngiving a civilized name and title to a creature like that was supremely\nridiculous.\n\n“What business was that of the Boer’s?” asked Frank, as soon as the\nnoise had subsided.\n\n“Why, he contends that Jones couldn’t have fixed it himself, and so you\nwent and did it, and gave the Griquas just one more gun to shoot Boers\nwith. He says we can’t stay in his settlement after that.”\n\n“We don’t want to stay in his settlement,” said Uncle Dick. “We’ll start\nthrough it early in the morning; and the goods that we can’t barter to\nthe natives we’ll bring back with us, and try to sell to the Boers\nnearer the colony.”\n\nThis decision was acted upon. Mack had the travellers all astir at an\nearly hour the next morning, and while the boys were busy striking the\ntents and packing them away in the wagon, the cook made coffee and the\nother servants went off to drive up the oxen. By the time breakfast was\ndisposed of the inspanning was completed; and when Mack had taken a turn\nabout the camp to make sure that nothing had been left behind, he\nmounted his box and set the oxen in motion. Uncle Dick rode on ahead in\ncompany with Frank, as he generally did; the rest of the boys and the\ntrappers came behind to keep the loose cattle and horses in their\nplaces; and the extreme rear was brought up by the Griquas on their\nsorry-looking beasts. The Zulus had left camp the night before, after\nbegging a little tea from Uncle Dick. The sight of the goods that had\nbeen displayed for the Boer’s benefit, made them open their eyes, and\nthey were hastening to their own country to inform their chief that a\ntrader was approaching. This was what Mack told the boys, and he knew it\nby what he had overheard of the conversation they had with the Griquas\njust before they left. But they needn’t think that they were going to\nget him to trek so far out of the world, he said. He wouldn’t cross that\ndesert and take his chances with the wild Bushmen for all the ivory\nthere was in Africa.\n\nWhen the wagon passed the farmhouse the Boer was standing in the door,\npipe in hand. “Good morning and good-by to you, Mynheer Schrader,”\nexclaimed Mack, cheerfully. “I may see you again in a few weeks, and\nthen I hope I shall find you in a better humor. Remember that I have the\nbest stock of goods—”\n\n“I wants nothing but that the lions may catch you while you are going\nthrough the veldt,” growled the Boer, in reply. “Ah! you’re going to a\nbad place, and there’ll be no traces left of you in the morning.”\n\n“Never fear. I know more about that veldt and the lions that are in it\nthan you do.”\n\nThe boys did not quite understand this, so after a little consultation\namong themselves, Featherweight rode up to the wagon to ask some\ninformation. He remained in conversation with Mack for ten minutes, and\nwhen he dropped back beside his companions again, his face was all aglow\nwith excitement. “We may see something now, fellows,” he exclaimed.\n“That ‘veldt’ the Boer was talking about is a valley in the hills about\na day’s journey from here, and the lions are so numerous there that it\nis known all over the country as ‘the lion veldt.’ Every traveller\ndreads it. No one pretends to go through there by night, and people have\nbeen killed in broad daylight.”\n\n“Human natur’!” ejaculated Dick.\n\nThe rest of the party said nothing at once, but looked down at the horns\nof their saddles and thought about it. They had not yet caught a glimpse\nof the king of beasts on his native heath. They had heard his voice on\nseveral occasions, and that was enough for them, especially for the\ntrappers, who, judging of the animal by the noise he was able to make,\nformed the opinion that he must be of immense size and something fearful\nto look at. To hear a tame lion roar in a menagerie, when they were\nstanding in a crowd of spectators and the lion was penned up in an iron\ncage and deprived of all power for mischief, was one thing; and to hear\nthat same tame lion’s uncle or cousin give tongue in the wilds of Africa\non a dark and stormy night (Uncle Dick had often told them that when a\nlion made up his mind to do any particular damage he always chose a\nstormy night for it), when there were no iron bars to confine him, and\nnothing but the thin sides of their tent, and a frail breastwork of\nthorn-bushes, to keep him from dashing into their very midst, was\nanother and a widely different thing. The boys had heard lions roar\nunder all these circumstances, and George expressed the sentiments of\nthe most of the party when he said:\n\n“I have listened to several concerts since I have been in this country,\nand I don’t want to hear another.”\n\n“You will probably hear another within a few hours,” returned Fred. “The\nnext water we shall find on the route is in that valley, and there’s\nwhere we shall camp to-night.”\n\n“Ain’t thar no trail that leads around it?” asked old Bob, nervously.\n\n“Probably not, or some one would have found it before this time. All\ntraders pass through there. Mack told me that about three years ago he\nwatched the fountain, beside which we are going to camp next, all one\nnight, and saw three different troops of lions come there to drink; but\nhe was so badly frightened by the hubbub they made, that he dared not\nshoot at them. He told me that his shooting-hole is there yet and that I\ncould use it to-night if I felt so disposed; but I declined.”\n\n“I dare you to stay there with me to-night.”\n\nThe astonished boys looked up to see who the bold challenger was. It was\nEugene Gaylord, who, finding that his companions were staring hard at\nhim, dropped his reins, placed his hands on his hips and looked at each\nof them in turn. “Don’t all speak at once, because I don’t want too much\ncompany,” said he.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XIV.\n                           A TROOP OF LIONS.\n\n\n“There’s no danger that you will be overburdened with company if you\nintend to pass the night at that shooting-hole,” said Bob, with a laugh.\n“I know who _won’t_ go. Here’s one.”\n\n“Here’s another,” said George.\n\n“Here’s one who will go,” cried Archie.\n\n“You don’t mean it,” exclaimed George.\n\n“I mean just this: if Eugene is brave enough to stay beside that spring\nto-night, I am,” returned Archie.\n\n“So am I,” said Fred.\n\n“Oh, of course,” laughed George. “If one of you three go, you’ll all go.\nWell, I shall stay contentedly by the fire, and about the time you hear\nthe roar of the first lion that is coming to the spring to drink, you’ll\nwish yourselves safe beside the fire, too.”\n\n“Do you really mean to go, Eugene?” asked Archie, in a low tone.\n\n“Yes, I do, if you two fellows will go with me. We don’t expect to kill\na lion or even shoot at one, but we’ll have something to brag of. When\nwe get home we can say we performed a feat that none of the others dared\nattempt.”\n\n“How big is one of them critters, anyhow?” asked Dick Lewis. “Is he much\nbigger’n a painter?”\n\n“Why a panther wouldn’t make an ear for a lion,” replied Eugene. “Well,\nyes, perhaps he would, too,” he added, seeing that the trapper’s eyes\nwere fastened searchingly upon him; “but he wouldn’t make more than a\nhalf a dozen good mouthfuls. Will you go with us, Dick?”\n\n“Nary time,” exclaimed the trapper, quickly. “A critter that can make\nsuch a bellerin’ as that one did that stormy night a few weeks back, is\nsomething I don’t want to see.”\n\nOur three friends, Archie, Fred, and Eugene, had something to talk about\nnow—something in which they alone were interested; so they fell back\nbehind the others, and during the rest of the forenoon were left almost\nentirely to themselves. Whether or not they expected to derive any\npleasure from their projected enterprise, other than to be found in\ntalking about it after it was all over, it is hard to tell. They tried\ntheir best to make themselves and one another believe that they did, and\nrepeatedly expressed the hope that Uncle Dick would not interpose his\nauthority, and spoil all their sport by ordering them to stay in the\ncamp. They expected that he would have something to say about it during\nthe noon halt, and so he did, but he did not put his veto on the\nproject. He had done such a thing more than once during his young and\nfoolish days, he said, and although he could not be easily induced to do\nit again, he would not like to sell his experience at any price. It was\ngoing to be a beautiful night for sport. It would be as dark as pitch,\nand that was just what they wanted. He hoped that they would bag lions\nenough so that each one of the party could have a skin to remind him of\nhis sojourn in Africa, and of that night in particular. Frank talked\nmuch in the same strain, and added that he thought he had enough\narsenical soap left to preserve a few of the heads of the lions, if the\nhunters would cut them off and bring them to the camp. The three friends\nwere not prepared for this, and they did not know what to make of it.\nThey had looked for opposition, and instead of that received\nencouragement and offers of assistance. They said nothing until the\njourney was resumed, and then they fell behind to compare notes.\n\n“Now what do you suppose is in the wind?” asked Eugene, as soon as they\nwere out of earshot of the rest of the party.\n\n“Let Archie guess; he’s a Yankee,” replied Fred. “There’s something up,\nI know, or Uncle Dick and Frank would not have talked as they did. What\nis it, Archie?”\n\n“There’s no danger that any lions will come near the spring,” replied\nArchie.\n\n“Why, didn’t Mack tell me this morning that the veldt was full of them,\nand that he had seen three troops of lions at that very fountain?”\ndemanded Fred. “That can’t be it. Guess again.”\n\n“They think that when night comes and it begins to grow dark, our\ncourage will give way, and we will say no more about going out to the\nshooting-hole,” said Archie. “Am I any nearer the mark this time?”\n\n“I think you are,” replied Eugene. “That’s the best guess you have made\nyet. They may think so—it is probable they do—but they will find that\nthey are mistaken. Do they imagine that I proposed this thing just to\nhear myself talk? They ought to know me better than that.”\n\nThe boys having now got it into their heads that their courage was\nquestioned, were more than ever determined to carry their plans into\nexecution, provided, of course, that Uncle Dick did not change his mind\nbefore night came. They tried to look very unconcerned when they\nannounced this decision, and perhaps they felt so just then, for it is\nalways easy to talk carelessly of danger when the danger itself is far\ndistant; but as the afternoon began to wane, and the range of hills\ntoward which they had been journeying all day seemed to approach nearer\nand nearer to them, our three hunters began to be a little nervous and\nuneasy. Perhaps the actions of their companions had something to do with\nthis. The Griquas, who had all the day been loitering far in the rear,\nsuddenly urged their beasts into something resembling a canter, and drew\nnearer to the boys, as if for protection; while the trappers, after\nexchanging a few words in a hurried undertone, rode up to the head of\nthe line and joined Uncle Dick and his party. They seemed to feel safer\nin the captain’s presence and Frank’s than they did anywhere else. The\nGriquas were prompt to follow their example, and thus the rear-guard was\nreduced to a mere handful.\n\nArchie and his friends cared nothing for the company of the natives, for\nthey knew that in case of trouble no dependence was to be placed upon\nthem; but the hurried flight of the two trappers, who had faced so many\ndangers without flinching, had anything but a soothing effect upon them.\nThey would have been glad to ride up to the head of the line, too, but\nthat would not look well in three hunters who had announced their\ndetermination to perform an exploit that not another person in the\ncompany was willing to undertake. They staid because their pride\ncompelled them to do so, and George staid to keep them company.\n\nAn hour later the wagon entered the valley. It was a dreary,\nlonely-looking place they found when they got fairly into it, and they\ndid not wonder that travellers hurried through it with all possible\nspeed. It was about two miles wide, and on both sides arose steep hills,\nwhich were covered with thick forests from base to summit. The surface\nof the valley was not a level plain, as they had expected to find it. It\nwas undulating, and even hilly in some places; and although almost bare\nof trees, it was thickly covered with boulders, some the size of a man’s\nhead, and others as large as the wagon. Among these huge boulders the\nroad twisted and turned in a way that was quite bewildering, a few of\nthe bends being so abrupt that in passing around them the leaders of the\nteam and the wheel oxen were seen moving in opposite directions. What an\nambuscade it would have formed for hostile natives—wild Bushmen, for\ninstance—and how easily a hungry lion could spring out from behind one\nof the boulders beside the road, seize a goat or a man, and jump back\nagain before a shot could be fired at him! Once safe behind a boulder he\nwas certain to escape with his booty, for he could spring from one rock\nto the cover of a second, and thence to a third, faster than even the\nbreechloaders could be charged and fired at him. But if there was any\nhungry lion in the neighborhood he did not show himself, and the\ntravellers passed safely through the wilderness of rocks, and finally\ndrew up in the edge of a little grove, where Mack intended to camp for\nthe night. Our three friends were on the ground at last.\n\nArchie and his companions did not dismount as the others did, but set\noff at once in search of the fountain. The first ox that was freed from\nthe yoke showed them where it was. Knowing that the animal’s instinct\nwould direct him aright, they followed in his lead, and presently found\nthemselves standing on the bank of the spring. It was, perhaps, a\nhundred yards away from the wagon.\n\nTravellers on our Western plains, when they camp for the night,\ngenerally take pains to stop close beside a stream of water; but campers\nin Africa are obliged to follow a different custom. The springs, which\nare few and far apart, are generally found on the bare plain, and\nsometimes there is not a stick or bush within miles of them. Sticks and\nbushes are necessary, one to keep the fire going, and the other to build\nthe barricade which is always erected to protect the travellers and\ntheir stock from sudden attacks of wild beasts; so the camp is made in\nthe nearest piece of woods, the cattle are driven to the spring, and the\ntraveller brings back enough of the water to make his tea and coffee.\n\nUpon reaching the fountain the boys drew rein and looked about them with\na great deal of interest. They saw before them a body of water about\nfifty yards long and half as wide, whose source of supply was in the\nlimpid spring that bubbled out from the low bank that overhung one side\nof it. About twenty-five yards from the edge of the water, and in plain\nview of it, was the shooting-hole they were to occupy that night; and\nabout twenty yards still further back was another bank, ten or twelve\nfeet high, which completely shut them out from the view of the camp.\n\nThe shooting-hole was an excavation about four feet deep and six feet\nsquare. There was not much elbow-room in it for three such restless\nfellows as our young friends, but still it would afford them a very\ncomfortable hiding-place if they could only content themselves with\nclose quarters for a short time. They had one great objection to it when\nthey came to look at it, and that was, it was too close to the water.\n“Two or three swift bounds would carry a wild beast from the fountain’s\nedge right into our very midst,” exclaimed Eugene; “that is, provided,\nof course, that one comes here to-night and makes up his mind to pitch\ninto us.”\n\n“Oh, he’ll come,” shouted Fred, from the other side of the fountain.\n“You needn’t borrow any trouble on that score. Come over here.”\n\nThe boys went, and, when they had examined the ground on that side of\nthe spring, told one another that it would be surprising indeed if they\ndid not have visitors before morning. Wild beasts of some sort came\nthere to drink every night, and in goodly numbers, too. There could be\nno mistake about that, for the shore, which was low on that side of the\nspring, was tramped so hard that the hoofs of the thirty oxen made no\nimpression on it. An experienced and enthusiastic hunter, like the\nEnglish colonel of whom they purchased their outfit, would have been\ndelighted at such a prospect for sport.\n\nTheir friends at the camp looked curiously at them when they came back,\nbut saw no signs of backing out. The three hunters were not only in\nearnest, but they were impatient to begin operations, if one might judge\nby the way they hurried up the preparations for supper. They ate\nheartily of the viands that were set before them, and having satisfied\ntheir appetites and bidden their friends good-by, each boy shouldered\nhis rifles and a bundle of blankets, and was ready to set out. We say\n“rifles,” for each boy carried two. Besides their double-barrels, Fred\nand Eugene took their sixteen shooters, and Archie his Maynard. They had\nthe most faith in their breechloaders, for they were accustomed to them.\nUncle Dick and Frank walked down to the spring with them, and having\nseen them snugly stowed away in the shooting-hole, bade them good-night\nand returned to the camp.\n\n“I can’t quite understand what makes Uncle Dick act so,” said Eugene,\nthoughtfully. “Seems to me that he ought to have raised some objections,\nand I don’t see why he didn’t.”\n\n“Perhaps he and Frank are hiding up there behind the bank to keep an eye\non us, and be ready to lend us a hand in case we get into trouble,” said\nFred.\n\n“Well, we don’t want any such backing as that. If they want to take a\nhand in this business, let them come in here with us. There’s room\nenough for them with tight squeezing. I’ll just satisfy myself on that\npoint.”\n\nSo saying, Eugene jumped out of the hole and ran up the bank. The\ncampfire was burning brightly in the edge of the grove, and by the light\nit threw out the young hunter could see that Uncle Dick and his\ncompanion had just joined the rest of the party, who were busy making\npreparations for the night. The native servants, having built a small\ninclosure of thorn bushes, were driving the oxen into it and fastening\nthem in; some of the boys were arranging the beds in the tent; and the\nothers were tying the horses, which now began to come into the camp one\nafter another. These intelligent animals never waited to be driven in at\nnight as the oxen did. Their instinct taught them that the neighborhood\nof the campfire was the safest place for them, and thither they went as\nsoon as it began to grow dark.\n\nHaving completed his observations, Eugene joined his companions in the\nshooting-hole, and reported that he had seen Uncle Dick go into the\ncamp, and that he and his two friends were alone in their glory. The\nsudden silence that fell on the party when Eugene said this, was\nevidence that there was not near as much fun in being alone in their\nglory as they thought there was. How plainly they could hear the voices\nof the Kaffirs as they shouted at the oxen! And when the oxen were all\ndriven in and the voices ceased, how still it became all at once, and\nhow dark, too! They tried hard to shake off their feelings of awe and to\nfind something to talk about, but both efforts were failures. They could\nnot converse, for their lowest whispers were wonderfully distinct, and\nseemed to them loud enough to frighten away any animal that might be\napproaching the fountain. For an hour they remained almost motionless in\ntheir hiding-place, holding their weapons in readiness, and keeping\ntheir gaze directed over the edge of the bank toward the water, and then\nFred gave a sudden start and placed his hand on Archie’s shoulder.\n“There’s something there!” he whispered, excitedly.\n\nThe others listened, and could distinctly hear a faint lapping sound,\nmade by some animal in drinking; but he was invisible in the darkness.\nThey could not obtain the slightest glimpse of him.\n\n“It must be a lion,” whispered Fred. “You know Uncle Dick told us that\nhe has heard lions drinking within ten yards of him, and couldn’t see\nthem. They can’t be seen in the dark.”\n\n“But they make a very loud noise in drinking,” said Archie, “and this\nanimal we can scarcely hear. It must be something else.”\n\n“I can see him now,” said Eugene, as he pushed his double-barrel slowly\nand cautiously over the bank. “Be ready to give him a broadside in case\nI don’t kill him at the first shot. I am not accustomed to shooting in\nthe dark, you know.”\n\nThe other two could see the animal now, but not plainly enough to\ndetermine what it was. It was moving swiftly on the other side of the\nfountain, and the boys thought it was looking directly towards their\nhiding-place. It circled around to their right, Eugene following all its\nmovements with his rifle, and only waiting for it to become stationary\nfor a moment so that he could make a sure shot, and presently it reached\nthe top of the bank at the rear of the shooting-hole, and stood out in\nbold relief against the sky. Then it got the “wind” of the young\nhunters, and, with a whisk of its tail and a toss of its head, it backed\nquickly down the hill out of sight, at the same time setting up a chorus\nof yelps that awoke the echoes far and near, and made the cold chill\ncreep all over the boys.\n\n“It’s a sneaking jackal,” exclaimed Fred, in great disgust.\n\n“Yes, and I’d rather see almost anything else,” said Eugene. “Just hear\nwhat a yelping he keeps up! He’ll bring the lions down on us as sure as\nthe world.”\n\nThe boys, being well versed in natural history, were acquainted with the\nhabits of this animal before they ever saw one, and of late they had had\na little experience with some of his tribe. They knew that the jackal is\na sort of scout for the lion. Whenever he finds any game that he is\nafraid to attack himself, he sets up a terrific yelping, and any hungry\nlion who may be within hearing of the signal comes up and kills it, the\njackal standing by and looking on until the lordly beast has satisfied\nhis appetite and gone away, when he makes a meal of what is left. One\nday, just before they reached the house of the “surly Boer,” our three\nfriends, in company with Frank Nelson, were hunting elands along the\nroute, and in the excitement of the chase they followed them so far away\nthat it was night before they rode into camp, to which they were\ndirected by the firing of signal guns. Shortly after it began to grow\ndark, and while they were yet five miles from the wagon, they were\ndiscovered by a jackal, which followed them within sight of the\ncampfire, yelping all the while and trying his best to call the lions to\nthem. The cunning animal seemed to know what a gun was, for he took care\nto keep at a respectful distance from the boys, and whenever one of them\nhalted and tried to shoot him, he would take to his heels and be out of\nsight in a moment.\n\n“There he is,” continued Eugene, as the jackal cautiously raised his\nhead above the top of the bank and looked down at them; but before the\ndouble-barrel could be brought to bear on him he had dodged back out of\nsight.\n\n“Jump up there and shoot him, Archie,” cried Fred. “You are the nearest\nto him, and we don’t want that yelping in our ears much longer.”\n\n“No, sir!” exclaimed Archie, drawing himself close into his own corner.\n“I wouldn’t go up there for—for—No, sir! Who knows but that he has\ncalled up a lion already?”\n\n“I declare he has,” said Eugene, in a thrilling whisper. “I can see him.\nI see two—three. There is a troop of them!”\n\nThis startling announcement would have tested the nerves of older and\nmore experienced hunters than Archie and Fred were; and if what they\nheard was enough to set their hearts to beating rapidly, what they saw a\nmoment later was sufficient to take all the courage out of them. A\nsingle glance showed them that Eugene’s eyes had not deceived him. There\nthey were in plain sight—a number of tawny animals moving swiftly about\non the opposite bank of the fountain, passing and repassing one another\nin their rapid evolutions, crouching close to the ground, and gradually\ndrawing nearer to the top of the bank where the jackal had disappeared,\nprobably with the object of getting the “wind” of the boys. Archie tried\nto count them; but when he fixed his gaze upon one, two or three more\nwould pass before it, these would quickly give place to as many more,\nand finally Archie became so bewildered and excited that he was ready to\ndeclare that troops of lions were springing up out of the ground before\nhis very eyes. He thought they showed rather plainly in the dark for\nlions, but still there could be no doubt that they were lions. Their\ncolor and their stealthy, crouching movements were enough to settle that\npoint.\n\n“If they get in here among us, there’ll not be a mouthful apiece for\nthem, will there?” said Fred.\n\n“They’ll not all get in here,” replied Archie.\n\n“Now that we are cornered, it is a good time to show what we are made\nof. I am going to begin shooting.”\n\nBefore the words had fairly left his lips Archie’s double-barrel spoke,\nand one of the lions sprang into the air, and fell at full length on the\nground. A second received the contents of the other barrel without\nfalling, and even succeeded in getting away out of sight, although\nArchie was certain that the ball from his Maynard, which he caught up as\nsoon as his double-barrel was empty, must have found a lodgment in his\nbody somewhere.\n\nWhile Archie was thus engaged, his two companions were not idle. They\npromptly opened on the lions with their own weapons, and without waiting\nto see the effect of the bullets from their double-barrels, caught up\ntheir sixteen-shooters, and pumped the shots right and left. The\nmagazines were emptied in a trice, and then the three hunters hastily\nducked their heads and crouched close behind the walls of their\nhiding-place, holding their breath in dread suspense, and waiting for\nsome of the wounded members of the troop to precipitate themselves into\nthe shooting-hole. But nothing of the kind happened. All was still\noutside. They heard only the beating of their own hearts.\n\n“We must have hit those we killed,” Fred ventured to whisper at last.\n\n“Probably we did,” returned Archie. “We couldn’t have killed them unless\nwe hit them.”\n\n“I mean we must have killed all we hit and frightened the rest away,”\nsaid Fred. “If there were any wounded ones among them they would have\nbeen in here before this time.”\n\n[Illustration: THE NIGHT IN THE SHOOTING PIT.]\n\nThe others were very willing to accept this as the reason why they had\nnot all been torn in pieces long ago. It put new life and courage into\nthem, and having pushed a cartridge into their breechloaders, they\nraised their heads cautiously above the bank to take a survey of the\nscene of the slaughter. They could not see a single lion or hear\nanything of one; but they heard something else—a heavy tramping of feet\nand a confused murmur of voices. They looked hastily around, and saw a\nbright light shining above the bank behind them.\n\n“Uncle Dick’s coming!” cried Fred; and the next moment the old sailor\nappeared at the top of the bank, closely followed by the rest of the\nparty, two of whom carried firebrands in their hands.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XV.\n                          “WHERE’S MY HORSE?”\n\n\n“What is it, boys?” asked Uncle Dick, his voice trembling with\nexcitement and alarm. “Anybody hurt?”\n\n“No, sir,” replied Eugene, drawing a long breath of relief; “but if you\nlook about a little you’ll find some _thing_ out there that’s hurt. We\nhaven’t fired thirty-nine shots for nothing, I tell you.”\n\n“What was it, anyhow?” asked George. “A lion?”\n\n“I should think so,” replied Fred.\n\n“Oh, I guess not,” said Mack, incredulously.\n\n“I guess they were lions,” returned Eugene, quickly. “We saw more than\ntwenty prowling about here.”\n\n“That’s a larger troop than I ever heard of before,” said Mack.\n\n“Well, you hear of it now, and if you had been here you would have seen\nit. Archie shot one, and he jumped clear of the ground, so that we all\nhad a fair view of him. I tell you he was a big one—larger than any I\never saw in a menagerie. He’s out there somewhere.”\n\n“I believe I see him,” said Frank, holding his firebrand above his head,\nand looking intently at some object on the other side of the fountain.\n\nThe three hunters scrambled up out of the shooting-hole, and with the\nrest of the party followed after Frank, who led the way down the bank.\nThere was some animal lying on the ground on the opposite side of the\nspring, sure enough; but it was not the immense object they expected to\nsee after listening to Eugene’s description of it. When they had taken a\nfew steps more Mack broke into a laugh, and Eugene began to think that\nhe must have looked through a very badly frightened pair of eyes to make\na first-class lion out of the insignificant beast he saw before him.\nWhat had at first appeared to be a great shaggy head gradually dwindled\ninto a pair of shoulders, and presently he found himself standing beside\nan animal a little larger than the wolves he had often seen in his\nnative State.\n\n“This can’t be the thing I shot,” said Archie.\n\n“I don’t see anything else,” replied his cousin, raising his firebrand\nabove his head and looking all around.\n\n“What is it, anyhow?” asked Fred. “It looks like a dog, and a\nhalf-starved one at that.”\n\n“That’s just what it is,” said Mack, “a wild dog. It was a pack of these\nanimals you fired into, instead of a troop of lions. I suspected it all\nthe time.”\n\n“We’ll not stop to skin him, for his hide is not worth saving,” said\nUncle Dick. “We’ll go back to camp now.”\n\nThe three hunters were so greatly astonished that they had not a word to\nsay. Silently they shouldered their rifles and followed the party back\nto the camp, listening all the while for the words of ridicule which\nthey expected from their companions, but which were never uttered.\nNothing was said about the matter until the next morning at breakfast,\nand then the hunters themselves began to make sport of their night’s\nwork. This led to a long conversation, during which the boys learned two\nthings. The first was, that they had been in just as much danger of an\nattack from the wild dogs as they would have been had they been visited\nby a troop of lions. Wild dogs were by no means the insignificant foes\nthey imagined them to be. They were as fierce as wolves, always hungry,\nand ready to attack anything they met, from a springbok to a buffalo. A\nsingle one would take to his heels at the sight of a human being, but\nnumbers made them bold, and it was not often that a solitary hunter met\na pack of them and escaped to tell the story. The second thing they\nlearned was, that the reason Uncle Dick permitted them to carry out\ntheir plan of watching the fountain, was because Mack assured him that\nthere was no danger to be apprehended from lions at that season of the\nyear. These animals came there to drink only when the springs that lay\ndeeper in the veldt were dry. Had they passed that way two months later,\nArchie and his companions would have received orders to remain in camp.\nThe boys, however, supposed, from what Mack said, that lions visited the\nfountain every night, and they showed no small amount of courage in what\nthey had done, but they never again proposed to spend a night in a\nshooting-hole.\n\nDuring the next three weeks nothing happened that is worthy of record,\nand neither did anything happen to encourage the hope that their stock\nof goods would pay the expenses of the trip. Not a Boer in the\nsettlement—and they visited every one of them—would trade with them. The\nsight of the fine fat cattle feeding on the farms they passed induced\nMack to spend a good deal of time in the effort to dispose of the\ncontents of the wagon, but not a yard of ribbon could he barter. The\nmagistrate’s orders were strictly obeyed. Indeed, at the last farm they\nvisited they found the magistrate himself, who was, if that were\npossible, more crabbed than when they first met him. No sooner had the\nwagon halted than he appeared and ordered Mack to move on; but the\nScotchman, who had his eye on the cattle, believing that there was more\nmoney to be made out of them in Grahamstown than out of the ivory they\nexpected to receive from the Griquas, was not to be driven away so\neasily. He went directly to the house, found the owner of the farm, and\ntried his arts with him, but with no better success. This one was as\ncross and surly as the other, and Mack, finally becoming disgusted at\ntheir obstinacy, jumped on his wagon and put the oxen in motion.\n\n“I hope the Bushmen will jump down on you and steal every ox you’ve\ngot,” he exclaimed, shaking his whip at the Boer as he drove away.\n“That’s all the harm I wish you, Mynheer Schrader.”\n\nThe Dutchman made an angry reply in his own language, and seemed to be\ngiving Mack a little parting advice, for he talked rapidly to him as\nlong as the driver was within hearing of his voice. The boys could not\ntell what he said, but they thought by the expression that came over the\nScotchman’s face, that his words had produced an unpleasant effect. “If\nI thought that was so, I wouldn’t go a step farther,” the boys heard him\nsay, when the Boer ceased his shouting and went into the house.\n\n“If you thought what was so?” asked Eugene.\n\n“Why, Schrader says the Bushmen will be down on _us_ before they touch\nhim,” answered Mack. “He says there’s a large party of them between here\nand the Griqua country, and that that farmer back there is going to pack\nup to-morrow and move his family and cattle farther into the settlement\nfor protection.”\n\n“And you say you don’t believe it?”\n\n“I have no reason to disbelieve it,” said Mack, in a tone the boys did\nnot like to hear. “They’re always roaming about, these Bushmen are.\nThey’re something like what I think your Indians must be from what I\nhear of them. Although they go about on foot—the only reason they steal\ncattle is because they want something to eat—they get over a good\nstretch of country in a day, and jump down on a fellow before he knows\nthey are near him. If I owned this wagon I’d turn back. We’ve got a\njourney of four weeks to make before we reach the Griquas’ principal\ntown, and if the Bushmen are about they’ll have plenty of time to find\nus. We shall see trouble before many days.”\n\nThe trouble began that very night. It was commenced by the Kaffirs, who\nhad overheard what the Boers said to Mack, and were greatly troubled by\nit. When the wagon halted for the night, these worthies went about the\nwork of outspanning very reluctantly. They did not shout and sing as\nthey usually did when their day’s labor was over, but went into the\nsulks, and acted like a lot of children who had been denied something\ntheir parents thought they ought not to have. Uncle Dick, who lay on his\nblanket under his tent enjoying his pipe, watched their actions for a\nfew minutes and then called Frank to his side. “Just keep your weather\neye open to-night, and see that the horses all come in,” said he, in a\nlow tone, “and tell the rest of the boys to be very careful of their\nguns.”\n\n“What’s the matter?” asked Frank.\n\n“You know what that Boer said to Mack about the Bushmen, don’t you?\nWell, the Kaffirs heard it and are laying their plans to leave us. They\nare afraid of those wild men of the desert.”\n\n“So am I,” said Frank.\n\n“I am not particularly anxious to meet them,” said Uncle Dick, with a\nsmile, “but I am not going to run until I see something to run from, and\nneither do I mean that our property shall be stolen. These Kaffirs are\nnoted for deserting their employers when things don’t go to their\nliking, and they take care not to leave empty-handed. They always steal\nthe best of the horses and the best of the guns, too, if they can get\ntheir hands on them. We must have a guard every night from this time\nforward. Don’t you think it would be a good plan?”\n\nThis question was addressed to the driver, who had been standing in the\ndoor of the tent long enough to overhear the most of what Uncle Dick\nsaid to Frank.\n\n“You surely don’t mean to go on?” said Mack.\n\n“Certainly I do,” answered Uncle Dick. “I am not going to take my stock\nof goods back to Grahamstown if I can help it.”\n\n“If they belonged to me I should start back with them to-morrow.”\n\n“Now, Mack, I didn’t expect to hear that from you,” said Uncle Dick,\nreproachfully.\n\n“And you wouldn’t either, sir, if it wasn’t that the Bushmen are\nprowling about us.”\n\n“Did you ever have any trouble with them?”\n\n“No, sir.”\n\n“Did you ever hear of a trader who did?”\n\n“No, sir.”\n\n“Neither did I. All we know about them is what we have heard of their\nfights with the Zulus.”\n\nThis was only the beginning of the conversation between Uncle Dick and\nthe driver. The latter seemed to be greatly alarmed at the danger they\nwere about to run into, and when he found his employer was resolved to\ngo ahead, he urged him to pay him off and let him go. This Uncle Dick\nrefused to do. He could not get on without Mack, and besides, the latter\nhad agreed to drive the wagon to the Griqua country and back to\nGrahamstown for so much money, which was to be paid when the journey was\nended. It was not yet half completed, and if Mack chose to stop work\nthen and there, he could not expect a farthing for the services he had\nalready rendered.\n\n“You’re made of good stuff, you Yankees are,” said Mack, with more\nearnestness than the occasion demanded, “and since you are bound to go\non, I’ll stick to you to the death. Bet on me every time.”\n\nTo give emphasis to his words the driver shook hands with his employer,\nthen with Frank, and hurried out of the tent to see how the Kaffirs were\ngetting on with their preparations for the night.\n\n“Did he speak his real sentiments?” asked Uncle Dick, as soon as he was\nout of hearing.\n\n“That was the very question I was asking myself,” replied Frank. “To my\nmind his tongue said one thing and his face another.”\n\nFrank, who had his own duties to perform every time the camp was made,\nnow went out to attend to them. He found the rest of the boys and three\nof the Kaffirs busy erecting a barricade of thorn-bushes behind the\ntent, and joining in the work, he found opportunity to report to each of\nhis companions the warning Uncle Dick had given him. The boys were all\neager to stand guard, and Frank, knowing that Uncle Dick expected him to\narrange the matter, divided them into reliefs, and told them what hours\nthey would be called on for duty.\n\nSupper was served in a few minutes, and while the meal was in progress\nthe horses began to come into camp and take their stations behind the\nwagon, where they were always tied during the night. As fast as they\ncame up, the owners set down their plates and went out to secure their\nsteeds, taking care to see that the halters were tightly buckled on, and\nthat the tie-reins were well secured. About the same time Mack, who had\nbeen missing for the last half hour, came up driving the oxen. Frank\ntold himself that that was something the driver had never done before,\nand then the matter passed out of his mind until a few hours later, when\nsomething happened to recall it very forcibly. During the meal one other\nthing happened that was unusual, and which soon drew everybody’s\nattention. When Uncle Dick’s horse was made fast to the wagon, he raised\nhis head, and looking back towards the grove from which he had just\nemerged, uttered a loud, shrill neigh. This he repeated at intervals,\nuntil Uncle Dick and the rest began to think it meant something, and\nArchie, having finished his supper, went out to look into the matter. “I\nknow what it means now,” said he, at length. “The horses are all here\nexcept mine, and Uncle Dick’s nag is calling him.”\n\nThe boys then remembered something which they might never have thought\nof again if this incident had not suggested it to them, and that was,\nthat Uncle Dick’s horse and Archie’s had been almost constant companions\never since the journey began. They never mingled with the other animals\nwhen turned loose to graze, but wandered off by themselves; and if any\nof the nags belonging to the rest of the party intruded upon them, they\nwould turn away as if annoyed by their presence, and hunt up a new\nfeeding-ground. It was the custom of their masters when on the march to\nride at opposite ends of the train, Uncle Dick in front, and Archie in\nthe rear with Fred and Eugene. The horses seemed to dislike this\narrangement, and annoyed their riders exceedingly by constantly calling\nto each other. They liked to be in company, and they were uneasy when\nseparated.\n\n“I wonder what has become of my horse!” said Archie, anxiously.\n\n“I saw him a quarter of an hour ago, and he was all right then,” replied\nMack. “He will be along directly.”\n\n“I am not so certain of that,” answered Archie. “These two animals are\nnever parted if they can help it, and there must be something the\nmatter. I’ll soon find out. May I take your horse for a few minutes,\nUncle Dick?”\n\n“Where are you going?” asked Mack, as Archie, having received an\naffirmative reply from the captain, hurried into the tent and picked up\nhis rifle.\n\n“I am going out to see what has become of my horse,” was the answer.\n\n“Oh, I wouldn’t do it, if I were you,” exclaimed the driver, who seemed,\nall at once, to take a deep interest in Archie’s movements. “It will be\npitch dark in five minutes—there’s no twilight in this country, you\nknow—and if you lose your way out there in the bush the lions will get\nyou sure. I tell you that you had better stay here in camp where you’re\nsafe,” he added, almost appealingly, when he saw that the rest of the\nboys were making ready to accompany Archie.\n\nBut the youngsters paid no attention to him. Hastily catching up their\nrifles, they mounted their horses without stopping to put on the saddles\nor bridles, and followed after Archie, who, giving Uncle Dick’s horse\nhis own way, was carried at a rapid gallop towards the grove. The\nanimal, which seemed to know just what Archie wanted to do, skirted the\nwoods for a few hundred yards, neighing at intervals, and finally\nsucceeded in bringing a faint response from among the trees. Then he\nturned and was about to plunge into the forest, but his rider checked\nhim. Archie would not have gone in there for a dozen horses. The\nundergrowth was all thorn-bushes, which stood so closely together that\nit was only with the greatest difficulty that one could make his way\namong them in daylight without being terribly scratched and torn. In the\ndark it would have been almost as much as his life was worth to attempt\nto force a passage through them.\n\n“We must give him up until morning, if he doesn’t find his way out\nbefore,” said Eugene.\n\n“Then he’ll never come out,” returned Archie, dolefully. “Something will\nmake a meal of him before daylight. Good-by horse!”\n\n“What do you suppose makes him stay in there anyhow? That’s what I can’t\nunderstand,” said Frank. “If he went in there of his own free will he\nought to be able to find his way out.”\n\n“Are there any natives about here who would be likely to dig pitfalls\nfor game in these woods?” asked George.\n\n“Listen!” cried Eugene, suddenly. “That neigh certainly sounded louder\nand plainer than the others. Yes, sir, he’s coming.”\n\nArchie thought this news was too good to be true. He held his breath and\nlistened until the next shrill neigh was uttered, and then told himself\nthere was no mistake about it. Presently the boys could hear the horse\nforcing his way through the bushes, and in ten minutes more he came out\ninto the open ground, and galloping forward to greet his companion,\nrubbed noses with him, and said as plainly as a horse could say, that he\nwas overjoyed to see him once more.\n\nWhen the boys reached the camp Mack was the first to greet them. Indeed,\nhe was so anxious to know whether or not the horse had been found, that\nwhen he heard them coming he ran out and met them a hundred yards from\nthe wagon. “It’s all right,” said Archie, gleefully.\n\n“You haven’t brought him back?” exclaimed the driver, in tones of\nastonishment.\n\n“Yes, we have.”\n\nThis declaration seemed to surprise Mack. He stood motionless for a\nmoment, and then moved around to take a look at the horse, which was\nfollowing the one on which Archie was mounted. He saw the animal, but it\nseemed as if he could not be satisfied until he had put his hand on him.\nThis familiarity, however, the horse would not permit. He bounded out of\nthe driver’s reach, and turned his heels toward him as if he had a good\nnotion to kick him.\n\n“There wasn’t any rope on—I mean—”\n\n“Rope!” exclaimed Perk, when Mack hesitated. “Now I’ll tell you what’s a\nfact, of course there wasn’t. Who should put a rope on him?”\n\n“I mean it’s wonderful that you’ve got him back safe and sound,” said\nthe driver, quickly. “I was afraid some wild beast had found him before\nthis time.”\n\nThe boys thought the Scotchman acted very strangely, but they were so\nglad to recover the horse that they did not stop to think about that.\nArchie’s first care was to fasten the animal to the wagon beside Uncle\nDick’s horse, and when he had done that he went into the tent where the\nrest of the party were arranging their beds preparatory to retiring, and\ntrying to decide what it was that had kept the horse out so long after\nhis companion had come into camp. The conclusion at which they arrived\nwas that he had become separated from the other horse and got bewildered\nin the woods. This was the opinion advanced by the driver, and the rest\nall thought he was right—all except Uncle Dick. The latter said nothing,\nbut he thought there was something suspicious about the whole\nproceeding, and that it would be a good plan to set a watch over the\ndriver. He could not speak about it then, for Mack was present; but he\nresolved that he would do it the first thing in the morning.\n\nIt was now dark and time to post the guards, so Frank called the first\nrelief, which, singularly enough, consisted of Walter and Bob, the very\nones who were on duty the night two of Potter’s men made a raid on their\ncamp in the Rocky Mountains. The latter Frank posted at the upper end of\nthe camp in plain view of the barricade, behind which the four Kaffirs\nwere lying, and the other he stationed near the wagon, to keep an eye on\nthe horses.\n\n“I hope you will not get into as much trouble as you did the first time\nI put you on guard,” said Frank.\n\n“I think there is little danger of it,” laughed Walter. “There are no\noutlaws in this country, and besides I have learned wisdom since then.\nI’d like to see a man approach me to-night and deceive me as completely\nas those two fellows did. It couldn’t be done.”\n\n“I don’t suppose that any one will try it. As long as the Kaffirs know\nthat we are watching them and the horses, they will probably behave\nthemselves. We’d be in a nice fix if all our help should desert us,\nwouldn’t we? Good-night. Keep up the fire, and call Archie at ten\no’clock.”\n\nFrank went back to the tent, wrapped himself up in his blanket, and went\nto sleep, lulled by the yelping of a pack of jackals, which made it a\npoint to serenade the camp as regularly as the prairie-wolves did when\nthe travellers were journeying on the plains. In half an hour more every\nperson in the camp seemed to be sound asleep except the two sentries.\nThese paced their beats alert and watchful, one thinking of home and\nfriends, and the other recalling the thrilling incidents that had\nhappened once upon a time while he was guarding camp away off in the\nwilds of his own country. He went through the adventures of that night\nagain in imagination, and just as he got to that particular part of them\nwhere he first discovered the outlaws approaching the camp, he heard a\nfootfall near him, and turning quickly about saw the driver step over\nthe wagon-tongue.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XVI.\n                               DESERTED.\n\n\n“What’s the matter, Mack?” asked Walter. “Do the jackals disturb you?”\n\n“’Sh!” whispered the latter, making a warning gesture. “There’s no need\nof arousing the camp, for I can make it all right myself.”\n\n“Make what all right?” asked Walter, almost involuntarily sinking his\nvoice to a low whisper.\n\n“Why, one of the Kaffirs has slipped away from Bob, and I saw him\nsneaking off towards the woods with your uncle’s fine double-barrel in\nhis hands,” replied Mack.\n\n“You did!” exclaimed Walter. “Then I must—”\n\n“Never mind. I’ll do all that’s to be done. Don’t make the least noise,\nbecause if you do the others will run away too, and we might as well be\nat sea in an open boat without oars or sails, as out here in this\nwilderness if the Kaffirs leave us. I’ll bring him back if you will lend\nme your horse and gun.”\n\n“Of course I will,” said Walter. “Don’t come back till you catch him,\nfor I don’t know what Uncle Dick would do without that rifle. He would\nbe sorry to lose it.”\n\n“He shan’t lose it,” answered Mack, taking Walter’s saddle and bridle\nout of the wagon and placing them upon the horse. “Say nothing to\nnobody. I’ll have him back here in no time, and if I don’t use the\nwagon-whip on him! Whew! I wouldn’t be in his place for no money.”\n\nThe horse was saddled and bridled in a trice, and Mack springing upon\nhis back took the rifle Walter handed to him, and rode away in the\ndarkness. All this passed so rapidly that it was done and Mack was out\nof sight before Walter fairly realized it. Then it occurred to him that\nit was very strange that the driver should want a horse to pursue a man\non foot who had but a few minutes the start of him, but when he came to\nthink about it, it was not so very strange either. Walter knew that some\nof the Kaffirs could run like deer, and he knew, too, that Mack, having\nbeen accustomed to ride on horseback ever since he was large enough to\nsit alone in the saddle, was very much averse to walking, and very\nclumsy besides; so perhaps the best thing had been done after all. He\nwas sorry to hear of his uncle’s loss, and wondered how the Kaffir could\nhave succeeded in obtaining possession of the weapon and stealing away\nwithout being seen by Bob, who stood where he could observe every move\nthat was made about the tent. He waited most impatiently for Mack’s\nreturn, but could hear nothing of him—it was so dark that he could not\nhave seen him until he was close upon the camp—and at ten o’clock he\nmended the fire and called his relief. Archie presently came out with\nhis Maynard on his shoulder, and Walter told him what had happened,\nadding that he had been looking for Mack every minute during the last\nhour, and now began to fear that the Kaffir had succeeded in eluding him\nin the darkness. He lay down on his blanket, intending to speak to Bob\nabout it; but the latter lingered to talk to his relief, and when he\ncame into the tent Walter was fast asleep.\n\nMack did not return during Archie’s watch, and at twelve o’clock he\ncalled Eugene, to whom he repeated the substance of what Walter had told\nhim. Of course Eugene was highly excited at once, and when Archie went\ninto the tent, he walked toward the other end of the camp to take a look\nat the Kaffirs, and see who it was that was missing. There was one among\nthem who had in some way incurred Eugene’s displeasure, and if this was\nthe one who had stolen Uncle Dick’s rifle, he would not be at all sorry\nto see the wagon-whip used on him.\n\n“Now just listen to me a minute, and I’ll tell you what’s a fact. What\nare you doing here?” demanded Perk, who stood sentry at that end of the\ncamp.\n\n“Do you know that one of your Kaffirs has run away?” asked Eugene.\n\n“No; and one of them hasn’t run away, either,” replied Perk, almost\nindignantly. “I haven’t been asleep.”\n\n“Oh, he went while Bob was on—stole Uncle Dick’s fine gun too, the\nrascal.”\n\n“Then I must be blind, or else he put a dummy in his bed,” declared\nPerk. “I counted them when I came out, and they were all there.”\n\n“Are you sure?”\n\n“Am I sure that I can count as high as four?”\n\n“I begin to think you can’t,” answered Eugene. “Let’s go and see.”\n\nThe two boys advanced on tip-toe toward the place where the native\nservants were curled up under the shelter of the thorn-bushes. They were\nall soundly asleep, and so closely covered with their skin cloaks that\nnothing but the tops of their woolly heads could be seen. Eugene counted\nthem twice, and then to make assurance doubly sure, went closer and\nlifted the cloaks so that he could see their faces. Then he stepped back\nagain and looked at Perk. “What do you think now?” asked the latter.\n\nEugene did not know what to think.\n\n“Who first started the story that one of them had run away?” continued\nPerk.\n\n“Mack started it. He told Walter so.”\n\n“Now I’ll just tell you what’s a fact. Where’s Mack?”\n\n“He borrowed Walter’s horse and gun and went out to catch the Kaffir.”\n\n“Yes, and in the morning we’ll have to send somebody out to catch Mack.\nI understand now why he didn’t want Archie to go out to look for his\nhorse. He had the animal tied up out there in the woods.”\n\n“No!” exclaimed Eugene.\n\n“Didn’t he ask if there was a rope on him? The horse got away somehow,\nand Mack being afraid that he had brought the rope back with him, wanted\nto get hold of him, so that he could take it off before we saw it. He\nintended to leave the animal out there in the bushes until after dark,\nwhen he would jump on him, and ride away; but that plan being knocked in\nthe head, he made up that funny story he told Walter, and got off after\nall.”\n\nEugene waited to hear no more. Believing that Perk had made a very\nshrewd guess, as indeed he had, he rushed into the tent to arouse his\nuncle, and in doing so awoke all the boys, who, fearing that something\ndreadful had happened, started up in alarm, and reached hurriedly for\ntheir weapons. “Mack’s gone!” was all Eugene could say in reply to their\nquestions.\n\n“I thought so,” exclaimed Walter, who then went on to describe the\ninterview that had taken place between him and the driver.\n\n“It is all my fault,” said Frank. “I might have warned you.”\n\n“Don’t worry over it,” returned Uncle Dick, quickly. “There’s no one to\nblame except myself. If I had told you to put the boys on their guard\nagainst Mack, you would have done so. You fellows, who are on watch,\nkeep your eyes open, and see that we don’t lose any more horses and\nguns, and the rest of us will go to sleep again.”\n\nEugene thought this was taking matters very coolly, but after all he did\nnot see that there was anything else to be done. Mack was mounted on a\nfleet horse and had a good long start; and besides he was so well\nacquainted with the country that he could have escaped if there had been\nan army in pursuit of him. He was gone, and there was an end of the\nmatter.\n\nThe boys were gloomy enough the next morning, but Uncle Dick was as\ncheerful as usual. He aroused the Kaffirs at daylight and ordered them\nto drive the oxen out to graze, while the boys, having turned the horses\nloose, began the work of packing up. The Kaffirs obeyed very sullenly,\nand the old sailor saw plainly enough that the trouble with his hired\nhelp was only just beginning. They drove the oxen out, and contrary to\nhis usual custom, the cook went with them. They passed pretty close to\ntheir employer, who saw their spear-heads sticking out from under one\nside of their cloaks, while the other was bulged out as if the wearers\nwere carrying something under their left arms. He suspected the truth at\nonce, but said nothing, and smoked his morning pipe as serenely as\nthough everything was working to his entire satisfaction.\n\n“Where in the world is that cook?” exclaimed Eugene about an hour later,\nafter the tent had been struck and all the camp equipage packed away in\nthe wagon. “I don’t see any preparations for breakfast.”\n\n“Neither do I,” said Uncle Dick. “Perk, you used to act as ship’s cook\nin the Banner once in a while; suppose you show us what you can do in\nthat line now. Yes,” he added, in reply to the inquiring looks that were\ndirected toward him, “we’re deserted.”\n\nThe boys dropped their work and gazed at one another in speechless\nastonishment. At first they could hardly realize what the words meant.\nThey felt a good deal as shipwrecked mariners must feel when they find\nthemselves tossing about in the waves in an open boat with not a point\nof land or a friendly sail in sight.\n\n“From this time forward we must do the best we can by ourselves,”\ncontinued the old sailor, cheerfully. “The Griquas here will show us the\nway to their country, and when we have sold them everything there is in\nthe wagon that they want, we’ll hire some of them to guide us back to\nthe coast.”\n\n“And when we get there, if we ever do, I for one shall be ready to start\nfor home,” declared Walter.\n\n“Oh, don’t get gloomy over it. Some of you have been in worse situations\nthan this.”\n\n“But are you sure the Kaffirs are gone?” asked Fred.\n\n“As sure as I can be. When they went out with the oxen this morning they\ntook all their property with them.”\n\n“And you saw it and never tried to stop them?” inquired Eugene.\n\n“I did. Why should I try to stop them? If a Kaffir will not work\nwillingly you can’t force him to do it. They would have slipped away\nfrom us some time or other, and since they were bound to go, they might\nas well go to-day as to-morrow.”\n\nThe boys were stunned, bewildered by this unexpected calamity, and it\nwas a long time before Uncle Dick’s cheering words had any effect on\nthem.\n\nThey had depended wholly upon Mack to make this expedition successful,\nand to conduct them safely back to the coast, and now that he was gone\nit seemed as if their mainstay was gone, and that there was nothing left\nfor them but to give up entirely. They had put such implicit faith in\nMack, too! It was only during the last few hours that any one began to\nsuspect that he was not altogether worthy of the confidence that had\nbeen reposed in him.\n\nBut this gloomy state of feeling could not long continue while the old\nsailor was about. His cheerfulness and good-nature were contagious, and\nin less than half an hour the boys were talking as merrily about what\nthey had considered to be a misfortune as though it was the most\nagreeable thing that could have happened to them. Perk’s breakfast\ncompletely restored their spirits, and when they had done full justice\nto it, the inspanning began. This was the most annoying piece of work\nthe boys had yet undertaken. They shouted and talked Dutch and threw\nstones as they had heard and seen the Kaffirs do, but the oxen were not\nacquainted with them, and ran away as fast as they were brought up to\nthe yokes. Eugene said it was because the animals were disgusted with\ntheir efforts to talk in a foreign tongue, and advised his companions to\nscold them in English; but this had no better effect. However, after\nthey had all shouted themselves hoarse, and thrown stones until their\narms ached, the last ox was put into the yoke, and Walter, who\nvolunteered to act as driver, picked up the whip.\n\n“Whoa! Haw, there, Buck! Get up!” he shouted; and following the example\nof the absent driver, who always gave the signal for starting by making\nhis whip crack like a pistol, he swung the heavy lash around, but with\nno other result than to hit himself a stinging blow across the ear.\nWhile his companions were laughing at him, and Walter was dancing about,\nholding one hand to the side of his head, and trying with the other to\nunwrap the lash that had wound itself around his body, Uncle Dick\nshouted: “Trek! trek!” The oxen, understanding this, settled into the\nyokes, and the wagon was quickly in motion.\n\nWe might relate many interesting and some amusing incidents that\nhappened during the next few weeks, but as we have to do principally\nwith the adventures that befell our heroes, we must hasten on to the\nlast, and wind up the history of the Sportsman’s Club. Led by the\nGriquas, who acted as their guides, the travellers finally reached the\nprincipal village of the tribe (they saw nothing of the wild Bushmen\nduring the journey, although they kept a constant lookout for them) and\nwhen they had taken a good view of it, they fervently hoped that their\nstay there would be a short one. They could see nothing attractive in\nthe dirty savages who surrounded them, or in the still dirtier hovels\nthat served them for shelter. Besides, they were growing heartily tired\nof staying ashore. They had seen quite enough of life in Africa, and\nbegan to talk more about home and friends than they had done at any time\nsince leaving Bellville. But their departure from the village was\ndelayed more than a month. In the first place, the natives proved to be\nhard people to deal with. It took them a long time to make up their\nminds how much ivory ought to be given for one of the guns Uncle Dick\noffered them, and when that point had been settled, the chief suddenly\nfound out that there was no ivory in the village, and that he would have\nto send and bring it before any trading could be done. Upon hearing\nthis, Uncle Dick inspanned at once and set out for the coast; but before\nhe had gone many miles he was overtaken by a messenger from the chief,\nwho told him that if he would return to the village he should have an\nelephant’s tooth for every gun he had to sell. The travellers turned\nback, and after that there was little delay in the trading. The\nelephants’ teeth came in rapidly, the last gun was finally disposed of,\nand when the ivory had been packed away in the wagon, and guides and\nservants engaged, the travellers were ready to turn their faces\nhomeward.\n\nThe last night they were to pass among the Griquas was spent by the boys\nin doing a little trading on their own account. They were strolling\nabout, taking a last look at everything, and exchanging a few beads, and\nsome brass and copper wire, for spears and war-clubs, when their\nattention was attracted by a commotion which suddenly arose in the upper\nend of the town. The boys looked up, and were surprised to see that the\nnatives were running about in the greatest alarm, catching up whatever\narticles of value they could lay their hands on, and then dodging into\ntheir hovels and barricading their doors after them. Some of the more\ntimid ones, having collected their property, took to their heels, and\nran across the plain as if a pack of jackals were after them.\n\n“What’s up now?” asked Archie. “I don’t see anything to frighten them.”\n\n“Who are those coming there?” said Frank.\n\nThe others looked in the direction he pointed, and saw a long line of\nwarriors rising over the nearest hill. While they were looking at them,\nwondering who they were and what had brought them there, they heard\nUncle Dick calling to them. “Here’s more trouble, boys,” said the old\nsailor. “I don’t want to alarm you, but it is always well to be prepared\nfor the worst.”\n\n“Is the village going to be attacked?” asked Frank.\n\n“Oh, no. These are Zulus, and they are probably a delegation sent by\ntheir king to take us to that country.”\n\n“Across the desert where the wild Bushmen live?” exclaimed Eugene.\n\n“Exactly,” replied Uncle Dick.\n\n“But we have nothing they want,” said Walter. “We’ve sold all our guns,\nbeads, and wire.”\n\n“I know it.”\n\n“Then tell them so when they come up.”\n\n“What good will it do? Haven’t you seen enough of these natives to know\nthat you can’t reason with them any more than you can reason with a\nstone?”\n\n“What made the Griquas run so,” asked Bob.\n\n“Oh, these Zulus are a fierce and warlike race, and the Griquas are\nafraid of them. But they are after us now. If their leader has orders to\ntake us back with him, he’ll have to do it or lose his head when he gets\nhome.”\n\nThis was a most alarming piece of news. The driver had said so much\nabout the wild Bushmen and their poisoned arrows, and had given so\ngraphic a description of the desert they lived in, where there was no\ngame to be found, and no grass or water for the stock, that the boys\nwere frightened whenever they thought of the dangers that must attend\nevery step of the journey to the Zulu country. While they were turning\nthe matter over in their minds, the warriors marched through the\nprincipal street of the village, which was by this time entirely\ndeserted, and stopped in front of Uncle Dick’s tent. There were probably\na hundred and fifty of them in the band. They were fine-looking men\nphysically, and all except two were armed with spears and war-clubs, and\ncarried shields of elephant’s hide. Those who were not armed followed\nclose behind the leader, and carried two elephants’ tusks upon their\nshoulders.\n\nThe leader of the warriors stopped in front of Uncle Dick, and after\nlaying down his shield and weapons began a speech, which would no doubt\nhave proved very entertaining to the travellers if they could have\nunderstood it; but as the chief spoke in his native tongue his words did\nnot make much of an impression upon them. The speech occupied the best\npart of ten minutes, and when it was concluded the men with the\nelephants’ tusks stepped up and laid them on the ground in front of\nUncle Dick, and when they straightened up again one of them began to\ninterpret the speech in Dutch. Then the boys listened with some\ninterest. They had learned enough of this language during their\nintercourse with Mack and the Griquas, to carry on quite a lengthy\nconversation with any one who spoke slowly and distinctly. The native\ndid neither, but still the Club caught enough of his speech to satisfy\nthem that Uncle Dick had not been mistaken in regard to the object the\nZulus had in view in visiting his camp. The speaker said that his king,\nwho lived on the other side of the desert, was a very powerful monarch,\nand having heard that there was an English trader in the neighborhood\n(the natives seemed to think that every white man who came into their\ncountry to hunt and trade must of necessity be an Englishman), he had\nsent him and his companions to conduct him to their principal town,\nwhere there was ivory enough to fill a dozen wagons. To prove it the\nking had sent the trader two elephants’ teeth, in exchange for which he\nexpected to receive the best double-barrel there was in the party. The\nfaithful warriors who brought these teeth were hungry and thirsty, for\nthey had travelled far and rapidly, and the Englishman must furnish them\nwith meat to eat and tea to drink.\n\nUncle Dick’s reply to this insolent demand was short and to the point.\nThere was not meat enough in his wagon to feed so large a party, he\nsaid, and he could not spend time to hunt for it, for having sold all\nhis guns he had made ready to start for Grahamstown early the next\nmorning; so the warriors might take their elephant’s teeth and go back\nas they came. The interpreter seemed to be greatly shocked at this\nreply, and tried to remonstrate with Uncle Dick, telling him that he was\nrunning a great risk in defying his king in that way. But the old sailor\nrepeated what he had said, adding that as he was a licensed trader, he\nwas free to go and come when he pleased, and he intended to exercise the\nprivilege.\n\nThe chief listened impatiently while this conversation was going on, and\nwhen it was ended turned to the interpreter to hear Uncle Dick’s reply.\nIt threw him into an awful rage at once. He stamped his feet on the\nground, caught up handfuls of dust and threw them into the air above his\nhead, swung his arms wildly about, and shouted at the top of his voice.\nThe longer he talked the angrier he seemed to grow; and what he might\nhave been led to do had he been allowed to go on until his rage boiled\nover, it is hard to tell; but just as he was working himself up to the\nfighting-point, he was interrupted most unexpectedly. A series of\nterrific Indian yells, so loud and piercing that they completely drowned\nthe chief’s voice, suddenly arose on the air, causing the warrior to\ndrop his arms and stand motionless with amazement. Of course the yells\ncame from Dick Lewis. He thought from the looks of things that a fight\nwould soon be in progress, and began preparing for it in a manner\npeculiar to himself. He dashed his hat upon the ground, pulled off his\nhunting shirt and sent it after the hat, and began to loosen his joints\nby making the most extraordinary leaps and contortions, yelling the\nwhile with all the power of his lungs. The chief looked at him for a few\nseconds, and then hastily gathering up his weapons, made off, followed\nby his men, who fled in such haste that they never thought to take the\nelephants’ teeth with them. In two minutes from the time Dick began his\nleaping and shouting there was not one of them in sight.\n\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XVII.\n                              CONCLUSION.\n\n\nThe Club stood speechless with astonishment, and so did the trapper.\nUncle Dick was the first to break the silence, which he did by laughing\nlong and heartily. “You have made a reputation now, Lewis,” said he.\n“These natives are all firm believers in witchcraft, and they think you\nare a medicine-man.”\n\nThis was the reason why the Zulus had fled in such hot haste. They had\nnever seen a white man dressed as Dick was, and neither had they ever\nseen one act so strangely. It struck them at once that he was a\nconjuror, and that he was going through some sort of an incantation for\nthe purpose of bringing some dire calamity upon his foes.\n\n“I think we have seen the last of them for to-night,” continued Uncle\nDick. “Now when we resume our journey we must make all haste, for when\nthese fellows go back to their own country their king will send an army\nafter us, and Dick may not be able to frighten them away again.”\n\nAs soon as the Zulus were gone the Griquas came out of their\nhiding-places and gathered about the tent, all clamoring to know how it\nhappened that the dreaded enemy had been driven off so easily. When\nUncle Dick gravely informed them that his conjuror had found means to\nsend them away, their gratitude knew no bounds. Then most of them\ndispersed at once, and when they returned, brought presents of milk and\ncorn—articles for which they had hitherto demanded the highest prices in\nbeads and wire—and tremblingly placed them on the ground before the\ngreat medicine-man. Groups of them stood about the fire until ten\no’clock that night, watching every move he made; and Dick had only to\nstand erect, look toward the stars, extend an arm at full length and\npull the other back to his shoulder as if he were drawing a bow, to send\nthem scampering away at the top of their speed.\n\nThe next morning the travellers were astir at an early hour, all eager\nto begin the journey to the coast; but now another difficulty was\npresented. The Griquas who had been engaged to fill the places of the\nKaffirs were nowhere to be found. The boys were dismayed, but Uncle Dick\nwas as serene as usual. “I expected it,” said he. “They were frightened\nby that visit from the Zulus. We must depend upon the oxen to guide us\nback.”\n\n“Do they know the way home?” asked George.\n\n“No, but they made a trail coming here, and their instinct will lead\nthem to follow that trail back.”\n\n“Why, it must be obliterated by this time.”\n\n“No matter for that. They will find and follow it in the darkest of\nnights.”\n\nInspanning was a task the boys did not like, and they hoped they had\nassisted in it for the last time; but as there was no one to do the\nbusiness for them they set to work with a will, and by ten o’clock the\nwagon was in motion. Contrary to their expectations, not a Griqua\nfollowed them out of the village. They were afraid of the Zulus, and so\nwas Uncle Dick, if one might judge by the way he disposed of his forces,\nand the arrangements he made for repelling an attack. He and Frank went\non ahead as usual, the two trappers brought up the rear—there were no\nloose cattle and horses to drive now—and the others rode beside the\nwagon, Eugene being instructed in case of difficulty to take his brother\nup behind him. The travellers moved in this order until the middle of\nthe afternoon, when they entered the dry bed of what had once been a\nstream of considerable magnitude. The high banks on each side were\nthickly lined with bushes and rocks, affording excellent ambush for an\nenemy, and as the bed of the stream was only forty feet wide, and the\nroad ran through the middle of it, it was impossible for the travellers\nto get out of range of the javelins of the Zulus should they chance to\nbe awaiting them here. And they were waiting for them, just as Uncle\nDick expected they would be. The chief of the Zulus, having recovered\nfrom his fright, had made a wide detour around the village during the\nnight, and concealed his warriors along the banks of the stream among\nthe rocks and bushes. When the passage was about half completed he made\nhis presence known. The signal for attack was a loud yell given by the\nchief, who suddenly appeared on the top of one of the high rocks on the\nbank; but no sooner had he gained a footing there, than a bullet from\nBob Kelly’s ready rifle brought him headlong into the bed of the stream.\nHis warriors however, promptly obeyed the signal. They arose from their\nconcealments on both sides of the road, and the way the spears whistled\nthrough the air for a few minutes was surprising. The majority of these\nweapons seemed to be aimed at the two trappers—the warriors, no doubt,\nbelieving that if the conjuror could be killed the rest of the\ntravellers could be easily managed—and it was a wonder how they escaped\nbeing pierced by them. Their horses were struck down almost instantly,\nbut the trappers landed on their feet, and sheltering themselves behind\nconvenient rocks in the road, opened a hot fire on the savages.\n\nAll these things happened in less than a minute. Although the attack was\nnot altogether unexpected, it was still a surprise, it was made so\nsuddenly. As soon as Uncle Dick had time to think he began to issue his\norders.\n\n“Leave the wagon, boys,” said he, “and run for that high hill you see\nyonder.”\n\n“Come on, Dick,” shouted Archie, slinging his empty Maynard on his back\nand drawing his pistols from their holsters.\n\n“Lewis, you and Bob stay where you are,” commanded Uncle Dick. “You’re\nsafe there, and in a few minutes we shall be in a position to help you.”\n\nThe boys, led by Uncle Dick, at once put their horses into a full\ngallop. Walter, who was seated on the driver’s box, springing up behind\nhis brother, and Frank bringing up the rear, carrying a revolver in each\nhand, and banging away every time he saw a head to fire at. The oxen,\nfrightened by the shouting and the noise of the firearms, tried to\nfollow, but three of them had already been killed in the yoke, and the\nleaders turning back upon those in the rear, the team became mixed up in\nthe greatest confusion.\n\nFrank was astonished at the force with which the Zulus threw their\nspears. They did not throw them very accurately, for the reason that\nthey were so very much afraid of the bullets which rattled about among\nthe rocks, that they did not spend an instant in poising their weapons\nbefore they launched them; but they sent them through the air with great\nspeed, and those which struck the oxen and horses made wounds that were\nalmost instantly fatal. Presently Frank was given further proof that\nthey were terrible weapons in the hands of those who knew how to use\nthem. Archie, who was galloping along in front of him, mounted on the\nsplendid animal which he had paraded before his cousin when the latter\ndrew the ungainly beast he was then riding, suddenly came to the ground\nall in a heap. Frank drew up on the instant, and the utmost horror was\ndepicted on his countenance as he threw himself from his saddle and\nkneeled by his cousin’s side. As he did so a spear whistled through the\nair and buried itself in the sand beside him, but he paid no attention\nto it. His thoughts were wholly wrapped up in his cousin, who set his\nfears at rest by saying, cheerfully,\n\n“I’m all right, but I’ve lost my horse at last. Did you see that spear\ngo through his neck? He has fallen on my leg, and I—Oh, Frank!”\n\nThe latter, who had seized his cousin by the shoulders, and was exerting\nall his strength to pull him to his feet, suddenly released his hold and\nfell by Archie’s side. At the same time there was a whistling sound in\nthe air, and Archie looked up to see the shaft of a spear quivering in\nthe air above his cousin’s side, the point being out of sight. It looked\nas though it was buried in Frank’s body, but fortunately it was not. It\nhad passed through the haversack in which he carried the cartridges for\nhis Maynard, and was thrown with sufficient force to carry him to the\nground. The next moment the grim warrior who launched the weapon came\ntumbling heels over head down the bank, while a triumphant shout from\nDick Lewis told the cousins who it was that sent him there.\n\n“It is hot about here, Frank. You had better take care of yourself,”\nsaid Archie.\n\nThe only notice Frank took of this friendly advice was to jump to his\nfeet and renew his efforts to release his cousin. This time he was\nsuccessful, but when he lifted him to his feet Archie found that he\ncould not stand alone. That, however, was a matter of small moment\nseeing that Frank had a horse close by. The animal had remained\nmotionless where his rider left him, and it was the work of but a few\nseconds for Frank to jump into the saddle and pull his cousin up after\nhim. This done, he put the animal to the top of his speed, and the two\nwere carried safely down the ravine and into the midst of their friends,\nwho having reached the hill of which Uncle Dick had spoken, were in a\nposition to drive the Zulus from the field. Having a cross-fire upon\nthem they had complete command of their position, and one volley was all\nthat was needed to send them flying up the hill on each side of the\nravine.\n\nAs soon as the Zulus were out of sight the trappers arose from their\nconcealments, and having removed the saddles and bridles from their dead\nsteeds and thrown them into the wagon, they proceeded to put the train\nin motion, Uncle Dick and his party keeping up a steady fire all the\nwhile to prevent the return of the savages. While Bob cut the dead oxen\nloose from the yokes, Dick forced the leaders back into their places,\nand when the animals had been made to understand what was required of\nthem, they brought the wagon up the hill in safety. It was a lucky fight\ntaken altogether. The Zulus must have suffered severely; the trappers\nsaid they had seen a dozen or more of them tumble into the ravine, while\nall the travellers lost were three oxen and as many horses. Frank had\nhad a very narrow escape. The weapon which had so nearly ended his\nexistence was packed carefully away in the wagon with the haversack\nstill fast to it. He intended that these articles should some day occupy\na prominent place among the curiosities in his room at the cottage.\n\nThe misfortunes which had thus far followed the travellers seemed to end\nwith that fight. From that time forward things worked as smoothly as\ncould be desired. Fortune first smiled upon them the next morning when\nthe Griquas, who had been engaged to accompany them to the coast,\nentered the camp. The Zulus having been whipped and driven out of the\ncountry, they were no longer afraid to fulfil their contract. Walter was\nglad to see them, for he was tired of acting as driver, and so were the\nrest of the boys, for they were relieved of the task of inspanning. They\npassed back through the Boer settlement, and here another surprise\nawaited them. The Dutchmen having had time to recover their good-nature\nwere in the humor for trading, and at every farm they visited some of\nthe goods, which they thought they would have to carry back to\nGrahamstown with them, were exchanged for fat cattle. Long before they\nreached the coast their stock was exhausted, there was a drove of eighty\noxen following behind the wagon, and those of the party who had lost\ntheir horses were remounted on animals purchased from the Boers.\nEverything was disposed of at a fair profit, so that the expedition,\nwhich at first threatened to end in failure, turned out much better than\nthey had ever hoped it would.\n\nUncle Dick’s first care, when he reached the coast, was to inquire for\nhis runaway driver, of whom he had heard at several farm-houses along\nthe route. He found that the man had been in Grahamstown, and that he\nhad sold a horse and gun there; but they were not the same that he had\nstolen from his employer. Mack was much too smart for that. He had\ntraded off Uncle Dick’s horse and gun at the first opportunity, sold\nthose he received in exchange, and used the money to carry him out of\nthe country. Uncle Dick’s gun had probably been left with some Boer a\nthousand miles back in the interior; but of course it would not pay to\ngo back after it.\n\nWhen the last ox, the last pound of ivory, and the last article\ncomposing their outfit had been disposed of, the party went on board the\nschooner in high spirits; and at the turn of the tide the anchor was\nhoisted not to be dropped again, they fondly hoped, until they sailed\ninto the bay at the rear of Mr. Gaylord’s plantation. Nothing happened\nto mar the pleasure of the homeward voyage. Propelled by favoring\nbreezes the Stranger sped merrily on her way, and the topsails were\nscarcely touched from the day they took their departure from the Cape of\nGood Hope until land was sighted on the other side of the Atlantic. The\nfirst familiar object they saw was Lost Island, which would ever be\nmemorable in the history of the Sportsman’s Club, and the next was the\nvillage of Bellville. As the schooner sailed along past the town—the\nwind being favorable she did not signal for a tug to tow her in—her\nappearance attracted the attention of the people on the wharves, who\ngazed at her with great interest. There were some among them who had\nnever seen her before, while others thought there was something about\nher that looked familiar, but they could not tell who she was. The\nClub’s friends had learned from Chase and Wilson that the Stranger was\nhomeward bound, but they did not look for her so soon, and not one on\nthe wharf could call her by name until they saw her round the point\nabove the village and shape her course towards Mr. Gaylord’s wharf. Then\nit was too late to welcome her.\n\nWhen the schooner rounded the point the Gaylord mansion and all its\nsurroundings came plainly into view. The family did not seem to be on\nthe lookout for her, but they were quickly made aware of her arrival.\nThe twenty-four pounders, whose voices had not been heard since they\nspoke so emphatically to the inhabitants of that island away off in the\nPacific, awoke the echoes of the hills, and when the breeze carried away\nthe smoke that rolled up from their muzzles, some one was seen running\nalong the carriageway that led from the barn to the house. It was old\nSam. He was gone but a few minutes, and when he returned he was\naccompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Gaylord. The schooner stood as close in to\nthe jetty as the depth of the water would permit, and then dropped her\nanchor. Before it had fairly touched the bottom the gig was in the\nwater, and Uncle Dick and the Club were on their way to the shore.\n\nOf course, a perfect round of festivities followed the return of the\nwanderers, and the happy Christmas times were repeated. It was a week\nbefore George Le Dell and the cousins could tear themselves away from\nthe hospitable Gaylord mansion. The rickety stage-coach carried them to\nNew Orleans, and when they had taken leave of the trappers and seen them\nsafely on board a steamer bound for St. Louis, they took passage on\nboard a Washita River boat, and the next time they set foot ashore it\nwas in front of George’s home. There the cousins remained another\nweek—Archie would have been glad to prolong the stay indefinitely—and\nthen started for Lawrence, where they arrived in due time, their voyage\naround the world being happily terminated.\n\nNow, reader, the story of the Club’s adventures and exploits is ended,\nand before bidding them and you farewell, it only remains for us to tell\nwhere they are now, and what they have been doing since we last saw\nthem. It is a true saying, that the boy is father to the man; and from\nwhat we know of our heroes, it is safe to predict that the virtues of\nmanliness, truthfulness and fidelity which have ruled their lives in the\npast will always be strictly adhered to. Frank Nelson has not yet made\nanything more than a local reputation, but that he is sure to do it some\nday his friends all feel confident. He is a practicing lawyer in his\nnative State. He is as fond of his fishing-rod and double-barrel as he\never was, and spends a portion of each summer at the Rangeley Lakes and\namong the Adirondacks. If he ever goes into politics, as his friends are\nurging him to do, it is to be hoped that he will use his influence and\neloquence to correct some of the abuses that are now so prevalent. His\nhome is still at Lawrence, where his mother resides. Archie Winters,\nshortly after his return from abroad, became a student at a certain\npolytechnic institute. He settled down to business with the\ndetermination to make a man and a civil engineer of himself. He\ngraduated with honors, stepped at once into a responsible and lucrative\nposition, and the cards of invitation that were sent out a few months\nago show what he was working for. Archie is married now, and General Le\nDell and his family go North every summer to visit him and his wife.\nHenry Chase and Leonard Wilson have purchased an orange plantation in\nFlorida, and report says they are respected and successful men.\n\nFred Craven is a first lieutenant in the revenue service; and when he\nbecomes a captain, as he probably will before another year has passed\nover his head, we should like to see any smuggler outwit him as Mr. Bell\noutwitted the captain of the cutter who overhauled the Banner once upon\na time, and made her captain and crew prisoners. Jasper Babcock is a\ncommission merchant and cotton factor in Bellville; George Le Dell, who\nis Archie’s brother-in-law, is in the same business in Memphis; Phil\nPerkins owns a controlling interest in a line of steamers plying between\nNew Orleans and Galveston; and Walter and Eugene are carrying on their\nfather’s extensive plantation, Mr. Gaylord having retired from active\nbusiness. Of course they live at home—there is no place in the world\nlike home, they think—and so does Uncle Dick, whose cabin is as much a\nplace of resort for the young men of the vicinity as it used to be for\nthe boys. The Banner is still in existence, and as for the Stranger,\nUncle Dick says she is as good as she ever was, and still able to beat\nanything of her size that floats.\n\nThe intercourse between the cousins and the Sportsman’s Club which was\nbrought about almost by accident, has never been interrupted. This\nacquaintance quickly ripened into friendship, which will be as lasting\nas life itself. Many a grand reunion have they had since they returned\nfrom abroad; and of all the adventures of which they have been the\nheroes, none occupy a more prominent place in their memories or are so\noften discussed as those that befell them while they were sojourning\nAMONG THE BOERS.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                        FAMOUS CASTLEMON BOOKS.\n\n\n  =GUNBOAT SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 6 vols. 12mo.\n\n      FRANK THE YOUNG NATURALIST.\n      FRANK IN THE WOODS.\n      FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI.\n      FRANK ON A GUNBOAT.\n      FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG.\n      FRANK ON THE PRAIRIE.\n\n  =ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo.\n      Cloth.\n\n      FRANK AMONG THE RANCHEROS.\n      FRANK IN THE MOUNTAINS.\n      FRANK AT DON CARLOS’ RANCH.\n\n  =SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo.\n      Cloth.\n\n      THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB IN THE SADDLE.\n      THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AFLOAT.\n      THE SPORTSMAN’S CLUB AMONG THE TRAPPERS.\n\n  =FRANK NELSON SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.\n\n      SNOWED UP.\n      FRANK IN THE FORECASTLE.\n      THE BOY TRADERS.\n\n  =BOY TRAPPER SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.\n\n      THE BURIED TREASURE.\n      THE BOY TRAPPER.\n      THE MAIL-CARRIER.\n\n  =ROUGHING IT SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.\n\n      GEORGE IN CAMP.\n      GEORGE AT THE WHEEL.\n      GEORGE AT THE FORT.\n\n  =ROD AND GUN SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.\n\n      DON GORDON’S SHOOTING BOX.\n      THE YOUNG WILD FOWLERS.\n      ROD AND GUN CLUB.\n\n  =GO-AHEAD SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.\n\n      TOM NEWCOMBE.\n      GO-AHEAD.\n      NO MOSS.\n\n  =FOREST AND STREAM SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo.\n      Cloth.\n\n      JOE WAYRING.\n      SNAGGED AND SUNK.\n      STEEL HORSE.\n\n  =WAR SERIES.= By HARRY CASTLEMON. 5 vols. 12mo. Cloth.\n\n      TRUE TO HIS COLORS.\n      RODNEY THE OVERSEER.\n      MARCY THE REFUGEE.\n      RODNEY THE PARTISAN.\n      MARCY THE BLOCKADE-RUNNER.\n\n                    _Other Volumes in Preparation._\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n       Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by\n\n                          R. W. CARROLL & CO.,\n\n       In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES\n\n\n       1. Moved the advertising page from after the title page to\n            the end.\n       2. Silently corrected typographical errors.\n       3. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as\n            printed.\n       4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.\n       5. Enclosed bold font in =equals=.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Boy Traders, by Harry Castlemon\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Gary Rees and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was\nproduced from scanned images of public domain material\nfrom the Google Print project.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  OUR REVOLUTION\n\n  Essays on Working-Class and International Revolution, 1904-1917\n\n  BY\n  LEON TROTZKY\n\n\n  Collected and Translated, with Biography and Explanatory Notes\n\n  BY\n  MOISSAYE J. OLGIN\n  Author of \"The Soul of the Russian Revolution\"\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n  NEW YORK\n  HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY\n  1918\n\n\n\n\n  COPYRIGHT, 1918,\n  BY\n  HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY\n\n\n  Published March, 1918\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe world has not known us Russian revolutionists. The world has\nsympathized with us; the world abroad has given aid and comfort to our\nrefugees; the world, at times, even admired us; yet the world has not\nknown us. Friends of freedom in Europe and America were keenly anxious\nto see the victory of our cause; they watched our successes and our\ndefeats with breathless interest; yet they were concerned with material\nresults. Our views, our party affiliations, our factional divisions, our\ntheoretical gropings, our ideological constructions, to us the leading\nlights in our revolutionary struggles, were foreign to the world. All\nthis was supposed to be an internal Russian affair.\n\nThe Revolution has now ceased to be an internal Russian affair. It has\nbecome of world-wide import. It has started to influence governments and\npeoples. What was not long ago a theoretical dispute between two\n\"underground\" revolutionary circles, has grown into a concrete\nhistorical power determining the fate of nations. What was the\nindividual conception of individual revolutionary leaders is now ruling\nmillions.\n\nThe world is now vitally interested in understanding Russia, in learning\nthe history of our Revolution which is the history of the great Russian\nnation for the last fifty years. This involves, however, knowing not\nonly events, but also the development of thoughts, of aims, of ideas\nthat underlie and direct events; gaining an insight into the immense\nvolume of intellectual work which recent decades have accumulated in\nrevolutionary Russia.\n\nWe have selected Leon Trotzky's contribution to revolutionary thought,\nnot because he is now in the limelight of history, but because his\nconceptions represent a very definite, a clear-cut and intrinsically\nconsistent trend of revolutionary thought, quite apart from that of\nother leaders. We do not agree with many of Trotzky's ideas and\npolicies, yet we cannot overlook the fact that these ideas have become\npredominant in the present phase of the Russian Revolution and that they\nare bound to give their stamp to Russian democracy in the years to come,\nwhether the present government remains in power or not.\n\nThe reader will see that Trotzky's views as applied in Bolsheviki ruled\nRussia are not of recent origin. They were formed in the course of the\nFirst Russian Revolution of 1905, in which Trotzky was one of the\nleaders. They were developed and strengthened in the following years of\nreaction, when many a progressive group went to seek compromises with\nthe absolutist forces. They became particularly firm through the world\nwar and the circumstances that led to the establishment of a republican\norder in Russia. Perhaps many a grievous misunderstanding and\nmisinterpretation would have been avoided had thinking America known\nthat those conceptions of Trotzky were not created on the spur of the\nmoment, but were the result of a life-long work in the service of the\nRevolution.\n\nTrotzky's writings, besides their theoretical and political value,\nrepresent a vigor of style and a clarity of expression unique in Russian\nrevolutionary literature.\n\nM.J. OLGIN.\n\nNew York, February 16th, 1918.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                          PAGE\n\n  Biographical Notes                                         3\n\n  The Proletariat and the Revolution                        23\n\n  The Events in Petersburg                                  47\n\n  Prospects of a Labor Dictatorship                         63\n\n  The Soviet and the Revolution                            147\n\n  Preface to _My Round Trip_                               163\n\n  The Lessons of the Great Year                            169\n\n  On the Eve of a Revolution                               179\n\n  Two Faces                                                187\n\n  The Growing Conflict                                     199\n\n  War or Peace?                                            205\n\n  Trotzky on the Platform in Petrograd                     213\n\n\n\n\nLEON TROTZKY\n\nBIOGRAPHICAL NOTES\n\n\nTrotzky is a man of about forty. He is tall, strong, angular; his\nappearance as well as his speech give the impression of boldness and\nvigor. His voice is a high tenor ringing with metal. And even in his\nquiet moments he resembles a compressed spring.\n\nHe is always aggressive. He is full of passion,--that white-hot,\nvibrating mental passion that characterizes the intellectual Jew. On the\nplatform, as well as in private life, he bears an air of peculiar\nimportance, an indefinable something that says very distinctly: \"Here is\na man who knows his value and feels himself chosen for superior aims.\"\nYet Trotzky is not imposing. He is almost modest. He is detached. In the\ndepths of his eyes there is a lingering sadness.\n\nIt was only natural that he, a gifted college youth with a strong\navidity for theoretical thinking, should have exchanged, some twenty\nyears ago, the somber class-rooms of the University of Odessa for the\nfresh breezes of revolutionary activity. That was the way of most gifted\nRussian youths. That especially was the way of educated young Jews whose\npeople were being crushed under the steam-roller of the Russian\nbureaucracy.\n\nIn the last years of the nineteenth century there was hardly enough\nopportunity to display unusual energy in revolutionary work. Small\ncircles of picked workingmen, assembling weekly under great secrecy\nsomewhere in a backyard cabin in a suburb, to take a course in sociology\nor history or economics; now and then a \"mass\" meeting of a few score\nlaborers gathered in the woods; revolutionary appeals and pamphlets\nprinted on a secret press and circulated both among the educated classes\nand among the people; on rare occasions, an open manifestation of\nrevolutionary intellectuals, such as a meeting of students within the\nwalls of the University--this was practically all that could be done in\nthose early days of Russian revolution. Into this work of preparation,\nTrotzky threw himself with all his energy. Here he came into the closest\ncontact with the masses of labor. Here he acquainted himself with the\npsychology and aspirations of working and suffering Russia. This was the\nrich soil of practical experience that ever since has fed his\nrevolutionary ardor.\n\nHis first period of work was short. In 1900 we find him already in\nsolitary confinement in the prisons of Odessa, devouring book after book\nto satisfy his mental hunger. No true revolutionist was ever made\ndownhearted by prison, least of all Trotzky, who knew it was a brief\ninterval of enforced idleness between periods of activity. After two and\na half years of prison \"vacation\" (as the confinement was called in\nrevolutionary jargon) Trotzky was exiled to Eastern Siberia, to Ust-Kut,\non the Lena River, where he arrived early in 1902, only to seize the\nfirst opportunity to escape.\n\nAgain he resumed his work, dividing his time between the revolutionary\ncommittees in Russia and the revolutionary colonies abroad. 1902 and\n1903 were years of growth for the labor movement and of\nSocial-Democratic influence over the working masses. Trotzky, an\nuncompromising Marxist, an outspoken adherent of the theory that only\nthe revolutionary workingmen would be able to establish democracy in\nRussia, devoted much of his energy to the task of uniting the various\nSocial-Democratic circles and groups in the various cities of Russia\ninto one strong Social-Democratic Party, with a clear program and\nwell-defined tactics. This required a series of activities both among\nthe local committees and in the Social-Democratic literature which was\nconveniently published abroad.\n\nIt was in connection with this work that Trotzky's first pamphlet was\npublished and widely read. It was entitled: _The Second Convention of\nThe Russian Social-Democratic Labor Party_ (Geneva, 1903), and dealt\nwith the controversies between the two factions of Russian\nSocial-Democracy which later became known as the Bolsheviki and the\nMensheviki. Trotzky's contribution was an attempt at reconciliation\nbetween the two warring camps which professed the same Marxian theory\nand pursued the same revolutionary aim. The attempt failed, as did many\nothers, yet Trotzky never gave up hope of uniting the alienated\nbrothers.\n\nOn the eve of the Revolution of 1905, Trotzky was already a\nrevolutionary journalist of high repute. We admired the vigor of his\nstyle, the lucidity of his thought and the straightness of his\nexpression. Articles bearing the pseudonym \"N. Trotzky\" were an\nintellectual treat, and invariably aroused heated discussions. It may\nnot be out of place to say a few words about this pseudonym. Many an\namazing comment has been made in the American press on the Jew Bronstein\n\"camouflaging\" under a Russian name, Trotzky. It seems to be little\nknown in this country that to assume a pen name is a practice widely\nfollowed in Russia, not only among revolutionary writers. Thus \"Gorki\"\nis a pseudonym; \"Shchedrin\" (Saltykov) is a pseudonym. \"Fyodor Sologub\"\nis a pseudonym. As to revolutionary writers, the very character of their\nwork has compelled them to hide their names to escape the secret police.\nUlyanov, therefore, became \"Lenin,\" and Bronstein became \"Trotzky.\" As\nto his \"camouflaging\" as a Russian, this assertion is based on sheer\nignorance. Trotzky is not a genuine Russian name--no more so than\nOstrovski or Levine. True, there was a Russian playwright Ostrovski, and\nTolstoi gave his main figure in _Anna Karenin_ the name of Levine. Yet\nOstrovski and Levine are well known in Russia as Jewish names, and so is\nTrotzky. I have never heard of a Gentile bearing the name Trotzky.\nTrotzky has never concealed his Jewish nationality. He was too proud to\ndissimulate. Pride is, perhaps, one of the dominant traits of his\npowerful personality.\n\nRevolutionary Russia did not question the race or nationality of a\nwriter or leader. One admired Trotzky's power over emotion, the depth of\nhis convictions, the vehemence of his attacks on the opponents of the\nRevolution. As early as 1904, one line of his revolutionary conceptions\nbecame quite conspicuous: _his opposition to the liberal movement in\nRussia_. In a series of essays in the Social-Democratic _Iskra_\n(_Spark_), in a collection of his essays published in Geneva under the\ntitle _Before January Ninth_, he unremittingly branded the Liberals for\nlack of revolutionary spirit, for cowardice in face of a hateful\nautocracy, for failure to frame and to defend a thoroughly democratic\nprogram, for readiness to compromise with the rulers on minor\nconcessions and thus to betray the cause of the Revolution. No one else\nwas as eloquent, as incisive in pointing out the timidity and meekness\nof the Zemstvo opposition (Zemstvo were the local representative bodies\nfor the care of local affairs, and the Liberal land owners constituted\nthe leading party in those bodies) as the young revolutionary agitator,\nTrotzky. Trotzky's fury against the wavering policy of the well-to-do\nLiberals was only a manifestation of another trait of his character:\n_his desire for clarity in political affairs_. Trotzky could not\nconceive of half-way measures, of \"diplomatic\" silence over vital\ntopics, of cunning moves and concealed designs in political struggles.\nThe attitude of a Milukov, criticizing the government and yet willing to\nacquiesce in a monarchy of a Prussian brand, criticizing the\nrevolutionists and yet secretly pleased with the horror they inflicted\nupon Romanoff and his satellites, was simply incompatible with Trotzky's\nvery nature and aroused his impassioned contempt. To him, black was\nalways black, and white was white, and political conceptions ought to be\nso clear as to find adequate expression in a few simple phrases.\n\nTrotzky's own political line was the Revolution--a violent uprising of\nthe masses, headed by organized labor, forcibly to overthrow bureaucracy\nand establish democratic freedom. With what an outburst of blazing joy\nhe greeted the upheaval of January 9, 1905--the first great\nmass-movement in Russia with clear political aims: \"The Revolution has\ncome!\" he shouted in an ecstatic essay completed on January 20th. \"The\nRevolution has come. One move of hers has lifted the people over scores\nof steps, up which in times of peace we would have had to drag ourselves\nwith hardships and fatigue. The Revolution has come and destroyed the\nplans of so many politicians who had dared to make their little\npolitical calculations with no regard for the master, the revolutionary\npeople. The Revolution has come and destroyed scores of superstitions,\nand has manifested the power of the program which is founded on the\nrevolutionary logic of the development of the masses.... The Revolution\nhas come and the period of our infancy has passed.\"\n\nThe Revolution filled the entire year of 1905 with the battle cries of\never-increasing revolutionary masses. The political strike became a\npowerful weapon. The village revolts spread like wild-fire. The\ngovernment became frightened. It was under the sign of this great\nconflagration that Trotzky framed his theory of _immediate transition\nfrom absolutism to a Socialist order_. His line of argument was very\nsimple. The working class, he wrote, was the only real revolutionary\npower. The bourgeoisie was weak and incapable of adroit resistance. The\nintellectual groups were of no account. The peasantry was politically\nprimitive, yet it had an overwhelming desire for land. \"Once the\nRevolution is victorious, political power necessarily passes into the\nhands of the class that has played a leading role in the struggle, and\nthat is the working class.\" To secure permanent power, the working class\nwould have to win over the millions of peasants. This would be possible\nby recognizing all the agrarian changes completed by the peasants in\ntime of the revolution and by a radical agrarian legislation. \"Once in\npower, the proletariat will appear before the peasantry as its\nliberator.\" On the other hand, having secured its class rule over\nRussia, why should the proletariat help to establish parliamentary rule,\nwhich is the rule of the bourgeois classes over the people? \"To imagine\nthat Social-Democracy participates in the Provisional Government,\nplaying a leading role in the period of revolutionary democratic\nreconstruction, insisting on the most radical reforms and all the time\nenjoying the aid and support of the organized proletariat,--only to step\naside when the democratic program is put into operation, to leave the\ncompleted building at the disposal of the bourgeois parties and thus to\nopen an era of parliamentary politics where Social-Democracy forms only\na party of opposition,--to imagine this would mean to compromise the\nvery idea of a labor government.\" Moreover, \"once the representatives of\nthe proletariat enter the government, not as powerless hostages, but as\na leading force, the divide between the minimum-program and the\nmaximum-program automatically disappears, collectivism becomes the order\nof the day,\" since \"political supremacy of the proletariat is\nincompatible with its economic slavery.\" It was precisely the same\nprogram which Trotzky is at present attempting to put into operation.\nThis program has been his guiding star for the last twelve years.\n\nIn the fall of 1905 it looked as if Trotzky's hope was near its\nrealization. The October strike brought autocracy to its knees. A\nConstitution was promised. A Soviet (Council of Workmen's Deputies) was\nformed in Petersburg to conduct the Revolution. Trotzky became one of\nthe strongest leaders of the Council. It was in those months that we\nbecame fully aware of two qualities of Trotzky's which helped him to\nmaster men: his power as a speaker, and his ability to write short,\nstirring articles comprehensible to the masses. In the latter ability\nnobody equals him among Russian Socialists. The leaders of Russian\nSocial-Democracy were wont to address themselves to the intellectual\nreaders. Socialist writers of the early period of the Revolution were\nseldom confronted with the necessity of writing for plain people.\nTrotzky was the best among the few who, in the stormy months of the 1905\nrevolution, were able to appeal to the masses in brief, strong, yet\ndignified articles full of thought, vision, and emotion.\n\nThe Soviet was struggling in a desperate situation. Autocracy had\npromised freedom, yet military rule was becoming ever more atrocious.\nThe sluices of popular revolutionary movement were open, yet\nrevolutionary energy was being gradually exhausted. The Soviet acted as\na true revolutionary government, ignoring the government of the\nRomanoffs, giving orders to the workingmen of the country, keeping a\nwatchful eye on political events; yet the government of the old regime\nwas regaining its self-confidence and preparing for a final blow. The\nair was full of bad omens.\n\nIt required an unusual degree of revolutionary faith and vigor to\nconduct the affairs of the Soviet. Trotzky was the man of the hour.\nFirst a member of the Executive Committee, then the chairman of the\nSoviet, he was practically in the very vortex of the Revolution. He\naddressed meetings, he ordered strikes, he provided the vanguard of the\nworkingmen with firearms; he held conferences with representatives of\nlabor unions throughout the country, and--the irony of history--he\nrepeatedly appeared before the Ministers of the old regime as a\nrepresentative of labor democracy to demand from them the release of a\nprisoner or the abolition of some measures obnoxious to labor. It was in\nthis school of the Soviet that Trotzky learned to see events in a\nnational aspect, and it was the very existence of the Soviet which\nconfirmed his belief in the possibility of a revolutionary proletarian\ndictatorship. Looking backward at the activities of the Soviet, he thus\ncharacterized that prototype of the present revolutionary government in\nRussia. \"The Soviet,\" he wrote, \"was the organized authority of the\nmasses themselves over their separate members. This was a true,\nunadulterated democracy, without a two-chamber system, without a\nprofessional bureaucracy, with the right of the voters to recall their\nrepresentative at will and to substitute another.\" In short, it was the\nsame type of democracy Trotzky and Lenin are trying to make permanent in\npresent-day Russia.\n\nThe black storm soon broke loose. Trotzky was arrested with the other\nmembers of the \"revolutionary government,\" after the Soviet had existed\nfor about a month and a half. Trotzky went to prison, not in despair,\nbut as a leader of an invincible army which though it had suffered\ntemporary defeat, was bound to win. Trotzky had to wait twelve years for\nthe moment of triumph, yet the moment came.\n\nIn prison Trotzky was very active, reading, writing, trying to sum up\nhis experience of the revolutionary year. After twelve months of\nsolitary confinement he was tried and sentenced to life exile in\nSiberia: the government of the enemies of the people was wreaking\nvengeance on the first true representatives of the people. On January 3,\n1907, Trotzky started his trip for Obdorsk, in Northern Siberia on the\nArctic Ocean.\n\nHe was under unusual rigid surveillance even for Russian prisons. Each\nmovement of his and of his comrades was carefully guarded. No\ncommunication with the outer world was permitted. The very journey was\nsurrounded by great secrecy. Yet such was the fame of the Soviet, that\ncrowds gathered at every station to greet the prisoners' train, and even\nthe soldiers showed extraordinary respect for the imprisoned\n\"workingmen's deputies\" as they called them. \"We are surrounded by\nfriends on every side,\" Trotzky wrote in his note book.\n\nIn Tiumen the prisoners had to leave the railway train for sleighs\ndrawn by horses. The journey became very tedious and slow. The monotony\nwas broken only by little villages, where revolutionary exiles were\ndetained. Here and there the exiles would gather to welcome the leaders\nof the revolution. Red flags gave touches of color to the blinding white\nof the Siberian snow. \"Long live the Revolution!\" was printed with huge\nletters on the surface of the northern snow, along the road. This was\nbeautiful, but it gave little consolation. The country became ever more\ndesolate. \"Every day we move down one step into the kingdom of cold and\nwilderness,\" Trotzky remarked in his notes.\n\nIt was a gloomy prospect, to spend years and years in this God forsaken\ncountry. Trotzky was not the man to submit. In defiance of difficulties,\nhe managed to escape before he reached the town of his destination. As\nthere was only one road along which travelers could move, and as there\nwas danger that authorities, notified by wire of his escape, could stop\nhim at any moment, he left the road and on a sleigh drawn by reindeer he\ncrossed an unbroken wilderness of 800 versts, over 500 miles. This\nrequired great courage and physical endurance. The picturesque journey\nis described by Trotzky in a beautiful little book, _My Round Trip_.\n\nIt was in this Ostiak sleigh, in the midst of a bleak desert, that he\ncelebrated the 20th of February, the day of the opening of the Second\nDuma. It was a mockery at Russia: here, the representatives of the\npeople, assembled in the quasi-Parliament of Russia; there, a\nrepresentative of the Revolution that created the Duma, hiding like a\ncriminal in a bleak wilderness. Did he dream in those long hours of his\njourney, that some day the wave of the Revolution would bring him to the\nvery top?\n\nEarly in spring he arrived abroad. He established his home in Vienna\nwhere he lived till the outbreak of the great war. His time and energy\nwere devoted to the internal affairs of the Social-Democratic Party and\nto editing a popular revolutionary magazine which was being smuggled\ninto Russia. He earned a meager living by contributing to Russian\n\"legal\" magazines and dailies.\n\nI met him first in 1907, in Stuttgart. He seemed to be deeply steeped in\nthe revolutionary factional squabbles. Again I met him in Copenhagen in\n1910. He was the target of bitter criticism for his press-comment on one\nof the Social-Democratic factions. He seemed to be dead to anything but\nthe problem of reconciling the Bolsheviki with the Mensheviki and the\nother minor divisions. Yet that air of importance which distinguished\nhim even from the famous old leaders had, in 1910, become more apparent.\nBy this time he was already a well-known and respected figure in the\nranks of International Socialism.\n\nIn the fall of 1912 he went into the Balkans as a war correspondent.\nThere he learned to know the Balkan situation from authentic sources.\nHis revelations of the atrocities committed on both sides attracted wide\nattention. When he came back to Vienna in 1913 he was a stronger\ninternationalist and a stronger anti-militarist than ever.\n\nHis house in Vienna was a poor man's house, poorer than that of an\nordinary American workingman earning eighteen dollars a week. Trotzky\nhas been poor all his life. His three rooms in a Vienna working-class\nsuburb contained less furniture than was necessary for comfort. His\nclothes were too cheap to make him appear \"decent\" in the eyes of a\nmiddle-class Viennese. When I visited his house I found Mrs. Trotzky\nengaged in housework, while the two light-haired lovely boys were\nlending not inconsiderable assistance. The only thing that cheered the\nhouse were loads of books in every corner, and, perhaps, great though\nhidden hopes.\n\nOn August 3, 1914, the Trotzkys, as enemy aliens, had to leave Vienna\nfor Zurich, Switzerland. Trotzky's attitude towards the war was a very\ndefinite one from the very beginning. He accused German Social-Democracy\nfor having voted the war credits and thus endorsed the war. He accused\nthe Socialist parties of all the belligerent countries for having\nconcluded a truce with their governments which in his opinion was\nequivalent to supporting militarism. He bitterly deplored the collapse\nof Internationalism as a great calamity for the emancipation of the\nworld. Yet, even in those times of distress, he did not remain inactive.\nHe wrote a pamphlet to the German workingmen entitled _The War and\nInternationalism_ (recently translated into English and published in\nthis country under the title _The Bolsheviki and World Peace_) which was\nillegally transported into Germany and Austria by aid of Swiss\nSocialists. For this attempt to enlighten the workingmen, one of the\nGerman courts tried him in a state of contumacy and sentenced him to\nimprisonment. He also contributed to a Russian Socialist daily of\nInternationalist aspirations which was being published by Russian\nexiles in Paris. Later he moved to Paris to be in closer contact with\nthat paper. Due to his radical views on the war, however, he was\ncompelled to leave France. He went to Spain, but the Spanish government,\nthough not at war, did not allow him to stay in that country. He was\nhimself convinced that the hand of the Russian Foreign Ministry was in\nall his hardships.\n\nSo it happened that in the winter 1916-1917, he came to the United\nStates. When I met him here, he looked haggard; he had grown older, and\nthere was fatigue in his expression. His conversation hinged around the\ncollapse of International Socialism. He thought it shameful and\nhumiliating that the Socialist majorities of the belligerent countries\nhad turned \"Social-Patriots.\" \"If not for the minorities of the\nSocialist parties, the true Socialists, it would not be worth while\nliving,\" he said once with deep sadness. Still, he strongly believed in\nthe internationalizing spirit of the war itself, and expected humanity\nto become more democratic and more sound after cessation of hostilities.\nHis belief in an impending Russian Revolution was unshaken. Similarly\nunshaken was his mistrust of the Russian non-Socialist parties. On\nJanuary 20, 1917, less than two months before the overthrow of the\nRomanoffs, he wrote in a local Russian paper: \"Whoever thinks critically\nover the experience of 1905, whoever draws a line from that year to the\npresent day, must conceive how utterly lifeless and ridiculous are the\nhopes of our Social-Patriots for a revolutionary cooeperation between the\nproletariat and the Liberal bourgeoisie in Russia.\"\n\nHis demand for _clarity_ in political affairs had become more pronounced\nduring the war and through the distressing experiences of the war.\n\"There are times,\" he wrote on February 7, 1917, \"when diplomatic\nevasiveness, casting glances with one eye to the right, with the other\nto the left, is considered wisdom. Such times are now vanishing before\nour eyes, and their heroes are losing credit. War, as revolution, puts\nproblems in their clearest form. For war or against war? For national\ndefense or for revolutionary struggle? The fierce times we are living\nnow demand in equal measure both fearlessness of thought and bravery of\ncharacter.\"\n\nWhen the Russian Revolution broke out, it was no surprise for Trotzky.\nHe had anticipated it. He had scented it over the thousands of miles\nthat separated him from his country. He did not allow his joy to\novermaster him. The March revolution in his opinion was only a\nbeginning. It was only an introduction to a long drawn fight which would\nend in the establishment of Socialism.\n\nHistory seemed to him to have fulfilled what he had predicted in 1905\nand 1906. The working class was the leading power in the Revolution. The\nSoviets became even more powerful than the Provisional Government.\nTrotzky preached that it was the task of the Soviets to become _the_\ngovernment of Russia. It was his task to go to Russia and fight for a\nlabor government, for Internationalism, for world peace, for a world\nrevolution. \"If the first Russian revolution of 1905,\" he wrote on March\n20th, \"brought about revolutions in Asia,--in Persia, Turkey,\nChina,--the second Russian revolution will be the beginning of a\nmomentous Social-revolutionary struggle in Europe. Only this struggle\nwill bring real peace to the blood-drenched world.\"\n\nWith these hopes he went to Russia,--to forge a Socialist Russia in the\nfire of the Revolution.\n\nWhatever may be our opinion of the merits of his policies, the man has\nremained true to himself. His line has been straight.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PROLETARIAT AND THE REVOLUTION\n\n     The essay _The Proletariat and the Revolution_ was published at the\n     close of 1904, nearly one year after the beginning of the war with\n     Japan. This was a crucial year for the autocratic rulers of Russia.\n     It started with patriotic demonstrations, it ended with a series of\n     humiliating defeats on the battlefields and with an unprecedented\n     revival of political activities on the part of the well-to-do\n     classes. The Zemstvos (local elective bodies for the care of local\n     affairs) headed by liberal landowners, conducted a vigorous\n     political campaign in favor of a constitutional order. Other\n     liberal groups, organizations of professionals (referred to in\n     Trotzky's essay as \"democrats\" and \"democratic elements\") joined in\n     the movement. The Zemstvo leaders called an open convention in\n     Petersburg (November 6th), which demanded civic freedom and a\n     Constitution. The \"democratic elements\" organized public gatherings\n     of a political character under the disguise of private banquets.\n     The liberal press became bolder in its attack on the\n     administration. The government tolerated the movement. Prince\n     Svyatopolk-Mirski, who had succeeded Von Plehve, the reactionary\n     dictator assassinated in July, 1904, by a revolutionist, had\n     promised \"cordial relations\" between government and society. In the\n     political jargon, this period of tolerance, lasting from August to\n     the end of the year, was known as the era of \"Spring.\"\n\n     It was a thrilling time, full of political hopes and expectation.\n     Yet, strange enough, the working class was silent. The working\n     class had shown great dissatisfaction in 1902 and especially in\n     summer, 1903, when scores of thousands in the southwest and in the\n     South went on a political strike. During the whole of 1904,\n     however, there were almost no mass-manifestations on the part of\n     the workingmen. This gave an occasion to many a liberal to scoff at\n     the representatives of the revolutionary parties who built all\n     their tactics on the expectation of a national revolution.\n\n     To answer those skeptics and to encourage the active members of the\n     Social-Democratic party, Trotzky wrote his essay. Its main value,\n     which lends it historic significance, is the clear diagnosis of the\n     political situation. Though living abroad, Trotzky keenly felt the\n     pulse of the masses, the \"pent up revolutionary energy\" which was\n     seeking for an outlet. His description of the course of a national\n     revolution, the role he attributes to the workingmen, the\n     non-proletarian population of the cities, the educated groups, and\n     the army; his estimation of the influence of the war on the minds\n     of the raw masses; finally, the slogans he puts before the\n     revolution,--all this corresponds exactly to what happened during\n     the stormy year of 1905. Reading _The Proletariat and the\n     Revolution_, the student of Russian political life has a feeling\n     as if the essay had been written _after_ the Revolution, so closely\n     it follows the course of events. Yet, it appeared before January\n     9th, 1905, i.e., before the first great onslaught of the Petersburg\n     proletariat.\n\n     Trotzky's belief in the revolutionary initiative of the working\n     class could not be expressed in a more lucid manner.\n\n\nThe proletariat must not only conduct a revolutionary propaganda. The\nproletariat itself must move towards a revolution.\n\nTo move towards a revolution does not necessarily mean to fix a date for\nan insurrection and to prepare for that day. You never can fix a day and\nan hour for a revolution. The people have never made a revolution by\ncommand.\n\nWhat _can_ be done is, in view of the fatally impending catastrophe, to\nchoose the most appropriate positions, to arm and inspire the masses\nwith a revolutionary slogan, to lead simultaneously all the reserves\ninto the field of battle, to make them practice in the art of fighting,\nto keep them ready under arms,--and to send an alarm all over the lines\nwhen the time has arrived.\n\nWould that mean a series of exercises only, and not a decisive combat\nwith the enemy forces? Would that be mere manoeuvers, and not a street\nrevolution?\n\nYes, that would be mere manoeuvers. There is a difference, however,\nbetween revolutionary and military manoeuvers. Our preparations can\nturn, at any time and independent of our will, into a real battle which\nwould decide the long drawn revolutionary war. Not only can it be so, it\n_must_ be. This is vouched for by the acuteness of the present political\nsituation which holds in its depths a tremendous amount of revolutionary\nexplosives.\n\nAt what time mere manoeuvers would turn into a real battle, depends\nupon the volume and the revolutionary compactness of the masses, upon\nthe atmosphere of popular sympathy which surrounds them and upon the\nattitude of the troops which the government moves against the people.\n\nThose three elements of success must determine our work of preparation.\nRevolutionary proletarian masses _are_ in existence. We ought to be able\nto call them into the streets, at a given time, all over the country; we\nought to be able to unite them by a general slogan.\n\nAll classes and groups of the people are permeated with hatred towards\nabsolutism, and that means with sympathy for the struggle for freedom.\nWe ought to be able to concentrate this sympathy on the proletariat as a\nrevolutionary power which alone can be the vanguard of the people in\ntheir fight to save the future of Russia. As to the mood of the army, it\nhardly kindles the heart of the government with great hopes. There has\nbeen many an alarming symptom for the last few years; the army is\nmorose, the army grumbles, there are ferments of dissatisfaction in the\narmy. We ought to do all at our command to make the army detach itself\nfrom absolutism at the time of a decisive onslaught of the masses.\n\nLet us first survey the last two conditions, which determine the course\nand the outcome of the campaign.\n\nWe have just gone through the period of \"political renovation\" opened\nunder the blare of trumpets and closed under the hiss of knouts,--the\nera of Svyatopolk-Mirski--the result of which is hatred towards\nabsolutism aroused among all the thinking elements of society to an\nunusual pitch. The coming days will reap the fruit of stirred popular\nhopes and unfulfilled government's pledges. Political interest has\nlately taken more definite shape; dissatisfaction has grown deeper and\nis founded on a more outspoken theoretical basis. Popular thinking,\nyesterday utterly primitive, now greedily takes to the work of political\nanalysis. All manifestations of evil and arbitrary power are being\nspeedily traced back to the principal cause. Revolutionary slogans no\nmore frighten the people; on the contrary, they arouse a thousandfold\necho, they pass into proverbs. The popular consciousness absorbs each\nword of negation, condemnation or curse addressed towards absolutism, as\na sponge absorbs fluid substance. No step of the administration remains\nunpunished. Each of its blunders is carefully taken account of. Its\nadvances are met with ridicule, its threats breed hatred. The vast\napparatus of the liberal press circulates daily thousands of facts,\nstirring, exciting, inflaming popular emotion.\n\nThe pent up feelings are seeking an outlet. Thought strives to turn into\naction. The vociferous liberal press, however, while feeding popular\nunrest, tends to divert its current into a small channel; it spreads\nsuperstitious reverence for \"public opinion,\" helpless, unorganized\n\"public opinion,\" which does not discharge itself into action; it brands\nthe revolutionary method of national emancipation; it upholds the\nillusion of legality; it centers all the attention and all the hopes of\nthe embittered groups around the Zemstvo campaign, thus systematically\npreparing a great debacle for the popular movement. Acute\ndissatisfaction, finding no outlet, discouraged by the inevitable\nfailure of the legal Zemstvo campaign which has no traditions of\nrevolutionary struggle in the past and no clear prospects in the future,\nmust necessarily manifest itself in an outbreak of desperate terrorism,\nleaving radical intellectuals in the role of helpless, passive, though\nsympathetic onlookers, leaving liberals to choke in a fit of platonic\nenthusiasm while lending doubtful assistance.\n\nThis ought not to take place. We ought to take hold of the current of\npopular excitement; we ought to turn the attention of numerous\ndissatisfied social groups to one colossal undertaking headed by the\nproletariat,--to the _National Revolution_.\n\nThe vanguard of the Revolution ought to wake from indolence all other\nelements of the people; to appear here and there and everywhere; to put\nthe questions of political struggle in the boldest possible fashion; to\ncall, to castigate, to unmask hypocritical democracy; to make democrats\nand Zemstvo liberals clash against each other; to wake again and again,\nto call, to castigate, to demand a clear answer to the question, _What\nare you going to do?_ to allow no retreat; to compel the legal liberals\nto admit their own weakness; to alienate from them the democratic\nelements and help the latter along the way of the revolution. To do this\nwork means to draw the threads of sympathy of all the democratic\nopposition towards the revolutionary campaign of the proletariat.\n\nWe ought to do all in our power to draw the attention and gain the\nsympathy of the poor non-proletarian city population. During the last\nmass actions of the proletariat, as in the general strikes of 1903 in\nthe South, nothing was done in this respect, and this was the weakest\npoint of the preparatory work. According to press correspondents, the\nqueerest rumors often circulated among the population as to the\nintentions of the strikers. The city inhabitants expected attacks on\ntheir houses, the store keepers were afraid of being looted, the Jews\nwere in a dread of pogroms. This ought to be avoided. _A political\nstrike, as a single combat of the city proletariat with the police and\nthe army, the remaining population being hostile or even indifferent, is\ndoomed to failure._\n\nThe indifference of the population would tell primarily on the morale of\nthe proletariat itself, and then on the attitude of the soldiers. Under\nsuch conditions, the stand of the administration must necessarily be\nmore determined. The generals would remind the officers, and the\nofficers would pass to the soldiers the words of Dragomirov: \"Rifles are\ngiven for sharp shooting, and nobody is permitted to squander cartridges\nfor nothing.\"\n\n_A political strike of the proletariat ought to turn into a political\ndemonstration of the population_, this is the first prerequisite of\nsuccess.\n\nThe second important prerequisite is the mood of the army. A\ndissatisfaction among the soldiers, a vague sympathy for the\n\"revoluters,\" is an established fact. Only part of this sympathy may\nrightly be attributed to our direct propaganda among the soldiers. The\nmajor part is done by the practical clashes between army units and\nprotesting masses. Only hopeless idiots or avowed scoundrels dare to\nshoot at a living target. An overwhelming majority of the soldiers are\nloathe to serve as executioners; this is unanimously admitted by all\ncorrespondents describing the battles of the army with unarmed people.\nThe average soldier aims above the heads of the crowd. It would be\nunnatural if the reverse were the case. When the Bessarabian regiment\nreceived orders to quell the Kiev general strike, the commander declared\nhe could not vouch for the attitude of his soldiers. The order, then,\nwas sent to the Cherson regiment, but there was not one half-company in\nthe entire regiment which would live up to the expectations of their\nsuperiors.\n\nKiev was no exception. The conditions of the army must now be more\nfavorable for the revolution than they were in 1903. We have gone\nthrough a year of war. It is hardly possible to measure the influence of\nthe past year on the minds of the army. The influence, however, must be\nenormous. War draws not only the attention of the people, it arouses\nalso the professional interest of the army. Our ships are slow, our guns\nhave a short range, our soldiers are uneducated, our sergeants have\nneither compass nor map, our soldiers are bare-footed, hungry, and\nfreezing, our Red Cross is stealing, our commissariat is\nstealing,--rumors and facts of this kind leak down to the army and are\nbeing eagerly absorbed. Each rumor, as strong acid, dissolves the rust\nof mental drill. Years of peaceful propaganda could hardly equal in\ntheir results one day of warfare. The mere mechanism of discipline\nremains, the faith, however, the conviction that it is right to carry\nout orders, the belief that the present conditions can be continued,\nare rapidly dwindling. The less faith the army has in absolutism, the\nmore faith it has in its foes.\n\nWe ought to make use of this situation. We ought to explain to the\nsoldiers the meaning of the workingmen's action which is being prepared\nby the Party. We ought to make profuse use of the slogan which is bound\nto unite the army with the revolutionary people, _Away with the War!_ We\nought to create a situation where the officers would not be able to\ntrust their soldiers at the crucial moment. This would reflect on the\nattitude of the officers themselves.\n\nThe rest will be done by the street. It will dissolve the remnants of\nthe barrack-hypnosis in the revolutionary enthusiasm of the people.\n\nThe main factor, however, remain the revolutionary masses. True it is\nthat during the war the most advanced elements of the masses, the\nthinking proletariat, have not stepped openly to the front with that\ndegree of determination which was required by the critical historic\nmoment. Yet it would manifest a lack of political backbone and a\ndeplorable superficiality, should one draw from this fact any kind of\npessimistic conclusions.\n\nThe war has fallen upon our public life with all its colossal weight.\nThe dreadful monster, breathing blood and fire, loomed up on the\npolitical horizon, shutting out everything, sinking its steel clutches\ninto the body of the people, inflicting wound upon wound, causing mortal\npain, which for a moment makes it even impossible to ask for the causes\nof the pain. The war, as every great disaster, accompanied by crisis,\nunemployment, mobilization, hunger and death, stunned the people, caused\ndespair, but not protest. This is, however, only a beginning. Raw masses\nof the people, silent social strata, which yesterday had no connection\nwith the revolutionary elements, were knocked by sheer mechanical power\nof facts to face the central event of present-day Russia, the war. They\nwere horrified, they could not catch their breaths. The revolutionary\nelements, who prior to the war had ignored the passive masses, were\naffected by the atmosphere of despair and concentrated horror. This\natmosphere enveloped them, it pressed with a leaden weight on their\nminds. The voice of determined protest could hardly be raised in the\nmidst of elemental suffering. The revolutionary proletariat which had\nnot yet recovered from the wounds received in July, 1903, was powerless\nto oppose the \"call of the primitive.\"\n\nThe year of war, however, passed not without results. Masses, yesterday\nprimitive, to-day are confronted with the most tremendous events. They\nmust seek to understand them. The very duration of the war has produced\na desire for reasoning, for questioning as to the meaning of it all.\nThus the war, while hampering for a period of time the revolutionary\ninitiative of thousands, has awakened to life the political thought of\nmillions.\n\nThe year of war passed not without results, not a single day passed\nwithout results. In the lower strata of the people, in the very depths\nof the masses, a work was going on, a movement of molecules,\nimperceptible, yet irresistible, incessant, a work of accumulating\nindignation, bitterness, revolutionary energy. The atmosphere our\nstreets are breathing now is no longer an atmosphere of blank despair,\nit is an atmosphere of concentrated indignation which seeks for means\nand ways for revolutionary action. Each expedient action of the vanguard\nof our working masses would now carry away with it not only all our\nrevolutionary reserves, but also thousands and hundreds of thousands of\nrevolutionary recruits. This mobilization, unlike the mobilization of\nthe government, would be carried out in the presence of general\nsympathy and active assistance of an overwhelming majority of the\npopulation.\n\nIn the presence of strong sympathies of the masses, in the presence of\nactive assistance on the part of the democratic elements of the people;\nfacing a government commonly hated, unsuccessful both in big and in\nsmall undertakings, a government defeated on the seas, defeated in the\nfields of battle, despised, discouraged, with no faith in the coming\nday, a government vainly struggling, currying favor, provoking and\nretreating, lying and suffering exposure, insolent and frightened;\nfacing an army whose morale has been shattered by the entire course of\nthe war, whose valor, energy, enthusiasm and heroism have met an\ninsurmountable wall in the form of administrative anarchy, an army which\nhas lost faith in the unshakable security of a regime it is called to\nserve, a dissatisfied, grumbling army which more than once has torn\nitself free from the clutches of discipline during the last year and\nwhich is eagerly listening to the roar of revolutionary voices,--such\nwill be the conditions under which the revolutionary proletariat will\nwalk out into the streets. It seems to us that no better conditions\ncould have been created by history for a final attack. History has done\neverything it was allowed by elemental wisdom. The thinking\nrevolutionary forces of the country have to do the rest.\n\nA tremendous amount of revolutionary energy has been accumulated. It\nshould not vanish with no avail, it should not be dissipated in\nscattered engagements and clashes, with no coherence and no definite\nplan. All efforts ought to be made to concentrate the bitterness, the\nanger, the protest, the rage, the hatred of the masses, to give those\nemotions a common language, a common goal, to unite, to solidify all the\nparticles of the masses, to make them feel and understand that they are\nnot isolated, that simultaneously, with the same slogan on the banner,\nwith the same goal in mind, innumerable particles are rising everywhere.\nIf this understanding is achieved, half of the revolution is done.\n\nWe have got to summon all revolutionary forces to simultaneous action.\nHow can we do it?\n\nFirst of all we ought to remember that the main scene of revolutionary\nevents is bound to be the city. Nobody is likely to deny this. It is\nevident, further, that street demonstrations can turn into a popular\nrevolution only when they are a manifestation of _masses_, i.e., when\nthey embrace, in the first place, the workers of factories and plants.\nTo make the workers quit their machines and stands; to make them walk\nout of the factory premises into the street; to lead them to the\nneighboring plant; to proclaim there a cessation of work; to make new\nmasses walk out into the street; to go thus from factory to factory,\nfrom plant to plant, incessantly growing in numbers, sweeping police\nbarriers, absorbing new masses that happened to come across, crowding\nthe streets, taking possession of buildings suitable for popular\nmeetings, fortifying those buildings, holding continuous revolutionary\nmeetings with audiences coming and going, bringing order into the\nmovements of the masses, arousing their spirit, explaining to them the\naim and the meaning of what is going on; to turn, finally, the entire\ncity into one revolutionary camp, this is, broadly speaking, the plan of\naction.\n\nThe starting point ought to be the factories and plants. That means that\nstreet manifestations of a serious character, fraught with decisive\nevents, ought to begin with _political strikes of the masses_.\n\nIt is easier to fix a date for a strike, than for a demonstration of\nthe people, just as it is easier to move masses ready for action than to\norganize new masses.\n\nA political strike, however, not a _local, but a general political\nstrike all over Russia_,--ought to have a general political slogan. This\nslogan is: _to stop the war and to call a National Constituent\nAssembly_.\n\nThis demand ought to become nation-wide, and herein lies the task for\nour propaganda preceding the all-Russian general strike. We ought to use\nall possible occasions to make the idea of a National Constituent\nAssembly popular among the people. Without losing one moment, we ought\nto put into operation all the technical means and all the powers of\npropaganda at our disposal. Proclamations and speeches, educational\ncircles and mass-meetings ought to carry broadcast, to propound and to\nexplain the demand of a Constituent Assembly. There ought to be not one\nman in a city who should not know that his demand is: a National\nConstituent Assembly.\n\nThe peasants ought to be called to assemble on the day of the political\nstrike and to pass resolutions demanding the calling of a Constituent\nAssembly. The suburban peasants ought to be called into the cities to\nparticipate in the street movements of the masses gathered under the\nbanner of a Constituent Assembly. All societies and organizations,\nprofessional and learned bodies, organs of self-government and organs of\nthe opposition press ought to be notified in advance by the workingmen\nthat they are preparing for an all-Russian political strike, fixed for a\ncertain date, to bring about the calling of a Constituent Assembly. The\nworkingmen ought to demand from all societies and corporations that, on\nthe day appointed for the mass-manifestation, they should join in the\ndemand of a National Constituent Assembly. The workingmen ought to\ndemand from the opposition press that it should popularize their slogan\nand that on the eve of the demonstration it should print an appeal to\nthe population to join the proletarian manifestation under the banner of\na National Constituent Assembly.\n\nWe ought to carry on the most intensive propaganda in the army in order\nthat on the day of the strike each soldier, sent to curb the \"rebels,\"\nshould know that he is facing the people who are demanding a National\nConstituent Assembly.\n\n\nEXPLANATORY NOTES\n\n     \"_The hiss of the knout_\" which ended the era of \"cordial\n     relations\" was a statement issued by the government on December 12,\n     1904, declaring that \"all disturbances of peace and order and all\n     gatherings of an anti-governmental character must and will be\n     stopped by all legal means in command of the authorities.\" The\n     Zemstvo and municipal bodies were advised to keep from political\n     utterings. As to the Socialist parties, and to labor movement in\n     general, they were prosecuted under Svyatopolk-Mirski as severely\n     as under Von Plehve.\n\n     \"_The vast apparatus of the liberal press_\" was the only way to\n     reach millions. The revolutionary \"underground\" press, which\n     assumed towards 1905 unusual proportions, could, after all, reach\n     only a limited number of readers. In times of political unrest, the\n     public became used to read between the lines of the legal press all\n     it needed to feed its hatred of oppression.\n\n     By \"_legal_\" _press_, \"_legal_\" _liberals_ are meant the open\n     public press and those liberals who were trying to comply with the\n     legal requirements of absolutism even in their work of condemning\n     the absolutist order. The term \"legal\" is opposed by the term\n     \"revolutionary\" which is applied to political actions in defiance\n     of law.\n\n     _Dragomirov_ was for many years Commander of the Kiev Military\n     region and known by his epigrammatic style.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EVENTS IN PETERSBURG\n\n     This is an essay of triumph. Written on January 20, 1905, eleven\n     days after the \"bloody Sunday,\" it gave vent to the enthusiastic\n     feelings of every true revolutionist aroused by unmistakable signs\n     of an approaching storm. The march of tens of thousands of\n     workingmen to the Winter Palace to submit to the \"Little Father\" a\n     petition asking for \"bread and freedom,\" was on the surface a\n     peaceful and loyal undertaking. Yet it breathed indignation and\n     revolt. The slaughter of peaceful marchers (of whom over 5,000 were\n     killed or wounded) and the following wave of hatred and\n     revolutionary determination among the masses, marked the beginning\n     of broad revolutionary uprisings.\n\n     For Trotzky, the awakening of the masses to political activity was\n     not only a good revolutionary omen, but also a defeat of liberal\n     ideology and liberal tactics. Those tactics had been planned under\n     the assumption that the Russian people were not ripe for a\n     revolution. Trotzky, a thorough revolutionist, _saw_ in the liberal\n     movement a manifestation of political superstitions. To him, the\n     _only_ way to overthrow absolutism was the way of a violent\n     revolution. Yet, when the liberals proudly asserted that the\n     revolutionary masses of Russia were only a creation of the\n     overheated phantasy of the revolutionists, while the movement of\n     the well-to-do intelligent elements was a flagrant fact, the\n     Social-Democrats had no material proofs to the contrary, except\n     sporadic outbursts of unrest among the workingmen and, of course,\n     the conviction of those revolutionists who were in touch with the\n     masses. It is, therefore, easy to understand the triumph of a\n     Trotzky or any other Socialist after January 9th. In Trotzky's\n     opinion, the 9th of January had put liberalism into the archives.\n     \"We are done with it for the entire period of the revolution,\" he\n     exclaims. The most remarkable part of this essay, as far as\n     political vision is concerned, is Trotzky's prediction that the\n     left wing of the \"Osvoboshdenie\" liberals (later organized as the\n     Constitutional Democratic Party) would attempt to become leaders of\n     the revolutionary masses and to \"tame\" them. The Liberals did not\n     fail to make the attempt in 1905 and 1906, but with no success\n     whatever. Neither did Social-Democracy, however, completely succeed\n     in leading the masses all through the revolution, in the manner\n     outlined by Trotzky in this essay. True, the Social-Democrats were\n     the party that gained the greatest influence over the workingmen in\n     the stormy year of 1905; their slogans were universally accepted by\n     the masses; their members were everywhere among the first ranks of\n     revolutionary forces; yet events developed too rapidly and\n     spontaneously to make the leadership of a political organization\n     possible.\n\n\nHow invincibly eloquent are facts! How utterly powerless are words!\n\nThe masses have made themselves heard! They have kindled revolutionary\nflames on Caucasian hill-tops; they have clashed, breast against breast,\nwith the guards' regiments and the cossacks on that unforgettable day of\nJanuary Ninth; they have filled the streets and squares of industrial\ncities with the noise and clatter of their fights....\n\nThe revolutionary masses are no more a theory, they are a fact. For the\nSocial-Democratic Party there is nothing new in this fact. We had\npredicted it long ago. We had seen its coming at a time when the noisy\nliberal banquets seemed to form a striking contrast with the political\nsilence of the people. _The revolutionary masses are a fact_, was our\nassertion. The clever liberals shrugged their shoulders in contempt.\nThose gentlemen think themselves sober realists solely because they are\nunable to grasp the consequences of great causes, because they make it\ntheir business to be humble servants of each ephemeral political fact.\nThey think themselves sober statesmen in spite of the fact that history\nmocks at their wisdom, tearing to pieces their school books, making to\nnaught their designs, and magnificently laughing at their pompous\npredictions.\n\n\"_There are no revolutionary people in Russia as yet._\" \"_The Russian\nworkingman is backward in culture, in self-respect, and (we refer\nprimarily to the workingmen of Petersburg and Moscow) he is not yet\nprepared for organized social and political struggle._\"\n\nThus Mr. Struve wrote in his _Osvoboshdenie_. He wrote it on January\n7th, 1905. Two days later the proletariat of Petersburg arose.\n\n\"_There are no revolutionary people in Russia as yet._\" These words\nought to have been engraved on the forehead of Mr. Struve were it not\nthat Mr. Struve's forehead already resembles a tombstone under which so\nmany plans, slogans, and ideas have been buried,--Socialist, liberal,\n\"patriotic,\" revolutionary, monarchic, democratic and other ideas, all\nof them calculated not to run too far ahead and all of them hopelessly\ndragging behind.\n\n\"_There are no revolutionary people in Russia as yet_,\" so it was\ndeclared through the mouth of _Osvoboshdenie_ by Russian liberalism\nwhich in the course of three months had succeeded in convincing itself\nthat liberalism was the main figure on the political stage and that its\nprogram and tactics would determine the future of Russia. Before this\ndeclaration had reached its readers, the wires carried into the remotest\ncorners of the world the great message of the beginning of a National\nRevolution in Russia.\n\nYes, the Revolution has begun. We had hoped for it, we had had no doubt\nabout it. For long years, however, it had been to us a mere deduction\nfrom our \"doctrine,\" which all nonentities of all political\ndenominations had mocked at. They never believed in the revolutionary\nrole of the proletariat, yet they believed in the power of Zemstvo\npetitions, in Witte, in \"blocs\" combining naughts with naughts, in\nSvyatopolk-Mirski, in a stick of dynamite.... There was no political\nsuperstition they did not believe in. Only the belief in the proletariat\nto them was a superstition.\n\nHistory, however, does not question political oracles, and the\nrevolutionary people do not need a passport from political eunuchs.\n\nThe Revolution has come. One move of hers has lifted the people over\nscores of steps, up which in times of peace we would have had to drag\nourselves with hardships and fatigue. The Revolution has come and\ndestroyed the plans of so many politicians who had dared to make their\nlittle political calculations with no regard for the master, the\nrevolutionary people. The Revolution has come and destroyed scores of\nsuperstitions, and has manifested the power of the program which is\nfounded on the revolutionary logic of the development of the masses.\n\nThe Revolution has come, and the period of our political infancy has\npassed. Down to the archives went our traditional liberalism whose only\nresource was the belief in a lucky change of administrative figures. Its\nperiod of bloom was the stupid reign of Svyatopolk-Mirski. Its ripest\nfruit was the Ukase of December 12th. But now, January Ninth has come\nand effaced the \"Spring,\" and has put military dictatorship in its\nplace, and has promoted to the rank of Governor-General of Petersburg\nthe same Trepov, who just before had been pulled down from the post of\nMoscow Chief of Police by the same liberal opposition.\n\nThat liberalism which did not care to know about the revolution, which\nhatched plots behind the scenes, which ignored the masses, which\ncounted only on its diplomatic genius, has been swept away. _We are done\nwith it for the entire period of the revolution._\n\nThe liberals of the left wing will now follow the people. They will soon\nattempt to take the people into their own hands. The people are a power.\nOne must _master_ them. But they are, too, a _revolutionary_ power. One,\ntherefore, must _tame_ them. This is, evidently, the future tactics of\nthe _Osvoboshdenie_ group. Our fight for a revolution, our preparatory\nwork for the revolution must also be our merciless fight against\nliberalism for influence over the masses, for a leading role in the\nrevolution. In this fight we shall be supported by a great power, the\nvery logic of the revolution!\n\nThe Revolution has come.\n\nThe _forms_ taken by the uprising of January 9th could not have been\nforeseen. A revolutionary priest, in perplexing manner placed by history\nat the head of the working masses for several days, lent the events the\nstamp of his personality, his conceptions, his rank. This form may\nmislead many an observer as to the real substance of the events. The\nactual meaning of the events, however, is just that which\nSocial-Democracy foresaw. The central figure is the Proletariat. The\nworkingmen start a strike, they unite, they formulate political demands,\nthey walk out into the streets, they win the enthusiastic sympathy of\nthe entire population, they engage in battles with the army.... The\nhero, Gapon, has not created the revolutionary energy of the Petersburg\nworkingmen, he only unloosed it. He found thousands of thinking\nworkingmen and tens of thousands of others in a state of political\nagitation. He formed a plan which united all those masses--for the\nperiod of one day. The masses went to speak to the Tzar. They were faced\nby Ulans, cossacks, guards. Gapon's plan had not prepared the workingmen\nfor that. What was the result? They seized arms wherever they could,\nthey built barricades.... They fought, though, apparently, they went to\nbeg for mercy. This shows that they went _not to beg, but to demand_.\n\nThe proletariat of Petersburg manifested a degree of political alertness\nand revolutionary energy far exceeding the limits of the plan laid out\nby a casual leader. Gapon's plan contained many elements of\nrevolutionary romanticism. On January 9th, the plan collapsed. Yet the\nrevolutionary proletariat of Petersburg is no romanticism, it is a\nliving reality. So is the proletariat of other cities. An enormous wave\nis rolling over Russia. It has not yet quieted down. One shock, and the\nproletarian crater will begin to erupt torrents of revolutionary lava.\n\nThe proletariat has arisen. It has chosen an incidental pretext and a\ncasual leader--a self-sacrificing priest. That seemed enough to start\nwith. It was not enough to _win_.\n\n_Victory_ demands not a romantic method based on an illusory plan, but\nrevolutionary tactics. _A simultaneous action of the proletariat of all\nRussia must be prepared._ This is the first condition. No local\ndemonstration has a serious political significance any longer. After the\nPetersburg uprising, only an all-Russian uprising should take place.\nScattered outbursts would only consume the precious revolutionary energy\nwith no results. Wherever spontaneous outbursts occur, as a late echo of\nthe Petersburg uprising, _they must be made use of to revolutionize and\nto solidify the masses, to popularize among them the idea of an\nall-Russian uprising_ as a task of the approaching months, perhaps only\nweeks.\n\nThis is not the place to discuss the technique of a popular uprising.\nThe questions of revolutionary technique can be solved only in a\npractical way, under the live pressure of struggle and under constant\ncommunication with the active members of the Party. There is no doubt,\nhowever, that the technical problems of organizing a popular uprising\nassume at present tremendous importance. Those problems demand the\ncollective attention of the Party.\n\n    [Trotzky then proceeds to discuss the question of armament,\n    arsenals, clashes with army units, barricades, etc. Then he\n    continues:]\n\nAs stated before, these questions ought to be solved by local\norganizations. Of course, this is only a minor task as compared with the\npolitical leadership of the masses. Yet, this task is most essential for\nthe political leadership itself. The organization of the revolution\nbecomes at present the axis of the political leadership of revolting\nmasses.\n\nWhat are the requirements for this leadership? A few very simple things:\nfreedom from routine in matters of organization; freedom from miserable\ntraditions of underground conspiracy; a broad view; courageous\ninitiative; ability to gauge situations; courageous initiative once\nmore.\n\nThe events of January 9th have given us a revolutionary beginning. We\nmust never fall below this. We must make this our starting point in\nmoving the revolution forward. We must imbue our work of propaganda and\norganization with the political ideas and revolutionary aspirations of\nthe uprising of the Petersburg workers.\n\nThe Russian revolution has approached its climax--a national uprising.\nThe organization of this uprising, which would determine the fate of the\nentire revolution, becomes the day's task for our Party.\n\nNo one can accomplish it, but we. Priest Gapon could appear only once.\nHe cherished extraordinary illusions, that is why he could do what he\nhas done. Yet he could remain at the head of the masses for a brief\nperiod only. The memory of George Gapon will always be dear to the\nrevolutionary proletariat. Yet his memory will be that of a hero who\nopened the sluices of the revolutionary torrent. Should a new figure\nstep to the front now, equal to Gapon in energy, revolutionary\nenthusiasm and power of political illusions, his arrival would be too\nlate. What was great in George Gapon may now look ridiculous. There is\nno room for a second George Gapon, as the thing now needed is not an\nillusion, but clear revolutionary thinking, a decisive plan of action, a\nflexible revolutionary organization which would be able to give the\nmasses a slogan, to lead them into the field of battle, to launch an\nattack all along the line and bring the revolution to a victorious\nconclusion.\n\nSuch an organization can be the work of Social-Democracy only. No other\nparty is able to create it. No other party can give the masses a\nrevolutionary slogan, as no one outside our Party has freed himself from\nall considerations not pertaining to the interests of the revolution. No\nother party, but Social-Democracy, is able to organize the action of the\nmasses, as no one but our Party is closely connected with the masses.\n\nOur Party has committed many errors, blunders, almost crimes. It\nwavered, evaded, hesitated, it showed inertia and lack of pluck. At\ntimes it hampered the revolutionary movement.\n\n_However, there is no revolutionary party but the Social-Democratic\nParty!_\n\nOur organizations are imperfect. Our connections with the masses are\ninsufficient. Our technique is primitive.\n\n_Yet, there is no party connected with the masses but the\nSocial-Democratic Party!_\n\nAt the head of the Revolution is the Proletariat. At the head of the\nProletariat is Social-Democracy!\n\nLet us exert all our power, comrades! Let us put all our energy and all\nour passion into this. Let us not forget for a moment the great\nresponsibility vested in our Party: a responsibility before the Russian\nRevolution and in the sight of International Socialism.\n\nThe proletariat of the entire world looks to us with expectation. Broad\nvistas are being opened for humanity by a victorious Russian revolution.\nComrades, let us do our duty!\n\nLet us close our ranks, comrades! Let us unite, and unite the masses!\nLet us prepare, and prepare the masses for the day of decisive actions!\nLet us overlook nothing. Let us leave no power unused for the Cause.\n\nBrave, honest, harmoniously united, we shall march forward, linked by\nunbreakable bonds, brothers in the Revolution!\n\n\nEXPLANATORY NOTES\n\n     _Osvoboshdenie_ (_Emancipation_) was the name of a liberal magazine\n     published in Stuttgart, Germany, and smuggled into Russia to be\n     distributed among the Zemstvo-liberals and other progressive\n     elements grouped about the Zemstvo-organization. The\n     _Osvoboshdenie_ advocated a constitutional monarchy; it was,\n     however, opposed to revolutionary methods.\n\n     _Peter Struve_, first a Socialist, then a Liberal, was the editor\n     of the _Osvoboshdenie_. Struve is an economist and one of the\n     leading liberal journalists in Russia.\n\n     _Zemstvo-petitions_, accepted in form of resolutions at the\n     meetings of the liberal Zemstvo bodies and forwarded to the central\n     government, were one of the means the liberals used in their\n     struggle for a Constitution. The petitions, worded in a very\n     moderate language, demanded the abolition of \"lawlessness\" on the\n     part of the administration and the introduction of a \"legal order,\"\n     i.e., a Constitution.\n\n     _Sergius Witte_, Minister of Finance in the closing years of the\n     19th Century and up to the revolution of 1905, was known as a\n     bureaucrat of a liberal brand.\n\n     _The Ukase of December 12th, 1905_, was an answer of the government\n     to the persistent political demands of the \"Spring\" time. The Ukase\n     promised a number of insignificant bureaucratic reforms, not even\n     mentioning a popular representation and threatening increased\n     punishments for \"disturbances of peace and order.\"\n\n     _Trepov_ was one of the most hated bureaucrats, a devoted pupil of\n     Von Plehve's in the work of drowning revolutionary movements in\n     blood.\n\n     _George Gapon_ was the priest who organized the march of January\n     9th. Trotzky's admiration for the heroism of Gapon was originally\n     shared by many revolutionists. Later it became known that Gapon\n     played a dubious role as a friend of labor, and an agent of the\n     government.\n\n     _The_ \"_Political illusions_\" of George Gapon, referred to in this\n     essay, was his assumption that the Tzar was a loving father to his\n     people. Gapon hoped to reach the Emperor of all the Russias and to\n     make him \"receive the workingmen's petition from hand to hand.\"\n\n\n\n\nPROSPECTS OF A LABOR DICTATORSHIP\n\n     This is, perhaps, the most remarkable piece of political writing\n     the Revolution has produced. Written early in 1906, after the great\n     upheavals of the fall of 1905, at a time when the Russian\n     revolution was obviously going down hill, and autocracy, after a\n     moment of relaxation, was increasing its deadly grip over the\n     country, the essays under the name _Sum Total and Prospectives_\n     (which we have here changed into a more comprehensible name,\n     _Prospects of Labor Dictatorship_) aroused more amazement than\n     admiration. They seemed so entirely out of place. They ignored the\n     liberal parties as quite negligible quantities. They ignored the\n     creation of the Duma to which the Constitutional Democrats attached\n     so much importance as a place where democracy would fight the\n     battles of the people and win. They ignored the very fact that the\n     vanguard of the revolution, the industrial proletariat, was beaten,\n     disorganized, downhearted, tired out.\n\n     The essays met with opposition on the part of leading\n     Social-Democratic thinkers of both the Bolsheviki and Mensheviki\n     factions. The essays seemed to be more an expression of Trotzky's\n     revolutionary ardor, of his unshakable faith in the future of the\n     Russian revolution, than a reflection of political realities. It\n     was known that he wrote them within prison walls. Should not the\n     very fact of his imprisonment have convinced him that in drawing a\n     picture of labor dictatorship he was only dreaming?\n\n     History has shown that it was not a dream. Whatever our attitude\n     towards the course of events in the 1917 revolution may be, we must\n     admit that, in the main, this course has taken the direction\n     predicted in Trotzky's essays. There is a labor dictatorship now in\n     Russia. It is a _labor_ dictatorship, not a \"dictatorship of the\n     proletariat and the peasants.\" The liberal and radical parties have\n     lost influence. The labor government has put collective ownership\n     and collective management of industries on the order of the day.\n     The labor government has not hesitated in declaring Russia to be\n     ready for a Socialist revolution. It was compelled to do so under\n     the pressure of revolutionary proletarian masses. The Russian army\n     has been dissolved in the armed people. The Russian revolution has\n     called the workingmen of the world to make a social revolution.\n\n     All this had been outlined by Trotzky twelve years ago. When one\n     reads this series of essays, one has the feeling that they were\n     written not in the course of the first Russian upheaval (the essays\n     appeared in 1906 as part of a book by Trotzky, entitled _Our\n     Revolution_, Petersburg, N. Glagoleff, publisher) but as if they\n     were discussing problems of the present situation. This, more than\n     anything else, shows the _continuity_ of the revolution. The great\n     overthrow of 1917 was completed by the same political and social\n     forces that had met and learned to know each other in the storms of\n     1905 and 1906. The ideology of the various groups and parties had\n     hardly changed. Even the leaders of the major parties were, in the\n     main, the same persons. Of course, the international situation was\n     different. But even the possibility of a European war and its\n     consequences had been foreseen by Trotzky in his essays.\n\n     Twelve years ago those essays seemed to picture an imaginary world.\n     To-day they seem to tell the history of the Russian revolution. We\n     may agree or disagree with Trotzky, the leader, nobody can deny the\n     power and clarity of his political vision.\n\n            *       *       *       *       *\n\n     In the _first_ chapter, entitled \"Peculiarities of Our Historic\n     Development,\" the author gives a broad outline of the growth of\n     absolutism in Russia. Development of social forms in Russia, he\n     says, was slow and primitive. Our social life was constructed on an\n     archaic and meager economic foundation. Yet, Russia did not lead an\n     isolated life. Russia was under constant pressure of higher\n     politico-economical organisms,--the neighboring Western states. The\n     Russian state, in its struggle for existence, outgrew its economic\n     basis. Historic development in Russia, therefore, was taking place\n     under a terrific straining of national economic forces. The state\n     absorbed the major part of the national economic surplus and also\n     part of the product necessary for the maintenance of the people.\n     The state thus undermined its own foundation. On the other hand, to\n     secure the means indispensable for its growth, the state forced\n     economic development by bureaucratic measures. Ever since the end\n     of the seventeenth century, the state was most anxious to develop\n     industries in Russia. \"New trades, machines, factories, production\n     on a large scale, capital, appear from a certain angle to be an\n     artificial graft on the original economic trunk of the people.\n     Similarly, Russian science may appear from the same angle to be an\n     artificial graft on the natural trunk of national ignorance.\" This,\n     however, is a wrong conception. The Russian state could not have\n     created something out of nothing. State action only accelerated the\n     processes of natural evolution of economic life. State measures\n     that were in contradiction to those processes were doomed to\n     failure. Still, the role of the state in economic life was\n     enormous. When social development reached the stage where the\n     bourgeoisie classes began to experience a desire for political\n     institutions of a Western type, Russian autocracy was fully\n     equipped with all the material power of a modern European state. It\n     had at its command a centralized bureaucratic machinery, incapable\n     of regulating modern relations, yet strong enough to do the work of\n     oppression. It was in a position to overcome distance by means of\n     the telegraph and railroads,--a thing unknown to the\n     pre-revolutionary autocracies in Europe. It had a colossal army,\n     incompetent in wars with foreign enemies, yet strong enough to\n     maintain the authority of the state in internal affairs.\n\n     Based on its military and fiscal apparatus, absorbing the major\n     part of the country's resources, the government increased its\n     annual budget to an enormous amount of two billions of rubles, it\n     made the stock-exchange of Europe its treasury and the Russian\n     tax-payer a slave to European high finance. Gradually, the Russian\n     state became an end in itself. It evolved into a power independent\n     of society. It left unsatisfied the most elementary wants of the\n     people. It was unable even to defend the safety of the country\n     against foreign foes. Yet, it seemed strong, powerful, invincible.\n     It inspired awe.\n\n     It became evident that the Russian state would never grant reforms\n     of its own free will. As years passed, the conflict between\n     absolutism and the requirements of economic and cultural progress\n     became ever more acute. There was only one way to solve the\n     problem: \"to accumulate enough steam inside the iron kettle of\n     absolutism to burst the kettle.\" This was the way outlined by the\n     Marxists long ago. Marxism was the only doctrine that had correctly\n     predicted the course of development in Russia.\n\n            *       *       *       *       *\n\n     In the _second_ chapter, \"City and Capital,\" Trotzky attempts a\n     theoretical explanation to the weakness of the middle-class in\n     Russia. Russia of the eighteenth, and even of the major part of the\n     nineteenth, century, he writes, was marked by an absence of cities\n     as industrial centers. Our big cities were administrative rather\n     than industrial centers. Our primitive industries were scattered in\n     the villages, auxiliary occupations of the peasant farmers. Even\n     the population of our so called \"cities,\" in former generations\n     maintained itself largely by agriculture. Russian cities never\n     contained a prosperous, efficient and self-assured class of\n     artisans--that real foundation of the European middle class which\n     in the course of revolutions against absolutism identified itself\n     with the \"people.\" When modern capitalism, aided by absolutism,\n     appeared on the scene of Russia and turned large villages into\n     modern industrial centers almost over night, it had no middle-class\n     to build on. In Russian cities, therefore, the influence of the\n     bourgeoisie is far less than in western Europe. Russian cities\n     practically contain great numbers of workingmen and small groups of\n     capitalists. Moreover, the specific political weight of the Russian\n     proletariat is larger than that of the capital employed in Russia,\n     because the latter is to a great extent _imported_ capital. Thus,\n     while a large proportion of the capital operating in Russia exerts\n     its political influence in the parliaments of Belgium or France,\n     the working class employed by the same capital exert their entire\n     influence in the political life of Russia. As a result of these\n     peculiar historic developments, the Russian proletariat, recruited\n     from the pauperized peasant and ruined rural artisans, has\n     accumulated in the new cities in very great numbers, \"and nothing\n     stood between the workingmen and absolutism but a small class of\n     capitalists, separated from the 'people' (i.e., the middle-class in\n     the European sense of the word), half foreign in its derivation,\n     devoid of historic traditions, animated solely by a hunger for\n     profits.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n1789-1848-1905\n\nHistory does not repeat itself. You are free to compare the Russian\nrevolution with the Great French Revolution, yet this would not make the\nformer resemble the latter. The nineteenth century passed not in vain.\n\nAlready the year of 1848 is widely different from 1789. As compared with\nthe Great Revolution, the revolutions in Prussia or Austria appear\namazingly small. From one viewpoint, the revolutions of 1848 came too\nearly; from another, too late. That gigantic exertion of power which is\nnecessary for the bourgeois society to get completely square with the\nmasters of the past, can be achieved either through powerful _unity_ of\nan entire nation arousing against feudal despotism, or through a\npowerful development of _class struggle_ within a nation striving for\nfreedom. In the first case--of which a classic example are the years\n1789-1793,--the national energy, compressed by the terrific resistance\nof the old regime, was spent entirely in the struggle against reaction.\nIn the second case--which has never appeared in history as yet, and\nwhich is treated here as hypothetical--the actual energy necessary for a\nvictory over the black forces of history is being developed within the\nbourgeois nation through \"civil war\" between classes. Fierce internal\nfriction characterizes the latter case. It absorbs enormous quantities\nof energy, prevents the bourgeoisie from playing a leading role, pushes\nits antagonist, the proletariat, to the front, gives the workingman\ndecades' experience in a month, makes them the central figures in\npolitical struggles, and puts very tight reins into their hands. Strong,\ndetermined, knowing no doubts, the proletariat gives events a powerful\ntwist.\n\nThus, it is either--or. Either a nation gathered into one compact whole,\nas a lion ready to leap; or a nation completely divided in the process\nof internal struggles, a nation that has released her best part for a\ntask which the whole was unable to complete. Such are the two polar\ntypes, whose purest forms, however, can be found only in logical\ncontraposition.\n\nHere, as in many other cases, the middle road is the worst. This was the\ncase in 1848.\n\nIn the French Revolution we see an active, enlightened bourgeoisie, not\nyet aware of the contradictions of its situation; entrusted by history\nwith the task of leadership in the struggle for a new order; fighting\nnot only against the archaic institutions of France, but also against\nthe forces of reaction throughout Europe. The bourgeoisie consciously,\nin the person of its various factions, assumes the leadership of the\nnation, it lures the masses into struggle, it coins slogans, it dictates\nrevolutionary tactics. Democracy unites the nation in one political\nideology. The people--small artisans, petty merchants, peasants, and\nworkingmen--elect bourgeois as their representatives; the mandates of\nthe communities are framed in the language of the bourgeoisie which\nbecomes aware of its Messianic role. Antagonisms do not fail to reveal\nthemselves in the course of the revolution, yet the powerful momentum of\nthe revolution removes one by one the most unresponsive elements of the\nbourgeoisie. Each stratum is torn off, but not before it has given over\nall its energy to the following one. The nation as a whole continues to\nfight with ever increasing persistence and determination. When the upper\nstratum of the bourgeoisie tears itself away from the main body of the\nnation to form an alliance with Louis XVI, the democratic demands of the\nnation turn _against_ this part of the bourgeoisie, leading to universal\nsuffrage and a republican government as logically consequent forms of\ndemocracy.\n\nThe Great French Revolution is a true national revolution. It is more\nthan that. It is a classic manifestation, on a national scale, of the\nworld-wide struggle of the bourgeois order for supremacy, for power, for\nunmitigated triumph. In 1848, the bourgeoisie was no more capable of a\nsimilar role. It did not want, it did not dare take the responsibility\nfor a revolutionary liquidation of a political order that stood in its\nway. The reason is clear. The task of the bourgeoisie--of which it was\nfully aware--was not to secure its _own_ political supremacy, but to\nsecure for itself _a share_ in the political power of the old regime.\nThe bourgeoisie of 1848, niggardly wise with the experience of the\nFrench bourgeoisie, was vitiated by its treachery, frightened by its\nfailures. It did not lead the masses to storm the citadels of the\nabsolutist order. On the contrary, with its back against the absolutist\norder, it resisted the onslaught of the masses that were pushing it\nforward.\n\nThe French bourgeoisie made its revolution great. Its consciousness was\nthe consciousness of the people, and no idea found its expression in\ninstitutions without having gone through its consciousness as an end, as\na task of political construction. It often resorted to theatrical poses\nto conceal from itself the limitations of its bourgeois world,--yet it\nmarched forward.\n\nThe German bourgeoisie, on the contrary, was not doing the revolutionary\nwork; it was \"doing away\" with the revolution from the very start. Its\nconsciousness revolted against the objective conditions of its\nsupremacy. The revolution could be completed not by the bourgeoisie, but\nagainst it. Democratic institutions seemed to the mind of the German\nbourgeois not an aim for his struggle, but a menace to his security.\n\nAnother class was required in 1848, a class capable of conducting the\nrevolution beside the bourgeoisie and in spite of it, a class not only\nready and able to push the bourgeoisie forward, but also to step over\nits political corpse, should events so demand. None of the other\nclasses, however, was ready for the job.\n\n_The petty middle class_ were hostile not only to the past, but also to\nthe future. They were still entangled in the meshes of medieval\nrelations, and they were unable to withstand the oncoming \"free\"\nindustry; they were still giving the cities their stamp, and they were\nalready giving way to the influences of big capital. Steeped in\nprejudices, stunned by the clatter of events, exploiting and being\nexploited, greedy and helpless in their greed, they could not become\nleaders in matters of world-wide importance. Still less were the\n_peasants_ capable of political initiative. Scattered over the country,\nfar from the nervous centers of politics and culture, limited in their\nviews, the peasants could have no great part in the struggles for a new\norder. The _democratic intellectuals_ possessed no social weight; they\neither dragged along behind their elder sister, the liberal bourgeoisie,\nas its political tail, or they separated themselves from the bourgeoisie\nin critical moments only to show their weakness.\n\n_The industrial workingmen_ were too weak, unorganized, devoid of\nexperience and knowledge. The capitalist development had gone far enough\nto make the abolition of old feudal relations imperative, yet it had not\ngone far enough to make the working class, the product of new economic\nrelations, a decisive political factor. Antagonism between bourgeoisie\nand proletariat, even within the national boundaries of Germany, was\nsharp enough to prevent the bourgeoisie from stepping to the front to\nassume national hegemony in the revolution, yet it was not sharp enough\nto allow the proletariat to become a national leader. True, the internal\nfrictions of the revolution had prepared the workingmen for political\nindependence, yet they weakened the energy and the unity of the\nrevolution and they caused a great waste of power. The result was that,\nafter the first successes, the revolution began to plod about in painful\nuncertainty, and under the first blows of the reaction it started\nbackwards. Austria gave the clearest and most tragic example of\nunfinished and unsettled relations in a revolutionary period. It was\nthis situation that gave Lassalle occasion to assert that henceforward\nrevolutions could find their support only in the class struggle of the\nproletariat. In a letter to Marx, dated October 24, 1849 he writes: \"The\nexperiences of Austria, Hungary and Germany in 1848 and 1849 have led me\nto the firm conclusion that no struggle in Europe can be successful\nunless it is proclaimed from the very beginning as purely Socialistic.\nNo struggle can succeed in which social problems appear as nebulous\nelements kept in the background, while on the surface the fight is\nbeing conducted under the slogan of national revival of bourgeois\nrepublicanism.\"\n\nWe shall not attempt to criticize this bold conclusion. One thing is\nevident, namely that already at the middle of the nineteenth century the\nnational task of political emancipation could not be completed by a\nunanimous concerted onslaught of the entire nation. Only the independent\ntactics of the proletariat deriving its strength from no other source\nbut its class position, could have secured a victory of the revolution.\n\nThe Russian working class of 1906 differs entirely from the Vienna\nworking class of 1848. The best proof of it is the all-Russian practice\nof the Councils of Workmen's Deputies (Soviets). Those are no\norganizations of conspirators prepared beforehand to step forward in\ntimes of unrest and to seize command over the working class. They are\norgans consciously created by the masses themselves to cooerdinate their\nrevolutionary struggle. The Soviets, elected by and responsible to the\nmasses, are thoroughly democratic institutions following the most\ndetermined class policy in the spirit of revolutionary Socialism.\n\nThe differences in the social composition of the Russian revolution are\nclearly shown in the question of arming the people.\n\n_Militia_ (national guard) was the first slogan and the first\nachievement of the revolutions of 1789 and 1848 in Paris, in all the\nItalian states and in Vienna and Berlin. In 1846, the demand for a\nnational guard (i.e., the armament of the propertied classes and the\n\"intellectuals\") was put forth by the entire bourgeois opposition,\nincluding the most moderate factions. In Russia, the demand for a\nnational guard finds no favor with the bourgeois parties. This is not\nbecause the liberals do not understand the importance of arming the\npeople: absolutism has given them in this respect more than one object\nlesson. The reason why liberals do not like the idea of a national guard\nis because they fully realize the impossibility of creating in Russia an\narmed revolutionary force outside of the proletariat and against the\nproletariat. They are ready to give up this demand, as they give up many\nothers, just as the French bourgeoisie headed by Thiers preferred to\ngive up Paris and France to Bismarck rather than to arm the working\nclass.\n\nThe problem of an armed revolution in Russia becomes essentially a\nproblem of the proletariat. National militia, this classic demand of\nthe bourgeoisie of 1848, appears in Russia from the very beginning as a\ndemand for arming the people, primarily the working class. Herein the\nfate of the Russian revolution manifests itself most clearly.\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE REVOLUTION AND THE PROLETARIAT\n\nA revolution is an open contest of social forces in their struggle for\npolitical power.\n\nThe state is not an end in itself. It is only a working machine in the\nhands of the social force in power. As every machine, the state has its\nmotor, transmission, and its operator. Its motive power is the class\ninterest; its motor are propaganda, the press, influences of school and\nchurch, political parties, open air meetings, petitions, insurrections;\nits transmission is made up of legislative bodies actuated by the\ninterest of a caste, a dynasty, a guild or a class appearing under the\nguise of Divine or national will (absolutism or parliamentarism); its\noperator is the administration, with its police, judiciary, jails, and\nthe army.\n\nThe state is not an end in itself. It is, however, the greatest means\nfor organizing, disorganizing and reorganizing social relations.\n\nAccording to who is directing the machinery of the State, it can be an\ninstrument of profoundest transformations, or a means of organized\nstagnation.\n\nEach political party worthy of its name strives to get hold of political\npower and thus to make the state serve the interests of the class\nrepresented by the party. Social-Democracy, as the party of the\nproletariat, naturally strives at political supremacy of the working\nclass.\n\nThe proletariat grows and gains strength with the growth of capitalism.\nFrom this viewpoint, the development of capitalism is the development of\nthe proletariat for dictatorship. The day and the hour, however, when\npolitical power should pass into the hands of the working class, is\ndetermined not directly by the degree of capitalistic development of\neconomic forces, but by the relations of class struggle, by the\ninternational situation, by a number of subjective elements, such as\ntradition, initiative, readiness to fight....\n\nIt is, therefore, not excluded that in a backward country with a lesser\ndegree of capitalistic development, the proletariat should sooner reach\npolitical supremacy than in a highly developed capitalist state. Thus,\nin middle-class Paris, the proletariat consciously took into its hands\nthe administration of public affairs in 1871. True it is, that the reign\nof the proletariat lasted only for two months, it is remarkable,\nhowever, that in far more advanced capitalist centers of England and the\nUnited States, the proletariat never was in power even for the duration\nof one day. To imagine that there is an automatic dependence between a\ndictatorship of the proletariat and the technical and productive\nresources of a country, is to understand economic determinism in a very\nprimitive way. Such a conception would have nothing to do with Marxism.\n\nIt is our opinion that the Russian revolution creates conditions whereby\npolitical power can (and, in case of a victorious revolution, _must_)\npass into the hands of the proletariat before the politicians of the\nliberal bourgeoisie would have occasion to give their political genius\nfull swing.\n\nSumming up the results of the revolution and counter-revolution in 1848\nand 1849, Marx wrote in his correspondences to the New York _Tribune_:\n\"The working class in Germany is, in its social and political\ndevelopment, as far behind that of England and France as the German\nbourgeoisie is behind the bourgeoisie of those countries. Like master,\nlike man. The evolution of the conditions of existence for a numerous,\nstrong, concentrated, and intelligent proletariat goes hand in hand\nwith the development of the conditions of existence for a numerous,\nwealthy, concentrated and powerful middle class. The working class\nmovement itself never is independent, never is of an exclusively\nproletarian character until all the different factions of the middle\nclass, and particularly its most progressive faction, the large\nmanufacturers, have conquered political power, and remodeled the State\naccording to their wants. It is then that the inevitable conflict\nbetween employer and the employed becomes imminent, and cannot be\nadjourned any longer.\"[1] This quotation must be familiar to the reader,\nas it has lately been very much abused by scholastic Marxists. It has\nbeen used as an iron-clad argument against the idea of a labor\ngovernment in Russia. If the Russian capitalistic bourgeoisie is not\nstrong enough to take governmental power into its hands, how is it\npossible to think of an industrial democracy, i.e., a political\nsupremacy of the proletariat, was the question.\n\n     [1] Karl Marx, _Germany in 1848_. (English edition, pp. 22-23.)\n\nLet us give this objection closer consideration.\n\nMarxism is primarily a method of analysis,--not the analysis of texts,\nbut the analysis of social relations. Applied to Russia, is it true\nthat the weakness of capitalistic liberalism means the weakness of the\nworking class? Is it true, not in the abstract, but in relation to\nRussia, that an independent proletarian movement is impossible before\nthe bourgeoisie assume political power? It is enough to formulate these\nquestions in order to understand what hopeless logical formalism there\nis hidden behind the attempt to turn Marx's historically relative remark\ninto a super-historic maxim.\n\nOur industrial development, though marked in times of prosperity by\nleaps and bounds of an \"American\" character, is in reality miserably\nsmall in comparison with the industry of the United States. Five million\npersons, forming 16.6 per cent. of the population engaged in economic\npursuits, are employed in the industries of Russia; six millions and\n22.2 per cent. are the corresponding figures for the United States. To\nhave a clear idea as to the real dimensions of industry in both\ncountries, we must remember that the population of Russia is twice as\nlarge as the population of the United States, and that the output of\nAmerican industries in 1900 amounted to 25 billions of rubles whereas\nthe output of Russian industries for the same year hardly reached 2.5\nbillions.\n\nThere is no doubt that the number of the proletariat, the degree of its\nconcentration, its cultural level, and its political importance depend\nupon the degree of industrial development in each country.\n\nThis dependence, however, is not a direct one. Between the productive\nforces of a country on one side and the political strength of its social\nclasses on the other, there is at any given moment a current and cross\ncurrent of various socio-political factors of a national and\ninternational character which modify and sometimes completely reverse\nthe political expression of economic relations. The industry of the\nUnited States is far more advanced than the industry of Russia, while\nthe political role of the Russian workingmen, their influence on the\npolitical life of their country, the possibilities of their influence on\nworld politics in the near future, are incomparably greater than those\nof the American proletariat.\n\nIn his recent work on the American workingman, Kautsky arrives at the\nconclusion that there is no immediate and direct dependence between the\npolitical strength of the bourgeoisie and the proletariat of a country\non one hand and its industrial development on the other. \"Here are two\ncountries,\" he writes, \"diametrically opposed to each other: in one of\nthem, one of the elements of modern industry is developed out of\nproportion, i.e., out of keeping with the stage of capitalistic\ndevelopment; in the other, another; in America it is the class of\ncapitalists; in Russia, the class of labor. In America there is more\nground than elsewhere to speak of the dictatorship of capital, while\nnowhere has labor gained as much influence as in Russia, and this\ninfluence is bound to grow, as Russia has only recently entered the\nperiod of modern class struggle.\" Kautsky then proceeds to state that\nGermany can, to a certain degree, study her future from the present\nconditions in Russia, then he continues: \"It is strange to think that it\nis the Russian proletariat which shows us our future as far as, not the\norganization of capital, but the protest of the working class is\nconcerned. Russia is the most backward of all the great states of the\ncapitalist world. This may seem to be in contradiction with the economic\ninterpretation of history which considers economic strength the basis of\npolitical development. This is, however, not true. It contradicts only\nthat kind of economic interpretation of history which is being painted\nby our opponents and critics who see in it not a _method of analysis_,\nbut a _ready pattern_.\"[2] These lines ought to be recommended to those\nof our native Marxians who substitute for an independent analysis of\nsocial relations a deduction from texts selected for all emergencies of\nlife. No one can compromise Marxism as shamefully as these bureaucrats\nof Marxism do.\n\n     [2] K. Kautsky, _The American and the Russian Workingman_.\n\nIn Kautsky's estimation, Russia is characterized, economically, by a\ncomparatively low level of capitalistic development; politically, by a\nweakness of the capitalistic bourgeoisie and by a great strength of the\nworking class. This results in the fact, that \"the struggle for the\ninterests of Russia as a whole has become the task of _the only powerful\nclass in Russia_, industrial labor. This is the reason why labor has\ngained such a tremendous political importance. This is the reason why\nthe struggle of Russia against the polyp of absolutism which is\nstrangling the country, turned out to be a single combat of absolutism\nagainst industrial labor, a combat where the peasantry can lend\nconsiderable assistance without, however, being able to play a leading\nrole.[3]\n\n     [3] D. Mendeleyer, _Russian Realities_, 1906, p. 10.\n\nAre we not warranted in our conclusion that the \"man\" will sooner gain\npolitical supremacy in Russia than his \"master\"?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere are two sorts of political optimism. One overestimates the\nadvantages and the strength of the revolution and strives towards ends\nunattainable under given conditions. The other consciously limits the\ntask of the revolution, drawing a line which the very logic of the\nsituation will compel him to overstep.\n\nYou can draw limits to all the problems of the revolution by asserting\nthat this is a bourgeois revolution in its objective aims and inevitable\nresults, and you can close your eyes to the fact that the main figure in\nthis revolution is the working class which is being moved towards\npolitical supremacy by the very course of events.\n\nYou can reassure yourself by saying that in the course of a bourgeois\nrevolution the political supremacy of the working class can be only a\npassing episode, and you can forget that, once in power, the working\nclass will offer desperate resistance, refusing to yield unless\ncompelled to do so by armed force.\n\nYou can reassure yourself by saying that social conditions in Russia are\nnot yet ripe for a Socialist order, and you can overlook the fact that,\nonce master of the situation, the working class would be compelled by\nthe very logic of its situation to organize national economy under the\nmanagement of the state.\n\nThe term _bourgeois revolution_, a general sociological definition,\ngives no solution to the numerous political and tactical problems,\ncontradictions and difficulties which are being created by the mechanism\nof a _given_ bourgeois revolution.\n\nWithin the limits of a bourgeois revolution at the end of the eighteenth\ncentury, whose objective was the political supremacy of capital, the\ndictatorship of the _Sans-Culottes_ turned out to be a fact. This\ndictatorship was not a passing episode, it gave its stamp to a whole\ncentury that followed the revolution, though it was soon crushed by the\nlimitations of the revolution.\n\nWithin the limits of a revolution at the beginning of the twentieth\ncentury, which is also a bourgeois revolution in its immediate objective\naims, there looms up a prospect of an inevitable, or at least possible,\nsupremacy of the working class in the near future. That this supremacy\nshould not turn out to be a passing episode, as many a realistic\nPhilistine may hope, is a task which the working class will have at\nheart. It is, then, legitimate to ask: is it inevitable that the\ndictatorship of the proletariat should clash against the limitations of\na bourgeois revolution and collapse, or is it not possible that under\ngiven _international conditions_ it may open a way for an ultimate\nvictory by crushing those very limitations? Hence a tactical problem:\nshould we consciously strive toward a labor government as the\ndevelopment of the revolution will bring us nearer to that stage, or\nshould we look upon political power as upon a calamity which the\nbourgeois revolution is ready to inflict upon the workingmen, and which\nit is best to avoid?\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE PROLETARIAT IN POWER AND THE PEASANTRY\n\nIn case of a victorious revolution, political power passes into the\nhands of the class that has played in it a dominant role, in other\nwords, it passes into the hands of the working class. Of course,\nrevolutionary representatives of non-proletarian social groups may not\nbe excluded from the government; sound politics demands that the\nproletariat should call into the government influential leaders of the\nlower middle class, the intelligentzia and the peasants. The problem is,\n_Who will give substance to the politics of the government, who will\nform in it a homogeneous majority?_ It is one thing when the government\ncontains a labor majority, which representatives of other democratic\ngroups of the people are allowed to join; it is another, when the\ngovernment has an outspoken bourgeois-democratic character where labor\nrepresentatives are allowed to participate in the capacity of more or\nless honorable hostages.\n\nThe policies of the liberal capitalist bourgeoisie, notwithstanding all\ntheir vacillations, retreats and treacheries, are of a definite\ncharacter. The policies of the proletariat are of a still more definite,\noutspoken character. The policies of the intelligentzia, however, a\nresult of intermediate social position and political flexibility of this\ngroup; the politics of the peasants, a result of the social\nheterogeneity, intermediate position, and primitiveness of this class;\nthe politics of the lower middle class, a result of muddle-headedness,\nintermediate position and complete want of political traditions,--can\nnever be clear, determined, and firm. It must necessarily be subject to\nunexpected turns, to uncertainties and surprises.\n\nTo imagine a revolutionary democratic government without representatives\nof labor is to see the absurdity of such a situation. A refusal of labor\nto participate in a revolutionary government would make the very\nexistence of that government impossible, and would be tantamount to a\nbetrayal of the cause of the revolution. A participation of labor in a\nrevolutionary government, however, is admissible, both from the\nviewpoint of objective probability and subjective desirability, _only\nin the role of a leading dominant power_. Of course, you can call such a\ngovernment \"dictatorship of the proletariat and peasantry,\"\n\"dictatorship of the proletariat, the peasantry, and the\nintelligentzia,\" or \"a revolutionary government of the workingmen and\nthe lower middle class.\" This question will still remain: Who has the\nhegemony in the government and through it in the country? _When we speak\nof a labor government we mean that the hegemony belongs to the working\nclass._\n\nThe proletariat will be able to hold this position under one condition:\nif it broadens the basis of the revolution.\n\nMany elements of the working masses, especially among the rural\npopulation, will be drawn into the revolution and receive their\npolitical organization only after the first victories of the revolution,\nwhen the revolutionary vanguard, the city proletariat, shall have seized\ngovernmental power. Under such conditions, the work of propaganda and\norganization will be conducted through state agencies. Legislative work\nitself will become a powerful means of revolutionizing the masses. The\nburden thrust upon the shoulders of the working class by the\npeculiarities of our social and historical development, the burden of\ncompleting a bourgeois revolution by means of labor struggle, will thus\nconfront the proletariat with difficulties of enormous magnitude; on the\nother hand, however, it will offer the working class, at least in the\nfirst period, unusual opportunities. This will be seen in the relations\nbetween the proletariat and the peasants.\n\nIn the revolutions of 1789-93, and 1848, governmental power passed from\nabsolutism into the hands of the moderate bourgeois elements which\nemancipated the peasants before revolutionary democracy succeeded or\neven attempted to get into power. The emancipated peasantry then lost\ninterest in the political ventures of the \"city-gentlemen,\" i.e., in the\nfurther course of the revolution; it formed the dead ballast of \"order,\"\nthe foundation of all social \"stability,\" betraying the revolution,\nsupporting a Cesarian or ultra-absolutist reaction.\n\nThe Russian revolution is opposed to a bourgeois constitutional order\nwhich would be able to solve the most primitive problems of democracy.\nThe Russian revolution will be against it for a long period to come.\nReformers of a bureaucratic brand, such as Witte and Stolypin, can do\nnothing for the peasants, as their \"enlightened\" efforts are continually\nnullified by their own struggle for existence. The fate of the most\nelementary interests of the peasantry--the entire peasantry as a\nclass--is, therefore, closely connected with the fate of the revolution,\ni.e., with the fate of the proletariat.\n\n_Once in power, the proletariat will appear before the peasantry as its\nliberator._\n\nProletarian rule will mean not only democratic equality, free\nself-government, shifting the burden of taxation on the propertied\nclasses, dissolution of the army among the revolutionary people,\nabolition of compulsory payments for the Church, but also recognition of\nall revolutionary changes made by the peasants in agrarian relations\n(seizures of land). These changes will be taken by the proletariat as a\nstarting point for further legislative measures in agriculture. Under\nsuch conditions, the Russian peasantry will be interested in upholding\nthe proletarian rule (\"labor democracy\"), at least in the first, most\ndifficult period, not less so than were the French peasants interested\nin upholding the military rule of Napoleon Bonaparte who by force\nguaranteed to the new owners the integrity of their land shares.\n\nBut is it not possible that the peasants will remove the workingmen\nfrom their positions and take their place? No, this can never happen.\nThis would be in contradiction to all historical experiences. History\nhas convincingly shown that the peasantry is incapable of an independent\npolitical role.\n\nThe history of capitalism is the history of subordination of the village\nby the city. Industrial development had made the continuation of feudal\nrelations in agriculture impossible. Yet the peasantry had not produced\na class which could live up to the revolutionary task of destroying\nfeudalism. It was the city which made rural population dependent on\ncapital, and which produced revolutionary forces to assume political\nhegemony over the village, there to complete revolutionary changes in\ncivic and political relations. In the course of further development, the\nvillage becomes completely enslaved by capital, and the villagers by\ncapitalistic political parties, which revive feudalism in parliamentary\npolitics, making the peasantry their political domain, the ground for\ntheir preelection huntings. Modern peasantry is driven by the fiscal and\nmilitaristic system of the state into the clutches of usurers' capital,\nwhile state-clergy, state-schools and barrack depravity drive it into\nthe clutches of usurers' politics.\n\nThe Russian bourgeoisie yielded all revolutionary positions to the\nRussian proletariat. It will have to yield also the revolutionary\nhegemony over the peasants. Once the proletariat becomes master of the\nsituation, conditions will impel the peasants to uphold the policies of\na labor democracy. They may do it with no more political understanding\nthan they uphold a bourgeois regime. The difference is that while each\nbourgeois party in possession of the peasants' vote uses its power to\nrob the peasants, to betray their confidence and to leave their\nexpectations unfulfilled, in the worst case to give way to another\ncapitalist party, the working class, backed by the peasantry, will put\nall forces into operation to raise the cultural level of the village and\nto broaden the political understanding of the peasants.\n\nOur attitude towards the idea of a \"dictatorship of the proletariat and\nthe peasantry\" is now quite clear. It is not a question whether we think\nit \"admissible\" or not, whether we \"wish\" or we \"do not wish\" this form\nof political cooeperation. In our opinion, it simply cannot be realized,\nat least in its direct meaning. Such a cooeperation presupposes that\neither the peasantry has identified itself with one of the existing\nbourgeois parties, or it has formed a powerful party of its own. Neither\nis possible, as we have tried to point out.\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nPROLETARIAN RULE\n\nThe proletariat can get into power only at a moment of national\nupheaval, of sweeping national enthusiasm. The proletariat assumes power\nas a revolutionary representative of the people, as a recognized leader\nin the fight against absolutism and barbaric feudalism. Having assumed\npower, however, the proletariat will open a new era, an era of positive\nlegislation, of revolutionary politics, and this is the point where its\npolitical supremacy as an avowed spokesman of the nation may become\nendangered.\n\nThe first measures of the proletariat--the cleansing of the Augean\nstables of the old regime and the driving away of their\ninhabitants--will find active support of the entire nation whatever the\nliberal castraters may tell us of the power of some prejudices among the\nmasses. The work of political cleansing will be accompanied by\ndemocratic reorganization of all social and political relations. The\nlabor government, impelled by immediate needs and requirements, will\nhave to look into all kinds of relations and activities among the\npeople. It will have to throw out of the army and the administration all\nthose who had stained their hands with the blood of the people; it will\nhave to disband all the regiments that had polluted themselves with\ncrimes against the people. This work will have to be done immediately,\nlong before the establishment of an elective responsible administration\nand before the organization of a popular militia. This, however, will be\nonly a beginning. Labor democracy will soon be confronted by the\nproblems of a normal workday, the agrarian relations and unemployment.\nThe legislative solution of those problems will show the _class\ncharacter_ of the labor government. It will tend to weaken the\nrevolutionary bond between the proletariat and the nation; it will give\nthe economic differentiation among the peasants a political expression.\nAntagonism between the component parts of the nation will grow step by\nstep as the policies of the labor government become more outspoken, lose\ntheir general democratic character and become _class policies_.\n\nThe lack of individualistic bourgeois traditions and anti-proletarian\nprejudices among the peasants and the intelligentzia will help the\nproletariat assume power. It must not be forgotten, however, that this\nlack of prejudices is based not on political understanding, but on\npolitical barbarism, on social shapelessness, primitiveness, and lack of\ncharacter. These are all qualities which can hardly guarantee support\nfor an active, consistent proletarian rule.\n\nThe abolition of the remnants of feudalism in agrarian relations will be\nsupported by all the peasants who are now oppressed by the landlords. A\nprogressive income tax will be supported by an overwhelming majority of\nthe peasants. Yet, legislative measures in defense of the rural\nproletariat (farm hands) will find no active support among the majority,\nand will meet with active opposition on the part of a minority of the\npeasants.\n\nThe proletariat will be compelled to introduce class struggle into the\nvillage and thus to destroy that slight community of interests which\nundoubtedly unites the peasants as a whole. In its next steps, the\nproletariat will have to seek for support by helping the poor villagers\nagainst the rich, the rural proletariat against the agrarian\nbourgeoisie. This will alienate the majority of the peasants from labor\ndemocracy. Relations between village and city will become strained. The\npeasantry as a whole will become politically indifferent. The peasant\nminority will actively oppose proletarian rule. This will influence part\nof the intellectuals and the lower middle class of the cities.\n\nTwo features of proletarian politics are bound particularly to meet with\nthe opposition of labor's allies: _Collectivism_ and _Internationalism_.\nThe strong adherence of the peasants to private ownership, the\nprimitiveness of their political conceptions, the limitations of the\nvillage horizon, its distance from world-wide political connections and\ninterdependences, are terrific obstacles in the way of revolutionary\nproletarian rule.\n\nTo imagine that Social-Democracy participates in the provisional\ngovernment, playing a leading role in the period of revolutionary\ndemocratic reconstruction, insisting on the most radical reforms\nand all the time enjoying the aid and support of the organized\nproletariat,--only to step aside when the democratic program is put into\noperation, to leave the completed building at the disposal of the\nbourgeois parties and thus to open an era of parliamentary politics\nwhere Social-Democracy forms only a party of opposition,--to imagine\nthis would mean to compromise the very idea of a labor government. It is\nimpossible to imagine anything of the kind, not because it is \"against\nprinciples\"--such abstract reasoning is devoid of any substance--but\nbecause it is _not real_, it is the worst kind of Utopianism, it is the\nrevolutionary Utopianism of Philistines.\n\nOur distinction between a minimum and maximum program has a great and\nprofound meaning only under bourgeois rule. The very fact of bourgeois\nrule eliminates from our minimum program all demands incompatible with\nprivate ownership of the means of production. Those demands form the\nsubstance of a Socialist revolution, and they presuppose a dictatorship\nof the proletariat. The moment, however, a revolutionary government is\ndominated by a Socialist majority, the distinction between minimum and\nmaximum programs loses its meaning both as a question of principle and\nas a practical policy. _Under no condition will a proletarian government\nbe able to keep within the limits of this distinction._\n\nLet us take the case of an eight hour workday. It is a well established\nfact that an eight hour workday does not contradict the capitalist\norder; it is, therefore, well within the limits of the Social-Democratic\nminimum program. Imagine, however, its realization in a revolutionary\nperiod, when all social passions are at the boiling point. An eight hour\nworkday law would necessarily meet with stubborn and organized\nopposition on the part of the capitalists--let us say in the form of a\nlock-out and closing down of factories and plants. Hundreds of thousands\nof workingmen would be thrown into the streets. What ought the\nrevolutionary government to do? A bourgeois government, however radical,\nwould never allow matters to go as far as that. It would be powerless\nagainst the closing of factories and plants. It would be compelled to\nmake concessions. The eight hour workday would not be put into\noperation; the revolts of the workingmen would be put down by force of\narms....\n\nUnder the political domination of the proletariat, the introduction of\nan eight hour workday must have totally different consequences. The\nclosing down of factories and plants cannot be the reason for increasing\nlabor hours by a government which represents not capital, but labor, and\nwhich refuses to act as an \"impartial\" mediator, the way bourgeois\ndemocracy does. A labor government would have only one way out--to\nexpropriate the closed factories and plants and to organize their work\non a public basis.\n\nOr let us take another example. A proletarian government must\nnecessarily take decisive steps to solve the problem of unemployment.\nRepresentatives of labor in a revolutionary government can by no means\nmeet the demands of the unemployed by saying that this is a bourgeois\nrevolution. Once, however, the state ventures to eliminate\nunemployment--no matter how--a tremendous gain in the economic power of\nthe proletariat is accomplished. The capitalists whose pressure on the\nworking class was based on the existence of a reserve army of labor,\nwill soon realize that they are powerless _economically_. It will be the\ntask of the government to doom them also to _political_ oblivion.\n\nMeasures against unemployment mean also measures to secure means of\nsubsistence for strikers. The government will have to undertake them, if\nit is anxious not to undermine the very foundation of its existence.\nNothing will remain for the capitalists but to declare a lock-out, to\nclose down factories and plants. Since capitalists can wait longer than\nlabor in case of interrupted production, nothing will remain for a labor\ngovernment but to meet a general lock-out by expropriating the factories\nand plants and by introducing in the biggest of them state or communal\nproduction.\n\nIn agriculture, similar problems will present themselves through the\nvery fact of land-expropriation. We cannot imagine a proletarian\ngovernment expropriating large private estates with agricultural\nproduction on a large scale, cutting them into pieces and selling them\nto small owners. For it the only open way is to organize in such estates\ncooeperative production under communal or state management. This,\nhowever, _is the way of Socialism_.\n\nSocial-Democracy can never assume power under a double obligation: to\nput the _entire_ minimum program into operation for the sake of the\nproletariat, and to keep strictly _within the limits_ of this program,\nfor the sake of the bourgeoisie. Such a double obligation could never be\nfulfilled. Participating in the government, not as powerless hostages,\nbut as a leading force, the representatives of labor _eo ipso_ break the\nline between the minimum and maximum program. _Collectivism becomes the\norder of the day._ At which point the proletariat will be stopped on\nits march in this direction, depends upon the constellation of forces,\nnot upon the original purpose of the proletarian Party.\n\nIt is, therefore, absurd to speak of a _specific_ character of\nproletarian dictatorship (or a dictatorship of the proletariat _and_ the\npeasantry) within a bourgeois revolution, viz., a _purely democratic_\ndictatorship. The working class can never secure the democratic\ncharacter of its dictatorship without overstepping the limits of its\ndemocratic program. Illusions to the contrary may become a handicap.\nThey would compromise Social-Democracy from the start.\n\nOnce the proletariat assumes power, it will fight for it to the end. One\nof the means to secure and solidify its power will be propaganda and\norganization, particularly in the village; another means will be a\n_policy of Collectivism_. Collectivism is not only dictated by the very\nposition of the Social-Democratic Party as the party in power, but it\nbecomes imperative as a means to secure this position through the active\nsupport of the working class.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen our Socialist press first formulated the idea of a _Permanent\nRevolution_ which should lead from the liquidation of absolutism and\ncivic bondage to a Socialist order through a series of ever growing\nsocial conflicts, uprisings of ever new masses, unremitting attacks of\nthe proletariat on the political and economic privileges of the\ngoverning classes, our \"progressive\" press started a unanimous indignant\nuproar. Oh, they had suffered enough, those gentlemen of the\n\"progressive\" press; this nuisance, however, was too much. Revolution,\nthey said, is not a thing that can be made \"legal!\" Extraordinary\nmeasures are allowable only on extraordinary occasions. The aim of the\nrevolutionary movement, they asserted, was not to make the revolution go\non forever, but to bring it as soon as possible into the channels of\n_law_, etc., etc. The more radical representatives of the same\ndemocratic bourgeoisie do not attempt to oppose the revolution from the\nstandpoint of completed constitutional \"achievements\": tame as they are,\nthey understand how hopeless it is to fight the proletariat revolution\nwith the weapon of parliamentary cretinism _in advance_ of the\nestablishment of parliamentarism itself. They, therefore, choose another\nway. They forsake the standpoint of law, but take the standpoint of what\nthey deem to be facts,--the standpoint of historic \"possibilities,\" the\nstandpoint of political \"realism,\"--even ... even the standpoint of\n\"Marxism.\" It was Antonio, the pious Venetian bourgeois, who made the\nstriking observation:\n\n        Mark you this, Bassanio,\n    The devil can cite scriptures for his purpose.\n\nThose gentlemen not only consider the idea of labor government in Russia\nfantastic, but they repudiate the very probability of a Social\nrevolution in Europe in the near historic epoch. The necessary\n\"prerequisites\" are not yet in existence, is their assertion.\n\nIs it so? It is, of course, not our purpose to set a time for a Social\nrevolution. What we attempt here is to put the Social revolution into a\nproper historic perspective.\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nPREREQUISITES TO SOCIALISM\n\nMarxism turned Socialism into a science. This does not prevent some\n\"Marxians\" from turning Marxism into a Utopia.\n\n    [Trotzky then proceeds to find logical flaws in the arguments of N.\n    Roshkov, a Russian Marxist, who had made the assertion that Russia\n    was not yet ripe for Socialism, as her level of industrial technique\n    and the class-consciousness of her working masses were not yet high\n    enough to make Socialist production and distribution possible. Then\n    he goes back to what he calls \"prerequisites to Socialism,\" which in\n    his opinion are: (1) development of industrial technique; (2)\n    concentration of production; (3) social consciousness of the masses.\n    In order that Socialism become possible, he says, it is not\n    necessary that each of these prerequisites be developed to its\n    logically conceivable limit.]\n\nAll those processes (development of technique, concentration of\nproduction, growth of mass-consciousness) go on simultaneously, and not\nonly do they help and stimulate each other, but they also _hamper and\nlimit_ each other's development. Each of the processes of a higher order\npresupposes the development of another process of a lower order, yet the\nfull development of any of them is incompatible with the full\ndevelopment of the others.\n\nThe logical limit of technical development is undoubtedly a perfect\nautomatic mechanism which takes in raw materials from natural resources\nand lays them down at the feet of men as ready objects of consumption.\nWere not capitalism limited by relations between classes and by the\nconsequences of those relations, the class struggle, one would be\nwarranted in his assumption that industrial technique, having approached\nthe ideal of one great automatic mechanism within the limits of\ncapitalistic economy, _eo ipso_ dismisses capitalism.\n\nThe concentration of production which is an outgrowth of economic\ncompetition has an inherent tendency to throw the entire population into\nthe working class. Taking this tendency apart from all the others, one\nwould be warranted in his assumption that capitalism would ultimately\nturn the majority of the people into a reserve army of paupers, lodged\nin prisons. This process, however, is being checked by revolutionary\nchanges which are inevitable under a certain relationship between social\nforces. It will be checked long before it has reached its logical limit.\n\nAnd the same thing is true in relation to social mass-consciousness.\nThis consciousness undoubtedly grows with the experiences of every day\nstruggle and through the conscious efforts of Socialist parties.\nIsolating this process from all others, we can imagine it reaching a\nstage where the overwhelming majority of the people are encompassed by\nprofessional and political organizations, united in a feeling of\nsolidarity and in identity of purpose. Were this process allowed to grow\nquantitatively without changing in quality, Socialism might be\nestablished peacefully, through a unanimous compact of the citizens of\nthe twenty-first or twenty-second Century. The historic prerequisites to\nSocialism, however, do not develop in isolation from each other; _they\nlimit each other_; reaching a certain stage, which is determined by many\ncircumstances, but which is very far from their mathematical limits,\nthey undergo a qualitative change, and in their complex combination they\nproduce what we call a Social revolution.\n\nLet us take the last mentioned process, the growth of social\nmass-consciousness. This growth takes place not in academies, but in the\nvery life of modern capitalistic society, on the basis of incessant\nclass struggle. The growth of proletarian class consciousness makes\nclass struggles undergo a transformation; it deepens them; it puts a\nfoundation of principle under them, thus provoking a corresponding\nreaction on the part of the governing classes. The struggle between\nproletariat and bourgeoisie has its own logic; it must become more and\nmore acute and bring things to a climax long before the time when\nconcentration of production has become predominant in economic life. It\nis evident, further, that the growth of the political consciousness of\nthe proletariat is closely related with its numerical strength;\nproletarian dictatorship presupposes great numbers of workingmen, strong\nenough to overcome the resistance of the bourgeois counter-revolution.\nThis, however, does not imply that the overwhelming majority of the\npeople must consist of proletarians, or that the overwhelming majority\nof proletarians must consist of convinced Socialists. Of course, the\nfighting revolutionary army of the proletariat must by all means be\nstronger than the fighting counter-revolutionary army of capital; yet\nbetween those two camps there may be a great number of doubtful or\nindifferent elements who are not actively helping the revolution, but\nare rather inclined to desire its ultimate victory. The proletarian\npolicy must take all this into account.\n\nThis is possible only where there is a hegemony of industry over\nagriculture, and a hegemony of the city over the village.\n\nLet us review the prerequisites to Socialism in the order of their\ndiminishing generality and increasing complexity.\n\n1. Socialism is not only a problem of equal distribution, but also a\nproblem of well organized production. Socialistic, i.e., cooeperative\nproduction on a large scale is possible only where economic progress has\ngone so far as to make a large undertaking more productive than a small\none. The greater the advantages of a large undertaking over a small one,\ni.e., the higher the industrial technique, the greater must be the\neconomic advantages of socialized production, the higher, consequently,\nmust be the cultural level of the people to enable them to enjoy equal\ndistribution based on well organized production.\n\nThis first prerequisite of Socialism has been in existence for many\nyears. Ever since division of labor has been established in\nmanufactories; ever since manufactories have been superseded by\nfactories employing a system of machines,--large undertakings become\nmore and more profitable, and consequently their socialization would\nmake the people more prosperous. There would have been no gain in making\nall the artisans' shops common property of the artisans; whereas the\nseizure of a manufactory by its workers, or the seizure of a factory by\nits hired employees, or the seizure of all means of modern production by\nthe people must necessarily improve their economic conditions,--the more\nso, the further the process of economic concentration has advanced.\n\nAt present, social division of labor on one hand, machine production on\nthe other have reached a stage where the only cooeperative organization\nthat can make adequate use of the advantages of collectivist economy, is\nthe State. It is hardly conceivable that Socialist production would\ncontent itself with the area of the state. Economic and political\nmotives would necessarily impel it to overstep the boundaries of\nindividual states.\n\nThe world has been in possession of technical equipment for collective\nproduction--in one or another form--for the last hundred or two hundred\nyears. _Technically_, Socialism is profitable not only on a national,\nbut also to a large extent on an international scale. Why then have all\nattempts at organizing Socialist communities failed? Why has\nconcentration of production manifested its advantages all through the\neighteenth and nineteenth centuries not in Socialistic, but in\ncapitalistic forms? The reason is that there was no social force ready\nand able to introduce Socialism.\n\n2. Here we pass from the prerequisite of industrial technique to the\n_socio-economic_ prerequisite, which is less general, but more complex.\nWere our society not an antagonistic society composed of classes, but a\nhomogeneous partnership of men consciously selecting the best economic\nsystem, a mere calculation as to the advantages of Socialism would\nsuffice to make people start Socialistic reconstruction. Our society,\nhowever, harbors in itself opposing interests. What is good for one\nclass, is bad for another. Class selfishness clashes against class\nselfishness; class selfishness impairs the interests of the whole. To\nmake Socialism possible, a social power has to arise in the midst of the\nantagonistic classes of capitalist society, a power objectively placed\nin a position to be interested in the establishment of Socialism, at\nthe same time strong enough to overcome all opposing interests and\nhostile resistance. It is one of the principal merits of scientific\nSocialism to have discovered such a social power in the person of the\nproletariat, and to have shown that this class, growing with the growth\nof capitalism, can find its salvation only in Socialism; that it is\nbeing moved towards Socialism by its very position, and that the\ndoctrine of Socialism in the presence of a capitalist society must\nnecessarily become the ideology of the proletariat.\n\nHow far, then, must the social differentiation have gone to warrant the\nassertion that the second prerequisite is an accomplished fact? In other\nwords, what must be the numerical strength of the proletariat? Must it\nbe one-half, two-thirds, or nine-tenths of the people? It is utterly\nfutile to try and formulate this second prerequisite of Socialism\narithmetically. An attempt to express the strength of the proletariat in\nmere numbers, besides being schematic, would imply a series of\ndifficulties. Whom should we consider a proletarian? Is the\nhalf-paupered peasant a proletarian? Should we count with the\nproletariat those hosts of the city reserve who, on one hand, fall into\nthe ranks of the parasitic proletariat of beggars and thieves, and, on\nthe other hand, fill the streets in the capacity of peddlers, i.e., of\nparasites on the economic body as a whole? It is not easy to answer\nthese questions.\n\nThe importance of the proletariat is based not only on its numbers, but\nprimarily on its role in industry. The political supremacy of the\nbourgeoisie is founded on economic power. Before it manages to take over\nthe authority of the state, it concentrates in its hands the national\nmeans of production; hence its specific weight. The proletariat will\npossess no means of production of its own before the Social revolution.\nIts social power depends upon the circumstance that the means of\nproduction in possession of the bourgeoisie can be put into motion only\nby the hands of the proletariat. From the bourgeois viewpoint, the\nproletariat is also one of the means of production, forming, in\ncombination with the others, a unified mechanism. Yet the proletariat is\nthe only non-automatic part of this mechanism, and can never be made\nautomatic, notwithstanding all efforts. This puts the proletariat into a\nposition to be able to stop the functioning of the national economic\nbody, partially or wholly--through the medium of partial or general\nstrikes.\n\nHence it is evident that, the numerical strength of the proletariat\nbeing equal, its importance is proportional to the mass of the means of\nproduction it puts into motion: the proletarian of a big industrial\nconcern represents--other conditions being equal--a greater social unit\nthan an artisan's employee; a city workingman represents a greater unit\nthan a proletarian of the village. In other words, the political role of\nthe proletariat is greater in proportion as large industries predominate\nover small industries, industry predominates over agriculture, and the\ncity over the village.\n\nAt a period in the history of Germany or England when the proletariats\nof those countries formed the same percentage to the total population as\nthe proletariat in present day Russia, they did not possess the same\nsocial weight as the Russian proletariat of to-day. They could not\npossess it, because their objective importance in economic life was\ncomparatively smaller. The social weight of the cities represents the\nsame phenomenon. At a time when the city population of Germany formed\nonly 15 per cent. of the total nation, as is the case in present-day\nRussia, the German cities were far from equaling our cities in economic\nand political importance. The concentration of big industries and\ncommercial enterprises in the cities, and the establishment of closer\nrelations between city and country through a system of railways, has\ngiven the modern cities an importance far exceeding the mere volume of\ntheir population. Moreover, the growth of their importance runs ahead of\nthe growth of their population, and the growth of the latter runs ahead\nof the natural increase of the entire population of the country. In\n1848, the number of artisans, masters and their employees, in Italy was\n15 per cent. of the population, the same as the percentage of the\nproletariat, including artisans, in Russia of to-day. Their importance,\nhowever, was far less than that of the Russian industrial proletariat.\n\nThe question is not, how strong the proletariat is numerically, but what\nis its position in the general economy of a country.\n\n    [The author then quotes figures showing the numbers of wage-earners\n    and industrial proletarians in Germany, Belgium and England: in\n    Germany, in 1895, 12.5 millions proletarians; in Belgium 1.8\n    millions, or 60 per cent. of all the persons who make a living\n    independently; in England 12.5 millions.]\n\nIn the leading European countries, city population numerically\npredominates over the rural population. Infinitely greater is its\npredominance through the aggregate of means of production represented by\nit, and through the qualities of its human material. The city attracts\nthe most energetic, able and intelligent elements of the country.\n\nThus we arrive at the conclusion that economic evolution--the growth of\nindustry, the growth of large enterprises, the growth of cities, the\ngrowth of the proletariat, especially the growth of the industrial\nproletariat--have already prepared the arena not only for the _struggle_\nof the proletariat for political power, but also for the _conquest_ of\nthat power.\n\n3. Here we approach the third prerequisite to Socialism, the\n_dictatorship of the proletariat_.\n\nPolitics is the plane where objective prerequisites intersect with\nsubjective. On the basis of certain technical and socio-economic\nconditions, a class puts before itself a definite task--to seize power.\nIn pursuing this task, it unites its forces, it gauges the forces of the\nenemy, it weighs the circumstances. Yet, not even here is the\nproletariat absolutely free: besides subjective moments, such as\nunderstanding, readiness, initiative which have a logic of their own,\nthere are a number of objective moments interfering with the policies of\nthe proletariat, such are the policies of the governing classes, state\ninstitutions (the army, the class-school, the state-church),\ninternational relations, etc.\n\nLet us first turn our attention to the subjective moment; let us ask,\n_Is the proletariat ready for a Socialist change?_ It is not enough that\ndevelopment of technique should make Socialist economy profitable from\nthe viewpoint of the productivity of national labor; it is not enough\nthat social differentiation, based on technical progress, should create\nthe proletariat, as a class objectively interested in Socialism. It is\nof prime importance that this class should _understand_ its objective\ninterests. It is necessary that this class should _see_ in Socialism the\nonly way of its emancipation. It is necessary that it should unite into\nan army powerful enough to seize governmental power in open combat.\n\nIt would be a folly to deny the necessity for the preparation of the\nproletariat. Only the old Blanquists could stake their hopes in the\nsalutary initiative of an organization of conspirators formed\nindependently of the masses. Only their antipodes, the anarchists, could\nbuild their system on a spontaneous elemental outburst of the masses\nwhose results nobody can foresee. When Social-Democracy speaks of\nseizing power, it thinks of _a deliberate action of a revolutionary\nclass_.\n\nThere are Socialists-ideologists (ideologists in the wrong sense of the\nword, those who turn all things upside down) who speak of preparing the\nproletariat for Socialism as a problem of moral regeneration. The\nproletariat, they say, and even \"humanity\" in general, must first free\nitself from its old selfish nature; altruistic motives must first become\npredominant in social life. As we are still very far from this ideal,\nthey contend, and as human nature changes very slowly, Socialism appears\nto be a problem of remote centuries. This view seems to be very\nrealistic, evolutionistic, etc. It is in reality a conglomeration of\nhackneyed moralistic considerations.\n\nThose \"ideologists\" imagine that a Socialist psychology can be acquired\nbefore the establishment of Socialism; that in a world ruled by\ncapitalism the masses can be imbued with a Socialist psychology.\nSocialist psychology as here conceived should not be identified with\nSocialist aspirations. The former presupposes the absence of selfish\nmotives in economic relations, while the latter are an outcome of the\nclass psychology of the proletariat. Class psychology, and Socialist\npsychology in a society not split into classes, may have many common\nfeatures, yet they differ widely.\n\nCooeperation in the struggle of the proletariat against exploitation has\ndeveloped in the soul of the workingmen beautiful sprouts of idealism,\nbrotherly solidarity, a spirit of self-sacrifice. Yet those sprouts\ncannot grow and blossom freely within capitalist society: individual\nstruggle for existence, the yawning abyss of poverty, differentiations\namong the workingmen themselves, the corrupting influence of the\nbourgeois parties,--all this interferes with the growth of idealism\namong the masses.\n\nHowever, it is a fact that, while remaining selfish as any of the lower\nmiddle class, while not exceeding the average representative of the\nbourgeois classes by the \"human\" value of his personality, the average\nworkingman learns in the school of life's experience that _his most\nprimitive desires and most natural wants can be satisfied only on the\ndebris of the capitalist order_.\n\nIf Socialism should attempt to create a new human nature within the\nlimits of the old world, it would be only a new edition of the old\nmoralistic Utopias. The task of Socialism is not to create a Socialist\npsychology as a prerequisite to Socialism, but to create Socialist\nconditions of human life as a prerequisite to a Socialist psychology.\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nA LABOR GOVERNMENT IN RUSSIA AND SOCIALISM\n\nThe objective prerequisites of a Social revolution, as we have shown\nabove, have been already created by the economic progress of advanced\ncapitalist countries. But how about Russia? Is it possible to think that\nthe seizure of power by the Russian proletariat would be the beginning\nof a Socialist reconstruction of our national economy?\n\nA year ago we thus answered this question in an article which was\nmercilessly bombarded by the organs of both our factions. We wrote:\n\n\"The workingmen of Paris, says Marx, had not expected miracles from the\nCommune. We cannot expect miracles from a proletarian dictatorship now.\nGovernmental power is not almighty. It is folly to think that once the\nproletariat has seized power, it would abolish capitalism and introduce\nsocialism by a number of decrees. The economic system is not a product\nof state activity. What the proletariat will be able to do is to\nshorten economic evolution towards Collectivism through a series of\nenergetic state measures.\n\n\"The starting point will be the reforms enumerated in our so-called\nminimum program. The very situation of the proletariat, however, will\ncompel it to move along the way of collectivist practice.\n\n\"It will be comparatively easy to introduce the eight hour workday and\nprogressive taxation, though even here the center of gravity is not the\nissuance of a 'decree,' but the organization of its practical\napplication. It will be difficult, however,--and here we pass to\nCollectivism--to organize production under state management in such\nfactories and plants as would be closed down by their owners in protest\nagainst the new law.\n\n\"It will be comparatively simple to issue a law abolishing the right of\ninheritance, and to put it into operation. Inheritances in the form of\nmoney capital will not embarrass the proletariat and not interfere with\nits economy. To be, however, the inheritor of capital invested in land\nand industry, would mean for a labor government to organize economic\nlife on a public basis.\n\n\"The same phenomenon, on a vastly larger scale, is represented by the\nquestion of expropriation (of land), with or without compensation.\nExpropriation with compensation has political advantages, but it is\nfinancially difficult; expropriation without compensation has financial\nadvantages, but it is difficult politically. Greater than all the other\ndifficulties, however, will be those of an economic nature, the\ndifficulties of organization.\n\n\"To repeat: a labor government does not mean a government of miracles.\n\n\"Public management will begin in those branches where the difficulties\nare smallest. Publicly managed enterprises will originally represent\nkind of oases linked with private enterprises by the laws of exchange of\ncommodities. The wider the field of publicly managed economy will grow,\nthe more flagrant its advantages will become, the firmer will become the\nposition of the new political regime, and the more determined will be\nthe further economic measures of the proletariat. Its measures it will\nbase not only on the national productive forces, but also on\ninternational technique, in the same way as it bases its revolutionary\npolicies not only on the experience of national class relations but also\non the entire historic experience of the international proletariat.\"\n\n_Political supremacy of the proletariat is incompatible with its\neconomic slavery._ Whatever may be the banner under which the\nproletariat will find itself in possession of power, it will be\ncompelled to enter the road of Socialism. It is the greatest Utopia to\nthink that the proletariat, brought to the top by the mechanics of a\nbourgeois revolution, would be able, even if it wanted, to limit its\nmission by creating a republican democratic environment for the social\nsupremacy of the bourgeoisie. Political dominance of the proletariat,\neven if it were temporary, would extremely weaken the resistance of\ncapital which is always in need of state aid, and would give momentous\nopportunities to the economic struggle of the proletariat.\n\nA proletarian regime will immediately take up the agrarian question with\nwhich the fate of vast millions of the Russian people is connected. In\nsolving this, as many another question, the proletariat will have in\nmind the main tendency of its economic policy: to get hold of a widest\npossible field for the organization of a Socialist economy. The forms\nand the tempo of this policy in the agrarian question will be\ndetermined both by the material resources that the proletariat will\nbe able to get hold of, and by the necessity to cooerdinate its\nactions so as not to drive possible allies into the ranks of the\ncounter-revolution.\n\nIt is evident that the _agrarian_ question, i.e., the question of rural\neconomy and its social relations, is not covered by the _land_ question\nwhich is the question of the forms of land ownership. It is perfectly\nclear, however, that the solution of the land question, even if it does\nnot determine the future of the agrarian evolution, would undoubtedly\ndetermine the future agrarian policy of the proletariat. In other words,\nthe use the proletariat will make of the land must be in accord with its\ngeneral attitude towards the course and requirements of the agrarian\nevolution. The land question will, therefore, be one of the first to\ninterest the labor government.\n\nOne of the solutions, made popular by the Socialist-Revolutionists, is\nthe _socialization of the land_. Freed from its European make-up, it\nmeans simply \"equal distribution\" of land. This program demands an\nexpropriation of all the land, whether it is in possession of landlords,\nof peasants on the basis of private property, or it is owned by village\ncommunities. It is evident that such expropriation, being one of the\nfirst measures of the new government and being started at a time when\ncapitalist exchange is still in full swing, would lead the peasants to\nbelieve that they are \"victims of the reform.\" One must not forget that\nthe peasants have for decades made redemption payments in order to turn\ntheir land into private property; many prosperous peasants have made\ngreat sacrifices to secure a large portion of land as their private\npossession. Should all this land become state property, the most bitter\nresistance would be offered by the members of the communities and by\nprivate owners. Starting out with a reform of this kind, the government\nwould make itself most unpopular among the peasants.\n\nAnd why should one confiscate the land of the communities and the land\nof small private owners? According to the Socialist-Revolutionary\nprogram, the only use to be made of the land by the state is to turn it\nover to all the peasants and agricultural laborers on the basis of equal\ndistribution. This would mean that the confiscated land of the\ncommunities and small owners would anyway return to individuals for\nprivate cultivation. Consequently, there would be _no economic gain_ in\nsuch a confiscation and redistribution. _Politically_, it would be a\ngreat blunder on the part of the labor government as it would make the\nmasses of peasants hostile to the proletarian leadership of the\nrevolution.\n\nClosely connected with this program is the question of hired\nagricultural labor. Equal distribution presupposes the prohibition of\nusing hired labor on farms. This, however, can be only a _consequence_\nof economic reforms, it cannot be decreed by a law. It is not enough to\nforbid an agricultural capitalist to hire laborers; one must first\nsecure agricultural laborers a fair existence; furthermore, this\nexistence must be profitable from the viewpoint of social economy. To\ndeclare equal distribution of land and to forbid hired labor, would mean\nto compel agricultural proletarians to settle on small lots, and to put\nthe state under obligation to provide them with implements for their\nsocially unprofitable production.\n\nIt is clear that the intervention of the proletariat in the organization\nof agriculture ought to express itself not in settling individual\nlaborers on individual lots, but in organizing _state or communal\nmanagement of large estates_. Later, when socialized production will\nhave established itself firmly, a further step will be made towards\nsocialization by forbidding hired labor. This will eliminate small\ncapitalistic enterprises in agriculture; it will, however, leave\nunmolested those private owners who work their land wholly or to a great\nextent by the labor of their families. To expropriate such owners can by\nno means be a desire of the Socialistic proletariat.\n\nThe proletariat can never indorse a program of \"equal distribution\"\nwhich on one hand demands a useless, purely formal expropriation of\nsmall owners, and on the other hand it demands a very real parceling of\nlarge estates into small lots. This would be a wasteful undertaking, a\npursuance of a reactionary and Utopian plan, and a political harm for\nthe revolutionary party.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHow far, however, can the Socialist policy of the working class advance\nin the economic environment of Russia? One thing we can say with perfect\nassurance: it will meet political obstacles long before it will be\nchecked by the technical backwardness of the country. _Without direct\npolitical aid from the European proletariat the working class of Russia\nwill not be able to retain its power and to turn its temporary supremacy\ninto a permanent Socialist dictatorship._ We cannot doubt this for a\nmoment. On the other hand, there is no doubt that a _Socialist\nrevolution in the West would allow us to turn the temporary supremacy of\nthe working class directly into a Socialist dictatorship_.\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nEUROPE AND THE REVOLUTION\n\nIn June, 1905, we wrote:\n\n\"More than half a century passed since 1848. Half a century of\nunprecedented victories of capitalism all over the world. Half a century\nof \"organic\" mutual adaptation of the forces of the bourgeois and the\nforces of feudal reaction. Half a century in which the bourgeoisie has\nmanifested its mad appetite for power and its readiness to fight for it\nmadly!\n\n\"As a self-taught mechanic, in his search for perpetual motion, meets\never new obstacles and piles mechanism over mechanism to overcome them,\nso the bourgeoisie has changed and reconstructed the apparatus of its\nsupremacy avoiding 'supra-legal' conflicts with hostile powers. And as\nthe self-taught mechanic finally clashes against the ultimate\ninsurmountable obstacle,--the law of conservation of energy,--so the\nbourgeoisie had to clash against the ultimate implacable barrier,--class\nantagonism, fraught with inevitable conflict.\n\n\"Capitalism, forcing its economic system and social relations on each\nand every country, has turned the entire world into one economic and\npolitical organism. As the effect of the modern credit system, with the\ninvisible bonds it draws between thousands of enterprises, with the\namazing mobility it lends to capital, has been to eliminate local and\npartial crises, but to give unusual momentum to general economic\nconvulsions, so the entire economic and political work of capitalism,\nwith its world commerce, with its system of monstrous foreign debts,\nwith its political groupings of states, which have drawn all reactionary\nforces into one world-wide co-partnership, has prevented local political\ncrises, but it has prepared a basis for a social crisis of unheard of\nmagnitude. Driving unhealthy processes inside, evading difficulties,\nstaving off the deep problems of national and international politics,\nglossing over all contradictions, the bourgeoisie has postponed the\nclimax, yet it has prepared a radical world-wide liquidation of its\npower. It has clung to all reactionary forces no matter what their\norigin. It has made the Sultan not the last of its friends. It has not\ntied itself on the Chinese ruler only because he had no power: it was\nmore profitable to rob his possessions than to keep him in the office\nof a world gendarme and to pay him from the treasury of the bourgeoisie.\nThus the bourgeoisie made the stability of its political system wholly\ndependent upon the stability of the pre-capitalistic pillars of\nreaction.\n\n\"This gives events an international character and opens a magnificent\nperspective; political emancipation, headed by the working class of\nRussia, will elevate its leader to a height unparalleled in history, it\nwill give Russian proletariat colossal power and make it the initiator\nof world-wide liquidation of capitalism, to which the objective\nprerequisites have been created by history.\"\n\nIt is futile to guess how the Russian revolution will find its way to\nold capitalistic Europe. This way may be a total surprise. To illustrate\nour thought rather than to predict events, we shall mention Poland as\nthe possible connecting link between the revolutionary East and the\nrevolutionary West.\n\n    [The author pictures the consequences of a revolution in Poland. A\n    revolution in Poland would necessarily follow the victory of the\n    revolution in Russia. This, however, would throw revolutionary\n    sparks into the Polish provinces of Germany and Austria. A\n    revolution in Posen and Galicia would move the Hohenzollerns and\n    Hapsburgs to invade Poland. This would be a sign for the proletariat\n    of Germany to get into a sharp conflict with their governments. A\n    revolution becomes inevitable.]\n\nA revolutionary Poland, however, is not the only possible starting point\nfor a European revolution. The system of armed peace which became\npredominant in Europe after the Franco-Prussian war, was based on a\nsystem of European equilibrium. This equilibrium took for granted not\nonly the integrity of Turkey, the dismemberment of Poland, the\npreservation of Austria, that ethnographic harlequin's robe, but also\nthe existence of Russian despotism in the role of a gendarme of the\nEuropean reaction, armed to his teeth. The Russo-Japanese war has given\na mortal blow to this artificial system in which absolutism was the\ndominant figure. For an indefinite period Russia is out of the race as a\nfirst-class power. The equilibrium has been destroyed. On the other\nhand, the successes of Japan have incensed the conquest instincts of the\ncapitalistic bourgeoisie, especially the Stock Exchange, which plays a\ncolossal role in modern politics. _The possibilities of a war on\nEuropean territory have grown enormously._ Conflicts are ripening here\nand there; so far they have been settled in a diplomatic way, but\nnothing can guarantee the near future. _A European war, however, means a\nEuropean revolution._\n\nEven without the pressure of such events as war or bankruptcy, a\nrevolution may take place in the near future in one of the European\ncountries as a result of acute class struggles. We shall not make\ncomputations as to which country would be first to take the path of\nrevolution; it is obvious, however, that class antagonisms have for the\nlast years reached a high degree of intensity in all the European\ncountries.\n\nThe influence of the Russian revolution on the proletariat of Europe is\nimmense. Not only does it destroy the Petersburg absolutism, that main\npower of European reaction; it also imbues the minds and the souls of\nthe European proletariat with revolutionary daring.\n\nIt is the purpose of every Socialist party to revolutionize the minds of\nthe working class in the same way as development of capitalism has\nrevolutionized social relations. The work of propaganda and organization\namong the proletariat, however, has its own intrinsic inertia. The\nSocialist parties of Europe--in the first place the most powerful of\nthem, the German Socialist party--have developed a conservatism of their\nown, which grows in proportion as Socialism embraces ever larger masses\nand organization and discipline increase. Social-Democracy, personifying\nthe political experience of the proletariat, can, therefore, at a\ncertain juncture, become an immediate obstacle on the way of an open\nproletarian conflict with the bourgeois reaction. In other words, the\npropaganda-conservatism of a proletarian party can, at a certain moment,\nimpede the direct struggle of the proletariat for power. The colossal\ninfluence of the Russian revolution manifests itself in killing party\nroutine, in destroying Socialist conservatism, in making a clean contest\nof proletarian forces against capitalist reaction a question of the day.\nThe struggle for universal suffrage in Austria, Saxony and Prussia has\nbecome more determined under the direct influence of the October strike\nin Russia. An Eastern revolution imbues the Western proletariat with\nrevolutionary idealism and stimulates its desire to speak \"Russian\" to\nits foes.\n\nThe Russian proletariat in power, even if this were only the result of a\npassing combination of forces in the Russian bourgeois revolution,\nwould meet organized opposition on the part of the world's reaction, and\nreadiness for organized support on the part of the world's proletariat.\nLeft to its own resources, the Russian working class must necessarily be\ncrushed the moment it loses the aid of the peasants. Nothing remains for\nit but to link the fate of its political supremacy and the fate of the\nRussian revolution with the fate of a Socialist revolution in Europe.\nAll that momentous authority and political power which is given to the\nproletariat by a combination of forces in the Russian bourgeois\nrevolution, it will thrust on the scale of class struggle in the entire\ncapitalistic world. Equipped with governmental power, having a\ncounter-revolution behind his back, having the European reaction in\nfront of him, the Russian workingman will issue to all his brothers the\nworld over his old battle-cry which will now become the call for the\nlast attack: _Proletarians of all the world, unite!_\n\n\nEXPLANATORY NOTES\n\n     The first _Council of Workmen's Deputies_ was formed in Petersburg,\n     on October 13th, 1905, in the course of the great general October\n     strike that compelled Nicholas Romanoff to promise a Constitution.\n     It represented individual factories, labor unions, and included\n     also delegates from the Socialist parties. It looked upon itself as\n     the center of the revolution and a nucleus of a revolutionary labor\n     government. Similar Councils sprung up in many other industrial\n     centers. It was arrested on December 3d, having existed for fifty\n     days. Its members were tried and sent to Siberia.\n\n     _Intelligentzia_ is a term applied in Russia to an indefinite,\n     heterogeneous group of \"intellectuals,\" who are not actively and\n     directly involved in the industrial machinery of capitalism, and at\n     the same time are not members of the working class. It is customary\n     to count among the _Intelligentzia_ students, teachers, writers,\n     lawyers, physicians, college professors, etc. However, the term\n     _Intelligentzia_ implies also a certain degree of idealism and\n     radical aspirations.\n\n     _Witte_ was the first prime-minister under the quasi-constitution\n     granted on October 17th, 1905. _Stolypin_ was appointed prime\n     minister after the dissolution of the first Duma in July, 1906.\n\n     Under the _minimum program_ the Social-Democrats understand all\n     that range of reforms which can be obtained under the existing\n     capitalist system of \"private ownership of the means of\n     production,\" such as an eight hour workday, social insurance,\n     universal suffrage, a republican order. The _maximum program_\n     demands the abolition of private property and public management of\n     industries, i.e., Socialism.\n\n     \"_Some prejudices among the masses_\" referred to in this essay is\n     the alleged love of the primitive masses for their Tzar. This was\n     an argument usually put forth by the liberals against republican\n     aspirations.\n\n     _Lower-Middle-Class_ is the only term half-way covering the Russian\n     \"Mieshchanstvo\" used by Trotzky. \"Mieshchanstvo\" has a\n     socio-economic meaning, and a flavor of moral disapproval. Socially\n     and economically it means those numerous inhabitants of modern\n     cities who are engaged in independent economic pursuits, as\n     artisans (masters), shopkeepers, small manufacturers, petty\n     merchants, etc., who have not capital enough to rank with the\n     bourgeoisie. Morally \"Mieshchanstvo\" presupposes a limited horizon,\n     lack of definite revolutionary or political ideas, and lack of\n     political courage.\n\n     The _Village community_ is a remnant of old times in Russia. Up to\n     1906 the members of the village were not allowed to divide the land\n     of the community among the individual peasants on the basis of\n     private property. The land legally belonged to the entire community\n     which allotted it to its members. Since 1906 the compulsory\n     character of communal land-ownership was abandoned, yet in very\n     great areas of Russia it still remained the prevailing system of\n     land-ownership.\n\n     Besides having a share in the community-land, the individual\n     peasant could acquire a piece of land out of his private means (the\n     seller being usually the landlord) and thus become a _small private\n     owner_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SOVIET AND THE REVOLUTION\n\n(Fifty Days)\n\n     About two years after the arrest of the Soviet of 1905, a number of\n     former leaders of that organization, among them Chrustalyov Nossar,\n     the first chairman, and Trotzky, the second chairman, met abroad\n     after having escaped from Siberian exile. They decided to sum up\n     their Soviet experiences in a book which they called _The History\n     of the Council of Workingmen's Deputies_. The book appeared in 1908\n     in Petersburg, and was immediately suppressed. One of the essays of\n     this book is here reprinted.\n\n     In his estimation of the role of the Soviet Trotzky undoubtedly\n     exaggerates. Only by a flight of imagination can one see in the\n     activities of the Soviet regarding the postal, telegraph and\n     railroad strikers the beginnings of a Soviet control over\n     post-office, telegraph and railroads. It is also a serious question\n     whether the Soviet was really a leading body, or whether it was led\n     by the current of revolutionary events which it was unable to\n     control. What makes this essay interesting and significant is\n     Trotzky's assertion that \"the first new wave of the revolution will\n     lead to the creation of Soviets all over the country.\" This has\n     actually happened. His predictions of the formation of an\n     all-Russian Soviet, and of the program the Soviets would follow,\n     have also been realized in the course of the present revolution.\n\n\n1\n\nThe history of the Soviet is a history of fifty days. The Soviet was\nconstituted on October 13th; its session was interrupted by a military\ndetachment of the government on December 3rd. Between those two dates\nthe Soviet lived and struggled.\n\nWhat was the substance of this institution? What enabled it in this\nshort period to take an honorable place in the history of the Russian\nproletariat, in the history of the Russian Revolution?\n\nThe Soviet organized the masses, conducted political strikes, led\npolitical demonstrations, tried to arm the workingmen. But other\nrevolutionary organizations did the same things. The substance of the\nSoviet was its effort to become _an organ of public authority_. The\nproletariat on one hand, the reactionary press on the other, have called\nthe Soviet \"a labor government\"; this only reflects the fact that the\nSoviet was in reality _an embryo of a revolutionary government_. In so\nfar as the Soviet was in actual possession of authoritative power, it\nmade use of it; in so far as the power was in the hands of the military\nand bureaucratic monarchy, the Soviet fought to obtain it. Prior to the\nSoviet, there had been revolutionary organizations among the industrial\nworkingmen, mostly of a Social-Democratic nature. But those were\norganizations _among_ the proletariat; their immediate aim was to\n_influence the masses_. The Soviet is an organization _of_ the\nproletariat; its aim is to fight for _revolutionary power_.\n\nAt the same time, the Soviet was _an organized expression of the will of\nthe proletariat as a class_. In its fight for power the Soviet applied\nsuch methods as were naturally determined by the character of the\nproletariat as a class: its part in production; its numerical strength;\nits social homogeneity. In its fight for power the Soviet has combined\nthe direction of all the social activities of the working class,\nincluding decisions as to conflicts between individual representatives\nof capital and labor. This combination was by no means an artificial\ntactical attempt: it was a natural consequence of the situation of a\nclass which, consciously developing and broadening its fight for its\nimmediate interests, had been compelled by the logic of events to assume\na leading position in the revolutionary struggle for power.\n\nThe main weapon of the Soviet was a political strike of the masses. The\npower of the strike lies in disorganizing the power of the government.\nThe greater the \"anarchy\" created by a strike, the nearer its victory.\nThis is true only where \"anarchy\" is not being created by anarchic\nactions. The class that puts into motion, day in and day out, the\nindustrial apparatus and the governmental apparatus; the class that is\nable, by a sudden stoppage of work, to paralyze both industry and\ngovernment, must be organized enough not to fall the first victim of the\nvery \"anarchy\" it has created. The more effective the disorganization of\ngovernment caused by a strike, the more the strike organization is\ncompelled to assume governmental functions.\n\nThe Council of Workmen's Delegates introduces a free press. It organizes\nstreet patrols to secure the safety of the citizens. It takes over, to a\ngreater or less extent, the post office, the telegraph, and the\nrailroads. It makes an effort to introduce the eight hour workday.\nParalyzing the autocratic government by a strike, it brings its own\ndemocratic order into the life of the working city population.\n\n\n2\n\nAfter January 9th the revolution had shown its power over the minds of\nthe working masses. On June 14th, through the revolt of the Potyomkin\nTavritchesky it had shown that it was able to become a material force.\nIn the October strike it had shown that it could disorganize the enemy,\nparalyze his will and utterly humiliate him. By organizing Councils of\nWorkmen's Deputies all over the country, _it showed that it was able to\ncreate authoritative power_. Revolutionary authority can be based only\non active revolutionary force. Whatever our view on the further\ndevelopment of the Russian revolution, it is a fact that so far no\nsocial class besides the proletariat has manifested readiness to uphold\na revolutionary authoritative power. The first act of the revolution was\nan encounter in the streets of the _proletariat_ with the monarchy; the\nfirst serious victory of the revolution was achieved through the\n_class-weapon of the proletariat_, the political strike; the first\nnucleus of a revolutionary government was _a proletarian\nrepresentation_. The Soviet is the first democratic power in modern\nRussian history. The Soviet is the organized power of the masses\nthemselves over their component parts. This is a true, unadulterated\ndemocracy, without a two-chamber system, without a professional\nbureaucracy, with the right of the voters to recall their deputy any\nmoment and to substitute another for him. Through its members, through\ndeputies elected by the workingmen, the Soviet directs all the social\nactivities of the proletariat as a whole and of its various parts; it\noutlines the steps to be taken by the proletariat, it gives them a\nslogan and a banner. This art of directing the activities of the masses\non the basis of organized self-government, is here applied for the first\ntime on Russian soil. Absolutism ruled the masses, but it did not direct\nthem. It put mechanical barriers against the living creative forces of\nthe masses, and within those barriers it kept the restless elements of\nthe nation in an iron bond of oppression. The only mass absolutism ever\ndirected was the army. But that was not directing, it was merely\ncommanding. In recent years, even the directing of this atomized and\nhypnotized military mass has been slipping out of the hands of\nabsolutism. Liberalism never had power enough to command the masses, or\ninitiative enough to direct them. Its attitude towards mass-movements,\neven if they helped liberalism directly, was the same as towards\nawe-inspiring natural phenomena--earthquakes or volcanic eruptions. The\nproletariat appeared on the battlefield of the revolution as a\nself-reliant aggregate, totally independent from bourgeois liberalism.\n\nThe Soviet was a _class-organization_, this was the source of its\nfighting power. It was crushed in the first period of its existence not\nby lack of confidence on the part of the masses in the cities, but by\nthe limitations of a purely urban revolution, by the relatively passive\nattitude of the village, by the backwardness of the peasant element of\nthe army. The Soviet's position among the city population was as strong\nas could be.\n\nThe Soviet was not an official representative of the entire half million\nof the working population in the capital; its organization embraced\nabout two hundred thousand, chiefly industrial workers; and though its\ndirect and indirect political influence was of a much wider range, there\nwere thousands and thousands of proletarians (in the building trade,\namong domestic servants, day laborers, drivers) who were hardly, if at\nall, influenced by the Soviet. There is no doubt, however, that the\nSoviet represented the interests of _all_ these proletarian masses.\nThere were but few adherents of the Black Hundred in the factories, and\ntheir number dwindled hour by hour. The proletarian masses of Petersburg\nwere solidly behind the Soviet. Among the numerous intellectuals of\nPetersburg the Soviet had more friends than enemies. Thousands of\nstudents recognized the political leadership of the Soviet and ardently\nsupported it in its decisions. Professional Petersburg was entirely on\nthe side of the Soviet. The support by the Soviet of the postal and\ntelegraph strike won it the sympathy of the lower governmental\nofficials. All the oppressed, all the unfortunate, all honest elements\nof the city, all those who were striving towards a better life, were\ninstinctively or consciously on the side of the Soviet. The Soviet was\nactually or potentially a representative of an overwhelming majority of\nthe population. Its enemies in the capital would not have been dangerous\nhad they not been protected by absolutism, which based its power on the\nmost backward elements of an army recruited from peasants. The weakness\nof the Soviet was not its own weakness, it was the weakness of a purely\nurban revolution.\n\nThe fifty day period was the period of the greatest power of the\nrevolution. _The Soviet was its organ in the fight for public\nauthority._ The class character of the Soviet was determined by the\nclass differentiation of the city population and by the political\nantagonism between the proletariat and the capitalistic bourgeoisie.\nThis antagonism manifested itself even in the historically limited field\nof a struggle against absolutism. After the October strike, the\ncapitalistic bourgeoisie consciously blocked the progress of the\nrevolution, the petty middle class turned out to be a nonentity,\nincapable of playing an independent role. The real leader of the urban\nrevolution was the proletariat. Its class-organization was the organ of\nthe revolution in its struggle for power.\n\n\n3\n\nThe struggle for power, for public authority--this is the central aim of\nthe revolution. The fifty days of the Soviet's life and its bloody\nfinale have shown that urban Russia is too narrow a basis for such a\nstruggle, and that even within the limits of the urban revolution, a\nlocal organization cannot be the central leading body. For a national\ntask the proletariat required an organization on a national scale. The\nPetersburg Soviet was a local organization, yet the need of a central\norganization was so great that it had to assume leadership on a national\nscale. It did what it could, still it remained primarily the\n_Petersburg_ Council of Workmen's Deputies. The urgency of an\nall-Russian labor congress which undoubtedly would have had authority to\nform a central leading organ, was emphasized even at the time of the\nfirst Soviet. The December collapse made its realization impossible. The\nidea remained, an inheritance of the Fifty Days.\n\nThe idea of a Soviet has become ingrained in the consciousness of the\nworkingmen as the first prerequisite to revolutionary action of the\nmasses. Experience has shown that a Soviet is not possible or desirable\nunder all circumstances. The objective meaning of the Soviet\norganization is to create conditions for disorganizing the government,\nfor \"anarchy,\" in other words for a revolutionary conflict. The present\nlull in the revolutionary movement, the mad triumph of reaction, make\nthe existence of an open, elective, authoritative organization of the\nmasses impossible. There is no doubt, however, that _the first new wave\nof the revolution will lead to the creation of Soviets all over the\ncountry_. An All-Russian Soviet, organized by an All-Russian Labor\nCongress, will assume leadership of the local elective organizations of\nthe proletariat. Names, of course, are of no importance; so are details\nof organization; the main thing is: a centralized democratic leadership\nin the struggle of the proletariat for a popular government. History\ndoes not repeat itself, and the new Soviet will not have again to go\nthrough the experience of the Fifty Days. These, however, will furnish\nit a complete program of action.\n\nThis program is perfectly clear.\n\nTo establish revolutionary cooeperation with the army, the peasantry, and\nthe plebeian lower strata of the urban bourgeoisie. To abolish\nabsolutism. To destroy the material organization of absolutism by\nreconstructing and partly dismissing the army. To break up the entire\nbureaucratic apparatus. To introduce an eight hour workday. To arm the\npopulation, starting with the proletariat. To turn the Soviets into\norgans of revolutionary self-government in the cities. To create\nCouncils of Peasants' Delegates (Peasants' Committees) as local organs\nof the agrarian revolution. To organize elections to the Constituent\nAssembly and to conduct a preelection campaign for a definite program on\nthe part of the representatives of the people.\n\nIt is easier to formulate such a program than to carry it through. If,\nhowever, the revolution will ever win, the proletariat cannot choose\nanother. The proletariat will unfold revolutionary accomplishment such\nas the world has never seen. The history of Fifty Days will be only a\npoor page in the great book of the proletariat's struggle and ultimate\ntriumph.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO _MY ROUND TRIP_\n\n     Trotzky was never personal. The emotional side of life seldom\n     appears in his writings. His is the realm of social activities,\n     social and political struggles. His writings breathe logic, not\n     sentiment, facts, not poetry. The following preface to his _Round\n     Trip_ is, perhaps, the only exception. It speaks of the man Trotzky\n     and his beliefs. Note his confession of faith: \"History is a\n     tremendous mechanism serving our ideals.\" ...\n\n\nAt the Stockholm Convention of the Social-Democratic Party, some curious\nstatistical data was circulated, showing the conditions under which the\nparty of the proletariat was working:\n\nThe Convention as a whole, in the person of its 140 members, had spent\nin prison one hundred and thirty-eight years and three and a half\nmonths.\n\nThe Convention had been in exile one hundred and forty-eight years and\nsix and a half months.\n\nEscaped from prison: Once, eighteen members of the Convention; twice,\nfour members.\n\nEscaped from exile: Once, twenty-three; twice, five; three times, one\nmember.\n\nThe length of time the Convention as a whole had been active in\nSocial-Democratic work, was 942 years. It follows that the time spent in\nprison and exile is about one-third of the time a Social-Democrat is\nactive. But these figures are too optimistic. \"The Convention has been\nactive in Social-Democratic work for 942 years\"--this means merely that\nthe activities of those persons had been spread over so many years.\nTheir actual period of work must have been much shorter. Possibly all\nthese persons had worked, actually and directly, only one-sixth or\none-tenth of the above time. Such are conditions of underground\nactivity. On the other hand, the time spent in prison and exile is real\ntime: the Convention had spent over fifty thousand days and nights\nbehind iron bars, and more than that in barbarous corners of the\ncountry.\n\nPerhaps I may give, in addition to these figures, some facts about\nmyself. The author of these lines was arrested for the first time in\nJanuary, 1898, after working for ten months in the workmen's circles of\nNikolayev. He spent two and a half years in prison, and escaped from\nSiberia after living there two years of his four years' exile. He was\narrested the second time on December 3rd, 1905, as a member of the\nPetersburg Council of Workmen's Deputies. The Council had existed for\nfifty days. The arrested members of the Soviet each spent 400 days in\nprison, then they were sent to Obdorsk \"forever.\" ... Each Russian\nSocial-Democrat who has worked in his Party for ten years could give\nsimilar statistics about himself.\n\nThe political helter-skelter which exists in Russia since October 17th\nand which the Gotha Almanach has characterized with unconscious humor as\n\"_A Constitutional Monarchy under an absolute Tzar_,\" has changed\nnothing in our situation. This political order cannot reconcile itself\nwith us, not even temporarily, as it is organically incapable of\nadmitting any free activity of the masses. The simpletons and hypocrites\nwho urge us to \"keep within legal limits\" remind one of Marie Antoinette\nwho recommended the starving peasants to eat cake! One would think we\nsuffer from an organic aversion for cake, a kind of incurable disease!\nOne would think our lungs infected with an irresistible desire to\nbreathe the atmosphere of the solitary dungeons in the Fortress of Peter\nand Paul! One would think we have no other use for those endless hours\npulled out of our lives by the jailers.\n\nWe love our underground just as little as a drowning person loves the\nbottom of the sea. Yet, we have as little choice, as, let us say\ndirectly, the absolutist order. Being fully aware of this we can afford\nto be optimists even at a time when the underground tightens its grip\naround our necks with unrelenting grimness. It will not choke us, we\nknow it! We shall survive! When the bones of all the great deeds which\nare being performed now by the princes of the earth, their servants and\nthe servants of their servants will have turned to dust, when nobody\nwill know the graves of many present parties with all their\nexploits--the Cause we are serving will rule the world, and our Party,\nnow choking underground, will dissolve itself into humanity, for the\nfirst time its own master.\n\nHistory is a tremendous mechanism serving our ideals. Its work is slow,\nbarbarously slow, implacably cruel, yet the work goes on. We believe in\nit. Only at moments, when this voracious monster drinks the living blood\nof our hearts to serve it as food, we wish to shout with all our might:\n\n_What thou dost, do quickly!_\n\nParis, April 8/21, 1907.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LESSONS OF THE GREAT YEAR\n\n     This essay was published in a New York Russian newspaper on January\n     20th, 1917, less than two months before the Second Russian\n     Revolution. Trotzky then lived in New York. The essay shows how his\n     contempt, even hatred, for the liberal parties in Russia had grown\n     since 1905-6.\n\n\n(January 9th, 1905--January 9th, 1917)\n\nRevolutionary anniversaries are not only days for reminiscence, they are\ndays for summing up revolutionary experiences, especially for us\nRussians. Our history has not been rich. Our so-called \"national\noriginality\" consisted in being poor, ignorant, uncouth. It was the\nrevolution of 1905 that first opened before us the great highway of\npolitical progress. On January 9th the workingman of Petersburg knocked\nat the gate of the Winter Palace. On January 9th the entire Russian\npeople knocked at the gate of history.\n\nThe crowned janitor did not respond to the knock. Nine months later,\nhowever, on October 17th, he was compelled to open the heavy gate of\nabsolutism. Notwithstanding all the efforts of bureaucracy, a little\nslit stayed open--forever.\n\nThe revolution was defeated. The same old forces and almost the same\nfigures now rule Russia that ruled her twelve years ago. Yet the\nrevolution has changed Russia beyond recognition. The kingdom of\nstagnation, servitude, vodka and humbleness has become a kingdom of\nfermentation, criticism, fight. Where once there was a shapeless\ndough--the impersonal, formless people, \"Holy Russia,\"--now social\nclasses consciously oppose each other, political parties have sprung\ninto existence, each with its program and methods of struggle.\n\nJanuary 9th opens _a new Russian history_. It is a line marked by the\nblood of the people. There is no way back from this line to Asiatic\nRussia, to the cursed practices of former generations. There is no way\nback. There will never be.\n\nNot the liberal bourgeoisie, not the democratic groups of the lower\nbourgeoisie, not the radical intellectuals, not the millions of Russian\npeasants, but the _Russian proletariat_ has by its struggle started the\nnew era in Russian history. This is basic. On the foundation of this\nfact we, Social-Democrats, have built our conceptions and our tactics.\n\nOn January 9th it was the priest Gapon who happened to be at the head of\nthe Petersburg workers,--a fantastic figure, a combination of\nadventurer, hysterical enthusiast and impostor. His priest's robe was\nthe last link that then connected the workingmen with the past, with\n\"Holy Russia.\" Nine months later, in the course of the October strike,\nthe greatest political strike history has ever seen, there was at the\nhead of the Petersburg workingmen their own elective self-governing\norganization--the Council of Workmen's Deputies. It contained many a\nworkingman who had been on Gapon's staff,--nine months of revolution had\nmade those men grow, as they made grow the entire working class which\nthe Soviet represented.\n\nIn the first period of the revolution, the activities of the proletariat\nwere met with sympathy, even with support from liberal society. The\nMilukovs hoped the proletariat would punch absolutism and make it more\ninclined to compromise with the bourgeoisie. Yet absolutism, for\ncenturies the only ruler of the people, was in no haste to share its\npower with the liberal parties. In October, 1905, the bourgeoisie\nlearned that it could not obtain power before the back-bone of Tzarism\nwas broken. This blessed thing could, evidently, be accomplished only by\na victorious revolution. But the revolution put the working class in the\nforeground, it united it and solidified it not only in its struggle\nagainst Tzarism, but also in its struggle against capital. The result\nwas that each new revolutionary step of the proletariat in October,\nNovember and December, the time of the Soviet, moved the liberals more\nand more in the direction of the monarchy. The hopes for revolutionary\ncooeperation between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat turned out a\nhopeless Utopia. Those who had not seen it then and had not understood\nit later, those who still dream of a \"national\" uprising against\nTzarism, do not understand the revolution. For them class struggle is a\nsealed book.\n\nAt the end of 1905 the question became acute. The monarchy had learned\nby experience that the bourgeoisie would not support the proletariat in\na decisive battle. The monarchy then decided to move against the\nproletariat with all its forces. The bloody days of December followed.\nThe Council of Workmen's Deputies was arrested by the Ismailovski\nregiment which remained loyal to Tzarism. The answer of the proletariat\nwas momentous: the strike in Petersburg, the insurrection in Moscow, the\nstorm of revolutionary movements in all industrial centers, the\ninsurrection on the Caucasus and in the Lettish provinces.\n\nThe revolutionary movement was crushed. Many a poor \"Socialist\" readily\nconcluded from our December defeats that a revolution in Russia was\nimpossible without the support of the bourgeoisie. If this be true, it\nwould only mean that a revolution in Russia is impossible.\n\nOur _upper industrial bourgeoisie_, the only class possessing actual\npower, is separated from the proletariat by an insurmountable barrier of\nclass hatred, and it needs the monarchy as a pillar of order. The\nGutchkovs, Krestovnikovs and Ryabushinskys cannot fail to see in the\nproletariat their mortal foe.\n\nOur _middle and lower industrial and commercial bourgeoisie_ occupies a\nvery insignificant place in the economic life of the country, and is all\nentangled in the net of capital. The Milukovs, the leaders of the lower\nmiddle class, are successful only in so far as they represent the\ninterests of the upper bourgeoisie. This is why the Cadet leader called\nthe revolutionary banner a \"red rag\"; this is why he declared, after the\nbeginning of the war, that if a revolution were necessary to secure\nvictory over Germany, he would prefer no victory at all.\n\nOur _peasantry_ occupies a tremendous place in Russian life. In 1905 it\nwas shaken to its deepest foundations. The peasants were driving out\ntheir masters, setting estates on fire, seizing the land from the\nlandlords. Yes, the curse of the peasantry is that it is scattered,\ndisjointed, backward. Moreover, the interests of the various peasant\ngroups do not coincide. The peasants arose and fought adroitly against\ntheir local slave-holders, yet they stopped in reverence before the\nall-Russian slave-holder. The sons of the peasants in the army did not\nunderstand that the workingmen were shedding their blood not only for\ntheir own sake, but also for the sake of the peasants. The army was an\nobedient tool in the hands of Tzarism. It crushed the labor revolution\nin December, 1905.\n\nWhoever thinks about the experiences of 1905, whoever draws a line from\nthat year to the present time, must see how utterly lifeless and pitiful\nare the hopes of our Social-Patriots for revolutionary cooeperation\nbetween the proletariat and the liberal bourgeoisie.\n\nDuring the last twelve years big capital has made great conquests in\nRussia. The middle and lower bourgeoisie has become still more dependent\nupon the banks and trusts. The working class, which had grown in numbers\nsince 1905, is now separated from the bourgeoisie by a deeper abyss than\nbefore. If a \"national\" revolution was a failure twelve years ago,\nthere is still less hope for it at present.\n\nIt is true in the last years that the cultural and political level of\nthe peasantry has become higher. However, there is less hope now for a\nrevolutionary uprising of the peasantry as a whole than there was twelve\nyears ago. The only ally of the urban proletariat may be the proletarian\nand half-proletarian strata of the village.\n\nBut, a skeptic may ask, is there then any hope for a victorious\nrevolution in Russia under these circumstances?\n\nOne thing is clear--if a revolution comes, it will not be a result of\ncooeperation between capital and labor. The experiences of 1905 show that\nthis is a miserable Utopia. To acquaint himself with those experiences,\nto study them is the duty of every thinking workingman who is anxious to\navoid tragic mistakes. It is in this sense that we have said that\nrevolutionary anniversaries are not only days for reminiscences, but\nalso days for summing up revolutionary experiences.\n\n\n     _Gutchkov_, _Ryabushinsky_ and _Krestovnikov_ are representatives\n     of big capital in Russia. Gutchkov is the leader of the moderately\n     liberal party of Octobrists. He was War Minister in the first\n     Cabinet after the overthrow of the Romanoffs.\n\n\n\n\nON THE EVE OF A REVOLUTION\n\n     This essay was written on March 13th, 1917, when the first news of\n     unrest in Petrograd had reached New York.\n\n\nThe streets of Petrograd again speak the language of 1905. As in the\ntime of the Russo-Japanese war, the masses demand bread, peace, and\nfreedom. As in 1905, street cars are not running and newspapers do not\nappear. The workingmen let the steam out of the boilers, they quit their\nbenches and walk out into the streets. The government mobilizes its\nCossacks. And as was in 1905, only those two powers are facing each\nother in the streets--the revolutionary workingmen and the army of the\nTzar.\n\nThe movement was provoked by lack of bread. This, of course, is not an\naccidental cause. In all the belligerent countries the lack of bread is\nthe most immediate, the most acute reason for dissatisfaction and\nindignation among the masses. All the insanity of the war is revealed to\nthem from this angle: it is impossible to produce necessities of life\nbecause one has to produce instruments of death.\n\nHowever, the attempts of the Anglo-Russian semi-official news agencies\nto explain the movement by a temporary shortage in food, or to snow\nstorms that have delayed transportation, are one of the most ludicrous\napplications of the policy of the ostrich. The workingmen would not stop\nthe factories, the street cars, the print shops and walk into the\nstreets to meet Tzarism face to face on account of snow storms which\ntemporarily hamper the arrival of foodstuffs.\n\nPeople have a short memory. Many of our own ranks have forgotten that\nthe war found Russia in a state of potent revolutionary ferment. After\nthe heavy stupor of 1908-1911, the proletariat gradually healed its\nwounds in the following years of industrial prosperity; the slaughter of\nstrikers on the Lena River in April, 1912, awakened the revolutionary\nenergy of the proletarian masses. A series of strikes followed. In the\nyear preceding the world war, the wave of economic and political strikes\nresembled that of 1905. When Poincare, the President of the French\nRepublic, came to Petersburg in the summer of 1904 (evidently to talk\nover with the Tzar how to free the small and weak nations) the Russian\nproletariat was in a stage of extraordinary revolutionary tension, and\nthe President of the French Republic could see with his own eyes in the\ncapital of his friend, the Tzar, how the first barricades of the Second\nRussian Revolution were being constructed.\n\nThe war checked the rising revolutionary tide. We have witnessed a\nrepetition of what happened ten years before, in the Russo-Japanese war.\nAfter the stormy strikes of 1903, there had followed a year of almost\nunbroken political silence--1904--the first year of the war. It took the\nworkingmen of Petersburg twelve months to orientate themselves in the\nwar and to walk out into the streets with their demands and protests.\nJanuary 9th, 1905, was, so to speak, the official beginning of our First\nRevolution.\n\nThe present war is vaster than was the Russo-Japanese war. Millions of\nsoldiers have been mobilized by the government for the \"defense of the\nFatherland.\" The ranks of the proletariat have thus been disorganized.\nOn the other hand, the more advanced elements of the proletariat had to\nface and weigh in their minds a number of questions of unheard of\nmagnitude. What is the cause of the war? Shall the proletariat agree\nwith the conception of \"the defense of the Fatherland\"? What ought to\nbe the tactics of the working-class in war time?\n\nIn the meantime, the Tzarism and its allies, the upper groups of the\nnobility and the bourgeoisie, had during the war completely exposed\ntheir true nature,--the nature of criminal plunderers, blinded by\nlimitless greed and paralyzed by want of talent. The appetites for\nconquest of the governing clique grew in proportion as the people began\nto realize its complete inability to cope with the most elementary\nproblems of warfare, of industry and supplies in war time.\nSimultaneously, the misery of the people grew, deepened, became more and\nmore acute,--a natural result of the war multiplied by the criminal\nanarchy of the Rasputin Tzarism.\n\nIn the depths of the great masses, among people who may have never been\nreached by a word of propaganda, a profound bitterness accumulated under\nthe stress of events. Meantime the foremost ranks of the proletariat\nwere finishing digesting the new events. The Socialist proletariat of\nRussia came to after the shock of the nationalist fall of the most\ninfluential part of the International, and decided that new times call\nus not to let up, but to increase our revolutionary struggle.\n\nThe present events in Petrograd and Moscow are a result of this internal\npreparatory work.\n\nA disorganized, compromised, disjointed government on top. An utterly\ndemoralized army. Dissatisfaction, uncertainty and fear among the\npropertied classes. At the bottom, among the masses, a deep bitterness.\nA proletariat numerically stronger than ever, hardened in the fire of\nevents. All this warrants the statement that we are witnessing the\nbeginning of the Second Russian Revolution. Let us hope that many of us\nwill be its participants.\n\n\n\n\nTWO FACES\n\n\n(Internal Forces of the Russian Revolution)\n\nLet us examine more closely what is going on.\n\nNicholas has been dethroned, and according to some information, is under\narrest. The most conspicuous Black Hundred leaders have been arrested.\nSome of the most hated have been killed. A new Ministry has been formed\nconsisting of Octobrists, Liberals and the Radical Kerensky. A general\namnesty has been proclaimed.\n\nAll these are facts, big facts. These are the facts that strike the\nouter world most. Changes in the higher government give the bourgeoisie\nof Europe and America an occasion to say that the revolution has won and\nis now completed.\n\nThe Tzar and his Black Hundred fought for their power, for this alone.\nThe war, the imperialistic plans of the Russian bourgeoisie, the\ninterests of the Allies, were of minor importance to the Tzar and his\nclique. They were ready at any moment to conclude peace with the\nHohenzollerns and Hapsburgs, to free their most loyal regiment for war\nagainst their own people.\n\nThe Progressive Bloc of the Duma mistrusted the Tzar and his Ministers.\nThis Bloc consisted of various parties of the Russian bourgeoisie. The\nBloc had two aims: one, to conduct the war to a victorious end; another,\nto secure internal reforms: more order, control, accounting. A victory\nis necessary for the Russian bourgeoisie to conquer markets, to increase\ntheir territories, to get rich. Reforms are necessary primarily to\nenable the Russian bourgeoisie to win the war.\n\nThe progressive imperialistic Bloc wanted _peaceful_ reforms. The\nliberals intended to exert a Duma pressure on the monarchy and to keep\nit in check with the aid of the governments of Great Britain and France.\nThey did not want a revolution. They knew that a revolution, bringing\nthe working masses to the front, would be a menace to their domination,\nand primarily a menace to their imperialistic plans. The laboring\nmasses, in the cities and in the villages, and even in the army itself,\nwant peace. The liberals know it. This is why they have been enemies of\nthe revolution all these years. A few months ago Milukov declared in\nthe Duma: \"If a revolution were necessary for victory, I would prefer no\nvictory at all.\"\n\nYet the liberals are now in power--through the Revolution. The bourgeois\nnewspaper men see nothing but this fact. Milukov, already in his\ncapacity as a Minister of Foreign Affairs, has declared that the\nrevolution has been conducted in the name of a victory over the enemy,\nand that the new government has taken upon itself to continue the war to\na victorious end. The New York Stock Exchange interpreted the Revolution\nin this specific sense. There are clever people both on the Stock\nExchange and among the bourgeois newspaper men. Yet they are all\namazingly stupid when they come to deal with mass-movements. They think\nthat Milukov manages the revolution, in the same sense as they manage\ntheir banks or news offices. They see only the liberal governmental\nreflection of the unfolding events, they notice only the foam on the\nsurface of the historical torrent.\n\nThe long pent-up dissatisfaction of the masses has burst forth so late,\nin the thirty-second month of the war, not because the masses were held\nby police barriers--those barriers had been badly shattered during the\nwar--but because all liberal institutions and organs, together with\ntheir Social-Patriotic shadows, were exerting an enormous influence over\nthe least enlightened elements of the workingmen, urging them to keep\norder and discipline in the name of \"patriotism.\" Hungry women were\nalready walking out into the streets, and the workingmen were getting\nready to uphold them by a general strike, while the liberal bourgeoisie,\naccording to news reports, still issued proclamations and delivered\nspeeches to check the movement,--resembling that famous heroine of\nDickens who tried to stem the tide of the ocean with a broom.\n\nThe movement, however, took its course, from below, from the\nworkingmen's quarters. After hours and days of uncertainty, of shooting,\nof skirmishes, the army joined in the revolution, from below, from the\nbest of the soldier masses. The old government was powerless, paralyzed,\nannihilated. The Tzar fled from the capital \"to the front.\" The Black\nHundred bureaucrats crept, like cockroaches, each into his corner.\n\nThen, and only then, came the Duma's turn to act. The Tzar had attempted\nin the last minute to dissolve it. And the Duma would have obeyed,\n\"following the example of former years,\" had it been free to adjourn.\nThe capitals, however, were already dominated by the revolutionary\npeople, the same people that had walked out into the streets despite the\nwishes of the liberal bourgeoisie. The army was with the people. Had not\nthe bourgeoisie attempted to organize its own government, a\nrevolutionary government would have emerged from the revolutionary\nworking masses. The Duma of June 3rd would never have dared to seize the\npower from the hands of Tzarism. But it did not want to miss the chance\noffered by interregnum: the monarchy had disappeared, while a\nrevolutionary government was not yet formed. Contrary to all their part,\ncontrary to their own policies and against their will, the liberals\nfound themselves in possession of power.\n\nMilukov now declares Russia will continue the war \"to the end.\" It is\nnot easy for him so to speak: he knows that his words are apt to arouse\nthe indignation of the masses against the new government. Yet he had to\nspeak to them--for the sake of the London, Paris and American Stock\nExchanges. It is quite possible that he cabled his declaration for\nforeign consumption only, and that he concealed it from his own\ncountry.\n\nMilukov knows very well that _under given conditions he cannot continue\nthe war, crush Germany, dismember Austria, occupy Constantinople and\nPoland_.\n\nThe masses have revolted, demanding bread and peace. The appearance of a\nfew liberals at the head of the government has not fed the hungry, has\nnot healed the wounds of the people. To satisfy the most urgent, the\nmost acute needs of the people, _peace_ must be restored. The liberal\nimperialistic Bloc does not dare to speak of peace. They do not do it,\nfirst, on account of the Allies. They do not do it, further, because the\nliberal bourgeoisie is to a great extent responsible before the people\nfor the present war. The Milukovs and Gutchkovs, not less than the\nRomanoff camarilla, have thrown the country into this monstrous\nimperialistic adventure. To stop the war, to return to the ante-bellum\nmisery would mean that they have to account to the people for this\nundertaking. The Milukovs and Gutchkovs are afraid of the liquidation of\nthe war not less than they were afraid of the Revolution.\n\nThis is their aspect in their new capacity, as the government of\nRussia. They are compelled to continue the war, and they can have no\nhope of victory; they are afraid of the people, and people do not trust\nthem.\n\nThis is how Karl Marx characterized a similar situation:\n\n\"From the very beginning ready to betray the people and to compromise\nwith the crowned representatives of the old regime, because the\nbourgeoisie itself belongs to the old world; ... keeping a place at the\nsteering wheel of the revolution not because the people were back of\nthem, but because the people pushed them forward; ... having no faith in\nthemselves, no faith in the people; grumbling against those above,\ntrembling before those below; selfish towards both fronts and aware of\ntheir selfishness; revolutionary in the face of conservatives, and\nconservative in the face of revolutionists, with no confidence in their\nown slogans and with phrases instead of ideas; frightened by the world's\nstorm and exploiting the world's storm,--vulgar through lack of\noriginality, and original only in vulgarity; making profitable business\nout of their own desires, with no initiative, with no vocation for\nworld-wide historic work ... a cursed senile creature condemned to\ndirect and abuse in his own senile interests the first youthful\nmovements of a powerful people,--a creature with no eyes, with no ears,\nwith no teeth, with nothing whatever,--this is how the Prussian\nbourgeoisie stood at the steering wheel of the Prussian state after the\nMarch revolution.\"\n\nThese words of the great master give a perfect picture of the Russian\nliberal bourgeoisie, as it stands at the steering wheel of the\ngovernment after _our_ March revolution. \"With no faith in themselves,\nwith no faith in the people, with no eyes, with no teeth.\" ... This is\ntheir political face.\n\nLuckily for Russia and Europe, there is another face to the Russian\nRevolution, a genuine face: the cables have brought the news that the\nProvisional Government is opposed by a Workmen's Committee which has\nalready raised a voice of protest against the liberal attempt to rob the\nRevolution and to deliver the people to the monarchy.\n\nShould the Russian Revolution stop to-day as the representatives of\nliberalism advocate, to-morrow the reaction of the Tzar, the nobility\nand the bureaucracy would gather power and drive Milukov and Gutchkov\nfrom their insecure ministerial trenches, as did the Prussian reaction\nyears ago with the representatives of Prussian liberalism. But the\nRussian Revolution will not stop. Time will come, and the Revolution\nwill make a clean sweep of the bourgeois liberals blocking its way, as\nit is now making a clean sweep of the Tzarism reaction.\n\n(Published in New York on March 17, 1917.)\n\n\n     _June Third_, 1907, was the day on which, after the dissolution of\n     the First and Second Dumas, the Tzar's government, in defiance of\n     the Constitution, promulgated a new electoral law which eliminated\n     from the Russian quasi-Parliament large groups of democratic\n     voters, thus securing a \"tame\" majority obedient to the command of\n     the government. To say \"The Duma of June Third\" is equivalent to\n     saying: \"a Duma dominated by representatives of rich land-owners\n     and big business,\" generally working hand in hand with autocracy,\n     though pretending to be representatives of the people. In the Duma\n     of June Third, the Octobrists and all parties to the right of them\n     were with the government, the Constitutional Democrats (Cadets) and\n     all parties to the left of them were in the opposition.\n\n     The _Progressive Bloc_ was formed in the Duma in 1915. It included\n     a number of liberal and conservative factions, together with the\n     Cadets, and was opposed to the government. Its program was a\n     Cabinet responsible to the Duma.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GROWING CONFLICT\n\n\nAn open conflict between the forces of the Revolution, headed by the\ncity proletariat and the anti-revolutionary liberal bourgeoisie\ntemporarily at the head of the government, is more and more impending.\nIt cannot be avoided. Of course, the liberal bourgeoisie and the\nquasi-Socialists of the vulgar type will find a collection of very\ntouching slogans as to \"national unity\" against class divisions; yet no\none has ever succeeded in removing social contrasts by conjuring with\nwords or in checking the natural progress of revolutionary struggle.\n\nThe internal history of unfolding events is known to us only in\nfragments, through casual remarks in the official telegrams. But even\nnow it is apparent that on two points the revolutionary proletariat is\nbound to oppose the liberal bourgeoisie with ever-growing determination.\n\nThe first conflict has already arisen around the question of the form of\ngovernment. The Russian bourgeoisie needs a monarchy. In all the\ncountries pursuing an imperialistic policy, we observe an unusual\nincrease of personal power. The policy of world usurpations, secret\ntreaties and open treachery requires independence from Parliamentary\ncontrol and a guarantee against changes in policies caused by the change\nof Cabinets. Moreover, for the propertied classes the monarchy is the\nmost secure ally in its struggle against the revolutionary onslaught of\nthe proletariat.\n\nIn Russia both these causes are more effective than elsewhere. The\nRussian bourgeoisie finds it impossible to deny the people universal\nsuffrage, well aware that this would arouse opposition against the\nProvisional Government among the masses, and give prevalence to the\nleft, the more determined wing of the proletariat in the Revolution.\nEven that monarch of the reserve, Michael Alexandrovitch, understands\nthat he cannot reach the throne without having promised \"universal,\nequal, direct and secret suffrage.\" It is the more essential for the\nbourgeoisie to create right now a monarchic counterbalance against the\ndeepest social-revolutionary demands of the working masses. _Formally_,\nin words, the bourgeoisie has agreed to leave the question of a form of\ngovernment to the discretion of the Constituent Assembly. Practically,\nhowever, the Octobrist-Cadet Provisional Government will turn all the\npreparatory work for the Constituent Assembly into a campaign in favor\nof a monarchy against a Republic. The character of the Constituent\nAssembly will largely depend upon the character of those who convoke it.\nIt is evident, therefore, that right now the revolutionary proletariat\nwill have _to set up its own organs, the Councils of Workingmen's\nSoldiers' and Peasants' Deputies, against the executive organs of the\nProvisional Government_. In this struggle the proletariat ought to unite\nabout itself the rising masses of the people, with one aim in view--_to\nseize governmental power_. Only a Revolutionary Labor Government will\nhave the desire and ability to give the country a thorough democratic\ncleansing during the work preparatory to the Constituent Assembly, to\nreconstruct the army from top to bottom, to turn it into _a\nrevolutionary militia_ and to show the poorer peasants in practice that\ntheir only salvation is in a support of a revolutionary labor regime. A\nConstituent Assembly convoked after such preparatory work will truly\nreflect the revolutionary, creative forces of the country and become a\npowerful factor in the further development of the Revolution.\n\nThe second question that is bound to bring the internationally inclined\nSocialist proletariat in opposition to the imperialistic liberal\nbourgeoisie, is _the question of war and peace_.\n\n(Published in New York, March 19, 1917.)\n\n\n\n\nWAR OR PEACE?\n\n\nThe question of chief interest, now, to the governments and the peoples\nof the world is, What will be the influence of the Russian Revolution on\nthe War? Will it bring peace nearer? Or will the revolutionary\nenthusiasm of the people swing towards a more vigorous prosecution of\nthe war?\n\nThis is a great question. On its solution depends not only the outcome\nof the war, but the fate of the Revolution itself.\n\nIn 1905, Milukov, the present militant Minister of Foreign Affairs,\ncalled the Russo-Japanese war an adventure and demanded its immediate\ncessation. This was also the spirit of the liberal and radical press.\nThe strongest industrial organizations favored immediate peace in spite\nof unequaled disasters. Why was it so? Because they expected internal\nreforms. The establishment of a Constitutional system, a parliamentary\ncontrol over the budget and the state finances, a better school system\nand, especially, an increase in the land possessions of the peasants,\nwould, they hoped, increase the prosperity of the population and create\na _vast internal market_ for Russian industry. It is true that even\nthen, twelve years ago, the Russian bourgeoisie was ready to usurp land\nbelonging to others. It hoped, however, that abolition of feudal\nrelations in the village would create a more powerful market than the\nannexation of Manchuria or Corea.\n\nThe democratization of the country and liberation of the peasants,\nhowever, turned out to be a slow process. Neither the Tzar, nor the\nnobility, nor the bureaucracy were willing to yield any of their\nprerogatives. Liberal exhortations were not enough to make them give up\nthe machinery of the state and their land possessions. A revolutionary\nonslaught of the masses was required. This the bourgeoisie did not want.\nThe agrarian revolts of the peasants, the ever growing struggle of the\nproletariat and the spread of insurrections in the army caused the\nliberal bourgeoisie to fall back into the camp of the Tzarist\nbureaucracy and reactionary nobility. Their alliance was sealed by the\n_coup d'etat_ of June 3rd, 1907. Out of this _coup d'etat_ emerged the\nThird and the Fourth Dumas.\n\nThe peasants received no land. The administrative system changed only in\nname, not in substance. The development of an internal market consisting\nof prosperous farmers, after the American fashion, did not take place.\nThe capitalist classes, reconciled with the regime of June 3rd, turned\ntheir attention to the usurpation of foreign markets. A new era of\nRussian imperialism ensues, an imperialism accompanied by a disorderly\nfinancial and military system and by insatiable appetites. Gutchkov, the\npresent War Minister, was formerly a member of the Committee on National\nDefense, helping to make the army and the navy complete. Milukov, the\npresent Minister of Foreign Affairs, worked out a program of world\nconquests which he advocated on his trips to Europe. Russian imperialism\nand his Octobrist and Cadet representatives bear a great part of the\nresponsibility for the present war.\n\nBy the grace of the Revolution which they had not wanted and which they\nhad fought, Gutchkov and Milukov are now in power. For the continuation\nof the war, for victory? Of course! They are the same persons who had\ndragged the country into the war for the sake of the interests of\ncapital. All their opposition to Tzarism had its source in their\nunsatisfied imperialistic appetites. So long as the clique of Nicholas\nII. was in power, the interests of the dynasty and of the reactionary\nnobility were prevailing in Russian foreign affairs. This is why Berlin\nand Vienna had hoped to conclude a separate peace with Russia. Now,\npurely imperialistic interests have superseded the Tzarism interests;\npure imperialism is written on the banner of the Provisional Government.\n\"The government of the Tzar is gone,\" the Milukovs and Gutchkovs say to\nthe people, \"now you must shed your blood for the common interests of\nthe entire nation.\" Those interests the imperialists understand as the\nreincorporation of Poland, the conquest of Galicia, Constantinople,\nArmenia, Persia.\n\nThis transition from an imperialism of the dynasty and the nobility to\nan imperialism of a purely bourgeois character, can never reconcile the\nRussian proletariat to the war. An international struggle against the\nworld slaughter and imperialism are now our task more than ever. The\nlast despatches which tell of an anti-militaristic propaganda in the\nstreets of Petrograd show that our comrades are bravely doing their\nduty.\n\n_The imperialistic boasts of Milukov to crush Germany, Austria and\nTurkey are the most effective and most timely aid for the Hohenzollerns\nand Hapsburgs...._ Milukov will now serve as a scare-crow in their\nhands. The liberal imperialistic government of Russia has not yet\nstarted reform in its own army, yet it is already helping the\nHohenzollerns to raise the patriotic spirit and to mend the shattered\n\"national unity\" of the German people. Should the German proletariat be\ngiven a right to think that all the Russian people and the main force of\nthe Russian Revolution, the proletariat, are behind the bourgeois\ngovernment of Russia, it would be a terrific blow to the men of our\ntrend of mind, the revolutionary Socialists of Germany. To turn the\nRussian proletariat into patriotic cannon food in the service of the\nRussian liberal bourgeoisie would mean _to throw the German working\nmasses into the camp of the chauvinists and for a long time to halt the\nprogress of a revolution in Germany_.\n\nThe prime duty of the revolutionary proletariat in Russia is to show\nthat there is _no power_ behind the evil imperialistic will of the\nliberal bourgeoisie. The Russian Revolution has to show the entire world\nits real face.\n\n_The further progress of the revolutionary struggle in Russia and the\ncreation of a Revolutionary Labor Government supported by the people\nwill be a mortal blow to the Hohenzollerns because it will give a\npowerful stimulus to the revolutionary movement of the German\nproletariat and of the labor masses of all the other countries._ If the\nfirst Russian Revolution of 1905 brought about revolutions in Asia--in\nPersia, Turkey, China--the Second Russian Revolution will be the\nbeginning of a powerful social-revolutionary struggle in Europe. Only\nthis struggle will bring real peace to the blood-drenched world.\n\nNo, the Russian proletariat will not allow itself to be harnessed to the\nchariot of Milukov imperialism. The banner of Russian Social-Democracy\nis now, more than ever before, glowing with bright slogans of inflexible\nInternationalism:\n\nAway with imperialistic robbers!\n\nLong live a Revolutionary Labor Government!\n\nLong live Peace and the Brotherhood of Nations!\n\n(Published in New York, March 20, 1917.)\n\n\n\n\nTROTZKY ON THE PLATFORM IN PETROGRAD\n\n\n(From a Russian paper)\n\nTrotzky, always Trotzky.\n\nSince I had seen him the last time, he has been advanced in rank: he has\nbecome the chairman of the Petrograd Soviet. He has succeeded\nTchcheidze, the wise, sober leader who has lost the confidence of the\nrevolutionary masses. He holds the place of Lenin, the recognized leader\nof the left wing of Social-Democracy, whose absence from the capital is\ndue to external, accidental causes.\n\nIt seems to me that Trotzky has become more nervous, more gloomy, and\nmore restrained. Something like a freezing chill emanates from his deep\nand restless eyes; a cool, determined, ironical smile plays around his\nmobile Jewish lips, and there is a chill in his well-balanced, clear-cut\nwords which he throws into his audience with a peculiar calmness.\n\nHe seems almost lonesome on the platform. Only a small group of\nfollowers applaud. The others protest against his words or cast angry,\nrestless glances at him. He is in a hostile gathering. He is a stranger.\nIs he not also a stranger to those who applaud him and in whose name he\nspeaks from this platform?\n\nCalm and composed he looks at his adversaries, and you feel it is a\npeculiar joy for him to see the rage, the fear, the excitement his words\nprovoke. He is a Mephisto who throws words like bombs to create a war of\nbrothers at the bedside of their sick mother.\n\nHe knows in advance which words will have the greatest effect, which\nwould provoke the most bitter resentment. And the more extreme, the more\npainful his words are, the firmer and stronger is his voice, the slower\nhis speech, the more challenging his tone. He speaks a sentence, then he\nstops to wait till the storm is over, then he repeats his assertion,\nwith sharper intonation and with more disdain in his tone. Only his eyes\nbecome more nervous, and a peculiar disquieting fire is blazing in them.\n\nThis time he does not speak; he reads a written declaration. He reads it\nwith pauses, sometimes accentuating the words, sometimes passing over\nthem quickly, but all the time he is aware of the effect and waits for a\nresponse.\n\nHis voice is the voice of a prophet, a preacher:\n\n\"Petrograd is in danger! The Revolution is in danger! The people are in\ndanger!\" ...\n\nHe is a stranger on the platform, and yet--electric currents flow from\nhim to his surroundings, creating sincere though primitive enthusiasm on\none side, on the other anger and spite. He opens vast perspectives\nbefore the naive faithful masses:\n\n\"Long live an immediate, honest, democratic peace!\"\n\n\"All power to the Workmen's Councils! All the land to the people!\"\n\n\n\n\n  INDEX\n\n\n  Absolutism, role of, in outgrowing economic basis, 69;\n    in promoting industry and science, 69, 70;\n    as an end in itself, 70-71.\n\n  Agrarian question, 132-136.\n\n  Armament for the Revolution, 57-58.\n\n  Army, 35, 36, 37.\n\n  Bourgeoisie, imperialistic plans of, 189-191;\n    afraid of peace, 194-5;\n    reactionary, 203-4;\n    responsible for the war, 209-211.\n\n  Capitalism, preparing its own collapse, 138-9;\n    and feudal reaction, 139-140.\n\n  Cities, as scene of revolutionary battles, 41;\n    social structure of, 71-72.\n\n  Class consciousness, of proletariat, as prerequisite to Socialism,\n    124-128.\n\n  Constituent Assembly, as a revolutionary slogan, 43-44.\n\n  Demonstrations, in the streets, 41-42;\n    to become of nation-wide magnitude, 57.\n\n  French Revolution, 73-77.\n\n  Gapon, 59, 62; 172-3.\n\n  Intelligentzia, 145.\n\n  January Ninth, 49; 59-60; 171-173.\n\n  June Third, 198.\n\n  Labor Dictatorship, 94-97;\n    crushing absolutism, abandoning its remnants, 103-104;\n    introducing class politics, 103;\n    introducing class struggle in the village, 104-105;\n    introducing Collectivism and Internationalism, 105;\n    abandoning distinction between minimum and maximum program, 106;\n    and eight hour workday, 106-108;\n    and unemployment, 108-9;\n    and agriculture, 109;\n    and Collectivism, 109-110;\n    and class consciousness, 124-128;\n    incompatible with economic slavery, 132;\n    and agrarian question, 132-136.\n\n  Liberalism, denying the existence of revolutionary masses, 52-53;\n    defeated by events of January 9th, 54;\n    trying to \"tame\" revolutionary people, 55;\n    not reliable as partner in Revolution, 173-174; 176-7.\n\n  Manoeuvers, revolutionary, 29-30.\n\n  Masses, drawn into the Revolution, 37-39;\n    as a political reality, 51-52;\n    stirred by world-war, 183-4.\n\n  Middle-class (_see_ Bourgeoisie), weakness of, in Russia, 71, 72.\n\n  Militia, 81-82.\n\n  \"Osvoboshdenie,\" 52, 53, 62.\n\n  Peasantry, as of no significance in Revolution, 175-7.\n\n  Poland, as possible revolutionary link between Russia and Europe,\n    140-41.\n\n  Prerequisites to Socialism, in relation to each other, 113-117.\n\n  Proletariat, as a vanguard of the Revolution, 33-35;\n    role of, in events of January 9th, 56-57;\n    stronger than bourgeoisie in Russia, 72;\n    growing with capitalism, 84;\n    may sooner reach political supremacy in a backward country, 84-85;\n      87-91;\n    as liberator of peasants, 98-100;\n    as a class objectively opposed to capitalism, 119-124;\n    to revolutionize European proletariat, 142-4.\n\n  Revolution, in Europe, as aid to Socialism in Russia, 136-7;\n    may be result of shattered European equilibrium, 141-42;\n    as result of Russian Revolution, 142-4.\n\n  Revolution, in general, 83;\n    of bourgeois character, 92-93.\n\n  Revolution, of _1848_, 77-80.\n\n  Revolution, of _1917_, its causes, 181-5;\n    social forces in, 191-192;\n    to stir up revolution in Germany, 212.\n\n  Social-Democracy, foresaw revolution, 55-6;\n    natural leader of the Revolution, 60-61.\n\n  Soviet, distinguishing Russian Revolution from that of _1848_, 80;\n    short history of, 145;\n    general survey of the role of, 151-4;\n    as class-organization, 154-156;\n    as organ of political authority, 158-9;\n    an imminent form of Russian Revolution, 160;\n    program of (outlined by Trotzky for the future), 160-1;\n    to fight against Provisional Government, 203.\n\n  \"Spring,\" 24-25; 32; 54.\n\n  Strike, political, as beginning of Revolution, 35-36; 42, 43.\n\n  Struve, 62.\n\n  Technique, industrial, as prerequisite to Socialism, 113; 117-119.\n\n  \"Underground,\" and the revolutionist, 165-8.\n\n  War, Russo-Japanese, 25;\n    of the world, as influencing masses, 183-4.\n\n  Witte, 62, 145.\n\n  Zemstvo, movement of, in _1904_, 24-25; 33; 62.\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:\n\n\nObvious typesetting errors have been corrected. Questionable or vintage\nspelling has been left as printed in the original publication.\nVariations in spelling have been left as printed, unless otherwise noted\nin the following.\n\nIn the original publication, each chapter listed in the Contents section\nwas preceded by a \"title page\" containing only the chapter title as\nlisted in the Contents, followed by a blank page. The chapter title was\nrepeated on the first page in each chapter. The chapter title pages have\nnot been reproduced in this transcription.\n\nPage 90: The following phrase, beginning a quotation, has no closing\nquotation mark in the original publication: \"the struggle for the\ninterests of Russia as a whole....\"\n\nPage 145: Transcribed \"on\" as \"of\" to match the quoted phrase on p. 106:\n\"private ownership of the means of production\". Originally printed as:\n\"'private ownership on the means of production'\".\n\nPage 174: Transcribed \"Caucasas\" as \"Caucasus\". As originally printed:\n\"the insurrection on the Caucasas and in the Lettish provinces.\"\n\nPage 193: Supplied \"to\" in the following phrase, shown in brackets: \"Yet\nhe had to speak [to] them....\"\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Our Revolution, by Leon Trotzky\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Curtis Weyant, Ritu Aggarwal and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                    ESSENTIALS OF ECONOMIC THEORY\n\n    _AS APPLIED TO MODERN PROBLEMS OF INDUSTRY AND PUBLIC POLICY_\n\n\n                                  BY\n                           JOHN BATES CLARK\n\n        PROFESSOR OF POLITICAL ECONOMY IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY\n\n               AUTHOR OF \"THE DISTRIBUTION OF WEALTH,\"\n                     \"THE PHILOSOPHY OF WEALTH,\"\n                   \"THE PROBLEM OF MONOPOLY,\" ETC.\n\n\n                               New York\n                        THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n                                 1915\n\n                        _All rights reserved_\n\n\n                           COPYRIGHT, 1907,\n                      BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.\n\n    Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1907. Reprinted\n    July, 1909; July, 1915.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIn a work on the \"Distribution of Wealth,\" which was published in\n1899, I expressed an intention of offering later to my readers a\nvolume on \"Economic Dynamics, or The Laws of Industrial Progress.\"\nThough eight years have since passed, that purpose is still\nunexecuted, and it has become apparent that any adequate treatment of\nEconomic Dynamics will require more than one volume of the size of the\npresent one. In the meanwhile it is possible to offer a brief and\nprovisional statement of the more general laws of progress.\n\nIndustrial society is going through an evolution which is transforming\nits structure and all its activities. Four general changes are going\non within the producing organization, and the resultant of them, under\nfavorable conditions, should be an enrichment in which all classes\nwould share. Population is increasing, capital is accumulating,\ntechnical methods are improving, and the organization of productive\nestablishments is perfecting itself; while over against these changes\nin industry is an evolution in the wants of the individual consumer,\nwhom industry has to serve. The nature, the causes, and the effects of\nthese changes are among the subjects treated in this volume.\n\nThe Political Economy of the century following the publication of the\n\"Wealth of Nations\" dealt more with static problems than with dynamic\nones. It sought to obtain laws which fixed the \"natural\" prices of\ngoods and those which, in a like way, governed the natural wages of\nlabor and the interest on capital. This term _natural_ as thus used,\nwas equivalent to static. If the laws of value, wages, and interest\nhad at this time been correctly stated, they would have furnished\nstandards to which, in the absence of all change and disturbance,\nactual values, wages, and interest would ultimately have conformed.\nThe economic theory of this time succeeded in formulating, correctly\nor otherwise, principles of economic statics and a fragment or two of\na science of economic dynamics, although the distinction between the\ntwo divisions of the science was not clearly before the writers' eyes.\nThe law of population contained in the work of Malthus is the only\nsystematic statement then made of a general law of economic change.\nThough histories of wages, prices, etc., furnished some material for a\nscience of Economic Dynamics, none of them attained the dignity of a\npresentation of law or merited a place in Economic Theory. Students of\nPolitical Economy were at that date scarcely awakened to the\nperception of laws of dynamics, and still less were they conscious of\nthe need of a systematic statement of them. A modest beginning in the\nway of formulating such laws the present work endeavors to make.\n\nThe first fact which becomes apparent when economic progress is\nstudied, is that static laws have a general application and are as\nefficient in a society which is undergoing rapid transformation as in\none that is altogether changeless. Water in a tranquil pool is\naffected by static forces. Let a quantity of other water rush in and\nthere are superinduced on these forces others which are highly\ndynamic. The original forces are as strongly operative as ever, and if\nthe inflow were to stop, would again reduce the surface to a level.\nThe laws of hydrostatics affect the waters in the rapids of Niagara as\ntruly as they do those in a tranquil pool; but in the rapids a further\nset of forces is also operative. In the work referred to, issued in\n1899, an effort was made to isolate the phenomena of Economic Statics\nand to attain the laws which govern them. Necessarily this study made\na certain impression of unreality, since it put out of sight changes\nwhich are actually going on and are the conspicuous fact of modern\nlife. It assumed the conditions of a world without any such movement\nand endeavored to formulate laws which, in such a condition, would fix\nstandards of value, wages, interest, etc. It put actual changes out of\nsight, intentionally and heroically, but with a full recognition of\nthe fact that they are actually taking place and must in due time be\nintroduced and studied. We live in what is _par excellence_ an age of\nprogress, and it is in part for the sake of perceiving the laws of\nprogress that we first disentangle from them the laws of rest and make\na separate study of these. The world from which change is excluded is\nunreal, but the _static laws_ which can be most clearly discerned by\nmentally creating such a world have reality. Every day's transactions\nare governed by them as truly as a physical element like water in\nactive movement is affected by forces which, if they acted alone,\nwould bring it to a state of permanent rest. The first purpose,\ntherefore, of the present work is to show the presence and dominance\nin the real world of the forces described in the earlier work. It\nbrings static laws into view and endeavors to show how they act at\nany one particular stage of industrial evolution. Even while changes\nare examined, the fact is perceived that there are steadily at work\nforces which, if changes should cease, would make society conform to a\ncertain imaginary static model and makes wages and interest also\nconform to static standards.\n\nAnother purpose of the work is to examine seriatim the effects of\ndifferent changes, to gauge the probability of their continuance, and\nto determine the resultant of all of them acting together. It is\nimportant to know under what conditions changes proceed at a normal\nrate, and when the standard of wages rises as it naturally should. As\nthe actual rate of wages pursues its rising standard, but lags\nsomewhat behind it, it is necessary to know what determines the\ninterval between the two, and when the interval is normal. What is\ncalled \"economic friction\" is the cause of this interval and is an\nelement that is amenable to law.\n\nThere is to be studied, not only the friction which obstructs the\naction of natural forces, but positive perversions of the forces\nthemselves. Of these the chief is monopoly; and its influence, its\ngrowth, the sources of its power, and its prospect of continuance have\nto be determined. The actual tendencies of the economic system are\nagainst it, and so--if we except a few monopolies created for special\nends--are both the spirit and the letter of the civil law. In a\ncountry in which law held complete sway, all objectionable monopolies\nwould be held in repression. In order to see how much economic forces\ncan be made to do in this direction, the present work discusses\nrailroads and their charges, and some of the practices of great\nindustrial corporations, and tries to determine what type of measures\na government should take in dealing with these powerful agents. In\nconnection with monopoly and with the conditions of economic progress\na study is made of trade unions, strikes, boycotts, and the\narbitration of disputes between employers and employed, and also of\nthe policy of the state in connection with them, and with money and\nprotective duties.\n\nIt is my belief that students should become acquainted with the laws\nof Economic Dynamics, and that they can approach the study of them\nadvantageously only after a study of Economic Statics. The present\nwork is in a form which, as is hoped, will make it available for use\nin class rooms, not as a substitute for elementary text-books, but as\nsupplementary to them. It omits a large part of what such books\ncontain, presents what they do not contain, and tries to be of service\nto those who wish for more than a single introductory volume can\noffer.\n\nAn essential part of the theory of wages here stated was presented in\na paper read before the American Economic Association, in December,\n1888, and published in a monograph of the American Economic\nAssociation in March, 1889; and other parts of this theory were issued\nat intervals following that date. The theory of value was published in\nthe _New Englander_ for July, 1881. I had not then chanced to see the\nearly statements of the principle of marginal appraisal contained in\nthe works of Von Thuenen and Jevons, and did not consciously borrow\nanything from their writings, but I gladly render to them the credit\nthat is their due. I do not fear that I shall be supposed to have\nborrowed other parts of the general theory here offered. The theory\nof capital here stated was first presented in a monograph of the\nAmerican Economic Association for May, 1888, and the discussion of\nmoney of which the present work gives a summary, in articles in the\n_Political Science Quarterly_ for September, 1895, and for June and\nSeptember, 1896. The discussion of the relation of protective duties\nto monopoly appeared in the same quarterly for September, 1904.\n\nThe author should, perhaps, apologize for the fewness of the citations\nfrom other works which this volume contains. The richness of the\nrecent literature of Economic Theory, especially in America, would\nhave made it necessary to use much space if the resemblances and the\ncontrasts presented by points in this volume, and corresponding points\nin other volumes, had been noted.\n\nWorthy of special attention, if citations had been given, would have\nbeen the writings of Professors Irving Fisher, Simon N. Patten, and\nFrank A. Fetter of this country, and Professor Friedrich von Wieser of\nPrague, who have worked in various parts of the same field in which\nthe studies here offered belong, and also those of Minister Eugen von\nBoehm-Bawerk of Vienna, who has treated some of the same themes in a\nstrongly contrasted way. If merited attention were paid to the works\nof Hadley, Taussig, Carver, Seligman, Giddings, Seager, Walker, and a\nhost of eminent foreign scholars, a large part of the space in the\nbook would have to be thus preempted.\n\nI desire most gratefully to acknowledge the assistance which in the\npreparation of this book I have received from my colleague, Professor\nH. L. Moore of Columbia University, from my son, Mr. John Maurice\nClark, Fellow in Economics in Columbia University, and from my former\ncolleague, Professor A. S. Johnson of the University of Nebraska.\nBesides reading the manuscript and offering valuable suggestions,\nProfessor Johnson has kindly taken upon himself the reading of the\nproof.\n\n                                                JOHN BATES CLARK.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER                                                         PAGE\n        I. WEALTH AND ITS ORIGIN                                     1\n       II. VARIETIES OF ECONOMIC GOODS                              20\n      III. THE MEASURE OF CONSUMERS' WEALTH                         39\n       IV. THE SOCIALIZATION OF INDUSTRY                            59\n        V. PRODUCTION A SYNTHESIS; DISTRIBUTION AN ANALYSIS         74\n       VI. VALUE AND ITS RELATION TO DIFFERENT INCOMES              92\n      VII. NORMAL VALUE                                            114\n     VIII. WAGES                                                   127\n       IX. THE LAW OF INTEREST                                     146\n        X. RENT                                                    159\n       XI. LAND AND ARTIFICIAL INSTRUMENTS                         174\n      XII. ECONOMIC DYNAMICS                                       195\n     XIII. THE LIMITS OF AN ECONOMIC SOCIETY                       210\n      XIV. EFFECTS OF DYNAMIC INFLUENCES WITHIN THE LIMITED\n           ECONOMIC SOCIETY                                        229\n       XV. PERPETUAL CHANGE OF THE SOCIAL STRUCTURE                244\n      XVI. EFFECT OF IMPROVEMENTS IN METHODS OF PRODUCTION         256\n     XVII. FURTHER INFLUENCES WHICH REDUCE THE HARDSHIPS ENTAILED\n           BY DYNAMIC CHANGES                                      282\n    XVIII. CAPITAL AS AFFECTED BY CHANGES OF METHOD                301\n      XIX. THE LAW OF POPULATION                                   321\n       XX. THE LAW OF ACCUMULATION OF CAPITAL                      339\n      XXI. CONDITIONS INSURING PROGRESS IN METHOD AND\n           ORGANIZATION                                            358\n     XXII. INFLUENCES WHICH PERVERT THE FORCES OF PROGRESS         372\n    XXIII. GENERAL ECONOMIC LAWS AFFECTING TRANSPORTATION          396\n     XXIV. THE FOREGOING PRINCIPLES APPLIED TO THE RAILROAD\n           PROBLEM                                                 416\n      XXV. ORGANIZATION OF LABOR                                   451\n     XXVI. THE BASIS OF WAGES AS FIXED BY ARBITRATION              470\n    XXVII. BOYCOTTS AND THE LIMITING OF PRODUCTS                   503\n   XXVIII. PROTECTION AND MONOPOLY                                 517\n     XXIX. LEADING FACTS CONCERNING MONEY                          538\n      XXX. SUMMARY OF CONCLUSIONS                                  555\n     INDEX                                                         563\n\n\n\n\nESSENTIALS OF ECONOMIC THEORY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nWEALTH AND ITS ORIGIN\n\n\nThe creation and the use of wealth are everywhere governed by natural\nlaws, and these, as discovered and stated, constitute the science of\nEconomics. Some of them come into operation only when men live in more\nor less civilized societies and work in an organized way, while others\nare operative wherever men work at all. Every man who lives must have\nsomething that can be called wealth, and, unless it is given to him,\nhe must do something in order to get it. A solitary hunter, living in\na cave, eating the flesh of animals and clothing himself in their\nskins, would create wealth and use it; but he would not take part in a\nsocial kind of industry. What he does could not be described as a bit\nof \"social,\" \"national,\" or \"political\" economy. Yet the gaining of\nhis living would be an economic operation and would involve a creating\nand using of wealth. A statement of the laws governing the processes\nby which such a man makes the earth yield to him means of support and\ncomfort would constitute a Science of the Economy of Isolated Life,\nwhich is a part of the general Science of Economics.\n\n_Primitive Capital._--If an isolated man hunts with good implements,\nhe gets more game than he would have done if he had not used some of\nhis time in making such implements. It pays such a man to interrupt\nhis hunting long enough to make a spear or a bow and arrows. This\namounts to saying that it is an advantage to him to become, in a\nsimple way, a capitalist as well as a laborer; for the primitive\nimplements of the chase are forms of _productive_ wealth, or capital.\nMoreover, if he possesses foresight, he will keep enough food within\nreach to tide him over periods when game is not to be had, and such a\nstore is another form of capital.\n\n_The Field of General Economics._--The economy of a man who works only\nfor himself is subject to laws that are based on his own nature and\nthe character of his material environment. Because he is what he is\nand because nature is what it is there is a certain way in which he\nmust proceed, if he will live at all, and there are certain conditions\nwhich must exist, if he is to live well. The inherent productive power\nof labor and of capital is of vital concern to him, since he is both a\nlaborer and a capitalist; but he is in no way interested in what we\ncommonly call the relations of labor and capital, since that\nexpression always suggests the dealings of one class of men, who\nlabor, with another class, who own or control productive wealth. The\nstudy of such relations takes us at once into the domain of _Social_\nEconomy; but we can study certain universal laws of wealth without at\nall entering that domain. When we speak of the power that resides in a\nbow and arrow, we refer to a truth of _General_ Economics and one\nwhich illustrates the inherent power of capital, though we may be far\nfrom thinking of lenders and borrowers in a modern \"money market\" or\nof dealings of any one class of men with any other.\n\n_The Field of Social Economics._--The moment that we begin to examine\neconomic relations that different classes of men sustain to each\nother, we enter the realm of _Social_ Economics; and we do this\nwhenever we study modern business dealings. Even our hunter would take\npart in a social economy if he began to sell some of his game; and\nfrom that time on his income would depend, not wholly on his relation\nto material nature, but partly on his relation to other men. A good\nmarket for his game would come to be of the greatest importance to\nhim; and a market for anything implies a social method of securing\nwealth.\n\n_Fundamental Facts Common to Primitive Life and Social Life._--The\nrelations which men sustain to each other in civilized industry are\nthrown into the foreground in the science of Social or \"Political\"\nEconomy.[1] It is an organized system of industry in which we are\nengaged, and it is that which we care most to understand. Until\nrecently we have had a far less satisfactory understanding of the\nsocial element in industry--that is, of the relations that men who are\nproducing wealth sustain to each other--than we have had of such\ngeneral facts as a primitive producer needs to know. We have had, for\nexample, much information concerning the materials which the earth\ncontains and the way to make them useful. We have had a practical\nknowledge of what wealth is and of the mode of creating it, and we\nhave been able to identify it as we have seen it either in the raw or\nthe finished state. We have known what labor is, how it proceeds and\nwhat helps it needs to enable it to make clothing, to prepare food,\netc. We have not known as much about the way in which the modern\nmarket for such products is regulated, and how a modern tailor or\nbaker shares gains with the man who employs him and provides him with\nmaterials and tools, and the main purpose of studying Economics is to\nget an understanding of such social facts; but this cannot be done\nwithout first bringing before the mind the more general facts\nconcerning the inherent nature of wealth itself and of the activities\nthat are always necessary--in uncivilized life as well as in\ncivilized--for creating and using it.\n\n    [1] Past usage renders the somewhat misleading term\n    _Political Economy_ more available than the more accurately\n    descriptive term _Social Economics_, as the title of the\n    science which treats of the creation and use of wealth by an\n    organized society. Either title implies the existence of such\n    an organization, but the word _political_ calls attention to\n    the fact that it is under a government. The fact that, in a\n    study of wealth, is most important is that the exchanges of\n    products which spontaneously take place create an industrial\n    society whose activities, going on as they do under a\n    government, constitute the subject of the studies which are\n    properly indicated by the traditional term, Political\n    Economy. Government as such is not the subject of those\n    studies.\n\n_General Facts First in the Natural Order of Study._--The primitive\nand general facts concerning industry, which, in a broad sense, is the\ncreating of wealth, need to be known before the social facts can\nprofitably be studied; and a statement of the principles of Political\nEconomy should therefore begin by presenting a body of truth which is\nindependent of politics and sociology and so general that it is\nillustrated even in that simplest of all conditions, in which no\nmarket exists and every man makes by his own labor all the goods that\nhe uses. The wealth of a Crusoe, that of a solitary Esquimau, and that\nof a pygmy in equatorial Africa have laws as well as that of a\nEuropean or American employer or bondholder. The qualities in matter\nwhich make a share of it important for promoting the welfare of its\npossessor can be detected in the simplest commodities that are\nanywhere used. All kinds of industrial products have a common origin.\nLabor and capital act together in making a birch canoe as truly as\nthey do in producing a transatlantic liner; and the productive power\nof each of these two agents is everywhere governed by certain general\nlaws. Before ascertaining what is true of wealth when capital has\nbecome complex and when laborers have become specialists, each\nproducing one particular part of one product and securing many\nfinished goods in exchange for it, it is well to state some facts\nrelating to wealth which are so general that they appear in all stages\nof civilization.\n\n_The Nature of Wealth._--The old English word _weal_ describes a\ncondition of life. It is the state of being \"well off,\" or of having\none's wants amply supplied. Well-being in a broad sense of the term\nmay depend largely on a man's state of health, his temperament, his\nconscience, or his relation to his friends; but the weal that is so\nsecured is not described as a state of wealth. That depends on the\npossession of useful and material things, and the rich man has more of\nthem than other men. The term _wealth_, which originally signified the\nstate of being rich, afterwards came to be applied to the things which\nmake a man rich, and it is thus that the term is used in the science\nof Economics.\n\n_What Things constitute Wealth._--It is clear that useful things, like\nair, which are at hand in unlimited quantity, do not make any one\nrich in this comparative sense, for they benefit all alike; and, in so\nfar as they are concerned, all men are on the same level of welfare.\nMoreover, since they are so abundant as to shower benefits everywhere\nin profusion, the quantity of them that a man has at his disposal may\nbe lost or thrown away with entire impunity. He would only have to\nhelp himself again from the abounding supply which nature thrusts on\nhim in order to be as well off as he was before. A bucketful of water\non the shore of Lake Superior is of no importance to the man who has\nit. If it were spilled on the sand, the man would have only to dip up\nanother bucketful, with an expenditure of effort that would be too\nsmall to take account of. If, however, fresh water were scarce, every\nbucketful would have its importance, and the loss of that quantity\nwould make a distinct impression on the man's well-being. Whenever\neach particular part of the supply has this power to make a possessor\nbetter off than he would be without it, the substance is a form of\nwealth. The quality of being _specifically_ important is, therefore,\nthe essential attribute of all the concrete forms of wealth. Sand by\nthe seashore does not have any specific importance, since it is so\nabundant that the gain or loss of a wheelbarrow load would not make a\nman better off or worse off; but a pile of sand by the side of an\nunfinished building has this quality. There every barrow load is of\nconsequence, for the available quantity is so small that diminutions\nreduce and additions increase the wealth of the possessor. Sand on the\nshore has the inherent power to help make mortar, and water in Lake\nSuperior has the power to quench thirst, but neither of them has the\nattribute which would make it a form of wealth, namely, specific\nimportance. Particular parts of the supply may be lost with impunity.\n\n_Varieties of Utility._--We have used the term _importance_, rather\nthan usefulness or utility, to describe the quality which, if it\nexists in every particular bit of a substance, makes it all a form of\nwealth. With due care we may use the term _utility_. In a way even a\ncup of water dipped by a fisherman from the lake is useful, for it\nrenders a service. Though the man might lose it and be no poorer, he\ncannot say that the thing has no utility of any kind. He can say that\nit has no importance. What it has we may call _absolute_ utility, or\nthe power to do for a man something which he wishes to have done. When\nthe fisherman is thirsty the water will do him good. It has an\nabsolute service-rendering power; and yet this cupful makes the owner\nno better off than he would be without it, since the service which it\nis capable of rendering would be rendered whether the man had it or\nnot. Absolute utility in an article is the power to render any service\nwhatever, regardless of the question whether it would be rendered\nequally well if the article were absent. If conditions were such that\nthe man would have to go thirsty in case he spilled his cupful of\nwater, then this little supply would have what we may term _effective_\nutility, and this means that the presence of the particular bit is a\npositive element in conducing to the man's welfare. Usable things have\nabsolute utility even when they are superabundant, but they have\neffective utility only when the quantity of them is so limited that\nevery particular bit of it is of some importance. Absolute utility\nand limitation of supply insure to them this quality; and this\nprinciple holds true in the economy of the most primitive state as\nwell as in that of a civilized one.\n\n_The Origin of Wealth._--Some of the things that have this kind[2] of\nutility have been given to man by nature. She has furnished some\nmaterials that are useful and has not furnished them in quantities\nsufficient to prevent them from being _specifically_ important. On\naccount of the comparatively niggardly way in which she has doled them\nout to man, every bit of the supply has a power to benefit him; and if\nhe gains some portions, he goes upward in the scale of well-being, and\nif he loses some, he goes downward. Wild fruits and fruit trees come\nin this category; and a savage who should build his hut in a small\ngrove of banana trees, if he could keep other people out of it, would\nbe, by so much, better off than they. The grove and its fruits would\nconstitute their owner's wealth.\n\n    [2] The term _final_ utility is used with much the same\n    significance as specific importance. It is the utility of the\n    last and least important part of the supply, and the use of\n    the term requires us to think of the supply as offered to\n    users unit by unit till the whole amount is in their hands.\n    The first unit, when it stands alone, is more important than\n    any later one will be. The second is of less consequence, and\n    the last is the least important of all. When, however, all\n    have been supplied and are together available for use, one is\n    as important as another. Each one has an effective utility\n    which is measured by the service rendered by the last one.\n    The term _specific_ indicates that we measure the importance\n    of the supply of an article not in its entirety, but bit by\n    bit, while the term _effective_ is the antithesis of\n    _absolute_ and means that each bit of the supply not only\n    renders an absolute service, but renders one which would not\n    be gratuitously rendered by some other part of the supply in\n    case this portion were removed or destroyed. We do not here\n    think of the supply as built up from nothing to its present\n    size bit by bit, but look at it as it stands and measure the\n    importance of any particular quantity. When we speak of final\n    utility, we think of a series of \"increments\" supplied one\n    after another, and in this case the successive increments\n    become less and less important, since, after some have been\n    supplied, the want of the kind of good that they represent is\n    less keenly felt. The conception of the series of units is\n    merely a means of isolating one unit from a total number and\n    obtaining a mental measurement of its importance which\n    corresponds with the effective importance of any unit in the\n    entire quantity.\n\n_Land an Original Form of Wealth._--Land is the original gift of\nnature to humanity, and wherever there are people enough to make the\npossession of a particular piece of it important, it becomes a form of\nwealth. It can be valueless only when population is very sparse; and\nthen an increase in the number of people dwelling on it gives to it\nearly the attribute of specific importance. The land that is\naccessible to a growing population cannot long be superabundant.\n\n_Forms of Wealth produced by Labor._--Few useful goods are presented\nto man by nature in a finished state, and it is therefore necessary\nfor man to exert himself in order to get the goods that he needs in\nthe condition in which he can use them. He must make raw substances\nmore useful than they naturally are, and as he does this the things\nbecome partly products of his labor. Of course the supply of them is\nlimited, since labor is so.\n\n_Labor a Wealth Creator._--Labor is a wealth-creating effort, and\nthere is no labor that is successful in attaining its purpose that\ndoes not help to bring into a serviceable condition something that can\nbe identified as an economic good or a form of wealth. Some effort,\nindeed, fails in what it attempts to do and therefore produces\nnothing. We may build a machine that will not work, or make a product\nthat no one wants; but labor that attains a rational purpose is always\neconomically productive.\n\n_Protective Labor and the Attribute it imparts to Useful\nMatter._--Labor may be classed according to the particular result that\nit accomplishes. In saying that the banana grove in our illustration\nis wealth to the savage who resides in it, we had to insert the\nproviso that he is able to keep other persons out of it. Exclusive\npossession or ownership is necessary in order that things may continue\nto be effectively useful to any particular person or persons. If they\nare superabundant, as we have seen, no part of the supply is\nimportant; but it is also true that if they are scarce and a man is\nnot able to keep any of them, they will not serve him. In order that\nan economic good may be effective, it must be appropriable, and where\nclaimants are numerous and lawless it may take much of the owner's\ntime and effort to keep the article in his possession. The savage must\npersonally protect his goods, and to some extent the civilized man\nmust do so; for however well policed a city may be, it will not\ndo to leave purses or portable goods by the wayside. Protective\nlabor is necessary in all stages of social advancement. In civilized\nlife, indeed, we delegate much of it to a special class of\npersons,--policemen, judges, lawyers, and legislators,--and this is\nthe most fundamental division of labor that civilization entails; but\nthe work has to be done in any stage of social evolution. Crusoe's\ngoods would have been worth nothing to him if he could not have kept\nthem from the savages who, in time, appeared on his island; and they\nwould have been worth little if he had been forced to spend most of\nhis time in guarding them.\n\nAppropriability is, therefore, a further essential attribute of the\nthings which can make particular men richer by reason of their\npresence. When such things are actually brought into ownership, their\nutilities become available, as they would not otherwise be. Effort\nexpended in protecting property is wealth-creating, since it causes\nthose service-rendering powers which otherwise would be only potential\nin goods to become active. In other words, it gives to things which\nare otherwise in a condition to be effectively useful a further\nquality which they require in order that they may actually promote an\nowner's well-being.\n\n_Industrial Labor._--Industrial labor is the antithesis of protective\nlabor, and it invariably changes the qualities of material objects in\nsuch a way as to make them useful; that is to say, it directly creates\nutilities.[3] These utilities are of different kinds, and the labor\nmay be classified according to the kind it creates.\n\n    [3] The term _create_ is here used in a somewhat loose\n    sense and does not imply that the man originates matter or\n    even that he always transforms it without calling in, as an\n    aid, the forces of nature. The farmer must depend on vital\n    forces in soil and air in order to raise a crop. What he and\n    other laborers do is to cause the product in some way to come\n    into existence, and he and they may in this sense be said to\n    create the products which would not appear without them.\n\n_Elementary Utility._--An elementary utility is created when a\nsubstance is either dug out of the ground, as is done in mining, or\nwhen it is secured through the vital forces of the earth, as is done\nin agriculture. Hunting, fishing, and stock raising should be classed\nwith agriculture, since they use the resources of animate nature to\nsecure for mankind new raw products on which labor will confer further\nuseful qualities. This utility has to be created by men in every stage\nof industrial development, from that of a tropical savage to that of\nmen in the most advanced civilization.[4]\n\n    [4] The distinction between elementary utility and others\n    does not need to be applied with the utmost strictness, for\n    mining creates form utility by breaking up masses of ore, and\n    place utility by making them accessible. Agriculture shapes\n    its products and moves them to places of storage. It is\n    convenient in practice to adhere to the more general\n    classification suggested in the text.\n\n_Form Utility._--A form utility is created when a raw material is\nfashioned into a new shape, subdivided, or combined with other\nmaterials, as is done in manufacturing and, in a certain way, in\ncommerce. Buying goods in bulk and selling them in small quantities is\nthe creating of form utilities and makes an addition to total wealth.\nOil in small cans is worth far more for consumption than it would be\nif each consumer were forced to buy a tankful. Sugar is worth more to\na consumer when it is doled out to him in paper sacks than it would be\nif it were to be had only in hogsheads. Merchants are not mere\nexchangers, for they make positive additions to the utility of goods.\nIn primitive life no such class exists; and yet form utilities of\nevery kind are created, since men make for themselves the goods that\nthey use and adapt them in shape and in quantity to their current\nneeds.\n\n_Place Utility._--Carrying things to places where they become more\nuseful creates place utilities. In primitive life men do their own\ncarrying; but in civilized states the common carrier does most of it,\nand so imparts place utility to matter on the most extensive scale.\nAll useful transportation creates this quality, which is a general\nattribute of wealth; and the operation of so moving matter as to\ncreate place utility is one of the general functions of labor.[5]\n\n    [5] In a way all kinds of production may be analyzed into the\n    moving of matter. In cutting up raw materials a manufacturer\n    moves waste portions away from those that are to be utilized,\n    while combining materials, of course, moves them toward each\n    other. Neither of these operations creates place utility.\n    This quality consists in a relation, not between some\n    materials and others, but between goods and the persons who\n    are to use them. Bringing things to us from a distance\n    changes their local relation to us, and in this is the\n    essence of place utility, and every article that we use must\n    have acquired this quality. The service-rendering power which\n    it possesses is only potential until it reaches a place where\n    the power can be exercised.\n\n_Time Utility._--There is, moreover, a kind of utility which depends\non the existence of a good at the time when it is needed. Ice in the\nwarm season, a plow in the spring or the fall, a pleasure boat in\nsummer, and anything which, by the aid of capital, is presented to a\nuser when he needs it, illustrate this quality. We may call it time\nutility, and creating it is a function of capital. We shall see how\ncapital assists in the production of the other utilities; but the\ncreation of time utility it accomplishes without assistance.\n\n_Executive and Directive Labor._--Labor involves the whole man,\nphysical, mental, and moral. No labor is so simple that it is not\nbetter done when intelligence is used in the performance of it. The\nsavage's hut, his canoe, his bows and arrows, etc., vary in their\nefficiency and value, not merely according to the time and muscular\neffort spent in making them, but also according to the efficiency of\nthe thought by which those efforts are guided. There is here the germ\nof the difference between the executive labor of the modern employee\nand the directive labor of the manager. Yet no manager directs in more\nthan a general way the muscular movements of his subordinates, and\ntheir own intelligence must still be trusted to do much of the\ndirecting. The mental labor that guides and controls the physical is\nuniversal in industry, but becomes more and more a distinct and\ndominant factor as civilization increases.\n\n_Fidelity as affecting the Productivity of Labor._--The fact that all\nworkmen are largely their own directors brings fidelity into the\nforeground as an element in determining men's earning power; but this\nelement counts for much more in the civilized state than it does in\nthe primitive one, for here fidelity in directive laborers of the\nhighest type is most important and difficult to secure. One of the\ngreatest problems of modern business is how to make directors and\nexecutive officers of corporations faithful to the stockholders who\nemploy them. In the primitive state these problems do not arise. When\na man is working for himself, mere interest largely takes the place of\nfidelity. If to-day any one secures a good house of his own to live\nin, it is because he employs contractors, overseers, and artisans all\nof whom are, in the main, faithful to his interests and see that the\nwork of building is properly done. A savage looks after his own\ninterests as his personal work proceeds; and yet even in his case\nthere is the germ of that enthronement of character in the supreme\nplace which is the prominent feature of highly organized industry. In\nbuilding a hut to shelter his family, a savage puts into his work\nconscience and affection as well as muscular effort; and when the\nmother of the family does this work, the altruistic element in it is\nstill more conspicuous. As society becomes highly organized the\nimportance of the moral element in all labor increases till the\nfurther progress, or even the existence, of the social order may be\nsaid to depend on it. In the world of business there is now distrust\nand turmoil, and revolutions are feared, because of the unfaithfulness\nof a class of men to trusts committed to them.[6]\n\n    [6] On the ground of convenience, we may classify labor as\n    physical or mental, according as the work of muscle or of\n    brain is especially prominent. Digging a ditch requires more\n    than an average amount of strength and not even an average\n    amount of intelligence, and it is, therefore, physical labor\n    rather than mental; while writing a brief or arguing a case\n    in court requires much power of thought and only a small\n    amount of muscular strength, and is typically mental labor.\n    Managing an estate for an absent owner is more largely a\n    moral function, since the value of the service depends\n    chiefly on the fidelity of the man who renders it; but\n    physical and intellectual labor are also involved. These\n    three types of personal effort are exerted wherever wealth is\n    created.\n\n_The Requisites of Production._--If we start with nothing but the\nearth in its natural state, inhabited by empty-handed men, and seek to\nknow what is necessary in order that some wealth may be created, we\nfind that nothing is absolutely necessary except labor. By working for\na few minutes it is possible to get something that will minister\ndirectly to wants. Yet if men begin operations in a state of such\npoverty that they have only their bare hands to apply to the elements\nabout them, they do not commonly get the usable goods immediately. If\na savage wants fish and makes the rudest net with which to catch them,\nhe makes what is a _capital good_. This is wanted only for the sake of\nthe consumers' wealth which it will help to produce. The end in view\nhas all the while been fish; but the man works first on an instrument\nfor catching them. He makes the net by mere labor, but he catches the\nfish by means of labor and the net. Without such instruments to aid in\nproduction a dense population could not live at all, and a very sparse\none could live only in a meager and precarious way. If the instruments\nare artificially made, or if they are furnished by nature in limited\namounts, they are forms of wealth, or goods; but as their function is\nnot to minister directly to consumers' wants, but to help in making\nthings which do this, we distinguish them by the name \"producers'\ngoods\" or \"capital goods.\" In contrast with them those commodities\nwhich directly minister to wants may be called \"consumers' goods.\"\n\n_The Production of Intermediate Goods._--All economic goods are means\nto an end. Wealth is always mediate. It is usually a connecting link\nbetween man's labor and the satisfaction of his wants. Man, the\nworker, first spends himself on nature, and then nature in turn spends\nitself on him. In production nature is the recipient, but in\nconsumption the recipient is man. This is saying that man serves\nhimself by means of some element in nature which, under his\nmanipulation, becomes a form of wealth. He thrusts a bit of natural\nmatter between himself as a producer and himself as a consumer. All\nkinds of wealth, then, stand in an intermediate position between\noriginal labor and the gratification that ultimately results from it.\nSome goods, however, are means in the special sense of standing\nbetween labor and other goods. Instruments help to make consumers'\ngoods and these add to man's pleasure. Using a tool is not generally\nagreeable. The tool stands not only between the effort and the\ngratification that will ultimately follow, but between the effort and\nthe further material good that will directly produce gratification.\nThe hatchet intervenes between the labor that makes it and the\nfirewood it will cut, while the wood acts directly on the man and\nkeeps him warm. Capital goods are in this special sense mediate. They\nare not wanted for their own sake, but for the sake of something else\nthat is directly useful.[7]\n\n    [7] For an elaboration of the conception of mediate goods the\n    reader is referred to Von Boehm-Bawerk's work on \"Positive\n    Theory of Capital\" and to John Rae's work on \"The\n    Sociological Theory of Capital.\"\n\n_All Labor immediately Productive of Wealth._--When a savage abandons\nthe plan of fishing from the shore and gives his labor for a fortnight\nto making a canoe with which to fish more effectively, he interposes\nan interval of time between his labor and its ultimate fruits, the\nconsumers' goods. There is no such interval between the labor and the\nkind of wealth that it first creates, namely, the canoe. This\nimmediate product of labor is itself a form of wealth and at once\nrewards the laborer, since it is what he needs, though he does not\nneed it for consumption. Industry always pays as it goes and tolerates\nno hiatus between labor and wealth in some form.\n\n_Organized Industry immediately Productive of Consumers' Goods._--If\none man were keeping the stock of canoes of a few fishermen in repair\nand taking as his pay a share of each day's catch, he would not have\nto wait for his food any longer than the fishermen themselves. This\nmode of conducting the industry, however, involves organization. If\neach fisherman had to make his first canoe, it would be necessary for\nhim to wait for fish; but as soon as a stock of canoes has been\nobtained and a special set of men assigned to the work of keeping this\nstock intact in number and quality, that necessity entirely ceases.\nFive men may do nothing but fish while a sixth keeps their stock of\ncanoes intact by repairing old ones left on the shore and making new\nones to replace such as are beyond repairing. Fishing and boat\nbuilding may go on simultaneously, and all the men may go share and\nshare in each day's catch.[8] This is a type of what goes on in modern\nindustry, where a complex stock of capital goods always exists and is\nkept intact by the action of a class of persons who share the returns\nthat come from using the stock. None of these persons has to wait for\nfood, although some of them devote themselves exclusively to the\nproduction of tools. This fact shows that the necessity for waiting,\nas well as working, wherever instruments are in the process of\nmanufacture, is not among the universal phenomena of economics, and\nthat it is not present in that organized industry which we chiefly\nstudy. Such a permanent stock of capital goods as the fishing\ncommunity of our illustration possesses would enable it to get its\nfood, the fish, day by day, by working in different ways and using the\npermanent stock. If we call this permanent supply of canoes, etc.,\n_capital_, it is, _in a causal way_, mediate wealth, though it is not\nso in point of time. Some labor is spent each day on it, and itself\ncreates each day some consumers' wealth. These two operations go on\nsimultaneously, and the men who work to maintain the stock and those\nwho use it get their returns together. In very primitive life the work\nspent on capital goods and that spent on consumers' goods are not\nalways synchronous, but organization and the acquiring of a permanent\nfund of capital make them so. Work to-day and you eat to-day food that\nis a consequence of the working. In point of time the canoe makers are\nfed as promptly as the fishermen, and this fact is duplicated in every\npart of the industrial system. We shall later see more fully what this\nsignifies, but it is clear that any study of this phenomenon--the\nsynchronizing of labor and its reward--takes us out of the field of\nUniversal Economics, since it does not appear in the industry of\nprimitive beginnings, but is the fruit of organization.[9]\n\n    [8] One man might be employed in guarding canoes and fish\n    against theft, which is doing protective rather than\n    industrial labor; and economic forces would tend to give him\n    a share as large as each of the others receives, provided, of\n    course, that the men are of equal capacity as workers.\n\n    [9] The conception of capital goods as always putting\n    enjoyments into the future has crept into economic science\n    because in certain illustrations taken from primitive life\n    they seem to have that effect. We shall see that they do not\n    have it at all in _static_ social industry, and that they\n    have it only in a limited way in _dynamic_ social industry,\n    or that which is carried on by a society undergoing organic\n    change.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nVARIETIES OF ECONOMIC GOODS\n\n\n_Passive Capital Goods._--Labor spends itself on materials, and these,\nin their rawest state, are furnished by nature herself. They \"ripen\"\nas the work goes on. Every touch that is put on them imparts to them\nmore of the utility which is the essence of wealth. They are\ntechnically \"goods,\" or concrete forms of wealth, from the moment when\nthey begin to acquire this utility, though for a time they are in an\nunfinished state. The function of materials, raw or partly finished,\nin the physical operation of industry is a passive one, since they\nreceive utility and do not impart it. The iron is passive under the\nblows of the blacksmith's hammer; leather is passive under the action\nof the shoemaker's sewing machine; a log is passive under the action\nof the lumberman's saw, etc. The materials which are thus receiving\nutilities under the producers' manipulations constitute a distinct\nvariety of capital goods, while the implements which help to impart\nthe utilities constitute another variety, and both kinds are present\nin all stages of industrial evolution. Savages use raw materials and\ntools for fashioning them.\n\n_Active Capital Goods._--The hammer which fashions the iron, the awl\nwhich pierces the leather, and the saw that cuts the log into boards\nhave an active function to perform. They do not receive utilities,\nbut impart them. They manipulate other things and are not themselves\nmanipulated; and except as unavoidable wear and tear injure or destroy\nthem, they are not themselves at all changed by the processes in which\nthey take part. They are the workman's active assistants in the\nattacks that he makes on the resisting elements of nature. Passive\ninstruments, then, and active ones--things which receive utility, as\nindustry goes on, and those which impart utility--constitute the two\ngeneric kinds of capital goods. What is commonly called \"circulating\ncapital\" is a permanent stock of passive capital goods; and, in like\nmanner, what is usually known as \"fixed capital\" is such a stock of\ncapital goods of the active kind. The materials and the unfinished\ngoods that are scattered through a modern mill and receiving utility\nare what the manufacturer would at this moment identify if he were\nasked to point out the things in which he has circulating capital\ninvested; while the mill, the machinery, the land, etc., which are\nimparting utility, are what he can point to as now constituting his\nfixed capital. At a later time there will be other goods of both kinds\nin his possession, and these will at that time embody the two kinds of\ncapital. While a primitive man would have little occasion to use the\nterm _capital goods_, he would possess both varieties of the goods\nwhich the term denotes.\n\n_Varieties of Active Capital Goods._--Mere hand tools act as armatures\nattached to the person of the worker, and they enable him effectively\nto attack resisting substances. The hammer fortifies the blacksmith's\nhand against the injuries it would suffer if he delivered blows with\nhis fist, and it multiplies the efficiency of the blows. Machines,\nhowever, substitute themselves for the person of the worker and carry\nthe tool through its movements. A steam hammer, so called, is an\nengine that gets power from a boiler and wields an armature, which is\nthe real hammer, much as a smith would do it, though with far greater\nforce and effect. Machines do rapidly and accurately what a manual\nlaborer would, without them, have to do slowly and imperfectly, by\ncarrying the armature in his own hand and moving it by his own\nmuscular strength. Tools and machines impart \"form utility\" to\nmaterials. Vehicles which carry goods impart \"place utility\" to them\nby putting them where they are more useful than they would be\nelsewhere. Buildings protect goods and workers alike, and enable the\noperation of transforming them to go on successfully. They also make\nit possible to store goods at a time when they are not needed and take\nthem out for use when they are needed. In doing this, buildings help\nto impart \"time utility\" to the merchandise that is put into them by\nkeeping them intact till the time comes when they will be useful.\nTools, machines, reservoirs of water, canals, roadways, buildings, and\neven land itself are active capital goods, and are, for that reason,\ncomponent elements of that part of the permanent productive fund which\nis known as fixed capital. They aid workers in their efforts to bring\nmaterials into usable shapes, and this is as true of the hole in the\nearth in which a savage stores provisions as it is of a fireproof\nwarehouse in a modern city.\n\n_Materials which are at first Passive and later pass into the Active\nState._--The hammer itself has to be made out of raw material, and,\nwhile it is in the making, the material that enters into it is as\npassive as anything else. While the ore is smelting and while the\nsteel is forging, the future hammer is in a preliminary stage of its\nexistence and is discharging a passive function. When it is completely\nfinished, its period of activity begins, and from this time on it\nhelps to manipulate other things. The materials which enter into\nconsumers' goods go through no such transition. The leather remains\npassive till, in the form of a pair of shoes, it clothes its user's\nfeet; and at this point it ceases to be a capital good at all. The\nsteel of the hammer is first a passive good and later an active one.\n\n_The Use of Capital Goods Universal._--There is no doubt that capital\ngoods are used in the most primitive industry. Implements existed in\ntimes too remote for tracing; and even if they had not been used, raw\nmaterial would have been indispensable. People living in an economic\nstage so ultraprimitive as to use no mediate goods whatever could\nsustain life only by plucking wild fruit or gathering fish or other\nfood stuff by hand, and so long as they could do this their industry\nmight conceivably consist in getting consumers' goods by labor only.\nThe rudest pick, shovel, or ax and the simplest hunting implement are\nearly types of what, in \"capitalistic production,\" is represented by\nmills with their intricate machines, ships, railroads, and the like.\nPrimitive industry has capital but is not highly capitalistic, since\nlabor and a little capital in simple forms are all that it requires.\nThese primitive capital goods are still essential.\n\n_Capital._--It might seem that we have already described the nature of\ncapital, but we have not. We have described the kinds of goods of\nwhich it consists. A sharp distinction is to be drawn between two ways\nof treating capital goods, and only one of these ways affords a\ntreatment of capital properly so called. To attain that concept we\nmust think of goods as in some way constituting a stock which abides\nas long as the business continues. And yet the things themselves\nseparately considered do not abide. Goods are perishable things; no\none lasts forever, and some last only a very short time. Raw materials\nbest serve their purpose when they are quickly transformed into usable\ngoods and taken out of the category of productive instruments. Tools\nmay last longer, but they ultimately wear out and have to be replaced.\n\n_How Capital Goods Originate and Perish._--If you watch a particular\nmediate good of the passive kind, say wood in a growing tree, you see\nit beginning its career as an absolutely raw material, and then under\nthe hand of labor, aided by tools, receiving utility till it takes its\nfinal form in some article for a consumer's use, say a dining table.\nLittle labor is applied to it during the first stage of the process,\nthat in which the tree is guarded and allowed to grow to a size that\nfits it for conversion into lumber; but the cutting, carrying, sawing,\nand fashioning are done by labor and tools, and under their\nmanipulations the wood \"ripens\" in the economic sense--that is, it\nbecomes quite fit for consumption. It is ready to serve a consumer as\na table, and, when this service begins, the wood that up to this point\nhas been a passive capital good, constantly receiving utilities, will\ncease to be a capital good at all and begin slowly to wear out in the\nservice of its owner.[1]\n\n    [1] In the economic sense consumption is the utilization\n    rather than the destruction of the thing consumed, though\n    many things go rapidly to destruction in the process. Food is\n    destroyed in the moment of using; clothing perishes more\n    slowly by use, and furniture and dwellings more slowly still.\n    Some things that go gradually to destruction during the\n    process of utilization do not perish the more rapidly because\n    of it. A vase, a statue, or a picture is consumed, in the\n    economic sense, by a person's act of looking at it and\n    getting pleasure from it; but this does not hasten its\n    deterioration except as keeping such an ornament where it can\n    be seen exposes it to deterioration or accident. Climbing a\n    hill to get a view \"consumes\" the hill in a true sense, and\n    looking from the summit over a wide stretch of picturesque\n    country even consumes--that is, utilizes--the landscape; and\n    certainly this act does not injure the thing utilized. The\n    general fact, however, that goods for final use are, as a\n    rule, injured or destroyed either by the act of consumption\n    or by the exposures that are incidental to it, justifies the\n    use of this term to express the receiving of a service from\n    the usable article. It is a process in which the commodity\n    acts on men's sensibilities and, as a general rule, exhausts\n    itself while so doing. It is worth remembering that this\n    exhaustion of the good is not the essential part of\n    consumption. On the man's side that consists in deriving\n    benefits from the good, while on the side of the good itself\n    it consists in conferring benefit on the man--in doing him\n    good and not in doing itself harm.\n\n_The Transition of Goods from one State to Another._--The beginning of\nits service in the purchaser's dining room takes the wood of the table\nout of the category of producers' goods; but there is some raw\nmaterial that is never destined to emerge from that category and enter\nanother. Its last state of existence as a good will be that in which\nit is embodied, not in an article for consumers' use, but in an active\ntool. Our tree might have furnished some of its wood for a\nwheelbarrow, and if so, that part of it would have been a capital good\nuntil it ceased to be an economic good at all. If we watch it as it\ngrows toward its economic maturity, we see it sawed, planed, and\notherwise fashioned under the laborer's hand, and maintaining during\nall this time its passive attitude, just as does the wood that is\ndestined to constitute a table. When the wheelbarrow is completed, it\ndoes not, like the table, begin to minister directly to consumers'\nwants, but begins actively to aid some laborer in a further productive\noperation. It carries mortar to the wall of an unfinished building and\nis thus taken out of the list of passive goods--recipients of\nutility--and is ranged with other active tools which impart utility.\nThe same thing is true of the steel that is destined to compose the\nhead of a modern woodman's ax or the stone that is in process of\nfashioning into the rude hatchet of some primitive savage. As raw or\npartly wrought material it is a passive capital good; later it becomes\nan instrument of the active sort.\n\n_The Ultimate Perishability of all Kinds of Goods artificially\nMade._--In the end both kinds of material will cease to be capital\ngoods. The raw stuff that goes into food, clothing, furnishings, or\nthe like will become consumers' goods, while the raw material of tools\nwill, in its final form, the tools themselves, have one more lease of\nlife as capital goods. In the end, however, as wheelbarrows, axes,\nhatchets, and the whole long list of active implements are used up,\nthey cease to be capital goods because they cease to be economic goods\nat all. They are as truly ordained to be ultimately used up as are\nfood and clothing, and this is true of the most durable things that\nare artificially made. Walls, roadways, bridges, and buildings slowly\ndeteriorate till the time comes when for productive purposes their\nroom is worth more than their company.\n\n_Why the Perishability of Capital Goods does not put Capital out of\nExistence._--Perishability is the most striking trait of capital\ngoods. Each particular one comes and goes, but there is always a stock\nof them on hand; for when one is on the point of going, another is\nready to take its place and keep up the succession. New tools replace\nold tools; new materials replace those that are finished and\nwithdrawn, and so it comes about that a stock of such things abides\nforever. Not one of the individual instruments is permanent, for each\none only does its part in keeping up an endless procession. It is the\nprocession that is always there--a moving series of individual goods,\nnot one of which has more than a transient economic career. Each one\nhelps to keep up the supply of permanent capital just as each man,\ntaking his turn in an endless succession of laborers, serves during\nhis brief life to keep up the permanent force of laboring humanity.\nMen come and go, but \"labor\"--a mass of working humanity--abides; and\nso capital goods come and go, but a stock of them abides, kept up by\nperpetual replacement. We may trace the career of any single\ninstrument from a beginning to an end; but we may, on the other hand,\ncease to look at any instruments that we single out and identify and\nlook rather at the procession of them; and if we do this, we look at a\nbody which never wastes away, though the things that compose it are,\nseparately considered, forever wasting.\n\nThere are many kinds of transient things which, by the same process of\nrenewal, constitute permanent entities. Composing a human body at this\nmoment are certain tissues that can be separately identified; and if\nwe watch any one of them, we shall see it going in a short time to\ndestruction. Yet the body lasts while life continues. Indeed, the\nevidence of the life itself is the discarding and replacing of the\ntissues. A living body is a durable thing, though the particular\ntissues that at any one time compose it are not so. In a like way\ndrops of water make a river, and this is a permanent thing, however\nrapidly its composition changes. The waterfall that drives the\nmachinery of a mill is permanent, though no particular particle of\nwater remains in it for more than a moment. Society is permanent,\nthough the men who compose it are short-lived. In an exactly similar\nway a body of capital goods is maintained as a perpetual\ninstrumentality of production. _This is capital properly so called._\nIt is, as it were, a quasi-living body, perpetuated by the constant\nreplacement of the component parts, which are destroyed as its normal\nactivities go on.\n\n_The Difference between Capital Goods and Capital Summarized._--The\ndistinction between capital goods, on the one hand, and capital, on\nthe other, is, then, like that between particular tissues and a living\nbody, or like that between particular particles of water in the river\nand the river that flows forever. We can single out and watch certain\ndrops of the water as they flow from a spring, and we can trace them\nthrough their brief careers, and say truly that the river is composed\nof fickle and transient stuff; but we cannot say that the river is\ntransient. That is perpetuated by the renewing of the supply of water\nas the original drops disappear. We can mentally watch a particular\nman, as he enters the social force of workmen, labors for a time, and\ndrops out of the line, and can see that society is composed of\ntransient material; but society itself is an abiding thing. So we can\nstudy a particular bit of ore or wool or leather or a particular\nhammer or spindle or sewing machine, and in those cases we shall be\nstudying capital goods and finding how perishable they are; but we\nshall also see that a stock of them always abides as the capital of\neconomic society. We can cease to look at individual things and study\nthe permanent fund of productive wealth, which is made up of goods\nlike ore, wool, leather, hammers, spindles, and sewing machines. The\nidentity of the things which make up this stock is forever changing.\nThe same list of things we shall never find in the stock on any two\ndates, but a supply of similar things forever abides. _Capital is this\npermanent fund of productive goods, the identity of whose component\nelements is forever changing. Capital goods are the shifting component\nparts of this permanent aggregate._ They are the particular\ninstruments that, each during its own brief economic lifetime, take\ntheir places in the endless procession of things which in its entirety\nis an abiding productive agent--the co-worker of labor and its\nperpetual assistant in creating consumers' wealth.\n\n_The Business Man's View of Capital._--It is as such an abiding entity\nthat a business man regards capital. He describes it nearly always as\na sum of money. Thus the capital of a manufacturer is \"a million\ndollars\" because a stock of instruments worth that amount is kept\nintact in his possession. It is not allowed to waste away, however\nmuch the constituent parts of it may shift. The waste and renewal\nwhich business entails leave the equivalent of the million dollars\nalways on hand, though never in the literal shape of money. A stock of\nshifting goods always worth a million dollars is, by a figure of\nspeech, described as a million dollars \"invested in the goods.\"[2]\n\n    [2] We here put out of sight all questions connected with the\n    changing purchasing power of money. This is, in ordinary\n    times, the business man's habit. He considers his capital\n    intact if the number of dollars invested originally in his\n    business still appears on his inventory as representing the\n    net surplus of his assets over his liabilities. If a currency\n    were undergoing rapid inflation, a fixed amount of invested\n    money would represent a shrinking stock of capital goods.\n    This stock would last always, but would grow smaller by a\n    true standard of measurement. All that we are at present\n    interested in knowing is that practical usage treats capital\n    as a permanent fund of productive wealth, and most\n    conveniently describes it as a fixed amount of money\n    \"invested\" in goods of a productive kind. What is thought of\n    as \"money\" abides. Of course the practical man does not\n    regard it as actually composed of currency.\n\n_The Chief Attribute of Capital._--A chief attribute of capital,\nproperly so called, is permanence. If a man's productive fund does not\nlast, he is impoverished. The farmer keeps on hand a more or less\nconstant supply of the implements he has to use. He takes a part of\nthe proceeds of the sale of his crops, puts it into the shape of\nimplements and materials, and in this way keeps an amount of them on\nhand as the auxiliary capital of agriculture. Particular goods are not\nconstant, but the sum of money or quantum of wealth \"invested\" in the\nmoving procession of them is so. At any one instant the capital is\ncomposed of particular instruments which can be sought out and\nidentified, but at no two instants are the goods the same.\n\n_The Reasons for describing Capital as a Sum of Money._--This fact\nexplains the general practice of describing capital in terms of money.\nThe manufacturer just referred to will speak of his capital as \"a\nmillion dollars\" and consider that sum as a \"permanent investment\"\nbecause he knows that while the goods that now represent that value\nwill soon pass from him, the \"dollars\"--that is, the value which is\nequivalent to the dollars--will abide. There is, moreover, no failure\non his part to discriminate between his capital and literal money, for\nhe knows in what his productive fund consists, and is fully aware that\nonly the minutest part of it is in the shape of actual currency.\n\nInstruments of production compose the fund, but the dollars serve to\ndescribe it. They indicate the amount and the abiding quality of it,\nsince they describe what he has invested or embodied in the shifting\nthings and can, by a fair sale, get out of them.\n\n_Why Abstract Terms are used in popularly describing Capital._--In\ncertain connections money is, in unintelligent thinking, confused with\nreal capital in ways that we should guard against. In avoiding such\nerrors we need to be even more careful that we do not miss the truth\nthat is at the basis of the common mode of describing capital. A\npermanent fund that is spoken of as a million dollars invested in a\nbusiness does not suggest to any one a literal pile of a million\nsilver or paper dollars or of a hundred thousand gold eagles. It\nsuggests what is actually in the business, a procession of things each\nof which comes into the man's possession and then leaves him, and\nhelps him to keep the constant stock of goods that at any time is a\npotential million of dollars. A permanent body of any kind, if it is\nmade up of shifting tissues, is commonly described by the use of an\nabstract term. A waterfall, made as it is of rapidly changing drops of\nwater, is spoken of as a \"water power,\" since the power is the abiding\nthing. An endless series of living human beings is described as\n\"humanity,\" since that remains through all personal changes. An\nendless series of workingmen is described as \"labor,\" and we study the\n\"wages of labor,\" the \"relations of labor to capital,\" etc., because\nthese are permanent relations. Men come and go, but labor continues\nand is the source of a permanent income. It is actually the fact that\nin speaking of the \"labor problem\" or the \"relation of capital and\nlabor\" we usually think of \"labor in the abstract,\" as we might term\nit; but this is very far from implying that we consider a series of\ngenerations of actual workingmen as an abstraction. We may, using\nterms in a like way, speak of the problem of interest as concerning\n\"capital in the abstract\"; but this is far from meaning that we\nconsider an endless series of material instruments of industry an\nabstraction. We describe these real things by the use of an abstract\nterm, just as we describe a thousand other realities. A \"fund,\" a\n\"value,\" a \"permanent quantum of wealth,\" is capital; but with the\nabstract notion the mind always merges the thought of the concrete\nentity. It is the tools of industry that, in their endless march,\ncome into and go out of the industrial field that we think of even\nwhen we use the abstract term. This term, however, saves us from the\ndanger of thinking merely of particular tools that we can identify and\ntrace to their final destruction when we form the concept of capital.\n\n_The Importance of discriminating between the Concept of Capital Goods\nand that of Capital._--Very great is the importance of keeping sharply\ndistinct the two concepts of productive wealth of which one is\ndescribed by the term _capital goods_ and the other by the term\n_capital_. In the one case we think of a particular thing which we\nidentify, keep in mind, and watch as it goes through its\ntransformations, does its final work, and perishes. The brilliant\nstudies of Professor Boehm-Bawerk are based on the idea that such a\ntracing of the biography of a particular instrument is the true way to\nsolve the problem of interest. Yet the very term _interest_ itself\nsuggests the existence of what we have defined as permanent\ncapital--an abiding fund or sum of wealth that every year yields as an\nincome a certain percentage of itself. The \"hundred dollars\" yields\nfive dollars; that is, the fund yields a twentieth of the amount\nwhich, amid all the changes of its constituent parts, it continues to\nembody. It is true, indeed, that a study of _all_ capital goods which\nhave existed or will exist, with due attention to their relations to\neach other, would reveal the fact that they maintain such an endless\nprocession as has been here described, and it would thus bring before\nthe mind such a concept of capital as the business man has and\ndescribes by the monetary form of expression. By making a synthetic\nstudy of capital goods in general, and not separate studies of\nparticular goods as they come and go, we can obtain a grand resultant\nof the action of all of them, which is nothing less than permanent\ncapital doing its continuous work. Such a comprehensive study of\ncapital goods, if it is carried far enough, becomes a study of the\nabiding entity, capital. Allowing ourselves, however, to put the\nabiding entity out of sight and merely to trace the origin, growth,\nand productive action of separate instruments of production would be\ndisastrous. The undying body in which the particular things are\ntissues absolutely needs to come into view. The very mention of a\nproblem of interest--of the percentage of itself that a fund of a\ngiven amount can annually earn--puts before us at once the permanent\nentity, capital, and the problems relating to it.[3]\n\n    [3] Consumers' goods may be regarded in the two distinct\n    ways in which it is necessary to regard capital goods. We may\n    look at particular articles for consumption, as they begin\n    their careers by ministering to their owners' needs, and\n    follow them as they wear out and finally perish. This gives a\n    conception of them which is analogous to the conception of\n    capital goods rather than to that of capital. On the other\n    hand, we may look at the permanent stock of usable articles,\n    which is maintained by the constant coming of new ones to\n    replace those which are worn out, and in this way we get a\n    conception of _permanent consumers' wealth_. The flow of\n    finished goods from the shops to the users offsetting the\n    concurrent destruction of such articles in the users' hands,\n    has the effect of maintaining a permanent fund of consumers'\n    wealth consisting of perishable goods the identity of which\n    is always changing; and this fund is analogous to permanent\n    capital as we have defined it. Professor C. A. Tuttle has\n    advocated the use of the generic term _wealth_ to denote the\n    two continuing funds which we have here termed, on the one\n    hand, capital, and, on the other hand, the permanent stock of\n    consumers' wealth. We have preferred to use the term _wealth_\n    in a sense that is generic enough to include both capital and\n    capital goods, and both the permanent stock of consumers'\n    goods and the particular articles that, in turn, compose it.\n    Wealth consists of effectively useful concrete things\n    regarded either as particular articles that can be identified\n    and watched till they perish in the using, or as an abiding\n    stock of articles of this genus, each one of which has in\n    itself only a transient existence. See an article on \"The\n    Wealth Concept,\" by Professor Charles A. Tuttle, in the\n    _Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social\n    Science_, for April, 1891, and other articles by the same\n    author.\n\n_Labor as a Permanent Entity._--The term _labor_ is sometimes used to\ndescribe a permanent aggregation of laborers no one of whom lives and\nworks through more than a brief period. Labor is thus analogous to\ncapital and laborers to capital goods. A permanent working force is\ncomposed of perishable beings as a permanent producing fund is\ncomposed of perishable goods. Both are commonly described by the use\nof abstract terms, but both are in reality concrete things; and\nactually to reduce either to a mere abstraction would be to put a\nmaterial entity out of existence. We instinctively speak of a value--a\ngiven number of dollars--in describing a man's capital, but it is\ndollars \"invested in\" productive instruments; and we instinctively\nspeak of labor when we mean an abiding force of workingmen. Neither\ncapital nor labor is like an immaterial soul that can live apart from\nits body. Each consists of a permanent body with a shifting\ncomposition. A permanent sum, on the one hand, a permanent amount of\nworking energy, on the other, are always present, but they are in\ngoods and men respectively. Each may well be described by the use of\nan abstract term, and in practical life it commonly is so; but it is a\nconcrete reality.\n\n_Peculiarity of Land as a Capital Good._--One reservation needs\nto be made when we call capital goods perishable. If we include\nland under this term, we must make it an exception to the rule\nof destructibility. It is the only thing that does not go out of\nexistence in the using. It is not a produced good at all and does not\nstand, like other goods, in an intermediate position between labor and\nthe gratification that labor is intended to produce. Work did not\ncreate it and using will not end it. It will be called, in our study,\na capital good, for it is a form of wealth which produces other\nwealth. It enters into the permanent productive fund that society is\nusing.\n\n_Differences between Land and Other Capital Goods Important in\nEconomic Dynamics._--It is in a later part of the study which deals\nwith economic changes--the part which we shall call Economic\nDynamics--that the differences between land and artificially made\ngoods become prominent, and these differences will receive due\nemphasis in their proper place. In studying the law which would govern\neconomic society if no essential economic changes were taking\nplace,--in reducing society, as it were, to a static state,--we find\nthat there is a certain set of characteristics which land shares with\nthose capital goods which are the products of human industry. In\nstatic studies it is best to group the productive instruments which\nmen make with the one unmade good which nature furnishes and to\nrecognize that together they embody the permanent fund of productive\nwealth.[4]\n\n    [4] What is commonly termed land contains elements which\n    perish in the using. Such are deposits of coal, ores, or oil,\n    and those ingredients of loam which are exhausted by tillage.\n    Such elements of the soil are not land in the economic sense.\n    How they should be regarded will be shown in a later chapter.\n\n_Mobility an Attribute of Capital._--Even in a static society capital\nwould be permanent, while particular capital goods would be\nperishable. In dynamic studies another quality of capital, as\ndistinguished from capital goods, comes into the foreground, namely,\nmobility. It is the power to move without loss from one industry to\nanother. Goods cannot be thus moved with any freedom. A loom cannot be\ntaken out of a woolen mill and made to do duty in a carpenter's shop,\nnor can a circular saw be made available in weaving. When the loom\nwears out and needs replacement, it is in the owner's power to procure\neither another loom or a circular saw, and if he chooses the latter\nalternative, he causes capital to move into the woodworking business.\nA whaling ship would not be useful as a cotton mill; but much capital\nthat was once invested in the whale fishery of New England has since\nfound its way into manufacturing. The transfer can often be made\nwithout waste. If the earnings of an instrument have sufficed to\nreplace it with another that is like it, they may suffice for\nproducing an instrument that is unlike it. Waste, if it occurs,\nresults from a failure of the original instrument to earn the fund for\nreplacement. Capital which thus abides but passes from one employment\nto another is a body the identity and the character of whose component\nparts change. The transfer of capital from one industry to another is\na dynamic phenomenon which is later to be considered. What is here\nimportant is the fact that it is in the main accomplished without\nentailing transfers of capital goods. An instrument wears itself out\nin one industry, and instead of being succeeded by a like instrument\nin the same industry, it is succeeded by one of a different kind which\nis used in a different branch of production. Goods have not moved from\none branch to another, but capital has done so.\n\n_How Capital itself may be Destroyed._--When we speak of capital as\npermanent, we mean that using does not destroy it as it destroys the\ntissues of which it is composed. Fires, earthquakes, and business\ndisasters put parts of it out of existence and affect the volume of\nthe fund as a whole; but production itself leaves it intact. It is\nthis very production which destroys capital goods and makes it\nnecessary to replace them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE MEASURE OF CONSUMERS' WEALTH\n\n\nIn all stages of social development the economic motives that actuate\nmen remain essentially the same. All men seek to get as much net\nservice from material wealth as they can. The more wealth they have,\nother things remaining the same, the better off they are, and the more\npersonal sacrifice they are compelled to undergo in the securing of\nthe wealth, the worse off they are. Some of the benefit received is\nneutralized by the sacrifice incurred; but there is a net surplus of\ngains not thus canceled by sacrifices, and the generic motive which\nmay properly be called economic is the desire to make this surplus\nlarge. Except in a perfectly isolated individual life, there is\nopportunity for ethical motives to affect men's economic actions.\nAltruism has a place in any _social_ system of economics, and so have\nthe sense of justice and the positive compulsion of the law. Altruism\ndoes its largest work in causing men to give away wealth after they\nhave acquired it, but conscience and the law powerfully affect their\nactions in acquiring it. These are forces of which Social Economics\nhas to take account; but the more egoistic motive, desire to secure\nthe largest net benefit from the wealth-creating process, is one of\nthe premises of any economic science. This involves a general pursuit\nof wealth; but men seek the wealth for a certain personal effect\nwhich comes from the use of it, and they measure it, when attained, by\nmeans of this subjective effect.\n\n_How Specific Utilities are Measured._--As the essential quality of\nwealth is specific effective utility, we measure wealth by estimating\nthe amount of this quality, and it is always a consumer who must make\nthe measurement. He must discover the importance to himself of a small\nquantity of a particular commodity. The hunter must find out how much\nworse off he would be if he were to lose a small part of his supply of\ngame and endure some hunger as a consequence. In doing this he gets\nthe measure of the effective utility of any like quantity of game,\nsince any one specific part of his supply is as important as any other\nand no more so. The estimate of the importance of such a supply of\nfood material has to be made in this specific way, by taking the\namount on hand piece by piece, and not by gauging the importance of\nthe whole of it at once.\n\n_Value the Measure of Specific Effective Utility._--If any consumer\nwill estimate the importance to himself of a single unit of goods of a\ncertain kind, and multiply the measure so gained by the number of\nunits he is appraising, he will make a measurement of the value of the\ntotal amount.\n\n_Values not based on the Importance of the Total Supply of Goods._--It\nis essential that the consumer, in determining the value of a kind of\ngoods, should not estimate the importance of the supply in its\nentirety, since that would give an exaggerated measure. Measurements\nof value are always made specifically, and single units of the supply\nof goods are appraised apart from the remainder. The total utility of\natmospheric air is infinite, since the loss of the whole of it would\nmean the total destruction of animal life; but the specific utility\nand the value of air is _nil_, since no one limited part of the supply\nhas any practical importance. A roomful of it might be destroyed with\nimpunity. So the cereal crops of the world, taken as a whole, have\nalmost infinite importance, since their destruction would result in\nuniversal famine; but each bushel of grain has an importance that is\nrelatively small. The loss of it would impose no serious hardship upon\nthe average consumer, since he could easily replace it. The value of\nthe crop is determined by the importance of one bushel taken\nseparately and by the number of the bushels. If we estimate the\nimportance of one unit of the supply of anything, express the result\nof the estimate in a number, and then multiply this by the number of\nunits in the supply, we express the _value_ of this total amount. The\n_total utility_ of it, on the other hand, is measured by the benefit\nwhich we get from the supply in its entirety, or by the difference\nbetween the state we are in when we have it all and that to which we\nshould be reduced if we lost it all and were unable to replace it. To\nmeasure any such total utility we contrast, in imagination, our\ncondition with the full supply on hand and a condition of total and\nhopeless privation, in so far as these goods and similar ones are\nconcerned.\n\n_This Method of measuring Wealth Universal._--These principles apply\nas well to the economy of a solitary islander of the Crusoe type as\nthey do to that of a civilized society. A Crusoe does not need to\nmeasure values for purposes of exchange, but he has other reasons for\nmeasuring them. It is for his interest to use his own labor\neconomically, and to that end he should not put too much of it into\none occupation and too little into another. When, by reason of a large\nstore of wheat on hand, the specific importance of it is small,--or,\nif we use a common expression, when the utility of the \"final\nincrement\" of it, which a man might secure by making an addition to\nhis supply, is small,--he should divert his labor to raising goats or\nbuilding huts, where the utility of the increment of product to be\ngained is, for the time, greater. The solitary man thus well\nillustrates the act of the society which, in its own peculiar way,\nsends labor from one department of industry where the \"final utility\"\nof its product is small to another where it is larger. It is all done\nby measuring the specific importance of goods.[1]\n\n    [1] For extended discussions of the relations of utility and\n    value the reader is referred to the works of Jevons, Menger,\n    Von Wieser, Von Boehm-Bawerk, and Walras. A study of\n    \"effective\" utility and its relations to value, by the writer\n    of the present treatise, is contained in the _New Englander_\n    for July, 1881.\n\n_The Utility of Producers' Goods._--Consumers' goods have a direct\nutility, which is a power immediately to serve a consumer. Instruments\nof production, on the other hand, have indirect utility, since all\nthat they are good for is to help produce things that render the\nimmediate service. They have _productivity_, and this has to be\nmeasured in determining their value. What we need to know about hoes\nand shovels, hammers and anvils, spindles and looms, etc., is how much\npower they have to create the goods that we want for consumption. Here\nagain the measurement has to be made in the specific way. The capital\ngoods have to be taken unit by unit if their value for productive\npurposes is to be rightly gauged. A part of a supply of potatoes is\ntraceable to the hoes that dig them; but in valuing the hoes we do not\ntry to find out how much worse off we should be if we had no hoes at\nall. We endeavor simply to ascertain how badly the loss of one hoe\nwould affect us or how much good the restoration of it would do us.\nThis truth, like the foregoing ones, has a universal application in\neconomics; for primitive men as well as civilized ones must estimate\nthe specific productivity of the tools that they use, and make hoes,\nshovels, or axes according as the procuring of a single tool of one\nkind becomes more important than procuring one of another kind.\nIndeed, the measuring of the utility has to be done, as we shall soon\nsee, in a way that is even more specific than this; for the man has to\ndetermine not only how many hoes he will make, but how good he shall\nmake them. The quality of each tool has to be determined in a manner\nthat we must hereafter examine with care. The earning power of capital\nis, as we shall later see, governed by a specific power of\nproductivity which resides in capital goods.\n\n_Cost and Utility._--A ripe consumers' good, in exhausting itself on\nman, benefits him; but during the period in which it is being prepared\nfor use, when it is receiving utilities at the hands of successive\nproducers, it has an opposite relation to the men who handle it. In\nmaking the material useful a man confines and tires himself. He is\nwilling to do it if the reward that he expects will more than pay for\nthe sacrifice, but not otherwise. Moreover, this sacrifice itself has\nto be estimated specifically in a way that is akin to the method of\nmeasuring utilities which determines the values of goods. It is\nnecessary for a man to gauge the sacrifice which is entailed on him,\nnot by his labor as a whole, but by a specific part of it. He finds\nhimself in the evening feeling the fatigue and the sense of\nconfinement which the day of labor has imposed and asks himself how\nmuch it would burden him to work a little longer. If what he can get\nby this means pays for the extra sacrifice involved in thus getting\nit, he will work for the few minutes, but otherwise he will not. His\nobjection to a few minutes of additional work measures what we may\ncall the specific disutility of labor; and men, whether they be\nprimitive or civilized, are forever making such measurements. They\nconsider how much it will cost them to add slightly to the length of\ntheir working day or how much it will benefit them to shorten it. In\nthis way they measure the _specific disutility_ of labor rather than\nthe _total disutility_ of it, since they do not gauge the relief that\nit would afford to cease working altogether.\n\n_The Increasing Cost of Successive Periods of Labor._--It is easy to\nwork when one is not tired, and the first hour or two of labor may\neven afford a pleasure that largely offsets the burden that it\nentails; but it is hard to work when one is tired and painfully\nconscious of the confinement of the shop. Adding anything to the\nlength of a working day imposes on a man the necessity of working at\nthe time when the burden is greatest; and shortening his day, for a\nlike reason, relieves him of some of his most costly toil.\n\n_The Natural Length of the Working Day._--Any laborer, as his work\ngoes on, hour after hour, is certain to reach a point at which it is\nunprofitable to go farther. However greatly he may need more goods, he\nwill not need them as much as he needs rest and change. It may be that\nhe has worked twelve hours, and that, by working longer, he can\nimprove his wardrobe, his food, or his furnishings; but if he has a\ntolerable supply of such things, he will hardly choose to add to it by\nstaying in the shop when his strength has been exhausted and he is\neager to reach his home.\n\n_Specific Cost at its Maximum a Measure of Specific Utility._--Two\nvery important principles are at work whenever a man is performing\nlabor in order to create wealth. The more consumers' wealth he gets,\nthe less important to him are the successive units of it, and the more\ndo these successive units cost him. The tenth hour of labor adds to\nhis supply of food, but this addition is not as important as the\nsupplies that were already on hand. If we divide the supply into\ntenths and let the man produce a tenth in each successive hour, the\nfirst tenth, which rescues him from starvation, is the most important,\nwhile the last tenth, which comes nearest to glutting his appetite, is\nleast important. This last increment, however, is produced by the\ngreatest sacrifice, for it is gained by making the working day ten\nhours long instead of nine.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nLet the hours of the working day be counted along the line _AD_, and\nlet us suppose that a man gets unit after unit of consumers' wealth,\nas he works hour after hour, and the units grow less and less\nimportant. The first and most important we may measure by the vertical\nline _AB_. The second is worth less, the third still less, and the\nlast one is worth only the amount _CD_. This means that the successive\nunits of what we may call general commodity for personal use have\ndeclined in utility along the curve _BC_. On the other hand, as the\nman's labor has been prolonged, it has grown more and more wearying\nand irksome. The sacrifice that it involved at first was almost\nnothing, but the sacrifice of the succeeding hours has increased\nuntil, in the last hour, it amounts to the quantity expressed by\n_CD_.[2] As the man has continued to work, the onerousness of working\nhas increased along the ascending line _AC_ until the point has been\nreached where it is so great that it is barely compensated by the\nfruits of the labor. The man will then work no longer. If he were to\ndo so, his sacrifice would become still larger and his reward still\nless. Up to this point it is profitable to work, for every hour of\nlabor has brought him something so useful that it has more than paid\nfor whatever sacrifice he has made in order to get it. Beyond this\npoint this is not the case. The line _CD_ represents the cost of labor\nat its maximum, and it is this which acts as a measure of effective\nutility and value.\n\n    [2] If we should try to describe all the possibilities in the\n    case, we should take account of the fact that a man may get a\n    positive pleasure from his first hour or two of labor and\n    construct a figure thus to express this fact:--\n\n    [Illustration]\n\n    _AC_ is the curve representing the sacrifice entailed by\n    successive hours of labor.\n\n    [Illustration]\n\n    In like manner we should have to recognize the fact that the\n    utility of some kinds of goods may not reach a maximum with\n    the first increment, and should construct a utility curve to\n    express this fact. _BC_ here represents the increase and the\n    following decrease in the specific utility of the supply of\n    an article of this kind.\n\n_The Coincident Measure of Cost and Utility._--It now appears that the\nline _CD_ signifies two different things. It measures the utility of\nthe last unit of the man's consumers' wealth, and it also measures the\nsacrifice that he has incurred in order to get it. These are opposing\ninfluences, but are equally strong. The one, of itself, makes man\nbetter off, while the other, of itself alone, makes him worse off. At\nthe last instant of the working day they neutralize each other, though\nin all the earlier periods the utility secured is greater than the\nsacrifice incurred and the net gain thus secured has kept the man\nworking.\n\n_The Point at which Utility and Disutility are mutually\nNeutralizing._--At a certain test point, then, production acts on man\nin such a way as exactly to offset the effect experienced from the\nconsuming of the product. Man, as a consumer, has to measure a\nbeneficial effect on himself, and, as a producer, he has to measure an\nunpleasant effect. He finds how much he is benefited by the last unit\nof wealth which he gets for personal use, and also how much he is\nburdened by the last bit of labor that he performs. If this sacrifice\njust offsets the benefit derived from the final consumption, it is the\nbest unit for measuring all kinds of utilities. A man secures by means\nof this final and most costly labor a variety of things, for if he\nworks up to this point every day in the year, he will have at his\ndisposal, say, a hundred hours of labor in excess of what he would\nhave had if he had worked a third of an hour less each day. The\nproduct of this extra labor will be taken in the shape of goods that\nare also extra, or additional to whatever he would otherwise have\nsecured. They will represent special comforts and luxuries of many\nkinds. The values of these goods may be measured and compared by means\nof the quantity of labor that the man has thought it worth while to\nperform in order to get them. If he values one of them highly enough\nto think it worth while to work for an extra period of twenty minutes\nat the end of a day in order to get it, it may be said to have one\nunit of value; and if he is anxious enough to get something else by\ndoing this on two successive days, this second article may be said to\nhave two units of value. The savage who, by working for an extra hour,\nmakes some improvement in his canoe, and by doing the same thing on\nanother day makes some improvement in his food, establishes thereby\nthe fact that he values these two additional bits of consumers' wealth\nequally. If he uses ten hours of the same costly kind of labor in\nmaking an addition to his hut, he proves that he values that gain ten\ntimes as highly as he does either of the others. Establishing values\nby means of such final costs is a process that goes on in every stage\nof social evolution.\n\n_Unlike Results of Creating Wealth and Using it Summarized._--Wealth,\nthen, affects a man as a consumer in one way and the same man as a\nproducer in an opposite way. In the one case the effects are\nfavorable, and in the other they are unfavorable. At a certain test\npoint the two effects may be equally strong as motives to action, and\nso may be said to be equivalent. The man is impelled to work by his\ndesire for a final unit of wealth, and he is deterred from it by his\naversion for the final unit of labor which he will have to incur if he\nsecures the benefit. If he performs the labor and gets the benefit, he\nneither gains nor loses as the net result of this particular part of\nhis labor, though from all other parts of his labor he gets a net\nsurplus of benefit. It is natural to measure all such economic gains\nin terms of sacrifices incurred at the test point where these are\ngreatest. This is the labor one would have to incur in order to add\nthe means of gratification to his previous supply of consumers' goods.\n\n_Minimum Gains offset Maximum Pains._--Running through and through the\neconomic process are these two different measuring operations. Man is\nforever estimating the amount of harm that wealth does him when he is\nin the act of producing it, and the amount of good it does him when he\nconsumes it; and there is always to be found a point where the two\namounts are equal. It is the point at which gains are smallest and\nsacrifices greatest. It is at this point that men measure values in\nprimitive life and in civilized life. How in the intricate life of a\nmodern society the measuring is done we shall in due time see; for the\npresent it is enough that we perceive the universality of the law\naccording to which value is best measured by the disutility of the\nlabor which is most costly to the worker. Organized societies do\nsomething which is tantamount to this. It is as though the whole\nsocial organism were an individual counting the sacrifices of his most\ncostly labor and getting therefrom a unit for comparing the effective\nutilities of different goods.\n\n_How Primitive Man tests Value._--It is a mistake to suppose that what\nis essential in value depends on the existence of an actual market in\nwhich things are exchanged for each other. In a market, it is true,\nvalues are established and their amounts are expressed in ways that\ncannot be adopted in primitive life. When we buy a thing, we help to\nfix the value of it and of other things which are like it. The mere\nratios in which things exchange for each other in a market are,\nhowever, by no means the essence of value itself. That is something\ndeeper and is one of the universal phenomena of wealth. Value, as we\nhave said, is the measure of the effective utility of things, a kind\nof measure that every one is frequently compelled to employ, whether\nhe is making goods for himself or buying them from others. A producer\nwho has the option of making different things for himself needs to\nknow what variety of goods can be increased in supply with the\ngreatest advantage to himself as a consumer. Adding to the supply of\nany one of them is getting a \"final\" or \"marginal\" unit of consumers'\nwealth. It is something that is needed less than the things that were\nalready on hand. Without making such a comparison of the importance of\nmarginal units of different commodities he cannot use his resources in\nthe way that will do him the most good.[3]\n\n    [3] [Illustration]\n\n    The terms _marginal_ and _final_ mean essentially the same\n    thing, but the modes of conceiving it differ. When utilities\n    are thought of as supplied one after another, the last is the\n    least important. We may represent a man's enlarging\n    gratifications, not by such a mere series of quantitative\n    increments, but by an enlarging area. We may draw a series of\n    concentric circles, beginning with the smallest, and let this\n    central area inclose the most necessary forms of consumers'\n    wealth. When we draw a second and larger circle, we inclose\n    between it and the first one a zone which includes those\n    forms which come next in importance. By continuing to draw\n    circles we reach an outermost one which bounds a zone in\n    which are included the least important of the consumer's\n    acquisitions. These are the things which he gets with his\n    costliest increment of labor, and the things which lie beyond\n    the circle last drawn would not pay for the sacrifice which\n    acquiring them would cost. In the accompanying figure the\n    fifth zone includes these \"marginal\" forms of wealth.\n\n_How Isolated Men measure Final Utility._--If a cave dweller possesses\na store of one hundred measures of nuts, he measures the final utility\nand the value of this store in the manner which we have described. If\nhe were to be deprived of the whole stock, he might starve, but this\nfact does not afford the basis of the value which he puts on the nuts.\nHe measures the importance of this consumers' wealth specifically. He\ntests the effect of losing one measure and no more, and finds that he\ncould lose the single measure without suffering greatly. The\ndifference between having an appetite fully satiated and having it\nvery nearly so is not serious.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nLet _AD_ represent the savage's total supply of food. _AB_ will\nrepresent the utility of the first unit; _CD_ of the hundredth. If we\nsupply the food unit by unit, the utility of the successive increments\nwill decline along the curve _BC_. When the man has a hundred units of\nfood, no one unit of it is worth any more than the last one, since if\nany one were taken away, the last one could be put in the place of it.\n\nThe _total absolute utility_ of the food is measured by the area\n_ABCD_, but the total _value_ will be represented by the rectangle\n_ADCE_. The area _EBC_ measures the surplus of utility contained in\nthe earlier units in the series.\n\n_The Motive for measuring Values in Primitive Life._--Even the cave\ndweller would have to measure values, and would thus have to apply the\nprinciple of final utility, because he would need to spend his limited\nproductive energies in the way that would do him the most good. When\nhe is nearly satiated with food, he needs other things more than he\ndoes food stuffs. If he has secured so much of one product that any\nadditional amount that he may get by an hour's labor would be of less\nuse to him than what he could get of some other product by the same\namount of labor, it is important for him to change his occupation and\nproduce that thing of which an additional unit--which will perhaps be\nthe final unit of this more desirable article--has the higher degree\nof usefulness.\n\n_Final Utility and Labor Cost._--On the supposition that a small store\nof roots and nuts were incapable of being replaced by any amount of\neffort and that no other food were to be had, the utility of it would\nbe indefinitely great, since the man's life would depend on this one\nincrement of food alone. A man would value that life-sustaining good\nfor what it would do for him and without any reference to the amount\nof work he had performed in order to get it, or to the amount he would\nhave to perform in order to get another store like it. On the\nsupposition that by labor the man could replace this essential supply,\nthe effective utility of it would be gauged by the sacrifice he would\nhave to make in order to replace it. The effective utility of any unit\nof a good that an hour's labor will produce can never be more than\nenough to offset the disutility of a marginal or final hour of labor;\nand thus even a single unit of replaceable food stuff, even when it\nstands alone and constitutes the whole supply, is valued according to\nthe cost of getting another one like it. A man will prize it according\nto his dread of the sacrifice involved in getting the duplicate. If he\ngets this by adding an hour of labor to his day's work, this fact is\nan evidence that the importance of the original supply of the food is\nmeasured and expressed by this personal cost of replacement; and as\nany similar quantity in a large supply of food can be duplicated by\nthe same amount of labor, it appears that, by a standard based on\ncost, the _effective_ utilities of all units are equal, that of each\none is measured by the \"disutility\" of an hour's labor and that of the\nwhole supply is this amount multiplied by the number of units that\nthis supply contains.[4]\n\n    [4] [Illustration]\n\n    Although we may use the terms _final utility_ and _effective\n    utility_ in a way that makes them nearly interchangeable, it\n    is clear that the qualities for which the two terms stand are\n    by no means identical, and that effective utility must be\n    studied in any complete analysis of value. In distinguishing\n    final utility we assume that the units of the supply of goods\n    of a particular kind are furnished one by one, and we measure\n    the absolute utility of each unit. The line _AB_ measures the\n    _absolute_ utility of the first unit supplied. This\n    measurement does not take any account of the cost of\n    replacing this unit, for it does not recognize the\n    possibility of replacing it. What is estimated is the\n    absolute importance of the service which this first unit of\n    the article renders, on the supposition that, if this first\n    increment of the supply were wanting, the service would not\n    be rendered at all. It is, in like manner, the absolute\n    utility of the successive increments supplied which declines\n    along the curve _BC_. _DC_ measures the _absolute_ utility of\n    the final increment, and the area _ABCD_ the total absolute\n    utility of the supply. If the goods can be reproduced by\n    labor, the total effective utility is less, since it is\n    measured, as we have seen, by the amount of sacrifice which\n    the replacing of one lost unit would entail multiplied by the\n    number of units in the supply. It is the amount expressed by\n    the area _AECD_ which is the amount of the value of the\n    goods, since measure of effective utility and value are the\n    same, both in the case of a single unit and in that of a\n    total supply.\n\n    We have discovered two reasons why the effective utility of\n    any one of the earlier units is equal to the absolute utility\n    of the final one. The first reason is that, if any one of\n    them were lost, the final one would be put in the place of it\n    and the consumer would suffer no loss except what would be\n    entailed by going without the last unit. The second reason is\n    that if the consumer should lose any one of the earlier\n    units, he could replace it by the same amount of labor that\n    would replace the final one. We have seen that the line _DC_\n    of the figure expresses not only the absolute utility of the\n    final unit of goods, but the disutility of the labor of\n    reproducing it or of reproducing any other unit. The cost of\n    replacing the whole supply is expressed by the area _AECD_,\n    on the supposition that the units are replaced, one at a\n    time, by means of labor performed at the end of several\n    working days when the sacrifice is greatest. Total value is\n    thus quantitatively equivalent to total _effective sacrifice\n    of replacement_, as well as to total effective utility. If,\n    by adding a brief period to the length of one working day, a\n    man can make good the loss of one unit of the goods, by\n    adding the same period to the length of a number of working\n    days, he can make good the loss of the total supply. For\n    simplicity we assume that the man's physical condition\n    remains unchanged, and that an extra hour of labor at the end\n    of any one day costs him as much as it would at the end of\n    any other.\n\n_How Primitive Man measures the Productivity of Labor and\nCapital._--There is a truth relating to producers' wealth that\nresembles the truth that we have just stated with regard to consumers'\nwealth. The more consumers' goods of one kind a man has, the less is\nthe value that any one of them has to him. The more producers' goods\nof a given kind a man has, the less is the efficiency that any\nparticular one of them possesses as an aid to labor. The last bit of\nbread serves the man himself in a less important way than does the\nfirst, inasmuch as it gratifies a want that is less intense; and the\nlast implement of a given kind--the last hatchet or spade or\narrow--helps him less in his productive operations than did the first\none. On the one hand, we have the law of the diminishing utility of\nsuccessive units of consumers' goods, and on the other hand, we have a\nparallel law of the diminishing productivity of successive increments\nof producers' goods.\n\n_The Necessity for measuring the Productive Powers of Capital Goods\neven in Primitive Life._--Now, it is necessary for every producer,\nthough living in the simplest possible manner, to measure in some way\nthe efficiency of the last unit of each kind of productive instrument\nthat he uses. He has, let us say, a certain number of hatchets and of\narrows, and he can produce one hatchet with the same amount of labor\nthat would produce an arrow. Now, if a hatchet will do more good than\nan arrow, he will direct his energies to the making of the hatchet. It\nis important that any producer should bring the final units of the\ndifferent parts of his equipment to a certain uniformity of producing\npower. He must not go on adding to the stock of implement No. 1 when\nimplement No. 2, which could be had by the same expenditure of labor,\nwould do more good; nor must he add to the stock of either of these\nafter he has acquired such a supply of them that the first unit of\nimplement No. 3 would be of greater importance. Measuring the\nefficiency of producers' goods is necessary in the case of every one\nwho creates wealth at all, and such measurements reveal the fact that\nthe more producers' goods of one kind a man has, the less is the\nproductive power that resides in one of them.[5]\n\n    [5] The law of diminishing returns of successive units of\n    _capital goods_ is based on the same principle as the law of\n    diminishing returns of _capital_, but it is not identical\n    with it. We shall see, in due time, how a permanent fund of\n    producers' wealth actually grows and why each new unit, as it\n    adds itself to the fund, creates a smaller income than did\n    its predecessor.\n\n_The Foregoing Truths Universal._--All the general facts which have\nbeen thus far stated hold true wherever wealth is produced. They do\nnot presuppose the facts of a division of labor and a system of\nexchanges, and they do not even require that there should be any\nsocial organization. Men in the most primitive tribes and even men\nliving in Crusoe-like isolation would create wealth by labor aided by\ncapital. The essence of that wealth would be effective utility, and\nthe measure of this, which is value, would be made in the specific way\nthat we have described. The varieties of capital, the distinction\nbetween capital and capital goods, and the law of diminishing\nproductivity of such goods would appear in the most primitive\neconomics as well as in the most advanced. These are by no means all\nof the facts and principles which are thus of universal application.\nThey are merely a few of the more important and may serve as a\nfoundation or a \"Grundlegung,\" for further study. If we should extend\nour list of general and basic truths, it would quickly appear that the\nincomes that have been treated as rent and the various surplus gains\nwhich are analogous to rent are universal economic phenomena which it\nwould be not illogical to discuss in the preliminary part of this\ntreatise. What has been stated, however, concerning the laws of\ndiminishing productivity of successive units of producers' wealth,\nconcerning the diminishing utility of successive units of consumers'\nwealth, and also concerning the increasing burdensomeness of\ncontinuous hours of labor, presents the essential principles on which\nall rents and quasi-rents rest. It is best to study the applications\nof these principles as they are made in a civilized state.\n\n_Universal Economic Truths independent of the Special Facts of\nSociology._--This first division of economic science borrows none of\nits premises from sociology, for the truths which compose it would\nabide if there were no society in existence. Basic facts it takes from\nPhysics, Biology, Psychology, Chemistry, etc. Facts concerning man,\nnature, and the relation between them are material for it, but\nrelations between man and man come into view only in the later\ndivisions. There, indeed, they do come into the very foreground with\nresults which immeasurably enrich the science. What we may call the\nsocialization of the economic process we shall have next before us,\nand we shall find it full of critical problems involving the future\nwell-being of humanity. Industry is carried on by a social organism in\nwhich men are atomic parts and to which nature has given a\nconstitution with laws of action and development. We have first to\nstudy the nature of this industrial organism and the mode in which it\nwould act if it were not subject to any constitutional change; and\nlater we must study it in its process of growth. The economic action\nof a society which is undergoing no organic changes is the subject of\nSocial Economic Statics, while such changes with their causes and\neffects constitute the subject of the science of Social Economic\nDynamics.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE SOCIALIZATION OF INDUSTRY\n\n\nWe have now before us a few principles of so general a kind that they\napply to the economy of the most primitive state as well as to that of\nthe most advanced. It is not necessary that men should live in any\nparticular relation to each other, in order that, in creating and\nconsuming wealth, they should exemplify these principles. They would\ndo this even though they never came into touch with each other, but\nlived, as best they could, each man on his solitary farm. Laws of this\ngeneral kind result from man's relation to nature, and not at all from\nthe relation of different men to each other. Let a man keep wholly\naloof from other men, apply his labor directly to nature, and he can\nproduce wealth of the various kinds that we have described. He can\nsecure food, clothing, and other things for his own use, and he can\nmake tools to help him in securing them. He will appraise the\nconsumers' goods according to the law of what has been called _final\nutility_ or, in another view, effective specific utility, and he will\nalso test the comparative usefulness of his various tools by an appeal\nto the law of final or specific productivity.\n\n_Social Economy the Chief Subject of Study._--We care most to know how\nan organized society produces and uses its wealth, and in making this\ninquiry we encounter at once phenomena that are not universal. The\ncivilized society creates its wealth cooeperatively, by the joint\naction of its various members; that is, it proceeds by means of a\ndivision of labor and an exchanging of products. Moreover, it has, in\nsome way, to share the sum total of its gains among its various\nmembers. It has to apportion labor among different occupations for the\nsake of collective production, which is a grand synthetic operation\nwhereby each man puts something into a common total which is the\nincome of all society. It has, further, to divide the grand total into\nshares for its different members--an analytical operation in which\neach man takes something out of the aggregate for his personal use.\nThis is distribution in the narrower sense of that term--the\napportionment among the members of a civilized society of the fruits\nof production. In the wider sense the term also includes the\napportionment of the sacrifices incurred in the joint production.\nDistribution, as thus defined, is the element that appears in economic\nlife in consequence of social organization. This is a secondary\nelement, indeed; for man, nature and their relations and interactions\nare the primary facts, and the relations of men to each other come\nlogically after these. Social organization, however, is so\ntransforming in its effects as to reduce to small proportions the\namount of attention it is worth our while to devote to the economy of\nthe primitive types of life. It is necessary to make some study of\nthat economy, for it is thus that we place before ourselves the fact\nthat there are universal economic laws and perceive distinctly the\nnature of some of the more important of them.\n\n_Facts Peculiar to Socialized Industry._--The term _Political Economy_\ndenotes a science of industry[1] as thus socialized, for it is a\nscience of the wealth which is produced in an organized way by the\npeople of a more or less civilized state. The general truths which we\nhave thus far stated apply to such an economy, indeed, but they also\napply to the wealth-creating and wealth-consuming processes of\nuncivilized peoples, and even of isolated individuals who have no\ndealings with each other. They are truths of Economics in the\nunrestricted sense, and we have now to study the special truths of\n_Political_ Economy. When production goes on by division of labor, as\nwhen one man works at one occupation and another at another, phenomena\nappear that do not appear in more primitive life; and still others\nappear when, within each occupation, there is a division of functions\nbetween the laborer and the capitalist, as is the case whenever one\nset of men furnish tools of production and another set do the work.\nThe special laws of this highly developed economic system require far\nmore extended study than do those more general laws which are common\nto it and simpler systems. We now continue to recognize the universal\nand basic truths which have been stated in the foregoing chapters and\nproceed to the study of the special principles which apply only to\norganized economic life.\n\n    [1] We use this term in a broad sense, including agriculture\n    and commerce as well as manufacturing.\n\n_Specialized Production the Means of Diversified Consumption._--As the\nkinds of goods that we individually make become fewer, the things\nwhich we get and use become more numerous and varied--such is the law\nof economic specialization. Society as a whole produces an infinite\nvariety of things, and the individual member of it secures for himself\ngoods of very many kinds. The typical modern worker is, in his\nproduction, a very narrow specialist, but in his consumption he is far\nless a specialist than was the rude hunter who was able to enjoy only\nthe few goods which he himself produced. The modern worker's tastes\nare omnivorous, for he has developed an immense variety of wants and,\nthrough social organization, he has acquired the means of satisfying\nmany of them.\n\n_The Position of Individuals in the Producing Organism._--When we say\nthat production has been socialized, we mean something very\nfar-reaching. We mean that an organization has grown up in which men\nare members or parts of members, and that this great organization has\nundertaken to do the productive work for all the individuals that\ncompose it. For the first time we now recognize a sociological fact\namong the premises of economic science. When men, whose predecessors\nmay have lived in isolated families or in a society organized for\ndefense or for the mere pleasures of association, now develop a truly\neconomic society, the individual depends on other individuals as well\nas on nature for the supply of his wants. Economic independence gives\nway to interdependence, because the fortune of each man is largely\ndependent, not merely on his own efforts, but on the relations which\nhe sustains to other men. Simple laws of nature still largely control\nhis income, but social laws also have a certain control over it.\n\n_Exchanges in their Primitive Stage._--The exchanging of products is,\nof course, the process with which the organization begins, and this\nprocess is introduced by easy and natural stages. The man who at first\nmakes everything for himself develops a particular aptitude for making\nsome one thing; and, though he may still continue to make most things\nfor himself, he finds it advantageous to barter off a part of the\nsupply of the one article for the making of which he is especially\nwell fitted. He seeks out a neighbor whose special aptitude lies in a\ndifferent direction and who has a surplus of some other article. It\nmay be that one is a successful fisherman and the other is, by\npreference, a maker of clothing, and that they can get a mutual\nbenefit by an exchange of food for raiment.[2]\n\n    [2] If we were giving a history of the division of labor, we\n    should have to record the effects of differences of climate\n    and of agricultural and mineral resources in occasioning, at\n    an early period, a territorial division of labor. We are here\n    describing the division of labor which occurs within a\n    society and in consequence of what may be called social\n    economic causes.\n\n_The Intermediate Type of Exchanges and the Final One._--In the next\nstage a man becomes wholly a specialist, making one kind of product\nonly and bartering it away for others. It might seem, at the first\nglance, that differentiation has now done its full work; but it is\nvery far from having done so. Making one complete good for consumption\nis still a complex operation, which can advantageously be subdivided\nin such a way that one man produces a raw material while another works\nit up into a useful shape. A gain may be made by a further division of\nthe manufacturing process, whereby the first worker makes only the\nrawest material, another fashions it somewhat, a third carries the\nprocess farther, and a fourth or a still later one completes it. In\nmodern industry the material must often pass through very many hands\nbefore it is ready to be made over to the consumer. Each man in the\nseries puts a touch on it and passes it on to his successor.\n\n  A'''\n  A''\n  A'\n  A\n\nA''' is an article of consumers' wealth and A is the rawest material\nthat enters into it. A' is this material somewhat transformed; A'' is\nthe same material after it has received the second transformation and\nneeds only a final touch to convert it into A''', in which state it\nwill be ready for the consumer's use. We have here a symbol of what is\nactually taking place in the industry of the world. Cattle are grazing\non western ranches; hides are tanning in the woods of Pennsylvania;\nleather is going through the many changes that fashion it into shoes\nin the mills of Brockton; shoes are arranged on the shelves of\nretailers in New York in readiness for the people who are to wear\nthem. These are stages in the making of a single product, and a\nthousand different products are coming into existence in a like way.\n\n_A Representation of the Groups, or Specific Industries, which compose\nEconomic Society._--If we put beside the series of A's a series of B's\nand one of C's, we have a much simplified representation of what is\nactually taking place. There are, in reality, a myriad of different\nthings which almost every consumer uses, and every one of them is made\nby a series of productive operations like the one we have described.\n\nThe very fact that there are so many of them that it is hopeless to\ntry to represent them all in the table makes it desirable to\nillustrate the principle by tabulating only a few and to assume that\nthese few are all that there are. For the purposes that we have in\nmind it is entirely safe to suppose that a series of A's, one of B's,\nand one of C's represent all the consumers' goods that society uses.\nWhat we wish to ascertain is how the different series work together to\nfurnish an income for each member of society.\n\n_The Organization Spontaneous._--Laborers can go where they will, and\nyet they are in some way brought into an orderly relation to each\nother, being placed in certain proportions in different industries.\nCapitalists also are free to invest their funds as they will, and yet\nthere is a certain amount that is naturally devoted to each branch of\nbusiness. How this apportionment takes place we can most readily\nascertain by creating such an imaginary and very much simplified\nsociety as this table furnishes.\n\n  A'''    B'''    C'''\n  A''     B''     C''\n  A'      B'      C'\n  A       B       C\n\nThe series of A's, which we have already studied, represents one kind\nof raw material ripening into a finished product. B represents a\nsecond kind of raw material, which, like the A, is produced by its own\nset of workers and is then passed on to a second, who transform it\ninto B'--a partly finished product. These then pass it on, as the\ncorresponding set of men passed on the A'. They hand it over to a set\nof workmen who change it into B'', a nearly completed product, and\nthese hand it over to men at B''', who, by giving the final\nfashioning, bring it into the form of a finished consumers' good. The\nC's represent another general group of workers who transform the raw\nmaterial, C, into the finished product, C'''.\n\n_Industrial Groups and Subgroups._--Each of these more general bodies\nof workmen and employers, such as the entire series of A's, we may\ncall an industrial group, and the divisions within each of them, such\nas A' or A'', we may term subgroups. The product of a group is a\ncomplete article, while that of a subgroup is not a complete article\nnor any part of an article that can be taken bodily from it. Yet it is\na distinguishable element in the article. The product of the shoe\nfactory is certainly not complete shoes, for the owners of the factory\nbuy leather which has already passed through the hands of tanners; and\nthe tanners themselves bought it in the shape of raw hides, which were\nfurnished by still earlier producers. What the shoe factory has done\nis to impart a new utility to dressed leather by transforming it into\nshoes. It would be impossible ever to get that utility out again, or\nto point to any one part of the shoe as the only part that contains\nit. What the factory has really made is therefore a utility--a\ndistinguishable quality which pervades a concrete thing. It makes the\ndifference between the leather and the shoes. What the tanner has\ncreated is, in like manner, another utility, which makes the\ndifference between raw hides and leather. Groups, then, in their\nentirety produce whole articles for direct use, while subgroups\nproduce distinguishable utilities which are embodied in such articles.\nThe sum total of all the different utilities constitutes the article.\nIt is a complex of useful qualities held together by the fact that\nthey are attached to the same original matter.\n\n_Proportionate Production._--All the subgroups working together in an\norderly way not only produce the consumers' wealth that society needs,\nbut produce the different kinds of consumers' goods in nicely adjusted\nproportions. Unless the general order of the group system is\ndisturbed, there is a normal amount of A''' put on the market and also\nnormal amounts of B''' and C'''. This result is attained by influences\nthat run through the productive organism and bring about an adjustment\nof the comparative amounts of labor in the different occupations. If\ncompetition worked quite freely, this adjustment would be so nice that\nno military apportionment of forces among different brigades,\nregiments, etc., made consciously and by the most intelligent\ncommanding officer, could surpass the perfection of it. There would be\nalso an equally fine adjustment of the comparative amounts of capital\ndevoted to different industries. In the actual productive organism\neach man goes where he will--capitalist, laborer, and employer of\ncapital and labor alike. Each man acts in this respect as though there\nwere no such thing as coercion, and as though he might, with unchecked\nfreedom, do solely what is good in his own sight. By reason of the\nfact that all are seeking to produce what they can in order that they\nmay get what they can, there comes into operation an organic law which\nbrings the groups and subgroups into a delicate balance, in point of\nsize and output, whereby the grand total of force that society\ncommands is prevented from making too much of one product and too\nlittle of another, and is made to do its utmost in getting a large sum\ntotal of wealth for the benefit of its various members.\n\n_What the \"Division of Labor\" Involves._--This is the real\nsignification of what it has been common to call the division of\nlabor. It is the socialization of labor, or the gathering of isolated\nlaborers into a great organism that, entirely without coercion,\ndetermines in some way what each one shall do, and not only makes the\nproduct of the whole a myriadfold greater than without any\norganization it could be, but causes this product to take certain\nwell-adjusted shapes which, as we shall later see, serve consumers\nbetter than they could be served by products in misadjusted\nproportions.\n\n_Capital as well as Labor Apportioned._--As we have said, there is a\ncorresponding division of capital or an assignment of different parts\nof the total fund to different employments; and this is made in the\nsame way as is the division of labor and results in an equally nice\nadjustment. Each bit of capital, like each workman, becomes, as it\nwere, a specialist. It may take the shape of an instrument which is\ncapable of performing only its one service, like the loom, which is\ncapable of doing nothing except weaving; but even if the tool is\nsomewhat adaptable, like a hammer which can be used in several trades,\nit is, as it were, stationed in one trade and held, by economic\ninfluences, at that one point in the system. The house carpenter keeps\nhis hammer though the cabinet maker could use it. Each bit of capital\nhelps to create a particular utility, and the number of units of the\nfund that each subgroup contains is, as we shall see, so arranged as\nto enable the fund as a whole to do its utmost for the general good.\nIt is all without the use of force, since each bit of capital does\nwhat its owner pleases to have it do.\n\n_A Government Presupposed._--Of course there must be a government over\nit all. Such a method of producing wealth could never continue unless\nproperty were secure and unless it were made so without much effort on\nthe part of its owners. A blacksmith who should have at one moment to\nuse his hammer as a tool and at another to wield it as a weapon of\ndefense could make but poor headway, and a society in which such a\nstate of things existed in various trades would be too anarchic to\npermit the elaborate division of trades which is the key to success in\nindustry. The most noticeable fact about organized production is that\nman is forever letting go the thing he has made or helped to make and\nallowing it to pass out of sight and reach without losing or greatly\nimperiling his title to the amount of wealth it represents. He casts\nhis bread on the waters, but they bring him a return for it. Under\nthese circumstances it is impossible for him to protect his product as\nthe savage protects his tools, his clothing, and his hut. What a\nmodern worker makes passes into the hands of other men and gets\ncompletely out of the maker's direct personal control. If he wanted it\nagain, he could never find it; and if he could find it, it would be in\na new shape and other men would have claims upon it. The man who has\nsold some hides that in the end have become shoes can hardly identify\nhis product on the shelves of retail shoe dealers all over the\ncountry, or perhaps all over the world. If by a miracle he could find\nthe particular bits of leather that in their raw stage he himself has\nfurnished, they would be in new and far more valuable forms than they\nwere when he had possession of them. The shoes contain utilities\nwhich the man who furnished the hides cannot claim to have created.\nThey have been changed and improved by elements contributed by many\nother persons, such as manufacturers, carriers, merchants, etc., and\nhe could never carry away the concrete thing that he himself produced\nwithout carrying with it other men's property.\n\n_The Surrendering of Goods and the Retention of Values Features of\nSocial Industry._--Socialization of industry means, then, that\nindividuals forego all effort to retain their own concrete products,\nbut that they retain certain parts of the value of the products to\nwhich they have made contributions. The value of A''' when it is sold\nis claimed by men at A''', A'', A', and A according to some principle.\nThe values of B''' and C''' can be followed until they reach the\npockets of the men who have contributed their several shares to the\nmaking of these things. All this requires a government and a\nwell-developed system of laws and courts for the protection of\nproperty, including the protection of it in the form of a claim to a\nvalue that is embodied in things which have gone beyond the maker's\nreach. Property here takes a refined form which requires that the man\nshould forego all desire to keep the literal thing he has made and\nshould make it his aim to retain the value of it in some other form.\nIt is a comparatively simple matter to guard a concrete article which\na man has in his possession, though even that requires some energy on\nthe part of the police force and is never quite perfectly\naccomplished; but it is a far more difficult matter to enforce a claim\nthat a man has against other men, in consequence of some utility that\nhas been created by him but has gone away from him and mingled with\nutilities created by many other persons in a product that the man will\nnever see. It is the problem of guaranteeing to the shoemaker the due\nreturn for the stitches he has put into shoes when the shoes\nthemselves have gone to buyers and wearers in every quarter of the\nland and many quarters of the globe.\n\n_Groups under a Socialistic State._--In _political_ economy as\ndistinct from _general_ economy we take one premise from sociology and\nanother from politics. We assume that society exists and that it has\ntaken on a political character, by establishing laws with courts to\ninterpret them and officials to enforce them. We do not, however,\nassume that the direction of industrial affairs is in the hands of\nsuch officials. In the main industry is organized in a spontaneous\nway. Men choose such occupations as they like, and when there are too\nmany of them in one group and too few in another, the rewards\nnaturally increase in the group where a larger force is needed, and\nthis lures men in that direction.\n\nIn a socialistic society such adjustments would be made under the\ndirection of the state. Officials would have to decide when more\nworkers are needed in the A series and less in the B series and would\nhave to use either inducements or some kind of compulsion in order to\nmove them from the one group to the other. What we actually have to\ndeal with is a society that shapes itself by the free acts of\nindividuals, and we have to see how, in this way, it organizes itself\nfor production and divides among different claimants the product that,\nby the joint action of all of them, it creates.\n\n_Gains from the Organization of Industry._--The advantages of the\ndivision of labor consist in an increase in the quantity of products\nand in an improvement in their quality, and the quantitative gain is\nalmost beyond computing. The advantage appears mainly in the middle\nand upper subgroups of the series, which transform the materials,\nrather than in the lower subgroups, which produce them; and yet there\nis a gain everywhere from such organization. A man produces far more\nwhen he performs the same operation many times than when he goes\nthrough a whole series of unlike operations. Moreover, he can perform\nthe single operation far more accurately and can thus attain a more\nperfect result. He can learn his minute trade more easily than he\ncould a complex one. Where unusual strength or skill is required, the\nwork may be given to persons who have the requisite quality so that a\ngood product can be insured, and none of the labor of these superior\nworkers will need to be wasted on work which inferior labor can\nperfectly well perform.\n\n_Improvement in the Forms of Capital._--The greatest of all the\nadvantages that come from this division and subdivision of\nwealth-creating processes comes in the way of applying machinery. A\nmachine is a hopeless specialist and can, as a rule, put only a single\nminute touch on the material submitted to it; and the introduction of\nmachines differentiates capital in a way that is parallel to the\nminute subdivision of labor. If the machine is to work at all\neconomically, it must put its touch quickly on one after another of a\nseries of articles, as they are submitted to it in uninterrupted\nsuccession. If only one kind of machine were employed in the making of\nshoes--if, for instance, the sewing of the uppers to the soles were\ndone on sewing machines, even though all the rest were done by\nhand--it would be natural and almost necessary to have one class of\nworkers to prepare the uppers, another to prepare the soles, and a\nthird to sew them together by aid of the machine. When the several\nstages of the process are thus given over to different classes of\nworkers, the situation is ripe for the application of more machines,\nand inventors readily devise apparatus that will perform one or\nanother minute part of the manufacturing process. In the end most\nbranches of manufacture take such shapes that the raw material is\nintrusted to a series of machines and passes from one to another by a\nnearly continuous movement, till it emerges from the hands of these\nautomata as complete as any manipulation can make it and ready for the\nmerchants who will convey it to their customers.\n\n_Economy of Capital._--There is an economy of capital involved in the\nfact that instruments can be used thus continuously. A worker does not\nhave to have several sets of tools, many of which would be idle the\ngreater part of the time, as would be the case if the man performed\nseveral unlike operations; but the greatest economy comes from the\nenergy, rapidity, and accuracy with which the new instruments act. The\ntools are far more efficient than they could be if human muscles\nfurnished the power and eyes and nerves supplied the deftness and\naccuracy that the making of the goods requires. Automata which men set\nworking excel hand tools with men wielding them by a greater ratio\nthan can be calculated.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nPRODUCTION A SYNTHESIS; DISTRIBUTION AN ANALYSIS\n\n\nThe essential fact about production, as it is carried on by all\nsociety, is that it is a synthetic operation, by which a grand total\nis made up by the contributions of different industries. There is a\ncorresponding fact about the production which is carried on within a\nparticular line of business, or, as we should express it, within a\nparticular subgroup; for within the subgroup there are laborers, on\nthe one hand, and capitalists, on the other, helping each other to\nmake a joint product. In our table A''', B''', and C''' are the goods\nof which the social income is composed. Subgroups, such as A, A',\netc., help to make this grand total of finished goods; but in A, A',\nand all the other subdivisions there are laborers and capitalists\nworking together. Farming, mining, cotton spinning, shoemaking,\nbuilding, and a myriad of other occupations all work together to\ncreate an aggregate of goods which constitute the social income. In\neach of these branches of business there are men and working\nappliances contributing each a part to the quota that this branch\nfurnishes.\n\n_Distribution as an Analysis._--The essential fact about distribution\nis that it is an analysis. It reverses the synthetic operation step by\nstep, resolving the grand total produced by society into shares\ncorresponding with the amounts contributed by the specific industries,\nsuch as mining, cotton spinning, shoemaking, etc. The men who own and\nwork the mines do not keep the ore they secure, nor do they wish to\nkeep it. The ore goes into a stock of goods for the general use of\nsociety, and it constitutes a definite addition to the value of that\nstock. As ore it is transmuted into a myriad of forms, merged with\nother materials and lost; but the amount that it adds to the total\nproduct of society is definite. It is a certain definable quantity of\nwealth, and that quantity of wealth the producers of the ore should\nget for themselves. Distribution further resolves the share of each\nparticular industry into final portions for the use of the laborers\nand capitalists in that industry; and these correspond with the\namounts which these laborers and capitalists contribute. The result of\ndistribution is to fix the rate of wages, the rate of interest, and\nthe amount of the profits of employers, if such profits exist; and the\ngeneral thesis which is here advanced and remains to be proved is\nthat, if society were without changes and disturbances, if competition\nwere absolutely free, and if labor and capital were so mobile that the\nslightest inducement would cause them to pass from one branch of\nbusiness to another,[1] there would be no true profits[2] in any\nbusiness, and labor and capital would create and get the whole social\nincome. Moreover, each laborer and each capitalist would get the\namount of his personal contribution to this sum total. Amid all the\ncomplications of society the modern worker would be in a position akin\nto that of the solitary hunter in a primitive forest--his income would\nbe essentially of his own making and would include all that he makes.\nHe would not, like the primitive man, get the literal things that he\nfashions, but he would get the _amount of wealth_ that he creates--the\nvalue of the literal products which take shape under his hand.\n\n    [1] It will be seen that we here assume for the process known\n    as competition a degree of perfection which it does not\n    attain in actual life. This process would be absolutely free\n    if labor could and would instantly abandon one industry and\n    enter another whenever it appeared that it could create an\n    increased product by so doing, and if capital also moved with\n    the same promptness on the smallest inducement. In actual\n    life there is friction to be overcome in the making of such\n    transfers, and this constitutes one of the subjects of the\n    theory of Economic Dynamics and will in later chapters be\n    fully considered.\n\n    Whenever either labor or capital thus moves to a new place in\n    the group system, it becomes an active competitor of the\n    labor or capital that was already there. We need a\n    definition of the competing process. In the case of producing\n    agents it consists in a rivalry in selling. The laborer who\n    moves from A' of the table that, in the preceding chapter,\n    has been used to represent organized industry to B', offers\n    for sale, as some would say, his service, or more accurately,\n    the product which his labor can create. The purchasers are\n    the employers in the subgroup B', and in order to induce them\n    to accept the new labor it is necessary to offer it at a rate\n    of pay which will make it worth their while to take it. If\n    the workers already in this division of the field are getting\n    just what they are worth, a larger force cannot be employed\n    at the same rate of wages, because, for a reason that will\n    later appear, the new labor cannot offer for sale as large a\n    product as an equal amount of the labor that is already\n    there. If the transfer to B' were made, the new labor would\n    have to accept lower pay than the old has been getting, and\n    the old labor would be forced to accept a cut in its rate of\n    pay or be supplanted by the new. A rate sufficiently low\n    would insure the employment of all. If the labor formerly in\n    this subgroup has been getting less than it is worth, there\n    will ensue a competition among employers who desire to\n    realize, each for himself, the margin of profit which can be\n    made by getting additional labor, and this will either raise\n    the pay of the men already in this subgroup or call new men\n    into it, or do both. In any case it will, in the absence of\n    all trace of monopoly on the side of the employers, end by\n    giving to the men what they are worth. It is, in fact, such a\n    bidding for new labor by employers in any branch of business\n    that moves labor from point to point in the industrial\n    system. The _entrepreneur_ is the agent in the case, profits\n    are the lure, and competition--rivalry in buying--is the\n    means; and competition is, as we use terms, absolutely free\n    whenever it is certain that the smallest margin of net profit\n    will set it working and draw labor or capital to the\n    profit-yielding point.\n\n    There is competition among the _entrepreneurs_ at A''' in\n    selling this finished product to the consuming public, and\n    among different purchasers in buying it. Whenever the price\n    of A''' is so high that the whole output of it cannot be\n    sold, each vender tries to supplant others and insure a sale\n    of his own product rather than that of any one else.\n    Competition here is overt and active. When all can be sold at\n    the current price, finding a market for one vender's supply\n    does not require that he win away another's customers, and\n    although the different sellers continue to be rivals and each\n    would welcome an increase of patronage made at others' cost,\n    no one is forced to underbid others in order to continue to\n    sell his accustomed output. Competition is here quiescent,\n    since actual underbidding and the luring away of rivals'\n    customers do not take place. When _entrepreneurs_ who are not\n    now in the subgroup A''' are ready to enter it and to become\n    rivals of those already there whenever any profit is to be\n    had by such a course, their competition is not actual but\n    potential; and yet it is a real influence and serves to deter\n    producers already in the field from establishing such a price\n    for their product that the possible competitors will become\n    real and active ones. These three influences may conceivably\n    act without obstruction or may be hindered and deprived of\n    much of their power. In actual life they are subjected to\n    hindrances, and whether they shall hereafter insure a certain\n    approximation to the general state which a perfectly free\n    competition would insure or whether the economic condition of\n    the world shall be permitted to drift far from that normal\n    state, depends on the success which governments will have in\n    reducing or removing the hindrances.\n\n    [2] In this treatise the term _profits_ will be used to\n    designate the net increase which may remain in employers'\n    hands after paying the wages of labor of every kind and\n    interest on all capital used. The term _gross profits_\n    describes a sum made up of this net profit and interest on\n    the capital.\n\n_Standards of Wages and Interest._--This accurate correspondence\nbetween men's incomes and their contributions to the general earnings\nof society would exist only in the absence of certain changes and\ndisturbances which it will be our aim, in the latter part of this\nwork, to study. These changes give to society the quality that we\nshall term _dynamic_, and we shall examine them at length. What can,\nhowever, be asserted in advance is that the rates of wages and\ninterest which would prevail if the changes and disturbances were\nentirely absent constitute standards toward which, in spite of all the\nchanges that are going on, actual wages and interest are continually\ntending. How nearly in practice the earnings of labor and capital\napproximate the ideal rates which perfect competition would establish\nis a question which it is not necessary at this point to raise. We\nhave to define the standard rates and show that fundamental forces\nimpel the actual rates toward them. The waters of a pond have an ideal\nlevel toward which they tend under the action of gravity; and though a\ngale were to force them to one end of the pond and cause the surface\nthere to stand much higher than the surface at the other end, the\nstandard level would be unaffected and the steady force of gravity\nwould all the while be drawing the actual surface toward it. In our\nstudy of Economic Dynamics we shall encounter influences which act\nlike the gale in the illustration, but at present we are studying what\nis more akin to gravity--a fundamental and steady force drawing wages\nand interest toward certain definable levels. In our present study of\nEconomic Statics we must seek to discover how these standards are\nfixed, in the midst of the overturnings which industrial society\nundergoes.\n\n  A'''   B'''   C'''   H'''\n  A''    B''    C''    H''\n  A'     B'     C'     H'\n  A      B      C      H\n\nWe have already represented, in a highly simplified form, the\nsynthesis by which the goods which make up the income of society are\nproduced. A, B, and C represent different raw materials, and they are\nchanged by a series of transmutations into A''', B''', and C''', which\nstand for all the consumers' goods that the society uses. They\nrepresent food, clothing, furnishings, vehicles, and countless means\nof comfort and pleasure.\n\n_The Making of Active Instruments of Production._--It is necessary\nalways to have and use a stock of tools, machines, buildings, and\nother active instruments of production; and as these wear out in the\nusing, it is necessary that there should be persons who occupy\nthemselves in keeping the stock replenished. Under a system of\ndivision of labor there would be special industries devoted to the\nmaking of new appliances of production to take the place of those\nwhich are worn out and discarded, and also to make repairs on those\nwhich are still in use. For illustration, we may let the symbol H'''\nrepresent all active capital goods that the society uses, the various\nraw materials which enter into such active goods being represented by\nH and the partly made instruments by H' and H''. If the stock of\nappliances is not growing larger, just enough of the articles H''' are\nmade to replace the discarded ones. No producer gets new machinery,\nbut every one keeps his stock intact.\n\n_The Simplified Representation Correct in Principle._--We have now a\nvery simple representation of what actually goes on under the name of\nthe division of labor, and yet the representation is in essential\npoints accurate. In reality a very detailed and minute division and\nsubdivision of industries takes place and the varieties of goods\nproduced are innumerable. Society, as a whole, is making the most\nhighly composite product that can be conceived; namely, consumers'\nwealth in its countless forms. Each of the grand divisions of\nsociety--the general groups that we have represented by the series of\nA's or of B's--makes a complete article; but even that is in its own\nway far more composite than the symbol indicates, for it is apt to\ncontain several kinds of raw material and to be made up of a large\nnumber of distinct utilities, each of which has its own set of\nproducers. This complexity of the process of production does not\nchange the principle of distribution, by which the product is\nvirtually analyzed into its component elements and the value of each\nelement is assigned to those who create it. This principle can be\nclearly represented by assuming that each subgroup has one distinct\nutility to create and that it takes only four of these to make an\nA''', a B''' or a C'''.\n\n_A Synthesis within Each Subgroup._--There is within each subgroup a\nsynthesis going on, and this also may be complex. Labor and capital\ndig ore from the ground--an unusually simple process; and yet there\nare several distinct operations to be performed before the ore is\nready for smelting. When it comes to fashioning the metal into useful\nshapes, the operations become very numerous and require many\nsubordinate trades even for the making of one product. How many\nmechanical operations go to the making of a bicycle, an automobile, or\na steam yacht? Too many to be represented in any table, but not\nenough to change at all the principle according to which those who\nhelp to make one of these composite products are paid according to\ntheir contributions to it. We may consider that all the work that is\ndone in one kind of mill creates one utility. Though there are many\nsubtrades in making a shoe and many more in making a watch, we may\nproceed as though there were only one transformation of the raw\nmaterial required in each case. We may let the division between the\ncontiguous subgroups be made commercially rather than merely\nmechanically, and regard the establishments that buy material and sell\nit in a more highly wrought condition as moving it forward by one\nstage on the road to completion, however many changes they may have\nmade in it in the different departments of their several mills. The\ndifference between shoes, on the one hand, and the leather and\nfindings of which they are made, on the other, thus passes for one\nutility. A manufacturer of shoes puts his leather and findings through\nmany operations before he has shoes for sale; but it is convenient to\ncall all that the manufacturer imparts to these raw elements before he\nmakes them over in their new form to the merchant, one subproduct.\n\n_Further Complexities which may be Disregarded._--One man may be in\nseveral of the general groups. It is possible, for example, that he\nmay furnish raw materials which enter into more than one finished\narticle. Iron is so extensively used that it goes into more products\nthan can easily be counted. The man who digs iron ore contributes to\nthe making of bridges, rails, locomotives, buildings, machines, ships,\nand tools in indefinite number and variety. The price of each of the\narticles into which any of this material goes contains in itself the\nprice of that part of the raw material which goes into it. There is\nsteel in a ship, and the maker of that part of the output of raw steel\nwhich goes into a ship gets his pay from the price of the vessel; and\nso with the crude metal which goes into a bridge, a building, an\nengine, etc. What the producer of a material gets from each source\ntends, under perfectly free competition, to equal in amount what he\ncontributes toward the value of the corresponding article. In terms of\nour table a miner may furnish ore from which iron is taken for the\nmaking of both A''' and B'''; and if so, when the distributive process\nanalyzes these products into their elements, the value of what he has\nin each case contributed will fall to him. He will be paid according\nto the help he has afforded in the making of the A''' and the B''',\nand this fact does not change in principle the manner in which the\nincome of society is divided. If the man helped to make only one\nthing, he would get a part of the price of that one thing; but if he\nhelps to make several, he will get a part of the price of each of\nthem. Each group has one grand function to perform, such as the making\nof an A''', and if the man helps in more than one, and is paid\naccordingly, his total pay is according to the amount he produces in\nall the different functions he performs, and the principle of\ndistribution works as perfectly as it would if the man were confined\nto the single subgroup A. For simplicity we assume that he is so.\n\n_The Functions of Capitalist, Laborer, and Entrepreneur often\nperformed by One Person._--One person may perform several functions,\nnot only by contributing to the products of several groups, but by\ncontributing in more than one way to the product of one subgroup. He\nmay, for example, both labor and furnish capital, and he may, further,\nperform a special cooerdinating function which is not labor, in the\ntechnical sense, and scarcely involves any continuous personal\nactivity at all, but is essential for rendering labor and capital\nproductive. What this function is we shall presently see. We shall\nterm it the function of the _entrepreneur_, using this term in an\nunusually strict way. We shall keep this function quite distinct from\nthe work of the superintendent or manager of a business.\n\n_How Much the Term \"Labor\" Covers._--We include under the term _labor_\nall effort expended in a routine way in carrying on business. The\noverseers in the shops, the bookkeepers, clerks, secretaries,\ntreasurers, agents, and, in short, all who perform any of the labor of\nmanagement for which they get or can get salaries are laborers in the\ncomprehensive sense in which we use the word. It comes about that the\nemployer usually labors; for he does the highest and most responsible\nwork in his own mill or shop. It is not, however, in his capacity as\n_entrepreneur_, or \"_undertaker_,\" that he labors; for, as the\n_entrepreneur_, properly speaking, he employs and pays for all the\nwork that receives a stipend. He may employ himself, indeed, and set\naside a stated sum to pay his own salary; but this means that in his\ncapacity as _entrepreneur_ he needs a good manager and hires himself\nto act in that capacity. Scrupulous fidelity is the most important\nquality that a manager can possess, and the employer can always trust\nhimself to possess it so long as it is his own interests that he\ncontrols.\n\n_Entrepreneur and Capitalist._--In the same way we include in the\ncapital of an establishment whatever invested funds the employer\nhimself supplies, as well as what he hires from others. Here again a\nman is likely to serve in more than one capacity, for as an\n_entrepreneur_ he hires capital and as a capitalist he lets it out for\nhire, so that in the one capacity he hires capital from himself acting\nin the other capacity. The man \"puts money\" into his own business and\ngets interest for the use of it.\n\n_The Different Functions of the Same Man distinguished in\nBusiness._--This distinction between the different functions that one\nperson may perform is not a mere refinement of theory, but is\nsomething that is recognized in business and has great practical\nimportance. In a corporation officials who are also stockholders\nreceive salaries that are usually reckoned on the basis of the amount\nthat they could get in the market if they were to enter the employment\nof other corporations and do the same kind of work they are now doing.\nFavoritism may give them considerably more than this amount, but even\nthen this amount is the basis of the calculation which fixes their\nstipend. If they are paid more than their work is worth to their own\ncorporations, what they get is something besides wages or any other\nnormal and legitimate income. If they accept for their time less than\nthey are worth, they make a donation to the corporation. Neither\nfilching something for nothing out of the returns of the corporation,\nnor giving it a gratuity, is to be here assumed as existent, since we\nare not dealing with the phenomena of quasi-plunder or eccentric\nbenevolence. The character of wages of management, as the reward for a\nhigh grade of labor, is recognized in business life, and the salary\nof the manager, whether he is a stockholder or not, is usually\nexpressed in a definite sum of money and is gauged, crudely or\naccurately, according to his value as a servant of the company.\n\n_Dividends often Composite._--In like manner it is important in the\nbookkeeping of a company to ascertain how much of the return to the\nstockholders is merely interest on the capital they have themselves\ninvested and how much is true profit, or the net gain which is over\nand above interest. In business life a distinction is pretty clearly\nmaintained between the three kinds of income that have been described;\nnamely, the reward of labor in all its forms, the reward of capital,\ngoing to whoever furnishes it, and the reward of a cooerdinating\nfunction, or the function of hiring both labor and capital and getting\nwhatever their joint product is worth above the cost of the elements\nwhich enter into it. This essentially commercial margin of returns\nfrom production above all costs of production is profits in the strict\nsense and would be nonexistent in an absolutely static industry. It\ncomes into existence in consequence of the changes with which social\nEconomic Dynamics deals.\n\n_Three Incomes entirely Distinct._--Wages, interest, and profits,\nthen, are the three incomes that we shall distinguish. We shall keep\nprofits completely separated from the wages of any kind of labor and\nfrom the interest on any kind of capital. This income falls to the\n_entrepreneur_, otherwise called the undertaker, or the employer and\ncooerdinator of labor and capital, and it comes only when the product\nof the operations carried on in his establishment exceeds all wages\nand all interest that he has to pay.\n\n_How a Man could be an Entrepreneur Only._--If a man should hire all\nthe capital that he needs in a business and also all the labor,\nincluding the labor of every man in the office force, and reside\nthereafter in a distant country, holding no consultations with his\nmanagers, whatever income he might get would be purely an\n_entrepreneur's_ profit. It would not be interest--for that amount\nwould have to be paid to the men who had loaned the capital--and it\nwould not be wages--for they would have to be made over to the men\nactually doing the work. The absent _entrepreneur_ would be, in the\neye of the law, the purchaser of all the elements which go into the\nproduct, since all the purchases are made in his name. The managers\nare only his agents, and when they buy raw materials or supplies for\nthe mill, they buy them for him and by his authority, and he is under\nthe obligation to pay for them. Moreover paying wages is, in reality,\nbuying the share which labor contributes to the product of the mill.\nThe workmen have a natural right to the value which their work, _of\nitself and aside from the aid furnished by others_, imparts to the\nmaterial that is put into their hands, and when they sell their labor,\nthey are really selling their part of the product of the mill. In like\nmanner paying interest is buying the share which capital contributes\nto the product. The owners of the capital have an original right to\nwhat the machines, the tools, the buildings, the land, and the raw\nmaterials, of themselves _and apart from other contributions_, put\ninto the joint product. In reality they sell this share for a\nconsideration in the form of interest. In a static state labor and\ncapital together create the whole product of the mill; wages and\ninterest are the prices that they get for their several\ncontributions, and the _entrepreneur_ pays these purchase prices and\nby virtue of this becomes the owner of the whole product. Having the\nproduct, he sells it in the market for what he can get. If this were\nmore than the cost to him of all the elements that have gone into it,\nhe would have a net profit remaining. It would be a remainder accruing\nto the owner and seller of the product after the costs of getting a\ntitle to it have been defrayed. Whether the absent _entrepreneur_ of\nour illustration gets anything from his business or not depends on the\nquestion whether such a remainder of returns above costs is afforded.\n\n_Profits Nil in a Static Society._--We shall see that if labor and\ncapital can move about in the system of groups so freely that each\nagent is as productive in one place as it is in another, there will be\nno product anywhere in excess of wages and interest. Labor and capital\nthen create and claim for themselves the whole output of their\nindustries. When the _entrepreneur_ has given them their shares, by\npaying wages and interest, and has paid for raw materials, he has\nnothing left. In actual business competition is often sharp enough to\nprevent men from getting more than interest on their capital and a\nfair return for the labor they spend in directing their business; and\npure theory here assumes that competition is always and everywhere\nsharp enough to do this. It is ideally efficient. Labor and capital\nare ideally mobile and ready to flow at once to the points where any\nnet profits can be made. Such a condition implies that society is in a\n_static_ state, and we shall see what this condition is. It implies an\nabsence of organic change in society. The great collective producer\ndoes not alter either its form or its mode of producing wealth.\nIndustry goes on, indeed, but it goes on in a changeless way.\nReserving the full description of this state for a later chapter, we\nnote here that the adjustment which would theoretically bring a\nsociety to such a state would preclude all gains for its\n_entrepreneurs_.[3]\n\n    [3] The preceding paragraphs may seem to show that if an\n    _entrepreneur_ ever gets an income, he does it by wresting\n    from labor and capital a part of their products. We shall see\n    that in _dynamic industry_ there is a normal way in which he\n    may get an income without taking anything from the incomes\n    that labor and capital would get if he did not perform his\n    part. His return may come from the result of an enabling act\n    which he performs, whereby both the labor and the capital of\n    a particular subgroup become more productive than other labor\n    and capital are and more so than they would be if the\n    _entrepreneur's_ enabling act were not performed.\n\n_The Merging of Functions Desirable._--The uniting in one person of\nthe functions of capitalist, laborer, and _entrepreneur_ contributed\nmuch to the productivity of the small-shop system of former days. The\nman who had a few thousand dollars invested in a little shop and\nemployed a few men to assist him got three different kinds of income,\nand the sum of the three was larger than anything he could have\nsecured if he had been only a laborer or only a small capitalist and\n_entrepreneur_. He worked harder and more intelligently than a hired\nsuperintendent would have done; he was led to be cautious because his\nown capital was risked in his business, and yet he was spurred to\nenterprise by the fact that when, by virtue of the influences which we\ncall _dynamic_, profits were made, he got them. Even in the largest\ncorporations the same conditions contribute to success, and it is best\nthat managers should be owners of some part of the capital which they\nhandle and receivers of some portion of the profits which they try to\nsecure for their companies. Where competition is sharp, companies\ndirected by their owners may supplant those of which the direction is\ngiven over to hired managers. The growth of corporations does,\nhowever, tend to put salaried men more and more into controlling\npositions and to reduce the power of the body of stockholders, who\nperform a joint function as capitalists and _entrepreneurs_. In itself\nthis tends to reduce profits and detracts from the advantages which\nthe incorporation of a business offers.\n\n_Distribution primarily Functional rather than Personal._--Where men\nget incomes that are composed of wages, interest, and profits,\neconomic science should, in the first instance, tell us how the rates\nof wages and interest and the amount of profits are determined. A\nstudy of the static laws of distribution concerns itself with the\nreward of labor as such, and the reward of capital as such, while\na study of dynamics takes account of pure profits. When we know\nwhat the rates of wages and interest are, we can tell what any\ncapitalist-manager should have by knowing how much capital he\nfurnishes and how much and how well he works as a manager. If the\nbusiness is yielding a net profit, over and above the interest on its\ncapital, we can tell what part of this net income any one stockholder\nwill get--in the form of a rate of dividends in excess of the rate of\ninterest--if we know how much of the common stock of the company he\nowns. His personal income depends on the incomes attaching to the\nfunctions he performs. The science of distribution should tell us\nprimarily, not what any man personally gets as a total income and how\nwell off he is as compared with other men, but in what way the wages\nof his labor, the interest on his capital, and the return for the\n_entrepreneur's_ function are fixed. In technical terms this is saying\nthat distribution is primarily _functional_ and not personal. Certain\nforces assign certain rewards to different functions which are\ninvolved in the creating of wealth, and the science of distribution\ntells us how these forces work--tells us, in short, how wages,\ninterest, and true profits are, in and of themselves, determined. If\nany man works and gets wages, that part of his income will be\ndetermined by the wages law. If he furnishes capital, a second part of\nhis income will be determined by the interest law. If he also\ncooerdinates labor and capital, whatever he may thus gain is determined\nby the law of profit. Economic science has to ascertain and state what\nthese three laws are, though in its static division it has only to\naccount for two of them.\n\n_Costs as well as Gains Apportioned._--The term _distribution_, as\ncommonly used, denotes a division of the gains of industry; but as we\nhave said, there are sacrifices which have to be borne in getting the\ngains, and these also have to be shared. Wealth benefits men in the\nusing, but puts burdens upon them in the making; and when all society\ndoes the making, it has to apportion, in some way, not only the\nbenefits but the burdens. We shall take account of these sacrifices\nbecause of the relation that they bear to the gains. They act as an\nultimate check on production. Men would go on producing indefinitely\nif the operation cost them nothing, since it would always be agreeable\nto have a further income; but they necessarily encounter pains and\nsacrifices that, sooner, or later, bring the enlargement of their\nincomes to an end. Much that is of importance occurs at that critical\npoint where the sacrifices of production put an end to the extension\nof it. It is the positive fruits of production that we have first to\nconsider; and what in this connection we wish first to know is how\nwages and interest are determined when industry is carried on in a\nsocial way and under a system of competition. We shall find that these\nincomes are always tending toward standards which they would reach if\nsociety were in the state which we have described as static. How they\nare forced away from their standards by the changes and disturbances\nof actual life, and how the standards themselves change with social\ndevelopment, will be the subject of the latter part of this treatise.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nVALUE AND ITS RELATION TO DIFFERENT INCOMES\n\n\nFunctional distribution controls personal incomes since each man who\ngets, in a normal way, any income at all performs one or more\nproductive functions, and his total income is the sum of the returns\nfor these several functions. Moreover under such a condition of\nideally perfect competition as we have assumed each of these functions\nis rewarded according to the product that it creates; and each man\naccordingly is paid an amount that equals the total product which he\npersonally creates. Men's products, even in the disturbed conditions\nof actual life, set the _standards_ to which their returns tend to\nconform, though they vary from them in ways that we shall not fail to\nnotice.\n\n_Group Distribution._--The grand total of the social income has to go\nthrough a preliminary division before it is shared by laborers,\ncapitalists, and _entrepreneurs_. In each industry the pay of all\nthese functionaries comes from the selling price of the commercial\narticle that they cooeperate in making. The price of shoes pays all\nshoemakers, whether what they contribute to the manufacturing is\nlabor, capital, or mere cooerdination; and it also pays ranchmen and\ntanners for what they contribute in the shape of leather, raw and\ndressed. If the price of shoes should rise, there would be a larger\nincome for the group whose activities create them. So if woolen\nclothing were to become dearer, there would be more money for the\ngroup that makes it, and this would include those who raise sheep and\nthose who convert wool into cloth, as well as the garment makers\nthemselves. The question, what members of a group would get the\nbenefit of a rise in the price of its product, is one that must be\ndiscussed in connection with economic dynamics, and we shall find,\nwhen we reach this part of the subject, that it is _entrepreneurs'_\ngains which come largely from sources like this. We have already seen\nthat, in a static condition and with prices, wages, and interest\nimmovably held at rates to which perfectly free competition would\nbring them, _entrepreneurs_ as such would get _nil_, and the whole\nprice of every article would be distributed among the laborers and the\ncapitalists who make it. The proof of this will appear when we have\nexamined the process by which the values of goods are adjusted, and\nthis will help to prepare the way for a study of the sources of net\nprofits, which are an all-important feature of actual business.\nSociety is honest or dishonest according as this _entrepreneurs'_\nincome is gained in one way or in another; and it is not too much to\nsay that before the court of last resort, the body of the people, no\nsystem of business will be allowed permanently to stand unless the\nbasic principle of it tends to eliminate dishonest profits. A chief\npurpose of static studies is to afford a means of testing the\nlegitimacy of the incomes that come to _entrepreneurs_.\n\n_Market Price._--The old phrase _supply and demand_ describes the\nprocess by which the market price of anything is determined. The total\nmercantile stock of goods of a particular kind at any one time on hand\nis, of course, an exact quantity, and the law of \"market value,\" when\nthese words are used in a restricted and technical sense, determines\nthe price at which this predetermined amount can be sold.\n\n_How a Normal Supply is Determined._--This present stock, however, was\nbrought into existence by producers who looked forward to the time\nwhen they could probably sell it at a certain price; and the higher\nthis anticipated return for the article, the more of it they were\ninduced to make. The price, which to-day depends on the quantity on\nhand, acted in advance as a lure to bring that quantity into\nexistence, and among the different articles which men can produce,\nthey are forever singling out for increased production those things\nwhich offer the strongest lures--that is, the things that sell for the\nlargest amounts as compared with the cost of making them. The ultimate\ntendency of all this is a certain adjustment of the relative supplies\nof different commodities. It is that adjustment which brings all\nprices to a level determined by cost.\n\n_Natural Value._--This tendency toward cost prices--those which\nafford to the producers wages for all their labor but no true\n_entrepreneurs'_ profit--establishes a further law, that of \"natural\nvalue,\" and this it is that fixes the standard to which, in the long\nrun, market values, as adjusted by supply and demand, tend to conform.\nA market value is natural or unnatural according as it does or does\nnot conform to a certain standard, and this ultimate standard itself\nis the cost of producing the several kinds of goods. What the term\n_cost_ in this connection really means we must later see; but for the\npresent we may take the common and practical view that it is the\namount of money that an _entrepreneur_ must pay out in order to bring\nthe article into existence. If there were very little wheat in the\ngranaries of the world, demand acting on this limited supply would\ndetermine the selling price of it, and this price would be high as\ncompared with the cost of raising this grain. It would also be higher\nthan the selling prices of other things which are produced by the same\nexpenditure of labor and capital that has to be made in raising the\nwheat. The market price would, for the time being, be unnatural and\nwould in due time be brought down; but this would have to be done by\nthe raising of more wheat. In other words, though the selling price of\na small supply of wheat may be _normal for that amount_, the amount\nsupplied is itself abnormally small, and in view of that fact the\nresulting price is too high to be allowed to continue. As a permanent\nprice it would not be natural. The quantity supplied tends to increase\ntill the market price conforms to the cost of raising the wheat. We\nhave to see, first, how demand fixes the price of a definite amount of\nanything which is offered for sale and, later, how the quantity\noffered is controlled.\n\n_How Prices are Determined._--It is certain that if, in a given\nmarket, we increase the quantity of goods that are to be sold, we\nlower the price,[1] while, if we diminish the quantity, we raise the\nprice. That is the commercial fact and it furnishes a beginning for a\ntheory of value.\n\n    [1] The term _market_, as used in this discussion, means a\n    local area within which goods of given kinds are bought and\n    sold; and for different purposes we may make the area small\n    or large. For some purposes it is necessary to take a \"world\n    market\" into consideration, while for others it is desirable\n    to include only that part of the world within which\n    competition is very active and within which also goods and\n    persons move freely and cheaply from place to place. A single\n    country like the United States affords a market large enough\n    to illustrate the laws of value, though one must always keep\n    in view the relation of this circumscribed area to its\n    environment. How local areas may, in a scientific way, be\n    delimited and isolated for purposes of study will appear in a\n    later chapter.\n\nLet us suppose that we have a fixed quantity of goods on hand, that\nall must be sold, and that no one knows at the outset what price they\nwill bring. There might conceivably go on an inverted kind of\nauctioning process, in which the sellers at the outset would ask a\nhigh rate, sell a few of their goods, and then gradually reduce the\nprice till the last article should be sold. At each reduction of the\nprice the \"effectual demand,\" so-called, would increase. This means\nthat the people who want the article are actually willing to take and\npay for larger quantities the lower the price falls. Mere desire does\nnot influence the market, but an \"effectual demand\" means a desire and\na tender of the money that is asked for the goods. It is, in short, an\nactual purchase and the amount of it becomes larger as the price goes\ndown. People who did not buy the article before now add it to the list\nof goods that they take for use, and the people who were already\ntaking a certain quantity of it now take more.\n\n_Equation of Supply and Effective Demand._--If this effective demand,\nor amount of goods actually bought and paid for, becomes steadily\nlarger the lower the price becomes, it is clear that, however large\nthe total supply may be, it can all be sold by making the price low\nenough. It was once thought that this is all we need to know of prices\ncurrent or market values. At some selling rate or other the quantity\nactually offered will come to equal the quantity that is actually\nbought. This is the equation of demand and supply. The quantity\noffered is here supposed to be fixed and to include all of the\narticle that is in dealers' hands and that has to be sold; and the\nprice, starting at a high rate, is supposed to go down till the sale\nof the entire quantity is effected.\n\n_Varying Demand and Price._--The facts that have just been stated\naccount only in a partial way for the adjustment of market price. One\nwho wishes to trace phenomena to their causes cannot help asking why\ndemand and supply insure the selling of a given amount of goods at one\nrate rather than at another. If apples are offering at two dollars a\nbarrel, why is it that, in a particular local market, one thousand\nbarrels and no more can, at that rate, be sold? We can readily see\nthat at one dollar a barrel more could be sold than at two, and that\nat three less would be sold. But why is it that, at two dollars, the\ndefinite number of one thousand barrels is the amount that is taken\nand paid for? Why is the equation of demand and supply established at\nexactly that price?\n\n_Demand and Final Utility._--We come nearer to the cause that acts in\nadjusting the price of apples when we say that they sell at two\ndollars a barrel because that sum expresses their \"final utility.\"\nThis means that, if such an auctioning process as we have described\nwere resorted to, the last barrel of apples which would be sold would\nhave to the buyer an amount of utility just equal to that of the final\nunit of any other article that could have been had for the same money.\nThe auctioning, however, would cause different barrels of apples to\nsell at different prices, whereas there is something in the working of\ncompetition which causes all of them to sell at the same price. It is\nnecessary to see, first, how the price of the \"final\" one is adjusted\nand, secondly, how that fixes the price of all the others.\n\n_The Law of Diminishing Utility._--We revert here to one of those\ngeneral laws of economics that we have already stated and see it\nacting under the conditions of distinctly social life. Goods of a\ngiven kind have less and less utility, per unit, the more the user has\nof them. If you offer him apples in increased quantity, he will value\nthe first part of the supply highly, but will attach less value to the\nlater parts. When the desire for this fruit is fairly well satisfied,\nhe will find other articles of more importance. At the price of two\ndollars a barrel it is just worth his while to buy a final barrel of\nthem. That quantity, as added to his winter's supply, will give him\ntwo dollars' worth of benefit. This means that it will do him as much\ngood as anything else which he can get for the same amount of money.\n\n_The Equalization of Final Utilities._--Two dollars spent in adding to\nhis previous stock of other things will do the man in the illustration\nthe same amount of good that he can get from a final barrel of apples,\nand no more. In the case of goods which are all alike and of which\nconsumers are always glad to use an additional amount, prices tend to\nadjust themselves in such a way that a final unit of any one which the\nconsumer buys with a dollar is worth just as much to him as a final\nunit of any other article he buys with that amount. The last dollar\npaid for apples is as remunerative, in the way of pleasure and benefit\nsecured, as is the last dollar used to improve his wardrobe, to add\nsomething to his stock of furniture, to buy tickets to the theater,\netc. Apples have, as it were, to compete with clothing, furniture, and\namusements for the consumer's favor, and if the vender charges more\nfor them than do the venders of other things having the same power to\ngive pleasure, some of the apples will remain unsold; for though\ncustomers will always give as much as they would have to pay for other\nthings of equal final utility, they will not give more.\n\n_The Prices of All Increments of Supply Equal._--A consumer always\ngets a net surplus of benefit from the early increments of the goods\nhe consumes. If the last barrel of apples is worth two dollars,--or,\nwhat is the same thing, if the last barrel has in it an amount of\nutility equal to the final utility of other things that two dollars\nwill buy,--the first barrel has a larger utility; and yet it costs no\nmore than the last one. The sellers of apples, if they expect to\ndispose of all that they have, must at the outset fix the price at\nsuch a point that the very last increment of the supply will\nsuccessfully compete with other articles for the favor of purchasers.\nCompetition forces them to sell the whole amount so cheaply that the\nleast important part of it may be as important to the purchaser of\nthat part as the corresponding and least important part of the supply\nof other things. Nothing but a monopoly of the entire available stock\nwould enable them to carry out the auctioning plan and offer the stock\npiecemeal, so as to get a higher price for the parts offered early.\nEven then buyers who should perceive the fact that a large part of the\nstock remained in reserve and that it must ultimately be sold would be\nable, by delaying their purchases, to get the benefit of a later and\nlower rate, so that the monopoly itself would be only partially\nsuccessful in its policy. In the absence of a monopoly venders are\ncompelled to sell all articles of one kind and quality at one price.\nThe man who should fix a higher price on his portion of the supply\nwould be passed by in favor of other sellers who were disposing of\ntheir final increments, and his business would quietly drift away from\nhim. _There cannot be two prices for one commodity in the same market_\nat the same time. This fact is fundamental. Even the monopoly is able\nto get different prices for different parts of its output only by\noffering them at different times; and competing producers cannot do\nthis. They are forced to keep the price of all they offer at a level\nthat expresses its final utility.\n\n_The Law of Value affected by the Difficulty of using Two Similar\nGoods at Once._--There are two imperfections in the common statement\nof this law of final utility which need to be removed in order that\nthe theory of value, which is based on the law, may be true and\nuseful. The first lies in the assumption that people buy completed\narticles, such as coats, tables, vehicles, watches, etc., in regular\nseries of units, adding to their stock coat after coat, watch after\nwatch, etc., all just alike, till the utility of the last one becomes\nso small that it is better to buy other things. On this supposition\nthe price of the whole supply of any such thing corresponds with the\nutility of the last one in the consumer's series. This fairly well\ndescribes the case of commodities like apples, of which men consume\nnow more and now less per day or per week and are always glad to\nincrease the amount they use. Of most kinds of consumers' goods a\nperson wants at one time one unit and no more, and a second unit, if\nhe has to use it himself within the same time in which he uses the\nfirst, would be an incumbrance. Its utility would be a negative\nquantity. Two quite similar coats would never be bought by the same\nperson if he had only his own needs in view and must use both coats\nthrough the same period. The first unit of his supply is, for this\nperiod, also the last.\n\n_The Law of Value affected by the Fact that the Final Unit of a Good\nis usually a Complex of Unlike Utilities._--The second imperfection\nconsists in the assumption that in measuring the utility of such a\nunit the consumer estimates the importance to himself of the article\ntaken in its entirety. In the case of the apples of our illustration\nthe difficulty is not obvious. A man, as we have just noticed, may\nincrease or diminish his consumption of this fruit; the first few\napples that he uses will give him more pleasure than a second similar\nquantity, and the price of apples in the market may actually depend on\nthe utility of the final peck of apples that each of the customers\nconsumes in a season. In other words, there is, in this instance, a\nprobability that the goods, although supplied at once, may be\nappraised as if they were offered in a regular series and that the law\nof final utility, in its common and simple form of statement, may in\nthis particular apply to the case. The second difficulty, however,\nremains, and even in the case of such goods as apples renders the\ncommon statement somewhat inaccurate, while in the case of most kinds\nof consumers' goods the inaccuracy is glaring. If the price of fine\nwatches corresponded with the utility of the last one that a consumer\nuses, it would be many times greater than it is. Rather than go\nwithout watches altogether many a man would pay one thousand dollars\nfor one for which he actually gives a hundred; and, moreover, this\nwatch may be the \"final\" one in his case. The utility of the last\novercoat that a man uses in the winter may be such that, if he could\nhave it on no other condition, he would readily give five hundred\ndollars for it instead of fifty.\n\n_How Unlike Services may be rendered by One Good at the Same\nTime._--What people want of any useful thing is an effect in\nthemselves,--a pleasure or a benefit which they expect to get,--and\napart from this subjective result they would not want the thing at\nall. The power to confer a particular benefit is a utility. Men buy\ngoods solely for their utilities, and they measure these\nservice-rendering powers in the things offered to them and pay for\nthem accordingly. Now, it happens that articles often combine in\nthemselves a considerable number of different utilities, or\nservice-rendering powers, and that in buying an article the man pays\nfor them all. It is as though four or five different servants, each\nhaving his own specialty, were to offer themselves for hire and invite\nan employer to consider what each one could do for him. In buying an\narticle which will serve him in several ways, a man appraises all the\nunlike services that the article will render. He secures several\nservices at once, as he would do if he hired, in a body, several\nactual servants. The same thing would happen if, instead of hiring\nhuman servants with different aptitudes, one should buy different\ncommodities each of which is, in reality, an inanimate servant, able,\nin its own way, to do something useful or agreeable for the purchaser.\nWe could bunch a lot of these goods and buy them collectively. Venders\nof the goods could tie them together in bundles and offer them thus\nfor sale. If the different goods were also sold separately in the\nmarket, they would command in the bundles the same prices that they\nwould command when sold each by itself, and a bundle would bring the\nsum of the several prices of its component articles. _In just this way\nin which an aggregate of different goods would get its valuation does\nany one article which is made up of different utilities get its\nrating. The utilities are appraised separately._ In buying an article\nwhich is a composite of different utilities, we virtually employ a\ncompany of servants who have different specialties and insist on being\nhired all together or not at all.\n\n_How the Normal Price of a Bundle of Unlike Goods would be Fixed._--We\nhave now to see how the action of the market analyzes an article and\nputs a price on the several utilities which compose it. The market\ndoes this in exactly the same way in which it would appraise a bundle\nof dissimilar articles which had to be sold separately, and we will\ntherefore trace the operation by which a package containing the\ncommodities A, B, C, and D would get its value in an actual market.\n\n_How the Normal Price of a Single Good in a Bundle of Unlike Goods\nwould be Fixed._--Let us see how a bundle made up of commodities A, B,\nC, and D would get its value in the market. We will suppose that these\narticles are here named in the order of their importance, and that A\nhas the highest utility, since it renders the most important service,\nand that D has the least. It may be that the article A has a utility\nrated at one hundred dollars in a particular man's esteem. He would\ngive one hundred dollars for it rather than do without it altogether.\nThe service, then, that one article of this kind can render is\nexpressed by the sum one hundred dollars. Article B taken separately\nmay be worth fifty dollars, since it may render such services that the\nman would give fifty dollars rather than be without it. A third\narticle, C, may in the same way be valued at twenty dollars and a\nfourth at ten. Now, if a man has to buy the whole bundle, must he pay\none hundred dollars plus fifty plus twenty plus ten, or one hundred\nand eighty for the whole? This does not by any means follow. The first\narticle may be sold separately at a price far below one hundred\ndollars. There may be so large a supply of it that, in order to find a\nmarket for it all, the makers must take ten dollars for it. This fixes\nthe market price of that amount of this commodity at ten dollars. If\nwe now glance beyond the question of the \"market price\" of the goods\nand consider their more permanent or \"normal price,\" the inquiry\nrequires us to do more than ascertain why a definite quantity of the\ngoods offered at a certain time sells for a certain amount. An appeal\nto the law of final utility answers that question. To know, however,\nwhy the permanent price is what it is, we have to know what fixes the\npermanent supply, and we discover that the cost of making the goods is\nhere a dominant influence. For the present we assume that this cost\ndoes not change, since such changes are a subject for the dynamic\nstudies which will come later. The present fact is that production has\nbeen carried to such a point that no more of these goods can be sold\nat the cost price, and there the enlargement of the output has\nstopped; the supply has at some time in the past reached this normal\npoint and now remains there. Ten dollars represents the final utility\nof the article, and this sum is what it costs to make it. If it could\nbe sold for any more than that, competition would bring new producers\ninto this business and would impel those already in it to enlarge\ntheir production till the price would stand at the normal or cost\nlevel of ten dollars.\n\n_The Consumers' Surplus._--In every such case there are men who would\ngive much more for the article rather than be without it, and we have\nsupposed that some one would pay a hundred dollars for this commodity\nif he could not otherwise obtain it. Ninety dollars, then, measures\nwhat we may call his _consumers' surplus_, or the clear benefit he\ngets from buying at its market price an article that is worth to him\nso much more. This comes about by the fact that the makers of article\nA, in order to sell the amount of goods that competition has impelled\nthem to make, must accept the offers of persons who can consistently\ngive only ten dollars for it. These are relatively poor persons, and\nas the sum of ten dollars expended on other articles would benefit\nthem as much as ten dollars spent on this one, it is a \"final\"\npurchase, or a final increment of their consumers' wealth. In order to\nget it they sacrifice, in some other form, a benefit as great as the\none they get from acquiring this commodity and receive, therefore, no\nconsumers' surplus from it. These are the men whose demand helps to\nfix the price of the article A, and the willingness of other persons\nto give more does not make it bring any more. The rich men, who stand\nready to pay a hundred dollars, if necessary, are gainers by letting\npoorer men fix this price. It is by catching the patronage of these\npoorer men that the makers can dispose of their large output, and in\ndoing this they have to bring the price down to ten dollars.\n\n_The Function of a Special Class of Marginal Purchasers of Each\nArticle._--In like manner there is a class of \"marginal purchasers\" of\nthe article B, or the persons who pay for it so much that they get no\nnet benefit or consumers' surplus from the purchase. If they did not\nbuy this article, they could get something else that would do them as\nmuch good for the same outlay. It costs, let us say, only ten dollars\nin the making, and enough of these articles are made and offered for\nsale at that price to supply all customers who are attracted by the\noffer. The men who would pay more for it do not count. Each of the\nother articles in the bundle, when it is offered separately and at the\ncost price which competition establishes, represents a final utility\nto some one class of purchasers. Competition has made the whole supply\nso large that, in order to dispose of it, venders must attract the\nparticular class who will take it at the ten-dollar rate. This class\nis in the strategic position of market-price makers for this one\nthing. They are the last class to whom the producers can afford to\ncater. If each of the five articles in the bundle costs the makers ten\ndollars, and if so many of each are made that they just supply the\nneeds of the classes that will buy them at ten dollars apiece, the\nprice of all five, when sold separately, will be fifty dollars. Most\nof the purchasers of each article would give more than ten for it if\nthey had to, but some would not do so, and the producers cater to the\nneeds of these marginal persons.\n\n_How the Prices of the Goods are fixed when they are sold in Various\nCombinations._--How do these articles get their valuation when they\nare tied in bundles containing all five of them and the bundles are\nsold unbroken? In essentially the same way as when sold separately.\nArticle A, we will suppose, is one of the necessaries of life and is\nto be had by itself in the market. Article B represents a comfort, and\nC and D are luxuries. The bundles are so made that A and B are often\nsold together; as are also A, B, and C; and A, B, C, and D. A\npurchaser may have at his option the first only, the first and the\nsecond combined, the first three, or all four. Article A, when it\nstands alone, can be had at the natural or cost price and in quantity\nsufficient to supply the wants of all classes of buyers from the\nhighest down to the class which will take it at ten dollars--the cost\nof making it--but at no higher price. Any one can have the A either\nalone or tied to other articles at this price. One who buys A and B in\ncombination will pay for article A only the same price that it\ncommands when sold separately; and since he buys B, the utility of\nwhich is less than that of A, at ten dollars, it is clear that he gets\nA for less than it is worth to him, but the ten dollars may be all he\nwould give for the B. This man is not the marginal purchaser of A, for\nin buying it he realizes a consumers' surplus; but for the article B,\nwhich is tied to it, he may pay all that it is worth to him. For that\nhe is a marginal purchaser, and as such he gets no consumers' surplus\nout of it. What he pays for B will just suffice to buy something else\nwhich is equally important to him. The price of this bundle of two\narticles is ultimately determined by the cost of the two components,\nwhich is twenty dollars, and enough of each component is made and\noffered in the market to supply the wants of a class of persons who\nwill barely decide to take it at the cost rate. The class that\nhesitates at taking A will not consider B, but the class that\nhesitates at taking B gets a clear benefit from buying A at the price\nthat expresses the utility of A to a poorer class of persons.\n\n_How Different Classes of Purchasers cooeperate in this Price\nMaking._--The rule of one price for one article of course holds, and\nthe man who would have a clear and decisive motive for buying the A\nfor more than ten dollars, if he had to do so, gets the benefit of two\nfacts: first, that it costs only that amount in the producing, and\nsecondly, that competition makes the supply of it so large that it is\nbrought within the reach of those persons who value it at only ten\ndollars. It takes two different classes of purchasers to fix the price\nof this package of two articles, and their ratings fix it at twenty\ndollars. Exactly the same influences regulate the price of the bundle\nwhich includes A, B, and C. Men who buy C can afford to have a luxury,\nand therefore, if they had had to do so, would have given more than\nthey do give for the articles of necessity and comfort. If the price\nof A and B were higher than it is, they would still buy these two\nthings, but they would not raise their bids for C, since for this they\nare marginal purchasers. This commodity is therefore sold at the price\nthat will just induce this class of persons to add it to their list of\nconsumers' goods. There is a further class in whose list of purchases\nD is marginal, while A, B, and C yield a consumers' surplus in the\nform of an uncompensated personal benefit.\n\n_Different Utilities in an Article appraised as are Different Goods in\na Package._--It is an actual fact that most commodities are like these\npackages of unlike articles. They are bundles of unlike utilities,\nand the market actually finds a way to analyze composite things and\nput a separate price on each utility. It may seem very theoretical to\nsay that a concrete thing, like a watch, a coat, a dining table, or a\nroast fowl, is made up of such abstract things as utilities and that\neach of these has its separate price; yet such is actually the fact,\nand if goods were not valued in the market in this way, the prices of\nall articles of comfort and luxury would be very much higher than they\nare.\n\nA man pays seventy-five dollars for an overcoat, but if he could not\nget the service that the coat as a whole renders without paying five\nhundred dollars for it, he would pay it; for otherwise he could hardly\nget through a winter. No man who buys an overcoat worth seventy-five\ndollars would refuse to pay more if that were the necessary condition\nof having an overcoat at all. The garment as a whole is far from being\na \"marginal utility\" to any one; and yet there is something in it that\nis so. This element is like the article D in the fourth bundle\nreferred to in our illustration. There is a particular utility in the\ncomposite good for which the man pays all that it is worth to him; and\nhe would go without that utility if the seller charged more than he\ndoes. The most important service that the coat renders is that of\nkeeping the man warm; but a very cheap garment would render that\nservice, and six dollars will buy such a garment. The man does not\nneed to pay more than six dollars for that one service. The supply of\ncheap coats is such that the final one must be offered for six dollars\nin order to induce certain poor purchasers to buy it, and that,\nmoreover, is all that it costs to make it. No one, therefore, is\nobliged to pay more than six dollars for something that will keep him\nwarm, however much such a service may be worth to him. Coats of\nanother grade have a second utility combined with this one, since they\nare made of better cloth and are more comely in appearance. Utilities\nof an aesthetic kind are combined with the crude qualities represented\nby the cheapest coats. The supply of coats of this grade is such that\nthey must be offered for twenty dollars in order to induce some one to\ntake the final or marginal one. What does this mean? It means that\nthis purchaser will pay fourteen dollars and no more in order to have\nthe second utility, consisting in comeliness, added to the first\nutility, capacity to keep him warm. This man would give more than\ntwenty dollars rather than go uncloaked; for it is plain that, if he\nwill pay fourteen dollars for comeliness, he will give more than six\nfor warmth. Probably he would pay one hundred dollars for the article\nif he had to, and in getting it for twenty he gets a large consumers'\nsurplus. This is because he secures the first utility (1) for less\nthan it is worth to him, (2) for just what it costs in the making, and\n(3) for just what it is worth to the poorer purchasers. He is willing\nto pay only fourteen dollars for the comeliness, which is the second\nutility that the garment contains, and he is therefore a marginal\npurchaser of this second utility. It costs only the sum of fourteen\ndollars to add the second utility to the first, and enough coats of\nthe second grade are made to catch the patronage of the class of\nbuyers who will give so much and no more for it. They are the persons\nwhose demand figures in adjusting the market price of this second\nutility. Competing producers of coats cause the supply of those of the\nsecond grade to be so large that they could not all be sold unless the\nsecond utility were offered for fourteen dollars. This makes the price\nof the entire coat twenty dollars as the result of catering in a\ndetailed way to the demand of two different classes of buyers.\n\nIn exactly the same way the price of the third grade is fixed at forty\ndollars and that of the still higher grade at seventy-five. In the\nthird grade there is a utility which it costs twenty dollars to add to\nthose possessed by garments of the second grade, and this is added to\nenough of them to supply all persons who will pay twenty dollars or\nmore for it. These coats are made of more highly finished goods and\nhave better linings, and this gives them the third utility which the\nmarket appraises at its cost, which is twenty dollars. The men who buy\nthe forty dollar coats get a surplus of benefit in securing the first\ntwo of the utilities that are embodied in them, since for these they\npay less than they would pay if they had to; but they get no surplus\nover the cost of the third utility. It is to secure their custom that\nthe vender must sell it for twenty dollars. In a like manner a coat of\nthe next grade, which is a more fashionable garment, sells for\nseventy-five dollars because it has a fourth utility which costs\nanother sum of thirty-five dollars and, to the marginal buyers, is\nworth that amount. These men get a surplus from buying the first three\nutilities at what they cost their producers and what they are worth to\npoorer purchasers. It appears, then, that a seventy-five dollar coat\nis a bundle of distinct elements, or utilities, each of which has its\nseparate cost and is sold at that cost price to a particular marginal\nclass of purchasers. Each element is valued exactly as if it were in\nitself a complete article tied in this case to others, but also\noffered separately in the market. Persons of one class are final\npurchasers of the first utility when it is offered at its cost, six\ndollars. Another class, in a like manner, helps to set the price of\nthe second utility at fourteen, and still other classes figure in the\nadjustment of the prices of the third and fourth utilities. These cost\nthe manufacturers twenty dollars and thirty-five dollars respectively,\nand competition insures the making of enough of them to catch the\npatronage of those who will pay just these amounts. Members of one\nclass act as marginal purchasers in price making in the case of one\nutility only. The concurrent action of all of them results in setting\nthe price of the best coat at eighty dollars. It is a very practical\nfact that the rates at which all fine articles sell in the market are\nfixed in this way. Such articles contain utilities unlike each other.\nThey have power to render services of varying degrees of importance,\nand each of the several services gets its normal valuation when\nproducers make enough to supply the want of a particular group of\npersons to whom it is a marginal service and who are willing to pay\nonly what it costs. They would go without that one service if they had\nto pay more for it.\n\n_This Method of Valuation Applicable to All Commodities of High\nGrade._--Illustrations of this principle might be multiplied\nindefinitely. A fine watch tells the time of day, but something that\nwould do that could be had for a dollar, and that is all that this\nfundamental element in the fine watch sells for. It takes a series of\npurchasers bidding on the higher utilities of the fine watch to make\nit sell for five hundred dollars. The man who buys such a watch would\ngive, perhaps, ten thousand for it rather than be without a watch\naltogether, but he is saved from the necessity of doing so by the fact\nthat poorer customers have done the appraising in the case of all the\nmore fundamental qualities which the watch possesses. So long as an\nIngersoll \"dollar watch\" will tell the time of day, no one will pay\nmore than a dollar for exactly that same service rendered by any watch\nwhatever; and the same thing is true of other services. Social in a\nvery concrete and literal sense is the operation of fixing prices.\nOnly the simplest and cheapest things that are sold in the market at\nall bring just what they are worth to the buyers, and all articles of\nhigher grade offer to all who buy them a surplus of service not offset\nby what is paid for them. If we rule out the cheapest and poorest\ngrades of articles, we find all others affording a \"consumers'\nsurplus.\"[2]\n\n    [2] It will be seen that to a man who buys the seventy-five\n    dollar coat that article in its entirety is the final one of\n    its kind which he will buy. He does not want a second coat\n    exactly like the first. The same thing is true of the man who\n    buys the five hundred dollar watch, since he does not think\n    of buying more than one. In each case the first unit of the\n    article bought is the last one, and it contains utilities\n    which are worth more than they cost. It contains one utility\n    only which is marginal in the true sense of affording no\n    surplus of gain above cost. This utility stands on the\n    boundary line where consumers' surpluses stop.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nNORMAL VALUE\n\n\n_Natural Supply._--We have attained a law of market value, which\ndetermines the price at which a given amount of any commodity will\nsell, and have taken a quick glance at the influence which fixes the\namount that is offered and thus furnishes a natural standard to which\nthe market value tends to conform. At any one moment the amount which\nis supplied is an exact quantity, and if it all has to be sold, it\nwill bring a price which is fixed by the final utility of that amount\nof the commodity. If the quantity offered for sale should become\ngreater or less, the final utility and the price would change. Final\nutility controls the immediate selling price, and if that is above the\ncost of production, a margin of gain is afforded which appeals to\nproducers, sets competition working, and brings the quantity made up\nto the full amount which can be sold at cost. The amount of the supply\nitself is therefore not a matter of chance or caprice. It is natural\nthat a certain quantity of each article should be supplied, and that\nthe price should hover about the level which the final utility of that\nquantity of the good fixes. \"Natural\" or \"normal\" price is, in this\nview, the market price of a natural quantity.\n\n_Cost as a Standard of Normal Price._--It is commonly and correctly\nstated that the normal price of anything is that which just covers the\ncost of producing it. Cost in this case is the total amount of money\nthat the _entrepreneur_ pays out in order to bring the commodity into\nexistence. He buys raw materials and pays for all the labor and\ncapital that transform them into a new and saleable shape. If he can\nmake a net profit, he does so; but competition tends to adjust the\nquantity produced and the consequent price in such a way that he can\nmake no net profit. What he gets for the article will then reimburse\nhim for his total outlay, but it will do no more. Since the quantity\nproduced is normal when it brings the market price to this level of\ncost, it appears that the cost is the ultimate standard in the case.\nThe quantity supplied varies till it causes the market price just to\ncover the cost; and so long as the quantity supplied is thus natural,\nother influences remaining the same, the price is so. This states the\ncost of production in terms of money paid by an _entrepreneur_ and the\nreturns from the operation as money received by him; but there is a\nmore philosophical way of conceiving the law of cost, and to this we\nshall soon recur.\n\n_Elements of Cost._--Whatever the _entrepreneur_ has to pay for in the\nproduction of an article is of course an element in its monetary cost\nto him. If he does not begin the making of it by drawing his raw\nmaterials from what nature freely furnishes, he must pay some one for\nthe raw material. He must also pay for the labor, and this is\nequivalent to buying the fraction of the article that is produced by\nlabor; for the laborer, as we have seen, is the producer of a certain\nfractional share of the article and the natural owner of that share,\nand when he agrees to let his labor for hire, what he really does is\nto sell out his individual interest in the forthcoming product of the\nindustry in which he is about to engage. When a workman in a shoe\nfactory agrees to work for two dollars and a half a day, he really\ncontracts to sell every day for that amount a certain quantity of\nshoes. The leather is one element which enters into the finished\nshoes, and therefore the entire shoe is not really made in the\nfactory; but of the part which is there made, namely, the utility that\nresults from transforming the leather into shoes, one part is made by\nlabor and another by capital. The _entrepreneur_ has to buy both of\nthese if he is to acquire a valid title to the product and have a\nright to sell it. These costs are therefore \"purchase money\" paid for\nundivided shares of goods.\n\n_Labor of Management._--It usually happens that an _entrepreneur_, or\nemployer of labor and capital, performs some labor himself; and we\nhave already noted the reason for this in the fact that the kind of\nlabor that he performs is so important that the fate of the business\noften depends on it. He may manage the business so well as to make it\nsucceed or so ill as to make it fail. He pays himself for this labor\nwhen he draws a salary for his services. As an _entrepreneur_ he\ntreats his own labor as he does that of any one else and buys the\nfraction of the product of his business that his own labor of\nmanagement has created. In this he illustrates the general law that\nall payments of wages are payments of the purchase of a certain\nquantity of product. Though the owner's own contribution to the\nproduct is not always mentioned in terms in the accounting, that is\nwhat his salary is paid for, though it is spoken of as a payment for\nhis \"time,\" or his labor.\n\n_The Capitalist as the Vender of a Share in a Product._--Capital, as\nwe have seen, also contributes a definite share toward the total\namount of every product in the making of which it cooeperates. Labor\ndoes not do all the transforming of leather into shoes which is done\nin the factory, since machines, fuel, etc., help; and we shall later\nfind that there is a way of determining how much of the product the\nhelp so given creates. It adds a certain amount to what labor can\nclaim as its own special product, and the man who owns the capital\nbecomes the lawful claimant for this additional share. When he agrees\nto let his capital work for an employer, he virtually sells to the\nemployer the undivided share of the product--shoes or what not--that\nthe capital really creates. The furnisher of productive instruments,\nlike the furnisher of labor, is a vender, and the _entrepreneur_ is a\nbuyer.\n\n_Entrepreneur and Capitalist._--As was stated in an earlier chapter,\nan actual employer nearly always furnishes some of the capital that he\nuses. If he did not do so, he would have difficulty in borrowing more,\nsince banks or other lenders do not loan to empty-handed men. It is\nclear that what the employer gets in return for such capital as he may\nput into the business is in reality a payment for a contribution which\nthat particular part of the capital makes to the product. Since each\nbit of capital in an establishment contributes something toward the\ncreating of the product, the employer's own capital has the same right\nto the value of its contributary share as has the capital of any one\nelse. What the employer-capitalist gets for capital the employer,\npure and simple, pays. As the furnisher of instruments the man is a\nvender of the product of these instruments, while as an _entrepreneur_\nproper he is the buyer. He must purchase the product of his own\ncapital just as he purchased the product of his own labor. In paying,\ntherefore, wages for all labor, including what he performs himself,\ninterest on all capital, including his own, and the price of raw\nmaterials, he gets something which, if competition does a perfect\nwork, he has to sell for what he gives for it. The shoes, when he\nsells them, tend, under active competition, to yield only what has\nbeen paid for them in the making and, in a perfectly static state,\nwould actually yield no net profit. All the _entrepreneur's_ costs,\ntherefore, resolve themselves into purchase money paid, his receipts\nare money accruing from sales; and under ideally free competition the\ntwo sums total are equal.\n\n_The Entrepreneur's Proper Function not Labor of Management._--In some\ntheoretical discussions the management of a business figures as the\nprincipal function of the _entrepreneur_, and all or nearly all of the\nreward that comes to him is represented as coming in the shape of a\nreward for a responsible kind of labor that calls great abilities into\nrequisition. But it is very clear that, whether he personally performs\nany labor or not, the employer has a distinctly mercantile function to\nperform; and this in itself is totally unlike the work of overseeing\nthe mill, the shop, or the salesroom. He acquires a title to the whole\nproduct by paying for the contributions which labor and producers of\nraw material separately make toward it, and then parts with the\nproduct; and if he gets any more than he has paid out, he makes a\nprofit. When industry is in what we have termed a dynamic state, such\na difference between the value of the product and the cost of the\nelements that go into it is continually appearing, and that, too,\nlargely in consequence of causes over which, as a mere manager, the\nemployer has no control. A profit so gained cannot be wages of\nmanagement. It is a purely commercial gain, or a difference between\nwhat is paid for something and what is received for it.\n\n_Mercantile Profit._--It is best, therefore, to distinguish in some\nperfectly clear way between that function of the _entrepreneur_, which\nconsists in buying and selling, and any work that he may find it best\nto do in the way of superintending the business. At the cost of using\nthe term _entrepreneur_ in a stricter sense than the one customarily\nattached to it, we will make this word describe the purely mercantile\nfunctionary who pays for the elements of a product and then sells the\nproduct. The reason for the very division between gains from this\nsource and gains from management we shall soon appreciate, for we\nshall see that competition tends to reduce one of these incomes to\nnothing, but tends to perpetuate the other and to make the amount of\nit conform to a positive standard. The _entrepreneur_, as we shall use\nthe term, is neither the manager nor the capitalist, and when we have\noccasion to speak of either of these functionaries, we shall call him\nby his own distinctive name; though we know perfectly well that, in\nactual business, it is desirable and often quite essential that the\nsame one who acts as an _entrepreneur_ should also put into the\nbusiness some labor as well as some capital. A man who performs two\nunlike functions, buying and selling, on the one hand, and managing\nthe business, on the other, serves in two capacities that are clearly\ndistinguished from each other; while if he furnishes any of the\ncapital, he adds to these a third capacity entitling him to the value\nof the product of his capital. As a manager he directly aids in\nproducing goods, and he gets pay for so doing from his other self, the\n_entrepreneur_, who acquires the title to the goods; as a capitalist\nhe has another legitimate claim upon himself as _entrepreneur_.\n\n_These Distinctions recognized in Practical Accounting._--That this is\nno bit of mere theoretical subtlety is proved by the fact that the\nbookkeeping of nearly all establishments distinguishes between these\ntwo incomes by actually putting an appraisal on the work the employer\ndoes and paying a salary for it. A man may be a large owner of stock\nin a corporation and yet receive a salary that is fixed by an estimate\nof what an equally useful man could be hired for. If personal\ninfluence secures more for him than this, the excess is taken from the\npockets of the stockholders, and the amount of it is accounted for in\na way that does not fall within the scope of pure economic law.\n\n_How \"Natural\" Prices exclude Entrepreneur's Profits._--The old and\ncorrect view is that the tendency of competition is to make things\nsell for enough to cover all costs, as we have defined them, and no\nmore. Under a different phraseology this is what Ricardo and others\nhave rightly claimed. They were unconsciously explaining what would\nhappen in a static state, for if society were actually in this state,\nthe goods that come out of the factory would be worth just enough to\nreimburse the owner for all the outlays that can be called costs. If\nthey sell for more than this, there is to be had from the business an\nincome that costs nothing. It is a net profit above all claims based\non personal labor or on the aid furnished by capital, and it furnishes\nan incentive for enlarging the business, and labor and capital are\ntherefore drawn into it. _Entrepreneurs_ bring them and for a time\nmake a profit by this means; but as their presence increases the\noutput of goods that are here made, it brings down the price till\nthere is no inducement to move any more labor and capital in this\ndirection.\n\n_The Significance of a Natural Adjustment of Different\nIndustries._--The \"natural\" state of general industry is that in which\neach particular branch of it is in the no-profit state. It is as\nthough laborers and capitalists in a shoe factory took all the shoes\nthat it turns out, sold them in a market, paid for the raw material\nout of the proceeds, and kept the remainder, dividing it between\nthemselves in proportions which corresponded with the amounts they had\nseverally contributed toward the making of this product; and as though\nthe laborers in cotton mills and iron foundries received the goods\nthere made and dealt with them in a like manner. It is as though in\nevery branch of business the whole product were turned over in kind to\nthe furnishers of labor and capital.\n\n_The Entrepreneur a Passive Functionary under Static\nConditions._--Purely passive is the function of the _entrepreneur_\nunder static conditions. In so far as any effect on his income is\nconcerned he might as well reside in a foreign land as in the one\nwhere his business is located, provided always that the management\nwere unaffected. When the same man is both _entrepreneur_ and manager,\nthe absence of the first of these functionaries would mean the absence\nalso of the second, and that would cause trouble; but the purely\nmercantile operation of getting a title to a product and then\nsurrendering it can be carried on as well in one place as in another.\nThe _entrepreneur_ in his capacity of buyer and seller does not even\ndo the work which purchases and sales involve. That is commonly done\nby agents. Some of it, of course, may be done by the responsible\nmanager himself, and if that person is also the _entrepreneur_, it\nfollows that he does a part of the commercial labor of his business.\nIn this, however, he goes beyond his function as _entrepreneur_. In\nthat capacity he does, as we have said, no labor of any kind. Sales\nand purchases are made in his name, but he does none of the work that\nleads up to them.[1]\n\n    [1] The holders of common stock in a corporation are always\n    _entrepreneurs_, and they are also capitalists if the stock\n    represents any real capital actually paid in. If the bonds\n    and the preferred stock represent all the real capital that\n    there is, any dividends that may be paid on the common stock\n    are a pure _entrepreneur's_ profit. If, on the other hand,\n    the stock all represents money actually put into the\n    business, the dividends on it contain an element of net\n    profit if they exceed simple interest on the capital and\n    insurance against the risks that are not guarded against by\n    actual insurance policies. If the rate of simple interest is\n    four per cent, and the value of the unavoidable risk is one\n    per cent, then a dividend of six per cent contains a pure\n    _entrepreneur's_ profit of one per cent. In dynamic\n    conditions such a return is often to be expected, and we\n    shall soon study the conditions that afford it.\n\n    In the present study we do not need to consider risks,\n    inasmuch as the greater part of them arise from dynamic\n    causes; that is, from the changes and disturbances to which\n    the business world is subject. An invention promises greatly\n    to cheapen the production of some article and, for a time, to\n    insure large returns for the men who first utilize it. A\n    capitalist may be willing to take a risk for the sake of\n    sharing this gain; but in time both the risk and the gain\n    will vanish. The capacity of the new appliances will have to\n    be tested, a market for their output found, etc. A small\n    remainder of risk is still entailed upon the capitalist if he\n    leaves his money in this business. The death of the managing\n    partner, the defaulting of payments for goods sold, the\n    chances of unwise or dishonest conduct on the part of clerks\n    or overseers, always impend over a business, but these\n    dangers are at a minimum when the man who is at the head of\n    the force of managers has capital of his own in the business.\n    Risks are at a static level only when they are thus reduced;\n    and for our present purpose it is best to consider that\n    competition has eliminated the establishments where any\n    recklessness has been shown in the management, and that the\n    unavoidable remainder of risk resolves itself, nearly enough\n    for practical purposes, into a _deduction from the product_\n    which the surviving establishments turn out in a long period\n    of time. A small percentage of their annual gains, set aside\n    for meeting unavoidable losses, will make good these losses\n    as they occur and leave the businesses in a condition in\n    which they can yield as a steady return to owners of stock,\n    to lenders of further capital, and to laborers all of their\n    real product.\n\n_How the Entrepreneur contributes to Production under Dynamic\nConditions._--In a dynamic state the _entrepreneur_ emerges from this\npassive position. He makes the supreme decisions which now and again\nlead to changes in the business. \"Shall we adopt this new machine?\"\n\"Shall we make this new product?\" \"Shall we enter this new market?\"\nare questions which are referred to him, and on the decisions he\nreaches depends the prospects of profit for the business. This\nactivity is not ordinary labor, but in a true sense it is a productive\nactivity, since it results in placing labor and capital where they can\nproduce more than they have done and more than they could do were it\nnot for the enabling act of the _entrepreneur_ which places them on a\nvantage ground of superiority. This subject will be discussed in a\nlater chapter and in connection with other phases of economic\ndynamics.\n\n_Values at a Static Level only when Entrepreneurs' Gains are\nNil._--Any net profit on an _entrepreneur's_ part means that his\nproduct is selling for more than the elements of it have cost him. But\nthis is a condition which, if labor and capital are as mobile as the\nstatic hypothesis requires that they should be, will cause this\n_entrepreneur_ and others to move labor and capital into his industry,\nthus increasing its output and lowering the selling price of its\nproduct. If there is no such action going on, it shows that the\n_entrepreneurs_ have no incentive for taking it.\n\n_Values at a Static Level only when the Gains of Labor in the\nDifferent Industries are Equalized._--If labor is creating more in one\nsubgroup than in others, as it often is in a dynamic condition, that\nfact means that some _entrepreneurs_ are making a profit, and,\naccording to the principle stated in the preceding paragraph, this\nmeans that values are not at their static or \"natural\" level. If,\nowing to new methods or to some other cause, a given amount of\nlabor[2] in the subgroup that produced the A''' of our table creates\nan amount of that product which sells for more than the B''' or the\nC''' which labor of like quantity makes, then the manufacturers of\nA''' would obviously get a margin of profit. They would not be obliged\nto pay for labor any more than the market rate, and that, as we shall\nsee, cannot exceed what labor produces in the groups B''' and C'''. In\nA''' the labor creates more and the employer pockets the difference.\nIn saying this we assume one fact which we undertake later to prove;\nnamely, that there is a definite amount of each product which can be\nattributed to labor alone as its producer. Capital and labor work\ntogether, but each is, in effect, the creator of a certain fraction of\ntheir joint product.\n\n    [2] In measuring labor we, of course, take account of the\n    quality of the men who perform it, and the work of a skillful\n    man is counted as more units of labor than that of an\n    unskillful one.\n\n_Values Static only when the Gains of Capital in Different Industries\nare Equalized._--If capital is creating more in one industry than in\nanother, there is a margin of profit for the _entrepreneurs_ in the\nexceptionally productive industry. They pay as interest on the capital\nthey use only the market rate, which is what equal amounts of capital\ncan produce and get elsewhere. If they produce more in the one group,\nthe _entrepreneurs_ there can pocket the excess as they did in the\ncase of the product of labor. We assume that there is everywhere a\ndefinite product that can be attributed to capital alone.\n\n_Values Normal when Moneys paid out by Entrepreneurs equal Moneys\nReceived._--In the preceding paragraphs we have spoken of exchange\nvalues as being static under certain conditions, but we might have\nexpressed the essential fact by saying that prices are static under\nthese conditions since the money a product brings is a true\nexpression of its value. If A''' sells for as many dollars as does\nB''', the two things exchange for each other. In like manner the\nproduct of labor and that of capital may be expressed in terms of\nmoney, since the quantities of goods which they respectively make sell\nfor certain sums. Wages and interest are nearly always conceived in\nterms of money. The commercial mode of computing costs of production\nand returns from production is to translate them into moneys paid by\n_entrepreneurs_ and moneys received.\n\n_Costs of Production as related to Static Incomes._--What to an\n_entrepreneur_ are costs are to workmen and capitalists incomes. The\none pays out wages and interest, and the others get them; and these\ntwo sums are normal when together they equal the prices received for\ngoods produced. The _entrepreneur_ is the universal paymaster, and in\na static condition all incomes come from his hand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nWAGES\n\n\n_The Equilibrium of Industrial Groups._--The different industrial\ngroups are in equilibrium when they attract labor and capital equally,\nand that occurs when these agents produce as much per unit employed in\none group as in another. Such equalized productivity is the bottom\nfact of a static condition, and equalized pay follows from it. Wages\nand interest tend to be uniform in all the groups. Efficient labor, of\ncourse, gets in any employment more than inefficient; but labor of a\ngiven grade gets in all the groups that make up industrial society a\nuniform rate of pay, and nothing is to be gained by any capitalist or\nby any laborer by moving from one employment to another. They all\ntherefore stay where they are, not because they cannot move freely if\nthey wish to do so, but because no inducement to move is offered to\nthem. This is a condition of perfect mobility without motion--of atoms\nready to move at a touch without the touch that would move them. The\nparadox indeed holds that it is the ideally perfect mobility which has\nexisted in the past which positively excludes motion in the present.\nAt some time in the past labor and capital have gone from group to\ngroup till they have brought about an adjustment in which they have no\nincentive for moving farther. The surface of a pool of water is kept\ntranquil, not because the water is not perfectly fluid, but because,\nin spite of the fact that it can flow with entire freedom in any\ndirection if it is impelled more in that direction than in any other,\neach particle of it is impelled equally in all directions. It is the\nperfect equilibrium that keeps the particles from changing their\nplaces, and fluidity has caused the equilibrium. In like manner when\nlabor and capital can create and get just as much in one place as in\nanother, they are attracted as strongly in one direction as in another\nand therefore do not move. A young man of average capacity, who is\ndeliberating upon the choice of an occupation, will find that he can\ndo as well in a cotton mill as he can in a shoe factory, a machine\nshop, a lumber mill, a flouring mill, or any other industrial\nestablishment requiring his particular grade of capacity. This is the\npicture of a perfectly static industrial condition. Economic science\nhas to account for values, wages, and interest as they would be in\nsuch a condition, however impossible it is that society should ever\nreach exactly such a state. The values, wages, and interest in a real\nmarket are forever tending toward the rates that would be established\nif the static condition were realized.\n\n_The Sign of a Static State._--The sign of the existence of a static\ncondition is, therefore, that labor and capital, though they are\nperfectly free to move from one employment to another and would\nactually do so on the slightest inducement, still do not move. They\nstay where they are because they cannot find places where they can\nproduce the slightest amount in excess of what they now produce, and\nno employer will anywhere offer any excess above the prevailing rate\nof pay.\n\n_Profits and the Movements they induce the Sign of a Dynamic\nState._--_Entrepreneur's_ profits, when they exist, mean that this\nequilibrium is disturbed, and when it is so, mobility of labor and\ncapital affords the guaranty that a new equilibrium will be\nestablished if no further disturbances follow. As we have said,\nprofits attract labor and capital, increase the output of those goods\nwhich yield the profit, and reduce the prices of them to the no-profit\nlevel. Workmen and capitalists then get from the _entrepreneur_ as\nwages and interest all that he gets from the public as the price of\nhis goods, except what he pays for raw materials.[1] In other words,\nthe employer sells his goods at cost.\n\n    [1] The _entrepreneur_ of A' of our table must buy the A in\n    order to impart to it that utility which is his own\n    particular contribution. He pays as wages and interest all\n    that he gets for this contribution. The true product of the\n    _entrepreneur_ is not the entire price of the A', but is the\n    difference between that and the price of the A. The entire\n    amount received for the A' resolves itself into wages,\n    interest, and cost of A; but as a rule the price of A\n    resolves itself practically into wages and interest only, and\n    when it does so, all that is paid for the A' ultimately takes\n    these forms. The same is then true of the finished product\n    A'''. The entire price of it is ultimately resolvable into\n    wages and interest; and in speaking of the product of an\n    entire group we do not need to make any reservation for raw\n    materials.\n\n    The case in which this statement requires qualification is\n    that in which the material in its rawest state still has\n    value, as is the case with ore and mineral oil contained in\n    the earth but not a true part of land in the economic sense,\n    since they are exhausted in the using. The price of a product\n    into which these elements enter includes something that\n    represents the value which they have _in situ_ and before any\n    labor has been expended on them. It is true even in these\n    cases that the value of the product is measured in terms of\n    wages and interest, provided that the exhaustible elements\n    such as ore, oil, etc., are capable of being replenished, or\n    provided that an effective substitute for them is in process\n    of production by means of labor and capital. The natural raw\n    material is then worth what the artificial substitute costs\n    in terms of capital and labor, and the finished product which\n    contains some of the natural material sells for the amount\n    which the finished product costs, which is made altogether by\n    labor and capital applied to valueless elements in nature.\n\n_How Costs are Determined._--The early studies of \"natural\" values, or\nvalues which conform to costs of production, were unconscious and\nimperfect attempts to attain the laws of value in a static state. In\nsuch a state costs resolve themselves into wages and interest, and the\nconception of such a static state is therefore not complete unless we\nknow how wages and interest themselves are determined. What we have\nalready said implies that they fluctuate about certain standards, just\nas do the prices of goods, and that they would remain at these\nstandards if society were reduced to a static condition.\n\n_Significance of Static Law in a Dynamic State._--An actual society is\nundergoing constant disturbances. It is very far from being static;\nand yet values of goods, on the one hand, and the earnings of labor\nand capital, on the other, hover within a certain distance of the\nstandards which would be realized if the society became static. In\nspite of active dynamic movements the general returns of labor and\ncapital can never range so far from these theoretical amounts that the\ndistance from them cannot in some way be measured and accounted for.\nThe sea, when gales are blowing and tides are rising and falling, is\nanything but a static object, and yet it keeps a general level in\nspite of storms and tides, and the surface of it as a whole is\nsurprisingly near to the ideal mathematical surface that would be\npresented if all disturbances were to cease. In like manner there are\ncertain influences that are disturbing the economic equilibrium just\nas storms and tidal waves disturb the equilibrium of the sea. We\ncannot actually stop these influences any more than we can stay the\nwinds and the lunar attraction; but we can create an imaginary static\nstate for scientific purposes, just as a physicist by a process of\ncalculation can create a hypothetical static condition of the sea and\ndiscover the level from which heights and depths should be measured.\nNo more than the economist can he actually bring the subject he is\ndealing with to a motionless condition. The economic ocean will defy\nany modern Canute who may try to stop its movements; but it is\nnecessary to know what shape and level it would take if this were\ndone.\n\n_Influences that disturb the Static Equilibrium._--The influences that\ndisturb the economic equilibrium are, in general, five. The population\nof the world increases, and this is one influence which prevents\nvalues, wages, and interest from subsiding to perfectly \"natural\"\nstandards. Capital is increasing, and this influence also acts as a\ndisturbing factor. The methods of producing things change, and the\nchanges have a very powerful effect in preventing the attainment of a\nstatic equilibrium. New modes of organizing different industries are\ncoming into vogue, and this causes a further disturbance of the\neconomic adjustment. The wants of men are by no means fixed; they\nchange, multiply, and act on the economic condition of society in a\nway that affects the static adjustment. Even physical nature undergoes\nchange, and the perishable part of the earth does so in a disquieting\nway. We are using up much of our natural inheritance. As the effect of\nthis appears chiefly in forcing us to change our processes of\nproduction, we shall, for convenience, limit our study to the five\nchanges here enumerated.\n\n_Movement Inevitable in the Dynamic State._--These influences reveal\ntheir presence by making labor and capital more productive in some\nplaces than they are in others, and by causing them ever and anon to\nmove from places of less productiveness to places where gains are\ngreater. As we have said, this moving of labor and capital to and fro\nis, like currents in the sea, a sign of a dynamic condition. As in the\nstatic state these agents would not thus move, however fluid and\nmobile they might be, so in a dynamic state they are bound to move,\nbecause their earning powers do not remain long exactly equal in any\ntwo employments, and they go now hither and now yon, as, in the\nchangeful system, openings for increased gains present themselves. If\ncommodities were everywhere selling at cost prices and if wages and\ninterest were everywhere normal and uniform, labor and capital would\nnot move to and fro, and this would be a proof that dynamic influences\nwere absent.\n\n_How an Imaginary Static Society is Created._--If we wish to discover\nto what standard the values of goods, on the one hand, and the rewards\nof labor and capital, on the other, continually tend to conform, we\nmust create an imaginary society in which population neither increases\nnor diminishes, in which capital is fixed in amount, in which the\nmethod of making goods does not change, in which the mode of\norganizing industry continues without alteration, and in which the\nwants of consumers never vary in number, in kind, or in intensity.\n\n_Costs of Production in a Static State._--We have said that in such a\nstatic state the prices of different products are just high enough to\ncover the wages and interest which are generally paid. There are\nuniform or all-around rates of pay for labor and for capital, and\nevery man who hires workmen or gets loans from a bank has to pay them.\nIn the real world, full as it is of disturbances, and given over as it\nis to forces of change and progress, we find that values, wages, and\ninterest are in general surprisingly near to these standards. In a\nparticular business products may for a time sell for enough to afford\na large surplus above prevailing wages and interest, and business as a\nwhole may, for a time, yield some such surplus; but in the absence of\nmonopolistic privileges no one business yields a large surplus for a\nlong time, and still less does business as a whole do so, though\nprofits may always be found somewhere within the system.\n\n_The Final Productivity of Labor._--If we assume that the capital of\nsociety is a fixed amount, we may perform an imaginary experiment\nwhich will show how much labor really produces. We may set men at\nwork, a few at a time, until they are all employed, and we may measure\nthe product of each of the detachments. We should make the different\nsections of the working force as similar to each other as it is\npossible to make them and call each section a unit of labor. If there\nwere ten such divisions and if the quantity of capital were sufficient\nto equip them all on the scale on which laborers are at present\nactually equipped, it is clear that this amount of capital, when it\nwas lavished on one single section, must have supplied it with\ninstruments of production in nearly inconceivable profusion. What we\nshould to-day regard as a fair complement of capital for a thousand\nmen would nearly glut the wants of a hundred, and yet it is thinkable\nthat it should take such forms that they would be able to use it.\n\n_Productivity of the First Unit of Labor._--We will set at work one\nsection which we have called one unit of labor and will put into the\nhands of its members the whole capital which is designed ultimately to\nequip the ten sections. It is very clear that the forms that this\ncapital will take cannot be the same that it will have to take when\nthe entire working force is using it. Indeed, we shall have to tax our\ningenuity to devise ways in which one unit of labor can utilize the\ncapital that will ultimately be used by ten. The tools and machines\nwill have to be few in number but very costly and perfect. We shall\nhave to resort to every device that will make a machine nearly\nautomatic and cause it to exact very little attention from the person\nwho tends it. The buildings will have to be of the most substantial\nand durable kind. We shall have to spend money without stint wherever\nthe spending of it will make labor more productive than it would\notherwise be. If we do this, however, the product of the labor and its\nequipment will be a very large one. The industry will succeed in\nturning out indefinitely more goods than a modern industry actually\ndoes, and the reason for it will be that the workmen have capital\nplaced in their hands in unparalleled profusion.\n\n_The Product of the Second Unit of Labor._--We will now introduce a\nsecond unit of labor, by doubling the number of workers, without\nchanging the amount of the capital. We must, of course, change the\nforms of the capital, or it cannot be advantageously used by the\nlarger working force. The buildings will have to be larger, and if\nthey are to be erected with about the same amount of capital as was\nformerly used, they must be built in a cheaper way. Tools of every\nsort must be more numerous, and this larger number of tools, if it is\nto represent the same investment of capital that the former number\nembodied, must also be simpler and cheaper. The whole equipment of\n_capital goods_ will have to undergo a complete transmutation; but the\nessential thing is that the amount of the capital should not be\nchanged.\n\n_A Provisional Mode of Measuring Capital._--In measuring the amount of\nthe capital we are obliged to use a unit of cost, and in the\nillustration we have assumed that the cost can be measured in dollars.\nThe productive fund consisted at the outset of a certain number of\ndollars invested in productive operations. This is only a provisional\nmode of measuring it. The money spent really represents sacrifice\nincurred, and we shall find that the only kind of sacrifice that is\navailable for measuring the cost of goods of any kind is that which is\nincurred by labor. Ultimate measurements of wealth in all its forms\nhave to be made in terms of labor. Such measurements have presented\ndifficulties, and the attempt to make them has led to serious\nfallacies. We shall see, in due time, how these fallacies can be\navoided.\n\n_The Law of Diminishing Productivity._--Under these conditions the\nsecond unit of labor will add something to the amount that was\nproduced by the first unit, but it will not cause the product to\nbecome double what it was. It could not do that unless the capital\nalso were doubled. Each unit of labor is now cooeperating with one half\nof the original capital, and the total product is less than it would\nhave been if the new labor, on entering the field, had brought with it\nas full an equipment of productive instruments as was possessed by\nthe labor that preceded it. Adding to the industry a second unit of\nlabor without adding anything to the capital makes the total product\nsomewhat larger, but falls short of doubling it. If we credit to this\nsecond unit of labor what it adds to the product that was created\nbefore it came into the field, we shall find that it is a certain\npositive amount, but obviously less than the total product which was\nrealized by the first unit _and all the capital_. It is even less than\na half of the product of the two units using all the capital. Perhaps\nthe first unit of labor, when it used all the capital, created ten\nunits of product; while the two units of labor, using this same\noriginal amount of capital, produce sixteen units of product. The\nclear addition to the original product which is caused by the added\nlabor of the second squad of workmen is only six units, while a half\nof the total product after the addition to the labor has been made is\neight. This figure represents the amount we may attribute to one unit\nof labor and a half of the total capital, while six represent what is\n_causally_ due to one unit of bare labor only. With all the capital\nand one unit of labor we get ten units of product, while the addition\nof one unit of bare labor brings the total amount up to sixteen. Six\nunits find the cause of their existence in the presence of the second\nunit of labor, and the second unit therefore shows, as compared with\nthe first, a diminished productivity.\n\n_Product of the Third Unit of Labor._--We will now introduce a third\nunit of labor, leaving the amount of capital still unchanged, but\nagain altering the forms of it so as to adapt them to the needs of a\nstill larger working force. We will make the buildings larger and\ntherefore, of necessity, cheaper in their forms and materials. We will\nmake the tools and machines more numerous and simple, and will do\neverything that is necessary in order to make the fixed amount of\ncapital--the fund amounting to a given number of \"dollars\"--embody\nitself in the number and the kinds of capital goods that are requisite\nin order to supply three times the original number of workmen. The\nthird unit of labor now adds something to the product realized by the\nfirst two, but the addition is smaller than it was in the case of the\nsecond unit.\n\n_Products of a Series of Units of Labor._--If we continue this process\ntill we have ten units of labor, employing the same amount of capital\nas was formerly used by one, we shall find that each unit as it begins\nto work adds less to the previous product than did the unit which\npreceded it, and that the tenth unit adds the least of all.\n\nCare must be taken not to confound the addition that is made to the\nproduct in consequence of the additional working force with the amount\nwhich, after the enlargement of the force, is created by the last unit\nof labor _and its pro rata share of the capital_. When the tenth unit\nof labor is working, it is using a tenth of the capital and the two\ntogether create a tenth of the product. This is more than the amount\nwhich is _added_ to the product by the advent of the tenth unit of\nlabor. That addition is merely the difference between the product of\nall the capital and nine units of labor and that of all the capital\nand ten units of labor. This extra product can be attributed entirely\nto the increment of labor.\n\nIt is also carefully to be noted that when the units are all working\ntogether, their products are equal and the particular one which\nhappened to arrive last is not less productive than the others. Each\none of them is _now_ less productive than each one of the force of\nnine _was under the earlier conditions_. In like manner each unit of\nthe nine is less productive than was, in the still earlier period,\neach unit of the force of eight. At any one period, all units produce\nthe same amount. At any one period, then, what any one unit of labor\nproduces by the aid of its _pro rata_ share of the capital is a larger\namount than what each can be regarded as producing by itself. Though\none of ten units creates, with the aid of a tenth of the capital, a\ntenth of the product, of itself it creates less; for we can only\nregard as its own product what it adds to the product that was\ncreating before it arrived on the scene. It is the bare product of a\nunit of labor alone that we are seeking to distinguish from other\nelements in the general output of the industry, and that consists in\nthe difference between what nine units of labor and all the capital\ncan produce, and what ten units of labor and all the capital can\nproduce.\n\nWe will consider the amount of capital fixed and let the amount of\nlabor increase along the line _AE_, and we will let the product of\nsuccessive units of labor be measured by the vertical distance from\nthe points on the line _AE_ to the descending curve _CD_. _AC_ is the\nproduct of the first unit of labor. The product of later units is\nmeasured by lines to the right of _AC_ and parallel with it, which\ngrow shorter as the number of units increases. _ED_ is the product of\nthe last unit. In each case we impute to an increment of labor\nwhatever amount of product its presence adds to that which was created\nbefore.\n\n_Summary of Essential Facts._--The facts that are to be remembered\nthen are: first, that the capital remains fixed in amount, though the\nforms of it change as the number of units of labor increases;\nsecondly, that that which we call the product of a unit of labor is\nwhat that unit, coming into the field without any capital, can add to\nthe product of the labor and capital that were there before; and\nthirdly, that this specific product of labor grows smaller as the\namount of labor grows larger, rendering the product of the last unit\nthe smallest of all. When the tenth and last unit is working, each one\nof the nine earlier units is, of itself, producing no more than does\nthe final one, though it formerly produced more because of the larger\nquota of capital with which it was formerly supplied.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_The Test of Final Productivity._--There are now at work ten units of\ncapital and ten of labor, and we cannot go through the process of\nbuilding up the working force from the beginning. How, then, do we\nmeasure the true product of a single unit of labor? By withdrawing\nthat unit, letting the industry go on by the aid of all the capital\nand one unit of labor the less. Whatever one of the ten units of labor\nwe take away we leave only nine working. If the forms of the capital\nchange so as to allow the nine units to use it advantageously, the\nproduct will not be reduced to nine tenths of its former size, but it\nwill still be reduced; and the amount of the diminution measures the\namount of product that can be attributed to one unit of bare labor. Or\nwe may add a certain number of workmen to a social force already at\nwork, making no change in the amount of the capital,--though changing\nits forms,--and see how much additional product we get. That also is a\ntest of final productivity. It gives the same measurement as does the\nexperiment of taking away the little detachment of men and seeing how\nmuch the product shrinks. By either process we measure an amount that\nis attributable altogether to bare labor and not to capital.\n\nThe whole area _BCD_ in the diagram is an amount of product that is\nattributable to capital and not to labor. It represents the total\nsurplus produced by labor and capital over the amount that can be\ntraced to the labor alone. The product of all the capital and all the\nlabor minus ten times the product of a single unit of labor is the\namount that is attributable to the productive fund only.\n\nThe area _ABDE_ represents this amount. The last unit of labor creates\nthe amount _DE_ and the number of units is represented by the amount\n_AE_. All of them are now equally productive and what all create, as\napart from what capital creates, is the amount _ABDE_.\n\n_Only the Final Part of this Mode of gathering a Working Force\npractically resorted To._--The process of building up the working\nforce from a single unit is imaginary. In practical life we see the\nprocess only in its final stage. _Entrepreneurs_ do continually have\nto test the effect of making their working forces a little larger or a\nlittle smaller, and in so doing they test the final productivity of\nlabor; and this is all that is necessary. Tracing the process of\nbuilding up the force of labor unit by unit reveals a law which is\nimportant, namely, that of the diminishing productivity of single\nunits of labor as the number of units increases. If we crowd the world\nfull of people but do not proportionately multiply working appliances\nof every kind, we shall make labor poorer.\n\n_Why a Detachment of Laborers rather than One Man is treated as a Unit\nof Labor._--In making up the force of workers we might have treated\neach individual as a unit; but we have preferred to call a detachment\na unit in order that the symmetry of the force might be preserved.\nEven though we were studying only a single mill it would have its\ndepartments, and it would be desirable that, when we enlarge the force\nof men, we should be able without difficulty to give to each part of\nthe mill its fair share of the new laborers. If it were a shoe\nfactory, we should need to add lasters, welters, sewers of uppers,\netc., in a certain proportionate way, in order that one part of the\nmill might not get ahead of another and pile up unfinished products\nfaster than they could be taken and completed.\n\nIn the last analysis the law applies to the industry of all society.\nThe final unit in the case consists of shoemakers, cotton spinners,\nbuilders, foundrymen, miners, cultivators, etc., and of men of all\nsubtrades included in the general callings. As the composite\ndetachments come into the field, they apportion themselves among all\nthe occupations that are represented, and that too in nicely adjusted\nproportions. We shall see in due time how this adjustment of the\nseveral shares of the social force of laborers is practically made.\n\n_The Law of Final Productivity Applicable to the Labor of\nSociety._--The law of final productivity applies to every mill, shop,\nor mine separately considered. If its capital remains fixed in amount,\nunits of labor produce less and less as they become more numerous. The\nproduct of any unit at any one time may be measured by taking it away\nand seeing how much the output of the establishment is reduced. The\nlaw, however, applies to all the mills, shops, mines, etc., considered\nas a social complex of working establishments. As the working society\ngrows larger without growing richer in the aggregate, the power of\nlabor to produce goods of all kinds grows less. At any one time this\nproducing power is measured by taking away from every working\nestablishment a number of its operatives and ascertaining how much\nless is produced after the withdrawal. Such a test on the social scale\nis never made consciously. Each employer can test in an approximate\nway the effect of reducing his own force, and the effect of gradually\nenlarging it, and there are influences at work which result in\nenlarging one industry when others are enlarged and in causing the\nfinal productivity of labor to be uniform in all. A shoe manufacturer\ncan tell, in a general way, how much an extra man or two will be worth\nto him. It is possible to ascertain by experience about what number of\nshoes that additional labor will, in a year, add to the output of the\nshoe factory or the number of tons of steel it will add to the present\nannual output of a furnace. When these products vary in the case of\ndifferent shops, the men are called to the points where the apparent\nadditions are largest, and the constant tendency is toward a level of\nproductive power. The building up of an imaginary force from the\nbeginning presents, in a clear and emphatic way, the fact that the\nspecific productivity of labor grows less as, other things remaining\nthe same, workers become more numerous. We should know on _a priori_\ngrounds that this must be the fact; but we can verify it by\nobservation and statistical inquiry. Where men are numerous and land\nand tools are scarce, labor is comparatively unproductive; and it is\nhighly productive where land and tools are plentiful. There is no\ndoubt that crowding the world full of people, without providing the\nworld with capital in a proportionate way, would impoverish everybody\nwhose income depends on labor.\n\n_The Law of Wages._--Even though labor creates the amount _ABDE_, it\nis not yet perfectly clear that it will be able to get that amount.\nFor aught we now know the _entrepreneur_ may keep some of it, and for\naught we know he may keep some of the quantity _BCD_ which is\ndistinctly the product of capital. Let us see whether he can in\nreality withhold any part of _ABDE_, which is the product of labor.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_Wages under Perfect Competition._--In the static state that we have\nassumed, competition works without let or hindrance. It does not work\nthus in the actual world, and we shall in due time take account of the\nobstacles it encounters; but what we are now studying is the standards\nto which such competition as there is--and it is in reality very\nactive--is tending to make wages conform. We want to know what would\nhappen in case this competition encountered no hindrance at all. This\nwould require that a workman should be able to set employers bidding\nagainst each other for his services just as actively as an employer\ncan make laborers bid against each other in selling their services. If\nthis were the case, every unit of labor could get what it produces, no\nmore and no less. Even a single man, offering himself to one employer\nafter another, would virtually carry in his hands a potential product\nfor sale. His coming to any man's mill would mean more goods turned\nout in a year by the mill; and if one employer would not pay him for\nthem at their market value, another one would. The final unit of\nsocial labor can get, under perfectly free competition, the value of\nwhatever things that labor, considered apart from capital, brings into\nexistence. Moreover, each unit of labor by itself alone now produces,\nas we have seen, the same amount of commodity as the final unit, and\ncan get the price of it. Now that they are all working together each\none of them can place itself in the position of the final unit by\nleaving its present employment and offering its services elsewhere.\n\n_Wages regarded as Prices of Fractional Products adjusted by Perfect\nCompetition._--Under the hypothesis of perfect competition, as the\nterm has been used in our discussion, the venders of goods can get\ntheir market values. These values are fixed by the final utility law.\nFree competition means, then, not only that any average laborer who\noffers himself for hire virtually carries in his hands a potential but\ndefinite product for sale, but that he may confidently offer it at the\nprice that is fixed by its final utility. Like other venders, the\nlaborer can get the true value of his product and he can get no more.\nIn an ideally perfect society organized on the competitive plan a man\nwould be as dependent on his own productive power as he would be if he\nwere alone in a wilderness. His pay would be his product; but that\nwould be indefinitely larger than it could be in a wilderness or in\nany primitive state. The capital of other men and the organization\nthat they maintain enable a worker to create and get far more than he\ncould if he lived alone, even though, like Crusoe, he were monarch of\nhis whole environment. It would be a losing bargain for the worker to\nsurrender the product of mere labor in a state of civilization in\nexchange for what both labor and capital create in a state of\nsavagery.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE LAW OF INTEREST\n\n\nThe product of the final unit of labor--an amount which in practice is\nmeasured without any tracing of the previous growth of the working\nforce--sets the standard of the rate of wages. We have now to see that\nthe rate of interest has a similar basis; and yet it is worth while to\nbuild up, wholly in imagination, a fund of capital, just as we have\nmade up the force of laborers, increment by increment. This will have\nthe incidental effect of illustrating another way in which wages may\nbe determined.\n\n_Interest as a Residual Amount._--The area _BCD_ in our former figure\nrepresents the difference between the total product of an industry and\nthe wages paid to laborers. If there is no net profit accruing to the\n_entrepreneur_, this area must represent interest. It is what is left\nfor the capitalist on the supposition that he and the laborer together\nget all that there is. If the goods sell for what they cost, this must\nbe the fact, and the amount represented by _BCD_ has thus to go to\ncapital, since, by a rule of exclusion, it cannot go to the\n_entrepreneur_ nor to the laborer. The mill and its contents earn for\ntheir operator nothing but simple interest on the money they have\ncost. Paying the laborers discharges the first claim on the product,\nand there then remains only enough of the product to pay the remaining\nclaim, that of capital.\n\nThe question still remains to be answered, how the capitalist, if he\nis a different person from the _entrepreneur_, or operator of the\nmill, can make this functionary pay over to him all that he has in his\nhands after paying the wages of labor.\n\n_The Importance of the Residuum._--The above reasoning does not\nsatisfactorily show what influence the capitalist can use to make the\n_entrepreneur_ pay over to him the entire amount of the residuum. It\nshows that after paying wages the _entrepreneur_ will have a certain\namount left, but it is not thus far clear how the capitalist can get\nit from him. The fact that the laborers get only the amount\nrepresented by _ABDE_ and that the whole amount is _ACDE_ does,\nhowever, at least show that the _entrepreneur_ has the amount _BCD_\nleft in his hands, and that he is _able_ to pay this amount to the\ncapitalist if by any appeal to competition the capitalist is able to\nmake him do it.\n\n_Interest not determined Residually._--The fact is that the interest\non capital is fixed exactly as are the wages of labor.\n\nWe will let another figure represent the entire product of the same\namount of labor and the same amount of capital that were represented\nin the former case. We will assume that there is at the outset a\ncomplete force of laborers, and that no men are added to it or taken\nfrom it; but we will gradually introduce units of capital instead of\nunits of labor as in the former case. The amount of capital is now\nrepresented by the line _A'E'_ and the product of the first unit of it\nby the line _A'C'_. The product of the successive units declines along\nthe curve _C'D'_. The final unit of capital then brings into existence\nthe amount of wealth represented by _E'D'_. As every other unit now\nproduces the same amount, the capital as a whole creates the quantity\nrepresented by _A'B'D'E'_ and every unit of it makes its own separate\ncontribution to that amount. In this we have simply applied to capital\nand its earnings the principle we formerly applied to labor and its\nearnings.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_General Form of the Law of Final Productivity._--This principle is\nthe law of final productivity, one of those universal principles which\ngovern economic life in all its stages of evolution. Either one of the\ntwo agents of industry, used in increasing quantities in connection\nwith a fixed amount of the other agent, is subject to a law of\ndiminishing returns. The final unit of the increasing agent produces\nless than did the earlier units in the series. This does not mean that\nat any one time one unit produces less than another, for at any one\ntime all are equally productive. It means that the tenth unit produces\nless than the ninth did _when there were only nine in use_, and that\nthe ninth unit formerly produced less than the eighth did in that\nstill earlier stage of the process _in which there were only eight in\nuse, etc._ If the productive wealth of the United States were only\nfive hundred dollars per capita instead of more than twice that\namount, interest would be higher than it is, because the productive\npower of every dollar's worth of capital would be more than the\nproductive power of each dollar's worth is now; and, on the other\nhand, if we continue to pile up fortunes, great and small, till there\nare in the country two thousand dollars for every man, woman, and\nchild of the population, interest will fall, because the productive\npower of a dollar's worth will become less than it now is.\n\n_How Competition fixes Interest._--We can now see how it is that the\ncapitalist can make the _entrepreneur_ pay over to him the amount left\nin his hands after paying wages. Every unit of capital that any one\noffers for hire has a productive power. It can call into existence a\ncertain amount of goods. The offer of it to any _entrepreneur_ is\nvirtually an offer of a fresh supply of the kinds of goods which he is\nmaking for sale. Loaning ten thousand dollars to a woolen manufacturer\nis really selling him the amount of cloth that ten thousand dollars\nput into his equipment will bring into existence. Loaning a hundred\nthousand dollars to the manufacturer of steel, so as to enable him in\nsome way to perfect his equipment, is virtually selling him the number\nof additional tons of steel, ingots, or rails that he can make by\nvirtue of this accession to his plant.\n\n_The Significance of Free Competition._--Now, the tender of capital\nmay be made to any _entrepreneur_ in a particular industry, and the\nexistence of free competition between these _entrepreneurs_ implies\nthat a lender of capital can get from one or another of them the whole\nvalue of the product that this capital is able to create. A unit of\ncapital in the steel business can produce _n_ tons of steel in a year,\nand if one employer will not pay the price of _n_ tons for the loan of\nit, another will. This, indeed, implies an absolutely free\ncompetition; but that is the condition of the problem we have first to\nsolve. When we know what ideally active competition will do, we can\nmeasure the effects of the obstructions that, in practice, competition\nactually encounters.\n\n_Competition for Capital among Different Industries._--The capitalist\ncan invoke the aid of competition outside of the limits of one\nparticular business. He may offer his loan to steel makers, to woolen\nmanufacturers, cotton spinners, silk weavers, shoemakers, etc. Within\neach one of these industries perfect competition between the different\nemployers will give him the value of the product which, in that\nbusiness, his capital is able to create. If, however, what in this way\nhe offers to men in one occupation is worth more than what he offers\nto men in another line,--if capital is worth more to steel makers than\nit is to cotton spinners,--he will find a market for his capital in\nthe former industry; and this process of seeking out the employment in\nwhich capital is the more productive and there bestowing the loans of\ncapital, will go on until every such local excess of productive power\nis removed and capital can produce as much wealth in one business as\nit can in another. Everywhere capital will then be both producing and\nreceiving the same amount, and general interest will everywhere be\ndetermined by the final productivity principle acting all through the\nbusiness world.\n\n_When Interest as Directly Determined equals Interest as Residually\nMeasured._--The area _BCD_ of the first figure measures what the\n_entrepreneur_ has left after paying wages. This amount and no more he\ncan pay as interest, and he will pay it if he has to. The area\n_A'B'D'E'_ of the second figure represents what he must pay as\ninterest; and we can now see that, if competition is perfectly free,\nthis amount equals the amount _BCD_ of the first figure. If, after\npaying wages, there is any more left in the _entrepreneur's_ hands\nthan competition compels him to pay out as interest, he is realizing a\nnet profit; he is selling his goods for more than they cost him, and\nthis, as we saw at the outset, is a condition that under perfect\ncompetition cannot continue. The natural price of goods is the cost\nprice. If the market price of anything is in excess of cost,\n_entrepreneurs_ receive a profit, and in order to do more business and\nmake a larger aggregate of such profit they bring new labor and\ncapital into their industry. The increased output lowers prices, and\nthe excess of gain is thus taken from the _entrepreneur_. If _BCD_ is\nsmaller than _A'B'D'E'_, the _entrepreneur_ incurs a loss and will\ncurtail his business and let some labor and capital go where they can\nproduce more.\n\nTaking this remainder of income from the _entrepreneur_ by means of an\naddition to the output of goods and a reduction of the price of them\ndoes not annihilate the income, but bestows it on other recipients;\nfor the reduction in price which destroys an employer's profit can\ncome only in a way that benefits consumers. It means that enlarged\nproduction of which we have just spoken, which scatters more goods\nthroughout the community and insures an addition to the real incomes\nof both laborers and permanent investors.\n\n_Effect of Perfect Mobility of Labor and Capital._--Perfect mobility\nof labor and capital insures that the residuum in the _entrepreneur's_\nhands after wages are paid shall all be made over to the capitalist.\nWe encounter here again the static law that, with competition working\nwithout let or hindrance, the _entrepreneur_ as such can keep nothing\nfor himself; though if he is also a worker he will get wages, and if\nhe is also a capitalist he will get interest. His business will pay\nwages on all kinds of labor, including that of management, and\ninterest on all capital, including his own. A net gain above all this\nit will not afford, and whatever the _entrepreneur_ has left after\npaying wages he will have to use in paying interest, and _vice versa_.\nLaborers and owners of capital have, as it were, to take each others'\nleavings. Such is the situation in an ideally static condition, though\nwe shall see how it is changed in actual and progressive society.\n\nThe area _BCD_ of the first figure is, under static conditions,\nexactly equal to the area _A'B'D'E'_ of the second figure, because\n_ACDE_ represents the whole product, _BCD_ in the first figure\nrepresents all that is left of it after wages, measured by _ABDE_, are\npaid; and we know by evidence both theoretical and practical that the\ncapitalist, whose share is directly expressed by _A'B'D'E'_ of the\nsecond figure, can claim and get the whole of this amount.\n\n_Wages as a Residuum._--It is clear that the same reasoning applies to\nwages. In the second figure they are represented as a residuum. The\narea _B'C'D'_ represents what the _entrepreneur_ has left after paying\ninterest, and nobody can get this amount but the wage earner. The\nreason, however, why the wage earner can get it is that free\ncompetition will give him the amount _ABDE_ of the first figure, and\nthis, under perfectly static conditions, must equal _B'C'D'_ of the\nsecond. Under perfect competition the _entrepreneur_ cannot have any\nof the amount _B'C'D'_ left in his hands after meeting the claims that\nthe wage earner makes on him. On the other hand, he must have enough\nleft to pay interest, since otherwise he would be incurring a loss,\nand that could not fail to force him and others who are in the same\nsituation to contract their operations or go out of business. If the\noutput of goods is reduced, either by the retirement of some employers\nor the curtailment of product by all, the price of what continues to\nbe sold will be raised to the point at which wages and interest can be\npaid.\n\n_Wages and Interest both adjusted at Social Margins of\nProduction._--It is to be noted that wages and interest are fixed at\nthe social margin of production, which means that they equal what\nlabor and capital respectively can produce by adding themselves to the\nforces already at work in the general field of employment. In making\nthe supposition that, owing to some disturbing fact, a particular\n_entrepreneur_ has not enough after paying wages to pay interest, we\nassume that the rate of interest is fixed, in this way, in the general\nfield and not merely in his establishment.\n\nIf _B'C'D'_ were larger than _ABDE_, the _entrepreneur_ would be\nselling goods for more than cost and realizing a net profit, which he\ncannot do in a static state; but a pure profit is not only possible\nbut actual in a dynamic state.\n\nIn actual business total returns represented by _ACDE_ amount to more\nthan the sum represented by _ABDE_ (wages) plus _A'B'D'E'_ (interest).\nThere are conditions that in practical life are continually bringing\nthis to pass in different lines of business, though not in all of them\nat once. The real world is dynamic and therefore the true net profit,\nor the share of the _entrepreneur_ in the strict sense of the term, is\na positive quantity. This income is always determined residually. It\nis a remainder and nothing else. It is what is left when wages and\ninterest are paid out of the general product. To the _entrepreneur_\ncomes the price of the products that an industry creates. Out of this\nhe pays wages and interest, and very often he has something remaining.\nThere is no way of determining this profit except as a remainder. The\nreturn from the sale of the product is a positive amount fixed by the\nfinal utility principle. Wages and interest are positive amounts, and\neach of them is fixed by the final productivity principle. The\ndifference between the first amount and the sum of the two others is\nprofit, and it is never determined in any other way than by\nsubtracting outgoes from a gross income. It is the only share in\ndistribution that is so determined. _Entrepreneur's_ profits and\nresidual income are synonymous terms. In the static state no such\nresidual income exists, but from a dynamic society it is never absent.\nEvery _entrepreneur_ makes some profits or losses, and in society as a\nwhole the profits greatly predominate.\n\n_Summary of Facts concerning a Static Adjustment of Wages._--We know\nthen that in any industry wages and interest absorb the whole product,\nbecause any deviation from that rule in a particular group is\ncorrected in the way above mentioned. Moreover, general wages and\ninterest, as determined by the law of final productivity, must equal\nthose incomes when they are determined residually. The area of the\nrectangular portion of one of the foregoing figures must equal the\narea of the three-sided part of the other. The question arises why\nall _entrepreneurs_ might not get a uniform profit at once. This would\nnot lure any labor or capital from one group or subgroup to another.\nIf, after paying wages and interest at market rates, the\n_entrepreneurs_ in each industry have anything left, the entire labor\nand capital are producing more than they get and there is an\ninducement to managers and capitalists to withdraw from their present\nemployers and become _entrepreneurs_ on their own account. Such an\n_entrepreneur_ entering the field, drawing marginal labor and capital\naway from the _entrepreneurs_ who are already there and combining them\nin a new establishment, can make them produce more than he will have\nto pay them and pocket the difference. If such a condition were\nrealized, there would be a gain in starting new enterprises, since\nluring away marginal agents and combining them in new establishments\nwould always be profitable. When we introduce into the problem dynamic\nelements we shall see that centralization, which makes shops larger\ninstead of smaller, makes industries more productive, and that what\nhappens when net profits appear is more often the enlarging of one\nestablishment than the creation of new ones. _Entrepreneurs_ in the\nlarge establishments can afford to resist the effort made by others to\nlure away any of the labor or capital which they are employing, and\nthey will do this for the sake of retaining their profits. They can do\nit by bidding against each other, in case any of them are making\nadditions to their mills or shops, and also by bidding against\nany new employers who may appear. Perfect competition requires\nthat this bidding for labor and capital shall continue up to the\nprofit-annihilating point. Here, as elsewhere in the purely static\npart of the discussion, we have to make assumptions that are\nrigorously theoretical and put out of view in a remorseless way\ndisturbing elements which appear in real life. The static state\nrequires that all _entrepreneurs_ who survive the sharp tests of\ncompetition should have equally productive establishments, which means\nthat they should all be able to get the same amount of product from a\ngiven amount of labor and capital. The actual fact is that differences\nof productive power still survive. There are some small establishments\nwhich, within the little spheres in which they act, are as productive\nas large ones; but there are also some which are struggling hopelessly\nagainst large rivals in the general market and are destined erelong to\ngive up the contest. In other words, the centralizing and leveling\neffects of competition are approximated but never completely realized\nin actual life.\n\nA fact that it is well to note is that the test of final productivity\nis inaccurately made when unduly large amounts of labor and capital\nare made the basis of the measurement. Take away, for instance, a\nquarter of the working force, estimate the reduction of the product\nwhich this withdrawal occasions, and attribute this loss entirely to\nthe labor which has been taken away, and you estimate it too highly.\nWith so large a section of the labor withdrawn the capital would work\nat a disadvantage, and a part of the reduction of the product would be\ndue to this fact. If we should take away all the labor, the capital\nwould be completely paralyzed, and the product would become _nil_. It\nwould obviously be inaccurate to say that the whole product is\nattributable to the labor, on the ground that withdrawing the labor\nannihilates it all. With any large part of the labor treated as a\nsingle unit, the loss of product occasioned by a withdrawal of such a\nunit is more than can be accurately imputed to it as its specific\nproduct. The smaller the increments or units are made, the less\nimportant is this element of inaccuracy, and it becomes a wholly\nnegligible quantity when they become very small. A study of the forms\nof the productivity curves will show that if we take as the increment\nof labor used in making the test only a tenth of the whole force, we\nexaggerate the product imputable to it by a very minute fraction, say\nby less than a one-hundredth part; and if we take a hundredth of the\nlabor as a final unit, we exaggerate the product that is solely\nattributable to it by an amount so minute that it is of no consequence\nin practice or in any theory that tries to be applicable to practice.\n\nA question may be raised as to whether we are correct in saying that\nthe _entrepreneur's_ profit is residual, in view of the fact that the\nentire product of a business is at the mercy of the management, so\nthat a bad manager may reduce it or a good one may increase it. It may\nbe further claimed that that part of the management of a business\nwhich consists in making the most far-reaching decisions cannot safely\nbe intrusted to a salaried superintendent or other paid official and\nmust get its returns, if at all, in the form of profits. Even in this\ncase the gains are secured by making the gross return, which is the\nminuend in the case, large, leaving the two subtrahends, wages and\ninterest, unchanged, and thus creating a remainder or residuum. We\nshall later see to what extent _entrepreneurs_ do in fact create the\nprofits that come to them.\n\nThe complete static conception of society requires that no\n_entrepreneur_ should be left in the field who cannot continue\nindefinitely to hold his own against the competition of his rivals,\nand this requires essential equality of productive power on the part\nof all of them. It is not necessary, however, that all should operate\nupon an equal scale of magnitude, for an interesting feature of modern\nlife is the need of many small productive establishments that cater to\nlocal demands and to wants which, without being local, call for only a\nfew articles of a kind. Repairs, small orders, and peculiar orders are\nexecuted more cheaply in small establishments, and they survive under\nthe very rule of essential equality of productive power which static\nconditions require. For catering to the general market and producing\nstaple goods the large establishment has a decisive advantage, and\nthis insures the centralization which is the marked feature of recent\nindustrial life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nRENT\n\n\n_The Term \"Rent\" as Historically Used._--The word _rent_ has a\nstriking history. The science of political economy first took shape in\na country in which direct employers of labor were not, as a rule, the\nowners of much land. Farmers, merchants, and many manufacturers hired\nland and furnished only the auxiliary capital which was necessary in\norder to utilize it. In a practical way the earnings of land were thus\nseparated from those of capital in other forms, since they went to a\ndifferent class of persons; and in the thought of the people the\ncharges made for the use of mere ground came to constitute a unique\nkind of income. If, during the last century, the land in England had\nbeen a highly mercantile commodity, and if it had been the common\npractice of _entrepreneurs_ not to hire it but to buy and own it, as\nthey bought and owned all other industrial instruments, there is\nlittle probability that land would have been considered, either in\npractical thought or in science, as a thing to be as broadly\ndistinguished as it has been from all other capital goods. A business\nman would have measured his permanent fund of capital in pounds\nsterling and would have included in the amount whatever he had\ninvested in land. As in America any representation of the capital of a\ncorporation includes the sums invested in every productive way, and\nthis includes the value of all land that the company holds, so in\nEngland, under a similar system of conducting business, any statement\nof the amount of a particular business capital would have included the\nwhole of the productive wealth embarked in the enterprise; and in any\nstatement of the forms of it there would have appeared, besides a list\nof all tools, buildings, unfinished goods, and the like, a schedule of\nthe prices of land that the company owned and used. In \"putting\ncapital into his business\" a man might buy land, in \"withdrawing his\ncapital\" he might sell it; and the land in the interim would be the\nobvious embodiment of this part of his fund. The fact, then, that land\nwas owned by one class of persons and let to another for hire, and\nthat the lessees were the _entrepreneurs_ or users of it, caused\npractical thought and speech to put land in a class by itself.\n\n_The Origin of the Theory of Rent._--Scientific thought powerfully\nstrengthened this tendency. At a very early date a formula was\nattained for measuring the rent of land, while no satisfactory formula\nwas, then or for a long time afterward, discovered for measuring the\namount of interest. Men contented themselves with saying that the rate\nof interest depends on demand and supply. In the case of the rent of\nland the same thing might have been said, but here such a statement\nwas not mentally satisfying, and investigators tried to ascertain why\ndemand and supply so act as to fix the income that land yields at a\ncertain definable amount.\n\n_The Traditional Formula for Rent._--The formula which has long been\naccepted as measuring the rent of a piece of land, though it bears the\nname of Ricardo, grew into shape under the hands of several earlier\nwriters. In its best form of statement this principle asserts that\n\"the rent of a piece of land is the product that can be realized by\napplying labor and capital to it, minus the product that can be\nrealized by applying the same amount of labor and capital to land of\nthe poorest grade that is in cultivation at all.\" The quantity of the\npoorest land must be left indefinite, and all that the given amount of\nlabor and capital can economically utilize must be left at their\ndisposal. It would not do to say that the rent of _an acre_ of good\nland equals its product less that of _an acre_ of the poorest land in\ncultivation tilled with the same expenditure of labor and capital. If\nwe should select a bit of wheat land in England tilled at a large\noutlay in the way of work, fertilizers, drains, etc., and try the\nexperiment of putting the same amount of labor and capital on a piece\nof equal size in the remotest part of Canada, we should find that, so\nfar from securing wheat enough to pay the bills that we should incur\nin the way of wages and interest, we should not have enough to help us\ngreatly in the defraying of these costs, and the cultivation of this\npiece of land would be a losing venture. Instead of being no-rent\nland, yielding merely wages and interest for the labor and capital\nused in connection with it, it would be minus-rent land, deducting\nsomething from the earnings which the agents combined with it might\nelsewhere secure. In order to utilize such land at all, one must till\nit in what is termed an extensive rather than an intensive way,\nputting a small amount rather than a large amount of work and\nexpenditure on it. By tilling ten acres of a remote and sterile farm\nwith as much labor and other outlay as a very good acre of land in\nEngland receives, one can perhaps get enough to pay the required wages\nand interest. In general no-rent land is commonly utilized in an\nextensive way and very good land in an intensive way; and in stating\nthe old formula for rent we need to be careful to make it mean that\nthe rent of the good piece is its total product less the product that\ncan be had by taking from the good piece the labor and capital it now\nabsorbs and setting them at work on a piece of the poorest land which\nis enough larger than the good one to enable us to secure a crop which\nwill be worth just the amount of wages and interest we must pay. The\nlarger size of the poor piece of land is an essential condition.\n\n_Real Significance of Rent Formula._--It will be seen that this\nformula amounts to saying that the rent of land is what the land\nitself adds to the marginal product of labor and capital. Put a\ncertain amount of labor and capital on a piece of land of good\nquality, and you get a certain amount of product. Withdraw the land\nfrom the combination, and you force the labor and capital to become\nmarginal increments of these agents. They must go elsewhere and get\nwhat they can. One alternative that is open to them is that of seeking\nout land of a grade so poor that it has not been previously utilized\nand doing what they can to get a product out of it. Whatever they can\nmake such land yield is, in an economic sense, wholly their own\nproduct. There is an indefinite quantity of this kind of land to be\nhad, and wherever labor and capital utilize any part of it, they can\nhave all that they produce. Now if we subtract what they there create\nfrom what was created when they were working on the good land, we have\nthe rent of that land.\n\n_Rent as a Product Imputable to Land._--The difference between what\nthe labor and capital produce at the margin of cultivation of land\nand what they can produce on good land, or land that lies within the\nmargin, is clearly attributable to the qualities of the land itself.\nGiven _X_ units of labor and _Y_ units of capital, combine with them\nno land except such as is too poor to have been previously utilized,\nand you get a certain product. It is the product of the labor and\ncapital using something which is free to any one. Now put a piece of\ngood land into the combination; to the _X_ units of labor and _Y_\nunits of capital add a piece of productive land and see what you can\ncreate. We do this by taking these units of labor and capital away\nfrom the worthless marginal land and setting them to tilling that\nwhich is of the better quality. The product is of course larger than\nthey got before, and the difference measures what the land itself adds\nto the output of the other agents in the combination. The true\nconception of rent is that of the specific addition which land makes\nto the product of other agents used in connection with it. There are\nvarious ways of measuring this addition, but the method just used will\nat least show that the presence of the good land is the cause of the\nexcess of product which given amounts of labor and capital secure over\nwhat they could create on land of the poorest quality.\n\n_Rent as a Differential Product._--In the early statements of the rent\nlaw it was not said that the rent of a piece of land is the product\nspecifically attributable to it. If it had been, the chances are large\nthat a much broader and more scientific use of the rent formula would\nhave resulted. The law of rent, as it was actually stated, made it\nconsist of a differential amount. It was what a given amount of labor\nand capital would produce under one set of conditions minus what they\nwould produce under another. Since it is the presence or the absence\nof the productive land which makes the only difference between the two\nconditions, rent, even as it is thus defined, is really the amount of\nproduct specifically attributable to the land. It is what is created\nwhen the land is used in excess of what would be created if it were\nnot used and if the cooeperating agents did the best they could without\nit. We may use, as the most general formula for the rent of land, the\ncontribution which land itself makes to the product of social\nindustry.\n\nIf we use the same method in measuring the rent of land which we used\nin measuring the wages of labor and the returns of capital, we shall\nrepresent the rent of a given piece of land as the sum of a series of\ndifferential amounts. In the accompanying figure the vertical belts\nbounded by lines rising from the letters _A_, _B_, _C_, etc.,\nrepresent the products realized by applying successive increments of\nlabor and capital to a given piece of land; and the horizontal lines\nrunning toward the left from _A'_, _B'_, _C'_, etc., separate the\nwages and interest from the amounts that are successively added to\nrent. When one composite unit of labor and capital is working, its\nproduct and its pay is measured by the belt between the line _AA'_ and\nthe line _NN'_. A second composite unit produces the amount\nrepresented by the area between _AA'_ and _BB'_, and that is the\namount which each unit separately considered will produce and get as\nits pay. This leaves the area between the horizontal line running from\n_B'_ and the section of the descending curve as the rent of the land.\nA third unit of labor and capital produces what is represented by the\narea between _BB'_ and _CC'_, and this becomes the standard of pay for\nall units, leaving the enlarged area above the horizontal line at _C'_\nas rent. In the end there are ten units of labor and capital. Their\ntotal earnings are expressed by the area of the rectangle below the\nhorizontal line running from _J'_, and the sum of all the areas above\nthat line is rent.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_The Intensive Margin of Cultivation._--The extensive margin of\ncultivation is the land that is adjacent to an imaginary boundary line\nseparating the grades of land that are good enough to be used from\nthose that are too poor to be used. There is, however, what may be\ncalled the intensive margin of cultivation. A given bit of land is\nsaid to be cultivated more and more intensively when more and more\nlabor and capital are used on it. Land is subject to what is called\nthe law of diminishing returns.\n\n_Law of Diminishing Returns._--The more labor and capital you employ\non a given piece of land, the less you will get as a product for each\nunit of these agents. What the last unit of labor adds to the\nantecedent output is less than was added by any of the other units,\nand the same is true of the last unit of capital. As we continue the\nprocess of enlarging the working force and adding to the working\nappliances, we reach a point at which it is better to cease putting\nnew men with their equipment at work on this piece of land and to set\nthem working on a bit of land so poor that it was not formerly\nutilized at all. We may assume here that what a man needs, in the way\nof auxiliary capital, goes with him, whether he joins a force that is\nworking on good land or migrates to a less productive region. He will\ngo if it will pay him to do it. In this way we make a sort of dual\nunit of labor and capital and apply a series of such units to land.\n\n_Ground Capital and Auxiliary Capital Distinguished._--Land itself is\na component part of the permanent fund of productive wealth to which\nwe have given the generic name _capital_. It differs from other\ncapital goods in that it does not wear out and require renewing.\nWorking appliances, however, as they wear out and are replaced,\nconstitute a permanent fund of auxiliary capital, and we shall apply\nthis term to the abiding stock of such instruments except in\nconnections in which the adjective is not needed, because it is clear\nthat the land, or ground capital, cannot be referred to. In dynamic\nstudies the distinction between land and auxiliary capital becomes\nvery important.\n\n_How the Intensive Margin locates the Extensive One._--The labor and\nthe auxiliary capital that betake themselves to new land of the\ninferior quality represent an overflow from the better land. As long\nas men can do as well by staying where they are as they can by\nmigrating to new regions, where inferior lands are to be had, they\nwill stay; but when they incur a loss by staying, they move. What a\nlaborer can create by securing the use of an equipment and adding\nhimself to the force that is at work on some good farm, can be\napproximately estimated; and if there is somewhere a piece of land not\nthus far used to which he can remove, and if, by going to work upon\nit, he can create any more than he created while working on the older\nfarm and taking his products as his pay, he will till that poor piece.\nBut neither he nor any one else will till a piece that is still less\nproductive. If any one were to set himself working on land of still\npoorer quality, he would lose and not gain by the change, since there\nhe would produce even less than he can when he is the last man set\nworking on the good piece.\n\n_To what Extent the Movement of Labor and that of Capital are\nInterdependent._--The early statements of the law of rent did not\nusually define the intensive margin of cultivation in connection with\nlabor and capital separately, but spoke of these two agents as\nemployed together upon land in quantities increasing up to a limit\nbeyond which both labor and capital would best be employed elsewhere.\nThe supposition that labor and capital go thus together from one grade\nof land to another is only approximately accurate. If we consider one\nman and five hundred dollars' worth of productive wealth as a dual\nunit of labor and capital, and add such units, one after another, to\nthe forces at work on a tract of good land, we shall reach a point at\nwhich it will not be profitable to increase the amount of one of the\nagents, while it will still be profitable to increase the amount of\nthe other. It will perhaps not pay to use any more capital, but it may\nstill pay to add to the number of workers. On land that is tilled\nmore and more intensively, labor and capital are not tied together in\nfixed proportions in such a way that, when there is more of one of\nthem used, there is _proportionately_ more of the other. Moreover,\nwhen a unit of one of them abandons a piece of land and goes\nelsewhere, there is no probability that exactly one unit of the other\nwill do the same. There is, indeed, no such thing as a dual unit of\nlabor and capital that can be thought of as moving to and fro among\ndifferent employments till it finds the point at which, as a dual\nunit, it can create its largest product. These two agents so locate\nthemselves that a final unit of each one, separately considered,\nproduces as much where it is as it can produce anywhere else.\n\nIt is, however, to be noted that the amount of labor that can\nprofitably be employed on a piece of land grows larger the more\ncapital there is employed in connection with it. An acre of land and a\nthousand dollars' worth of auxiliary funds can enable more men to get\ngood returns than can an acre combined with a fund of five hundred\ndollars. Conversely, the more men there are working on the area, the\nmore auxiliary capital it pays to use there. If there are five men\nworking on a small field it may be that a thousand dollars may be well\ninvested in aiding them, while with only one man it would not pay to\nuse so large an amount. The capital and the labor, as it were, attract\neach other. Additional capital attracts further labor, and _vice\nversa_, till a condition is reached in which neither of them\ncan so well be used on that particular piece of land as it can\nelsewhere. Each one has then been used on this area up to its own\nintensive-marginal limit. So also when one of these agents betakes\nitself to marginal land, it attracts the other agent thither. When\nthere are ten men on the poorest piece of land in a locality, it is\npossible to make a considerable amount of capital at that point pay\nthe return generally prevailing, whereas only a small amount would pay\nit if there were only five men working. With a thousand dollars\ninvested on that land more laborers will be lured thither by the\nprospect of fair returns than would be lured thither if there were\nonly half as much capital. The general apportionment of both agents\ntends to be such that a unit of either is as well off on one piece of\nland as on another, and each is as well off at the extensive margin of\ncultivation of land as it is on the intensive margin.\n\n_Labor and Capital combined in Varying Amounts._--The amount of\ncapital that is combined with a unit of labor is not often the same on\ngood land as it is on poor. The proportions in which labor and capital\nwill be combined on the marginal field will be almost certain to vary\nfrom those in which they were combined in the better field from which\nthey came. It may be that they leave industries in which an average\nman uses an equipment worth a thousand dollars. When they reach the\nmargin of cultivation, capital may be so scarce that the thousand\ndollars will not stay in the hands of the one man but will divide\nitself among several.\n\n_The General Law of the Extension of the Margin of\nCultivation._--Sometimes, when labor moves to new land that is now at\nthe margin, it takes its new equipment with it; but such land is not\nalways tilled by independent settlers. Employing farmers may set men\nworking on it and pay them all that they produce; and the farmers may\nfurnish the men with capital of their own or borrow capital for them\nto use. In either case a static condition requires the equalizing of\nthe productivity of labor at the intensive margin with that of labor\nat the extensive margin; and it requires a similar leveling of the\nproductivity of capital at the two margins. When this leveling has\ntaken place in both cases, the all-around marginal product of labor\nfixes the rate of wages, and that of capital fixes the rate of\ninterest. What a man creates on the good land and with the adequate\ncapital, or on poor land with proportionate capital,--in any\noccupation on land of either grade,--determines the pay that he and\nother men can get. It constitutes in itself the wages of labor. In so\nfar as the overflow of labor and capital into any one limited region\nof marginal land is concerned, the full statement is this: that the\nmargin of utilization of land will be extended to the point at which a\nunit of labor, _using as much of the marginal land as it is economical\nto use, and such amount of auxiliary capital as is economical to\ncombine with this unit of labor and the land it occupies, will create\na product equal to the wages of the unit of labor as they are\ndetermined by the product it created when it was employed on the good\nland and in connection with the full equipment of auxiliary capital_.\n\n_The Rent of a Fund of Capital._--We saw that one unit of labor\nemployed in connection with a given amount of capital produces more\nthan does a second; that the second produces more than the third; and\nthat, if we continue to supply units one at a time, the last unit in\nthe series produces the least of all. Wages are fixed by the amount\nthat one unit of labor produces when the working force is complete,\nand that is what is contributed to the general product by the unit of\nlabor which comes last in the imaginary series by which the force is\nbuilt up. Owing to the more favorable conditions under which, in their\ntime, the earlier units worked, they were able to produce surpluses\nabove the amount produced by the last one. When they entered the field\nthey were supplied with excessive amounts of capital. The first one\nhad the whole fund cooeperating with it, till it had to share it with\nthe second; and after that each had a half of it till they had to\nshare evenly with a third, etc. We have seen that all the surpluses\nappearing in connection with the earlier units are attributable in\nreality to capital. The area _BCD_ (page 139) represents the amount by\nwhich the presence of an excess of capital increases the products\nattributable to the earlier units of labor. It represents the sum of\nall the differences between the products of the earlier units and the\nproduct of that final one which in the end sets the standard of\nproductivity of labor. It might be called the rent of the fund of\ncapital. It is composed of a sum of differences exactly like those\nwhich constitute the rent of a piece of land.\n\n_The Rent of a Permanent Force of Labor._--In the figure on page 148,\nthe working force was supposed to be fixed in amount, the capital\nincreasing by increments, or as some earlier economists would have\nsaid, by \"doses\" along the line _A'E'_. The last unit of capital\nproduces the amount _D'E'_, and all the capital produces _A'B'D'E'_,\nwhile products of the earlier units of capital, as they come\nsuccessively into the field and are used by an excessively large labor\nforce, are represented by the area _B'C'D'_. Here this area represents\nwhat may be called the rent of the force of labor, since it is a sum\nof surpluses that, again, are entirely akin to those that constitute\nthe rent of a piece of land.\n\n_A Question of Nomenclature._--It may be an open question, as a matter\nof mere nomenclature, whether these surpluses which are thus traceable\nto a permanent fund of capital, on the one hand, and to a permanent\nforce of labor, on the other, can with advantage be called rents. In\nthis treatise we do not think it best to employ that nomenclature.\nWhat is not uncertain is that these gains are measurable by the same\nformula that measures the rent of a piece of land. If the essential\nthing about rent were that it is a material product and consists of a\nsum of differential quantities, these incomes certainly would be\nrents. Popular thought, however, attaches another meaning to this\nterm, and we therefore limit ourselves to saying that these\ndifferential incomes or surpluses may be determined in amount by the\nprinciple of rent. They can be described and measured exactly as the\nRicardians described the income of landlords.[1]\n\n    [1] The term _rent_ has even been applied to surpluses of a\n    psychological kind. Certain gains that men get consist purely\n    in pleasures or in reduced pains or sacrifices, and a few\n    writers have applied to such subjective gains the term\n    _rent_. If a man buys a barrel of flour for five dollars and\n    gets out of it a service that is a hundred times as great as\n    he could get from some other article which he buys for the\n    same amount, this surplus of pleasure may be called, by a\n    figure of speech, \"consumers' rent\"; and if the essence of\n    rent were the fact that it can be made to take the form of a\n    surplus or difference, the name would be well chosen, though\n    there is danger that by this use of the term science may\n    divorce itself from practical thought and life. If we take\n    all the barrels of flour that a man uses in ten years, there\n    is one which is marginal, because it is worth to the man only\n    enough to offset the sacrifice he incurs in getting it. All\n    the others are worth more. We can arrange them in a scale in\n    the order of their importance, the most necessary one coming\n    first and the least important one last; and we can compare\n    the service which each one renders with that rendered by the\n    last, and measure the surplus of good which each one does to\n    the user. There is here in operation a law of diminishing\n    subjective returns. Early units consumed afford more pleasure\n    than do later ones. There results a series of surplus gains,\n    and the sum of all these surpluses makes a total of net\n    benefit,--is a gain that is not offset by a compensatory\n    sacrifice. The last barrel of flour on the list is worth just\n    what it costs, and all the others are worth more. They give\n    the consumer a surplus of satisfaction for which he pays\n    nothing. The sum of the excesses of service rendered by all\n    the earlier barrels constitutes what has been called the\n    consumers' rent, realized in this case from the entire supply\n    of flour used by the man. In the manner in which it is\n    conceived and measured this gain has a kinship to genuine\n    rent.\n\n    This surplus is an effect on a man himself. It is not\n    anything outward or tangible. It exists only in the man's\n    sensations, and is as far as possible from being a concrete\n    income in material form traceable to some particular agent.\n    It can be measured and described in ways that are quite akin\n    to the manner in which the product of land is measured and\n    described. Each consists of the sum of a series of surpluses\n    or differential amounts, and each, moreover, represents a\n    gain which is not offset by any corresponding subjective\n    cost. The rent of land must be paid by an _entrepreneur_ and\n    is a cost in the same sense in which wages and interest are\n    so; but the owner of the land did not create it by personal\n    effort or sacrifice.\n\n    Analogies between the product of land, or rent, and the\n    special gains of consumers from the more important parts of\n    their consumption do exist, but they are overbalanced by\n    essential differences; and it is better to use the term\n    _rent_ only in describing the specific contribution to the\n    material product of industry which a concrete and material\n    agent makes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nLAND AND ARTIFICIAL INSTRUMENTS\n\n\nOne may hire many things besides land and pay what is commonly called\nrent for them. No one would think of calling by any other term the\namount paid for the use of a building, a room in a building, or the\nfurniture in the room. All these things yield rent to their owners;\nand if the intuitions which govern the common use of terms are to be\ntrusted, the income derived from such things and that derived from\nland have some essential qualities in common. Every such income is\npaid for the use of some concrete instrument, and is measured, not by\na percentage on the value of the instrument, but by a lump sum--a\ncertain number of dollars per month or per year.\n\n_The Mode of Calculating the Rent of Concrete Instruments._--Now the\nrent of such instruments of production, whether artificial or not, can\nbe measured in exactly the same way in which the rent of land is\nmeasured. We saw that there are two margins of utilization of land, an\nextensive and an intensive one, and that the product of labor and\ncapital at either of these margins may be used as a basis for\ncomputing the surpluses which constitute the rent of the land. The\nlandlord gets from a good field what it produces minus what the labor\nand capital that are used on this field would produce if they were\nused on the poorest land in cultivation; or, what is the same thing,\nhe gets from the field what it produces minus what this labor and\ncapital would produce if they were set working somewhere on the\nintensive margin of cultivation. Take the men out of this field, add\nthem in small detachments to the men who are already cultivating other\nfields, in order that such fields may be tilled a little more\nintensively, and measure the product which the laborers create when\nthey are so placed. Withdraw also the capital from the field, add it,\nin small amounts, to the capital that is working elsewhere, and\nmeasure its specific product. The sum of these two specific products\nis the same amount that is arrived at by using the former standard.\nThis labor and capital, formerly used on the good field, scattered as\nthey now are among the users of other good land, will create the same\namount that they would have created if they had been employed on the\npoorest land in cultivation. This amount is, as it were, what they\nproduce by their own unaided power; and whatever is produced in excess\nof this amount when a good field comes to their assistance is the rent\nof that field, for it is the contribution which the field makes to the\njoint production. Total product of land, labor and auxiliary capital\nminus the product created by the labor and auxiliary capital when\nthese agents are put in marginal positions equals the rent of the\nland.\n\n_The Rent of an Instrument measured from the Intensive Margin._--We\ncan measure the product of any instrument in this way. If it is a\nship, it takes labor to sail it and requires a considerable amount of\nauxiliary capital. We must fill the bunkers with coal, stock the\nsteward's department with provisions, furnish and light the staterooms\nand the saloons, and provide cordage and a wide variety of other ship\nstores. All this labor and all this capital we could take out of the\nship and use elsewhere. We could convert them into marginal labor and\ncapital. We could divide them among the owners of other ships where\nthey would be used in a way that would make these other ships somewhat\nmore efficient and cause each of them to earn a little more than it\nnow earns. Whatever the labor and capital could, in this way, produce\nfurnishes the basis for computing the rent of the ship. Subtract it\nfrom the total joint product of labor, capital, and ship, and you have\nwhat the vessel separately earns.\n\n_The Mode of Testing the Productive Power of a Ship._--Put the labor\nand capital into the ship and set it doing its proper work of carrying\nfreight and passengers, and you cause a certain product to be created.\nThe steamship company gets an aggregate amount for the service it\nrenders by means of the labor, the auxiliary capital, and the ship. A\ncertain smaller amount would be realized if the labor and the\nauxiliary capital were taken out of the ship, distributed, and used in\nthe way we have just described. The difference between the two amounts\nis the rent of the ship, or its particular contribution to the general\nproduct. This gives us a formula for computing the rent, not only of\nland, but of buildings, tools, machines, vehicles, and every other\nconcrete instrument of production. The formula, indeed, is so general\nthat it enables us to compute the earnings of any agent whatsoever.\n_The rent of any such agent is what it adds to the marginal product of\nlabor and capital used in connection with it._\n\n_No-rent Instruments._--The majority of instruments that are in use\nadd something to the marginal product of the labor and capital used in\nconnection with them. Some add more and some add less, according to\ntheir several qualities. As a rule, any tool of trade produces most\nwhen it is new and less and less as it grows older. In the end it is\ndiscarded because it has so deteriorated that it no longer adds\nanything to the marginal product of the labor and capital that are\nused in connection with it. A wagon has become so rickety that it no\nlonger pays to furnish a horse, a harness, and a driver for it. The\ncapital and labor that these represent would earn as much if they were\ndetached from the old vehicle and added to the equipment of some\nperson who has a stock of good ones. The rent of this old wagon is\nnothing. As in the case of the poorest land in cultivation, it is a\nmatter of indifference whether certain amounts of labor and capital\nare used in connection with it, or whether they are withdrawn and\nemployed elsewhere. This poor vehicle, like the poor land, may be used\nwithout positive loss; but if it is so used, nobody gets any income\nfrom it. It has no power to enter in a really productive way into\ncombination with labor and capital, for it cannot so combine with them\nas to add anything to those marginal products which the labor and\ncapital could create if they remained detached from it.\n\n_The Universality of the Test of Rent._--This test, whether an\ninstrument can or cannot add something to the marginal product of\nlabor and capital, may be universally used. It may be applied to\neverything that is made as an aid to labor. There are no-rent\nbuildings, locomotives, cars, tracks, ships, wagons, furnaces,\nengines, boilers, and, in short, instruments of every description that\nfigure in production. Combine any one of them with labor and capital\nand see what you get out of the combination; then take the labor and\ncapital away and see what they will produce as marginal labor and\ncapital; and the difference between the two amounts, whatever it is,\nis the rent of the instrument. If the difference is _nil_, the\ninstrument is at the point of being abandoned.[1]\n\n    [1] Whether such an instrument should or should not be\n    called a capital good is a question of mere nomenclature; but\n    in this treatise we consider that every part of what we term\n    capital produces an income, and therefore a no-rent\n    instrument is not a capital-constituting good--otherwise\n    termed a capital good.\n\n_True Capital rather than Capital Goods moved in Making such Tests of\nProductivity._--In applying these tests with scientific accuracy we\nshould take away the true _capital_ used in connection with a\nrent-paying instrument and use it as marginal capital elsewhere,\nrather than take away the particular concrete thing in which that\ncapital is now embodied. In the case of the ship the accurate test is\nmade, not by taking stores, etc., bodily out of it and putting them\ninto other ships, but by letting the stores first earn what they can\nwhere they are, converting the earnings into money, and, when the\nstores are completely used up, spending the money to procure marginal\nadditions to the outfit provided for the other ships.\n\n_One Difference between Land and Artificial Capital Goods._--In the\ncase of land a particular area is marginal or no-rent land, and, in a\nstatic state, it remains so. Any particular ship, wagon, engine, or\nother made tool begins its career as a rent payer and ends it as a\nno-rent instrument. If we watch the whole social stock of instruments\nof production, we shall see the no-rent points not fixed in location,\nbut shifting from place to place. Now this machine, now another, and\nnow still another reaches the unproductive state and is supplanted by\ninstruments of similar kind that are new and efficient.\n\n_Original Elements in the Soil._--The real difference between the rent\nof a piece of land and that of a building, machine, vehicle, or any\nsimilar instrument arises from the fact that the land is not going to\ndestruction and the artificial instrument is. There are elements in\nwhat is commonly called land that wear out as do the tools that are\nused in tilling it, but these elements are not land in the economic\nsense. Land, as Ricardo long ago said, consists in the \"original and\nindestructible powers of the soil.\" He singles out certain constituent\nelements of every farm, forest, building site, or other piece of what\nis called land in ordinary usage, and gives to this new concept the\nname _land_ in an economic sense. These so-called \"powers\" are\noriginal elements because man does not make them; they are provided\naltogether by nature, and the only way in which man may be said to\nimpart any productive power to them is by putting them into\ncombinations in which they can produce. When men settle upon what has\nbeen vacant land, they bring the land into combination with labor, and\nwhen they break up the land for tillage and put buildings on it, they\ncombine it with artificial capital. By means of these combinations\nland acquires productive power; but physically considered, it is\naltogether a natural product.\n\n_Indestructible Elements in the Soil._--Land in the economic sense is\nindestructible because the natural effect of use is not to destroy it.\nThis does not mean that it is not physically possible to destroy land\nto the extent of making it forever impracticable to use it in the ways\nin which land is commonly utilized. Nature may do this by sinking it\nbeneath the ocean, and man can, if he will, do something akin to this;\nbut he does not naturally destroy what is truly land in the using. It\nis impossible to use a plow, a spade, or a reaping machine without\ninjuring it and, in the end, wearing it out. It is also impossible to\ndraw the nutritive constituents out of the superficial loam and\nconvert them into crops without exhausting the supply of these sources\nof fertility and so spoiling that which is commonly called the land,\nthough it is not so in the economic sense. What is really land in this\nsense is not affected. Nitrates and phosphoric acid that lie in the\ntopmost stratum of the soil are among the destructible instruments of\nagriculture. The supply of them has to be renewed, if cultivation is\ncontinued, and they are therefore in the class with the plows, spades,\nand reaping machines which also wear out. But whatever there is in the\nsoil that suffers no deterioration from any amount of use is the land\nwith which political economy has to deal.\n\n_The Gross and the Net Rent of Land Identical._--As land does not wear\nout and require renewal, all that it adds to the products of the labor\nand capital that are used in connection with it may be taken by the\nlandlord as an income without reducing the amount of his property.\nWhatever land produces at all is a net addition to the general income\nof society.\n\n_Net Rent of Artificial Instruments Smaller than Gross Rent._--It is\nnot safe, on the other hand, for the owner of buildings, tools, or\nlive stock to take for his own consumption all that these produce. If\nhe were to use up their gross produce as he gets it, he would find, in\ndue time, that a considerable part of his property had vanished. Such\ninstruments wear out and become worthless, and if no part of what they\nproduce is set aside as a sinking fund with which to purchase other\ninstruments to take their places, one whole genus of capital must go\naltogether out of existence.\n\n_Artificial Instruments Self-replacing._--What actually happens is\nthat these instruments create enough wealth to pay for their own\nsuccessors, and that, too, besides paying a net return, which,\nregarded in one way, is interest. If you compute the whole product of\none of these instruments by the Ricardian formula which we have\nexamined, the amount of it will be whatever the instrument, during its\nentire career, adds to the product of the labor and of the capital\nthat are used in connection with it; and that includes the fund for\nrenewal that has just been described, the amount, namely, which the\nowners must set aside for repairing the instrument and finally\npurchasing another. As the instrument itself provides this sinking\nfund, it may be said to create, in an indirect way, its own successor.\nThe ship earns, over and above the net income which is interest on its\ncost, enough to keep itself seaworthy so long as it sails and, in the\nend, to build another ship. The locomotive, the furnace, the loom, the\nsewing machine, the printing press, etc., all pay for and thus\nindirectly produce their own successors.\n\n_The Net Rent of a Permanent Series of Similar Instruments._--The\nfirst charge on the product of any instrument of this kind is the\namount necessary for replenishing the waste of it and for providing a\nsuccessor when this original instrument shall have been wholly worn\nout. In like manner, the first charge on the successor is providing a\nsimilar fund, and so on indefinitely. A part of the productive power\nof every one in an endless series of similar instruments is devoted to\nthis type of reproduction. The series maintains itself and yields an\nincome besides; and that remainder of its gross rent which is left\nafter waste of tissue is repaired is available as a net income for the\nowner. This net remainder constitutes an interest on the owner's\ncapital. He possesses a permanent fund of productive wealth embodied\nin the endless series of these perishable instruments, and _the series\ntaken as a self-perpetuating whole_ yields nothing but this interest.\nEach instrument, separately considered, yields interest and a sinking\nfund; but the sinking fund is not available as an income, since it\nmust take shape as another instrument which serves to keep the series\nintact. What the first instrument creates in addition to the sinking\nfund is its contribution to interest, and what each instrument creates\nabove what is required for virtual self-perpetuation is also interest.\n\n_Interest and Net Rent Identical._--We may therefore reduce interest\nto the form of a net rent by calculating the gross rent afforded by\neach instrument in such a series and by ascertaining how much of this\nmerely repairs waste and how much is true income. As interest is\nusually expressed in the form of a percentage, we may reduce the net\nrent to this form by comparing it with the cost of the first\ninstrument, which is the amount originally invested. The series of\ninstruments will yield a net return every year. We can compute the\ngross return of each instrument according to the Ricardian formula for\nmeasuring the product of the land. It will diminish from year to year\nand will ultimately vanish. We can add the several annual gross\nearnings of the instrument during its economic lifetime in the form of\nan absolute sum, which is the total rent of the instrument. From this\nwe can deduct the cost of replacing this worn-out capital good, and\nthe remainder will be the net rent of the instrument. We can, in a\nlike way, get the net rent of all the following instruments in the\nseries for a long period, add these net rents together, and get the\ntrue net earnings of the series for the time covered by the\ncalculation. If this chances to be ten years we may compare a tenth of\nthis total, or the earnings of the series for one average year, with\nthe cost of the first instrument,--which is the capitalist's original\ninvestment,--and we shall thus get the fraction which represents the\nannual rate of interest on that investment. Perhaps in an average year\nthe series has earned, above what is required to repair waste, five\nhundredths of what the first instrument cost. That is, then, the rate\nof interest that the series as a whole, or the permanent capital, is\nyielding. The whole procession of instruments in which permanent\ncapital is invested creates every year this fraction of its own value,\nover and above the sum that is needed to offset the wear and tear of\nan average year's use.[2]\n\n    [2] If the fund for replacing a costly capital good, such as\n    a ship or a building, were allowed to accumulate for a term\n    of years before being spent, the parts of it remaining on\n    hand for some time would earn interest for their owner, and\n    in his bookkeeping this would figure as reducing the amount\n    he must save from the product of the ship or the building in\n    order to replace it. This does not affect the general law of\n    self-replacement, for the ship or building really produces\n    what results from this compounding.\n\n_General Interest as Rent._--If you compute the net income of all\ntools, machines, and other like things in the world, add the amounts,\nand get the grand total of them all, you have the entire income from\nthis part of the capital of the world in the form of net rent. If then\nyou compute the value of all this class of instruments and see how\nlarge a part of this value the net rent is, you translate this total\nrent into the form of interest, and therefore net rent and interest\nare the same income regarded in two different ways.[3]\n\n    [3] In computing both of these values for comparison one\n    should use a labor-cost standard, and we shall later see\n    under what limitations such a standard may legitimately be\n    used.\n\n_Stocks of Made Instruments graded in Quality as is Land._--It is\nnecessary to notice the fact that the permanent series of tools,\nbuildings, and other active capital goods shows forever the same\ngradations of quality that are found in the case of land. There are\nalways to be found some instruments which are producing a large\namount--that is, they are adding a large amount to the product of the\nlabor and the further capital that are combined with them in\nproduction. A given amount of labor and capital creates much more\nwealth when working with a machine of the highest class than it would\nif distributed in marginal positions; and this is equivalent to saying\nthat such an instrument is itself highly productive. Other instruments\nare to be found which are creating less, and there is never wanting a\ngrade of no-rent instruments which are adding nothing to the marginal\nproduct of the other agents. It would be as well for the labor that\nused them if it should drop them and add itself to the force which is\nworking with good instruments. Any one manufactured instrument begins\nits career as a maximum-rent instrument and ends it as a no-rent one.\nThe ship is at its best when it starts on its first voyage, and the\nmill is at its best in the first year of its running. Each instrument\ngoes gradually downward in the scale till it reaches a stage in which\nit really produces nothing, since it adds nothing to what would be\nproduced without it. The _permanent series_ of instruments never thus\ndeteriorates. All the depreciation of particular things is made good\nby the repairing and the replenishing which go on. In the series as a\nwhole there are forever present grade number one, grade number two,\ngrade number three, etc., exactly as in the case of land. If we wish,\nwe can reckon the income that is to be gotten from each part of the\nseries according to the old-time formula that is familiarly used in\nthe case of land, \"What labor and capital create by the use of this\npiece of ground in excess of what they would create if they were\napplied to the poorest land in use.\" For a grade of land read a grade\nof the self-perpetuating series of artificial instruments, and it will\nappear that each grade above the poorest yields, with the labor and\ncapital that are combined with it, a surplus above what this labor and\nthis capital could create if they were combined with the poorest grade\nin the permanent series.\n\n_Different Modes of Destroying and Replenishing Stocks of Capital\nGoods of the Two General Classes._--The process of keeping up a stock\nof tools of trade is unlike the process of keeping intact a stock of\nmaterials and unfinished goods, because the modes in which the two\nkinds of capital goods deteriorate and perish are unlike.\n\nIn the case of the raw materials that gradually ripen into articles\nfor consumption and which we have called passive capital goods, the\nwaste of tissues that takes place is quite unlike that which takes\nplace in the case of active capital goods, the tools and implements\nthat are used in the process. The raw material acquires value through\nthe whole process, and in the end it gives itself, with all its\nacquired value, into the hands of the consumer. In a static state such\ngoods embody the whole income of society, including the products of\nall labor and of all capital.\n\n  _A'''_\n  _A''_\n  _A'_\n  _A_\n\nThe series of _A_'s represents the process of creating consumers'\ngoods from the rawest material. The _A'''_ as taken away for\nconsumption represents, as it were, the wasting tissue of passive\ncapital goods; and it contains in itself the wages of all the labor in\nthis series of subgroups, the interest on all the capital there used,\nand, in addition to these, the sinking fund that is necessary in order\nto keep the active capital intact. Some of the articles of the kind\n_A'''_ will have to be given over to the men who keep the tools,\nbuildings, etc., in repair and replace them when they are worn out.\nThe whole force of the industry of this group expends itself simply in\nmaking good the loss that the withdrawal of the _A'''_ for use\noccasions. It does, in short, nothing but replace the perpetually\nwasting tissue of the _A_'s. All industry, except that of the makers\nof active instruments, may be considered in the light of an operation,\nthe aim of which is to keep the stock of passive capital goods\nintact, or, what is the same thing, to keep the fund of circulating\ncapital undiminished. Whoever puts anything into this fund enables it\nto overflow and to furnish an income without suffering any diminution.\nThe sole purpose of such capital is to overflow, that is, to suffer,\nat one and the same time, a loss and a replenishment which neutralizes\nthe loss. It exists for nothing else except to ripen into consumers'\nwealth. Nevertheless, though the ripened _A_'s are perpetually\nconsumed, the _series_ of _A_'s is abiding capital, is entitled to its\nshare of interest, and is certain to get it. A part of the perpetual\nflow of _A'''_'s is this interest. As the whole income of the society\nconsists in _A'''_'s, a certain number of the _A'''_'s that are\nwithdrawn for consumption go to capitalists as interest on the\npermanent fund which is kept in existence in the form of _A_, _A'_,\n_A''_, and _A'''_. A certain other part of the outflow of _A'''_'s\ngoes also to capitalists as interest on that other permanent fund\nwhich is maintained in the form of tools, machines, and buildings,\nsuch as must everywhere be used in the series. A third part of the\nflow of _A'''_'s is wages of labor in this group; and a final portion\nis what we have called the sinking fund, the amount that is given over\nas an income to the producers in another group, not here represented,\nwho keep the stock of buildings, tools, etc., intact. These four\nwithdrawals of income constitute the process by which the stock of\npassive goods is depleted, and the grand resultant of all industry is\nto atone for that depletion.\n\n_Labor and the Obtaining of its Product, in Static Industry,\nSynchronous._--One function of the permanent series of _A_'s is to\nenable labor everywhere to get its virtual product without waiting,\nand that too in the form in which it needs it for use. The labor that\nconverts _A''_ into _A'''_ supplies the waste of tissue that takes\nplace at that end of the line by withdrawal of an _A'''_. The labor\nthat turns _A'_ into _A''_ replaces the waste that takes place at that\npoint when an earlier _A''_ becomes an _A'''_. The labor at _A'_\nreplaces the waste at that point, and that at _A_ replaces the waste\nat still another point. They are all at work keeping the stock of\n_A_'s unimpaired, and one of them does as much toward keeping up the\nperpetual flow of _A'''_'s as any other.\n\nIf we pump water in at one end of a full reservoir, we instantly cause\nit to overflow at the other end; and every worker in such a series as\nwe have described may be thought of as putting something into the\npermanent reservoir of capital and so causing a corresponding\noverflow. He gets his reward day by day as the work proceeds. Wherever\na laborer may be in such a series, his work creates a ripened product\nas it goes on. He has not to wait for it. His work and its fruit are\nsynchronous.\n\n_Differences between Land and Made Instruments Apparent in Dynamic\nConditions._--A point that has great theoretical interest is the\nnature of the difference between land and other productive\ninstruments. In a static society the difference would be comparatively\nunimportant, but it is brought into prominence by the changes which\nconstitute a dynamic state. The static hypothesis requires that\ncapital should not increase or diminish in quantity, and that it\nshould not change its forms. The equipment of every mill and of every\nship is kept unimpaired but not enlarged or improved. There is a fixed\nnumber of spindles in the cotton mill, of lathes in the machine shop,\nof sewing machines in the shoe factory, etc., and this fact removes\nthe most striking difference which, in a dynamic society, actually\ndistinguishes land from other things.\n\nLand, in the economic sense, does not increase in quantity, however\nchangeful and progressive a society may be. The chief distinguishing\nmark of land--that of being fixed in amount--separates it from other\nthings only in a dynamic state and because of the action of the forces\nwhich produce organic changes. These are subjects to be studied in the\ndynamic division of economic theory.\n\n_A Distinguishing Mark of Land which appears in a Static State of\nIndustry._--In a static state there remains this difference between a\npiece of ground and a building, a tool, or any other instrument: the\nground is not artificially made and does not perish in the using;\nwhile the building or the tool or other appliance is so made and does\nso perish. It must in wearing itself out create in the indirect way\nwhich we have described its own successor. The engine must, by a part\nof its product, pay the men who will make another engine and so\nperpetuate the series of engines. This makes it necessary for the\nowner of the engine to save some of its gross rent to pay for\ndepreciation and renewal, while he can safely use the whole rent of\nland.\n\n_This Mark of Distinction not Applicable when Land is contrasted with\na Permanent Stock of Capital Goods._--If we look, not at one\nparticular instrument, but at an entire series of them,--if we take\ninto view, not only the engine which is now driving the mill, but also\nthe one that will succeed it, and again the one which will succeed\nthat second engine, and so on forever,--this difference between land\nand the artificial instrumentality vanishes. _The series of engines,\nlike land itself, yields only a net rent._ The remainder of its gross\nproduct is not a true rent at all, since any one of the engines\ncreating it has to consume it on itself and cannot give it to the\nowner as an income. This remainder pays certain men for keeping the\nseries of engines intact, and what is given to them as pay for their\nservices cannot accrue to any one as an income from the series of\ninstruments so maintained. It is the earnings of the corps of\nmaintenance created by their own labor and capital. What the series of\nengines yields over and above what it expends in maintaining itself it\ngives to its owners as an income. This is their net return and they\ncan use it without trenching on their property. The analogy between\nthe returns from land and those from a self-perpetuating series of\nmade capital goods is in this particular complete.\n\n_The Source of the Fund for Repairs and Renewals._--The fund for\nrepairs and renewals must, of course, like the net income itself, be\nfurnished by instruments that are above the no-rent grade. A machine\nwill naturally be used as long as it pays anything whatever, and\nduring the latter part of its career it usually produces less than\nmere interest on its cost. So long as the labor and the auxiliary\ncapital that are combined with the instrument produce by its aid any\nmore than they would produce if they were withdrawn from it and added,\nas marginal increments, to the labor and capital that are working in\nconnection with good instruments, they will continue to use the\nmachine and they will abandon it only when it ceases to pay anything\nwhatever. Out of the total amount it produces before reaching this\npoint of abandonment comes the amount that is needed as an offset for\nthe cost of providing a new machine.\n\n_Incorrectness of a Common Statement concerning Rent and Price._--This\nbrings into view a striking fallacy of what has been current economic\ntheory. It has been customary to claim that the rent of land \"is not\nan element in price,\" although the interest on capital is such an\nelement. The rent of land is the net product of land; and if interest\nbe kept distinct from it, this income is the net product of a\npermanent stock of capital goods. The relations of these two component\nparts of the constant output of goods to the prices of the goods are\nidentical.\n\n_Proof of the Incorrectness of the Current Statement concerning Rent\nand Price._--The vague form of the current statement concerning rent\nand price is responsible for much confusion of thought on that\nsubject. What the statement would mean is that the price of wheat is\nnot affected by the great contributions to the supply of it which good\nlands are making. These contributions are the rent in its original\nform. The rent of wheat land is wheat, that of cotton land is cotton,\nthat of mill sites is manufactured goods, etc. That money is used in\npayments made to landlords changes nothing that is essential. To say\nthat such contributions to the supply of particular commodities are\nnot an element in determining the prices of them, would be as\nunreasonable as to make the same assertion concerning other parts of\nthe supply. Quite as logically might it be asserted that other\ncomponents in the supply do not affect prices--that the amount of\nwheat which is attributable to harvesting machinery or the amount of\ncalico which is imputable to looms has no influence in the market\nvalues of these articles.\n\n_Why the Produce due to Good Land prevents Prices from greatly\nRising._--If the use of good wheat land were merely discontinued, the\nsupply of wheat would of course be not only lessened, but reduced\nalmost to nothing, and a famine price would at once result. If, now,\nan attempt were made to make good the shortage of the supply of this\ncereal by tilling lands which are now at the margin of cultivation, it\nwould at once appear that not enough of such land exists to enable us\nto accomplish the purpose, and it would be necessary to push the\nmargin outward and till poorer and poorer soils, at a greatly\nenlarging cost. We should grub out worse thickets, drain worse swamps,\nterrace more discouraging hillsides, irrigate more remote and barren\ndeserts, etc. All this would mean a greater cost of production of\nwheat and a higher price for it in the market.\n\nIt would also mean another thing. The extending of the margin of\ncultivation which makes it include poorer grades of land causes that\npart of the area now tilled which does not command any rent to yield\none. After the margin should have been greatly extended and finally\nlocated in a region where getting anything out of the soil would\nrequire a struggle, it would appear that all of the lands newly\nannexed to the cultivated area except the last and poorest would\ncommand a rent. All but those on the new margin would add a definite\nquota to the supply of wheat, and this contribution would be their\nrent. Entering into the supply, it would of course count in the\nadjustment of price.\n\n_What can reasonably be conceded concerning Rent and Price._--There is\nanother possible meaning of the phrase \"Rent is not an element in\nprice\"; and, whether it was clearly in the minds of those early\neconomists who made the assertion or not, it is what their argument\nproves. The _payment_ of rent by tenants to landlords has no effect on\nthe market value of the produce. \"Food would not become cheaper,\" says\nProfessor Fawcett, \"even if land were made rent free.\" There would be\nthe same need of food stuffs as before, and the tillage of lands would\nbe pushed to the present margin, where the yield is smallest. The\ncost, in labor and capital, of that marginal part of the supply of\nfood which has come from these poorest lands would continue to be what\nit has been heretofore. The farmers would, of course, get from the\ngood lands the same surplus that they get at present; but the fact\nthat land had been made rent free would enable them to keep it. This\nsurplus is, of course, rent, and transferring it from landlords to\ntenants does not affect prices. So much of the doctrine formerly\ncurrent is true; and it would have forestalled much confused thought\nas well as much controversy if the statement concerning rent and price\nhad made it clear that any rent in its original form is an element in\nthe supply of produce, and the existence of it helps to determine\nprices, while the payments made by tenants to landlords do not affect\nthem. If these payments should cease and the tenants should retain the\nrent, prices would continue to be what they now are.[4]\n\n    [4] The claim that rent is not an element in price making\n    might be made in the case of artificial instruments of\n    production as reasonably as it can be made in the case of\n    land. If it means that the _existence_ of the rent has no\n    effect on price, it is wholly incorrect in both cases. The\n    statement may be so changed as to tell what is true\n    concerning the rent of land, and it will then also tell the\n    truth about the product of the artificial instruments, which\n    is interest in its original form. These statements may be\n    made in parallel columns, and one will be as true as the\n    other and no truer.\n\n    A needed part of the supply      A needed part of the supply\n    of wheat is grown on marginal    of woolen cloth is woven on\n    land.                            marginal looms.\n\n    The price of the wheat must      The price of the cloth must\n    pay for the labor and capital    pay for the labor and capital\n    used on this land.               that, in the woolen\n                                     manufacture, are combined\n                                     with these looms.\n\n    The price of wheat raised on     The price of cloth woven\n    good land is the same as that    on good looms is the same as\n    of wheat raised on the marginal  that of equally good cloth\n    zone, and it affords a surplus   woven on marginal ones, and\n    above wages and interest paid    it affords a net surplus above\n    by farmers for labor and         the cost of maintaining the\n    capital used in the tilling      stock of looms and the\n    of the good land.                wages and interest paid by\n                                     manufacturers for further\n                                     capital used in connection\n                                     with the good looms.\n\n    The existence of this surplus    The existence of this surplus\n    in its original form, that       in its original form, that\n    of wheat, affects the supply     of cloth, affects the supply\n    and the price of that product.   and the price of this product.\n\n    The fact that farmers pay        The fact that _entrepreneurs_\n    landlords for this surplus       pay capitalists for this\n    has no effect on the price       surplus has no effect on the\n    of wheat.                        price of cloth.\n\n    The more important facts concerning rent have reference to\n    the original form of it, namely, a product in kind. Whatever\n    constitutes a part of the supply of anything affects the\n    price of it. The surplus afforded by good looms is an element\n    in the supply of cloth, and that afforded by good land is an\n    element in the supply of wheat. They make these two supplies\n    larger than they would otherwise be, and of course they are\n    of cardinal importance in determining price. The rent of\n    anything is an element in the supply of some kind of goods,\n    and the annihilation of it would reduce the supply and raise\n    the price of product in which, in its first estate, it\n    consists.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nECONOMIC DYNAMICS\n\n\n_The Efficiency of Static Forces in Dynamic Societies._--The static\nstate which has thus far been kept in view is a hypothetical one, for\nthere is no actual society which is not changing its form and the\ncharacter of its activities. Five organic changes, which we shall soon\nstudy, are going on in every economic society; and yet the striking\nfact is that, in spite of this, a civilized society usually has, at\neach particular date, a shape that conforms in some degree to the one\nwhich, under the conditions existing at that date, the static forces\nacting alone would give to it. It is even true that, as long as\ncompetition is free, the most active societies conform most closely to\ntheir static models. If we could check the five radical changes that\nare going on in a society that is very full of energy,--if, as it\nwere, we could stop such an organism midway in its career of rapid\ngrowth and let it lapse into a stationary condition,--the shape that\nit would take would be not radically unlike the one which it had when\nwe interposed the check on its progress. Taking on the theoretically\nstatic form would not strikingly alter its actual shape. The actual\nform of a highly dynamic society hovers relatively near to its static\nmodel though it never conforms to it. In the case of sluggish\nsocieties this would not be true; for if in one of them we stopped the\nforces of growth and waited long enough to let the static influences\nproduce their full effects, the shape to which they would bring the\norganism would be very different from the one which it actually had\nwhen its slow progress was brought to a stop. Most efficient in the\nmost changeful societies are forces which, if they were acting by\nthemselves alone, would produce a changeless state. The reasons for\nthis will later appear.\n\n_Differences between Static Forms of Society at Different Dates._--A\nhighly dynamic condition, then, is one in which the economic organism\nchanges rapidly and yet, at any time in the course of its changes, is\nrelatively near to a certain static model. It is clear, therefore,\nthat it cannot, at different periods, conform even approximately to\none single model. If the forces of change which in 1800 were impelling\nthe industrial society of America to a forward movement had been\nsuppressed, and if competition had been ideally free and active, that\nsociety would before long have settled into the shape then required by\nthe forces which, in the preceding chapters, we have described. Some\nlabor would have moved from certain occupations to others and gained\nby the change; and this movement of labor would have ended by making\nthe productive power and the pay of a unit of this agent uniform in\nall the different subgroups of the system. Capital would have so\napportioned itself as to level out inequalities in its earning power.\nThe profits of _entrepreneurs_ would have been equalized by becoming\nin all cases _nil_, and the best available methods of production would\neverywhere be found surviving and bestowing their entire fruits on\nlaborers and capitalists. All this is involved in saying that the\nstatic model, the form of which was determined by the conditions of\n1800, would have been realized. This would have been brought about by\nsuppressing at that date the forces which cause organic change and by\ngiving to competition a perfectly unobstructed field. If we had done\nthis in 1900, instead of at the earlier date, economic society would,\nin a like way, have conformed to the shape required by the conditions\nof 1900; and this would have been very different from the shape which\nthe static forces would have given to society a century earlier. There\nis an ideal static shape for every period, and no two of these static\nshapes are alike.\n\n_Differences between the Actual Shape of Society and the Static One at\nAny One Time._--The actual shape of society at any one time is not the\nstatic model of that time; but it tends to conform to it, and in a\nvery dynamic society is more nearly like it than it would be in one in\nwhich the forces of change are less active. With all the transforming\ninfluences to which American industrial society is subject, it to-day\nconforms more closely to a normal form than do the more conservative\nsocieties of Europe and far more closely than do the sluggish\nsocieties of Asia. A viscous liquid in a vessel may show a surface\nthat is far from level; but a highly fluid substance will come nearly\nto a level, even though we shake the vessel containing it vigorously\nenough to create waves on the surface and currents throughout the\nwhole mass. This is a fair representation of a society in a highly\ndynamic condition. Its very activities tend to bring it nearer to its\nstatic model than it would be if its constituent materials were not\nfluid and if it were never agitated. The static shape itself, though\nit is never completely copied in the actual shape of society, is for\nscientific purposes a reality. There are powerful influences tending\nto force the industrial organization at every point to conform to it.\nThe level of the sea is a reality, though the motion of the waters\nnever subsides sufficiently to make their surface accurately conform\nto it. As vigorously agitated, the water shows a surface that is\nnearer to the ideal level than would an ocean of mud, tar, or other\nsluggishly flowing stuff. The winds throw up waves a few feet high,\nbut the fluidity keeps the general surface surprisingly level; and so\ncivilized society, made as it is of fluid material kept in vigorous\nagitation, finds, as it were, its level easily. If in any year we\ncould and should stop the dynamic disturbances, the economic society\nwould assume the static shape which the conditions of that year called\nfor as readily as the sea would find its normal level if winds and\ntides should completely cease. Static influences that draw society\nforever toward its natural form are always fundamental, and progress\nhas no tendency to suppress them.\n\n_Competition a Cause of Rapid Changes in the Standard Shape of Society\nand of a Quick Conformity of the Actual Shape to the Standard\nOne._--The competition which is active enough to change the standard\nshape of society rapidly--that, for example, which spurs on mechanical\ninvention and causes a large profit to be realized in a particular\nsubgroup--has also the effect of calling labor and capital quickly to\nthe point at which the profit appears, and, in the absence of any\nmonopoly, reduces this profit to _nil_ and restores, in so far as this\ncause of disturbance goes, the equilibrium of the groups. Under the\ninfluence of active competition a particular group frequently\nundergoes quick changes which call for more labor and capital, but it\ngets them quickly; and, as has just been said, the standard shape of\na society which is in this highly fluid condition does not differ so\nmuch from the actual shape as does that of a society the movements of\nwhich are sluggish. The standard shape is like the hare that moves\nquickly and irregularly; while the actual shape is like the pursuing\nhound, which moves equally quickly, follows closely all turns of the\ncourse, and, if the game were to stop moving, would in short order\nclose on it.\n\n_The Equalization of the Productive Power of Labor and of Capital in\nthe Different Subgroups._--We have seen that in a static state labor\nand capital do not move from subgroup to subgroup in the system, and\nthat this absence of flow in a fluid body is not brought about by\nmonopoly or by any approach to it. That, indeed, would obstruct\ntransfers of the producing agents from point to point; but monopoly is\na thing most rigorously excluded by the static hypothesis. At every\npoint we have assumed that the power to move is absolute, while only\nthe motive is lacking. The equalization of the productive power of\nlabor in the various subgroups precludes the migration of labor, and a\nlike equalization precludes a migration of capital.\n\n_Equalization of Productive Powers within the Subgroups._--Not merely\nmust each unit of labor or of capital be able to create as much wealth\nin one subgroup as in another, but within the subgroup--the specific\nindustry--each unit must be able to create as much under one employer\nwithin the industry as under another. The different _entrepreneurs_\nmust compete with each other on terms of equality, and no one of them\nmust be able to wrest from a rival any part of the rival's patronage.\nSo long as one competitor has an advantage over another in his mode\nof creating a product, there is no equilibrium within the subgroup.\nThe more efficient user of labor and capital is able to draw away\nlabor and capital from the less efficient one, and the self-seeking\nimpulse which is at the basis of competition impels him to do it. The\nproducer who works at the greater advantage is foreordained to\nunderbid and supplant the one who works under more unfavorable\nconditions. That a static state may exist and that the movements of\nlabor and capital from point to point may be precluded, every\ncompetitor within a subgroup must be able to keep his business intact,\nhold his customers, and retain in his employment all the labor and the\ncapital that he has.\n\n_Equality of Size of Productive Establishments not Necessary._--Size\nis, as we shall see, an element of efficiency, and the great\nestablishment often sells goods for less than it would cost a small\none to make them. The small manufacturer often finds that he would\nbest become a mere merchant, buying some of the products of the great\nmill and selling them to his customers, rather than continue making\nsimilar goods. In the general market an approach to equality of size\nis usually necessary in order that competitors may be on even terms.\nThis does not preclude the survival of many small establishments. The\nlocal retailers have an advantage over great department stores in the\nfilling of small orders. When one has to buy what costs a dollar it\ndoes not pay to spend a dime in car-fares, and waste a dollar's worth\nof time in order to secure the thing for ninety cents. Weariness to\ncustomers is here the element that gives to the small producer his\nadvantage and enables him to keep that part of the business which\ncomes in the form of many small orders; but small producers often have\nother advantages than those which depend on location. In a shop which\nis more like that of a craftsman of three centuries ago than it is\nlike the great furniture factory, a cabinetmaker can make a single\nchair of a special pattern more cheaply than the great manufacturer\ncan afford to do it. The great shop requires that there should be many\narticles of a kind turned out by its elaborate machines in order that\nthe owner should get the benefit of their rapid and unerring action.\nThere will long be at work hand presses much like those used by\nBenjamin Franklin, besides the complicated automata which do the bulk\nof our printing, because for printing a dozen copies of anything the\nlever press is the cheaper. There will be shoemakers who not only mend\nshoes but occasionally make them for customers who want other than\nstandard kinds; and local tailors are sure to survive. Only in the\ngeneral market and in the making of standard goods is size essential\nto success.\n\n_A Considerable Number of Competitors Assumed._--The most striking\nphenomenon of our time is the consolidation of independent\nestablishments by the forming of what are usually called trusts; and\nthis and all the approaches to it are precluded by the static\nhypothesis. There is a question whether, after competition has reduced\nthe establishments in one subgroup to a half dozen or less, they would\nnot, even without forming a trust, act as a quasi-monopoly. This\nquestion we have at the proper point fully to discuss, but here it is\nnecessary to assume that nothing which creates even a quasi-monopoly\nexists. We shall find that competition usually would, in fact,\nsurvive and be extremely effective among as few as five or six\ncompetitors, till they formed some sort of union with each other. To\navoid all uncertainty we assume that in the static state in which\nvalues, wages, and interest are natural and in which each subgroup has\nits perfectly normal share of labor and capital, there are competitors\nenough in each occupation to preclude all question as to the\ncontinuance of an active rivalry.\n\n_Static Values and Prices._--The equilibrium referred to requires that\nall values should stand at their static levels, which means that the\nprices of goods should be the \"cost prices\" of the older economists.\nThe _entrepreneur_ should make no net profit on the goods he is\nproducing. The wages of labor must be productivity wages, since each\nman must get the amount of wealth that he brings into existence.\nInterest on capital needs, in like manner, to be productivity\ninterest, and each unit of capital must get the amount it creates.\nMoreover, the prices of goods, as expressed in money, must be accurate\nrepresentations of the comparative values of goods. All these features\nmark the static state; but the most obvious mark of distinction is the\nabsence of movement from group to group. We shall see that values are\nultimately measured in marginal labor, and as the value of money is\nmeasured in the same way, it follows that the price of each article,\nas expressed in money, is in a static state a correct expression of\nthe comparative amount of labor that will make it. And the entire\nrelation of commodities to each other and to labor can be expressed by\nthe medium of currency. If a unit of labor produces gold enough to\nmake an eagle, and if any commodity sells for ten dollars, it will be\nsafe to infer that it is also produced by one unit of labor. If one\ncommodity sells for ten dollars and another for five dollars, the\nformer is the product of twice as many units of marginal labor as is\nthe latter. This remains true only while currency continues to be in\nits normal state and all other static adjustments continue complete.\n\n_Influences that disturb the Static Equilibrium._--It might seem that\nthe influences that disturb such a static equilibrium are too numerous\nto be described; and yet these changes may be classed under five\ngeneral types:--\n\n1. _Growth of Population._--The supply of labor is increasing, and\nthis fact of itself calls for continual readjustment of the group\nsystem.\n\n2. _Increase of Capital._--The amount of capital is increasing, and\nthis change also disturbs the static equilibrium and calls for a\nrearrangement. As far as wages and interest are concerned, the effect\nof this latter change is the opposite of that which follows an\nincrease in the amount of labor. When people become more numerous,\nother things remaining equal, their individual earning capacity\nbecomes smaller. The increase of capital reduces the earning power of\neach unit of the supply of it and depresses the rate of interest; but\nit raises the rate of wages, for it causes labor itself to act more\nefficiently.\n\nIt is to be noted, indeed, that when new laborers enter society they\nbecome consumers as well as producers, and this affects the utility\nand the value of goods. When more people use a given amount of\nconsumers' wealth, values, measured in ultimate units of utility or\ndisutility, rise. An increase of capital does not directly neutralize\nthis effect, since it does not change the number of consumers; but it\nmultiplies commodities and brings down their utilities and their\nvalues. The rise of \"subjective\" values which follows an influx of\nlaborers is an indication of diminished wealth per capita, and the\nreduction of values which follows an influx of capital is a sign of\nincreased wealth per capita.\n\n3. _Changes of Method._--Changes take place in the methods of\nproduction. New processes are devised, improved machines are invented,\ncheap motive powers are utilized, and cheap and available raw\nmaterials are discovered, and these changes continually disturb the\nstatic state. There are certain to be improvements on the older\nmethods of production, for a law of the survival of the fittest\ninsures this.\n\nUnder competition the process that, with a given amount of labor and\ncapital, turns out a larger product inevitably displaces one that\nturns out less. The employer who is using the better method undersells\nthose who use inferior ones, and forces them either to improve their\nown methods or to go out of business. Working humanity as a whole is\ntherefore making a constant gain in producing power, as man's\nappliances equip him more and more effectively for his conflict with\nnature and enable him to subjugate it more rapidly and thoroughly. It\nwould seem that they ought to have only good effects on wages, and in\nthe long run they invariably do have such effects. In the absence of\nimprovements there would be little hope for the future of wage\nearners. The immediate effects of improvements upon individual\nworkers, as we shall see, are not always unqualifiedly good, but the\nessential effect is the general and permanent one, and the character\nof this has been attested by past experience too fully to be in\ndoubt. In improvements in production lies the hope of laboring\nhumanity. Nearly the whole earning power of the labor of the present\nday is the result of improvements that have taken place in the past,\nthough these gains have not been secured without causing local and\ntemporary hardships. If in the future the wages of labor are doubled\nor quadrupled, as the result of a series of improvements beginning now\nand extending to a remote period, this progress cannot be secured for\nnothing. The costs will be less than those attending improvements of\nthe past, but they will be real. The most important fact is that they\ntend to become fewer and smaller and that the gains immeasurably\nexceed them.\n\n4. _Changes in Organization._--There are changes in the mode of\norganizing the establishments in which commodities are produced, and\nso far as these occur under a regime of active competition, they also\nare improvements and give added power of production. The mills and\nshops become larger and relatively fewer. There is a great\ncentralizing movement going on, since the large shop undersells and\nsuppresses the smaller one, and combinations unite many great shops\nunder one management. The effect of this, when it takes place in a\nperfectly normal way, is akin to that of improvements of method. It\nbenefits society as a whole somewhat at the cost of individual members\nof the body, and it causes wages to rise by adding continually to the\nwealth-creating power of the men who earn them. We shall see that when\nconsolidations repress competition their effect is far from being thus\nwholly beneficial, and that not only are particular persons injured by\nthem, but the community as a whole has a serious bill of charges to\nbring against them. The securing of the gains that come by\nconsolidation without such evils is an end the realization of which\nwill tax the statesmanship of the future.\n\n5. _Changes in Consumers' Wants._--The wants of consumers are\nchanging. They are growing more numerous as well as more refined and\nintellectual. This expansion of desires follows the general increase\nof productive power, since every one already wants some things that he\ncannot procure, and all society has a fringe of ungratified wants just\nbeyond the limit of actual gratification. Even if all these wants that\nare now near the point of actual satisfaction were to be satisfied,\nthe desires would at once project themselves farther. The mere\nincrease in earning power without any special education enlarges the\nwant scale, but intellectual and moral growth cooeperates with it in\nthat direction and calls latent wants into an active state. More and\nmore eagerly do men seek things for which the desire was formerly\ndormant. Changes of this kind affect values, cause labor and capital\nto move from group to group, and thus cause society as a whole to\nproduce less of some things and more of others. They sometimes cause\nwholly new groups to appear, and draw workers and equipment from the\nold ones.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_Advantage of Diversity of Wants._--One very marked effect of the\ndiversification of wants is to increase the aggregate utility of a\nmass of commodity produced with a given expenditure of labor. Measure\nthe whole wealth available for consumption on the basis of the labor\nthat it takes to create it, and it will appear that it has more\nutility and is worth more to society in consequence of this evolution\nthat is going on in the nature of the individual consumer. A given\namount of labor benefits most the men whose wants are of the most\nvaried character. If _A_, _B_, and _C_ are three commodities, and if\ntheir several utilities decline, as successive units of them are given\nto a consumer, along the curves descending from the letters _A_, _B_,\nand _C_ of the diagram, it is clear that the man whose consumption is\nconfined to the commodity A gets less benefit from three units of\nwealth than does the man who consumes _A_, _B_, and _C_. The utility\nof the first unit of _A_ is measured by the vertical line from _A_ to\nthe line _DE_, that of the second by the line from _A'_ to _DE_, and\nthat of the third by the line from _A''_ to _DE_. The utility of the\nfirst unit of _B_ is measured by the distance from _B_ to the line\n_DE_ and exceeds that of the second unit of _A_ by the difference\nbetween the lengths of those lines. In like manner the utility of _C_\nexceeds that of the third unit of _A_ by the difference between the\nlength of the line descending from C and that of the one descending\nfrom _A''_. The declining utility of the income of the man who\nsatisfies three wants is represented by the slowly descending curve\n_ABC_, while the diminishing utility of the income of the man who\nsatisfies only one want declines along the sharply descending curve\n_A_, _A'_, _A''_.[1]\n\n    [1] For studies of the effect of diversified wants, see S. N.\n    Patten, \"Consumption of Wealth.\" It will be seen that account\n    must be taken first of the natural expansion of the want\n    which comes from an increase of productive power, and second\n    of the changes in the quality of the wants to be gratified,\n    which sometimes go ahead of any change in the productive\n    system and call for new kinds of commodities.\n\n_Changes in Static Standards._--The grand resultant of all the changes\nthat are going on in the more highly civilized countries is a\ncontinual rise, not only in actual wages but in the theoretical\nstandard of wages. The static or \"natural\" rate of pay for labor\nto-day is higher than it was fifty years ago and lower than it will\nnaturally be fifty years hence. Removing all disturbing influences and\nletting society settle to-day into a perfectly static condition would\nreveal the theoretical standard of present wages. Doing the same thing\nafter a lapse of fifty years would show what would then be the natural\nor standard rate; and this would be higher than the present one. Not\nonly would the actual pay of labor have risen, but the standard to\nwhich it tends to conform would have become higher after every\ninterval. The actual rate of wages at any one time varies from the\nstandard; but as both rise from decade to decade, the actual rate\nhovers all the while within a certain distance of the standard one.\n\n_Effects on Values._--In the same way the values of goods measured in\nlabor will in general be declining values. At no one time will actual\nmarket prices accurately express the amounts of marginal labor that\nare required for producing different articles, but they will\napproximately express this. Articles will sell in the market for about\nenough to pay for the labor that, when used as marginal labor,\nsuffices to produce them; and as this amount of labor put into a given\narticle grows less and less, the prices of the goods will actually pay\nfor fewer and fewer days' labor.\n\nThe standard price of anything will be the amount of money that is\nneeded to pay for the labor of making it, provided always that we are\ncareful to use only empty-handed labor in applying the test and that\nwe put that labor in the marginal position, as described in Chapters\nIV and V, and so disentangle the product that is attributable to it\nfrom that which is imputable to capital. If wages, as paid in money,\nremain stationary, normal prices will decline and actual prices will\nhover about them in their downward course, so that goods will actually\nbuy smaller and smaller amounts of labor, or, what is the same thing,\nlabor will secure as its pay more and more goods.[2]\n\n    [2] In measuring the cost of goods in labor, in Chapters IV\n    and V, we disentangled from the amount of goods which is the\n    joint product of labor and capital, the part which is\n    attributable to labor only. The mode of doing this is there\n    more fully stated. The old and crude method of using a labor\n    standard of value--which assumes that the product of a unit\n    of labor _aided by capital_ will always buy the product of\n    another unit of labor _aided by capital_--we must take _all\n    pains_ to avoid.\n\n    In connection with the cost in labor of different articles\n    it is to be remembered that in agriculture the effect of\n    improvements of method may not always suffice to counteract\n    the working of the so-called law of diminishing returns,\n    which insures, with agricultural science in a given state of\n    advancement, smaller products per capita when there are more\n    men on a given area. That this influence should preponderate\n    over that of improved processes requires that population\n    should increase with a degree of rapidity which may or may\n    not be maintained.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE LIMITS OF AN ECONOMIC SOCIETY\n\n\nWhen we try to establish a standard to which wages generally tend to\nconform, the question arises how much of the earth we have in view. Is\nthere a rate at which the pay of labor in Europe, Asia, Africa,\nAustralia, and America tends to settle and remain? Is there a common\nrate of interest that is normal in all these grand divisions, and are\nthere also general standards of value for goods which govern their\nprices in all the markets of the world? If there are no such standards\nhaving universal validity, are there any that are valid within single\ngeographical divisions? On what principle can we divide the earth into\nsections for economic purposes? These are some of the questions which\nmust be answered if a theory of distribution is to have any\ndefiniteness of meaning, and they arise whenever we try to establish a\nstatic standard of any kind. If we talk about natural wages, we must\nknow in how much of the world they are natural. The questions become\neven more urgent when we try to solve dynamic problems. We shall have\nto determine the effects of an influx of labor into the economic\nsociety we are studying; but does this mean an increase of population\nin the world as a whole? Does an influx of capital have a similar\ncomprehensive meaning, and does an improvement in the method of\nproducing some commodity mean a change in the mode of making it in\nevery part of the world where it is produced at all? We need to know\nhow extensive the society is whose activities we are examining.\n\n_Characteristics of an Economic Society._--We have said that there are\nnatural rates of wages, etc., within some area, which we have regarded\nas containing an economic society, and we have treated this social\norganism much as though it were as isolated and self-contained as\nwould be an inaccessible island with its population. It has one\ngeneral market where values are fixed. A farmer within the area\ncovered by our studies produces wheat for the whole society, and in\none way or another, every person within the area is a bidder for it. A\nshoemaker makes shoes and a weaver makes cloth to offer to everybody.\nEach part of the organism ministers to the whole and is ministered to\nby the whole. Competition is ideally free and in a sense is universal.\nThe general system of groups made up of the A's, the B's, the C's, and\nthe H's of our table illustrates the manner in which this complete and\nself-contained society is organized. In the static state there is one\nstandard of wages for all these groups and their subdivisions and one\nequally general standard of interest. The price of a commodity,\nbarring some allowance for cost of carrying it, is uniform everywhere.\nA reduced price for _A'''M_ in any part of the area where this society\ndwells would set men bidding for it from every quarter of that area\nand would thus bring the local prices to uniformity. So a high rate of\npay for labor in one part would at once lure men from every other part\nand reduce the high pay to the standard generally prevailing. The\npicture is that of a social body having a large geographical extension\nand yet intensely sensitive at every point to economic influences.\nPrices, wages, and interest everywhere respond at once to an influence\nthat originates in any part of the extended area. In technical terms\nthis means that there is perfect mobility of labor and capital within\nthe group system represented by the table, and that this involves\nequally perfect mobility as between parts of the area that the groups\ninhabit. Men move from one section of the country to another in\nresponse to an economic inducement as readily as they do from the\ngroup _A_ to the group _B_.\n\n_Barriers which divide the World into Economic Sections._--Now it is\nclear that in the actual world changing one's place of abode is\ndifficult, and even sending capital from place to place is somewhat\nso. Inequalities of earning power are not leveled out by a quick\nmigration of laborers from China to Europe or to America. In their\nmethods of production the different regions are not brought to a\nuniformity, for there is machine labor here and hand labor there; and\nit is vain to expect that machines will quickly become universal and\nthat the practical arts in America, Africa, and Asia will be rendered\nuniform by such a quick adoption of the most efficient processes as\neconomic law, in the absence of friction, requires.\n\n_Boundaries of the Society which is here Studied._--If we take the\nworld as a whole into the circle covered by our studies, we find that\nlabor, compared with other economic elements, decidedly lacks fluidity\nand does not easily move. So far from being like water, which flows\nreadily and finds its level quickly, it is more like tar or other\nviscous stuff, which flows slowly and is long in leveling out local\nirregularities in its surface. In the world as a whole there are\nregions crowded with people and other regions nearly unpeopled, and\nlong will it be before some of these differences will be much reduced.\nMany centuries, indeed, must pass before they are entirely removed.\nIf, however, we take the most active part of the world,--western\nEurope, most of North America, Japan, and the more fully settled parts\nof Australia,--labor will show a degree of mobility that makes it more\nlike the water of the illustration, and capital within this active\ncenter of industrial operations will be more fluid still. Prices here\ntend toward certain general standards, and processes of production and\nmethods of organizing the forces which do the producing work tend\nstrongly toward uniformity. The best processes and the best forms of\norganization tend generally to survive. There are imperative reasons\nfor studying the economy of this highly civilized region, the center\nof the economic activities of the world, apart from that of the more\nundeveloped regions.[1]\n\n    [1] This is far from implying that economic laws do not work\n    in the excluded outer area or that no effects are produced\n    within the central area by causes that originate in the outer\n    zone. How these things take place we shall later see.\n\n_The Need of a Rule by which a Part of the World may be Treated as an\nEconomic Society._--This involves finding a way by which we can treat\na limited part of the world much as though it were, for our purposes,\nthe whole of it. In essential ways the economic center that we have\ndescribed does act somewhat as if it were an organism complete in\nitself. We must draw a boundary line about the area of active\nmovement, of lively interchanges, and of general sensitiveness to\neconomic influences, thus separating it from the broader zone of\nsluggish movement of capital and population, of slow response to\neconomic stimuli, and of generally backward conditions.\n\n_Freedom of Movement as a Test._--In Europe, America, and the other\nadvanced regions goods are carried from place to place so easily and\nquickly that there is a tendency toward uniform prices; and such local\ndifferences of price as exist in the case of any commodity do not much\nexceed the cost of getting it carried from one place to another,\nthough in the cost of moving it there must often be reckoned the toll\nwhich a government takes at the customhouse. Capital moves freely, and\nthere is a certain approach to a general level of interest, though\nhere also local differences of course survive. The obstacle to the\nmoving of capital from one place to another, if the owner does not go\nwith it, is occasioned mainly by the risk it encounters and by a\nvirtual bill for insurance. With allowance for this cost, rates of\ninterest in the region we have described tend toward a general level.\nThough labor migrates more slowly than capital, it moves far more\nrapidly within the economic center than in the outer zones. Processes\nof production are not brought to a complete uniformity within the\ncenter, but they tend powerfully toward it; for while obstructions\nexist, they surely and not always slowly yield. With due regard for\nsuch differences of method as those existing between the European\nways of making products and the American ways, we may say that the\ntendency toward the general survival of the best methods is too strong\nto allow any important differences to be permanent. Everywhere, in\nshort, within the central area there is a strong tendency to conform\nto economic standards in the matter of prices, wages, interest,\nindustrial processes, and forms of economic organization. The\nstandards are what we have defined as the static ones. If we should\nstop progress and all disturbing influences and wait long enough, we\nshould see values, wages, interest, etc., take a static level\nthroughout the vast area. This, however, would require that migrations\nshould go on till all inducement to move from place to place should\nhave ceased to exist. Population would then have distributed itself\nover the land in the most advantageous way, and no body of people\nwould be better off than any other by reason of the location of their\nabode. A long period would be needed to bring about this adjustment\neven within the circumscribed area where influences that make for\nchange are very active and where obstacles are far smaller than they\nare in the uncivilized regions.\n\n_Essential Density of Population._--A perfectly static state requires,\nnot a perfectly equal distribution of population, but such a\ndistribution that there is no reason for further migrating. The power\nof the soil to feed its inhabitants varies with its fertility. Where\nthe land is highly productive a dense population may live easily;\nwhereas on a sterile soil even a sparse population may find natural\nresources too meager, and men may move to places which are more\nthickly peopled and yet may gain by the change. Moreover, such\noccupations as manufacturing and commerce require, of course, a far\nlarger population on a given area than does any form of agriculture.\nSome regions are so undesirable as dwelling places that it takes an\nexceptional economic reward to induce men to live there. The static\nstate is one in which, all these things being considered, there is no\nreason for changing the place of one's abode. This implies more nearly\nequal density per unit of natural resources than equal density per\nunit of mere area. Inequality of advantage due to location is what is\nleveled out, and doing this does not require nor permit that\npopulation should everywhere be equally dense per square mile or per\nacre.\n\n_Effect of Differences of Occupation._--Regions given over to\nagriculture naturally sustain more people than those devoted to\ngrazing, and those which are devoted to manufacturing sustain more\nthan either. In countries in which, as in Great Britain, manufacturing\nis so disproportionately developed that products must be largely\nexported, while food must be largely imported, given areas sustain\nmore inhabitants than they do in any agricultural or grazing region\nand more than they do in any region where grazing and tillage, on the\none hand, and manufacturing, on the other, are well balanced. In mills\nand shops auxiliary capital so abounds as to take the place of the\nabundant land that is available in the other cases for making labor\nfruitful, and in villages and cities labor does not overtax the\nresources of the soil any more than it does on farms. It has area\nenough to live and to work on and tools and materials enough to work\nwith. In a generally crowded country, the resort to commerce and\nmanufacturing relieves the pressure on the land, cities abound, and an\nabundance of capital averts the danger of a disastrous overcrowding.\n\n_An approximately Static Distribution of Population._--The\napportionment of population among the different sections of a country\nmay be nearly normal, while migration may still go on from that\ncountry as a whole to remote parts of the general area which we\ninclude in our present study. There may be small reason for moving\nfrom one part of Germany to another and large reason for going from\nGermany to America. This larger movement occupies a long time, while\ncertain other adjustments may be made more quickly. Within Germany and\nwithin the United States labor may be well apportioned among the\ndifferent occupations. There may be in each country about the right\ncomparative numbers of cotton spinners, iron workers, gardeners, wheat\nraisers, etc.; or in other words, the distribution of labor among the\nindustrial groups may be approximately normal both within the one\ncountry and within the other. It may further be true that the division\nof occupations between the two countries in their entirety is about\nwhat, in the conditions now prevailing, economic law calls for. There\nare certain industries which now have their habitats in Germany and\ncertain others that have their habitats in the United States, and this\narrangement is partly due to the comparative density of the two\npopulations. Because there are so many persons per square mile of land\nin Germany there is there a certain preponderance of manufacturing,\nand there are in America less manufacturing and relatively more\nagriculture. In that remote time when the relative density of the two\npopulations shall become static, America will have reason to increase\nthe comparative amount of the manufacturing and thus put herself in\nthis particular more nearly on a plane with Germany. This occupation\nhas its normal abode in regions of comparatively dense population, and\na gain in comparative density means an increase in the amount of\nproductive energy devoted to it. The place for the mill is where the\nland is crowded, and the better place for the work of tillage is where\nit is not so.[2]\n\n    [2] It will appear that manufacturing reacts on the density\n    of population, first, by retarding emigration from the\n    thickly populated country as a whole; and secondly, by\n    causing local movements within the country, whereby cities\n    and villages grow, and relieve what would otherwise be an\n    excess of labor in agricultural regions.\n\n_How an Unnatural Distribution of Population may be Treated._--So long\nas the slow movement of population from country to country remains\nincomplete, the ultimate division of occupations between the countries\ncan never be completely static. It is therefore with a division that\nis only approximately static that we have first to deal, and this is\nrealized _when in view of the comparative density of population in the\ndifferent regions which now exists_ occupations are naturally\napportioned.\n\nThe base line _AD_ of this figure stands for the part of the world in\nwhich economic law works rapidly and encounters comparatively few\nobstructions; and the extension of the line represents the lands\noutside of this region in which the laws are sluggish in their action.\nIt is as though this base line were a section of a vast surface\nincluding both civilized and primitive states. _AB_ represents the\nsmallest population per unit of land of a given quality within the\ncentral area, and _DC_ represents the largest, while the ascending\nline _BC_ shows the gradations of essential density in the peopling of\ndifferent parts of it. At the point A the pressure of the population\non the resources of the soil is least, while at the point _D_ it is at\nits greatest. At the point _A_ a man can get much out of the soil as\nthe return for his own bare labor, while at _D_ he can get\ncomparatively little; and at intervening points on the base a man gets\nmore than he does at _D_ and less than he does at _A_. His gains\nmeasured in bushels of wheat, etc., vary inversely as the density of\nthe population and so decrease from the left of the figure toward the\nright till the point _D_ is reached. The occupations of the different\nlocalities are determined by these facts.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_How Occupations vary with Differences of Land Crowding._--Crowding\nthe arable land causes labor to flow naturally to manufacturing\noccupations, since in these it is not so greatly handicapped in\ncomparison with the labor of more sparsely peopled regions. In a\ncotton mill in Manchester a man may contribute as many yards per day\ntoward the product of the mill as he would in a mill in Fall River;\nbut on an English farm one man's labor does not create as much\nproduce as it does on an American farm. The large amount of available\nland per man in America has a great effect on the amount that a man\ncan produce by tilling it, but it has very little effect on the amount\nof the cotton goods that his presence and labor in the mill insure. In\nraising crops, therefore, the Englishman is at a more serious\ndisadvantage in comparison with the American. The fact is expressed in\na practical way by saying that the English labor is cheaper and is\ntherefore more available for making things that are exported to the\ndistant markets of the world than is labor of the same kind in\nAmerica; but the reason for this cheapness is primarily the land\ncrowding, which reduces the productive power of a final unit of labor\nin the former country. Because the man cannot get for himself many\nbushels of wheat per annum by working on land he can afford to work in\na mill at a rate corresponding with the value of the produce he could\nsecure as a cultivator.[3]\n\n    [3] In this connection see the discussion of the principles\n    of international trade in J. S. Mill's \"Principles of\n    Political Economy,\" Book III, Chapter XVI.\n\n_General Differences between the Condition of Densely Peopled Regions\nand that of Sparsely Peopled Ones._--In a very general way it may be\nsaid that the comparative amount of manufacturing should naturally\nvary directly with density of population, and that the comparative\namount of agriculture should vary inversely to it. In computing\ndensity due regard must, as has been indicated, be paid to the quality\nof the land as well as the area, since a number of inhabitants which\nwould unduly congest a sterile agricultural region can be well\nmaintained on a fertile one. In the accompanying figure the line _AD_\ninclosed by the vertical lines represents the part of the earth which\nwe have called central, and the left side of it is the part of this\narea which has the sparsest population, while the right side is that\nwhich has the densest. The rising line _BC_ represents the varying\ndensity of the population in different parts of the broad area we\nregard as general economic society, the dotted line _EF_ may be taken\nas expressing the increase in the part of the labor and capital of the\ncountry devoted to manufacturing as population becomes denser, _AE_\nmeasures the proportionate number of persons engaged in manufacturing\nin the region of sparsest population, and _DF_ measures the\ncomparative number in the region most densely peopled.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_AG_ and _DH_ represent the numbers engaged in agriculture in the two\nregions, and the descent of the line _GH_ represents the predominance\nof agriculture in the sparsely populated part and the subordination of\nit in the part that is densely populated. If we assume that capital in\nthe different types of employment varies as does labor, the descent of\nthis line toward the right means a decline in the fraction of the\nwhole force of labor and of the whole fund of capital devoted to\ncultivating the soil; while the upward trend of _EF_ means the\nenlarging proportion of labor and capital devoted to manufacturing as\nwe pass from a region of sparse population to regions more and more\ncrowded. The wavy character of the two dotted lines is designed to\nexpress the fact that local conditions other than mere density of\npopulation favor the one type of occupation rather than the other; and\nmoreover, nothing in the figure is intended to mean that the increase\nin manufacturing and the comparative decrease in tillage from the left\nof the diagram to the right are in any exact numerical proportion to\nthe increase in the density of population. The figure as a whole\nrudely represents the fact that an approximation to the static\ndistribution of population insures an approximation to a static\napportionment of occupations within the described area and indicates\nthe general nature of that apportionment.\n\n_How Cost of Production and Cost of Acquisition are Equalized._--The\ncosts of moving goods from place to place--including in these costs\ncommercial charges and duties imposed by governments--are the cause of\nmost of the manufacturing that is done in the region represented by\nthe left side of the diagram, except the production of such articles\nfor immediate or local consumption as are necessarily made at or near\nthe places where they are used.[4] Tailoring, blacksmithing,\ncarpentering, general repairing, etc., would always be done in that\nregion, but many kinds of staple goods capable of being transported\nwould, in the absence of duties on imports, be made chiefly in the\nregion of dense population and cheap labor.\n\n    [4] There can be no large area from which manufacturing is\n    excluded. The rural hamlet has its blacksmith, wheelwright,\n    and carpenter, its sawmills and gristmills; and manufacturers\n    of sashes, doors, furniture, and many implements abound where\n    agriculture is the general industry. Special advantages for\n    production insure the introduction of other industries, and\n    the advantages of being near to customers is enough to\n    maintain many of them. Repairing must, of course, be done\n    everywhere, and in making some articles for local use it is\n    best that the artisan should be where the customer can always\n    reach him. A large cost of transportation favors local\n    industries, a high degree of productivity in agriculture has\n    an unfavorable influence, and a protective tariff on\n    manufactures reduces the returns from agriculture and favors\n    manufacturing industry.\n\nThe general rule for determining whether a branch of manufacturing can\nsurvive in the area of abundant land and well-paid labor is as\nfollows: it can do so if the cost of making the article which this\nbranch of business is devoted to producing is as low as the cost of\nacquiring it by exchange. The cost may in both cases be reduced to\nbare labor and the rule will then stand thus: if ten days' labor will\nmake the article and if nine will make something that can be exchanged\nfor it--_i.e._ if all the costs of the exchange can be covered and the\nthing can be brought from abroad for a total expenditure of nine days'\nlabor instead of ten--the manufacturing of that article will not\nsurvive. In a region of abundant land and well-paid labor it is\nchiefly the tolls which governments exact which make it as costly an\noperation to get the manufactured products by producing other things\nto barter for them as it is to make them directly. Density of\npopulation, overworking of land, meagerness of returns to agricultural\nlabor--these are the conditions that primarily fix the habitat of most\nkinds of manufacturing. In the case of particular products these\ninfluences may be overcome by the presence in limited parts of the\nsparsely settled area of exceptional natural advantages for\nproduction. Natural gas, special ores, particular kinds of lumber,\netc., may draw some branches of manufacturing to the region of fertile\nland and high wages; but as the comparison which we are making is the\nmost general one which it is possible to make we are safe in our\nassertion that, in the main, manufacturing processes tend, in the\nabsence of exceptional influences, to concentrate themselves in the\nregion of dense population and of meager earning power of labor.\n\n_The Approximate Static Adjustment of Prices._--In the main, and with\ntariffs as they are, the price of raw products is somewhat lower at\nthe left of the figure, while that of highly wrought merchandise is\nmarkedly lower at the right of it; and with the comparative density of\npopulation as it is and with no change of commercial policy on the\npart of governments, this condition may be expected to continue. It is\nan approximately static adjustment of prices. Purchasing manufactured\ngoods in Europe will long be profitable if they can be passed duty\nfree through the customhouse, while food will be somewhat cheaper in\nAmerica.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_Static Wages and Interest._--As has been said, the wages of labor are\ncomparatively low at the right and high at the left of the figure,\nwhile interest varies in the two regions in the same way. It is lower\nin the crowded area. This is not because of the presence of many men,\nfor this influence alone would tend to sustain the productive power of\ncapital and the consequent rate of interest, and in fact the interest\non capital in Europe would be lower than it is if the population\nthere were sparser. The rate which prevails is fixed by the productive\npower of a very large fund of artificial capital utilized by a large\npopulation meagerly supplied with land. This last item is decisive in\nthe case and is a primary cause of low interest. The full statement of\nthese facts, made in graphic form, shows an ascending line of density\nof population, as we proceed from left to right, an ascending line of\nprice for raw produce, a descending line of price for highly wrought\nmerchandise, and descending lines for wages and interest. All these\nlines represent the facts in a broadly general way. They deal with\naverages and not with particular rates. The labor whose earning power\ndescends along the line numbered 5 is of many kinds, and the produce\nof which the average values vary along the lines numbered 2 and 4 is\nof many varieties. The rate of ascent or descent of the lines has no\nespecial quantitative significance, and it is therefore not implied in\nthe figure that wages decline more rapidly than the other factors.\nMoreover, it is such large areas as those of England, Germany, France,\nor the Mississippi Valley, including both cities and rural lands,\nthat we have in mind when we speak of the density of population as\nascending along the line numbered 1. Anywhere we expect to find cities\ncontaining more persons to the acre than rural districts. The purpose\nof the figure is to enable us to take in at a glance five different\nadjustments that in the main are to be regarded as approximately\nstatic within the great region described as the economic center of the\nworld.[5]\n\n    [5] The law of the distribution of occupations over the\n    area represented by the diagram would, if it were more\n    fully developed, present an amplification of the law of\n    International Trade stated in Mill's \"Political Economy,\"\n    according to which countries naturally produce, not only\n    the things for the making of which they have the greatest\n    absolute advantage, but those for which they have the\n    greatest relative advantage.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_Slow Change of the Foregoing Adjustments._--The line which represents\nthe comparative density of population is of course slowly changing\nposition as migration goes on from the older centers of population to\nmore newly occupied regions. If the present distribution of population\nbe represented by the line numbered 1, the distribution a hundred\nyears hence may be represented by the dotted line numbered 2, and that\nwhich will exist after five hundred years shall have passed may be\nrepresented by the dotted line numbered 3. Even within the economic\ncenter the comparative density of population in different divisions is\ntherefore not to be treated as strictly permanent, and it is not to be\ntreated as in any sense permanent when we are forecasting effects that\nwill be realized several centuries hence. For a problem involving a\nscore or two of years the general conditions we have described may be\ntreated as, in the main, abiding.[6]\n\n    [6] The reason for confining attention to the central zone is\n    partly, as we have stated, because here only do we get a\n    quick response to an economic influence. Overproduction of\n    any article quickly lowers the value of it throughout the\n    area, and a mass of unemployed laborers affects wages\n    throughout the area more speedily than it does in the great\n    environing zone.\n\n    This, however, is only one reason for this limitation of the\n    scope of our immediate study. A serious fact is that, if we\n    include the entire world, we cannot establish, in the way we\n    have proposed, the natural standards toward which values,\n    wages, and interest are tending. It will be recalled that in\n    the static division of this treatise we have attained a\n    \"natural\" standard of wages by assuming that all dynamic\n    changes were to cease and that labor and capital were to move\n    to and fro in the system of industrial groups till each of\n    these agents produced as much in one subgroup as in another.\n    A computation of this kind might, within a limited area, be\n    made periodically, say once in ten years, and if this were\n    done it would give a series of static standards of wages. Now\n    these standards become higher as time advances. The static\n    rate of pay for labor is, as a rule, higher at any one date\n    than was the standard for a date ten years earlier, and lower\n    than will be that for a date ten years later. The normal rate\n    of pay about which actual wages fluctuate is a rising one.\n\n    Now, if we introduce in imagination an absolutely static\n    state for the world at large, we shall have to assume that\n    growth of the general population and increase of the\n    aggregate capital both cease, and that inventions and new\n    cooerdinations are no longer made. We must then wait long\n    enough to allow static distribution of industries to be made\n    over the whole world and to let each industry find its\n    absolute habitat. This would involve causing methods of\n    producing any commodity to be unified the world over. Hand\n    labor in the Orient would have to give way to machine\n    production, as it has done in Western lands. For a strictly\n    static adjustment indeed even the density of population in\n    the different sections would have to be brought to a virtual\n    equality. While this nearly interminable process was going\n    on, it would be needful that such dynamic changes as\n    inventions and discoveries bring in their train should be\n    absolutely precluded. Stop making new kinds of machinery and\n    wait for centuries to allow a static adjustment to be made\n    over the whole earth--such would be the order.\n\n    Now, such a test as this would show falling wages in the more\n    favored parts of the earth, whereas the facts show rising\n    wages. The influx of population from the East, unrelieved by\n    a corresponding influx of new capital and by more fruitful\n    methods of production, would cause the earnings of an\n    American laborer to fall, and we should, on the basis of such\n    a test, conclude that his wages in the long run are destined\n    to become lower in consequence of the movement of the vast\n    populations that now congest great Asiatic countries. We\n    should have vitiated the problem by holding the growth of\n    capital and the progress of invention in abeyance. This may\n    be done within a limited area without giving a false result,\n    because there adjustments are more rapid, and waiting for\n    them does not involve the long-continued paralysis of the\n    powers that make for greater wealth for laboring humanity.\n    Apply the test of the static state to the economic center,\n    and it will give a generally true result; but it will give a\n    false one if it be applied to the world as a whole. The\n    merely static adjustment of the world would take more\n    centuries than we care to reckon, and no truth that we are\n    seeking is revealed by assuming that for such a period the\n    forces of progress are brought to a standstill.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nEFFECTS OF DYNAMIC INFLUENCES WITHIN THE LIMITED ECONOMIC SOCIETY\n\n\n_How the General Unification of Methods of Production Calls at First\nfor an Increased Exportation of Capital from the Central Area and\nChecks the Immigration of Laborers._--A study of the causes of the\ninterchanges which take place between the economic center and its\nenvironment shows that the movement of goods, the diffusion of modern\nmethods of making goods, and the movements of capital and labor across\nthe border of the economic society we are studying are interdependent.\nOpening a field for a profitable export trade increases the\nproductivity of labor at home and tends to attract immigration. On the\nother hand, establishing in the outer zone a market for the products\nof the center prepares the way for introducing modern manufactures\ninto the more densely peopled parts of the outer area. The company\nthat sells cotton goods to the Chinese or the Hindoos will find that\nthere is more to be made by utilizing the cheap labor of those peoples\nfor making the goods by efficient machinery. Commerce tends to diffuse\na knowledge of the most economical processes of manufacturing, and\nthis interposes a certain stay on migrations of labor toward the\ncenter. It will in time help to retain Chinamen in China and Hindoos\nin India. It does, however, cause a movement of capital from the\ncenter outward, followed in time by a creation of wealth in the outer\nzone for proprietors residing within the center. The Englishman draws\ndividends from investments in many lands not within the field covered\nby the present studies. In so far as he reinvests them, as capital, in\nthose lands, they supply a need that, without them, would have to be\nsupplied by a new exportation of capital from the home country, and\nthey therefore tend to check such exportation. In so far as the\ndividends are brought home they directly neutralize a certain amount\nof exportation of capital.\n\n_Effects experienced within Economic Society from Interchanges with\nthe Environing Area._--The introduction of improved methods of\nproduction within the central area usually calls for an expenditure of\ncapital there, and this is largely furnished from the net profits from\nprevious economies in production, and will, in its turn, furnish net\nprofits that will convert themselves into the capital needed for\napplying future inventions. The study of the causes of an increase of\ncapital, as well as of each of the generic changes that are going on\nwithin the center we defer for later chapters; but at present we need\nto know that the changes going on within what we define as economic\nsociety are affected by the intercourse which that society maintains\nwith its environment. Immigration across the outer boundary of the\ngeneral division enhances the rapidity of growth of the population\nwithin it, while emigration reduces it. Exporting capital in itself\nreduces the rate of accumulation at home, and importing increases it.\nIntroducing into foreign regions economical methods in use at home,\nmodifies the trade which goes on between the great areas, and there\nis a perpetual rivalry between the direct and the indirect process of\nobtaining goods at home. When a unit of labor can directly make more\nof _A'''_ than it can procure by making _A_ and exchanging it abroad\nfor _A'''_, the manufacture of _A'''_ is legitimate and profitable,\nbut when the unit of labor can procure more of _A'''_ by the indirect\nprocess in which an exchange with a foreign region intervenes, static\nlaw requires that this indirect process be resorted to. We should make\n_A_ and buy _A'''_ in order to get the most of the latter commodity.\nThis is the essence of the time-honored argument for freedom of trade,\nbut the conclusion to which it leads is modified by a consideration of\nfurther dynamic influences which will, in due time, be presented.\n\n_How we may get Valid Results by Studying only a Part of the\nWorld._--It is entirely possible to study by themselves the activities\nof such a part of the world, and we will therefore draw a line of\ndemarcation about the countries which constitute the economic center\nof it, and thus include an area within which economic causes produce\nspeedy effects. Each part of this area quickly responds to influences\nthat originate in any other part. If the steel mills in America make\nradical improvements in their machinery, this change should, in the\nabsence of a strong monopoly, affect the price of rails in England,\nGermany, etc. Within the central region wages and interest tend toward\nuniformity, though, as we have seen, they do not attain it. Across the\nboundary which separates this center from the outer zone, economic\ninfluences act in a more feeble way and are unable to bring rates of\nwages and interest even to an approximate equality. Western Europe,\nAmerica, and whatever regions are in very close connection with them,\nwe treat as a society, with the remainder of the world as its\nenvironment. This center trades with the environing region, sends some\ncapital and labor thither, and draws some of each thence to the home\ncountries. Willingly or otherwise, it instructs the people of the\nouter region in modern methods of industry, and thus causes what we\nmay regard as a slow annexation of a part of the outer zone to the\neconomic center and a modification of the character of industries at\nhome and abroad. The principal movement of labor is in an inward\ndirection, and from our point of view it is immigration not into one\ncountry merely but into all economic society. The predominant movement\nof capital has been outward.\n\n_Mode of Studying Interchanges between Center and Environing\nZone._--All these movements have to be recognized in a study of the\neconomic life of the central society. How, for example, is commerce\nwith undeveloped regions to be regarded if we have the center only in\nview? It is simply one of two possible ways of getting goods. The\npeople of the center can make a commodity that they use, or they can\nmake something to send into the outlying countries in exchange for it.\nIn the latter case they acquire it indirectly rather than directly,\nbut they acquire it by their own industry in the one case as well as\nin the other.\n\n_Natural Selection of Modes of procuring Usable Goods._--Under natural\ninfluences, as we have said, men select the most economical way to get\nwhat they use, or--what is the same thing--they select the mode of\nutilizing their own labor and capital that will give them the largest\nreturn in goods. There is competition between different methods of\ndirectly making goods, and the best method survives. The man with a\ngood machine undersells the man with a poor one; this latter producer\nmust improve his equipment, or fail, and appliances thus tend toward a\nmaximum of efficiency. In like manner there is competition between the\ndirect and the indirect mode of obtaining goods. The man who, by using\na certain amount of labor for a week in making steel for exportation,\ncan obtain in exchange fifteen yards of silk, can undersell and drive\nfrom the field the man who, by using the same amount of labor for a\nweek in silk making, can produce ten yards of silk. The importer\nnaturally supplants the manufacturer when, by bartering with\nforeigners the product of a given amount of labor, he can get from\nthem more than can be produced at home by the same amount of labor.\nThe manufacturers naturally survive when direct production gives the\nlarger returns. In our studies of the economy of the society that is\nmost advanced and central, we may treat whatever is imported as, in an\nindirect way, produced. In a sense the activities of that society are\nnearly self-contained since, by the direct or the indirect method, the\npeople produce within their own boundaries the most of what they\nconsume. In doing so they naturally use with a maximum of economy the\nforces at their command, and resort to traffic when that is\nprofitable.\n\n_Mode of Treating the Exportation of Capital._--Capital is moving\nacross the boundary mainly in an outward direction. This fact,\nstanding alone, would be equivalent to a mere retarding of the rate of\nincrease of capital within the economic center; but the exported\ncapital, as it is used outside of the exporting society, produces an\nincome for owners living within it. The income comes in kind, since it\ntakes the form of goods which are an addition to those imported in the\ncourse of ordinary exchanges. This tribute paid to capitalists within\nthe industrial center comes chiefly in the form of consumers' goods,\nthe receiving of which does not entail the producing of something to\nsend away in exchange for them. The material agent which creates the\nimported goods remains outside of the society, and sends its product\ninto the society with no offset. The fact of such an income coming\nfrom beyond the pale of an economic society has compelled us to\nqualify the statement that the economy of the society is\nself-contained, for there is a small part of its income which is not\ncreated within its borders. This comes about by the exportation of\ncapital and the importation of some of its products.\n\n_Effects of Drawing Interest from Investments beyond the Social\nBoundary._--Not all of these are consumers' goods. Some capital goods\nare imported and, moreover, many consumers' goods are passed over to\nthe group called _HH'''_ in our table,--the one that makes active\ninstruments of production,--and in this indirect way the earnings of\ncapital invested abroad add to the amount of capital at home. In the\nlong run the exportation of funds for permanent investment may, by its\nother and more indirect effects, increase the supply of them at home.\nThe literal fact in each year is that what is exported is itself a\nreduction of the amount that would otherwise be added to the home\nsupply, but that the income accruing from what has been exported in\nearlier years makes an addition to what is in this year accumulated at\nhome. Primarily, the exportation of capital is to be treated as\ncausing a modification of the rate of accumulation of capital and, in\na long term of years, an increase of the rate.\n\n_Movements of Labor._--Laborers cross the boundary in both directions,\nbut inducements favor the inward movement. In the absence of positive\nobstacles the denser populations of Asia could overflow into America\nwith a startling rapidity. Such a movement, on whatever scale it\noccurs, is to be treated as causing an acceleration of the rate of\nincrease of the population within the center. Whatever results arise\nfrom growth of population within are emphasized by immigration.\n\n_The Assimilation of Economic Methods and Forms of\nOrganization._--People without the center are borrowing from it the\nnewer and more efficient methods of production. Already Asiatics are\nmaking some things by machinery, and when they shall do it more\ngenerally there will take place changes that will be very\nrevolutionary in their own economic life and will react on the life of\nthe center itself. Learning to use a thousand and one machines will\nrend China and disturb Europe and America. In general, better\nappliances and a more efficient organization will make it possible for\nAsia to create for herself, and ultimately export much that she now\nimports, and this will react on the character of the industries of\nAmerica and Europe. We shall somewhat modify our industries in order\nto get the benefit of new openings for commerce, and some of the\nthings which we now directly produce we may find it more profitable to\nget by exchange, which is indirect production. On the other hand, some\nforeign products which we now get with great economy of labor,\nbecause the goods we exchange for them are scarce and dear in the\ncountries that receive them, we shall get on less favorable terms,\nbecause the goods we now send to the foreign lands will have become\nthere more abundant and cheap. In general, we must regard the opening\nof a profitable avenue for trade as we should the invention of a new\nmachine, the discovery of a better electrical transmitter, or the\nutilizing of a cheaper motive power. It gives us more goods as the\nfruit of a given expenditure of labor and capital and affords a profit\nwhich, as we shall see, comes first to _entrepreneurs_ and later to\nlaborers and capitalists within the pale. Ultimately, those living\nbeyond the pale will get a share of this gain.\n\n_Summary of Facts concerning the Economic Center._--We may, then,\nregard a certain limited part of the world as a society in itself. It\nis modified by its environment, but, in an important sense, it has a\nself-contained life. The economic changes which go on within it can be\ngrouped under the five generic heads: increase in the amount of labor,\nincrease in the quantity of capital, improvement of method,\nimprovement in organization, and changes in the wants of the\nindividual consumers.\n\n_The Geographical Boundaries of Society not Fixed._--The boundaries of\nthis central area are not fixed. As relations between the center and\nthe part of the outer zone which is nearest to it become more and more\nintimate, the adjacent region takes on the character of the center. It\nis, in an economic way, assimilated to it; and in this way the center\nmay be regarded as annexing to itself belt after belt of the\nenvironing world. Ultimately it will doubtless annex the whole of it;\nand for this reason, even though we confine our studies to the\ncenter, we shall establish a system of economic laws which will apply,\nin the end, to all the world. This indeed is not the only way in which\nthe economic life of the outer area comes into the economist's\npurview, for he can study it for itself. This zone has its peculiar\nlife, which is a distant reflection of the life of the center. It is a\ntype of economic activity in which all the primary forces work, but in\nwhich friction abounds and adjustments are made with extreme slowness.\nFor the present, what interests us is the life of the center itself,\nand in studying this we take account of the influence of the\nenvironment. The effects of these influences are first seen in changes\nin the rate at which the five general dynamic movements go on within\nthe center. The grand resultant is more rapid progress within the\ncenter.\n\n_What is involved in a Full Study of the Relative Density of\nPopulations._--A full treatment of the subject of the comparative\ndensity of population in different places would include an extended\nstudy of the kinds of industry which find their natural homes in\ndensely peopled countries and of those which flourish in sparsely\npeopled ones, and a much more detailed tracing than it is possible\nhere to undertake of those changes in the character of industries\neverywhere which result from a leveling out of differences in\npopulation. Clearly, if all America were to become as crowded with\ninhabitants as are Holland and Belgium we should develop industries of\na different type from those that we now have, and the change would be\nin the direction of producing relatively more form utilities and\nrelatively less of the elementary utilities. Labor and capital would\nmove from the subgroups which in our table we have called _A_, _B_,\nand _C_ toward _A'''_, _B'''_, and _C'''_. We should spend more of our\nenergy in making finished goods and less in getting raw materials. I\nshall note in a very general way the changes in social industry caused\nby increase of population without looking forward to that remote time\nwhen the density of population shall be equalized.\n\n_Why an Approximately Static Adjustment of Industries within the\nCentral Area permits Unequal Density of Population in Different Parts\nof It._--We exclude from view the ultimate static adjustment of the\nwhole world, and content ourselves with an approximate adjustment\nwithin society as we have defined it. Even within this limit there are\ninequalities in the density of population which it would require a\nvery long time to remove, and a perfectly static state cannot be\nreached till they are leveled out. The selection of industries in\nTexas and in Belgium cannot be, in the ultimate sense, natural till\npopulation in these two regions is so adjusted that there is no longer\nan economic motive for migrating from the one to the other. If, in\norder to determine what an absolutely static condition for the central\nsociety would be, we were to apply the rule of imagining all new\ndynamic influences precluded and of allowing time enough to elapse to\nbring about a normal apportionment of population within that limited\narea, we should encounter a measure of the same difficulty which\nconfronted us when we proposed to attain a similar static state for\nthe entire world, though the trouble would be less serious in degree.\nIn waiting long enough for population to distribute itself naturally,\nwe cut off influences that, within that period, will affect\nproduction and distribution far more than the change in population\nwill affect them. In so far as Texas or any newly occupied region is\nconcerned, the changes thus precluded are those which would have\ntended to reverse the effect of the redistribution of population.\nMigrations from Belgium to Texas, if extensive and long continued,\nwould reduce the productive power of labor in Texas; while the dynamic\nchanges which will actually go on within any such period will increase\nthe productive power of that labor, and it is not certain whether the\none or the other influence will predominate. For the United States as\na whole it is probable that progress in the useful arts will more than\noffset the influx of new laborers and give to wages a rising trend.\nIf, however, we establish the natural standard of wages by cutting off\nsuch progress and letting the influx of labor continue, the test would\ngive a standard lower than the present one,--a false, as well as a\ndiscouraging result. The resultant of all the changes we are about to\nstudy will probably give to the future pay of labor in America a\nrising trend.\n\n_How Industries adapt themselves to Unequal Density of\nPopulation._--In view of this fact it is necessary to recognize a\nproximate rather than an ultimate static state as that toward which\nthe adjustments now going on are immediately tending. We will treat\nthe unequal density of population within our economic society as\nsomething which will last, not forever, but so long that it will not\nbe removed or appreciably affected within the period required for the\nother adjustments that we are studying. Given a population that is\ndense in Belgium and sparse in Texas, and competition will cause the\nindustries to take on the types which they would have and retain if\nthat difference in density were destined to be permanent. The type\ntoward which the economic life of both regions is tending is thus a\nproximate rather than an ultimate one. Each region will, in the near\nfuture, be of the type toward which influences which do not involve an\nequalization of population are impelling it. We get the true direction\nof the change that is going on in the earning power of labor and in\nthe shape of the industrial organism in both regions by recognizing\nthe fact that the differences in the density of their populations will\ncontinue through the period which we are considering.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nIf the line _BC_ represents the productive power of a unit of labor in\na region which is sparsely peopled, and the line _B'C'_ represents the\nproductive power of a unit of labor in a densely peopled region, we\nmay assume that _AC_ and _A'C'_, which are equal to each other,\nrepresent the product of a unit in either locality when, general\nprogress being precluded, the difference in the density of population\nshould have been leveled out. Move people at once and in a wholesale\nmanner till there is nothing to be gained by further moving them,--let\npressure of population on the land be fully equalized,--and you may be\nsupposed to create a condition of uniform productive power for\nlaborers of a given grade in the entire region. The horizontal line\n_AA'_, which is everywhere the same distance above the line _CC'_,\nrepresents the universal level of the productivity of labor in such a\ntheoretical condition. The line _BB'_ represents the actual and\ndifferent levels of the natural earnings of labor in the different\nregions. Assuming that all other static adjustments are made, but that\nthe equalization of population has not taken place, labor will earn\nthe amount _BC_ in one place and the amount _B'C'_ in another.\nSomewhere it will earn an amount represented by the vertical line\ndescending from _D_ and somewhere that expressed by the line\ndescending from _F_, while there will be places where the earnings of\nlabor are measured by the line descending from _E_, which is the\namount that labor would everywhere create and get if the population\ncould be quickly made normal in all regions. The standard of wages for\nthe whole of the great region, largely European and American, which\nconstitutes the economic center of the world, shows varying levels in\ndifferent countries and parts of countries, and the actual rates in\nevery place fluctuate about this proximately normal standard for that\nplace, the standard rate in one locality being higher than that of\nanother.\n\nThe line _A'B'_ exceeds in length the line _AB_, and this expresses\nthe fact that equalizing the pressure of population on the land in\ndifferent regions adds more to the productivity of labor in the region\nnow crowded than it deducts from that of labor in regions now sparsely\npeopled. The overcrowding does greater and greater harm the further it\nis carried, and therefore taking away a surplus of people from a\nregion which has suffered greatly from overcrowding affords a relief\nwhich more than offsets what is lost in other places by a moderate\nincrease of population. Moreover, the fact has to be recognized that\nat present there are ten square miles of sparse population for one\nthat is very densely peopled, and reducing all to an equality would\nadd only slightly to the number of inhabitants of the regions that now\ncontain few of them.[1]\n\n    [1] Exceptional local conditions may make an influx of\n    population for a time a cause of greater productivity rather\n    than of less. The general and permanent effects are\n    otherwise, and it is on these that the present argument\n    rests.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nIf the line _BB'_ represents the unequal level of _natural_ wages in\ndifferent localities, on the assumption that populations remain\nunequal, the undulating curve _DD'_ which crosses and recrosses the\nline _BB'_ represents actual local rates fluctuating about the\nstandard ones.\n\n_How a Static Adjustment for the World is a Dynamic Influence within\na Limited Part of It._--Commodities are, by traffic, crossing the\nsocial boundary in both directions, and with the goods there go and\ncome influences that affect the economic life of the central society.\nMethods and modes of organizing business are taught by each region to\nthe other, though most of the teaching is done by the people of the\ncenter and most of the learning by those of the environment. All this\naffects the center and falls within our study. It has dynamic effects\nwithin the center, though it is only a part of a static adjustment for\nthe world as a whole. If the grand bank of Newfoundland were to\nsubside to the level of the middle of the Atlantic, there would be a\ngreat rush of water toward the place that the banks now occupy, but\nthis would be only what is required in bringing the general level of\nthe sea to an equilibrium. It would be essentially a static\nphenomenon, but for the region of the banks it would be dynamic in the\nhighest degree. A rush of population from China to America would be a\nchange tending to establish an equilibrium of population in the world,\nbut it would be a startling bit of dynamics for America. Teaching the\nChinese all the mechanical arts that we know would be creating an\nequilibrium of another sort, in which methods would be similar in the\ntwo countries; but for China itself this acquiring of practical arts\nwould be dynamics acting on a vast scale. What is a static adjustment\nfor the world is a dynamic change for parts of the world, and all such\nchanges that can occur within the area of economic society proper and\nwithin the period we can wisely include in our study we need to take\ninto account. Changes in population, wealth, method, and organization\nmust be studied, however they may originate.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nPERPETUAL CHANGE OF THE SOCIAL STRUCTURE\n\n\n_Perpetual Change of the Social Structure._--We confine ourselves to\nthat economic society _par excellence_ which we have called the\nindustrial center of the world. In this region economic influences are\nforever changing the very structure of the society itself. They move\nlabor from place to place in the system and they transfer capital to\nand fro in the same way. If we think of our table of groups and\nsubgroups as representing the whole of this great industrial world, we\nmust think of labor and capital as in a perpetual flow from subgroup\nto subgroup, making some industries larger and others smaller by\nreason of every such movement. The great force of labor and the fund\nof capital are like restless seas whose currents carry the water\ncomposing them now hither and now yon as the direction and force of\nthe moving influences change.\n\n_Movements of Labor within the Group System caused by Increasing\nPopulation._--If the population were to increase while the amount of\ncapital and the mode of using it remained the same, the effect would\nbe a downward movement of both labor and capital in the series of\nsubgroups by which we represent industrial society. Labor and capital\nwould tend to desert the subgroups _A'''_, _B'''_, and _C'''_ in our\ntable and to move to _A_, _B_, and _C_:--\n\n  _A'''_    _B'''_    _C'''_\n  _A''_     _B''_     _C''_\n  _A'_      _B'_      _C'_\n  _A_       _B_       _C_\n\n_Causes of Downward Flow of Labor in the Group System._--A larger\npopulation means, of course, not merely an increase in the amount of\nlabor performed, but also an increase in the number of consumers. It\nmeans more mouths to feed and more bodies to clothe. It entails also,\naccording to principles that we have already studied, a lower earning\npower and a lower rate of pay for labor. This means that simple food,\ncheap clothing, inexpensive houses, furnishings, etc., constitute a\nlarger element in the consumers' wealth of society than they have\nheretofore done. Society uses fewer luxuries and more necessaries, and\nthe necessaries of life are products in which raw materials\npredominate and costly form utilities are wanting. This makes a\nheavier draft upon the land than does the production of highly wrought\narticles of the same value.\n\nLuxurious articles are fashioned with a great amount of artisan's or\nartist's labor and a relatively small amount of the labor of\ncultivators and miners. The subgroups _A_, _B_, and _C_ are the ones\nthat furnish the rawest materials, and it is they, therefore, that\nreceive the largest portions of the new labor that enters the field.\n\n_How Economic Friction works to the Disadvantage of\nImmigrants._--Unless capital grows more rapidly than population, there\nis a certain friction to be overcome in obtaining places for new\nlaborers. If they come largely as immigrants, they are crowded at the\npoints of disembarkation and are then scattered over a large\nterritory. They may have to gain employment by offering to\n_entrepreneurs_ some inducement to take them. If capital has not\nincreased, and the _entrepreneurs_ are in no special need of new men,\nthey will take them only at a rate of pay which is low enough to\nafford of itself a slight margin of profit. If the capital has already\ngrown larger and the new men are needed, the situation favors them,\nand their pay is likely to be as high as it was before, or higher.\n\n_The Effect of Increasing Capital._--The growth of capital has an\nopposite effect. It means a lower rate of interest, though it means\nmore interest in the aggregate, since it insures a larger fund on\nwhich the interest is received. The rate does not decline as rapidly\nas the amount of the fund increases, and this insures a larger gross\nincome from the fund; and it also insures larger individual incomes\nfor many persons. There is, then, a large number of people who are in\na position to make their consumption more luxurious, and this causes\nan upward movement of labor and capital in the group system. More\nworkers will be needed in the subgroups _A'''_, _B'''_, and _C'''_,\nwhere raw materials receive the finishing touches, and also in the\nother subgroups above the lowest tier. It is to these subgroups that a\nlarge portion of the new capital itself will come, and the labor will\ncome with it. Larger incomes, more luxury, more labor spent in\nelaborating goods as compared with that required for procuring crude\nmaterials,--such is the order.\n\n_Effect of an Increase of Both Labor and Capital._--It is clear that a\ncertain increase of capital might practically neutralize the increase\nof population, in so far as the movements thus far considered are\nconcerned, and a greater increase of capital would reverse the\noriginal downward movement caused by the increase of labor and result\nin a permanent upward movement toward the subgroups _A'''_, _B'''_,\nand _C'''_. In this case the men occupy themselves more and more in\nmaking the higher form utilities. They make finer clothing, costlier\nfurniture, etc., and the new production requires proportionately less\nraw material than did the old. This is the supposition which\ncorresponds to the actual facts. Capital is increasing faster than\nlabor, and consumption is growing relatively more luxurious;\ndwellings, furnishings, equipage, clothing, and food are improving in\nquality more than they are increasing in quantity. Goods of high cost\nare predominating more and more, and the subgroups that produce them\nare getting larger shares of both labor and capital. Population drifts\nlocally toward centers of manufacturing and commerce. It moves toward\ncities and villages in order to get into the subgroups which have\nthere their principal abodes. The growth of cities is the visible sign\nof an upward movement of labor in the subgroup series.\n\n_A Change in the Relative Size of General Groups._--If all the steady\nmovements of labor and capital were stated, it would appear that a\nrelative increase in the amount of labor, as compared with the amount\nof capital, would enlarge the three general groups, _AA'''_, _BB'''_,\nand _CC'''_, and reduce the comparative size of the general group\n_HH'''_, which maintains the fund of capital by making good the waste\nof active instruments. Gain in capital estimated per capita would\ncause relatively more of the labor and more of the fund of capital to\nbetake itself to the group _HH'''_. The movement toward the upper\nsubgroups which is actually going on is attended by a drift toward\nthis general group. An increase of luxurious consumption and an\nenlargement of the permanent stock of capital goods go together.\n\n_Regularity and Slowness of Movements caused by Changes in the Amounts\nof Labor and Capital._--The important fact about the movements thus\nfar traced is that they are steady and slow. They do not often call\nfor taking out of one part of the system mature men who have been\ntrained to work there. They are movements of _labor_ which do not, in\nthe main, involve any considerable moving of _laborers_ from group to\ngroup. The sons of the men in the subgroup A do not all succeed to\ntheir fathers' occupations, but many of them enter _A'_, _A''_, and\n_A'''_, so that labor moves from the lowest subgroup to higher ones.\nSuch a transfer of labor entails few hardships for any one, and in\ngeneral it is to be said that all the movements of labor and capital\nwhich are occasioned by quantitative changes in the supply of these\nagents are of this comparatively painless and frictionless kind. About\nchanges caused by new methods of production there is a different story\nto tell. The transformation of the world does not go on without some\ndisquieting results, however inspiring is the remote outlook which\nthey afford. The irregularity of the general movement, the fact that\nit goes by forward impulses followed by partial halts, is a further\nserious fact. Hard times present their grave problems, and we need to\nknow whether it is necessary that dynamics--the natural and forward\nmovement of the industrial system--should produce them. This problem\nis for later consideration.\n\n_Movements caused by Changes in the Processes of\nProduction._--Mechanical inventions are typical movers of labor and\ncapital--constant disturbers of what would otherwise be a\ncomparatively tranquil state. Dynamos for generating electricity and\ndevices for conducting it to great distances from its sources have\ndone much to rearrange the society of a score of years ago, as\neconomical steam engines had done at an earlier date. Every device\nthat \"saves labor\" calls for a _rearrangement of labor_ in the system\nof organized industry.\n\nIn a perfectly static condition there would be, as we have seen, a\nstandard shape for all society, which means a normal apportionment of\nlabor and capital among the producing groups and subgroups and also\namong the local divisions of the general area. The elements would\nsubside to a state of equilibrium and become motionless, as water\nfinds its level and becomes still in a sheltered pool. The body of\nfluid takes its standard shape and retains it, so long as no\ndisturbing force appears. Now, society would have such a standard\nshape and would require, in the absence of dynamic changes, a\nrelatively short time in order to conform more or less closely to it,\nif it were not for the unnatural apportionment of population in\ndifferent parts of the area that the society inhabits and the\nobstacles which wholesale migrations encounter. For the solution of\nproblems of the present and the near future we must accept as a\nstandard the quasi-static adjustment of the population and the\nconsequent quasi-static selection of industries in the different local\ndivisions of the broad area--the arrangement that we have described as\nlocating an excess of manufacturing in the more densely peopled areas\nand an excess of agriculture in the more sparsely settled ones. With\nthis qualification it may be said that there is a standard\napportionment of labor and capital among the producing groups, and\nthat these agents gravitate powerfully and even rapidly toward it. If\nthere were a certain amount of labor and capital at _A_, a certain\namount at _B_, and so throughout the system, this standard shape would\nbe attained, and the elements would not move, except as a very slow\nmovement would be caused by changes in the comparative density of\npopulation of different regions.[1] This standard shape would long\nremain nearly fixed if it were not for the appearance of the dynamic\ninfluences which are so active within the area we are studying.\n\n    [1] It is obvious that capital as well as population is\n    distributed with uneven density over the territory occupied\n    by society; but the movement of capital is less obstructed\n    than that of a great body of people, and moreover it is\n    chiefly the fact that the people are not dispersed over the\n    area in a natural way which creates the chief obstacle to the\n    moving of capital. It goes easily when it accompanies a\n    migration of laborers.\n\n_Alternations in the Direction of Movements caused by Improved\nMethods._--In a dynamic state this standard shape itself--the\napproximately static one--is forever changing. At one time, for\nexample, conditions exist which call for a certain amount of labor at\n_A_, another amount at _B_, etc. A little later these respective\nquantities at _A_, _B_, etc., are no longer the natural or standard\nquantities; for something has occurred that calls for less labor at\n_A_, more at _B_, etc. If _A_ represents wheat farming, the amount of\nlabor that it required when grain was gathered with sickles is more\nthan is necessary when it is gathered with self-binding reapers,\nalways provided that there has been no increase in population, which\nwould require an increase in the food supply. The society therefore\nwill not be in what has now become its standard shape till men have\nbeen moved from the wheat-raising subgroup to others.\n\nIf the invention of the reaper were not followed by any others and if\nno other disturbing changes took place, labor would move from the one\ngroup, distribute itself among others, and bring the system to a new\nequilibrium; but it has not time to do this. It begins to move in the\nway that the new condition occasioned by the introduction of the\nreaping machine impels it to move; but before the transfer is at all\ncomplete there is a new invention somewhere else in the system that\nstarts a movement in some other direction. Before the labor from _A_\nis duly distributed in _B_, _C_, etc., there is an invention in _B_\nwhich starts some of it toward other points.\n\n_Why Movements are Perpetual as well as Changeful._--Such improvements\nare perpetual, and the dynamic society is not for an instant at rest.\nIf the disturbing causes would cease, the elements of the social body\nwould find their abiding place; and the important fact is that at any\none instant there is such a resting place for each laborer and each\nbit of capital in the whole system. As we have seen, the men and the\nproductive funds would go to these points but for the fact that before\nthey have time to reach them new disturbances occur that call them in\nnew directions. Again and again the same thing occurs, and there is no\nopportunity for placing labor and capital at exactly the points to\nwhich recent changes call them before still further improvements begin\nto call them elsewhere.\n\n_Why Technical Changes are more disturbing than a General Influx or\nEfflux of Population._--When the moving of labor is gradual, it is\neffected, not so much by transferring particular men from one\noccupation to another, as by diverting the young men who are about\nentering the field of employment to the places where labor is most\nneeded. When the son of a shoemaker, instead of learning his father's\ntrade, becomes a carpenter, no _laborer_ has abandoned an accustomed\noccupation and betaken himself to another; but _labor_ has gone from\nthe shoemaking trade to that of carpentering. A man often stays where\nhe is to the end of his life, although during that life labor has\nmoved freely out of his occupation to others. If we represent the\nfacts by a diagram, they will stand thus:--\n\n   A     B     C     D\n\n  50    40    70   100   Natural and actual apportionment of labor\n                         in 1850.\n\n  45    35>-->90    90   Natural apportionment after change of\n   ----------^  ^----    method in 1850.\n\n  47    38    80    95   Apportionment in 1855 when the movement\n                         initiated in 1850 is partially completed.\n\n  52    41<---65   102   Natural apportionment in 1855, with\n   ^----------  ----^    movements then initiated.\n\n_A_, _B_, _C_, and _D_ represent different occupations or subgroups in\nthe table we have before used. At one date a static adjustment called\nfor fifty units of labor at _A_, forty at _B_, seventy at _C_, and one\nhundred at _D_. A half decade later, after improvements had taken\nplace at _A_, _B_, and _D_, static forces, if they were allowed to\nhave their full effect, would leave only forty-five men at _A_, and\nthirty-five at _B_, but they would place ninety at _C_ and at _D_.\nThe first movements that would tend to bring this about are in the\ndirection indicated by the dotted lines. The transfers are made, not\nby forcing men from _A_, _B_, and _D_ to _C_, but chiefly by diverting\nto _C_ young laborers who would otherwise have gone to _A_, _B_, and\n_D_ to replace men who are leaving in these groups.\n\nNow, before the transfers are completed something happens that calls\nfor a different movement. Let us say that only three units of labor\nhave as yet gone from _A_ to _C_ instead of five, leaving forty-seven\nat _A_; only two have gone from _B_, leaving thirty-eight; and only\nfive have gone from _D_, leaving ninety-five at that point. Eighty\nwould then be at _C_, and the static adjustment would not have been\nperfectly attained. It is at this point that a new change of\nconditions occurs, which calls for fifty-two units at _A_, forty-one\nat _B_, sixty-five at _C_, and a hundred and two at _D_. _C_ now\ncontributes something to _A_ and _B_, but it gives more to _D_; and\nthe fluctuations go on forever. Particular men may, more often than\notherwise, stay in their places, since the incoming stream of new\nlabor, by going where it is needed, may suffice to make the\nadjustments, in so far as they are gradually made; but labor, in the\nsense of the quantum of energy embodied in a succession of generations\nof men, is never at rest. It is a veritable Wandering Jew for\nrestlessness and in a perpetual quest of places where it can remain.\nMoreover, there are to be taken into account changes so sudden that\nthey thrust particular workers from one group to another.\n\n_A Perpetual Effort to conform to a Standard Shape which is itself\nChanging._--We think, then, of society as striving toward an endless\nseries of ideal shapes, never reaching any one of them and never\nholding for any length of time any one actual shape. One movement is\nnot completed before another begins, and at no one time is the labor\napportioned among the groups exactly in the proportions that static\nlaw calls for. Men are vitally interested to know what they have to\nhope for or to fear from this perpetual necessity that some labor\nshould move from point to point.\n\n_Questions concerning the Effects of these Transformations._--These\nchanges of shape involve costs as well as benefits. The gains are\npermanent and the costs are transient, but are not for that reason\nunimportant. They may fall on persons who do not get the full measure\nof the offsetting gains. What we wish to know about any economic\nchange is how it will affect humanity, and especially working\nhumanity. Will it make laboring men better off or worse off? If it\nbenefits them in the end, will it impose on them an immediate\nhardship? Will it even make certain ones pay heavily for a gain that\nis shared by all classes? Are there some who are thus the especial\nmartyrs of progress, suffering for the general good?\n\n_Natural Transformations of Society increase its Productive\nPower._--There is no doubt that the changes of shape through which the\nsocial organism is going cause it to grow in strength and efficiency.\nMore and more power to produce is coming, as we have seen, in\nconsequence of these transmutations. They always involve shifting\n_labor_ about within the organization and often involve shifting\nlaborers, taking some of them out of the subgroups in which they are\nnow working and putting them into others, something that cannot be\ndone without cost.\n\n_Immediate Effects of Labor Saving._--Inventing a machine that can do\nthe work of twenty men will cause some of the twenty to be discharged.\nThey feel the burden of finding new places, and if they are skilled\nworkmen and their trade is no longer worth practicing, they lose all\nthe advantage they have enjoyed from special skill in their\noccupations. Do they themselves get any adequate offset for this, or\ndoes society as a whole divide the benefit in such a way that those\nwho pay nearly the whole cost get only their minute part of the gain?\nIs there unfair dealing inherent in progress in the economic arts, and\nmust we justify the movement only on the ground of utility, though\nknowing that a moralist would condemn it? These are some of the\ngeneral questions that are to be decided by a study of this phase of\neconomic dynamics. We need to know both what the movement will in the\nend do for humanity and what it will at once do for particular\nworkmen.[2] In addition to ascertaining what the ultimate results of\nthe movement will be, we need to trace, with as much accuracy as is\npossible, the effects of the disturbances that are involved in\ngenerally beneficent changes.\n\n    [2] Our study may lead to a moral verdict without being\n    itself an ethical study; we limit the inquiry to questions of\n    fact, but perceive that some of the facts are of such a kind\n    that they must lead a reader to condemn or approve the social\n    economic system.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nEFFECT OF IMPROVEMENTS IN METHODS OF PRODUCTION\n\n\n_Displacement of Labor and Capital by Inventions._--Inventions are\n\"labor-saving.\" Employers are engaged in a race with each other in\nreducing the outlays involved in producing goods, and a common way of\ndoing this is to devise machinery that will do what laborers have\nheretofore done. The same thing is accomplished by developing cheap\nsources of motive power or introducing new commodities which are good\nsubstitutes for dearer ones. Mechanical automata have at a thousand\npoints taken labor out of human hands; electricity, which is\n\"harnessing Niagara,\" may at some time harness waves and winds and\nmake them turn the literal wheels of mechanical progress. Such things,\nby causing a given amount of labor to produce a larger amount of\nconsumers' wealth, are product multipliers; but this is the same thing\nas saying that they yield a given product at the cost of less labor,\nand as we more commonly see their effect in this light, we call them\nlabor savers.\n\n_Why Labor Saving is not always and everywhere Welcomed._--To an\noffhand view it would seem that product multiplying is the greatest\nblessing that, in an economic way, can come to humanity; and if\ngeneral and permanent effects be considered, it is so. The solitary\nhunter who has to catch and club his game would get unqualified\nbenefit from the possession of a bow and arrows; the fisherman would\nget the same benefit from a canoe, the cultivator of the soil from a\nspade, etc. Society in its entirety is an isolated being and derives\nsimilar gains from engines, looms, furnaces, steamships, railroads,\ntelegraphs, etc. Yet there are persons within the great social\norganism to whom the benefit _from one special improvement_ may be\nsmall and the cost great. There are none who are not better off\nbecause of _all improvements_ past and present.\n\n_The General Demand for Labor not Lessened._--It is a matter of common\nexperience that new machines are labor displacers. At its introduction\nan economical device often forces some men to seek new occupations,\nbut it never reduces the general demand for labor. As progress closes\none field of employment it opens others, and it has come about that\nafter a century and a quarter of brilliant invention and of rapid and\ngeneral substitution of machine work for hand work, there is no larger\nproportion of the laboring population in idleness now than there was\nat the beginning of the period.\n\n_A Voluntary Reduction of Toil Desirable and Probable._--A full study\nof the effects of technical progress will show that there is never a\nreduction of the general field for employment in consequence of it.\nThere is an increase of pay, and this causes a certain unwillingness\nto work for as many hours as men formerly worked; and there is also a\nchange in the nature of the operations that labor performs, which\ntends in the direction of more comfort and less painful toil. For the\nfamous statement of J. S. Mill that \"It is questionable if all the\nmechanical inventions yet made have lightened the day's toil of any\nhuman being\" we may safely substitute, \"It is the natural tendency of\nuseful inventions to lighten the toil of workers and to give them,\nwithal, a greater reward for their work.\" Mechanical progress is the\nlargest single ground for hope for the future of laboring humanity,\nand by its effects, direct and indirect, it has already insured a\ngreat alleviation of toil, with an increase in its rewards. It has\nhelped to counteract the world crowding that for a century has gone on\nand the diminishing returns from agriculture which the crowding\nentails. Inventions may make disturbances, and their better effects\nmay be temporarily and locally counteracted; but a society where\ncompetition rules is sure to secure the benefits in the end and does,\nin fact, secure them in greater and greater measure as the years go\nby. Such are some of the theses which research will justify.\n\n_Facts concerning Disturbances incidental to Progress._--We have first\nto take account of the disturbances. They are prominent in economic\ndiscussion and constitute the subject of one of the grave indictments\nbrought against the system of competitive industry. They have actually\ncaused great hardships in the past, as skilled handicraftsmen have\nseen machines come into use which, for rapidity and accuracy of work,\nexcel the best results that long apprenticeships formerly gave. Now\nthat machinery has possession of most of the field, there is no longer\nthe former opportunity for displacing hand workers; but the remainder\nof hardships incidental to progress is not to be overlooked. This part\nof the dynamic movement involves present local sacrifices for the sake\nof future general gains. Here, therefore, there are developed\nantagonisms of interest which may hinder progress and, if they were\nextensive enough, might conceivably throw a doubt over the future of\nthe working class. While there is no great disposition to question the\nultimate benefit which mechanical progress insures, there is some\nuncertainty as to the process by which this benefit is extended to\nworkers and there is a struggle to avoid the immediate cost. There is,\nin some quarters, a disposition to rate the cost so highly as to draw\nthe inference that we need to adopt a socialistic plan of living for\nthe sake of enabling workers to avoid the hardships and secure the\nbenefits of \"labor saving.\" It will appear, however, if we grasp the\nessential facts of what we may call the dynamics of method, that the\ntendency of it is to reduce the burdens which progress entails, and to\ndiffuse a large share of the benefits of it among the working class.\nIt will further appear that the socialistic plan of organizing\nindustry would at least throw a doubt over the progress itself.\nNothing, on the whole, puts the future of industry conducted on the\ncompetitive plan in a more optimistic light than the fact of the\nprogress in productive methods which it insures. It is the strongest\nguaranty of a \"good time coming,\" in which all humanity will rejoice\nwhen it comes and should rejoice by anticipation.\n\n_The Law that insures the Survival of Beneficial Processes Only._--It\nis self-evident that wherever there is a saving of labor needed to\nmake a given amount and kind of product, there is an increase in the\npossible product that is created by the aid of a given amount of\nlabor. If workers themselves get a share of the gains, this fact will\nshow itself through that beneficent shortening of the working day to\nwhich we have alluded. The men will be unwilling to stand the\nweariness and the confinement of working through too many hours and\nwill be inclined to take more holidays and vacations; all of which,\nwhen it comes about in a natural way, is an indication that the\nindustrial organism as a whole has put its hand on a new and powerful\nlever and is enriching its members by means of it. It does, however,\nhave to change the character of its work, and this means that some\nlabor has to be transferred from one subgroup to another. The laborer\ndisplaced by an invention at a particular point continues to be wanted\nsomewhere. When he and others have found their new employments, the\ngood result appears,--the increase and improvement of goods\nproduced,--and society as a whole then gets the benefit which would\ncome to an isolated worker who, without remitting his labor, finds his\nappliances growing better and the fruits of his labor growing larger.\nThe collective body gets a greater income than before, and the workers\nshare in the gain.\n\n_Importance of the New Forms which the Social Income Takes._--This\nincreasing income takes the form in which society now requires it, and\nit is this which brings about the readjustment of labor--or the\nchanges in the amounts of labor used in particular subgroups--which\nhave caused hardship in the past.\n\n_Nature of the Incidental Evils to be Dreaded._--The problem we have\nto face is a danger that labor may be displaced either (1) from the\nparticular point within a productive establishment at which it is now\nworking, or (2) from the productive establishment as a whole, or (3)\nfrom a subgroup, or (4) from the general group of which the subgroup\nis a part. Out of industrial society in its entirety it cannot thus be\nforced. There is a case in which the men whose crafts are supplanted\nby machines may all stay where they are and operate the machines; but\nthat involves forcing other men to change their occupations. There are\nmore cases in which these men may stay in the mill or shop that\nemploys them, but not in the same department of it. There are still\nmore cases in which they may stay in their original subgroups, and in\na majority of cases they may stay in their general groups. In every\ninstance there are places for them in the working society.\n\n_Local Expulsions of Labor._--When a single employer who is one of\nmany competitors in an industry adopts an important labor-saving\ndevice, it may be possible for him to keep all his men employed and to\nlet the improvement show itself wholly as a means of increasing the\noutput. He may secure a machine which will do what twenty men formerly\ndid. If it were possible to cut the uppers of a dozen shoes by the\nquick stroke of a single die, the machine that carried this armature\nwould do the work of perhaps twelve knives handled by that number of\nskillful workmen. If the original number of men were retained in the\ncutting department, and if each of them were furnished with the new\nappliance, it would mean that twelve times as many uppers would be cut\nas were cut before the change was made. There would, of course, be no\nuse in trying to do so much cutting of uppers for shoes, without doing\ntwelve times as much sewing, welting, making soles and heels, etc.,\nand to secure all this at once would require a twelve-fold enlargement\nof the manufacturer's plant. This is too much to secure at once. The\nmanufacturer might perhaps double the output of his mill and nearly\ndouble the number of his employees, but that would require only two\nof the twelve cutters he formerly had. The new workers would be in\nparts of the mill other than the one where the great saving of labor\nwas effected. Ten men would be removed from the cutting department,\nand the two left there would cut, by the aid of the new machines,\ntwice as many uppers as the whole number cut before, and that would\nrequire the furnishing of a double number of all other parts of the\nshoes and a double working force to make them. The ten men liberated\nfrom the cutting department would be available for this purpose, and\nnew ones would be brought in and set sewing, pegging, lasting,\nwelting, etc. Within a single establishment, therefore, a radical\nsaving of labor at one point usually involves some shifting of labor\nfrom that point to others, though it may increase the total number\nemployed in the establishment which secures the economical device.\n\n_The Effect on a Subgroup of an Improvement by One Entrepreneur._--If\nan employer who has this experience is one of a hundred in the\nshoemaking industry and the only one who secures the cutting machine,\nthe market will receive as large an increase of the product as would\nbe involved by multiplying the output of his mill by two, without\nrequiring that the price should be more than slightly reduced. An\nimprovement which is monopolized for a time by a single _entrepreneur_\nseldom renders it necessary to reduce the aggregate of the labor in\nhis employment. Far more often it makes it for his interest to\nincrease the number and to put new labor in every part of the plant\nwhere no improvement in method has been made. It is often the fact,\nhowever, that labor has to abandon other establishments in this\nsubgroup, and enough of it may do so to cause the amount in the\nentire subgroup to become somewhat smaller by reason of an\nimprovement. In the case of a single employer there is a bare\npossibility that no one should be moved, in consequence of an\neconomical invention, even from one part of the mill to another. The\nmanufacturer of our illustration might even keep his twelve cutters at\nwork after the introduction of the machines referred to and do twelve\ntimes as much cutting, provided that he could quickly increase his\noutput of finished shoes to twelvefold its former amount. There are\npractical reasons why he could almost never do this; but if he\nactually did it, he might, by some reduction in the price of shoes,\nfind a market for this increased product. If the reduction of price\nwere great, some competitors would probably go at once out of the\nbusiness; but it is never the policy of a successful producer to make\nunnecessary haste in reducing prices, and, as a rule, the reduction is\ngradual. The increase of product from the very efficient mill must\ncause a certain reduction in the rate at which it sells its goods, and\nthis is apt to force manufacturers who are particularly ill equipped\nand cannot keep pace with the rate of improvement which their\nenterprising competitor establishes to go out of business. They thus\nrelieve the market of so much of the product as they have contributed\nand make a place for the increased output of the newly equipped mill.\nIn such a case the total output from the subgroup is not very greatly\nincreased, and the price of the product does not need to be greatly\nreduced.\n\n_Standard Prices fixed by Cost in the most Economical\nEstablishment._--It is a vitally important fact, as we shall soon\nsee, that the price of an article is, in a dynamic society, always\ntending toward the cost of making it, not in the most inefficient\nestablishment, where it is produced \"at the greatest disadvantage,\"\nbut in the most efficient one of all. The ultimate effect of any great\nimprovement is naturally to close the shops of _all employers who do\nnot adopt it or get an equivalent advantage of some kind_. Ultimately\nthe whole subgroup will be in the state of efficiency it would have\nreached if the improvement had been adopted by every _entrepreneur_ on\nits first appearance.\n\n_The Effect of an Improvement in Production which is quickly adopted\nby a Whole Subgroup._--When an improvement is immediately adopted, not\nby one employer merely, but by all employers in a subgroup, it is\nlikely to cause a quicker displacement of labor from the subgroup as a\nwhole. A very economical machine introduced by its inventor or\nmanufacturer and quickly adopted by all employers at _A''_ would\nnearly always force a certain number of laborers to leave that\nindustry and find employment elsewhere, if it were not for one\ncommercial fact, namely, the reduction in the price of the product and\nthe consequent enlargement of the demand for it.\n\n_How Labor may be displaced from a General Group._--The amount of _A'_\nthat can be created depends on the amount of _A_ that can be furnished\nas material to be transformed into _A'_, and also on the amount of\n_A'_ that will be taken for conversion into _A''_. This again depends\non the amount of _A''_ that will be accepted by employers at _A'''_\nand sold in this last form to the consuming public. If the market for\n_A'''_ cannot be much increased by a moderate reduction of the price\nof it, some labor may have to go into the group of _B_'s or _C_'s; and\nin any case there must be new labor in _A_, _A''_, and _A'''_ if the\nproduct of _A'_ is increased. We can now measure the difference\nbetween the effect of the adoption of an improvement first by one\nemployer and much later by others, and that of the quick adoption of\nit by all. In this latter case there is not much delay in increasing\nthe output of the goods, and the market for them does not have time to\ngrow larger because of the growth in the numbers and the wealth of the\ncommunity. Unless the present market will take an enlarged quantity of\nthe finished goods without requiring that the price should go below\nthe new cost of making them, some labor will have to leave the general\ngroup.\n\n_How Patents may Cause an Increased Displacement of Laborers._--What\nwe often see is the nearly simultaneous adoption of a labor-saving\ndevice by all leading employers in one industry. Something like this\ntakes place when the makers of a valuable machine retain the patent on\nit in their own hands, and press the sale of it on all the producers\nwho have use for it. In this case, however, the makers usually put the\nprice of the machine at a figure that, while it affords an inducement\nto buy it, does not reduce the cost of the goods that it helps to make\nenough to cause a great increase in the demand for them. The owners of\nthe patent on the new appliance charge for it \"what the traffic will\nbear\"; and until the patent runs out, the users of the machine have to\nsell their goods almost at as high prices as before. If the machine\nenables one man to do the work of a dozen, eleven men must find other\nthings to do. They could find them in their own industry if the\nproduct of it were enlarged in consequence of the use of the machine;\nbut if the high price of the patented machine prevents this, they must\ngo elsewhere. When the patent runs out, there is likely to be a\nconsiderable enlargement of the industry, and how important this fact\nis we shall soon see.\n\n_How Improvements which call Labor to a Particular Establishment may\ndisplace Labor from a Group._--Another typical case is afforded when\nsome one employer has for a time the exclusive use of a labor-saving\ndevice, and pushes his production to the utmost in order to get the\nfull benefit from it. Here are seen the more characteristic effects of\nsuch an improvement. It _draws labor to_ the employer who for the time\nbeing monopolizes the new instrument of production, but it _turns\nlabor from_ the subgroup of which this employer is a member. He\nenlarges his output and in time this reduces the price of the product.\nIn the field there are marginal mills, or those so antiquated, ill\nsituated, or badly run that, with their product selling at the former\nprice, they could barely hold their own; and now that the price is\nreduced, they lose money by running. They have to cease operating, and\nthis makes practicable a further enlargement of the product of the\nefficient mill. Much labor goes thither, but some part of that which\nleaves the abandoned mills betakes itself to other subgroups. Not\noften, indeed, does it have to go to other general groups. The cheap\ntransformation of the material _A_ into _A'_ enlarges the market for\n_A'_ and calls for more labor at _A_, and it involves more at _A''_\nand _A'''_. If the change of method had been gradual, the growth of\nthe social demand for _A'''_ would probably have precluded the need of\nsending any labor out of the entire group of _A_'s. Even a rapid\nchange often sends labor out of one subgroup into other subgroups of\nthat series rather than into other general groups.\n\nAn improvement that should reduce the cost of converting leather into\nshoes would, by the sale of the shoes, call for more leather, more\ncattle, more appliances, more tanning, and larger buildings for shoe\nfactories, furnished with more shoemaking machinery and greater motive\npower, even though the particular machines which were improved by the\ninvention had become so much more efficient that no more of them were\nneeded. This depends on the extent to which a certain reduction of\ncost of a product enlarges the market for it.\n\n_Principles Governing the Enlargement of the Effectual Demand for One\nCommodity._--In determining how much a reduction of the price of a\nsingle article will at once enlarge the market for it, there are two\nthings to be considered, namely, the elasticity of the want itself to\nwhich the article caters, and the extent to which an article catering\nto a particular want may be substituted for other articles designed to\nsatisfy the same one. The desire for jewels and other articles of\npersonal adornment is very expansive, and a fall in the price of any\none article of this kind causes a relatively large increase in the\nconsumption of it. Since the want to which a costly ornament caters is\nthus elastic, the cheapening of all articles that cater to this want\nwould enlarge the consumption of all of them. The cheapening of a\nparticular one of these articles, if there were in the market many\nothers of the same general kind, would cause that one to be\nextensively used in preference to the others. By an enlargement of the\ntotal amount of decorative articles used and by a relative favoring of\na particular one of them at the cost of others, the sale of that one\nwould be doubly increased. Cheaper diamonds might mean an increased\nuse of them without any large reduction in the use of other gems; but\nif many other gems happened to be available for the purposes subserved\nby the diamonds the use of these others would be curtailed and that of\ndiamonds would be disproportionately increased.\n\n_The Value of Goods as affected by the Existence of Castes._--One of\nthe reasons why the market for jewels is thus elastic is the fact that\nthey serve as badges of caste, as only something of large cost can do.\nIf, therefore, all gems were to become much cheaper, two things would\nhappen: (1) relatively poor people would buy some of them--partly in\nlieu of imitations and of cheaper real jewels; and (2) rich people\nwould have to buy more and costlier ones than were formerly needed, in\norder to retain their positions in the social gradations. This\nprinciple affects the consumption of a wide range of articles, the\npossession of which seems, outwardly at least, to stamp the owners as\nbelonging in a certain stratum of society. It increases the demand for\nfine clothing, furnishings, and equipage, multiplies social functions,\nand induces participation in all manner of costly diversions. The\nelasticity of the market for luxurious goods is, in general, greatly\nincreased by the action of this motive. The cheapening of them causes\nthem to be consumed by the lower classes and renders the use of\ngreater quantities or higher qualities of them a social necessity for\nthe higher classes.[1]\n\n    [1] It is also true that an entire variety of gems or other\n    things of this genus might, by mere cheapness, be branded as\n    too common to be used by the very wealthy, except for new and\n    inferior modes of adornment.\n\nWe shall soon see that a reduction in the cost of any one article\nusually causes the use of it to trench on that of all manner of things\nwhich are on the margin of consumption and are not similarly\ncheapened.\n\n_Changes of Cost of Different Goods Never Uniform._--The cost of all\narticles is never reduced at the same time, and it is impossible that\nall of them should remain in the same order of desirability in the\nestimation of purchasers. Many things, however, are often cheapened at\nthe same time, though in different degrees. Whatever furnishes a very\ncommon raw material at a lower cost than has prevailed, as did the\ninvention of the Bessemer process of steel making, makes everything\ninto which that material enters cheaper. By reducing the cost of\nrailroads and engines, cars and steamships, the Bessemer process\nindirectly lowered the prices of goods that have to be carried, which\nmeans practically everything. A cheap motive power acts in the same\nway and lowers the costs of producing an unlimited number of goods.\nEven in the case of such general improvements as this the reductions\nof price are not uniform. Some goods are affected more than others.\nCheap steel lessens the cost of bridges more than it does that of\ndwelling houses, and in the case of many improvements the effect is\nconfined to a limited class of products, if not to a single one.\n\n_How the Disturbing Effect of a Single Improvement is Limited._--In\nthe case of consumers' goods improvements are going on so nearly\nincessantly and at so many points that the effect is much the same as\nif every invention cheapened most of them at once. Harmful\ndisturbances are reduced to minute dimensions by the multiplying of\nthe changes, each of which, if it occurred alone, would produce a\nhurtful effect. Many inventions cancel one another's unfavorable\neffects in a way that we shall later examine. What we now have to do\nis to isolate a single productive change and see whether there are\nforces working to reduce its own independent power to create\nincidental disturbance. What limits the power of a single new and\neconomical process to eject laborers from their accustomed places of\nemployment? This question cannot here be answered in detail, but a\nbrief statement will cover the general principles involved. Obviously\nthe displacement varies inversely with the extent to which increased\ncheapness enlarges the consumption of the article affected. If by\nmaking one thousand men produce as much of the commodity as two\nthousand formerly produced, you so reduce costs as to double the\nconsumption of the article, you keep all the men who formerly made it\nin their accustomed places of employment. The elasticity of the want\nitself to which the article caters is one of the two elements that\ndetermine the increase in the consumption of it; but when this\nincrease is due to an extensive substitution of this article for\nothers in the purchasing lists of the consuming public, the result is\ngreatly to reduce the displacement of labor which the new and\neconomical method of production entails. Such substitutions are very\ngeneral and are a large factor in rescuing men from the hardship of\nbeing forced out of the employments they are used to.\n\n_On what an Enlarging Market for Tools and Raw Materials\nDepends._--The market for raw materials and tools depends on that for\nconsumers' goods in their completed state. If _A_, the raw material,\n_enters only into A'''_, it can be sold in increasing quantities only\nas _A'''_ is thus sold. The chief fact about tools and materials is\nthat they may contribute to a large number of completed goods, and the\nsignificance of this fact we shall soon see. The ultimate power to\nfind a market for all products of the lower subgroups depends on\nfinding one for the products of the uppermost ones--the _A'''_,\n_B'''_, and _C'''_ of our table. The laws which govern the market for\nfinished goods of declining cost have first to be studied.\n\n_The Effect of Substituting one Consumers' Good for Others._--Reducing\nthe cost of everything would cause an absolute increase in the\nconsumption of everything; but reducing the cost of a single thing\nalways causes, as we have seen, a _relative_ increase in the\nconsumption of that one product. While the demand for other articles\nmay not grow absolutely less, it becomes relatively less because of\nthe comparative cheapness of the one product.[2]\n\n    [2] It is worth noticing (1) that uniformly reducing the\n    cost of everything would cause _comparative_ changes in\n    consumption. Anything which should take away a quarter of the\n    cost of every article in the entire list of social products\n    would increase the consumption of some articles more than\n    it would increase that of others. There is an extremely\n    theoretical case in which there might even be a lessening\n    of the effectual demand for a few things because a uniform\n    reduction of twenty-five per cent would cause other things\n    to be extensively substituted for them. This thinkable\n    possibility is not practically important.\n\n    A detailed study would show (2) that a reduction in the cost\n    of any single article in the entire list of social products\n    causes an increase in the consumption of commodities in\n    general. As an isolated man who has had to work hard for mere\n    food and content himself with a few comforts and no luxuries\n    will indulge in luxuries when food production becomes much\n    easier, so society as an organic whole will increase its\n    indulgences all along the line whenever the work of getting\n    any one thing is reduced and some working time is thus\n    liberated.\n\nA substitution of one article for another in the lists of goods used\nby the public is a universal phenomenon attending an improvement which\naffects the production of one article only. When the cost of _A'''_\ncauses it to stand just outside of the purchase limit of a large class\nof persons, a moderate reduction in the cost of it will make it a more\ndesirable subject of purchase than the articles which have stood just\nwithin that limit, and it will be bought instead of one or more of\nthese things. The securing of new customers for a finished product by\nmeans of a fall in the price of it is largely brought about by such\nsubstitutions. When the new article is added to a consumer's list, the\none which has stood as his marginal or least desirable purchase is\ntaken off from it. It is the _relative_ desirability of buying one or\nthe other of these articles that influences a buyer in his decision\nbetween them, and that cannot fail to be changed by anything that\nlowers the cost of one, leaving that of the other unchanged.\n\nIf the cost of a unit of each of ten articles be represented by the\nlines falling from the letters _A_, _B_, _C_, etc., to the base of the\nfigure, a considerable fall in the cost of _A_ would put it below the\ncost of each of the other articles represented. If in the case of a\nlarge class of persons who did not formerly buy any of the _A_ it is\nas desirable as any of these goods, it will take its place as the most\ndesirable subject of purchase instead of the least desirable.\n\nThose whose available means enabled them to acquire all the articles\nfrom _J_ to _B_ inclusive, but did not suffice for _A_, will now take\nthe _A_ and omit the _B_. Those whose acquisitions stopped with _C_\nwill substitute _A_ for that article, and in general every buyer of\nany of these things who has not heretofore acquired _A_ will now put\nthis in the place of the one which it was least worth while to\nacquire.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_Substitutions caused by a Cheapening of one Utility in an Article\nwhich is a Composite of Several._--When different goods cost unlike\namounts but are objects of equally strong desires, only one of them is\na marginal purchase, and the others afford a personal gain to the\nconsumer which is not offset by a cost. We have seen that this rule\napplies to the different utilities in a single good. In the case of\nevery article several grades of which are sold, there is one component\nelement or one utility which is worth to the buyer exactly what it\ncosts, while the others afford a consumers' surplus. If the letters in\nthe diagram represent, not whole articles, but utilities in articles,\nas discussed in Chapter VI, it will accurately express the essential\nfacts. In such cases, which are very numerous, it is only necessary to\nreduce the price of the one utility which is now just worth its cost\nin order to induce more consumers to buy the grade containing this\nutility, instead of a lower grade of the same thing. In doing this,\nthey forego the purchase of something else altogether, or content\nthemselves with a lower grade of that other commodity. If jeweled\nwatch cases should become cheaper, some persons would substitute them\nfor plain cases and would forego buying, say, pictures which were just\nwithin their purchase limit, or would content themselves with cheaper\npictures. This taking of one thing within the margin of consumption\nand discarding others is far less frequently done than is the taking\nof a lower grade of one kind of goods for the sake of securing a\nhigher grade of another.\n\n_Why Substitutions reduce the Displacements of Labor._--The question\nwill, indeed, arise why the burden caused by the change may not be\nmerely transferred to men in industries the products of which are\ndisplaced by the substitution. Something of this kind would occur if,\nin consequence of the cheapening of one article, any one other were\ngenerally discarded. The important fact is that it is not any one\nthing, but a wide range of things which are consumed in smaller\nquantities in consequence of the change; and the effect on the makers\nof any one of them is small. If a thousand men begin to buy the _A'''_\nof the table we have frequently used, some of them will forego _B'''_,\nsome _C'''_, and so on through the list; and the market for no one of\nthese things will be much affected. Moreover, the nearly universal\nfact is that a man who begins to buy one article that he never before\nused will save the price of it by contenting himself with a slightly\ncheaper quality of a number of others. He will give up a dozen\nutilities in as many entire commodities in order to be able to buy the\none entire commodity that he adds to his purchasing list. The\nreduction of demand is so extensively subdivided that it causes\nrelatively few displacements of labor.\n\n_Substitution a Prominent Cause of Varying Sales of\nGoods._--Substitution is, then, the general rule whenever the\ncheapening of a commodity wins new purchasers of it. This practice is\nnot indeed universal in the case of those who formerly consumed these\ngoods. Former purchasers of an article which has become cheaper may\nmake no change except to buy more of it or a better quality of it for\nthe same amount which they have been accustomed to spend for the\ninferior quality. They are not then obliged to economize in any other\ndirection, and the change does not trench on their consumption of\nother goods. On the other hand, it is sometimes the case that they\ncontinue to use the original amount of the article that has become\ncheaper and use the liberated means of purchase--the \"money,\" as it\nwould ordinarily be termed--in buying other goods. The cheapening of\n_A'''_ thus even enlarges the demand for _B'''_, _C'''_, etc. There\nare thus two cases in which a reduction in the cost of one thing would\nnot decrease the use of other things.\n\n_Substitution More General in the Case of New Consumers._--The\nsubstitution of a cheapened article for others is the dominant fact in\nthe case of new consumers of such an article, while an increased\nconsumption of other things sometimes occurs in the case of old\nconsumers. This does not have as large commercial effects as the other\nchange. If we produce cheaper shoes, we make it easier to acquire\ngood ones, and those who formerly contented themselves with an\ninferior kind take a better one. That means that they add to their\npurchase lists the higher utility which is present in the one grade\nand absent in the other. They buy a new element in goods rather than\nmore of those goods, and while they may not always change their\nconsumption of articles of other kinds they more frequently do so.\nThose who begin to use something which formerly they went without\naltogether usually give up the use of some good or some quality in it,\nor get on with a smaller quantity of it in order to make the new\nindulgence practicable. The man who, when bicycles became cheap,\nbought the first one he ever owned probably gave up some other\ngratification.\n\n_How the Sale of Goods which wear out in the Using increases as the\nPrice Falls._--When goods deteriorate as they grow older, users have\nto buy new ones often if they are not willing to use those which are\nworn out and inferior. If we want always to wear clothes of good\nquality, we refrain from wearing a suit too long. We discard many\nthings when they have somewhat deteriorated, and this forces us to\nbuy, in a term of years, a larger number of them than we should\notherwise do. We discard carpets and upholstery early when they are so\ncheap that we can afford to do so. We thus improve our goods\nqualitatively by adding to them quantitatively.\n\n_Substitutions a Protection for Labor against Undue\nDisplacements._--Now, not only are the substitutions we have cited of\ncommercial importance, but they act in the direction of retaining\nlabor in a group where \"labor saving\" has been effected. They help to\nprevent this process from being equivalent to labor expelling in so\nfar as either a general group or a subgroup is concerned, since they\nincrease the social demand for the products of the group in question\nand cause a relative diminution of the demand for other things. Quite\nevidently there is, for these reasons, the more need for labor within\nthis group and less need of it elsewhere. Cheap shoes may thus never\nmean fewer shoemakers and cheap watches may not ever mean fewer\nwatchmakers.\n\n_Substitutions of One Capital Good for Others._--It is not merely in\nthe realm of consumption that the demand for a particular good may\nincrease greatly in consequence of cheapness. The same thing happens\nin the realm of production, but here the substitution of one thing for\nothers is an even more prominent cause of the increased use of the\nparticular commodity. Aluminum and copper are rivals as carriers of\nelectrical power, with the advantage at present somewhat in favor of\ncopper. As soon as the cost of making aluminum shall be reduced by a\nmoderate fraction it will become the cheaper material for such uses\nand, unless there is a fall in the price of copper, will thrust itself\ninto use for trolley wires and other conductors of electricity. The\npossession of an enormous market by the one or the other material\ndepends on their relative costs, and these may easily so change as to\ntransfer most of the demand from the one material to the other. A\nfurther fall in the cost of aluminum would make it available for\nsheathing the hulls of ships and would bring it into general use for\nmany household implements, while a sufficient fall would make it a\nleading building material and give it a limitless market for the\nframing and finishing of substantial structures. In these various uses\nit would substitute itself, not only for copper, but for steel, stone,\nwood and other materials, and the change would be extensive enough to\ngive it an enormous market without requiring a correspondingly great\nreduction in its cost. Lowering the cost of aluminum by a third might,\nby merely making it the favorite carrier of electricity, multiply the\npresent use of it by ten, and lowering it by two thirds might multiply\nthe present use of it by a hundred. If this should take place, saving\nlabor would be anything rather than expelling it from its position in\nthe aluminum-making group. When less labor came to be needed for\nmaking a ton of the metal, more labor would be used in the industry\nthat makes it.\n\nSo long as the substitution caused by the cheapening of aluminum\naffected copper only it might be a serious matter for the producers of\ncopper; but when it came to replacing in some degree steel, stone,\nbrick, wood, and other materials, the effect would be so diffused and\nsubdivided as to create small disturbances in any one of these\nindustries.\n\n_Effects of Reduced Cost of Materials which already enter into Many\nFinished Products._--In the case of aluminum the prospect of a greatly\nincreased market brings with it the probability that it may come to be\na component element of products into which it does not at present to a\ngreat extent enter. Such things as steel, stone, and wood already\nconstitute important components of more articles than can be counted,\nand there is no great prospect that they will enter into a much\ngreater variety of products. In the case of these materials there is\na prospect that cheapness will show itself in reduced costs of the\nfinished goods that are made of them, and that these finished goods\nwill be used in greater quantities without substituting themselves for\nother things in so drastic a way as that which we have described in\nthe case of aluminum. A reduction in the cost of steel would indeed\nbring about a substitution of that material for others at every point\nwhere the steel and something else are now on a plane in desirability.\nThe type of building that now is made with plain brick walls and\nwooden floors, because that cheap mode of building enables it to earn\na slightly larger interest on its cost, would often be made with a\nsteel frame and concrete floors. At every such marginal point steel\nwould gain somewhat on its rivals in the extent to which it would be\nused; but in addition to this enlargement of the market for it by\nsubstitution, one might count on an increase in the use of it because\nof an increase in the use of very many things that are already made of\nit. Some of these cater to highly elastic wants, and persons who use a\nquantity of them may be induced to use more without discarding\nanything else. Such an absolute enlargement of consumption is highly\nprobable in the case of any material that enters into a vast number of\nproducts, and this, together with the enlargements that come by\nsubstitution, may suffice to create a great demand for the raw\nmaterial and call for as much labor in the subgroup that makes it as\nwas used before the improvement was made. In the case of the raw\nmaterials of industry the resources for gaining an increased market by\nsubstitution are:--\n\n(1) The substitution of the material for others in uses different from\nthose in which it is now employed;\n\n(2) The substitution of it for other materials in the marginal parts\nof its present field, where it is already nearly as available as other\nthings;\n\n(3) The substitution of the finished consumers' goods made of it for\nother consumers' goods.\n\nIn addition to all these there is the direct increase in the use of\nfinished goods wholly or partly made of the material by persons who do\nnot, for this reason, discard any other goods.\n\nThis statement places the different influences in the order of their\nrelative efficiency in the majority of cases in which they act.\n\n_Effects of cheapening Tools of Industry._--What is true of a raw\nmaterial which enters into many completed products is true of the\ntools of industry which are used for many purposes. A turning lathe, a\nplaning machine, or a circular saw helps to make a large number of\nproducts, and the assertions we have made concerning steel, stone, or\nwood apply to it. As it becomes cheaper it gains an enlargement of its\nmarket by a combination of the four influences just enumerated. It is\nbrought into new uses, is employed more in its present marginal uses,\nand is required in greater quantity because its products are\nsubstituted for other things and are also required in greater amounts\nindependently of these substitutions.\n\n_Cheap Motive Forces._--Motive power is so nearly universal in its\napplications that developing a cheap source of it is much like\nimproving the method of producing everything and securing a universal\nincrease of products. We shall see why such a general enlargement of\nthe output of all the shops creates no displacements of labor which\nentail hardships. If the power is used more in the upper subgroups\nthan in the lower ones,--if it is more frequently available for\nfashioning raw materials than for producing them through agriculture\nor mining,--the development of it checks in some degree the drift of\nlabor from the lower subgroups toward the upper ones, which has been\nreferred to in an earlier chapter.\n\nUtilizing the power of Niagara, that of Alpine torrents and other\nunused streams, that of the waves of the sea, and that which has long\nslumbered in the culm heaps of coal mines, will give increased\nfacility for producing nearly everything; and though the amount of the\nenlargement of output will vary in different cases and some effect on\nthe movements of labor will be produced, few serious hardships will\nresult, and a majority of the persons who will suffer from these\nchanges at all will get an offsetting benefit from the enlarging\nproductiveness of industry.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nFURTHER INFLUENCES WHICH REDUCE THE HARDSHIPS ENTAILED BY\nDYNAMIC CHANGES\n\n\nIn the absence of an unusually great increase in the consumption of an\narticle the improvement which reduces the cost of it tends to displace\nlabor. The first thing that will occur to any one who looks for\ninfluences which mitigate this evil is the fact that economical\nchanges are going on at nearly all points in the system, and that this\ncancels out most of the displacing influence. If something sends men\nfrom the group _A_ to groups _B_ and _C_, while something else sends\nthem from the group _B_ to groups _A_ and _C_, and still another\ninfluence impels men from _C_ to _A_ and _B_, there is likely to be\nvery little actual moving. A question will in such a case arise as to\nwhether the three movements may not expel labor from all the groups\nand remand them to a state of idleness. History is clear in the answer\nit gives to this question; such a result has not occurred, and at the\nend of a century of brilliant mechanical progress the amount of\nenforced idleness is not greater than it was at the outset. It remains\nto show that economic law precludes a universal displacement and\ninsures laborers for all time against being at the mercy of an\nindustrial system which has nowhere any need of their services.\nProductive devices widely introduced mean great and general gains and\ncomparatively little cost. They mean what on their face they ought to\nmean, more comforts and less toil for everybody. Before studying this\ninfluence--the reciprocal action of improvements scattered through the\ngeneral economic system--we have to determine the action of one or two\nother influences which also lessen the disturbances which progress\ncauses.\n\nOne can see that the quick adoption of an economical device in every\nshop of a subgroup, at a time when all other industries are in a\nstationary state, would usually expel some labor from that one. If\nconsumers should, on a large scale, substitute the product of this\nsubgroup for that of others, it might save the situation; but the\ngeneral fact is that the consumption of the cheapened product must\nincrease in a ratio that is greater than the ratio representing the\nsaving of labor used in making it, in order to prevent displacement of\nlabor. If we get on with two thirds of the labor which the making of\nthe commodity out of raw materials formerly required, we do not save\ntwo thirds of the total expense of making the finished article; and\nyet to retain all the labor that is now in the business we must sell\none and a half times the former number of the goods produced.[1]\n\n    [1] The mathematical problem stands thus: If all the\n    subgroups of the _A_ series have the same amounts of labor\n    and a machine enables a half of the force now in _A''_ to do\n    all that is required in transmuting the usual supply of _A'_\n    into the usual amount of _A''_, then some of the labor in\n    _A''_ would in most cases betake itself to entirely different\n    industries. The superfluous labor at _A''_ would amount to an\n    eighth of all the labor required for the complete creation of\n    _A'''_. If wages constituted the only cost which the\n    _entrepreneur_ must defray, the price of _A'''_ would be\n    reduced to seven eighths of the former price, and this might,\n    in the case of some goods, enlarge the demand to eight\n    sevenths of its former amount and so keep all the labor in\n    the general group. Since there are outlays to be met besides\n    wages, this reducing of wages by an eighth would not usually\n    reduce total cost by more than about a twelfth, and even if\n    price quickly went down to eleven twelfths of its former\n    amount, it would be too much to expect that the consumption\n    of the _A'''_ should increase by a seventh, except in cases\n    in which this amount of reduction of price caused _A'''_ to\n    take the place of _B'''_, _C'''_, etc., in the purchase lists\n    of many consumers. The enlargement of consumption would have\n    to take place in a ratio greater than that which represents\n    the saving in cost. Costing eleven twelfths as much as\n    before, the article must sell eight sevenths as freely--which\n    is possible only when it thrusts itself extensively into the\n    place of other consumers' goods. Even then some labor would\n    have to move from _A''_ to other subgroups of the series. One\n    half of the amount of labor formerly at _A''_ does the whole\n    work formerly done there, and to keep it all at work at that\n    point would require that the output from the whole group be\n    doubled. Saving one twelfth in cost could not well insure\n    selling double the amount of goods. In this view improvements\n    would have a threatening look, though their ultimate effect\n    would still appear as beneficial as ever, were it not for the\n    fact that the disturbances that result from them are made to\n    be relatively small by the influences we are studying.\n\n_Counteracting Influences._--The importance of a gradual introduction\nof an improvement rather than a rapid one lies in the fact that it\npermits these influences to do their work and often to render the\nactual moving of laborers even from their subgroup unnecessary. Time\nis the salvation of the laborer menaced by an impending displacement\nfrom his field. When we see what is the grand resultant of all the\ndynamic influences we are studying, we shall see how this neutralizing\nand canceling of the labor-expelling force takes place. But for them\none isolated change would tend to expel labor from its subgroup and\nwould nearly always send it away from the point within an\nestablishment where the new device is introduced. It usually attracts\nlabor to this establishment and away from the inefficient or marginal\nones. A gradual adoption of the improvement allows time not only for a\ngeneral increase in the size and the wealth of the community, but for\nother influences which act more quickly and in practice make it nearly\nalways unnecessary to reduce the total amount of labor in an industry\nwhich produces an article in permanent demand. Statistics may be\nconfidently appealed to in support of this general statement.\n\n_The Dynamic Law of Price and its Effects._--We briefly noted in\npassing that the price of a product the making of which is subject to\nrepeated improvements naturally tends toward the cost of it in the\nestablishment having the latest method and the greatest facilities for\nproduction. The natural price at any time is the cost of that part of\nthe supply which is created at the greatest advantage, and not the\ncost of the part produced at the greatest disadvantage, as an old\nformula expressed it. It is the mill that makes the goods most cheaply\nwhich is enlarging its product and bringing the price down toward its\nlevel of cost; as soon as other establishments get possession of the\nimprovement they help forward the process, and as they get still\nbetter appliances they help in carrying the price to still newer and\nlower standards.\n\n_The Cause of the Coincidence of Maximum Cost and Price._--At any one\nmoment, it is true, there are ill-located, ill-equipped, or\nill-managed mills that are making nothing and are likely soon to be\nabandoned. They are the marginal mills we have spoken of, and the\ngoods that they make cost all that purchasers will give for them. This\ninsures a coincidence of the price of the goods with the cost of\nmaking them in such a mill, but this is merely an incident in the\nprocess of eliminating the inefficient establishments from the field.\nIn the mill which happens at this date to be the one about to be\ncrowded out the cost of the goods equals the selling price of them and\nwill exceed it as soon as the price goes to a lower point. This cost\nhappens transiently to coincide with the price, but does not\n_regulate_ it. It is the outlay that the best mill incurs that does\nthat, since it sets the standard toward which the price is made to\ntend.[2]\n\n    [2] IMPROVEMENTS AND PRICES UNDER COMPETITION\n\n    The figure represents a subgroup in which five producers,\n    _a_, _b_, _c_, _d_, and _e_, are operating. Later, a new\n    establishment _f_, is introduced. The upper dark line\n    represents the price of a unit of the product, and the lower\n    dark line the cost of making a unit in the establishment\n    which is for the time the most efficient.\n\n    The dotted lines represent the respective costs of production\n    in the different mills, ranging from _a_, the most efficient,\n    to _e_, which can barely hold its own. What the figure\n    represents as happening is as follows:--\n\n    _b_ first makes an improvement which lowers his cost of\n    production, as shown by the descending dotted line. This\n    enables him to increase his output, and so has its effect on\n    the price, which descends. Now, producer _e_ was already\n    selling goods at cost, but he is not at once driven out of\n    the business. Instead, even though he cannot earn full\n    interest on the original cost of his fixed establishment, he\n    will continue to run as long as he can make his plant earn\n    anything at all. The result is a virtual reduction of the\n    capitalized value of the plant (the interest on which is an\n    item of cost), and this is what is represented by the descent\n    of the dotted line which represents _e_'s cost of production.\n    The situation is now represented by the series of\n    points,--_b'_, _a'_, _c'_, etc., representing at their\n    second stage the differing levels of cost in the case of\n    different producers.\n\n    [Illustration]\n\n    The next thing that happens is an improvement made by _a_,\n    causing his cost of production to fall below that of _b_.\n    The resulting fall in price now finally drives _e_ out of\n    business; he can no longer earn anything at all on his fixed\n    plant. We may assume that producers _a_, _b_, and _c_, who\n    have been making profits, have enlarged their productive\n    capacity enough to supply the market fully without _e_'s\n    contribution. _d_ is now in the same position in which _e_\n    was at the preceding stage,--earning nothing on his fixed\n    establishment and barely induced to remain in the business.\n\n    The next occurrence represented is the opening of a new,\n    large, and very efficient mill by _f_. The effect is like\n    that of improvements, but more violent. The fall in price\n    drives both _d_ and _c_ out of business. _b_ is now on the\n    margin, but saves himself from loss by a second improvement,\n    which makes him again the most efficient producer. And so the\n    process goes on _ad infinitum_.\n\n    This figure illustrates the fact that, while at any time the\n    price of a good roughly equals the cost of it to the least\n    efficient producers, still this cost does not _govern_ the\n    price. The ruling factor is the cost in the most efficient\n    mill, toward which the price tends; and all that the cost in\n    the least efficient mill determines is how long that mill\n    shall continue running.\n\n    In order that the claim here made--that price equals cost in\n    the establishment which is about to be crowded out of the\n    field--may hold good it is necessary to define terms with\n    some care. In a typical case an employer who is destined soon\n    to close out his business has, perhaps, an antiquated mill,\n    which itself pays nothing, but enables its owner to use\n    circulating capital and labor in a way that affords interest\n    on that capital and wages for the labor. No interest on the\n    cost of the antiquated mill is chargeable to the business\n    unless the site and the building can be sold for a new\n    purpose. If they have completely lost all productive power,\n    they are not, as we use terms, capital goods at all; and in\n    that case the only interest which the _entrepreneur_ should\n    reckon as a cost is that which accrues on other capital used\n    in connection with the worthless mill. If the site and the\n    building have some value for another purpose, and if the\n    machinery has some value as junk, then whatever the owner can\n    get by disposing of the plant constitutes a sum the interest\n    on which constitutes a cost of producing goods in this mill.\n    It is a sum which the plant owner foregoes as long as he\n    refrains from selling the plant. He can afford to use it in\n    production as long as the price of the product covers the\n    cost as thus defined, but must stop when it ceases to do so.\n\n_The Importance of Delay in the Closing of Marginal\nEstablishments._--Now, this process looks as if, by the closing of\nmills that are distanced in the race of improvement, labor must be\nforced out of the subgroup. So it would be if the reducing of the\nprice to its new static level were an instantaneous operation and the\ninferior mills were, in the same instantaneous fashion, compelled to\nclose their doors. These, however, are gradual operations, and before\nthey can possibly produce their full effects, influences will have\nbeen set working which will counteract the expelling tendency. We have\ncited as such an influence the general growth of society in numbers,\nwealth, and consuming power, making it possible for a group, when an\neconomical change has taken place, to produce and sell more goods than\nbefore and to keep its accustomed force of labor in order to do so.\nThere are certain more specific influences which have a similar effect\nand render it as unnecessary as it is useless to attempt to resist the\ncourse of improvement.\n\n_Centralization of Business an Effect of Progress._--From the facts\nhere cited it appears that conservatism of the kind that resists all\nchanges condemns an _entrepreneur_ to destruction. He must keep in a\nmoving procession in order to survive. As the essential thing which is\nchanging is the price-making cost of goods, the _entrepreneur_ must\nsee to it that in his establishment cost declines. While this does not\nnecessarily mean that every such establishment needs forever to grow\nlarger, since there are local conditions in which relatively small\nshops may be economical enough to survive, yet those which cater to\nthe general market and directly encounter the competition of the great\nproducing establishments must, as a general rule, have the advantages\nof great size in their favor, or sooner or later be crowded out of the\nfield. Many of the smaller ones fall by the wayside, and the business\nthey have done passes to their already large rivals. Wherein the\nadvantages of the great shop lie and how one that is of less than a\nmaximum size may survive in spite of them, are points for later\nconsideration.\n\n_How Displaced Labor is Replaced._--When men are actually forced to\nleave an industry,--say the subgroup _A'_,--they find themselves, in\nthe search for employment, in the same position as a body of newly\narrived immigrants in quest of work. Men of either class must offer\nthemselves at a rate that will induce employers to take them. If much\nnew capital has lately been created, it is naturally possible for the\nmen to get employment without having to overcome serious friction or\nto reduce their demands in the way of pay. In the absence of such\nadditions to the capital, they might possibly have to offer some\ninducement to employers, in order to overcome their reluctance to make\nchanges in their shops. We shall see in due time, however, that where\nimprovements are well distributed through the industrial society and\nhave their natural effect, they tend to increase the general demand\nfor labor at the original rate of pay.\n\n_Effects of a Series of Improvements confined to One Industry\ncontrasted with those of Improvements diffused through the Groups._--A\ncontinuous series of radical improvements, all originating at one\npoint, would tend of themselves to cause a series of expulsions of\nlabor from that point, and the mere increase of population and wealth\nmight not so fully counteract this tendency as to prevent a positive\nexodus of labor from the occupation affected. A merely relative\nreduction of labor in this occupation would not cause much hardship,\nsince it would only mean that other industries were attracting the\ngreater number of young laborers entering the field and gradually\ngetting a larger and larger part of the whole working population. If\nmen actually in _A'_ can stay there, no one is injured; but too great\na concentration of improvements at this point might drive some of them\naway. Such concentration is the opposite of the general rule.\nImprovements do not confine themselves to one point or to a few\npoints, but originate at very many, and this fact neutralizes their\nlabor-expelling tendency and might reduce it practically to _nil_. If\nlabor could be made more efficient in every group of the whole system,\nthe result would be to increase the quantity of every kind of goods.\nMaking more of one's own product is acquiring power to buy more of the\nproducts of others; and enlarging the general output of goods tends\nthus to increase the demand for all kinds of goods as well as the\nsupply. If you make clothes and I provide food, and we exchange\nproducts, but do not satisfy each other's wants to the point of\nrepletion, it is well for both of us that you should become able to\nmake more clothes and I to furnish more food. We can then go on with\nour original occupations and both live better. In this there is\ninvolved no displacement of labor at all; and neither would there need\nto be any disturbance caused by multiplying in well-adjusted\nproportions the output of each group and subgroup in the system of\nindustry. Where formerly a unit of _A'''_ was exchanged for one of\n_B'''_ or _C'''_, there are now two units of _A'''_ given for two of\neither _B'''_ or _C'''_, and every one has more things to consume than\nhe formerly had.[3]\n\n    [3] It will be seen that the maintenance of the present\n    exchange ratios between _A'''_, _B'''_, _C'''_, etc., when\n    costs of all of them are reducing, would require that these\n    costs be reduced in exactly the same degree in each case, and\n    that the quantities sold at the new cost prices should be\n    increased in unequal degrees, so as to bring the different\n    prices to cost levels. The demand for one article is more\n    elastic than is the demand for another. A slight increase in\n    the supply of _A'''_ may cause a large reduction of the\n    selling price, while it may require a great addition to the\n    supply of _B'''_ to produce this effect. There must,\n    therefore, be some changes in the relative quantities of\n    labor in the different subgroups, even though there has\n    been an equal amount of \"labor saving\" or cost reducing in\n    all of them. This change is so slight in amount as compared\n    with what would be caused by improvements confined to one\n    subgroup, that it is effected with relatively little hardship\n    and mainly by disposing the constant inflow of new labor at\n    the points where it is needed.\n\n_Labor attracted toward a Subgroup as a Result of Improvements which\nare made Elsewhere._--The fact that the demand of consumers for\ndifferent goods is not uniformly elastic has to be taken into account.\nThere are two distinct kinds of movements in the group system, brought\nabout by improvements in method. Each improvement in and of itself\nhas, as a rule, a labor-expelling effect, but this effect is partly\nneutralized by general growth in consumption and still more by\nimprovements occurring elsewhere. Labor that is thrown out of the _A_\ngroup would naturally go to group _B_, _C_, etc.; but if, as we have\njust seen, similar influences tend to expel labor from the _B_ group\nand the _C_ group, the labor may, for the most part, stay where it is,\nwith the result that more of _A'''_, _B'''_, and _C'''_ is offered to\nconsumers. _The increased output of one group is itself a means of\nretaining labor in other groups_, even though, thanks to mere methods,\nthat involves making more of every other kind of commodity.\n\n_The Supply of One Kind of Goods Equivalent to a Demand for\nOthers._--There should be no difficulty in interpreting, in this\nconnection, the traditional statement that \"the supply of one kind of\ngoods constitutes a demand for another.\" An increment of _A'''_ and\none of _B'''_ coming into existence together supply wants common to\ntheir two sets of producers and both groups can gain by exchanging\nsuch portions of their respective products as they do not retain for\ntheir own use. If _A'''_ and _B'''_ were the only consumers' goods\nused, a part of the excess of each would be distributed among the\nmembers of the group producing it, and the remainder would be given in\nexchange for some of the other kind of goods, also for distribution\namong the members of the first-named group. This is what actually\nhappens when a multitude of articles for consumption are produced in\nincreasing quantities.\n\n_Effect of an Increase of Individual Incomes on the Character of Goods\nConsumed._--Such an increase of the productive power of a group means,\nof course, an increase of individual incomes, and it causes men, as we\nhave seen, to consume better things rather than more of them. There is\na certain merely quantitative enlargement of every one's consumption\nof goods of a given kind, every one using more of _A'''_ than he used\nbefore; but the greatest change shows itself in the quality of what he\nuses. Every man buys and consumes better articles of the _A'''_ kind,\nas well as of other kinds. His food, his clothing, etc., are all\nprepared in a more elaborate way, and he has more of what we call form\nutility which results from the fashioning of things, and relatively\nless of the elementary utility which inheres in the raw material.\nThere is somewhat more of raw material and very much more form utility\nin the goods he demands for personal consumption. This requires that\nlabor should move upward in the group system, and that more of it than\nbefore should betake itself to those subgroups where the fashioning of\nthe raw material is done and where the finishing touches are applied\nto goods. The effect of the constant improvement of all processes of\nproduction, therefore, so far as the effect on labor is concerned, is\nakin to the effect of an addition to capital, in that it moves labor\nupward in the subgroup series. It puts more labor into mills and shops\nwhich make articles of comfort and luxury.\n\n_The Nature of the Movements actually caused by Improvements._--This\nupward movement cannot go on as smoothly and with as little\ndisturbance as that which is caused by the increase of capital.\nWhenever a greater gain is made at one point than is made at another,\nan influence is set working which, of itself, tends to send labor from\nthe one point to the other. The slowness with which the change of\nmethod proceeds affords the time that is necessary for the protection\nof labor in the first-named group, since little movement takes place\nbefore the effects of improvements made in the second group begin to\nbe felt. If in 1906 an improvement is made which, in the course of\nfive years, would cause some labor to move from the subgroup _A_''' to\nthe subgroup _B_''', and in 1907 a corresponding improvement is made\nin the latter industry, the equilibrium is restored before enough\ndisturbance has taken place to require any absolute reduction of labor\nin _A'''_. The facts are (1) that new laborers as they enter the field\nare drawn more to the upper subgroups than to the lower ones,--to the\n_A'''_ and the _B'''_ rather than to the _A_ and the _B_ of the two\nseries,--and that in moving upward they are drawn at first more\nstrongly toward _B'''_ and later more strongly toward _A'''_. This is\nthe nearly constant fact in industry and is the grand resultant of all\nthe forces we have described--an upward flow that is continuous but\ndoes not follow strictly vertical lines. As young men--the sons of\nworkers in _A_, _B_, _C_, and _D_, who might otherwise have remained\nin their fathers' occupation--move to the subgroups that stand higher\nin the several series, they first go in larger number toward _B'''_\nthan toward _A'''_, and later in larger number toward _A'''_. There is\na wavy movement toward the right and then toward the left in the\nsteady flow of labor from the groups that create the raw material to\nthose that impart to these materials the form utilities which they\nneed to fit them for service. An actual lessening of the number of\nworkers in an entire group in consequence of an improvement in the\nmethod of production is practically unknown, and even a positive\nlessening of the number in a subgroup is exceedingly rare.\n\n_Apparent Exceptions to the Rule._--Exceptions to this rule which are\nrather apparent than real will occur to every one. The discovery of a\ngreat supply of mineral oil put an end to the use of whale oil for\nilluminating purposes, though it allowed the whale fishery to survive\non a reduced scale and produce oil for other purposes, in so far as\nthe rawest material, the whales themselves, were not exterminated. The\nexhaustion of a supply of raw material was here a dominant fact, and\nthe effects it produced may be again expected when mineral oil shall,\nin turn, become scarce. Men will move out of the subgroup producing\nthe crude oil, as nature forces them to do so, but their movement\ncannot be referred merely to improvement in the mode of extracting the\noil or transporting and refining it. The fact which illustrates the\nrule we have stated is that while mineral oil drove whale oil out of\nthe field as an illuminant, this did not reduce the number of men in\nthe general group which produces illuminating oil. More men were set\nworking in the oil fields than ceased working on the whaling ships. A\nnew raw material was used in creating a similar finished product, and\nas the general industry which made this product grew larger rather\nthan smaller, the total demand for labor in oil production was not\nlessened. This does not prove that old sailors did not suffer from the\nchange. Young sailors could go to the oil fields or elsewhere, but men\nwho were not adaptable could not do so, and the hardship thus\nentailed is not to be overlooked. We are, however, forming a judgment\nof movements which pervade a vast industrial system, and we need most\nto know what is their grand resultant. If that were a general\ndisplacement of labor, causing increasing idleness and suffering, the\nsystem that involved this result would stand condemned. The general\nresultant is the opposite of this.\n\n_A Drift of Labor toward Certain General Groups._--We have just\nnoticed that movements of labor in the group system, caused by\nimprovements in method, consist mainly in an upward flow of labor,\naccompanied by irregular lateral movements, the labor drifting to the\nright or the left as it is more strongly attracted now to one point\nand now to another on the same horizontal plane. The general mass of\nit swerves now to the right and now to the left in its general\nascending course, though none may be actually expelled. This\ndescription of the drift of labor is too general even to describe all\nthe permanent currents. Some entire groups produce only or chiefly\nluxurious goods, and to those there is the same drift of labor as\nthere is to the upper subgroups of the general series. If there be a\ngroup of _D_'s making an article which only the well-to-do can afford\nto use, it will swell in size and in the volume of its output from the\nsame causes--improved methods and general enrichment--which cause\n_A'''_, _B'''_, and _C'''_ to outgrow _A_, _B_, and _C_.\n\n_Displacements of Mature Laborers naturally tending to\nDiminish._--When an improvement is made in one of the upper subgroups\nwhile the general flow of labor is toward these groups, the effect is\nnot usually to lessen the absolute number of workers in the upper\nsubgroup where the improvement has been made, but merely to prevent it\nfrom getting a _pro rata_ share of the labor that is moving upward\ntoward this tier of subgroups from the lower ones. The change in the\napportionment of the social laboring force between the upper subgroups\nand the lower ones is made gradually, without violent transfers of\nparticular men from point to point, and merely by directing to the\nupper subgroups a disproportionate number of young workers who are\nselecting their fields of employment. In general, _labor_ moves from\npoint to point in the system without requiring many _particular\nlaborers_ to do so. As actual loss of places by persons of mature age\nis the chief evil connected with changes in methods of production, it\nis a most welcome fact that the influence which we are studying tends\nnaturally to reduce the extent of it.\n\n_The Discarding of Aged Laborers mainly caused by a Further\nInfluence._--Quite apart from a demand for less labor at a particular\npoint in the system, there may occur a discharging of men merely\nbecause of age and a substituting of younger men. In establishments\nwhere the pace is a rapid one men have thus to give place to young\nsuccessors at an earlier age than the one at which men give place in\nother employments. The effect of some machinery is to improve the\nchances of old men, while that of other machinery is to reduce them. A\nlightening of toil and a shortening of the working day preserve men's\npowers and enable them to retain employment longer.\n\n_The Natural Tendency perverted by Monopoly._--When hardships come on\na large scale in consequence of a discharging of workers, they are\nchiefly due to an abnormal influence which now shows itself in ugly\nand disquieting ways throughout the industrial system, that, namely,\nof monopoly. Reducing forces for the sake of curtailing production and\nraising prices is what does the mischief. This influence undoes at\nmany points the beneficent effects of free competition and causes\ngrave hardships to particular workers while affording no compensating\ngain to the consuming public. It portends evil for society as a whole\nas well as for the working classes, on which its hand may be heavily\nlaid. In a perfectly natural system, in which competition would do all\nthat pure theory at the outset of this study has assumed that it will\ndo, the evil entailed by local improvements would be relatively small\nand the diffused benefits enormous. In proportion as the movement\napproaches steadiness and as gains are made, not by radical changes,\nnow here, now there, and now elsewhere, with long intervals between\nthem, but by smaller economies made nearly everywhere and in very\nquick succession, the cause of the hardship is reduced. There is less\nof violent expulsion of labor from its fields and more of a gradual\ndrifting of _labor_ rather than particular laborers from the subgroups\nthat create elementary products to those which fashion them into fine\nand costly shapes. There is small hardship in the natural selection by\nnew laborers of the employments where they are most needed, and there\nis often little in a transfer of a person who has tended a machine of\none kind to a machine of a different kind. Instances there still are\nof manual skill brought to naught by the invention of a mechanical\nautomaton that does the work more rapidly and accurately than the hand\nof man can do it; and the worker who possesses this skill must\nusually, in such cases, content himself with an employment where his\nmore general aptitudes may stand him in good stead and insure him at\nleast an average rate of pay. The special aptitude which he had for\nperforming one operation counts for nothing; and this happens when men\nwho have worked in one department of a mill have to accept work in\nother departments of the same mill or in other employments.\n\n_A Workman's Specific Loss as compared with his Share of a Social\nGain._--The test question in cases like these is whether the man is\nhelped or harmed by the general effect of improvements, including not\nonly the one which has caused him to change his occupation, but all\nothers which have taken place since he began working. To this question\nthere can be but one answer: in the course of a lifetime the balance\nis in favor of progress _even in the case of the average victim of the\nmovement_, and it is overwhelmingly so in the case of others. What a\nman sacrifices when he is transferred from one machine to another is\nusually more than offset in a term of years by what he gains in\nconsequence of the general increase in the producing power of labor.\nAt the time of the displacement he suffers, but by its constant\nincrease in wealth and productivity society more than atones for the\ninjury. The goods that emerge from the mills are multiplied; the share\nfalling to labor, as that share is determined by the test of final\nproductivity, grows steadily larger; and the men who have never served\na long apprenticeship at anything, but have learned their present\ntrades quickly and can learn new ones as quickly, are producing and\ngetting far more than they could possibly get under a regime of\nskilled manual labor or of inferior machinery, and far more also than\ntheir successors will get hereafter if, by any calamity, mechanical\ninventions shall cease to be introduced and other product multipliers\nshall be barred from the field. The hope of working humanity lies\nmainly in the continuance of the changes which give it a forever\nenlarging command over nature. Some classes might live comfortably\nwithout this, but for the worker it affords the main ground of hope\nfor increasing comfort and a coming time of general abundance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nCAPITAL AS AFFECTED BY CHANGES OF METHOD\n\n\n_Labor Saving and Capital Concentrating._--There is a common\nimpression that whatever saves labor usually requires an increase of\ncapital in the industry where the economy is secured, and this\nimpression is justified by the experience of the century following the\ninvention of the steam engine and the early textile machinery. Hand\nspinning and weaving require small amounts of fixed capital, while the\nmills in which spinning and weaving are done by steam or water power\nrequire a great deal. Fortunately in any long period this capital\ncomes as abundantly as it is needed from the profits of the very\nbusiness that calls for it and does not reduce the capital of other\nindustries. The profit of one year furnishes the new instruments\nrequired in the next; but the immediate effect of substituting a\ncostly machine for hand labor is to concentrate capital, or to call it\nfrom places to which it would otherwise go.\n\n_The Liberation of Capital by Invention._--For a long period it was\nthe general rule that a mechanical invention at first called capital\nto the point at which it was applied, although it afterward created\nnew capital and sent it away to make more than good the draft it\noriginally made. This rule is no longer universally applicable. When\nan invention cheapens capital goods, it liberates capital. It is\nclear that a hundred and twenty-five years ago there was small chance\nthat an invention would liberate very much capital by reducing the\ncost of making tools, buildings, rails, machinery, etc., since there\nwere so few of them to cheapen. Now that machines are at hand in\nmyriad forms the chance is large that an invention will substitute for\nmany of them others of less costly construction. It will in these\ncases cause less capital to be required per machine than was formerly\nneeded.\n\n_Simplifying the Forms of Machinery and Cheapening the Materials of\nIt._--The history of invention shows that the early machines sometimes\ntook cumbersome and expensive forms, for which simple and cheaper\nforms were later substituted. Much simplifying of mechanical\nappliances is all the while going on, and this, of course, liberates\nsome capital. Making instruments of any kind out of cheaper materials\nhas the same effect that anything has which reduces the cost of\nconstructing the instruments. Bessemer steel has made rails, bridges,\nships, buildings, steam boilers, and a vast number of mechanical tools\nand appliances less costly than they were, and so has liberated some\nof the capital which such things formerly embodied. After one of the\nmachines of the costlier type has earned the fund on which its owner\nrelies for replacing it as it is worn out, it appears that a part of\nthis fund will suffice for procuring a perfectly good substitute for\nit, and the remainder may be used for procuring other appliances of\nproduction.\n\n  _A'''_  _B'''_  _C'''_  _H'''_\n  _A''_   _B''_   _C''_   _H''_\n  _A'_    _B'_    _C'_    _H'_\n  _A_     _B_     _C_     _H_\n\n_Cheapening the Process of Making Instruments._--If we recur to the\ntable which represents the groups of the industrial system, we shall\nsee that improvements of method in the general group _H-H'''_ have the\neffect of liberating capital in the other groups and subgroups. _H'''_\nis the comprehensive symbol that represents active instruments of all\nkinds. It is engines and boilers, looms and spindles, lathes and\nplaners, rails, cars, bridges, tunnels, canals, ships, buildings, and\nall the myriad instruments which actively aid man in making the things\nhe wants for consumption. New methods at _H-H'''_ make the supply of\nall these things cheaper, which means that the labor and capital of\nthe group _H-H'''_ which would have been required for replacing the\ninstruments used in the other groups will more than suffice for that\npurpose, and a part of their time may be given to making machinery,\netc., not formerly used. This amounts to liberating a part of the\nfixed capital in the three groups producing _A'''_, _B'''_, and\n_C'''_, although the free capital that is thus gained may in part be\nused in furnishing additional appliances for use in these same groups.\n\n_Local Concentration of Capital which causes a General Liberation of\nIt._--In such a case the new method used at _H'''_ may, at its\nintroduction, require more capital than was formerly used at that\npoint in the system. Building Bessemer converters was a costly\noperation, though the output of cheap steel afterward saved far more\ncapital than the converters required. The power canals of Niagara cost\nsomething, but the products created by means of them are cheapening\nmany tools of industry; and like effects follow most applications of\nelectricity for utilizing waterfalls and carrying to great distances\nthe power which they generate. They follow on a considerable scale as\nthe culm of coal mines is economically burned and made to generate\nsteam and drive dynamos. All cheapening of transportation, besides\nmaking consumers' goods cheaper, has the same effect on producers'\ngoods, and by this means liberates capital. It causes a single\nproductive appliance to cost less than it otherwise would cost and\nrenders available for other purposes a part of the outlay that was\nformerly required for replacing it at the end of its industrial\ncareer.\n\n_Effect of Speeding Machinery._--Increasing the speed of a machine is\na capital-liberating operation, since it enables a certain number of\nmachines to do the work of a larger number. Running spindles and looms\nrapidly, while it requires fewer laborers for a given amount of\nproduct, requires fewer spindles and looms also.\n\n_Cases in which Liberated Capital remains partly in the Same Industry\nin which it has been Used._--A distinction has carefully to be made\nbetween causing less capital to be used _per unit_ of physical\nproduct, and causing less to be used in a particular occupation\nwithout regard to the amount of the product. If we cheapen the\noperation of cloth making, we shall increase the consumption of cloth,\nand in this way we may draw new capital into this business, even\nthough we can build and equip a mill of a given capacity more cheaply\nthan before. In this case we have liberated capital in this business\nand at once reemployed it at the same point. If we use as many looms\nas before, the more rapid running calls for more spindles to furnish\nyarn, and the new spindles require larger engines and boilers, or more\nwater wheels, wheel pits, and reservoirs, to furnish power. Enlarging\na business in this way usually calls for an enlarged general capital\n_in the industry_, though it calls for less capital for a given\noutput; and the striking fact is that this effect may be realized by\nmeans of devices which actually save capital at particular points in\nthe industry. If, after power looms were introduced, some inventive\ngenius had made them cost only a quarter as much as on their first\nintroduction they had cost, the profits of the business would have\nbeen increased and, in time, far more capital in the shape of spinning\nmachinery, engines, etc., would have been required than had formerly\nbeen used in those forms. With general growth of population and wealth\nthe increased consumption of cloth calls, in the end, for more capital\nin the form of the looms themselves.\n\n_General Consumption as affected by a Specific Increase of Productive\nPower._--Consumption in the generic--the use of consumers' goods of\nevery kind--grows as the power to make the good increases; but a point\nthat is of great importance is that any _specific_ increase of\nproductive power brings about a _general_ increase of consumption. It\nbrings about a greater all-round creating and using of commodity. If\nwe can hereafter make the _A'''_ of our table with the expenditure of\nhalf as much labor and capital as we have heretofore used in creating\nit, the liberated agents of production become available for making\nwhatever is most needed, and they will, in fact, be used for\nincreasing the supply of all three types of consumers' goods\nrepresented in the table. They will give us more of _A'''_, _B'''_,\nand _C'''_ in quantities adjusted by the laws of value. The outcome of\nthis is that an economy in making _A'''_ actually gives us more of\n_A'''_, _B'''_, and _C'''_. We become larger consumers of everything\nbecause of the cheapening of anything which enters into our list of\narticles for personal use. This presents a further aspect of the\nprocess of moving labor and capital from group to group, in which the\npossibility of hardship for particular persons inheres. The conclusion\nto which a fair weighing of the effects of mechanical progress has\nalready led us is that there are very few, even of the workers who\nsuffer displacements of this kind, who do not during their lives gain\nfar more than they lose by general progress; and the effects of\ncheapening capital goods at one point, and so liberating capital for\nuse at other points, increases this beneficent effect. The special\ncosts of making the new kinds of machinery have been large in the\nearlier stages of the process, but have afterward grown smaller; and\nas machinery has come into general use the liberating of capital by\nthe cheapening of the machines has become a more and more important\nfactor. Some of the capital liberated at _A_ goes to assist labor in\nfurnishing the additional amount of _B'''_ and _C'''_ which enlarged\nconsumption requires.\n\n_Hardships entailed on Capitalists by Progress._--As the old\nhandicrafts have now been largely supplanted by machinery, and the\nhardship that continuing progress entails on laborers is greatly\nreduced, there is involved in progress a new burden which falls\naltogether on the capitalist employer. The machine itself is often a\nhopeless specialist. It can do one minute thing and that only, and\nwhen a new and better device appears for doing that one thing, the\nmachine has to go, and not to some new employment, but to the junk\nheap. There is thus taking place a considerable waste of capital in\nconsequence of mechanical and other progress. As there have come into\nuse marine boilers made of steel and capable of standing a very high\npressure, the low-pressure boilers of former days have become useless.\nWith the advent of triple expansion cylinders, twin screws, and better\nand larger hulls, ships of the old type lost their value; and similar\nthings are occurring in every line of production. A new mill is built\nand equipped with the best machinery known at the date of its\nbuilding; but before a year has gone by all the machines in one\ndepartment are so antiquated that it is best to throw them out.\nIndeed, a quick throwing away of instruments which have barely begun\nto do their work is often a secret of the success of an enterprising\nmanager; but it entails a destruction of capital. What is easily to be\nseen is (1) that a single change of that kind makes an immediate draft\non the general fund of available social capital; and (2) that this\ndraft, as a rule, is soon repaid with increase. Machinery that is\nnearly new is thrown away when it appears that another kind soon will\nearn enough to make good the waste thus entailed, and the paradox is\nin the fact that the _entrepreneur_ who quickly destroys capital\nreally saves it, while he who, by using the old appliances, tries to\nhold on to the capital loses it, since he sacrifices profits from\nwhich more would have come. Running his antiquated engine, the\nunenterprising man has to content himself with small returns and, in\nthe meanwhile, sees his actual productive fund dwindling by the\ndeterioration of the old equipment.\n\n_The Offset for Capital destroyed by Changes of Method._--What has\nhappened in such a case to the enterprising man is a loss of personal\ncapital. What he has just paid for the supplanted instruments has gone\nfor nothing. His financial status is improved rather than injured\nbecause of the prospective profits which the new appliances will earn.\nWhat has happened to the man who keeps the old machinery is a partial\nor total loss of whatever he has lately put into it, not offset by\nsuch profits. By keeping his capital goods he is losing his capital\nwithout having his rival's assured prospect of regaining it. Whether\nthe gains made by those who promptly discard antiquated appliances\noffset the wastes suffered by those who hold on to them too long, is a\nquestion that requires more space than can here be allotted to it; but\nthe following facts determine the answer:--\n\n(1) Instruments naturally at any one date are of an average age equal\nto about half their working duration.\n\n(2) Discarding all of one kind at any one date would involve drawing\non the fund of social capital for about one half of the amount needed\nto replace these instruments.\n\n(3) Very few are at once discarded on the invention of the improved\ntypes.\n\n(4) Nothing but a fall in the price of the product created by the aid\nof these old machines can prevent them from earning the remainder of\nthe fund required for replacing them. If they do this, they prevent\nany positive destruction of capital which many inventions cause.\n\n(5) When only one _entrepreneur_ introduces the new appliance, his\nproduction is usually increased, but not to an extent that causes a\nquick fall in price. This affords to the users of old appliances whose\nplants are not already at the final point of inefficiency a chance to\ncontinue accumulating the fund for replacement. The profits of the\nuser of the better appliance are meanwhile accruing.\n\n(6) When all _entrepreneurs_ introduce the new appliance at once they\ndo so--provided that their act is intelligent--because the saving\neffected in the cost of production makes the change advantageous in\nspite of the waste entailed. They expect an all-round net profit\nduring the period before the price of the product falls to its new\nlevel, and they expect that this will give them more than is required\nfor interest, cost of future replacement of the superior instruments,\nand the deficit in the accounts caused by the early discarding of the\nsuperseded appliances.\n\n(7) Without treating this prospective profit inhering in the new\nappliance as capital, we must regard it as affording an assurance that\nnew capital will soon appear. There are great gains to be made by\nusing the new appliances, and some of these will add themselves to the\npermanent fund of productive wealth.\n\n(8) The cost of the new appliances may be defrayed by their owner's\nearlier accumulations or by loans. In either case they come out of a\nsocial fund that is created mainly by the appliances which in a\npreceding period have yielded special gains. The machine of to-day is\npaid for from the available surplus created by the machine of an\nearlier day, and a series of inventions enlarges the social fund of\ncapital in spite of all wastes by which it is attended.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe effect that a series of improvements has on the amount of social\ncapital, if we measure the fund solely on the basis of the cost of the\ncapital goods which embody it, may be represented thus:--The\nhorizontal line measures time and is graduated in years from one to\nten. The distance of the point above this base represents the amount\nof capital as estimated in units of cost, in the possession of the\nsociety at the time a particular improvement is made, and would remain\nunchanged if society were static. The level of the line _AB_\nrepresents what, under such a condition, would be the capital of a\ndecade. The curved line _AB'_, dipping below _AB_ and then rising\nabove it, expresses the fact that a single important improvement first\ntrenches on the amount of capital in use, and soon makes good the\ndeduction and makes a positive addition. It raises the sum total of\ncapital to the level of the latter part of the line _AB'_. The curved\nline _A'B''_, first falling below _A'B'_ and then rising above it,\nexpresses the fact that a second improvement, made a year or two after\nthe first one, makes a reduction of the amount of capital as\ndetermined by the first improvement, and later adds more than enough\nto make good this reduction. A third improvement, at the end of two or\nthree further years, has the effect expressed by the line _A''B'''_;\nthat is, it first reduces the fund below the level at which at that\ntime it would otherwise have stood,--but by no means to the level at\nwhich it stood when the series of improvements began,--and later\ncarries it above the line expressing the highest level it would,\nwithout this improvement, have attained. In so far as these three\nimprovements affect the level of the social capital for the ten-year\nperiod, it stands at the level indicated by the line _AA'A''B'''_, and\nno later improvement, even at the time of its introduction, does more\nthan to make a small reduction of the increment of capital accruing\nfrom the products of the earlier improvements. A series of economical\nchanges means a perpetual increase of the social capital as well as a\nperpetual improvement in the mode of applying labor. The increments of\ncapital due to the earlier changes are far more than is required by\nthe introduction of any later one.\n\n_The Impossibility of Reducing Capital by too Rapid Progress._--There\nis a theoretical question whether this series might be too rapid to\npermit this result. If the interval were a month instead of several\nyears, and if the amount of capital put into the new appliances were\nthe same that, in the figure, they are represented as requiring, the\neffect would be to make twelve deductions from the amount of the\nsocial capital in the course of a year, which would carry it some\ndistance below its original level, _while in this one year_ there\nwould have been no time for the profits to accrue in order to restore\nand add to the fund. In the next year and the following ones this\nwould follow, and the effect, in the course of ten years, would be to\ncarry the social capital to a still higher level than the one it\nreaches in consequence of the slower succession of economical changes.\nIncreasing the rapidity of productive inventions only multiplies the\nadditions made to the social capital.\n\nWe may summarize the chief facts concerning technical progress as\nfollows:--\n\n(1) Progress may throw particular men out of their present employment,\nbut cannot destroy the social demand for their labor. Somewhere in\nsociety there is a place for them.\n\n(2) If improvements were long confined to one subgroup, they might\nsend labor into other subgroups and even into other general groups.\nOccurring as they do at nearly all parts of the system, they very\nseldom require an absolute diminution of the amount of labor in a\nsubgroup, and practically never cause such a reduction in a general\ngroup.\n\n(3) The gradual introduction of an improvement is important, since it\naffords time for an increase in the social demand for the product\nwhich is thus cheapened and for introducing at many other points\nimprovements which neutralize, in a large degree, the labor-expelling\neffect of the first improvement.\n\n(4) Technical gains are the largest source of additions to the total\namount of the social capital. The constant influx of new capital\nfacilitates the placing of laborers at the points where they are\nneeded.\n\n(5) The fact that elementary utilities which are produced by\nagriculture cater to a less elastic demand than do the form utilities\nwhich are the product of manufacturing occupations, has caused labor\nto move slowly from the lowest subgroups of the various series to the\nupper ones, as the productive power of labor in agriculture has\nincreased.\n\n(6) This movement is so gradual that it can be accomplished almost\nentirely by devoting to the industries constituting the upper\nsubgroups an enlarged share of new laborers as they enter the field in\nquest of employment. Young men drift from the farm to the village and\nthe city.\n\n(7) In addition to the upward flow of labor in the series of subgroups\nthere are some lateral movements, or transfers from group to group, to\nbe taken into account. The fact that improvements are widely diffused\nand that there is a succession of them at each point makes it possible\nto make these lateral movements of labor in the same way in which the\nmovement within the groups is accomplished; namely, by putting the new\nmen who are entering the field of employment in the places where they\nare most needed.\n\n(8) These facts do not always prevent particular men from losing the\nspecial benefit that skilled handicrafts have insured to them, since a\nmachine, to the running of which they are compelled to betake\nthemselves, may often be as well tended by persons who have never\nlearned such a handicraft.\n\n(9) The loss thus entailed on craftsmen was very large during the\noriginal process of supplanting hand labor by machinery, but bids fair\nto be relatively small hereafter, since fewer men go through long and\ncostly apprenticeships, and since the operator of one machine can\nusually learn to operate another with little waste of time.\n\n(10) Such injuries as particular men now suffer from the introduction\nof economical devices are, as a rule, more than atoned for even to\nthese men by the greater productivity of social labor, as it is\napplied in new ways, and by the greater abundance of social capital.\nThese gains are the result of improvements made in the earlier\nperiods, and they benefit every one who labors.\n\n(11) The new capital created by productive inventions is an essential\ncause of the continuing gain of the working class.\n\n(12) While most inventions at first draw capital from the social fund\nto the point where they are applied, many of them soon liberate\ncapital by cheapening particular appliances of production, and nearly\nall of them, by means of the profits they insure, ultimately add to\nthe social capital.\n\n_The Vital Importance of Continued Improvement._--Intelligent study\nwill make it clear to every one that any assertion that machinery is\nthe enemy of labor is not merely erroneous, it is a contradiction of\nthe most striking and important fact connected with general progress.\nThe gains of labor during the past century, which have been partly due\nto the occupation of areas of new land, have been largely due to the\nmechanical inventions and technical discoveries which have put the\nforces of nature so largely at man's disposal. These forces have\nworked for all society, indeed, but they have worked largely for the\nmen who labor, whether in the factory, in the shop, on the railroad,\nor on the farm. Their effects are all-pervasive, since they signify an\nincrease in the productive power of that final unit of social labor\non which wages generally depend. General riches have been and must\ncontinue to be generally beneficent. As an isolated man working,\nCrusoe-like, for himself alone, gains by every technical discovery he\ncan make and by everything he can add to his stock of productive\nappliances, so society, the great and isolated organism which is the\ntenant of our planet, reaps a benefit by every improvement it can\nmake, and the forces of distribution see to it that this benefit is\ncarried through and through the system and made to improve the\ncondition of the most humble members. Since the great areas of new\nland are no longer available as a future resource, the hope of labor\nduring the coming centuries, under any form of industrial\norganization, whether it be competitive or socialistic, rests on the\nprospect of continued technical gains,--an unending succession of\ncalls on the exhaustless serving power of nature.\n\n_The Effect of Changes in the Relative Amounts of Labor and\nCapital._--The law of wages, as stated in an early chapter of this\nwork, makes it evident that an increase of population, while the\nsocial fund of capital remains the same, would reduce the product of\nmarginal labor and therefore the rate of wages. In every establishment\ninto which more workmen should come, while its capital remained the\nsame in amount, the power of an individual worker to produce goods\nwould be lessened. Moreover, any influx of laborers into the society\nas a whole would be attended by a diffusion of them among all the\ngroups and subgroups, so that the power of an individual laborer to\ncreate any kind of goods would be reduced. This means that labor has\nlost some of its power to create _commodity_, which is the concrete\nname for general wealth, and its wages fall accordingly.\n\nAn influx of capital without any change in the number of laborers\nwould have the opposite effect. It would add to the productive power\nof marginal labor. As the new capital should diffuse itself through\nthe producing organism it would enlarge the product of workers\neverywhere. The wages of labor depend in part on a numerical ratio\nbetween units of capital and units of labor, as they cooeperate in\nproduction; and the change in the ratio which enlarging capital causes\nimproves the condition of the working people. The capital also\ndiffuses itself throughout the system, every subgroup gets a share of\nit, and labor everywhere responds to this influence and produces more\nthan before. In a change in this ratio--in a gain of _per capita_\nwealth in productive forms--lies one influence which has a great power\nover human destiny and is one main cause of weal or woe for coming\ngenerations. Method as it improves is related in two ways to this\ncritical change in the ratio of capital to population. It is a\nprominent cause of the increase of capital. What men make by juggling\nwith values and putting taxes on other men adds nothing to the\naggregate wealth; but what they make by improved methods of production\ncauses a net addition to it. The improvement in method also directly\nreenforces the influence of enlarging capital, by infusing\nproductivity into labor and increasing its returns.\n\n_The Resultant of the Five Dynamic Changes acting Together._--So long\nas the increase of capital more than offsets the increase of\npopulation, the ultimate result of all five of the general changes\nwhich characterize a dynamic state is to increase the well-being of\nlaborers. The movement of labor from point to point in the system of\nindustrial groups is a necessary means of securing the largest gain\nfor society as a whole and of diffusing the benefit among all members.\nIt is wage earners who are most numerous and most needy, and the\ngreatest benefit which can be credited to any economic influence is\nthat which takes the shape of a rise in wages. Moreover, an upward\ntrend in the rate of pay is of far greater importance than the level\nof the rate at any one time. A system that should afford high present\nwages would stand condemned if it precluded all chance of higher ones\nhereafter; while a system that should begin with a low rate and afford\na guaranty that it should grow higher each year to the end of time\nwould have the most important merit which any system could possess.\nThe outlook it would afford for humanity would far outweigh a measure\nof hardship imposed on the present generation. A present purgatory\nwith dynamic capabilities must in the end excel any earthly paradise\nwhich is held fast in a stationary state.\n\nWe may represent the resultant of the actual growth of population and\nof capital by the following figure:--\n\n[Illustration]\n\nMeasuring time by decades along the horizontal base line and the rate\nof wages at the beginning of a century by the line _AB_, we represent\nthe increase in the pay of labor which would be brought about by an\nincrease of capital not counteracted by any other influence by the\ndotted line _BC_, and the reduction which would be caused by an\nincrease of population by the dotted line _BE_. The line _BD_\ndescribes the resultant effect of these two changes acting together,\non the supposition that during the latter part of the century the\ngrowth of population is somewhat retarded and that the increase of\ncapital is the predominating influence.\n\nWe may further represent the change in the rate of wages which is\ncaused by improvements in method and organization by lines rising\nabove the one which expresses the trend of wages as it is affected\nonly by an increase of capital and of population.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_AF_ measures time as before and _AB_ the rate of pay at the beginning\nof the century. The dotted line _BE_ represents the rise in wages due\nto the increase of capital, as it more than counteracts the growth of\npopulation. The rise of the line _BD_ above _BC_ represents the\nadditional increase in wages which is brought about by improvements of\nmethod, and finally, the rise of _BC_ above _BD_ expresses the further\naddition to the pay of labor which comes by reason of improved\norganization. The uppermost line _BC_ describes the resultant of all\nthe dynamic changes on the supposition that they act in a natural way.\n\nIt will be seen that _BC_ at first rises above _BD_ rapidly and later\nruns nearly parallel with it. This expresses the fact that while gains\ninsured by organization may continue for a long period, the amount of\nthem does not greatly increase after a fairly efficient type of\norganization has been secured. On the other hand, the fact that _BD_\nrises above _BE_ by a wider and wider interval expresses the fact that\ngains which come from technical improvements may increase for an\nindefinitely long time.\n\n_The Rate of Interest contrasted with the Absolute Amount of it; this\nAmount Increasing._--The changes which make wages rise cause interest\nto fall and there would seem to be a partial offset for the general\ngain; but the chief cause of a declining _rate_ of interest is an\nincrease of the _total amount_ of capital. The size of the income\nwhich comes to the capitalists as a class from their entire invested\nwealth grows larger wherever the amount of the fund increases more\nrapidly than the rate of interest falls. A million dollars yielding\nfour per cent gives a larger income than a half million yielding five\nor six. It is a condition such as this which we have described in\noutline, and it enables the holders of investments to receive a\nconstantly increasing total return, although the percentage yielded by\na given amount invested grows continually smaller.\n\n_The Conditions of Increasing Future Well-being._--The realization of\nthis resultant of all dynamic forces requires that the rate of growth\nof population should be subject to a natural check, that the increase\nof capital should not be unduly retarded, that technical improvements\nshould go on, and that the organization which is effected should be of\nthe kind which makes for efficiency but not for monopoly. Competition\nmust be kept alive. In altered ways, indeed, the essential power of it\nmust forever dominate the industrial system, as it will do if the\nstate shall do its duty and not otherwise. A dynamic society requires\na dynamic government whose enlarging functions are shaped by economic\nconditions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE LAW OF POPULATION\n\n\nSince the optimistic conclusion reached in the preceding chapter is\ncontingent on an increase of wealth which is not neutralized by an\nincrease of population, it remains to be seen whether the population\ntends to grow at a rate that gives reason to fear such a neutralizing.\nDoes progress in method and in wealth tend to stimulate that enlarging\nof the number of working people which, in so far as they are\nconcerned, would bring progress to an end? Is the dynamic movement\nself-retarding and will it necessarily halt? The answer to this\nquestion depends, in part, on the law of population.\n\n_The Malthusian Law._--We need first to know whether the growth of\npopulation is subject to a law, and if so, whether this law insures\nthe maintenance of the present rate of increase or a retarding of it.\nThe law of population formulated by Malthus at the beginning of the\nlast century is the single extensive and important contribution to\neconomic dynamics made by the early economists. It was based more upon\nstatistics and less on _a priori_ reasoning than were most of the\nclassical doctrines. Even now the statement as made by Malthus\nrequires in form no extensive supplementing, and yet the change which\nis required is sufficient to reverse completely the original\nconclusion of the teaching. Malthusianism constituted the especially\n\"dismal\" element in the early political economy, and yet, as stated by\nits author, it revealed the possibility of a comfortable future for\nthe working class. One might look with cheerfulness on every\nthreatening influence it described if he could be sure that the\nso-called \"standard of living\" on which everything depends would rise.\nThe difficulty lay in the fact that the teaching afforded no evidence\nthat it would thus rise. The common impression of readers was that it\nwas destined to remain stationary and that too at a low level. The\nworkmen of Malthus's time were not accustomed to getting much more\nthan the barest subsistence, and not many economists expected that\nthey would get much more, even though the world generally should make\ngains.\n\n_The Popular Inference from the Malthusian Law._--If we state the\nconclusion which most people drew from the Malthusian law in its\nsimple and dismal form it is this: Whenever wages rise, population\nquickly increases, and this increase carries the rate of pay down to\nits former level. The earnings of labor depend upon the number of\nlaborers; a lessening of the number of workers raises their earnings\nand an increase depresses them; and therefore, if every rise in pay\nbrings about a quick increase of population, labor can never hold its\ngains; every rise is the cause of a subsequent fall.\n\n_Malthus's Qualification of his Statement._--As we have said, Malthus\nso qualified his statement that he did not positively assert that this\nwould describe the experience of the future; the fall in pay that\nshould follow the increase of numbers might not always be as great as\nthe original rise, and when a later rise should occur the fall\nfollowing it might be less than this second rise. In some way workers\nmight insist upon a higher standard of living after each one of their\nperiodical gains.\n\n_Why this Qualification is not Sufficient._--The mere fact that the\nstandard of living may conceivably rise does not do much to render the\noutlook cheerful, unless we can find some good ground for supposing\nthat it will rise and that economic causes will make it do so. We\nshould not depend too much on the slow changes that education may\neffect, or base our law on anything that presupposes an improvement in\nhuman nature. We need to see that in a purely economic way progress\nmakes further progress easier and surer and that the gains of the\nworking class are not self-annihilating but self-perpetuating. We may\nventure the assertion that such is the fact: that when workers make a\ngain in their rate of pay they are, as a rule, likely to make a\nfurther gain rather than loss. While there must be minor fluctuations\nof wages, the natural and probable effect of economic law is to make\nthe general rate tend steadily upward, and nothing can stop the rise\nbut perversion of the system. Monopoly may do it, or bad government,\nor extensive wars, or anarchy growing out of a struggle of classes;\nbut every one of these things, not excepting monopoly, would naturally\nbe temporary, and even in spite of them, the upward trend in the\nearning power of labor should assert itself. Instead of being\nhopelessly sunk by a weight that it cannot throw off, the labor of the\nfuture bids fair to be buoyed up by an influence that is\nirrepressible.\n\n_Refutations of Malthusianism._--The Malthusian law of population has\nbeen so frequently \"refuted\" as to prove its vitality. It is in the\nmain as firmly impressed in the belief of scientific men as it ever\nwas, and some of the arguments which have been relied upon to\noverthrow it require only to be stated in order to be discarded. One\nof these is the claim that the statement of the law is untrue because,\nduring the century in which the American continent, Australia, parts\nof Africa, and great areas elsewhere were in process of occupation,\nmankind has not actually pressed on the limits of subsistence. No\nintelligent view regards that fact as constituting anything but an\nillustration of the Malthusian law. A vast addition to the available\nland of the world would, of course, defer the time of land crowding\nand the disastrous results which were expected from it, but with the\nsteady growth of population the stay of the evil influence would be\nonly temporary.\n\n_An Objection based on a Higher Standard of Living._--The second\nobjection is also an illustration rather than a refutation of the\nMalthusian doctrine; it asserts that the standard of living is now\nhigher than it was, and the population does not increase fast enough\nto force workers to lower it. Malthus's entire conclusion hung upon an\n_if_. The rate of pay conformed to a standard, and if that standard\nwere low, wages would be so; while if it were higher, wages would be\nhigher also.\n\n_The Real Issue concerning the Doctrine of Population._--There is a\nreal incompleteness in all such statements. Does the standard of\nliving itself tend to rise with the rise of wages and to remain above\nits former level? When men make gains can they hold them, or, at any\nrate, some part of them, or must they fall back to the level at which\nthey started? And this amounts to asking whether, after a rise in\npay, there is time enough before a fall might otherwise be expected to\nallow the force of habit to operate, to accustom the men to a better\nmode of living and forestall the conduct that would bring them down to\ntheir old position. The standard of living, of course, will affect\nwages only by controlling the number of laborers, and the\ndiscouragement due to Malthusianism lies in the fact that it seems to\nsay that the number of workers is foreordained to increase so quickly,\nafter a rise in wages, as to bring them to their old level. Whether it\ndoes or does not do this is a question of fact, and the answer is a\nvery clear one. The higher standards actually have come from the\nhigher pay, and they have had time to establish themselves.\nSubsistence wages have given place to wages that provided comforts,\nand these again to rates that provided greater comforts and modest\nluxuries; and the progress has continued so long that, if habit has\nany power whatever, there is afforded even by the Malthusian law\nitself a guarantee that earnings will not fall to their former level\nnor nearly to it.\n\n_A Radical Change in Theory._--Progress is self-perpetuating. Instead\nof insuring a retrogression, it causes further progress. The man who\nhas advanced from the position in which he earned a bare subsistence\nto one in which he earns comforts is, for that very reason, likely to\nadvance farther and to obtain the modest luxuries which appear on a\nwell-paid workman's budget. \"To him that hath shall be given,\" and\nthat by the direct action of economic law. This is a radical departure\nfrom the Malthusian conclusion.\n\n_Three Possible Conditions for the Wage-earning Class._--Workers are\nin one of three possible conditions:--\n\n(1) They may have a fixed standard and a very low one. Whenever they\nget more than this standard requires, they may marry early, rear large\nfamilies, and see their children sink to their own original condition.\n\n(2) They may have a fixed standard, but a higher one. They may be\nunwilling to marry early on the least they can possibly live on, but\nmay do so as soon as their pay affords a modicum of comfort.\n\n(3) They may have a progressive standard. There may be something\ndynamic in their psychology, and it may become a mental necessity for\nthem to live better and better with advancing years, and to place\ntheir children in a higher status than they themselves ever obtained.\n\n_A Historical Fact._--The manner in which Malthus was actually\ninterpreted was as much due to the condition of workers in his day as\nto anything which he himself said. It was small comfort to know that,\nunder the law of population, wages might conceivably become higher and\nremain so because of a higher standard of living, provided the higher\nstandard was never attained. Facts for a long time were discouraging.\nIn due time they changed for the better. The opening of vast areas of\nnew land made its influence felt. It raised the pay of labor faster\nthan the growth of population was able to bring it down. This had the\neffect of establishing, not only a higher standard, but a rising\nstandard, and as one generation succeeded another it became habituated\nto a better mode of living than had been possible before. It was the\nsheer force of the new land supplemented by new capital and new\nmethods of industry that accomplished this. It pushed wages upward, in\nspite of everything that would in itself have pulled them down.\n\n_A Retarded Growth of Population._--If Malthusianism, as most people\nunderstood it, were true, population should increase most rapidly\nduring this period of great prosperity, and should do its best to\nneutralize the effect of new lands, new capital, and new methods. In\nsome places the increase has been abnormally rapid, and in a local way\nthis has had its effect; but if we include in our view the whole of\nwhat we have defined as civilized industrial society, the rate of\ngrowth has not become more rapid, but has rather become slower during\nthis period. In one prosperous country, namely, France, population has\nbecome practically stationary. Even in America, a country formerly of\nmost rapid growth, the increase, apart from immigration, has been much\nslower than it was during the first half of the nineteenth century.\nThe growth of population, then, may proceed more slowly or come to a\nhalt, even while wealth and earning powers are increasing. If this is\nso, a further accumulation of capital and further improvements in\nmethod will not have to struggle against the effects of more rapidly\ngrowing numbers, and their effects will become more marked as the\ndecades pass. There will be a weaker and weaker influence against\nthese forces which fructify labor and they will go on indefinitely,\nendowing working humanity with more and more productive power and with\ngreater accumulations of positive wealth. Home owning, savings bank\ndeposits, invested capital, and comfortable living may be more and\nmore common among men who depend for their income mainly upon the\nlabor of their hands. Is this more than a possibility? Is there an\neconomic law that in any way guarantees it? Can we even say that\ngeneral wealth will, without much doubt, redound to the permanent\nwell-being of the working class, and that the more there is of this\nprosperity, the less there is of danger that they will throw it away\nby any conduct of their own? The answer to these questions is to be\nfound in a third historical fact.\n\n_The Birth Rate Small among the Upper Classes in Society._--In most\ncountries it is the well-to-do classes that have small families and\nthe poor that have large ones. It is from the interpretation of this\nfact that we can derive a most important modification of the\nMalthusian law. It is the voluntary conduct of different classes which\ndetermines whether the birth rate shall be large or small; and the\nfact is that in the case of the rich it is small, in the case of the\npoor it is comparatively large, while in the case of a certain middle\nclass, composed of small employers, salaried men, professional men,\nand a multitude of highly paid workers, it is neither very large nor\nvery small, but moderate. In a general way the birth rate varies\ninversely as the earning power of the classes in the case, though the\namounts of the variations do not correspond to each other with any\narithmetical exactness. If one class earns half as much per capita as\nanother, it does not follow that the families belonging to this class\nwill have twice as many children. They do, on the average, have more\nchildren. There is, then, at least an encouraging probability that\npromoting many men from the third class to the middle class would\ncause them to conform to the habit of the class they joined. This\nclass is at present largely composed of persons who have risen from\nthe lowest of the classes, and any future change by which the third\nclass becomes smaller and the second larger would doubtless <DW44> the\naverage birth rate of the whole society.\n\n_Motives for the Conduct of the Different Classes._--History and\npresent fact are again enlightening in that they reveal the chief\nmotive that determines the rapidity of the increase of the population.\nWhen children become self-supporting from an early age, the burden\nresting on the father when he has a comparatively small number of them\nis as large as it ever will be. If they can earn all they cost when\nthey reach the age of ten, the maintenance of the children will cost\nas much when the oldest child has reached that age as it will cost at\nany later time. Even though one were added to the family every year or\ntwo, one would graduate from the position of dependence every year or\ntwo, and the number constantly on the father's hands for support would\nprobably not exceed five or six, however large the total number might\nbecome. The large number of children in families of early New England\nand the large number of them in French Canadian families at a recent\ndate were due to the fact that land was abundant, expenses were small,\nand a boy of ten years working on the land could put into the family\nstore as much as his maintenance took out of it. The food problem was\nnot grave in those primitive places and times, and neither were the\nproblems of clothing, housing, and educating. It is in this last item\nthat the key to a change of the condition lay, for the time came when\nmore educating was required, when the burden of maintaining children\ncontinued longer, and a condition of self-support was reached at no\nsuch early date as it had been in rural colonies.\n\n_The Effect of Endowing Children with Education and with\nProperty._--When children need to be thoroughly educated, the burden\nof maintaining a family of course increases. An unduly large family\nmeans the lowering of the present standard of living for all and a\nlowering of the future standard for the children. With most workmen it\nis not possible either to endow many children with property or to\neducate them in an elaborate way. The fear, therefore, of losing\npresent comforts for the family as a whole and the fear of losing\ncaste by seeing the family drop, at a later date, into a lower social\nclass, are arguments against large families.\n\n_Why Economic Progress perpetuates Itself._--The economic motive which\ncauses progress to perpetuate itself and to bring about more and more\nprogress is the determined resistence to a fall from a social status.\nThe family must not lose caste. It must not sacrifice any of the\nabsolute comforts to which it is accustomed, particularly when so\ndoing entails a degradation. Such is human nature that the\nunwillingness to give up something to which one is accustomed is a far\nstronger spur to action than the ambition to get something to which\none is not accustomed; and a social rank once attained is not\nsurrendered without a struggle. A tenacious maintenance of status is\nthe motive which figures most prominently in controlling the growth of\npopulation and the increase of capital. The rich maintain the status\nof the family by means of invested wealth, the poor do it by\neducation, and members of the middle class do it by a combination of\nthe two.\n\n_Status maintained by Education._--In case of wage earners the need of\neducating children and the advantages that flow from it overbalance\nthe need of bequeathing to them property; and yet the need of\nbequeathing property of some kind is a powerful motive also. It is\nimportant to enable them to procure the tools of some handicraft, or\nto secure themselves against dangers from sickness or accident.\nMoreover, it is not altogether technical education which counts in\nthis way. Culture in itself is a means, not only of direct enjoyment,\nbut of maintaining a social rank. The well-informed person\naccomplishes directly what a well-to-do person accomplishes\nindirectly, in that he gets direct pleasures from life which other\npeople cannot get, and he enjoys consideration of others and has\ninfluence with them as an uninformed person cannot. The need,\ntherefore, of educating children for the sake of making them good\nproducers and the need of doing it for the purpose of making them good\nconsumers and of enabling them to make the most of what they produce\nworks against too rapid an increase of numbers.\n\n_The Effect of Factory Legislation._--These motives are powerfully\nstrengthened when they are reenforced by public opinion and positive\nlaw. The ambition of workers to secure laws which will forbid the\nemployment of children under the age of sixteen is, in this view, a\nreasonable wish and one that if carried out would tend to promote the\nwelfare of future generations. It is doubtless true that this is not\nthe sole motive, and some weight must be accorded to the desire to\nreduce the amount of available labor, and to protect adults who tend\nmachines from the competition of children who could do it as well or\nbetter. There is, however, an undefined feeling in the laborers'\nminds that when children all work from an early age the wages of the\nwhole family somehow become low, and that it takes all of them to do\nfor the family what the parents might do under a different condition.\nThe Malthusian law shows how, in the long run, this is brought about.\nThe increased strength of the demand for factory laws and compulsory\neducation is a positive proof of the growth of the motives which put a\ncheck on population.\n\n_Absolute Status and Relative Status both Involved._--The absolute\ncomfort a family may enjoy and its social position are both at stake,\nand we need not trouble ourselves by asking whether the comparative\nmotive--the need of keeping pace with others in the march of\nimprovement--will cease to act if a whole community advances together.\nWe saw at the outset that this motive acts powerfully on a superior\nclass, which has before its eyes a lower class into whose rank some of\nits members may possibly drop. The lowest class must always be\npresent, however a community may advance, and a well-to-do worker will\nalways dread falling into it. If it should grow smaller and smaller in\nnumber, and if the second of the three classes we are speaking of\nshould grow larger, the dread of falling from the one to the other\nwould not disappear. The relative status--that which appeals to caste\nfeeling and the desire for the consideration of others--would continue\nto be influential, as well as the desire for positive comforts; and\nthe motive that depends on comparisons might even be at its strongest\nwhen the lowest class should so dwindle that few would be left in it\nexcept <DW36>s, the aged, or the feeble-minded. An efficient worker\nwould struggle harder to keep his family out of such a class than to\nkeep it out of one which would have upon it only the ordinary stigma\nof poverty.\n\n_Checks more Effective as Wealth Increases._--It is clear that the\ndominant motives which restrain the growth of population act more\npowerfully on the well-to-do classes than on the poor. The need of\ninvested wealth, the need of education, the determination to adhere to\na social standard of comfort and to avoid losing caste, are stronger\nin the members of the higher classes than in those of the lower ones,\nand become more dominant in the community as more and more of its\nmembers belong to the upper and the middle classes.\n\n_Immediate Causes of a Slow Increase of Population._--The economic\nmotive for a slow growth of population can produce its effect only as\nit leads to some line of conduct which insures that result. Means must\nbe adopted for attaining the end desired, and when one looks at some\nof the means which are actually resorted to, he is apt to get the\nimpression that an indispensable economic result is in some danger of\nbeing attained by an intolerable moral delinquency. Must the society\nof the future purchase its comforts at the cost of its character?\nClearly not if the _must_ in the case is interpreted literally. A low\nbirth rate may be secured, not at the cost of virtue, but by a\nself-discipline that is quite in harmony with virtue and is certain to\ngive to it a virile character which it loses when men put little\nrestraint on their impulses. Late marriages for men stand as the\nlegitimate effect of the desire to sustain a high standard of living\nand to transmit it to descendants; and late marriages for women stand\nfirst among the normal causes of a retarded growth of population.\nMoreover, the same moral strength which induces men to defer marriage\ndictates a considerate and prudent conduct after it, and prevents\nunduly large families without entailing the moral injury which\nreckless conduct involves. On the other hand, there may be an\nindefinite postponement of marriage by classes that lack moral stamina\nand readily lapse into vice. There are vicious measures, not here to\nbe named in detail, which keep down the number of births or increase\nthe number of deaths, mostly prenatal, though the infanticide of\nearlier times is not extinct. By strength and also by weakness, by\nvirtue and also by vice, is the economic mandate which limits the rate\nof growth of population carried out. A limit of growth must be imposed\nif mankind is to make the most of itself or of the resources of its\nenvironment. There is no great doubt that it will be so imposed, and\nthe great issue is between the two ways of doing it; namely, that\nwhich brutalizes men and depraves them morally and physically, and\nthat which places them on a high moral level.\n\n_Moral Losses attending Civilization._--There is little doubt that\nvice has made gains which reduce in a disastrous way the otherwise\nfavorable results of increasing wealth. The \"hastening ills\" that are\nsaid to attend accumulating wealth and decaying manhood have come in a\ndisquieting degree and forced us to qualify the happy conclusions to\nwhich a study of purely economic tendencies leads. The evil is not\nconfined to the realm of family relations, but pervades politics,\n\"high finance,\" and a large part of the domain of social pleasures.\nThe richer world is the more sybaritic--self-indulgent and intolerant\nof many moral restraints; and if one expects to preserve an\nunquestioning trust in the future, he must find a way in which the\neconomic gains which he hopes for can be made without a casting away\nof the moral standards which are indispensable. The greatest possible\nachievement in this direction would be an abandonment of vicious\nrestraints on population and a general increase of the forethought and\nthe self-command which even now constitute the principal reliance for\nholding the birth rate within prudent limits.\n\n_The Working of Malthusianism in Short Periods as Contrasted with an\nOpposite Tendency in Long Ones._--There is little doubt that by a long\ncourse of technical improvement, increasing capital, and rising wages,\nthe laboring class of the more prosperous countries have become\naccustomed to a standard of living that is generally well sustained\nand in most of these countries tends to rise. There is also little\nuncertainty that a retarded growth of population has contributed\nsomewhat to this result. One of the facts which Malthus observed is\nconsistent with this general tendency. Even though the trend of the\nline which represents the standard of living be steadily upward, the\nrise of actual wages may proceed unevenly, by quick forward movements\nand pauses or halts, as the general state of business is flourishing\nor depressed. In \"booming\" times wages rise and in hard times they\nfall, though the upward movements are greater than the downward ones\nand the total result is a gain.\n\nNow, such a quick rise in wages is followed by an increase in the\nnumber of marriages and a quick fall is followed by a reduction of the\nnumber. The birth rate is somewhat higher in the good times than it is\nin the bad times. Young men who have a standard of income which they\nneed to attain before taking on themselves the care of wife and\nchildren find themselves suddenly in the receipt of such an income and\nmarry accordingly. There is not time for the standard itself\nmaterially to change before this quick increase of marriages takes\nplace, and the general result of this uneven advance of the general\nprosperity may be expressed by the following figure:--\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe line _AC_ measures time in decades and indicates, by the figures\nranging from 1 to 10, the passing of a century. _AB_ represents the\nrate of wages which, on the average, are needed for maintaining the\nstandard of living at the beginning of the century; and _CD_ measures\nthe amount that is necessary at the end. The dotted line which crosses\nand recrosses the line _BD_ describes the actual pay of labor, ranging\nnow above the standard rate and now below it. Whenever wages rise\nabove the standard, the birth rate is somewhat quickened, and\nwhenever they fall below it, it is retarded; but the increase in the\nrate does not suffice to bring the pay actually down to its former\nlevel. The descent of the dotted line is not equal to the rise, and\nthrough the century the earnings of labor fluctuate about a standard\nwhich grows continually higher.\n\nThe pessimistic conclusion afforded by the Malthusian law in its\nuntenable form requires (1) that the standard of living should be\nstationary and low, and (2) that wages should fluctuate about this low\nstandard. In this view the facts would be described by the following\nfigure:--\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_AC_ measures a century, as before, by decades, and the height of _BD_\nabove _BC_ measures the standard of living prevailing through this\ntime. The dotted line crossing and recrossing _BD_ expresses the fact\nthat wages sometimes rise above the fixed standard and are quickly\ncarried to it and then below it by a rapid increase in the number of\nthe laborers.\n\n_Members of the Upper Classes not Secure against the Action of the\nMalthusian Law if a Great Lower Class is Subject to It._--It is clear\nthat if the workers are to be protected from the depressing effect\nwhich follows a too rapid increase of population, the Malthusian law\nin its drastic form must not operate in the case of the lowest of the\nthree classes, so long as that is a numerous class. A restrained\ngrowth in the case of the upper two classes would not suffice to\nprotect them if the lowest class greatly outnumbered them, and if it\nalso showed a rapid increase in number whenever the pay of its members\nrose. The young workers belonging to this class would find their way\nin sufficient numbers into the second class to reduce the wages of its\nmembers to a level that would approximate the standard of the lowest\nclass. Under proper conditions this does not happen; for the drastic\naction of the Malthusian law does not take place in the case of the\nthird class as a whole, but only in the case of a small stratum within\nit.\n\n_Countries similarly exposed to Dangers from Other\nCountries._--Something of this kind is true of a number of countries\nwhich are in close communication with each other. If a rise of pay\ngave a great impetus to growth of population in Europe, and if this\ncarried the pay down to its original level or a lower one, emigration\nwould be quickened; and although the natural growth in America might\nbe slower, the American worker might not be adequately protected. The\ninflux of foreigners might more than offset the slowness of the\nnatural growth of population in America itself. The most important\nillustration of this principle is afforded by the new connection which\nAmerica is forming with the Asiatic nations across the Pacific.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nTHE LAW OF ACCUMULATION OF CAPITAL\n\n\nAdam Smith and many others have noticed that the growth of capital\nvaries with the intelligence and the foresight of a population. It\nshould therefore increase in rapidity as intelligence increases. A\nhigh valuation of the future is a mark of intelligence, and there is\nno reason why an entirely rational being should value a benefit\naccruing to himself in the future any less than he does a benefit\naccruing at once. Perfectly rational estimates of present and future,\nif there are no influences affecting the choice except these mere\ndifferences in time, mean that the two stand at par. It was once\nsupposed that the disposition to save from one's present income varies\ndirectly as the rate of interest of the capital which is thus accrued,\nand in the main this is still regarded as a nearly self-evident\nproposition. Abstinence imposes a present cost on anybody that\npractices it. Whosoever saves a dollar misses the gratification which\nthat dollar might bring. He may regard that sacrifice as fixed. It\ncauses him to go without his marginal gratification, whatever that may\nbe. If interest for a year amounts to twenty-five cents, the man has\nat the end of the year one dollar and twenty-five cents, with which to\ndo whatever he may choose. He may spend it, if he will, and get all\nthe gratification that a dollar and a quarter can bring. If interest\nstands at five per cent per annum, his abstinence will bring him only\none dollar and five cents a year, and that, or whatever he can get by\nmeans of it, is a smaller benefit than the one he could get for one\ndollar and a quarter. If it is barely worth while to go without\nsomething now in order to have a dollar and five cents in the future,\nit is more than worth while to do it in order to have a dollar and a\nquarter at the same future date. If a man is induced to save only a\ndollar, for the sake of having a dollar and five cents at the end of\nthe year, why should he not save two dollars, in order to have two\ndollars and a half at that time? Why should not the amount of his\npresent privation increase, when the surplus of benefit he can gain by\nit at a future date grows greater? Such is the reasoning, and it seems\nentirely plausible, if we assume that what the man loses is the\ngratification he might have by spending his dollar, and that what he\ngains is the benefit of spending it and its accumulation of interest\nat the end of the year. The assumption is that the man proposes at a\ncertain future date to spend the principal or the capital which he\nacquires by saving in the present, together with whatever it may have\nearned as interest; that he measures the personal benefit which he can\nget by this spending, and finds the larger benefit better worth a\nfixed sacrifice in the present than a small one.\n\n_The Actual Purpose of Abstinence._--Most capital is saved with no\nexpectation of ever spending the principal. The motive is a perpetual\nincome, which the capital will earn. What the man appraises in his own\nmind is not the personal benefit he can get by spending a dollar and\nfive cents at the end of the year; it is the benefit that will come\nfrom spending five cents at the end of the first year, another five\ncents at the end of a second, and a more or less similar amount at the\nend of every year that shall follow. It is a perpetual income, and as\nthe man's life is limited, the greater part of it must accrue to\nothers than himself. The satisfaction which he will get from it near\nthe close of his own life comes altogether from the prospect of\npassing the principal unimpaired to others and in assuring to them and\nto their successors the perpetual income which the foundation yields.\n\nEven on this basis it might be supposed that a large perpetual income\nwould offer a greater inducement to save than a small one, and\ntherefore that the amount of saving would be greater when the rate of\ninterest was higher. This would be true if the importance of the\nperpetual income could be estimated in this simple way by the mere\namount of it.\n\n_Conditions affecting the Importance of a Future Income._--The\nimportance of a future income may be large because of the prospective\nhelplessness or poverty of the one who expects to enjoy it. A workman\nmay save at a great present cost to himself in order to provide for\nold age or sickness, in which case the income from the savings, and\noften the savings themselves, would be the means of averting a great\ncalamity. To make one's self secure against privation in the future is\nworth more than to add to one's comforts in the present. If a certain\nminimum amount were needed to avert starvation at the end of a man's\nlife, he should secure that amount at all hazards, however much that\nmay trench on his present comforts. Now, as the amount which he can\nhave at the end of his life depends largely on the rate of interest\nwhich his savings will earn, during such time as they may remain in a\nproductive shape, it will take more positive abstinence on his part to\nkeep himself from starvation when the rate of interest is low than it\nwill when the rate is high. If there were no interest at all, he would\nhave to put by from his income his entire old-age fund. If the rate\nwere a hundred per cent per annum, taking a very small part of the\nfund out of the income of his active years would suffice, since the\nfund itself would earn the remainder. Is the income which is provided\nfor the future to be treated as a variable amount in addition to some\nother income, or is it to be regarded as a fixed amount, which is\nneeded for some definite purpose? On the answer to this question\ndepends the entire issue as to whether a low rate of interest or a\nhigh one affords the larger incentive for saving.\n\n_Future Incomes More or Less Fixed usually Needed._--Recent writers\nhave called attention to the fact that in many cases saving has the\nproviding of a definite future income in view. The owner of a landed\nestate, who intends to leave it to a son, may try to provide from his\nrents an endowment which will save from want or from an unhappy\napproach to want his daughters and his younger sons. He might\naccomplish this, indeed, without any present saving by putting rent\ncharges or mortgages upon his land, but that would trench on the\nincome which his heir can derive from it. It would reduce the\nestablishment which the heir can maintain and cause him to fall out\nof the class to which his father has belonged. Rather than do this,\nthe present owner will usually reduce the present standard of living\nof the entire family and try to make sure that its future standard\nshall not fall below the one thus established. It seems better to\nmaintain the somewhat lower standard through a series of generations\nthan to make the present mode of living more luxurious at the cost of\nunclassing one's self and one's heirs at a later date.\n\n_This Fact heretofore Underestimated._--To the writers who have cited\nthis familiar fact it appears to require merely a partial amendment of\nthe general proposition that a high rate of interest insures more\nsaving than a low one, and the inference which one naturally draws\nfrom this supposed fact is that growing wealth, as is still supposed,\nreduces the incentive for the accumulation of more wealth. Such an\naccumulation is an essential part of general progress and is\npractically necessary for sustaining the rate of wages. Here, then, if\nthis supposition is true, we might see an important influence tending\nto bring progress to a standstill. Great wealth as the result of\nprogress, a reduced motive for acquiring still further wealth, a\nretarding of progress--such would be the sequence. Dynamics would thus\nbe, in a very important respect, self-retarding if not self-halting.\n\n_Future Standards of Living the Important Element._--The actual fact,\nas we may venture to affirm, is that the standards of living which\nneed to be maintained in the future are the all-important element in\nthe case. To the laboring man it is necessary to avoid starvation or\nthe workhouse; to the well-paid artisan it seems necessary to do this\nand to make for his children a provision which will keep them in the\nsame class with himself. To the capitalist who by successful business\nhas raised himself above the artisan class it seems necessary to keep\nhis children above the rank from which he has lifted the family; and\nthe same principle applies to all the wealthier classes. The tenacity\nwith which a man holds to a station in life outweighs his desire to\nadd to his own present luxuries, and his ambition to keep his children\nin a certain station far outweighs his desire to add to their present\nluxuries.\n\n_The Importance of Future Standards not affected by the Fact that Men\ndiffer in Altruism._--This does not at all raise the question how many\npeople care as much for their children as they do for themselves. That\nis not the principle at issue. _In so far as men do care for their\nchildren_ the end they seek for them is to enable them to avoid what\nseems like a disaster, rather than to make positive gains in the way\nof comfortable living. Even in the case of those who have little\naltruism, such provision as they make for descendants is inspired by\nthe desire to keep them within a certain class more than by any\ncomputation of how many comforts or luxuries a surplus income of any\namount might give them. Whatever provision for children a selfish or\ndull person makes is dictated by the same motive that incites him to\nmake provision for his own future, and in both cases it is chiefly the\nmaintenance of a standard that he usually has in mind.\n\n_The Principle not invalidated by the Fact that Forethought is often\nWeak._--All the motives for saving may be unduly weak. The man may\ncare far less for the future than he should do, and may make an\nunreasonably small provision for it. Incapacity to estimate the\nimportance of this provision, as well as the degree of selfishness\nwhich excludes the exercise of self-denial for the benefit of others,\nare not the only reasons for this disregard of the future. There is an\noptimism which is natural; and a religious faith which bids one not to\ntake unduly anxious thought for the morrow may occasionally be carried\nto the harmful length of justifying a neglect of coming years and\ntheir needs. An intelligent trust in Providence, however, incites a\nman to do his own full duty, and it is the better men who do the most\nto avert future evils from their families. The principle that we are\nmaintaining applies as completely in the cases of those who make small\nprovision for the future as it does in any others. In the majority of\ncases whatever they do save is set aside chiefly for the maintenance\nof some standard of living by those who get the benefit of it; and to\nmaintain any standard whatever, whether high or low, requires a larger\nfortune when interest is low than it does when interest is high.\n\n_Forethought limited in the Length of Time it Covers._--There is\nlittle danger that we make any mistake in ascribing to the dread of\nfalling below a standard of living more influence on the accumulation\nof capital than any other motive exerts. This will be clearer if we\nlook at the actual manner in which present and future are estimated\nand compared. The fact is not that most people care unduly little for\nall future benefits as compared with present ones, as it is that they\nthrow off responsibility for all the future beyond a limited period.\nThe perspective does not reduce the size of remote objects unduly as\noften as it cuts off the view of them altogether. In looking through\ncoming years a man is subject to a certain economic myopia. One might\ncompare what he sees with what a man sees in a foggy atmosphere, if it\nwere not for the fact that the view of comparatively near objects is\nclear. It is as though a circle of fog surrounded him and cut off\nsomewhat abruptly the view of everything that was far away. For a\nshort distance the man sees everything with comparative clearness, but\nthe limitless spaces that lie beyond he sees not at all. We have seen\nthat the amount of abstinence he will practice now for the sake of\nwhat he or others will gain later varies as he is rational or foolish,\nunselfish or selfish, and it is also true that the length of his\noutlook into the future varies in the same way. There are all\ngradations of far-sightedness among those who create capital; but even\ncomparatively near-sighted ones usually provide for the maintenance of\nsome standard or other during the period that falls within their range\nof vision, and this requires that they should save more when interest\nis low than they do when interest is high.\n\n_Marginal Capitalists._--In this connection, however, it is to be\nnoted that economic myopia may go to the extreme length of making men\nnearly indifferent to all future standards. In this case they\nconstitute an exception to the general rule, since whatever they save,\nif they save at all, is likely to be more when interest is high than\nwhen it is low. They are marginal capitalists, who are not influenced\nby any benefits except immediate ones and only inquire how much an\ninvestment will, from the day when it is made, add to their own\nincomes. The higher rate is then the greater lure. Moreover, other\ncapitalists, who are influenced mainly by regard for future standards\nof living, are somewhat affected by the immediate benefit which\nmarginal savers have exclusively in view. To the extent that they are\nso, the higher the rate of their immediate returns, the more strongly\nare they impelled to \"abstain\" and accumulate. The essential fact is\nthat marginal capitalists are few numerically, and their savings count\nfor little as they enter into the general fund, and that most\ncapitalists, including nearly all who save great amounts, do it\nchiefly from a desire to maintain themselves and their descendants on\nan established level of living. In the main the social motives for\nsaving are those we have described.\n\n_Enjoyment largely Teleological._--There is a special reason why a\nrational man, if offered an enjoyment now or later, at his option, is\nquite likely to take it later. Enjoyment is mainly teleological. It\nconsists in a conscious approach to a desirable end. The knowledge\nthat one's efforts to attain a desired goal are successful and that\nthe good thing is really coming, sheds a light on the present. Indeed,\nit is anticipation and memory which prolong any enjoyment, and of\nthese anticipation is the more effective. The knowledge that one is at\na certain time to sail for a foreign tour confers before the sailing\nan enjoyment which is often more than a foretaste. It often rivals the\npleasure that is consciously taken in the trip itself. A man may be\nhappy for years in the prospect of a business success or a prospect of\nelection to a public office, and many years of hard labor in\nscientific investigation may be illuminated by the expectation of the\nultimate discovery and its consequences. There is a good reason why\neven an average man, as well as a wise one, will wish to distribute\nhis expenditures over the different periods of his life, and to give a\npreference to the future whenever that is necessary in order to enable\nhim to hold through his earlier years the comfortable assurance that\nhis later ones are well provided for.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nIf the line _AB_ represents by its distance above _CD_ a fixed\nstandard of living during a period of ten years, the highly rational\nman will prefer to take something from the enjoyments of the first\nfive and bestow them on the second five. The consciousness of\nimprovement, of the fact that every year will bring a new enjoyment\nnever before experienced, makes the whole life brighter than it could\nbe with any other disposition of the available means of pleasure. The\nman's standard of living during the whole ten-year period will be\nrepresented by the rising dotted line _EF_.\n\n_The Effect of Robbing the Future._--If a man pursued the opposite\ncourse, of taking something from the future to add to the\ndesirableness of the present, thus establishing a falling standard of\nliving, he would have to relinquish every year something to which he\nwas accustomed, which would cause him a keen pain. The very excessive\ngains of the present would thus become sources of unhappiness at a\nlater period, while the anticipation of the later unhappinesses would\nthrow a shadow over the present. The men who in spite of all this live\nrecklessly and waste their present substance do so, not so much\nbecause they undervalue so much of the future as falls within their\npurview, as because they are so extremely short-sighted that over\nnearly all of the future they have practically no vision at all.\n\n_The Actual Conduct of a very Reasonable Man._--The real fact in the\ncase of a reasonable man is represented by the following figure:--\n\n[Illustration]\n\nLine _EF_ measures fifty years and line _FG_ another fifty. The heavy\nline _AB_, rising toward the right, represents the rising standard of\nliving which the man's reason makes him maintain during the period\nover which his vision is clear, while the dotted line _BC_ represents\nthe standard for which, in an imperfect way, he makes provision during\nthe next fifty years. Over later periods his vision does not extend at\nall. It loses clearness after the point _B_ is passed, and in the same\nproportion it loses influence over the man's conduct. He therefore\nreconciles himself to whatever standard may prevail, even though it\nwere a stationary one during the latter part of the time. Very seldom,\nhowever, would the man consciously lower the standard even during\nthis later period.\n\n_The Effect of Limited Vision on the Valuation of a Perpetual\nIncome._--This failure of vision, or economic myopia, accounts for the\nfact that the infinite series of payments of interest that a sum of\ninvested capital will earn do not overbalance, in the man's estimate,\nthe principal which he must refrain from spending in order to get\nthem. If interest is at five per cent, abstaining from using a hundred\ndollars for present pleasure will put into the man's hands, in twenty\nyears, a sum equal to the principal, in twenty years more another like\nsum, and so on _ad infinitum_. The man who considers whether he shall\nsave a hundred dollars or spend it might be said to be comparing the\nimportance of a hundred present dollars with that of an infinite\nnumber of future ones. In his consciousness the number is not\ninfinite, because his vision does not extend over much of the future.\nThe fact of most importance, as determining whether low interest\ncauses small savings, is that in weighing the importance of the\ndollars which will be used during the period over which his vision\nranges the average man is influenced by a desire to maintain some\nstandard of living, which involves the more saving, the lower the rate\nof interest.\n\n_The Action of the Motive for Saving on Minds of Varying Degrees of\nReasonableness._--Not only the man who looks a little way forward, but\nthe man so constituted that he can content himself with a falling\nstandard, is impelled to save more if interest is low than he is if\ninterest is high, so long as he deems it necessary to maintain any\nstandard at all; but much importance still attaches to the question\nwhether the standard which the man hopes to maintain is a rising, a\nstationary, or a falling one. The average man, indeed, does hope to\nmaintain at least a stationary standard during so much of the future\nas he cares much about. This mode of distributing pleasures appears in\nmatters both small and great. In taking a walk for pleasure one is\nmore likely to go up a rising grade first and descend afterward than\nhe is to go down at first and afterward bear the fatigue of climbing.\nWhile there may be those who would rather play in the forenoon and\nwork in the afternoon, when the choice is presented at the beginning\nof the day, there are certainly more among the classes that society\ndepends on for capital who would put the work in the forenoon and the\npleasure in the afternoon or evening. If a man were taking a canoeing\ntrip on a swiftly flowing stream, he would paddle his boat up the\nstream and then come down with the current, rather than let it float\ndown with the current and then paddle it back. If it be thought that\nthis is true of only a specially rational mind, one may say that the\ncapitalist class represents men who in this respect are more than\nordinarily rational. They are generous, foresighted, and in their\nrelation to descendants affectionate. The men who really do the saving\nfor society have more to make them think and act in the intelligent\nway we have described than do ordinary men. The miser, the paragon of\nabstinence, can hardly be said to be the man who thinks too much of\nfuture enjoyments, for he contemplates no such enjoyments that call\nfor spending money, for he never means to spend it. He is an abnormal\ntype and fortunately a rare one. With him there is a standard of\n_possessions_ to be maintained, rather than one of enjoyments, and it\nis always a rising standard, since he cares for nothing so much as to\nsee his possessions increasing. To make them increase at any given\nrate when the direct earnings of capital are small requires severer\nabstinence than it would if the capital yielded a larger return.\n\n_The Effect of an Increase in the Number of Persons who seek to\nmaintain a Rising Standard of Living._--While it is true that even the\nhalf-evolved intellects that care little for coming years do, if they\ncare for them at all, find themselves impelled to save more capital\nwhen interest is small than they do when it is large; it is also true\nthat minds of a high order save more than minds of a low one. In order\nto live during one's latter years just out of danger of the workhouse,\none does not need to trench deeply on the comforts and pleasures which\nhe is able to enjoy during the greater part of his life; but if he is\ndetermined to live to the end of his days as well as he has done at\nany time and to help his children to do the same, he must practice a\nseverer self-denial and accumulate a larger fund. Still sharper\nbecomes the abstinence and still greater the accumulated fund where\nmen provide for a future mode of living that shall surpass the present\none. The importance of this fact lies in this: the condition which\nbrings with it a low rate of interest does so because of the great\nnumber of men who do thus value a future standard of living that shall\nbe at least stationary if not positively rising. The growing size of\nthe social capital implies a more general appreciation of the\nimportance of future well-being. Because men's economic psychology has\nbecome what it is and because it is still changing for the better\nthere is a second reason for expecting that the accumulation of\ncapital will not hereafter be retarded. We make here no extravagant\nclaim as to the number of persons in a community who take the more\nrational views as to present and future. The number of each class is\nwhat it is; but facts show that the maintenance of some standard is\nthe most efficient motive for saving in the case of each one of them,\nand that low interest therefore calls for large accumulations. They do\nshow that the number who take the more rational views is a growing\nclass, that they accumulate more than other classes, and that every\naddition to their relative number makes for more rapid accumulation\nwithin the society of which they are members. Two decisive reasons,\nthen, exist for thinking that the growth of capital will never end or\ncheck further growth. There are still further facts, however, which\nhave a bearing on this problem.\n\n_The Importance of the Character of the Increases which are the\nLargest Sources of Accumulation._--If one has a doubt whether the\nlarge sums which enter into the capital which is steadily accumulating\nare saved under the influence of a desire to maintain a standard, this\ndoubt will be removed by a consideration of the source from which\ngreat accumulations come. They come most largely from the net profits\nof the _entrepreneur_. Next to that they come from the earnings of\nwhat must be classed as labor, though much of it is labor of a special\nand very superior sort. The salary which the head of a corporation\nreceives, the fees that its lawyers get, the fees that come to eminent\nsurgeons or engineers, are all payments for labor; and these, taken\ntogether with the earnings of well-paid artisans, successful farmers,\nand very many others, constitute the second contribution to\naccumulating capital. Savings from simple interest itself constitute\nthe third contribution.[1]\n\n    [1] Gains which come from holding land which rises in value\n    more rapidly than the interest on the price of it\n    accumulates, is to be rated as part of net _entrepreneur's_\n    profits.\n\nNow, of these sources of income, net profits and the wages of superior\nlabor are transient, and the profits are particularly so. The man\nwhose mill earns fifty per cent in a particular year would be foolish\nin the last degree if he used all that as income. That would mean\nbrief and riotous enjoyment, followed by a most painful fall from the\nstandard so established. He will naturally spend some part of the\nphenomenal dividend and lay aside enough of it to afford a guarantee\nthat his future income will not fall below the present one. The man\nwho during the best years of his working life enjoys a salary or\nprofessional fees amounting to a hundred thousand dollars a year would\nbe almost equally foolish if he were to spend it all as he earns it,\nleaving his family unprovided for and his own later years exposed to\nthe pains of sharp retrenchment. Transient incomes suggest to every\none who has any degree of reason the need of establishing and\nmaintaining some future standard of living, and of investing enough to\naccomplish this. This is more true, of course, when the rate of\ninterest is low.\n\n_The Importance of the Need of Enlarging a Business._--There is a\nspecial reason why legitimate business profits are morally certain to\nbe to a large extent laid aside for investment. The man would say that\nhe \"needs them in his business.\" They come at a time when there is an\ninducement to enlarge the scale of his profitable operations. The man\nwho is getting a dividend of fifty per cent per annum must make hay\nwhile the sun shines, and he can do it by doubling the capacity of his\nmill. What he makes and what he can borrow he uses for an increase of\nhis output, which it is important to secure during the profitable\ntime. All this means a quick increase of the total capital in\nexistence.\n\nThe profits of a monopoly are not transient, but are likely to be both\nlong-continued and large, and it might seem that they would constitute\na larger source of addition to capital than those profits which come\nfrom technical improvement. There are several reasons why this is not\nthe fact. In the first place, what we are discussing is the addition\nthat profits make to the total capital of society, rather than to the\ncapital of any one person or corporation. The monopoly makes its gains\nby taking something from the pockets of the general public, and in so\nfar it reduces the power of the general public to save.\n\nIt might be alleged, however, that since a monopoly reduces wages and\ninterest, adds to profits, and creates enormous incomes for a few\npersons, it really diverts income from a myriad of persons who would\nsave very little of it, and puts it into the pockets of a few persons\nwho are likely to save a great deal of it. This might conceivably add\nto the capital of society were it not for the fact that the more\nsecure and regular gains of monopolies are made the basis of large\ncapitalization. A company that earns twenty-five per cent of its real\ncapital per annum may have its stock diluted with four parts of water\nand pay only five per cent in dividends on its capitalization. This\nlooks like interest and is apt to be treated as such by those who\nreceive it. It is, therefore, not a more favorable income from which\nto make accumulations of capital than is the interest on real\ncapital. The sudden gains which promoters and manipulators of\nconsolidated companies make are, indeed, transient gains and may be\nlargely added to capital. The introduction of a regime of monopoly may\ninsure a period of much saving by the class that profits by it; but\nthe later career of the monopoly is unfavorable to the growth of\ncapital.\n\n_The Special Effect of a Prospective Fall in the Rate of\nInterest._--If interest which continues steadily at a low rate affords\nan especially strong incentive for saving, it follows that a falling\nrate, one that begins low and steadily becomes lower, affords a still\nstronger one. The average rate during the years of the future for\nwhich a prudent man makes provision is made, of course, lower than it\nwould be if the rate were stationary. This influence is probably not\nas effective as it would be if the remote future were included in the\nview of those who are securing capital. On account of the\nnear-sightedness to which attention has been called, a rate of\ninterest that begins at four per cent and falls very slowly to three\nand a half presents to those who have this defective vision the same\nincentive to saving as one that begins at four per cent and remains\nsteadily at that figure. What is true, however, is that a falling rate\nis to be expected, that this fact acts as a stimulus for saving in the\ncase of the more far-sighted classes, and that the number of persons\nin these classes is increasing.\n\nIn so far as the increase of capital is concerned society is secure\nagainst the danger of reaching a stationary state. Progress in wealth\nwill not build a barrier against itself by stinting the resources on\nwhich hereafter labor must rely. When we examine the sources from\nwhich capital mainly comes, we shall further test the probability that\nthe instrumentalities which add productive power to human effort will\nincrease through the longest period that science needs to take account\nof.[2]\n\n    [2] For a somewhat similar view of the effect of a fall\n    of interest on the accumulation of capital, see Webb's\n    \"Industrial Democracy,\" Vol. II, pp. 610-632.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nCONDITIONS INSURING PROGRESS IN METHOD AND ORGANIZATION\n\n\n_The Possibility of a Law of Technical Progress._--It might seem that\ninventions were not subject to any influence that can be described\nunder the head of a law. Genius certainly follows its own devices, and\ninventive power that has in it any touch of genius may be supposed to\ndo the same. It is, however, a fact of experience that some\ncircumstances favor and increase the actual exercise of this faculty,\nwhile other influences deter it. Moreover, what is important is not\nmerely the making of inventions, but the introduction of such of them\nas are valuable into the productive operations of the world. Some\ninfluences favor this and others oppose it, and it is entirely\npossible to recognize the conditions in which economies of production\nrapidly take place in the actual industry of different countries.\n\nTechnical progress has been particularly rapid in the United States,\nthough in this respect Germany has in recent years been a strong\nrival, and ever since the introduction of steam engines and textile\nmachinery, England has continued to make a brilliant record. France,\nBelgium, and a number of other countries of Europe have developed an\nindustry that is in a high degree dynamic, and Japan is now in the\nlists and giving promise of holding her own against the best of her\ncompetitors. The question arises whether it is something in the\npeople, or something in their natural and commercial environment,\nwhich makes differences between their several rates of progress.\n\n_Inventive Abilities widely Diffused._--In so far as originating\nimportant changes is concerned, mental alertness and scientific\ntraining without doubt have a large effect. Some races have by nature\nmore of the inventive quality than others, but within the circle of\nnations that we include in our purview no one has any approach to a\nmonopoly of this quality. Any people that can make discoveries in\nphysical science can make practical inventions, and will certainly do\nso if they are under a large incentive to do it. Moreover, alertness\nin discovering and duplicating the inventions of others is as\nimportant in actual business as originating new devices. At present it\nis a known fact that the Germans not only invent machinery, but\nquickly learn to make and to use machinery that originates elsewhere\nand demonstrates its value in reducing the cost of the production; and\nthe remote Japanese have not only surpassed all others in the quick\nadoption of economic methods that have originated in Western\ncountries, but have put their own touch upon them and revealed the\nexistence of an inventive faculty that is likely to make them worthy\nrivals of Occidental races.\n\n_The Importance of Inducements to make and use Inventions._--Granted a\nwide diffusion of inventive ability, the actual amount of really\nuseful inventing that is done must depend on the inducement that is\noffered. Will an economical device bring an adequate return to the man\nwho discovers it and to the man who introduces it into productive\noperations? If it will, we may expect that a brilliant succession of\nsuch devices will come into use, and that the power of mankind to bend\nthe elements of nature to its service will rapidly increase.\n\n_The Usefulness of a Temporary Monopoly of a New Device for\nProduction._--If an invention became public property the moment that\nit was made, there would be small profit accruing to any one from the\nuse of it and smaller ones from making it. Why should one\n_entrepreneur_ incur the cost and the risk of experimenting with a new\nmachine if another can look on, ascertain whether the device works\nwell or not, and duplicate it if it is successful? Under such\nconditions the man who watches others, avoids their losses, and shares\ntheir gains is the one who makes money; and the system which gave a\nman no control over the use of his inventions would result in a\nrivalry in waiting for others rather than an effort to distance others\nin originating improvements. This fact affords a justification for one\nvariety of monopoly. The inventor in any civilized state is given an\nexclusive right to make and sell an economical appliance for a term of\nyears that is long enough to pay him for perfecting it and to pay\nothers for introducing it. Patents stimulate improvement, and the\ngeneral practice of the nations indicates their recognition of this\nfact. They all give to the inventor a temporary monopoly of the new\nappliance he devises, but this monopoly differs from others in this\nessential fact: the man is allowed to have an exclusive control of\nsomething which otherwise might not and often would not have come into\nexistence at all. If it would not,--if the patented article is\nsomething which society without a patent system would not have\nsecured at all,--the inventor's monopoly hurts nobody. It is as though\nin some magical way he had caused springs of water to flow in the\ndesert or loam to cover barren mountains or fertile islands to rise\nfrom the bottom of the sea. His gains consist in something which no\none loses, even while he enjoys them, and at the expiration of his\npatent they are diffused freely throughout society.\n\n_Possible Abuses of the Patent System._--It is of course true that a\npatent may often be granted for something that would have been\ninvented in any case, and patents which are granted are sometimes made\ntoo broad, and so cover a large number of appliances for accomplishing\nthe same thing. In these cases the public is somewhat the loser; but\nfor the reasons about to be given this loss is far more than offset by\nthe gain which the system of patents brings with it.\n\nThe gains of the inventor cannot extend much beyond the period covered\nby his patent, unless some further and less legitimate monopoly\narises. If the use of an important machine builds up a great\ncorporation which afterward, by virtue of its size, is able to club\noff competitors that would like to enter its field, the public pays\nmore than it should for what it gets; and yet even in these cases it\nalmost never pays more than it gets. The benefit it derives is simply\nless cheap than it ought to be. Much of the power of the telephone\nmonopoly has been extended beyond the duration of its most important\npatent, and that patent was in its day broader than it should have\nbeen; and yet there never was a time when the use of the telephone in\nfacilitating business, and in saving time and trouble in a myriad of\nways, did not far outweigh the total cost which the users of\ntelephones incurred. As we shall soon see, important inventions\ninvariably confer some benefit on the public at the start. The owner\nof the new device must find a market for his products, and must offer\nthem on terms which will make it for the interest of the public to use\nthem largely.\n\n_The Effect of Competition in Causing Improvements to\nMultiply._--Competition insures a large number of inventors and offers\nto each of them a large inducement to use his gifts and opportunities.\nA great corporation may employ salaried inventors and, because of its\ngreat capital and large income, it may experiment with inventions with\nfar less risk to itself than an inventor usually takes. When large\ncorporations compete actively with one another, the employment of\nsalaried inventors is very profitable to them; and improvements in\nproduction go on more rapidly than they are likely to do after these\nfirms consolidate with each other and cease to feel the spur which the\ndanger of being distanced in a race affords. It is a fact of\nobservation, and not merely an inference, that monopolies are not as\nenterprising as competing companies.\n\n_Effects of Monopoly on the Spirit of Enterprise._--In monopolies,\ntheoretically, there is the same inducement to adopt inventions as in\nthe case of competing firms, excepting always the motive of\nself-preservation. The monopoly can make money by improvements as\ncompeting firms would do. A perfectly intelligent monopoly, with\ndisinterested management, would adopt an improvement offered to it as\npromptly as any competing firm, if the sole motive were profit. There\nis no reason why an intelligent monopoly should hold on to antiquated\nmachinery, when modern machinery would enable it to stand the cost of\nintroduction and make a net improvement besides. A competing producer\ngains an advantage over his rivals by discarding old machinery and\nadopting new at exactly the right time, neither too late nor too\nearly. The true point of abandonment of the old machine, as we have\nalready seen, is reached when the labor and capital that now work in\nconnection with it can make a shade more by casting it off and making\na combination of a better kind; and this rule applies to monopolies as\nwell as to competitors. At just the point where a competitor can gain\nan advantage over rivals by modernizing his appliances, the monopoly\ncan make money by doing so.\n\nAn important fact is that the monopoly has as a motive the making of\nprofits for its stockholders. Not only is that a less powerful motive\nthan self-preservation, but it appeals largely to persons who are not\nthemselves in control of the business. Absentee ownership is the chief\ndisability of the monopoly. Managers may have other interests than\nthose of large dividend making, and in such cases a monopoly is apt to\nwait too long before changing its appliances. It needs to be in no\nhurry to buy a new invention, and it can make delay and tire out a\npatentee, in order to make good terms with him; and this practice\naffords little encouragement to the independent inventor. On the\nwhole, a genuine and perfectly secure monopoly would mean a certain\ndegree of stagnation where progress until now has been rapid.\n\n_Why the Public depends on Competition for Securing its Share of\nBenefit from Improvements._--Another question is whether the two\nsystems, that of competition, on the one hand, and monopoly, on the\nother, confer equal benefits on the public by virtue of the\nimprovements they make. Competition does this with the greatest\nrapidity. As we have seen, it transforms the net profits due to\neconomies into increments of gain for capitalists and laborers\nthroughout all society. The wages of to-day are chiefly the\ntransformed profits of yesterday and of an indefinite series of\nearlier yesterdays. The man who is now making the profits is\nincreasing his output, supplanting less efficient rivals, and giving\nconsumers the benefit of his newly attained efficiency in the shape of\nlower prices of goods. In practice rivals take turns in leading the\nprocession; now one has the most economical method, now another, and\nagain another; and the great residual claimant, the public, very\nshortly gathers all gains into its capacious pouch and keeps them\nforever.\n\nWould a secure monopoly do something like this? Far from it. It would\nbe governed at every step by the rule of maximum net profits for\nitself. Its output would not be carried beyond the point at which the\nfall in price begins really to be costly. The lowering of the price\nenlarges the market for the monopoly's product and up to a certain\npoint increases its net gains. Beyond that point it lessens them.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nNow, even the interest of the monopoly itself would lead it to give\nthe public some benefit from every economy that it makes. This is\nbecause the amount of output that will yield a maximum of profit at a\ncertain cost of production is not the same that will yield the maximum\nof net profit when the cost is lower. Every fall in cost makes it for\nthe interest of the monopoly to enlarge its output somewhat, but by no\nmeans as much as competing producers would enlarge theirs. It will\nalways hold the price well above the level of cost. In the\naccompanying figure distance along the line _AK_ represents the amount\nof goods produced, while vertical distance above the line measures\ncosts of production, as well as selling prices, and the descending\ncurve _FJ_ represents the fall of prices which takes place as the\noutput of the goods is increased. Now, when the cost of production\nstands at the level of the line _CI_, the amount of output that will\nyield the largest amount of net profit is the amount represented by\nthe length of the line _AM_. That amount of product can be sold at the\nprice represented by the line _MG_. The gross return from the sale\nwill be expressed by the area of the rectangle _AEGM_, and the area\n_CEGN_, which falls above the line of cost, _CI_, is net profits. They\nare larger than they would be if the line _MG_ were moved either to\nthe right or to the left, _i.e._, if the amount of production were\nmade either larger or smaller. Now, if the cost of production falls to\nthe level of the line _BJ_, it will be best to increase the output\nfrom _AM_ to _AL_. The whole return will then be represented by the\nrectangle _ADHL_, and the area _BDHO_ represents profits, with the\ncost at the new and lower level. These are somewhat larger than they\nwould be if the output continued to be only the amount _AM_. Under\nfree competition the price would fall to the line _BJ_, the net\nprofits would disappear, and the public would have the full benefit of\nthe improvement in production.\n\n_The Purpose of the System of Patents._--Patents are a legal device\nfor promoting improvements, and they accomplish this by invoking the\nprinciple of monopoly which in itself is hostile to improvement. They\ndo not as a rule create the exclusive privilege of producing a kind of\nconsumers' goods, but they give to their holders exclusive use of some\ninstrumentality or some process of making them. The patentee is not\nthe only one who can reach a goal,--the production of a certain\narticle,--but he is the only one who can reach it by a particular\npath. A patented machine for welting shoes stops no one from making\nshoes, but it forces every one who would make them, except the\npatentee or his assigns, to resort to a less economical process.\n\n_Patents Limited in Duration indispensable as Dynamic Agents._--If an\ninventor had no such protection, the advantage he could derive would\nbe practically _nil_, and there would be no incentive whatever for\nmaking ventures except the pleasure of achievement or the honor that\nmight accrue from it. In the case of poor inventors this would be cold\ncomfort in view of the time and outlay which most inventions require.\nNot only on _a priori_ grounds, but on grounds of actual experience\nand universal practice, we may say that patents are an indispensable\npart of a dynamic system of industry. It is also important that the\nmonopoly of method which the patent gives should be of limited\nduration. If the method is a good one and the profit from using it is\nlarge, the seventeen years during which in our own country a patent\nmay run affords, not only an adequate reward for the inventor, but an\nincentive to a myriad of other inventors to emulate him and try to\nduplicate his success. Ingenious brains, which are everywhere at work,\nusually prevent the owners of a particular patent from keeping any\ndecisive advantage over competitors during the whole period of\nseventeen years. Long before the expiration of that time some device\nof a different sort may enable a rival to create the same product with\nmore than equal economy, and the leadership in production then passes\nto this rival, to remain with him till a still further device effects\na still larger economy and carries the leadership elsewhere. That\nalternation in leadership which we have described and illustrated\ntakes place largely in consequence of our system of patents; and yet\nevery particular patent affords a quasi-monopoly to its holder. The\nendless succession of them insures a wide diffusion of advantages. At\nthe expiration of each patent, even if it has not been supplanted by a\nlater and more valuable one, the public gets the benefit of the full\neconomy it insures, and wherever an unexpired patent is supplanted by\na new one, the public gets this benefit much earlier. Cost of\nproduction tends rapidly downward, and the public is the permanent\nbeneficiary.\n\n_Patents as a Means of Curtailing Monopolies._--While a patent may\nsometimes sustain a powerful monopoly it may also afford the best\nmeans of breaking one up. Often have small producers, by the use of\npatented machinery, trenched steadily on the business of great\ncombinations, till they themselves became great producers, secure in\nthe possession of a large field and abundant profit. Moreover, in the\ncase of a patent which builds up a monopoly and continues for the full\nseventeen years of its duration unsupplanted by any rival device, the\npublic is likely to get more benefit than the patentee, or even the\ncompany which uses his invention. In widening the market for its\nproduct the company must constantly cater to new circles of marginal\nconsumers, and must give to all but the marginal ones an increasing\nbenefit that is in excess of what it costs them. Probably few patents\nhave been issued in America which illustrate the unfavorable features\nof the system more completely than did the Bell telephone patent,\nwhich gave to a single company during a long period a monopoly of the\ntelephone business; and yet there are few men of affairs who do not\nperceive that, in the saving of time which the telephone effected and\nin the acceleration of business which it caused, they gained from the\noutset more than they lost in the shape of high fees. Something of the\nsame kind is true of the users of domestic telephones; for though they\nmay cost more than they should, they do their share toward placing\nthose who use them on a higher level of comfort.\n\n_The Law of Survival of Efficient Organization._--In broad outlines we\nhave depicted the conditions which favor technical progress. There is\na law of survival which, when competition rules, eliminates poor\nmethods and introduces better ones in endless succession. Under a\nregime of secure monopoly this law of survival scarcely operates,\nthough desire for gain causes a progress which is less rapid and sure.\nThe same may be said of changes in organization, in so far as that\nmeans a cooerdinating of the labor and the capital within an\nestablishment. When the manager of a mill so marshals his forces as to\nget a much larger product per man and per dollar of invested capital\nthan a rival can do, he has that rival at his mercy and can absorb his\nbusiness and drive him from the field. In order to survive, any\nproducer must keep pace with the aggressive and growing ones among his\nrivals in the march of improvement, whether it comes by improved tools\nof trade or improved generalship in the handling of men and tools.\nQuite as remorseless as the law of survival of good technical methods\nis the law of survival of efficient organization, and so long as the\norganization is limited to the forces under the control of single and\ncompeting _entrepreneurs_, what we have said about the advance in\nmethods applies to it. It is a beneficent process for society, though\nits future scope is more restricted than is that of technical\nimprovement, since the marshaling of forces in an establishment may be\ncarried so near to perfection that there is a limit on further gains.\nMoreover organization, in the end, ceases to confine itself to the\nworking forces of single _entrepreneurs_, but often continues till it\nbrings rival producers into a union.\n\n_The Extension of Organization to Entire Subgroups._--Both of these\nmodes of progress cause establishments to grow larger, and the\nultimate effect of this is to give over the market for goods of any\none kind to a few establishments which are enormously large and on\nsomething like a uniform plane of efficiency. Then the organizing\ntendency takes a baleful cast as the creator of \"trusts\" and the\nextinguisher of rivalries that have insured progress.\n\nWhen monster-like corporations once start a competitive strife with\neach other, it is very fierce and very costly for themselves; and this\naffords an inducement for taking that final step in organization which\nbrings competition to an end. That is organization of a different\nkind, and the effects of it are very unlike those of the cooerdinating\nprocess which goes on within the several establishments. In this, its\nfinal stage, the organizing tendency brings a whole subgroup into\nunion, and undoes much of the good it accomplished in its earlier\nstage, when it was perfecting the individual establishments within the\nsubgroup. While the earlier process makes the supply of goods of a\ncertain kind larger and cheaper, the final one makes it smaller and\ndearer; and while the earlier process scatters benefits among\nconsumers, the final one imposes a tax on consumers in the shape of\nhigher prices for merchandise. Yet the union that is formed between\nthe shops is, in a way, the natural sequel to the preliminary\norganization which took place within them and helped to make them few\nand large. Trusts are a product of economic dynamics, and we shall\nstudy them in due time. The organization we have here in view is the\nearlier one which takes place within the several establishments. It\nobeys a law of survival in which competition is the impelling force,\nthough it leads to a condition in which an effort is made to bring\ncompetition to an end. This earlier organization is most beneficent in\nits general and permanent effects; and what has been said of the\nresults of progress in the technique of production may, with a change\nof terms, be said again of progress in the art of cooerdinating the\nagents employed. It is a source of temporary gain for _entrepreneurs_\nand of permanent gains for laborers and capitalists. It adds to the\ngrand total of the social product and leaves this to be distributed in\naccordance with the principle which, in the absence of untoward\ninfluences, would treat the producers fairly--that which tends to give\nto each producer a share more or less equivalent to his contribution.\nIn its nature and in its results it is the opposite of that other type\nof organization which seeks to bring competitive rivalry to an end,\nand in so far as it succeeds divorces men's contributions to the\nsocial product from the shares that they draw from it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nINFLUENCES WHICH PERVERT THE FORCES OF PROGRESS\n\n\nThus far we have been dealing with what we have called natural forces.\nThe phenomena which we have studied have not been caused by any\nconscious and purposeful action of the people as a whole. They have\nnot been brought about by the power of governments nor by anything\nwhich savors of what is called collectivism. Individuals have done\nwhat they would, seeking to promote their own interests under\nconditions of great freedom, and the effect has been a system of\nsocial industry which is highly productive, progressive, and generally\nhonest. Production has constantly increased, and the product has been\nshared under the influence of a law which, if freedom were quite\ncomplete and competition perfect, would give to each producer what he\ncontributes to the aggregate output of the great social workshop. We\nhave claimed that, in the world as it is, influenced by a great number\nof disturbing forces, these fundamental laws still act and tend to\nbring about the condition of productiveness, progress, and honesty\nwhich is their natural result. If the actual condition falls short of\nthis, the fact is mainly due to curtailments of freedom and\ninterferences with the competition which is the result of freedom.\n\n_Influences which <DW44> Static Adjustments._--Throughout the study we\nhave paid due attention to those ordinary elements of \"economic\nfriction\" which all theoretical writers have recognized and which\npractical writers have put quite in the foreground; and we have\ndiscovered that, while they are influences to be taken account of in\nany statement of principles, they in no wise invalidate principles\nthemselves. For the most part they are influences which <DW44> those\nmovements which bring about static adjustments. An invention cheapens\nthe production of some article and at once the natural or static\nstandard of its price falls; but the actual price goes down more\nslowly, and in the interim the producer who has the efficient method\ngathers in the fruit of it as a profit. The retarding influence is a\nfact that should be as fully recognized in a statement of the law of\nprofit as any other. The existence of it is an element in the theory\nof _entrepreneur's_ profit. Improvements which reduce the cost of\ngoods enhance the product of labor, and this sets a higher standard\nfor wages than the one that has thus far ruled; but a delay occurs\nbefore the pay of workmen rises to the new standard. Adjustments have\nto be made which require time, and these are as obviously elements\nthat must be incorporated into an economic theory as any with which it\nhas to deal.\n\n_Influences which resist Dynamic Movements._--If there is anything\nwhich, without impairing the motive powers of economic progress, puts\nan obstacle in the way of the movement, it has to be treated like one\nof these elements of friction to which we have just referred. In our\ndiscussion of the growth of population, the increase of wealth, the\nimprovement of method, etc., we have paid attention to resisting\nforces as well as others, and have tried to determine what is the\nresultant of all of them. The forces of resistance have their place in\na statement of dynamic laws.\n\n_An Influence that perverts the Forces of Progress._--We have to deal,\nnot only with such retarding influences, but with a positive\nperversion of the force that makes for progress. Everywhere we have\nperceived that competition--the healthful rivalry in serving the\npublic--is essential in order that the best methods and the most\neffective organization should be selected for survival, and that\nindustry should show a perpetual increase in productive power. In our\nstudy of the question whether improved method and improved\norganization tend to promote or to check further improvement, we have\nfound that these beneficent changes are naturally self-perpetuating,\nso long as the universal spring of progress, competition, continues. A\nproviso has perforce been inserted into our optimistic forecast as to\nthe economic future of the world--if nothing suppresses competition,\nprogress will continue forever.\n\n_Monopoly and Economic Progress._--The very antithesis of competition\nis monopoly, and it is this which, according to the common view, has\nalready seated itself in the places of greatest economic power.\n\"Competition is excellent, but dead,\" said a socialist in a recent\ndiscussion; and the statement expresses what many believe. There is in\nmany quarters an impression that monopoly will dominate the economic\nlife of the twentieth century as competition has dominated that of the\nnineteenth. If the impression is true, farewell to the progress which\nin the past century has been so rapid and inspiring. The dazzling\nvisions of the future which technical gains have excited must be\nchanged to an anticipation as dismal as anything ever suggested by the\nPolitical Economy of the classical days--that of a power of repression\nchecking the upward movement of humanity and in the end forcing it\ndownward. No description could exaggerate the evil which is in store\nfor a society given hopelessly over to a regime of private monopoly.\nUnder this comprehensive name we shall group the most important of the\nagencies which not merely resist, but positively vitiate, the action\nof natural economic law. Monopoly checks progress in production and\ninfuses into distribution an element of robbery. It perverts the\nforces which tend to secure to individuals all that they produce. It\nmakes prices and wages abnormal and distorts the form of the\nindustrial mechanism. In the study of this perverting influence we\nshall include an inquiry as to the means of removing it and restoring\nindustry to its normal condition. We shall find that this can be\ndone--that competition can be liberated, though the liberation can be\naccomplished only by difficult action on the part of the state.\n\n_The comparatively Narrow Field of Present Action by the\nState._--Economic theory has always recognized the existence and the\nrestraining action of the civil law, which has prohibited many things\nwhich the selfishness of individuals would have prompted them to do.\nCertain officers of the state constitute, as we saw in an early\nchapter, one generic class of laborers, one of whose functions it is\nto retain in a state of appropriation things on which other men have\nconferred utility--that is, to protect property, and so to cooeperate\nin the creation of wealth. In a few directions they render services\nwhich private employers might render in a less effective way. The\nstate, through its special servants, educates children and youth,\nguards the public health, encourages inventions, stimulates certain\nkinds of production, collects statistics, carries letters and parcels,\nprovides currency, improves rivers and harbors, preserves forests,\nconstructs reservoirs for irrigation, and digs canals and tunnels for\ntransportation. In these ways and in others it enters the field of\npositive production; but in the main it leaves that field to be\noccupied by private employers of labor and capital. Business is still\nindividualistic, since those who initiate enterprises and control them\nare either natural persons or those artificial and legal persons, the\ncorporations.\n\n_The Growing Field of Action by Corporations._--Until recently there\nhas been comparatively little production in the hands of corporations\ngreat enough to be exempt from the same economic laws which apply to a\nblacksmith, a carpenter, or a tailor. Individual enterprise and\ngenerally free competition have prevailed. The state has not checked\nthem and the great aggregations of capital to which we give the name\n\"trusts\" have not, in this earlier period, been present in force\nenough to check them. The field for business enterprise has been open\nto individuals, partnerships, and corporations; they have entered it\nfearlessly, and a free-for-all competition has resulted. This free\naction is in process of being repressed by chartered bodies of\ncapitalists, the great corporations, whom the law still treats\nsomewhat as though in its collective entirety each one were an\nindividual. They are building up a semi-public power--a quasi-state\nwithin the general state--and besides vitiating the action of economic\nlaws, are perverting governments. They trench on the freedom on which\neconomic laws are postulated and on civic freedom also.\n\n_How Corporations pervert the Action of Economic Laws._--Whatever\ninterferes with individual enterprise interferes with the action of\nthe laws of value, wages, and interest, and distorts the very\nstructure of society. Prices do not conform to the standards of cost,\nwages do not conform to the standard of final productivity of labor,\nand interest does not conform to the marginal product of capital. The\nsystem of industrial groups and subgroups is thrown out of balance by\nputting too much labor and capital at certain points and too little at\nothers. Profits become, not altogether a temporary premium for\nimprovement,--the reward for giving to humanity a dynamic\nimpulse,--but partly the spoils of men whose influence is hostile to\nprogress. Under a regime of trusts the outlook for the future of labor\nis clouded, since the rate of technical progress is not what it would\nbe under the spontaneous action of many competitors. The gain in\nproductive power which the strenuous race for perfection insures is\nretarded, and may conceivably be brought to a standstill, by the\nadvent of corporations largely exempt from such competition. There is\nthreatened a blight on the future of labor, since the standard of\nwages, set by the productivity of labor, does not rise as it should,\nand the actual rate of wages lags behind the standard by an\nunnaturally long interval. There is too much difference between what\nlabor produces and what it ought to produce, and there is an\nabnormally great difference between what it actually produces and what\nit gets.\n\n_The Fields for Monopolies of Different Kinds._--Monopoly is thus a\ngeneral perverter of the industrial system; but there are two kinds of\nmonopoly, of which only one stands condemned upon its face as the\nenemy of humanity. For a state monopoly there is always something to\nbe said. Even socialism--the ownership of all capital, and the\nmanagement of all industry by governments--is making in these days a\nplea for itself that wins many adherents, and the demand that a few\nparticular industries be socialized appeals to many more. The\nmunicipal ownership of lighting plants, street railways and the like,\nand the ownership of railroads, telegraph lines, and some mines by the\nstate are insistently demanded and may possibly be secured. We can\nfairly assume that, within the period of time that falls within the\npurview of this work, general socialism will not be introduced. In a\nfew limited fields the people may accept governmental monopolies, but\nprivate monopolies are the thing we have chiefly to deal with; and it\nis to them, if they remain unchecked, that we shall have to attribute\na disastrous change in that generally honest and progressive system of\nindustry which has evolved under the spur of private enterprise.\n\n_Two Modes of Approaching a Monopolistic Condition._--The approach to\nmonopoly may be extensive or intensive. A fairly complete monopoly may\nbe established in some part of the industrial field, and the area of\nits operations may then be extended. Smelters of iron and steel,\nafter attaining an exclusive possession of their original fields of\nproduction, may become carriers, producers of ore, makers of wire,\nplate, and structural steel, and builders of ships, bridges, etc.\n\nOn the other hand, a great corporation may have, at the outset, but\nlittle monopolistic power, and it may then acquire more and more of it\nwithin the original field of its operations. It may at first make\ncompetition difficult and crush a few of its rivals, and then, as its\npower increases, it may make competition nearly impossible in the\ngreater part of its field and drive away nearly all the rivals who\nremain. It is necessary to form a more accurate idea than the one\nwhich is commonly prevalent of what actual monopolies are, of what\nthey really do, of what they would do if they were quite free to work\ntheir will, and of what they will do, on the other hand, if they are\neffectively controlled by the sovereign state. Regulation of\nmonopolies we must have; that is not a debatable question. The\nsovereignty of the state will be preserved in industry and elsewhere,\nand it is perfectly safe to assert that only by new and untried modes\nof asserting that sovereignty can industry hereafter be in any sense\nnatural, rewarding labor as it should, insuring progress, and holding\nbefore the eyes of all classes the prospect of a bright and assured\nfuture. We are dependent on action by the state for results and\nprospects which we formerly secured without it; but though we are\nforced to ride roughshod over _laissez-faire_ theories, we do so in\norder to gain the end which those theories had in view, namely, a\nsystem actuated by the vivifying power of competition, with all that\nthat signifies of present and future good.\n\n_The Nature of a True Monopoly._--The exclusive privilege of making\nand selling a product is a monopoly in its completest form. This\nmeans, not only that there is only one establishment which is actually\ncreating the product, but there is only one which is able to do so.\nThis one can produce as much or as little as it pleases, and it can\nraise the price of what it sells without having in view any other\nconsideration than its own interest.\n\n_The Possibility of the Form of Monopoly without the Power of It._--A\nbusiness, however, may have the form of a monopoly, but not its\ngenuine power. It may consolidate into one great corporation all the\nproducers of an article who send their goods into a general market,\nand if no rivals of this corporation then appear, the public is forced\nto buy from it whatever it needs of the particular kind of goods which\nit makes. Consumers of _A'''_ of our table may find that they can get\nnone of it except from a single company. Yet the price may conceivably\nbe a normal one. It may stand not much above the cost of production to\nthe monopoly itself. If it does so, it is because a higher price would\ninvite competition. The great company prefers to sell all the goods\nthat are required at a moderate price rather than to invite rivals\ninto its territory. This is a monopoly in form but not in fact, for it\nis shorn of its injurious power; and the thing that holds it firmly in\ncheck is _potential competition_. The fact that a rival _can_ appear\nand _will_ appear if the price goes above the reasonable level at\nwhich it stands, induces the corporation to produce goods enough to\nkeep the price at that level. Under such a nearly ideal condition the\npublic would get the full benefit of the economy which very large\nproduction gives, notwithstanding that no actual competition would go\non. Prices would still hover near the low level of cost. The most\neconomical state conceivable is one in which, in many lines of\nbusiness, a single great corporation should produce all the goods and\nsell them at a price so slightly above their cost as to afford no\nincentive to any other producer to come into the field. Since the\nfirst trusts were formed the efficiency of potential competition has\nbeen so constantly displayed that there is no danger that this\nregulator of prices will ever be disregarded. Trusts have learned by\nexperience that too great an increase in the prices of their products\n\"builds mills.\" It causes new producers who were only potentially in\nthe field actually to come into it and to begin to make goods. To\nforestall this, the trusts have learned to pursue a more conservative\npolicy and to content themselves with smaller additions to the prices\nof their wares. If it were not for this regulative work of the\npotential competitor, we should have a regime of monopoly with its\nunendurable evils; and if, on the other hand, the regulator were as\nefficient as it should be, we should have a natural system in which\ncomplete freedom would rule. The limitless difference between these\nconditions measures the importance of potential competition.[1]\n\n    [1] For an early statement of this principle the reader is\n    referred to the chapter on \"The Persistence of Competition,\"\n    by Professor F. H. Giddings, in a work entitled \"The Modern\n    Distributive Process,\" written jointly by Professor Giddings\n    and the present writer. This chapter first appeared as an\n    article in the _Political Science Quarterly_ for 1887.\n\n_Cost of Production in Independent Mills a Standard of Price._--A\nconsolidated company will ultimately have a real but small advantage\nover a rival in the cost of producing and selling its goods; but at\npresent the advantage is often with the rival. His plant is often\nsuperior to many of those operated by the trust. When the combination\nbrings its mills to a maximum of efficiency and then reaps _the\nfurther advantage which consolidation itself insures_, it will be able\nto make a small profit while selling goods at what they cost in the\nmills of its rival. This cost which a potential competitor will incur\nif he actually comes into the field sets the natural standard of price\nin the new regime of seeming monopoly; and it will be seen that if\nthis natural price really ruled, the monopoly would have only a formal\nexistence. It would be shorn of its power to tax the public.\n\n_Partial Monopolies now Common._--What we have is neither the complete\nmonopoly nor the merely formal one, but one that has power enough to\nwork injury and to be a menace to industry and politics. If it long\nperverts industry, it will be because it perverts politics--because it\nbaffles the people in their effort to make and enforce laws which\nwould keep the power of competition alive. In terms of our table the\nsubgroups are coming to resemble single overgrown corporations. Each\nof them, where this movement is in progress, is tending toward a state\nwhere it will have a single _entrepreneur_--one of those overgrown\ncorporations which resemble monopolies and are commonly termed so.\n\n\nComplete monopolies, as we have said, they are not; and yet, on the\nother hand, they are by no means without monopolistic power. They are\nheld somewhat in check by the potential competition we have referred\nto, but the check works imperfectly. At some points it restrains the\ncorporations quite closely and gives an approach to the ideal results,\nin which the consolidation is very productive but not at all\noppressive; while elsewhere the check has very little power,\noppression prevails, and if anything holds the exactions of the\ncorporation within bounds, it is a respect for the ultimate power of\nthe government and an inkling of what the people may do if they are\nprovoked to drastic action.\n\n_Two Policies open to the State._--The alternatives which are open to\nus are, in this view, reduced to two. Consolidation itself is\ninevitable. If, in any great department of production, it creates a\ntrue monopoly which cannot be otherwise controlled, the demand that\nthe business be taken over by the government and worked for the\nbenefit of the public will become irresistible. If it does not become\na true monopoly, the business may remain in private hands. Inevitable\nconsolidation with a choice between governmental production and\nprivate production is offered to us. We are at liberty to select the\nlatter only if potential competition shall be made to be a\nsatisfactory regulator of the action of the great corporations.\n\n_The Future Dependent on Keeping the Field open for\nCompetitors._--Potential competition, on which, as it would seem, most\nof what is good in the present economic system depends, has also the\nfate of the future in its hands. Existing evils will decrease or\nincrease according as this regulator shall work well or ill. Yet it is\nequally true that the government has the future in its hands, for the\npotential competition will be weak if the government shall do nothing\nto strengthen it. It is, indeed, working now, and has been working\nduring the score of years in which great trusts have grown up; but the\neffects of its work have been unequal in different cases, and it is\nsafe to say that, in the field as a whole, its efficiency has, of\nlate, somewhat declined. With a further decline, if it shall come,\nprices will further rise, wages will fall, and progress will be\nretarded. The natural character of the dynamic movement is at stake\nand the continuance of so much of it as now survives and the\nrestoration of what has been lost depend on state action.\n\n_The Impossibility of a Laissez-faire Policy._--Great indeed is the\ncontrast between the present condition and one in which the government\nhad little to do but to let industry alone. Letting free competitors\nalone was once desirable, but leaving monopolies quite to themselves\nis not to be thought of. It would, indeed, lead straight to socialism,\nunder which the government would lay hands on business in so radical a\nway as to remove the private _entrepreneurs_ altogether. If we should\ntry to do nothing and persist too long in the attempt, we might find\nourselves, in the end, forced to do everything. What is of the utmost\nimportance is the kind of new work the government is called on to do.\nIt is chiefly the work of a sovereign and not that of a producer. It\nis the work of a law-giving power, which declares what may and what\nmay not be done in the field of business enterprise. It is also the\nwork of a law-enforcing power, which makes sure that its decrees are\nsomething more than pious wishes or assertions of what is abstractly\nright. All of this is in harmony with the old conception of the state\nas the protector of property and the preserver of freedom. The\npeople's interests, which the monopoly threatens, have to be guarded.\nThe right of every private competitor of a trust to enter a field of\nbusiness and to call on the law for protection whenever he is in\ndanger of being unfairly clubbed out of it, is what the state has to\npreserve. It is only protecting property in more subtle and difficult\nways than those in which the state has always protected it. The\nofficial who restrains the plundering monopoly, preserves honest\nwealth, and keeps open the field for independent enterprise does on a\ngrand scale something that is akin to the work of the watchman who\npatrols the street to preserve order and arrest burglars.\n\n_A Possible Field for Production by the State._--There is a\npossibility that in a few lines of production the American government\nmay so far follow the route marked out by European states as to own\nplants and even operate them, and may do so _in the interest of\ngeneral competition_. It may construct a few canals, with the special\nview to controlling charges made by railroads. It may own coal mines\nand either operate them or control the mode of operating them, for the\npurpose of curbing the exactions of monopolistic owners and securing a\ncontinuous supply of fuel. It may even own some railroads for the sake\nof making its control of freight charges more complete. Such actions\nas these may be slightly anomalous, since they break away from the\npolicy of always regulating and never owning; nevertheless, they are a\npart of a general policy of regulation and a means of escape from a\npolicy of ownership. The selling of coal by the state may help to keep\nindependent manufacturing alive, and carrying by the state may do so\nin a more marked way. If so, these measures have a generally\nanti-socialistic effect, since they obstruct that growth of private\nmonopoly which is the leading cause of the growth of socialism.\n\n_Evils within the Modern Corporation._--The great corporation brings\nwith it some internal evils which might exist even if it never\nobtained a monopoly of its field. In this class are the injuries done\nby officers of the corporation to the owners of it, the stockholders.\nA typical plundering director has even more to answer for by reason of\nwhat he does to his own shareholders than because of what he and the\ncorporation may succeed in doing to the public. In the actual amount\nof evil done, the robbing of shareholders is less important than the\ntaxing of consumers and the depressing of wages, which occur when the\neffort to establish a monopoly is successful; but in the amount of\niniquity and essential meanness which it implies on the part of those\nwho practice it, it takes the first rank, and its effect in perverting\nthe economic system cannot be overlooked. The director who buys\nproperty to unload upon his own corporation at a great advance on its\ncost, or who alternately depresses the business of his corporation and\nthen restores it, in order that he may profit by the fall and the rise\nof the stock, not only does that which ought to confine his future\nlabors to such as he could perform in a penitentiary, but does much\nto vitiate the action of the economic law which, if it worked in\nperfection, would give to the private capitalist a return conformable\nto the marginal product of the capital he owns. A sound industry\nrequires that the state should protect property where this duty is now\ngrossly neglected.\n\nIf more publicity will help to do this,--if lighting street lamps on a\nmoral slum will end some of the more despicable acts committed by men\nwho hold other men's property in trust,--sound economics will depend\nin part on this measure, but it depends in part on more positive ones.\n\nThe investment of capital is discouraged and an important part of the\ndynamic movement is hindered wherever shareholders are made insecure;\nand therefore the entire relation of directors to those whose property\nthey hold in trust needs to be supervised with far more strictness\nthan has ever been attempted under American law. When invested capital\nshall be quite out of the range of buccaneers' actions, it will\nproduce more, increase more rapidly, and the better do its part toward\nmaintaining the wages of labor.\n\n_Perversions of the Economic System by the Action of Promoters._--The\nstate will be carrying out its established policy if it shall\neffectively control the action of promoters in their relation to\nprospective investors. The man who is invited to become a stockholder\nhas a right to know the facts on which the value of the property\noffered to him depends. How many plants does the consolidated\ncorporation own? How much did they cost? What is their present state\nof efficiency? What have been their earnings during recent years?\nConcerning these things and others which go to make up a correct\nestimate of the value of what the promoter is selling, the purchaser\nneeds full and trustworthy information, and an obvious function of the\nlaw is to see that he gets it. That such action would guard investors'\npersonal rights is, of course, a reason for taking it; but the reason\nthat here appeals to us is the fact that it would remove a second\nperversion of the economic system, accelerate the increase of capital,\nand help in securing a distribution of wealth which would be more\nnearly in accordance with natural law.\n\n_Perversions of the System caused by the Action of Corporations in\ntheir Entirety._--More directly within the domain of pure economics is\nthe relation between the typical great corporation and the majority of\nthe public which is wholly outside of it. In the common mind this\nrelation also often appears as that of plunderers and plundered, and\nwhat it often has actually been, is a relation between corporations\nwhich have exacted a certain tribute and a body of consumers which has\nhad to pay the tribute. Bound up with this general relation between\nthe manufacturing corporation and the consuming public is one between\nit and producers of raw material which it buys and with laborers whom\nit hires. In this last relation what is endangered is the normal rate\nof pay, present and future. The type of measure which protects\nconsumers protects the other parties who are affected by the great\ncorporation's policy. Workers are safe and producers of raw materials\nare measurably so if the power of competition in the making and\nselling of the goods is kept alive. If we prevent the trust from\ntaking tribute from the purchasing public, we shall by the same means\nprevent it from oppressing laborers and farmers.\n\n_Why the Business of a Monopoly should never be regarded as a Private\nInterest._--The people are already putting behind them and ought to\nput completely out of sight and mind the idea that the business of a\nmonopoly is a private enterprise which its officers have a right to\nmanage as they please. A corporation becomes a public functionary from\nthe time when it puts so many of its rivals out of the field that the\npeople are dependent on it. As well might the waiter who brings food\nto the table claim that the act is purely his own affair and that the\ncustomers and the manager have no right of interference, however well\nor ill the customers may be served, as a combination of packers might\nclaim that any important detail of their business concerns them only.\nThe illustration is a weak one; for in the case of a trust which\ncontrols a product that is needed by the public, it is the full\nmajesty of the people as a whole which is in danger of being set at\nnaught. Such a company is a public servant in all essential\nparticulars, and although it is allowed to retain a certain autonomy\nin the exercise of its function, that autonomy does not go to the\nlength of liberty to wrong the public or any part of it. The\npreservation of a sound industrial system requires that governments\nshall forestall injuries which the interests of the monopolistic\ncorporation impels it to inflict. No discontinuance of essential\nservices, no stinting of them, and no demand for extortionate returns\nfor them can be tolerated without a perversion of the economic system.\nThe natural laws we have presented will work imperfectly if, for\nexample, the danger of a coal famine shall forever impend over the\npublic or if this fuel shall be held at an extortionate price.\nWorkmen, indeed, have a larger stake than have others in the\nmaintenance of a fair field for competing producers and an open market\nfor labor, but other classes feel the vitiating of the industrial\nsystem which occurs when the fair field and the open market are\nabsent.\n\n_Why the Motive which once favored Non-interference in Industry by the\nState now favors Interference._--We have said that what is needed is\nvigorous action by the state in keeping alive the force on which the\nadherents of a _laissez-faire_ policy rested their hope of justice and\nprosperity. These fruits of a natural development have always depended\non competition, and they still depend on it, though its power will\nhave to be exerted in a new way. This requires a special action by the\nstate; but in taking such action the government is conforming its\npolicy to the essential part of the _laissez-faire_ doctrine. It lays\nhands on industry to-day for the very reason which yesterday compelled\nit to keep them off--the necessity of preserving a beneficent rivalry\nin the domain of production.\n\n_America the Birthplace of Consolidated Corporations._--Consolidations\nof the kind that require vigorous treatment by the state have their\nspecial home in America. They have taken on a number of forms, but are\ncoming more and more into the most efficient form they have ever\nassumed, that of the corporation. The holding company is the successor\nof the former trust. The method of union by which stockholders in\nseveral corporations surrendered their certificates of stock to a body\nof trustees and received in return for them what were called trust\ncertificates, has been abandoned, and the readiness with which this\nhas been done has been due to the fact that there are better modes of\naccomplishing the purpose in view. A new corporation can be formed,\nand, thanks to those small states which thrive by issuing letters of\nmarque, it can be endowed with very extensive powers. It can, of\ncourse, buy or lease mills, furnaces, etc., but what it can most\neasily do is to own a controlling portion of the common stock of the\ncompanies which own the plants. The holding company has a sinister\nperfection in its mode of giving to a minority of capital the control\nover a majority. It is possible that the actual capital of the\noriginal corporation may be mainly a borrowed fund and may be\nrepresented by an issue of bonds, while the stockholders may have\ncontributed little to the cost of their plants and their working\ncapital; and yet this common stock may confer on its owners the\ncontrol of the entire business. The corporation that buys a bare\nmajority of this common stock may have an absolute power over the\nproducing plants and their operations. If the holding company should\nsecure much of its own capital by an issue of bonds, the amount which\nits own stockholders would have to contribute would be only a minute\nfraction of the capital placed in their hands, and yet it might insure\nto them the control of a domain that is nothing less than an\nindustrial empire, if indeed they are not themselves obliged to\nsurrender the government of it to an innermost circle composed of\ndirectors.\n\n_Earlier Forms of Union._--There are forms of union which are less\ncomplete than this and have been widely adopted. There was the\noriginal compact among rival producers to maintain fixed prices for\ntheir goods. It was a promise which every party in the transaction was\nbound in honor to keep, but impelled by interest to break; and it was\nmorally certain to be broken. There was this same contract to maintain\nprices strengthened by a corresponding contract to hold the output of\nevery plant within definite limits. If this second promise were kept,\nthe first would be so, since the motive for cutting the price agreed\nupon was always the securing of large sales, and this was impossible\nwithout a correspondingly large production; but security was needed\nfor the fulfillment of the second promise. This security was in due\ntime afforded, and there was perfected a form of union which was a\nfavorite one, since it did not merge and extinguish the original\ncorporations, but allowed them to conduct their business as before,\nthough with a restricted output and with prices dictated by the\ncombinations. As a rule each of the companies paid a fine into the\ntreasury of the pool if it produced more than the amount allotted to\nit, and received a bonus or subsidy if it produced less. This form has\nmore of kinship with the _Kartel_ of Germany than the other American\nforms, and it might have continued to prevail in our country if the\nlaw had treated it with toleration. It leaves the power of competition\nless impaired than does the consolidated corporation, of which the\nlaws are more tolerant. By repressing those unions which can be easily\ndefined and treated as monopolies we have called into being others\nwhich are far more monopolistic and dangerous. The economic\nprinciples on which the regulation of all such consolidations rests\napply especially to the closer unions which take the corporate shape.\nTo the extent that other forms of union have any monopolistic power\nthe same principles apply also to them; but we shall see why it is\nthat the pools which the law forbids have little of this power and the\ncorporations have much of it.\n\n_The Condition which precludes True Monopoly._--A monopoly grows up\nwhen a company keeps such perfect guard over its economic field that\nnew rivals cannot enter without exposing themselves to peril. As we\nhave seen, it is not always necessary that the rival company should be\nformed. It is enough that it should be able to be formed and to enter\nthe field with safety. In that case it will actually appear if an\ninducement is offered. Such an inducement is always afforded when the\ntrust puts an unnaturally high price on its product--a price above\nthat standard set by the cost of production which would rule in a\nnormal market.\n\n_Specific Means of Repressing Competition._--In practice a condition\nis created in which the new competitors are reluctant to appear; for\nthe consolidated company has dangerous weapons with which it can\nassail them. It can often secure specially low rates for the\ntransportation of its products, and this is sometimes enough to make\nthe competitor's prospect hopeless. Further, the \"trust\"--with or\nwithout the aid offered by the special and low freight charges--can\nenter the particular corner of the field where a small rival is\noperating, sell goods for less than they cost, and drive off the\nrival, while maintaining itself by the high prices it exacts\neverywhere else. Again, it may reduce the price of one variety of\ngoods, which a particular competitor is making, and crush him, while\nit makes a profit on all other varieties of goods. Still again, it may\nresort to the \"factor's agreement,\" by refusing to sell at the usual\nwholesalers' rate any of its own products to a merchant who handles\nproducts of its rivals. If some of its goods are of a kind that the\nmerchant must have, this measure brings him to terms, causes him to\nrefuse to handle independent products, and makes it difficult for the\nrival producer to reach the public with his tender of goods. The trust\ncan organize special corporations for making war on competitors while\nitself evading responsibility. A bogus company which, in an aggravated\ncase, is a rogue's alias for a parent corporation, may be formed for\nthe purpose of more safely doing various kinds of predatory work.\n\n_The Economic Necessity of Doing what is legally Difficult._--From the\npoint of view of an economic theorist it is enough to show that the\npractices which cut off the potential competitor from a safe entrance\ninto the field of production so pervert the economic system as to hold\nin abeyance its most fundamental force, that of competition. They\nvitiate the action of every law which depends on competition. Value,\nwages, interest, profits, and the very structure of society feel the\nperverting effect of this repression of the force that under normal\nconditions serves to adjust them. From a practical point of view it is\nenough to show that the existence of such practices--if the monopolies\nthat grow out of them shall continue and increase--present to the\npeople the alternative of accepting an economic state which is\nunendurable, or accomplishing, in a legal way, what many already\npronounce impossible. For the purpose of this treatise it suffices to\npoint to the fact that few attempts worth mentioning have been made to\nsuppress any of these practices except the first--that of favoritism\nin connection with freight charges--and that in the case of this\npractice only a beginning of serious effort has been made. While there\nis some excuse for abandoning a purpose when long and determined\neffort to execute it has failed, there is no possible excuse for\nconcluding, _in advance of such effort_, that a systematic policy\nwhich gives a promise of saving us from an intolerable outcome is\nimpracticable. All the props of monopoly should be taken away and not\none merely, and before this shall be tried radical measures will not\nbe in order. Socialism will not be fairly before the people's\nparliament till it shall come as the only escape from a condition of\nprivate monopoly. What economic law clearly shows is that monopoly\nwill not come if the practices on which it depends shall be\nsuppressed, and the people may be trusted to determine whether the\nsuppression is or is not possible. That they may decide this question\nthe issue that depends on it must be brought before them; and all that\nfalls within the sphere of the economist is the stating of the effects\nof monopoly, the causes of its existence, and the public action that\nif taken will remove these causes. The preservation of a normal system\nof industry and a normal division of its products requires the\nsuppression of all those practices of great corporations on which\ntheir monopolistic power depends.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nGENERAL ECONOMIC LAWS AFFECTING TRANSPORTATION\n\n\nOf all the various clubs used by trusts for attacking rivals and\ndriving them from the field, the first in order is the one which\ndepends on getting special rates for transportation. Railroads develop\nmonopolies within their own sphere and also contribute greatly to the\ndevelopment of monopolies elsewhere. The second fact is the more\nimportant, but both require attention. By reason of its special\nconnection with producers' monopolies does the function of the common\ncarrier have much to do in deciding the question whether an economic\nrevolution is or is not impending. It is safe to say that it is\nimminent as a possibility and will become probable if the favoritism\nshown by carriers to great shippers is not effectually repressed.\n\n_How the Consolidation of Railroads makes the Repression of Favoritism\nEasy._--It is also safe to say that such repression will be easy if\nthe consolidation of railroads themselves shall actually go to the\nutmost possible length. With all lines under one central control and\nearnings entirely pooled, there would be no motive for granting\nspecial favors to any shipper except as it might come through a\ncorrupt relation between the shipper and some officials of the\nrailroads. To the carrying corporation the giving of a rebate would\nmerely mean a surrendering of some possible profits. With railroads\nconsolidated the threat of the great shipper to divert his freight\nfrom one line to another would lose all its effectiveness, and the\ninterests of the stockholders in the general carrying company would\ndemand high rates from all. The law forbidding rebates and all other\nforms of favoritism would assist the railroad company in carrying out\nits own policy, and would be obeyed with the readiness with which an\norder to pocket an increased gain is naturally complied with.\n\n_A Danger which becomes greater as Discriminations become\nFewer._--This reveals the fact that the consolidation which makes the\nsuppressing of discriminations easy will make an all-round advance of\nrates possible, in so far as merely economic influences are concerned.\nNothing but the power of the state itself can prevent this; and while\nthe consolidation that would be perfect enough to stop discriminations\nhas not yet taken place, enough of consolidation has been secured to\ncause some advance in the general scale of freight charges and to\nthreaten much more. It already rests with the government to avert this\nsecond evil. Monopolies extending throughout the field of production\nwould mean a demand for socialism which could hardly be resisted; and\neven a few monopolies in industry assisted by a great one in\ntransportation would mean much the same thing.\n\n_General Economic Principles governing Transportation._--With a view\nto determining the bearing which transportation has on the problem of\neconomic freedom, and thus on the prospect of avoiding the alternative\nof state socialism, we need to state the essential principles in the\ntheory of railway transportation.\n\nThe fact that makes a vast amount of carrying necessary is that\nagriculture is subject to a law of diminishing returns, while\nmanufacture obeys an opposite law. In tilling the soil labor and\ncapital yield less and less as more and more of them are used in a\ngiven area; and therefore both of these agents need to extend\nthemselves widely over the land in order to use it economically. In\nthe production of staple crops which can be freely carried across sea\nand continent, the natural tendency is to scatter a rural population\nwith some approach to evenness over all the land available for such\ncrops. Market gardening requires less land per man and the areas\ndevoted to it are much more densely peopled; but even within this\ndepartment of agriculture the law holds true that too much labor and\ncapital must not be bestowed upon an acre of ground. In a general way\nagriculture diffuses population, while manufacturing concentrates it.\nThis latter work is done most economically in great establishments.\n\n_The Law of Diminishing Returns from Land not restricted to that used\nin Agriculture._--It is commonly said that manufacturing is unlike\nagriculture in that it is subject to a law of increasing returns; but\nthis statement is true only when its terms are carefully interpreted.\nThe diminishing returns from agriculture and the increasing returns\nfrom manufacturing are not two opposite effects from the same cause.\nThere is, indeed, a logical anomaly in contrasting them with each\nother. In agriculture we get smaller and smaller results per unit of\nlabor and capital when we overwork a piece of ground of a given size\nby putting more and more labor and capital on it. The trouble here is\nthat land, on the one hand, and labor and capital, on the other, are\nnot combined in advantageous proportions; and exactly the same effect\nis produced by the same cause in manufacturing. One can overtax a mill\nsite by confining larger and larger amounts of capital within a given\narea. If the site is so small that the building has to be carried far\ninto the air and supplied with walls strong enough to resist the jar\nof machinery on many floors, manufacturing becomes a far less\neconomical operation than it would be if the site were larger and the\nmill lower. The gain from centralizing the manufacturing process comes\nin part from the increased size of the particular establishments; but\nthat requires that every part of the plants, land included, should be\nincreased. As the whole of an establishment becomes larger its product\nbecomes cheaper; but, in the enlargement, there should be no undue\nstinting in the amount of land used. In both agriculture and\nmanufacturing, then, there is a loss of productive power when areas of\nland are disproportionately small, as compared with amounts of labor\nand artificial capital; but in the realm of manufacturing large\nestablishments under single _entrepreneurs combining the agents of\nproduction in the right proportion increase the productive power of\nmen and instruments_ as they do not in agriculture. Great farms show\nno such economy as great mills.\n\n_Basis of the Law of Increasing Returns in Manufacturing._--There\nwould be some increase of returns in manufacturing from making the\nestablishments large even if the work were done by hand; but by far\nthe greater part of the advantage is due to machinery. The invention\nof the steam engine was the beginning of it, and that of textile\nmachinery afforded a quick continuation of the revolutionary change.\nIn nearly all lines of production, outside of agriculture, machinery\nis far too elaborate to be used in household industry. One may say\nthat the transformation of the world into one enormous farm dotted\nover with great workshops, with all the social and political changes\nwhich that involves, was brewing in the tea-kettle which the boy Watt\nis said to have watched, as the lid was raised by puffs of steam and\nthe possibility of a steam engine suggested itself. The mechanical\nforce of steam began at once to centralize manufacturing. That made\nincreased transporting necessary, and it was not long before the same\nelement, steam, provided the means of this extensive transportation.\nIt is necessary, of course, to carry the products of the farm to the\nmill, and also to carry manufactured goods back to the farm; and\nneither of these things would have been required on any large scale\nunder a system of household industry. The economy which leads to this\nlies altogether in the greater cheapness of the manufacturing. The\ndifference between the cost of fashioning materials in the home and\nthat of doing it in the mill is so large that it would have brought\nabout the building of mills and the creation of manufacturing centers,\nwith the carrying which it involves, if neither railroads nor\nsteamboats had come into being. The growth of factory villages had\nmade some headway at a time when no elaborate machinery existed; but\nif that condition had continued, manufacturing centers would have\nbeen smaller, more numerous, and more scattered than they have been.\nIt is the cheapness of carrying by railroads and steamships which has\nmade it possible to get the fullest benefit from the so-called law of\nincreasing returns in manufacturing.\n\n_Mining as related to Transportation._--Mining is a process which has\nto be local, because ores and coal are furnished by nature in a local\nway; and one might mention this as a second cause of extensive\ntransportation. A great part of the carrying so occasioned depends,\nindeed, on the growth of the manufacturing centers, since mills and\nfurnaces need great quantities of fuel. A means of heating private\ndwellings, of cooking food, etc., might conceivably be supplied in a\nlocal way, by the growth of forests; but the fuel needed for the\ncenters of manufacturing and commerce has to come from distant points.\nThe law of increasing returns in manufacturing, then, and natural\nlocation of mines are the most generic causes of transportation. The\nsystem which has resulted gives to everybody more and better food, as\nwell as more and better goods of every kind, than he could possibly\nhave had if the primitive system of local manufacturing had continued.\nThe cheapness with which form utility is created in the mill and place\nutility on the railroad are the two causes which are at work.\n\n_The Rivalry between Producers of Form Utility and Producers of Form\nand Place Utilities._--In the technical language of economics, there\nhas been a contest in efficiency between that creating of form utility\nwhich is done when goods are made in households or in small villages,\nand that joint process of creating form and place utility which\nconsists in making goods at central points and carrying them to the\nwidely scattered homes of consumers. The latter process, involving as\nit does the necessity of creating two utilities instead of one, is now\nby far the cheaper.\n\n_The Ultimate Limit of Charges for Transportation._--Charges for\ntransportation have as one extreme limit the difference between the\ncost of making goods at one point and the cost of making them at\nanother. This rule is applicable, of course, only to those numerous\ncases in which it is physically possible to create the goods at both\npoints. If they can be made at point A for ten dollars, by using five\ndays' labor, and at point B for twenty dollars, by using ten days'\nlabor, ten dollars would furnish the extreme limit of a possible\ncharge for carrying them from A to B. In a certain number of cases the\nactual charge approximates this extreme limit. With a mill in A,\nworking with much economy, and a number of household workshops in B\nproducing with less economy, the product of the large mill may invade\nthe territory supplied by the little workshops, and the carrier may\nreceive in return for transportation about as much as the difference\nbetween the two costs of production. With a great mill at A and a\nsmall one at B, the same thing may happen.\n\n[Illustration:\n                            C\n                            |\n                            |   COMPETITIVE\n                            |   CARRYING BY\n                            |     HIGHWAY\n                            v\n  A------------------------>B\n]\n\n_Narrower Limits usually Applicable._--In by far the larger number of\ncases such a difference between costs is more than the carrier can\nget. Usually there is some alternative mode of procuring goods at B\nwhich does not involve actually making them on the spot at a serious\ndisadvantage. It may be possible to convey them to B from a third\nlocality, C, where they are made in an advantageous way. If this\ncarrying is done by some process in which competition rules,--if, for\ninstance, C is not far from B, so that goods can be carried thither by\ndrays,--the cost of making the goods in C plus the natural or\ncompetitive cost of conveying them to B will together make up the\nnatural cost of procuring them in this latter locality. The difference\nbetween that and the cost of making them in the great center which we\nhave called A will constitute the limit of the freight charge from\nthat city to B; and even though between these two points the carrier\nhas a monopoly of the traffic, he can get no more.[1]\n\n    [1] For a case in which a railroad can get the entire\n    difference between the cost of goods at the point from which\n    it carries them and their cost at the place of delivery, but\n    voluntarily refrains from doing so, see the note at the end\n    of this chapter.\n\n_Other Applications of the Same Rule._--This rule applies even where\ngoods made in C have to be carried great distances, provided the\ncarrying is done in some competitive way, at a low rate based on cost.\nConsumers in B may have the option of bringing the goods by water,\nalong the coast or across an ocean, at a rate that makes the cost of\nprocuring them at B not much above the cost of making them at A. If\nso, this small difference of costs represents all that any carrier can\nget for moving them from A to B, and though this carrying may be done\nby a railroad which has a monopoly of its route, its service will\ncommand no higher rate than the one which is thus naturally set for\nit. The rate is governed by costs, though not by costs incurred by the\nrailroad. Whenever competition rules, the returns for any productive\nfunction tend to conform to costs, and we here suppose that it does so\nrule (1) in the making of goods at A, and (2) in the procuring of the\ngoods by some alternative method at B. The difference between these\ncosts sets the maximum limit of the freight charge between A and B,\nand this may exceed the cost of this service and leave a profit for\nthe carrier who uses this route.\n\n_Freight Charges and Value._--The return for a productive operation\nof any kind whatsoever is directly based on the value which it imparts\nto something; and in the case of carrying, the value is measured by\nthe amount of \"place utility\" which the carrying creates. This is\nmerely one application of a universal law. What the goods are worth\nwhere they are consumed, less what they are worth where they are made,\nequals what can be had for moving them from the one point to the\nother. Freight charges are gauged by the principle of \"value of\nservice,\" but so also are the charges for making the goods. When\nthings are produced and used at the same place, the producer's returns\nequal the value of his product, and this is fixed by the principle of\nfinal utility. It is, however, a truism of economics that this value\nitself tends under competition to conform to the cost of creating it.\nIn our illustration the manufacturing returns are fixed by the value\nof service and also by the cost of service, and so are the returns for\ntransporting the goods from C to B; but the returns for carrying them\nfrom A to B, where monopoly prevails, are not governed by the cost of\nservice but by costs elsewhere incurred.\n\n_Freight Charges and Cost._--The law of costs as well as the law of\nvalue holds good, in general, in connection with transportation.\nCompetition in this department tends to bring values created to a\ncertain equality per unit of cost and to reward the labor and capital\nwhich are used in carrying as well as they are rewarded elsewhere, and\nnot better. If our table of industrial groups were elaborated, there\nwould be between A and A', as well as between A' and A'', and between\nadjacent subgroups throughout the chart, a symbol which should\nrepresent the work done by the carrier; and the fact would appear\nthat naturally this work is neither favored nor injured in the\napportionment of rewards. Free competition, if it existed in\nperfection everywhere, would be a perfectly undiscriminating\ndistributor of earnings, and would apportion all returns according\nto costs.\n\n  A'''\n  A''\n  A'\n  A\n\n_Variations of Freight Charges from Static Standards._--Place values\nare not an exception to the general rule of value; and yet freight\ncharges actually remain at a greater distance from the standards\nfurnished by the direct costs of carrying than do the returns for\nother services from corresponding standards. There is an approach to\nmonopoly in this department, and, when direct competition exists, it\nis a more imperfect process here than it is elsewhere. Moreover, the\ncosts which here figure as an element in the adjustment of freight\ncharges are of a peculiar kind, which, although not unknown in other\ndepartments of production, have nowhere else so great influence and\nimportance. The study of railroads and their charges is baffling, not\nbecause the economic forces do not here work at all, but because here\nthey encounter a resistance which is exceptionally strong and\npersistent. The quasi-monopoly which elsewhere continues only briefly\nlasts long in this department of production; but it is subject to the\nsame principles which everywhere rule.\n\n_The Modes of Approaching the Study of Freight Charges._--In studying\nfreight charges we may, if we choose, start with the intricate tariffs\nof railroads, as they now stand, and try to find some principle which,\nif applied, would bring order out of the mass of capricious and\ninconsistent rates. Such a rule will ultimately be needed, but it can\nbest be obtained by examining at the outset the transportation which\nis done by simple means and under active competition. It will be found\n(1) that basic principles apply to all transportation whether it be by\nrailroad or by simpler means; (2) that in the early development of\nevery system of common carrying the action of these principles is\ndisturbed; (3) that in the case of the more primitive systems the\ndisturbances are soon overcome, but that they continue longer and\nproduce far greater effects in the case of railroads; (4) that one\nimportant influence of this kind tends naturally to disappear, while\nanother continues and calls for regulation by the state; and (5) that\nthis regulation needs to be based on natural tendencies and to conform\nto the laws which, when competition rules, govern the returns of all\nclasses of producers.\n\n_A Typical Instance of Partial Monopoly in Transportation._--We may\nnow trace the development out of a purely competitive condition of a\nsimple instance of what is usually termed monopoly, though in a\nrigorous use of terms it can hardly be so called. It is a monopoly the\npower of which is limited. So long as goods made at A are carried to B\nby some primitive method which insures the presence of competing\ncarriers, the returns for carrying will tend only to cover costs. By\na normal adjustment the price of the goods at A only repays the costs\nof making them, and if these and the carrying charge amount to less\nthan the costs of making the goods at C and transporting them to B,\nnone of them will come to B in this latter way. Makers at A and\ncarriers on the route from there to B will possess the market, and the\nplace value which the goods acquire when taken to B will be fixed\ndirectly by the costs of carrying.\n\nIt is when there is no effective competition on the route between A\nand B, while there is free competition in making the goods both at A\nand at C, and also in carrying them from C to B, that a typical case\nof a partial monopoly is presented.\n\n[Illustration:\n                                   C\n                                   |\n                                   |   COMPETITIVE\n                                   |     CARRYING\n                                   |\n                                   v\n  A------------------------------->B\n        MONOPOLISTIC CARRYING\n]\n\nThe price of the goods at A is a definite amount fixed by competition\nbetween producers, and the price at B is also a definite amount fixed\nby competition between different makers at C and between different\ncarriers between C and B. The difference between these amounts sets\nthe limit of the charge for carrying from A to B; but in that\noperation there is, for a brief period, no effective competition. For\nsimplicity let us say that this carrying is at first done by a single\nwagon owned by its driver, and that his charge for the service he\nrenders nearly equals the difference between the cost of making the\ngoods at A and that of obtaining them at B from some alternative\nsource. This lone and honest driver is thus illustrating the practice\nof the modern railroad, in that he is \"charging what the traffic will\nbear.\" The goods he transports have one natural value at A and\nanother at B. These two values are determined separately and in ways\nthat are quite independent of the carrier and his policy. When he\nbegins to do his work, he charges an amount which about equals the\ndifference between the two values.\n\n_The Impossibility of Long-continued Profits in the Case of Primitive\nCarriers._--With the growth of traffic direct competition will soon\nappear. A second wagon will be put on the route and then more, and the\nstrife for freight will bring down the charges to the level of cost.\nFor a brief season a favored drayman was able to get nearly the entire\ndifference between the value of the goods at the point where they are\nmade and their value at the point where they are used, _as these two\nvalues were determined by independent causes with which he had nothing\nto do_. Now, he and his rivals can, indeed, get the difference between\nthe value of the goods at the one point and their value at the other;\nbut this difference is now directly determined by the carrying charge.\nThat charge, again, is determined by the cost of rendering the\nservice. There was a brief interval when the value of the service and\nthe cost of it were different amounts; but now they coincide. We shall\nsee that the essential difference between carrying by primitive means\nand carrying by railroad is in the fact that in the latter case the\nperiod when value and cost are different is greatly prolonged.\n\n_The Appearance of a More Efficient Competitor._--With the growth of\ntraffic a sailing vessel comes into use on a route connecting A with\nB, and the cost of thus conveying goods is less than that of conveying\nthem over the roadway. The charge made by the sailing vessel is lower\nthan that made by the teamsters, and the goods are thus delivered at B\ncheaply enough both to attract to the water route all carrying from A\nand to put an end to all carrying from C. The former carriers between\nB and C lose their business, and the makers at C lose some part of\ntheirs, in the same way that any producer loses the traffic when he is\nunderbid by rivals. The public is the gainer to the extent of the\nreduction which takes place in the cost of the goods as delivered to\nconsumers in the market at B; nevertheless, the situation still\ninvolves a limited monopoly. The sailing vessel now has no effective\nrival, and can charge \"what the traffic will bear,\" and that is very\nnearly the cost of conveying the goods by wagons. The advent of the\nvessel has benefited the public; yet it is regarded as constituting a\nnew monopoly, and the benefit which the public gets is less than it\nwill get when a really effective competitor of the sailing craft makes\nits appearance.\n\n[Illustration:\n                                  C\n                                  |\n                                  .   ABANDONED\n                                  |     ROUTE\n                                  .\n                                  |\n                                  .\n                                  |\n                                  v\n  A - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ->B\n   \\       ABANDONED ROUTE       /\n    \\                           /\n     \\____                     /\n          \\___      __________/\n              \\____/\n           WATER ROUTE USED\n]\n\n_A Principle governing Charges by Unequal Competitors._--The principle\nwhich, in this instance, governs the freight charges is one which is\nactive in all departments of production. We have seen that a maker of\ngoods who has just acquired a monopoly of a superior method may, for a\ntime, charge what the goods cost as made by inferior processes. If the\nmanufacturer has some patented machinery which effects a great\neconomy, he is not at once obliged to govern his prices by what the\ngoods cost in his own mill, but may charge about what they would cost\nif they were made by the inferior machinery which he formerly used.\nThis is what they still cost in the mills of certain rivals, and it\nthus appears that competition of a sort fixes his price for the goods\nhe creates, but it is the competition of less capable producers and\nfails to benefit the public as the rivalry of equals would do. If\nthere is evil in such a monopoly as this, it is not because the public\nis injured by the advent of the cheaper method. The improvement\nusually begins to confer benefit on consumers at the moment of its\narrival, through the effort of the efficient producer to secure\ntraffic. It causes the prices to go down, though the fall is at first\nonly a slight one, and the consumer's case against the monopoly of\nmethod is on the ground of his failure to receive a further benefit.\nHe will get that further benefit whenever a producer who can compete\non even terms with the one who now commands the field shall make his\nappearance.\n\n_Unequal Competition Typical of Carriers._--Our recent illustration\nrepresents a similar condition in carrying. The public gets a slight\ngain from the advent of a sailing vessel; but it fails to get the\nfurther benefit that the advent of a second vessel will ultimately\nbring. For a time the freight charge stands nearly at what teamsters\nhave charged. For cheaper rates the public must wait for the advent of\nanother vessel.\n\n_The Cause of the Partial Monopoly in Carrying._--There is nothing to\nprevent a second schooner from being put on this route, if the returns\nto be expected should warrant it. At the outset the new vessel would\nget only about a half of the amount of traffic enjoyed by the first,\nand the rates would probably be reduced by the competition between the\ntwo. Until the returns of the first vessel become large it has no\nrivalry to fear, but it is clear that its monopoly is held by a very\nprecarious tenure. It is not likely long to enjoy the benefit of any\ncharges which yield much profit. The growth of traffic will in due\ntime bring the competing vessel, and the rule of returns that only\ncover costs will again assert itself. The owner of the first sailing\ncraft has been able for a time to charge \"the value of the service\" he\nhas rendered, as that value was determined independently of his own\naction; but now this value itself depends on his action and that of\nrival carriers using the same route, and it adjusts itself at the\nlevel of cost.\n\n_The Effect of partly Unused Vessels for Carrying._--The case\nillustrates another principle which is equally general. The\n_entrepreneur_ whose capacity for producing is only partially utilized\nmay often take some orders at less than it costs to fill them, as cost\nis usually understood, and he will still be the gainer. In\nmanufacturing as well as in carrying there are \"fixed charges\"; there\nare costs which stand at a definite amount which is independent of the\nvolume of traffic, while other costs increase as the volume grows.\nThese are the \"variable costs,\" and they have to be further\nclassified, since some of them do not increase as rapidly as the\nbusiness grows, while others increase with the same rapidity as does\nthe business. The makers of sewing machines, typewriters, reapers, and\nmowers, and indeed machinery generally, can usually increase their\nproduct without correspondingly increasing their outlay. They can make\ngoods and sell them in a foreign market at rates which would injure\nand might even ruin them if they were applied to the sales made in\ntheir own country. This fact is most obvious when the manufacturer's\nmachinery is not all kept running or when it all runs only a part of\nthe time. Increasing the output is then a particularly cheap\noperation. When a carrier's facilities are partially unused--when a\nship carries a cargo in one direction and returns in ballast, or when\nit sails on both trips with its hold only half full--it is ready to\ncarry additional goods at a low rate provided that this policy will\nnot demoralize its existing business. In our illustration we have\nassumed that some merchandise is made at A and consumed at B, but it\nmay well be that goods of some sort are produced at B and consumed at\nA. There may be stone quarries at B and there may be need of stone for\npaving or building at A, and the vessel may carry a return cargo of\nthis kind at any rate which does not greatly exceed the mere cost of\nloading and unloading it and be better off for so doing. If the entire\ndifference between the cost of the stone at B and the cost of\nproducing it at A from some other source is a very slight one, the\namount of it still represents all that the ship can get for carrying\nthe stone. The utmost that the traffic will bear is this difference in\ncosts; and yet the business will be accepted, for the return exceeds\nthe merely variable costs which it entails. The fixed charges, the\ninterest on the cost of the vessel, and the outlay for maintaining it\ndo not need to be paid in any part from the returns of this extra\nbusiness. They are already provided for.\n\nIf instead of returning from B with a hold quite empty, the vessel\nmade both voyages with a hold only half full, the result would be\nsimilar. It would then be in a position to make a low bid for further\nfreight in both directions. If this entails no cutting of the rates\nfor carrying the original goods, the vessel can take further goods\nwith advantage at any rate above the merely variable costs.\n\n_Production which is Advantageous though it does not repay all\nCosts._--There are two general conditions under which it is\nadvantageous, both in making goods and in carrying them, to extend\nproduction, though the further returns which are in this way gained do\nnot cover all costs. First, the producer must have an unused capacity\nfor making or carrying goods. In such a case it is possible to make or\ncarry an _increment_ of goods without entailing on himself an\nincrement of cost that is proportionate to the amount carried. In his\nbookkeeping his original business is charged with costs amounting to a\ncertain sum per unit of goods produced or carried. His further\nbusiness is charged with a smaller outlay per unit.\n\nSecondly, it must be possible to demand separate and independent\nreturns for the different increments of goods, so that cutting the\nrate charged for one part of the traffic does not entail cutting the\nrate charged for the other. In the case of a manufacturer this is\nsecured, either by carrying some goods to a remote and entirely\nindependent market, or by producing some new kind of goods the low\nprice of which will have no effect on the sales or the prices of the\nother kinds. In the case of the carrier it is accomplished in a\nvariety of similar ways. He can take return cargoes at a low rate. If\nhe stops at different ports along his route he can charge less for\ngoods landed at certain ports than for those landed at others. He can\nclassify his freight and carry some of it at a rate at which he could\nnot afford to carry the whole. With the growth of traffic, however,\nthis condition tends to disappear. Its existence requires that the\ncarrier should have facilities only partially used. As the ship\nacquires fuller and fuller cargoes, it ceases to be advantageous to\nfill the hold with goods which pay lower rates than others; just as a\nmill, which may have run for a time partly on goods that yield a large\nreturn and partly on those which yield a small one, gradually discards\nthe making of the cheaper goods as the demand for the dearer kind\nincreases. The vessel which can get full cargoes of profitable\nmerchandise will cease to devote any space to what is less profitable.\nIn the end the ship in our illustration will be transporting in both\ndirections all the first-class freight it can take, and will accept\nneither the stone nor the merchandise consigned to ports to which it\ncan be carried only at the cheap rates.\n\n_Result of Effective Competition throughout the Carrier's Route._--The\ncondition just described--that of full cargoes of profitable\ngoods--inevitably attracts a rival vessel, and the ordinary effects of\ncompetition then begin to show themselves. The vessels pursue the same\nroute, cater to the same traffic, and if they try to get business from\neach other, bring down their charges. The warfare may even bring them\nto reduce the rates to the level at which only variable costs are\ncovered--a policy that, if persisted in, would bankrupt them both; and\nhere, as well as in the case of railroads, there is a powerful motive\nfor combining and ending the war. It usually causes a merely tacit\nagreement to \"live and let live\"--a concurrent refraining from the\nfatal extreme of competition. The reductions, as made, have to be\ngeneral and to apply to all parts of the traffic, and unless each part\nof the freight carried earns a _pro rata_ share of the fixed charges\nincurred in the business, the traffic is carried at a loss. On the\nsupposition which we have made--that the special and comparatively\nunprofitable increment of carrying was discontinued as soon as the\nfirst vessel could use its entire cargo space in transporting goods of\na high class--the arrival of the second vessel may cause the less\nprofitable carrying to be resumed, since there will not be enough of\nthe better sort to afford two full cargoes. Moreover, a normal kind of\ncompetition will stop short of the warfare which drives both rivals\ninto bankruptcy, and will leave the rates at a level at which the\nreceipts of each carrier cover all his outlays.[2]\n\n    [2] A full discussion of the limits of freight charges would\n    take account of the fact that \"what the traffic will bear\" is\n    an elastic amount. An infant industry will bear less than a\n    mature one; and moreover, a rate that it will bear without\n    being taxed out of existence may be sufficient to stunt its\n    growth. A railroad may be interested in hastening its growth.\n    When goods have one cost at A and another at B, a railroad\n    company may carry them from the one point to the other for\n    less than the difference between the costs because it wishes\n    the industry at A to grow and furnish freight. Farmers who\n    are introducing a new crop in a section of country remote\n    from a market may be encouraged by a rate for carrying which\n    leaves them a margin of profit. It is when a branch of\n    production has more nearly reached its natural dimensions\n    that the charge for carrying its product tends to approach\n    its highest limit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nTHE FOREGOING PRINCIPLES APPLIED TO THE RAILROAD PROBLEM\n\n\n_Simple Cases of Charging \"What the Traffic will Bear.\"_--The value of\na study of primitive carriers and their policy lies in the fact that\nit illustrates principles which apply to transportation by a\ncomplicated system of railroads, although in this latter case they are\nnot easily discerned. Imperfect competition is what exists in the\ndepartment of carrying. So long as a railroad is without any rival it\nmay, in some cases, charge for moving goods from one point to another\nabout as much as the cost of making them at the latter point exceeds\nthe cost at the former. This is the simplest case of charging what the\ntraffic will bear. Or, again, the situation may be dominated by\nproducers at a third point who can make goods and get them carried to\nthe place we may term the market for less than the cost of making them\ndirectly in this latter place. In such a case the road may demand\nnearly the amount by which the cost of making the goods at an\naccessible third point and moving them to the one which is their\nmarket exceeds the cost of making them in the place first named; and\nthis is a slightly less simple case of charging what the traffic will\nbear. It is appropriating the difference between two natural values\nneither of which the railroad itself fixes.\n\n_Charges based on Various Kinds of Cost._--The charges of the\nrailroad may be limited by the competition of inferior carriers who\nuse its own route, such as teamsters whose wagons use a public highway\nrunning parallel to its own track. Here charges are based on costs,\nbut not on those which the railroad incurs. They are the costs which\nthe teamsters incur; and if the railroad has much business, its own\ncosts are less and it makes a profit. The charges may be based on\ncosts incurred by more economical carriers, like owners of ships, and\nin such a case the rate which the railroad can get may be less than\nits own costs, if these are figured in the simple way of dividing a\ntotal outlay by a total number of units of freight transported. The\nrate is based on the shipowners' costs, and these are so low as to\nbankrupt the railroad if it should reduce all its charges to such a\nlevel. It reduces them thus only on the particular route where\ncompetition by water is encountered, and keeps them elsewhere at the\nhigher level. In the case of shipments by rail over such routes \"what\nthe traffic will bear\" is determined by the low charges established by\nthe ships; and this means that it is determined by a certain definite\ncost of carrying goods between the very points which the railroad\nconnects.\n\n_The Exceptional Importance of Fixed Charges in the Case of\nRailroads._--The railroad, in the case just noticed, carries its rates\nbelow costs, as these are computed in a simple way, but keeps the\nlowest of them somewhat above the variable costs which we have\ndefined; and there appears the important fact that the fixed costs\nincurred by the railroad form an unprecedentedly large part of its\ntotal expenses. The interest on the outlay it makes for roadbed,\ntrack, bridges, tunnels, terminals, etc., is something for which\nthere is no fair parallel in the case of wagons or ships. This is the\nfirst unique fact concerning railroads and their policy; and the\nsecond is that they continue very long in that intermediate state\nwhich we have illustrated by the ship which had only a partial cargo\nand was impelled to take some traffic at a special and low rate. For\nmany years the railroad only partially utilizes its plant; and so long\nas that is the case its natural policy is one of drastic\ndiscrimination between different portions of its business. A third\ngreat point of difference between the railroad and other carriers\nappears if, while its capacity is still only partially utilized, it\nencounters the direct rivalry of other railroads that are eager for\nbusiness; competition then takes a shape which impels the participants\nirresistibly into some kind of combination. The union may be tacit or\nformal, and it may depend on personal relations or on some merging of\ncorporations; but toward something that will make the rival lines act\nconcurrently and with mutual toleration the situation impels them with\nunique force.\n\nThe general features of railroad rates, then, are--\n\n(1) Some charges based on the difference between the natural value of\nmerchandise at the point of origin and its value at the point of\ndelivery, as this latter value is determined by causes independent of\nthe rates charged for transportation between the two points;\n\n(2) The adjustment of other charges according to costs incurred by\nindependent carriers operating between the same points;\n\n(3) The exceptional importance of the railroad's \"fixed costs\" and the\ndrastically discriminating rates to which this leads;\n\n(4) The irresistible motive for combination where direct competition\nappears between railroads connecting the same points.\n\nWe speak of the condition of railroads as an intermediate state\nbecause it is one out of which a natural development takes other\ncarriers when their capacity for service is fully utilized. The same\ncause--a complete utilization of the plants--would have a like effect\nin the case of railroads; but the cause is so slow in coming into full\noperation that few persons think of it as affecting the problem at\nall. The problem of freight charges on railroads is usually regarded\nas if the intermediate state were destined to be perpetual. It is,\nhowever, entirely true that a full utilization of the plants of\nrailroads would tend to take them out of this state. If the increase\nof business came after a combination had been effected, it would tend\nto put a stop to the sharp discriminations to which the eager quest\nfor traffic has led. Different shippers could more easily secure\nequally favorable treatment. Freight of a low grade would be less\ndesired, since the space it would require might otherwise be available\nfor business of a more profitable kind, and the rates on such freight\nwould rise. The increased traffic would make it possible to earn large\ndividends without increasing charges on the lower grades of freight,\nand while greatly reducing the charges on the higher grades; but no\neconomic force would be available for securing this adjustment. The\nstate, by positive regulation, might secure it and might bring the\nearnings and the charges of the railroads more or less nearly to the\nnormal standards which prevail where competition rules; but if\ncompetition were here to begin, it would result quite otherwise. It\nwould restore the old condition of partially utilized cars, track,\netc., and cause a new strife for traffic, which would cause some\nfreight to be taken at very low rates, but would lead to inevitable\nconsolidation and higher charges.\n\nIn general industry competition tends so to adjust prices as to yield\ninterest on capital, wages for all varieties of labor, including labor\nof management, and nothing more, and this is the outcome elsewhere\ndemanded by a growth of business coupled with a theoretically normal\nand perfect action of competition; but the peculiarities of\ncompetition between railways do not bring about the evolution which\nwould give this result. Combination is effected long before the\nreturns from the total traffic are made normal and before the returns\nfrom different parts of it are brought into their legitimate relation\nto each other. After the union of rival companies, railroads continue\nto be in that intermediate state in which the effect of an unused\ncapacity for carrying has its natural effect in charges which\ndiscriminate widely between different localities and between different\nkinds of freight. The railroad traffic does, indeed, begin to follow\nthe course which we have illustrated in the case of transportation by\nwater. It takes a few steps in that direction, but further progress is\nthen stopped by combinations.\n\nThe fundamental laws of economics still apply. The static standard of\nfreight charges exists, and one can form some idea of what actual\ncharges would be if the forces which elsewhere tend to bring prices to\ntheir theoretical standards could here operate unhindered. The\nhindrances, however, are such as definitely to preclude such a result.\nThe rates do not become in a true sense normal. Even under such\nactive competition as at times exists they do not become so, while\nwithout competition they never tend to become so. It would, however,\nbe a gross mistake to assume that static standards have no application\nwhatever to railway transportation. The whole subject is most easily\nunderstood when those standards are first defined and the baffling\ninfluences which prevent actual rates from conforming to them are then\nseparately studied. There are influences which bring the various\ncharges of railroads within a certain definable distance of normal\nstandards.\n\n[Illustration:\n                                  C\n                                  |\n                                  .   ABANDONED\n                                  |     ROUTE\n                                  .\n                                  |\n                                  .\n                                  |\n              RAILROAD            v\n  A------------------------------>B\n   \\                             /\n    \\                           /\n     \\____                     /\n          \\___      __________/\n              \\____/\n             WATER ROUTE\n]\n\nThe situation of railroads we take as we find it--one of complete\nconsolidation in case of many roads, and of harmonious action, or\nquasi-consolidation, in the case of others. In general their charges\nare fixed by the place value they create, as that value is established\nby influences other than the charges themselves. It might seem that\nthe charge for carrying fixes the place value. Whatever a railroad\ndemands for carrying goods from A to B measures the enhanced value\nwhich they get in the moving; but if they would have possessed at B\nthe same value that they now have, even though the railroad had not\nexisted at all, it is evident that it is this value minus the value of\nthe goods at A which fixes the charges for carrying, rather than that\nthese charges fix the place value. We have seen in very simple and\ngeneral cases how this principle works, and have now very briefly to\ntrace the working of it in the case of a system of railroads. The\nspecial method of reckoning costs to which we have referred is an\nimportant element in the process.\n\n_\"Costing\" comparatively Simple in the Bookkeeping of Competing\nProducers._--In the study of ordinary industries we have encountered\nconditions which render the bookkeeping of a producer simple and cause\nhim to charge all his costs, in a _pro rata_ fashion, to his entire\nproduct. If his goods and those of his rivals are of one kind and are\nsold in a single market, a cut in the price of any one portion of the\nproduct involves a corresponding cut on the entire output. It is not\npossible to single out any particular increment for a reduction of\nprice and leave the rate unchanged on the remainder. Where products\nare of different kinds it is possible to make a classification of them\nso as to get a large profit on some, a small one on others, and none\nat all on still others. When competition has not done its full work,\nsomething of this kind happens in many departments of business. A\ncondition of unequal gain from different portions of an output lingers\nlong after some effects of competition have been realized. In the end,\nhowever, it must yield if competition itself does its complete work,\nand whenever we adhere heroically to the hypothesis of the static\nstate, we preclude this inequality of charges. Rivals who contend with\neach other for profitable business bring the prices of the goods which\nafford the most gain to such a level that a mill which makes this type\nof goods will pay no more in proportion to its capital than one which\nmakes other types. The total cost of production, fixed and variable\nalike, would at that time, as we have seen, be barely covered, and\nmight correctly be apportioned in a _pro rata_ manner among all parts\nof the product.\n\n_The Effect of Increasing Business on Comparative\nCharges._--Competition of this perfect kind does not exist in\nmanufacturing and is far from existing in the department of carrying,\nand it is important to know whether with growing business and greatly\ntempered rivalry there is any tendency toward the equalization of\ncharges and the simplifying of the mode of reckoning costs. When a\nmill has more orders than it can fill, those it wishes to be rid of\nare the ones which yield the smallest profit. They encumber the mill\nand prevent the filling of more profitable orders; and the natural\nmode of reducing the amount of this undesirable part of the output is\nto raise the charges on it. This comes about without much aid from\ncompetition, for when all producers find their capacity overtaxed,\nthey have no motive for contending sharply for business. Underbidding\nhas for its purpose attracting business from rivals and is an\nirrational operation when all have orders enough and to spare.\nCompetition is largely in abeyance when the business any one can have\nis overabundant.\n\n_These Principles Applicable to Carrying._--What we here assert\nconcerning goods manufactured by independent mills would be true of\ngoods carried by independent vessels, if they plied between the same\ntwo ports with no intermediate stops. If their capacity should at any\ntime be overtaxed, they would not reduce the charges on higher grades,\nbut they would raise them on the lower grades, and the classification\nof freight would lose some of its significance. The lowering of the\ncharges on the high grades of freight would come when the profits of\nthe business should attract new carriers, who would naturally seek for\nthe traffic that paid the best, till all kinds paid about alike. The\nmode of reckoning costs might then become simple--a _pro rata_\ndivision of total outlays among all parts of the business.\n\n_The Condition of Uniform Costing never realized upon Railroads._--Not\na single one of the essential conditions of equalized charges and\nuniform costing is now realized upon railroads, and there is only one\nof them that is approximated. Separate markets for different parts of\nthe traffic are provided by the nature of the business. Every point to\nwhich goods are conveyed furnishes such a distinct market, and the\nservice of carrying goods to it is paid for by a distinct set of\ncustomers. It follows, therefore, that some rates can be cut without\naffecting others, and they regularly are so. The second condition,\nthat of bringing the carrying capacity of railroads into the fullest\npossible use, is attainable, but it is very remote. At times there is\na congestion of freight and, in general, the capacity of existing\nplants is more nearly used than it heretofore has been; but by an\naddition to the rolling stock they could carry more than they do and\nthe additional traffic would cost far less than the portion already\ncarried. Moreover, with no addition to the rolling stock, very\nconsiderable enlargements of traffic could at many points be made.\nThirdly, competition between railroads is not at present effective\nenough to bring about a reduction of the higher charges and make\nreturns and costs simple. Combination takes place long before the\ndiscriminating charges are abandoned. Low-grade freight continues to\nbe carried side by side with the high-grade which pays better. Charges\nto terminal points continue to be low, while charges to intermediate\npoints are high. In a sense one may say that a tendency to discontinue\nthese practices exists, but it is a tendency that is so effectually\nresisted that its natural results are only in small part realized. If\na dam is built across a reservoir, holding the waters on one side ten\nfeet above those on the other, one may say that the waters have a\ntendency to reach a uniform level, since the power of gravity is\nexercised in that direction; but the dam baffles the tendency. And so\nin railroad operations something interferes which checks the force of\ncompetition or removes it altogether, long before the discriminations\nin freight charges are removed or very much reduced.\n\n_An Intermediate State made relatively Permanent._--As we have said,\nthe condition of traffic on railroads is analogous to what in the case\nof manufacturers and primitive carriers would be regarded as a\ntransitional state soon to be left behind; but in the case of\nrailroads it is relatively permanent. It is the condition in which\ncertain natural economic forces are working vigorously, and, if they\nwere not counteracted by other forces, would end by making natural\nadjustments and establishing normal rates for the carrier as well as\nthe manufacturer. In this intermediate state the natural forces are\ncounteracted and the adjustments are never made, and what we have to\nstudy is the degree in which they are approximated.\n\n[Illustration:\n                                   C\n                                   |\n                                   |\n                                   |   HIGHWAY\n                                   |\n                                   |\n  A--------------------------------B\n              RAILROAD\n]\n\n_A Simple Case of Special Costing Applied to Certain Traffic._--We\nwill suppose A and B are connected by a railroad, while C and B are\nconnected by a highway over which transportation proceeds by the\nprimitive means of horses and wagons. It is like one of the cases we\nhave already stated, with the exception of the fact that the carrier\nover the longer route is a railroad. The limit of what the railroad\ncan get is the natural difference between the cost of making the goods\nat A and the combined costs of making them at C and carrying them to\nB. This definitely limits the railroad charges. Whatever difference of\ncost there is the railroad can get if it chooses, and barring any\ndeduction it may make in order to induce production at A and make\ntraffic for itself, it will get it. The rate which is fixed for the\nrailroad may be sufficient to cover the total costs chargeable to this\nportion of its traffic on the simple and _pro rata_ plan of costing,\nor on the other hand, it may cover only a portion of the fixed costs\nor no portion at all. This means that the standard which is set by the\ndiffering values of the goods at A and at B may or may not yield a\nprofit to the railroad. If it is so slight as not to cover even the\nvariable costs of carrying the goods, the railroad will not carry\nthem, and the supply will be allowed to come from C rather than from\nA. If it covers more than these variable costs, the road will accept\nand carry the goods. If the traffic affords any appreciable margin\nabove the variable costs, it will be the policy of the railroad to\nmake its charges low enough to attract the traffic, and this will\nslightly reduce the place value of the goods at B and bring it below\nthe cost of procuring them from C. The railroad will thus secure the\nwhole traffic to the exclusion of that which came from C. If the costs\nof making the goods at A and C are alike, then the charge for carrying\nfrom A to B will be just enough below the total costs of carrying in\nwagons from C to B to stop the carrying over this shorter route and\nappropriate the whole business; but this charge may not cover total\ncosts of carrying from A. It may yield only a slight margin above the\nvariable costs attaching to this part of the railroad's business. It\nthus appears that this carrier can with advantage accept the freight\nat a rate that by a perfectly normal bookkeeping is below cost, while\nthe teamsters on the road from C cannot do this.\n\n[Illustration:\n                                   C\n                                   |\n                                   |\n                                   |   RAILROAD\n                                   |\n                                   |\n  A--------------------------------B\n              RAILROAD\n]\n\n_A Second Case in which Carrying is done for Any Amount above Variable\nCost._--Let us now suppose there is a railroad from C to B as well\nas one from A to B. There is now competition between makers at A\nand carriers from A to B, on the one hand, and makers at C and\ncarriers from C to B, on the other hand; and whichever of these\nquasi-partnerships delivers the goods at B at the cheaper rate gets\nthe whole traffic. By the terms of our supposition the makers in both\nplaces are offering goods at cost, and any cutting of rates that is\nto be done must be done by the carriers. To reduce the prices of the\ngoods at the mills in either locality would put some of them out of\nbusiness. We will assume that there is no consolidation and no other\nmeans of concurrent action between the railroads, and that the whole\ntraffic will thus go to the route over which the lower rates are made.\nFor simplicity we will still adhere to the supposition of equal costs\nfor manufacturing and of unequal costs for carrying. As the charge for\ncarrying goes down, one or the other of the railroads will reach the\npoint where the variable costs of this traffic are barely covered,\nwhile on the other line they are more than covered. Where rivalry is\nnot tempered in any way whatever, the charge made by competing roads\nfalls to a level at which returns only cover the variable costs\nincurred by one of the competitors, though it may return somewhat more\nin the case of the other.\n\n_How Fixed Costs are Met._--This implies, indeed, that the fixed\ncharges of both roads must somehow be met by the returns from other\ntraffic; and this supposition is in accordance with the facts. A\nfreight war may temporarily carry rates to a level where some traffic\ndoes not cover variable costs and where total traffic falls short of\ncovering total costs. Such a situation cannot long continue, and the\nnatural adjustment, under active competition, is one at which rates on\nthe traffic for which the two lines are contending are just below the\nvariable costs incurred by one line but above those incurred by the\nother. There is nothing to prevent the stronger railroad from thus\nreducing its rates, attracting to itself the whole of the traffic,\nand putting an end to the rivalry of the other line. This would mean\nbankruptcy for that line unless it had other sources of income.\n\n_The Effects of Bankruptcy on Costs._--Bankruptcy means a scaling down\nof the fixed charges of the railroad to such a point that the total\ntraffic can meet them; but it does not enable the company to reacquire\nbusiness that will not yield enough to cover variable costs. Adhering\nto the supposition that there is no mutual understanding, no pool, and\nno other approach to consolidation between the rival lines, we may\nsafely say that the general rule which elsewhere governs rates holds\ntrue here. Two roads actively competing for identically the same\ntraffic tend to bring charges to a level at which the variable charges\nentailed by this traffic on the one route are not quite met and the\ntraffic passes to the other line.[1]\n\n    [1] If we wish to vary our supposition that the cost of\n    making the goods at A and at C is the same, we have a\n    modification of the case we have stated. If it is much\n    cheaper to make them at A, the railroad that carries these\n    goods from there to B may charge more for carrying than does\n    the one that delivers the goods made at C. It is possible\n    that the difference between the costs of making at the\n    different points may tell decisively in favor of the longer\n    route, and it may be the railroad from C to B that first\n    reaches, in its charges, the level of variable costs and\n    sees its traffic handed over to its rival.\n\n[Illustration:\n                                  C\n                                  |\n                                  |\n                                  |   RAILROAD\n                                  |\n                                  |\n              RAILROAD            |\n  A-------------------------------B\n   \\                             /\n    \\                           /\n     \\____                     /\n          \\___      __________/\n              \\____/\n             WATER ROUTE\n]\n\n_A Principle governing Competition between Railroads and Carriers by\nSea._--In a third case there may be between A and B a railroad and a\nwater route also, while between C and B there is a railroad only. On\nthe supposition we have made,--that competition between carriers by\nwater has done its full work,--the charge for carrying anything by\nwater from A to B must be sufficient to cover a _pro rata_ part of the\ntotal costs. That may be sufficient to cover the merely variable costs\nentailed on the railroad, or it may not. If it does not, the railroad\nwill not take any portion of the business except what it may take by\nreason of the greater speed with which it can transport the goods. If,\nhowever, the total costs of carrying by water exceed by a tolerable\nmargin the merely variable costs of carrying by land, the railroad\nwill be able to take the traffic. If this traffic goes to the water\nroute, the charge made by the railroad from C to B is adjusted by a\nsimple rule. This railroad can get the natural difference between the\ncost of the goods at C and the cost of similar ones made at A and\ncarried by water to B. If the railroad gets the traffic between A and\nB, and the water route is abandoned, the case becomes the same as that\nwhich we have already considered,--the transporting is done at a rate\nwhich prevents one of the lines from covering its merely variable\ncosts and secures all the traffic for the other line. The carrying\nfrom A to B goes by land or by water according as the variable costs,\nin the one case, or the _pro rata_ share of total costs, in the other,\nare the less; and nothing can be carried from C to B unless it can be\ndelivered at B at a price as low as that of goods made at A and\ntransported at the rate just described. If the costs of making at A\nand C are equal and there are the three carriers seeking traffic, as\nassumed, the result naturally is to give all the business to the one\nwho will bid the lowest for it. Either railroad will bid as low as the\nvariable costs which the traffic occasions; while the owners of ships\nwill bid no lower than the rate which covers costs of both kinds.[2]\n\n    [2] If carriers by water are in that intermediate state in\n    which their capacity is only partially used, they also may\n    offer to take some traffic for an amount which only covers\n    variable costs; but this condition does not naturally become\n    in their case semipermanent, as it does in the case of\n    railroads.\n\n[Illustration:\n                RAILROAD   _____\n        __________________/     \\\n       /                         \\_\n    __/                            \\___\n  A __                               __ B\n      \\                             /\n       \\                           /\n        \\____                     /\n             \\___________________/\n                RAILROAD\n]\n\n_The Case of Railroads having Common Terminal Points._--In the fourth\ncase there are, besides the other carriers, two railroads between A\nand B which compete for the traffic at these terminal points, but not\nat intermediate ones. Their facilities for through traffic are alike.\nThe local traffic on the different lines is unlike, since it is\naffected by the character of the regions through which the railroads\npass; but the charges made for local traffic are governed by the\ncomparatively simple principles which we first stated. In contending\nfor freight to way stations we may say that the railroad has to\ncompete with wagons upon the highway, but with nothing more efficient.\nThe charges for local freight may therefore be extremely high, while,\nif the railroads are really competing as vigorously as pure theory\nrequires, and if the normal results of competition are completely\nrealized, the rate which can be maintained between A and B for any\narticles carried will be no higher than those which cover the variable\ncosts entailed on the route which is the less economical of the two.\nThe line to which this test assigns the traffic between A and B must\nthen stand the further tests we have described--those involved in\ncontending for business with carriers using respectively the water\nroute and the railroad from C to B.\n\n_A Condition leading to a Reduction of Fixed Costs._--It is safe to\nassume that one of the two railroads from A to B has more local\ntraffic than the other. It may be that even with this advantage its\ntotal returns of all kinds may fall short of covering its total\noutlays. In that case the total returns of any less favorable route\nmust fall still further short of the amount necessary for covering all\noutlays; and if we adhere to the assumption that neither consolidation\nnor anything resembling it takes place, we have a case in which both\nrailroads must undergo reorganization. The fixed charges of the better\nroute must be scaled down and the creditors of this railroad must\naccept the loss, while on the other route the fixed charges must be\nreduced still more and the creditors must suffer a larger loss. It\ngoes without saying that the prospect of such a calamity means\nconsolidation. It is evident what alternative competitors face in\ncases in which heroic competition goes on to the bitter end. As a rule\nthis is an unrealized alternative. The mere prospect of the calamity\nconnected with it is bad enough to put an end to the independent\naction of the different railroads. With the facilities for combination\nwhich now exist a far smaller inducement suffices to bring this about.\n\n[Illustration:\n                RAILROAD\n    ___________________________________\n  A ___________________________________ B\n                RAILROAD\n]\n\n_The Case of Railroads whose Entire Routes are Parallel._--We have to\nconsider only one more typical case in order to have before us a\nsufficient number to establish the general principles which govern the\ncharges for the carrying of freight by railroads. Variations\ninnumerable might be stated; and, indeed, the experience of the\nrailroad system of this country affords the variations and reveals the\nresults which follow from the conditions they create. The railroads\nmay be strictly parallel lines, pursuing the same route and competing\nfor local traffic as well as for through traffic. If the case we\nlately examined insures consolidation,--and indeed all of the cases we\nhave stated impel the companies powerfully toward it,--this last case\nmakes assurance doubly sure. Strictly parallel railroads competing for\ntraffic over their entire routes and neither uniting nor showing any\nof the approaches to union would be an impossibility. Persistent\ncompetition would then mean reducing all charges to the level fixed by\nvariable costs, which would leave no revenue whatever to cover fixed\ncosts, and would send the companies into a bankruptcy from which even\nreorganizations could not relieve them, since they could not\nannihilate all the fixed costs.\n\n_A Case of Arrested Development._--It is clear that, in the entire\npolicy of railroads, the fact that their capacity has never been fully\nused plays a highly important part. It makes the distinction between\nfixed costs and variable ones a leading element in the adjustment of\ncharges. With the capacity of railroads completely used, as is that of\na ship which carries a full cargo at every voyage, the distinction\nwould lose most of its importance. More business would then require an\naddition to every part of the plant and would thus entail new fixed\ncosts which would have to be charged against the new business. As the\ntraffic of any railroad grows toward its maximum, the cost which each\nseparate addition to it entails grows larger and larger. When cars are\nfew and are only half filled, an increment of traffic entails a very\nsmall increment of expense. When the cars are filled and new freight\nrequires the purchase of more of them, the cost of this addition to\nthe traffic becomes greater. When further additions to the freight\ncarried require additions to trackage, yard room, storage room, etc.,\nthey cost far more than the earlier additions; and new increments of\nfreight come, in the end, to cost very nearly as much per unit as the\ngeneral body of the previous traffic when all outlays were charged\nagainst it. The railroad approaches the condition of the full ships\nreferred to, in which further cargoes require further ships, with all\nthe outlays which this implies. The distinction between different\nkinds of costing is gradually obliterated, and railroads steadily draw\nnearer to that ultimate state which other carriers more quickly\napproach, in which each part of the freight carried must bear its\nshare of the total costs entailed. Long before that state is reached,\nhowever, combination ensues, and the movement of freight charges\ntoward their static standard is arrested.\n\n[Illustration:\n                                  C\n                                  |\n                                  |\n                                  |   HIGHWAY\n                                  |\n                                  |\n              RAILROAD            |\n  A-------------------------------B\n   \\                             /\n    \\                           /\n     \\____                     /\n          \\___      __________/\n              \\____/\n             WATER ROUTE\n]\n\n_The Standard of Freight Charges under a Regime of Monopoly._--A\nconsolidation so complete that it would merge all rival lines under a\nsingle board of control and pool all their earnings would restore the\nearly condition described in connection with one of our\nillustrations--that of the single railroad between A and B, having\nonly sailing vessels and wagons as rivals. It is able to charge what\nthe traffic will bear in a simple and literal sense. The consolidated\nlines can, if they choose, get for each bit of carrying the difference\nbetween the value of goods at the point where they are taken and their\nvalue at the point where they are delivered. These values are\napproximately what they would be if no railroad existed. The carrying\ndone by the railroad itself does not enter into the making of them.\nThe natural value of a commodity at A is what it costs to make it\nthere, and the value at B is either the cost of making it at B, or\nthat of making it at C and carrying it in wagons to B, or that of\nmaking it at A and carrying it by water to B. In any case there is a\nnatural and simple process of fixing the costs both at A and at B, and\nthe difference between them is the limit up to which the railroad can\npush its charges if it will. Where the business which furnishes the\nfreight is not fully developed, the railroad may moderate its charges\nfor the sake of letting it grow larger. The hope of increased traffic\nin the future may cause a reduction of demands in the present. We\nshall see what other influences may keep the charges below their\npossible level; but the natural difference between two local values of\ngoods is the basis of the charge for carrying them from one point to\nthe other. Consolidated lines, if they had as perfect a monopoly of\ncarrying by railroad as has the single line in our illustration, would\nbase their charges on this simple principle, though for a number of\nreasons they might not take all that the principle would allow.\n\n_How Imperfect Consolidation Works._--Imperfect consolidation, when it\nfollows a period of sharp competition, has to deal with obstacles\nwhich prevent a complete carrying out of this policy. Many rates have\nbecome far lower than the rule of monopoly would make them, and there\nare difficulties in the way of raising them. A weak combination of\nparallel lines may keep its charges within bounds, partly from a fear\nthat larger ones may afford too great an incentive to secret rate\ncutting and may so break up the union, and partly from a respect for\nwhat the people may do if the exactions of the railroads become too\ngreat. The more complete forms of consolidation have not the former of\nthese dangers to fear; and if, without being restrained by the state,\ntheir charges continue moderate, it is mainly due to the fact that\nother lines less firmly consolidated are unable safely to make a\nradical advance of rates, and that this often prevents such a course\nin the case of lines which would otherwise be able to take it.\n\n_Limits on the Charges of a System of strongly Consolidated\nLines._--This means that where a great system of railroads occupying\nthe whole of a vast territory is so firmly consolidated as to have a\ncomplete monopoly of carrying by rail within the area, it is still\naffected in indirect ways by the possible rivalry of lines altogether\noutside of its territory. An excessive charge on freight from Chicago\nto New York might induce carrying by rail from Chicago to Norfolk and\nthence by water to New York. It might cause grain, flour, etc., to be\nshipped to Europe from Southern ports rather than from those on the\nAtlantic coast. These cases and others do not fall under principles\nessentially different from those already stated, but they call for the\napplication of the same principles in complex conditions which our\nstudy is too brief to cover. There is a supposable case in which\nnearly all that could be secured by any railroad connecting Chicago\nwith the Atlantic coast, even though every line in the territory\nbetween them were the property of one corporation, would be the\nvariable cost of carrying goods over a line running to a port on the\nGulf of Mexico. Reflection will easily show how the principles already\nstated apply to this case and others.\n\n_Effects of a General and Strong Consolidation._--With all the lines\nin this country and Canada in a strong consolidation, the advance of\nrates to, or well toward, the limit set by the principle of natural\nplace value created would inevitably come unless the power of the\nstate should in some way prevent it. The railroads would be able to\nget the difference between the cost of goods at A, in the illustrative\ncase, and the cost of making or procuring them at B without using the\nconnecting line of railroad. When the appeal to the state is only\nimminent,--when the power of the government is not yet exercised, but\nimpends over every railroad that establishes unreasonable\ncharges,--the rates may be held in a fair degree of restraint. A\nwholesome respect for the _possibilities_ of lawmaking here takes the\nplace of actual statutes. A respect for the law appears in advance of\nits enactment and may amount to submitting rates in an imperfect and\nirregular way to the approval of the state. This effect, when it is\nrealized, is to be credited in part to laws which will never be\nenacted. The merely potential law--that which the people will probably\ndemand if they are greatly provoked, but not otherwise--may be a\nstronger deterrent than the prospect of more moderate legislation. In\ngeneral a considerable part of the economic lawmaking of the future\nwill undoubtedly be called out by demands for action that is too\nviolent to be taken except under great provocation. The dread of the\nextreme penalty insures a cautious policy in increasing charges which\nhave been established under a transient regime of competition. Partial\nmonopolies adhering to rates many of which were established under the\npressure of competition--such are the railroad systems of America. The\nexisting condition shows some of the effects of competition which has\nceased and of legislation which has not taken place. As the\ncombinations shall become greater and stronger, the situation\neverywhere will become more and more akin to that which existed in a\nlocal way when a single line of railroad had no effective competition,\nand the charges which the traffic would bear were fixed in the way we\nhave described and absorbed the place value which the carrying\ncreated. It is a method which exposes the public to an extortion\nwhich, though not unlimited, is unendurably great. Consolidation,\ntherefore, means the control of rates by the state; but it is\nessential that this control be exercised with due regard for the\neconomic principles which rule in this department of industry. Thus\nonly can there be secured the results of a natural system unperverted\nby monopoly.\n\nThe principles which a study of simple cases suffices to establish are\nas follows:--\n\n1. Freight charges are essentially a variety of price. They express\nthe exchange value of place utility.\n\n2. The static standards or norms toward which these prices tend are\nfixed in the same way as are other static standards of value,--by a\nrule of cost,--though in the case of railroads the working of this\nrule is exceptional.\n\n3. When carrying is done by simple means and by competing carriers,\nthe ultimate basis of charges is the cost of the carrying; and this is\nestimated in the simple way in which, under perfectly free\ncompetition, the cost of making commodities is estimated. The total\noutlay is charged against the total product.\n\n4. A single railroad between one point and another, when it is not\naffected by the rivalry of any other railroad, can get for its service\nthe difference between the cost of goods at the place where they are\nmade and the cost at the point of delivery, on the supposition that\nthey would either be made at this point or carried thither by more\nprimitive means. Under such a partial monopoly the costs incurred by\nthe railroad itself do not directly set the standard of its charges,\nbut other costs do so.\n\n5. In this case the so-called variable costs incurred by the railroad\nfurnish a minimum limit below which its charges cannot go, but to\nwhich they tend to go in the case of traffic which cannot otherwise be\nsecured.\n\n6. This place value which the railroad can confer on the goods is\nsmall (1) when the cost of making the goods at their place of\ndeparture is not much less than that of making them at their place of\ndestination, or (2) when it is not much less than the cost of\nobtaining them from a third point, or (3) when it is possible to carry\nthem from the place of their origin to their destination by water or\nby any other cheap means of transportation.\n\n7. Variable costs are positive additions to the total outlays\npreviously incurred by a railroad, and they result from adding a\ndefinite amount to its previous traffic. They are less than\nproportionate parts of total costs, including interest, some part of\noperating expenses, cost of maintenance of roadway, etc.\n\n8. The comparative smallness of the variable costs is chiefly due to\nthe fact that the carrying capacity of railroads is only partially\nused. These costs become relatively larger as traffic increases, and\nwould practically coincide with proportionate shares of total costs if\nthe traffic should reach its absolute maximum.\n\n9. If the place value above defined is large enough to cover the\nvariable costs attaching to certain traffic and afford any surplus\nwhatever, the railroad usually takes this traffic.\n\n10. On the business which it gets the charges vary widely and, as it\nappears, capriciously, but they are at bottom governed by the economic\nprinciple stated--that of place value as established in ways in which\nthe charges of the railroad itself do not figure.\n\n11. Competing railroads tend to bring rates downward toward a minimum\nwhich is fixed by the merely variable costs of the carrying as done\nby one or more of the railroads themselves.\n\n12. The competition between railroads is arrested while they are not\nusing their full capacity, while the merely variable costs of an\nincrement of traffic are still abnormally low, and while many rates\nare so.\n\n13. Railroads which compete for freight between terminal points are\nstrongly impelled toward consolidation; and those which compete along\ntheir entire lines are forced to resort to it.\n\n14. Consolidation in its more imperfect forms tends to establish rates\nthat are abnormally high, but this tendency is somewhat checked by the\ndanger that the combination may be broken by a desire to foster\nbusiness in a section of country and by the indirect influence of\nlines outside of the territory controlled by the consolidated roads.\n\n15. In its stronger and more extended forms consolidation leaves the\npeople with no adequate safeguard against extortionate charges except\nas this is furnished by the intervention of the state; and this needs\nto be effected with an intelligent regard for the natural forces which\nare at work amid the seemingly capricious irregularities in the\npresent system of charges.\n\n_The Aim of Regulation by the State._--An aim of a government, in all\nof its economic policy, is to insure the best use of the national\nresources, and this can often be done by keeping alive free\ncompetition. Where the rivalry of producers is active, a law of\nsurvival guarantees that the more economical method of producing an\narticle shall displace the inferior one. When the choice lies between\nusing a quantity of free and disposable labor in making goods in a\ncertain market and using it in making them elsewhere and carrying\nthem to the market, the alternative which gives society the most that\nit can get by any use of its productive resources is the one that is\nspontaneously selected.\n\n_How an Extortionate Local Charge may sometimes be reduced without\nInjury to a Railroad._--A low charge for freight carried from A to B\ncoupled with an extortionate one from A' to B might preclude making\nthe goods at A', though they can be made there at excellent advantage\nand the interests of society will soon require that they be so. This\nsituation can exist only so long as traffic is slight between A and A'\nand greater between A' and B. The growth of traffic over the former\nsection of the route will make it desirable for the railroad to raise\nits rate over that portion. If, under compulsion or otherwise, it\nreduces the rate from A' to B sufficiently to permit the production of\nthe goods at A', it will gain a profitable traffic between A' and B at\nthe cost of giving up a relatively unprofitable one between A and B.\n\n[Illustration:\n  A---------------------------B\n               A'\n]\n\n_Variable Costs a Proper Basis for Some Charges._--It makes for\ngeneral economy to pay respect to the distinction between fixed and\nvariable costs and let much freight be carried for anything it will\nyield above the variable ones. If ten units of labor are required for\nmaking an article at B and only five at A, and if a railroad between\nthese points, whose capacity is not fully utilized, can carry the\narticle from A to B with an expenditure of two additional units of\nlabor, then society can best get the goods for use at B by spending\nthese seven units in the making and carrying. It would take ten units\nto make them at B, and to society itself there is a saving of three\nunits from making them at A and carrying them at a special rate to B.\nTill the railroad is more fully used for other purposes this source of\neconomy will continue. Though the rates charged for this freight would\nbankrupt the railroad if they were applied to its entire traffic, it\nis best for the railroad to take this special bit of carrying at any\nrate exceeding the wages of the two units of labor; and for the time\nbeing this is the best way to use some of the social resources, since\nit gives at the point of delivery and use more goods for a given\noutlay than could have been had in any other way.\n\n_Why Consumers may suffer while Particular Producers may be\nFavored._--It will be seen that this principle affords an inducement\nfor making a special classification of certain goods and carrying them\nfor less than merchandise of a generally similar kind is carried for.\nIt is a policy of \"making traffic\" which costs little and is worth\nmore than it costs both to the carrier and to society. This incentive\nfor reducing charges does not operate as strongly in the case of goods\ncarried to consumers who are forced to live on the route. They are\nheld there by the general causes mentioned at the beginning of the\npreceding chapter, and must pay the tax which the railroad imposes on\nthem. The only limit on this tax is the possibility of otherwise\nprocuring the goods or of moving out of the territory. The ultimate\npossibility that population may not grow under a regime of extortion\nand that both freight traffic and passenger traffic may be held within\nsmall limits imposes some check on the railroad's exactions. The\ncompany may find it worth while to foster to some extent the growth of\npopulation; and to favor producers of certain goods in order to\ninduce them to locate their establishments on its line, and the result\nof this may be good for society; but there is no way of securing a\ngeneral good from the heavy tax on the rest of the traffic unless this\nhas been necessary to insure the existence of the railroad itself. In\nthat case there may be a temporary necessity for it, which will\ndisappear as traffic grows.\n\n_The Policy of the State in Dealing with Low Charges based on Variable\nCosts._--The interest of railroads which have a monopoly of their\nroutes is to advance the rates on through traffic. We have noticed a\npossible case in which some equalization of charges by occasional\nreductions of local rates takes place. An increase of charges over\nlong routes not made necessary by any pressure of business which\novertaxes the railroad's carrying power would of course be injurious.\nMoreover, carrying full loads does not constitute such an overtaxing\nas calls for the higher rates. There are times when present supplies\nof cars and engines may not be able to move more freight than they do;\nbut in that case more of them are called for. Only when the point is\nreached at which providing for this through traffic in addition to the\nlocal freight entails additions to the permanent plant and involves\ncosts that exceed the return from the through business, is it\njustifiable, in the interest of social efficiency, to advance such\ncharges. In preventing such an advance under other conditions a\ngovernment helps to secure an approach to a natural economy and a\nmaximum of production.\n\n_When, in the Interest of General Productivity, a Reduction of Local\nCharges is called for._--We saw that carriers of a primitive kind\ncompeting with each other would put every charge, local or otherwise,\non a basis of its proportionate share of total costs. The traffic as\na whole would return enough to cover all the outlays, and each part of\nit would yield its share. This is the ideal of effectiveness for\nrailroads, as well as for ships and wagons. The attainment of the\nideal without a regulation of charges by the state is never to be\nexpected. One feature of this normal condition is that, where no\nspecial improvements have recently been made, total returns should\njust equal total costs, in the sense in which terms are used in static\ntheory--that sense in which all interest charges and all expenses of\nmanagement figure among the costs. No net profit for the\n_entrepreneur_, but full interest for the capitalist and full wages\nfor all varieties of labor, is the rule that gives the static measure\nof normal returns. If a state shall slowly reduce the charges for\nlocal freight, while holding unchanged those for through traffic,--all\nthe while allowing the total returns of the railroads to cover what we\nhave defined as total costs,--it will do all it can toward securing an\napproximation to the condition which affords the largest product of\nsocial industry. It will help to make the resources of the people do\ntheir utmost in yielding an income. Total returns covering all costs,\na reduction of those charges on local traffic which have prevented\nindustries from springing up at intermediate points between favored\ncenters, a gradual increase of local production without any positive\nrepression of production elsewhere--such are some features of the\ngeneral change which the future should bring and which only the power\nof the state can make it bring.\n\n_How the State may secure what Competition secures in Other\nFields._--In general industry the rivalry of entrepreneurs carries\nprices to a level fixed by costs, but in transportation the rivalry\nhas so largely disappeared as to prevent such an outcome. The state\ncannot restore much of the vanished rivalry and would cause an\nunnatural condition if it did so. We have seen toward what an abnormal\nlevel of costs a sharp \"freight war\" carries rates. What the state can\ndo is something which an instinctive judgment of the people is\nimpelling it to do; namely, to adjust rates directly and bring them\ngradually toward the standard to which competition, if it were working\nas it elsewhere works, would automatically bring them, namely, that at\nwhich wages and interest are fully covered. A surplus above these\noutlays could always be temporarily secured wherever a special economy\nhad been effected, and the source of legitimate profit would be open\nto carriers as it is to producers generally. How much should be\nreckoned as interest depends on the question how the capital itself is\nestimated, and here again the instinct of the people has been correct.\nIt will not accept as a measure of true capital the market value of\nall the stocks and bonds the railroad has issued. The quotations of\nthe market make the total values of the stocks and bonds equal a\ncapitalization of its total earnings, and these may include a profit\ndue to monopoly. If a state were to figure the capital in this way,\nand then so adjust rates as to allow ordinary interest on the sum thus\ncomputed, it would merely leave total returns as they are. It might\nchange comparative charges, but not the sum total of all of them.\n\n_How Capital should be Estimated._--In that static condition in which,\nas we have shown, capital is as productive in one subgroup as in\nanother, the capital is first measured by the cost of the goods that,\nin the inception of the industry, embody it, and in static studies\nthis cost is regarded as constant. Returns from different outlays are\nequalized, and a dollar invested in one kind of business then yields\nas much in a year as a dollar in any other. In a dynamic state the\ncost standard still prevails, and as the tools of production become\ncheaper, in terms of labor, it takes more of them to represent the\nsame amount of capital that was originally invested. What it would at\nany time cost to duplicate every item in the equipment of a business\nmeasures the capital it uses. Nothing but a failure of competition in\nthe case of railroads prevents the application of this standard to\nthem. Monopoly makes earnings more or less independent of sums\ninvested and causes purchasers to buy stock at rates that are\nindependent of costs of plant and equipment and are fixed by earnings\nthemselves.\n\n_The Process of Estimating Capital on the Basis of Cost._--If we\nundertake here to do by public authority what competition elsewhere\ntends to do, we shall have to restore the standard based, not on the\noriginal cost of the railroad's substantial property, but on the cost\nof getting another that would be equal to it in working efficiency.\nThe plant is worth what it would naturally cost to duplicate it; and\nan average rate of interest on that sum is the natural return from it.\nThere are ethical claims which are entitled to respect and which\npreclude any sudden reduction of the value of a railroad's properties;\nand, moreover, the end in view can be attained in a way that will not\nnecessarily take anything from the absolute amount which they are now\nworth. If the amount of dividends remains fixed, the increase in the\nactual value of the plant itself will bring these dividends into the\nproper ratio to it. The land that the companies use is becoming more\nvaluable. Measured by what it would cost to duplicate it, it\nrepresents a larger and larger amount on the companies' inventories.\nIf the equipment also is enlarged as traffic grows, the entire sum on\nwhich interest and dividends are computed becomes continually larger.\nIf the interest and dividends earned by the plants now in existence\nremain fixed in absolute amount, they will become a smaller and\nsmaller percentage of the real capital of the companies. Merely\nletting railroads earn the amount that they do at present would bring\nthe net incomes after some years to the same rate--the same percentage\nof invested capital--that the income from other capital represents.\nNew plants and enlargements of old ones should be allowed to earn\nenough to furnish an incentive for providing them as fast as the needs\nof the public require it.\n\n_How Insuring a Fixed Amount of Total Earnings would affect the Rates\ncharged for Freight._--It goes without saying that the general\nincrease of traffic, while the freight charges remain the same,\nincreases the net earnings of the carrying companies. Therefore the\npolicy of keeping the net earnings at a fixed total amount would mean\na reduction of rates for freight and passenger service. We do not here\nraise the question how much reduction will be required for the purpose\nin view--that of transferring to the people at large whatever now\nconstitutes a genuine monopoly profit. In the case of some lines there\nis, it is safe to say, no such profit, and it will be impossible to\ntell how much of it elsewhere exists till some careful appraisal of\nplants and equipments, on the basis of the cost of duplicating them,\nshall have been made. What we need to know is that, by the aid of such\nan appraisal, the state can, if it will, secure in the department of\ncarrying the result which is automatically secured elsewhere, namely,\nthe prevalence of charges which afford normal returns on invested\ncapital as well as wages for every kind of labor.\n\n_Elements of the Problem not included in a merely Economic Study._--It\nwill not fail to occur to any reader that in making the present study\nof railroads a very general and purely economic one we leave out of\naccount some facts of great importance. We take no account of\ncorruption within the corporations which do the carrying, nor of\ncorruption in the relation between them and the officials of the\nstate. Stockholders within the corporation are likely to have their\ninterests betrayed by those who are appointed to take charge of them,\nand citizens of the state are likely to have their greater interests\nbetrayed, in a like manner, by their appointed custodians. We cannot\nhere discuss the various plans by which directors plunder their own\ncorporations, nor the ways in which public officials betray the\npeople. All of these abuses are disturbing influences in the economic\nsystem; and all of them interfere with the adjustment which gives the\nhighest productive efficiency, and contribute a full share toward\nputting the social order in danger. All are, however, so obviously\ncriminal, if they are judged by the spirit of the law,--not to say by\nthe letter of it,--that it is better to leave the discussion of the\nmode of suppressing them to legal and political science.\n\n_A Practical Mode of Insuring an Approach to Normal Rates for\nTransportation._--When competition rules, it enlarges the supply of a\ndear article till the price of it is normal, and it increases the\ncapital in a profitable business till its earnings become so. In the\ncase of railroads this does not automatically take place, but the\nresult of it all--adequate service and normal charges for it--can be\ndirectly secured by the state. Charges that have been made reasonable\nby competition may be left as they are, and those that are\ndisproportionately high may be gradually lowered. The growth of\ntraffic may be trusted to keep the total earnings of the companies'\npresent plants at the amount at which they now stand, in spite of\nthese reductions of rates; and enlargements of the plants may be\npermitted to earn further sums which will attract capital and keep the\nservice abreast of the public need. All this will require expert skill\nof a very high order. For the purpose of the present work it is enough\nto say that such a course as this is the only one which will insure in\ntransportation the results which competition elsewhere yields. It will\nsecure both rates and service which the civil law calls \"reasonable\"\nand economic law calls \"natural.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nORGANIZATION OF LABOR\n\n\nWhat an economist wishes first to know concerning the organization of\nlabor is whether it is a natural phenomenon which should be welcomed\nand left to itself. Does it help to establish wages on the basis of\nthe productivity of labor, and does it do it without much reducing\nthat productivity? We shall find that it works both well and ill in\nthese particulars and needs close study and careful regulation.\n\nWhat laborers themselves ask concerning the organization of men of\ntheir class is simply what power it has to raise their own wages; and\nwe shall shortly find that it has a certain power when it does not\ninvoke the principle of monopoly and a much larger power when it does\nso. We shall find that the benefit from mere organization may be\nextended to the great majority of laborers, while that which depends\non monopoly is confined to relatively few and involves an injury to\nthe remainder.\n\n_The Static Standard of Wages of Unorganized Labor._--In that static\nstate toward which society is always tending, and in which the normal\nstandard of wages is completely realized, men are supposed to get all\nthat they produce. The law of marginal productivity of labor works, as\nit were, _in vacuo_, and gives an ideally perfect result. Every unit\nof labor receives what a marginal unit produces.\n\n_Actual Pay of Unorganized Labor._--A static assumption excludes\nenforced idleness on the part of able-bodied men. The changes which\nthrow such men out of employment are not taking place, and there is no\nreserve of efficient but idle labor. In the actual state, which is\nhighly dynamic, such a supply of unemployed labor is always at hand,\nand it is neither possible nor normal that it should be altogether\nabsent. The well-being of workers requires that progress should go on,\nand it cannot do so without causing some temporary displacements of\nlaborers. Though no individual were long out of employment,--though a\nparticular man were in this condition only briefly and during the\nperiod occupied by a transit from one occupation to another,--there\nwould always be in the general market some unemployed men. If we throw\nout of account those who are idle because of personal disabilities, it\nwill remain true that really efficient men can nearly always be had,\nif only a few are at one time needed. The presence of even a few men\nable to do good work and not able to get employment is often\nsufficient to make individual bargaining work unfairly to the laborer.\nWhen the employing of one man is in question, the employer has other\nalternatives, and the man may not have them. The employer may much\nmore readily set men bidding against each other for a vacant place\nthan any of the men can set employers bidding against each other for\nan idle man. This strategic inequality between the parties in the wage\ncontract becomes greater as the supply of unemployed men becomes\nlarger. At some times and places it may force the pay of many workmen\ndownward toward a minimum set by what the unemployed will consent to\ntake.\n\n_The Effect of Local Organization._--Organization means collective\nbargaining and tends to equalize the strategic positions of men and\nemployers. Where an entire force of workers must be dealt with at a\ntime, the employer has not the alternative ready to his hand which he\nwould have if he had only to employ a single one. If his employees\nstrike, he cannot at once secure another force large and efficient\nenough to meet his needs. If his men allow their places one by one to\nbe filled, the strike will be disastrous to them, indeed, but it will\nalso be a misfortune for the employer. His new force will be inferior\nto his old one, first, because many of the new men will be personally\ninferior to the old ones, and secondly, because as a body they lack\neffective training and will not work together as efficiently as did\nthe old force. He can afford to pay for the disciplined workers the\namount that the new force will produce with two plus marks\nattached--one representing the superior personal quality of the former\nemployees and the other representing the value of discipline. In other\nwords, he can afford to make two distinct additions to the amount that\nunemployed men are worth to him in order to retain his old employees.\nThis is on the supposition that it is possible to gather from the\nforce of idle men enough to operate a single establishment. Without\norganization and by means of individual bargaining, wages are drawn\ndownward toward the level set by what idle men will accept, which may\nbe less than they will produce after they receive employment and will\nsurely be less than they will produce after they have developed their\nfull efficiency. With organization which is local only, and with\ncollective bargaining that goes only to the extent of adjusting the\npay of men in one establishment, this pay comes nearer to the standard\nset by the productivity of labor than it would if bargains were\nindividually made. The employer balances in his mind the value of a\nnew and raw force and the value of a selected and disciplined force,\nmeasures the difference between these values, and will often pay a\nrate that is between the two amounts and under average conditions is\nlikely to approach the larger of them.\n\n_Wages as adjusted by a General Organization of Labor in a\nSubgroup._--Where organization goes to the length of uniting all the\nemployees in a particular industry or subgroup, the situation is\nunlike the foregoing in an important particular. No quick filling of\nthe places which the men may vacate with altogether new workers is\npossible. The employers are not so situated that they can compare the\nold force with a new one, measure the difference in their values, and\ngovern their conduct accordingly. The training of an entirely new\nforce is indeed a remote possibility, if the business can wait for it,\nbut it can seldom do this; and a strike that runs through a subgroup\npresents to employers the alternative of winning the workers by\nconcessions or allowing their business to stop. If it stops, it\nbecomes a question of endurance between the employer and the\nemployees, in which the employer has the advantage so long as the\npublic does not interfere. We shall recur to this condition when we\nstudy the effectiveness of strikes and boycotts under various\nconditions. Under all three of the conditions we have just described,\nthe static standard of wages--the final productivity of social\nlabor--still exists; and the actual pay of labor tends toward it, but\ndiffers from it by varying amounts, according as labor is unorganized,\nlocally organized, or organized throughout a subgroup. In the first\ncase the worker may get materially less than the standard amount; in\nthe second case he may get something closely approaching it; and in\nthe third case, for reasons to which we shall later give attention, he\nmay be able to get the full amount and somewhat more. A particular\nemployment which is strongly organized and which makes the utmost use\nof its organization is often able to carry the pay of its employees to\na level that is distinctly above that set by the productive power of\n_marginal social_ labor. Nevertheless, the amount of this overplus\nwhich the favored worker gets is limited, and the standard fixed by\nmarginal productivity is one on which the pay of these workers and of\nall others depends, though it may not coincide with it.\n\n_The Power of a Universal Organization of Labor._--In the days when\nthe wages fund theory held sway it was believed that organization\ncould not materially advance the interests of labor as a whole, since\nit could not add anything to the fund which was destined in any case\nto be divided among the laborers. Now that another theory of wages is\ngenerally held, it is still clear that what organization can do for\nthe entire working class is limited. By no possibility can it insure a\nrate of pay that will permanently exceed the product of labor, since\nemployers would then be interested in reducing the number of their\nworkmen and so raising their product _per capita_ to the level of\ntheir pay. This would result in a large force of idle laborers, whose\ncompetition would have its depressing effect on the labor market. Up\nto the natural limit set by the specific product of labor a universal\norganization might successfully carry its demands. Moreover, this\nresult would require no use of force--no \"slugging\" of non-unionists,\nsince there would be none to be slugged. The mere fact of a universal\norganization maintaining discipline and preventing breaks within its\nown ranks would suffice for the end in view--the maintenance of pay\nthat should conform to its natural standard. The supposition of a\nuniversal organization of labor has at present only a theoretical\ninterest. What society has to deal with is an organization that\nincludes a small minority of workers and is composed of separate\nunions which are endeavoring each to promote the interests of the men\nof its own craft. It is a type of organization which, instead of\nuniting all workers, makes the sharpest division between those in the\nunions and those outside of them, and creates a lesser opposition\nbetween the different unions themselves.\n\n_Organized Labor and Monopoly._--Actual trade unions do not always\nrely upon mere collective bargaining. They sometimes aim to secure a\npartial monopoly of their fields of labor; and as it is impossible to\ndo this if unemployed men or men from other fields of employment are\nfree to enter their territory, they must be kept out of it. They can\nonly be kept out by some use of force, and coercion applied by the\nworkers in a well-paid field to the men who seek to enter it during a\nstrike is a part of the strategy of trade unions.\n\n_The Ground on which the Use of Force is Justified._--Organized\nlaborers claim a right of tenure of their positions; they claim to own\nthem much as a man, by right of prior occupation, owns a homestead.\nThey claim the same right to repel intruders from their field of\nemployment that a man has to drive interlopers from his grounds. \"Thou\nshalt not take another man's job\" is a recognized commandment on which\nthey claim the right to act.\n\n_The Mode of Justifying the Use of the Force in Guarding Vacated\nPositions._--Coercion is a comprehensive term and does not always\ninvolve personal assault. What it inflicts on the recalcitrant may\nrange all the way from social opprobrium and boycotting to literal\nstriking, maiming, or killing. In every case it involves some injury\nand is contrary to the spirit of the law, unless the right of tenure\ncan be fully established. If the employer has no right to turn off his\nmen and take new ones, and if the new ones have no right to come at\nhis invitation, there is a rude analogy between the effort of the\nnon-union men to get the places and an effort to get away a man's\nfarm. It is a matter of course that the employer may rightfully\ndischarge men who prove worthless and fail to render the service which\nis contracted for. The question is whether he has the right to dismiss\nthem when they will render the service only on what seem to him\nexorbitant terms. On this point the verdict of his own reason is\nextremely clear. To offer to render the service only on exorbitant\nterms has the same effect as to offer an inferior service on the\noriginal terms, and the right of tenure which the workingmen claim, if\nit exists at all, is contingent on the rendering of effective service\non reasonable terms. On the supposition that they have owned their\nplaces at all they seem to their employer to have forfeited them when\nthey have insisted on too high wages. On this point, however, the\nmen's reason may give an opposite verdict, though it is based on the\nsame principle. To them the terms they insist on may appear\nreasonable, and they then think that, because they are so, their\nownership of their positions is valid and that other claimants are\nusurpers. Both parties in the dispute base their contentions on the\nsupposed reasonableness of the terms they demand.\n\n_The Necessity for Knowing what Terms are Reasonable._--A momentous\nquestion both for society and for the working people is whether there\nis any way of ascertaining what terms are reasonable and securing\nconformity to them. What we shall find is that it is possible to keep\nin view the natural standard of wages, as in an early chapter we have\ndefined it, and that it is possible, in the midst of the struggle of\nmassed capital with massed labor, to secure a certain degree of\nconformity to this standard. It is possible so to shape the system\nthat a wide difference between actual pay and standard pay will not\nexist, and that wages will everywhere tend toward their natural\nlevels, as they did under that earlier regime before either the\ncapital or the labor of a subgroup acted collectively.\n\n_The Attitude of the Community toward Striking Laborers._--So long as\na local community sympathizes with the worker's dread of competition\nand tolerates his claim of ownership of his position, it does not\nutterly condemn and repress every use of force in asserting his\nclaim. The local public is partly composed of friends or neighbors of\nthe striking worker and is reluctant to interfere with the worker's\neffort to defend what he considers his property--that is, his right of\nemployment in a business to which he is accustomed. The community\nsympathizes with his fear of the hardship which may result when\nemployers freely utilize idle labor as a means of defeating strikes.\nOn the other hand, even a local community realizes that much\ntoleration of force means anarchy. If the violence is not resisted or\nrepressed, the strikers acquire a monopoly that is not dependent on\nthe justice of their claims. The whole question of reasonableness in\nthe terms demanded is forcibly set aside, and the pay that is\nestablished becomes, not whatever a calm verdict of disinterested\npersons would approve, but what workers by brute force can get. Even a\nlocal public is unwilling to see the social order completely subverted\nand mob rule substituted, and it usually interferes when violence goes\nto that length; but in its unwillingness completely to repress\ndisorder, on the one hand, or to leave it wholly unopposed, on the\nother, a local government pursues a wavering policy, now repressing\nanarchy and again leaving it to gather headway. It seldom affords full\nprotection to the non-union men who work during a strike. Moreover, it\nis the habit of state governments not to interfere with local affairs\nuntil the public peace is endangered, and therefore not until the\ncoercion of free laborers has gone to great lengths. The federal\ngovernment only intervenes in great emergencies. Non-union men working\nduring a strike are left largely in the hands of the local community,\nwhich often tolerates enough of violence to give to strikers a\nmeasure of monopolistic power. The wavering policy of the local\ncommunity in regard to preserving the peace expresses a corresponding\nmental wavering. The public obeys no clear principle of action in this\nconnection and merely allows some \"slugging\" when it sympathizes with\nstrikers, but not, as a rule, when it does not. We have to see whether\nthis rule has in it any germ of a legitimate policy.\n\n_The Sole Mode of Escape._--The sympathy in the case depends, as we\nhave seen, on the off-hand impression of the people as to the\nreasonableness of the strikers' demands; and for such an impression\nthere may or may not be an adequate ground. It is evident that no\nauthoritative verdict has in these cases been pronounced. The only\nescape from the intolerable situation which is thus created is by\ntesting the equity of the laborer's demands and adjudicating his claim\nto a tenure of his position. The possible method of doing this we will\npresently examine. It is clear in advance that what is to be done is\nto determine what pay is reasonable. The worker cannot rightfully\nretain the ownership of his job if he does not work properly; and he\ncannot so retain it if he works properly and claims exorbitant pay.\nFair dealing between employer and employed must be attained if his\ntenure is even tacitly recognized. The worker who accepts a rate of\npay that is pronounced reasonable may safely be confirmed in his place\nand protected from any persecution on the part of his employers. The\nworker who refuses a rate which some competent authority has\npronounced reasonable thereby forfeits his right of tenure in a\ndefinitive way. His place is clearly the property of whoever will take\nit, and the state is bound so completely to preserve order as to make\na new worker perfectly secure from injury. This means that it must do\nintelligently and thoroughly what a local community weakly tries to do\nwhen it lets strikers guard their positions if it sympathizes with\ntheir cause, and represses such attempts when it does not. The\nsympathy needs to be crystallized into a clear verdict as to the\nrightfulness or wrongfulness of the rate of pay demanded, and the\nlocal toleration of violence in cases where the men's demands appear\njust needs to become an open and frank assertion of their right to\nemployment on the terms demanded; while the tardy repression of the\nviolence in cases in which the demands seem unjust needs to become a\nprompt and complete repression of it.\n\n_The Preservation of the Mobility of Labor Indispensable._--Any use of\nforce, anything, however slight, that deprives labor of its mobility,\ndestroys the condition on which the law of wages is predicated. A\nperfectly free flow of labor from point to point in the industrial\nsystem is essential to a static state, and to any approximate\nconformity of actual wages to the static standard in a dynamic state.\nThe plan which divides labor into sections and arrays one part of the\nforce against another makes realization of natural wages impossible.\nWhile all differences of pay which correspond to differences of\nproductive power are normal, those which are based on a monopolizing\nof fields of labor by some and the exclusion of others are abnormal.\nThey cause the rich fields to be surrounded by impassable walls and\nforce the bulk of the population to work on the outer and poorer\nareas.\n\n_The Wide Range of Difference between the Pay of Different Classes of\nLaborers under Trade Unions._--The possible range of the rise of pay\nwhich monopoly may insure for certain laborers is far greater than\nthat which any action can secure for labor as a whole. Mere collective\nbargaining makes some difference, indeed, but where there is no\nattempt to exclude from a favored field workers of the poorly paid\nclass, the range of difference is not great. To double the pay of\nlaborers of every class would require more than the entire income of\nsociety, and yet it is possible for a few workers to make as large a\ngain as this. Some organizations without monopoly may keep the actual\npay of labor somewhat near to its theoretical standard. With monopoly\nthey may carry it far above the standard set by the marginal\nproductivity of social labor.\n\n_The Differing Efficiency of Organization as used against Different\nClasses of Employers._--When employers are acting independently, a\ntrade union which deals with them one at a time may very easily bring\nthe pay of its members up to a certain average standard. A strike\nagainst a single producer may be very disastrous for him, since it may\ncause him to lose his customers. If the general state of business is\ngood, he will pay all that he can rather than see business drift away\nfrom him, but what he can pay is somewhat strictly limited. He cannot\nsafely give more than what is given by most of his competitors.\nOrganization in such a case is a good equalizer of pay, and as its\npower is used against different employers successively, it suffices to\nraise general pay toward or to a standard set by the productivity of\nthe labor. Moreover, as a rule, it can accomplish this without any\nappeal to violence. A modest and reasonable demand enforced by a\nwholly peaceable strike is likely to be conceded.\n\n_The Power of a Strike against All Entrepreneurs in a Subgroup._--A\nstrike against employers in an entire subgroup may gain more for the\nworkmen, but the more ambitious effort encounters stronger resistance.\nThe employers, we assume, are competing still and have not the power\nwhich a monopoly would give them to raise the prices of their\nproducts. Nevertheless, they can concede somewhat more when they act\ntogether than one of them could concede separately. A concurrent\nraising of prices is entirely possible without any positive\ncombination of the producers who follow such a course. Moreover, the\nstrike itself, if it continues for any length of time, creates a\nscarcity of the products and a rise of prices. Though the employers in\nthe end may concede what their workers demand, or some part of it, the\nsettlement may not cost them anything, since the advance in prices may\nenable them to take all that they give their men out of the pockets of\nthe public. The strike by a trade union against competing employers\nhas as one ground of early success the employers' distrust of each\nother. The danger is that as soon as prices become at all firm, one or\nanother of the employers may quickly make terms with his men in order\nto seize the opportunity for new business. For this very reason,\nhowever, the range of possible gains from a strike running through a\nwhole subgroup is smaller than it would be if the employers were\norganized, so that all of them could safely wait for a larger rise of\nprices before making terms with their men. The possible increase of\npay without a combination on the employers' side is distinctly larger\nthan any which a strike against a single employer can usually secure.\n\n_The Power of a Strike against a Union of Employers._--Still keeping\nthe supposition that there is no coercion invoked and that strikes are\nquite orderly, we find that they may gain more when employers are\nconsolidated than when they are not so, but that they are likely to\nencounter still greater resistance. The demand--\"Pay us more and\ncharge it to the public\"--may be conceded, and probably will be so if\nthe employers dread the hostility of their own men and the action of\nthe state in enforcing a resumption of business. If they have no such\ndread, their power to resist a strike is much greater by reason of\nconsolidation. They can safely hold out long if the public will let\nthem do it. No one of them is in any danger of seeing others take his\ncustomers. Their hold upon their constituency is secure, and their\npower to tax the constituency and make it pay for whatever a strike\nmay cost is very great. A strike under such circumstances may win much\nfor the men or it may win nothing whatever, and the difference between\nthese results is mainly determined by the attitude of the people. If\nthe government will hold its hands and let the producers work their\nwill, they may (1) allow the strike to run for a time, concede\nsomething to their men, and raise prices enough to recoup themselves\nwith a surplus; or else (2) they may let the strike run longer, till\nthe men are tired out, take them back without concessions, and still\nput the same tax on the public as in the other case.\n\n_Effectiveness of Coercion as used against Non-union Men._--As a\npeaceful strike has different possibilities according as it is used\nagainst a single producer, a body of competing producers, or a\nconsolidation of producers, so coercion employed against independent\nworkers has correspondingly different effects in the three cases. When\nit is used in the case of a strike of the first class, it enables the\nmen to carry their point more quickly, but does not materially\nincrease the amount they can gain. If the independent producer is\nunable to run his mill till he makes terms with his original workers,\nhe will be in greater haste to make terms, but the amount he can yield\nis limited almost as closely as before by the prevailing rate of pay.\n\nIn the case of a strike of the second class which runs through a\nsubgroup in which producers are still without union, coercion adds\ngreatly to what the men may gain. It may fix and enforce a rate of pay\nwhich all employers must give, and circumstances will compel them to\ncharge it to the public in whole or in part. The marginal producers\nwho have no net profits must charge the whole advance to the public or\ngo out of business, and the result may be that some of them may go\nout. The advance in the rate of pay conceded by others may come partly\nout of their own profits and partly out of consumers' pockets.\n\nWith employers in a great consolidation the possible advance of wages\nis at its maximum. The employers are in a position to charge to the\npublic all that they give to the men, and more. If the state allows\nthem to do it, they may thrive by repeated strikes. Whether their men\nthrive or not depends on their power to bar other labor from their\nfield and to live without work long enough to induce their employers\nto yield.\n\nThe effect of coercion on the wages of non-union laborers means a\nlowering of their pay. It confines them to the less productive field\nwhich is open to them.\n\n     -------\n  1. _______  Wages of union labor which monopolizes its field\n              and deals with competing employers.\n     -------\n\n  2. _________________  Wages obtainable by union without monopoly\n                        approximating the natural rate.\n\n\n  3. -----------------  Level of pay with no unions in the field.\n\n  4.         _________  Wages of non-union labor excluded from\n                        the more productive fields.\n\n  5. _________________  Base from which wages are measured.\n\nThe height of lines 1, 2, 3, and 4, above the base line 5, measures\nwages, and the length of the lines rudely indicates the numbers of\nworkmen in different classes. The dotted lines above and below line 1\nrepresent what union labor which maintains by force a monopoly of its\nfield may be able to get from employers who are in a combination. It\nmay be more than competing employers would give or it may be less.\n\nFor men in strong unions who have _carte blanche_ to defend their\nfields, the policy of leaving other labor to its fate is\noverwhelmingly the more profitable. With a choice between gaining a\nhundred per cent in wages for ourselves or ten per cent for working\nhumanity, self-interest speaks decisively in favor of the former\nalternative.\n\nIn connection with the actual dealings of workmen with their employers\nthe following are the principal facts:--\n\n1. When labor makes its bargain with employers without organization on\nits own side, the parties in the transaction are not on equal terms\nand wages are unduly depressed. The individual laborer offers what he\nis forced to sell, and the employer is not forced to buy. Delay may\nmean privation for the one party and no great inconvenience or loss\nfor the other. If there are within reach a body of necessitous men out\nof employment and available for filling the positions for which\nindividual laborers are applying, the applicants are at a fatal\ndisadvantage.\n\n2. Collective bargaining is a partial remedy for this disability and\nbrings the pay of labor closer to its normal standard than, under\nindividual bargaining, it could possibly be, but does not, of itself,\nenable one class of laborers to raise themselves to a position which\nis very much above that of a majority of the others. It gives to no\nclass of workers any monopoly of their field or any power to tax the\npublic or oppress men who are unorganized. It is a normal and\ndemocratic measure.\n\n3. Many actual trade unions do not depend upon mere collective\nbargaining, but aim to secure a special gain through a partial\nmonopoly of their several fields of labor. Their policy is exclusive\nin that it tries to limit the number of men who are admitted to the\nunions and to prevent non-union men from working at the craft.\n\n4. In the establishing of such control of fields of labor some force\nis employed in order to bar from the fields men who would gladly enter\nthem. \"Slugging\" is a frequent part of the strategy used when strikes\nare pending, and this elastic term covers a wide range of deterrent\narguments. Whatever goes beyond a verbal demand or insult to the man\nor his family and involves any use of physical force is included in\nthe meaning of the term, and the action ranges from small injuries to\nthe clubbings which maim and kill. Moreover, social ostracism is to\nbe rated as tantamount to force as a means of preventing a free\nmovement of labor.\n\n5. When the resort to force is defended, it is on the ground that the\norganized laborers have a right of tenure of their positions and that\nthey may vacate them and still hold them as quasi-property. One man\nshould not \"take another man's job\" even after the other man has left\nit. Acting on this claim, union laborers treat men who attempt to\noccupy the vacated places much as a man would treat intruders on his\nland or in his house. It is, as is claimed, a case in which a man must\nbe his own policeman and protect his property.\n\n6. The public sympathizes with the worker's dread of the competition\nwhich he encounters when unemployed men are gathered from near and far\nand set working in strikers' positions. It even tolerates, in a way,\nhis claim of quasi-ownership of his position, and though it condemns\nthe violence with which he enforces the claim, it does not summarily\nrepress the violence. It is without a well-defined policy and often\nweakly permits disorders to grow into anarchy which only troops can\nquell. Local governments are often reluctant to lay vigorous hands on\n\"sluggers,\" even when to do so would forestall the necessity for\nseverer measures. This is due to an instinctive feeling that hardship\nand injustice may result from allowing employers to utilize a reserve\nof idle labor as a means of depressing their employees' wages and\ndefeating strikes.\n\n7. It is realized, on the other hand, that giving to violence a free\nrein means an amount of anarchy which no state can tolerate, that\nnon-union laborers have, under the law, a claim to protection, and\nthat allowing strikers to drive them from the field is permitting a\nmonopoly to be established by crime.\n\n8. The reluctance promptly to repress violence, on the one hand, or to\nleave it unopposed, on the other, expresses a mental wavering, since\nthe state perceives and follows no clear principle in this connection.\nIt has neither defined the nature and extent of laborers' rights nor\nprovided for any orderly process for securing them.\n\n9. The only escape from this situation is by arbitration. It is\nnecessary to adjudicate the laborer's demand for wages and to legalize\nhis tenure of place on condition that he shall accept a just rate of\npay. The state is bound to ascertain and declare what rate is just, to\nconfirm the workers in their positions when they accept it, and to\ncause them to forfeit their right of tenure if they refuse it. If the\nworkers thus forfeit their claim, their positions are clearly open to\nwhoever will take them, and the state is bound to protect the men who\ndo this. Such appears to be the present situation, and an essential\nfeature of it is the need of ascertaining on what principle a court of\narbitration should proceed in determining what rate of pay is just.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nTHE BASIS OF WAGES AS FIXED BY ARBITRATION\n\n\nThe state needs an authoritative mode of determining what rate of pay\nis \"reasonable.\" This duty is often imposed on boards of arbitration,\nfor whose guidance no definite principle of justice has as yet been\nprescribed. Such a board has to depend on its own intuitions. It\napproaches its difficult work, having no legal rule for reaching a\ndecision, and yet compelled, if possible, to reach one which will\nactually settle the dispute referred to it and enable production to go\non. It must try, in the verdict it pronounces, to satisfy its own\nsense of equity. What such a tribunal has, in most cases, actually\ndone has been to make compromises, and this has measurably\naccomplished both of these ends. A verdict that \"splits the\ndifference\" between the men's demand and their employers' is most\nlikely to cause work to be resumed; and on the ground that each party\nis probably claiming too much, and that justice lies between the\nclaims, it insures a rude approach to fairness. This action has caused\nunfavorable criticism of the whole system of arbitration, on the\nground that it abandons the effort to reach absolute justice and tries\nchiefly to end the quarrel on any terms, and also that by giving\nstrikers a part of what they demand, it encourages them to strike\nagain and secure more. We have to see whether a court can do better\nthan this and whether such a crude procedure has tended at all toward\nputting wages on a normal basis.\n\n_Why a Court cannot reduce Wages in Favored Fields to the Rate\nprevailing at the Margin of Employment._--A tribunal of arbitration,\nwhich has to deal with consolidated capital and organized labor, acts\nin a field where both profits and wages are higher than they are in\nmost departments of industry. Should a court then take as its standard\nof just wages what unorganized labor gets when it works for\nindependent employers? That would usually level the pay of the class\nof laborers it is dealing with to the standard set by a much more\npoorly paid class.\n\nShould the court, on the other hand, take as the just rate the one\nthat generally prevails where employers are organized in trusts and\nworkmen in exclusive unions? That would be legalizing the result of\nmonopoly. The court, in such a case, knows that the profits of the\nbusiness are increased by the employers' monopoly and wages by the\nworkmen's; and yet it will not pull down the rate of pay to the level\nprevailing where no combinations exist. On the other hand, to legalize\nany high rate of wages, which is made possible only by a double\nmonopoly, would seem to be equally unjust.\n\n_The Power of Monopolistic Trade Unions under Different\nConditions._--Arbitrators have to deal with trade unions which appeal\nto some kind of force in defending their right of possession of a\nfield of labor. They make their own demands, strike, and compel rivals\nto stay out of the positions they vacate. When this policy is\ntolerated, they secure an exceptionally high rate of pay.\n\nWe may represent the product of labor and its pay in the different\noccupations by the accompanying diagram.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe heavy line _AA'_ represents, by its height at different points\nabove the base line _EE'_, the product that is specifically imputable\nto labor in different employments. The part of the figure where the\nline is far above _EE'_ represents the condition where, on the\nemployers' side, monopolies are established; while on the right of the\nfigure, where the line has descended and is slowly approaching the\nbase, the condition is represented in which employers are competing\nwith each other, and many of them are selling their products at prices\nthat only cover the cost of creating them. A unit of labor working for\na monopoly creates as large a physical product as it does elsewhere.\nIt turns out as many tons of steel or cases of cloth, etc., as though\nno monopoly existed, and the price of the goods is high because less\nlabor is employed than would be employed under competition and fewer\ngoods are produced. The actual product of the unit of labor, as\nmeasured in dollars, is enhanced by the employers' monopoly. _BB'_\nrepresents, by its varying distance above _EE'_, what organized labor\ncan get under the different conditions. On the left it forces the\ntrusts to share gains with it, and gets a high rate of pay; while on\nthe right, where employers are not in combination and there are no\nsuch great gains to draw on, it gets less, although at the extreme\nright it gets all that it produces. _DD'_ represents what unorganized\nlabor can get under the different conditions, and it is usually\nsomewhat more where trusts employ it than it is elsewhere. The dotted\nline _CC'_ represents the product of labor as it would be if it were\nequalized in the different fields.\n\n_The Parties interested in a Dispute in which Both Labor and Capital\nare Organized._--We can best deal with the problem of the adjustment\nof wages by arbitration if we approach it in a region where\norganization is strong, both on the side of labor and on that of\ncapital, and disturbances of the natural system are greatest. The\nstruggle that here goes on is, in a way, triangular. Organized labor\ncontends against its own employers, on the one hand, and against\nunorganized labor, on the other; and the part which develops the\ngreatest bitterness of feeling and the most violence is the strife\nbetween labor and labor--between the trade unionists who strike and\nthe men who attempt to occupy their positions. The union is more\ntolerant of the employer's action in driving a hard bargain than it is\nof the \"scab's\" action in \"taking another man's job.\"\n\n_The Public a Fourth Party in the Case._--The three parties just\nnamed--employers, organized employees, and applicants for places--are\nnot the only parties whom the dispute affects. The public has a vital\nrelation to it, and in a true sense its interest and rights are\nsupreme. The public has a right to demand that production should not\nbe interrupted, and that the supply of necessary articles should not\nbe cut off; and it is in line with this demand that arbitrators seek\nfirst for an award that the contending parties will be willing to\naccept.\n\n_Two Issues needing Settlement._--In the immediate contest over the\nadjustment of pay, the three parties first named are the ones\nprimarily involved. In discharging its duty as the preserver of\njustice, the court finds two issues which need to be settled rightly.\nThe dispute between _entrepreneurs_ and workmen must be rightly\nadjusted, and the issue between the workmen and other labor must be\nso. The power of the state cannot properly be used (1) to force from\nemployers more than they can afford to give, or (2) to exclude from\nany field of employment free laborers who are able and willing to do\nthe required work. Arbitrators make their awards with an eye to\nconditions within the business and to the state of the labor market.\nInstinctively an arbitrator, in trying to satisfy his sense of\njustice, thinks first of the amount that the business yields. The men\nmust not take the whole income from the business, leaving to the\n_entrepreneur_ nothing wherewith to meet the claim for interest.\nWithout doing this, however, they may ask for much more than other\nlaborers will accept, and the question arises whether this should be\nconceded to them. In merely putting the relation of workmen to\nemployers on a proper footing, the tribunal may leave the relation of\nthe strikers to other workmen as unsatisfactory as it has been. It\nappears that the tribunal of arbitration cannot by one act settle the\ntwo issues that are presented to it. If it gives to the men what seems\nlike a fair share of the product of the business which employs them,\nit gives more than most workers get and more than the law of final\nproductivity of labor would afford. Yet without a ruthless cutting\ndown of the pay of favored laborers it cannot apply the standard of\nfinal social productivity of labor. If it applies this standard and\ncuts down the men's actual pay, they will refuse to abide by the\ndecision; and if it tries to obtain a power of compulsion and make the\nmen accept its decisions, they will try--probably successfully--to\ndefeat the attempt. A system of compulsory arbitration that should go\nto the length of forcibly equalizing the wages paid to men of like\nability in different occupations, would not be tolerated in a\ndemocratic community.\n\n_The Difficulty of Applying the Test of Final Productivity._--The law\nof final productivity works most efficiently when it works\nautomatically, as it does when competing employers make the best\nbargains they can with locally organized laborers. The results, then,\napproach the theoretical standard, though they do not entirely\ncoincide with it. The law, however, cannot be rigorously applied by a\ntribunal which is fixing a rate of pay by its own conscious act. How\ncan the judges directly ascertain how much a final increment of social\nlabor produces?\n\nEmployers, indeed, do make such tests. An estimate of how much a few\nadditional laborers would add to the product of a business often has,\nin some way, to be made, and employers manage to make it; but\nsubsequent experience is necessary for verifying their judgment. A\nrule of pay, governed by marginal productivity, results from the\naction spontaneously taken by a myriad of employers, who enlarge their\nworking forces when they find that they gain thereby, and reduce them\nwhen they lose. Of course no court could do anything of this kind. No\ndepartment of industry will turn itself into a laboratory for testing\nthe productive power of labor. It is clear that the procedure must be\nmuch simpler and cruder; and a vital question is whether a board of\narbitration, proceeding as it must do, is under any influence that\nimpels it to render decisions which, in any degree, conform to the\ntheoretical standard of pay. Does the economic law of wages operate at\nall when civil law steps in to the extent of creating any tribunal of\narbitration? We shall see.\n\n_The Necessity for Some Standard on which Arbitrators may base\nAwards._--When a board of arbitration tries to do anything more than\nto end a quarrel, it must seek for some principle of justice. If it is\ndealing with a favored class of laborers, it finds two extreme limits\nbetween which its awards must fall, namely (1) the product which the\nbusiness yields in excess of simple interest on the capital, and (2)\nthe wages that unorganized laborers may offer to accept. It is\npossible that the workmen may demand the former amount and the\nemployers may offer the latter; and if so, compromising is a\nrule-of-thumb mode of doing justice. In the case of a strong union and\na highly profitable business the employers may offer more than the\nminimum amount, and the award that is a compromise between the terms\nof the contending parties will then be well above that which is a fair\nmean between the possible extremes; yet it does not appear that it\nreally conforms to any ethical principle.\n\n_Average Wages as a Standard._--Another possible basis of an award is\nthe average rate of wages prevailing; but it has no claim as a\nstandard of exact justice and is very far from being workable. Wages\nvary from a very high rate to a very low one; and the highest rate is\nthat which prevails where a trade union which is strong enough to keep\nmen out of its field of employment deals with a trust which is strong\nenough to keep rival producers out of its field of business. Under\nsuch conditions shall a court average this rate and a very low one,\nand reason that a mean thus arrived at is a legitimate standard of pay\nor one that would be realized if no monopolies existed? There is no\nevidence that this is the accurate fact, and there is every evidence\nthat a verdict attained in this way would be rejected. It would cut\ndown the pay that the favored workers have been getting, not to\nmention denying them the increase they are striking for. On the other\nhand, the lowest rates prevail where no permanent organizations exist;\nand if a strike should arise here, should the tribunal take an average\nrate of pay as its standard? That would greatly increase the rate that\nprevails in the region where it is acting, and would give the men more\nthan most of their employers could afford. It would discard the\nnecessary rule of keeping within the limit of what an industry can pay\nwithout seeing many of its shops and mills closed. Yet a court which\nrefused to raise the pay of the lowest class at all would seem to\naccept the bad results of monopoly; for it would ratify the hard\narrangements which workers who are excluded from the better fields are\nforced to accept.\n\n_A Court of Arbitration not the Agency for Rectifying General Evils\ndue to Monopoly._--It will be seen that the difficulty we discover in\nthe way of a wholly satisfactory action by the court is caused by a\ntacit demand that it shall undo the results of monopoly itself. We\ninstinctively say to ourselves that the court must insist on doing\nultimate justice, and that all rates perverted by monopoly are unjust.\nThe arbitrators should pull down the high rates, raise the low ones,\nand create such an approach to uniformity as would be realized if\nlabor were as perfectly mobile as a static assumption requires. To do\nthis would give some laborers much less than their employers can\nafford to pay and less than they often do pay; while it would be\ngiving to others more than their employers can pay without bankrupting\nthemselves. If such levelling is to be done, it must be done by some\nother agency than a board of arbitration.\n\n_The Attitude of the Public toward a Strike by Employees of a\nMonopoly._--If we turn from a formal tribunal to the court of public\nopinion, we find a like state of affairs. There is no danger whatever\nthat the public will justify cutting down the wages now received by\nmen in the employment of a monopoly to a much lower level. That in\nitself would not right the wrongs of the poorly paid workers or those\nof the public itself. The employer would go on getting high prices for\nhis products and would pocket the new gain which the reduction of\nwages gave him. If a great corporation is now taxing the public, even\nthose who suffer would rather see the proceeds of the grab shared with\nthe men than see it all held by the employing corporation. It is,\nindeed, true that if a tribunal were to give the men an _increased_\nshare of what the monopoly is getting, the employing company would try\nto recoup itself from the public by raising prices still higher; and,\nif it were to give a reduced share, the company might enlarge its\nbusiness and make its prices a shade lower. Giving to the men a share\nof the grab made by their employer does indirectly cause a certain\nincrease of the injury done to others, and withdrawing a share might\nslightly lessen the injury. The public would rather see the higher\nwages paid, and take some chance of this minor and indirect injury,\nthan see the employing company pocket all that it exacts from the\npublic.\n\n_Monopoly Prices as affected by an Increase of Wages._--Arbitration\noften authorizes a rate of pay based on the profits of an employers'\nmonopoly; and yet a tribunal of this kind must not, and will not, make\nitself the accomplice of any monopoly by making its position more\nsecure. The policy of every public institution must, and will, be\ndesigned to help make an end of every such outlaw that now has a\nfoothold in the field of business. Yet any plan which would force a\nmonopolistic employer to give to his men an increased share of the\n\"grab\" which he makes from the pockets of consumers tends to increase\nthe amount of the grab if the employer is entirely secure in his\nposition. A monopoly that is thus safe from interference tries to put\nthe price of each of its products at the point where the largest net\nrevenue is afforded. If distance along the line _AG_ measures the\nsupply of a commodity and vertical distance from it measures price,\n_DF_ will be the price curve of a commodity, as it is offered in\nincreasing amounts. _AD_ will be the price when one unit is offered,\nand _GF_ will be the price when the full amount represented by the\nline _AG_ is produced. The price will then stand at the cost of\nproducing the article. When a monopoly is firmly established, it will\nseek to get the largest net profit that can be had, and a consistent\nexecution of the plan would reduce the output from the amount measured\nby _AG_ to that measured by _AH_. The price would then become _HE_\nand the net profit the amount of the area _EB_. If wages are so raised\nthat the cost becomes _G'F'_, the net profit becomes _EB'_. This\nprofit can be increased by further reducing the product to the amount\n_AH'_, putting the price at _H'E'_, and the net profit _E'B'_, which\nis larger than _EB'_. If an independent producer can employ non-union\nlabor and create the goods at the cost _GF_, and market them without\nreducing the price much below the level indicated by _H'E'_, he can\nmake on each unit of product a profit nearly equal to _I'E'_. This\nfact makes the monopoly cautious about raising its price to the level\n_H'E'_. A tribunal of arbitration may somewhat raise wages without\nfearing such an increase of prices. By a crude and instinctive\njudgment the court will hit upon some level of wages which falls well\nwithin the limit of what the monopoly can pay and is above the amount\nwhich marginal social labor gets.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n_The Probable Result of a Strike as a Standard for an Award._--Let us\nsee what would happen if a board of arbitration should abandon all\neffort to level out the general inequalities in wages, and try chiefly\nto end quarrels and avert long-continued strikes. With this in view it\nmight aim to give the men whatever they would be likely to gain by\nmeans of the strike. In a true sense this mode of procedure is more\nnearly scientific than either of the others. Any tribunal of voluntary\narbitration will aim to content both parties sufficiently to prevent\nan interruption of business. The men may consent to take somewhat less\nthan they hope to get by a successful strike; and the employers may be\nwilling to pay somewhat more than they would at the end of a\nsuccessful lockout. The probable outcome of the struggle may be\ndifferently estimated by the contending parties, and if so, an actual\nstruggle will end by making employers pay more and the workmen take\nless than they had severally expected to do. If this amount can be\nawarded at the outset and the struggle precluded, all parties will be\ngainers by the continuance of business, unless the employers desire a\nstrike for the sake of making their products scarce and dear.\n\n_When the Probable Results of a Strike afford an Unfair Standard of\nWages._--Where monopolies exist and trade unions rely on violence in\ncarrying their point, it would not be fair to establish a permanent\nrule of wages based on the amounts that strikes so conducted secure.\nSuch strikes depend for success on the violent exclusion of non-union\nmen; and actually to give permanence to rates so gained would be to\nfasten on the majority of workers the disabilities under which they\nnow labor, and to perpetuate the gains of a twofold monopoly. On the\nother hand, if the court should make its award conform to the probable\nresult of a strike which should be general in the trade, but should\nnot resort to any violence, the procedure would be natural and would\nbase itself, in an unconscious way, on the true standard of wages.\nSuch a general strike, by its mere magnitude, would preclude the\npossibility of any immediate filling of the vacated places by men at\nthe time out of employment; and yet the fact that non-union men were\nnot forcibly kept out of the trade would be an all-important feature\nof the situation. If, when no strikes were pending, men could gain\nadmission to this field, there would be no true monopoly on the men's\nside. The rule of giving, by arbitration, what a strike would secure\nwould remove the chance of cutting down the rate to that which\nprevails in the more ill-paid employments, and would insure to the men\nthe rate that marginal workers in actual employment get plus the two\nadditional amounts spoken of at the beginning of the preceding\nchapter. The marginal product of labor plus an amount for personal\nsuperiority plus an amount for good organization would be the standard\nto which wages in favored employments would conform; and it is as\nnearly normal as any practicable standard would be. A free application\nof it would reduce the wages of unions that thrive by the use of force\nand would be opposed by such unions. If it were adopted, there is a\nprospect that the awards would be rejected by the men until hard\nexperience should teach them to relinquish gains secured by violence.\nYet a tribunal that should adopt this standard would allow workmen to\nretain every advantage that organization can afford without a\nviolation of the criminal law. Its guide in making awards would be the\npay which the best unions lawfully get in trades akin to the one in\nwhose case they were acting.\n\nIn dealing with a union which is not a true monopoly and does not\ndepend on force, arbitrators may safely award what an actual strike\nwould probably secure, and the simple plan of compromising gives an\napproximation to this amount. What the men will accept and the\nemployers will give is about what a strike would extort. Where a\nmonopoly of the field of labor exists and force is used to protect\nit, a compromise which anticipates the probable result of a strike\nconcedes what could not otherwise be lawfully secured, and we have to\nsee whether this is a plan that a board of arbitration can properly\nadopt.\n\n_Arbitration as affected by Employers' Monopolies._--We confine our\nattention, for the present, to arbitration that has no power of\ncoercion behind it. A board may be formed which is compelled by\nstatute to investigate quarrels and announce fair terms of settlement,\nbut the contending parties may be allowed to do as they please about\naccepting the awards. The most difficult case with which such a\ntribunal would have to deal is that in which the employer has a\nmonopoly of a department of production, and a trade union has an\nexclusive possession of its field of labor. The mere removal of the\nemployer's monopoly would so greatly simplify the situation as to\nleave no ground for serious difficulty. With that out of the\nway,--with potential competition doing the perfect work that under\ngood laws and good policing it ought to do,--the pay of laborers in\nother employments would be somewhat higher, and extortionate profits\nwould be altogether absent. Profits based on special economy would\nexist, as they should, but those which are filched unjustly from any\none's pocket would not exist. There would be likely to be, in most of\nthe subgroups, independent employers efficient enough to hold their\npositions, but without any means of getting abnormal gains. These\nwould be marginal employers in their several subgroups, and their\nreturns would range about that static level at which the wages of\nlabor and the interest on capital would absorb them all. An award\nbased on what such employers could pay would express what other\nemployers would naturally pay, and it would be all that the subgroup\nas a whole could concede without ruining some of its members, but it\nwould allow others to make something by special economies in\nproduction. Productivity profits they would get and no others, and\nthese it is in every way expedient that they should be allowed to\nenjoy. Suppressing employers' monopolies would remove much of the\ndifficulty connected with arbitration, and putting an end to violence\non the men's part would remove almost all the remainder.\n\nWith monopolies in the field it is quite otherwise. Their gains are\nnot of the kind that it is for the interest of the public to let them\nkeep. The public claims these sums on grounds of equity and\nexpediency. It is a perverted distribution that gives them to their\npresent recipients; and this fact threatens to involve more and more\nthe processes of production themselves. Centralization, without\nmonopoly, increases the product of industry; but the monopolistic\nfeature that often attends it partially paralyzes the producing\nforces, and must be gotten rid of before there can be a normal income\nto divide and a normal way of dividing it. _The court of arbitration\nitself cannot get rid of it_, and it would do harm if it should try to\ndo so. Drastically to cut down wages that have been raised by the\npower of monopoly would injure some workmen without materially helping\nothers, and it would benefit chiefly the monopolistic employers. Such\na policy would bring the entire system of arbitration to an end; for\nit is partly a fear that arbitration would not leave to favorably\nsituated unions as much as they can now get by strikes and boycotts\nthat prevents the system from coming into vogue. The state can end\nthe monopoly, but it must do it by other measures than installing\ncourts of arbitration. In the interim--long or short, as the case may\nbe--before these measures will have their effect, it is necessary to\nproceed on a plan of securing by awards something like what would\nresult from actual trials of strength. The effects of adjudication\nwill not, in this interim, be ideal, but it is necessary to accept\nthis fact and struggle the harder to obtain conditions that will\nimprove them.\n\n_Abnormal Conditions which Arbitrators must Accept._--Crude force of\none sort or another would sometimes give to organized labor twice or\nthrice as much as free labor can earn at the social margin of\nproduction, and the public approaches the problem of adjustment while\nthis condition exists. It may be that a trust has crushed competition,\nmade large gains for itself, and made it possible to pay employees at\na high rate; while, on the other hand, a trade union has made itself\nstrong, put pressure on the employers, excluded free laborers, and\nsecured a share of the monopolistic spoils. Arbitrators, then,\nwhenever a strike is pending, may divide the spoils as a strike would\ndo, between masters and men. This will leave a few workers in\npossession of a rich field and many hungry ones outside of it; and we\nhave asserted that the board should confirm the workmen's tenure of\nplace on the sole condition that they accept a rate of pay which it\nshall authorize. In this case the arbitrators authorize a high rate,\nwhile needy men stand ready to take a lower one. They confirm wages\nbased on the profits of monopoly, but look to the state as the power\nwhich will get them out of their anomalous position, by making an end\nof monopoly.\n\n_Why Sharing a \"Grab\" already made is not an Aggravation of the\nEvil._--While plunder is to be had, it is at least by one point fairer\nthat workers should have a share of it than that employers should have\nit all. We have said that the court of arbitration finds two issues\nneeding settlement, namely, the relation of employers and employed\nwithin the business, and that of laborers outside of this department\nof industry to those within it. Only one of these issues is it capable\nof settling, and it is by a true instinct and not merely from\nexpediency that arbitrators permit workmen to share in some degree the\ngains of the monopoly that employs them. This is legitimate, however,\nonly on the condition that, by further measures, the gains of monopoly\nbe reduced.\n\n_How Arbitration will be facilitated by the Suppression of\nMonopolies._--In studying monopolies we discovered that the prices of\ntheir goods do not entirely part company with their natural standards,\neven when governments do not at all interfere with them. Potential\ncompetition keeps these prices from rising above the standard of cost\nby more than a certain margin. We shall see that if governments do\nnothing in the way of controlling the contests over wages, the rates\nthat these yield will not be wholly unnatural. They will be held\nwithin a certain distance from the standards. If too high wages are\nexacted, the barriers will be broken down and competing laborers will\ncome into the favored fields. The potential competition of idle men\nhangs as a menace over the heads of the too exacting trade unionists,\nand enforces a measure of prudence in the wages demanded. If the\nunions ask too much and strike in order to get it, the competition\nwhich is now latent will become active, other men will take the\nvacated places, and the struggle of force will begin. Slugging may\nensue and may go to the limit of a weak government's toleration. The\nmore complete is the exclusion of free labor, the higher is the rate\nwhich organized labor secures; but this rate always falls within a\ncertain distance of the normal one, as that is fixed by the final\nproductivity of social labor. Even the pay secured by violent strikes\nis, as we have already shown, _governed by_ the law of final\nproductivity, though it does not _coincide with_ that rate. Actual pay\nand standard pay are like a vessel and a tug attached to each other by\na hawser, which allows one to drift far from the other but does not\nlet them part company. In the long run the tug takes the tow with it.\nEven the wages which a trust gives to a fighting union--wages paid by\na monopoly to a monopoly--are governed by the law of final\nproductivity, since there is a limit on what the trust can extort from\nthe public, and there is a limit on what the union can extort from the\ntrust. Potential competition, by limiting both the producing\ncorporation and the trade union, vindicates the natural law of wages,\nthough its results are made inexact by monopoly.\n\n_How Potential Competition affects Organized Labor._--We have seen\nthat potential competition keeps within limits the prices of goods\nmade by trusts. If they become too high, new mills are built. In a\nlike way potential competition puts a check on the wages a strong\nunion can secure; for if these are too far above the level of\nnon-union men's pay, such men will find their way into the business.\nOpen shops will be established, either by the present employers or by\nnew ones. There will be much to be gained by an independent shop\nmanned by non-union labor, and the danger of this makes a trade union\nmore conservative than it would otherwise be. The chief potentiality\nin the case is that of the new and independent shop, and if the way is\nopen for this to appear, the range of difference between the pay of\nfavored laborers and that of others is greatly reduced. The trade\nunion may be able to carry its point and keep free labor from its\nfield, so long as it has only its own employers to deal with; but if\nnew employers will appear whenever there is an inducement to do so,\nthe case is quite otherwise. The new mills make the greater gains if\nthey are manned by non-union men.\n\nWith the field open for all producers, the danger of free shops with\nfree men will impend always over the union that demands too much for\nits members. This is now true even where consolidated companies exist,\nand it would be doubly true if there were no such companies. The\nrivalries which would then appear would keep wages, as well as prices,\nnear to their natural standards.\n\nIn the absence of monopolies on the part of employers, and of\n\"slugging\" on the part of workmen, arbitrators may accept as standards\nwhat the actual dealings of employers and employed yield. In most\ncases they will ratify no wrong by doing so. The court may act as it\nnow does and announce a rate based on a mere compromise or on the\nprobable result of a strike. If the men accept the award, let them\nkeep their places; but if not, let the positions be open to whoever\nwill take them, and let the state repress every form of violence that\nwould interfere with their doing so. The sentiment of even a local\ncommunity will sustain such a maintenance of order.\n\n_The Case of Trades not affected by the Potential Competition of\nNon-union Men with New Employers._--Building trades are peculiarly\nsituated in that their products have to be made in the locality where\nthey will stay, and no competition from labor living at a distance is\nto be feared. If the local unions can protect their field by force,\nthey can establish a high rate of pay, even though the employers have\nno unions. Arbitration that merely gives what a strike will yield will\nhere deviate greatly from the natural standard of wages.\n\nLabor in mining is somewhat similarly situated, and so is labor in\ntransportation. In these, and in some other fields, new men do not\nweaken the position of strikers unless they are brought to the places\nwhere the strikers have been working; and that exposes them to\nassault. It is in the making of portable goods for a general market\nthat the new and independent shop manned by non-union laborers is an\nimportant factor.\n\nIt is easy to answer the question whether, in such fields, the board\nof arbitration should confirm the workmen's tenure of place while his\npay is sustained by force. All slugging is inherently criminal and\nshould be always and everywhere repressed. In the cases that we first\nexamined, a safe course would be to hold it in repression, announce a\nrate of pay based on what a strike would then yield, and trust to\nother measures for destroying monopoly on the capitalist's side. The\nchief danger of violence begins when the men reject the award and\nothers take their places, and at this point the fact of arbitration\nwill make the duty of the state easier though hardly clearer.\n\nThe case of such trades as building and mining differs from the\nothers only in the fact that there is not present the check that is\nelsewhere afforded by the danger of new mills, and the pay secured by\ncrude force is high. To announce a rate based on the result of a\nstrike, _if slugging is to be permitted during the strike_, is to\naccept, for the moment, what violence will secure; and nothing will\nremove this feature of the adjudication but a manful assertion of\nsovereignty by the state and a complete ending of the tolerance now\naccorded to anarchy. By no means, however, does this deprive union men\nof the advantage that organization gives them. They may be secured in\nthe possession of every advantage which collective bargaining, without\nviolence, can secure. Great numbers enlisted in a union will give to\nit a prospect of success in enforcing any reasonable demand. Voluntary\narbitration, that aims to preclude a strike, will have to respect this\nfact of organization and give the men about what a legitimate strike\nwould yield. As a rule, this will result in compromises of opposing\nclaims, and if violence is not in sight as a resource, the compromises\nwill fall near to the natural standard of wages.\n\n_Why Conciliation is preferred to Arbitration._--Both among organized\nlaborers and corporate employers there is a dread of state action for\nthe positive adjustment of wages. There is a preference for\nconciliation over any kind of arbitration, and there is a preference\nfor voluntary arbitration over that which has any trace of authority\nbehind it. For tribunals which have full coercive power, most\nemployers and strongly organized laborers have an insurmountable\nrepugnance. If such tribunals were introduced, it would be against\ntheir strongest opposition, which is saying that a measure designed\nto secure industrial peace would have to be put into operation while\nthe parties directly interested in it opposed it with might and main.\n\nThe reasons for this attitude are not difficult to discover.\nConciliation aims solely to secure internal peace in a department of\nindustry. To avert strikes or reduce their duration is all that it can\ndo and all that the parties directly interested wish to have it do.\nFrom the point of view of employers and employed in a highly\nprofitable industry, the averting of strikes is enough to aim at, and\neven the public sometimes accepts this easy-going view and thinks that\neverything desirable is gained merely by averting strife or ending it\nwhen it occurs. Uninterrupted production--the saving of the great\nwastes that strikes entail--does, indeed, promote the public welfare.\nWhen conciliation does this, it indirectly does something for the\npublic. The essential thing about conciliation, then, is that it does\nnot consciously try to do anything but to make the two parties in the\ndispute over wages contented enough to go on producing. A board which\naims only to do this is careful not to introduce any one who\nrepresents an outside interest. The procedure must be kept \"within the\nfamily.\" As is often said, \"those who understand the business\" must\nsettle disputes within it. What is really desired is that only those\nwho are _interested in_ the business should have anything to say about\nit, and there is a dread of giving representation, either to the\ngeneral public or to independent labor. Moreover, when the defects of\nconciliation are spoken of, what is mentioned is the uncertainty as to\nits working, the probability that in many cases it will not bring the\ndisputants to an agreement and cause production to go on. There is no\ndread of the rates of pay that it yields. There is practically no\ndread on any one's part of what happens when employers and employed\nare contented because they jointly thrive at the expense of the\npublic. Rather than have production stopped, the public is often\nwilling to let a dispute be settled on almost any terms, though the\nresult may be to let some men thrive at the expense of consumers and\nof other laborers. There is a monopolistic grab the sharing of which\nmakes both parties better off than are men of their class elsewhere.\nSingular as it may seem, even this attitude of the public is\njustifiable. It is entirely right not only to welcome conciliation\nwhere it can be made to work, but to try it as often as possible\nbefore resorting to arbitration.\n\n_Rates resulting from Conciliation not Unlike those resulting from\nStrikes._--The results of collective bargaining, with conciliation in\ncases of dispute, come within a certain distance of those which would\nbe gained by a perfectly natural adjustment of wages. All that we have\nsaid about the relation of wages adjusted by strikes to their natural\nstandards applies here; potential competition generally keeps the\nactual rate within a certain distance of the natural one, though a\nmonopoly may make the distance unduly great. If potential competition\nworks feebly on the employers' side,--if independent producers are\nslow to appear even when the price of a product is very high,--there\nis a large profit in the industry for some one; and if potential\ncompetition works feebly on the side of labor,--if workmen can safely\nstrike with little fear that independent laborers will dare to take\ntheir places,--the men can secure a fair-sized share of this profit.\nA strong trade union working for a strong monopoly gets wages that\nexceed the standard rate by the largest obtainable margin; and yet, as\nwe have said, even this excess has limits, and adjusting disputes by\nconciliation does not alter those limits. The rates agreed upon are\nstill governed by the standard rate to the same extent as under the\nregime of strikes. The strike and the lockout become potential, but\nthey impend as possibilities and do their work. The board of\nconciliation knows that they will occur unless their probable results\nare anticipated and forestalled by the decision. The board cannot do\notherwise, therefore, than to restrict the actual strikes. Wages then\nbecome the natural rate with a plus mark, and may be said to be\nadjusted in a way that at the bottom is natural, though it works under\nvitiating influences.\n\n_Why Voluntary Arbitration does more than Conciliation._--Voluntary\narbitration is an advance over mere conciliation in point of\neffectiveness. It departs somewhat from the plan of confining the\naction to the family, since it introduces some other parties as\narbitrators and thus invites some recognition of outside interests.\nNevertheless its actual working involves little change in principle,\nand its results do not greatly vary from those attained by\nconciliation. When we speak of arbitration as voluntary, what we\nusually mean is that acceptance of the award is in no way enforced.\nEither party may accept it or refuse it, but it may be that both\nparties acting together cannot prevent the investigation; and the\neconomic law of wages acts best when this is the case. How such\nvoluntary arbitration is provided for,--whether it is established by\nfree contract between employers and employed, or by statute,--is not\nin this connection of importance. The one thing that is important is\nthat no compulsion is applied to either party to force him to accept\nthe award.\n\n_A Moral Compulsion due to Voluntary Arbitration._--A certain moral\nforce is, indeed, necessarily behind the award of such a tribunal. It\ninforms the public what fair-minded men regard as a reasonable\nadjustment of the dispute, and forces any one who refuses to accept\nsuch a decision to go on record as claiming more than is presumably\njust. This tends to alienate public sympathy, and to forfeit the aid\nwhich sympathy insures. Moreover, where voluntary arbitration is\nestablished by a contract between parties,--where, for example,\nmasters and men agree that during a term of years disputes that cannot\notherwise be settled shall be referred to a tribunal constituted in\nsome prescribed way,--the decision of the tribunal is made by the\ncontract to be especially binding.\n\n_Why Mere Compromises lead to Fair Results._--A merely compromising\npolicy, such as the one which has often been sharply criticised,\ninvolves an approximation to what strikes would yield; and this, as we\nhave seen, gives results which, in a rude way, are controlled by\neconomic law. A fact of the greatest importance is that the awards\nmade by boards of arbitration with merely voluntary power are not\ncompromises between mere demands of the two parties; they are between\n_genuine ultimata_. When the court is called in, the employer has\noffered a rate of pay and stands ready to close his mill if it is not\naccepted; and the men have offered to take a certain rate and are\nready to strike if the rate is not given. The essential fact in the\ncase is that neither of these rates usually varies by more than a\ncertain amount from the natural level of wages. There is every\ndifference between a demand put forward for strategic purposes and a\nreal ultimatum. If workmen knew that a court would simply make an even\ndivision between their own demand and their employer's offer, then men\nwho were getting two dollars a day might ask for four in the hope that\nthe arbitrators might give them three. Even if no such expectations\nwere entertained, it is certain that both parties would exaggerate\ntheir claims; workers would demand more and employers offer less than\nthey expected in the end to agree upon. When, however, the demands are\nnot made in this way for the sake of impressing the tribunal, but are\nknown to be genuine ultimata, the case is quite different. The workers\nwill actually go on a strike if their demands are not conceded, and\nthey will certainly have to do this if they make their figures\nextravagant. The employer will close his mill if his offer is not\naccepted, and he will have to do it if his offer is absurdly low. Very\nmuch is involved in the fact that an actual severing of the relation\nbetween employers and employed impends over them as a possibility.\n\n_The Chief Advantage of Arbitration over Conciliation._--We are now in\na position to measure the real difference between conciliation and\nvoluntary arbitration. If a strike comes after nothing has been tried\nexcept conciliation, there is often nothing to prevent the strikers\nfrom resorting to all the devices which are available for guarding\ntheir tenure of place--in other words, for keeping \"scabs\" out of the\nfield. The local community is in its usual position of uncertainty as\nto the equities of the case, and is likely to show its usual\nhesitancy in giving to the new laborers the complete protection which\nthe laws enjoin. There is the customary dread of the effect of letting\na strike-breaking force have full sway and the opportunity for\ndisciplining the former workmen into submission. The chance that the\nresulting rate of pay may be too low to do justice to the laborers\nremains before the eyes of the local community, and has the effect to\nwhich we have earlier called attention--that of taking much of the\nvigor out of the official arm when violence occurs.\n\nHow is it when a tribunal of arbitration has studied the case and\nannounced a decision? Though the workmen may be as free to strike as\never, such an action would put them at a fatal disadvantage. The\narbitration has given to the public a basis for a judgment as to the\nequities of the dispute. If the tribunal is one which commands\nrespect, a refusal to abide by its decision puts the men _prima facie_\nin the wrong. If they strike now, they reject a rate which is\nauthoritatively pronounced just. Even this they have the privilege of\ndoing if they so desire; but if they go farther and forcibly prevent\nother men from accepting the equitable rate and doing the work, they\nforfeit their right of tenure; and it would be a strangely constituted\npublic which, under such circumstances, would let them use fists,\nmissiles, or clubs in defending it.\n\nThere may be an agreement between employers and employed to submit to\nimpartial arbitration such disputes as are not otherwise settled; and\nwhen this has been actually done and a decision has been reached, it\nis made by the contract to be too binding to be lightly disregarded.\nIf it is still disregarded and if violence is resorted to, the\nforfeiture of public sympathy is so complete that there is little\ndanger that violence will be winked at. The action of such a tribunal\nmay be nearly as effective as that of one which has full coercive\npower.\n\n_Why Compulsory Arbitration is less Certain to give a Just\nAward._--Arbitration by a court that has full compulsion behind it\ndoes not theoretically need to satisfy the contending parties. If it\ncan fine or otherwise coerce the party that refuses to accept its\nmandate, and thus insure a forced compliance with its orders, it is\nconceivable that it might announce rates of pay entirely at variance\nwith prevailing ones. It might announce arbitrary rates or make a bold\neffort to discover and introduce those which should coincide with the\nultimate natural standards--which would mean a relentless reducing of\nsome rates and a raising of others. In a democratic country, however,\nsuch a court would have to satisfy the contestants and the public or\nforfeit its existence, and the only mode of insuring its continuance\nwould be a more conservative policy and a respecting of the _status\nquo_. It might appeal to the probable result of violent contests\nsomewhat less than a purely voluntary tribunal might do, since it\nmight venture to give offense to employers or to workmen, and trust to\nthe support of the general public; but in the main it would have to\nlet the existing rates of wages continue with no radical change. Even\nthough it were able by some statistical test to discover the natural\nrates of wages, it could not be bold enough rigorously to apply them\nwithout forfeiting its existence. Under any system, then, whether it\nbe crude contention, conciliation, voluntary arbitration, or\ncompulsory arbitration, the rates fixed by the present half-savage\nprocess would be allowed to rule till the process itself should be\nfreed from the perversion that monopoly causes. Inequalities of pay\nwould be tempered in different degrees by the various tribunals, but\nthe existing rates in each employment would continue to furnish a\nbasis of adjustment.\n\n_The Most Available Plan of Arbitration._--Since there is little\nprospect that compulsory arbitration will give rates of wages which\nwill differ materially from those secured by arbitration of the\nvoluntary sort, the latter kind has the preference, so long as it is\nable actually to prevent the strikes and lockouts which, at present,\nare so wasteful and disorganizing. To accomplish this, there is\navailable a kind of arbitration which is voluntary, but has behind it\nenough authority to make actual strikes very rare. By this plan the\nstate recognizes for an interim the laborers' tenure of place, on\ncondition that they continue working during the time occupied by the\nadjustment. If they stop working before a decision is announced, they\nforfeit their tenure of positions. When the tribunal announces a\ndecision as to the terms on which labor shall go on, the force already\nworking has the option of retaining the positions or abandoning them;\nbut if they elect to leave them, it must be with the understanding\nthat their departure is definitive and their right to tenure\nsurrendered. The state then uses its utmost power in protecting men\nwho may occupy the vacated places. The mere prospect of this outcome\nwill be enough, and the shifting of the force will not have actually\nto be made, since the right of tenure is too valuable to be forfeited.\nThe system requires that prompt action be had whenever a strike or a\nlockout is impending, but it enforces decisions only by imposing on\nworkmen who choose to be recalcitrant the penalty of forfeiting the\nright of ownership of positions, the claim to which they esteem so\nhighly that they are ready literally to fight in defense of it.\n\n_A Mode of Dealing with Rebellious Employers._--An employer might\nrefuse to accept the result of an arbitration. In view of the strong\npressure that public opinion would exert after the decision should\nhave been rendered, frequent refusals are not probable. If, however,\nthe employer should reject an award, the logic of the case would\nrequire that he lose his tenure of place as the men do for a like\noffense; and the only way to accomplish this is to throw him out of\nhis business connections. The tenure which an _entrepreneur_ most\nvalues consists in his relation to his customers; and if the state\nshould see to it that the goods he makes could always be had from some\nother source, the _entrepreneur_ would be unlikely to close his mills.\nHow the state shall keep the sources of supply open will become an\nimportant question if it shall appear that producers do defy the\npublic opinion and reject the court's awards.[1]\n\n    [1] If the employer were a corporation possessing a monopoly\n    of its department of production, it would be difficult\n    quickly to open such new sources of supply as would be\n    requisite; but a temporary reduction of import duties would\n    often go far in this direction. And a measure which would\n    insure the running of the plant under a temporary\n    receivership would, of course, do it.\n\n_The Practical Working of the Arbitration Proposed._--Let us see how\nsuch a system of arbitration as is here described would work in the\ncase in which, as we have supposed, a strong trade union is dealing\nwith a monopolistic employer. At the outset all violence on the men's\nside is ruled out. No assaulting, maiming, or killing of so-called\n\"scabs\" is tolerated, and, moreover, the first temptation to this is\nremoved by the act of the state in recognizing for an interval the\nmen's tenure of place. There are no strike breakers to be attacked.\nWhile proceedings of arbitration are pending, the obnoxious class is\nout of sight, and all the places are transiently reserved for their\noriginal holders. The court has submitted to it two possible rates of\npay, one demanded by the men and the other offered by the employers.\nIt may confirm either of these rates or any rate that is intermediate\nbetween them, and it is likely to pursue the latter course. In any\ncase, it announces a rate, the one which to it appears to be fair and\nis more likely to be so than the one claimed by either of the parties.\n\"This is a just rate,\" declares the tribunal to the men; \"you may take\nit or leave it, but if you leave it a certain thing will\nhappen,--workmen who refuse it will forfeit all claim upon their\npositions.\" Workmen will not often refuse the award, and the pressure\nof public opinion makes it improbable that the employer will do so.\nCoupled with arbitration and an essential part of the system is a\npolicy which shall remove the danger of monopoly. In its perfectly\nsecure form monopoly as yet scarcely exists, but what does exist is a\ngreat number of partial monopolies able to handle competitors roughly\nand extort profits from the people. Directly connected with the\nadjustment of wages is the disarming of such monopolies. The\npreventing of strikes may often be accomplished without this, but the\ninsuring of just wages requires it. With a solution of the problem of\nmonopoly in view, all other needs of the situation might well be met\nby arbitration without compulsory power.\n\nWe may now tabulate our conclusions.\n\n1. In the making of the wages contract the individual laborer is at a\ndisadvantage. He has something which he must sell and which his\nemployer is not obliged to take, since he can reject single men with\nimpunity.\n\n2. A period of idleness may increase this disability to any extent.\nThe vender of anything which must be sold at once is like a starving\nman pawning his coat--he must take whatever is offered.\n\n3. Collective bargaining enables men to withhold, for a time,\nsomething which is of importance to an employer. He cannot let them\nall go with impunity.\n\n4. A strike is a contest of endurance; and if it continues until the\nmen are exhausted, they are collectively in the position of the hungry\nindividual seller, who is at the buyer's mercy. The wages they then\ntake may be far below the natural standard.\n\n5. If their places are filled at once by men who are already thus\nnecessitous, the resulting rate may be equally below the natural\nstandard.\n\n6. The power of the union often depends on its use of force in keeping\nthe needy out of its field.\n\n7. The rate of pay gained where compulsion is freely and successfully\npracticed is above the normal rate.\n\n8. Conciliation does little in the way of changing the results which\nare realized without it, but it lessens the frequency of strikes.\n\n9. Arbitration by a court, which must make a decision but cannot\nenforce it--by a court which confirms the workmen's tenure of place\nwhile action is pending and declares it forfeited if the men reject\nits decree,--such arbitration would secure a closer conformity to the\nnormal standard of wages than any other action. It would establish\nrates which give the workmen the benefit of every legitimate advantage\nfrom collective bargaining.\n\n10. Arbitration by a court which is compelled to act, and can enforce\nits decision, may deviate in a particular case from the rate of pay\nwhich strikes would yield; but if the deviation is frequent and great,\nit will induce a rebellion against the system of compulsory\narbitration. The rate under this system cannot differ greatly from the\nresult secured with no arbitration at all. The chief value of all the\nforegoing modes of settling disputes lies in their prevention of\ncostly interruptions of business. They may reduce the number of\nstrikes and prevent much waste and suffering.\n\n11. A mode of procedure which aims chiefly to end strikes usually\ndepends on making compromises between opposing claims. This secures an\napproach to a reasonable adjustment, as between employers and\nemployed, but does not affect the differences between the wages of\ndifferent classes of laborers.\n\n12. In order that any mode of adjusting wages may give fair\ncomparative rates, monopolies must be repressed; and this can only be\naccomplished by measures which are independent of tribunals of\narbitration.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nBOYCOTTS AND THE LIMITING OF PRODUCTS\n\n\nWhen free from the taint of monopoly, trade unions, as has been shown,\nhelp rather than hinder the natural forces of distribution. Collective\nbargaining is normal, but barring men from a field of employment is\nnot so. Connected with this undemocratic policy are certain practices\nwhich aim to benefit some laborers at the cost of others, and thus\ntend to pervert the distributive process.\n\n_Restrictions on the Number of Members in a Trade Union._--If a trade\nunion were altogether a private organization, it might properly\ncontrol the number of its own members. Before it is formed all members\nof the craft it represents are, of course, non-union workers, and the\naim of the founders is to \"unionize the trade\"--that is, to enlist, in\nthe membership of the body, as large a proportion as is possible of\nthe men already working in the subgroup which the union represents.\nFrom that time on it can fix its own standard of admission, and allow\nits membership to increase slowly or rapidly as its interests may seem\nto dictate.\n\n_How a too Narrow Policy defeats its Own End._--Very narrow\nrestrictions, while they keep men out of the union, attract them to\nthe trade itself. An extreme scarcity of union labor and the high pay\nit signifies causes the establishment of new mills or shops run\naltogether by non-union men. If these mills and shops are successful,\nthe union may later admit their employees to membership; and a series\nof successful efforts to produce goods by the aid of unorganized labor\nthus interferes with the exclusive policy of unions. The number of\ntheir members grows in spite of efforts to the contrary.\n\n_Free Admission to a Trade Equivalent to Free Admission to a\nUnion._--We may recognize as one of the principles in the case that\nfree admission to the craft itself involves free admission to the\nunion. When once men are successfully practicing the trade, the union\nis eager to include them, though it enlarges its own membership by the\nprocess.\n\n_How a Government might prevent a Monopoly of Labor._--It is entirely\npossible that a government might require trade unions to incorporate\nthemselves, and might include in the charter a clause requiring the\nfree admission of qualified members, subject only to such dues as the\nreasonable needs of the union might require. That is not an immediate\nprobability, but the end in view can be attained by making membership\nin the trade itself practically free--which means protecting from\nviolence the men who practice it without joining the union. This is\nnot difficult where a mill in an isolated place is run altogether by\nindependent labor, and it is natural that the unions should endeavor,\nin other ways than the crudely illegal ones, to prevent the successful\nrunning of such mills. If they run with success, their employees will\nhave to be attracted into the unions. A measure designed to impede the\nrunning of non-union mills is the boycott. It is a measure which does\nnot involve force and which is yet of not a little value to workers.\n\n_The Nature and Varieties of the Boycott._--A boycott is a concurrent\nrefusal to use or handle certain articles. In its original or negative\nform, the boycott enjoins upon workers that they shall let certain\nspecified articles alone. If they are completed goods, they must not\nbuy them for consumption; and if they are raw materials, or goods in\nthe making, they must not do any work upon them or upon any product\ninto which they enter. They may thus boycott the mantels of a dwelling\nhouse and refuse to put them in position, or, in case they have been\nput in position by other workmen, they may, as an extreme measure,\nrefuse to do further work on the house until they are taken out. A\nproducers' boycott, such as this, falls in quite a different category\nfrom the direct consumers' boycott, or the refusal to use a completed\narticle. When a raw material is put under the ban, workers strike if\nan employer insists on using it. If the cause of the boycott is some\ndisagreement between the maker of the raw material and his workmen,\nthe measure amounts to the threat of a sympathetic strike in aid of\nthe aggrieved workers. If the cause is the fact that the materials\nwere made in a non-union shop, the men who thus made them have no\ngrievance, but the union in the trade to which these men belong has\none. It consists in the mere fact that the non-union men are working\nat the trade at all and that their employer is finding a market for\ntheir product. Workers in other trades are called on to aid this union\nby a sympathetic strike, either threatened or actually put into\neffect. Such a boycott as this may therefore be described as amounting\nto a potential or actual sympathetic strike somewhat strategically\nplanned. If the strike actually comes, it may assist the men in whose\ncause it is undertaken; and the principles which govern such a\nboycott are those which govern strikes of the sympathetic kind.\n\n_Direct Consumers' Boycotts economically Legitimate._--The other type\nof boycott is a concurrent refusal to buy and use certain consumers'\ngoods. Legally it has been treated as a conspiracy to injure a\nbusiness, but the prohibition has lost its effectiveness, as legal\nrequirements generally do when they are not in harmony with economic\nprinciples. Of late there has been little disposition to enforce the\nlaw against boycotting, and none whatever to enforce the law when the\nboycott carries its point by taking a positive instead of a negative\nform. The trade-label movement enjoins on men to bestow their\npatronage altogether on employers included within a certain list, and\nthis involves withdrawing it from others; but the terms of the actual\nagreement between the workers involve the direct bestowing of a\nbenefit and only inferentially the inflicting of an injury. The men do\nnot, in terms, conspire to injure a particular person's business, but\ndo band themselves together to help certain other persons' business.\nEconomic theory has little use for this technical distinction. It is\nfavorable rather than otherwise to every sort of direct consumers'\nboycott, and is particularly favorable to the trade-label movement.\nThis movement may powerfully assist workers in obtaining normal rates\nof pay, and it will not help them to get much more.\n\n_The Ground of the Legitimacy of the Boycott._--An individual has a\nright to bestow his patronage where he pleases, and it is essential to\nthe action of economic law that he should freely use this right. The\nwhole fabric of economic society, the action of demand and supply,\nthe laws of price, wages, etc., rest on this basis. Modern conditions\nrequire that large bodies of individuals should be able concurrently\nto exercise a similar right,--that organized labor should bestow its\ncollective patronage where it wishes. This can be done, of course,\nonly by controlling individual members, for the trade union does not\nbuy consumers' goods collectively. If it can thus control its members,\nit can use in promoting its cause the extensive patronage at its\ndisposal.\n\n_Unfavorable Features of the Indirect Boycott._--The boycott we have\nthus far had in view is a direct confining of union laborers'\npatronage to union-made goods. Why this is a thing to be encouraged we\nshall presently see. What we have said in favor of it does not apply\nto boycotting merchants on all their traffic because they deal in\ncertain goods. If a brand of soap is proscribed, the workers are\njustified in concurrently refusing to use that variety; but it is not\nequally legitimate to prevent a merchant, whose function it is to\nserve the public, from selling this soap to the customers who want it.\nTo refuse to buy anything whatsoever from a merchant because he keeps\nin his stock a prohibited article, and sells it to a different set of\ncustomers, is interfering, in an unwarranted way, with the freedom of\nthe merchant and of the other customers. Indirect consumers' boycotts\nhave little to commend them, but those of the direct kind have very\nmuch.\n\n_The Merits of the Trade-label Movement._--This appears most clearly\nin connection with the trade-label movement. As a result of this\nmovement union laborers will, as is hoped, buy only union-made goods.\nThe existence of such a movement in itself implies that there are\ngoods of the same sort to be had which are not made by union labor.\nThe shop that is run by the aid of independent labor is the cause of\nthe existence of the union label. If all the labor in a group were\norganized, the label would have no significance. At present the trade\nunions offer to an employer a certain amount of patronage as a return\nfor limiting himself to union men, and so long as the cost of making\nhis goods is not much increased, the inducement may be sufficient to\nmake him do it.\n\n_The Movement as affected by Extravagant Demands on\nEmployers._--Unduly high wages mean, of course, unduly high prices.\nWithout here taking account of the \"ca'-canny\" policy, which aims to\nmake labor inefficient, extravagant wages for efficient labor increase\nthe cost of goods. This opens the way, as we have seen, for the free\nshop and the labor which is willing to sell its product at a cheaper\nrate. If union labor then firmly resolves to buy only the goods with\nthe label, it proposes a heroic measure of self-taxation.\n\n_Trade Labels and the Quality of Goods._--The experience of the\ntrade-label movement thus far has been, that in some instances the\nlabel vouches for prices which are high, if quality be considered, or\nfor a quality which is poor if the prices are the current ones.\nInstead of telling the purchaser that the shoes, hats, cigars, etc.,\nwhich bear the label are surely the best that can be had for the\nmoney, the labels are more apt to tell him that the goods are poorer\nthan others which can be had. In some instances this is not the case,\nand the union-made articles are as good and as cheap as others. When\nthe label stands for a high price or a poor quality, the union fails\nto control its members and especially its members' wives. Having the\nmeager pay of a week to invest, the wife needs to use it where it will\ndo the most for the family. There is so strong an inducement to buy\ngoods which are really cheap and good that the trade-label movement\nfails whenever loyalty to it means very much of self-taxation.\n\n_The Object Lesson of the Consumers' Boycott._--Organized labor gives\nitself a costly and impressive object lesson when it tries to force\nall men of its class to buy the dearer of two similar articles. What\nthis shows is that the demands of unions must be limited, and that for\nthe highest success they must be so limited that there shall be no\ndecisive advantage given to an employer who has a non-union shop. A\nmarked difference in costs of production will cause the free shop to\ngrow and the union shop to shrink. A certain moderate difference in\nwages there may be, provided always that the union labor is highly\nefficient; but more than such a difference there cannot safely be. If\nthe trade-label movement should be generally successful, that fact\nwould prove that the demands of trade unions were kept within\nreasonable limits.\n\n_The Policy of Restricting the Product of Labor._--It is a part of the\npolicy of trade unions to limit the intensity of labor. The term\n\"ca'-canny\" means working at an easy-going pace, which is one of the\nmethods adopted in order to make work for an excessive number of men.\nFor some of this the motive is to avoid an undue strain on the\nworkers. If the employer selects \"pacemakers,\" who have exceptional\nability and endurance, and tries to bring other laborers to their\nstandard, then the rule of the trade union, which forbids doing more\nthan a certain amount of work in a day, becomes a remedy for a real\nevil--the excessive nervous wear of too strenuous labor. This,\nhowever, by no means proves that the policy as carried out is a good\none. Beyond the relief that comes when undue speeding of machinery and\ndriving of workers is repressed, it will be impossible to prove that\nin the long run there is any good whatsoever in it, and the evil in it\nis obvious and deplorable.\n\n_\"Making Work\" as related to Technical Progress._--The policy reverses\nthe effects of progress. That which has caused the return to labor to\ngrow steadily larger is labor saving or product multiplying, and labor\nmaking and product reducing are the antithesis of this. Enlarging the\nproduct of labor has caused the standard of pay to go steadily upward\nand the actual rate to follow it; and the prospect of a future and\nperpetual rise in the laborers' standard of living depends almost\nentirely on a continuance of this product-multiplying process. A\nsingle man maintaining himself in isolation would gain by everything\nthat made his efforts fruitful, and society, as a whole, is like such\nan isolated man. It gains by means of every effective tool that is\ndevised and by every bit of added efficiency in the hands that wield\nit.\n\n_Reversing the Effect of Progress._--It follows that undoing such an\nimprovement and going back to earlier and less productive methods\nwould reverse the effect of the improvement, which is higher pay for\nall; it is restoring the condition in which the product of labor and\nits pay were lower. The \"ca'-canny\" policy--the arbitrary limiting of\nwhat a man is allowed to do--has this effect. It aims to secure a\nreduction of output, not by enforcing the use of inferior tools, but\nby enforcing the inferior use of the customary tools. The effect, in\nthe long run, is, and must be, to take something out of the laborers'\npockets.\n\n_The Effect of the Work-making Policy under a Regime of Strong Trade\nUnions._--It is, of course, only a strong trade union that can enforce\nsuch a policy as this. Making one's own work worth but little offers a\nlarge inducement to an employer to hire some one else if he can.\nWithin limits, the powerful union may prevent him from doing this, and\nif for the time being society is patient and tolerant of anarchy,--if\nit allows men who are willing to work well in a given field to be\nforcibly excluded from it by men who are determined to work ill,--the\npolicy may be carried to disastrous lengths.\n\n_How Static Law thwarts the Work-making Policy._--Even strong unions,\nas we have seen, succeed in maintaining only a limited difference of\npay between their trade and others. The effort to maintain an\nexcessive premium on labor of any kind defeats itself by inducing free\nlabor to break over the barrier that is erected against it. The same\nthing happens when we reduce the productive power of organized labor.\nIf, at a time when the premium that union labor bears above the\nnon-union kind is at a maximum, the policy of restricting products is\nintroduced, it so increases the inducement to depend on an independent\nworking force that there is no resisting it. The palisade which union\nlabor has built about its field gives way, and other labor comes\nfreely in. If the ca'-canny policy makes it necessary to pay ten men\nfor doing five men's work, the union itself will have to give place to\nthe independent men. No single good word can be said for the ultimate\neffect of the policy as carried beyond the moderate limit required by\nhygiene. Up to the point at which it will avert undue pressure upon\nworkers, stop disastrous driving and the early disabling of men, the\neffect is so good as amply to justify the reduction of product and pay\nwhich the policy occasions. Beyond that there is nothing whatever to\nbe said for it, and if it shall become a general and settled policy of\ntrade unions, it will be a clog upon progress and mean a permanent\nloss for every class of laborers.\n\nNotwithstanding all this, it must be true that some motive which can\nappeal to reasonable beings impels workers to this policy. No plan of\naction, as general as this, can be sustained unless some one, at least\ntransiently, gains by it. Workers have a tremendous stake in the\nsuccess of any plan of action they adopt, and they have every motive\nfor coming to a right conclusion concerning it. They are in the way of\ngetting object lessons from every mistaken policy, as its pernicious\neffects become apparent, even though some local and transient good\neffects also become evident. It is not difficult to see what it has\nbeen that has appealed to so many laborers and induced them\nvoluntarily to reduce the value of their labor.\n\n_A Common Argument against Product Restricting._--What is commonly\nsaid of the policy is that it is based on the idea that there is a\ndefinite amount of work of each kind to be done, and that if a man\ndoes half as much as he could do, twice as many men will be employed\nto do the whole amount. Nobody who thinks at all actually believes\nthat the amount of work of a given kind is fixed, no matter how much\nis charged for it. If workers on buildings charged from five to ten\ndollars a day, there would be fewer houses erected than would be\nerected if they charged three dollars; and the same thing is true\neverywhere. The amount of labor to be done in any field of employment\nvaries constantly with changes of cost, and making labor more costly\nin a particular department reduces the amount of its product that can\nbe sold.\n\nA trade union often finds that there are too many workers in its field\nto be constantly employed at the rate of pay it establishes. The\nresult is partially idle labor; the men work intermittently, and\nthough the high wages they get for a part of their time may compensate\nthem for idle days or weeks, the idleness which is the effect of the\noversupply is inevitable.\n\nA given number of workers in the group which makes A''' when the wages\nare three dollars a day becomes an excessive number when the wages are\nfive, and even if the high wages do not attract men from without and\nmake the absolute number of workers greater than before, employment is\nnot constant. The ca'-canny policy is a transient remedy for this. It\nis an effort to avoid the necessity for partial idleness and for the\ntransferring of laborers to other occupations. All the labor may, for\na time, remain in its present field if it will afflict itself with a\npartial paralysis. For a while the demand for the product of the labor\nwill be sufficient to give more constant employment. Time is required\nfor the full effect of the product-limiting policy to show itself in a\nfalling off of the consumption of the goods whose cost is thus\nincreased. When it comes the evil effect of the policy will appear. If\na union were strong enough to keep a monopoly of its field, in spite\nof the greater efficiency of laborers that are free to work in a\nnormal way, it would be strong enough to maintain much higher pay for\nits own members if it limited the number of them and encouraged them\nto work efficiently. The strongest conceivable union must lose by\nsubstituting the plan of paralyzing labor for that of restricting the\nnumber of laborers. The union may choose to take the benefit of its\nmonopolistic power by keeping an unnecessarily large number of men in\nconstant employment, rather than by getting high wages for efficient\nwork; but in that case any union but one the strength of which is\nmaintained in some unnatural way is likely to come to grief by the\ngreat preference it creates for non-union labor. The independent shop\nwill get the better men at the lower rate of wages, and its products\nwill occupy the market. The popularity of the plan of work making is\nthe effect of looking for benefits which are transient rather than\npermanent. If it were carried in many trades as far as it already is\nin some, it would probably neutralize, even for those who resort to\nit, much of the benefit of organization, and work still greater injury\nto others.[1]\n\n    [1] It will be seen that whether the policy is successful in\n    giving employment to the partially idle or fails to do so\n    depends on the amount of reduction in the sale of the goods\n    which the increased cost of making them entails; and if the\n    market is highly sensitive to increased cost, the policy may\n    fail in securing even a transient increase of employment.\n\n_The Eight-hour Movement as a Work-making Policy._--The effort to\nreduce the hours of labor to eight per day has in it so much that is\naltogether beneficent that it is not to be put in the same category\nwith the ca'-canny plan of working. And yet one leading argument in\nfavor of this reducing of the number of hours of work is identical\nwith that by which a reduction of the amount accomplished in an hour\nis defended. The purpose is to make work and secure the employment of\nmore workers. What has been said of the other mode of work making\napplies here. Reducing the length of the working day cuts down the\nproduct that workers create and the amount that they get. In the main\nthe loss of product is probably offset by the gain in rest and\nenjoyment; but the loss of product, taken by itself alone, is an evil,\nand nothing can make it otherwise. If the hours were further reduced,\nthe loss would be more apparent and the gain from rest and leisure\nwould be less.\n\n_One Sound Argument in Favor of the Greater Productivity of the\nEight-hour Day._--There is one reason why the eight-hour day may in a\nseries of generations prove more permanently productive than a longer\none. It may preserve the laborers' physical vigor and enable them to\nkeep their employment to a later period in life. The dead line of\nsixty might be obliterated.\n\nIf what we wanted were to get the utmost we could out of a man in a\nsingle day, we should do it by making him work for twenty-four hours;\nafter that, for another twenty-four hours, he would be worth very\nlittle. If we expected to make him work for a week, we should probably\nshorten the day to eighteen hours. If we expected to employ him for a\nmonth and then to throw him aside, we might possibly get a maximum\nproduct by making him work fourteen hours. If we wanted him for a year\nonly, possibly a day of twelve hours would insure the utmost he could\ndo. In a decade he could do more in a ten-hour day, and in a working\nlifetime he could probably do more in eight. Forty or fifty years of\ncontinuous work would tell less on his powers and on the amount and\nquality of his product.\n\n_The Connection between the Restriction of Products and the\nTrade-label Movement._--Very important is the bearing of these facts\nconcerning the restriction of laborers' products and the trade-label\nmovement. If that movement should become more general and effective,\nit would bring home to all who should take part in it the effects of\nthe labor-paralyzing policy. The faithful trade unionist would find\nhimself paying a full share of the bill which that policy entails on\nthe public. Ordinary customers can avoid the product whose cost is\nenhanced by the trade-union rules; but the unionist must take it and\nmust make himself and his class the chief subjects of the tax which\nenhanced prices impose. It may well be that the pernicious quality of\nthe general work-making policy will become so evident in any case that\nit will be abandoned; and this would be made sure by a rule that\nshould actually make union labor the chief purchaser of union goods.\nCa'-canny would then mean self-taxation on a scale that no arguments\ncould make popular.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nPROTECTION AND MONOPOLY\n\n\nThe more serious perversions of the economic system which we have\nencountered have all been traceable to some working of the principle\nof monopoly, and it is important to know whether any established\npolicy of governments lends force to this evil influence. Import\nduties were established in America for the purpose of protecting\nindustries as such, and a vital question now is whether they have now\nbegun to protect monopolies within the industries.\n\n_A Supposed Conflict between Theory and Practice._--There was a time\nwhen theorists and practical men seemed to be in hopeless disagreement\nconcerning the entire subject of protection. In the view of the\npractical man an economist was a person who, in his study, had reached\ncertain conclusions which were equally unanswerable in themselves and\nirreconcilable with the facts. The expression most commonly heard in\nthis connection was that \"theory and practice do not agree.\" The\ndoctrinarians were, in those days, unusually harmonious among\nthemselves, for there were comparatively few who made a vigorous\ndefense of protection on grounds of economic principle. The practical\nworld was less harmonious, since the views of different parts of it\nwere  by differing interests; but the fact that science did not\nfall into self-contradiction was encouraging. It was possible for the\nuncompromising free-trader to think and to say that fundamental\nprinciples were all on his side, and that the protectionist had\nnothing in his favor except transient disturbances that interfered\nwith the perfect working of the principles.\n\n_Static Theory in Favor of Free Trade._--Now, the business world\nconceded too much to the free-trader when it said that he had theory\naltogether in his favor. What he could truthfully claim, and what the\nworld could safely admit, was that he had static theory in his favor.\nStatic theory deals with a world which is free, not only from friction\nand disturbance, but also from those elements of change and progress\nwhich are the marked features of actual life. Stop all the changes\nthat are taking place in the industrial life of the world; put an end\nto inventions and improvements in business organization; let there be\nno moving of population to and fro, and no increase of the aggregate\npopulation of the world; further, let there be no addition to the\nwealth of the world and no change in its forms,--and you will have the\nstatic state described in the early part of this treatise. Men would\ngo on making things to the end of time, using identically the same\nmethods that are now in vogue and getting identically the same\nresults, and in such an imaginary world there would be no possibility\nof answering the contention of the general body of economists of a\ngeneration ago. Free trade would be the only rational policy, and it\ncould be defended upon the simple ground on which division of labor in\nthe case of individuals is defended. One man has an aptitude for\nmaking shoes, another for making watches, another for painting\npictures, and so on; and each one of them can gain far more by\ndevoting himself to his specialty and bartering off the product of it\nthan he can by trying to make everything for himself. Nations have\ntheir special aptitudes and should follow them, and make all they can\nout of them; and the nation which has special facilities for producing\ncotton, or wheat, or petroleum, or gold and silver bullion should\ndevote itself to its specialties, barter off the results, and get all\nmanner of goods in return.\n\n_Wastes from Protection reduced by the Fact of Diversified\nResources._--It is true, indeed, that a great nation like our own\nmakes a much better jack-of-all-trades than an individual can make. It\nis far more probable that the nation as a whole can produce without\nmuch waste all the things it wants to use than that any individual can\ndo so. If we have all climates from the tropical to the arctic, all\nsoils, and a full list of mineral deposits, why should it pay us to\nconfine ourselves to the making of only a few things in order to\nbarter them off for others? Why should we not, with our wide range of\nresources, make everything?\n\nUndoubtedly we can make almost everything if we insist upon doing it;\nbut there are still some things that other countries can make and sell\nto us on such terms that we can do better by buying them than by\nproducing them ourselves. We can raise tea in the United States, but\nit pays us better to make something else and barter it off for tea. A\nday's labor spent in raising cotton to send away in exchange gives us\nmore tea than a day's labor spent in producing the latter article\ndirectly. In a static condition we should have found in what fields it\nis most profitable to employ our energies. We should be directly\nmaking things that it would pay us best to make, and we should be\nindirectly making the other things; that is, we should be producing\narticles to send off in exchange for those other things. Wherever an\nindirect way of acquiring a thing had proved most profitable, we\nshould have adopted that method, and we should always adhere to it.\nAnything that forced us to make directly something which we could\nsecure in greater abundance by bestowing the labor that would make it\non making something else, would turn our energies in a comparatively\nunproductive direction. It would inflict on us a waste and a loss--and\nthere are such wastes and losses inherent in the operation of the\nprinciple of protection, and there is no contending against the\nargument that demonstrates their existence. Protection and a certain\ndistortion of the productive system, a certain misdirection of energy,\nare synonymous.\n\n_The Argument for Protection Dynamic._--Now an intelligent argument in\nfavor of protection begins at this point. It accepts the whole static\nargument in favor of free trade, and its own assertion begins with a\n\"nevertheless.\" It claims that in spite of what is thus conceded,\nprotection is justifiable, since, in the end, it will pay,\nnotwithstanding the wastes that attend it. The argument for protection\nis entirely a dynamic one. It is based on the fact of progress and\nadmits that it could make no case for itself under the conditions of a\nstatic state. If every country had certain special facilities for\nproducing particular things, and if its state in this respect were\ndestined to remain forever unchanged, it could, to the end of time,\nmake itself richer by depending for many things on its neighbors than\nit could by depending for those things immediately on itself. The fact\nis, however, that a nation like our own abounds in undeveloped and\neven unknown resources which, when brought to the light, may take\nprecedence of many of those which are known and utilized. If our\ncountry from end to end were like Cape Nome, and as rich in gold as\nthe richest part of that remote region, and if it were certain that\nthe deposits of gold would never be exhausted and would employ the\nwhole energy of our people, it is clear that we should have one staple\noccupation and should depend upon the rest of the world for almost\nevery sort of portable commodity. We should be stopped from\nmanufacturing by the great productivity of labor in placer mining. So\nlong as men could make ten dollars a day by washing out gold from the\nsands, there would be no use in setting them at work making two\ndollars a day as weavers or shoemakers or what not. By buying our\ncloth with gold dust we could get far more of it than we could if we\ntook the men out of the mine and set them to making the stuff itself.\nBut--and here is the proviso that makes the supposition correspond\nwith the fact--if, besides the placers, we had deep mines of other\nmetals than gold, if we had oil and lumber and loam of every variety,\nand if we had people with undeveloped mechanical aptitudes, it might\nbe that we should do well to develop these latent energies even in a\nwasteful way. The condition that would fully establish the similarity\nbetween the supposed case and the actual one is that the placer\ndeposits should be, as placers are, sure to be exhausted by continued\nworking, and that producing other things than gold should tend to\nbecome, with time, a more and more fruitful process. We can justify\nthe attitude of the country that taxes itself at an early date for the\nsake of testing and developing the latent aptitudes of its land and\nits people. At the outset it will thereby sustain a loss, because at\nthe outset it can gain more goods by the indirect method of exchange\nthan it can by production; but there may easily come a time when it\ncan gain more by the direct method. If we learn to make things more\neconomically than we could originally make them, if we hit upon cheap\nsources of motive power and of raw material, and especially if we\ndevise machinery that works rapidly and accurately and greatly\nmultiplies the product of a man's working day, we shall reach a\ncondition in which, instead of a loss incidental to the early years of\nmanufacturing, we shall have an increasing gain that will continue to\nthe end of time. It may be, further, that without protection and the\nburdensome tax which it did undoubtedly impose upon us, we should have\nhad to wait far too long for this gain to accrue and should have\nsacrificed the benefits that come from a long interval of diversified\nand fruitful industry.\n\nIn short, the static argument for free trade is unanswerable and the\ndynamic argument for protection, when intelligently stated, is equally\nso. The two arguments do not meet and refute each other, but are\nmutually consistent. It is possible to ridicule the argument for\nprotection under the name of the \"infant industry\" argument, and it is\npossible for the policy it upholds to continue long after this\nargument has ceased to be valid. The overgrown infant will have\nsacrificed his claim for coddling, but that will not prove that there\nwas never a time when he needed it.\n\n_The Policy demanded in View of Facts Static and Dynamic._--Now, there\nis an argument for tariff reduction which accepts both the static\nargument for free trade and the dynamic argument for protection. In\nfact, it bases itself on the protectionist's modern and intelligent\nclaim. To advance in any form the infant industry argument is to admit\nthat the policy advocated is temporary. Protective duties are, in\nfact, self-testing. They reveal in their very working whether they\nwere originally justifiable or not. The ground on which they were\nimposed is that they would develop latent resources--that they would\nenable labor to produce as much by making a class of articles formerly\nproduced in foreign countries as it could produce by engaging in\nindustries already established and exchanging their products for the\nformer articles. If that time should come, the industry that had to\ngrow up originally under the protection of a duty would become so\nfruitful that it could dispense with the duty. Taxes of this kind tend\nto become inoperative, provided always that the latent resources for\neconomical production really exist.\n\nSome years ago a man who had retired from the business of making spool\nsilk remarked that, in his judgment, a duty of three per cent on\nimported silk of this kind would enable the American mills to hold\nfull possession of their own market. The difference between what it\ncost the foreigner to make the silk and what it cost the American to\nmake it was, as he thought, not over three per cent. If he was right\nin his estimate, almost all of the actual duty might have been\nabolished without crushing the American manufacturer. Americans had\ndeveloped a sufficient aptitude for making spool silk to be able to\nget nearly as much of it by turning their labor in that direction as\nthey could by turning their labor in any other direction and\nexchanging the product for foreign silk. We must originally have lost\nmuch by forcing ourselves directly to make the silk, for, at the\noutset, we could not make it as economically as we could make an\narticle which we could exchange for it. At the time of which we are\nspeaking we could make it with almost no waste, and the case\nillustrates a general fact with regard to duties upon articles in the\nmaking of which we are originally at a disadvantage but are afterward\nat no disadvantage at all. When our original disadvantage has been\nquite overcome, the duty becomes inoperative. Whether we keep it or\nthrow it off will make no difference to the American manufacturer or\nto the American consumer--_provided always that competition is free\nand active_. If it is not so, there is a very different story to tell.\n\n_Importance of Changes in the Relative Productivity of Different\nIndustries._--Instead of getting from the soil gold dust to barter for\nmerchandise, we have been getting a product that is not so greatly\nunlike it. For grains of gold read kernels of wheat, and the statement\nwill tell what a large portion of our country has produced and\nexported. The productivity of wheat raising has made it uneconomical,\nin certain extensive regions, to engage in other occupations; but as\nthe fertility of the wheat lands has declined, and as the productive\npower of labor in other directions has increased, we have reached a\npoint at which it is just as natural to make things for which we\nformerly bartered wheat as it is to produce the grain itself. The\ndecline in the fertility of agricultural lands and the increase in the\nproductive power of labor devoted to making steel appear to have made\nthe manufacturer of the latter article as independent as is the raiser\nof cereals. Originally it was necessary to protect iron and steel\nindustries from competition in order to secure the establishment of\nthem at an early day. Now it is apparently not necessary to continue\nthe protection. Labor in making steel will give us as many tons of it\nin a year as the same labor would give us if spent in the raising of\nwheat to be exchanged for foreign steel. The duty on steel, if this is\nthe case, has become inoperative, in the sense that it no longer acts\nto save from destruction the steel-making industry. It is perniciously\noperative in another direction, for it is an essential protector of a\nquasi-monopoly in the industry; and this illustrates what often\nhappens in cases in which the infant industry argument proves to be\nwell grounded. The argument predicts for the newly established\nindustry a great future development and a time of ultimate\nindependence. Protection undertakes to nurse it through its period of\nhelplessness and dependence into a time when it can stand on its own\nfeet and maintain itself against rivals. If that period comes,--and\nthe history of the United States shows that in many cases it has\ncome,--you can throw off the entire duty, if you will, and, unless the\nprice of the article has been artificially sustained by something\nbesides the duty, our manufacturers will not lose possession of their\nmarket.\n\nAn essential condition of realizing the happy predictions of the\nprotectionists is that competition among American producers should be\nunimpeded. If that were so, goods would, as they said, be sold, in the\nend, at prices fixed by the costs of production, including the normal\nrate of interest on the capital employed. Manufacturers may originally\nget large profits, as an offset for such risks as they take in doing\npioneer work; but afterward they will get interest on their capital\nand a good personal return for directing their business, but nothing\nmore. If they sell goods at prices which yield only such returns as\nthis, they will, when the industry is on its feet, sell them as\ncheaply as the foreigner would do. The high duty, if it still\ncontinues, may make it doubly difficult for the foreigner to come into\nour market; but with goods selling at natural cost or cost prices he\nwould not come into it in any case, and the duty might be abolished\nwith entire impunity.\n\nThere are, indeed, some questions which arise as to occasional\nunloading of extensive stocks in foreign markets, and protection has\nbeen called for to prevent the foreigner from making America his\n\"dumping ground.\" This process works in both ways: the American can\ndump his surplus products into foreign territory as well as the\nforeigner can into American territory. Not much attention need be paid\nto this particular phase of the subject. Conservatism will probably\nsuffice, for a long time, to retain in force a somewhat higher duty\nthan is called for on general grounds. In the main the fact is as\nstated: if the protected infant has the capacity for growth that was\nattributed to him when the course of nursing, coddling, training, and\npatient waiting was entered upon, he will announce that fact after a\nterm of years by showing his inherent strength and proving that these\nfostering practices are no longer necessary. They are then needed only\nto aid a _monopolistic power within the industry_.\n\n_The Protection of Industries distinguished from the Protection of\nMonopolies._--It appears, then, that duties have two distinct\nfunctions. One is to protect from foreign competition an industry as\nsuch--to shield every producer, whether he is working independently or\nin a pool or trust. The other function is to protect a trust in the\nindustry--to enable a great combination working within the limits of\nthe United States to keep that great field to itself and still charge\nabnormally high prices for its products. In fact, a distinguishable\npart of a duty usually performs the former of these functions, and\nanother distinguishable part performs the latter. If the natural price\nof an article is based on the cost of making it in the United States,\nand if that is twenty per cent higher than the cost in a foreign\ncountry, a duty of twenty per cent will place the American product and\nthe foreign product on an equality. The American maker will not be\ndriven from his market until he begins to charge an abnormally high\nprice. If he does that, the foreigner will come in. Suppose, then,\nthat the duty is forty per cent. Twenty per cent may be needed to\nenable the American manufacturer to hold his own as against the\nforeigner. Provided he exacts from consumers of his goods only the\nnatural returns which business yields, year in and year out, he can\nsell all that his mills produce with no danger that the foreigner will\nsupplant him. The other twenty per cent of duty enables him to add a\nmonopolistic profit to his prices. He can raise them by about that\namount above what is natural before the foreigner will begin to make\nhim trouble.\n\nWe have seen what ways the trust has of stifling competition within\nthe limits of our own country. There are the favors which it is able\nto get from the railroads, and there is the practice of selling its\ngoods in some one locality at a cut-throat rate whenever a competitor\nappears in that locality. There is the so-called factors' agreement,\nwhich often forces merchants to buy goods of a certain class\nexclusively from the trust. By these means and others the trust makes\nit perilous to build a mill for the purpose of competing with it. If,\nindeed, it makes its prices very high, some bold adventurer will build\nsuch a mill and take the chances that this entails; but if the trust\nstops short of offering such a tempting lure in the way of high\nprices, it can keep the field to itself. If the extra duty of twenty\nper cent--the unnecessary portion of the whole duty of forty per\ncent--did not exist, nothing of this sort would be possible. The trust\nwould have to sell at a normal price in order to keep out the\nforeigner, and so would its independent competitor. Both the\ncombination and its rivals could make their goods and sell them in\nsecurity. The industry, as such, is protected by the duty of twenty\nper cent, and it is the additional duty which is the protector of\nmonopoly--the enabling cause of the grab which the trust can make from\nthe pockets of the consuming public.\n\nIn practice one would not try to make the figures quite as exact as is\nimplied in the statement that just twenty per cent of duty is needed\nto protect the industry as such from the foreigner, and that just\nanother twenty per cent acts as a maker of a monopolistic price. It\nwould be impracticable to fix the duty in such a way as exactly to\nmeet the need of protection. Owing to fluctuations in values, the duty\nmight be made slightly higher than is necessary under normal\nconditions. All these things would have to be considered by a\ncompetent tariff commission. The figures we here use are illustrative\nonly; but the principle is as clear as anything in economics.\nProtecting an industry, as such, is one thing; it means that Americans\nshall be enabled to hold possession of their market, provided they\ncharge prices for their goods which yield a fair profit only.\nProtecting a monopoly in the industry is another thing; it means that\nforeign competition is to be cut off even when the American producer\ncharges unnatural prices. It means that the trust shall be enabled to\nsell a portion of its goods abroad at one price and the remainder at\nhome at a much higher price. It means that the trust is to be shielded\nfrom all competition, except that which may come from audacious rivals\nat home who are willing to brave the perils of entering the American\nfield provided that the prices which here rule afford profit enough to\njustify the risk.\n\n_A Limit beyond which a Duty becomes a Supporter of Monopolies._--This\nline of cleavage runs through the greater part of the duties which\nthis country now imposes on foreign articles; and the fact reveals the\nscientific rule for tariff reduction. Up to a certain point, according\nto the traditional American view, the duty may do good. It may be\nprotecting an industry that is not quite an infant and yet has not\ngrown to its full stature nor attained to its full competing power.\nWhatever may be claimed as to what ought to be done with this portion\nof the duty, there is no doubt what will be done; it will be retained,\nand the American people will wait with such patience as they may for\nthe coming of the time when the industry will be independent of all\nsuch aid. Beyond this point a protective duty becomes a trust builder\n_par excellence_.\n\n_Most Duties Compounds of Good and Evil._--There are some industries\nwhich are fully matured. The duties which were imposed to shield them\nduring their infancy are no longer necessary for that purpose. The\namount of protection that in these cases is necessary to keep the\nAmerican market for the American product is _nil_. The sole effect of\nduties on the products of such industries is to encourage monopoly. At\nthe other extreme there are a few industries which have not gravitated\ninto the control of monopolies and which need much of the protection\nthat they have in order to hold their present fields. If they really\nare infants and not dwarfs,--if they have the capacity to grow to full\nstature and independence,--the policy of the people will undoubtedly\nbe to let them keep, for a considerable time, all the protection that\nthey now enjoy. The number of such industries as this is comparatively\nsmall. In the case of the great majority of our duties there is one\npart that protects the industry as such and another part that protects\nthe monopoly within it. Throw off the whole duty, and you expose the\nindependent rivals of the trust, as well as the trust itself, to a\nforeign competition which they are hardly able to bear; but if you\nthrow off a part of the duty,--the part which serves to create the\nmonopoly,--you do not destroy and probably do not hurt the independent\nproducer. His position now is abnormal and perilous. He may be\ncontinuing solely by grace of a power that could crush him any day if\nit would, and its power to crush him is due to the great gains which\nits position as a monopoly affords. When it wishes to crush a local\nrival, it can enter his territory and, within that area, sell goods\nfor less than it costs to make them; and, while pursuing this\ncut-throat policy, it can still make money, because it is getting high\nprices in the other parts of its extensive territory. With no such\ngreat general returns to draw on as a war fund, the trust would have\nto compete with its rivals on terms which would be at least more\nnearly even than they now are. It would still have weapons which it\ncould employ against competitors, and its capacity for fighting\nunfairly would not be exhausted. Without further action on the part of\nlawmakers the position of a small rival of a trust might be\nunnaturally dangerous; but an essential point is that one means which\nthe trust adopts in order to crush him depends on the existence of\ngreat profits in most of its territory; and these would not exist if\nit were not for the unnecessary and abnormal part of the duty.\n\nThe trust wants its duty, and it wants the whole of it. It is the\nperennial defender of the policy which is termed \"standing pat.\" It\nvalues the monopoly-making part according to the measure of the\nprofits which that part brings into its coffers. The trust is\npowerful, as we do not need to be told, and it will find ways of\nthwarting tariff reduction as it does other anti-trust legislation.\nDrastic laws forced through legislatures or Congress during\nebullitions of popular wrath--laws which demand so much in the way of\ntrust breaking that they will never be enforced and never ought to\nbe--have not, thus far, been prevented. Such \"bulls against the comet\"\nhave been issued frequently enough, but serious legislation, based on\nsound principles, will encounter graver difficulties. There are\ndifficulties before our people even where they see clearly what they\nwant and are trying to get it; but where they do not see what they\nwant, the case is hopeless. The trust-making part of protective duties\nhas an effect about which there is no uncertainty, and if the American\npeople discover this fact, they will not have reached their goal, but\nthe laborious route that leads to it will at least lie distinctly\nbefore them.\n\n_The Policy demanded in the Interest of Progress._--The general facts\nwhich have here been cited call for the abolition of a certain part of\nthe existing duties and the retention of another part, and they make\nthe division between the two parts clear at least in principle. We\nwant to keep one part of a duty whenever it protects an industry which\nis not yet mature but is on its way toward maturity. We want the\nindustry because it is progressive in its wealth-creating power and\nwill, one day, make an important addition to our national income.\nIt is a dynamic agent--a factor in the progress we are making toward\nthe unrealized goal of universal comfort. We do not want the other\npart of the duty, first, because we do not want monopoly. Any feature\nof our industrial system which is convicted of being simply a\nmonopoly-building element is condemned by that fact to extinction, if\nthe power of the people suffices to destroy it. Does this mean that\nthe consolidations themselves are thus condemned? Do we not want great\ncorporations with vast capitals? Assuredly we want them, for the sake\nof their economy and of their capacity for greater economy. With the\nelement of monopoly taken out of them, they will become dynamic agents\nand contributors to general progress. The part of the protective\ntariff which we need to get rid of is the part that helps decisively\nto put the element of monopoly into them; and in that connection the\nworst charge that has to be brought against this part of the duties\nremains to be stated.\n\n_Protection and Progress._--Monopoly acts squarely against the\ncontinuance of that very progress which the tariff was designed to\ncreate. The entire defense of protection has rested on the dynamic\nargument, and the sole justification of the tax which protection\noriginally imposed is the fact that it has given us industries which\nhave, in themselves, the power to become more and more productive. It\nwould be hard to deny that much of this increase in productive power,\nwhich the originators of the protective system anticipated, has been\npractically realized. The manufactures which have been carried through\na period of weakness have actually developed competing strength. We\nhave acquired the power to make things far more cheaply than any one\ncould formerly make them, and the cheapening process still goes on.\nOur manufacturing centers are alive with machinery, much of which is\nof our own devising. Thanks to the progressive character of these\nindustries, the waste which attended the introduction of them has been\nlargely atoned for. On dynamic grounds, and solely on those grounds,\nhas the policy of protection fairly well vindicated itself. And now we\nhave come to the point where that saving element in the protective\nsystem is in danger of vanishing. Indeed, the excessive part of the\nprotective tariff now acts positively to check the progress that it\nonce initiated, for monopoly is hostile to that progress. The whole\nforce of the argument based on mechanical invention and the\ndevelopment of latent aptitudes in our people now holds as against the\nmonopoly-building part of the tariff. Keep that portion of a duty\nwhich is not needed to save an independent producer from foreign\ncompetition, which is needed only to enable the trust to charge an\nabnormal price and still keep the foreigner out of our markets, and\nyou build up a monopoly which is unfavorable to continued improvement\nin the productive arts.\n\nCompetition is the assured guarantee of all such progress. It causes\na race of improvement in which eager rivals strive with each other to\nsee who can get the best result from a day's labor. It puts the\nproducer where he must be enterprising or drop out of the race. He\nmust invent machines and processes, or adopt them as others discover\nthem. He must organize, explore markets, and study consumers' wants.\nHe must keep abreast of a rapidly moving procession if he expects to\ncontinue long to be a producer at all.\n\n_The Effect on Progress of Consolidation without Monopoly._--Does a\nmonopoly live under any such forward pressure? Certainly not. It may\nmake some improvements, for it can gain wealth by so doing; but it is\nnot forced to make them or perish. Here we encounter a wide\ndistinction that is in danger of being overlooked. A vast corporation\nthat is not a true monopoly may be eminently progressive. If it still\nhas to fear rivals, actual or potential, it is under the same kind of\npressure that acts upon the independent producer--pressure to\neconomize labor. It may be able to make even greater progress than a\nsmaller corporation could make, for it may be able to hire ingenious\nmen to devise new appliances, and it may be able to test them without\ngreatly trenching on its income by such experiments. When it gets a\nsuccessful machine, it may introduce it at once into many mills.\nConsolidation without monopoly is favorable to progress. With the\nelement of monopoly infused into it, a great consolidation frees\nitself from the necessity for progress, and both experience and _a\npriori_ reasoning are against the conclusion that, under such a\nregime, actual progress will be rapid. The secure monopoly may\nstagnate with impunity, and the reason why many corporations which\nhave looked like monopolies have not actually stagnated is that their\npositions have not been thus secure. They have had some actual rivals\nand many potential ones. The part of the protective system which tends\nto make them more secure in their monopolistic position strikes at the\nmost vital part of the industrial system, the progress within it, the\nelement which adds daily to man's power to create wealth and enables\nthe world to sustain an increasing population in an increasing degree\nof comfort. True monopoly means stagnation, oppression, and what has\nbeen called a new feudalism, while consolidation without monopoly\nmeans progress, freedom, and a constant approach to industrial\ndemocracy. One of the essential means of securing this latter result\nis the retention of so much protection as is needed to keep American\ningenuity and organizing power alive and active, while abolishing that\nexcess of it which fosters monopoly and does away with the necessity\nfor exercising these traits. There will be disagreement as to the\npoint at which the dividing line should, in particular cases, be\ndrawn; a protected interest will claim a duty of fifty per cent where\ntwenty would amply suffice and where every excess above this would be\npernicious. There should, however, be no serious disagreement as to\nwhat we want--progress and the repression of monopoly which bars\nprogress; and there should be little disagreement as to the principle\nto be followed in making a protective system contribute to these ends.\nIt must assuredly not bar out the foreigner when the American trust\nhas put its prices at an extortionate level and is using its power to\ncrush all rivalry at home. The good effect and the evil effect of an\nexcessive duty are quite distinct in principle, and the task that is\nbefore us is to make them so in practice. It is to abolish the\nmonopoly-building part of the protective system.\n\nThe whole question of the relation of the tariff to monopoly presents\ndebatable points, some of which cannot here be discussed. It is by no\nmeans claimed that an unnaturally high tariff is the sole means of\nsustaining monopolies, or that the reduction of it would leave nothing\nmore to be done. A great corporation, as has already been said,\npossesses special means of waging a predatory war against local\nrivals, and its monopolistic power depends on these as well as on the\ntariff. With the foreigner forced off the field the trust can use with\nterrible effect these means of attack on local rivals. It is true, as\nwe have seen, that its monopolistic power might be greatly reduced,\nwithout touching the tariff, by taking from it its command of freight\nrates and thus destroying its power to undersell rivals by means of\nthe special rebates which it now receives; and its power for evil\nmight be reduced still more by taking from it its privilege of cutting\nprices on its own goods in one locality while charging elsewhere the\nhigh prices which the exclusion of the foreigner enables it to get.\nRegulating trusts by these means only and without any change in the\nprotective system would require, on the part of the people, a long and\nhard struggle. It would require heroic persistence in a course of\ndifficult administration. Success will come more quickly and easily\nif, while keeping a normal amount of protection, we abolish the\nabnormal part of it. The other measures for controlling trusts\nharmonize with this one and will work more effectively if they are\nused in combination with it. Together with this one they remove a\nbarrier against progress and set in action a force that promotes it.\n\nWithout going into any intricacies one can see that, with the tariff\nat a normal level, the success of the trust in making money will\ndepend on its efficiency as a producer; and the same will be true of\nits independent rivals. Again and again it will then happen that new\nrivals will appear, whose mills are far more efficient than many which\nthe trust operates. They may even be more efficient than the best of\nthe mills of the great combination. American producers and foreigners\nwill be in eager rivalry with each other in seeking out means of\nreducing costs or--what is the same thing--increasing the product of a\nday's labor. Under the conditions here supposed, the trust will not be\nable to exterminate a really efficient competitor, and it will feel\nthe stimulus of his rivalry in a way that will force it to be alert\nand enterprising in seeking and using new devices for economical\nproduction. The trust and its American competitor will alike feel the\nstimulus of the foreigner's efforts to surpass them both in methods of\nefficient production; and the outcome of it all will be a greater\ndegree of progress--a more dynamic industrial world--than there is any\nhope of realizing while foreigners are excluded from our markets even\nwhen prices are there extortionate. Prices will be extortionate so\nlong as the trusts are checked only by local rivals and are allowed to\nclub these rivals into submissiveness. Keeping the foreigner away by\ncompeting fairly with him is what we should desire; but barring him\nforcibly out, even when prices mount to extravagant levels, helps to\nfasten on this country the various evils which are included under the\nill-omened term _monopoly_; and among the worst of these evils are a\nweakening of dynamic energy and a reduction of progress.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nLEADING FACTS CONCERNING MONEY\n\n\n_Dynamic Qualities of Money._--The question concerning money which,\nfor the purposes of the present treatise, it is most important to\nanswer is whether general prosperity can be increased or impaired by\nmanipulating the volume of it. Is money a dynamic agent, and can it be\nso regulated as to induce economic progress? These questions require\ncareful answers.\n\n_Accepted Facts concerning Money._--We may accept without argument\nthe conclusion that both theory and experience have reached concerning\nthe superiority of gold and silver over other materials of which\na currency can be made. They possess the universally recognized\nutility which makes them everywhere in demand. They have the\n\"imperishability,\" the \"portability,\" and the \"divisibility\" which are\nneeded, and when made into coins, they have the \"cognizability\" by\nwhich they can, more readily than many other things, be identified and\ndistinguished from cheap imitations. There remain to be settled the\nquestions whether an expanding volume of currency is necessary for\nprosperity, and whether the expansion can better be secured by using\ntwo metals than it can by using one.\n\n_Effects of Free Coinage._--It is evident that when a government coins\nwithout charge all the gold and silver that are brought to it for that\npurpose, either metal will be worth about as much in the form of\nbullion as it is in the form of coin. If, for uses in the arts, an\nounce of gold is worth more than the number of dollars that can be\nmade of it, the coining of this metal will temporarily cease and some\ncoins already made will be melted. Moreover, where both of the\nprecious metals are used as money, neither of them can long be worth\nin a coin much more than is the bullion contained in the less valuable\nof the two. If a gold dollar will buy more silver than is needed to\nmake a silver dollar, because of the higher value of the bullion in\nthe former coin, silver will be bought and taken to the mint for\ncoinage, while gold dollars will be melted. The gold will go farther\nin the way of paying debts when it is in this way exchanged for silver\nmoney.\n\n_The Effects of Inflation of Currency on Prices._--We are citing a\nfurther accepted fact when we say that, other things being equal,\nenlarging the volume of currency in use raises the prices of goods. By\nwhat particular mechanism this is brought about we do not here\ninquire. Not everything that is claimed under the head of a \"quantity\ntheory of money\" is generally believed, but there will be little\ndisposition anywhere to deny that, if no other dynamic movement should\ntake place, adding fifty per cent to the volume of metallic money in\ncirculation would make prices higher than they were before the\naddition.\n\n_Rising Prices and Business Profits._--If we assert, further, that\npermanently rising prices mean prosperity,--profits for the\n_entrepreneur_ and a brisk demand for labor and capital,--we assert\nwhat, in the practical world, is too generally accepted. Sound theory\nand current belief are at variance on this point, and the current\nopinion appears at first glance to have the facts on its side. Periods\nof rising prices have actually been periods of prosperity. It is\nconsidered hard for either a merchant or a manufacturer \"to do\nbusiness on a falling market,\" and easy to make money on a rising one.\nThis impression is entirely correct in so far as it concerns those\nfluctuations of price which occur suddenly and continue only briefly.\nWhat it is of great importance to know is whether a steady rise of\nprices which should continue permanently would mean permanent profits\nfor the _entrepreneur_; and it can be asserted without hesitation that\nit would not do so if the final productivity theory of interest is\nsound, that is, if capital commands in the market a rate of interest\nwhich corresponds to the amount that the marginal increment of it will\nactually produce.\n\n_The Rate of Expansion of Currency distinguished from the Absolute\nAmount of Increase._--The extent to which any currency is capable of\nraising prices by a continued expansion depends, not on the absolute\namount of that expansion, but on the percentage of enlargement that\ntakes place within a given time. Moreover, a given percentage of\nincrease _per annum_ may be maintained as well by one metal as by two.\nIf the gold and the silver money of the world were each increased by\none per cent a year, prices would have the same trend under a currency\nmade of one metal as under a currency made of both. If, on the other\nhand, all the currencies were based on gold only, a change to a\nbimetallic system would at once make a single great enlargement of the\nvolume of money; but after this the rate of enlargement would be no\ngreater than it was under the single standard. _In the transition_\nfrom a gold to a bimetallic currency, we should get rapidly rising\nprices; after the change had been completed, we should have a currency\nexpanding as before at the one per cent rate. If the volume of\nbusiness were to increase at the rate of two per cent a year, while\nother influences affecting prices were to remain unchanged, the\ncurrency would not expand as rapidly as the demand for it, and prices\nwould not only fall, but would fall at the same rate as if only one\nmetal had been used. Use ten metals instead of two,--make coins of\ntin, platinum, copper, nickel, etc.,--and if the grand composite still\ninsures the one per cent rate of general increase of metallic money,\nprices will vary as they would have varied with a currency of gold\nalone. Wholly transitional, under such circumstances, is the rise in\nprices secured by the adoption of bimetallism. It is gained by adding\nto the stock of gold now used for ultimate payments an existing stock\nof silver.\n\n_Why Metallic Currency of Any Kind gains, in the Long Run, in\nPurchasing Power._--In the long run, almost any metallic coin of a\nfixed weight will gain in its purchasing power. Silver would do this\nas well as gold; and so would a composite coinage made of ten metals.\nThe law of diminishing returns applies to mining as well as to\nagriculture. The more silver you want, the deeper you must dig for it,\nand the more refractory ores you must smelt. The transmuting of a raw\nmetal into finished articles becomes a cheaper and cheaper process;\nbut the extracting of the metal itself becomes dearer. A larger and\nlarger fraction of the labor that is spent in making wares of silver,\nof gold, of copper, or of tin must be spent in getting the crude\nmaterial out of the earth. There are improvements in mining, as there\nare in other industries, and there are large improvements in smelting;\nbut in spite of this the continual working of more difficult mines and\nof more difficult ores makes the getting of the crude material, in\nthe long run, relatively costly. Since a coin consists chiefly of raw\nmetal, we may therefore count on having before us a regime of falling\nprices, whatever metallic currency we adopt. The rate of the fall and\nthe degree of steadiness in it will be greater with some metals than\nwith others. The variations in the value of gold are, on the whole,\ncomparatively steady. This metal fluctuates in amount and in cost, but\nthe changes are less sudden than in the case of most others.\n\n_The Steadiness of the Change in the Purchasing Power of Money the\nImportant Fact._--A second fact to be noted is that the best currency\nis one the purchasing power of which shall change, if at all, at a\ncomparatively uniform rate. This fact is of paramount consequence, and\nthe verification of it will repay any amount of study. It is not the\nrapidity with which gold gains in purchasing power, but the steadiness\nof the gain from year to year that determines whether it is the best\nmoney that can be had by the business world. A _change in the rate_ of\nincrease in the purchasing power of the coinage metal has a really\ndisturbing effect; a steady and calculable appreciation does not.\nThere exists in some acute minds what I venture to call a delusion\nabout the effect on business classes of an advance in the purchasing\npower of gold that proceeds for a long time at a uniform rate.\nConceding the prospect of a decided gain in the value of this metal,\nwe may deny absolutely that, if _it is steady_, it plays into the\nhands of creditors, burdens the _entrepreneur_, blights enterprise, or\nhas any of the effects that certain men whom we are bound to respect\nhave claimed for it. Irregular changes of value would, indeed, produce\nthese results. Let gold gain three per cent in value this year, one\nper cent next year, and four per cent in the year following, and\ninjurious things will happen; but let it gain even as much as three\nper cent each year for a century, and at the test points in business\nlife there will ensue the essential effects that would have followed\nif it had not gained at all.\n\nThis means that with a steadily appreciating currency the things will\nhappen that make for prosperity. The debtor will get justice,\nenterprise will be safe, and wages will gain while industry gains. The\n_entrepreneur_, in whose behalf bad counsel has lately been given,\nwill best do his strategic work, not with that currency which varies\nin value the least, but with that which varies most uniformly. If it\nappears that gold is likely to appreciate more than silver, and to\nappreciate more steadily, it is decidedly the better metal. It is not\ninflation on which the _entrepreneur_ permanently thrives, nor is it\ncontraction through which, in the long run, he suffers; it is changes\nin the rate of inflation or of contraction that produce marked and\ndamaging effects at the critical points of business life.\n\n_Loan Interest as related to the Increase of Real Capital._--How does\na slow and steady appreciation of any metallic currency affect the\nrelations of business classes? Does it rob borrowers and enrich\nlenders? Does it favor the consumers by giving falling prices, and\nhurt producers in the same degree? Does it tax enterprise and paralyze\nthe nerves of business? The answer is an emphatic _No_. Steadiness in\nthe rate of appreciation of money is the salvation of business. Not by\none iota can such a slow and steady movement, in itself alone, rob the\nborrowing class. This is a sweeping claim; let us examine it.\n\nIt has been shown that true interest is governed by the marginal\nproductivity of capital. As the utility of the final increment of a\ncommodity fixes the price that a seller can get for his whole supply,\nso the productive power of the final unit of capital expresses what\nthe owner of capital can get by lending his entire supply. This\nearning capacity expresses itself in a percentage of the capital\nitself. If the final unit can create a twentieth of itself in a year,\nany unit can get for its owner about that amount.\n\nIn assuming that capital earns a twentieth of itself in a year, we may\nuse a commodity standard of measurement. A grocer's capital of twenty\nbarrels of sugar may become twenty-one barrels, and his flour and his\ntea increase in a like proportion. In the simplest illustration that\ncould be given of a capital earning five per cent a year, we should\nassume that each kind of productive instrument in a man's possession\nincreases in quantity, during the year, by that amount. If he be a\nmanufacturer, his mill becomes a hundred and five feet long, instead\nof a hundred feet. It contains twenty-one sets of woolen machinery,\ninstead of twenty. The flow of water that furnishes power becomes by\nfive per cent more copious; and the stock of goods, raw, unfinished,\nand finished, becomes larger by the same amount.\n\nOf course, such a symmetrical enlargement of all kinds of goods could\nnever actually take place, for some things increase in quantity more\nthan others. The illustration shows, however, what fixes the rate of\ninterest: it is the self-increasing power of a miscellany of real\ncapital. If the mill, the machinery, the stock, grow in quantity at\nthe five per cent rate, that is the natural rate of interest on loans\nof real capital. The lender gives to the borrower twenty units of\n\"commodity\" and gets back twenty-one. If marginal social capital,\nconsisting of commodity and measured in some way in units of kind, has\nthe power to add to itself in a year one unit for every twenty,\nlenders will claim about that amount, and borrowers will pay it.\n\n_How the Increase of a Miscellany of Goods has to be Computed._--How\ndoes the real earning capacity of capital in concrete forms reveal\nitself? How does the grocer know that he can make five per cent with\nthe final unit of capital that he borrows? Not by the fact that each\nlot of twenty barrels of sugar gains one barrel, that each lot of\ntwenty pounds of tea gains one pound, and so on. If there were to be\nsuch a symmetrical all-around increase in the commodities in the man's\npossession, his shelves, counters, bins, tanks, would have to enlarge\nthemselves in the same ratio. In the case of a manufacturer the mill\nwould have to elongate itself by one foot for every twenty, as in the\nforegoing illustration, and the machinery and all the stock would have\nto grow in the same proportion. The land and the water power would\nhave to enlarge themselves by the same constant fraction.\n\nOf course, such a thing does not take place. The general amount of\ncapital goods of every kind enlarges; but the enlargement is in\npractice computed in monetary value, and in no other way. The whole\noutfit becomes worth more than it was. The increase in monetary value\ngauges the claims of the capitalist. If the stock of goods has grown\ngenerally larger, and if prices have fallen, the claim of the\ncapitalist will fall short of equaling the actual increase of the\nmerchandise.\n\nThe increase in goods of different kinds is, of course, unsymmetrical.\nIf the man is a manufacturer, his mill and his water power have\nprobably not increased. He may have some more machinery, and he has\nmore raw materials and more goods, finished or unfinished, than he had\nwhen he took his last inventory. If he has not more goods of these\nkinds, he has something that represents them; and the effect on his\nfortunes is as if the mill had stretched itself, and as if the\nmachines and other capital had multiplied, all in the same ratio.\n\nThe man figures his gains in real wealth by the use of money. At the\nend of the year he makes a list of all his goods, attaches prices to\nthem, and sees what the value of the stock has become by the year's\nbusiness. He compares the total value in money of the goods on hand in\nJanuary, 1907, with that of the stock of January, 1906. If he has\nbought and sold for cash only, and if during the year he has drawn for\nhis maintenance only what he has earned by labor, the excess of value\non hand at the beginning of the year 1907 informs him what his capital\nhas earned during the preceding twelve months.\n\n_The Effect of Changes of Price on the Claims of Capitalists._--If\nprices have remained stable, the earnings of the capital as expressed\nin money will accurately correspond with the earnings as computed in\ncommodity. It is as if the five per cent increase of the sugar and the\nflour of our first illustration, or of the mill and the machinery of\nthe second, had taken place. It could then, by a sale, be converted\ninto a five per cent increase in money. By selling the stock at its\nmarket value the merchant could realize five per cent more than the\noriginal stock cost him.\n\nIf money has gained one per cent in its purchasing power, or if prices\nat the end of the year are by so much lower, the inventory will show,\nin terms of money, only a four per cent gain. Now, the real increase\nof concrete capital is still five per cent, and that, by the law of\ninterest, is what the capitalist can claim in commodities. This claim\nis met by an actual payment in money of four per cent. Give to the\ncapitalist, in January, 1896, a dollar and four cents for every dollar\nhe has loaned in January, 1895, and you enable him to command a\nhundred and five units of commodity for every one hundred that he\ncommanded at the earlier date.[1] You give him by a reduced monetary\npayment what is equivalent to the real increase of capital.\n\n    [1] There is a slight compounding here to be taken into\n    account. If commodity has gained five per cent, while prices\n    have lost one per cent, the capital as measured in money has\n    increased by three and ninety-five one-hundredths per cent\n    instead of exactly four.\n\n_Practical Differences between Real Interest and the Increase of Real\nCapital._--It is the increase of capital in kind that fixes the rate\nof loan interest. Care must be taken not to claim for this part of the\nadjustment any unerring accuracy; for the marginal productivity law\ndoes not work without friction. With real capital creating five and a\nhalf per cent, the lender might get only five. When, however, the play\nof forces that fixes real interest has had its way and has determined\nthat, in commodity, capital shall secure for its owners five per cent\na year, that amount is unerringly conveyed to them by the monetary\npayments that follow. If, by paying four per cent as interest, the\nmerchant, in the illustrative case, makes over to the lender of\ncapital that part of the increase of goods that by the law of interest\nfalls to him, four per cent is the rate that the loan in money will\nbring. This is on the supposition that the change in the purchasing\npower of money is perfectly steady. If it is unsteady, effects will\nfollow that are of much consequence.\n\nChanges in the purchasing power of a currency produce an effect on the\nrate of interest on loans of \"money.\" If, with a currency of perfectly\nstable value, the interest on loans is five per cent, corresponding to\nthe earnings of real capital, then a gain in the purchasing power of\nthe currency of one per cent a year has the effect of reducing nominal\ninterest practically to four per cent. The debtor then really pays and\nthe creditor really gets the same percentage as before of the actual\ncapital loaned. The borrower, the _entrepreneur_ in the case, finds at\nthe end of the year that he has more commodities by five\none-hundredths than he had. He must pay the equivalent of this to the\nlender. With money of stable purchasing power it takes five new\ndollars for every hundred to do it; but with money that gains in its\npower to buy goods at the rate of one per cent a year it takes only\nfour. The rate of interest on loans is, in the long run, reduced by an\namount that accurately corresponds with the appreciation of the\nmonetary metal _wherever the appreciation is steady_. This law works\nwith a precision that is unusual in the case of economic laws. Loan\ninterest varies more or less from the marginal earnings of capital;\nbut interest as paid in money accurately expresses interest as\ndetermined in kind by the play of economic forces.\n\n_Conscious Forecasts not necessary for Insuring the Adjustment of Loan\nInterest to Changing Prices._--It is possible that, where this subject\nhas been considered, the impression may prevail that this reduction\nin the nominal rate of interest is the result of foresight on the part\nof borrower and lender. According to that view, both parties look\nforward to the time when the loan will be paid. The borrower sees\nthat, although by means of his business he may have at the end of a\nyear five per cent more of commodity in his possession, prices will\nprobably have fallen so as to enable him to realize in money only four\nper cent. On the other hand, the creditor will see that with four per\ncent more in money he can, if he will, buy with his principal and\ninterest five per cent more than he virtually loaned in commodity. He\nis satisfied with this increase; and, moreover, he is forced to adopt\nit, since the natural increase of real capital will not enable a\nborrower to pay more. The _entrepreneur_ will stop borrowing if more\nis demanded. The whole adjustment is supposed to rest on a forecast\nmade by the contracting parties and a speculative calculation as to\nthe trend of prices. Now, while men do indeed consider the future, the\nadjustment that is actually made does not call for foresight. No\nconscious forward glance is necessarily involved therein. It is made\nby a process that works more unerringly than any joint calculation\nabout the coming conditions could possibly do.\n\nThe interest on a loan that is to run through a period in the near\nfuture is based on the rate that capital is now producing. The\nevidence as to what that rate is must be furnished by the experience\nof the immediate past. It takes much experience, of course, accurately\nto determine how much the marginal unit of capital for the year 1895\nhas been worth to the men who have used it. This, however, has to be\nascertained as best it can. It takes strategy on the part of both\nborrowers and lenders to make the loan rate correspond to the marginal\nearnings. Here there is a chance for economic friction and for\nvariations from the theoretical standard, and the loan rate will\nsometimes exceed it; but in the long run the deviations will offset\neach other. In any case, the experience of 1906 fixes, with or without\nvariations, the loan rate for 1907.\n\nThe earnings revealed by the experience of 1906 may be theoretically\ncomputed either in money or in commodity. Let us say they have been\nfive per cent in real wealth, but by reason of the fall in prices they\nhave been only four per cent in money. That, then, is the rate for a\nloan that is to run through 1907. If prices continue to fall at the\nrate now prevailing, the loan rate in money will correspond to the\nmarginal earnings of capital for the latter year as accurately as it\ndoes for the former year. Bargain-making strategy, the \"higgling of\nthe market,\" may yield an imperfect result, and the lender of real or\ncommodity capital may or may not get the exact real earnings of\nmarginal capital of the same kind. _In translating the earnings of\nreal capital for the earlier or test year into terms of money, the\nappreciation of the coins has unerringly entered as an element._ If\nthe same rate of appreciation is continued through the following year,\nno deviation of the loan rate from the earnings of capital can result\nfrom this cause. Whatever deviation there is results from the other\ncauses just noted.\n\nIn commercial terms a man borrows \"money,\" and, by using it in his\nbusiness, produces \"money.\" He does this, however, by converting the\ncurrency into merchandise, and then reconverting this into currency.\nHe gives to the lender approximately what the \"marginal\" part of the\nloan produces. If this adjustment is inexact, the lender will get less\nor more than the actual earnings of such capital. With money gaining\nin its purchasing power at a uniform rate, the adjustment is as exact\nas it would have been with money of stable value. The appreciation\nworks unerringly in translating earnings measured in goods into\nsmaller earnings measured in money. The loan rate approximates the\nearnings.\n\n_Effects of Changes in the Rate of Appreciation._--What happens if the\nrate of appreciation changes? What if gold gains two per cent in\nvalue, instead of one, during the second of the periods? The\ncapitalist will then clearly be a gainer, and the _entrepreneur_ will\nbe a loser. Getting five per cent in commodity as before, the business\nman, by reason of falling prices, will realize only about three per\ncent in money. His contract, based on the experience of an earlier\nyear, makes him pay four per cent, and he loses one. Every\nacceleration of the rate of increase in the purchasing power of money\nplays into the hands of lenders. Every retarding of that rate plays\ninto the hands of borrowers. If in 1907 the _entrepreneur_ gets a\nthree per cent rate on what he borrows, as based on the experience of\n1906, and if the fall in prices is reduced during that later year to\none per cent, the borrower will make a clear gain of one per cent; and\nthis will recoup him for his loss in the earlier period. Moreover,\nafter a long period of steady prices, the beginnings of a downward\ntrend do not instantly affect the loan rate of interest. A period must\nelapse sufficient to establish the fact of this downward trend, and to\nenable the struggles of lenders and borrowers to overcome habit in\nfixing a new rate that will correspond to the new earning power of\nmonetary capital. These facts explain what at times looks like a\nfailure of the loan market fully to take account of the fall of prices\nduring a given interval. What that market really does is to base the\ninterest paid in one interval on the business experience of another.\n\n_Opposite Reasons for Favoring Gold as a Basis of Currency._--What,\nthen, is our practical conclusion? Gold has surprised the world by its\nincrease and by the rise in prices by which this change has been\nattended. The interest on loans has risen as the conditions required\nthat it should do; but the rise in interest has lagged somewhat behind\nthe rise in prices. The enlarged output of the precious metal has been\ncomparatively sudden, and it has been this fact which has played into\nthe hands of _entrepreneurs_ and, for a brief interval, entailed some\nloss on lenders. When the adjustment of loan interest to the rising\nprices shall be fully made, neither of these parties will gain at the\nother's expense so long as the rise shall continue at the prevalent\nrate; but if the rise should cease as quickly as it began, it would be\n_entrepreneurs_ who would lose and lenders who would gain. Loans\nrunning at rates fixed when prices were rising would be paid by an\namount of money which would buy more commodity than the business would\nafford. With a reduction of the output of gold there will come a\ndemand for some measure of inflation in order that rising prices may\nforever continue. Adding silver to the currency would, as we have\nseen, accomplish this purpose only temporarily. In the long run this\nmetal is bound to appreciate like gold. Using paper money would have a\ntemporary effect and would be a more dangerous measure. Waiting for a\nshort time for a new adjustment of loan interest to the trend of\nprices would be the only rational course. Will the further fall of\nprices rob the _entrepreneurs_? They must pay only the rate of\ninterest that capital earns. If that is five per cent, five they must\npay, so long as prices are stable. With prices falling by one per cent\na year, they will have to pay only four. Will the fall check business\nand make men afraid to buy stocks of goods? They can carry stocks as\ncheaply with a four per cent rate of interest and declining prices as\nthey can with a five per cent rate and stable prices. Will it blight\nenterprise by making men afraid to build mills, railroads, etc.? Here\nagain the loan rate of interest comes to the rescue of the projectors.\nIf they can float their bonds and notes at a lower rate, they can\nbuild with impunity.\n\nSteadiness is the vital quality in currency. Let its purchasing power\nbe either unchanging or steadily changing in either direction, and\njustice will be done and business will thrive. If a metal fluctuates\ngreatly in its rate of increase in value, it is a poor coinage metal,\neven though the average rate of gain be slow; if it gains slowly and\nsteadily, it is almost an ideally good one.\n\nWhat would be the effect of any practical measure of inflation? If we\nuse as money available for all debts the present stock of silver in\nthe world, we make one large addition to the volume of money now\navailable. We start an inflation that cannot continue by the use of\nsilver alone. In the hope of perpetuating the rise in prices we may\nfollow the silver with paper. By the action of the principle that we\nhave stated we shall thus make the interest on loans higher, and\nevery man who buys a farm or a house while the inflation continues\nwill pay a high rate of interest on an enlarged purchase price. When\nwe are forced to stop the paper issues, as in the end we must be, the\nprice of the land, etc., will fall, and the rate of interest on new\nloans will fall also. The price of all produce will go down, and the\npurchasers of property will struggle again, as in the years following\nthe Civil War men had to struggle, with a fixed debt, a fixed rate of\ninterest, and falling prices. The early _post bellum_ days will be\nreproduced. Entering on a policy of inflation would therefore be\ninviting men again to suffer what those suffered whose hard experience\nis so frequently depicted in Populistic literature. Conceding all that\nis claimed as to the evil that comes from buying or mortgaging real\nproperty while the volume of money is increasing and paying the debt\nso incurred while that volume is relatively contracting, one must see\nthat a policy of inflation would end by inflicting exactly that evil\non new victims, unless a method can be invented by which the inflation\ncan continue forever. Far better will it be to endure the transient\nevil which a slow change in the supply of gold will bring. Retaining\ngold through all its minor variations will mean all the prosperity and\nall the justice that any monetary system can insure. If we shall ever\nabandon this metal, experience will make us wise enough to return to\nit; but we shall have paid a high price for the wisdom.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\nSUMMARY OF CONCLUSIONS\n\n\nPerpetual change is the conspicuous fact of modern life. So\nrevolutionary are the alterations which a few decades make in the\nindustrial world as to raise the question whether there are economic\nlaws which retain their validity for any length of time. If there are\nnot, we have one economic science now, and shall have a different one\nten years hence and a widely dissimilar one a century later. Of\nDescriptive Economics this is true, since it changes with the world it\ndescribes; but it is not true of Economic Theory. There are certain\nprinciples which are equally valid in all times and places. They were\ntrue in the beginnings of industry, are true now, and will remain so\nas long as men shall create and use wealth. They are not made\nantiquated either by technical progress or by social evolution. We\nhave at the outset stated some of these truths. They have reference to\nman, to his natural environment, and to the interactions of the two,\nand they do not depend on the relations of man to man. We have also\nstated other economic truths which apply only to man in a social\nstate. They are not universal, but are so general that they are\nexemplified in the economic life of every society, from the most\nprimitive to the most highly civilized. They are the principles of\nSocial Economic Statics, and in order to have them distinctly before\nus we have created in imagination a society which is changeless in\nsize, in form, and in mode of economic action. In such a condition\nthe wages of labor would remain fixed, as would also the interest on\ncapital. Wages and interest would absorb the whole product of social\nindustry; for the static condition, as we have thus created it,\nexcludes profits of the _entrepreneur_. In broad outline this\ndescribes the condition toward which certain economic forces are\ncontinually impelling the actual world.\n\nThere is at each period a standard shape and mode of action to which\nstatic laws acting by themselves would bring economic society. This\nsocial norm, however, is not the same at any two periods. The static\nlaws remain unchanged, but they act in changing conditions, and if\nthey were left alone and undisturbed, would give one result in 1907\nand another in 2007. The changes which a century will bring should\nmake society larger and richer, the mode of production more effective,\nand the returns for all classes greater. The laws which set the\nstandard of wages and interest will remain the same, but if the\ntendencies now at work have their natural effect, all these incomes\nwill be larger. It is as though great quantities of water were rushing\ninto a lake and causing disturbances and upheavals of the surface. If\nthe inflow should now stop, the surface would subside to a general\nlevel. If the inflow should recommence, go on for a hundred years, and\nthen stop, the surface would again subside to a level, but it would be\nhigher than the former one. Yet _the laws of equilibrium which\nproduced the first static level would be identically the same as those\nwhich produced the second_. Social Economic Statics is a body of\nprinciples which act in every stage of civilization and draw society\nat every separate period toward a static norm, though they do not at\nany two periods draw it toward the same norm. They make actual society\nhover forever about a changing standard shape.\n\nThe laws which govern progress--which cause the social norm to take a\ndifferent character from decade to decade, and cause actual society to\nhover near it in its changes--are the subject of Social Economic\nDynamics. We have made a study of the more general economic changes\nwhich affect the social structure, and they stand in this order:--\n\n(1) Increase of population, involving increase in the supply of labor.\n(2) Increase in the stock of productive wealth.\n(3) Improvements in method.\n(4) Improvements in organization.\n\nAll these things affect the productive power of society, and\ncorrelated with them and standing over against them is a fifth type of\nchange, which affects consumers' wants and determines how productive\npower shall be used.\n\nWe have examined each single change by itself and have then endeavored\nto combine them and get the grand resultant of all. Beginning with the\nincrease of population, we have traced its effects on wages, on\ninterest, and on the values of goods. We have made a similar study of\nthe growth of capital, the progress of technical method, and the\norganization of industry.\n\nThe variation of economic society from its static standard offers a\nproblem for solution, and in this connection the type of change in\nwhich the most serious evils inhere is that which discards old\ntechnical methods and ushers in new ones. The question whether these\nevils are destined to increase or to diminish we have answered\nconditionally on the basis of past experience and present tendencies.\nIf competition continues and labor retains its mobility, the evils\nwill naturally grow less. The grand resultant of all the forces of\nprogress is an upward movement in the standard of economic life\ngained, not without cost, but at a diminishing cost.\n\nA vital question is that of the continuance of the movements now in\nprogress. Do any of them tend to bring themselves to a halt? Is any\nchange on which we rely for the hopeful outlook we have taken\nself-terminating? We have found that the growth of population tends to\ngo on more slowly as the world becomes crowded, while the motives for\nan increase of productive wealth grow stronger rather than weaker.\nTechnical progress gives no hint of coming to an end, and improvements\nin organization may go on indefinitely, though they will naturally go\non more slowly as the modes of marshaling the agents of production are\nbrought nearer to perfection. Knowledge of the causes of economic\nchange is at best incomplete, and enlarging it by the statistical\nmethod of study will be a chief work for the economists of the future.\nAnalytical study points distinctly to a coming time of increased\ncomfort for working humanity. Progress gives no sign of being\nself-terminating, so long as the force which has been the mainspring\nof it, namely, competition, shall continue to act.\n\nThe suspicious element in the general dynamic movement is progress in\norganization. That which we have primarily studied is the marshaling\nof forces for mere production--the creation of efficient mills, shops,\nrailroads, etc. This, however, carries with it a tendency to create\nlarge mills, shops, and railroad systems, and, in the end, to combine\nthose which begin as rivals in a consolidation in which their rivalry\nwith each other ceases. This means a danger of monopoly, and is the\ngravest menace which hangs over the future of economic society.\n\nIf anything should definitely end competition, it would check\ninvention, pervert distribution, and lead to evils from which only\nstate socialism would offer a way of escape. Monopoly is not a mere\nbit of friction which interferes with the perfect working of economic\nlaws. It is a definite perversion of the laws themselves. It is one\nthing to obstruct a force and another to supplant it and introduce a\ndifferent one; and that is what monopoly would do. We have inquired\nwhether it is necessary to let monopoly have its way, and have been\nable to answer the question with a decided _No_. It grows up in\nconsequence of certain practices which an efficient government can\nstop. Favoritism in the charges for carrying goods is one of these\npractices. Railroads have become both monopolies and builders of other\nmonopolies. Certain principles, which we have briefly outlined, govern\ntheir policy, and the natural outcome of their working is\nconsolidation. This creates the necessity for a type of public action\nwhich is new in America--the regulation of freight charges.\n\nAkin to this is the necessity for keeping alive competition in the\nfield of general industry by an effective prohibition of various\nmeasures by which the great corporations are able to destroy it. The\ndynamic element in economic life depends on competition, which at\nimportant points is vanishing, but can, by the power of the state, be\nrestored and preserved, in a new form, indeed, but in all needed\nvigor. With that accomplished we can enjoy the full productive effect\nof consolidation without sacrificing the progress which the older type\nof industry insured.\n\nThe organization of labor, its motives, its measures, and its\ntendencies,--including a tendency toward monopoly,--we have examined.\nThrough all the wastes and disturbances which the struggle over wages\noccasions we have discovered a certain action of natural economic law,\nand have seen what type of measures, on the part of the state, will\nremove impediments in the way of that law and enable it to act in\ngreater perfection.\n\nConnected with the dynamic movement on which the future of society\ndepends are the policies of the government in connection with currency\nand with protective duties. Here, less action, rather than more, is\ndemanded on the part of the state. While no renewal of a\n_laissez-faire_ policy is possible, a reduction of the duties which\nnow play into the hands of monopoly is distinctly called for. In\nconnection with currency a greater trust in nature and a smaller\nreliance on governments will give the best results.\n\nOur studies have included, not the activities of the whole world,\nbut those of that central part of it which is highly sensitive to\neconomic influences. The whole producing mechanism here responds\ncomparatively quickly to any force which makes for change. This\nsociety _par excellence_ is extending its boundaries and annexing\nsuccessive belts of outlying territory; and as this shall go on, it\nmust bring the world as a whole more and more nearly into the shape of\na single economic organism. The relations of the central society to\nthe unannexed zones are attaining transcendent importance, and a\nfuller treatment of Economic Dynamics than is possible within the\nlimits of the present work would give much space to such subjects as\nthe transformation of Asia and the resulting changes in the economic\nlife of Europe and America. Here again the conscious action of the\npeople determines the economic outcome. In the main we can still leave\nthe natural forces of industry to work automatically; but we have\npassed the point where we can safely leave to self-regulation the\ncharges of the common carrier, the conduct of monopolistic\ncorporations, or certain parts of the policy of organized labor.\nForeign relations are, of course, a subject for public control, and\nthey are coming to affect in a most intimate way our own economic\nlife. Everywhere our future is put into our own hands and will develop\nthe better the more we know of economic laws and the more energy we\nshow in applying them. The surrendering of industries generally to the\nstate may be avoided, and the essential features of the system of\nbusiness which evolution has created may be preserved; but to keep\nthis system free from unendurable evils will require, on the part of\nthe people, a rare combination of intelligence and determination. It\nwill require a public policy that shall neither be hampered by\nprejudice nor incited by ebullitions of popular feeling, but shall be\nguided through a course of difficult action by a knowledge of economic\nlaw.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n  Abstinence, 339 _et seq._\n\n  Accumulation, the law of, Ch. XX.\n\n  Altruism, 39.\n\n  Arbitration, 469, Ch. XXVI;\n    as affected by monopoly, 483 _et seq._;\n    compulsory, 489-490, 497-498, 502;\n    voluntary, 493 _et seq._\n\n\n  Birth rate, as affected by economic conditions, 328 _et seq._\n\n  Boehm-Bawerk, 17 note, 33.\n\n  Boycott, Ch. XXVII.\n\n\n  Ca'-canny, 509 _et seq._\n\n  Capital, 19, 24-26, 31-33;\n    as affected by improvements in method, Ch. XVIII;\n    as originating in profits, 230, 301;\n    contrasted with capital goods, 28-34;\n    exportation of, 230-235;\n    ground and auxiliary, 166;\n    mobility of, 37-38, 127-128, 151-152;\n    primitive, 1-2;\n    rent of, 170-171;\n    sources of, 353 _et seq._;\n    waste of, 307 _et seq._\n\n  Capital, accumulation of, Ch. XX;\n    as affected by monopoly, 355-357;\n    as affected by standards of living, 342 _et seq._\n\n  Capital, effects of increase of, 203-204;\n    economic structure of society, 246-248;\n    on interest, 319-320;\n    on wages, 316 _et seq._\n\n  Capital goods, 16, 17, 19 note;\n    active, 20 _et seq._;\n    active and passive, 186-187;\n    contrasted with capital, 28-34;\n    passive, 20 _et seq._\n\n  Capitalist, 84-85, 117.\n\n  Capitalization of railways, proper basis of, 445-449.\n\n  Caste, effect on increase of population, 332;\n    effect on values, 268.\n\n  Centralization of production, 200-201, 289.\n\n  Collective bargaining, 467 _et seq._\n\n  Combination, railway, 419 _et seq._, 433 _et seq._\n\n  Commerce, effect on diffusion of methods, 229;\n    effect on emigration and immigration, 229-230.\n\n  Competition, 67, 75-77, note; 143-150, 198 _et seq._;\n    effect on inventions, 362 _et seq._;\n    effect on labor organizations, 488-490;\n    in transportation, 406, 419-420, 428 _et seq._;\n    relation to progress, 533-534.\n\n  Competition of markets, effect on railway charges, 403 _et seq._\n\n  Competition, potential, as a regulator of monopolies, 380 _et seq._\n\n  Conciliation, 490 _et seq._\n\n  Consolidation, 382-383, 390 _et seq._, 534 _et seq._, 558-559;\n    effect on strikes, 464 _et seq._;\n    of railways, 396-397, 419 _et seq._\n\n  Consumers' goods, 25-26, 34.\n\n  Consumers' rent, 172 note, 173.\n\n  Consumers' surplus, 105.\n\n  Consumption, 24-25, note;\n    as affected by improvements in methods, 273-274;\n    by increased productive power, 305-306;\n    by increase of individual incomes, 292;\n    diversification of, 62-63, 206-207.\n\n  Corporations, 376 _et seq._\n\n  Cost, 130;\n    contrasted with utility, 43-44;\n    elements of, 115-116;\n    fixed and variable, 412 _et seq._;\n    in static state, 132-133;\n    law of increasing, 44-47;\n    lowest, as determinant of standard price, 263-264;\n    measurement of, 47-49, 209;\n    relation to final utility, 53-54;\n    relation to incomes, 126;\n    relation to price, 114-115;\n    specific, 45.\n\n\n  Demand and supply, 93-94, 96.\n\n  Demand, reciprocal, 292.\n\n  Demand, relation to final utility, 97.\n\n  Diminishing productivity, 148-149;\n    of labor, 134 _et seq._\n\n  Diminishing returns, 56;\n    in agriculture, 165-166, 398 _et seq._;\n    in manufactures, 398-399.\n\n  Diminishing utility, law of, 98.\n\n  Distribution, 60;\n    contrasted with production, Ch. V;\n    functional and personal, 89-91;\n    group, 92-93.\n\n  Division of labor, 61 _et seq._\n\n  \"Dumping,\" 526.\n\n  Dynamic influences, 130-132, 195 _et seq._\n\n  Dynamics, Ch. XII.\n\n\n  Economics, 1 _et seq._, 61.\n\n  Education, effect on increase of population, 330-331.\n\n  Effective utility, 8 note, 54 note.\n\n  Eight-hour movement, 514-516.\n\n  _Entrepreneur_, 83 _et seq._; 117 _et seq._; 153 _et seq._;\n    in dynamic state, 123-124;\n    in static state, 121-122.\n\n  Exchange, 63-64.\n\n\n  Factory legislation, effect on increase of population, 331-332.\n\n  Final productivity, 139 _et seq._, 156-157.\n\n  Final utility, 8 note, 51 note, 54 note, 98-99;\n    relation to cost, 53-54;\n    relation to demand, 97.\n\n  Free coinage, 538-539.\n\n  Free trade, arguments for, 231, 518-519.\n\n  Friction, economic, 373.\n\n  Future, undervaluation of, 345 _et seq._\n\n\n  Giddings, F. H., 381.\n\n  Government ownership, 378, 383-385.\n\n  Groups, economic, 64 _et seq._\n\n\n  Immigrants, disadvantages of, 245 _et seq._\n\n  Improvements in methods, 204, 212;\n    as source of new capital, 230;\n    effect on capital, Ch. XVIII;\n    effect on labor, 312 _et seq._;\n    effect on quality of goods, 273-274;\n    in backward regions, 235-236.\n\n  Increasing returns, 398-401.\n\n  Inflation, effects of, 539 _et seq._\n\n  Interest, 85, Ch. IX;\n    as affected by changes in the value of money, 543 _et seq._;\n    as affected by increase of capital, 319-320;\n    rate of, effect on the accumulation of capital, 339 _et seq._;\n    real and loan, 547 _et seq._;\n    relation to rent, 182-184;\n    static, 224-225.\n\n  Inventions, 204, Chs. XVI, XVII;\n    as affected by competition, 362 _et seq._;\n    as affected by monopoly, 362 _et seq._;\n    conditions giving rise to, Ch. XXI;\n    effect on capital, Ch. XVIII;\n    on economic structure of society, 249 _et seq._;\n    on labor, 254-255;\n    effects of a series of, 290 _et seq._\n\n\n  Kartel, 392.\n\n\n  Labor, 35;\n    as a measure of cost, 209;\n    as affected by improvements in method, 312 _et seq._;\n    classification of, 13-15;\n    definition of, 9-10, 82-85;\n    diminishing productivity of, 134 _et seq._;\n    division of, 61 _et seq._;\n    managerial, 116-117;\n    mobility of, 127-128, 133-134;\n    monopoly, 471 _et seq._, 504;\n    productivity of, 17-18, 133 _et seq._;\n    protective, 10-11;\n    rent of, 171-172.\n\n  Labor organization, Ch. XXV.\n\n  Labor-saving devices, Chs. XVI, XVII;\n    effect on economic\n    structure of society, 249 _et seq._;\n    effect on labor, 254-255.\n\n  _Laissez-faire_, 384-385, 390.\n\n  Land, 9, 36-37, Ch. XI;\n    contrasted with artificial capital goods, 178-179, 188-190.\n\n\n  Machinery, 72-73.\n\n  Malthus, 321 _et seq._\n\n  Margin of cultivation, 165 _et seq._\n\n  Marginal utility, 51 note.\n\n  Market, 95 note.\n\n  Market price, 93-94.\n\n  Mill, J. S., 220 note, 257.\n\n  Money, 29-30; Ch. XXIX.\n\n  Monopoly, 201, 559-560;\n    as affected by patents, 367-368;\n    as limiting employment, 297-298;\n    effect on accumulation, 355-357;\n    on inventions, 362-363;\n    on progress, Ch. XXII;\n    on standard of living, 323;\n    government ownership of, 378, 383-385;\n    in transportation, 435 _et seq._;\n    inventor's, 360 _et seq._;\n    labor, 456, 462, 467, 471 _et seq._, 504;\n    nature of, 380;\n    public character of, 389;\n    relation to arbitration, 483 _et seq._;\n    relation to protection, 525 _et seq._;\n    relation to railway discrimination, 396-397;\n    restricted by potential competition, 380 _et seq._\n\n  Monopoly price, as affected by increase of wages, 479-480.\n\n\n  Organization of industry, 205, 318-319, 368 _et seq._\n\n  Organization of labor, Ch. XXV.\n\n\n  Paper Money, 552-554.\n\n  Patents, 265-266;\n    abuse of, 361;\n    as a means of curbing monopolies, 367-368;\n    justification, 360-361.\n\n  Patten, S. N., 207 note.\n\n  Political Economy, 3 note, 61.\n\n  Pool, 392.\n\n  Population, as affected by factory legislation, 331;\n    as affected by increase of wealth, 333;\n    as affected by rise of wages, 335 _et seq._;\n    distribution of, 215 _et seq._;\n    effect of increase of, 203, 244 _et seq._, 315 _et seq._;\n    law of, Ch. XIX.\n\n  Population, density of, 215-216;\n    effect on industry, 237 _et seq._;\n    effect on wages, 241-243.\n\n  Population, increase of, as affected by caste, 332;\n    by education, 330-331;\n    by standard of living, 324 _et seq._\n\n  Price, 97;\n    as affected by inflation, 539 _et seq._;\n    determination of, 93-96;\n    equalization of, 98-100;\n    market, 93-94;\n    monopoly, 479-480;\n    normal, 114, 120-121;\n    of complex goods, 100 _et seq._;\n    relation to cost, 114;\n    standard, determined by lowest cost, 263-264, 285-288;\n    static, 202-203, 224.\n\n  Production, contrasted with distribution, Ch. V;\n    requisites of, 15-16.\n\n  Productivity, 42-43;\n    as basis for arbitration awards, 475 _et seq._;\n    final, 139 _et seq._, 148-149, 157;\n    measurement of, 55-60.\n\n  Profit, 77 note, 85 _et seq._, 119-122 note, 129 note, 373;\n    as affected by inflation, 539 _et seq._;\n    as source of capital, 301, 354-355;\n    in static state, 87.\n\n  Protection, Ch. XXVIII, 560;\n    argument for, 520 _et seq._;\n    relation to monopoly, 525 _et seq._\n\n\n  Rae, John, 17 note.\n\n  Railway capitalization, proper basis of, 446-450.\n\n  Railway charges, Ch. XXIV;\n    as affected by competition of markets, 403 _et seq._;\n    limits of, 403 _et seq._;\n    state regulation of, 439 _et seq._\n\n  Railway consolidation, 396-397, 419 _et seq._\n\n  Railway discriminations, as creating monopolies, 393-394, 396,\n            420 _et seq._\n\n  Rent, Ch. X;\n    as differential product, 163-165;\n    as product of land, 162-163;\n    consumers', 172-173 note;\n    gross and net, 180-183;\n    of capital, 170-171;\n    of concrete instruments, 174-177;\n    of labor, 171-172;\n    relation to interest, 182-184;\n    relation to price, 191-194;\n    traditional formula, 160-162;\n    universality of principle, 177-178.\n\n  Ricardo, 121, 160, 179.\n\n  Risk, 122, 123 note, 214.\n\n\n  Social Economics, 3 note, 61.\n\n  Socialism, 378, 384-386, 395, 397.\n\n  Socialistic state, group organization in, 71.\n\n  Specific utility, 8 note.\n\n  Standard of living, 322 et seq., 342 _et seq._\n\n  Static state, 132-133.\n\n  Strike, sympathetic, 505.\n\n  Strikes, effectiveness under varying conditions, 462 _et seq._\n\n  Substitution, 267 _et seq._\n\n  Supply and demand, 93-97.\n\n  Supply, normal, 114.\n\n  Surplus, consumers', 105.\n\n\n  Tariff, relation to trusts, 528 _et seq._\n\n  Trade union, power of, under varying conditions, 462 _et seq._;\n    restriction of membership, 503-504;\n    restriction of output, 509 _et seq._\n\n  Transportation, Chs. XXIII, XXIV;\n    as affected by diminishing returns in agriculture, 398 _et seq._;\n    monopoly in, 435 _et seq._\n\n  Trusts, 201, 369-371, 391-392;\n    as affected by railway discriminations, 393-394;\n    methods of stifling competition, 394-395, 527-528;\n    relation to tariff, 528 _et seq._\n\n  Tuttle, C. A., 34 note.\n\n\n  Union label, 506 _et seq._\n\n  Utility, absolute, 54 note;\n    contrasted with cost, 43-44;\n    diminishing, 98;\n    effective, 54 note;\n    elementary, 11-12;\n    final, 51 note, 54 note, 97-98;\n    form, 12;\n    marginal, 51 note;\n    measurement of, 40 _et seq._;\n    of producers' goods, 42-43;\n    place, 12-13;\n    varieties of, 7-8.\n\n\n  Value, 40-42, 99-101;\n    affected by caste, 268;\n    in primitive conditions, 50-51;\n    natural, 94-95;\n    normal, Ch. VII;\n    of complex goods, 100 _et seq._;\n    static, 124-125, 202-203.\n\n  Value of service principle, 405 _et seq._\n\n  Violence in labor disputes, 457 _et seq._\n\n\n  Wages, Ch. VIII, 85, 86;\n    as affected by improved methods, 299-300;\n    as affected by improved organization of industry, 318-319;\n    as affected by increase of capital, 316 _et seq._;\n    as affected by inferior bargaining power of labor, 452;\n    as affected by organization of labor, Ch. XXV;\n    increase of, effect on monopoly price, 479-480;\n    law of, 143 _et seq._;\n    rise of, effect on monopoly, 335 _et seq._;\n    static, 224-225.\n\n  \"Waiting,\" 187-188.\n\n  Wants, changes in, 206;\n    elasticity of, relation to improvements in methods, 267 _et seq._\n\n  Wealth, 5-9;\n    increase of, effect on population, 333.\n\n  Webb, Sidney & Beatrice, 357.\n\n\n               Printed in the United States of America.\n\n\n\n\nBy JOHN BATES CLARK\n_Professor of Political Economy, Columbia University_\n\nThe Distribution of Wealth\n\nA Theory of Wages, Interest, and Profits\n                                        _Cloth, 8vo, 445 pp., $3.00_\n\n    \"It is not too much to say that the publication of Professor\n    Clark's book marks an epoch in the history of economic\n    thought in the United States. 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{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Barry Abrahamsen and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                  THE\n                          FLIGHT OF GEORGIANA\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                Works of\n                        Robert Neilson Stephens\n\n                                  ---\n\n                    An Enemy to the King\n                    The Continental Dragoon\n                    The Road to Paris\n                    A Gentleman Player\n                    Philip Winwood\n                    Captain Ravenshaw\n                    The Mystery of Murray Davenport\n                    The Bright Face of Danger\n                    The Flight of Georgiana\n\n                                  ---\n\n                          L. C. PAGE & COMPANY\n\n                               Publishers\n                   200 Summer St.,      Boston, Mass.\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n[Illustration: “‘WHAT ’UD THE COUNTY SAY IF I EXHIBITED THIS HERE BIT O’\nWRITING?’”]\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n                               THE FLIGHT\n                              OF GEORGIANA\n\n              A Story of Love and Peril in England in 1746\n\n                                   By\n\n                        Robert Neilson Stephens\n\n     Author of “Philip Winwood,” “An Enemy to the King,” etc., etc.\n\n                             Illustrated by\n\n                             H. C. Edwards\n\n                   “The lioness, you may move her\n                     To give o’er her prey;\n                   But you’ll ne’er stop a lover—\n                     He will find out the way.\n\n                         *        *        *\n\n                   “If once the message greet him\n                     That his True Love doth stay,\n                   If Death should come and meet him,\n                     Love will find out the way!”\n                                        —OLD BALLAD.\n\n                    [Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]\n\n                                 Boston\n                        ⸪ L. C. Page & Company ⸪\n                                Mdccccv\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                            Copyright, 1905\n\n                        BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY\n\n                             (INCORPORATED)\n\n                                  ---\n\n                          All rights reserved\n\n\n\n                         Published August, 1905\n\n\n\n\n                             COLONIAL PRESS\n            Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.\n                             Boston, U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                CONTENTS\n\n\n               CHAPTER                                 PAGE\n                    I. ENEMIES                            1\n                   II. FRIENDS                           19\n                  III. KNAVES                            39\n                   IV. FUGITIVES                         63\n                    V. RISKS                             92\n                   VI. THANKS                           110\n                  VII. KISSES                           128\n                 VIII. THREATS                          146\n                   IX. SWORDS                           170\n                    X. WAGERS                           190\n                   XI. PROPOSALS                        212\n                  XII. TEARS                            233\n                 XIII. SURPRISES                        253\n                  XIV. ROADS                            269\n                   XV. PISTOLS                          295\n                  XVI. HORSES                           316\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n                  “‘WHAT ’UD THE COUNTY SAY IF I     4\n                    EXHIBITED THIS HERE BIT O’\n                    WRITING?’”\n\n                  “‘SAVE YOURSELF,’ SHE            101\n                    WHISPERED, RAPIDLY. ‘YOU ARE\n                    IN DANGER HERE’”\n\n                  “THE TWO GENTLEMEN MADE THEIR    195\n                    SWORDS RING”\n\n                  “‘UNCLE, I BEG YOU, ON MY        259\n                    KNEES—HIS LIFE!’”\n\n                  “HE SNATCHED THE HANDKERCHIEF    313\n                    FROM HER FACE”\n\n                  “THE HORSES DASHED FORWARD”      333\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                        THE FLIGHT OF GEORGIANA\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I\n\n                                ENEMIES\n\n\nA LITTLE before noon one gray day in September, 1746, a well-made young\nfellow, in appearance and fact a gentleman’s servant, rode up the High\nStreet of a town in the North of England, and through the passageway of\nan inn to the yard. Having entrusted his sorrel nag to an ostler, he\nhastened to the kitchen, and proceeded to give orders to the landlady\nwith an absence of deference which plainly showed that he spoke not for\nhimself but for his master.\n\nThere are still a few English inns not unlike those of that time. This\nparticular house was of dull red brick, its main part extending along\nthe street and pierced in the middle by the passageway which led back to\nthe yard. In the front, the ground floor had four wide windows, and\nthese were matched by four above, while a fifth was over the passage\nentrance. The small panes and stone facings of the windows gave the inn\nthat look of comfort so characteristic of eighteenth-century houses, and\nthis was increased by the small dormer casements in the sloping roof.\nThe passage itself, paved with stones worn comparatively smooth, was\ncapacious enough to admit a stage-coach or a carrier’s covered wagon. As\nyou entered it, you saw the yard beyond, which was bounded by a wing of\nthe main building and by stables, sheds, and sundry out-houses. Half-way\nthrough this passage, you found at your left hand a door, which opened\nto a public parlour, wherein meals were served at a common table to\nstage-coach passengers and other outside guests. At the right-hand side\nof the passage was a wider doorway, giving access to a small entry, from\nwhich you might step forward into the kitchen, or rightward into the\nbar, or leftward to a narrow stairway that wound steeply to the floor\nabove.\n\nThe kitchen was not the least attractive of these destinations,—with the\nample fire in its spacious chimney-place, the shine of the pots and pans\non its wall, the blackened beams across its low ceiling, its table\ndevoted to culinary business, its greater table devoted to gastronomic\nbusiness—for all guests of low station, including the servants of those\nof higher station, ate in the kitchen,—and the oaken settles and\njoint-stools so tempting to the tired, hungry, and thirsty traveller who\nmight appear in the doorway.\n\n“And lookye, ma’am, you’ll oblige by making haste,” said the gentleman’s\nservant, having communicated his orders, “for master is following so\nclose he may be here in a quarter of an hour. I’ll eat my bite while\nhe’s on the way; for he’ll be having me wait on him at table, and as\nsoon as he’s finished his dinner we shall be off again,—there’s eight\nbad miles between here and home.”\n\nHe went to that end of the long table whereon certain cold viands stood\nexposed, while the landlady set the cook and scullery-maid upon\npreparations for the meal that had been ordered. She then called a\nchambermaid and bade her get the Rose—the best room in the house—ready\nfor the meal to be served in. By this time the gentleman’s servant had\nhelped himself to a good slice from the round of cold beef, and a\nplentiful supply of bread, had obtained a pot of beer from the tapster,\nand was seated in great comfort at the table. The landlady, a fat and\ntyrannical-looking creature, turned to him.\n\n“When your master stopped here t’other day, on his way to the South,”\nsaid she, “he had nobody with him but you. But now that he’s coming\nhome, he orders dinner for two in a private room, and for one in the\nkitchen besides yourself. How comes that?”\n\n“Because he’s bringing home the young mistress and her waiting-woman.”\n\n“Young mistress, d’ye say? What, then, has Mr. Foxwell been married? Is\nthat what he went South for?”\n\n“Oh, God forbid! No, ma’am, ’tis his niece, Miss Foxwell, he’s fetching\nhome. She’s been reared by an aunt on her mother’s side, but now her\neducation is finished, and, according to her grandfather’s will, she\ncomes home to Foxwell Court.”\n\n“Then Foxwell Court was left to her? It seems to me I did hear summat of\nthat estate going to a gran’daughter.”\n\n“’Twas left to master and her together in some way or other—my master\nbeing the younger son, d’ye see, and she being the orphan of the elder.\nThey do say master would ’a’ got the most of the property but for the\nwicked life he led in London,—I’ve heard he was a terrible gay man afore\nhe came to the country to live,—but I wasn’t with him in them days, so\ncan’t speak from my own knowledge.” The youth uttered an unconscious\nsigh, doubtless of regret at possibilities he had missed.\n\n“Well, from what I’ve heard now and again of goings on at Foxwell Court\nsince your master came to live there,” said the landlady, “he didn’t\nleave all his gay ways behind him in London; but maybe report is a liar,\nas the saying is, Master Caleb.”\n\n“Oh, no doubt there’s summat of drinking, when the master can get\nanybody to his mind to drink with—for, between us, Mrs. Betteridge, he\ndoesn’t run well with the county gentlemen—as how should he, with his\ntown breeding? And I don’t say there isn’t considerable gaming, and\nfrolics with the fair sex; but the place has been bachelor’s hall, d’ye\nsee,—till now the young mistress comes.”\n\n“And now I dare say all those fine doings will have to stop,” said Mrs.\nBetteridge; “—the frolics with the fair seck, at least.”\n\n“That’ll be a pity,” said a voice behind her, whereupon the landlady,\nturning indignantly, beheld the stout form and complacent ruddy visage\nof her husband.\n\n“A pity!” she echoed, in wrath and contempt. “’Tis like you to say it,\nBetteridge! I hope the young lady will keep Foxwell Court clean of the\ntrollops. You’d be up to the same tricks in your own house if all the\nmaids didn’t scorn you.”\n\nThe landlord’s only reply being a placid puff of smoke from his\nlong-stemmed pipe, his helpmate discharged an ejaculation of disgust and\nwaddled away. He took her place as catechist of the serving-man, seating\nhimself on the opposite bench.\n\n“What news on the road, Caleb?”\n\n“Nothing to make a song of, as the saying is. Except at York,—we stayed\nthe night there. They’ve indicted a great parcel of rebels—seventy-five\nall told, I hear.”\n\n“They did better than that in Carlisle last month,—found true bills\nagainst a hundred and nineteen. Their trials will be coming on soon.”\n\n“Ay, before the trials at York, no doubt. Well, all I can say is, ’tis\nbad weather for Scotchmen.”\n\n“So many of ’em have come over the border to make their fortunes, ’tis\nonly fair some of ’em should come over to be hanged. Well, he laughs\nbest that laughs last. To think what a fright their army gave us last\nyear,—some of us, that is,—not me. Have you heard if the Pretender has\nbeen caught yet?”\n\n“Not I. Some think he’ll never be caught,—that he’s been picked up by a\nvessel on the Scotch coast and got safe away for France.”\n\n“A good riddance, then, say I. I don’t begrudge him his neck, seeing\nthere’s no fear he’ll ever ockipy the English throne. The British\nConstitution is safe. Well, ’tis all over with the Jacobites; no more\n‘Charlie over the Water’; they’ll have to make up their minds to drink\nto King George for good and all. ’Twill be a bitter pill to swallow, for\nsome I could mention.”\n\n“You can’t say that of us. My master has always been Hanoverian.”\n\n“Ay, ay, being town bred, and a gentleman of fashion. ’Tis some of our\ncountry gentry I’m thinking of. Well, they are singing small at present.\nLucky for them they didn’t rise and join the Pretender when he invaded\nus last year.”\n\n“There were mighty few English in his army, that’s certain.”\n\n“Mighty few. A parcel enlisted at Manchester. And, to be sure, there was\nthe garrison at Carlisle that declared for him. And some had gone to\nScotland before that to meet him,—madmen, I call them. But he had no\nEnglish of any family, barring a few that came with him from France, I\nhear:—chips of the old block, they were, dyed-in-the-wool Jacobites,\nfrom the old breed, that lived abroad for their health, eh? Well, ’tis\nall over now—all over now.”\n\nMr. Betteridge looked gratified as he said it, but there was a\nsuppressed sigh beneath his content. Had he, too, in his day, sometimes\nheld his glass over a bowl of water in drinking the king’s health?\n\n“Except the hangings and beheadings,” he added, as an afterthought.\n\nCaleb made no reply, being busy with his food lest his master might\narrive before he had satisfied his hunger. The post-chaise which bore\nthat gentleman was now approaching the town from the South, under the\nguidance of a despondent-looking postilion. Within the chaise, beside\nthe gentleman, sat a young lady, and on the seat improvised on the bar\nin front was a lady’s maid. Between the young lady and the gentleman,\nwho was middle-aged, silence prevailed. They did not look at each other;\nand something in the air of both seemed to denote a lack of mutual\nsympathy.\n\nWhen we describe the gentleman as middle-aged, we mean as ages went in\nthe reign of George II., for it is a vulgar error to suppose that people\ngenerally lived as long in the “good” old days as they do now. Not to\nspeak of the wars and the hangman, there were bad sanitation and medical\nignorance to shorten the careers of a vast number, and “drink and the\ndevil did for the rest.” This gentleman in the post-chaise, then, was\nnot over forty. Drink and the devil had made good headway upon him: one\ncould see that in his face, which was otherwise a face of good breeding,\nwit, and accomplishment; a handsome face, lighted by keen, gray eyes,\nbut marred by the traces of riotous living and cynical thoughts, and by\na rooted discontent. He was tall and gracefully formed. His dress\nbetokened fallen fortunes. The worn velvet of his coat and breeches was\nfaded from a deep colour resembling that of the wine he had too much\nindulged in. The embroidery of his satin waistcoat, the lace of his\nthree-cornered hat, the buckles of his shoes, the handle of his sword,\nand the mounting of his pistols, were of silver, but badly tarnished.\nHis white silk stockings were mended in more places than one; his linen,\nhowever, was immaculate. He wore his own hair, tied behind with a\nribbon.\n\nThe young lady beside him was very young, indeed; and very pretty,\nindeed, having wide-open blue eyes, a delicately <DW52> face, a\ncharming little nose, an equally charming mouth, and a full, shapely\nchin. Her look was at once sweet-tempered and high-spirited; for the\ntime being, it contained something of disapproval and rebellion. As for\nthis young lady’s clothes, the present historian’s admiration for\nhandsome dress on women is equalled by his dislike of describing it—or\nhearing it described—in detail. Enough to say that her gown of dark\ncrimson, with its high waist, seemed to belong by nature to the small,\nslender, and graceful figure it encased; and was free from the\nexcess—deplored by good judges then as now—so dear to overdressed\ndowdiness. She had, too, the secret still lacked by some of her fair\ncountryfolk, of poising a hat gracefully, thus not to look top-heavy;\nhers was a hat of darker shade than her gown, with a good sweep of brim.\n\nAs for the maid, on the seat in front, she, too, was rather a young\nthing,—slim and tall, with a wholesome complexion, longish features, and\nthe artful-artless, variable-vacuous, consequential-conciliating\nexpression of her tribe. An honest, unlettered, shallow, not ill-meaning\ncreature; cast by circumstance for a super’s part in the drama of life,\nnever to be anything more than an accessory.\n\nBut the pretty young lady, left to her own thoughts, of what _was_ she\nthinking? Did her mind cling regretfully to the life she had just\nleft?—to the small, well-ordered home of her widowed old aunt; the\ndecorous society of the staid cathedral town in the South, with its\nregular and deliberate gaieties, its exceeding regard for “politeness”?\nOr did it concern itself with the home for which she was bound, the\ncountry-house she had not seen since childhood, but which she remembered\nvaguely as old and half-ruinous then?—with what manner of life she was\nto lead there in the society of this strange, profligate-seeming uncle,\nwho manifestly did not like her any more than she could find it in her\nheart to like him? Or did she have some vague intimation of great things\nabout to happen unexpectedly?—of matters of deep import to her future\nlife, destined to result from the chance coming together of certain\npeople at the inn ahead?\n\nProbably Miss Georgiana Foxwell had no such thought; but ’tis a fact\nthat at the very time when her post-chaise was coming into sight of the\nchurch-tower of this town, other conveyances were bringing other\ntravellers to the same town, to the great though unintended influencing\nof her destiny. To begin at the top, for that was an age of arbitrary\nsocial distinctions, a private coach, drawn by six horses and followed\nby a mounted servant, was lumbering along slowly from the North. Then\nfrom the East cantered two well-fed horses, bearing, as anybody could\nsee, their owner and his man servant. From the North again, but far\nbehind and out of ken of the coach-and-six, came three post-horses under\nsaddle, one of the riders being the custodian and guide. And lastly,\nsomewhere between the private carriage and the hired horses, but not\nwithin sight of either, a stage-coach ground its way over the rugged\neighteenth-century highway. Of all the vehicles and horses that raised\nthe dust on English roads that day, only these—with the\npost-chaise—concern us.\n\nThe first to arrive at the inn, where Caleb had by this time stayed his\nstomach and stepped out to look things over in the yard, were the two\nwell-fed horses. Their owner, a robust, red-faced, round-headed,\nimportant-looking country gentleman of about five and thirty, slid off\nhis steed with agility, and, leaving the animals to the care of his man,\nwas met at the entry door by the landlady.\n\n“Welcome, Squire Thornby!—a welcome to your Worship! I hope I see your\nWorship very well, sir.”\n\nHe took her obsequiousness as his due, and, with no more reciprocation\nthan a complacent grunt, he bade her lay a cloth in the Rose and let his\nman Bartholomew bring to that room a round of cold beef and a quart of\nher best ale. With his snub-nosed crimson visage, he looked the part he\nhad been born to fill in life; and was suitably dressed for it, too, in\nhis brown wig, green cloth coat, brown waistcoat and breeches, large\nriding-boots, and plain, three-cornered hat.\n\n“For I’m in haste to get home,” he added, “where I’ll pay myself for a\ncold dinner by a hot supper. So bestir, Mrs. Betteridge, and don’t keep\nme waiting.”\n\n“Certainly, your Worship, sir; by all means, Squire Thornby.” And she\ncalled to a chambermaid, “Moll, lay a cloth for the Squire in the\nThistle, and be quick—”\n\n“I said the Rose, Mrs. Betteridge. Didn’t you hear? Thistle be damned!—I\nnever said Thistle.”\n\n“The Rose, Squire? The Thistle is far the better room—_far_ the better,\nyour Worship.”\n\n“Lea’ me be the judge o’ that, woman. I’ll dine in the Rose, and there’s\nan end.” Whereupon he turned toward the stairs.\n\n“Your pardon, Squire,—I wouldn’t offend your Worship for anything,—but\nthe Rose is bespoke already for dinner-time, and truly indeed most o’\nthe quality that stops here prefers the Thistle.”\n\n“But I prefer the Rose, and the quality that stop here may be hanged,\nrat ’em.”\n\n“I’m terrible sorry, your Worship. But all’s ready in the Rose for\nt’other party, sir; and the gentleman as sent orders was most particular\nabout having the Rose—though for my part I can’t see why he should want\nthat room when he might ’a’ had the Thistle, and so I thought to myself\nat the time, sir; and when I seed your Worship arrive just now, thinks I\nto myself, how lucky it is t’other gentleman bespoke the Rose, because\nnow there’s the Thistle for his Worship. And sure indeed the cloth’s\nlaid for t’other party, and their dinner a’most cooked, and we expect\nthem every minute—”\n\nBeaten down by this torrent of speech, the Squire waved his hand for\nsilence, and said, with surly resignation: “Oh, well, then, the Thistle.\nWho is it has bespoke the Rose, drat ’em?”\n\n“Mr. Foxwell, your Worship, a neighbour of yours, sir, if I may say so.”\n\nThe Squire gave a start, and the cloud on his brow deepened. “Foxwell!”\nhe echoed. “A neighbour of mine!—H’m! Yes, there is a gentleman of that\nname living in my part of the county.” With a parenthetic “More’s the\npity!” under his breath, he added, in a kind of dogged, grumbling way,\n“What the deuce is he dining here for?”\n\n“Why, sir, he’s been to the South to fetch his niece home to Foxwell\nCourt, and they’re coming in a po’shay, and stopping here for dinner. He\nsent his man Caleb ahead on horseback to order it cooked, so they\nshouldn’t be delayed, for they have eight bad miles yet from here to\nFoxwell Court.”\n\n“Ecod!” said Squire Thornby, “I have the same bad miles to Thornby\nHall—or five o’ them, at least,—and I ordered a cold dinner so _I_\nshouldn’t be delayed. But, damn it, now I come to think on’t, I’ll have\nsomething cooked, so I will! I presume my belly is as much to me as Mr.\nFoxwell’s is to him. I don’t see why I should eat cold while he eats\nhot. Have you got anything on the fire, Mrs. Betteridge?”\n\nHe strode into the kitchen to see for himself, followed by the landlady.\n\n“That chicken is almost done,” said he.\n\n“’Tis what Mr. Foxwell ordered, your Worship.”\n\n“I might ’a’ known it! The leg o’ lamb, too, I suppose. Everything for\nFoxwell. Does the man think nobody else has a soul to save?”\n\n“The leg o’ lamb isn’t his, sir. ’Tis roasting so as to be ready against\nthe stage-coach arrives.”\n\n“Then I’ll have the best cut o’ that. First come, first served:—let the\nstage-coach passengers take what’s left. A beggarly lot, or they’d have\ncoaches o’ their own to ride in. And send up a bottle o’ the best wine\nyou’ve got in the house. I’ll dine as well as Mr. Foxwell, rat him!”\n\nLeaving Mrs. Betteridge to put his orders into execution, he went out to\nthe passage and called his man Bartholomew, to whom he communicated his\nintentions.\n\n“Very good, your Worship,” said Bartholomew, in the manner of a servant\nsomewhat privileged. He was a lean, hardy fellow, of his master’s own\nage, with a long, astute-looking countenance. “I see Mr. Foxwell’s man\nCaleb in the yard, sir.”\n\n“Ay, and Mr. Foxwell himself will be here presently. A sight for sore\neyes, eh? If I’d ’a’ known he was coming here, I’d ’a’ stopped at the\nCrown. No, damme if I would, neither! I won’t be kept from going where I\nchoose by any man, least of all a man I don’t like. What’s Foxwell to\nme?”\n\n“It’s small blame to you for not liking him, sir, if you’ll pardon my\nsaying it, after the way he acted about his gamekeeper trespassing.”\n\n“A damned set of poachers he keeps on that place of his. ’Tis a pity for\nthe county he ever came into it. The neighbourhood did well enough\nwithout him, I’m sure, all the years he was playing the rake in London\nand foreign parts.”\n\n“It makes me sick, if I may say so,” replied the faithful servant, “the\nway I hear some folks sing his praises for a fine gentleman:—it does,\nindeed.”\n\n“There are some folks who are asses, Bartholomew,” said the Squire,\nwarmly. “Sing his praises for a fine jackanapes! Fine gentleman, d’ye\nsay? How can anybody be a fine gentleman on a beggarly three hundred a\nyear? Why, don’t you know, don’t all the county know, ’twas his poverty\ndrove him down here to his estate to be a plague among us? Ecod, who are\nthe rest of us, I wonder, solid country gentlemen of position in the\ncounty, to be come over by this town-bred <DW2> with his Frenchified ways?\nGive me a plain, home-bred Englishman, and hang all these conceited pups\nthat come among us trying to put us down in talk with their London wit\nand foreign manners!”\n\nThe extraordinary heat manifested by the Squire during this oration was\na warning to his man to desist from the subject, lest he might himself\nbecome the victim of the wrath it engendered. Moreover, the outdoor\npassage of an inn was a rather public place for such exhibitions, though\nfortunately there was at the time no audience.\n\n“Will you wait for dinner in your room, sir?” suggested Bartholomew,\nafter a moment’s cooling pause.\n\n“No, I won’t. Tom Thornby won’t beat a retreat, neither, for any man!\nI’ll stay till he comes, now that I’m here, and if he tries any of his\nLondon airs on me, I’ll give him as good as he sends.”\n\nBartholomew was too well acquainted with the obstinacy of this vain,\ngrown-up child, his master, to oppose; and almost at that moment a\npost-chaise turned in from the street, requiring both Thornby and the\nman servant to stand close to the wall for safety.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER II\n\n                                FRIENDS\n\n\nTHE landlady came bouncing out, followed by her husband at a more\ndignified gait, to receive the newcomers. Indifferent to their\nsalutations, Mr. Foxwell stepped quickly from the chaise and offered his\nhand to his niece, who scarcely more than touched it in alighting. Caleb\nmeanwhile ran up to assist the maid, but was forestalled by Mr.\nBetteridge, who performed the office with a stately gallantry quite\nflustering to the young woman, causing her to blush, and her legs, stiff\nwith the constraint of the journey, to stumble. Miss Foxwell and the\nmaid followed the landlady immediately to the entry and up the stairs;\nbut Mr. Foxwell, as he saw Squire Thornby gazing at him in sullen\ndefiance, stopped to greet that gentleman in the suavest possible\nmanner.\n\n“Ah, Mr. Thornby, you here?”\n\n“Yes, sir,” replied the Squire, in the shortest of tones, and as if\ndetermined to show himself proof against the other’s urbanity;\n“attending to my own business.”\n\n“An unusual circumstance, I suppose,” said Foxwell, pleasantly, “as you\nthink it worth mentioning. A dull sort of day.”\n\n“I dare say,” was Thornby’s savage reply.\n\nNot the least altering his amiable tone or half-smiling countenance,\nFoxwell continued: “Smooth roads—that is to say, for these remote\nparts.”\n\n“Sir,” said Thornby, fiercely, conceiving himself and his county alike\ndisparaged, “I find these parts quite good enough for me.”\n\n“Indeed, I envy you,” said Foxwell, with a slight plaintiveness. “I wish\nfrom my heart I could say I find them good enough for me—since I am\ndoomed to live in them.”\n\nThat anything good enough for Thomas Thornby could not be good enough\nfor another man was not a proposition soothing to Thomas Thornby’s soul.\nHaving no fit retort within present grasp of his tongue, however, and\nknowing that even if he had one, his adversary would find a better one\nto cap it with, the Squire contented himself with a fiery glare and an\ninward curse. Then saying abruptly to his servant, “See that my dinner\nis served the moment it’s ready, Bartholomew,” he entered the inn and\ntramped up the stairs with great weight of heel.\n\nFoxwell laughed scarce audibly, and followed with a step as light as the\nother’s was heavy. Emerging from the stair-head to a passage that\ndivided the rear from the front rooms, he went into one of the latter,\nwhere he found the table set, and his niece and her maid at the window,\nlooking down at the street. Across the way were a baker’s shop, a\ndraper’s, a rival inn with gables and a front of timber and plaster; and\nso forth. A butcher’s boy with a tray of meat, a townswoman with a child\nby the hand, and two dogs tumbling over each other, were the moving\nfigures in the scene—until a clatter of horses and a rumble of wheels\nwere heard, and then the maid exclaimed:\n\n“Lor, mistress, what a handsome coach, to be sure! And see the man\nservant on the horse behind. People of great fashion, I’ll warrant. And\nthey’re coming to this very inn!”\n\nMiss Foxwell watched listlessly till the vehicle—the private coach\nalready mentioned as approaching the town from the North—had disappeared\nbeneath the window from which she looked.\n\nFoxwell had been standing at the empty fireplace, heedless of what might\nbe seen in the street. He now spoke, carelessly:\n\n“You saw the amiable gentleman who stood below, Georgiana, and who\npassed this door with so fairy-like a tread as I came up?”\n\n“I didn’t observe him,” replied Georgiana. “Somebody passed very\nnoisily.”\n\n“The same. I thought you might remember him from the days before you\nleft home. But, to be sure, you were a child then, and he, too, was\nyounger. He is one of our neighbours, Squire Thornby.”\n\n“I remember the name, but I don’t think I ever knew the gentleman.”\n\n“If you never did, you lost little; and you’ll count it no great\nprivilege when you do know him,—unless you have a tenderness for\nrustical boobies.”\n\nGeorgiana making no answer, the maid said to her in a lowered voice,\n“Lor, m’lady, your uncle had needs know _you_ better. _I_ saw the\ngentleman, and a ojus-looking man servant he had with him. I never could\nabide such bumpkin fellows.” The waiting-woman came from the town in\nwhich her mistress had received her education; she had been promoted to\nher present post from that of housemaid to Miss Foxwell’s aunt, and\nnaturally she brought superior notions with her to the North.\n\nFoxwell, wondering why the dinner had not arrived, went impatiently to\nthe door. Steps were heard ascending the stairs, accompanied by the\nvoices of women.\n\n“The party from the private coach, being shown to a room,” whispered the\nmaid to her mistress.\n\nAt that moment Foxwell, in the doorway, called out in pleased surprise,\n“Why, as I live—certainly it is! Lady Strange, upon my soul!—and Mrs.\nWinter! and Rashleigh!—George Rashleigh, or I’m a saint!”\n\nHe seized the hand of her whom he called Lady Strange, and kissed it\nwith a gallant fervour; treated the other lady in like manner, and then\nthrew his arms around the gentleman who was third and last of the\nnewcomers (not counting two servants) in an embrace such as was the\nfashion at the time.\n\n“Why, upon my honour, ’tis Bob Foxwell,” said Lady Strange.\n\nShe was a fair woman in the thirties, of the opulent style of beauty,\nbeing of good height, and having a fine head, and a soft expression\nwherein good nature mingled with worldly nonchalance. She was dressed as\na fashionable person of the town would dress for travelling, and her\npresence brought to the north country inn something of the atmosphere of\nSt. James’s. As far as attire and manner went, this was true of her\ncompanions also. The gentleman, whom Foxwell had saluted as Rashleigh,\nwas a good-looking man of medium age and size, retaining in face and\ncarriage the air of youth; he was the elegant town gentleman, free from\nFoxwell’s discontent, easy-going and affable without apparently caring\nmuch for anything in the world. The second lady, Mrs. Winter, formed a\ncontrast to Lady Strange: she was slight, though not angular; her eyes\nwere gray, and her complexion clear, yet the impression she left was\nthat of a dark beauty; and she had a cold incisiveness of glance.\n\n“And your devoted slave as ever, Lady Strange,” said Foxwell, kissing\nthat lady’s hand again. “But in heaven’s name, what are you doing in\nthis part of the world? Come in, that I may see you better. Come, I am\ndining in this room.”\n\nThey entered the chamber, regardless of the landlady’s eagerness to show\nthem to a room for their own use. Mrs. Betteridge would thereupon have\nushered their man servant and lady’s maid to the room she had chosen,\nbut these menials refused to proceed without orders, and so remained\noutside Foxwell’s door, laden with small impedimenta of various sizes\nand uses, from pistols to scent-bottles.\n\n“One never knows who may turn up,” said Rashleigh. “I was thinking of\nyou only yesterday, Bob, and wondering if I should ever see you again.”\n\n“And what ill wind for _you_,” asked Foxwell, “blows this good to\nme?—for an ill wind it must be to any civilized person that blows him to\nthese wilds.”\n\n“I have the honour to be escorting these ladies back to London from Lady\nStrange’s country-seat by the Tweed, where they have been for the\nrecovery of their health.”\n\n“And our good looks,—tell the truth, Cousin Rashleigh,” said Lady\nStrange. “My dear Foxwell, we have rusticated till we are near dead of\ndulness,—is it not so, Isabella?”\n\n“Dead and buried, Diana,” said Mrs. Winter, in a matter-of-fact tone.\n“And to think you are still alive, Foxwell? ’Tis so long since you\ndisappeared from the town, I swear I had forgot you.”\n\n“Cruel Mrs. Winter!” replied Foxwell. “But ’tis not for you to speak of\nbeing dead and buried. You know not what rustication is. You have\npassed, I suppose, a month or so out of the world, and are now going\nback to it; while I have been a recluse in this county these two years,\nand may be so for the rest of my life. The town, as you say, has forgot\nme, and God knows whether I shall ever return. See what poverty brings\none to, and take warning.”\n\nThe reader is doubtless aware that country-house life did not occupy in\nthe eighteenth century the place it does to-day in the routine of the\n“smart” world. People of fashion had their town houses and their\ncountry-seats then, of course; but many such were wont to pursue more\nexclusively the one life or the other,—to be town mice who sometimes\nwent to the country, or country mice who sometimes came up to town.\nThose who preferred the gaiety of the town were more prone to count that\ntime lost which they had to pass out of it, and to look down upon those\nwho spent most of their days in the country. When the town mice left\nLondon by choice, it was to take the waters at Bath, or to make the\n“grand tour” of the Continent. Week-end house-parties had not come in,\nthere were no seaside resorts, and the rich did not hie themselves in\nAugust to the moors of Scotland. “Beyond Hyde Park all is desert,” said\nthe <DW2> in the play; and Robert Foxwell and his friends were so far of\n_Sir Fopling’s_ mind; they valued wit, and used “fox-hunter” as a name\nof scorn. No wonder, then, that Foxwell declared himself miserable in\nhis exile.\n\n“’Tis for your sins, Bob,” said Lady Strange. “You were a monstrously\nwicked man in London, as I remember.”\n\nMrs. Betteridge now contrived to insinuate herself into the notice of\nRashleigh, addressing him as “my lord,” and begging to know the wishes\nof himself and their ladyships upon the matter of dinner and rooms.\n\nHe turned to Lady Strange. “What say you, Cousin Di? I suppose we shall\nbe driving on as soon as we have dined—”\n\n“You shall dine with me,” broke in Foxwell. “I’ll not lose sight of your\nfaces. I don’t meet a civilized being once in an age.—You will set more\nplaces, landlady: my friends will dine here.” Without waiting for their\nassent, he motioned the landlady out to the passage, and there gave\nfurther orders.\n\nThe attention of the three Londoners now fell upon the two figures at\nthe window. Miss Foxwell, quite ignored by her uncle since the arrival\nof his friends, had remained where she was, regarding the newcomers with\na side glance in which there was no great joy at their advent. Now that\nshe saw their looks directed to her, she turned her face again toward\nthe street, with a slight blush at the scrutiny.\n\n“What a pretty girl it is at the window,” whispered Lady Strange to her\ncompanions.\n\n“And what is she doing here with Foxwell?” said Mrs. Winter, eying the\nyoung lady critically.\n\n“The dog!—he is to be envied,” said Rashleigh.\n\nResentfully conscious of the cool gaze upon her, Miss Foxwell whispered\nto her maid, “How rudely those people stare at us!”\n\n“They must be very great quality,” replied the maid, reverentially.\n“Their waiting-gentleman looks the height of fashion,—but their woman\nisn’t no great sights.” Miss Foxwell’s maid had been quick to inspect\nthe attendants of the travellers, and the lackey had already put himself\non ogling terms with her, a proceeding which the other maid regarded\nsuperciliously.\n\nAs soon as Foxwell returned to his friends, Rashleigh called him to\naccount in an undertone: “I say, Foxwell, if this county produces such\nflowers as that at the window, ’tis not so barren a wilderness.”\n\n“That?” said Foxwell, carelessly. “Oh, that’s my niece, Miss Foxwell.\nCome here, Georgiana.”\n\nShe obeyed without haste, and was introduced. She was not in the mood to\naffect for civility’s sake a cordiality she did not feel, nor was she\nconciliated by the easy graciousness of Lady Strange, the sharp,\nmomentary smile of Mrs. Winter, or the unrestrained admiration of Mr.\nRashleigh.\n\n“You are a sweet child,” said Lady Strange, speaking in a sweet tone\nherself, “to have such a naughty uncle.”\n\n“I dare say my uncle is not much worse than other people,” said\nGeorgiana, coolly, with the intention, not of defending her relation,\nbut of being pert.\n\n“She means you, Cousin Rashleigh,” said Lady Strange, smiling gaily.\n“She sees your character in your face.—But, my dear, you can’t have\nknown much of your uncle in London. I’ll tell you some tales!”\n\nInstead of carrying out her threat immediately, however, the lady turned\nher attention to her maid, bidding her put down her burdens and go and\ndine in the kitchen.\n\nThe man servant and Georgiana’s attendant being dismissed for a like\npurpose, Foxwell and Rashleigh, to give the ladies that brief privacy\nfrom masculine eyes which a toilet-marring journey makes welcome, went\ndown-stairs and paced the yard till dinner was ready.\n\n“So this is the place of your retreat, Bob,” said Rashleigh; “or\nhereabouts, I mean.”\n\n“An old house and some beggarly acres eight miles from here. ’Tis my\nlast ditch. Perhaps I was lucky in having that to fall back into.\nFortune was set upon driving me from the field in London.”\n\n“But you might still have contrived to live there one way or another.\nMen do, who have lost their all.”\n\n“By playing the parasite?—begging of people whom I scorn?—laughing at\ngreat men’s stupid jests, or enslaving myself to great ladies’ caprices?\nNot I. Neither could I play the common rook where I had once lived the\ngentleman. Nor had I any fancy for the debtors’ prison. I might have\nturned highwayman, but I am too old and indolent, and the risk is too\ngreat. No; for a gentleman who had made the figure I had, and who could\nno more keep up that figure,—curse the cards and the tables, the\nmercenary women and the swindling tradesmen!—there was nothing but\nself-banishment to the ancestral fields.”\n\n“’Tis a wonder you’ve kept _them_. I should have thought, from your\nhabits of old, you’d have converted the last inch into the ready by this\ntime.”\n\n“They are beyond my power to convert. The estate is mine only in part. I\nshare the possession with that young person you saw up-stairs.”\n\n“The pretty niece?”\n\nFoxwell shrugged his shoulders. “She may be pretty—I really haven’t\nconcerned myself enough to study her looks. I shall doubtless find her\nan intolerable drag upon me. Notwithstanding our relationship, we are\nnew acquaintances. She is my brother’s orphan—the only child. She was\nborn at Foxwell Court, the place of my retirement, and she spent her\nchildhood there. Both her parents died when she was very young; my\nfather survived them a year, and upon his death she was sent to be\nreared by her mother’s elder sister. During all this time,—from before\nmy brother’s marriage till after this girl left Foxwell Court,—I never\ncame near the place. Most of the time, indeed, I was abroad, but even\nwhen in England I preferred the South,—and my father perhaps was not\nsorry for that, for, to tell the truth, I had never agreed with him and\nmy brother, and, as the old gentleman loved his peace, he could spare my\npresence. After his death and the departure of the girl, Foxwell Court\nwas shut up for a long while,—that is to say, till I sought refuge there\ntwo years ago. My father left the place to me and my niece, on such\nterms that it cannot be divided till she marries, nor my share sold\nduring my lifetime.”\n\n“You speak of it as a few beggarly acres. Had he nothing else to leave?”\n\n“Not a farthing. Ours was a family of decayed fortune. You are wondering\nhow in that case I contrived to make the appearance I did in town and on\nthe Continent. By the bounty of my Uncle Richard—you remember him, of\ncourse: the attorney who made a fortune in speculation. He looked upon\nlife much as I did, and not with the puritanical eyes of my father and\nbrother; so he provided for me while he lived, and left me half his\nshares when he died,—to prove, I make no doubt, that virtue does not\nalways pay best. When I had melted his shares into pleasure, I resorted,\nas you know, to the cards, and the tables in Covent Gardens, thinking\nthey might repay in my necessity what I had lost by them in my\nprosperity. ’Twas a fool’s hope! For a roof to cover my head, I came\nhome to Foxwell Court. I have at least enjoyed liberty there. But now\nthat this niece has finished her education, and comes home in accordance\nwith my father’s plans, responsibility begins. I was never made to play\nthe guardian, George. The affectionate, solicitous, didactic uncle is no\npart for me. And especially to a minx who has been taught to look upon\nthe frivolities of the gay world with virtuous horror. We have known\neach other but four days, and we hate each other already. She hadn’t\nbeen in my society an hour till I perceived righteous disapproval\nwritten upon her face.”\n\n“Oh, I think you mistake the girl altogether. From the glimpse I had of\nher, brief as it was, I could swear she is no prude. There is, indeed, a\ndelicacy and sensibility in her face, but nothing the least\nsanctimonious. She seems to me a young lady of spirit, a little annoyed\nabout something. No doubt you expected to find such a girl as you\ndescribe, and you behaved accordingly: she was quick to take offence,\nand now you mistake her natural resentment for self-righteous rebuke.”\n\n“I know not what my expectations had to do with the matter, but I can\nsee plainly enough her dislike. And, damme, George, can you imagine what\na restraint upon my conduct the presence of a young unmarried female\nwill be?”\n\n“Then you have only to get her married off your hands as soon as may\nbe,” said Rashleigh.\n\n“Her marriage means the division of our estate, and my share then will\nnot suffice to feed a horse upon. But I won’t balk at that, for the sake\nof freedom, if you’ll find me a man willing to take her with the little\nshe’ll have.”\n\n“I grant, gentlemen of any fashion want a good settlement with their\nwives, in this age. But consider her beauty:—that is an item on account\nof which I, for one, would vastly abate my demands—if I were fool enough\nto marry at all.”\n\n“She wouldn’t have you, fool or no fool. I can see she will be as\nfastidious when it comes to mating as if she had ten thousand a year. I\nfear this region will not furnish a man to her liking—I can commend her\ngood taste in that. So heaven knows when I may be rid of her! But enough\nof the chit: I’m saddled with her, and there’s an end. You must do\nsomething for me, George,—you and Lady Strange and her friend.”\n\n“Speaking for myself, I’m entirely at your service.”\n\n“You must make me a visit at Foxwell Court,—now. Yes, you must. Your\ntime is your own, I am sure. It matters not whether you arrive in town\nthis month or the next. While I have you, I will hold you. When we have\ndined, you will drive on with me, not to London, but to Foxwell Court.\nYou’ll give me a week—nay, a fortnight, at least—of civilized company,\nfor humanity’s sake.”\n\n“Why,” said Rashleigh, “’tis rather a change of plan—though I see\nnothing against it, for my part. If the ladies are willing—”\n\n“They _must_ be willing,” cried Foxwell. “You must persuade them:—if\nnaught else will do, you must be taken ill and be unable to go on to\nLondon. Egad, I’ll poison you all with the bad wine they keep here, ere\nI let you escape me!”\n\n“Nay, let me try persuasion first. I can commend you to them as a host—I\nknow of old that you’ll stop at nothing that has promise of amusement in\nit.”\n\n“I’ll stop at nothing to amuse them as my guests—you may warrant that.\nAs for my house, you will not find it entirely uninhabitable. Some of\nthe company I have kept there of late, though it would amuse you well\nenough, would scarce be acceptable to my Lady Strange; but fortunately,\nin view of my niece’s home-coming, I have issued strict decrees of\nbanishment,—so we shall find no rustic rake-hells, drinking parsons, or\nroaring trollops on the premises. ’Tis in such company I have found\nsolace in my exile—and I’ll do them the justice to say, they are better\nlovers of wit and real mirth than the booby fox-chasing, dog-mongering,\nhorse-talking, punch-guzzling gentry and their simpering, formal\nwomankind.”\n\n“You are beginning to practise self-denial, Bob,—driving your boon\ncompanions away,” said Rashleigh, smiling.\n\n“As a gentleman I could not do otherwise, of course. Since Miss must\nneeds come, they must go. I must learn to seek my amusements, such as\nthey are, out of the house. But I sha’n’t think of that, or of anything\nto come, while you and these ladies are with me. You see I have set my\nheart on having you.”\n\nThey continued in this strain, walking to and fro between the street end\nof the passage and the rear of the inn yard, in which different vehicles\nwere standing idle, until Caleb appeared with the announcement that\ndinner for the whole party was ready. Ascending, they found the ladies\non terms of cool politeness as between Georgiana and the other two.\nDuring the course of the meal, it could be seen that Mrs. Winter had\nincurred the greater part of that disfavour which the girl evidently\ndisdained to conceal. Good cause for this could be found, not only in\nthe steeliness of nature suggested by the London lady’s voice and look,\nbut by the great freedom of topic and remark she allowed herself. Time\nand again was a hot blush called to Georgiana’s cheek, and she was fain\nto fix her eyes upon her plate in indignation at the disregard of her\nmodesty. That was an age when many young ladies were accustomed to\nliberties of speech from their elders in their presence—liberties\nnowadays incredible. How they contrived to ignore them while they were\nnecessarily conscious of them, as it is certain they did, calls for\nadmiration. Nothing that we know of that most delightful of young women,\nSophia Western, makes us esteem and love her more than the way in which\nshe endured the coarse talk of her father, never receiving from it the\nslightest taint herself, never seeming to notice the outrageous portions\nof it. But it was from men only, or chiefly, that tender ears were used\nto hearing conversation so free. Had she been subjected to it by one of\nher own sex, even Sophia Western would have made the protest of a blush.\nNot that Mrs. Winter’s anecdotes and observations were of the crude\nplainness of Squire Western’s language. The lady’s tongue was a rapier,\nnot a bludgeon, and there would have been little if anything to reprove\nin the use she made of it on the present occasion, had Georgiana been\nabsent or ten years older. As it was, besides the offence to her modesty\nitself, Georgiana felt that she was being treated with intentional lack\nof consideration. She thought the lady guilty of spite as well as\nlicense: she noted, too, and placed to her account against him, the lack\nof any protest on her uncle’s part on behalf of her innocence. He\nlaughed and was merry, in his easy, fine-gentlemanly way; and the young\nlady, in her sense of careless outrage, could scarce restrain the tears\nof injury, loneliness, and revolt.\n\nIt was not till the dinner was nearly over, and a comfortable\ndisinclination to resume their travels had been created in his friends,\nthat Foxwell put his invitation before the ladies. At first they\ndeclared such a visit impossible, but as they could mention no respect\nwherein the impossibility lay, and as Foxwell knew how to mingle\nflattery with appeals to their compassion, they soon yielded.\n\nPoor Georgiana! It may be imagined how far she shared the joy of her\nuncle at the prospect of playing hostess to these people, though, as he\nhad called upon her openly to second his invitation, she had\nperfunctorily done so. This matter settled, the rest of the company\nbecame merrier, and Georgiana more miserable, than ever.\n\nMeanwhile, though she knew it not, nor could have dreamt how deeply it\nwould affect her life, the stage-coach had arrived and left a passenger;\nand the two horsemen from the North, guided by the postboy, were even\nnow riding into the passage beneath the room in which she sat.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER III\n\n                                 KNAVES\n\n\nSQUIRE THORNBY, in the next room, had finished his dinner before the\nFoxwell party had well begun theirs. In the state of his temper he had\nattacked the roast lamb with a fierceness that made his usual voracity\nseem delicate in comparison. But, indeed, a good appetite had something\nto do with his gastronomic energy, for he had ridden that morning from\nhis own house through this town to an estate some miles eastward, to\nlook at some hounds that were to be offered for sale, and it was on his\nreturn that he had stopped at the inn. During his meal he sometimes gave\nhis feelings vent in speech to the sympathizing Bartholomew, who\nremained for part of the time in attendance.\n\n“If I ever catch that there gamekeeper of his alone without a gun,” said\nBartholomew, “you shall have your revenge on that score, sir,—if I may\nbe so bold as to say as much.”\n\n“Oh, rat his gamekeeper!” cried Thornby, petulantly. “You harp and harp\non the gamekeeper!—the rascal cut you out with a girl, didn’t he? When\nit comes to that, what the devil do I mind as to the poaching business\nand such like? Neighbourly quarrels will arise, upon trespass and\nboundaries and so forth. No, ’tis none o’ that, for all the trouble he’s\nput me to. I’ll tell the truth, Bartholomew, ’tis the smooth way he has\nof taking me down whenever we meet,—waving me back to second place,\nlike,—coming over me with his damned fine airs and glib speeches. That’s\nwhat rubs me the wrong way. _I_ was the fine gentleman in our\nneighbourhood till he came; and now—well, ecod, we shall see, we shall\nsee!”\n\nThis, indeed, was the true secret of the squire’s animosity, as it is of\nmany a bitter hatred. It is easier for some men to forget a material\ninjury to their rights or interests than a sentimental hurt to their\nvanity, and when they have to expect a repetition of the latter in some\nnew form at every future encounter, they must be greater philosophers\nthan Squire Thornby if they do not rage. Indeed, had Foxwell’s offence\nnot been partly wilful, his superiority in mind and manner would alone\nhave drawn the Squire’s hate. Thornby’s envy was not of the admiring\nsort that would emulate the merits of its object: it was of that\nchurlish kind which, with no desire to possess those merits for their\nown sake, fiercely resents the superiority they imply.\n\nHis dinner disposed of, he went down-stairs, treading heavily as he\npassed his enemy’s door, which was now closed. Bartholomew had told him\nof the company that had arrived, and he could hear their laughter as he\nwent by. He peered into the kitchen to see what their servants looked\nlike; and the magnificence of attire of their coachman, valet, and\nwaiting-woman did not put him into any better humour. He then stepped\ninto the yard and viewed their coach, and finally took notice of their\nhorses feeding in the stalls. Seeing nothing he could disparage, he\ncontented himself with a sniff of scorn at such extravagant fopperies,\nand betook himself to the public dining-room to wait while Bartholomew\nattended to his own appetite in the kitchen. The Squire had heard the\narrival of the stage-coach some time before, and he now supposed there\nmight be a congenial passenger or two with whom to exchange news.\n\nHe found a single passenger—a slim, discreet-looking man of less than\nmedium height, with a smallish brown face beginning to wrinkle, a sharp\nnose and chin, a curious appearance of huddling himself together so as\nnot to fill much space, and lead- eyes that lifted their gaze\nwithout haste from their owner’s plate and rested intently for a moment\nupon Thornby. The eyes were then deferentially lowered. The man was\ndecently dressed in brown and gray, and wore a wig of the latter colour.\nThe Squire set him down as a tradesman in comfortable circumstances, or\nperhaps an attorney or attorney’s clerk, and a civil sort of fellow who\nknew how to drop his glance in the presence of his betters.\n\n“Good day, friend,” began the Squire. “You arrived by the stage-coach\nfrom the North, I take it.”\n\n“Yes, sir,” replied the other, briefly, but civilly.\n\n“Travelled far?” pursued Thornby.\n\n“From Edinburgh, though not all the way by that coach. And previous\nthereto, from Inverness-shire.”\n\n“You’re not a Scotchman, though?”\n\n“Oh, no, sir; not me, sir. Not so bad as that. I was with the Duke’s\narmy in Scotland.”\n\n“Oh, then, you helped to put down the rebellion?” said the Squire.\n\n“In my humble capacity, sir. I was waiting-gentleman to an officer,\nsir.”\n\n(“A mighty worthy fellow,” thought the Squire, while the stranger paused\nin his talk to dispose of a large mouthful of meat. “He might pass for a\nshopkeeper or a quill-driver, yet he owns at once to being a\nservant—though for my part, I don’t see why a gentleman’s valet\nshouldn’t rank above a rascal clerk or tradesman any day—he certainly\nsees better society.”)\n\n“I did my small share of fighting,” continued the worthy fellow; “was\nwounded, sir, which is the reason I’m now going home to London.”\n\nHe put back one side of his wig, and disclosed an ear minus a good\nportion of its rim. Though he gave no further information on the point,\nand showed no sign of deafness, it was to be assumed that some internal\ninjury had been caused, for it was difficult to see how the mere\nmutilation of the ear, damaging as it was to the man’s appearance, could\nbe held sufficient reason for his retirement from service.\n\n“Your health, sir,” said the man, raising a pot of ale to his lips.\n\n“Thankye,—thankye, my good man,” said the Squire, approvingly.\n\n“You live in these parts, sir, may I be so bold to ask?” said the good\nman, with a deferential mildness, having swallowed a great part of the\ncontents of the pot.\n\n“Yes, certainly. Why d’ye ask?”\n\n“Because in that case you might be able, and so condescending, to direct\nme to a person I’m wishing to pay my respects to,—a gentleman of the\nname of Foxwell.”\n\n“Foxwell! What do you want of him?”\n\nThe abruptness of the Squire’s speech, and the sudden clouding of his\nbrow, would have attracted anybody’s notice, and were not lost on the\nman whose request had caused them.\n\n“Robert Foxwell, Esquire,” added the man, quietly, “who came into this\ncounty from London about two years back, is the particular gentleman I\nmean.”\n\n“Ay, there’s only one,” replied the Squire, gloomily, “only one Foxwell\nin this county now. He’s the last of the name.”\n\n“Pardon me, sir,” said the other, delicately, “but if I dared take the\nliberty, I should judge from your manner that you’re not a friend of\nhis.”\n\n“By the lord, you’re a good judge!” said Thornby, without hesitation.\n\n“Thank you very humbly, sir. If I might take the further liberty of\nasking whether he’s a man of—ah—any considerable wealth to speak of,\nnowadays—”\n\n“He’s as poor as a church mouse, and I’m not sorry to say it.”\n\n“I’m rather sorry to hear it,” said the man, looking gravely into his\npot of ale. “Oh, not on his account, sir: on my own. I’m purely selfish\nin my sorrow, sir. The truth is, I had something to sell him.”\n\n“Well, friend,” said the Squire, taking a seat near the table’s end\nwhere the traveller was, “if it’s something of any value that you have\nto sell, my advice is to look for another customer.”\n\n“The trouble is,” replied the man, musingly, “this that I have to sell\nwouldn’t be of any value to anybody but Mr. Foxwell—unless to his\nenemies.”\n\nThe last words were spoken very softly, as if they represented a\nmeditative afterthought of no practical utility. The man continued to\nkeep his eyes lowered from meeting the Squire’s, and a thoughtful pause\nensued.\n\n“Enemies? What the devil—?” said the Squire in his mind. But presently\nhe broke forth in his blunt manner, “Lookye, my man, you may speak\nfreely to me if you be so minded. I’m all for plain-dealing, I am. My\nname is Thornby,—anybody can tell you how Thomas Thornby, of Thornby\nHall, Justice of the Peace, stands in this county. Anybody can tell you\nwhether he’s to be trusted or not. What’s all this here about Mr.\nFoxwell and his enemies? It concerns me, by the lord, for I’m at least\nno friend of his, I can tell you that much and not betray any secrets,\nneither.”\n\n“Why, then, sir,” said the other, his face lighting up as though a happy\nidea had that instant occurred to him, “you might be a better customer\nfor what I have to sell than Mr. Foxwell himself.”\n\n“By the lord, I’m able to pay a better price,” said the Squire, with\nfrank self-gratulation.\n\n“Do you know anything of Mr. Foxwell’s history, sir?” asked the\nstranger.\n\n“I know that he was born at Foxwell Court, the old seat of the family in\nthis country; that he was sent away to school when young, and then to\nOxford, and after that travelled in foreign parts. Fine way to bring up\nan Englishman! When he did come back to his own country, he thought best\nto live in London, and he never darkened his father’s door in those\ndays: there wasn’t any love lost between him and his people here in\ntheir lifetime, I’ve heard. Howe’er that be, he wasn’t seen hereabouts,\nso I never set eyes on him till he came back to the Foxwell estate to\nlive, about two years since, after squandering a fortune his uncle left\nhim—so the story goes. That’s all the history I know of him.”\n\n“I can vouch for the truth of one part, sir,—as to squandering his money\nin town. I had hoped perhaps his affairs had improved since he retired\nfrom fashionable life.”\n\n“But what of his history? I’ve told you all I know. What do _you_ know?”\n\nThe Squire leaned forward toward the traveller with an almost painful\nexpression of eagerness on his face.\n\n“Why, sir,” said the other, as if with some reluctance, “as you are good\nenough to take an interest, I see no reason why I shouldn’t tell you a\nlittle story. I dare say you remember the affair of Lord Hilby,—him that\nwas murdered by footpads one night in Covent Garden.”\n\n“I heard of it at the time,” said the Squire, “’twas two or three years\nago.”\n\n“Yes, sir. His lordship had been playing till a late hour in a\ngaming-house, you may remember, and had won very heavily. He was walking\naway from the house, his pockets full of gold. He was attended by a\nservant and a linkboy. It was a very dark night. No doubt, sir, you know\nthe place,—what they call the piazza in Covent Garden, where the\ngaming-houses are.”\n\n“I was there—once,” replied the Squire, with a glum look: no doubt he\nhad reason to repent the experience.\n\n“Ay, sir, once is enough for many a country gentleman,” said the other,\nsympathetically, “though the tables don’t always have the best of it.\nThere’s been fortunes retrieved there, as well as fortunes lost. And\ncertainly Lord Hilby had been in wonderful luck that night. Some think\nthat word of his large winnings had been passed out to a person in the\nstreet, in the short time between his rising from the table and his\nleaving the house. Of course everybody in the room knew how great his\nwinnings were, and saw where he put them. In any case, there was no\nchair to be had when he came out, and he started to walk to Pall Mall.\nBut he hadn’t gone far when suddenly three ruffians sprang up from the\nfoot of one of the pillars of the colonnade, where they had been\ncrouching all in a heap. One of them knocked the link out of the boy’s\nhand, one attacked the servant with a bludgeon, and the third caught my\nlord by the throat and called for his money.”\n\n“’Tis a wicked, dangerous place, London!” observed the Squire, in a low\nvoice, shaking his head.\n\n“The linkboy ran away, leaving his torch still burning on the ground.\nThe fellow who had knocked it now joined him that was grappling with his\nlordship. All this the servant saw, and then he was felled to the earth,\nwhere he lay stunned for a little while. During that time, it must have\nbeen, the footpads struck my lord dead with a bludgeon.”\n\nThornby gave a shiver of discomfort.\n\n“When the servant came to,” the narrator continued, “he found that the\nfootpads had gone; and two gentlemen, who had left the same gaming-house\nsoon after his master, were now examining him to see if he was alive, by\nthe light of the torch, which one of them had picked up. They had seen\nthe scuffle as they were coming from the gaming-house, and had run up\nwith their swords drawn, making such a noise that maybe the footpads had\nimagined them to be a large party. In any case, the footpads had taken\nto their heels. The two gentlemen informed the servant they believed his\nmaster to be dead. He joined them in a further examination, and found\nthat his lordship’s money was gone.”\n\n“Ay, to be sure,” said Thornby. “The rascals got the money before they\nran away.”\n\n“A very natural supposition, sir,—in fact, the only probable one. The\nservant came to that at once, and the world accepted it afterwards,—that\nthe footpads had succeeded in getting the money before the two gentlemen\narrived. But, sir, do you know that in this world ’tis just as often\nthat the probable supposition isn’t the true one?”\n\n“What d’ye mean?”\n\n“Why, sir, the truth is, as I’m a living man,—and this is entirely\nbetween us for the present, sir,—’tis a secret I’ve kept for a long\ntime, and if I didn’t feel I could rely on you as a gentleman with a\nparticular interest in Mr. Foxwell—”\n\n“Certainly you can rely on me,—no fears on that score. But what the\ndeuce has this to do with Foxwell? Come, out with it, man! I can keep a\nsecret as well as the best.”\n\n“Well, sir, thanking you kindly for your assurance, the truth is, the\nfootpads _hadn’t_ got the money before they ran away. At least they\nhadn’t got all of it, or so much but that a considerable amount was\nleft.”\n\n“How, then, if the servant found it was all gone?”\n\n“Simply that those two gentlemen, having suffered heavy losses that\nnight, being in all likelihood at their wits’ end for a further supply\nof the needful, and finding his lordship’s pockets lined with the same,\nhad succumbed to the temptation of an instant, and transferred the\nshiners from his pockets to their own while the servant still lay\nsenseless on the ground.”\n\n“The devil you say?” exclaimed the Squire.\n\n“A shocking thing, sir, no doubt,—robbery of the dead. It has a\nsingularly bad sound when put that way, for some reason or other, has it\nnot? So _ungentlemanly_ a crime, if I may presume to offer an opinion,\nsir.”\n\n“A devilish risky one, too, I should say.”\n\n“Why, no, sir, I should think a particularly safe one on this occasion.\nThe servant and the linkboy could both testify to the attack by the\nfootpads, and it would be taken as certain—just as everybody did take\nit—that the footpads had succeeded in their purpose before they fled.”\n\n“Ay, but the footpads themselves knew they hadn’t. They had only to come\nforward and say as much.”\n\n“But by coming forward to say it, sir, they must needs have incriminated\nthemselves of the murder. No, there was little reason to fear that, I\nshould consider: as a matter of fact, they never did come forward. Nor I\nnever heard of their even threatening to do so—in a way of extorting\nmoney, you understand. No, sir, a very safe crime on the part of the two\ngentlemen, if I may say so again. And, lookye, sir, how circumstances\nalter the appearance of things. Suppose my lord had lost the money in\nthe gaming-house that night, and these two gentlemen had won it, as\nmight very easily have happened. There would then have been no crime in\ntheir possessing it, no dishonour, no ungentlemanliness; they would have\nhad no reason for concealment. But as matters were, if the truth ever\ngot out, are there any bounds to the horror and ignominy with which the\nnames of those gentlemen would be held by the great world they moved\nin?”\n\n“But if it never got out, then how the devil do you know it? Answer me\nthat, man?”\n\n“In a moment, sir. I should have thought you would be curious as to who\nthese gentlemen were?”\n\n“Well, who were they? In course I’m curious.”\n\n“One of them was a certain baronet, since deceased; the other, Robert\nFoxwell, Esquire.”\n\n“Eh!”\n\n“Robert Foxwell, Esquire,” repeated the stranger.\n\nMr. Thornby’s surprise, as depicted on his countenance, was as jubilant\nas if he had received sudden news of an unexpected bequest. He rose and\nsnapped his fingers in the air, and seemed with difficulty to restrain a\nshout. But after a moment he sat down again, and eagerly demanded:\n\n“But how do you know it?—how do you know it, man? How are you sure of\nit?”\n\n“You shall see in a minute, sir. The baronet had excellent luck with the\nmoney he took, and was able to make as good a figure as ever. But the\nadage, sir, in regard to ill-gotten gains, though it failed in his case,\nwas fulfilled in Mr. Foxwell’s. There _does_ seem to be a partiality\nshown in the workings of Providence sometimes. Mr. Foxwell had the worst\nof luck, and soon the bailiffs were after him. He was taken to a\nsponging-house, and, after trying friend after friend in vain, he saw\nimprisonment for debt staring him in the face. I suppose his interest in\nthe family estate hereabouts was tied up in some way.”\n\n“Ay, he could touch nothing but his share of the income,” said the\nSquire.\n\n“And on that, no doubt, he had already raised what he could. A mere drop\nin the bucket, I dare say. However it be, he was certainly in a\ndesperate condition. I don’t know whether you’ve ever seen the inside of\na debtors’ prison, sir,—”\n\n“Ecod, man, not me!”\n\n“Only as a matter of curiosity, sir, I meant. But you’ll take my word\nfor it, I hope, that ’tis really no place for a gentleman. The fear of\nit would drive a man of Mr. Foxwell’s habits, I can well believe, to\ndesperate measures. Well, sir, what did he do, when he saw everything\nfailing him, but write a letter to the baronet—he had written three\nbefore, and got no answer—a letter to the baronet, from the\nsponging-house, in which he said that if the baronet didn’t come to his\nassistance immediately, he’d be damned if he wouldn’t confess all and\nlet the world know who really got Lord Hilby’s money that night. Yes,\nsir, in black and white he wrote those words, which distinctly appear in\nthe letter,—‘_Confess_ all and let the world know who got Lord Hilby’s\nmoney that night.’ So the baronet obligingly went to his assistance.”\n\n“And how did all this come to _your_ ears?” queried the Squire.\n\n“The baronet threw the letter, as he thought, into the fire. But he had\na faithful servant, who hooked it out, as a matter of habit, read it in\nprivate, and filed it away for future reference. He didn’t see any\noccasion to refer to it, the faithful servant didn’t, for a long time.\nMeanwhile, Mr. Foxwell, after various ups and downs, finally left\nLondon; and the baronet died. The faithful servant became\nwaiting-gentleman to a king’s officer, and went through the campaign in\nScotland. Being wounded, and losing his place, he set out to return to\nLondon. He had heard what county Mr. Foxwell had sought retirement in,\nand, having to pass through that county on his way South, he thought it\nmight be worth while to look the gentleman up and see whether he\nattached any value to an interesting specimen of his earlier\nhandwriting.”\n\n“So you are the baronet’s faithful servant?”\n\n“Yes, your honour,—Jeremiah Filson, at your service. And here is the\nletter.”\n\nHe produced a pocket-book from the breast of his coat, and brought the\ndocument out of a double wrapper of soft paper. Holding it tightly with\nboth hands, he placed it within reading distance of the Squire, having\nfirst drawn it back with a polite “Your pardon, sir,” when the latter\nmade an involuntary reach for it.\n\n“His hand, sure enough,” said the Squire, who had sufficient reason in\nthe correspondence preceding their litigation to know his neighbour’s\npenmanship. He first examined the signature, “R. Foxwell,” and then\ncarefully read the note—dashed off with a scratchy pen and complete\ndisregard for appearance—from beginning to end. The sheet was slightly\nburnt at one side, and had in all respects the evidence of genuineness.\n\n“Lookye, Jeremiah Filson,” said the Squire at last, as he eyed the\nletter covetously, “Foxwell can’t for his life give you twenty pounds\nready money for that piece of paper. In any case you may be sure I can\noutbid him. Don’t you approach him at all, that’s my advice. ’Twould be\ntime lost, if you expect to get anything worth while; and, besides that,\nhe’s a shrewd fellow, is Mr. Foxwell, and he might bubble you out of the\nletter before ever you knew what you were at. You’d best deal with me,\nyou had. Understand, I wouldn’t make any harmful use of it, though I do\ndislike the man. But I have the fancy to crow over him a little, d’ye\nsee,—that’s all,—nothing harmful. Now what—”\n\nAt this critical moment the pair were interrupted by Bartholomew looking\nin and announcing that the horses were ready. Thornby bade him shut the\ndoor, wait outside, and be damned. The first and second of these items\nbeing complied with, the Squire entered into negotiations with Mr.\nFilson for the possession of the letter. That gentleman, having\ncarefully put away the document in its former resting-place, seemed in\nno hurry to come to terms. He listened to the Squire with sedate\ncivility, but was adamant upon the point of a good round sum in ready\nmoney. The end of their talk was that Filson agreed to call at Thornby\nHall the next day, and not to dispose of the letter in the meantime. The\nSquire did not tell the man that Mr. Foxwell was even then under the\nsame roof with them. If Filson found this out before Foxwell’s\ndeparture, a meeting might occur, though it was scarce likely that\nFoxwell would give opportunity for it at the inn. In any case, the\nSquire would have a chance to outbid his enemy. Having elicited the\nfurther promise that Filson would not at any time tell Foxwell that he,\nthe Squire, was dealing for the letter, or knew of its existence, he\ntook his leave.\n\nMr. Filson heard the Squire’s horses clatter out of the passage, and\nbreak into a trot in the High Street. As the sound died away, he drank\nthe last of his ale, and indulged in a comfortable smile.\n\n“A mighty fortunate meeting,” he mused. “This booby will buy the letter\nat my own price. He would give his brains, if he had any, for the means\nof getting the upper hand of his enemy. And a perfectly safe man to deal\nwith, too. As for Foxwell, I could never be sure but he would cut my\nthroat if I went to him with the letter. Now that difficulty is\nremoved,—’tis certainly the hand of Providence.”\n\nHe yawned profoundly, and then resumed:\n\n“I may find this Justice of the Peace a convenient friend if I have\noccasion to tarry in this neighbourhood. But I’ll get his money for the\nletter first: otherwise he might make his friendship a part of the\nprice. A fool would have gone farther at this first interview,—but\nyou’re no fool, Jeremiah; no, sir, a fool is what you certainly are\nnot.”\n\nHe rang the bell and asked to be shown to a bedroom, saying he had not\nslept the previous night. Being informed by the landlady that a room\nwould be ready in ten minutes, he strolled out to the yard to pass the\nintervening time there. He had taken a turn or two, when out from the\nkitchen came a young woman who seemed to be in a huff. She was very red\nin the face, and talked ostensibly to herself, but really for the\nbenefit of all who might hear.\n\n“The conversation of that London maid is truly scangelous!” quoth she.\n\n“Eh, my dear,” said Mr. Filson, stopping in front of her, “has anybody\nbeen scandalizing those pretty ears of yours?”\n\nPrudence—for it was Miss Foxwell’s maid—took note of the stranger with\nmuch artless affectation of surprise, exclaiming:\n\n“Upon my word, sir—!” But before she got any further, she saw reason for\nreal wonder. “Eh! speaking of ears, what has happened to yours?”\n\n“Honourably sacrificed in war, miss,” replied Filson, readily; “slashed\nby a Jacobite officer at the battle of Culloden, four or five months\nago.”\n\n“Oh, how barbarious!” cried Prudence. “How could he ever have the heart\nto do such a thing?”\n\n“Oh, I gave him as good as I got. If you happen to see a handsome young\ngentleman with his beauty improved by a mark like a heart on a\nplaying-card, under his right eye, you may know that he owes that\ndecoration to me. I did it with a bayonet, miss, and a very pretty job I\nmade of it.”\n\n“Lor, I’m not like ever to see any Jacobite officer.”\n\n“Don’t be too sure. My gentleman is probably somewhere in this\nneighbourhood. So keep your pretty eyes open, my dear. His name is\nEverell—Charles Everell—so I was told by a prisoner we took, who had\nseen our little exchange of compliments: though ’tis scarce like he’ll\nbe travelling under his real name just at present.”\n\n“Ay, for I hear they’re going to hang all the Jacobites they catch.”\n\n“So they are, except the great ones, and them they behead. They’ve\nalready begun the good work in London, both ways. Whether this gentleman\nis high enough to be honoured with the axe, or whether his case will be\nserved by a halter, I know not. He was in the Pretender’s body-guard, at\nany rate.”\n\n“But how do you know he’s in this neighbourhood?”\n\n“Because, sweetheart, I saw him yesterday on the road the first time\nsince Culloden fight. Before I had a chance to lay information against\nhim, he had given me the slip. I spent the whole night in trying to get\non his track, at inns and other houses. I think he may still be in these\nparts, and if I can manage it he shall meet his just deserts.”\n\n“How monstrous bitter you are against him, to be sure!”\n\n“No. I’m not bitter, my dear. ’Tis only patriotism—loyalty;—’tis our\nduty, you know, to bring any of these rebels to justice when Providence\nputs it in our way. And then I’m a persistent man, too; when I once get\non the scent of a thing, I can’t stop till I’ve run it down. And so,\npretty miss,” he added, playfully, “if you happen to see such a\ngentleman, within the next day or two,—young and good-looking, and most\nlikely travelling with a friend of about the same age, who’s also a\nhandsome young man but summat heavier built,—why, if you see such a\ngentleman, with the ace of hearts on his cheek, hold your tongue, and\nsend word to me in care of this inn—Jeremiah Filson—and I’ll see you get\nyour share of the reward.”\n\nMr. Filson smiled tenderly; and then yawned. A moment later the landlady\ncalled from the entry that his room was ready.\n\n“Remember, my dear, the ace of hearts, and Jeremiah Filson,” he said,\nwith a parting grin and wink, and then followed the chambermaid, whom\nthe landlady had ordered to show him his room. Prudence, at the entry\ndoor, watched him ascend the stairs till he disappeared at the turn, and\nheard him bestow a gallant “my dear” upon the chambermaid as he\ncontinued on his way, whereupon she tossed her head and became suddenly\nscornful.\n\n“Poh! Quite a chivalarious gentleman!” said she. “Nasty scrub! He may\nwhistle for his Jacobite with the ace of hearts on his face, for all the\nhelp he gets from me!” With that, Miss Prudence returned to the kitchen,\nbut sat aloof from the other servants, who were making merry over their\nbread and cheese and beer. The worsting she had got in a passage of\nironical compliments with Lady Strange’s maid, which had driven her from\nthe company to the yard, was still sore in her mind, so that she sat in\ncontemptuous silence, torn between the desire to tell the others of the\nJacobite-hunting guest and the satisfaction of keeping them deprived of\nsubject-matter so interesting. She flattered herself that she was the\nonly person in the house whom Mr. Filson had taken into his confidence;\nand this was true, though on his arrival he had looked into all the\npublic parts of the inn and questioned the landlord as to the guests\nup-stairs. His disclosure to her had followed naturally upon her notice\nof his ear.\n\nFilson, being ushered into one of the back chambers, bade the maid have\nhis portmanteau brought up from the public room. He then took off his\nshoes and threw himself on the bed. The boy who carried up the\nportmanteau, two minutes later, found him snoring.\n\nMr. Filson had not been asleep five minutes, when three horsemen—the\nthree that have been mentioned more than once hitherto in the course of\nthis history—turned in from the street, and came to a stop at the door\nto the public room. Two of the riders slid from their saddles, and the\nthird,—the postboy in charge,—after dropping two cloak-bags beside the\ndoor, proceeded with the horses to the yard. The two gentlemen—for\ngentlemen they were, as was plain from every appearance, though their\nclothes had seen considerable service—stood for a moment glancing\naround. They were young and well favoured; both of average height; one\nstoutly made, the other of a slighter build. The slender fellow had a\nsmall red scar, which indeed was rather like a heart in shape, on his\nright cheek; but it did not apparently spoil the beauty of his face.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER IV\n\n                               FUGITIVES\n\n\nTHE slender young gentleman, after his swift survey of the surroundings,\nopened the door to the public dining-room.\n\n“Come along, the place is empty,” he said, and, picking up one of the\ncloak-bags, stepped briskly into the room so recently vacated by Mr.\nJeremiah Filson. “Thank God for a decent-looking inn!” he added,\nheartily, tossing his cloak-bag into a corner and dropping into a chair,\nwhere he began to hum:\n\n                        “‘Charlie is my darling,\n                        My darling, my darling;\n                        Char—’”\n\n“Hush!” exclaimed his companion, who had followed with the other bag and\nclosed the door. “Heaven’s sake, Charles, none of those songs!”\n\nBut Charles finished:\n\n                        “‘—lie is my darling,—\n                        The young Cheva_leer_,’”\n\nand then answered, gaily: “Why not? We’re alone here?”\n\nThe face of the young man—the slender one, addressed by his comrade as\nCharles—was not only handsome, but pleasant and animated, being lighted\nby soft blue eyes. The nose was slightly aquiline, the other features\nregular. He wore his own hair; his old suit of blue velvet carried an\nappearance of faded elegance; his three-cornered hat still boasted some\nremnants of silver lace; he was in riding-boots, and a sword hung at his\nside.\n\nHis comrade, more broadly and squarely made in face as in body, a man\nserious and resolute in aspect, was similarly dressed, in clothes now in\ntheir decline but of a darker shade.\n\n“Ay, alone here,” said he, putting his bag with the other’s, “but ’tis\nas well to leave off habits that may be dangerous. You might as easily\nbreak out into one of the old ditties in company as alone. I dare say\nnobody finds any harm in the mere singing of them; but ’tis apt to set\npeople’s minds on certain matters, and we’d best not have them think of\nthose matters in relation to us. We excite curiosity enough, I make no\ndoubt.”\n\n“Only your fancy, Will. Why should we excite more curiosity than any\nother two travellers?” said Charles. “What is so extraordinary in our\nappearance? Come, I’ve asked you a hundred times, and you can’t answer.\nYour constitutional prudence, your natural cautiousness, which you know\nI vastly admire and try to emulate—”\n\nWill smiled at this.\n\n“Those excellent traits of thine, dear lad,” Charles went on, “cause you\nto magnify things, or rather to transfigure them altogether, so that, if\nanybody looks at us, you see suspicion where there is really nothing but\nthe careless curiosity of a moment. Where he says in his mind,\n‘Strangers,’ you can almost hear him saying with his lips, ‘Jacobites.’”\n\n“Hush! You may laugh as you please, Charles: prudence and caution, even\ncarried to excess, are likelier to serve our turn than carelessness and\nboldness, till we are safe out of England.”\n\n“Why, there again! You are more apprehensive a thousand times since we\nhave crossed the border than you were during all the time in Scotland,\nall the hiding time, and the time of dodging enemies on the alert for us\nin every direction.”\n\n“I confess it. As one nears the end of a difficult or dangerous\nbusiness, one should be the more fearful of disaster. Think how it may\nturn to naught all the toils that have brought one so far. Never relax\nbecause the goal is in sight: if you trip at the last, and through your\nown folly, too, ’tis the more to be regretted.”\n\n“All true, my dear Roughwood; and yet, for our peace of mind, ’tis\ncomforting to think how much safer we really are in England than we were\nacross the border. Nobody expects to find Jacobites on the highroads of\nEngland.”\n\n“There have been far too many seen on the highroads of England lately,”\nsaid Roughwood, with a gloomy smile.\n\n“Ah, yes, the poor fellows now at Carlisle and York,” replied Charles;\n“but Jacobites uncaught are a different matter. They are all thought to\nbe skulking in the Highlands, the Duke of Cumberland’s soldiers closing\nnearer and nearer round them. Heaven send that the Prince may escape!\nWould that his chances were as good as ours! ’Tis probable every mile of\nthe Scottish coast is patrolled by government vessels, as every foot of\nthe Highlands is hunted over by regulars and militia—or will be hunted\nover, ere all is done. ’Twas high time we left our quarters among the\nrocks and heather, and a miracle of good luck that we slipped through\nthe enemy’s lines and across the border. England is the safer land for\nus, and vastly easier to escape from by sea.”\n\nTheir talk was interrupted by the entrance of the landlady, who took\ntheir orders for dinner, after which meal they intended to resume their\njourney. When they were again alone, Charles continued:\n\n“So, my dear lad, as I was about to say, let us be easy in our minds,\nput away apprehensions, and avoid suspicion by showing no expectation of\nit. Your mad resolve to come to England and see the beloved lady before\nyou flee the kingdom, turns out to be the wisest course we could have\ntaken.”\n\n“Wise or mad, my dear Everell,” said Will Roughwood, “I’d have taken it\nat any risk.”\n\n“And wise or mad,” said Everell, gaily, “I’d have followed you at any\nrisk—for company’s sake, to say no more. But indeed there’s less risk\nfor me than you. Very few people in England know my face: ever since\nboyhood, my life has been spent abroad, until I joined the Prince. ’Tis\ndifferent with you, who were brought up almost entirely within the two\nkingdoms. Egad, there’s the advantage I derive from my father having\nbeen the complete Jacobite—one of those who, for all their love of\ncountry, preferred exile in order to be at the centre of the plotting.”\nThe young man smiled to think how all that plotting for a second Stuart\nrestoration had come to naught.\n\n“There’s chance of recognition for you, too,” said Roughwood. “Consider\nhow many people saw you when we invaded these Northern counties last\nyear. And consider those of our own party who have turned traitor,\nbuying their lives by informing against their comrades. And we are in\nconstant danger of encountering men who fought against us, like that\nfellow we dodged so narrowly yesterday.”\n\n“Oh, he and I had our particular reasons for remembering each other,”\nsaid Everell, touching the scar on his cheek. “’Tis not in chance that\nwe should run across him again. One such coincidence is remarkable\nenough.”\n\n“Who can tell? In any case, he is not the only soldier of the enemy who\nwould remember us. We are like to fall in with more; and ’tis of such,\nas all accounts agree, that most of the witnesses are, who have\ntestified at Carlisle and York.”\n\n“Well, then, such are to be looked for in Carlisle and York at present,\nexcept those who are in London for the like purpose. We have given\nCarlisle a wide berth, we will steer clear of York, and we’ll not go to\nLondon. And it may be that those of the enemy who remember us are still\nwith the army in Scotland, hunting down our comrades.”\n\nRoughwood smiled at his friend’s habitual power of seeing the favourable\npossibilities and ignoring the adverse; and could not help wondering\nthat fortune had brought him unscathed through so many hazards in all\nthe months of flight and concealment since that fatal day of defeat in\nthe wind and snowfall on Culloden Moor.\n\n“You’ll run into trouble yet, I’m fearing,” said Roughwood, with\nsolicitude and affection in his smile.\n\n“As for mere busybodies here in England,” Charles Everell continued,\napparently bent upon disposing of every class from which discovery might\nbe possible; “people to whom the idea of fugitive Jacobites might occur\nat this time, they will not look to find officers travelling openly as\ngentlemen. They will suppose that fugitives of our quality, if any fled\ninto England at all, would come disguised. Going boldly in the dress and\nmanner of gentlemen, wearing swords and showing no secrecy, how can we\nexcite suspicion? We have nothing to fear but some unlucky chance\nmeeting, like that we galloped away from yesterday; and the same\naccident is not like to befall us again.”\n\n“But if that fellow who recognized you should have taken it into his\nhead to hound us?”\n\n“Is he likely to have put himself to the trouble? Doubtless he has his\nown affairs to pursue. Be that as it may, we got rid of him easily\nenough by spurring our horses and turning out of the road at the next\nbyway; and, if forced to it, we can do so again.”\n\n“We may not have the same advantage again. If there had been anybody at\nhand yesterday, I am sure he would have called out and denounced us. I\ndon’t forget his look when he first saw us, as he stood in front of that\nwayside ale-house. He was about touching his hat to us as we rode up,\nwhen he beheld your face. His hand remained fixed in the air, and he\nstared as if you had been the devil. Then he glanced wildly around, and\nin at the ale-house door; he was certainly looking to see if help was in\ncall.”\n\n“’Twas a question for an instant whether I should run my sword through\nhim,” said Everell, “but thank God such impulses never prevail with me.\nSo I merely decided not to stop at that house of refreshment, and gave\nmy horse the spur. And you were good enough to follow without question,\nwhich speaks well for your wisdom and my own, my dear Will. Always do\nso, and we shall always have similar good fortune in escaping the perils\nthat beset us.”\n\n“I would I knew what our guide thought of the incident, and of our\nbribing him to let his horses come so far out of the way.”\n\n“He thought merely as I told him, no doubt:—in the first case, that my\nhorse bolted, and that I took it as an omen against stopping there; in\nthe second, that we really had a friend whose house we thought to find\nby turning out of the way. But whatever he may have thought, he was a\nmum fellow, and doubtless went to bed as soon as we arrived at last\nnight’s inn; therefore he probably had no speech with the lad who took\nhis place this morning.”\n\n“Well, well,” said Roughwood, smilingly resigning himself to the other’s\nsense of security, “I hope your confidence will be justified to the end\nof the journey. But when we come to my own county, where I am well\nknown, there indeed we must needs go warily.”\n\n“Why, then, of course, we shall stir only by night,” said Everell. “And\nwe shall not tarry long, if all goes well.”\n\n“Only till I can see her,” replied his friend, in a voice low with\nsadness and tenderness. A brief silence fell between the two young men,\ntill Roughwood added, “One last meeting! And then to part,—for how long,\nGod knows!”\n\n“Oh, you may come back to England safely in two or three years. When the\ngovernment has made examples enough, there will be a general pardon; or\nat worst a Jacobite may slink back and his presence be winked at. So\nmuch if our cause be never revived; if it _be_ revived, we may be able\nto come back openly enough.”\n\nRoughwood shook his head. “’Twill never be revived to any purpose. We\ncan never rally a larger force than we had this time; yet one can see\nplainly now how vain our hopes were from the first. No, ’twas a dream, a\ndream. The house of Hanover is firmly established in these kingdoms: the\nstar of the Stuarts is set. If a general pardon is ever granted us, it\nwill be for that reason,—because we can do no harm. But, meanwhile, ’tis\nthe day of punishment, and we must look to our necks. After I have seen\nher, we have only to find Budge, and lie hid till he happens to be\nsailing.”\n\nThe arrival of a maid with their dinner put a stop for the time to this\nkind of conversation, in which they but reviewed their situation as they\nhad done a score of times within the past few days. They had ordered\nfrugally, out of respect to the state of their common purse, which they\ncounted upon to carry them to the place near which lived both\nRoughwood’s affianced wife—with whom it was his hope to exchange\nassurances of faith and devotion ere he fled his native country—and the\nmaster of a certain vessel, upon whom he relied for their conveyance\nacross the channel. Roughwood had relations at this place, but, as they\nsympathized not with his Jacobitism, which he had acquired through his\nScottish kin, he considered it imprudent to seek a further supply of\nmoney from them. Once in France, however, he could communicate in safety\nwith his sources of maintenance. As for Everell, the modest but\nsufficient fortune he inherited from his Jacobite father had long been\nplaced in France, and would be at his command as soon as he reached\nParis. The young men were now travelling upon the remainder of the gold\nwith which both had fortunately been supplied a few days before the\nbattle of Culloden. They had not had occasion to spend money during the\nmonths of concealment immediately following upon the total defeat of\ntheir cause at that contest, their hiding-place—first a “bothy” and\nafterwards a cave—having been on the estate of a Highland gentleman who\nshared in their seclusion, and by whose adherents he and they were fed.\n\nTo this comrade in defeat they owed also the clothes they now wore, as\nthey had considered it better advised to appear as ordinary gentlemen in\ntheir journey through England, than to use a disguise which it would\nrequire some acting to carry off. Having lived a part of his time in the\ngreat world, this Highland laird was possessed of a considerable\nwardrobe besides that limited to the national dress, and in order to\nfurnish out his two friends he had risked with them a secret visit by\nnight to his own mansion, which was under the intermittent watch of\ngovernment troops. The gentleman was of a build rather lighter than\nRoughwood and stouter than Everell, so that his loosest set of garments\nwas not impossible of wear to the former, and his tightest did not hang\ntoo limply on the body of the latter. Discarding entirely their\nbattle-worn and earth-soiled clothes for these, and otherwise altering\nand augmenting their equipment at their friend’s expense, the two\nfugitives had, by travelling at night and making a carefully planned\ndash at the most critical point, put themselves outside of the region\nsurrounded by the Duke of Cumberland’s forces. Thereafter they had dared\nto move by day, hiring horses; and either Everell’s boldness or\nRoughwood’s caution, or both, had carried them so far without other\nadverse chance than the meeting with the man who remembered Everell from\ntheir encounter at Culloden. Being without passports, they had avoided\nevery place where troops were said to be stationed, and in crossing the\nborder they had kept to the moors instead of the roads: for their\neccentric manner of travelling, their invention was equal to such\npretexts as the curiosity of horse-boys and others might require.\n\nWhen the servant left them to their dinner, they reverted to their\nformer subject, talking as they ate.\n\n“’Tis all plain sailing, to my sight,” said Everell, cheerfully, “until\nwe entrust our precious bodies to the care of your friend the smuggler.”\n\n“I’ll warrant Budge to be true stuff,” replied Roughwood, confidently.\n“He would risk his cutter to save my neck. We used to play with his\nchildren on the cliffs, he and I.—And now I shall be looking on those\ncliffs for the last time, perhaps,—and on England! Well, ’tis the fate\nof losers in the game of rebellion.” He made no attempt to restrain the\nsigh this melancholy reflection evoked.\n\n“Tut, tut, lad!” protested Everell, with unfeigned lightness of heart;\n“take my word for it, a man can live out of England. What is it\nShakespeare says, that my father used to quote when our\nfellow-countrymen visiting us would commiserate our exile? ‘There’s\nlivers out of Britain.’ And that speech of Coriolanus, too: ‘I turned my\nback upon my native city and found a world elsewhere.’ ’Twould surprise\nsome Englishmen to be convinced of it, I know, but indeed there is a\nworld elsewhere. ’Tis a lovely country, Britain, I grant you, and would\nbe my choice for living in, when all’s said and done, but—there’s livers\nout of it.”\n\n“You talk as if ’twere only the leaving England,” said the other, with a\nsorrowful smile.\n\nEverell was silent a moment, gazing at his friend as if to make out some\nsort of puzzle which had repeatedly baffled him. “Sure, ’tis more than I\ncan understand,” he said, at last. “For that lady I have the profound\nrespect and admiration which your own regard for her declares her due;\nfor every lady who merits them I have respect and admiration: but this\npower of love, as I see it manifested in you! Give me leave, on the\nscore of our friendship, to confide that it astonishes me. How a man can\nfret his soul over a woman, be miserable at the idea of parting from\nher, risk his life for a meeting with her—for though we find it the\nsafer course now, it _was_ risking our lives to make that dash through\nthe enemy’s lines and across the lowlands—”\n\n“Yet you risked yours readily enough for mere friendship’s sake,” said\nRoughwood, breaking in upon the parenthesis, and so wrecking the\nsentence for ever.\n\n“For friendship’s sake, yes!—brave comradeship, good company!—indeed,\nyes, and who would not? But for love of a girl!—why, ’tis worthy of Don\nQuixote! Forgive me: I speak only my mind.”\n\n“Lad, lad, what is friendship in comparison with love of a girl—real\nlove of a girl? You’ll sing another tune some day.”\n\n“Never! I can assure you, never. I know not what the disease is, of\nwhich you speak. Certainly I’m now old enough to have had it if I ever\nwas to be attacked.—Not that I don’t admire the beauty of women, and\ncommend them for their gentleness,—when they _are_ gentle,—and\ncompassionate their weakness as I do that of children, and find pleasure\nin their smiling faces, and soft eyes, and tender blushes. I can take\njoy enough in the society of a pretty creature when it falls my lot, and\ncount it among the other amenities of life. I value the grace and\ngoodness that high-minded women diffuse in this rough world. I can be\nhappy with sensible women, and amuse myself with light ones. But as to\nbeing what you call _in love_, I have not fallen into that strange\ncondition, and I can promise you I never shall. ’Tis not in my\nconstitution.”\n\n“The day will come, and the disease be all the worse for being late, as\nis the case with other ailments delayed beyond the usual time.”\n\n“No, sir: and as for hazarding life for love of a woman, I must tell you\nI put a higher value upon life than that implies. You understand me—for\n_love_ of a woman. To save a woman in danger, to serve a woman in any\nway, is a different matter. But merely to participate in the absurdities\nof love, to exchange assurances and go through the rest of the\ncomedy,—will you have me believe ’tis worth staking such a gift as life\nfor? Pretty odds, egad!—life against love! Love, which is at most an\nincident, against life, which is everything and includes all incidents!\nLove, against the possibilities of who knows how many years! My dear\nWill!—and yet you say I am rash.”\n\n“I am glad to find you a convert to a sense of the value of life,”\nlaughed Will.\n\n“Why, you don’t think I have held life cheap because I have sometimes\nventured it perhaps without much hesitation? Be sure I have always known\nwhat I was doing. There has always been, as there is now, a good chance\nof winning through. I have not lagged behind the boldest in a fight,\n’tis true—”\n\n“Except in a retreat.”\n\n“Ah, well, it broke my heart to fly from the field at Culloden. When I\nthought of the Prince and his hopes—when I perceived that all was ended\nin the whirling snow of that bleak day—I forgot myself. For a moment\nlife did seem of little worth; not that I ever had the cause so much at\nheart, but ’twas a sad end of a brave adventure, and I felt what was\npassing in the Prince’s mind. I tarried for a last stroke of protest,\nand a pity it is it fell on no better object than a dog whose only\nbusiness on the field was plunder,—for I don’t think that fellow was a\ntrue soldier; ’twas by fool’s luck he pinked me with his bayonet.—But,\ndeuce take it, where was I? Ah, yes. If I’ve been venturesome now and\nagain, I have never felt that the danger was more than my arm and eye\nwere equal to,—and that’s not rashness, Will. A man is a fool who\ndoesn’t hold life precious. If it isn’t precious, what’s the merit in\nrisking it for a good cause? There are so many fine things to see and do\nwhen one is alive, ’tis sheer lunacy to place them all in the balance\nagainst a trifle. As for the satisfaction of looking on a pretty face\nfor a greater or less space of time,—no, ’tis not enough.”\n\n“Wait till you see the right face, dear lad,” said Roughwood, quietly.\n\n“When I do, dear lad, you shall hear of it.”\n\nUpon this speech, blithely uttered, Everell filled their two glasses\nwith wine from the single bottle they had ordered. The young men were\nabout to pledge each other, when the sudden opening of the door caused\nthem to look sharply in that direction, holding their glasses midway\nbetween table and lips. A young lady came in with quick steps. At sight\nof the gentlemen, she stopped at once, and looked sweetly embarrassed.\nEverell and Roughwood rose to their feet, and bowed.\n\n“Your pardon, sirs,” said the intruder. “I was—I wanted to see\nPrudence.” Her confusion, to which was due the strangeness of this\nremark, became all the greater on her perceiving that strangeness, and\nshe blushed deeply.\n\n“Prudence?” echoed Everell, politely. “If you mean a lady of that name,\nwe have not seen her here.”\n\n“She is my waiting-woman,” explained Georgiana. “I didn’t expect to find\nher in this room. She is in the kitchen, no doubt, so I thought of\ncoming to this room and ringing the bell. I thought there might be\nnobody here, but I see I intrude.”\n\n“Not in the least,” said Everell, earnestly. “You arrive just in time to\nprovide us with a toast. To those sweet eyes!”\n\nHe was about to drink, when the new wave of crimson that swept over her\nface at this tenderly spoken praise of her visual organs engendered a\nsudden abashment in Everell. “I have been too bold, perhaps,” he said,\nin a kind of vague alarm. “If so, I entreat your pardon, madam.”\n\nShe looked at him with undisguised interest, and said, slowly, “I know\nnot. If you are bold, there seems a respect in your boldness,—a\ngentleness and a consideration—” She stopped short, as having gone too\nfar. A slight quiver of the lip, and a certain note of resentment in her\nlast words, combined with the words themselves, conveyed a message to\nhis quick wit.\n\n“Madam, some one has offended you,” he said, instantly setting down his\nwine, and walking toward her and the door. “Where is the person?”\n\nShe raised her hand to check him, frightened at having created the\npossibility of a scene. “Nay, ’tis nothing! Stay, I beg you, sir!”\n\n“Who could be ungentle to one who is all gentleness?” cried Everell. “It\nmust have occurred but now—they must be near—in this inn. In what room?\nPray tell me.”\n\n“’Twas nothing, sir, I assure you. I spoke in a moment of foolish\nvexation. I was merely annoyed at their talk. I had no right to be—no\noffence was meant.”\n\n“People should be careful that offence is not given, as well as not\nmeant. They should be chastised for their carelessness, if for nothing\nmore.”\n\n“Nay, it is not to be heard of. Two of them are of my own sex, and\nanother is my relation. I had no real cause to be angry. The fault is\nall mine, indeed. I have been much in the wrong to leave them so\nrudely,—and more in the wrong to speak of the matter to a stranger. Pray\nforget all I have said, sir,—pray do, as you are a gentleman.”\n\nHe had been on the point of answering at the end of each sentence, but\nher rapidity of speech prevented. She stopped now, with a look that\ncontinued her appeal and besought an assurance.\n\n“As I am a gentleman,” said Everell, “I will obey your least command—or\nyour greatest. But as I am a gentleman, I would not have you consider me\nas a stranger. I grant we have never met before; but such true and\ngentle eyes as yours make friends of all who are privileged to see them.\nAs for my own deserts, I can plead only the respect and tenderness your\nlooks compel. Believe me, nothing in the suddenness of this meeting can\nmake me act lightly toward you, or think lightly of you, if you will do\nme the honour to count me among your friends. My name is—”\n\nA loud “hem” from Roughwood, who had been looking on with astonishment\nat his friend’s earnest and precipitate demonstration of regard, made\nEverell stop short. Georgiana, who had listened and gazed with a\nbewilderment that had something exceedingly novel and pleasant in it,\nwas at a loss how to fill the pause with speech or act. She stood\nfeeling quite incapable and delighted; but her face betrayed nothing\nunusual except wonder, which very well became it. Everell, however, did\nnot leave her long suspended. With a smile at his own predicament, he\nresumed:\n\n“Egad, I have a choice of names to tell, madam. For certain reasons, I\ndon’t parade my true name at present.—And yet why not in this case? I\nwouldn’t deal in falsehood even so slight, with one whose looks\ndeclare—”\n\nBut Georgiana had suddenly recalled her wits to their duty, and they had\npromptly informed her how the world would expect a young lady to comport\nherself in such a situation. She quietly interrupted:\n\n“Nay, sir, I haven’t asked your name, and there is no need you should\ntell it, as we are not likely to meet again. I thank you for your\nwillingness to befriend me, and your offer of service.—There is one\nthing you may do for me, if you will.”\n\nThe dejected look that had come over Everell’s face flashed into\neagerness, and he started forward. “Name it, madam!”\n\nGeorgiana smiled, but said as sweetly as possible, to compensate in some\nmeasure for the disappointment she foresaw too late, “If you will pull\nthe bell-rope yonder, I shall be very grateful—_most_ grateful.”\n\nEverell’s looks groaned for him, and he was too far taken down to move.\nRoughwood laughed gently, and after a moment, as he was nearer the\nbell-rope, went toward it. This restored Everell to animation.\n\n“Nay, Will, ’tis _my_ affair!” he cried, and, stepping between his\nfriend and the rope, gave it so earnest a pull, with such a flourish,\nthat anybody must have marvelled to see how serious and magnificent a\nperformance the pulling of a bell-rope could be made.\n\nGeorgiana thanked him, and stood smiling, with nothing more to say.\nEverell found himself afflicted with a similar lack, or confusion, of\nideas, as well as from inability to take his eyes off the young lady.\nShe sought relief from his gaze by walking to the window. Presently the\nmaid appeared, in response to the bell.\n\n“Tell my waiting-woman to come to me,” said Georgiana. The maid having\ngone, another space of embarrassment ensued, until Georgiana was fain to\nbreak the silence by an ill-simulated cough. This was followed by a\nprofound sigh on the part of Everell, who had indeed never been so\ntongue-tied in his life. Roughwood meanwhile stood witnessing with\namusement. He was not the sort of man to come to the rescue at such\njunctures in any case, being of a reserved disposition, and he was\ncertainly not inclined to pity the discomposure of his gay and confident\nfriend.\n\nAt last Prudence made her appearance, with officious haste and\nsolicitude. “What is it, your la’ship?” Seeing the gentlemen, she turned\nher glance upon them before her mistress could answer. “Oh, lor!” she\ncried, and stood stock-still, staring open-mouthed at Everell.\n\n“Prudence! what do you mean?” said Georgiana.\n\n“Oh, lor!” repeated the girl. “The gentleman with the heart! Under his\nright eye, too! The very place!”\n\n“Prudence, what impertinence! Have you lost your senses?—Sir, I beg\npardon for the poor girl. I don’t know what she means, but no harm, I’m\ncertain.”\n\n“Oh, mistress, your la’ship, come away!” begged Prudence, and, taking\nhold of Georgiana’s sleeve, essayed to draw her from the room. In\nastonishment, and hope of learning the cause of this extraordinary\nconduct, Georgiana made a brief curtsey to the gentlemen, and followed\nthe maid out to the passage, where she bade her explain herself. But\nPrudence was not content till she had led her mistress into the opposite\nentry and partly up the stairs, whither it was impossible for the gaze\nof the two gentlemen to reach them.\n\nEverell, quite heedless of the maid’s behaviour, had started forward\nwith a stifled exclamation of protest when Georgiana had moved to leave\nthem. He had stopped before arriving at the door, of course; and now\nthat she had disappeared from view across the passage, he turned to\nRoughwood with a forlorn countenance. Roughwood, however, was in no mood\nfor either sympathy or rallying. Prudence’s demonstration had worked its\nfull effect upon him, and his brow was now grave with concern.\n\n“Did you ever see such angelic sweetness, such divine gentleness?” asked\nEverell.\n\n“Did you attend to what her waiting-woman said?” replied Roughwood,\nrather sharply.\n\n“Something about my heart, or my eye, was it not? Sure, my heart may\nwell have been in my eyes, when they looked on that lovely creature.”\n\n“She was noticing the scar on your face. She has heard you described, no\ndoubt. News of us has travelled along the road. ’Tis the work of the\nfellow we saw yesterday, I dare say. How often did I beg you to cover\nthat scar with a patch?”\n\n“Pshaw, you always see the worst possibility. The boy with the horses\nhas been talking of us in the kitchen, that’s all. He has invented some\nwild tale of us, as those people do of their masters and employers.”\n\n“We had best order fresh horses, and pay the reckoning; and meanwhile\nfinish our wine—it may be some time before we think it safe to stop long\nat another inn.”\n\nHe stepped toward the bell-rope, but Everell again intervened, with the\nwords:\n\n“Nay, if any report of us has gone about, a hasty departure is the very\nthing to confirm suspicion. Nothing in haste:—my dear Will, how often\nhave I heard you give that good counsel.”\n\n“There will be no apparent haste. We have dined without hurry.”\n\nEverell sighed, and looked toward the door. His face brightened.\n\n“But if we wait here awhile, we may—don’t you know—perhaps we can—we may\nlearn why that waiting-woman cried out at the sight of my scar,—for,\nlook you, if we should meet the mistress again, no doubt, if it is\nsomething harmless—”\n\n“At least,” said Roughwood, firmly, “I will ring and give orders and\npay. Even if you still feel inclined to tarry, there’s no harm in being\nready to go.”\n\nEverell could not reasonably dispute this, but he was so little inclined\nto take a hand in anything implying an immediate departure, that he left\nall to his friend, and sat looking through the open door while Roughwood\ngave orders and paid the landlady. Nothing occurred to reward his watch\nduring the first few minutes that passed while horses were being made\nready. He took up the glass that Roughwood gently pushed to his hand,\nand drank down the wine half-consciously. He dreaded to see the horses\nappear, knowing that his comrade must have his way, and that he should\nprobably never again behold the vision that had suddenly gladdened his\nsight and warmed his heart.\n\nBut meanwhile there had been activity in the yard, and now there was a\ngreat stamping of hoofs and rattling of harness, accompanied by the\nejaculations peculiar to men who have to do with horses. Roughwood went\nto the door and looked toward the yard.\n\n“’Tis a coach-and-six making ready to depart,” he said. “And there’s a\npost-chaise, too. We are not the only people who are about to leave this\ninn.”\n\nEverell was by his side in an instant. No doubt, then, the young lady\nwould be leaving. A fat coachman was on the box of the private vehicle,\nand the postilion was in readiness to mount before the chaise, but the\npassengers of neither were yet visible. There came, however, from across\nthe passage the sound of well-bred voices, in easy, half-jesting tones,\nand then appeared a sumptuously charming lady on the arm of a handsome,\ndiscontented-looking gentleman; a second couple, not as distinguished in\nappearance; and the young lady who had so fired Everell’s fancy. The\nparty moved toward the conveyances, Georgiana having no share in their\nmirthful talk. She had cast a quick glance at the two young gentlemen\nwhile her face was toward them, but had given no sign of acquaintance. A\nsecond procession, consisting of the waiting-women and men servants with\nthe smaller impedimenta, followed in the footsteps of the gentlefolk,\nand Georgiana’s figure was almost lost to view in the crowd about the\ncarriages, which was now swelled by the people of the inn.\n\n“Which way can they be going? Who is she? If I could but learn where she\nlives!” said Everell.\n\n“The knowledge would serve you little at present, I fear,” replied\nRoughwood.\n\n“Those are the people whose talk offended her. One is her relation, she\nsaid. By Jupiter, I must find out!”\n\nEre his friend could stop him Everell had started for the yard, as if\nupon his own business, with some general idea of questioning the inn\nfolk. Going near the travellers, he heard the two strange ladies and one\nof the gentlemen discussing how the party should be divided between the\ncoach and the chaise. The taller gentleman was speaking to the landlady.\nThe word “baggage” caught Everell’s ear, and he stood still.\n\n“There are three trunks following by the wagon,” the gentleman was\nsaying, “to be left here. You will have Timmins the carter fetch them to\nFoxwell Court immediately.”\n\nEverell needed to hear no more. The party was evidently bound for\nFoxwell Court, which must be near if the baggage following thus far by\nregular wagon was to be conveyed the rest of the way by a local carter.\nAnd of course the place must be off the route of the stage-wagons—that\nis to say, off the great highway. Three trunks would have been small\nluggage for so numerous a party of such quality; but Everell saw baggage\non the coach, as well. This, in fact, belonged to Lady Strange and her\nparty. That about which he had heard directions given was of Georgiana\nand her uncle.\n\nEverell was on the edge of the little crowd, and he turned about to look\ntoward the midst of it, where he had last caught a glimpse of the young\nlady. To his wonder, he now beheld her close in front of him, her eyes\nmeeting his.\n\n\n[Illustration: “‘SAVE YOURSELF,’ SHE WHISPERED, RAPIDLY. ‘YOU ARE IN\nDANGER HERE.’”]\n\n\n“Save yourself,” she whispered, rapidly. “You are in danger here. A man\nis up-stairs who is hunting you—one Jeremiah Filson. For heaven’s sake,\nfly while you may!”\n\nBefore he could answer, she had slipped back through the crowd, and was\nin her former place, near the two older ladies. The attention of the\nlesser folk was upon the London people, who were concerned only with one\nanother, and the tall gentleman was still engaged with the woman of the\ninn. No one had observed Georgiana.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER V\n\n                                 RISKS\n\n\nAT last the tall gentleman turned to his friends. Everell saw Georgiana\ndisappear into the coach with the older ladies; saw the two gentlemen\nspring into the chaise, after casting doles to the yard servants; saw\nthe two maids established upon outside seats, the valets mounted, the\npostilion up before the chaise, the coachman gather his reins and whip;\nsaw the procession move off, with Caleb at the head to show the way, the\ncoach next, the chaise following, and the trim London lackey riding\nbehind all the rest. Everell followed as far as to the door, where still\nstood Roughwood. The coach had already turned down the High Street.\n\n“She’s gone,” said he. “But not far—only to Foxwell Court.”\n\n“Pray, where and what is Foxwell Court?” asked Roughwood, leading him by\nthe arm into the parlour.\n\n“I know not, but ’tis easily learned.”\n\n“No doubt, but we shall do better to restrain our curiosity. I trust we\nshall have nothing more to excite it—or to tempt you to mingle\nunnecessarily in miscellaneous crowds from inn kitchens.”\n\n“My dear Will,” cried Everell, “my going among that crowd was a stroke\nof heaven-sent luck. I received a most valuable warning—and from her,\ntoo! Think of it, those sweet lips, those heavenly eyes, that—”\n\n“Warning? What do you mean?”\n\nEverell told him.\n\n“H’m!” said Roughwood. “That explains her maid’s conduct. Somebody had\ndescribed you to the maid—somebody now up-stairs.”\n\n“Yes, and the maid no sooner tells her of it than she takes the first\nopportunity to put us on our guard, at the risk even of her good name.\nWhat divine compassion! What—”\n\n“And the somebody up-stairs? No doubt your acquaintance of yesterday.\nWhy, he may chance upon us at any moment, and give the alarm. And, if he\nhas mentioned you to the maid, why not to a whole kitchenful of people?\n’Tis high time indeed we were out of this place. How slow they are with\nthe horses! We should be in another county by sunset.”\n\n“Ay, dear Will, _you_ should—and must.”\n\n“_I_ should? _We_ should. Here are the horses at last. Come.” Roughwood\nseized the cloak-bags.\n\n“Nay, Will, I—I will follow a little later,” said Everell, taking his\nown piece of luggage.\n\n“Later? Are you mad?—Come, come, no nonsense, Charles. You will go with\nme, of course.”\n\n“From this inn, certainly. But from this neighbourhood not for a—day or\ntwo. I mention it now, so that the boy need hear no discussion between\nus. I will ride with you a mile or so, then take my own way afoot. The\nboy, of course, must keep his horses together.—I will follow you, I say:\nI can find your man Budge. Let his house be our rendezvous,—I can find\nit from your description,—and of course I will appear thereabouts only\nat night. Instruct him to be on the watch for me. If he can sail before\nI arrive, make good your own escape, and bid him expect me on his\nreturn. That is all, I think; and now to horse.”\n\n“But, my dear lad,—my dear, dear lad,—what folly is this? Hear reason;\nyou must be guided by me. You know not what you would risk—”\n\n“No more than I’ve risked before now, and for no such cause, either.\n’Tis settled, Will, I intend to stay hereabouts till I’ve seen that\nyoung lady again. Come, the boy is waiting with the horses. ’Tis you now\nthat delays our going.”\n\n“Charles, listen to me!—Rash! foolish! mad!”\n\n“No.—I said you should hear when I saw the right face, Will. I declare\nI’ve seen it—and must see it again, whatever be the cost or the\nconsequence.”\n\nIn another minute they were on horseback, moving down the High Street.\nThe coach and chaise had started in the same direction, but were now out\nof sight. Everell hoped to come nearly up to them, that he might see\nwhere they left the highroad. But even after he had cleared the town and\nbeheld a straight stretch of road far ahead, he found no sign of the\nvehicles in which he was interested. He inferred that they must have\nturned off through one of the streets of the town, which was indeed the\ncase.\n\nMeanwhile, Roughwood, full of sadness and misgiving, had kept up his\nusual vigilance so far as to watch their guide for possible signs of\nhaving heard any such talk at the inn as had enabled the maid Prudence\nto identify Everell. But the boy did not regard either of the gentlemen\nat all suspiciously; he showed no curiosity or interest, and Roughwood\nwas assured that, if Everell’s enemy had spoken of them at the inn, this\nlad had not been a listener. Such, as the reader knows, was the case,\nfor Mr. Filson had thus far confided his story to nobody in the house\nbut Prudence, and she had excluded herself from the conversation of the\nkitchen under a sense of affront, until summoned by her mistress.\nGeorgiana, upon hearing the cause of her alarm at the sight of the young\nstranger, had put the girl under the strictest commands of secrecy, and\nhad kept her in attendance afterward, quietly returning to Foxwell and\nhis friends as they were making ready to depart.\n\nWhile he still rode with his friend, Everell allowed no mention of his\nresolve or of Foxwell Court to escape him, for he knew that the guide,\nwhom Roughwood would dismiss at the end of that stage, would be\nreturning with the horses, and might be interrogated by their enemy, who\nby that time would probably have learned of their short stay at the inn.\nOn the other hand, Everell devoted some conversation to the purpose of\ndeceiving the boy as to his reasons and intentions in leaving his friend\nand his saddle as he was about to do. Observing a house among some trees\nupon a hill, he pointed it out to Roughwood as the residence of a friend\nwhom he meant to surprise with a brief visit. Having spoken to this\neffect, as if the matter had been previously understood between them, he\nadded that, in order to make the surprise complete, he would approach\nthe house on foot among the trees, and would therefore take leave of\nRoughwood, for the time, in the road. He could depend upon the gentleman\nhe was about to visit to furnish him with conveyance to the next town,\nwhence he would follow Roughwood by post-horse. This much having been\nsaid in the guide’s hearing, Everell pulled up his horse, and, Roughwood\ndoing likewise, the two fugitives held a whispered conference upon the\ndetails of their next reunion.\n\nTo the last, Roughwood tried, by voice and look, to dissuade his comrade\nfrom this rash and sudden deviation from their original plans, but\nvainly. They made a redivision of their money, for each in his heart\nfelt that some time must elapse ere they should—if ever—be fellow\ntravellers again. Then Everell slid from his horse, slung his cloak-bag\nover his shoulder, gave a quick pressure of his friend’s hand, and a\nwhispered “God speed you, dear lad!” in exchange for a silent and\nprotesting farewell in the other’s clouding eyes; and stood alone in the\nhighway. He waited till the horses disappeared with a last wave of\nRoughwood’s hand, around a turning: he then faced directly about, and\nset off with long and rapid strides.\n\nHis pace very soon brought him back to the town he had so recently left.\nInstead of going as far as to their former inn, he sought out one of\nhumbler appearance, near the beginning of the street. Here he left his\ncloak-bag, for already in his brief walk he had experienced the stares\nof wonder naturally drawn by a gentleman who carried at the same time a\nsword at his side and a cloak-bag at his shoulder. He went into a\nbarber’s shop, where, as he had used his razor that morning, and very\nlittle sign of beard had become visible in the meantime, his order for\nshaving created in the barber’s mind an impression that he must be an\nextremely luxurious gentleman in spite of his threadbare\nclothes,—probably a lord in misfortune. Everell easily set the barber\ntalking about all the estates in the neighbourhood, and thus, without\nseeming to have more design in regard to Foxwell Court than to a dozen\nother places, elicited the information that that house was eight miles\naway on the road to Burndale.\n\nReturning to the inn where he had left his bag, he told the landlord he\nwas bound for Burndale, and had made up his mind to accomplish part of\nthe journey that afternoon, in order to arrive there betimes the next\nday. He bargained for a horse and guide to take him seven or eight miles\non the way, and leave him at some place where he could pass the night\nand obtain conveyance on to Burndale in the morning. In this way,\nwithout mentioning Foxwell Court, he contrived that he should be set\ndown in its vicinity and yet have it supposed that his destination was\nfar beyond.\n\nHe had so far trusted to luck and his quickness of sight to avoid\nconfrontation with the enemy who, as he could not doubt, was close\nenough at hand. But he breathed a sigh of relief when he at last rode\nout of the town in the direction of Burndale: he believed that, whatever\ninquiries might be made upon the discovery that he had passed through\nthe town, his traces were sufficiently confused, one set leading\nsouthward after his friend, and the other leading to Burndale, a good\ndistance beyond Foxwell Court. So he rode forward with his new guide, in\nas great security of mind as he had enjoyed in months.\n\nThe road lay at first between fields, and here and there great trees\nstretched their boughs shelteringly over it. Sometimes green banks rose\non one hand or both, and at a certain place a stream joined the road and\nwent singing along in its company for half a mile. Then the way emerged\nupon an open common, which undulated on one side in rounded waves of\nheather till the purple mass met the gray sky, and on the other side to\nthe border of a wood. But presently Everell was again in cultivated\ncountry, with stone farm-buildings set now and then upon lawny <DW72>s\namong the fields.\n\nOne great house, of which the chimneys rose in the midst of trees, and\nwhich was to be approached by a driveway of some hundreds of yards from\na gate and lodge at the roadside, held Everell’s attention for a moment.\nThe guide volunteered the information that this was Thornby Hall.\nEverell repeated the name carelessly, looked a second time, and thought\nno more of it. Had he been able to foresee the future, he would have\ngiven the place a longer inspection.\n\nTwo or three miles more brought them to a village. The guide said that\nhere was the only public-house of entertainment in the near\nneighbourhood, and that if he went farther he was in danger of getting\nbenighted on his return. Nothing could have suited Everell’s own plan\nbetter than this clear hint. He dissembled his content, however, and put\non a frown of disappointment as he gazed at the mere ale-house—a low and\nlongish building whose unevenness of line betokened its antiquity—before\nwhich the boy had drawn up. Everell feigned a reluctant yielding to\nnecessity; dismounted peevishly, and showed a petulant resignation in\nasking the rustic-looking landlord who appeared at the door if a decent\nroom was to be had for the night.\n\nThe landlord, a drowsy little old man, who was too dull, too\nhumble-minded, or too philosophical to resent any doubt of the\nexcellence of his house, replied that the best room was at his honour’s\nservice. Whereupon Everell, for the hearing of his guide, inquired\nurgently about the possibility of getting a horse in the morning to\ncarry him to Burndale. Being assured on this point, also, Everell\ndismissed the guide, and had his single piece of baggage taken into his\nroom, which proved to be not merely the best room, but the only room,\nproperly so-called, in addition to the long apartment which served as\nkitchen, bar, living-room of the family, and general clubroom of the\nvillage; the chambers up-stairs being mere lofts under the roof.\n\nEverell ordered a supper of bacon and eggs, which were cooked by the\nlandlord’s fat, middle-aged daughter, and served by the old man himself.\nTurning quite reconciled to his accommodations as soon as his guide had\nleft the scene, Everell drew the host into conversation, and, as the old\nfellow proved to be an amiable and honest soul, even in the matter of\nhis charges, the traveller was shortly in possession of as many facts,\nlegends, and reports concerning the gentry of this and adjacent parishes\nas his host had accumulated in years. All this information went through\nEverell’s mind as through a sieve, with the exception of the\ncircumstance that the old red-brick place, with the ivy and the gables,\ncrowning the <DW72> at the right, with a park behind it, which old\nred-brick place his honour would have seen had he ridden a little\nfarther on, and would see when he rode that way in the morning, was\nFoxwell Court. This piece of news did not come out till Everell had\nfinished his meal, and he might have learned a vast deal about the\nFoxwells, for the old man’s face brightened as if at the opening of a\nfresh and copious subject; but the young gentleman, with his usual\nprecipitancy, rose and declared his intention of stretching his legs.\nThough he had cautiously refrained from being the first to mention\nFoxwell Court, he no sooner knew where it was, and how near, than he\nfelt himself drawn as by enchantment in its direction.\n\nAs he stepped out upon the green space before the inn, a post-chaise\ncame rattling by at a round speed. It was empty, and Everell recognized\nit as the one which had accompanied the coach from the inn yard that\nday: it was now returning from Foxwell Court, as it ought to have been\ndoing sooner. The postilion, no doubt, had wasted time in the\nsociability of the servants’ hall, and was now making his horses fly to\navoid belatement. He stared a moment at Everell, and was gone. Thinking\nnothing of this meeting, so brief and casual, Everell walked rapidly off\ntoward Foxwell Court.\n\nThe sun had come out toward evening, and now shone bright on the\nweathercock and spire of the parish church that stood embowered some\ndistance from the road, on Everett’s left, as he proceeded. A short walk\nbrought him to the end of the village street of low gray cottages in\ntheir small gardens. Thence a little bridge bore him across a stream\nthat came murmuring down through a large field from the wooded land\nNorthward. Looking ahead on that side of the road, he perceived the\ncurved gables of an old house of time-dulled brick partly clad in ivy.\nIt stood rather proudly at the top of a broad <DW72> and against a\nbackground of woods or park, its upper windows ablaze with the sunlight.\nThe lower part of the building was hidden by the walls of a forecourt\nand by a dilapidated-looking gate-house which dominated them. At the\nnear end of the mansion appeared a shapeless remnant of broken tower and\nwing, ruinous and abandoned: from these ruins a wall extended to the\nverge of a slight precipice and, there turning at a right angle, ran\nback to the wood. Over the top of this wall were visible the signs of a\nneglected garden or orchard.\n\nThe further, or Western, end of the house was flanked by trees and\ngreenery, but the <DW72> of rich green turf which descended in one long\nand gentle swell from the forecourt to the road was clear lawn. This\ngreat convex space of green was separated from the adjacent fields, and\nfrom the road, by a rude hedge of briar. Everell, having gazed a few\nmoments from the bridge, walked on along the road, intending, if\npossible, to describe the circuit of the house at a respectful distance\nbefore attempting any near approach. He came to the barred opening in\nthe hedge through which the private road led from the highway to the\ngate-house of the forecourt, but he let only his eyes travel up the\ncurving way. As the hedge grew on lower ground beyond the roadside\nditch, Everell had the house in full sight while he was passing. He came\nat length to where the hedge turned for its ascent, and here he found\nthat a narrow lane ran between it and the field adjoining.\n\nHe was speedily over the barred gate that shut this lane from the road.\nAscending toward the park behind the house, he frequently lost sight of\nthe latter by reason of the height of the hedge, which was, moreover,\naccompanied on that side by a line of oaks. As it came to the level of\nthe forecourt, the hedge was interrupted by a gate. Looking across the\nbars of this, Everell could see not only the house but, nearer to him,\nstables and other outbuildings skilfully concealed by shrubbery and\ntrees. His observation from the gateway being rewarded by nothing to the\npurpose, and that he might make the most use of the remaining light,\nEverell went on through the lane toward the park, to which he now saw it\ngave access. Passing the trees which prevented his view of the Western\nend of the house, he came abreast of a terrace which lay between the\nNorth front and the park, and which he could see across the hedge when\nhe stood on tiptoe. A few more steps, and a vault over a five-barred\ngate, took him into the park itself, from the shades of which—for it was\nnot kept clear of small growth, and offered plentiful covert of bush and\nbracken and other brush—he gazed upon the house as he turned and\nstrolled Eastward.\n\nThe balustrade of the terrace was broken here and there; and the mansion\nitself, where the ivy allowed its surface to be seen, was weather-worn\nand unrepaired. Yet, by virtue of its design and situation, the house\nhad a magnificence. This, however, did not much affect Everell at the\ntime, sensitive though he was to such impressions. What concerned him\nwas, that he saw no face at any window, nor heard any voice from any\npart of the mansion except below stairs.\n\nTo complete the circuit of the place, in quest of any discovery to aid\nhis purpose, he walked on till he came to a deep, thick-wooded glen that\ncut into the park from the grounds about the ruined Eastern end of the\nhouse. Through this ran the stream which, subsequently traversing the\ngreat field between the house and the village, crossed under the bridge.\nEverell turned along the crest of the glen-side, and thus in a few steps\nemerged, through a gate in the stone wall, upon the wild garden or\norchard, of which he had seen signs from the road. It was a neglected\nplace, evidently not now resorted to. Steps descended to it from the\nterrace, yet it was not so much lower but that Everell could glance\nalong the terrace and the North front of the house. He leaned against a\nvacant stone pedestal to rest and consider.\n\nThe sun had set, and, far beyond the length of the terrace, the\nundulating fields and moorland, and the distant darkening mountains, was\na sky of red and gold. But Everell had eyes for nothing but the old\nmansion, which was to him a case holding the loveliest jewel he had ever\nbeheld. As the dusk came on, light appeared at some of the lower\nwindows; a few notes of laughter and other vocal sounds gave evidence of\nlife. But nobody came forth. Everell dared not hope to catch a glimpse\nof the admired one that evening. He was at last sensible that night had\nfallen. All the colour had gone out of the West, and stars had appeared.\n\nHe would have moved, to warm himself by walking, but that two of the\nupper windows began to glow. Were they _her_ windows? He watched with a\nbeating heart, stilling even the sound of his breath. But several\nminutes passed without any manifestation even of a shadow momentarily\ndarkening the panes. The light vanished. No doubt she had gone to bed,\nfatigued with the journey of the day. Certainly they must be her\nwindows, for the others of the party were less likely to retire so\nearly. Everell heaved a sigh, and threw a kiss at the windows. Of a\nsudden he was uncomfortably chilly: he bestirred himself, wished he had\nthought of bringing his cloak, and started off, as much upon a feeling\nthat he could better meditate a course of procedure while walking as\nupon the impulse to set his blood in motion. But so far was he from any\ndesire of going back to his inn that, without much conscious choice in\nthe matter, he took a quite different direction, and followed the top of\nthe glen-side into the park.\n\nHe had been moving at a rapid pace for several minutes before he gave\nany heed to his whereabouts. He had been guided safely among bush,\nbracken, and the great trunks of the trees by that unconscious\nobservation for which in those days there was no better name than\ninstinct. He now saw—for in many places the trees were not too close\ntogether for the admission of some light from stars and sky—that he had\npenetrated a good distance into the park, and had left the course of the\nglen. As he stood gazing into the gloom, wondering how accurately he\ncould retrace his steps, he heard the loud crack of a gun, fired\nseemingly about two furlongs away.\n\n“Poachers,” said he, after a moment’s thought.\n\nHe stepped forward to the edge of an open place, which sloped down\ngradually to a stream—doubtless the same that threaded the glen, or a\ntributary. Beyond this water the corresponding ascent was clear of trees\nfor perhaps a hundred yards. Down that side of the glade a dark figure\nwas approaching so swiftly, and in such manner else, that Everell knew\nit as that of a man running for his life. There is a difference so\npronounced as to be plain even in twilight and afar between the attitude\nof a man who runs in pursuit, and that of a man who runs from pursuit;\nand again, in either case, between that of one who runs in accordance\nwith, and that of one who runs in opposition to, the law.\n\nHaving no desire to interfere with a rogue who had just fired at, or\nbeen fired at by, somebody’s gamekeeper, or at best had taken a\nforbidden shot at somebody’s game, Everell concealed himself among some\nbracken of a man’s height. He waited a few minutes, hoping to be\ninformed by his ears when the man should have passed. But he heard\nneither footfall nor panting, nor any noise of pursuit.\n\nSupposing that the fellow had changed his course at the stream, Everell\nstepped out from the bracken. He was just in time to confront a broad\nfigure striding toward him. Ere Everell thought of self-defence, the\nnewcomer uttered an ejaculation, and sprang aside with something\nupraised in the air. The next thing that Everell knew—for one rarely\nfeels a knock-down blow on the head from such an instrument as the\nbutt-end of a gun—he was lying among the bracken from which he had\nrecently come forth.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER VI\n\n                                 THANKS\n\n\nAT his side knelt the man who had felled him, and who was endeavouring\nto ascertain if he still breathed. Everell essayed to grasp his\nsword-hilt, but the other caught his wrist with a powerful hand.\n\n“Softly, master,” said a gruff but apparently pacific voice. “’Tis all a\nmistake, belike, and, if so be it is, I ask your pardon humbly. I make\nyou out to be a gentleman, sir, and in that case not what I supposed.\nBut you appeared so sudden, I took it you’d been lying in wait for me. I\nstruck out first, and thought afterwards, which was maybe the wrong way\nabout. So I stayed to see what hurt was done, and lend a hand if need\nbe.—Nay, you’ll find I haven’t touched your pockets, sir.”\n\nForgetting the injury in the chivalrous after-conduct—for nine men out\nof ten would have run away, whether the blow had been mistaken or\nnot—Everell replied as heartily as he could:\n\n“Why, friend, you seem a very brave fellow, and I forgive you the\nmistake. As for harm, I do begin to feel something like a cracked crown;\nbut my wits are whole enough, so the damage can’t be very great. I can\ntell better if you will allow me to rise—which you can safely do, as I\nassure you I’m not your enemy, nor was I lying in wait.”\n\nEverell then explained his concealment among the bracken, relating\nexactly what he had seen. “I thought you must have got far away, to\njudge from your speed down yonder <DW72>.”\n\n“Nay, sir,” said the man, stepping back so that Everell might rise, “I\nhad no need to run further. I was already off the land of them that were\nchasing me—the boundary is just beyond the glade: you could see the\nfence among the trees if ’twere daylight—but I kept running lest they\nmight send a shot after me. As soon as I found covert on this side the\nglade, I stopped to get my breath. Now, sir, I’ve been as frank with you\nas you’ve been with me; and I’m glad to see, by the way you stand and\nstep, that no lasting injury is done, after all.”\n\nEverell, whose hat had saved his skull, and who could feel only a little\nblood, and that already coagulating, was able to stand without other\nunpleasant symptoms than a thumping ache of the head. His new\nacquaintance seemed ready to go about his own business, but Everell was\nloth to part with him so soon. He was a short, thick-set, long-armed\nfellow, with a broad face, whose bold, rugged features would by ignorant\npeople be termed ugly, and whose scowling, defiant look would by the\nsame people be called wicked. But something in his speech or manner, or\neven in his appearance as far as could be made out in the comparative\ndarkness, stamped him in Everell’s mind as an honest rascal, worthy of\nconfidence.\n\n“No injury, I assure you,” replied Everell. “Indeed I must thank you for\na lesson. Henceforth I shall look before I leap, in any similar case;\nwith my hand on my sword, too.”\n\n“’Tis a wise resolve, master. Though I for one am glad your hand was not\non your sword to-night: for then I should have felt sure you were in\nleague with them yonder, and worse might have happened.”\n\n“By ‘them yonder,’ I take it you mean gamekeepers.”\n\n“Ay, sir, Squire Thornby’s men. ’Tis his wood, yon enclosure. Here on\nthe Foxwell land a fellow is safe enough, so long as it be only a rabbit\nor pheasant now and then. Sure the more fool I for not thinking of that\nwhen you appeared—I might ’a’ known the Foxwell people would never stop\na man them Thornby keepers was down upon.”\n\n“Then the shot I heard awhile ago was fired at you by the Thornby\nkeepers?”\n\n“No need to speak of that, sir. If so be you heard a shot, why, you\nheard it, and there’s an end.” While he spoke, the man fingered with the\nflap of a well-stuffed pocket in his coat. “How I knew it was the\nThornby people was by their voices, sir, whereby I saw fit to run. Not\nthat I’m afeard of e’er a body of them all, but I hold it ’ud be fool’s\nwork to shorten my own life or another man’s. And right glad I be to\nknow I didn’t shorten your honour’s, especially now I see what sort of\ngentleman your honour is.”\n\n“’Twould have been an odd twist of luck indeed,” returned Everell,\ngood-humouredly. “I am much in your own case, friend: far from desiring\nto trip up another man, I must look to it that I’m not tripped up\nmyself. My fellow-feeling at present is with the fox rather than the\nhounds.”\n\n“Then belike you are seeking cover hereabouts?” inquired the poacher, in\na tone of friendly interest.\n\n“At all events, I wish to remain in this neighbourhood a few days,\nwithout encountering a great degree of publicity. I say as much to an\nhonest rogue like yourself—I mightn’t be as free with a more respectable\nman.”\n\n“You’re not far wrong there, sir,” replied the fellow, not at all\ndispleased, but, on the contrary, gratified at the justice done him. “I\ndon’t ask to know anything; I have secrets enough of my own. But if I\ncan be of any small service, in the way of information about the lay o’\nthe land or such a matter—for I see you’re a stranger hereabouts, and I\nknow these parts well—better than they know me, by a great deal—why,\nthen, I’m your servant to command. But, if not, I’ll bid ye good night\nand safe lying wherever you may lodge.”\n\n“Oh, as for that, I lodge at the ale-house in the village, for to-night,\nat least. I told the landlord I would ride on to-morrow; I shall have to\nfind some pretext for staying.”\n\n“Well, sir, you know your own wishes—but ’tis not the most private\nplace, that there ale-house, and they be inquisitive folk, them in the\nvillage.”\n\n“What other lodging would you recommend?” asked Everell, for the first\ntime seriously awake to the curiosity that his presence must arouse in\nso remote a place. “I certainly desire to go and come unobserved: I have\nno mind that my motions should be watched and discussed.”\n\n“Why, that’s a question,” said the other, frankly nonplussed.\n\n“You ought to know the answer,” said Everell. “Surely you are able to go\nand come without witnesses, when upon such amusements as brought you out\nthis evening.”\n\n“Be sure I don’t live at the village ale-house, master. Nor at any\nvillage, neither; nor in sight of one.”\n\n“Where, then, do you live?”\n\n“I have my cottage, and my patch o’ ground that I contrive to coax a\nlivin’ out of—with a little assistance from outside.” He scarce\nconsciously laid his palm against the fat pocket. “’Tis a poor place,\nsir, but has the recommendation of privacy. ’Tis so lost in the woods,\nso to speak, and closed round by hillocks and thickets, I doubt you\ncould ever find it if I told you the way.”\n\n“Who lives with you?”\n\n“Nobody at present, since my last son was took by the press-gang—he was\nin Newcastle to visit his brother, who’s a porter there. They would go\nout to see the world, them lads!”\n\n“Then you have room for a lodger,” said Everell, tentatively.\n\n“Fine lodgings for a gentleman like you, sir!”\n\n“Never mind; I’ve had worse,” Everell replied, thinking of Scotland;\n“and not so long since, either.”\n\n“And the food, sir,—with your tender stomach?”\n\n“Man, I’ve lived two days on a wet oatcake.”\n\nThe poacher was not the sort of fellow to offer the same objections over\nagain, nor to be upset by the novelty of the suggestion. The two being\ncircumstanced as they were, and intuitively trusting each other, no\nproposal could have been more natural. So far from hemming and hawing,\ntherefore, the man merely enumerated such further disadvantages as a\ngentleman must encounter in sharing his abode and larder, and, these\nbeing made light of, gave his assent. The question immediately arose as\nto how Everell should transfer his residence from the ale-house to the\npoacher’s cottage without leaving a trace. It was important that he\nshould depart from the ale-house in regular fashion, lest it be supposed\nthat he had met with foul play, and a search be made. Moreover, he must\nhave his belongings—for the cloak-bag contained his clean linen,\nstockings, razor, and other necessaries of decent living: though he\ndesired to be visible to but one person while in the neighbourhood, he\ndesired that to her he should appear at no disadvantage. After some\ndiscussion, a course was planned, which Everell and his intended\nhost—who gave his name as John Tarby—immediately set out upon.\n\nJohn Tarby led the way through that part of the wood which Everell had\nlately traversed. They came, at length, to the verge of the glen; but,\ninstead of keeping to the edge, the guide descended the bracken-covered\nside into the deeper gloom of the thickly timbered bottom. Here, indeed,\nEverell found what was to him complete darkness, and he had to clutch\nhis companion’s coat-skirt for guidance. John Tarby, however, proceeded\nwithout hesitation or doubt, deviating this way or that to avoid tree or\nthicket, the music of the stream rising or falling as the two men moved\nmore or less close to its border. At last they emerged from the glen’s\nmouth, at the foot of the steep incline that rose to the old sunken\ngarden of Foxwell Court. Here John Tarby concealed his gun by laying it\nacross the boughs of a young oak. Where the glen and the timber ceased,\nthe walkers were encountered by the high palings which served to enclose\nthe park on that side except where wooden bars spanned the stream. By\nusing the bars as a bridge, Everell and his guide crossed the stream.\nTarby led the way a few rods farther, stopped, and carefully removed a\nloose paling or two. They squeezed themselves through the opening, and\nstood in the field. Tarby replaced the palings in their former\napparently secure position, and then the two rapidly skirted the field,\nkeeping close to the fence so as to profit by the dark background it\nafforded their bodies. Turning at the angle of the field, and skulking\nalong a rough stone wall, they finally reached the village end, meeting\ntheir former companion, the stream, just in time for a momentary\ngreeting ere it passed under the bridge. Leaving the poacher to lie\nunseen in the shadowed corner of the field, Everell clambered over a\nwooden barrier and up a low bank, and, having thus gained the road, went\non alone to the ale-house.\n\nThe village street was deserted, but the ale-house windows showed light;\nand the sound of slow, broad voices, mingled in chaffing disputation,\nindicated that ale was flowing in the general room. Everell went by way\nof the passage to his own chamber, where a lighted candle awaited him.\nHe rang for the landlord.\n\n“I’ve found a conveyance to Burndale to-night,” said Everell, when the\nold man appeared. “A belated carrier, I believe, whom I met at the\nbridge yonder, where he’s waiting for me. But as I took this room for\nthe night, you must allow me to pay for it, and the price of breakfast,\ntoo.”\n\nThe landlord, whose face had lengthened at the first words, now resumed\nhis serenity, and he amiably gathered in the silver that Everell had\nlaid on the table. This seemed to warm him into solicitude for the\ndeparting guest’s convenience, and he expressed the hope that the\nwagoner was at the door to carry the bag.\n\n“Nay, he wouldn’t turn back,” said Everell; “nor could he leave his\nhorses. But ’tis not far to the bridge.” And he took up the bag to bear\nit himself.\n\n“Nay, then, your pardon, sir, I’ll carry it,” interposed the landlord.\n\n“My good man, I wouldn’t think of taking you from your house and\ncustomers.”\n\n“’Tis not far, as you say, sir, and my daughter—”\n\nBut Everell had gone, and the obliging old fellow was left to scratch\nhis head and wonder. The more he wondered, the more reason there seemed\nfor doing so. He had not heard anything like a carrier’s wagon pass, as\nit must have done if it was now at the bridge and bound for Burndale. It\nwas strange enough that a carrier’s wagon should travel that road at\nsuch an hour, and stranger still that it should do so without its\ncustodian stopping for a cup of good cheer. And the gentleman’s\nunwillingness to have his baggage carried!\n\nThe ale-house keeper was not so old as to have outlived curiosity. He\nslipped out, crossed the green, and stood in the middle of the road,\npeering through the starlit night. Yes, there was the figure of the\ngentleman, truly enough, swiftly retreating down the village street that\nled to the bridge. The landlord slunk after him, keeping close to the\nwalls and hedges, and stepping silently. He was soon sufficiently near\nthe bridge to perceive that no conveyance waited there. The assurance of\nthis acted so upon his mind as to make him stop and consider whether it\nwas safe to go further. As he stood gaping, the form of the strange\ngentleman suddenly vanished. The old man stared for another moment:\nthen, assailed with a feeling that here was mystery nothing short of\ndevil’s work, he turned and fled in a panic to his ale-house.\n\nEverell, who had not once looked back, had passed from the old man’s\nview by turning from the road to rejoin the waiting poacher. Without a\nword, Tarby arose, relieved Everell of the cloak-bag, and led the way\nover the route by which they had come from the park. The palings were\nagain removed and replaced, the stream was again crossed by means of the\nbars. The two entered the blackness of the glen, Tarby repossessing\nhimself of his fowling-piece. By the time they had ascended to the\ngeneral level of the park, the moon had risen, and, as they proceeded in\na Northwesterly direction, the more open spaces, whether clothed in\ngreen sward or in bracken of autumnal brown, wore a beauty which Everell\nassociated in his mind with the young lady not far away, and thus the\nsilent woods and glades seemed to him a forest of enchantment.\n\nTarby spoke only to call Everell’s attention to landmarks by which he\nmight know the course again. He indicated the whereabouts of the\nkeeper’s lodge without passing near it. They left the park by means of\nanother such weak place in the barrier as had served them before, the\npoacher remarking that he preferred that kind of egress even when barred\ngates were near at hand. They now traversed a deserted bit of heath,\ncovered with gorse, and plunged into a rough wood, much thicker and\ngloomier than the park behind them. Following a ditch, or bed of a\ndried-up stream, they emerged at last upon some partly clear, rugged\nland which rose gradually before them. This they ascended, and so came\nto a region of bare, rocky hills and deep wooded hollows. Tarby kept\nmainly to the hollows, until at last, having crossed a little ridge, he\ndescended to a vale lying in the shape of a crescent, and seeming in the\nmoonlight to be covered with timber; but a narrow patch of clearing ran\ndiagonally across, watered by a little stream. Everell and his guide\ncame into this clearing at the end by which the brook left it. Near the\nstream—so near, indeed, that they had barely room to walk between—was a\nthick mass of tall gorse bushes, threatening scratches to any intruder.\nTarby turned in among these at a narrow opening, followed close by his\nwondering guest. In a moment Everell discovered that the bushes, instead\nof constituting a solid thicket, formed but a hollow circle, within\nwhich was a low cottage of timber and rough plaster.\n\n“Here us be,” said John Tarby, dropping bag and gun to respond to the\nleaping caresses of a mongrel hound that had sprung up from the\ndoor-stone. “He won’t hurt you, sir; ’tis a ’bedient animal. When I\ntells him to stop here, ’tis here he stops, and won’t come out even to\nmeet me, unless I call or whistle.”\n\nThe dog transferred his attentions to Everell on perceiving him to be an\napproved visitor, while the poacher opened the door and lighted a candle\nwithin. Entering, Everell found a combination of kitchen,\nsleeping-chamber, and living-room, the whole giving an impression of\ncomfort far exceeding that of the bothy he had for a time inhabited in\nScotland.\n\n“So this is your castle,” said Everell, looking around with approbation.\n\n“Ay, sir, with the gorse for wall and the brook for moat. And I don’t\nlack a postern to escape by, if so be I was ever hard pressed in front.”\nHe opened a small square shutter in the back of the room. “’Tis all\ngorse out there, sir, and only me and the dog knows the path through to\nthe rocks.”\n\nThere was at one end of the room a pallet bed, which Tarby assigned to\nhis guest, saying he would shake down some heather for his own use at\nthe opposite end. He went out, and returned with a sackful of this,\nhaving borrowed from the reserve supply of his cow, which he housed in a\nshed on the other side of the stream. He informed Everell that he kept a\nfew fowls also, though the great part of his clearing was made to serve\nas a vegetable-garden. He asked what Everell would like for supper, and\nnamed three or four possibilities besides the rabbit he drew from his\nlarge pocket. But Everell had supped at the ale-house, and, as he was\nnow quite fatigued, he went to bed, leaving his host to partake of bread\nand cheese, while the dog munched a cold bone in the corner.\n\nWhen Everell awoke, bright day was shining in through the single window\nand the open doorway, and John Tarby was preparing a breakfast of eggs\nand bacon. Everell, despite his now eager appetite and his impatience to\nbe about his purpose, dressed himself with care, performing his toilet\nwith the aid of the stream, and putting on fresh linen and stockings. He\nthen ate heartily, and, having given his host a sufficient idea of where\nhe wished to spend his day, set forth in Tarby’s company, that the\npoacher might show him the way by daylight. Taking care to note every\nlandmark, Everell arrived finally in that portion of the Foxwell park\nwhich lay near the mansion. Tarby here took his leave, to attend to his\nown affairs, making a rendezvous with his guest in case the latter\nshould not have returned to the cottage by nightfall—for it was not\ncertain that he could find his way after dark at the first attempt.\n\nEverell strolled on till the gables of Foxwell Court appeared through\nthe trees. He found a convenient spot where he could sit and observe the\nterrace that stretched between the house and the park. His highest hope\nwas that the young lady would, sooner or later, come to take the air\nupon the terrace and extend her walk into the park.\n\nHe sat amidst bracken, peering out through countless small openings\namong the browning leaves and stems. A hundred times he changed his\nposition, and a hundred sighs of impatience escaped him, before anything\noccurred to break the monotony of his watch. And when, toward noon, the\ngreat door of the house opened, and figures in feminine garb appeared,\nthey proved to be only the two ladies in whom he was not interested.\nThey sauntered along the terrace, arm in arm, talking and laughing,\nmaking a graceful picture against the broken balustrade, or on the wide\nsteps between the moss-covered, crumbling flower-pots. They were joined\npresently by the stouter gentleman, and at last by the taller. Finally,\nafter a half-hour of mirthful chatter, the four went indoors again, and\nleft the terrace empty for another long time of waiting.\n\nIn the afternoon the same four appeared on horseback in the lane which\nserved as the bridle-path from the courtyard side of the house to the\npark. Entering the park at some distance from Everett’s hiding-place,\nthey were soon lost to his view among the trees. If she should appear\nnow, while they were absent! As time lengthened, he meditated going\nboldly to the house and asking for her. But he forced himself to\npatience, only moving to another watching-place a few yards away. He had\nscarcely done so, and resumed his gaze, when he beheld her standing upon\nthe steps of the house.\n\nHe sat perfectly still, as if the least alarm might frighten her away.\nShe advanced slowly down the terrace, looked West, then East, then into\nthe park. Would that those inviting shades might lure her!—would that\nshe might feel and obey the beckoning of his heart! But she turned and\nwalked to the Western end of the terrace, and stood for awhile in\nadmiration of the soft landscape and distant mountains. Presently he saw\nher look sharply toward the park, as if her attention had been suddenly,\nand not pleasantly, drawn that way. He heard the riders, who were\ndoubtless coming back, and would pass near her in going through the\nlane. She turned and moved toward the opposite end of the\nterrace—evidently to avoid them. She did not stop till she was looking\non the neglected garden from the top of the steps descending to it.\nThere she stood for a few moments, contemplating the scene; then passed\ndown the steps, disappearing from view.\n\nEverell took his resolution: sprang from his place, and, bending his\nbody forward, dashed through bracken and behind trees to the glen-side.\nHe darted along the crest, reached the gate in the wall, and saw the\nyoung lady sauntering amidst the trees and shrubbery. He glided swiftly\nforth, and was on his knee, pressing her hand to his lips, ere she could\ndo more than utter a low cry of astonishment.\n\nThe surprise in her face was quickly followed by pleasure; but\nconsciousness came a moment later, with a rush of scarlet to her cheeks\nand a look of faint reproof and vague apprehension to her eyes.\n\n“Good heaven, sir,” she said, in a low voice, “I never dreamed of seeing\nyou again!”\n\n“Fear nothing,” he replied, in a tone as guarded as hers; “we cannot be\nobserved here—the shrubbery is all around us.—I have come to thank you\nfor the warning you gave me at the inn yesterday.”\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VII\n\n                                 KISSES\n\n\n“TO thank me?” she repeated, round-eyed. “You mean that is what brings\nyou here—to thank me for such a little thing?”\n\n“Not such a little thing, either,” he replied with a smile, as he rose;\n“the saving, perhaps, of my life and my comrade’s.”\n\n“Oh, indeed, yes—a very great thing!—but a little thing to do—so easily\ndone. And to come all the way hither to thank—” She stopped short and\nlooked at him steadily, then blushed deeper. “Oh!—you will think me a\nfool, sir:—for a moment I believed exactly what you said; I made no\nallowance for compliment; I am inexperienced, as you can see.”\n\n“Nay, but upon my honour I spoke the truth,” he protested in surprise.\n\n“Then you indeed came here only to thank me?”\n\n“To thank you, but not only that. I came to see and hear you.”\n\n“You mean—nothing else—brought you to this neighbourhood?”\n\n“Nothing but you. Had I not met you at the inn yesterday, I should now\nbe with my friend, far on the road Southward.”\n\nThe look of apprehension returned to her face.\n\n“Oh, heaven, yes!—the danger you are in! How do you intend to save\nyourself? Are you not risking your life by remaining in England?”\n\n“Pray don’t be alarmed on that score: I have the means of leaving\nEngland when the time comes.”\n\n“When the time comes? When will that be? What is it that delays you?”\n\nHe was not prepared with an answer. “Why,—ah—you must know my friend has\nsome matters to settle before he leaves;—we are to sail together, when\nhe is ready.”\n\n“Then you should have remained together. Why did you leave him? If what\nyou said is true, you have interrupted your flight—to see me.”\n\n“You are worthy of a far greater compliment than that,” said he, as\ngallantly as the confusion he felt in her presence allowed him to speak.\n\n“But if danger came to you through this, how I should have to reproach\nmyself! Oh, I beg you, follow your friend: overtake him. Lose no time:\nnow that you have thanked me, go—go quickly!”\n\n“And have you the heart to send me away when I have but just found you?”\n\n“Nay, if your life were not at stake—no, I mean not that. I ought not to\ntalk with you—I ought not to stay here.”\n\nTrembling, she made to retreat, but he gently interposed.\n\n“Nay,” he said, very tenderly, “the ‘oughts’ and ‘ought nots’ of custom\ndo not apply to us, situated as we are. Are you not among people who\nmake you unhappy? Am I not a man whose life you have saved, and who\nwould do anything in the world for you? Can you not trust me as I trust\nyou? Why then shouldn’t you talk with me? Tell me, what if my life were\nnot at stake?”\n\n“I have forgot what I was saying.”\n\n“If my life were not at stake, you would not bid me go?”\n\n“How can I tell?—Why shouldn’t I?”\n\n“You were startled to see me here. Did you not think I might come?”\n\nShe could have truly answered that she had been without the slightest\nexpectation of ever seeing him again. Yet she had permitted her\nimagination the indulgence of a vague scene of future meeting, not far\nunlike that which was now taking place. The consciousness of this added\nto the sweet embarrassment she felt, and she could only reply,\nfoolishly, “Why should I have thought so?”\n\nEverell sighed, realizing that, as far as speeches went, he was not\nmaking rapid progress. “At all events,” said he, rallying his powers of\ngaiety, “here I am, and in this neighbourhood I mean to stay for a time,\nso ’tis of no use bidding me go—”\n\n“But are you safe in this neighbourhood?” she broke in, her eyes\nforgetting their shyness in searching his face to see if his confidence\nwas real. “That man at the inn may have described you to many people.”\n\n“I will take care none of them see me. I have a secure hiding-place in\nthe wilderness, and a friend to supply my wants. I shall be visible to\nnone but him—and you.”\n\n“To me? How to me?”\n\n“Even as I am at this moment: here, in this garden. ’Tis evidently a\ndeserted place; the shrubbery and walls conceal us, and escape is easy\nto the glen yonder if we should hear anybody approach. No one, finding\nyou here alone, would suspect you had had a visitor.”\n\n“I must not risk that discovery,—for your sake, I must not. I shall be\nmissed in the house, I’m afraid,—my uncle and his friends have\nreturned.”\n\n“Nay, don’t go yet. Pray, not yet! I have said nothing yet, accomplished\nnothing.”\n\n“What would you say, then? Speak quickly.”\n\n“A thousand things. I can’t unload my heart of a sudden at the cry,\n‘Stand and deliver!’—you send my thoughts into confusion. Do not go\nyet!—’tis not so much saying what I would, as being with you.”\n\n“But they will be inquiring for me—my maid will be seeking. My uncle—”\n\n“Is your uncle so heedful of you that he must always know where you\nare?”\n\n“Far from it. I am nothing to him and his friends. But if the whim\n_should_ seize him—if by any chance they should find me talking with a\nstranger—Oh, really, sir, I must go.”\n\n“Again you call me stranger!”\n\n“Why, in their eyes you would be a stranger.”\n\n“But not in yours? Ah, thank you for that much, at least. You\nacknowledge me as a friend?”\n\n“Why, I suppose—since you declare yourself so, I must needs believe you.\nHeaven knows, I have felt some want of a friend, having none in this\nhouse. Were it otherwise, were this place my aunt’s, perhaps I should\nnot have stayed a moment to hear you.”\n\n“I must bless my fortune, then, that this house is not your aunt’s. I\ncan even be glad you are not among friends here, since that leaves room\nin your heart for me. And yet I could slay any who were lacking in the\nfriendship you had a right to expect of them. How can they be so, to\n_you_?”\n\nHis gaze had so much ardour that her own eyes softened in it, and the\nconsequence of that melting was that he swiftly folded her in his arms\nand pressed a kiss obliquely upon her lips.\n\n“Now I _must_ go,” she whispered, after a moment, gently pushing him\naway.\n\n“Now less than ever, sweet,” he replied, still clasping her.\n\n“Oh, but I must—sure I beg—Prudence will be looking for me.”\n\nHer insistence of manner was such that he dared not hold her longer\nwithout feeling guilty of violence. But he still retained her hand, to\nsay:\n\n“And when will you be here again?”\n\n“I know not,” she answered, hurriedly. “How can I say?”\n\n“Well, then, whenever you do come, you will find me waiting for you.”\n\n“No, no; that will not be safe. I had forgotten the danger you are in.\nDo not come here at all—by daylight.—If you must, why, come after\nsunset. They will be at their cards and wine then.”\n\n“And you?—you are sure to be here then?”\n\n“’Tis the safest time. They will think me in my room—well, I may be\nhere—to-morrow evening—if nothing prevents.”\n\n“But why not this evening?”\n\n“No. I will really go to my room this evening, as I did yesterday: they\nwill take it as a matter of course afterwards. To-morrow evening,\nperhaps.”\n\n“But ’tis so far away: so many hours must pass till then!” He still\ndetained her hand, though she was at arm’s length to be gone.\n\n“You will have the more time to reconsider—to resolve upon joining your\nfriend, and not tarrying here longer at the risk of your life.”\n\n“What, do you still wish me to go at once?”\n\n“If you should be taken!—if you should have to meet the fate—oh, I dare\nnot think of it! How can I wish you to stay, when I think of the\ndanger?”\n\n“’Tis for me to think of the danger; ’tis for you only to let me love\nyou—and to meet me here as often as you will.”\n\n“Well, I shall no doubt be here to-morrow after sunset. I must take my\nmaid into confidence: she can keep watch at the terrace steps. Farewell,\nthen!—and be careful—till to-morrow sunset!”\n\nHe stepped forward in hope of repeating the kiss, but she recovered her\nhand from his grasp and fled rapidly up the lane of shrubbery. Everell\nfollowed, and saw her ascend the steps, hasten along the terrace, and\ndisappear without looking back. He stood and sighed, thinking how short\nhad been the long-awaited meeting, how tedious would be the time till\nthe next. But he had the kiss to comfort his reflections, at least,—the\nkiss and the compliant though startled manner in which she had submitted\nto it. His heart glowing at this recollection, he turned his steps to\nthe seclusion of the glen.\n\nSince she would not meet him before the end of the next day—what an\ninterminable stretch of empty time the interval appeared!—he knew his\nbest course was to return at once to John Tarby’s cottage. But he found\nit so hard to drag his legs farther from the Foxwell mansion, that he\ndecided to remain concealed among the bracken, on the possibility that\nshe might change her mind and revisit the garden that evening. In this\nhope he tarried till an hour after nightfall, without reward. He then\nbetook himself reluctantly, with the pangs of hunger and the sighs of\ndisappointment for company, to where his road left the park. At that\nplace Tarby was waiting, and with little speech the two made their way\nhomeward. Everell took the lead, that he might test his knowledge of the\npath; twice or thrice he had to fall back upon the poacher’s guidance,\nbut on these occasions he made such note of landmarks as should assure\nhim of going right in future.\n\nWhen they arrived at the cot, Everell gave a different reception to his\nhost’s mention of supper from that which he had given on the previous\nnight. Though love had enabled him to go all the day without food, it\ndid not weaken his appetite now that supper was to be had. John Tarby\nproved to be no mean cook, and the Jacobite officer, the rustic poacher,\nand the poacher’s dog partook together of a hearty though simple meal\nwith manifest enjoyment. But love, not to be denied its proverbial\neffects in all things, asserted its presence by robbing Everell of some\nhours of sleep, and by directing his dreams when at last his eyes did\nclose.\n\nThe next day was but a repetition of that which had gone before, save\nthat the love-sick young gentleman, by taking the forethought to provide\nhimself with bread and cheese, was able, as he reclined among the\nbracken, to pay some observance to dinner-time when it arrived. At last\nthe slow sun descended upon the Westward hills. A bit of its rim still\nshowed over the sky-line, when Everell glided into the garden, his heart\nbeating faster than ever it had beat when he was going into battle.\n\nGeorgiana did not keep him waiting long. She came down the steps, with\nher finger on her lip, and with the maid Prudence, all excitement, at\nher heels. “Oh, lor!” whispered Prudence at first sight of Everell; “Oh,\nlor!” again, when, having taken her station near the steps, she saw\nEverell lead her mistress up the lane of shrubbery; and “Oh, lor!” a\nthird time when the young man, not yet trusting himself to speech,\nraised Georgiana’s hand in his trembling fingers to his lips.\n\nAnd now Everell had to learn that the second interview in a love-affair\ndoes not begin where the first left off. Whether it is that the ardour\nof expectation produces by reaction a chill that mutually benumbs; or\nwhether each participant, still uncertain of the other’s heart, awaits\nsome assurance before again committing his or her own; or whether it be\ndue to any one or all of a dozen conceivable causes, the truth is that\nthe second meeting usually begins with an embarrassment, or shyness, or\nother feeling, that seems to put the lovers farther apart than they were\nat the outset; and yet under this the craving for the tokens of love is\nas strong as ever. This was now Everell’s experience; he wondered why\nGeorgiana was perversely cool, and then why he himself was tongue-tied,\npowerless to express what was in his heart.\n\nWhen they had paced the more secluded walks of the garden some fifteen\nminutes, speaking of anything but that which was most in Everell’s mind,\nGeorgiana suddenly reverted to the question of his safety. The anxious\nconcern with which she regarded him served to break the spell he had\nsuffered under. Making light of his danger, he showed himself so\ngrateful for her solicitude that a still more encouraging tenderness\nappeared in her eyes. With love in his looks, and in the touch of his\nhand upon hers, he burst out with declarations of his happiness in her\ncompany, and of his misery in her absence. She made no verbal return for\nthese tributes, but the sweet agitation visible in her face was enough.\nHe was about to venture a similar embrace to that of the day before,\nwhen they heard Prudence call, in a low but excited voice, “Oh,\nmistress, mistress, we shall be discovered!” Georgiana, in alarm,\nwhispered to Everell, “Conceal yourself!—good night!” and fled swiftly\nto where the maid was watching. Standing perfectly still, Everell heard\nthe two women go up the steps, and soon the sound of their footfalls on\nthe terrace died out. They had returned to the house, then; what had\ncaused the maid to give the alarm, he knew not, for there was no sound\nto indicate any human presence.\n\nVexed at this abrupt termination of the interview at the very moment\nwhen it seemed about to reward him, he waited in the hope of Georgiana’s\nreturn. But the hope was vain, and after two or three hours of\ndiminishing expectancy, he sadly—nay, with heart-burning, grievous\nsighing, and clenching of teeth—resigned himself to the prospect of\nanother long night and another endless day ere the next meeting. And\nindeed there was no certainty of the meeting even after that vast\ninterval, for no appointment had been made. But he trusted to her\nhumanity, if he dared not count upon feelings fully reciprocal to his\nown, to bring her to the garden at the next sunset. If she did not come,\nhe knew not what rash thing he might do.\n\nHis reliance upon her compassion was not in vain. She was prompt in\nappearance when at last the long night and the slow day had passed.\nTaking pity, perhaps, on his haggard countenance, she was kind from the\noutset of their interview. Prudence attended, as before, but with\ninstructions to be more certain before crying danger than she had been\non the previous evening, when, as Georgiana now told Everell, the maid,\nin the novelty of her duty, had given the alarm at the mere sound of\nlaughter in the house—the laughter of Foxwell and his visitors over\ntheir wine and cards.\n\nBut though this, the third clandestine meeting of these two young\npeople, was not marred by any preliminary chill or by any waste of time,\nit was soon over. Georgiana herself had set the limit of half an hour,\nand, whatever it may have cost her of inner reluctance, she showed her\nresolution by breaking away at the end of that time, silencing her\nlover’s protests with a voluntary kiss so swiftly bestowed that, in his\ndelighted surprise, he let her slip from his grasp. Again he stood alone\nin the garden while the dusk came on. Again that weary blank of lagging\nhours faced him, with the promise of such brief joy to compensate him at\nthe end. He lingered late in the garden, now reviewing in his memory the\ndelectable scene of the evening—delectable but too fleeting!—and now\nrepining at the conditions under which his love had to subsist. “Oh, to\nbe with her one whole day—one day as long as those I pass in waiting for\nthe sunset!” was the burden of his thought.\n\nHe stood near the terrace steps, taking his last look at the house for\nthe night. The lateness of the hour, the comparative darkness, and\nperhaps the petulance of his feelings, made him less than usually\ncautious against observation. Suddenly he heard a patter of feet on the\nterrace, and the voice of a maid servant calling, “Puss! puss! come,\npuss!—Devil take the cat!” Everell remained motionless, lest any sound\nmight attract the girl’s attention. In a moment, a cat appeared at the\nhead of the steps, glided along the top of the bank, and plunged amidst\nthe shrubbery of the garden. It had no sooner disappeared than the girl\nin chase arrived at the edge of the terrace, where she stopped and\npeered down into the garden, launching imprecations at the animal that\nhad eluded her. Her eyes fell upon Everell, and her wrath died upon her\nlips.\n\nShe stood gaping as if rendered powerless by fright, and Everell could\nthink of nothing better than to continue perfectly still. Wrapped in his\ncloak, and with his face turned toward the maid, he did not move even\nhis eyes, but appeared not to be aware of her presence. His thought was\nthat this unlifelike behaviour might cause the rustic wench to take him\nfor an apparition, or a trick of her fancy, the more so as the darkness\nwould give vagueness to his figure. After a few seconds of this silent\nconfrontation, the maid, uttering a faint wail of terror, apparently at\nthe back of her mouth, turned and took to her heels. Everell profited by\nher flight to leave the garden instantly, and made his best speed for\nJohn Tarby’s castle. If the girl told of what she had seen, and brought\ninvestigators to the spot, who could find nothing to verify her account,\nthey would doubtless believe she had suffered from a delusion. As she\nherself, whether she came to their conclusion or not, was likely to\navoid the place after dark in future, Everell considered that the garden\nwas not the less safe as a meeting-place for this occurrence.\n\nWhen he met Georgiana the next evening, he expected some allusion by her\nto the incident, as he supposed the maid servant must have spread the\ntale through the household. But Georgiana said nothing of the matter.\nShe had indeed heard nothing of it, for the isolation in which she dwelt\nin the house was copied by her maid, partly in imitation and partly\nbecause, with her Southern ideas of propriety, Prudence found herself as\nmuch antagonized by the rude Northern servants of the house as by the\naffected London attendants of the visitors. Thus she spent as much of\nher time as possible in her mistress’s apartments, big with the secret\nentrusted to her of the clandestine meetings. Being thus on sniffing\nterms with her equals in the servants’ hall, and out of their gossip,\nshe remained in ignorance of the kitchen-maid’s adventure. From\nGeorgiana’s silence on the subject, Everell inferred that the occurrence\nhad created no talk in the house; and he did not mention it himself,\nlest Georgiana, in her scruples as to his safety and her own conduct,\nmight lessen the frequency of their meetings. His periods of longing\nwere sufficiently endless, his tastes of joy sufficiently brief, as they\nwere.\n\nBut the kitchen-maid’s adventure had not really gone without\ncirculation. “You never told us your house was haunted, Foxwell,” said\nLady Strange, meeting her host at the breakfast-table, from which\nGeorgiana had already gone. Mrs. Winter and Rashleigh were yet to\nappear.\n\n“I never knew it—till this moment, at least,” replied Foxwell, stifling\na yawn which owed itself, perhaps, to the punch or primero of the\nprevious night. “Though every crumbling old brick-heap like this has its\nghost or so, no doubt. But what do you mean?”\n\n“My waiting-woman has been telling me of a strange figure that appeared\nto your scullery-maid the other night. In the sunken garden, I believe\nit was: a man in a cloak, wearing a sword.”\n\n“It must have been a ghost, indeed,” said Foxwell, smiling. “There is\ncertainly no such living man whose appearance in that garden is\nprobable—unless Rashleigh has taken to mooning outdoors after bedtime.”\n\n“Not I,” said Rashleigh, who had just entered. “What are you talking\nof?”\n\n“My lady has discovered, through the servants, that a ghost walks in the\nsunken garden—a man in a cloak, with a sword at his side. I say it must\nbe a ghost indeed, and yet there is this difficulty: suppose there _are_\nghosts of human beings, what of the clothes they appear in? What of this\nghost’s cloak and sword?—are they real cloak and sword, or are they the\nghosts of cloak and sword?—and do inanimate things have ghosts?”\n\n“Why, certainly, ghosts always appear in clothes,” said Lady Strange,\nquite ignoring the dilemma, and not entering into Foxwell’s skeptical\nmirth.\n\n“And pray what did the ghost do or say while the scullery-maid was\npresent?”\n\n“Merely gazed at her in a strange, supernatural manner till she ran\naway. But hadn’t you best question the maid?”\n\n“By all means. One ought to be well informed about the ghosts that haunt\none’s house—though I don’t consider my ancestors did so much for me that\nI need care a button if one of them does find his grave uneasy. I’ll\nhave the girl up for interrogation after breakfast.”\n\nBut this promise was driven from Foxwell’s mind just as the time came to\nperform it. A visitor was announced, whose name caused him surprise: it\nwas that of Mr. Thornby.\n\n“What should bring him to see me?” said Foxwell, showing his\nastonishment to his guests. “’Tis my lubberly neighbour, of whom I have\ntold you. He abominates me because I sometimes pit my powers of speech\nagainst his boorish arrogance, and show him what a bumpkin he is. I\nthought he was sworn never to cross my threshold.”\n\nRuled by courtesy and curiosity, Foxwell went immediately to the\nadjoining drawing-room, where he found his enemy standing on the hearth,\nhis legs wide apart, and his burly figure clad in a riding costume\nneither well-fitting nor new.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VIII\n\n                                THREATS\n\n\nSOMETHING confident and overbearing in Thornby’s look went to Foxwell’s\nintelligence at once, and checked for an instant the speech on his lips.\nBut he quickly recovered his nonchalance, and began as if he noticed\nnothing unusual:\n\n“Good morning, Mr. Thornby. I am much honoured. Pray be seated, sir.”\n\n“I’d as lief stand, sir,” was the blunt answer. “Much honoured you feel,\nI dare say!”\n\n“And why not?” said Foxwell, pleasantly. “You do yourself a great\ninjustice, surely, if you don’t consider your visit an honour to the\nfortunate recipient. You must not undervalue yourself.”\n\n“Well, sir, you’ll see how much honour I mean by coming here, when\nyou’ve learnt what brings me.”\n\n“That, I confess, I am impatient to know. But really, will you not sit?”\n\n“No, sir! I sha’n’t stay long enough to tire my legs with standing. My\nvisit will be short, I promise you.”\n\n“I perceive you are in a mood of shortness.”\n\n“I can choose my own moods, sir,” said the Squire, rendered more savage\nby every successive speech of his enemy. “And I choose short moods for\nmy visits to you. Not that I meant to pay you a visit when I left home\nthis morning. My business took me past your gate, and, as I have\nsomething for your ears, I thought I’d as well say it soon as late.”\n\n“A very wise thought; for accidents will happen, and ’twould be a pity\nif anything so interesting should be left unsaid—for I know it must be\ninteresting.”\n\n“Maybe you’ll find it so, ecod! As for leaving things unsaid, lemme tell\nyou, sir, that’s a policy I recommend to you in future, whenever you\nfeel inclined to try your wit upon me. If a witty thing, as you consider\nit, comes into your head to say against me, leave it unsaid. That’s my\ncommands, sir, and I look to see ’em obeyed.”\n\n“Commands? Upon my soul, Mr. Thornby,—pardon my smiling,—but you are\nexceedingly amusing.”\n\n“Smile your bellyfull; you may laugh, too: we’ll see which on us laughs\nlast. Ecod, we’ll see that! Try some of your town wit upon me the next\ntime we meet in company! Try it, and see what happens.”\n\n“Can’t you spare my curiosity the suspense by telling me now?”\n\n“Yes, I can. This is what’ll happen:—I’ll answer you back by asking what\nyou think of a man who robs the dead.”\n\n“Robs the dead?” quietly repeated Foxwell, puzzled.\n\n“Ay, a dead body, in some such place as Covent Garden, for example.—Eh,\nthat touches you, does it?”\n\nFoxwell’s face had indeed undergone a change: for an instant he was\nquite pale and staring. But he recovered his outward equanimity.\n\n“Please explain yourself,” he said, with composure.\n\n“A word to the wise is enough, sir. If ever again you try to put me down\nafore company, or dare to take first place o’ me anywheres, I’ll tell\nthe world who got Lord Hilby’s money that night in Covent Garden.”\n\nFoxwell drew a deep breath, and then replied as calmly as before, “Are\nyou walking in a dream, Mr. Thornby? Really, I don’t understand you.\nWhat is Lord Hilby’s money to me?”\n\n“No use trying that game upon me, Foxwell. You know all, and I know all,\nand there’s an end. You’ve heard my commands: act as you think best.”\n\n“Sir, I know nothing. Your words are gibberish to me, and I say but\nthis: if you attempt to raise any slander against me, be sure I will\nmake you answer—”\n\n“And I’ll answer, ecod, by producing this here letter,” blurted Thornby,\nbringing from his pocket the document we have already seen in the hands\nof Jeremiah Filson, and holding it high, with the signed part in\nFoxwell’s view, “which you wrote in the sponging-house to Sir John\nThisleford, and which anybody who knows your hand can swear to—as your\nface owns to it now. ‘If you don’t help me out of this, I will confess\nall, and let the world know who got Lord Hilby’s money that night,’ says\nyou, in black and white. ‘_Confess_ all,’ d’ye see? Signed ‘R. Foxwell.’\nYour wit failed you that time, I’m a-thinking. What ’ud the county say\nif I exhibited this here bit o’ writing? Even your town friends, as I\nhear be a-visiting you, would find this more nor they could swallow, I\ndare say.”\n\n“Let me see the letter—closer,” said Foxwell, in a hushed and quaking\nvoice.\n\n“I value it too much as a bit o’ your beloved handwritin’.” The Squire\nrepocketed it carefully, with a grim chuckle at his own humour. “As to\nhow I shall use it, that depends partly on how you use me. But I don’t\npromise anything. I hold it over your head, neighbour Foxwell,—like the\nsword of Dionassius in the story-book—over your head, ecod! Ha! Good\nday, Foxwell. Go back to your pleasures—I’ll show myself out.”\n\nFoxwell made an effort to regain his self-possession. “’Tis a forgery—I\ndefy you—this is a trumped-up tale—”\n\n“We shall see. You’d go near killing to get the letter from me, I’ll\nwarrant.” With this parting shot, his heavy features stretched in a leer\nof triumph, the Squire stalked from the room, leaving Foxwell—silent and\nshaken—to his thoughts.\n\nThe victorious Squire had to pass through the wide entrance-hall to\nreach the forecourt, where his man Bartholomew awaited with the horses.\nHe stopped in the hall, which was for the moment deserted, in order to\nrefold the precious letter and place it more securely. As he pocketed it\nonce more, he turned his glance toward the closed door of the\ndrawing-room, soliloquizing after this fashion, “I’ll make him play the\nwhipped cur afore I’ve done with him. He shall come when I call, so he\nshall,—and go when I bid, and speak when I allow, and hold his tongue\nwhen I command. You fine beau of the town, you’ll make a jest of us\ncountry gentlemen, will you?—you’ll teach us manners, will you?—Eh,\nwho’s this?”\n\nThe hall was panelled in oak, decorated with heads of stags and foxes,\nprovided with a large fireplace, and furnished with chairs and settles.\nAt one side, the stairway began which led to the upper floors, and the\nSquire’s ejaculation was caused by the appearance of somebody on those\nstairs—a young lady, rather slight, but well-shaped, with a very pretty\nface distinguished by a somewhat rebellious expression; and with a pair\nof eyes that set the Squire agape with the wonder of a new sensation, as\nthey rested for an instant full upon him.\n\n“Sure I suppose you be the niece that came home t’other day,” said the\nSquire, as she stepped from the lowest stair. He had not relaxed his\ngaze from his first sight of her, nor did he now.\n\nGeorgiana replied by making a curtsey, and was about to pass on. But Mr.\nThornby, with as great politeness as he could put into his tone,\ndetained her as much by an unconscious gesture as by speech.\n\n“Sure I heard tell as Foxwell’s niece had come home, but I ne’er\nexpected to see _such_ a young lady! Why, miss, or mistress, begging\nyour pardon if I make too free, but there bean’t your match in the\ncounty; that there bean’t—I’ll take my oath of it! I’m your neighbour,\nThomas Thornby, at your service. Mayhap you’ve heard o’ me.”\n\n“I have heard your name, Mr. Thornby,” said Georgiana, looking quite\ntolerantly upon him.\n\n“But not heard much good o’ me, if you heard it from your uncle, I’ll\nwarrant. You mustn’t believe all he has said against me, Miss Foxwell.\n’Tis like he’ll give a different account o’ me after this: I’ve just had\na talk with him, and he knows me a little better. Ecod, miss, I hope you\nand me can be good neighbours, at all events. Such a face!—excuse the\nfreedom, mistress, but we don’t run across such faces every day\nhereabouts. There’ll be some, that think themselves beauties, will turn\ngreen when they see you at the assembly ball. Ecod, we shall have\nsomebody worth a toast now; for between you and me, the beauties of this\nneighbourhood don’t muster enough good looks among ’em all to do credit\nto the punch we drink their healths in. At any rate, that’s my opinion,\nand explains why I’m still a bachelor. I’m not easy pleased, ma’am; no\ndoubt I look a plain fellow in these here old clothes, but anybody’ll\ntell you how fastidious Tom Thornby is when it comes to dogs, horses,\nand women. ’Tis well known, ma’am.”\n\n“I am the more obliged for your compliments, sir; and I wish you good\nmorning,” said Georgiana, amiably, and, after another curtsey, performed\nwith unexpected swiftness, she got away by the nearest door before her\nnew admirer could summon an idea for another speech.\n\nThornby stared wistfully at the door by which she had left. Indeed he\nmade a step or two toward it; but, thinking better, stopped and drew a\nponderous sigh. A servant came into the hall from the forecourt,\nwhereupon the Squire abruptly took his departure. As he rode mutely out\nof the courtyard, followed by Bartholomew, his countenance betokened\nthoughts quite other than those with which he had left Foxwell’s\npresence a minute or two earlier. When he had passed through the\nvillage, Thornby motioned his man to ride beside him, and began to\nconverse upon Mr. Foxwell and his present habits. In the course of the\ntalk, it came out, as Bartholomew had been informed by Caleb while\nwaiting in the courtyard, that Foxwell and his guests were accustomed to\nmake some excursion on horseback every day, leaving the niece at home.\nThe consequence of this knowledge was that next day, soon after the\nparty had sallied forth as usual, a servant came to Miss Foxwell in her\nown small parlour to say that Mr. Thornby waited upon her in the\ndrawing-room.\n\nMystified, but desiring not to offend, she went to him immediately. He\nwas sprucely dressed, beaming, and all deference. For two hours he sat\nand sustained the chief burden of a general conversation upon everything\nin the neighbourhood. While he was more moderate and indirect in his\nfrequent compliments than he had been on the previous day, he maintained\na steady gaze of admiration, no less overpowering. Georgiana, wearied to\ndeath, had finally to plead household duties in order to dislodge him.\n\nThe following day was Sunday, and Miss Foxwell, making her first\nappearance at the village church, found herself again the object of the\nSquire’s constant attention, as indeed of the whole congregation’s,\nalthough she divided the latter with the London ladies. That evening she\nwas discussed at Thornby Hall by the cronies who happened to be sharing\nthe Squire’s bachelor table; and such was the praise uttered by several\ngay dogs who considered themselves devilish good judges that Mr. Thornby\nwas kept secretly alternating between elation and jealousy. It needed\nonly this approval and covetousness on the part of others, to complete\nthe Squire’s sense of the young lady’s surpassing excellence.\n\nIn the morning, to Bartholomew’s considerable wonder, Mr. Thornby again\ndiscovered business that took him past Foxwell Court. He had not the\ncourage against appearing ridiculous, to repeat his visit so soon, but\nhe rode very slowly in passing the place, both going and coming; and,\nwelcoming a pretext for remaining as long as possible in the near\nvicinity, he no sooner saw, through the doorway of the village\nale-house, a man who was now a guest there, than he drew up his horse\nwith alacrity, saying to his attendant, “The very fellow I desired to\nsee: we’ll tarry here awhile, Bartholomew.”\n\nThe man in the ale-house came forth as Mr. Thornby dismounted, and\noffered that respectful greeting which the Squire was so conscious of\ndeserving and Jeremiah Filson so capable of bestowing.\n\n“Good day, Filson; good day t’ye. I don’t wish to come indoors: we’ll\nwalk to and fro here on the green.—I’ve been anxious to see you, Filson,\nto know how you’re faring in respect of your Jacobite.”\n\n“Poorly, sir, poorly as yet; though I take it most kind of your Worship\nto be concerned upon the matter.”\n\n“Concerned? In course—why the devil not? Ain’t I a magistrate? Didn’t I\ngive you the warrant? D’ye think I dropped the matter there? I’m as keen\nupon punishing the rebels as any man in England. Once you discover where\nthe fellow is, you’ll see how ready my officers are to help you take\nhim.”\n\nFilson was rather surprised at this sudden zeal, for the Squire, after\npurchasing the Foxwell letter and granting the Everell warrant, had not\nshown a desire for more of Filson’s society, so that Jeremiah had been\nforced to curry favour with the justice’s clerk, that he might rely upon\nthe ready coöperation of the legal officers in apprehending the rebel.\nBut he kept his surprise to himself.\n\n“I’m quite sure of that, sir. I hope I shall track the man to his cover,\nwith the aid of Providence. I hate to give a thing up, sir, once I’ve\nset myself to do it. When I start upon a chase, no matter what’s the\ngame, I can’t leave it unfinished, and that’s why I still linger here,\nthough at some little expense to myself. But we act as we’re made; and\nI’m made like that, your Worship.”\n\n“It does you credit, Filson: I like a staying hound. But are you sure,\nnow, the man is still in this neighbourhood?”\n\n“I don’t presume to be sure of anything, sir; but I trace him to this\nneighbourhood and no farther. ’Twas on or about this very spot, your\nhonour, that he was seen by the postilion whom I met that same night at\nthe inn where I had the honour of first making your acquaintance. The\nnext day, you’ll remember, I had the privilege of transacting some\nbusiness with your Worship. I came directly from your house to this, but\nmy gentleman had fled the night before. He told the landlord a\ncock-and-bull story of having found a wagon to take him on to Burndale.\nBut the landlord spied on him, and saw no wagon at the place he said it\nwas waiting. Furthermore, the landlord declares the gentleman\ndisappeared from sight at that very place. It was night-time, and the\ntruth must be, that the gentleman turned aside from the road. Howsoever,\nthat’s the last account I can get of him—his disappearance at the bridge\nyonder. I’ve been to Burndale, but no such person has been seen there,\nor between here and there. Neither is there any trace of his doubling\nback over his course. And, besides, if he was bound for Burndale, or\nthat side of the kingdom, why should he have come so far by the road I\nfound him in?—there are shorter ways to Burndale from Scotland. No, sir,\nif I may express an opinion to your Honour, his business must have been\nin this neighbourhood, not beyond it; he has found snug hiding\nhereabouts, but I’ll have him out yet.”\n\n“Trust you for a true terrier, eh, Filson.”\n\n“Yes, sir, with your Worship’s approval and the forces of the law to\nsupport me. I failed in vigilance that day at the inn—allowed the\ncorporeal desire of sleep to get the better of me, and was punished by\nthe man slipping through my fingers. But Providence, after teaching me\nthe lesson, sent the postilion to hear my belated inquiries, which I\nought never to have postponed to the needs of the body. The question is,\nwhere could my gentleman have gone when he vanished under the nose of\nthis old fool—begging your Worship’s pardon—that night?”\n\n“There’s the Foxwell estate begins just beyond that bridge.”\n\n“Yes, on one side of the road. And the Dornley on the other. I’ve\nquietly seen Mr. Dornley, after making sure of his loyalty in politics,\nand furnished him with a written description of my gentleman. I’ve\nhesitated to approach Mr. Foxwell, lest perhaps you might have told him\nhow you came by that letter.”\n\n“No fear o’ that; but, if he saw you, he’d soon enough guess, take my\nword on’t.”\n\n“Why, scarcely, sir, if I may venture to say so. If you told him that\nSir John Thisleford’s former valet was in the neighbourhood, and if you\ngave some notion of my present appearance, then he might indeed guess.\nBut otherwise I’ll warrant he wouldn’t know me. You see, sir, we look\ndifferent out of livery, and my name wasn’t Filson when I served Sir\nJohn; and in various ways my manners have altered—for the better, I\ntrust. So if your Honour has given him no hint of the matter, I think I\nmay safely go and solicit his interest in my quest.”\n\n“Oh, do as you see fit, man. If he discovers you, ’tis your back must\nabide the cudgel, nobody else’s. Ecod, the letter will serve my purpose\njust as well, whether or not he knows how I came by it.”\n\nJeremiah Filson was not long in availing himself of the security with\nwhich he now felt he might interview Foxwell. He thanked Providence he\nhad not been too late to stipulate against the Squire’s mentioning him\nin connection with the letter, which he had neglected to do at the time\nof their transaction. The afternoon of that same day saw him make his\nvery civil and yet not obsequious approach, the manner of which rather\nrecommended him to Foxwell, as being unmistakably of London. Learning\nthat his business was of a private nature, Foxwell heard him in the\ndrawing-room, where Filson introduced himself with a careful ambiguity\nas upon a business “in the interest of Government.” Foxwell listened\nwith polite attention to the glib description of the “fugitive rebel,\none Charles Everell, who was of the Pretender’s body-guard of gentlemen\nat Culloden,” and who was suspected of being now in hiding in the\nneighbourhood, possibly upon the Foxwell estate.\n\nFilson, being satisfied by his hearer’s unconcerned manner that Foxwell\nneither knew nor cared anything about the Jacobite, explained that,\nwhile a justice’s warrant had been made out, upon his affidavit, to\n“take and apprehend” this Charles Everell, he was prosecuting the search\nquietly rather than by such public means as might give the refugee the\nalarm. He was, therefore, in this private manner soliciting the\ncoöperation of the loyal gentlemen in the neighbourhood, and begging\nthat, in the event of their discovering such a person, either by chance\nor as a result of investigations their loyalty might prompt, they would\ncause the man to be detained, and would send word to him, Jeremiah\nFilson, at the ale-house in the village. “For, d’ye see, sir, I’ve\narranged matters that I can put my hand on the justice officers at short\nnotice. I shall be the chief witness against the rebel, and I know where\nto find another, as two are required. The other, in fact, is at\nCarlisle, where the trials are now on.”\n\nFoxwell, not at all interested, went as far as loyalty ordered, in\nsaying that, if occasion arose for his services in the matter, he would\nact as duty required; and offering the spy the freedom of the estate in\nthe prosecution of inquiries. Filson, after a profound bow of\nacknowledgment, handed Foxwell a written description of the rebel,\ncalling attention to his own name and address at the bottom of the\nsheet; declared himself the other’s very humble servant, bowed as low as\nbefore, and took his leave.\n\nFoxwell glanced carelessly over the written description, and then thrust\nit unfolded into his pocket. It had not power to drive from his mind the\nvexatious subject already lodged there. He frowned and sighed, and took\nan impatient turn up and down the room. Then, forcing his brow to\nsmoothness and the corners of his mouth to pleasantness, he returned to\nhis friends on the terrace.\n\n“You laughed at me the other day, Foxwell,” said Lady Strange, as he\napproached, “for telling you the place was haunted. But what do you say\nnow? The ghost has been seen again, in the old garden yonder; and not\nonly that same ghost—a man in a cloak—but a female figure as well.”\n\n“Two female figures, the girl said,” corrected Mrs. Winter.\n\n“Wonderful, most wonderful!” exclaimed Foxwell, smiling. “And whence\ncomes this news?”\n\n“The keeper’s daughter has just told us,” said Rashleigh. “Her\nsweetheart, it appears, was coming last night from the village to see\nher, and took a short way through the fields into the park. ’Twas he saw\nthe three figures in the garden; and one of them, it seems, was like\nthat seen by the scullery-maid the other evening.”\n\n“The scullery-maid?” said Foxwell. “I remember: I promised to question\nher, but something put it out of my mind. Well, ’tis not too late: we’ll\ncatechize her now—and the keeper’s daughter, too.”\n\nBut the keeper’s daughter had gone home to the lodge, and the\nexamination was confined to the kitchen girl, who came to the summons as\nmuch frightened as if she were brought, not to tell of a ghost, but to\nface one. Foxwell and his visitors seated themselves in the hall to hear\nher story, the other servants being excluded. By patient interrogation,\nFoxwell contrived to elicit an account hardly more circumstantial than\nLady Strange had previously given him. The girl had pursued the cat with\nthe intention of employing it against the mice in the dormitory of the\nmaids. Drawn thus toward the garden, she had perceived the motionless\ncloaked figure, which had stared at her in a strange, death-like manner.\nIt wore a sword, and she thought that in life “the gentleman might have\nbeen a king’s officer,” though she could not say what made her think so.\n\nThe word “officer” seemed to touch some association in Foxwell’s mind.\nHis hand went to the pocket containing the paper Filson had given him,\nand he showed a faint increase of interest in the few answers the girl\nhad yet to make. When he had dismissed her, he turned smilingly to his\nguests:\n\n“Well, we must avail ourselves of this ghost while it is in the humour\nof haunting us. Kind fortune seems to have sent it for your\nentertainment. What say you to a ghost-hunt?”\n\n“How are ghosts usually hunted?” asked Rashleigh; “with hounds? beagles?\nterriers?”\n\n“No, that would not do,” said Foxwell, thoughtfully. “As we know where\nit appears—for it has been seen twice in the sunken garden, according to\nthe evidence—we had best set a trap for it. What do you think, ladies?\nIt may help enliven the night for us.”\n\n“I should dearly love to see a ghost,” said Lady Strange; “but what\nmanner of trap would you use? Sure such an insubstantial thing can’t be\nheld by any machine of wood and iron.”\n\n“A trap composed of three or four stout fellows armed with cudgels,”\nsuggested Foxwell, “would doubtless serve to hold the creature till\nRashleigh and I could arrive with our swords.”\n\n“But a ghost is like air, is it not?” said Lady Strange. “It can’t be\ncaught, or stopped, or even felt.”\n\n“I have always suspected that a ghost that can be seen can be felt,\nespecially if it wears clothes,” replied Foxwell. “However it be, here\nis an opportunity to settle the question,—if the ghost continues to\nhaunt the same place. We will set our trap this evening; if we catch\nnothing, we’ll try again to-morrow; and so on, till something occurs, or\nwe grow tired. We had best tell nobody of our purpose: the ghost may\nhave accomplices. Pray let none of the servants know, but the men I\nemploy in the affair.”\n\nHe bestirred himself at once in preparations, glad of having found fresh\nmeans, not only of distracting his own thoughts somewhat from the letter\nin Squire Thornby’s possession, but also of blinding his guests to the\ndisturbance of mind which that matter still caused him.\n\nHis plans were simple. Choosing three men rather for stoutness of heart\nthan for stoutness of body, though they were not deficient in the latter\nrespect either, he instructed them to post themselves, while it was\nstill day, in well-concealed places at different sides of the garden.\nTwo, the gardener and the groom, were provided with cudgels, while the\nkeeper took a fowling-piece, which he was not to fire except in extreme\ncircumstances. At the appearance of the ghost in the garden, the keeper\nwas to utter a signal, whereupon Foxwell and his guests—who were to pass\nthe evening as usual at the card-table—would come forth as quietly as\npossible, the gentlemen with their swords ready to enforce the\nintruder’s surrender. Should the ghost attempt flight before the\ngentlemen could arrive, the three servants were to close round him,\nusing their weapons only as a last resource, and after due warning—for\nthe ghost was probably a gentleman, and Foxwell would have it treated as\nsuch. The three watchers were to go singly to their places of\nconcealment, entering the garden directly from a postern in the ruinous\neastern wing of the house, so that nobody outside of the garden itself\ncould see them.\n\n“And is not the pretty pouting niece to be admitted to this sport?”\nasked Rashleigh.\n\n“By no means,” replied Foxwell, with a frown. “She has elected to keep\nout of all our amusements, we can spare her company in this. If the\nyoung prude finds satisfaction in holding aloof, for God’s sake let her\ndo so. She disapproves of so many things we do and say, ’tis very like\nshe would disapprove of this. Threatening a ghost with a cudgel,\negad!—she might take it into her head to play the spoil-sport—you know\nthe malice of excessive virtue.”\n\nSo nothing was spoken of the matter at dinner. This meal—which occurred\nat the London hour, in the late afternoon—was now the only regular\noccasion upon which Georgiana joined the company. For the passing of her\ndays, she had her books, the care of her wardrobe and apartments, her\nmusic, drawing, embroidery, and walks—for she took these, though never\non the side of the house toward the park, lest Everell might risk his\nsafety by approaching her. She still met that gentleman each evening, at\na later hour now than at first; and he it was that occupied her thoughts\nall the day, whatever the employment of her hands and feet. She\nacknowledged to herself her love for him, and wondered, sometimes with\nhope but oftener with deep misgiving, what the end would be. At times\nshe had a poignant sense of the danger he was in by remaining near her,\nbut she shrank even then from sending him away, for their separation\nmust be long and might be eternal. As deeply as he, though less\nvehemently, did she lament the circumstances that compelled them to be\nsecret and brief in their meetings. She was by no means of that romantic\nturn of mind which would have made the affair the more attractive for\nbeing clandestine. People who do romantic things are not necessarily\npeople of romantic notions: it is a resolute fidelity to some cause or\npurpose, that leads many a generous but matter-of-fact hero or heroine\ninto romantic situations. Indeed, is it ever otherwise with your true\nhero and your true heroine? Are not the others but shams, or at best\nposeurs? Georgiana followed courageously where love led; but because she\nreally loved, and not because the conditions were romantic: she was no\nLydia Languish—she would joyfully have dispensed with the romance.\n\nOn this particular evening, the conversation at dinner took a turn which\ngave it a disquieting significance to her, though she bore no part in it\nherself. Lady Strange had mentioned a certain young lord as having died\nbecause he preferred his love to his life. Foxwell had politely laughed.\nLady Strange had somewhat offendedly stood by her assertion, whereupon\nFoxwell had declared the thing unknown in nature. Mrs. Winter supported\nhim; but Rashleigh took his cousin’s side, saying, “What! no man ever\ndied for love, then? Surely there have been cases, Bob.”\n\n“Men have been brought to death by their love-affairs, I grant you,”\nsaid Foxwell, “but that is because circumstances arose which they had\nnot foreseen, and from which they could not escape. They have even\nrisked their lives to prosecute their amours, but _risking_ one’s life\nupon fair odds is a vastly different thing from _deliberately offering_\nit in exchange for the indulgence of one’s love. That is what my lady’s\nwords really mean: ‘preferring one’s love to one’s life.’ Such bargains\nare mentioned in ancient history—as of the youth who, being deeply in\nlove with a queen, agreed to be slain at the end of a certain time if he\nmight pass that time as her accepted lover. Only such an act can really\nbe described as giving one’s life for love; and not the getting killed\nunintentionally in some matter incident to a love-affair.”\n\n“But men have killed themselves at the loss of the women they loved,”\nurged Lady Strange. “There was Romeo, that Garrick plays so\nbeautifully.”\n\n“’Tis the work of a poet who says in another place, ‘Men have died from\ntime to time, but not for love.’ When men kill themselves at the loss of\na woman, you will find they have lost other things as well—fortune and\nreputation; or their wits, in drink.”\n\nBut Lady Strange held that a true lover would not hesitate to mortgage\nhis life for a season of love, if the latter could not be obtained by\nany means at a lower price. “If he is young, and in love for the first\ntime,” added Rashleigh. But Foxwell and Mrs. Winter remained cynical,\nand the latter became even derisive, so that the dispute grew warm on\nthe part of the two ladies, who did not disdain to colour their remarks\nwith sly personalities.\n\nThe discussion promised to be endless, and was still going on when\nGeorgiana left the table. Not unaffected by the allusions to fatal\nconsequences arising from dangerous love-affairs, she waited in her own\nrooms till dusk, and then, attended by the faithful Prudence, stole\nsoftly down the stairs, and along the terrace to the sunken garden.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER IX\n\n                                 SWORDS\n\n\nAS she passed below the room in which her uncle and his friends were,\nshe heard their voices, and observed that one of the windows was open.\nBut to this she attached no importance, unusual as the fact was at that\nhour, for she had other matters to think of. And indeed the night was\nnot chill, though a slight breeze was stirring the leaves in the garden\nas she entered it. Leaving Prudence at the foot of the steps, Georgiana\nswiftly threaded the different alleys of shrubbery to make sure that no\nperson chanced to be in the garden, a precaution she had adopted since\nthe first meetings; but she did not peer under any of the bushes, or\nbehind those that grew close to the wall, for she had not conceived that\nanybody might come into the garden to hide, or for other purpose than\nhis own pleasure. She went and stood in the gateway near the glen-side.\nA moment later she saw the dark form of her lover approaching in the\ngloom of the park, and presently his arms were around her.\n\n“How you tried my patience, sweet!” said he, leading her slowly toward\nthe midst of the garden. “You are later than usual. I was beginning to\nthink you must have appeared already, and that my eyes were so blurred\nwatching the gateway they had failed to see you. Two minutes more, and I\nshould have left my thicket and come to assure myself.”\n\n“Never do that, I beg! Never come into the garden till you see me in the\ngateway—not even though you hear my voice. Promise me you will\nnot—promise, Everell.”\n\n“I would promise you anything in the world when you ask with that voice\nand those eyes—anything but to cease loving you or to leave you. But I\ndo believe the goddess of love has this garden in her keeping, and\nreserves it wholly for us, we have been so safe from intrusion in it.”\n\n“We have been very rash. I tremble to think how careless we were at\nfirst, when you were wont to come in before I saw that the coast was\nclear. But we are never perfectly safe here—as we found last night, when\nthat country fellow stared in at the gateway.”\n\n“I doubt if the yokel really saw us. But, if so, he would find nothing\nstrange in your being here with your maid. If he saw me, he would\nsuppose I was your uncle or some visitor. But I will take all\nprecautions, dear, if only to make your mind easy. I wouldn’t have you\nsuffer the least fear, not even for the sake of that look of solicitude\nin your eyes, which is certainly the tenderest, most heavenly look that\na woman or an angel can bestow. It goes to my inmost heart, and binds me\nto you for ever. And yet I’d have you smile, for all that, if you’d be\nhappier smiling.”\n\n“I might be happier smiling, but I think I should not be as concerned\nfor you then,” replied Georgiana, simply, and with a smile that had a\nlittle sadness in it.\n\n“Ah, my dearest!” said Everell, softly, with a sudden tremor in his\nvoice.\n\nThe silence that followed might have been longer but that the young man\ncould not forget, for more than a few seconds at a time, how brief their\ninterview was to be. He imagined, perhaps mistakenly, that the value of\nsuch meetings was to be measured in speeches rather than in silences,\nalthough he attached full worth to eloquent glances.\n\n“When I feel how dull the hours are between these short glimpses of\nheaven,” said he, “I marvel to think how tedious the years must have\nbeen before I saw you, though I knew it not.—I never chafed at danger\ntill now. Sometimes when I lie in the bracken yonder, or pace the dark\nbottom of the glen, I am tempted to ignore all risks, come boldly to\nyour house, seek the acquaintance of your uncle, and measure my\nhappiness by hours instead of minutes.”\n\n“Oh, Everell!—do not think of it!”\n\n“Nay, have no fear, sweet. Your commands are sacred with me—till you\ncommand me to leave you, or not to love you.”\n\n“But if I commanded you earnestly to leave?—resolutely, so that you knew\nI meant it?”\n\n“Could you have the heart to do that?”\n\n“Would that I had! I ought to have. But would it be useless?”\n\n“As useless as it would be cruel, sweet, I vow to you.”\n\n“But ’tis cruel to let you stay. ’Tis a wonder your presence in the\nneighbourhood isn’t known already—a wonder the poacher hasn’t betrayed\nyou.”\n\n“Nay, he is true as steel. We are in the same galley—both rebels, he\nagainst the game laws and the world’s injustice, I against the present\ndynasty. You must know, we outlaws stand together.—You are again in the\nmood of fearing for my safety. But see how baseless your fears have been\nso far. Trust our stars, dearest: mine, at least, has ever been\nfortunate.”\n\n“My fears are always returning. Sometimes I have the most poignant\nfeeling of danger surrounding us, of reproach to myself that I was the\ncause of interrupting your flight. I have that feeling now. Oh, Everell,\nloth as I am to send you away, I feel in my soul that I ought! My heart,\nwhich would keep you here, at the same time urges you to fly: with one\nbeat it calls to you, ‘Stay,’ and with the next cries, ‘Go!’ Oh, why did\nyou not go on with your friend?”\n\n“Indeed, ’tis better he and I are apart, since that fellow at the inn\nknew we travelled together,” replied Everell, trying to reassure her.\n“If the man really meant to continue dogging us, our separation was the\nbest means of confusing him. Dismiss your fears, sweet. If your regard\nfor me were love rather than compassion,—love such as I have for\nyou,—the only impulse of your heart would be to keep me with you: beyond\nthat, you would not think, either with hope or fear. And yet your\ncompassion, so angelic,—nay, so womanly,—I would rather have than the\nlove of any other woman.”\n\nHe said this honestly; for she had never in plain terms owned to him\nthat she loved him, and he, in the humility of a man’s first love, saw\nhimself unworthy of her by as much as he adored her, and therefore did\nnot imagine himself capable of eliciting from her what he felt for her.\nHer indulgence he ascribed to the pity of a gentle heart for one whose\nsituation, both as a refugee and as a lover, pleaded for him while his\ncourtesy and honour gave assurance that her tenderness was safe from\nbetrayal. If her heart desired him to stay near her, he supposed, ’twas\nbecause it hesitated to put him to the unhappiness of leaving her. That\nshe might suffer on her own account in his absence, did not occur to\nhim: she herself was all loveliness, and where she was, there would all\nloveliness be; what was he that she should find him necessary to make\nthe world complete? Were his presence needful to her content, she would\nnot limit their meetings to so few moments in a long day. Thus he\nthought, or, rather, thus he felt without analyzing the feeling.\n\n“’Tis the duty of my compassion, then,” she answered, “to drive you\naway. I am more convinced of it now than ever. Such foreboding, such\nmisgiving!—why do I feel so? I pray Heaven ’tis not yet too late.—Hark!\nwhat was that?”\n\n“’Tis only the master and his guests a-laughing over their\ndissipations,” said Prudence, near whom the lovers happened at the\nmoment to be standing. “They’ve left the window open, ma’am.”\n\n“See how easily you are frightened without cause,” said Everell. “Come,\nhas not the mood run its course?”\n\n“Blame me not that I bid you go, Everell!” she replied, as if not to be\nreassured. “You may come to blame me that I ever stayed to hear you!”\n\n“For that dear fault my heart will thank you while it moves.”\n\n“It _was_ a fault!—I see now that it was. I was so solitary, so\nrebellious against my uncle and his company, that when you came my heart\nseemed to know you as a friend; and I listened to you.”\n\n“Ay, sweet listener that you were! What effect your listening had upon\nme! I had wished to return to France, which in exile I had grown up to\nlove. This England, though I was born in it, was to me a strange\ncountry, but you have made it home!”\n\nHe raised both her hands to his lips, while she stood irresolute, her\neyes searching his face for the secret of his confidence, which she\nwould have rejoiced to think better warranted than her fears. The\nsilence was suddenly broken by a slight, brief noise in the greenery\nnear the steps.\n\n“What’s that?” she said, quickly.\n\n“The wind,” replied Everell; but the sudden straightening of his body,\nand fixity of his attention upon the place of the sound, betrayed his\ndoubt.\n\n“No,” whispered Georgiana, “’twas quite different.”\n\n“Some animal moving among the shrubs,” said Everell. “I’ll go and see.”\n\nWith his hand upon his sword-hilt, he walked to the shrubbery growing\nalong the foot of the bank which rose to the terrace. “’Twas\nhereabouts,” he said, and, drawing his weapon, thrust it downward into\nthe thick leafy mass. From the further side of the mass came the loud\nhoot of an owl, followed by the noise of a man scrambling to his feet.\n\n“Ah! come out, spy!” cried Everell, as the human character of the\nintruder was certified by a sound of husky breathing.\n\nHe darted his weapon swiftly here and there through the shrubbery, and\nthen ran seeking the nearest opening by which he might get to the enemy.\nBut the enemy spared him that trouble by appearing on the hither side of\nthe barrier, from the very opening that Everell had sought. The strange\nman had a gun raised, to wield it as a club.\n\nEverell, recalling his experience of John Tarby’s fowling-piece,\nnevertheless ran toward the fellow, hoping to dodge the blow, and\ndisable the man by pinking him in the arm or shoulder, after which it\nmight be possible to learn his purpose and come to terms. But just as\nthe young gentleman went to meet his approaching foe, a sharp scream\nfrom Georgiana distracted him, so that, though he saved his head, he\ncaught the gun-stroke on his right shoulder, and his sword-thrust passed\nwide of his adversary. He now heard other feet hastening toward him\nthrough the garden: it was, indeed, the appearance of the two other men,\ncoming to the keeper’s aid upon his signal of the owl’s hoot, that had\ncaused Georgiana to cry out. Everell, seeing his first opponent draw\nback to recover himself, turned swiftly to consider the newcomers,\nplacing his back to the high shrubbery. One was approaching on his\nfront, the other at his left. They both brandished cudgels; but, as they\nsaw him dart his glance upon them in turn and hold his sword ready for a\nlunge in either direction, they stopped at safe distance.\n\n“Oh, Everell, fly!” cried Georgiana, hastening to his side.\n\n“What! and leave you to these rascals, sweet?” he answered.\n\n“They’ll not harm me: they are servants here. Save yourself!—for _my_\nsake!”\n\nHe looked at her for an instant, read in her eyes the pleading of her\nheart, and said, softly, “For yours, yes!—we shall meet again.”\n\nHe then started toward the gateway leading to the park and glen. But the\ngardener and the groom swallowed their fear of steel, and made bravely\nto intercept him. He had confidence in his ability with the sword to\ndeal with two men armed with cudgels. But he knew that his ultimate\nsituation would be so much the worse if he killed either of these\nfellows. His thought, therefore, was to elude them by mere fleetness, or\nslightly to disable them. He soon abandoned the former hope, for at the\nfirst turn he tried they were swift to head him off. So he charged\nstraight at the nearer, thrusting so fortunately as to prick the\nfellow’s shoulder, making him lower his cudgel with a howl. Everell now\ntried a similar lunge at the other cudgel-man, but the latter divined\nhis purpose, and saved himself by tumbling over backward. The wounded\nman had instantly transferred his cudgel to his left hand, and now stood\nagain in Everell’s way, while the fellow with the gun had come up to\nthreaten him in the rear. Informed of this last danger by his hearing,\nthe Jacobite sprang aside to the right in time to avoid a second blow.\nHe turned swiftly upon the gun-wielder, whose fear of the sword made him\nthereupon flee toward the gateway. Everell’s three adversaries were now\nall in that part of the garden through which he had intended to escape.\n\n“This way!” cried Georgiana, from behind him; “and by the terrace!”\n\nEverell wheeled around and made a dash for the steps. His enemies were\nprompt to recover from their surprise and rush after him, the fallen man\nhaving speedily got on his feet again. But the clean-limbed Jacobite won\nto the steps by more than striking-distance. He thought to clear them in\ntwo bounds, then cross the terrace and gain the park.\n\n“Eh! the deuce!” exclaimed a voice at the head of the steps, as a dark\nform, backed by several others, appeared there. Everell, who had just\nset his foot on the middle step, checked himself at the risk of his\nbalance, and leaped back. The newcomer, who had a sword in his hand,\nthrust downward at Everell, at the same time calling out, “The light,\nCaleb!”\n\nA lantern, which had been concealed under the coat of its bearer, now\ncast its rays over the scene from one side of the stair-top. Its help\nwas more to those who arrived with it than to Everell, whose eyes had\nbecome used to the light shed by the stars alone. But he was now enabled\nto make sure that his new intercepter was Mr. Foxwell himself; that\nRashleigh was at that gentleman’s side, with drawn sword; that the two\nLondon ladies stood close behind, peering forward and yet shrinking\nback, as curiosity disputed with fright; and that the man servant with\nthe lantern carried also a coil of rope. All this was the observation of\nan instant. Even as he made it, Everell put his sword at guard, and\nlooked a questioning defiance.\n\n“A sturdy ghost, as I live!” cried Foxwell, motioning the three fellows\nat Everell’s back, who had come to a halt at the first intimation of\ntheir master’s arrival, to stay their hands. “My niece, too!—the\nguileless Georgiana!”\n\n“Uncle!” she began, scarce able to speak, though her pale face and\nterrified eyes were eloquent enough; “this gentleman—”\n\n“Is my prisoner, till he gives an account of himself. Do you surrender,\nsir?”\n\n“No, sir,” replied Everell.\n\n“Then I must reluctantly order these men to take you,” said Foxwell,\npolitely.\n\n“Then their deaths be on your head,” said Everell, and turned to make\nanother dash for the gateway, determined this time to spare none who\nbarred the way. To this direction of escape he was limited by his\nunwillingness to try fatal conclusions with Georgiana’s kinsman. But he\nwas robbed of choice in the matter; for no sooner had he taken two\nstrides than Foxwell, afraid of losing him, leaped down the steps, and\nshouted, “Turn and defend yourself!”\n\n\n[Illustration: “THE TWO GENTLEMEN MADE THEIR SWORDS RING.”]\n\n\nFearing that non-compliance might result in the indignity of being\nstruck on the back with the sword while in flight, Everell obeyed. Ere\nhe could think, his blade had crossed that of Foxwell, who a second time\nbade the three underlings hold off. The two gentlemen made their swords\nring swiftly, in that part of the garden near the steps, Caleb moving\nthe lantern so as to keep its light upon them. Georgiana watched in\nfearful silence, Prudence clinging to her and recurrently moaning, “Oh,\nlor!” Rashleigh stood on the steps, ready to interfere at call. The\ncombatants seemed admirably matched, and each had reason to admire the\nother’s fencing. But, to Everell’s relief, it presently became apparent\nthat the elder man’s arm was weakening. The Jacobite now indulged the\nhope of disarming him. But Foxwell, too, saw that possibility. He\nbeckoned Rashleigh, who thereupon ran forward and struck up Everell’s\nsword, while the groom and the gardener, obeying a swift command of\ntheir master, seized the Jacobite’s elbows from behind. Everell made a\nviolent effort to throw them off, but in sheer strength he was no match\nfor them. Relinquishing the attempt, he said, quietly, to Foxwell,\n“’Twas scarcely fair.”\n\n“For that I beg your pardon,” replied Foxwell, still panting for breath.\n“In a matter between us two alone as gentlemen, ’twould be dastardly.\nBut I had to take you at all cost. You would not surrender; though you\ncertainly owe me an explanation on one score, and are an object of\nsuspicion on another.”\n\n“Oh, Everell!” murmured Georgiana, who had fallen to weeping, and was\nheedful only of her lover’s plight and not at all of her uncle’s words.\n\n“Everell, say you? Bring the lantern here, Caleb.” In the better light,\nFoxwell scrutinized his prisoner’s face. “The scar on the cheek, too.\n’Tis as I thought. But how Miss Foxwell happens to participate—well,\nthere will be time for explanations. Sir, if you will give me your\n_parole d’honneur_, I need not inflict upon you the restraint of—” He\nindicated the cords in Caleb’s possession.\n\n“I thank you, but I prefer to retain my right of escape.”\n\n“In that case, you will admit the necessity of the precautions I\nreluctantly take.” And Foxwell set about directing the servants in\nfastening the captive’s wrists behind him, and in tying his ankles so as\nto limit the length of his steps. With a courteous “Allow me, sir,”\nFoxwell disengaged the sword from Everell’s fingers and returned it to\nits own scabbard, which Everell had retained at his side. This act of\ngrace the Jacobite acknowledged with a bow.\n\n“Uncle, you will not detain this gentleman?” entreated Georgiana,\nconquering her tears. “He has done you no offence. As to our meeting\nhere, I will tell you all; the fault is mine.”\n\n“Not so!” said Everell, quickly. “If there be any fault in that, ’tis\nmine. Sir, it was not by Miss Foxwell’s desire that I came here; it was\nagainst her will that I spoke to her. My presence was forced upon her.”\n\n“Well, well, you shall be heard presently. You have a more serious\ncharge to face than making love clandestinely to young ladies.—As for\nyou, Georgiana, I thought you were in your chamber, wrapped in the sleep\nof innocence. I’ll never trust prudery again. I beg you will go in\nimmediately, miss.”\n\n“Uncle, I will not go till you have set this gentleman free. You shall\nhave all my gratitude and obedience: I’ll give you no cause of\ncomplaint. Be kind—generous—I pray—” Her voice failing her, she fell\nupon her knees, and essayed to take Foxwell’s hand.\n\n“Nay, sweet, you go too far,” said Everell, tenderly.\n\n“Too far, indeed,” said Foxwell. “No scenes of supplication, I beg,—they\nare sure to make me more severe. I advise you to go to your chamber,\nmiss. You had best oblige me in this, else stubbornness on your part may\nawaken stubbornness on mine.”\n\n“Go, dear, and trust all to me,” counseled Everell, who had been\nregarding her with eyes in which there was no attempt to belie his love.\n“Go—this is not the end.”\n\nShe looked at him a moment; then turned sorrowfully away, and went\nslowly up the steps and to the house, followed by her maid, to whose\nproffers of assistance she gave no more heed than if she had been\nwalking in a dream.\n\n“Sir,” said Everell, with a slight huskiness of voice, “let me assure\nyou that I am a gentleman and a man of honour; and that I respect your\nniece, and have every reason to respect her, as I would a saint.”\n\n“No assurance is needful to convince me you are a gentleman,” replied\nFoxwell. “I will lodge you in a manner as nearly befitting your quality\nas security and my poor means will allow. I must be your jailer for\nto-night, at least.—Caleb, go before with the lantern. To the hall\nfirst. And slowly.—I trust you can make shift to walk, sir.”\n\nPlacing the gardener and the groom at either side of the prisoner, and\nthe keeper at his rear, Foxwell set the party in motion. The two\ngentlemen, following close, gave their arms to the ladies upon reaching\nthe head of the steps, and the procession went on at the slow pace which\nEverell’s ankle-cords made imperative.\n\n“A mighty pretty fellow, whatever he may be,” said Lady Strange, _sotto\nvoce_.\n\n“Georgiana is to be envied,” said Mrs. Winter. “Such are the rewards of\nvirtue.”\n\n“He is vastly in love with her,” declared Lady Strange. “Did you ever\nsee such tender glances?”\n\n“’Tis the kind of ghost you could find it in your heart to be haunted\nby, is it not, Di?” queried Mrs. Winter.\n\n“The keeper must have been in some doubt whether the ghost _was_ the\nghost,” put in Rashleigh, “before he decided to give the alarm.”\n\nThere had indeed been indecision on the part of the keeper, but upon\nother ground than Rashleigh mentioned. As he sat with the gardener over\ntheir extra beer later that night, the keeper explained to his comrade:\n\n“I were in a powerful state o’ uncertainty, and that’s the truth of it.\nFor, in course, I knowed the young mistress and her maid as soon as ever\nthey come into the garden. And when this here young captain,—for I take\nit, he can’t be no less, what with the air he have, and the way he\nhandle his sword,—so when the young captain appeared, I soon see how the\nland lay. Though I couldn’t make out what they was a-sayin’, I could\ntell it were a matter o’ clandestine love. Now I were to give a owl’s\nhoot when the ghost appeared. Thinks I, ‘Devil a ghost this is, but yet\n’tis the only ghost we’re like to behold. If I wait for a real ghost,’\nthinks I, ‘we sha’n’t get to our beds this night; and yet I haven’t the\nheart to spoil the young lady’s love-affair.’”\n\n“And small blame to you, David,” said Andrew the gardener. “Your\nthoughts was my thoughts, and I kep’ a-wondering to myself, ‘What will\nDavid do? If he doesn’t hoot, we shall have to stay out here all night,\nand then only get credit for going asleep and seeing nothing. And yet,\nif he does hoot, there’ll be a pretty kettle o’ fish for the young\nlady.’”\n\n“Yes, Andrew, it were a great responsibility. I wished it had been left\nto you to do the hootin’, for, thinks I, ‘Andrew’s a wiser man than me,\nand he’d know the right thing.’”\n\n“Maybe so, David, but not such a good hooter,” said Andrew, modestly.\n“I’ll admit I did a’most make up my mind that such kind of love-affairs\ncomes to no good, and the master ought to know, so the best thing for\nall of us would be for you to consider the stranger a ghost, and hoot.”\n\n“No doubt, no doubt, Andrew, now that I hear you say so. But I couldn’t\nmuster up the heart, because I done my own love-makin’ in a clandestine\nmanner, in my lovin’ days, and I had a sort o’ fellow-feelin’ with these\nyoung people, as you might say. So I couldn’t make up my mind. But I\nhappened to move my leg, which were powerful cramped with sittin’ long\nin one position, an’ I made more noise nor I bargained for. And the\nfirst thing I knew, the young gentleman were a-proddin’ at me through\nthe shrub’ry. So before I ever thought, the hoot come out, more as if\nthere was a owl inside o’ me which hooted of its own accord, than if it\nwas of my own free will.”\n\n“It wasn’t of your own free will, man. Take my word for it, the matter\nwas took out o’ your hands altogether. The moving of your leg was\nordered from above, to bring about the end that was predestinated.”\n\n“I believe it were, Andrew. At all events, once the hoot was out, the\nfat was in the fire. It weren’t a bad hoot, though, were it?”\n\n“Better nor a real owl could do, David,” said Andrew, raising his beer\nto his mouth.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER X\n\n                                 WAGERS\n\n\nTHE conversation just related took place in a passage where the two men\nkept watch outside the room in which Everell was temporarily confined.\nIt was a small chamber with an iron-barred window, and the Jacobite sat\ngazing into the flame of a candle on the mantelpiece, while his fate was\nbeing discussed in the drawing-room. He was still under the restraint of\nthe cords, which, like that of lock and key, was warranted by his\npersistent refusal to give his word that he would not escape. The master\nof the house had personally seen, however, that the prisoner’s\nsurroundings were made as endurable as the necessities of the case\nallowed.\n\n“So this,” said Foxwell, as he then rejoined his guests in the\ndrawing-room, “is what lay behind our Georgiana’s prudery. How the deuce\ncould she have met the Jacobite?”\n\n“The question is,” said Rashleigh, “what the deuce are you going to do\nwith the Jacobite?”\n\n“I wish I knew,” replied Foxwell, looking at the document presented to\nhim by Jeremiah Filson. “’Tis clear enough what our duty is, as loyal\nsubjects, and so forth.”\n\n“’Twere a pity such a lovable fellow should be thrown to the hangman,”\nsaid Mrs. Winter.\n\n“A thousand pities,” said Lady Strange. “And so loving a fellow, too! If\never a man had a true lover’s look!—well, to be sure, the little\nGeorgiana is a pretty thing, but—”\n\n“But the young blade might look higher if he had better taste—is that\nwhat you were thinking, Diana?” asked Mrs. Winter, with ironical\nartlessness.\n\n“No such thing, neither!” said Lady Strange, indignantly. “I admire him\nfor his constancy—for I warrant he is constant to her, and will be\nconstant to her; and I wouldn’t have him else, not for the world. Thank\nHeaven, I am above envy.”\n\nA slight emphasis upon the I—so slight as scarce to seem intended—was\nperhaps what drew from the other lady the answer:\n\n“Don’t be too sure of the young fellow’s constancy. You know, Diana\ndear, you always have been somewhat credulous of men’s constancy—’tis\nyour own fidelity makes you trustful, of course.”\n\n“Doubt as much as you like, Isabella: we are all aware you have\nparticular reasons to complain of men’s fickleness.”\n\nFeeling that the preservation of the peace required an immediate\ndiversion, Rashleigh broke in with the first remark that occurred to him\nas appropriate:\n\n“Certainly this young man is a lover who has risked his life for the\nsake of love.”\n\n“Ay, and that proves you and I were right at dinner, Cousin Rashleigh!”\ncried Lady Strange.\n\n“Hardly so, my lady,” said Foxwell. “This young gentleman merely\n_risked_ his life in coming to meet his beloved. He by no means counted\nsurely upon losing it: his active endeavours to escape prove that. Mrs.\nWinter’s contention, which I supported, was that no man would\ndeliberately give his life for the sake of love—by which I mean the\npassion of love, itself, apart from pity or duty or other consideration.\nNow, had this gentleman come to meet his beloved, knowing certainly that\ndeath awaited him in consequence, then indeed he would have proved your\nassertion.”\n\n“Well, and how do you know he wouldn’t have done so, if the\ncircumstances had required?” asked Lady Strange. “For my part, I believe\nhe would.”\n\n“Provided, of course,” added Rashleigh, “that by failing to meet her he\nmight lose her for all time.”\n\n“That is implied, certainly,” said Foxwell. “The alternative we are\nimagining is: Death for love gratified—life for love renounced.”\n\n“Catch a fellow of his years and looks choosing death on any such terms,\nif the choice were offered him,” said Mrs. Winter, derisively.\n\n“’Tis precisely his youth that would make him give all for love,” said\nRashleigh; “the more so if this be his first serious love.—But what _is_\nto be his fate, Bob? If you hand him over to the authorities, he will\ncertainly be hanged, unless that paper lies.”\n\n“Egad, I was just thinking,” replied Foxwell, with the faint smile that\ncomes with a piquant idea; “an Italian duke, a century or two ago, would\nhave amused his visitors, and settled the point of our dispute, by\nputting this young gentleman to the test. I must say, experiments upon\nthe human passions have an interest, though the loggish minds of our\ncountrymen don’t often rise to such refinements of curiosity.”\n\n“I see nothing in it to balk at,” said Rashleigh. “At the worst, the\nyoung man can but die, as he must if you do your plain duty as a loyal\nsubject. ’Twould really be giving him a chance for his life. It seems an\nexcellent way out of your own indecision as to what you should do with\nhim: you transfer his fate from your will to his.”\n\n“I believe he does love the girl,” said Foxwell, revolving the notion in\nhis mind. “And certainly his life is in my power—we may let him go if we\nchoose, and the government be none the wiser, or we may dutifully hand\nhim over to the law. We can offer him, on the one hand, his life and\nfreedom if he will give up his love upon the instant and for ever, not\nto set eyes upon the girl again: on the other hand, a brief period of\ngrace, which he may pass with her on the footing of a favoured suitor,\non condition of handing him over to the authorities at the end.”\n\n“And if he decline to choose?” asked Rashleigh.\n\n“Then I can send word straightway to Jeremiah Filson to fetch the\nofficers. In that event, young Troilus will lose both life and love.\nEither choice will be a gain upon that.—But you may save your pity, Lady\nStrange: he will choose to live and go free, depend on it.”\n\n“I will not depend on it. He will obey the dictates of his love, and\nchoose death rather than never see her again.”\n\n“Indeed, I shall not be surprised if he does so,” said Rashleigh. “You\ntake too little account of his youth, Bob. When men are of his age, and\nof an ardent nature, their love shuts out everything else from their\nview. ’Tis their universe. Beyond it, or apart from it, there’s\nnothing.”\n\n“Fudge and nonsense!” exclaimed Mrs. Winter. “He will prefer to run away\nand live to love another day.”\n\n“We shall see,” cried Lady Strange, “if Bob will really put it to the\ntest. I’m so sure of the man, I’ll lay five guineas he will choose love\nand death.”\n\n“Well, my lady, I’ll take your wager,” said Foxwell. “Your five guineas\nwill be a cheap price for the lesson, that we men are not such devoted\ncreatures as you do us the honour to suppose.”\n\n“Never fear my doing _you_ that honour, Foxwell. But thank you for\ntaking the wager. I’m dying of curiosity to see how the young fellow\nwill receive the proposal.”\n\n“There is no need you should linger in suspense,” replied Foxwell,\npulling the bell. “Let us have the matter out now, while we’re in the\nhumour.”\n\nTaking up his sword, for use only in case of some desperate attempt on\nthe prisoner’s part, Foxwell stationed himself at the door of the room,\nwhence he could see across the hall and up the passage to the place of\nconfinement. He then sent Caleb to request, in terms of great\npoliteness, Mr. Everell’s company in the drawing-room, whither he was to\nbe attended, of course, by the two men now guarding him.\n\nWhile Caleb was upon this errand, it was possible for Foxwell both to\nkeep eyes on the passage and to talk with his friends.\n\n“Will you bet five guineas against me, too, Bob?” asked Rashleigh.\n\n“Nay, I’ll do that,” put in Mrs. Winter, quickly, “and five more, if you\nlike.”\n\n“Done—ten guineas,” said Rashleigh.\n\n“Good!” cried Mrs. Winter. “I believe I know how far a man is capable of\ngoing for love’s sake—even when young and of an ardent nature.”\n\n“For all your talk,” answered Rashleigh, with barefaced affability,\n“you’ll not make me believe you’ve never found a man who would face\ndeath for love of you.”\n\n“I may have found some who said they would,” replied Mrs. Winter,\ncomplacently swallowing the flattery despite all her sophistication,\n“but that’s a different thing. Let us see how this Romeo comes out of\nthe test.”\n\n“How are you going to put the matter to him, Foxwell?” asked Lady\nStrange.\n\n“Leave it to me,” was the reply. “Either he shall go free and never see\nher again, or he shall be our guest here for a stipulated time, and then\nbe given up. The only question is, how long shall that time be?”\n\n“A day,” suggested Mrs. Winter.\n\n“Cruel!—a month,” said Lady Strange.\n\n“I cannot have him on my hands so long,” said Foxwell. “Say a week.\nShall the wagers stand, on that condition?”\n\nRashleigh made no objection, and the two ladies were brought to a hasty\nacceptance of the compromise by Foxwell placing his finger on his lip in\nwarning of the prisoner’s approach.\n\nEverell came as rapidly as the restraint upon his motions would allow;\nand stopped as soon as he had entered the room, to avoid proceeding\nfarther with his shuffling steps before the company. Foxwell had a chair\nplaced for him. Caleb and the two other men were ordered to stand ready\noutside the door, which was then closed. Foxwell sat down near the\nladies and Rashleigh, so that the Jacobite now found himself confronted\nby four pairs of eyes, which paid him the compliment of a well-bred\nregard vastly different in its effect from the rude stare of the vulgar.\nHis own glance had swiftly informed him that Georgiana was not present.\n\nHe sat with undissembled curiosity as to what this interview might\nunfold. He had obeyed the summons with alacrity, eager to be informed of\nwhat was to come. He was neither defiant nor crushed; exhibited neither\nsullenness nor bravado. In the solitude of his place of detention, he\nhad been tormented with the reproach of having brought trouble upon\nGeorgiana; and he had been sobered and humbled by the knowledge that at\nlast his rashness had laid him by the heels. What could he say to\nRoughwood now, if that wise friend were there to see the fulfilment of\nhis warnings? But these feelings did not banish hope. Everell’s nature\nwas still buoyant. He was, at least, under the same roof with Georgiana.\nDeath seemed far away: he scarcely thought of it as the natural sequel\nto his situation. He now looked with frank inquiry at the face of his\nprincipal captor for enlightenment as to what was intended concerning\nhim.\n\n“Sir, I have solicited this meeting,” began Foxwell, “in order to\ndiscuss our positions—yours and my own. My friends were witnesses to the\noccurrence by which you fell into my—that is to say, by which you became\nmy guest. They know why I felt bound to detain you, and they will share\nmy confidence to the end of the affair. It would, of course, be their\nright—perhaps their duty as loyal subjects—to act independently in the\ninterests of Government, if I chose not to act so. But they have agreed\nto abide by my course, whatever that shall be. So it is well, I think,\nthat they should be present at this interview.”\n\n“I am far from making the least objection, sir,” said Everell, bowing to\nthe ladies and regarding the whole company with an amiable though\nexpectant composure.\n\n“You are aware, of course,” Foxwell continued, “of what will follow if I\ngive you up to the nearest justice. Perhaps you may not know that one\nJeremiah Filson is actively concerning himself about you in this\nneighbourhood on behalf of the Government. He has caused a warrant to be\nissued against you, he is circulating descriptions which show him to be\nan accurate and thorough observer.” Foxwell put his hand upon the paper\nwhich Rashleigh had laid on the table. “He waits only for news of your\nwhereabouts, to bring the constables upon you. He will be one of the\nwitnesses against you, and the other, I believe, is now at York or\nCarlisle—I know not which, but the judges have been trying and\nsentencing your unlucky comrades by the score, gentlemen as well as the\nlower orders.”\n\nAs Foxwell paused, Everell, for want of knowing what better reply to\nmake, answered in a half-smiling manner, though his heart was beating\nrather faster than usual:\n\n“Sir, I have nothing to say to this—except that ’tis a pity so many poor\nfellows should die for being on the losing side. Nor do I own that I am\nthe man you think.”\n\n“Too many circumstances leave me no doubt on that point, sir,” said\nFoxwell, with a serenity which showed the hopelessness of any contest on\nthe ground of identity. “’Tis in your power and right certainly to deny\nand temporize; but, if you choose to tire me by those methods, I have\nonly to deliver you up at once.”\n\nThere was something in the speaker’s quiet voice and cold eyes that gave\nthe whole possibility—trial, sentence, the end—a reality and nearness it\nhad never had in Everell’s mind before. He was startled into a gravity\nhe had not previously felt.\n\n“But,” Foxwell went on, “if you choose that we shall understand each\nother, there is a chance for your life—a condition upon which you may\nhave immediate liberty.”\n\nEverell looked frankly grateful. The form of death assigned to traitors\nand rebels, with its dismal preliminaries and circumstances, had not\nallured him the brief while he had contemplated it. It wore a vastly\ndifferent aspect from that of a glorious end in the self-forgetfulness\nof battle. “Immediate liberty?” he repeated, with some eagerness.\n\n“With my warranty,” continued Foxwell, “that neither my friends, nor\nmyself, nor my servants shall pursue you, or give information against\nyou, or in any manner hinder your departure from this country—”\n\n“Sir,” Everell broke in, “I should be an ingrate not to be moved by such\ngenerosity—you are worthy to be her kinsman!—”\n\n“Upon the single condition—” went on Foxwell, without any change of\nmanner.\n\n“Ah, yes; conditions are but reasonable,” said Everell.\n\n“The single condition,” said Foxwell, “that you will never again, during\nthe whole length of your life, see or communicate with my niece:—and for\nthis you will give me your word of honour.”\n\n“Never—see her—again?” said Everell, faintly, gazing at Foxwell as if\nunsure of having heard aright.\n\n“Upon your word of honour,” replied Foxwell, who did not alter either\nhis attitude of easy grace nor his tone of courteous nonchalance during\nthe interview; “but, indeed, as a part of the condition, you will leave\nthis neighbourhood at once. That will be for the comfort of all of us\nconcerned, as well as for your own safety. If, after twenty-four hours,\nyou are seen hereabouts, or in this county, I shall be freed of my\nobligation: in that event, beware of Jeremiah Filson and the justice’s\nmen. And, in the meantime, my niece will be inaccessible. I will make it\nmy care to see that she is soon married, so there will be no hope for\nyou in that quarter. But as the old ballad says that love will find out\nthe way,—though I greatly doubt the possibility in this case,—I must,\nnevertheless, make doubly sure by requiring, as I have said, your word\nof honour that you will never of your own intention see or address her,\ndirectly or indirectly, in this world. That is all, I think.”\n\n“It is too much that you ask!” cried Everell. “Your condition is too\nhard—I can’t accept it—no, sir, I cannot.”\n\n“Yet if I hand you over to the law straightway,” said Foxwell, quietly,\n“you will not see her again.”\n\n“There will still be the possibility of escape,” replied Everell; “there\nwill be no binding word of honour. But go free without _one_ hope of\never meeting her again?—no, make the condition something else, I beg\nyou, sir; or hand me over to the law, and let me retain my right of\nescape.”\n\nLady Strange’s eyes shone with applause, but Rashleigh and Mrs. Winter\nwaited for the scene to continue. After a moment’s silence, Foxwell\nbegan anew:\n\n“Well, sir, I must congratulate my niece upon your devotion. Rather than\ngive her up for ever, you will risk death. You hazard all upon your\nchance of escape. ’Tis a slight chance enough: that you will own.”\n\n“No doubt,” replied Everell, in a faltering voice; “but ’tis something.”\n\n“Suppose it fails you. Then, in losing your life, you lose the lady,\ntoo. Your chance of seeing her again is even smaller than the small\nchance of your escape: you may be sure that special precautions will be\ntaken with you—such that your chance will be hardly worth calling by\nthat name.”\n\nEverell sighed deeply, and it is no use denying that he looked plaintive\nand miserable.\n\n“But what if I propose an alternative?” said Foxwell. “What if I offer\nto make you our guest here—for a week—as free as any other guest, except\nthat you may not leave the grounds or put yourself in danger of\ndiscovery,—a guest with all the opportunities of meeting my niece that a\nrecognized suitor might have?”\n\nIt was a moment before Everell could speak. “Sir, what does all this\nmean?” he cried. “Is it a jest? In God’s name, don’t hold out such a\nprospect merely to play with me.”\n\n“’Tis a prospect in your power of realizing, upon my honour.”\n\n“Then your generosity—but generosity is too mean a word—I know not how\nto describe your action, nor to express my gratitude.”\n\n“Pray wait till you have heard the condition: to everything there is a\nprice.”\n\n“Whatever it be, ’twere cheap payment for such happiness. I won’t\ndisguise my love for your niece, sir: why should I, when I began by\nconfessing it? To be with her all the day, without anxiety or risk—”\n\n“For a week, I said.”\n\n“Such a week will be worth a lifetime!” Everell declared.\n\n“’Tis well you count it so, for that is the price at which it is\noffered. At the end of the week, I mean, you shall be given up to the\nauthorities. If you accept this proposal, you will engage upon your\nhonour to surrender yourself at the appointed hour, and to forego all\nchance of escape—though at the same time every precaution will be taken\nto make sure of you.”\n\n“At the end of the week—given up?” repeated Everell, again startled and\nopen-eyed.\n\n“Given up to the officers of justice, with advice to use special care\nagainst your escape—though, indeed, your word of honour will be the\nbetter security. As to what will follow—your conveyance to York, your\ntrial, and the rest—” Foxwell gave a shrug in lieu of finishing the\nsentence.\n\n“A week,” said Everell, rather to himself than to the company, “a week\nwith _her_—to be absolutely _sure_ of that!—”\n\n“A week with her,” said Foxwell, “and then to face the judges. A few\ntedious days of imprisonment and trial—hardly to be reckoned as days of\nlife—and ‘the rest is silence,’ as the play says. How many possible\nyears of life is it you would forfeit to pay for this week? Two score,\nperhaps,—and some of them years of fine young manhood, too. Well, the\nchoice is yours. You may give life for love, if you wish. Or love for\nlife, if you will:—my first offer still holds—’tis still in your power\nto go from this neighbourhood at once, perfectly free, and to find your\nway abroad. Egad, when I think how many joyous days and merry nights lie\nbetween your age and mine!—Life is pleasant in France.”\n\n“I well know that,” said Everell, whose thoughts had responded to the\nother’s words.\n\n“There are friends, I dare say, who would not be sorry to see you\nagain.”\n\n“Friends, yes,—dear friends!” mused Everell.\n\n“’Tis not fair, Foxwell,” Lady Strange put in; “you are influencing\nhim.”\n\n“I say no more. Those are the alternatives, sir. Once your choice is\nmade, there shall be no going back upon it: Love, or life:—if you\ndecline to choose, you are pretty certain to lose both.—Well, sir, take\na few minutes to think upon it. I see these ladies are eager to hear\nyour decision, but for once you may leave them to their impatience.”\n\nEverell was not heedful of the ladies. Certain words were echoing in his\nmind, each accompanied by a rush of the ideas attached to it:\nlife—love—friends—joyous days and merry nights—but never to see her\nagain!—to fly from this neighbourhood, from the garden.—Ah, the dear\ngarden! To be with the adored one for seven days—blissful days, with her\nby his side, her hand in his, her eyes softening to his, her voice—\n\n“Sir, could you doubt a moment?” said the young lover. “I choose her!—a\nweek with her! I hold you to your word—I’ll not shirk mine when the time\ncomes.”\n\n“Bravo! I knew it!” cried Lady Strange, clapping her hands.\n\n“Lady Strange, I owe you five guineas,” said Foxwell, gallantly. “Mr.\nEverell, at this hour a week hence—ten o’clock, shall we call it?—you\nare my prisoner.” He rang the bell, and Caleb entered. “Cut this\ngentleman’s cords—there has been a mistake. And nothing is to be said of\nhis presence here, or of what has occurred to-night—nay, I’ll give\norders separately to all the servants.” He waited till Everell stood\nentirely freed; he then sent a message to Miss Foxwell, asking her to\ncome to the drawing-room if she had not yet retired.\n\n“I take it,” he explained to Everell, when Caleb had left the room, “you\nwould have her know at once how matters have fallen out—as far as you\nwould have her know at all for the present—that you are to be our guest\nfor awhile, at least.”\n\n“Certainly,—but”—and here Everell turned pale—“she must not know the\ncondition.”\n\n“I agree with you there,” said Foxwell, smiling. “For the comfort of\nboth of us, she had best not know—till afterward, at least.”\n\n“Afterward!” echoed Everell; “and what will be her feelings then? I\nhadn’t thought of that.”\n\n“We have all overlooked that, I own. We have thought only of you and\nyour feelings. But you need not be dismayed—the most devoted of women\nare not inconsolable.”\n\n“’Tis not that I think she loves me much; but she is of so tender a\nnature, when she learns the price I shall have paid—yet how could I have\nchosen otherwise, even considering her feelings?—what would she have\nthought, had I preferred to renounce her? Or suppose I had declined to\nchoose?”\n\n“Why, then, her feelings would be the same, on your being handed over to\njustice at once, as they will be a week hence. Nay, indeed, in a week’s\ntime she may not be as sorry to be rid of you. We shall see when the\ntime comes: if need be, we can hide the truth from her then as now—when\nthe week is over, you can take your leave upon some pretext, and trust\ntime to efface your image from her heart. Take my advice, trouble\nyourself not about her feelings: be happy for a week, and don’t think of\n‘afterward.’”\n\nEverell sighed, but in truth he could not at that time see how her\nfeelings could have been spared in any measure by either of the other\ncourses open to him. Indeed, it seemed to him that fidelity to her\nrequired him to elect as he had done; that any other choice would have\nbeen a renunciation of her, a treason to love. So let him be happy for a\nweek: at the end, it would be time to think how to save her feelings.\n\n“Very well, sir,” he said to Foxwell; “let her know nothing but that I\nam to be your guest for the present.”\n\n“So be it; and you will help us all to keep your presence here a secret\nfrom the outside world. Best never appear on the side of the house\ntoward the road.—But we can talk of that to-morrow, at breakfast. I will\nlay the servants under the heaviest charges, that they will hardly dare\nmention you to one another. If you are discovered by Jeremiah Filson or\nany such, not only may I fall under suspicion, but your week may be cut\nshort.”\n\n“I will be cautious, sir, if I have never been so in my life before.”\n\n“And you had best go by some other name in the household. Shall we call\nyou—ah—Mr. Charlson?”\n\nEverell signified his willingness, and the next moment Georgiana\nentered, still dressed as she had been in the garden. Her face was pale\nand anxious, but her eyes brightened as they fell upon Everell released\nfrom his bonds. She was close followed by Prudence, whose nose shone red\nwith the weeping in which she had copiously indulged to the delight and\nself-approval of her romantic soul.\n\n“Georgiana,” said Foxwell, before his niece could speak, “this\ngentleman, Mr. Charlson, will be our guest for a time. His visit must,\nfor certain reasons, be kept secret; and you, I am sure, will not fail\nin the duties of a hostess. I am going now to give orders for his\naccommodation.—Await me here, if you please, Mr. Charlson. Ladies, I\nwill join you presently—in the library—and you, Rashleigh.”\n\nThe three London visitors took the hint and sauntered into the adjoining\nroom as Foxwell passed out to the hall.\n\n“What does it mean, Everell?” asked Georgiana, in astonishment. “He has\nbecome your friend?”\n\n“I am to be your guest, as he has said,” replied Everell, smiling as he\ntook her hand. “I shall be near you all the long day—as many hours as\nyou find it in your heart to give me. Sweet, ’tis too great happiness!”\nHe put his arm gently around her.\n\n“Happiness!” said she, looking up into his eyes. “’Tis more than I dare\nbelieve. My uncle shelters you and befriends you!—Then there is nothing\nto separate us—we may be happy together, day after day—for ever!”\n\nHe smiled, and summoned his wonted gaiety. “Well, not—quite—for ever, my\ndarling!”\n\nThe smile and the gaiety had so nearly died out ere he finished those\nfew words, that he was fain to draw her closer to him, that she might\nnot see his face.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER XI\n\n                               PROPOSALS\n\n\nLET us do Mr. Foxwell justice. He had honestly believed that Everell\nwould choose to renounce love and be set free. This indeed would have\nbeen the most humane event that any reasonable person could have\nexpected Foxwell to bring about. He might, of course, have played the\npart of a beneficent deity, and at once aided the Jacobite’s escape,\napproved of his love, and sanctioned the future union of the lovers. But\nhe was no Mr. Allworthy. Indeed it is more than doubtful whether Mr.\nAllworthy himself would have carried benevolence to that length. A\nflying rebel, with a price on his head, whose possessions in the\nkingdom, if he had any, were liable to confiscation, was not the suitor\na young lady’s relation could be supposed to favour offhand. One even\nfears that the virtuous Allworthy would rather have interpreted the\nduties of loyalty in all strictness, and placed the captive in the hands\nof justice immediately. But Foxwell, with all his selfishness and\ncallousness, was not the man to make patriotism a vice to that extent,\nunless there was something to gain or save by it. He might be a\nheartless rake, but he was too much a gentleman to practise that degree\nof Roman virtue without any personal motive of profit or fear.\n\nSo the best course had seemed to be to send the fugitive packing, and\nnip this love-affair in the bud. And that was what Foxwell had supposed\nwould result from the alternative offers. In any reasonable issue of the\nmatter, there must have been separation for the lovers and sorrow for\nGeorgiana. Would that sorrow be ultimately greater for the postponement,\nand for the probable deepening of the attachment between the lovers?\nPerhaps; but Foxwell had not looked for this outcome. The cruelty of his\nlittle experiment upon the human passions, then, consisted in his\nexposing the young lover’s heart, and playing upon it, for the amusement\nof onlookers. The cruelty of the intention was not lessened by the fact\nthat Everell himself, wholly concerned as to his fate and his love, did\nnot at the time see himself as a man exhibited and played upon.\n\nPerhaps Foxwell and his friends underwent some self-reproach. However\nthat be, it is certain they had the delicacy to refrain from spying or\nintruding upon the lovers during the week for which Everell had so\ndevotedly bargained. The party of four went their way, and the party of\ntwo, attended by the faithful Prudence, went theirs, both parties\nmeeting twice or thrice each day at meals. On these occasions, a\npleasant courtesy prevailed, and there was no rallying of the lovers, no\ninquisitive observation of them. Indeed it is doubtful if the feelings\nof young lovers were ever more nicely considered. The two found\nthemselves always favoured by that conspiracy which good-natured people\ncustomarily form for the benefit of a young lady and her favoured\nsuitor. Everell found that he was not even expected to remain at the\ntable with the other gentlemen after the ladies had gone, nor was it\nrequired that he and Georgiana should join the latter at the tea-table\nor at cards. The lovers’ chief place of resort within the house was the\nlibrary, a room quite neglected by the others, who preferred only the\nnewest plays, poems, and magazines for their reading. In good weather\nthe lovers sat in the old garden, or strolled in the park, Foxwell and\nhis visitors going farther afield for their outdoor amusements, and\nreceiving no company from the neighbourhood. Thus the young couple, from\ntheir meeting at breakfast to their parting at night, passed all the\nhours together, in a singular freedom from observant eyes.\n\nWe shall imitate Foxwell and his friends in this abstention from prying;\nnot because the love-making of the two young people is sacred from us,\nbut because such love-making, interesting as it is to the participants,\nis sadly tedious to the spectator. The love-stories of actual people are\ninteresting for the events that give rise to their love, and to which\ntheir love gives rise; not (excepting the critical moments of the\nawakening, the unintentional disclosure, the first confession, and such)\nfor the regular course of its own manifestation. The reader who has\ndreaded the slow account of a week’s love-making—the sighs, the gazes,\nthe silences, the hand-holdings, the poutings, the forgivings, and all\nthe rest—may breathe freely. The peculiar pathos of the situation of\nthese young lovers—a pathos as yet perceptible only to Everell—did not\nmuch alter their conduct from that of other young lovers. For Everell\nmade fair shift to put the future out of sight, to regard only the day:\nhe was resolved not to look forward till the last hour of his term\nshould arrive. As long as he was with Georgiana, he could keep to this:\n’twas only when he had retired to his own chamber that visions of the\napproaching end would harass him in the darkness; only then would he\ncount the hours that yet remained.\n\nOn the eventful night of his capture, and after Georgiana had retired,\nEverell had obtained Foxwell’s permission to communicate with John Tarby\nby means of the keeper, who, as he had learned from Tarby himself, was\nprivately on excellent terms with the poacher. By this medium, then,\nEverell had taken leave of his former host with due expressions of\nthanks, both in words and in gold, and had obtained the cloak-bag\ncontaining his travelling equipment. Tarby had been left under the\nimpression that the young gentleman, after being sheltered secretly for\na time at Foxwell Court, was to proceed upon his journey.\n\nThat indeed was the impression of the servants at Foxwell Court, and of\nGeorgiana herself. Everell did not tell her how long or short was to be\nhis visit, and she, glad enough to postpone all thought of his\ndeparture, never broached the subject. Only once did he hint at the\nprobability of his leaving her before many days. It was when, on\nSaturday evening, she spoke of going to church next day. “Nay,” he\npleaded, with a sudden alarm in his eyes, “you will have Sundays enough\nfor church-going, when I am not here.” It was not necessary to say more;\nbut he had to feign excessive lightness of heart to quiet the vague\napprehension his own earnestness had raised in her mind.\n\nFoxwell and his friends appeared at church that Sunday without\nGeorgiana. Her absence was noted by one important person, at least, for,\nafter the service, Squire Thornby accosted Foxwell outside the church\nporch, with a lack of preliminary salutation, blurting out:\n\n“How now, neighbour Foxwell, ’tis no illness, I hope, keeps Miss Foxwell\nhome such a fine day?”\n\n“No illness, thank you,” replied Foxwell, mildly; “nothing of\nconsequence, that is: my niece slept rather badly last night, because of\nthe wind.”\n\n“I’m glad ’tis nothing serious. Tell her I said so, with my best\ncompliments. Tell her she was missed. We could better ’a’ spared you,\nFoxwell,—and that’s a true word spoken in jest, if ever there was one.”\n\nThis pleasantry was accompanied by a smile of such confident insolence\nthat the onlookers set their ears for the piercing retort they thought\nsure to come. It was on the tip of Foxwell’s tongue; but he checked it,\ndropped his eyes, and sought refuge in a feebly counterfeited laugh. His\nenemy looked around triumphantly, and walked off. Foxwell, who saw\nnothing in the Squire’s concern for Georgiana but a pretext for rudeness\nto himself, digested his chagrin in silence, though aware of the\nsurprised glances of Rashleigh and the ladies, to whom he had mentioned\nhis former method of dealing with this booby.\n\nThe next morning, as Foxwell was about to set forth on horseback with\nhis friends, the gamekeeper sought an interview. Being ordered to speak\nout, the man said that Squire Thornby’s people had again broken down the\nfence on t’other side of the four beeches, and were busy putting it up\nagain on the hither side. “Us were going to drive them back, and were\na’most come to blows, when the Squire’s agent told us we’d best come\nfirst to your Honour, and see as if you hadn’t changed your mind about\nthe rights o’ that bound’ry. He said it in such a manner, sir, as how I\nthought maybe there was some new agreement, or the courts had decided,\nor something—begging pardon if I’m wrong, sir. So, after a few words, I\nthought I’d better see your Honour afore us starts a-breaking heads.”\n\nFoxwell had been able to keep a clear brow, and to stifle a bitter sigh,\nbut he could not prevent his face from turning a shade darker. His\nvisitors, who had heard the keeper’s tale, looked with curiosity for the\nanswer. After a moment’s silence, Foxwell said: “Oh, damn the\nfence!—’tis no matter:—yes, we’ve made a new agreement; let Thornby’s\nmen alone,” and turned his horse to ride off with his guests.\n\nHe was by turns morose and excessively mirthful on that day’s excursion.\nIn the afternoon, as the four were riding up the <DW72> toward the house,\nthey saw a mounted gentleman emerge through the gateway. Nearing them,\nhe proved to be Thornby. Foxwell dissembled his inward rage, and had\nsufficient self-command to greet his enemy with polite carelessness.\n\n“I suppose you came to see me in regard to the fence,” he added, reining\nin his horse. His companions also stopped, on pretence of viewing the\ndistant sun-bathed hills to the west; but they listened to what passed\nbetween their host and his foe.\n\n“Fence?” said Thornby. “Oh no, sir,—no need to see you in regard to\nthat. I don’t consult anybody as to what I do on my own land—not even\nsuch a wise fellow as you, Foxwell.”\n\n“Oh, I merely thought it required some particular occasion to persuade\nyou to visit us at Foxwell Court. I heard you were—rebuilding the fence\nby the four beeches.”\n\n“So I am, that’s true enough. I intend to do a considerable amount of\nrebuilding of that sort; but I sha’n’t need to come to Foxwell Court on\nthat account. No; ’twas just the whim brought me to Foxwell Court\nto-day—just a neighbourly visit, that’s all.”\n\n“Then pray turn back with us,” said Foxwell.\n\n“No, thankye, sir. I’ve got business awaiting me at home. Glad to find\nMiss Foxwell is quite herself again.—No, I won’t trouble you in respect\nof my fences, Foxwell,—not me. Good evening to you.”\n\nThe Squire’s assured, derisive manner made his speeches doubly\nexasperating. As Foxwell rode on with his guests, he could only suppose\nthat his enemy had come to Foxwell Court for the purpose of exulting\nover him upon this new settlement of the old boundary dispute. As the\nreader knows, however, Foxwell Court had another attraction for Mr.\nThornby. He had, in fact, rejoiced at Foxwell’s absence, and, upon\narrival, had asked to see Miss Foxwell. The servant found her walking in\nthe garden with Everell; but she sent her excuses to the visitor, whom\nshe then casually described to Everell as a neighbour having some\nbusiness with her uncle. But the servant presently returned, saying that\nMr. Thornby declared his business important, and would come to her in\nthe garden if it was a trouble for her to go to him in the house.\n\nFearing a second refusal might make the Squire too inquisitive,\nGeorgiana obtained leave from Everell to go and get rid of this\ngentleman. As she entered the drawing-room, where Thornby waited, she\nbegan abruptly by saying that she was very much occupied, and that she\nhoped his business would not take many minutes.\n\n“Why, now, I’ll tell you truth, Miss Foxwell,” was the reply, “’twas\njust for another glimpse of yourself that I came.”\n\n“But you said important business,” answered Miss Foxwell, looking her\ndispleasure.\n\n“Well, and it was important to me. When I thought of you, I couldn’t let\nmy horse pass the gate without turning in. To tell the truth again,\n’twas the thought of you that made me ride in this here direction. You\nwasn’t at church yesterday—I’d been looking forward to see you there.\nFor my life, I ha’n’t been able to get your face out of my head this\nwhole week past, odd rabbit me if I have!—not that I ever wanted to,\nneither.” The rustic gentleman had lapsed into a state of red-faced\nconfusion which at another time Georgiana would have pitied; but just\nnow she was merciless in showing her annoyance.\n\n“I’m vastly flattered, Mr. Thornby; but you have come at a time when I’m\nvery much taken up with my own affairs—very much taken up. So I beg\nyou’ll excuse me.”\n\n“Oh, now, wait a minute, Miss Foxwell, as you’ve got a kind Christian\nheart. Why, rat me! if you knew as how I’ve pined to see you again since\nt’other day, I’ll warrant you’d never go to treat me so unneighbourly.\nIf you knew as how—”\n\n“Really I must go, Mr. Thornby,—really.”\n\n“Why can’t we be neighbourly, Miss Foxwell,—us two? Your uncle and me\nha’n’t always been sworn brothers, so to speak, but I think as how we\nshall be mending that; and if you’d only just—er—ah—be neighbourly\nlike—”\n\n“I’m perfectly willing we should be good neighbours, Mr.\nThornby,—perfectly. But just now if you’ll do me the favour to excuse—”\n\n“Ah, that’s what I hoped for from such a sweet, gentle face, Miss\nFoxwell. Perfectly willing to be good neighbours. You make me a happy\nman, by the lord Harry, you do that! Ecod, if you knew as how I’ve laid\nawake nights this week past—”\n\nGeorgiana, convinced that fair means would not serve, feigned a sudden\ndizziness, which threw the Squire into such embarrassment, as he knew\nnothing of what to do for a lady in a faint, that he was very glad to\nleave the field, though he manfully remained until she declared she was\nbetter and would entirely recover if left alone. As soon as she saw him\nride out of the courtyard, she went back to Everell in the garden.\n\n“How long you stayed!” said he.\n\n“Nay, if you knew this gentleman!—so stupid, and repeating himself a\nhundred times:—and after all, ’twas nothing I could be of use in.”\n\nAlluded to in this careless manner, the personality of Thornby awakened\nno curiosity in Everell’s mind. He vaguely remembered the name as that\nof a landowner in the neighbourhood, whom the innkeeper and John Tarby\nhad mentioned. How glad Mr. Foxwell would have been could he have felt a\nlike indifference with regard to the Squire! The reader is aware of\ntheir encounter as Thornby was riding down the <DW72> that afternoon. As\nsoon after that as Foxwell found himself alone with Rashleigh, his\nvexation broke out in words.\n\n“Damn that Thornby! Damn, damn, damn him!”\n\n“The gentleman you were accustomed to take down in company, didn’t you\ntell us?” said Rashleigh with marked innocence.\n\n“Ay, George, laugh at me: I deserve it, I own. But something has\nhappened since I told you that. No doubt you remember, the fellow came\nto see me the other day. Do you know what he showed me then?”\n\n“Not I—unless it was a list of men he had killed.”\n\n“Alas, nothing of that sort. To make a long story short, years ago in\nLondon, when I was in bad straits, I wrote a foolish letter—imbecile\nthat I was!—wrote it in the madness of anger, poverty, imprisonment,—in\nthe recklessness of drink.”\n\n“We make such blunders now and then, certainly,” was Rashleigh’s sage\ncomment.\n\n“I soon enough realized my blunder. The recipient of the letter—he is\ndead now—told me he had burnt it. It contained things I should be sorry\nto have everybody see.”\n\n“But if it was burnt?”\n\n“It wasn’t: there was trickery somewhere. And the letter is now in the\npossession of this Thornby. ’Tis the real letter—I recognized it. He\nwill show it to the world if I provoke him. Till I can get it from\nhim—and heaven knows how that is to be done: he is a cunning fellow, and\non the _qui vive_—well, now you understand my meekness. He really has me\nat his mercy—hardly less than I have the Jacobite yonder at mine.”\n\nFrom the window the gentlemen could see Everell and Georgiana strolling\nwithin the verge of the park. As Foxwell evinced no mind to say more\nabout Thornby or the letter, but rather seemed to dismiss them with a\nsigh of disgust, Rashleigh took the cue for a change of subject.\n\n“Will you really hand over the Jacobite, after all, Bob?”\n\n“I haven’t thought much of that matter,” replied Foxwell. “I frankly\ndidn’t expect him to choose as he did.”\n\n“His time is coming to an end,” said Rashleigh. “You will soon have to\ndecide.”\n\n“Why, deuce take it, has he not decided for himself? What can I do but\nhand him over? Were I to let him go free, he would probably be caught,\nnevertheless: in the end I should be in trouble for having harboured\nhim.”\n\n“You’ll pardon me, of course, for introducing the subject. We’ve all\navoided it, as you set the example of doing. But to-day Lady Strange was\nhoping that you could find it in your heart to let the young fellow go.”\n\n“Oh, I could find it in my heart; but should I find it to my interest?\nSeveral possibilities have occurred to me, but they all seem attended by\nrisk or inconvenience. The safest and easiest course is clearly to\nobserve both the law and our agreement. The man Filson is still in the\nvillage. He seems to have an instinct that his prey is in the\nneighbourhood—nay, as he looked at me yesterday at church, I could\nalmost imagine he suspected something. He has a clue, perhaps. He told\nCaleb he might be hereabouts for another fortnight. So you see—well, I\ncan make up my mind at the last moment if need be—one can always toss a\ncoin. ’Tis time we were changing our clothes.”\n\nOn the afternoon of the last day of Everell’s week, something occurred\nto bring Foxwell to a decision without recourse to the toss of a coin.\nGeorgiana having mentioned to Everell a miniature portrait of herself,\nhe had eagerly expressed a desire to see it. He had thought she would\nsend Prudence for it, but Georgiana, saying that she alone could find\nit, and that she would return in a minute, left Everell in the garden.\nAs she entered the hall, on the way to her apartments, she saw her uncle\nthere in the act of greeting Squire Thornby, who had evidently just\ndismounted from his horse. She curtsied, and essayed to pass swiftly to\nthe stairs, but Thornby intervened.\n\n“Nay, one moment, Miss Foxwell,” said he, with precipitation, and\nlooking very red in the face. “I’m going to say something to your uncle\nthat concerns you.” As he stood directly in her way, she had no choice\nbut to stop. She did not conceal her impatience. “It needn’t keep you\nlong,” Thornby went on, “for I won’t beat about the bush. Mr. Foxwell, I\nmay say without vanity I’m a man of some substance as fortunes go in\nthis here part of the world. And, in course, you know I’m a bachelor.\nNot because I’m a woman-hater, but because, to be all open and\naboveboard, I never yet saw the woman in these parts that I thought fit\nto be mistress of Thornby Hall—damn me if I ever did!”\n\n“I can understand your feeling, Mr. Thornby,” said Foxwell, while the\nSquire paused and glared at both uncle and niece.\n\n“That is to say,” resumed Thornby, “never till a few days ago. Ecod, it\nseems more than a few days, one way I look at it! I mean, I saw your\nniece—yes, you, Miss Foxwell, I say it to your face. Now the secret’s\nout. I hadn’t thought to come to the point so soon—I thought to go\nsoftly, and court the young lady awhile, and so forth—but hang me if I\ndesire to wait and give somebody else a chance to carry off such a\nprize.—Well, what d’ye say, Miss Foxwell?”\n\nGeorgiana was quite too confounded to say anything.\n\n“She says you do us a great honour, Mr. Thornby,” put in Foxwell,\ndiscreetly; “a very great honour. My niece, I am sure, is fully sensible\nof the honour. But are you aware how small her fortune is?”\n\n“Hang fortunes! I’ve enough for two!” cried Thornby.\n\n“And then, sir,” went on Foxwell, with quiet frankness, “upon her\nmarriage, you must know, the division of our estate will leave me rather\nill provided for. That would not influence me, were she not so young;\nbut, as it is, she can very well afford to wait two or three years,\nduring which I may improve my affairs.”\n\n“You sha’n’t suffer, Foxwell,” said the Squire, bluntly: “you shall come\nout of the affair as well provided for as both of you now are together.\nBut what does the lady say?”\n\n“The lady says, no!” And emphatically she said it, too, now that she had\nfound her voice. “I thank you very much, Mr. Thornby; but ’tis not to be\nheard of!”\n\n“Oh, come now, Miss Foxwell! Don’t be so determined all in a moment.\nConsider it—be kind—be—be neighbourly!”\n\n“’Tis not to be heard of, I assure you, Mr. Thornby. No, no, no, I say!\nI will never consider it—I will never—” As Thornby still barred her path\nto the stairs, she turned suddenly and hastened from the hall by the way\nshe had entered. After making sure she was not followed, she rejoined\nEverell, with an excuse for postponing her quest of the miniature. She\ntrusted to her uncle to soften the refusal of Thornby’s offer; for she\ncould not but think, although she had nobody’s word for it, that Foxwell\nhad decided to favour Everell as her suitor—a turn she attributed to\nsome assurance of Everell’s prospects in France, which, she supposed,\nthe fugitive had given Foxwell on the night of the capture. Indeed in no\nother way could she account for the strange situation that existed; she\nwas glad enough to accept without question a state of affairs in which\nshe found joy for the present and hope for the future.\n\nBut her exit from the hall did not finish the scene there. Thornby,\nafter staring open-mouthed a moment, addressed himself to Foxwell:\n\n“Ecod, why should she fly out like that—well, well, I haven’t the gift\nof fine speech. You have that, Foxwell, and I look to you to persuade\nher, d’ye hear? I’ll make it worth your while. The day I marry her, you\nshall have back that there letter we both know of; but if she won’t have\nme, damme if I know what use I sha’n’t make of it!”\n\n“I hold you to that promise,” said Foxwell, quickly, “and to what you\nmentioned in regard to terms of settlement.”\n\n“As to providing for you, and so forth? You’ll find me as good as my\nword: I’ll have my lawyer ready for yours the minute she gives her\nconsent.”\n\n“’Tis but a girl’s coyness that stands in the way: we shall break that\nin a little time.”\n\n“Nay, no force, neither!” said Thornby. “It must be of her own free\nwill—she must tell me herself she takes me willingly—you’re to persuade,\nnot compel.”\n\n“Certainly.”\n\n“I dare say I’d best not see her again to-day,” the Squire faltered.\n\n“Not for a few days, at the least, I should advise.”\n\n“Well, I suppose you know. I’ll do my best to bide patient for two\ndays.”\n\n“But I scarcely hope to change her mind within a week,” said Foxwell,\nthoughtfully.\n\n“I’ll come to see how you fare, nevertheless.—If you _do_ succeed sooner\nthan you hope, send me word immediately.”\n\nLeft alone, Foxwell paced the hall, in cogitation. He was joined\npresently by Rashleigh.\n\n“Egad, Bob, your meditations must have grown pleasanter, to make you\nsmile to yourself.”\n\n“Was I smiling? Well, you must know my excellent niece has received an\noffer of marriage—a mighty advantageous one. The little fool spurns it:\nthe Jacobite stands in the way, of course, and will as long as he is\nalive to communicate with her. I shall have to do my duty as a loyal\nsubject of King George, I see.”\n\n“But will she be the more favourable to another suitor, while the one\nshe loves is about being hanged?”\n\n“Perhaps I can keep the Jacobite’s fate from her knowledge. ’Tis plain\nhe hasn’t told her of our bargain: he probably will not tell\nher—probably will but announce his departure on some pretext—may indeed\nsay nothing of it, leaving us to break it. I will deliver him up\nto-night, but not in her presence. At ten o’clock his claims cease. If\nhe has meanwhile prepared her for his going, well and good: if not, she\nshall think he has taken sudden leave for his own reasons. Hearing no\nmore of him, she will put his silence down to inconstancy; in that case,\npride may incline her to the other man. If she learns the truth, she\nwill be too broken to resist my persuasions long.—I’m sorry for the\nrebel: but there’s much at stake for me in the affair—and ’tis only what\nhe agreed to and expects—what he risked before ever I saw him—his just\ndeserts under the law. The girl will suffer, too,—but not for many days.\nI hope he will not tell her the full truth.”\n\nEverell himself was in doubt as to what he should tell her. He was\ntrying still to postpone consideration of the end so close at hand. He\nwas sorely perplexed for her sake, for he knew now how far beyond mere\ncompassion her love was.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XII\n\n                                 TEARS\n\n\nEVERELL’S last meal at Foxwell Court was not marked by lively\nconversation. He had his own thoughts, or, rather, his own confused and\nwhirling state of mind, so that he scarce knew whether the others spoke\nor were silent. Outwardly he still maintained a brave face, so that\nGeorgiana might not yet be alarmed. The young lady herself had never\ntaken much part in the table talk. Lady Strange and Rashleigh felt the\noccasion too sensibly to be capable of easy discourse, and Foxwell knew\na gentleman’s part too well to intrude a gaiety either real or feigned.\nHe quietly kept the ball rolling, however, with Mrs. Winter, who\nalone—save Georgiana—seemed untouched by the shadow of coming events.\n\nAs soon as the ladies had finished, Georgiana left the room for the\nlibrary. Everell, with a bow to the company, turned to follow her.\n\nLady Strange, already risen, laid a gentle hand upon his sleeve and\nsaid, softly: “Upon my soul, sir, I pity you!”\n\nHe looked at her a moment; then, summoning a smile, answered: “I thank\nyou from my heart; but ’tis not near ten o’clock. I have some hours yet\nremaining. Ladies, your servant.”\n\nWhen he had gone out, Mrs. Winter said: “So you may keep your pity till\nten o’clock, Diana. Sure the young fellow carries it off well. ’Twill be\nworth seeing if he does so to the end. Ten o’clock—’tis several hours\noff, and card-playing begins to be tedious. What a long evening ’twill\nbe!”\n\n“Short enough for those two young lovers,” said Lady Strange, with a\nsigh, as she passed to the drawing-room.\n\n“I suppose you have made your arrangements, Bob,” said Rashleigh, when\nthe two gentlemen were alone; “for delivering him up, I mean.”\n\n“They are very simple. I will send Joseph with a message to Jeremiah\nFilson an hour or so before ten o’clock. Filson will require a little\ntime to muster the justice’s men; he may have to go to Thornby Hall—no\ndoubt Thornby’s clerk will command the party, to make sure that all is\nregular. So ’twill scarce be possible for them to arrive before ten: in\nany case, I’ll warn Filson they mustn’t do so. Till ten I may not call\nthe rebel from Georgiana’s presence. I hope he will leave her in\nignorance. Well, we shall see.”\n\nIn the library Georgiana sat reading to her lover. What the words meant,\nwhat the book was, he hardly knew; she would have preferred to be the\nlistener, but in that case he would have had to keep his eyes upon the\npage, and he would rather keep them upon her face. He could interrupt\nwhen he chose, and then her eyes rose to meet his; so that he often\ninterrupted. Suddenly he remembered the miniature she had started to get\nfor him in the afternoon; and now the desire to possess it—to have that\nimage of her beauty to carry with him to the end—grew strong in a\nmoment. He reminded her.\n\nShe rose at once to go to her room for it, saying, as before, that only\nshe could find it. He followed her through the dining-room; which was\nnow deserted, as Foxwell and Rashleigh had soon joined the ladies in the\ndrawing-room. In the wide entrance-hall, as Everell could accompany her\nno farther, he caught her hand lightly, and said:\n\n“Don’t be long in finding it, I pray. Remember, every moment—” He\nchecked himself, and turned the supplication to gaiety by a smile. “Be\nconsiderate of my impatience, dear.”\n\nStruck by his manner, she looked searchingly at his face. But he kissed\nher hand in a playful way, and gave it a little toss toward the\nstairway; up which she hastened a moment later, reassured.\n\nThere was a footman stationed in the entrance-hall, and Everell, not\nwishing his mood to be observed, went back into the dining-room to await\nGeorgiana’s return. He still held in one hand the book from which she\nhad been reading. He turned the pages, gazing at the words, but\nreceiving no impression from them. The table remained as the gentlemen\nhad left it, except that the candelabrum had been removed, only two\ncandles in wall-sconces remaining to light the room. The fire in the\nchimney-place was low, and the air rather chill, for the evening had set\nin with a cold wind. “Little do I care, though it freeze and blow,”\nthought Everell, standing by the fireplace. “Why does she delay?\nCruel!—but she knows not. The minutes!—the minutes I am losing!”\n\nBut in truth she was expeditious, and so quiet in her return that she\nentered the room before he had heard her step. He went to her with a\nsubdued cry, seized the miniature from her hand, and pressed it—and then\nthe hand itself—with passionate tenderness to his lips.\n\n“It shall never leave me,” he said. “It shall be the last thing I look\nupon—it shall feel the last beat of my heart.”\n\n“But that will be many, many years in the future,” said Georgiana, with\na half-comic air of complaint, “and meanwhile you don’t even look at the\npicture now!”\n\n“Time enough for that!—Let me look only at you now.”\n\n“What do you mean? There is time enough for looking at me, too. Tell me\nif the likeness flatters me.”\n\n“Nothing could do that. ’Tis a lovely portrait—never was a lovelier; but\nthe eyes are not as sweet as the original’s—nor the face as angelic—nor\nthe hair as soft—nor the colour as fair—nor the look as tender. ’Tis\nnothing to the life—and yet ’tis adorable. ’Twas kindly thought, to give\nit me,—more kindly than you know, dear.”\n\nHe kissed it once more; then, having placed it carefully in the breast\npocket of his waistcoat, took both her hands, and regarded her with an\nintentness that reawoke the vague alarm she had felt in the hall.\n\n“Why do you look in that manner, Everell? Why do you speak so strangely\nthis evening? You make me almost afraid—for you, that is—nay, for both\nof us. What is it?”\n\n“Nothing—nothing, sweet!” But whatever he might say, it was no longer\npossible for him to counterfeit either gaiety or unconcern with any\nsuccess. “God knows, I would be the same now—I would have us both be the\nsame now—as we have been all this week. I grudge every thought that we\ngive to anything but our love. Let us have the full worth of each\nmoment, to the very end.—Nay, what am I saying? I rave, I think. Yes,\nyes, dear, I speak strangely—strangely was well said.”\n\n“Everell, you frighten me! What is behind all this?—what is it you have\nin mind?”\n\n“Only you, dear: you, as you are at this instant. There is nothing but\nthis instant—no past, no future!—there is only _now_, with you in my\narms, and your eyes looking into mine. Oh, if the course of time could\nbe stopped, and this moment last for ever!”\n\n“I should be content,” said Georgiana, taking refuge in the possibility\nthat his manner might be the effect of a transient excess of emotion,\nsuch as ardent lovers sometimes experience. “But haven’t we all our\nlives in which to love each other? We must only guard against your being\ntaken. But you’ll be safe once you are out of England—as you will be by\nand by—not yet, of course. And then after awhile we shall meet again in\nFrance. My only dread is of the separation meanwhile—’tis fearful to\nthink of separation, even for a short time, but doubtless it must be—”\nShe broke off, with a sigh.\n\n“Ay, must be!” Everell replied, in a low voice.\n\n“But it must not be long. I believe my uncle will be glad of an occasion\nto visit France. And then, when danger and separation are past, what\nhappiness!”\n\nShe had, it will be seen, formed her own plans for the future; and had\ntalked of them, too, more than once in the last few days, taking her\nlover’s acquiescence for granted, as indeed his manifestations of love\ngave her full right to do. Such initiative on the woman’s side is, by a\nconvention of romancers, assumed to be indelicate; if it be so, then the\nworld must grant that real women are not the delicate creatures they\nhave been taken for. Be that as it may, Georgiana’s dreams of the future\nhad been bitter-sweet hearing to Everell, though he saw nothing\nindelicate in her mentioning them. Yet he could not bring himself to\ndisillusion her. But now at last, when the hour was drawing near—\n\n“Nay, talk not of the future, dear,” he said, holding her close in his\narms, and endeavouring to speak without wildness. “There is only the\npresent, I say. Life is full of uncertainty. Who can tell? This\nseparation—it may be final—we may not see each other again.”\n\n“Now you start my fears again!” cried Georgiana. “You puzzle me\nto-night, Everell. There’s something in your thoughts—something in your\nheart. Look at me: you are pale—one would suppose a calamity was before\nus. What is it? Oh, in the name of heaven, tell me!”\n\n“Nay, ’tis nothing, I protest.—And yet you must know too soon. Why not\nfrom me? Who has such love for you as I have? who can feel for you as I\ncan? who would try so fondly to console?”\n\n“You are right, Everell; let me hear it from you! Oh, speak, dear!”\n\n“’Tis—only this, sweetheart,” he said, when he could command his voice:\n“we are to part soon. I am going away.”\n\n“Soon? How soon? Certainly, you must go to France—but not yet.”\n\n“Ay, that is it, dear: I must go, I know not how soon. Perhaps—this very\nnight.”\n\n“This night? Impossible! You have said nothing to me of going—’tis too\nunexpected!”\n\n“Forgive me, dear,” he pleaded, simply. “I wished not to cloud our\nhappiness with any thought of separation; so I never spoke of—my day of\ndeparture.”\n\n“Nay, but I must have time—to strengthen my heart! And we have arranged\nnothing yet—in regard to meeting again—no particulars. There is\neverything to be discussed before you go. This separation—how long is it\nto last?” Her voice and eyes were on the verge of tears.\n\n“Longer, dear, than I have the heart to tell!—Oh, sweet, forgive,\nforgive me! When I bargained for one blissful week, ’twas only of myself\nI thought—I weighed my happiness against only the price _I_ was to pay.\nI considered not what you might feel—that a week might turn your fancy\ninto love, and make our parting as cruel for you as for me. Forgive me,\ndearest, and charge the sin to my love of you—my unthinking,\ninconsiderate love!”\n\n“Nay, dear, there is nothing to forgive,” she said, with sorrowful\ncompassion. “Parting will be hard—heaven knows it will!—but I must set\nmy thoughts on our next meeting. The separation will be—somewhat long,\ndo you say?—ah, that’s sad to hear. How long, Everell?”\n\nHe turned his face from her.\n\n“Speak, Everell,” she pleaded; “how long?—a year?”\n\n“Longer than that,” he whispered.\n\n“Longer!—oh, pity me, heaven!”\n\nBesides the doors at either end of this dining-parlour, to the library\nand the hall, there was at one side a third, which led to the\ndrawing-room. This door now opened, and Lady Strange appeared: seeing\nthe lovers, she closed it gently behind her. They stood clinging to each\nother, with looks sorrowful and distraught.\n\n“You have told her, then?” she said, in a tone softened by compassion.\n\n“Almost,” replied Everell; and Georgiana began to sob.\n\n“My poor child,” said Lady Strange, “from my heart I grieve for you.\nSir, we are all much to blame. Had we foreseen this a week ago!—Would\nthat this week could be recalled, for the sake of this child’s\nhappiness! I have pleaded with Foxwell; but he is determined to deliver\nyou up.”\n\n“What!—deliver—” Georgiana became for a moment speechless; then uttered\na scream, and was like to have fallen to the floor, had not Everell\ngrasped her more tightly in his arms.\n\n“Heaven pity her!—my dear love!”\n\n“Why, then—did she not know?” cried Lady Strange.\n\n“Not the whole truth—only that I was going away.”\n\nHe was about to carry Georgiana to a chair, but she suddenly regained\nher strength.\n\n“Deliver you up!” she said, excitedly. “My uncle shall not! You shall\nput it out of his power! Escape now, while you may! Go—we’ll meet\nagain.” She essayed to push him toward the hall, keeping her glance the\nwhile on the drawing-room door by which her uncle might enter.\n\n“I cannot,” said Everell. “I’ve given him my word—’twas to purchase this\nweek of love, sweet.”\n\n“Your word! He shall not claim it of you! Your word!—oh, heaven help me,\nyou would keep your word though it broke my heart!—honour, you call\nit!—’tis men’s madness, women are no such fools!—Nay, forgive me, I\nwould not love you else. But he shall not hold you to your word. He\nshall not deliver you up. He shall release you.” She broke from\nEverell’s clasp, and flung open the drawing-room door, calling, “Uncle!\nUncle!”\n\nFoxwell appeared, with some playing cards in his hand. He was slightly\npallid, and wore the frown of one to whom has fallen a vexation he has\ndreaded.\n\n“Uncle, you will not deliver him up? You will release him from his word?\nYou will let him go free, will you not? ’Tis no gain to you that he\nshould die. Speak!—uncle, tell me you’ll not deliver him up.”\n\n“My child, you do not understand these matters,” replied Foxwell,\npatiently resorting to a judicial softness of speech. “Mr. Everell\nhimself, as a soldier, who assumed the chance of war and lost, knows\nwhat my duty is—knows I once even offered to forget that duty, had he\nbut accepted the condition.”\n\n“Certainly I have but myself to blame,” said Everell. “For myself I make\nno complaint. For her, alas! my heart bleeds. I can but pray she will\nsoon forget.”\n\n“Forget!” cried Georgiana. “Indeed, no! I say you shall not die,\nEverell. Uncle, I beg you, on my knees—his life! Sure you can’t be my\nkinsman and refuse—you can’t be a sharer of the same blood as flows in\nme, and be so cruel. Answer me, uncle!—you will spare him, will not you?\nYou say you once offered to forget your duty: if you could forget it\nonce, you can again, cannot you?”\n\n\n[Illustration: “‘UNCLE, I BEG YOU, ON MY KNEES—HIS LIFE!’”]\n\n\n“Nay, ’tis not possible now, niece; circumstances have altered. ’Twould\nbe useless for me to explain. I can only beg you to end this\nsupplication, Georgiana,—it will not serve you. I am not to be moved.\nMr. Everell will say whether I have dealt fairly with him—would have\ndealt more than fairly, had he but willed. ’Tis all vastly to be\nregretted. Had he chosen so a week since, your sorrow had been much\nless. Had you bestowed your confidence upon me when he first came here,\nyou might have been spared all sorrow. As it is, events must take their\ncourse.”\n\n“Oh, my God, can one’s own kin be so heartless? To send him to death,\nwho is more than life to me! What has he done?—what injury to you? He\nonly fought for the prince in whose right he believed. Had his side won,\n_he_ would have been merciful. What harm will it do you to let him\ngo?—what harm to the kingdom, now the rebellion is put down? ’Tis\nprofitless, ’tis needless, ’twill serve nothing, that he should die.—Oh,\nheaven, soften my uncle’s heart!—let him see as I see, feel as I feel!”\n\nFoxwell, little relishing these vehement appeals, or the sight of the\nkneeling girl with supplicating hands, turned to Everell:\n\n“Sir, this can accomplish nothing. I will leave you with her till the\nappointed time—though perhaps it were more kind to—”\n\n“No, no!” cried Georgiana, grasping her uncle’s coat-skirt as he made to\nstep back into the drawing-room. “Do not go!—uncle, hear me! Anything\nfor his life!—only his life! I will do anything, give anything—only that\nhe may not die!”\n\nFoxwell looked down at her. The birth of a thought showed on his face,\nclearing away his frown of annoyance. Again he turned to Everell, and\nsaid, quietly:\n\n“Sir, will you grant me a few minutes alone with my niece? The time\nshall be made up after, if you choose.”\n\nEverell stood hesitating.\n\n“Go, Everell,” said Georgiana, eagerly; “’tis for our advantage.”\n\n“I pray it may be for yours, sweet,” replied Everell, gently, and went\ninto the library, closing the door after him.\n\nLady Strange, conceiving herself not wanted, would have passed Foxwell\nto retire to the drawing-room; but he softly closed that door, and said:\n\n“Nay, Lady Strange, don’t go. I had as lief you heard this. Georgiana,\nyou ask for this gentleman’s life: now if that were all—” He paused for\neffect.\n\n“All!” echoed Georgiana, now risen to her feet; “’tis everything! I ask\nno more. You will grant it, then?—you will make me happy?”\n\n“If you would indeed be content with that—and his freedom—” Foxwell\nstill seemed to halt in doubt.\n\n“I will be,” Georgiana declared, emphatically; “only say he shall live.”\n\n“If you would abandon any dreams you may have entertained of marriage—of\nfuture meetings with him—of correspondence, in the event of my saving\nhim from the gallows—”\n\n“I will abandon whatever you require,—only to know that he goes free,\nonly to feel that somewhere in the world he lives!”\n\n“Well,” said Foxwell, slowly, “I will let him go free—”\n\nGeorgiana uttered a cry of joy.\n\n“—if,” continued Foxwell, “you will accept the proposal—the very\nadvantageous proposal—which Mr. Thornby has done you the honour of\nmaking.”\n\n“Accept the proposal—of Mr. Thornby?” repeated Georgiana, in utter\nsurprise.\n\n“Yes—give your consent to the marriage, of your own free will, letting\nit be clear that there has been no force or compulsion to influence\nyou.”\n\n“But,” Georgiana faltered, looking distressedly toward the door by which\nEverell had left the room, “I cannot love Mr. Thornby.”\n\n“’Tis not absolutely necessary you should love him,” replied Foxwell,\ndryly.\n\n“Oh, no, no!” cried Georgiana, as her imagination fully mastered the\ncase. “I cannot! ’Twould be like—’twould be horrible!”\n\n“’Twould be saving your Everell’s life,” said Foxwell, dispassionately.\n\n“’Tis an excellent match, dear,” put in Lady Strange, softly, “if Mr.\nThornby’s estate is what I take it to be.”\n\n“Oh, but, Lady Strange,—you are a woman—_you_ should understand.”\n\n“I do, child,” replied the elder lady, with an inward sigh, “but—these\nmatters reconcile themselves in time. ’Twill not be so intolerable,\nbelieve me. And who knows—” Whatever it was that who knew, Lady Strange\nabruptly broke off to another line of thought. “The point is, to save\nyour lover’s life, my dear.”\n\n“Ay,” said Foxwell, beginning to show impatience, “ere the opportunity\nis gone. Now lookye, Georgiana, I must hear your answer without more\nado. I am going to have a horse saddled at once. It shall carry either\nyour acceptance to Mr. Thornby, or word of this rebel to those who will\nnot be slow in securing him. ’Tis for you to say which, and before many\nminutes.”\n\nInstead of calling a servant, Foxwell went out to the hall to give the\norder, consigning Georgiana by a look to the persuasions of Lady\nStrange.\n\n“Come, my dear,” said that lady, bending kindly over Georgiana, who had\nsunk weeping into a chair by the table; “’tis but marrying him you love\nnot, for the sake of him you love.”\n\n“’Tis being false to him I love,” sobbed the girl.\n\n“False to him, but to save his life—a loyal kind of falseness, poor\nchild!”\n\nShe continued in this strain, though with no apparent effect upon\nGeorgiana, who presently flung her arms upon the table and, bowing her\nhead upon them, shook with weeping. In this attitude her uncle found her\nwhen he returned from ordering the horse.\n\n“Nay, persuade her no more, Lady Strange,” said he, testily. “God’s\nname, miss!—be true to your lover, if you think it so, and send him to\ndie for your truth. I am going now to write a line for my messenger to\ncarry. It might have been a line to Thornby, accompanied by a few words\nof your own inditing. But, as it cannot be so, it must be to those who\nwant news of the rebel.” With that, Foxwell was about to go to the\ndrawing-room.\n\n“No, no!” exclaimed Georgiana, rising to stop him. “I will consent—I\nwill save the rebel. False to him, for love of him!—he will understand.”\n\n“Nay, but he is not to understand,” objected Foxwell. “He is to know\nnothing of this. Do you not see, he might rather give himself up than\nhave you marry another?—might refuse to be saved by such means. For his\nown sake, he mustn’t know the condition. You had best not see him again:\nleave me to dismiss him. I make no doubt he will accept his liberty now\nfor your sake, and agree to the voiding of our compact, whereof he has\nhad near the full benefit. Best not see him: you might betray all.”\n\n“Not see him!” wept Georgiana.\n\n“’Tis best not. If he stand to our agreement and demand to see you, why,\nthen, so it must be, and I know not what will ensue. Do not fear I shall\nmisrepresent you to him. He shall know you have won his life by your\npleading, upon condition he goes away forthwith—that is all. ’Tis agreed\nto, then?”\n\n“Yes,” said Georgiana, faintly; and added as if speaking to herself, “I\nshall know that somewhere he lives!”\n\nAt this instant the door from the library opened, whereupon Foxwell\nlooked around sharply, thinking Everell had taken it upon himself to\nreappear unbidden. But the intruder proved to be the waiting-woman\nPrudence, who had fallen asleep over her sewing while Georgiana was\nreading to Everell, and whom the lovers had left unnoticed in her\ncorner. Having just now wakened, and seen Everell alone before the\nfireplace, looking strangely pale and excited, she had come forth in\nquest of her mistress. In obedience to Foxwell’s imperious motion, she\nshut the door, and hastened to the half-swooning niece.\n\n“Then,” said Foxwell to Georgiana, “I beg you will go to your room and\nwrite a brief letter to Mr. Thornby, informing him you accept his\nproposal of marriage, conditionally upon such terms as your\nrepresentative—and so forth. Lady Strange will perhaps be so kind as to\nadvise you in the wording—the form matters little, only let it be plain\nyou act of your free will.”\n\n“Of my free will—yes,” murmured Georgiana, wearily, accepting the\nguidance of Lady Strange’s hand.\n\n“When the letter is finished, send it down to me straightway; and best\nkeep to your room for the rest of the evening,” added Foxwell, as Lady\nStrange and the girl passed out to the hall.\n\nPrudence followed them up the stairs, but stopped for a moment outside\nGeorgiana’s anteroom, to give oral expression to her feelings: “Marry\nMr. Thornby! Oh, lor! What will the Jacumbite say to this, I wonder?”\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XIII\n\n                               SURPRISES\n\n\nLEFT alone in the dining-room, Foxwell first indulged in a momentary\nsmile of satisfaction, as who should say, “For once has circumstance\nbeen kind to me;” and then, setting himself to the task yet remaining,\nhe opened the library door, and called Everell.\n\nThe young man came without delay; looked swiftly around the room, and\nthen at Foxwell with eyes that said, “She is not here!”\n\n“She has gone to her room,” said Foxwell, very quietly. “I have granted\nher request: you are to go free.”\n\n“Go free!”\n\n“At her solicitation, and solely for her sake. For her sake, then, and\nfor mine, too, if you consider not your own, I beg you will be secret in\nyour departure—and above all, speedy. You must be especially on your\nguard against Jeremiah Filson, who still lodges at the public-house in\nthe village yonder. Were I in your place, I wouldn’t pass through the\nvillage, I would go to Burndale and take conveyance there. But however\nyou proceed, though I may seem inhospitable to urge it, you should set\nout immediately. You have money, I believe: if not, my purse—though I\ncould wish it better lined—”\n\n“Nay, a thousand thanks, but I have enough. As to this release, I know\nnot what to say: I never would have asked it—”\n\n“But you must accept it, for the sake of her who did ask it. I well know\nyou would have stood to our compact. Stay not for protestations or\nthanks: the sooner you are gone, the better for us all.”\n\n“But ’tis not yet ten o’clock.”\n\n“Good heaven, sir, does it not follow that our agreement is annulled by\nyour release if you accept it?—and your duty to her leaves you no choice\nbut to accept. Will you stand upon an hour or two, when you’ve had near\nfull benefit of the bargain for nothing, as it turns out?”\n\n“You are right,” said Everell, with humility. “I will go as soon as I\nhave said farewell to her.”\n\n“But, my dear sir, that very ordeal is one you must spare her. Do you\nnot see how the case stands? She was in great terror lest you should be\ngiven up: relieved upon that point, she asks no more. She is content\nwith having gained your life: in that mood, she is willing to forego\nanother meeting. It would only start her grief afresh: for that reason,\nI advised her to go to her room. As you value her peace, you must depart\nwithout seeing her.”\n\n“Depart without seeing her!” Everell looked wistfully toward the hall,\nthrough which she must have passed to reach her apartments. He fetched a\nlong and tremulous sigh; then bethought him of the miniature, and,\ntaking it out, stood gazing on it with moist eyes. He gently kissed it,\nand replaced it in his pocket. “Well, sir, heaven knows I wouldn’t cause\nher fresh grief. But this I may ask—nay, must know:—when shall I be\npermitted to see her again?”\n\n“’Tis not in my power to answer, your own future being unknown to me.\nCertainly you mustn’t see her during your present stay in England—which,\nif you are wise, you will devote entirely to getting out of England. As\nto the future more distant, all depends upon how matters shape\nthemselves.”\n\n“At least, then, I may hope! She will be true, I know. There will be an\namnesty some day, and I may return to England without danger. In the\nmeantime, you—and she—may be coming to France. I will write to her from\nthere.”\n\n“And not till you have arrived there, I trust. Until your safety is\nassured, any communication from you must give a new edge to her anxiety.\nBut I demand no promises.” Foxwell intended to expedite the marriage:\nonce his purposes were secured, Georgiana’s conduct would be Thornby’s\naffair. Now that her consent had been obtained, haste was possible.\nMeanwhile, he could intercept any letter that came by regular post.\nTherefore, ’twas better not to force Everell to secret means of\ncorrespondence.\n\n“Then, sir,” said Everell, with a wan attempt at a smile, “as you demand\nno promises, I will make none. On the hope of meeting her again, in\nsafer times, I shall live. In that hope, I must go. Tell her—” he paused\na moment, but his thoughts were in a tumult—“Nay, words are too feeble!\nI thank her, not for my life, which is hers to use as she will; but for\nher love, which gives my life all its value. Adieu, sir!—no more!”\n\nWith that, he hastened abruptly, half-blindly, to the hall; and thence\nto his chamber, where he donned his sword, hat, cloak, and riding-boots.\nHe threw his few other belongings into the bag, made sure his money was\nsafe in pocket, and returned to the hall, thinking to leave by way of\nthe courtyard and thus soonest gain the road. There was the darkness for\nhis safety, and the whirl of his thoughts to speed him on to Burndale,\nwhere he could knock up some innkeeper, and take horse for the South at\ndawn.\n\nCaleb and another servant, charged by Foxwell to attend the departing\nguest to the gate, were at the door. Everell handed each a coin, and the\nsecond man ran ahead to open the gate. Everell was following across the\ndark courtyard, when he bethought him of the services of Prudence. He\nturned back to the light of the open doorway, selected a gold piece, and\nasked Caleb to convey it to the maid.\n\n“If it please your Honour, sir, asking your pardon, may I call Miss\nPrudence to receive it herself?” said Caleb; “’twill take but a minute.”\n\nPerceiving that the valet was averse to the trust, Everell acquiesced.\nThe idea then came to him that he might utilize the brief delay by\nwriting a message of farewell to Georgiana: there could be no objection\nto a few written words of love and faith, which Prudence might deliver\nat a suitable time. Everell strode into the dining-room.\n\nNobody else was there, for Foxwell had returned to the drawing-room to\npen a letter which should accompany Georgiana’s to Thornby. He had begun\nto apologize to Rashleigh and Mrs. Winter for the long trial he had put\nupon their patience.\n\n“You might at least have left the door ajar, that we could have heard\nyour fine scenes yonder,” said Mrs. Winter.\n\n“So I might have done, I own,” replied Foxwell.\n\n“Yes; as you didn’t, we thought ourselves justified in listening at the\nkeyhole.”\n\n“We?” exclaimed Rashleigh, in protest.\n\n“Well, if you didn’t listen, Rashleigh, you certainly didn’t stop my\ntelling you what I heard.”\n\n“Then you know what has happened?” queried Foxwell.\n\n“I could make a good guess at the general event,” answered the lady.\n“The rebel goes free, and pretty Georgiana marries for love.”\n\n“For love!” said Foxwell. “Hardly so, I fear.”\n\n“Certainly. For love of one man, she marries another. ’Tis often\ndone—especially in France. ’Tis a plan that has its beauties.”\n\n“I’m afraid Georgiana is too English to see its beauties,” said\nRashleigh, as Foxwell sat down to write his letter.\n\nReturn we to another writer, in the adjoining room. Everell had found\nthe book from which Georgiana had been reading to him, which he had\ndropped in going to support her when she seemed about to faint. He had\nscarce begun to pencil his message on a blank leaf, when Prudence looked\nin at the door.\n\n“Oh, ’tis here your honour is, sir; and sure I’m sorry you’re going away\nso suddent,” she said, advancing. “When Caleb told me just now, I\ncouldn’t believe my ears, and I wouldn’t yet, neither, if I didn’t see\nyour cloak and bag, more’s the pity.”\n\n“Yes, I am going,” said Everell, handing her the reward of merit.\n\n“Oh lor, sir, what princely generosity! I’m sure I aren’t no ways\ndeserving of such! It reely breaks my heart, begging your Honour’s\npardon, to see how things have come about. After all that’s took place\nthis past week, to hear of this marriage—’tis enough to make one think\nof witchcraft—”\n\n“This marriage? What marriage?—whose?”\n\n“Why, this here marriage, in course. Bean’t that what sends your Honour\naway all of a suddent at such a time o’ night?”\n\n“Whose marriage? Speak, Prudence!—in a word, whose?”\n\n“Why, mistress’s marriage, to be sure. Whose else in the world—”\n\n“Mistress’s mar—! What mistress?”\n\n“Mistress Georgiana Foxwell, in course: I don’t own to no other\nmistress, I’m sure.” The maid drew back from Everell, wondering if the\nloss of his sweetheart had affected his wits.\n\n“Mistress Georgiana! Are you mad, Prudence? What do you mean?”\n\n“Mad, sir? Not me! I scorn the word. ’Tis my betters I takes to be mad,\nto go and make a match of it with a gentleman she’s scarce set eyes on,\nbe he ever so rich.”\n\n“What gentleman do you speak of? Truly I think you _are_ mad.”\n\n“I’m a-speaking of Squire Thornby, sir, who but he? Sure then, haven’t\nthey told your Honour?”\n\n“Squire Thornby?” repeated Everell, with but vague recollection of the\nlittle he had heard of that person. “A neighbour of Mr. Foxwell’s, isn’t\nhe?”\n\n“Yes, with a large estate, I’ve heard say. ’Tis all I know of him,\nbarring they’ve arranged he shall marry my mistress; though that’s quite\nenough, heavens knows, and you could have knocked me down with a feather\nwhen I heard as much.”\n\n“But ’tis impossible! They little know her: let them arrange as they\nwill, she will never consent.”\n\n“Indeed, sir, but that’s the strangest part of it; for didn’t I hear her\nconsent in this very room, with these ears, not ten minutes ago? ‘Excep’\nSquire Thornby’s proposal of marriage,’ them was her uncle’s words, and\nshe said yes, and Lady Strange is with her now, a-tellin’ how\nadventidjus a match ’twill be. And if you think a poor waiting-woman’s\nword can’t be took, you’re free to go and ask for yourself.”\n\n“Marry Squire Thornby!—after all that has passed—her grief at my\ngoing—her appeal for my life! It can’t be; I’ll not believe it, unless\nshe tells me.”\n\nHe went swiftly from the room, and ran up the stairs. Before he had time\nto reflect upon the impulse he obeyed, he was on the landing outside her\nantechamber, calling through the closed door:\n\n“Georgiana!—my love! Come and deny this slander! Come, let me hear the\ntruth!”\n\nThe door opened, and Georgiana appeared, pale and sorrow-stricken. Lady\nStrange was at her side, with a gently restraining touch upon her arm.\nBut Everell seized the girl’s hand and led her down the stairs, partly\nas if he claimed her from any other’s possession, and partly that he\nmight see her face in the better light of the hall below. “Sweet, what\nblundering tale is this?” he asked, as they descended;—“of a marriage\nwith Squire Thornby, and that you have given your consent?”\n\nGeorgiana was silent, with averted glance.\n\n“Why don’t you answer?” he said, as they reached the foot of the stairs.\n\nShe lifted her eyes to his, but could not bring her lips to frame a\nword.\n\n“What!” he exclaimed; “’tis true, then? Oh!”\n\nHis cry was like that of sharp pain; he dropped her hand, and walked a\nfew steps from her. “Who would have believed it?” he said, plaintively;\n“I would have staked my soul upon it that you loved me.”\n\n“Loved you!” she said, in a faint whisper.\n\n“But what can it mean, then?” he asked, touched alike by her words and\nher look. “Surely you don’t put wealth and convenience before love? Do\nyou fear I may never come back to you? And to give your consent at such\na time—but ten minutes ago, the maid says! Why, you had just been\npleading for my life.—Ah! now I understand!—blind fool that I’ve been,\nnot to see at once! forgive me, dearest love! ’Tis your uncle’s doing:\nhe has sold you my life for your consent to the marriage!” With that,\nEverell grasped her hand, and started toward the dining-room.\n\n“Hush, Everell!” said Georgiana, fearful lest all might be undone; “go,\nfor heaven’s sake, for my sake, ere it be too late!”\n\nFortunately Caleb had stepped out to the courtyard to gossip with his\nfellow servant who had opened the gate, and, as the house door was but\nslightly ajar, there were no witnesses to what was passing in the hall,\nsave Lady Strange and Prudence, who had both followed down the stairs.\nHolding back from the dining-room door, Georgiana still begged Everell\nto go.\n\n“Go, on those terms?” he said. “Not I! Rather die the worst of deaths.\nLet you marry another? I’ll give myself up first!”\n\n“Nay, Everell—my love—I implore—on my knees! Must I plead with you as I\npleaded with my uncle? You should know I cannot endure the thought of\nyour death. Only that you live, that is enough! Go, I beseech!—let not\nmy sacrifice be in vain.”\n\n“You sha’n’t make the sacrifice,” he said, fiercely.\n\n“’Tis made already: my uncle has my promise.”\n\n“Your uncle!—where is he?” And Everell strode into the dining-room,\nfollowed by the three women. Before he had time to reach the\ndrawing-room door, it was opened from the other side, and Everell had no\nfarther to go to meet Foxwell, who had heard the young man’s loud-spoken\nwords. At sight of Georgiana, her uncle made an ejaculation, and\nadvanced toward Everell with a resentful look: he held in one hand a\npen, in the other the letter which the sound of Everell’s voice had\ninterrupted; and this time both Mrs. Winter and Rashleigh took the\nliberty of intruding upon the scene.\n\n“Ah, you come in good time!” cried Everell. “I refuse my liberty at the\nprice you set. She shall not marry another to save me.”\n\n“’Tis too late, sir,” said Foxwell, with forced quietness; “she has\nalready bound herself by her promise.”\n\n“Then give her back her promise, as I give myself back to you!”\n\n“Pardon me, but you have no part in the covenant: ’tis between my niece\nand myself—your liberty for her promise. Even were she inclined to\ncancel the agreement, she cannot do so now: I have given your liberty,\nhave performed my part: she is bound by her promise.”\n\n“You see ’tis too late, Everell,” said Georgiana, in whom every other\nfeeling yielded to anxiety for his safety; “you cannot mend matters now.\nSave yourself—at least that!—for my sake!”\n\nFor a moment her lover was thoughtful. He threw back his cloak at both\nshoulders, so that it hung behind him. To enforce her plea, Georgiana\nlaid her hand upon his arm: she stepped forward so that she now stood\nbeside him.\n\n“But _I_ am not bound by her promise,” said Everell to Foxwell.\n\n“You are no longer bound by anything, sir, to me,” Foxwell replied. “If\nyou insist upon staying in this neighbourhood, ’tis at your own peril.\nAnd I warrant you ’twill avail nothing: I shall see that my niece\nneither leaves her apartments, nor communicates with any one outside\nthem, until her marriage; you force me to that use of my authority.”\n\nBefore Everell could answer, a voice was heard in the hall doorway\nbehind him—Caleb’s voice, addressed to Foxwell: “Please, your Honour,\nJoseph has the horse ready, sir.”\n\nThe word “horse” shot through the confusion of Everell’s thoughts.\n\n“Tell Joseph to wait,” said Foxwell, glancing at the unfinished letter\nin his hand. Everell heard Caleb walk away through the hall to the house\ndoor. He knew there was a mounting-block at the side of that door: would\nJoseph let the horse wait there, or walk it up and down the courtyard?\n“And now again, Mr. Everell,” resumed Foxwell, “I bid you farewell; and\nI beg that this leave-taking may be final.”\n\nEverell drew a deep breath; then replied: “I am willing it shall be\nfinal, sir. But one word before I go. I have pondered what you have\nsaid: ’tis clear I am no longer bound to you by any obligation: as for\nyour niece, I am not bound by her promise.”\n\n“I grant you,” replied Foxwell, “’tis for her alone to keep that.”\n\n“But if I should prevent her keeping it?”\n\n“’Tis not possible; or, if so, not to a man of honour.”\n\n“Why not, pray? I am answerable only for my own promises. She is bound\nby hers, and will keep it—if she can. But if I prevent her, by force,\nshe’ll not be to blame for that. There will be no breach of honour\nthen.”\n\n“I must end this, sir.—To cross another’s promise is no better than to\nbreak one’s own—”\n\n“Not in this case, sir,” replied Everell, his voice rising in spite of\nhimself, as his heart rose to the wild attempt he was about to\nmake—rashness had brought him to this pass, let rashness bring him\nout!—“not in this case, for the promise concerns me, yet I was not\nconsulted in its making—there’s reason for you! As for possibility,\nlet’s put it to the test! Prevent her? Yes!” He had half-drawn his\nsword, but he quickly slid it back; flung his arms around Georgiana’s\nwaist, and, lifting her high, made a dash for the hall, passing between\nLady Strange and Prudence on the way; ran on out to the courtyard,\nwhere, by a lantern in Joseph’s hand, he saw the horse at the\nmounting-block; thanks to which, he gained the saddle in two steps, with\nthe slight form of Georgiana still in his arms; jerked the bridle from\nJoseph’s hold ere the groom or the two other servants knew what was\nhappening; applied the spurs, and was off at a gallop through the open\ngateway before Foxwell had got as far as to the house door in pursuit.\n\nFoxwell had lost no more time through sheer astonishment than most men\nwould have lost. But, as he started to go after Everell, the maid\nPrudence also started, apparently upon the impulse of concern for her\nmistress: being nearer the doorway, she arrived first; tripped at the\nthreshold, and dropped on all fours, filling up the opening so that\nFoxwell was delayed for some seconds ere he could pass to the hall. He\nhad hope that the servants about the house door would stop the fugitive;\nbut they were taken by surprise, they knew that Everell was to leave,\nand they did not know for what purpose the horse had been got ready. So\nnow the lover, with his prize in his arms, was galloping away in the\ndarkness. Foxwell ordered two horses saddled, and sent Caleb to listen\nas to which direction the fugitive was taking.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XIV\n\n                                 ROADS\n\n\nFOR the first few moments, Everell left matters to the horse, merely\nkeeping the rein in hand while he adjusted his burden so that Georgiana\nmight be as free from discomfort as necessity allowed. He dared not\ntrust to placing her behind him, as if she had been a consenting partner\nin his flight. For the time being, she must remain prisoned between his\narms. He worked his body as far back on the horse as agreed with his\nsure control of the animal, thus giving Georgiana the benefit of the\nsaddle: he could dispense with stirrups. The horse plunged wildly down\nthe <DW72>, finding the unbarred opening at the bottom rather by its own\nsense than by Everell’s guidance.\n\nThe sky was black with clouds, but by the time he had thus gained the\nroad, the young gentleman had become sufficiently used to the darkness\nto make out something of his way ahead. He was at an instant’s\nhesitation as to which way he should turn. Remembering that Foxwell had\nadvised him to go by Burndale, and might suppose this advice taken, he\ndecided for the other—in itself less safe—direction. So he reined his\nsteed toward the village, as was presently advertised to the listening\nCaleb by the thump of hoofs on the bridge. At the entrance to the\nvillage, there was again choice of two ways. The road ahead, passing the\npublic-house, led to the town at which Everell had first met Georgiana.\nAs he now recalled, it passed in sight of Thornby Hall. The other road,\nturning off at the right and skirting the churchyard, eventually arrived\nat the great highway for London some miles farther south than the first\nroad: so the ale-house keeper had told Everell. For more than one\nreason, then, it seemed preferable. The ale-house keeper had not\nmentioned, however, that this road was in great part little used and\nmuch neglected; nor did it occur to Everell at the moment that some such\nconsideration must have made the Foxwells use the other road in\nreturning from the South.\n\nThe young man, then, turned to the right, and, passing the church,\nquickly left the village behind. He had not met a soul, nor heard a\nhuman sound: doubtless people kept within doors on account of the\nnipping air; as for noise, most of the habitual producers thereof were\nprobably at the ale-house. Presently the way bent to the left, and\nseemed for awhile to run nearly parallel to the other road. Everell felt\nGeorgiana shiver slightly in his arms. He stopped his horse, and,\nhearing no sound as of anybody in pursuit, he undid his cloak and\ncontrived to wrap it around her. He then set forward again, though at a\nless mad pace.\n\nIn all this time Georgiana had not uttered a word; nor Everell to her,\nhis only exclamations having been addressed to the horse. What were her\nfeelings? We know that she was being carried away by force, in a dress\ncertainly not designed for travel on a cold and dark night, and without\nbag or baggage; carried away on horseback, without her consent, by a\nreckless young gentleman whose neck was now doubly in danger—nay, trebly\nso, for at that time abduction and horse-stealing were both hanging\nmatters, no less than treason; carried away by sheer strength of arm,\neven as any Sabine or other woman who ever underwent the experience of\nmarriage by capture; carried away unceremoniously and suddenly—but by\nthe man she loved! Was she entirely shocked, indignant, and terrified?\nLet us leave it to the imagination of other young ladies of her age—and\nperhaps of young ladies a few years older. Whatever Georgiana’s feelings\nmay have been, they were constantly mingled with the questions, “What\nnext? Where now? What is he going to do?”\n\nEverell was proposing to himself that same riddle. He wondered what he\n_was_ going to do. For the present, the only thing was to push on. Not\nuntil a considerable distance lay between him and Foxwell Court would he\ndare seek shelter. How long could Georgiana endure the cold and fatigue?\nHow long could the horse travel? No doubt a stop must needs be made\nduring the night, at some village inn or farmhouse, where a plausible\nstory would have to be told in order to account for their situation and\nto obtain admittance—a story of the lady being robbed and left for dead\nby the roadside, and found there by her present custodian; or some such\ntale. Would Georgiana deny his account, and seek to frustrate him, as in\nhonesty she ought to do? He must prevent that by dire threats, must\nenforce her to silence upon penalties of wholesale disaster, so that she\nmust feel bound by every womanly fear, by conscience itself, to avert\nthe greater evil of tragedy to all concerned, by obeying his commands.\nShe must be in terror of him, and of the consequences of resisting his\nwill. If he frightened and offended her, he must hope to make his peace\nand atonement later. Would she really need such thorough intimidation?\nwould not mere formal compulsion suffice—such as might serve as a\nwoman’s excuse for not making the protest that strict duty required? He\ncould not be sure, and he dared not ask her: he resolved to take no\nrisks; she should have ample reason to feel justified in non-resistance.\nBut should all his commands and menaces not avail?—would he make good\nhis threats? He knew not: so far, he could only hope the occasion would\nnot arise.\n\nSo much for his course with regard to Georgiana’s possible opposition.\nWherever they should stop, he would allow her no chance of speaking to\nanybody out of his presence: when she slept, not even a maid should have\naccess to her room, and he himself would rest outside her door, with the\nkey in his pocket. At the first town they should enter on the morrow, he\nwould take measures to supply her with the necessaries she now lacked;\nhe would have to provide a few things for himself also, for he had left\nhis cloak-bag at Foxwell Court. At the same town, he would abandon the\nhorse, and hire a post-chaise for the continuance of their journey. His\nultimate aim must be, to reach the small seaport to which Roughwood had\ngone before him, and thence be conveyed with Georgiana to France.\nWhether circumstances would permit him to make her his wife on their\nSouthward journey, he could not know; if not, the ceremony should be his\nfirst concern upon setting foot in France.\n\nSo the future took general form in his thoughts as he rode. But\nmeanwhile, only the first step had been made. A thousand difficulties, a\nthousand dangers, stood in the way. He saw himself at the beginning of a\nlong and toilsome business, which would make incessant demands upon his\nwit, resolution, and endurance. He could allow himself little time for\nrest. All depended upon his retaining the start he had gained; upon his\nkeeping ever ahead of the pursuit that would be made, and of the news\nwhich, spreading in all directions, would follow close upon his heels.\nHe now thanked his impulse for having led him into this road. If Foxwell\nhad set out as soon as horse could be saddled, he must lose much time by\ntaking the wrong road, which Everell, still hearing nothing behind,\nassumed that he would surely do.\n\nBut this advantage, if it really existed, might be more than offset ere\nall was done. A sudden sharp sense of this caused Everell to urge the\nhorse to its former pace. The animal responded readily enough; sped most\ngallantly for a furlong or so; then, without any warning, stumbled upon\nits knees, almost throwing the riders. It rose trembling, and started to\ngo on—but with a limp that made Everell’s heart sink within him.\n\n“Curse upon the bad road! The horse is lamed—hopelessly! Poor beast!\nbrave fellow, he would bear us still in spite of his pain! Well, he can\nserve us no more to-night! There’s nothing for it but going afoot till I\ncan get another mount.”\n\nHe lifted Georgiana from the saddle, threw his leg over it, and slid\nwith her to the ground. For a few moments he let her stand, but kept one\narm around her, while he looked up and down the road in search of a\nhabitation. But the darkness baffled him. He remembered having passed a\nfew scattered cottages, but the nearest was a good way back. He was\nlikely to find a house sooner by going ahead, which seemed on other\naccounts the better course. As for the poor steed, Everell was first of\na mind to leave it to its will; but he feared it might thus serve to\ninform his pursuers of his enforced delay in the neighbourhood, and\ncause more particular search to be made near at hand. Retaining the\nhalter in his grasp, and taking up Georgiana so as to carry her as one\ncarries a child in long clothes, he started forward. He hoped he might\ndiscover a house before the young lady’s weight became too much for him;\nin other case, he must subject her lightly shod feet to contact with the\nrough road. Fortunately, he soon beheld a light, which by its steadiness\nand position he judged to belong to a house not far ahead, on higher\nground, a little way back from the left-hand side of the road. Everell\nstopped, and again set Georgiana on her feet.\n\n“Do you know whose house that is?” he asked, curtly.\n\n“No,” she replied, in the lowest audible voice.\n\n“Good,” said he. “From its situation I think it may be a gentleman’s. At\nall events, I intend to borrow a horse there—perhaps a pair of horses,\nor—who knows?—a chaise and pair. I shall tell what story I see fit; and\nyou will say nothing—or at most a mere yes or no to confirm my account.\nYou are under my compulsion, which I am ready to enforce by desperate\nacts. Remember, my life is not worth a farthing, in the eye of the law;\nnothing more that I may do can add to the fate I have already incurred;\nso if all’s lost I’m determined to stop at nothing. I warn you then,\nonce and for all, attempt not to thwart me in the slightest matter,\nunless you wish to bring down such a catastrophe as you dare not even\nimagine. You are not to quit my side unless at my command. It may be,\nyour face is known to the people we shall see in that house: you must\nhave been closely observed the day you appeared at church. So I must bid\nyou take your neckerchief and veil your face with it—I’ll tie it myself\nwhen you have it arranged. And you will on no account remove it—nor the\ncloak, either, which hides your figure. For all this concealment and\nsilence, I shall contrive to account. All depends on whom I have to deal\nwith yonder; till I see what manner of person, I know not what tale I\nmust invent. Whatever you find it, you will support it by silence and\nobedience. Bear in mind, you are not your own mistress: you are under my\nenforcement. If evil come of your obedience, the consequences will be\nupon my head; but ’tis nothing to the evil that will come if you\ndisobey. So beware, then, of causing such disaster as I will not even\nspeak of!”\n\nHe then fastened behind her head the neck-handkerchief, which she had\nalready begun, with slow and trembling fingers, to adjust over her face.\nTaking this compliance as a sign of submission, he next arranged his\ncloak more carefully around her, clasped her once more in his arms, and\nwalked on, leading the horse, till he arrived at a small cottage which\nmanifestly served as lodge to the house from which the light shone. The\ngate was closed, but from between its tall pickets Everell could make\nout an avenue of tall trees leading up to the mansion. He knocked and\nhalloed, and presently a man, half-dressed, carrying a lantern, came out\nof the lodge and inspected him through the gate.\n\nIt occurred to Everell that he had best speak, at this stage, as if he\nwere a friend, or at least an acquaintance, of the master of the house:\nhe was thus more likely to obtain prompt admittance, and, secondly, he\nmight thus better secure the gatekeeper against betraying him to the\ninquiries of pursuers. Upon this later point, moreover, he took a grain\nof comfort from the fact that Foxwell was not liked by the gentry in the\nneighbourhood.\n\n“Is your master at home?” he said. “We have met with an accident. Pray\ndo not keep us waiting in the cold—the lady is shivering. We have had to\nleave a horse behind, and this one is quite lame. ’Tis lucky we were so\nnear a friend’s. Come, my good fellow, open quickly!—this lady must be\ngot indoors—your master is at home, isn’t he?”\n\n“Yes, sir, he’s at home,” said the fellow, and dubiously scratched his\nhead. “As to opening the gate at this time of night, why, if your Honour\nwill but let me take your name to master, I make no doubt—”\n\n“Rascal! Dare you think of keeping us here to freeze? Names, say\nyou?—dog, if you but knew our names!—knew whom you are delaying!—or if\nyour master knew! Open at once, I command you, and lead us to your\nmaster, or bitterly you’ll rue it!”\n\nThe imperiousness of the manner exceeded even that of the words. The\nman, convinced that the speaker was some great person whom his master\nwould be fearful of offending, opened the gate with much bowing and\napology.\n\n“Now shut the gate,” ordered Everell, when he and his company had\nentered. “And if any one comes inquiring for a lady and gentleman on\nhorseback, say you know nothing of them. Remember that. And have the\nhorse taken care of.”\n\nEmphasizing his commands with a coin, and letting Georgiana walk beside\nhim, Everell proceeded up the avenue, the gatekeeper leading the horse.\nThe mansion proved to be a large house in the square-built style\nnowadays called Georgian. Arriving before the great central door, the\nguide summoned a rustic-looking footman, to whom he resigned the\nvisitors with a whispered recommendation that caused them to be received\nwith as much respect as surprise. Their appearance was indeed sufficient\ncause for the latter, Everell still having an arm clasped around\nGeorgiana in her masculine cloak and improvised veil.\n\nThey found themselves in a dimly lighted hall, at the farther end of\nwhich was a door matching that by which they had entered. There was the\nstairway usual to such houses, beginning along one side of the hall,\ncrossing at the end, and finishing the ascent along the other side in\nthe return direction. Having closed the door, the servant asked by what\nname he might announce my lord and her ladyship to his master.\n\n“Tell him a gentleman and lady,” said Everell, “who are in great haste,\nand will not trouble him long.”\n\n“A gentleman and lady, sir,” repeated the servant, obediently. “Begging\nyour lordship’s pardon, but master, being in his cups, may wish to\nknow—I mean to say, master is main hard to draw from his comforts at\nthis time o’ night—though I dare say when I tell him you be friends of\nhis—”\n\n“Friends? Certainly—unless I am mistaken as to the house. But that’s\neasily set right:—who is your master?”\n\n“Squire Thornby, sir; and this house is Thornby Hall.”\n\nFrom Everell’s look, the servant concluded that the gentleman probably\n_was_ mistaken as to the house.\n\n“But how can that be?” cried Everell. “Thornby Hall is on the other\nroad.”\n\n“’Tis on both roads, so to speak, sir. The two run near together just\nhereaways; the house looks on each. There’s two gates, you know, sir,\nand two lodges; the gardener lives in one, and Jenkins in t’other.”\n\nEverell took a moment’s thought. Resolution appeared on his face.\n\n“’Tis just as well,” he said. “Mr. Thornby is known to me by reputation.\nTell him I am here, and must needs beg he will see me without delay.”\n\nThis was spoken with such an air that the servant conceived it best to\ncarry the message at once, without a second attempt to elicit the\nspeaker’s name. As soon as the man was gone, Everell said to Georgiana:\n\n“I must brave it out with this Squire Thornby, there’s nothing else for\nit. We must have horses, and soon: ’twere folly to go on afoot, heaven\nknows how far, till we found another house. As well solicit this\ngentleman’s help as another’s—’tis all one, he may be no harder to\npersuade. He has never seen me, and now he shall not see you. Take good\nheed you don’t show your face, nor shift the cloak, nor let your voice\nbe heard: or ’twill go ill, I promise you.”\n\nGeorgiana made no answer, nor gave any sign of existence save to draw a\nlong breath. Was it of helpless resignation to the compulsion she was\nunder? was it to brace herself for resistance to that compulsion? or to\nsteady herself against anxiety as to the outcome? Did she really see\nthrough his show of dark threat? Was her scrupulosity of conscience so\ngreat, that so much intimidation was required to keep her from opposing\nher abductor, in the interests alike of her given promise and of\nmaidenly propriety? Oh, woman, woman!—\n\nThe footman returned with word that his master would attend upon the\nvisitors in a minute; and showed them into a large room, which appeared,\nby the candles he lighted, to be devoted to the exercise of his master’s\nfunctions as justice of the peace. Near one end was a large table\nwhereon were an inkstand, pens, and a few weighty-looking books. The\nwalls were paneled in oak, and the bare floor was of the same wood.\nThere were two armchairs drawn up to the table, and two before the\nfireplace, while oak settles stood against the wall. The servant fanned\nthe smouldering fire into a blaze, put on a fresh log, and left the\napartment.\n\nEverell had been looking at a door in the side of the room, near the\ntable. It was slightly ajar, and its key was in place,—two indications\nthat it sheltered no secret. As soon as he and Georgiana were alone,\nEverell led her hastily to it, and, throwing it open, discovered a large\ncloset containing a disorderly array of shabby cloaks, wigs, whips, hats\nand such, on pegs; and old record books piled in a corner.\n\n“’Tis none so roomy, but ’twill do at a pinch,” said Everell. “I think\nit best you should be out of sight altogether, miss. I can tell my story\nbetter. I must command you to enter.” And he gently pushed her into the\ncloset. “Do not dare to cry out; and when I open the door to fetch you,\nbe veiled, cloaked, and silent, as you are now. Remember!—or injury will\nbe done.—Stay, those books will serve you to sit on—you will be tired\nstanding.” He guided her to the pile of old volumes, and then came out\nof the closet, and locked the door. The key, long unused save as a door\nhandle, turned hardly, and he had difficulty in getting it from the lock\nin order to pocket it. As he was in the act of drawing it out, a heavy\nstep made him glance around. He beheld a robust-looking man with a red\nface, who stood regarding him with pugnacious astonishment.\n\n“Your servant, sir,” said Everell, with an easy bow. “Mr. Thornby, I\nbelieve.”\n\n“That’s my name, sir,” said the Squire, bluntly. “Might I ask what\nyou’re doing at that there closet door, sir?”\n\n“Closet door, sir?” repeated Everell, lightly.\n\n“Only locking it, sir,—that’s all.” And he held up the key as evidence\nof the truth of his assertion.\n\n“And perhaps I have a right to know what the devil you’re a-locking it\nfor? Who asked you for to lock my doors, sir? Ecod, I must say this is\nrare manners in a stranger. I don’t remember as how I ever had the\nhonour of seeing your face afore, sir.”\n\n“’Tis quite true we have never met before, sir. The loss has been mine,”\nsaid Everell, resting upon courtesy till he could see how best to deal\nwith his man. At the same time, he carelessly pocketed the key.\n\n“Are you trying to put a game on me, sir?” said Thornby, wrathfully.\nThough he had evidently been called from his bottle, he was in full\npossession both of his legs and of his usual wits. “Look ye, ’tis mighty\nsuspicious, poking your nose into my closets. I have a shrewd guess what\nyou came into my house for—passing yourself off as a lord to my fool\nservants. And the lady?—I don’t see any lady here!—ecod, perhaps she’s\npoking her nose into the silver closet! Hey, Jabez, the plate!” With\nthat, the Squire started for the door by which he had entered.\n\n“Nay, sir, you wrong us!” cried Everell, striding to intercept him. “The\nlady is in that closet—I took the liberty—she desires not to be seen.\nUpon my honour, sir, we had no purpose in entering your house but to ask\nyour aid.”\n\nThornby, having been stayed by Everell’s first declaration, gazed at the\ncloset and then at the young gentleman. “But what the devil does the\nlady please to hide in a closet for?”\n\n“She desires not to be seen, as I tell you. ’Twas the nearest place of\nconcealment. I locked the door lest you might open it before I could\nexplain.”\n\n“And why doesn’t she desire to be seen? ’Tis the first of her sex\nafflicted that way, as ever I heard on. Is there aught the matter wi’\nher looks? Ecod, what o’ that? There’s a plenty in the same boat amongst\nthe she-folk hereabouts. There’s only one beauty in these four parishes,\nif I be any judge.”\n\n“’Tis for no such reason,” said Everell, with a smile, as he began to\nsee his way. “Sir, I perceive you’re a blunt, outspoken gentleman, given\nto plain dealing yourself, and no doubt preferring it in others. I’m\nresolved to throw myself on your confidence, as far as I think safe, and\ntell you my story, or as much as I dare. Perhaps then your\nfellow-feeling—for your words imply a gallant sense of beauty in the\ntender sex—may impel you to assist me.”\n\n“H’m!” ejaculated the Squire, dubiously, though his relaxed countenance\nshowed him to be decidedly mollified. “Perhaps—and then again, perhaps\nnot. Let’s hear your story, howsomever. ’Tis all devilish curious—the\nlady desiring not to be seen, and the rest of it. Please to take this\nhere chair.” The Squire moved an armchair from what was evidently the\nclerk’s place to where it faced across the table to the seat of\njudgment. He then went around and assumed the latter, having meanwhile\nrung for a servant. “And just to be on the safe side,” he added, “in\ncase it _is_ a game you’re a-trying on, I’ll be prepared.” He drew a\nbunch of small keys from his pocket, opened a drawer in his side of the\ntable, and fetched out a pair of pistols, which he laid before him; he\nthen closed the drawer, all but a few inches. “Yes, sir, I keep ’em\nalways loaded,” he said, as he looked to the priming. “I’m a blunt,\noutspoken man, as you observe, and I take my precautions.”\n\n“I have no right to complain, sir,” said Everell, who sat with his face\nto the Squire, and his back to the door of the apartment; “a stranger\nintruding at this hour of the night must take what reception he finds.”\n\n“Very well said, sir. And at the same time I’ll show you as I know how\nto treat a gentleman, too, in case you be one.—Jabez,” for the servant\nhad now entered, “tell Bartholomew to fetch a bottle of what I’ve been\ndrinking. And tell the gentlemen at table—no, they bean’t gentlemen\nneither, and damn me if I’ll call ’em so!—tell ’em to make the best of\nit without me, I’ll be with ’em when I see fit.—A man is hard put to it\nfor proper company sometimes, sir,” he explained, when Jabez had gone.\n“Though if some beggarly attorney, or worse, can do justice to his\nbottle, and tell a good tale or so, talk intelligently of dogs and\nhorses, and listen with respect to his betters, why, some things may be\nwinked at.”\n\nIt was manifestly Thornby’s wish to postpone matters till the wine came;\nso Everell answered in the strain he thought likely to command the\nother’s favour. Bartholomew presently appeared with bottle and glasses,\nobserved the pistols with mild wonder, and retired.\n\n“Now, sir,” said Thornby, “we’ll drink the lady’s health, and then for\nyour business. Nay, don’t trouble yourself to reach; keep to your own\nside of the table.” And the Squire pushed bottle and glass to Everell’s\nhands, preferring that these should not come too close to the pistols.\n“The lady’s health, as I said. Shall we have her name, sir?”\n\n“Not at present, if you’ll excuse me.”\n\n“As you please. Health of the fair unknown in the closet—eh?”\n\n“The fair unknown in the closet,” said Everell, and the glasses went to\nthe lips.\n\n“And now, by the Lord,” said the Squire, “you shall return the\ncompliment. I’ve drunk to your fair companion: you shall drink to a lady\nof my proposing.”\n\n“With all my heart,” replied Everell, and dissembled his impatience\nwhile the glasses were filled anew.\n\n“Yes, sir,” said Thornby, “a lady of my proposing: the beauty of the\nfour parishes—nay, the beauty of the county—damme, I may as well say the\nbeauty of England! I’ll give her name, too: there’s no reason, as I know\nof, for to keep it back. To Miss Georgiana Foxwell!”\n\n“Miss Georgiana Foxwell,” echoed Everell, wondering, as he drank,\nwhether she could hear herself thus twice honoured in so short a time.\n\n“I suppose you never saw that young lady I proposed, sir,” said Thornby,\nas he put down his glass and resumed his seat, for the toasts had been\ndrunk standing.\n\n“I am a stranger in this part of England, sir,” Everell answered.\n\n“I take you for a town-bred man. Maybe, then, you’ve met an uncle of\nhers in London aforetime—one Mr. Robert Foxwell?”\n\n“I _have_ met a Mr. Robert Foxwell—but I cannot truly say I know much of\nhim.”\n\n“The less the better, if truth must be told; he’s a damned supercilious\n<DW2>! A rogue, too. He hates me like poison, but, for all that, he’ll let\nme marry his niece.”\n\n“How so, if he hates you?”\n\n“Because,” said Thornby, tapping the drawer of the table with his\nfingers, “I have that in my possession which makes him consider my\nwishes. Yes, sir,” and he thrust his hand carelessly into the drawer,\ntill Everell heard a rustle of papers, “I hold the means of keeping Mr.\nRobert Foxwell in his place. But that’s neither here nor there. Let’s\nhear your petition, friend; and you might begin with your name, which I\ndon’t remember as how you’ve yet mentioned.”\n\n“I would rather finish than begin with it,” said Everell, “if, when\nyou’ve heard me, you still require it. You may not wish in the future to\nadmit having helped me: if you remain ignorant of my name, you can never\nbe sure.”\n\n“’Tis by no means certain that I _shall_ help you,” declared the Squire,\nbluntly.\n\n“I have good hopes of you,” said Everell. “Frankly, sir, I am running\naway with that lady.” Thornby stared and blinked; finally threw back his\nhead and laughed loudly. “Oho, that’s how the wind sits, eh? Ecod, I\nmight ’a’ guessed as much.”\n\n“You are a man of spirit, with an eye for beauty,” Everell went on\nrapidly: “therefore you will not blame me. I love her, she loves me; but\nher nearest relation wishes her to marry another—one whom she does not\nlove.”\n\n“Devil take her nearest relation!” said Thornby.\n\n“Amen! He has so worked upon her mind, by threats of ill consequences to\nme, as to obtain her consent to marry this other gentleman, much against\nthe dictates of her heart. She is a lady who, having once given her\npromise, would fulfil it: she was thus barred from eloping with me of\nher own will. What then was I to do?”\n\n“Ecod, sir,” Thornby replied, heartily, “you was to take matters in\nhand, and carry her away, of _your_ own will!”\n\n“Precisely what I have done, sir! I knew I could rely upon your\napproval.—Well, sir, I seized her under her guardian’s very nose, set\nher upon a horse that stood waiting, mounted behind her, and was away at\na gallop before anybody had the wit to stop me. I made what speed I\ncould, over roads unknown to me; how far we have ridden, what adventures\nwe have had, I beg you will excuse me from relating. So far, no pursuit\nhas come within sight or hearing: though, if her relation was prompt, he\nneed have lost no time but to saddle his horses. Our own beast, which\nkind fortune had placed ready to my hand, at last broke down; but within\na short distance of your gate, which I take as another circumstance of\nfortune’s favour.”\n\n“That’s as how it may be,” said the Squire, who had followed the lover’s\nrecital with lively interest. “But first I’d give something to know who\n’tis you’ve—ha, ha!—carried off. Ecod, perhaps ’tisn’t the first time a\nwoman has been carried off against her will but not against her wish!\nWho is it, man?—come, who is the lady?”\n\n“I beg you will not insist upon knowing just now. Doubtless the news\nwill travel all too soon. Meanwhile I would have your help without a\nscruple. Should you be acquainted with her family, you might feel bound\nto cross my purpose.”\n\nThornby, after a moment’s thought, admitted there was something in that.\nStill, “I wonder who it can be:—how far do you say you’ve rid?”\n\n“I do not say,” replied Everell, smiling.\n\n“There’s Miss Hollowfield,” mused Thornby, aloud; “her grandfather’d be\nopposed to a stripling like you—but nobody’d run away with such a face\nas hers. And there’s Miss Marvell—why, I’ll wager ’tis Dick Birch they\nwant to marry her to. Sukey Marvell, that’s who ’tis.”\n\n“I must not tell,” said Everell, shaking his head.\n\n“Yes, ’tis Sukey,” declared Thornby: “well, she’s not as bad as t’other.\nAnd old Dick Birch, I’ll be glad to see him done out of her!—damned\ncoxcomb! serves him right for the trick he played me at York races. Oh,\nI’ll have the laugh on Dick next time we meet!—I’ll have him here for\nsome shooting, a-purpose. Ha, ha! These conceited fellows think they can\nmarry any pretty girl they set their minds on. Well, young sir, I wish\nyou joy. I’ve owed Dick Birch a grudge these many months.”\n\n“The favour I have to ask,” said Everell, “is the loan of a chaise, with\nhorses and a man, to the nearest town from which I can travel on by\npost.”\n\n“Why, damn me, that’s not so much to ask, neither,” said Thornby, still\nvastly good-humoured over the discomfiture of Dick Birch.\n\n“I thank you from my heart. And, as every minute counts, I hope I may be\nset on my way as soon as possible.”\n\n“H’m!—many a man, sir, would think twice afore sending out his\nhorses—but I don’t want to spoil sport. In for a penny, in for a pound.\nI’ll give orders; and meanwhile my housekeeper can show Sukey to the\nguest-chamber—she may like to make herself trim in front of a glass—you\nknow the ways o’ that sex—while the horses are being put to.”\n\n“A thousand thanks, but I daren’t allow the lady so far out of my\ncontrol. She may be shown to a room, if she will; but the room must have\nbut one door, and I must wait outside that door. Pray bear in mind, she\nis travelling under compulsion.”\n\n“Compulsion!—oh, certainly—ha, ha! I’ll send for Mrs. Jenkins, and for\nold Rodge; he shall drive you—’twill need a careful man with the\nhorses.” Thornby, who had risen from the table, pulled the bell-cord.\n“And meanwhile we’ll drink confusion to Dick Birch. Dod, to see him\nbubbled out of a bride this way!—it does one’s heart good! But, man,\nwe’d better let Sukey out o’ that closet, now ’tis all settled. Come,\nyou’ve got the key: unlock, unlock.”\n\n“But there must be a condition: you’ll not ask the lady to uncover her\nface: she must still remain unknown.”\n\n“Oh, be it so: let Sukey remain unknown; it may save me trouble, to be\nsure. But let her out, let her out.”\n\nEverell unlocked the door, and, peering in before he opened it wide, saw\nthat Georgiana was still cloaked and veiled. He led her forth with a\nwhispered “Remember!—not a word!”\n\n“Your humble servant, ma’am,” said Thornby, bowing with all the elegance\nat his command.\n\nBefore there was time for either speech or silence, a noise of steps and\nvoices arose outside the apartment. Thornby turned, with a look of wrath\nat the interruption, toward the door. It was flung open, and a man in\ncloak and riding-boots walked in, followed by a servant of his own, and\nby the footman Jabez.\n\n“To horse, Thornby! we must scour the country!” cried the newcomer as he\nhastily approached. His glance now fell upon Everell and Georgiana, and\nof a sudden he stopped short, with an ejaculation of surprise.\n\n“What’s the matter, Foxwell?” inquired Thornby. “Why d’ye stare like\nthat?”\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER XV\n\n                                PISTOLS\n\n\nTHORNBY’S words indicated surprise at Foxwell’s surprise. Foxwell shot a\nkeen glance to see if the other’s surprise was genuine. There could be\nno doubt of that. This occasioned new surprise in Foxwell.\n\n“Egad, sir,” said he, “I should think I might be pardoned for staring.\nHow come they to be here? It puzzles me, I own.”\n\n“Who here?” blurted Thornby. “This gentleman and lady, d’ye mean?”\n\n“Ay, the gentleman and lady I’ve been in search of.”\n\n“Why, you don’t desire to stop ’em, do you? What the deuce is little Sue\nMarvell to you?—and Dick Birch? Captain Marvell is no friend of yours.\nRather help these young people away, if only for the joke on Dick\nBirch.”\n\n“Of what are you talking?” cried Foxwell. “Can it be possible you don’t\nknow who these young people are?”\n\n“I don’t know much of the gentleman,” Thornby admitted; “but the girl is\nSukey Marvell.”\n\n“Sukey Marvell!—Sukey devil!” exclaimed Foxwell, and, striding up to\nGeorgiana, he snatched the handkerchief from her face. Everell had left\nher standing at the end of the table, himself having moved around to\nThornby’s former place a moment earlier for a purpose of his own.\nChecking an impulse to go to Georgiana’s side, he now stood between the\nmagisterial chair and the table. Despite all that was at stake, he was\namused at the sight of Thornby gazing with mouth wide open at the face\nso unexpectedly revealed.\n\n“It seems _you_ find reason to stare now,” said Foxwell to the Squire.\n“Egad, Thornby, had they bamboozled you?”\n\n“Mr. Thornby, I hold you to your promise,” Everell put in; “a chaise,\nhorses, and a man.”\n\n“Chaise, horses, and damnation!” was the reply of Thornby, as he at last\nfound a voice. “I never knew ’twas _she_ you was a-running away with.\nYou said ’twas Sukey Marvell.”\n\n“Pardon me, no; _you_ said ’twas Sukey Marvell. And I hold you to your\npromise.”\n\n\n[Illustration: “HE SNATCHED THE HANDKERCHIEF FROM HER FACE.”]\n\n\n“Hold and be damned!—And Foxwell, you’ve deceived me, too. You said\nyou’d persuade her to have me.”\n\n“So I have done,” asserted Foxwell, “and she has given her consent.”\n\n“Given her consent? Then _you_ was the relation—and _I’m_ the Dick\nBirch! What?—and this here stripling would ’a’ had me help to do myself\nout of a bride! Oh, you shall all pay for this among you!”\n\n“Softly, softly, Thornby,” said Foxwell. “She has promised to marry you.\nHave you not, miss?”\n\nAfter a brief hesitation, Georgiana uttered a reluctant “yes.”\n\n“Then you forced the promise from her,” said Thornby.\n\n“She gave it willingly,” returned Foxwell. “Did you not, miss?”\n\n“Yes—willingly,” said Georgiana, in the faintest of voices.\n\n“And yet you ran away with this here other man,” said Thornby.\n\n“I was—carried away,” she replied, in a tone as frail as before.\n\n“And you are still willing to marry Mr. Thornby?” said her uncle.\n\n“Y—yes.”\n\nThornby’s brow cleared. “Then, ecod, not much harm’s done, after all.\n’Tis all well that ends well.”\n\nEverell again put in, addressing Thornby: “She is willing to marry you,\nperhaps. But ask her if she will ever love you, man.”\n\n“Eh! Well, what about that? D’ye think you’ll ever love me, miss?”\n\n“No, I do not, sir,” cried Georgiana, suddenly emphatic of voice. “I\nshall always love this gentleman! For ever, and ever, and ever!” And she\nmoved toward the man of her choice.\n\nHer manner of speech, her look of disdain, and Everell’s smile of\ntriumph were too much for Thornby’s savage vanity. “Then don’t flatter\nyourself I’ll marry you,” he answered, with retaliatory scorn. “A\nwhite-faced vixen, when all’s said and done! Mistress of Thornby Hall,\nafter this night’s business?—dod, I’m warned in time!”\n\n“Oh, say it again!” exclaimed Georgiana, rejoiced.\n\n“I do say it again! Ecod, I know my value!”\n\n“I am freed of my promise!” she cried.\n\n“Ay,” said Thornby, with a swelling wrath which had to be discharged\nupon somebody, “and your blundering uncle may go whistle.—You shall\nanswer for this, Foxwell, d’ye hear? I’ll see to that. ’Tis all along o’\nyour mismanagement. But I’ll be quits wi’ ye. I’ll make use o’ that\nthere letter!—rat me but I will!”\n\n“You are quite unreasonable, Thornby,” said Foxwell, patiently, and,\nturning to his attendant, “Joseph, wait without.”\n\nJoseph left the room, whereupon Thornby had the grace to order his own\nservant to be off; so that the four principals were left alone. Foxwell\nmade sure that the door was closed against espial, and thrust into the\nkeyhole a part of the handkerchief he had taken from Georgiana. He then\nreturned to Thornby, who had meanwhile been fuming and pacing the floor.\n\n“You have cause for anger, I admit,” said Foxwell; “but you are bound to\nown I have done my part.”\n\n“Don’t talk to me, sir,” roared Thornby. “I’ll make you smart afore I’ve\ndone! See if I don’t!”\n\nFoxwell’s own temper gave way. He had been put to much exercise of\nself-command this evening, and had scarce yet regained his bodily\ncomposure after his ride. Of a sudden, now, his face darkened. “Then by\nheaven I’ll not smart alone! You shall suffer, miss,—and your lover,\ntoo! Let all come out. You say you know little of this young gentleman,\nThornby. Would you know more?—who he is, _what_ he is?”\n\n“Uncle, you will not!” entreated Georgiana. “With my promise I bought\nyour silence—remember that!—and I have not broken my promise. ’Tis Mr.\nThornby has released me.”\n\n“Very well. Let us stick to promises, by all means! But I have your\nRomeo upon other grounds.—Before you as a justice of the peace, Mr.\nThornby, I charge this gentleman with the abduction of my niece.—That,\ntoo, is a hanging matter, miss.”\n\n“Not so, Mr. Thornby,” cried Georgiana; “for, now that I am free, I go\nwith this gentleman of my own consent. ’Tis not abduction, ’tis on my\npart a voluntary flight.”\n\n“You forget you are not yet your own mistress,” said Foxwell. “Besides,\nthe abduction has been committed. Moreover, Thornby, the gentleman has\nappropriated to himself a horse of mine. I demand of you to act upon\nthese charges.”\n\nThornby underwent a sudden accession of magisterial dignity. “I know my\noffice, Mr. Foxwell. Nobody has ever accused me of failing there.\nSir,”—this to Everell,—“when the case is put to me in that form, I must\ndo as my commission requires. I must needs hold you for a hearing.—I’ll\nsend for my clerk, Foxwell; I left him at the table, but I dare say he’s\nstill sober enough for what’s to be done.” Relapsing then into his more\nusual puerility, he added, “Dod, such impudent young strangers sha’n’t\ncarry off our ladies with impunity, neither!”\n\nGeorgiana had hastened to Everell’s side. “Oh, save yourself _now_,” she\nbesought him in a whisper.\n\n“Not without you, sweet.—Gentlemen,” he cried, in time to stop Thornby’s\nmovement toward the door, “one word. I am in a desperate position.\nAbduction, horse-stealing, the other business,—any one of them is the\nprice of a halter. With but one life to lose, then, what is a crime or\ntwo more? ’Tis but getting the more value for my neck.” He took up the\npistols left on the table by Thornby, who had lost all thought of them\non being convinced of Everell’s honesty. Dexterously cocking them as he\nspoke, the young man went on: “If I must die, be sure that one or both\nof you shall go before me—’tis fair precedence, _cedant arma togæ_! But\nfirst I will have one more venture for my life—and for my love.” By this\ntime, he had each of the gentlemen in line with a different pistol. “Mr.\nThornby, move or call out, at your peril. Mr. Foxwell, the same to you;\nand this also: I think I can persuade you to withdraw your charges, and,\nfurthermore, to lend me the horses that brought you and your man to this\nplace.”\n\nFoxwell’s only weapon at the moment was his sword; he had left his\npistols outside in the holsters, thinking to spend but a minute in\nThornby Hall and foreseeing no need of them there. He perceived from\nEverell’s manner of handling the pistols that the young man was of\nperfect assurance in their use. The same circumstance found speedy way\nto the mind of Thornby, who was unarmed. So the two gentlemen stood as\nthey were requested. Foxwell, for want of a better temporizing answer,\nfeigned to yield with a good grace, saying: “You present so strong an\nargument, that I know not how to oppose you.”\n\n“I fear if the pistol were my only argument,” said Everell, calmly, “my\nvictory would end as soon as my back was turned. I will try an argument\nthat may have more lasting effect. Miss Foxwell, I must bid you pull out\nthis drawer of the table,—stay where you are, Mr. Thornby!—which the\nowner has carelessly left open.” Everell moved a step to the side,\ngiving Georgiana closer access to the drawer. She obeyed in wonder, for\nshe had overheard little of the talk while she was in the closet, and\nnothing of Thornby’s allusion to that in the drawer which gave the power\nof keeping Mr. Robert Foxwell in his place. Everell now told her to\nempty the contents of the drawer upon the table, and to spread them out\nso that each document might be seen. “Not a step, Mr. Thornby! You, Mr.\nFoxwell, come near enough to see if there be anything of interest to\nyou. That will do—no farther! Look carefully.”\n\nFoxwell’s keen eye had already begun to range the various papers as they\nlay separately exposed. Suddenly he uttered a quick “Ah!” and stepped\nforward, reaching out. Everell checked him by a sharp “Back!” and a\nmovement of the pistol; then followed with his glance the line of the\nextended arm.\n\n“Miss Foxwell,” said Everell, “be good enough to take up the paper your\nuncle reached for. ’Twill be one of those three the shadow falls\nathwart,—the shadow of the wine-bottle;—ay, those.—Don’t move, Mr.\nThornby.—Open them out, Georgiana, and hold them where I can see. H’m;\napparently a legal document concerning one William Hardy. The next,\nplease: ‘a new cure for the glanders.’ The other: a letter signed ‘R.\nFoxwell.’—Back, Mr. Foxwell. Is that all you see here of importance to\nyou?—Mr. Thornby, if you take a step toward the door—! Is that all, Mr.\nFoxwell? I will not read it unless I am forced to.”\n\n“That is all,” replied Foxwell, “and ’tis something Mr. Thornby has no\nright to possess. I ask you, as a man of honour, to restore it to me.”\n\n“In proper time, sir. Meanwhile, Miss Foxwell, fold the paper as it was,\nand place it in my waistcoat pocket.—’Tis well done; though I dare not\nthank you, for you do this under compulsion.”\n\n“By the Lord, sir,” Thornby burst out at last, “this here’s robbery,\nsir!—rank robbery under arms! You may carry it off for the moment—I’m\nnot moving, I’m only warning you, for your own good—but this sort of\nthing is bound to end in a halter, sir.”\n\n“Possibly; but, as I have said, a crime or two more can make no\ndifference to a man in my situation. You were kind enough to tell me\nthat in this drawer was the means of making Mr. Foxwell consider your\nwishes. Let us see if it will make him consider mine. Mr. Foxwell,\nwhatever the document contains, I’m not like to use it against\nGeorgiana’s kinsman. But if I am taken prisoner here, ’twill no doubt\nfall into Mr. Thornby’s hands again. Your interest, then, lies in my\nescape.”\n\n“Damn Foxwell’s interest!” broke in Thornby. “I’m the man to bargain\nwith. If you restore that letter and them pistols—’tis my property, that\nletter, for all he says; mine, bought and paid for, as I can prove by\nJeremiah Filson—”\n\nThis name, in relation to the letter, was another surprise to Foxwell.\nBut ere Thornby could proceed farther, Everell commanded silence.\n\n“You are very good, Mr. Thornby, but I will not bargain with you. I will\nforego the chaise and horses, release you from your promise,—on\ncondition of your entering that closet. Come, I mean it. You shall be\nlet out in good time. ’Tis no such bad place—the lady suffered no harm\nthere. Into the closet, if you please. I’ll return your pistols—by and\nby.” Everell, while speaking, had come around the end of the table, and\nwas now threatening Thornby with both pistols at close quarters. “Into\nthe closet, sir! By heaven, don’t try my patience!—a man who may be\nhanged three times over doesn’t balk at the chance of a fourth. In, in!”\n\nSlowly retreating from the weapons as they were thrust almost into his\nface, Thornby backed into the closet, glaring futile wrath.\n\n“’Tis well,” said Everell; “if you keep silence there, I engage not to\nfire through the door.” Having put one pistol in his coat pocket, he\nlocked the door and repocketed the key. He turned now to Foxwell, who\nhad been pondering. “I must borrow your horses, sir, to the first\nposting-place. I will send them back from there, with these pistols and\nthis key. You can then release this gentleman, if he be not freed by\nother means before that;—he will soon begin to make himself heard. I\nthink you will now see fit to speed my parting; for, look you, if I am\ntaken in my flight, Heaven knows whose hands this letter may fall into.”\n\n“And if you are not taken?” inquired Foxwell.\n\n“I will not read it, nor let anybody else read it; and will send it to\nyou from France as soon as I am married to your niece. Regarding that\nmatter, I will only say now that I am a man of honour, of good family,\nand some fortune.—I must still carry you off, sweet. ’Tis the one safe\ncourse, despite the dangers and discomforts you must share.”\n\n“Better the dangers and discomforts with you, than the anxieties if I\nwere left behind,” said Georgiana.\n\n“Then, Mr. Foxwell, may I beg you to conduct us to the horses?—your\nservant might dispute our taking them.”\n\nEverell had now put the second pistol into the opposite coat pocket,\nbelieving that the letter gave him sufficient control over Foxwell’s\nactions. But he kept his hand upon his sword-hilt, intending that\nFoxwell should walk in front of him to the horses.\n\n“A moment, pray,” said Foxwell. “Consider the legal position I shall be\nleft in if I assist you. It does not suit me to fly the country, as it\ndoes you.”\n\n“Who will trouble you on that score? Certainly this booby justice will\nnot desire to publish a matter in which he makes so poor a figure. He\nknows not who I am. In what crime can he then accuse you of aiding me?\nThe abduction and the horse-stealing you need not pursue—you have signed\nno charge, sworn to none.”\n\n“The theft of the letter,” said Foxwell. “If I help you to escape, I\nshall be accessory to that.”\n\n“But you say he has no right to its possession. In any case, you can\nshow him how ridiculous he will appear. I think you run little risk; but\nbe that as it may, I must think of my own risk. Every moment adds to it;\nand to the danger of this letter coming to wrong hands. So, if you\nplease, to the horses.”\n\nA curious look was on Foxwell’s face. It was true that any struggle with\nEverell in the presence of Thornby or his people might result in the\nletter’s falling again into that gentleman’s hands. But there was now no\nsuch person to interfere. A quick sword-thrust—which could be justified\nas against an escaping rebel—might win the letter in a moment; Foxwell\ncould destroy it immediately at the fire, and make his peace with\nThornby by releasing him and showing his outrage avenged. No danger,\nthen, of the letter’s capture in the long journey of a fugitive, or of\nThornby’s attempting retaliation by course of law. It was all seen in an\ninstant. Foxwell’s sword flashed in the air, and Everell had to spring\naside to save himself.\n\n“Ah, treacherous!” cried the young man, as his own blade leaped out.\n\nFoxwell’s second thrust came with surprising swiftness, but was fairly\nmet; and the two swords darted and clashed again and again. Georgiana,\nwith every impulse to rush between the fighters, dared not do so, and\nwas indeed compelled to move rapidly to keep out of their way, watching\nthem with fear and horror. While the noise of their quick feet, their\nloud breathing and sharp ejaculations, and the clashing steel filled the\napartment, there came from some other part of the house a sound of\nhalf-drunken singing. This was unheeded, even when it was evidently\napproaching. Foxwell, perceiving that he had counted too much upon the\nsuddenness and sureness of his attack, and feeling that he was entitled\nto little mercy if he lost, fought with the impetuosity of desperation.\nHis arm at length grew heavy; and Everell, who on his side used a\nconcentration of faculties worthy of the issue at stake, found opening\nfor a lunge that pinked the other’s forearm, causing him to lower his\nhand with a cry of chagrin. The next instant the young man struck the\nweapon from Foxwell’s weakened grasp, sending it flying to the door;\nwhich at that moment opened, letting in two men who walked arm in arm\nand bawled a bacchanalian song.\n\nFrom their dress and appearance, it was evident that these newcomers\nwere Mr. Thornby’s table companions, doubtless come in search of him.\nOne of them, a short, heavy-set person with a wig awry, was plainly very\ndrunk indeed. The other, a slim, prudent-looking fellow, seemed in good\ncommand of his senses. This man, having nearly tripped over the sword,\npicked it up, and looked with astonishment at those in the room.\n\n“Eh!” he exclaimed. “My Jacobite, by all that’s holy! Here’s\nprovidential work! Call your men, Mr. Potkin.”\n\nThe stout little man pulled himself together, blinked at Everell, and\nthen bolted from the room. “The justice’s clerk, gone to bring varlets\nof the law,” thought Everell, who stood regaining his breath. Foxwell\nwithdrew panting to the other side of the table, dropped into Thornby’s\nchair, and began pulling up his sleeve to examine his wound. Filson put\nhimself on guard with the sword before the doorway, with the manifest\nintention of disputing Everell’s escape from the room till help should\ncome. Perhaps the courage of wine, the excitement of beholding his\nquarry at last, or the sight of Everell’s winded condition, emboldened\nthe man: at any rate, he showed resolution, and his manner with the\nsword was that of some practice in fencing—not a surprising thing at a\ntime when gentlemen’s gentlemen imitated the accomplishments of their\nmasters.\n\n“What! you menace me!” cried Everell; “then be careful of your other\near, hound!” With this he rushed upon Filson, thrusting along the side\nof the latter’s head, and running the point through the wig, though not\ntouching the ear.\n\nFilson turned pale, but made a pass, which was narrowly avoided. Everell\ngave a second lunge, and this time the weapon pierced the somewhat\nextended auricular shell.\n\n“Help! help, Mr. Foxwell!” shouted Filson, clapping one hand to the\ninjured ear, but still wielding his sword against Everell.\n\n“Call for help to those who buy letters from you, cur,” replied Foxwell,\nscarce looking up from his task of binding his arm with a handkerchief,\na business performed by his left hand with the aid of his teeth.\nGeorgiana had looked an offer of assistance, which her uncle had\nrepelled. Her attention instantly returned to her lover.\n\nOn hearing Foxwell’s answer, Filson shrank back; but Everell pressed him\nclose, parried a desperate lunge, and sent a swift long thrust for the\nregion of the heart. Filson dropped like a log, and lay as still as one,\na result somewhat unexpected by Everell, to whom the resistance had\nseemed only that of the man’s loose coat.\n\n“Come!” cried Everell, and, while Georgiana hastened to his side, he\nadded to her uncle: “All that I said awhile ago still holds true. I wish\nyou good night.” He then led Georgiana around the prostrate body of\nFilson, and through the doorway. Just outside in the hallway stood\nJoseph and the footman, who had been attracted by the noise to peer into\nthe room, which as yet they dared not re-enter. Everell waved them aside\nwith his sword, and the lovers quickly passed. The two men, not knowing\nwhat to do, again looked into the room, Joseph expectant of his master’s\norders, and the footman wondering at the disappearance of Thornby.\nNobody else was in the hall, and Everell and Georgiana were in a moment\nat the door opposite that by which they had entered the house. It was\nnot fastened. Throwing it open, Everell found that he was right in what,\nfrom his present knowledge of the roads and gates, he had\nassumed,—namely, that Foxwell’s horses were waiting at this entrance.\nThey were in charge of a boy who evidently belonged to Thornby Hall,\nperhaps to the gate-lodge. On the door-step was a lantern.\n\nEverell sheathed his sword, and said, quietly, to the boy: “We are to\nuse Mr. Foxwell’s horses, my good lad.” He coolly helped Georgiana into\nthe saddle, mounted the other horse, and bade the boy hand him the\nlantern. The lad, ignorant of Foxwell’s purposes and of the fighting in\nthe house, and obedient by habit, complied. “Now run before, and you\nshall receive a crown at the gate,” said Everell, grasping Georgiana’s\nrein and his own. He was at the same time wondering to what part of the\nhouse or vicinity the clerk had gone for his forces. He trusted that\nFoxwell would now see his interest in passively aiding the flight, and\nwould find means to keep Joseph and Thornby’s servant from interfering\nor giving alarm.\n\nIn this he was not deceived. Foxwell saw all chance gone of obtaining\nthe letter by force of his own; and now feared that, if taken by\nThornby’s men, Everell would rather entrust it to them than suffer\nFoxwell to possess it after what had occurred.\n\nFoxwell, therefore, upon noticing the two servants at the doorway,\ncalled Joseph to assist in binding his wound. He then assigned the\nfootman to the impossible task of prizing open the door of Thornby’s\nprison with a poker. This apparent concern for Thornby’s comfort was\npartly for the future conciliation of that gentleman; and Foxwell\nintended to employ his wound to the same end, on the ground that he had\nreceived it in the Squire’s interest. As he sat thinking the matter out,\nand watching Joseph’s bungling attempts to fasten a bandage, Foxwell\nheard a loud tramping, as of several heavy feet, in the hall.\n\n“The men whom the clerk went to fetch,” thought he; and, without turning\nhis head, considered how he might delay them with perfect safety to\nhimself. But, just as they seemed about to enter the room, there was a\nbrief pause in their movements; and then they were heard rushing away\nand out of the hall. It was as if they had learned at the very threshold\nthat the person they sought was gone elsewhere. Foxwell turned his eyes\nupon the doorway, near which Filson had fallen. To his amazement, the\nbody of that rascal was not to be seen. This enabled Foxwell to account\nfor the movements of the justice’s men: the knave had yet life enough to\ncrawl out and indicate the way the fugitive had taken. The trampling of\nthe men in the hall, the footman’s noise with the poker, and certain\nincoherent words of inquiry and command which Thornby had begun to shout\nfrom his closet, had covered the sound of Filson’s exit.\n\nMeanwhile, Everell and Georgiana had ridden down a driveway of\nconsiderable length, following close upon the heels of the boy, whom the\nlantern enabled them to keep in sight. The gate had swung to after\nFoxwell’s entrance. As the lad went to open it, and Everell put his hand\nin his pocket for the promised crown, there came a noise of men issuing\nfrom the house they had left, followed by a cry: “Stop them! gate, ho!\nlet nobody pass!”\n\nThe boy gave a startled look at the riders, and stood hesitating.\nEverell, who had been holding the lantern high so as to see the way,\nquickly handed it to Georgiana; drew one of the pistols from his pocket,\npointed it at the lad’s head, and, at the same time offering the crown\npiece with his left hand, said: “Lead or silver, which?”\n\n\n[Illustration: “THE HORSES DASHED FORWARD.”]\n\n\nThe boy, whose mind had probably never worked so rapidly in his life\nbefore, flung the gate open. Men were now heard running toward them from\nthe top of the driveway. Everell threw the coin at the boy, and the\nhorses dashed forward. Once in the road, the lovers turned to the right,\nthus aiming for the town wherein they had first met. Everell put away\nthe pistol, but allowed Georgiana, at her own suggestion, to retain\npossession of the lantern, that he might be the readier with his\nweapons, should occasion arise. Of this there was not much immediate\nlikelihood, for, now that the gate was passed, Thornby’s men must needs\nresort to horses if they meant to give chase.\n\n“Do you ride well, sweet?” Everell called to Georgiana, as they galloped\nalong the road.\n\n“Well enough,” she replied, as cheerily as she could.\n\nHe now observed, for the first time, that she was riding man-fashion;\nhis cloak, which she still wore, enabling her to do so with less loss in\nappearance than addition of safety.\n\n“You will not soon forget the night of your abduction,” said he, gaily.\n\nShe reminded him it was no longer an abduction, but a flight on her part\nas well as his. And both of them, though they said nothing, wondered\nwhat would be the end of it.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XVI\n\n                                 HORSES\n\n\nAFTER a mile or so, the riders slackened speed, and kept an easy pace\nthereafter till they were near the town. Two or three times they had\nmade a momentary halt to listen, but had heard nothing to indicate that\nthey were followed. Everell had frequently asked Georgiana how she did,\nand she had declared, “Very well.” He now inquired whether she could\ntravel much farther without stopping to rest, and begged her to be\nperfectly honest in her reply. She assured him she was equal to a dozen\nmiles, at least.\n\n“Then it is a question,” said he, “whether we should stay a few hours at\nthe place we are coming to, or go on to the next town southward. I\nconceive we have naught to fear from your uncle. As for Thornby, I know\nnot. He may desire that nothing of all this shall become known; on the\nother hand, his wrath may outweigh his vanity. ’Tis not likely his men\nwould give chase so far without his commands. The clerk would certainly\ngo to consult him before ordering a long pursuit, and Thornby’s first\ncare would be to get himself liberated from the closet. No doubt all\ndepends on his state of feeling at that moment. Were Jeremiah Filson\nstill a factor in the case, I should count on pursuit. Men of that\npersistent sort, having once set themselves a task, are not to be thrown\noff, however slight be the gain or the motive. They know how to make\nsuch as Thornby the servants of their wills. But without Filson’s egging\non, I doubt if Thornby or his clerk will give themselves much trouble\nconcerning us. Your uncle, I think, will find means to dissuade them. In\nany case, we have a fair start, so that if you feel the least fatigue or\ndiscomfort, sweet,—And yet, ’twould go hard to lose all, after coming\noff so well hitherto. Certainly Thornby will be in a great fury:—to be\nlocked in his own closet, after being robbed of you and of his power\nover your uncle! At first he will be for revenge at any cost. And who\nknows but he may linger in that mind? He may make it a great matter,\ninform the sheriff of the county, and raise a general hue and cry. ’Tis\na possibility we must reckon with. Our only security against it is a\nlong start at the outset. And yet you’ve already undergone too much\nto-night. Perhaps two or three hours of rest—But, devil take it, Filson\nhas been at this town!—’twas here you warned me of him. No doubt he has\nleft accounts of me. I may be recognized if I show my face at any house.\nBut, if we pass through the town in this darkness—”\n\nHe was going on to consider the alternatives further, but Georgiana,\nhaving waited in vain for a pause, now interrupted with the most\npositive assertion that she would not think of stopping at the town they\nwere about to enter. So they walked their horses through such of its\nnarrow streets as lay in their route, and were soon upon the open road\nagain, having encountered no light nor other sign of life. They improved\ntheir speed, and, having passed the spot where Everell had taken leave\nof Roughwood a fortnight before,—though its location could not be\ncertified in the darkness,—arrived at another town of silent streets\nwherein no lamp or candle relieved the night. By their own lantern, the\nlovers were enabled to inspect the house-fronts, and to select what\nappeared to be the chief inn of the place. After much imperative calling\nfor the landlord, Everell was answered by a half-dressed man, of whom he\ndemanded accommodations in the tone of authority that had imposed upon\nthe servants at Thornby Hall. Here, as there, it availed, and, as soon\nas the travellers were admitted, Everell curtly explained that the lady\nhad met with an accident; he added, carelessly, that they had come from\nthe South.\n\nThe half-dressed man proving to be the landlord, Everell bespoke a\nchaise and fresh horses for an early hour in the morning; and, as there\nwas only one sleeping-room available, saw Georgiana conducted thereto;\nafter which he made his own bed, with the aid of his cloak, on a settle\nin the bar-parlour. He passed the night in a half-sleep, ready to take\nalarm at any sound of later arrivals. In the morning, when the time set\nfor departure was near, he summoned a maid and was about to send her to\nGeorgiana, when that lady herself appeared on the stairs. She was quite\nready to travel, having interviewed the innkeeper’s wife, and acquired a\nhat, a mantle, and some other articles, all in a fair state of\npreservation, in exchange for one of her rings.\n\nEverell complimented her upon this timely regard for appearances while\ntravelling by daylight, and declared that no other woman in England\ncould look as well in the costliest finery as Georgiana did in the\nsecond-hand wardrobe of a country landlady. Georgiana was pleased at\nthis; but not entirely so, until he added that she should supply herself\nin better accordance with her own taste at the first opportunity. He\nthen handed her into the chaise, entrusted to the landlord the\ndespatching of the horses and pistols to Foxwell, and gave directions to\nthe postilion. Hearing these, the innkeeper was much puzzled, for\nEverell had designedly given him the impression that the journey of the\ncouple was Northward. Ere he could scratch a probable solution of the\nproblem into his head, the chaise was rattling away.\n\nThe freshness of the morning had its effect upon the lovers at first;\nbut Everell soon perceived that Georgiana was pale and languid. He urged\nher to try to sleep, and offered his shoulder as a pillow. She, on her\nside, observed that his voice was quite hoarse, and insisted upon\narranging his cloak so that he, too, could rest. Presently, in spite of\nherself, her eyes closed. He pillowed her head as he had suggested, and\nsoftly kissed her hair. The next fact of which he was distinctly\nconscious was that the chaise had stopped before a roadside inn, and the\npostilion was telling him that here was a good place at which to\nbreakfast. Glad to find, on inquiry, how many hours and miles they had\ngot rid of in sleep, Everell awakened Georgiana, and they were regaled\nwith bread, cheese, and fried bacon. They were now quite cured of\nfatigue, though Everell’s hoarseness was increased.\n\nThe journey was resumed. A few towns and many villages were left behind.\nFinally, at the end of a stage, Everell thought the time of changing\nhorses might safely be utilized in visiting some shops near the\nposting-inn. When the travellers returned with their purchases, their\nnew conveyance was ready. They set out immediately, putting off dinner\nto the late afternoon rather than make a longer stop at present. As they\ndrove out of the yard into the street, Georgiana uttered a quick “Oh!”\nand drew back from the chaise window, at the same time laying her hand\non Everell’s breast to make him do likewise.\n\n“What’s the matter?” he asked.\n\n“The man on horseback,” she replied; “don’t look out! ’Tis Jeremiah\nFilson!”\n\n“Impossible! I left him as good as dead. You are mistaken, sweet. How\ncould you know him?—you have scarcely seen him.”\n\n“I saw him well enough at Thornby Hall last night; and this I am certain\nwas he. He was riding up the street; there was another horseman with\nhim. He looked tired, and the horses seemed fagged. ’Twas he, I could\nswear,—the same clothes.”\n\n“Then the dog must have feigned, last night, to save himself from a\n_coup de grace_. Did he see us, I wonder?”\n\n“He didn’t appear to. He was looking at the houses, I thought.”\n\n“Looking for the inn, probably. Well, if he stops there, he will inquire\nfor us. If not, he is close behind us. In either case, he is on our\ntrack. Thank heaven, we are almost out of the town.”—The new postilion,\nas soon as the chaise was safe in the street, had whipped up his horses\nto a gallop, in order to make the showy start affected by artists in his\ncraft.—“Filson’s experience last night has given him a respect for my\nsword,” Everell went on; “he will not dare come within reach of it\nhimself. I at least pinked his other ear, as I promised to. He will now\nact with caution; will attempt to hunt me down without showing himself,\nand, if he finds me tarrying anywhere, will apply to the local\nauthorities. He will be no less dangerous for proceeding in that way—he\nwill be the more so, rather. We shall not dare stop long anywhere. We\nhad best take our meals at solitary country inns, where he cannot come\nup unperceived, nor set the authorities upon me without time and\ntrouble. We must travel night and day till we are safe: to sleep at an\ninn would give him his opportunity. I see ’tis possible for you to sleep\nas we go. So then, barring accident, we shall doubtless keep our lead to\nthe end, if he hangs on so far.”\n\n“But if we are delayed at the posting-houses?” said Georgiana.\n“Sometimes one cannot get horses immediately.”\n\n“Ay, there is one danger,” Everell replied. “But we must gain such a\ndistance that we may lose time and yet be away before he can steal upon\nus; or at least before he can bring officers about us. We must not tarry\nlong in a garrison town. Military officers would be too ready to act\nupon information in such a case as mine. He cannot get the civil powers\nto move so quickly. Well, we must keep our lead. In the country he will\nnot venture too close upon our heels. We are out of the town, at last. I\nwonder if he stopped at that inn.”\n\nEverell thrust his head out of the side window and looked back. Nobody\nwas following. He then called to the driver, and gave instructions in\nregard to the pace of travel, hinting at the reward in store for\nobedience. The lad was so compliant, the horses so fresh, that in due\ntime Everell thought a pause might be made for dinner without much risk\nof their being overtaken. At the next suitable house of refreshment he\nordered a halt, somewhat to the disapproval of the postilion, who would\nhave preferred to stop at an inn of his own suggesting. Everell chose\nthis, however, because it had as neighbours only two or three brick\nhouses and a half-dozen thatched cottages, all looking drowsy behind\nragged hedges, while its chief window commanded a view of the road over\nwhich the fugitives had come.\n\nThey caused a table to be placed at the window, and there, on a soiled\ncloth, were served with boiled eggs, cold bacon, and bread, by the\nfrowsy woman who had taken the order, set the table, and done the\ncooking. But the eggs were fresh, and the bacon good, so that little was\nleft on the table when the travellers rose from it. The postilion had\nevidently found the ale, bread, and cheese better than he had expected;\nand the horses apparently had nothing to complain of in their\nrefreshment. At all events, the journey was resumed in good spirits,\nand, as no sign of Filson had appeared upon the stretch of road in\nsight, the lovers began to feel more secure. Georgiana now recalled\nFilson’s jaded appearance. Perhaps, as on a former occasion, he had\nyielded to the dictates of tired nature: perhaps he had thrown over the\npursuit, and was merely bound for London. As for the horseman with him,\nthat might have been a postboy or a casual fellow traveller. While their\nown chaise went rolling along at good speed, the lovers felt hope\nincrease within them. Nevertheless, they were still determined to go on\nby night.\n\nDusk had risen—or, rather, fallen, to be accurate in spite of the\npoets—when they arrived at the place where they would have to obtain the\nhorses and vehicle for their night journey. It was a small town, with a\nHigh Street enlivened by the humbler inhabitants strolling up and down\nin the light from the shop windows. A lamp hung over the entrance to the\nprincipal inn. As soon as the chaise was in the yard, Everell called for\na fresh conveyance.\n\nThe landlord was very sorry, but there were no horses. How soon would\nthere be any? Certainly not that night: he wouldn’t send out tired\ncattle, not for love or money. Would there be a stage-coach, or even a\ncarrier’s wagon? Not before morning. Everell turned to the postilion,\nwho was now busy with his own fagged horses. No, sir; this was as far as\nhe dared go: he knew his orders; his cattle were done for, and _he_ was\ndone for, and he wouldn’t let his beasts go another mile, not for love\nor money or the King himself.\n\n“Mind how you speak of the King, booby,” a voice broke in, pertly; and\nEverell, looking around, saw three or four trim young fellows at the\ntaproom door, all in red coats.\n\n“Soldiers in town?” said Everell to the landlord.\n\n“Yes, your Honour; two companies waiting orders. You’d ’a’ had the\npleasure of meeting the officers at dinner if you’d come a little\nsooner, but now they be all gone to a ball at a gentleman’s house in the\nneighbourhood. Most of them lodge here; but I have a very good room\nleft, at your Honour’s service.”\n\n“I don’t want a room. I want horses. Where can I get them? Is there no\nother place in the town?”\n\nThe landlord shook his head sadly; but one of the soldiers said:\n“There’s a house across the way, sir,—the Red Swan. I’m not sure you can\nget horses there, but ’tis there or nowhere if this house can’t supply\nthem.”\n\nEverell thanked the man, pressed a shilling into his hand, settled with\nhis own postilion, and had his luggage carried before himself and\nGeorgiana to the Red Swan. This was a smaller house than the one they\nhad left. It had no driveway through the middle; the entrance to the\nyard was by a side lane. The travellers, entering by the front door,\nfound a corridor leading to the bar—and to the landlady. Could one hire\nhorses and some sort of light vehicle? Yes, to be sure; but not that\nnight: all the horses and carriages in the town were taking people to\nthe ball a few miles out. Everell looked blankly at Georgiana. The\nlandlady could offer his Honour the best rooms in the house. On the\nmorrow there would be horses a-plenty. They would be returning from the\nball by midnight.\n\n“Ah, then, if we wait till midnight, we may have the first horses that\ncome in?” said Everell.\n\nThe landlady was not sure. She would have to ask John, who was now\ndriving to the ball. When he returned with his horses, he might be\nwilling; the cattle would be fresh enough, but John might not be. At\nthis, Everell spoke so eloquently, despite his hoarseness, of rewards\nand of his confidence in the landlady’s ability to influence John if she\nwould, and Georgiana supported him with such sweetly anxious looks, that\nthe good woman thought she could almost certainly promise a conveyance\nand John’s attendance at midnight or thereabouts. As for the intervening\ntime, it was decided that Georgiana should lie down dressed, while\nEverell should remain on the alert. He saw her to the door of a room at\nthe head of the stairs, and returned to caution the landlady against\nacknowledging their presence to possible inquirers. He relied on the\nwoman’s good-will and evident belief that they were an eloping pair\nfearful only of parental discovery. He then went by a rear door to\nstretch his legs in the inn yard, which he thought to find deserted.\n\nThe yard was for the most part in darkness, its only light being that of\na lantern hung against the gate-post. To Everell’s surprise, a pair of\nhorses attached to a post-chaise were feeding under the care of a small\nboy. Everell was promptly inquisitive, but the undersized hostler had no\ngift of communication, and could say no more than that the chaise had\narrived awhile ago and would be going on pretty soon. Everell returned\nto the landlady.\n\n“Oh, ay,” she said, in reply to his remark about the horses. “They\nbelong to a gentleman with a toothache, who stops only long enough for\nsupper.”\n\n“You didn’t mention him before.”\n\n“Why, sir, from his coming to this house instead of t’other, and from\nhis ordering a private room to sup in, I took it he’d rather nothing was\nsaid of his being here. But, come to think of it, he might want to keep\nout of sight because of his face being swollen up—’tis all tied round\nwith a yankerchief. Yet that wouldn’t account for his having his\npostilion eat in the same room with him, would it, sir? It looks as how\nhe was afeard the man would say too much if let eat in the kitching.\nWell, I hope as I’ve done him no harm by what I’ve told your Honour.”\n\n“Not in the least. I wish I had his horses. I would even accept his\ntoothache, if I could have the horses with it.”\n\nHe entered the small public parlour, and dropped into a chair at the\nhead of the long table. He had the room to himself, and could flee to\nthe darkness of the yard if anybody intruded. Leaning forward with his\nelbows on the table, he lapsed into a drowsy state which seemed, in the\ncircumstances, the state best calculated to cheat the time. He had\nremained therein for more than half an hour, when his ears, on the\nalert, informed him of a soft step outside the room. He rose, and beheld\nGeorgiana in the half-open doorway. Finger on lip, she approached and\nwhispered:\n\n“I have seen him. I think he knows we are here.”\n\n“Who?” asked Everell.\n\n“Filson. I happened to look out of my window—”\n\n“Impossible! He couldn’t have followed so close.”\n\n“He must have gained upon us toward nightfall, and arrived at the inn\nacross the way a little while ago. I happened to glance out of my window\njust now—not putting my head out, but looking through the glass—and I\nsaw four men standing under the lamp before that inn—the lamp over the\nentrance. Three of them were the soldiers we saw in the yard. The other\nwas Filson. He was talking with the soldiers, and he and they were\nlooking at this house. I am sure they were telling him we had come\nhere.”\n\n“Did they see you?”\n\n“I think not. They weren’t looking at my window when I first saw them,\nand after that I watched from behind the curtain.”\n\n“Well, then, he knows we are here. The fellow who carried our luggage\nacross would have told the soldiers we failed to get horses. I should\nhave taken some pains to cover our track. We are too easily described. I\nmight have known Filson would inquire before even entering the inn; his\nfear of coming suddenly within reach of my sword would make him do that.\nWell, the evil is done. What steps will the fellow take?—that is the\nquestion. Fortunately, those soldiers can do nothing without orders, and\ntheir officers have gone to the ball.”\n\n“But hear me through,” said Georgiana. “After they had talked a minute\nor so, Filson and one of the soldiers walked up the street, so fast that\nI soon lost sight of them. The other two soldiers remained—to watch this\nhouse, perhaps. And then I came to tell you.”\n\n“H’m! Without doubt Filson has gone in quest of somebody in authority.\nWe must be gone from this house, at all events. Filson may return—who\nknows how soon?—may return with a gang of constables or a file of\nsoldiers. Come, we must leave this inn, at least.”\n\n“But those two are watching: they will see us go.”\n\n“We’ll go through the yard. It opens to a lane, which may have two\nentrances—else we must find some back way, or scale a wall, if need be.\nCome; I’ll see the landlady as we go.”\n\n“Oh, heaven! In the passage—footsteps—of men!”\n\nEverell listened a moment, his hand on his sword-hilt. “Nay, ’tis all\nwell. Two men walking from the stairs to the yard: they are a guest and\nhis postilion. ’Tis a gentleman with a toothache. The landlady has been\ntelling me of him. I would to heaven—Ah, perhaps—Come, sweet! come!”\n\nSeizing her hand, Everell led her swiftly from the room, along the\npassage, and through a back door, to the yard.\n\nThe forms of the strange gentleman, the postilion, and the small hostler\nwere dimly visible at the darker side of the chaise. The postilion was\nevidently about to light his lamps. Everell left Georgiana standing in a\nshadowed corner by the house door, and advanced to the other gentleman,\nkeeping as much in the darkness as he. The stranger’s head presented a\nvery bulky appearance, thanks not only to the handkerchief encircling\nit, but also to its being thickly muffled up to the mouth. His hat,\nmoreover, was drawn down to his eyes. So, indeed, was Everell’s.\n\n“Sir,” began Everell, inwardly cursing the hoarseness that prevented a\nmore ingratiating tone, “pardon the intrusion of one who means no\noffence. ’Tis a matter of life and death that moves me, a stranger, to\naddress you as I do. There is also a lady whose fortunes are at stake.\n’Tis of the first importance that we leave this place immediately. We\nhave not been able to obtain horses. Seeing you about to depart alone, I\nam impelled to throw myself on your generosity. Will you take us as\npassengers, to the next town, at least? If you will take the lady in the\nchaise, I can sit on the bar in front. The postilion shall be well\nrewarded.”\n\n“Why, sir,” replied the other, in a thick voice, the more indistinct\nfrom his much muffled condition, “if you are travelling in my\ndirection—”\n\n“Southward,” said Everell, eagerly.\n\n“I am sorry, then, for I am going North.”\n\n“North? What ill fortune! For an instant I thought myself happy.\nNorth!—but surely, sir, your necessity for going on at once is not as\ngreat as ours: it cannot be. If you knew the case—the lady is waiting\nyonder in the darkness, trembling with anxiety as to our fate. Our whole\nfuture, sir, hangs upon the next few minutes. Dare I ask you—nay, dare I\nrefrain from asking you—to resign this conveyance to us? There will be\nanother available at midnight. Your business certainly is not so\nurgent.”\n\n“My business, sir, is as urgent as any can be. It has the first claim on\nme, much as I would fain serve you. I dare not lose an hour.”\n\n“But, good heaven, sir, have I not told you my affair is one of life or\ndeath?”\n\n“And so is mine,” said the strange gentleman, stepping back to be out of\nrange of the chaise-lamp, which the postilion had now lighted.\n\nEverell followed into the darker gloom, pleading desperately: “But\nconsider, sir, my case concerns the happiness of a woman.”\n\n“Mine concerns the safety of a man.”\n\n“Good God!” exclaimed Everell, maddened at the other’s phlegmatic\nbrevity of speech. “To see these horses ready for the road, to need them\nas I do, to know how she must suffer if I—Sir, I entreat you: I must\nhave these horses: I demand them in the sacred name of love.”\n\n“I require them in the sacred interest of friendship,” was the answer.\n\n“Friendship!” laughed Everell, scornfully. “The love of man and woman—do\nyou know what that is?”\n\n“None knows better; but at present I serve the friendship of man for\nman. One task at a time. Were I not entered upon this, I would do much\nto oblige you. I can only wish you better fortune than you expect;\nand—good night.” With that the stranger went toward the chaise, all\nbeing now ready for departure.\n\n“Not yet good night, either!” cried Everell, stepping into the other’s\nway. “’Tis a rude thing I do, but necessity compels me. If your mission\nis all to you, mine is all to me. Let our swords decide for us—I see you\nwear one.”\n\n“I wear one,” said the gentleman, patiently, “but I had rather not draw\nit now.”\n\n“You had rather be commanded, then,” said Everell, drawing his own. “You\nhave a toothache, I hear. A gentleman with a toothache ought not to\ntravel at night. For your own good, I must forbid you.”\n\n“And you have a bad cold, as your voice betrays. A gentleman with a bad\ncold ought still less to travel at night.” And the stranger now calmly\ndrew. “Make way, sir, if you please.”\n\n“Stand back, sir,” replied Everell, “till I call the lady to enter the\nchaise.”\n\nThe stranger’s retort to this was a sword-thrust at Everell’s groin.\nThough the men were in too great darkness to distinguish faces, a\ncertain sense he had acquired by much training enabled Everell to parry\nthis attack. When he returned the thrust, his adversary showed an equal\ninstinct for judging the movements of a barely visible weapon. Several\npasses were exchanged, to the great affright of Georgiana, who could\nonly make out the moving forms in the gloom and hear the clashing of the\nsteel. She had the presence of mind to close the house door, lest the\nsound might bring other spectators. As for the postilion and the boy,\nthey stood astonished at a safe distance, not daring to raise an alarm\nfor fear of incurring the vengeance of the combatants. The fight was hot\nand equally maintained. Unexpectedly Everell struck his left hand\nagainst the chaise door. For greater safety of movement, he stepped back\na few paces, and so came, without thought, into the lamplight.\n\nThe other gentleman, in the act of following, uttered a cry of surprise,\nand held his sword motionless. The voice was quite different from that\nhe had previously used.\n\n“Eh!—who are you?” exclaimed Everell, lowering his own weapon.\n\nThe stranger advanced into the light, pulling down his muffler.\n\n“Roughwood!” cried Everell, springing forward to embrace the man he had\njust been trying to wound.\n\n“H’sh!” warned the other, cautious as ever.\n\n“Good heaven!—if we had killed each other!”\n\n“We should have been served right for not knowing each other. But till\nthis moment I didn’t rightly see you. Your husky voice deceived me: I\nshould never have thought it your voice.”\n\n“’Tis the best voice I can muster at present. But _you_ seem to have two\nvoices.”\n\n“The other was put on—like the muffler, handkerchief, and toothache. I\nwas recognized on my way South after leaving you; and now, coming back\nthrough the same country—”\n\n“But why coming back? I supposed you safe in France.”\n\n“I saw her whom I wished to see; but I could not persuade myself to sail\nwithout you, or knowledge of you. As days passed and you arrived not—In\nshort, I feared your rash resolve had got you into trouble—”\n\n“And you were coming to my aid! Dear Roughwood!”\n\n“But we lose time. You spoke of a lady.”\n\n“You will recognize her,” said Everell, and hastened to conduct\nGeorgiana into the light. Leaving her and Roughwood to mutual surprise\nand explanation, he returned to the bar of the inn, and, having overcome\nthe landlady’s refusal of payment, possessed himself of his and\nGeorgiana’s luggage. When he reappeared in the yard, his friend had\nalready handed the young lady into the chaise, and was giving directions\nto the postilion. Everell was for Roughwood’s taking the place beside\nGeorgiana, but that gentleman cut short all dispute by mounting the bar\nin front and allowing Everell ten seconds in which to enter the chaise.\nBefore less time had passed, Everell was seated at his Georgiana’s side,\nher hand was stealing into his, the hostler had closed the door of the\nchaise, and the postilion had given the word of starting. He drove\ncarefully out through the gate with the solitary lamp, slowly on through\nthe lane to the street, and then for the open road southward, the horses\ngetting up speed at the crack of the whip.\n\n“And so, Jeremiah Filson,” said Everell, as the lights of the houses\nceased and the night lay blue and misty over the fields, “we have left\nyou behind once more.”\n\nThanks to the careful arrangements of Roughwood, no time was lost on the\nrest of the journey, day or night, and the lovers never saw Jeremiah\nFilson again. A man answering to his description arrived a day late at\nthe fishing village from which they had set sail; and lingered for a\nweek or more, questioning the inhabitants, and often, from the highest\ncliffs, gazing far out to sea with a puzzled expression. This they\nlearned from Roughwood’s future wife, when she and her brother came to\nthem in Paris.\n\nFrom Prudence, for whom Georgiana sent as soon as she conveniently\ncould, the lovers—for lovers they remained after marriage and through\nlife—heard the latest news of Foxwell Court and Thornby Hall. Mr.\nFoxwell had come to a better understanding with his neighbour Thornby,\nso that the pair now frequently got drunk together at one or the other’s\ntable; they spent considerable time at cards, with results apparently to\nFoxwell’s satisfaction; and it was settled that he should lend the\ndistinction of his presence to the Squire’s approaching nuptials. For\nthe Squire, as if to show the depth of disappointed love by an urgent\nneed of consolation, had suddenly—and successfully—resolved to marry\nSukey Marvell.\n\n\n\n\n                                THE END.\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n ● Transcriber’s Notes:\n    ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.\n    ○ Unbalanced quotation marks were left as the author intended.\n    ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.\n    ○ This book was written in a period when many words had not become\n      standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling\n      variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have\n      been left unchanged unless indicated with a Transcriber’s Note.\n    ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only\n      when a predominant form was found in this book.\n    ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_);\n      text that was bold, by “equal” signs (=bold=).\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Flight of Georgiana, by Robert Neilson Stephens\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org\n\n\n\n\nRODIN\n\nTHE MAN AND HIS ART\n\nWITH LEAVES FROM HIS NOTE-BOOK\n\nCOMPILED BY JUDITH CLADEL\n\nAND TRANSLATED BY S.K. STAR\n\nWITH INTRODUCTION BY JAMES HUNEKER\n\nAND ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS\n\n\n\nNEW YORK\n\nTHE CENTURY CO.\n\n1917\n\n\n[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED ON THE STEPS OF THE HOTEL BIRON.]\n\n\n\n\nAUGUSTE RODIN\n\nBY JAMES HUNEKER\n\n\nI\n\nOf Auguste Rodin one thing may be said without fear of contradiction:\namong his contemporaries to-day he is preeminently the master. Born\nat Paris, 1840,--the natal year of his friends, Claude Monet and\nZola--in humble circumstances, without a liberal education, the young\nRodin had to fight from the beginning; fight for bread as well as\nan art schooling. He was not even sure of his vocation. An accident\ndetermined it. He became a workman in the atelier of the sculptor,\nCarrier-Belleuse, though not until he had failed at the Beaux-Arts (a\nstroke of luck for his genius), and after he had enjoyed some tentative\ninstruction under the animal sculptor, Barye (he was not a steady\npupil of Barye, nor did he care to remain with him) he went to Belgium\nand \"ghosted\" for other sculptors; it was his privilege or misfortune\nto have been the anonymous assistant of a half dozen sculptors. He\nmastered the technique of his art by the sweat of his brow before he\nbegan to make music upon his own instrument. How his first work, \"The\nMan with the Broken Nose,\" was refused by the Salon jury is history.\nHe designed for the Sevres porcelain works. He executed portrait busts,\narchitectural ornaments, caryatids; all styles that were huddled in the\nstudios and yards of sculptors he essayed. No man knew his trade better,\nalthough it is said that with the chisel of the _practicien_ Rodin was\nnever proficient; he could not, or would not, work at the marble _en\nbloc_. His sculptures to-day are in the museums of the world, and he is\nadmitted to possess \"talent\" by academic men. Rivals he has none. His\nproduction is too personal. Like Richard Wagner he has proved a upas\ntree for lesser artists--he has deflected, or else absorbed them. His\nfriend Eugene Carriere warned young sculptors not to study Rodin too\ncuriously. Carriere was wise, yet his art of portraiture was influenced\nby Rodin; swimming in shadow his enigmatic heads have more the quality\nof Rodin's than the mortuary art of academic sculpture.\n\nA profound student of light and movement, Rodin by deliberate\namplification of the surfaces of his statues, avoiding dryness and\nharshness of outline, secures a zone of radiancy, a luminosity which\ncreates the illusion of reality. He handles values in clay as a\npainter does his tones. He gets the design of the outline by movement\nwhich continually modifies the anatomy; the secret of the Greeks,\nhe believes. He studies his profiles successively in full light,\nobtaining volume--or planes--at once and together; successive views\nof one movement. The light plays with more freedom upon his amplified\nsurfaces, intensified in the modeling by enlarging the lines. The edges\nof certain parts are amplified, deformed, falsified, and we enjoy\nlight-swept effects, luminous emanations. This deformation, he declares,\nwas always practised by the great sculptors to snare the undulating\nappearance of life. Sculpture, he asserts, is the \"art of the hole and\nlump, not of clear, well-smoothed, unmodeled figures.\" Finish kills\nvitality. Yet Rodin can chisel a smooth nymph, if he so wills, but her\nflesh will ripple and run in the sunlight. His art is one of accents.\nHe works by profile in depth, not by surfaces. He swears by what he\ncalls \"cubic truth\"; his pattern is a mathematical figure; the pivot of\nart is balance, i.e., the opposition of volumes produced by movement.\nUnity haunts him. He is a believer in the correspondence of things, of\ncontinuity in nature. He is mystic, as well as a geometrician. Yet such\na realist is he that he quarrels with any artist who does not recognize\n\"the latent heroic in every natural movement.\"\n\nTherefore he does not force the pose of his model, preferring attitudes\nor gestures voluntarily adopted. His sketch books, as vivid, as copious,\nas the drawings of Hokusai--he is studious of Japanese art--are swift\nmemoranda of the human machine as it dispenses its normal muscular\nmotions. Rodin, draughtsman, is as surprisingly original as the sculptor\nRodin. He will study a human foot for months, not to copy it, but to\nmaster the secret of its rhythms. His drawings are the swift notations\nof a sculptor whose eye is never satisfied, whose desire to pin to paper\nthe most evanescent vibrations of the human machine is almost a mania.\nThe model may tumble down anywhere, in any contortion or relaxation\nhe or she wishes. Practically instantaneous is the method of Rodin\nto register the fleeting attitudes, the first shivering surface. He\nrapidly draws with his eye on the model. It is often a mere scrawl, a\nsilhouette, a few enveloping lines. But there is vitality in it all, and\nfor his purpose, a notation of a motion. But a sculptor has made these\nextraordinary drawings, not a painter. It may be well to observe the\ndistinction. And he is the most rhythmic sculptor among the moderns.\nRhythm means for him the codification of beauty. Because, with a vision\nquite virginal, he has observed, he insists that he has affiliations\nwith the Greeks. But if his vision is Greek his models are French, while\nhis forms are more Gothic than the pseudo-Greek of the academy.\n\nAs Mr. W.C. Brownell wrote: \"Rodin reveals rather than constructs beauty\n... no sculptor has carried expression further; and expression means\nindividual character completely exhibited rather than conventionally\nsuggested.\" Mr. Brownell was the first critic to point out that Rodin's\nart was more nearly related to Donatello's than to Michael Angelo's.\nHe is in the legitimate line of Gallic sculpture, the line of Goujon,\nPuget, Rude, Barye. Dalou, the celebrated sculptor, did not hesitate\nto assert that the Dante portal is \"one of the most, if not the most,\noriginal and astonishing pieces of sculpture of the nineteenth century.\"\n\nThis Dante gate, begun thirty years ago, not finished yet--and probably\nnever to be--is an astoundingly plastic fugue, with death, the devil,\nhell, and human passions, for a complicated four-voiced theme. I\nfirst saw the composition at the Rue de l'Universite atelier. It is\nas terrifying a conception as the Last Judgment. Nor does it miss the\nsonorous and sorrowful grandeur of the Medici Tombs. Yet how different.\nHow feverish, how tragic. Like all great men working in the grip of a\nunifying idea, Rodin modified the technique of sculpture so that it\nwould serve him as sound does a musical composer. A lover of music his\ninner ear may dictate the vibrating rhythms of his forms; his marbles\nare ever musical, ever in modulation, not \"frozen music,\" as Goethe\nsaid of Gothic architecture, but silent, swooning music. This Gate is\na Frieze of Paris, as deeply significant of modern inspiration and\nsorrow as the Parthenon Frieze is the symbol of the great clear beauty\nof Hellas. Dante inspired this monstrous yet ennobled masterpiece, and\nBaudelaire's poetry filled many of its chinks and crannies with ignoble\nwrithing shapes; shapes of dusky fire that, as they tremulously stand\nabove the gulf of fear, wave ineffectual and desperate hands as if\nimploring destiny.\n\nBut Rodin is not all hell-fire and tragedy. Of singular delicacy and\nexquisite proportion are his marbles of youth, of springtide, of the joy\nand desire of life. At Paris, 1900, in his special exhibition Salle,\nEurope and America awoke to the beauty of these haunting visions. Not\nsince Keats and Wagner and Swinburne has love been voiced so sweetly, so\nromantically, so fiercely. Though he disclaims understanding the Celtic\nspirit one might say that there is Celtic magic, Celtic mystery in his\nlyrical work. He pierces to the core the frenzy of love, and translates\nit into lovely symbols. For him nature is the sole mistress--his\nsculptures are but variations on her themes. He knows the emerald route,\nand all the semitones of sensuousness. Fantasy, passion, paroxysmal\nmadness are there, yet what elemental power is in his \"Adam,\" as the\ngigantic first man painfully heaves himself up from the earth to the\nposture that differentiates him forever from the beast. Here, indeed,\ntwo natures are at strife. And \"Mother Eve\" suggests the sorrows and\nshames that are to be the lot of her seed; her very loins crushed by the\nfuture generations hidden within them. One may freely walk about the\n\"Burghers of Calais\" as Rodin did when he modeled them; a reason for\nthe vital quality of the group. Around all his statues we may walk; he\nis not a sculptor of a single attitude but a hewer of humans. Consider\nthe \"Balzac.\" It is not Balzac the writer, but Balzac the prophet, the\nseer, the enormous natural force that was Balzac. Rodin is himself a\nseer. That is why these two spirits converse across the years, as do the\nAlpine peaks in a certain striking parable of Turgenev's. Doubtless in\nbronze Rodin's \"Balzac\" will arouse less wrath from the unimaginative;\nin plaster it produces the effect of a snowy surging monolith.\n\nAs a portraitist Rodin is the unique master of characters. His women are\ngracious delicate masks; his men cover octaves in virility and variety.\nThat he is extremely short-sighted has not been dealt with in proportion\nto the significance of the fact. It accounts for his love of exaggerated\nsurfaces, his formless extravagance, his indefiniteness in structural\ndesign; perhaps, too, for his inability, or let us say, his lack of\nsympathy, for the monumental. He is a sculptor of intimate emotions.\nAnd while we think of him as a Cyclops destructively wielding a huge\nhammer, he is more ardent in his search for the supersubtle nuance. But\nthere is always the feeling of breadth, even when he models an eyelid.\nWe are confronted by the paradox of an artist as torrential as Rubens\nor Wagner, carving in a wholly charming style a segment of a child's\nback, before which we are forced to exclaim: Donatello come to life! His\nmyopic vision, then, may have been his artistic salvation; he seems to\nrely as much on his delicate tactile sense as on his eyes. His fingers\nare as sensitive as a violinist's. At times he seems to model both tone\nand color.\n\nA poet, a precise, sober workman of art, with a peasant strain in\nhim, he is like Millet, and, like Millet, near to the soil. A natural\nman, yet crossed by nature with a perverse strain; the possessor\nof a sensibility exalted and dolorous; morbid, sick-nerved, and as\nintrospective as Heine; a visionary and a lover of life, close to the\nperiphery of things; an interpreter of Baudelaire; Dante's _alter ego_\nin his grasp of the wheel of eternity, in his passionate fling at\nnature; withal a sculptor, profound and tortured, transposing rhythm\ninto the terms of his art, Rodin is a statuary who, while having\naffinities with classic and romantic schools, is the most startling\napparition of his century. And to the century which he has summed up so\nplastically and emotionally he has propounded questions that only unborn\nyears may answer. He has a hundred faults to which he opposes one\nimperious excellence--a genius, sombre, magical and overwhelming.\n\n\n\nII\n\nRodin deserves well of our young century, the old did so incontinently\nbatter him. The anguish of his own \"Hell's Portal\" he endured before he\nmolded its clay between his thick clairvoyant fingers. Misunderstood,\ntherefore misrepresented, he with his pride and obstinacy aroused--the\none buttressing the other--was not to be budged from his formulas or\nthe practice of his sculpture. Then the art world swung unamiably,\nunwillingly, toward him, perhaps more from curiosity than conviction.\nHe became famous. And he is more misunderstood than ever. He has been\ncalled _ruse_, even a fraud, while the wholesale denunciation of his\nwork as erotic is unluckily still green in our memory. The sculptor,\nwho in 1877 was accused of \"faking\" his lifelike \"Age of Bronze\"--now\nin the Luxembourg--by taking a mold from the living model, also\nexperienced the discomfiture of being assured some years later that,\nnot understanding the art of modeling, his statue of Balzac was only\nan evasion of difficulties. And this to a man who in the interim had\nwrought so many masterpieces. A year or two ago, after his magnificent\noffer to the city of Paris of his works, there was much malevolent\ncriticism from certain quarters. Rodin takes all this philosophically.\nHe points out that the artist is the only one to-day who creates in\njoy. Mankind as a majority hates its work. Workmen no longer consider\ntheir various avocations with proper pride--this was a favorite thesis\nof Ruskin, William Morris, and Renoir. Furthermore, argues Rodin, the\nartist is indispensable. He reveals the beauty and meaning of life to\nhis fellows. He struggles against the false, the conventional, and the\nused-up; but the French sculptor slyly adds: \"No one may benefit mankind\nwith impunity.\" He considers himself as having a religious nature; all\nartists are temperamentally religious, he contends, though his religion\nis not precisely of the kind that would appeal to the orthodox.\n\nTo give Rodin his due he stands prosperity not quite as well as poverty.\nIn every great artist there is a large area of self-esteem; it is\nthe reservoir from which he must, during years of drought or defeat,\ndraw upon to keep fresh the soul. Without the consoling fluid of\negotism genius would soon perish in the dust of despair. But fill this\nsource to the brim, accelerate the speed of its current, and artistic\ndeterioration may ensue. Rodin has been fatuously called a second\nMichael Angelo--as if there could ever be a replica of any human. He\nhas been hailed as a modern Praxiteles; which is nonsense. And he is\noften damned as a myopic decadent whose insensibility to the pure line\nand lack of architectonic have been elevated by his admirers into sorry\nvirtues. Nevertheless, is Rodin justly appraised? Do his friends not\nover-glorify him? Nothing so stales a demigod's image as the perfumes\nburned before it by worshipers; the denser the smoke the sooner crumbles\nthe feet of their idol.\n\nHowever, in the case of Rodin the Fates have so contrived their\nmalicious game that at no point in his career has he been without the\ncompany of envy and slander. Often when he had attained a summit he\nwould be thrust down into a deeper valley. He has mounted to triumphs\nand fallen to humiliations; but his spirit has never been quelled;\nand if each acclivity he scales is steeper, the air atop has grown\npurer, more stimulating, and below the landscape spreads wider before\nhim. With Dante he can say: \"La montagna ch'e drizza voi ch'e il\nmondo fece torti.\" Rodin's mountain has always straightened in him\nwhat the world made crooked. The name of his mountain is Art. A born\nnonconformist, Rodin makes the fourth of that group of nineteenth\ncentury artists--Richard Wagner, Henrik Ibsen, Edouard Manet--who taught\na deaf, dumb, and blind world to hear, see, think, and feel.\n\nIs it not dangerous to say of a genius that his work alone should\ncount, that his personality is negligible? Though Rodin has followed\nFlaubert's advice to artists to lead an ascetic life that their art\nmight be the more violent, nevertheless his career, colorless as\nit may seem to those who love better stage players and the comedy\nof society--this laborious life of a poor sculptor should not be\npassed over. He always becomes enraged at the prevailing notion that\nfire descends from heaven upon genius. Rodin believes in but one\ninspiration--nature. Nature can do no wrong. He swears that he does not\ninvent, he copies nature. He despises improvisation, has contemptuous\nwords for \"fatal facility,\" and, being a slow-thinking, slow-moving\nman, he only admits to his councils those who have conquered art, not\nby assault, but by stealth and after years of hard work. He sympathizes\nwith Flaubert's patient, toiling days. He praises Holland because after\nParis it seems slow. \"Slowness is beauty,\" he declares. In a word, he\nhas evolved a theory and practice of his art that is the outcome--like\nall theories, all techniques--of his own temperament. And that\ntemperament is giant-like, massive, ironic, grave, strangely perverse;\nit is the temperament of a magician of art doubled by a mathematician's.\n\nBooks are written about him. With picturesque precision De Maupassant\ndescribed him in \"Notre Coeur.\" Rodin is tempting as a psychologic\nstudy. He appeals to the literary critic, though his art is not\n\"literary.\" His modeling arouses tempests, either of dispraise or\nidolatry. To see him steadily after a visit to his studios at Paris\nor Meudon is difficult. If the master be present then one feels the\nimpact of a personality that is misty as the clouds about the base of\na mountain, and as impressive as the bulk of the mountain. Yet a sane,\npleasant, unassuming man interested in his clay--that is, unless you\nhappen to discover him interested in humanity. If you watch him well you\nmay in turn find yourself watched; those peering eyes possess a vision\nthat plunges into the depths of your soul. And this master of marble\nsees the soul as nude as he sees the body. It is the union in him of\nsculptor and psychologist that places Rodin apart from other artists.\nThese two arts (psychology is the art of divination) he practises\nin a medium that hitherto did not betray potentialities for such\nperformances. Walter Pater is right in maintaining that each art has its\nseparate subject matter; still, in the debatable province of Rodin's\nsculpture we find strange emotional power, hints of the pictorial, and\na rare suggestion of music. This, obviously, is not playing the game\naccording to the rules of Lessing and his Laocooen.\n\nLet us drop the old aesthetic rule of thumb and confess that during the\nlast century a new race of artists sprang up and in their novel element\nthey, like flying-fishes, revealed to a wondering world their composite\nstructure. Thus we find Berlioz painting with his instrumentation; Franz\nLiszt, Tschaikowsky, and Richard Strauss filling their symphonic poems\nwith drama and poetry; while Richard Wagner invented an art which he\nbelieved embraced all the others. And there was Ibsen who employed the\ndramatic form as a vehicle for his anarchistic ideas; and Nietzsche, who\nwas such a poet that he was able to sing a mad philosophy into life; not\nto forget Rossetti, who painted poems and made poetry of his pictures.\nSculpture was the only art that resisted this universal disintegration,\nthis imbroglio of the seven arts. No sculptor before Rodin had dared to\nshiver the syntax of stone. For sculpture is a static, not a dynamic\nart--is it not? Let us observe the rules though we call up the chill\nspirit of the cemetery. What Mallarme attempted with French poetry\nRodin accomplished in clay. His marbles do not represent, but present,\nemotion; they are the evocation of emotion itself; as in music, form and\nsubstance coalesce. If he does not, as does Mallarme, arouse \"the silent\nthunder afloat in the leaves,\" he can summon from the vasty deep the\nspirits of love, hate, pain, sin, despair, beauty, ecstasy; above all,\necstasy. Now, the primal gift of ecstasy is bestowed upon few artists.\nKeats had it, and Shelley; Byron, despite his passion, missed it. We\nfind it in Swinburne, he had it from the first. Few French poets know\nit. Like the \"cold devils\" of Felicien Rops, coiled in frozen ecstasy,\nthe fiery blasts of hell about them, Charles Baudelaire boasted the\ndangerous gift. Poe and Heine felt ecstasy, and Liszt. Wagner was the\nmaster-adept of ecstasy: Tristan and Isolde! And in the music of Chopin\necstasy is pinioned within a bar, the soul rapt to heaven in a phrase.\nRichard Strauss has given us a variation on the theme of ecstasy;\nvoluptuousness troubled by pain, the soul tormented pathologically.\n\nRodin is of this tormented choir. He is revealer of its psychology.\nIt may be decadence, as any art is in its decadence which stakes the\npart against the whole. The same was said of Beethoven by the followers\nof Haydn, and the successors of Richard Strauss--Debussy, Stravinsky,\nand Schoenberg--are abused quite as violently as the Wagnerites abused\nRichard Strauss, turning against him the same critical artillery that\nwas formerly employed against Wagner. Nowadays, Rodin is looked on as\nsuperannuated, as a reactionary by the younger men, the Cubists and\nFuturists, who spoil marble with their iconoclastic chisels and canvas\nwith their paint-tubes.\n\nThat this ecstasy should be aroused by pictures of love and death, as\nin the case of Poe and Baudelaire, Wagner and Strauss and Rodin, is not\nto be judged an artistic crime. In the Far East they hypnotize neophytes\nwith a bit of broken mirror, for in the kingdom of art there are many\nmansions. Possibly it was a relic of his early admiration for Baudelaire\nthat set Wagner to extorting ecstasy from his orchestra by images of\nlove and death. And no doubt the temperament which seeks such synthesis,\na temperament commoner in medieval times than ours, was inherent in\nWagner, as it is in Rodin. Both men play with the same counters: love\nand death. In Pisa we may see (attributed by Vasari) Orcagna's fresco of\nthe Triumph of Death. The sting of the flesh and the way of all flesh\nare inextricably blended in Rodin's Gate of Hell. His principal reading\nfor half a century has been Dante and Baudelaire; the Divine Comedy and\n\"Les Fleurs du Mal\" are the keynotes in the grandiose white symphony of\nthe French sculptor. Love and life, and bitterness and death rule the\nthemes of his marbles. Like Beethoven and Wagner, he breaks academic\nrules, for he is Auguste Rodin, and where he magnificently achieves,\nlesser men fail or fumble. His large, tumultuous music is alone for his\nchisel to ring out and to sing.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n    THE CAREER OF RODIN\n\n    RODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS\n\n    Sojourn in Belgium--\"The Man Who Awakens to\n    Nature\"--Realism and Plaster Casts.\n\n    FLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE.\n\n    RODIN'S NOTE-BOOK\n\n       I ANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS\n\n      II SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS\n\n     III PORTRAITS OF WOMEN\n\n      IV AN ARTIST'S DAY\n\n       V THE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC\n\n      VI ART AND NATURE\n\n     VII THE GOTHIC GENIUS\n\n\n    THE WORK OF RODIN\n\n    I  THE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF\n    THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF RODIN--\"SAINT\n    JOHN THE BAPTIST\" (1880)--\"THE GATE OF\n    HELL\"\n\n    II \"THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS\" (1889)--RODIN AND\n    VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898)\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n    Rodin photographed on the steps of the Hotel Biron Frontispiece\n    Portrait of a Young Girl\n    La Pucelle\n    Minerva\n    Psyche\n    The Adieu\n    Rodin in His Studio at the Hotel Biron\n    Representation of France\n    The Man with the Broken Nose\n    Caryatid\n    Man Awakening to Nature\n    The Kiss\n    Bust of the Countess of W----\n    The Poet and the Muse\n    The Thinker\n    Adolescence\n    Portrait of Rodin\n    Head of Minerva\n    The Bath\n    The Broken Lily\n    Portrait of Madame Morla Vicunha\n    \"La Pensee\"\n    Hotel Biron, View from the Garden\n    Rodin Photographed in the Court of the Hotel Biron\n    Portrait of Mrs. X\n    Rodin in His Garden\n    The Poet and the Muses\n    The Tower of Labor\n    Headless Figure\n    Rodin's House and Studio at Meudon\n    The Tempest\n    The Village Fiancee\n    Metamorphosis According to Ovid\n    Eve\n    Rodin at Work in the Marble\n    Peristyle of the Studio at Meudon\n    Statue of Bastien-Lepage\n    Danaiade\n    Portrait Bust of Victor Hugo\n    Monument to Victor Hugo\n    Statue of Balzac\n    The Head of Balzac\n    The Studio at Meudon\n    Romeo and Juliet\n    Spring\n    Bust of Bernard Shaw\n    A Fete Given in Honor of Rodin by Some of His Friends.\n\n\n\nTHE MAN AND HIS ART\n\n\n\n\nTHE CAREER OF RODIN\n\n\nSeveral years have already gone by since the career of Rodin attained\nits full growth. From now on, therefore, it can be envisaged as a whole,\nand we can trace the formation and the unfolding of his complex talent\nand disentangle the influences that have directed and sustained it.\n\nIn the course of the chapters that follow, Rodin, with the authority,\nthe calm strength, and the lucidity that characterize his thought, often\nspeaks himself of these influences, but rather in a casual, gossipy,\nreminiscent vein, reflecting his personal observations. He does not\nattempt to disengage the broad lines by which he has reached the summit\nof art, or to map out, so to speak, that scheme of his intellectual\ndevelopment which so naturally appertains to the man who has reached the\napogee of talent and which he contemplates with the satisfaction of a\nstrategist face to face with the plan of the battles he has won.\n\nIt is to living writers that he seems to address himself. Rodin to-day\ncan be studied like an old master, Donatello, Michelangelo, or Pierre\nPuget. One perceives quite in its entirety the distinct, the rigorously\nsustained plan that he has followed with unswerving will in order to\nrealize himself; and the witnesses, the historians of this heroic life\nof the sculptor, have the advantage of being able to trace it with\nexactitude, as they could not do in the case of a vanished artist. They\nare able to interrogate the hero in person; they are able to consult\nwith Rodin himself, who is admirably intuitive and quite aware of what\nhe owes to certain favorable conditions of his life and above all to\nhis illustrious forerunners, those who have fought before him on the\nbattle-field of high art.\n\nThe study of nature, of the antique, Greek and Roman, of the art of\nmedieval France and that of the Renaissance--these are the springs at\nwhich he has constantly refreshed one of the most irrefutable sculptural\ntalents that has ever been known. These are the expressions of the\nbeautiful among which his profound and searching thought has traveled\nunceasingly, seeking to attain to a still larger vision, a more exact\nunderstanding of that most magnificent of all the arts, sculpture.\n\nThe superior man is always the product of an exceptional gift and\nof an energy peculiar to himself, which effectuates itself despite\ncircumstances. He is the highest incarnation of the spirit, of the\nstruggle for existence. In the case of an artist the struggle is all\nthe more severe, for he has nothing but himself to impose upon the\nworld and he has, as weapons of offense and defense, nothing but his\nintelligence, the tiny substance of his brain. It is therefore only by\nmeans of the history of his intellectual life that one can understand\nhim. External happenings only very slightly influence the obstinate\nmarch of true genius toward the accomplishment of its destiny. At most\nthey delay it but a few hours. It forces its way through the most\ndifficult obstacles; it even makes use of these obstacles in order to\nredouble its strength and confirm its superiority. Nothing impedes the\nformidable will of those who are under the spell of beauty, those who\nsee truth and know it and desire to express what they see. They can no\nmore escape the fruition of their faculties than the giant can escape\nthe attainment of his full stature.\n\nRodin has been one of these. Certainly he has been assisted by\ncircumstances, but above everything how has he not compelled\ncircumstances to assist him?\n\nWhat demands preeminent recognition in his case is the gift, a splendid,\na dazzling gift for the plastic arts, the realization of which has been\nimposed upon him, as it were, by the command of destiny. Whence did it\ncome? From whom did he inherit it? From what ancestor, sensitive to the\nenchantment of beauty, suffering, and in travail from the necessity of\nproclaiming it, but imperfectly endowed and powerless to forge for\nhimself a talent in order to express the tremors of his soul? It is a\nmystery. No one can tell, Rodin himself least of all. Science has not\nyet taught us anything about those obscure combinations, those endless\npreferences of the vital force, thanks to which a person possesses the\nfaculties of genius. In this, as in other things, we are unable to\ndivine the cause and can only marvel at the effect, the prodigy.\n\nDiscredited to-day are the theories of Lombroso and his school, once\nso warmly welcomed by mediocre minds athirst for equality, in which\ngreat men were considered as degenerates of a superior variety, and the\nmost sensitive spirits qualified as candidates for the madhouse! All\none can say is that nature abhors equality, that the indwelling will\ndelights in raising up lofty mountain masses above the uniformity of\nthe plains and the valor of the chosen few above the multitude. The\nfunction of the man of genius is, precisely, to possess in a supreme\ndegree the sense of inequality and to transcribe its infinite nuances\nin their ever-changing, ever-moving, ever-renewed variety. He alone\nperceives the diversities whose play is the law of the universe itself,\nand he grasps them equally in a fragment of inanimate matter and in\nthe vastest aspects of the world. Far from being half mad, this unique\nbeing, this prodigious mirror of a million facets, achieves his aim only\nbecause he possesses far more intelligence than the most brilliant of\nhis contemporaries, because he is in touch with a more profound order\nof things and a more comprehensive method, because he combines the\nqualities of continuity in sensation and of discernment which constitute\nthat supreme sensibility of all the senses acting together--taste. But\nit does not please ordinary mortals to believe things of this kind,\nand one can easily understand how the crowd, repudiating any such\nhumiliating notion, are all too willing to follow the lead of exotic\npseudo-scientists and look upon great men as lunatics, considering\nthemselves far more rational.\n\nAs to what Rodin himself thinks of this privilege that Providence has\nconferred on him, there is no telling; he has never talked very much\nabout it. The fact is, he has such faith in the value of hard work and\nwill-power, he knows so well how extraordinarily much of these even the\nmost exceptional natures have to exert in order to accomplish anything,\nthat this privilege of divine right, otherwise just as authentic as\nthat which sovereigns in former times profited by, amounts to nothing\nin the end but the account which he draws up in order to calculate the\nsum of his efforts. \"When I was quite young, as far back as I remember,\nI drew,\" he says; \"but the gift is nothing without the will to make it\nworth while. The artist must have the patience of water that eats away\nthe rock drop by drop.\" Alas! will and work, Master, are also gifts;\nbut the supreme spirit maliciously amuses itself by leading us into\nerror, inspiring us with the illusion that it lies with us to acquire\nthem.\n\nRodin's case, then, is an example of absolute predestination, assisted\nby a will of iron. One must add also the happy influence of the varied\nenvironment in which his life has been placed and the excellent artistic\neducation he received in the schools where he studied, an education\nthat was fruitful, thanks to the preservation of the true traditions of\nFrench art, kept alive in the schools since the eighteenth century.\n\n\nCHILDHOOD. YOUTH. FIRST STUDIES\n\nAuguste Rodin is the son of a Norman father and a Lorrainese mother.\nEach of these two French provinces, Normandy and Lorraine, produces a\nrace eminently realistic, but realistic in quite different ways.\n\nThe Lorrainer, opinionated and courageous, hardy in character, and\nvigorous like his country itself, sees things clearly and precisely in\nthe light of a spirit that has been fashioned by the age-old struggle\nbetween Teuton and Gaul on our eastern frontier. The things that\nsurround him, the aspects of his native soil, like the sullen obstinacy\nof the enemy that seeks in vain to drag him away, present themselves\nto his eye as a reality stripped of illusions. When one has to fight\nthere is no time to dream, and one must be able to estimate with\nprecision what one is fighting for. When the man of Lorraine utters his\nfeeling about the things he loves and defends, it is with a loyalty\nrather dry in expression and impression, but also with a force of\nconsciousness that is imposing.\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG GIRL. A WORK OF RODIN'S YOUTH.]\n\nAs for the Norman, like his country he overflows with an abundance of\nlife from which he derives a passionate need for the pleasures of sense.\nFar from stifling in him the love of the beautiful, this appetite for\ntriumphant realities engenders, on the contrary, an exaltation of the\nsenses that leads to the most exquisite taste in the production of art.\nCompounded of sensuality and mysticism, the twin characteristics of\nthese rich spirits, very like those of Belgium, to whom, by virtue of\nancient migrations, they are closely allied, the artists of Normandy\nnecessarily respond to the manifold requirements of their temperament.\nWe know with what a profusion of monuments, robust and imposing in\nstructure and miraculously clothed in the most delicate lacework of\nstone, the Gothic architects of Normandy have covered not only the soil\nof their province, but also, beyond the sea, that of the Two Sicilies,\nstrewn even to this day with beautiful cloisters and sumptuous churches\nof the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which the Norman Conquest\ncarried there.\n\nThe child of Normandy and Lorraine was born in Paris, November 14,\n1840. His father was a simple employee. He dwelt in one of the oldest\nand most curious quarters of the great city, the Quartier Saint-Victor\nin the fifth _arrondissement_. Rodin saw the light in the rue de\nl'Arbalete. It is a little, hilly street, quite provincial in its\naspect and its quietness, that winds among the rows of old houses, some\nlow, as if crouched down, others narrow and high, as if they wished to\nlook over their shoulders at what passes below, very like a crowd of\nliving people. Its name, the rue de l'Arbalete, is full of suggestion\nof the Middle Ages, like that of the rue des Patriarches, in which\nit comes to an end, and that of the rue des Lyonnais and the rue de\nl'Epee-de-Bois, which are its neighbors. It crosses the famous rue\nMouffetard near the little church of St. Medard on the last <DW72>s of\nthe Montagne-Sainte-Genevieve, which has been, since the thirteenth\ncentury, the seat of the university and the schools; below is the plain\nof the Gobelins, where once the river Bievre ran exposed.\n\nEven to the present day this corner of the city has not suffered\ntoo much from the destructive changes of modernity. At the time of\nthe childhood of Rodin it was still virtually untouched. Crowded,\npicturesque, and in certain parts dirty and squalid, like an Oriental\ncity, with its little interlacing streets, its countless shops, its\nswarms of people given over to a thousand familiar trades carried on in\npublic,--open-air kitchens, fruit-stands, grocery shops, clothing shops,\nand shops of ironmongers, coal-venders, and, wine-sellers,--it is an\nalmost perfect fragment, a human fragment, of the old Gothic Paris.\n\nTruly Rodin was fortunate: he was born in a chapter of Victor Hugo's\n\"Notre Dame de Paris.\" Destiny preserved the first glances of his\nartist's eyes from the disenchanting banality of our modern streets. It\nplaced before them, as if to give them a hatred of uniformity, as if\nto disgust him forever with the misdeeds of the straight line, adopted\nthe world over by the rank and file of contemporary architects,--those\ncongenitally blind and mutilated souls,--a population of houses having\na physiognomy and a soul of their own, which, with their sloping roofs,\ntheir irregular gables, etch their amusing profiles against the sky\nand seem to gossip with the birds and the clouds, putting to shame the\nfew regular buildings that have intruded and lost themselves amid this\ncongregation so touched with spirituality.\n\nAll this Rodin saw; with a child's innocent eye, he absorbed all this\nfantasy of past ages; he studied the little shops with their low\nceilings dating from the period of the gilds; he noted through the\ntiny panes of their windows the Rembrandtesque effects of shadow and\ngolden light, in which the humblest objects live a life that is full of\nintimate mystery and familiar charm. About them he saw a people full of\nlife, alert, awake, always in action, always in dispute, unconsciously\nfalling into a thousand beautiful, simple attitudes, the eternal\nattitudes associated with drinking, eating, sleeping, working, and\nloving.\n\nWhat admirable, powerful precepts this teaching, without effort, without\nprofessors, without pedantry, thus forever imposed upon the memory of\nthe future sculptor! Yes, Rodin there enjoyed a priceless good fortune.\n\nAs child and young man, his walks and his duties took him incessantly\npast Notre Dame, the queen of cathedrals, appearing, from the heights\nof Ste. Genevieve, magnificently seated on the bank of the Seine that\ndevotedly kisses its feet; in front of it, Ste. Etienne-du-Mont,\nsurrounded by convents, with its nave, that treasure of grace bequeathed\nto us by the Renaissance. There also is the ancient little Roman church\nof St. Julien-le-Pauvre; and St. Severin, that sweet relic of Gothic\nart, about which lies unrolled the old _quartier des truands_, with the\nrues Galande de la Huchette and de la Parcheminerie, which the pick-axes\nof the housebreakers are now giving over to the universal ugliness.\n\nThe Pantheon and the buildings that surround it taught the young Rodin\nthat the public monuments of the style of Louis XV, although colder\nand stiffer, still offer a certain grandeur by virtue of their beauty\nof proportion and character. Close beside the somewhat formal solemnity\nof these buildings, the Gardens of the Luxembourg that invite the\npasser-by with all their tender, smiling charm, the exquisite parterre,\nthe elegant little pilastered palace, the Medici fountain, whose\ncharming statues pour out their water that murmurs beneath the branches\nof the trees spread out above like a tent of lacework, taught him the\nenchantment of the architectural harmonies of the Renaissance, harmonies\nof chiseled stone, noble shadows, and carpeting flowers.\n\nLike all artists, Rodin adores the Luxembourg. More than this, he would\nnot for anything in the world see those statues of the queens of France\nbanished, those enormous stone dolls of a quality, as regards sculpture,\nlittle calculated to satisfy lovers of rich modeling. No matter, he\nloves the gray mass they make under the fragrant summits of the limes\nand the hawthorns; they are part of the scenery of his youth; he remains\nfaithful to them as to old playthings. Was it not these that he sketched\nin those first attempts of his?\n\nHis aptitude quickly revealed itself. This man, whom ignorant critics\nwere to reproach one day with not knowing how to draw, handled the\npencil from his earliest childhood.\n\nHis mother bought her provisions from a grocer in the neighborhood. The\ngrocer wrapped up his rice, vermicelli, and dried prunes in bags made\nfrom cut-up illustrated papers and engravings that had been thrown away.\nRodin got hold of these bags, and they were his first models. He copied\nthese wretched images passionately.\n\nToward the age of twelve, he was sent to Beauvais, to the house of\nan uncle who undertook to bring him up. Beauvais and its unfinished\ncathedral was another silent lesson, never to be forgotten--that\ncathedral which is nothing but a choir, but how marvelous a choir!\n\nOf course at the time he did not appreciate its splendor. With the\nindifference of his age, he studied its architecture and its sculpture,\nwhich, for that matter, all his contemporaries, even the cultivated,\ndespised from the depth of their ignorance. That was the time when\nart critics and professors of esthetics denied Gothic art without\ncomprehending it, the Roman school being in the ascendant in the\nadmiration of the public. Nevertheless, the jewel in stone did not fail\nto speak in the language of beauty and truth to this predestined young\nman. His sensibility registered its impressions, noted down those points\nof comparison which he was to find later in the depths of his memory and\nwhich were to enable him to judge and appreciate. Under the vault of the\nmajestic nave he listened to the mass, he took part in the grand, sacred\ndrama, whose phrases touched his imagination profoundly, sometimes\nexalting it to the point of mysticism and impregnating it with the\nnobility of the symbols and of the Catholic ritual tempered by eighteen\ncenturies of usage.\n\nRodin was placed in a boarding-school. He found the scholar's life\ndreary and dull; his comrades seemed to him noisy young barbarians,\nabsorbed in brutal and too often vicious pastimes. Certain studies were\nrepugnant to him, mathematics and _solfeggio_. Near-sighted, without\nbeing aware of it, he could not make out the figures and the notes the\nmasters wrote on the blackboard; he understood nothing and was almost\nbored to death.\n\nThis myopia was destined to have the most vital influence on his art.\nBecause of his difficulty in perceiving total effects, his instinct has\nonly rarely led him to the composition of monuments on a very large\nscale, in which the architectural construction is of nearly as great\nimportance as the sculpture proper. The most considerable that we owe\nto him is that of \"The Burghers of Calais\"; and there is also \"The Gate\nof Hell,\" which, almost inexplicably, remained incomplete even in the\nvery hour when it was given over as finished. The great sculptor, at\nthe time when he turned it over to the founders, perhaps unconsciously\nexperienced a lapse of vision, an insurmountable fatigue of the eyes,\nover-strained by the prolonged effort to grasp the ensemble of the\nedifice and the harmony of the countless details of this superb\ncomposition.\n\nBut if he has been turned aside, by his physical constitution, from\nmonumental art, it has only served to concentrate him with all the\nmore ardor upon the minute work of modeling, for which, by a sort of\ncompensation, he is endowed with an eye whose penetration has had no\nequal since the time of the Renaissance.\n\nAt the age of fourteen he returned to Paris. His parents judged that the\nmoment had come for him to choose a career. Observing his astonishing\ngifts, they decided to let him take up drawing, but, having small means,\nthey were unable to provide him with special masters. They entered him\nat the School of Decorative Arts, another piece of good fortune.\n\nThis school, called by abbreviation the Petite Ecole, in distinction\nfrom the great school, that of the Beaux-Arts, is situated in the old\nrue de l'Ecole de Medecine, close to the Faculte de Medecine and the\nSorbonne. It was founded in 1765, under the name of the Free School\nof Design, by the painter Jean-Jacques Bachelier, a clever artist and\nstudent of styles in art no longer practised or little known, who had\nbeen well thought of by Madame de Pompadour, the favorite of Louis XV,\nthe charming and virtually official minister of fine arts during the\nreign of that monarch. It was she who placed Bachelier in charge of the\n_ateliers de decoration_ at the Sevres manufactory. In creating the\nPetite Ecole, the painter seemed to be following out, after the death of\nhis gracious protectress, the impulse she had communicated to French art\nduring her lifetime.\n\n[Illustration: LA PUCELLE.]\n\nThus we see Rodin at the school of the Marquise de Pompadour, placed\nonce more in a _milieu_ full of originality and life. He found himself\nthere surrounded by a little world of beginners in every line, budding\nartists; almost everybody of his generation has passed through this\ncourse. They came there to learn to draw, paint, and model.\n\nIn the evening the halls were filled with amateurs who, after their\nday's work was over, sought to acquire a certain artistic skill as\ntapestry-workers, ornament-makers, workers in iron, marble, etc. They\nwere energetic, turbulent, poor. Rodin, like them, was energetic and\npoor, but silent, laborious, and pertinacious. He applied himself to the\ncopying of models of all sorts, most frequently red chalks by Boucher\nand plaster casts of animals, plants, and flowers.\n\nThe school had possessed these things since the eighteenth century and,\nlike almost everything that was created in that bountiful epoch, they\nwere very well done, composed after nature, their elegance full of warm\ntruth; they were models in bold _ronde-bosse_. That is to say, they\npresented that quality of relief to which drawing, like sculpture, owes\nits rich oppositions of light and shadow. To those who copied them they\ncommunicated the science of relief, the fundamental basis of art, and\nthe living suppleness of the best periods, which has almost entirely\ndisappeared to-day.\n\nOne day Rodin entered the modeling class. He worked there after the\nantique. He had his first experience of working in clay; it was a\nrevelation, an enchantment. He fell in love with this _metier_, which\nseemed to him the most seductive of all; he became obsessed with the\ndesire to mold this soft material himself, to search in it for the form\nof things.\n\nHis first attempts overjoyed him; he was not fifteen years old and he\nhad found his path!\n\nWe see him executing a fragment; he models the head, the hands, the\narms, the legs, the feet; then he sets about the whole figure; there\nis no deception; there are no insurmountable difficulties for him; he\nunderstands at once the structure of the human body; in the phrase of\nthe atelier, \"ses bonshommes tiennent\"; the arms and the legs adjust\nthemselves naturally to the body: he is a born sculptor.\n\nEvery day he arrives at the class at eight o'clock in the morning; he\nworks without faltering till noon, in company with five or six pupils.\nAt that hour they stop work; they are happy; they leave their seats and\ntake a turn about the model. In the evening things are different; from\nseven to nine, the class is over-full; one can study the model then\nonly from a distance; a superficial, wretched method that is practised\non a large scale at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts and against which Rodin has\nprotested all his life.\n\nThus we find him entered on his artistic career not as a dilettante,\nas an amateur, as happens too often, but as a veritable workman. Like\nGeneral Kleber, he could long say, \"My poverty has served me well; I\nam attached to it.\" It placed him, from his childhood, in the presence\nof realities. It steeped him in life itself. It safeguarded him from\nthe artificial education that debilitates the young middle-class\nFrenchman and destroys in him the spirit of initiative and personality.\nIt deprived him luckily of the pleasures that rich young men too\neasily offer themselves, the abuse of which renders them unsteady,\ncapricious, and indifferent. Rigorously held to his path by necessity,\nhe consecrated all his time and all his energies to study. He became\ndiligent, serious, and prudent.\n\nHe had the opportunity of seeing his modeling corrected by Carpeaux. The\ngreat sculptor, in fact, taught at the Petite Ecole. Upon his return\nfrom Rome, he had asked for a modest post as an assistant master that\nwould help to assure his equally modest existence; they had granted his\nrequest, but without seeking to give him anything more! His young pupils\nscarcely understood his high worth, the substantial and delicate grace\nof his talent, his voluptuous elegance, inherited from the eighteenth\ncentury and united with a certain nervous seductiveness that was\naltogether modern, a certain palpitating quality of the soul and of the\nflesh that had not been known before, manifesting itself through the\nductility of his modeling. But instinctively they admired him; they\nmarveled, among other things, at the precision and the rapidity of the\ncorrections the master executed under their eyes. Later, when experience\nhad come to him, Rodin greatly honored Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux; he was\none of those for whom the appearance of the famous group \"The Dance,\"\nin the parvis of the Opera, was a veritable event. At that moment he\ndiscovered again in himself the influence of this beautiful spirit which\nhad been slumbering in him since he left the Petite Ecole; then he\nbecame almost the disciple of Carpeaux. I know a figure of a bacchante\nof Rodin's, a marble that is almost unknown, the flesh of which is so\nsupple and so light that one would say it was molded of wheat and honey\nand the work of the sculptor of \"The Dance.\" There floats also in its\ncountenance that spirituality, that expression as of a sort of angelic\nmalice which Carpeaux seems to have borrowed occasionally from the\nfigures of Leonardo da Vinci.\n\n[Illustration: MINERVA.]\n\nWhen the clocks of the Sorbonne quarter struck noon, Rodin left the\nPetite Ecole; he walked to the Louvre, eating, as he went, a roll\nand a cake of chocolate which was all he had for lunch. He sketched\nthe antiques. From there he went on to the Galerie des Estampes at\nthe Bibliotheque Nationale, where they loaned out, without any too\nmuch good will, misplaced as that is with students, the albums of\nplates after Michelangelo and Raphael and the great illustrated work,\n\"L'Histoire de Costume Romain.\" Because of this miserliness of theirs,\nhe did not always obtain the volumes he wished for, which were reserved\nfor habitues who were better known. This did not prevent him from\nbecoming initiated into the science of draperies. He executed hundreds\nof sketches from memory, at last developing in himself the faculty of\nremembering forms. From the rue de Richelieu, always on foot, he would\nrepair to the Gobelin manufactory. There each day, from five to eight\no'clock, he followed the course in design. Placed before nature itself,\nbefore the nude, he absorbed more excellent principles. The teaching of\nthe eighteenth century was practised there also, and his work became\npermanently impregnated by it.\n\nIn the morning, at daybreak, before going to the Petite Ecole, he found\nthe time to walk to an old painter's he knew, where he kept a number of\ncanvases going. In the evening he made careful copies of the sketches\nhe had jotted down at noon in the galleries of the Louvre and the\nBibliotheque. He drew far into the night; he drew even during supper,\nat the frugal board of his family, surrounded by his father, his mother,\nand his young sister, bending over his paper utterly regardless of his\nhealth, a course of things that soon brought on gastric disorders from\nwhich he suffered cruelly. In short, he toiled incessantly, ardent and\npatient, obstinate, and full of self-confidence.\n\nAssuredly he never in the world imagined that he was to become in time\none of the most illustrious representatives of the French art of the\nnineteenth century, that he was to be the equal in renown of celebrities\nlike Lamartine, Alfred de Musset, or Michelet whom he saw occasionally\nin the Luxembourg Gardens, without even daring to bow to them; but he\npossessed a fixed and a precise idea of what was required to be a good\nsculptor and the resolution to realize it. Little did he care how long\nit would take, how tardy success might prove, how slow fortune might be\nin coming; little did he care for obstacles, even for misery. He was\ngoing the right way, unhesitating, untroubled, not compromising with\nhimself or with anybody. He possessed the irresistible will of a force.\n\nI have had occasion to examine one of the note-books of Rodin's youth.\nIt is quite filled with sketches after engravings from the antique,\nanimals or human figures. The drawing is strangely compact, wilful,\nfor the boy of sixteen or seventeen that he was then. Already, in its\naccumulation of strokes and hatchings which, during an entire period\nof his artistic development, render the drawing of Rodin restless and\npersonal like a piece of writing, it exhibits an obstinate search for\nrelief, it speaks to us like hieroglyphics, revealing the power of his\ngrasp. His progress was rapid. At seventeen, he finished his first\nstudies. The moment came for him to pass from the school of decorative\narts to that of the Beaux-Arts and to prepare himself, like his\ncompanions, for the examinations and for the competition for the _prix\nde Rome_, the famous _prix de Rome_ that seemed to Rodin, inexperienced\nstudent as he was, the crown of the most rigorous artistic studies.\n\n\n\n\nRODIN AND THE BEAUX-ARTS\n\n\nRodin presented himself at an examination for entrance into the Ecole\ndes Beaux-Arts. He was rejected. He presented himself a second time, but\nwith the same result. What was the reason for it? Neither he nor his\nfellow-students could discover. They used to form a circle about him\nwhen he worked. They admired the keenness and precision of his glance,\nthe already astonishing skill of his hand. They told him that he would\nbe accepted. He failed a third time. Finally a fellow-student who was\nshrewder than the others gave the solution of the enigma. It requires a\nsomewhat long explanation.\n\nThe great school is under the direction of the members of the Academy\nof Fine Arts. These professors correct the work of the students, set\nthe examinations, and award the prizes. They are recruited from members\nof the society, are, in short, the representatives of official, or\nconservative, art. Official art is a product of the Revolution of 1789.\nUp to that time there were not two kinds of art in France. At the most,\nuntil the time of Louis XIV only one secession disported itself under\nthe influence of Lebrun, painter to the king. Art was a unit, and its\ndivine florescence spread from France over all Europe. The church,\nthe kings, and their court of great lords and cultivated ladies were\nthe protectors and, indeed, the inspirers, of that flowering of beauty\nthat had grown from the time of the first Capets, indeed from the time\nof the Merovingians, down to the end of the eighteenth century. The\nFirst Empire marked in effect the beginning of the artistic decadence\nof Europe and, one may say, of the world. Artists at that time divided\nthemselves into two camps, the conservatives, with, at their head,\nDavid and his school, who pictured an art of convention and approved\nformulas, and the independents, who continued, although in a somewhat\nrevolutionary and extravagant spirit, the true traditions of French art.\nAmong those fine rebellious men of talent of the first order were Rude,\nBarye, and Carpeaux in sculpture, and Baron Gros, Eugene Delacroix,\nCourbet, and Manet in painting.\n\n[Illustration: PSYCHE.]\n\nBy a singular contradiction, Louis David was as baneful a theorist as\nhe was a great painter and, above all, an excellent draftsman. That\nexplains itself. The quality of his drawing he owed to the eighteenth\ncentury, in which he had appeared and a pupil of which he was; but he\nderived his esthetic doctrine from the Revolution, which made use of\nthe same sectarian zeal to obtain the triumph of certain false ideas\nthat it used to advance the right principles that were its glory.\nThrough one, David produced works of great worth and some admirable\nportraits; through the other, he wrought great havoc among artists.\nThe world was, moreover, well disposed to submit to these principles.\nWhen art restricts itself to repeating attitudes, gestures, approved\nreceipts, without having studied or observed them in nature in her\nconstant changes, it means decadence. If David was able to have his\ntheories accepted, it was because the time was ripe to receive them, to\nbe contented with them; and to say that the time was ripe is only to say\nthat it was a degenerate time, satisfied to be relieved of the task of\nreflecting, of discovering for itself the laws of beauty, or, in short,\nof working from the foundation.\n\nOfficial painter of the Revolution and the Empire, Louis David\nproclaimed his doctrine with the authority of a pontiff. He made a set\nof narrow rules which advocated a superficial imitation of the antique,\na copying of the works of Greece and Rome, not in spirit, but in letter;\nnot in that accurate knowledge of construction and of the model, which\nmade up their supreme worth, but in their conventional attitudes and\nexpressions.\n\nEven from beyond the grave David continued to rule the academy of\nthe Beaux-Arts in the name of the artificial idealism which he had\nproclaimed, and whoever rejected his sorry instruction saw himself\nwithout mercy shown to the door of the national schools arid academies.\nThey had shown the door to Rude, the author of the masterpiece of the\nArc de Triomphe, \"The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792.\" They had\nshown it to the unhappy Carpeaux, treated all his life as a heretic and\npersecuted by the official class, defenders of the so-called heroic\nachievements and stereotyped forms. They went to every extreme in\ntheir contest with free and determined genius. As a last resort they\nemployed every weapon of treachery against the undisciplined great,\nthose fallen angels of the false paradise of the Institute--weapons that\nlater they did not scruple to use against Rodin. They accused Carpeaux\nof indecency, and in order to strengthen the miserable falsehood, a\nperverse idiot flung a can of ink on the adorable group of \"The Dance,\"\nthat song of the nymphs, clamorous with youth, laughter, and music.\n\nThis digression in the story of Rodin's life explains his whole life. By\nhis manly independence, his persistent refusal to follow the dictates\nof the school, he naturally found himself placed at the head of those\nwho antagonized the official class. Against an opponent of his strength\nand obstinacy the struggle naturally took on new energy. It recalled\nto mind the violence of the famous intellectual quarrels of other days\n--the quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns in the seventeenth and\neighteenth centuries, and that of the Classicists and the Romanticists\nin 1830.\n\nWhen Rodin presented himself at the great school, how, in his\ninexperience, could he foresee the war of wild beasts that rages in\nthe thickets of art? It needed indeed a better-informed comrade to\ndisclose the situation to him. Then his eyes were opened. He understood\nthen that he would only be wasting his time in striving to force the\nbronze doors that are closed against the influences of great nature and\nher triumphant light, the implacable denouncer of the false in art.\nPerceiving it at last, he renounced the thought of entering the school.\nLater he gloried, in the fact that he had done so. Possibly he saw\nthe danger that he would have run of parching his spirit and chilling\nhis eye. \"Ah,\" his friend, the sculptor Dalou, exclaimed long after,\n\"Rodin had the luck not to have been at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts!\" Dalou\nhimself had not had that luck, and despite beautiful gifts and love for\nthe eighteenth century, he had not recovered from the false teaching.\n\nRodin, then, without knowing it, had fought his first battle, the slight\nskirmish to the incessant fight that was to open. After that time the\nname Institute, by which he understood the group of protagonists of a\nbad form of art, took in his speech a formidable meaning. When he says,\n\"The Institute,\" he seems to call up some mythological monster, the\nhydra of a hundred heads, from the malignant wounds of which the brave\nusually die slowly. For him the Institute has come to mean a company of\nable men who substitute dexterity for conscience, who, for long toil in\nobscurity and poverty, substitute a premature eagerness for all that it\nmay bring--profitable relations, orders from the state, fortune, and\nhonors. In his opinion all that ought to come slowly in order not to\ndistract the artist from the study that alone can give him strength.\nTo him the rewards are secondary; true happiness lies in untrammeled\nand passionate toil, in the exercise of growing intelligence that is\ndetermined not to be stopped on the road to discovery.\n\n[Illustration: THE ADIEU.]\n\nAlthough the struggle is less clamorous to-day, it has not ended,\nand it never will be ended, despite the wide fame of the master, now\nknown throughout the world as the greatest living artist. This Rodin\nunderstands. What the contestants now seek to conquer is the public,\nsome for the purpose of obtaining from it consideration and profit, and\nothers an appreciation of true art. One class strives to flatter its\ntaste, which is bad; the other seeks to inculcate a knowledge of true\nart in its own work. At the outset the contest is frightfully unequal,\nfor the ignorance of the public is abysmal. Incapable of discerning true\nbeauty, it relies only on the labels placed by the Institute on its own\nworks and on those of its partizans. They say to a man, \"This is the\nsort of thing that should be admired,\" and straightway he admires it,\nif one can apply this expression of the highest pleasure of the spirit\nto the vapid and dull contemplation that the public accords to the works\nmarked for its approval. No, at best the public does not know how to\nadmire; it does not understand the language of beauty.\n\nAt eighteen or nineteen, Rodin, being wholly without fortune, could not\ncontinue his studies without quickly finding some means of support. It\nwas therefore necessary for him to earn his own living, and at once\nhe bravely entered upon his work as an ornament-maker, and became a\njourneyman at a few francs a week. We need not regret it. This son of\nthe people, by remaining in the ranks of the working-class, consolidated\nin himself the virtues of the class--their courage and industry, which\nare the strong qualities of the humble, and, in the aggregate, those\nof the whole nation. And the curiosity of a superior man for all the\nrewards of the exercise of his intelligence led him to cultivate himself\nunceasingly. His limited studies as a school-boy had not been extensive\nenough to surfeit him; he now brought to the study of letters a mind\nkeenly alert, and with a joy as alive as love itself he devoted himself\nto a study of great minds. He read the poets and the historians; he\nbecame acquainted with the Greece of Homer and AEschylus, the Italy\nof Dante, the England of Shakspere, and the France of Jean-Jacques\nRousseau; but up to that time he had concerned himself with only one\nthing--his trade. He worked as a real artisan, with no wider vision,\nwith no thought of formidable power. He saw only his model and his\nclay; he thought only of these, he loved only these. Thus he had become\na journeyman ornament-worker in clay. That did not prevent him from\nperfecting himself in sculpture. On the contrary, it aided him.\n\nThe art of ornamentation was then considered, as it is still to-day, an\ninferior art. People said, still say, of the sculpture of architecture,\nas of the frescos and mosaic work of a building, that it is only\ndecoration. They declare it in a tone of indulgence that finds an excuse\nfor any mediocrity.\n\nAll this is a profound mistake. Sculptured ornament springs naturally\nfrom architecture; it is the flowering of its fundamental elements. It\nis an inherent part of the whole, as the mass of flowers and foliage\nthat crowns a tree is in a way the culminating point of the whole\nvegetable organism. Ornament demands the same qualities that the\nfundamental architectural structure demands, and fully as much talent\nand perhaps even more; because, as Rodin says, one sees in it more\nclearly, without distracting features, the form of genius. If it is not\nwell done in itself, its function, which is rigorously subordinated\nto the whole, and consists in molding the contours of the structure\nby underlining and marking them off, is reversed. It is then only\nan excrescence, an arbitrary addition. Only mediocre artisans, when\nemployed on a building or a jewel, use ornament capriciously, without\nproportioning and subordinating it to the mass; they weary and disgust\nthe beholder.\n\nRodin and his companions did not content themselves with copying, and\nmore or less distorting, their Greek, Roman, and Renaissance models,\nwhich were repeated to satiety in all the workshops of the world,\nand done over and over again so many times, out of place and out\nof proportion, that they had lost all significance. Their employer\npossessed a beautiful, but neglected, garden, where a profusion of\nplants ran riot. Here were models in abundance. Here, in reproducing\nthese, the young craftsmen refreshed their vocation; they copied their\nornaments from nature; they studied foliage and flowers from life.\nTo do new work, they had only to borrow from the vegetable world its\ninexhaustible combinations of beauty.\n\nHere Rodin, by his cleverness and rapidity, became without a peer among\nthem all, and drew to himself the admiration of his fellow-workers. It\nwas here that he met Constant Simon, his elder by many years, who was\nthe first man to teach him to model in profile. It was one of the great\nepochs in his life. One may say that from that time the two great\nlaws that have given his sculpture its power--the study of nature and\nthe right method of modeling--passed into his blood, as it were. The\nsecret that Simon imparted to him was like a philter that inflamed his\nsoul with enthusiasm. He became intoxicated with the idea of seeing\nclearly and of holding his hand strictly accountable to what his eyes\ndisclosed. And he possessed, too, both youth and an indefatigable vigor.\nHe sketched everything he could, wherever he could. One saw him making\nsketches on the street, in the horse-market, jostled by the beasts,\nrepulsed by men, yet indifferent to all difficulties in his enchantment\nin his discovered prize, at the Jardin des Plantes, where he passed\nhours before the cages and in the parks, studying the poses of the deer\nand the grace of the moving antelopes.\n\n[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS STUDIO AT THE HOTEL BIRON.]\n\nAt that period Barye taught at the Museum. Rodin had become acquainted\nwith the son of the celebrated sculptor. The two had discovered a corner\nof the basement, a sort of cave, damp and gloomy, where they installed\nsome seats made of old boxes and delighted themselves in modeling\nfrom clay. From the Museum they borrowed a few anatomical specimens,\nfragments of the parts of animals, and these they carried to their\ncavern and pored over in their efforts to copy them. Sometimes Barye\nhimself would come to cast his eye over their work and give them a word\nof advice, and then would go away, buried in a silent reverie. He was\na man of simple habits, with the appearance of a college tutor, in his\nwell-worn coat, but giving an impressive suggestion of great force and\nworth. His son and Rodin little understood him; they feared him somewhat\nand only half profited by his suggestions. Later the author of \"The\nBurghers of Calais,\" kindled by the genius of the gloomy, severe man\nwhom he had misunderstood, felt a deep remorse at not having rendered to\nBarye, while living, the homage of admiration which the master merited,\nand which perhaps would have been sweet to his solitary heart.\n\nRodin has had only rarely the chance to model animals. He has never\nreceived an order for an equestrian statue, and he has regretted it. We\nhave from him only one small rough model of a statue of General Lynch\non horseback, which was never executed, and the beautiful relief of the\nchariot of Apollo which forms the pedestal of the monument of Claude\nLorrain at Nancy. But though he has not modeled animals, he has many\ntimes sketched them, and he has studied profoundly their anatomy and\nposes.\n\nIt is not so much in the powerful sketches that all his life he has\ncontinued to make with the same daily care with which a pianist\npractises his scales that Rodin shows the chief characteristic of his\nnature, as it is in accumulating these that he has been enabled to\nunderstand relationship between different forms, and to establish the\nunity between the forms of man and the animals, between the mountains\nand the vegetable world. It is by understanding this unity that he\ncan occasionally interpret with a scientific exactness this common\nrelationship. In modeling a centaur or the chimera or a spirit with\npowerful wings, the mythological creature that appears from his hands\ndoes not appear less a transcript from reality than each bust or each\nstatue that has been vigorously wrought from the living model. There is\nno weakening in the points where the bust of the man or of the woman\nattaches itself to the body of the animal, no doubt that the beautiful,\nstrong wings of the angels are as perfectly united to their bodies and\nare as necessary as their arms or legs.\n\nWhen about twenty-two or twenty-three Rodin entered the atelier of\nCarrier-Belleuse. At that time the vogue of this charming artist was\ngreat. He well represented the spirit and workmanship of the eighteenth\ncentury in the knickknack art of the Second Empire. He was a Clodion\nof the boulevard. Besides the spirited busts, some of which, like\nthose of Ernest Renan, Jules Simon, and the actress Marie Laurent,\nwere celebrated, he sent out from his atelier, in the rue de la Tour\nd'Auvergne at Montmartre, hundreds of designs to be used in industrial\nart: mantelpieces, centerpieces for tables, vases, ornamental clocks,\nand decorative figures and groups. Rodin, then, applied himself to\nexecuting for Carrier-Belleuse a variety of statuettes and figures.\nThere was in the task a great danger, for he saw the risk of limiting\nhimself to a facile use of his art that was both remunerative and\nattractive; but his sturdy Northern temperament was able to protect him\nagainst every danger, whether of success or poverty.\n\nCarrier had an astonishing skill, and not only worked without a model,\nbut compelled his employees to work without one. His rough sketches were\nadmirable, but he weakened in working them out. Rodin never trifled with\nhis art. Before going to the atelier he always took care to study his\nsubject in the nude and to fix it in his memory as firmly as possible.\nAs soon as he reached his bench he transferred to the clay the result\nof his remembered observations. On returning to his home in the evening\nhe consulted his model anew in order to correct his work of the day. It\nwas for him an excellent exercise of memory. The true workman is quick\nto turn to advantage all the inconveniences of a situation. I have heard\nRodin relate that often in the course of a quarrel with a friend or a\nrelative he would completely forget the subject of the contention and\nthe anger of his opponent in his absorption, from the point of view of\na sculptor, in the play of the muscles and their influence on the\nexpression of the face of the angry speaker.\n\n[Illustration: REPRESENTATION OF FRANCE--IN THE MONUMENT TO CHAMPLAIN.]\n\nRodin remained about five years with Carrier-Belleuse. What works his\nactive hands accomplished there in a day! One still finds them in the\nshops of the sellers of bronzes, in the shops of the dealers of the\nMarais and the Faubourg St. Antoine. Certainly hundreds of examples were\nbrought there, to the great profit of tradesmen, but to the injury of\nthe artist; for he drew from them only such wages as the least competent\nworkers are to-day content with.\n\nOne may see in the gallery of Mrs. ---- of New York certain little\nterra-cotta busts which date from that period. They represent pretty\nParisian women in hats, whose wild locks veil glances full of spirit and\nroguishness. Creatures of youth and frivolity, they are sisters of the\nelegant ladies that Alfred Stevens drew with his delightful brush, and\nwhich were the charm of Paris under Napoleon III. Who could believe that\nthey had sprung from the hands of Rodin, the austere creator of \"The\nBurghers of Calais\" and of the \"Victor Hugo\"?\n\nBut before becoming the audaciously personal genius that he now is,\nhe was subjected to the most varied influences--influences that have\nbeen felt by the modern sculptors with whom he has worked and those\nthat guided the old masters. He has none the less shielded himself\nfrom the world. He declares indeed, with the authority that permits the\nfreedom, that originality signifies nothing; that that which counts is\nthe quality of the intrinsic sculpture; that if the temperament of the\nartist is truly steadfast, he always finds himself after the necessary\nstudy; and finally that it is of little importance whether a statue\nbears the name of Praxiteles or that of one of his pupils. The essential\nthing is that it is well done, that it appears in a great epoch.\nAnonymous, it proclaims none the less to the eyes of the man of taste\nthe signature of genius.\n\nIn order to live Rodin applied himself to the most varied occupations;\nthus he gained the liberty to labor at his own work for a few hours.\nHe chipped at stone and marble for the benefit of sculpture to-day\nunknown, but then in vogue; he made sketches for trinkets for certain\nfashionable jewelers, and fashioned objects of decorative art ordered of\nhim by manufacturers. Despite a considerable loss of time, he obtained\nthus a true apprenticeship in art wholly like that which in earlier days\nwas obtained by Ghiberti, Donatello, and most of the great artists of,\nthe Renaissance, who were proud to be good artisans before they were\naccounted great sculptors.\n\nThus finally he was enabled to realize his first dream--to have an\natelier of his own. His atelier! It was a stable, at a rental of\ntwenty-four dollars a year, in the rue Lebrun, in the quarter of the\nGobelins, near which he was born. It was a cold hovel, a cave indeed,\nwith a well sunk in an angle of one wall that at every season exhaled\nits chilling breath. It did not matter. The place was sufficiently\nlarge and well lighted. The artist, young and strong, and as happy as\npossible in his stable, felt his talent increasing. There he accumulated\na quantity of studies and works until the place was so crowded that he\ncould scarcely turn himself about; but being too poor to have them cast,\nhe lost the greater part of them. Every day he spent hours moistening\nthe cloths that enveloped them, yet not without suffering frightful\ndisasters. Sometimes the clay, through being too soft, would settle and\nfall asunder; sometimes it would become dry, crack, and crumble. One\nday, in moving, the great figure of a bacchante that had been tenderly\nmolded for months was seized by the rough hands of the furniture-movers,\nand broke, crashing to the ground. What lost efforts! What destroyed\nbeauty! Even to-day when the artist speaks of it his heart bleeds anew.\n\nAt that time he carried about the ateliers of Paris a design to which he\ngave the name of \"The Man with the Broken Nose.\" Struck by the curious\nface of an old shepherd, flat-nosed, with every appearance of a slave\nthat had been crushed under heel, Rodin made a bust of the man and\nstrove to portray the energy and imposing simplicity that had astonished\nhim in the antique busts and the statue of \"The Knife-Grinder\" that he\nhad seen in the galleries of the Louvre. The solidity of the design,\nthe patience shown in the composition, and the strength of the details\ncooeperated in producing an admirable whole. The wrinkles of the\nforehead, the creased eyelids, the deep furrows of the face converged\ntoward the base of the broken nose in an expression of old age and\nhardship, presenting an admirable head of a Thessalian shepherd. Alas!\none frosty day the clay contracted, and the skull of \"The Man with\nthe Broken Nose\" fell to the ground, leaving only the face. Rodin did\nnot make over the composition. Too honest to restore the skull by\napproximation, he contented himself with modeling the face, to-day\nbecome famous.\n\nHe cast it in plaster, and sent it to the Salon of 1864. There it\nwas rejected. Thus the opposition that had closed the door of the\nBeaux-Arts against him was renewed at his first attempt to take rank\namong contemporary artists. The reason was the same; it will always\nand invariably be the same: this sculptor of the naked truth, this\nfervent lover of nature, offends, shocks, and wounds the majority of\nthe followers of formulas, the imitators of the past, the makers of\nsmooth and pretty wares, things without conscience or significance. The\nartist remains alone with his deception. The day has not yet come\nwhen enlightened amateurs can understand in which school true talent\nis to be found, when they are able to renounce the moldings on nature,\nthe theatrical postures, the irritating silliness of figures a thousand\ntimes repeated.\n\n[Illustration: THE MAN WITH THE BROKEN NOSE.]\n\nThey will some day learn to perceive truth, observation, strength, and\ngrace. When that day comes they will throw out of the window all the\ntrumpery art of which they will have become tired, in order to collect\nthat of Rude, Barye, Carpeaux, Rodin, Jules Desbois, Camille Claudel,\nthose glories of the nineteenth century.\n\nThe year of the Salon of 1864 may serve to close the first period of\nRodin's career. It is difficult, indeed impossible, to place between\nfixed dates the events of a life that has been an example of uniform\ncontinuity; but nevertheless it is permitted to one to say that the year\n1864 marks the end of the first youth of the master. His preliminary\nstudies, those which one may call the studies of his mere profession,\nwere ended. He was then at the beginning of larger studies; he was\nabout to visit Belgium, Italy, and France; he was about to come face\nto face with the most varied geniuses and examine their work. He was\nabout to question them rigorously, to demand of them their technical\nmethods. He was also about to exalt himself in the presence of these\nimmortal thoughts, to become intoxicated with the desire to equal them\nin science and greatness. From that time on he approached them as a\ndisciple, as a man who had already thought much and comprehended much,\nand who was worthy to study them and follow in their footsteps: in a\nword, as an artist of their own lineage.\n\n\n\n\nSOJOURN IN BELGIUM--\"THE MAN WHO AWAKENS TO NATURE\"--REALISM AND\nPLASTER CASTS\n\n\nRodin worked under Carrier-Belleuse from 1865 to 1870. He remained\nin Paris during the Franco-German War. What influence did this event\nhave upon him? He has said little about it. Although he has a strong\nattachment for his native land, he has none of the extravagant\npatriotism of a Rude, whose great soul was caught up in the flames of\nthe national epopee. Rodin has too contemplative a temperament; he is\ntoo devoted to reflective work to allow himself to be long disturbed by\nexternal facts, even the gravest.\n\nAt the signing of the peace, he went to Belgium, drawn by the promise of\nwork in decorative art. He remained there five years, staying first in\nBrussels, then in Antwerp.\n\nThis period of his life left with him a delightful memory. He was poor\nand unknown, but full of the vigor of youth, and free in how splendid a\nfreedom! He had all his time to himself, without any of those thousand\nobligations that eat up the days of a celebrated man and break down his\nardor.\n\nLife in Belgium was at that time simple, easy-going, family-like. Many\nsmall pleasures made it attractive; the cleanliness of the streets and\nthe houses was a constant delight to the eye; the bread, the beer, the\ncoffee were excellent and cost almost nothing. On Sundays bands of\nchildren, fair-haired, robust, healthy, dressed in aprons very white\nand very well starched, ran about laughing and singing; the women went\nto church; the men assembled in the sanded gardens of the public houses\nto play at ball, sipping glasses of _faro_ and _lambic_. The whole\nscene was full of the charm of intimacy and happiness which for the\nartist served as a sort of frame, so to say, for the old pictures. The\nworks of the Flemish painters are so impressive in all their power,\nin the splendor of their fresh coloring and their gem-like finish,\nthat Brussels, Ghent, Bruges, Antwerp, Mechlin seem to have been built\nand decorated by the Brueghels, the Jan Steens, the Tenierses, whose\ndazzling canvases strike one almost as if they had been the plans for\nthe construction of these queenly cities instead of being simply mirrors\nof them. As for nature, its grandeur and its nobility are disconcerting\nin such a little country.\n\nRodin rented a modest room in the chaussee de Brendael, in one of\nthe quarters of the capital quite close to the Bois de la Cambre.\nHe worked there during the whole of the day; his young wife did the\nhousework, went out marketing, sewed beside him, posed for him,\nhelped him to moisten his clay, made herself, as she said proudly, his\n_garcon d'atelier_. He modeled caryatids for the Palais de la Bourse at\nBrussels; for the Palais des Academies he made a frieze representing\nchildren and the attributes of the arts and sciences; he was charged\nalso with the execution of decorative pieces for different municipal\nbuildings of the city of Antwerp. Nowadays the Belgians display with\npride these works, in which, without flattering them, one can recognize\nthe touch of a future master.\n\nIntent as he was upon his modeling work, Rodin did not abandon drawing;\nhe added to it landscape-painting in oils. The Brabant country-side\nis one of the most beautiful in Europe. The Forest of Soigne, which\nsurrounds Brussels, is full of the lofty trees of the Northern\ncountries, splendid beeches, healthy as the bodies of athletes, reaching\nup into the sky like columns of light bronze, planted in regular rows,\ngiving the impression of an immense and solemn temple. Narrow avenues,\nalleys, pierce the long naves; one's soul seems to glide lingeringly\nalong these shadowy paths drawn on to the end by the far-away glimmer\nlike stained glass. The light that falls from above through the\ntree-tops slips down the long green trunks, gray or silvery, bringing\nwith it a touch of the sky. There is no exuberant vegetation, none\nof that undergrowth trembling with delicate little leaves, such as\nthat which makes the spiritual grace of the Ile-de-France, arranged\nfor the frolic of nymphs and fawns. This is the Gothic forest, the\ntree-cathedral, a fitting place for the miracles of Christianity and\nthe devout walk of solitaries. Rodin fell in love with this forest. His\ngrave soul, his youth, which knew nothing of frivolity, found itself\nhere. His nature, so full of self-contained enthusiasm and the profound\nand slowly moved spirit of admiration, not yet capable of expressing\nitself, found its true element under the protection of these age-old\nbeeches. But one corner enchanted him, a verdurous hollow filled with\nrunning water that breaks the austerity of the wood, the valley of\nGroenendael. There the majestic colonnade of trunks opens out, with the\ncondescension of giants, before the caprices of an undulating glade. It\nis covered with a down of grass, like an immense green cloud, always\npure, always fresh, which spring and autumn embroider with delicate\nshoots of a multitude of flowers, like the tapestries of the Flemish\nmasters. Little ponds shyly spread out their mirrors, full of the sky,\nfull of reflections. An old low-built house, entirely white, speaks\nof security, of calm shelter, of good nourishment, in the midst of\nthis verdurous solitude, where one hears only the song of the birds\nand where squirrels cross in their flight like sudden flames. The\nvalley of Groenendael is far enough away from Brussels to be almost\nalways deserted and silent. It was the site the famous Brabancon\nmystic, Ruysbroeck the Admirable, chose in the fourteenth century for\na monastery. At that time the Forest of Soigne sheltered no less than\neleven monastic houses in its fragrant, shadowy depths. At the north of\nthe valley the ground rises and the path leads one to the modest chapel\nof Notre Dame de Bonne-Odeur.\n\nAt this period Rodin certainly knew nothing of the great contemplatives\nof the fourteenth century or of this same Ruysbroeck whom later a\nglorious compatriot, Maurice Maeterlinck, kinsman by election of the\nhermit, was to translate and interpret; but in the peaceful glade, the\nvallon vert, as under the vaults of the great forest, the soul of the\nsculptor rejoined those of the old monks who perhaps still wander there\nat times; it shared with them the religion of this beauty which their\ndumb love of nature had come thither to seek.\n\nAt dawn he would start out, loaded down with his box of colors.\nHis companion followed him, proud to carry part of the artist's\nparaphernalia. He was on his way to make sketches, to take notes of the\nlandscape, to jot down his impressions; but often the day passed without\nhis touching his brushes. It was not indifference or indolence on the\npart of this great worker, but simply that he had not the strength to\ninterrupt his delightful contemplations. Time lost? In the case of\nanother, perhaps. Not for him. His excursion had no immediate result;\nthat was all: but how he would observe, how he would compare, how he\nwould reflect! He was initiating himself in the sense of proportion,\ngrandeur of style, and the nobility of simplicity. He was studying the\nlaws of the light and shade distributed by the columns the true work of\nthe architect. It was no longer school lessons that he was prosecuting\nhere; it was the mighty exercise of personal talent, the ripening of\nhis taste that was taking place, thanks to the technical knowledge he\nalready possessed. The sense of the eternal laws comes only to those who\ncan contrail them through long experience.\n\nLater, when the time came for Rodin to visit the cathedrals, he was to\nunderstand better than any other this art which has sprung from the\nforests of France, engendered by their mysterious grandeur, once full of\nterrors and marvels. The benefit which he derived immediately from his\nacquaintance with Belgium was the experience of those intellectual joys\nand that happiness which await any one who is serious, loyal, reverent\nin the presence of the divine work that offers itself as an object of\nstudy to the assiduous.\n\nAnother besides himself had already received this teaching of nature in\nexactly this place. Rude, whom the Bourbons had exiled on their return\nto France because of his worship of Napoleon, passed several years in\nBrussels and executed there a number of works, among others the famous\nbas-reliefs of the Chateau de Tervueren, since destroyed by fire; \"La\nChasse de Meleagre,\" of which the authorities of the Belgian department\nof fine arts were fortunately able to take casts. On his way between\nBrussels and Tervueren, Rude went every day several leagues on foot,\ncrossing the Forest of Soignes, where he, too, endeavored to forget the\nlessons of the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, on the benches of which he had,\naccording to his own confession, lost many years.\n\n[Illustration: CARYATID--TAKEN AT MEUDON IN RODIN'S GARDEN.]\n\nIn addition to these works of decorative art, Rodin executed a number\nof busts and sketches. He even found time to make a large figure\nmodeled after his wife, a figure draped like a Gothic statue, which\nhe worked over lovingly. It had the same disastrous fate as that\nwhich befell the other one at Paris, and for the same reason; poverty\nprevented the artist from having a cast taken of his work in time: like\nthe \"Bacchante,\" it was completely destroyed. Despite this loss, the\nsculptor was not discouraged; work for him was a happiness which was\nbegun anew each day; he at once began on another subject. This time he\ntook for his model a young man whose acquaintance he had made and who\nwillingly consented to pose for him.\n\nThis young man was not a model by trade, spoiled by the conventional\nattitudes which the Parisian sculptors impose on professionals. He\nwas a soldier, living in barracks near Rodin's house. As soon as the\nsculptor saw, disengaging itself from the clothes, the graceful figure\nof this boy of twenty-five who was not aware of his beauty and did\nquite simply whatever his companion asked him, he promised himself\nnot to abandon this work before he had carried it as far as his skill\npermitted him to go. His model disposed himself in simple attitudes,\nwhich were not vitiated by any pretentious forethoughts. One day he came\ntoward him, his arms upraised, his head thrown back, with an air of\nyouthfully voluptuous lassitude that filled the artist with enthusiasm.\nOne would have said that he was a young hero staggering under the\nshock of a wound. And Rodin set himself to execute the statue of the\nwounded hero. But nature lends itself to infinite interpretations.\nThe sense of an attitude that is well rendered creates of itself more\ncomprehensive ideas. When we contemplate one who is wounded or ill,\nobscure impressions agitate our spirit, impelling it toward ideas\nhigher than those of wounds and illness. It skirts the frontiers of\ndeath, the enigma of annihilation or of the world to come, and all\nthose unformulated sentiments, which in their confused flight haunt\nthe profound regions of the soul. Before his beautiful model Rodin\nexperienced these emotions and transcribed them upon his sculpture. In\nits unblemished nudity, it bears the sign of no one epoch; it is the\neternal man touched in his innermost sensibility by something of which\nhe knows not the cause. Is it his soul, is it his flesh that trembles?\nOne does not know. No knowledge comes without suffering. Rodin, aware\nimmediately of this effect of transposition, in the delicious surprise\nof the artist who sometimes sees himself surpassed by his own work,\nchristened the statue, \"The Man of the Age of Bronze,\" that is to say,\none who is passing from the unconsciousness of primitive man into the\nage of understanding and of love. A few years later he gave it this\nstill happier final name, \"The Man who Awakens to Nature.\"\n\nHe worked over it eighteen months. There is no part of this harmonious\nfigure that has not been passionately thought out. He had to render,\nbeneath the supple covering of the skin, those firm, fine muscles which\npossess the elasticity of youth and its sobriety. In giving the sense\nof the presence of these things, one creates the illusion of their\nactivity. This is the secret of great sculpture and of all the arts, to\nevoke that which we do not see by the quality of that which we do see.\n\"Carefully examine the Venus de Medici,\" Rude used to advise his pupils,\n\"and under the polish of the skin you will see the whole muscular system\nappear.\"\n\nRodin did not spare either his own strength or that of his model. An\nimplacable goddess led him on, his conscience. He did not content\nhimself with rendering only the masses that his direct vision gave him.\nIn this way he would have possessed only two dimensions, the length and\nwidth of the human body. He needed the exact relief of masses, which\nis the basis of _ronde-bosse_, of \"cubic sculpture.\" He studied his\nprofiles not only from below, but from above. He mounted a painting\nladder and looked down over his model; he measured the surface of the\nskull, which, seen from above, has an ovoid form; he took and compared\nwith his clay model the dimensions of the shoulders, the chest, the\nhips, the feet as they appeared with the floor as a background. He\nobserved the points where the arm muscles were inserted, and those of\nthe thighs and the legs. How, after such a rigorously minute process\nof noting his masses, could his work be flat? That became impossible.\nBut the geometric labor, the taking of measurements, was not all. The\nnext question was to reassemble the different profiles by careful\ntranscription. There is an entire school of conscientious sculptors who\nbelieve that they can obtain reality by the simple method of making\nidentical points correspond. They multiply the measurements taken from\nthe model with the aid of a plumb-line and a compass; it is only a\nmechanical process which does not even give good practical effects. To\nunify the manifold surface of the human body, to endow the whole with\nthe suppleness of life, with its harmonious continuity and poise,\nthe personal judgment of the artist must unceasingly intervene. His\nown special taste is supremely what adjusts the elements which are\nwaiting to be unified by him in order to take on animation and to live\none beside another. It is during this last effort that the expression,\nsummoned up by the truth of the ensemble, comes almost of itself to\nthe fingers of the sculptor. If the preceding principles have not been\nscrupulously observed, it seems to refuse to come; it is the reward\nonly of conscience joined with intelligence; it is the fruit of this\nindissoluble union that works in the spirit of the true artist. The true\nexpression is that to which we give the indefinable name of poetry.\n\n[Illustration: MAN AWAKENING TO NATURE.]\n\nSince the creation of \"The Man who Awakens to Nature,\" in which during\ntwo years he had eagerly sought it, this became the characteristic\nof Rodin's talent. He had conquered it for all time; and so while\nhis insatiable will applies itself with no less energy to other\nresearches, that of movement, of character, of lighting, and sometimes\nover-emphasizes them, the work that comes from his hand may appear\nstrange, excessive; it will never be mediocre, never indifferent.\n\nAnd now let us glance at the image of this young man, this proud,\nunblemished human plant. All we have just been saying is forgotten in\nthe force of our impression. The most powerful impression, first of\nall, is indolence. It is absorbed in itself; it exhausts like a great\ndraught of life the veins of those who respond to it. Hence the silence,\nthe long, dumb contemplation, the sense of incertitude one experiences\nin the presence of its beauty. It is not to our spirit that it first\naddresses itself. Its voluptuousness, whencesoever come, enchants our\nsenses; then the intellect demands an explanation, studies it, traces\nback the sensation to its sources through one of those rapid and\nmanifold changes which are the law of such natural phenomena as light,\nsound, electricity.\n\n\"The man who awakens to nature,\" said Rodin, in the presence of his\nstatue. Indeed the body bends over, as if under the exquisite caress of\nthe breezes of spring. The hand rests itself upon the head, flung back\nas if to hold in the somewhat mournful splendor of some too beautiful\nvision. The whole torso is gently stirred by the emotion springing\nup from the depths of the flesh to die out upon the surface of the\nimperceptibly agitated muscles. He leans lightly backward, bending like\na bow and at the same time like a traveler walking toward the dawn;\nhe is drawn on by the desire to renew this inner emotion that swells\nhis human heart almost to the bursting-point. By this double movement\nreconstituting life, the action does not interrupt itself. It evokes\nthe past and the future; the obscure shadows out of which this soul is\nendeavoring to emerge and the bright regions toward which it advances.\n\nAuguste Rodin was at this time thirty-five years old. In the career\nof the artist, this admirable figure has a special significance, that\nof something symbolic. It marks one of the happiest phases of the\nsculptor's life, the period of revelation through which he had just been\nliving during his sojourn by the forest of Groenendael. He, too, had\nawakened to Nature in the heart of the sacred wood; he, too, had come to\nknow the somewhat dazzling torment of a being fully awake to the beauty\nof the world. This beauty he had at last penetrated; he felt it with all\nthe strength of a ripened heart, he adored it; he made it his religion.\n\nSuch is the inner history of this statue. There is another, a history of\nthe anecdotal sort, which is well known to-day, but which it is proper\nto recall in a complete biography of the master.\n\nThe adventure of \"The Age of Bronze\" was the first resounding battle\nthat Rodin fought in his struggle for the cause of art. It was a\nvictory, but only after great combats.\n\nThe plaster model appeared in the Salon of 1877. Before this proud and\nspirited figure a number of visitors paused, ravished by a sensation\nthat was absolutely new. In itself there was nothing clamorous, no\nattempt to attract attention by extravagance of gesture or exaggerated\nexpression--quite the contrary; the fragrance of a shy beauty, an\nidyllic freshness, mingled with the passionate poetry of a virile,\nartistic conscience, an exquisite sense of measure, a delightful\nelegance characteristically French, of the north of France, grave and\nrestrained, and with a something hitherto unseen, a vigor till then\nunknown diffused through this adolescent flesh, irradiating it with\ntenderness, with a noble charm, a caressing sadness.\n\nImmediately the rumor began to circulate, welcomed here, spurned there,\nby the world of professionals, amateurs, and journalists: the anatomy\nof the new work was too exact, its modeling too precise for it to be an\ninterpretation of the model; it was a cast from nature, and the sculptor\nwho gave out as the result of his own labor this mechanical copy of a\nhuman body was nothing but an impostor.\n\nWhat does it matter? thought the public in its up-and-down common sense.\nThere are plenty of fine casts from nature; so much the better for the\nname of Rodin if he has been particularly successful in this line.\n\nBut Rodin was indignant. This nude, so obstinately worked over, a cast!\nThat he should have committed such a deception, he the scrupulous molder\nof clay! Oh, he knew well enough that most of the great modern sculptors\ndo not burden themselves with so many scruples and lend themselves too\noften to the hasty method of taking casts; he condemned it with all the\nforce of his own probity. He knew well that in this very Salon of 1877\nmore than fifty pieces of sculpture about which nothing was said owed\ntheir existence to this malpractice of which he was accused and of which\nhe would never be guilty, because he considered it the very negation\nof art. For of course taking casts is nothing but the reproduction\nof nature in its immobility. By means of it one is able to take the\nimpression of forms, but one cannot grasp movement or expression. It\nis possible to take the mold of an arm, a leg, an inert body; one can\ntake a good cast of the stiffened mask of the dead; one cannot calculate\nthrough the medium of the plaster the attitude and the modifications of\nform of a man walking or falling or the eloquence of a face lighted up\nby the reflection of the inner mind. This transcription of the whole\nis the exclusive privilege of the artist. He alone seizes and fixes\nthe general impression; for it is made up not only of the immediate\nmovement, but of that which precedes and that which follows. His eye\nalone registers the rapid succession, and his skill reproduces it. While\nthe cast, like the photograph, only constitutes a unity detached from\nthe whole, sculpture from nature reestablishes the whole itself and\nrepresents the uninterrupted vibration which is life.\n\nThat explains how there happen to be, on the one hand, so many\nhard figures, weak and cold images, turned out hastily by lazy and\nconscienceless sculptors, and, on the other, those works that possess a\ncharm that is mysterious to those who know nothing of its source, who\nare unaware of this method of observation and labor which a supreme\neffort veils in the easy grace and the apparent facility that enchants\nus in the things of nature.\n\nThe accusation brought against Rodin became more definite. There was a\nveritable upheaval of opinion in the world of the Salons. He protested,\nwith the firmness of an artist resolved to suffer no blot upon his\nhonor. He insisted upon receiving justice. Unknown, without means of\nsupport, without fortune, he might well have waited a long time for it.\nHe turned toward Belgium, seeking defenders in the country where he had\nmade \"The Age of Bronze\"; but the academic virus did not spare him; the\nofficial sculptors remained deaf to the appeal of their confrere. For\nthat matter, where did he come from, this ambitious stone-cutter who\nclaimed the title of sculptor without waiting on the good pleasure of\nthe pontiffs?\n\nRodin's model alone, the young soldier of Brussels, became indignant at\nthe affront to his sculptor. He wanted to hasten to Paris and exhibit\nhimself naked before the eye of the jury of honor which had just been\nconstituted and cry out to them that he had posed nearly two years for\nthe artist who had been so unjustly attacked. But nothing is simple. He\nhad posed, thanks to the special good will of the captain commanding the\ncompany to which he belonged, and in defiance of military regulations.\nTo reveal this fact would be to compromise the officer, and so he had to\nremain silent.\n\nRodin had photographs and casts taken from his model and sent them\nto the experts. All this was costly and uncertain. It was only after\nmonths of waiting that they were examined. On the jury were several art\ncritics, including Charles Iriarte, a learned writer and distinguished\nmind, and Paul de Saint-Victor, author of the \"Deux-Masques,\"\nthe sumptuous writer of so much brilliant prose. Alas! the most\ninsignificant sculptor, provided he had only been sincere, could have\nsettled Rodin's case a hundred times better. A man of his own trade,\npossessing the elements of justice, would have immediately decided the\nquestion according to the facts, while the critics and writers relied\nwholly upon personal impressions, and, to the great bitterness of the\nsculptor, when they delivered an opinion they did not altogether reject\nthe accusation that he had taken casts, allowing doubt to rest upon the\nhonesty of Rodin. He himself did not know what to do next. Chance was\nmore favorable to him than men.\n\nAt that time he was executing for a great decorator some ornamental\nmotives destined for one of the buildings of the Universal Exposition\nof 1878. The sculptor, Alfred Boucher, a pupil of Paul Dubois, came\none day on a business errand to see the decorator. In the studios he\nnoticed Rodin at work on the model of a group of children intended for\na cartouche. Boucher, who knew about the accusation that hung over\nhim, observed him with the liveliest interest. He witnessed the rapid,\nskilful, amazingly dexterous execution producing under his very eye\na tender efflorescence of childish flesh on the firm and perfectly\nconstructed little bodies. _And Rodin was working without models!_\nAlfred Boucher was a product of the Ecole; he had taken the _grand prix\nde Rome_; he was ten years younger than Rodin; but he was an honest man;\nhe hastened to relate to his master, Paul Dubois, what he had seen. The\ncreator of the \"Florentine Singer\" and \"Charity\" in his turn wished to\nsee things for himself. With Claude Chapu he went to the decorator's\nand both of them decided then and there that the hand that molded so\nskilfully from memory the figures of the cherubs was certainly capable,\nin its extraordinary knowledge of human anatomy, of having executed that\nof \"The Age of Bronze.\" Thereupon they convinced their confreres and\ndecided to write the under-secretary of state a solemn letter in which\nall of them, answering for the good faith of Rodin, declared that he\nhad made a beautiful statue and that he would become a great sculptor.\nThe letter was signed by Carrier-Belleuse, Paul Dubois, Chapu, Thomas\nDelaplanche, Chaplin Falguiere.\n\n[Illustration: BUST OF THE COUNTESS OF W----.]\n\nThis tempered considerably the rancor of the artist.\n\nIt is a strange fact that for years he underrated this statue. In 1899\nhe gave his first great exhibition of all his work. It was to the Maison\nd'Art of Brussels that the honor of this project was due, and it was\ncarried out in a style and with a good taste which no later exhibition\nof the master has surpassed, or even attained.\n\nAs he had charged me with the supervision of the sending off of his\nworks, to the number of fifty, I begged him to include among them \"The\nAge of Bronze.\" I hoped that the public, and especially the artists of\nBelgium, might be able to study the evolution of his technique through\nhis typical works, executed at different periods of his career. Nothing\ncould induce him to consent to it. He declared that in twenty years\nhis modeling had undergone a complete transformation, that it had\nbecome more spacious and more supple, and that the exhibition of this\nstatue could serve no purpose and be of good to nobody. I urged him to\ngo and look at it again. The bronze, sent to the Salon of 1880, with\nthe plaster figure of \"St. John the Baptist in Prayer,\" awarded, oh\nsplendor of official miserliness! a medal of the third class, had been\nbought by the state a few years later and set up in a corner of the\nLuxembourg Gardens, an out-of-the-way corner, but one that the light\nshadows of the young trees made charming. The master refused. Two or\nthree years afterward, one morning while we were talking, I led him\nunsuspecting toward this little grove. Thinking of something else he\nlifted his Head, casting an indifferent glance at the solitary bronze.\nSurprised, he examined it, while a happy emotion lighted up his face;\nthen he walked slowly around it. Finally he admitted quietly that he\nhad been mistaken, that the statue seemed to him really beautiful, well\nconstructed, and carefully sculptured. In order to comprehend it he had\nhad to forget it, to see it again suddenly, and to judge it as if it had\nbeen the work of another hand.\n\nAfter this readoption, his affection for it was restored; he had several\ncopies cast in bronze and cut in stone, and it has become perhaps one\nof his most popular and most sought-after works. Museums of Europe and\nAmerica, lovers of art in both hemispheres, consider it an honor to\npossess replicas.\n\nIt was the first of Rodin's great statues, or, rather, the first that\nhas been preserved. Several other works of capital importance serve\nas landmarks in the progress of his talent. Around them are grouped\nfragments, busts, innumerable delightful little compositions, all\ntreated with the same care and equally reflecting the result of his\nstudies; but, as ever, it is the major works that mark most visibly the\npoints of departure and arrival of the different periods of his artistic\ndevelopment. These works are: \"The Age of Bronze\" (1877); \"Saint John\nthe Baptist\" (1880); \"The Gate of Hell\" (1880-19--, not finished); \"The\nCreation of Man\" (1881); \"The Burghers of Calais\" (1889); \"Victor Hugo\"\n(1896); \"Balzac\" (1898); \"The Seasons\" (pediments of stone, 1905);\n\"Ariadne\" (in course of execution).\n\nThese works will be described and characterized, in the course of this\nbook, at the dates of their appearance.\n\n\n\n\nFLEMISH PAINTING--JOURNEYS IN ITALY AND FRANCE\n\n\nDuring his stay in Belgium, Rodin studied the Flemish painters. Free\nfrom the prejudices of the schools, unaware of the theories of the\ncritics, sensitive to the beautiful in every form, following only\nhis personal taste supported by the study of the masters, he ranged\nover the vast domain of art through regions the most dissimilar and\nsuperficially the most opposed. Of course he had his preferences; he\nreturned unceasingly to the antique and the Gothic; but his preferences\ndid not blind him. His admiration passed rapidly from the splendors of\nGreek and Roman architecture to the voluptuous graces of the seventeenth\ncentury. His love for Donatello and Michelangelo did not prevent him\nfrom appreciating Bernini.\n\nAttracted first by the marvelous Flemish Gothic artists, Memling,\nMassys, the Van Eycks, he was later delighted with the homely scenes of\nJan Steen, of Brueghel, of Teniers; he enjoyed them as an artist and as\na simple man who knew the value of domestic joys. Then he was haunted by\nthe sensual pomp of Jordaens and above all Rubens.\n\n[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSE.]\n\nThe triumphant brush of Rubens sculptured as much as it painted. The\nscience of foreshortening and that of ceiling painting, his way of\nmodeling forms in the light and by means of light--all this brought his\nart into the realm of sculpture; and when Rodin came to seek effects of\nlight and shadow that were new to sculpture, he remembered the lessons\nof the Antwerp master. From that time on Rubens was for him a splendid\nsubject for study and would have fortified him, had that been necessary,\nin the love of drawing; for beautiful drawing leads, to everything, to\n_color_, in sculpture as well as in painting.\n\nFlemish art was not enough to satisfy this thirst for understanding that\ndevoured the soul of the artist now in the full swing of the fermenting\nforce of his faculties. He wished to see Italy or at least to catch a\nglimpse of it. His resources were so slender indeed that his journey\ncould not have been long. It did not matter. He would form an idea of\nthe immensity of its treasure and confirm in himself the desire to\nreturn. He wished also to see France, as alluring to him as Greece, and\nwhose cathedrals are perhaps not less beautiful than the Parthenon.\n\nHe started for Italy in 1875, and he accomplished his first tour of\nFrance in 1877. He set forth. He was young and strong; he made the pass\nof Mont Cenis on foot. He was unknown and without connections. What\ndid it matter? In the midst of these scenes so radiant with memories of\nhistory and art, did he not feel an intoxication such as the soldiers of\nBonaparte alone must have experienced, catching sight of the plains of\nLombardy, where they were to forget the hardships of the campaign?\n\nFor Rodin, Italy meant the antique; it meant Donatello and Michelangelo.\nThe antique he had already to a considerable extent studied in the\nLouvre. Donatello and Michelangelo conquered him at the first glance--a\ntumultuous conquest. The severity of Donatello's style impassioned him;\nthe rigid honesty of his realism, the desire of this younger brother of\nDante to see things grandly, the equal desire to see things simply, this\nGothic genius deeply moved \"in the mid-way of this our mortal life\" by\npagan beauty and touched by the breath of the Renaissance, impressed\nthe French artist and became a dominating memory. From that time on in\nthe most beautiful of his busts, those of Jean-Paul Laurens, Puvis de\nChavannes, Lord Wyndham, Lord Horace Walden, Mr. Ryan, he was to appear\nas a disciple of the Florentine master, not by a literal imitation of\nhis methods, which he thoroughly grasped, but by similar qualities\nof observation and synthesis. Still, this was not until after he had\nmade other studies, while Michelangelo took hold upon him immediately\nand completely and became an actual obsession that might have proved\ndangerous to a sculptor less severe with himself, less determined to\ndiscover his own path.\n\nThe dazzling richness of modeling, the majesty of the great figures\nof the prodigious Florentine, and their fullness of movement--for\ntheir immobility is charged with movement--the somber melancholy of\nhis thought, his flaming and shadowy soul, his literary romanticism,\na romanticism like that of Shakspere, overwhelmed Rodin with that\nformidable sense of an almost sorrowful admiration that all experience\nwho visit the Medici tombs in the new sacristy.\n\nHe studied also the later marbles of Michelangelo, which stood at that\ntime in the gardens of the Pitti Palace and have since been removed to\nthe Municipal Museum of Florence.\n\nEvery one knows these powerful blocks, these vast human forms, only half\ndisengaged from the marble, from which they seem to be endeavoring to\nescape in order to give birth to themselves by a rending effort that\nis characteristic with all the force of a symbol of the tragic genius\nof Buonarroti. \"Unfinished works\"; it is thus the catalogues designate\nthem. Unfinished works, indeed, but why? Was it age that stilled, before\nthe end, the hand of the giant of sculpture? Or was it not rather that\nhe judged them too strangely beautiful in their incompleteness, that\nthey seemed to him more powerful thus, still captive to the material\nthat bound them groaning, as it were, in their tremulous flesh?\n\nThe public pays little attention to these sublime masses because it is\ntold that they are not _finished_. Not finished? Or infinite? That is\nthe question. Far from weighing them down, the marble that envelops\nthem throws about them the charm of the indeterminate and by means\nof this unites them with the atmosphere. The parts that are wholly\ndisengaged enable one to divine those that remain hidden; they are\nveiled without being obliterated, like mountain-tops among the clouds;\nand this half-mystery, instead of diminishing, increases the harmony\nof the bodies trembling with life under their mantle of stone. In the\npresence of an effect so marvelous, so calculated, one cannot cease from\nasking if it was really death or if it was not rather the sovereign\ntaste of the workman that arrested the chisel. While he was fashioning\nhis statues out of the marble itself, with that fury that has passed\ninto legend, did he not find himself, face to face with these unexpected\neffects which the material offered him of itself, in the midst of one of\nthose happy situations by which the talent of the masters alone enables\nthem to profit?\n\nHowever that may be, Rodin was struck as if by a revelation. What the\nprogress of his work had tardily disclosed to Michelangelo was soon to\nbecome for his disciple a principle of decorative art. Instead of\ndisengaging his figures entirely, he was to leave them half submerged\nin the transparent marble. This method, which has become famous\nto-day, seemed an unheard-of thing to those who were unfamiliar with\nthe Florentine blocks; but Rodin has never failed to acknowledge the\npaternity of the sculptor of \"The Thinker.\" Following in his steps, many\nartists have employed this method at random, without possessing the\nessential qualities that enable one to control these effects, and under\ntheir powerless chisels the enchanting device no longer possesses any\nmeaning.\n\n[Illustration: THE THINKER.]\n\nRodin himself waited until he possessed a thorough knowledge of marble\nand the manner of treating it; it was a stroke of fate by which he\nrediscovered the phenomena of envelopment that had so transported him in\nthe Municipal Museum. He had by that time the wisdom to guard himself\nfrom doing anything inconsistent with his material. He followed out\nthe suggestions it gave him, and developed an infinite variety in the\nmethods of handling it.\n\nOn his return from Italy he continued to be haunted by the unsurpassable\nvigor of Michelangelo's workmanship. He sought to discover what was\nthe outstanding gift that conferred upon him this power and this\nmysterious empire over the spirit. Until then, with the majority of\nartists of the modern school, he had believed that the chief quality\nof sculpture lay in seizing the _character_ of the model; but he came\nto see how many works concerned only with expressing character fail of\nreal significance. Since 1830 how many romanticists have sacrificed to\ncharacter without leaving any works that are lasting!\n\nAfter his journey Rodin decided that the strength of Michelangelo lay\nundoubtedly in his _movement_. Returning to his studio, he executed a\nquantity of sketches and even large figures like \"The Creation of Man,\"\nthe title of which, although he had not been to Rome, is a souvenir of\nthe frescos of the Sistine Chapel; he made busts like that of Bellona,\nafter having directed his models to assume Michelangelesque poses.\nFor all this, he did not attain to the grandeur, the soul-disturbing\nauthority of the Florentine master.\n\nWithout becoming discouraged, he went on observing ceaselessly. Far\nfrom imposing upon his model positions thought out in advance, he left\nhim free to wander about the studio at the pleasure of his own caprice,\nready to arrest him at a word when a beautiful movement passed before\nhis eyes. Then, six months after his return from Italy, he found that\nthe model assumed of his own accord the very poses of which Michelangelo\nalone had seemed to him to possess the secret; he realized that the\nsublime sculptor had taken them direct from nature, from the rhythm of\nthe human body in action, and that he had done nothing but seize and\nimmortalize them.\n\n\"Michelangelo,\" he says, \"revealed me to myself, revealed to me the\ntruth of forms. I went to Florence to find what I possessed in Paris and\nelsewhere, but it is he who taught me this.\"\n\nThis does not prevent certain critics from asserting out of the depth of\ntheir incompetence that he has never felt the influence of this master\nand that he has never even given his work serious consideration. Those\nwho know Rodin well know that, on the contrary, he never fails to give\nserious consideration to anything which is worth considering at all\nand that his power of observation is the basis of his genius. Always\nseeking a final method, he came back to the idea with which his earliest\neducation had already inspired him and which his self-communings had\nonly confirmed: that the value of sculpture lies entirely in the\n_modeling_. This is the secret of Michelangelo; it is also that of the\nancients and of all the great artists of the past and of modern times.\nFor the rest, through his spacious movements, his balancing of equal\nmasses, the sculptor of the tombs taught him that the supreme quality\nconsists in seeking in the modeling the _living, determining line of the\nscheme_, the supple axis of the human body.\n\nHe himself held this principle of the ancients, of whom he was a\ndisciple, as far as modeling is concerned, while in his composition and\nhis handling of light he is a Gothic.\n\nSoon after his return from Italy, Rodin executed the great study\nentitled \"The Creation of Man.\" In it he exaggerated the rhythm\nso characteristic of the Florentine, the balancing of masses, the\nmelancholy contraction of the body under the weight of an inexpressible\ninner suffering. When one examines the figure, this exaggeration\ncertainly suggests something overworked, something forced, which\nMichelangelo knew how to avoid and which here creates a somewhat painful\nimpression. But later, when Rodin conceived the idea of placing his\nstatue at the summit of \"The Gate of Hell,\" this strained appearance\ndisappeared. Seen thus, a lofty shape lighted up from below, it takes on\ntrue beauty; it is in its right place; it dominates the work and, as it\nwere, blesses it. It has the affecting gesture of Christian charity.\n\n[Illustration: ADOLESCENCE.]\n\n\n\n\nRODIN'S NOTE-BOOK\n\nINTRODUCTIONS BY JUDITH CLADEL\n\n\nI\n\nANCIENT WORKSHOPS AND MODERN SCHOOLS\n\n\n     At a period in which, among the many manifestations of\n     intellectual activity in the nations, art is placed in the\n     background, the advent of a great artist invariably calls forth\n     the same phenomena: a few men of taste become enthusiasts, the\n     majority become indignant, and the public, not being possessed of\n     sufficient esthetic education, and intolerant because of their lack\n     of understanding, ridicule the intruder who has overthrown the\n     accepted standards of the century. Friends and foes alike consider\n     him a revolutionist; as a matter of fact, he is in open revolt\n     against ignorance and general incompetence.\n\n     Little by little the great truth embodied in such a man is\n     revealed. Comprehension, like a contagion, seems to take hold\n     of the minds of people, and impels them to study his art at\n     first hand. A study not only of his own significance, but of\n     the principles which he represents, quickly reveals that the\n     work of this innovator, this revolutionist, is, in fact, deeply\n     allied to tradition, and, far from being a mysterious, isolated\n     manifestation, is, on the contrary, closely linked to general\n     artistic ideals.\n\n     Our aim is to penetrate the doctrines of this master, his\n     method, his manner of working--all that which at other times would\n     have been called his secrets.\n\n     Auguste Rodin's career has passed through the inevitable\n     phases. He, who has been so generally discussed and attacked, is\n     to-day the most regarded of all artists. He likes to talk of his\n     art; for he knows that his observations have a priceless value,\n     that of experience--the experience of sixty years of uninterrupted\n     work--and of a conscience perhaps even more exacting to-day than at\n     the time of his impetuous youth. He says, \"My principles are the\n     laws of experience.\" The combination of these principles embodies\n     his greatest precept; namely, that of thinking and executing a\n     thing simultaneously. We must listen to Rodin as we would listen\n     to Michelangelo or Rembrandt if they were living. For his method\n     may be the starting-point of an artistic renaissance in Europe,\n     perhaps throughout the whole world. Definite signs of a decided\n     resurrection in taste are already manifesting themselves, and it\n     is a splendid satisfaction for the illustrious sculptor to receive\n     such acknowledgment in his glorious old age. For, like every\n     great genius, he has a profound love for the race from which he\n     springs, and feels a strong instinctive confidence in it. Indeed,\n     how should this be otherwise? In the course of centuries, has not\n     this wonderful Celtic race on various occasions reconstructed its\n     understanding and interpretation of beauty?\n\n     Auguste Rodin expresses himself by preference on subjects\n     from which he can draw an actual lesson. He is no theorist; he\n     has an eminently positive mind, one might even say a practical\n     mind. His teachings, unlike the abstract teachings of books, can\n     be characterized by two words, observation and deduction. His\n     are not more or less arbitrary meditations in which personal\n     imagination plays the principal part; they are rather the account\n     of a sagacious, truthful traveler, of a soldier who relates the\n     story of his campaigns, or of a scholar who records the result of\n     an analysis. Reality is his only basis, and with justice to himself\n     he can say, \"I am not a rhetorician, but a man of action.\"\n\n     We hear him chat, it may be in his atelier about some piece of\n     antique sculpture which has just come into his possession or about\n     a work he has in hand, or during his rambles through his garden,\n     which is situated in the most delightful country in the suburbs of\n     the capital, or on a walk through the museums, or through the old\n     quarter of Paris. For in his opinion \"the streets of Paris, with\n     their shops of old furniture, etchings, and works of art, are a\n     veritable museum, far less tiring than official museums, and from\n     which one imbibes just as much as one can.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI use the words of the people, of the man in the street; for thoughts\nshould be clear and easily comprehended. I desire to be understood by\nthe great majority, and I leave scholarly words and unusual phrasing\nto specialists in estheticism. Moreover, what I say is very simple. It\nis within the grasp of ordinary intelligence. Up to now it has been of\nhardly any value. It is something quite new, and will remain so as long\nas the ideas which I stand for are not actively carried out.\n\nIf these ideas were understood and applied, the destruction of ancient\nworks of art would cease immediately. By bad restoration we are ruining\nour most beautiful works of art, our marvelous architecture, our\nGothic cathedrals, Renaissance city halls, all those old houses that\ntransformed France into a garden of beauty of which it was impossible to\ngrow weary, for everything was a delight to the eye and intelligence.\nOur workmen would have to be as capable as those of former times to\nrestore those works of art without changing them, they would have to\npossess the same wonderfully trained eye and hand. But to-day we have\nlost that conception and execution. We live in a period of ignorance,\nand when we put our hand to a masterpiece, we spoil it. Restoring, in\nour way, is almost like jewelers replacing pearls with false diamonds,\nwhich the ignorant accept with complacency.\n\nThe Americans who buy our paintings, our antique furniture, our old\nengravings, our materials, pay very dearly for them. At least we think\nso. As a matter of fact they buy them very cheaply, for they obtain\noriginals which can never be duplicated. We mock at the American\ncollectors; in reality we ought to laugh at ourselves. For we permit our\nmost precious treasures to be taken out of the country, and it is they\nwho have the intelligence to acquire them.\n\nMy ideas, once understood and applied, would immediately revive art, all\narts, not only sculpture, painting, and architecture, but also those\narts which are called minor, such as decoration, tapestry, furniture,\nthe designing of jewelry and medals, etc. The artisan would revert to\nfundamental truth, to the principles of the ancients--principles which\nare the eternal basis of all art, regardless of differences of race and\ntemperament.\n\n\n\nCONSTRUCTION AND MODELING\n\nIn the first place, art is only a close study of nature. Without that\nwe can have no salvation and no artists. Those who pretend that they\ncan improve on the living model, that glorious creation of which we\nknow so little, of which we in our ignorance barely grasp the admirable\nproportions, are insignificant persons, and they will never produce\nanything but mediocre work.\n\nWe must strive to understand nature not only with our heart, but above\nall with our intellect. He who is impressionable, but not intelligent,\nis incapable of expressing his emotion. The world is full of men who\nworship the beauty of women; but how many can make beautiful portraits\nor beautiful busts of the woman they adore? Intelligence alone, after\nlengthy research, has discovered the general principles without which\nthere can be no real art.\n\nIn sculpture the first of these principles is that of construction.\nConstruction is the first problem that faces an artist studying his\nmodel, whether that model be a human being, animal, tree, or flower. The\nquestion arises regarding the model as a whole, and regarding it in its\nseparate parts. All form that is to be reproduced ought to be reproduced\nin its true dimensions, in its complete volume. And what is this volume?\n\nIt is the space that an object occupies in the atmosphere. The essential\nbasis of art is to determine that exact space; this is the alpha and\nomega, this is the general law. To model these volumes in depth is to\nmodel in the round, while modeling on the surface is bas-relief. In a\nreproduction of nature such as a work of art attempts, sculpture in the\nround approaches reality more closely than does bas-relief.\n\nTo-day we are constantly working in bas-relief, and that is why our\nproducts are so cold and meager. Sculpture in the round alone produces\nthe qualities of life. For instance, to make a bust does not consist in\nexecuting the different surfaces and their details one after another,\nsuccessively making the forehead, the cheeks, the chin, and then the\neyes, nose, and mouth. On the contrary, from the first sitting the whole\nmass must be conceived and constructed in its varying circumferences;\nthat is to say, in each of its profiles.\n\nA head may appear ovoid, or like a sphere in its variations. If we\nslowly encircle this sphere, we shall see it in its successive profiles.\nAs it presents itself, each profile differs from the one preceding. It\nis this succession of profiles that must be reproduced, and that is the\nmeans of establishing the true volume of a head.\n\nEach profile is actually the outer evidence of the interior mass; each\nis the perceptible surface of a deep section, like the slices of a\nmelon, so that if one is faithful to the accuracy of these profiles, the\nreality of the model, instead of being a superficial reproduction, seems\nto emanate from within. The solidity of the whole, the accuracy of plan,\nand the veritable life of a work of art, proceed therefrom.\n\nThe same method applies to details which must all be modeled in\nconformity with the whole. Deference to plan necessitates accuracy of\nmodeling. The one is derived from the other. The first engenders the\nsecond.\n\nThese are the main principles of construction and modeling--principles\nto which we owe the force and charm of works of art. They are the key\nnot only to the handicraft of sculpture, but to all the handicrafts of\nart. For that which is true of a bust applies equally to the human form,\nto a tree, to a flower, or to an ornament.\n\nThis is neither mysterious nor hard to understand. It is thoroughly\ncommonplace, very prosaic. Others may say that art is emotion,\ninspiration. Those are only phrases, tales with which to amuse\nthe ignorant. Sculpture is quite simply the art of depression and\nprotuberance. There is no getting away from that. Without a doubt the\nsensibility of an artist and his particular temperament play a part in\nthe creation of a work of art, but the essential thing is to command\nthat science which can be acquired only by work and daily experience.\nThe essential thing is to respect the law, and the characteristic of\nthat fruitful law is to be the same for all things.\n\nMoreover, such was the method employed by the ancients, the method which\nwe ourselves employed till the end of the eighteenth century, and by\nwhich the spirit of the Gothic genius and that of the Renaissance and of\nthe periods of culture and elegance of the seventeenth and eighteenth\ncenturies were transmitted to us. Only in our day have we completely\nlost that technic.\n\nThese rules do not constitute a system peculiar to myself. They are\ngeneral principles which govern the world of art, just as other\nimmutable laws govern the celestial world. They are mathematical\nprinciples which I found again because my work inevitably led me to\nfollow in the footsteps of the great masters, my ancestors.\n\n\n\nTHE TRADITIONAL LAWS OF ANCIENT ART\n\nIn days of old, precise laws were handed down from generation to\ngeneration, from master to student, in all the workshops of the workers\nin art--sculptors, painters, decorators, cabinet-makers, jewelers. But\nat that time workshops existed where one actually taught, where the\nmaster worked in view of the pupil. In our day by what have we replaced\nthat marvelously productive school, the workshop? By academies in which\none learns nothing, because one sets out from such a contrary point of\nview.\n\nThese principles of art were first pointed out to me not by a celebrated\nsculptor, or by an authorized teacher, but by a comrade in the workshop,\na humble artisan, a little plasterer from the neighborhood of Blois\ncalled Constant Simon. We worked together at a decorator's. I was\nquite at the beginning of my career, earning six francs a day. Our\nmodels were leaves and flowers, which we picked in the garden. I was\ncarving a capital when Constant Simon said to me: \"You don't go about\nthat correctly. You make all your leaves flatwise. Turn them, on the\ncontrary, with the point facing you. Execute them in depth and not in\nrelief. Always work in that manner, so that a surface will never seem\nother than the termination of a mass. Only thus can you achieve success\nin sculpture.\"\n\nI understood at once. Since then I have discovered many other things,\nbut that rule has remained my absolute basis. Constant Simon was only\nan obscure workman, but he possessed the principles and a little of the\ngenius of the great ornamentists who worked at the chateaux of the\nLoire. On the St. Michel fountain in Paris there are very beautifully\ncarved decorations, rich and at the same time graceful, which were made\nby the hand of this little modeler, who knew far more than all the\nprofessors of esthetics.\n\nSuch was the purpose the workshops of old served. The apprentice\npassed successively through all the stages and became acquainted with\nall the secrets of his handicraft. He began by sweeping the studio,\nand that first taught him care and patience, which are the essential\nvirtues of a workman. He posed, he served as model for his comrades.\nThe master in turn worked before him among his students. He heard his\ncompanions discuss their art, he benefited by the discoveries that they\ncommunicated to one another. He found himself faced every day by those\nunforeseen difficulties which go to make an artist till the moment\nwhen the artist is sufficiently capable to master his difficulties.\nAlternately, they were both teacher and companion, and they conveyed to\none another the science of the ancients.\n\nWhat have we to-day in place of those splendid institutions which\ndeveloped character and intelligence simultaneously? Schools at which\nthe students think only of obtaining a prize, not attained by close\nstudy, but by flattering the professors. The professors themselves,\nwithout any deep attachment for their academies, come hurriedly,\noverburdened by official duties and all sorts of work; weighed down by\nperfunctory obligations, they correct the students' papers hastily, and\nhurriedly return to their regular occupation.\n\nAs to the students, twenty or thirty work from a single model, which\nis some distance from them and around which they can hardly turn.\nThey ignore all those inevitable laws which are learned in the course\nof work, and which escape the attention of an artist working alone.\nThey attend courses, or read books on esthetics written in technical\nlanguage with obscure, abstract terms, lacking all connection with\nconcrete reality--books in which the same mistakes are repeated because\nfrequently they are copied from one another. What sort of students can\ndevelop under such disastrous conditions? If one among them is seriously\ndesirous of learning, he breaks loose from his destructive surroundings,\nis obliged to lose several years first in ridding himself of a poor\nmethod, and then in searching for a method which formerly one had\nmastered on leaving the atelier.\n\nThat is the method that I preach to-day as emphatically as I can,\ncalling attention to the numerous benefits and advantages of taking up a\nvariety of handicrafts. Aside from sculpture and drawing, I have worked\nat all sorts of things--ornamentation, ceramics, jewelry. I have learned\nmy lesson from matter itself and have adapted myself accordingly. Only\nin being faithful to this principle can one understand and know how to\nwork. I am an artisan.\n\nWill my experience be of benefit to others? I hope so. At all events, we\nhave a bit to relearn. It will take years of patience and application\nto rise from the abyss of ignorance into which we have fallen. However,\nI believe in a renaissance. A number of our artists have already\nseen the light--the light of intellectual truth. Acts of barbarism\nagainst masterpieces cannot be committed any more without arousing the\nindignation of cultivated people. That in itself is an inestimable gain,\nfor those works of art are the relics of our traditions, and if we have\nthe strength to become an artistic people again, to reincarnate an\nera of beauty, then those are the works of art that will serve as our\nmodels, expressions of a national conscience that will be the milestones\non our path.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     Judged by his work, Auguste Rodin is the most modern of\n     artists; judged by his life and character, he is unquestionably\n     a man of bygone days. As a sculptor, he is such as were Phidias,\n     Praxiteles, and the master architects of the Middle Ages; that is\n     to say, he is of all times. One single idea guides his thoughts,\n     one single aim arouses his energies--art, art through the study of\n     nature.\n\n     It is by the concentration of his unusual mind on a single\n     purpose that he attains his remarkable understanding of man,\n     physical and moral, his contemporary, and of the spirit of our\n     age. In the lifelike features of his statues he inscribes the\n     history of the day. They seem to live, and the potency of their\n     life enters into us and dominates us. For the moment we are only a\n     silent spring, merely reflecting their authority.\n\n     Through this secret of genius, his statues and groups have\n     an individual charm. They have taken their place in the history\n     of sculpture. There is the charm of the antique, the charm of the\n     Gothic, and the charm of Michelangelo. There is also the charm of\n     Rodin.\n\n     [Illustration: HEAD OF MINERVA.]\n\n\n\n\n     II\n\n     SCATTERED THOUGHTS ON FLOWERS\n\n\n     In Rodin's statues we find his conception of eternal man--man\n     as he really is. They are molded on modern thought, with all its\n     variations. One might suppose that these beautiful beings of marble\n     and bronze had been named by the characteristic poets of the\n     century, Victor Hugo, Musset, Baudelaire.\n\n     Beginning with the Renaissance and particularly during the\n     seventeenth century, the royal courts were the great salons in\n     which the taste of the day was developed. Necessity made courtiers\n     of the artists, for to obtain orders, they had to win the good-will\n     of the sovereigns, the great lords, and the financiers.\n\n     Art then lost its collective character, the artist his\n     independence and strength. There was no longer the united effort of\n     artists, inspired by love of beauty, to create great masterpieces\n     such as cathedrals, city halls, and castles. The artist wasted his\n     abilities in fragmentary bits, his time in worldly duties. To-day\n     it is even worse. Keeping house, traveling, receiving, exhibiting\n     in a hundred different places, living in great style, carrying on\n     his life-work--all these crowd out the first, and formerly the\n     essential, object of the artist, his work. It is these that lower\n     art to the last degree of decadence.\n\n     Rodin has kept aloof from this manner of living, has avoided\n     these innumerable occasions for wasting time, or, rather, has never\n     allowed them to take possession of him. Modest, unpretentious,\n     traveling little or within a limited radius, the unremitting study\n     of the divine model and of the masterpiece, man, forms his whole\n     ambition, while it is also the source of endless delight to him.\n     \"Admiration,\" he says, \"is a joy daily kindled afresh,\" and again,\n     \"I talk out of the fullness of life; it belongs to me in a sense\n     larger than that of ownership.\"\n\n     In his villa at Meudon, in the midst of his collections of\n     antiques, he pursues this study incessantly. He who is admitted to\n     the modest garden of the great master first beholds with delight a\n     Greek marble in an arbor. At the turn of a path there is the torso\n     of a goddess resting on an antique column; in a niche in the wall,\n     a Roman bust. Beneath the high arch of the peristyle of the studio,\n     the architecture of which blends into the surrounding background\n     as in the paintings of Claude Lorrain, there is a magnificent\n     torso. Finally dominating the garden and the valley it overlooks,\n     standing on a knoll and projected against the clear sky, there is\n     an isolated facade from a castle of the seventeenth century, its\n     delicate balustrades and casements outlined against the blue sky as\n     in the decorative paintings of Paul Veronese.\n\n     These ruins are the remains of the Chateau d'Issy, the work of\n     Mansart. Rodin saved them at the moment when their destruction at\n     the hands of ignorant workmen was imminent, and at great expense\n     reconstructed them near his residence. These fragments, this noble\n     portico, seem as though placed by chance, but the keen observer\n     quickly perceives the correctness of taste that has determined\n     their disposition. Each fragment forms part of an ensemble with\n     the trees, the grass, the light, and the shadows, and to change\n     any of these in the slightest degree would sacrifice some of its\n     beauty. Sculpture at its finest is architecture, and architecture\n     is perhaps the greatest art, because it collaborates directly with\n     nature. Architecture lives through the life of things, and every\n     hour of the day lends it a new expression.\n\n     Innumerable reflections were aroused in the mind of the master\n     Rodin when he essayed to place his treasures: the effect of the\n     changing light on the object, the balancing of values, the relation\n     of proper proportions, the appearance of the object in full light.\n     All these he examined and studied, and he searched into the depths\n     of the language of forms, to him as clear and as mysterious as\n     beautiful music. This remarkable gift for determining the value of\n     the object in its setting--a gift the secret of which is beyond the\n     knowledge of the ignorant--has brought forth that peculiar poetic\n     charm which permeates this little garden in a suburb of Paris,\n     a refuge of persecuted beauty. Here the master confers with the\n     artists of Greece and France of other days. These are his Elysian\n     Fields.\n\n     In Paris, where he is daily and where he works every\n     afternoon, he lives in an exquisite, but ruinous, mansion of the\n     eighteenth century, situated in a rustic, neglected park. There he\n     finds his delight in the study of flowers and applies himself to\n     it with his intense, never-dormant desire for understanding. His\n     antique pottery is filled with anemones, carnations, and tulips.\n     During his frugal meals they are before him, and his reverent\n     love of them arouses his desire to understand them as completely\n     as he does human beings. He analyzes and searches out their\n     details without becoming insensible to the beauty of the whole.\n     He jots down his discoveries, his words picture them; like La\n     Rochefoucauld, he searches into their character; but watching over\n     their life admiringly and tenderly until they wither, he does not\n     dissect them, does not destroy them.\n\n     Is not the flower the queen of ornaments, the inspiration of\n     all races and ages, the very soul of artistic decoration? Have not\n     the hands of genius contrived to employ the most durable as well\n     as the most fragile material to express this delicate beauty in\n     Greek and Gothic capitals, in the stone lacework of cathedrals, the\n     fabrics of gold and silk, brocades, tapestries, wrought iron-work,\n     old bindings? Is the splendor of stained-glass windows aught else\n     than the splendor of a mass of beautiful flowers?\n\n[Illustration: THE BATH.]\n\n     \"Were this thoroughly understood,\" says Rodin, \"industrial art\n     would be entirely revolutionized--industrial art, that barbarous\n     term, an art which concerns itself with commerce and profit.\n\n     \"The young artists of to-day understand nothing; they copy to\n     satiety the classic ornaments and designs, and reproduce them in\n     so cold a manner that they lose all meaning. The ancients obtained\n     their designs from nature. They found their models in the garden,\n     even in the vegetable garden. They drew their inspiration from its\n     source. The cabbage-leaf, the oak-leaf, the clover, the thistle,\n     and the brier are the motives of the Gothic capital. It is not\n     photographic truth, but living truth, that we must seek in art.\"\n\n     Rodin writes his observations. He notes them down at the\n     moment as they occur to him in all their freshness, and in this\n     form they will be given here. At first glance, the reader may be\n     surprised at their apparently fragmentary form. They may seem\n     devoid of general continuity, but when one comprehends the great\n     master's method, one sees that a bond much firmer than that of the\n     mere word binds them together. They seem disjointed because here,\n     as in his sculpture, the artist accepts only the essential, and\n     rejects all superfluous detail. In reality they have the continuity\n     of life, which is felt, but not seen, and which renders arbitrary\n     transition unnecessary. This is the prerogative of genius, while\n     all else is within the grasp of any one. His authority strikes us\n     dumb; it puts to rout mere commonplace cleverness.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI have had primroses put in this little flower-pot. They are a bit\ncrowded, and their poor little stems are prisoners; they are no longer\nin their garden.\n\nI look at them on my table like a vivisector. I admire their beautiful\nleaves, round-headed, vigorous, like peasants. They point toward me, and\nbetween them is the flower. The one on this side is resigned, and as\nbeautiful as a caryatid. In profile it seems to hold up the leaf against\nwhich it leans and which gives it shade.\n\nThese little flowers are not beautiful, nor are they radiant. They\nlive peaceably, gently contented in their misery; and yet they offer\nsomething to one who is ill, as I am to-day, and cause him to write to\nward off weariness.\n\nI always have flowers in the morning, and make no distinction between\nthem and my models.\n\nMany flowers together are like women with heads bowed down.\n\nThere is no longer the sap of life in flowers in a vase.\n\nThe lace work of the flower of the elder-tree--Venice.\n\nThe anemone is only an eye, cruelly melancholy. It is the eye of a woman\nwho has been badly used.\n\nThese anemones are flowers that have stayed up too late at night;\nflowers that are resplendent, with their colors as though spread over\nthem superficially and wiped away. Even in the spring, in the hour of\nanticipation, they are already in the fullness of enjoyment.\n\nLike the flower of seduction, the anemones slowly change their form\noutlined in various ways, always restrained, however, and inclosed\nwithin their sphere. Their petals have not a common destiny: some curl\nup, others are like a becoming collaret, still others seem to be running\naway. The delicate droop of the petals, standing out in relief, is like\nthe eyelid of a child.\n\nAlthough old, that one does not shed its petals. Poor little flower with\nbent head, you are not ridiculous; you are pensive now that you are\ndying. You suffer from the cruelty of the stem which holds you back.\n\nFlowers give their lives to us; they should be placed in Persian vases.\nNear them, gold and silver seem of no value.\n\nAh, dear friends, we must love you if we would have you speak to us!\nWe must watch you or you fall from the vase, despairing, your leaves\nwithered.\n\nThe flowers and the vase harmonize by contrast.\n\nIn this bouquet there are some with flexible stems which seem to leap up\ngracefully. The flower, surrounded by its frail, straight leaves, is as\nif suspended from the ledge of a wrought-iron balcony.\n\nAh, the adorable heart of Adonis is incased within these flowers!\n\nThe hyacinth is like a balustrade placed upside down. A bed of\nhyacinths resembles a mass of balusters. Thus that great invention\nof the Renaissance, the balustrade, allows us to gain through it\na glimpse of nature. This ray of art, the flower, this delicate\ninspiration, unknowingly requires the intelligence of man to develop its\npossibilities.\n\nSuperb is this little rose-like flower among its spreading leaves. It is\nlike an assumption.\n\nThe double narcissus is a bird's-nest viewed from above. Strange\nflowers, like so many throats! What a frail marvel they are!\n\nThese three little narcissi group themselves like a cluster of electric\nlights.\n\nThe dignity of nature impresses us on every hand. It is greatly apparent\nin flowers; and yet so small are they that some look on them merely as\nthe decoration at a banquet.\n\nI will cast a narcissus in bronze; it shall serve as my seal.\n\nA maiden on a lake, that is the narcissus.\n\nLittle red marguerite, not yet open, sister to the strawberry, huddled\nin the shade which caresses you.\n\nThe full-blown marguerite seems to play at _pigeon-vole_.\n\nIt has rained for four hours; this is the hour when flowers quench their\nthirst.\n\nA marguerite in profile, a serpent's head with open jaws, stretching out\nits tongues! Petals, white, like a little collar.\n\nSeen in full face, its yellow-tinted heart is a little sun; its long\npetals are like fingers playing the piano.\n\nThese white flowers are gulls with wings outstretched. They fly one\nafter the other; this one, in adoration, has its petals thrown backward,\nlike wings.\n\nWhoever understands life loves flowers and their innocent caresses.\n\nThese marguerites seem to retreat like a spider that finds itself\ndiscovered in the road. Their buds stretch out their serpent-heads at\nthe end of long stems, divided by intercepting leaves and entangling\nknots. Does not love travel in a similar path rather than straight as an\narrow?\n\nThere is so much regularity in these dark-green leaves, extending at\nfixed intervals to right and left, and in the eternal dryness of the\nbouquet, that it calls to mind a Persian miniature.\n\nNo man has a heart pure enough to interpret the freshness of flowers. We\ncannot give expression to this freshness; it is beyond us.\n\nWhen it sheds its petals, the flower seems to disrobe and go to sleep\non the earth. This is its last act of grace, showing its submission to\nGod.\n\nWhat spirit possesses these flowers that die in silence! We should\nlisten to them and give thanks.\n\nThis red and black ranunculus proclaims the carnival; it is the carnival\nitself. The carnival is the very emblem of flowers. Like them it, also,\nwears masks and costumes. It wears their colors, bright yellow, red--an\nimitation of the flowers of the sun.\n\nDelightful carnival! Delightful interpretation of flowers! For a long\ntime in my youth I undervalued them. I am happy now to see them under\nanother aspect, as the splendor of Rome and the lavish intelligence of a\nbygone time.\n\nSome one gave me tulips. They fascinate me variously. How great an\nartist is chance, knowing the last secret by which to win us!\n\nThese yellow tulips, dipped in blood! What a treat to see true\ncolors--reds, blues, greens, the art of stained glass!\n\nOne is quite taken aback before these flowers, in which nature has\nexpressed more than one can comprehend. It imparts that great mystery\nwhich is beyond us and signifies the presence of God.\n\nHow magnificent the flower becomes as its youth passes!\n\nEven the flowers have their setting sun.\n\nMy bouquet is always the same, yet I never cease to look at it.\n\nA whirlwind, a very cyclone, this tulip has perished in the storm. Like\nthe wife of Lot, it is possessed of fear.\n\nThis one is open, all aflame like a burning bush. That one, all\ndisheveled, comes toward me. Full of ardor, it springs up, its petals\nstrong and expanding, like a mouth curling forward.\n\nThe violence of passion in flowers is pronounced. Ah, the softness of\nlove is found only in women!\n\nGreat artists, curb your curiosity, neglect the pleasures which offer\nthemselves to you, so that you may better understand the secrets of God.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nPORTRAITS OF WOMEN\n\n\n     Rodin's busts of women are perhaps the most charming part of\n     his work. But to say this is almost a sacrilege, an affront to the\n     grace of the small groups that, in this giant's work, swarm about\n     the superior figures. But we need not search too far into this or\n     yield to the pedantic mania for classifying to death. Let us rather\n     look at them without transforming the joy of admiration into the\n     labor of cataloguing, and give ourselves up wholly to the pleasure\n     of seeing and understanding.\n\n     Yes, these portraits of women are the graceful aspect of this\n     work of power. They are the achievements of a force which knows\n     its own strength, and here relaxes in caresses. If some among them\n     disturb the spirit, most of them shed upon us a calm enjoyment,\n     the delightful security that one breathes among all-powerful\n     beings that wish to be gracious. They allay the sense of unrest\n     aroused in us by those dramas in marble and bronze which a powerful\n     intellect has conceived--that mind from which sprang \"The Burghers\n     of Calais,\" the two monuments to Victor Hugo, \"The Tower of Labor,\"\n     that imagination, glowing like a forge, which produced \"The Gate of\n     Hell,\" the Sarmiento monument, the statue of Balzac.\n\n     Here Rodin's art extends to the utmost confines of grace. He\n     has contrived to discover the most delicate secrets of nature.\n     He models the petals of the lips just as nature curls the frail\n     substance of the rose-leaf. By imperceptible gradations he\n     attaches the delicate membranes of the eyelids to the angle of\n     the temples just as nature in springtime attaches the leaves to the\n     rough bark of trees.\n\n[Illustration: THE BROKEN LILY.]\n\n     Great thinkers never cease to be moved by the charm of\n     weakness. The \"eternal feminine\" is just that, the power of grace\n     over the manly soul. The strongest feel this attraction most, are\n     most possessed with the desire of expressing it. I am thinking of\n     Homer, Leonardo da Vinci, Shakspere, Balzac, Wagner, and Rodin in\n     saying this. They have created a feminine world, the figures of\n     which, lovingly copied from living models, become models in turn.\n     They haunt thousands of souls, fashion them in their image. In her\n     complicated ways, Nature avails herself of the artist to modify the\n     human type.\n\n     We have some terra-cotta figures of Rodin, modeled when he was\n     between twenty-five and thirty, while working at the manufactory\n     at Sevres, in the studio of Carrier-Belleuse, that accomplished\n     sculptor. They are charming little busts, with the perfume of\n     the eighteenth century breathing from them, treated a little in\n     the manner of Carpeaux, with the velvety shadow of their black\n     eyes on their sparkling faces. One of them, now in a private\n     gallery in New York, has a hat on its head, coquettish, tender,\n     innocently provocative; it is full of Parisian allurement because\n     it is characteristically French. One can find its kindred among\n     certain Renaissance figures, and even among the mischievous faces\n     of Gothic angels. With all this there is that ephemeral prettiness\n     which is called \"fashion,\" that caprice of styles which does for\n     the adornment of cities what the flowers of the field do for the\n     country.\n\n     If Rodin had pursued his path in this direction, he would have\n     been a portrait-sculptor of great taste, and would doubtless have\n     attained celebrity sooner, but a celebrity which is not glory. At\n     that time he was chiefly concerned with copying the features of his\n     models with all the sensitiveness of his admiration; he did not yet\n     attempt those large effects of light and shade which were to become\n     the object of his whole career, and are so still. He has made the\n     religion of progress his own by reflective study. Progress is for\n     him the chief condition of happiness. Present-day philosophies\n     commonly put it in doubt; but if happiness exists, it is surely\n     in the soul of the artist. But it is recognized with difficulty\n     because it is called by an equivocal name, the ideal.\n\n     Let us look at the \"Portrait of the Artist's Wife.\" Here, in\n     this noble effigy, this severe image with its lowered eyelids, the\n     artist passes beyond the promise of his first period. The face,\n     rather wide at the cheek-bones, lengthens toward the chin, where\n     the sorrowful mouth reigns. It expresses melancholy, gravity,\n     dignity, Christian charity. It is rather masculine, and seems less\n     youthful than the original was at the time. It is as if the artist\n     had sought to bring out the character by conscientious modeling,\n     without any softening; all the features are underlined, as on\n     a face that has attained a ripe age. He had not yet discovered\n     the art of softening his surfaces, of blending them in a general\n     tonality, and of obtaining that softness, that flesh quality, with\n     all the shades of youth, which touches the heart in his more recent\n     busts.\n\n     Even then he did know, however, how to gather under the\n     boldly molded superciliary arch of the brows the diffused shadows\n     which, in the future, were to lend mystery and distance to most\n     of his portraits. This mask is all that remains of a standing\n     figure dressed in the manner of Gothic figures. Rodin was then\n     living in Brussels, still young, poor, and unknown, but happy.\n     He tasted the perfect happiness of long days of absorbing labor,\n     of that enthusiasm for work which nothing disturbs. To-day he\n     sometimes yearns for those years free from the never-ceasing bustle\n     of a celebrated man's existence, a giant assailed by a thousand\n     pin-pricks. Yet his poverty was excessive, for the beautiful\n     statue, modeled during successive months with much love, fell to\n     pieces. For want of money, the sculptor had not been able to have\n     it cast.\n\n     Among his women's busts, one of the most famous and one which\n     remains among the most beautiful is that of Madame Morla Vicunha.\n     It dates back about twenty-five years, but it is resplendent in\n     eternal youth. Since then Rodin has added to his knowledge and\n     experience. He has made personal discoveries in the plastic art.\n     He has become the master of color in sculpture. Nevertheless, this\n     portrait, as it stands, remains an adorable masterpiece. Who that\n     has looked at its softly gleaming marble in the Luxembourg has not\n     been overcome by a long dream of tenderness, of uneasy curiosity?\n     Who has not hoped to make this woman speak, to press her heart in\n     order to draw from her a confession of her desires, the secret of\n     her happiness and her melancholy?\n\n     It is more than a bust, it is woman herself. Because the\n     beautiful shoulder slips tremulously from the heavy mouth, which\n     lies against the smooth, polished flesh; because this shoulder\n     rises again toward the head, slightly bent and inclined, as if to\n     draw toward it some loved one; because the neck swells like that of\n     a dove, and the head is stretched forward to offer a kiss, we seem\n     to catch a glimpse of the whole body and its delicate curves. It is\n     a beautiful bust. I should like to see it alone in a room hung with\n     dim tapestries, drawing forth its charm like a long sigh, which\n     nothing should disturb. This masterpiece demands the distinction of\n     solitude.\n\n     How beautifully modeled the head is in its firm delicacy!\n     The framework of the narrow skull appears under the texture of\n     hair fastened over it like a rich handkerchief. We can almost see\n     the impatient hand, trembling with feeling, that has twisted the\n     firm knot under the nape of the neck. Everywhere, level with the\n     temples, at the bridge of the nose,--the aquiline nose marking the\n     Spaniard of race,--this bony framework stands out. The face catches\n     a feverish character from it, tortured by the longing for intimate\n     expression, and reveals a being with whom happiness borders closely\n     upon sorrow. The nostrils tremble as if to the perfume of the\n     flowers pressed voluptuously against the warm bosom. The mouth\n     is at once mobile and firm, and all the curves of the features\n     converge toward it--toward the kiss which causes it to swell softly.\n\n     The light steals gently into every line and fold of the face.\n     It borders the eyelids, glides under the brows, outlines the bridge\n     of the nose and the nostrils, emphasizes the opposed arches of\n     the lips. It spreads like a spring, separating into a thousand\n     streams. It is a network, like the tracery of the woman's nerves\n     made visible. It is as if the sculptor and the light had begun a\n     dialogue--a dialogue kept up with endless graces and coquetries.\n     He contradicts it, refutes it; it escapes, returns. He gathers it\n     up, as if to force it into the sinuous folds of the figure. Again\n     it flees, and then, summoned back, it returns cautiously, and at\n     last bathes the statue in generous caresses.\n\n     This bust will live. In its enigmatic grace it will become\n     more and more the expression of the woman who loves, just as \"La\n     Gioconda\" (\"Mona Lisa\") is the expression of the woman who is\n     loved. The one is all instinct, the other all spirit. The one\n     offers herself; the other promises herself. The one is tenderness\n     directed toward the past; the other smiles toward the future.\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MADAME MORIA VICUNHA.]\n\n     In the same gallery of the Luxembourg, there is that other\n     famous head called \"La Pensee.\" What a contrast! It is strangely\n     bound within a block of marble, placed like a living head on a\n     block. And yet it tells only of the slightly resigned calm of\n     meditation, or of melancholy, without bitterness, of long autumn\n     days, with their diffused brilliancy. The outlines are firm,\n     regular, placid, of remarkable moderation in their distinction. The\n     head leans forward, because thought is a weighty matter. The brow\n     and the eyes are the dominant features. On them the sculptor has\n     focused all the light not only in the high lights, but in the still\n     surface as well.\n\n     The caprice of the artist has covered this head with a light\n     peasant-cap. This hides the details of the hair, and concentrates\n     the glance on the face. \"Caprice\" expresses the idea badly, for\n     it is taste and the will of the artist that have directed all.\n     These dreamy features express the practical mysticism of women,\n     the effort of intelligent devotion. It makes one think of St.\n     Genevieve, of Jeanne d'Arc, of the overwhelming courage of a weak\n     being carried beyond and out of herself by a great purpose.\n\n     \"La Pensee\" has the striking character that almost all the\n     busts of Rodin assume in the future, and which they owe on the\n     one hand to their intense lifelikeness, and on the other to the\n     atmosphere with which the sculptor surrounds them. There are no\n     hard-and-fast limits which separate them from the circumambient\n     air; on the contrary, they are bathed in it. The \"blacks,\" which\n     give a hard, dry look when used to excess, are handled marvelously.\n     The women's busts, especially, almost start up before us with this\n     slightly fantastic look of life increased tenfold, with the charm\n     of phantoms of marble, monumental, and yet as light as beautiful\n     mists.\n\n     These effects of light and shadow perhaps harmonize best with\n     the softness and delicacy of the feminine flesh. They convey to us\n     naturally the mystery of an inner life more secret, more intimate\n     than that of man.\n\n     Even with works that are similar, the public does not\n     recognize their common origin. It sees the result of an\n     extraordinary amount of observation and intelligence, yet it does\n     not reflect more than a child. For the public the sculptor, whoever\n     he may be, is a creature of instinct, with a trained eye and hand,\n     but without mind and culture. He is a sculptor, that is all. A\n     common proverb strengthens the belief in this lasting folly. It\n     may be told, then, that the master with whom we are here dealing\n     studies his models not only as a sculptor, but as a writer studies;\n     that often his hand drops the chisel for the pencil, in order to\n     set down his observation more exactly, to search even further into\n     nature.\n\n     Perhaps the public will at last grasp the fact that the true\n     artist, under penalty of ceasing to be one, must, above all, expend\n     an amount of attention of which other men are incapable, and that\n     it is by this power of attention that the strength of intelligence\n     is measured. For example, Rodin is facing his model, a young\n     woman stretched out in an attitude of repose. He writes, and in\n     his style we find all the power of the great draftsman. He marks\n     the outlines, he specifies the details, slowly, patiently, with\n     pertinacity. He never confuses the impression, always so ready to\n     elude one--the impression, the divine reward of the artist.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe dazzling splendor revealed to the artist by the model that divests\nherself of her clothes has the effect of the sun piercing the clouds.\nVenus, Eve, these are feeble terms to express the beauty of women.\n\nThe head leans to one side, the torso to the other, both inclining\nindolently, gracefully. This body has been glorified. The contours\nflow, descend, repose, like immortality personified. The breasts follow\nthe same curve. The flowing lines are all in the same direction.\nUnchangeable, heaving above the half-opened screen of the dress, the\nbreath scarcely lifts them. It does not stir or agitate them.\n\nThe beautiful human monument is balanced in repose. It is unassailable.\nIt is the gradation of contours.\n\nI do not draw them, but I see them in place, and my spirit is content,\naccustoms itself to the impression. In memory I still make drawings of\nthis model, and these moving lines are repetitions, done over again a\nhundred times; for I repeat the drawing constantly, like a caress.\n\nThis torso resigns itself, like an Ariadne whose contours melt away in\nthe evening, in the dark. But the lightning of day has flashed there.\nIt is there always. It is now the pale gleam of flesh. My mind, carried\nalong, takes this form as its model.\n\nThe hand, the arm, support the head, the sidelong glance from which\nis so full of sweetness. One might call it a \"Mona Lisa\" reposing.\nThis head feels the need of resting on the supporting hand, a delicate\nsupport like the handle of a vase. Like an urn about to pour out its\nwater, its thought, it inclines.\n\nLying back on the cushion, the head is in high relief. The features are\nplaced according to their due regard, which is the very soul of balance.\nIt has made the eyes symmetrical; the eyebrows straight; the nose, where\nbeauty and symmetry meet, expressive of a wholesome conformity.\n\nWhen a woman is very beautiful, she has the head of a lion. From the\nlion is copied that splendid regularity of the eyes, which the oval of\nthe face accentuates. The tawny mane is also lion-like in its regularity\nand majesty, without any other expression.\n\nArches are formed without effort of all the parts of the eye. The hinges\nof the eyes open and close. The open mouth keeps back neither the\nthoughts nor the words that have been spoken. There is no need for her\nto speak. Her age, her thoughts, all is a confession here--the features,\nthe arch of the frank, noble mouth, as well as the form of the nose and\nthe sensitive nostrils.\n\nAnd this infantile glance under a woman's eyelid! Our soul demands\nthat, by an agreement with the heavens, the feminine glance should be\ncelestial.\n\n[Illustration: LA PENSEE.]\n\nHow I bathe in the calm beauty of these eyes, with their regular\ndrawing! How they themselves declare their tranquil joy! Sometimes eyes\nlike these seem to be inhabited by spirits. They close, and I see the\nhorizontal lashes, the lower lid, which just rests against the upper. I\nsee as a whole the soft oval of these long eyes, the double circle of\nthe lids themselves, and the circle beneath, so modest now, but which\none calls the circle of love.\n\nThe eyeball in moving shows the clear pupil, and all about it press the\ncircles of the delicate lids. The soul finds a refuge in these secret\nhiding-places, and throws out its circles of attraction like a lasso.\nThis sensuous soul is the soul of beautiful portraits.\n\nThe cheeks curve against the socket of the eye; the double arch of the\nbrows prolongs itself behind them. The surface of the cheeks extends to\nthe extremity of the nose, forms a double depression by the sinking of\nthe cheek, which grows hollow toward the convex lip, and surrounds the\nmouth and the two lips. These facial lines and surfaces all stop at the\nchin, toward which all the curves converge.\n\nThe facial expressions proceed from, spread, and move in another circle.\nThey all disappear in the cheeks, just as do the movements of the mouth.\nOne curve passes down from the ear to the mouth; a small curve draws\nback the mouth and also the nose a little. A circle passes under the\nnose, the chin, to the cheekbones; a deep curve, which starts back to\nthe cheekbone, cuts in a small hollow to the eyebrow. The features are\ndistinct; but when they move, they merge into one another. The smile\npasses over the face by a circle defining the mouth. The edge of the\nmouth is defined by a mezzotint at the point of union.\n\nThe loose hair surrounds the cheek, and the head seems like a golden\nfleece on a distaff. It hangs like loosened garlands. How beautifully\nthese garlands of hair are arranged, with the profile in a three-quarter\nview, standing out against the fine, tawny hair! The impressive harmony\nbetween the flesh and the hair! They seem altogether in accord; they\nlend each other languor and charm; they are united and separated at the\nsame time. These drooping clusters of chestnut-blond hair are a frame.\nOne might call them long flowers hanging from the edge of a vase.\n\nThe neck no longer holds erect the head, which moves in ecstasy. It\ndrowns itself in the wavy flow of hair, which becomes undone at the\nmoment. This inundation of hair, so to speak, what a generalized\nexpression of opulence it is! Before its beauty I feel imbued with\nlove. I am seized with enthusiasm, aflame with it. This gold, this dull\ncopper, is like a field of grain, a field of corn, where the sheaves are\nof gold bound together. These sheaves, slightly disordered in their\nlengthening curves, turning in all directions, imitate the tone of\nsubdued flesh tints.\n\nIn this veil, transparent and  like a dead leaf, the ear is\nhidden in shadow, where the hair flies back at random in strands, twists\nabout, and returns.\n\nO head, beautiful ornament, drooping against the edge of the couch like\na lovely motive in architecture at the edge of a console, you express\nthe prolonged weakness of a lovely languor! The shoulder extends its\nbeautiful curve before the face, resting on its side; the line rises,\npasses near the nose, descends, and shows the red line of the mouth,\njust as the bees continually enter and go out of the opening of the\nhive. The face turns, but the eye returns to me, passes by me, and again\ngazes upon me.\n\nIn it there is the softness of the dog's eye, a spirit which becomes\nmotionless when the tyranny of passion has disappeared. When passion is\nin control, she sucks like a vampire that delicate flesh, which is the\nmodel of calm, the exquisite remainder of calm.\n\nThis crown of beauty is not made for one woman alone, but for all women.\nThey do not know it, and yet all in turn attain this beauty, as a fruit\nripens. This calm is more potent in them than in the most beautiful\nstatues. They are unaware of it, and the men who are near them are\nunaware of it also. They have not been taught to admire. They have not\nbeen educated in the science of admiration.\n\nWhen, in the galleries of the Louvre, magnificent rooms where are\ngathered the collections of antiques, day enters through the windows\nand lightly touches these beautiful sculptures which are the adornment\nof great palaces, do they understand any better? Do they realize the\ncollaboration between the sculptor and the light?\n\n[Illustration: HOTEL BIRON. VIEW FROM THE GARDEN.]\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nAN ARTIST'S DAY\n\n\n     The residence of Rodin, the Hotel Biron, is situated at the\n     extreme end of the rue de Varenne, in the Faubourg St. Germain.\n     The long straight street is lined on both sides with old mansions\n     that lend a distinctive nobility to this district of Paris. The\n     street is solemn, the quiet austere. Only rarely a carriage rumbles\n     by. Like the tide of a river, the air sweeps down this street from\n     the Boulevard des Invalides, which at its other end opens upon the\n     Esplanade des Invalides, like a great lake.\n\n     Now and then one catches glimpses of the spacious courts, the\n     steps, the peristyles, and the ornate, but at the same time simple,\n     pediments. Most of these mansions were, and many of them still are,\n     inhabited by families associated with the history of France.\n\n     The northern facade of the Hotel Biron and the courtyard\n     through which one enters are hidden behind a high convent wall, for\n     in the nineteenth century the old residence of the Duc de Biron\n     was transformed into a religious school of the Sacred Heart. There\n     the daughters of the aristocracy were educated. In consequence of\n     the law of 1904 relating to the religious orders, the mansion was\n     vacated, and taken possession of by the state, which rented it in\n     apartments. Rodin, ever in search of old buildings, in which alone\n     he can think and work in comfort, soon became the main tenant.\n\n     To ring the bell one must reach high. With difficulty one\n     turns the handle of the door, which swings slowly. It is a portal\n     made for coaches to pass through. Under its monumental arch one\n     seems as insignificant as an insect. To the right of the court is\n     the old chapel of the religious community. Its somber character\n     stands out against the neighboring secular buildings. The cold\n     style of Charles X, in which it is built, forms a strange contrast\n     to the charming structure of Jacques Gabriel, the celebrated artist\n     who in the eighteenth century endowed Paris with many works of art,\n     among others this pavilion of the rue de Varenne, the Hotel Biron.\n     Nevertheless, had it not been for Rodin, this building would have\n     been torn down.\n\n     It is a vast mansion, extremely simple, and built on the\n     lines of an elongated square. Its great charm is due wholly to its\n     correct proportions and to the grace and variety of its beautiful,\n     tall windows, some straight, others rounded, and surmounted by an\n     inconspicuous ornament, the signature of the artist. All of them\n     are enlivened by little squares of glass, which are to a window\n     what the facets are to a diamond.\n\n     The spacious vestibule is paved with black and white marble,\n     its ceiling supported by six strong columns. A charming stone\n     staircase rises here. All is in the style of Louis XV, a style that\n     is dignified when it is not delightfully elegant and coquettish.\n\n     The house was to be torn down, and sold as junk; but Rodin\n     was on guard. Ever since he had learned that this masterpiece was\n     condemned his heart had bled, and for the first and only time in\n     the course of his long existence an outside interest took him\n     from his work. He wrote letters, took legal steps, called to\n     his assistance artists, people of culture, and men in politics.\n     M. Clemenceau, then president of the cabinet; M. Briand, who\n     succeeded him; M. Gabriel Hanotaux, one of his great friends;\n     M. Dujardin-Beaumetz, under-secretary of state of fine arts,\n     all listened to his indefatigable pleading. Finally his plea was\n     heard, and the Hotel Biron was classified as a historical monument,\n     henceforth inviolate. Then the speculators had to abandon their\n     idea of filling the park with hideous modern structures, and of\n     disfiguring in six months this unique Quartier des Invalides, to\n     construct which the architects had given years of work and all\n     their intelligence.\n\n     Rodin's admirers soon conceived the idea of converting the\n     Hotel Biron into a museum for the master's works, which they\n     pledged themselves to defend with a tenacity equal to that which\n     Rodin had just displayed.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     I knock at the door of the studio and rapidly pass through\n     two large rooms containing no furniture, only busts of bronze and\n     groups of marble. When I enter the study, Rodin is not here; I\n     glance about. All the details of this room are familiar to me, but\n     they always seem new, because everything is in harmony here, with a\n     harmony which varies according to the day and the hour.\n\n     It is a morning in spring. The bright light sheds its rays\n     on the various antiquities that the master has assembled here:\n     Empire chairs, with faded velvet coverings; a Louis XIV arm-chair\n     of gilded wood and cherry- silk, in which one might fancy\n     Moliere seating himself to chat with Rodin, who, ever ready as he\n     is with a bit of raillery, would surely not have failed in repartee.\n\n     On a round table there is a Persian material, and some\n     Japanese vases filled with tulips and anemones. On the mantelpiece\n     are bronzes from the far East and a statuette of porcelain in\n     marvelous blues that Rodin calls his \"Chinese Virgin.\" On the\n     walls, close together like the stones in a mosaic, are many of the\n     master's water-colors. Their well-chosen tones harmonize with and\n     intensify those of the flowers, the fabrics, and the ceramics of\n     bygone days.\n\n     Scattered pedestals support huge bronze busts, which call to\n     mind warriors of the Middle Ages, and some unfinished pieces. They\n     consist of small groups that, under the eye of the master, seem to\n     grow out of the white marble, and in the golden sunlight look as\n     soft as snow.\n\n     On this table, where Rodin takes his meals and writes, is a\n     Greek marble, a little torso without arms or legs; I know it well,\n     for he showed it to me while murmuring words of admiration. This is\n     his latest passion.\n\n     I enter the garden, where he is enjoying a moment of rest, for\n     he has been working a long while. Owing to his habits as a good\n     workman, he rises at five every morning.\n\n     I pass through one of the big doors which open upon the park.\n     The beautiful view always captivates me anew. The light, the air,\n     the expanse of sky, the magnificent groups of trees, this rustic\n     solitude in the heart of Paris, take one by surprise, inspire and\n     elevate the spirit. Rodin is here, smiling and in good humor.\n\n     We are on the terrace that overlooks the expanse of green\n     and forms a sort of slanting pedestal for the pavilion. Below\n     stretches a broad alley, almost an avenue, overgrown with a rich\n     carpet of grass and moss, which loses itself in the distant wood.\n     Fruit-trees, growing wild, form impenetrable screens on both sides\n     of this alley.\n\n     The grandeur of this park is largely due to the age of the\n     trees. Stepping to the edge of the balustrade, I can see toward the\n     right the dome of the Invalides, standing alone, outlined against\n     the sky, like a burgrave on guard under a helmet of gold.\n\n[Illustration: RODIN PHOTOGRAPHED IN THE COURT OF THE HOTEL BIRON.]\n\n     The northern facade of the pavilion has a severe character.\n     It is the facade which visitors and passers-by see, and for this\n     an elegant simplicity suffices. But this other side, bathed in\n     the midday sun, is meant for friends. All the delicate splendor\n     that the architect conceived is expressed in these stones. This\n     sculptured pediment, this balcony with its console of flowers, and\n     the graceful windows, with their semicircular transoms, are models\n     of elegance. The Hotel Biron is not large, but it is imposing. The\n     blockheads who inhabited it during the last century, blind to its\n     beauty, deaf to its appeal, demolished and sold the wrought-iron\n     balustrades of the windows, balconies, and staircases, but they\n     were not able, thank Heaven! to destroy its innate beauty.\n\n     \"Let us go to work,\" said Rodin. I go back to the statues;\n     Rodin begins to draw. In a little while he will model. During his\n     hasty luncheon he has the little Greek torso placed before him, and\n     he makes notes all the while.\n\n     True genius is as changeable as nature. It finds as many ways\n     of expressing its ideals as it finds subjects. But what always\n     remains the same is the desire to be sincere. Yet the artist, with\n     the best of intentions, is often the victim of his own sincerity.\n     Rodin is no exception to this rule, for even he has had his\n     portraits rejected. \"There is no resemblance!\" people declare,\n     while, on the contrary, the resemblance is too true. With his keen\n     insight he penetrates too far beyond the mere flesh of the model.\n     People are frightened at seeing their hidden personality brought\n     to the light of day, are taken aback at being compelled to know\n     themselves. They consider the sculptor indiscreet and dangerous.\n\n     If, in his portraits of men, he pries to their very souls,\n     if he reveals without pity those of his own sex, his equals, his\n     companions in life's struggle, in his portraits of women he is\n     discreet and respectful. With delicacy he unfolds their delicate\n     mystery. He does not say anything which is not true, but frequently\n     he does not express the whole truth. Genius is ever in quiet\n     complicity with womanhood, and leaves it in that half-obscurity\n     which is its greatest power.\n\n     In the bust before us of Mrs. X---- , one wonders what he\n     refrained from expressing. Surely neither the unusual beauty of the\n     woman nor her air as of an archduchess.\n\n     I remember the day when I saw this bust for the first time.\n     It was in the Salon, placed at the head of a high staircase. The\n     marble was brilliant. Something regal and also lovable attracted\n     those who came toward it. Resplendent in beauty, the shoulders\n     emerge from the folds of a wrap with the proud grace of one who is\n     to the manor born. The small, well-shaped head, supported by the\n     plump, though delicate, neck, is half turned to the slightly raised\n     left shoulder. The hair is drawn up high to form a crown, throwing\n     forward some light strands that shed their soft shadows over the\n     forehead, like a thatching of moss. The beautiful eyebrows, too,\n     lend mystery to the glance of the eyes, so full of sweetness and\n     understanding. The small ear is partly hidden under the waves of\n     the well-groomed hair. The lines of delicate symmetry which run\n     from the chin to the ear, and from the ear to the shoulder, and the\n     coronet of hair, give the bust its distinguished look of race.\n\n     Here we see, too, the firmness of beautiful flesh, hardened by\n     exercise, radiating that spirit of joyous life that springs from\n     a thoroughly healthy body, as we feel it in some of the Tanagra\n     figurines. The quiet reserve which stamps the refined Anglo-Saxon\n     is revealed, but not overaccentuated. The nose is straight and\n     slightly raised at the tip, the mouth frank and regular. Those\n     same changing shadows which beautify flowers, when the sun strikes\n     them through the leaves of a tree, play over this countenance, and\n     bathe it in a variety of delicate tones from the eyes to the chin.\n     But beneath this placid beauty there is a restless soul eager to\n     act, to express its goodness. The chin and the throat retain their\n     look of youth, even of something childlike for those whom she\n     loves; but the thoughtful brow is slightly wrinkled, as if from the\n     intelligent search for happiness.\n\n     This bust, almost Greek in its simplicity, is one of the most\n     purely beautiful that has come from Rodin's hands.\n\n     When we note the facility with which these works are produced,\n     seemingly a natural growth, like vintage and harvest; when we\n     contemplate these fruits of knowledge, we are too apt to overlook\n     the laborious efforts involved, and to forget that a life has\n     been given, drop by drop, to achieve this result in small steps\n     of progress. Even when we know all this, we often prefer to give\n     the credit to external causes, which appeal more strongly to our\n     superficial minds, rather than to that endless patience that is,\n     and always will be, the secret of genius.\n\n     I watched Rodin model the head of Hanako, the Japanese\n     actress. He rapidly modeled the whole in the rough, as he does\n     all his busts. His keen eye and his experienced thumb enable him\n     to establish the exact dimensions at the first sitting. Then the\n     detailed work of modeling begins. The sculptor is not satisfied to\n     mold the mass in its apparent outlines only. With absolute accuracy\n     he slices off some clay, cuts off the head of the bust, and lays it\n     upside down on a cushion. He then makes his model lie on a couch.\n\n     Bent like a vivisector over his subject, he studies the\n     structure of the skull seen from above, the jaws viewed from below,\n     and the lines which join the head to the throat, and the nape of\n     the neck to the spine. Then he chisels the features with the point\n     of a pen-knife, bringing out the recesses of the eyelids, the\n     nostrils, the curves of the mouth. Yet for forty years Rodin was\n     accused of not knowing how to \"finish\"!\n\n     With great joy he said one day, \"I achieved a thing to-day\n     which I had not previously attained so perfectly--the commissure of\n     the lips.\"\n\n     In making a bust Rodin takes numerous clay impressions,\n     according to the rate of progress. In this way he can revert to the\n     impression of the previous day, if the last pose was not good, or\n     if, in the language of the trade, \"he has overworked his material.\"\n     Thus one may see five, six, or even eight similar heads in his\n     studio, each with a different expression.\n\n     Hanako did not pose like other people. Her features were\n     contracted in an expression of cold, terrible rage. She had the\n     look of a tiger, an expression thoroughly foreign to our Occidental\n     countenances. With the force of will which the Japanese display in\n     the face of death, Hanako was enabled to hold this look for hours.\n\n     Little by little, under the sculptor's fingers, the mask of\n     clay reflected all this. It cried out revenge without mercy, the\n     thirst, for blood. A baffling contrast this--the spirit of a wild\n     beast appearing on the human countenance.\n\n     I have one of these studies before me now. It has been cast\n     in a composition of  glass, and the vivid flesh coloring\n     lends reality to the work. This mask is not disfigured by rage. The\n     bloodless head, with its fixed stare, lies on a white cushion, and\n     no one escapes its disquieting influence. Some people shudder\n     when they see it. \"One might think it the head of a dead person,\"\n     they say.\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF MRS. X----.]\n\n     Whenever I enter the spacious room I am irresistibly drawn\n     toward it. My feelings are different every time, but always there\n     is a feeling of uneasiness. I cannot say that it resembles death;\n     on the contrary, it is so lifelike that it is almost supernatural.\n     One might call it a condemned person, a being so terrified by the\n     approach of death that all the blood has rushed to the heart. It\n     is a spirit frozen with fear, the eyes looking toward the unknown,\n     the large nostrils scenting death. The bulging forehead, the high,\n     Mongolian cheek-bones, and the flat nose make the face still more\n     singular. All the lines of the face run toward the mouth, with its\n     remarkable expression. Obstinate, although conquered, it will draw\n     its last breath without a cry.\n\n     Meanwhile life seems to throb in every cell. This head, so\n     like a being that has been put to death, has the soft, pliant flesh\n     of a ripe fruit.\n\n     At night I return to look at it by the light of a candle.\n     It looks entirely different. The shadows vary as I move the\n     candle, and the features grow mobile. How gentle and touching it\n     seems now! It is no longer bloodthirsty and savage; that exotic\n     expression which repelled me has quite disappeared. These features,\n     expressing the innermost self under a stress of emotions, reveal a\n     poor creature that has loved and suffered. It is a pitiable face\n     that has been molded by life. I have seen that same sad, tired\n     expression of anguish in one whose whole strength is gone, but who\n     still makes an effort to understand misfortune in order to strive\n     against it. I have seen it on my mother's face when one of us was\n     ill.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA MORNING IN THE GARDEN\n\nIt is still night; the dawn is just breaking. I open my window to let\nthe refreshing air drive away my drowsiness. From the end of the garden,\nin the underbrush, and now all about me, I hear much lively chirping. It\ntells of the blessing of love, of springtime.\n\nIt is almost day. The blackbird has ended his scene of love; no one was\nabout when he sang his song of spring and harmony. The flowers listened,\nand blossomed at the call of this unseen Orpheus. The air is laden with\nmisty melodies. These songs do not disturb the silence; they are part\nof it. Later we shall still hear the happy call of birds, but no longer\nthese songs of love that proclaim the eternal reign of our mother earth.\n\nNow is the time for sighs of happiness; the flowers consecrate\nthemselves to the beautifying of Demeter, goddess of the under-world.\nOrpheus searches for Eurydice; he calls her, and his notes break the\nharmonious silence.\n\nI must bathe my brows in the vague mist, in the fragrance of the earth,\nin the light of the dawning day. Spacious room, I leave you. I shall\nreturn to you to work, for here only have I known complete silence.\n\nI hurry into the garden, where I find inspiring freshness. I had looked\nforward to it; my whole body was awaiting it. A sprouting twig proclaims\nthe fullness of life. I am freed from the memory of yesterday, born anew\nfor all the seasons to come. In the _palais_ thoughts are more subdued\nand modest, content to be bounded by the splendid proportions of the\napartments--proportions that are correct, but nothing more.\n\nThe flight of time is marked by the song of the blackbird, and, as in\nMozart's music, one cannot quite define whence its charm springs. It\nis everywhere, to the right, to the left. That voice seems to pierce\nthrough the gaps and hollows of the wood, for now one hears it as an\necho, now as a solo, at the farthest end of the wood.\n\nMy flight of steps is my place for reflection, my _salle de pas\nperdus_.[1] At the foot of the steps the verdant carpet, sown with\nlittle stars of green, stretches out. It might be an old Arabian\nmaterial or a rich marble. Bits of earth are to be seen in delicate gray\npatches. The shadow of night still enshrouds the garden in a cloudy\nveil. In the distance, outlined against the horizon, are the bleak walls\nof houses, like huge stones. About me stretches that enormous Babylon,\nthat Paris where my tired nerves relax, where the substance of my life\nis woven, where my heart has found appreciation and no reproach, and\nwhere my mind, imbued with the true knowledge of life, has taught my\nsoul the gracious lesson of submission.\n\nThis broad, beautiful lane is like a Corot, and recalls his nymphs.\nThe bare trees look like limbs. A bright carpet of turf moistens their\nroots. Now a rabbit runs by. In the distance the carriages rumble like\nartillery. This is a fitting haunt for fauns, their rustic arbor.\nThe trees serve as a roof, their green shoots melting into the sky.\nThe freshness of new life is everywhere, and little exclamations of\nadmiration spring from every creature.\n\nWith this universal youth new thoughts are born. In this delightful\nretreat one feels that only an antique statue could add to its beauty.\n\nThe trees expand with vigor, their buds outlined against the sky. The\nrest of the lane seems an avenue of enchantment. Far down at the end\nI seem to see happiness. But no, I am wrong: it is not only in the\ndistance; it is here, all about me, now.\n\nThe slanting rays of the sun strike the trees and the grass; over\nthe lane bluish shadows play. The spreading shade of the trees falls\nsoftly on the fresh green. Those little dashes of blue among the grass\nare forget-me-nots. Those beautiful trees, garbed only since a week\nago, trail their lovely green draperies on the ground, while detached\ngarlands cling to the shrubs.\n\nThe majesty of youth in nature is unique; it is charm itself, an\ninimitable thing. Yet some men of genius have been able to express the\nspirit of spring.\n\n[Illustration: RODIN IN HIS GARDEN.]\n\nThe very soul of meditation dwells in this garden, in this alley of\ntrees. Polyhymnia, the Muse, in her graceful draperies, walks with me,\nand I follow her reverently.\n\nAway from the turmoil, I can forget the constant hurry of our days. How\nwe allow ourselves to be harassed! Reaching out for everything without\npossessing anything truly, we do not even realize what treasures we have\nlost. A few puffs of empty air are not poetry, and seeing happiness in\nthe distance is not enjoying it. What hurries you? Ah, your life is out\nthere, elsewhere? Go, then; but I shall remain here with the antique in\nmy charming garden.\n\nI will sit down on this old stone bench, surrounded by dense shrubs. The\ndead wood is piled in little heaps. The tree-tops form a semicircle,\nand stand out like a pantheon against the sky. The branches bear the\nmarks of lightning and grow in zigzag. The sap of the earth rises in the\narteries of the trees, ever ready to take part in the great festival of\nspring.\n\nNow the charm of the alley consists in the differences of light and\nshade. As the one strives to advance, the other recedes toward the dale.\nThe shadows disperse for the morning, leaving behind their beneficent\nmoisture for their friends, the flowers of this dale.\n\nBefore me, on a knoll, stands a beautiful column, as if in prayer. It\nseems to have sprung from the kingdom of Pluto, and now, like us, it\nstands in the bright sunlight, a part of the out-of-doors.\n\nStone, pure and beautiful material, destined for the work of men, just\nas flax is destined for the work of women. A gift scarcely hidden\nunder the earth, man has seized upon stones with rapture, carefully\ndrawing them from their dark hiding-place, to raise them on high as in\nchurch towers, making them tractable, transforming the crude rocks,\nand appropriating them for masterpieces. Under the protection of man's\nsacrilegious hand, these stones lend beauty to our cities. They have a\ntender sympathy with the trees, the roots of which join their own.\n\nBoth hard and soft stones have a place in man's esteem. Sculpture has\nglorified them. The column is like a tree, but simpler than a tree, with\na silent life of its own. And like the plants which cling about it, it\nalso has its foliage and leaves. The artist who conceived the Sphinx\nmade her to be the guardian of temples and secrets.\n\nThat column there rises up like a druid-stone, as though to converse\nwith the moon at night. It awaits the appearance of man in the solemn\nritual of night, for in its immensity it bears witness that man has\ncreated it. Man, too, has had his part, an ephemeral part, in the\ncreation; his idea strives with the works of God, as Israel strove with\nthe angel. His illuminating thought, expressed in stone, arouses those\nwho otherwise might be insensible to beauty. The hand of man, like the\nhand of God, can transform a soul and make it new.\n\nMystery in which I have lived, but which I understand only now that I am\nabout to depart. The marvel of it all! And to think that one must leave\nit! Well, that is the lot of all other living creatures.\n\nAnd now the blue of the sky has grown darker, without a shadow, while\nbeauty itself has taken its abode in these avenues of trees. Now and\nthen passing clouds dim the glory of this splendid youth of nature, but\nthe green is brilliant even in the shadow. High up among the trees, I\nsee a blue river, the sky, while the great clouds, mountains of water,\nare hanging above to quench the thirst of the flowers.\n\n\n[Footnote 1: _Salle de pas perdus_ is the name given to the large hall\nof the Gare St. Lazare, Paris.]\n\n\n\nAN ANTIQUE FRAGMENT\n\nTwenty times a day I walk in front of this little torso. I bring all my\nfriends to see it, for Greek sculpture is the very source of beauty.\n\nWhy am I surprised whenever I look upon this torso? I think it is\nbecause nature, which is behind this work of art, always calls forth\nnew, unlooked-for sensations.\n\nVenus, glorious Venus, model of all women, your purity survives even\nafter two thousand years. Your charm charms me--me who have admirers for\nmy own sculpture. Before you they remain cold; but I, with a spirit that\nsees further--I admit my defeat as an artist, my poor ability vanishes\nbefore your grace.\n\nForm, as I used to express it, seems a mere illusion before the\nharmonious strength of your lines, which embody the very truth of\nlife. Divine fragment, I shall live by you! What days you recall\nto me! Perhaps the last moments of the soul of Greek sculpture,\never-increasingly my Muse.\n\nThis torso shows the suppleness and strength of the joints. It is a\nsumming-up of former masterpieces of the artist. Those endless studies\nthat grow into experience and all the qualities of balance are here\nconcealed beneath the beauty and the gracious inspiration of the figure.\nThe inspired sculptor has just discovered all these qualities, and in\nappreciation has given expression to them with his very soul.\n\nAn antique piece of sculpture cannot be imitated. This torso seems to\nhave a soul. Are not the shadows trembling on it there? One can see them\nmove.\n\nWhat a progress toward truth we find in the advance from Assyrian and\nEgyptian to Greek art! Antique things, if we knew how to look at them,\nwould bring about a new renaissance for us, we who stagnate in the\nParisian spirit. The Parisian spirit, young though it is, is already\ntoo old to serve us. It is like those pretentious monuments, those\nconstructions in plaster, which are hollow and horrible under their\ncrumbling stucco.\n\nGreece was the land of sculpture beyond all others. The subject of\ntheir sculpture was life. The people concealed it under names and\nsymbols,--Jupiter, Apollo, Venus, the fauns,--but behind all these was\nthe eternal truth of life.\n\nThis torso on my table looks as though it had been washed to the shore\nby the loving waves, as boats are stranded on the beach at low tide.\nWhat more beautiful offering could be made to men and gods? For is this\nfragment not an eternal prayer?\n\nThe thoughts expressed in this torso are numerous, infinite. I could\nwrite about it forever. Do I bring these thoughts with me? Is it I who\nput them into the marble? No, for when it is out of my sight, this\ndivinity of life vanishes from me at the same time. Since it ceases\nto be in me, it must be the fragment which possesses it. It teaches a\nsculptor more than any professor could. It whispers secrets to me, and\nif I am true to it, it will tell me more and more; it will transform\nme in harmony with the soul of its friend, the Greek sculptor. For are\nnot the thoughts of God expressed all the world over? Are they not the\nfruitful germs, now growing within a brain, now in a beautiful grouping\nof stone, and now captured by those magicians, the poets? And are\nsculptors, too, not like poets?\n\nWhere can one find more perfect harmony than in this fragment? It is\na monument. And is it not providential? It is only a fragment, yet it\nseems to embody the whole Acropolis. Truth, that lasting joy, fills in\nall that is missing. It is a fact that this torso, which weighs one\nhundred and sixty pounds, seems as light as the woman herself would\nbe, as light as her gracious, swelling flesh. I know contours, but the\ncontours of a masterpiece always surprise me anew. Whenever I see you,\nbeautiful little torso, my eyes and my soul feast on you. Masterpiece,\nyou are my master, too.\n\nIf, as they say, stones have fallen from heaven, this surely must be one\nof them. I leave it in the condition in which I found it, as it first\nappealed to me, with all its charm, as I carried it in my arms to this\ntable. The changing lights of day mold it; but I shall not touch it, I\nshall not change it. It is truth itself, and it shines in no matter what\nsurroundings.\n\nThis torso has within it the seductiveness of woman, that garden of\npleasure the secret charms of which imbue old and young alike with a\nterrible power. Feminine charm which crushes our destiny, mysterious\nfeminine power that <DW44>s the thinker, the worker, and the artist,\nwhile at the same time it inspires them--a compensation for those who\nplay with fire!\n\nIt is not by analysis that you will learn to understand art, you who are\nignorant. Greek art eludes the imbeciles and ignorant who have always\nundervalued it. How can one comprehend this beauty by mere analysis?\nWhere lies the secret of force? It is ever shifting. And the shadow,\nso genially arranged, varies with the way the light strikes it. In\nart, what do we call life? That which speaks to you through all your\nsenses. If this torso were to bleed, it could not be more lifelike. The\nharmony of its lines dominates my soul. The soul lives and grows on\nmasterpieces. That is why we have a soul.\n\nIs it surprising, then, that I live with these antiques of mine, poets\nfar more inspiring than any of our day? They have created beings that\nwill live to survive us.\n\n\n\nAN EVENING IN THE GARDEN\n\nI leave my exacting work always more and more its slave. Walking,\nbecause of its regularity, always refreshes me. Such a walk means\na great deal to me. It puts my nerves into a state of delightful\ntranquillity.\n\nThe trees are still bare of leaves and have a wintry look. At their\nbase there are dainty sprouts, clouds of green. The lawns are ponds of\nemerald green. The charm of this alley is partly due to the twigs and\nshoots that sprout out of the ground and spring up like a cloud of lace.\n\nThere is a faint decline in this soft brightness, for now the sun is\nsetting. The sun-god is moderating his power for the benefit of the\nlittle flowers which otherwise would dry up and fade. This is the hour\nwhen the sun lends full value to the works of man, so that architecture\nstands out in all its beauty, while at the same time the sun softly\ncolors the lovely clouds.\n\nThe pediment of the Palais Biron is brilliant in the sunlight. The\nbalcony casts shadows on the grimacing consoles, and the shell-work is\nluminous in this glorious light. The window-panes glow in glory. The\ngreat staircase seems arranged for ladies to descend on their way to\nthe garden, graciously trailing their long robes, which rustle over the\nsteps.\n\nLike a pilgrim, full of hope, who rests a moment at the gates of a town,\nand breathes the balmy evening air, so I seat myself in this garden.\nThe hour passes quickly, but it could not be better employed than in\nabsorbing these marvels.\n\nWhen the sun drops behind the horizon, with its glowing colors like the\nflaming fires of a forge, our hearts are filled with wonder and awe.\nIt gilds all in a last golden glory of triumph, the sky so brilliant\nthat one cannot define the line of the horizon. There, where the sun\ndisappeared, the sky is now orange. Everything is fading away; another\nimmensity spreads out before us. The glory of night is about to extend\nover the firmament its melancholy charm.\n\n[Illustration: THE POET AND THE MUSES.]\n\nThe corner of this garden is a corner of happiness, a corner of\neternity. Here thoughts can thrive and worship, for here they have\neverything. For the great things in life are not the exceptional things,\nbut the beauties of every day, which we do not stop to notice. These\nvast treasures, within our grasp, which we do not even touch, they are\nthe things that count.\n\nThe public believes that one is happy in the admiration of nature; but\nthere are various degrees of happiness. Doubtless a glorious feeling of\nadmiration may take hold of one; but if one does not constantly cling\nto one's admiration as a matter of habit, one grows weary and becomes\nsuperficial. Indeed, I do not know why we demand another life, since we\nhave not learned to enjoy and understand this one fully. In any case, if\nwe find this a bad world, it is our fault. We are childish about it. We\nbelittle one another wilfully. Fancy the trees doing that, if one could\nsuspect them of such a thing!\n\nWhen I descend the steps, I am overwhelmed by that fluid which is life.\nI am in touch with life. What more can I want? This tenderness which\nsurrounds me everywhere, this ever-varying nature which says so much to\nme, the atmosphere which envelops me--am I already in heaven, or am I a\npoet?\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nTHE LINE AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE GOTHIC\n\n\n     One of Rodin's friends, M. Leon Bourgeois, the eminent,\n     highly cultivated French statesman, has said, \"Rodin is himself\n     a cathedral.\" This remark wonderfully characterizes Rodin's\n     intellectuality as it appears to us to-day. Rich in years and\n     experience, his intellect is in truth as complicated as a\n     cathedral, but like it, too, superbly simple in its general\n     structure. His intellect possesses the wealth of detail that makes\n     up life and the calm balance of the laws that govern nature. His\n     mind, formed on principles scrupulously controlled by observation,\n     abounds in that wonderful artistic imagination which is the poetry\n     of life. Ever renewing itself, ever active, his mind inspires\n     intense confidence because it is deeply rooted in truth. It looks\n     at its subjects of study with such conscientious devotion that it\n     perceives every phase of reality; for it is only love such as this,\n     a love springing not from impatience and passion, but from faith\n     and hope, that is always victorious in the end.\n\n     Churches! He lives near them, so as to study them in the\n     fleeting changes of the hours. He likes to be enveloped by the\n     sound of the church bells that for seven or eight centuries have\n     spoken the same language of discipline to the spirit of France.\n     Day and night he visits the naves. There his soul feels the sacred\n     mystery. The churches are truly the cradle of his artistic faith.\n\n     But it is only recently that the joys which he drew from them\n     reached their height; for although he was long under the influence\n     of Gothic art, that most extraordinary product of the hand of\n     man, only in the last few years has he learned to penetrate its\n     principles and understand its methods.\n\n     How often in my youth I questioned him about the cathedrals!\n     He always replied with that caution which in deep natures is a\n     form of deference: \"I am pervaded by the marvel of this art; but\n     I cannot as yet explain it to myself. The Gothic is the world\n     foreshortened. Where am I to begin? For more than thirty years\n     I have been accumulating and comparing my observations. Perhaps\n     eventually I shall succeed in deducing the rule, the law of divine\n     intelligence; but perhaps I shall not have sufficient time. Then it\n     will be the task of another, younger than myself, who will start\n     his researches earlier, and who, besides, will have been informed\n     by me.\"\n\n     On his return from each of these pilgrimages he was possessed\n     by the happy restlessness of one who would soon be able to give\n     expression to his secret. One felt that \"the law of divine\n     intelligence\" was being formulated in his mind. I then hoped and\n     expected that soon he would reap the fruit of his long labors.\n\n     At last one day Rodin took me to Notre Dame, beautiful among\n     the beautiful, despite the modern restorations that have detracted\n     from the grace and suppleness of its sculpture. Notre Dame of Paris\n     is beautiful in itself and in its situation on the banks of the\n     Seine, that river of feminine grace, which in its innocent course\n     draws with it the memory of many terrible historic events.\n\n     From Notre Dame to Saint-Eustache, from the Tour Saint-Jacques\n     to Saint-Etienne-du-Mont, during this long walk of ours Rodin\n     talked, quite unaware of the curious glances of those who\n     recognized him, and of the scoffing of the street urchins, who\n     mistook the great Frenchman for a stranger discovering the capital\n     of France. Later he gave me numerous notes that supplemented his\n     conversations.\n\n     His words and notes combined form the clearest and most\n     important lesson on Gothic art that has been handed down since the\n     days of the Gild of the Francs-Macons, by one of their own sort, a\n     craftsman such as they were, a veritable sculptor, a stone-cutter\n     loving the material in which he works.\n\n     Has Rodin, after so thoroughly grasping the secrets of the\n     builders of bygone days, never felt the desire to apply them in the\n     execution of some work of architecture? Was he never tempted by\n     their example and by that of Michelangelo to expand his resources\n     beyond those of the sculptor? Those who know the creative power\n     and the vastness of imagination of the modeler of \"The Burghers of\n     Calais\" and of \"The Gate of Hell\" may well ask this question.\n\n     Well, yes, he has had that great dream, which in more prolific\n     times would have become a glorious reality. He hoped to revive\n     the spirit of a day when a whole nation of artists covered France\n     with masterpieces; he hoped to organize labor collectively, and\n     to gather about him a legion of artisans to work together on a\n     monument which should become in a certain sense the cathedral of\n     the modern age.\n\n     He even drew up plans for that wonderful project, the subject\n     of which was to be the glorification of labor, that triumphant\n     force of our present civilization. He did not plan to rival the\n     Gothic style, the prodigious achievement of which would have\n     required throngs of workmen thoroughly organized and disciplined,\n     well trained under the system of master and apprentice,\n     accomplishing their common task in the joy of work and the\n     enthusiasm of faith. He planned to approximate the art of the\n     Renaissance, less removed from modern intellectuality, and simpler\n     of execution.\n\n[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LABOR.]\n\n     In Rodin's studio at Meudon one can see the plan for this\n     monument. The axis is a high column calling to mind Trajan's\n     Column, and, like it, covered with bas-reliefs. A tower broken\n     by large openings, as in the Tower of Pisa, encircles it. In the\n     interior a gradually inclining way leads one from the base to the\n     top along the bas-reliefs. These represent all the active crafts\n     and trades: those of the cities, such as masons, carpenters,\n     weavers, bakers, brewers, glass-workers, and goldsmiths; and\n     those of the country, such as plowmen, harvesters, vintagers,\n     vine-dressers, shepherds, and farmers. On the exterior, between\n     the arches, stand statues of the great geniuses that have led\n     humanity, whose efforts have raised them to celestial heights; that\n     is, to the peace and happiness of creating. There great thinkers,\n     inventors, and artists have their niches, just as the prophets\n     have theirs in the vaults of cathedrals. The edifice rests on a\n     crypt where groups of sculpture are devoted to the glorification\n     of work under the earth and its obscure heroes, miners, divers,\n     pearl-fishers. At the time when the plan for this monument was\n     advanced, and was exciting the imagination of European writers and\n     journalists, an ardent admirer of Rodin even proposed to build\n     the tomb of the master under the crypt, where he would have had a\n     resting-place worthy of a Pharaoh. On each side of the entrance is\n     a statue representing Morning and Evening, and at the summit of\n     the column two angels, messengers of God, their hands outstretched\n     toward the earth with a gesture of exquisite tenderness, shed the\n     blessings of heaven on the work of man.\n\n     Alas! this noble, stirring project will not be realized during\n     the life of the artist. Will there some day be another possessed of\n     the ardor and love of beauty necessary to build this mountain of\n     stone?\n\n     For a time Rodin's friends hoped that America, the nation of\n     work par excellence, would seize upon this idea. They pictured\n     the philanthropists of the New World in characteristic fashion\n     pouring forth millions for this work of universal art and national\n     glorification; they saw Rodin being called to the United States,\n     gathering about him not only American artists, but all the\n     intelligent forces of the world of culture. They saw the Tower\n     of Labor, with its angels bestowing their benediction over some\n     formidable industrial city, New York, Pittsburgh, or Chicago.\n     This might have been the starting-point for a new era of art, for\n     nothing is more contagious than the realization of beauty in actual\n     form.\n\n     Doubtless the writers of France did not discuss the matter\n     long or forcibly enough, and the Tour de Travail, which might have\n     been the ardent expression of a whole race, will remain the idea\n     of a solitary genius, a last offshoot of the masters of the Middle\n     Ages.\n\n     But if the hour has not yet struck for the construction of\n     the modern cathedral, at least we possess, thanks to the man who\n     dreamed of erecting it, the secrets and principles of those who\n     constructed the cathedrals of bygone days.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTo acquire a thorough and fruitful understanding of the cathedrals, we\nmust break away from the narrow and cold spirit of the present day. The\nspirit of our time does not harmonize in architecture with the monuments\nof the past.\n\nFirst let us contemplate the whole. The church is a cliff. The\nconstruction of the slender side springing up is quite in the spirit of\nour race. The Gothic towers are stones set up like Druidic monuments.\nThe church is laid out like a dolmen, and the towers are the menhirs.\nLike the menhirs, they have beautiful, flexible lines; they possess the\neloquence of natural outlines, which are never cold or meager.\n\nThe line of the Gothic tower is slightly curved, swelling like that of\na barrel. A straight line is hard and cold. The Greeks perceived that;\nthey refrained from straight lines, and the columns of their temples\nalso show a slight swelling.\n\nThe two sides of the Gothic tower are not alike. The architects\nconsidered that preferable to obvious symmetry. Look at the Tour\nSaint-Jacques in Paris. One of the sides shows a long, sloping hollow,\nmaking it look quite different from the other, which, again, is like\nstones set on high. The hollowed line permits protuberances, details of\nornamentation that soften and harmonize with the line of the ensemble.\nIt has been restored, and therefore from near at hand seems cold, for\nour workmen have lost the science and art of modeling. But the beauty of\nthe general structure remains; they could not detract from that.\n\nThis softened line, this line full of life, is one of the chief\ncharacteristics of the Gothic. The sky of our northern climates ordained\nit so, for the architects of the Middle Ages carved their monuments\nout of doors. Once the general plan was established, they easily found\nthe details while working with their tools, guided by the light and\ninfluenced by natural conditions.\n\nOur light is not that of Greece. Humanity the world over is akin; but\nto what the Greek expressed in a chastened manner, in keeping with his\neternally pure light, we have added the oblique slant of our sun, our\nreality, our country, our autumns, the sting of our winters, our less\ndefinite spirit, our remoteness from the glaring Olympian sun; and, last\nof all, we have added our trees.\n\nWe also have light, but it is frequently obscured by passing clouds. Is\nit not natural that we should reproduce them in our art? And the line,\nthe abundant line, is more accentuated in the half-night of our long\nautumns. Thus we are more in the mood of our woods and our forests. Our\nsouls have more shadows than the Greek soul, our determinations are more\nvaried; for our clouds and our forests are reflected in our hearts.\n\nArtists, let us, then, revert to the interpretation of our race, but in\nthe spirit, not in the letter. Let us copy only the soul of our external\nnature, not its Gothic form, for a mere copy is cold and dead. Beautiful\narchitecture is a reproduction by man, but from a divine model. From\nthis it receives the warmth of life. If architecture is true to the\nspirit of nature, it is embraced by the trees, the rocks, the clouds;\nthey are the silent company of beauty.\n\nO Cathedral! Sphinx of Northern life! although mutilated, are you not\neternal? Do you cease to live? From a distance, and in the evening, when\ndusk sets in, you seem truly a great sphinx crouching in the country.\n\nThe drama that unfolds itself on the stone pages of the churches recalls\nto us with a very few gestures and movements the silent drama of\nantiquity, the sculptures, illustrations of AEschylus and Sophocles.\n\nFrom the Greek type, in truth, sprang the thoughts that guide man, and\nagain from the Egyptian granite; and eventually from the stone of the\nGothic, that Gothic which leads to the period of Louis XVI, and which in\nFrance is always the principal path of art. Other styles were derived\nfrom it, those of the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, and\neighteenth centuries. Their basis is Gothic; therefore the Gothic is the\nfundamental style, which ought to keep us from the path of decadence,\nif that is possible. You do not understand it? You say you prefer the\nGreek? O ye mortals that wish to pass judgment on all matters, take\nheed lest these masterpieces prevail against you! The cathedral is as\nbeautiful, perhaps more beautiful, than the Parthenon. If you do not\nunderstand this style, then you are still further removed from the\nGreek, which is of another country and epoch. It is more beautiful,\nperhaps more concise, more marble; but we belong more with stone and\nforests, we are more autumnal, more of the cold and melancholy season.\n\n\n\nTHE GOTHIC BUILDERS ARE REALISTS\n\nDo not let us lose sight of the fact that beneath this poem of stone\nthere is a foundation of knowledge based on a close and comprehensive\nstudy.\n\nTo-day I understand it. As a result of study, one truth after another\ncomes to light. At the outset one is lost before these marvels. Where\nis one to begin studying? One's thoughts and one's admiration rise like\nclouds. The mind makes prodigious leaps to grasp again what it already\nknows, to combine it with the recently acquired knowledge, to attempt to\ndraw conclusions which simplify and generalize the study, and thus to\ndiscern the fundamental law.\n\nFor a long time during my youth I thought, like many others, that Gothic\nart was poor. I was so ungrateful during the first enthusiasm of my\nliberty! I learned to understand its grandeur only through traveling.\nObservation and work led me back to the right road. In the course of my\nefforts I have grasped the meaning of the thoughts of the masters. My\npersistent work was not futile, and, like one of the Magi, I have at\nlast come to bow in humble reverence before them.\n\nA true artist must penetrate the primordial principles of creation; only\nby understanding the beautiful does he become inspired, and that not\nthrough a sudden awakening of his sensibilities, but by slow penetration\nand perception, by patient love. The mind need not be quick, for slow\nprogress should imply precaution in every direction.\n\nThe Gothic builders are the greatest observers of nature that have ever\nexisted, the greatest realists, despite all that professors and critics\nsay to the contrary. They call them idealists. They say the same of the\nGreeks and of all artists whose profound knowledge has enabled them to\nborrow their effects and charm from nature. Idealists! That is a term\nwhich signifies nothing and merely confounds cause and effect.\n\nBuilders of the Middle Ages, you independent scholars, models of a\nprofound intelligence, this is what our age has found as an explanation\nof your masterpieces!\n\nI have devoted my whole life in endeavoring to catch a glimpse of\nthe rules, the secrets of experience, which you transmitted to one\nanother, and it is only now, when my days are numbered, that I am at\nlast grasping the synthesis of beauty. To whom shall I confide the\nfruit of my research? Some future genius will gather it. The cathedral\nis eternal, rising toward the sky. When we think it has attained its\nultimate height, it rises again higher still, like a mountain of truth.\n\n\n\nPLANS AND OPPOSITIONS\n\nThe architects of our churches subordinated detail to arrive at a more\neffective whole. That is why our churches are so beautiful when seen\nfrom a distance. They sacrificed everything to the essential, the \"plan.\"\n\nThe plan? Like all synthetic conceptions, this is difficult to define.\nIt is the space that an object displaces in the atmosphere, its volume.\nWhen an artist is able to determine exactly the space an object occupies\nin the atmosphere, be he painter, sculptor, or architect, he possesses\nthe real science of plans.\n\nWhat is detail in a plan? Nothing. The towers of the church at Bruges\nare superb in their bareness, while our modern houses, overladen with\ndetail, are hideous to look upon. Of the two towers of the cathedral at\nChartres, the one is bare, just a huge wall; the other is covered with\nornamentation, and the first is possibly the more beautiful because of\nthe potency of its plan. What does this force of simplicity express to\nus? It is the soul of a nation. A people expresses its nature through\nthe medium of its architecture. Stones are faithful when we do not\nretouch them. They are the signatures of a nation.\n\n[Illustration: HEADLESS FIGURE.]\n\nThrough the science of plans the great oppositions or contrasts of light\nand shadow are obtained. They give life and color to the structure.\nAccording to the position of the sun, the appearance of a building\nvaries. One part is in the shade, the other in the light, and between\nthese two is the gradation of shadings.\n\nThe master architects did not set their edifices apart from the\nuniverse; they gave them the benefit of all the phenomena of\nnature--dawn and dusk, twilight, cloud effects, haze, and fog. Every\nmoment of the day adds to or detracts from their effect.\n\nSometimes I stand before a cathedral, and it does not seem at all\nbeautiful. I feel I should like to alter it. Then I revisit it at\nanother hour and see it in a different lighting. The light strikes it\naslant, the shadows are deeper; the cathedral is absolutely beautiful,\nand I feel abashed at my former impatience and critical mistrust.\n\n\n\nTHE SCIENCE OF EQUILIBRIUM\n\nThese great effects of light and shade, obtained by the plan--effects\nsimple in their means, yet mysterious in their power of attraction for\nus, have strengthened the idea that Gothic art is idealistic. The masses\nwho see the cathedral dominating the city, with its two slanting roofs\nlike hands joined at the finger-tips, certainly feel in it the great\nidea, the poem. They do not realize that the sentiments aroused in them\nby the beauty of the building are wholly due to the science of the plans.\n\nBy means of what principle did the master builders support the weight\nof these enormous masses of stone, which yet join lovingly in the\nimponderable atmosphere? By obeying the law of equilibrium of the human\nbody. The human body, standing upright, the feet joined, in equilibrium,\nis the basis of the Greek column. Pediments and roof, supported by a\nseries of these standing bodies, these human columns, that is the Greek\ntemple. The architecture of the Parthenon reproduces the equilibrium\nof the body in a state of rest. In action the body sways; that is to\nsay, the weight rests on only one leg, while the body inclines to the\nopposite side to regain its balance by counterpoise. That is the sway\nof Gothic architecture. This sway constitutes the law of motion for the\nbody of man and animal, ever seeking perfect equilibrium.\n\nWithout this law we could not move; we would be like blocks of stone.\nEvery motion that we make produces an initial swaying, which an opposing\nweight instantaneously balances. Thus without any consciousness on\nour part a perpetual balancing is taking place within us, a change as\nfacile and immediate as the changes which take place in the phenomena\nof respiration and circulation. All goes on with the speed, order, and\nsilence that exist in the domain of electricity. It is a perpetual\nprodigy to which we do not even give a thought.\n\nIt is not surprising that the Gothic masters, who copied from all\nnature, took from man and animals the charm of balance.\n\nThe ogive (pointed arch) of the cathedral, is achieved by two opposing\nthrusts. But the archivolts do not always harmonize with the capitals;\nthey are not set exactly over them, they are out of the perpendicular.\nTwo movements of equal force, exactly opposed, cause a stable\nequilibrium. Just so the masses of stone are supported by this same\nopposition of thrusts.\n\nThe interior of the cathedral is high and vast, broken by large windows\nthat diminish the resistance and help to support the great weight. It\nwas necessary to find a way of reestablishing the equilibrium, lest the\nnave break down under its own weight. That is the purpose of the flying\nbuttresses. Like the arms of giants, they throw their opposing weight\nagainst the exterior walls.\n\nSome have drawn the conclusion that cathedrals are imperfect, since they\ncannot stand without this support. It is a characteristic idea of our\nage. Just as though one would reproach the human body for bearing first\non one leg and then on the other.\n\nThese powerful buttresses are wonderfully effective in their contrast\nto the lacework of the sculpture. What is more beautiful than Notre\nDame in Paris at night, with its island as its pedestal? It is the huge\nskeleton of the France of the Middle Ages which appears to us here. How\nattractive the light and shade on the buttresses! Indeed, it took genius\nto bring out beauty in that which is in reality only the skeleton of the\nedifice, and which could be offensive, were it badly carried out.\n\n\n\nTHE LACEWORK OF STONE\n\nThe Gothic style exists by virtue of oppositions, contrasts in effects\nand in balance. They built huge bare walls, but in the upper heights\nornamentation flourishes and abounds. There the \"increase and multiply\"\nof the Bible has been figuratively carried out.\n\nOnce the basis of construction was established, the masons embellished\nthe \"line\" by admirable ornamentation, due to their splendid\nworkmanship. We should never forget that modeling supplies the\nlife-blood to the mass; without it we can have neither grace nor power.\n\nFormerly I did not understand the architecture; I merely saw the\nlacework of the Gothic. But even in my conception of that I was\nmistaken, for I thought it a caprice of genius. I did not know that it\nhad a scientific _raison d'etre_; namely, to break and soften the line.\nNow I see its importance: it rounds off the outlines; it gives them life\nand warmth. These statues, these graceful caryatids, propping up the\nportals, these copings in the covings, are like vegetation which softens\nthe rigid summit of a wall. There again we find the Gothic artists as\nskilful colorists as the cleverest painters, because they have gained\ninsight from the vegetation of our country. In our plants, in our trees,\nall is light and shadowy, and from them they gained their wonderful\nmastery of the art of depth, which brings out the finest shadings of\nlight, the mellowness of half-tints. To-day we misuse black, the medium\nof power. We use it too extensively; we put it everywhere for the sake\nof effect, and therefore lose its effect entirely.\n\nThe Gothic is nature transposed and reproduced in stone. To show\nadmiration for this form of art is to preserve the memory of the\ncreation. The artist is the confidant of nature. Shakspere says in \"King\nLear,\" we\n\n    ... take upon 's the mystery of things,\n    As if we were God's spies.\n\n\n\nTHE NAVE\n\nA church is spread out like a dolmen between two menhirs. The interior\nbreathes the solemn calm of a forest, the columns are the trees, the\nmasses of the base are the rocks, the pointed arches are the massive\nroots, the vaultings are the caves, and the windows are radiant flowers\nin large bowls. When I emerge from the darkness of a cathedral, I feel\nas if I came from the shadow of a vast, extinguished world.\n\nWithout the brightening light of the stained-glass windows, our churches\nwould be sad. In Spain the gloom is funereal, but the genius of France\nhas understood how to capture the caressing light through its windows.\nThe productiveness of the Celtic spirit is also noticeable in the\ncapitals. Gothic art abandoned Greek ornament, which had been reproduced\nso often that it lost all significance. It found its models in the woods\nand gardens. From the oak it took its crown of foliage, from the thistle\nand cabbage their gracefully drooping leaves, and from the bramble\nits intertwined thorns. They made wonderful capitals by reversing the\nacanthus, and copying the languid grace of falling blossoms.\n\nThe cathedral of Bourges--the vastness of this church makes me tremble.\nOne might say there are three churches in its three naves. Grandeur\ndemands repetition. The superbness of this work of architecture\nenforces silence. People attribute their emotion here to religious\nsentiment alone, and do not realize that it is due also to the correct\ncalculations of art. They do not realize that the impressive darkness\nof the vast church, its lighting, the wax tapers here, and the\ndaylight with its brilliancy there, have all been planned beforehand.\nThe stained-glass windows of Bourges are dazzling, almost terrible, in\ntheir beauty. There are flashes as red as blood, and dashes of blue, a\nflame--the wounds of Christ, the funeral pile of Jeanne d'Arc. When the\nsun sinks, the bright light will fade away; then we have before us only\nthe charming effect of bowls of flowers.\n\nThe legends which are told on the stained-glass are good enough to amuse\nchildren; but the glass itself, the splendor of its colors, the extent\nto which it harmonizes with the nave--all that is the actual result and\nobject of profound thought. The Middle Ages put life into everything;\nthey worshiped life. They drew extensively from nature, wisely realizing\nthat its source is inexhaustible, while the day of man is fleeting.\n\n\n\nTHE MOLDING\n\nThe science of plans, balance of volumes, and proportion in the moldings\ngovern the spirit of Gothic art. Of late I believe I have discovered how\nthe masters struck upon the beautiful Gothic molding, that undulating\nmolding which gives so much suppleness to the architecture. I have found\nsomething new in the well-known, and beauty in forms which I did not\nunderstand before. This change is due above all to my work. Having\nalways studied more intensely, I can say that I have always loved more\nardently.\n\nI believe the masters of Gothic art got their ideas of molding through\ntheir understanding of the human body, and perhaps above all of the body\nof woman. The body, that human column, seen in profile is a line of\nprojections and protuberances, of the nose, the chin, the breast, the\nflank. Thence springs the beautiful undulating line which is the outline\nof Gothic molding. For Gothic molding, like the Greek, is soft and\nswelling. The \"doucine\" (a molding, concave above, convex below), a term\nof the trade, tender as the name of a woman, well expresses the charm of\nthe beautiful French molding.\n\nThe proportions of molding exist in nature, but in such form that we\nhave not yet been able to subject them to rules. It required men of\npositive taste, of most profound understanding, to grasp the harmony of\nthese proportions and to express them in sculpture. One might say the\nGothic architects understood molding by means of their intelligence as\nwell as by means of their heart.\n\nBy means of the cathedral the artists of the Middle Ages have shown\nus the most impressive drama in existence--the mass. The mass has the\ngrandeur of the antique drama. Greek tragedies are in fact only a form\nof the mass. The human mind starts afresh at different epochs. When the\npriest officiates, his gestures have the beauty of the antique, and this\nbeauty merges into that of the church music, that sublime tongue, the\nvoice of the sea. Then, when the crowds prostrate themselves, when they\narise simultaneously, the undulation of their bending bodies is like the\nwaves of the ocean. Truly the Gothic master builders were the familiar\nfriends of the sublime. From what source did these men spring! From what\nminds did those ideas arise! God has shared his power with some of his\nsons.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nART AND NATURE\n\n\nCriticizing nature is as stupid as criticizing the cathedrals. It is the\nvice of our cold and petty age to criticize. It is the evil of decadent\nraces. We are constantly being told that we live in an age of progress,\nan age of civilization. That is perhaps true from the point of view of\nscience and mechanics; from the point of view of art it is wholly false.\n\nDoes science give happiness? I am not aware of it; and as to mechanics,\nthey lower the common intelligence. Mechanics replace the work of the\nhuman mind with the work of a machine. That is the death of art. It is\nthat which has destroyed the pleasure of the inner life, the grace of\nthat which we call industrial art--the art of the furniture-maker, the\ntapestry-worker, the goldsmith. It overwhelms the world with uniformity.\nOnce artisans created; to-day they manufacture. Once they rejoiced in\nthe pleasure of making a work of art; to-day the workman is so bored in\nhis shop that he has invented sabotage and has made alcoholism general.\n\nThe sight of a modern monument throws one into melancholy even while\nan ancient one has not ceased to enrapture. I visit a small city, and,\nlosing my train, am obliged to wait for the next one. I take a walk\nabout the ancient church, a delicious thing, very simple, but with its\nGothic ornaments placed with taste, in a delicate relief that, in the\nlight, provides an enchantment for my friendly glances. In the little\nnave, which invites to calm, to thought,--thought as soft and composed\nas the light shadows that move slowly across the pillars,--I settle\nmyself. Ah, I come away charmed. If I had waited in the station, I would\nhave been wearied to death, and would have returned home fatigued and\ndiscontented. As it is, I have gained something--the beautiful counsels\nof moderation and the fine charm of a monument of former days.\n\nArt alone gives happiness. And I call art the study of nature, the\nperpetual communion with her through the spirit of analysis.\n\nHe who knows how to see and feel may find everywhere and always things\nto admire. He who knows how to see and feel is preserved from ennui,\nthat _bete noire_ of modern society. He who sees and feels deeply never\nlacks the desire to express his feelings, to be an artist. Is not nature\nthe source of all beauty? Is she not the only creator? It is only by\ndrawing near to her that the artist can bring back to us all that she\nhas revealed to him.\n\nWhen one says this, the public thinks it a commonplace. All the world\nbelieves that it knows that; but it knows it only in seeming, the truth\npenetrates only the superficial shell of its intelligence. There are\nso many degrees in real comprehension! Comprehension is like a divine\nladder. Only he who has reached the top rounds has a view of the world.\nThe public is astonished or shocked when some one goes against its\npreconceived notions, against the prejudices of a badly interpreted or\ndegenerate tradition. Words are nothing; the deed alone counts. It is\nnot by reading manuals of esthetics, but by leaning on nature herself\nthat the artist discovers and expresses beauty.\n\nAlas! we are not prepared to see and to feel. Our sorry education, far\nfrom cultivating in us the feeling for enthusiasm, makes us in our\nyouth little pedants who without result overwhelm ourselves and others\nwith our pretensions. Those who too late, by long efforts, escape this\ndemon of folly arrive only after that education has fatally sapped their\nstrength and has destroyed the flower of enthusiasm that God had planted\nin them as a sign of His paradise. People without enthusiasm are like\nmen who carry their flags pointed down to the ground instead of proudly\nabove their heads.\n\nConstantly I hear: \"What an ugly age! That woman is plain. That dog is\nhorrible.\" It is neither the age nor the woman nor the dog which is\nugly, but your eyes, which do not understand. One generally disparages\nthe things that are above one's comprehension. Disparagement is the\nchild of ignorance. As soon as you discover that, you enter into the\ncircle of joy.\n\n[Illustration: RODIN'S HOUSE AND STUDIO AT MEUDON.]\n\nMan, animals, down to the smallest insects, down to the infinitesimal;\nthe earth, the waters, the woods, the sky--all are marvelous. The\nfirmament is the vastest landscape, the most profound, the most\nenchanting, with its variations, its effects of color and light, which\ndelight the eye, astonish the thought, and subjugate the heart. And\nto say that artists--those who consider themselves such--attempt to\nrepresent all that simply as it appears to them, without having studied\nit, without having deciphered it, without having felt it! I pity them.\nThey are prisoners, slaves of stupidity.\n\nI was like them in the first periods of my perverted youth, but I have\ndelivered myself. I have regained the liberty to approach the things\nthat I love by the pathway of true study. Who follows me on the road?\nWho can learn it from a study of sculpture and design in books? You who\nhave caught a glimpse of the splendor of that tree, of that giant whose\nmagnificent column has been denuded by autumn of its leafy capital,\nbut which is perhaps more beautiful in the nudity of its members;\nyou who admire the structure of its branches and twigs, etched in an\ninfinitude of forms against the sky, where they resemble the lacework\nof the windows of our churches, would you not understand far better that\nbeauty, would not your pleasure be far more complete, if you sketched\nthat tree not only in the mass, but in the innumerable details of its\nframework? And to think that the schools recommend to pupils, painters,\nand sculptors research on the subject! The subject! The subject does\nnot exist in that--the poor little arrangement that you, one and all,\nsummon up while poring over the same anecdotes, the same conventional\nattitudes. The human imagination is narrow, and you do not see the\nhundred thousand motives of art that multiply themselves under your eye.\nI could pass my whole life in the garden where I walk without exhausting\nthem.\n\nThe subject is everywhere. Every manifestation of nature is a subject.\nArtists, pause here! Sketch these flowers; writers, describe them for\nme, not in the mass, as has always been done, but in minute detail,\nin the marvelous precision of their organs, in their characteristics,\nwhich are as varied as are those of animals and men. How beautiful to\nbe in the same moment an artist and a botanist, to paint and model the\nplant at the same time that one studied it! Those great realists, the\nJapanese, understand this, and make the knowledge and cultivation of\nplants one of the bases of their education.\n\nWe place love and sensual pleasure in the same category. Undoubtedly\nit is nature herself who has led is astray in this by the instinct to\nperpetuate ourselves, in youth this instinct is like an overflowing\nriver; it sweeps away everything, yet pleasure is everywhere about\nus. I imbibe it in the forms of the clouds that build their majestic\narchitecture in the sky, in the rapture of this woman who holds her\nchild in her arms, an attitude divine, so beautiful indeed, that the\npoet of the Gospels has deified it. It is the attitude of the Virgin. I\nimbibe it in the atmosphere which bathes me now, and will still continue\nto bless me, bringing me peace, rest, and health.\n\nFor that which is beautiful in a landscape is that which is beautiful in\narchitecture--the air, space. No one in these days realizes its depth.\nIt is this quality of depth that carries the soul where it wishes to go.\nIn a well-constructed monument that which enraptures us is the science\nof its depths. The throngs in the churches attribute their emotion\nto mysticism, to the transport of the soul toward divinity. They are\nunaware that they owe their emotion to the exact knowledge of great\nplanes possessed by the architects of former days. Even upon the most\nignorant beholder they impose this. Man disregards that which he already\nhas, and longs for something else. He longs for swiftness, to have wings\nlike a bird. He does not know that he already enjoys this pleasure of\nmoving through space. He rejoices in it in his soul, which takes wing\nand goes where it pleases, through the sky, on the waters, to the depths\nof the forests.\n\nAll the misfortune here below arises from a lack of comprehension. We\nclassify our limited knowledge in narrow systems, like the card-systems\nof an office, and these pitiful conventions we take seriously. They\nteach us disconnected things, and we leave them disconnected. Those who\nhave a little patience assemble these isolated facts; but such patient\nones are rare, and nothing is so unbearable as that man who, not having\nit, speaks ill of him who has a sense of the truth. To see accurately is\nthe secret of good design. Objects dart at one another, unite, and throw\nlight on one another, explain themselves. That is life; a marvelous\nbeauty covers all things like a garment, like an aegis.\n\nGod created the great laws of opposition, of equilibrium. Good and evil\nare brothers, but we desire the good, which pleases us, and not the\nevil, which seems to us error. When we consider matters from a distance,\ndoes not evil often seem good, and good, evil? That is only because we\nhave judged without proper consideration. Just as white and black are\nnecessary in a drawing, so good and evil are necessary in life. Sorrow\nought not to be cast out. As long as we live it is as strong a part of\nlife as radiant joy. Without it we would be very ill trained.\n\nTo comprehend nature it is of importance that we never substitute\nourselves for it. The corrections that a man imposes upon himself are a\nmass of mistakes. The tiger has claws and teeth and uses them skilfully;\nman at times shows himself inferior. Possessing intelligence, too\noften he strives to turn to that. Animals respect everything and touch\nnothing. The dog loves his master, and has no thought of criticizing\nhim. The average man does not care that his daughter should be\nbeautiful. He has in his mind certain ideas of manner and instruction,\nand the beauty of his daughter does not enter into the program that he\nhas made. But the daughter herself feels the influence of nature, and\ndisplays her modest and triumphant movements, which this blind one does\nnot see, but which fascinate the artist.\n\nThe artist who tells us of his ideal commits the same error that this\naverage man commits. His ideal is false, in the name of this ideal he\npretends to rectify his model, retouching a profound organism which\nadmirably combined laws regulate. Through his so-called corrections he\ndestroys the ensemble; he composes a mosaic instead of creating a work\nof art; the faults of his model do not exist. If we correct that which\nwe call a fault, we simply present something in the place of that which\nnature has presented. We destroy the equilibrium; the rectified part is\nalways that which is necessary to the harmony of the whole. There is\nnothing paradoxical here, because a law that is all-powerful keeps the\nharmony of opposites. That is the law of life. Everything, therefore, is\ngood, but we discover this only when our thought acquires power; that\nis to say, when it attaches itself indissolubly to nature, for then it\nbecomes part of a great whole, a part of united and complex forces.\nOtherwise it is a miserable, debased, detached part contending with a\nwhole that is formed of innumerable units.\n\nNature, therefore, is the only guide that it is necessary to follow. She\ngives us the truth of an impression because she gives us that of its\nforms, and if we copy this with sincerity, she points out the means of\nuniting these forms and expressing them.\n\nSincerity, conscience--these are the true bases of thought in the work\nof an artist; but whenever the artist attains to a certain facility of\nexpression, too often he is wont to replace conscience with skill. The\nreign of skill is the ruin of art. It is organized falsehood. Sincerity\nwith one fault, indeed with many faults, still preserves its integrity.\nThe facility that believes that it has no faults has them all. The\nprimitives, who ignored the laws of perspective, nevertheless created\ngreat works of art because they brought to them absolute sincerity. Look\nat this Persian miniature, the admirable reverence of this illuminator\nfor the form of these plants and animals, and the attitudes of these\npersons which he has forced himself to render just as he saw them. How\neagerly has he painted that, this man who loved it all! Do you tell me\nthat his work is bad because he is ignorant of the laws of perspective?\nAnd the great French primitives and the Roman architects and sculptors!\nHas it not been repeatedly said that their style is a barbaric style? On\nthe contrary, it has a formidable beauty. It breathes the sacred awe of\nthose who have been impressed by the great works of nature herself. It\noffers us the strongest proof that these men had made themselves part of\nlife and also a part of its mystery.\n\nTo express life it is necessary to desire to express it. The art of\nstatuary is made up of conscience, precision, and will. If I had not had\ntenacity of purpose, I should not have produced my work. If I had ceased\nto make my researches, the book of nature would have been for me a dead\nletter, or at least it would have withheld from me its meaning. Now, on\nthe contrary, it is a book that is constantly renewed, and I go to it,\nknowing well that I have only spelled out certain pages. In art to admit\nonly that which one comprehends leads to impotence. Nature remains full\nof unknown forces.\n\nAs for me, I have certainly lost some time through the fault of my\nperiod. I should have been able to learn much more than I have grasped\nwith so much slowness and circumlocution; but I should not have tasted\nless happiness through that highest form of loss; that is, work. And\nwhen my hour shall come, I shall dwell in nature, and shall regret\nnothing.\n\n\n\nTHE ANTIQUE--THE GREEKS\n\nIf the artists of antiquity are the greatest of all it is because they\napproached most closely to Nature.\n\nThey studied it with magnificent sincerity and copied it with all\ntheir intelligence. They never wasted their time in trying to invent\nsomething. To invent, to create, these are words that mean nothing. They\ncontented themselves with rendering the adorable model that enchanted\ntheir eyes. This love and this respect for creation has never since\ntheir time been surpassed. They did not copy literally what they saw;\nto a certain degree they interpreted the character of forms. The aim of\nart is not to copy literally. It consists in slightly exaggerating the\ncharacter of the model in order to make it salient; it consists also in\nreassembling in a single expression the successive expressions given by\nthe same model. Art is the living synthesis.\n\nThis is what the ancients did, with what taste, what incomparable\nscience! From this science that respected unity their works derived\ntheir calm, contained force, the sentiment of grand serenity, the\natmosphere of peace that envelops them. The ignorant and the professors\nof esthetics who do not know the source of all this have named it Greek\nidealism. This is nothing but a word that serves to conceal a want\nof understanding. There is no idealism in the ancients; there is an\nexercise of choice, a marvelous taste; but it is by the most realistic\nmeans that they render human beauty.\n\n[Illustration: THE TEMPEST.]\n\nWe others, we moderns, are carried away by the restlessness of the\nepoch; we are superficial, we only regard things cursorily, and we have\nconcluded from this sublime simplicity that Greek art is cold. To us\nindeed it seems very cold. It is really warm. To it alone belongs in\nthis respect the quality of life, reality in forms, and precision in\nmovement. It is through this that it attains perfect equilibrium. But\nthat is beyond our little spirit of detail. We seek nothing but detail;\nthe Greek, for his part, saw nothing but the whole; that is to say, the\nequilibrium, the harmony.\n\n\n\nTHE RICHNESS OF THE ANTIQUE LIES IN MODELING\n\nThe value of the antique springs from _ronde-bosse_. It possesses in a\nsupreme degree the art of relief. How can the critics and the professors\nexplain this, being what they are? They do not belong to the trade. Art\nshould not be taught except by those who practise it.\n\nObserve any fragments of Greek sculpture: a piece of an arm, a hand.\nWhat you call the idea, the subject, no longer exists here, but is not\nall this debris none the less admirably beautiful? In what does this\nbeauty consist? Solely in the modeling. Observe it closely, touch it; do\nyou not feel the precision of this modeling, firm yet elastic, in flux\nlike life itself? It is full, it is like a fruit. All the eloquence of\nthis sculpture comes from that.\n\nWhat is modeling? The very principle of creation. It is the\njuxtaposition of the innumerable reliefs and depressions that constitute\nevery fragment of matter, inert or animated. Modeling creates the\nessential texture, supple, living, embracing every plante. It fills,\ncooerdinates, and harmonizes them. It penetrates everything, it animates\neverything, as well the depths as the surfaces. It comprises the minute\nas well as the immense. Mountain, horse, flower, woman, insect equally\nowe to it their form. When God created the world, it is of modeling He\nmust have thought first of all. If you consider a hand, you notice its\ncontours and the character of the whole. But the eye of the artist,\nthat eye, sees more: it sees the infinite assemblage of projections and\ndepressions forming a texture more closely knit, more exactly blended\nthan the most perfect mosaic. It is this that he seeks to render; this\nthat he translates, if he is a sculptor, by the science of depression\nand relief, if he is a draughtsman or painter by that of light and\nshadow. For light serves, in conformity with depressions and reliefs,\nto give the eye the same sensation that the hand receives from touch:\nTitian is just as great a modeler as Donatello.\n\nTo-day the sense of _ronde-bosse_ is completely lost, not only\nin Europe, but among the peoples of the Orient. It is the age of\nthe _flat_. No one knows anything about it. Men love what they do\nthemselves, until they are made to see that it is not beautiful; but it\ntakes years and years for this to penetrate into their consciousness. In\nthe seventeenth and eighteenth centuries China and Japan still produced\ncharming works. In ancient times their art was very great; it approached\nthe Greek. At the exposition of 1900, we were enabled to see antique\nJapanese statues, superb nudes nearly as fine as those of Greece. In our\ntime the pest of flatness has contaminated the Asiatic races as well as\nthe European: decadence is universal.\n\nWe are so far removed from antique beauty that when we photograph the\nworks of the ancients we take them in the spirit of our own taste,\nwhich is that of low-relief; we take from them that flower of beautiful\nmodeling, their richness, their crowning grace. When I say low-relief,\nI do not use this term exactly; it is only that I know no other means\nof expressing the modern evil of uniformity; but I know that good\nlow-relief is as full and as fruit-like as sculpture in the round, that\nit is sculpture in the round itself, as in the friezes of the Parthenon,\nas in our buildings of the Renaissance and of the seventeenth century.\n\nThe great concern of my life is the struggle I have maintained to escape\nfrom the general flatness. All the success of my sculpture comes from\nthat. Although it has little enough taste, the public, despite all, is\ntired to death of this flatness. The charm of _ronde-bosse_ is so great\nthat it captivates the ignorant even without their knowing it.\n\n\n\nRONDE-BOSSE AND CHIAROSCURO\n\nObserve this little torso of a woman; it is a little Venus. It is\nbroken; it has no longer a head, arms, legs, yet I never weary of\ncontemplating it; each day, each hour for me adds to this masterpiece\nbecause I only understand it better. What could it say to our\nindifferent glance? For me it has the ineffable voluptuousness of\nsoftly maturing flesh. The effect lies in no part and in every part.\nIt is perfection. This little childish body, has it not all the charm\nof woman? It does not catch the light, the light catches it, glancing\nover it lightly; without any effect of roughness, any dark shadow. Here\nshadow can no longer be called shadow but only the decline of light.\nShe does not become dark, she grows pale in imperceptible depressions,\nin delicious undulations. She is indivisible; she is whole or\nincomplete, but her unity is not disturbed. And this passage that joins\nthe abdomen to the thighs, this little declivity of graces, this valley\nof love! Everything is full of the calm, the lightness, the serenity\nof pure beauty in the perfect confidence of nature. The ideal that you\nimagine you find in a gesture, in a momentary attitude, is here; it is\nhere because of the infinite love of the flesh, of the human fruit. What\nyou call the ideal is nothing but the perfume of beautiful modeling.\nWhat more could you ask?\n\nWhen I look at this marble in the evening by candle-light, how the\nwonder deepens! If those who have been telling us for a hundred years\nthat Greek art is cold studied it with care, could they for one hour\nmaintain this absurdity? This sculpture, on the contrary, is of an\nextraordinary living complexity, which the flame reveals; the whole\nsurface is nothing but depressions and reliefs, but united, melted\ntogether in the great, harmonious force of the _ensemble_. I turn the\nlittle torso about under the caressing rays of the light. There is not\na fault, not a weakness, not a dead spot; it is the very continuity\nof life, its intoxicating voluptuousness hidden in the bosom of the\nmolecule.\n\nWhy should such artists have sought to create an abstract Beauty by\nthe idealization of forms? These men of genius loved Nature too well to\npresume to correct her. They knew well that despite their genius, they\nstill remained beneath her. Nothing can surpass the marvel of creation.\nThe conception of an idealistic art comes from the Academy. Before the\npurity of the antique forms people used to believe that the beauty lay\nsolely in the exterior profiles. It is really beautiful because of\nthe interior modeling. And still we make this distinction between the\nprofiles and the modeling, thanks to our mania for dividing things; but\nwe know that the one is inseparable from the other; the surfaces are\nnothing but the extremities of volumes, the boundaries of the mass.\n\nAll the sculpture of the period of Louis-Philippe was imitated from the\nantique, but only by means of the exterior profiles. If it had been\npractised by true modelers, by geometrical minds, it would have been\nas beautiful as its original. What pleased people in that epoch, what\npleases people in ours, is not at all the antique; it is the fashion\nin which we see it. It was the Renaissance that really understood the\nGreek. It created works exactly the same in feeling, though somewhat\ndifferent in arrangement and general color. For color does not exist\nin painting alone. Its role is equally great in sculpture. To-day this\ncolor is bad; it fails to obtain the chiaroscuro which derives from\n_ronde-bosse_. Good sculpture owes to chiaroscuro clarity, unity, charm,\neven, I might say, the voluptuousness of breathing flesh. Shadow, at\nonce luminous and mysterious, models the fulness of the body in the\nexuberance of health; it makes one understand abundance, solidity. In\nthe art of the Renaissance and the eighteenth century shadow is always\nsupple and warm as in Greek art; it has the tender coloring of the\nvegetation of our country, the sweetness of which our great artists have\ncaptured. The chiaroscuro of the antique consists of the density and\ndepth of light falling over the entire modeling. Chiaroscuro penetrates\nto every plane and renders the reality of them; it is reality itself.\nThis is because the antique and nature are part and parcel of the same\nmystery, the infinitely harmonious mystery of force in suspense. The\ngreat artists compose as nature itself operates.\n\nUndoubtedly the Greeks possessed certain methods which they handed down\nfrom master to pupil, as has been the case in all artistic epochs. They\nhad celebrated ateliers, schools, where they taught their principles.\nBy the fifth century they had established a canon of the human body;\nbut they never made use of it without consulting the model. As for us,\nwe have imagined that we could use it like a magic formula. It is not\nthe formula that makes the art; it is the experience of the artist\nthat creates the formula. If we abandon nature for a rule, if we do\nnot constantly vivify the one by means of the other, we soon speak a\nlanguage that means nothing.\n\nOne cannot repeat this enough: the ancients are realists; they work in\n_ronde-bosse_. This explanation seems commonplace and even vulgar; it is\nthe whole truth. It can be understood by the humblest artisan, provided\nonly that he knows his trade. But it is as difficult to get it into the\nheads of people to-day as it is to restore faith in a man who has lost\nit.\n\n\n\nROME AND ROMAN ART\n\nWhat I have said of Greek art applies equally well to Roman. Another\nopinion has been adopted by critics and the world in general: the Roman\nis less beautiful than the Greek. It is less beautiful perhaps, by a\ncertain shade, a shade which those who speak of it are incapable of\nappreciating. It is a little less substantial, but it is superb. It is\nGreek, with a different character, a certain ruggedness, and more! The\nMaison Carree at Nimes, that little temple, the flower of austerity, the\nsmile of the race as sweet as the smile of Greece; the Pont du Gard,\nthat heroic masterpiece, that giant which bestrides the country, which\nimposes the power of Rome on the peaceful landscape, these are what they\ncriticize!\n\nRome is magnificent. We say it, but we do not believe it; otherwise it\nwould not be despoiled. No, in Rome itself, they have no idea of the\nbeauty of Rome. Where are there artists great enough to appreciate you,\nsevere genius, splendid city, daughter of the she-wolf? Your genius\nthey pillage every day. They destroy its proportion, and that is to\nstrike at the foundation of the master work. Proportion is the law of\narchitecture. ... In the very midst of the ancient city they are setting\nup atrocious monuments, enormous or too petty.\n\nIn Rome, as in Athens, as in the France of Gothic art, the architect of\nold planned the monument in relation to the landscape; he harmonized it\nwith the outline of the mountains, with the expanse of the surrounding\ncountry-side; he determined its proportions according to its environment.\n\nThe architect of to-day plans out his monument in his own study on a\npiece of paper and produces it ready-made. Whether this mass of stone\nobliterates the buildings that surround it or whether, on the other\nhand, it turns out a miserable little contrivance in the midst of great\nworks of the past matters little to him: he does not see it.\n\nThe French Academy sends students to work in Rome. But they get nothing\nfrom Rome, they can get nothing; they come there with a spirit entirely\nopposed to it. At a time when I did not know the city I heard the bridge\nof Sant' Angelo spoken ill of and fun made of the contorted angels;\nbut they are all very well in their place; they are needed there;\nthere is enough repose elsewhere. Bernini, so often sneered at, is as\nbeautiful as Michelangelo, although he is not so fine. It is he who made\nthe Rome of the seventeenth century. They do not know that the Appian\nWay is sublime. It will disappear one of these days. These things are\nawaiting their condemnation. They are constructing quays like ours. If\nthey do not put a stop to it, Rome will be destroyed. Those who have\nnot seen cities such as this was in the nineteenth century will not\nunderstand anything. I have said as much to my Italian friends, who\nappeared greatly astonished; for nobody makes these reflections which\ncome to me constantly in my studies. They consider me a gloomy fellow, a\nmisanthrope. Gloomy, yes; for it is painful to live in a decadent epoch;\nbut I have no _parti-pris_; I only wish to try to arrest the general\nmassacre. In France, as everywhere, we commit exactly the same faults.\nWe destroy our monuments by surrounding them with great open spaces;\nwe have ruined the effect of Notre Dame, on the side of the parvis. At\nBrussels, in the Musee du Cinquantenaire, they have set up a model of\nthe Parthenon; but they have placed it in the midst of enormous objects\nthat annihilate it. We have come to that! We have killed the Parthenon!\nBarbarism could go no further. We live in a barbarous age. There is no\ndoubt about that! People cry out that we must create schools for people\nto learn art; we bungle the most beautiful of all schools--the Museum.\n\n\n\nFOR AMERICA\n\nThese things ought to be said again and again to the point of satiety,\nif we wish to save any remnants. Coming from me, whose opinions carry\nsome weight, they are repeated when I am no longer on the spot. People\nfeel the justice of them, the shaft goes home. A few who are more\nardent than the rest propagate them and stir up a current of opinion\nthat may lead to reform. There is no reason therefore to fear repeating\nthem in America, where also people have fallen into the general error.\nAmerican artists have followed our teaching, altogether in a bad sense.\nNotwithstanding that in taking their point of departure they could have\nescaped into the good epochs of art, they have saddled themselves with\nthe poverty of modern taste.\n\nLet them return to the school of the past; above all, let them return to\nnature; it is as beautiful with them as elsewhere. The mountains, the\ntrees, the vegetation, the men and women of their own country--these\nshould be their masters in architecture and sculpture. America is full\nof will. It desires to be a great nation. It stops at no expense in\norder to obtain instruction; it creates immense universities, libraries,\nmuseums. It pours into them streams of money. The favor with which my\nwork has been received there is the sign of a movement toward truth in\nart; they are developing an affection for this naturalistic school which\nborrows from life its charm and its variety. But all this will be as\nnothing unless America creates work of its own; unless it breaks with\nthe old errors of the nations of Europe in order to find the path of\ntrue science.\n\n[Illustration: THE VILLAGE FIANCEE.]\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nTHE GOTHIC GENIUS\n\nTo THE RENAISSANCE AND THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY\n\nNOTRE-DAME\n\n\nNOTRE DAME--Notre Dame de Paris--more splendid than ever in the\nhalf-light of this winter day. The veils of the atmosphere redress the\nevils that modern restorations have done to this monument; the folds of\nthe mist soften the sharpness of the retouched outlines: the elements\nare more respectful to this masterpiece than are men.\n\nI come upon it at the turn of the bridge. At once I drop out of this\nindustrial epoch of ours, so poor despite its love of money; my\nsculptor's soul escapes from its exile.\n\nThe Gothic sphinx rises before me. The strength of its beauty overwhelms\nme. I struggle against it and I am broken by it. Then it attracts me\nanew with its sweetness; it exalts me. My spirit makes the ascent of\nthis sculptured mountain. What power in these motionless stones to\ncreate the sense of movement in the mind! What makes this possible?\nThe mason of genius; the science of oppositions. That whole effect of\npower--he has put it in the thickness of the foundations, the enormous\nwalls, the buttresses. They are as formidable as the tiers of a dike,\nas a breakwater planted in the sea. One would say that this church was\nbuilt to combat the forces of nature: the temple of peace and love has\nthe air of a fortress.\n\nOne's spirit is weighed down by the bareness of the stone, but stirred\nby the height of the structure and the towers; it soars toward them\nas toward a world that reassures it; the hard material has become\nhumanized; the genius of man is at play there amid the lacework of\nstone. He has placed there angels, saints, animals, fruits, flowers, all\nthe gifts of the seasons; it is life in its entirety such as the Creator\nin His infinite munificence has bestowed upon him. The Gothic artist\nknows that paradise is on earth; he has no need to invent another. The\nchildish and monotonous heaven presented to us in our legends is nothing\nbut a poor copy of the marvels of our life.\n\nLet us enter. I tremble. The beauty is terrible. I am plunged into\nnight, a living night in which I do not know what mysteries are being\nenacted--the cruel mysteries of the ancient religions? There are\nshimmering rays from the long windows, the rose windows. Hope enters my\nheart: there is light here, then? I am no longer alone.\n\nMy eyes grow accustomed to this populous obscurity. There is a world\nabout me, a world of columns. It seems terrible, it _is_ terrible\nbecause of its power, but this power has its _raison d'etre_. It\nseems frightening to me but it is only necessary. It is distributed\npower; therefore it is beneficent. It holds the vault in the air, the\nprodigious weight of stone that it maintains aloft, above my head, as\nlightly as the canvas of a tent. Marvel of equilibrium, calculation of\nthe intelligence, how is it possible not to adore you? It is you that\none comes here to worship under the name of God.\n\nThe darkness grows lighter; it becomes chiaroscuro. We are in a picture\nby Rembrandt, that great Gothic of the sixteenth century. The forest\nof pillars divides the nave into spaces of shadow and light. It is the\norder of nature which knows nothing of disorder. This I rediscover with\njoy: the eye does not love chaos.\n\nI familiarize myself with the people of the columns. I recognize them:\nthey are Romans. It is the Roman, the Romance, hardly altered, that\ncomes to receive the Gothic arch. The immense nave which I thought a\nforest full of hidden dangers I see, I understand, I read like a sacred\nbook. The mystery is not that of cruelty; it is only that of beauty. It\ngrows lighter gradually in order to allow the spirit to approach slowly\nthe joy of a perfect interior. This solemnity of the nave, this immense\nvoid, is like the bed of a great river; the columns range themselves\nrespectfully on each side in order to give free passage to the flood of\nhuman piety. It flows like a majestic river; it bears onward toward the\ntabernacle, about which it spreads itself like a lake of love under the\nrays of the thought of God. Amid the stones the architect has known how\nto play the part of the apostle: he has created faith. Art and religion\nare the same thing; they are love.\n\n\n\nSAINT-EUSTACHE\n\nIt is the interior of this church that should be admired. Here I do\nnot experience the same commotion of the spirit as in Notre Dame. I am\nbathed in the fine light of the sixteenth century. At Notre Dame it\nwas the shadow of Rembrandt; here, it is the clear tonality of French\npainting, of a Clouet. Admirable is the _elan_ of this Renaissance\nnave; it is as bold as, and even perhaps bolder than that of the Gothic\nbuildings. It proceeds on the same plan. The skyward lift is only to\nbe found in the Gothic; it is of the very spirit of the race. Are the\nvaults round and no longer pointed? What does it matter if they are\nequally elegant, if they have the same aerial grace as the ogive?\n\nWhat I rediscover in Saint-Eustache, less austere than its grand sister\nof the Middle Age, but with a sweetness which is itself noble, is\nthe determination of the architect to subordinate everything to the\neffect of simplicity, to the total effect. On each side of the nave\nthe columns cutting the side wall are disposed fanwise in order to\nhide the light of the lateral windows. One sees nothing but the stone,\nand yet there is no effect of heaviness; one could not make anything\nlighter. This is because the color of the stone is admirably varied by\nthe diversity of the flutings that line the columns. The main fluting\nmarks the outline, and the others, less emphatic, shading off, give it\na velvet-like quality. The light throws a golden haze between the great\ncolumns, among the deep gorges, and is, on the other hand, channeled,\nstreaked by the little nerves that impel it upward toward the vaults.\nBy this effect of lightness the building seems to rise; it is an\nassumption. It is no longer the forest of trees that one finds here,\nbut the forest of creepers. These vertiginous columns are like fine,\ndelicate vines. Above the altar the great lights of the windows, with\ntheir beautiful glass, harmonize well with the general color. The light,\nat once abundant and restrained, has the coolness which the Renaissance\nrecaptured from Greece. This church welcomes one as with an immense\nsmile; it has the sweetness of Christ holding out his hands: \"Suffer the\nlittle children to come unto me.\" Intelligence has planned it, but it is\nthe heart that has modeled it.\n\nIf we enter Saint-Eustache at nightfall, we could almost believe\nourselves in a Gothic building. The Renaissance did not bring about such\nprofound transformations in architecture as people think. There is a\nheavy Italian Renaissance element that is altogether alien to us; but\nin the true French Renaissance the Celtic taste was not betrayed: it\nwas modified with a certain grace and elegance. Grace is an aspect of\nstrength. A nation no more escapes from its racial quality than a man\nfrom his temperament. The Celtic mingled with the Roman produced the\nRomance, out of which the Gothic sprang directly--the Romance, that is\nto say, the Roman which has passed through the spirit of the Franks. It\nhas the severity, the Roman qualities, united with the imagination of\nthe Barbarians, since we have agreed so to call them. The Romance of the\nsecond epoch has already sprung forth; it rises during the eleventh and\ntwelfth centuries and goes to make the Gothic. The Gothic elevates and\nmagnifies the Romance. It detaches the buttresses, even to the point of\nseparating them from the walls, in order to carry them further out to\nsustain the height of the nave.\n\nAs for the Renaissance, it continues the Gothic. We could not have a\nmore striking example of this than just here in Saint-Eustache. Here\nare the same lines, the same idea, with a different ornamentation.\nIt is the same body, clothed in a new way. It is another age of the\nGothic; sweeter, less powerful, the final florescence of the French\ngenius, which, despite the adorable eighteenth century, follows a\ndescending path down to the first restoration. Contrary to what has\nbeen thought and taught for so long, the Renaissance already marks\na stage of decadence. The most beautiful epoch in architecture and\nsculpture is the Middle Age, an age as beautiful as, perhaps more\nbeautiful than, the great age of Greece, and almost universally despised\nby our nineteenth century, the century of criticism and pretension, the\ncentury of ignorance. Yes, with the Renaissance things begin to give\nway. And yet to say that is almost a sacrilege! It is as if one struck\none's father! Our ravishing Gothic of the sixteenth century has charmed\nFrance with its masterpieces; it has made artists cherish a whole\ncountry, the sweet country of the Loire. Despite its misalliance with\nthe Italian Renaissance, it stood firm, it did not bend; it remained the\ngrand French style. Witness the Louvre with its high pavilions; that\nsprang, that too, from the Gothic vein; the sculptors of the Renaissance\ndecorated it less severely, but the general aspect remains the same.\n\nThe Gothic under different names has been the main path of our genius\nduring five hundred years. It has been the blessing of France; it was\nits active principle down to 1820. If we wish to return to art it will\nonly be through comparative study--the comparison with nature of our\nnational style. The beautiful lines are eternal. Why are they used so\nlittle?\n\n\n\nCONCERNING COLOR IN SCULPTURE\n\nThe true difference between the Gothic and the Renaissance does not lie\nin the structure of the building but in the quality of the sculpture and\nin its color.\n\nWhat is meant by color in sculpture and in architecture? It is the law\nof light and shade, the great law of oppositions which constitutes\nthe charm of nature, the beauty of a landscape at dawn, its splendor\nat sunset. The color springs from the quality of the modeling; it is\nthe relief which gives the light tones and, by contrast, the dark,\nin the parts that do not stand out. The ensemble of the intermediary\ndiminutions of light and shade produces the general coloring, whose\nnuances can be infinitely varied according to the skill of the artist.\nModeling is the only way in which to express life; and there is only one\nthing that counts in sculpture and in architecture--the expression of\nlife. A beautiful statue, a well-made monument, live like living beings;\nthey seem different according to the day and the hour. How beautiful it\nis to give to stone, through nothing but the values of planes, through\nthe handling of shadow and light, the same charm of color as that of\nliving nature, of the flesh of a woman. In the plastic arts, the color\nbetrays the quality of the planes as a beautiful complexion reveals\nhealth in a human being.\n\nThe antique has shorter planes than the Gothic; it lacks therefore\nthose deep shadows that give to the Gothic such a tormented and tragic\naspect. The Greek balances the framework of the human body on four\nplanes, the Gothic on two only. The latter produces a stronger effect,\na more _hollowed_ effect, that _effet de console_ which is essentially\nGothic. Nevertheless, the shadow that results from it is more sustained\nthan in the antique and nothing could be softer or more full of nuances.\n\nThe Roman presents an abundance of dark shadows which, in turn, create\nan effect of heaviness and density. The Greek puts in just enough of\nthem to quicken the general coloring. The Roman gives a flatter effect,\nwhich shows nevertheless a magnificent vigor. As for us, we copy these\nstyles endlessly without understanding them, for if we did understand\nthem we should do quite otherwise. We abuse the black, the powerful\nlines, we put them everywhere; we do not know how to shade light. That\nis why our sculpture is so poor, why our monuments appear so hard, so\ndry. The Bourse, the Corps Legislatif, might be made of iron with their\ncolumns set against a uniform background which prevents the light and\nair from circulating about them and enveloping them and destroys the\natmosphere. This is what people call a simple style. It is not simple,\nit is cold. The simple is the perfect, coldness is impotence.\n\nThe Renaissance recaptured the antique measure and imposed its generous\ncolor upon the Gothic plane. It used less shadow than our sculptors of\nthe Middle Ages; it diminished the reliefs. The effect in consequence\nwas lighter. This was because the Renaissance was enchanted by all the\nGreek statues that were discovered at this period; and in its enthusiasm\nit recreated Greek art, not by copying it, but by copying nature\naccording to antique principles. It is perhaps a little less beautiful\nbut it has quite the same feeling of gentle strength, of delicacy. One\nfeels the joy of the artist who throws himself against the problem of\nthe nude in the open air. Till then statues had been draped, but under\nthe draperies was concealed a carefully studied nude. In the Renaissance\nthe drapery was dropped: the nymphs of Jean Goujon, of Germain Pilon--I\nrecognize them; these long bodies of women, these undulating bodies, are\nGothic statues unclothed and set in another light. Our whole sixteenth\ncentury is a song of grace rising from the Gothic heart to the art of\nthe Parthenon.\n\nBut nowhere than in the country of the Loire is there Renaissance art\nmore gentle and amply luminous. This is the Greek part of France. The\ntranquil river touched the heart of our architects and bestowed on them\nsome of its calm and smiling majesty. From it, from the air impregnated\nwith its vapors, came those chateaux so happy in their beauty and those\nlovable cottages; for the artist worked as beautifully for peasants as\nfor kings. Before Usse, before Chenonceaux, Blois, Azay-le-Rideau, I am\nnot in the presence of dead things but of a living spirit, the spirit of\ndivine beauty that animated equally the antique and the Gothic. Charming\nsixteenth century France, it is you who have forced me to the study of\nchiaroscuro. Formerly I tried my best to understand your motives, your\nthousand nerves, but the general law escaped me. I did not see your\nsoul, which consists entirely in the voluptuous shadings of light; I did\nnot perceive your principle, the modeling which impressed movement upon\neverything and gave the movement life.\n\n\n\nTHE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY\n\nThe eighteenth century is the exaggeration of the sixteenth. Our elegant\nhouses, our houses in the style of Louis XV and Louis XVI have always\nthe Gothic line with its proud, graceful air. Without moldings, without\nornaments, their beauty lies in their very lack of ornaments, in their\nnudity. But what proportions they have! The finest of the fine!\n\nThe eighteenth century is considered too frail, too affected. It is,\non the contrary, full of life and strength. It possesses admirable\nsculptors: Pigalle, creator of that immortal masterpiece, the tomb of\nMarshal Saxe; Houdon, whose busts to-day are bought for their weight in\ngold without even then bringing their proper price. There were thousands\nthen, the whole rank and file of the trade, who created marvels, with a\nsureness of hand accustomed to every difficulty. The outline of a table,\nof a chest, was as much considered as that of a statue. For that matter,\nwhat difference did the dimensions of a work make? It was the modeling\nthat counted. The peasant himself sat down in a well-made chair. Artists\nand artisans had a taste, an alert grace, and a dexterity sufficient to\nfit out the whole world; but their dexterity was based on a foundation\nof intelligence as an ornament is based upon a building. The dexterity\nwe possess nowadays is nothing but mockery, a kind of banter that\ntouches everything without discernment; it kills force.\n\nThe Louis XV and Louis XVI styles possessed grandeur. We call it the art\nof the boudoir, but the boudoir of that period had a nobility like that\nof those white and gold salons where the seats are disposed with dignity\nlike persons of quality. The music had the same character; the dances\nalso, the dances, those charming scenes in which men and women with the\nnatural spirit of play threw themselves into the cadence, translating it\nwith the eloquence of youth. The dance--that was architecture brought to\nlife.\n\nThe eighteenth century was a century which _designed_; in this lay its\ngenius. Nowadays people are searching for a new style and do not find\nit. Style comes unawares through the concurrence of many elements; but\ncan we achieve it without design? To-day we design no longer and our\nart, which is altogether industrial, is bad. The central matter in art\nis the nude, and this we no longer understand. How can we be expected\nto have art when we do not understand its central principle? The minor\narts are the rays that go out from the center. When I draw the body of a\nwoman I rediscover the form of the beautiful Greek vases. Through design\nalone we arrive at a knowledge of the shading of forms. The forms that\ndelight us in the art of past centuries are nothing but those presented\nby living nature, those of human beings, animals, verdure, interpreted\nby men of supreme taste. The art that people are struggling to discover\nto-day might be deduced from my sculpture and my drawings, for I have\nalways drawn with passion. The quality of my drawing I owe in large\nmeasure to the eighteenth century. I am nothing but a link in the great\nchain of artists, but I maintain the connection with those of the past.\nAt the Petite Ecole they made us copy the red chalks of Boucher and the\nmodels of flowers, animals, and ornaments. They were Louis XVI models,\nvery well executed; they certainly gave me a little of the warmth of the\nartists of that period. In my youth I made drawings by the hundreds, by\nthe thousands. At the Petite Ecole we were badly placed, badly lighted\nby poor candles; when we touched them we made them sticky with the clay\nwith which our fingers were covered so that they were worse than ever\nafterwards. It did not matter; we were working according to the right\nprinciples.\n\nTo-day the Petite Ecole is entirely in the power of the larger school,\nthat of the Beaux-Arts. Far from learning one gets spoiled there for the\nrest of one's life. One copies the antique, but one copies it badly.\n\nI am speaking with the experience of a genuine artistic life. There was\na time when I never talked; to-day I hold forth! If I am understood\nit will not have been in vain. But how much effort it will take to\nreestablish truths which are so self-evident, so obvious, so fundamental\nthat one is ashamed to repeat them so many times! Nevertheless they are\n_essential_. The public is a thousand miles away from them, the public,\nby which I mean the general taste. If it does not become enlightened,\nart will disappear. Observe its attitude before the works of the new\nschool, before the pictures of those who call themselves cubists:\nsarcasm, anger. These artists show us squares, cubes, geometrical\nfigures  according to their own ideas. They name them: _Portrait\nof Mme. X._ or _Landscape_. This exasperates the public. What does it\nmatter? Is it good? That is the whole point. Is the ornament well\ntreated? That is the capital question, the only one that is not\ndiscussed. Their canvases are combinations of color recalling mosaic\nor even stained glass. We have accepted many other things; we have\naccepted the green or rather the violet women of our later salons, and\nwomen with wooden heads, but we do not wish to admit the squares of the\ncubists. Why? They are not portraits, we say. They are not landscapes.\nSo much the better! They are something else. What does it matter if\nthe artist has deceived himself knowingly or wilfully on a matter so\ninsignificant as the subject? It is ornamental, that is enough. They are\ncurious, these quarrels that break out, these sects that are created for\nreasons like this--for a sock put on inside out! Ignorance inflames the\npassions. There are struggles whose aim is great; others that appear\nuseless have their use perhaps.\n\nIt may be that this slackening of taste and knowledge is necessary.\nPerhaps it is a period of transition, a fallow period required by the\nintelligence like that required by a soil that has been productive for\ntoo long. If ignorance is prolonged it will mean that the history of\nFrance is ended; it will mean the annihilation of the Celtic genius\nwhich has fertilized Europe for two thousand years. We shall become like\nAsia. Roman art declined for four or five centuries after Augustus. With\nus the decadence has only been going on for a hundred years. During\nthe present war marvels have been destroyed. Formerly, even during\nthe religious wars, the monuments were spared; it is for this reason\nthat France is still so rich. When stone is no longer respected, it\nmeans decadence. The cannon turn up the earth like a plow, leveling\neverything. This war appears therefore like an explosion of barbarism;\nat bottom it indicates a latent state of soul which has been shaping\nitself since the beginning of the nineteenth century. During this period\nthe world has ceased to obey the law of beauty and love; it has lived\nfor nothing but business. What is the leading idea that has precipitated\nthe nations against one another? Trade: the desire, the longing to make\nmore money than one's neighbor. Trade is the anxious care of people who\nthink of nothing but their own petty welfare; it is not the basis on\nwhich is founded the grandeur of peoples. It alone regulates at present\nthe relations between things. The war is nothing but the consequence of\nsuch habits and their natural conclusion.\n\n[Illustration: METAMORPHOSIS ACCORDING TO OVID.]\n\nDo you ask me what will spring out of the conflict? I am not a prophet.\nI know only that without religion, without art, without the love of\nnature--these three words are for me synonymous--men will die of ennui.\nBut nothing easily resigns itself to death. An outburst of courage has\njust transfigured the world. Can we preserve this courage during peace?\nThe patience of the soldier, the patience of the trenches surpasses\nin sublimity the virtue of the ancients. Will it produce a rebirth of\nintelligence? Shall we have, in study, the force of soul that we have\nhad in the great struggle? That is the question. Of course the stupid,\nthe ignorant will not suffer any transformation through the war; but\nmen of character will be reinvigorated by the hardships of the military\nlife; we have recaptured patience and we have yet to learn what we can\nexpect from this virtue. Genius is as much character as talent. If we\nhave men of force in this country where taste is a natural gift, it\nseems to me impossible that this force will not quicken the gift and\ndevelop it and that we shall not have once more an era of beauty.\n\nAUGUSTE RODIN.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORK OF RODIN\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nTHE STUDY OF THE CATHEDRALS--INFLUENCE OF THE GOTHIC ON THE ART OF\nRODIN--\"SAINT JOHN THE BAPTIST\" (1880)--\"THE GATE OF HELL\"\n\n\nIn 1877 Rodin visited our most illustrious cathedrals, Rheims, Amiens,\nChartres, Soissons, Noyon. During his youth, the choir of Beauvais\nand Notre Dame de Paris appealed more to his imagination than to his\ntaste, and it required many years of travel and comparison to enable\nhim to grasp the splendors of that Gothic art which he was to admire\nthenceforth at least as much as the antique. As a splendidly gifted,\nbut inexperienced young man, he shared the error of his epoch: the\neighteenth and the first half of the nineteenth century had despised the\nRoman and the Gothic; they had ridiculed them and called them barbaric;\nthe nineteenth century, while flattering itself that it appreciated\nthem, did still worse--it restored them.\n\nThe romantic writers of the Schools of Chateaubriand and Victor Hugo\nhad exalted the art of the Middle Ages, but chiefly because of their\nhatred of the classic and without understanding its true worth. What\nstruck them, especially, was the immensity and the picturesqueness of\nthe buildings, the luxuriousness of this stone vegetation, but not the\nunique character of their architecture and sculpture.\n\nVictor Hugo was perhaps one of the few to discover the precise\nexplanation of this beauty: relief and modeling. This all-powerful\nwriter, this architect of words who constructed poems like cathedrals,\nunderstood the plastic intelligence of the master masons because he\nhimself possessed the _sense of mass_. One is convinced of this not only\nin reading his descriptions of cities and monuments, but in studying\nthose astonishing pen-and-ink drawings which he multiplied in idle\nmoments.\n\nIf the romanticists have failed fully to explain medieval art to us,\nlet us still be grateful to them: they gave our cathedrals back to us,\nthey denounced ignorance and scourged the stupidity that would have\nended by tearing down those sublime piles. Finally if the writers and\nart critics of this epoch have not given them superlative praise, if on\ntheir behalf they have not burned with apostolic zeal, it is because it\nwas necessary for this prophecy of art to come from a man of the craft,\na man dominated, captivated, himself, by the craft, a man who understood\nstone and adored it because he had married it in spirit with all its\ndifficulties and its dazzling possibilities.\n\nThat man was to be Rodin. Although he has been listened to by the\nignorant and superficial multitude, it has not been chiefly because of\nthe authority of his genius, of the general renown that he has enjoyed.\nHe has truly thrown a new light over the mystery of Gothic construction.\nThanks to him, we understand in a measure, for tangible reasons, the\nreasons of an actual carver, this \"world in little\" that constitutes the\nGothic cathedrals. What study, what researches are necessary in order to\ncomprehend the art of stonework! Does any one suppose that Rodin himself\nhas attained this in a day? By no means. That lover of perfection in\ndetail does not possess the instantly penetrating glance that is often\nthe property of genius: to the task of deciphering our monuments he\nbrought that slow-minded, customary patience of his, together with\nhis energy. He had first of all to rid himself of the false current\nideas. After that thirty years of observation were necessary for him to\nreach conclusions that satisfied his artistic conscience. Even to-day\nhe is far from affirming that he has understood everything, that he\nhas grasped the full significance of the Gothics. Read his book, \"The\nCathedrals of France,\" published in 1914; observe the carefullness of\nhis judgments, the gropings of his thought, the constant retracing of\nhis steps. He makes attempts, ventures; he never proclaims his opinion\nin the peremptory tone dear to specialists in criticism, but endeavors\nto approach respectfully, as closely as possible, to the spirit of\nthe masters. Sometimes a flash of genius springs from his brain and\nillumines to the depths of its mysteries the Gothic universe; but\nnothing is suggested that does not spring from a prolonged observation,\nand when at last he speaks it is in the tone of a man who mistrusts\nhimself. It must be confessed that in this work, \"The Cathedrals of\nFrance,\" something is lacking, even though it is prefaced by a long and\nvery learned introduction by one of our good writers, Charles Morice. It\nlacks the magnificent lesson that the reader will find in these pages,\nsigned with Rodin's name. This lesson constitutes really a vital page\nthat is, as it were, the key and the summary of the whole work; but the\nmaster, having given me the first rights in it, had scruples, as had\nCharles Morice, about including it in his own book.\n\nBefore obtaining this page, with what insistence did I have to question\nRodin not once, not twice, but twenty times, during the course of a\nnumber of years. Every time he came back from one of his pilgrimages\nto some old city of the provinces, to our churches, our town halls, I\nrenewed my questions without receiving any satisfactory answer. In my\nheart I could not but honor this rigorous honesty which was unwilling to\nventure anything lightly on so vast, so noble a subject.\n\nIn 1877, after having accomplished his first tour of France, he came\nback filled with wonder. But the impression that he carried with him was\nstill confused; he did not know at what point to begin the analytical\nstudy of French architecture, for in what concerned sculpture he\nhad immediately been struck with amazement and adoration before the\nessential beauty of the status of Chartres, Amiens, and Rheims. He had\nreturned from Italy haunted by the antique and Michelangelo, and now\nhere he was haunted by the modeling and the rhythm of the Gothic figures.\n\nBut in order to understand them entirely he had to rediscover this\nmodeling and these movements in nature, he had to verify them in the\nliving model. Fortune favors those who seek greatly. When one is the\nvictim of an idea unexpected elements arise to nourish and develop it.\nOne day two Italians knocked at the door of his studio. One of them,\na professional model, had already posed for Rodin and he introduced\nthe other, his comrade. He was a peasant from the Abruzzi who had come\nto seek his fortune in Paris. He was fresh from his native province.\nHis robust body, his fierce head, his bristling beard and hair, and\nabove all his expression of indomitable force charmed the artist. He\nundressed, climbed upon the model's stand, planted himself firmly on\nhis legs, which were spread like a compass, the head well raised, and,\ncontinuing to talk, advanced with a gesture full of ardor.\n\nRodin, struck by this wild energy, immediately set to work. He made the\nman such as he saw him; he desired to capture this movement of the legs,\nthis brusk forward movement that complemented the movement of the arms,\nthe shining eyes, the open mouth. He surrendered himself to a great\nstudy, without any preconceived idea, without any intention of treating\na _subject_. What he made was _a man walking_. The name has stuck to the\nfigure. The first study remains incomplete; Rodin has sculptured neither\nthe head nor the arms; what he sought eagerly, passionately, was the\nequilibrium of the torso and of the legs cast forward into space. He\nsucceeded; he made a superb fragment, \"The Man Walking.\" Thirty years\nlater it occurred to a group of his admirers to ask the state to acquire\nthis study and erect it in the court of the French embassy at Rome, in\nthe Farnese Palace; but the official architects up to the present time\nhave objected to the erection of this statue, and for the last seven or\neight years it has awaited, in some obscure shed, the good pleasure of\nthese gentlemen.\n\nRodin, in the presence of his Italian peasant, had rediscovered, to his\ngreat joy as a seeker, the peculiar equipoise of the Gothic figures. In\nthe antique statues the plumb-line falls through one of the legs, while\nthe other, lightly raised, impresses on the different planes of the body\nthe graceful effect that has become classic. In Gothic statues, on the\ncontrary, the line of equilibrium passes through the middle of the body\nand falls right between the two legs as they are planted on the earth.\n\nIn \"The Age of Bronze\" Rodin has adopted the balanced rhythm of Greek\nsculpture; in his new figure he passed to the Gothic equipoise, with\na harmony that is less gracious, but with a reality stronger and more\nliving. What he did not abandon was the rigorous construction and the\nstrength of modeling which his study of the antique had given him. \"The\nMan Walking,\" as well as the greater part of his subsequent works, thus\nexhibits the union of the two great principles of sculpture that have\ngoverned the Occidental genius.\n\nRodin, strengthened by study, now made a complete statue with head and\narms. While he was working he discovered that his model was half a\nsavage, still close to the animal and its ferocious instincts. Sometimes\nhis eyes burned, his jaws, armed with powerful teeth, were thrust\nforward as if to bite something; he resembled a wolf. At other times a\nkind of strange passion inflamed him. His face radiated faith and will;\nhe spoke with such energy that he seemed to be haranguing a crowd; one\nwould have thought him a prophet of the primitive ages, a visionary\nbursting forth from the desert to preach and to convert the people.\nRodin regarded him in amazement. It was no longer his model, but a man\nfrom the Bible; surely it was a prophet that stood before him: it was\nSaint John the Baptist brought back to life. The sculptor bowed before\nthe command of nature: his statue should bear the name of the forerunner.\n\n[Illustration: EVE.]\n\nHe thought at first of emphasizing the disturbing impression: he placed\non the shoulders of Saint John a simple cross. But here was revealed the\nall-powerful instinct of the sculptor, making the subject, the anecdote,\nthe literary connotation a matter of secondary importance. The cross,\nthe sublime symbol, would be here only an accessory, not really needed.\nIt would complicate the simplicity of line dictated by the laws of\nsculpture, destroying the appositions of equilibrium of the great body\nand distracting the attention from that speaking head.\n\nSo Rodin gave it up. He came at last to the decision that his work\nshould remain free from what was not of the very essence of art. He sent\nit off in the form in which it appeared in the Salon of 1880, adding\nalso \"The Age of Bronze.\"\n\nThe artists, the true artists, those whose enthusiasm was not poisoned\nby envy and jealousy, applauded these two superb figures artistically\nso different, but so similar in their sincerity; they acclaimed them\nwith the grave joy of generous souls who perceive the dawn of a great\ntalent. The name of Rodin became fixed forever in their memory.\n\nAs for the jury of this Salon, it considered it sufficient to award\nthe \"Saint John the Baptist\" and \"The Age of Bronze\" a medal _of the\nthird class_. Let us, in turn, give it our reward--the reward for its\ninsensitiveness--by not disclosing the names of the sages who composed\nit.\n\n\n\n\"THE GATE OF HELL\"\n\nWhile finishing these works, which he was not even certain of being able\nto sell, Rodin was still compelled to provide for his own subsistence\nand that of his family; he had also to meet the expenses of his trade.\nA costly trade! It requires a studio, models, large fires to keep them\nwarm, clay, tools of every kind. It was luck enough if the sculptor,\nstill unknown, was able to have plaster casts made of his work. But\nthis did not satisfy him; he dreamed of seeing them take on a new\naspect in the richness of marble and bronze. Alas! in many cases he\nhad to wait until middle age to have this dream realized. Rodin has\nnever complained of the slowness of fortune. He knows that in order to\nattain the fullness of his productive power it is well for the artist\nto be thwarted, exalted by difficulties, the desire to conquer. After a\nfive-years' stay in Belgium he had returned to Paris to take part in the\nwork of the World Exposition of 1878, and he had taken a position with\nthe ornament-worker Legrain, in whose workshop he met Jules Desbois,\nthe future great sculptor, to whom he became attached for life. What\ninnumerable decorations he executed at that time--decorations which\ndisappeared like the leaves and flowers of the season when the stucco\npalaces of the exposition vanished! Only the masks ornamenting the\nPalais du Trocadero remained.\n\nAt the same time he accumulated busts, studies, large figures with\na fury of work which from then on was to resemble that of the most\npowerfully productive minds, the fecundity of a Rubens, of a Balzac, of\na Michelet, of a Hugo. In the studios which he rented in the Faubourg\nSt. Jacques, from 1877 to 1883, besides the \"Saint John the Baptist,\" he\nexecuted the admirable little tough model of the \"Monument Commemorating\nthe National Defense\"; after his wife, whose characterful features and\nnaturally tragic countenance he had often reproduced, he made a helmeted\nbust, a \"Bellona.\" He exhibited three life-sized figures: \"The Creation\nof Man\"; \"Adam,\" since destroyed; and \"Eve,\" the bronze of which did\nnot appear until the Salon of 1899. He did the busts of W.E. Henley;\nthe painter Jean-Paul Laurens (to mention some of the most beautiful),\nCarrier-Belleuse, the etcher Alphonse Legros, all in the midst of\ndifficulties and injustices which did not in any way disturb the depths\nof his serenity, the noble tranquillity of the artisan sure of attaining\nhis end by labor. Is it possible to-day to believe that the model of the\n\"Monument of the Defense\" was not only refused, but was not even classed\namong the thirty designs that were retained by the jury of 1880 after\nthe first choice had been made? This same jury, the composition of which\nis also worthy of passing into history, decided on a solemn confection\nby M. Barrias for the _prix de Rome_, the result of which was that four\nyears later its creator was elected a member of the Academy of Fine Arts.\n\nI do not know whether many collectors contend for reproductions of M.\nBarrias's monstrous design for a clock; but Rodin's group, a wounded\nsoldier entirely enveloped by the wings of a prodigious figure of a\nwarrior goddess crying out for aid, which was later renamed \"The Genius\nof the Defense\" or \"The Appeal to Arms,\" and which has acquired to-day\nso pathetic a character of actuality, is coveted by most of the museums\nand art collectors of Europe and America.\n\nAs if these works, which have since acquired such glory, were nothing\nbut fragments of secondary importance, Rodin attacked a great piece of\nwork, like those that used to be executed in the great ages of art: he\nundertook the famous \"Gate of Hell.\"\n\nAt the time of the affair of \"The Age of Bronze\" there was at the\nhead of the ministry of fine arts, an under-secretary of state named\nEdmond Turquet. To him fell the task of deciding in the last resort the\ncase of Rodin. M. Edmond Turquet was a brilliant lawyer who had become\n_procureur_ under the empire, which did not altogether qualify him for\nthe part of director of fine arts under the republic. In the field of\nart he knew no more than any one else, Rodin says; but he was a very\nfair-minded man, and his honesty had the effect of quickly straightening\nout the affair of the sculptor. In his genuine desire to atone for the\nwrong done to Rodin in the eyes of public opinion he not only offered\nto obtain for him a position in the porcelain factory at Sevres, in\norder to assure him a regular livelihood, but ordered from him a great\nornamental piece, a door destined for the Palais des Arts Decoratifs.\nIn addition, by a special privilege created in favor of artists under\nLouis XIV,--a privilege the traditions of which the French Government\nhas happily perpetuated,--M. Turquet granted Rodin a good studio in the\nDepot des Marbres, so that he could execute his order.\n\n\"And what will you represent on that door?\" enquired the under-secretary\nof state.\n\n\"I am sure I don't know,\" replied the artist. \"But I shall make a\nquantity of little figures; then no one will say that they are casts\ntaken from the life.\"\n\nThus we find him at Sevres, a ceramist; he has carried on so many\ndifferent trades that he succeeds marvelously with this one. It was his\ntask to decorate vases of delicate clay; he modeled light bas-reliefs,\nrepresentations of mythological scenes, idylls. Nymphs, cupids, fauns,\nevoked by his miraculously delicate fingers, were born out of the milky,\ntransparent material, bringing back to life the flowery graces of the\ndrawing-room art of the eighteenth century, the dainty elegances of the\nwax figures of Clodion, but with a graver sense of the mystery of nature\nand of love.\n\nUnfortunately, when these vases left the hand of the master they were\noverladen with hideous ornaments in the style of Louis-Philippe.\nMoreover, the officials at the head of the factory did not like them.\nThey were carried up to the attics, they were left lying about on the\nfloor, in the secret hope of seeing them broken by the feet of some\ncareless or ill-willed workman.\n\nThe feeling of being isolated and misunderstood at times threw a shadow\nover the soul of the sculptor; but on the other hand he felt himself\nso strong, so solidly based in his will, in his self-confidence, and\nin the virtue of labor that these moments of depression passed away\nquickly. Besides, he knew the secret of the poor, the secret of creating\nhappiness for oneself out of everything that the rich and powerful\ndespise: a simple life, health, regular work, the contemplation of\nnature, and a few real friendships. Rodin earned at Sevres only two or\nthree francs an hour and lost a great deal of time on the railroad. What\ndid it matter? He found pleasure and rest in these little journeys.\nEvery day he set out from Paris by train, and, the day over, winter and\nsummer, his wife came to meet him. They returned together on foot either\nalong the banks of the Seine, charming in their profusion of little\nhills and islands, covered with meadows or fine trees, or through the\nwoods of Meudon and Clamart, with their vistas of Paris, its heights,\nits buildings, its changing sky full of light and spirit.\n\nAt the end of four years of opposition and annoyance Rodin gave up\npottery in order to consecrate himself wholly to his own work. The\nmuseum of the factory preserves a vase signed by him, and the future\nMusee de l'Hotel Biron can show a second example. What has become of the\nothers? What price would not be paid for them to-day by admirers of the\nmaster?\n\nThese supplementary works did not turn him away from his essential task;\nwhatever were the technical means employed, his efforts tended toward\none unique end, the plastic quality, and he gave himself up desperately\nto this search in executing his new order, the \"Gate.\"\n\nRising at four in the morning, as he had done in his youth, he studied\nthe plans and the details of this great work. He had announced a series\nof little figures. How was he to group them? What visions surged in the\nsculptor's imagination? Of what legendary theme, what theme of history\nor poetry, should he make use in order to realize his program? He had\nnever ceased to be a passionate reader. He read especially the Greek\npoets and dramatists, the Roman historians, the old French chronicles,\nDante, Shakspere, Victor Hugo, and Baudelaire. He did not wish to draw\nthe subject of his future work from Homer, AEschylus or Sophocles;\nthe School of the Beaux-Arts had so abused the theme of the antique,\nalready immortalized by Greek sculptors, that it had entirely lost its\nfreshness. The moderns attracted him less, but he was obsessed by the\nwork of the great poet of the Renaissance, by the \"Divine Comedy\" of\nDante. He had read and reread it and made a sort of commentary in the\nform of innumerable sketches which he jotted down mornings and evenings\nat table, while walking, stopping by the wayside to dash off attitudes\nand gestures on the leaves of his note-book. He rediscovered in the\npoem of Dante the fateful grandeur of the Greek dramas, but with an\natmosphere more modern, closer to ourselves, more mournfully familiar to\nour anguishes and our torments. The idea took shape in his imagination,\n\"that imagination ceaselessly rumbling and groaning like a forge\"; it\nexalted his bold spirit. Genius joins to the richness of the intellect\nthe simplicity of heart that creates faith. Genius _believes_ ever more\nthan it _thinks_. It has the strength which succeeds in anything, and\nit possesses also that supreme gift, the ingenuousness of the child who\ndoubts nothing. Rodin believed the poem of Dante as if he had lived it,\nas Dante himself believed in Vergil. What a magnificent homage great men\nrender to one another in this credulity of genius toward genius!\n\n[Illustration: RODIN AT WORK ON THE MARBLE.]\n\nThe subject chosen by Rodin for his decorative panels, then, was\nhell--hell as Dante conceived it in a vision that lends itself, for\nthat matter, marvelously to a plastic realization. The \"Gate\" would\nbe a poem, an immense sculptured poem; that is to say, a resume of\nthe attitudes and gestures of life called forth by the release of the\npassions, a strange catalogue of the expressions of the human body under\nthe shock of sorrow and of joy. If the imagination of Rodin caught\nfire like that of a visionary, he remained beyond everything and above\neverything the sculptor, and he plunged immediately into the search for\nthe general scheme of the work.\n\nThe truth of the movements, the poetry of the evocations, his models\nwould give him; he could feel at ease as to that: the resources that\nnature would offer him were inexhaustible. But the plan, that he\nmust find himself; he must do the work of the builder, almost of the\ngeometrician. There could be no self-deception as to that. The fuller\nthe ornamentation was to be of figures and movements, the more solid\nmust be the frame of the immense picture, the more vigorous and compact\nmust be the general plan of the work.\n\nRodin's mind wavered between two great schools, that of the Renaissance\nand that of the Middle Ages, that which had produced the doors of the\nbaptistry at Florence and that to which we owe the portals of the Gothic\ncathedrals.\n\nThe celebrated gates of Florence are a series of bas-reliefs arranged\nsymmetrically in a regular framework; they present a series of separate\npictures having no common bond except their subject. The execution\nis admirable, and it is perhaps impossible to surpass it. Lorenzo\nGhiberti has done there the work of an incomparable modeler, actually\na goldsmith; but he has in no way troubled himself with regard to\narchitecture. Now, architecture is the great French point of view. The\nRoman and the Gothic have placed in their monument (the church) that\nother monument (the portal). The portal is complete in itself; the\nart of the sculptor and that of the architect have united and become\nindistinguishable here in order to realize an absolute beauty.\n\nRodin, profoundly French, inheriting the instinct and taste of his\nancestors the master-masons, having to compose a door, was fated to\nconceive a portal. On the other hand, he could not escape the influence\nof the antique, the result of his early studies. This was the entirely\ndifferent element which in the course of the work he had undertaken was\nto mingle with the Gothic element.\n\nIt was not the first time that the mingling of these two great\nconceptions of art had occurred in France. From it had sprung our\nRenaissance sculpture; in that epoch the sculpture of the Greeks united\nitself with the Gothic architecture, the Hellenic sunlight brought to\nblossom the majesty of our monuments. Does not Rodin himself, with his\nvast outlook over the whole field of art, call this period of national\nart, the sixteenth century, the French Gothic?\n\n\"The Gate of Hell,\" then, took on in its general structure a Renaissance\naspect. It preserves the graceful line of the Gothic portal and has the\nluminous whiteness inspired by Greek sculpture. This singular work has\ntouched all contemporary artists. Most of our writers have described it,\nand, after them, the critics of other countries. This living multitude,\nthis suffering, groaning multitude that covers the two panels with a\nthousand passionate movements, has drawn into its magic whirlpool the\nworld of literature, which has been able to liberate itself only by\nmeans of innumerable printed pages. The poem of Dante has come forth as\nit were revivified from the hands of Rodin. Fresh tears, one would say,\nhave bathed the most poignant passages; the pity of a man of to-day,\nof one like ourselves, our brother, has enveloped the terrible work of\nthe Florentine poet, that man of the Middle Ages, with an atmosphere of\ntenderness and compassion which seems the emotion of Christianity at its\npurest, its original source. In order to become our own, it has passed\nthrough the great soul of Rodin. It is not surprising, then, that the\nsensibility of our artists, reanimated by this new spectacle, should be\ntouched to so voluminous an expression by this haunting work.\n\nBut what has not been sufficiently remarked is that the \"Gate\" is, above\neverything, a piece of architecture of the highest order.\n\nWhen we see it we are at once struck with an impression of majesty, of\ncalm strength and plenitude. It seems even longer than it actually is.\nIt is a rectangle six meters high and two and a half meters wide, but\nthe source of the illusion is the justness of the proportions and the\nvalue of the masses.\n\nThe powerful frame is furrowed with deep depressions. It rests on the\nground upon a strong base from which rise the two door-posts, as robust\nas pillars and mounting together toward the summit. A pediment in the\nshape of an entablature overhangs the entire monument, casting over\nit a deep shadow full of nuances; and it is this shadow, skilfully\ngraduated, that gives to the work its rich, soft color. The body of\nthe portal is divided into two panels; a vast tympanum surmounts them\ntransversally. This tympanum, surmounted by a large cornice, dominates\nthe work. Without weighing it down, it gives it its mass, it attracts,\nit obsesses, the eye; it is the soul of the edifice, its intellect. No\nword can more justly describe it than the word brow, for it is magnetic,\nhaunting, mysterious, like the forehead of a man of genius.\n\nThe panels sink deep into a shadow that is heavy, but not harsh, while\nin the foreground the pillars advance into the light; the delicate\nbas-reliefs that cover them keep them in a silvery atmosphere, the\nsource of the great softness which envelopes this work, otherwise severe\nand tragic, the source of the fugitive lightness of the lines, which\nstrike up from the earth toward the somber and tormented upper regions.\n\nCarried away by this marvelous technic, the spirit of the visitor\nsuccumbs; it follows this ascending movement of the door-posts, to lose\nitself in the sorrowful dream sculptured on the tympanum.\n\nOn the panel writhe the clusters of human figures, the eddies of the\nmultitude of damned souls pursued by the rage of the elements, by\nthe devouring tongues of the infernal fire, by the frozen waters, by\nthe wind that tears them and stings them. \"It is,\" says the eminent\nart critic Gustave Jeffroy, in the most beautiful pages that have\nbeen consecrated to a description of this work, \"the dizzy whirl, the\nfalling through space, the groveling on the face of the earth of a\nwhole wretched humanity obstinately persisting in living and suffering,\nbruised and wounded in its flesh, saddened in its soul, crying aloud\nits griefs, harshly laughing through its tears, chanting its breathless\nfears, its sickly joys, its ecstatic sorrows.\"\n\nThe genius of Rodin became intoxicated with all the resources of his\nart. Master of a technic of the first order, he delighted in every kind\nof effect, arranging them as a great symphonist arranges the instruments\nof an immense orchestra. Low-relief, half-relief, high-relief, and\nsculpture in the round, he omitted none. He did not yield to the\nliterary temptation. At the height of his fever of invention he was\ncircumspect, measured, guided by his knowledge as a modeler. The poet\nthinks, but the carver speaks; he speaks justly, he speaks admirably,\nbecause he uses only his own true and personal language, which he knows\nfrom the ground up. That is the whole secret of the way in which this\nman inflames our soul and subjugates our imagination.\n\nTwo principal notes, two motives form, above the whirlwind of the\ninfernal fires, a resting-place for the eye troubled by so much\nvehemence: one, in the midst of the tympanum, is the figure of Dante. It\nis Dante, but it is even more the eternal poet. Seated, leaning over the\nabyss of suffering, thrilled with anguish, he seems to seek in the very\ndepths of the pit itself the word of infinite pity that will deliver\nthis sorrowful humanity.\n\nHigher yet, above his bowed head, rising suddenly from the frame and\nsplayed in a large protuberance, a group of three entwined figures\ncrowns and completes the brow. With the same despairing gesture they\npoint to the multitude of the damned. One does not know what these\nshuddering beings are, but they have the sweetness of angels; at once\nwe seem to hear their lips murmur the words of the grand Florentine,\n\"_Lasciate ogni speranza_\"; but across their forms, their compassionate\nforms, their fraternal forms, one feels passing a tremor of love and\npity. Far from condemning, their clasped hands offer to the sad wreckage\nof fatality that writhes at their feet a sign, a unique sign, the sign\nof good-will of pity.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"The Gate of Hell\" was shown only once to the public. This was at the\nUniversal Exposition of 1900. Although it was nearly finished, it was\nseen then only in an incomplete state.\n\nThe day of the opening arrived before the master had been able to have\nplaced on the _fronton_ and on the panels of his monument the hundreds\nof great and small figures destined for their ornamentation. People saw\nthe \"Gate,\" then in the nudity of its construction, grandiose assuredly,\nbut despoiled of its extraordinary raiment of sculpture.\n\nThat day was a sad one for the true friends of art and of Rodin. A band\nof snobs, full of their own importance, crowded about the great man.\nHaving considered the work with the hasty and casual glance of men of\nthe world of the sort that are concerned above all to get themselves\nnoticed, they remarked to Rodin, in a tone of augury, \"Your doorway is\nmuch more beautiful like that; in no circumstances do anything more to\nit.\"\n\nThis absurd advice befell at an evil moment: the artist felt worn out\nfrom overwork and anxieties of all kinds and, moreover, was troubled\nover the fate of his exhibit the failure of which might in truth have\nruined him completely. In these circumstances he did not have the\nfreedom of spirit necessary to judge correctly the value of his own\nwork. And besides he had seen it too much during the twenty years in\nwhich it had been before his eyes. He was tired of it, weary of it.\n\n[Illustration: PERISTYLE OP THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.]\n\nThus everything combined to make him lend an ear to the unfavorable\nopinions of the Parisian aviary. Had he been in better health, more\nthe master of himself physically and morally, he would have replied to\nthe prattling of these excited paroquets and guinea-hens:\n\n\"Take more room, examine my 'Gate' from a little farther off, and you\nwill see once more the effect of the whole--the effect of unity which\ncharms you when it is deprived of its ornamentation. You must understand\nthat my sculpture is so calculated as to melt into the principal masses.\nFor that matter, it completes them by modeling them into the light.\nThe essential designs are there: it is possible that in the course\nof the final work I may find it necessary to diminish such or such a\nprojection, to fill out such or such a pool of shadow; nevertheless,\nleave this difficulty to my fifty years of artisanship and experience,\nand you may be sure that quite by myself I shall find the best way of\nfinishing my work.\"\n\nBut the master was silent. Later, carried away by the abundance of his\nconceptions, by his ever-deepening researches, he lost all interest in\nthe \"Gate\" and has never taken the trouble to have it entirely mounted.\n\nFortunately, casts of it have been carefully preserved. It would be\nonly an affair of a few months to reconstruct the work in its original\nintegrity. Since the Universal Exposition time has rolled forward, and\nevents also. Auguste Rodin has entered into the great serenity which\nage brings with it. He composes less, he corrects his work, he judges\nhimself, and he does not deny his \"Gate,\" one of the most exceptional of\nhis works.\n\nAt last the creation of the Musee Rodin has been decided upon by the\nstate. \"The Gate of Hell\" will be one of its important pieces; we shall\nbe able to contemplate it then in all its majesty; it will not then\nsimply be molded in plaster, but cast in bronze and cut in marble.\nIt will offer a noble example of what work can accomplish when it is\nserved by that supreme gift, will; for it will testify as much to\nresistance against the powerful enemies of the life of thought as to the\nintelligence of the man who created it. It forces upon us not only a\nformidable impression of strength, labor, talent, but also an impression\nno less lofty of method, order, and inner harmony. The multitude, who\nthrough their profound instincts approach much closer than one might\nsuppose to the man of genius, will exclaim in contemplating this work,\nthis true monument which undoubtedly the sculptor has raised through his\nown force of character, \"Whoever erected this beautiful thing with his\nindefatigable hands was truly a man.\"\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\"THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS\" (1889)--RODIN AND VICTOR HUGO--THE STATUE OF\nBALZAC (1898)\n\n\nAt the time the plaster model of \"The Burghers of Calais\" was first\noffered to the judgment of the public, in 1889, nearly seven years had\ngone by since Rodin had originally undertaken the group.\n\nThis is the period of my own childish memories of the master. He was a\nfrequent visitor at the home of my father, who lived in Sevres, on the\noutskirts of Paris.\n\nRodin, with his silent nature, apparently so full of calm and\nmeditation, delighted in the ardor, the patriotic enthusiasm, the\nferment of character, the brilliant conversation of that powerful,\noriginal writer, my father; he loved his books, too, spirited and\npassionate like himself, and possessing a vigor of expression that was\nnew to French letters.\n\nLeon Cladel received his friends on Sundays. In winter they gathered in\nthe drawing-room, in summer on a terrace shaded by great chestnuts and\nlimes, where thousands of birds twittered and chattered so energetically\nthat at dusk they ended by drowning the voices of the visitors. Among\nthe latter were writers, painters, and sculptors, several of whom have\nsince become famous. Among them were Auguste Rodin and his colleague,\nhis dear comrade, Jules Dalou, creator of many fine works, notably the\nmonument to Eugene Delacroix which stands in the Luxembourg Gardens.\n\nThe sculptor of \"The Burghers of Calais\" was then barely fifty. He was\nfar from possessing the immense fame that is his to-day, but artists\nalready regarded him as a master. Of medium height, robust, with large\nshoulders and heavy limbs, placid and deliberate in appearance, never\ngesticulating, he himself resembled a block of stone; but above this\nheavy base his countenance, with its broadly designed features and its\ngray-blue eyes, expressed an extraordinarily keen intelligence and\nfinesse. Despite my youth I was struck by this physiognomy, so singular\nand so penetrating, and also by the remarkable shyness that made the\nsculptor blush whenever he was addressed. Since then innumerable\nportraits have familiarized people with these features, which with age\nhave settled into an expression of authority and firm will; his strange\ntimidity has disappeared with time, with the consciousness of his\nstrength, with his having become accustomed to glory. Moreover, Rodin\nhas become a ready talker. Of old he listened intently, but always\nheld his peace; at most a few words, spoken in a soft, clear voice,\nescaped from the waves of his long beard. He would at once relapse into\nsilence, while with a slow movement giving his beard an instinctive\ncaress with his large, square, irresistible hand, the true hand of a\nbuilder. But when he raised his eyelids, almost always lowered, the\ntransparent eye, that limpid gray-blue eye, betrayed a perspicacity\nthat was almost malicious, almost cunning: one felt that he penetrated\nthrough the forms of people to their very souls; and this he fixed so\nskilfully in the clay of his busts that his models were not always\npleased with it. Many of Rodin's portraits have been refused by sitters\noffended by their pitiless realism.\n\n[Illustration: STATUE OF BASTIEN-LEPAGE.]\n\nSometimes my father kept Rodin and Jules Dalou to dinner. The two\nsculptors were devoted to each other. They were comrades from of old who\nhad traveled together the hard road of beginners; since their student\ndays at the Petite Ecole they had many times reencountered each other\nin the same workshops, where they had received the same contemptuous\nwages for their long days of labor. They felt a profound esteem for each\nother's talent, different as these talents were, altogether opposed, in\nfact, as were their natures; and it was a fine, a lovely thing to see\nthem bring forward each other's respective merits. Alas! I shall have\nto tell later how an artistic rivalry came one day to destroy this noble\nfriendship.\n\nThe appearance of \"The Burghers of Calais\" aroused a flood of enthusiasm\nin the world of art. I remember it well. At that time I was only a\nyoung school-girl, and my father was unwilling to allow me to \"miss\nmy classes\" in order to accompany him to the opening of the Rodin\nExhibition. After all, the lessons I received that day, following them\nquite absent-mindedly, were they worth the lesson I should have received\nfrom the contemplation of that masterpiece, even if my age would have\nprevented me from quite understanding it? Beauty is always the most\nfertilizing teacher.\n\nA rich art-lover, acting with the municipal authorities of Calais, had\nordered from Rodin the statue of Eustache de Saint-Pierre, the Calais\nhero whose devotion had in the fourteenth century, during the Hundred\nYears' War, saved the city when it was besieged by King Edward III of\nEngland.\n\nRodin, true to his principles, sought as ever to approach his subject\nfrom the quick of reality. He consulted history. He read the old\nchronicles of France, above all those of Jean Froissart, who was\ncontemporaneous with the event and almost a witness of it. Froissart was\na man of the fourteenth century, a man of the age of the cathedrals,\nand therefore himself a Gothic. His narrative has the force, the\nsavor, the naivete, the simple and profound art of the masters of that\nmarvelous epoch. What a source of emotion for Rodin, a Gothic likewise\nin his faith and his artistic rectitude! He caught fire at the recital\nof the old master as at the voice of a brother-in-arms. He read, he\nlearned that Edward III would not consent to spare the city of Calais\nfrom pillage and destruction unless six of her richest citizens would\ncome out to him dressed only in their shirts, barefoot, with ropes about\ntheir necks, bringing him the keys of the city and their own heads to be\ncut off. In response to this terrible message, Eustache de Saint-Pierre\nand five of his fellow-citizens, taking counsel with the notables\nof the place, at once rose to go to the king's camp. They set forth\nimmediately, escorted on their way by the hunger-stricken multitude,\nweeping and groaning over their sacrifice and \"adoring them with pity.\"\n\nThis was the vision which from that time on took possession of Rodin,\ndominating him and never leaving him. But it was not an isolated person\ndetached from his environment that he saw: it was the six martyrs just\nas they appeared in history, just as they were in life. In his thought\nhe followed this band of heroes marching to the sacrifice in the midst\nof the weeping city. He could not bring himself to separate them either\nfrom their whole number or from their tragic surroundings. Therefore,\nin accordance with the genius of his theme, that is to say, with\nhistoric truth, he would make all six of them, and he would insist that\nthey should be set up in the midst of the city, among the old houses,\nwhere they would continue to live their sublime life in the heart of the\nvery town that they had saved.\n\nFor the price of one statue, therefore, Rodin set out to execute six.\nHe rented a vast atelier in the rue des Fourneaux, in the Vaugirard\nQuarter. He worked unceasingly. To keep this enormous group in good\ncondition, to maintain the proper temperature, he moistened the clay\nmorning and evening, having as his _garcon d'atelier_ no one but his\ndevoted wife, who had become thoroughly experienced in these matters.\nDespite all, accidents would happen: the clay would give way, an\narm, modeled with his habitual exactitude, would fall and have to be\nlaboriously repaired; but the fervent modeler never hesitated in his\nwork, and on the day when he exhibited \"The Burghers of Calais\" at the\nhouse of Georges Petit the praise and the homage that sprang forth from\nthe soul of all true artists recompensed him magnificently, bringing\nhim the intoxicating caress of dawning glory. They spoke, in connection\nwith the \"Burghers,\" of the image-makers of our cathedrals; they spoke\nof the statues of Claus Sluters, of the famous statues of the \"Well of\nMoses\" at Dijon. Really, in the Calais monument Rodin is more than ever\nunder the Gothic influence in subject, in thought, and in execution.\nThe equilibrium of the figures composing the group is the same as that\nof the \"Saint John the Baptist.\" The long shifts that cover the naked\nbodies of his heroes recall those draperies in vertical folds dear to\nthe Middle Ages. The very modeling of the figures and of the faces\nincreases this effect of elongation caused by the fall of the fabric;\nthe modeling in large planes, the vigorous accents, the simple and\npathetic movements are certainly those of the sort that out-of-door\nsculpture calls for. In twenty years Rodin had made innumerable visits\nto the Gothic monuments. Here was the result of his tours of France. He\nhad made them in order to recapture the traditions of art from the hands\nof our wonderful old stone-cutters, and his heart must have throbbed\nwith joy when he was told that in his own hands that tradition had\nsuffered no loss.\n\nNaturally, the appearance of \"The Burghers of Calais,\" even that,\ncould not fail to have its share of comic anecdote, that bitter and\npainful humor that marks the adventures of genius in its struggle with\nvulgarity. Let us not complain too much. The contrast between these\nadventures and the proud way of life of a great man, the regularity\nof his hours of toil--it is this that creates opposition, movement,\nlife. The elect soul feels a savage joy in these blows which shake it\nlike a tree tormented by brutal hands, a tree aware of the vigor of its\nresistance and its ever-increasing tenacity.\n\nThe municipality of Calais, hearing that there were to be six statues\ninstead of the one that had been ordered, took umbrage, and deliberated\nfor two years. The heroic group waited, and, as it encumbered Rodin's\natelier, where other works were going forward, it was placed in a\nstable. At last the worthy town authorities decided to assign it a\nsite. Naturally, the site in question was exactly opposed to the ideas\nof the master--ideas that had been thought out and that were perfectly\nlogical, based on the laws of decorative art and still more determined\nby that infallible criterion, taste. Rodin desired that his monument\nshould be in the center of the town; they placed it on the edge of\nthe sea. He counted on emphasizing the tall stature of his figures\nby enshrining it in the narrow frame of the houses; they placed it\nagainst a horizon without limits. He requested that the group should be\nplaced very low, almost on the ground, or else very high on an elevated\npedestal, like the \"Colleoni\" at Venice or the \"Gattamelata\" at Padua;\nthey placed it at a middle height, thus diminishing the effect of its\nimposing proportions. The lesson had to come from foreign lands. The\ncity of Antwerp has erected, in front of its museum of fine arts,\ntwo of the statues of the celebrated group, and England, which does\nthings splendidly when it is a question of embellishing its cities or\nof rendering homage to the valor of its adversaries, has erected the\neffigies of the six heroes of Calais on one of the most beautiful sites\nin London, before the Palace of Westminster.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBy this time the reader is sufficiently familiar with the technic of\nRodin for it to be unnecessary to analyze here in detail this well-known\nwork. What must not be forgotten is that the sculptor had first modeled\nthese six powerful bodies entirely in the nude. This is his invariable\nmethod when he executes draped figures. One realizes this, even without\nknowing it, before these arms, these hands, these legs, and these feet\nconstructed with that rigorous conscience which, with the true artist,\nis at once a necessity and a delight; one divines the <DW72> of the\ntorsos bent with grief or rigid in the pride of sacrifice.\n\n\"Yes, they are beautiful,\" the master said to me one day when I was\ntalking with him. \"The shirt, the blouse are garments the folds of\nwhich yield simple planes and effects that, rightly rendered, are those\nof true sculpture. But there is something better still, and that is\nsackcloth. If I had clothed my 'Burghers of Calais' in sackcloth, they\nwould certainly be more beautiful. I did not dare to. Some one else will\ndo this and will succeed. It is sufficient to express an idea and leave\nit to its destiny.\"\n\nWe ought to love in Rodin this intellectual vigor that skirts the\nborders of the impossible. In our age, consumed with indecision, it is a\npriceless aid, a resting-place, a _point d'appui_ from which one starts\nforth afresh, fortified, one's nerves recharged with vitality, to the\nconquest of one's share of knowledge or of talent. This accounts in part\nfor the irresistible influence which for thirty years the illustrious\nsculptor has exercised over the minds of artists. One feels that this\nfount of strength condensed in his virile soul comes from something\ndeeper than his personality alone; it comes from the very depths of\nthe national reserves. The conviction, the energy of Rodin are those\nof the workman who knows his trade, of the laborer impassioned by the\nculture of his own soil. This endurance is the foundation of the French\ntemperament; the events happening now have proved it. When a country\npossesses such individualities through the course of history, the roads\nof the future open out before it brilliant with hope despite passing\nshadows, and promise the highest surprises.\n\n[Illustration: DANAIADE.]\n\n\n\nRODIN AND VICTOR HUGO\n\nThe creation of \"The Burghers of Calais\" marks the middle of a period\nof truly prodigious fecundity. From 1889 to 1896, monuments, busts,\nstatues, and groups of every kind issue without interruption from the\nateliers of Rodin, and the more numerous the works his hand models,\nthe more it grasps the contexture of the work, the more it refines the\nexecution. Orders for portraits pour in; collectors hold it an honor to\npossess a marble, a bronze, signed with a name which every day increases\nin celebrity. In 1888 comes that jewel of marble, the bust of Madame\nMorla Vicunha, and the monument to Claude Vicunha, president of the\nRepublic of Chile; in 1889, the bronze portrait of Dalou, the statue of\nBastien-Lepage, that admirable head \"La Pensee,\" acquired by the Musee\ndu Luxembourg.\n\nIn 1890 comes the portrait of Mme. Russell, a bust in silver, of\nnoble simplicity, which one would say was the head of a Roman matron,\nwith the luminous veil upon her thoughtful forehead and the flower of\ngood-will blossoming upon her delicately swelling mouth. Then there is\n\"The Danaid,\" \"La vielle Heaulmiere,\" and a great study, a long woman's\ntorso, \"La Terre.\"\n\nIn 1892, not to mention delightful minor works like \"The Young Mother\"\nand \"Brother and Sister,\" appear two masterpieces: the bust of Puvis\nde Chavannes and that of Henri Rochefort, magnificent contrasts in\nconstruction and execution. The painter-gentleman carries his haughty\nhead like an old leaguer chief, and the pamphleteer bends over the\ndestinies of France, which for fifty years he has defended day in, day\nout, with his flaming pen, an enormous brow--a brow like a spherical\nvault that seems to contain a world.\n\n\"You have made it grander, you have made it more beautiful than nature,\"\nsome one said to Rodin one day.\n\n\"One can never do anything so beautiful as nature,\" he replied.\n\nIn this same year, 1892, he exhibited the charming monument to Claude\nLorrain, in which he recaptured the spirit of the eighteenth century. It\nwas the town of Nancy that ordered this figure of its painter and has\nplaced it in its vast park.\n\nOne cannot mention everything. Forms and attitudes renew themselves,\nbut not the terms that express them. To measure the abundance of this\nwork one should read the catalogue, till now incomplete,--for it has\nbeen impossible to compile one that was not so,--of the master's\nworks; only so can we realize how almost dizzily his productiveness\nbecame accelerated with the epoch of his maturity. Mythological\nsubjects dominate it, but are always treated with a profoundly human\nunderstanding of the poetry and the grace of the form in which they\nachieve an aspect delightfully new.\n\nSuch titles as \"Venus and Adonis,\" \"The Education of Achilles,\" \"The\nDeath of Alcestis,\" \"Cupid and Psyche,\" \"The Faun and the Fountain,\"\n\"Pygmalion and Galatea,\" Rodin inscribed only as an afterthought on\nthe pedestals of his groups. They are not the result of a necessary\npreliminary conception; it is his figures themselves that breathe them,\nhis models unconsciously repeated the combinations of movement and\ngesture through which are translated the eternal sentiments immortalized\nby the legends of paganism. So true is this that Rodin obtained his\ncharming groups by assembling in harmony with his researches the\nanimated little figures that encumbered the windows of his ateliers.\nHe amused himself by uniting them, by marrying their attitudes; with\nthese little figures, these puppets of genius, he composed actual little\nintimate dramas or idylls revived from the antique. In the hollow of\na Greek bowl he places a little nude body, and one would say that it\nis the soul of the wave that conceals itself against the side of the\nvase. He enlaces three feminine figures, upright, beside the body of a\nrecumbent youth: they are the Graces, who come to bend over the dying\npoet. Thus he perpetuates the fantasy of things through that of his own\ntaste; he eternalizes the most delicious caprices of nature.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe come now to the year 1896 and the appearance of the \"Monument to\nVictor Hugo.\"\n\nThis monument had been ordered for the Pantheon. Rodin, who had modeled\nin 1885 the bust of the singer of the \"Legende des Siecles,\" was\ndoubly, on this account, entitled to the order. In the midst of what\ndifficulties had he achieved that bust! It required all his patience,\nall the tenacity of a Lorrainese peasant, to accomplish it. When he\nhad begged the honor of reproducing those illustrious features, the\npoet, already nearing his end, tired out with having posed for mediocre\nplaster-daubers and unaware of the superiority of his new sculptor,\nconsented to pose only for two hours. All the same, he authorized Rodin\nto come as often as necessary and make as many sketches as he needed\nwhile he, Hugo, worked or received his friends.\n\nRodin accepted these difficult conditions. Was it not Victor Hugo with\nwhom he was dealing, the father of modern poetry? And then what a\nspectacle for his artist's eyes, that of the great man bending over his\npapers that Jupiter-like head of his in which thought, in gestation,\nswelled the sublime brow with a tumult of ideas! When he talked, what\nmajesty in \"this face of a lion in repose\"!\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT BUST OF VICTOR HUGO.]\n\nThe sculptor placed a stool, some clay, some tools in the corner of\na gallery; it was there that he worked out the general form of the\nbust. Then, studying his wonderful model for months, he made hundreds\nof sketches of him, under every aspect; at times, having used up the\npages of his note-books, he even covered entire blocks of cigarette\npaper with rapid notes and jottings. Then he transferred this record\nof observations to his clay. Working in this manner, it took him three\nmonths to finish his bust. He exhibited it, in bronze, at the Salon of\n1884. One cannot fail to admire the volumes, the beautiful mass of the\nwhole, even though it does not show that brilliant touch of genius which\nstrikes us before the bust of Jean-Paul Laurens or that of Rochefort;\nbut later, relying upon this document and upon his own special memory\nof forms in action, Rodin was to restore for us this moving head in his\nmonument of the poet, which was to be one of his very loftiest works.\nThis same bust of Victor Hugo was to rupture the friendship between\nRodin and Jules Dalou--Dalou of whom he sent to the same Salon of 1884,\nby a curious coincidence, an incomparable bust that puts one in mind of\nthose of Donatello.\n\nThe family of Victor Hugo did not like Rodin's portrait of the master.\nWhen the poet died (1885), it was Dalou whom they called to execute a\ndeath-mask of the features of the great poet. Filled with ambition and\neager for official glory, Dalou had the weakness to accept, forgetting\nwhat he owed to Rodin, not even informing him, in fact. Deeply hurt, the\nlatter withdrew his affection for his old friend. My father, saddened by\nthis occurrence, which destroyed so rare and noble a friendship, brought\nthe two friends together at his table in the hope of reconciling them;\nbut nothing could melt the wall of ice that had fallen between these\ndissevered hearts.\n\nTen years afterward a magnificent compensation was offered to Rodin.\nFrom him was ordered the monument of the poet for the Pantheon. He\nrepresented him nude, under the folds of a vast cloak, and seated on\na rock, as if by the seashore, with his wonderful head bowed in an\nattitude of meditation, just as Rodin had often contemplated it in\npriceless hours.\n\nThis manner of representing a great man, quite simply revived from the\nRenaissance and the eighteenth century, shocked to the last degree the\nadministrative staff of the department of fine arts. Why this nude\npersonage, instead of a quite respectable Victor Hugo in the frock-coat\nof an academician? Why not one of those statues that peacefully occupy\nsome corner of a public square without attracting any one's attention,\none of those statues that are not made to be looked at? As for this\npoet, who resembled a Homer, a hero or a demigod, this grand body,\noutrageously beautiful and simple, is it not scandalous in the midst of\nthe conformity of bourgeois civilization, enslaved by the ugliness of\nfashion, whose perverted taste can no longer recognize the beauty of the\nnude? The painter David used to say of his epoch, in which, however, the\nmode of dress was less displeasing than it is to-day, \"What misery to be\nobliged to spend one's life in fashioning coats and shoes!\" Rodin, like\nDavid, and like Phidias, preferred the trade of the sculptor to that of\nthe tailor.\n\nSuch an uproar arose that he had to withdraw the model of his monument\nand promise another. But everything comes with time, even the best: the\nfortunes of politics brought to the ministry of fine arts an intelligent\nand cultivated director, the dramatic critic Gustave Larroumet.\nDelighted with Rodin's scheme, the magnificent symbolization of French\npoetry, he confirmed the order for the audacious monument, no longer for\nthe Pantheon, but for the Luxembourg Gardens; and, not satisfied with\nthis reparation, charged the master with the additional execution of\nanother monument destined for the Pantheon. One can imagine the anger in\ncertain circles--two orders on the same subject to the same sculptor!\nWhat an aberration! What madness! But the decision was made and well\nmade.\n\nRodin took six years to perfect his first \"Victor Hugo\"; the marble\nwas not exhibited until 1901. The vigor of the work and the sovereign\ngesture by which the bard of contemplation seems to impose silence upon\nthe voice of nature in order that the voices struggling within himself,\nin the depths of his genius, may be the better heard, the suppleness of\nthe material, of this Carrara marble, with its warm reflections, as if\nmelted under the pressure of a fiery hand, obstinately make one think of\nMichelangelo; one has the disturbing sensation, not of an imitation, but\nof a resurrection of the plastic power reincarnated out of nature, of a\nnew spring of sap from the same vein of genius.\n\nThe original plan allowed, in addition, for two allegorical figures,\n\"The Inner Voice\" and \"The Tragic Muse,\" which, placed beside the poet,\nshould breathe into him thought and inspiration. But, very beautiful\nin themselves, they gave to the monument, once they were executed and\nplaced, an anecdotal quality that diminished its force; they weakened\nthe grandeur of the Olympian gesture and destroyed that feeling of\nsolitude inseparable from such a personality as that of the great man:\nan island in the midst of the flood of the human multitude, genius\nitself is aware of its own splendid isolation.\n\n[Illustration: MONUMENT TO VICTOR HUGO.]\n\nThis is what I ventured to express one day to the master, not without\nhesitation. Nothing equals the simplicity of Rodin face to face with\nwhat he knows is sincere and animated by a true love of art. He\nlistened, gazed at his work, and, turning toward me, gave me a joyous\nglance.\n\n\"You are right,\" he replied, with a spontaneity that put my sense of\nresponsibility on its mettle. \"I sacrificed to the mania of the age,\nwhich is to overload things. My modeling is there, the eloquence of the\ngesture also. The rest would only spoil the essential things. It is a\nstroke of genius. I am going to write to the under-secretary of state\nthat my monument is ready.\"\n\nIn lieu of the two figures that were to have accompanied the statue of\nVictor Hugo, to indemnify the Government Rodin gave to the Musee du\nLuxembourg a series of his most beautiful busts in bronze, including the\nhead of the poet.\n\nAs for the marble, it was in the garden of the Palais Royal that it\nwas finally erected; but this site is not of the happiest: a large\nlawn separates the spectator from the monument; one sees it from the\nwrong angle, and this destroys the equilibrium of its planes. Moreover,\nin our damp climate marble quickly loses the charm of its purity and\ntransparency; streaks of brown already stain and deface that of the\n\"Victor Hugo.\" Let us hope that the organizers of the Musee Rodin\nwill find it possible to place it in one of the rooms of the future\nmuseum, substituting for it a bronze upon which the inclemencies of the\natmosphere will serve to produce a beautiful patina.\n\n\n\nTHE STATUE OF BALZAC (1898)\n\nThis is the most famous and the least known of Rodin's works. Newspaper\ncontroversies have made it famous throughout the whole world; but it\nhas, nevertheless, made only one brief appearance in public, in 1898, at\nthe Salon of the Societe Nationale des Beaux Arts. It marks at the same\ntime a vital stage in the career of the master and the most poignant\nperiod of his life as a fighter. It is the point of equilibrium in\nthe perpetual balancing of the art of Rodin between the several great\ntraditions. It was the object of a famous quarrel, in which the glory\nof the sculptor, momentarily all but eclipsed by ridicule, recovered\nitself, nevertheless, and rose higher than ever.\n\nWhat strikes one in this statue, at first sight, is its strange\nblock-like aspect, its monolithic simplicity. People say quite rightly\nthat it looks like a stone _lovee_, a druidic monument. Ever since \"The\nBurghers of Calais,\" one of the figures of which at least, that of\nthe man with the key, already suggests the idea of a monolith, Rodin\nhad been going further and further in his stubborn search for the\nsimplification of planes, and here he finally achieved his object. In\norder to obtain it, he went back all the way to the primitive Gothic\nand even to the archaic Greek, which likewise preserves in the general\noutline of its statues the rigid aspect of those statues of wood that\nhad preceded it. In all these early epochs of art one finds the form of\nthe tree trunk in which their sculpture was cut. One of the examples of\nthis art that had most forcibly impressed Rodin was the statue of Hera\nof Samothrace in the Louvre. The beauty of this figure, denuded of all\nforeign artifice in the exact research for masses, the public little\ncomprehends; but the sculptor perceives its justness, the power of its\nrelief and its modeling, disconcerting in these primitive artists,\nqualities that are concealed under the extreme simplicity of its\nappearance. In this magnificent Hera it is as if one saw the rotundities\nof woman coming to birth and undergoing in the tree, the vegetal column,\none of those metamorphoses familiar in the fables of paganism. The\n\"Balzac,\" with its athletic body, veiled in a spread robe that envelopes\nit, does not it also resemble a powerful tree trunk from the summit of\nwhich looks down, like a solitary, monstrous flower, the head of the\ninspired writer?\n\nThis statue had been ordered by the Societe des Gens de Lettres, and was\nintended for one of the public squares of Paris. After Victor Hugo,\nBalzac. After the giant of modern poetry, the giant of the novel. What\na redoutable honor, but also what a homage to the talent of the great\nsculptor! What joy for artists in the association of these two names,\nBalzac and Rodin! On the other hand, how many adversaries rejoiced in\nthe hope of seeing Rodin come to grief with this task, fraught not\nless with peril than with glory! He did not conceal from himself that\nthe statue of Balzac would be a severe problem to solve. We possess\nno authentic bust of the creator of the \"Comedie Humaine,\" not even\na death-mask giving the exact measure of the cranial bones and hence\nthe actual planes. We know through his contemporaries that the author\nwas fat and short. Fat and short--that is far from facilitating the\ncomposition of a work of decorative art. But, more precious than\nmediocre portraits, there is a famous page about him by Lamartine,\nanother great genius. \"Balzac,\" he says, \"was the figure of an element\n... stout, thick-set, square at the base and at the shoulders, ample,\nmuch as Mirabeau was; but not heavy in any way; he had so much soul that\nit carried _him_ lightly.\"\n\n[Illustration: STATUE OF BALZAC.]\n\nIt was this essence that he set out to render. A frank artist takes\nno liberties with reality. It alone gives him force; the \"majesty of\nthe true\" is alone durable. Nature, which dowered Balzac with one\nof the most prodigious intellects known to us, dowered him at the\nsame time, to support this intellect, with the physical breadth of a\ncolossus. To have altered anything that went to make up the harmony of\nthe structure would have been to commit a grave error; it would have\nbeen to denaturalize the divine work. On the other hand, above this\nmass of flesh it was necessary to make that marvelous spirit hover,\nthat sparkling spirit, that myriad-faceted spirit of the greatest of\nnovelists.\n\nRodin knows by experience that nature repeats herself. Has not a\nhumorist said: \"It is useless to make a bust of you; it exists already.\nYou have only to look for it in the museums\"?\n\nHe set out to find a man who resembled Balzac, going all the way to\nTouraine, the writer's native province, a hundred times depicted by\nhim in his books. The family of Balzac was originally from Languedoc,\nbut that made no difference; the intuition of a great artist is always\nrewarded. Rodin found at Tours the model he desired; he was a young\ncountryman, a carter, who resembled his hero to an almost miraculous\ndegree. Of him he made a very animated bust, in which one sees the full\nface, the nose, concave and large at the end, but voluptuous and full\nof spirit, the rounded chin, the vast shoulders of the master of the\n\"Comedie Humaine.\" There was lacking, however, the flame of thought that\nspiritualized and rendered buoyant this mass of human substance. Rodin\nmodified the expression, illuminating the physiognomy with delicacy and\nfrank gaiety. It is Balzac at twenty-five, a peasant Balzac, breathing\nat every pore youth, self-confidence, and the love of life. Not yet\nis it the man tormented by fate, the tragic visionary of the \"Comedie\nHumaine,\" the slave of his work who in twenty years wrote fifty novels,\nstaged a thousand characters, and gave life to an entire society. It is\nnot the man who has suffered, thought, meditated, with all the power\nof one of the most extraordinary organisms known to us; it has not the\nappearance of a phenomenon.\n\nAfter this Rodin skilfully altered these features; he gave them the\nscars of the interior effort, he made them soft and hollowed them, he\nmade them old and grave. In a few weeks he did the work that nature\nhad taken years to accomplish. He finished by creating that Titan's\nmask which we know, that head as round as a bullet and, like a bullet,\nterrible in its concentrated force. Later he augmented this; that is\nto say, he doubled its proportions: and this head, almost frightening\nin its expression, recalls the masks which the Greek tragedians wore\nwhen they played in the open air. Finally he modeled the body of the\ncolossus, making it entirely nude, with arms crossed, braced against\nthe earth with the tension of the whole will, evoking the idea of some\nprodigious birth. Then he draped this heavy body in the monk's robe\nin which the writer used to envelope himself for work and the straight\nfolds of which enwrapped him like the sheath of a mummy, offering to the\nsight nothing but the tumultuous head--the head ravaged by intelligence\nand savage energy.\n\nRodin felt almost frightened by his own work.\n\nHe kept it a long time before turning it over to the cast-makers. He had\nworked it out in his atelier, but it was destined for the open air. How\nwould it appear in broad daylight?\n\nThe gestation of this work was accompanied by a thousand miseries. The\ncommittee of the Societe des Gens de Lettres incessantly demanded the\n\"Balzac\"; they were dumfounded before the extraordinary figure that was\nshown to them, before this white phantom the conception of which was so\nutterly the reverse of all current ideas. Not knowing what to say, they\ninsisted that it should be modified and urged haste upon Rodin, whose\nextraordinary dexterity became slowness itself when it was a question\nof putting the final touches upon a great work. The press began to\ntake note of the affair. He himself became troubled and nervous. With\nwhat transports would he have left it, fled, gone away to rest and to\ndream of something else for a few weeks! The time of the Salon was\napproaching. Quite suddenly he made his decision, gave the clay to be\ncast, and ordered an enlargement. The statue was brought back to him at\nthe Depot des Marbres, in the rue de l'Universite; it was twice as large\nas the original model. It was placed in the garden that stretched out\nin front of the studio. He examined it as it rose against the depths of\nthe open sky and the bright spring light. It was as if he had never seen\nit, and suddenly his mind was illuminated. The work was grand, simple,\nstrong; the essential modeling was there, and the details they had\nexhorted him to add would only have diminished its unsurpassable unity.\n\nRodin had made up his mind. He sent his \"Balzac\" to the Salon.\n\nImmediately there was war. The press, worked upon by the committee of\nthe Societe des Gens de Lettres, was unfavorable in advance. On the day\nof the opening of the Salon the word was passed around, and the official\nart world _s'esclaffe_. There was a crowd at the foot of the lofty\nimage, near which Rodin took up his position, calm according to his\nwont, and talked quietly with his friends. Some, a very few, told him\nhow they admired this work so proudly offered, so strange in its banal\nsurroundings.\n\nThe next day the press broke forth. What an uproar! Everything went off\nat once: the heavy artillery of the great newspapers scolded solemnly,\nthe light artillery crackled in the political sheets, and the grape-shot\nof the minor papers spat their rage, only too happy for so rich a prey\nto cut to pieces. The Institute, as might have been foreseen, fanned the\nconflagration. The public, excited, in turn broke loose, in the fury of\nignorance stirred up against knowledge.\n\n[Illustration: THE HEAD OF BALZAC.]\n\nIt became a \"case,\" an affair, the _affaire de Balzac_. The committee of\nthe Societe des Gens de Lettres mobilized; by a vote of eleven to four\nit declared that it \"did not recognize the writer in the statue of M.\nRodin.\" The president of the same society, the poet Jean Aicard, refused\nthe chance of immortality which this stupidity was to confer upon his\ncolleagues and flung his resignation in their faces. A group of members\nof the municipal council of Paris decreed that it would be ridiculous\nto accord \"this block\" a place in one of the squares of the city. For\ntwo months music-halls and cafe-concerts vented every evening the wit\nof the gutter on the scandalous statue and its sculptor; peddlers sold\ncaricatures of it in plaster, Balzac being represented as a heap of snow\nor as a seal. In short, such was the event that it required nothing\nbut the pen of Aristophanes to note down the harmonies of this chorus\nof frogs. The health of Rodin suffered a reaction from his long effort\nand from this battle. Then, too, there are hours when the strongest are\nseized with nausea before the bad faith and the stupidity of people.\nNervous, his mind aching, a prey to insomnia, the master offered a\nmelancholy spectacle, that beautiful serenity of his destroyed and his\nworking strength put in jeopardy.\n\n\"For all that,\" says M. Leon Riotor, who tells the story with eloquence,\n\"Rodin had a wonderful awakening. All the young world of letters rose\nup to declare its sympathy with the vanquished in this new skirmish. A\nnumber of painters and sculptors joined in. And the protest that was\ncirculated came back covered with signatures.\"\n\nNo, Rodin was not vanquished. He retired for a moment from the melee\nto recover and to meditate in peace, but without deviating by a single\nstep from his line of conduct. A collector offered to buy the \"Balzac.\"\nA group of intellectuals started a public subscription; funds flowed\nin. Although he was not yet wealthy, Rodin courteously declined these\noffers, and, declaring that \"an artist, like a woman, has to guard his\nhonor,\" decided to withdraw his monument from the Salon and not have it\nerected anywhere.\n\nThe epic statue was transported to Meudon, and placed in the garden of\nthe villa. In its loftiness it imposes itself against the sky, against\nthe hills, against the trees that surround it, with the quality of\nnature herself. Like a gigantic pole it triumphs in the open air. It\nis specially on clear nights that its disturbing authority strikes\nthe soul. The great phantom appears then formidable in the extreme\nsimplicity of its planes, which, as in strong architecture, distribute\nover large spaces the masses of shadow and light. The American painter\nSteichen has passed nights in this enchanted garden in order to take\nof the \"Balzac\" photographs that are more beautiful than engravings.\nHaughty, with a ferocious majesty in the moonlight, the master of\nthe \"Comedie Humaine\" brings his soul face to face with nature; he\nlistens to its silence, he sounds its mysteries, he questions it in\nmute dialogue, the like of which has not been heard since the colloquy\nof _Hamlet_ with the shade of his father. For it is of _Hamlet_, of\nthe most profound symbolization of the human spirit wrestling with the\nunknown, that one dreams before this meditating Balzac, alone, under the\nnocturnal light. This is what Rodin has known how to make out of that\nshort, thick-set man who was the author of the \"Etudes Philosophiques\";\nthis is how he has lighted the fires of the intelligence on the mask of\ngenius.\n\nIt is at the Musee Rodin that we shall rediscover this statue. Time\nwill have progressed, and ideas also. When they see it anew, how many\npeople will be astounded at having formerly scoffed at the work and\noffended the master, struck dumb and secretly humiliated at having thus\ncontributed to the writing of the hundred thousandth chapter of that\nendless book, the book of human stupidity.\n\n\n\nTHE EXPOSITION OF 1900--THE BAS-RELIEFS OF EVIAN--RODIN AND THE WAR\n\nIn 1899, Rodin exhibited a large part of his work at Brussels and in\nHolland. The effect produced upon artists and upon the cultivated\nportion of the public was such that he resolved to repeat this\nexperiment at the Universal Exposition of Paris.\n\nIt was foreordained that nothing should be easy for the great toiler,\nthat it would be necessary for him to conquer everything through effort\nand struggle.\n\nThe administration of the Exposition, which had granted innumerable\nrequests for space addressed to it by the industrialists and business\nmen of the whole world, by bar-keepers, itinerant booth-holders, and\nmanagers of cafe-concerts, raised a thousand difficulties when it\nwas a question of according a few feet of ground to the greatest of\nliving sculptors. It required all the insistence of his most devoted\nand powerful friends to gain his point. Rodin finally received the\nauthorization to construct a pavilion not in the Exposition itself, but\noutside the grounds in the place de l'Alma.\n\nOnce again, so much the better. How much finer for a man of the elite to\nstand aside from the rout!\n\nAccording to the master's plan, there was erected a hall simple in\nappearance, elegant, reservedly in the Louis XVI style, a veritable\nrepose for the eye strained by the strident architecture of the great\nfair of 1900. There were assembled the people of his sculpture.\n\n[Illustration: THE STUDIO AT MEUDON.]\n\nOnce more Rodin experienced an hour of trial, a formidable hour. If\nfor the last dozen years he had left poverty behind, he had not yet\nachieved wealth, and it was a great risk to assume the expenses of his\nexhibition. If these expenses were not covered by the entrance-fees and\nthe sale of his sculpture, how would he come out? He would be forced\nto a kind of transaction that he had always spurned, he would have to\nturn over all or part of his work to the art dealers. These groups,\nthese busts, so painstakingly cast, or cut in the most beautiful\nmarble by excellent workmen, and often by renowned sculptors, once the\ndealers had acquired rights in them, would they not be duplicated in a\nquantity of replicas of mediocre workmanship or, worse, reproduced by\nundiscriminating stone-cutters, who would disfigure the modeling and\nthe character? The idea was odious to the scrupulous sculptor. He had\nreached the age of sixty, and if he did not show it, thanks to the vigor\nof his temperament and the persistent youth that goes with great minds,\nit was not less painful for him to put his apprehensions to the test.\nToo dignified, too proud, to give way to vain lamentations, he made only\nthe most reserved references to his ordeal.\n\nThe success of the exhibition remained uncertain during the first\nweeks: many people hoped it would be a failure. At the end of a month\nor two, visitors from abroad, to whom thanks be given, began to pour\nin; the principal museums of Europe wished to possess some important\nfigure of Rodin's. Soon the number of purchasers increased day by day,\nand I do not have to mention here how many art-lovers from the United\nStates decided to enrich their collections with some rare piece signed\nby the master. In short, during the latter months Rodin had the joy\nof perceiving that he could remain the sole possessor of his work,\nthat nothing could now separate him from his dear family of bronze and\nmarble. It was happiness for him; it signalized also the great glory\nthat comes with outstretched wing, bringing fortune with it.\n\nThe pretty pavilion in the place de l'Alma was transported and reerected\nin the garden at Meudon, and he filled it with masterpieces. Since then\nthe whole world of art and literature and that portion of the political\nworld that esteems art has passed through it. The French aristocracy\nand that of England, the most eminent personages of the two Americas,\nhave been eager to visit it. One receives in it an impression at once\ngrand and touching, giving one the highest idea of the supremacy\nof intellectual valor above the other goods of this world when one\nperceives the contrast of these artistic treasures with the altogether\nmodest little house, almost bare, attended by a single servant, where\nRodin continues, in the midst of the luxury of an epoch intoxicated with\npleasures, to maintain the simplicity of his life in the sober company\nof his old single-spirited, faithful-hearted wife. This impression I\nnever felt more vividly than on the occasion of the visit of the late\nKing of England. Edward VII, like others, had conceived the desire to\nrender this homage to French art. The day before, when I encountered the\nmaster in Paris, he said to me, without further explanation, \"Come and\nhave a look at the studio.\"\n\nIt was a beautiful afternoon in May. When I entered the pavilion, I\ncould not restrain a cry of admiration. Marbles, nothing but marbles,\nof a dazzling whiteness! He had brought together all that he possessed,\nall those that his friends and the purchasers of his work had consented\nto lend him for the occasion, and one would have said that it was\nthese groups of young, enlaced bodies, these busts of women, with\ntheir transparent, rosy flesh, that gave forth the light with which\nthe apartment was filled. It was a unique vision, a vision which, in\nits purity and its unity, surpassed in delicate splendor that of the\nmost celebrated collections, with all their accumulation of pictures,\ntapestries, bronze, and jewels. I wondered in silence; I wondered\nat the sure taste of the artist, but I wondered also at his will:\neverything of him was there. Who can deny that it was necessary for him\nto put pressure on himself to decide on such a choice, to sacrifice\nthe bronzes, the sketches, the terra cottas, and many charming pieces?\nNothing but marble, the kingdom of marble, but also that of life; for\nthe sumptuous material trembled and palpitated under the play of the\nlight that entered through the bay-windows of the atelier, bringing with\nit the soft brilliance of the season.\n\nSince the Exposition of 1900, Rodin's reputation has increased steadily\nin France and abroad. England and Italy have organized triumphal\nreceptions for him of a sort reserved hitherto for the most illustrious\nmen of state. The artists of London have acclaimed him, and have charged\nhim, on the death of Whistler, with the presidency of the International\nSociety of Painters, Sculptors, and Engravers. Oxford University has\ngiven him a doctorate. The municipality of Rome has greeted him with\nspecial homage at the capitol; the court of Greece, having invited\nhim, awaits his visit; at Prague, where he was received by the Society\nof Young Czech Artists, they accorded him royal honors, the public\nunharnessing the horses from his carriage and applauding at the same\ntime the personal genius of this great Frenchman and the free ideas of\nhis country.\n\nWithout altering in any way his life of labor, which these tributes have\nat times slightly interfered with, he has permitted himself only one\nluxury as the result of his fortune--a collection of antiques. This he\nhas formed with passion. It is, once more, for purposes of study, and\nwhat a study, to possess a few of these sublime fragments, to feel them\nand handle them under all aspects of light! Rodin has placed a certain\nnumber of them in his garden, arranging them among the trees, among the\nshrubs; he has placed them on the fresh grass, where they seem to live\nin another and a happier way than in the rooms of museums. At a stroke\nthe little garden at Meudon, with its pedestals, its statues, with its\ngrove where a charming little marble, the \"Sleeping Cupid,\" reposes, has\nbecome like the villa of a Roman citizen of the time of Augustus.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe art of Rodin has in a certain measure shown the effect of these\nhappy events. During these latter years he has grown calm; he displays\na serenity of spirit and a self-possession that increases day by day.\nBut if the struggle in his composition has been tranquilized, his\nworkmanship has grown freer. The sculptor's effort concentrates itself\nnow in the search for a modeling ever more ample and suppler, which\nwith him constitutes a new and decisive manner. It is to this that we\nowe those exquisite marbles, \"Psyche Bearing the Lamp,\" \"Benedictions,\"\n\"The Young Girl and the Two Genii,\" \"Romeo and Juliet,\" \"The Fall of\nIcarus.\" This has been the epoch also of the busts of Mrs. Simpson and\nthe proud and handsome George Wyndham, the English statesman. It is\nthe epoch, finally, of the \"Monument to President Sarmiento,\" which\noffers at the same time, in happy opposition, the two most recent and\nmost characteristic methods of Rodin. The bronze statue of the great\nArgentine statesman has an aspect at once romantic and realistic that\nrecalls that of \"The Burghers of Calais,\" and the marble pedestal that\nsupports it, a vanquishing Apollo emerging from the clouds all luminous\nwith youth and glory, belongs to the latest period. Of this monument,\nordered by the city of Buenos Aires, France does not possess a replica,\nthough the model has been preserved. The Musee Rodin will soon contain a\nduplicate.\n\nFrom 1901 to 1906 there was an uninterrupted creation of figures and of\nportraits, among them the busts of Sir Howard Walden, Berthelot, Gustave\nGeffroy, Mme. Hunter, and Bernard Shaw.\n\nOne must add the myriad drawings that Rodin has never ceased to execute.\nThe will to sustain his eye and his hand instead of permitting them to\nbecome weakened with age has become a passion with him. He draws as a\nwriter thinks. He thinks pencil in hand; his drawings are aphorisms.\nLine-sketches, stump-drawings, water-colors in strange tints multiply\nthemselves like the leaves of a tree and quite constitute alone a\ncomplete work. The master has sold and given away quantities of them,\nyet; nevertheless, the Musee will contain more than three thousand. I\nhave been honored with the charge of counting them over and classifying\nthem. After days of this work one has a sensation of dazzlement, as I\nhave discovered, before this accumulation of toil and beauty.\n\nThe most precious of these drawings are the most recent. The study of\nlight has been carried in these to the supreme nuances. More and more\nRodin detests what is black, what is hard, what is dry. He adores, on\nthe other hand, that which is supple, enveloped, drowned in the light\nmist of the atmosphere. He conceives everything through an almost\nimperceptible veil which softens the contours, and which he discerns\nwith an eye that grows every day more sensitive. His sculpture has\nfollowed the same path. In the greater part of his marbles he has\npursued the effects of mass and of the ensemble in what concerns the\nvolumes and the effects of gradation, the study of the diminutions of\nlight in what concerns the coloring. The color that obtains uniquely in\nthe art of shadow and light is the charm of beautiful sculpture. Rodin\nthus captures the variations with a competence that ravishes our eyes,\naccustomed to the dryness of limits that are too distinct. It is in the\nreliefs entitled \"The Seasons\" that Rodin has attained the apogee of\nthis science of luminous modeling.\n\nThese works, executed for La Sapiniere, the estate of Baron Vitta at\nEvian, comprise three high-reliefs fashioned on a gate and two fountain\nbasins, or monumental garden urns. They are cut in the stone of the\nEstaillade, a white stone the richness of grain and delicate golden tone\nof which make it unsurpassable for the interpretation of the human body.\nThey were exhibited for a short time in February, 1905, at the Musee du\nLuxembourg, on the initiative of M. Leon Benedite, the very accomplished\ncurator and critic of art, who arranged them with perfect taste. But far\nfrom being embraced and vindicated, as he would be now by the present\nadministration of fine arts, Rodin was still regarded as a revolutionist\nwhose example could neither be followed nor trusted.\n\nThis was made quite plain to the audacious curator who decided quite by\nhimself to exhibit the latest works of the master before their departure\nfor Evian. After this _coup d'etat_ he was for several years the victim\nof attacks from academic circles, and underwent, on the part of the\nGovernment, a sort of disgrace. Since then he has been brilliantly\ncompensated, and to-day he has been placed in charge of the installation\nof the Musee Rodin at the Hotel Biron, a great work in which I have the\nhappiness to be his collaborator.\n\nThe decorative designs of the villa of Evian adorn the vestibule of the\nhome of Baron Vitta. \"Their subject,\" says M. Benedite, in an excellent\nnotice which served as a catalogue for the Exhibition of 1905, \"if\none wishes to speak of the motive that serves as their pretext, is\nthe most banal in the world. One would find it difficult to count the\nnumber of times that it has served artists since antiquity. So true it\nis that the commonest, the most general, the most seemingly worn-out\nthemes are those in which the great artists find themselves the most at\nhome. Without difficulty they renew them, and stamp them unforgettably\nwith their own peculiar mark. Rodin has calmly returned to the four\nseasons, confident that they would bear without effort the impress of\nhis personality and his time and that they would suffice to express his\nwhole conception of beauty and of life.\"\n\nRodin has figured \"The Seasons\" under the aspect of four sleeping\nwomen. Their beautiful forms model themselves in the warm-tinted stone,\nwhich itself seems animated with the reflections of the living flesh.\nTheir mysterious sleep evokes the successive phases of the year. Now\nit marks the quietude of the earth, full of the joy of yielding up her\nflowers and her fruits under the caresses of the sun, now it is death\nrevealing itself through a nature tormented with the heavy travail of\ngeneration. In the \"Spring\" it is a young body that lies voluptuously\nunder a rose-bush the fragrant petals of which are mingled with her own\nflesh, enveloping her in the dream of their perfume. In the \"Autumn,\"\nthe sleeper crouches close to the ground under the fruits and the\nvine-leaves, oppressed by the intoxicating aroma. The \"Winter\" presses\nher chilled limbs closely against the cavities of the denuded earth,\nwhile above her the roots of the trees enlace themselves intricately,\nlike sacred serpents charged with protecting her slumber. The \"Summer\"\nis a siesta upon the bosom of a Nature _en fete_, lulled by the golden\nsounds of harvest balanced on the breeze and the murmur of a spring that\npours forth freshness and quietude.\n\nBut in what, you ask, resides the originality of these decorative\ncommonplaces, their brilliant, unquestionable originality? In the\ndeliberate simplicity, in the spirit of sobriety that has presided over\ntheir composition, and, above all, in their execution. It is through\ntheir execution that the sculptures of Evian occupy a place apart in\nthe work of Rodin. Since the beautiful Greek epoch, stone has perhaps\nnever assumed such a living sweetness under any human hand. One might\nbelieve that it had not been touched by the steel of the chisel, but\ncaressed by a touch as delicate as it is firm, molded like wax under\nthe warmth of that hand. These mellow figures do not detach themselves\nfrom the living framework in which they are set; they stand out,\nthanks to an insensible transition which leaves them enveloped, in the\nreflections of the fair material; they mass themselves under a sifted\nlight, among the flowers and the clusters of grapes. With all this there\nis no insipidity. Under the skin one feels the plenitude of bodies rich\nwith health, harmonious organisms: it is a force that has found its\nequilibrium, a force relaxing in sweetness. Strangely enough, when one\nseeks for antecedents to which it is possible to relate the reliefs of\nEvian, it is not in the domain of sculpture, but in that of painting,\nthat one finds the terms of comparison. The intense power, carefully\nmeasured as it is, of this vibrant modeling and this color drenched in\nsunlight we find again among the tenderest creations of Correggio, of\nRubens, and, closer to ourselves, of Renoir.\n\nThe two jardinieres which complete this unique series represent groups\nof children mad with joy and with liberty; in the one case playing and\njostling one another in a field of wheat, in the midst of the moving\nsea of spears, and in the other, spread out on the green summer grass,\nrapturously holding up in their little arms, already robust, the grapes\nheavy with wine. They are exquisite fantasies of movement, of grace, of\nmad life just beginning. Here, too, the flesh of these little laughing\ngods, melting in the mass of ripe corn and tottering vines, seems bathed\nin the clearness of a beautiful day, full of air and of light.\n\nThese five works of the old age of the master might be entitled the\n\"Poem of Youth.\" It is the privilege of genius to return, in its\ndecline, to its point of departure, to remount to the sources of life,\nwhich remain ever the most intoxicating. The sensations of infancy and\nadolescence solicit him with all their unforgettable seductiveness, and\nhe surrenders himself lovingly to the sweetness of this lost dream; but\nit has cost him his entire, existence to acquire the gift of translating\nit.\n\nThis search for the envelopment of forms fruitful of new effects is the\ndecisive point in the career of Rodin; it is the supreme thought, the\nend and aim of sixty years of toil and reflection. Therefore it is a\nvery happy thing for French sculpture that Rodin has been able to live\nlong enough to realize completely this definitive conception of his\nart. For from the summit attained by him other artists can spring forth\nafresh, to renew once more perhaps the manifestations of the national\ngenius. The resources indicated by Rodin have hardly been used hitherto;\nto bring them fully into employment meanwhile there will perhaps be born\na new school of sculpture.\n\n[Illustration: BUST OF BERNARD SHAW.]\n\nWhat constitutes the originality of a great artist is that it is never\nisolated. It belongs at once to the past, to the present, and to\nthe future; it is altogether a derivative and a root. It springs from\nthe past through atavism, through study, and through admiration for\nthe masters; it is of the present through contact with those of the\nartist's contemporaries who march at the same time with him along the\nroad of discovery; finally, it influences the future by bequeathing to\nthe generations that follow a new conception and new methods. To-day\nwe see clearly the sources from which have come the ultimate aspect of\nthe talent of Rodin. They are the art of Greece; they are also certain\nmarvels of Gothic art in which miraculously reblossomed the Hellenic\nsuppleness and sweetness, as if the springs of the Greek genius had\nmysteriously coursed under the earth from Athens to France, bursting\nforth at last in the walls of our cathedrals; then there are those\nunfinished marbles of Michelangelo from which Rodin derived the idea of\nvapor and flow in sculpture. But other artists have arrived, at about\nthe same time, at the same end, or almost the same end, by different\npaths. Among these are two of our great painters, friends and comrades\nof Rodin, Renoir and Carriere. Does not this community of thought\nprove how profound is the vitality our country continues to possess in\nthe domain of art? We are less struck by this phenomenon than when we\nverify its effects in the past, when we see them related and summed up\nin the history of art; because we are not in a position to disengage\nit from our present life, which is encumbered and complicated, and to\ndraw a conclusion from it. And then, too, the present political regime\ndoes little to signalize the great artists, to muster them before the\nuntutored admiration of the multitude, to give value to the intellectual\nwealth of the country. As a rule, when a man of genius receives the\nhomage he deserves, it is when he is near his end, if it is not after\nhis death. What public festivals have been given in France in this\ncentury to honor the glories of our artistic and scientific life,\nVictor Hugo excepted? When and how have we celebrated men like Puvis de\nChavannes, Rodin, Renoir, Carriere, Claude Monet, Besnard, Odilon Redon,\nand Bartholome, to mention only masters of the chisel and the brush?\nOccasionally they have been gratified by the boredom of an official\nbanquet, where they have been assigned a rank considerably lower than\nthat of the least important politician, and they are expected to be\nthankful when they have had bestowed upon them a few parchments and some\nbits of ribbon. Fortunately, their joys are in another sphere, whither\nno one who is not their equal can follow them.\n\nIn their ardent effort toward a similar end, then, it is necessary to\nassociate Rodin, Renoir, and Carriere. All three, for that matter, have\nmutually admired and even influenced one another. Whether in the course\nof their work or in their conversations, one cannot deny that the\nattempt of the Impressionist School, which consists precisely in not\nseparating the being or the object from its atmosphere, in prolonging\nits life in the life of that which envelopes it, really succeeds only\nin the work of these masters. They have, if not recreated, at least\nbroadened the law of the distribution of shadow and of light in their\nintricate fusion. Certainly others had already manifested and realized\nsimilar ways of seeing things, according to their various temperaments,\nsuch men as Fantin-Latour and Henner in the study of the human figure\nand Claude Monet in landscape. But, except for Monet, no one affirms\nthem with the authority of a Rodin, a Carriere, a Renoir. If Carriere,\ntoo early interrupted by a cruel death, is a tragic, a somber genius,\na genius of the Gothic line, which in him does not exclude great\nsweetness, Renoir and Rodin, in their maturity, are happy geniuses,\nmasters of young beauty and of a serenity which art has scarcely known\nsince ancient Greece. A like sentiment of serenity, a like aspiration\nfor harmonious unity, therefore a closer contact with nature, bring them\ntogether.\n\nThis serenity, this aspiration for unity, Rodin and Renoir have sought\nduring their whole life, and it is in the radiant works of their old age\nthat it triumphs. The genius of form and its union with the universal\nhas been the master thought, the plastic ideal, which their fraternal\nminds have realized simultaneously by different methods.\n\n\"With Rodin a style begins,\" said Octave Mirbeau twenty years ago. The\nphrase stirred up a tempest. All the time that has passed since then has\nbeen required to make people admit its truth. The great writer might\nhave said with more exactitude, but with less force, \"With Rodin style\nitself has begun anew.\"\n\nWill it continue? It has never entirely ceased to exist, even if it has\nno longer the force of expansion with which, from France and through\nher, it spread through all Europe. Will it begin again with its vigor as\nof old? The question touches those problems raised by the events that\nare to-day overturning the world and also the profound modifications\nwhich the war will bring.\n\nThe master gives us his opinion on this matter in a few words,\ncircumspect and measured, as he himself always is. How could he be\notherwise before the formidable unknown that still hides from us the\nnext turn of destiny? It is fitting, then, to leave him the last word on\nthis subject. Fortunately his word has the warm ring of hope.\n\n[Illustration: A FETE GIVEN IN HONOR OF RODIN BY SOME OF HIS FRIENDS.]\n\nThis hope he draws in a measure from himself, from his own strength,\nwhich is, he feels, a distinct outgrowth of the national strength, of\nthe unconquerable soul of our ancestors; he draws it also from the\nconsciousness of a task accomplished in the face of the hard blows\nof life; and finally from the promise of the artistic youth of the\ncountry, of that which belongs to his school. For if with two or three\nexceptions he has not directly formed pupils, his artistic principles,\nhis faith in the virtue of character and labor, supported by the example\nof an unequaled body of work, have given him innumerable disciples. The\nlesson which he offers us and which will soon be offered to all at the\nmuseum in the Hotel Biron, will endure for centuries. He says himself\njustly, with pride and modesty, that this museum will form a true home\nof education.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA few words more about this life which in the fecundity of its\nunexpected incidents remains for the attentive witness profoundly\nsignificant to the very end.\n\nAt the moment when the war of 1914 broke out, the master was in his\nvilla at Meudon. When the German armies approached Paris, he thought\nof leaving his home. He had excited great admiration in the land\nof Schiller and Goethe, he had been urged to take part in numerous\nexpositions there; but he had quite special reasons for knowing that\nhis work, were it to fall into their hands, would not be spared by the\nsoldiers from beyond the Rhine. Overwhelmed by the terrifying surprise\nof the invasion, he did not know where to go.\n\nAs he had many friends in England, I offered to guide him there. He\ntherefore crossed the channel, accompanied by his wife, the companion\nof his good and evil days. It was without a word of bitterness that he\nset out, without expressing a regret for all that he was leaving behind\nhim. Before the immensity of the national misfortune he seemed to have\ncompletely forgotten the menace that hung over the work of his whole\nlife. In the train that carried us by night to one of the French ports,\nhe said in his clear and always tranquil voice: \"Yes, I am leaving\nmuch behind me. It is the work of an entire life that will disappear,\nperhaps.\" That was all. This attitude of an old exiled king inspired a\nrespect free from all compassion.\n\nThe fate of his collection of antiques caused him more disquietude.\n\n\"If they take them, that is nothing; they will still exist. But if they\nbreak them! They will have destroyed what is irreplaceable.\"\n\nHe did not wish to remain in London. Too many relationships would\nhave hindered him from collecting himself and from preserving that\ndignity of solitude, that reserve of a refugee which was proper to his\nsituation. He preferred to accompany us to a small country town, where\nfor six weeks he lived a modest life, very retired, interested only, but\npassionately interested, in the reading of English newspapers, which we\ntranslated for him.\n\nWhen we apprised him of the burning of Rheims Cathedral, he replied\nwith a laugh of incredulity. For two days he refused to believe it. It\nseemed to him an invention of the press designed to stir the public and\nincrease recruiting. At last, convinced, he said, with inexpressible\nsadness: \"The biblical times have come back again, the great invasions\nof the Medes and the Persians. Has the world, then, reached the point\nwhere it deserves to be punished for the egotistical epicureanism in\nwhich it has slumbered?\" After this he became absorbed in his own\nthoughts.\n\nThe Battle of the Marne, in saving France and the world, saved also that\nlittle temple of art, the museum at Meudon. Rodin, on his return from\nEngland, found it intact.\n\nHe took up his work again, without a pause, with that unalterable\npatience of his--that patience of the peasant that turns him back to his\nfield the moment the enemy has passed. He awaits there sadly the dawn of\npeace.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDuring the last months of the year 1916 the question of the Musee Rodin,\nbroached five years ago, became again a living one; it was brought\nbefore the assembly. Certain of the master's adversaries who have not\nbeen calmed even by the events of the present affected a righteous\nindignation that the discussion of this question of art should at\nthis moment have any place in the order of the day, and they tried to\nmake people believe that it was he who had chosen this tragic hour for\ndebates of this kind. Let us repeat that five years ago Rodin offered\nthis gift to his country, and that the delay in settling the matter is\nimputable solely to the procrastination of public affairs.\n\nOn the day I write these lines the creation of the Musee Rodin has been\ndetermined upon. The two chambers have voted by a majority that proves\nthat everything France contains in the way of cultivated intelligence\ndesires to assure a home worthy of itself for the works of its greatest\nsculptor.\n\nBut before we have arrived there what other mishaps may not befall! It\nis too soon to write the history of the Musee Rodin. Its adventure is\nnot less singular than all the others that have marked this long career,\ncertain of which have been summed up in these pages. The more forceful\nthe personality, the more it is in contradiction with the passions of\nthe vulgar, the more are the incidents that spring up in the contact of\nthese two opposite elements. It would require a whole volume to recount\nthose that have punctuated the life of Rodin during these later years.\n\nDespite the bitterness of the combat, the master has had nothing to\ncomplain of and does not complain. The outcome of his life-story is most\nbeautiful, and if this beauty already strikes us, it is in the years\nto come that it will attain its full glory. For if the gesture with\nwhich Rodin offers to France his work and his dearest possessions is\nthat of those who count in the annals of their country, no one perhaps\nhas ever received such a homage as that which the country has bestowed\nupon him in the manner of accepting his gift. In the midst of war, in\nthe very hour when the country is suffering unheard of evils, it has\nself-possession enough in the firmness of its indomitable soul to honor\nin a magnificent way the work of one of its sons--a work accomplished in\ntime of peace. Turning its attention for an instant from the necessities\nof war, from the front where it struggles, suffers, and dies, it remains\ncalm enough, sufficiently sure of itself, to offer to one of its heroes\nof toil, and of the thought which its soldiers defend, a testimony of\nits gratitude and admiration.\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Rodin: The Man and his Art, by Judith Cladel\n\n*** "}
{"text": "VOL. 153, OCT. 24, 1917***\n\n\nE-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis, and the Project\nGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 11076-h.htm or 11076-h.zip:\n      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/0/7/11076/11076-h/11076-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/0/7/11076/11076-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\n\nPUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.\n\nVOL. 153.\n\nOCTOBER 24, 1917.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHARIVARIA.\n\nThose who think that people in high positions live a life of ease\nand comfort received a rude shock last week. It is said that, while\nvisiting the Royal Enfield Works canteen, the Duke of CONNAUGHT drank\ntwo glasses of Government ale.\n\n       ***\n\nBritons have no monopoly of pluck, it seems. Last week a Basuto\nsoldier attached to a labour battalion offered the LORD MAYOR'S\ncoachman a cigarette.\n\n       ***\n\nTwo German bankers, formerly of London, have been arrested in New York\nas dangerous aliens. Neither of them is a member of our Privy Council.\n\n       ***\n\nIt is understood that the Spanish Government has addressed a note to\nthe Allies explaining that all possible precautions will have been\ntaken against the forthcoming escape of U23.\n\n       ***\n\nThe PREMIER has received the magnificent gold casket containing the\nfreedom of the City of London conferred on him last April. A momentary\nexcitement was caused by the rumour that the Corporation had thrown\noff all restraint and filled it with tea.\n\n       ***\n\nA Brigadier-General has been fined for shooting game on Sunday in\nHampshire. Sir DOUGLAS HAIG, we understand, has generously arranged\nto close down the War on the first Wednesday in every month, in order\nthat the Higher Command may assist in supplying the hospitals with\ngame.\n\n       ***\n\nSeven lunatics have escaped from a South Wales Asylum. It is assumed\nthat they got away by disguising themselves as German prisoners.\n\n       ***\n\nIt has been decided that Counsel may appear before the High Court\ndressed as Special Constables. It seems almost certain that this news\nwas withheld from Sir JOHN SIMON until he had definitely consented to\njoin Sir DOUGLAS HAIG'S Staff.\n\n       ***\n\nTwo million pounds of jam per week, \"the greater part strawberry,\" are\nbeing, it is stated, delivered to the Army. Only the fact that the\nArmy Service Corps' labels all happen to be \"plum and apple\" prevents\nthe stuff being distributed to our brave troops.\n\n       ***\n\nAttempts to destroy livestock destined for the Allies are being\ninvestigated, says a New York paper. Only a few days ago, it will be\nremembered, a certain Legation discovered that its seals had been\ntampered with.\n\n       ***\n\nIt is announced that the War Office has taken over \"the greater part\"\nof the new London County Hall. Our casualties were insignificant.\n\n       ***\n\nWe are sorry to say that Mr. CHARLES HAWTREY'S latest success, _The\nSaving Grace_, is not dedicated to Sir ARTHUR YAPP.\n\n       ***\n\nThere is no foundation for the report that the recent postponement of\nthe production of _Cash on Delivery_ at the Palace was due to the fact\nthat a new joke was alleged to have been let loose in Mr. Justice\nDARLING'S court.\n\n       ***\n\nExtravagant funerals have been condemned by Sir JOHN PAGET at the\nLaw Society Appeal Tribunal, and undertakers are complaining that in\nconsequence many of their best customers have decided to postpone\ntheir interment till better times.\n\n       ***\n\n\"Cats should be brought inside the house during air-raids,\" says the\nFeline Defence League. When left on the roof they are liable to be\nmistaken for aerial torpedoes.\n\n       ***\n\nAccording to the _Cologne Gazette_ German soldiers on the Western\nFront have formed \"Wilhelm Clubs,\" the members of which are compelled\non oath to undertake the work of gaining information about the British\nlines. We understand that the terms for life-membership are most\nmoderate.\n\n       ***\n\nA German prisoner named BOLDT has escaped from Leigh internment camp.\nIt is stated that he would have experienced no additional difficulty\nin escaping if he had been called by any other name.\n\n       ***\n\n\"We want no patched-up peace,\" says Mr. RAMSAY MACDONALD. But if the\nassaults upon pacifist meetings continue we feel sure there will be\nsome patched-up peacemongers.\n\n       ***\n\nTwopenny dinners are the speciality at a Northern munition works'\ncanteen. We have long been used to twopenny meals, but of course much\nmore was charged for them.\n\n       ***\n\nThere appears to be no truth in the report that a burglar has been\nfined for infringing the Defence of the Realm Regulations by using an\nunshaded lantern.\n\n       ***\n\nAn application is to be made to the LORD CHANCELLOR for a County Court\nfor the Hendon district, though a contemporary remarks that it is\ndoubtful whether there is sufficient work to be done there. But surely\nthis is just the sort of case that could be met by a little judicious\nadvertising.\n\n       ***\n\nParliament is to be asked to pass a vote of thanks to the Naval and\nMilitary Forces of the Crown. And it is thought that the latter will\nreciprocate by thanking Parliament for giving them such a jolly little\nwar.\n\n       ***\n\nMuch concern has been caused by the announcement that bees are\nentirely without winter stocks. We have pleasure in recording a\ngallant but unavailing attempt to remedy the situation on the part\nof two dear old ladies, who thought the paper said \"socks.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: _Sympathetic Passer-by._ \"WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOUR\nLITTLE BROTHER?\"\n\n_The Sister._ \"PLEASE, MISS, 'E'S WORRYIN' ABOUT RUSSIA.\"]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPUNCH'S ROLL OF HONOUR.\n\nWe regret to hear that Captain E.G.V. KNOX, Lincolnshire Regiment, has\nbeen wounded. The many friends of \"Evoe\" will wish him a speedy and\ncomplete recovery.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"Batches of one of its regiments were in such a hurry to get out\n    of the Ypres front when relieved by the 92nd Regiment that they\n    left without giving the newcomers infor-[inverted type: mation\n    about the line or state of their flanks.]\"--_Scots Paper_.\n\nThe line seems to have been seriously disorganised in consequence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPRATT'S TOURS OF THE FRONT.\n\nTHE LAST WORD IN SENSATION.\n\nBy special arrangement Pratt's are able to offer their patrons unique\nopportunities of witnessing the stirring events of the Great Struggle.\n\nDon't miss it; you may never see another War.\n\nCome and see Tommy at work and play.\n\nCome and be _shelled_--a genuine thrill! Same as during London's\nAir-raids, but less danger.\n\nAt the conclusion of the Tour patrons will be presented with a\nHandsome Medal as a souvenir of their exploits.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe following is a list of Tours that Pratt's offer _you_:--\n\nPRATT'S TOURS OF THE BACK.\n\n(ONE WEEK.)\n\nVery cheap. Very safe. Headquarters at the historic town of Amiens.\n\nItinerary includes: Battlefields of the Somme and Ancre, Bapaume,\nArras, Vimy Ridge, Ypres, etc. Guides will take parties round the old\nBritish Front lines. The German Defence System will be explained by\nharmless Huns actually taken at those places.\n\n_SPECIAL ATTRACTIONS._\n\nLantern Lecture by Captain Crump at Thiepval Chateau. Recherche\nSuppers at Serre Sucrerie.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPRATT'S TOURS OF TRENCHES.\n\n(FOUR DAYS.)\n\nSee the real thing. Live it yourself. Dine in a dugout. Drink rum\nas the Tommy drinks it. See Staff Officers at work (if it can be\narranged).\n\n_RESTRICTIONS._\n\nI. Loud laughing and talking is discouraged.\n\nII. Sunshades and umbrellas must not be put up when in the front line.\n\nIII. Don't talk to the man at the periscope.\n\n_GAS WARNING._\n\nIn case of gas put on the respirator; otherwise breathe out\ncontinuously.\n\n_SPECIAL ATTRACTION._\n\nOfficial Photographers in attendance during Christmas week.\n\nIf possible visitors will be given the opportunity of witnessing a\npractice barrage on the Enemy's front line.\n\nBack seats (in ammunition dumps), two guineas. Front seats (firing\nline), sixpence.\n\nTerms inclusive for the four days, twenty guineas. Good food. Sugar\n_ad lib_. All reasonable precautions taken. Casualties amongst\nvisitors up to the present, one sick (sugar saturation).\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPRATT'S BRIEF TOURS FOR BUSY PEOPLE.\n\n(SATURDAY TO MONDAY.)\n\nVery short. Very moderate terms. Five guineas each tour or three for\ntwelve and a-half. Bring the boy.\n\n_SPECIAL ATTRACTION._\n\nMagnificent Switchback Railway up and down the Messines Mine Craters.\nSpot where Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL lost his little Homburg hat under\nfire will be shown.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE YPRES CARNIVAL.\n\n(THREE DAYS.)\n\nAll the fun of the fair. Souvenirs supplied while you wait.\n\n_SPLENDID SIDE-SHOW FEATURES._\n\nI. How our lads keep fit. Regimental sports. Rivet your sides and see\nthe Bread and Jam Race.\n\nII. Obstacle Race. Lorry _versus_ Staff Car (with French carts,\ntraffic control and G.S. wagons as obstacles). Very amusing. Language\nreal.\n\n_FOR THE YOUNGSTERS._\n\nPick-a-back rides on the Highland Light Elephantry.\n\n_ACCOMMODATION._\n\n    Bedrooms (_en pension_)--\n  Ground floor.............. One guinea.\n  First floor (below) ...... Three guineas.\n  Second floor (very safe).. Ten guineas.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPRATT'S \"BATTLE\" TOUR.\n\nExtraordinary offer. Thrills guaranteed.\n\nBy special arrangement Pratt's are enabled to offer their patrons a\nfirst-class view of the _British Weekly Push_ \"Somewhere in France (or\nFlanders).\"\n\nAttention is called to the following specially attractive items (there\nmay be others):--\n\n1. _View of Preliminary Bombardment_ from an absolutely proof 12-inch\nO.P. The surrounding country and the objectives of the next attack\nwill be explained by a specially trained Staff Officer.\n\n2. _The Battle._\n\nVisitors are earnestly requested to be in time, as space in the\nObservation Post is limited and late arrivals cause a great deal\nof discomfort to all. Ladies are respectfully requested to remove\ntheir hats.\n\n3. _The Aftermath._\n\n(a) Special Shelters are erected at cross-roads for visitors to\nwitness the getting-up of guns, ammunition, etc., after the attack.\nPlease don't feed the men as they go by or ask the Gunners questions.\n\n(b) Breakfast in Boschland. Lunch in a Listening Post. Supper in\na Saphead.\n\n(c) A Special Narrow-gauge Railway will take Visitors to the\nnewly-acquired forward area (not obligatory). This part of the\nprogramme is liable to variation.\n\nTerms, fifty guineas. An Insurance Agent is always in attendance.\nCasualties up to the present, one Conscientious Objector missing,\nbelieved joined up.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBombardments arranged at the shortest notice. For five pounds you can\nfire a 15-inch. Write for Free Booklet and apply for all particulars\nto Pratt's Agency, London, Paris, etc., etc.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nVISITORS.\n\n  When I was very ill in bed\n    The fairies came to visit me;\n  They danced and played around my head,\n    Though other people couldn't see.\n\n  Across the end a railing goes\n    With bars and balls and twisted rings,\n  And there they jiggled on their toes\n    And did the wonderfullest things.\n\n  They balanced on the golden balls,\n    They jumped about from bar to bar,\n  And then they fluttered to the walls\n    Where coloured birds and roses are.\n\n  I watched them darting in and out,\n    I watched them gaily climb and cling,\n  While all the roses moved about\n    And all the birds began to sing.\n\n  And when it was no longer light\n    I felt them up my pillows creep,\n  And there they sat and sang all night--\n    I heard them singing in my sleep.\n\n  R.F.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nANOTHER SEX PROBLEM.\n\n    \"From Lord Rosebery's herd at Mentmore, Mr. Ross got a show cow\n    of the Lady Dorothy family, giving every appearance of being a\n    great milker and a tip-top bull calf.\"--_Aberdeen Free Press_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFrom a German _communique_:--\n\n    \"Our naval forces had encounters with Russian destroyers and\n    gungoats north of Oesel.\"--_Westminster Gazette_.\n\nThe Russian reply to the ewe-boats, we suppose.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"Kugelmann, Ludwig, of Canterbury Road, Canterbury, grocer, has\n    adopted the name of Love Wisdom Power.\"--_Australian Paper_.\n\nWho said the Germans had no sense of humour?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: BURGLAR BILL.\n\nTHE POTSDAM PINCHER. \"SURELY YOU AIN'T ASKIN' ME TO GIVE UP MY SWAG\nARTER ALL THE TROUBLE I'VE HAD GETTIN' IT, AN' ALL THE VALIBLE BLOOD\nI'VE SPILT.\"]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE MUD LARKS.\n\nThe Babe went to England on leave. Not that this was any new\nexperience for him; he usually pulled it off about once a\nquarter--influence, and that sort of thing, you know. He went down to\nthe coast in a carriage containing seventeen other men, but he got a\nfat sleepy youth to sit on, and was passably comfortable. He crossed\nover in a wobbly boat packed from cellar to attic with Red Tabs\ninvalided with shell shock, Blue Tabs with trench fever, and Green\nTabs with brain-fag; Mechanical Transporters in spurs and stocks, jam\nmerchants in revolvers and bowie-knives, Military Police festooned\nwith _pickelhaubes_, and here and there a furtive fighting man who had\ngot away by mistake, and would be recalled as soon as he landed.\n\nThe leave train rolled into Victoria late in the afternoon. Cab touts\nbuzzed about the Babe, but he would have none of them; he would\ngo afoot the better to see the sights of the village--a leisurely\nsentimental pilgrimage. He had not covered one hundred yards when\na ducky little thing pranced up to him, squeaking, \"Where are your\ngloves, Sir?\" \"I always put 'em in cold storage during summer along\nwith my muff and boa, dear,\" the Babe replied pleasantly. \"Moreover,\nmy mother doesn't like me to talk to strangers in the streets, so\nta-ta.\" The little creature blushed like a tea-rose and stamped its\nlittle hoof. \"Insolence!\" it squeaked. \"You--you go back to France by\nthe next boat!\" and the Babe perceived to his horror that he had been\nwitty to an Assistant Provost-Marshal! He flung himself down on his\nknees, licking the A.P.M.'s boots and crying in a loud voice that he\nwould be good and never do it again.\n\nThe A.P.M. pardoned the Babe (he wanted to save the polish on his\nboots) on condition that he immediately purchased a pair of gloves of\nthe official cut and hue. The Babe did so forthwith and continued on\nhis way. He had not continued ten yards when another A.P.M. tripped\nhim up. \"That cap is a disgrace, Sir!\" he barked. \"I know it, Sir,\"\nthe Babe admitted, \"and I'm awfully sorry about it; but that hole in\nit only arrived last night--shrapnel, you know--and I haven't had time\nto buy another yet. I don't care for the style they sell in those\nlittle French shops--do you?\"\n\nThe A.P.M. didn't know anything about France or its little shops, and\ndidn't intend to investigate; at any rate not while there was a war\non there. \"You will return to the Front to-morrow,\" said he. The Babe\ngrasped his hand from him and shook it warmly. \"Thank you--thank you,\nSir,\" he gushed; \"I didn't want to come, but they made me. I'm from\nFiji; have no friends here, and London is somehow so different from\nSuva it makes my head ache. I am broke and couldn't afford leave,\nanyway. Thank you, Sir--thank you.\"\n\n\"Ahem--in that case I will revoke my decision,\" said the A.P.M. \"Buy\nyourself an officially-sanctioned cap and carry on.\"\n\nThe Babe bought one with alacrity; then, having tasted enough of the\ndangers of the streets for one afternoon, took a taxi, and, lying in\nthe bottom well out of sight, sped to his old hotel. When he reached\nhis old hotel he found it had changed during his absence, and was now\nheadquarters of the Director of Bones and Dripping. He abused the\ntaxi-driver, who said he was sorry, but there was no telling these\ndays; a hotel was a hotel one moment, and the next it was something\nentirely different. Motion pictures weren't in it, he said.\n\nFinally they discovered a hotel which was still behaving as such, and\nthe Babe got a room. He remained in that room all the evening, beneath\nthe bed, having his meals pushed in to him under the door. A prowling\nA.P.M. sniffed at the keyhole but did not investigate further, which\nwas fortunate for the Babe, who had no regulation pyjamas.\n\nNext morning, crouched on the bottom boards of another taxi, he was\ntaken to his tailor, poured himself into the faithful fellow's hands,\nand only departed when guaranteed to be absolutely A.P.M.-proof. He\nwent to the \"Bolero\" for lunch, ordered some oysters for a start,\npolished them off and bade the waiter trot up the _consomme_. The\nwaiter shook his head, \"Can't be done, Sir. Subaltern gents are only\nallowed three and sixpenceworth of food and you've already had that,\nSir. If we was to serve you with a crumb more, we'd be persecuted\nunder the Trading with the Enemy Act, Sir. There's an A.P.M. sitting\nin the corner this very moment, Sir, his eyeglass fixed on your every\nmouthful very suspicious-like--\"\n\n\"Good Lord!\" said the Babe, and bolted. He bolted as far as the next\nrestaurant, had a three-and-sixpenny _entree_ there, went on to\nanother for sweets, and yet another for coffee and trimmings. These\nshort bursts between courses kept his appetite wonderfully alive.\n\nThat afternoon he ran across a lady friend in Bond Street, \"a War\nToiler enormously interested in the War\" (see the current number of\n_Social Snaps_). She had been at Yvonne's trying on her gauze for the\nBoccaccio Tableaux in aid of the Armenians and needed some relaxation.\nSo she engaged the Babe for the play, to be followed by supper with\nherself and her civilian husband. The play (a War-drama) gave the Babe\na fine hunger, but the Commissionaire (apparently a Major-General)\nwho does odd jobs outside the Blitz took exception to him. \"Can't go\nin, Sir.\" \"Why not?\" the Babe inquired; \"my friends have gone in.\"\n\"Yessir, but no hofficers are allowed to obtain nourishment after 10\np.m. under Defence of the Realm Act, footnote (a) to para. 14004.\" He\nleaned forward and whispered behind his glove, \"There's a Hay Pee Hem\nunder the portico watching your movements, Sir.\" The Babe needed no\nfurther warning; he dived into his friends' Limousine and burrowed\nunder the rug.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSometime later the door of the car was opened cautiously and the\nmoon-face of the Major-General inserted itself through the crack.\n\"Hall clear for the moment, Sir; the Hay Pee Hem 'as gorn orf dahn the\nstreet, chasin' a young hofficer in low shoes. 'Ere, tyke this; I'm a\nhold soldier meself.\" He thrust a damp banana in the Babe's hand and\nclosed the door softly.\n\nNext morning the Babe dug up an old suit of 1914 \"civies\" and put\nthem on. A woman in the Tube called him \"Cuthbert\" and informed him\ngratuitously that her husband, twice the Babe's age, had volunteered\nthe moment Conscription was declared and had been fighting bravely\nin the Army Clothing Department ever since. Further she supposed\nthe Babe's father was in Parliament and that he was a Conscientious\nObjector. In Hyde Park one urchin addressed him as \"Daddy\" and asked\nhim what he was doing in the Great War; another gambolled round and\nround him making noises like a rabbit. In Knightsbridge a Military\nPoliceman wanted to arrest him as a deserter. The Babe hailed a taxi\nand, cowering on the floor, fled back to his hotel and changed into\nuniform again.\n\nThat night, strolling homewards in the dark immersed in thought, he\ninadvertently took a pipe out of his pocket and lit it. An A.P.M. who\nhad been sleuthing him for half-a-mile leapt upon him, snatched the\npipe and two or three teeth out of his mouth and returned him to\nFrance by the next boat.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHis groom, beaming welcome, met him at the railhead with the horses.\n\n\"Hello, old thing, cheerio and all the rest of it,\" Huntsman whinnied\nlovingly.\n\nMiss Muffet rubbed her velvet muzzle against his pocket. \"Brought a\nlump of sugar for a little girl?\" she rumbled.\n\nHe mounted her and headed across country, Miss Muffet pig-jumping and\ncapering to show what excellent spirits she enjoyed.\n\nTwo brigades of infantry were under canvas in Mud Gully, their cook\nfires winking like red eyes. The guards clicked to attention and\nslapped their butts as the Babe went by. A subaltern bobbed out of a\ntent and shouted to him to stop to tea. \"We've got cake,\" he lured,\nbut the Babe went on.\n\nA red-hat cantered across the stubble before him waving a friendly\ncrop, \"Pip\" Vibart the A.P.M. homing to H.Q. \"Evening, boy!\" he\nholloaed; \"come up and Bridge to-morrow night,\" and swept on over the\nhillside. A flight of aeroplanes, like flies in the amber of sunset,\ndroned overhead _en route_ for Hunland. The Babe waved his official\ncap at them: \"Good hunting, old dears.\"\n\nThey had just started feeding up in the regimental lines when he\narrived; the excited neighing of five hundred horses was music to his\nears. His brother subalterns hailed his return with loud and exuberant\nnoises, made disparaging remarks about the smartness of his clothes,\nsat on him all over the floor and rumpled him. On sighting the Babe,\nThe O'Murphy went mad and careered round the table wriggling like\nan Oriental dancer, uttering shrill yelps of delight; presently he\nbounced out of the window, to enter some minutes later by the same\nroute, and lay the offering of a freshly slain rat at his best\nbeloved's feet.\n\nAt this moment the skipper came in plastered thick with the mud of the\nline, nodded cheerfully to his junior sub and instantaneously fell\nupon the buttered toast.\n\n\"Have a good time, Son?\" he mumbled. \"How's merrie England?\"\n\n\"Oh, England's all right, Sir,\" said the Babe, tickling The O'Murphy's\nupturned tummy--\"quite all right; but it's jolly to be home again\namong one's ain folk.\"\n\nPATLANDER.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: OUT OF REACH.\n\n\"Just ask Dr. Jones to run round to my place right away. Our cook's\nfallen downstairs, broke her leg; the housemaid's got chicken-pox; and\nmy two boys have been knocked down by a taxi.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, sir, but the doctor was blown up in yesterday's air-raid\nand he won't be down for a week.\"]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: AT BRIGHTON.\n\n_Tommy (to alien Visitor about to run up to Town for the day)._\n\"THIS IS THE VICTORIA PORTION, OLD SPORTSKI. HIGHER UP FOR LONDON\nBRIDGEOVITCH.\"]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBEASTS ROYAL.\n\nV.\n\nKING LOUIS' PEACOCK. A.D. 1678.\n\n  The paven terrace of Versailles\n    With tub and orange-tree,\n  And Dian's fountain tossed awry,\n    Were planned and made for me;\n  Since no one half so well as I\n    Could grace their symmetry,\n      Nor teach admiring man\n      The genuine pavane.\n\n  I know that when King Louis wears\n    A Roman kilt and casque\n  His smile hides many secret tears\n    In ballet and in masque,\n  Since to outshine my pomp appears\n    So desperate a task,\n      And royal robes look pale\n      Beside my noble tail.\n\n  With turquoise and with malachite,\n    With bronze and purple pied,\n  I march before him like the night\n    In all its starry pride;\n  LULLI may twang and MOLIERE write\n    His pastime to provide,\n      But seldom laughs the KING\n      So much as when I sing.\n\n  His fiddles brown and pipes of brass\n    May LULLI now forsake,\n  While I make music on the grass\n    Before the storm-clouds break;\n  He stops his ears and cries \"Alas!\"\n    Because _he_ cannot make\n      With all his fiddlers fine\n      A melody like mine.\n\n  LE BRUN is watching me, I know,\n    His palette on his thumb,\n  To catch the glory and the glow\n    That dazzle as I come;\n  So be it--but let MOLIERE go,\n    And LULLI crack his drum;\n      They do but waste their time;\n      Minstrel I am, and mime.\n\n  Men say the KING is like the sun,\n    And from his wig they spin\n  The golden webs that, one by one,\n    Draw Spain and Flanders in;\n  He will grow proud ere they have done,\n    A most egregious sin,\n      And one to which my mind\n      Has never yet declined.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nQUEER CATTLE.\n\n    \"Of the 217 sheep sold at the Sunderland Mart, yesterday, there\n    was a very large percentage of heifers and bullocks.\"--_Newcastle\n    Daily Journal_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNews from the Russian Front: Pop goes the Oesel.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"Chauffeur Gardener wanted, titled gentleman.\"--_Glasgow Herald_.\n\nWe have often mistaken a taxi-driver for a lord.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPRESENCE OF MIND.\n\nThe train came to one of those sudden stops in which the hush caused\nby the contrast between the rattle of the wheels and their silence is\nalmost painful. During these pauses one is conscious of conversation\nin neighbouring compartments, without however hearing any distinct\nwords.\n\nThere were several of us, strangers to each other, who hitherto had\nbeen minding our own business, but under the stress of this untoward\nthing became companionable.\n\nA man at each window craned his body out, but withdrew it without\ninformation.\n\n\"I hope,\" said another, \"there's not an accident.\"\n\n\"I have always heard,\" said a fourth, \"that in a railway accident\npresence of mind is not so valuable as absence of body\"--getting off\nthis ancient pleasantry as though it were his own.\n\nThe motionlessness of the train was so absolute as to be\ndisconcerting; also a scandal. The business of trains, between\nstations, is to get on. We had paid our money, not for undue\nstoppages, but for movement in the direction of our various goals;\nand it was infamous.\n\nSomebody said something of the kind.\n\n\"Better be held up now,\" said a sententious man, \"than be killed for\nwant of prudence.\"\n\nNo one was prepared to deny this, but we resented its truth and\navailed ourselves of a true-born free Briton's right to doubt the\nwisdom of those in authority. We all, in short, looked as though\nwe knew better than engine-driver, signalman or guard. That is our\n_metier_.\n\nSome moments, which, as in all delays on the line, seemed like hours,\npassed and nothing happened. Looking out I saw heads and shoulders\nprotruding from every window, with curiosity stamped on all their\ncurves.\n\n\"They should tell us what's the matter,\" said an impatient man.\n\"That's one of the stupid things in England--no one ever tells you\nwhat's wrong. No tact in this country--no imagination.\"\n\nWe all agreed. No imagination. It was the national curse.\n\n\"And yet,\" said another man with a smile, \"we get there.\"\n\n\"Ah! that's our luck,\" said the impatient man. \"We have luck far\nbeyond our deserts.\" He was very cross about it.\n\nAgain the first man to speak hoped it was not an accident; and again\nthe second man, fearing that someone might have missed it, repeated\nthe old jest about presence of mind and absence of body.\n\n\"Talking of presence of mind,\" said a man who had not yet spoken,\nemerging from his book, \"an odd thing happened to me not so very long\nago--since the War--and, as it chances, happened in a railway carriage\ntoo--as it might be in this. It is a story against a friend of mine,\nand I hope he's wiser now, but I'll tell it to you.\"\n\nWe had not asked for his story but we made ourselves up to listen.\n\n\"It was during the early days of the War,\" he said, \"before some of us\nhad learned better, and my friend and I were travelling to the North.\nHe is a very good fellow, but a little hasty, and a little too much\ndisposed to think everyone wrong but himself. Opposite us was a man\nhidden behind a newspaper, all that was visible of him being a huge\npair of legs in knickerbockers, between which was a bag of golf-clubs.\n\n\"My friend at that time was not only suspicious of everyone's\npatriotism but a deadly foe of golf. He even went so far as to call it\nScotch croquet and other contemptuous names. I saw him watching the\nclubs and the paper and speculating on the age of the man, whose legs\nwere, I admit, noticeably young, and he drew my attention to him\ntoo--by nudges and whispers. Obviously this was a shirker.\n\n\"For a while my friend contented himself with half-suppressed snorts\nand other signs of disapproval, but at last he could hold himself in\nno longer. Leaning forward he tapped the man smartly on the knee, with\nthe question, 'Why aren't you in khaki?' It was an inquiry, you will\nremember, that was being much put at the time--before compulsion came\nin.\n\n\"We all--there were two or three other people in the compartment--felt\nthat this was going too far; and I knew it only too well when the man\nlowered his paper to see what was happening and revealed an elderly\nface with a grey beard absolutely out of keeping with those vigorous\nlegs.\n\n\"To my intense relief, however, he seemed to have been too much\nengrossed by his paper to have heard. At any rate he asked my friend\nto repeat his remark.\n\n\"Here, you will agree, was, if ever, an opening for what we call\npresence of mind.\n\n\"My friend, like myself, had been so taken aback by the apparition of\nmore than middle age which confronted him when the paper was lowered\nthat for the moment he could say nothing; the other passengers were in\nan ecstasy of anticipation; the man himself, a formidable antagonist\nif he became nasty, waited for the reply with a non-committal\nexpression which might conceal pugnacity and might genuinely have\nresulted from not hearing and desiring to hear.\n\n\"And then occurred one of the most admirable instances of\nresourcefulness in history. With an effort of self-collection and\na readiness for which I shall always honour him, my friend said,\nspeaking with precise clearness, 'I beg your pardon, Sir, but,\nmistaking you for a golfing friend of mine at Babbacombe, I asked\nyou why you were not in Torquay. I offer my apologies.'\n\n\"At these words the golfer bowed and resumed his paper, the other\npassengers ceased for the moment to have the faintest interest in a\nlife which was nothing but Dead Sea fruit, and my friend uttered a\nsigh of relief as he registered a vow never to be a meddlesome idiot\nagain. But he looked years older.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: UNCENSORED NEWS FROM FRANCE.\n\n_Visitor._ \"And is your brother still in France?\"\n\n_Little Girl._ \"Yes.\"\n\n_Visitor._ \"And what part of France is he in?\"\n\n_Little Girl._ \"He says he's in the Pink.\"]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE NEW MRS. MARKHAM.\n\nII.\n\nCONVERSATION ON CHAPTER IV.\n\n_George._ I must ask you, Mamma, before we talk of anything else,\nwhether Withsak and Alldane were beheaded?\n\n_Mrs. M._ No; you will be relieved to hear that, although ALFRED\nwas greatly incensed against them and had resolved to proceed to\nthe enforcement of the extreme penalty, they were rescued by the\nintervention of the Archbishop of Canterbury and afterwards granted\na free pardon on condition of abstaining from all participation in\npublic life. This magnanimity on the part of ALFRED is all the more\npraiseworthy as many people firmly believed that these two princes\nhad attempted to poison him, and that they were responsible for all\nthe calamities which had befallen England from the invasion of JULIUS\nCAESAR, and which were destined to befall her till the end of time.\nIndeed a writer in an old saga, known as the Blackblood Saga, went\nso far as to maintain that the English climate had been permanently\nruined by the incantations of Prince Alldane. Undoubtedly his name was\nan unfortunate one at the time, but, to judge by the old portraits\nI showed you, neither of these princes looked capable of such\natrocities, and Prince Alldane was described as being the essence of\nrotundity.\n\n_Richard._ Did not ALFRED invent the quartern loaf?\n\n_Mrs. M._ Yes; before his time the nobles lived exclusively on cake\nand venison, while the peasantry subsisted on herbs and a substance\nnamed woad, which was most injurious to their digestions. ALFRED,\nwho among his many accomplishments was an expert baker, himself gave\ninstructions to the wives of the poor, supplied them with flour, the\ngrinding of which was carried out in mills of his own devising, and\ninsisted that all loaves should be made of a certain quality and size,\nwith results most beneficial to the physique of his subjects. The\nstory of his quarrel with the woman who would insist on baking cakes\nillustrates the difficulties he encountered in effecting his reforms.\n\n_Mary._ Was not ALFRED called \"England's Darling\"?\n\n_Mrs. M._ Yes, my dear, and no wonder. Before his time there were no\nproper newspapers, the few issued being of high price and written in\nan elaborate style which only appealed to the highly educated. ALFRED\nchanged all this, and insisted that they should be written in a\n\"simple, sensuous and passionate style.\" This was one of the causes of\nhis falling out with Withsak, who supported the old-fashioned methods,\nwhile ALFRED was in favour of simplicity and brevity. You will find\nall this related in the work of Leo Maximus, a learned writer, the\nfriend and admirer of ALFRED and author of his Life.\n\n_George._ How much I should like to read it.\n\n_Mrs. M._ You would find in it some inspiring and interesting\nparticulars of ALFRED's conversations and private life.\n\n_Mary._ How many things ALFRED did! I cannot think how he found time\nfor them all.\n\n_Mrs. M._ He found time by never wasting it. One-third of his time\nhe devoted to religious exercises and to study, another third to\nsleep and necessary refreshment, and the other to the affairs of his\nkingdom. The benefits he bestowed on his country were so great and\nvarious that even to this day we hardly comprehend them fully, and\nsome ungrateful people refuse to regard them as benefits at all.\n\n_Richard._ How sad! But thanks to you, dear Mamma, we know better.\nWhen Papa comes in to tea I will ask him when he thinks I shall be old\nenough to read all the books that have ever been written about KING\nALFRED. I want to know everything about him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: _Mother (to curate)._ \"AND DO YOU REALLY PRAY FOR YOUR\nENEMIES?\"\n\n_Ethel (overhearing)._ \"I DO, MUMMY.\"\n\n_Curate._ \"AND WHAT DO YOU SAY IN YOUR PRAYER, MY CHILD?\"\n\n_Ethel._ \"I PRAY THAT THEY MAY BE BEATEN.\"]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIL FLAUTO MAGICO.\n\n    \"The Lord Mayor formally declared the aerodrome opened, and turned\n    on the flute diverting the waters of the Cardinal Wolsey river\n    underground.\"--_Evening News_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFrom an interview with Lord ROBERT CECIL, as reported by _The\nManchester Guardian_:--\n\n    \"It is literally true of the British soldier that he is _tans peur\n    et tans rapproche_.\"\n\nThis perhaps explains some recent reflections on the linguistic\naccomplishments of our Foreign Office.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMARIANA IN WAR-TIME.\n\n  This tedious and important War\n  Has altered much that went before,\n  But did you hear about the change\n  At _Mariana's_ Moated Grange?\n  You all of you will recollect\n  The gross condition of neglect\n  In which the place appeared to be,\n  And _Mariana's_ apathy,\n  Her idleness, her want of tone,\n  Her--well, her absence of backbone.\n  Her relatives, no doubt, had tried\n  To single out the brighter side,\n  Had scolded her about the moss\n  And only made her extra cross.\n\n  But when the War had really come\n  At once the place began to hum,\n  And _Mariana's_, bless her heart!\n  She threw herself into the part\n  Of cooking for the V.A.D.\n  And wholly lost her lethargy.\n  She sent her gardeners off pell-mell\n  (They hadn't kept the gardens well),\n  And got a lady-gardener in\n  Who didn't cost her half the tin,\n  And who, before she'd been a day,\n  Had scraped the blackest moss away.\n  She put a jolly little boat\n  For wounded soldiers on the moat;\n  Her relatives were bound to own\n  How practical the girl had grown.\n  She often said, \"I feel more cheery,\n  I doubt if I can stick this dreary\n  Old grange again when peace is rife;\n  You really couldn't call it life.\"\n\n  But something infinitely more\n  Than just a European War\n  Would have been requisite to part\n  Romance from _Mariana's_ heart;\n  Once more she felt within her stir\n  The dawn of _une affaire de coeur_;\n  In other words, I must confess\n  She found her thoughts were centred less\n  On that young man who never came\n  And more on Captain What's-his-name,\n  Who'd left his other leg in France\n  And was a model of romance.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  The wedding was a pretty thing;\n  I sent the \"Idylls of the King,\"\n  Well bound. And _Mariana_ wrote\n  A most appreciative note.\n  They live in London now, I'm told;\n  The Moated Grange is let (or sold);\n  I only hope they'll manage so\n  That TENNYSON need never know.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nVERGILIANA.\n\nFor a certain German Admiral on being booted: \"_Ite, Capellae_.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: HERE TO-DAY AND GONE TO-MORROW.\n\nCHORUS OF KAISER WILHELM'S EX-CHANCELLORS (_from below_). \"COMING\nDOWN, MICHAELIS?\"]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.\n\n_Tuesday, October 16th_.--To Mr. Punch's blunt inquiry, \"Why?\" in last\nweek's cartoon different answers would, I suppose, be returned by\nvarious Members. The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER would say that the\nreassembling of Parliament was necessary in order that he might obtain\na further Vote of Credit from the representatives of the taxpayers.\nBrigadier-General PAGE CROFT, inventor and C.-in-C. of the new\n\"National\" party, who has already attached to himself a following not\ninferior numerically to the little band which, under Lord RANDOLPH\nCHURCHILL in the eighties, struck terror into the hearts of the Front\nBenches, longs to prove that, under his brilliant leadership, Lord\nDUNCANNON, Sir RICHARD COOPER and Major ROWLAND HUNT will emulate the\nearly prowess of Sir JOHN GORST, Sir HENRY DRUMMOND-WOLFF and Mr.\nARTHUR BALFOUR.\n\nBut a word to the gallant General: he will do little until he has\nsecured a corner-seat. By hook or by crook Mr. HOUSTON, \"the Pirate\nKing,\" must be induced or compelled to surrender his coign of vantage\nto the new generalissimo, who will then be able alternately to pour a\nbroadside into the Government or to enfilade the ex-Ministers who aid\nand abet them.\n\nThen there are those humanized notes of interrogation like Mr. KING,\nMr. HOGGE and Mr. PEMBERTON BILLING. They would like Parliament to\nbe in permanent session in order that the world might have the daily\nbenefit of their searching investigations. Mr. KING has not yet quite\nrun into his best form. He had only six Questions on the Paper, and\nactually asked only five of them--a concession which so paralysed\nthe MINISTER OF RECONSTRUCTION, to whom the missing Question was\naddressed, that, when asked where his department was located, he\nhad to confess that he did not know the precise number, but it was\nsomewhere in Queen Anne's Gate.\n\nEclipsed in Ireland by the more spectacular attractions of Sinn Fein,\nthe Nationalists' only hope of recovering their lost popularity is to\nkick up the dust of St. Stephen's. Accordingly Mr. REDMOND gave notice\nof yet another Vote of Censure on the Irish Executive, but whether\nfor its slackness or its brutality the terms of his motion do not\nmake quite clear. Perhaps he has not yet made up his own mind on\nthe subject.\n\nI feel sure that Mr. MONTAGU has a sense of humour, and I admired\nthe way in which he concealed its existence when explaining the\nIndian Government's release of Mrs. BESANT. As he read the VICEROY'S\nreference to \"the tranquillizing effect of Mr. MONTAGU'S approaching\nvisit\" the House rippled with laughter; and when he proceeded to say\nthat Mrs. BESANT had undertaken to use her influence to secure \"a\ncalm atmosphere for my visit,\" the ripple became a wave. But with the\nstoicism of the unchanging East he read on unmoved.\n\nMr. KENNEDY JONES, taking up the _role_ of the newsboy in a recent\ncartoon, invited the Government to give the Germans the monosyllabic\nequivalent for a very warm time. Mr. BONAR LAW declined to commit\nhimself to the actual term, but announced the intention to set up a\nnew Air Ministry, and to \"employ our machines over German towns so\nfar as military needs render us free to take such action.\"\n\nTo return to Mr. Punch's question, \"Why?\" I think the answer most\nMembers would make would be, \"Because we wanted to see what the\nLadies' Gallery would look like without the grille.\" It must be\nconfessed that those who cherished visions of a dull assembly made\nglorious by flashing eyes, white arms, and brilliant dresses were\ndisappointed.\n\n  \"Stone walls do not a prison make,\n  Nor iron bars a cage,\"\n\nwrote LOVELACE. Well, the iron bars have gone, but the stone walls\nremain, and make, if not a prison, something very like a _purdah_; and\nthe \"angels alone that soar above\" are almost as much cut off from the\ninferior beings below them as they were before Sir ALFRED MOND came to\nthe rescue of Beauty in thrall. He is rather disappointed at getting\nso little change out of his \"fiver.\"\n\n_Wednesday, October 17th_.--The latest recruit to what JOHN KNOX\nwould have called the \"monstrous regiment of Ministers\" is Mr. WARDLE,\nlately Chairman of the Labour Party. He made a promising _debut_. Mr.\nHOGGE professed to be anxious as to the future of the North-Eastern\nRailway, which, according to him, had lent all its \"genii\" to the\nAdmiralty. Mr. WARDLE, quick to note the classical accuracy of the\nplural, assured him that he need be under no apprehensions--\"there\nare still some genii left.\"\n\nIreland is to have the extended franchise conferred by the\nRepresentation of the People Bill, but not the accompanying\nredistribution of seats. The Chairman suggested that Sir JOHN\nLONSDALE, who wanted to do away with the anomaly, should move a\nsupplementary schedule embodying his own ideas of how Ireland should\nbe redistributed. Unfortunately--for one would have liked to see how\nmuch was left for the other three provinces after he had designed an\nUlster commensurate with his notion of its relative importance--the\nhon. Baronet demurred to this tempting proposal, and thought it was\na matter for the Government.\n\nSome very pleasant badinage between Lord HUGH CECIL and the HOME\nSECRETARY as to the relative merits of the words \"dwell\" and \"reside\"\nfor the purpose of defining a voter's qualification was followed by an\nexhaustive and exhausting lecture by Major CHAPPLE on how to tabulate\nthe alternative votes in a three-cornered election. His object was to\ndemonstrate that under the Government scheme the man whom the majority\nof the voters might desire would infallibly be rejected, while by\na plan of his own, which he had tried successfully on a couple of\nwounded soldiers, the best man invariably won.\n\n_Thursday, October 18th_.--The most obliging of men, Sir ALFRED MOND\nnevertheless draws the line when he is asked to look a gift horse in\nthe mouth. His predecessor at the Office of Works having offered a\nsite for a statue of President LINCOLN, it is not for him to challenge\nthe artistic merit of the sculpture, which has been picturesquely\ndescribed as \"a tramp with the colic.\" It is thought that the American\ndonors, after an exhaustive study of our outdoor monuments, have been\nanxious to conform to British standards of taste.\n\nThe \"Nationals\" are beginning to move. Their General elicited from the\nGovernment a promise to introduce a Vote of Thanks to His Majesty's\nForces; though it is possible that this would have been done without\nhis intervention. His lieutenants were less successful. Sir RICHARD\nCOOPER could not persuade Mr. BONAR LAW to publish the official report\non the loss of the _Hampshire_, and is now more than ever convinced\nthat K. OF K. is languishing in a German prison-camp; while the HOME\nSECRETARY intimated that he required no instruction from Major ROWLAND\nHUNT in the business of suppressing seditious literature.\n\nAfter all, Ireland is to be redistributed. Unless the success of the\nConvention renders the task superfluous, the Government will appoint a\nBoundary Commission as an act of simple justice. Needless to say the\nannouncement was received with frenzied abuse by all the Nationalist\nfactions. Abstract justice, it seems, is the very last thing that\nIreland wants.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE RE-OPENING OF THE CAMPAIGN ON\nOCTOBER 16TH A CERTAIN LIVELINESS WAS OBSERVED ON THE HIBERNIAN\nFRONT.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: \"TURN AGAIN.\"\n\n_Instructor (to recruit, who on the command, \"Left turn,\" has made a\nmess of it)._ \"NOW THEN, WHITTINGTON, 'AVE ANOTHER SHOT.\"]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGADGETS AND STUNTS.\n\nDEAR MR. PUNCH,--Aware as you must be of a deplorable confusion\nnow prevailing in the public mind as to the true inwardness of the\nexpressions \"gadget\" and \"stunt,\" you will agree, I am sure, that the\nmoment has come for a clear and authoritative ruling on this vexed\npoint. At a time when the pundits of the Oxford Dictionary are coldly\naloof, like GALLIO, and the Army Council, though often approached,\nstudiously reserve their decision, it rests with you Mr. Punch, as\nArbiter of National Opinion, to give judgment.\n\nWhat notion, then, of \"gadget\" and \"stunt\" is gained by the young\nsubaltern of today as he joins his regiment and shakes down to the\nfundamental facts of life and death? He finds himself harassed by no\nend of devilish enemy stunts, to stultify which a fatherly all-wise\nWar Office has given him an infinity of gadgets. For every stunt\nan appropriate countering gadget. Does the foe strafe him with a\ngas-bombing stunt? \"Ha, ha!\" laughs he, and dons that unlovely but\npriceless gadget, his box-respirator. But by no means all gadgets have\njust one peculiar stunt to counter; such a definition would exclude,\nfor instance, the height-gauge on a plane, which is emphatically,\nwholly and eternally a gadget of gadgets. Moreover, gadgets are small\nthings. The airman's \"joystick\" is a gadget; the tank is not. Now are\nthese views sound, Sir, or is it permissible, as one authority does,\nto describe persons as \"gadgets\"?\n\nOne final word. A nervous subaltern recently appeared before his\nAdjutant and called the Wurzel-Flummery Electro-Dynamical Apparatus,\nMark II., \"this sky-plotter stunt.\" \"Great Heavens!\" gasped the\nAdjutant, \"what is the Service coming to? Stunt? Gadget, man, gadget!\"\nThree days later the hapless boy found himself desired to resign on\nthe grounds of \"gross ignorance of military terminology.\"\n\nI am, dear Mr. Punch,\n\nYours solemnly,\n\nARCHIBALD.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: TRIALS OF A CAMOUFLAGE OFFICER.\n\nHAVING CAMOUFLAGED SOME COAST DEFENCES HE GOES TO SEA TO OBSERVE THE\nEFFECT.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHEART-TO-HEART TALKS.\n\n(_THE GERMAN KAISER, THE TSAR OF BULGARIA, AND THE SULTAN OF TURKEY._)\n\n_The Tsar_. You must admit that Sofia is a most agreeable place. Where\nelse could you find such genuine and overwhelming enthusiasm for the\nWar and our alliance?\n\n_The Kaiser_. I don't know. It didn't seem to me exactly violent;\nbut then, of course, you know your people better than I do, and it\nmay be--\n\n_The Sultan_. Umph.\n\n_The Tsar_. I know just what you are going to say, MEHMED. You feel,\nas we do, that the voice of the People is the true guide for a ruler.\nYou feel that too, don't you, WILHELM?\n\n_The Kaiser_. I have never hesitated to say so. It is on such\nsentiments that the greatness of our Imperial House is based.\n\n_The Sultan_. Umph.\n\n_The Tsar_. There--I knew you would agree with us. You heard, WILHELM?\nMEHMED agrees with us.\n\n_The Kaiser_. That is, of course, immensely gratifying.\n\n_The Tsar_. We will at once publish an announcement in all our\nnewspapers. It will declare that the three Sovereigns, after a\nperfectly frank interchange of views, found no subject on which there\nwas even the shadow of a disagreement between them, and are resolved\nin the closest alliance to continue the War against the aggressive\ndesigns of the Entente Powers until a satisfactory peace is secured.\nHow does that suit you, WILHELM?\n\n_The Kaiser_. Very well. Only you must put in that bit about my being\nactuated by the highest and most disinterested motives.\n\n_The Tsar_. That applies to all of us.\n\n_The Sultan_. Umph.\n\n_The Tsar_. Again he agrees. Isn't it wonderful? I've never met a more\naccommodating ally. It's a real pleasure to work with him. Now then,\nwe're all quite sure, aren't we, that we really want to go on with the\nWar, and that we utterly reject all peace-talk?\n\n_The Kaiser_. Utterly--but if they come and _sue_ to us for peace we\nmight graciously consider their offer.\n\n_The Tsar_. That means nothing, of course, so there's no harm in\nputting it in. At any rate it will please the POPE. We're quite sure,\nthen, that we want to go on with the War? Of course I'm heart and soul\nfor going on with it to the last gasp, but I cannot help pointing out\nthat at present Bulgaria has got all she wants, and my people are very\nfond of peace.\n\n_The Sultan_. Umph.\n\n_The Tsar_. He knows that is so. He's very fond of peace himself. You\nsee he hasn't had much luck in the War, have you, MEHMED?\n\n_The Sultan_. The English--\n\n_The Tsar_. Quite true; the English are an accursed race.\n\n_The Sultan_. The English have a lot of--\n\n_The Kaiser_. A lot of vices? I should think they have.\n\n_The Sultan (persisting)_. The English have a lot of men and guns.\n\n_The Tsar_. Well done, old friend; you've got it off your chest at\nlast. I hope you're happy now. But, as to this peace of ours, can't\nsomething be done? I always say it's a great thing to know when to\nstop. So it might be as well to talk about peace, even if your talk\nmeans nothing. In any case, I tell you frankly, I want peace.\n\n_The Kaiser_. FERDINAND!\n\n_The Tsar_. Oh, it's no use to glare at me like that. If it comes to\nglaring I can do a bit in that line myself.\n\n_The Sultan_. The Americans--\n\n_The Kaiser_ \\  _(together)_.\n_The Tsar_   / Oh, curse the Americans!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: _Postlethwaite (keenly appreciative of hum of Gotha\noverhead)._ \"LISTEN, AGATHA! EXACTLY B FLAT.\" {_Strikes note to\nestablish accuracy of his ear._}]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSTANZAS ON TEA SHORTAGE.\n\n    [Mr. M. GRIEVE, writing from \"The Whins,\" Chalfont St. Peter, in\n    _The Daily Mail_ of the 12th inst., suggests herb-teas to meet\n    the shortage, as being far the most healthful substitutes. \"They\n    can also,\" he says, \"be blended and arranged to suit the gastric\n    idiosyncrasies of the individual consumer. A few of them are\n    agrimony, comfrey, dandelion, camomile, woodruff, marjoram,\n    hyssop, sage, horehound, tansy, thyme, rosemary, stinging-nettle\n    and raspberry.\"]\n\n  Although, when luxuries must be resigned,\n    Such as cigars or even breakfast bacon,\n  My hitherto \"unconquerable mind\"\n    Its philosophic pose has not forsaken,\n  By one impending sacrifice I find\n    My stock of fortitude severely shaken--\n  I mean the dismal prospect of our losing\n  The genial cup that cheers without bemusing.\n\n  Blest liquor! dear to literary men,\n    Which Georgian writers used to drink like fishes,\n  When cocoa had not swum into their ken\n    And coffee failed to satisfy all wishes;\n  When tea was served to monarchs of the pen,\n    Like JOHNSON and his coterie, in \"dishes,\"\n  And came exclusively from far Cathay--\n  See \"China's fragrant herb\" in WORDSWORTH'S lay.\n\n  Beer prompted CALVERLEY'S immortal rhymes,\n    Extolling it as utterly eupeptic;\n  But on that point, in these exacting times,\n    The weight of evidence supports the sceptic;\n  Beer is not suitable for torrid climes\n    Or if your tendency is cataleptic;\n  But tea in moderation, freshly brewed,\n  Was never by Sir ANDREW CLARK tabooed.\n\n  We know for certain that the GRAND OLD MAN\n    Drank tea at midnight with complete impunity,\n  At least he long outlived the Psalmist's span\n    And from ill-health enjoyed a fine immunity;\n  Besides, robust Antipodeans can\n    And do drink tea at every opportunity;\n  While only Stoics nowadays contrive\n  To shun the cup that gilds the hour of five.\n\n  But war is war, and when we have to face\n    Shortage in tea as well as bread and boots\n  'Tis well to teach us how we may replace\n    The foreign brew by native substitutes,\n  Extracted from a vegetable base\n    In various wholesome plants and herbs and fruits,\n  \"Arranged and blended,\" very much like teas,\n  To suit our \"gastric idiosyncrasies.\"\n\n  It is a list for future use to file,\n    Including woodruff, marjoram and sage,\n  Thyme, agrimony, hyssop, camomile\n    (A name writ painfully on childhood's page),\n  Tansy, the jaded palate to beguile,\n    Horehound, laryngeal troubles to assuage,\n  And, for a cup ere mounting to the stirrup,\n  The stinging-nettle's stimulating syrup.\n\n  And yet I cannot, though I gladly would,\n    Forget the Babylonian monarch's cry,\n  \"It may be wholesome, but it is not good,\"\n    When grass became his only food supply;\n  Such weakness ought, of course, to be withstood,\n    But oh, it wrings the teardrop from my eye\n  To think of Polly putting on the kettle\n  To brew my daily dose of stinging-nettle!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAT THE PLAY.\n\n\"DEAR BRUTUS.\"\n\nThere are great ways of borrowing, as EMERSON said, and in his new\nFantasy Sir JAMES BARRIE has given us a very charming variation on\n_A Midsummer Night's Dream_ (with echoes of _Peter Pan_ and _The\nAdmirable Crichton_). Certainly I got far more fun out of his deluded\nlovers in the Magic Wood than I ever extracted from the comedy of\nerrors which occurred between the ladies and gentlemen of the Court\nof _Theseus_.\n\nIn _Dear Brutus_ the contrast between real life and the life of\nMagicland is sharply accentuated by the fact that there is not a\nseparate set of characters for each; the same men and women figure in\nboth, making abrupt transitions from one to the other and back again.\nWe have a house party of actual humans (not too obtrusively actual),\nmost of whom, including the butler, imagine that if they could have a\nSecond Chance in life they would not make such a mess of it as they\ndid with the First. One of them thinks he would never have taken to\ndrink and lost his self-respect and his wife's love if he had only had\na child; one that he would not have become a pilferer if he had stuck\nto the City; others that they would have done better to have married\nSomebody Else. Well, they are all whisked off into the Magic Wood, and\nthere they get their Second Chance. The pilferer becomes a successful\ntradesman in a large and questionable way; the tippler finds himself\nsober and attended by the daughter of his heart's desire; various\nmarried folk get re-sorted; and so forth.\n\nThe moral purpose (if any) of the author, as conveyed to us through\nthe mouth of the leading humourist of the party, is to show that a\nman's nature would remain the same even if he got a Second Chance.\nUnfortunately--but what can you expect in the realm of Magic?--the\nscheme does not work out with any logical consistency. It is true\nthat the philanderer and the pilfering butler show little promise of\nmaking anything out of their Second Chance; but, on the other hand,\nthe childless tippler seems to have gone reformation and recovered\nhis wife's regard; and if I rightly interpret certain delicate\nindications, they propose to have a pearl of a daughter later on. Also\nthe dainty and supercilious _Lady Caroline_, who in the wood becomes\nenamoured of the butler-turned-plutocrat (_cf. Titania_ and _Bottom_)\nand subsequently returns to her sniffiness, cannot be said to have\nlost much by failing to utilise her Second Chance.\n\nHowever, one might never have troubled about Sir JAMES'S logic if he\nhad not declared his moral purpose in set terms. I suppose he had to\nexplain his title, which was sufficiently obscure. It comes, as Mr.\nSOTHERN kindly informed us, from the lines:--\n\n  \"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,\n  But in ourselves.\"\n\n_Brutus_, in fact, is the famous general to whom certain things were\ncaviare. He is the typical man in the audience, to whom Sir JAMES\nsays: \"You, too, Brutus; I'm talking at you.\"\n\n[Illustration: IN AND OUT OF THE WOOD.\n\n  _Mr. Purdie_    MR. SAM SOTHERN.\n  _Mr. Coade_     MR. NORMAN FORBES.\n  _Mr. Dearth_    MR. GERALD DU MAURIER.]\n\nHappily (for my taste, anyhow) the humour of the play dominates its\nsentiment. And where the sentiment of the child _Margaret_ threatens\nto overstrain itself we had always the healthy antidote of Mr. DU\nMAURIER'S practical methods to correct its tendency to cloy. He was\nextraordinarily good both as himself and, for a rare change, as\nsomebody quite different. Miss FAITH CELLI as his daughter--a sort of\n_Peter Pan_ girl who does grow up, far too tall--was delightful in the\ntrue BARRIE manner. It was a pity--but that was not her fault--that\nshe had to end her long and difficult scene on rather a false note.\nI am almost certain that no child (outside a BARRIE play), who is\nleft alone in a Magic Wood, scared out of her life, would cry aloud,\n\"Daddy, daddy, I don't want to be a Might-have-been.\" The sentiment of\nthe words was, of course, part of the scheme, but it was not for her\nto say them.\n\nMr. NORMAN FORBES, in the Wood, was an elderly piping faun and\nperformed with astonishing agility a sword-dance over a stick crossed\nwith his whistle. Elsewhere as _Mr. Coade_ he played very engagingly\nthe part of the only character who had made such good use of his First\nChance that he really didn't need a Second. Both in name and nature he\nbrought to mind the late Mr. CHOATE, who gallantly declared that if he\nhad not been what he was he would have liked to be his wife's second\nhusband. And no wonder that _Mr. Coade_ wanted nothing better than to\nremain attached to so adorable a creature as his wife, played with a\ndelightful homeliness by Miss MAUDE MILLETT, who has lost nothing of\nthat charm to which, with _Mr. Coade_, we retain the most faithful\ndevotion.\n\nMr. WILL WEST was admirable as a _Crichton_ gone wrong; and Mr.\nSOTHERN, as the philanderer _Purdie_, took all his Chances of humour,\nand they were many, with the greatest aplomb. They included some very\npleasant satire on stage manners. I have only to mention the names\nof Miss HILDA MOORE, Miss JESSIE BATEMAN, Miss DORIS LYTTON and Miss\nLYDIA BILBROOKE for you to understand how excellent a cast it was,\nboth for wit and grace.\n\nFinally, Mr. ARTHUR HATHERTON, as _Lob_, the host of the party, a kind\nof hoary old _Puck_ who had a _penchant_ for filling his house every\nMidsummer Eve with people who wanted a Second Chance, interpreted Sir\nJAMES'S whimsical fancy to the very top of freakishness.\n\nI hope, but doubtfully, that there are enough Dear Brutuses in London\n(so many aliens have lately fled) to do justice to BARRIE at his best.\n\nO.S.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLE MOT JUSTE.\n\n    \"Tea is very scarce and that to Irish folks, who like it black\n    and strong, with always 'one more for the pot,' is a source of\n    damentation.\"--_Liverpool Daily Post and Mercury_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"Another Army Order provides that an officer while undergoing\n    instruction in flying shall receive continuous flying pay at\n    the rate of 4s. a day in addition from the public-houses of the\n    town.\"--_Provincial Paper_.\n\nVery generous of them; but what will the Board of Liquor Control say?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: _Vicar._ \"AND WHAT WERE YOUR SENSATIONS WHEN YOU WERE\nSTRUCK?\"\n\n_Wounded Tommy._ \"WELL, IT WAS LIKE WHEN THE MISSIS COPS YEH BEHIND\nTHE EAR WITH A FLAT-IRON--_YOU KNOW_.\"]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOUR BOOKING-OFFICE.\n\n(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._)\n\nI have often pitied the lot of the costume novelist, faced with the\nincreasing difficulty of providing fresh and unworn trappings for his\ncharacters. Therefore with all the more warmth do I congratulate those\nseasoned adventurers, AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE, on their acumen in\ndiscovering such a setting as that of _Wolf-lure_ (CASSELL). The name\nalone should be worth many editions. Nor do the contents in any sort\nbelie it. This remote country of Guyenne, a hundred years ago, with\nits forests and caves and subterranean lakes, with, moreover, its\nrival wolf-masters, Royal and Imperial, and its wild band of coiners,\nis the very stage for any hazardous and romantic exploit. It should\nbe added at once that the authors have taken full advantage of these\npossibilities. From the moment when the wandering English youth who\ntells the tale wakes on the hillside to find himself contemplated\nby a lovely maiden and a gigantic wolf-hound, the adventure dashes\nfrom thrill to thrill unpausing. One protest however I must\nutter. The conduct of the young and lovely heroine (as above) and\nher single-minded devotion to her lover may be true to nature,\nbut somewhat alienated my own sympathies, already given to the\nfirst-person-singular English lad who also adored her, and whom both\nshe and her chosen mate treated abominably. To my thinking, unrequited\ndevotion has no business in a tale of this sort. Realistic pathos may\nhave its _Dobbin_ or _Tom Pinch_, but the wild and whirling episodes\nof tushery demand the satisfactory finish hallowed by custom.\nWith this reservation only I can call _Wolf-lure_ about the best\nadventure-novel that the present season has produced.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSince the opening pages of _Calvary Alley_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) are\nconcerned with choir-boys and a cathedral and a rose-window, things to\nwhich one gives, without sufficient reason, an association exclusively\nof the Old World, I was a little startled, as the action proceeded,\nby the mention of cops and dimes and trolly-cars. Of course this\nonly meant that I had forgotten, ungratefully, the country in which\nany story by ALICE HEGAN RICE might be expected to be laid. Anyhow,\n_Calvary Alley_ proves an admirable entertainment, a tale of a girl's\nexpanding fortunes, from the grim slum that gives its name to the\nbook, through many varied experiences of reform schools, a bottling\nfactory and membership of the ballet, up to the haven of matrimony.\nThrough them all, _Nance_, the heroine, carries a very human and\nengaging personality, so that one is made to see the young woman\nwho is clasped to the heroic breast on the last page as the logical\ndevelopment of the ragged urchin stamping her bare foot into the soft\ncement of _Calvary Alley_ on the first. Moreover--wonder of wonders\nfor transatlantic fiction!--the author is able to write about\nchildren, and the contrasted lives of rich and poor city dwellers,\nwithout lapsing into sentimentality, _O si sic omnes!_ But either\nAmerican bishops are strangely different from the English variety,\nor Mrs. RICE, following Mr. WELLS'S example, has permitted herself\nan episcopal burlesque. In either case the resulting portrait is\nhardly worthy of an otherwise admirably-drawn collection of original\ncharacters.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Christine_ (MACMILLAN) contains a very illuminating picture of\nGermany in the months immediately preceding the War; but I am\nperplexed--and a little provoked--by the way in which it is presented.\nThe book opens with a pathetic foreword, signed by Miss ALICE\nCHOLMONDELEY, in which we read: \"My daughter Christine, who wrote\nme these letters, died at a hospital in Stuttgart on the morning\nof August 8th, 1914, of acute double pneumonia.... I am publishing\nthe letters just as they came to me, leaving out nothing.... The\nwar killed Christine, just as surely as if she had been a soldier\nin the trenches.... I never saw her again. I had a telegram saying\nshe was dead. I tried to go to Stuttgart, but was turned back at\nthe frontier.\" Then follows a Publishers' note to the effect that\nsome personal names have been altered. After this one is naturally\nsurprised to find the book advertised as a \"new novel.\" All I can\nsay is that, if Miss CHOLMONDELEY'S preface is true, her book is not\na novel, and that, if it is untrue, I do not think the foreword is\nfair or in good taste. My opinion, for what it is worth, is that Miss\nCHOLMONDELEY was herself in Germany during the summer of 1914, and\nhas chosen this way of telling us what she saw and heard. Anyhow the\nletters are undoubtedly the work of someone who knows Germany and the\ninhabitants thereof. And for this excellent reason _Christine_ should\nnot be missed by anyone who wants to know in what a state of militant\nanticipation the Germans were living. The strongest searchlight\nhas been thrown over the Hun, from the habitues of a middle-class\nboarding-house to members of the Junker breed. Whether these letters\nought to be classed as fiction or not they contain facts, and as they\nare written in a style at once vivid and engaging my advice to you is\nto read them and not worry too much about the foreword.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_The Four Corners of the World_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) is emphatically\nwhat I should call a fireside book. On these chill Autumn evenings,\nwith the rain or the dead leaves or the shrapnel whirling by outside,\nyou could have few more agreeable companions than Mr. A.E.W. MASON,\nwhen he is, as here, in communicative mood. He has a baker's dozen of\nexcellent tales to tell, most of them with a fine thrill, out of which\nhe gets the greatest possible effect, largely by the use of a crisp\nand unemotional style that lets the sensational happenings go their\nown way to the nerves of the reader. As an example of how to make the\nmost of a good theme, I commend to you the story pleasantly, if not\nvery originally, named \"The House of Terror.\" Before now I have been\nensnared to disappointment by precisely this title. But Mr. MASON'S\nHouse holds no deception; it genuinely does terrify; and when at the\nclimax of its history the two persons concerned see the door swing\nslowly inwards, and \"the white fog billowed into the room,\" while\n\"Glyn felt the hair stir and move upon his scalp,\" I doubt not that\nyou will almost certainly partake of some measure of his emotion.\nNaturally, in a mixed bag such as this, one can't complain if the\nquality of the contents varies. Not all the tales reach the level of\n\"The House of Terror\"; but in every one there is enough artistry to\noccupy any spare half-hour you may have for such purposes, without\nletting you feel afterwards that it was wasted. And as a hospital\npresent the collection could hardly be beaten.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMiss MARJORIE BOWEN'S historical romances usually have the merit of\nswift movement, and that is precisely the quality I miss in _The Third\nEstate_ (METHUEN). It does not march--at least not quick enough.\nYou will not need to be told that Miss BOWEN has saturated herself\nconscientiously in her period--an intensely interesting period\ntoo--and has contrived her atmosphere most competently and plausibly.\nBut for all that I couldn't make myself greatly interested in the bold\nbad Marquis DE SARCEY in those anxious two years before \"the Terror,\"\nwith his insufferable pride, his incredible elegance, his fantastic\nideas of love and his idiotic marriage, the negotiations for which,\nwith the resulting complications, take up so large a space in a\nlengthy book. It gives one the impression of being written not\n\"according to plan\" but out of a random fancy, with so hurried a pen\nthat not merely have irrelevant incidents, absurdities of diction, and\nindubitable _longueurs_ escaped excision, but such lapses from the\nKing's fair English as \"save you and I\" and \"I shoot with my own hand\nhe who refuses.\" Even a popular author--indeed, especially a popular\nauthor--owes us more consideration than that.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_The Fortunes of Richard Mahony_ (HEINEMANN) is one of those pleasant\nbooks in which the hero prospers. True, the process as here shown\nis very gradual; so much so that the four hundred odd pages of the\npresent volume only take us as far as \"End of Book One.\" Clearly,\ntherefore, Mr. H.H. RICHARDSON has more to follow; and, as one should\ncall no hero fortunate till his author has ceased writing, it is as\nyet too early for a final pronouncement upon _Richard Mahony_. My own\nhonest impression at this stage would be that he is in some danger of\noutgrowing his strength. This pathological phrase comes the more aptly\nsince _Richard's_ fortune, though begun in the goldfields, was not\nderived from digging, but from the practice of medicine, and from a\nlucky speculation in mining stock (I liked especially the description\nof the day when the shares sold at fifty-three, and _Richard_ \"went\nabout feeling a little more than human\"). The end of the whole matter,\nat least the end for the present, is that, with his wife, and what he\ncan get together from the remains of the mining _coup_, and the sale\nof a somewhat damaged practice, _Richard_ sets forth for England.\nObviously more turns of fortune are in store there for him and _Mary_\nand that queer character, his one-time inseparable, _Purdy_. That I\nanticipate their future with much interest is a genuine tribute to\nthe humanity in which Mr. RICHARDSON has clothed his cast. _Richard\nMahony_, in short, is a real man, whose fortunes take a genuine hold\nupon one's attention; though I repeat that I could wish his author had\ntold them less wordily, and--in one glaring instance--with a greater\nrespect for the decencies of medical reticence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: USING PETROL FOR PLEASURE.\n\nJOY-RIDERS CAUGHT RED-HANDED.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLONG-DISTANCE MEDICAL TREATMENT.\n\n    \"A telephone massage was received last night by the Scotland\n    Yard authorities.\"--_Bristol Times and Mirror_.\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Brian Coe, Graeme Mackreth and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n Elements of\n Trench Warfare\n\n Waldron\n\n\n\n\n Elements of\n Trench Warfare\n\n Bayonet Training\n\n _By_\n\n Lieut. Colonel William H. Waldron\n\n 29th U.S. Infantry\n\n DISTINGUISHED GRADUATE INFANTRY AND\n CAVALRY SCHOOL, 1905\n GRADUATE ARMY STAFF COLLEGE, 1906\n GRADUATE ARMY WAR COLLEGE, 1911\n ASSISTANT DIRECTOR ARMY WAR\n COLLEGE COURSE, 1911-12\n\n _Author of_\n\n \"Scouting and Patrolling\"\n \"Tactical Walks\"\n\n PUBLISHED BY\n\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n 1 Broadway, New York\n 1917\n\n _Price 75 Cents, postage paid_\n\n\n\n\n Copyright, 1917, by\n William H. Waldron\n\n First Edition, 5,000, March 1st, 1917.\n Second Edition, 10,000, August 1st, 1917.\n Third Edition 30,000, September 25th, 1917.\n\n PRESS OF ISAAC GOLDMANN COMPANY, NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\nNOTICE\n\n\nThere is a wealth of material in this little book that will interest\nthe soldier. From the illustrations alone he will be able to obtain a\ngood general idea of the subject.\n\nIt is essentially a soldier's book, written in language that he can\nunderstand. The price has been kept within the limits of his pocketbook.\n\nWith a view to securing a wide distribution of the book I desire to\nsecure a representative in every organization in the Army. I have an\nattractive proposition to make to competent parties.\n\nA letter will bring particulars. My address will be found in the Army\nList and Directory. If this is not available, a letter addressed as\nfollows will be forwarded to me:\n\n Captain W.H. Waldron,\n 29th Infantry,\n Care of \"Infantry Journal,\"\n Washington, D.C.\n\n (Signed) W.H. Waldron.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                  Page\n\n  Chapter I.--The Organization of a Section of the\n  Position                                                          9\n\n  Chapter II.--Obstacles: Construction, repair. Wire\n  entanglements, barricades, land mines, inundation                13\n\n  Chapter III.--Lookout and Listening Posts: Types.\n  Construction, service                                            27\n\n  Chapter IV.--Field Trenches: Traversed trenches.\n  Types of trenches. Drainage. Communication\n  trenches. Dugouts. Penetration of projectiles.\n  Communication. Trench mortar positions. Machine\n  guns. Supporting points                                          33\n\n  Chapter V.--Use and Improvement of Natural Cover                 60\n\n  Chapter VI.--Revetments: Sandbags. Fascines.\n  Hurdles. Gabions                                                 74\n\n  Chapter VII.--Working Parties: Details of organization.\n  Laying out tasks. Operations                                     90\n\n  Chapter VIII.--Grenade Warfare: Organization and\n  tactics of grenadiers. Offensive operations.\n  Clearing fire trenches. Clearing communication\n  trenches. Night operations. Grenade patrols.\n  Notes on grenade warfare                                         97\n\n  Chapter IX.--Gas Warfare: Methods of dissemination\n  of gas. Gas helmets, care and use of\n  Sprayers                                                        118\n\n  Chapter X.--Service in the Trenches: Preparations\n  for entering. Inspection of trenches. Tactical\n  dispositions. Going into the trenches. Information\n  routine. Observation field glasses. Snipers.\n  What to fire at. Use of rifle grenades.\n  Scouting and patrolling. Care of arms. Care of\n  trenches. Latrines. Maps. Frost bite. The\n  trench soldier's creed                                          128\n\n  Chapter XI.--The Attack in Trench Warfare                       162\n\n  BAYONET TRAINING\n\n  Features of the Bayonet                                         175\n\n  Method of Carrying out Bayonet Training and\n  Hints to Instruction                                            177\n\n  BAYONET LESSONS\n\n  Formation--Technique of Instruction                             180\n\n  Lesson No. 1--\n\n  Position of \"Guard\"                                             181\n\n  \" \" \"Rest\"                                                      184\n\n  \" \" \"High Port\"                                                 184\n\n  \" \" \"Long Point\"                                                184\n\n  The \"Withdrawal\" After a Long Point                             189\n\n  PROGRESSION\n\n  Vulnerable Parts of the Body                                    190\n\n  Lesson No. 2--\"The Parries\"                                     192\n\n  PRACTICE                                                        194\n\n  Lesson No. 3--\"The Short Point\"                                 193\n\n  Lesson No. 4--\"The Jab or Upward Point\"                         197\n\n  METHOD OF INJURING AN OPPONENT\n\n  _Butt Strike I._                                                200\n\n  \" \" _II._                                                       200\n\n  \" \" _III._                                                      200\n\n  \" \" _IV._                                                       202\n\n  Practice                                                        202\n\n  TACTICAL APPLICATION OF THE BAYONET                             203\n\n  THE BAYONET ASSAULT                                             203\n\n  METHOD OF CARRYING THE RIFLE WITH\n  BAYONET FIXED                                                   205\n\n  TEAMWORK                                                        206\n\n  THE ADVANCE                                                     206\n\n  THE CHARGE                                                      206\n\n  ASSAULT PRACTICE                                                208\n\n  FINAL ASSAULT PRACTICE                                          209\n\n  ACCESSORIES                                                     211\n\n  TARGETS                                                         215\n\n  CONSTRUCTION OF GALLOWS                                         216\n\n  \" \" DUMMIES                                                     217\n\n  \" \" \"TURK'S HEAD\"                                               218\n\n  \" \" PARRYING DUMMY TARGET                                       218\n\n  DISCS ON TARGETS                                                218\n\n  EXERCISES\n\n  Exercise 1                                                      221\n\n  The Run                                                         222\n\n  Exercise 2                                                      223\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThis little book has been prepared with a view to placing before the\nsoldier a store of information on the subject of Trench Warfare as\nit has been developed on the battle fronts of Europe, and giving him\nsome idea of the nature of the service that he will be called upon to\nperform when the time arrives for him to do his \"bit.\"\n\nThe illustrations have been carefully prepared and arranged to the end\nthat the soldier may gain a fair knowledge of the subject from them\nalone. The text is intended to treat the subject in a purely elementary\nmanner that the soldier may be able to understand.\n\nThe size of the book is such that it may be conveniently carried in the\npocket and referred to as occasion requires. The price has been kept\ndown to the point where it is available to the soldier.\n\nIf the book assists in his preparation for the front and, by reason\nof the knowledge that he has gained from it, helps to make him more\nefficient when he gets there, it will have served its purpose.\n\n The Author.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nORGANIZATION\n\n\nThe normal organization of an intrenched position includes the\nfollowing elements from front to rear:\n\n1. In front of the position and at a variable distance from the first\nline fire trench there is a line of wire entanglements. (See Obstacles,\np. 13).\n\n2. Close up to the wire entanglements there is an intrenched post known\nas the \"listening post,\" which is connected with the first line fire\ntrench by a zigzag communicating trench. (See Listening Posts, p. 27).\n\n3. Then comes the first line fire trench with attached machine-gun\nemplacements at convenient points. (See Fire Trench and Machine-Gun\nEmplacements, pp. 33 and 54).\n\n4. The fire trench is so narrow that lateral communication along it\nis effected only with difficulty. In order to provide a passageway a\ncommunication or supervision trench is provided a few yards in rear of\nthe fire trench. Passageways lead from this communication trench to\nthe fire trench and to the dugouts located along it.\n\n5. At a variable distance in rear of the fire trench (100 to 200 yards)\nthe emplacements for bomb-throwing apparatus and trench mortars are\nlocated. These are connected up laterally by a communication trench\nwhich joins with the main communication trench running from front to\nrear through the position. (See Emplacements for Trench Mortars, p. 51).\n\n6. From 100 to 400 yards to the rear of the first line fire trench, and\ngenerally parallel to it, is the supporting trench or cover for the\nsupports. This trench is invariably provided with strong overhead cover\nand a system of dugouts for the protection of the troops. (See Cover\nfor Supports, p. 53).\n\n7. This whole arrangement of trenches is connected throughout from\nfront to rear, and laterally, by a system of zigzag communication\ntrenches.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE 1.\n_PLAN OF THE ORGANIZATION OF AN INTRENCHED POSITION_]\n\nTake this brief description together with Plate 1, the drawing that\naccompanies this volume, and study the two until you get the entire\nsystem fixed firmly in your mind; that is, until you get a mental\npicture of all the elements included in the system.\n\n[Illustration: _Organization of a Sector of the Battle Front occupied\nby a Field Army of Two Divisions._\nPlate 2.]\n\nAfter you have done this, study on through the book in order that you\nmay know the purpose of each of these elements and how one links up\nwith the other.\n\nThis is the typical system now in use in the European war theaters.\nCircumstances at certain places may render some variations necessary,\nand it must not be inferred that the trace of the works is the same\nthroughout. As a rule the types of trenches (altered when necessary to\nmeet local conditions) illustrated herein are the ones in actual use on\nthe war fronts.\n\nAll of these trenches and their accessories constitute what is known as\nthe first line. At a distance of from 2,000 to 5,000 yards in rear of\nthis first line a second line, organized in a similar manner, is to be\nfound.\n\nAt intervals of from 800 to 1,500 yards along the first line-centers of\nresistance, or what we know as \"supporting points,\" are located. These\nconsist of fortified villages, or a network (labyrinth) of trenches,\nprovided with every defensive device known to modern warfare. The\nobject of these supporting points is to bring a flanking fire to bear\non the intervals between them, with the idea that an attacking force\ncannot advance beyond them without capturing them.\n\nPlate 2 shows the general scheme of the occupation of a sector of the\nline by a field army of two divisions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nOBSTACLES\n\n\nThe element of the defensive line nearest the enemy is a line or series\nof lines of obstacles which are designed for the purpose of:\n\n1. Protecting the lines from surprise.\n\n2. Reducing the momentum of the attack, by breaking up the unity of\naction and cohesion.\n\n3. Holding the enemy under the effective fire of the defenders.\n\nThe conditions that obstacles should fulfil are as follows. They must--\n\n1. Be close to the defender's position. As a rule on the western front\nthey are not more than from 50 to 100 yards distant. If they are too\nclose it may be possible to throw hand grenades from the far edge of\nthem into the defender's trenches.\n\n2. As far as practicable, be sheltered and screened from the enemy.\nShell fire is the most effective method of destroying obstacles. If\nthey are not concealed they may furnish aiming points for the enemy's\nfire against the first line fire trench by his being able to estimate\nits location with reference to the obstacle.\n\n3. Afford no cover or screen to the enemy.\n\n4. Be so placed that the enemy will come upon them as a surprise.\n\n5. Be so constructed as to be difficult of removal under fire and\nimpracticable to negotiate while still reasonably intact.\n\n6. Be arranged so as not to interfere with a counter attack. The\nobstacles may have occasional gaps left in them which may be mined.\n\nThe different classes of obstacles are: Abatis, low wire entanglements,\nhigh wire entanglements, barricades, mines, fougasses, crows feet,\nmilitary pits with wire entanglements, inundations, etc.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 3.--Abatis.]\n\nAbatis (pronounced _abatee_) consists of branches of trees lying\nparallel to each other, butts pointing to the rear, and the branches\ninterlaced with barbed wire. All leaves and small twigs should be\nremoved and the stiff ends of branches pointed. The butts are staked or\ntied down or anchored by covering them with earth. When more than one\nrow is used the branches overlap the butts of those in front so as to\nmake the abatis about 5 feet high. An abatis formed by felling trees\ntowards the enemy, leaving the butt hanging to the stump, is called\n_slashing_.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 4.--Slashing.]\n\n\nWIRE ENTANGLEMENTS\n\nBarbed wire is the material most employed in the construction of\nobstacles. It may be used in the following manner:\n\n1. As a simple trip, for giving the alarm. It is stretched just above\nthe ground and attached to some object that will cause a noise to be\nmade if molested.\n\n2. A simple wire fence, to cause delay and confusion to the enemy in\nhis advance.\n\n3. As an adjunct to tree and brushwood entanglement.\n\n4. As a wire entanglement.\n\n5. As a covering for portable cylinders.\n\nThe advantages of the barbed-wire entanglement are:\n\n1. It is easily and quickly made.\n\n2. It is difficult to destroy.\n\n3. It is difficult to get through.\n\n4. It offers no obstruction to the view and fire of the defense.\n\nThe low wire entanglement is constructed as follows:\n\n1. Drive stakes in the ground until they project about 18 inches. The\nstakes should be about 6 feet apart, those in each row being opposite\nthe intervals in adjacent rows.\n\n2. The wire is then passed loosely from the head of one stake to\nanother, wound around each and stapled.\n\n3. Where two or more wires cross they should be tied together.\n\nA more useful and efficient modification of the low wire entanglement\nis made by stapling the wire down the sides of the stakes, allowing\nfive or more feet of slack wire between stakes. Drive the stakes in\nthe ground until the top is flush. This results in a loose network of\ntangled wires difficult to get through, easily concealed and difficult\nto remove.\n\nThe high wire entanglement is made by driving stakes so that they\nprotrude from 4 to 6 feet above the ground. They are placed at\nirregular intervals 5 to 8 feet apart. The head of each stake is\nconnected with the foot of adjoining stakes with the wire loosely\ndrawn, wound around the stakes and stapled fast. Each center post\nshould be stayed by four wires. There should be a trip wire about 9\ninches from the ground all the way across the front and another about\na foot from the top of the center posts. Barbed wire may then be\nhung in festoons throughout the entanglement, with no fixed pattern.\nTo increase the entanglement wire may be stapled to the foot of the\nposts, as indicated in the paragraph above, before they are driven.\nLarge nails should be driven in the tops of the posts with half their\nlength protruding. A number of the wires in the entanglement should be\nfastened together where they cross. The wire should be passed through\npaint, if practicable, to take away the bright color. The post should\nbe painted the color of the surrounding country. Under the conditions\nencountered on the western front this work has to be done hastily. It\nis best, therefore, to limit the first stage of construction to just\nso many strands as will form a nucleus for the whole entanglement, in\norder that the area may be covered by an obstacle before interruption\noccurs.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 4a.--Plan of wire entanglement.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 5.--High wire entanglement.]\n\n_Tight wires help the enemy's advance by forming supports for hurdles.\nIt must be constantly borne in mind that the wires must not be\nstretched taut._\n\n[Illustration: Plate 5a.--Alarm trap.]\n\nA portable wire entanglement is constructed by stretching wire loosely\naround a wooden framework, either circular or square or made on a knife\nrest, and rolling it into position to close up gaps that may have been\nmade in the entanglement. The illustration shows the wooden framework.\n\nThe ordinary repairs to entanglements are made under cover of darkness\nby working parties detailed for the purpose. Iron posts that can be\nquickly placed in position are advantageous, their disadvantage being\nthat they may <DW44> bullets that would go through the ordinary wooden\nposts, thus furnishing just that much cover and protection to attacking\nparties.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 6.--Portable entanglement. Constructed in the\ntrenches and rolled into position.]\n\nIn the construction and repair of entanglements care must be taken to\nsee that they are firmly fastened into the ground with numerous stay\nposts or \"deadmen.\" This is to prevent the enemy from pulling them\nto pieces with grappling hooks connected to ropes that lead to his\ntrenches and are attached to powerful windlasses or capstans.\n\n\nBARRICADES\n\nBarricades are employed for the defense of streets, roads, bridges,\netc. They may be made out of any available material such as furniture,\nvehicles (overturned or with wheels removed), carts filled with stones,\nbales of goods, etc.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 7.--Plan of barricade for blocking a road.]\n\nWhere trees grow along the roadside they may be felled across the road.\nIf necessary, barbed wire may be run through the branches to make the\npassage more difficult.\n\nBarricades should not as a rule close the road entirely to traffic.\nPassages are required to allow the defenders to pass through when it\nis necessary to do so. Hence they should be made in two parts, one\noverlapping the other, as shown in the illustration.\n\nA _fougass_ is a mine so arranged that upon explosion a large mass of\nstones is projected against the enemy. An excavation is made in the\nshape of a frustrom of a cone, inclining the axis in the direction of\nthe enemy so as to make an angle with the horizon of about 45 degrees.\nThe sides splay outward slightly. A box of powder is placed in a recess\nat the bottom. This is covered with a platform of wood several inches\nthick, on which the stones are piled.\n\nThe fuse is placed in a groove cut at the back of the excavation, or\nthe mine may be exploded by means of electricity.\n\nThe line of least resistance for the charge must be arranged so that\nthe powder will act in the direction of the axis and not vertically.\nThis is accomplished by throwing the excavated earth on the crest\ntowards the defender's side and ramming it well.\n\nTo ascertain the powder charge for any fougass, divide the number of\npounds of stone in the charge by 150. This gives the number of pounds\nof powder in the powder charge. Thus a fougass charged with about 70\npounds of powder will throw about 5 tons of stone over a surface about\n160 yards long and 120 yards wide.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 8.--Fougass.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 9.--Vertical fougass.]\n\nWhen broken up a cubic foot of stone weighs about 100 pounds.\n\nA vertical type of fougass is also shown. A charge of 25 pounds of\npowder should scatter a cubic yard of stones over an area about 200 by\n100 yards.\n\n\nSMALL LAND MINES\n\nLand mines are placed in the line of the advance of the enemy and\nexploded either by electricity or fuse from the defense. They are\nmade by digging holes from 2 to 3 yards deep, either by excavation or\nby boring. In the former case the charge is placed in a recess which\nextends into the solid earth at the side of the hole, which is then\nrefilled and tamped. In the latter case the charge is placed in the\nbottom of the hole, which is then refilled and solidly tamped. In\ncommon earth the powder charge for a 2-yard hole is 25 pounds. That for\na 3-yard hole is 80 pounds. The diameter of the crater formed will be\nabout twice the depth of the charge.\n\nThe mines may be arranged in one or more rows. The intervals between\nmines should be such that the craters will nearly but not quite join.\nThe position of the mines should be concealed as much as possible\nand further sophisticated by disturbing the ground slightly at points\nwhere there are no mines and so situated as to suggest a systematic\narrangement.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 9a.--Land mine.]\n\n\nINUNDATION\n\nBacking up the water of a stream so that it overflows a considerable\narea forms a good obstacle, even though of fordable depth. If shallow,\nthe difficulty of fording may be increased by irregular holes or\nditches dug before the water comes up, or by constructing wire\nentanglements in the water. It may be employed with advantage when the\ndrainage of a considerable area passes through a restricted opening, as\na natural gorge, culvert or bridge.\n\nOpen cribs filled with stones, or tighter ones filled with gravel, may\nform the basis of the obstruction to the flow of the water. The usual\nmethod of tightening spaces or cracks between cribs is by throwing in\nearth or alternate layers of straw, hay, grass, earth, or sacks of\nclay. A continuous construction, as shown in the illustration, may be\nemployed. The ends of the dam must be carried well into the solid earth\nto prevent the water from cutting around them. This type of dam is\neasily destroyed by artillery fire, and cannot be depended upon.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 10.--Dam construction.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nLOOKOUT AND LISTENING POSTS\n\n\nExcept when the garrison are actually required to man the parapet, they\nwill be kept under cover, with the exception of a few lookouts, whose\nduty it is to give timely warning of the movements of the enemy.\n\nWhen the opposing forces are in close proximity to each other mining\noperations are generally resorted to by both sides to compass the\ndestruction of the opposing works and open the way for an attack.\n\nLookout and listening posts serve the double purpose of having a few\nmen at the most advantageous places for observation at the front and\nflanks and providing points at some distance to the front of the first\nline fire trenches from which listeners may be able to discover the\nlocation and direction of enemy mining operations before they really\nmenace the fire trench.\n\nIn the normal case there will be some natural cover available. Such,\nhowever, is not always the case, and specially constructed observation\nstations have to be provided.\n\nThe posts should be placed in advance of the first line trench, the\ndistance depending upon circumstances which have to be determined in\neach particular instance. They must be fully protected from reverse\nfire so that there will be no chance of the observer masking the fire\nof his comrades manning the fire trench.\n\nUnless the ground is very favorable it will be found difficult to\nprovide for observation above ground. Where there are natural features\nsuch as embankments, mounds, hedgerows, ruins of buildings, etc., it\nmay be possible to make provision for observation even by day.\n\nWhere a loophole is used, the type having the narrower end outward\nshould be provided.\n\nIn the open type of post the observation directly to the front may be\ngreatly facilitated by the use of the periscope. (Plate 11.)\n\nA good, strong parapet thrown up and chopped off at the corners will\nenable the observer to cover areas from an oblique direction from the\npost and protect him from fire from the front.\n\nIn the covered type the observer is provided loopholes having the\nsplay towards him. These may also be constructed to the oblique rather\nthan to the front. When this is done, provision must be made to cover\nthe entire front of the position from the several posts. (Plate 12.)\n\nThe post may be connected with the first line fire trench by a narrow\nzigzag trench or by an underground passage. If the former, it must be\nthoroughly concealed and have no excavated earth visible. If it can be\nlocated along a hedge or some other natural feature its location may\nremain unknown to the enemy for a considerable length of time. Where\na communication gallery is constructed the roof and walls must be\nsuitably shored up by casing and supports.\n\nThe sentinel in the listening post carries no accouterments. It has\nbeen found that the creaking noise made by equipment when the sentinel\nmoves has been taken for mining operations of the enemy by his comrades.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 11.--Open type of listening post.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 12.--Covered type of listening post.]\n\nListening galleries should never be left without a sentinel. There\nshould be a depot of arms and hand grenades near the entrance to the\ngallery in case men are attacked while on duty from either above or\nbelow ground.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 13.--A listening and observation post.]\n\nListening will be conducted at specified times, or on some prearranged\nsignal, and for a definite period. During this time all within the\nlistening area, including the trenches, must remain absolutely\nmotionless.\n\nInfantry manning a trench can assist listening by digging a small pit,\n6 feet deep below the trench, and running a bore-hole out 20 feet or\nmore.\n\nThe enemy is always listening for indications of the direction and\nposition of gallery heads. Work must therefore be carried on with a\nminimum of noise. Shouting down the shafts of galleries is absolutely\nforbidden.\n\nWhen the mining operations of the enemy are detected a report should be\nmade at once to the officer in charge of that section of the trench.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nFIELD TRENCHES\n\n\nThe next element of the defensive position is the _first line fire\ntrenches_. These are located so as to have a good field of fire to\nthe front for several hundred yards and so constructed as to give the\ngreatest cover and protection from the fire of the enemy.\n\nAn unbroken, continuous trench would be exposed to enfilade fire. A\nshell, shrapnel or grenade bursting therein would have widespread\neffect. To overcome these elements the trench is constructed in short\nlengths, with traverses between them, and technically known as the\n_traverse type_.\n\nBetter defilade is thus secured and the material effect of any burst is\nconfined to narrow limits.\n\nThe trench interval between the traverses is known as the \"bay,\" which\nshould not ordinarily be longer than 18 feet. Longer bays invite heavy\ncasualties in case the trench is enfiladed or a high explosive shell\nfinds its mark.\n\nThe illustration, Plate 14, shows a trace of the traversed type of fire\ntrench.\n\n[Illustration:\n _PLAN OF TRAVERSED TYPE OF FIRE TRENCH_\n _PLATE 14._]\n\n\nTYPE OF TRENCH\n\nFormerly, protection from the enemy's fire was obtained by thickness of\nparapet. In the trench warfare of today it is obtained by completely\nconcealing the riflemen in a deep, narrow trench with a very low\nparapet.\n\nThe height over which the average man can fire is about 5 feet or about\nfive-sixths of his own height. This factor determines the height of the\nparapet above the firing banquet of the trench or the height of bottom\nof loophole above the same point, when the latter is employed.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 15.--Simple standing trench.]\n\n[Illustration: _PLATE 15a._]\n\nThe type of trench in general use today is the simple standing trench\nshown in Plate 15.\n\n\nDRAINAGE\n\nIf a trench is to be occupied for any length of time, especially if\nmuch ground or falling water is to be encountered, drainage becomes\nof prime importance. Many years ago a celebrated military authority\nasserted that \"nothing so saps the courage of a soldier as to wet the\nseat of his breeches.\" This may be accepted as a true maxim, especially\nin cold weather. The trench should therefore be made as dry as\npossible. The floor of the trench should be given a sufficient <DW72> to\nthe rear where an intercepting drain should carry the water to prepared\nsumps or to a point from which it can be disposed of by drainage.\nProvision should also be made to exclude surface drainage from the\ntrenches.\n\nA scheme for trench drainage is shown in the illustrations (Plates 16,\n17 and 18).\n\nOverhead cover may be provided as shown in Plates 19 and 20.\n\nLoopholes are made wherever head cover is provided. Where the enemy's\ntrenches are close, there is considerable danger in using them.\nCollective firing takes place over the parapet. When loopholes are used\nthey should face half-right or half-left and not directly to the front.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 16.--Method of draining trench.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 17. Details of trench drainage.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 18. Detail of trench drainage.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 19.--Overhead cover.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 19a.--Overhead cover.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 20.--Overhead cover.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 20a.--Overhead cover.]\n\nThe disadvantages of loopholes are:\n\n1. The difficulty of concealing firing points. Loopholes give the\nenemy's snipers an easy mark.\n\n2. They lessen the number of rifles that can be used at a given point.\n\n3. The necessary head cover makes it difficult to get out of the trench\nquickly.\n\n4. Damaged head cover often spoils a good firing point.\n\nThe three types of loopholes are:\n\n1. Narrowest point of the opening nearest the marksman. This type is\nmost difficult to conceal, much of the parapet thickness is cut away\nand, if of hard material, tends to deflect the bullets into the firer's\nface. This defect may be remedied somewhat by stepping the surface of\nthe loophole.\n\n2. Narrowest point to the front. Easiest to conceal but gives a limited\nfield of view.\n\n3. Narrowest point midway between the front and rear. A compromise\nbetween the first two types.\n\nThe following general remarks on the construction of loopholes are\ntaken from a work based upon the experience gained during the war in\nEurope:\n\n1. The angle of splay is usually 60 degrees. The thicker the parapet\nthe smaller must be the angle of splay.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 21.--Types of loopholes.]\n\n2. The marksman holds his rifle in a line connecting the right\nshoulder, the eye and the object, hence most of the body lies to the\nleft of the rifle. The loophole should be made to the right, with a\nniche in the wall of the parapet from the hip to the armpit, to bring\nthe left shoulder well forward. It will be found that this permits the\nright elbow to be placed on the edge of the parapet.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 22.--Methods of constructing loopholes with\nsandbags.]\n\n3. Box loopholes with screens or blindage may be used, but should be\nplaced by a skilled marksman. The great disadvantage is that the enemy\nnotes these parapet alterations. Steel loophole plates are now provided\nfor this type of loophole. As the Germans sometimes use a steel bullet\nwith great penetrating power, it is advisable to place two plates\ntogether to insure protection.\n\n4. With every precaution that may be taken it is difficult to conceal a\nloophole. A good plan is to deceive the enemy by using painted sandbags\nand preparing plenty of dummy loopholes.\n\n5. The minimum width of loopholes should be 2-1/2 inches. If narrower\nthan this, it is impossible to use both eyes to judge distances\ncorrectly.\n\n6. The parapet should be so sloped that there is a maximum grazing\nfire when the rifle is fired as it lies on the parapet.\n\nTo insure that the bullet will not graze the parapet, although the\nsights are clear, look through the barrel with the bolt removed.\n\n\nCOMMUNICATION TRENCH\n\nIn the first line fire trenches there are so many crooks and turns and\nthe trench itself is so narrow that passage along the same is very\ndifficult. To provide for this lateral communication a trench known\nas the communication or supervision trench is dug. It runs generally\nparallel to and a short distance in rear of the fire trench and is\nconnected therewith by zigzag approaches. The factor that determines\nthe distance between the fire trench and the communication trench is\nthat it should be at such a distance that a shell bursting in one of\nthe bays would not destroy the communication trench.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 23.--Type of communication trench.]\n\nThe location of the communication trench with respect to the fire\ntrench and the arrangements of the approaches is shown in detail in\nPlate 1.\n\nThe profile of the ordinary communication trench is shown in Plate 23.\n\n\nDUGOUTS\n\nDuring the artillery bombardment few men are left in the fire trenches.\nThe remainder of the garrison is held under cover a short distance\nto the rear. This cover is provided by a system of dugouts connected\nwith the fire trench through underground passageways that lead to the\ncommunication trench. This arrangement is shown in Plate 1.\n\nA profile of the latest type of dugout is shown in Plate 24.\n\nThe solid earth cover is from 12 to 18 feet thick, which gives\nprotection from all but the very largest caliber shells.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 24.--Type of dugout.]\n\nEffective resistance is supplied by roofing materials as follows:\n\n1. From shrapnel bullets: 2-inch planks covered with 12 inches of earth.\n\n2. From 3-inch shells: 4-inch planks supporting 4 feet of earth with a\ntop layer of heavy stones to cause an early shell burst.\n\n3. From howitzers of less than 6 inches caliber: 12-inch beams or logs\ncovered with 8 feet of earth.\n\n4. From the largest caliber guns: 15 to 25 feet of earth.\n\nThe following table shows the penetration of the German S bullet at a\nrange of 200 yards:\n\n                              _Inches_\n Steel plate                      3/8\n Broken stone                       6\n Brickwork, cement and mortar       9\n Brickwork, lime and mortar        14\n Sandbags                          24\n Sand, loose                       30\n Hardwood, oak, etc.               38\n Earth                             50\n Soft wood, poplar, etc.           58\n Clay                              60\n Dry turf                          80\n\nIn addition to the regular \"dugouts\" for the supports, the latest\ntype trenches have squad dugouts just in rear of the bays of the fire\ntrench. These provide shelter during bombardment for the members of the\nsquad not actually required on duty in the trench bay.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 24a.--Section of traversed type of fire trench\nshowing entrance to squad dugout.]\n\n\nCOMMUNICATIONS\n\nThe fire trench is connected with the cover for supports by a system of\nzigzag trenches having the profile shown in Plate 23. The arrangement\nis shown in Plate 1.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 25.--Profile of trench mortar emplacement.]\n\n\nTRENCH MORTAR POSITIONS\n\nSomewhere between the first line fire trench and the cover for the\nsupports is a line of emplacements for the trench mortars. Plate 25\nshows a profile of the emplacement.\n\nThe arrangement of the position is shown in Plate 1.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 25a.--Trench mortar.]\n\nThese trench mortars are used to hurl charges of high explosives\nvarying from 25 to 100 pounds into the enemy's lines. They have a\nrange of from 300 to 1,800 yards.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 25b.--Improvised catapult.]\n\n\nCOVER FOR SUPPORTS\n\nAt a variable distance to the rear of the first line fire trench is\nlocated the cover for supports, which is organized much in the same\nmanner as the first line system of trenches and affords a second\nposition in the system to fall back to in case of necessity. These\ntrenches are provided with overhead cover and numerous dugouts for the\nprotection of the men.\n\n\nMACHINE GUNS\n\nAt every available place throughout the defensive position machine guns\nare located, typical positions of which are shown in Plate 1.\n\nThe typical types of cover are shown in Plates 26 and 27.\n\nMachine guns are a very potent factor in trench warfare. They are\nnow being employed to a far greater extent than ever before, and the\nnumber is increasing on all the battle fronts as fast as they can be\nmanufactured. The machine-gun positions are carefully concealed from\nthe enemy, and fire is not opened until it is certain that it will be\neffective.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 26.--Profile of type of cover for machine gun.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27.--Type of cover for machine guns.]\n\nThe selection of the sites for the emplacements should be made with a\nview to bringing a powerful enfilade or oblique fire on the attacking\nenemy at effective range, to provide a flanking fire for supporting\ntroops, and to sweep gaps in the line of obstacles.\n\nTheir fire should come as a surprise to the attacking party.\n\nIn the construction of cover for machine guns the following points\nshould be observed:\n\n1. They must have a platform for the gun and gunner. This may be\nprovided for in the construction of the emplacement or built up with\nsandbags. The platform should be 3 feet wide and 6-1/2 feet in length.\n\n2. If head cover is provided, it should not differ in appearance from\nthat constructed elsewhere in the trenches. The loopholes must be\nblinded with gunny sacks.\n\n3. The front of the emplacement should be cut under to receive the\nleg of the tripod, thus bringing the gun up closer to the parapet and\nfurnishing more cover for the gunner.\n\n4. Splinter-proof shelters should be provided near at hand for the\nmembers of the gun detachment.\n\n5. Where the enemy's trenches are near, the position for the\nemplacement should be selected by day and the actual work done under\ncover of darkness.\n\n6. The guns should be located so that they support each other by their\nfire. Alternate positions should be constructed.\n\n7. When located to enfilade straight lines of trenches, special\ncapioniers should be constructed.\n\n\nSUPPORTING POINTS\n\nAt intervals from 800 to 1,500 yards along the first line, supporting\npoints are established. They may consist of a fortified village or\na specially prepared position having a \"labyrinth\" of trenches and\nrendered well-nigh impregnable to infantry assault by every defensive\ndevice known to modern warfare. They are designed to bring a flanking\nfire to bear upon the intervening intervals with the idea that troops\ncannot pass beyond them until they are reduced.\n\n\nVILLAGE DEFENSE\n\nThe following was the actual scheme employed for the defense of a\nFrench village and exemplifies the thoroughness with which defenses\nmust be organized.\n\nThe village was about 700 yards in rear of the front line, and had\nthree keeps surrounded with wire entanglements and independent of each\nother, but with an elaborate system of communication trenches. Water\nand four days' rations were stored in each keep, and wells dug. Each\nof the keeps held about one company. The communication trenches were\nabout 6 feet deep, used as far as possible as fire trenches, and well\ntraversed. Firing platforms were revetted with brushwood, and shelters\nmade all over the village. In addition to keeps, a series of lines\nexisted in the rear of the front line, intercommunicating and provided\nwith barbed wire. A small wood on one point of the front was defended\nby a network of low wire entanglements and a line of high wire netting.\n\nEvery officer had to know all about his section and its communications\nwith right and left. Telephone wires were laid low down in\ncommunication trenches and fastened a few inches from ground with\nwooden pickets.\n\nMachine guns were placed so as to flank salients. A 65-mm. field gun\nwas placed in the front line to sweep the village, and an observation\nstation placed in a tree. The observer wore a green mask and green\nsheet.\n\nGreat use was made of brushwood and undergrowth to revet steps of\nfiring platform.\n\nAll work was carried out by regimental officers and men without help\nfrom the engineers, who were fully employed in mining. The garrison of\nthe village and the front line trenches in the vicinity was about one\nbattalion, but the fire trenches were sufficient for three battalions.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V[1]\n\nUSE AND IMPROVEMENT OF NATURAL COVER\n\n\n_A screen or mask_ consists of hedges, crops, underbrush, etc., which\nhide the rifleman without, however, protecting him from fire.\n\n_Cover or shelter_ consists of walls, earthworks, etc., which protect\nthe rifleman from fire.\n\nOn the battlefield, natural features that screen and shelter should be\nutilized as much as possible, as they possess the following advantages\nover artificial works:\n\n(_a_) Their organization demands less work.\n\n(_b_) Concealment is easier.\n\n(_c_) From their nature, it is difficult for the enemy to estimate, for\na given length, the number of men sheltered.\n\nThey possess, however, certain disadvantages:\n\n(_a_) The protection is sometimes so excellent that, morally as well\nas materially, it becomes difficult to leave the shelter. Example:\nquarries with obstructed exits. Therefore, good judgment must be\nexercised in the selection.\n\n(_b_) Some of them are too visible. Example: large hedges. In this case\ntheir range can be easily found.\n\nAs a general rule, do not occupy them uniformly and do not change the\nappearance of the organized parts.\n\nOrganization of the cover:\n\nTo organize the cover which protects troops from fire, construct\nsuitable positions for firing and resting. To utilize the screens which\nmerely hide the troops without protecting them from fire, dig trenches\nbehind these screens in the following manner:\n\n(_a_) Choose the points which give the best field of fire.\n\n(_b_) Construct cover for firing.\n\n(_c_) Construct a shelter.\n\nThe constructions are usually \"individual\" in the first period of work;\nafterwards, they are organized \"collectively.\" The covers are: (1)\nfor riflemen lying down, (2) for riflemen sitting down, and (3) for\nriflemen standing up.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27a.--Use of the cover without improvement.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27b.--First period.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27c.--Second period.\nProgressive improvement of the cover.]\n\n\nINDIVIDUAL ORGANIZATION OF NATURAL COVER\n\nExamples of hasty individual cover behind trees, bushes, or branches:\n\n(_a_) Fallen tree (logs or branches), the height of which is at a\nmaximum of 1 foot above the ground:\n\n(_b_) Fallen tree, the top of which is more than 1 foot above the\nground.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27d.--First period.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27e.--Second period]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27f.--Third period.]\n\nWood which does not afford sufficient protection against bullets\nmust be reinforced by earth at the right and against the cover 1 foot\nbehind. Plates 27d, 27e, and 27f show the progressive improvement of\nthe cover.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27g.--Sharp ridges, furrows, or top of a crest at\nthe end of a gentle <DW72>.]\n\nExamples of hasty individual covers behind a furrow, a crest, a heap of\nsand or earth:\n\nDig the ground as near as possible to crest _A_ of the furrow in the\nmanner indicated for the cover installed behind a fallen tree more than\n1 foot high.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27h.--Narrow furrows.]\n\nUse the earth excavated between furrows _A_ and _B_ to build up the\nearth between furrows _B_ and _C_ and fill up furrow _C_; continue\nafterwards as for the sharp ridge.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27i.--Low wall of earth, or earth and sand heaps,\nmore than 2 feet high (two methods, _A_ or _B_).]\n\n(_A_) Lower the height about 8 inches; throw the earth forward. Dig a\ntrench as indicated in the figure.\n\n(_B_) Make a loophole in the pile of earth, showing oneself as little\nas possible. Improve the firing position by making a place for the\nright leg and an elbow rest.\n\nExamples of hasty shelters (individual) arranged behind a large stone\nor heap of stones.\n\nA heap of stones, the top of which is 1 foot at a maximum above the\nground:\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27j.--First period.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27k.--Second period.]\n\n\nGENERAL ORGANIZATION OF NATURAL COVER\n\nThis consists in connecting up and coordinating the individual work\nunder the direction of the squad commander. The work should be carried\nout on the lines adopted for the individual work and the rules\nprescribed for the construction of artificial cover (profiles, depths,\nvarious shelters) should be followed as far as possible. In arranging\nthe cover, the squads should utilize the natural features of the\nterrain.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27l.--Arrangement for a mound of earth.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27m.--Arrangement for a dry ditch.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27n.--Arrangement for a sunken road defended on\nthe side towards the enemy.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27o.--Arrangement for a sunken road defended from\nthe rear.]\n\nDitches full of water, drains, streams:\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27p.--Arrangement of a large ditch.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27q.--Arrangement of a ditch full of water.]\n\nOrdinary roads, road and railroad embankments, and sunken roads:\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27r.--Arrangement of an ordinary road defended on\nthe side toward the enemy.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27s.--Same defended from the rear.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27t.--Road embankment, defended from the rear.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27u.--Arrangement of a railroad embankment.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27v.--Arrangement of a sunken road.]\n\nHedges and woods:\n\nDig a trench behind the hedge and throw the earth against it; make\nopenings in the hedge to facilitate view and fire (Plate 27w). If the\nhedge is low, deepen the trench, but make the parapet lower than the\nhedge which masks it.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27w.--Arrangement of a hedge.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27x.--Arrangement of the edge of a wood.]\n\nAvoid destroying the natural appearance of the wood; do not cut the\ntrees and brush on a certain depth, but cut off branches where\nnecessary to obtain a field of fire. Behind this strip cut the brush\nand small trees so as to make a path 3 to 4 yards wide. Construct a\ntrench behind the mask of trees. The parapet can be raised up to 2 or\neven 3 feet. Construct abatis on the parts of the border of the wood,\nwhere it will not interfere with the fire.\n\nWalls:\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27y.--Arrangement of a wall 2 feet 8 inches high.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 27z.--Arrangement of a wall 8 feet high.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 28.--Arrangement of a wall more than 8 feet high\nwithout making loopholes.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 28a.--Arrangement of an iron fence built on a low\nwall.]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 1: This chapter reprinted from _Infantry Journal_.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nREVETMENTS\n\n\nA _revetment_ is a covering or facing placed upon an earth <DW72> to\nenable it to stand at an inclination greater than it would naturally\nassume. Some revetments also increase the tenacity of <DW72>s and\ndiminish the injury by fire. The upper parts of revetments that may be\nstruck by projectiles which penetrate the cover of earth must not be\nmade of materials of large units which will splinter when struck. The\nupper part of the revetments is technically known as _crowning_.\n\n\nSANDBAGS\n\nSandbags are made of coarse canvas or burlap. They are 33 inches long\nand 14 inches wide. They are filled loosely with earth or sand about\n1/2 cubic foot to a bag. Having been placed in position they are\npounded down with a shovel to a rectangular form when they will fill a\nspace about 20 by 13 by 5 inches.\n\nThe sandbag revetment is constructed by laying alternate rows of\nheaders and stretchers, breaking joints. The tied ends of the headers\nand seams of the stretchers are put into the parapet. Men working in\npairs lay the bags and set them firmly in place with a spade or mallet.\n\nThe advantages are:\n\n1. The portability of the empty bags. Only 62 pounds per one hundred\nbags.\n\n2. They may be filled with any kind of soil.\n\n3. They are rapidly filled and easily placed in position.\n\n4. They are invaluable in making repairs.\n\n5. They will not splinter.\n\nThe only disadvantage is that they are not durable. The cloth soon goes\nto decay and the filling material crumbles away.\n\nPlate 29 shows the appearance of a sandbag revetment as seen from the\nfront and from the end.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 29.--Sandbag revetment.]\n\nA squad of six men with two shovels and one pick should fill 150 bags\nin an hour. One man uses the pick, two shovel the dirt into the bag,\none holds the bag open and two men tie the bags. Having the filled bags\nready to hand ten men will lay 75 square feet of revetment in an hour.\nFour men lay the bags and flatten them out while six carry them.\n\n\nBRUSH\n\nBrush is used in many forms for revetting. Almost any kind will serve\nthe purpose. For weaving, it must be live and is most pliable when not\nin leaf. It should not be more than 1 inch in diameter at the butt.\nWhen cut it should be assorted in sizes for the different class of\nrevetments. Poles 2-1/2 inches in diameter are cut for the supports.\n\n\nFASCINES\n\nA _fascine_ is a cylindrical bundle of brushwood tightly bound. The\nusual length is 18 feet, the diameter 9 inches, and the weight normally\nabout 140 pounds. Lengths of 6 and 9 feet, which are sometimes used,\nare most conveniently obtained by sawing a standard fascine into two\nor three pieces.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 29a.--Fascine.]\n\nFascines are made in a cradle which consists of five trestles, the\nouter ones being 16 feet apart. The trestle is made by driving two\nsticks about 6-1/2 feet long and 3 inches in diameter in the ground and\nlashed at the intersection as shown in Plate 29a. In making the cradle,\nplant the two end trestles first. Stretch a line from one to the other\nover the intersection. Place the others 4 feet apart and lash them so\nthat each intersection comes fairly to the line.\n\n_To build a fascine_, straight pieces of brush, 1 or 2 inches at the\nbutt, are laid on, the butts projecting at the end 1 foot beyond\nthe trestle. Leaves should be stripped and unruly branches cut off,\nor partially cut through, so that they will lie close. The larger,\nstraighter brush should be laid on the outside, butts alternating in\ndirection, and smaller stuff in the center. The general object is to so\ndispose the brush as to make the fascine of uniform size, strength and\nstiffness from end to end.\n\nWhen the cradle is nearly filled, the fascine is compressed or\n_choked_ by the _fascine choker_ (Plate 30), which consists of two\nbars, 4 feet long, joined 18 inches from the ends by a chain 4 feet\nlong. The chain is marked at 14 inches each way from the middle by\ninserting a ring or special link. To use, two men standing on opposite\nsides pass the chain under the brush, place the short ends of the\nhandles on top and pass the bars, short end first, across to each\nother. They then bear down on the long ends until the marks on the\nchain come together. Chokers may be improvised from sticks and rope or\nwire.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 30.--Method of using the fascine choker.]\n\n_Binding_ will be done with a double turn of wire or tarred rope. It\nshould be done in twelve places 18 inches apart, the end binders 3\ninches outside the end trestles. To bind a fascine will require 66 feet\nof wire.\n\nImprovised binders may be made from rods of live brush; hickory or\nhazel is the best. Place the butt under the foot and twist the rod to\npartially separate the fibers and make it flexible. A rod so prepared\nis called a withe. To use a withe, make a half-turn and twist at\nthe smaller end. Pass the withe around the brush and the large end\nthrough the eye. Draw taut and double the large end back, taking two\nhalf-hitches over its own standing part.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 31.--Fascine revetment.]\n\nA _fascine revetment_ is made by placing the fascines as shown in\nPlate 31. The use of headers and anchors is absolutely necessary in\nloose soils only, but they greatly strengthen the revetment in any\ncase. A fascine revetment _must always be crowned_ with sod or bags.\n\nIn all brush weaving the following terms have been adopted and are\nconvenient to use:\n\n_Randing._--Weaving a single rod in and out between pickets.\n\n_Slewing._--Weaving two or more rods together in the same way.\n\n_Pairing._--Carrying two rods together, crossing each other in and out\nat each picket.\n\n_Wattling._--A general term applied to the woven part of brush\nconstruction.\n\nA _hurdle_ is a basket work made of brushwood. If made in pieces the\nusual size is 2 feet 9 inches by 6 feet, though the width may be varied\nso that it will cover the desired height of <DW72>.\n\nA hurdle is made by describing on the ground an arc of a circle of\n8-foot radius and on the arc driving ten pickets, 8 inches apart,\ncovering 6 feet out to out. Brush is then woven in and out and well\ncompacted. The concave side of a hurdle should be placed next the\nearth. It warps less than if made flat.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 32.--Method of laying out hurdle.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 33.--Hurdle.]\n\nIn _weaving the hurdle_, begin randing at the middle space at the\nbottom. Reaching the end, twist the rod as described for a withe but\nat one point only, bend it around the end picket and work back. Start\na second rod before the first one is quite out, slewing the two for\na short distance. Hammer the wattling down snug on the pickets with a\nblock of wood and continue until the top is reached. It improves the\nhurdle to finish the edges with two selected rods paired. A pairing\nmay be introduced in the middle, if desired, to give the hurdle extra\nendurance if it is to be used as a pavement or floor. If the hurdle\nis not to be used at once, or if it is to be transported, it must be\n_sewed_. The sewing is done with wire, twine or withes at each end and\nin the middle, with stitches about 6 inches long, as shown in Plate\n33. About 40 feet of wire is required to sew one hurdle. No. 14 is\nabout the right size, and a coil of 100 pounds will sew forty hurdles.\nThree men should make a hurdle in two hours, two wattling and the third\npreparing the rods.\n\n_Continuous Hurdle._--If conditions permit the revetment to be built\nin place, the hurdle is made continuous for considerable lengths.\nThe pickets may be larger; they are driven further apart, 12 or 18\ninches, and the brush may be heavier. The construction is more rapid.\nThe pickets are driven with a little more slant than is intended and\nmust be anchored to the parapet. A line of poles, with wire attached\nat intervals of two or three pickets, will answer. The wires should\nbe made fast to the pickets after the wattling is done. They will\ninterfere with the weaving if fastened sooner. Two men should make 4\nyards of continuous hurdling of ordinary height in one hour.\n\n_Brush Revetment._--Pickets may be set as above described and the brush\nlaid inside them without weaving, being held in place by bringing the\nearth up with it. In this case the anchors must be fastened before\nthe brush laying begins. The wires are not much in the way in this\noperation.\n\n_Gabion Making._--A _gabion_ is a cylindrical basket with open ends,\nmade of brush woven on pickets or stakes as described for hurdles. The\nusual size is 2 feet outside diameter and 2 feet 9 inches height of\nwattling. On account of the sharp curvature somewhat better brush is\nrequired for gabions than will do for hurdles. The _gabion form_ is\nmade of wood, 21 inches diameter, with equidistant notches around the\ncircumference, equal in number to the number of pickets to be used,\nusually eight to fourteen; less if the brush is large and stiff, more\nif small and pliable. The notches should be of such depth that the\npickets will project 1 inch outside the circle. The pickets should be\n1-1/2 to 2 inches in diameter, 3 feet 6 inches long, sharpened, half at\nthe small and half at the large end.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 34.--Gabion.]\n\n[Illustration: Plate 35.]\n\n_To Make a Gabion._--The form is placed on the ground. The pickets\nare driven vertically in the ground, large and small ends down,\nalternately. The form is then raised a foot and held by placing a\nlashing around outside the pickets, tightened with a rack stick. (See\nPlate 36.)\n\n[Illustration: Plate 36.--Forming the gabion supports.]\n\nThe wattling is randed or slewed from the form up. The form is then\ndropped down, the gabion inverted, and the wattling completed. If\nthe brush is small, uniform, and pliable, pairing will make a better\nwattling than randing. If not for immediate use, the gabion must\nbe sewed as described for hurdles, the same quantity of wire being\nrequired.\n\nThe gabion, when wattled and sewed, is completed by cutting off the\ntops of the pickets, 1 inch from the web, the bottom 3 inches. The\nlatter are sharpened after cutting and driving a pairing picket through\nthe middle of its length and a little to one side of the axis. Three\nmen should make a gabion in an hour.\n\nGabions may be made without the forms, but the work is slower and not\nso good. The circle is struck on the ground and the pickets driven\nat the proper points. The weaving is done from the ground up. The\nentire time of one man is required to keep the pickets in their proper\npositions.\n\nIf brush is scarce, gabions may be made with 6 inches of wattling at\neach end, the middle being left open. In filling, the open parts may be\nlined with straw, grass, brush, or grain sacks to keep the earth from\nrunning out.\n\n_Gabion Revetment._--The use of gabions in revetment is illustrated in\nPlate 37. If more than two tiers are used, the separating fascines\nshould be anchored back. Gabion revetment should be crowned with sod or\nsandbag.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 37.--Methods of use of gabion.]\n\nThe advantages of gabion revetment are very great. It can be put in\nplace without extra labor, faster and with less exposure than any\nother. It is self-supporting and gives cover from view and partial\ncover from fire quicker than any other form. Several forms of gabions\nmade of material other than brush have been used. Some of them are\nsheet iron, empty barrels and hoops. The disadvantages of iron are that\nit splinters badly, is heavy, and has not given satisfaction. If any\nspecial materials are supplied, the methods of using them will, in view\nof the foregoing explanation, be obvious.\n\n_Timber or Pole Revetment._--Poles too large for use in any other way\nmay be cut to length and stood on end to form a revetment. The lower\nend should be in a small trench and have a waling piece in front of\nthem. There must also be a waling piece or cap at or near the top,\nanchored back. Plate 38 shows this form.\n\n_Miscellaneous Revetments._--Any receptacles for earth which will make\na staple, compact pile, such as boxes, baskets, cans, etc., may be used\nfor a revetment. Canvas or burlap stretched behind pickets is being\nused to a great extent on the battle fronts of Europe. If the soil will\nmake adobe, an excellent revetment may be made of them, but it will not\nstand wet weather.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 38.--Timber revetment.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nWORKING PARTIES\n\n\nThe infantryman will always be called upon to construct the trench\nwhich he is to occupy. Each company is provided with portable tools,\nwhich the men carry, and each infantry regiment is provided with tools\nfor the purpose. The digging tools consist of picks and shovels.\n\nWhen it has been decided to locate fire trenches along a certain\nline officers will lay out the cutting lines and mark them with tape\nor otherwise. A company will be assigned for the construction of a\ndefinite section of the trench.\n\nLet us work out the procedure, assuming that the work may go on\nunmolested by the enemy. Such, however, is not usually the case. The\nenemy will do anything in his power to prevent construction work. If,\nhowever, we are familiar with the details of the work and know how\nto go about it in an orderly and systematic manner under conditions\nof noninterference by the enemy, we will be able to carry out these\ndetails of organization and procedure under more or less trying\nconditions when the time comes.\n\nOfficers have established the trace of the trench and marked the\ncutting lines. It is the ordinary traversed type, 18 feet bays with\ntraverses 5 feet wide and 5 feet deep, as shown in Plate 14.\n\nThe company is composed of, say, twelve squads organized into three\nplatoons of four squads each. Six bays of the trench have been assigned\nto the organization for construction. This gives a task to each platoon\nof two bays, including one complete traverse and a half traverse on\neach flank.\n\nTools have been issued to the first and third squads of each platoon,\nthe front rank men carrying picks and the rear rank men shovels.\n\nThe company is marched in column of squads to the site of the trench,\napproaching it from the rear, and halted with the head of the column\nfifteen paces in rear of and opposite the right of the section\nassigned; that is, in rear of the first bay of the section. The second\nplatoon is then conducted by the platoon commander and halted with\nits head opposite the third bay. The third platoon is in like manner\nconducted to the rear of the fifth bay. Each platoon commander then has\nthe two rear squads of his platoon, conducted to a point behind the\nbay on his left, _i.e._, the second, fourth and sixth respectively.\nThis allows two squads for the work in each bay, the leading squad\nfurnishing the first relief and the rear squad the second.\n\nThe leading squad of each column is then marched to a point two paces\nin rear of the rear cutting line of the trench, where they take off\ntheir packs and lay their rifles on them. The corporal and his rear\nrank man fall out. The corporal assigns tasks, number ones to the first\n2-yard section, number twos to the second and number threes the third.\n\nThe tasks are shown in Plate 39. The corporal superintends the work.\nNumber 4 rear rank marks out the cutting lines with his shovel around\nthe traverses and starts work on them.\n\nExperience has shown that the best method of dividing up the work is to\ngroup the men in pairs, one man with a pick and one with a shovel and\nto prescribe that they relieve each other.\n\n[Illustration: _PLATE 39._\n_ORGANIZATION OF A WORKING PARTY_]\n\nThe leading squads assigned to each bay work at top speed for 30\nminutes. At the end of the twenty-eighth minute the corporal of the\nrear squad brings his men up and deploys them. At a signal from the\nplatoon commander the men of the first and third squads drop their\ntools, get out of the trench, and proceed to the rear, where they rest.\nThe men of the second and fourth squads jump into the trench and take\nup the task. At the end of another 30 minutes this procedure is again\ncarried out.\n\nThis scheme of assigning tasks and procedure was given an exhaustive\ntest in 1915 in the course of testing out various types of intrenching\ntools. It worked to perfection.\n\nThe bays are first completed, after which the traverses begun by No.\n4 rear rank are finished up. Great care should be taken to make the\ndimensions of the trench as accurate as possible. The squad leader is\nheld responsible for this. He should provide himself with two sticks.\nOn one the following lengths are laid off: 1 foot, width of berms, and\nheight of parapet; 1 foot 4 inches, width of firing banquet, height of\nfiring banquet above bottom of trench, and width of bottom of trench.\nThe other stick has the following lengths measured on it: 4 feet,\ndepth of trench from ground surface to the top of firing banquet; 5\nfeet 4 inches, depth of trench from ground surface to bottom of trench.\n(See Plate 15 for dimensions of standing trench.)\n\nWhen the circumstances are such that the work of trench construction\nis interfered with by the enemy, a modification of the system outlined\nhere will have to be made, but the details should be adhered to as\nclosely as possible.\n\nWhen night work is necessary the trace should be staked out before\ncomplete darkness sets in. If the trace can only be made after dark,\nvisible reference points needed with white paper, white tape or\nscreened flashlights may be utilized. Stick to the details of the\ndeployment, the laying out of tasks and the procedure as indicated for\nday work as closely as possible. Avoid making any more noise than is\nabsolutely necessary; allow no smoking and require such conversation as\nis necessary to be made in whispers. Protect the workers by a system of\npatrols to the front.\n\nNon-commissioned officers are held responsible for a systematic and\norderly execution of the work being performed by their units. The\ncaptain cannot be everywhere along the line. He has to depend upon the\nplatoon and squad leaders in the work. That is why you should study it\nand know about it so as to be able to make good when the time comes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nGRENADE WARFARE\n\n\nThe use of hand grenades as an implement of warfare dates back many\ncenturies. History records their use as far back as 1536. Up to the\nclose of the eighteenth century soldiers were trained in the throwing\nof hand grenades, and for this reason were called \"grenadiers.\" At\nfirst there were a few in each regiment, later entire companies\nwere formed, and finally each infantry unit that corresponds to our\nbattalion of today had its own grenadier unit.\n\nThen there was a period of time when more open formations were adopted,\nwhen there was less opportunity for the employment of grenades and\ntheir use was practically eliminated from the battlefield and confined\nto sieges, where they have been used more or less since the dawn of\nmilitary history.\n\nWith the advent of the Russo-Japanese War came the extensive use of\ntrenches on the battlefield, and with the trenches came the hand\ngrenades which were used in large quantities by both sides. This was\nespecially the case when the fighting lines came to close quarters and\nin the assaults against the forts at Port Arthur.\n\nWhen the European war resolved itself into trench warfare, such as it\nis today, the use of hand-thrown projectiles assumed an importance\nheretofore never attained, and today we find ourselves employing hand\ngrenades in every phase of the conflict.\n\n\nEMPLOYMENT OF GRENADIERS\n\nGrenadiers are employed on both the offensive and defensive. They\naccompany the attacking lines in the advance on the enemy's position,\nthey clear the fire trenches and communication trenches after parts\nof the enemy's lines have been taken, and on the defense they assist\nthe riflemen in repelling attack and engage the enemy whenever he has\nobtained a lodgment in the trenches.\n\n\nORGANIZATION\n\nWhile every infantryman receives a certain amount of instruction in\ngrenade throwing, there should be a grenadier squad in each platoon\nspecially instructed and trained in this most effective auxiliary\nmethod of trench warfare. Not all men possess the temperament and\nqualifications necessary to make efficient grenadiers. Hence the\npersonnel of the grenadier squad should be carefully selected. Strong\nphysique, personal courage and steadiness in emergencies are the\nqualifications that count. Men fond of outdoor sports, other things\nbeing equal, will be found the best.\n\n[Illustration: FIRST POSITION\n _Method of clearing Fire Trenches by Grenadier Squads_\n_PLATE 40._]\n\n[Illustration: SECOND POSITION]\n\nThe grenadier squad is organized as follows:\n\n_Front Rank._\n\n No. 1. First bayonet man.\n No. 2. Second bayonet man.\n No. 3. Grenade thrower.\n No. 4. Squad leader, observer and director.\n\n_Rear Rank._\n\n No. 1. First carrier.\n No. 2. Second carrier.\n No. 3. Barricader.\n No. 4. Barricader.\n\n\nDUTIES\n\nThe duties of the several members of the squad vary under different\ncircumstances of their tactical employment which will be fully\nexplained below. In general they are as follows:\n\n_Bayonet Men._--The bayonet men move in advance of the grenade\nthrowers. When the grenade thrower has thrown his grenades into\nthe objective trench the bayonet men must be ready to take instant\nadvantage of the temporary demoralization of the enemy caused by the\nexplosions and clear the way for a repetition of the operation.\n\n_Grenade Thrower._--The grenade thrower must be ready and able to throw\na grenade at once whenever the bayonet men or squad leader may direct.\n\n_Squad Leader._--The squad leader directs the operations of the squad.\nHe goes wherever his presence is necessary. He keeps a close watch to\nthe flanks. He replaces casualties and attends to the forwarding of\ngrenades to the thrower. He acts as a grenade thrower whenever he can\nassist the operations in that capacity.\n\n_Carriers._--The carriers carry as many grenades as possible, and when\ntheir supply is exhausted they go to the reserve depots and replenish.\nThey are responsible for a continuous supply of grenades to the\nthrowers.\n\n_Barricaders._--The barricaders are charged with the construction of\nbarricades. They carry sandbags and tools for filling them. In\naddition they carry as many grenades as possible. They hold themselves\nin readiness to go forward and construct a barricade or cover at any\npoint designated by the squad leader.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE 41\n_Combat in a Communicating Trench_]\n\n_General._--All the men of the squad must be trained and prepared\nto take over the duties of any other member. Before undertaking any\noperation each man of the squad should thoroughly understand the part\nhe is to play in it.\n\n_Formation._--The formation for the several classes of tactical\nemployment will be explained when each is considered below.\n\n\nOFFENSIVE OPERATIONS\n\nWhen it has been decided to attack a certain sector of the enemy's\nposition a detailed reconnaissance is made with a view to locating and\ndeveloping every element of the position, detailed plans are made and\nimparted to all concerned. (See Chapter XI.)\n\nThe phases of the attack consist of: (1) The artillery preparation;\n(2) the infantry assault; (3) the occupation and organization of the\ncaptured position, and preparation to meet a counter attack.\n\nDuring the course of the artillery preparation grenadier squads work\ntheir way across \"no man's land\" and establish themselves sufficiently\nclose to throw grenades into the fire trenches. Failing in this they\naccompany the assaulting troops.\n\nWhen they are able to work up close they cover the advance of the\ninfantry assaulting lines by showering grenades into the enemy's fire\ntrenches after the curtain of artillery fire has been extended back\ninto his position to prevent the supports and reserves from coming up\nto the front.\n\nAll men of the squad carry as many grenades as possible and such number\nas the squad leader may designate act as throwers, while the others act\nas carriers and prepare the grenades for throwing. Accurate throwing,\nproperly observed and distributed, will greatly assist in preparing for\na successful assault.\n\n\nCLEARING FIRE TRENCHES\n\nNo matter how well the infantry assault on the enemy's fire trenches\nmay be conducted, it rarely succeeds in occupying the hostile\nposition throughout its entire length. Casualties, loss of direction,\nand unexpected obstacles encountered are bound to break up the\nassaulting line more or less, thereby leaving gaps in the captured\nposition. Furthermore the attack on a line of trenches takes place on\na relatively small front by a large number of men. When the trenches\nare finally reached and a lodgment effected there will be great\novercrowding. Provision must be made immediately for extending the\nline, otherwise the casualties at these points will be exceedingly\nheavy.\n\nIt is the particular duty of the grenadier squads to clear these \"gaps\"\nof the enemy as quickly as possible. For this purpose an efficient and\nwell-organized storming party must be immediately available.\n\nLet us say that, after careful artillery preparation, the assault has\nreached the enemy's fire trench. There is much overcrowding at the\npoints where lodgments have been effected. There is a gap in the line\nbetween two adjacent elements. How is this cleared of the enemy?\n\nThe grenadier squad immediately forms for action. Two bayonet men are\nin the lead, followed by the grenade thrower, who is in turn followed\nby the two carriers. Further to the rear are the two barricaders, who\ncarry a reserve supply of grenades in addition to their sandbags and\nshovels. The squad leader is where he can best direct the operations.\n\nThe grenadier squad is formed as shown in the _first position_, Plate\n40.\n\n1. The grenade thrower puts grenades: (1) into bay 1, at _A_; (2) into\nbay 2, at _D_; (3) into bay 1, at _B_; (4) into the traverse leg at _C_.\n\n2. When the four grenades have exploded the bayonet men rush into bay\n1, the leader advancing into the first leg of the traverse trench below\n_B_, while his mate remains in the bay for a moment.\n\n3. The squad leader rushes around the traverse to _A_, followed by the\ngrenade thrower.\n\n4. When the bay and the next traverse passages are all cleared of the\nenemy the word \"O.K.\" is passed back to the squad leader by the bayonet\nmen. The bayonet men get into their proper positions and the remainder\nof the squad rush into the cleared bay 1 and prepare for the further\nclearing of succeeding bays in the same manner as described above.\n\nTake the diagram on Plate 40. Study it out in connection with the text\nand you will see how this system works out.\n\nThe men work in pairs, the two bayonet men together; the two carriers\nbehind the thrower; the two barricaders sufficiently far to the rear\nto be protected by a corner of solid earth. The squad leader must of\nnecessity go where his presence is necessary. Usually he stays as near\nthe grenade thrower as possible.\n\nWhen the enemy's grenadier parties are also very active in the sector,\nthe distances between pairs are extended so that no more than two men\nare exposed in any one bay or traverse leg.\n\nThe formation of the squad must be preserved as long as possible. You\nwill appreciate that when losses occur the squad leader will have to\nreplace men and the formation will have to be modified to meet the\nchanged conditions. This makes it absolutely necessary that every\nmember of the squad be competent to take over the duties of any other\nmember.\n\nWhen the squad has reached the limit of its advance the barricaders\nwill come forward and construct a barricade in such position that it\nis well in view from a corner some distance behind.\n\nNo passing of bombs forward from man to man is permitted. When the\nfirst carrier's supply is exhausted he returns to the rear to secure a\nfresh supply from the reserve grenade carriers who are following the\ngrenade squad, and who have by now advanced to a point where their\nsupply is available. As soon as his supply is replenished he returns to\nhis proper position in the formation. Should the second carrier run out\nof grenades the squad leader may cause one of the barricaders to take\nall the grenades in the possession of the two and replace him while he\ngoes to the rear to secure a fresh supply.\n\nIn the meantime other grenadier squads are clearing out the\ncommunication and supervision trenches, blocking up the exits to\ndugouts and destroying machine-gun detachments that have thus far\nescaped. The assaulting troops have passed on towards the second line,\ncovered by the curtain of fire of the artillery.\n\n\nCLEARING COMMUNICATION TRENCHES\n\nThe clearing of communication trenches is effected much in the same\nmanner as explained for the fire trench. The grenadier squad is\norganized and formed in the same manner. The squad works its way into\nthe communication trench by bombing each leg until they arrive at a\npoint where the formation, as illustrated in Plate 41, can be assumed.\nThe grenade thrower throws grenades into the trench at _B_ and then at\n_C_. As soon as these have exploded the bayonet men take advantage of\nthe confusion to advance into the leg _A-B_ under cover of the shoulder\n_b_, the squad leader and thrower advance to _A_, the carriers to the\npoint formerly occupied by the squad leader, and the barricaders to the\npoint formerly occupied by the carriers. The thrower then puts grenades\ninto the trench at C and then at D, after which the whole squad\nadvances another notch as formerly explained.\n\nWhere island traverses are encountered the thrower puts a grenade on\neach side of the traverse and one in the rear of it. The bayonet men,\none on a side, assault around the traverse and meet on the far side,\nand the operation proceeds as heretofore explained.\n\n\nNIGHT OPERATIONS\n\nThe grenadier squads may be called upon at night, to perform any of the\nservices that are theirs by day, and in addition may be called upon\nto make night reconnaissances. For this work the men must be able to\norganize and reorganize the squad quickly and noiselessly. The throwers\nmust be particularly efficient. There must be the highest order of team\nwork.\n\n\nGRENADIER PATROLS\n\nGrenadier patrols are sent out at night to make reconnaissances of the\nenemy's lines with a view to getting information which may include:\n\n1. Location and organization of line.\n\n2. The length of line occupied.\n\n3. Numbers and disposition of occupying troops.\n\n4. To get an accurate description of the ground.\n\n5. To locate observation and listening posts or any other advanced\npositions.\n\n6. To locate machine guns.\n\nThese patrols may consist of from two men to the entire grenadier\nsquad. In a patrol of six or eight men two of them carry rifles and\nbelts, bayonets fixed. The remaining members of the patrol carry no\nequipment except a haversack filled with grenades. The grenades are\nused only in case of emergency. It is a reconnoitering patrol charged\nwith gaining information and therefore does not enter into an encounter\nwith the enemy except as a last resort.\n\nThe men move or crawl without noise and take advantage of all cover\nthat the ground affords. If they suspect they are observed, they should\n\"freeze\" to the ground and remain absolutely motionless. On dark\nnights it is easy to lose the direction and for the men to lose one\nanother. Every device or scheme to lessen risks in this respect must\nbe employed. The men may tie themselves lightly together so they will\nnot proceed in a bunch and at the same time retain connection with each\nother.\n\n\nNOTES ON GRENADE WARFARE\n\nThe first step in the training of a grenadier is to overcome his\nfear of the grenade itself. This is accomplished by first having him\npractice fuse lighting with dummy grenades having live fuses. The\nmen will be impressed with the fact that the grenades are dangerous\nweapons and that familiarity in handling them must not be permitted to\ndegenerate into carelessness.\n\nThe next step towards efficiency is the development of accuracy of\nthrowing. For short distances it may be lobbed from the shoulder by\na motion similar to \"putting the shot.\" Stick grenades may be thrown\nfor a short distance like throwing a dart. In the trenches the grenade\nshould be thrown with an overhand motion like the bowler of a cricket\nball, as there is danger of exploding them by knocking the hand against\nthe back of the trench.\n\nThe men should be taught to throw from all positions--standing,\nsitting, kneeling and prone.\n\nShould the grenade with a time fuse be dropped in the act of throwing,\nthere is time to pick it up and throw it out of the trench before it\nexplodes. Under no circumstances must it be allowed to explode in the\ntrench.\n\nCommunication throughout the squad in action should be maintained at\nall times. System is required to insure the throwers having a supply\nof grenades on hand all the time and that casualties are promptly\nreplaced.\n\nQuick action is essential to success. Crawling and stalking give the\nenemy what he is waiting for.\n\nArrangements to assist a storming party by rifle and machine-gun fire\nare of the utmost value and should be provided whenever possible. Care\nmust be taken to provide a signal which will mark the progress of the\nstorming party through the trenches. A helmet held up on a bayonet will\ndo this.\n\nAll grenadiers must be especially trained in the filling of sandbags\nand making sandbag barricades.\n\nThe work of the observer is difficult and requires much practice. He\nmust give his directions to the thrower in no uncertain terms. When\nthe thrower has missed his objective the observer will give positive\ndirections for the next throw. Instead of saying \"A yard too much\nto the left,\" he will say, \"Throw a yard to the right.\" Positive\ndirections, even if only half heard, are of some use; negative\ndirections are certain to be both confused and confusing. The observer\nshould be expert in the use of the periscope.\n\n\nHAND GRENADES AND PETARDS\n\nThe hand grenade used by our allies on the western front is the\nbracelet grenade with automatic firing mechanism and consists of a ball\nof cast iron filled with an explosive and of a leather bracelet which\nis fastened to the wrist. To the bracelet is attached a piece of rope\nabout 30 centimeters long, having an iron hook at its end.\n\nJust before the grenade is thrown, the hook is engaged in the ring\nof the roughened wire of the friction primer placed inside the fuse\nplug which closes the cast iron ball. When the grenade is thrown, the\nring with the primer wire, held back by the hook of the bracelet, is\nwrenched off by a sudden movement of withdrawal from the wrist and the\nfuse is fired. The explosion takes place four or five seconds later.\n\nThis grenade is supplied to the fighting zone ready for use. It is\nquite complicated. It can be thrown about 25 meters.\n\nThe German grenade is composite; it can be thrown by hand or fired\nfrom a rifle. As a hand missile, it is used at short distances, 15 to\n20 meters. It is composed of a copper rod to the extremity of which is\nfixed a cast iron cylinder, grooved to facilitate its breaking into\nsmall pieces at the moment of explosion. The explosive is placed inside\nthis cylinder. A copper tube, also containing some explosive, is placed\nin the interior. It is surmounted by a complicated system for closing\nthe grenade and for automatic ignition by percussion, which results in\nat least 50 per cent. of misfires.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 41b.--British hand grenade No. 1.]\n\nUsed with the rifle, this grenade has a maximum range of 400 meters.\nAt the extremity opposite the grenade, the copper rod ends in a copper\nstem about 3 centimeters in length, movable about the axis of the\nrod. This stem is covered with a copper sleeve of slight thickness,\nwhich is attached to it only at the extremity fastened to the rod.\nThe diameter of the exterior of the sleeve must be such that it can\nbe pushed into the gun barrel without pressure. To fire the grenade,\na blank cartridge is placed in the chamber of the rifle; the quantity\nof powder left in the cartridge is regulated according to the distance\nat which the missile is to be thrown. At the moment of firing, the\nexplosive gases penetrate between the sleeve and the stem and jam the\nsleeve against the grooves of the barrel. The sleeve and the stem,\nwhich is attached to it, take a movement of rotation in the grooves of\nthe barrel, which insures the direction of the missile and the maximum\nefficiency of the explosive gases of the cartridge.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 41c.--The latest type British hand grenade.]\n\nThe bracelet grenade and the German grenade just described have to\nbe made in a factory. Attempts have been made to construct similar\nmissiles with the explosives which are at hand at the front, cheddite\nand melinite. Several kinds have been made: a primed cartridge and a\nprimed hand petard, fitted on a wooden paddle, a preserved meat tin\ncan filled with explosive, etc.\n\nThe Germans have hand petards similar to those of the Allies but with\ndifferent explosives. These missiles are primed by a detonator and a\nslow match and can be thrown about 30 meters. The discharge takes place\neither automatically or by tinder. They are made on the spot and very\nrapidly. The assaulting troops carry them in baskets or strung on a\ncircle of wire carried on the shoulder.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 41d.--Throwing hand grenades.]\n\nGrenades and petards constitute a terrible weapon. The projectiles\nexert considerable moral effect owing to the violence of their\nexplosion and the awful wounds they occasion, and they make it possible\nto reach the enemy at points where it is impossible to use the rifle\nand bayonet.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nGAS WARFARE\n\n\nGermany first made use of poisonous and asphyxiating gases on the\nfield of battle. It has become an accepted element in the present war.\nEvery soldier should, therefore, have a knowledge of the various ways\nin which gas is employed in the attack, as well as the measures to be\ntaken to counteract its effect in the defense.\n\nThe two methods of disseminating the gas over the battlefield are by\nemanation and grenades charged with it.\n\n\nEMANATION\n\nThis method has for its object to create a poisonous or irritant\natmosphere. This is accomplished by means of the arsenic and\nphosphorous gas being forced through tubes in the direction of the\nenemy or by means of liquefied chlorine, bromide, phosgene and\nsulphuretted hydrogen gas stored in cylinders under high pressure.\nTo be successful the gas attack must be attended by the following\nconditions:\n\n1. The weather must be comparatively calm with a wind blowing in the\ndirection of the enemy at about 5 miles an hour. If the wind is too\nstrong the gas will be carried over the enemy's trenches so rapidly\nthat it will not settle in them. If the wind be too light the gas will\nbe carried up into the air and disseminate or may even be blown back\ninto our own trenches, in which case chloride of lime scattered about\nfreely will disperse them.\n\n2. There must be no rain, for that would quickly disseminate the gas\nand negative the effect.\n\n3. The attack must come as a surprise. If the elements of surprise are\nmissing and the enemy has time to take protective measures, the effect\nis lost. If the surprise is complete, the enemy trenches should be\nemptied very quickly.\n\n4. The gas used must be heavier than the air, so that it will sift into\nthe enemy's trenches as it passes them. It is impracticable to decide\nupon any definite hour for launching the gas attack. Everything depends\nupon the direction and velocity of the wind. If an hour has been\ntentatively designated and the wind changes, the attack will have to be\npostponed.\n\nWhen an assault follows the gas attack the men should wear the smoke\nhelmets for at least 30 minutes after the dissemination has ceased; in\nfact they must not be removed until the order to do so is given by the\nofficer commanding the attack. You will appreciate that the enemy's\nmachine gunners may have better protection than the men in the bays of\nthe trenches.\n\n\nSHELL AND GRENADE METHOD\n\nIn this method the gas dissemination is effected by means of shells\nor bombs being fired into the enemy's trenches containing the desired\nsubstances which are released and give off irritant fumes on explosion.\nThe grenades used weigh about 1 pound. They are similar in appearance\nto the ordinary tin can grenade. Their effect in a trench will\ncontinue for 20 to 30 minutes. In the attack a large number should be\nconcentrated in a particular area to produce a large volume of gas.\nThey are thrown by hand, trench mortar or catapult.\n\n\nDEFENSE\n\nSurprise must be guarded against in every possible way. The direction\nof the wind must be continually watched, and when its velocity and\ndirection are specially favorable the protective measures must be\nkept ready for instant use and special observers posted. Previous to\nan attack the enemy may remain comparatively quiet for several days.\nNoises like the moving of sheet iron may be heard. Preparations may be\nobserved along the position. When the attack starts a hissing noise is\nheard; this latter is one of the indications that may be evident at\nnight.\n\n\nHELMETS\n\nEach man on duty in the trenches is provided with two smoke helmets,\nspecially devised and constructed so as to absorb the gas and\nneutralize its effect, and which if properly cared for and used will\nprovide complete protection from any substance likely to be used by the\nenemy. They are fitted with a valve tube through which to breathe and\nwith goggles to see through. There are certain rules prescribed for\ntheir care and use.\n\n1. They must not be removed from the protective covering except for\nactual use against an attack.\n\n2. When the helmet has been used once it should be replaced by a new\none.\n\n\nDUMMY HELMETS\n\nDummy gas helmets will be provided in each organization by which the\nmen may be practiced in putting them on. The men must be thoroughly\ndrilled in the methods to be employed.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 40a.--Gas helmet.]\n\nThe following directions accompany the helmets issued to the\nBritish Army. When our helmets are issued it is probable that each\nwill be accompanied by a complete set of rules for its use and full\ninstructions for the method of getting into it and for its care and\npreservation.\n\n\nDIRECTION FOR USE AND CARE OF TUBE HELMETS\n\n\nDESCRIPTION\n\nThese helmets are the same as the smoke helmet already issued, except\nthat stronger chemicals are added and a tube valve provided through\nwhich to breathe out. The tube valve makes the helmet cooler and saves\nchemicals from being affected by the breath. The wearer cannot breathe\n_in_ through the tube valve; this is intended for breathing _out_ only.\n\n\nDIRECTIONS FOR USE\n\nRemove paper cap from mouthpiece of tube valve. Remove service cap.\nPull helmet over head. Adjust so that goggles are over eyes. Tuck in\nskirt of helmet under coat collar and button coat so as to close in\nskirt of helmet. Hold the tube lightly in lips or teeth like stem of\npipe, so as to be able to breathe in past it and out through it.\n\n_Breathe in through mouth and nose, using the air inside the helmet.\nBreathe out through tube only._\n\n\nDIRECTIONS FOR CARE OF TUBE HELMET\n\n1. Do not remove the helmet from its waterproof case except to use for\nprotection against gas.\n\n2. Never use your tube helmet for practice or drill. Special helmets\nare kept in each company for instruction only.\n\nShould the goggles become misty during use they can be cleared by\nrubbing them gently against the forehead.\n\nWhen lacrimatory gases are used goggles affording mechanical protection\nmay be worn, as these gases are not likely to irritate the lungs,\nthough they sometimes produce sickness.\n\n\nIMPROVISED METHODS\n\nIf a soldier does not possess one of the official pattern respirators,\nthe following measures will be found useful:\n\n1. Wet and wring out any woolen article, such as a stocking or muffler,\nso as to form a thick pad large enough to cover the nose and mouth,\nand press firmly over both.\n\n2. Place in a scarf, stocking or handkerchief, a pad of about three\nhandfuls of earth, preferably damp, and tie it firmly over the mouth\nand nose.\n\n3. A wet cloth pulled down over the eyes will be found useful as\nadditional protection, especially against certain gases other than\nchlorine or when the gas is too strong for the ordinary respirator.\n\n4. A stocking, wetted with water and soda solution or tea, folded into\neight folds and firmly held or tied over the nose.\n\n5. A sock folded fourfold similarly wetted and held or tied. If the\nsock or comforter has been soaked in soda solution it will still act\nefficiently when dry, though if possible, it should be moist. The spare\ntapes from puttees may be used for tying on the sock.\n\n6. Any loose fabric, such as a sock, sandbag, woolen scarf or\ncomforter, soaked in urine, then wrung out to allow of free breathing\nand tied tightly over the nose and mouth.\n\nIn the absence of any other cloths, the flannel waistbands issued for\nwinter use could be used for this purpose.\n\n\nKNAPSACK SPRAYERS\n\nKnapsack sprayers are issued for use to clear gases out of the trenches\nafter the cloud has blown over. A man with the sprayer on his back (and\nwearing his smoke helmet) slowly traverses the trench, working the\nspray. If this is not done the heavy poisonous gas may linger in the\ntrench for days and be a source of great danger.\n\nIf supports or reinforcements enter a trench charged with gas, they\nshould be preceded by a man using a sprayer.\n\nSprayers are charged with sodium thiosulphate--more commonly known as\n\"hypo\"--6 pounds being dissolved in a bucket of water and a handful of\nordinary washing soda added.\n\nGarden syringes and buckets may be used if sprayers are not available,\nbut these are not so effective. Sprayers should be charged before they\nare taken up to the trenches, and should be kept ready for immediate\nuse.\n\nEvery officer defending a trench against an enemy gas attack should\nendeavor to collect information whenever possible, to be sent to\nheadquarters through the usual channels. Particularly valuable is the\ncapture of apparatus used by the enemy either for disseminating gas or\nfor protection against it. If a shell attack is made, unexploded shells\nor portions of them should be sent through to headquarters at once. The\ntime of day, duration of attack, color, taste or smell of gas used,\neffect on the eyes, breathing, and all other symptoms should be noted.\nNew gases may be used at any time, and speedy information greatly\nforwards the adoption of preventive measures.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nSERVICE IN THE TRENCHES\n\n\nPREPARATIONS FOR ENTERING TRENCHES\n\nPreparing to enter upon a period of service in the trenches the company\ncommander makes a complete inspection of the company which includes:\n\n1. Inspection of rifles and ammunition.\n\n2. Inspection of equipment, contents of packs, intrenching tools,\nfield glasses, wire cutters, first-aid packets, emergency rations, gas\nhelmets, identification tags, canteens, clothing, etc.\n\n3. Canteens to be filled with water.\n\n4. Test bayonets, fix and unfix.\n\n5. Have company fill magazines.\n\n\nINSPECTION OF SECTION\n\nThe company commander precedes the company into the trenches and makes\na tour and inspection of the section assigned, which includes:\n\n1. Layout of the trenches: fire trench, supervision trench,\ncommunication trenches, machine-gun positions, snipers' positions,\nlistening and observation trenches, dugouts, latrines, etc.\n\n2. Locate telephones, reserve ammunition and munitions depots, water\nsupply, gas alarms, tools and any trench accessories and utilities that\nmay be included in the section.\n\n3. Get any information of the enemy that may be of value from the\noutgoing company commander.\n\n\nTACTICAL DISPOSITION\n\nThe company commander will then make his tactical dispositions. In\noccupying the trenches a certain section of the line is assigned to\neach company. This section contains so many bays of the trench. The\nfollowing dispositions are suggested as meeting the requirements under\nour organization:\n\n1. The company is organized into four platoons of four squads each.\n\n2. The section of the line assigned to the company contains eight bays.\n\n3. Support No. 1 consists of the first and second platoons.\n\n4. Support No. 2 consists of the third and fourth platoons.\n\n5. From Support No. 1: Two squads of the first platoon occupy bays 1\nand 2; two squads of the second platoon occupy bays 3 and 4.\n\n[Illustration: PLATE 41_a_.\nTACTICAL DISPOSITIONS ONE COMPANY OF INFANTRY.]\n\n6. From Support No. 2: Two squads of the third platoon occupy bays 5\nand 6; two squads of the fourth platoon occupy bays 7 and 8.\n\n7. Each squad establishes a double sentinel post in the bay assigned to\nit and the remaining members go into the squad shelters just in rear\nof the bays. This gives three reliefs for a double sentinel post and\nallows one extra man to be utilized as \"runner,\" etc.\n\n8. The remainder of the company is established in the company dugouts.\n\n9. Depending upon the length of the tours of duty of the company in\nthe first line trenches, the squads are changed according to a system\nthat will have to be varied to suit the occasion, the squads in support\ntaking their place in the fire trench and those in the fire trench\nreturning to the support.\n\n\nGOING INTO THE TRENCHES\n\nPlatoons enter by not more than two squads at one time, thus minimizing\nthe danger from shell fire. The platoon commander will explain to his\nsquad leaders the extent of trench to be taken over and the action to\nbe taken in case they are caught under shell fire or rapid fire while\ngoing up to the trenches. A second in command in each squad will be\ndesignated, so that if casualties occur among the squad leaders the\nrelief will proceed as previously arranged.\n\nThe operation will proceed in silence. Rifles must be carried so that\nthey do not show over the parapet. On reaching the fire trench the men\nof the first relief are posted to relieve the old detail and each man\nfinds out any points that may be useful from his predecessor on that\npost.\n\n\nINFORMATION TO BE OBTAINED\n\nThe platoon commander confers with the commander of the outgoing party\nand secures all the information possible about the position which\nincludes:\n\n1. Behavior of enemy during period preceding relief, and any point in\ntheir line requiring special information, _e.g._, enemy may have cut\nwire as though preparing to attack.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 42.]\n\n2. Machine-gun emplacement may be suspected at some particular point.\n\n3. Anything ascertained by patrols about ground between firing lines,\nthus avoiding unnnecessary reconnaissance.\n\n4. Any standing arrangements for patrols at night, including point at\nwhich wire can best be passed, ground to be patrolled, or place where\nthey can lie under cover.\n\n5. Any parts of trench from which it is not safe to fire. Such\npositions are apt to occur in winding trenches, and are not always\nrecognizable in the dark.\n\n6. Special features of trench, recent improvements, work not completed,\ndangerous points (on which machine guns are trained at night), useful\nloopholes for observation.\n\n7. Places from which food and water can be safely obtained.\n\n8. Amount of ammunition, number of picks, shovels and empty sandbags in\nthat section of the line.\n\nInformation on these points cannot always be given properly by word of\nmouth. _Written_ notes and plans should therefore be handed over to a\nplatoon commander taking over for the first time.\n\nEvery man is required to see that he has a good firing position for all\ndirections. Commanders must satisfy themselves that men have done this,\nand report. _The whole line \"Stands to Arms\" during the hour before\ndawn._\n\nAfter dark, unless the moon is bright, rifles should be left in firing\nposition on the parapet. All men not on sentry should keep rifles, with\nbayonets fixed, in the trench.\n\n\nROUTINE\n\n1. Double sentinel posts are established in each bay. They are on post\none hour at a time.\n\n2. When the enemy's trench-mortar detachments are active, special\nsentinels will be posted to give notice of coming bombs.\n\n3. Every man in the platoon is to know:\n\n(_a_) The location of the platoon reserve ammunition and munitions.\n\n(_b_) The location of latrines.\n\n(_c_) The topography of the trenches in the platoon section and the\nadjoining sections, including the approaches. The location of the\naccessory defenses, listening and observation posts, machine-gun\npositions, snipers' positions, trench-mortar positions, etc.\n\n(_d_) The tactical disposition in the sector and the general\ndisposition of the company.\n\n(_e_) The location of loopholes.\n\n(_f_) The places of especial danger in order that he may stay away from\nthem.\n\n4. Rifles are inspected twice daily. Every precaution is taken to keep\nthe rifle and ammunition free from mud.\n\n5. There is a gas helmet parade daily.\n\n6. Accurate sketches are made of the trench and any addition or\nalteration entered on them.\n\n7. Loopholes are inspected at dusk.\n\n8. Wire entanglements are inspected and repaired under cover of\ndarkness.\n\n9. A log of events hour by hour should be kept which shows every\nitem of enemy activity and the measures taken during the tour in the\ntrenches. This will be a valuable reference when turning the trench\nover and will make a record of the habits of the enemy that may be most\nvaluable as a guide for making plans to circumvent him.\n\n10. The police and sanitation of the trenches will be carefully looked\nafter.\n\n11. Platoon commanders may divide the tour of supervision of the\nplatoon sector with the squad leaders.\n\n12. The whole company stands to arms during the hour before dawn.\n\n\nOBSERVATION\n\n[Illustration: Plate 43.]\n\nObservation of the enemy's line should be continuous. The observation\nand firing system will be arranged so that all parts of the enemy's\nline will be under observation and fire at all times.\n\nPlate 42 shows the arrangement in general. The appliances for carrying\nit out are shown in Plates 43, 44 and 45.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 44.--Observation loophole and rifle firing rack.]\n\nThe observation is conducted through a small loophole made by a stick\nthrough the parapet or an iron tube run through and directed toward\nthe point to be observed. To conceal the exit a few tufts of earth and\ngrass are placed there in an irregular manner. Steel loopholes may also\nbe employed for observation and firing purposes. They may be arranged\na yard or two apart, so that one man observing through one can direct\nhis mate using the rifle at the other so that he may bring fire to bear\nupon any member of the enemy's force that exposes himself at the point\nunder observation.\n\nThe loopholes, both observation and firing, are arranged slantwise in\nthe parapet so that the observer does not look straight to his front\nnor does the firer fire in that direction.\n\nAn aiming rack constructed so as to resist the recoil of the rifle and\nnot derange its aim on firing may be arranged near the observation\nloophole. When the enemy exposes himself all that is necessary is a\npress on the trigger and the bullet goes straight to its mark. Such an\naiming rack may be easily constructed, as shown in Plate 44.\n\nObservation of the enemy trenches may also be effected by use of the\nperiscope or, in the absence of one of these, by a looking glass in a\nslanted position fastened to a stick planted at the rear wall of the\ntrench and protruding over the parapet, to reflect his trenches. (See\nPlate 45.)\n\n\nFIELD GLASSES\n\nThe enemy's trench usually appears completely deserted, but on\nobserving it through field glasses you are astonished by the details\nrevealed. You will see, from time to time, the eye of the enemy\nobserver who shows himself at the loophole, or any other activity\nthat it is capable of being observed from the outside. The observer\nwatching through the field glasses will soon become so familiar with\nthe appearance of the opposing trenches that he will be able to detect\nimmediately any alteration in the obstacles, or changes that may be\nmade, such as the establishment of new listening or observation posts,\nnew sap heads, machine-gun emplacements, etc.\n\nObservers are charged especially with detecting the location of\nmachine-gun emplacements. The examination should be so complete and\ndetailed as to prevent their existence without their location being\naccurately known.\n\nAny observations of enemy activities, of any nature whatever, are\nreported immediately so that they may be passed on to the commander\nwhose unit is manning the trenches directly opposite the same.\n\nLoopholes should be screened at the rear by a sandbag split and hung\nover them. They should be carefully concealed to prevent their location\nbeing discovered by the enemy. There must be no alteration in the\nparapet where they are located.\n\n[Illustration: Plate 45.--Looking-glass periscope.]\n\n[Illustration:\nPlate 45a.--Trench showing wire overhead cover and wire trapdoor\nobsctacle. Machacoulis gallery in background.]\n\n\nSNIPERS\n\nThe enemy's sojourn in the trenches should be made as disagreeable\nto him as possible. He must be kept continually on the alert. Our\noperations must be made a constant menace to him. It is in this way\nthat casualties are effected and he is gradually worn out. One of\nthe best methods of accomplishing all of the above is the employment\nof snipers, who are specially selected and trained in this branch of\ntrench warfare.\n\nThe snipers are on duty all day, but they have their nights in bed.\nThey conduct their operations in pairs and are given a definite post\nto occupy and in exceptional cases may be given a roving commission.\nThe advantage of having the same men regularly on the same post is that\nthey learn thoroughly the appearance of every square foot of the ground\nincluded in their area of observation and are able immediately to note\nany change that may take place. They soon learn where to look for the\nenemy and in fact learn the habits, etc., of the enemy occupying their\nsphere of observation.\n\nThe sniper must be an expert in:\n\n1. The construction of loopholes by day and by night.\n\n2. The use of telescopic sights, field glasses, periscopes and all\noptical contrivances designed for observation purposes.\n\n3. The selection of good positions for sniping.\n\n4. Judging distances and estimating or measuring ranges.\n\n5. Rifle firing. He should be an expert rifleman in order that full\nadvantage may be taken of the opportunities to inflict losses on the\nenemy.\n\n6. In trench warfare each pair of snipers will be required to report\neach evening to the company commander the result of their day's\noperations.\n\n\nWHAT TO FIRE AT\n\nWhen the enemy makes his attack you will generally fire at those who\nappear in the sector that has been allotted to you to cover. You may,\nhowever, abandon your target on your own initiative under the following\ncircumstances and fire:\n\n1. On officers and non-commissioned officers. These can be recognized\nby their gestures. They are generally in the center of groups and get\nup and start first. They should be disabled, as this is the surest way\nof breaking up the attack.\n\n2. At a group on the move. Fire should be concentrated on an advancing\ngroup. The time when the group is preparing to start its rush may be\nindicated by rifles being raised and the movements that take place\nalong the line. After a rush has started, look out for the late comers\ntrying to rejoin their comrades. They make good targets.\n\n3. When the enemy attempts to build up his line to the front by a\nprocess of infiltration, that is, by having single men crawl from one\npoint to the other, each man should be fired on during his advance.\n\n4. Fire will be immediately concentrated on any machine gun that comes\ninto action. With the German gun prolonged firing heats the water in\nthe jacket to the boiling point and puffs of steam are given off. Do\nnot be deceived into thinking that this necessarily gives away the\nposition of the gun, for this steam has been piped to a distant place\nand allowed to escape so as to draw fire that otherwise might be\ndirected on the real position of the gun.\n\n5. On signallers or runners. These are carrying information that will\nprobably be of benefit to the enemy's commander. You will appreciate\nthe necessity of preventing this.\n\n6. On an enemy showing a flank. No opportunity must be lost to fire\nupon an enemy that exposes his flank. The fire of a single rifleman\ndown the flank may cause a whole line to retreat.\n\n\nUSE OF RIFLE GRENADES\n\nRifle grenades are capable of causing more losses to the enemy than\nbombardment. The rifle grenade arrives at its destination unexpectedly\nwithout any noise; it explodes before one has even time to get out of\nthe way. As it does not arrive at fixed hours like the bombardment, the\nenemy cannot continually avoid it by taking refuge in his dugouts and\nshelters; when he is moving about a trench which is subject to rifle\ngrenading he must be continually on the alert. This perpetual menace,\nhour in and hour out, day in and day out, renders his sojourn in the\ntrenches extremely disagreeable.\n\nBefore rifle grenades are thrown careful observation of the opposing\ntrench must have been made to determine the point where the grenade is\nlikely to do the greatest damage.\n\nRifles are placed in the aiming racks and the grenades fired from time\nto time, day and night, at moments when it seems propitious. In this\nway a sentinel may be taken by surprise; a non-commissioned officer or\nofficer may be caught unawares.\n\nIt should be remembered that we will probably be able to throw twenty\ngrenades to the enemy's one. Advantage should always be taken of this\nmunitions superiority. Every man of the enemy we can put out of action\nis one less to kill us in the advance which will eventually come.\nSometimes the enemy will try to reply. Here is where our munitions\nsuperiority comes in again. We can fairly shower him with grenades and\nmake him take to his shelters.\n\nIt may be advisable to execute a sudden burst of grenade fire. This is\nstarted by a volley and followed by fire at will.\n\nWhen the artillery has destroyed parts of the enemy's trenches or makes\nbreaches in his obstacles by day he will endeavor to repair them at\nnight. He may be considerably annoyed and losses inflicted upon him\nby a well-directed shower of rifle grenades arriving at points where\nhis working parties are located. To make this effective the rifle racks\nshould be placed in position and secured during the day after trial\nshots have demonstrated conclusively the direction and angle for them.\n\n\nSHELLING\n\nYou will be impressed by the shells, especially the big ones. The din\nand blast of the explosions are, to say the least, terrifying. But\nyou will soon come to know that the shell often makes more noise than\nit does harm and that, after a terrific bombardment, by no means is\neverybody destroyed.\n\n\nHOW TO PROTECT YOURSELF FROM SHELLS\n\nThe big shell, which is so appalling, is only really dangerous if it\nfalls on the place where a man is standing, because the splinters rise\nin the air. Fall down flat when the shell bursts. Even if you are quite\nclose, there is comparatively little risk. Get up immediately after\nthe explosion, especially if you are 200 to 300 yards away from the\nplace where it burst. The splinters do not fall for some time after the\nexplosion.\n\nThe steel helmets and the infantry pack will furnish considerable\nprotection from shrapnel fragments and balls.\n\n\nDURING THE COMBAT\n\nThe safest place to avoid the enemy's shell fire when the attack\nhas been launched is close up to the enemy's position, where the\nartillery fire has to cease for fear of placing shells indiscriminately\nin his own troops and ours. Some men, completely distracted, lie\ndown with their face to the ground. They will be crushed where they\nlie. Artillery fire, when it is violent, tends to throw the ranks\ninto confusion and disorder. You have only ears for the roar of the\napproaching shell. You slow down and attempt to seek cover where there\nis no cover. The unit breaks up, and runs wild or stops altogether.\n_Disorder and confusion means massacre._\n\nMarch strictly in place. To the front is your safest haven of refuge.\nGet hold of the frightened ones and keep them in place. You will need\nthem to help you when you reach the goal.\n\n\nIN THE TRENCHES\n\nDugouts with strong overhead cover are provided for your protection\nwhen not actually required to man the trench. In some places it may be\npossible to dig shelter caves and shore up the roofs.\n\n\nSCOUTING AND PATROLLING\n\n To the Reader: You will find a wealth of information on the methods\n to be employed by scouts and patrols in a little book similar to\n this one in size, entitled \"Scouting and Patrolling,\" by the author\n of this volume. Published and for sale by the United States Infantry\n Association, Washington, D.C. Price 50 cents, by mail, postpaid. _Get\n your copy now and prepare yourself for these important duties._\n\nScouting and patrolling to the front is of greatest importance. It is\nkept up both day and night. The units occupying the first line send out\npatrols whenever necessary. They are frequently able to obtain valuable\ninformation and at the same time serve to counteract the enemy's\nefforts in this direction.\n\nThe patrols generally consist of a junior officer or non-commissioned\nofficer and from four to six selected men. Their operations are\nconducted in accordance with the situation and the mission they are\nsent on.\n\nHand grenades are frequently carried for both offensive and defensive\noperations. Grenade patrols always carry them. The operations of\npatrols may include:\n\n1. Reconnaissance of sectors of the enemy's position with a view to\ndetermining his dispositions and arrangement of obstacles.\n\n2. Making sketches of positions.\n\n3. Capturing prisoners.\n\n4. Opposing enemy patrols.\n\n5. Harrassing the enemy.\n\nWhen the patrol goes out every man in the sector of the firing line\nmust be informed of such fact and the possibility of its returning\nthrough his post. It is not sufficient to simply notify the men on post\nat the time the patrol goes out, as a man cannot always be trusted\nto pass the information on to his relief. Word should be quietly\ntaken along the line by the non-commissioned officer in charge of the\nrelief in person. When the patrol is out, special instructions have\nto be given with respect to firing. To cease firing altogether is very\nundesirable. It arouses the enemy's suspicions. A few trustworthy\nriflemen are directed to fire high at intervals. No lights are sent up\nwhile the patrol is out.\n\nIf the patrol is to remain stationary, similar to the outguard of an\noutpost, communication may be maintained by means of a string, spelling\nout the messages by Morse code, two jerks meaning a dash and one jerk\nmeaning a dot.\n\nWhere night patrols have to remain out under trying conditions special\ndugouts should be reserved where they can rest upon their return.\n\n\nCARE OF ARMS\n\nThe infantryman's rifle is his best friend. The personal care that\nhe gives to it is indicative of his soldierness and discipline. Your\nrifle must be kept in prime condition, otherwise it may fail you at a\ncritical moment. A canvas breech cover that will protect the bolt and\nmagazine mechanism will be found a great advantage when the rifle is\nnot in use. Care must be taken to exclude mud and dirt from the bolt\nmechanism. Do not put mud-covered cartridges into the magazine. Wipe\nthem off first. Arrange a proper receptacle near your post for the\nstorage of your reserve ammunition. Be careful that you do not clog\nthe muzzle of the rifle with mud and dirt. If fired in this condition\nit will ruin the rifle. Be careful not to clog up the sight cover with\nmud. Oil the rifle frequently with good sperm oil. Half of the oilers\nin the squad should be filled with oil and the other half with Hoppe's\nNo. 9 Powder Solvent.\n\nRifles must be carefully inspected daily by platoon commanders and the\nmen required to work on them during the periods off post.\n\n\nCARE OF TRENCHES\n\nRepairs will have to be made daily. The widening of trenches in the\nmaking of repairs should be strictly forbidden. Under no circumstances\nmust they be altered in any manner except on the order of the company\ncommander.\n\nPlatoon commanders will go over every part of the trench several times\ndaily with the squad leaders of the various sections and decide upon\nthe repairs and improvements to be made. A complete and thorough\npolice will be made prior to being relieved. All refuse will be\nremoved. Fired cartridges will be disposed of, as they might get\nimbedded in the trench floor and hinder subsequent digging.\n\nEach squad leader will be held strictly responsible for the state of\npolice of the section of trench occupied by his squad.\n\n\nLATRINES\n\nLatrines are located at convenient points in the trenches. For the\nmen on duty in the first line they are generally dug to the flank of\na connecting trench and connected therewith by a passageway. Their\nlocation is plainly marked.\n\nThe rules of sanitation are even more strictly observed in trenches\nthan they are in soldier camps. The trenches and passageways must not\nunder any circumstances be defiled. Latrines should be kept clean and\nsanitary. They will be carefully protected from flies. The free use of\nchloride of lime daily is an absolute necessity.\n\n\nMAPS\n\nA complete detailed plan of our own trenches and as much as is known\nof those of the enemy opposite should be made, and be available for\nstudy and to refer to in making reports. Every bay of the trench should\nbe numbered, every traverse lettered. All junction points of fire and\ncommunicating trenches, all dugouts, all posts, mortar positions,\nmachine-guns positions, observation posts, and any points that it may\nbe necessary to refer to in reports should be designated by numbers.\n\n\nFROST BITE; CHILLED FEET\n\nThe causes are:\n\n1. Prolonged standing in cold water or liquid mud.\n\n2. Tight boots and leggings, that interfere with the blood circulation.\n\n\nPREVENTION\n\n1. Before going into the trenches wash the feet and legs and dry them\nthoroughly. The British Army has an issue of an anti-freeze mixture\nwhich will probably be issued to our troops also. The feet and legs\nshould be rubbed with it. Put on perfectly dry socks. An extra pair of\ndry socks should be carried.\n\n2. During the period of service in the trenches the feet should be\ntreated in this manner from time to time.\n\n3. When the feet are cold, hot water will not be used for washing nor\nwill they be held close to a fire.\n\n4. Rubber boots must be worn only in the trenches. On no account must\nthey be worn while on reserve.\n\n\nTRENCH SOLDIERS' CREED\n\nTo be of the greatest effectiveness in the trench every soldier,\npersonally and collectively, must be able to adopt the following creed\nand live up to it:\n\n1. We are here for two purposes, to do as much damage as possible to\nthe enemy and to hold our section of the line against all attacks. We\nare doing everything in our power to accomplish these missions. We\nrealize that every man of the enemy confronting us that is not placed\n_hors de combat_ will be there ready to shoot us down when the assault\ntakes place. We realize also that if the enemy makes a lodgment on\nour section of the line that it endangers others and a costly counter\nattack may be necessary. We _will_ hold on.\n\n2. With the means at hand and those we are able to devise we will make\nthe enemy's stay in his trenches as uncomfortable and disagreeable as\npossible. All of our utilities are being utilized to the fullest extent\nand our various detachments are organized and their tactical operations\nare conducted with this object in view.\n\n3. We have done everything possible to strengthen our line.\n\n4. If, despite all the precautions we can take and the hardest fight\nwe are able to make, the enemy succeeds in effecting a lodgment on our\nsection of the line, we will meet him with the bayonet and fight to the\nlast drop of our blood.\n\n5. We are all familiar with the tactical dispositions in our section\nof the line. Those of us on the flanks connect up with the platoons\nto our right and left. We know the route to company and battalion\nheadquarters and know where the nearest support is located. We know\nthe position of our machine guns and the sector they cover. We are in\nconstant communication with the observing posts that cover our front,\nand our observing posts covering the other platoons are in constant\ncommunication with them.\n\n6. We know the firing position assigned to us and are familiar with the\nuse to be made of the accessories furnished us. We can fire over the\nparapet at the foot of our wire entanglements to repel night attack.\n\n7. We will at all times be careful about needlessly exposing ourselves.\nWe appreciate the fact that it is absolutely stupid to get killed or\nwounded in the trench through negligence. By so doing one has served no\npurpose and a soldier cannot be replaced. Our leaders have warned us of\nthe especially dangerous places. We know where they are and avoid them\nexcept when our presence there is necessary as a matter of duty.\n\n8. The sections of the enemy's line that we are to cover with our fire\nhave all been pointed out and each of us is familiar with same. We have\nlocated the enemy's loopholes and are doing our best to keep them under\nfire.\n\n9. We know our way and move noiselessly about the trenches. When we\nenter and leave it is with absolute silence.\n\n10. We are doing our utmost to collect information about the enemy,\nhis defenses, his activity, his movements, and especially his night\noperations. All of this information we transmit immediately to the\nplatoon leader.\n\n11. We know the best way to get over our parapet to reach the enemy.\n\n12. Our appliances for protection from gas attacks are complete and\nready for instant use. We have our helmets on our persons ready to\nput on. We are familiar with their use and have confidence in their\neffectiveness. We will wait for the signal to don our gas helmets\n(signal is usually made by beating a gong, and care must be taken\nto follow exactly the directions for putting on the gas helmets;\ncarelessness may mean your disablement).\n\n13. Our trenches are drained and every precaution is being taken to\nkeep the drains and sump holes in condition to perform their functions.\n\n14. We have rendered the parapets and shelters throughout our sector\nbullet-proof, and effective measures are being taken to prevent them\nfrom caving in.\n\n15. We are keeping our trenches sanitary and clean; our reserve\nmunitions are carefully stored in their proper places ready for\ninstant use. Refuse is always placed in receptacles when it can be\ncarried away. We do not under any circumstances litter up our trench\nfloor. Our empty shells are collected and sent to the rear.\n\n16. Our rifles are our best friends. We keep them clean, well oiled,\nand in readiness for instant use. Our bayonets we have with us at all\ntimes ready to be placed on the rifle. We protect our rifle ammunition\nfrom the mud, as we realize that muddy cartridges will clog the breech\nmechanism and cause mal-function.\n\n17. We are taking every precaution to prevent \"trench feet;\" when\npracticable we take off our shoes and rub our feet for 15 minutes each\nday. We do not wear tight shoes and leggings that tend to interfere\nwith blood circulation. We each have a pair of dry socks to put on. We\ndo not wear rubber boots except when it is absolutely necessary.\n\n18. We observe the orders regarding the wearing of equipment.\n\n19. We do not drink any water except that from authorized sources. We\nreplenish our canteens whenever practicable.\n\nIn addition to the above the platoon commander must be able to adopt\nthe following and live up to them:\n\n1. My sentries are posted in the proper places. They are posted by\nnon-commissioned officers. They have the proper orders. No man is\never on duty more than one hour at a time. I visit them at frequent\nintervals.\n\n2. I have a runner ready to carry a message to company headquarters. I\nrealize that any information of the enemy that I may secure may be of\ngreat importance at regimental and other headquarters. I will therefore\nsend it back with the utmost dispatch.\n\n3. I am familiar with the methods of communicating with the artillery,\nof giving them information and of asking them for support.\n\n4. My patrols operating to the front at night have been properly\ninstructed and are doing their duty effectively. All sentries in the\ntrench have been notified when they are out and cautioned to look out\nfor their return.\n\n5. I have given complete and detailed instruction covering what to do\nin case of gas attacks and the sending out of the S.O.S. signal. I\nhave gas and attack messages already prepared and ready to send after\ninserting the time and place in them.\n\n6. I know the name of every man in my platoon and they all know me.\n\n7. I am here to inflict as much damage as possible on the enemy and to\nhold my part of the line. _I will do it!_\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE ATTACK IN TRENCH WARFARE\n\n\nOBJECTIVES\n\nThe objectives which must be dealt with in the attack of an intrenched\nposition such as will be found on the western front are:\n\n1. The trenches of the first line.\n\n2. The supporting points.\n\n3. The trenches of the second line.\n\nBy a study of the text preceding this you must realize that in the\ndefense of these objectives there will be employed artillery, rifles,\ngrenades and machine guns.\n\n\nARTILLERY PREPARATION\n\nThe first phase of the attack is the artillery preparation. In order\nthat the infantry may make the attack with a minimum of losses, the\nartillery must have destroyed the wire entanglements and obstacles\nthat obstruct the advance, or at least have sufficiently breached\nthem to permit their being negotiated. The destruction of these\nobstacles is never complete. It would require too great an expenditure\nof ammunition. The infantry occupying the hostile trenches must be\nsimply overwhelmed with artillery fire so that they will be unable to\nman the parapets when the assault is launched. During the artillery\npreparation the hostile infantry does not occupy their firing positions\nin the trenches but remain in their dugouts, which are fully protected\nfrom all but the heaviest shells. Only a few observers are left in the\ntrenches.\n\nWhen the bombardment against this particular part of the line ceases\nthe infantry leave their dugouts and man the firing positions. To\nprevent this is one of the most important as well as most difficult\ntasks of the artillery. This may be effected by a well-directed fire\non the exits to the dugouts with a view to caving them in and thus\npreventing the egress of the occupants. The enemy may sometimes be\ninduced to leave his shelter prematurely by the following ruse:\n\n1. Cease the artillery fire.\n\n2. Open a heavy rifle fire; this causes the enemy to believe that the\nassault has begun and he will man his parapets in strength.\n\n3. After waiting for several minutes open the artillery again with even\nincreased vigor.\n\nThe hostile infantry may be forced out of his dugouts by the use of\nshells and grenades containing suffocating gases which penetrate the\nshelters and make them untenable.\n\nThe artillery is also charged with putting the enemy's artillery out of\naction to prevent them from firing upon the attacking infantry.\n\nIf the enemy artillery is left free, it will shell our trenches and\napproaches, causing casualties and confusion and thus interfering with\nthe formation for the attack. The location of hostile batteries is\neffected by aerial reconnaissance.\n\nAnother task of the artillery is to prevent the hostile reserves from\ncoming up to reinforce their firing lines. These reserves will be\nlocated back in the second line until their presence is required at\nthe front. As long as the artillery preparation continues they remain\nin the shelters, but as soon as it ceases they man the trenches.\nThe artillery must therefore extend its fire to the second line and\ncontinue it while the first line is being rushed. Back of the second\nposition the enemy holds strong reserves. The entrance of these into\naction must be prevented. This is accomplished by extending the\ncurtain of fire still further to the rear. The supporting points must\nreceive a lion's share of attention for, bristling with machine guns\nand trench mortars, they are the really dangerous elements to the\ninfantry attack after it passes the first line trenches.\n\nThe weapon which inflicts the greatest losses on the assaulting\ninfantry is the machine gun, which appears suddenly out of the ground\nand lays low whole units. By a careful reconnaissance these machine-gun\npositions are ferreted out and every possible means are taken to effect\ntheir destruction.\n\nThe effectiveness of the artillery preparation depends simply upon\nsuperiority of guns and munitions. In this respect we now possess a\ngreat advantage, for the state of our munition supply is such that our\nartillery may fire several shells to one of the enemy. This is what\nestablished the superiority.\n\n\nORGANIZATION OF INFANTRY ATTACK\n\nThe organization of the attacking infantry corresponds in a general\nway to the organization of the position being attacked. A first line\nof assault is organized. Its mission is the capture of the enemy's\nfirst line trenches. A second line follows, having for its mission\nthe assault and capture of the second line trenches. A separate\norganization of these two lines is necessary for the reason that the\nfirst attacking line is generally so disorganized in the fighting that\nit no longer possesses the cohesion necessary to carry it through to\nthe second line. It has been found necessary to launch a comparatively\nfresh and intact force against it.\n\nAs the first position is organized into several separate lines of\ndefense, so also is the first attacking line organized and launched in\ntwo or more waves, those in rear being in the nature of reinforcements\nto those in front.\n\n\nOBJECTIVES\n\nEach unit of the attacking line is assigned a distinct objective.\nCertain units are given the mission of attacking the supporting points\nto prevent their enfilading the units advancing through the intervals\nbetween them.\n\nThe main efforts are made along the lines between the supporting\npoints, as to assault the latter would entail a casualty list not\ncommensurate with the results. The effort against them is made with a\nview to neutralizing their effect. If the attack is successful in the\nintervals, the supporting points will fall as a result.\n\nThe waves of the first line are directed against the first position,\nthe second against the second position. The reserves held under the\norders of the division commander are employed where the development of\nthe situation dictates.\n\nFurther to the rear, and under orders of the supreme commander, large\nbodies of reinforcements are held ready to be moved rapidly to points\nwhere progress has been made to such an extent that maneuver operations\nare practicable.\n\n\nPREPARATION FOR THE ASSAULT\n\nPreparatory to the assault, numerous saps (trenches) are run out to the\nfront from the main firing trenches. The night before the attack, a\nparallel is broken out connecting the sap heads. This parallel is amply\nsupplied with short ladders and is occupied by the companies composing\nthe first wave of the attack. The saps and the main trenches are also\nfilled with men assigned to the following waves, who will move into\nthe parallel as soon as the first wave leaves it. As the artillery\npreparation ceases, the first waves rush up the ladders in succession\nand move out to the assault.\n\n\nTHE FIRST WAVE\n\nAs the artillery preparation against the first line is completed\nand the curtain of fire shifted far into the enemy's position, the\ninfantry of the first wave emerges from the parallel and moves out.\nThe formation and gait depend upon the distance to the hostile trench.\nIf the artillery preparation has been effective and the distance is\nnot more than 100 yards, it is expected that the wave will be able to\nreach the fire trench without firing, except possibly when the wire\nis reached. If the distance is much greater than 100 yards, it is\nnecessary to cover the advance with rifle fire. This is accomplished by\na line of skirmishers deployed at extended intervals, which precedes\nthe wave at about 50 yards. The wave starts out at a walk, carefully\naligned. It afterwards takes up the double time and advances by rushes\nuntil the wire entanglements are reached.\n\nFrom this moment the period of the charge and individual combat begins.\nThe men can no longer be kept from firing. Each tries to protect\nhimself with his rifle. Each man locates his opening in the wire\nthrough which he is to go and makes for it. The line reforms on the\nother side. With rifles at the high charge (a position to our old head\nparry, but slanting slightly upward from right to left) the line rushes\nupon the enemy. Each man runs straight towards the part of the trench\nin front of him and jumps upon the parapet. By rifle shots and bayonet\nthrusts he destroys everything in his way. Men selected in advance take\ncharge of the prisoners. The line is reformed, lying down just beyond\nthe fire trench, and fire is opened against the second line. Men are\npositively forbidden to enter the communication trenches. They are most\ninviting for cover, but a man rarely gets out of them.\n\nThe grenadier squad proceed to their work of clearing the fire and\ncommunication trenches.\n\n\nTHE SECOND WAVE\n\nThe second wave of the first line starts forward at the moment the\nfirst wave reaches the hostile trenches. If it starts sooner, it will\nunite with the first at the entanglement and become involved in the\nfight for the fire trench. It will be broken up prematurely and will be\nunable to take advantage of the developments of the fight of the first\nwave. The reinforcement by the second wave and the disorganization\nproduced by the assault lead to a mixture of units in the trenches\nof the first position. Before starting out to the assault of the\nnext trench it is necessary that order be restored. When this is\naccomplished the attack is launched against the second line. In front\nof the supporting points the combat rages. The men are barely able to\nhold on the outer edges. In the interval the advance has reached high\ntide and has expanded like a wave and stopped. This is the limit that\ncan be expected of the first line.\n\nHasty cover is prepared and advantage taken of such cover as may exist.\nAll elements of the attack open fire on the second position.\n\n\nTHE SECOND LINE\n\nUnder the cover of these operations the second line has come up in a\nseries of three lines, where it is built up compact at the position\nof the stopped first line. From this point its attack against the\nenemy's second line is launched. The lines are worked up to a point\nfrom which the assault is to be made, and when the time comes the first\nwave dashes out to the attack, followed by the second wave in the same\nmanner as the assault against the first position was made.\n\nThe action of the two lines of attack may be expected to overwhelm\nthe greater part of the two main hostile positions. At certain\npoints, however, the resistance will hold out, and, if not overcome,\nwill constitute points of support to which the enemy may bring up\nreinforcements and even turn the tide of battle by a counter attack.\n\nTo deal with these points that hold out, as well as with hostile\nreinforcements which may arrive, the reserve is launched into action,\nwhich brings the attack into the open ground beyond the second line\nof defense, and maneuver operations are begun. The mobile units are\nrapidly thrown into action, and large forces from the general reserve\nare hurried to the point where the lines of defense are broken through.\n\nFrom what has gone before we may deduce that the following conditions\nmust prevail to attain success in an attack on a prepared position:\n\n1. The attack must be planned down to the most minute detail.\n\n2. There must be a greatly superior force of artillery concentrated at\nthe point of attack, and the artillery preparation must be thorough.\n\n3. The infantry must be sufficient in number, training and morale to\nperform the tasks that will be demanded of them.\n\n4. The arrangements for the supply of ammunition to the firing line\nmust be planned and carried out in all its details.\n\n5. Plans for meeting counter attacks must be thorough and complete. The\ncapture of a position is often less difficult than its retention.\n\n6. Finally, every officer and man must know exactly what he is to do.\n\n\nBayonet Training\n\nWaldron\n\nThe system of Bayonet Training stated herein is taken from the\nprovisional Manual of Bayonet Training of the British Army. In the\nvernacular of the day, it is the \"real dope.\"\n\nEvery battalion should have a bayonet assault practice course\nconstructed along the lines indicated and the work of training should\nbe systematically conducted. The non-commissioned officers should be\ntaken out on a \"Tactical Walk\" on the course and all the features of\nthe exercises explained. This is followed by their practical training\nover the course and this in turn is followed by the instruction of the\nprivates of the organization.\n\n\nFEATURES OF THE BAYONET\n\nTo attack with the bayonet effectively requires good direction,\nstrength and quickness, during a state of wild excitement and probable\nphysical exhaustion. The limit of the range of a bayonet is about 5\nfeet (measured from the opponent's eyes) but more often the killing\nis at close quarters, at a range of 2 feet or less, when troops are\nstruggling hand to hand in trenches or darkness.\n\nThe bayonet is essentially an offensive weapon--go straight at an\nopponent with the point threatening his throat and deliver the point\nwherever an opening presents itself. If no opening is obvious, one\nmust be created by beating off the opponents weapon or making a \"feint\npoint\" in order to make him uncover himself.\n\nHand to hand fighting with the bayonet is individual, which means that\na man must think and act for himself and rely on his own resources\nand skill; but, as in all games, he must play for his side and not\nonly for himself. In a bayonet assault all ranks go forward to kill\nor be killed, and only those who have developed skill and strength by\nconstant training will be able to kill.\n\nThe spirit of the bayonet must be inculcated into all ranks so that\nthey go forward with that aggressive determination and confidence of\nsuperiority born of continual practice, without which a bayonet assault\nwill not be effective.\n\nThe technical points of bayonet fighting are extremely few and simple.\nThe essence of bayonet training is continuity of practice.\n\n\nMETHOD OF CARRYING OUT BAYONET TRAINING AND HINTS TO INSTRUCTORS\n\nAn important point to be kept in mind in Bayonet Training is the\ndevelopment of the individual by teaching him to think and act for\nhimself. The simplest means of attaining this end is to make men\nuse their brains and eyes to the fullest extent by carrying out the\npractices so far as possible, without words of command, i.e., to point\nat a shifting target as soon as it is stationary, to parry sticks,\netc. The class should, whenever possible, work in pairs and act on the\nprinciple of \"master and teacher.\" This procedure in itself, develops\nindividuality and confidence. Sharp jerky words of command which tend\nto make men act mechanically, should be omitted. Rapidity of movement\nand alertness are taught by competition in fixing and unfixing the\nbayonet and by other such quickening movements.\n\nAs the technique of bayonet fighting is so simple, long detail is quite\nunnecessary and makes the work monotonous. All instructions should be\ncarried out on common-sense lines. It should seldom be necessary to\ngive the details of a \"point\" or \"parry\" more than two or three times,\nafter which the class should acquire the correct positions by practice.\nFor this reason a lesson or daily practice should rarely last more\nthan half an hour. Remember that nothing kills interest so easily as\nmonotony.\n\nThe spirit of the bayonet is to be inculcated by describing the special\nfeatures of bayonet and hand to hand fighting. The men must learn to\npractice bayonet fighting in the spirit and with the enthusiasm that\nanimates them when training for their games, and to look upon their\ninstructor as a trainer and helper. Interest in the work is to be\ncreated by explaining the reasons for the various positions, the method\nof handling the rifle and bayonet and the uses of the points. Questions\nshould be put to the men to find out if they understand these reasons.\nWhen men realize the object of their work they naturally take a greater\ninterest in it.\n\nProgression in bayonet training is regulated by obtaining first correct\nposition and good direction, then quickness. Strength is the outcome of\ncontinual practice.\n\nIn order to encourage dash and gradually strengthen the leg muscles\nfrom the commencement of the training, classes should be frequently\npracticed in charging short distances over the bayonet practice courses.\n\nAll company officers and non-commissioned officers should be taught\nhow to instruct in bayonet training in order that they may be able to\nteach their squads and platoons this very important part of a soldier's\ntraining, which must be regularly practiced during the whole of his\nservice at home, and during his periods of rest behind the firing-lines.\n\nThe greatest care should be taken that the object representing the\nopponent and its support should be incapable of injuring the bayonet or\nbutt. Only light sticks are to be used for parrying practice.\n\nThe chief causes of injury to the bayonet are insufficient instruction,\nin the bayonet training lessons, failure to withdraw the bayonet clear\nof the dummy, and placing the dummies on hard, unprepared ground.\n\n\nBAYONET LESSONS\n\n_Formation._--Intervals or distances are taken as prescribed in\nparagraphs 109 and 111 I.D.R. Bayonets are fixed, paragraph 95, I.D.R.\n\n_Technique of Instruction._--Before requiring the soldier to take a\nposition or execute a movement for the first time, the instructor\nshould show him the position or how to execute the movement, stating\nthe essential elements and explaining the purpose that they serve.\n\nIllustrate the position or movement a second time, requiring careful\nobservation so that the men will be taught to use their eyes and brains\nright from the beginning.\n\nNow, require the men to assume the position or execute the movement\nunder consideration. Accuracy and expertness will be developed by\npractice.\n\nFatigue and exhaustion should be carefully guarded against. They\nprevent proper interest being taken in the exercises and delay the\nprogress of the instruction.\n\nThe training consists of five lessons and the Final Assault practice.\n\n\n_Lesson No. 1_\n\nThe First lesson is divided into:\n\n1. The position of _Guard_, from which the various bayonet attacks are\nmade.\n\n2. The position of _High Port_, which is assumed when advancing.\n\n3. The _Long Point_, which is the normal method of bayonet attack.\n\n4. The _Withdrawal_, which follows the attack.\n\n\nTHE POSITION OF GUARD\n\nBeing at the Order Arms: Raise the piece with the right hand, throw it\nto the front. Grasp with both hands, the left at a convenient place\nabove the rear sight so that the left arm is only slightly bent; right\nhand at the small of the stock and held just in front of the navel. The\nrifle is held naturally and easily, without constraint, barrel inclined\nslightly to the left. At the same time the left foot is carried forward\nto a point in a natural position such as a man walking might adopt on\nmeeting with resistance. The left knee is slightly bent, right leg\nstraight and braced. The right foot is flat on the ground with the toe\ninclined to the right front.\n\n[Illustration: THE LONG POINT]\n\nThe common faults that will be noted in assuming the position are:\n\n1. The body will be leaned back from the hips, which causes\nunsteadiness and does not permit quick and aggressive action.\n\n2. The left arm is bent too much, which raises the point of the bayonet\ntoo high and produces a certain amount of constraint. The left hand\nshould grasp the piece at such a point that will avoid this defect. A\nlittle practice will show the exact place to hold the hand to obtain\nthe maximum effect.\n\n3. The right hand may be held too low and too far back, which has the\neffect of raising the point of the bayonet and giving a faulty position\nto the left arm and hand.\n\n4. The rifle may be grasped too tightly with the hands, which produces\nrigidity and restrains freedom of movement. The left hand merely guides\nthe bayonet in the attack, the right furnishes the power behind the\nthrust, hence great care should be taken to see that the left arm is\nnot deprived of its freedom of action by gripping the rifle too hard\nwith the left hand.\n\n\nTHE POSITION OF \"REST\"\n\nThe feet are retained at the position of Guard. The piece is lowered\nand held in the easiest and most comfortable position.\n\n\nTHE POSITION OF HIGH PORT\n\nBeing at the position of Guard. Without changing the position of the\nhands on the piece, carry the rifle so that the left wrist is level\nwith and directly in front of the left shoulder. The right hand is\nlevel with the belt.\n\nPractice will be had at the position of _High Port_ with the right hand\nquitting the piece, it being held approximately in position with the\nleft hand alone. This will be found advantageous when jumping ditches,\nclimbing out of trenches, surmounting obstacles, etc., leaving the\nright hand free.\n\n\nTHE POSITION OF LONG POINT\n\nBeing at the position of Guard. Thrust the point of the bayonet\nvigorously towards the point of the objective, to the full extent of\nthe left arm, the stock running along side of and kept close to the\nright inner fore arm. The body is inclined forward; left knee well\nbent; right leg braced, and weight of body pressed well forward with\nthe sole of the right foot, heel raised. The chief power in the Point\nis derived from the right arm with the weight of the body behind it,\nthe left arm and hand being employed to direct the point of the bayonet\nat the objective.\n\nThe eyes must be fixed on the objective. In making the point other\nthan straight to the front the left foot will be moved laterally in\nthe direction to which the point is made. After progress has been made\nin the execution of the simple point as indicated above, practice\nshould include stepping forward with the rear foot when the assault is\ndelivered.\n\nThe common faults in the execution of the Long Point will be noted as\nfollows:\n\n1. The rifle is drawn back slightly before delivering the point, which\nmakes for a momentary loss of time that may give an opponent the\nadvantage and should be assiduously guarded against.\n\n2. The stock of the piece is held too high, which makes the guiding\nof the point of the bayonet with the left hand more difficult, and\nreduces accuracy in delivering the point at the exact spot intended.\n\n[Illustration: POSITION OF GUARD]\n\n3. The eyes are not directed on the point of the attack. This is an\nerror. One that may cause a man to miss his mark. The soldier must\nrealize what this means in hand to hand fighting. The opponent will get\nhim.\n\n4. The left knee is not sufficiently bent, which does not allow the\npoint to be made with the force intended.\n\n5. The body is not thrust sufficiently forward, which reduces just that\nmuch the force of the attack.\n\n6. The point is started at too great a distance from the objective to\nmake a hit. Practice must be conducted in making the point until the\nsoldier knows the exact distance at which he will have to start to\nproduce the maximum effect. This distance is between four and five feet.\n\nDuring the later stages of the instruction the men should also be\ntaught to step forward with the rear foot when delivering the point.\n\n\nTHE WITHDRAWAL AFTER A LONG POINT\n\n[Illustration: THE WITHDRAWAL]\n\nBeing at the position of Long Point. To withdraw the bayonet. Draw\nthe piece straight back until the right hand is well behind the hip.\nImmediately assume the position of Guard. If the leverage or proximity\nof the object transfixed with the bayonet renders it necessary, prior\nto the withdrawal, the left hand is slipped up close to the stacking\nswivel.\n\nIn the preliminary instruction all Points will be immediately followed\nby a withdrawal, prior to assuming the position of guard.\n\n\nPROGRESSION\n\nAfter the several positions hereinbefore described have been learned,\nthe Points should be made at a definite place on a target, such as the\nthroat, the stomach, the head, etc.\n\nAs progress is made, the pause between the point and the withdrawal is\nshortened until the soldier comes directly to the position of Guard\nfrom the point. Proficiency will finally be attained in making a \"feint\npoint\" at one part of the target and the real point at another, for\nexample: Feint at the head and point at the right thigh; feint at the\nstomach and point at the neck, etc.\n\nAttacks at a retreating foe should be made against the kidneys, the\nposition of which should be shown to the soldier.\n\n\nVULNERABLE PARTS OF THE BODY\n\nIf possible, the point of the bayonet should be directed against the\nopponents throat, especially in hand to hand fighting. The point of\nthe bayonet will easily enter and make a fatal wound on penetrating a\nfew inches. Other and more or less exposed parts are the face, chest,\nlower abdomen, thighs and the region of the kidneys when the back is\nturned. Four to six inches penetration is sufficient to incapacitate\nand allow for a quick withdrawal, whereas if a bayonet is driven home\ntoo far it is often impossible to withdraw it.\n\nAs soon as the nomenclature of the positions and movements are learned\nthe men should work in pairs. They should be practiced in pointing in\nvarious directions. 1. At the opposite man's hand, which he places in\nvarious positions on and off the body. 2. At thrusting rings tied on\nthe end of a stick.\n\nThis practice is conducted without word of command, so that the eyes\nand brain may be trained.\n\nIt is not sufficient that a dummy be merely transfixed. Some particular\nspot on the dummy should constitute the target. Discs or numbers should\nbe placed on the dummy and the men required to point at a distance of\nabout five feet from it and later as they become more proficient, to\npoint after advancing several paces. The advance must be made in a\npractical manner and the point delivered with either foot to the front.\n\nThe rifle must never be drawn back when making a Long Point in a\nforward movement. The impetus of the body and the forward stretching of\nthe arms supply sufficient force.\n\nThe bayonet must be withdrawn immediately after the Point has been\ndelivered, and a forward threatening attitude assumed by the side of or\nbeyond the dummy.\n\nTo guard against accidents the men must be at least five feet apart and\nthe bayonet scabbard should be on the bayonet.\n\nThe principles of this practice should be observed when pointing at\ndummies in trenches, standing upright on the ground or suspended from\ngallows. They should be applied at first slowly and deliberately. No\nattempt must be made to carry out the Final Assault Practice until the\nmen have been carefully instructed in and have thoroughly mastered the\npreliminary lessons.\n\n\n_Lesson No. 2_\n\nTHE PARRIES\n\nBeing at the position of Guard: The right or left parry is executed by\nvigorously straightening the left arm, without bending the wrist or\ntwisting the rifle in the hand, and forcing the piece to the right or\nleft far enough to fend off the adversary's weapon. The eyes must be\nkept on the weapon that is being parried and not on the eyes of the\nopponent as indicated in our bayonet combat training.\n\nThe common faults in the execution of the parries consist of:\n\n1. Making a wide, sweeping parry, with no forward movement of the\nbayonet or body in it.\n\n2. The eyes are taken off the weapon that is being parried.\n\nThe men should be taught to regard the parry as a part of an offensive\nmovement, namely of the Point, which would immediately follow it in\nactual combat. For this reason, as soon as the movements of the parries\nhave been learned they should always be accompanied by a slight forward\nmovement of the body.\n\nParries will be practiced with the right as well as with the left foot\nforward, preparatory to the practice of parrying when advancing.\n\n\nPRACTICE\n\nMen when learning the parries should be required to observe the\nmovements of the rifle carefully, and should not be kept longer at this\npractice than is necessary for them to understand what is required,\nthat is vigorous, yet controlled action.\n\nThe men work in pairs with scabbards on the bayonets, one man pointing\nwith the stick and the other parrying it. The position of guard is\nresumed after each parry. At first this practice must be slow and\ndeliberate, without being allowed to become mechanical, and will be\nprogressively increased in rapidity and vigor.\n\nLater a point at that part of the body indicated by the opposite man's\nhand should immediately follow the parry, and, finally sticks long\nenough to represent the opponents weapon at the position of guard\nshould be attached to dummies and parried before delivering the point.\n(See Targets.)\n\nThe men must be taught to parry points made at them:\n\n1. By an enemy in a trench when they are themselves on the parapet.\n\n2. By an enemy on the parapet when they are on the trench.\n\n3. When both are fighting on the same level at close quarters in a deep\ntrench.\n\n\n_Lesson No. 3_\n\nTHE SHORT POINT\n\nBeing at the position of Guard: Shift the left hand quickly towards the\nmuzzle and draw the rifle back to the full extent of the right arm,\nthe butt either upwards or downwards, according as a low point or high\npoint is to be made. Deliver the point vigorously to the full extent of\nthe left arm.\n\nThe short point is used at a range of about three feet. In close\nfighting it is the natural point to make when the bayonet has just been\nwithdrawn after a long point. If a strong withdrawal is necessary the\nright hand should be slipped above the back sight after the short point\nhas been made.\n\n[Illustration: THE SHORT POINT]\n\nBy placing two discs on a dummy the short point should be taught in\nconjunction with the long point, the first disc being transfixed with\nthe latter and the second with the former. On delivery of the long\npoint if the left foot is forward, the short point would take place\nwith the right foot forward and _vice versa_.\n\nThe parries should be practiced from the position of the short point.\n\n\n_Lesson No. 4_\n\nTHE JAB OR UPWARD POINT\n\nBeing at the position of Short Point: Shift the right hand up the rifle\nand grasp it above the balance, at the same time bringing the piece to\nan almost vertical position close to the body. From this position, bend\nthe knees and jab the point of the bayonet upwards into the throat or\nunder the chin of the opponent.\n\nThe common faults in this movement are:\n\n1. The rifle is drawn backward and not held sufficiently upright.\n\n2. The rifle is grasped too low with the right hand.\n\nFrom the position of Jab, the men will be practiced in fending off an\nattack made on any part of their body by an opponent.\n\n[Illustration: THE JAB]\n\nWhen making a Jab from the position of guard, the right, being the\nthrusting hand, will be brought up first.\n\nThe Jab can be employed successfully in close quarter fighting in\nnarrow trenches or when embraced by an enemy.\n\n\nMETHODS OF INJURING AN OPPONENT\n\nIt should be impressed upon the soldier that, although a man's point\nhas missed, or has been parried or his bayonet has been broken, he can,\nas attacker, still maintain his advantage by injuring his opponent in\none of the following ways:\n\n_Butt Strike I._ Swing the butt up at the opponent's crotch, ribs,\nforearm, etc., using a half arm blow and advancing the rear foot.\n\nThis is essentially a half arm blow from the shoulder, keeping the\nelbow rigid. It can be executed only when the rifle is grasped at the\nsmall of the stock.\n\n_Butt Strike II._ If the opponent jumps back so that the first butt\nstrike misses, the rifle will come into a horizontal position over the\nleft shoulder, butt to the front. The attacker will then step in with\nthe rear foot and dash the butt into his opponent's face.\n\n_Butt Strike III._ If the opponent retires still further out of\ndistance, the attacker again closes up and slashes his bayonet down on\nhis opponent's head or neck.\n\n_Butt Strike IV._ If the point is beaten or brought down, the butt can\nbe used effectively by crashing it down on the opponent's head with an\nover-arm blow, advancing the rear foot. When the opponent is out of\ndistance Butt Strike III can again be used.\n\nIn individual fighting the butt can also be used horizontally against\nthe opponent's ribs, forearm, etc. This method is impossible in trench\nfighting or in an attack, owing to the horizontal sweep of the bayonet\nto the attacker's left.\n\nThe men must be impressed with the fact that the butt must never be\nused when it is possible to use the point of the bayonet effectively.\n\nButt Strikes can be used only under certain conditions and in certain\npositions. If the soldier acquires absolute control of his weapon\nunder these conditions he will be able to adapt himself to all other\nphases of close in fighting. For example, when a man is gripped by\nan opponent, so that neither the point nor the butt can be used,\nthe knee brought up against the crotch or the heel stamped on the\ninstep may momentarily disable him and make him release his hold. When\nwrestling the opponent may be tripped by forcing his weight on to one\nleg and then kicking that leg from under him. These methods will only\ntemporarily disable an enemy, who must be killed with the bayonet.\n\n\nPRACTICE\n\nWhen the men have been shown the methods of using the butt and the\nknee, they should be practiced by affixing several discs on a dummy\nand executing combination exercises at them. For example, point at one\ndisc, use the knee on another fixed low down, jab at a third, etc. For\npractice with the Butt, light dummies should be used to prevent injury\nto the piece.\n\n\nTACTICAL APPLICATION OF THE BAYONET\n\nA bayonet assault should preferably be made under cover of fire, or\ndarkness or as a surprise. Under these circumstances the prospect of\nsuccess is greatest, for a bayonet is useless at any range except in\nhand to hand fighting.\n\nThe bayonet is essentially a weapon of offense to be used with skill\nand vigor. To await an opportunity for using the bayonet entails\ndefeat. An approaching enemy will simply stand out of bayonet range and\nshoot down the defenders.\n\nIn an assault the enemy should be killed with the bayonet. Firing\nshould be avoided. A bullet passing through an opponent's body may kill\na friend who happens to be in the line of fire.\n\n\nTHE BAYONET ASSAULT\n\nTraining in the final assault is conducted only after the soldier has\nreceived a thorough course of instruction in the preliminary lessons\nand has acquired complete control over his weapons. This training must\napproximate as nearly as possible the conditions of actual fighting.\nInstructors should endeavor by every means in their power to arouse the\ninterest and imagination of the men. Each problem should be carefully\nexplained beforehand so that every man may have a complete knowledge of\njust exactly what is being attempted. Each target must be regarded as\nan armed opponent and each line of targets as an enemy line, attacking,\ndefending or retiring, to be disposed of accordingly.\n\nAny tendency towards carelessness and slackness must be corrected at\nonce and all the men must be impressed with the fact that a practice\nassault that is not carried out with quickness, vigor and determination\nis worse than useless.\n\nLack of imagination or lack of understanding of what is being\nattempted, leading to a violation of the principles of tactics in\npractice assaults against dummy targets, can only lead to disaster in a\nreal assault against the enemy.\n\nNervous tension, due to the anticipation of an attack, the advance\nacross the open and the final dash at the enemy all combine to tire\nan assaulting party. It is only by their physical fitness and superior\nskill with the bayonet that they can overcome a comparatively fresh foe.\n\nAccuracy in directing the bayonet when moving rapidly or surmounting\nobstacles; a thrust of sufficient force to penetrate clothing and\nequipment; a clean withdrawal, which requires no small effort,\nespecially when the bayonet is fixed by a bone; are all of the greatest\nimportance.\n\n\nMETHOD OF CARRYING THE RIFLE WITH BAYONET FIXED\n\n1. A quick, short advance. Carry the rifle at the position of \"High\nPort.\" This position is suitable for close formations. It minimizes\nrisks of accidents when surmounting obstacles. It can be maintained\nwith the left hand alone, allowing a free use of the right when\nnecessary.\n\n2. Long advance, in close formation. Carry the rifle slung over the\nleft shoulder, barrel perpendicular, sling to the front. This allows\nthe free use of both hands.\n\n3. Long advance, in open order. Carry the rifle at the \"Trail.\"\n\n\nTEAMWORK\n\nThe importance of teamwork, discipline, and organized control\nthroughout the conduct of the bayonet assault cannot be too strongly\nimpressed upon the men. In this, as well as in all other tactical\noperations, success can only be achieved through the closest\ncooperation of all concerned. While individual initiative is to be\nencouraged, it must be strictly subordinated to the will of the leader\nof the assaulting party. The failure of an enterprize can usually be\ntraced to the lack of this close cooperation.\n\n\nTHE ADVANCE\n\n1. All members of the attacking party must \"go over the top,\" that is,\nleave the trench, or rise from cover simultaneously.\n\n2. The first stage, especially of a long advance, is slow and\nsteady--not faster than the pace of the slowest man.\n\nSuch an advance has a decided moral effect on the enemy. It will\nproduce the maximum shock at the moment of impact. It allows the\nattacking force to reach its objective without undue exhaustion. On the\nother hand, if the assault is allowed to develop without control and\nin a haphazard fashion, the moral effect of the steady advance of a\nresistless wall of men is lost and the defenders will be given time to\ndispose of their opponents in detail.\n\n\nTHE CHARGE\n\nThe actual charge will not be delivered over a greater distance than\n20 paces. Within the last ten paces the piece will be brought to the\nposition of guard. The alignment will be maintained as far as possible\nuntil actual contact is gained.\n\nAs soon as a position is carried and prior to any further advance or\nany other operation whatsoever, the line must be reformed and every\nprecaution taken against a counter attack. In Trench Warfare, the\nindiscriminate pursuit with the bayonet must never be permitted unless\norders to that effect have been given by the leaders of the assaulting\nparty. The attacking troops are not so fresh as the enemy and\nexperience has shown that unorganized pursuit is exposed to ambuscades\nand machine gun fire. In most cases the work of immediate pursuit is\nbetter accomplished by the supporting artillery assisted by the rapid\nfire of the infantry on the retreating enemy.\n\n\nASSAULT PRACTICE\n\nThroughout the period of training the men, the men should be constantly\npracticed in:\n\n1. The recognized method of carrying the rifle with the bayonet fixed.\n\n2. The rapid advance out of deep trenches.\n\n3. Teamwork and control of advancing line. Fire discipline, direction\nand control.\n\n4. The art of using the bayonet with effect in the cramped space of\ncommunication and fire trenches.\n\n5. Reforming and opening fire after an assault.\n\n6. Acting as leaders of an attacking party.\n\n\nFINAL ASSAULT PRACTICE\n\nOne of the best methods of training a command in the final assault\nis to construct a section of trench, forming a course, over which\nthe training may be conducted. The edges of the trenches should be\nprotected by logs anchored back in the parapets or solid ground.\nConstant use will soon wear them down if this precaution is not taken.\nCinders placed on the course are a great advantage, for they prevent\nthe men from slipping.\n\nWhen dummy targets are laid on the ground or on parapets, care should\nbe taken to see that the earth under them is free from stones,\notherwise bayonets will be injured when the thrust penetrates clear\nthrough the dummy and into the ground.\n\nFor this practice work it will be well to select the bayonets of the\ncompany that are most worn and use them exclusively.\n\nMost interesting and practical problems in the tactics of trench\nwarfare can be solved by combining the assault practice with other\nforms of training such as the operations of grenadier squads in\nclearing fire trenches and communication trenches; throwing hand\ngrenades, to cover the assault; barricading with sandbags and the\nconstruction of trenches.\n\nThe illustration herein shows a type of Final Assault Practice course,\nthat may be prepared with a minimum expenditure of labor and material.\nIt occupies a space of about 100 feet in width and may be of varying\ndepth according to the elements that it is desired to introduce. A\nplatoon of four squads with the squad leaders taken out of the line\nand placed in rear to direct their squads, may be run over the course\nwith safety after the men have had sufficient preliminary training. The\nelements of this course are:\n\n1. A line of traversed type of fire trench. There being four bays, 18\nfeet long with 6 foot traverses. This trench is the simple type of\nstanding trench shown in the profile.\n\n2. A supervision trench located parallel to and about 50 feet in rear\nof the fire trench. Profile shown.\n\n3. Communication zigzags from the supervision trench to the fire\ntrench.\n\n4. Two communication zigzags of three legs each running to the rear\nfrom the supervision trench.\n\n5. The location of squad dugouts in rear of the bays of the fire\ntrench and platoon dugouts just in rear of the supervision trench are\nindicated. It is not necessary for the purposes to excavate these. The\nlocation of the entrances in the trenches should be indicated.\n\nThe starting line is 40 feet in front of the traversed fire trench.\nThis may be a deep trench or merely a line as desired. The trench gives\ngood practice for the men in getting out of a fire trench, quickly\nand forming a line beyond. The whole system of trenches should be\nconstructed on ground that can be easily drained.\n\n\nACCESSORIES\n\n1. Portable gallows for the suspension of from one to four targets are\nconstructed and located at such points as may be desired in the area\nbetween the fire trench and the supervision trench and that to the rear\nof the latter.\n\n[Illustration: _Gallows with Dummy._]\n\n2. Shell craters may be excavated in the open spaces mentioned above in\nwhich dummy targets may be placed.\n\n3. Portable Turk's Head may be constructed and placed at such points as\nmay be desired in the trenches or in the open spaces above ground.\n\n4. Dummy targets may be placed where-ever desired.\n\n[Illustration:]\n\n[Illustration: _TURK'S HEAD._]\n\n[Illustration:\n _Dummies in Trenches._]\n\n[Illustration:\n _Types of Dummies._]\n\n\nTARGETS\n\n_Target A._ Consists of a portable gallows having one dummy target.\n\n_Target B._ Consists of a portable gallows having two or more dummy\ntargets.\n\n_Target C._ Consists of a portable gallows the same as Target A, having\na dummy target with the stick protruding to the front to represent the\nopponent's bayonet.\n\n_Target D._ Consists of a dummy target to lie on the ground or rest\nagainst the side wall of the trench.\n\n_Target E._ Is a Turk's Head.\n\n\nCONSTRUCTION OF GALLOWS\n\nThe gallows for targets A, B, and C is constructed as shown in the\nplate. Two standards are made as indicated and joined together by\npieces of 2×4 of the desired length at A and B. For Target A this\nlength should be about 6 feet; for Target B at least 5 feet should be\nallowed for each dummy. Where more than two targets are hung the top\ncross piece had better be a 4×4 instead of a 2×4.\n\n[Illustration: _Plan for Gallows for Dummies._]\n\n\nCONSTRUCTION OF DUMMIES\n\nThe dummy may consist of a gunny sack filled with straw and packed\ntightly. It may be an old uniform stuffed with straw. A more elaborate\nform that tends to hold the bayonet when it is thrust into it may be\nmade as follows:\n\n1. Split a sack along the side and across the end forming a manta. Lay\nit on the ground.\n\n2. Place a layer of straw about 20 inches wide and nearly the length of\nthe sack, allowing a few inches at the top and bottom for folding over.\nNow place a layer of good stiff sod on the straw. Follow this with\nanother layer of straw. Follow this of sod and straw until the dummy is\n8 or 10 inches thick. Then put a one-quarter board with the grain up\nand down on top of the whole.\n\n3. Fold in the sides and top tight and sew them together with a strong\ntwine and a baling needle.\n\n4. Run a strong rope around the outside edges, turning it at each\ncorner to make a loop by which the dummy may be hanged to the gallows.\n\nFor those dummies that are to sit on the ground a piece of 2-inch plank\nplaced across the bottom before the sacking is folded and sewed will\nform a good base. On these the rope will be omitted.\n\n\nCONSTRUCTION OF \"TURK'S HEAD\"\n\nOn the end of a pole about six feet long place a ball of straw about 9\ninches in diameter, packed tightly in gunny sacking. Sharpen the other\nend of the pole so that it may be stuck in the ground.\n\n\nCONSTRUCTION OF PARRYING DUMMY TARGET\n\nTake one of the ordinary dummies. Put a Turk's Head on a stick about\n4 feet long and nail some canvas or gunny sacking to the other end so\nthat the edges will spread out. Sew the canvas to a point on the dummy\nabout two-thirds of the way down the front and suspend it from the top\nwith strong ropes attached to the upper corners of the dummy.\n\n\nDISCS ON TARGET\n\nWith a view to attaining accuracy in the points, cardboard discs about\n3 inches in diameter should be placed on the front of the dummies. The\nsoldier should not merely try to hit the dummy with his bayonet, but he\nshould endeavor to make hits on the discs.\n\n[Illustration: EACH DUMMY MUST BE REGARDED AS AN ACTUAL ARMED OPPONENT]\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\nThe exercises that may be devised with this equipment are of an\ninfinite variety, ranging from practice runs of one man to each bay of\nthe trench, merely going into and out of the trenches, to an entire\nsquad assaulting each bay with targets placed all along the course.\n\nThe following are suggested exercises:\n\n\n_Exercise 1_\n\nNumber of men to make the run: Four, one at each bay.\n\n_Targets: No. 1._ One Target D, half exposed on parapet at the left\ncorner of Bay 4 to represent a man firing over the parapet.\n\n_No. 2._ One Target D, resting against the rear wall of the fire\ntrench of Bay 4, at the opening of the dugout, to represent a man just\nemerging from the squad dugout.\n\n_No. 3._ One Target A, midway between the fire trench and the\nsupervision trench.\n\n_No. 4._ One Target E, in supervision trench.\n\n_No. 5._ One Target D, in supervision trench at the entrance to the\ncommunication trench.\n\n_No. 6._ One Target D, on the ground to the rear of the supervision\ntrench. Note. Targets for the man making the run against Bay 4 are\nstated. Those for the other men making the run are similarly located.\n\n\nTHE RUN\n\nThe method of making the run will be explained for the man making the\nrun at Bay 4. The other men proceed in a similar manner.\n\nBeing in the prone position at the starting point the soldier rises\nquickly to his feet and advances at the double time (not running)\ntowards Target No. 1, the piece being carried at the \"High Port.\"\nWhen within about 8 paces of Target No. 1 the piece is brought to\nthe position of guard and when at the proper distance the target is\nattacked with a vigorous \"Long Point.\" This is followed by a clean\nwithdrawal.\n\nThe soldier then jumps into the fire trench and attacks Target No. 2 or\nattacks from over the fire trench as is desired. He then climbs out of\nthe fire trench and continues his advance attacking Target No. 3 with a\nLong Point; No. 4 with a Long Point; No. 5 with a Short Point and No.\n6 with a Long Point, each being followed by a clean withdrawal of the\nbayonet.\n\n\n_Exercise 2_\n\nNumber of men to make run: Two squads, one at Bays 1 and 2, and the\nother at Bays 3 and 4.\n\n_Targets_: The targets are given only for the four men making the run\nagainst Bay 4. Those for the other three bays are similarly arranged.\n\n_No. 1._ Four Targets D, half exposed on parapet of bay to represent\nmen firing over the parapet.\n\n_No. 2._ Four Targets D, lying on ground or in shell crater a few feet\nin rear of the bay.\n\n_No. 3._ Four Targets A or C, in the open area about midway between the\nfire trench and the supervision trench.\n\n_No. 4._ Four Targets D in the bottom of the supervision trench.\n\n_No. 5._ Four Targets E, a few yards in rear of the supervision trench.\n\nThe run is conducted in the same manner as explained for Exercise 1.\nAdditional precautions will have to be taken to prevent the men from\ninjuring one another with their bayonets.\n\nThe line attacks Target No. 1. The men jump over the fire trench\nlanding on the parados and immediately attack Target No. 2. The line\npasses on towards Target No. 3, jumping all trenches encountered and\nattack Target No. 3 with a parry and a point if Target C is used\nand with a point if Target A is used. The line then goes into the\nsupervision trench and attacks Target No. 4, climbing out immediately\nand advancing on Target No. 5 which is attacked by a \"Jab.\"\n\nIn order to save time a second line may be started from the starting\nline when the first has passed beyond the fire trench and towards the\nsupervision trench.\n\nAfter the men have been taken through a thorough course of training\nin the individual instruction, problems should be devised in which a\nsquad assaults a section of the trench system under the direction\nof the squad leader. This is followed by exercises conducted by the\nplatoon leader, the strength of the platoon being as many squads as can\nbe employed at one time on the front of the section of trench system\navailable.\n\nEND.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENTS.\n\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n\n PUBLISHER OF\n\n MILITARY BOOKS\n\n 1 Broadway, New York\n\n\n _Eastern Distributers for_\n\n \"THE MOSS PUBLICATIONS\"\n\n (Colonel Jas. A. Moss)\n\n COLONEL M.B. STEWART\n\n \"THE BANTA PUBLICATIONS\"\n\n and\n\n COLONEL W.H. WALDRON\n\n Any Military or Naval Book desired\n\n\n\n\n\"What Sammy's Doing\"\n\nBY\n\nColonel JAMES A. MOSS\n\nColonel WILLIAM H. WALDRON\n\nUnited States Army\n\n_Being a Pictorial Sketch of the Soldier's Life_\n\n\nThe mission of this book is to tell and show the folks back home what\nyou, Jack, their boy, are doing at the big training camps throughout\nthe country.\n\nTelling them in a simple text that they can readily understand, and by\npictures true to life what you are doing this morning, this afternoon,\nthis evening\n\n Order Your Copy To-day\n\n ----_Price 75 Cents, postage paid_----\n\n FOR SALE BY\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n No. 1 Broadway, New York City\n\n\n\n\n_THE WALDRON BOOKS_\n\nThe Infantry Soldier's Hand Book\n\n\nAn illustrated text-book covering the training of the Infantry soldier\nfor war. Every soldier in the army should have a copy. Postpaid, $1.00.\n\n\n\n\nCompany Admimstration\n\n\nA reference book that no Company Commander, First Sergeant or Company\nClerk can afford to be without.\n\nThe most complete and practical treatment of the subject that has been\nproduced. Postpaid, $1.25.\n\n FOR SALE BY\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n 1 Broadway       New York\n\n\n\n\n_THE WALDRON BOOKS_\n\nScouting and Patrolling\n\n_Cloth Bound. Fits the Pocket._\n\nWHAT TO DO--HOW TO DO IT\n\n\nCovers the duties of the individual scout and the operation of the\nPatrol in \"No Man's Land.\" Postpaid, 50c.\n\n\n\n\nTactical Walks\n\n\nA system of instruction for Officers and Non-commissioned Officers for\nthe duties that will devolve upon them in actual service.\n\nNo glittering generalities--a book of detail--just what to do, written\nso you can understand it. Postpaid, $1.50.\n\n\n\n\nElements of Trench Warfare\n\nIncluding Bayonet Training\n\n _Cloth Bound_        _Fits the Pocket_\n\n\nCompiled from the latest information of how they are going about it on\nthe Western front. Profusely illustrated. Postpaid, 75c.\n\n FOR SALE BY\n\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n 1 Broadway        New York\n\n\n\n\nMilitary Sketching and Map Reading\n\nBY\n\nJOHN B. BARNES\n\n_Major Fifth U.S. Infantry, Graduate of Army Service School, Graduate\nof Army Staff College, Instructor Plattsburg Instruction Camp, 1916,\nInstructor Plattsburg Officers' Training Camp, 1917._\n\nMajor Barnes' book is based on an expert knowledge of the subject as\ntaught by the Service Schools, Fort Leavenworth, and an appreciation of\nthe needs of beginners through his wide experience as an instructor of\nNational Guard Officers, and at Officers' Training Camps.\n\nWritten with a view of self-instruction, with new and original\nillustrations that explain simply and graphically the points that are\nusually found troublesome by beginners.\n\nThe new and important subject of Landscape Sketching is thoroughly\nexplained and illustrated.\n\nMap Reading is explained in a few pages. Scales are already\nconstructed. Postpaid, 75c.\n\n EDWIN N. APPLETON\n 1 Broadway, New York\n\n\n\n\nEDWIN N. APPLETON\n\nMilitary Text Books Exclusively\n\nWHOLESALE--RETAIL\n\nNO. 1 BROADWAY NEW YORK CITY\n\nEASTERN DISTRIBUTER for\n\n\n COLONEL JAS. A. MOSS\n LT.-COLONEL MERCH B. STEWART\n LT.-COLONEL WILLIAM H. WALDRON\n LT.-COLONEL FRANK H. LAWTON\n LT.-COLONEL D.T. MERRILL\n MAJOR RALPH M. PARKER\n MAJOR LINCOLN C. ANDREWS\n MAJOR O.O. ELLIS\n MAJOR E.B. GAREY\n MAJOR JOHN B. BARNES\n\n\nAny Military Publication not listed herein will gladly be obtained for\nyou.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Elements of Trench Warfare, Bayonet\nTraining, by William Henry Waldron\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\nE-text prepared by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders\n\n\n\nThe American Child\n\nby Elizabeth Mccracken\n\nWith Illustrations from photographs by Alice Austin\n\n1913\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: COMPANIONS AND FRIENDS]\n\n\nto My Father And Mother\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe purpose of this preface is that of every preface--to say \"thank\nyou\" to the persons who have helped in the making of the book.\n\nI would render thanks first of all to the Editors of the \"Outlook\" for\npermission to reprint the chapters of the book which appeared as\narticles in the monthly magazine numbers of their publication.\n\nI return thanks also to Miss Rosamond F. Rothery, Miss Sara Cone Bryant,\nMiss Agnes F. Perkins, and Mr. Ferris Greenslet. Without the help and\nencouragement of all of these, the book never would have been written.\n\nFinally, I wish to say an additional word of thanks to my physician, Dr.\nJohn E. Stillwell. Had it not been for his consummate skill and untiring\ncare after an accident, which, four years ago, made me a year-long\nhospital patient, I should never have lived to write anything.\n\nE. McC.\n\nCAMBRIDGE, January, 1913\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n  I. THE CHILD AT HOME\n II. THE CHILD AT PLAY\nIII. THE COUNTRY CHILD\n IV. THE CHILD IN SCHOOL\n  V. THE CHILD IN THE LIBRARY\n VI. THE CHILD IN CHURCH\n     CONCLUSION\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nCOMPANIONS AND FRIENDS\nTHREE SMALL GIRLS\nTHE BOY OF THE HOUSE\n\"DID YOU PLAY IT THIS WAY?\"\nTHE DEAR DELIGHTS OF PLAYING ALONE\n\"THE CHILDREN--THEY ARE SUCH DEARS\"\nA SMALL COUNTRY BOY\nARRAYED IN SPOTLESS WHITE\nTHEY PAINT PICTURES AS A REGULAR PART OF THEIR SCHOOL ROUTINE\nTHEY DO SO MANY THINGS!\nTHEY HAVE SO MANY THINGS!\nTHE STORY HOUR IN THE CHILDREN'S ROOM\nTHE CHILDREN'S EDITION\nIN THE INFANT CLASS\n\"DO YOU LIKE MY NEW HYMN?\"\nCHILDREN GO TO CHURCH\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nOne day several years ago, when Mr. Lowes Dickinson's statement that he\nhad found no conversation and--worse still--no conversationalists in\nAmerica was fresh in our outraged minds, I happened to meet an English\nwoman who had spent approximately the same amount of time in our country\nas had Mr. Lowes Dickinson. \"What has been your experience?\" I anxiously\nasked her. \"Is it true that we only 'talk'? Can it really be that we\nnever 'converse'?\"\n\n\"Dear me, no!\" she exclaimed with gratifying fervor. \"You are the most\ndelightful conversationalists in the world, on your own subject--\"\n\n\"Our own subject?\" I echoed.\n\n\"Certainly,\" she returned; \"your own subject, the national subject,--the\nchild, the American child. It is possible to 'converse' with any\nAmerican on that subject; every one of you has something to say on it;\nand every one of you will listen eagerly to what any other person says\non it. You modify the opinions of your hearers by what you say; and you\nactually allow your own opinions to be modified by what you hear said.\nIf that is conversation, without a doubt you have it in America, and\nhave it in as perfect a state as conversation ever was had anywhere. But\nyou have it only on that subject. I wonder why,\" she went on, half-\nmusingly, before I could make an attempt to persuade her to qualify her\nrather sweeping assertion. \"It may be because you do so much for\nchildren, in America. They are always on your mind; they are hardly ever\nout of your sight. You are forever either doing something for them, or\nplanning to do something for them. No wonder the child is your one\nsubject of conversation. You do so _very_ much for children in America,\"\nshe repeated.\n\nFew of us will agree with the English woman that the child, the American\nchild, is the only subject upon which we converse. Certainly, though, it\nis a favorite subject; it may even not inaptly be called our national\nsubject. Whatever our various views concerning this may chance to be,\nhowever, it is likely that we are all in entire agreement with regard to\nthe other matter touched upon by the English woman,--the pervasiveness\nof American children. Is it not true that we keep them continually in\nmind; that we seldom let them go quite out of sight; that we are always\ndoing, or planning to do, something for them? What is it that we would\ndo? And why is it that we try so unceasingly to do it?\n\nIt seems to me that we desire with a great desire to make the boys and\ngirls do; that all of the \"_very_ much\" that we do for them is done in\norder to teach them just that--to do. It is a large and many-sided and\nvaricolored desire, and to follow its leadings is an arduous labor; but\nis there one of us who knows a child well who has not this desire, and\nwho does not cheerfully perform that labor? Having decided in so far as\nwe are able what were good to do, we try, not only to do it ourselves,\nin our grown-up way, but so to train the children that they, too, may do\nit, in their childish way. The various means that we find most helpful\nto the end of our own doing we secure for the children,--adapting them,\nsimplifying them, and even re-shaping them, that the boys and girls may\nuse them to the full.\n\nThere is, of course, a certain impersonal quality in a great deal of\nwhat we, in America, do for children. It is not based so much on\nfriendship for an individual child as on a sense of responsibility for\nthe well-being of all childhood, especially all childhood in our own\ncountry. But most of what we do, after all, we do for the boys and girls\nwhom we know and love; and we do it because they are our friends, and we\nwish them to share in the good things of our lives,--our work and our\nplay. To what amazing lengths we sometimes go in this \"doing for\" the\nchildren of our circles!\n\nOne Saturday afternoon, only a few weeks ago, I saw at the annual\nexhibit of the State Board of Health, a man, one of my neighbors, with\nhis little eight-year old boy. The exhibit consisted of the customary\ndisplay of charts and photographs, showing the nature of the year's work\nin relation to the milk supply, the water supply, the housing of the\npoor, and the prevention of contagious diseases. My neighbor is not a\nspecialist in any one of these matters; his knowledge is merely that of\nan average good citizen. He went from one subject to the other, studying\nthem. His boy followed close beside him, looking where his father\nlooked,--if with a lesser interest at the charts, with as great an\nintentness at the photographs. As they made their way about the room\ngiven over to the exhibit, they talked, the boy asking questions, the\nfather endeavoring to answer them.\n\nThe small boy caught sight of me as I stood before one of the charts\nrelating to the prevention of contagious diseases, and ran across the\nroom to me. \"What are _you_ looking at?\" he said. \"That! It shows how\nmany people were vaccinated, doesn't it? Come over here and see the\npictures of the calves the doctors get the stuff to vaccinate with\nfrom!\"\n\n\"Isn't this an odd place for a little boy on a Saturday afternoon?\" I\nremarked to my neighbor, a little later, when the boy had roamed to the\nother side of the room, out of hearing.\n\n\"Not at all!\" asserted the child's father. \"He was inquiring the other\nday why he had been vaccinated, why all the children at school had been\nvaccinated. Just before that, he had asked where the water in the tap\ncame from. This is just the place for him right now! It isn't odd at all\nfor him to be here on a Saturday afternoon. It is much odder for _me_\"\nhe continued with a smile. \"I'd naturally be playing golf! But when\nchildren begin to ask questions, one has to do something about answering\nthem; and coming here seemed to be the best way of answering these\nnewest questions of my boy's. I want him to learn about the connection\nof the state with these things; so he will be ready to do his part in\nthem, when he gets to the 'voting age.'\"\n\n\"But can he understand, yet?\" I ventured.\n\n\"More than if he hadn't seen all this, and heard about what it means,\"\nmy neighbor replied.\n\nIt is not unnatural, when a child asks questions so great and so far-\nreaching as those my neighbor's small boy had put to him, that we should\n\"do something about answering them,\"--something as vivid as may be\nwithin our power. But, even when the queries are of a minor character,\nwe still bestir ourselves until they are adequately answered.\n\n\"Mamma,\" I heard a little girl inquire recently, as she fingered a scrap\nof pink gingham of which her mother was making \"rompers\" for the baby of\nthe family, \"why are the threads of this cloth pink when you unravel it\none way, and white when you unravel it the other?\"\n\nThe mother was busy; but she laid aside her sewing and explained to the\nchild about the warp and the woof in weaving.\n\n\"I don't _quite_ see why _that_ makes the threads pink one way and white\nthe other,\" the little girl said, perplexedly, when the explanation was\nfinished.\n\n\"When you go to kindergarten, you will,\" I suggested.\n\n\"But I want to know now,\" the child demurred.\n\nThe next day I got for the little girl at a \"kindergarten supply\"\nestablishment a box of the paper woofs and warps, so well-known to\nkindergarten pupils. Not more than three or four days elapsed before I\ntook them to the child; but I found that her busy mother had already\nprovided her with some; pink and white, moreover, among other colors;\nand had taught the little girl how to weave with them.\n\n\"She understands, _now_, why the threads of pink gingham are pink one\nway and white the other!\" the mother observed.\n\n\"Why did you go to such trouble to teach her?\" I asked with some\ncuriosity.\n\n\"Well,\" the mother returned, \"she will have to buy gingham some time.\nShe will be a grown-up 'woman who spends' some day; and she will do the\nspending the better for knowing just what she is buying,--what it is\nmade of, and how it is made!\"\n\nIt is no new thing for fathers and mothers to think more of the future\nthan of the present in their dealings with their boys and girls. Parents\nof all times and in all countries have done this. It seems to me,\nhowever, that American fathers and mothers of to-day, unlike those of\nany other era or nation, think, in training their children, of what one\nmight designate as a most minutely detailed future. The mother of whom I\nhave been telling wished to teach her little girl not only how to buy,\nbut how to buy gingham; and the father desired his small boy to learn\nnot alone that his state had a board of health, but that he might hope\nto become a member of a particular department of it.\n\nWe occasionally hear elderly persons exclaim that children of the\npresent day are taught a great many things that did not enter into the\neducation of their grandparents, or even of their parents. But, on\ninvestigation, we scarcely find that this is the case. What we discover\nis that the children of to-day are taught, not new lessons, but the old\nlessons by a new method. Sewing, for example: little girls no longer\nmake samplers, working on them the letters of the alphabet in \"cross-\nstitch\"; they learn to do cross-stitch letters, only they learn not by\nworking the entire alphabet on a square of linen merely available to\n\"learn on,\" but by working the initials of a mother or an aunt on a\n\"guest towel,\" which later serves as a Christmas or a birthday gift of\nthe most satisfactory kind! Perhaps one of the best things we do for the\nlittle girls of our families is to teach them to take their first\nstitches to some definite end. Certainly we do it with as conscientious\na care as ever watched over the stitches of the little girls of old as\nthey made the faded samplers we cherish so affectionately.\n\nThe brothers of these little girls learned carpentry, when they were old\nenough to handle tools with safety. The boys of to-day also learn it;\nsome of them begin long before they can handle any tools with safety,\nand when they can handle no tool at all except a hammer. As soon as they\nwish to drive nails, they are allowed to drive them, and taught to drive\nthem to some purpose. I happened not a great while ago to pass the day\nat the summer camp of a friend of mine who is the mother of a small boy,\naged five. My friend's husband was constructing a rustic bench.\n\nThe little boy watched for a time; then, \"Daddy, _I_ want to put in\nnails,\" he said.\n\n\"All right,\" replied his father; \"you may. Just wait a minute and I'll\nlet you have the hammer and the nails. Your mother wants some nails in\nthe kitchen to hang the tin things on. If she will show you where she\nwants them, I'll show you how to put them in.\"\n\nThis was done, with much gayety on the part of us all. When the small\nboy, tutored by his father, had driven in all the required nails, he\nlifted a triumphant face to his mother. \"There they are!\" he exclaimed.\n\"Now let's hang the tin things on them, and see how they look!\"\n\nThe boy's father did not finish the rustic bench that day. When a\nneighboring camper, who stopped in to call toward the end of the\nafternoon, expressed surprise at his apparent dilatoriness, and asked\nfor an explanation, the father simply said, \"I did mean to finish it to-\nday, but I had to do something for my boy instead.\"\n\nOne of the things we grown-ups do for children that has been rather\nseverely criticized is the lavishing upon them of toys,--intricate and\ncostly toys. \"What, as a child, I used to _pretend_ the toys I had,\nwere, the toys my children have now, _are_!\" an acquaintance of mine was\nsaying to me recently. \"For instance,\" she went on, \"I had a box with a\nhole in one end of it; I used to pretend that it was a camera, and\npretend to take pictures with it! I cannot imagine my children doing\nthat! They have real cameras and take real pictures.\"\n\nThe camera would seem to be typical of the toys we give to the children\nof to-day; they can do something with it,--something real.\n\nThe dearest treasure of my childhood was a tiny gold locket, shaped, and\neven engraved, like a watch. Not long ago I was showing it to a little\ngirl who lives in New York. \"I used to pretend it _was_ a watch,\" I\nsaid; \"I used to pretend telling the time by it.\"\n\nShe gazed at it with interested eyes. \"It is very nice,\" she observed\npolitely; \"but wouldn't you have liked to have a _real_ watch? _I_ have\none; and I _really_ tell the time by it.\"\n\n\"But you cannot pretend with it!\" I found myself saying.\n\n\"Oh, yes, I can,\" the little girl exclaimed in surprise; \"and I do! I\nhang it on the cupola of my dolls' house and pretend that it is the\nclock in the Metropolitan Tower!\"\n\nThe alarmists warn us that what we do for the children in the direction\nof costly and complicated toys may, even while helping them do something\nfor themselves, mar their priceless simplicity. Need we fear this? Is it\nnot likely that the \"real\" watches which we give them that they may\n\"really\" tell time, will be used, also, for more than one of the other\nsimple purposes of childhood?\n\nThe English woman said that we Americans did so much, so _very_ much,\nfor the children of our nation. There have been other foreigners who\nasserted that we did _too_ much. Indubitably, we do a great deal. But,\nsince we do it all that the children may learn to do, and, through\ndoing, to be, can we ever possibly do too much? \"It is possible to\nconverse with any American on the American child,\" the English woman\nsaid. Certainly every American has something to say on that subject,\nbecause every American is trying to do something for some American\nchild, or group of children, to do much, _very_ much.\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n\n\nTHE CHILD AT HOME\n\n\nIn one of the letters of Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, to her mother,\nQueen Victoria, she writes: \"I try to give my children in their home\nwhat I had in my childhood's home. As well as I am able, I copy what you\ndid.\"\n\nThere is something essentially British in this point of view. The\nEnglish mother, whatever her rank, tries to give her children in their\nhome what she had in her childhood's home; as well as she is able, she\ncopies what her mother did. The conditions of her life may be entirely\ndifferent from those of her mother, her children may be unlike herself\nin disposition; yet she still holds to tradition in regard to their\nupbringing; she tries to make their home a reproduction of her mother's\nhome.\n\nThe American mother, whatever her station, does the exact opposite--she\nattempts to bestow upon her children what she did not possess; and she\nmakes an effort to imitate as little as possible what her mother did.\nShe desires her children to have that which she did not have, and for\nwhich she longed; or that which she now thinks so much better a\npossession than anything she did have. Her ambition is to train her\nchildren, not after her mother's way, but in accordance with \"the most\napproved modern method.\" This method is apt, on analysis, to turn out to\nbe merely the reverse side of her mother's procedure.\n\nI have an acquaintance, the mother of a plump, jolly little tomboy of a\ngirl; which child my acquaintance dresses in dainty embroideries and\nlaces, delicately  ribbons, velvet cloaks, and feathered hats.\nThese garments are not \"becoming\" to the little girl, and they are a\ndistinct hindrance to her hoydenish activities. They are not what she\nought to have, and, moreover, they are not what she wants.\n\n\"I wish I had a middy blouse, and some bloomers, and an aviation cap,\nand a sweater, and a Peter Thompson coat!\" I heard her say recently to\nher mother: \"the other children have them.\"\n\n\"Children are never satisfied!\" her mother exclaimed to me later, when\nwe were alone. \"I spend so much time and money seeing that she has nice\nclothes; and you hear what she thinks of them!\"\n\n\"But, for ordinary wear, for play, wouldn't the things she wants be more\ncomfortable?\" I ventured. \"You dress her so beautifully!\" I added.\n\n\"Well,\" said my acquaintance in a gratified tone, \"I am glad you think\nso. _I_ had _no_ very pretty clothes when I was a child; and I always\nlonged for them. My mother didn't believe in finery for children; and\nshe dressed us very plainly indeed. I want my little girl to look as I\nused to wish _I_ might look!\"\n\n\"But she doesn't care how she looks--\" I began.\n\n\"I know,\" the child's mother sighed. \"I can _see_ how _her_ little girls\nwill be dressed!\"\n\nCan we not all see just that? And doubtless the little girls of this\nberuffled, befurbelowed tomboy--dressed in middy blouses, and bloomers,\nand aviation caps, and sweaters, and Peter Thompson coats, or their\nfuture equivalents--will wish they had garments of a totally different\nkind; and _she_ will be exclaiming, \"Children are never satisfied!\"\n\nIf this principle on the part of mothers in America in providing for\ntheir children were confined to such superficialities as their clothing,\nno appreciable harm--or good--would come of it. But such is not the\ncase; it extends to the uttermost parts of the child's home life.\n\nOnly the other day I happened to call upon a friend of mine during the\nhour set aside for her little girl's piano lesson. The child was\ntearfully and rebelliously playing a \"piece.\" Her teacher, a musician of\nunusual ability, guided her stumbling fingers with conscientious\npatience and care. A child of the least musical talent would surely have\nresponded in some measure to such excellent instruction. My friend's\nlittle girl did not. When the lesson was finished, she slipped from the\npiano stool with a sigh of intense relief.\n\nShe started to run out of doors; but her mother detained her. \"You may\ngo to your room for an hour,\" she said, gently but gravely, \"and stay\nthere all alone. That will help you to remember to try harder tomorrow\nto have a good music lesson.\" And the child, more tearful, more\nrebellious than before, crept away to her room.\n\n\"When I was her age I didn't like the work involved in taking music\nlessons any better than she does,\" my friend said. \"So my mother didn't\ninsist upon my taking them. I have regretted it all my life. I love\nmusic; I always loved it--I loved it even when I hated practising and\nmusic lessons. I wish my mother had made me keep at it, no matter how\nmuch I objected! Well, I shall do it with _my_ daughter; she'll thank me\nfor it some day.\"\n\nI am not so sure that her daughter will. Her music-teacher agrees with\nme. \"The child has no talent whatever,\" she told me. \"It is a waste of\ntime for her to take piano lessons. Her mother now--_she_ has a real\ngift for it! I often wish _she_ would take the lessons!\"\n\nAmerican mothers are no more prone to give their children what they\nthemselves did not have than are American fathers. The man who is most\neager that his son should have a college education is not the man who\nhas two or three academic degrees, but the man who never went to college\nat all. The father whose boys are allowed to be irregular in their\nchurch attendance is the father who, as a boy, was compelled to go to\nchurch, rain or shine, twice on every Sunday.\n\nIn the more intimate life of the family the same principle rules. The\nparents try to give to the children ideals that were not given to them;\nthey attempt to inculcate in the children habits that were not\ninculcated in themselves.\n\nI know a family in which are three small girls, between whom there is\nvery little difference in age. These children all enjoy coming to take\ntea with me. For convenience, I should naturally invite them all on the\nsame afternoon.\n\nBoth their father and mother, however, have requested me not to do this.\n\"Do ask them one at a time on different days,\" they said.\n\n\"Of course I will,\" I assented. \"But--why?\" I could not forbear\nquestioning.\n\n\"When I was a child,\" the mother of the three little girls explained, \"I\nwas never allowed to accept an invitation unless my younger sister was\ninvited, too. I was fond of my sister; but I used to long to go\nsomewhere sometime by myself! My husband had the same experience--his\nbrother always had to be invited when he was, or he couldn't go. Our\nchildren shall not be so circumscribed!\"\n\nThere is not much danger for them, certainly, in that direction. Yet I\nrather think they would enjoy doing more things together. One day, not a\ngreat while ago, I chanced to meet all three of them near a tearoom. I\nasked them--perforce all of them--to go in with me and partake of ice\ncream. As we sat around the table, the oldest of the three glanced at\nthe other two with a friendly smile. \"It is nice--all of us having ice\ncream with you at the same time,\" she remarked, and her younger sisters\nenthusiastically agreed.\n\nTo be sure, they are nearer the same age and they are more alike in\ntheir tastes than their mother and her sister, or their father and his\nbrother. Perhaps their parents needed to take their pleasures singly;\nthey seem able quite happily to take theirs in company.\n\nI have another friend, who was brought up in a household in which, as\nshe says, \"individuality\" was the keynote. In her own home the keynote\nis \"the family.\" She encourages her children to \"do things together.\"\nFurthermore, she and her husband habitually participate in their\nchildren's occupations to a greater degree than any other parents I have\never seen.\n\n[Illustration: THREE SMALL GIRLS]\n\nTheir friends usually entertain these children \"as a family\"; but not\nlong ago, happening to have only two tickets to a concert, I asked one,\nand just one, of the little girls of this household to attend it with\nme. She accepted eagerly. During an intermission she looked up at me and\nsaid, confidingly, \"It is nice sometimes to do things not 'as a family,'\nbut just as one's self!\"\n\nThen, for the first time, it occurred to me that she was the \"odd one\"\nof her family. All its pleasures, all its interests, were not equally\nhers. She needed sometimes to do things as herself.\n\nIn matters of discipline, too, we find the same theory at work. Parents\nwho were severely punished as children do not punish their children at\nall; and the most austere of parents are those who, when children, were\n\"spoiled.\" Almost regardless of the natures of their children, parents\ndeal with them, so far as discipline is concerned, as they themselves\nwere not dealt with.\n\nThis implies no lack of love, no lack of respect, for the older\ngeneration. On the contrary, it is the sign and symbol of a love, a\nrespect, so great as to permit of divergences of opinion and procedure,\nin spite of differences of age.\n\n\"I am not going to bring up the baby in the way I was brought up, mamma,\ndarling,\" I once heard a mother of a month-old baby (her first child)\nsay to the baby's grandmother.\n\n\"Aren't you, dear?\" replied the older lady, with a smile. \"Why not?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" returned the daughter, \"I want her to be better than I am. I think\nif you'd brought me up conversely from the way you did, I'd have been a\nmuch more worth-while person.\"\n\nShe spoke very solemnly, but her mother only laughed, and then fondly\nkissed her daughter and her granddaughter. \"That is what I said to _my_\nmother when _you_ were a month old!\" she said whimsically.\n\nChildren in American homes, it might be supposed, would be affected by\nsuch diversity in the theories of their parents and their grandparents\nconcerning their rearing. They might naturally be expected to \"take\nsides\" with the one or the other; or, at any rate, to be puzzled or\ndisturbed by the principle of \"contrariwiseness\" governing their lives.\nFrom their earliest years they are aware of it. The small girl very soon\nlearns that the real reason why she finds a gold bracelet in her\nChristmas stocking is that mother \"always wanted one, but grandma did\nnot approve of jewelry for children.\" The little boy quickly discovers\nthat his dog sleeps on the foot of his bed mainly because \"father's dog\nwas never allowed even to come into the house. Grandpa was a doctor, and\nthought dogs were not clean.\"\n\nThis knowledge, so soon acquired, would seem to be a menace to family\nunity; but it is not--even in homes in which the three generations are\nliving together. The children know what their grandparents wished for\ntheir parents; they know what their parents wish for them; but, most of\nall and best of all, they know what they wish for themselves. It is not\nwhat their parents had, nor what their parents try to give them; it is\n\"what other children have.\"\n\nPerhaps all children are conventional; certainly American children are.\nThey wish to have what the other children of their acquaintance have,\nthey wish to do what those other children do. It is not because mother\nwanted a bracelet, and never had it, that the little girl would have a\nbracelet; it is because \"the other girls have bracelets.\" Not on account\nof the rules that forbade father's dog the house is the small boy happy\nin the nightly companionship of his dog; he takes the dog to bed with\nhim for the reason that \"the other boys' dogs sleep with them.\"\n\nEven unto honors, if they must carry them alone, children in America\nwould rather not be born. A little girl who lives in my neighborhood\ncame home from school in tears one day not long ago. Her father is a\ncelebrated writer. The school-teacher, happening to select one of his\nstories to read aloud to the class, mentioned the fact that the author\nof the story was the father of my small friend.\n\n\"But why are you crying about it, sweetheart?\" her father asked. \"Do you\nthink it's such a bad story?\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" the little girl answered; \"it is a good enough story. But none\nof the other children's fathers write stories! Why do _you_, daddy? It's\nso peculiar!\"\n\nIt may be that all children, whatever their nationalities, are like this\nlittle girl. We, in America, have a fuller opportunity to become\nintimately acquainted with the minds of children than have the people of\nany other nation of the earth. For more completely than any other people\ndo American fathers and mothers make friends and companions of their\nchildren, asking from them, first, love; then, trust; and, last of all,\nthe deference due them as \"elders.\" Any child may feel as did my small\nneighbor about a \"peculiar\" father; only a child who had been his\ncomrade as well as his child would so freely have voiced her feeling.\n\nWe all remember the little boy in Stevenson's poem, \"My Treasures,\"\nwhose dearest treasure, a chisel, was dearest because \"very few children\npossess such a thing.\"\n\nHad he been an American child, that chisel would not have been a\n\"treasure\" at all, unless all of the children possessed such a thing.\n\nNot only do the children of our Nation want what the other children of\ntheir circle have when they can use it; they want it even when they\ncannot use it. I have a little girl friend who, owing to an accident in\nher infancy, is slightly lame. Fortunately, she is not obliged to depend\nupon crutches; but she cannot run about, and she walks with a\npathetically halting step.\n\nOne autumn this child came to her mother and said: \"Mamma, I'd like to\ngo to dancing-school.\"\n\n\"But, my dearest, I'm afraid--I don't believe--you could learn to dance\n--very well,\" her mother faltered.\n\n\"Oh, mamma, _I_ couldn't learn to dance _at all_!\" the little girl\nexclaimed, as if surprised that her mother did not fully realize this\nfact.\n\n\"Then, dearest, why do you want to go to dancing-school?\" her mother\nasked gently.\n\n\"The other girls in my class at school are all going,\" the child said.\n\nHer mother was silent; and the little girl came closer and lifted\npleading eyes to her face. \"_Please_ let me go!\" she begged. \"The others\nare all going,\" she repeated.\n\n\"I could not bear to refuse her,\" the mother wrote to me later. \"I let\nher go. I feared that it would only make her feel her lameness the more\nkeenly and be a source of distress to her. But it isn't; she enjoys it.\nShe cannot even try to learn to dance; but she takes pleasure in being\npresent and watching the others, to say nothing of wearing a 'dancing-\nschool dress,' as they do. This morning she said to her father: 'I can't\ndance, Papa; but I can talk about it. I learn how at dancing-school. Oh,\nI love dancing-school!'\"\n\nHer particular accomplishment maybe of minute value in itself; but is\nnot her content in it a priceless good? If she can continue to enjoy\nlearning only to talk about the pleasures her lameness will not permit\nher otherwise to share, her dancing-school lessons will have taught her\nbetter things than they taught \"the other children,\" who could dance.\n\nThat mother was her little girl's confidential friend as well as her\nmother. The child, quite unreservedly, told her what she wanted and why\nshe wanted it. It was no weak indulgence of a child's whim, but a\ngenuine respect for another person's rights as an individual--even\nthough that individual was merely a little child--that led that mother\nto allow her daughter to have what she wanted. May not some subtle sense\nof this have been the basis of the child's happiness in the fulfillment\nof her desire? She _wanted_ to go to dancing-school because the other\nchildren were going; but may she not have _liked_ going because she felt\nthat her mother understood and sympathized with her desire to go?\n\nA Frenchwoman to whom I once said that American parents treat their\nchildren in many ways as though they were their contemporaries remarked,\n\"But does that not make the children old before their time?\"\n\nSo far from this, it seems, on the contrary, to keep the parents young\nafter their time. It has been truly said that we have in America fewer\nand fewer grandmothers who are \"sweet old ladies,\" and more and more who\nare \"charming elderly women.\" We hear less and less about the \"older\"\nand the \"younger\" generations; increasingly we merge two, and even\nthree, generations into one.\n\nOnly yesterday, calling upon a new acquaintance, I heard the four-year-\nold boy of the house, mentioning his father, refer to him as \"Henry.\"\n\nHis grandmother smiled, and his mother said, casually: \"When you speak\n_of_ father, dear, it would be better to say, 'my father,' so people\nwill be sure to know whom you mean. You may have noticed that grandma\nalways says, 'my son,' and I always say 'my husband,' when _we_ speak of\nhim.\"\n\n\"Does he call his father by his Christian name?\" I could not resist\nquestioning, when the little boy had left the room.\n\n\"Sometimes,\" replied the child's mother.\n\n\"He hears so many persons do it, he can't see why he shouldn't. And\nthere really _is_ no reason. Soon enough he will find out that it isn't\ncustomary and stop doing it.\"\n\nThis is a far cry from the days when children were taught to address\ntheir parents as \"honored sir\" and \"respected madam.\" But, it seems to\nme, the parents are as much honored and respected now as then; and--more\nimportant still--both they and the children are, if not dearer, yet\nnearer one another.\n\nIn small as well as in large matters they slip into their parents'\nplaces--neither encouraged nor discouraged, but simply accepted.\nCompanions and friends, they behave as such, and are treated in a\ncompanionable and friendly manner.\n\nThe other afternoon I dropped in at tea-time for a glimpse of an old\nfriend.\n\nHer little girl came into the room in the wake of the tea-tray. \"Let\n_me_ pour the tea,\" she said, eagerly.\n\n[Illustration: THE BOY OF THE HOUSE]\n\n\"Very well,\" her mother acquiesced. \"Be careful not to fill the cups too\nfull, so that they overflow into the saucers; and do not forget that the\ntea is _hot_\" she supplemented.\n\nThe little girl had never poured the tea before, but her mother neither\nwatched her nor gave her any further directions. The child devoted\nherself to her pleasant task. With entire ease and unconsciousness she\nfilled the cups, and made the usual inquiries as to \"one lump, or two?\"\nand \"cream or lemon?\"\n\n\"Isn't she rather young to pour the tea?\" I suggested, when we were\nalone.\n\n\"I don't see why,\" my friend said. \"There isn't any 'age limit' about\npouring tea. She does it for her dolls in the nursery; she might just as\nwell do it for us here. Of course it is hot; but she can be careful.\"\n\nThere are few things in regard to the doing or the saying or the\nthinking of which American parents apprehend any \"age limit.\" Their\nchildren are not \"tender juveniles.\" They do not have a detached life of\ntheir own which the parents \"share,\" nor do the parents have a detached\nlife of their own which the children \"share.\" There is the common life\nof the home, to which all, parents and children, and often grandparents\ntoo, contribute, and in which they all \"share.\"\n\nThis is the secret of that genuine satisfaction that so many of us\ngrown-ups in America find in the society of children, whether they are\nmembers of our own families or are the children of our friends and\nneighbors.\n\nA short time ago I had occasion to invite to Sunday dinner a little boy\nfriend of mine who is nine years old. Lest he _might_ feel his youth in\na household which no longer contains any nine-year-olds, I invited to\n\"meet him\" two other boys, playmates of his, of about the same age.\nThere chanced also to be present a friend, a professor in a woman's\ncollege, into whose daily life very seldom strays a boy, especially one\nnine years old.\n\n\"What interesting things have you been doing lately?\" she observed to\nthe boy beside her in the pause which followed our settling of ourselves\nat the table.\n\n\"I have been seeing 'The Blue Bird,'\" he at once answered. \"Have _you_\nseen it?\" he next asked.\n\nNo sooner had she replied than he turned to me. \"I suppose, of course,\n_you've_ seen it,\" he said.\n\n\"Not yet,\" I told him; \"but I have read it--\"\n\n\"Oh, so have I!\" exclaimed one of the other boys; \"and I've seen it,\ntoo. There is one act in the play that isn't in the book--'The Land of\nHappiness' it is. My mother says she doesn't think Mr. Maeterlinck could\nhave written it; it is so different from the rest of the play.\"\n\nThose present, old and young, who had seen \"The Blue Bird\" debated this\npossibility at some length.\n\nThen the boy who had introduced it said to me: \"I wonder, when you see\nit, whether _you'll_ think Mr. Maeterlinck wrote 'The Land of Happiness'\nact, or not.\"\n\n\"I haven't seen 'The Blue Bird,'\" the third boy remarked, \"but I've seen\nthe Coronation pictures.\" Whereupon we fell to discussing moving-picture\nshows.\n\nDuring the progress of that dinner we considered many other subjects,\nlighting upon them casually; touching upon them lightly; and--most\nsignificant of all--discoursing upon them as familiars and equals. None\nof us who were grown-up \"talked down\" to the boys, and certainly none of\nthe boys \"talked up\" to us. Each one of them at home was a \"dear\npartner\" of every other member of the family, younger and older, larger\nand smaller. Inevitably, each one when away from home became quite\nspontaneously an equal shareholder in whatever was to be possessed at\nall.\n\nA day or two after the Sunday of that dinner I met one of my boy guests\non the street. \"I've seen 'The Blue Bird,'\" I said to him; \"and I'm\ninclined to think that, if Mr. Maeterlinck did write the act 'The Land\nof Happiness,' he wrote it long after he had written the rest of the\nplay. I think perhaps that is why it is so different from the other\nacts.\"\n\n\"Why, I never thought of that!\" the boy cried, with absolute\nunaffectedness. He appeared to consider it for a moment, and then he\nsaid: \"I'll tell my mother; she'll be interested.\"\n\nForeign visitors of distinction not infrequently have accused American\nchildren of being \"pert,\" or \"lacking in reverence,\" or \"sophisticated.\"\nThose of us who are better acquainted with the children of our own\nNation cannot concur in any of these accusations. Unhappily, there are\nchildren in America, as there are children in every land, who _are_\npert, and lacking in reverence, and sophisticated; but they are in the\nsmall minority, and they are not the children to whom foreigners refer\nwhen they make their sweeping arraignments.\n\nThe most gently reared, the most carefully nurtured, of our children are\nthose usually seen by distinguished foreign visitors; for such\nforeigners are apt to be guests of the families to which these children\nbelong. The spirit of frank _camaraderie_ displayed by the children they\nmistake for \"pertness\"; the trustful freedom of their attitude toward\ntheir elders they interpret as \"lack of reverence\"; and their eager\ninterest in subjects ostensibly beyond their years they misread as\n\"sophistication.\"\n\nIt must be admitted that American small boys have not the quaint\ncourtliness of French small boys; that American little girls are without\nthe pretty shyness of English little girls. We are compelled to grant\nthat in America between the nursery and the drawing-room there is no\ngreat gulf fixed. This condition of things has its real disadvantages\nand trials; but has it not also its ideal advantages and blessings?\nCooeperative living together, in spite of individual differences, is one\nof these advantages; tender intimacy between persons of varying ages is\none of these blessings.\n\nA German woman on her first visit to America said to me, as we talked\nabout children, that, with our National habit of treating them as what\nwe Americans call \"chums,\" she wondered how parents kept any authority\nover them, and especially maintained any government _of_ them, and _for_\nthem, without letting it lapse into a government _by_ them.\n\n\"I should think that the commandment 'Children, obey your parents' might\nbe in danger of being overlooked or thrust aside,\" she said, \"in a\ncountry in which children and parents are 'chums,' as Americans say.\"\n\nThat ancient commandment would seem to be too toweringly large to be\noverlooked, too firmly embedded in the world to be thrust aside. It is a\nvery Rock of Gibraltar of a commandment.\n\nAmerican parents do not relinquish their authority over their children.\nAs for government--like other wise parents, they aim to help it to\ndevelop, as soon as it properly can, from a government of and for their\nchildren into a government by them. Self-government is the lesson of\nlessons they most earnestly desire to teach their children.\n\nMethods of teaching it differ. Indeed, as to methods of teaching their\nchildren anything, American fathers and mothers have no fixed standard,\nno homogeneous ideal. More likely than not they follow in this important\nmatter their custom in matters of lesser import--of employing a method\ndirectly opposed to the method of their own parents, and employing it\nsimply because it is directly opposed. This is but too apt to be their\ninterpretation of the phrase \"modernity in child nurture.\" But the\nchildren learn the lesson. They learn the other great and fundamental\nlessons of life, too, and learn them well, from these American fathers\nand mothers who are so friendly and companionable and sympathetic with\nthem.\n\nWhy should they not? There is no antagonism between love and law.\nParents are in a position of authority over their children; no risk of\nthe strength of that position is involved in a friendship between\nparents and children anywhere. It is not remarkable that American\nparents should retain their authority over their children. What is\nnoteworthy is that their children, less than any other children of the\ncivilized world, rebel against it or chafe under it: they perceive so\nsoon that their parents are governing them only because they are not\nwise enough to govern themselves; they realize so early that government,\nby some person or persons, is the estate in common of us all!\n\nOne day last summer at the seashore I saw a tiny boy, starting from the\nbath-house of his family, laboriously drag a rather large piece of\ndriftwood along the beach. Finally he carefully deposited it in the sand\nat a considerable distance from the bath-house.\n\n\"Why did you bring that big piece of wood all the way up here?\" I\ninquired as he passed me.\n\n\"My father told me to,\" the child replied.\n\n\"Why?\" I found myself asking.\n\n\"Because I got it here; and it is against the law of this town to take\nanything from this beach, except shells. Did you know that? I didn't; my\nfather just 'splained it to me.\"\n\nAmerican fathers and mothers explain so many things to their children!\nAnd American children explain quite as great a number of things to their\nparents. They can; because they are not only friends, but familiar\nfriends. We have all read Continental autobiographies, of which the\nchapters under the general title \"Early Years\" contained records of\nfears based upon images implanted in the mind and flourishing there--\nimages arising from some childish misapprehension or misinterpretation\nof some ordinary and perfectly explainable circumstance. \"I was afraid\nto pass a closed closet alone after dark,\" one of these says. \"I had\nheard of 'skeletons in closets'; I knew there were none in our closets\nin the daytime, but I couldn't be sure that they did not come to sleep\nin them at night; and I was too shy to inquire of my parents. What\nterrors I suffered! I was half-grown before I understood what a\n'skeleton in a closet' was.\"\n\nAn American child would have discovered what one was within five minutes\nafter hearing it first mentioned, provided he had the slightest interest\nin knowing. No American child is too shy to inquire of his parents\nconcerning anything he may wish to know. Shyness is a veil children wear\nbefore strangers; in the company of their intimates they lay it aside--\nand forget it. In the autobiographies of Americans we shall not find\nmany accounts of childish terrors arising from any reserve in the\ndirection of asking questions. In American homes there are no closets\nwhose doors children are afraid to pass, or to open, even after dark.\n\n\"American children are all so different!\" an Englishman complained to me\nnot long ago; \"as different as their several homes. One can make no\nstatement about them that is conclusive.\"\n\nBut can one not? To be sure, they do vary, and their homes vary too; but\nin one great, significant, fundamental particular they are all alike. In\nAmerican homes the parents not only love their children, and the\nchildren their parents; their \"way of loving\" is such that one may say\nof them, \"Their souls do bear an equal yoke of love.\" They and their\nparents are \"chums.\"\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\n\nTHE CHILD AT PLAY\n\n\nNot long ago I happened to receive in the same mail three books on home\ngames, written by three different American authors, and issued by three\nseparate publishing-houses. In most respects the books were dissimilar;\nbut in one interesting particular they were all alike: the games in them\nwere so designed that, though children alone could play them well,\nchildren and grown-ups together could play them better. No one of the\nseveral authors suggested that he had any such theory in mind when\npreparing his book; each one simply took it for granted that his \"home\ngames\" would be played by the entire household. Would not any of us in\nAmerica, writing a book of this description, proceed from precisely the\nsame starting-point?\n\nWe all recollect the extreme amazement in the Castle of Dorincourt\noccasioned by the sight of the Earl playing a \"home game\" with Little\nLord Fauntleroy. No American grandfather thus engaged would cause the\nleast ripple of surprise. Little Lord Fauntleroy, we recall, had been\nborn in America, and had lived the whole ten years of his life with\nAmericans. He had acquired the habit, so characteristic of the children\nof our Nation, of including his elders in his games. Quite naturally, on\nhis first day at the Castle, he said to the Earl, \"My new game--wouldn't\nyou like to play it with me, grandfather?\" The Earl, we remember, was\nastonished. He had never been in America!\n\nAmerican grown-ups experience no astonishment when children invite them\nto participate in their play. We are accustomed to such invitations. To\nour ready acceptance of them the children are no less used. \"Will you\nplay with us?\" they ask with engaging confidence. \"Of course we will!\"\nwe find ourselves cordially responding.\n\nI chanced, not a great while ago, to be ill in a hospital on Christmas\nDay. Toward the middle of the morning, during the \"hours for visitors,\"\nI heard a faint knock at my door.\n\nBefore I could answer it the door opened, and a little girl, her arms\nfull of toys, softly entered.\n\n\"Did you say 'Come in'?\" she inquired.\n\nWithout waiting for a reply, she carefully deposited her toys on the\nnurse's cot near her. Then, closing the door, she came and stood beside\nmy bed, and gazed at me in friendly silence.\n\n\"Merry Christmas!\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, Merry Christmas!\" she returned, formally, dropping a courtesy.\n\nShe was a sturdy, rosy-cheeked child, and, though wearing a fluffy white\ndress and slippers, she looked as children only look after a walk in a\nfrosty wind. Clearly, she was not a patient.\n\n\"Whose little girl are you?\" I asked.\n\n\"Papa's and mamma's,\" she said promptly.\n\n\"Where are they?\" I next interrogated.\n\n\"In papa's room--down the hall, around the corner. Papa is sick; only,\nhe's better now, and will be all well soon. And mamma and I came to see\nhim, with what Santa Claus brought us.\"\n\n\"I see,\" I commented. \"And these are the things Santa Claus brought\nyou?\" I added, indicating the toys on the cot. \"You have come, now, to\nshow them to me?\"\n\nHer face fell a bit. \"I came to play at them with you,\" she said. \"Your\nnurse thought maybe you'd like to, for a while. Are you too sick to\nplay?\" she continued, anxiously; \"or too tired, or too busy?\"\n\nHow seldom are any of us too sick to play; or too tired, or too busy! \"I\nam not,\" I assured my small caller. \"I should enjoy playing. What shall\nwe begin with?\" I supplemented, glancing again toward the toy-bestrewn\ncot.\n\n\"Oh, there are ever so many things!\" the little girl said. \"But,\" she\nwent on hesitatingly, \"_your_ things--perhaps you'd like--might I look\nat them first?\"\n\nMost evident among these things of mine was a small tree, bedizened,\nafter the German fashion, with gilded nuts, fantastically shaped\ncandies, and numerous tiny boxes, gayly tied with tinsel ribbons.\n\"What's in the boxes--presents or jokes?\" the little girl questioned.\n\"Have you looked?\"\n\n\"I hadn't got that far, when you came,\" I told her; \"but I rather\n_think_--jokes.\"\n\n\"_I'd_ want to _know_\" she suggested.\n\nWhen I bade her examine them for me, she said: \"Let's play I am Santa\nClaus and you are a little girl. I'll hand you the boxes, and you open\nthem.\"\n\nWe did this, with much mutual enjoyment. The boxes, to my amusement and\nher delight, contained miniature pewter dogs and cats and dolls and\ndishes. \"Why,\" my little companion exclaimed, \"they aren't _jokes_; they\nare _real presents_! They will be _just_ right to have when _little_\nchildren come to see you!\"\n\nWhen the last of the boxes had been opened and my other less juvenile\n\"things\" surveyed, the child turned to her own treasures. \"There are the\ntwo puzzles,\" she said, \"and there is the big doll that can say 'Papa'\nand 'Mamma,' and there is the paper doll, with lovely patterns and\npieces to make more clothes out of for it, and there is a game papa just\n_loved_. Perhaps you'd like to play _that_ best, too, 'cause you are\nsick, too?\" she said tentatively.\n\nI assented, and the little girl arranged the game on the table beside my\nbed, and explained its \"rules\" to me. We played at it most happily until\nmy nurse, coming in, told my new-made friend that she must \"say 'Good-\nbye' now.\"\n\nMy visitor at once collected her toys and prepared to go. At the door\nshe turned. \"Good-bye,\" she said, again dropping her prim courtesy. \"I\nhave had a very pleasant time.\"\n\n\"So have I!\" I exclaimed.\n\nAnd I had had. \"She was so entertaining,\" I said to my nurse, \"and her\ngame was so interesting!\"\n\n\"It is not an uncommon game,\" my nurse remarked, with a smile; \"and she\nis just an ordinary, nice child!\"\n\nAmerica is full of ordinary, nice children who beguile their elders into\nplaying with them games that are not uncommon. How much \"pleasant time\"\nis thereby spent!\n\n\"Where do American children learn to expect grown people to play with\nthem?\" an Englishwoman once asked me. \"In the kindergarten?\"\n\nUndoubtedly they do. In no country except Germany is the kindergarten so\nintegral a part of the national life as it is in America. In our cities,\nrich and poor alike send their children to kindergartens. Not only in\nthe public and the private schools, but also in the social settlements,\nand even in the Sunday-schools, we have kindergarten departments. In the\nrural schools the teachers train the little \"beginners\" in accordance\nwith kindergarten principles. Even to places far away from any schools\nat all the kindergarten penetrates. Only yesterday I saw a book, written\nby a kindergartner, dedicated to \"mothers on the rolling prairie, the\nfar-off rancho, the rocky island, in the lonely light-house, the\nfrontier settlement, the high-perched mining-camp,\" who, distant indeed\nfrom school kindergartens and their equipment, might wish help in making\nout of what materials they have well-equipped home kindergartens.\n\n\"Come, let us play with the children,\" the apostles of Froebel teach us.\nAnd, \"Come, let us ask the grown-ups to play with us,\" they would seem\nunconsciously to instruct the children.\n\nOne autumn a friend of mine, the mother of a three-year-old boy and of a\ndaughter aged sixteen, said to me: \"This is my daughter's first term in\nthe high school; she will need my help. My boy is just at the age when\nit takes all the spare time I have to keep him out of mischief; how\nshall I manage?\"\n\n\"Send the boy to kindergarten,\" I advised. \"He is ready to go; and it\nwill be good for him. He will bring some of the 'occupations' home with\nhim; and they will keep him out of mischief for you.\"\n\nShe sent the boy to a little kindergarten in the neighborhood.\n\nAbout two months later, I said to her, \"I suppose the kindergarten has\nsolved the problem of more spare time for your daughter's new demands\nupon you?\"\n\n\"Well--in a way,\" she replied, dubiously. \"It gives me the morning free;\nbut--\"\n\n\"Doesn't the boy bring home any 'occupations'?\" I interposed.\n\nMy friend laughed. \"Yes,\" she said; \"he certainly does! But he doesn't\nwant to 'occupy' himself alone with them; he wants _all_ of us to do it\nwith him! We have become quite expert at 'weaving,' and 'folding,' and\n'sewing'! But, on the other hand,\" she went on, \"he isn't so much\ntrouble as he was. He wants us to play with him more, but he plays more\nintelligently. We take real pleasure in joining in his games, and--\nactually--in letting him share ours.\"\n\nThis little boy, now five years old, came to see me the other day.\n\n\"What would you like to do?\" I asked, when we had partaken of tea.\n\"Shall we put the jig-saw puzzle together; or should you prefer to have\nme tell you a story?\"\n\n\"Tell me a story,\" he said at once; \"and then I'll tell you one. And\nthen _you_ tell another--and then _I'll_ tell another--\" He broke off,\nto draw a long breath. \"It's a game,\" he continued, after a moment. \"We\nplay it in kindergarten.\"\n\n\"Do you enjoy telling stories more than hearing them told?\" I inquired,\nwhen we had played this game to the extent of three stories on either\nside.\n\n\"No,\" my little boy friend replied. \"I like hearing stories told more\nthan anything. But _that_ isn't a game; that's just being-told-stories.\nThe _game_ is taking-turns-telling-stories.\" He enunciated each phrase\nas though it were a single word.\n\nHis mother had spoken truly when she said that her little boy had\nlearned to play intelligently. He had learned, also, to include his\nelders in his games on equal terms. Small wonder that they took real\npleasure in playing with him.\n\nThe children cordially welcome us to their games. They ask us to be\nchildren with them. As heartily, they would have us bespeak their\ncompany in our games; they are willing to try to be grown-up with us.\n\nI was visiting a family recently, in which there is but one small child,\na boy of eight. One evening we were acting charades. Divided into camps,\nwe chose words in turn, and in turn were chosen to superintend the\n\"acting-out\" of the particular word. It happened that the word\n\"Psychical-research,\" and the turn of the eight-year-old boy to be\nstage-manager coincided. Every one in his camp laughed, but no one so\nmuch as remotely suggested that the word or the stage-manager be\nchanged.\n\n\"What does it mean, 'Psychical-research'?\" the boy made question.\n\nWe laughed still more, but we genuinely tried to make the term\ncomprehensible to the child's mind.\n\nThis led to such prolonged and lively argument that the little stage-\nmanager finally observed: \"I don't see how it _can_ mean _all_ that all\nof you say. Can't we let the whole-word act of it go, and act out the\nrest? We can, you know--'Sigh,' 'kick,' 'all'; and 're' (like in music,\nyou know), and 'search!'\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" we demurred; \"we must do it properly, or not at all!\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said the boy, in a quaintly resigned tone of voice, \"talk\nto me about it, until I know what it is!\"\n\nIn spite of hints from the other camp not to overlap the time allotted\nus, in the face of messages from them to hurry, regardless of their\nprotests against our dilatoriness, we did talk to that little eight-\nyear-old boy about \"Psychical-research\" until he understood its meaning\nsufficiently to plan his final act. \"If he is playing with us, then he\n_is_ playing with us,\" his father somewhat cryptically remarked; \"and he\nmust know the details of the game.\"\n\nThis playing with grown-ups does not curtail the play in which children\nengage with their contemporaries. There are games that are distinctly\n\"children's games.\" We all know of what stuff they are made, for most of\nus have played them in our time--running-games, jumping-games, shouting-\ngames. By stepping to our windows nearly any afternoon, we may see some\nof them in process. But we shall not be invited to participate. At best,\nthe children will pause for a moment to ask, \"Did you play it this way?\"\n\nVery likely we did not. Each generation plays the old games; every\ngeneration plays them in a slightly new way. The present generation\nwould seem to play them with a certain self-consciousness; without that\n_abandon_ of an earlier time.\n\nA short while ago I happened to call upon a friend of mine on an\nafternoon when, her nursemaid being \"out,\" she was alone with her\nchildren--a boy of seven and a girl of five. I found them together in\nthe nursery; my friend was sewing, and the children were playing\ncheckers. Apparently, they were entirely engrossed in their game.\nImmediately after greeting me they returned to it, and continued it with\nseeming obliviousness of the presence of any one excepting themselves.\nBut when their mother, in the course of a few moments, rose, and said to\nme: \"Let's go down to the library and have tea,\" both the children\ninstantly stopped playing--though one of them was in the very thick of\n\"taking a king\"--and cried, \"Oh, don't go; stay with us!\"\n\n[ILLUSTRATION: \"DID YOU PLAY IT THIS WAY?\"]\n\n\"My dears,\" my friend said, \"you don't need us; you have your game.\nAren't you happy with it?\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" the little girl admitted; \"but we want you to see us being\nhappy!\"\n\nOnly to-day, as I came up my street, a crowd of small children burst\nupon me from behind a hedge; and, shouting and gesticulating, surrounded\nme. Their faces were streaked with red, and blue, and yellow lines,\napplied with crayons; feathers of various domestic kinds ornamented\ntheir hats and caps, and they waved in the air broken laths, presumably\ngifts from a builder at work in the vicinity.\n\n\"We are Indians!\" they shrieked; \"wild Indians! See our war-paint, and\nfeathers, and tomahawks! We hunt the pale face!\"\n\nWhile I sought about for an appropriate answer to make, my little\nneighbors suddenly became calm.\n\n\"Don't we children have fun?\" one of them questioned me. \"You like to\nsee us having fun, don't you?\"\n\nI agreed, and again their war-whoops began. They followed me to my door\nin a body. Inside I still heard them playing, but with lessened din.\nSeveral times during the afternoon, hearing their noise increase, I\nlooked out; each time I saw that the arrival of another grown-up pale\nface was the occasion of the climactic moment in the game. In order to\nbe wild Indians with perfect happiness the small players demanded an\nappreciative audience to see them being happy.\n\nSome of us in America are prone to deprecate in the children of our\nNation this pleased consciousness of their own enjoyment, this desire\nfor our presence as sympathetic onlookers at those of their games in\nwhich we cannot join. We must not allow ourselves to forget that it is a\nstate of mind fostered largely by our National habit of treating\nchildren as familiars and equals. Our satisfaction in their pleasures we\nmention in their hearing. If they are aware that we like to see them\n\"being happy,\" it is because we have told them, and told them\nrepeatedly. We do not, as in a former time, \"spell some of our words\" in\ntheir company, in order that they may not know all we say. On the\ncontrary, we pronounce all our words with especial clearness, and even\ndefine such as are obscure, that the children not only may, but must,\nfully understand us when we speak \"before them.\" Unquestionably this\ntakes from the play of the children self-forgetfulness of one kind, but\nsometimes it gives to them self-forgetfulness of another, a rarer kind.\n\nI know a family of children, lovers of games which involve running\nraces. Several years ago one of the boys of this family died. Since his\ndeath the other children run no more races.\n\n\"We like running races just as much,\" one of the girls explained to me\none evening, as we sat by the fire and talked about her dead brother;\n\"but, you know, _he_ always liked them best, because he generally won.\nHe loved to have mother see him winning. He was always getting her to\ncome and watch him do it. And mother liked it, and used to tell other\npeople about it. We don't run races now, because it might remind mother\ntoo much.\"\n\nNo matter how joyously American children may play with their elders, or\nwith their contemporaries, whatever enhancement their satisfaction in\nplay with one another may gain from the presence of grown-up spectators,\nthey are not likely to become so dependent upon the one, nor so self-\nconscious by reason of the other, that they will relinquish--or, worse\nstill, never know--the dear delights of \"playing alone.\" Games played in\ncompany may be the finest prose--they are yet prose; games played alone\nare pure poetry. The children of our Nation are not without that\nimagination which, on one day or another, impels a child to wander,\n\"lonely as a cloud,\" along the path of dreamful, solitary play.\n\nHow often a child who, to our eyes, appears to be doing nothing\nwhatever, is \"playing alone\" a delectable game! Probably, only once in a\nhundred times, and then, by the merest accident, do we discover what\nthat game is.\n\nAmong my child friends there is a little boy who takes great pleasure in\nseeing dramas acted. One spring day I took him to an open-air\npresentation of \"As You Like It.\"\n\nThe comedy was charmingly given in a clearing in a beautiful private\npark. Orlando had \"real\" trees and hawthorns and brambles upon which to\nhang his verses; and he made lavish use of them.\n\nThe fancy of my small friend was quite captivated by what he called\n\"playing hide-and-go-seek with poems.\" \"What fun he has, watching her\nfind them and not letting her know he hid them!\" he exclaimed.\n\nLater in the season I went to spend a few days at the country home of\nhis parents. Early one morning, from my window, I espied the little boy,\nstealthily moving about under the trees in the adjacent apple orchard.\n\nAt breakfast he remarked to me, casually, \"It's nice in the orchard--all\napple blossoms.\"\n\n\"Will you go out there with me?\" I asked.\n\n\"P'aps not to-day,\" he made reply. \"But,\" he hazarded, \"you could go by\nyourself. It's nice,\" he repeated; \"all apple blossoms. Get close to the\ntrees, and smell them.\"\n\nIt was a pleasant plan for a May morning.\n\nI lost no time in putting it into practice. Involuntarily I sought that\ncorner of the orchard in which I had seen my small friend. Mindful of\nhis counsel, I got close to the apple blossoms and smelled them. As I\ndid so I noticed a crumpled sheet of paper in a crotch of one of the\ntrees. I no sooner saw it than I seized it, and, smoothing it out, read,\nwritten in a primary-school hand:--\n\n\"The rose is red,\nThe violet blue,\nSugar is sweet,\nAnd so are you.\"\n\nNeed I say that I had scarcely read this before I entered upon an\nexhaustive search among the other trees? My amused efforts were well\nrewarded. Between two flower-laden branches I descried another \"poem,\"\nin identical handwriting:--\n\n\"A birdie with a yellow bill\nHopped upon the window-sill,\nCocked his shining eye and said\n'Ain't you 'shamed, you sleepy-head!'\"\n\nIn a tiny hollow I found still another, by the same hand:--\n\n\"'T was brillig, and the slithy toves\n  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;\nAll mimsy were the borogoves,\n  And the mome raths outgrabe.\"\n\nAs I went back to the house, bearing my findings, I met my little boy\nfriend. He tried not to see what I carried.\n\n\"I gathered these from the apple trees,\" I said, holding out the verses.\n\"They are poems.\"\n\nHe made no motion to take the \"poems.\" His eyes danced. But neither then\ndid he say nor since has he said that the verses were his; that he was\nthe Orlando who had caused them to grow upon the trees.\n\nAnother child of my acquaintance, a little girl, I discovered in an even\nsweeter game for \"playing alone.\" She chanced to call upon me one\nafternoon just as I was taking from its wrappings an _edition de luxe_\nof \"Pippa Passes.\" Her joy in the exquisite illustrations with which the\nbook was embellished even exceeded mine.\n\n\"Is the story in the book as lovely as the pictures?\" she queried.\n\n\"Yes,\" I assured her.\n\nThen, at her urgent request, I told her the tale of the \"little black-\neyed pretty singing Felippa\"; of her \"single day,\" and of her singing\nthat \"righted all again\" on that holiday in Asolo.\n\nThe child was silent for a moment after I had finished the story. \"Do\nyou like it?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Um--yes,\" she mused. \"Let me look at the pictures some more,\" she\nasked, with sudden eagerness.\n\nI handed her the book, and she pored over it for a long time. \"The\nhouses then were not like the houses now--were they?\" she said; \"and the\npeople dressed in funny clothes.\"\n\nThe next Saturday, at an early hour, I heard beneath my window a\nchildish voice singing a kindergarten song. I peeped out. There stood my\nlittle friend. I was careful to make no sound and to keep well in the\nshadow. The small girl finished her song, and softly ran away.\n\n\"Your little girl serenaded me the other morning,\" I said to her mother\nwhen I saw her a few days afterward. The child had shown so slight an\ninterest in anything in my book except the pictures that I did not yet\nconnect her singing with it.\n\n\"You, too!\" exclaimed the little girl's mother. \"She evidently serenaded\nthe entire neighborhood! All day Saturday, her only holiday, she went\naround, singing under various windows! I wonder what put the idea into\nher head.\"\n\n\"Did you ask her?\" I questioned, with much curiosity.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the child's mother; \"but she only smiled, and looked\nembarrassed, so I said nothing further. She seemed to want to keep her\nsecret, the dear baby! So I thought I'd let her!\"\n\nAnd I--I, too, kept it. \"Yes, do let her,\" was all I said.\n\nAmerican children, when \"playing alone,\" impersonate the heroes and\nheroines of the dramas they see, or the stories they are told, or the\nbooks they read (how much more often they must do it than we suspect our\nmemories of our own childish days will teach us), but when they play\ntogether, even when they \"play at books that they have read,\" they\nseldom \"pretend.\" A group of small boys who have just read \"Robin Hood\"\ndo not say: \"Wouldn't it be fun to play that _we_ are Robin Hood and his\nMerry Men, and that our grove is Sherwood Forest?\" They are more apt to\nsay: \"It would be good sport for _us_--shooting with bows and arrows. We\nmight get some, and fix up a target somewhere and practise.\" The circle\nof little girls who have read \"Mary's Meadow\" do not propose that they\nplay at being Mary. They decide instead upon doing, in their own proper\npersons, what Mary did in hers. They can play together, the children of\nour Nation, but they seem unable to \"pretend\" together. They are perhaps\ntoo self-conscious.\n\nIt is a significant circumstance that yearly there are published in\nAmerica a large number of books for children telling them \"how to make\"\nvarious things. A great part of their play consists in making something\n--from a sunken garden to an air-ship.\n\nI recently had a letter from a boy in which he said: \"The boys here are\ngetting wireless sets. We have to buy part of the things; but we make as\nmany of them as we can.\"\n\nAnd how assiduously they attempt to make as many as they can of the\nother things we grown-ups make! They imitate our play; and, in a spirit\nof play, they contrive to copy to its last and least detail our work. If\nwe play golf or tennis, they also play these games. Are we painters of\npictures or writers of books, they too aspire to paint or to write!\n\nIt cannot be denied that we encourage the children in this \"endless\nimitation.\" We not only have diminutive golf sticks and tennis rackets\nmanufactured for their use as soon as they would play our games; when\nthey show signs of toying with our work, we promptly set about providing\nthem with the proper means to that end.\n\nOne of our best-known magazines for children devotes every month a\nconsiderable number of its pages to stories and poems and drawings\ncontributed by children. Furthermore, it offers even such rewards as we\ngrown-up writers and painters are offered for \"available\" products.\nMoreover, the young contributors are instructed in the intricacies of\nliterary and artistic etiquette. They are taught how to prepare\nmanuscripts and drawings for the editorial eye. The \"rules\" given these\nchildren are identical with the regulations governing well-conducted\ngrown-up writers and artists--excepting that the children are commanded\nto \"state age,\" and \"have the contribution submitted indorsed as wholly\noriginal!\"\n\nIt is a noteworthy fact that hundreds of children in America send in\ncontributions, month after month, year after year, to this magazine.\nEven more significant is it that they prepare these contributions with\nall the conscientious care of grown-up writers or painters to whom\nwriting or painting is the chiefest reality of life. So whole-heartedly\ndo the children play at being what their elders are!\n\n[Illustration: THE DEAR DELIGHTS OF PLAYING ALONE]\n\nAn Italian woman once asked me, \"The American children--what do they\nemploy as toys?\"\n\nI could only reply, \"Almost anything; almost everything!\"\n\nWhen we are furthest from seeing the toy possibilities of a thing, they\nsee it. I have among my treasures a libation cup and a _ushabti_\nfigurine--votive offerings from the Temple of Osiris, at Abydos.\n\nA short time ago a little boy friend of mine lighted upon them in their\nsafe retreat. \"What are these?\" he inquired.\n\n\"They came from Egypt--\" I began.\n\n\"Oh, _really_ and _truly_?\" he cried. \"_Did_ they come from the Egypt in\nthe poem--\n\n\"'Where among the desert sands\nSome deserted city stands,\nThere I'll come when I'm a man\nWith a camel caravan;\nAnd in a corner find the toys\nOf the old Egyptian boys'?\"\n\nHe spent a happy hour playing with the libation cup and the _ushabti_--\ntrophies of one of the most remarkable explorations of our era. I did\nnot tell him what they were. He knew concerning them all he needed to\nknow--that they could be \"employed as toys.\" Perhaps the very tiniest of\nthe \"old Egyptian boys\" had known only this, too.\n\n\"Little girls do not play with dolls in these days!\" is a remark that\nhas been made with great frequency of late years. Those of us who have\nmany friends among little girls often wonder what is at the basis of\nthis rumor. There have always been girls who did not care for dolls. In\nthe old-fashioned story for girls there was invariably one such. In\n\"Little Women,\" as we all recall, it was Jo. No doubt the persons who\nsay that little girls no longer play with dolls count among their\nchildish acquaintances a disproportionate number of Jos. Playing with\ndolls would seem to be too fundamentally little-girlish ever to fall\ninto desuetude.\n\n\"Girls, as well as boys, play with dogs in these days!\" is another\nplaintive cry we often hear. But were there ever days when this was not\nthe case? From that far-off day when Iseult \"had always a little brachet\nwith her that Tristram gave her the first time that ever she came into\nCornwell,\" to the time when Dora cuddled Jip, even down to our own day,\nwhen the heroine of \"Queed\" walks forth with her Behemoth, girls both in\nfact and in fiction have played with dogs; played with them no less than\nboys. This proclivity on the part of the little girls of our Nation is\nnot distinctively American, nor especially childish, nor particularly\ngirl-like; it is merely human.\n\nIn few activities do the children of our Nation reveal what we call the\n\"American sense of humor\" so clearly as in their play. Slight ills, and\neven serious misfortunes, they instinctively endeavor to lift and carry\nwith a laugh. It would be difficult to surpass the gay heroism to which\nthey sometimes attain.\n\nMost of us remember the little hunchbacked boy in \"Little Men\" who, when\nthe children played \"menagerie,\" chose the part of the dromedary.\n\"Because,\" he explained, \"I have a hump on my back!\"\n\nAmong my acquaintances there is a little girl who is blind. One day I\ninvited her to go picnicking with a party of normal children, one of\nwhom was her elder sister. She was accustomed to the company of children\nwho could see, and she showed a ready disposition to join in the games\nof the other picnickers. Her sister stayed close beside her and guarded\nand guided her.\n\n\"Let's play blind man's buff,\" one of the children heedlessly suggested\nafter a long course of \"drop-the-handkerchief.\"\n\nThe other children with seeing eyes instantly looked at the child who\nwas sightless, and whispered, \"Ssh! You'll hurt her feelings!\"\n\nBut the little blind girl scrambled eagerly to her feet. \"Yes,\" she\nsaid, brightly; \"let's play blind man's buff! _I_ can be 'It' _all_ the\ntime!\"\n\nThere is a phrase that has been very widely adopted by Americans.\nScarcely one of us but uses it--\"playing the game.\" Our highest\ncommendation of a man or a woman has come to be, \"He plays the game,\" or\n\"She plays the game.\" Another phrase, often upon our lips, is \"according\nto the rules of the game.\" We Americans talk of the most sacred things\nof life in the vocabulary of children at play. May not this be because\nthe children of our Nation play so well; so much better than we grown-\nups do anything?\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\n\nTHE COUNTRY CHILD\n\n\nOne spring, not long ago, a friend of mine, knowing that I had a desire\nto spend the summer in the \"real country,\" said to me, \"Why don't you go\nto a farm somewhere in New England? Nothing could be more 'really\ncountrified' than that! You would get what you want there.\"\n\nHer advice rather appealed to my fancy. I at once set about looking for\na New England farmhouse in which I might be received as a \"summer\nboarder.\" Hearing of one that was situated in a particularly healthful\nand beautiful section of New England, I wrote to the woman who owned and\noperated it, telling her what I required, and asking her whether or no\nshe could provide me with it. \"Above all things,\" I concluded my letter,\n\"I want quiet.\"\n\nHer somewhat lengthy reply ended with these words: \"The bedroom just\nover the music-room is the quietest in the house, because no one is in\nthe music-room excepting for a social hour after supper. I can let you\nhave that bedroom.\"\n\nMy friend had said that nothing was so \"really countrified\" as a New\nEngland farm. But a \"music-room,\" a \"social hour after supper!\" The\nterms suggested things distinctly urban.\n\nI sent another letter to the woman to whom this amazing farmhouse\nbelonged. \"I am afraid I cannot come,\" I wrote. \"I want a simpler\nplace.\" Then, yielding to my intense curiosity, I added: \"Are many of\nyour boarders musical? Is the music-room for their use?\"\n\n\"No place could be simpler than this,\" she answered, by return mail. \"I\ndon't know whether any of my boarders this year will be musical or not.\nSome years they have been. The music-room isn't for my boarders,\nespecially; it is for my niece. She is very musical, but she doesn't get\nmuch time for practising in the summer.\"\n\nShe went on to say that she hoped I would decide to take the bedroom\nover the music-room. I did. I had told her that, above all things, I\ndesired quiet; but, after reading her letters, I think I wished, above\nall things, to see the music-room, and the niece who was musical.\n\n\"She will probably be a shy, awkward girl,\" one of my city neighbors\nsaid to me; \"and no doubt she will play 'The Maiden's Prayer' on a\nmelodeon which will occupy one corner of the back sitting-room. You will\nsee.\"\n\nIn order to reach the farm it was necessary not only to take a journey\non a train, but also to drive three miles over a hilly road. The little\nstation at which I changed from the train to an open two-seated carriage\nin waiting for me was the usual rural village, with its one main street,\nits commingled post-office and dry-goods and grocery store, and its\nsmall white meeting-house.\n\nThe farm, as we approached it, called to mind the pictures of old New\nEngland farms with which all of us are familiar. The house itself was\nover a hundred years old, I afterward learned; and had for that length\nof time \"been in the family\" of the woman with whom I had corresponded.\n\nShe was on the broad doorstone smiling a welcome when, after an hour's\ndrive, the carriage at last came to a stop. Beside her was her niece,\nthe girl whom I had been so impatient to meet. She was neither shy nor\nawkward.\n\n\"Are you tired?\" she inquired. \"What should you like to do? Go to your\nroom or rest downstairs until supper-time? Supper will be ready in about\ntwenty minutes.\"\n\n\"I'd like to see the music-room,\" I found myself saying.\n\n\"Oh,\" exclaimed the girl, her face brightening, \"are you musical? How\nnice!\"\n\nAs she spoke she led the way into the music-room. It was indeed a back\nsitting-room. Its windows opened upon the barnyard; glancing out, I saw\neight or ten cows, just home from pasture, pushing their ways to the\ndrinking-trough. I looked around the little room. On the walls were\nframed photographs of great composers, on the mantelshelf was a\nmetronome, on the centre-table were two collections of classic piano\npieces, and in a corner was,--not a melodeon,--but a piano. The maker's\nname was on it--a name famous in two continents.\n\n\"Your aunt told me you were musical,\" I said to the girl. \"I see that\nthe piano is your instrument.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she assented. \"But I don't play very well. I haven't had many\nlessons. Only one year with a really good teacher.\"\n\n\"Who was your teacher?\" I asked idly. I fully expected her to say, \"Some\none in the village through which you came.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you know my teacher,\" she replied; and she mentioned the name\nof one of the best pianists and piano teachers in New England.\n\n\"Most of the time I've studied by myself,\" she went on; \"but one year\nauntie had me go to town and have good lessons.\"\n\nAt supper this girl waited on the table, and after supper she washed the\ndishes and made various preparations for the next morning's breakfast.\nThen she joined her aunt and the boarders, of whom there were nine, on\nthe veranda.\n\n\"I should so like to hear you play something on the piano,\" I said to\nher.\n\nShe at once arose, and, followed by me, went into the music-room, which\nwas just off the veranda. \"I only play easy things,\" she said, as she\nseated herself at the piano.\n\nWhereupon she played, with considerable skill, one of Schumann's simpler\ncompositions, one of Schubert's, and one of Grieg's. Then, turning\naround on the piano-stool, she asked me, \"Do you like Debussy?\"\n\nI thought of what my neighbor had prophesied concerning \"The Maiden's\nPrayer.\" Debussy! And this girl was a country girl, born and bred on\nthat dairy farm, educated at the little district school of the vicinity;\nand, moreover, trained to take a responsible part in the work of the\nfarm both in winter and in summer. Her family for generations had been\n\"country people.\"\n\nIt was not surprising that she had made the acquaintance of Debussy's\nmusic; nor that she had at her tongue's end all the arguments for and\nagainst it. Her music-teacher was, of course, accountable for this. What\nwas remarkable was that she had had the benefit of that particular\nteacher's instruction; that, country child though she was, she had been\ngiven exactly the kind, if not the amount, of musical education that a\ncity child of musical tastes would have been given.\n\nMy neighbor had predicted a shy, awkward girl, a melodeon, and \"The\nMaiden's Prayer.\" One of our favorite fallacies in America is that our\ncountry people are \"countrified.\" Nothing could be further from the\ntruth, especially in that most important matter, the up-bringing of\ntheir children. Country parents, like city parents, try to get the best\nfor their children. That \"best\" is very apt to be identical with what\ncity parents consider best. Circumstances may forbid their giving it to\ntheir children as lavishly as do city parents; conditions may force them\nto alter it in various ways in order to fit it to the needs of boys and\ngirls who live on a farm, and not on a city street; but in some sort\nthey attempt to obtain it, and, having obtained it, to give it to their\nchildren.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE CHILDREN--THEY ARE SUCH DEARS!\"]\n\nThey are as ambitious for the education of their children as city\nparents; and to an amazing extent they provide for them a similar\nacademic training. An astonishing proportion of the students in our\ncolleges come from country homes, in which they have learned to desire\ncollegiate experience; from country schools, where they have received\nthe preparation necessary to pass the required college entrance\nexaminations. Surrounded, as we in cities are, by schools especially\nplanned, especially equipped, to make children ready for college, we may\nwell wonder how country children in rural district schools, with their\ncasual schedules and meagre facilities, are ever so prepared. By\nvisiting even a few district schools we may in part discover.\n\nI happened, not a great while ago, to spend an autumn month on a farm in\na very sparsely settled section of New Hampshire.\n\nOne morning at breakfast, shortly after Labor Day, my landlady said:\n\"School opens next week. The teacher is coming here to board for the\nwinter. I expect her to-day.\"\n\n\"Where does she come from?\" I asked.\n\n\"From Smith College,\" the farmer replied, unexpectedly. \"This is her\nsecond year of teaching our school.\"\n\nThe school-teacher arrived late in the afternoon. My landlady was\n\"expecting\" her; so was I, no less eagerly.\n\n\"Why were you interested in me?\" she inquired, when, on further\nacquaintance, I confessed this to her.\n\n\"Because, with a training that fits you for work in a carefully graded\nschool or a college, you chose to teach here. Why did you?\"\n\n\"For three reasons,\" she answered. \"Country life is better for my health\nthan city life; the people around here are thoroughly awake to the\nimportance of education; and the children--they are such dears! You must\nsee them when school opens.\"\n\nI did see them then. Also, I saw them before that time. When the news of\ntheir teacher's arrival reached them, they came \"by two, and threes, and\nfuller companies\" to welcome her. They ranged in age from a boy and a\ngirl of fifteen to two little girls of six. Each and every one was\nrapturously glad to see the teacher; they all brought her small gifts,\nand all of them bore messages from their homes, comprising a score of\ninvitations to supper, the loan of a tent for the remainder of the mild\nweather, and the offer of a \"lift\" to and from school on stormy days.\n\nThe teacher accepted these tributes as a matter of course. She was\ngenuinely glad to see her old pupils. In her turn, she sent messages to\ntheir several homes, and gave into the children's hands tokens she had\npurposely gathered together for them. \"We'll meet on Monday at the\nschool-house,\" she finally said; and the children, instantly responding\nto the implied suggestion, bade her good-bye, and went running down the\ndusty road. Each one of them lived at least a mile away; many of them\nmore than two miles.\n\nOn Monday I accompanied the teacher to school. The school-house was a\nsmall, one-roomed, wooden building. It contained little besides a few\nrows of desks and benches for the children, two or three maps, and\nblackboards, a tiny closet filled with worn books, the teacher's desk,\nand a coal stove. But it had windows on three sides, and was set down in\nthe midst of a grassy meadow bordered with a stone wall.\n\nThere were fourteen pupils. They were all assembled in the school-yard\nwhen we arrived. The boys were playing baseball, and the girls, perched\non the stone wall, were watching them. The moment they saw the teacher\nboys and girls alike came to escort her to her place in the school-\nhouse. When she was in it, they took their own places--those they had\noccupied during the former term. There was one \"new\" pupil, a small boy.\nHe had been so frequently a \"visiting scholar\" the previous year that\nhis newness was not very patent. There was a desk that he also claimed\nas his.\n\n\"We will sing 'America,'\" were the words with which the teacher\ncommenced the new school year, \"and then we will go on with our work,\nbeginning where we left off in the spring.\"\n\nWe hear a great deal at the present time concerning the education of the\n\"particular child.\" In the very best of our private schools in the city\neach pupil is regarded as a separate and distinct individual, and taught\nas such. This ideal condition of things prevailed in that little\ndistrict school in the farming region of New Hampshire. That teacher had\nfourteen pupils; practically, she had fourteen \"grades.\" Even when it\nhappened that two children were taught the same lesson, each one was\ntaught it individually.\n\n\"They are all so different!\" the teacher said, when I commented upon the\ndifference of her methods with the various children. \"That boy, who\nhopes to go to college and then teach, needs to get one thing from his\nhistory lesson; and that girl, who intends to be a post-office clerk as\nsoon as she finishes school, needs to get something else.\"\n\nShe did not aim to prepare her pupils for college. The district school\nwas only a \"grammar school.\" There was a high school in the nearest\nvillage, which was three miles away; she made her pupils ready for\nentrance into that. In order to attend the high school, more than one\nchild in that neighborhood, year after year, in sunshine and storm,\nwalked two and three miles twice daily. Many a child who lived still\nfarther away was provided by an interested father with a horse and a\nconveyance with which to make the two journeys a day. No wonder the\nteacher of that district school felt that the people in the neighborhood\nwere \"thoroughly awake to the importance of education\"!\n\nAs for the children--she had said that they were \"such dears!\" They\nwere. I remember, in particular, two; a brother and sister. She was\neight years old, and he was nine. They were inseparable companions. On\nbright days they ran to school hand in hand. When it rained, they\ntrudged along the muddy road under one umbrella.\n\nThe school-teacher had taught the little girl George Eliot's poem\n\"Brother and Sister.\" She could repeat it word for word, excepting the\nline, \"I held him wise.\" She always said that, \"I hold him tight.\" This\n\"piece\" the small girl \"spoke\" on a Friday afternoon. The most winning\npart of her altogether lovely recitation was the smile with which she\nglanced at her brother as she announced its title. He returned her\nsmile; when she finished her performance, he led the applause.\n\nBefore the end of my visit I became very intimate with that brother and\nsister. I chanced to be investigating the subject of \"juvenile books.\"\n\n\"What books have you?\" I inquired of the little girl.\n\n\"Ever so many of all kinds,\" she replied. \"Come to our house and look at\nthem,\" she added cordially.\n\nTheir house proved to be the near-by farm. One of the best in that\nsection, it was heated with steam and furnished with running water and\nplumbing. It had also a local and long-distance telephone. The brother\nand sister were but two of a family of seven children. Their father, who\nwas a member of the school committee, and their mother, who was a\ngraduate of a city high school, were keenly interested in, and,\nmoreover, very well informed on, the subject of pedagogy. They had read\na great number of books relating to it, and were in the habit of\nfollowing in the newspapers the procedures of the National Education\nAssociation's Conventions.\n\n\"Your children have a large number of exceedingly good books!\" I\nexclaimed, as I looked at the many volumes on a day appointed for that\npurpose by the mother of the family. \"I wish all children had as fine a\ncollection!\"\n\n\"Country children _must_ have books,\" she replied, \"if they are going to\nbe educated _at all._ City children can _see_ things, and learn about\nthem that way. Country children have to read about them if they are to\nknow about them.\"\n\nThe books were of many types--poetry, fiction, historical stories,\nnature study, and several volumes of the \"how to make\" variety. All of\nthese were of the best of their several kinds--identical with the books\nfound in the \"Children's Room\" in any well-selected public library. Some\nof them had been gifts to the children from \"summer boarders,\" but the\nmajority had been chosen and purchased by their parents.\n\n\"We hunt up the names of good books for children in the book review\ndepartments of the magazines,\" the mother said.\n\nWhen I asked what magazines, she mentioned three. Two she and her\nhusband \"took\"; the other she borrowed monthly from a neighbor, on an\n\"exchange\" basis.\n\nNo other children in that region were so abundantly supplied with books;\nbut all whom I met liked to read. Their parents, in most cases unable to\ngive them numerous books, had, in almost every instance, taught them to\nlove reading.\n\nOne boy with whom I became friends had a birthday while I was in the\nneighborhood. I had heard him express a longing to read \"The Lays of\nAncient Rome,\" which neither he nor any other child in the vicinity\npossessed, so I presented him with a copy of it.\n\n\"Would you mind if I gave it to the library?\" he asked. \"Then the other\nchildren around could read it, too.\"\n\n\"The library!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Oh, I don't mean the one down in the village,\" he hastened to explain.\n\"I mean the one here, near us. Haven't you been to it?\"\n\nWhen he found that I had not, he offered to go with me to see it. It\nturned out to be a \"lean-to\" in a farmhouse that was in a rather central\nposition with relation to the surrounding farms. The library consisted\nof about two hundred volumes. The librarian was an elderly woman who\nlived in the house. One was allowed, she told me, to take out as many\nbooks as one wished, and to keep them until one had finished reading\nthem.\n\n\"Do you want to take out any?\" she inquired.\n\nAfter examining the four or five shelves that comprised the library, I\nwanted to take out at least fifty. The books, especially the \"juvenile\nbooks,\" were those of a former generation. Foremost among them were the\n\"Rollo Books,\" \"Sandford and Merton,\" Mary Howitt's \"Story-Book,\" and\n\"The Parents' Assistant.\"\n\n\"Who selected the books?\" I asked.\n\n\"Nobody exactly _selected_ them,\" the librarian said. \"Every one around\nhere gave a few from their collections, so's we could have a near-to\nlibrary--principally on account of the children. I live most convenient\nto every one hereabouts; so I had shelves put up in my lean-to for\nthem.\"\n\nNews travels very rapidly indeed in the country. My boy friend told some\nof the other children that I was reading the _oldest_ books in the\nlibrary. \"She takes them out by the armfuls,\" I overheard him remark.\n\nNo doubt he made more comments that I did not overhear; for one morning\na small girl called to see me, and, after a few preliminaries, said, \"If\nyou are through with 'The Fairchild Family,' may I have it? You like it\nawfully much, don't you?\"\n\nNot only in the secular teaching of their children do thoughtful country\nparents, in common with careful fathers and mothers living elsewhere,\ntry to obtain the best means and to use them to the best ends; in the\nreligious instruction of their children they make a similar attempt.\nThey are not content to let their children learn entirely at home, to\ndepend solely upon parental guidance. The church, and even the Sunday\nschool, are integral parts in the up-bringing of the most happily\nsituated country children. The little white meeting-houses in the small\nrural villages are familiar places to the country child--joyously\nfamiliar places, at that. The only weekly outing that falls to the lot\nof the younger children of country parents is the Sunday trip to church\nand Sunday school.\n\nWhat do they get from it? Undoubtedly, very much what city children\nreceive from the church and the Sunday school--in quantity and in\nquality. There is a constant pleasure from the singing; an occasional\nglimmer of illumination from the sermon; and an unfailing delight from\nthe Bible stories. We can be reasonably sure that _all_ children get\nthus much from the habitual church and Sunday-school attendance. Some,\nirrespective of city or country environment, glean more.\n\nA small country boy of my acquaintance brought from Sunday school one of\nthe most unique versions of a Scriptural passage with which I have ever\nmet. \"Did you go to church this morning?\" I inquired of him, one Sunday\nafternoon, when, catching a glimpse of me under the trees near his home,\nhe came, as he explained, to \"pass the time of day\" with me.\n\n\"Yes,\" he answered; \"and I went to Sunday school, too.\"\n\n\"And what was your lesson about?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh, about the roses--\"\n\n\"Roses?\" I interrupted, in surprise.\n\n\"Yes,\" the little boy went on; \"the roses--you know--in the gardens.\"\n\n\"I don't remember any Sunday-school lesson about them,\" I said.\n\n\"But there _is_ one; we had it to-day. The roses, they made the children\nhave good manners. Then, one day, the children were greedy; and their\nmanners were bad. Don't you know about it?\" he added anxiously.\n\nHe was but five years old. I told him about Moses; I explained\npainstakingly just who the Children of Israel were; and I did my best to\npoint out clearly the difference between manna and manners. He listened\nwith seeming understanding; but the next day, coming upon me as I was\nfastening a \"crimson rambler\" to its trellis, he inquired solemnly, \"Can\nthe roses make children have good manners, _yet_?\"\n\nCountry children are taught, even as sedulously as city children, the\nimportance of good manners! On the farm, as elsewhere, the small left\nhand is seized in time by a mother or an aunt with the well-worn words,\n\"Shake hands with the _right_ hand, dear.\" \"If you please,\" as promptly\ndoes an elder sister supplement the little child's \"Yes,\" on the\noccasion of an offer of candy from a grown-up friend. The proportion of\nsmall boys who make their bows and of little girls who drop their\ncourtesies is much the same in the country as it is in the city.\n\n[Illustration: A SMALL COUNTRY BOY]\n\nIn the matter of clothes, too, the country mother, like any other mother\nin America, wishes her children to be becomingly attired, in full accord\nwith such of the prevailing fashions as seem to her most suitable. In\ncompany with the greater portion of American mothers, she devotes\nconsiderable time and strength and money to the wardrobes of her boys\nand girls. The result is that country children are dressed strikingly\nlike city children. Their \"everyday\" garments are scarcely\ndistinguishable from the \"play clothes\" of city children; their \"Sunday\"\nclothes are very similar to the \"best\" habiliments of the boys and girls\nwho do not live in the country.\n\nWe have all read, in the books of our grandmothers' childhood, of the\nchildren who, on the eve of going to visit their city cousins, were much\nexercised concerning their wearing apparel. \"_Would_ the pink frock,\nwith the green sash, be _just_ what was being worn to parties in the\ncity?\" the little girl of such story-books fearfully wondered. \"Will\nboys of my age be wearing short trousers _still_?\" the small boy\ndubiously queried. Invariably it transpired that pink frocks and green\nsashes, if in fashion at all, were _never_ seen at parties; and that\n_long_ trousers were absolutely essential, from the point of view of\ncustom, for boys of our hero's age. Many woes were attendant upon the\ndiscovery that these half-suspected sumptuary laws were certain facts.\n\nNo present-day country boy and girl, coming from the average home to the\nhouse of city cousins, would need to feel any such qualms. Should they,\nfive minutes' inspection of the garments of those city cousins would\nrelieve their latent questionings. They would see that, to the casual\neye, they and their cousins were dressed in the same type of raiment.\n\nHow could they fail to be? A large crop of \"fashion magazines\"\nflourishes in America. The rural free delivery brings them to the very\ndoors of the farmhouse. By the use of mail orders the mother on the farm\ncan obtain whatever materials the particular \"fashion magazine\" to which\nshe is a subscriber advises, together with paper patterns from which she\ncan cut anything, from \"jumpers\" to a \"coat for gala occasions.\"\n\nThe approved clothes of all American children in our time are so\nexceedingly simple in design that any woman who can sew at all can\nconstruct them; and, in the main, the materials of which they are made\nare so inexpensive that even the farmer whose income is moderate in size\ncan afford to supply them. A clergyman who had worked both in city and\nin country parishes once told me that he attributed the marked increase\nin ease and grace of manner--and, consequently, in \"sociability\"--among\ncountry people to-day, as compared with country people of his boyhood,\nvery largely to the invention of paper patterns.\n\n\"Rural folk dressed in a way peculiar to themselves then,\" he said; \"now\nthey dress like the rest of the world. It is curious,\" he went on,\nreflectively, \"but human beings, as a whole, seem unable not to be\nawkward in their behavior if their costumes can possibly be\ndifferentiated otherwise than by size!\"\n\nIt is another queer fact that normal persons would seem to require\n\"best\" clothes. They share the spirit of Jess, in \"A Window in Thrums.\"\n\"But you could never wear yours, though ye had ane,\" said Hendry to her\nabout the \"cloak with beads\"; \"ye would juist hae to lock it awa in the\ndrawers.\" \"Aye,\" Jess retorted, \"but I would aye ken it was there.\"\n\nI have an acquaintance who is not normal in this matter. She scorns\n\"finery,\" whether for use or for \"locking awa.\" One summer she and I\nspent a fortnight together on a Connecticut farm. During the week the\nfarmer and his wife, as well as their two little children, a girl and a\nboy, wore garments of dark- denim very plainly made. The children\nwere barefooted.\n\n\"These people have sense,\" my acquaintance observed to me on the first\nday of our sojourn; \"they dress in harmony with their environment.\"\n\nI was silent, realizing that, if Sunday were a fine day, she might feel\ncompelled to modify her approbation. On Saturday night the farmer asked\nif we should care to accompany the family to church the next morning.\nBoth of us accepted the invitation.\n\nSunday morning, as I had foreseen, when the family assembled to take its\nplaces in the \"three-seater,\" the father was in \"blacks,\" with a\n\"boiled\" shirt; the mother, a pretty dark-eyed, dark-haired young woman,\na pleasant picture in the most every-day of garments, was a charming\nsight, in a rose-tinted wash silk and a Panama hat trimmed with black\nvelvet. As for the boy and the girl, they were arrayed in spotless\nwhite, from their straw hats even to their canvas shoes. The hands of\nthe farmer and his son were uncovered; but the mother and her little\ndaughter wore white lisle gloves. They also carried parasols--the\nmother's of the shade of her dress, the girl's pale blue. No family in\nAmerica could possibly have looked more \"blithe and bonny\" than did that\none in \"Sunday\" clothes, ready for church.\n\nThe face of my acquaintance was a study.\n\nIn it were mingled surprise and disapproval. Both these elements became\nmore pronounced when we were fairly in the meeting-house. All the men,\nwomen, and children there assembled were also in \"Sunday\" clothes.\n\nMy acquaintance has the instinct of the reformer. Hardly were we settled\nin the \"three-seater,\" preparatory to returning home after the service,\nwhen she began. \"Do you make your own clothes?\" she inquired of the\nfarmer's wife.\n\n\"Yes,\" was the reply; \"and the children's, too.\"\n\n\"Isn't there a great deal of work involved in the care of such garments\nas you are all wearing to-day?\" she further pursued.\n\n\"I suppose there is the usual amount,\" the other woman said, dryly.\n\n\"Then, why do you do it--living in the country, as you do?\"\n\n\"There is no reason why people shouldn't dress nicely, no matter where\nthey happen to live,\" was the answer. \"During the week we can't; but on\nSunday we can, and do, and ought--out of respect to the day,\" she\nquaintly added.\n\n[Illustration: ARRAYED IN SPOTLESS WHITE]\n\nThe city is not a mere name to American country children. Increased\ntrain facilities, the improvement in the character of country roads\nbrought about by the advent of the automobile, and the extension of the\ntrolley system have done much to mitigate the isolation of rural\ncommunities. The farmer and his wife can avail themselves of the\nadvantages to be found in periodical trips to the nearest city. Like\nother American parents, they invite their children to share their\ninterests. The boys and girls are included in the jauntings to the city.\n\nI once said to a little girl whom I met on a farm in Massachusetts: \"You\nmust come soon and stay with me in the city from Saturday until Monday.\nWe will go to the Art Museum and look at the pictures.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she cried, joyously, \"I'd _love_ to! Every time we go to town, and\nthere is a chance, mother and I go to the Museum; we both like the\npictures so much.\"\n\nThis little girl, when she was older, desired to become a kindergartner.\nThere was a training-school in the near-by city. She could not afford to\ngo to and fro on the train, but there was a trolley. The journey on the\ntrolley occupied three hours, but the girl took it twice daily for two\nyears.\n\n\"Doesn't it tire you?\" I asked her.\n\n\"Oh, somewhat,\" she admitted; \"but I was already used to it. We usually\ntraveled to town on it when I was small.\"\n\n\"Countrified\" is not the word to apply to American farmers and their\nfamilies. One might as aptly employ it when describing the people of\nEngland who live on their \"landed estates.\" Ignorance and dullness and\nawkwardness we shall not often find among country children. The boys and\ngirls on the farms are as well informed, as mentally alert, and as\nattractive as children in any other good homes in America.\n\nWe all know Mr. James Whitcomb Riley's poem, \"Little Cousin Jasper.\" The\ncountry boy in it, we recall, concluded his reflections upon the happier\nfortune of the boy from the \"city\" of Rensselaer with these words:\n\n\"Wishst our town ain't like it is!--\nWishst it's ist as big as his!\nWishst 'at _his_ folks they'd move _here_,\nAn' _we'd_ move to Rensselaer!\"\n\nOnly last summer I repeated this poem to a little girl whose home was a\nfarm not far from a house at which I was stopping.\n\n\"But,\" she said, in a puzzled tone of voice, \"no place is as big as the\ncountry! Look!\" she exclaimed, pointing to the distant horizon; \"it's so\nbig it touches the edge of the sky! No city is _that_ big, is it?\"\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\n\nTHE CHILD IN SCHOOL\n\n\nAn elderly woman was talking to me not long ago about her childhood.\n\n\"No, my dear, I did not have a governess,\" she said, in answer to my\nquestionings. \"Neither did I attend the public schools, though I lived\nin the city. I went to a private school. The pupils in it were the girls\nof the little social circle to which my parents belonged. There were\nperhaps twenty of us in all. And there were three teachers; one for the\n'first class,' one for the 'second class,' and a French-German-music-\nand-drawing-teacher-in-one for both classes.\"\n\n\"And what did you study?\" I asked.\n\n\"Besides French, German, music, and drawing?\" my elderly friend mused.\n\"Well, we had the three R's; and history, English and American, and\ngeography, and deportment. I think that was all.\"\n\n\"And you liked it?\" I ventured.\n\n\"Yes, my dear, I did,\" replied my friend, \"though I used to pretend that\nI didn't. I sometimes even 'played sick' in order to be allowed to stay\nhome from school. Children then, as now, thought they ought to 'hate to\ngo to school.' I believe most of them did, too. I happened to be a\n'smart' child; so I liked school. I suppose 'smart' children still do.\"\n\nA \"smart\" child! In my mind's eye I can see my elderly friend as one,\nsitting at the \"head\" of her class, on a long, narrow bench, her eyes\nshining with a pleased consciousness of \"knowing\" the lesson, her cheeks\nrosy with expectation of the triumph sure to follow her \"saying\" of it,\nher lips parted in an eagerness to begin. Can we not all see her, that\n\"smart\" child of two generations ago?\n\nAs for her lesson, can we not hear it with our mind's ear? In\narithmetic, it was the multiplication table; in English history, the\nnames of the sovereigns and the dates of their reigns; in geography, the\ncapitals of the world; in deportment--ah, in deportment, a finer lesson\nthan any of our schools teach now! These were the lessons. Indeed, my\nelderly friend has told me as much. \"And not easy lessons, either, my\ndear, nor easily learned, as the lessons of schoolchildren seem to be\nto-day. We had no kindergartens; the idea that lessons were play had not\ncome in; to us lessons were work, and hard work.\"\n\nMy friend gave a little sigh and shook her head ever so slightly as she\nconcluded. It was plain that she deprecated modern educational methods.\n\"Schools have changed,\" she added.\n\nAnd has not the attitude of children toward going to school changed even\nmore? Do many of them \"hate to go\"? Do any of them at all think they\n\"ought to hate to go\"? Is a single one \"smart\" in the old-time sense of\nthe word?\n\nA winter or two ago I was recovering from an illness in a house which,\nby great good fortune, chanced to be situated on a suburban street\ncorner, not only near a large public school, but directly on the main\nroute of the children going to and from it. My chief pleasure during\nthat shut-in winter was watching those children. Four times a day--at\nhalf-past eight, at half-past twelve, at half-past one, and at half-past\nthree--I would take the window to see them going by. They were of many\nages and sizes; from the kindergarten babies to the boys and girls of\nthe ninth grade. None of them could possibly have been described as\n\"creeping like snail unwillingly to school.\" As a usual thing, they came\nracing pell-mell down the three streets that converged at my corner;\nafter school they as tumultuously went racing up, homeward. I never\nneeded to consult the clock in order not to miss seeing the children.\nWhen I heard from outside distant sounds of laughing and shouting, I\nknew that a school session had just ended--or was about to begin. Which,\nI could only tell by noting the time. The same joyous turmoil heralded\nthe one as celebrated the other. Clearly, these children, at least, did\nnot \"hate to go to school\"!\n\nOne of them, a little boy of nine, a friend and near neighbor of mine,\nliked it so well that enforced absence from it constituted a punishment\nfor a major transgression. \"Isn't your boy well?\" I inquired of his\nmother when she came to call one evening. \"A playmate of his who was\nhere this afternoon told me that he had not been in school to-day.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, he is perfectly well!\" my friend exclaimed. \"But he is being\ndisciplined--\"\n\n\"Disciplined?\" I said. \"Has he been so insubordinate as that in school?\"\n\n\"Not in school,\" the boy's mother said; \"at home.\" Then, seeing my\nbewilderment, she elucidated. \"When he is _very_ naughty at home, I keep\nhim out of school. It punishes him more than anything else, because he\nloves to go to school.\"\n\nAnother aspect of the subject presented itself to my mind. \"I should\nthink he would fall behind in his studies,\" I commented.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" she replied; \"he doesn't. Children don't fall behind in their\nstudies in these days,\" she added. \"They don't get a chance. Every\nsingle lesson they miss their teachers require them to 'make up.' When\nmy boy is absent for a day, or even for only half a day, his teacher\nsees that he 'makes up' the lessons lost before the end of the week.\nWhen I was a child, and happened to be absent, no teacher troubled about\n_my_ lost lessons! _I_ did all the troubling! I laboriously 'made them\nup'; the thought of examination days coming along spurred me on.\"\n\nThose examination days! How amazed, almost amused, our child friends are\nwhen we, of whose school-days they were such large and impressive\nmilestones, describe them! A short time ago I was visiting an old\nschoolmate of mine. \"Tell me what school was like when you and mother\nwent,\" her little girl of ten besought me.\n\nSo I told her. I dwelt upon those aspects of it differing most from\nschool as she knows it--the \"Scholarship Medal,\" the \"Prize for Bible\nHistory,\" and the other awards, the bestowal of which made \"Commencement\nMorning\" of each year a festival unequaled, to the pupils of \"our\"\nschool, by any university commencement in the land, however many and\nbrilliant the number of its recipients of \"honorary degrees.\" I touched\nupon the ease with which even the least remarkable pupil in that school\ncould repeat the Declaration of Independence and recount the \"causes\" of\nthe French Revolution. Finally, I mentioned our examination days--six in\nJanuary, six more in June.\n\n\"What did you do on them?\" inquired the little girl.\n\n\"Will you listen to that?\" demanded her mother. \"Ten years old--and she\nasks what we did on examination days! This is what it means to belong to\nthe rising generation--not to know, at ten, anything about examination\ndays!\"\n\n\"What _did_ you do on them?\" the little girl persisted.\n\n\"We had examinations,\" I explained. \"All our books were taken away, and\nwe were given paper and pen and ink--\"\n\n\"And three hours for each examination,\" my friend broke in. \"We had one\nin the morning and another in the afternoon.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I went on. \"One morning we would have a grammar examination.\nTwenty questions would be written on the blackboard by our teacher, and\nwe would write the answers--in three hours. On another morning, or on\nthe afternoon of that same day, we might have an arithmetic examination.\nThere would be twenty questions, and three hours to answer them in, just\nthe same.\"\n\n\"Do you understand, dear?\" said the little girl's mother. \"Well, well,\"\nshe went on, turning to me before the child could reply, \"how this talk\nbrings examination days back to my remembrance! What excitement there\nwas! And how we worked getting ready for them! I really think it was a\nmatter of pride with us to be so tired after our last examination of the\nweek that we had to go to bed and dine on milk toast and a soft-boiled\negg!\"\n\nThe little girl was looking at us with round eyes.\n\n\"Does it all sound very queer?\" I asked.\n\n\"The going to bed does,\" she made reply; \"and the milk toast and the egg\nfor dinner, and the working hard. The examinations sound something like\nthe tests we have, _They_ are questions to write answers to, but we\ndon't think much about them. I don't believe any of the girls or boys go\nto bed afterwards, or have milk toast and eggs for dinner--on purpose\nbecause they have had a test!\"\n\nShe was manifestly puzzled. \"Perhaps it is because we have tests about\nevery two weeks, and not just in January and June,\" she suggested.\n\nShe did not seem disposed to investigate further the subject of her\nmother's and my school-days. In a few moments she ran off to her play.\n\nWhen she was quite out of hearing her mother burst into a hearty laugh.\n\"Poor child!\" she exclaimed. \"She thinks we and our school were very\ncurious. I wonder why,\" she continued more seriously, \"we did take\nexaminations, and lessons, too, so weightily. Children don't in these\ndays. The school-days of the week are so full of holiday spirit for them\nthat, actually, Saturday is not much of gala day. Think of what Saturday\nwas to _us_! What glorious times we had! Why, Saturday was _Saturday_,\nto us! Do you remember the things we did? You wrote poems and I painted\npictures, and we read stories, and 'acted' them. Then, we had our\ngardens in the spring, and our experiments in cake-baking in the winter.\nMy girls do none of these things on Saturday. The day is not to them\nwhat it was to us. I wonder what makes the difference.\"\n\n[Illustration: THEY PAINT PICTURES AS A REGULAR PART OF THEIR SCHOOL\nROUTINE]\n\nI had often wondered; but these reflections of my old schoolmate gave me\nan inkling of what the main difference is. To us, school had been a\nplace in which we learned lessons from books--books of arithmetic, books\nof grammar, or other purely academic books. For five days of the week\nour childish minds were held to our lessons; and our lessons, without\nexception, dealt with technicalities--parts of speech, laws of\nmathematics, facts of history, definitions of the terms of geography.\nSmall marvel that Saturday was a gala day to us. It was the one \"week\nday\" when we might be unacademic!\n\nBut children of the present time have no such need of Saturday. They\nwrite poems, and paint pictures, and read stories, and \"act\" them, and\nplant gardens, and even bake cake, as regular parts of their school\nroutine. The schools are no longer solely, or even predominantly,\nacademic. As for technicalities, where are they in the schools of to-\nday? As far in the background as the teachers can keep them. Children do\nnot study grammar now; they are given \"language work.\" It entails none\nof the memorizing of \"rules,\" \"exceptions,\" and \"cautions\" that the\nformer study of grammar required. History would seem to be learned\nwithout that sometime laying hold of \"dates.\" Geography has ceased to be\na matter of the \"bounding\" of states and the learning of the capitals of\nthe various countries; it has become the \"story of the earth.\" And\narithmetic--it is \"number work\" now, and is all but taught without the\nmultiplication tables. How could Saturday be to the children of to-day\nwhat it was to the children of yesterday?\n\nMy old schoolmate's little girl had spoken of \"tests.\" In my school-days\nwe called such minor weekly or fortnightly matters as these, \"reviews.\"\nWe regarded them quite as lightly as my small friend looked upon her\n\"tests.\" Examinations--they were different, indeed. Twice a year we were\nexpected to stretch our short memories until they neatly covered a\nseries of examination papers, each composed of twenty questions,\nrelating to fully sixteen weeks' accumulation of accurate data on the\nseveral subjects--fortunately few--we had so academically been studying.\nIt is little wonder that children of the present day are not called upon\nto \"take\" such examinations; not only the manner of their teaching, but\nthe great quantity of subjects taught, make \"tests\" of frequent\noccurrence the only practicable examinations.\n\n\"Children of the present time learn about so many things!\" sighed a\nmiddle-aged friend of mine after a visit to the school which her small\ngranddaughter attended. \"What an array of subjects are brought to their\nnotice, from love of country to domestic science! How do their young\nminds hold it?\"\n\nI am rather inclined to think that their young minds hold it very much\nas young minds of one, two, or three generations ago held it. After all,\nwhat subjects are brought to the notice of present-day children that\nwere not called to the attention of children of former times? The\ndifference would seem to be, not that the children of to-day learn about\nmore things than did the children of yesterday, but that they learn\nabout more things in school. Love of country--were we not all taught\nthat by our fathers as early and as well as the children are taught it\nto-day by their teachers? And domestic science--did not mothers teach\nthat, not only to their girls, but to their boys also, with a degree of\nthoroughness not surpassed even by that of the best of modern domestic\nscience teachers? The subjects to be brought to the notice of children\nappear to be so fixed; the things to be learned by them seem to be so\nslightly alterable! It is only the place of instruction that has\nshifted. Such a quantity of things once taught entirely at home are now\ntaught partly at school.\n\nIt is the fashion, I know, to deplore this. \"How dreadful it is,\" we\nhear many a person exclaim, \"that things that used to be told a child\nalone at its mother's knee are now told whole roomfuls of children\ntogether in school!\"\n\nCertainly it would be \"dreadful\" should the fact that children are\ntaught anything in school become a reason to parents for ceasing to\nteach them that same thing at home. So long as this does not happen,\nought we not to rejoice that children are given the opportunity of\nhearing in company from their teachers what they have already heard\nseparately from their fathers and mothers? A boy or a girl who has heard\nfrom a father or a mother, in intimate personal talk, of the beauty of\ntruth, the beauty of purity, the beauty of kindness, is fortified in an\nendeavor to hold fast to these things by hearing a teacher speak of them\nin a public, impersonal way.\n\nIndeed, is not this unity between the home and the school the great and\nunique fact in the education of the children of the present time? They\nare taught at home, as children always have been, and doubtless always\nwill be, an \"array of subjects\"; and they are taught at school, as\nchildren perhaps never before were, other aspects of very nearly all the\nmatters touched upon in that \"array.\" My old schoolmate said that\nSaturday had lost the glory it wore in her school-days and mine; but it\nseems to me that what has actually occurred is that the five school-days\nof the week have taken on the same glory. The joys we had only on\nSaturday children have now on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday,\nFriday, _and_ Saturday!\n\nIt is inevitable, I suppose, that they should handle our old delights\nwith rather a professional grasp. One day recently a little girl, a new\nacquaintance, came to see me. I brought out various toys, left over from\nmy childhood, for her amusement--a doll, with the trunk that still\ncontained her wardrobe; an autograph album, with \"verses\" and sketches\nin it; and a \"joining map,\" such as the brother of Rosamond of the\nPurple Jar owned.\n\n[Illustration: THEY DO SO MANY THINGS!]\n\nMy small caller occupied herself with these for a flattering length of\ntime, then she said: \"You played with these--what else did you play\nwith?\"\n\n\"I made paper-boats,\" I replied; \"and sailed them. I will show you how,\"\nI added.\n\nShe watched me with interest while I folded and refolded a sheet of\nwriting-paper until it became a boat.\n\n\"There!\" I said, handing it to her.\n\n\"Have you any more, paper you can spare?\" she questioned.\n\n\"Of course,\" I said. \"Should you like me to make you more boats?\"\n\n\"I'll make some things for _you_\" she remarked, \"if you will let me have\nthe paper.\"\n\nI offered her the freedom of the writing-paper drawer; and, while I\nlooked on, she folded and refolded with a practiced hand, until the\ntable beside us was covered, not only with boats compared with which\nmine was as a dory to an ocean liner, but also with a score of other\npretty and somewhat intricate paper toys.\n\n\"Who taught you to make all these lovely things?\" I asked.\n\n\"My teacher,\" answered the small girl. \"We all do it, in my room at\nschool, every Friday.\"\n\nThey do so many things! Their grown-up friends are hard put to it to\nfind anything novel to do with, or for, them. Not long ago a little boy\nfriend of mine was ill with scarlet fever. His \"case\" was so light that\nthe main problem attached to it was that of providing occupation for the\nchild during the six weeks of quarantine in one room. Remembering the\npleasure I had taken as a child in planting seeds on cotton in a glass\nof water and watching them grow at a rate almost equal to that of Jack's\nbeanstalk, I made a similar \"little garden\" and sent it to the small\nboy.\n\n\"It was lots of fun, having it,\" he said, when, quite well, he came to\nsee me. \"It grew so fast--faster than the others.\"\n\n\"What others?\" I queried.\n\n\"At school,\" he explained. \"We have them at school; and they grow fast,\nbut the one you gave me grew faster. Was that because it was in a little\nglass instead of a big bowl?\"\n\nI could not tell him. We had not had them at school in my school-days in\na big bowl. They had been out-of-school incidents, cultivated only in\nlittle glasses.\n\nThey have so many things at school, the children of to-day! If many of\nthese things have been taken from the home, they have only been taken\nthat they may, as it were, be carried back and forth between the home\nand the school.\n\nI have a friend, the mother of an only child, a boy of eight. Her\nhusband's work requires that the family live in a section of the city\nlargely populated by immigrants. The one school in the vicinity is a\nlarge public school. When my friend's little boy reached the \"school\nage,\" he, perforce, was entered at this school.\n\n\"You are an American,\" his father said to him the day before school\nopened; \"not a foreigner, like almost every child you will find at\nschool. Remember that.\"\n\n\"He doesn't understand what you mean when you talk to him about being an\nAmerican,\" the boy's mother said the next morning as we all watched the\nchild run across the street to the school. \"How could he, living among\nforeigners?\"\n\nOne day, about two months later, the small boy's birthday being near at\nhand, his father said to him, \"If some one were planning to give you\nsomething, what should you choose to have it?\"\n\n\"A flag,\" the boy said instantly; \"an American flag! _Our_ flag!\"\n\n\"Why?\" the father asked, almost involuntarily.\n\n\"To salute,\" the child replied. \"I've learned how in school--what to say\nand what to do. Americans do it when they love their country--like you\ntold me to,\" he added, eagerly. \"Our teacher says so. She's taught us\nall how to salute the flag. I told her I was an American, not a\nforeigner like the other children. And she said they could be Americans,\ntoo, if they wanted to learn how. So they are going to.\"\n\nThe small boy got his flag. The patriotism taught at home and the\npatriotism taught at school, diverse at other points, met and mingled at\nthat one most fundamental point.\n\nIn former days children did not quote their teachers much at home, nor\ntheir parents much at school. They do both in these days; occasionally\nwith comic results. A little girl of my acquaintance whose first year at\nschool began less than a month ago has, I observed only yesterday,\nseemed to learn as her introductory lesson to pronounce the words\n\"either\" and \"neither\" quite unmistakably \"[=a]ther\" and \"n[=a]ther.\"\n\n\"This is an amazing innovation,\" I said to her mother. \"How did she ever\nhappen to think of it?\"\n\n\"Ask her,\" said her mother plaintively.\n\nI did inquire of the little girl. \"Whom have you heard say '[=a]ther'\nand 'n[=a]ther'?\"\n\n\"Nobody,\" she unexpectedly answered.\n\n\"Then how did you learn to say it?\"\n\n\"Uncle Billy told me to--\"\n\nThis uncle is an instructor of English in one of our most famous\ncolleges. \"My _dear_ child,\" I protested, \"you must have misunderstood\nhim!\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" she affirmed earnestly. \"You see, papa and mamma say 'eether'\nand 'neether,' and my school-teacher says 'eyether' and 'nyether.' I\ntold papa and mamma, and they said to say them the way my teacher did;\nand I told my teacher, and she said to say them the way papa and mamma\ndid! I couldn't say them two ways at once; and I didn't know which one\nway to say them. So Uncle Billy told me, if _he_ were doing it, _he_\nwouldn't worry about it; _he_ would say them '[=a]ther' and\n'n[=a]ther'!\"\n\nShe is a very little girl, only seven; and she has not yet rounded out\nher first month of school. I suppose before she has been in school a\nfull term she will have discovered the impracticability of her uncle's\nmethod of settling the vexed question as to the pronunciation of\n\"either\" and \"neither.\" Very likely she will decide to say them\n\"eyether\" and \"nyether,\" as her teacher does.\n\nIt takes the children so short a time to elevate the teacher to the rank\nof final arbiter in their intellectual world. So soon, they follow her\nfootsteps in preference to any others along the ways of education. Not\nonly do they pronounce words as she pronounces them; in so far as they\nare able, they define words as she defines them. In due course, they are\na bit fearful of any knowledge obtained otherwise than as she teaches\nthem to obtain it. Is there one of us who has attempted to help a child\nwith \"home lessons\" who has not been obliged to reckon with this fact?\nHave we not worked out a problem in \"bank discount,\" for instance, for a\nperplexed youthful mathematician, only to be told, hesitatingly, \"Ye-es,\nyou have got the right answer, but that isn't the way my teacher does\nbank discount. Don't you know how to do it as she does?\" Or, with a\nyoung Latin \"beginner\" in the house, have we not tried to bring order\nout of chaos with respect to the \"Bellum Gallicum\" by translating, \"All\nGaul is divided into three parts,\" to be at once interrupted by, \"Our\nteacher translates that, 'Gaul is, _as a whole_, divided into three\nparts.'\" If we would assist the children of our immediate circles at all\nwith their \"home lessons,\" we must do it exactly after the manner and\nmethod ordained by their teachers.\n\nThis condition of things ought not to be displeasing to us, for the\nreason that, in the main, we have ourselves brought it to pass. The\nchildren, during their first days at school, are loyally ready to force\nthe views of their fathers and their mothers, and their uncles and\naunts, upon their teachers; and their teachers are tactfully ready to\neffect a compromise with them. But, before very long, our reiterated,\n\"Your teacher knows; do as she says,\" has its effect. The teacher\nbecomes the child's touchstone in relation to a considerable number of\nthe \"array of subjects\" taught in a present-day school. School-teachers\nin America prepare themselves so carefully for their duties, train\nthemselves to such a high order of skill in their performance, it is but\njust that those of us who are not teachers should abdicate in their\nfavor.\n\nHowever, since we are all very apt to be in entire accord with the\nchildren's teachers in all really vital matters, our position of second\nplace in the minds of the boys and girls with regard to the ways of\ndoing \"bank discount\" or translating \"_Gallia est omnes divisa in partes\ntres_\" is of small account. At least, we have a fuller knowledge of\ntheir own relations with these mathematical and Latinic things than our\ngrandparents had of our parents' lessons. And the children's teachers\nknow more about our relations to the subjects taught than the teachers\nof our fathers and mothers knew respecting the attitudes of our\ngrandfathers and grandmothers toward the curriculum of that earlier\ntime. For the children of to-day, unlike the children of a former time,\ntalk at home about school and talk at school about home. Almost\nunconsciously, this effects an increasingly cooperative union between\nhome and school.\n\n\"We are learning 'Paul Revere's Ride,' in school,\" I heard a small girl\nwho lives in Boston say recently to her mother.\n\n\"Are you, darling?\" the mother replied. \"Then, shouldn't you like to go\nsome Saturday and see the church where the lanterns were hung?\"\n\nSo much did the child think she would like to go that her mother took\nher the next Saturday.\n\n\"You saw the very steeple at which Paul Revere looked that night for the\nlanterns!\" I said, when, somewhat later, I happened to be again at that\nchild's home.\n\n\"Twice,\" she replied. \"I told my teacher that mother had taken me, so\nshe took all of us in my room at school on the next Saturday.\"\n\nPerhaps the most significant influence of the American home upon the\nAmerican school is to be found in the regular setting apart of an hour\nof the school-day once, or twice, or even three times a week, as a story\nhour; and the filling of that hour with the stories, read or told, that\nin earlier times children never so much as heard mentioned at school by\ntheir teachers. It is indeed a pleasant thought that in school-rooms\nthroughout the land boys and girls are hearing about the Argonauts, and\nthe Knights of the Round Table, and the Crusaders; to say nothing of\nsuch famous personages in the story world as Cinderella, and the\nSleeping Beauty, and Hop-O'-My-Thumb. The home story hour is no less\ndear because there is a school story hour too.\n\nThe other afternoon I stopped in during the story hour to visit a room\nin the school of my neighborhood. The teacher told the story of Pandora\nand the tale of Theseus and the Minotaur. A small friend of mine is a\nmember of the \"grade\" which occupies that room. At the end of the\nsession she walked home with me.\n\n\"Tell me a story?\" she asked, when, sitting cozily by the fire, we were\nhaving tea.\n\n\"What one should you like?\" I inquired. \"The story of Clytie, perhaps,\nor--\"\n\n\"I'd like to hear the one about Pandora--\"\n\n\"But you have just heard it at school!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"I know,\" she said; \"but I'd like to hear you tell it.\"\n\nWhen I had told it, she begged me to tell another. Again I suggested\nvarious tales in my repertory. But she refused them all. \"Tell about the\nman, and the dragon, and the ball of string, and the lady--\" she began.\n\nAnd once more when I interposed, reminding her that she had just heard\nit, she once more said, \"Yes; but I'd like to hear it again.\"\n\nSome of the children whom I have in mind as I write go to private\nschools and some of them go to public schools. It has not seemed to me\nthat the results obtained by the one type of school are discernibly\ndifferent from those produced by the other. In the private school there\nare fewer pupils than in the public school; and they are more nearly\nalike from the point of view of their parents' material wealth than are\nthe pupils in a public school. They are also \"Americans,\" and not\n\"foreigners,\" as are so many of the children in city public schools, and\neven in the public schools of many suburbs and villages. Possibly owing\nto their smaller numbers, they receive more individual attention than\nthe pupils of the public school; but, so far as my rather extensive and\nintimate acquaintance with children qualifies me to judge, they learn\nthe same lessons, and learn them with equal thoroughness. We hear a\ngreat deal about the differences between public and private schools, and\ncertainly there are differences; but the pupils of the public and the\nprivate schools are very much alike. It is considerably easier to\ndistinguish a public from a private school than it is to tell a public-\nschool child from a private-school child.\n\n[Illustration: THEY HAVE SO MANY THINGS!]\n\nThere are many arraignments of our American schools, whether public or\nprivate; and there are many persons who shake their heads over our\nAmerican school-children. \"The schools are mere drilling-places,\" we\nhear, \"where the children are all put through the same steps.\" And the\nchildren--what do we hear said of them? \"They do not work at their\nlessons as children of one, two, or three generations ago did,\" is the\ncry; \"school is made so pleasant for them!\"\n\nUnquestionably our American schools and our American school-children\nhave their faults. We must try to amend both. Meanwhile, shall we not be\ngrateful that the \"steps\" through which the children are put are such\nexcellent ones; and shall we not rejoice that school is made so\n\"pleasant\" for the boys and girls that, unlike the children of one, two,\nor three generations ago, they like to go to school?\n\n\n\n\nV\n\n\n\nTHE CHILD IN THE LIBRARY\n\n\nOne day, not long ago, a neighbor of Colonel Thomas Wentworth Higginson,\nof honored memory, was talking to me about him. Among the score of\ncharming anecdotes of the dear Colonel that she told me, there was one,\nthe most delightful of all, that related to the time-worn subject of the\nchild in the library. \"As a family, we were readers,\" she said. \"The\nimportance of reading had been impressed upon our minds from our\nearliest youth. All of us liked to read, excepting one sister, younger\nthan I. She cared little for it; and she seldom did it. I was a mere\nchild, but so earnestly had I always been told that children who did not\nread would grow up ignorant that I worried greatly over my sister who\nwould not read. At last I unburdened my troubled mind to Colonel\nHigginson. 'She doesn't like to read; she doesn't read,' I confided. 'I\nam afraid she will grow up ignorant; and then she will be ashamed! And\nthink how we shall feel!' The Colonel considered my words in silence for\na time. Then he said: 'There is a large and finely selected library in\nyour house; don't be disturbed regarding your sister, my dear. She will\nnot grow up ignorant. You see, she is exposed to books! She is certain\nto get something of what is in them!'\"\n\nColonel Higginson's neighbor went on to say that from that day she was\nno longer haunted by the fear that her sister, because she did not read,\nwould grow up ignorant. Are many of us in that same condition of feeling\nwith respect to the children of our acquaintance, even after we have\nprovided them with as excellent a library as had that other child in\nwhich they may be \"exposed to books\"? On the contrary, so solicitous are\nwe that, having furnished to the best of our knowledge the best books,\nwe do not rest until we are reasonably sure that the children are, not\nsimply getting something from them, but getting it at the right times\nand in the right ways. And everything and every one conspires to help\nus. Publishers issue volumes by the dozen with such titles as \"The\nChildren's Reading\" and \"A Guide to Good Reading\" and \"Golden Books for\nChildren.\" The librarian of the \"children's room\" in many a library sets\napart a certain hour of each week or each month for the purpose of\ntelling the children stories from the books that we are all agreed the\nchildren should read, hoping by this means to inspire the boys and girls\nto read the particular books for themselves. No effort is regarded as\ntoo great if, through it, the children seem likely to acquire the habit\nof using books; using them for work, and using them for recreation.\n\nCertainly our labors in this direction on behalf of the children are\namply rewarded. Not only are American children of the present time fond\nof reading--most children of other times have been that; they have a\nquite remarkable skill and ease in the use of books.\n\nA short while ago, spending a spring week-end with a friend who lives in\nthe country, I chanced to see a brilliant scarlet bird which neither my\nhostess nor I could identify. \"It was a redbird, I suppose,\" I said, in\nmentioning it later to a city acquaintance.\n\n\"What _is_ a redbird?\" she asked. \"Is it a cardinal, or a tanager, or\nsomething still different?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I replied. \"Perhaps,\" I added, turning to her little\ngirl often who was in the room, \"_you_ know; children learn so much\nabout birds in their 'nature study.'\"\n\n\"No,\" the child answered; \"but,\" she supplemented confidently, \"I can\nfind out.\"\n\nSeveral days afterward she came to call. \"Do you remember _exactly_ the\nway that red bird you saw in the country looked?\" she inquired, almost\nas soon as we met.\n\n\"Just red, I think,\" I said.\n\n\"Not with black wings?\" she suggested.\n\n\"I hardly think so,\" I answered.\n\n\"P'aps it had a few _white_ feathers in its wings?\" she hinted.\n\n\"I believe not,\" I said.\n\n\"Then,\" she observed, with an air of finality, \"it was a cardinal\ngrosbeak; and the other name for that _is_ redbird; so you saw a\nredbird. The scarlet tanager is red, too, but it has black wings, and it\nisn't called a redbird; and the crossbill is red, with a few _white_\nfeathers, and _it_ isn't called a redbird either. Only the cardinal\ngrosbeak is. That was what you saw,\" she repeated.\n\n\"And who told you all this?\" I queried.\n\n\"Nobody,\" the little girl made reply. \"I looked it up in the library.\"\n\nShe was only ten. \"How did you look it up?\" I found myself asking.\n\n\"First,\" she explained, \"I picked out the birds on the bird charts that\nwere red. The charts told their names. Then I got out a bird book, and\nlooked till I found where it told about those birds.\"\n\n\"Do you look up many things in the library?\" I questioned.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" the child replied.\n\n\"And do you always find them?\" I continued.\n\n\"Not always by myself,\" she confessed. \"Everything isn't as easy to look\nup as birds. But when I can't, there is always the librarian, and she\nhelps; and when she is helping, 'most _anything_ gets found!\"\n\nThe public library of my small friend's city, not being the library I\nhabitually used, was only slightly familiar to me. Not long after I had\nbeen so earnestly assured that the scarlet bird I had seen was a\nredbird, I made occasion to go to the library in which the information\nhad been gathered. It was such a public library as may be seen in very\nnearly every small city in the United States. Built of stone; lighted\nand heated according to the most approved modern methods; divided into\n\"stack-rooms\" and \"reading-rooms\" and \"receiving-rooms\"--it was that\n\"typical American library\" of which we are, as we should be, so proud. I\ndid not ask to be directed to the \"children's room\"; I simply followed a\ngroup of children who had come into the building with me.\n\nThe \"children's room,\" too, was \"typical.\" It was a large, sunny place,\nfurnished with low bookcases, small tables, and chairs. Around two\nwalls, above the shelves, were pictures of famous authors, and\ncelebrated scenes likely to be known to children. At one end of the room\nthe bird charts of which I had so interestingly heard were posted,\ntogether with flower charts and animal charts, of which I had not been\ntold. At the other end was the desk of the librarian, who so helped\nyoung investigators that, when she helped, _anything_ got found.\n\nI seated myself at the little table nearest her desk. She smiled, but\nshe said nothing. Neither did I say anything. The time of day was just\nafter school; the librarian was too much occupied to talk to a stray\nvisitor. I remained for fully an hour; and during that hour a steady\nstream of children passed in and out of the room. Some of them selected\nbooks, and, having obtained them, departed; others stayed to read, and\nothers walked softly about, examining the pictures and charts. All of\nthem, whatever their various reasons for coming to the library, began or\nended their visits in conference with the librarian. They spoke just\nabove a whisper, as befitted the place, but I was near enough to hear\nall that was said.\n\n\"We want to give a play at school the last day before Christmas\nvacation,\" said one small girl; \"is there a good one here?\"\n\nThe librarian promptly recommended and put into the child's hands a\nlittle volume entitled \"Fairy Tales a Child Can Read and Act.\"\n\nA boy, entering rather hurriedly, asked, \"Could I have a book that tells\nhow to make a wireless set--and have it quick, so I can begin to-day\nbefore dark?\"\n\nIt was not a moment before the librarian found for him a book called\n\"Wireless Telegraphy for Amateurs and Students.\"\n\nAnother boy, less on pleasure bent, petitioned for a \"book about Abraham\nLincoln that will tell things to put in a composition on him.\" And a\ngirl, at whose school no Christmas play was apparently to be given,\nasked for \"a piece of poetry to say at school just before Christmas.\"\nFor these two, as for all who preceded or followed them, the librarian\nhad help.\n\n\"How wonderful, how unique!\" exclaimed an Italian friend to whom I\nrelated the experiences of that afternoon hour in the \"children's room\"\nin the library of that small city.\n\nBut it seems to me that the wonderful thing about it is that it is not\nunique; that in almost any \"children's room\" in almost any public\nlibrary in America practically the same condition prevails. Not only are\n\"children's rooms\" of a very fine order to be found in great numbers;\nbut children's librarians, as sympathetic and as capable as the\nlibrarian of my small friend's library, in as great numbers, are in\ncharge of those rooms. So recognized a profession has theirs come to be\nthat, connected with one of the most prominent libraries in the country,\nthere is a \"School for Children's Librarians.\"\n\nThe \"children's librarians\" do not stop at assisting them in choosing\nbooks. The story hour has come to be as important in the \"children's\nrooms\" as it is now in the school, as it has always been in the home.\nTelling stories to children has grown to be an art; there is more than\none text-book laying down its \"principles and laws.\" Many a librarian is\nalso an accomplished story-teller, and in an increasing number of\nlibraries there is a story hour in the \"children's rooms.\" Beyond\nquestion, we in America have taken every care that our public libraries\nshall mean something more to the boys and girls than places in which\nthey are merely \"exposed to books.\"\n\nAmerican children read; it is doubtful whether any other children in the\nworld read so much or so intelligently. In our public libraries we plan\nwith such completeness for their reading that they can scarcely escape\nbecoming readers! At home we keep constantly in mind the great\nimportance of inculcating in them a love of books and a wontedness in\ntheir use. To so many of their questionings we reply by advising, \"Get a\nbook about it from the library.\" So many of the fundamental lessons of\nlife we first bring to their attention by putting into their hands books\ntreating of those lessons written by experts--written, moreover,\nexpressly for parents to give to their boys and girls to read.\n\nA few days ago I received a letter from a mother saying: \"Do you know of\na book on hygiene that I can give to my children to read--a book on that\nsubject _for_ children?\"\n\nWithin reach of my hand I had such a book, entitled \"The Child's Day,\" a\nsimply, but scientifically, written little volume, telling children what\nto do from the hour of rising until the hour of retiring, in order to\nkeep well and strong, able to do good work at school, and to enjoy as\ngood play after school. It was a book that a child not only could read\nwith profit, but would read with pleasure.\n\nAt about the same time a father said to me: \"Is there any book written\nfor children about good citizenship--a sort of primer of civics, I mean?\nI require something of that kind for my boy.\"\n\nA book to meet that particular need, too, was on my book-shelves.\n\"Lessons for Junior Citizens,\" it is called. In the clearest, and also\nthe most charming, form it tells the boys and girls about the\ngovernment, national and local, of their country, and teaches them their\nrelation to that government.\n\nIt is safe to say that there is practically no subject so mature that it\nis not now the theme of a book, or a score of books, written especially\nfor children. Every one of the numerous publishing houses in the United\nStates issues yearly as many good volumes of this particular type as are\nsubmitted. A century ago a new writer was most likely to win the\ninterest of a publisher by sending him a manuscript subtitled, \"A\nNovel.\" At the present time a beginner can more quickly awaken the\ninterest of a publisher by submitting a manuscript the title of which\ncontains the words, \"For Children.\"\n\n\"Authors' editions\" of books we have long had offered us by publishers;\n\"_editions de luxe_\" too; and \"limited editions of fifty copies, each\ncopy numbered.\" These are all old in the world of books. What is new,\nindeed, is the \"children's edition.\" We have it in many shapes, from\n\"Dickens for Children\" to \"The Children's Longfellow.\" These volumes\nfind their way into the \"children's rooms\" of all our public libraries;\nand, quite as surely, they help to fill the \"children's bookcases\" in\nthe private libraries to be found in a large proportion of American\nhomes. For no public library can take the place in the lives of the\nchildren of a private library made up of their \"very own\" books. The\npublic library may, however, often have a predominant share in\ndetermining the selection of those \"very own\" books. The children wish\nto possess such books as they have read in the \"children's room.\"\n\nSometimes a child has still another similar reason for wishing to own a\ncertain book. Only the other day I had a letter from a boy to whom I had\nsent a copy of \"The Story of a Bad Boy.\" \"I am glad to have it,\" he\nsaid. \"The library has it, and father has it. I like to have what the\nlibrary and father have.\"\n\nParents buy books for their children in very much the proportions that\nparents bought them before the land was dotted with public libraries.\nIndeed, they buy books in larger proportions, for the reason that there\nare so many more books to be bought! The problem of the modern father or\nmother is not, as it once was, to discover a volume likely to interest\nthe children; but, from among the countless volumes offered for sale,\nall certain to interest the children, to choose one, two, or three that\nseem most excellent where all are so good. A mother of a few generations\nago whose small boy was eager to read tales of chivalry simply gave him\n\"Le Morte D'Arthur\"; there was no \"children's edition\" of it, no \"Boy's\nKing Arthur,\" no \"Tales of the Round Table.\" The father whose little\ngirl desired to read for herself the stories of Greece he had told her\nput into her hands Bulfinch's \"Age of Fable\"; he could not, as can\nfathers to-day, give her Kingsley's rendering, or Hawthorne's, or Miss\nJosephine Preston Peabody's. Like the father of Aurora Leigh,--\n\n\"He wrapt his little daughter in his large\nMan's doublet, careless did it fit or no.\"\n\nAt the present time we do not often see a child wrapped in a large man's\ndoublet of a book; even more seldom do we see a father careless if it\nfit or no. What we plainly behold is that doublet, cut down, and most\npainstakingly fitted to the child's little mind.\n\nUnquestionably the children lose something by this. The great books of\nthe world do not lend themselves well to making over. \"Tales from\nShakespeare\" are apt to leave out Shakespeare's genius, and \"Stories\nfrom Homer\" are not Homer. In cutting the doublet to fit, the most\nprecious part of the fabric is in danger of being sacrificed.\n\nBut whatever the children lose when they are small, they find again when\nthey come to a larger growth. Most significant of all, when they find\nit, they recognize it. A little girl who is a friend of mine had read\nLambs' \"Tales.\" The book had been given to her when she was eight years\nold. She is nine now. One day, not long ago, she was lingering before my\nbookcases, taking out and glancing through various volumes. Suddenly she\ncame running to me, a copy of \"As You Like It\" in her hand. \"This story\nis in one of my books!\" she cried.\n\n\"Yes,\" I said; \"your book was written from this book, and some of those\nother little red books there with it in the bookcase.\"\n\nThe child went back to the bookcase. She took down all the other volumes\nof Shakespeare, and, sitting on the rug with them, she spent an utterly\nabsorbed hour in turning over their leaves. Finally she scrambled to her\nfeet and set the books back in their places. \"I've found which stories\nin these books are in my book, too,\" she remarked. \"Mine are easier to\nread,\" she added; \"but yours have lovely talk in them!\"\n\nHad she not read Lambs' \"Tales\" at eight I am not certain she would have\nventured into the wide realms of Shakespeare at nine, and tarried there\nlong enough to discover that in those realms there is \"lovely talk.\"\n\nOccasionally, to be sure, the children insist upon books being easy to\nread, and refuse to find \"lovely talk\" in them if they are not. It was\nonly a short time ago that I read to a little boy Browning's \"Pied Piper\nof Hamelin.\" When I had finished there was a silence. \"Do you like it?\"\nI inquired.\n\n\"Ye-es,\" replied my small friend; \"it's a nice story, but it's nicer in\nmy book than in yours. I'll bring it next time I come, so you can read\nit.\"\n\nHe did. The story was told in prose. It began, \"There was once a town,\nnamed Hamelin, and there were so many rats in it that the people did not\nknow what to do.\" Certainly this is \"easier to read\" than the forty-two\nlines which the poem uses to make an identical statement regarding the\ntown named Hamelin. My little friend is only six. I hope that by the\ntime he is twelve he will think the poem is as \"nice\" as, if not \"nicer\"\nthan, the story in his book. At least he may be impelled by the memory\nof his pleasure in his book to turn to my book and compare the two\nversions of the tale.\n\nThe children of to-day, like the children of former days, read because\nthey find in books such stuff as dreams are made of; and, in common with\nthe children of all times, they must needs make dreams. Like the boys\nand girls of most eras, they desire to make also other, more temporal,\nthings. To aid them in this there are books in quantities and of\nqualities not even imagined by the children of a few generations ago.\nThe book the title of which begins with the words \"How to Make\" is\nperhaps the most distinctive product of the present-day publishing\nhouse. No other type of book can so effectively win to a love for\nreading a child who seems indifferent to books; who, as a boy friend of\nmine used to say, \"would rather hammer in nails than read.\" The \"How to\nMake\" books tell such a boy how to hammer in nails to some purpose. I\nhappened to see recently a volume called \"Boys' Make-at-Home Things.\"\nWith much curiosity I turned its pages,--pages illustrated with pictures\nof the make-at-home things of the title,--glancing at directions for\nconstructing a weather-vane, a tent, a sled, and a multitude of smaller\narticles. I thought of my boyfriend. \"Do you think he would care to have\nthe book?\" I inquired of his mother over the telephone.\n\n\"Well, I _wish_ he would care to have _any_ book!\" she replied. \"If you\nwant to _try_ this one--\" She left the sentence unfinished, unless a\nsigh may be regarded as a conclusion.\n\nI did try the book. \"This will tell you how to have fun with your\ntools,\" I wrote, when I sent it to the boy.\n\nExcept for a laconic note of thanks, I heard nothing from my young\nfriend about the book. One day last week I chanced to see his mother.\n\"What do you think I am doing this afternoon?\" she said. \"I am getting a\n_book_ for my son, at his own request! He is engrossed in that book you\nsent him. He is making some of the things described in it. But he wants\nto make something _not_ mentioned in it, and he actually asked me to see\nif I could find a book that told how!\"\n\n\"So he likes books better now?\" I commented.\n\n\"Well--I asked him if he did,\" said the boy's mother; \"and he said he\ndidn't like '_booky_' books any better, but he liked this kind, and\nalways would have, if he'd known about them!\"\n\nWhether my boy friend will learn early to love \"booky\" books is a bit\ndoubtful perhaps; certainly, however, he has found a companion in one\nkind of book. He has made the discovery quickly, too; for he has had\n\"Boys' Make-at-Home Things\" less than a month.\n\nIt was an easy matter for that boy's mother to get for her son the\nparticular book he desired. She lives in a city; at least three large\npublic libraries are open to her. As for book-shops, there are more\nwithin her reach than she could possibly visit in the course of a week,\nmuch less in an afternoon.\n\nThe mothers who live in the country cannot so conveniently secure the\nbooks their boys and girls may wish or need. I know one woman, the\nmother of two boys, living in the country, who has to exercise\nconsiderable ingenuity to provide her sons with books of the \"How to\nMake\" kind. There is no public library within available distance of the\nfarmhouse which is her home, and she and her husband cannot afford to\nbuy many books for their children. The boys, moreover, like so great a\nvariety of books that, in order to please them, it is not necessary to\nselect a book that is not \"booky.\" Their parents are lovers of great\nliterature. \"I cannot bring myself to buy a book about how to make an\naeroplane, for instance,\" their mother said to me one day, \"when there\nare so many wonderful books they have not read, and would enjoy reading!\nSince I must limit my purchase of books, I really think I ought to\nchoose only the _real_ books for the boys; and yet they want to make\nthings with their hands, like other boys, and there is no way to teach\nthem how except through books. My husband has no time for it, and there\nis no one else to show them.\"\n\nThe next summer I went to spend a few days with my friend in the\ncountry. The morning after my arrival her boys proposed to take me \"over\nthe place.\" At the lower edge of the garden, to which we presently came,\nthere was a little brook. Across it was a bridge. It was plainly to be\nseen that this bridge was the work of the boys. \"How very nice it is!\" I\nremarked.\n\n\"We made it,\" the older of the boys instantly replied.\n\n\"Who showed you how?\" I queried, wondering, as I spoke, if my friend\nhad, after all, changed her mind with respect to the selection of books\nfor her children, and chosen one \"How to Make\" volume.\n\n\"It told how in a book,\" the younger boy said; \"a Latin book father\nstudied out of when he was a boy. There was a picture of the bridge; and\non the pages in the back of the book the way to make it was all written\nout in English--father had done it when he was in school. It was a long\ntime before we could _quite_ see how to do it; but mother helped, and\nthe picture showed how, and father thought we could do it if we kept at\nit. And it is really a good bridge--you can walk across on it.\"\n\nWhen the boys and I returned to the house my friend greeted me with a\nmerry smile. As soon as we were alone she exclaimed, \"I have _so_ wanted\nto write to you about our bridge, patterned on Caesar's! But the boys\nare so proud of it, they like to 'surprise' people with it--not because\nit is like a bridge Caesar made, but because it is a bridge they have\nmade themselves!\"\n\n[Illustration: THE CHILDREN'S EDITION]\n\nAnother friend of mine, the mother of a little girl, has had a different\nproblem, centring around the necessity of books for children, to solve.\nShe, too, lives in the country, and her little girl is a pupil at the\nneighboring district school. During a visit in the city home of a cousin\nthe small girl had been a spectator at the city child's \"school play,\"\nwhich happened to consist of scenes from \"A Midsummer-Night's Dream.\"\nWhen she returned home, she wished to have such an entertainment in her\nschool. \"Dearest,\" her mother said, \"we have no books of plays children\ncould act.\"\n\n\"Couldn't we do the one they did at Cousin Rose's school?\" was the next\nquery. \"Papa says we have _that_.\"\n\n\"I am afraid not,\" her mother demurred. \"Ask your teacher.\"\n\nThe child approached her teacher on the subject. \"No,\" the teacher said\ndecisively. \"'A Midsummer-Night's Dream' is too long and too hard. Read\nit, and you'll see. But,\" she sagely added, \"if you can find anything\nthat is suitable, and can persuade the other children to act in it, I\nwill help you all I can.\"\n\nThat evening, at home, the little girl read \"A Midsummer-Night's Dream.\"\n\"Mamma,\" she suddenly cried, as she neared the end, \"my teacher says\nthis is too long and too hard for us children to do. But we _could_ do\nthe play that the people _in it_ do--don't you think? It is _very_\nshort, and all the children will like it because it is about poor\nPyramus and Thisbe, that we have all read about in school. It isn't\n_just_ the same as the way it was in the story we read; but it is about\nthem--and the wall, and the lion, and everything! Don't you think we\ncould do it? They did the fairy part when I saw it at Cousin Rose's\nschool, and not this at all. But couldn't _we_?\"\n\n\"I did not like to discourage her,\" my friend said when she related the\ntale to me. \"_All_ the other children were willing and eager to do it,\nso her teacher couldn't refuse, after what she had said, to help them. I\nhelped with the rehearsals, too, and I doubt if the teacher or I ever\nlaughed so much in all our lives as we did at that time--when there were\nno children about! The children were so sweet and serious over their\nplay! They acted it as they would have acted a play on the subject of\nPyramus and Thisbe written especially for them. _They_ weren't funny.\nNo; they were perfectly lovely. What was so irresistibly comic, of\ncourse, was the difference between their performance and one's\nremembrance of regular performances of it--to say nothing of one's\nthoughts as to what Shakespeare would have said about it. How those\nchildren will laugh when they are grown up! They will have something to\nlaugh at that will last them a lifetime. But _poor_ Shakespeare!\"\n\nI did not echo these final words of my friend. For does not Shakespeare\nrather particularly like to bless us with the laugh that lasts a\nlifetime, even if--perhaps especially if--it be at our own expense?\n\nBooks are such integral parts of the lives of present-day children,\nespecially in America. Their elders appreciate, as possibly the grown-\nups of former times did not quite so fully appreciate, the importance of\nbooks in the education of the boys and girls. It may even be that we\nover-emphasize it a bit. We send the children to the book-shelves for\nhelp in work and for assistance in play. In effect, we say to them,\n\"Read, that you may be able to mark, learn, and inwardly digest.\" It is\nonly natural that the boys and girls should read for a hundred reasons,\ninstead of for the one reason of an older day--the pursuit of happiness\nin the mere reading itself. \"How can you sit idly reading a book when\nthere are so many useful things you might be doing?\" was the question\noften put to the children of yesterday by their elders. To-day we feel\nthat the children can hardly do anything likely to prove more useful\nthan reading a book. Is not this because we have taught them, not only\nto read, but to read for a diversity of reasons?\n\nAmerican children are so familiarly at home in the world of books, it\nshould not surprise us to find them occasionally taking rather a\npractical, everyday view of some of the things read. A little girl\nfriend of mine chanced to begin her reading of Shakespeare during a\nwinter when her grown-up relatives were spending a large portion of\ntheir leisure going to see stage representations of Shakespeare's plays.\nShe therefore heard considerable conversation about the plays, and about\nthe persons acting the chief roles in them. It happened that \"As You\nLike It\" was one of the comedies being acted. The little girl was\ninvited to go to see it. \"Who is going to be Orlando?\" she inquired; she\nhad listened to so much talk about who \"was,\" or was \"going to be,\" the\nvarious persons in the several dramas!\n\n\"But,\" she objected, when she was informed, \"I think I've heard you say\nhe is not very tall. Orlando was _such_ a tall man!\"\n\n\"Was he?\" I ventured, coming in at that moment. \"I don't remember that\nabout him. Who told you he was tall?\"\n\n\"Why, it is in the book!\" she exclaimed.\n\nEvery one present besought her to mention where.\n\n\"Don't you remember?\" she said incredulously. \"He says Rosalind is just\nas high as his heart; that wouldn't be _quite_ up to his shoulder. And\nshe says she is _more than common_ tall! So he must have been\n_'specially_ tall. Don't you remember?\" she asked again, looking\nperplexedly at our blank faces.\n\nThere are so many bonds of understanding between American children of\nthe present time and their grown-up relatives and friends. Is not one of\nthe best of these that which has come out of our national impulse toward\ngiving the boys and girls the books we love, \"cut small\"; and showing\nthem how to read those books as we read the larger books from which they\nare made? \"What kinds of books do American children read?\" foreigners\ninquire. We are able to reply, \"The same kinds that grown-up Americans\nread.\" \"And why do they read them?\" may be the next question. Again we\ncan answer, \"For much the same reasons that the grown-ups read them.\"\n\"How do they use the libraries?\" might be the next query. Still we could\nsay, \"As grown people use them.\" And if yet another query, \"Why?\" be\nput, we might reply, \"Because, unlike any other children in the world,\nAmerican children are almost as completely 'exposed to books' as are\ntheir elders.\"\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\n\nTHE CHILD IN CHURCH\n\n\nWithin the past few months, I have had the privilege of looking over the\nanswers sent by men and women--most of them fathers and mothers--living\nin many sections of the United States, in response to an examination\npaper containing among other questions this one: \"Should church-going on\nthe part of children be compulsory or voluntary?\" In almost every case\nthe answer was, \"It should be voluntary.\" In practically all instances\nthe reason given was, \"Worship, like love, is at its best only when it\nis a free-will offering.\"\n\nIt was not a surprise to read again and again, in longer or in shorter\nform, such an answer, based upon such a reason. The religious liberty of\nAmerican children of the present day is perhaps the most salient fact of\ntheir lives. Without doubt, the giving to them of this liberty is the\nmost remarkable fact in the lives of their elders. No grown people were\never at any time willingly allowed to exercise such freedom in matters\npertaining to religion as are the children of our nation at the present\ntime. Not only is churchgoing not compulsory; religion itself is\nvoluntary.\n\nA short while ago a little girl friend of mine was showing me her\nbirthday gifts. Among them was a Bible. It was a beautiful book, bound\nin soft crimson leather, the child's name stamped on it in gold.\n\n\"And who gave you this?\" I asked.\n\n\"Father,\" the little girl replied. \"See what he has written in it,\" she\nadded, when the shining letters on the cover had been duly appreciated.\n\nI turned to the fly-leaf and read this:\n\n\"To my daughter on her eighth birthday from her father.\n\n   \"'I give you the end of a golden string:\n    Only wind it into a ball,--\n   It will lead you in at Heaven's gate\n    Built in Jerusalem's wall.'\"\n\n\"Isn't it lovely?\" questioned the child, who had stood by, waiting,\nwhile I read.\n\n\"Yes,\" I agreed, \"very lovely, and very new.\"\n\nHer mother, who was listening, smiled slowly. \"My father gave me a Bible\non my birthday, when I was seven\"--she began.\n\n\"O mother,\" interrupted her little girl, \"what did grandfather write in\nit?\"\n\n\"Go and look,\" her mother said. \"You will find it on the table by my\nbed.\"\n\nThe child eagerly ran out of the room. In a few moments she returned,\nthe Bible of her mother's childhood in her hands. It also was a\nbeautiful book; bound, too, in crimson leather, and with the name of its\nowner stamped on it in gold. And on the fly-leaf was written,--\n\n\"To my daughter, on her seventh birthday, from her father.\"\n\nBeneath this, however, was inscribed no modern poetry, but\n\n\"Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days\ncome not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no\npleasure in them.\"\n\n[Illustration: IN THE INFANT CLASS]\n\nThe little girl read it aloud. \"It sounds as though you wouldn't be\nhappy if you _didn't_ remember, mother,\" she said, dubiously.\n\n\"Well, darling,\" her mother replied, \"and so you wouldn't.\"\n\nThe child took her own Bible and read aloud the verse her father had\nwritten. \"But, mother, this sounds as though you _would_ be happy if you\n_did_ remember.\"\n\n\"And so you will, dear,\" her mother made reply. \"It is the same thing,\"\nshe added.\n\n\"Is it?\" the little girl exclaimed in some surprise. \"It doesn't _seem_\nquite the same.\"\n\nThe child did not press the question. She left us, to return her\nmother's Bible to its wonted place. When she came back, she resumed the\nexhibiting of her birthday gifts where it had been interrupted. But\nafter she had gone out to play I said to her mother, \"Are they _quite_\nthe same--the text in your Bible and the lines in hers?\"\n\n\"It _is_ rather a long way from Solomon to William Blake, isn't it?\" she\nexclaimed.\n\n\"But I really don't see much difference. The same thing is said, only in\nthe one case it is a command and in the other it is an impelling\nsuggestion.\"\n\n\"Isn't that rather a great deal of difference?\" I ventured.\n\n\"No, I think not,\" she said, meditatively. \"Of course, I admit,\" she\nsupplemented, \"that the idea of an impelling suggestion appeals to the\nimagination more than the idea of a command. But that's the _only_\ndifference.\"\n\nIt seems to me that this \"only\" difference is at the very foundation of\nthe religious training of the children of the present day in our\ncountry. We do our best to awaken their imaginations, to put to them\nsuggestions that will impel, to say to them the \"same thing\" that was\nsaid to the children of more austere times about remembering their\nCreator; but so to say it that they feel, not that they will be unhappy\nif they do not remember, but that they will be happy if they do. It is\nthe love of God rather than the fear of God that we would have them\nknow.\n\nIs it not, indeed, just because we do so earnestly desire that they\nshould learn this that we leave them so free with regard to what we call\ntheir spiritual life? \"Read a chapter in your Bible every day, darling,\"\nI recently heard a mother say to her little girl on the eve of her first\nvisit away from home without her parents. \"In Auntie's house they don't\nhave family prayers, as we do, so you won't hear a chapter read every\nday as you do at home.\"\n\n\"What chapters shall I read, mamma?\" the child asked.\n\n\"Any you choose, dear,\" the mother replied.\n\n\"And when in the day?\" was the next question. \"Morning or night?\"\n\n\"Just as you like, dearest,\" the mother answered.\n\nBut there is a religious liberty beyond this. To no one in America is it\nso readily, so sympathetically, given as to a child. We are all familiar\nwith the difficulties which attend a grown person, even in America,\nwhose convictions necessitate a change of religious denomination. Such a\nsituation almost invariably means distress to the family, and to the\nrelinquished church of the person the form of whose faith has altered.\nIn few other matters is so small a measure of liberty understandingly\ngranted a grown person, even in America. But when a child would turn\nfrom one form of belief to another, how differently the circumstance is\nregarded!\n\nOne Sunday, not long ago, visiting an Episcopal Sunday-school, I saw in\none of the primary classes a little girl whose parents, as I was aware,\nwere members of the Baptist Church.\n\n\"Is she a guest?\" I asked her teacher.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" she replied; \"she is a regular member of the Sunday-school;\nshe comes every Sunday. She was christened at Easter; I am her\ngodmother.\"\n\n\"But don't her father and mother belong to the Baptist Church?\" I\nquestioned.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the child's Sunday-school teacher. \"But she came to church\none Sunday with some new playmates of hers, whose parents are\nEpiscopalians, to see a baby christened. Then her little friends told\nher how they had all been christened, as babies; and when she found that\nshe hadn't been, she wanted to be. So her father and mother let her, and\nshe comes to Sunday-school here.\"\n\n\"Where does she go to church?\" I found myself inquiring.\n\n\"To the Baptist Church, with her father and mother,\" was the reply. \"She\nasked them to let her come to Sunday-school here; but it never occurred\nto her to think of going to church excepting with them.\"\n\nSomewhat later I chanced to meet the child's mother. It was not long\nbefore she spoke to me concerning her little girl's membership in the\nEpiscopal Sunday-school. \"What were her father and I to do?\" the mother\nsaid. \"We didn't feel justified in standing in her way. She wanted to be\nchristened; it seemed to mean something real to her--\" she broke off.\n\"What _were_ we to do?\" she repeated. \"It would be a dreadful thing to\ncheck a child's aspiration toward God! Of course she is only a little\ngirl, and she wanted to be like the others. Her father and I thought of\nthat, naturally. But--\" Again she stopped. \"One can never tell,\" she\nwent on, \"what is in the mind of a child, nor what may be happening to\nits spirit. Samuel was a very little child when God spoke to him,\" she\nconcluded, simply.\n\nQuite as far as that mother, has another mother of my acquaintance let\nher little girl go along the way of religious freedom. One day I went\nwith her and the child to an Italian jewelry shop. Among the things\nthere was a rosary of coral and silver. The little girl, attracted by\nits glitter and color, seized it and slipped it over her head. \"Look,\nmother,\" she said, \"see this lovely necklace!\"\n\nHer mother gently took it from her. \"It isn't a necklace,\" she\nexplained; \"it is called a rosary. You mustn't play with it; because it\nis something some people use to say their prayers with.\"\n\nThe child's mother is of Scotch birth and New England upbringing. The\nlittle girl has been accustomed to a form of religion and to an attitude\ntoward the things of religion that are beautiful, but austerely\nbeautiful. She is an imaginative child; and she caught eagerly at the\npoetical element thus, for the first time, associated with prayer. \"Tell\nme how!\" she begged.\n\nWhen next I was in the little girl's bedroom, I saw the coral and silver\nrosary hanging on one of the head-posts of her bed. \"Yes, my dear,\" her\nmother explained to me, \"I got the rosary for her. She wanted it--'to\nsay my prayers with,' she said; so I got it. After all, the important\nthing is that she says her prayers.\"\n\nAmong my treasures I have a rosary, brought to me from the Holy Land. I\nhave had it for a long time, and it has hung on the frame of a\nphotograph of Bellini's lovely Madonna. This little girl has always\nliked that picture, and she has often spoken to me about it. But she had\nnever mentioned the rosary, which not only is made of dark wood, but is\ndarker still with its centuries of age. One day after the rosary of pink\ncoral and bright silver had been given her she came to see me. Passing\nthrough the room where the Madonna is, she stopped to look at it. At\nonce she exclaimed, \"_You_ have a rosary!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said; \"it came from the Holy Land.\" I took it down, and put it\ninto her hands. \"It has been in Bethlehem,\" I went on, \"and in\nJerusalem. It is very old; it belonged to a saint--like St. Francis, who\nwas such friends with the birds, you remember.\"\n\n\"I suppose the saint used it to say his prayers with?\" the little girl\nobserved. Then, the question evidently occurring to her for the first\ntime, she asked, eagerly, \"What prayers did he say, do you think?\"\n\nWhen I had in some part replied, I said, this question indeed occurring\nto me for the first time, \"What prayers do you say?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she replied, instantly, \"I say, 'Our Father,' and 'Now I lay me,'\nand 'God bless' all the different ones at home, and in other places,\nthat I know. I say all that; and it takes all the beads. So I say, 'The\nLord is my Shepherd' last, for the cross.\" She was silent for a moment,\nbut I said nothing, and she went on. \"I know 'In my Father's house are\nmany mansions,' and 'Though I speak with the tongues of men and angels.'\nI might say them sometimes instead, mightn't I?\"\n\nI told this to one of my friends who is a devout Roman Catholic. \"It\nshows,\" she said, \"what the rosary can do for religion!\"\n\nBut it seemed to me that it showed rather what religion could do for the\nrosary. Had the child's mother, Scotch by birth, New England by\nbreeding, not been a truly religious woman she would not have bade her\nlittle girl handle with reverence the emblem of a faith so unlike her\nown; she would not have said, \"Don't play with it.\" As for the small\ngirl, had she never learned to \"say prayers,\" she would not have desired\nthe rosary to say them \"with.\" And it was not the silver cross hanging\non her rosary that influenced her to \"say last,\" for it, the best psalm\nand \"spiritual song\" she knew; it was the understanding she had been\ngiven by careful teaching of the meaning of that symbol. Above all, had\nthe little girl, after being taught to pray, not been left free to pray\nas her childish heart inclined, that rosary would scarcely have found a\nplace on the head-post of her small bed.\n\nIt may be for the very reason that the children are not compelled to\nthink and to feel in the things of religion as their parents do that\nfathers and mothers in America so frankly tell their boys and girls\nexactly what they do think and just how they do feel. The children may\nnot ever understand the religious experiences through which their\nparents are passing, but they often know what those experiences are.\nMoreover, they sometimes partake of them.\n\nAmong my child friends there is a little girl, an only child, whose\nfather died not a great while ago. The little girl had always had a\nshare in the joys of her parents. It surprised no one who knew the\nfamily that the mother in her grief turned to the child for comfort; and\nthat together they bore their great bereavement. Indeed, so completely\ndid this occur that the little girl for a time hardly saw any one\nexcepting her mother and her governess. After a suitable interval, an\nold friend of the family approached the mother on the subject. \"Your\nlittle girl is only eight years old,\" she said, gently. \"Oughtn't she\nperhaps to go to see her playmates, and have them come to see her,\nagain, now?\"\n\nThe mother saw the wisdom of the suggestion. The child continued to\nspend much of her time with her mother, but she gradually resumed her\nformer childish occupations. She had always been a gregarious little\ngirl; once more her nursery was a merry, even an hilarious, place.\n\nOne Saturday a short time ago she was among the six small guests invited\nto the birthday luncheon of another little girl friend of mine. Along\nwith several other grown-ups I had been invited to come and lend a hand\nat this festivity. I arrived just as the children were going into the\ndining-room, where the table set forth for their especial use, and\nbright with the light of the seven candles on the cake, safely placed in\nthe centre, awaited them. They climbed into their chairs, and then all\nseven of them paused. \"Mother,\" said the little girl of the house, \"who\nshall say grace?\"\n\n\"_I_ can!\"\n\n\"Let _me_!\"\n\n\"I _always_ do at home!\"\n\nThese and other exclamations were made before the mother could reply.\nWhen she was able to get a hearing, she suggested, \"I think each one of\nyou might, since you all can and would like to.\"\n\n\"You say it first,\" said one of the children to her little hostess,\n\"because it is your birthday.\"\n\nAt a nod from her mother, the little girl said the Selkirk grace:--\n\n\"Some hae meat and canna eat,\n  And some wad eat that want it;\nBut we hae meat and we can eat,\n  And sae the Lord be thankit.\"\n\nThen another small girl said her grace, which was Herrick's:--\n\n\"Here a little child I stand,\nHeaving up my either hand;\nCold as paddocks though they be,\nHere I lift them up to Thee,\nFor a benison to fall\nOn our meat and on us all\nAmen.\"\n\nThe next little girl said Stevenson's:--\n\n\"It is very nice to think\nThe world is full of meat and drink,\nAnd little children saying grace\nIn every Christian kind of place.\"\n\nThe succeeding little guests said the dear and familiar \"blessing\" of so\nmany children:--\n\n\"For what we are about to receive, O Lord, make us truly thankful.\"\n\nMy little friend into whose life so grievous a sorrow had come was the\nlast to say her grace. It was the poem of Miss Josephine Preston Peabody\nentitled \"Before Meat:--\n\n\"Hunger of the world.\nWhen we ask a grace\nBe remembered here with us,\nBy the vacant place.\n\n\"Thirst with nought to drink,\nSorrow more than mine,\nMay God some day make you laugh,\nWith water turned to wine!\"\n\nThere was a silence when she finished, among the children as well as\namong the grown persons present. \"I don't _quite_ understand what your\ngrace means,\" the little girl of the house said at last to her small\nguest.\n\n\"It means that I still have my mamma, and she still has me,\" replied the\nchild. \"Some people haven't anybody. It means that; and it means we ask\nGod to let them have Him. My mamma told me, when she taught it to me to\nsay instead of the grace I used to say when we had my papa.\"\n\nThe little girl explained with the simple seriousness and sweetness so\ncharacteristic of the answers children make to questions asked them\nregarding things in any degree mystical. The other small girls listened\nas sweetly and as seriously. Then, with one accord, they returned to the\ngay delights of the occasion. They were a laughing, prattling, eagerly\nhappy little party, and of them all not one was more blithe than the\nlittle girl who had said grace last.\n\nThe child's intimate companionship with her mother in the sorrow which\nwas her sorrow too had not taken from her the ability for participation\nin childish happiness, also hers by right. Was not this because the\ncompanionship was of so deep a nature? The mother, in letting her little\ngirl share her grief, let her share too the knowledge of the source to\nwhich she looked for consolation. Above all, she not only told her of\nheavier sorrows; she told her how those greater griefs might be\nlightened. Children in America enter into so many of the things of their\nparents' lives, is it not good that they are given their parts even in\nthose spiritual things that are most near and sacred?\n\nI have among my friends a little boy whose father finds God most surely\nin the operation of natural law. Indeed, he has often both shocked and\ndistressed certain of his neighbors by declaring it to be his belief\nthat nowhere else could God be found. \"His poor wife!\" they were wont to\nexclaim; \"what must she think of such opinions?\" And later, when the\nlittle boy was born, \"That unfortunate baby!\" they sighed; \"how will his\nmother teach him religion when his father has these strange ideas?\" That\nthe wife seemed untroubled by the views of her husband, and that the\nbaby, as he grew into little-boyhood, appeared very similar to other\nchildren as far as prayers and Bible stories and even attendance at\nchurch were concerned, did not reassure the disturbed neighbors. For the\nchild's father continued to express--if possible, more decidedly--his\ndisquieting convictions. \"Evidently, though,\" said one neighbor, \"he\ndoesn't put such thoughts into the head of his child.\"\n\nApparently he did not. I knew the small boy rather intimately, and I was\naware that his father, after the custom of most American parents, took\nthe child into his confidence with regard to many other matters. The\nlittle boy was well acquainted with his father's political belief, for\nexample. I had had early evidence of this. But it was not until a much\nlater time, and then indirectly, that I saw that the little boy was\npossessed too of a knowledge of his father's religious faith.\n\n[Illustration: \"DO YOU LIKE MY NEW HYMN?\"]\n\nI was ill in a hospital a year or two ago, and the little boy came with\nhis mother to see me. A clergyman happened to call at the same time. It\nwas Sunday, and the clergyman suggested to my small friend that he say a\npsalm or a hymn for me.\n\n\"My new one, that daddy has just taught me?\" the child inquired, turning\nto his mother.\n\nShe smiled at him. \"Yes, dearest,\" she said gently.\n\nThe little boy came and stood beside my bed, and, in a voice that\nbetokened a love and understanding of every line, repeated Mrs.\nBrowning's lovely poem:--\n\n\"They say that God lives very high!\n  But if you look above the pines,\nYou cannot see our God. And why?\n\n\"And if you dig down in the mines,\n  You never see Him in the gold,\nThough from Him all that's glory shines.\n\n\"God is so good, He wears a fold\n  Of heaven and earth across His face--\nLike secrets kept, for love, untold.\n\n\"But still I feel that His embrace\n  Slides down, by thrills, through all things made,\nThrough sight and sound of every place:\n\n\"As if my tender mother laid\n  On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure,\nHalf-waking me at night; and said,\n  'Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?'\"\n\nBeyond question the clergyman had expected a less unusual selection than\nthis; but he smiled very kindly at the little boy as he said the\nbeautiful words. At the conclusion he merely said, \"You have a good\nfather, my boy.\"\n\n\"Do you like my new hymn?\" the child asked me.\n\n\"Yes,\" I replied. \"Did your father tell you what it means?\" I added,\nsuddenly curious.\n\n\"No,\" said my small friend; \"I didn't ask him. You see,\" he\nsupplemented, \"it tells _itself_ what it means!\"\n\nThe things of religion so often to the children tell themselves what\nthey mean! Only the other day I heard a little girl recounting to her\nyoung uncle, learned in the higher criticism, the story of the Creation.\n\n\"Just only _six days_ it took God to make _everything_\" she said; \"think\nof that!\"\n\n\"My dear child,\" remonstrated her uncle, \"_that_ isn't the point at all\n--the _amount_ of time it required! As a matter of fact, it took\nthousands of years to make the world. The word 'day' in that connection\nmeans a certain period of time, not twenty-four hours.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried the little girl, in disappointment; \"that takes the\nwonderfulness out of it!\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" protested her young uncle. \"And, supposing it did, can you\nnot see that the world could not have been made in six of _our_ days?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said the child, in surprise, \"I should think it could have been!\"\n\n\"For what reason?\" her uncle asked, in equal amazement.\n\n\"Because God was doing it!\" the child exclaimed.\n\nHer uncle did not at once reply. When he did, it was to say, \"You are\nright about _that_, my dear.\"\n\nSometimes it happens that a child finds in our careful explanation of\nthe meaning of a religious belief or practice a different or a further\nsignificance than we have indicated. I once had an especially striking\nexperience of this kind.\n\nI was visiting a family in which there were several children, cared for\nby a nurse of the old-fashioned, old-world type. She was a woman well\nbeyond middle age, and of a frank and simple piety. There was hardly a\ncircumstance of daily life for which she was not ready with an\naccustomed ejaculatory prayer or thanksgiving. One day I chanced to\nspeak to her of a mutual friend, long dead. \"God rest her soul!\" said\nthe old nurse, in a low tone.\n\n\"Why did she say that?\" the little four-year-old girl of the house asked\nme. \"I never heard her say that before!\"\n\n\"It is a prayer that some persons always say when speaking of any one\nwho is dead; especially any one they knew and loved,\" I explained.\n\nLater in the day, turning over a portfolio of photographs with the\nlittle girl, I took up a picture of a fine, faithful-eyed dog. \"Whose\ndog is this?\" I asked. \"What a good one he is!\"\n\n\"He was ours,\" replied the child, \"and he was very good; we liked him.\nBut he is dead now--\" She paused as if struck by a sudden remembrance.\nThen, \"God rest his soul!\" she sighed, softly.\n\nMost of the answers I read in response to the question, \"Should\nchurchgoing on the part of children be compulsory or voluntary?\" did not\nend with the brief statement that it should be voluntary, and the reason\nwhy; a considerable number of them went on to say: \"The children should\nof course be inspired and encouraged to go. They should be taught that\nit is a privilege. Their Sunday-school teachers and their minister, as\nwell as their parents, can help to make them wish to go.\"\n\nCertainly their Sunday-school teachers and ministers can, and do. The\nanswers I have quoted took for granted the attendance of children at\nSunday-school. Not one of them suggested that this was a matter\nadmitting of free choice on the part of the children. \"But it isn't,\"\ndeclared an experienced Sunday-school teacher who is a friend of mine\nwhen I said this to her. \"Going to Sunday-school isn't worship; it is\nlearning whom to worship and how. Naturally, children go, just as they\ngo to week-day school, whether they like to or not; I must grant,\" she\nadded by way of amendment, \"that they usually do like to go!\"\n\nOur Sunday-schools have become more and more like our week-day schools.\nThe boys and girls are taught in them whom to worship and how, but they\nare taught very much after the manner that, in the week-day schools,\nthey are instructed concerning secular things. That custom, belonging to\na time not so far in the past but that many of us remember it, of\nconsigning the \"infant class\" of the Sunday-school to any amiable young\ngirl in the parish who could promise to be reasonably regular in meeting\nit does not obtain at the present day. Sunday-school teachers are\ntrained, and trained with increasing care and thoroughness, for their\ntask.\n\n[Illustration: CHILDREN GO TO CHURCH]\n\nReadiness to teach is no longer a sufficient credential. The amiable\nyoung girl must now not only be willing to teach, she must also be\nwilling to learn how to teach. In the earlier time practically any well-\ndisposed young man of the congregation who would consent to take charge\nof a class of boys was eagerly allotted that class without further\nparley. This, too, is not now the case. The young man, before beginning\nto teach the boys, is obliged to prepare himself somewhat specifically\nfor such work. In my own parish the boys' classes of the Sunday-school\nare taught by young men who are students in the Theological School of\nwhich my parish church is the chapel. In an adjacent parish the \"infant\nclass\" is in charge of an accomplished kindergartner. Surely such\npersons are well qualified to help to inspire and to encourage the\nchildren to regard churchgoing as a privilege, and to make them wish to\ngo!\n\nAnd the minister! I am inclined to think that the minister helps more\nthan any one else, except the father and mother, to give the children\nthis inspiration, this encouragement. Children go to church now, when\nchurchgoing is voluntary, quite as much as they went when it was\ncompulsory. They learn very early to wish to go; they see with small\ndifficulty that it is a privilege. Their Sunday-school teachers might\nhelp them, even their parents might help them, but, unless the minister\nhelped them, would this be so?\n\nThere are so many ways in which the minister does his part in this\nmatter of the child's relation to the church, and to those things for\nwhich the church stands. They are happily familiar to us through our\nchild friends: the \"children's service\" at Christmas and at Easter; the\n\"talks to children\" on certain Sundays of the year. These are some of\nthem. And there are other, more individual, more intimate ways.\n\nThe other day a little girl who is a friend of mine asked me to make out\na list of books likely to be found in the \"children's room\" of the near-\nby public library that I thought she would enjoy reading. On the list I\nput \"The Little Lame Prince,\" the charming story by Dinah Mulock. Having\ncompleted the list, I read it aloud to the little girl. When I reached\nMiss Mulock's book, she interrupted me.\n\n\"'The Little Lame Prince,' did you say? Is that in the library? I\nthought it was in the Bible.\"\n\n\"The Bible!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Yes,\" the child said, in some surprise; \"don't you remember? He was\nJonathan's little boy--Jonathan, that was David's friend--David, that\nkilled the giant, you know.\"\n\nI at once investigated. The little girl was quite correct. \"Who told you\nabout him?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Our minister,\" she replied. \"He read it to me and some of the other\nchildren.\"\n\nThis, too, a bit later, I investigated. I found that the minister had\nnot read the story as it is written in the Bible, but a version of it\nwritten by himself especially for this purpose and entitled \"The Little\nLame Prince.\"\n\nAt church, as elsewhere, the children of our nation are quick to\nobserve, and to make their own, opportunities for doing as the grown-ups\ndo. When occasion arises, they slip with cheerful and confiding ease\ninto the places of their elders.\n\nOne Sunday, last summer, I chanced to attend a church in a little\nseaside village. When the moment arrived for taking up the collection,\nno one went forward to attend to that duty. I was told afterward that\nthe man who always did it was most unprecedentedly absent. There were a\nnumber of other men in the rather large congregation, but none of them\nstirred as the clergyman stood waiting after having read several\noffertory sentences. I understood afterward that they \"felt bashful,\"\nnot being used to taking up the collection. The clergyman hesitated for\na moment, and then read another offertory sentence. As he finished, a\nlittle boy not more than nine years old stepped out of a back pew, where\nhe was sitting with his mother, and, going up to the clergyman, held out\nhis hand for the plate. The clergyman gravely gave it to him, and the\nchild, without the slightest sign of shyness, went about the church\ncollecting the offerings of the congregation. This being done, he, with\nequal un-self-consciousness, gave the plate again to the clergyman and\nreturned to his seat beside his mother.\n\n\"Did you tell him to do it?\" I inquired of the mother, later.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" she answered; \"he asked me if he might. He said he knew how,\nhe saw it done every Sunday, and he was sure the minister would let\nhim.\"\n\nAmerican children of the present day are surer than the children of any\nother nation have ever been that their fathers and their mothers and\ntheir ministers will allow them liberty to do in church, as well as with\nrespect to going to church, such things as they know how to do, and\neagerly wish to do. In our national love and reverence for childhood we\nwillingly give the children the great gift that we give reluctantly, or\nnot at all, to grown people--the liberty to worship God as they choose.\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION\n\n\nWe are a child-loving nation; and our love for the children is, for the\nmost part, of the kind which Dr. Henry van <DW18> describes as \"true love,\nthe love that desires to bestow and to bless.\" The best things that we\ncan obtain, we bestow upon the children; with the goodliest blessings\nwithin our power, we bless them. This we do for them. And they,--is\nthere not something that they do for us? It seems to me that there is;\nand that it is something incalculably greater than anything we do, or\ncould possibly do, for them. More than any other force in our national\nlife, the children help us to work together toward a common end. A child\ncan unite us into a mutually trustful, mutually cordial, mutually active\ngroup when no one else conceivably could.\n\nA few years ago, I was witness to a most striking example of this. I\nwent to a \"ladies' day\" meeting of a large and important men's club that\nhas for its object the study and the improvement of municipal\nconditions. The city of the club has a nourishing liquor trade. The club\nnot infrequently gives over its meetings to discussions of the \"liquor\nproblem\";--discussions which, I have been told, had, as a rule, resolved\nthemselves into mere argumentations as to license and no-license,\nresulting in nothing. By some accident this \"ladies' day\" meeting had\nfor its chief speaker a man who is an ardent believer in and supporter\nof no-license. For an hour he spoke on this subject, and spoke\nexceedingly well. When he had finished, there ensued that random play of\nquestion and answer that usually follows the presiding officer's, \"We\nare now open to discussion.\" The chief speaker had devoted the best\nefforts of his mature life to bringing about no-license in his home\ncity; the subject was to him something more than a topic for a\ndiscussion that should lead to no practical work in the direction of\nsolving the \"liquor problem\" in other cities. He tried to make that club\nmeeting something more vital than an exchange of views on license and\nno-license. With the utmost earnestness, he attempted to arouse a living\ninterest in the \"problem,\" and, of course, to make converts to his own\nbelief as to the most effective solution of it.\n\nFinally, some one said, \"Isn't _any_ liquor sold in your city? Your law\nkeeps it from being sold publicly, but privately,--how about that?\"\n\n\"I cannot say,\" the chief speaker replied. \"The law may occasionally be\nbroken,--I suppose it is. But,\" he added, \"I can tell you this,--we have\nno drunkards on our streets. I have a boy,--he is ten years old, and he\nhas never seen a drunken man in his life. How about the boys of the\npeople of this city, of this audience?\"\n\nThe persons in that audience looked at the chief speaker; they looked at\neach other. There followed such a serious, earnest, frank discussion of\nthe \"liquor problem\" as had never before been held either in that club,\nor, indeed, in any assembly in that city. Since that day, that club has\nnot only held debates on the \"liquor problem\" of its city; it has tried\nto bring about no-license. The chief speaker of that meeting was far\nfrom being the first person who had addressed the organization on that\nsubject; neither was he the first to mention its relation to childhood\nand youth; but he was the very first to bring his own child, and to\nbring the children of each and every member of the association who had a\nchild into his argument. With the help of the children, he prevailed.\n\nOne of my friends who is a member of that club said to me recently, \"It\nwas the sincerity of the speaker of that 'ladies' day' meeting that won\nthe audience. I really must protest against your thinking it was his\nchance reference to his boy!\"\n\n\"But,\" I reminded him, \"it was not until he made that 'chance reference'\nto his boy that any one was in the least moved. How do you explain\nthat?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said my friend, \"we were not sure until then that he was in dead\nearnest--\"\n\n\"And then you were?\" I queried.\n\n\"Why, yes,\" my friend replied. \"A man doesn't make use of his child to\ngive weight to what he is advocating unless he really does believe it is\njust as good as he is arguing that it is.\"\n\n\"So,\" I persisted, \"it _was_, after all, his 'chance reference' to his\nboy--\"\n\n\"If you mean that nothing practical would have come of his speech,\notherwise,--yes, it was!\" my friend allowed himself to admit.\n\nAnother friend who happened to be present came into the conversation at\nthis point. \"Suppose he had had no child!\" she suggested. \"Any number of\nperfectly sincere persons, who really believe that what they are\nadvocating is just as good as they argue it is, have no children,\" she\nwent on whimsically; \"what about them? Haven't they any chance of\nwinning their audiences when they speak on no-license,--or what not?\"\n\nThose of us who are in the habit of attending \"welfare\" meetings of one\nkind or another, from the occasional \"hearings\" before various\ncommittees of the legislature, to the periodic gatherings of the\nNational Education Association, and the National Conference of Charities\nand Correction, know well that, when advocating solutions of social\nproblems as grave as and even graver than the \"liquor problem,\" the most\npotent plea employed by those speakers who are not fathers or mothers\nbegins with the words, \"You, who have children.\" My friend who had said\nthat a man did not make use of his child to give weight to his arguments\nunless he had a genuine belief in that for which he was pleading might\nhave gone further; he might have added that neither do men and women\nmake such a use of other people's children excepting they be as\ncompletely sincere,--provided that those men and women love children.\nAnd we are a nation of child-lovers.\n\nIt is because we love the children that they do for us so great a good\nthing. It is for the reason that we know them and that they know us that\nwe love them. We know them so intimately; and they know us so\nintimately; and we and they are such familiar friends! The grown people\nof other nations have sometimes, to quote the old phrase, \"entered into\nthe lives\" of the children of the land; we in America have gone\nfurther;--we have permitted the children of our nation to enter into our\nlives. Indeed, we have invited them; and, once in, we have not deterred\nthem from straying about as they would. The presence of the children in\nour lives,--so closely near, so intimately dear!--unites us in grave and\nserious concerns,--unites us to great and significant endeavors; and\nunites us even in smaller and lighter matters,--to a pleasant\nneighborliness one with another. However we may differ in other\nparticulars, we are all alike in that we are tacitly pledged to the\n\"cause\" of children; it is the desire of all of us that the world be\nmade a more fit place for them. And, as we labor toward the fulfillment\nof this desire, they are our most effectual helpers.\n\nIn our wider efforts after social betterment, they help us. Because of\nthem, we organize ourselves into national, and state, and municipal\nassociations for the furtherance of better living,--physical, mental,\nand moral. Through them, we test each other's sincerity, and measure\neach other's strength, as social servants. In our wider efforts this is\ntrue. Is it not the case also when the field of our endeavors is\nnarrower?\n\nSeveral years ago, I chanced to spend a week-end in a suburban town, the\npopulation of which is composed about equally of \"old families,\" and of\nforeigners employed in the factory situated on the edge of the town. I\nwas a guest in the home of a minister of the place. Both he and his wife\nbelieved that the most important work a church could do in that\ncommunity was \"settlement\" work. \"Home-making classes for the girls,\"\nthe minister's wife reiterated again and again; and, \"Classes in\ncitizenship for the boys,\" her husband made frequent repetition, as we\ndiscussed the matter on the Saturday evening of my visit.\n\n\"Why don't you have them?\" I inquired.\n\n\"We have no place to have them in,\" the minister replied. \"Our parish\nhas no parish-house, and cannot afford to build one.\"\n\n\"Then, why not use the church?\" I ventured.\n\n\"If you knew the leading spirits in my congregation, you would not ask\nthat!\" the minister exclaimed.\n\n\"Have you suggested it to them?\" I asked.\n\n\"Suggested!\" the minister and his wife cried in chorus. \"_Suggested_!\"\n\n\"I have besought them, I have begged them, I have implored them!\" the\nminister continued. \"It was no use. They are conservatives of the\nstrictest type; and they cannot bring themselves even to consider\nseriously a plan that would necessitate using the church for the meeting\nof a boys' political debating club, or a girls' class in marketing.\"\n\n\"Churches are so used, in these days!\" I remarked.\n\n\"Yes,\" the minister agreed; \"but not without the sympathy and\ncooeperation of the leading members of the congregation!\"\n\nThat suburban town is not one to which I am a frequent visitor. More\nthan a year passed before I found myself again in the pleasant home of\nthe minister. \"I must go to my Three-Meals-a-Day Club,\" my hostess said\nshortly after my arrival on Saturday afternoon. \"Wouldn't you like to go\nwith me?\"\n\n\"What is it, and where does it meet?\" I asked.\n\n\"It is a girls' housekeeping class,\" answered the minister's wife; \"and\nit meets in the church.\"\n\n\"The church?\" I exclaimed. \"So the 'leading spirits' have agreed to\nhaving it used for 'settlement' work! How did you win them over?\"\n\n\"We didn't,\" she replied; \"they won themselves over,--or rather the\nlittle children of one of them did it.\"\n\nWhen I urged her to tell me how, she said, \"We are invited to that\n'leading spirit's' house to dinner to-morrow; and you can find out for\nyourself, then.\"\n\nIt proved to bean easy thing to discover. \"I am glad to see that, since\nyou have no parish-house, you are using your church for parish-house\nactivities,\" I made an early occasion to say to our hostess, after\ndinner, on the Sunday. \"You were not using it in that way when I was\nhere last; it is something very new, isn't it?\"\n\n\"It is, my dear,\" said our hostess,--one of those of his flock whom the\nminister had described as \"conservatives of the strictest type\"; \"'very\nnew' are the exact words with which to speak of it!\"\n\n\"How did it happen?\" I asked.\n\nShe smiled. \"Our minister and his wife declare that my small son and\ndaughter are mainly responsible for it!\" she said. \"They began to attend\nthe public school this autumn,--they had, up to that time, been taught\nat home. You know what the population of this town is,--half foreign.\nEven in the school in this district, there are a considerable number of\nforeigners. I don't know why it is, when they have so many playmates in\ntheir own set, that my children should have made friends, and such close\nfriends, with some of those foreign children! But they did. And not\ncontent with bringing them here, they wanted to go to their homes! Of\ncourse, I couldn't allow that. I explained to my boy and girl as well as\nI was able; I told them those people did not know how to live properly;\nthat they might keep their children clean, because they wouldn't be\npermitted to send them to school unless they did; but their houses were\ndirty, and their food bad. And what do you think my children said to me?\nThey said, 'Mother, have they _got_ to have their houses dirty? Have\nthey _got_ to have bad food? Couldn't _they_ have things nice, as _we_\nhave?' It quite startled me to hear my own children ask me such things;\nit made me think. I told my husband about it; it made him think, too.\nYou know, we are always hearing that, if we _are_ going to try to\nimprove the living conditions of the poor, we must 'begin with the\nchildren,'--begin by teaching them better ways of living. Our minister\nand his wife have all along been eager to teach these foreign children.\nWe have no place to teach them in, except our church. It was rather a\nwrench for my husband and me,--giving our approval to using a church for\na club-house. But we did it. And we secured the consent of the rest of\nthe congregation,--we told them what our children had said. We were not\nthe only ones who thought the children had, to use an old-fashioned\ntheological term, 'been directed' in what they had said!\" she concluded.\n\nThe children had said nothing that the minister had not said. Was it not\nless what they had said than the fact of their saying it that changed\nthe whole course of feeling and action in that parish?\n\nOn the days when it is our lot to share in doing large tasks, the\nchildren help us. What of the days which bring with them only a \"petty\nround of irritating concerns and duties?\" Do they not help us then, too?\n\nIn a house on my square, there lives a little girl, three years old,\nwho, every morning at about eight o'clock, when the front doors of the\nsquare open, and the workers come hurrying down their steps, appears at\nher nursery window,--open except in very stormy weather. \"Good-bye!\" she\ncalls to each one, smiling, and waving her small hand, \"good-bye!\"\n\n\"Good-bye!\" we all call back, \"good-bye!\" We smile, too, and wave a hand\nto the little girl. Then, almost invariably, we glance at each other,\nand smile again, together. Thus our day begins.\n\nWe are familiar with the thought of our devotion to children. As\nindividuals, and as a nation, our services to the children of our land\nare conspicuously great. \"You do so much for children, in America!\" It\nis no new thing to us to hear this exclamation. We have heard, we hear\nit so often! All of us know that it is true. We are coming to see that\nthe converse is equally true; that the children do much for us, do more\nthan we do for them; do the best thing in the world,--make us who are so\nmany, one; keep us, who are so diverse, united; help us, whether our\ntasks be great or small, to \"go to our labor, smiling.\"\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Malcolm Farmer, Martin Pettit and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Wonderful Visit\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBy the Same Author\n\n\nThe Time Machine\n\n\nDAILY CHRONICLE.--\"Grips the imagination as it is only\n  gripped by genuinely imaginative work.... A strikingly\n  original performance.\"\n\nSATURDAY REVIEW.--\"A book of remarkable power and\n  imagination, and a work of distinct and individual merit.\"\n\nSPECTATOR.--\"Mr Wells' fanciful and lively dream is well\n  worth reading.\"\n\nNATIONAL OBSERVER.--\"A _tour de force_.... A fine piece\n  of literature, strongly imagined, almost perfectly expressed.\"\n\nGLASGOW HERALD.--\"One of the best pieces of work I have\n  read for many a day.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMacmillan's Colonial Library\n\nThe Wonderful Visit\n\nby H. G. Wells\n\nAuthor of the \"Time Machine\"\n\nLondon\nMacmillan and Co.\nand New York\n1895\n\nNo. 241\n\n_All rights reserved_\n\n\nThis Edition is intended for circulation only in India and the British\nColonies\n\n\nTO THE MEMORY OF MY DEAR FRIEND, WALTER LOW.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n                                                   PAGE\n\nTHE NIGHT OF THE STRANGE BIRD                         1\n\nTHE COMING OF THE STRANGE BIRD                        4\n\nTHE HUNTING OF THE STRANGE BIRD                       8\n\nTHE VICAR AND THE ANGEL                              17\n\nPARENTHESIS ON ANGELS                                35\n\nAT THE VICARAGE                                      38\n\nTHE MAN OF SCIENCE                                   50\n\nTHE CURATE                                           61\n\nAFTER DINNER                                         76\n\nMORNING                                              97\n\nTHE VIOLIN                                          101\n\nTHE ANGEL EXPLORES THE VILLAGE                      106\n\nLADY HAMMERGALLOW'S VIEW                            127\n\nFURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE ANGEL IN THE VILLAGE      135\n\nMRS JEHORAM'S BREADTH OF VIEW                       148\n\nA TRIVIAL INCIDENT                                  154\n\nTHE WARP AND THE WOOF OF THINGS                     156\n\nTHE ANGEL'S DEBUT                                   160\n\nTHE TROUBLE OF THE BARBED WIRE                      186\n\nDELIA                                               195\n\nDOCTOR CRUMP ACTS                                   199\n\nSIR JOHN GOTCH ACTS                                 208\n\nTHE SEA CLIFF                                       213\n\nMRS HINIJER ACTS                                    217\n\nTHE ANGEL IN TROUBLE                                221\n\nTHE LAST DAY OF THE VISIT                           229\n\nTHE EPILOGUE                                        248\n\n\n\n\nTHE WONDERFUL VISIT.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NIGHT OF THE STRANGE BIRD.\n\nI.\n\n\nOn the Night of the Strange Bird, many people at Sidderton (and some\nnearer) saw a Glare on the Sidderford moor. But no one in Sidderford saw\nit, for most of Sidderford was abed.\n\nAll day the wind had been rising, so that the larks on the moor\nchirruped fitfully near the ground, or rose only to be driven like\nleaves before the wind. The sun set in a bloody welter of clouds, and\nthe moon was hidden. The glare, they say, was golden like a beam shining\nout of the sky, not a uniform blaze, but broken all over by curving\nflashes like the waving of swords. It lasted but a moment and left the\nnight dark and obscure. There were letters about it in _Nature_, and a\nrough drawing that no one thought very like. (You may see it for\nyourself--the drawing that was unlike the glare--on page 42 of Vol.\ncclx. of that publication.)\n\nNone in Sidderford saw the light, but Annie, Hooker Durgan's wife, was\nlying awake, and she saw the reflection of it--a flickering tongue of\ngold--dancing on the wall.\n\nShe, too, was one of those who heard the sound. The others who heard the\nsound were Lumpy Durgan, the half-wit, and Amory's mother. They said it\nwas a sound like children singing and a throbbing of harp strings,\ncarried on a rush of notes like that which sometimes comes from an\norgan. It began and ended like the opening and shutting of a door, and\nbefore and after they heard nothing but the night wind howling over the\nmoor and the noise of the caves under Sidderford cliff. Amory's mother\nsaid she wanted to cry when she heard it, but Lumpy was only sorry he\ncould hear no more.\n\nThat is as much as anyone can tell you of the glare upon Sidderford\nMoor and the alleged music therewith. And whether these had any real\nconnexion with the Strange Bird whose history follows, is more than I\ncan say. But I set it down here for reasons that will be more apparent\nas the story proceeds.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMING OF THE STRANGE BIRD.\n\nII.\n\n\nSandy Bright was coming down the road from Spinner's carrying a side of\nbacon he had taken in exchange for a clock. He saw nothing of the light\nbut he heard and saw the Strange Bird. He suddenly heard a flapping and\na voice like a woman wailing, and being a nervous man and all alone, he\nwas alarmed forthwith, and turning (all a-tremble) saw something large\nand black against the dim darkness of the cedars up the hill. It seemed\nto be coming right down upon him, and incontinently he dropped his bacon\nand set off running, only to fall headlong.\n\nHe tried in vain--such was his state of mind--to remember the beginning\nof the Lord's Prayer. The strange bird flapped over him, something\nlarger than himself, with a vast spread of wings, and, as he thought,\nblack. He screamed and gave himself up for lost. Then it went past him,\nsailing down the hill, and, soaring over the vicarage, vanished into the\nhazy valley towards Sidderford.\n\nAnd Sandy Bright lay upon his stomach there, for ever so long, staring\ninto the darkness after the strange bird. At last he got upon his knees\nand began to thank Heaven for his merciful deliverance, with his eyes\ndownhill. He went on down into the village, talking aloud and confessing\nhis sins as he went, lest the strange bird should come back. All who\nheard him thought him drunk. But from that night he was a changed man,\nand had done with drunkenness and defrauding the revenue by selling\nsilver ornaments without a licence. And the side of bacon lay upon the\nhillside until the tallyman from Portburdock found it in the morning.\n\nThe next who saw the Strange Bird was a solicitor's clerk at Iping\nHanger, who was climbing the hill before breakfast, to see the sunrise.\nSave for a few dissolving wisps of cloud the sky had been blown clear\nin the night. At first he thought it was an eagle he saw. It was near\nthe zenith, and incredibly remote, a mere bright speck above the pink\ncirri, and it seemed as if it fluttered and beat itself against the sky,\nas an imprisoned swallow might do against a window pane. Then down it\ncame into the shadow of the earth, sweeping in a great curve towards\nPortburdock and round over the Hanger, and so vanishing behind the woods\nof Siddermorton Park. It seemed larger than a man. Just before it was\nhidden, the light of the rising sun smote over the edge of the downs and\ntouched its wings, and they flashed with the brightness of flames and\nthe colour of precious stones, and so passed, leaving the witness agape.\n\nA ploughman going to his work, along under the stone wall of\nSiddermorton Park, saw the Strange Bird flash over him for a moment and\nvanish among the hazy interstices of the beech trees. But he saw little\nof the colour of the wings, witnessing only that its legs, which were\nlong, seemed pink and bare like naked flesh, and its body mottled white.\nIt smote like an arrow through the air and was gone.\n\nThese were the first three eye-witnesses of the Strange Bird.\n\nNow in these days one does not cower before the devil and one's own\nsinfulness, or see strange iridiscent wings in the light of dawn, and\nsay nothing of it afterwards. The young solicitor's clerk told his\nmother and sisters at breakfast, and, afterwards, on his way to the\noffice at Portburdock, spoke of it to the blacksmith of Hammerpond, and\nspent the morning with his fellow clerks marvelling instead of copying\ndeeds. And Sandy Bright went to talk the matter over with Mr Jekyll, the\n\"Primitive\" minister, and the ploughman told old Hugh and afterwards the\nvicar of Siddermorton.\n\n\"They are not an imaginative race about here,\" said the Vicar of\nSiddermorton, \"I wonder how much of that was true. Barring that he\nthinks the wings were brown it sounds uncommonly like a Flamingo.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE HUNTING OF THE STRANGE BIRD.\n\nIII.\n\n\nThe Vicar of Siddermorton (which is nine miles inland from Siddermouth\nas the crow flies) was an ornithologist. Some such pursuit, botany,\nantiquity, folk-lore, is almost inevitable for a single man in his\nposition. He was given to geometry also, propounding occasionally\nimpossible problems in the _Educational Times_, but ornithology was his\n_forte_. He had already added two visitors to the list of occasional\nBritish birds. His name was well-known in the columns of the _Zoologist_\n(I am afraid it may be forgotten by now, for the world moves apace). And\non the day after the coming of the Strange Bird, came first one and then\nanother to confirm the ploughman's story and tell him, not that it had\nany connection, of the Glare upon Sidderford moor.\n\nNow, the Vicar of Siddermorton had two rivals in his scientific\npursuits; Gully of Sidderton, who had actually seen the glare, and who\nit was sent the drawing to _Nature_, and Borland the natural history\ndealer, who kept the marine laboratory at Portburdock. Borland, the\nVicar thought, should have stuck to his copepods, but instead he kept a\ntaxidermist, and took advantage of his littoral position to pick up rare\nsea birds. It was evident to anyone who knew anything of collecting that\nboth these men would be scouring the country after the strange visitant,\nbefore twenty-four hours were out.\n\nThe Vicar's eye rested on the back of Saunders' British Birds, for he\nwas in his study at the time. Already in two places there was entered:\n\"the only known British specimen was secured by the Rev. K. Hilyer,\nVicar of Siddermorton.\" A third such entry. He doubted if any other\ncollector had that.\n\nHe looked at his watch--_two_. He had just lunched, and usually he\n\"rested\" in the afternoon. He knew it would make him feel very\ndisagreeable if he went out into the hot sunshine--both on the top of\nhis head and generally. Yet Gully perhaps was out, prowling observant.\nSuppose it was something very good and Gully got it!\n\nHis gun stood in the corner. (The thing had iridiscent wings and pink\nlegs! The chromatic conflict was certainly exceedingly stimulating). He\ntook his gun.\n\nHe would have gone out by the glass doors and verandah, and down the\ngarden into the hill road, in order to avoid his housekeeper's eye. He\nknew his gun expeditions were not approved of. But advancing towards him\nup the garden, he saw the curate's wife and her two daughters, carrying\ntennis rackets. His curate's wife was a young woman of immense will, who\nused to play tennis on his lawn, and cut his roses, differ from him on\ndoctrinal points, and criticise his personal behaviour all over the\nparish. He went in abject fear of her, was always trying to propitiate\nher. But so far he had clung to his ornithology....\n\nHowever, he went out by the front door.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\n\nIf it were not for collectors England would be full, so to speak, of\nrare birds and wonderful butterflies, strange flowers and a thousand\ninteresting things. But happily the collector prevents all that, either\nkilling with his own hands or, by buying extravagantly, procuring people\nof the lower classes to kill such eccentricities as appear. It makes\nwork for people, even though Acts of Parliament interfere. In this way,\nfor instance, he is killing off the chough in Cornwall, the Bath white\nbutterfly, the Queen of Spain Fritillary; and can plume himself upon the\nextermination of the Great Auk, and a hundred other rare birds and\nplants and insects. All that is the work of the collector and his glory\nalone. In the name of Science. And this is right and as it should be;\neccentricity, in fact, is immorality--think over it again if you do not\nthink so now--just as eccentricity in one's way of thinking is madness\n(I defy you to find another definition that will fit all the cases of\neither); and if a species is rare it follows that it is not Fitted to\nSurvive. The collector is after all merely like the foot soldier in the\ndays of heavy armour--he leaves the combatants alone and cuts the\nthroats of those who are overthrown. So one may go through England from\nend to end in the summer time and see only eight or ten commonplace wild\nflowers, and the commoner butterflies, and a dozen or so common birds,\nand never be offended by any breach of the monotony, any splash of\nstrange blossom or flutter of unknown wing. All the rest have been\n\"collected\" years ago. For which cause we should all love Collectors,\nand bear in mind what we owe them when their little collections are\ndisplayed. These camphorated little drawers of theirs, their glass cases\nand blotting-paper books, are the graves of the Rare and the Beautiful,\nthe symbols of the Triumph of Leisure (morally spent) over the Delights\nof Life. (All of which, as you very properly remark, has nothing\nwhatever to do with the Strange Bird.)\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\n\nThere is a place on the moor where the black water shines among the\nsucculent moss, and the hairy sundew, eater of careless insects, spreads\nits red-stained hungry hands to the God who gives his creatures--one to\nfeed another. On a ridge thereby grow birches with a silvery bark, and\nthe soft green of the larch mingles with the dark green fir. Thither\nthrough the honey humming heather came the Vicar, in the heat of the\nday, carrying a gun under his arm, a gun loaded with swanshot for the\nStrange Bird. And over his disengaged hand he carried a pocket\nhandkerchief wherewith, ever and again, he wiped his beady face.\n\nHe went by and on past the big pond and the pool full of brown leaves\nwhere the Sidder arises, and so by the road (which is at first sandy and\nthen chalky) to the little gate that goes into the park. There are seven\nsteps up to the gate and on the further side six down again--lest the\ndeer escape--so that when the Vicar stood in the gateway his head was\nten feet or more above the ground. And looking where a tumult of bracken\nfronds filled the hollow between two groups of beech, his eye caught\nsomething parti- that wavered and went. Suddenly his face\ngleamed and his muscles grew tense; he ducked his head, clutched his gun\nwith both hands, and stood still. Then watching keenly, he came on down\nthe steps into the park, and still holding his gun in both hands, crept\nrather than walked towards the jungle of bracken.\n\nNothing stirred, and he almost feared that his eyes had played him\nfalse, until he reached the ferns and had gone rustling breast high into\nthem. Then suddenly rose something full of wavering colours, twenty\nyards or less in front of his face, and beating the air. In another\nmoment it had fluttered above the bracken and spread its pinions wide.\nHe saw what it was, his heart was in his mouth, and he fired out of pure\nsurprise and habit.\n\nThere was a scream of superhuman agony, the wings beat the air twice,\nand the victim came slanting swiftly downward and struck the ground--a\nstruggling heap of writhing body, broken wing and flying bloodstained\nplumes--upon the turfy <DW72> behind.\n\nThe Vicar stood aghast, with his smoking gun in his hand. It was no bird\nat all, but a youth with an extremely beautiful face, clad in a robe of\nsaffron and with iridescent wings, across whose pinions great waves of\ncolour, flushes of purple and crimson, golden green and intense blue,\npursued one another as he writhed in his agony. Never had the Vicar seen\nsuch gorgeous floods of colour, not stained glass windows, not the wings\nof butterflies, not even the glories of crystals seen between prisms, no\ncolours on earth could compare with them. Twice the Angel raised\nhimself, only to fall over sideways again. Then the beating of the wings\ndiminished, the terrified face grew pale, the floods of colour abated,\nand suddenly with a sob he lay prone, and the changing hues of the\nbroken wings faded swiftly into one uniform dull grey hue.\n\n\"Oh! _what_ has happened to me?\" cried the Angel (for such it was),\nshuddering violently, hands outstretched and clutching the ground, and\nthen lying still.\n\n\"Dear me!\" said the Vicar. \"I had no idea.\" He came forward cautiously.\n\"Excuse me,\" he said, \"I am afraid I have shot you.\"\n\nIt was the obvious remark.\n\nThe Angel seemed to become aware of his presence for the first time. He\nraised himself by one hand, his brown eyes stared into the Vicar's.\nThen, with a gasp, and biting his nether lip, he struggled into a\nsitting position and surveyed the Vicar from top to toe.\n\n\"A man!\" said the Angel, clasping his forehead; \"a man in the maddest\nblack clothes and without a feather upon him. Then I was not deceived. I\nam indeed in the Land of Dreams!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE VICAR AND THE ANGEL.\n\nVI.\n\n\nNow there are some things frankly impossible. The weakest intellect will\nadmit this situation is impossible. The _Athenaeum_ will probably say as\nmuch should it venture to review this. Sunbespattered ferns, spreading\nbeech trees, the Vicar and the gun are acceptable enough. But this Angel\nis a different matter. Plain sensible people will scarcely go on with\nsuch an extravagant book. And the Vicar fully appreciated this\nimpossibility. But he lacked decision. Consequently he went on with it,\nas you shall immediately hear. He was hot, it was after dinner, he was\nin no mood for mental subtleties. The Angel had him at a disadvantage,\nand further distracted him from the main issue by irrelevant iridescence\nand a violent fluttering. For the moment it never occurred to the Vicar\nto ask whether the Angel was possible or not. He accepted him in the\nconfusion of the moment, and the mischief was done. Put yourself in his\nplace, my dear _Athenaeum_. You go out shooting. You hit something. That\nalone would disconcert you. You find you have hit an Angel, and he\nwrithes about for a minute and then sits up and addresses you. He makes\nno apology for his own impossibility. Indeed, he carries the charge\nclean into your camp. \"A man!\" he says, pointing. \"A man in the maddest\nblack clothes and without a feather upon him. Then I was not deceived. I\nam indeed in the Land of Dreams!\" You _must_ answer him. Unless you take\nto your heels. Or blow his brains out with your second barrel as an\nescape from the controversy.\n\n\"The Land of Dreams! Pardon me if I suggest you have just come out of\nit,\" was the Vicar's remark.\n\n\"How can that be?\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Your wing,\" said the Vicar, \"is bleeding. Before we talk, may I have\nthe pleasure--the melancholy pleasure--of tying it up? I am really most\nsincerely sorry....\" The Angel put his hand behind his back and winced.\n\nThe Vicar assisted his victim to stand up. The Angel turned gravely and\nthe Vicar, with numberless insignificant panting parentheses, carefully\nexamined the injured wings. (They articulated, he observed with\ninterest, to a kind of second glenoid on the outer and upper edge of the\nshoulder blade. The left wing had suffered little except the loss of\nsome of the primary wing-quills, and a shot or so in the _ala spuria_,\nbut the humerus bone of the right was evidently smashed.) The Vicar\nstanched the bleeding as well as he could and tied up the bone with his\npocket handkerchief and the neck wrap his housekeeper made him carry in\nall weathers.\n\n\"I'm afraid you will not be able to fly for some time,\" said he, feeling\nthe bone.\n\n\"I don't like this new sensation,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"The Pain when I feel your bone?\"\n\n\"The _what_?\" said the Angel.\n\n\"The Pain.\"\n\n\"'Pain'--you call it. No, I certainly don't like the Pain. Do you have\nmuch of this Pain in the Land of Dreams?\"\n\n\"A very fair share,\" said the Vicar. \"Is it new to you?\"\n\n\"Quite,\" said the Angel. \"I don't like it.\"\n\n\"How curious!\" said the Vicar, and bit at the end of a strip of linen to\ntie a knot. \"I think this bandaging must serve for the present,\" he\nsaid. \"I've studied ambulance work before, but never the bandaging up of\nwing wounds. Is your Pain any better?\"\n\n\"It glows now instead of flashing,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"I am afraid you will find it glow for some time,\" said the Vicar, still\nintent on the wound.\n\nThe Angel gave a shrug of the wing and turned round to look at the Vicar\nagain. He had been trying to keep an eye on the Vicar over his shoulder\nduring all their interview. He looked at him from top to toe with raised\neyebrows and a growing smile on his beautiful soft-featured face. \"It\nseems so odd,\" he said with a sweet little laugh, \"to be talking to a\nMan!\"\n\n\"Do you know,\" said the Vicar, \"now that I come to think of it, it is\nequally odd to me that I should be talking to an Angel. I am a somewhat\nmatter-of-fact person. A Vicar has to be. Angels I have always regarded\nas--artistic conceptions----\"\n\n\"Exactly what we think of men.\"\n\n\"But surely you have seen so many men----\"\n\n\"Never before to-day. In pictures and books, times enough of course. But\nI have seen several since the sunrise, solid real men, besides a horse\nor so--those Unicorn things you know, without horns--and quite a number\nof those grotesque knobby things called 'cows.' I was naturally a little\nfrightened at so many mythical monsters, and came to hide here until it\nwas dark. I suppose it will be dark again presently like it was at\nfirst. _Phew!_ This Pain of yours is poor fun. I hope I shall wake up\ndirectly.\"\n\n\"I don't understand quite,\" said the Vicar, knitting his brows and\ntapping his forehead with his flat hand. \"Mythical monster!\" The worst\nthing he had been called for years hitherto was a 'mediaeval\nanachronism' (by an advocate of Disestablishment). \"Do I understand\nthat you consider me as--as something in a dream?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said the Angel smiling.\n\n\"And this world about me, these rugged trees and spreading fronds----\"\n\n\"Is all so _very_ dream like,\" said the Angel. \"Just exactly what one\ndreams of--or artists imagine.\"\n\n\"You have artists then among the Angels?\"\n\n\"All kinds of artists, Angels with wonderful imaginations, who invent\nmen and cows and eagles and a thousand impossible creatures.\"\n\n\"Impossible creatures!\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"Impossible creatures,\" said the Angel. \"Myths.\"\n\n\"But I'm real!\" said the Vicar. \"I assure you I'm real.\"\n\nThe Angel shrugged his wings and winced and smiled. \"I can always tell\nwhen I am dreaming,\" he said.\n\n\"_You_--dreaming,\" said the Vicar. He looked round him.\n\n\"_You_ dreaming!\" he repeated. His mind worked diffusely.\n\nHe held out his hand with all his fingers moving. \"I have it!\" he said.\n\"I begin to see.\" A really brilliant idea was dawning upon his mind. He\nhad not studied mathematics at Cambridge for nothing, after all. \"Tell\nme please. Some animals of _your_ world ... of the Real World, real\nanimals you know.\"\n\n\"Real animals!\" said the Angel smiling. \"Why--there's Griffins and\nDragons--and Jabberwocks--and Cherubim--and Sphinxes--and the\nHippogriff--and Mermaids--and Satyrs--and....\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the Vicar as the Angel appeared to be warming to his\nwork; \"thank you. That is _quite_ enough. I begin to understand.\"\n\nHe paused for a moment, his face pursed up. \"Yes ... I begin to see it.\"\n\n\"See what?\" asked the Angel.\n\n\"The Griffins and Satyrs and so forth. It's as clear....\"\n\n\"I don't see them,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"No, the whole point is they are not to be seen in this world. But our\nmen with imaginations have told us all about them, you know. And even I\nat times ... there are places in this village where you must simply take\nwhat they set before you, or give offence--I, I say, have seen in my\ndreams Jabberwocks, Bogle brutes, Mandrakes.... From our point of view,\nyou know, they are Dream Creatures....\"\n\n\"Dream Creatures!\" said the Angel. \"How singular! This is a very curious\ndream. A kind of topsy-turvey one. You call men real and angels a myth.\nIt almost makes one think that in some odd way there must be two worlds\nas it were....\"\n\n\"At least Two,\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"Lying somewhere close together, and yet scarcely suspecting....\"\n\n\"As near as page to page of a book.\"\n\n\"Penetrating each other, living each its own life. This is really a\ndelicious dream!\"\n\n\"And never dreaming of each other.\"\n\n\"Except when people go a dreaming!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Angel thoughtfully. \"It must be something of the sort.\nAnd that reminds me. Sometimes when I have been dropping asleep, or\ndrowsing under the noon-tide sun, I have seen strange corrugated faces\njust like yours, going by me, and trees with green leaves upon them, and\nsuch queer uneven ground as this.... It must be so. I have fallen into\nanother world.\"\n\n\"Sometimes,\" began the Vicar, \"at bedtime, when I have been just on the\nedge of consciousness, I have seen faces as beautiful as yours, and the\nstrange dazzling vistas of a wonderful scene, that flowed past me,\nwinged shapes soaring over it, and wonderful--sometimes terrible--forms\ngoing to and fro. I have even heard sweet music too in my ears.... It\nmay be that as we withdraw our attention from the world of sense, the\npressing world about us, as we pass into the twilight of repose, other\nworlds.... Just as we see the stars, those other worlds in space, when\nthe glare of day recedes.... And the artistic dreamers who see such\nthings most clearly....\"\n\nThey looked at one another.\n\n\"And in some incomprehensible manner I have fallen into this world of\nyours out of my own!\" said the Angel, \"into the world of my dreams,\ngrown real.\"\n\nHe looked about him. \"Into the world of my dreams.\"\n\n\"It is confusing,\" said the Vicar. \"It almost makes one think there may\nbe (ahem) Four Dimensions after all. In which case, of course,\" he went\non hurriedly--for he loved geometrical speculations and took a certain\npride in his knowledge of them--\"there may be any number of three\ndimensional universes packed side by side, and all dimly dreaming of one\nanother. There may be world upon world, universe upon universe. It's\nperfectly possible. There's nothing so incredible as the absolutely\npossible. But I wonder how you came to fall out of your world into\nmine....\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said the Angel; \"There's deer and a stag! Just as they draw\nthem on the coats of arms. How grotesque it all seems! Can I really be\nawake?\"\n\nHe rubbed his knuckles into his eyes.\n\nThe half-dozen of dappled deer came in Indian file obliquely through the\ntrees and halted, watching. \"It's no dream--I am really a solid concrete\nAngel, in Dream Land,\" said the Angel. He laughed. The Vicar stood\nsurveying him. The Reverend gentleman was pulling his mouth askew after\na habit he had, and slowly stroking his chin. He was asking himself\nwhether he too was not in the Land of Dreams.\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\n\nNow in the land of the Angels, so the Vicar learnt in the course of many\nconversations, there is neither pain nor trouble nor death, marrying nor\ngiving in marriage, birth nor forgetting. Only at times new things\nbegin. It is a land without hill or dale, a wonderfully level land,\nglittering with strange buildings, with incessant sunlight or full moon,\nand with incessant breezes blowing through the AEolian traceries of the\ntrees. It is Wonderland, with glittering seas hanging in the sky, across\nwhich strange fleets go sailing, none know whither. There the flowers\nglow in Heaven and the stars shine about one's feet and the breath of\nlife is a delight. The land goes on for ever--there is no solar system\nnor interstellar space such as there is in our universe--and the air\ngoes upward past the sun into the uttermost abyss of their sky. And\nthere is nothing but Beauty there--all the beauty in our art is but\nfeeble rendering of faint glimpses of that wonderful world, and our\ncomposers, our original composers, are those who hear, however faintly,\nthe dust of melody that drives before its winds. And the Angels, and\nwonderful monsters of bronze and marble and living fire, go to and fro\ntherein.\n\nIt is a land of Law--for whatever is, is under the law--but its laws\nall, in some strange way, differ from ours. Their geometry is different\nbecause their space has a curve in it so that all their planes are\ncylinders; and their law of Gravitation is not according to the law of\ninverse squares, and there are four-and-twenty primary colours instead\nof only three. Most of the fantastic things of our science are\ncommonplaces there, and all our earthly science would seem to them the\nmaddest dreaming. There are no flowers upon their plants, for instance,\nbut jets of  fire. That, of course, will seem mere nonsense to\nyou because you do not understand Most of what the Angel told the Vicar,\nindeed the Vicar could not realise, because his own experiences, being\nonly of this world of matter, warred against his understanding. It was\ntoo strange to imagine.\n\nWhat had jolted these twin universes together so that the Angel had\nfallen suddenly into Sidderford, neither the Angel nor the Vicar could\ntell. Nor for the matter of that could the author of this story. The\nauthor is concerned with the facts of the case, and has neither the\ndesire nor the confidence to explain them. Explanations are the fallacy\nof a scientific age. And the cardinal fact of the case is this, that out\nin Siddermorton Park, with the glory of some wonderful world where there\nis neither sorrow nor sighing, still clinging to him, on the 4th of\nAugust 1895, stood an Angel, bright and beautiful, talking to the Vicar\nof Siddermorton about the plurality of worlds. The author will swear to\nthe Angel, if need be; and there he draws the line.\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\n\n\"I have,\" said the Angel, \"a most unusual feeling--_here_. Have had\nsince sunrise. I don't remember ever having any feeling--_here_ before.\"\n\n\"Not pain, I hope,\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"Oh no! It is quite different from that--a kind of vacuous feeling.\"\n\n\"The atmospheric pressure, perhaps, is a little different,\" the Vicar\nbegan, feeling his chin.\n\n\"And do you know, I have also the most curious sensations in my\nmouth--almost as if--it's so absurd!--as if I wanted to stuff things\ninto it.\"\n\n\"Bless me!\" said the Vicar. \"Of course! You're hungry!\"\n\n\"Hungry!\" said the Angel. \"What's that?\"\n\n\"Don't you eat?\"\n\n\"Eat! The word's quite new to me.\"\n\n\"Put food into your mouth, you know. One has to here. You will soon\nlearn. If you don't, you get thin and miserable, and suffer a great\ndeal--_pain_, you know--and finally you die.\"\n\n\"Die!\" said the Angel. \"That's another strange word!\"\n\n\"It's not strange here. It means leaving off, you know,\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"We never leave off,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"You don't know what may happen to you in this world,\" said the Vicar,\nthinking him over. \"Possibly if you are feeling hungry, and can feel\npain and have your wings broken, you may even have to die before you get\nout of it again. At anyrate you had better try eating. For my own\npart--ahem!--there are many more disagreeable things.\"\n\n\"I suppose I _had_ better Eat,\" said the Angel. \"If it's not too\ndifficult. I don't like this 'Pain' of yours, and I don't like this\n'Hungry.' If your 'Die' is anything like it, I would prefer to Eat. What\na very odd world this is!\"\n\n\"To Die,\" said the Vicar, \"is generally considered worse than either\npain or hunger.... It depends.\"\n\n\"You must explain all that to me later,\" said the Angel. \"Unless I wake\nup. At present, please show me how to eat. If you will. I feel a kind of\nurgency....\"\n\n\"Pardon me,\" said the Vicar, and offered an elbow. \"If I may have the\npleasure of entertaining you. My house lies yonder--not a couple of\nmiles from here.\"\n\n\"_Your_ House!\" said the Angel a little puzzled; but he took the Vicar's\narm affectionately, and the two, conversing as they went, waded slowly\nthrough the luxuriant bracken, sun mottled under the trees, and on over\nthe stile in the park palings, and so across the bee-swarming heather\nfor a mile or more, down the hillside, home.\n\nYou would have been charmed at the couple could you have seen them. The\nAngel, slight of figure, scarcely five feet high, and with a beautiful,\nalmost effeminate face, such as an Italian old Master might have\npainted. (Indeed, there is one in the National Gallery [_Tobias and the\nAngel_, by some artist unknown] not at all unlike him so far as face and\nspirit go.) He was robed simply in a purple-wrought saffron blouse, bare\nkneed and bare-footed, with his wings (broken now, and a leaden grey)\nfolded behind him. The Vicar was a short, rather stout figure, rubicund,\nred-haired, clean-shaven, and with bright ruddy brown eyes. He wore a\npiebald straw hat with a black ribbon, a very neat white tie, and a fine\ngold watch-chain. He was so greatly interested in his companion that it\nonly occurred to him when he was in sight of the Vicarage that he had\nleft his gun lying just where he had dropped it amongst the bracken.\n\nHe was rejoiced to hear that the pain of the bandaged wing fell rapidly\nin intensity.\n\n\n\n\nPARENTHESIS ON ANGELS.\n\nIX.\n\n\nLet us be plain. The Angel of this story is the Angel of Art, not the\nAngel that one must be irreverent to touch--neither the Angel of\nreligious feeling nor the Angel of popular belief. The last we all know.\nShe is alone among the angelic hosts in being distinctly feminine: she\nwears a robe of immaculate, unmitigated white with sleeves, is fair,\nwith long golden tresses, and has eyes of the blue of Heaven. Just a\npure woman she is, pure maiden or pure matron, in her _robe de nuit_,\nand with wings attached to her shoulder blades. Her callings are\ndomestic and sympathetic, she watches over a cradle or assists a sister\nsoul heavenward. Often she bears a palm leaf, but one would not be\nsurprised if one met her carrying a warming-pan softly to some poor\nchilly sinner. She it was who came down in a bevy to Marguerite in\nprison, in the amended last scene in _Faust_ at the Lyceum, and the\ninteresting and improving little children that are to die young, have\nvisions of such angels in the novels of Mrs Henry Wood. This white\nwomanliness with her indescribable charm of lavender-like holiness, her\naroma of clean, methodical lives, is, it would seem after all, a purely\nTeutonic invention. Latin thought knows her not; the old masters have\nnone of her. She is of a piece with that gentle innocent ladylike school\nof art whereof the greatest triumph is \"a lump in one's throat,\" and\nwhere wit and passion, scorn and pomp, have no place. The white angel\nwas made in Germany, in the land of blonde women and the domestic\nsentiments. She comes to us cool and worshipful, pure and tranquil, as\nsilently soothing as the breadth and calmness of the starlit sky, which\nalso is so unspeakably dear to the Teutonic soul.... We do her\nreverence. And to the angels of the Hebrews, those spirits of power and\nmystery, to Raphael, Zadkiel, and Michael, of whom only Watts has caught\nthe shadow, of whom only Blake has seen the splendour, to them too, do\nwe do reverence.\n\nBut this Angel the Vicar shot is, we say, no such angel at all, but the\nAngel of Italian art, polychromatic and gay. He comes from the land of\nbeautiful dreams and not from any holier place. At best he is a popish\ncreature. Bear patiently, therefore, with his scattered remiges, and be\nnot hasty with your charge of irreverence before the story is read.\n\n\n\n\nAT THE VICARAGE.\n\nX.\n\n\nThe Curate's wife and her two daughters and Mrs Jehoram were still\nplaying at tennis on the lawn behind the Vicar's study, playing keenly\nand talking in gasps about paper patterns for blouses. But the Vicar\nforgot and came in that way.\n\nThey saw the Vicar's hat above the rhododendrons, and a bare curly head\nbeside him. \"I must ask him about Susan Wiggin,\" said the Curate's wife.\nShe was about to serve, and stood with a racket in one hand and a ball\nbetween the fingers of the other. \"_He_ really ought to have gone to see\nher--being the Vicar. Not George. I----_Ah!_\"\n\nFor the two figures suddenly turned the corner and were visible. The\nVicar, arm in arm with----\n\nYou see, it came on the Curate's wife suddenly. The Angel's face being\ntowards her she saw nothing of the wings. Only a face of unearthly\nbeauty in a halo of chestnut hair, and a graceful figure clothed in a\nsaffron garment that barely reached the knees. The thought of those\nknees flashed upon the Vicar at once. He too was horrorstruck. So were\nthe two girls and Mrs Jehoram. All horrorstruck. The Angel stared in\nastonishment at the horrorstruck group. You see, he had never seen\nanyone horrorstruck before.\n\n\"MIS--ter Hilyer!\" said the Curate's wife. \"This is _too_ much!\" She\nstood speechless for a moment. \"_Oh!_\"\n\nShe swept round upon the rigid girls. \"Come!\" The Vicar opened and shut\nhis voiceless mouth. The world hummed and spun about him. There was a\nwhirling of zephyr skirts, four impassioned faces sweeping towards the\nopen door of the passage that ran through the vicarage. He felt his\nposition went with them.\n\n\"Mrs Mendham,\" said the Vicar, stepping forward. \"Mrs Mendham. You don't\nunderstand----\"\n\n\"_Oh!_\" they all said again.\n\nOne, two, three, four skirts vanished in the doorway. The Vicar\nstaggered half way across the lawn and stopped, aghast. \"This comes,\" he\nheard the Curate's wife say, out of the depth of the passage, \"of having\nan unmarried vicar----.\" The umbrella stand wobbled. The front door of\nthe vicarage slammed like a minute gun. There was silence for a space.\n\n\"I might have thought,\" he said. \"She is always so hasty.\"\n\nHe put his hand to his chin--a habit with him. Then turned his face to\nhis companion. The Angel was evidently well bred. He was holding up Mrs\nJehoram's sunshade--she had left it on one of the cane chairs--and\nexamining it with extraordinary interest. He opened it. \"What a curious\nlittle mechanism!\" he said. \"What can it be for?\"\n\nThe Vicar did not answer. The angelic costume certainly was--the Vicar\nknew it was a case for a French phrase--but he could scarcely remember\nit. He so rarely used French. It was not _de trop_, he knew. Anything\nbut _de trop_. The Angel was _de trop_, but certainly not his costume.\nAh! _Sans culotte!_\n\nThe Vicar examined his visitor critically--for the first time. \"He\n_will_ be difficult to explain,\" he said to himself softly.\n\nThe Angel stuck the sunshade into the turf and went to smell the sweet\nbriar. The sunshine fell upon his brown hair and gave it almost the\nappearance of a halo. He pricked his finger. \"Odd!\" he said. \"Pain\nagain.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Vicar, thinking aloud. \"He's very beautiful and curious\nas he is. I should like him best so. But I am afraid I must.\"\n\nHe approached the Angel with a nervous cough.\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\n\n\"Those,\" said the Vicar, \"were ladies.\"\n\n\"How grotesque,\" said the Angel, smiling and smelling the sweet briar.\n\"And such quaint shapes!\"\n\n\"Possibly,\" said the Vicar. \"Did you, _ahem_, notice how they behaved?\"\n\n\"They went away. Seemed, indeed, to run away. Frightened? I, of course,\nwas frightened at things without wings. I hope---- they were not\nfrightened at my wings?\"\n\n\"At your appearance generally,\" said the Vicar, glancing involuntarily\nat the pink feet.\n\n\"Dear me! It never occurred to me. I suppose I seemed as odd to them as\nyou did to me.\" He glanced down. \"And my feet. _You_ have hoofs like a\nhippogriff.\"\n\n\"Boots,\" corrected the Vicar.\n\n\"Boots, you call them! But anyhow, I am sorry I alarmed----\"\n\n\"You see,\" said the Vicar, stroking his chin, \"our ladies, _ahem_, have\npeculiar views--rather inartistic views--about, _ahem_, clothing.\nDressed as you are, I am afraid, I am really afraid that--beautiful as\nyour costume certainly is--you will find yourself somewhat, _ahem_,\nsomewhat isolated in society. We have a little proverb, 'When in Rome,\n_ahem_, one must do as the Romans do.' I can assure you that, assuming\nyou are desirous to, _ahem_, associate with us--during your involuntary\nstay----\"\n\nThe Angel retreated a step or so as the Vicar came nearer and nearer in\nhis attempt to be diplomatic and confidential. The beautiful face grew\nperplexed. \"I don't quite understand. Why do you keep making these\nnoises in your throat? Is it Die or Eat, or any of those....\"\n\n\"As your host,\" interrupted the Vicar, and stopped.\n\n\"As my host,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"_Would_ you object, pending more permanent arrangements, to invest\nyourself, _ahem_, in a suit, an entirely new suit I may say, like this I\nhave on?\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said the Angel. He retreated so as to take in the Vicar from top\nto toe. \"Wear clothes like yours!\" he said. He was puzzled but amused.\nHis eyes grew round and bright, his mouth puckered at the corners.\n\n\"Delightful!\" he said, clapping his hands together. \"What a mad, quaint\ndream this is! Where are they?\" He caught at the neck of the saffron\nrobe.\n\n\"Indoors!\" said the Vicar. \"This way. We will change--indoors!\"\n\n\n\n\nXII.\n\n\nSo the Angel was invested in a pair of nether garments of the Vicar's, a\nshirt, ripped down the back (to accommodate the wings), socks,\nshoes--the Vicar's dress shoes--collar, tie, and light overcoat. But\nputting on the latter was painful, and reminded the Vicar that the\nbandaging was temporary. \"I will ring for tea at once, and send Grummet\ndown for Crump,\" said the Vicar. \"And dinner shall be earlier.\" While\nthe Vicar shouted his orders on the landing rails, the Angel surveyed\nhimself in the cheval glass with immense delight. If he was a stranger\nto pain, he was evidently no stranger--thanks perhaps to dreaming--to\nthe pleasure of incongruity.\n\nThey had tea in the drawing-room. The Angel sat on the music stool\n(music stool because of his wings). At first he wanted to lie on the\nhearthrug. He looked much less radiant in the Vicar's clothes, than he\nhad done upon the moor when dressed in saffron. His face shone still,\nthe colour of his hair and cheeks was strangely bright, and there was a\nsuperhuman light in his eyes, but his wings under the overcoat gave him\nthe appearance of a hunchback. The garments, indeed, made quite a\nterrestrial thing of him, the trousers were puckered transversely, and\nthe shoes a size or so too large.\n\nHe was charmingly affable and quite ignorant of the most elementary\nfacts of civilization. Eating came without much difficulty, and the\nVicar had an entertaining time teaching him how to take tea. \"What a\nmess it is! What a dear grotesque ugly world you live in!\" said the\nAngel. \"Fancy stuffing things into your mouth! We use our mouths just to\ntalk and sing with. Our world, you know, is almost incurably beautiful.\nWe get so very little ugliness, that I find all this ... delightful.\"\n\nMrs Hinijer, the Vicar's housekeeper, looked at the Angel suspiciously\nwhen she brought in the tea. She thought him rather a \"queer customer.\"\nWhat she would have thought had she seen him in saffron no one can tell.\n\nThe Angel shuffled about the room with his cup of tea in one hand, and\nthe bread and butter in the other, and examined the Vicar's furniture.\nOutside the French windows, the lawn with its array of dahlias and\nsunflowers glowed in the warm sunlight, and Mrs Jehoram's sunshade stood\nthereon like a triangle of fire. He thought the Vicar's portrait over\nthe mantel very curious indeed, could not understand what it was there\nfor. \"You have yourself round,\" he said, _apropos_ of the portrait, \"Why\nwant yourself flat?\" and he was vastly amused at the glass fire screen.\nHe found the oak chairs odd--\"You're not square, are you?\" he said, when\nthe Vicar explained their use. \"_We_ never double ourselves up. We lie\nabout on the asphodel when we want to rest.\"\n\n\"The chair,\" said the Vicar, \"to tell you the truth, has always puzzled\n_me_. It dates, I think, from the days when the floors were cold and\nvery dirty. I suppose we have kept up the habit. It's become a kind of\ninstinct with us to sit on chairs. Anyhow, if I went to see one of my\nparishioners, and suddenly spread myself out on the floor--the natural\nway of it--I don't know what she would do. It would be all over the\nparish in no time. Yet it seems the natural method of reposing, to\nrecline. The Greeks and Romans----\"\n\n\"What is this?\" said the Angel abruptly.\n\n\"That's a stuffed kingfisher. I killed it.\"\n\n\"Killed it!\"\n\n\"Shot it,\" said the Vicar, \"with a gun.\"\n\n\"Shot! As you did me?\"\n\n\"I didn't kill you, you see. Fortunately.\"\n\n\"Is killing making like that?\"\n\n\"In a way.\"\n\n\"Dear me! And you wanted to make me like that--wanted to put glass eyes\nin me and string me up in a glass case full of ugly green and brown\nstuff?\"\n\n\"You see,\" began the Vicar, \"I scarcely understood----\"\n\n\"Is that 'die'?\" asked the Angel suddenly.\n\n\"That is dead; it died.\"\n\n\"Poor little thing. I must eat a lot. But you say you killed it. _Why?_\"\n\n\"You see,\" said the Vicar, \"I take an interest in birds, and I (_ahem_)\ncollect them. I wanted the specimen----\"\n\nThe Angel stared at him for a moment with puzzled eyes. \"A beautiful\nbird like that!\" he said with a shiver. \"Because the fancy took you. You\nwanted the specimen!\"\n\nHe thought for a minute. \"Do you often kill?\" he asked the Vicar.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAN OF SCIENCE.\n\nXIII.\n\n\nThen Doctor Crump arrived. Grummet had met him not a hundred yards from\nthe vicarage gate. He was a large, rather heavy-looking man, with a\nclean-shaven face and a double chin. He was dressed in a grey morning\ncoat (he always affected grey), with a chequered black and white tie.\n\"What's the trouble?\" he said, entering and staring without a shadow of\nsurprise at the Angel's radiant face.\n\n\"This--_ahem_--gentleman,\" said the Vicar, \"or--_ah_--Angel\"--the Angel\nbowed--\"is suffering from a gunshot wound.\"\n\n\"Gunshot wound!\" said Doctor Crump. \"In July! May I look at it,\nMr--Angel, I think you said?\"\n\n\"He will probably be able to assuage your pain,\" said the Vicar. \"Let\nme assist you to remove your coat?\"\n\nThe Angel turned obediently.\n\n\"Spinal curvature?\" muttered Doctor Crump quite audibly, walking round\nbehind the Angel. \"No! abnormal growth. Hullo! This is odd!\" He clutched\nthe left wing. \"Curious,\" he said. \"Reduplication of the anterior\nlimb--bifid coracoid. Possible, of course, but I've never seen it\nbefore.\" The angel winced under his hands. \"Humerus. Radius and Ulna.\nAll there. Congenital, of course. Humerus broken. Curious integumentary\nsimulation of feathers. Dear me. Almost avian. Probably of considerable\ninterest in comparative anatomy. I never did!----How did this gunshot\nhappen, Mr Angel?\"\n\nThe Vicar was amazed at the Doctor's matter-of-fact manner.\n\n\"Our friend,\" said the Angel, moving his head at the Vicar.\n\n\"Unhappily it is my doing,\" said the Vicar, stepping forward,\nexplanatory. \"I mistook the gentleman--the Angel (_ahem_)--for a large\nbird----\"\n\n\"Mistook him for a large bird! What next? Your eyes want seeing to,\"\nsaid Doctor Crump. \"I've told you so before.\" He went on patting and\nfeeling, keeping time with a series of grunts and inarticulate\nmutterings.... \"But this is really a very good bit of amateur\nbandaging,\" said he. \"I think I shall leave it. Curious malformation\nthis is! Don't you find it inconvenient, Mr Angel?\"\n\nHe suddenly walked round so as to look in the Angel's face.\n\nThe Angel thought he referred to the wound. \"It is rather,\" he said.\n\n\"If it wasn't for the bones I should say paint with iodine night and\nmorning. Nothing like iodine. You could paint your face flat with it.\nBut the osseous outgrowth, the bones, you know, complicate things. I\ncould saw them off, of course. It's not a thing one should have done in\na hurry----\"\n\n\"Do you mean my wings?\" said the Angel in alarm.\n\n\"Wings!\" said the Doctor. \"Eigh? Call 'em wings! Yes--what else should I\nmean?\"\n\n\"Saw them off!\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Don't you think so? It's of course your affair. I am only advising----\"\n\n\"Saw them off! What a funny creature you are!\" said the Angel, beginning\nto laugh.\n\n\"As you will,\" said the Doctor. He detested people who laughed. \"The\nthings are curious,\" he said, turning to the Vicar. \"If\ninconvenient\"--to the Angel. \"I never heard of such complete\nreduplication before--at least among animals. In plants it's common\nenough. Were you the only one in your family?\" He did not wait for a\nreply. \"Partial cases of the fission of limbs are not at all uncommon,\nof course, Vicar--six-fingered children, calves with six feet, and cats\nwith double toes, you know. May I assist you?\" he said, turning to the\nAngel who was struggling with the coat. \"But such a complete\nreduplication, and so avian, too! It would be much less remarkable if it\nwas simply another pair of arms.\"\n\nThe coat was got on and he and the Angel stared at one another.\n\n\"Really,\" said the Doctor, \"one begins to understand how that beautiful\nmyth of the angels arose. You look a little hectic, Mr Angel--feverish.\nExcessive brilliance is almost worse as a symptom than excessive pallor.\nCurious your name should be Angel. I must send you a cooling draught, if\nyou should feel thirsty in the night....\"\n\nHe made a memorandum on his shirt cuff. The Angel watched him\nthoughtfully, with the dawn of a smile in his eyes.\n\n\"One minute, Crump,\" said the Vicar, taking the Doctor's arm and leading\nhim towards the door.\n\nThe Angel's smile grew brighter. He looked down at his black-clad legs.\n\"He positively thinks I am a man!\" said the Angel. \"What he makes of the\nwings beats me altogether. What a queer creature he must be! This is\nreally a most extraordinary Dream!\"\n\n\n\n\nXIV.\n\n\n\"That _is_ an Angel,\" whispered the Vicar. \"You don't understand.\"\n\n\"_What?_\" said the Doctor in a quick, sharp voice. His eyebrows went up\nand he smiled.\n\n\"But the wings?\"\n\n\"Quite natural, quite ... if a little abnormal.\"\n\n\"Are you sure they are natural?\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, everything that is, is natural. There is nothing\nunnatural in the world. If I thought there was I should give up practice\nand go into _Le Grand Chartreuse_. There are abnormal phenomena, of\ncourse. And----\"\n\n\"But the way I came upon him,\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"Yes, tell me where you picked him up,\" said the Doctor. He sat down on\nthe hall table.\n\nThe Vicar began rather hesitatingly--he was not very good at story\ntelling--with the rumours of a strange great bird. He told the story in\nclumsy sentences--for, knowing the Bishop as he did, with that awful\nexample always before him he dreaded getting his pulpit style into his\ndaily conversation--and at every third sentence or so, the Doctor made a\ndownward movement of his head--the corners of his mouth tucked away, so\nto speak--as though he ticked off the phases of the story and so far\nfound it just as it ought to be. \"Self-hypnotism,\" he murmured once.\n\n\"I beg your pardon?\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"Nothing,\" said the Doctor. \"Nothing, I assure you. Go on. This is\nextremely interesting.\"\n\nThe Vicar told him he went out with his gun.\n\n\"_After_ lunch, I think you said?\" interrupted the Doctor.\n\n\"Immediately after,\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"You should not do such things, you know. But go on, please.\"\n\nHe came to the glimpse of the Angel from the gate.\n\n\"In the full glare,\" said the Doctor, in parenthesis. \"It was\nseventy-nine in the shade.\"\n\nWhen the Vicar had finished, the Doctor pressed his lips together\ntighter than ever, smiled faintly, and looked significantly into the\nVicar's eyes.\n\n\"You don't ...\" began the Vicar, falteringly.\n\nThe Doctor shook his head. \"Forgive me,\" he said, putting his hand on\nthe Vicar's arm.\n\n\"You go out,\" he said, \"on a hot lunch and on a hot afternoon. Probably\nover eighty. Your mind, what there is of it, is whirling with avian\nexpectations. I say, 'what there is of it,' because most of your nervous\nenergy is down there, digesting your dinner. A man who has been lying in\nthe bracken stands up before you and you blaze away. Over he goes--and\nas it happens--as it happens--he has reduplicate fore-limbs, one pair\nbeing not unlike wings. It's a coincidence certainly. And as for his\niridescent colours and so forth----. Have you never had patches of\ncolour swim before your eyes before, on a brilliant sunlight day?... Are\nyou sure they were confined to the wings? Think.\"\n\n\"But he says he _is_ an Angel!\" said the Vicar, staring out of his\nlittle round eyes, his plump hands in his pockets.\n\n\"_Ah!_\" said the Doctor with his eye on the Vicar. \"I expected as\nmuch.\" He paused.\n\n\"But don't you think ...\" began the Vicar.\n\n\"That man,\" said the Doctor in a low, earnest voice, \"is a mattoid.\"\n\n\"A what?\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"A mattoid. An abnormal man. Did you notice the effeminate delicacy of\nhis face? His tendency to quite unmeaning laughter? His neglected hair?\nThen consider his singular dress....\"\n\nThe Vicar's hand went up to his chin.\n\n\"Marks of mental weakness,\" said the Doctor. \"Many of this type of\ndegenerate show this same disposition to assume some vast mysterious\ncredentials. One will call himself the Prince of Wales, another the\nArchangel Gabriel, another the Deity even. Ibsen thinks he is a Great\nTeacher, and Maeterlink a new Shakespeare. I've just been reading all\nabout it--in Nordau. No doubt his odd deformity gave him an idea....\"\n\n\"But really,\" began the Vicar.\n\n\"No doubt he's slipped away from confinement.\"\n\n\"I do not altogether accept....\"\n\n\"You will. If not, there's the police, and failing that, advertisement;\nbut, of course, his people may want to hush it up. It's a sad thing in a\nfamily....\"\n\n\"He seems so altogether....\"\n\n\"Probably you'll hear from his friends in a day or so,\" said the Doctor,\nfeeling for his watch. \"He can't live far from here, I should think. He\nseems harmless enough. I must come along and see that wing again\nto-morrow.\" He slid off the hall table and stood up.\n\n\"Those old wives' tales still have their hold on you,\" he said, patting\nthe Vicar on the shoulder. \"But an angel, you know--Ha, ha!\"\n\n\"I certainly _did_ think....\" said the Vicar dubiously.\n\n\"Weigh the evidence,\" said the Doctor, still fumbling at his watch.\n\"Weigh the evidence with our instruments of precision. What does it\nleave you? Splashes of colour, spots of fancy--_muscae volantes_.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said the Vicar, \"I could almost swear to the glory on his\nwings....\"\n\n\"Think it over,\" said the Doctor (watch out); \"hot afternoon--brilliant\nsunshine--boiling down on your head.... But really I _must_ be going. It\nis a quarter to five. I'll see your--angel (ha, ha!) to-morrow again, if\nno one has been to fetch him in the meanwhile. Your bandaging was really\nvery good. I flatter _myself_ on that score. Our ambulance classes\n_were_ a success you see.... Good afternoon.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE CURATE.\n\nXV.\n\n\nThe Vicar opened the door half mechanically to let out Crump, and saw\nMendham, his curate, coming up the pathway by the hedge of purple vetch\nand meadowsweet. At that his hand went up to his chin and his eyes grew\nperplexed. Suppose he _was_ deceived. The Doctor passed the Curate with\na sweep of his hand from his hat brim. Crump was an extraordinarily\nclever fellow, the Vicar thought, and knew far more of anyone's brain\nthan one did oneself. The Vicar felt that so acutely. It made the coming\nexplanation difficult. Suppose he were to go back into the drawing-room,\nand find just a tramp asleep on the hearthrug.\n\nMendham was a cadaverous man with a magnificent beard. He looked,\nindeed, as though he had run to beard as a mustard plant does to seed.\nBut when he spoke you found he had a voice as well.\n\n\"My wife came home in a dreadful state,\" he brayed out at long range.\n\n\"Come in,\" said the Vicar; \"come in. Most remarkable occurrence. Please\ncome in. Come into the study. I'm really dreadfully sorry. But when I\nexplain....\"\n\n\"And apologise, I hope,\" brayed the Curate.\n\n\"And apologise. No, not that way. This way. The study.\"\n\n\"Now what _was_ that woman?\" said the Curate, turning on the Vicar as\nthe latter closed the study door.\n\n\"What woman?\"\n\n\"Pah!\"\n\n\"But really!\"\n\n\"The painted creature in light attire--disgustingly light attire, to\nspeak freely--with whom you were promenading the garden.\"\n\n\"My dear Mendham--that was an Angel!\"\n\n\"A very pretty Angel?\"\n\n\"The world is getting so matter-of-fact,\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"The world,\" roared the Curate, \"grows blacker every day. But to find a\nman in your position, shamelessly, openly....\"\n\n\"_Bother!_\" said the Vicar aside. He rarely swore. \"Look here, Mendham,\nyou really misunderstand. I can assure you....\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the Curate. \"Explain!\" He stood with his lank legs\napart, his arms folded, scowling at his Vicar over his big beard.\n\n(Explanations, I repeat, I have always considered the peculiar fallacy\nof this scientific age.)\n\nThe Vicar looked about him helplessly. The world had all gone dull and\ndead. Had he been dreaming all the afternoon? Was there really an angel\nin the drawing-room? Or was he the sport of a complicated hallucination?\n\n\"Well?\" said Mendham, at the end of a minute.\n\nThe Vicar's hand fluttered about his chin. \"It's such a round-about\nstory,\" he said.\n\n\"No doubt it will be,\" said Mendham harshly.\n\nThe Vicar restrained a movement of impatience.\n\n\"I went out to look for a strange bird this afternoon.... Do you\nbelieve in angels, Mendham, real angels?\"\n\n\"I'm not here to discuss theology. I am the husband of an insulted\nwoman.\"\n\n\"But I tell you it's not a figure of speech; this _is_ an angel, a real\nangel with wings. He's in the next room now. You do misunderstand me,\nso....\"\n\n\"Really, Hilyer--\"\n\n\"It is true I tell you, Mendham. I swear it is true.\" The Vicar's voice\ngrew impassioned. \"What sin I have done that I should entertain and\nclothe angelic visitants, I don't know. I only know that--inconvenient\nas it undoubtedly will be--I have an angel now in the drawing-room,\nwearing my new suit and finishing his tea. And he's stopping with me,\nindefinitely, at my invitation. No doubt it was rash of me. But I can't\nturn him out, you know, because Mrs Mendham----I may be a weakling, but\nI am still a gentleman.\"\n\n\"Really, Hilyer--\"\n\n\"I can assure you it is true.\" There was a note of hysterical\ndesperation in the Vicar's voice. \"I fired at him, taking him for a\nflamingo, and hit him in the wing.\"\n\n\"I thought this was a case for the Bishop. I find it is a case for the\nLunacy Commissioners.\"\n\n\"Come and see him, Mendham!\"\n\n\"But there _are_ no angels.\"\n\n\"We teach the people differently,\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"Not as material bodies,\" said the Curate.\n\n\"Anyhow, come and see him.\"\n\n\"I don't want to see your hallucinations,\" began the Curate.\n\n\"I can't explain anything unless you come and see him,\" said the Vicar.\n\"A man who's more like an angel than anything else in heaven or earth.\nYou simply must see if you wish to understand.\"\n\n\"I don't wish to understand,\" said the Curate. \"I don't wish to lend\nmyself to any imposture. Surely, Hilyer, if this is not an imposition,\nyou can tell me yourself.... Flamingo, indeed!\"\n\n\n\n\nXVI.\n\n\nThe Angel had finished his tea and was standing looking pensively out of\nthe window. He thought the old church down the valley lit by the light\nof the setting sun was very beautiful, but he could not understand the\nserried ranks of tombstones that lay up the hillside beyond. He turned\nas Mendham and the Vicar came in.\n\nNow Mendham could bully his Vicar cheerfully enough, just as he could\nbully his congregation; but he was not the sort of man to bully a\nstranger. He looked at the Angel, and the \"strange woman\" theory was\ndisposed of. The Angel's beauty was too clearly the beauty of the youth.\n\n\"Mr Hilyer tells me,\" Mendham began, in an almost apologetic tone, \"that\nyou--ah--it's so curious--claim to be an Angel.\"\n\n\"_Are_ an Angel,\" said the Vicar.\n\nThe Angel bowed.\n\n\"Naturally,\" said Mendham, \"we are curious.\"\n\n\"Very,\" said the Angel. \"The blackness and the shape.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon?\" said Mendham.\n\n\"The blackness and the flaps,\" repeated the Angel; \"and no wings.\"\n\n\"Precisely,\" said Mendham, who was altogether at a loss. \"We are, of\ncourse, curious to know something of how you came into the village in\nsuch a peculiar costume.\"\n\nThe Angel looked at the Vicar. The Vicar touched his chin.\n\n\"You see,\" began the Vicar.\n\n\"Let _him_ explain,\" said Mendham; \"I beg.\"\n\n\"I wanted to suggest,\" began the Vicar.\n\n\"And I don't want you to suggest.\"\n\n\"_Bother!_\" said the Vicar.\n\nThe Angel looked from one to the other. \"Such rugose expressions flit\nacross your faces!\" he said.\n\n\"You see, Mr--Mr--I don't know your name,\" said Mendham, with a certain\ndiminution of suavity. \"The case stands thus: My wife--four ladies, I\nmight say--are playing lawn tennis, when you suddenly rush out on them,\nsir; you rush out on them from among the rhododendra in a very defective\ncostume. You and Mr Hilyer.\"\n\n\"But I--\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"I know. It was this gentleman's costume was defective. Naturally--it is\nmy place in fact--to demand an explanation.\" His voice was growing in\nvolume. \"And I _must_ demand an explanation.\"\n\nThe Angel smiled faintly at his note of anger and his sudden attitude of\ndetermination--arms tightly folded.\n\n\"I am rather new to the world,\" the Angel began.\n\n\"Nineteen at least,\" said Mendham. \"Old enough to know better. That's a\npoor excuse.\"\n\n\"May I ask one question first?\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Do you think I am a Man--like yourself? As the chequered man did.\"\n\n\"If you are not a man--\"\n\n\"One other question. Have you _never_ heard of an Angel?\"\n\n\"I warn you not to try that story upon me,\" said Mendham, now back at\nhis familiar crescendo.\n\nThe Vicar interrupted: \"But Mendham--he has wings!\"\n\n\"_Please_ let me talk to him,\" said Mendham.\n\n\"You are so quaint,\" said the Angel; \"you interrupt everything I have to\nsay.\"\n\n\"But what _have_ you to say?\" said Mendham.\n\n\"That I really _am_ an Angel....\"\n\n\"Pshaw!\"\n\n\"There you go!\"\n\n\"But tell me, honestly, how you came to be in the shrubbery of\nSiddermorton Vicarage--in the state in which you were. And in the\nVicar's company. Cannot you abandon this ridiculous story of yours?...\"\n\nThe Angel shrugged his wings. \"What is the matter with this man?\" he\nsaid to the Vicar.\n\n\"My dear Mendham,\" said the Vicar, \"a few words from me....\"\n\n\"Surely my question is straightforward enough!\"\n\n\"But you won't tell me the answer you want, and it's no good my telling\nyou any other.\"\n\n\"_Pshaw!_\" said the Curate again. And then turning suddenly on the\nVicar, \"Where does he come from?\"\n\nThe Vicar was in a dreadful state of doubt by this time.\n\n\"He _says_ he is an Angel!\" said the Vicar. \"Why don't you listen to\nhim?\"\n\n\"No angel would alarm four ladies....\"\n\n\"Is _that_ what it is all about?\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Enough cause too, I should think!\" said the Curate.\n\n\"But I really did not know,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"This is altogether too much!\"\n\n\"I am sincerely sorry I alarmed these ladies.\"\n\n\"You ought to be. But I see I shall get nothing out of you two.\" Mendham\nwent towards the door. \"I am convinced there is something discreditable\nat the bottom of this business. Or why not tell a simple straightforward\nstory? I will confess you puzzle me. Why, in this enlightened age, you\nshould tell this fantastic, this far-fetched story of an Angel,\naltogether beats me. What good _can_ it do?...\"\n\n\"But stop and look at his wings!\" said the Vicar. \"I can assure you he\nhas wings!\"\n\nMendham had his fingers on the door-handle. \"I have seen quite enough,\"\nhe said. \"It may be this is simply a foolish attempt at a hoax, Hilyer.\"\n\n\"But Mendham!\" said the Vicar.\n\nThe Curate halted in the doorway and looked at the Vicar over his\nshoulder. The accumulating judgment of months found vent. \"I cannot\nunderstand, Hilyer, why you are in the Church. For the life of me I\ncannot. The air is full of Social Movements, of Economic change, the\nWoman Movement, Rational Dress, The Reunion of Christendom, Socialism,\nIndividualism--all the great and moving Questions of the Hour! Surely,\nwe who follow the Great Reformer.... And here you are stuffing birds,\nand startling ladies with your callous disregard....\"\n\n\"But Mendham,\" began the Vicar.\n\nThe Curate would not hear him. \"You shame the Apostles with your\nlevity.... But this is only a preliminary enquiry,\" he said, with a\nthreatening note in his sonorous voice, and so vanished abruptly (with a\nviolent slam) from the room.\n\n\n\n\nXVII.\n\n\n\"Are _all_ men so odd as this?\" said the Angel.\n\n\"I'm in such a difficult position,\" said the Vicar. \"You see,\" he said,\nand stopped, searching his chin for an idea.\n\n\"I'm beginning to see,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"They won't believe it.\"\n\n\"I see that.\"\n\n\"They will think I tell lies.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"That will be extremely painful to me.\"\n\n\"Painful!... Pain,\" said the Angel. \"I hope not.\"\n\nThe Vicar shook his head. The good report of the village had been the\nbreath of his life, so far. \"You see,\" he said, \"it would look so much\nmore plausible if you said you were just a man.\"\n\n\"But I'm not,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"No, you're not,\" said the Vicar. \"So that's no good.\"\n\n\"Nobody here, you know, has ever seen an Angel, or heard of one--except\nin church. If you had made your _debut_ in the chancel--on Sunday--it\nmight have been different. But that's too late now.... (_Bother!_)\nNobody, absolutely nobody, will believe in you.\"\n\n\"I hope I am not inconveniencing you?\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" said the Vicar; \"not at all. Only----. Naturally it may be\ninconvenient if you tell a too incredible story. If I might suggest\n(_ahem_)----.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"You see, people in the world, being men themselves, will almost\ncertainly regard you as a man. If you say you are not, they will simply\nsay you do not tell the truth. Only exceptional people appreciate the\nexceptional. When in Rome one must--well, respect Roman prejudices a\nlittle--talk Latin. You will find it better----\"\n\n\"You propose I should feign to become a man?\"\n\n\"You have my meaning at once.\"\n\nThe Angel stared at the Vicar's hollyhocks and thought.\n\n\"Possibly, after all,\" he said slowly, \"I _shall_ become a man. I may\nhave been too hasty in saying I was not. You say there are no angels in\nthis world. Who am I to set myself up against your experience? A mere\nthing of a day--so far as this world goes. If you say there are no\nangels--clearly I must be something else. I eat--angels do not eat. I\n_may_ be a man already.\"\n\n\"A convenient view, at any rate,\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"If it is convenient to you----\"\n\n\"It is. And then to account for your presence here.\"\n\n\"_If_,\" said the Vicar, after a hesitating moment of reflection, \"if,\nfor instance, you had been an ordinary man with a weakness for wading,\nand you had gone wading in the Sidder, and your clothes had been stolen,\nfor instance, and I had come upon you in that position of inconvenience;\nthe explanation I shall have to make to Mrs Mendham----would be shorn at\nleast of the supernatural element. There is such a feeling against the\nsupernatural element nowadays--even in the pulpit. You would hardly\nbelieve----\"\n\n\"It's a pity that was not the case,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Of course,\" said the Vicar. \"It is a great pity that was not the case.\nBut at anyrate you will oblige me if you do not obtrude your angelic\nnature. You will oblige everyone, in fact. There is a settled opinion\nthat angels do not do this kind of thing. And nothing is more\npainful--as I can testify--than a decaying settled opinion.... Settled\nopinions are mental teeth in more ways than one. For my own part,\"--the\nVicar's hand passed over his eyes for a moment--\"I cannot but believe\nyou are an angel.... Surely I can believe my own eyes.\"\n\n\"We always do ours,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"And so do we, within limits.\"\n\nThen the clock upon the mantel chimed seven, and almost simultaneously\nMrs Hinijer announced dinner.\n\n\n\n\nAFTER DINNER.\n\nXVIII.\n\n\nThe Angel and the Vicar sat at dinner. The Vicar, with his napkin tucked\nin at his neck, watched the Angel struggling with his soup. \"You will\nsoon get into the way of it,\" said the Vicar. The knife and fork\nbusiness was done awkwardly but with effect. The Angel looked furtively\nat Delia, the little waiting maid. When presently they sat cracking\nnuts--which the Angel found congenial enough--and the girl had gone, the\nAngel asked: \"Was that a lady, too?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the Vicar (_crack_). \"No--she is not a lady. She is a\nservant.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Angel; \"she _had_ rather a nicer shape.\"\n\n\"You mustn't tell Mrs Mendham that,\" said the Vicar, covertly satisfied.\n\n\"She didn't stick out so much at the shoulders and hips, and there was\nmore of her in between. And the colour of her robes was not\ndiscordant--simply neutral. And her face----\"\n\n\"Mrs Mendham and her daughters had been playing tennis,\" said the Vicar,\nfeeling he ought not to listen to detraction even of his mortal enemy.\n\"Do you like these things--these nuts?\"\n\n\"Very much,\" said the Angel. _Crack._\n\n\"You see,\" said the Vicar (_Chum, chum, chum_). \"For my own part I\nentirely believe you are an angel.\"\n\n\"Yes!\" said the Angel.\n\n\"I shot you--I saw you flutter. It's beyond dispute. In my own mind. I\nadmit it's curious and against my preconceptions, but--practically--I'm\nassured, perfectly assured in fact, that I saw what I certainly did see.\nBut after the behaviour of these people. (_Crack_). I really don't see\nhow we are to persuade people. Nowadays people are so very particular\nabout evidence. So that I think there is a great deal to be said for the\nattitude you assume. Temporarily at least I think it would be best of\nyou to do as you propose to do, and behave as a man as far as possible.\nOf course there is no knowing how or when you may go back. After what\nhas happened (_Gluck_, _gluck_, _gluck_--as the Vicar refills his\nglass)--after what has happened I should not be surprised to see the\nside of the room fall away, and the hosts of heaven appear to take you\naway again--take us both away even. You have so far enlarged my\nimagination. All these years I have been forgetting Wonderland. But\nstill----. It will certainly be wiser to break the thing gently to\nthem.\"\n\n\"This life of yours,\" said the Angel. \"I'm still in the dark about it.\nHow do you begin?\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said the Vicar. \"Fancy having to explain that! We begin\nexistence here, you know, as babies, silly pink helpless things wrapped\nin white, with goggling eyes, that yelp dismally at the Font. Then these\nbabies grow larger and become even beautiful--when their faces are\nwashed. And they continue to grow to a certain size. They become\nchildren, boys and girls, youths and maidens (_Crack_), young men and\nyoung women. That is the finest time in life, according to\nmany--certainly the most beautiful. Full of great hopes and dreams,\nvague emotions and unexpected dangers.\"\n\n\"_That_ was a maiden?\" said the Angel, indicating the door through which\nDelia had disappeared.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Vicar, \"that was a maiden.\" And paused thoughtfully.\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the Vicar, \"the glamour fades and life begins in earnest.\nThe young men and young women pair off--most of them. They come to me\nshy and bashful, in smart ugly dresses, and I marry them. And then\nlittle pink babies come to them, and some of the youths and maidens that\nwere, grow fat and vulgar, and some grow thin and shrewish, and their\npretty complexions go, and they get a queer delusion of superiority over\nthe younger people, and all the delight and glory goes out of their\nlives. So they call the delight and glory of the younger ones, Illusion.\nAnd then they begin to drop to pieces.\"\n\n\"Drop to pieces!\" said the Angel. \"How grotesque!\"\n\n\"Their hair comes off and gets dull  or ashen grey,\" said the\nVicar. \"_I_, for instance.\" He bowed his head forward to show a circular\nshining patch the size of a florin. \"And their teeth come out. Their\nfaces collapse and become as wrinkled and dry as a shrivelled apple.\n'Corrugated' you called mine. They care more and more for what they have\nto eat and to drink, and less and less for any of the other delights of\nlife. Their limbs get loose in the joints, and their hearts slack, or\nlittle pieces from their lungs come coughing up. Pain....\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Pain comes into their lives more and more. And then they go. They do\nnot like to go, but they have to--out of this world, very reluctantly,\nclutching its pain at last in their eagerness to stop....\"\n\n\"Where do they go?\"\n\n\"Once I thought I knew. But now I am older I know I do not know. We have\na Legend--perhaps it is not a legend. One may be a churchman and\ndisbelieve. Stokes says there is nothing in it....\" The Vicar shook his\nhead at the bananas.\n\n\"And you?\" said the Angel. \"Were you a little pink baby?\"\n\n\"A little while ago I was a little pink baby.\"\n\n\"Were you robed then as you are now?\"\n\n\"Oh no! Dear me! What a queer idea! Had long white clothes, I suppose,\nlike the rest of them.\"\n\n\"And then you were a little boy?\"\n\n\"A little boy.\"\n\n\"And then a glorious youth?\"\n\n\"I was not a very glorious youth, I am afraid. I was sickly, and too\npoor to be radiant, and with a timid heart. I studied hard and pored\nover the dying thoughts of men long dead. So I lost the glory, and no\nmaiden came to me, and the dulness of life began too soon.\"\n\n\"And you have your little pink babies?\"\n\n\"None,\" said the Vicar with a scarce perceptible pause. \"Yet all the\nsame, as you see, I am beginning to drop to pieces. Presently my back\nwill droop like a wilting flowerstalk. And then, in a few thousand days\nmore I shall be done with, and I shall go out of this world of mine....\nWhither I do not know.\"\n\n\"And you have to eat like this every day?\"\n\n\"Eat, and get clothes and keep this roof above me. There are some very\ndisagreeable things in this world called Cold and Rain. And the other\npeople here--how and why is too long a story--have made me a kind of\nchorus to their lives. They bring their little pink babies to me and I\nhave to say a name and some other things over each new pink baby. And\nwhen the children have grown to be youths and maidens, they come again\nand are confirmed. You will understand that better later. Then before\nthey may join in couples and have pink babies of their own, they must\ncome again and hear me read out of a book. They would be outcast, and no\nother maiden would speak to the maiden who had a little pink baby\nwithout I had read over her for twenty minutes out of my book. It's a\nnecessary thing, as you will see. Odd as it may seem to you. And\nafterwards when they are falling to pieces, I try and persuade them of a\nstrange world in which I scarcely believe myself, where life is\naltogether different from what they have had--or desire. And in the\nend, I bury them, and read out of my book to those who will presently\nfollow into the unknown land. I stand at the beginning, and at the\nzenith, and at the setting of their lives. And on every seventh day, I\nwho am a man myself, I who see no further than they do, talk to them of\nthe Life to Come--the life of which we know nothing. If such a life\nthere be. And slowly I drop to pieces amidst my prophesying.\"\n\n\"What a strange life!\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Vicar. \"What a strange life! But the thing that makes it\nstrange to me is new. I had taken it as a matter of course until you\ncame into my life.\"\n\n\"This life of ours is so insistent,\" said the Vicar. \"It, and its petty\nneeds, its temporary pleasures (_Crack_) swathe our souls about. While I\nam preaching to these people of mine of another life, some are\nministering to one appetite and eating sweets, others--the old men--are\nslumbering, the youths glance at the maidens, the grown men protrude\nwhite waistcoats and gold chains, pomp and vanity on a substratum of\ncarnal substance, their wives flaunt garish bonnets at one another. And\nI go on droning away of the things unseen and unrealised--'Eye hath not\nseen,' I read, 'nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the imagination\nof man to conceive,' and I look up to catch an adult male immortal\nadmiring the fit of a pair of three and sixpenny gloves. It is damping\nyear after year. When I was ailing in my youth I felt almost the\nassurance of vision that beneath this temporary phantasm world was the\nreal world--the enduring world of the Life Everlasting. But now----\"\n\nHe glanced at his chubby white hand, fingering the stem of his glass. \"I\nhave put on flesh since then,\" he said. [_Pause_].\n\n\"I have changed and developed very much. The battle of the Flesh and\nSpirit does not trouble me as it did. Every day I feel less confidence\nin my beliefs, and more in God. I live, I am afraid, a quiescent life,\nduties fairly done, a little ornithology and a little chess, a trifle of\nmathematical trifling. My times are in His hands----\"\n\nThe Vicar sighed and became pensive. The Angel watched him, and the\nAngel's eyes were troubled with the puzzle of him. \"Gluck, gluck,\ngluck,\" went the decanter as the Vicar refilled his glass.\n\n\n\n\nXIX.\n\n\nSo the Angel dined and talked to the Vicar, and presently the night came\nand he was overtaken by yawning.\n\n\"Yah----oh!\" said the Angel suddenly. \"Dear me! A higher power seemed\nsuddenly to stretch my mouth open and a great breath of air went rushing\ndown my throat.\"\n\n\"You yawned,\" said the Vicar. \"Do you never yawn in the angelic\ncountry?\"\n\n\"Never,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"And yet you are immortal!----I suppose you want to go to bed.\"\n\n\"Bed!\" said the Angel. \"Where's that?\"\n\nSo the Vicar explained darkness to him and the art of going to bed. (The\nAngels, it seems sleep only in order to dream, and dream, like primitive\nman, with their foreheads on their knees. And they sleep among the white\npoppy meadows in the heat of the day.) The Angel found the bedroom\narrangements quaint enough.\n\n\"Why is everything raised up on big wooden legs?\" he said. \"You have the\nfloor, and then you put everything you have upon a wooden quadruped. Why\ndo you do it?\" The Vicar explained with philosophical vagueness. The\nAngel burnt his finger in the candle-flame--and displayed an absolute\nignorance of the elementary principles of combustion. He was merely\ncharmed when a line of fire ran up the curtains. The Vicar had to\ndeliver a lecture on fire so soon as the flame was extinguished. He had\nall kinds of explanations to make--even the soap needed explaining. It\nwas an hour or more before the Angel was safely tucked in for the night.\n\n\"He's very beautiful,\" said the Vicar, descending the staircase, quite\ntired out; \"and he's a real angel no doubt. But I am afraid he will be a\ndreadful anxiety, all the same, before he gets into our earthly way with\nthings.\"\n\nHe seemed quite worried. He helped himself to an extra glass of sherry\nbefore he put away the wine in the cellaret.\n\n\n\n\nXX.\n\n\nThe Curate stood in front of the looking-glass and solemnly divested\nhimself of his collar.\n\n\"I never heard a more fantastic story,\" said Mrs Mendham from the basket\nchair. \"The man must be mad. Are you sure----.\"\n\n\"Perfectly, my dear. I've told you every word, every incident----.\"\n\n\"_Well!_\" said Mrs Mendham, and spread her hands. \"There's no sense in\nit.\"\n\n\"Precisely, my dear.\"\n\n\"The Vicar,\" said Mrs Mendham, \"must be mad.\"\n\n\"This hunchback is certainly one of the strangest creatures I've seen\nfor a long time. Foreign looking, with a big bright <DW52> face and\nlong brown hair.... It can't have been cut for months!\" The Curate put\nhis studs carefully upon the shelf of the dressing-table. \"And a kind of\nstaring look about his eyes, and a simpering smile. Quite a silly\nlooking person. Effeminate.\"\n\n\"But who _can_ he be?\" said Mrs Mendham.\n\n\"I can't imagine, my dear. Nor where he came from. He might be a\nchorister or something of that sort.\"\n\n\"But _why_ should he be about the shrubbery ... in that dreadful\ncostume?\"\n\n\"I don't know. The Vicar gave me no explanation. He simply said,\n'Mendham, this is an Angel.'\"\n\n\"I wonder if he drinks.... They may have been bathing near the spring,\nof course,\" reflected Mrs Mendham. \"But I noticed no other clothes on\nhis arm.\"\n\nThe Curate sat down on his bed and unlaced his boots.\n\n\"It's a perfect mystery to me, my dear.\" (Flick, flick of laces.)\n\"Hallucination is the only charitable----\"\n\n\"You are sure, George, that it was _not_ a woman.\"\n\n\"Perfectly,\" said the Curate.\n\n\"I know what men are, of course.\"\n\n\"It was a young man of nineteen or twenty,\" said the Curate.\n\n\"I can't understand it,\" said Mrs Mendham. \"You say the creature is\nstaying at the Vicarage?\"\n\n\"Hilyer is simply mad,\" said the Curate. He got up and went padding\nround the room to the door to put out his boots. \"To judge by his manner\nyou would really think he believed this <DW36> was an Angel.\" (\"Are\nyour shoes out, dear?\")\n\n(\"They're just by the wardrobe\"), said Mrs Mendham. \"He always was a\nlittle queer, you know. There was always something childish about\nhim.... An Angel!\"\n\nThe Curate came and stood by the fire, fumbling with his braces. Mrs\nMendham liked a fire even in the summer. \"He shirks all the serious\nproblems in life and is always trifling with some new foolishness,\" said\nthe Curate. \"Angel indeed!\" He laughed suddenly. \"Hilyer _must_ be mad,\"\nhe said.\n\nMrs Mendham laughed too. \"Even that doesn't explain the hunchback,\" she\nsaid.\n\n\"The hunchback must be mad too,\" said the Curate.\n\n\"It's the only way of explaining it in a sensible way,\" said Mrs\nMendham. [_Pause._]\n\n\"Angel or no angel,\" said Mrs Mendham, \"I know what is due to me. Even\nsupposing the man thought he _was_ in the company of an angel, that is\nno reason why he should not behave like a gentleman.\"\n\n\"That is perfectly true.\"\n\n\"You will write to the Bishop, of course?\"\n\nMendham coughed. \"No, I shan't write to the Bishop,\" said Mendham. \"I\nthink it seems a little disloyal.... And he took no notice of the last,\nyou know.\"\n\n\"But surely----\"\n\n\"I shall write to Austin. In confidence. He will be sure to tell the\nBishop, you know. And you must remember, my dear----\"\n\n\"That Hilyer can dismiss you, you were going to say. My dear, the man's\nmuch too weak! _I_ should have a word to say about that. And besides,\nyou do all his work for him. Practically, we manage the parish from end\nto end. I do not know what would become of the poor if it was not for\nme. They'd have free quarters in the Vicarage to-morrow. There is that\nGoody Ansell----\"\n\n\"I know, my dear,\" said the Curate, turning away and proceeding with his\nundressing. \"You were telling me about her only this afternoon.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXI.\n\n\nAnd thus in the little bedroom over the gable we reach a first resting\nplace in this story. And as we have been hard at it, getting our story\nspread out before you, it may be perhaps well to recapitulate a little.\n\nLooking back you will see that much has been done; we began with a blaze\nof light \"not uniform but broken all over by curving flashes like the\nwaving of swords,\" and the sound of a mighty harping, and the advent of\nan Angel with polychromatic wings.\n\nSwiftly, dexterously, as the reader must admit, wings have been clipped,\nhalo handled off, the glory clapped into coat and trousers, and the\nAngel made for all practical purposes a man, under a suspicion of being\neither a lunatic or an impostor. You have heard too, or at least been\nable to judge, what the Vicar and the Doctor and the Curate's wife\nthought of the strange arrival. And further remarkable opinions are to\nfollow.\n\nThe afterglow of the summer sunset in the north-west darkens into night\nand the Angel sleeps, dreaming himself back in the wonderful world where\nit is always light, and everyone is happy, where fire does not burn and\nice does not chill; where rivulets of starlight go streaming through the\namaranthine meadows, out to the seas of Peace. He dreams, and it seems\nto him that once more his wings glow with a thousand colours and flash\nthrough the crystal air of the world from which he has come.\n\nSo he dreams. But the Vicar lies awake, too perplexed for dreaming.\nChiefly he is troubled by the possibilities of Mrs Mendham; but the\nevening's talk has opened strange vistas in his mind, and he is\nstimulated by a sense as of something seen darkly by the indistinct\nvision of a hitherto unsuspected wonderland lying about his world. For\ntwenty years now he has held his village living and lived his daily\nlife, protected by his familiar creed, by the clamour of the details of\nlife, from any mystical dreaming. But now interweaving with the\nfamiliar bother of his persecuting neighbour, is an altogether\nunfamiliar sense of strange new things.\n\nThere was something ominous in the feeling. Once, indeed, it rose above\nall other considerations, and in a kind of terror he blundered out of\nbed, bruised his shins very convincingly, found the matches at last, and\nlit a candle to assure himself of the reality of his own customary world\nagain. But on the whole the more tangible trouble was the Mendham\navalanche. Her tongue seemed to be hanging above him like the sword of\nDamocles. What might she not say of this business, before her indignant\nimagination came to rest?\n\nAnd while the successful captor of the Strange Bird was sleeping thus\nuneasily, Gully of Sidderton was carefully unloading his gun after a\nwearisome blank day, and Sandy Bright was on his knees in prayer, with\nthe window carefully fastened. Annie Durgan was sleeping hard with her\nmouth open, and Amory's mother was dreaming of washing, and both of them\nhad long since exhausted the topics of the Sound and the Glare. Lumpy\nDurgan was sitting up in his bed, now crooning the fragment of a tune\nand now listening intently for a sound he had heard once and longed to\nhear again. As for the solicitor's clerk at Iping Hanger, he was trying\nto write poetry about a confectioner's girl at Portburdock, and the\nStrange Bird was quite out of his head. But the ploughman who had seen\nit on the confines of Siddermorton Park had a black eye. That had been\none of the more tangible consequences of a little argument about birds'\nlegs in the \"Ship.\" It is worthy of this passing mention, since it is\nprobably the only known instance of an Angel causing anything of the\nkind.\n\n\n\n\nMORNING.\n\nXXII.\n\n\nThe Vicar going to call the Angel, found him dressed and leaning out of\nhis window. It was a glorious morning, still dewy, and the rising\nsunlight slanting round the corner of the house, struck warm and yellow\nupon the hillside. The birds were astir in the hedges and shrubbery. Up\nthe hillside--for it was late in August--a plough drove slowly. The\nAngel's chin rested upon his hands and he did not turn as the Vicar came\nup to him.\n\n\"How's the wing?\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"I'd forgotten it,\" said the Angel. \"Is that yonder a man?\"\n\nThe Vicar looked. \"That's a ploughman.\"\n\n\"Why does he go to and fro like that? Does it amuse him?\"\n\n\"He's ploughing. That's his work.\"\n\n\"Work! Why does he do it? It seems a monotonous thing to do.\"\n\n\"It is,\" admitted the Vicar. \"But he has to do it to get a living, you\nknow. To get food to eat and all that kind of thing.\"\n\n\"How curious!\" said the Angel. \"Do all men have to do that? Do you?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. He does it for me; does my share.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked the Angel.\n\n\"Oh! in return for things I do for him, you know. We go in for division\nof labour in this world. Exchange is no robbery.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said the Angel, with his eyes still on the ploughman's heavy\nmovements.\n\n\"What do you do for him?\"\n\n\"That seems an easy question to you,\" said the Vicar, \"but really!--it's\ndifficult. Our social arrangements are rather complicated. It's\nimpossible to explain these things all at once, before breakfast. Don't\nyou feel hungry?\"\n\n\"I think I do,\" said the Angel slowly, still at the window; and then\nabruptly, \"Somehow I can't help thinking that ploughing must be far from\nenjoyable.\"\n\n\"Possibly,\" said the Vicar, \"very possibly. But breakfast is ready.\nWon't you come down?\"\n\nThe Angel left the window reluctantly.\n\n\"Our society,\" explained the Vicar on the staircase, \"is a complicated\norganisation.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"And it is so arranged that some do one thing and some another.\"\n\n\"And that lean, bent old man trudges after that heavy blade of iron\npulled by a couple of horses while we go down to eat?\"\n\n\"Yes. You will find it is perfectly just. Ah! mushrooms and poached\neggs! It's the Social System. Pray be seated. Possibly it strikes you as\nunfair?\"\n\n\"I'm puzzled,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"The drink I'm sending you is called coffee,\" said the Vicar. \"I daresay\nyou are. When I was a young man I was puzzled in the same way. But\nafterwards comes a Broader View of Things. (These black things are\ncalled mushrooms; they look beautiful.) Other Considerations. All men\nare brothers, of course, but some are younger brothers, so to speak.\nThere is work that requires culture and refinement, and work in which\nculture and refinement would be an impediment. And the rights of\nproperty must not be forgotten. One must render unto Caesar.... Do you\nknow, instead of explaining this matter now (this is yours), I think I\nwill lend you a little book to read (_chum_, _chum_, _chum_--these\nmushrooms are well up to their appearance), which sets the whole thing\nout very clearly.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE VIOLIN.\n\nXXIII.\n\n\nAfter breakfast the Vicar went into the little room next his study to\nfind a book on Political Economy for the Angel to read. For the Angel's\nsocial ignorances were clearly beyond any verbal explanations. The door\nstood ajar.\n\n\"What is that?\" said the Angel, following him. \"A violin!\" He took it\ndown.\n\n\"You play?\" said the Vicar.\n\nThe Angel had the bow in his hand, and by way of answer drove it across\nthe strings. The quality of the note made the Vicar turn suddenly.\n\nThe Angel's hand tightened on the instrument. The bow flew back and\nflickered, and an air the Vicar had never heard before danced in his\nears. The Angel shifted the fiddle under his dainty chin and went on\nplaying, and as he played his eyes grew bright and his lips smiled. At\nfirst he looked at the Vicar, then his expression became abstracted. He\nseemed no longer to look at the Vicar, but through him, at something\nbeyond, something in his memory or his imagination, something infinitely\nremote, undreamt of hitherto....\n\nThe Vicar tried to follow the music. The air reminded him of a flame, it\nrushed up, shone, flickered and danced, passed and reappeared. No!--it\ndid not reappear! Another air--like it and unlike it, shot up after it,\nwavered, vanished. Then another, the same and not the same. It reminded\nhim of the flaring tongues that palpitate and change above a newly lit\nfire. There are two airs--or _motifs_, which is it?--thought the Vicar.\nHe knew remarkably little of musical technique. They go dancing up, one\npursuing the other, out of the fire of the incantation, pursuing,\nfluctuating, turning, up into the sky. There below was the fire burning,\na flame without fuel upon a level space, and there two flirting\nbutterflies of sound, dancing away from it, up, one over another, swift,\nabrupt, uncertain.\n\n\"Flirting butterflies were they!\" What was the Vicar thinking of? Where\nwas he? In the little room next to his study, of course! And the Angel\nstanding in front of him smiling into his face, playing the violin, and\nlooking through him as though he was only a window----. That _motif_\nagain, a yellow flare, spread fanlike by a gust, and now one, then with\na swift eddying upward flight the other, the two things of fire and\nlight pursuing one another again up into that clear immensity.\n\nThe study and the realities of life suddenly faded out of the Vicar's\neyes, grew thinner and thinner like a mist that dissolves into air, and\nhe and the Angel stood together on a pinnacle of wrought music, about\nwhich glittering melodies circled, and vanished, and reappeared. He was\nin the land of Beauty, and once more the glory of heaven was upon the\nAngel's face, and the glowing delights of colour pulsated in his wings.\nHimself the Vicar could not see. But I cannot tell you of the vision of\nthat great and spacious land, of its incredible openness, and height,\nand nobility. For there is no space there like ours, no time as we know\nit; one must needs speak by bungling metaphors and own in bitterness\nafter all that one has failed. And it was only a vision. The wonderful\ncreatures flying through the aether saw them not as they stood there,\nflew through them as one might pass through a whisp of mist. The Vicar\nlost all sense of duration, all sense of necessity----\n\n\"Ah!\" said the Angel, suddenly putting down the fiddle.\n\nThe Vicar had forgotten the book on Political Economy, had forgotten\neverything until the Angel had done. For a minute he sat quite still.\nThen he woke up with a start. He was sitting on the old iron-bound\nchest.\n\n\"Really,\" he said slowly, \"you are very clever.\"\n\nHe looked about him in a puzzled way. \"I had a kind of vision while you\nwere playing. I seemed to see----. What did I see? It has gone.\"\n\nHe stood up with a dazzled expression upon his face. \"I shall never play\nthe violin again,\" he said. \"I wish you would take it to your room--and\nkeep it----. And play to me again. I did not know anything of music\nuntil I heard you play. I do not feel as though I had ever heard any\nmusic before.\"\n\nHe stared at the Angel, then about him at the room. \"I have never felt\nanything of this kind with music before,\" he said. He shook his head. \"I\nshall never play again.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ANGEL EXPLORES THE VILLAGE.\n\nXXIV.\n\n\nVery unwisely, as I think, the Vicar allowed the Angel to go down into\nthe village by himself, to enlarge his ideas of humanity. Unwisely,\nbecause how was he to imagine the reception the Angel would receive? Not\nthoughtlessly, I am afraid. He had always carried himself with decorum\nin the village, and the idea of a slow procession through the little\nstreet with all the inevitable curious remarks, explanations, pointings,\nwas too much for him. The Angel might do the strangest things, the\nvillage was certain to think them. Peering faces. \"Who's _he_ got now?\"\nBesides, was it not his duty to prepare his sermon in good time? The\nAngel, duly directed, went down cheerfully by himself--still innocent of\nmost of the peculiarities of the human as distinguished from the angelic\nturn of mind.\n\nThe Angel walked slowly, his white hands folded behind his hunched\nback, his sweet face looking this way and that. He peered curiously into\nthe eyes of the people he met. A little child picking a bunch of vetch\nand honeysuckle looked in his face, and forthwith came and put them in\nhis hand. It was about the only kindness he had from a human being\n(saving only the Vicar and one other). He heard Mother Gustick scolding\nthat granddaughter of hers as he passed the door. \"You _Brazen_\nFaggit--you!\" said Mother Gustick. \"You Trumpery Baggage!\"\n\nThe Angel stopped, startled at the strange sounds of Mother Gustick's\nvoice. \"Put yer best clo'es on, and yer feather in yer 'at, and off you\ngoes to meet en, fal lal, and me at 'ome slaving for ye. 'Tis a Fancy\nLady you'll be wantin' to be, my gal, a walkin' Touch and Go, with yer\nidleness and finery----\"\n\nThe voice ceased abruptly, and a great peace came upon the battered air.\n\"Most grotesque and strange!\" said the Angel, still surveying this\nwonderful box of discords. \"Walking Touch and Go!\" He did not know that\nMrs Gustick had suddenly become aware of his existence, and was\nscrutinizing his appearance through the window-blind. Abruptly the door\nflew open, and she stared out into the Angel's face. A strange\napparition, grey and dusty hair, and the dirty pink dress unhooked to\nshow the stringy throat, a discoloured gargoyle, presently to begin\nspouting incomprehensible abuse.\n\n\"Now, then, Mister,\" began Mrs Gustick. \"Have ye nothin' better to do\nthan listen at people's doors for what you can pick up?\"\n\nThe Angel stared at her in astonishment.\n\n\"D'year!\" said Mrs Gustick, evidently very angry indeed. \"Listenin'.\"\n\n\"Have you any objection to my hearing....\"\n\n\"Object to my hearing! Course I have! Whad yer think? You aint such a\nNinny....\"\n\n\"But if ye didn't want me to hear, why did you cry out so loud? I\nthought....\"\n\n\"_You thought!_ Softie--that's what _you_ are! You silly girt staring\nGaby, what don't know any better than to come holding yer girt mouth\nwide open for all that you can catch holt on? And then off up there to\ntell! You great Fat-Faced, Tale-Bearin' Silly-Billy! I'd be ashamed to\ncome poking and peering round quiet people's houses....\"\n\nThe Angel was surprised to find that some inexplicable quality in her\nvoice excited the most disagreeable sensations in him and a strong\ndesire to withdraw. But, resisting this, he stood listening politely (as\nthe custom is in the Angelic Land, so long as anyone is speaking). The\nentire eruption was beyond his comprehension. He could not perceive any\nreason for the sudden projection of this vituperative head, out of\ninfinity, so to speak. And questions without a break for an answer were\noutside his experience altogether.\n\nMrs Gustick proceeded with her characteristic fluency, assured him he\nwas no gentleman, enquired if he called himself one, remarked that every\ntramp did as much nowadays, compared him to a Stuck Pig, marvelled at\nhis impudence, asked him if he wasn't ashamed of himself standing there,\nenquired if he was rooted to the ground, was curious to be told what he\nmeant by it, wanted to know whether he robbed a scarecrow for his\nclothes, suggested that an abnormal vanity prompted his behaviour,\nenquired if his mother knew he was out, and finally remarking, \"I got\nsomethin'll move you, my gentleman,\" disappeared with a ferocious\nslamming of the door.\n\nThe interval struck the Angel as singularly peaceful. His whirling mind\nhad time to analyse his sensations. He ceased bowing and smiling, and\nstood merely astonished.\n\n\"This is a curious painful feeling,\" said the Angel. \"Almost worse than\nHungry, and quite different. When one is hungry one wants to eat. I\nsuppose she was a woman. Here one wants to get away. I suppose I might\njust as well go.\"\n\nHe turned slowly and went down the road meditating. He heard the cottage\ndoor re-open, and turning his head, saw through intervening scarlet\nrunners Mrs Gustick with a steaming saucepan full of boiling cabbage\nwater in her hand.\n\n\"'Tis well you went, Mister Stolen Breeches,\" came the voice of Mrs\nGustick floating down through the vermilion blossoms. \"Don't you come\npeeping and prying round this yer cottage again or I'll learn ye\nmanners, I will!\"\n\nThe Angel stood in a state of considerable perplexity. He had no desire\nto come within earshot of the cottage again--ever. He did not understand\nthe precise import of the black pot, but his general impression was\nentirely disagreeable. There was no explaining it.\n\n\"I _mean_ it!\" said Mrs Gustick, crescendo. \"Drat it!--I _mean_ it.\"\n\nThe Angel turned and went on, a dazzled look in his eyes.\n\n\"She was very grotesque!\" said the Angel. \"_Very._ Much more than the\nlittle man in black. And she means it.---- But what she means I don't\nknow!...\" He became silent. \"I suppose they all mean something,\", he\nsaid, presently, still perplexed.\n\n\n\n\nXXV.\n\n\nThen the Angel came in sight of the forge, where Sandy Bright's brother\nwas shoeing a horse for the carter from Upmorton. Two hobbledehoys were\nstanding by the forge staring in a bovine way at the proceedings. As the\nAngel approached these two and then the carter turned slowly through an\nangle of thirty degrees and watched his approach, staring quietly and\nsteadily at him. The expression on their faces was one of abstract\ninterest.\n\nThe Angel became self-conscious for the first time in his life. He drew\nnearer, trying to maintain an amiable expression on his face, an\nexpression that beat in vain against their granitic stare. His hands\nwere behind him. He smiled pleasantly, looking curiously at the (to him)\nincomprehensible employment of the smith. But the battery of eyes seemed\nto angle for his regard. Trying to meet the three pairs at once, the\nAngel lost his alertness and stumbled over a stone. One of the yokels\ngave a sarcastic cough, and was immediately covered with confusion at\nthe Angel's enquiring gaze, nudging his companion with his elbow to\ncover his disorder. None spoke, and the Angel did not speak.\n\nSo soon as the Angel had passed, one of the three hummed this tune in an\naggressive tone.\n\n[Illustration: Music]\n\nThen all three of them laughed. One tried to sing something and found\nhis throat contained phlegm. The Angel proceeded on his way.\n\n\"Who's _e_ then?\" said the second hobbledehoy.\n\n\"Ping, ping, ping,\" went the blacksmith's hammer.\n\n\"Spose he's one of these here foweners,\" said the carter from Upmorton.\n\"Daeamned silly fool he do look to be sure.\"\n\n\"Tas the way with them foweners,\" said the first hobbledehoy sagely.\n\n\"Got something very like the 'ump,\" said the carter from Upmorton.\n\"Daeae-ae-aemned if 'E ent.\"\n\nThen the silence healed again, and they resumed their quiet\nexpressionless consideration of the Angel's retreating figure.\n\n\"Very like the 'ump et is,\" said the carter after an enormous pause.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI.\n\n\nThe Angel went on through the village, finding it all wonderful enough.\n\"They begin, and just a little while and then they end,\" he said to\nhimself in a puzzled voice. \"But what are they doing meanwhile?\" Once he\nheard some invisible mouth chant inaudible words to the tune the man at\nthe forge had hummed.\n\n\"That's the poor creature the Vicar shot with that great gun of his,\"\nsaid Sarah Glue (of 1, Church Cottages) peering over the blind.\n\n\"He looks Frenchified,\" said Susan Hopper, peering through the\ninterstices of that convenient veil on curiosity.\n\n\"He has sweet eyes,\" said Sarah Glue, who had met them for a moment.\n\nThe Angel sauntered on. The postman passed him and touched his hat to\nhim; further down was a dog asleep in the sun. He went on and saw\nMendham, who nodded distantly and hurried past. (The Curate did not\ncare to be seen talking to an angel in the village, until more was known\nabout him). There came from one of the houses the sound of a child\nscreaming in a passion, that brought a puzzled look to the angelic face.\nThen the Angel reached the bridge below the last of the houses, and\nstood leaning over the parapet watching the glittering little cascade\nfrom the mill.\n\n\"They begin, and just a little while, and then they end,\" said the weir\nfrom the mill. The water raced under the bridge, green and dark, and\nstreaked with foam.\n\nBeyond the mill rose the square tower of the church, with the churchyard\nbehind it, a spray of tombstones and wooden headboards splashed up the\nhillside. A half dozen of beech trees framed the picture.\n\nThen the Angel heard a shuffling of feet and the gride of wheels behind\nhim, and turning his head saw a man dressed in dirty brown rags and a\nfelt hat grey with dust, who was standing with a slight swaying motion\nand fixedly regarding the Angelic back. Beyond him was another almost\nequally dirty, pushing a knife grinder's barrow over the bridge.\n\n\"Mornin',\" said the first person smiling weakly. \"Goomorn'.\" He arrested\nan escaping hiccough.\n\nThe Angel stared at him. He had never seen a really fatuous smile\nbefore. \"Who are you?\" said the Angel.\n\nThe fatuous smile faded. \"No your business whoaaam. Wishergoomorn.\"\n\n\"Carm on:\" said the man with the grindstone, passing on his way.\n\n\"Wishergoomorn,\" said the dirty man, in a tone of extreme aggravation.\n\"Carncher Answerme?\"\n\n\"Carm _on_ you fool!\" said the man with the grindstone--receding.\n\n\"I don't understand,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Donunderstan'. Sim'l enough. Wishergoomorn'. Willyanswerme? Wontchr?\ngemwishergem goomorn. Cusom answer goomorn. No gem. Haverteachyer.\"\n\nThe Angel was puzzled. The drunken man stood swaying for a moment, then\nhe made an unsteady snatch at his hat and threw it down at the Angel's\nfeet. \"Ver well,\" he said, as one who decides great issues.\n\n\"_Carm_ on!\" said the voice of the man with the grindstone--stopping\nperhaps twenty yards off.\n\n\"You _wan_ fight, you ----\" the Angel failed to catch the word. \"I'll\nshow yer, not answer gem's goomorn.\"\n\nHe began to struggle with his jacket. \"Think I'm drun,\" he said, \"I show\nyer.\" The man with the grindstone sat down on the shaft to watch. \"Carm\non,\" he said. The jacket was intricate, and the drunken man began to\nstruggle about the road, in his attempts to extricate himself, breathing\nthreatenings and slaughter. Slowly the Angel began to suspect, remotely\nenough, that these demonstrations were hostile. \"Mur wun know yer when I\ndone wi' yer,\" said the drunken man, coat almost over his head.\n\nAt last the garment lay on the ground, and through the frequent\ninterstices of his reminiscences of a waistcoat, the drunken tinker\ndisplayed a fine hairy and muscular body to the Angel's observant eyes.\nHe squared up in masterly fashion.\n\n\"Take the paint off yer,\" he remarked, advancing and receding, fists up\nand elbows out.\n\n\"Carm on,\" floated down the road.\n\nThe Angel's attention was concentrated on two huge hairy black fists,\nthat swayed and advanced and retreated. \"Come on d'yer say? I'll show\nyer,\" said the gentleman in rags, and then with extraordinary ferocity;\n\"My crikey! I'll show yer.\"\n\nSuddenly he lurched forward, and with a newborn instinct and raising a\ndefensive arm as he did so, the Angel stepped aside to avoid him. The\nfist missed the Angelic shoulder by a hairsbreadth, and the tinker\ncollapsed in a heap with his face against the parapet of the bridge. The\nAngel hesitated over the writhing dusty heap of blasphemy for a moment,\nand then turned towards the man's companion up the road. \"Lemmeget up,\"\nsaid the man on the bridge: \"Lemmeget up, you swine. I'll show yer.\"\n\nA strange disgust, a quivering repulsion came upon the Angel. He walked\nslowly away from the drunkard towards the man with the grindstone.\n\n\"What does it all mean?\" said the Angel. \"I don't understand it.\"\n\n\"Dam fool!... say's it's 'is silver weddin',\" answered the man with the\ngrindstone, evidently much annoyed; and then, in a tone of growing\nimpatience, he called down the road once more; \"Carm on!\"\n\n\"Silver wedding!\" said the Angel. \"What is a silver wedding?\"\n\n\"Jest is rot,\" said the man on the barrow. \"But 'E's always avin' some\n'scuse like that. Fair sickenin it is. Lars week it wus 'is bloomin'\nbirthday, and _then_ 'e ad'nt ardly got sober orf a comlimentary drunk\nto my noo barrer. (_Carm_ on, you fool.)\"\n\n\"But I don't understand,\" said the Angel. \"Why does he sway about so?\nWhy does he keep on trying to pick up his hat like that--and missing\nit?\"\n\n\"_Why!_\" said the tinker. \"Well this _is_ a blasted innocent country!\n_Why!_ Because 'E's blind! Wot else? (Carm on--_Dam_ yer). Because 'E's\njust as full as 'E can 'old. That's _why_!\"\n\nThe Angel noticing the tone of the second tinker's voice, judged it\nwiser not to question him further. But he stood by the grindstone and\ncontinued to watch the mysterious evolutions on the bridge.\n\n\"Carm on! I shall 'ave to go and pick up that 'at I suppose.... 'E's\nalways at it. I ne'er 'ad such a blooming pard before. _Always_ at it,\n'e is.\"\n\nThe man with the barrow meditated. \"Taint as if 'e was a gentleman and\n'adnt no livin' to get. An' 'e's such a reckless fool when 'e gets a bit\non. Goes offerin out everyone 'e meets. (_There_ you go!) I'm blessed if\n'e didn't offer out a 'ole bloomin' Salvation Army. No judgment in it.\n(Oh! _Carm_ on! _Carm_ on!). 'Ave to go and pick this bloomin' 'at up\nnow I s'pose. 'E don't care, _wot_ trouble 'e gives.\"\n\nThe Angel watched the second tinker walk back, and, with affectionate\nblasphemy, assist the first to his hat and his coat. Then he turned,\nabsolutely mystified, towards the village again.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII.\n\n\nAfter that incident the Angel walked along past the mill and round\nbehind the church, to examine the tombstones.\n\n\"This seems to be the place where they put the broken pieces,\" said the\nAngel--reading the inscriptions. \"Curious word--relict! Resurgam! Then\nthey are not done with quite. What a huge pile it requires to keep her\ndown.... It is spirited of her.\"\n\n\"Hawkins?\" said the Angel softly,.... \"_Hawkins?_ The name is strange to\nme.... He did not die then.... It is plain enough,--Joined the Angelic\nHosts, May 17, 1863. He must have felt as much out of place as I do down\nhere. But I wonder why they put that little pot thing on the top of this\nmonument. Curious! There are several others about--little stone pots\nwith a rag of stiff stone drapery over them.\"\n\nJust then the boys came pouring out of the National School, and first\none and then several stopped agape at the Angel's crooked black figure\namong the white tombs. \"Ent 'e gart a baeaek on en!\" remarked one critic.\n\n\"'E's got 'air like a girl!\" said another.\n\nThe Angel turned towards them. He was struck by the queer little heads\nsticking up over the lichenous wall. He smiled faintly at their staring\nfaces, and then turned to marvel at the iron railings that enclosed the\nFitz-Jarvis tomb. \"A queer air of uncertainty,\" he said. \"Slabs, piles\nof stone, these railings.... Are they afraid?... Do these Dead ever try\nand get up again? There's an air of repression--fortification----\"\n\n\"Get yer _'air_ cut, Get yer _'air_ cut,\" sang three little boys\ntogether.\n\n\"Curious these Human Beings are!\" said the Angel. \"That man yesterday\nwanted to cut off my wings, now these little creatures want me to cut\noff my hair! And the man on the bridge offered to take the 'paint' off\nme. They will leave nothing of me soon.\"\n\n\"Where did you get that _'at_?\" sang another little boy. \"Where did you\nget them clo'es?\"\n\n\"They ask questions that they evidently do not want answered,\" said the\nAngel. \"I can tell from the tone.\" He looked thoughtfully at the little\nboys. \"I don't understand the methods of Human intercourse. These are\nprobably friendly advances, a kind of ritual. But I don't know the\nresponses. I think I will go back to the little fat man in black, with\nthe gold chain across his stomach, and ask him to explain. It is\ndifficult.\"\n\nHe turned towards the lych gate. \"_Oh!_\" said one of the little boys, in\na shrill falsetto, and threw a beech-nut husk. It came bounding across\nthe churchyard path. The Angel stopped in surprise.\n\nThis made all the little boys laugh. A second imitating the first, said\n\"_Oh!_\" and hit the Angel. His astonishment was really delicious. They\nall began crying \"_Oh!_\" and throwing beechnut husks. One hit the\nAngel's hand, another stung him smartly by the ear. The Angel made\nungainly movements towards them. He spluttered some expostulation and\nmade for the roadway. The little boys were amazed and shocked at his\ndiscomfiture and cowardice. Such sawney behaviour could not be\nencouraged. The pelting grew vigorously. You may perhaps be able to\nimagine those vivid moments, daring small boys running in close and\ndelivering shots, milder small boys rushing round behind with flying\ndischarges. Milton Screever's mongrel dog was roused to yelping ecstacy\nat the sight, and danced (full of wild imaginings) nearer and nearer to\nthe angelic legs.\n\n\"Hi, hi!\" said a vigorous voice. \"I never did! Where's Mr Jarvis?\nManners, manners! you young rascals.\"\n\nThe youngsters scattered right and left, some over the wall into the\nplayground, some down the street.\n\n\"Frightful pest these boys are getting!\" said Crump, coming up. \"I'm\nsorry they have been annoying you.\"\n\nThe Angel seemed quite upset. \"I don't understand,\" he said. \"These\nHuman ways....\"\n\n\"Yes, of course. Unusual to you. How's your excrescence?\"\n\n\"My what?\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Bifid limb, you know. How is it? Now you're down this way, come in.\nCome in and let me have a look at it again. You young roughs! And\nmeanwhile these little louts of ours will be getting off home. They're\nall alike in these villages. _Can't_ understand anything abnormal. See\nan odd-looking stranger. Chuck a stone. No imagination beyond the\nparish.... (I'll give you physic if I catch you annoying strangers\nagain.) ... I suppose it's what one might expect.... Come along this\nway.\"\n\nSo the Angel, horribly perplexed still, was hurried into the surgery to\nhave his wound re-dressed.\n\n\n\n\nLADY HAMMERGALLOW'S VIEW.\n\nXXVIII.\n\n\nIn Siddermorton Park is Siddermorton House, where old Lady Hammergallow\nlives, chiefly upon Burgundy and the little scandals of the village, a\ndear old lady with a ropy neck, a ruddled countenance and spasmodic\ngusts of odd temper, whose three remedies for all human trouble among\nher dependents are, a bottle of gin, a pair of charity blankets, or a\nnew crown piece. The House is a mile-and-a-half out of Siddermorton.\nAlmost all the village is hers, saving a fringe to the south which\nbelongs to Sir John Gotch, and she rules it with an autocratic rule,\nrefreshing in these days of divided government. She orders and forbids\nmarriages, drives objectionable people out of the village by the simple\nexpedient of raising their rent, dismisses labourers, obliges heretics\nto go to church, and made Susan Dangett, who wanted to call her little\ngirl 'Euphemia,' have the infant christened 'Mary-Anne.' She is a sturdy\nBroad Protestant and disapproves of the Vicar's going bald like a\ntonsure. She is on the Village Council, which obsequiously trudges up\nthe hill and over the moor to her, and (as she is a trifle deaf) speaks\nall its speeches into her speaking trumpet instead of a rostrum. She\ntakes no interest now in politics, but until last year she was an active\nenemy of \"that Gladstone.\" She has parlour maids instead of footmen to\ndo her waiting, because of Hockley, the American stockbroker, and his\nfour Titans in plush.\n\nShe exercises what is almost a fascination upon the village. If in the\nbar-parlour of the Cat and Cornucopia you swear by God no one would be\nshocked, but if you swore by Lady Hammergallow they would probably be\nshocked enough to turn you out of the room. When she drives through\nSiddermorton she always calls upon Bessy Flump, the post-mistress, to\nhear all that has happened, and then upon Miss Finch, the dressmaker, to\ncheck back Bessy Flump. Sometimes she calls upon the Vicar, sometimes\nupon Mrs Mendham whom she snubs, and even sometimes on Crump. Her\nsparkling pair of greys almost ran over the Angel as he was walking down\nto the village.\n\n\"So _that's_ the genius!\" said Lady Hammergallow, and turned and looked\nat him through the gilt glasses on a stick that she always carried in\nher shrivelled and shaky hand. \"Lunatic indeed! The poor creature has\nrather a pretty face. I'm sorry I've missed him.\"\n\nBut she went on to the vicarage nevertheless, and demanded news of it\nall. The conflicting accounts of Miss Flump, Miss Finch, Mrs Mendham,\nCrump, and Mrs Jehoram had puzzled her immensely. The Vicar, hard\npressed, did all he could to say into her speaking trumpet what had\nreally happened. He toned down the wings and the saffron robe. But he\nfelt the case was hopeless. He spoke of his protege as \"Mr\" Angel. He\naddressed pathetic asides to the kingfisher. The old lady noticed his\nconfusion. Her queer old head went jerking backwards and forwards, now\nthe speaking trumpet in his face when he had nothing to say, then the\nshrunken eyes peering at him, oblivious of the explanation that was\ncoming from his lips. A great many Ohs! and Ahs! She caught some\nfragments certainly.\n\n\"You have asked him to stop with you--indefinitely?\" said Lady\nHammergallow with a Great Idea taking shape rapidly in her mind.\n\n\"I did--perhaps inadvertently--make such--\"\n\n\"And you don't know where he comes from?\"\n\n\"Not at all.\"\n\n\"Nor who his father is, I suppose?\" said Lady Hammergallow mysteriously.\n\n\"No,\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"_Now!_\" said Lady Hammergallow archly, and keeping her glasses to her\neye, she suddenly dug at his ribs with her trumpet.\n\n\"My _dear_ Lady Hammergallow!\"\n\n\"I thought so. Don't think _I_ would blame you, Mr Hilyer.\" She gave a\ncorrupt laugh that she delighted in. \"The world is the world, and men\nare men. And the poor boy's a <DW36>, eh? A kind of judgment. In\nmourning, I noticed. It reminds me of the _Scarlet Letter_. The mother's\ndead, I suppose. It's just as well. Really--I'm not a _narrow_ woman--I\n_respect_ you for having him. Really I do.\"\n\n\"But, _Lady_ Hammergallow!\"\n\n\"Don't spoil everything by denying it. It is so very, very plain, to a\nwoman of the world. That Mrs Mendham! She amuses me with her suspicions.\nSuch odd ideas! In a Curate's wife. But I hope it didn't happen when you\nwere in orders.\"\n\n\"Lady Hammergallow, I protest. Upon my word.\"\n\n\"Mr Hilyer, I protest. I _know_. Not anything you can say will alter my\nopinion one jot. Don't try. I never suspected you were nearly such an\ninteresting man.\"\n\n\"But this suspicion is unendurable!\"\n\n\"We will help him together, Mr Hilyer. You may rely upon me. It is most\nromantic.\" She beamed benevolence.\n\n\"But, Lady Hammergallow, I _must_ speak!\"\n\nShe gripped her ear-trumpet resolutely, and held it before her and shook\nher head.\n\n\"He has quite a genius for music, Vicar, so I hear?\"\n\n\"I can assure you most solemnly--\"\n\n\"I thought so. And being a <DW36>--\"\n\n\"You are under a most cruel--\"\n\n\"I thought that if his gift is really what that Jehoram woman says.\"\n\n\"An unjustifiable suspicion that ever a man--\"\n\n(\"I don't think much of her judgment, of course.\")\n\n\"Consider my position. Have I gained _no_ character?\"\n\n\"It might be possible to do something for him as a performer.\"\n\n\"Have I--(_Bother! It's no good!_)\"\n\n\"And so, dear Vicar, I propose to give him an opportunity of showing us\nwhat he can do. I have been thinking it all over as I drove here. On\nTuesday next, I will invite just a few people of taste, and he shall\nbring his violin. Eigh? And if that goes well, I will see if I can get\nsome introductions and really _push_ him.\"\n\n\"But _Lady_, Lady Hammergallow.\"\n\n\"Not another word!\" said Lady Hammergallow, still resolutely holding her\nspeaking trumpet before her and clutching her eyeglasses. \"I really\nmust not leave those horses. Cutler is so annoyed if I keep them too\nlong. He finds waiting tedious, poor man, unless there is a public-house\nnear.\" She made for the door.\n\n\"_Damn!_\" said the Vicar, under his breath. He had never used the word\nsince he had taken orders. It shows you how an Angel's visit may\ndisorganize a man.\n\nHe stood under the verandah watching the carriage drive away. The world\nseemed coming to pieces about him. Had he lived a virtuous celibate life\nfor thirty odd years in vain? The things of which these people thought\nhim capable! He stood and stared at the green cornfield opposite, and\ndown at the straggling village. It seemed real enough. And yet for the\nfirst time in his life there was a queer doubt of its reality. He rubbed\nhis chin, then turned and went slowly upstairs to his dressing-room, and\nsat for a long time staring at a garment of some yellow texture. \"Know\nhis father!\" he said. \"And he is immortal, and was fluttering about his\nheaven when my ancestors were marsupials.... I wish he was there now.\"\n\nHe got up and began to feel the robe.\n\n\"I wonder how they get such things,\" said the Vicar. Then he went and\nstared out of the window. \"I suppose everything is wonderful, even the\nrising and setting of the sun. I suppose there is no adamantine ground\nfor any belief. But one gets into a regular way of taking things. This\ndisturbs it. I seem to be waking up to the Invisible. It is the\nstrangest of uncertainties. I have not felt so stirred and unsettled\nsince my adolescence.\"\n\n\n\n\nFURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE ANGEL IN THE VILLAGE.\n\nXXIX.\n\n\n\"That's all right,\" said Crump when the bandaging was replaced. \"It's a\ntrick of memory, no doubt, but these excrescences of yours don't seem\nnearly so large as they did yesterday. I suppose they struck me rather\nforcibly. Stop and have lunch with me now you're down here. Midday meal,\nyou know. The youngsters will be swallowed up by school again in the\nafternoon.\"\n\n\"I never saw anything heal so well in my life,\" he said, as they walked\ninto the dining-room. \"Your blood and flesh must be as clean and free\nfrom bacteria as they make 'em. Whatever stuff there is in your head,\"\nhe added _sotto voce_.\n\nAt lunch he watched the Angel narrowly, and talked to draw him out.\n\n\"Journey tire you yesterday?\" he said suddenly.\n\n\"Journey!\" said the Angel. \"Oh! my wings felt a little stiff.\"\n\n(\"Not to be had,\") said Crump to himself. (\"Suppose I must enter into\nit.\")\n\n\"So you flew all the way, eigh? No conveyance?\"\n\n\"There wasn't any way,\" explained the Angel, taking mustard. \"I was\nflying up a symphony with some Griffins and Fiery Cherubim, and suddenly\neverything went dark and I was in this world of yours.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Crump. \"And that's why you haven't any luggage.\" He drew\nhis serviette across his mouth, and a smile flickered in his eyes.\n\n\"I suppose you know this world of ours pretty well? Watching us over the\nadamantine walls and all that kind of thing. Eigh?\"\n\n\"Not very well. We dream of it sometimes. In the moonlight, when the\nNightmares have fanned us to sleep with their wings.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes--of course,\" said Crump. \"Very poetical way of putting it.\nWon't you take some Burgundy? It's just beside you.\"\n\n\"There's a persuasion in this world, you know, that Angels' Visits are\nby no means infrequent. Perhaps some of your--friends have travelled?\nThey are supposed to come down to deserving persons in prisons, and do\nrefined Nautches and that kind of thing. Faust business, you know.\"\n\n\"I've never heard of anything of the kind,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Only the other day a lady whose baby was my patient for the time\nbeing--indigestion--assured me that certain facial contortions the\nlittle creature made indicated that it was Dreaming of Angels. In the\nnovels of Mrs Henry Wood that is spoken of as an infallible symptom of\nan early departure. I suppose you can't throw any light on that obscure\npathological manifestation?\"\n\n\"I don't understand it at all,\" said the Angel, puzzled, and not clearly\napprehending the Doctor's drift.\n\n(\"Getting huffy,\") said Crump to himself. (\"Sees I'm poking fun at\nhim.\") \"There's one thing I'm curious about. Do the new arrivals\ncomplain much about their medical attendants? I've always fancied there\nmust be a good deal of hydropathic talk just at first. I was looking at\nthat picture in the Academy only this June....\"\n\n\"New Arrivals!\" said the Angel. \"I really don't follow you.\"\n\nThe Doctor stared. \"Don't they come?\"\n\n\"Come!\" said the Angel. \"Who?\"\n\n\"The people who die here.\"\n\n\"After they've gone to pieces here?\"\n\n\"That's the general belief, you know.\"\n\n\"People, like the woman who screamed out of the door, and the blackfaced\nman and his volutations and the horrible little things that threw\nhusks!--certainly not. _I_ never saw such creatures before I fell into\nthis world.\"\n\n\"Oh! but come!\" said the Doctor. \"You'll tell me next your official\nrobes are not white and that you can't play the harp.\"\n\n\"There's no such thing as white in the Angelic Land,\" said the Angel.\n\"It's that queer blank colour you get by mixing up all the others.\"\n\n\"Why, my dear Sir!\" said the doctor, suddenly altering his tone, \"you\npositively know nothing about the Land you come from. White's the very\nessence of it.\"\n\nThe Angel stared at him. Was the man jesting? He looked perfectly\nserious.\n\n\"Look here,\" said Crump, and getting up, he went to the sideboard on\nwhich a copy of the Parish Magazine was lying. He brought it round to\nthe Angel and opened it at the  supplement. \"Here's some _real_\nangels,\" he said. \"You see it's not simply the wings make the Angel.\nWhite you see, with a curly whisp of robe, sailing up into the sky with\ntheir wings furled. Those are angels on the best authority. Hydroxyl\nkind of hair. One has a bit of a harp, you see, and the other is helping\nthis wingless lady--kind of larval Angel, you know--upward.\"\n\n\"Oh! but really!\" said the Angel, \"those are not angels at all.\"\n\n\"But they _are_,\" said Crump, putting the magazine back on the sideboard\nand resuming his seat with an air of intense satisfaction. \"I can assure\nyou I have the _best_ authority....\"\n\n\"I can assure you....\"\n\nCrump tucked in the corners of his mouth and shook his head from side to\nside even as he had done to the Vicar. \"No good,\" he said, \"can't alter\nour ideas just because an irresponsible visitor....\"\n\n\"If these are angels,\" said the Angel, \"then I have never been in the\nAngelic Land.\"\n\n\"Precisely,\" said Crump, ineffably self-satisfied; \"that was just what I\nwas getting at.\"\n\nThe Angel stared at him for a minute round-eyed, and then was seized for\nthe second time by the human disorder of laughter.\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha!\" said Crump, joining in. \"I _thought_ you were not quite so\nmad as you seemed. Ha, ha, ha!\"\n\nAnd for the rest of the lunch they were both very merry, for entirely\ndifferent reasons, and Crump insisted upon treating the Angel as a\n\"dorg\" of the highest degree.\n\n\n\n\nXXX.\n\n\nAfter the Angel had left Crump's house he went up the hill again towards\nthe Vicarage. But--possibly moved by the desire to avoid Mrs Gustick--he\nturned aside at the stile and made a detour by the Lark's Field and\nBradley's Farm.\n\nHe came upon the Respectable Tramp slumbering peacefully among the\nwild-flowers. He stopped to look, struck by the celestial tranquillity\nof that individual's face. And even as he did so the Respectable Tramp\nawoke with a start and sat up. He was a pallid creature, dressed in\nrusty black, with a broken-spirited crush hat cocked over one eye. \"Good\nafternoon,\" he said affably. \"How are you?\"\n\n\"Very well, thank you,\" said the Angel, who had mastered the phrase.\n\nThe Respectable Tramp eyed the Angel critically. \"Padding the Hoof,\nmatey?\" he said. \"Like me.\"\n\nThe Angel was puzzled by him. \"Why,\" asked the Angel, \"do you sleep\nlike this instead of sleeping up in the air on a Bed?\"\n\n\"Well I'm blowed!\" said the Respectable Tramp. \"Why don't I sleep in a\nbed? Well, it's like this. Sandringham's got the painters in, there's\nthe drains up in Windsor Castle, and I 'aven't no other 'ouse to go to.\nYou 'aven't the price of a arf pint in your pocket, 'ave yer?\"\n\n\"I have nothing in my pocket,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Is this here village called Siddermorton?\" said the Tramp, rising\ncreakily to his feet and pointing to the clustering roofs down the hill.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Angel, \"they call it Siddermorton.\"\n\n\"I know it, I know it,\" said the Tramp. \"And a very pretty little\nvillage it is too.\" He stretched and yawned, and stood regarding the\nplace. \"'Ouses,\" he said reflectively; \"Projuce\"--waving his hand at the\ncornfields and orchards. \"Looks cosy, don't it?\"\n\n\"It has a quaint beauty of its own,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"It _'as_ a quaint beauty of its own--yes.... Lord! I'd like to sack\nthe blooming place.... I was born there.\"\n\n\"Dear me,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Yes, I was born there. Ever heard of a pithed frog?\"\n\n\"Pithed frog,\" said the Angel. \"No!\"\n\n\"It's a thing these here vivisectionists do. They takes a frog and they\ncuts out his brains and they shoves a bit of pith in the place of 'em.\nThat's a pithed frog. Well--that there village is full of pithed human\nbeings.\"\n\nThe Angel took it quite seriously. \"Is that so?\" he said.\n\n\"That's so--you take my word for it. Everyone of them 'as 'ad their\nbrains cut out and chunks of rotten touchwood put in the place of it.\nAnd you see that little red place there?\"\n\n\"That's called the national school,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Yes--that's where they piths 'em,\" said the Tramp, quite in love with\nhis conceit.\n\n\"Really! That's very interesting.\"\n\n\"It stands to reason,\" said the Tramp. \"If they 'ad brains they'd 'ave\nideas, and if they 'ad ideas they'd think for themselves. And you can\ngo through that village from end to end and never meet anybody doing as\nmuch. Pithed human beings they are. I know that village. I was born\nthere, and I might be there now, a toilin' for my betters, if I 'adnt\nstruck against the pithin'.\"\n\n\"Is it a painful operation?\" asked the Angel.\n\n\"In parts. Though it aint the heads gets hurt. And it lasts a long time.\nThey take 'em young into that school, and they says to them, 'come in\n'ere and we'll improve your minds,' they says, and in the little kiddies\ngo as good as gold. And they begins shovin' it into them. Bit by bit and\n'ard and dry, shovin' out the nice juicy brains. Dates and lists and\nthings. Out they comes, no brains in their 'eads, and wound up nice and\ntight, ready to touch their 'ats to anyone who looks at them. Why! One\ntouched 'is 'at to me yesterday. And they runs about spry and does all\nthe dirty work, and feels thankful they're allowed to live. They take a\npositive pride in 'ard work for its own sake. Arter they bin pithed. See\nthat chap ploughin'?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Angel; \"is _he_ pithed?\"\n\n\"Rather. Else he'd be paddin' the hoof this pleasant weather--like me\nand the blessed Apostles.\"\n\n\"I begin to understand,\" said the Angel, rather dubiously.\n\n\"I knew you would,\" said the Philosophical Tramp. \"I thought you was the\nright sort. But speaking serious, aint it ridiculous?--centuries and\ncenturies of civilization, and look at that poor swine there, sweatin'\n'isself empty and trudging up that 'ill-side. 'E's English, 'e is. 'E\nbelongs to the top race in creation, 'e does. 'E's one of the rulers of\nIndjer. It's enough to make a <DW65> laugh. The flag that's braved a\nthousand years the battle an' the breeze--that's _'is_ flag. There never\nwas a country was as great and glorious as this. Never. And that's wot\nit makes of us. I'll tell you a little story about them parts as you\nseems to be a bit of a stranger. There's a chap called Gotch, Sir John\nGotch they calls 'im, and when _'e_ was a young gent from Oxford, I was\na little chap of eight and my sister was a girl of seventeen. Their\nservant she was. But Lord! everybody's 'eard that story--it's common\nenough, of 'im or the likes of 'im.\"\n\n\"I haven't,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"All that's pretty and lively of the gals they chucks into the gutters,\nand all the men with a pennorth of spunk or adventure, all who won't\ndrink what the Curate's wife sends 'em instead of beer, and touch their\nhats promiscous, and leave the rabbits and birds alone for their\nbetters, gets drove out of the villages as rough characters. Patriotism!\nTalk about improvin' the race! Wot's left aint fit to look a <DW65> in\nthe face, a Chinaman 'ud be ashamed of 'em....\"\n\n\"But I don't understand,\" said the Angel. \"I don't follow you.\"\n\nAt that the Philosophic Tramp became more explicit, and told the Angel\nthe simple story of Sir John Gotch and the kitchen-maid. It's scarcely\nnecessary to repeat it. You may understand that it left the Angel\npuzzled. It was full of words he did not understand, for the only\nvehicle of emotion the Tramp possessed was blasphemy. Yet, though their\ntongues differed so, he could still convey to the Angel some of his own\n(probably unfounded) persuasion of the injustice and cruelty of life,\nand of the utter detestableness of Sir John Gotch.\n\nThe last the Angel saw of him was his dusty black back receding down the\nlane towards Iping Hanger. A pheasant appeared by the roadside, and the\nPhilosophical Tramp immediately caught up a stone and sent the bird\nclucking with a viciously accurate shot. Then he disappeared round the\ncorner.\n\n\n\n\nMRS JEHORAM'S BREADTH OF VIEW.\n\nXXXI\n\n\n\"I heard some one playing the fiddle in the Vicarage, as I came by,\"\nsaid Mrs Jehoram, taking her cup of tea from Mrs Mendham.\n\n\"The Vicar plays,\" said Mrs Mendham. \"I have spoken to George about it,\nbut it's no good. I do not think a Vicar should be allowed to do such\nthings. It's so foreign. But there, _he_ ....\"\n\n\"I know, dear,\" said Mrs Jehoram. \"But I heard the Vicar once at the\nschoolroom. I don't think this _was_ the Vicar. It was quite clever,\nsome of it, quite smart, you know. And new. I was telling dear Lady\nHammergallow this morning. I fancy--\"\n\n\"The lunatic! Very likely. These half-witted people.... My dear, I don't\nthink I shall ever forget that dreadful encounter. Yesterday.\"\n\n\"Nor I.\"\n\n\"My poor girls! They are too shocked to say a word about it. I was\ntelling dear Lady Ham----\"\n\n\"Quite proper of them. It was _dreadful_, dear. For them.\"\n\n\"And now, dear, I want you to tell me frankly--Do you really believe\nthat creature was a man?\"\n\n\"You should have heard the violin.\"\n\n\"I still more than half suspect, Jessie ----\" Mrs Mendham leant forward\nas if to whisper.\n\nMrs Jehoram helped herself to cake. \"I'm sure no woman could play the\nviolin quite like I heard it played this morning.\"\n\n\"Of course, if you say so that settles the matter,\" said Mrs Mendham.\nMrs Jehoram was the autocratic authority in Siddermorton upon all\nquestions of art, music and belles-lettres. Her late husband had been a\nminor poet. Then Mrs Mendham added a judicial \"Still--\"\n\n\"Do you know,\" said Mrs Jehoram, \"I'm half inclined to believe the dear\nVicar's story.\"\n\n\"How _good_ of you, Jessie,\" said Mrs Mendham.\n\n\"But really, I don't think he _could_ have had any one in the Vicarage\nbefore that afternoon. I feel sure we should have heard of it. I don't\nsee how a strange cat could come within four miles of Siddermorton\nwithout the report coming round to us. The people here gossip so....\"\n\n\"I always distrust the Vicar,\" said Mrs Mendham. \"I know him.\"\n\n\"Yes. But the story is plausible. If this Mr Angel were someone very\nclever and eccentric--\"\n\n\"He would have to be _very_ eccentric to dress as he did. There are\ndegrees and limits, dear.\"\n\n\"But kilts,\" said Mrs Jehoram.\n\n\"Are all very well in the Highlands....\"\n\nMrs Jehoram's eyes had rested upon a black speck creeping slowly across\na patch of yellowish-green up the hill.\n\n\"There he goes,\" said Mrs Jehoram, rising, \"across the cornfield. I'm\nsure that's him. I can see the hump. Unless it's a man with a sack.\nBless me, Minnie! here's an opera glass. How convenient for peeping at\nthe Vicarage!... Yes, it's the man. He is a man. With _such_ a sweet\nface.\"\n\nVery unselfishly she allowed her hostess to share the opera glass. For\na minute there was a rustling silence.\n\n\"His dress,\" said Mrs Mendham, \"is _quite_ respectable now.\"\n\n\"Quite,\" said Mrs Jehoram.\n\nPause.\n\n\"He looks cross!\"\n\n\"And his coat is dusty.\"\n\n\"He walks steadily enough,\" said Mrs Mendham, \"or one might think....\nThis hot weather....\"\n\nAnother pause.\n\n\"You see, dear,\" said Mrs Jehoram, putting down the lorgnette. \"What I\nwas going to say was, that possibly he might be a genius in disguise.\"\n\n\"If you can call next door to nothing a disguise.\"\n\n\"No doubt it was eccentric. But I've seen children in little blouses,\nnot at all unlike him. So many clever people _are_ peculiar in their\ndress and manners. A genius may steal a horse where a bank-clerk may not\nlook over the hedge. Very possibly he's quite well known and laughing\nat our Arcadian simplicity. And really it wasn't so improper as some of\nthese New Women bicycling costumes. I saw one in one of the Illustrated\nPapers only a few days ago--the _New Budget_ I think--quite tights, you\nknow, dear. No--I cling to the genius theory. Especially after the\nplaying. I'm sure the creature is original. Perhaps very amusing. In\nfact, I intend to ask the Vicar to introduce me.\"\n\n\"My dear!\" cried Mrs Mendham.\n\n\"I'm resolute,\" said Mrs Jehoram.\n\n\"I'm afraid you're rash,\" said Mrs Mendham. \"Geniuses and people of that\nkind are all very well in London. But here--at the Vicarage.\"\n\n\"We are going to educate the folks. I love originality. At any rate I\nmean to see him.\"\n\n\"Take care you don't see too much of him,\" said Mrs Mendham. \"I've heard\nthe fashion is quite changing. I understand that some of the very best\npeople have decided that genius is not to be encouraged any more. These\nrecent scandals....\"\n\n\"Only in literature, I can assure you, dear. In music....\"\n\n\"Nothing you can say, my dear,\" said Mrs Mendham, going off at a\ntangent, \"will convince me that that person's costume was not extremely\nsuggestive and improper.\"\n\n\n\n\nA TRIVIAL INCIDENT.\n\nXXXII.\n\n\nThe Angel came thoughtfully by the hedge across the field towards the\nVicarage. The rays of the setting sun shone on his shoulders, and\ntouched the Vicarage with gold, and blazed like fire in all the windows.\nBy the gate, bathed in the sunlight, stood little Delia, the waiting\nmaid. She stood watching him under her hand. It suddenly came into the\nAngel's mind that she, at least, was beautiful, and not only beautiful\nbut alive and warm.\n\nShe opened the gate for him and stood aside. She was sorry for him, for\nher elder sister was a <DW36>. He bowed to her, as he would have done\nto any woman, and for just one moment looked into her face. She looked\nback at him and something leapt within her.\n\nThe Angel made an irresolute movement. \"Your eyes are very beautiful,\"\nhe said quietly, with a remote wonder in his voice.\n\n\"Oh, sir!\" she said, starting back. The Angel's expression changed to\nperplexity. He went on up the pathway between the Vicar's flower-beds,\nand she stood with the gate held open in her hand, staring after him.\nJust under the rose-twined verandah he turned and looked at her.\n\nShe still stared at him for a moment, and then with a queer gesture\nturned round with her back to him, shutting the gate as she did so, and\nseemed to be looking down the valley towards the church tower.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WARP AND THE WOOF OF THINGS.\n\nXXXIII.\n\n\nAt the dinner table the Angel told the Vicar the more striking of his\nday's adventures.\n\n\"The strange thing,\" said the Angel, \"is the readiness of you Human\nBeings--the zest, with which you inflict pain. Those boys pelting me\nthis morning----\"\n\n\"Seemed to enjoy it,\" said the Vicar. \"I know.\"\n\n\"Yet they don't like pain,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"No,\" said the Vicar; \"_they_ don't like it.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the Angel, \"I saw some beautiful plants rising with a spike\nof leaves, two this way and two that, and when I caressed one it caused\nthe most uncomfortable----\"\n\n\"Stinging nettle!\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"At any rate a new sort of pain. And another plant with a head like a\ncoronet, and richly decorated leaves, spiked and jagged----\"\n\n\"A thistle, possibly.\"\n\n\"And in your garden, the beautiful, sweet-smelling plant----\"\n\n\"The sweet briar,\" said the Vicar. \"I remember.\"\n\n\"And that pink flower that sprang out of the box----\"\n\n\"Out of the box?\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"Last night,\" said the Angel, \"that went climbing up the\ncurtains---- Flame!\"\n\n\"Oh!--the matches and the candles! Yes,\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"Then the animals. A dog to-day behaved most disagreeably----. And these\nboys, and the way in which people speak----. Everyone seems\nanxious--willing at any rate--to give this Pain. Every one seems busy\ngiving pain----\"\n\n\"Or avoiding it,\" said the Vicar, pushing his dinner away before him.\n\"Yes--of course. It's fighting everywhere. The whole living world is a\nbattle-field--the whole world. We are driven by Pain. Here. How it lies\non the surface! This Angel sees it in a day!\"\n\n\"But why does everyone--everything--want to give pain?\" asked the Angel.\n\n\"It is not so in the Angelic Land?\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"No,\" said the Angel. \"Why is it so here?\"\n\nThe Vicar wiped his lips with his napkin slowly. \"It _is_ so,\" he said.\n\"Pain,\" said he still more slowly, \"is the warp and the woof of this\nlife. Do you know,\" he said, after a pause, \"it is almost impossible for\nme to imagine ... a world without pain.... And yet, as you played this\nmorning----\n\n\"But this world is different. It is the very reverse of an Angelic\nworld. Indeed, a number of people--excellent religious people--have been\nso impressed by the universality of pain that they think, after death,\nthings will be even worse for a great many of us. It seems to me an\nexcessive view. But it's a deep question. Almost beyond one's power of\ndiscussion----\"\n\nAnd incontinently the Vicar plumped into an impromptu dissertation upon\n\"Necessity,\" how things were so because they were so, how one _had_ to\ndo this and that. \"Even our food,\" said the Vicar. \"What?\" said the\nAngel. \"Is not obtained without inflicting Pain,\" said the Vicar.\n\nThe Angel's face went so white that the Vicar checked himself suddenly.\nOr he was just on the very verge of a concise explanation of the\nantecedents of a leg of lamb. There was a pause.\n\n\"By-the-bye,\" said the Angel, suddenly. \"Have you been pithed? Like the\ncommon people.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ANGEL'S DEBUT.\n\nXXXIV.\n\n\nWhen Lady Hammergallow made up her mind, things happened as she\nresolved. And though the Vicar made a spasmodic protest, she carried out\nher purpose and got audience, Angel, and violin together, at\nSiddermorton House before the week was out. \"A genius the Vicar has\ndiscovered,\" she said; so with eminent foresight putting any possibility\nof blame for a failure on the Vicar's shoulders. \"The dear Vicar tells\nme,\" she would say, and proceed to marvellous anecdotes of the Angel's\ncleverness with his instrument. But she was quite in love with her\nidea--she had always had a secret desire to play the patroness to\nobscure talent. Hitherto it had not turned out to be talent when it came\nto the test.\n\n\"It would be such a good thing for him,\" she said. \"His hair is long\nalready, and with that high colour he would be beautiful, simply\nbeautiful on a platform. The Vicar's clothes fitting him so badly makes\nhim look quite like a fashionable pianist already. And the scandal of\nhis birth--not told, of course, but whispered--would be--quite an\nInducement----when he gets to London, that is.\"\n\nThe Vicar had the most horrible sensations as the day approached. He\nspent hours trying to explain the situation to the Angel, other hours\ntrying to imagine what people would think, still worse hours trying to\nanticipate the Angel's behaviour. Hitherto the Angel had always played\nfor his own satisfaction. The Vicar would startle him every now and then\nby rushing upon him with some new point of etiquette that had just\noccurred to him. As for instance: \"It's very important where you put\nyour hat, you know. Don't put it on a chair, whatever you do. Hold it\nuntil you get your tea, you know, and then--let me see--then put it down\nsomewhere, you know.\" The journey to Siddermorton House was\naccomplished without misadventure, but at the moment of introduction\nthe Vicar had a spasm of horrible misgivings. He had forgotten to\nexplain introductions. The Angel's naive amusement was evident, but\nnothing very terrible happened.\n\n\"Rummy looking greaser,\" said Mr Rathbone Slater, who devoted\nconsiderable attention to costume. \"Wants grooming. No manners. Grinned\nwhen he saw me shaking hands. Did it _chic_ enough, I thought.\"\n\nOne trivial misadventure occurred. When Lady Hammergallow welcomed the\nAngel she looked at him through her glasses. The apparent size of her\neyes startled him. His surprise and his quick attempt to peer over the\nbrims was only too evident. But the Vicar had warned him of the ear\ntrumpet.\n\nThe Angel's incapacity to sit on anything but a music stool appeared to\nexcite some interest among the ladies, but led to no remarks. They\nregarded it perhaps as the affectation of a budding professional. He was\nremiss with the teacups and scattered the crumbs of his cake abroad.\n(You must remember he was quite an amateur at eating.) He crossed his\nlegs. He fumbled over the hat business after vainly trying to catch the\nVicar's eye. The eldest Miss Papaver tried to talk to him about\ncontinental watering places and cigarettes, and formed a low opinion of\nhis intelligence.\n\nThe Angel was surprised by the production of an easel and several books\nof music, and a little unnerved at first by the sight of Lady\nHammergallow sitting with her head on one side, watching him with those\nmagnified eyes through her gilt glasses.\n\nMrs Jehoram came up to him before he began to play and asked him the\nName of the Charming Piece he was playing the other afternoon. The Angel\nsaid it had no name, and Mrs Jehoram thought music ought never to have\nany names and wanted to know who it was by, and when the Angel told her\nhe played it out of his head, she said he must be Quite a Genius and\nlooked open (and indisputably fascinating) admiration at him. The Curate\nfrom Iping Hanger (who was professionally a Kelt and who played the\npiano and talked colour and music with an air of racial superiority)\nwatched him jealously.\n\nThe Vicar, who was presently captured and set down next to Lady\nHammergallow, kept an anxious eye ever Angelward while she told him\nparticulars of the incomes made by violinists--particulars which, for\nthe most part, she invented as she went along. She had been a little\nruffled by the incident of the glasses, but had decided that it came\nwithin the limits of permissible originality.\n\nSo figure to yourself the Green Saloon at Siddermorton Park; an Angel\nthinly disguised in clerical vestments and with a violin in his hands,\nstanding by the grand piano, and a respectable gathering of quiet nice\npeople, nicely dressed, grouped about the room. Anticipatory gabble--one\nhears scattered fragments of conversation.\n\n\"He is _incog._\"; said the very eldest Miss Papaver to Mrs Pirbright.\n\"Isn't it quaint and delicious. Jessica Jehoram says she saw him at\nVienna, but she can't remember the name. The Vicar knows all about him,\nbut he is so close----\"\n\n\"How hot and uncomfortable the dear Vicar is looking,\" said Mrs\nPirbright. \"I've noticed it before when he sits next to Lady\nHammergallow. She simply will _not_ respect his cloth. She goes on----\"\n\n\"His tie is all askew,\" said the very eldest Miss Papaver, \"and his\nhair! It really hardly looks as though he had brushed it all day.\"\n\n\"Seems a foreign sort of chap. Affected. All very well in a\ndrawing-room,\" said George Harringay, sitting apart with the younger\nMiss Pirbright. \"But for my part give me a masculine man and a feminine\nwoman. What do you think?\"\n\n\"Oh!--I think so too,\" said the younger Miss Pirbright.\n\n\"Guineas and guineas,\" said Lady Hammergallow. \"I've heard that some of\nthem keep quite stylish establishments. You would scarcely credit\nit----\"\n\n\"I love music, Mr Angel, I adore it. It stirs something in me. I can\nscarcely describe it,\" said Mrs Jehoram. \"Who is it says that delicious\nantithesis: Life without music is brutality; music without life\nis---- Dear me! perhaps you remember? Music without life----it's Ruskin\nI think?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry that I do not,\" said the Angel. \"I have read very few books.\"\n\n\"How charming of you!\" said Mrs Jehoram. \"I wish I didn't. I sympathise\nwith you profoundly. I would do the same, only we poor women----I\nsuppose it's originality we lack---- And down here one is driven to the\nmost desperate proceedings----\"\n\n\"He's certainly very _pretty_. But the ultimate test of a man is his\nstrength,\" said George Harringay. \"What do you think?\"\n\n\"Oh!--I think so too,\" said the younger Miss Pirbright.\n\n\"It's the effeminate man who makes the masculine woman. When the glory\nof a man is his hair, what's a woman to do? And when men go running\nabout with beautiful hectic dabs----\"\n\n\"Oh George! You are so dreadfully satirical to-day,\" said the younger\nMiss Pirbright. \"I'm _sure_ it isn't paint.\"\n\n\"I'm really not his guardian, my dear Lady Hammergallow. Of course it's\nvery kind indeed of you to take such an interest----\"\n\n\"Are you really going to improvise?\" said Mrs Jehoram in a state of\ncooing delight.\n\n\"_SSsh!_\" said the curate from Iping Hanger.\n\nThen the Angel began to play, looking straight before him as he did so,\nthinking of the wonderful things of the Angelic Land, and yet insensibly\nletting the sadness he was beginning to feel, steal over the fantasia he\nwas playing. When he forgot his company the music was strange and sweet;\nwhen the sense of his surroundings floated into his mind the music grew\ncapricious and grotesque. But so great was the hold of the Angelic music\nupon the Vicar that his anxieties fell from him at once, so soon as the\nAngel began to play. Mrs Jehoram sat and looked rapt and sympathetic as\nhard as she could (though the music was puzzling at times) and tried to\ncatch the Angel's eye. He really had a wonderfully mobile face, and the\ntenderest shades of expression! And Mrs Jehoram was a judge. George\nHarringay looked bored, until the younger Miss Pirbright, who adored\nhim, put out her mousy little shoe to touch his manly boot, and then he\nturned his face to catch the feminine delicacy of her coquettish eye,\nand was comforted. The very eldest Miss Papaver and Mrs Pirbright sat\nquite still and looked churchy for nearly four minutes.\n\nThen said the eldest Miss Papaver in a whisper, \"I always Enjoy violin\nmusic so much.\" And Mrs Pirbright answered, \"We get so little Nice music\ndown here.\" And Miss Papaver said, \"He plays Very nicely.\" And Mrs\nPirbright, \"Such a Delicate Touch!\" And Miss Papaver, \"Does Willie keep\nup his lessons?\" and so to a whispered conversation.\n\nThe Curate from Iping Hanger sat (he felt) in full view of the company.\nHe had one hand curled round his ear, and his eyes hard and staring\nfixedly at the pedestal of the Hammergallow Sevres vase. He supplied, by\nthe movements of his mouth, a kind of critical guide to any of the\ncompany who were disposed to avail themselves of it. It was a generous\nway he had. His aspect was severely judicial, tempered by starts of\nevident disapproval and guarded appreciation. The Vicar leaned back in\nhis chair and stared at the Angel's face, and was presently rapt away in\na wonderful dream. Lady Hammergallow, with quick jerky movements of the\nhead and a low but insistent rustling, surveyed and tried to judge of\nthe effect of the Angelic playing. Mr Rathbone-Slater stared very\nsolemnly into his hat and looked very miserable, and Mrs Rathbone-Slater\nmade mental memoranda of Mrs Jehoram's sleeves. And the air about them\nall was heavy with exquisite music--for all that had ears to hear.\n\n\"Scarcely affected enough,\" whispered Lady Hammergallow hoarsely,\nsuddenly poking the Vicar in the ribs. The Vicar came out of Dreamland\nsuddenly. \"Eigh?\" shouted the Vicar, startled, coming up with a jump.\n\"Sssh!\" said the Curate from Iping Hanger, and everyone looked shocked\nat the brutal insensibility of Hilyer. \"So unusual of the Vicar,\" said\nthe very eldest Miss Papaver, \"to do things like that!\" The Angel went\non playing.\n\nThe Curate from Iping Hanger began making mesmeric movements with his\nindex finger, and as the thing proceeded Mr Rathbone-Slater got\namazingly limp. He solemnly turned his hat round and altered his view.\nThe Vicar lapsed from an uneasy discomfort into dreamland again. Lady\nHammergallow rustled a great deal, and presently found a way of making\nher chair creak. And at last the thing came to an end. Lady Hammergallow\nexclaimed \"De--licious!\" though she had never heard a note, and began\nclapping her hands. At that everyone clapped except Mr Rathbone-Slater,\nwho rapped his hat brim instead. The Curate from Iping Hanger clapped\nwith a judicial air.\n\n\"So I said (_clap, clap, clap_), if you cannot cook the food my way\n(_clap, clap, clap_) you must _go_,\" said Mrs Pirbright, clapping\nvigorously. \"(This music is a delightful treat.)\"\n\n\"(It is. I always _revel_ in music,)\" said the very eldest Miss Papaver.\n\"And did she improve after that?\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it,\" said Mrs Pirbright.\n\nThe Vicar woke up again and stared round the saloon. Did other people\nsee these visions, or were they confined to him alone? Surely they must\nall see ... and have a wonderful command of their feelings. It was\nincredible that such music should not affect them. \"He's a trifle\n_gauche_,\" said Lady Hammergallow, jumping upon the Vicar's attention.\n\"He neither bows nor smiles. He must cultivate oddities like that. Every\nsuccessful executant is more or less _gauche_.\"\n\n\"Did you really make that up yourself?\" said Mrs Jehoram, sparkling her\neyes at him, \"as you went along. Really, it is _wonderful_! Nothing less\nthan wonderful.\"\n\n\"A little amateurish,\" said the Curate from Iping Hanger to Mr\nRathbone-Slater. \"A great gift, undoubtedly, but a certain lack of\nsustained training. There were one or two little things ... I would like\nto talk to him.\"\n\n\"His trousers look like concertinas,\" said Mr Rathbone-Slater. \"He ought\nto be told _that_. It's scarcely decent.\"\n\n\"Can you do Imitations, Mr Angel?\" said Lady Hammergallow.\n\n\"Oh _do_, do some Imitations!\" said Mrs Jehoram. \"I adore Imitations.\"\n\n\"It was a fantastic thing,\" said the Curate of Iping Hanger to the\nVicar of Siddermorton, waving his long indisputably musical hands as he\nspoke; \"a little involved, to my mind. I have heard it before\nsomewhere--I forget where. He has genius undoubtedly, but occasionally\nhe is--loose. There is a certain deadly precision wanting. There are\nyears of discipline yet.\"\n\n\"I _don't_ admire these complicated pieces of music,\" said George\nHarringay. \"I have simple tastes, I'm afraid. There seems to me no\n_tune_ in it. There's nothing I like so much as simple music. Tune,\nsimplicity is the need of the age, in my opinion. We are so over subtle.\nEverything is far-fetched. Home grown thoughts and 'Home, Sweet Home'\nfor me. What do you think?\"\n\n\"Oh! I think so--_quite_,\" said the younger Miss Pirbright.\n\n\"Well, Amy, chattering to George as usual?\" said Mrs Pirbright, across\nthe room.\n\n\"As usual, Ma!\" said the younger Miss Pirbright, glancing round with a\nbright smile at Miss Papaver, and turning again so as not to lose the\nnext utterance from George.\n\n\"I wonder if you and Mr Angel could manage a duet?\" said Lady\nHammergallow to the Curate from Iping Hanger, who was looking\npreternaturally gloomy.\n\n\"I'm sure I should be delighted,\" said the Curate from Iping Hanger,\nbrightening up.\n\n\"Duets!\" said the Angel; \"the two of us. Then he can play. I\nunderstood--the Vicar told me--\"\n\n\"Mr Wilmerdings is an accomplished pianist,\" interrupted the Vicar.\n\n\"But the Imitations?\" said Mrs Jehoram, who detested Wilmerdings.\n\n\"Imitations!\" said the Angel.\n\n\"A pig squeaking, a cock crowing, you know,\" said Mr Rathbone-Slater,\nand added lower, \"Best fun you can get out of a fiddle--_my_ opinion.\"\n\n\"I really don't understand,\" said the Angel. \"A pig crowing!\"\n\n\"You don't like Imitations,\" said Mrs Jehoram. \"Nor do I--really. I\naccept the snub. I think they degrade....\"\n\n\"Perhaps afterwards Mr Angel will Relent,\" said Lady Hammergallow, when\nMrs Pirbright had explained the matter to her. She could scarcely credit\nher ear-trumpet. When she asked for Imitations she was accustomed to get\nImitations.\n\nMr Wilmerdings had seated himself at the piano, and had turned to a\nfamiliar pile of music in the recess. \"What do you think of that\nBarcarole thing of Spohr's?\" he said over his shoulder. \"I suppose you\nknow it?\" The Angel looked bewildered.\n\nHe opened the folio before the Angel.\n\n\"What an odd kind of book!\" said the Angel. \"What do all those crazy\ndots mean?\" (At that the Vicar's blood ran cold.)\n\n\"What dots?\" said the Curate.\n\n\"There!\" said the Angel with incriminating finger.\n\n\"Oh _come_!\" said the Curate.\n\nThere was one of those swift, short silences that mean so much in a\nsocial gathering.\n\nThen the eldest Miss Papaver turned upon the Vicar. \"Does not Mr Angel\nplay from ordinary.... Music--from the ordinary notation?\"\n\n\"I have never heard,\" said the Vicar, getting red now after the first\nshock of horror. \"I have really never seen....\"\n\nThe Angel felt the situation was strained, though what was straining it\nhe could not understand. He became aware of a doubtful, an unfriendly\nlook upon the faces that regarded him. \"Impossible!\" he heard Mrs\nPirbright say; \"after that _beautiful_ music.\" The eldest Miss Papaver\nwent to Lady Hammergallow at once, and began to explain into her\near-trumpet that Mr Angel did not wish to play with Mr Wilmerdings, and\nalleged an ignorance of written music.\n\n\"He cannot play from Notes!\" said Lady Hammergallow in a voice of\nmeasured horror. \"Non--sense!\"\n\n\"Notes!\" said the Angel perplexed. \"Are these notes?\"\n\n\"It's carrying the joke too far--simply because he doesn't want to play\nwith Wilmerdings,\" said Mr Rathbone-Slater to George Harringay.\n\nThere was an expectant pause. The Angel perceived he had to be ashamed\nof himself. He was ashamed of himself.\n\n\"Then,\" said Lady Hammergallow, throwing her head back and speaking with\ndeliberate indignation, as she rustled forward, \"if you cannot play with\nMr Wilmerdings I am afraid I cannot ask you to play again.\" She made it\nsound like an ultimatum. Her glasses in her hand quivered violently with\nindignation. The Angel was now human enough to appreciate the fact that\nhe was crushed.\n\n\"What is it?\" said little Lucy Rustchuck in the further bay.\n\n\"He's refused to play with old Wilmerdings,\" said Tommy Rathbone-Slater.\n\"What a lark! The old girl's purple. She thinks heaps of that ass,\nWilmerdings.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, Mr Wilmerdings, you will favour us with that delicious\nPolonaise of Chopin's,\" said Lady Hammergallow. Everybody else was\nhushed. The indignation of Lady Hammergallow inspired much the same\nsilence as a coming earthquake or an eclipse. Mr Wilmerdings perceived\nhe would be doing a real social service to begin at once, and (be it\nentered to his credit now that his account draws near its settlement) he\ndid.\n\n\"If a man pretend to practise an Art,\" said George Harringay, \"he ought\nat least to have the conscience to study the elements of it. What do\nyou....\"\n\n\"Oh! I think so too,\" said the younger Miss Pirbright.\n\nThe Vicar felt that the heavens had fallen. He sat crumpled up in his\nchair, a shattered man. Lady Hammergallow sat down next to him without\nappearing to see him. She was breathing heavily, but her face was\nterribly calm. Everyone sat down. Was the Angel grossly ignorant or only\ngrossly impertinent? The Angel was vaguely aware of some frightful\noffence, aware that in some mysterious way he had ceased to be the\ncentre of the gathering. He saw reproachful despair in the Vicar's eye.\nHe drifted slowly towards the window in the recess and sat down on the\nlittle octagonal Moorish stool by the side of Mrs Jehoram. And under the\ncircumstances he appreciated at more than its proper value Mrs Jehoram's\nkindly smile. He put down the violin in the window seat.\n\n\n\n\nXXXV.\n\n\nMrs Jehoram and the Angel (apart)--Mr Wilmerdings playing.\n\n\"I have so longed for a quiet word with you,\" said Mrs Jehoram in a low\ntone. \"To tell you how delightful I found your playing.\"\n\n\"I am glad it pleased you,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Pleased is scarcely the word,\" said Mrs Jehoram. \"I was\nmoved--profoundly. These others did not understand.... I was glad you\ndid not play with him.\"\n\nThe Angel looked at the mechanism called Wilmerdings, and felt glad too.\n(The Angelic conception of duets is a kind of conversation upon\nviolins.) But he said nothing.\n\n\"I worship music,\" said Mrs Jehoram. \"I know nothing about it\ntechnically, but there is something in it--a longing, a wish....\"\n\nThe Angel stared at her face. She met his eyes.\n\n\"You understand,\" she said. \"I see you understand.\" He was certainly a\nvery nice boy, sentimentally precocious perhaps, and with deliciously\nliquid eyes.\n\nThere was an interval of Chopin (Op. 40) played with immense precision.\n\nMrs Jehoram had a sweet face still, in shadow, with the light falling\nround her golden hair, and a curious theory flashed across the Angel's\nmind. The perceptible powder only supported his view of something\ninfinitely bright and lovable caught, tarnished, coarsened, coated over.\n\n\"Do you,\" said the Angel in a low tone. \"Are you ... separated from ...\n_your_ world?\"\n\n\"As you are?\" whispered Mrs Jehoram.\n\n\"This is so--cold,\" said the Angel. \"So harsh!\" He meant the whole\nworld.\n\n\"I feel it too,\" said Mrs Jehoram, referring to Siddermorton Home.\n\n\"There are those who cannot live without sympathy,\" she said after a\nsympathetic pause. \"And times when one feels alone in the world.\nFighting a battle against it all. Laughing, flirting, hiding the pain of\nit....\"\n\n\"And hoping,\" said the Angel with a wonderful glance.--\"Yes.\"\n\nMrs Jehoram (who was an epicure of flirtations) felt the Angel was more\nthan redeeming the promise of his appearance. (Indisputably he\nworshipped her.) \"Do _you_ look for sympathy?\" she said. \"Or have you\nfound it?\"\n\n\"I think,\" said the Angel, very softly, leaning forward, \"I think I have\nfound it.\"\n\nInterval of Chopin Op. 40. The very eldest Miss Papaver and Mrs\nPirbright whispering. Lady Hammergallow (glasses up) looking down the\nsaloon with an unfriendly expression at the Angel. Mrs Jehoram and the\nAngel exchanging deep and significant glances.\n\n\"Her name,\" said the Angel (Mrs Jehoram made a movement) \"is Delia. She\nis....\"\n\n\"Delia!\" said Mrs Jehoram sharply, slowly realising a terrible\nmisunderstanding. \"A fanciful name.... Why!... No! Not that little\nhousemaid at the Vicarage--?...\"\n\nThe Polonaise terminated with a flourish. The Angel was quite surprised\nat the change in Mrs Jehoram's expression.\n\n\"_I never_ did!\" said Mrs Jehoram recovering. \"To make me your\nconfidant in an intrigue with a servant. Really Mr Angel it's possible\nto be too original....\"\n\nThen suddenly their colloquy was interrupted.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVI.\n\n\nThis section is (so far as my memory goes) the shortest in the book.\n\nBut the enormity of the offence necessitates the separation of this\nsection from all other sections.\n\nThe Vicar, you must understand, had done his best to inculcate the\nrecognised differentiae of a gentleman. \"Never allow a lady to carry\nanything,\" said the Vicar. \"Say, 'permit me' and relieve her.\" \"Always\nstand until every lady is seated.\" \"Always rise and open a door for a\nlady....\" and so forth. (All men who have elder sisters know that code.)\n\nAnd the Angel (who had failed to relieve Lady Hammergallow of her\nteacup) danced forward with astonishing dexterity (leaving Mrs Jehoram\nin the window seat) and with an elegant \"permit me\" rescued the tea-tray\nfrom Lady Hammergallow's pretty parlour-maid and vanished officiously in\nfront of her. The Vicar rose to his feet with an inarticulate cry.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVII.\n\n\n\"He's drunk!\" said Mr Rathbone-Slater, breaking a terrific silence.\n\"That's the matter with _him_.\"\n\nMrs Jehoram laughed hysterically.\n\nThe Vicar stood up, motionless, staring. \"Oh! I _forgot_ to explain\nservants to him!\" said the Vicar to himself in a swift outbreak of\nremorse. \"I thought he _did_ understand servants.\"\n\n\"Really, Mr Hilyer!\" said Lady Hammergallow, evidently exercising\nenormous self-control and speaking in panting spasms. \"Really, Mr\nHilyer!--Your genius is _too_ terrible. I must, I really _must_, ask you\nto take him home.\"\n\nSo to the dialogue in the corridor of alarmed maid-servant and\nwell-meaning (but shockingly _gauche_) Angel--appears the Vicar, his\nbotryoidal little face crimson, gaunt despair in his eyes, and his\nnecktie under his left ear.\n\n\"Come,\" he said--struggling with emotion. \"Come away.... I.... I am\ndisgraced for ever.\"\n\nAnd the Angel stared for a second at him and obeyed--meekly, perceiving\nhimself in the presence of unknown but evidently terrible forces.\n\nAnd so began and ended the Angel's social career.\n\nIn the informal indignation meeting that followed, Lady Hammergallow\ntook the (informal) chair. \"I feel humiliated,\" she said. \"The Vicar\nassured me he was an exquisite player. I never imagined....\"\n\n\"He was drunk,\" said Mr Rathbone-Slater. \"You could tell it from the way\nhe fumbled with his tea.\"\n\n\"Such a _fiasco_!\" said Mrs Mergle.\n\n\"The Vicar assured me,\" said Lady Hammergallow. \"'The man I have staying\nwith me is a musical genius,' he said. His very words.\"\n\n\"His ears must be burning anyhow,\" said Tommy Rathbone-Slater.\n\n\"I was trying to keep him Quiet,\" said Mrs Jehoram. \"By humouring him.\nAnd do you know the things he said to me--there!\"\n\n\"The thing he played,\" said Mr Wilmerdings,\"--I must confess I did not\nlike to charge him to his face. But really! It was merely _drifting_.\"\n\n\"Just fooling with a fiddle, eigh?\" said George Harringay. \"Well I\nthought it was beyond me. So much of your fine music is--\"\n\n\"Oh, _George_!\" said the younger Miss Pirbright.\n\n\"The Vicar was a bit on too--to judge by his tie,\" said Mr\nRathbone-Slater. \"It's a dashed rummy go. Did you notice how he fussed\nafter the genius?\"\n\n\"One has to be so very careful,\" said the very eldest Miss Papaver.\n\n\"He told me he is in love with the Vicar's housemaid!\" said Mrs Jehoram.\n\"I almost laughed in his face.\"\n\n\"The Vicar ought _never_ to have brought him here,\" said Mrs\nRathbone-Slater with decision.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TROUBLE OF THE BARBED WIRE.\n\nXXXVIII.\n\n\nSo, ingloriously, ended the Angel's first and last appearance in\nSociety. Vicar and Angel returned to the Vicarage; crestfallen black\nfigures in the bright sunlight, going dejectedly. The Angel, deeply\npained that the Vicar was pained. The Vicar, dishevelled and desperate,\nintercalating spasmodic remorse and apprehension with broken\nexplanations of the Theory of Etiquette. \"They do _not_ understand,\"\nsaid the Vicar over and over again. \"They will all be so very much\naggrieved. I do not know what to say to them. It is all so confused, so\nperplexing.\" And at the gate of the Vicarage, at the very spot where\nDelia had first seemed beautiful, stood Horrocks the village constable,\nawaiting them. He held coiled up about his hand certain short lengths of\nbarbed wire.\n\n\"Good evening, Horrocks,\" said the Vicar as the constable held the gate\nopen.\n\n\"Evenin', Sir,\" said Horrocks, and added in a kind of mysterious\nundertone, \"_Could_ I speak to you a minute, Sir?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the Vicar. The Angel walked on thoughtfully to the\nhouse, and meeting Delia in the hall stopped her and cross-examined her\nat length over differences between Servants and Ladies.\n\n\"You'll excuse my taking the liberty, Sir,\" said Horrocks, \"but there's\ntrouble brewin' for that crippled gent you got stayin' here.\"\n\n\"Bless me!\" said the Vicar. \"You don't say so!\"\n\n\"Sir John Gotch, Sir. He's very angry indeed, Sir. His language,\nSir----. But I felt bound to tell you, Sir. He's certain set on taking\nout a summons on account of that there barbed wire. Certain set, Sir, he\nis.\"\n\n\"Sir John Gotch!\" said the Vicar. \"Wire! I don't understand.\"\n\n\"He asked me to find out who did it. Course I've had to do my duty, Sir.\nNaturally a disagreeable one.\"\n\n\"Barbed wire! Duty! I don't understand you, Horrocks.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid, Sir, there's no denying the evidence. I've made careful\nenquiries, Sir.\" And forthwith the constable began telling the Vicar of\na new and terrible outrage committed by the Angelic visitor.\n\nBut we need not follow that explanation in detail--or the subsequent\nconfession. (For my own part I think there is nothing more tedious than\ndialogue). It gave the Vicar a new view of the Angelic character, a\nvignette of the Angelic indignation. A shady lane, sun-mottled, sweet\nhedges full of honeysuckle and vetch on either side, and a little girl\ngathering flowers, forgetful of the barbed wire which, all along the\nSidderford Road, fenced in the dignity of Sir John Gotch from \"bounders\"\nand the detested \"million.\" Then suddenly a gashed hand, a bitter\noutcry, and the Angel sympathetic, comforting, inquisitive. Explanations\nsob-set, and then--altogether novel phenomenon in the Angelic\ncareer--_passion_. A furious onslaught upon the barbed wire of Sir John\nGotch, barbed wire recklessly handled, slashed, bent and broken. Yet\nthe Angel acted without personal malice--saw in the thing only an ugly\nand vicious plant that trailed insidiously among its fellows. Finally\nthe Angel's explanations gave the Vicar a picture of the Angel alone\namidst his destruction, trembling and amazed at the sudden force, not\nhimself, that had sprung up within him, and set him striking and\ncutting. Amazed, too, at the crimson blood that trickled down his\nfingers.\n\n\"It is still more horrible,\" said the Angel when the Vicar explained the\nartificial nature of the thing. \"If I had seen the man who put this\nsilly-cruel stuff there to hurt little children, I know I should have\ntried to inflict pain upon him. I have never felt like this before. I am\nindeed becoming tainted and  altogether by the wickedness of\nthis world.\"\n\n\"To think, too, that you men should be so foolish as to uphold the laws\nthat let a man do such spiteful things. Yes--I know; you will say it has\nto be so. For some remoter reason. That is a thing that only makes me\nangrier. Why cannot an act rest on its own merits?... As it does in the\nAngelic Land.\"\n\nThat was the incident the history of which the Vicar now gradually\nlearnt, getting the bare outline from Horrocks, the colour and emotion\nsubsequently from the Angel. The thing had happened the day before the\nmusical festival at Siddermorton House.\n\n\"Have you told Sir John who did it?\" asked the Vicar. \"And are you\nsure?\"\n\n\"Quite sure, Sir. There can be no doubting it was your gentleman, Sir.\nI've not told Sir John yet, Sir. But I shall have to tell Sir John this\nevening. Meaning no offence to you, Sir, as I hopes you'll see. It's my\nduty, Sir. Besides which--\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said the Vicar, hastily. \"Certainly it's your duty. And\nwhat will Sir John do?\"\n\n\"He's dreadful set against the person who did it--destroying property\nlike that--and sort of slapping his arrangements in the face.\"\n\nPause. Horrocks made a movement. The Vicar, tie almost at the back of\nhis neck now, a most unusual thing for him, stared blankly at his toes.\n\n\"I thought I'd tell you, Sir,\" said Horrocks.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Vicar. \"Thanks, Horrocks, thanks!\" He scratched the\nback of his head. \"You might perhaps ... I think it's the best way ...\nQuite sure Mr Angel did it?\"\n\n\"Sherlock 'Omes, Sir, couldn't be cocksurer.\"\n\n\"Then I'd better give you a little note to the Squire.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXXIX.\n\n\nThe Vicar's table-talk at dinner that night, after the Angel had stated\nhis case, was full of grim explanations, prisons, madness.\n\n\"It's too late to tell the truth about you now,\" said the Vicar.\n\"Besides, that's impossible. I really do not know what to say. We must\nface our circumstances, I suppose. I am so undecided--so torn. It's the\ntwo worlds. If your Angelic world were only a dream, or if _this_ world\nwere only a dream--or if I could believe either or both dreams, it would\nbe all right with me. But here is a real Angel and a real summons--how\nto reconcile them I do not know. I must talk to Gotch.... But he won't\nunderstand. Nobody will understand....\"\n\n\"I am putting you to terrible inconvenience, I am afraid. My appalling\nunworldliness--\"\n\n\"It's not you,\" said the Vicar. \"It's not you. I perceive you have\nbrought something strange and beautiful into my life. It's not you.\nIt's myself. If I had more faith either way. If I could believe entirely\nin this world, and call you an Abnormal Phenomenon, as Crump does. But\nno. Terrestrial Angelic, Angelic Terrestrial.... See-Saw.\"\n\n\"Still, Gotch is certain to be disagreeable, _most_ disagreeable. He\nalways is. It puts me into his hands. He is a bad moral influence, I\nknow. Drinking. Gambling. Worse. Still, one must render unto Caesar the\nthings that are Caesar's. And he is against Disestablishment....\"\n\nThen the Vicar would revert to the social collapse of the afternoon.\n\"You are so very fundamental, you know,\" he said--several times.\n\nThe Angel went to his own room puzzled but very depressed. Every day the\nworld had frowned darker upon him and his angelic ways. He could see how\nthe trouble affected the Vicar, yet he could not imagine how he could\navert it. It was all so strange and unreasonable. Twice again, too, he\nhad been pelted out of the village.\n\nHe found the violin lying on his bed where he had laid it before\ndinner. And taking it up he began to play to comfort himself. But now he\nplayed no delicious vision of the Angelic Land. The iron of the world\nwas entering into his soul. For a week now he had known pain and\nrejection, suspicion and hatred; a strange new spirit of revolt was\ngrowing up in his heart. He played a melody, still sweet and tender as\nthose of the Angelic Land, but charged with a new note, the note of\nhuman sorrow and effort, now swelling into something like defiance,\ndying now into a plaintive sadness. He played softly, playing to himself\nto comfort himself, but the Vicar heard, and all his finite bothers were\nswallowed up in a hazy melancholy, a melancholy that was quite remote\nfrom sorrow. And besides the Vicar, the Angel had another hearer of whom\nneither Angel nor Vicar was thinking.\n\n\n\n\nDELIA.\n\nXL.\n\n\nShe was only four or five yards away from the Angel in the westward\ngable. The diamond-paned window of her little white room was open. She\nknelt on her box of japanned tin, and rested her chin on her hands, her\nelbows on the window-sill. The young moon hung over the pine trees, and\nits light, cool and colourless, lay softly upon the silent-sleeping\nworld. Its light fell upon her white face, and discovered new depths in\nher dreaming eyes. Her soft lips fell apart and showed the little white\nteeth.\n\nDelia was thinking, vaguely, wonderfully, as girls will think. It was\nfeeling rather than thinking; clouds of beautiful translucent emotion\ndrove across the clear sky of her mind, taking shape that changed and\nvanished. She had all that wonderful emotional tenderness, that subtle\nexquisite desire for self-sacrifice, which exists so inexplicably in a\ngirl's heart, exists it seems only to be presently trampled under foot\nby the grim and gross humours of daily life, to be ploughed in again\nroughly and remorselessly, as the farmer ploughs in the clover that has\nsprung up in the soil. She had been looking out at the tranquillity of\nthe moonlight long before the Angel began to play,--waiting; then\nsuddenly the quiet, motionless beauty of silver and shadow was suffused\nwith tender music.\n\nShe did not move, but her lips closed and her eyes grew even softer. She\nhad been thinking before of the strange glory that had suddenly flashed\nout about the stooping hunchback when he spoke to her in the sunset; of\nthat and of a dozen other glances, chance turns, even once the touching\nof her hand. That afternoon he had spoken to her, asking strange\nquestions. Now the music seemed to bring his very face before her, his\nlook of half curious solicitude, peering into her face, into her eyes,\ninto her and through her, deep down into her soul. He seemed now to be\nspeaking directly to her, telling her of his solitude and trouble. Oh!\nthat regret, that longing! For he was in trouble. And how could a\nservant-girl help him, this soft-spoken gentleman who carried himself so\nkindly, who played so sweetly. The music was so sweet and keen, it came\nso near to the thought of her heart, that presently one hand tightened\non the other, and the tears came streaming down her face.\n\nAs Crump would tell you, people do not do that kind of thing unless\nthere is something wrong with the nervous system. But then, from the\nscientific point of view, being in love is a pathological condition.\n\n\nI am painfully aware of the objectionable nature of my story here. I\nhave even thought of wilfully perverting the truth to propitiate the\nLady Reader. But I could not. The story has been too much for me. I do\nthe thing with my eyes open. Delia must remain what she really was--a\nservant girl. I know that to give a mere servant girl, or at least an\nEnglish servant girl, the refined feelings of a human being, to present\nher as speaking with anything but an intolerable confusion of aspirates,\nplaces me outside the pale of respectable writers. Association with\nservants, even in thought, is dangerous in these days. I can only plead\n(pleading vainly, I know), that Delia was a very exceptional servant\ngirl. Possibly, if one enquired, it might be found that her parentage\nwas upper middle-class--that she was made of the finer upper\nmiddle-class clay. And (this perhaps may avail me better) I will promise\nthat in some future work I will redress the balance, and the patient\nreader shall have the recognised article, enormous feet and hands,\nsystematic aspiration of vowels and elimination of aspirates, no figure\n(only middle-class girls have figures--the thing is beyond a\nservant-girl's means), a fringe (by agreement), and a cheerful readiness\nto dispose of her self-respect for half-a-crown. That is the accepted\nEnglish servant, the typical English woman (when stripped of money and\naccomplishments) as she appears in the works of contemporary writers.\nBut Delia somehow was different. I can only regret the circumstance--it\nwas altogether beyond my control.\n\n\n\n\nDOCTOR CRUMP ACTS.\n\nXLI.\n\n\nEarly the next morning the Angel went down through the village, and\nclimbing the fence, waded through the waist-high reeds that fringe the\nSidder. He was going to Bandram Bay to take a nearer view of the sea,\nwhich one could just see on a clear day from the higher parts of\nSiddermorton Park. And suddenly he came upon Crump sitting on a log and\nsmoking. (Crump always smoked exactly two ounces per week--and he always\nsmoked it in the open air.)\n\n\"Hullo!\" said Crump, in his healthiest tone. \"How's the wing?\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the Angel. \"The pain's gone.\"\n\n\"I suppose you know you are trespassing?\"\n\n\"Trespassing!\" said the Angel.\n\n\"I suppose you don't know what that means,\" said Crump.\n\n\"I don't,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"I must congratulate you. I don't know how long you will last, but you\nare keeping it up remarkably well. I thought at first you were a\nmattoid, but you're so amazingly consistent. Your attitude of entire\nignorance of the elementary facts of Life is really a very amusing pose.\nYou make slips of course, but very few. But surely we two understand one\nanother.\"\n\nHe smiled at the Angel. \"You would beat Sherlock Holmes. I wonder who\nyou really are.\"\n\nThe Angel smiled back, with eyebrows raised and hands extended. \"It's\nimpossible for you to know who I am. Your eyes are blind, your ears\ndeaf, your soul dark, to all that is wonderful about me. It's no good my\ntelling that I fell into your world.\"\n\nThe Doctor waved his pipe. \"Not that, please. I don't want to pry if you\nhave your reasons for keeping quiet. Only I would like you to think of\nHilyer's mental health. He really believes this story.\"\n\nThe Angel shrugged his dwindling wings.\n\n\"You did not know him before this affair. He's changed tremendously. He\nused to be neat and comfortable. For the last fortnight he's been hazy,\nwith a far-away look in his eyes. He preached last Sunday without his\ncuff links, and something wrong with his tie, and he took for his text,\n'Eye hath not seen nor ear heard.' He really believes all this nonsense\nabout the Angel-land. The man is verging on monomania!\"\n\n\"You _will_ see things from your own standpoint,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Everyone must. At any rate, I think it jolly regrettable to see this\npoor old fellow hypnotized, as you certainly have hypnotized him. I\ndon't know where you come from nor who you are, but I warn you I'm not\ngoing to see the old boy made a fool of much longer.\"\n\n\"But he's not being made a fool of. He's simply beginning to dream of a\nworld outside his knowledge----\"\n\n\"It won't do,\" said Crump. \"I'm not one of the dupe class. You are\neither of two things--a lunatic at large (which I don't believe), or a\nknave. Nothing else is possible. I think I know a little of this world,\nwhatever I do of yours. Very well. If you don't leave Hilyer alone I\nshall communicate with the police, and either clap you into a prison, if\nyou go back on your story, or into a madhouse if you don't. It's\nstretching a point, but I swear I'd certify you insane to-morrow to get\nyou out of the village. It's not only the Vicar. As you know. I hope\nthat's plain. Now what have you to say?\"\n\nWith an affectation of great calm, the Doctor took out his penknife and\nbegan to dig the blade into his pipe bowl. His pipe had gone out during\nthis last speech.\n\nFor a moment neither spoke. The Angel looked about him with a face that\ngrew pale. The Doctor extracted a plug of tobacco from his pipe and\nflung it away, shut his penknife and put it in his waistcoat pocket. He\nhad not meant to speak quite so emphatically, but speech always warmed\nhim.\n\n\"Prison,\" said the Angel. \"Madhouse! Let me see.\" Then he remembered\nthe Vicar's explanation. \"Not that!\" he said. He approached Crump with\neyes dilated and hands outstretched.\n\n\"I knew _you_ would know what those things meant--at any rate. Sit\ndown,\" said Crump, indicating the tree trunk beside him by a movement of\nthe head.\n\nThe Angel, shivering, sat down on the tree trunk and stared at the\nDoctor.\n\nCrump was getting out his pouch. \"You are a strange man,\" said the\nAngel. \"Your beliefs are like--a steel trap.\"\n\n\"They are,\" said Crump--flattered.\n\n\"But I tell you--I assure you the thing is so--I know nothing, or at\nleast remember nothing of anything I knew of this world before I found\nmyself in the darkness of night on the moorland above Sidderford.\"\n\n\"Where did you learn the language then?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Only I tell you--But I haven't an atom of the sort of\nproof that would convince you.\"\n\n\"And you really,\" said Crump, suddenly coming round upon him and\nlooking into his eyes; \"You really believe you were eternally in a kind\nof glorious heaven before then?\"\n\n\"I do,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Pshaw!\" said Crump, and lit his pipe. He sat smoking, elbow on knee,\nfor some time, and the Angel sat and watched him. Then his face grew\nless troubled.\n\n\"It is just possible,\" he said to himself rather than to the Angel, and\nbegan another piece of silence.\n\n\"You see;\" he said, when that was finished. \"There is such a thing as\ndouble personality.... A man sometimes forgets who he is and thinks he\nis someone else. Leaves home, friends, and everything, and leads a\ndouble life. There was a case in _Nature_ only a month or so ago. The\nman was sometimes English and right-handed, and sometimes Welsh and\nleft-handed. When he was English he knew no Welsh, when he was Welsh he\nknew no English.... H'm.\"\n\nHe turned suddenly on the Angel and said \"Home!\" He fancied he might\nrevive in the Angel some latent memory of his lost youth. He went on\n\"Dadda, Pappa, Daddy, Mammy, Pappy, Father, Dad, Governor, Old Boy,\nMother, dear Mother, Ma, Mumsy.... No good? What are you laughing at?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said the Angel. \"You surprised me a little,--that is all. A\nweek ago I should have been puzzled by that vocabulary.\"\n\nFor a minute Crump rebuked the Angel silently out of the corner of his\neye.\n\n\"You have such an ingenuous face. You almost force me to believe you.\nYou are certainly not an ordinary lunatic. Your mind--except for your\nisolation from the past--seems balanced enough. I wish Nordau or\nLombroso or some of these _Saltpetriere_ men could have a look at you.\nDown here one gets no practice worth speaking about in mental cases.\nThere's one idiot--and he's just a damned idiot of an idiot--; all the\nrest are thoroughly sane people.\"\n\n\"Possibly that accounts for their behaviour,\" said the Angel\nthoughtfully.\n\n\"But to consider your general position here,\" said Crump, ignoring his\ncomment, \"I really regard you as a bad influence here. These fancies\nare contagious. It is not simply the Vicar. There is a man named Shine\nhas caught the fad, and he has been in the drink for a week, off and on,\nand offering to fight anyone who says you are not an Angel. Then a man\nover at Sidderford is, I hear, affected with a kind of religious mania\non the same tack. These things spread. There ought to be a quarantine in\nmischievous ideas. And I have heard another story....\"\n\n\"But what can I do?\" said the Angel. \"Suppose I am (quite\nunintentionally) doing mischief....\"\n\n\"You can leave the village,\" said Crump.\n\n\"Then I shall only go into another village.\"\n\n\"That's not my affair,\" said Crump. \"Go where you like. Only go. Leave\nthese three people, the Vicar, Shine, the little servant girl, whose\nheads are all spinning with galaxies of Angels....\"\n\n\"But,\" said the Angel. \"Face your world! I tell you I can't. And leave\nDelia! I don't understand.... I do not know how to set about getting\nWork and Food and Shelter. And I am growing afraid of human beings....\"\n\n\"Fancies, fancies,\" said Crump, watching him, \"mania.\"\n\n\"It's no good my persisting in worrying you,\" he said suddenly, \"but\ncertainly the situation is impossible as it stands.\" He stood up with a\njerk.\n\n\"Good-morning, Mr--Angel,\" he said, \"the long and the short of it is--I\nsay it as the medical adviser of this parish--you are an unhealthy\ninfluence. We can't have you. You must go.\"\n\nHe turned, and went striding through the grass towards the roadway,\nleaving the Angel sitting disconsolately on the tree trunk. \"An\nunhealthy influence,\" said the Angel slowly, staring blankly in front of\nhim, and trying to realise what it meant.\n\n\n\n\nSIR JOHN GOTCH ACTS.\n\nXLII.\n\n\nSir John Gotch was a little man with scrubby hair, a small, thin nose\nsticking out of a face crackled with wrinkles, tight brown gaiters, and\na riding whip. \"I've come, you see,\" he said, as Mrs Hinijer closed the\ndoor.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the Vicar, \"I'm obliged to you. I'm really obliged to\nyou.\"\n\n\"Glad to be of any service to you,\" said Sir John Gotch. (Angular\nattitude.)\n\n\"This business,\" said the Vicar, \"this unfortunate business of the\nbarbed wire--is really, you know, a most unfortunate business.\"\n\nSir John Gotch became decidedly more angular in his attitude. \"It is,\"\nhe said.\n\n\"This Mr Angel being my guest--\"\n\n\"No reason why he should cut my wire,\" said Sir John Gotch, briefly.\n\n\"None whatever.\"\n\n\"May I ask _who_ this Mr Angel is?\" asked Sir John Gotch with the\nabruptness of long premeditation.\n\nThe Vicar's fingers jumped to his chin. What _was_ the good of talking\nto a man like Sir John Gotch about Angels?\n\n\"To tell you the exact truth,\" said the Vicar, \"there is a little\nsecret--\"\n\n\"Lady Hammergallow told me as much.\"\n\nThe Vicar's face suddenly became bright red.\n\n\"Do you know,\" said Sir John, with scarcely a pause, \"he's been going\nabout this village preaching Socialism?\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" said the Vicar, \"_No!_\"\n\n\"He has. He has been buttonholing every yokel he came across, and asking\nthem why they had to work, while we--I and you, you know--did nothing.\nHe has been saying we ought to educate every man up to your level and\nmine--out of the rates, I suppose, as usual. He has been suggesting that\nwe--I and you, you know--keep these people down--pith 'em.\"\n\n\"_Dear_ me!\" said the Vicar, \"I had no idea.\"\n\n\"He has done this wire-cutting as a demonstration, I tell you, as a\nSocialistic demonstration. If we don't come down on him pretty sharply,\nI tell you, we shall have the palings down in Flinders Lane next, and\nthe next thing will be ricks afire, and every damned (I beg your pardon,\nVicar. I know I'm too fond of that word), every blessed pheasant's egg\nin the parish smashed. I know these--\"\n\n\"A Socialist,\" said the Vicar, quite put out, \"I had _no_ idea.\"\n\n\"You see why I am inclined to push matters against our gentleman though\nhe _is_ your guest. It seems to me he has been taking advantage of your\npaternal--\"\n\n\"Oh, _not_ paternal!\" said the Vicar. \"Really--\"\n\n\"(I beg your pardon, Vicar--it was a slip.) Of your kindness, to go\nmischief-making everywhere, setting class against class, and the poor\nman against his bread and butter.\"\n\nThe Vicar's fingers were at his chin again.\n\n\"So there's one of two things,\" said Sir John Gotch. \"Either that Guest\nof yours leaves the parish, or--I take proceedings. That's final.\"\n\nThe Vicar's mouth was all askew.\n\n\"That's the position,\" said Sir John, jumping to his feet, \"if it were\nnot for you, I should take proceedings at once. As it is--am I to take\nproceedings or no?\"\n\n\"You see,\" said the Vicar in horrible perplexity.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Arrangements have to be made.\"\n\n\"He's a mischief-making idler.... I know the breed. But I'll give you a\nweek----\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the Vicar. \"I understand your position. I perceive the\nsituation is getting intolerable....\"\n\n\"Sorry to give you this bother, of course,\" said Sir John.\n\n\"A week,\" said the Vicar.\n\n\"A week,\" said Sir John, leaving.\n\n\nThe Vicar returned, after accompanying Gotch out, and for a long time he\nremained sitting before the desk in his study, plunged in thought. \"A\nweek!\" he said, after an immense silence. \"Here is an Angel, a glorious\nAngel, who has quickened my soul to beauty and delight, who has opened\nmy eyes to Wonderland, and something more than Wonderland, ... and I\nhave promised to get rid of him in a week! What are we men made of?...\nHow _can_ I tell him?\"\n\nHe began to walk up and down the room, then he went into the\ndining-room, and stood staring blankly out at the cornfield. The table\nwas already laid for lunch. Presently he turned, still dreaming, and\nalmost mechanically helped himself to a glass of sherry.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEA CLIFF.\n\nXLIII.\n\n\nThe Angel lay upon the summit of the cliff above Bandram Bay, and stared\nout at the glittering sea. Sheer from under his elbows fell the cliff,\nfive hundred and seven feet of it down to the datum line, and the\nsea-birds eddied and soared below him. The upper part of the cliff was a\ngreenish chalky rock, the lower two-thirds a warm red, marbled with\ngypsum bands, and from half-a-dozen places spurted jets of water, to\nfall in long cascades down its face. The swell frothed white on the\nflinty beach, and the water beyond where the shadows of an outstanding\nrock lay, was green and purple in a thousand tints and marked with\nstreaks and flakes of foam. The air was full of sunlight and the\ntinkling of the little waterfalls and the slow soughing of the seas\nbelow. Now and then a butterfly flickered over the face of the cliff,\nand a multitude of sea birds perched and flew hither and thither.\n\nThe Angel lay with his crippled, shrivelled wings humped upon his back,\nwatching the gulls and jackdaws and rooks, circling in the sunlight,\nsoaring, eddying, sweeping down to the water or upward into the dazzling\nblue of the sky. Long the Angel lay there and watched them going to and\nfro on outspread wings. He watched, and as he watched them he remembered\nwith infinite longing the rivers of starlight and the sweetness of the\nland from which he came. And a gull came gliding overhead, swiftly and\neasily, with its broad wings spreading white and fair against the blue.\nAnd suddenly a shadow came into the Angel's eyes, the sunlight left\nthem, he thought of his own crippled pinions, and put his face upon his\narm and wept.\n\nA woman who was walking along the footpath across the Cliff Field saw\nonly a twisted hunchback dressed in the Vicar of Siddermorton's cast-off\nclothes, sprawling foolishly at the edge of the cliff and with his\nforehead on his arm. She looked at him and looked again. \"The silly\ncreature has gone to sleep,\" she said, and though she had a heavy basket\nto carry, came towards him with an idea of waking him up. But as she\ndrew near she saw his shoulders heave and heard the sound of his\nsobbing.\n\nShe stood still a minute, and her features twitched into a kind of grin.\nThen treading softly she turned and went back towards the pathway. \"'Tis\nso hard to think of anything to say,\" she said. \"Poor afflicted soul!\"\n\nPresently the Angel ceased sobbing, and stared with a tear-stained face\nat the beach below him.\n\n\"This world,\" he said, \"wraps me round and swallows me up. My wings grow\nshrivelled and useless. Soon I shall be nothing more than a crippled\nman, and I shall age, and bow myself to pain, and die.... I am\nmiserable. And I am alone.\"\n\nThen he rested his chin on his hands upon the edge of the cliff, and\nbegan to think of Delia's face with the light in her eyes. The Angel\nfelt a curious desire to go to her and tell her of his withered wings.\nTo place his arms about her and weep for the land he had lost. \"Delia!\"\nhe said to himself very softly. And presently a cloud drove in front of\nthe sun.\n\n\n\n\nMRS HINIJER ACTS.\n\nXLIV.\n\n\nMrs Hinijer surprised the Vicar by tapping at his study door after tea.\n\"Begging your pardon, Sir,\" said Mrs Hinijer. \"But might I make so bold\nas to speak to you for a moment?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Mrs Hinijer,\" said the Vicar, little dreaming of the blow\nthat was coming. He held a letter in his hand, a very strange and\ndisagreeable letter from his bishop, a letter that irritated and\ndistressed him, criticising in the strongest language the guests he\nchose to entertain in his own house. Only a popular bishop living in a\ndemocratic age, a bishop who was still half a pedagogue, could have\nwritten such a letter.\n\nMrs Hinijer coughed behind her hand and struggled with some respiratory\ndisorganisation. The Vicar felt apprehensive. Usually in their\ninterviews he was the most disconcerted. Invariably so when the\ninterview ended.\n\n\"Well?\" he said.\n\n\"May I make so bold, sir, as to arst when Mr Angel is a-going?\" (Cough.)\n\nThe Vicar started. \"To ask when Mr Angel is going?\" he repeated slowly\nto gain time. \"_Another!_\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, sir. But I've been used to waitin' on gentlefolks, sir; and\nyou'd hardly imagine how it feels quite to wait on such as 'im.\"\n\n\"Such as ... _'im_! Do I understand you, Mrs Hinijer, that you don't\nlike Mr Angel?\"\n\n\"You see, sir, before I came to you, sir, I was at Lord Dundoller's\nseventeen years, and you, sir--if you will excuse me--are a perfect\ngentleman yourself, sir--though in the Church. And then....\"\n\n\"Dear, dear!\" said the Vicar. \"And don't you regard Mr Angel as a\ngentleman?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry to 'ave to say it, sir.\"\n\n\"But what...? Dear me! Surely!\"\n\n\"I'm sorry to 'ave to say it, sir. But when a party goes turning\nvegetarian suddenly and putting out all the cooking, and hasn't no\nproper luggage of his own, and borry's shirts and socks from his 'ost,\nand don't know no better than to try his knife at peas (as I seed my\nvery self), and goes talking in odd corners to the housemaids, and folds\nup his napkin after meals, and eats with his fingers at minced veal, and\nplays the fiddle in the middle of the night keeping everybody awake, and\nstares and grins at his elders a-getting upstairs, and generally\nmisconducts himself with things that I can scarcely tell you all, one\ncan't help thinking, sir. Thought is free, sir, and one can't help\ncoming to one's own conclusions. Besides which, there is talk all over\nthe village about him--what with one thing and another. I know a\ngentleman when I sees a gentleman, and I know a gentleman when I don't\nsee a gentleman, and me, and Susan, and George, we've talked it over,\nbeing the upper servants, so to speak, and experienced, and leaving out\nthat girl Delia, who I only hope won't come to any harm through him, and\ndepend upon it, sir, that Mr Angel ain't what you think he is, sir, and\nthe sooner he leaves this house the better.\"\n\nMrs Hinijer ceased abruptly and stood panting but stern, and with her\neyes grimly fixed on the Vicar's face.\n\n\"_Really_, Mrs Hinijer!\" said the Vicar, and then, \"Oh _Lord_!\"\n\n\"What _have_ I done?\" said the Vicar, suddenly starting up and appealing\nto the inexorable fates. \"What HAVE I done?\"\n\n\"There's no knowing,\" said Mrs Hinijer. \"Though a deal of talk in the\nvillage.\"\n\n\"_Bother!_\" said the Vicar, going and staring out of the window. Then he\nturned. \"Look here, Mrs Hinijer! Mr Angel will be leaving this house in\nthe course of a week. Is that enough?\"\n\n\"Quite,\" said Mrs Hinijer. \"And I feel sure, sir....\"\n\nThe Vicar's eyes fell with unwonted eloquence upon the door.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ANGEL IN TROUBLE.\n\nXLV.\n\n\n\"The fact is,\" said the Vicar, \"this is no world for Angels.\"\n\nThe blinds had not been drawn, and the twilight outer world under an\novercast sky seemed unspeakably grey and cold. The Angel sat at table in\ndejected silence. His inevitable departure had been proclaimed. Since\nhis presence hurt people and made the Vicar wretched he acquiesced in\nthe justice of the decision, but what would happen to him after his\nplunge he could not imagine. Something very disagreeable certainly.\n\n\"There is the violin,\" said the Vicar. \"Only after our experience----\"\n\n\"I must get you clothes--a general outfit.---- Dear me! you don't\nunderstand railway travelling! And coinage! Taking lodgings!\nEating-houses!---- I must come up at least and see you settled. Get work\nfor you. But an Angel in London! Working for his living! That grey cold\nwilderness of people! What _will_ become of you?---- If I had one friend\nin the world I could trust to believe me!\"\n\n\"I ought not to be sending you away----\"\n\n\"Do not trouble overmuch for me, my friend,\" said the Angel. \"At least\nthis life of yours ends. And there are things in it. There is something\nin this life of yours---- Your care for me! I thought there was nothing\nbeautiful at all in life----\"\n\n\"And I have betrayed you!\" said the Vicar, with a sudden wave of\nremorse. \"Why did I not face them all--say, 'This is the best of life'?\nWhat do these everyday things matter?\"\n\nHe stopped suddenly. \"What _do_ they matter?\" he said.\n\n\"I have only come into your life to trouble it,\" said the Angel.\n\n\"Don't say that,\" said the Vicar. \"You have come into my life to awaken\nme. I have been dreaming--dreaming. Dreaming this was necessary and\nthat. Dreaming that this narrow prison was the world. And the dream\nstill hangs about me and troubles me. That is all. Even your\ndeparture----. Am I not dreaming that you must go?\"\n\nWhen he was in bed that night the mystical aspect of the case came still\nmore forcibly before the Vicar. He lay awake and had the most horrible\nvisions of his sweet and delicate visitor drifting through this\nunsympathetic world and happening upon the cruellest misadventures. His\nguest _was_ an Angel assuredly. He tried to go over the whole story of\nthe past eight days again. He thought of the hot afternoon, the shot\nfired out of sheer surprise, the fluttering iridescent wings, the\nbeautiful saffron-robed figure upon the ground. How wonderful that had\nseemed to him! Then his mind turned to the things he had heard of the\nother world, to the dreams the violin had conjured up, to the vague,\nfluctuating, wonderful cities of the Angelic Land. He tried to recall\nthe forms of the buildings, the shapes of the fruits upon the trees, the\naspect of the winged shapes that traversed its ways. They grew from a\nmemory into a present reality, grew every moment just a little more\nvivid and his troubles a little less immediate; and so, softly and\nquietly, the Vicar slipped out of his troubles and perplexities into the\nLand of Dreams.\n\n\n\n\nXLVI.\n\n\nDelia sat with her window open, hoping to hear the Angel play. But that\nnight there was to be no playing. The sky was overcast, yet not so\nthickly but that the moon was visible. High up a broken cloud-lace drove\nacross the sky, and now the moon was a hazy patch of light, and now it\nwas darkened, and now rode clear and bright and sharply outlined against\nthe blue gulf of night. And presently she heard the door into the garden\nopening, and a figure came out under the drifting pallor of the\nmoonlight.\n\nIt was the Angel. But he wore once more the saffron robe in the place of\nhis formless overcoat. In the uncertain light this garment had only a\ncolourless shimmer, and his wings behind him seemed a leaden grey. He\nbegan taking short runs, flapping his wings and leaping, going to and\nfro amidst the drifting patches of light and the shadows of the trees.\nDelia watched him in amazement. He gave a despondent cry, leaping\nhigher. His shrivelled wings flashed and fell. A thicker patch in the\ncloud-film made everything obscure. He seemed to spring five or six feet\nfrom the ground and fall clumsily. She saw him in the dimness crouching\non the ground and then she heard him sobbing.\n\n\"He's hurt!\" said Delia, pressing her lips together hard and staring. \"I\nought to help him.\"\n\nShe hesitated, then stood up and flitted swiftly towards the door, went\nslipping quietly downstairs and out into the moonlight. The Angel still\nlay upon the lawn, and sobbed for utter wretchedness.\n\n\"Oh! what is the matter?\" said Delia, stooping over him and touching his\nhead timidly.\n\nThe Angel ceased sobbing, sat up abruptly, and stared at her. He saw her\nface, moonlit, and soft with pity. \"What is the matter?\" she whispered.\n\"Are you hurt?\"\n\nThe Angel stared about him, and his eyes came to rest on her face.\n\"Delia!\" he whispered.\n\n\"Are you hurt?\" said Delia.\n\n\"My wings,\" said the Angel. \"I cannot use my wings.\"\n\nDelia did not understand, but she realised that it was something very\ndreadful. \"It is dark, it is cold,\" whispered the Angel; \"I cannot use\nmy wings.\"\n\nIt hurt her unaccountably to see the tears on his face. She did not know\nwhat to do.\n\n\"Pity me, Delia,\" said the Angel, suddenly extending his arms towards\nher; \"pity me.\"\n\nImpulsively she knelt down and took his face between her hands. \"I do\nnot know,\" she said; \"but I am sorry. I am sorry for you, with all my\nheart.\"\n\nThe Angel said not a word. He was looking at her little face in the\nbright moonlight, with an expression of uncomprehending wonder in his\neyes. \"This strange world!\" he said.\n\nShe suddenly withdrew her hands. A cloud drove over the moon. \"What can\nI do to help you?\" she whispered. \"I would do anything to help you.\"\n\nHe still held her at arm's length, perplexity replacing misery in his\nface. \"This strange world!\" he repeated.\n\nBoth whispered, she kneeling, he sitting, in the fluctuating moonlight\nand darkness of the lawn.\n\n\n\"Delia!\" said Mrs Hinijer, suddenly projecting from her window; \"Delia,\nis that you?\"\n\nThey both looked up at her in consternation.\n\n\"Come in at once, Delia,\" said Mrs Hinijer. \"If that Mr Angel was a\ngentleman (which he isn't), he'd feel ashamed of hisself. And you an\norphan too!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAST DAY OF THE VISIT.\n\nXLVII.\n\n\nOn the morning of the next day the Angel, after he had breakfasted, went\nout towards the moor, and Mrs Hinijer had an interview with the Vicar.\nWhat happened need not concern us now. The Vicar was visibly\ndisconcerted. \"He _must_ go,\" he said; \"certainly he must go,\" and\nstraightway he forgot the particular accusation in the general trouble.\nHe spent the morning in hazy meditation, interspersed by a spasmodic\nstudy of Skiff and Waterlow's price list, and the catalogue of the\nMedical, Scholastic, and Clerical Stores. A schedule grew slowly on a\nsheet of paper that lay on the desk before him. He cut out a\nself-measurement form from the tailoring department of the Stores and\npinned it to the study curtains. This was the kind of document he was\nmaking:\n\n\"_1 Black Melton Frock Coat, patts? L3, 10s._\n\n\"_? Trousers. 2 pairs or one._\n\n\"_1 Cheviot Tweed Suit (write for patterns. Self-meas.?)_\"\n\nThe Vicar spent some time studying a pleasing array of model gentlemen.\nThey were all very nice-looking, but he found it hard to imagine the\nAngel so transfigured. For, although six days had passed, the Angel\nremained without any suit of his own. The Vicar had vacillated between a\nproject of driving the Angel into Portbroddock and getting him measured\nfor a suit, and his absolute horror of the insinuating manners of the\ntailor he employed. He knew that tailor would demand an exhaustive\nexplanation. Besides which, one never knew when the Angel might leave.\nSo the six days had passed, and the Angel had grown steadily in the\nwisdom of this world and shrouded his brightness still in the ample\nretirement of the Vicar's newest clothes.\n\n\"_1 Soft Felt Hat, No. G. 7 (say), 8s 6d._\n\n\"_1 Silk Hat, 14s 6d. Hatbox?_\"\n\n(\"I suppose he ought to have a silk hat,\" said the Vicar; \"it's the\ncorrect thing up there. Shape No. 3 seems best suited to his style. But\nit's dreadful to think of him all alone in that great city. Everyone\nwill misunderstand him, and he will misunderstand everybody. However, I\nsuppose it _must_ be. Where was I?)\"\n\n\"_1 Toothbrush. 1 Brush and Comb. Razor?_\n\n\"_1/2 doz. Shirts (? measure his neck), 6s ea._\n\n\"_Socks? Pants?_\n\n\"_2 suits Pyjamas. Price? Say 15s._\n\n\"_1 doz. Collars ('The Life Guardsman'), 8s._\n\n\"_Braces. Oxon Patent Versatile, 1s 111/2d._\"\n\n(\"But how will he get them on?\" said the Vicar.)\n\n\"_1 Rubber Stamp, T. Angel, and Marking Ink in box complete, 9d._\n\n(\"Those washerwomen are certain to steal all his things.\")\n\n\"_1 Single-bladed Penknife with Corkscrew, say 1s 6d._\n\n\"_N.B.--Don't forget Cuff Links, Collar Stud, &c._\" (The Vicar loved\n\"&c.\", it gave things such a precise and business-like air.)\n\n\"_1 Leather Portmanteau (had better see these)._\"\n\nAnd so forth--meanderingly. It kept the Vicar busy until lunch time,\nthough his heart ached.\n\nThe Angel did not return to lunch. This was not so very remarkable--once\nbefore he had missed the midday meal. Yet, considering how short was the\ntime they would have together now, he might perhaps have come back.\nDoubtless he had excellent reasons, though, for his absence. The Vicar\nmade an indifferent lunch. In the afternoon he rested in his usual\nmanner, and did a little more to the list of requirements. He did not\nbegin to feel nervous about the Angel till tea-time. He waited, perhaps,\nhalf an hour before he took tea. \"Odd,\" said the Vicar, feeling still\nmore lonely as he drank his tea.\n\nAs the time for dinner crept on and no Angel appeared the Vicar's\nimagination began to trouble him. \"He will come in to dinner, surely,\"\nsaid the Vicar, caressing his chin, and beginning to fret about the\nhouse upon inconsiderable errands, as his habit was when anything\noccurred to break his routine. The sun set, a gorgeous spectacle, amidst\ntumbled masses of purple cloud. The gold and red faded into twilight;\nthe evening star gathered her robe of light together from out the\nbrightness of the sky in the West. Breaking the silence of evening that\ncrept over the outer world, a corncrake began his whirring chant. The\nVicar's face grew troubled; twice he went and stared at the darkening\nhillside, and then fretted back to the house again. Mrs Hinijer served\ndinner. \"Your dinner's ready,\" she announced for the second time, with a\nreproachful intonation. \"Yes, yes,\" said the Vicar, fussing off\nupstairs.\n\nHe came down and went into his study and lit his reading lamp, a patent\naffair with an incandescent wick, dropping the match into his\nwaste-paper basket without stopping to see if it was extinguished. Then\nhe fretted into the dining-room and began a desultory attack on the\ncooling dinner....\n\n(Dear Reader, the time is almost ripe to say farewell to this little\nVicar of ours.)\n\n\n\n\nXLVIII.\n\n\nSir John Gotch (still smarting over the business of the barbed wire) was\nriding along one of the grassy ways through the preserves by the Sidder,\nwhen he saw, strolling slowly through the trees beyond the undergrowth,\nthe one particular human being he did not want to see.\n\n\"I'm damned,\" said Sir John Gotch, with immense emphasis; \"if this isn't\naltogether too much.\"\n\nHe raised himself in the stirrups. \"Hi!\" he shouted. \"You there!\"\n\nThe Angel turned smiling.\n\n\"Get out of this wood!\" said Sir John Gotch.\n\n\"_Why?_\" said the Angel.\n\n\"I'm ------,\" said Sir John Gotch, meditating some cataclysmal\nexpletive. But he could think of nothing more than \"damned.\" \"Get out of\nthis wood,\" he said.\n\nThe Angel's smile vanished. \"Why should I get out of this wood?\" he\nsaid, and stood still.\n\nNeither spoke for a full half minute perhaps, and then Sir John Gotch\ndropped out of his saddle and stood by the horse.\n\n(Now you must remember--lest the Angelic Hosts be discredited\nhereby--that this Angel had been breathing the poisonous air of this\nStruggle for Existence of ours for more than a week. It was not only his\nwings and the brightness of his face that suffered. He had eaten and\nslept and learnt the lesson of pain--had travelled so far on the road to\nhumanity. All the length of his Visit he had been meeting more and more\nof the harshness and conflict of this world, and losing touch with the\nglorious altitudes of his own.)\n\n\"You won't go, eigh!\" said Gotch, and began to lead his horse through\nthe bushes towards the Angel. The Angel stood, all his muscles tight and\nhis nerves quivering, watching his antagonist approach.\n\n\"Get out of this wood,\" said Gotch, stopping three yards away, his face\nwhite with rage, his bridle in one hand and his riding whip in the\nother.\n\nStrange floods of emotion were running through the Angel. \"Who are\nyou,\" he said, in a low quivering voice; \"who am I--that you should\norder me out of this place? What has the World done that men like\nyou....\"\n\n\"You're the fool who cut my barbed wire,\" said Gotch, threatening, \"If\nyou want to know!\"\n\n\"_Your_ barbed wire,\" said the Angel. \"Was that your barbed wire? Are\nyou the man who put down that barbed wire? What right have you....\"\n\n\"Don't you go talking Socialist rot,\" said Gotch in short gasps. \"This\nwood's mine, and I've a right to protect it how I can. I know your kind\nof muck. Talking rot and stirring up discontent. And if you don't get\nout of it jolly sharp....\"\n\n\"_Well!_\" said the Angel, a brimming reservoir of unaccountable energy.\n\n\"Get out of this damned wood!\" said Gotch, flashing into the bully out\nof sheer alarm at the light in the Angel's face.\n\nHe made one step towards him, with the whip raised, and then something\nhappened that neither he nor the Angel properly understood. The Angel\nseemed to leap into the air, a pair of grey wings flashed out at the\nSquire, he saw a face bearing down upon him, full of the wild beauty of\npassionate anger. His riding whip was torn out of his hand. His horse\nreared behind him, pulled him over, gained his bridle and fled.\n\nThe whip cut across his face as he fell back, stung across his face\nagain as he sat on the ground. He saw the Angel, radiant with anger, in\nthe act to strike again. Gotch flung up his hands, pitched himself\nforward to save his eyes, and rolled on the ground under the pitiless\nfury of the blows that rained down upon him.\n\n\"You brute,\" cried the Angel, striking wherever he saw flesh to feel.\n\"You bestial thing of pride and lies! You who have overshadowed the\nsouls of other men. You shallow fool with your horses and dogs! To lift\nyour face against any living thing! Learn! Learn! Learn!\"\n\nGotch began screaming for help. Twice he tried to clamber to his feet,\ngot to his knees, and went headlong again under the ferocious anger of\nthe Angel. Presently he made a strange noise in his throat, and ceased\neven to writhe under his punishment.\n\nThen suddenly the Angel awakened from his wrath, and found himself\nstanding, panting and trembling, one foot on a motionless figure, under\nthe green stillness of the sunlit woods.\n\nHe stared about him, then down at his feet where, among the tangled dead\nleaves, the hair was matted with blood. The whip dropped from his hands,\nthe hot colour fled from his face. \"_Pain!_\" he said. \"Why does he lie\nso still?\"\n\nHe took his foot off Gotch's shoulder, bent down towards the prostrate\nfigure, stood listening, knelt--shook him. \"Awake!\" said the Angel. Then\nstill more softly, \"_Awake!_\"\n\nHe remained listening some minutes or more, stood up sharply, and looked\nround him at the silent trees. A feeling of profound horror descended\nupon him, wrapped him round about. With an abrupt gesture he turned.\n\"What has happened to me?\" he said, in an awe-stricken whisper.\n\nHe started back from the motionless figure. \"_Dead!_\" he said suddenly,\nand turning, panic stricken, fled headlong through the wood.\n\n\n\n\nXLIX.\n\n\nIt was some minutes after the footsteps of the Angel had died away in\nthe distance that Gotch raised himself on his hand. \"By Jove!\" he said.\n\"Crump's right.\"\n\n\"Cut at the head, too!\"\n\nHe put his hand to his face and felt the two weals running across it,\nhot and fat. \"I'll think twice before I lift my hand against a lunatic\nagain,\" said Sir John Gotch.\n\n\"He may be a person of weak intellect, but I'm damned if he hasn't a\npretty strong arm. _Phew!_ He's cut a bit clean off the top of my ear\nwith that infernal lash.\"\n\n\"That infernal horse will go galloping to the house in the approved\ndramatic style. Little Madam'll be scared out of her wits. And I ... I\nshall have to explain how it all happened. While she vivisects me with\nquestions.\n\n\"I'm a jolly good mind to have spring guns and man-traps put in this\npreserve. Confound the Law!\"\n\n\n\n\nL.\n\n\nBut the Angel, thinking that Gotch was dead, went wandering off in a\npassion of remorse and fear through the brakes and copses along the\nSidder. You can scarcely imagine how appalled he was at this last and\noverwhelming proof of his encroaching humanity. All the darkness,\npassion and pain of life seemed closing in upon him, inexorably,\nbecoming part of him, chaining him to all that a week ago he had found\nstrange and pitiful in men.\n\n\"Truly, this is no world for an Angel!\" said the Angel. \"It is a World\nof War, a World of Pain, a World of Death. Anger comes upon one ... I\nwho knew not pain and anger, stand here with blood stains on my hands. I\nhave fallen. To come into this world is to fall. One must hunger and\nthirst and be tormented with a thousand desires. One must fight for\nfoothold, be angry and strike----\"\n\nHe lifted up his hands to Heaven, the ultimate bitterness of helpless\nremorse in his face, and then flung them down with a gesture of despair.\nThe prison walls of this narrow passionate life seemed creeping in upon\nhim, certainly and steadily, to crush him presently altogether. He felt\nwhat all we poor mortals have to feel sooner or later--the pitiless\nforce of the Things that Must Be, not only without us but (where the\nreal trouble lies) within, all the inevitable tormenting of one's high\nresolves, those inevitable seasons when the better self is forgotten.\nBut with us it is a gentle descent, made by imperceptible degrees over a\nlong space of years; with him it was the horrible discovery of one short\nweek. He felt he was being crippled, caked over, blinded, stupefied in\nthe wrappings of this life, he felt as a man might feel who has taken\nsome horrible poison, and feels destruction spreading within him.\n\nHe took no account of hunger or fatigue or the flight of time. On and on\nhe went, avoiding houses and roads, turning away from the sight and\nsound of a human being in a wordless desperate argument with Fate. His\nthoughts did not flow but stood banked back in inarticulate\nremonstrance against his degradation. Chance directed his footsteps\nhomeward and, at last, after nightfall, he found himself faint and weary\nand wretched, stumbling along over the moor at the back of Siddermorton.\nHe heard the rats run and squeal in the heather, and once a noiseless\nbig bird came out of the darkness, passed, and vanished again. And he\nsaw without noticing it a dull red glow in the sky before him.\n\n\n\n\nLI.\n\n\nBut when he came over the brow of the moor, a vivid light sprang up\nbefore him and refused to be ignored. He came on down the hill and\nspeedily saw more distinctly what the glare was. It came from darting\nand trembling tongues of fire, golden and red, that shot from the\nwindows and a hole in the roof of the Vicarage. A cluster of black\nheads, all the village in fact, except the fire-brigade--who were down\nat Aylmer's Cottage trying to find the key of the machine-house--came\nout in silhouette against the blaze. There was a roaring sound, and a\nhumming of voices, and presently a furious outcry. There was a shouting\nof \"No! No!\"--\"Come back!\" and an inarticulate roar.\n\nHe began to run towards the burning house. He stumbled and almost fell,\nbut he ran on. He found black figures running about him. The flaring\nfire blew gustily this way and that, and he smelt the smell of burning.\n\n\"She went in,\" said one voice, \"she went in.\"\n\n\"The mad girl!\" said another.\n\n\"Stand back! Stand back!\" cried others.\n\nHe found himself thrusting through an excited, swaying crowd, all\nstaring at the flames, and with the red reflection in their eyes.\n\n\"Stand back!\" said a labourer, clutching him.\n\n\"What is it?\" said the Angel. \"What does this mean?\"\n\n\"There's a girl in the house, and she can't get out!\"\n\n\"Went in after a fiddle,\" said another.\n\n\"'Tas hopeless,\" he heard someone else say.\n\n\"I was standing near her. I heerd her. Says she: 'I _can_ get his\nfiddle.' I heerd her--Just like that! 'I _can_ get his fiddle.'\"\n\nFor a moment the Angel stood staring. Then in a flash he saw it all, saw\nthis grim little world of battle and cruelty, transfigured in a\nsplendour that outshone the Angelic Land, suffused suddenly and\ninsupportably glorious with the wonderful light of Love and\nSelf-Sacrifice. He gave a strange cry, and before anyone could stop\nhim, was running towards the burning building. There were cries of \"The\nHunchback! The Fowener!\"\n\nThe Vicar, whose scalded hand was being tied up, turned his head, and he\nand Crump saw the Angel, a black outline against the intense, red glare\nof the doorway. It was the sensation of the tenth of a second, yet both\nmen could not have remembered that transitory attitude more vividly had\nit been a picture they had studied for hours together. Then the Angel\nwas hidden by something massive (no one knew what) that fell,\nincandescent, across the doorway.\n\n\n\n\nLII.\n\n\nThere was a cry of \"Delia\" and no more. But suddenly the flames spurted\nout in a blinding glare that shot upward to an immense height, a\nblinding brilliance broken by a thousand flickering gleams like the\nwaving of swords. And a gust of sparks, flashing in a thousand colours,\nwhirled up and vanished. Just then, and for a moment by some strange\naccident, a rush of music, like the swell of an organ, wove into the\nroaring of the flames.\n\nThe whole village standing in black knots heard the sound, except Gaffer\nSiddons who is deaf--strange and beautiful it was, and then gone again.\nLumpy Durgan, the idiot boy from Sidderford, said it began and ended\nlike the opening and shutting of a door.\n\nBut little Hetty Penzance had a pretty fancy of two figures with wings,\nthat flashed up and vanished among the flames.\n\n(And after that it was she began to pine for the things she saw in her\ndreams, and was abstracted and strange. It grieved her mother sorely at\nthe time. She grew fragile, as though she was fading out of the world,\nand her eyes had a strange, far-away look. She talked of angels and\nrainbow colours and golden wings, and was for ever singing an unmeaning\nfragment of an air that nobody knew. Until Crump took her in hand and\ncured her with fattening dietary, syrup of hypophosphites and cod liver\noil.)\n\n\n\n\nTHE EPILOGUE.\n\n\nAnd there the story of the Wonderful Visit ends. The Epilogue is in the\nmouth of Mrs Mendham. There stand two little white crosses in the\nSiddermorton churchyard, near together, where the brambles come\nclambering over the stone wall. One is inscribed Thomas Angel and the\nother Delia Hardy, and the dates of the deaths are the same. Really\nthere is nothing beneath them but the ashes of the Vicar's stuffed\nostrich. (You will remember the Vicar had his ornithological side.) I\nnoticed them when Mrs Mendham was showing me the new De la Beche\nmonument. (Mendham has been Vicar since Hilyer died.) \"The granite came\nfrom somewhere in Scotland,\" said Mrs Mendham, \"and cost ever so much--I\nforget how much--but a wonderful lot! It's quite the talk of the\nvillage.\"\n\n\"Mother,\" said Cissie Mendham, \"you are stepping on a grave.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Mrs Mendham, \"How heedless of me! And the <DW36>'s\ngrave too. But really you've no idea how much this monument cost them.\"\n\n\"These two people, by the bye,\" said Mrs Mendham, \"were killed when the\nold Vicarage was burnt. It's rather a strange story. He was a curious\nperson, a hunchbacked fiddler, who came from nobody knows where, and\nimposed upon the late Vicar to a frightful extent. He played in a\npretentious way by ear, and we found out afterwards that he did not know\na note of music--not a note. He was exposed before quite a lot of\npeople. Among other things, he seems to have been 'carrying on,' as\npeople say, with one of the servants, a sly little drab.... But Mendham\nhad better tell you all about it. The man was half-witted and curiously\ndeformed. It's strange the fancies girls have.\"\n\nShe looked sharply at Cissie, and Cissie blushed to the eyes.\n\n\"She was left in the house and he rushed into the flames in an attempt\nto save her. Quite romantic--isn't it? He was rather clever with the\nfiddle in his uneducated way.\n\n\"All the poor Vicar's stuffed skins were burned at the same time. It was\nalmost all he cared for. He never really got over the blow. He came to\nstop with us--for there wasn't another house available in the village.\nBut he never seemed happy. He seemed all shaken. I never saw a man so\nchanged. I tried to stir him up, but it was no good--no good at all. He\nhad the queerest delusions about angels and that kind of thing. It made\nhim odd company at times. He would say he heard music, and stare quite\nstupidly at nothing for hours together. He got quite careless about his\ndress.... He died within a twelvemonth of the fire.\"\n\nTHE END.\n\nTURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Wonderful Visit, by Herbert George Wells\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Keith Edkins,\nsome images courtesy of The Internet Archive and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nBIRDS.\n\nILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.\n\n\n\nVOL. III. APRIL, 1898. NO. 4.\n\n\n\nAVIARIES.\n\n\n\n\nAN admirer of birds recently said to us: \"Much is said of the brilliant\nspecimens which you have presented in your magazine, but I confess that\nthey have not been the most attractive to me. Many birds of no special\nbeauty of plumage seem to me far more interesting than those which have\nlittle more than bright colors and a pretty song to recommend them to the\nobserver.\" He did not particularize, but a little reflection will readily\naccount for the justness of his opinion. Many plain birds have\ncharacteristics which indicate considerable intelligence, and may be\nwatched and studied with continued and increasing interest. To get\nsufficiently near to them in their native haunts for this purpose is seldom\npracticable, hence the limited knowledge of individual naturalists, who are\noften mere generalizers, and the necessity of the accumulated knowledge of\nmany patient students. In an aviary of sufficient size, in which there is\nlittle or no interference with the natural habits of the birds, a vast\nnumber of interesting facts may be obtained, and the birds themselves\nsuffer no harm, but are rather protected from it. Such an aviary is that of\nMr. J. W. Sefton, of San Diego, California. In a recent letter Mrs. Sefton\npleasantly writes of it for the benefit of readers of BIRDS. She says:\n\n\"My aviary is out in the grounds of our home. It is built almost entirely\nof wire, protected only on the north and west by an open shed, under which\nthe birds sleep, build their nests and gather during the rains which we\noccasionally have throughout the winter months. The building is forty feet\nlong, twenty feet wide, and at the center of the arch is seventeen feet\nhigh. Running water trickles over rocks, affording the birds the\nopportunity of bathing as they desire. There are forty-seven varieties of\nbirds and about four hundred specimens. The varieties include a great many\nwhose pictures have appeared in BIRDS: Quail, Partridge, Doves, Skylarks,\nStarlings, Bobolinks, Robins, Blackbirds, Buntings, Grosbeaks, Blue\nMountain Lory, Cockateel, Rosellas, Grass Parrakeet, Java Sparrows,\nCanaries, Nonpariels, Nightingales, Cardinals of North and South America,\nand a large number of rare foreign Finches, indeed nearly every country of\nthe world has a representative in the aviary.\n\n\"We have hollow trees in which the birds of the Parrot family set up\nhousekeeping. They lay their eggs on the bottom of the hole, make no\npretention of building a nest, and sit three weeks. The young birds are\nnearly as large as the parents, and are fully feathered and  when\nthey crawl out of the home nest. We have been very successful, raising two\nbroods of Cockateel and one of Rosellas last season. They lay from four to\nsix round white eggs. We have a number of Bob White and California Quail.\nLast season one pair of Bob Whites decided to go to housekeeping in some\nbrush in a corner, and the hen laid twenty-three eggs, while another pair\nmade their nest in the opposite corner and the hen laid nine eggs. After\nsitting two weeks the hen with the nine eggs abandoned her nest, when the\nmale took her place upon the eggs, only leaving them for food and water,\nand finally brought out six babies, two days after the other hen hatched\ntwenty-three little ones. For six days the six followed the lone cock\naround the aviary, when three of them left him and went over to the others.\nA few days later another little fellow abandoned him and took up with a\nCalifornia Quail hen. The next day the poor fellow was alone, every chick\nhaving deserted him. The last little one remained with his adopted mother\nover two weeks, but at last he too went with the crowd. These birds seemed\njust as happy as though they were unconfined to the limits of an aviary.\n\n\"We have had this aviary over two years and have raised a large number of\nbirds. All are healthy and happy, although they are out in the open both\nday and night all the year round. Many persons, observant of the happiness\nand security of our family of birds, have brought us their pets for\nsafe-keeping, being unwilling, after seeing the freedom which our birds\nenjoy, to keep them longer confined in small cages.\n\n\"Around the fountain are calla lillies, flags, and other growing plants,\nsmall trees are scattered about, and the merry whistles and sweet songs\ntestify to the perfect contentment of this happy family.\"\n\nYes, these birds are happy in _such_ confinement. They are actually\ndeprived of nothing but the opportunity to migrate. They have abundance of\nfood, are protected from predatory animals, Hawks, conscienceless hunters,\nsmall boys, and nature herself, who destroys more of them than all other\ninstrumentalities combined. Under the snow lie the bodies of hundreds of\nfrozen birds whenever the winter has seemed unkind. A walk in the park,\njust after the thaw in early March, revealed to us the remorselessness of\nwinter. They have no defense against the icy blast of a severe season. And\nyet, how many escape its ruthlessness. On the first day of March we saw a\nwhite-breasted Sparrow standing on the crust of snow by the roadside. When\nwe came up close to it it flew a few yards and alighted. As we again\napproached, thinking to catch it, and extending our hand for the purpose,\nit flew farther away, on apparently feeble wing. It was in need of food.\nThe whole earth seemed covered with snow, and where food might be found was\nthe problem the poor Sparrow was no doubt considering.\n\nYes, the birds are happy when nature is bountiful. And they are none the\nless happy when man provides for them with humane tenderness. For two years\nwe devoted a large room--which we never thought of calling an aviary--to\nthe exclusive use of a beautiful pair of Hartz mountain Canaries. In that\nshort time they increased to the number of more than three dozen. All were\nhealthy; many of them sang with ecstacy, especially when the sun shone\nbrightly; in the warmth of the sun they would lie with wings raised and\nseem to fairly revel in it; they would bathe once every day, sometimes\ntwice, and, like the English Sparrows and the barnyard fowl, they would\nwallow in dry sand provided for them; they would recognize a call note and\nbecome attentive to its meaning, take a seed from the hand or the lips,\nderive infinite pleasure from any vegetable food of which they had long\nbeen deprived; if a Sparrow Hawk, which they seemed to see instantly,\nappeared at a great height they hastily took refuge in the darkest corner\nof the room, venturing to the windows only after all danger seemed past; at\nthe first glimmering of dawn they twittered, preened, and sang a prodigious\nwelcome to the morn, and as the evening shades began to appear they became\nas silent as midnight and put their little heads away under their delicate\nyellow wings.\n\nCHARLES C. MARBLE.\n\n\n----\n\nFOREIGN SONG BIRDS IN OREGON.\n\n----\n\nIN 1889 and 1892 the German Song Bird Society of Oregon introduced there\n400 pairs of the following species of German song birds, to-wit: Song\nThrushes, Black Thrushes, Skylarks, Woodlarks, Goldfinches, Chaffinches,\nZiskins, Greenfinches, Bullfinches, Grossbeaks, Black Starlings, Robin\nRedbreasts, Linnets, Singing Quails, Goldhammers, Linnets, Forest Finches,\nand the plain and black headed Nightingales. The funds for defraying the\ncost of importation and other incidental expenses, and for the keeping of\nthe birds through the winter, were subscribed by the citizens of Portland\nand other localities in Oregon. To import the first lot cost about $1,400.\nAfter the birds were received they were placed on exhibition at the\nExposition building for some days, and about $400 was realized, which was\napplied toward the expense. Subsequently all the birds, with the exception\nof the Sky and Wood Larks, were liberated near the City Park. The latter\nbirds were turned loose about the fields in the Willamette Valley.\n\nWhen the second invoice of birds arrived it was late in the season, and Mr.\nFrank Dekum caused a very large aviary to be built near his residence where\nall the sweet little strangers were safely housed and cared for during the\nwinter. The birds were all liberated early in April. Up to that time\n(Spring of 1893) the total cost of importing the birds amounted to $2,100.\n\nSince these birds were given their liberty the most encouraging results\nhave followed. It is generally believed that the two varieties of\nNightingales have become extinct, as few survived the long trip and none\nhave since been seen. All the other varieties have multiplied with great\nrapidity. This is true especially of the Skylarks. These birds rear from\ntwo to four broods every season. Hundreds of them are seen in the fields\nand meadows in and about East Portland, and their sweet songs are a source\nof delight to every one. About Rooster Rock, twenty-five miles east of\nPortland on the Columbia, great numbers are to be seen. In fact the whole\nWillamette Valley from Portland to Roseburg is full of them, probably not\nas plentiful as the Ring-neck Pheasant but plentiful enough for all\npractical purposes. In and about the city these sweet little songsters are\nin considerable abundance. A number of the Black Starling make their homes\nabout the high school building. The Woodlarks are also in evidence to a\npleasing extent.\n\nThere is a special State law in force for the protection of these imported\nbirds. They are all friends of the farmer, especially of the orchardists.\nThey are the tireless and unremitting enemy of every species of bug and\nworm infesting vegetables, crops, fruit, etc.--S. H. GREENE, in _Forest and\nStream_.\n\n\n----\n\nBIRD SONGS OF MEMORY.\n\n----\n\n  Oh, surpassing all expression by the rhythmic use of words,\n  Are the memories that gather of the singing of the birds;\n  When as a child I listened to the Whipporwill at dark,\n  And with the dawn awakened to the music of the lark.\n\n  Then what a chorus wonderful when morning had begun!\n  The very leaves it seemed to me were singing to the sun,\n  And calling on the world asleep to waken and behold\n  The king in glory coming forth along his path of gold.\n\n  The crimson-fronted Linnet sang above the river's edge;\n  The Finches from the evergreens, the Thrushes in the hedge;\n  Each one as if a dozen songs were chorused in his own,\n  And all the world were listening to him and him alone.\n\n  In gladness sang the Bobolink upon ascending wing,\n  With cheering voice the bird of blue, the pioneer of spring;\n  The Oriole upon the elm with martial note and clear,\n  While Martins twittered gaily by the cottage window near.\n\n  Among the orchard trees were heard the Robin and the Wren,\n  And the army of the Blackbirds along the marshy fen;\n  The songsters in the meadow, and the Quail upon the wheat,\n  And the Warbler's minor music, made the symphony complete.\n\n  Beyond the towering chimneyd walls that daily meet my eyes\n  I hold a vision beautiful, beneath the summer skies;\n  Within the city's grim confines, above the roaring street,\n  The _happy birds of memory_ are singing clear and sweet.\n                              --GARRETT NEWKIRK.\n\n\n[Illustration: OVEN BIRD.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE OVENBIRD.\n\n----\n\nNOW and then an observer has the somewhat rare pleasure of seeing this\nWarbler (a trifle smaller than the English Sparrow) as he scratches away,\nfowl fashion, for his food. He has more than one name, and is generally\nknown as the Golden-crowned Thrush, which name, it seems to us, is an\nappropriate one, for by any one acquainted with the Thrush family he would\nat once be recognized as of the genus. He has still other names, as the\nTeacher, Wood Wagtail, and Golden-crowned Accentor.\n\nThis warbler is found nearly all over the United States, hence all the\nAmerican readers of BIRDS should be able to make its personal acquaintance.\n\nMr. Ridgway, in \"Birds of Illinois,\" a book which should be especially\nvalued by the citizens of that state, has given so delightful an account of\nthe habits of the Golden-crown, that we may be forgiven for using a part of\nit. He declares that it is one of the most generally distributed and\nnumerous birds of eastern North America, that it is almost certain to be\nfound in any piece of woodland, if not too wet, and its frequently repeated\nsong, which, in his opinion, is not musical, or otherwise particularly\nattractive, but very sharp, clear, and emphatic, is often, especially\nduring noonday in midsummer, the only bird note to be heard.\n\nYou will generally see the Ovenbird upon the ground walking gracefully over\nthe dead leaves, or upon an old log, making occasional halts, during which\nits body is tilted daintily up and down. Its ordinary note, a rather faint\nbut sharp _chip_, is prolonged into a chatter when one is chased by\nanother. The usual song is very clear and penetrating, but not musical, and\nis well expressed by Burroughs as sounding like the words _Teacher,\nteacher, teacher, teacher, teacher!_ the accent on the first syllable, and\neach word uttered with increased force. Mr. Burroughs adds, however, that\nit has a far rarer song, which it reserves for some nymph whom it meets in\nthe air. Mounting by easy flights to the top of the tallest tree, it\nlaunches into the air with a sort of suspended, hovering flight, and bursts\ninto a perfect ecstacy of song, rivaling the Gold Finch's in vivacity and\nthe Linnet's in melody. Thus do observers differ. To many, no doubt, it is\none of the least disagreeable of noises. Col. Goss is a very enthusiastic\nadmirer of the song of this Warbler. Hear him: \"Reader, if you wish to hear\nthis birds' love song in its fullest power, visit the deep woods in the\nearly summer, as the shades of night deepen and most of the diurnal birds\nhave retired, for it is then its lively, resonant voice falls upon the air\nunbroken, save by the silvery flute-like song of the Wood Thrush; and if\nyour heart does not thrill with pleasure, it is dead to harmonious sounds.\"\nWhat more has been said in prose of the song of the English Nightingale?\n\nThe nests of the Golden Crown are placed on the ground, usually in a\ndepression among leaves, and hidden in a low bush, log, or overhanging\nroots; when in an open space roofed over, a dome-shaped structure made of\nleaves, strippings from plants and grasses, with entrance on the side. The\neggs are from three to six, white or creamy white, glossy, spotted as a\nrule rather sparingly over the surface. In shape it is like a Dutch oven,\nhence the name of the bird.\n\n\n----\n\nARCTIC THREE-TOED WOODPECKER.\n\n----\n\nWell, here I am, one of those \"three-toed fellows,\" as the Red-bellied\nWoodpecker called me in the February number of BIRDS. It is remarkable how\nimpolite some folks can be, and how anxious they are to talk about their\nneighbors.\n\nI don't deny I have only three toes, but why he should crow over the fact\nof having four mystifies me. I can run up a tree, zig-zag fashion, just as\nfast as he can, and play hide-and-seek around the trunk and among the\nbranches, too. Another toe wouldn't do me a bit of good. In fact it would\nbe in my way; a superfluity, so to speak.\n\nIn the eyes of those people who like red caps, and red clothes, I may not\nbe as handsome as some other Woodpeckers whose pictures you have seen, but\nto my eye, the black coat I wear, and the white vest, and square,\nsaffron-yellow cap are just as handsome. The Ivory-billed Woodpeckers, who\nsent their pictures to BIRDS in the March number, were funny looking\ncreatures, _I_ think, though they were dressed in such gay colors. The\nfeathers sticking out at the back of the heads made them look very comical,\njust like a boy who had forgotten to comb his hair. Still they were spoken\nof as \"magnificent\" birds. Dear, dear, there is no accounting for tastes.\n\nCan I beat the drum with my bill, as the four-toed Woodpeckers do? Of\ncourse I can. Some time if you little folks are in a school building in the\nnorthern part of the United States, near a pine woods among the mountains,\na building with a nice tin water-pipe descending from the roof, you may\nhear me give such a rattling roll on the pipe that any sleepy scholar, or\nteacher, for that matter, will wake right up. Woodpeckers are not always\ndrumming for worms, let me tell you. Once in awhile we think a little music\nwould be very agreeable, so with our chisel-like bills for drum-sticks we\npound away on anything which we think will make a nice noise.\n\n\n[Illustration: AMERICAN THREE-TOED WOODPECKER.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE ARCTIC THREE-TOED WOODPECKER.\n\n----\n\nA GENERAL similarity of appearance is seen in the members of this family of\nuseful birds, and yet the dissimilarity in plumage is so marked in each\nspecies that identification is easy from a picture once seen in BIRDS. This\nWoodpecker is a resident of the north and is rarely, if ever, seen south of\nthe Great Lakes, although it is recorded that a specimen was seen on a\ntelegraph pole in Chicago a few years ago.\n\nThe Black-backed Three-toed Woodpecker--the common name of the Arctic--has\nan extended distribution from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and from the\nnorthern boundary of the United States northward to the Arctic regions. Its\nfavorite haunts are pine woods of mountainous country. In some portions of\nnorthern New England it is a rare summer resident. Audubon says that it\noccurs in northern Massachusetts, and in all portions of Maine covered by\ntall trees, where it resides. It has been found as far south as northern\nNew York, and it is said to be a not uncommon resident in those parts of\nLewis county, New York, which pertain to the Canadian fauna; for it is\nfound both in the Adirondack region and in the coniferous forests in the\nTug Hill range. In the vicinity of Lake Tahoe and the summits of the Sierra\nNevada it is quite numerous in September at and above six thousand feet. It\nis common in the mountains of Oregon and is a rare winter visitant to the\nextreme northern portion of Illinois.\n\nObservation of the habits of this Woodpecker is necessarily limited, as the\nbird is not often seen within the regions where it might be studied. Enough\nis known on the subject, however, to enable us to say that they are similar\nto those of the Woodpeckers of the states. They excavate their holes in the\ndead young pine trees at a height from the ground of five or six feet, in\nthis respect differing from their cousins, who make their nests at a much\ngreater height. In the nests are deposited from four to six pure\nivory-white eggs.\n\nWe suggest that the reader, if he has not already done so, read the\nbiographies and study the pictures of the representatives of this family\nthat have appeared in this magazine. To us they are interesting and\ninstructive beyond comparison, with the majority of other feathered factors\nin creation, and present an exceedingly attractive study to those who\ndelight in natural history. They are not singing birds, and therefore do\nnot \"furnish forth music to enraptured ears,\" but their agreeable call and\nlove notes, their tenor drum-beats, their fearless presence near the\nhabitations of man, winter and summer, their usefulness to man in the\ndestruction of insect pests, their comparative harmlessness (for they\ncannot be denied subsistence), all prove that they should be ever welcome\ncompanions of him who was given dominion over the beasts of the field and\nthe birds of the air.\n\nIn city parks where there are many trees, bushes, and thick shrubbery, a\ngood many birds may be seen and heard near the middle of March. Today, the\n22nd of the month, in a morning stroll, we saw and heard the Song Sparrow,\na Blue Bird, a Robin, and two Bluejays, and would, no doubt, have been\ngratified with the presence of other early migrants, had the weather been\nmore propitious. The sun was obscured by clouds, a raw north wind was\nblowing, and rain, with threatened snow flurries, awakened the protective\ninstinct of the songsters and kept them concealed. But now, these April\nmornings, if you incline to early rising, you may hear quite a concert, and\none worth attending.\n\n--C. C. M.\n\n\n----\n\nIRISH BIRD SUPERSTITIONS.\n\n----\n\nTHE HEDGEWARBLER, known more popularly as the \"Irish Nightingale,\" is the\nobject of a most tender superstition. By day it is a roystering fellow\nenough, almost as impish as our American Mocking Bird, in its emulative\nattempts to demonstrate its ability to outsing the original songs of any\nfeathered melodist that ventures near its haunts among the reeds by the\nmurmuring streams. But when it sings at night, and particularly at the\nexact hour of midnight, its plaintive and tender notes are no less than the\nvoices of babes that thus return from the spirit land to soothe their poor,\nheart-aching mothers for the great loss of their darlings. The hapless\nlittle Hedge Sparrow has great trouble in raising any young at all, as its\nbeautiful bluish-green eggs when strung above the hob are in certain\nlocalities regarded as a potent charm against divers witch spells,\nespecially those which gain an entrance to the cabin through the wide\nchimney. On the contrary, the grayish-white and brown-mottled eggs of the\nWag-tail are never molested, as the grotesque motion of the tail of this\ntiny attendant of the herds has gained for it the uncanny reputation and\nname of the Devil's bird.\n\n\nTHE STARLING, THE MAGPIE, AND THE CROW.\n\nWhen the Starling does not follow the grazing cattle some witch charm has\nbeen put upon them. The Magpie, as with the ancient Greeks, is the\nrepository of the soul of an evil-minded and gossiping woman. A round-tower\nor castle ruin unfrequented by Jackdaws is certainly haunted. The \"curse of\nthe crows\" is quite as malevolent as the \"curse of Cromwell.\" When a\n\"Praheen Cark\" or Hen Crow is found in the solitudes of mountain glens,\naway from human habitations, it assuredly possesses the wandering soul of\nan impenitent sinner. If a Raven hover near a herd of cattle or sheep, a\nwithering blight has already been set upon the animals, hence the song of\nthe bard Benean regarding the rights of the kings of Cashel 1,400 years ago\nthat a certain tributary province should present the king yearly \"a\nthousand goodly cows, not the cows of Ravens.\" The Waxwing, the beautiful\n_Incendiara avis_ of Pliny, whose breeding haunts have never yet been\ndiscovered by man, are the torches of the _Bean-sidhe_, or Banshees. When\nthe Cuckoo utters her first note in the spring, if you chance to hear it,\nyou will find under your right foot a white hair; and if you keep this\nabout your person, the first name you thereafter hear will be that of your\nfuture husband or wife.\n\n\nFOUR MOURNFUL SUPERSTITIONS.\n\nFour other birds provide extremely mournful and pathetic superstitions. The\nLinnet pours forth the most melancholy song of all Irish birds, and I have\nseen honest-hearted peasants affected by it to tears. On inquiry I found\nthe secret cause to be the belief that its notes voiced the plaints of some\nunhappy soul in the spirit land. The changeless and interminable chant of\nthe Yellow Bunting is the subject of a very singular superstition. Its\nnotes, begun each afternoon at the precise hour of 3, are regarded as\nsummons to prayer for souls not yet relieved from purgatorial penance. A\nvariety of Finch has notes which resemble what is called the \"Bride-groom's\nsong\" of unutterable dolor for a lost bride--a legend of superstition\neasily traceable to the German Hartz mountain peasantry; while in the\nsolemn intensity of the Bittern's sad and plaintive boom, still a\nuniversally received token of spirit-warning, can be recognized the origin\nof the mournful cries of the wailing Banshee.\n\n\n[Illustration: BARTRAMIAN SANDPIPER.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE BARTRAMIAN SANDPIPER.\n\n----\n\nTHIS pretty shore bird, known as Bartram's Tattler, is found in more or\nless abundance all over the United States, but is rarely seen west of the\nRocky Mountains. It usually breeds from the middle districts--Ohio,\nIndiana, Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, and the Dakotas northward, into the fur\ncountry, and in Alaska. It is very numerous in the prairies of the\ninterior, and is also common eastward. It has a variety of names, being\ncalled Field Plover, Upland Plover, Grass Plover, Prairie Pigeon, and\nPrairie Snipe. It is one of the most familiar birds on the dry, open\nprairies of Manitoba, where it is known as the \"Quaily,\" from its soft,\nmellow note. The bird is less aquatic than most of the other Sandpipers, of\nwhich there are about twenty-five species, and is seldom seen along the\nbanks of streams, its favorite resorts being old pastures, upland, stubble\nfields, and meadows, where its nest may be found in a rather deep\ndepression in the ground, with a few grass blades for lining. The eggs are\nof a pale clay or buff, thickly spotted with umber and yellowish-brown;\nusually four in number.\n\nThe Sandpiper frequently alights on trees or fences, like the Meadow Lark.\nThis species is far more abundant on the plains of the Missouri river\nregion than in any other section of our country. It is found on the high\ndry plains anywhere, and when fat, as it generally is, from the abundance\nof its favorite food, the grasshopper, is one of the most delicious\nimaginable.\n\n\n\n----\n\nMarshall Saunders tells us that in Scotland seven thousand children were\ncarefully trained in kindness to each other and to dumb animals.\n\nIt is claimed that not one of these in after years was ever tried for any\ncriminal offense in any court. How does that argue for humane education? Is\nnot this heart training of our boys and girls one which ought to claim the\ndeepest sympathy and most ready support from us when we think of what it\nmeans to our future civilization? \"A brutalized child,\" says this\ngreat-hearted woman, \"is a lost child.\" And surely in _permitting_ any act\nof cruelty on the part of our children, we brutalize them, and as teachers\nand parents are responsible for the result of our neglect in failing to\nteach them the golden rule of kindness to all of God's creatures. It is\nsaid that out of two thousand criminals examined recently in American\nprisons, only twelve admitted that they had been kind to animals during\nyouth. What strength does that fact contain as an argument for humane\neducation?\n\n\n----\n\nTHE NIGHTINGALE.\n\n----\n\nYou have heard so much about the Nightingale that I am sure you will be\nglad to see my picture. I am not an American bird; I live in England, and\nam considered the greatest of all bird vocalists.\n\nAt midnight, when the woods are still and everybody ought to be asleep, I\nsing my best. Some people keep awake on purpose to hear me. One gentleman,\na poet, wept because my voice sounded so melancholy. He thought I leaned my\nbreast up against a thorn and poured forth my melody in anguish. Another\nwondered what music must be provided for the angels in heaven, when such\nmusic as mine was given to men on earth.\n\nAll that sounds very pretty, but between you and me, I'd sing another tune\nif a thorn should pierce my breast.\n\nIndeed, I am such a little bird that a big thorn would be the death of me.\nNo, indeed, I am always very happy when I sing. My mate wouldn't notice me\nat all if I didn't pour out my feelings in song, both day and night. That\nis the only way I have to tell her that I love her, and to ask her if she\nloves me. When she says \"yes,\" then we go to housekeeping, build a nest and\nbring up a family of little Nightingales. As soon as the birdies come out\nof their shell I literally change my tune.\n\nIn place of the lovely music which everybody admires, I utter only a croak,\nexpressive of my alarm and anxiety. Nobody knows the trouble of bringing up\na family better than I do. Sometimes my nest, which is placed on or near\nthe ground, is destroyed with all the little Nightingales in it; then I\nrecover my voice and go to singing again, the same old song: \"I love you, I\nlove you. Do you love me?\"\n\nToward the end of summer we leave England and return to our winter home,\nway off in the interior of Africa. About the middle of April we get back to\nEngland again, the gentlemen Nightingales arriving several days before the\nlady-birds.\n\n\n[Illustration: NIGHTINGALE.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE NIGHTINGALE.\n\n----\n\nNO doubt those who never hear the song of the Nightingale are denied a\nspecial privilege. Keats' exquisite verses give some notion of it, and\nWilliam Drummond, another English poet, has sung sweetly of the bird best\nknown to fame. \"Singer of the night\" is the literal translation of its\nscientific name, although during some weeks after its return from its\nwinter quarters in the interior of Africa it exercises its remarkable vocal\npowers at all hours of the day and night. According to Newton, it is justly\ncelebrated beyond all others by European writers for the power of song. The\nsong itself is indiscribable, though numerous attempts, from the time of\nAristophanes to the present, have been made to express in syllables the\nsound of its many notes; and its effects on those who hear it is described\nas being almost as varied as are its tones. To some they suggest\nmelancholy; and many poets, referring to the bird in the feminine gender,\nwhich cannot sing at all, have described it as \"leaning its breast against\na thorn and pouring forth its melody in anguish.\" Only the male bird sings.\nThe poetical adoption of the female as the singer, however, is accepted as\nimpregnable, as is the position of Jenny Lind as the \"Swedish Nightingale.\"\nNewton says there is no reason to suppose that the cause and intent of the\nNightingales' song, unsurpassed though it be, differ in any respect from\nthose of other birds' songs; that sadness is the least impelling sentiment\nthat can be properly assigned for his apparently melancholy music. It may\nin fact be an expression of joy such as we fancy we interpret in the songs\nof many other birds. The poem, however, which we print on another page,\nwritten by an old English poet, best represents our own idea of the\nNightingale's matchless improvisation, as some call it. It may be that it\nis always the same song, yet those who have often listened to it assert\nthat it is never precisely the same, that additional notes are introduced\nand the song at times extended.\n\nThe Nightingale is usually regarded as an English bird, and it is abundant\nin many parts of the midland, eastern, and western counties of England, and\nthe woods, coppices, and gardens ring with its thrilling song. It is also\nfound, however, in large numbers in Spain and Portugal and occurs in\nAustria, upper Hungary, Persia, Arabia, and Africa, where it is supposed to\nspend its winters.\n\nThe markings of the male and female are so nearly the same as to render the\nsexes almost indistinguishable.\n\nThey cannot endure captivity, nine-tenths of those caught dying within a\nmonth. Occasionally a pair have lived, where they were brought up by hand,\nand have seemed contented, singing the song of sadness or of joy.\n\nThe nest of the Nightingale is of a rather uncommon kind, being placed on\nor near the ground, the outworks consisting of a great number of dead\nleaves ingeniously put together. It has a deep, cup-like hollow, neatly\nlined with fibrous roots, but the whole is so loosely constructed that a\nvery slight touch disturbs its beautiful arrangement. There are laid from\nfour to six eggs of a deep olive color.\n\nTowards the end of summer the Nightingale disappears from England, and as\nbut little has been observed of its habits in its winter retreats, which\nare assumed to be in the interior of Africa, little is known concerning\nthem.\n\nIt must be a wonderful song indeed that could inspire the muse of great\npoets as has that of the Nightingale.\n\n\n----\n\nTHE BIRDS OF PARADISE.\n\n----\n\nTHE far-distant islands of the Malayan Archipelago, situated in the South\nPacific Ocean, the country of the bird-winged butterflies, princes of their\ntribe, the \"Orang Utan,\" or great man-like ape, and peopled by Papuans and\nMalays--islands whose shores are bathed perpetually by a warm sea, and\nwhose surfaces are covered with a most luxuriant tropical vegetation--these\nare the home of a group of birds that rank as the radiant gems of the\nfeathered race. None can excel the nuptial dress of the males, either in\nthe vividness of their changeable and rich plumage or the many strangely\nmodified and developed ornaments of feather which adorn them.\n\nThe history of these birds is very interesting. Before the year 1598 the\nMalay traders called them \"Manuk dewata,\" or God's birds, while the\nPortuguese, finding they had no wings or feet, called them Passaros de sol,\nor birds of the sun.\n\nWhen the earliest European voyagers reached the Moluccas in search of\ncloves and nutmegs, which were then rare and precious spices, they were\npresented with dried skins of Birds so strange and beautiful as to excite\nthe admiration even of these wealth-seeking rovers. John Van Linschoten in\n1598 calls them \"Avis Paradiseus, or Paradise birds,\" which name has been\napplied to them down to the present day. Van Linschoten tells us \"that no\none has seen these birds alive, for they live in the air, always turning\ntowards the sun, and never alighting on the earth till they die.\" More than\na hundred years later, Funnel, who accompanied Dampier and wrote of the\nvoyage, saw specimens at Amboyna, and was told that they came to Banda to\neat nutmegs, which intoxicated them and made them fall down senseless, when\nthey were killed by ants.\n\nIn 1760 Linnaeus named the largest species Paradisea apoda (the footless\nParadise bird). At that time no perfect specimen had been seen in Europe,\nand it was many years afterward when it was discovered that the feet had\nbeen cut off and buried at the foot of the tree from which they were killed\nby the superstitious natives as a propitiation to the gods. Wallace, who\nwas the first scientific observer, writer, and collector of these birds,\nand who spent eight years on the islands studying their natural history,\nspeaks of the males of the great Birds of Paradise assembling together to\ndance on huge trees in the forest, which have wide-spreading branches and\nlarge but scattered leaves, giving a clear space for the birds to play and\nexhibit their plumes. From twelve to twenty individuals make up one of\nthese parties. They raise up their wings, stretch out their necks and\nelevate their exquisite plumes, keeping them in a continual vibration.\nBetween whiles they fly across from branch to branch in great excitement,\nso that the whole tree is filled with waving plumes in every variety of\nattitude and motion. The natives take advantage of this habit and climb up\nand build a blind or hiding place in a tree that has been frequented by the\nbirds for dancing. In the top of this blind is a small opening, and before\nday-light, a native with his bow and arrow, conceals himself, and when the\nbirds assemble he deftly shoots them with his blunt-pointed arrows.\n\nThe great demand for the plumage of Birds of Paradise for decorative\npurposes is causing their destruction at a rapid rate, and this caprice of\na passing fashion will soon place one of the most beautiful denizens of our\nearth in the same category as the great Auk and Dodo.--_Cincinnati\nCommercial-Gazette._\n\n\n----\n\nTO A NIGHTINGALE.\n\n----\n\n\n  As it fell upon a day,\n  In the merry month of May,\n  Sitting in a pleasant shade,\n  Which a grove of myrtles made;\n  Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,\n  Trees did grow, and plants did spring;\n  Everything did banish moan,\n  Save the nightingale alone.\n  She, poor bird, as all forlorn,\n  Leaned her breast up--till a thorn;\n  And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,\n  That to hear it was great pity.\n  Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry;\n  Teru, teru, by and by;\n  That, to hear her so complain,\n  Scarce I could from tears refrain;\n  For her griefs, so lively shewn,\n  Made me think upon mine own.\n  Ah!--thought I--thou mourn'st in vain;\n  None takes pity on thy pain:\n  Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee;\n  Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee;\n  King Pandion, he is dead;\n  All thy friends are lapped in lead;\n  All thy fellow-birds do sing,\n  Careless of thy sorrowing!\n              --RICHARD BARNFIELD.\n                  Old English Poet.\n\n\n----\n\nTHE ROSEATE SPOONBILL.\n\n----\n\nSPECIMENS of this bird when seen for the first time always excite wonder\nand admiration. The beautiful plumage, the strange figure, and the\ncuriously shaped bill at once attract attention. Formerly this Spoonbill\nwas found as far west as Illinois and specimens were occasionally met with\nabout ponds in the Mississippi Bottoms, below St. Louis. Its habitat is the\nwhole of tropical and subtropical America, north regularly to the Gulf\ncoast of the United States.\n\nAudubon observed that the Roseate Spoonbill is to be met with along the\nmarshy or muddy borders of estuaries, the mouths of rivers, on sea islands,\nor keys partially overgrown with bushes, and still more abundantly along\nthe shores of the salt-water bayous, so common within a mile or two of the\nshore. There it can reside and breed, with almost complete security, in the\nmidst of an abundance of food. It is said to be gregarious at all seasons,\nand that seldom less than half a dozen may be seen together, unless they\nhave been dispersed by a tempest. At the approach of the breeding season\nthese small flocks come together, forming immense collections, and resort\nto their former nesting places, to which they almost invariably return. The\nbirds moult late in May, and during this time the young of the previous\nyear conceal themselves among the mangroves, there spending the day,\nreturning at night to their feeding grounds, but keeping apart from the old\nbirds, which last have passed through their spring moult early in March.\nThe Spoonbill is said occasionally to rise suddenly on the wing, and ascend\ngradually in a spiral manner, to a great height. It flies with its neck\nstretched forward to its full length, its legs and feet extended behind. It\nmoves with easy flappings, until just as it is about to alight, when it\nsails over the spot with expanded wing and comes gradually to the ground.\n\nUsually the Spoonbill is found in the company of Herons, whose vigilance\napprises it of any danger. Like those birds, it is nocturnal, its principal\nfeeding time being from near sunset until daylight. In procuring its food\nit wades into the water, immerses its immense bill in the soft mud, with\nthe head, and even the whole neck, beneath the surface, moving its\npartially opened mouth to and fro, munching the small fry--insects or\nshell-fish--before it swallows them. Where many are together, one usually\nacts as a sentinel. The Spoonbill can alight on a tree and walk on the\nlarge branches with much facility.\n\nThe nests of these birds are platforms of sticks, built close to the trunks\nof trees, from eight to eighteen feet from the ground. Three or four eggs\nare usually laid. The young, when able to fly, are grayish white. In their\nsecond year they are unadorned with the curling feathers on the breast, but\nin the third spring they are perfect.\n\nFormerly very abandant, these attractive creatures have greatly diminished\nby the constant persecution of the plume hunters.\n\n\n[Illustration: ROSEATE SPOONBILL.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROSEATE SPOONBILL.\n\n----\n\nIf my nose and legs were not so long, and my mouth such a queer shape, I\nwould be handsome, wouldn't I? But my feathers are fine, everybody admits\nthat--especially the ladies.\n\n\"How lovely,\" they all exclaim, when they see one of us Spoonbills. \"Such a\ndelicate, delicate pink!\" and off they go to the milliners and order a hat\ntrimmed with our pretty plumes.\n\nThat is the reason so few of us spoonbills are to be found in certain\nlocalities now-a-days, Florida especially. Fashion has put most of us to\ndeath. Shame, isn't it, when there are silk, and ribbon, and flowers in the\nworld? Talk to your mothers and sisters, boys, and plead with them to let\nthe birds alone.\n\nWe inhabit the warmer parts of the world; South and Central America,\nMexico, and the Gulf regions of the United States. We frequent the shores,\nboth on the sea coast and in the interior; marshy, muddy ground is our\ndelight.\n\nWhen I feel like eating something nice, out I wade into the water, run my\nlong bill, head and neck, too, sometimes, into the soft mud, move my bill\nto and fro, and such a lot of small fry as I do gather--insects and shell\nfish--which I munch and munch before I swallow.\n\nI am called a \"wader\" for doing this. My legs are not any too long, you\nobserve, for such work. I am very thankful at such times that I don't wear\nstockings or knickerbockers.\n\nWe are friendly with Herons and like to have one or two of them accompany\nus. They are very vigilant fellows, we find, and make good sentinels,\nwarning us when danger approaches.\n\nFly? Oh, yes, of course we do. With our neck stretched forward and our legs\nand feet extended behind, up we go gradually in a spiral manner to a great\nheight.\n\nIn some countries, they say, our beaks are scraped very thin, polished, and\nused as a spoon, sometimes set in silver. I wonder if that is the reason we\nare called Spoonbills?\n\nThe Spoonbills are sociable birds; five or six of us generally go about in\ncompany, and when it comes time for us to raise families of little\nSpoonbills, we start for our nesting place in great flocks; the same place\nwhere our nests were built the year before.\n\n\n----\n\nDICKCISSEL.\n\n----\n\nMR. P. M. SILLOWAY, in his charming sketches, \"Some Common Birds,\" writes:\n\"The Cardinal frequently whistles the most gaily while seated in the summit\nof the bush which shelters his mate on her nest. It is thus with\nDickcissel, for though his ditties are not always eloquent to us, he is\nbrave in proclaiming his happiness near the fountain of his inspiration.\nWhile his gentle mistress patiently attends to her household in some low\nbush or tussock near the hedge, Dick flutters from perch to perch in the\nimmediate vicinity and voices his love and devotion. Once I flushed a\nfemale from a nest in the top of an elm bush along a railroad while Dick\nwas proclaiming his name from the top of a hedge within twenty feet of the\nsite. Even while she was chirping anxiously about the spot, apprehending\nthat her home might be harried by ruthless visitors, he was brave and\nhopeful, and tried to sustain her anxious mind by ringing forth his\ncheerful exclamations.\"\n\nDick has a variety of names, the Black-throated Bunting, Little Field Lark,\nand \"Judas-bird.\" In general appearance it looks like the European House\nSparrow, averaging a trifle larger.\n\nThe favorite resorts of this Bunting are pastures with a sparse growth of\nstunted bushes and clover fields. In these places, its unmusical,\nmonotonous song may be heard thoughout the day during the breeding season.\nIts song is uttered from a tall weed, stump, or fence-stake, and is a very\npleasing ditty, says Davie, when its sound is heard coming far over grain\nfields and meadows, in the blaze of the noon-day sun, when all is hushed\nand most other birds have retired to shadier places.\n\nAs a rule, the Dickcissels do not begin to prepare for housekeeping before\nthe first of June, but in advanced seasons the nests are made and the eggs\ndeposited before the end of May. The nest is built on the ground, in trees\nand in bushes, in tall grass, or in clover fields. The materials are\nleaves, grasses, rootlets, corn husks, and weed stems; the lining is of\nfine grasses, and often horse hair. It is a compact structure. Second nests\nare sometimes built in July or August. The eggs number four or five, almost\nexactly like those of the Bluebird.\n\nThe summer home of Dickcissel is eastern United States, extending northward\nto southern New England and Ontario, and the states bordering the great\nlakes. He ranges westward to the edge of the great plains, frequently to\nsoutheastern United States on the migration. His winter home is in tropical\nregions, extending as far south as northern South America. He is commonly\nregarded as a Lark, but is really a Finch.\n\nIn the transactions of the Illinois Horticultural Society, Prof. S. A.\nForbes reports that his investigations show that sixty-eight per cent. of\nthe food of the Dickcissels renders them beneficial to horticulture, seven\nper cent. injurious, and twenty-five per cent. neutral, thus leaving a\nlarge balance in their favor.\n\n\n----\n\nTHOUGHTS.\n\n----\n\n  Who knows the joy a flower knows\n    When it blows sweetly?\n  Who knows the joy a bird knows\n    When it goes fleetly?\n\n  Bird's wing and flower stem--\n    Break them, who would?\n  Bird's wing and flower stem--\n    Make them, who could?\n              --_Harper's Weekly._\n\n\n[Illustration: DICKCISSEL.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE DICKCISSEL.\n\n----\n\n\nYou little folks, I'm afraid, who live or visit in the country every\nsummer, will not recognize me when I am introduced to you by the above\nname. You called me the Little Field Lark, or Little Meadow Lark, while all\nthe time, perched somewhere on a fence-stake, or tall weed-stump, I was\ntelling you as plain as I could what my name really is.\n\n\"_See, see_,\" I said, \"_Dick, Dick--Cissel, Cissel._\"\n\nTo tell you the truth I don't belong to the Lark family at all. Simply\nbecause I wear a yellow vest and a black bow at my throat as they do\ndoesn't make me a Lark. You can't judge birds, anymore than people, by\ntheir clothes. No, I belong to the Finch, or Bunting family, and they who\ncall me the _Black-throated Bunting_ are not far from right.\n\nI am one of the birds that go south in winter. About the first of April I\nget back from the tropics and really I find some relief in seeing the\nhedges bare, and the trees just putting on their summer dress. In truth I\ndon't care much for buds and blossoms, as I only frequent the trees that\nborder the meadows and cornfields. Clover fields have a great attraction\nfor me, as well as the unbroken prairie.\n\nI sing most of the time because I am so happy. To be sure it is about the\nsame tune, \"_See, see,--Dick, Dick--Cissel, Cissel_,\" but as it is about\nmyself I sing I never grow tired of it. Some people do, however, and wish I\nwould stop some time during the day. Even in the hottest noonday you will\nsee me perched on a fence-stake or a tall weed-stalk singing my little\nsong, while my mate is attending to her nest tucked away somewhere in a\nclump of weeds, or bush, very near the ground.\n\nThere, I am sorry I told you that. You may be a bad boy, or a young\ncollector, and will search this summer for my nest, and carry it and all\nthe pretty eggs away. Think how sorrowful my mate would be, and I, no\nlonger happy, would cease to sing, \"_See, See,--Dick, Dick, Cissel,\nCissel_.\"\n\n\n----\n\nTHE DUSKY GROUSE.\n\n----\n\nUNDER various names, as Blue Grouse, Grey Grouse, Mountain Grouse, Pine\nGrouse, and Fool-hen, this species, which is one of the finest birds of its\nfamily, is geographically distributed chiefly throughout the wooded and\nespecially the evergreen regions of the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific and\nnorthward into British America. In the mountains of Colorado Grouse is\nfound on the border of timber line, according to Davie, throughout the\nyear, going above in the fall for its principal food--grasshoppers. In\nsummer its flesh is said to be excellent, but when frost has cut short its\ndiet of insects and berries it feeds on spruce needles and its flesh\nacquires a strong flavor. Its food and habits are similar to those of the\nRuffed Grouse. Its food consists of insects and the berries and seeds of\nthe pine cone, the leaves of the pines, and the buds of trees. It has also\nthe same habits of budding in the trees during deep snows. In the Blue\nGrouse, however, this habit of remaining and feeding in the trees is more\ndecided and constant, and in winter they will fly from tree to tree, and\noften are plenty in the pines, when not a track can be found in the snow.\nIt takes keen and practiced eyes to find them in the thick branches of the\npines. They do not squat and lie closely on a limb like a quail, but stand\nup, perfectly still, and would readily be taken for a knot or a broken\nlimb. If they move at all it is to take flight, and with a sudden whir they\nare away, and must be looked for in in another tree top.\n\nHallock says that in common with the Ruffed Grouse (see BIRDS, Vol. I, p.\n220), the packs have a habit of scattering in winter, two or three, or even\na single bird, being often found with no others in the vicinity, their\nhabit of feeding in the trees tending to separate them.\n\nThe size of the Dusky Grouse is nearly twice that of the Ruffed Grouse, a\nfull-grown bird weighing from three to four pounds. The feathers are very\nthick, and it seems fitly dressed to endure the vigor of its habitat, which\nis in the Rocky Mountains and Sierra Nevada country only, and in the pine\nforests from five to ten thousand feet above the level of the sea. The\nlatter height is generally about the snow line in these regions. Although\nthe weather in the mountains is often mild and pleasant in winter, and\nespecially healthy and agreeable from the dryness and purity of the\natmosphere, yet the cold is sometimes intense.\n\nSome years ago Mr. Hallock advised that the acclimation of this beautiful\nbird be tested in the pine forests of the east. Though too wild and shy, he\nsaid, to be domesticated, there is no reason why it might not live and\nthrive in any pine lands where the Ruffed Grouse is found. Since the\nmountain passes are becoming threaded with railroads, and miners, herders,\nand other settlers are scattering through the country, it will be far\neasier than it has been to secure and transport live birds or their eggs,\nand it is to be hoped the experiment will be tried.\n\nThis Grouse nests on the ground, often under shelter, of a hollow log or\nprojecting rock, with merely a few pine needles scratched together. From\neight to fifteen eggs are laid, of buff or cream color, marked all over\nwith round spots of umber-brown.\n\n\n[Illustration: DUSKY GROUSE.]\n\n\n\n\nAPPLE BLOSSOM TIME.\n\n----\n\n  The time of apple blooms has come again,\n    And drowsy winds are laden with perfume;\n  In village street, in grove and sheltered glen\n    The happy warblers set the air atune.\n\n  Each swaying motion of the bud-sweet trees\n    Scatters pale, fragrant petals everywhere;\n  Reveals the tempting nectar cups to bees\n    That gild their thighs with pollen. Here and there\n\n  The cunning spoilers roam, and dream and sip\n    The honey-dew from chalices of gold;\n  The brimming cups are drained from lip to lip\n    Till, cloyed with sweets, the tiny gauze wings fold.\n\n  Above the vine-wreathed porch the old trees bend,\n    Shaking their beauty down like drifted snow:\n  And as we gaze, the lovely blossoms send\n    Fair visions of the days of long ago.\n\n  Yes, apple blossom time has come again,\n    But still the breezes waft the perfumes old,\n  And everywhere in wood, and field, and glen\n    The same old life appears in lovelier mold.\n                  --NORA A. PIPER.\n\n\n----\n\nLET US ALL PROTECT THE EGGS OF THE BIRDS.\n\n----\n\nELIZABETH NUNEMACHER, in _Our Animal Friends_, writes thus of her\nobservation of birds. Would that her suggestions for their protection might\nbe heeded.\n\n\"Said that artist in literature, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: 'I think that,\nif required, on pain of death to name instantly the most perfect thing in\nthe universe, I would risk my fate on a bird's egg; ... it is as if a pearl\nopened and an angel sang.' But far from his beautiful thought was the empty\nshell, the mere shell of the collector. How can he be a bird lover who,\nafter rifling some carefully tended nest, pierces the two ends of one of\nthese exquisite crusts of winged melody, and murderously blows one more\natom of wings and song into nothingness? The inanimate shell, however\nlovely in color, what is it? It is not an egg; an egg comprehends the\ncontents, the life within. Aside from the worthlessness of such a\npossession, each egg purloined means we know not what depth of grief to the\nparent, and a lost bird life; a vacuum where song should be.\n\nPeople who love birds and the study of them prefer half an hour's personal\nexperience with a single bird to a whole cabinet of \"specimens.\" Yet a\nscientist recently confessed that he had slain something like four hundred\nand seventy-five Redstarts, thus exterminating the entire species from a\nconsidable range of country, to verify the fact of a slight variation in\ncolor. One would infinitely prefer to see one Redstart in the joy of life\nto all that scientific lore could impart regarding the entire family of\nRedstarts by such wholesale butchery, which nothing can excuse.\n\nWe hear complaints of the scarcity of Bluebirds from year to year. I have\nwatched, at intervals since early April, the nest of a single pair of\nBluebirds in an old apple tree. On April 29th there were four young birds\nin the nest. On May 4th they had flown; an addition was made to the\ndwelling, and one egg of a second brood was deposited. On May 31st the nest\nagain held four young Bluebirds. June 15th saw this second quartette leave\nthe apple tree for the outer world, and thinking surely that the little\nmother had done, I appropriated the nest; but on June 25th I found a second\nnest built, and one white egg, promising a third brood. From the four laid\nthis time, either a collector or a Bluejay deducted one, and on July 14th\nthe rest were just out of the shell. This instance of the industry of one\npair of Bluebirds proves that their scarcity is no fault of theirs. I may\nadd that the gentle mother suffered my frequent visits and my meddling with\nher nursery affairs without any show of anger or excitement, uttering only\nsoft murmurs, which indicated a certain anxiety. May not the eleven young\nBluebirds mean a hundred next season, and is not the possessor of the\nmissing egg guilty of a dozen small lives?\"\n\nWe have observed that the enthusiasm of boys for collecting eggs is\nfrequently inspired by licensed \"collectors,\" who are known in a community\nto possess many rare and valuable specimens. Too many nests are despoiled\nfor so-called scientific purposes, and a limit should be set to the number\nof eggs that may be taken by any one for either private or public\ninstitutions. Let us influence the boys to \"love the wood-rose, and leave\nit on its stalk.\"\n\n\n[Illustration: EGGS]\n\n\n  1. Spotted Sandpiper.\n  2. Bartramian Sandpiper.\n  3. Marbled Godwit.\n  4. King Rail.\n  5. American Coot.\n  6. Least Tern.\n  7. Sooty Tern.\n  8. Common Murre.\n  9. Black Tern.\n  10. Herring Gull.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEW TENANTS.\n\n----\n\nBY ELANORA KINSLEY MARBLE.\n\n\nMrs. Wren, in a very contented frame of mind, sat upon her nest, waiting\nwith an ever growing appetite for that delicious spider or nice fat canker\nworm which her mate had promised to fetch her from the orchard.\n\n\"How happy I am,\" she mused, \"and how thankful I ought to be for so loving\na mate and such a dear, little cozy home. Why, keeping house and raising a\nfamily is just no trouble at all. Indeed--\" but here Mrs. Wren's thoughts\nwere broken in upon by the arrival of Mrs. John, who announced, as she\nperched upon the rim of the tin-pot and looked disdainfully around, that\nshe had but a very few minutes to stay.\n\n\"So this is the cozy nest your husband is so fond of talking about,\" she\nsaid, her bill in the air. \"My, my, whatever possessed you, my dear, to\nbegin housekeeping in such humble quarters. Everything in this world\ndepends upon appearances; the sooner you find that out, Jenny, the better.\nFrom the very first I was determined to begin at the top. The highest pole\nin the neighborhood, or none, I said to Mr. John when he was looking for a\nsite on which to build our house; and to do him justice Mr. Wren never\nthought of anything lower himself. A tin-pot, indeed, under a porch.  Dear,\ndear!\" and Mrs. John's bill turned up, and the corners of her mouth turned\ndown in a very haughty and disdainful manner.\n\n\"I--didn't--know, I'm--sure,\" faltered poor little Mrs. Jenny, her feathers\ndrooping at once. \"I--thought our little house, or flat, was very nice and\ncomfortable. It is in an excellent neighborhood, and our landlord's family\nis--\"\n\n\"Oh, bother your landlord's family,\" interrupted Mrs. John impolitely. \"All\nyour neighbors are tired and sick of hearing Mr. Wren talk about his\nlandlord's family. The way he repeats their sayings and doings is\nnauseating, and as for naming your brood after them, why--\" Mrs. John\nshrugged her wings and laughed scornfully.\n\nMrs. Wren's head feathers rose at once, but experience had taught her the\nfolly of quarreling with her aunt, so she turned the subject by inquiring\nsolicitously after her ladyship's health.\n\n\"Oh, its only fair, fair to middlin',\" returned Mrs. John, poking her bill\nabout the edge of the nest as though examining its lining. \"I told Mr. John\nthis morning that I would be but a shadow of myself after fourteen days\nbrooding, if he was like the other gentlemen Wrens in the neighborhood.\nCatch _me_ sitting the day through listening to him singing or showing off\nfor my benefit. No, indeed! He is on the nest now, keeping the eggs warm,\nand I told him not to dare leave it till my return.\"\n\nMrs. Jenny said nothing, but she thought what her dear papa would have done\nunder like circumstances.\n\n\"All work and no play,\" continued Mrs. John, \"makes dull women as well as\ndull boys. That was what my mama said when she found out papa meant her to\ndo all the work while he did the playing and singing. Dear, dear, how many\ntimes I have seen her box his ears and drive him onto the nest while she\nwent out visiting,\" and at the very recollection Mrs. John flirted her tail\nover her back and laughed loudly.\n\n\"How many eggs are you sitting upon this season, Aunt?\" inquired Mrs.\nJenny, timidly.\n\n\"Eight. Last year I hatched out nine; as pretty a brood as you would want\nto see. If I had time, Jenny, I'd tell you all about it. How many eggs are\nunder you?\"\n\n\"Six,\" meekly said Jenny, who had heard about that brood scores of times,\n\"we thought--we thought--\"\n\n\"Well?\" impatiently, \"you thought what?\"\n\n\"That six would be about as many as we could well take care of. I am sure\nit will keep us both busy finding worms and insects for even that number of\nmouths.\"\n\n\"I should think it would\" chuckled Mrs. John, nodding her head wisely,\n\"but--\" examining a feather which she had drawn out of the nest with her\nbill, \"what is this? A _chicken_ feather, as I live; a big, coarse, chicken\nfeather. And straw too, instead of hay. Ah! little did I think a niece of\nmine would ever furnish her house in such a shabby manner,\" and Mrs. John,\nwhose nest was lined with horse-hair, and the downiest geese feathers which\nher mate could procure, very nearly turned green with shame and\nmortification.\n\nMrs. Jenny's head-feathers were bristling up again when she gladly espied\nMr. Wren flying homeward with a fine wriggling worm in his bill.\n\n\"Ah, here comes your hubby,\" remarked Mrs. John, \"he's been to market, I\nsee. Well, ta, ta, dear. Run over soon to see us,\" and off Mrs. John flew\nto discuss Mrs. Jenny's housekeeping arrangements with one of her\nneighbors.\n\nMr. Wren's songs and antics failed, to draw a smile from his mate the\nremainder of that day. Upon her nest she sat and brooded, not only her\neggs, but over the criticisms and taunts of Mrs. John. Straw,\nchicken-feathers, and old tin pots occupied her thoughts to the exclusion\nof everything else, and it was not without a feeling of shame she recalled\nher morning's happiness and spirit of sweet content. The western sky was\nstill blushing under the fiery gaze of the sun, when Mrs. Jenny fell into a\ndoze and dreamed that she, the very next day, repaid Mrs. John Wren's call.\nThe wind was blowing a hurricane and the pole on which Mrs. John's fine\nhouse stood, shook and shivered till Mrs. Jenny looked every minute for\npole and nest and eggs to go crashing to the ground.\n\n\"My home,\" thought she, trembling with fear, \"though humble, is built upon\na sure foundation. Love makes her home there, too. Dear little tin-pot!\nChicken feathers or straw, what does it matter?\" and home Mrs. Jenny\nhastened, very thankful in her dream for the protecting walls, and\noverhanging porch, as well as the feeling of security afforded by her\nsympathetic human neighbors.\n\nThe fourteen days in truth did seem very long to Mrs. Wren, but cheered by\nher mate's love songs and an occasional outing--all her persuasions could\nnot induce Mr. Wren to brood the eggs in her absence--it wasn't a man's\nwork, he said--the time at length passed, and the day came when a tiny\nyellow beak thrust itself through the shell, and in a few hours, to the\nparents delight, a little baby Wren was born.\n\nMr. Wren was so overcome with joy that off he flew to the nearest tree, and\nwith drooping tail and wings shaking at his side, announced, in a gush of\nsong, to the entire neighborhood the fact that he was a papa.\n\n\"A pa-pa, is it?\" exclaimed Bridget, attracted by the bird's manner to\napproach the nest. \"From watchin' these little crathers it do same I'm\nafther understandin' bird talk and bird-ways most like the misthress\nherself,\" and with one big red finger she gently pushed the angry Mrs. Wren\naside and took a peep at the new born bird.\n\n\"Howly mither!\" said she, retreating in deep disgust, \"ov all the skinny,\nugly little bastes! Shure and its all head and no tail, with niver a\nfeather to kiver its nakedness. It's shamed I'd be, Mr. Wren, to father an\nugly crather loike that, so I would,\" and Bridget, who had an idea that\nyoung birds came into the world prepared at once to fly, shook her head\nsadly, and went into the house to inform the family of the event.\n\nOne by one the children peeped into the nest and all agreed with Bridget\nthat it was indeed a very ugly little birdling which lay there.\n\n\"Wish I could take it out, mama,\" said Dorothy, \"and put some of my doll's\nclothes on it. It is such a shivery looking little thing.\"\n\n\"Ugh!\" exclaimed Walter, \"what are those big balls covered with skin on\neach side of its head; and when will it look like a bird, mama?\"\n\n\"Those balls are its eyes,\" she laughingly replied, \"which will open in\nabout five days. The third day you will perceive a slate- down or\nfuzz upon its head. On the fourth its wing feathers will begin to show. On\nthe seventh the fuzz will become red-brown feathers on its back and white\nupon its breast. The ninth day it will fly a little way, and on the twelfth\nwill leave its nest for good.\"\n\n\"An' its a foine scholard ye's are, to be shure, mum,\" said Bridget in\nopen-mouthed admiration. \"Whoiver 'ud hev thought a mite ov a crather loike\nthat 'ud be afther makin' so interesthing a study. Foreninst next spring,\nGod willin,\" she added, \"its meself, Bridget O'Flaherty, as will be one ov\nthem same.\"\n\n\"One of them same what?\" inquired her mistress laughingly.\n\n\"Horn-ith-owl-ogists, mum,\" replied Bridget, not without much difficulty,\nand with a flourish of her fine red arms and a triumphant smile upon her\nround face, Bridget returned to her kitchen and work again.\n\n[TO BE CONTINUED]\n\n\n----\n\nSUMMARY.\n\n----\n\nPage 126.\n\nOVENBIRD--_Seiurus aurocapellus._ Other names: \"The Teacher,\" \"Wood\nWagtail,\" \"Golden Crowned Accentor.\"\n\nRANGE--United States to Pacific <DW72>.\n\nNEST--On the ground, oven-shape.\n\nEGGS--Three to six, white or creamy white, glossy, spotted.\n\n----\n\nPage 130.\n\nARCTIC THREE-TOED WOODPECKER--_Picoides arcticus._ Other name:\n\"Black-backed Three-toed Woodpecker.\"\n\nRANGE--Northern North America, south to northern border of the United\nStates, and farther on high mountain ranges. In the mountains of the west\n(Sierra Nevada, etc.) south to about 39°, where it breeds.\n\nNEST--In dead trees, not more than five or six feet from the ground.\n\nEGGS--Four to six, pure ivory white.\n\n----\n\nPage 134.\n\nBARTRAMIAN SANDPIPER--_Bartramia longicauda._ Other names: \"Bartram's\nTattler,\" \"Prairie Pigeon,\" \"Prairie Snipe,\" \"Grass Plover,\" and \"Quaily.\"\n\nRANGE--Eastern North America, north to Nova Scotia and Alaska, south in\nwinter as far as southern South America.\n\nNEST--In a slight depression of the ground.\n\nEGGS--Four, of a pale clay or buff, thickly spotted with umber and\nyellowish brown.\n\n----\n\nPage 138.\n\nNIGHTINGALE--_Motacilla luscinia_ (Linn.)\n\nRANGE--England, Spain, Portugal, Austria, south to the interior of Africa.\n\nNEST--Cup shape, made of dry leaves, neatly lined with fibrous roots.\n\nEGGS--Four to six, of a deep olive color.\n\n----\n\nPage 143.\n\nROSEATE SPOONBILL--_Ajaja ajaja._\n\nRANGE--Southern United States and southward into southern South America.\n\nNEST--Platform of sticks, built close to the trunk of a tree, from eight to\neighteen feet from the ground.\n\nEGGS--Three or four, white, or buffy-white, blotched, spotted, and stained\nwith various shades of brown.\n\n----\n\nPage 147.\n\nDICKCISSEL--_Spiza americana._ Other names: \"Black-throated Bunting,\"\n\"Little Field Lark,\" and \"Judas-bird.\"\n\nRANGE--Eastern United States to the Rocky Mountains, north to\nMassachusetts, New York, Wisconsin, Minnesota, etc., south in winter to\nnorthern South America.\n\nNEST--On the ground, in trees, and in bushes.\n\nEGGS--Four or five, almost exactly like those of the Bluebird.\n\n----\n\nPage 151.\n\nDUSKY GROUSE--_Dendragapus obscurus._\n\nRANGE--Rocky Mountains, west to Wahsatch, north to central Montana, south\nto New Mexico and Arizona.\n\nNEST--On the ground, under shelter of a hollow log or projecting rock, with\nmerely a a few pine needles scratched together.\n\nEGGS--Eight to fifteen, of buff or cream color, marked all over with small\nround spots of umber-brown.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Birds Illustrated by Color Photography\nVol 3. No 4., by Various\n\n*** "}
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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*\n\n\n\n\n\nThis etext was prepared by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Complete Writings of Charles Dudley Warner Volume 1\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS:\n\nMY SUMMER IN A GARDEN\nBACKLOG STUDIES\nBADDECK\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY LETTER\n\nMY DEAR MR. FIELDS,--I did promise to write an Introduction to these\ncharming papers but an Introduction,--what is it?--a sort of\npilaster, put upon the face of a building for looks' sake, and\nusually flat,--very flat.  Sometimes it may be called a caryatid,\nwhich is, as I understand it, a cruel device of architecture,\nrepresenting a man or a woman, obliged to hold up upon his or her\nhead or shoulders a structure which they did not build, and which\ncould stand just as well without as with them.  But an Introduction\nis more apt to be a pillar, such as one may see in Baalbec, standing\nup in the air all alone, with nothing on it, and with nothing for it\nto do.\n\nBut an Introductory Letter is different.  There is in that no\nformality, no assumption of function, no awkward propriety or dignity\nto be sustained.  A letter at the opening of a book may be only a\nfootpath, leading the curious to a favorable point of observation,\nand then leaving them to wander as they will.\n\nSluggards have been sent to the ant for wisdom; but writers might\nbetter be sent to the spider, not because he works all night, and\nwatches all day, but because he works unconsciously.  He dare not\neven bring his work before his own eyes, but keeps it behind him, as\nif too much knowledge of what one is doing would spoil the delicacy\nand modesty of one's work.\n\nAlmost all graceful and fanciful work is born like a dream, that\ncomes noiselessly, and tarries silently, and goes as a bubble bursts.\nAnd yet somewhere work must come in,--real, well-considered work.\n\nInness (the best American painter of Nature in her moods of real\nhuman feeling) once said, \"No man can do anything in art, unless he\nhas intuitions; but, between whiles, one must work hard in collecting\nthe materials out of which intuitions are made.\"  The truth could not\nbe hit off better.  Knowledge is the soil, and intuitions are the\nflowers which grow up out of it.  The soil must be well enriched and\nworked.\n\nIt is very plain, or will be to those who read these papers, now\ngathered up into this book, as into a chariot for a race, that the\nauthor has long employed his eyes, his ears, and his understanding,\nin observing and considering the facts of Nature, and in weaving\ncurious analogies.  Being an editor of one of the oldest daily news-\npapers in New England, and obliged to fill its columns day after day\n(as the village mill is obliged to render every day so many sacks of\nflour or of meal to its hungry customers), it naturally occurred to\nhim, \"Why not write something which I myself, as well as my readers,\nshall enjoy?  The market gives them facts enough; politics, lies\nenough; art, affectations enough; criminal news, horrors enough;\nfashion, more than enough of vanity upon vanity, and vexation of\npurse.  Why should they not have some of those wandering and joyous\nfancies which solace my hours?\"\n\nThe suggestion ripened into execution.  Men and women read, and\nwanted more.  These garden letters began to blossom every week; and\nmany hands were glad to gather pleasure from them.  A sign it was of\nwisdom.  In our feverish days it is a sign of health or of\nconvalescence that men love gentle pleasure, and enjoyments that do\nnot rush or roar, but distill as the dew.\n\nThe love of rural life, the habit of finding enjoyment in familiar\nthings, that susceptibility to Nature which keeps the nerve gently\nthrilled in her homliest nooks and by her commonest sounds, is worth\na thousand fortunes of money, or its equivalents.\n\nEvery book which interprets the secret lore of fields and gardens,\nevery essay that brings men nearer to the understanding of the\nmysteries which every tree whispers, every brook murmurs, every weed,\neven, hints, is a contribution to the wealth and the happiness of our\nkind.  And if the lines of the writer shall be traced in quaint\ncharacters, and be filled with a grave humor, or break out at times\ninto merriment, all this will be no presumption against their wisdom\nor his goodness.  Is the oak less strong and tough because the mosses\nand weather-stains stick in all manner of grotesque sketches along\nits bark?  Now, truly, one may not learn from this little book either\ndivinity or horticulture; but if he gets a pure happiness, and a\ntendency to repeat the happiness from the simple stores of Nature, he\nwill gain from our friend's garden what Adam lost in his, and what\nneither philosophy nor divinity has always been able to restore.\n\nWherefore, thanking you for listening to a former letter, which\nbegged you to consider whether these curious and ingenious papers,\nthat go winding about like a half-trodden path between the garden and\nthe field, might not be given in book-form to your million readers, I\nremain, yours to command in everything but the writing of an\nIntroduction,\n\nHENRY WARD BEECHER.\n\n\n\n\n\nBY WAY OF DEDICATION\n\nMY DEAR POLLY,--When a few of these papers had appeared in \"The\nCourant,\" I was encouraged to continue them by hearing that they had\nat least one reader who read them with the serious mind from which\nalone profit is to be expected.  It was a maiden lady, who, I am\nsure, was no more to blame for her singleness than for her age; and\nshe looked to these honest sketches of experience for that aid which\nthe professional agricultural papers could not give in the management\nof the little bit of garden which she called her own.  She may have\nbeen my only disciple; and I confess that the thought of her yielding\na simple faith to what a gainsaying world may have regarded with\nlevity has contributed much to give an increased practical turn to my\nreports of what I know about gardening.  The thought that I had\nmisled a lady, whose age is not her only singularity, who looked to\nme for advice which should be not at all the fanciful product of the\nGarden of Gull, would give me great pain.  I trust that her autumn is\na peaceful one, and undisturbed by either the humorous or the\nsatirical side of Nature.\n\nYou know that this attempt to tell the truth about one of the most\nfascinating occupations in the world has not been without its\ndangers.  I have received anonymous letters.  Some of them were\nmurderously spelled; others were missives in such elegant phrase and\ndress, that danger was only to be apprehended in them by one skilled\nin the mysteries of medieval poisoning, when death flew on the wings\nof a perfume.  One lady, whose entreaty that I should pause had\nsomething of command in it, wrote that my strictures on \"pusley \" had\nso inflamed her husband's zeal, that, in her absence in the country,\nhe had rooted up all her beds of portulaca (a sort of cousin of the\nfat weed), and utterly cast it out.  It is, however, to be expected,\nthat retributive justice would visit the innocent as well as the\nguilty of an offending family.  This is only another proof of the\nwide sweep of moral forces.  I suppose that it is as necessary in the\nvegetable world as it is elsewhere to avoid the appearance of evil.\n\nIn offering you the fruit of my garden, which has been gathered from\nweek to week, without much reference to the progress of the crops or\nthe drought, I desire to acknowledge an influence which has lent half\nthe charm to my labor.  If I were in a court of justice, or\ninjustice, under oath, I should not like to say, that, either in the\nwooing days of spring, or under the suns of the summer solstice, you\nhad been, either with hoe, rake, or miniature spade, of the least use\nin the garden; but your suggestions have been invaluable, and,\nwhenever used, have been paid for.  Your horticultural inquiries have\nbeen of a nature to astonish the vegetable world, if it listened, and\nwere a constant inspiration to research.  There was almost nothing\nthat you did not wish to know; and this, added to what I wished to\nknow, made a boundless field for discovery.  What might have become\nof the garden, if your advice had been followed, a good Providence\nonly knows; but I never worked there without a consciousness that you\nmight at any moment come down the walk, under the grape-arbor,\nbestowing glances of approval, that were none the worse for not being\ncritical; exercising a sort of superintendence that elevated\ngardening into a fine art; expressing a wonder that was as\ncomplimentary to me as it was to Nature; bringing an atmosphere which\nmade the garden a region of romance, the soil of which was set apart\nfor fruits native to climes unseen.  It was this bright presence that\nfilled the garden, as it did the summer, with light, and now leaves\nupon it that tender play of color and bloom which is called among the\nAlps the after-glow.\n\nNOOK FARM, HARTFORD, October, 1870\n\nC.  D.  W.\n\n\n\n\n\nPRELIMINARY\n\n\nThe love of dirt is among the earliest of passions, as it is the\nlatest.  Mud-pies gratify one of our first and best instincts.  So\nlong as we are dirty, we are pure.  Fondness for the ground comes\nback to a man after he has run the round of pleasure and business,\neaten dirt, and sown wild-oats, drifted about the world, and taken\nthe wind of all its moods.  The love of digging in the ground (or of\nlooking on while he pays another to dig) is as sure to come back to\nhim as he is sure, at last, to go under the ground, and stay there.\nTo own a bit of ground, to scratch it with a hoe, to plant seeds and\nwatch, their renewal of life, this is the commonest delight of the\nrace, the most satisfactory thing a man can do.  When Cicero writes\nof the pleasures of old age, that of agriculture is chief among them:\n\n\"Venio nunc ad voluptates agricolarum, quibus ego incredibiliter\ndelector: quae nec ulla impediuntur senectute, et mihi ad sapientis\nvitam proxime videntur accedere.\" (I am driven to Latin because New\nYork editors have exhausted the English language in the praising of\nspring, and especially of the month of May.)\n\nLet us celebrate the soil.  Most men toil that they may own a piece\nof it; they measure their success in life by their ability to buy it.\nIt is alike the passion of the parvenu and the pride of the\naristocrat.  Broad acres are a patent of nobility; and no man but\nfeels more, of a man in the world if he have a bit of ground that he\ncan call his own.  However small it is on the surface, it is four\nthousand miles deep; and that is a very handsome property.  And there\nis a great pleasure in working in the soil, apart from the ownership\nof it.  The man who has planted a garden feels that he has done\nsomething for the good of the World.  He belongs to the producers.\nIt is a pleasure to eat of the fruit of one's toil, if it be nothing\nmore than a head of lettuce or an ear of corn.  One cultivates a lawn\neven with great satisfaction; for there is nothing more beautiful\nthan grass and turf in our latitude.  The tropics may have their\ndelights, but they have not turf: and the world without turf is a\ndreary desert.  The original Garden of Eden could not have had such\nturf as one sees in England.  The Teutonic races all love turf: they\nemigrate in the line of its growth.\n\nTo dig in the mellow soil-to dig moderately, for all pleasure should\nbe taken sparingly--is a great thing.  One gets strength out of the\nground as often as one really touches it with a hoe.  Antaeus (this\nis a classical article) was no doubt an agriculturist; and such a\nprize-fighter as Hercules could n't do anything with him till he got\nhim to lay down his spade, and quit the soil.  It is not simply beets\nand potatoes and corn and string-beans that one raises in his well-\nhoed garden: it is the average of human life.  There is life in the\nground; it goes into the seeds; and it also, when it is stirred up,\ngoes into the man who stirs it.  The hot sun on his back as he bends\nto his shovel and hoe, or contemplatively rakes the warm and fragrant\nloam, is better than much medicine.  The buds are coming out on the\nbushes round about; the blossoms of the fruit trees begin to show;\nthe blood is running up the grapevines in streams; you can smell the\nWild flowers on the near bank; and the birds are flying and glancing\nand singing everywhere.  To the open kitchen door comes the busy\nhousewife to shake a white something, and stands a moment to look,\nquite transfixed by the delightful sights and sounds.  Hoeing in the\ngarden on a bright, soft May day, when you are not obliged to, is\nnearly equal to the delight of going trouting.\n\nBlessed be agriculture! if one does not have too much of it.  All\nliterature is fragrant with it, in a gentlemanly way.  At the foot of\nthe charming olive-covered hills of Tivoli, Horace (not he of\nChappaqua) had a sunny farm: it was in sight of Hadrian's villa, who\ndid landscape gardening on an extensive scale, and probably did not\nget half as much comfort out of it as Horace did from his more simply\ntilled acres.  We trust that Horace did a little hoeing and farming\nhimself, and that his verse is not all fraudulent sentiment.  In\norder to enjoy agriculture, you do not want too much of it, and you\nwant to be poor enough to have a little inducement to work moderately\nyourself.  Hoe while it is spring, and enjoy the best anticipations.\nIt is not much matter if things do not turn out well.\n\n\n\n\nFIRST WEEK\n\nUnder this modest title, I purpose to write a series of papers, some\nof which will be like many papers of garden-seeds, with nothing vital\nin them, on the subject of gardening; holding that no man has any\nright to keep valuable knowledge to himself, and hoping that those\nwho come after me, except tax-gatherers and that sort of person, will\nfind profit in the perusal of my experience.  As my knowledge is\nconstantly increasing, there is likely to be no end to these papers.\nThey will pursue no orderly system of agriculture or horticulture,\nbut range from topic to topic, according to the weather and the\nprogress of the weeds, which may drive me from one corner of the\ngarden to the other.\n\nThe principal value of a private garden is not understood.  It is not\nto give the possessor vegetables or fruit (that can be better and\ncheaper done by the market-gardeners), but to teach him patience\nand philosophy and the higher virtues, -hope deferred and\nexpectations blighted, leading directly to resignation and sometimes\nto alienation.  The garden thus becomes a moral agent, a test of\ncharacter, as it was in the beginning.  I shall keep this central\ntruth in mind in these articles.  I mean to have a moral garden, if\nit is not a productive one,--one that shall teach., O my brothers!\nO my sisters! the great lessons of life.\n\nThe first pleasant thing about a garden in this latitude is, that you\nnever know when to set it going.  If you want anything to come to\nmaturity early, you must start it in a hot-house.  If you put it out\nearly, the chances are all in favor of getting it nipped with frost;\nfor the thermometer will be 90 deg. one day, and go below 32 deg. the\nnight of the day following.  And, if you do not set out plants or sow\nseeds early, you fret continually; knowing that your vegetables will\nbe late, and that, while Jones has early peas, you will be watching\nyour slow-forming pods.  This keeps you in a state of mind.  When you\nhave planted anything early, you are doubtful whether to desire to\nsee it above ground, or not.  If a hot day comes, you long to see the\nyoung plants; but, when a cold north wind brings frost, you tremble\nlest the seeds have burst their bands.  Your spring is passed in\nanxious doubts and fears, which are usually realized; and so a great\nmoral discipline is worked out for you.\n\nNow, there is my corn, two or three inches high this 18th of May, and\napparently having no fear of a frost.  I was hoeing it this morning\nfor the first time,--it is not well usually to hoe corn until about\nthe 18th of May,--when Polly came out to look at the Lima beans.  She\nseemed to think the poles had come up beautifully.  I thought they\ndid look well: they are a fine set of poles, large and well grown,\nand stand straight.  They were inexpensive, too.  The cheapness came\nabout from my cutting them on another man's land, and he did not know\nit.  I have not examined this transaction in the moral light of\ngardening; but I know people in this country take great liberties at\nthe polls.  Polly noticed that the beans had not themselves come up\nin any proper sense, but that the dirt had got off from them, leaving\nthem uncovered.  She thought it would be well to sprinkle a slight\nlayer of dirt over them; and I, indulgently, consented.  It occurred\nto me, when she had gone, that beans always come up that way,--wrong\nend first; and that what they wanted was light, and not dirt.\n\nObservation.  --Woman always did, from the first, make a muss in a\ngarden.\n\nI inherited with my garden a large patch of raspberries.  Splendid\nberry the raspberry, when the strawberry has gone.  This patch has\ngrown into such a defiant attitude, that you could not get within\nseveral feet of it.  Its stalks were enormous in size, and cast out\nlong, prickly arms in all directions; but the bushes were pretty much\nall dead.  I have walked into them a good deal with a pruning-knife;\nbut it is very much like fighting original sin.  The variety is one\nthat I can recommend.  I think it is called Brinckley's Orange.  It\nis exceedingly prolific, and has enormous stalks.  The fruit is also\nsaid to be good; but that does not matter so much, as the plant does\nnot often bear in this region.  The stalks seem to be biennial\ninstitutions; and as they get about their growth one year, and bear\nthe next year, and then die, and the winters here nearly always kill\nthem, unless you take them into the house (which is inconvenient if\nyou have a family of small children), it is very difficult to induce\nthe plant to flower and fruit.  This is the greatest objection there\nis to this sort of raspberry.  I think of keeping these for\ndiscipline, and setting out some others, more hardy sorts, for fruit.\n\n\n\n\nSECOND WEEK\n\nNext to deciding when to start your garden, the most important matter\nis, what to put in it.  It is difficult to decide what to order for\ndinner on a given day: how much more oppressive is it to order in a\nlump an endless vista of dinners, so to speak!  For, unless your\ngarden is a boundless prairie (and mine seems to me to be that when I\nhoe it on hot days), you must make a selection, from the great\nvariety of vegetables, of those you will raise in it; and you feel\nrather bound to supply your own table from your own garden, and to\neat only as you have sown.\n\nI hold that no man has a right (whatever his sex, of course) to have\na garden to his own selfish uses.  He ought not to please himself,\nbut every man to please his neighbor.  I tried to have a garden that\nwould give general moral satisfaction.  It seemed to me that nobody\ncould object to potatoes (a most useful vegetable); and I began to\nplant them freely.  But there was a chorus of protest against them.\n\"You don't want to take up your ground with potatoes,\" the neighbors\nsaid; \"you can buy potatoes\" (the very thing I wanted to avoid doing\nis buying things).  \"What you want is the perishable things that you\ncannot get fresh in the market.\"--\"But what kind of perishable\nthings?\"  A horticulturist of eminence wanted me to sow lines of\nstraw-berries and raspberries right over where I had put my potatoes\nin drills.  I had about five hundred strawberry-plants in another\npart of my garden; but this fruit-fanatic wanted me to turn my whole\npatch into vines and runners.  I suppose I could raise strawberries\nenough for all my neighbors; and perhaps I ought to do it.  I had a\nlittle space prepared for melons,--muskmelons,--which I showed to an\nexperienced friend.\n\nYou are not going to waste your ground on muskmelons?\" he asked.\n\"They rarely ripen in this climate thoroughly, before frost.\" He had\ntried for years without luck.  I resolved to not go into such a\nfoolish experiment.  But, the next day, another neighbor happened in.\n\"Ah! I see you are going to have melons.  My family would rather give\nup anything else in the garden than musk-melons,--of the nutmeg\nvariety.  They are the most grateful things we have on the table.\"\nSo there it was.  There was no compromise: it was melons, or no\nmelons, and somebody offended in any case.  I half resolved to plant\nthem a little late, so that they would, and they would n't.  But I\nhad the same difficulty about string-beans (which I detest), and\nsquash (which I tolerate), and parsnips, and the whole round of green\nthings.\n\nI have pretty much come to the conclusion that you have got to put\nyour foot down in gardening.  If I had actually taken counsel of my\nfriends, I should not have had a thing growing in the garden to-day\nbut weeds.  And besides, while you are waiting, Nature does not wait.\nHer mind is made up.  She knows just what she will raise; and she has\nan infinite variety of early and late.  The most humiliating thing to\nme about a garden is the lesson it teaches of the inferiority of man.\nNature is prompt, decided, inexhaustible.  She thrusts up her plants\nwith a vigor and freedom that I admire; and the more worthless the\nplant, the more rapid and splendid its growth.  She is at it early\nand late, and all night; never tiring, nor showing the least sign of\nexhaustion.\n\n\"Eternal gardening is the price of liberty,\" is a motto that I should\nput over the gateway of my garden, if I had a gate.  And yet it is\nnot wholly true; for there is no liberty in gardening.  The man who\nundertakes a garden is relentlessly pursued.  He felicitates himself\nthat, when he gets it once planted, he will have a season of rest and\nof enjoyment in the sprouting and growing of his seeds.  It is a\ngreen anticipation.  He has planted a seed that will keep him awake\nnights; drive rest from his bones, and sleep from his pillow.  Hardly\nis the garden planted, when he must begin to hoe it.  The weeds have\nsprung up all over it in a night.  They shine and wave in redundant\nlife.  The docks have almost gone to seed; and their roots go deeper\nthan conscience.  Talk about the London Docks!--the roots of these\nare like the sources of the Aryan race.  And the weeds are not all.\nI awake in the morning (and a thriving garden will wake a person up\ntwo hours before he ought to be out of bed) and think of the\ntomato-plants,--the leaves like fine lace-work, owing to black bugs\nthat skip around, and can't be caught.  Somebody ought to get up\nbefore the dew is off (why don't the dew stay on till after a\nreasonable breakfast?) and sprinkle soot on the leaves.  I wonder if\nit is I.  Soot is so much blacker than the bugs, that they are\ndisgusted, and go away.  You can't get up too early, if you have a\ngarden.  You must be early due yourself, if you get ahead of the\nbugs.  I think, that, on the whole, it would be best to sit up all\nnight, and sleep daytimes.  Things appear to go on in the night in\nthe garden uncommonly.  It would be less trouble to stay up than it\nis to get up so early.\n\nI have been setting out some new raspberries, two sorts,--a silver\nand a gold color.  How fine they will look on the table next year in\na cut-glass dish, the cream being in a ditto pitcher!  I set them\nfour and five feet apart.  I set my strawberries pretty well apart\nalso.  The reason is, to give room for the cows to run through when\nthey break into the garden,--as they do sometimes.  A cow needs a\nbroader track than a locomotive; and she generally makes one.  I am\nsometimes astonished, to see how big a space in, a flower-bed her\nfoot will cover.  The raspberries are called Doolittle and Golden\nCap.  I don't like the name of the first variety, and, if they do\nmuch, shall change it to Silver Top.  You never can tell what a thing\nnamed Doolittle will do.  The one in the Senate changed color, and\ngot sour.  They ripen badly,--either mildew, or rot on the bush.\nThey are apt to Johnsonize,--rot on the stem.  I shall watch the\nDoolittles.\n\n\n\n\nTHIRD WEEK\n\nI believe that I have found, if not original sin, at least vegetable\ntotal depravity in my garden; and it was there before I went into it.\nIt is the bunch, or joint, or snakegrass,--whatever it is called.  As\nI do not know the names of all the weeds and plants, I have to do as\nAdam did in his garden,--name things as I find them.  This grass has\na slender, beautiful stalk : and when you cut it down) or pull up a\nlong root of it, you fancy it is got rid of; but in a day or two it\nwill come up in the same spot in half a dozen vigorous blades.\nCutting down and pulling up is what it thrives on.  Extermination\nrather helps it.  If you follow a slender white root, it will be\nfound to run under the ground until it meets another slender white\nroot; and you will soon unearth a network of them, with a knot\nsomewhere, sending out dozens of sharp-pointed, healthy shoots, every\njoint prepared to be an independent life and plant.  The only way to\ndeal with it is to take one part hoe and two parts fingers, and\ncarefully dig it out, not leaving a joint anywhere.  It will take a\nlittle time, say all summer, to dig out thoroughly a small patch; but\nif you once dig it out, and keep it out, you will have no further\ntrouble.\n\nI have said it was total depravity.  Here it is.  If you attempt to\npull up and root out any sin in you, which shows on the surface,--if\nit does not show, you do not care for it,--you may have noticed how\nit runs into an interior network of sins, and an ever-sprouting\nbranch of them roots somewhere; and that you cannot pull out one\nwithout making a general internal disturbance, and rooting up your\nwhole being.  I suppose it is less trouble to quietly cut them off at\nthe top--say once a week, on Sunday, when you put on your religious\nclothes and face so that no one will see them, and not try to\neradicate the network within.\n\nRemark.--This moral vegetable figure is at the service of any\nclergyman who will have the manliness to come forward and help me at\na day's hoeing on my potatoes.  None but the orthodox need apply.\n\nI, however, believe in the intellectual, if not the moral, qualities\nof vegetables, and especially weeds.  There was a worthless vine that\n(or who) started up about midway between a grape-trellis and a row of\nbean-poles, some three feet from each, but a little nearer the\ntrellis.  When it came out of the ground, it looked around to see\nwhat it should do.  The trellis was already occupied.  The bean-pole\nwas empty.  There was evidently a little the best chance of light,\nair, and sole proprietorship on the pole.  And the vine started for\nthe pole, and began to climb it with determination.  Here was as\ndistinct an act of choice, of reason, as a boy exercises when he goes\ninto a forest, and, looking about, decides which tree he will climb.\nAnd, besides, how did the vine know enough to travel in exactly the\nright direction, three feet, to find what it wanted?  This is\nintellect.  The weeds, on the other hand, have hateful moral\nqualities.  To cut down a weed is, therefore, to do a moral action.\nI feel as if I were destroying sin.  My hoe becomes an instrument of\nretributive justice.  I am an apostle of Nature.  This view of the\nmatter lends a dignity to the art of hoeing which nothing else does,\nand lifts it into the region of ethics.  Hoeing becomes, not a\npastime, but a duty.  And you get to regard it so, as the days and\nthe weeds lengthen.\n\nObservation.--Nevertheless, what a man needs in gardening is a\ncast-iron back,--with a hinge in it.  The hoe is an ingenious\ninstrument, calculated to call out a great deal of strength at a\ngreat disadvantage.\n\nThe striped bug has come, the saddest of the year.  He is a moral\ndouble-ender, iron-clad at that.  He is unpleasant in two ways.  He\nburrows in the ground so that you cannot find him, and he flies away\nso that you cannot catch him.  He is rather handsome, as bugs go, but\nutterly dastardly, in that he gnaws the stem of the plant close to\nthe ground, and ruins it without any apparent advantage to himself.\nI find him on the hills of cucumbers (perhaps it will be a\ncholera-year, and we shall not want any), the squashes (small loss),\nand the melons (which never ripen).  The best way to deal with the\nstriped bug is to sit down by the hills, and patiently watch for him.\nIf you are spry, you can annoy him.  This, however, takes time.  It\ntakes all day and part of the night.  For he flieth in darkness, and\nwasteth at noonday.  If you get up before the dew is off the plants,-\n-it goes off very early,--you can sprinkle soot on the plant (soot is\nmy panacea: if I can get the disease of a plant reduced to the\nnecessity of soot, I am all right)and soot is unpleasant to the bug.\nBut the best thing to do is to set a toad to catch the bugs.  The\ntoad at once establishes the most intimate relations with the bug.\nIt is a pleasure to see such unity among the lower animals.  The\ndifficulty is to make the toad stay and watch the hill.  If you know\nyour toad, it is all right.  If you do not, you must build a tight\nfence round the plants, which the toad cannot jump over.  This,\nhowever, introduces a new element.  I find that I have a zoological\ngarden on my hands.  It is an unexpected result of my little\nenterprise, which never aspired to the completeness of the Paris\n\"Jardin des Plantes.\"\n\n\n\n\nFOURTH WEEK\n\nOrthodoxy is at a low ebb.  Only two clergymen accepted my offer to\ncome and help hoe my potatoes for the privilege of using my vegetable\ntotal-depravity figure about the snake-grass, or quack-grass as some\ncall it; and those two did not bring hoes.  There seems to be a lack\nof disposition to hoe among our educated clergy.  I am bound to say\nthat these two, however, sat and watched my vigorous combats with the\nweeds, and talked most beautifully about the application of the\nsnake-grass figure.  As, for instance, when a fault or sin showed on\nthe surface of a man, whether, if you dug down, you would find that\nit ran back and into the original organic bunch of original sin\nwithin the man.  The only other clergyman who came was from out of\ntown,--a half Universalist, who said he wouldn't give twenty cents\nfor my figure.  He said that the snake-grass was not in my garden\noriginally, that it sneaked in under the sod, and that it could be\nentirely rooted out with industry and patience.  I asked the\nUniversalist-inclined man to take my hoe and try it; but he said he\nhad n't time, and went away.\n\nBut, jubilate, I have got my garden all hoed the first time!  I feel\nas if I had put down the rebellion.  Only there are guerrillas left\nhere and there, about the borders and in corners, unsubdued,- Forrest\ndocks, and Quantrell grass, and Beauregard pig-weeds.  This first\nhoeing is a gigantic task: it is your first trial of strength with\nthe never-sleeping forces of Nature.  Several times, in its progress,\nI was tempted to do as Adam did, who abandoned his garden on account\nof the weeds.  (How much my mind seems to run upon Adam, as if there\nhad been only two really moral gardens,--Adam's and mine!) The only\ndrawback to my rejoicing over the finishing of the first hoeing is,\nthat the garden now wants hoeing the second time.  I suppose, if my\ngarden were planted in a perfect circle, and I started round it with\na hoe, I should never see an opportunity to rest.  The fact is, that\ngardening is the old fable of perpetual labor; and I, for one, can\nnever forgive Adam Sisyphus, or whoever it was, who let in the roots\nof discord.  I had pictured myself sitting at eve, with my family, in\nthe shade of twilight, contemplating a garden hoed.  Alas!  it is a\ndream not to be realized in this world.\n\nMy mind has been turned to the subject of fruit and shade trees in a\ngarden.  There are those who say that trees shade the garden too\nmuch, and interfere with the growth of the vegetables.  There may be\nsomething in this: but when I go down the potato rows, the rays of\nthe sun glancing upon my shining blade, the sweat pouring from my\nface, I should be grateful for shade.  What is a garden for?  The\npleasure of man.  I should take much more pleasure in a shady garden.\nAm I to be sacrificed, broiled, roasted, for the sake of the\nincreased vigor of a few vegetables?  The thing is perfectly absurd.\nIf I were rich, I think I would have my garden covered with an\nawning, so that it would be comfortable to work in it.  It might roll\nup and be removable, as the great awning of the Roman Coliseum was,--\nnot like the Boston one, which went off in a high wind.  Another very\ngood way to do, and probably not so expensive as the awning, would be\nto have four persons of foreign birth carry a sort of canopy over you\nas you hoed.  And there might be a person at each end of the row with\nsome cool and refreshing drink.  Agriculture is still in a very\nbarbarous stage.  I hope to live yet to see the day when I can do my\ngardening, as tragedy is done, to slow and soothing music, and\nattended by some of the comforts I have named.  These things come so\nforcibly into my mind sometimes as I work, that perhaps, when a\nwandering breeze lifts my straw hat, or a bird lights on a near\ncurrant-bush, and shakes out a full-throated summer song, I almost\nexpect to find the cooling drink and the hospitable entertainment at\nthe end of the row.  But I never do.  There is nothing to be done but\nto turn round, and hoe back to the other end.\n\nSpeaking of those yellow squash-bugs, I think I disheartened them by\ncovering the plants so deep with soot and wood-ashes that they could\nnot find them; and I am in doubt if I shall ever see the plants\nagain.  But I have heard of another defense against the bugs.  Put a\nfine wire-screen over each hill, which will keep out the bugs and\nadmit the rain.  I should say that these screens would not cost much\nmore than the melons you would be likely to get from the vines if you\nbought them; but then think of the moral satisfaction of watching the\nbugs hovering over the screen, seeing, but unable to reach the tender\nplants within.  That is worth paying for.\n\nI left my own garden yesterday, and went over to where Polly was\ngetting the weeds out of one of her flower-beds.  She was working\naway at the bed with a little hoe.  Whether women ought to have the\nballot or not (and I have a decided opinion on that point, which I\nshould here plainly give, did I not fear that it would injure my\nagricultural influence), 'I am compelled to say that this was rather\nhelpless hoeing.  It was patient, conscientious, even pathetic\nhoeing; but it was neither effective nor finished.  When completed,\nthe bed looked somewhat as if a hen had scratched it: there was that\ntouching unevenness about it.  I think no one could look at it and\nnot be affected.  To be sure, Polly smoothed it off with a rake, and\nasked me if it was n't nice; and I said it was.  It was not a\nfavorable time for me to explain the difference between puttering\nhoeing, and the broad, free sweep of the instrument, which kills the\nweeds, spares the plants, and loosens the soil without leaving it in\nholes and hills.  But, after all, as life is constituted, I think\nmore of Polly's honest and anxious care of her plants than of the\nmost finished gardening in the world.\n\n\n\n\nFIFTH WEEK\n\nI left my garden for a week, just at the close of the dry spell.  A\nseason of rain immediately set in, and when I returned the\ntransformation was wonderful.  In one week every vegetable had fairly\njumped forward.  The tomatoes which I left slender plants, eaten of\nbugs and debating whether they would go backward or forward, had\nbecome stout and lusty, with thick stems and dark leaves, and some of\nthem had blossomed.  The corn waved like that which grows so rank out\nof the French-English mixture at Waterloo.  The squashes--I will not\nspeak of the squashes.  The most remarkable growth was the asparagus.\nThere was not a spear above ground when I went away; and now it had\nsprung up, and gone to seed, and there were stalks higher than my\nhead.  I am entirely aware of the value of words, and of moral\nobligations.  When I say that the asparagus had grown six feet in\nseven days, I expect and wish to be believed.  I am a little\nparticular about the statement; for, if there is any prize offered\nfor asparagus at the next agricultural fair, I wish to compete,-\n-speed to govern.  What I claim is the fastest asparagus.  As for\neating purposes, I have seen better.  A neighbor of mine, who looked\nin at the growth of the bed, said, \" Well, he'd be--\": but I told him\nthere was no use of affirming now; he might keep his oath till I\nwanted it on the asparagus affidavit.  In order to have this sort of\nasparagus, you want to manure heavily in the early spring, fork it\nin, and top-dress (that sounds technical) with a thick layer of\nchloride of sodium: if you cannot get that, common salt will do, and\nthe neighbors will never notice whether it is the orthodox Na. Cl.\n58-5, or not.\n\nI scarcely dare trust myself to speak of the weeds.  They grow as if\nthe devil was in them.  I know a lady, a member of the church, and a\nvery good sort of woman, considering the subject condition of that\nclass, who says that the weeds work on her to that extent, that, in\ngoing through her garden, she has the greatest difficulty in keeping\nthe ten commandments in anything like an unfractured condition.  I\nasked her which one, but she said, all of them: one felt like\nbreaking the whole lot.  The sort of weed which I most hate (if I can\nbe said to hate anything which grows in my own garden) is the\n\"pusley,\" a fat, ground-clinging, spreading, greasy thing, and the\nmost propagatious (it is not my fault if the word is not in the\ndictionary) plant I know.  I saw a Chinaman, who came over with a\nreturned missionary, and pretended to be converted, boil a lot of it\nin a pot, stir in eggs, and mix and eat it with relish, -\"Me likee\nhe.\" It will be a good thing to keep the Chinamen on when they come\nto do our gardening.  I only fear they will cultivate it at the\nexpense of the strawberries and melons.  Who can say that other\nweeds, which we despise, may not be the favorite food of some remote\npeople or tribe?  We ought to abate our conceit.  It is possible that\nwe destroy in our gardens that which is really of most value in some\nother place.  Perhaps, in like manner, our faults and vices are\nvirtues in some remote planet.  I cannot see, however, that this\nthought is of the slightest value to us here, any more than weeds\nare.\n\nThere is another subject which is forced upon my notice.  I like\nneighbors, and I like chickens; but I do not think they ought to be\nunited near a garden.  Neighbors' hens in your garden are an\nannoyance.  Even if they did not scratch up the corn, and peck the\nstrawberries, and eat the tomatoes, it is not pleasant to see them\nstraddling about in their jerky, high-stepping, speculative manner,\npicking inquisitively here and there.  It is of no use to tell the\nneighbor that his hens eat your tomatoes: it makes no impression on\nhim, for the tomatoes are not his.  The best way is to casually\nremark to him that he has a fine lot of chickens, pretty well grown,\nand that you like spring chickens broiled.  He will take them away at\nonce.\n\nThe neighbors' small children are also out of place in your garden,\nin strawberry and currant time.  I hope I appreciate the value of\nchildren.  We should soon come to nothing without them, though the\nShakers have the best gardens in the world.  Without them the common\nschool would languish.  But the problem is, what to do with them in a\ngarden.  For they are not good to eat, and there is a law against\nmaking away with them.  The law is not very well enforced, it is\ntrue; for people do thin them out with constant dosing, paregoric,\nand soothing-syrups, and scanty clothing.  But I, for one, feel that\nit would not be right, aside from the law, to take the life, even of\nthe smallest child, for the sake of a little fruit, more or less, in\nthe garden.  I may be wrong; but these are my sentiments, and I am\nnot ashamed of them.  When we come, as Bryant says in his \"Iliad,\" to\nleave the circus of this life, and join that innumerable caravan\nwhich moves, it will be some satisfaction to us, that we have never,\nin the way of gardening, disposed of even the humblest child\nunnecessarily.  My plan would be to put them into Sunday-schools more\nthoroughly, and to give the Sunday-schools an agricultural turn;\nteaching the children the sacredness of neighbors' vegetables.  I\nthink that our Sunday-schools do not sufficiently impress upon\nchildren the danger, from snakes and otherwise, of going into the\nneighbors' gardens.\n\n\n\n\nSIXTH WEEK\n\nSomebody has sent me a new sort of hoe, with the wish that I should\nspeak favorably of it, if I can consistently.  I willingly do so, but\nwith the understanding that I am to be at liberty to speak just as\ncourteously of any other hoe which I may receive.  If I understand\nreligious morals, this is the position of the religious press with\nregard to bitters and wringing-machines.  In some cases, the\nresponsibility of such a recommendation is shifted upon the wife of\nthe editor or clergy-man.  Polly says she is entirely willing to make\na certificate, accompanied with an affidavit, with regard to this\nhoe; but her habit of sitting about the garden walk, on an inverted\nflower-pot, while I hoe, some what destroys the practical value of\nher testimony.\n\nAs to this hoe, I do not mind saying that it has changed my view of\nthe desirableness and value of human life.  It has, in fact, made\nlife a holiday to me.  It is made on the principle that man is an\nupright, sensible, reasonable being, and not a groveling wretch.  It\ndoes away with the necessity of the hinge in the back.  The handle is\nseven and a half feet long.  There are two narrow blades, sharp on\nboth edges, which come together at an obtuse angle in front; and as\nyou walk along with this hoe before you, pushing and pulling with a\ngentle motion, the weeds fall at every thrust and withdrawal, and the\nslaughter is immediate and widespread.  When I got this hoe I was\ntroubled with sleepless mornings, pains in the back, kleptomania with\nregard to new weeders; when I went into my garden I was always sure\nto see something.  In this disordered state of mind and body I got\nthis hoe.  The morning after a day of using it I slept perfectly and\nlate.  I regained my respect for the eighth commandment.  After two\ndoses of the hoe in the garden, the weeds entirely disappeared.\nTrying it a third morning, I was obliged to throw it over the fence\nin order to save from destruction the green things that ought to grow\nin the garden.  Of course, this is figurative language.  What I mean\nis, that the fascination of using this hoe is such that you are\nsorely tempted to employ it upon your vegetables, after the weeds are\nlaid low, and must hastily withdraw it, to avoid unpleasant results.\nI make this explanation, because I intend to put nothing into these\nagricultural papers that will not bear the strictest scientific\ninvestigation; nothing that the youngest child cannot understand and\ncry for; nothing that the oldest and wisest men will not need to\nstudy with care.\n\nI need not add that the care of a garden with this hoe becomes the\nmerest pastime.  I would not be without one for a single night.  The\nonly danger is, that you may rather make an idol of the hoe, and\nsomewhat neglect your garden in explaining it, and fooling about with\nit.  I almost think that, with one of these in the hands of an\nordinary day-laborer, you might see at night where he had been\nworking.\n\nLet us have peas.  I have been a zealous advocate of the birds.  I\nhave rejoiced in their multiplication.  I have endured their concerts\nat four o'clock in the morning without a murmur.  Let them come, I\nsaid, and eat the worms, in order that we, later, may enjoy the\nfoliage and the fruits of the earth.  We have a cat, a magnificent\nanimal, of the sex which votes (but not a pole-cat),--so large and\npowerful that, if he were in the army, he would be called Long Tom.\nHe is a cat of fine disposition, the most irreproachable morals I\never saw thrown away in a cat, and a splendid hunter.  He spends his\nnights, not in social dissipation, but in gathering in rats, mice,\nflying-squirrels, and also birds.  When he first brought me a bird, I\ntold him that it was wrong, and tried to convince him, while he was\neating it, that he was doing wrong; for he is a reasonable cat, and\nunderstands pretty much everything except the binomial theorem and\nthe time down the cycloidal arc.  But with no effect.  The killing of\nbirds went on, to my great regret and shame.\n\nThe other day I went to my garden to get a mess of peas.  I had seen,\nthe day before, that they were just ready to pick.  How I had lined\nthe ground, planted, hoed, bushed them!  The bushes were very fine,--\nseven feet high, and of good wood.  How I had delighted in the\ngrowing, the blowing, the podding!  What a touching thought it was\nthat they had all podded for me!  When I went to pick them, I found\nthe pods all split open, and the peas gone.  The dear little birds,\nwho are so fond of the strawberries, had eaten them all.  Perhaps\nthere were left as many as I planted: I did not count them.  I made a\nrapid estimate of the cost of the seed, the interest of the ground,\nthe price of labor, the value of the bushes, the anxiety of weeks of\nwatchfulness.  I looked about me on the face of Nature.  The wind\nblew from the south so soft and treacherous!  A thrush sang in the\nwoods so deceitfully!  All Nature seemed fair.  But who was to give\nme back my peas?  The fowls of the air have peas; but what has man?\n\nI went into the house.  I called Calvin.  (That is the name of our\ncat, given him on account of his gravity, morality, and uprightness.\nWe never familiarly call him John).  I petted Calvin.  I lavished\nupon him an enthusiastic fondness.  I told him that he had no fault;\nthat the one action that I had called a vice was an heroic exhibition\nof regard for my interests.  I bade him go and do likewise\ncontinually.  I now saw how much better instinct is than mere\nunguided reason.  Calvin knew.  If he had put his opinion into\nEnglish (instead of his native catalogue), it would have been: \"You\nneed not teach your grandmother to suck eggs.\"  It was only the round\nof Nature.  The worms eat a noxious something in the ground.  The\nbirds eat the worms.  Calvin eats the birds.  We eat--no, we do not\neat Calvin.  There the chain stops.  When you ascend the scale of\nbeing, and come to an animal that is, like ourselves, inedible) you\nhave arrived at a result where you can rest.  Let us respect the cat.\nHe completes an edible chain.\n\nI have little heart to discuss methods of raising peas.  It occurs to\nme that I can have an iron peabush, a sort of trellis, through which\nI could discharge electricity at frequent intervals, and electrify\nthe birds to death when they alight: for they stand upon my beautiful\nbrush in order to pick out the peas.  An apparatus of this kind, with\nan operator, would cost, however, about as much as the peas.  A\nneighbor suggests that I might put up a scarecrow near the vines,\nwhich would keep the birds away.  I am doubtful about it: the birds\nare too much accustomed to seeing a person in poor clothes in the\ngarden to care much for that.  Another neighbor suggests that the\nbirds do not open the pods; that a sort of blast, apt to come after\nrain, splits the pods, and the birds then eat the peas.  It may be\nso.  There seems to be complete unity of action between the blast and\nthe birds.  But, good neighbors, kind friends, I desire that you will\nnot increase, by talk, a disappointment which you cannot assuage.\n\n\n\n\nSEVENTH WEEK\n\nA garden is an awful responsibility.  You never know what you may be\naiding to grow in it.  I heard a sermon, not long ago, in which the\npreacher said that the Christian, at the moment of his becoming one,\nwas as perfect a Christian as he would be if he grew to be an arch-\nangel; that is, that he would not change thereafter at all, but only\ndevelop.  I do not know whether this is good theology, or not; and I\nhesitate to support it by an illustration from my garden, especially\nas I do not want to run the risk of propagating error, and I do not\ncare to give away these theological comparisons to clergymen who make\nme so little return in the way of labor.  But I find, in dissecting a\npea-blossom, that hidden in the center of it is a perfect miniature\npea-pod, with the peas all in it,--as perfect a pea-pod as it will\never be, only it is as tiny as a chatelaine ornament.  Maize and some\nother things show the same precocity.  This confirmation of the\ntheologic theory is startling, and sets me meditating upon the moral\npossibilities of my garden.  I may find in it yet the cosmic egg.\n\nAnd, speaking of moral things, I am half determined to petition the\nEcumenical Council to issue a bull of excommunication against\n\"pusley.\"  Of all the forms which \" error \" has taken in this world,\nI think that is about the worst.  In the Middle Ages the monks in St.\nBernard's ascetic community at Clairvaux excommunicated a vineyard\nwhich a less rigid monk had planted near, so that it bore nothing.\nIn 1120 a bishop of Laon excommunicated the caterpillars in his\ndiocese; and, the following year, St. Bernard excommunicated the\nflies in the Monastery of Foigny; and in 1510 the ecclesiastical\ncourt pronounced the dread sentence against the rats of Autun, Macon,\nand Lyons.  These examples are sufficient precedents.  It will be\nwell for the council, however, not to publish the bull either just\nbefore or just after a rain; for nothing can kill this pestilent\nheresy when the ground is wet.\n\nIt is the time of festivals.  Polly says we ought to have one,--a\nstrawberry-festival.  She says they are perfectly delightful: it is\nso nice to get people together!--this hot weather.  They create such\na good feeling!  I myself am very fond of festivals.  I always go,--\nwhen I can consistently.  Besides the strawberries, there are ice\ncreams and cake and lemonade, and that sort of thing: and one always\nfeels so well the next day after such a diet!  But as social\nreunions, if there are good things to eat, nothing can be pleasanter;\nand they are very profitable, if you have a good object.  I agreed\nthat we ought to have a festival; but I did not know what object to\ndevote it to.  We are not in need of an organ, nor of any pulpit-\ncushions.  I do not know that they use pulpit-cushions now as much as\nthey used to, when preachers had to have something soft to pound, so\nthat they would not hurt their fists.  I suggested pocket\nhandkerchiefs, and flannels for next winter.  But Polly says that\nwill not do at all.  You must have some charitable object,--something\nthat appeals to a vast sense of something; something that it will be\nright to get up lotteries and that sort of thing for.  I suggest a\nfestival for the benefit of my garden; and this seems feasible.  In\norder to make everything pass off pleasantly, invited guests will\nbring or send their own strawberries and cream, which I shall be\nhappy to sell to them at a slight advance.  There are a great many\nimprovements which the garden needs; among them a sounding-board, so\nthat the neighbors' children can hear when I tell them to get a\nlittle farther off from the currant-bushes.  I should also like a\nselection from the ten commandments, in big letters, posted up\nconspicuously, and a few traps, that will detain, but not maim, for\nthe benefit of those who cannot read.  But what is most important is,\nthat the ladies should crochet nets to cover over the strawberries.\nA good-sized, well-managed festival ought to produce nets enough to\ncover my entire beds; and I can think of no other method of\npreserving the berries from the birds next year.  I wonder how many\nstrawberries it would need for a festival \"and whether they would\ncost more than the nets.\n\nI am more and more impressed, as the summer goes on, with the\ninequality of man's fight with Nature; especially in a civilized\nstate.  In savagery, it does not much matter; for one does not take a\nsquare hold, and put out his strength, but rather accommodates\nhimself to the situation, and takes what he can get, without raising\nany dust, or putting himself into everlasting opposition.  But the\nminute he begins to clear a spot larger than he needs to sleep in for\na night, and to try to have his own way in the least, Nature is at\nonce up, and vigilant, and contests him at every step with all her\ningenuity and unwearied vigor.  This talk of subduing Nature is\npretty much nonsense.  I do not intend to surrender in the midst of\nthe summer campaign, yet I cannot but think how much more peaceful my\nrelations would now be with the primal forces, if I had, let Nature\nmake the garden according to her own notion.  (This is written with\nthe thermometer at ninety degrees, and the weeds starting up with a\nfreshness and vigor, as if they had just thought of it for the first\ntime, and had not been cut down and dragged out every other day since\nthe snow went off.)\n\nWe have got down the forests, and exterminated savage beasts; but\nNature is no more subdued than before: she only changes her tactics,-\n-uses smaller guns, so to speak.  She reenforces herself with a\nvariety of bugs, worms, and vermin, and weeds, unknown to the savage\nstate, in order to make war upon the things of our planting; and\ncalls in the fowls of the air, just as we think the battle is won, to\nsnatch away the booty.  When one gets almost weary of the struggle,\nshe is as fresh as at the beginning,--just, in fact, ready for the\nfray.  I, for my part, begin to appreciate the value of frost and\nsnow; for they give the husbandman a little peace, and enable him,\nfor a season, to contemplate his incessant foe subdued.  I do not\nwonder that the tropical people, where Nature never goes to sleep,\ngive it up, and sit in lazy acquiescence.\n\nHere I have been working all the season to make a piece of lawn.  It\nhad to be graded and sowed and rolled; and I have been shaving it\nlike a barber.  When it was soft, everything had a tendency to go on\nto it,--cows, and especially wandering hackmen.  Hackmen (who are a\nproduct of civilization) know a lawn when they see it.  They rather\nhave a fancy for it, and always try to drive so as to cut the sharp\nborders of it, and leave the marks of their wheels in deep ruts of\ncut-up, ruined turf.  The other morning, I had just been running the\nmower over the lawn, and stood regarding its smoothness, when I\nnoticed one, two, three puffs of fresh earth in it; and, hastening\nthither, I found that the mole had arrived to complete the work of\nthe hackmen.  In a half-hour he had rooted up the ground like a pig.\nI found his run-ways.  I waited for him with a spade.  He did not\nappear; but, the next time I passed by, he had ridged the ground in\nall directions,--a smooth, beautiful animal, with fur like silk, if\nyou could only catch him.  He appears to enjoy the lawn as much as\nthe hackmen did.  He does not care how smooth it is.  He is\nconstantly mining, and ridging it up.  I am not sure but he could be\ncountermined.  I have half a mind to put powder in here and there,\nand blow the whole thing into the air.  Some folks set traps for the\nmole; but my moles never seem to go twice in the same place.  I am\nnot sure but it would bother them to sow the lawn with interlacing\nsnake-grass (the botanical name of which, somebody writes me, is\ndevil-grass: the first time I have heard that the Devil has a\nbotanical name), which would worry them, if it is as difficult for\nthem to get through it as it is for me.\n\nI do not speak of this mole in any tone of complaint.  He is only a\npart of the untiring resources which Nature brings against the humble\ngardener.  I desire to write nothing against him which I should wish\nto recall at the last,--nothing foreign to the spirit of that\nbeautiful saying of the dying boy, \" He had no copy-book, which,\ndying, he was sorry he had blotted.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nEIGHTH WEEK\n\nMy garden has been visited by a High Official Person.  President\nGr-nt was here just before the Fourth, getting his mind quiet for\nthat event by a few days of retirement, staying with a friend at the\nhead of our street; and I asked him if he wouldn't like to come down\nour way Sunday afternoon and take a plain, simple look at my garden,\neat a little lemon ice-cream and jelly-cake, and drink a glass of\nnative lager-beer.  I thought of putting up over my gate, \" Welcome\nto the Nation's Gardener; \" but I hate nonsense, and did n't do it.\nI, however, hoed diligently on Saturday: what weeds I could n't\nremove I buried, so that everything would look all right.  The\nborders of my drive were trimmed with scissors; and everything that\ncould offend the Eye of the Great was hustled out of the way.\n\nIn relating this interview, it must be distinctly understood that I\nam not responsible for anything that the President said; nor is he,\neither.  He is not a great speaker; but whatever he says has an\nesoteric and an exoteric meaning; and some of his remarks about my\nvegetables went very deep.  I said nothing to him whatever about\npolitics, at which he seemed a good deal surprised: he said it was\nthe first garden he had ever been in, with a man, when the talk was\nnot of appointments.  I told him that this was purely vegetable;\nafter which he seemed more at his ease, and, in fact, delighted with\neverything he saw.  He was much interested in my strawberry-beds,\nasked what varieties I had, and requested me to send him some seed.\nHe said the patent-office seed was as difficult to raise as an\nappropriation for the St. Domingo business.  The playful bean seemed\nalso to please him; and he said he had never seen such impressive\ncorn and potatoes at this time of year; that it was to him an\nunexpected pleasure, and one of the choicest memories that he should\ntake away with him of his visit to New England.\n\nN.  B. --That corn and those potatoes which General Gr-nt looked at I\nwill sell for seed, at five dollars an ear, and one dollar a potato.\nOffice-seekers need not apply.\n\nKnowing the President's great desire for peas, I kept him from that\npart of the garden where the vines grow.  But they could not be\nconcealed.  Those who say that the President is not a man easily\nmoved are knaves or fools.  When he saw my pea-pods, ravaged by the\nbirds, he burst into tears.  A man of war, he knows the value of\npeas.  I told him they were an excellent sort, \"The Champion of\nEngland.\"  As quick as a flash he said, \"Why don't you call them 'The\nReverdy Johnson'?\"\n\nIt was a very clever bon-mot; but I changed the subject.\n\nThe sight of my squashes, with stalks as big as speaking-trumpets,\nrestored the President to his usual spirits.  He said the summer\nsquash was the most ludicrous vegetable he knew.  It was nearly all\nleaf and blow, with only a sickly, crook-necked fruit after a mighty\nfuss.  It reminded him of the member of Congress from...; but I\nhastened to change the subject.\n\nAs we walked along, the keen eye of the President rested upon some\nhandsome sprays of \"pusley,\" which must have grown up since Saturday\nnight.  It was most fortunate; for it led his Excellency to speak of\nthe Chinese problem.  He said he had been struck with one, coupling\nof the Chinese and the \"pusley\" in one of my agricultural papers; and\nit had a significance more far-reaching than I had probably supposed.\nHe had made the Chinese problem a special study.  He said that I was\nright in saying that \"pusley\" was the natural food of the Chinaman,\nand that where the \"pusley\" was, there would the Chinaman be also.\nFor his part, he welcomed the Chinese emigration: we needed the\nChinaman in our gardens to eat the \"pusley; \"and he thought the whole\nproblem solved by this simple consideration.  To get rid of rats and\n\"pusley,\" he said, was a necessity of our civilization.  He did not\ncare so much about the shoe-business; he did not think that the\nlittle Chinese shoes that he had seen would be of service in the\narmy: but the garden-interest was quite another affair.  We want to\nmake a garden of our whole country: the hoe, in the hands of a man\ntruly great, he was pleased to say, was mightier than the pen.  He\npresumed that General B-tl-r had never taken into consideration the\ngarden-question, or he would not assume the position he does with\nregard to the Chinese emigration.  He would let the Chinese come,\neven if B-tl-r had to leave, I thought he was going to say, but I\nchanged the subject.\n\nDuring our entire garden interview (operatically speaking, the\ngarden-scene), the President was not smoking.  I do not know how the\nimpression arose that he \"uses tobacco in any form;\" for I have seen\nhim several times, and he was not smoking.  Indeed, I offered him a\nConnecticut six; but he wittily said that he did not like a weed in a\ngarden,--a remark which I took to have a personal political bearing,\nand changed the subject.\n\nThe President was a good deal surprised at the method and fine\nappearance of my garden, and to learn that I had the sole care of it.\nHe asked me if I pursued an original course, or whether I got my\nideas from writers on the subject.  I told him that I had had no time\nto read anything on the subject since I began to hoe, except\n\"Lothair,\" from which I got my ideas of landscape gardening; and that\nI had worked the garden entirely according to my own notions, except\nthat I had borne in mind his injunction, \"to fight it out on this\nline if\"--The President stopped me abruptly, and said it was\nunnecessary to repeat that remark: he thought he had heard it before.\nIndeed, he deeply regretted that he had ever made it.  Sometimes, he\nsaid, after hearing it in speeches, and coming across it in\nresolutions, and reading it in newspapers, and having it dropped\njocularly by facetious politicians, who were boring him for an\noffice, about twenty-five times a day, say for a month, it would get\nto running through his head, like the \"shoo-fly\" song which B-tl-r\nsings in the House, until it did seem as if he should go distracted.\nHe said, no man could stand that kind of sentence hammering on his\nbrain for years.\n\nThe President was so much pleased with my management of the garden,\nthat he offered me (at least, I so understood him) the position of\nhead gardener at the White House, to have care of the exotics.  I\ntold him that I thanked him, but that I did not desire any foreign\nappointment.  I had resolved, when the administration came in, not to\ntake an appointment; and I had kept my resolution.  As to any home\noffice, I was poor, but honest; and, of course, it would be useless\nfor me to take one.  The President mused a moment, and then smiled,\nand said he would see what could be done for me.  I did not change\nthe subject; but nothing further was said by General Gr-nt.\n\nThe President is a great talker (contrary to the general impression);\nbut I think he appreciated his quiet hour in my garden.  He said it\ncarried him back to his youth farther than anything he had seen\nlately.  He looked forward with delight to the time when he could\nagain have his private garden, grow his own lettuce and tomatoes, and\nnot have to get so much \"sarce\" from Congress.\n\nThe chair in which the President sat, while declining to take a glass\nof lager I have had destroyed, in order that no one may sit in it.\nIt was the only way to save it, if I may so speak.  It would have\nbeen impossible to keep it from use by any precautions.  There are\npeople who would have sat in it, if the seat had been set with iron\nspikes.  Such is the adoration of Station.\n\n\n\n\nNINTH WEEK\n\nI am more and more impressed with the moral qualities of vegetables,\nand contemplate forming a science which shall rank with comparative\nanatomy and comparative philology,--the science of comparative\nvegetable morality.  We live in an age of protoplasm.  And, if\nlife-matter is essentially the same in all forms of life, I purpose\nto begin early, and ascertain the nature of the plants for which I am\nresponsible.  I will not associate with any vegetable which is\ndisreputable, or has not some quality that can contribute to my moral\ngrowth.  I do not care to be seen much with the squashes or the dead-\nbeets.  Fortunately I can cut down any sorts I do not like with the\nhoe, and, probably, commit no more sin in so doing than the\nChristians did in hewing down the Jews in the Middle Ages.\n\nThis matter of vegetable rank has not been at all studied as it\nshould be.  Why do we respect some vegetables and despise others,\nwhen all of them come to an equal honor or ignominy on the table?\nThe bean is a graceful, confiding, engaging vine; but you never can\nput beans into poetry, nor into the highest sort of prose.  There is\nno dignity in the bean.  Corn, which, in my garden, grows alongside\nthe bean, and, so far as I can see, with no affectation of\nsuperiority, is, however, the child of song.  It waves in all\nliterature.  But mix it with beans, and its high tone is gone.\nSuccotash is vulgar.  It is the bean in it.  The bean is a vulgar\nvegetable, without culture, or any flavor of high society among\nvegetables.  Then there is the cool cucumber, like so many people,\ngood for nothing when it is ripe and the wildness has gone out of it.\nHow inferior in quality it is to the melon, which grows upon a\nsimilar vine, is of a like watery consistency, but is not half so\nvaluable!  The cucumber is a sort of low comedian in a company where\nthe melon is a minor gentleman.  I might also contrast the celery\nwith the potato.  The associations are as opposite as the dining-room\nof the duchess and the cabin of the peasant.  I admire the potato,\nboth in vine and blossom; but it is not aristocratic.  I began\ndigging my potatoes, by the way, about the 4th of July; and I fancy I\nhave discovered the right way to do it.  I treat the potato just as I\nwould a cow.  I do not pull them up, and shake them out, and destroy\nthem; but I dig carefully at the side of the hill, remove the fruit\nwhich is grown, leaving the vine undisturbed: and my theory is, that\nit will go on bearing, and submitting to my exactions, until the\nfrost cuts it down.  It is a game that one would not undertake with a\nvegetable of tone.\n\nThe lettuce is to me a most interesting study.  Lettuce is like\nconversation: it must be fresh and crisp, so sparkling that you\nscarcely notice the bitter in it.  Lettuce, like most talkers, is,\nhowever, apt to run rapidly to seed.  Blessed is that sort which\ncomes to a head, and so remains, like a few people I know; growing\nmore solid and satisfactory and tender at the same time, and whiter\nat the center, and crisp in their maturity.  Lettuce, like conver-\nsation, requires a good deal of oil to avoid friction, and keep the\ncompany smooth; a pinch of attic salt; a dash of pepper; a quantity\nof mustard and vinegar, by all means, but so mixed that you will\nnotice no sharp contrasts; and a trifle of sugar.  You can put\nanything, and the more things the better, into salad, as into a\nconversation; but everything depends upon the skill of mixing.  I\nfeel that I am in the best society when I am with lettuce.  It is in\nthe select circle of vegetables.  The tomato appears well on the\ntable; but you do not want to ask its origin.  It is a most agreeable\nparvenu.  Of course, I have said nothing about the berries.  They\nlive in another and more ideal region; except, perhaps, the currant.\nHere we see, that, even among berries, there are degrees of breeding.\nThe currant is well enough, clear as truth, and exquisite in color;\nbut I ask you to notice how far it is from the exclusive hauteur of\nthe aristocratic strawberry, and the native refinement of the quietly\nelegant raspberry.\n\nI do not know that chemistry, searching for protoplasm, is able to\ndiscover the tendency of vegetables.  It can only be found out by\noutward observation.  I confess that I am suspicious of the bean, for\ninstance.  There are signs in it of an unregulated life.  I put up\nthe most attractive sort of poles for my Limas.  They stand high and\nstraight, like church-spires, in my theological garden,--lifted up;\nand some of them have even budded, like Aaron's rod.  No church-\nsteeple in a New England village was ever better fitted to draw to it\nthe rising generation on Sunday, than those poles to lift up my beans\ntowards heaven.  Some of them did run up the sticks seven feet, and\nthen straggled off into the air in a wanton manner; but more than\nhalf of them went gallivanting off to the neighboring grape-trellis,\nand wound their tendrils with the tendrils of the grape, with a\ndisregard of the proprieties of life which is a satire upon human\nnature.  And the grape is morally no better.  I think the ancients,\nwho were not troubled with the recondite mystery of protoplasm, were\nright in the mythic union of Bacchus and Venus.\n\nTalk about the Darwinian theory of development, and the principle of\nnatural selection!  I should like to see a garden let to run in\naccordance with it.  If I had left my vegetables and weeds to a free\nfight, in which the strongest specimens only should come to maturity,\nand the weaker go to the wall, I can clearly see that I should have\nhad a pretty mess of it.  It would have been a scene of passion and\nlicense and brutality.  The \"pusley\" would have strangled the\nstrawberry; the upright corn, which has now ears to hear the guilty\nbeating of the hearts of the children who steal the raspberries,\nwould have been dragged to the earth by the wandering bean; the\nsnake-grass would have left no place for the potatoes under ground;\nand the tomatoes would have been swamped by the lusty weeds.  With a\nfirm hand, I have had to make my own \"natural selection.\" Nothing\nwill so well bear watching as a garden, except a family of children\nnext door.  Their power of selection beats mine.  If they could read\nhalf as well as they can steal awhile away, I should put up a notice,\n\"Children, beware!  There is Protoplasm here.\" But I suppose it would\nhave no effect.  I believe they would eat protoplasm as quick as\nanything else, ripe or green.  I wonder if this is going to be a\ncholera-year.  Considerable cholera is the only thing that would let\nmy apples and pears ripen.  Of course I do not care for the fruit;\nbut I do not want to take the responsibility of letting so much\n\"life-matter,\" full of crude and even wicked vegetable-human\ntendencies, pass into the composition of the neighbors' children,\nsome of whom may be as immortal as snake-grass.  There ought to be a\npublic meeting about this, and resolutions, and perhaps a clambake.\nAt least, it ought to be put into the catechism, and put in strong.\n\n\n\n\nTENTH WEEK\n\nI think I have discovered the way to keep peas from the birds.  I\ntried the scarecrow plan, in a way which I thought would outwit the\nshrewdest bird.  The brain of the bird is not large; but it is all\nconcentrated on one object, and that is the attempt to elude the\ndevices of modern civilization which injure his chances of food.  I\nknew that, if I put up a complete stuffed man, the bird would detect\nthe imitation at once: the perfection of the thing would show him\nthat it was a trick.  People always overdo the matter when they\nattempt deception.  I therefore hung some loose garments, of a bright\ncolor, upon a rake-head, and set them up among the vines.  The\nsupposition was, that the bird would think there was an effort to\ntrap him, that there was a man behind, holding up these garments, and\nwould sing, as he kept at a distance, \"You can't catch me with any\nsuch double device.\" The bird would know, or think he knew, that I\nwould not hang up such a scare, in the expectation that it would pass\nfor a man, and deceive a bird; and he would therefore look for a\ndeeper plot.  I expected to outwit the bird by a duplicity that was\nsimplicity itself I may have over-calculated the sagacity and\nreasoning power of the bird.  At any rate, I did over-calculate the\namount of peas I should gather.\n\nBut my game was only half played.  In another part of the garden were\nother peas, growing and blowing.  To-these I took good care not to\nattract the attention of the bird by any scarecrow whatever!  I left\nthe old scarecrow conspicuously flaunting above the old vines; and by\nthis means I hope to keep the attention of the birds confined to that\nside of the garden.  I am convinced that this is the true use of a\nscarecrow: it is a lure, and not a warning.  If you wish to save men\nfrom any particular vice, set up a tremendous cry of warning about\nsome other; and they will all give their special efforts to the one\nto which attention is called.  This profound truth is about the only\nthing I have yet realized out of my pea-vines.\n\nHowever, the garden does begin to yield.  I know of nothing that\nmakes one feel more complacent, in these July days, than to have his\nvegetables from his own garden.  What an effect it has on the\nmarket-man and the butcher!  It is a kind of declaration of\nindependence.  The market-man shows me his peas and beets and\ntomatoes, and supposes he shall send me out some with the meat.  \"No,\nI thank you,\" I say carelessly; \"I am raising my own this year.\"\nWhereas I have been wont to remark, \"Your vegetables look a little\nwilted this weather,\" I now say, \"What a fine lot of vegetables\nyou've got!\"  When a man is not going to buy, he can afford to be\ngenerous.  To raise his own vegetables makes a person feel, somehow,\nmore liberal.  I think the butcher is touched by the influence, and\ncuts off a better roast for me, The butcher is my friend when he sees\nthat I am not wholly dependent on him.\n\nIt is at home, however, that the effect is most marked, though\nsometimes in a way that I had not expected.  I have never read of any\nRoman supper that seemed to me equal to a dinner of my own\nvegetables; when everything on the table is the product of my own\nlabor, except the clams, which I have not been able to raise yet, and\nthe chickens, which have withdrawn from the garden just when they\nwere most attractive.  It is strange what a taste you suddenly have\nfor things you never liked before.  The squash has always been to me\na dish of contempt; but I eat it now as if it were my best friend.  I\nnever cared for the beet or the bean; but I fancy now that I could\neat them all, tops and all, so completely have they been transformed\nby the soil in which they grew.  I think the squash is less squashy,\nand the beet has a deeper hue of rose, for my care of them.\n\nI had begun to nurse a good deal of pride in presiding over a table\nwhereon was the fruit of my honest industry.  But woman!--John Stuart\nMill is right when he says that we do not know anything about women.\nSix thousand years is as one day with them.  I thought I had\nsomething to do with those vegetables.  But when I saw Polly seated\nat her side of the table, presiding over the new and susceptible\nvegetables, flanked by the squash and the beans, and smiling upon the\ngreen corn and the new potatoes, as cool as the cucumbers which lay\nsliced in ice before her, and when she began to dispense the fresh\ndishes, I saw at once that the day of my destiny was over.  You would\nhave thought that she owned all the vegetables, and had raised them\nall from their earliest years.  Such quiet, vegetable airs!  Such\ngracious appropriation!  At length I said,--\n\n\"Polly, do you know who planted that squash, or those squashes?\"\n\n\"James, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Well, yes, perhaps James did plant them, to a certain extent.  But\nwho hoed them?\"\n\n\"We did.\"\n\n\"We did!\" I said, in the most sarcastic manner.\n\nAnd I suppose we put on the sackcloth and ashes, when the striped bug\ncame at four o'clock A.M., and we watched the tender leaves, and\nwatered night and morning the feeble plants.  I tell you, Polly,\"\nsaid I, uncorking the Bordeaux raspberry vinegar, \"there is not a pea\nhere that does not represent a drop of moisture wrung from my brow,\nnot a beet that does not stand for a back-ache, not a squash that has\nnot caused me untold anxiety; and I did hope--but I will say no\nmore.\"\n\nObservation. --In this sort of family discussion, \"I will say no\nmore\" is the most effective thing you can close up with.\n\nI am not an alarmist.  I hope I am as cool as anybody this hot\nsummer.  But I am quite ready to say to Polly, or any other woman,\n\"You can have the ballot; only leave me the vegetables, or, what is\nmore important, the consciousness of power in vegetables.\"  I see how\nit is.  Woman is now supreme in the house.  She already stretches out\nher hand to grasp the garden.  She will gradually control everything.\nWoman is one of the ablest and most cunning creatures who have ever\nmingled in human affairs.  I understand those women who say they\ndon't want the ballot.  They purpose to hold the real power while we\ngo through the mockery of making laws.  They want the power without\nthe responsibility.  (Suppose my squash had not come up, or my beans-\n-as they threatened at one time--had gone the wrong way: where would\nI have been?) We are to be held to all the responsibilities.  Woman\ntakes the lead in all the departments, leaving us politics only.  And\nwhat is politics?  Let me raise the vegetables of a nation, says\nPolly, and I care not who makes its politics.  Here I sat at the\ntable, armed with the ballot, but really powerless among my own\nvegetables.  While we are being amused by the ballot, woman is\nquietly taking things into her own hands.\n\n\n\n\nELEVENTH WEEK\n\nPerhaps, after all, it is not what you get out of a garden, but what\nyou put into it, that is the most remunerative.  What is a man?  A\nquestion frequently asked, and never, so far as I know,\nsatisfactorily answered.  He commonly spends his seventy years, if so\nmany are given him, in getting ready to enjoy himself.  How many\nhours, how many minutes, does one get of that pure content which is\nhappiness?  I do not mean laziness, which is always discontent; but\nthat serene enjoyment, in which all the natural senses have easy\nplay, and the unnatural ones have a holiday.  There is probably\nnothing that has such a tranquilizing effect, and leads into such\ncontent as gardening.  By gardening, I do not mean that insane desire\nto raise vegetables which some have; but the philosophical occupation\nof contact with the earth, and companionship with gently growing\nthings and patient processes; that exercise which soothes the spirit,\nand develops the deltoid muscles.\n\nIn half an hour I can hoe myself right away from this world, as we\ncommonly see it, into a large place, where there are no obstacles.\nWhat an occupation it is for thought!  The mind broods like a hen on\neggs.  The trouble is, that you are not thinking about anything, but\nare really vegetating like the plants around you.  I begin to know\nwhat the joy of the grape-vine is in running up the trellis, which is\nsimilar to that of the squirrel in running up a tree.  We all have\nsomething in our nature that requires contact with the earth.  In the\nsolitude of garden-labor, one gets into a sort of communion with the\nvegetable life, which makes the old mythology possible.  For\ninstance, I can believe that the dryads are plenty this summer: my\ngarden is like an ash-heap.  Almost all the moisture it has had in\nweeks has been the sweat of honest industry.\n\nThe pleasure of gardening in these days, when the thermometer is at\nninety, is one that I fear I shall not be able to make intelligible\nto my readers, many of whom do not appreciate the delight of soaking\nin the sunshine.  I suppose that the sun, going through a man, as it\nwill on such a day, takes out of him rheumatism, consumption, and\nevery other disease, except sudden death--from sun-stroke.  But,\naside from this, there is an odor from the evergreens, the hedges,\nthe various plants and vines, that is only expressed and set afloat\nat a high temperature, which is delicious; and, hot as it may be, a\nlittle breeze will come at intervals, which can be heard in the\ntreetops, and which is an unobtrusive benediction.  I hear a quail or\ntwo whistling in the ravine; and there is a good deal of fragmentary\nconversation going on among the birds, even on the warmest days.  The\ncompanionship of Calvin, also, counts for a good deal.  He usually\nattends me, unless I work too long in one place; sitting down on the\nturf, displaying the ermine of his breast, and watching my movements\nwith great intelligence.  He has a feline and genuine love for the\nbeauties of Nature, and will establish himself where there is a good\nview, and look on it for hours.  He always accompanies us when we go\nto gather the vegetables, seeming to be desirous to know what we are\nto have for dinner.  He is a connoisseur in the garden; being fond of\nalmost all the vegetables, except the cucumber,--a dietetic hint to\nman.  I believe it is also said that the pig will not eat tobacco.\nThese are important facts.  It is singular, however, that those who\nhold up the pigs as models to us never hold us up as models to the\npigs.\n\nI wish I knew as much about natural history and the habits of animals\nas Calvin does.  He is the closest observer I ever saw; and there are\nfew species of animals on the place that he has not analyzed.  I\nthink he has, to use a euphemism very applicable to him, got outside\nof every one of them, except the toad.  To the toad he is entirely\nindifferent; but I presume he knows that the toad is the most useful\nanimal in the garden.  I think the Agricultural Society ought to\noffer a prize for the finest toad.  When Polly comes to sit in the\nshade near my strawberry-beds, to shell peas, Calvin is always lying\nnear in apparent obliviousness; but not the slightest unusual sound\ncan be made in the bushes, that he is not alert, and prepared to\ninvestigate the cause of it.  It is this habit of observation, so\ncultivated, which has given him such a trained mind, and made him so\nphilosophical.  It is within the capacity of even the humblest of us\nto attain this.\n\nAnd, speaking of the philosophical temper, there is no class of men\nwhose society is more to be desired for this quality than that of\nplumbers.  They are the most agreeable men I know; and the boys in\nthe business begin to be agreeable very early.  I suspect the secret\nof it is, that they are agreeable by the hour.  In the driest days,\nmy fountain became disabled: the pipe was stopped up.  A couple of\nplumbers, with the implements of their craft, came out to view the\nsituation.  There was a good deal of difference of opinion about\nwhere the stoppage was.  I found the plumbers perfectly willing to\nsit down and talk about it,--talk by the hour.  Some of their guesses\nand remarks were exceedingly ingenious; and their general\nobservations on other subjects were excellent in their way, and could\nhardly have been better if they had been made by the job.  The work\ndragged a little, as it is apt to do by the hour.  The plumbers had\noccasion to make me several visits.  Sometimes they would find, upon\narrival, that they had forgotten some indispensable tool; and one\nwould go back to the shop, a mile and a half, after it; and his\ncomrade would await his return with the most exemplary patience, and\nsit down and talk,--always by the hour.  I do not know but it is a\nhabit to have something wanted at the shop.  They seemed to me very\ngood workmen, and always willing to stop and talk about the job, or\nanything else, when I went near them.  Nor had they any of that\nimpetuous hurry that is said to be the bane of our American\ncivilization.  To their credit be it said, that I never observed\nanything of it in them.  They can afford to wait.  Two of them will\nsometimes wait nearly half a day while a comrade goes for a tool.\nThey are patient and philosophical.  It is a great pleasure to meet\nsuch men.  One only wishes there was some work he could do for them\nby the hour.  There ought to be reciprocity.  I think they have very\nnearly solved the problem of Life: it is to work for other people,\nnever for yourself, and get your pay by the hour.  You then have no\nanxiety, and little work.  If you do things by the job, you are\nperpetually driven: the hours are scourges.  If you work by the hour,\nyou gently sail on the stream of Time, which is always bearing you on\nto the haven of Pay, whether you make any effort, or not.  Working by\nthe hour tends to make one moral.  A plumber working by the job,\ntrying to unscrew a rusty, refractory nut, in a cramped position,\nwhere the tongs continually slipped off, would swear; but I never\nheard one of them swear, or exhibit the least impatience at such a\nvexation, working by the hour.  Nothing can move a man who is paid by\nthe hour.  How sweet the flight of time seems to his calm mind!\n\n\n\n\nTWELFTH WEEK\n\nMr.  Horace Greeley, the introduction of whose name confers an honor\nupon this page (although I ought to say that it is used entirely\nwithout his consent), is my sole authority in agriculture.  In\npolitics I do not dare to follow him; but in agriculture he is\nirresistible.  When, therefore, I find him advising Western farmers\nnot to hill up their corn, I think that his advice must be political.\nYou must hill up your corn.  People always have hilled up their corn.\nIt would take a constitutional amendment to change the practice, that\nhas pertained ever since maize was raised.  \"It will stand the\ndrought better,\" says Mr.  Greeley, \"if the ground is left level.\"  I\nhave corn in my garden, ten and twelve feet high, strong and lusty,\nstanding the drought like a grenadier; and it is hilled.  In advising\nthis radical change, Mr.  Greeley evidently has a political purpose.\nHe might just as well say that you should not hill beans, when\neverybody knows that a \"hill of beans\" is one of the most expressive\nsymbols of disparagement.  When I become too lazy to hill my corn, I,\ntoo, shall go into politics.\n\nI am satisfied that it is useless to try to cultivate \"pusley.\" I set\na little of it one side, and gave it some extra care.  It did not\nthrive as well as that which I was fighting.  The fact is, there is a\nspirit of moral perversity in the plant, which makes it grow the\nmore, the more it is interfered with.  I am satisfied of that.  I\ndoubt if any one has raised more \"pusley\" this year than I have; and\nmy warfare with it has been continual.  Neither of us has slept much.\nIf you combat it, it will grow, to use an expression that will be\nunderstood by many, like the devil.  I have a neighbor, a good\nChristian man, benevolent, and a person of good judgment.  He planted\nnext to me an acre of turnips recently.  A few days after, he went to\nlook at his crop; and he found the entire ground covered with a thick\nand luxurious carpet of \"pusley,\" with a turnip-top worked in here\nand there as an ornament.  I have seldom seen so thrifty a field.  I\nadvised my neighbor next time to sow \"pusley\" and then he might get a\nfew turnips.  I wish there was more demand in our city markets for\n\"pusley\" as a salad.  I can recommend it.\n\nIt does not take a great man to soon discover that, in raising\nanything, the greater part of the plants goes into stalk and leaf,\nand the fruit is a most inconsiderable portion.  I plant and hoe a\nhill of corn: it grows green and stout, and waves its broad leaves\nhigh in the air, and is months in perfecting itself, and then yields\nus not enough for a dinner.  It grows because it delights to do so,\n--to take the juices out of my ground, to absorb my fertilizers, to\nwax luxuriant, and disport itself in the summer air, and with very\nlittle thought of making any return to me.  I might go all through my\ngarden and fruit trees with a similar result.  I have heard of places\nwhere there was very little land to the acre.  It is universally true\nthat there is a great deal of vegetable show and fuss for the result\nproduced.  I do not complain of this.  One cannot expect vegetables\nto be better than men: and they make a great deal of ostentatious\nsplurge; and many of them come to no result at last.  Usually, the\nmore show of leaf and wood, the less fruit.  This melancholy\nreflection is thrown in here in order to make dog-days seem cheerful\nin comparison.\n\nOne of the minor pleasures of life is that of controlling vegetable\nactivity and aggressions with the pruning-knife.  Vigorous and rapid\ngrowth is, however, a necessity to the sport.  To prune feeble plants\nand shrubs is like acting the part of dry-nurse to a sickly orphan.\nYou must feel the blood of Nature bound under your hand, and get the\nthrill of its life in your nerves.  To control and culture a strong,\nthrifty plant in this way is like steering a ship under full headway,\nor driving a locomotive with your hand on the lever, or pulling the\nreins over a fast horse when his blood and tail are up.  I do not\nunderstand, by the way, the pleasure of the jockey in setting up the\ntail of the horse artificially.  If I had a horse with a tail not\nable to sit up, I should feed the horse, and curry him into good\nspirits, and let him set up his own tail.  When I see a poor,\nspiritless horse going by with an artificially set-up tail, it is\nonly a signal of distress.  I desire to be surrounded only by\nhealthy, vigorous plants and trees, which require constant cutting-in\nand management.  Merely to cut away dead branches is like perpetual\nattendance at a funeral, and puts one in low spirits.  I want to have\na garden and orchard rise up and meet me every morning, with the\nrequest to \"lay on, Macduff.\" I respect old age; but an old currant-\nbush, hoary with mossy bark, is a melancholy spectacle.\n\nI suppose the time has come when I am expected to say something about\nfertilizers: all agriculturists do.  When you plant, you think you\ncannot fertilize too much: when you get the bills for the manure, you\nthink you cannot fertilize too little.  Of course you do not expect\nto get the value of the manure back in fruits and vegetables; but\nsomething is due to science,--to chemistry in particular.  You must\nhave a knowledge of soils, must have your soil analyzed, and then go\ninto a course of experiments to find what it needs.  It needs\nanalyzing,--that, I am clear about: everything needs that.  You had\nbetter have the soil analyzed before you buy: if there is \"pusley \"\nin it, let it alone.  See if it is a soil that requires much hoeing,\nand how fine it will get if there is no rain for two months.  But\nwhen you come to fertilizing, if I understand the agricultural\nauthorities, you open a pit that will ultimately swallow you up,-\n-farm and all.  It is the great subject of modern times, how to\nfertilize without ruinous expense; how, in short, not to starve the\nearth to death while we get our living out of it.  Practically, the\nbusiness is hardly to the taste of a person of a poetic turn of mind.\nThe details of fertilizing are not agreeable.  Michael Angelo, who\ntried every art, and nearly every trade, never gave his mind to\nfertilizing.  It is much pleasanter and easier to fertilize with a\npen, as the agricultural writers do, than with a fork.  And this\nleads me to say, that, in carrying on a garden yourself, you must\nhave a \"consulting\" gardener; that is, a man to do the heavy and\nunpleasant work.  To such a man, I say, in language used by\nDemosthenes to the Athenians, and which is my advice to all\ngardeners, \"Fertilize, fertilize, fertilize!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHIRTEENTH WEEK\n\nI find that gardening has unsurpassed advantages for the study of\nnatural history; and some scientific facts have come under my own\nobservation, which cannot fail to interest naturalists and\nun-naturalists in about the same degree.  Much, for instance, has\nbeen written about the toad, an animal without which no garden would\nbe complete.  But little account has been made of his value: the\nbeauty of his eye alone has been dwelt on; and little has been said\nof his mouth, and its important function as a fly and bug trap.  His\nhabits, and even his origin, have been misunderstood.  Why, as an\nillustration, are toads so plenty after a thunder-shower?  All my\nlife long, no one has been able to answer me that question.  Why,\nafter a heavy shower, and in the midst of it, do such multitudes of\ntoads, especially little ones, hop about on the gravel-walks?  For\nmany years, I believed that they rained down; and I suppose many\npeople think so still.  They are so small, and they come in such\nnumbers only in the shower, that the supposition is not a violent\none.  \"Thick as toads after a shower,\" is one of our best proverbs.\nI asked an explanation 'of this of a thoughtful woman,--indeed, a\nleader in the great movement to have all the toads hop in any\ndirection, without any distinction of sex or religion.  Her reply\nwas, that the toads come out during the shower to get water.  This,\nhowever, is not the fact.  I have discovered that they come out not\nto get water.  I deluged a dry flower-bed, the other night, with\npailful after pailful of water.  Instantly the toads came out of\ntheir holes in the dirt, by tens and twenties and fifties, to escape\ndeath by drowning.  The big ones fled away in a ridiculous streak of\nhopping; and the little ones sprang about in the wildest confusion.\nThe toad is just like any other land animal: when his house is full\nof water, he quits it.  These facts, with the drawings of the water\nand the toads, are at the service of the distinguished scientists of\nAlbany in New York, who were so much impressed by the Cardiff Giant.\n\nThe domestic cow is another animal whose ways I have a chance to\nstudy, and also to obliterate in the garden.  One of my neighbors has\na cow, but no land; and he seems desirous to pasture her on the\nsurface of the land of other people: a very reasonable desire.  The\nman proposed that he should be allowed to cut the grass from my\ngrounds for his cow.  I knew the cow, having often had her in my\ngarden; knew her gait and the size of her feet, which struck me as a\nlittle large for the size of the body.  Having no cow myself, but\nacquaintance with my neighbor's, I told him that I thought it would\nbe fair for him to have the grass.  He was, therefore, to keep the\ngrass nicely cut, and to keep his cow at home.  I waited some time\nafter the grass needed cutting; and, as my neighbor did not appear, I\nhired it cut.  No sooner was it done than he promptly appeared, and\nraked up most of it, and carried it away.  He had evidently been\nwaiting that opportunity.  When the grass grew again, the neighbor\ndid not appear with his scythe; but one morning I found the cow\ntethered on the sward, hitched near the clothes-horse, a short\ndistance from the house.  This seemed to be the man's idea of the\nbest way to cut the grass.  I disliked to have the cow there, because\nI knew her inclination to pull up the stake, and transfer her field\nof mowing to the garden, but especially because of her voice.  She\nhas the most melancholy \"moo\" I ever heard.  It is like the wail of\none uninfallible, excommunicated, and lost.  It is a most distressing\nperpetual reminder of the brevity of life and the shortness of feed.\nIt is unpleasant to the family.  We sometimes hear it in the middle\nof the night, breaking the silence like a suggestion of coming\ncalamity.  It is as bad as the howling of a dog at a funeral.\n\nI told the man about it; but he seemed to think that he was not\nresponsible for the cow's voice.  I then told him to take her away;\nand he did, at intervals, shifting her to different parts of the\ngrounds in my absence, so that the desolate voice would startle us\nfrom unexpected quarters.  If I were to unhitch the cow, and turn her\nloose, I knew where she would go.  If I were to lead her away, the\nquestion was, Where?  for I did not fancy leading a cow about till I\ncould find somebody who was willing to pasture her.  To this dilemma\nhad my excellent neighbor reduced me.  But I found him, one Sunday\nmorning,--a day when it would not do to get angry, tying his cow at\nthe foot of the hill; the beast all the time going on in that\nabominable voice.  I told the man that I could not have the cow in\nthe grounds.  He said, \"All right, boss;\" but he did not go away.  I\nasked him to clear out.  The man, who is a French sympathizer from\nthe Republic of Ireland, kept his temper perfectly.  He said he\nwasn't doing anything, just feeding his cow a bit: he wouldn't make\nme the least trouble in the world.  I reminded him that he had been\ntold again and again not to come here; that he might have all the\ngrass, but he should not bring his cow upon the premises.  The\nimperturbable man assented to everything that I said, and kept on\nfeeding his cow.  Before I got him to go to fresh scenes and pastures\nnew, the Sabbath was almost broken; but it was saved by one thing: it\nis difficult to be emphatic when no one is emphatic on the other\nside.  The man and his cow have taught me a great lesson, which I\nshall recall when I keep a cow.  I can recommend this cow, if anybody\nwants one, as a steady boarder, whose keeping will cost the owner\nlittle; but, if her milk is at all like her voice, those who drink it\nare on the straight road to lunacy.\n\nI think I have said that we have a game-preserve.  We keep quails, or\ntry to, in the thickly wooded, bushed, and brushed ravine.  This bird\nis a great favorite with us, dead or alive, on account of its taste-\nful plumage, its tender flesh, its domestic virtues, and its pleasant\npiping.  Besides, although I appreciate toads and cows, and all that\nsort of thing, I like to have a game-preserve more in the English\nstyle.  And we did.  For in July, while the game-law was on, and the\nyoung quails were coming on, we were awakened one morning by firing,-\n-musketry-firing, close at hand.  My first thought was, that war was\ndeclared; but, as I should never pay much attention to war declared\nat that time in the morning, I went to sleep again.  But the\noccurrence was repeated, -and not only early in the morning, but at\nnight.  There was calling of dogs, breaking down of brush, and firing\nof guns.  It is hardly pleasant to have guns fired in the direction\nof the house, at your own quails.  The hunters could be sometimes\nseen, but never caught.  Their best time was about sunrise; but,\nbefore one could dress and get to the front, they would retire.\n\nOne morning, about four o'clock, I heard the battle renewed.  I\nsprang up, but not in arms, and went to a window.  Polly (like\nanother 'blessed damozel') flew to another window,--\n\n\"The blessed damozel leaned out\n>From the gold bar of heaven,\"\n\nand reconnoitered from behind the blinds.\n\n\"The wonder was not yet quite gone\n>From that still look of hers,\"\n\nwhen an armed man and a legged dog appeared ir the opening.  I was\nvigilantly watching him.\n\n. . . . \"And now\nShe spoke through the still weather.\"\n\n\"Are you afraid to speak to him?\" asked Polly.\n\nNot exactly,\n\n. . . .\"she spoke as when\nThe stars sang in their spheres.\n\n\"Stung by this inquiry, I leaned out of the window till\n\n\"The bar I leaned on (was) warm,\"\n\nand cried,--\n\n\"Halloo, there!  What are you doing?\"\n\n\"Look out he don't shoot you,\" called out Polly from the other\nwindow, suddenly going on another tack.\n\nI explained that a sportsman would not be likely to shoot a gentleman\nin his own house, with bird-shot, so long as quails were to be had.\n\n\"You have no business here: what are you after?\"  I repeated.\n\n\"Looking for a lost hen,\" said the man as he strode away.\n\nThe reply was so satisfactory and conclusive that I shut the blinds\nand went to bed.\n\nBut one evening I overhauled one of the poachers.  Hearing his dog in\nthe thicket, I rushed through the brush, and came in sight of the\nhunter as he was retreating down the road.  He came to a halt; and we\nhad some conversation in a high key.  Of course I threatened to\nprosecute him.  I believe that is the thing to do in such cases; but\nhow I was to do it, when I did not know his name or ancestry, and\ncouldn't see his face, never occurred to me.  (I remember, now, that\na farmer once proposed to prosecute me when I was fishing in a\ntrout-brook on his farm, and asked my name for that purpose.)  He\nsaid he should smile to see me prosecute him.\n\n\"You can't do it: there ain't no notice up about trespassing.\"\n\nThis view of the common law impressed me; and I said,\n\n\"But these are private grounds.\"\n\n\"Private h---!\" was all his response.\n\nYou can't argue much with a man who has a gun in his hands, when you\nhave none.  Besides, it might be a needle-gun, for aught I knew.  I\ngave it up, and we separated.\n\nThere is this disadvantage about having a game preserve attached to\nyour garden: it makes life too lively.\n\n\n\n\nFOURTEENTH WEEK\n\nIn these golden latter August days, Nature has come to a serene\nequilibrium.  Having flowered and fruited, she is enjoying herself.\nI can see how things are going: it is a down-hill business after\nthis; but, for the time being, it is like swinging in a hammock,-\n-such a delicious air, such a graceful repose!  I take off my hat as\nI stroll into the garden and look about; and it does seem as if\nNature had sounded a truce.  I did n't ask for it.  I went out with a\nhoe; but the serene sweetness disarms me.  Thrice is he armed who has\na long-handled hoe, with a double blade.  Yet to-day I am almost\nashamed to appear in such a belligerent fashion, with this terrible\nmitrailleuse of gardening.\n\nThe tomatoes are getting tired of ripening, and are beginning to go\ninto a worthless condition,--green.  The cucumbers cumber the\nground,--great yellow, over-ripe objects, no more to be compared to\nthe crisp beauty of their youth than is the fat swine of the sty to\nthe clean little pig.  The nutmeg-melons, having covered themselves\nwith delicate lace-work, are now ready to leave the vine.  I know\nthey are ripe if they come easily off the stem.\n\nMoral Observations.  --You can tell when people are ripe by their\nwillingness to let go.  Richness and ripeness are not exactly the\nsame.  The rich are apt to hang to the stem with tenacity.  I have\nnothing against the rich.  If I were not virtuous, I should like to\nbe rich.  But we cannot have everything, as the man said when he was\ndown with small-pox and cholera, and the yellow fever came into the\nneighborhood.\n\nNow, the grapes, soaked in this liquid gold, called air, begin to\nturn, mindful of the injunction, \"to turn or burn.\" The clusters\nunder the leaves are getting quite purple, but look better than they\ntaste.  I think there is no danger but they will be gathered as soon\nas they are ripe.  One of the blessings of having an open garden is,\nthat I do not have to watch my fruit: a dozen youngsters do that, and\nlet it waste no time after it matures.  I wish it were possible to\ngrow a variety of grape like the explosive bullets, that should\nexplode in the stomach: the vine would make such a nice border for\nthe garden,--a masked battery of grape.  The pears, too, are getting\nrusset and heavy; and here and there amid the shining leaves one\ngleams as ruddy as the cheek of the Nutbrown Maid.  The Flemish\nBeauties come off readily from the stem, if I take them in my hand:\nthey say all kinds of beauty come off by handling.\n\nThe garden is peace as much as if it were an empire.  Even the man's\ncow lies down under the tree where the man has tied her, with such an\nair of contentment, that I have small desire to disturb her.  She is\nchewing my cud as if it were hers.  Well, eat on and chew on,\nmelancholy brute.  I have not the heart to tell the man to take you\naway: and it would do no good if I had; he wouldn't do it.  The man\nhas not a taking way.  Munch on, ruminant creature.\n\nThe frost will soon come; the grass will be brown.  I will be\ncharitable while this blessed lull continues: for our benevolences\nmust soon be turned to other and more distant objects,--the\namelioration of the condition of the Jews, the education of\ntheological young men in the West, and the like.\n\nI do not know that these appearances are deceitful; but I\nsufficiently know that this is a wicked world, to be glad that I have\ntaken it on shares.  In fact, I could not pick the pears alone, not\nto speak of eating them.  When I climb the trees, and throw down the\ndusky fruit, Polly catches it in her apron; nearly always, however,\nletting go when it drops, the fall is so sudden.  The sun gets in her\nface; and, every time a pear comes down it is a surprise, like having\na tooth out, she says.\n\n\"If I could n't hold an apron better than that!\n\nBut the sentence is not finished : it is useless to finish that sort\nof a sentence in this delicious weather.  Besides, conversation is\ndangerous.  As, for instance, towards evening I am preparing a bed\nfor a sowing of turnips,--not that I like turnips in the least; but\nthis is the season to sow them.  Polly comes out, and extemporizes\nher usual seat to \"consult me\" about matters while I work.  I well\nknow that something is coming.\n\n\"This is a rotation of crops, is n't it?\"\n\n\"Yes: I have rotated the gone-to-seed lettuce off, and expect to\nrotate the turnips in; it is a political fashion.\"\n\n\"Is n't it a shame that the tomatoes are all getting ripe at once?\nWhat a lot of squashes!  I wish we had an oyster-bed.  Do you want me\nto help you any more than I am helping?\"\n\n\"No, I thank you.\" (I wonder what all this is about?)\n\n\"Don't you think we could sell some strawberries next year?\"\n\n\"By all means, sell anything.  We shall no doubt get rich out of this\nacre.\"\n\n\"Don't be foolish.\"\n\nAnd now!\n\n\"Don't you think it would be nice to have a?\"....\n\nAnd Polly unfolds a small scheme of benevolence, which is not quite\nenough to break me, and is really to be executed in an economical\nmanner.  \"Would n't that be nice?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!  And where is the money to come from?\"\n\n\"I thought we had agreed to sell the strawberries.\"\n\n\"Certainly.  But I think we would make more money if we sold the\nplants now.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Polly, concluding the whole matter, \"I am going to do\nit.\" And, having thus \"consulted\" me, Polly goes away; and I put in\nthe turnip-seeds quite thick, determined to raise enough to sell.\nBut not even this mercenary thought can ruffle my mind as I rake off\nthe loamy bed.  I notice, however, that the spring smell has gone out\nof the dirt.  That went into the first crop.\n\nIn this peaceful unison with yielding nature, I was a little taken\naback to find that a new enemy had turned up.  The celery had just\nrubbed through the fiery scorching of the drought, and stood a faint\nchance to grow; when I noticed on the green leaves a big green-and-\nblack worm, called, I believe, the celery-worm: but I don't know who\ncalled him; I am sure I did not.  It was almost ludicrous that he\nshould turn up here, just at the end of the season, when I supposed\nthat my war with the living animals was over.  Yet he was, no doubt,\npredestinated; for he went to work as cheerfully as if he had arrived\nin June, when everything was fresh and vigorous.  It beats me--Nature\ndoes.  I doubt not, that, if I were to leave my garden now for a\nweek, it would n't know me on my return.  The patch I scratched over\nfor the turnips, and left as clean as earth, is already full of\nambitious \"pusley,\" which grows with all the confidence of youth and\nthe skill of old age.  It beats the serpent as an emblem of\nimmortality.  While all the others of us in the garden rest and sit\nin comfort a moment, upon the summit of the summer, it is as rampant\nand vicious as ever.  It accepts no armistice.\n\n\n\n\nFIFTEENTH WEEK\n\nIt is said that absence conquers all things, love included; but it\nhas a contrary effect on a garden.  I was absent for two or three\nweeks.  I left my garden a paradise, as paradises go in this\nprotoplastic world; and when I returned, the trail of the serpent was\nover it all, so to speak.  (This is in addition to the actual snakes\nin it, which are large enough to strangle children of average size.)\nI asked Polly if she had seen to the garden while I was away, and she\nsaid she had.  I found that all the melons had been seen to, and the\nearly grapes and pears.  The green worm had also seen to about half\nthe celery; and a large flock of apparently perfectly domesticated\nchickens were roaming over the ground, gossiping in the hot September\nsun, and picking up any odd trifle that might be left.  On the whole,\nthe garden could not have been better seen to; though it would take a\nsharp eye to see the potato-vines amid the rampant grass and weeds.\n\nThe new strawberry-plants, for one thing, had taken advantage of my\nabsence.  Every one of them had sent out as many scarlet runners as\nan Indian tribe has.  Some of them had blossomed; and a few had gone\nso far as to bear ripe berries,--long, pear-shaped fruit, hanging\nlike the ear-pendants of an East Indian bride.  I could not but\nadmire the persistence of these zealous plants, which seemed\ndetermined to propagate themselves both by seeds and roots, and make\nsure of immortality in some way.  Even the Colfax variety was as\nambitious as the others.  After having seen the declining letter of\nMr. Colfax, I did not suppose that this vine would run any more, and\nintended to root it out.  But one can never say what these\npoliticians mean; and I shall let this variety grow until after the\nnext election, at least; although I hear that the fruit is small, and\nrather sour.  If there is any variety of strawberries that really\ndeclines to run, and devotes itself to a private life of fruit-\nbearing, I should like to get it.  I may mention here, since we are\non politics, that the Doolittle raspberries had sprawled all over the\nstrawberry-bed's: so true is it that politics makes strange\nbedfellows.\n\nBut another enemy had come into the strawberries, which, after all\nthat has been said in these papers, I am almost ashamed to mention.\nBut does the preacher in the pulpit, Sunday after Sunday, year after\nyear, shrink from speaking of sin?  I refer, of course, to the\ngreatest enemy of mankind, \" p-sl-y.\"  The ground was carpeted with\nit.  I should think that this was the tenth crop of the season; and\nit was as good as the first.  I see no reason why our northern soil\nis not as prolific as that of the tropics, and will not produce as\nmany crops in the year.  The mistake we make is in trying to force\nthings that are not natural to it.  I have no doubt that, if we turn\nour attention to \"pusley,\" we can beat the world.\n\nI had no idea, until recently, how generally this simple and thrifty\nplant is feared and hated.  Far beyond what I had regarded as the\nbounds of civilization, it is held as one of the mysteries of a\nfallen world; accompanying the home missionary on his wanderings, and\npreceding the footsteps of the Tract Society.  I was not long ago in\nthe Adirondacks.  We had built a camp for the night, in the heart of\nthe woods, high up on John's Brook and near the foot of Mount Marcy:\nI can see the lovely spot now.  It was on the bank of the crystal,\nrocky stream, at the foot of high and slender falls, which poured\ninto a broad amber basin.  Out of this basin we had just taken trout\nenough for our supper, which had been killed, and roasted over the\nfire on sharp sticks, and eaten before they had an opportunity to\nfeel the chill of this deceitful world.  We were lying under the hut\nof spruce-bark, on fragrant hemlock-boughs, talking, after supper.\nIn front of us was a huge fire of birchlogs; and over it we could see\nthe top of the falls glistening in the moonlight; and the roar of the\nfalls, and the brawling of the stream near us, filled all the ancient\nwoods.  It was a scene upon which one would think no thought of sin\ncould enter.  We were talking with old Phelps, the guide.  Old Phelps\nis at once guide, philosopher, and friend.  He knows the woods and\nstreams and mountains, and their savage inhabitants, as well as we\nknow all our rich relations and what they are doing; and in lonely\nbear-hunts and sable-trappings he has thought out and solved most of\nthe problems of life.  As he stands in his wood-gear, he is as\ngrizzly as an old cedar-tree; and he speaks in a high falsetto voice,\nwhich would be invaluable to a boatswain in a storm at sea.\n\nWe had been talking of all subjects about which rational men are\ninterested,--bears, panthers, trapping, the habits of trout, the\ntariff, the internal revenue (to wit, the injustice of laying such a\ntax on tobacco, and none on dogs: --There ain't no dog in the United\nStates,\" says the guide, at the top of his voice, \"that earns his\nliving\"), the Adventists, the Gorner Grat, Horace Greeley, religion,\nthe propagation of seeds in the wilderness (as, for instance, where\nwere the seeds lying for ages that spring up into certain plants and\nflowers as soon as a spot is cleared anywhere in the most remote\nforest; and why does a growth of oak-trees always come up after a\ngrowth of pine has been removed?)--in short, we had pretty nearly\nreached a solution of many mysteries, when Phelps suddenly exclaimed\nwith uncommon energy,--\n\n\"Wall, there's one thing that beats me!\"\n\n\"What's that?\" we asked with undisguised curiosity.\n\n\"That's 'pusley'!\" he replied, in the tone of a man who has come to\none door in life which is hopelessly shut, and from which he retires\nin despair.\n\n\"Where it comes from I don't know, nor what to do with it.  It's in\nmy garden; and I can't get rid of it.  It beats me.\"\n\nAbout \"pusley\" the guide had no theory and no hope.  A feeling of awe\ncame over me, as we lay there at midnight, hushed by the sound of the\nstream and the rising wind in the spruce-tops.  Then man can go\nnowhere that \"pusley\" will not attend him.  Though he camp on the\nUpper Au Sable, or penetrate the forest where rolls the Allegash, and\nhear no sound save his own allegations, he will not escape it.  It\nhas entered the happy valley of Keene, although there is yet no\nchurch there, and only a feeble school part of the year.  Sin travels\nfaster than they that ride in chariots.  I take my hoe, and begin;\nbut I feel that I am warring against something whose roots take hold\non H.\n\nBy the time a man gets to be eighty, he learns that he is compassed\nby limitations, and that there has been a natural boundary set to his\nindividual powers.  As he goes on in life, he begins to doubt his\nability to destroy all evil and to reform all abuses, and to suspect\nthat there will be much left to do after he has done.  I stepped into\nmy garden in the spring, not doubting that I should be easily master\nof the weeds.  I have simply learned that an institution which is at\nleast six thousand years old, and I believe six millions, is not to\nbe put down in one season.\n\nI have been digging my potatoes, if anybody cares to know it.  I\nplanted them in what are called \"Early Rose,\" --the rows a little\nless than three feet apart; but the vines came to an early close in\nthe drought.  Digging potatoes is a pleasant, soothing occupation,\nbut not poetical.  It is good for the mind, unless they are too small\n(as many of mine are), when it begets a want of gratitude to the\nbountiful earth.  What small potatoes we all are, compared with what\nwe might be!  We don't plow deep enough, any of us, for one thing.  I\nshall put in the plow next year, and give the tubers room enough.  I\nthink they felt the lack of it this year: many of them seemed ashamed\nto come out so small.  There is great pleasure in turning out the\nbrown-jacketed fellows into the sunshine of a royal September day,\nand seeing them glisten as they lie thickly strewn on the warm soil.\nLife has few such moments.  But then they must be picked up.  The\npicking-up, in this world, is always the unpleasant part of it.\n\n\n\n\nSIXTEENTH WEEK\n\nI do not hold myself bound to answer the question, Does gardening\npay?  It is so difficult to define what is meant by paying.  There is\na popular notion that, unless a thing pays, you had better let it\nalone; and I may say that there is a public opinion that will not let\na man or woman continue in the indulgence of a fancy that does not\npay.  And public opinion is stronger than the legislature, and nearly\nas strong as the ten commandments: I therefore yield to popular\nclamor when I discuss the profit of my garden.\n\nAs I look at it, you might as well ask, Does a sunset pay?  I know\nthat a sunset is commonly looked on as a cheap entertainment; but it\nis really one of the most expensive.  It is true that we can all have\nfront seats, and we do not exactly need to dress for it as we do for\nthe opera; but the conditions under which it is to be enjoyed are\nrather dear.  Among them I should name a good suit of clothes,\nincluding some trifling ornament,--not including back hair for one\nsex, or the parting of it in the middle for the other.  I should add\nalso a good dinner, well cooked and digestible; and the cost of a\nfair education, extended, perhaps, through generations in which\nsensibility and love of beauty grew.  What I mean is, that if a man\nis hungry and naked, and half a savage, or with the love of beauty\nundeveloped in him, a sunset is thrown away on him : so that it\nappears that the conditions of the enjoyment of a sunset are as\ncostly as anything in our civilization.\n\nOf course there is no such thing as absolute value in this world.\nYou can only estimate what a thing is worth to you.  Does gardening\nin a city pay?  You might as well ask if it pays to keep hens, or a\ntrotting-horse, or to wear a gold ring, or to keep your lawn cut, or\nyour hair cut.  It is as you like it.  In a certain sense, it is a\nsort of profanation to consider if my garden pays, or to set a money-\nvalue upon my delight in it.  I fear that you could not put it in\nmoney.  Job had the right idea in his mind when he asked, \"Is there\nany taste in the white of an egg?\"  Suppose there is not!  What!\nshall I set a price upon the tender asparagus or the crisp lettuce,\nwhich made the sweet spring a reality?  Shall I turn into merchandise\nthe red strawberry, the pale green pea, the high-flavored raspberry,\nthe sanguinary beet, that love-plant the tomato, and the corn which\ndid not waste its sweetness on the desert air, but, after flowing in\na sweet rill through all our summer life, mingled at last with the\nengaging bean in a pool of succotash?  Shall I compute in figures\nwhat daily freshness and health and delight the garden yields, let\nalone the large crop of anticipation I gathered as soon as the first\nseeds got above ground?  I appeal to any gardening man of sound mind,\nif that which pays him best in gardening is not that which he cannot\nshow in his trial-balance.  Yet I yield to public opinion, when I\nproceed to make such a balance; and I do it with the utmost\nconfidence in figures.\n\nI select as a representative vegetable, in order to estimate the cost\nof gardening, the potato.  In my statement, I shall not include the\ninterest on the value of the land.  I throw in the land, because it\nwould otherwise have stood idle: the thing generally raised on city\nland is taxes.  I therefore make the following statement of the cost\nand income of my potato-crop, a part of it estimated in connection\nwith other garden labor.  I have tried to make it so as to satisfy\nthe income-tax collector:--\n\nPlowing.......................................$0.50\nSeed..........................................$1.50\nManure........................................ 8.00\nAssistance in planting and digging, 3 days.... 6.75\nLabor of self in planting, hoeing, digging,\n     picking up, 5 days at 17 cents........... 0.85\n                                              _____\n                   Total Cost................$17.60\n\n\nTwo thousand five hundred mealy potatoes,\n     at 2 cents..............................$50.00\nSmall potatoes given to neighbor's pig.......   .50\n\n                   Total return..............$50.50\n\n              Balance, profit in cellar......$32.90\n\n\nSome of these items need explanation.  I have charged nothing for my\nown time waiting for the potatoes to grow.  My time in hoeing,\nfighting weeds, etc., is put in at five days: it may have been a\nlittle more.  Nor have I put in anything for cooling drinks while\nhoeing.  I leave this out from principle, because I always recommend\nwater to others.  I had some difficulty in fixing the rate of my own\nwages.  It was the first time I had an opportunity of paying what I\nthought labor was worth; and I determined to make a good thing of it\nfor once.  I figured it right down to European prices,--seventeen\ncents a day for unskilled labor.  Of course, I boarded myself.  I\nought to say that I fixed the wages after the work was done, or I\nmight have been tempted to do as some masons did who worked for me at\nfour dollars a day.  They lay in the shade and slept the sleep of\nhonest toil full half the time, at least all the time I was away.  I\nhave reason to believe that when the wages of mechanics are raised to\neight and ten dollars a day, the workmen will not come at all: they\nwill merely send their cards.\n\nI do not see any possible fault in the above figures.  I ought to say\nthat I deferred putting a value on the potatoes until I had footed up\nthe debit column.  This is always the safest way to do.  I had\ntwenty-five bushels.  I roughly estimated that there are one hundred\ngood ones to the bushel.  Making my own market price, I asked two\ncents apiece for them.  This I should have considered dirt cheap last\nJune, when I was going down the rows with the hoe.  If any one thinks\nthat two cents each is high, let him try to raise them.\n\nNature is \"awful smart.\" I intend to be complimentary in saying so.\nShe shows it in little things.  I have mentioned my attempt to put in\na few modest turnips, near the close of the season.  I sowed the\nseeds, by the way, in the most liberal manner.  Into three or four\nshort rows I presume I put enough to sow an acre; and they all came\nup,--came up as thick as grass, as crowded and useless as babies in a\nChinese village.  Of course, they had to be thinned out; that is,\npretty much all pulled up; and it took me a long time; for it takes a\nconscientious man some time to decide which are the best and\nhealthiest plants to spare.  After all, I spared too many.  That is\nthe great danger everywhere in this world (it may not be in the\nnext): things are too thick; we lose all in grasping for too much.\nThe Scotch say, that no man ought to thin out his own turnips,\nbecause he will not sacrifice enough to leave room for the remainder\nto grow: he should get his neighbor, who does not care for the\nplants, to do it.  But this is mere talk, and aside from the point:\nif there is anything I desire to avoid in these agricultural papers,\nit is digression.  I did think that putting in these turnips so late\nin the season, when general activity has ceased, and in a remote part\nof the garden, they would pass unnoticed.  But Nature never even\nwinks, as I can see.  The tender blades were scarcely out of the\nground when she sent a small black flv, which seemed to have been\nborn and held in reserve for this purpose,--to cut the leaves.  They\nspeedily made lace-work of the whole bed.  Thus everything appears to\nhave its special enemy,--except, perhaps, p----y: nothing ever\ntroubles that.\n\nDid the Concord Grape ever come to more luscious perfection than this\nyear?  or yield so abundantly?  The golden sunshine has passed into\nthem, and distended their purple skins almost to bursting.  Such\nheavy clusters!  such bloom!  such sweetness!  such meat and drink in\ntheir round globes!  What a fine fellow Bacchus would have been, if\nhe had only signed the pledge when he was a young man!  I have taken\noff clusters that were as compact and almost as large as the Black\nHamburgs.  It is slow work picking them.  I do not see how the\ngatherers for the vintage ever get off enough.  It takes so long to\ndisentangle the bunches from the leaves and the interlacing vines and\nthe supporting tendrils; and then I like to hold up each bunch and\nlook at it in the sunlight, and get the fragrance and the bloom of\nit, and show it to Polly, who is making herself useful, as taster and\ncompanion, at the foot of the ladder, before dropping it into the\nbasket.  But we have other company.  The robin, the most knowing and\ngreedy bird out of paradise (I trust he will always be kept out), has\ndiscovered that the grape-crop is uncommonly good, and has come back,\nwith his whole tribe and family, larger than it was in pea-time.  He\nknows the ripest bunches as well as anybody, and tries them all.  If\nhe would take a whole bunch here and there, say half the number, and\nbe off with it, I should not so much care.  But he will not.  He\npecks away at all the bunches, and spoils as many as he can.  It is\ntime he went south.\n\nThere is no prettier sight, to my eye, than a gardener on a ladder in\nhis grape-arbor, in these golden days, selecting the heaviest\nclusters of grapes, and handing them down to one and another of a\ngroup of neighbors and friends, who stand under the shade of the\nleaves, flecked with the sunlight, and cry, \"How sweet!\"  \"What nice\nones!\" and the like,--remarks encouraging to the man on the ladder.\nIt is great pleasure to see people eat grapes.\n\nMoral Truth. --I have no doubt that grapes taste best in other\npeople's mouths.  It is an old notion that it is easier to be\ngenerous than to be stingy.  I am convinced that the majority of\npeople would be generous from selfish motives, if they had the\nopportunity.\n\nPhilosophical Observation. --Nothing shows one who his friends are\nlike prosperity and ripe fruit.  I had a good friend in the country,\nwhom I almost never visited except in cherry-time.  By your fruits\nyou shall know them.\n\n\n\n\n\nSEVENTEENTH WEEK\n\nI like to go into the garden these warm latter days, and muse.  To\nmuse is to sit in the sun, and not think of anything.  I am not sure\nbut goodness comes out of people who bask in the sun, as it does out\nof a sweet apple roasted before the fire.  The late September and\nOctober sun of this latitude is something like the sun of extreme\nLower Italy: you can stand a good deal of it, and apparently soak a\nwinter supply into the system.  If one only could take in his winter\nfuel in this way!  The next great discovery will, very likely, be the\nconservation of sunlight.  In the correlation of forces, I look to\nsee the day when the superfluous sunshine will be utilized; as, for\ninstance, that which has burned up my celery this year will be\nconverted into a force to work the garden.\n\nThis sitting in the sun amid the evidences of a ripe year is the\neasiest part of gardening I have experienced.  But what a combat has\ngone on here!  What vegetable passions have run the whole gamut of\nambition, selfishness, greed of place, fruition, satiety, and now\nrest here in the truce of exhaustion!  What a battle-field, if one\nmay look upon it so!  The corn has lost its ammunition, and stacked\narms in a slovenly, militia sort of style.  The ground vines are\ntorn, trampled, and withered; and the ungathered cucumbers, worthless\nmelons, and golden squashes lie about like the spent bombs and\nexploded shells of a battle-field.  So the cannon-balls lay on the\nsandy plain before Fort Fisher after the capture.  So the great\ngrassy meadow at Munich, any morning during the October Fest, is\nstrewn with empty beermugs.  History constantly repeats itself.\nThere is a large crop of moral reflections in my garden, which\nanybody is at liberty to gather who passes this way.\n\nI have tried to get in anything that offered temptation to sin.\nThere would be no thieves if there was nothing to steal; and I\nsuppose, in the thieves' catechism, the provider is as bad as the\nthief; and, probably, I am to blame for leaving out a few winter\npears, which some predatory boy carried off on Sunday.  At first I\nwas angry, and said I should like to have caught the urchin in the\nact; but, on second thought, I was glad I did not.  The interview\ncould not have been pleasant: I shouldn't have known what to do with\nhim.  The chances are, that he would have escaped away with his\npockets full, and jibed at me from a safe distance.  And, if I had\ngot my hands on him, I should have been still more embarrassed.  If I\nhad flogged him, he would have got over it a good deal sooner than I\nshould.  That sort of boy does not mind castigation any more than he\ndoes tearing his trousers in the briers.  If I had treated him with\nkindness, and conciliated him with grapes, showing him the enormity\nof his offense, I suppose he would have come the next night, and\ntaken the remainder of the grapes.  The truth is, that the public\nmorality is lax on the subject of fruit.  If anybody puts arsenic or\ngunpowder into his watermelons, he is universally denounced as a\nstingy old murderer by the community.  A great many people regard\ngrowing fruit as lawful prey, who would not think of breaking into\nyour cellar to take it.  I found a man once in my raspberry-bushes,\nearly in the season, when we were waiting for a dishful to ripen.\nUpon inquiring what he was about, he said he was only eating some;\nand the operation seemed to be so natural and simple, that I disliked\nto disturb him.  And I am not very sure that one has a right to the\nwhole of an abundant crop of fruit until he has gathered it.  At\nleast, in a city garden, one might as well conform his theory to the\npractice of the community.\n\nAs for children (and it sometimes looks as if the chief products of\nmy garden were small boys and hens), it is admitted that they are\nbarbarians.  There is no exception among them to this condition of\nbarbarism.  This is not to say that they are not attractive; for they\nhave the virtues as well as the vices of a primitive people.  It is\nheld by some naturalists that the child is only a zoophyte, with a\nstomach, and feelers radiating from it in search of something to fill\nit.  It is true that a child is always hungry all over: but he is\nalso curious all over; and his curiosity is excited about as early as\nhis hunger.  He immediately begins to put out his moral feelers into\nthe unknown and the infinite to discover what sort of an existence\nthis is into which he has come.  His imagination is quite as hungry\nas his stomach.  And again and again it is stronger than his other\nappetites.  You can easily engage his imagination in a story which\nwill make him forget his dinner.  He is credulous and superstitious,\nand open to all wonder.  In this, he is exactly like the savage\nraces.  Both gorge themselves on the marvelous; and all the unknown\nis marvelous to them.  I know the general impression is that children\nmust be governed through their stomachs.  I think they can be\ncontrolled quite as well through their curiosity; that being the more\ncraving and imperious of the two.  I have seen children follow about\na person who told them stories, and interested them with his charming\ntalk, as greedily as if his pockets had been full of bon-bons.\n\nPerhaps this fact has no practical relation to gardening; but it\noccurs to me that, if I should paper the outside of my high board\nfence with the leaves of \"The Arabian Nights,\" it would afford me a\ngood deal of protection,--more, in fact, than spikes in the top,\nwhich tear trousers and encourage profanity, but do not save much\nfruit.  A spiked fence is a challenge to any boy of spirit.  But if\nthe fence were papered with fairy-tales, would he not stop to read\nthem until it was too late for him to climb into the garden?  I don't\nknow.  Human nature is vicious.  The boy might regard the picture of\nthe garden of the Hesperides only as an advertisement of what was\nover the fence.  I begin to find that the problem of raising fruit is\nnothing to that of getting it after it has matured.  So long as the\nlaw, just in many respects, is in force against shooting birds and\nsmall boys, the gardener may sow in tears and reap in vain.\n\nThe power of a boy is, to me, something fearful.  Consider what he\ncan do.  You buy and set out a choice pear-tree; you enrich the earth\nfor it; you train and trim it, and vanquish the borer, and watch its\nslow growth.  At length it rewards your care by producing two or\nthree pears, which you cut up and divide in the family, declaring the\nflavor of the bit you eat to be something extraordinary.  The next\nyear, the little tree blossoms full, and sets well; and in the autumn\nhas on its slender, drooping limbs half a bushel of fruit, daily\ngrowing more delicious in the sun.  You show it to your friends,\nreading to them the French name, which you can never remember, on the\nlabel; and you take an honest pride in the successful fruit of long\ncare.  That night your pears shall be required of you by a boy!\nAlong comes an irresponsible urchin, who has not been growing much\nlonger than the tree, with not twenty-five cents worth of clothing on\nhim, and in five minutes takes off every pear, and retires into safe\nobscurity.  In five minutes the remorseless boy has undone your work\nof years, and with the easy nonchalance, I doubt not, of any agent of\nfate, in whose path nothing is sacred or safe.\n\nAnd it is not of much consequence.  The boy goes on his way,--to\nCongress, or to State Prison: in either place he will be accused of\nstealing, perhaps wrongfully.  You learn, in time, that it is better\nto have had pears and lost them than not to have had pears at all.\nYou come to know that the least (and rarest) part of the pleasure of\nraising fruit is the vulgar eating it.  You recall your delight in\nconversing with the nurseryman, and looking at his illustrated\ncatalogues, where all the pears are drawn perfect in form, and of\nextra size, and at that exact moment between ripeness and decay which\nit is so impossible to hit in practice.  Fruit cannot be raised on\nthis earth to taste as you imagine those pears would taste.  For\nyears you have this pleasure, unalloyed by any disenchanting reality.\nHow you watch the tender twigs in spring, and the freshly forming\nbark, hovering about the healthy growing tree with your pruning-knife\nmany a sunny morning!  That is happiness.  Then, if you know it, you\nare drinking the very wine of life; and when the sweet juices of the\nearth mount the limbs, and flow down the tender stem, ripening and\nreddening the pendent fruit, you feel that you somehow stand at the\nsource of things, and have no unimportant share in the processes of\nNature.  Enter at this moment boy the destroyer, whose office is that\nof preserver as well; for, though he removes the fruit from your\nsight, it remains in your memory immortally ripe and desirable.  The\ngardener needs all these consolations of a high philosophy.\n\n\n\n\nEIGHTEENTH WEEK\n\nRegrets are idle; yet history is one long regret. Everything might\nhave turned out so differently!  If Ravaillac had not been imprisoned\nfor debt, he would not have stabbed Henry of Navarre.  If William of\nOrange had escaped assassination by Philip's emissaries; if France\nhad followed the French Calvin, and embraced Protestant Calvinism, as\nit came very near doing towards the end of the sixteenth century; if\nthe Continental ammunition had not given out at Bunker's Hill; if\nBlucher had not \"come up\" at Waterloo,--the lesson is, that things do\nnot come up unless they are planted.  When you go behind the\nhistorical scenery, you find there is a rope and pulley to effect\nevery transformation which has astonished you.  It was the rascality\nof a minister and a contractor five years before that lost the\nbattle; and the cause of the defeat was worthless ammunition.  I\nshould like to know how many wars have been caused by fits of\nindigestion, and how many more dynasties have been upset by the love\nof woman than by the hate of man.  It is only because we are ill\ninformed that anything surprises us; and we are disappointed because\nwe expect that for which we have not provided.\n\nI had too vague expectations of what my garden would do of itself.  A\ngarden ought to produce one everything,--just as a business ought to\nsupport a man, and a house ought to keep itself.  We had a convention\nlately to resolve that the house should keep itself; but it won't.\nThere has been a lively time in our garden this summer; but it seems\nto me there is very little to show for it.  It has been a terrible\ncampaign; but where is the indemnity?  Where are all \"sass\" and\nLorraine?  It is true that we have lived on the country; but we\ndesire, besides, the fruits of the war.  There are no onions, for one\nthing.  I am quite ashamed to take people into my garden, and have\nthem notice the absence of onions.  It is very marked.  In onion is\nstrength; and a garden without it lacks flavor.  The onion in its\nsatin wrappings is among the most beautiful of vegetables; and it is\nthe only one that represents the essence of things.  It can almost be\nsaid to have a soul.  You take off coat after coat) and the onion is\nstill there; and, when the last one is removed, who dare say that the\nonion itself is destroyed, though you can weep over its departed\nspirit?  If there is any one thing on this fallen earth that the\nangels in heaven weep over--more than another, it is the onion.\n\nI know that there is supposed to be a prejudice against the onion;\nbut I think there is rather a cowardice in regard to it.  I doubt not\nthat all men and women love the onion; but few confess their love.\nAffection for it is concealed.  Good New-Englanders are as shy of\nowning it as they are of talking about religion.  Some people have\ndays on which they eat onions,--what you might call \"retreats,\" or\ntheir \"Thursdays.\" The act is in the nature of a religious ceremony,\nan Eleusinian mystery; not a breath of it must get abroad.  On that\nday they see no company; they deny the kiss of greeting to the\ndearest friend; they retire within themselves, and hold communion\nwith one of the most pungent and penetrating manifestations of the\nmoral vegetable world.  Happy is said to be the family which can eat\nonions together.  They are, for the time being, separate from the\nworld, and have a harmony of aspiration.  There is a hint here for\nthe reformers.  Let them become apostles of the onion; let them eat,\nand preach it to their fellows, and circulate tracts of it in the\nform of seeds.  In the onion is the hope of universal brotherhood.\nIf all men will eat onions at all times, they will come into a\nuniversal sympathy.  Look at Italy.  I hope I am not mistaken as to\nthe cause of her unity.  It was the Reds who preached the gospel\nwhich made it possible.  All the Reds of Europe, all the sworn\ndevotees of the mystic Mary Ann, eat of the common vegetable.  Their\noaths are strong with it.  It is the food, also, of the common people\nof Italy.  All the social atmosphere of that delicious land is laden\nwith it.  Its odor is a practical democracy.  In the churches all are\nalike: there is one faith, one smell.  The entrance of Victor Emanuel\ninto Rome is only the pompous proclamation of a unity which garlic\nhad already accomplished; and yet we, who boast of our democracy, eat\nonions in secret.\n\nI now see that I have left out many of the most moral elements.\nNeither onions, parsnips, carrots, nor cabbages are here.  I have\nnever seen a garden in the autumn before, without the uncouth cabbage\nin it; but my garden gives the impression of a garden without a head.\nThe cabbage is the rose of Holland.  I admire the force by which it\ncompacts its crisp leaves into a solid head.  The secret of it would\nbe priceless to the world.  We should see less expansive foreheads\nwith nothing within.  Even the largest cabbages are not always the\nbest.  But I mention these things, not from any sympathy I have with\nthe vegetables named, but to show how hard it is to go contrary to\nthe expectations of society.  Society expects every man to have\ncertain things in his garden.  Not to raise cabbage is as if one had\nno pew in church.  Perhaps we shall come some day to free churches\nand free gardens; when I can show my neighbor through my tired\ngarden, at the end of the season, when skies are overcast, and brown\nleaves are swirling down, and not mind if he does raise his eyebrows\nwhen he observes, \"Ah!  I see you have none of this, and of that.\" At\npresent we want the moral courage to plant only what we need; to\nspend only what will bring us peace, regardless of what is going on\nover the fence.  We are half ruined by conformity; but we should be\nwholly ruined without it; and I presume I shall make a garden next\nyear that will be as popular as possible.\n\nAnd this brings me to what I see may be a crisis in life.  I begin to\nfeel the temptation of experiment.  Agriculture, horticulture,\nfloriculture,--these are vast fields, into which one may wander away,\nand never be seen more.  It seemed to me a very simple thing, this\ngardening; but it opens up astonishingly.  It is like the infinite\npossibilities in worsted-work.  Polly sometimes says to me, \"I wish\nyou would call at Bobbin's, and match that skein of worsted for me,\nwhen you are in town.\"  Time was, I used to accept such a commission\nwith alacrity and self-confidence.  I went to Bobbin's, and asked one\nof his young men, with easy indifference, to give me some of that.\nThe young man, who is as handsome a young man as ever I looked at,\nand who appears to own the shop, and whose suave superciliousness\nwould be worth everything to a cabinet minister who wanted to repel\napplicants for place, says, \"I have n't an ounce: I have sent to\nParis, and I expect it every day.  I have a good deal of difficulty\nin getting that shade in my assortment.\"  To think that he is in\ncommunication with Paris, and perhaps with Persia!  Respect for such\na being gives place to awe.  I go to another shop, holding fast to my\nscarlet clew.  There I am shown a heap of stuff, with more colors and\nshades than I had supposed existed in all the world.  What a blaze of\ndistraction!  I have been told to get as near the shade as I could;\nand so I compare and contrast, till the whole thing seems to me about\nof one color.  But I can settle my mind on nothing.  The affair\nassumes a high degree of importance.  I am satisfied with nothing but\nperfection.  I don't know what may happen if the shade is not\nmatched.  I go to another shop, and another, and another.  At last a\npretty girl, who could make any customer believe that green is blue,\nmatches the shade in a minute.  I buy five cents worth.  That was the\norder.  Women are the most economical persons that ever were.  I have\nspent two hours in this five-cent business; but who shall say they\nwere wasted, when I take the stuff home, and Polly says it is a\nperfect match, and looks so pleased, and holds it up with the work,\nat arm's length, and turns her head one side, and then takes her\nneedle, and works it in?  Working in, I can see, my own obligingness\nand amiability with every stitch.  Five cents is dirt cheap for such\na pleasure.\n\nThe things I may do in my garden multiply on my vision.  How\nfascinating have the catalogues of the nurserymen become!  Can I\nraise all those beautiful varieties, each one of which is preferable\nto the other?  Shall I try all the kinds of grapes, and all the sorts\nof pears?  I have already fifteen varieties of strawberries (vines);\nand I have no idea that I have hit the right one.  Must I subscribe\nto all the magazines and weekly papers which offer premiums of the\nbest vines?  Oh, that all the strawberries were rolled into one, that\nI could inclose all its lusciousness in one bite!  Oh for the good\nold days when a strawberry was a strawberry, and there was no\nperplexity about it!  There are more berries now than churches; and\nno one knows what to believe.  I have seen gardens which were all\nexperiment, given over to every new thing, and which produced little\nor nothing to the owners, except the pleasure of expectation.  People\ngrow pear-trees at great expense of time and money, which never yield\nthem more than four pears to the tree.  The fashions of ladies'\nbonnets are nothing to the fashions of nurserymen.  He who attempts\nto follow them has a business for life; but his life may be short.\nIf I enter upon this wide field of horticultural experiment, I shall\nleave peace behind; and I may expect the ground to open, and swallow\nme and all my fortune.  May Heaven keep me to the old roots and herbs\nof my forefathers!  Perhaps in the world of modern reforms this is\nnot possible; but I intend now to cultivate only the standard things,\nand learn to talk knowingly of the rest.  Of course, one must keep up\na reputation.  I have seen people greatly enjoy themselves, and\nelevate themselves in their own esteem, in a wise and critical talk\nabout all the choice wines, while they were sipping a decoction, the\noriginal cost of which bore no relation to the price of grapes.\n\n\n\n\nNINETEENTH WEEK\n\nThe closing scenes are not necessarily funereal.  A garden should be\ngot ready for winter as well as for summer.  When one goes into\nwinter-quarters, he wants everything neat and trim.  Expecting high\nwinds, we bring everything into close reef.  Some men there are who\nnever shave (if they are so absurd as ever to shave), except when\nthey go abroad, and who do not take care to wear polished boots in\nthe bosoms of their families.  I like a man who shaves (next to one\nwho does n't shave) to satisfy his own conscience, and not for\ndisplay, and who dresses as neatly at home as he does anywhere.  Such\na man will be likely to put his garden in complete order before the\nsnow comes, so that its last days shall not present a scene of\nmelancholy ruin and decay.\n\nI confess that, after such an exhausting campaign, I felt a great\ntemptation to retire, and call it a drawn engagement.  But better\ncounsels prevailed.  I determined that the weeds should not sleep on\nthe field of battle.  I routed them out, and leveled their works.  I\nam master of the situation.  If I have made a desert, I at least have\npeace; but it is not quite a desert.  The strawberries, the\nraspberries, the celery, the turnips, wave green above the clean\nearth, with no enemy in sight.  In these golden October days no work\nis more fascinating than this getting ready for spring.  The sun is\nno longer a burning enemy, but a friend, illuminating all the open\nspace, and warming the mellow soil.  And the pruning and clearing\naway of rubbish, and the fertilizing, go on with something of the\nhilarity of a wake, rather than the despondency of other funerals.\nWhen the wind begins to come out of the northwest of set purpose, and\nto sweep the ground with low and searching fierceness, very different\nfrom the roistering, jolly bluster of early fall, I have put the\nstrawberries under their coverlet of leaves, pruned the grape-vines\nand laid them under the soil, tied up the tender plants, given the\nfruit trees a good, solid meal about the roots; and so I turn away,\nwriting Resurgam on the gatepost.  And Calvin, aware that the summer\nis past and the harvest is ended, and that a mouse in the kitchen is\nworth two birds gone south, scampers away to the house with his tail\nin the air.\n\nAnd yet I am not perfectly at rest in my mind.  I know that this is\nonly a truce until the parties recover their exhausted energies.  All\nwinter long the forces of chemistry will be mustering under ground,\nrepairing the losses, calling up the reserves, getting new strength\nfrom my surface-fertilizing bounty, and making ready for the spring\ncampaign.  They will open it before I am ready: while the snow is\nscarcely melted, and the ground is not passable, they will begin to\nmove on my works; and the fight will commence.  Yet how deceitfully\nit will open to the music of birds and the soft enchantment of the\nspring mornings!  I shall even be permitted to win a few skirmishes:\nthe secret forces will even wait for me to plant and sow, and show my\nfull hand, before they come on in heavy and determined assault.\nThere are already signs of an internecine fight with the devil-grass,\nwhich has intrenched itself in a considerable portion of my\ngarden-patch.  It contests the ground inch by inch; and digging it\nout is very much such labor as eating a piece of choke-cherry pie\nwith the stones all in.  It is work, too, that I know by experience I\nshall have to do alone.  Every man must eradicate his own devil-\ngrass.  The neighbors who have leisure to help you in grape-picking\ntime are all busy when devil-grass is most aggressive.  My neighbors'\nvisits are well timed: it is only their hens which have seasons for\ntheir own.\n\nI am told that abundant and rank weeds are signs of a rich soil; but\nI have noticed that a thin, poor soil grows little but weeds.  I am\ninclined to think that the substratum is the same, and that the only\nchoice in this world is what kind of weeds you will have.  I am not\nmuch attracted by the gaunt, flavorless mullein, and the wiry thistle\nof upland country pastures, where the grass is always gray, as if the\nworld were already weary and sick of life.  The awkward, uncouth\nwickedness of remote country-places, where culture has died out after\nthe first crop, is about as disagreeable as the ranker and richer\nvice of city life, forced by artificial heat and the juices of an\noverfed civilization.  There is no doubt that, on the whole, the rich\nsoil is the best: the fruit of it has body and flavor.  To what\naffluence does a woman (to take an instance, thank Heaven, which is\ncommon) grow, with favoring circumstances, under the stimulus of the\nrichest social and intellectual influences!  I am aware that there\nhas been a good deal said in poetry about the fringed gentian and the\nharebell of rocky districts and waysides, and I know that it is\npossible for maidens to bloom in very slight soil into a wild-wood\ngrace and beauty; yet, the world through, they lack that wealth of\ncharms, that tropic affluence of both person and mind, which higher\nand more stimulating culture brings,--the passion as well as the soul\nglowing in the Cloth-of-Gold rose.  Neither persons nor plants are\never fully themselves until they are cultivated to their highest.  I,\nfor one, have no fear that society will be too much enriched.  The\nonly question is about keeping down the weeds; and I have learned by\nexperience, that we need new sorts of hoes, and more disposition to\nuse them.\n\nMoral Deduction. --The difference between soil and society is\nevident.  We bury decay in the earth; we plant in it the perishing;\nwe feed it with offensive refuse: but nothing grows out of it that is\nnot clean; it gives us back life and beauty for our rubbish.  Society\nreturns us what we give it.\n\nPretending to reflect upon these things, but in reality watching the\nblue-jays, who are pecking at the purple berries of the woodbine on\nthe south gable, I approach the house.  Polly is picking up chestnuts\non the sward, regardless of the high wind which rattles them about\nher head and upon the glass roof of her winter-garden.  The garden, I\nsee, is filled with thrifty plants, which will make it always summer\nthere.  The callas about the fountain will be in flower by Christmas:\nthe plant appears to keep that holiday in her secret heart all\nsummer.  I close the outer windows as we go along, and congratulate\nmyself that we are ready for winter.  For the winter-garden I have no\nresponsibility: Polly has entire charge of it.  I am only required to\nkeep it heated, and not too hot either; to smoke it often for the\ndeath of the bugs; to water it once a day; to move this and that into\nthe sun and out of the sun pretty constantly: but she does all the\nwork.  We never relinquish that theory.\n\nAs we pass around the house, I discover a boy in the ravine filling a\nbag with chestnuts and hickorynuts.  They are not plenty this year;\nand I suggest the propriety of leaving some for us.  The boy is a\nlittle slow to take the idea: but he has apparently found the picking\npoor, and exhausted it; for, as he turns away down the glen, he hails\nme with,\n\n\"Mister, I say, can you tell me where I can find some walnuts?\"\n\nThe coolness of this world grows upon me.  It is time to go in and\nlight a wood-fire on the hearth.\n\n\n\n\n\nCALVIN\n\n\n\n     NOTE. --The following brief Memoir of one of the characters in\nthis book is added by his friend, in the hope that the record of an\nexemplary fife in an humble sphere may be of some service to the\nworld.\n\n     HARTFORD, January, 1880.\n\n\n\n\nCALVIN\n\nA STUDY OF CHARACTER\n\nCalvin is dead.  His life, long to him, but short for the rest of us,\nwas not marked by startling adventures, but his character was so\nuncommon and his qualities were so worthy of imitation, that I have\nbeen asked by those who personally knew him to set down my\nrecollections of his career.\n\nHis origin and ancestry were shrouded in mystery; even his age was a\nmatter of pure conjecture.  Although he was of the Maltese race, I\nhave reason to suppose that he was American by birth as he certainly\nwas in sympathy.  Calvin was given to me eight years ago by Mrs.\nStowe, but she knew nothing of his age or origin.  He walked into her\nhouse one day out of the great unknown and became at once at home, as\nif he had been always a friend of the family.  He appeared to have\nartistic and literary tastes, and it was as if he had inquired at the\ndoor if that was the residence of the author of \"Uncle Tom's Cabin,\"\nand, upon being assured that it was, bad decided to dwell there.\nThis is, of course, fanciful, for his antecedents were wholly\nunknown, but in his time he could hardly have been in any household\nwhere he would not have heard \"Uncle Tom's Cabin\" talked about.  When\nhe came to Mrs.  Stowe, he was as large as he ever was, and\napparently as old as he ever became.  Yet there was in him no\nappearance of age; he was in the happy maturity of all his powers,\nand you would rather have said that in that maturity he had found the\nsecret of perpetual youth.  And it was as difficult to believe that\nhe would ever be aged as it was to imagine that he had ever been in\nimmature youth.  There was in him a mysterious perpetuity.\n\nAfter some years, when Mrs. Stowe made her winter home in Florida,\nCalvin came to live with us.  From the first moment, he fell into the\nways of the house and assumed a recognized position in the family,--I\nsay recognized, because after he became known he was always inquired\nfor by visitors, and in the letters to the other members of the\nfamily he always received a message.  Although the least obtrusive of\nbeings, his individuality always made itself felt.\n\nHis personal appearance had much to do with this, for he was of royal\nmould, and had an air of high breeding.  He was large, but he had\nnothing of the fat grossness of the celebrated Angora family; though\npowerful, he was exquisitely proportioned, and as graceful in every\nmovement as a young leopard.  When he stood up to open a door--he\nopened all the doors with old-fashioned latches--he was portentously\ntall, and when stretched on the rug before the fire he seemed too\nlong for this world--as indeed he was.  His coat was the finest and\nsoftest I have ever seen, a shade of quiet Maltese; and from his\nthroat downward, underneath, to the white tips of his feet, he wore\nthe whitest and most delicate ermine; and no person was ever more\nfastidiously neat.  In his finely formed head you saw something of\nhis aristocratic character; the ears were small and cleanly cut,\nthere was a tinge of pink in the nostrils, his face was handsome, and\nthe expression of his countenance exceedingly intelligent--I should\ncall it even a sweet expression, if the term were not inconsistent\nwith his look of alertness and sagacity.\n\nIt is difficult to convey a just idea of his gayety in connection\nwith his dignity and gravity, which his name expressed.  As we know\nnothing of his family, of course it will be understood that Calvin\nwas his Christian name.  He had times of relaxation into utter\nplayfulness, delighting in a ball of yarn, catching sportively at\nstray ribbons when his mistress was at her toilet, and pursuing his\nown tail, with hilarity, for lack of anything better.  He could amuse\nhimself by the hour, and he did not care for children; perhaps\nsomething in his past was present to his memory.  He had absolutely\nno bad habits, and his disposition was perfect.  I never saw him\nexactly angry, though I have seen his tail grow to an enormous size\nwhen a strange cat appeared upon his lawn.  He disliked cats,\nevidently regarding them as feline and treacherous, and he had no\nassociation with them.  Occasionally there would be heard a night\nconcert in the shrubbery.  Calvin would ask to have the door opened,\nand then you would hear a rush and a \"pestzt,\" and the concert would\nexplode, and Calvin would quietly come in and resume his seat on the\nhearth.  There was no trace of anger in his manner, but he would n't\nhave any of that about the house.  He had the rare virtue of\nmagnanimity.  Although he had fixed notions about his own rights, and\nextraordinary persistency in getting them, he never showed temper at\na repulse; he simply and firmly persisted till he had what he wanted.\nHis diet was one point; his idea was that of the scholars about\ndictionaries,--to \"get the best.\" He knew as well as any one what was\nin the house, and would refuse beef if turkey was to be had; and if\nthere were oysters, he would wait over the turkey to see if the\noysters would not be forthcoming.  And yet he was not a gross\ngourmand; he would eat bread if he saw me eating it, and thought he\nwas not being imposed on.  His habits of feeding, also, were refined;\nhe never used a knife, and he would put up his hand and draw the fork\ndown to his mouth as gracefully as a grown person.  Unless necessity\ncompelled, he would not eat in the kitchen, but insisted upon his\nmeals in the dining-room, and would wait patiently, unless a stranger\nwere present; and then he was sure to importune the visitor, hoping\nthat the latter was ignorant of the rule of the house, and would give\nhim something.  They used to say that he preferred as his table-cloth\non the floor a certain well-known church journal; but this was said\nby an Episcopalian.  So far as I know, he had no religious\nprejudices, except that he did not like the association with\nRomanists.  He tolerated the servants, because they belonged to the\nhouse, and would sometimes linger by the kitchen stove; but the\nmoment visitors came in he arose, opened the door, and marched into\nthe drawing-room.  Yet he enjoyed the company of his equals, and\nnever withdrew, no matter how many callers--whom he recognized as of\nhis society--might come into the drawing-room.  Calvin was fond of\ncompany, but he wanted to choose it; and I have no doubt that his was\nan aristocratic fastidiousness rather than one of faith.  It is so\nwith most people.\n\nThe intelligence of Calvin was something phenomenal, in his rank of\nlife.  He established a method of communicating his wants, and even\nsome of his sentiments; and he could help himself in many things.\nThere was a furnace register in a retired room, where he used to go\nwhen he wished to be alone, that he always opened when he desired\nmore heat; but he never shut it, any more than he shut the door after\nhimself.  He could do almost everything but speak; and you would\ndeclare sometimes that you could see a pathetic longing to do that in\nhis intelligent face.  I have no desire to overdraw his qualities,\nbut if there was one thing in him more noticeable than another, it\nwas his fondness for nature.  He could content himself for hours at a\nlow window, looking into the ravine and at the great trees, noting\nthe smallest stir there; he delighted, above all things, to accompany\nme walking about the garden, hearing the birds, getting the smell of\nthe fresh earth, and rejoicing in the sunshine.  He followed me and\ngamboled like a dog, rolling over on the turf and exhibiting his\ndelight in a hundred ways.  If I worked, he sat and watched me, or\nlooked off over the bank, and kept his ear open to the twitter in the\ncherry-trees.  When it stormed, he was sure to sit at the window,\nkeenly watching the rain or the snow, glancing up and down at its\nfalling; and a winter tempest always delighted him.  I think he was\ngenuinely fond of birds, but, so far as I know, he usually confined\nhimself to one a day; he never killed, as some sportsmen do, for the\nsake of killing, but only as civilized people do,--from necessity.\nHe was intimate with the flying-squirrels who dwell in the chestnut-\ntrees,--too intimate, for almost every day in the summer he would\nbring in one, until he nearly discouraged them.  He was, indeed, a\nsuperb hunter, and would have been a devastating one, if his bump of\ndestructiveness had not been offset by a bump of moderation.  There\nwas very little of the brutality of the lower animals about him; I\ndon't think he enjoyed rats for themselves, but he knew his business,\nand for the first few months of his residence with us he waged an\nawful campaign against the horde, and after that his simple presence\nwas sufficient to deter them from coming on the premises.  Mice\namused him, but he usually considered them too small game to be taken\nseriously; I have seen him play for an hour with a mouse, and then\nlet him go with a royal condescension.  In this whole, matter of\n\"getting a living,\" Calvin was a great contrast to the rapacity of\nthe age in which he lived.\n\nI hesitate a little to speak of his capacity for friendship and the\naffectionateness of his nature, for I know from his own reserve that\nhe would not care to have it much talked about.  We understood each\nother perfectly, but we never made any fuss about it; when I spoke\nhis name and snapped my fingers, he came to me; when I returned home\nat night, he was pretty sure to be waiting for me near the gate, and\nwould rise and saunter along the walk, as if his being there were\npurely accidental,--so shy was he commonly of showing feeling; and\nwhen I opened the door, he never rushed in, like a cat, but loitered,\nand lounged, as if he had no intention of going in, but would\ncondescend to.  And yet, the fact was, he knew dinner was ready, and\nhe was bound to be there.  He kept the run of dinner-time.  It\nhappened sometimes, during our absence in the summer, that dinner\nwould be early, and Calvin, walking about the grounds, missed it and\ncame in late.  But he never made a mistake the second day.  There was\none thing he never did,--he never rushed through an open doorway.  He\nnever forgot his dignity.  If he had asked to have the door opened,\nand was eager to go out, he always went deliberately; I can see him\nnow standing on the sill, looking about at the sky as if he was\nthinking whether it were worth while to take an umbrella, until he\nwas near having his tail shut in.\n\nHis friendship was rather constant than demonstrative.  When we\nreturned from an absence of nearly two years, Calvin welcomed us with\nevident pleasure, but showed his satisfaction rather by tranquil\nhappiness than by fuming about.  He had the faculty of making us glad\nto get home.  It was his constancy that was so attractive.  He liked\ncompanionship, but he wouldn't be petted, or fussed over, or sit in\nany one's lap a moment; he always extricated himself from such\nfamiliarity with dignity and with no show of temper.  If there was\nany petting to be done, however, he chose to do it.  Often he would\nsit looking at me, and then, moved by a delicate affection, come and\npull at my coat and sleeve until he could touch my face with his\nnose, and then go away contented.  He had a habit of coming to my\nstudy in the morning, sitting quietly by my side or on the table for\nhours, watching the pen run over the paper, occasionally swinging his\ntail round for a blotter, and then going to sleep among the papers by\nthe inkstand.  Or, more rarely, he would watch the writing from a\nperch on my shoulder.  Writing always interested him, and, until he\nunderstood it, he wanted to hold the pen.\n\nHe always held himself in a kind of reserve with his friend, as if he\nhad said, \"Let us respect our personality, and not make a \"mess\" of\nfriendship.\"  He saw, with Emerson, the risk of degrading it to\ntrivial conveniency.  \"Why insist on rash personal relations with\nyour friend?\"  \"Leave this touching and clawing.\"  Yet I would not\ngive an unfair notion of his aloofness, his fine sense of the\nsacredness of the me and the not-me.  And, at the risk of not being\nbelieved, I will relate an incident, which was often repeated.\nCalvin had the practice of passing a portion of the night in the\ncontemplation of its beauties, and would come into our chamber over\nthe roof of the conservatory through the open window, summer and\nwinter, and go to sleep on the foot of my bed.  He would do this\nalways exactly in this way; he never was content to stay in the\nchamber if we compelled him to go upstairs and through the door.  He\nhad the obstinacy of General Grant.  But this is by the way.  In the\nmorning, he performed his toilet and went down to breakfast with the\nrest of the family.  Now, when the mistress was absent from home, and\nat no other time, Calvin would come in the morning, when the bell\nrang, to the head of the bed, put up his feet and look into my face,\nfollow me about when I rose, \"assist\" at the dressing, and in many\npurring ways show his fondness, as if he had plainly said, \"I know\nthat she has gone away, but I am here.\"  Such was Calvin in rare\nmoments.\n\nHe had his limitations.  Whatever passion he had for nature, he had\nno conception of art.  There was sent to him once a fine and very\nexpressive cat's head in bronze, by Fremiet.  I placed it on the\nfloor.  He regarded it intently, approached it cautiously and\ncrouchingly, touched it with his nose, perceived the fraud, turned\naway abruptly, and never would notice it afterward.  On the whole,\nhis life was not only a successful one, but a happy one.  He never\nhad but one fear, so far as I know: he had a mortal and a reasonable\nterror of plumbers.  He would never stay in the house when they were\nhere.  No coaxing could quiet him.  Of course he did n't share our\nfear about their charges, but he must have had some dreadful\nexperience with them in that portion of his life which is unknown to\nus.  A plumber was to him the devil, and I have no doubt that, in his\nscheme, plumbers were foreordained to do him mischief.\n\nIn speaking of his worth, it has never occurred to me to estimate\nCalvin by the worldly standard.  I know that it is customary now,\nwhen any one dies, to ask how much he was worth, and that no obituary\nin the newspapers is considered complete without such an estimate.\nThe plumbers in our house were one day overheard to say that, \"They\nsay that she says that he says that he wouldn't take a hundred\ndollars for him.\" It is unnecessary to say that I never made such a\nremark, and that, so far as Calvin was concerned, there was no\npurchase in money.\n\nAs I look back upon it, Calvin's life seems to me a fortunate one,\nfor it was natural and unforced.  He ate when he was hungry, slept\nwhen he was sleepy, and enjoyed existence to the very tips of his\ntoes and the end of his expressive and slow-moving tail.  He\ndelighted to roam about the garden, and stroll among the trees, and\nto lie on the green grass and luxuriate in all the sweet influences\nof summer.  You could never accuse him of idleness, and yet he knew\nthe secret of repose.  The poet who wrote so prettily of him that his\nlittle life was rounded with a sleep, understated his felicity; it\nwas rounded with a good many.  His conscience never seemed to\ninterfere with his slumbers.  In fact, he had good habits and a\ncontented mind.  I can see him now walk in at the study door, sit\ndown by my chair, bring his tail artistically about his feet, and\nlook up at me with unspeakable happiness in his handsome face.  I\noften thought that he felt the dumb limitation which denied him the\npower of language.  But since he was denied speech, he scorned the\ninarticulate mouthings of the lower animals.  The vulgar mewing and\nyowling of the cat species was beneath him; he sometimes uttered a\nsort of articulate and well-bred ejaculation, when he wished to call\nattention to something that he considered remarkable, or to some want\nof his, but he never went whining about.  He would sit for hours at a\nclosed window, when he desired to enter, without a murmur, and when\nit was opened, he never admitted that he had been impatient by\n\"bolting\" in.  Though speech he had not, and the unpleasant kind of\nutterance given to his race he would not use, he had a mighty power\nof purr to express his measureless content with congenial society.\nThere was in him a musical organ with stops of varied power and\nexpression, upon which I have no doubt he could have performed\nScarlatti's celebrated cat's-fugue.\n\nWhether Calvin died of old age, or was carried off by one of the\ndiseases incident to youth, it is impossible to say; for his\ndeparture was as quiet as his advent was mysterious.  I only know\nthat he appeared to us in this world in his perfect stature and\nbeauty, and that after a time, like Lohengrin, he withdrew.  In his\nillness there was nothing more to be regretted than in all his\nblameless life.  I suppose there never was an illness that had more\nof dignity, and sweetness and resignation in it.  It came on\ngradually, in a kind of listlessness and want of appetite.  An\nalarming symptom was his preference for the warmth of a\nfurnace-register to the lively sparkle of the open woodfire.\nWhatever pain he suffered, he bore it in silence, and seemed only\nanxious not to obtrude his malady.  We tempted him with the\ndelicacies of the season, but it soon became impossible for him to\neat, and for two weeks he ate or drank scarcely anything.  Sometimes\nhe made an effort to take something, but it was evident that he made\nthe effort to please us.  The neighbors--and I am convinced that the\nadvice of neighbors is never good for anything--suggested catnip.  He\nwould n't even smell it.  We had the attendance of an amateur\npractitioner of medicine, whose real office was the cure of souls,\nbut nothing touched his case.  He took what was offered, but it was\nwith the air of one to whom the time for pellets was passed.  He sat\nor lay day after day almost motionless, never once making a display\nof those vulgar convulsions or contortions of pain which are so\ndisagreeable to society.  His favorite place was on the brightest\nspot of a Smyrna rug by the conservatory, where the sunlight fell and\nhe could hear the fountain play.  If we went to him and exhibited our\ninterest in his condition, he always purred in recognition of our\nsympathy.  And when I spoke his name, he looked up with an expression\nthat said, \"I understand it, old fellow, but it's no use.\"  He was to\nall who came to visit him a model of calmness and patience in\naffliction.\n\nI was absent from home at the last, but heard by daily postal-card of\nhis failing condition; and never again saw him alive.  One sunny\nmorning, he rose from his rug, went into the conservatory (he was\nvery thin then), walked around it deliberately, looking at all the\nplants he knew, and then went to the bay-window in the dining-room,\nand stood a long time looking out upon the little field, now brown\nand sere, and toward the garden, where perhaps the happiest hours of\nhis life had been spent.  It was a last look.  He turned and walked\naway, laid himself down upon the bright spot in the rug, and quietly\ndied.\n\nIt is not too much to say that a little shock went through the\nneighborhood when it was known that Calvin was dead, so marked was\nhis individuality; and his friends, one after another, came in to see\nhim.  There was no sentimental nonsense about his obsequies; it was\nfelt that any parade would have been distasteful to him.  John, who\nacted as undertaker, prepared a candle-box for him and I believe\nassumed a professional decorum; but there may have been the usual\nlevity underneath, for I heard that he remarked in the kitchen that\nit was the \"driest wake he ever attended.\"  Everybody, however, felt\na fondness for Calvin, and regarded him with a certain respect.\nBetween him and Bertha there existed a great friendship, and she\napprehended his nature; she used to say that sometimes she was afraid\nof him, he looked at her so intelligently; she was never certain that\nhe was what he appeared to be.\n\nWhen I returned, they had laid Calvin on a table in an upper chamber\nby an open window.  It was February.  He reposed in a candle-box,\nlined about the edge with evergreen, and at his head stood a little\nwine-glass with flowers.  He lay with his head tucked down in his\narms,--a favorite position of his before the fire,--as if asleep in\nthe comfort of his soft and exquisite fur.  It was the involuntary\nexclamation of those who saw him, \"How natural he looks!  \"As for\nmyself, I said nothing.  John buried him under the twin hawthorn-\ntrees,--one white and the other pink,--in a spot where Calvin was\nfond of lying and listening to the hum of summer insects and the\ntwitter of birds.\n\nPerhaps I have failed to make appear the individuality of character\nthat was so evident to those who knew him.  At any rate, I have set\ndown nothing concerning him, but the literal truth.  He was always a\nmystery.  I did not know whence he came; I do not know whither he has\ngone.  I would not weave one spray of falsehood in the wreath I lay\nupon his grave.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBACKLOG STUDIES\n\n\n\nFIRST STUDY\n\nI\n\nThe fire on the hearth has almost gone out in New England; the hearth\nhas gone out; the family has lost its center; age ceases to be\nrespected; sex is only distinguished by a difference between\nmillinery bills and tailors' bills; there is no more toast-and-cider;\nthe young are not allowed to eat mince-pies at ten o'clock at night;\nhalf a cheese is no longer set to toast before the fire; you scarcely\never see in front of the coals a row of roasting apples, which a\nbright little girl, with many a dive and start, shielding her sunny\nface from the fire with one hand, turns from time to time; scarce are\nthe gray-haired sires who strop their razors on the family Bible, and\ndoze in the chimney-corner.  A good many things have gone out with\nthe fire on the hearth.\n\nI do not mean to say that public and private morality have vanished\nwith the hearth.  A good degree of purity and considerable happiness\nare possible with grates and blowers; it is a day of trial, when we\nare all passing through a fiery furnace, and very likely we shall be\npurified as we are dried up and wasted away.  Of course the family is\ngone, as an institution, though there still are attempts to bring up\na family round a \"register.\" But you might just as well try to bring\nit up by hand, as without the rallying-point of a hearthstone.  Are\nthere any homesteads nowadays?  Do people hesitate to change houses\nany more than they do to change their clothes?  People hire houses as\nthey would a masquerade costume, liking, sometimes, to appear for a\nyear in a little fictitious stone-front splendor above their means.\nThus it happens that so many people live in houses that do not fit\nthem.  I should almost as soon think of wearing another person's\nclothes as his house; unless I could let it out and take it in until\nit fitted, and somehow expressed my own character and taste.  But we\nhave fallen into the days of conformity.  It is no wonder that people\nconstantly go into their neighbors' houses by mistake, just as, in\nspite of the Maine law, they wear away each other's hats from an\nevening party.  It has almost come to this, that you might as well be\nanybody else as yourself.\n\nAm I mistaken in supposing that this is owing to the discontinuance\nof big chimneys, with wide fireplaces in them?  How can a person be\nattached to a house that has no center of attraction, no soul in it,\nin the visible form of a glowing fire, and a warm chimney, like the\nheart in the body?  When you think of the old homestead, if you ever\ndo, your thoughts go straight to the wide chimney and its burning\nlogs.  No wonder that you are ready to move from one fireplaceless\nhouse into another.  But you have something just as good, you say.\nYes, I have heard of it.  This age, which imitates everything, even\nto the virtues of our ancestors, has invented a fireplace, with\nartificial, iron, or composition logs in it, hacked and painted, in\nwhich gas is burned, so that it has the appearance of a wood-fire.\nThis seems to me blasphemy.  Do you think a cat would lie down before\nit?  Can you poke it?  If you can't poke it, it is a fraud.  To poke\na wood-fire is more solid enjoyment than almost anything else in the\nworld.  The crowning human virtue in a man is to let his wife poke\nthe fire.  I do not know how any virtue whatever is possible over an\nimitation gas-log.  What a sense of insincerity the family must have,\nif they indulge in the hypocrisy of gathering about it.  With this\ncenter of untruthfulness, what must the life in the family be?\nPerhaps the father will be living at the rate of ten thousand a year\non a salary of four thousand; perhaps the mother, more beautiful and\nyounger than her beautified daughters, will rouge; perhaps the young\nladies will make wax-work.  A cynic might suggest as the motto of\nmodern life this simple legend,--\"just as good as the real.\" But I am\nnot a cynic, and I hope for the rekindling of wood-fires, and a\nreturn of the beautiful home light from them.  If a wood-fire is a\nluxury, it is cheaper than many in which we indulge without thought,\nand cheaper than the visits of a doctor, made necessary by the want\nof ventilation of the house.  Not that I have anything against\ndoctors; I only wish, after they have been to see us in a way that\nseems so friendly, they had nothing against us.\n\nMy fireplace, which is deep, and nearly three feet wide, has a broad\nhearthstone in front of it, where the live coals tumble down, and a\npair of gigantic brass andirons.  The brasses are burnished, and\nshine cheerfully in the firelight, and on either side stand tall\nshovel and tongs, like sentries, mounted in brass.  The tongs, like\nthe two-handed sword of Bruce, cannot be wielded by puny people.  We\nburn in it hickory wood, cut long.  We like the smell of this\naromatic forest timber, and its clear flame.  The birch is also a\nsweet wood for the hearth, with a sort of spiritual flame and an even\ntemper,--no snappishness.  Some prefer the elm, which holds fire so\nwell; and I have a neighbor who uses nothing but apple-tree wood,--a\nsolid, family sort of wood, fragrant also, and full of delightful\nsuggestions.  But few people can afford to burn up their fruit trees.\nI should as soon think of lighting the fire with sweet-oil that comes\nin those graceful wicker-bound flasks from Naples, or with manuscript\nsermons, which, however, do not burn well, be they never so dry, not\nhalf so well as printed editorials.\n\nFew people know how to make a wood-fire, but everybody thinks he or\nshe does.  You want, first, a large backlog, which does not rest on\nthe andirons.  This will keep your fire forward, radiate heat all\nday, and late in the evening fall into a ruin of glowing coals, like\nthe last days of a good man, whose life is the richest and most\nbeneficent at the close, when the flames of passion and the sap of\nyouth are burned out, and there only remain the solid, bright\nelements of character.  Then you want a forestick on the andirons;\nand upon these build the fire of lighter stuff.  In this way you have\nat once a cheerful blaze, and the fire gradually eats into the solid\nmass, sinking down with increasing fervor; coals drop below, and\ndelicate tongues of flame sport along the beautiful grain of the\nforestick.  There are people who kindle a fire underneath.  But these\nare conceited people, who are wedded to their own way.  I suppose an\naccomplished incendiary always starts a fire in the attic, if he can.\nI am not an incendiary, but I hate bigotry.  I don't call those\nincendiaries very good Christians who, when they set fire to the\nmartyrs, touched off the fagots at the bottom, so as to make them go\nslow.  Besides, knowledge works down easier than it does up.\nEducation must proceed from the more enlightened down to the more\nignorant strata.  If you want better common schools, raise the\nstandard of the colleges, and so on.  Build your fire on top.  Let\nyour light shine.  I have seen people build a fire under a balky\nhorse; but he wouldn't go, he'd be a horse-martyr first.  A fire\nkindled under one never did him any good.  Of course you can make a\nfire on the hearth by kindling it underneath, but that does not make\nit right.  I want my hearthfire to be an emblem of the best things.\n\n\n\nII\n\nIt must be confessed that a wood-fire needs as much tending as a pair\nof twins.  To say nothing of fiery projectiles sent into the room,\neven by the best wood, from the explosion of gases confined in its\ncells, the brands are continually dropping down, and coals are being\nscattered over the hearth.  However much a careful housewife, who\nthinks more of neatness than enjoyment, may dislike this, it is one\nof the chief delights of a wood-fire.  I would as soon have an\nEnglishman without side-whiskers as a fire without a big backlog; and\nI would rather have no fire than one that required no tending,--one\nof dead wood that could not sing again the imprisoned songs of the\nforest, or give out in brilliant scintillations the sunshine it\nabsorbed in its growth.  Flame is an ethereal sprite, and the spice\nof danger in it gives zest to the care of the hearth-fire.  Nothing\nis so beautiful as springing, changing flame,--it was the last freak\nof the Gothic architecture men to represent the fronts of elaborate\nedifices of stone as on fire, by the kindling flamboyant devices.  A\nfireplace is, besides, a private laboratory, where one can witness\nthe most brilliant chemical experiments, minor conflagrations only\nwanting the grandeur of cities on fire.  It is a vulgar notion that a\nfire is only for heat.  A chief value of it is, however, to look at.\nIt is a picture, framed between the jambs.  You have nothing on your\nwalls, by the best masters (the poor masters are not, however,\nrepresented), that is really so fascinating, so spiritual.  Speaking\nlike an upholsterer, it furnishes the room.  And it is never twice\nthe same.  In this respect it is like the landscape-view through a\nwindow, always seen in a new light, color, or condition.  The\nfireplace is a window into the most charming world I ever had a\nglimpse of.\n\nYet direct heat is an agreeable sensation.  I am not scientific\nenough to despise it, and have no taste for a winter residence on\nMount Washington, where the thermometer cannot be kept comfortable\neven by boiling.  They say that they say in Boston that there is a\nsatisfaction in being well dressed which religion cannot give.  There\nis certainly a satisfaction in the direct radiance of a hickory fire\nwhich is not to be found in the fieriest blasts of a furnace.  The\nhot air of a furnace is a sirocco; the heat of a wood-fire is only\nintense sunshine, like that bottled in Lacrimae Christi.  Besides\nthis, the eye is delighted, the sense of smell is regaled by the\nfragrant decomposition, and the ear is pleased with the hissing,\ncrackling, and singing,--a liberation of so many out-door noises.\nSome people like the sound of bubbling in a boiling pot, or the\nfizzing of a frying-spider.  But there is nothing gross in the\nanimated crackling of sticks of wood blazing on the earth, not even\nif chestnuts are roasting in the ashes.  All the senses are\nministered to, and the imagination is left as free as the leaping\ntongues of flame.\n\nThe attention which a wood-fire demands is one of its best\nrecommendations.  We value little that which costs us no trouble to\nmaintain.  If we had to keep the sun kindled up and going by private\ncorporate action, or act of Congress, and to be taxed for the support\nof customs officers of solar heat, we should prize it more than we\ndo.  Not that I should like to look upon the sun as a job, and have\nthe proper regulation of its temperature get into politics, where we\nalready have so much combustible stuff; but we take it quite too much\nas a matter of course, and, having it free, do not reckon it among\nthe reasons for gratitude.  Many people shut it out of their houses\nas if it were an enemy, watch its descent upon the carpet as if it\nwere only a thief of color, and plant trees to shut it away from the\nmouldering house.  All the animals know better than this, as well as\nthe more simple races of men; the old women of the southern Italian\ncoasts sit all day in the sun and ply the distaff, as grateful as the\nsociable hens on the south side of a New England barn; the slow\ntortoise likes to take the sun upon his sloping back, soaking in\ncolor that shall make him immortal when the imperishable part of him\nis cut up into shell ornaments.  The capacity of a cat to absorb\nsunshine is only equaled by that of an Arab or an Ethiopian.  They\nare not afraid of injuring their complexions.\n\nWhite must be the color of civilization; it has so many natural\ndisadvantages.  But this is politics.  I was about to say that,\nhowever it may be with sunshine, one is always grateful for his\nwood-fire, because he does not maintain it without some cost.\n\nYet I cannot but confess to a difference between sunlight and the\nlight of a wood-fire.  The sunshine is entirely untamed.  Where it\nrages most freely it tends to evoke the brilliancy rather than the\nharmonious satisfactions of nature.  The monstrous growths and the\nflaming colors of the tropics contrast with our more subdued\nloveliness of foliage and bloom.  The birds of the middle region\ndazzle with their contrasts of plumage, and their voices are for\nscreaming rather than singing.  I presume the new experiments in\nsound would project a macaw's voice in very tangled and inharmonious\nlines of light.  I suspect that the fiercest sunlight puts people, as\nwell as animals and vegetables, on extremes in all ways.  A wood-fire\non the hearth is a kindler of the domestic virtues.  It brings in\ncheerfulness, and a family center, and, besides, it is artistic.\nI should like to know if an artist could ever represent on canvas a\nhappy family gathered round a hole in the floor called a register.\nGiven a fireplace, and a tolerable artist could almost create a\npleasant family round it.  But what could he conjure out of a\nregister?  If there was any virtue among our ancestors,--and they\nlabored under a great many disadvantages, and had few of the aids\nwhich we have to excellence of life,--I am convinced they drew it\nmostly from the fireside.  If it was difficult to read the eleven\ncommandments by the light of a pine-knot, it was not difficult to get\nthe sweet spirit of them from the countenance of the serene mother\nknitting in the chimney-corner.\n\n\n\nIII\n\nWhen the fire is made, you want to sit in front of it and grow genial\nin its effulgence.  I have never been upon a throne,--except in\nmoments of a traveler's curiosity, about as long as a South American\ndictator remains on one,--but I have no idea that it compares, for\npleasantness, with a seat before a wood-fire.  A whole leisure day\nbefore you, a good novel in hand, and the backlog only just beginning\nto kindle, with uncounted hours of comfort in it, has life anything\nmore delicious?  For \"novel\" you can substitute \"Calvin's\nInstitutes,\" if you wish to be virtuous as well as happy.  Even\nCalvin would melt before a wood-fire.  A great snowstorm, visible on\nthree sides of your wide-windowed room, loading the evergreens, blown\nin fine powder from the great chestnut-tops, piled up in ever\naccumulating masses, covering the paths, the shrubbery, the hedges,\ndrifting and clinging in fantastic deposits, deepening your sense of\nsecurity, and taking away the sin of idleness by making it a\nnecessity, this is an excellent ground to your day by the fire.\n\nTo deliberately sit down in the morning to read a novel, to enjoy\nyourself, is this not, in New England (I am told they don't read much\nin other parts of the country), the sin of sins?  Have you any right\nto read, especially novels, until you have exhausted the best part of\nthe day in some employment that is called practical?  Have you any\nright to enjoy yourself at all until the fag-end of the day, when you\nare tired and incapable of enjoying yourself?  I am aware that this\nis the practice, if not the theory, of our society,--to postpone the\ndelights of social intercourse until after dark, and rather late at\nnight, when body and mind are both weary with the exertions of\nbusiness, and when we can give to what is the most delightful and\nprofitable thing in life, social and intellectual society, only the\nweariness of dull brains and over-tired muscles.  No wonder we take\nour amusements sadly, and that so many people find dinners heavy and\nparties stupid.  Our economy leaves no place for amusements; we\nmerely add them to the burden of a life already full.  The world is\nstill a little off the track as to what is really useful.\n\nI confess that the morning is a very good time to read a novel, or\nanything else which is good and requires a fresh mind; and I take it\nthat nothing is worth reading that does not require an alert mind.\nI suppose it is necessary that business should be transacted; though\nthe amount of business that does not contribute to anybody's comfort\nor improvement suggests the query whether it is not overdone.  I know\nthat unremitting attention to business is the price of success, but\nI don't know what success is.  There is a man, whom we all know, who\nbuilt a house that cost a quarter of a million of dollars, and\nfurnished it for another like sum, who does not know anything more\nabout architecture, or painting, or books, or history, than he cares\nfor the rights of those who have not so much money as he has.  I\nheard him once, in a foreign gallery, say to his wife, as they stood\nin front of a famous picture by Rubens: \"That is the Rape of the\nSardines!\"  What a cheerful world it would be if everybody was as\nsuccessful as that man!  While I am reading my book by the fire, and\ntaking an active part in important transactions that may be a good\ndeal better than real, let me be thankful that a great many men are\nprofitably employed in offices and bureaus and country stores in\nkeeping up the gossip and endless exchange of opinions among mankind,\nso much of which is made to appear to the women at home as\n\"business.\" I find that there is a sort of busy idleness among men in\nthis world that is not held in disrepute.  When the time comes that I\nhave to prove my right to vote, with women, I trust that it will be\nremembered in my favor that I made this admission.  If it is true, as\na witty conservative once said to me, that we never shall have peace\nin this country until we elect a <DW52> woman president, I desire to\nbe rectus in curia early.\n\n\n\nIV\n\nThe fireplace, as we said, is a window through which we look out upon\nother scenes.  We like to read of the small, bare room, with\ncobwebbed ceiling and narrow window, in which the poor child of\ngenius sits with his magical pen, the master of a realm of beauty and\nenchantment.  I think the open fire does not kindle the imagination\nso much as it awakens the memory; one sees the past in its crumbling\nembers and ashy grayness, rather than the future.  People become\nreminiscent and even sentimental in front of it.  They used to become\nsomething else in those good old days when it was thought best to\nheat the poker red hot before plunging it into the mugs of flip.\nThis heating of the poker has been disapproved of late years, but I\ndo not know on what grounds; if one is to drink bitters and gins and\nthe like, such as I understand as good people as clergymen and women\ntake in private, and by advice, I do not know why one should not make\nthem palatable and heat them with his own poker.  Cold whiskey out of\na bottle, taken as a prescription six times a day on the sly, is n't\nmy idea of virtue any more than the social ancestral glass, sizzling\nwickedly with the hot iron.  Names are so confusing in this world;\nbut things are apt to remain pretty much the same, whatever we call\nthem.\n\nPerhaps as you look into the fireplace it widens and grows deep and\ncavernous.  The back and the jambs are built up of great stones, not\nalways smoothly laid, with jutting ledges upon which ashes are apt to\nlie.  The hearthstone is an enormous block of trap rock, with a\nsurface not perfectly even, but a capital place to crack butternuts\non.  Over the fire swings an iron crane, with a row of pot-hooks of\nall lengths hanging from it.  It swings out when the housewife wants\nto hang on the tea-kettle, and it is strong enough to support a row\nof pots, or a mammoth caldron kettle on occasion.  What a jolly sight\nis this fireplace when the pots and kettles in a row are all boiling\nand bubbling over the flame, and a roasting spit is turning in front!\nIt makes a person as hungry as one of Scott's novels.  But the\nbrilliant sight is in the frosty morning, about daylight, when the\nfire is made.  The coals are raked open, the split sticks are piled\nup in openwork criss-crossing, as high as the crane; and when the\nflame catches hold and roars up through the interstices, it is like\nan out-of-door bonfire.  Wood enough is consumed in that morning\nsacrifice to cook the food of a Parisian family for a year.  How it\nroars up the wide chimney, sending into the air the signal smoke and\nsparks which announce to the farming neighbors another day cheerfully\nbegun!  The sleepiest boy in the world would get up in his red\nflannel nightgown to see such a fire lighted, even if he dropped to\nsleep again in his chair before the ruddy blaze.  Then it is that the\nhouse, which has shrunk and creaked all night in the pinching cold of\nwinter, begins to glow again and come to life.  The thick frost melts\nlittle by little on the small window-panes, and it is seen that the\ngray dawn is breaking over the leagues of pallid snow.  It is time to\nblow out the candle, which has lost all its cheerfulness in the light\nof day.  The morning romance is over; the family is astir; and member\nafter member appears with the morning yawn, to stand before the\ncrackling, fierce conflagration.  The daily round begins.  The most\nhateful employment ever invented for mortal man presents itself: the\n\"chores\" are to be done.  The boy who expects every morning to open\ninto a new world finds that to-day is like yesterday, but he believes\nto-morrow will be different.  And yet enough for him, for the day, is\nthe wading in the snowdrifts, or the sliding on the diamond-sparkling\ncrust.  Happy, too, is he, when the storm rages, and the snow is\npiled high against the windows, if he can sit in the warm chimney-\ncorner and read about Burgoyne, and General Fraser, and Miss McCrea,\nmidwinter marches through the wilderness, surprises of wigwams, and\nthe stirring ballad, say, of the Battle of the Kegs:--\n\n\n\"Come, gallants, attend and list a friend\nThrill forth harmonious ditty;\nWhile I shall tell what late befell\nAt Philadelphia city.\"\n\n\nI should like to know what heroism a boy in an old New England\nfarmhouse--rough-nursed by nature, and fed on the traditions of the\nold wars did not aspire to.  \"John,\" says the mother, \"You'll burn\nyour head to a crisp in that heat.\"  But John does not hear; he is\nstorming the Plains of Abraham just now.  \"Johnny, dear, bring in a\nstick of wood.\"  How can Johnny bring in wood when he is in that\ndefile with Braddock, and the Indians are popping at him from behind\nevery tree?  There is something about a boy that I like, after all.\n\nThe fire rests upon the broad hearth; the hearth rests upon a great\nsubstruction of stone, and the substruction rests upon the cellar.\nWhat supports the cellar I never knew, but the cellar supports the\nfamily.  The cellar is the foundation of domestic comfort.  Into its\ndark, cavernous recesses the child's imagination fearfully goes.\nBogies guard the bins of choicest apples.  I know not what comical\nsprites sit astride the cider-barrels ranged along the walls.  The\nfeeble flicker of the tallow-candle does not at all dispel, but\ncreates, illusions, and magnifies all the rich possibilities of this\nunderground treasure-house.  When the cellar-door is opened, and the\nboy begins to descend into the thick darkness, it is always with a\nheart-beat as of one started upon some adventure.  Who can forget the\nsmell that comes through the opened door;--a mingling of fresh earth,\nfruit exhaling delicious aroma, kitchen vegetables, the mouldy odor\nof barrels, a sort of ancestral air,--as if a door had been opened\ninto an old romance.  Do you like it?  Not much.  But then I would\nnot exchange the remembrance of it for a good many odors and perfumes\nthat I do like.\n\nIt is time to punch the backlog and put on a new forestick.\n\n\n\n\nSECOND STUDY\n\nI\n\nThe log was white birch.  The beautiful satin bark at once kindled\ninto a soft, pure, but brilliant flame, something like that of\nnaphtha.  There is no other wood flame so rich, and it leaps up in a\njoyous, spiritual way, as if glad to burn for the sake of burning.\nBurning like a clear oil, it has none of the heaviness and fatness of\nthe pine and the balsam.  Woodsmen are at a loss to account for its\nintense and yet chaste flame, since the bark has no oily appearance.\nThe heat from it is fierce, and the light dazzling.  It flares up\neagerly like young love, and then dies away; the wood does not keep\nup the promise of the bark.  The woodsmen, it is proper to say, have\nnot considered it in its relation to young love.  In the remote\nsettlements the pine-knot is still the torch of courtship; it endures\nto sit up by.  The birch-bark has alliances with the world of\nsentiment and of letters.  The most poetical reputation of the North\nAmerican Indian floats in a canoe made of it; his picture-writing was\ninscribed on it.  It is the paper that nature furnishes for lovers in\nthe wilderness, who are enabled to convey a delicate sentiment by its\nuse, which is expressed neither in their ideas nor chirography.  It\nis inadequate for legal parchment, but does very well for deeds of\nlove, which are not meant usually to give a perfect title.  With\ncare, it may be split into sheets as thin as the Chinese paper.  It\nis so beautiful to handle that it is a pity civilization cannot make\nmore use of it.  But fancy articles manufactured from it are very\nmuch like all ornamental work made of nature's perishable seeds,\nleaves, cones, and dry twigs,--exquisite while the pretty fingers are\nfashioning it, but soon growing shabby and cheap to the eye.  And yet\nthere is a pathos in \"dried things,\" whether they are displayed as\nornaments in some secluded home, or hidden religiously in bureau\ndrawers where profane eyes cannot see how white ties are growing\nyellow and ink is fading from treasured letters, amid a faint and\ndiscouraging perfume of ancient rose-leaves.\n\nThe birch log holds out very well while it is green, but has not\nsubstance enough for a backlog when dry.  Seasoning green timber or\nmen is always an experiment.  A man may do very well in a simple, let\nus say, country or backwoods line of life, who would come to nothing\nin a more complicated civilization.  City life is a severe trial.\nOne man is struck with a dry-rot; another develops season-cracks;\nanother shrinks and swells with every change of circumstance.\nProsperity is said to be more trying than adversity, a theory which\nmost people are willing to accept without trial; but few men stand\nthe drying out of the natural sap of their greenness in the\nartificial heat of city life.  This, be it noticed, is nothing\nagainst the drying and seasoning process; character must be put into\nthe crucible some time, and why not in this world?  A man who cannot\nstand seasoning will not have a high market value in any part of the\nuniverse.  It is creditable to the race, that so many men and women\nbravely jump into the furnace of prosperity and expose themselves to\nthe drying influences of city life.\n\nThe first fire that is lighted on the hearth in the autumn seems to\nbring out the cold weather.  Deceived by the placid appearance of the\ndying year, the softness of the sky, and the warm color of the\nfoliage, we have been shivering about for days without exactly\ncomprehending what was the matter.  The open fire at once sets up a\nstandard of comparison.  We find that the advance guards of winter\nare besieging the house.  The cold rushes in at every crack of door\nand window, apparently signaled by the flame to invade the house and\nfill it with chilly drafts and sarcasms on what we call the temperate\nzone.  It needs a roaring fire to beat back the enemy; a feeble one\nis only an invitation to the most insulting demonstrations.  Our\npious New England ancestors were philosophers in their way.  It was\nnot simply owing to grace that they sat for hours in their barnlike\nmeeting-houses during the winter Sundays, the thermometer many\ndegrees below freezing, with no fire, except the zeal in their own\nhearts,--a congregation of red noses and bright eyes.  It was no\nwonder that the minister in the pulpit warmed up to his subject,\ncried aloud, used hot words, spoke a good deal of the hot place and\nthe Person whose presence was a burning shame, hammered the desk as\nif he expected to drive his text through a two-inch plank, and heated\nhimself by all allowable ecclesiastical gymnastics.  A few of their\nfollowers in our day seem to forget that our modern churches are\nheated by furnaces and supplied with gas.  In the old days it would\nhave been thought unphilosophic as well as effeminate to warm the\nmeeting-houses artificially.  In one house I knew, at least, when it\nwas proposed to introduce a stove to take a little of the chill from\nthe Sunday services, the deacons protested against the innovation.\nThey said that the stove might benefit those who sat close to it, but\nit would drive all the cold air to the other parts of the church, and\nfreeze the people to death; it was cold enough now around the edges.\nBlessed days of ignorance and upright living!  Sturdy men who served\nGod by resolutely sitting out the icy hours of service, amid the\nrattling of windows and the carousal of winter in the high, windswept\ngalleries!  Patient women, waiting in the chilly house for\nconsumption to pick out his victims, and replace the color of youth\nand the flush of devotion with the hectic of disease!  At least, you\ndid not doze and droop in our over-heated edifices, and die of\nvitiated air and disregard of the simplest conditions of organized\nlife.  It is fortunate that each generation does not comprehend its\nown ignorance.  We are thus enabled to call our ancestors barbarous.\nIt is something also that each age has its choice of the death it\nwill die.  Our generation is most ingenious.  From our public\nassembly-rooms and houses we have almost succeeded in excluding pure\nair.  It took the race ages to build dwellings that would keep out\nrain; it has taken longer to build houses air-tight, but we are on\nthe eve of success.  We are only foiled by the ill-fitting, insincere\nwork of the builders, who build for a day, and charge for all time.\n\n\n\nII\n\nWhen the fire on the hearth has blazed up and then settled into\nsteady radiance, talk begins.  There is no place like the chimney-\ncorner for confidences; for picking up the clews of an old\nfriendship; for taking note where one's self has drifted, by\ncomparing ideas and prejudices with the intimate friend of years ago,\nwhose course in life has lain apart from yours.  No stranger puzzles\nyou so much as the once close friend, with whose thinking and\nassociates you have for years been unfamiliar.  Life has come to mean\nthis and that to you; you have fallen into certain habits of thought;\nfor you the world has progressed in this or that direction; of\ncertain results you feel very sure; you have fallen into harmony with\nyour surroundings; you meet day after day people interested in the\nthings that interest you; you are not in the least opinionated, it is\nsimply your good fortune to look upon the affairs of the world from\nthe right point of view.  When you last saw your friend,--less than a\nyear after you left college,--he was the most sensible and agreeable\nof men; he had no heterodox notions; he agreed with you; you could\neven tell what sort of a wife he would select, and if you could do\nthat, you held the key to his life.\n\nWell, Herbert came to visit me the other day from the antipodes.  And\nhere he sits by the fireplace.  I cannot think of any one I would\nrather see there, except perhaps Thackery; or, for entertainment,\nBoswell; or old, Pepys; or one of the people who was left out of the\nArk.  They were talking one foggy London night at Hazlitt's about\nwhom they would most like to have seen, when Charles Lamb startled\nthe company by declaring that he would rather have seen Judas\nIscariot than any other person who had lived on the earth.  For\nmyself, I would rather have seen Lamb himself once, than to have\nlived with Judas.  Herbert, to my great delight, has not changed; I\nshould know him anywhere,--the same serious, contemplative face, with\nlurking humor at the corners of the mouth,--the same cheery laugh and\nclear, distinct enunciation as of old.  There is nothing so winning\nas a good voice.  To see Herbert again, unchanged in all outward\nessentials, is not only gratifying, but valuable as a testimony to\nnature's success in holding on to a personal identity, through the\nentire change of matter that has been constantly taking place for so\nmany years.  I know very well there is here no part of the Herbert\nwhose hand I had shaken at the Commencement parting; but it is an\nastonishing reproduction of him,--a material likeness; and now for\nthe spiritual.\n\nSuch a wide chance for divergence in the spiritual.  It has been such\na busy world for twenty years.  So many things have been torn up by\nthe roots again that were settled when we left college.  There were\nto be no more wars; democracy was democracy, and progress, the\ndifferentiation of the individual, was a mere question of clothes; if\nyou want to be different, go to your tailor; nobody had demonstrated\nthat there is a man-soul and a woman-soul, and that each is in\nreality only a half-soul,--putting the race, so to speak, upon the\nhalf-shell.  The social oyster being opened, there appears to be two\nshells and only one oyster; who shall have it?  So many new canons of\ntaste, of criticism, of morality have been set up; there has been\nsuch a resurrection of historical reputations for new judgment, and\nthere have been so many discoveries, geographical, archaeological,\ngeological, biological, that the earth is not at all what it was\nsupposed to be; and our philosophers are much more anxious to\nascertain where we came from than whither we are going.  In this\nwhirl and turmoil of new ideas, nature, which has only the single end\nof maintaining the physical identity in the body, works on\nundisturbed, replacing particle for particle, and preserving the\nlikeness more skillfully than a mosaic artist in the Vatican; she has\nnot even her materials sorted and labeled, as the Roman artist has\nhis thousands of bits of color; and man is all the while doing his\nbest to confuse the process, by changing his climate, his diet, all\nhis surroundings, without the least care to remain himself.  But the\nmind?\n\nIt is more difficult to get acquainted with Herbert than with an\nentire stranger, for I have my prepossessions about him, and do not\nfind him in so many places where I expect to find him.  He is full of\ncriticism of the authors I admire; he thinks stupid or improper the\nbooks I most read; he is skeptical about the \"movements\" I am\ninterested in; he has formed very different opinions from mine\nconcerning a hundred men and women of the present day; we used to eat\nfrom one dish; we could n't now find anything in common in a dozen;\nhis prejudices (as we call our opinions) are most extraordinary, and\nnot half so reasonable as my prejudices; there are a great many\npersons and things that I am accustomed to denounce, uncontradicted\nby anybody, which he defends; his public opinion is not at all my\npublic opinion.  I am sorry for him.  He appears to have fallen into\ninfluences and among a set of people foreign to me.  I find that his\nchurch has a different steeple on it from my church (which, to say\nthe truth, hasn't any).  It is a pity that such a dear friend and a\nman of so much promise should have drifted off into such general\ncontrariness.  I see Herbert sitting here by the fire, with the old\nlook in his face coming out more and more, but I do not recognize any\nfeatures of his mind,--except perhaps his contrariness; yes, he was\nalways a little contrary, I think.  And finally he surprises me with,\n\"Well, my friend, you seem to have drifted away from your old notions\nand opinions.  We used to agree when we were together, but I\nsometimes wondered where you would land; for, pardon me, you showed\nsigns of looking at things a little contrary.\"\n\nI am silent for a good while.  I am trying to think who I am.  There\nwas a person whom I thought I knew, very fond of Herbert, and\nagreeing with him in most things.  Where has he gone?  and, if he is\nhere, where is the Herbert that I knew?\n\nIf his intellectual and moral sympathies have all changed, I wonder\nif his physical tastes remain, like his appearance, the same.  There\nhas come over this country within the last generation, as everybody\nknows, a great wave of condemnation of pie.  It has taken the\ncharacter of a \"movement!\" though we have had no conventions about\nit, nor is any one, of any of the several sexes among us, running for\npresident against it.  It is safe almost anywhere to denounce pie,\nyet nearly everybody eats it on occasion.  A great many people think\nit savors of a life abroad to speak with horror of pie, although they\nwere very likely the foremost of the Americans in Paris who used to\nspeak with more enthusiasm of the American pie at Madame Busque's\nthan of the Venus of Milo.  To talk against pie and still eat it is\nsnobbish, of course; but snobbery, being an aspiring failing, is\nsometimes the prophecy of better things.  To affect dislike of pie is\nsomething.  We have no statistics on the subject, and cannot tell\nwhether it is gaining or losing in the country at large.  Its\ndisappearance in select circles is no test.  The amount of writing\nagainst it is no more test of its desuetude, than the number of\nreligious tracts distributed in a given district is a criterion of\nits piety.  We are apt to assume that certain regions are\nsubstantially free of it.  Herbert and I, traveling north one summer,\nfancied that we could draw in New England a sort of diet line, like\nthe sweeping curves on the isothermal charts, which should show at\nleast the leading pie sections.  Journeying towards the White\nMountains, we concluded that a line passing through Bellows Falls,\nand bending a little south on either side, would mark northward the\nregion of perpetual pie.  In this region pie is to be found at all\nhours and seasons, and at every meal.  I am not sure, however, that\npie is not a matter of altitude rather than latitude, as I find that\nall the hill and country towns of New England are full of those\nexcellent women, the very salt of the housekeeping earth, who would\nfeel ready to sink in mortification through their scoured kitchen\nfloors, if visitors should catch them without a pie in the house.\nThe absence of pie would be more noticed than a scarcity of Bible\neven.  Without it the housekeepers are as distracted as the\nboarding-house keeper, who declared that if it were not for canned\ntomato, she should have nothing to fly to.  Well, in all this great\nagitation I find Herbert unmoved, a conservative, even to the\nunder-crust.  I dare not ask him if he eats pie at breakfast.  There\nare some tests that the dearest friendship may not apply.\n\n\"Will you smoke?\" I ask.\n\n\"No, I have reformed.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course.\"\n\n\"The fact is, that when we consider the correlation of forces, the\napparent sympathy of spirit manifestations with electric conditions,\nthe almost revealed mysteries of what may be called the odic force,\nand the relation of all these phenomena to the nervous system in man,\nit is not safe to do anything to the nervous system that will--\"\n\n\"Hang the nervous system!  Herbert, we can agree in one thing: old\nmemories, reveries, friendships, center about that:--is n't an open\nwood-fire good?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" says Herbert, combatively, \"if you don't sit before it too\nlong.\"\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nThe best talk is that which escapes up the open chimney and cannot be\nrepeated.  The finest woods make the best fire and pass away with the\nleast residuum.  I hope the next generation will not accept the\nreports of \"interviews\" as specimens of the conversations of these\nyears of grace.\n\nBut do we talk as well as our fathers and mothers did?  We hear\nwonderful stories of the bright generation that sat about the wide\nfireplaces of New England.  Good talk has so much short-hand that it\ncannot be reported,--the inflection, the change of voice, the shrug,\ncannot be caught on paper.  The best of it is when the subject\nunexpectedly goes cross-lots, by a flash of short-cut, to a\nconclusion so suddenly revealed that it has the effect of wit.  It\nneeds the highest culture and the finest breeding to prevent the\nconversation from running into mere persiflage on the one hand--its\ncommon fate--or monologue on the other.  Our conversation is largely\nchaff.  I am not sure but the former generation preached a good deal,\nbut it had great practice in fireside talk, and must have talked\nwell.  There were narrators in those days who could charm a circle\nall the evening long with stories.  When each day brought\ncomparatively little new to read, there was leisure for talk, and the\nrare book and the in-frequent magazine were thoroughly discussed.\nFamilies now are swamped by the printed matter that comes daily upon\nthe center-table.  There must be a division of labor, one reading\nthis, and another that, to make any impression on it.  The telegraph\nbrings the only common food, and works this daily miracle, that every\nmind in Christendom is excited by one topic simultaneously with every\nother mind; it enables a concurrent mental action, a burst of\nsympathy, or a universal prayer to be made, which must be, if we have\nany faith in the immaterial left, one of the chief forces in modern\nlife.  It is fit that an agent so subtle as electricity should be the\nminister of it.\n\nWhen there is so much to read, there is little time for conversation;\nnor is there leisure for another pastime of the ancient firesides,\ncalled reading aloud.  The listeners, who heard while they looked\ninto the wide chimney-place, saw there pass in stately procession the\nevents and the grand persons of history, were kindled with the\ndelights of travel, touched by the romance of true love, or made\nrestless by tales of adventure;--the hearth became a sort of magic\nstone that could transport those who sat by it to the most distant\nplaces and times, as soon as the book was opened and the reader\nbegan, of a winter's night.  Perhaps the Puritan reader read through\nhis nose, and all the little Puritans made the most dreadful nasal\ninquiries as the entertainment went on.  The prominent nose of the\nintellectual New-Englander is evidence of the constant linguistic\nexercise of the organ for generations.  It grew by talking through.\nBut I have no doubt that practice made good readers in those days.\nGood reading aloud is almost a lost accomplishment now.  It is little\nthought of in the schools.  It is disused at home.  It is rare to\nfind any one who can read, even from the newspaper, well.  Reading is\nso universal, even with the uncultivated, that it is common to hear\npeople mispronounce words that you did not suppose they had ever\nseen.  In reading to themselves they glide over these words, in\nreading aloud they stumble over them.  Besides, our every-day books\nand newspapers are so larded with French that the ordinary reader is\nobliged marcher a pas de loup,--for instance.\n\nThe newspaper is probably responsible for making current many words\nwith which the general reader is familiar, but which he rises to in\nthe flow of conversation, and strikes at with a splash and an\nunsuccessful attempt at appropriation; the word, which he perfectly\nknows, hooks him in the gills, and he cannot master it.  The\nnewspaper is thus widening the language in use, and vastly increasing\nthe number of words which enter into common talk.  The Americans of\nthe lowest intellectual class probably use more words to express\ntheir ideas than the similar class of any other people; but this\nprodigality is partially balanced by the parsimony of words in some\nhigher regions, in which a few phrases of current slang are made to\ndo the whole duty of exchange of ideas; if that can be called\nexchange of ideas when one intellect flashes forth to another the\nremark, concerning some report, that \"you know how it is yourself,\"\nand is met by the response of \"that's what's the matter,\" and rejoins\nwith the perfectly conclusive \"that's so.\"  It requires a high degree\nof culture to use slang with elegance and effect; and we are yet very\nfar from the Greek attainment.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nThe fireplace wants to be all aglow, the wind rising, the night heavy\nand black above, but light with sifting snow on the earth, a\nbackground of inclemency for the illumined room with its pictured\nwalls, tables heaped with books, capacious easy-chairs and their\noccupants,--it needs, I say, to glow and throw its rays far through\nthe crystal of the broad windows, in order that we may rightly\nappreciate the relation of the wide-jambed chimney to domestic\narchitecture in our climate.  We fell to talking about it; and, as is\nusual when the conversation is professedly on one subject, we\nwandered all around it.  The young lady staying with us was roasting\nchestnuts in the ashes, and the frequent explosions required\nconsiderable attention.  The mistress, too, sat somewhat alert, ready\nto rise at any instant and minister to the fancied want of this or\nthat guest, forgetting the reposeful truth that people about a\nfireside will not have any wants if they are not suggested.  The\nworst of them, if they desire anything, only want something hot, and\nthat later in the evening.  And it is an open question whether you\nought to associate with people who want that.\n\nI was saying that nothing had been so slow in its progress in the\nworld as domestic architecture.  Temples, palaces, bridges,\naqueducts, cathedrals, towers of marvelous delicacy and strength,\ngrew to perfection while the common people lived in hovels, and the\nrichest lodged in the most gloomy and contracted quarters.  The\ndwelling-house is a modern institution.  It is a curious fact that it\nhas only improved with the social elevation of women.  Men were never\nmore brilliant in arms and letters than in the age of Elizabeth, and\nyet they had no homes.  They made themselves thick-walled castles,\nwith slits in the masonry for windows, for defense, and magnificent\nbanquet-halls for pleasure; the stone rooms into which they crawled\nfor the night were often little better than dog-kennels.  The\nPompeians had no comfortable night-quarters.  The most singular thing\nto me, however, is that, especially interested as woman is in the\nhouse, she has never done anything for architecture.  And yet woman\nis reputed to be an ingenious creature.\n\nHERBERT.  I doubt if woman has real ingenuity; she has great\nadaptability.  I don't say that she will do the same thing twice\nalike, like a Chinaman, but she is most cunning in suiting herself to\ncircumstances.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Oh, if you speak of constructive, creative\ningenuity, perhaps not; but in the higher ranges of achievement--that\nof accomplishing any purpose dear to her heart, for instance--her\ningenuity is simply incomprehensible to me.\n\nHERBERT.  Yes, if you mean doing things by indirection.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  When you men assume all the direction, what else is\nleft to us?\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Did you ever see a woman refurnish a house?\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY STAYING WITH US.  I never saw a man do it, unless he\nwas burned out of his rookery.\n\nHERBERT.  There is no comfort in new things.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER (not noticing the interruption).  Having set her mind\non a total revolution of the house, she buys one new thing, not too\nobtrusive, nor much out of harmony with the old.  The husband\nscarcely notices it, least of all does he suspect the revolution,\nwhich she already has accomplished.  Next, some article that does\nlook a little shabby beside the new piece of furniture is sent to the\ngarret, and its place is supplied by something that will match in\ncolor and effect.  Even the man can see that it ought to match, and\nso the process goes on, it may be for years, it may be forever, until\nnothing of the old is left, and the house is transformed as it was\npredetermined in the woman's mind.  I doubt if the man ever\nunderstands how or when it was done; his wife certainly never says\nanything about the refurnishing, but quietly goes on to new\nconquests.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  And is n't it better to buy little by little, enjoying\nevery new object as you get it, and assimilating each article to your\nhousehold life, and making the home a harmonious expression of your\nown taste, rather than to order things in sets, and turn your house,\nfor the time being, into a furniture ware-room?\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Oh, I only spoke of the ingenuity of it.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  For my part, I never can get acquainted with more\nthan one piece of furniture at a time.\n\nHERBERT.  I suppose women are our superiors in artistic taste, and I\nfancy that I can tell whether a house is furnished by a woman or a\nman; of course, I mean the few houses that appear to be the result of\nindividual taste and refinement,--most of them look as if they had\nbeen furnished on contract by the upholsterer.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Woman's province in this world is putting things to\nrights.\n\nHERBERT.  With a vengeance, sometimes.  In the study, for example.\nMy chief objection to woman is that she has no respect for the\nnewspaper, or the printed page, as such.  She is Siva, the destroyer.\nI have noticed that a great part of a married man's time at home is\nspent in trying to find the things he has put on his study-table.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  Herbert speaks with the bitterness of a bachelor\nshut out of paradise.  It is my experience that if women did not\ndestroy the rubbish that men bring into the house, it would become\nuninhabitable, and need to be burned down every five years.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  I confess women do a great deal for the appearance\nof things.  When the mistress is absent, this room, although\neverything is here as it was before, does not look at all like the\nsame place; it is stiff, and seems to lack a soul.  When she returns,\nI can see that her eye, even while greeting me, takes in the\nsituation at a glance.  While she is talking of the journey, and\nbefore she has removed her traveling-hat, she turns this chair and\nmoves that, sets one piece of furniture at a different angle,\nrapidly, and apparently unconsciously, shifts a dozen little\nknick-knacks and bits of color, and the room is transformed.  I\ncouldn't do it in a week.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  That is the first time I ever knew a man admit he\ncouldn't do anything if he had time.\n\nHERBERT.  Yet with all their peculiar instinct for making a home,\nwomen make themselves very little felt in our domestic architecture.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Men build most of the houses in what might be called\nthe ready-made-clothing style, and we have to do the best we can with\nthem; and hard enough it is to make cheerful homes in most of them.\nYou will see something different when the woman is constantly\nconsulted in the plan of the house.\n\nHERBERT.  We might see more difference if women would give any\nattention to architecture.  Why are there no women architects?\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Want of the ballot, doubtless.  It seems to me that\nhere is a splendid opportunity for woman to come to the front.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  They have no desire to come to the front; they would\nrather manage things where they are.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  If they would master the noble art, and put their\nbrooding taste upon it, we might very likely compass something in our\ndomestic architecture that we have not yet attained.  The outside of\nour houses needs attention as well as the inside.  Most of them are\nas ugly as money can build.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  What vexes me most is, that women, married women,\nhave so easily consented to give up open fires in their houses.\n\nHERBERT.  They dislike the dust and the bother.  I think that women\nrather like the confined furnace heat.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Nonsense; it is their angelic virtue of submission.\nWe wouldn't be hired to stay all-day in the houses we build.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  That has a very chivalrous sound, but I know there\nwill be no reformation until women rebel and demand everywhere the\nopen fire.\n\nHERBERT.  They are just now rebelling about something else; it seems\nto me yours is a sort of counter-movement, a fire in the rear.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  I'll join that movement.  The time has come when woman\nmust strike for her altars and her fires.\n\nHERBERT.  Hear, hear!\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Thank you, Herbert.  I applauded you once, when you\ndeclaimed that years ago in the old Academy.  I remember how\neloquently you did it.\n\nHERBERT.  Yes, I was once a spouting idiot.\n\nJust then the door-bell rang, and company came in.  And the company\nbrought in a new atmosphere, as company always does, something of the\ndisturbance of out-doors, and a good deal of its healthy cheer.  The\ndirect news that the thermometer was approaching zero, with a hopeful\nprospect of going below it, increased to liveliness our satisfaction\nin the fire.  When the cider was heated in the brown stone pitcher,\nthere was difference of opinion whether there should be toast in it;\nsome were for toast, because that was the old-fashioned way, and\nothers were against it, \"because it does not taste good\" in cider.\nHerbert said there, was very little respect left for our forefathers.\n\nMore wood was put on, and the flame danced in a hundred fantastic\nshapes.  The snow had ceased to fall, and the moonlight lay in\nsilvery patches among the trees in the ravine.  The conversation\nbecame worldly.\n\n\n\n\nTHIRD STUDY\n\n\nI\n\nHerbert said, as we sat by the fire one night, that he wished he had\nturned his attention to writing poetry like Tennyson's.\n\nThe remark was not whimsical, but satirical.  Tennyson is a man of\ntalent, who happened to strike a lucky vein, which he has worked with\ncleverness.  The adventurer with a pickaxe in Washoe may happen upon\nlike good fortune.  The world is full of poetry as the earth is of\n\"pay-dirt;\" one only needs to know how to \"strike\" it.  An able man\ncan make himself almost anything that he will.  It is melancholy to\nthink how many epic poets have been lost in the tea-trade, how many\ndramatists (though the age of the drama has passed) have wasted their\ngenius in great mercantile and mechanical enterprises.  I know a man\nwho might have been the poet, the essayist, perhaps the critic, of\nthis country, who chose to become a country judge, to sit day after\nday upon a bench in an obscure corner of the world, listening to\nwrangling lawyers and prevaricating witnesses, preferring to judge\nhis fellow-men rather than enlighten them.\n\nIt is fortunate for the vanity of the living and the reputation of\nthe dead, that men get almost as much credit for what they do not as\nfor what they do.  It was the opinion of many that Burns might have\nexcelled as a statesman, or have been a great captain in war; and Mr.\nCarlyle says that if he had been sent to a university, and become a\ntrained intellectual workman, it lay in him to have changed the whole\ncourse of British literature!  A large undertaking, as so vigorous\nand dazzling a writer as Mr. Carlyle must know by this time, since\nBritish literature has swept by him in a resistless and widening\nflood, mainly uncontaminated, and leaving his grotesque contrivances\nwrecked on the shore with other curiosities of letters, and yet among\nthe richest of all the treasures lying there.\n\nIt is a temptation to a temperate man to become a sot, to hear what\ntalent, what versatility, what genius, is almost always attributed to\na moderately bright man who is habitually drunk.  Such a mechanic,\nsuch a mathematician, such a poet he would be, if he were only sober;\nand then he is sure to be the most generous, magnanimous, friendly\nsoul, conscientiously honorable, if he were not so conscientiously\ndrunk.  I suppose it is now notorious that the most brilliant and\npromising men have been lost to the world in this way.  It is\nsometimes almost painful to think what a surplus of talent and genius\nthere would be in the world if the habit of intoxication should\nsuddenly cease; and what a slim chance there would be for the\nplodding people who have always had tolerably good habits.  The fear\nis only mitigated by the observation that the reputation of a person\nfor great talent sometimes ceases with his reformation.\n\nIt is believed by some that the maidens who would make the best wives\nnever marry, but remain free to bless the world with their impartial\nsweetness, and make it generally habitable.  This is one of the\nmysteries of Providence and New England life.  It seems a pity, at\nfirst sight, that all those who become poor wives have the\nmatrimonial chance, and that they are deprived of the reputation of\nthose who would be good wives were they not set apart for the high\nand perpetual office of priestesses of society.  There is no beauty\nlike that which was spoiled by an accident, no accomplishments--and\ngraces are so to be envied as those that circumstances rudely\nhindered the development of.  All of which shows what a charitable\nand good-tempered world it is, notwithstanding its reputation for\ncynicism and detraction.\n\nNothing is more beautiful than the belief of the faithful wife that\nher husband has all the talents, and could , if he would, be\ndistinguished in any walk in life; and nothing will be more\nbeautiful--unless this is a very dry time for signs--than the\nhusband's belief that his wife is capable of taking charge of any of\nthe affairs of this confused planet.  There is no woman but thinks\nthat her husband, the green-grocer, could write poetry if he had\ngiven his mind to it, or else she thinks small beer of poetry in\ncomparison with an occupation or accomplishment purely vegetable.  It\nis touching to see the look of pride with which the wife turns to her\nhusband from any more brilliant personal presence or display of wit\nthan his, in the perfect confidence that if the world knew what she\nknows, there would be one more popular idol.  How she magnifies his\nsmall wit, and dotes upon the self-satisfied look in his face as if\nit were a sign of wisdom!  What a councilor that man would make!\nWhat a warrior he would be!  There are a great many corporals in\ntheir retired homes who did more for the safety and success of our\narmies in critical moments, in the late war, than any of the \"high-\ncock-a-lorum\" commanders.  Mrs.  Corporal does not envy the\nreputation of General Sheridan; she knows very well who really won\nFive Forks, for she has heard the story a hundred times, and will\nhear it a hundred times more with apparently unabated interest.  What\na general her husband would have made; and how his talking talent\nwould shine in Congress!\n\nHERBERT.  Nonsense.  There isn't a wife in the world who has not\ntaken the exact measure of her husband, weighed him and settled him\nin her own mind, and knows him as well as if she had ordered him\nafter designs and specifications of her own.  That knowledge,\nhowever, she ordinarily keeps to herself, and she enters into a\nleague with her husband, which he was never admitted to the secret\nof, to impose upon the world.  In nine out of ten cases he more than\nhalf believes that he is what his wife tells him he is.  At any rate,\nshe manages him as easily as the keeper does the elephant, with only\na bamboo wand and a sharp spike in the end.  Usually she flatters\nhim, but she has the means of pricking clear through his hide on\noccasion.  It is the great secret of her power to have him think that\nshe thoroughly believes in him.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY STAYING WITH Us.  And you call this hypocrisy?  I have\nheard authors, who thought themselves sly observers of women, call it\nso.\n\nHERBERT.  Nothing of the sort.  It is the basis on which society\nrests, the conventional agreement.  If society is about to be\noverturned, it is on this point.  Women are beginning to tell men\nwhat they really think of them; and to insist that the same relations\nof downright sincerity and independence that exist between men shall\nexist between women and men.  Absolute truth between souls, without\nregard to sex, has always been the ideal life of the poets.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Yes; but there was never a poet yet who would bear to\nhave his wife say exactly what she thought of his poetry, any more\nthan be would keep his temper if his wife beat him at chess; and\nthere is nothing that disgusts a man like getting beaten at chess by\na woman.\n\nHERBERT.  Well, women know how to win by losing.  I think that the\nreason why most women do not want to take the ballot and stand out in\nthe open for a free trial of power, is that they are reluctant to\nchange the certain domination of centuries, with weapons they are\nperfectly competent to handle, for an experiment.  I think we should\nbe better off if women were more transparent, and men were not so\nsystematically puffed up by the subtle flattery which is used to\ncontrol them.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Deliver me from transparency. When a woman takes that\nguise, and begins to convince me that I can see through her like a\nray of light, I must run or be lost.  Transparent women are the truly\ndangerous.  There was one on ship-board [Mandeville likes to say\nthat; he has just returned from a little tour in Europe, and he quite\noften begins his remarks with \"on the ship going over; \"the Young\nLady declares that he has a sort of roll in his chair, when he says\nit, that makes her sea-sick] who was the most innocent, artless,\nguileless, natural bunch of lace and feathers you ever saw; she was\nall candor and helplessness and dependence; she sang like a\nnightingale, and talked like a nun.  There never was such simplicity.\nThere was n't a sounding-line on board that would have gone to the\nbottom of her soulful eyes.  But she managed the captain and all the\nofficers, and controlled the ship as if she had been the helm.  All\nthe passengers were waiting on her, fetching this and that for her\ncomfort, inquiring of her health, talking about her genuineness, and\nexhibiting as much anxiety to get her ashore in safety, as if she had\nbeen about to knight them all and give them a castle apiece when they\ncame to land.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  What harm?  It shows what I have always said, that the\nservice of a noble woman is the most ennobling influence for men.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  If she is noble, and not a mere manager.  I watched this\nwoman to see if she would ever do anything for any one else.  She\nnever did.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Did you ever see her again?  I presume Mandeville\nhas introduced her here for some purpose.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  No purpose.  But we did see her on the Rhine; she was\nthe most disgusted traveler, and seemed to be in very ill humor with\nher maid.  I judged that her happiness depended upon establishing\ncontrolling relations with all about her.  On this Rhine boat, to be\nsure, there was reason for disgust.  And that reminds me of a remark\nthat was made.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  Oh!\n\nMANDEVILLE.  When we got aboard at Mayence we were conscious of a\ndreadful odor somewhere; as it was a foggy morning, we could see no\ncause of it, but concluded it was from something on the wharf.  The\nfog lifted, and we got under way, but the odor traveled with us, and\nincreased.  We went to every part of the vessel to avoid it, but in\nvain.  It occasionally reached us in great waves of disagreeableness.\nWe had heard of the odors of the towns on the Rhine, but we had no\nidea that the entire stream was infected.  It was intolerable.\n\nThe day was lovely, and the passengers stood about on deck holding\ntheir noses and admiring the scenery.  You might see a row of them\nleaning over the side, gazing up at some old ruin or ivied crag,\nentranced with the romance of the situation, and all holding their\nnoses with thumb and finger.  The sweet Rhine!  By and by somebody\ndiscovered that the odor came from a pile of cheese on the forward\ndeck, covered with a canvas; it seemed that the Rhinelanders are so\nfond of it that they take it with them when they travel.  If there\nshould ever be war between us and Germany, the borders of the Rhine\nwould need no other defense from American soldiers than a barricade\nof this cheese.  I went to the stern of the steamboat to tell a stout\nAmerican traveler what was the origin of the odor he had been trying\nto dodge all the morning.  He looked more disgusted than before, when\nhe heard that it was cheese; but his only reply was: \"It must be a\nmerciful God who can forgive a smell like that!\"\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nThe above is introduced here in order to illustrate the usual effect\nof an anecdote on conversation.  Commonly it kills it.  That talk\nmust be very well in hand, and under great headway, that an anecdote\nthrown in front of will not pitch off the track and wreck.  And it\nmakes little difference what the anecdote is; a poor one depresses\nthe spirits, and casts a gloom over the company; a good one begets\nothers, and the talkers go to telling stories; which is very good\nentertainment in moderation, but is not to be mistaken for that\nunwearying flow of argument, quaint remark, humorous color, and\nsprightly interchange of sentiments and opinions, called\nconversation.\n\nThe reader will perceive that all hope is gone here of deciding\nwhether Herbert could have written Tennyson's poems, or whether\nTennyson could have dug as much money out of the Heliogabalus Lode as\nHerbert did.  The more one sees of life, I think the impression\ndeepens that men, after all, play about the parts assigned them,\naccording to their mental and moral gifts, which are limited and\npreordained, and that their entrances and exits are governed by a law\nno less certain because it is hidden.  Perhaps nobody ever\naccomplishes all that he feels lies in him to do; but nearly every\none who tries his powers touches the walls of his being occasionally,\nand learns about how far to attempt to spring.  There are no\nimpossibilities to youth and inexperience; but when a person has\ntried several times to reach high C and been coughed down, he is\nquite content to go down among the chorus.  It is only the fools who\nkeep straining at high C all their lives.\n\nMandeville here began to say that that reminded him of something that\nhappened when he was on the\n\nBut Herbert cut in with the observation that no matter what a man's\nsingle and several capacities and talents might be, he is controlled\nby his own mysterious individuality, which is what metaphysicians\ncall the substance, all else being the mere accidents of the man.\nAnd this is the reason that we cannot with any certainty tell what\nany person will do or amount to, for, while we know his talents and\nabilities, we do not know the resulting whole, which is he himself.\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  So if you could take all the first-class qualities\nthat we admire in men and women, and put them together into one\nbeing, you wouldn't be sure of the result?\n\nHERBERT.  Certainly not.  You would probably have a monster.  It\ntakes a cook of long experience, with the best materials, to make a\ndish \" taste good;\" and the \"taste good\" is the indefinable essence,\nthe resulting balance or harmony which makes man or woman agreeable\nor beautiful or effective in the world.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  That must be the reason why novelists fail so\nlamentably in almost all cases in creating good characters.  They put\nin real traits, talents, dispositions, but the result of the\nsynthesis is something that never was seen on earth before.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Oh, a good character in fiction is an inspiration.\nWe admit this in poetry.  It is as true of such creations as Colonel\nNewcome, and Ethel, and Beatrix Esmond.  There is no patchwork about\nthem.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  Why was n't Thackeray ever inspired to create a\nnoble woman?\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  That is the standing conundrum with all the women.\nThey will not accept Ethel Newcome even.  Perhaps we shall have to\nadmit that Thackeray was a writer for men.\n\nHERBERT.  Scott and the rest had drawn so many perfect women that\nThackeray thought it was time for a real one.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  That's ill-natured.  Thackeray did, however, make\nladies.  If he had depicted, with his searching pen, any of us just\nas we are, I doubt if we should have liked it much.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  That's just it.  Thackeray never pretended to make\nideals, and if the best novel is an idealization of human nature,\nthen he was not the best novelist.  When I was crossing the Channel\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Oh dear, if we are to go to sea again, Mandeville, I\nmove we have in the nuts and apples, and talk about our friends.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nThere is this advantage in getting back to a wood-fire on the hearth,\nthat you return to a kind of simplicity; you can scarcely imagine any\none being stiffly conventional in front of it.  It thaws out\nformality, and puts the company who sit around it into easy attitudes\nof mind and body,--lounging attitudes,--Herbert said.\n\nAnd this brought up the subject of culture in America, especially as\nto manner.  The backlog period having passed, we are beginning to\nhave in society people of the cultured manner, as it is called, or\npolished bearing, in which the polish is the most noticeable thing\nabout the man.  Not the courtliness, the easy simplicity of the\nold-school gentleman, in whose presence the milkmaid was as much at\nher ease as the countess, but something far finer than this.  These\nare the people of unruffled demeanor, who never forget it for a\nmoment, and never let you forget it.  Their presence is a constant\nrebuke to society.  They are never \"jolly;\" their laugh is never\nanything more than a well-bred smile; they are never betrayed into\nany enthusiasm.  Enthusiasm is a sign of inexperience, of ignorance,\nof want of culture.  They never lose themselves in any cause; they\nnever heartily praise any man or woman or book; they are superior to\nall tides of feeling and all outbursts of passion.  They are not even\nshocked at vulgarity.  They are simply indifferent.  They are calm,\nvisibly calm, painfully calm; and it is not the eternal, majestic\ncalmness of the Sphinx either, but a rigid, self-conscious\nrepression.  You would like to put a bent pin in their chair when\nthey are about calmly to sit down.\n\nA sitting hen on her nest is calm, but hopeful; she has faith that\nher eggs are not china.  These people appear to be sitting on china\neggs.  Perfect culture has refined all blood, warmth, flavor, out of\nthem.  We admire them without envy.  They are too beautiful in their\nmanners to be either prigs or snobs.  They are at once our models and\nour despair.  They are properly careful of themselves as models, for\nthey know that if they should break, society would become a scene of\nmere animal confusion.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I think that the best-bred people in the world are the\nEnglish.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  You mean at home.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  That's where I saw them. There is no nonsense about a\ncultivated English man or woman.  They express themselves sturdily\nand naturally, and with no subservience to the opinions of others.\nThere's a sort of hearty sincerity about them that I like.  Ages of\nculture on the island have gone deeper than the surface, and they\nhave simpler and more natural manners than we.  There is something\ngood in the full, round tones of their voices.\n\nHERBERT.  Did you ever get into a diligence with a growling English-\nman who had n't secured the place he wanted?\n\n[Mandeville once spent a week in London, riding about on the tops of\nomnibuses.]\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Did you ever see an English exquisite at the San\nCarlo, and hear him cry \"Bwavo\"?\n\nMANDEVILLE.  At any rate, he acted out his nature, and was n't afraid\nto.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  I think Mandeville is right, for once.  The men of\nthe best culture in England, in the middle and higher social classes,\nare what you would call good fellows,--easy and simple in manner,\nenthusiastic on occasion, and decidedly not cultivated into the\nsmooth calmness of indifference which some Americans seem to regard\nas the sine qua non of good breeding.  Their position is so assured\nthat they do not need that lacquer of calmness of which we were\nspeaking.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  Which is different from the manner acquired by those\nwho live a great deal in American hotels?\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Or the Washington manner?\n\nHERBERT.  The last two are the same.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Not exactly.  You think you can always tell if a\nman has learned his society carriage of a dancing-master.  Well, you\ncannot always tell by a person's manner whether he is a habitui of\nhotels or of Washington.  But these are distinct from the perfect\npolish and politeness of indifferentism.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nDaylight disenchants.  It draws one from the fireside, and dissipates\nthe idle illusions of conversation, except under certain conditions.\nLet us say that the conditions are: a house in the country, with some\nforest trees near, and a few evergreens, which are Christmas-trees\nall winter long, fringed with snow, glistening with ice-pendants,\ncheerful by day and grotesque by night; a snow-storm beginning out of\na dark sky, falling in a soft profusion that fills all the air, its\ndazzling whiteness making a light near at hand, which is quite lost\nin the distant darkling spaces.\n\nIf one begins to watch the swirling flakes and crystals, he soon gets\nan impression of infinity of resources that he can have from nothing\nelse so powerfully, except it be from Adirondack gnats.  Nothing\nmakes one feel at home like a great snow-storm.  Our intelligent cat\nwill quit the fire and sit for hours in the low window, watching the\nfalling snow with a serious and contented air.  His thoughts are his\nown, but he is in accord with the subtlest agencies of Nature; on\nsuch a day he is charged with enough electricity to run a telegraphic\nbattery, if it could be utilized.  The connection between thought and\nelectricity has not been exactly determined, but the cat is mentally\nvery alert in certain conditions of the atmosphere.  Feasting his\neyes on the beautiful out-doors does not prevent his attention to the\nslightest noise in the wainscot.  And the snow-storm brings content,\nbut not stupidity, to all the rest of the household.\n\nI can see Mandeville now, rising from his armchair and swinging his\nlong arms as he strides to the window, and looks out and up, with,\n\"Well, I declare!\"  Herbert is pretending to read Herbert Spencer's\ntract on the philosophy of style but he loses much time in looking at\nthe Young Lady, who is writing a letter, holding her portfolio in her\nlap,--one of her everlasting letters to one of her fifty everlasting\nfriends.  She is one of the female patriots who save the post-office\ndepartment from being a disastrous loss to the treasury.  Herbert is\nthinking of the great radical difference in the two sexes, which\nlegislation will probably never change; that leads a woman always, to\nwrite letters on her lap and a man on a table,--a distinction which\nis commended to the notice of the anti-suffragists.\n\nThe Mistress, in a pretty little breakfast-cap, is moving about the\nroom with a feather-duster, whisking invisible dust from the picture-\nframes, and talking with the Parson, who has just come in, and is\nthawing the snow from his boots on the hearth.  The Parson says the\nthermometer is 15deg., and going down; that there is a snowdrift\nacross the main church entrance three feet high, and that the house\nlooks as if it had gone into winter quarters, religion and all.\nThere were only ten persons at the conference meeting last night, and\nseven of those were women; he wonders how many weather-proof\nChristians there are in the parish, anyhow.\n\nThe Fire-Tender is in the adjoining library, pretending to write; but\nit is a poor day for ideas.  He has written his wife's name about\neleven hundred times, and cannot get any farther.  He hears the\nMistress tell the Parson that she believes he is trying to write a\nlecture on the Celtic Influence in Literature.  The Parson says that\nit is a first-rate subject, if there were any such influence, and\nasks why he does n't take a shovel and make a path to the gate.\nMandeville says that, by George!  he himself should like no better\nfun, but it wouldn't look well for a visitor to do it.  The\nFire-Tender, not to be disturbed by this sort of chaff, keeps on\nwriting his wife's name.\n\nThen the Parson and the Mistress fall to talking about the\nsoup-relief, and about old Mrs. Grumples in Pig Alley, who had a\npresent of one of Stowe's Illustrated Self-Acting Bibles on\nChristmas, when she had n't coal enough in the house to heat her\ngruel; and about a family behind the church, a widow and six little\nchildren and three dogs; and he did n't believe that any of them had\nknown what it was to be warm in three weeks, and as to food, the\nwoman said, she could hardly beg cold victuals enough to keep the\ndogs alive.\n\nThe Mistress slipped out into the kitchen to fill a basket with\nprovisions and send it somewhere; and when the Fire-Tender brought in\na new forestick, Mandeville, who always wants to talk, and had been\nsitting drumming his feet and drawing deep sighs, attacked him.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Speaking about culture and manners, did you ever notice\nhow extremes meet, and that the savage bears himself very much like\nthe sort of cultured persons we were talking of last night?\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  In what respect?\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Well, you take the North American Indian.  He is never\ninterested in anything, never surprised at anything.  He has by\nnature that calmness and indifference which your people of culture\nhave acquired.  If he should go into literature as a critic, he would\nscalp and tomahawk with the same emotionless composure, and he would\ndo nothing else.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Then you think the red man is a born gentleman of\nthe highest breeding?\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I think he is calm.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  How is it about the war-path and all that?\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Oh, these studiously calm and cultured people may have\nmalice underneath.  It takes them to give the most effective \"little\ndigs;\" they know how to stick in the pine-splinters and set fire to\nthem.\n\nHERBERT.  But there is more in Mandeville's idea.  You bring a red\nman into a picture-gallery, or a city full of fine architecture, or\ninto a drawing-room crowded with objects of art and beauty, and he is\napparently insensible to them all.  Now I have seen country people,--\nand by country people I don't mean people necessarily who live in the\ncountry, for everything is mixed in these days,--some of the best\npeople in the world, intelligent, honest, sincere, who acted as the\nIndian would.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Herbert, if I did n't know you were cynical, I should\nsay you were snobbish.\n\nHERBERT.  Such people think it a point of breeding never to speak of\nanything in your house, nor to appear to notice it, however beautiful\nit may be; even to slyly glance around strains their notion of\netiquette.  They are like the countryman who confessed afterwards\nthat he could hardly keep from laughing at one of Yankee Hill's\nentertainments,\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  Do you remember those English people at our house in\nFlushing last summer, who pleased us all so much with their apparent\ndelight in everything that was artistic or tasteful, who explored the\nrooms and looked at everything, and were so interested?  I suppose\nthat Herbert's country relations, many of whom live in the city,\nwould have thought it very ill-bred.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  It's just as I said.  The English, the best of them,\nhave become so civilized that they express themselves, in speech and\naction, naturally, and are not afraid of their emotions.\n\nTHE PARSON.  I wish Mandeville would travel more, or that he had\nstayed at home.  It's wonderful what a fit of Atlantic sea-sickness\nwill do for a man's judgment and cultivation.  He is prepared to\npronounce on art, manners, all kinds of culture.  There is more\nnonsense talked about culture than about anything else.\n\nHERBERT.  The Parson reminds me of an American country minister I\nonce met walking through the Vatican.  You could n't impose upon him\nwith any rubbish; he tested everything by the standards of his native\nplace, and there was little that could bear the test.  He had the sly\nair of a man who could not be deceived, and he went about with his\nmouth in a pucker of incredulity.  There is nothing so placid as\nrustic conceit.  There was something very enjoyable about his calm\nsuperiority to all the treasures of art.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  And the Parson reminds me of another American minister,\na consul in an Italian city, who said he was going up to Rome to have\na thorough talk with the Pope, and give him a piece of his mind.\nMinisters seem to think that is their business.  They serve it in\nsuch small pieces in order to make it go round.\n\nTHE PARSON.  Mandeville is an infidel.  Come, let's have some music;\nnothing else will keep him in good humor till lunch-time.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  What shall it be?\n\nTHE PARSON.  Give us the larghetto from Beethoven's second symphony.\n\nThe Young Lady puts aside her portfolio.  Herbert looks at the young\nlady.  The Parson composes himself for critical purposes.  Mandeville\nsettles himself in a chair and stretches his long legs nearly into\nthe fire, remarking that music takes the tangles out of him.\n\nAfter the piece is finished, lunch is announced.  It is still\nsnowing.\n\n\n\n\nFOURTH STUDY\n\nIt is difficult to explain the attraction which the uncanny and even\nthe horrible have for most minds.  I have seen a delicate woman half\nfascinated, but wholly disgusted, by one of the most unseemly of\nreptiles, vulgarly known as the \"blowing viper\" of the Alleghanies.\nShe would look at it, and turn away with irresistible shuddering and\nthe utmost loathing, and yet turn to look at it again and again, only\nto experience the same spasm of disgust. In spite of her aversion,\nshe must have relished the sort of electric mental shock that the\nsight gave her.\n\nI can no more account for the fascination for us of the stories of\nghosts and \"appearances,\" and those weird tales in which the dead are\nthe chief characters; nor tell why we should fall into converse about\nthem when the winter evenings are far spent, the embers are glazing\nover on the hearth, and the listener begins to hear the eerie noises\nin the house.  At such times one's dreams become of importance, and\npeople like to tell them and dwell upon them, as if they were a link\nbetween the known and unknown, and could give us a clew to that\nghostly region which in certain states of the mind we feel to be more\nreal than that we see.\n\nRecently, when we were, so to say, sitting around the borders of the\nsupernatural late at night, MANDEVILLE related a dream of his which\nhe assured us was true in every particular, and it interested us so\nmuch that we asked him to write it out.  In doing so he has curtailed\nit, and to my mind shorn it of some of its more vivid and picturesque\nfeatures.  He might have worked it up with more art, and given it a\nfinish which the narration now lacks, but I think best to insert it\nin its simplicity.  It seems to me that it may properly be called,\n\n\nA NEW \"VISION OF SIN\"\n\nIn the winter of 1850 I was a member of one of the leading colleges\nof this country.  I was in moderate circumstances pecuniarily,\nthough I was perhaps better furnished with less fleeting riches than\nmany others.  I was an incessant and indiscriminate reader of books.\nFor the solid sciences I had no particular fancy, but with mental\nmodes and habits, and especially with the eccentric and fantastic in\nthe intellectual and spiritual operations, I was tolerably familiar.\nAll the literature of the supernatural was as real to me as the\nlaboratory of the chemist, where I saw the continual struggle of\nmaterial substances to evolve themselves into more volatile, less\npalpable and coarse forms.  My imagination, naturally vivid,\nstimulated by such repasts, nearly mastered me.  At times I could\nscarcely tell where the material ceased and the immaterial began (if\nI may so express it); so that once and again I walked, as it seemed,\nfrom the solid earth onward upon an impalpable plain, where I heard\nthe same voices, I think, that Joan of Arc heard call to her in the\ngarden at Domremy.  She was inspired, however, while I only lacked\nexercise.  I do not mean this in any literal sense; I only describe a\nstate of mind.  I was at this time of spare habit, and nervous,\nexcitable temperament.  I was ambitious, proud, and extremely\nsensitive.  I cannot deny that I had seen something of the world, and\nhad contracted about the average bad habits of young men who have the\nsole care of themselves, and rather bungle the matter.  It is\nnecessary to this relation to admit that I had seen a trifle more of\nwhat is called life than a young man ought to see, but at this period\nI was not only sick of my experience, but my habits were as correct\nas those of any Pharisee in our college, and we had some very\nfavorable specimens of that ancient sect.\n\nNor can I deny that at this period of my life I was in a peculiar\nmental condition.  I well remember an illustration of it.  I sat\nwriting late one night, copying a prize essay,--a merely manual task,\nleaving my thoughts free.  It was in June, a sultry night, and about\nmidnight a wind arose, pouring in through the open windows, full of\nmournful reminiscence, not of this, but of other summers, --the same\nwind that De Quincey heard at noonday in midsummer blowing through\nthe room where he stood, a mere boy, by the side of his dead sister,-\n-a wind centuries old. As I wrote on mechanically, I became conscious\nof a presence in the room, though I did not lift my eyes from the\npaper on which I wrote.  Gradually I came to know that my\ngrandmother--dead so long ago that I laughed at the idea--was in the\nroom.  She stood beside her old-fashioned spinning-wheel, and quite\nnear me.  She wore a plain muslin cap with a high puff in the crown,\na short woolen gown, a white and blue checked apron, and shoes with\nheels.  She did not regard me, but stood facing the wheel, with the\nleft hand near the spindle, holding lightly between the thumb and\nforefinger the white roll of wool which was being spun and twisted on\nit.  In her right hand she held a small stick.  I heard the sharp\nclick of this against the spokes of the wheel, then the hum of the\nwheel, the buzz of the spindles as the twisting yarn was teased by\nthe whirl of its point, then a step backwards, a pause, a step\nforward and the running of the yarn upon the spindle, and again a\nbackward step, the drawing out of the roll and the droning and hum of\nthe wheel, most mournfully hopeless sound that ever fell on mortal\near.  Since childhood it has haunted me.  All this time I wrote, and\nI could hear distinctly the scratching of the pen upon the paper.\nBut she stood behind me (why I did not turn my head I never knew),\npacing backward and forward by the spinning-wheel, just as I had a\nhundred times seen her in childhood in the old kitchen on drowsy\nsummer afternoons.  And I heard the step, the buzz and whirl of the\nspindle, and the monotonous and dreary hum of the mournful wheel.\nWhether her face was ashy pale and looked as if it might crumble at\nthe touch, and the border of her white cap trembled in the June wind\nthat blew, I cannot say, for I tell you I did NOT see her.  But I\nknow she was there, spinning yarn that had been knit into hose years\nand years ago by our fireside.  For I was in full possession of my\nfaculties, and never copied more neatly and legibly any manuscript\nthan I did the one that night.  And there the phantom (I use the word\nout of deference to a public prejudice on this subject) most\npersistently remained until my task was finished, and, closing the\nportfolio, I abruptly rose.  Did I see anything?  That is a silly and\nignorant question.  Could I see the wind which had now risen\nstronger, and drove a few cloud-scuds across the sky, filling the\nnight, somehow, with a longing that was not altogether born of\nreminiscence?\n\nIn the winter following, in January, I made an effort to give up the\nuse of tobacco,--a habit in which I was confirmed, and of which I\nhave nothing more to say than this: that I should attribute to it\nalmost all the sin and misery in the world, did I not remember that\nthe old Romans attained a very considerable state of corruption\nwithout the assistance of the Virginia plant.\n\nOn the night of the third day of my abstinence, rendered more nervous\nand excitable than usual by the privation, I retired late, and later\nstill I fell into an uneasy sleep, and thus into a dream, vivid,\nilluminated, more real than any event of my life.  I was at home, and\nfell sick.  The illness developed into a fever, and then a delirium\nset in, not an intellectual blank, but a misty and most delicious\nwandering in places of incomparable beauty.  I learned subsequently\nthat our regular physician was not certain to finish me, when a\nconsultation was called, which did the business.  I have the\nsatisfaction of knowing that they were of the proper school.  I lay\nsick for three days.\n\nOn the morning of the fourth, at sunrise, I died.  The sensation was\nnot unpleasant.  It was not a sudden shock.  I passed out of my body\nas one would walk from the door of his house.  There the body lay,--a\nblank, so far as I was concerned, and only interesting to me as I was\nrather entertained with watching the respect paid to it.  My friends\nstood about the bedside, regarding me (as they seemed to suppose),\nwhile I, in a different part of the room, could hardly repress a\nsmile at their mistake, solemnized as they were, and I too, for that\nmatter, by my recent demise.  A sensation (the word you see is\nmaterial and inappropriate) of etherealization and imponderability\npervaded me, and I was not sorry to get rid of such a dull, slow mass\nas I now perceived myself to be, lying there on the bed.  When I\nspeak of my death, let me be understood to say that there was no\nchange, except that I passed out of my body and floated to the top of\na bookcase in the corner of the room, from which I looked down.  For\na moment I was interested to see my person from the outside, but\nthereafter I was quite indifferent to the body.  I was now simply\nsoul.  I seemed to be a globe, impalpable, transparent, about six\ninches in diameter.  I saw and heard everything as before.  Of\ncourse, matter was no obstacle to me, and I went easily and quickly\nwherever I willed to go.  There was none of that tedious process of\ncommunicating my wishes to the nerves, and from them to the muscles.\nI simply resolved to be at a particular place, and I was there.  It\nwas better than the telegraph.\n\nIt seemed to have been intimated to me at my death (birth I half\nincline to call it) that I could remain on this earth for four weeks\nafter my decease, during which time I could amuse myself as I chose.\n\nI chose, in the first place, to see myself decently buried, to stay\nby myself to the last, and attend my own funeral for once.  As most\nof those referred to in this true narrative are still living, I am\nforbidden to indulge in personalities, nor shall I dare to say\nexactly how my death affected my friends, even the home circle.\nWhatever others did, I sat up with myself and kept awake.  I saw the\n\"pennies\" used instead of the \"quarters\" which I should have\npreferred.  I saw myself \"laid out,\" a phrase that has come to have\nsuch a slang meaning that I smile as I write it.  When the body was\nput into the coffin, I took my place on the lid.\n\nI cannot recall all the details, and they are commonplace besides.\nThe funeral took place at the church.  We all rode thither in\ncarriages, and I, not fancying my place in mine, rode on the outside\nwith the undertaker, whom I found to be a good deal more jolly than\nhe looked to be.  The coffin was placed in front of the pulpit when\nwe arrived.  I took my station on the pulpit cushion, from which\nelevation I had an admirable view of all the ceremonies, and could\nhear the sermon.  How distinctly I remember the services.  I think I\ncould even at this distance write out the sermon.  The tune sung was\nof--the usual country selection,--Mount Vernon.  I recall the text.\nI was rather flattered by the tribute paid to me, and my future was\nspoken of gravely and as kindly as possible,--indeed, with remarkable\ncharity, considering that the minister was not aware of my presence.\nI used to beat him at chess, and I thought, even then, of the last\ngame; for, however solemn the occasion might be to others, it was not\nso to me.  With what interest I watched my kinsfolks, and neighbors\nas they filed past for the last look!  I saw, and I remember, who\npulled a long face for the occasion and who exhibited genuine\nsadness.  I learned with the most dreadful certainty what people\nreally thought of me.  It was a revelation never forgotten.\n\nSeveral particular acquaintances of mine were talking on the steps as\nwe passed out.\n\n\"Well, old Starr's gone up.  Sudden, was n't it?  He was a first-rate\nfellow.\"\n\n\"Yes, queer about some things; but he had some mighty good streaks,\"\nsaid another.  And so they ran on.\n\nStreaks!  So that is the reputation one gets during twenty years of\nlife in this world.  Streaks!\n\nAfter the funeral I rode home with the family.  It was pleasanter\nthan the ride down, though it seemed sad to my relations.  They did\nnot mention me, however, and I may remark, that although I stayed\nabout home for a week, I never heard my name mentioned by any of the\nfamily.  Arrived at home, the tea-kettle was put on and supper got\nready.  This seemed to lift the gloom a little, and under the\ninfluence of the tea they brightened up and gradually got more\ncheerful.  They discussed the sermon and the singing, and the mistake\nof the sexton in digging the grave in the wrong place, and the large\ncongregation.  From the mantel-piece I watched the group.  They had\nwaffles for supper,--of which I had been exceedingly fond, but now I\nsaw them disappear without a sigh.\n\nFor the first day or two of my sojourn at home I was here and there\nat all the neighbors, and heard a good deal about my life and\ncharacter, some of which was not very pleasant, but very wholesome,\ndoubtless, for me to hear.  At the expiration of a week this\namusement ceased to be such for I ceased to be talked of.  I realized\nthe fact that I was dead and gone.\n\nBy an act of volition I found myself back at college.  I floated into\nmy own room, which was empty.  I went to the room of my two warmest\nfriends, whose friendship I was and am yet assured of.  As usual,\nhalf a dozen of our set were lounging there.  A game of whist was\njust commencing.  I perched on a bust of Dante on the top of the\nbook-shelves, where I could see two of the hands and give a good\nguess at a third.  My particular friend Timmins was just shuffling\nthe cards.\n\n\"Be hanged if it is n't lonesome without old Starr.  Did you cut?  I\nshould like to see him lounge in now with his pipe, and with feet on\nthe mantel-piece proceed to expound on the duplex functions of the\nsoul.\"\n\n\"There--misdeal,\" said his vis-,a-vis.  \"Hope there's been no misdeal\nfor old Starr.\"\n\n\"Spades, did you say?\" the talk ran on, \"never knew Starr was\nsickly.\"\n\n\"No more was he; stouter than you are, and as brave and plucky as he\nwas strong.  By George, fellows,--how we do get cut down!  Last term\nlittle Stubbs, and now one of the best fellows in the class.\"\n\n\"How suddenly he did pop off,--one for game, honors easy,--he was\ngood for the Spouts' Medal this year, too.\"\n\n\"Remember the joke he played on Prof. A., freshman year?  \"asked\nanother.\n\n\"Remember he borrowed ten dollars of me about that time,\" said\nTimmins's partner, gathering the cards for a new deal.\n\n\"Guess he is the only one who ever did,\" retorted some one.\n\nAnd so the talk went on, mingled with whist-talk, reminiscent of me,\nnot all exactly what I would have chosen to go into my biography, but\non the whole kind and tender, after the fashion of the boys.  At\nleast I was in their thoughts, and I could see was a good deal\nregretted,--so I passed a very pleasant evening.  Most of those\npresent were of my society, and wore crape on their badges, and all\nwore the usual crape on the left arm.  I learned that the following\nafternoon a eulogy would be delivered on me in the chapel.\n\nThe eulogy was delivered before members of our society and others,\nthe next afternoon, in the chapel.  I need not say that I was\npresent.  Indeed, I was perched on the desk within reach of the\nspeaker's hand.  The apotheosis was pronounced by my most intimate\nfriend, Timmins, and I must say he did me ample justice.  He never\nwas accustomed to \"draw it very mild\" (to use a vulgarism which I\ndislike) when he had his head, and on this occasion he entered into\nthe matter with the zeal of a true friend, and a young man who never\nexpected to have another occasion to sing a public \"In Memoriam.\"  It\nmade my hair stand on end,--metaphorically, of course.  From my\nchildhood I had been extremely precocious.  There were anecdotes of\npreternatural brightness, picked up, Heaven knows where, of my\neagerness to learn, of my adventurous, chivalrous young soul, and of\nmy arduous struggles with chill penury, which was not able (as it\nappeared) to repress my rage, until I entered this institution, of\nwhich I had been ornament, pride, cynosure, and fair promising bud\nblasted while yet its fragrance was mingled with the dew of its\nyouth.  Once launched upon my college days, Timmins went on with all\nsails spread.  I had, as it were, to hold on to the pulpit cushion.\nLatin, Greek, the old literatures, I was perfect master of; all\nhistory was merely a light repast to me;  mathematics I glanced at,\nand it disappeared; in the clouds of modern philosophy I was wrapped\nbut not obscured; over the field of light literature I familiarly\nroamed as the honey-bee over the wide fields of clover which blossom\nwhite in the Junes of this world!  My life was pure, my character\nspotless, my name was inscribed among the names of those deathless\nfew who were not born to die!\n\nIt was a noble eulogy, and I felt before he finished, though I had\nmisgivings at the beginning, that I deserved it all.  The effect on\nthe audience was a little different.  They said it was a \"strong\"\noration, and I think Timmins got more credit by it than I did.  After\nthe performance they stood about the chapel, talking in a subdued\ntone, and seemed to be a good deal impressed by what they had heard,\nor perhaps by thoughts of the departed.  At least they all soon went\nover to Austin's and called for beer.  My particular friends called\nfor it twice.  Then they all lit pipes.  The old grocery keeper was\ngood enough to say that I was no fool, if I did go off owing him four\ndollars.  To the credit of human nature, let me here record that the\nfellows were touched by this remark reflecting upon my memory, and\nimmediately made up a purse and paid the bill,--that is, they told\nthe old man to charge it over to them.  College boys are rich in\ncredit and the possibilities of life.\n\nIt is needless to dwell upon the days I passed at college during this\nprobation.  So far as I could see, everything went on as if I were\nthere, or had never been there.  I could not even see the place where\nI had dropped out of the ranks.  Occasionally I heard my name, but I\nmust say that four weeks was quite long enough to stay in a world\nthat had pretty much forgotten me.  There is no great satisfaction in\nbeing dragged up to light now and then, like an old letter.  The case\nwas somewhat different with the people with whom I had boarded.  They\nwere relations of mine, and I often saw them weep, and they talked of\nme a good deal at twilight and Sunday nights, especially the youngest\none, Carrie, who was handsomer than any one I knew, and not much\nolder than I.  I never used to imagine that she cared particularly\nfor me, nor would she have done so, if I had lived, but death brought\nwith it a sort of sentimental regret, which, with the help of a\ndaguerreotype, she nursed into quite a little passion.  I spent most\nof my time there, for it was more congenial than the college.\n\nBut time hastened.  The last sand of probation leaked out of the\nglass.  One day, while Carrie played (for me, though she knew it not)\none of Mendelssohn's \"songs without words,\" I suddenly, yet gently,\nwithout self-effort or volition, moved from the house, floated in the\nair, rose higher, higher, by an easy, delicious, exultant, yet\ninconceivably rapid motion.  The ecstasy of that triumphant flight!\nGroves, trees, houses, the landscape, dimmed, faded, fled away\nbeneath me.  Upward mounting, as on angels' wings, with no effort,\ntill the earth hung beneath me a round black ball swinging, remote,\nin the universal ether.  Upward mounting, till the earth, no longer\nbathed in the sun's rays, went out to my sight, disappeared in the\nblank.  Constellations, before seen from afar, I sailed among.\nStars, too remote for shining on earth, I neared, and found to be\nround globes flying through space with a velocity only equaled by my\nown.  New worlds continually opened on my sight; newfields of\neverlasting space opened and closed behind me.\n\nFor days and days--it seemed a mortal forever--I mounted up the great\nheavens, whose everlasting doors swung wide.  How the worlds and\nsystems, stars, constellations, neared me, blazed and flashed in\nsplendor, and fled away!  At length,--was it not a thousand years?--I\nsaw before me, yet afar off, a wall, the rocky bourn of that country\nwhence travelers come not back, a battlement wider than I could\nguess, the height of which I could not see, the depth of which was\ninfinite.  As I approached, it shone with a splendor never yet beheld\non earth.  Its solid substance was built of jewels the rarest, and\nstones of priceless value.  It seemed like one solid stone, and yet\nall the colors of the rainbow were contained in it.  The ruby, the\ndiamond, the emerald, the carbuncle, the topaz, the amethyst, the\nsapphire; of them the wall was built up in harmonious combination.\nSo brilliant was it that all the space I floated in was full of the\nsplendor.  So mild was it and so translucent, that I could look for\nmiles into its clear depths.\n\nRapidly nearing this heavenly battlement, an immense niche was\ndisclosed in its solid face.  The floor was one large ruby.  Its\nsloping sides were of pearl.  Before I was aware I stood within the\nbrilliant recess.  I say I stood there, for I was there bodily, in my\nhabit as I lived; how, I cannot explain.  Was it the resurrection of\nthe body?  Before me rose, a thousand feet in height, a wonderful\ngate of flashing diamond.  Beside it sat a venerable man, with long\nwhite beard, a robe of light gray, ancient sandals, and a golden key\nhanging by a cord from his waist.  In the serene beauty of his noble\nfeatures I saw justice and mercy had met and were reconciled.  I\ncannot describe the majesty of his bearing or the benignity of his\nappearance.  It is needless to say that I stood before St. Peter, who\nsits at the Celestial Gate.\n\nI humbly approached, and begged admission.  St. Peter arose, and\nregarded me kindly, yet inquiringly.\n\n\"What is your name?  \" asked he, \"and from what place do you come?\"\n\nI answered, and, wishing to give a name well known, said I was from\nWashington, United States.  He looked doubtful, as if he had never\nheard the name before.\n\n\"Give me,\" said he, \"a full account of your whole life.\"\n\nI felt instantaneously that there was no concealment possible; all\ndisguise fell away, and an unknown power forced me to speak absolute\nand exact truth.  I detailed the events of my life as well as I\ncould, and the good man was not a little affected by the recital of\nmy early trials, poverty, and temptation.  It did not seem a very\ngood life when spread out in that presence, and I trembled as I\nproceeded; but I plead youth, inexperience, and bad examples.\n\nHave you been accustomed,\" he said, after a time, rather sadly, \"to\nbreak the Sabbath?\"\n\nI told him frankly that I had been rather lax in that matter,\nespecially at college.  I often went to sleep in the chapel on\nSunday, when I was not reading some entertaining book.  He then asked\nwho the preacher was, and when I told him, he remarked that I was not\nso much to blame as he had supposed.\n\n\"Have you,\" he went on, \"ever stolen, or told any lie?\"\n\nI was able to say no, except admitting as to the first, usual college\n\"conveyances,\" and as to the last, an occasional \"blinder\" to the\nprofessors.  He was gracious enough to say that these could be\noverlooked as incident to the occasion.\n\n\"Have you ever been dissipated, living riotously and keeping late\nhours?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThis also could be forgiven me as an incident of youth.\n\n\"Did you ever,\" he went on, \"commit the crime of using intoxicating\ndrinks as a beverage?\"\n\nI answered that I had never been a habitual drinker, that I had never\nbeen what was called a \"moderate drinker,\" that I had never gone to a\nbar and drank alone; but that I had been accustomed, in company with\nother young men, on convivial occasions to taste the pleasures of the\nflowing bowl, sometimes to excess, but that I had also tasted the\npains of it, and for months before my demise had refrained from\nliquor altogether.  The holy man looked grave, but, after reflection,\nsaid this might also be overlooked in a young man.\n\n\"What,\" continued he, in tones still more serious, \"has been your\nconduct with regard to the other sex?\"\n\nI fell upon my knees in a tremor of fear.  I pulled from my bosom a\nlittle book like the one Leperello exhibits in the opera of \"Don\nGiovanni.\"  There, I said, was a record of my flirtation and\ninconstancy.  I waited long for the decision, but it came in mercy.\n\n\"Rise,\" he cried; \"young men will be young men, I suppose.  We shall\nforgive this also to your youth and penitence.\"\n\n\"Your examination is satisfactory, he informed me,\" after a pause;\n\"you can now enter the abodes of the happy.\"\n\nJoy leaped within me.  We approached the gate.  The key turned in the\nlock.  The gate swung noiselessly on its hinges a little open.  Out\nflashed upon me unknown splendors.  What I saw in that momentary\ngleam I shall never whisper in mortal ears.  I stood upon the\nthreshold, just about to enter.\n\n\"Stop!  one moment,\" exclaimed St.  Peter, laying his hand on my\nshoulder; \"I have one more question to ask you.\"\n\nI turned toward him.\n\n\"Young man, did you ever use tobacco?\"\n\n\"I both smoked and chewed in my lifetime,\" I faltered, \"but...\"\n\n\"THEN TO HELL WITH YOU!\" he shouted in a voice of thunder.\n\nInstantly the gate closed without noise, and I was flung, hurled,\nfrom the battlement, down!  down!  down!  Faster and faster I sank in\na dizzy, sickening whirl into an unfathomable space of gloom.  The\nlight faded.  Dampness and darkness were round about me.  As before,\nfor days and days I rose exultant in the light, so now forever I sank\ninto thickening darkness,--and yet not darkness, but a pale, ashy\nlight more fearful.\n\nIn the dimness, I at length discovered a wall before me.  It ran up\nand down and on either hand endlessly into the night.  It was solid,\nblack, terrible in its frowning massiveness.\n\nStraightway I alighted at the gate,--a dismal crevice hewn into the\ndripping rock.  The gate was wide open, and there sat-I knew him at\nonce; who does not?--the Arch Enemy of mankind.  He cocked his eye at\nme in an impudent, low, familiar manner that disgusted me.  I saw\nthat I was not to be treated like a gentleman.\n\n\"Well, young man,\" said he, rising, with a queer grin on his face,\"\nwhat are you sent here for?\n\n\"For using tobacco,\" I replied.\n\n\"Ho!\" shouted he in a jolly manner, peculiar to devils, \"that's what\nmost of 'em are sent here for now.\"\n\nWithout more ado, he called four lesser imps, who ushered me within.\nWhat a dreadful plain lay before me!  There was a vast city laid out\nin regular streets, but there were no houses.  Along the streets were\nplaces of torment and torture exceedingly ingenious and disagreeable.\nFor miles and miles, it seemed, I followed my conductors through\nthese horrors, Here was a deep vat of burning tar.  Here were rows of\nfiery ovens.  I noticed several immense caldron kettles of boiling\noil, upon the rims of which little devils sat, with pitchforks in\nhand, and poked down the helpless victims who floundered in the\nliquid.  But I forbear to go into unseemly details.  The whole scene\nis as vivid in my mind as any earthly landscape.\n\nAfter an hour's walk my tormentors halted before the mouth of an\noven,--a furnace heated seven times, and now roaring with flames.\nThey grasped me, one hold of each hand and foot.  Standing before the\nblazing mouth, they, with a swing, and a \"one, two, THREE....\"\n\nI again assure the reader that in this narrative I have set down\nnothing that was not actually dreamed, and much, very much of this\nwonderful vision I have been obliged to omit.\n\nHaec fabula docet: It is dangerous for a young man to leave off the\nuse of tobacco.\n\n\n\n\nFIFTH STUDY\n\n\nI\n\nI wish I could fitly celebrate the joyousness of the New England\nwinter.  Perhaps I could if I more thoroughly believed in it.  But\nskepticism comes in with the south wind.  When that begins to blow,\none feels the foundations of his belief breaking up.  This is only\nanother way of saying that it is more difficult, if it be not\nimpossible, to freeze out orthodoxy, or any fixed notion, than it is\nto thaw it out; though it is a mere fancy to suppose that this is the\nreason why the martyrs, of all creeds, were burned at the stake.\nThere is said to be a great relaxation in New England of the ancient\nstrictness in the direction of toleration of opinion, called by some\na lowering of the standard, and by others a raising of the banner of\nliberality; it might be an interesting inquiry how much this change\nis due to another change,--the softening of the New England winter\nand the shifting of the Gulf Stream.  It is the fashion nowadays to\nrefer almost everything to physical causes, and this hint is a\ngratuitous contribution to the science of metaphysical physics.\n\nThe hindrance to entering fully into the joyousness of a New England\nwinter, except far inland among the mountains, is the south wind.  It\nis a grateful wind, and has done more, I suspect, to demoralize\nsociety than any other.  It is not necessary to remember that it\nfilled the silken sails of Cleopatra's galley.  It blows over New\nEngland every few days, and is in some portions of it the prevailing\nwind.  That it brings the soft clouds, and sometimes continues long\nenough to almost deceive the expectant buds of the fruit trees, and\nto tempt the robin from the secluded evergreen copses, may be\nnothing; but it takes the tone out of the mind, and engenders\ndiscontent, making one long for the tropics; it feeds the weakened\nimagination on palm-leaves and the lotus.  Before we know it we\nbecome demoralized, and shrink from the tonic of the sudden change to\nsharp weather, as the steamed hydropathic patient does from the\nplunge.  It is the insidious temptation that assails us when we are\nbraced up to profit by the invigorating rigor of winter.\n\nPerhaps the influence of the four great winds on character is only a\nfancied one; but it is evident on temperament, which is not\naltogether a matter of temperature, although the good old deacon used\nto say, in his humble, simple way, that his third wife was a very\ngood woman, but her \"temperature was very different from that of the\nother two.\"  The north wind is full of courage, and puts the stamina\nof endurance into a man, and it probably would into a woman too if\nthere were a series of resolutions passed to that effect.  The west\nwind is hopeful; it has promise and adventure in it, and is, except\nto Atlantic voyagers America-bound, the best wind that ever blew.\nThe east wind is peevishness; it is mental rheumatism and grumbling,\nand curls one up in the chimney-corner like a cat.  And if the\nchimney ever smokes, it smokes when the wind sits in that quarter.\nThe south wind is full of longing and unrest, of effeminate\nsuggestions of luxurious ease, and perhaps we might say of modern\npoetry,--at any rate, modern poetry needs a change of air.  I am not\nsure but the south is the most powerful of the winds, because of its\nsweet persuasiveness.  Nothing so stirs the blood in spring, when it\ncomes up out of the tropical latitude; it makes men \"longen to gon on\npilgrimages.\"\n\nI did intend to insert here a little poem (as it is quite proper to\ndo in an essay) on the south wind, composed by the Young Lady Staying\nWith Us, beginning,--\n\n\"Out of a drifting southern cloud\nMy soul heard the night-bird cry,\"\n\nbut it never got any farther than this.  The Young Lady said it was\nexceedingly difficult to write the next two lines, because not only\nrhyme but meaning had to be procured.  And this is true; anybody can\nwrite first lines, and that is probably the reason we have so many\npoems which seem to have been begun in just this way, that is, with a\nsouth-wind-longing without any thought in it, and it is very\nfortunate when there is not wind enough to finish them.  This\nemotional poem, if I may so call it, was begun after Herbert went\naway.  I liked it, and thought it was what is called \"suggestive;\"\nalthough I did not understand it, especially what the night-bird was;\nand I am afraid I hurt the Young Lady's feelings by asking her if she\nmeant Herbert by the \"night-bird,\"--a very absurd suggestion about\ntwo unsentimental people.  She said, \"Nonsense;\" but she afterwards\ntold the Mistress that there were emotions that one could never put\ninto words without the danger of being ridiculous; a profound truth.\nAnd yet I should not like to say that there is not a tender\nlonesomeness in love that can get comfort out of a night-bird in a\ncloud, if there be such a thing.  Analysis is the death of sentiment.\n\nBut to return to the winds.  Certain people impress us as the winds\ndo.  Mandeville never comes in that I do not feel a north-wind vigor\nand healthfulness in his cordial, sincere, hearty manner, and in his\nwholesome way of looking at things.  The Parson, you would say, was\nthe east wind, and only his intimates know that his peevishness is\nonly a querulous humor.  In the fair west wind I know the Mistress\nherself, full of hope, and always the first one to discover a bit of\nblue in a cloudy sky.  It would not be just to apply what I have said\nof the south wind to any of our visitors, but it did blow a little\nwhile Herbert was here.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nIn point of pure enjoyment, with an intellectual sparkle in it, I\nsuppose that no luxurious lounging on tropical isles set in tropical\nseas compares with the positive happiness one may have before a great\nwoodfire (not two sticks laid crossways in a grate), with a veritable\nNew England winter raging outside.  In order to get the highest\nenjoyment, the faculties must be alert, and not be lulled into a mere\nrecipient dullness.  There are those who prefer a warm bath to a\nbrisk walk in the inspiring air, where ten thousand keen influences\nminister to the sense of beauty and run along the excited nerves.\nThere are, for instance, a sharpness of horizon outline and a\ndelicacy of color on distant hills which are wanting in summer, and\nwhich convey to one rightly organized the keenest delight, and a\nrefinement of enjoyment that is scarcely sensuous, not at all\nsentimental, and almost passing the intellectual line into the\nspiritual.\n\nI was speaking to Mandeville about this, and he said that I was\ndrawing it altogether too fine; that he experienced sensations of\npleasure in being out in almost all weathers; that he rather liked to\nbreast a north wind, and that there was a certain inspiration in\nsharp outlines and in a landscape in trim winter-quarters, with\nstripped trees, and, as it were, scudding through the season under\nbare poles; but that he must say that he preferred the weather in\nwhich he could sit on the fence by the wood-lot, with the spring sun\non his back, and hear the stir of the leaves and the birds beginning\ntheir housekeeping.\n\nA very pretty idea for Mandeville; and I fear he is getting to have\nprivate thoughts about the Young Lady.  Mandeville naturally likes\nthe robustness and sparkle of winter, and it has been a little\nsuspicious to hear him express the hope that we shall have an early\nspring.\n\nI wonder how many people there are in New England who know the glory\nand inspiration of a winter walk just before sunset, and that, too,\nnot only on days of clear sky, when the west is aflame with a rosy\ncolor, which has no suggestion of languor or unsatisfied longing in\nit, but on dull days, when the sullen clouds hang about the horizon,\nfull of threats of storm and the terrors of the gathering night.  We\nare very busy with our own affairs, but there is always something\ngoing on out-doors worth looking at; and there is seldom an hour\nbefore sunset that has not some special attraction.  And, besides, it\nputs one in the mood for the cheer and comfort of the open fire at\nhome.\n\nProbably if the people of New England could have a plebiscitum on\ntheir weather, they would vote against it, especially against winter.\nAlmost no one speaks well of winter.  And this suggests the idea that\nmost people here were either born in the wrong place, or do not know\nwhat is best for them.  I doubt if these grumblers would be any\nbetter satisfied, or would turn out as well, in the tropics.\nEverybody knows our virtues,--at least if they believe half we tell\nthem,--and for delicate beauty, that rare plant, I should look among\nthe girls of the New England hills as confidently as anywhere, and I\nhave traveled as far south as New Jersey, and west of the Genesee\nValley.  Indeed, it would be easy to show that the parents of the\npretty girls in the West emigrated from New England.  And yet--such\nis the mystery of Providence--no one would expect that one of the\nsweetest and most delicate flowers that blooms, the trailing.\narbutus, would blossom in this inhospitable climate, and peep forth\nfrom the edge of a snowbank at that.\n\nIt seems unaccountable to a superficial observer that the thousands\nof people who are dissatisfied with their climate do not seek a more\ncongenial one--or stop grumbling.  The world is so small, and all\nparts of it are so accessible, it has so many varieties of climate,\nthat one could surely suit himself by searching; and, then, is it\nworth while to waste our one short life in the midst of unpleasant\nsurroundings and in a constant friction with that which is\ndisagreeable?  One would suppose that people set down on this little\nglobe would seek places on it most agreeable to themselves.  It must\nbe that they are much more content with the climate and country upon\nwhich they happen, by the accident of their birth, than they pretend\nto be.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nHome sympathies and charities are most active in the winter.  Coming\nin from my late walk,--in fact driven in by a hurrying north wind\nthat would brook no delay,--a wind that brought snow that did not\nseem to fall out of a bounteous sky, but to be blown from polar\nfields,--I find the Mistress returned from town, all in a glow of\nphilanthropic excitement.\n\nThere has been a meeting of a woman's association for Ameliorating\nthe Condition of somebody here at home.  Any one can belong to it by\npaying a dollar, and for twenty dollars one can become a life\nAmeliorator,--a sort of life assurance.  The Mistress, at the\nmeeting, I believe, \"seconded the motion\" several times, and is one\nof the Vice-Presidents; and this family honor makes me feel almost as\nif I were a president of something myself.  These little distinctions\nare among the sweetest things in life, and to see one's name\nofficially printed stimulates his charity, and is almost as\nsatisfactory as being the chairman of a committee or the mover of a\nresolution.  It is, I think, fortunate, and not at all discreditable,\nthat our little vanity, which is reckoned among our weaknesses, is\nthus made to contribute to the activity of our nobler powers.\nWhatever we may say, we all of us like distinction; and probably\nthere is no more subtle flattery than that conveyed in the whisper,\n\"That's he,\" \"That's she.\"\n\nThere used to be a society for ameliorating the condition of the\nJews; but they were found to be so much more adept than other people\nin ameliorating their own condition that I suppose it was given up.\nMandeville says that to his knowledge there are a great many people\nwho get up ameliorating enterprises merely to be conspicuously busy\nin society, or to earn a little something in a good cause.  They seem\nto think that the world owes them a living because they are\nphilanthropists.  In this Mandeville does not speak with his usual\ncharity.  It is evident that there are Jews, and some Gentiles, whose\ncondition needs ameliorating, and if very little is really\naccomplished in the effort for them, it always remains true that the\ncharitable reap a benefit to themselves.  It is one of the beautiful\ncompensations of this life that no one can sincerely try to help\nanother without helping himself\n\nOUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR.  Why is it that almost all philanthropists\nand reformers are disagreeable?\n\nI ought to explain who our next-door neighbor is.  He is the person\nwho comes in without knocking, drops in in the most natural way, as\nhis wife does also, and not seldom in time to take the after-dinner\ncup of tea before the fire.  Formal society begins as soon as you\nlock your doors, and only admit visitors through the media of bells\nand servants.  It is lucky for us that our next-door neighbor is\nhonest.\n\nTHE PARSON.  Why do you class reformers and philanthropists together?\nThose usually called reformers are not philanthropists at all.  They\nare agitators.  Finding the world disagreeable to themselves, they\nwish to make it as unpleasant to others as possible.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  That's a noble view of your fellow-men.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  Well, granting the distinction, why are both apt to\nbe unpleasant people to live with?\n\nTHE PARSON.  As if the unpleasant people who won't mind their own\nbusiness were confined to the classes you mention!  Some of the best\npeople I know are philanthropists,--I mean the genuine ones, and not\nthe uneasy busybodies seeking notoriety as a means of living.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  It is not altogether the not minding their own\nbusiness.  Nobody does that.  The usual explanation is, that people\nwith one idea are tedious.  But that is not all of it.  For few\npersons have more than one idea,--ministers, doctors, lawyers,\nteachers, manufacturers, merchants,--they all think the world they\nlive in is the central one.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  And you might add authors.  To them nearly all the life\nof the world is in letters, and I suppose they would be astonished if\nthey knew how little the thoughts of the majority of people are\noccupied with books, and with all that vast thought circulation which\nis the vital current of the world to book-men.  Newspapers have\nreached their present power by becoming unliterary, and reflecting\nall the interests of the world.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  I have noticed one thing, that the most popular\npersons in society are those who take the world as it is, find the\nleast fault, and have no hobbies.  They are always wanted to dinner.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  And the other kind always appear to me to want a\ndinner.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  It seems to me that the real reason why reformers\nand some philanthropists are unpopular is, that they disturb our\nserenity and make us conscious of our own shortcomings.  It is only\nnow and then that a whole people get a spasm of reformatory fervor,\nof investigation and regeneration.  At other times they rather hate\nthose who disturb their quiet.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  Professional reformers and philanthropists are\ninsufferably conceited and intolerant.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Everything depends upon the spirit in which a reform\nor a scheme of philanthropy is conducted.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I attended a protracted convention of reformers of a\ncertain evil, once, and had the pleasure of taking dinner with a\ntableful of them.  It was one of those country dinners accompanied\nwith green tea.  Every one disagreed with every one else, and you\nwould n't wonder at it, if you had seen them.  They were people with\nwhom good food wouldn't agree.  George Thompson was expected at the\nconvention, and I remember that there was almost a cordiality in the\ntalk about him, until one sallow brother casually mentioned that\nGeorge took snuff,--when a chorus of deprecatory groans went up from\nthe table.  One long-faced maiden in spectacles, with purple ribbons\nin her hair, who drank five cups of tea by my count, declared that\nshe was perfectly disgusted, and did n't want to hear him speak.  In\nthe course of the meal the talk ran upon the discipline of children,\nand how to administer punishment.  I was quite taken by the remark of\na thin, dyspeptic man who summed up the matter by growling out in a\nharsh, deep bass voice, \"Punish 'em in love!\" It sounded as if he had\nsaid, \"Shoot 'em on the spot!\"\n\nTHE PARSON.  I supposed you would say that he was a minister.  There\nis another thing about those people.  I think they are working\nagainst the course of nature.  Nature is entirely indifferent to any\nreform.  She perpetuates a fault as persistently as a virtue.\nThere's a split in my thumb-nail that has been scrupulously continued\nfor many years, not withstanding all my efforts to make the nail\nresume its old regularity.  You see the same thing in trees whose\nbark is cut, and in melons that have had only one summer's intimacy\nwith squashes.  The bad traits in character are passed down from\ngeneration to generation with as much care as the good ones.  Nature,\nunaided, never reforms anything.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Is that the essence of Calvinism?\n\nTHE PARSON.  Calvinism has n't any essence, it's a fact.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  When I was a boy, I always associated Calvinism and\ncalomel together.  I thought that homeopathy--similia, etc.--had done\naway with both of them.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR (rising).  If you are going into theology, I'm off..\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nI fear we are not getting on much with the joyousness of winter.  In\norder to be exhilarating it must be real winter.  I have noticed that\nthe lower the thermometer sinks the more fiercely the north wind\nrages, and the deeper the snow is, the higher rise the spirits of the\ncommunity.  The activity of the \"elements\" has a great effect upon\ncountry folk especially; and it is a more wholesome excitement than\nthat caused by a great conflagration.  The abatement of a snow-storm\nthat grows to exceptional magnitude is regretted, for there is always\nthe half-hope that this will be, since it has gone so far, the\nlargest fall of snow ever known in the region, burying out of sight\nthe great fall of 1808, the account of which is circumstantially and\naggravatingly thrown in our way annually upon the least provocation.\nWe all know how it reads: \"Some said it began at daylight, others\nthat it set in after sunrise; but all agree that by eight o'clock\nFriday morning it was snowing in heavy masses that darkened the air.\"\n\nThe morning after we settled the five--or is it seven?--points of\nCalvinism, there began a very hopeful snow-storm, one of those\nwide-sweeping, careering storms that may not much affect the city,\nbut which strongly impress the country imagination with a sense of\nthe personal qualities of the weather,--power, persistency,\nfierceness, and roaring exultation.  Out-doors was terrible to those\nwho looked out of windows, and heard the raging wind, and saw the\ncommotion in all the high tree-tops and the writhing of the low\nevergreens, and could not summon resolution to go forth and breast\nand conquer the bluster.  The sky was dark with snow, which was not\npermitted to fall peacefully like a blessed mantle, as it sometimes\ndoes, but was blown and rent and tossed like the split canvas of a\nship in a gale.  The world was taken possession of by the demons of\nthe air, who had their will of it.  There is a sort of fascination in\nsuch a scene, equal to that of a tempest at sea, and without its\nattendant haunting sense of peril; there is no fear that the house\nwill founder or dash against your neighbor's cottage, which is dimly\nseen anchored across the field; at every thundering onset there is no\nfear that the cook's galley will upset, or the screw break loose and\nsmash through the side, and we are not in momently expectation of the\ntinkling of the little bell to \"stop her.\"  The snow rises in\ndrifting waves, and the naked trees bend like strained masts; but so\nlong as the window-blinds remain fast, and the chimney-tops do not\ngo, we preserve an equal mind.  Nothing more serious can happen than\nthe failure of the butcher's and the grocer's carts, unless, indeed,\nthe little news-carrier should fail to board us with the world's\ndaily bulletin, or our next-door neighbor should be deterred from\ncoming to sit by the blazing, excited fire, and interchange the\ntrifling, harmless gossip of the day.  The feeling of seclusion on\nsuch a day is sweet, but the true friend who does brave the storm and\ncome is welcomed with a sort of enthusiasm that his arrival in\npleasant weather would never excite.  The snow-bound in their Arctic\nhulk are glad to see even a wandering Esquimau.\n\nOn such a day I recall the great snow-storms on the northern New\nEngland hills, which lasted for a week with no cessation, with no\nsunrise or sunset, and no observation at noon; and the sky all the\nwhile dark with the driving snow, and the whole world full of the\nnoise of the rioting Boreal forces; until the roads were obliterated,\nthe fences covered, and the snow was piled solidly above the first-\nstory windows of the farmhouse on one side, and drifted before the\nfront door so high that egress could only be had by tunneling the\nbank.\n\nAfter such a battle and siege, when the wind fell and the sun\nstruggled out again, the pallid world lay subdued and tranquil, and\nthe scattered dwellings were not unlike wrecks stranded by the\ntempest and half buried in sand.  But when the blue sky again bent\nover all, the wide expanse of snow sparkled like diamond-fields, and\nthe chimney signal-smokes could be seen, how beautiful was the\npicture!  Then began the stir abroad, and the efforts to open up\ncommunication through roads, or fields, or wherever paths could be\nbroken, and the ways to the meeting-house first of all.  Then from\nevery house and hamlet the men turned out with shovels, with the\npatient, lumbering oxen yoked to the sleds, to break the roads,\ndriving into the deepest drifts, shoveling and shouting as if the\nsevere labor were a holiday frolic, the courage and the hilarity\nrising with the difficulties encountered; and relief parties, meeting\nat length in the midst of the wide white desolation, hailed each\nother as chance explorers in new lands, and made the whole\ncountry-side ring with the noise of their congratulations.  There was\nas much excitement and healthy stirring of the blood in it as in the\nFourth of July, and perhaps as much patriotism.  The boy saw it in\ndumb show from the distant, low farmhouse window, and wished he were\na man.  At night there were great stories of achievement told by the\ncavernous fireplace; great latitude was permitted in the estimation\nof the size of particular drifts, but never any agreement was reached\nas to the \"depth on a level.\"  I have observed since that people are\nquite as apt to agree upon the marvelous and the exceptional as upon\nsimple facts.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nBy the firelight and the twilight, the Young Lady is finishing a\nletter to Herbert,--writing it, literally, on her knees, transforming\nthus the simple deed into an act of devotion.  Mandeville says that\nit is bad for her eyes, but the sight of it is worse for his eyes.\nHe begins to doubt the wisdom of reliance upon that worn apothegm\nabout absence conquering love.\n\nMemory has the singular characteristic of recalling in a friend\nabsent, as in a journey long past, only that which is agreeable.\nMandeville begins to wish he were in New South Wales.\n\nI did intend to insert here a letter of Herbert's to the Young Lady,\n--obtained, I need not say, honorably, as private letters which get\ninto print always are,--not to gratify a vulgar curiosity, but\n\nto show how the most unsentimental and cynical people are affected by\nthe master passion.  But I cannot bring myself to do it.  Even in the\ninterests of science one has no right to make an autopsy of two\nloving hearts, especially when they are suffering under a late attack\nof the one agreeable epidemic.\n\nAll the world loves a lover, but it laughs at him none the less in\nhis extravagances.  He loses his accustomed reticence; he has\nsomething of the martyr's willingness for publicity; he would even\nlike to show the sincerity of his devotion by some piece of open\nheroism.  Why should he conceal a discovery which has transformed the\nworld to him, a secret which explains all the mysteries of nature and\nhuman-ity?  He is in that ecstasy of mind which prompts those who\nwere never orators before to rise in an experience-meeting and pour\nout a flood of feeling in the tritest language and the most\nconventional terms.  I am not sure that Herbert, while in this glow,\nwould be ashamed of his letter in print, but this is one of the cases\nwhere chancery would step in and protect one from himself by his next\nfriend.  This is really a delicate matter, and perhaps it is brutal\nto allude to it at all.\n\nIn truth, the letter would hardly be interesting in print.  Love has\na marvelous power of vivifying language and charging the simplest\nwords with the most tender meaning, of restoring to them the power\nthey had when first coined.  They are words of fire to those two who\nknow their secret, but not to others.  It is generally admitted that\nthe best love-letters would not make very good literature.\n\"Dearest,\" begins Herbert, in a burst of originality, felicitously\nselecting a word whose exclusiveness shuts out all the world but one,\nand which is a whole letter, poem, confession, and creed in one\nbreath.  What a weight of meaning it has to carry!  There may be\nbeauty and wit and grace and naturalness and even the splendor of\nfortune elsewhere, but there is one woman in the world whose sweet\npresence would be compensation for the loss of all else.  It is not\nto be reasoned about; he wants that one; it is her plume dancing down\nthe sunny street that sets his heart beating; he knows her form among\na thousand, and follows her; he longs to run after her carriage,\nwhich the cruel coachman whirls out of his sight.  It is marvelous to\nhim that all the world does not want her too, and he is in a panic\nwhen he thinks of it.  And what exquisite flattery is in that little\nword addressed to her, and with what sweet and meek triumph she\nrepeats it to herself, with a feeling that is not altogether pity for\nthose who still stand and wait.  To be chosen out of all the\navailable world--it is almost as much bliss as it is to choose.  \"All\nthat long, long stage-ride from Blim's to Portage I thought of you\nevery moment, and wondered what you were doing and how you were\nlooking just that moment, and I found the occupation so charming that\nI was almost sorry when the journey was ended.\"  Not much in that!\nBut I have no doubt the Young Lady read it over and over, and dwelt\nalso upon every moment, and found in it new proof of unshaken\nconstancy, and had in that and the like things in the letter a sense\nof the sweetest communion.  There is nothing in this letter that we\nneed dwell on it, but I am convinced that the mail does not carry any\nother letters so valuable as this sort.\n\nI suppose that the appearance of Herbert in this new light\nunconsciously gave tone a little to the evening's talk; not that\nanybody mentioned him, but Mandeville was evidently generalizing from\nthe qualities that make one person admired by another to those that\nwin the love of mankind.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  There seems to be something in some persons that wins\nthem liking, special or general, independent almost of what they do\nor say.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Why, everybody is liked by some one.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I'm not sure of that.  There are those who are\nfriendless, and would be if they had endless acquaintances.  But, to\ntake the case away from ordinary examples, in which habit and a\nthousand circumstances influence liking, what is it that determines\nthe world upon a personal regard for authors whom it has never seen?\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Probably it is the spirit shown in their writings.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  More likely it is a sort of tradition; I don't believe\nthat the world has a feeling of personal regard for any author who\nwas not loved by those who knew him most intimately.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDFR.  Which comes to the same thing.  The qualities, the\nspirit, that got him the love of his acquaintances he put into his\nbooks.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  That does n't seem to me sufficient.  Shakespeare has\nput everything into his plays and poems, swept the whole range of\nhuman sympathies and passions, and at times is inspired by the\nsweetest spirit that ever man had.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  No one has better interpreted love.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Yet I apprehend that no person living has any personal\nregard for Shakespeare, or that his personality affects many,--except\nthey stand in Stratford church and feel a sort of awe at the thought\nthat the bones of the greatest poet are so near them.\n\nTHE PARSON.  I don't think the world cares personally for any mere\nman or woman dead for centuries.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  But there is a difference.  I think there is still\nrather a warm feeling for Socrates the man, independent of what he\nsaid, which is little known.  Homer's works are certainly better\nknown, but no one cares personally for Homer any more than for any\nother shade.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  Why not go back to Moses?  We've got the evening\nbefore us for digging up people.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Moses is a very good illustration.  No name of antiquity\nis better known, and yet I fancy he does not awaken the same kind of\npopular liking that Socrates does.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  Fudge!  You just get up in any lecture assembly and\npropose three cheers for Socrates, and see where you'll be.\nMandeville ought to be a missionary, and read Robert Browning to the\nFijis.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  How do you account for the alleged personal regard\nfor Socrates?\n\nTHE PARSON.  Because the world called Christian is still more than\nhalf heathen.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  He was a plain man; his sympathies were with the people;\nhe had what is roughly known as \"horse-sense,\" and he was homely.\nFranklin and Abraham Lincoln belong to his class.  They were all\nphilosophers of the shrewd sort, and they all had humor.  It was\nfortunate for Lincoln that, with his other qualities, he was homely.\nThat was the last touching recommendation to the popular heart.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Do you remember that ugly brown-stone statue of St.\nAntonio by the bridge in Sorrento?  He must have been a coarse saint,\npatron of pigs as he was, but I don't know any one anywhere, or the\nhomely stone image of one, so loved by the people.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  Ugliness being trump, I wonder more people don't win.\nMandeville, why don't you get up a \"centenary\" of Socrates, and put\nup his statue in the Central Park?  It would make that one of Lincoln\nin Union Square look beautiful.\n\nTHE PARSON.  Oh, you'll see that some day, when they have a museum\nthere illustrating the \"Science of Religion.\"\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Doubtless, to go back to what we were talking of,\nthe world has a fondness for some authors, and thinks of them with an\naffectionate and half-pitying familiarity; and it may be that this\ngrows out of something in their lives quite as much as anything in\ntheir writings.  There seems to be more disposition of personal\nliking to Thackeray than to Dickens, now both are dead,--a result\nthat would hardly have been predicted when the world was crying over\nLittle Nell, or agreeing to hate Becky Sharp.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  What was that you were telling about Charles Lamb,\nthe other day, Mandeville?  Is not the popular liking for him\nsomewhat independent of his writings?\n\nMANDEVILLE.  He is a striking example of an author who is loved.\nVery likely the remembrance of his tribulations has still something\nto do with the tenderness felt for him.  He supported no dignity and\npermitted a familiarity which indicated no self-appreciation of his\nreal rank in the world of letters.  I have heard that his\nacquaintances familiarly called him \"Charley.\"\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  It's a relief to know that!  Do you happen to know\nwhat Socrates was called?\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I have seen people who knew Lamb very well.  One of them\ntold me, as illustrating his want of dignity, that as he was going\nhome late one night through the nearly empty streets, he was met by a\nroystering party who were making a night of it from tavern to tavern.\nThey fell upon Lamb, attracted by his odd figure and hesitating\nmanner, and, hoisting him on their shoulders, carried him off,\nsinging as they went.  Lamb enjoyed the lark, and did not tell them\nwho he was.  When they were tired of lugging him, they lifted him,\nwith much effort and difficulty, to the top of a high wall, and left\nhim there amid the broken bottles, utterly unable to get down.  Lamb\nremained there philosophically in the enjoyment of his novel\nadventure, until a passing watchman rescued him from his ridiculous\nsituation.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  How did the story get out?\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Oh, Lamb told all about it next morning; and when asked\nafterwards why he did so, he replied that there was no fun in it\nunless he told it.\n\n\n\n\nSIXTH STUDY\n\n\nI\n\nThe King sat in the winter-house in the ninth month, and there was a\nfire on the hearth burning before him .  .  .  .  When Jehudi had\nread three or four leaves he cut it with the penknife.\n\nThat seems to be a pleasant and home-like picture from a not very\nremote period,--less than twenty-five hundred years ago, and many\ncenturies after the fall of Troy.  And that was not so very long ago,\nfor Thebes, in the splendid streets of which Homer wandered and sang\nto the kings when Memphis, whose ruins are older than history, was\nits younger rival, was twelve centuries old when Paris ran away with\nHelen.\n\nI am sorry that the original--and you can usually do anything with\nthe \"original\"--does not bear me out in saying that it was a pleasant\npicture.  I should like to believe that Jehoiakiin--for that was the\nsingular name of the gentleman who sat by his hearthstone--had just\nreceived the Memphis \"Palimpsest,\" fifteen days in advance of the\ndate of its publication, and that his secretary was reading to him\nthat monthly, and cutting its leaves as he read.  I should like to\nhave seen it in that year when Thales was learning astronomy in\nMemphis, and Necho was organizing his campaign against Carchemish.\nIf Jehoiakim took the \"Attic Quarterly,\" he might have read its\ncomments on the banishment of the Alcmaeonida:, and its gibes at\nSolon for his prohibitory laws, forbidding the sale of unguents,\nlimiting the luxury of dress, and interfering with the sacred rights\nof mourners to passionately bewail the dead in the Asiatic manner;\nthe same number being enriched with contributions from two rising\npoets,--a lyric of love by Sappho, and an ode sent by Anacreon from\nTeos, with an editorial note explaining that the Maces was not\nresponsible for the sentiments of the poem.\n\nBut, in fact, the gentleman who sat before the backlog in his\nwinter-house had other things to think of.  For Nebuchadnezzar was\ncoming that way with the chariots and horses of Babylon and a great\ncrowd of marauders; and the king had not even the poor choice whether\nhe would be the vassal of the Chaldean or of the Egyptian.  To us,\nthis is only a ghostly show of monarchs and conquerors stalking\nacross vast historic spaces.  It was no doubt a vulgar enough scene\nof war and plunder.  The great captains of that age went about to\nharry each other's territories and spoil each other's cities very\nmuch as we do nowadays, and for similar reasons;--Napoleon the Great\nin Moscow, Napoleon the Small in Italy, Kaiser William in Paris,\nGreat Scott in Mexico!  Men have not changed much.\n\n--The Fire-Tender sat in his winter-garden in the third month; there\nwas a fire on the hearth burning before him.  He cut the leaves of\n\"Scribner's Monthly\" with his penknife, and thought of Jehoiakim.\n\nThat seems as real as the other.  In the garden, which is a room of\nthe house, the tall callas, rooted in the ground, stand about the\nfountain; the sun, streaming through the glass, illumines the\nmany-hued flowers.  I wonder what Jehoiakim did with the mealy-bug on\nhis passion-vine, and if he had any way of removing the scale-bug\nfrom his African acacia?  One would like to know, too, how he treated\nthe red spider on the Le Marque rose.  The record is silent.  I do\nnot doubt he had all these insects in his winter-garden, and the\naphidae besides; and he could not smoke them out with tobacco, for\nthe world had not yet fallen into its second stage of the knowledge\nof good and evil by eating the forbidden tobacco-plant.\n\nI confess that this little picture of a fire on the hearth so many\ncenturies ago helps to make real and interesting to me that somewhat\nmisty past.  No doubt the lotus and the acanthus from the Nile grew\nin that winter-house, and perhaps Jehoiakim attempted--the most\ndifficult thing in the world the cultivation of the wild flowers from\nLebanon.  Perhaps Jehoiakim was interested also, as I am through this\nancient fireplace,--which is a sort of domestic window into the\nancient world,--in the loves of Bernice and Abaces at the court of\nthe Pharaohs.  I see that it is the same thing as the sentiment--\nperhaps it is the shrinking which every soul that is a soul has,\nsooner or later, from isolation--which grew up between Herbert and\nthe Young Lady Staying With Us.  Jeremiah used to come in to that\nfireside very much as the Parson does to ours.  The Parson, to be\nsure, never prophesies, but he grumbles, and is the chorus in the\nplay that sings the everlasting ai ai of \"I told you so!\"  Yet we\nlike the Parson.  He is the sprig of bitter herb that makes the\npottage wholesome.  I should rather, ten times over, dispense with\nthe flatterers and the smooth-sayers than the grumblers.  But the\ngrumblers are of two sorts,--the healthful-toned and the whiners.\nThere are makers of beer who substitute for the clean bitter of the\nhops some deleterious drug, and then seek to hide the fraud by some\ncloying sweet.  There is nothing of this sickish drug in the Parson's\ntalk, nor was there in that of Jeremiah, I sometimes think there is\nscarcely enough of this wholesome tonic in modern society.  The\nParson says he never would give a child sugar-coated pills.\nMandeville says he never would give them any.  After all, you cannot\nhelp liking Mandeville.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nWe were talking of this late news from Jerusalem.  The Fire-Tender\nwas saying that it is astonishing how much is telegraphed us from the\nEast that is not half so interesting.  He was at a loss\nphilosophically to account for the fact that the world is so eager to\nknow the news of yesterday which is unimportant, and so indifferent\nto that of the day before which is of some moment.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I suspect that it arises from the want of imagination.\nPeople need to touch the facts, and nearness in time is contiguity.\nIt would excite no interest to bulletin the last siege of Jerusalem\nin a village where the event was unknown, if the date was appended;\nand yet the account of it is incomparably more exciting than that of\nthe siege of Metz.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  The daily news is a necessity.  I cannot get along\nwithout my morning paper.  The other morning I took it up, and was\nabsorbed in the telegraphic columns for an hour nearly.  I thoroughly\nenjoyed the feeling of immediate contact with all the world of\nyesterday, until I read among the minor items that Patrick Donahue,\nof the city of New York, died of a sunstroke.  If he had frozen to\ndeath, I should have enjoyed that; but to die of sunstroke in\nFebruary seemed inappropriate, and I turned to the date of the paper.\nWhen I found it was printed in July, I need not say that I lost all\ninterest in it, though why the trivialities and crimes and accidents,\nrelating to people I never knew, were not as good six months after\ndate as twelve hours, I cannot say.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  You know that in Concord the latest news, except a\nremark or two by Thoreau or Emerson, is the Vedas.  I believe the\nRig-Veda is read at the breakfast-table instead of the Boston\njournals.\n\nTHE PARSON.  I know it is read afterward instead of the Bible.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  That is only because it is supposed to be older.  I have\nunderstood that the Bible is very well spoken of there, but it is not\nantiquated enough to be an authority.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  There was a project on foot to put it into the\ncirculating library, but the title New in the second part was\nconsidered objectionable.\n\nHERBERT.  Well, I have a good deal of sympathy with Concord as to the\nnews.  We are fed on a daily diet of trivial events and gossip, of\nthe unfruitful sayings of thoughtless men and women, until our mental\ndigestion is seriously impaired; the day will come when no one will\nbe able to sit down to a thoughtful, well-wrought book and assimilate\nits contents.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  I doubt if a daily newspaper is a necessity, in the\nhigher sense of the word.\n\nTHE PARSON.  Nobody supposes it is to women,--that is, if they can\nsee each other.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Don't interrupt, unless you have something to say;\nthough I should like to know how much gossip there is afloat that the\nminister does not know.  The newspaper may be needed in society, but\nhow quickly it drops out of mind when one goes beyond the bounds of\nwhat is called civilization.  You remember when we were in the depths\nof the woods last summer how difficult it was to get up any interest\nin the files of late papers that reached us, and how unreal all the\nstruggle and turmoil of the world seemed.  We stood apart, and could\nestimate things at their true value.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  Yes, that was real life.  I never tired of the\nguide's stories; there was some interest in the intelligence that a\ndeer had been down to eat the lily-pads at the foot of the lake the\nnight before; that a bear's track was seen on the trail we crossed\nthat day; even Mandeville's fish-stories had a certain air of\nprobability; and how to roast a trout in the ashes and serve him hot\nand juicy and clean, and how to cook soup and prepare coffee and heat\ndish-water in one tin-pail, were vital problems.\n\nTHE PARSON.  You would have had no such problems at home.  Why will\npeople go so far to put themselves to such inconvenience?  I hate the\nwoods.  Isolation breeds conceit; there are no people so conceited as\nthose who dwell in remote wildernesses and live mostly alone.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  For my part, I feel humble in the presence of\nmountains, and in the vast stretches of the wilderness.\n\nTHE PARSON.  I'll be bound a woman would feel just as nobody would\nexpect her to feel, under given circumstances.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I think the reason why the newspaper and the world it\ncarries take no hold of us in the wilderness is that we become a kind\nof vegetable ourselves when we go there.  I have often attempted to\nimprove my mind in the woods with good solid books.  You might as\nwell offer a bunch of celery to an oyster.  The mind goes to sleep:\nthe senses and the instincts wake up.  The best I can do when it\nrains, or the trout won't bite, is to read Dumas's novels.  Their\ningenuity will almost keep a man awake after supper, by the\ncamp-fire.  And there is a kind of unity about them that I like; the\nhistory is as good as the morality.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  I always wondered where Mandeville got his historical\nfacts.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Mandeville misrepresents himself in the woods.  I\nheard him one night repeat \"The Vision of Sir Launfal\"--(THE\nFIRE-TENDER.  Which comes very near being our best poem.)--as we were\ncrossing the lake, and the guides became so absorbed in it that they\nforgot to paddle, and sat listening with open mouths, as if it had\nbeen a panther story.\n\nTHE PARSON.  Mandeville likes to show off well enough.  I heard that\nhe related to a woods' boy up there the whole of the Siege of Troy.\nThe boy was very much interested, and said \"there'd been a man up\nthere that spring from Troy, looking up timber.\"  Mandeville always\ncarries the news when he goes into the country.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I'm going to take the Parson's sermon on Jonah next\nsummer; it's the nearest to anything like news we've had from his\npulpit in ten years.  But, seriously, the boy was very well informed.\nHe'd heard of Albany; his father took in the \"Weekly Tribune,\" and he\nhad a partial conception of Horace Greeley.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  I never went so far out of the world in America yet\nthat the name of Horace Greeley did n't rise up before me.  One of\nthe first questions asked by any camp-fire is, \"Did ye ever see\nHorace?\"\n\nHERBERT.  Which shows the power of the press again.  But I have often\nremarked how little real conception of the moving world, as it is,\npeople in remote regions get from the newspaper.  It needs to be read\nin the midst of events.  A chip cast ashore in a refluent eddy tells\nno tale of the force and swiftness of the current.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  I don't exactly get the drift of that last remark;\nbut I rather like a remark that I can't understand; like the\nlandlady's indigestible bread, it stays by you.\n\nHERBERT.  I see that I must talk in words of one syllable.  The\nnewspaper has little effect upon the remote country mind, because the\nremote country mind is interested in a very limited number of things.\nBesides, as the Parson says, it is conceited.  The most accomplished\nscholar will be the butt of all the guides in the woods, because he\ncannot follow a trail that would puzzle a sable (saple the trappers\ncall it).\n\nTHE PARSON.  It's enough to read the summer letters that people write\nto the newspapers from the country and the woods.  Isolated from the\nactivity of the world, they come to think that the little adventures\nof their stupid days and nights are important.  Talk about that being\nreal life!  Compare the letters such people write with the other\ncontents of the newspaper, and you will see which life is real.\nThat's one reason I hate to have summer come, the country letters set\nin.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  I should like to see something the Parson does n't\nhate to have come.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Except his quarter's salary; and the meeting of the\nAmerican Board.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  I don't see that we are getting any nearer the\nsolution of the original question.  The world is evidently interested\nin events simply because they are recent.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  I have a theory that a newspaper might be published\nat little cost, merely by reprinting the numbers of years before,\nonly altering the dates; just as the Parson preaches over his\nsermons.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  It's evident we must have a higher order of\nnews-gatherers.  It has come to this, that the newspaper furnishes\nthought-material for all the world, actually prescribes from day to\nday the themes the world shall think on and talk about.  The\noccupation of news-gathering becomes, therefore, the most important.\nWhen you think of it, it is astonishing that this department should\nnot be in the hands of the ablest men, accomplished scholars,\nphilosophical observers, discriminating selectors of the news of the\nworld that is worth thinking over and talking about.  The editorial\ncomments frequently are able enough, but is it worth while keeping an\nexpensive mill going to grind chaff?  I sometimes wonder, as I open\nmy morning paper, if nothing did happen in the twenty-four hours\nexcept crimes, accidents, defalcations, deaths of unknown loafers,\nrobberies, monstrous births,--say about the level of police-court\nnews.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  I have even noticed that murders have deteriorated;\nthey are not so high-toned and mysterious as they used to be.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  It is true that the newspapers have improved vastly\nwithin the last decade.\n\nHERBERT.  I think, for one, that they are very much above the level\nof the ordinary gossip of the country.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  But I am tired of having the under-world still\noccupy so much room in the newspapers.  The reporters are rather more\nalert for a dog-fight than a philological convention.  It must be\nthat the good deeds of the world outnumber the bad in any given day;\nand what a good reflex action it would have on society if they could\nbe more fully reported than the bad!  I suppose the Parson would call\nthis the Enthusiasm of Humanity.\n\nTHE PARSON.  You'll see how far you can lift yourself up by your\nboot-straps.\n\nHERBERT.  I wonder what influence on the quality (I say nothing of\nquantity) of news the coming of women into the reporter's and\neditor's work will have.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  There are the baby-shows; they make cheerful reading.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  All of them got up by speculating men, who impose upon\nthe vanity of weak women.\n\nHERBERT.  I think women reporters are more given to personal details\nand gossip than the men.  When I read the Washington correspondence I\nam proud of my country, to see how many Apollo Belvederes, Adonises,\nhow much marble brow and piercing eye and hyacinthine locks, we have\nin the two houses of Congress.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  That's simply because women understand the personal\nweakness of men; they have a long score of personal flattery to pay\noff too.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I think women will bring in elements of brightness,\npicturesqueness, and purity very much needed.  Women have a power of\ninvesting simple ordinary things with a charm; men are bungling\nnarrators compared with them.\n\nTHE PARSON.  The mistake they make is in trying to write, and\nespecially to \"stump-speak,\" like men; next to an effeminate man\nthere is nothing so disagreeable as a mannish woman.\n\nHERBERT.  I heard one once address a legislative committee.  The\nknowing air, the familiar, jocular, smart manner, the nodding and\nwinking innuendoes, supposed to be those of a man \"up to snuff,\" and\nau fait in political wiles, were inexpressibly comical.  And yet the\nexhibition was pathetic, for it had the suggestive vulgarity of a\nwoman in man's clothes.  The imitation is always a dreary failure.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Such women are the rare exceptions.  I am ready to\ndefend my sex; but I won't attempt to defend both sexes in one.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  I have great hope that women will bring into the\nnewspaper an elevating influence; the common and sweet life of\nsociety is much better fitted to entertain and instruct us than the\nexceptional and extravagant.  I confess (saving the Mistress's\npresence) that the evening talk over the dessert at dinner is much\nmore entertaining and piquant than the morning paper, and often as\nimportant.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  I think the subject had better be changed.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  The person, not the subject.  There is no entertainment\nso full of quiet pleasure as the hearing a lady of cultivation and\nrefinement relate her day's experience in her daily rounds of calls,\ncharitable visits, shopping, errands of relief and condolence.  The\nevening budget is better than the finance minister's.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  That's even so.  My wife will pick up more news in\nsix hours than I can get in a week, and I'm fond of news.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I don't mean gossip, by any means, or scandal.  A woman\nof culture skims over that like a bird, never touching it with the\ntip of a wing.  What she brings home is the freshness and brightness\nof life.  She touches everything so daintily, she hits off a\ncharacter in a sentence, she gives the pith of a dialogue without\ntediousness, she mimics without vulgarity; her narration sparkles,\nbut it does n't sting.  The picture of her day is full of vivacity,\nand it gives new value and freshness to common things.  If we could\nonly have on the stage such actresses as we have in the drawing-room!\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  We want something more of this grace,\nsprightliness, and harmless play of the finer life of society in the\nnewspaper.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  I wonder Mandeville does n't marry, and become a\npermanent subscriber to his embodied idea of a newspaper.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  Perhaps he does not relish the idea of being unable\nto stop his subscription.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  Parson, won't you please punch that fire, and give us\nmore blaze?  we are getting into the darkness of socialism.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nHerbert returned to us in March.  The Young Lady was spending the\nwinter with us, and March, in spite of the calendar, turned out to be\na winter month.  It usually is in New England, and April too, for\nthat matter.  And I cannot say it is unfortunate for us.  There are\nso many topics to be turned over and settled at our fireside that a\nwinter of ordinary length would make little impression on the list.\nThe fireside is, after all, a sort of private court of chancery,\nwhere nothing ever does come to a final decision.  The chief effect\nof talk on any subject is to strengthen one's own opinions, and, in\nfact, one never knows exactly what he does believe until he is warmed\ninto conviction by the heat of attack and defence.  A man left to\nhimself drifts about like a boat on a calm lake; it is only when the\nwind blows that the boat goes anywhere.\n\nHerbert said he had been dipping into the recent novels written by\nwomen, here and there, with a view to noting the effect upon\nliterature of this sudden and rather overwhelming accession to it.\nThere was a good deal of talk about it evening after evening, off and\non, and I can only undertake to set down fragments of it.\n\nHERBERT.  I should say that the distinguishing feature of the\nliterature of this day is the prominence women have in its\nproduction.  They figure in most of the magazines, though very rarely\nin the scholarly and critical reviews, and in thousands of\nnewspapers; to them we are indebted for the oceans of Sunday-school\nbooks, and they write the majority of the novels, the serial stories,\nand they mainly pour out the watery flood of tales in the weekly\npapers.  Whether this is to result in more good than evil it is\nimpossible yet to say, and perhaps it would be unjust to say, until\nthis generation has worked off its froth, and women settle down to\nartistic, conscien-tious labor in literature.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  You don't mean to say that George Eliot, and Mrs.\nGaskell, and George Sand, and Mrs. Browning, before her marriage and\nsevere attack of spiritism, are less true to art than contemporary\nmen novelists and poets.\n\nHERBERT.  You name some exceptions that show the bright side of the\npicture, not only for the present, but for the future.  Perhaps\ngenius has no sex; but ordinary talent has.  I refer to the great\nbody of novels, which you would know by internal evidence were\nwritten by women.  They are of two sorts: the domestic story,\nentirely unidealized, and as flavorless as water-gruel; and the\nspiced novel, generally immoral in tendency, in which the social\nproblems are handled, unhappy marriages, affinity and passional\nattraction, bigamy, and the violation of the seventh commandment.\nThese subjects are treated in the rawest manner, without any settled\nethics, with little discrimination of eternal right and wrong, and\nwith very little sense of responsibility for what is set forth.  Many\nof these novels are merely the blind outbursts of a nature impatient\nof restraint and the conventionalities of society, and are as chaotic\nas the untrained minds that produce them.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Don't you think these novels fairly represent a social\ncondition of unrest and upheaval?\n\nHERBERT.  Very likely; and they help to create and spread abroad the\ndiscontent they describe.  Stories of bigamy (sometimes disguised by\ndivorce), of unhappy marriages, where the injured wife, through an\nentire volume, is on the brink of falling into the arms of a sneaking\nlover, until death kindly removes the obstacle, and the two souls,\nwho were born for each other, but got separated in the cradle, melt\nand mingle into one in the last chapter, are not healthful reading\nfor maids or mothers.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Or men.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  The most disagreeable object to me in modern\nliterature is the man the women novelists have introduced as the\nleading character; the women who come in contact with him seem to be\nfascinated by his disdainful mien, his giant strength, and his brutal\nmanner.  He is broad across the shoulders, heavily moulded, yet as\nlithe as a cat; has an ugly scar across his right cheek; has been in\nthe four quarters of the globe; knows seventeen languages; had a\nharem in Turkey and a Fayaway in the Marquesas; can be as polished as\nBayard in the drawing-room, but is as gloomy as Conrad in the\nlibrary; has a terrible eye and a withering glance, but can be\ninstantly subdued by a woman's hand, if it is not his wife's; and\nthrough all his morose and vicious career has carried a heart as pure\nas a violet.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Don't you think the Count of Monte Cristo is the elder\nbrother of Rochester?\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  One is a mere hero of romance; the other is meant\nfor a real man.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I don't see that the men novel-writers are better than\nthe women.\n\nHERBERT.  That's not the question; but what are women who write so\nlarge a proportion of the current stories bringing into literature?\nAside from the question of morals, and the absolutely demoralizing\nmanner of treating social questions, most of their stories are vapid\nand weak beyond expression, and are slovenly in composition, showing\nneither study, training, nor mental discipline.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Considering that women have been shut out from the\ntraining of the universities, and have few opportunities for the wide\nobservation that men enjoy, isn't it pretty well that the foremost\nliving writers of fiction are women?\n\nHERBERT.  You can say that for the moment, since Thackeray and\nDickens have just died.  But it does not affect the general estimate.\nWe are inundated with a flood of weak writing.  Take the Sunday-\nschool literature, largely the product of women; it has n't as much\ncharacter as a dried apple pie.  I don't know what we are coming to\nif the presses keep on running.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  We are living, we are dwelling, in a grand and awful\ntime; I'm glad I don't write novels.\n\nTHE PARSON.  So am I.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  I tried a Sunday-school book once; but I made the\ngood boy end in the poorhouse, and the bad boy go to Congress; and\nthe publisher said it wouldn't do, the public wouldn't stand that\nsort of thing.  Nobody but the good go to Congress.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Herbert, what do you think women are good for?\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  That's a poser.\n\nHERBERT.  Well, I think they are in a tentative state as to\nliterature, and we cannot yet tell what they will do.  Some of our\nmost brilliant books of travel, correspondence, and writing on topics\nin which their sympathies have warmly interested them, are by women.\nSome of them are also strong writers in the daily journals.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I 'm not sure there's anything a woman cannot do as well\nas a man, if she sets her heart on it.\n\nTHE PARSON.  That's because she's no conscience.\n\nCHORUS.  O Parson!\n\nTHE PARSON.  Well, it does n't trouble her, if she wants to do\nanything.  She looks at the end, not the means.  A woman, set on\nanything, will walk right through the moral crockery without wincing.\nShe'd be a great deal more unscrupulous in politics than the average\nman.  Did you ever see a female lobbyist?  Or a criminal?  It is Lady\nMacbeth who does not falter.  Don't raise your hands at me!  The\nsweetest angel or the coolest devil is a woman.  I see in some of the\nmodern novels we have been talking of the same unscrupulous daring, a\nblindness to moral distinctions, a constant exaltation of a passion\ninto a virtue, an entire disregard of the immutable laws on which the\nfamily and society rest.  And you ask lawyers and trustees how\nscrupulous women are in business transactions!\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Women are often ignorant of affairs, and, besides,\nthey may have a notion often that a woman ought to be privileged more\nthan a man in business matters; but I tell you, as a rule, that if\nmen would consult their wives, they would go a deal straighter in\nbusiness operations than they do go.\n\nTHE PARSON.  We are all poor sinners.  But I've another indictment\nagainst the women writers.  We get no good old-fashioned love-stories\nfrom them.  It's either a quarrel of discordant natures one a\npanther, and the other a polar bear--for courtship, until one of them\nis crippled by a railway accident; or a long wrangle of married life\nbetween two unpleasant people, who can neither live comfortably\ntogether nor apart.  I suppose, by what I see, that sweet wooing,\nwith all its torturing and delightful uncertainty, still goes on in\nthe world; and I have no doubt that the majority of married people\nlive more happily than the unmarried.  But it's easier to find a dodo\nthan a new and good love-story.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I suppose the old style of plot is exhausted.\nEverything in man and outside of him has been turned over so often\nthat I should think the novelists would cease simply from want of\nmaterial.\n\nTHE PARSON.  Plots are no more exhausted than men are.  Every man is\na new creation, and combinations are simply endless.  Even if we did\nnot have new material in the daily change of society, and there were\nonly a fixed number of incidents and characters in life, invention\ncould not be exhausted on them.  I amuse myself sometimes with my\nkaleidoscope, but I can never reproduce a figure.  No, no.  I cannot\nsay that you may not exhaust everything else: we may get all the\nsecrets of a nature into a book by and by, but the novel is immortal,\nfor it deals with men.\n\nThe Parson's vehemence came very near carrying him into a sermon; and\nas nobody has the privilege of replying to his sermons, so none of\nthe circle made any reply now.\n\nOur Next Door mumbled something about his hair standing on end, to\nhear a minister defending the novel; but it did not interrupt the\ngeneral silence.  Silence is unnoticed when people sit before a fire;\nit would be intolerable if they sat and looked at each other.\n\nThe wind had risen during the evening, and Mandeville remarked, as\nthey rose to go, that it had a spring sound in it, but it was as cold\nas winter.  The Mistress said she heard a bird that morning singing\nin the sun a spring song, it was a winter bird, but it sang\n\n\n\n\nSEVENTH STUDY\n\n\nWe have been much interested in what is called the Gothic revival.\nWe have spent I don't know how many evenings in looking over\nHerbert's plans for a cottage, and have been amused with his vain\nefforts to cover with Gothic roofs the vast number of large rooms\nwhich the Young Lady draws in her sketch of a small house.\n\nI have no doubt that the Gothic, which is capable of infinite\nmodification, so that every house built in that style may be as\ndifferent from every other house as one tree is from every other, can\nbe adapted to our modern uses, and will be, when artists catch its\nspirit instead of merely copying its old forms.  But just now we are\ntaking the Gothic very literally, as we took the Greek at one time,\nor as we should probably have taken the Saracenic, if the Moors had\nnot been .  Not even the cholera is so contagious in this\ncountry as a style of architecture which we happen to catch; the\ncountry is just now broken out all over with the Mansard-roof\nepidemic.\n\nAnd in secular architecture we do not study what is adapted to our\nclimate any more than in ecclesiastic architecture we adopt that\nwhich is suited to our religion.\n\nWe are building a great many costly churches here and there, we\nProtestants, and as the most of them are ill adapted to our forms of\nworship, it may be necessary and best for us to change our religion\nin order to save our investments.  I am aware that this would be a\ngrave step, and we should not hasten to throw overboard Luther and\nthe right of private judgment without reflection.  And yet, if it is\nnecessary to revive the ecclesiastical Gothic architecture, not in\nits spirit (that we nowhere do), but in the form which served another\nage and another faith, and if, as it appears, we have already a great\ndeal of money invested in this reproduction, it may be more prudent\nto go forward than to go back.  The question is, \"Cannot one easier\nchange his creed than his pew?\"\n\nI occupy a seat in church which is an admirable one for reflection,\nbut I cannot see or hear much that is going on in what we like to\ncall the apse.  There is a splendid stone pillar, a clustered column,\nright in front of me, and I am as much protected from the minister as\nOld Put's troops were from the British, behind the stone wall at\nBunker's Hill.  I can hear his voice occasionally wandering round in\nthe arches overhead, and I recognize the tone, because he is a friend\nof mine and an excellent man, but what he is saying I can very seldom\nmake out.  If there was any incense burning, I could smell it, and\nthat would be something.  I rather like the smell of incense, and it\nhas its holy associations.  But there is no smell in our church,\nexcept of bad air,--for there is no provision for ventilation in the\nsplendid and costly edifice.  The reproduction of the old Gothic is\nso complete that the builders even seem to have brought over the\nancient air from one of the churches of the Middle Ages,--you would\ndeclare it had n't been changed in two centuries.\n\nI am expected to fix my attention during the service upon one man,\nwho stands in the centre of the apse and has a sounding-board behind\nhim in order to throw his voice out of the sacred semicircular space\n(where the aitar used to stand, but now the sounding-board takes the\nplace of the altar) and scatter it over the congregation at large,\nand send it echoing up in the groined roof I always like to hear a\nminister who is unfamiliar with the house, and who has a loud voice,\ntry to fill the edifice.  The more he roars and gives himself with\nvehemence to the effort, the more the building roars in\nindistinguishable noise and hubbub.  By the time he has said (to\nsuppose a case), \"The Lord is in his holy temple,\" and has passed on\nto say, \"let all the earth keep silence,\" the building is repeating\n\"The Lord is in his holy temple\" from half a dozen different angles\nand altitudes, rolling it and growling it, and is not keeping silence\nat all.  A man who understands it waits until the house has had its\nsay, and has digested one passage, before he launches another into\nthe vast, echoing spaces.  I am expected, as I said, to fix my eye\nand mind on the minister, the central point of the service.  But the\npillar hides him.  Now if there were several ministers in the church,\ndressed in such gorgeous colors that I could see them at the distance\nfrom the apse at which my limited income compels me to sit, and\ncandles were burning, and censers were swinging, and the platform was\nfull of the sacred bustle of a gorgeous ritual worship, and a bell\nrang to tell me the holy moments, I should not mind the pillar at\nall.  I should sit there, like any other Goth, and enjoy it.  But, as\nI have said, the pastor is a friend of mine, and I like to look at\nhim on Sunday, and hear what he says, for he always says something\nworth hearing.  I am on such terms with him, indeed we all are, that\nit would be pleasant to have the service of a little more social\nnature, and more human.  When we put him away off in the apse, and\nset him up for a Goth, and then seat ourselves at a distance,\nscattered about among the pillars, the whole thing seems to me a\ntrifle unnatural.  Though I do not mean to say that the congregations\ndo not \"enjoy their religion \" in their splendid edifices which cost\nso much money and are really so beautiful.\n\nA good many people have the idea, so it seems, that Gothic\narchitecture and Christianity are essentially one and the same thing.\nJust as many regard it as an act of piety to work an altar cloth or\nto cushion a pulpit.  It may be, and it may not be.\n\nOur Gothic church is likely to prove to us a valuable religious\nexperience, bringing out many of the Christian virtues.  It may have\nhad its origin in pride, but it is all being overruled for our good.\nOf course I need n't explain that it is the thirteenth century\necclesiastic Gothic that is epidemic in this country; and I think it\nhas attacked the Congregational and the other non-ritual churches\nmore violently than any others.  We have had it here in its most\nbeautiful and dangerous forms.  I believe we are pretty much all of\nus supplied with a Gothic church now.  Such has been the enthusiasm\nin this devout direction, that I should not be surprised to see our\nrich private citizens putting up Gothic churches for their individual\namusement and sanctification.  As the day will probably come when\nevery man in Hartford will live in his own mammoth, five-story\ngranite insurance building, it may not be unreasonable to expect that\nevery man will sport his own Gothic church.  It is beginning to be\ndiscovered that the Gothic sort of church edifice is fatal to the\nCongregational style of worship that has been prevalent here in New\nEngland; but it will do nicely (as they say in Boston) for private\ndevotion.\n\nThere isn't a finer or purer church than ours any where, inside and\noutside Gothic to the last.  The elevation of the nave gives it even\nthat \"high-shouldered\" appearance which seemed more than anything\nelse to impress Mr. Hawthorne in the cathedral at Amiens.  I fancy\nthat for genuine high-shoulderness we are not exceeded by any church\nin the city.  Our chapel in the rear is as Gothic as the rest of it,-\n-a beautiful little edifice.  The committee forgot to make any more\nprovision for ventilating that than the church, and it takes a pretty\nwell-seasoned Christian to stay in it long at a time.  The Sunday-\nschool is held there, and it is thought to be best to accustom the\nchildren to bad air before they go into the church.  The poor little\ndears shouldn't have the wickedness and impurity of this world break\non them too suddenly.  If the stranger noticed any lack about our\nchurch, it would be that of a spire.  There is a place for one;\nindeed, it was begun, and then the builders seem to have stopped,\nwith the notion that it would grow itself from such a good root.  It\nis a mistake however, to suppose that we do not know that the church\nhas what the profane here call a \"stump-tail\" appearance.  But the\nprofane are as ignorant of history as they are of true Gothic.  All\nthe Old World cathedrals were the work of centuries.  That at Milan\nis scarcely finished yet; the unfinished spires of the Cologne\ncathedral are one of the best-known features of it.  I doubt if it\nwould be in the Gothic spirit to finish a church at once.  We can\ntell cavilers that we shall have a spire at the proper time, and not\na minute before.  It may depend a little upon what the Baptists do,\nwho are to build near us.  I, for one, think we had better wait and\nsee how high the Baptist spire is before we run ours up.  The church\nis everything that could be desired inside.  There is the nave, with\nits lofty and beautiful arched ceiling; there are the side aisles,\nand two elegant rows of stone pillars, stained so as to be a perfect\nimitation of stucco; there is the apse, with its stained glass and\nexquisite lines; and there is an organ-loft over the front entrance,\nwith a rose window.  Nothing was wanting, so far as we could see,\nexcept that we should adapt ourselves to the circumstances; and that\nwe have been trying to do ever since.  It may be well to relate how\nwe do it, for the benefit of other inchoate Goths.\n\nIt was found that if we put up the organ in the loft, it would hide\nthe beautiful rose window.  Besides, we wanted congregational sing-\ning, and if we hired a choir, and hung it up there under the roof,\nlike a cage of birds, we should not have congregational singing.  We\ntherefore left the organ-loft vacant, making no further use of it\nthan to satisfy our Gothic cravings.  As for choir,--several of the\nsingers of the church volunteered to sit together in the front\nside-seats, and as there was no place for an organ, they gallantly\nrallied round a melodeon,--or perhaps it is a cabinet organ,--a\ncharming instrument, and, as everybody knows, entirely in keeping\nwith the pillars, arches, and great spaces of a real Gothic edifice.\nIt is the union of simplicity with grandeur, for which we have all\nbeen looking.  I need not say to those who have ever heard a\nmelodeon, that there is nothing like it.  It is rare, even in the\nfinest churches on the Continent.  And we had congregational singing.\nAnd it went very well indeed.  One of the advantages of pure\ncongregational singing, is that you can join in the singing whether\nyou have a voice or not.  The disadvantage is, that your neighbor can\ndo the same.  It is strange what an uncommonly poor lot of voices\nthere is, even among good people.  But we enjoy it.  If you do not\nenjoy it, you can change your seat until you get among a good lot.\n\nSo far, everything went well.  But it was next discovered that it was\ndifficult to hear the minister, who had a very handsome little desk\nin the apse, somewhat distant from the bulk of the congregation;\nstill, we could most of us see him on a clear day.  The church was\nadmirably built for echoes, and the centre of the house was very\nfavorable to them.  When you sat in the centre of the house, it\nsometimes seemed as if three or four ministers were speaking.\n\nIt is usually so in cathedrals; the Right Reverend So-and-So is\nassisted by the very Reverend Such-and-Such, and the good deal\nReverend Thus-and-Thus, and so on.  But a good deal of the minister's\nvoice appeared to go up into the groined arches, and, as there was no\none up there, some of his best things were lost.  We also had a\nnotion that some of it went into the cavernous organ-loft.  It would\nhave been all right if there had been a choir there, for choirs\nusually need more preaching, and pay less heed to it, than any other\npart of the congregation.  Well, we drew a sort of screen over the\norgan-loft; but the result was not as marked as we had hoped.  We\nnext devised a sounding-board,--a sort of mammoth clamshell, painted\nwhite,--and erected it behind the minister.  It had a good effect on\nthe minister.  It kept him up straight to his work.  So long as he\nkept his head exactly in the focus, his voice went out and did not\nreturn to him; but if he moved either way, he was assailed by a Babel\nof clamoring echoes.  There was no opportunity for him to splurge\nabout from side to side of the pulpit, as some do.  And if he raised\nhis voice much, or attempted any extra flights, he was liable to be\ndrowned in a refluent sea of his own eloquence.  And he could hear\nthe congregation as well as they could hear him.  All the coughs,\nwhispers, noises, were gathered in the wooden tympanum behind him,\nand poured into his ears.\n\nBut the sounding-board was an improvement, and we advanced to bolder\nmeasures; having heard a little, we wanted to hear more.  Besides,\nthose who sat in front began to be discontented with the melodeon.\nThere are depths in music which the melodeon, even when it is called\na cabinet organ, with a <DW52> boy at the bellows, cannot sound.\nThe melodeon was not, originally, designed for the Gothic worship.\nWe determined to have an organ, and we speculated whether, by\nerecting it in the apse, we could not fill up that elegant portion of\nthe church, and compel the preacher's voice to leave it, and go out\nover the pews.  It would of course do something to efface the main\nbeauty of a Gothic church; but something must be done, and we began a\nseries of experiments to test the probable effects of putting the\norgan and choir behind the minister.  We moved the desk to the very\nfront of the platform, and erected behind it a high, square board\nscreen, like a section of tight fence round the fair-grounds.  This\ndid help matters.  The minister spoke with more ease, and we could\nhear him better.  If the screen had been intended to stay there, we\nshould have agitated the subject of painting it.  But this was only\nan experiment.\n\nOur next move was to shove the screen back and mount the volunteer\nsingers, melodeon and all, upon the platform,--some twenty of them\ncrowded together behind the minister.  The,effect was beautiful.  It\nseemed as if we had taken care to select the finest-looking people in\nthe congregation,--much to the injury of the congregation, of course,\nas seen from the platform.  There are few congregations that can\nstand this sort of culling, though ours can endure it as well as any;\nyet it devolves upon those of us who remain the responsibility of\nlooking as well as we can.\n\nThe experiment was a success, so far as appearances went, but when\nthe screen went back, the minister's voice went back with it.  We\ncould not hear him very well, though we could hear the choir as plain\nas day.  We have thought of remedying this last defect by putting the\nhigh screen in front of the singers, and close to the minister, as it\nwas before.  This would make the singers invisible,--\"though lost to\nsight, to memory dear,\"--what is sometimes called an \"angel choir,\"\nwhen the singers (and the melodeon) are concealed, with the most\nsubdued and religious effect.  It is often so in cathedrals.\n\nThis plan would have another advantage.  The singers on the platform,\nall handsome and well dressed, distract our attention from the\nminister, and what he is saying.  We cannot help looking at them,\nstudying all the faces and all the dresses.  If one of them sits up\nvery straight, he is a rebuke to us; if he \"lops\" over, we wonder why\nhe does n't sit up; if his hair is white, we wonder whether it is age\nor family peculiarity; if he yawns, we want to yawn; if he takes up a\nhymn-book, we wonder if he is uninterested in the sermon; we look at\nthe bonnets, and query if that is the latest spring style, or whether\nwe are to look for another; if he shaves close, we wonder why he\ndoesn't let his beard grow; if he has long whiskers, we wonder why he\ndoes n't trim 'em; if she sighs, we feel sorry; if she smiles, we\nwould like to know what it is about.  And, then, suppose any of the\nsingers should ever want to eat fennel, or peppermints, or Brown's\ntroches, and pass them round!  Suppose the singers, more or less of\nthem, should sneeze!\n\nSuppose one or two of them, as the handsomest people sometimes will,\nshould go to sleep!  In short, the singers there take away all our\nattention from the minister, and would do so if they were the\nhomeliest people in the world.  We must try something else.\n\nIt is needless to explain that a Gothic religious life is not an idle\none.\n\n\n\n\nEIGHTH STUDY\n\n\nI\n\nPerhaps the clothes question is exhausted, philosophically.  I cannot\nbut regret that the Poet of the Breakfast-Table, who appears to have\nan uncontrollable penchant for saying the things you would like to\nsay yourself, has alluded to the anachronism of \"Sir Coeur de Lion\nPlantagenet in the mutton-chop whiskers and the plain gray suit.\"\n\nA great many scribblers have felt the disadvantage of writing after\nMontaigne; and it is impossible to tell how much originality in\nothers Dr. Holmes has destroyed in this country.  In whist there are\nsome men you always prefer to have on your left hand, and I take it\nthat this intuitive essayist, who is so alert to seize the few\nremaining unappropriated ideas and analogies in the world, is one of\nthem.\n\nNo doubt if the Plantagenets of this day were required to dress in a\nsuit of chain-armor and wear iron pots on their heads, they would be\nas ridiculous as most tragedy actors on the stage.  The pit which\nrecognizes Snooks in his tin breastplate and helmet laughs at him,\nand Snooks himself feels like a sheep; and when the great tragedian\ncomes on, shining in mail, dragging a two-handed sword, and mouths\nthe grandiloquence which poets have put into the speech of heroes,\nthe dress-circle requires all its good-breeding and its feigned love\nof the traditionary drama not to titter.\n\nIf this sort of acting, which is supposed to have come down to us\nfrom the Elizabethan age, and which culminated in the school of the\nKeans, Kembles, and Siddonses, ever had any fidelity to life, it must\nhave been in a society as artificial as the prose of Sir Philip\nSidney.  That anybody ever believed in it is difficult to think,\nespecially when we read what privileges the fine beaux and gallants\nof the town took behind the scenes and on the stage in the golden\ndays of the drama.  When a part of the audience sat on the stage, and\ngentlemen lounged or reeled across it in the midst of a play, to\nspeak to acquaintances in the audience, the illusion could not have\nbeen very strong.\n\nNow and then a genius, like Rachel as Horatia, or Hackett as\nFalstaff, may actually seem to be the character assumed by virtue of\na transforming imagination, but I suppose the fact to be that getting\ninto a costume, absurdly antiquated and remote from all the habits\nand associations of the actor, largely accounts for the incongruity\nand ridiculousness of most of our modern acting.  Whether what is\ncalled the \"legitimate drama\" ever was legitimate we do not know, but\nthe advocates of it appear to think that the theatre was some time\ncast in a mould, once for all, and is good for all times and peoples,\nlike the propositions of Euclid.  To our eyes the legitimate drama of\nto-day is the one in which the day is reflected, both in costume and\nspeech, and which touches the affections, the passions, the humor, of\nthe present time.  The brilliant success of the few good plays that\nhave been written out of the rich life which we now live--the most\nvaried, fruitful, and dramatically suggestive--ought to rid us\nforever of the buskin-fustian, except as a pantomimic or spectacular\ncuriosity.\n\nWe have no objection to Julius Caesar or Richard III. stalking about\nin impossible clothes) and stepping four feet at a stride, if they\nwant to, but let them not claim to be more \"legitimate\" than \"Ours\"\nor \"Rip Van Winkle.\"  There will probably be some orator for years\nand years to come, at every Fourth of July, who will go on asking,\nWhere is Thebes?  but he does not care anything about it, and he does\nnot really expect an answer.  I have sometimes wished I knew the\nexact site of Thebes, so that I could rise in the audience, and stop\nthat question, at any rate.  It is legitimate, but it is tiresome.\n\nIf we went to the bottom of this subject, I think we should find that\nthe putting upon actors clothes to which they are unaccustomed makes\nthem act and talk artificially, and often in a manner intolerable.\n\nAn actor who has not the habits or instincts of a gentleman cannot be\nmade to appear like one on the stage by dress; he only caricatures\nand discredits what he tries to represent; and the unaccustomed\nclothes and situation make him much more unnatural and insufferable\nthan he would otherwise be.  Dressed appropriately for parts for\nwhich he is fitted, he will act well enough, probably.  What I mean\nis, that the clothes inappropriate to the man make the incongruity of\nhim and his part more apparent.  Vulgarity is never so conspicuous as\nin fine apparel, on or off the stage, and never so self-conscious.\nShall we have, then, no refined characters on the stage?  Yes; but\nlet them be taken by men and women of taste and refinement and let us\nhave done with this masquerading in false raiment, ancient and\nmodern, which makes nearly every stage a travesty of nature and the\nwhole theatre a painful pretension.  We do not expect the modern\ntheatre to be a place of instruction (that business is now turned\nover to the telegraphic operator, who is making a new language), but\nit may give amusement instead of torture, and do a little in\nsatirizing folly and kindling love of home and country by the way.\n\nThis is a sort of summary of what we all said, and no one in\nparticular is responsible for it; and in this it is like public\nopinion.  The Parson, however, whose only experience of the theatre\nwas the endurance of an oratorio once, was very cordial in his\ndenunciation of the stage altogether.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Yet, acting itself is delightful; nothing so entertains\nus as mimicry, the personation of character.  We enjoy it in private.\nI confess that I am always pleased with the Parson in the character\nof grumbler.  He would be an immense success on the stage.  I don't\nknow but the theatre will have to go back into the hands of the\npriests, who once controlled it.\n\nTHE PARSON.  Scoffer!\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I can imagine how enjoyable the stage might be, cleared\nof all its traditionary nonsense, stilted language, stilted behavior,\nall the rubbish of false sentiment, false dress, and the manners of\ntimes that were both artificial and immoral, and filled with living\ncharacters, who speak the thought of to-day, with the wit and culture\nthat are current to-day.  I've seen private theatricals, where all\nthe performers were persons of cultivation, that....\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  So have I.  For something particularly cheerful,\ncommend me to amateur theatricals.  I have passed some melancholy\nhours at them.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  That's because the performers acted the worn stage\nplays, and attempted to do them in the manner they had seen on the\nstage.  It is not always so.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  I suppose Mandeville would say that acting has got\ninto a mannerism which is well described as stagey, and is supposed\nto be natural to the stage; just as half the modern poets write in a\nrecognized form of literary manufacture, without the least impulse\nfrom within, and not with the purpose of saying anything, but of\nturning out a piece of literary work.  That's the reason we have so\nmuch poetry that impresses one like sets of faultless cabinet-\nfurniture made by machinery.\n\nTHE PARSON.  But you need n't talk of nature or naturalness in acting\nor in anything.  I tell you nature is poor stuff.  It can't go alone.\nAmateur acting--they get it up at church sociables nowadays--is apt\nto be as near nature as a school-boy's declamation.  Acting is the\nDevil's art.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Do you object to such innocent amusement?\n\nMANDEVILLE.  What the Parson objects to is, that he isn't amused.\n\nTHE PARSON.  What's the use of objecting?  It's the fashion of the\nday to amuse people into the kingdom of heaven.\n\nHERBERT.  The Parson has got us off the track.  My notion about the\nstage is, that it keeps along pretty evenly with the rest of the\nworld; the stage is usually quite up to the level of the audience.\nAssumed dress on the stage, since you were speaking of that, makes\npeople no more constrained and self-conscious than it does off the\nstage.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  What sarcasm is coming now?\n\nHERBERT.  Well, you may laugh, but the world has n't got used to good\nclothes yet.  The majority do not wear them with ease.  People who\nonly put on their best on rare and stated occasions step into an\nartificial feeling.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  I wonder if that's the reason the Parson finds it so\ndifficult to get hold of his congregation.\n\nHERBERT.  I don't know how else to account for the formality and\nvapidity of a set \"party,\" where all the guests are clothed in a\nmanner to which they are unaccustomed, dressed into a condition of\nvivid self-consciousness.  The same people, who know each other\nperfectly well, will enjoy themselves together without restraint in\ntheir ordinary apparel.  But nothing can be more artificial than the\nbehavior of people together who rarely \"dress up.\"  It seems\nimpossible to make the conversation as fine as the clothes, and so it\ndies in a kind of inane helplessness.  Especially is this true in the\ncountry, where people have not obtained the mastery of their clothes\nthat those who live in the city have.  It is really absurd, at this\nstage of our civilization, that we should be so affected by such an\ninsignificant accident as dress.  Perhaps Mandeville can tell us\nwhether this clothes panic prevails in the older societies.\n\nTHE PARSON.  Don't.  We've heard it; about its being one of the\nEnglishman's thirty-nine articles that he never shall sit down to\ndinner without a dress-coat, and all that.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  I wish, for my part, that everybody who has time to\neat a dinner would dress for that, the principal event of the day,\nand do respectful and leisurely justice to it.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  It has always seemed singular to me that men who\nwork so hard to build elegant houses, and have good dinners, should\ntake so little leisure to enjoy either.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  If the Parson will permit me, I should say that the\nchief clothes question abroad just now is, how to get any; and it is\nthe same with the dinners.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nIt is quite unnecessary to say that the talk about clothes ran into\nthe question of dress-reform, and ran out, of course.  You cannot\nconverse on anything nowadays that you do not run into some reform.\nThe Parson says that everybody is intent on reforming everything but\nhimself.  We are all trying to associate ourselves to make everybody\nelse behave as we do.  Said--\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  Dress reform!  As if people couldn't change their\nclothes without concert of action.  Resolved, that nobody should put\non a clean collar oftener than his neighbor does.  I'm sick of every\nsort of reform.  I should like to retrograde awhile.  Let a dyspeptic\nascertain that he can eat porridge three times a day and live, and\nstraightway he insists that everybody ought to eat porridge and\nnothing else.  I mean to get up a society every member of which shall\nbe pledged to do just as he pleases.\n\nTHE PARSON.  That would be the most radical reform of the day.  That\nwould be independence.  If people dressed according to their means,\nacted according to their convictions, and avowed their opinions, it\nwould revolutionize society.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  I should like to walk into your church some Sunday\nand see the changes under such conditions.\n\nTHE PARSON.  It might give you a novel sensation to walk in at any\ntime.  And I'm not sure but the church would suit your retrograde\nideas.  It's so Gothic that a Christian of the Middle Ages, if he\nwere alive, couldn't see or hear in it.\n\nHERBERT.  I don't know whether these reformers who carry the world on\ntheir shoulders in such serious fashion, especially the little fussy\nfellows, who are themselves the standard of the regeneration they\nseek, are more ludicrous than pathetic.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  Pathetic, by all means.  But I don't know that they\nwould be pathetic if they were not ludicrous.  There are those reform\nsingers who have been piping away so sweetly now for thirty years,\nwith never any diminution of cheerful, patient enthusiasm; their hair\ngrowing longer and longer, their eyes brighter and brighter, and\ntheir faces, I do believe, sweeter and sweeter; singing always with\nthe same constancy for the slave, for the drunkard, for the\nsnufftaker, for the suffragist,--\"There'sa-good-time-com-ing-boys\n(nothing offensive is intended by \"boys,\" it is put in for euphony,\nand sung pianissimo, not to offend the suffragists), it's-\nalmost-here.\"  And what a brightening up of their faces there is when\nthey say, \"it's-al-most-here,\" not doubting for a moment that \"it's\"\ncoming tomorrow; and the accompanying melodeon also wails its wheezy\nsuggestion that \"it's-al-most-here,\" that \"good-time\" (delayed so\nlong, waiting perhaps for the invention of the melodeon) when we\nshall all sing and all play that cheerful instrument, and all vote,\nand none shall smoke, or drink, or eat meat, \"boys.\"  I declare it\nalmost makes me cry to hear them, so touching is their faith in the\nmidst of a jeer-ing world.\n\nHERBERT.  I suspect that no one can be a genuine reformer and not be\nridiculous.  I mean those who give themselves up to the unction of\nthe reform.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Does n't that depend upon whether the reform is large\nor petty?\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  I should say rather that the reforms attracted to\nthem all the ridiculous people, who almost always manage to become\nthe most conspicuous.  I suppose that nobody dare write out all that\nwas ludicrous in the great abolition movement.  But it was not at all\ncomical to those most zealous in it; they never could see--more's the\npity, for thereby they lose much--the humorous side of their per-\nformances, and that is why the pathos overcomes one's sense of the\nabsurdity of such people.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  It is lucky for the world that so many are willing\nto be absurd.\n\nHERBERT.  Well, I think that, in the main, the reformers manage to\nlook out for themselves tolerably well.  I knew once a lean and\nfaithful agent of a great philanthropic scheme, who contrived to\ncollect every year for the cause just enough to support him at a good\nhotel comfortably.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  That's identifying one's self with the cause.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  You remember the great free-soil convention at Buffalo,\nin 1848, when Van Buren was nominated.  All the world of hope and\ndiscontent went there, with its projects of reform.  There seemed to\nbe no doubt, among hundreds that attended it, that if they could get\na resolution passed that bread should be buttered on both sides, it\nwould be so buttered.  The platform provided for every want and every\nwoe.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  I remember.  If you could get the millennium by\npolitical action, we should have had it then.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  We went there on the Erie Canal, the exciting and\nfashionable mode of travel in those days.  I was a boy when we began\nthe voyage.  The boat was full of conventionists; all the talk was of\nwhat must be done there.  I got the impression that as that boat-load\nwent so would go the convention; and I was not alone in that feeling.\nI can never be grateful enough for one little scrubby fanatic who was\non board, who spent most of his time in drafting resolutions and\nreading them privately to the passengers.  He was a very\nenthusiastic, nervous, and somewhat dirty little man, who wore a\nwoolen muffler about his throat, although it was summer; he had\nnearly lost his voice, and could only speak in a hoarse, disagreeable\nwhisper, and he always carried a teacup about, containing some sticky\ncompound which he stirred frequently with a spoon, and took, whenever\nhe talked, in order to improve his voice.  If he was separated from\nhis cup for ten minutes, his whisper became inaudible.  I greatly\ndelighted in him, for I never saw any one who had so much enjoyment\nof his own importance.  He was fond of telling what he would do if\nthe conven-tion rejected such and such resolutions.  He'd make it hot\nfor them.  I did n't know but he'd make them take his mixture.  The\nconvention had got to take a stand on tobacco, for one thing.  He'd\nheard Gid-dings took snuff; he'd see.  When we at length reached\nBuffalo he took his teacup and carpet-bag of resolutions and went\nashore in a great hurry.  I saw him once again in a cheap restaurant,\nwhispering a resolution to another delegate, but he did n't appear in\nthe con-vention.  I have often wondered what became of him.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  Probably he's consul somewhere.  They mostly are.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  After all, it's the easiest thing in the world to\nsit and sneer at eccentricities.  But what a dead and uninteresting\nworld it would be if we were all proper, and kept within the lines!\nAffairs would soon be reduced to mere machinery.  There are moments,\neven days, when all interests and movements appear to be settled upon\nsome universal plan of equilibrium; but just then some restless and\nabsurd person is inspired to throw the machine out of gear.  These\nindividual eccentricities seem to be the special providences in the\ngeneral human scheme.\n\nHERBERT.  They make it very hard work for the rest of us, who are\ndisposed to go along peaceably and smoothly.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  And stagnate.  I 'm not sure but the natural condition\nof this planet is war, and that when it is finally towed to its\nanchorage--if the universe has any harbor for worlds out of\ncommission--it will look like the Fighting Temeraire in Turner's\npicture.\n\nHERBERT.  There is another thing I should like to understand: the\ntendency of people who take up one reform, perhaps a personal\nregeneration in regard to some bad habit, to run into a dozen other\nisms, and get all at sea in several vague and pernicious theories and\npractices.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  Herbert seems to think there is safety in a man's being\nanchored, even if it is to a bad habit.\n\nHERBERT.  Thank you.  But what is it in human nature that is apt to\ncarry a man who may take a step in personal reform into so many\nextremes?\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  Probably it's human nature.\n\nHERBERT.  Why, for instance, should a reformed drunkard (one of the\nnoblest examples of victory over self) incline, as I have known the\nreformed to do, to spiritism, or a woman suffragist to \"pantarchism\"\n(whatever that is), and want to pull up all the roots of society, and\nexpect them to grow in the air, like orchids; or a Graham-bread\ndisciple become enamored of Communism?\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I know an excellent Conservative who would, I think,\nsuit you; he says that he does not see how a man who indulges in the\ntheory and practice of total abstinence can be a consistent believer\nin the Christian religion.\n\nHERBERT.  Well, I can understand what he means: that a person is\nbound to hold himself in conditions of moderation and control, using\nand not abusing the things of this world, practicing temperance, not\nretiring into a convent of artificial restrictions in order to escape\nthe full responsibility of self-control.  And yet his theory would\ncertainly wreck most men and women.  What does the Parson say?\n\nTHE PARSON. That the world is going crazy on the notion of individual\nability.  Whenever a man attempts to reform himself, or anybody else,\nwithout the aid of the Christian religion, he is sure to go adrift,\nand is pretty certain to be blown about by absurd theories, and\nshipwrecked on some pernicious ism.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  I think the discussion has touched bottom.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nI never felt so much the value of a house with a backlog in it as\nduring the late spring; for its lateness was its main feature.\nEverybody was grumbling about it, as if it were something ordered\nfrom the tailor, and not ready on the day.  Day after day it snowed,\nnight after night it blew a gale from the northwest; the frost sunk\ndeeper and deeper into the ground; there was a popular longing for\nspring that was almost a prayer; the weather bureau was active;\nEaster was set a week earlier than the year before, but nothing\nseemed to do any good.  The robins sat under the evergreens, and\npiped in a disconsolate mood, and at last the bluejays came and\nscolded in the midst of the snow-storm, as they always do scold in\nany weather.  The crocuses could n't be coaxed to come up, even with\na pickaxe.  I'm almost ashamed now to recall what we said of the\nweather only I think that people are no more accountable for what\nthey say of the weather than for their remarks when their corns are\nstepped on.\n\nWe agreed, however, that, but for disappointed expectations and the\nprospect of late lettuce and peas, we were gaining by the fire as\nmuch as we were losing by the frost.  And the Mistress fell to\nchanting the comforts of modern civilization.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER said he should like to know, by the way, if our\ncivilization differed essentially from any other in anything but its\ncomforts.\n\nHERBERT.  We are no nearer religious unity.\n\nTHE PARSON.  We have as much war as ever.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  There was never such a social turmoil.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  The artistic part of our nature does not appear to\nhave grown.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  We are quarreling as to whether we are in fact\nradically different from the brutes.\n\nHERBERT.  Scarcely two people think alike about the proper kind of\nhuman government.\n\nTHE PARSON.  Our poetry is made out of words, for the most part, and\nnot drawn from the living sources.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  And Mr. Cumming is uncorking his seventh phial.  I\nnever felt before what barbarians we are.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Yet you won't deny that the life of the average man is\nsafer and every way more comfortable than it was even a century ago.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  But what I want to know is, whether what we call\nour civilization has done any thing more for mankind at large than to\nincrease the ease and pleasure of living?  Science has multiplied\nwealth, and facilitated intercourse, and the result is refinement of\nmanners and a diffusion of education and information.  Are men and\nwomen essentially changed, however?  I suppose the Parson would say\nwe have lost faith, for one thing.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  And superstition; and gained toleration.\n\nHERBERT.  The question is, whether toleration is anything but\nindifference.\n\nTHE PARSON.  Everything is tolerated now but Christian orthodoxy.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  It's easy enough to make a brilliant catalogue of\nexternal achievements, but I take it that real progress ought to be\nin man himself.  It is not a question of what a man enjoys, but what\nhe can produce.  The best sculpture was executed two thousand years\nago.  The best paintings are several centuries old.  We study the\nfinest architecture in its ruins.  The standards of poetry are\nShakespeare, Homer, Isaiah, and David.  The latest of the arts,\nmusic, culminated in composition, though not in execution, a century\nago.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  Yet culture in music certainly distinguishes the\ncivilization of this age.  It has taken eighteen hundred years for\nthe principles of the Christian religion to begin to be practically\nincorporated in government and in ordinary business, and it will take\na long time for Beethoven to be popularly recognized; but there is\ngrowth toward him, and not away from him, and when the average\nculture has reached his height, some other genius will still more\nprofoundly and delicately express the highest thoughts.\n\nHERBERT.  I wish I could believe it.  The spirit of this age is\nexpressed by the Calliope.\n\nTHE PARSON.  Yes, it remained for us to add church-bells and cannon\nto the orchestra.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  It's a melancholy thought to me that we can no longer\nexpress ourselves with the bass-drum; there used to be the whole of\nthe Fourth of July in its patriotic throbs.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  We certainly have made great progress in one art,--that\nof war.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  And in the humane alleviations of the miseries of\nwar.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  The most discouraging symptom to me in our\nundoubted advance in the comforts and refinements of society is the\nfacility with which men slip back into barbarism, if the artificial\nand external accidents of their lives are changed.  We have always\nkept a fringe of barbarism on our shifting western frontier; and I\nthink there never was a worse society than that in California and\nNevada in their early days.\n\nTHE YOUNG LADY.  That is because women were absent.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  But women are not absent in London and New York,\nand they are conspicuous in the most exceptionable demonstrations of\nsocial anarchy.  Certainly they were not wanting in Paris.  Yes,\nthere was a city widely accepted as the summit of our material\ncivilization.  No city was so beautiful, so luxurious, so safe, so\nwell ordered for the comfort of living, and yet it needed only a\nmonth or two to make it a kind of pandemonium of savagery.  Its\ncitizens were the barbarians who destroyed its own monuments of\ncivilization.  I don't mean to say that there was no apology for what\nwas done there in the deceit and fraud that preceded it, but I simply\nnotice how ready the tiger was to appear, and how little restraint\nall the material civilization was to the beast.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  I can't deny your instances, and yet I somehow feel\nthat pretty much all you have been saying is in effect untrue.  Not\none of you would be willing to change our civilization for any other.\nIn your estimate you take no account, it seems to me, of the growth\nof charity.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  And you might add a recognition of the value of human\nlife.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  I don't believe there was ever before diffused\neverywhere such an element of good-will, and never before were women\nso much engaged in philanthropic work.\n\nTHE PARSON.  It must be confessed that one of the best signs of the\ntimes is woman's charity for woman.  That certainly never existed to\nthe same extent in any other civilization.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  And there is another thing that distinguishes us, or is\nbeginning to.  That is, the notion that you can do something more\nwith a criminal than punish him; and that society has not done its\nduty when it has built a sufficient number of schools for one class,\nor of decent jails for another.\n\nHERBERT.  It will be a long time before we get decent jails.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  But when we do they will begin to be places of education\nand training as much as of punishment and disgrace.  The public will\nprovide teachers in the prisons as it now does in the common schools.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  The imperfections of our methods and means of\nselecting those in the community who ought to be in prison are so\ngreat, that extra care in dealing with them becomes us.  We are\nbeginning to learn that we cannot draw arbitrary lines with infal-\nlible justice.  Perhaps half those who are convicted of crimes are as\ncapable of reformation as half those transgressors who are not\nconvicted, or who keep inside the statutory law.\n\nHERBERT.  Would you remove the odium of prison?\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  No; but I would have criminals believe, and society\nbelieve, that in going to prison a man or woman does not pass an\nabsolute line and go into a fixed state.\n\nTHE PARSON.  That is, you would not have judgment and retribution\nbegin in this world.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  Don't switch us off into theology.  I hate to go up\nin a balloon, or see any one else go.\n\nHERBERT.  Don't you think there is too much leniency toward crime and\ncriminals, taking the place of justice, in these days?\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  There may be too much disposition to condone the\ncrimes of those who have been considered respectable.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  That is, scarcely anybody wants to see his friend\nhung.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  I think a large part of the bitterness of the condemned\narises from a sense of the inequality with which justice is\nadministered.  I am surprised, in visiting jails, to find so few\nrespectable-looking convicts.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  Nobody will go to jail nowadays who thinks anything\nof himself.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER.  When society seriously takes hold of the\nreformation of criminals (say with as much determination as it does\nto carry an election) this false leniency will disappear; for it\npartly springs from a feeling that punishment is unequal, and does\nnot discriminate enough in individuals, and that society itself has\nno right to turn a man over to the Devil, simply because he shows a\nstrong leaning that way.  A part of the scheme of those who work for\nthe reformation of criminals is to render punishment more certain,\nand to let its extent depend upon reformation.  There is no reason\nwhy a professional criminal, who won't change his trade for an honest\none, should have intervals of freedom in his prison life in which he\nis let loose to prey upon society.  Criminals ought to be discharged,\nlike insane patients, when they are cured.\n\nOUR NEXT DOOR.  It's a wonder to me, what with our multitudes of\nstatutes and hosts of detectives, that we are any of us out of jail.\nI never come away from a visit to a State-prison without a new spasm\nof fear and virtue.  The faculties for getting into jail seem to be\nample.  We want more organizations for keeping people out.\n\nMANDEVILLE.  That is the sort of enterprise the women are engaged in,\nthe frustration of the criminal tendencies of those born in vice.  I\nbelieve women have it in their power to regenerate the world morally.\n\nTHE PARSON.  It's time they began to undo the mischief of their\nmother.\n\nTHE MISTRESS.  The reason they have not made more progress is that\nthey have usually confined their individual efforts to one man; they\nare now organizing for a general campaign.\n\nTHE FIRE-TENDER. I'm not sure but here is where the ameliorations of\nthe conditions of life, which are called the comforts of this\ncivilization, come in, after all, and distinguish the age above all\nothers.  They have enabled the finer powers of women to have play as\nthey could not in a ruder age.  I should like to live a hundred years\nand see what they will do.\n\nHERBERT.  Not much but change the fashions, unless they submit them-\nselves to the same training and discipline that men do.\n\nI have no doubt that Herbert had to apologize for this remark\nafterwards in private, as men are quite willing to do in particular\ncases; it is only in general they are unjust.  The talk drifted off\ninto general and particular depreciation of other times.  Mandeville\ndescribed a picture, in which he appeared to have confidence, of a\nfight between an Iguanodon and a Megalosaurus, where these huge\niron-clad brutes were represented chewing up different portions of\neach other's bodies in a forest of the lower cretaceous period.  So\nfar as he could learn, that sort of thing went on unchecked for\nhundreds of thousands of years, and was typical of the intercourse of\nthe races of man till a comparatively recent period.  There was also\nthat gigantic swan, the Plesiosaurus; in fact, all the early brutes\nwere disgusting.  He delighted to think that even the lower animals\nhad improved, both in appearance and disposition.\n\nThe conversation ended, therefore, in a very amicable manner, having\nbeen taken to a ground that nobody knew anything about.\n\n\n\n\nNINTH STUDY\n\n\nI\n\nCan you have a backlog in July?  That depends upon circumstances.\n\nIn northern New England it is considered a sign of summer when the\nhousewives fill the fireplaces with branches of mountain laurel, and,\nlater, with the feathery stalks of the asparagus.  This is often,\ntoo, the timid expression of a tender feeling, under Puritanic\nrepression, which has not sufficient vent in the sweet-william and\nhollyhock at the front door.  This is a yearning after beauty and\nornamentation which has no other means of gratifying itself\n\nIn the most rigid circumstances, the graceful nature of woman thus\ndiscloses itself in these mute expressions of an undeveloped taste.\nYou may never doubt what the common flowers growing along the pathway\nto the front door mean to the maiden of many summers who tends them;\n--love and religion, and the weariness of an uneventful life.  The\nsacredness of the Sabbath, the hidden memory of an unrevealed and\nunrequited affection, the slow years of gathering and wasting\nsweetness, are in the smell of the pink and the sweet-clover.  These\nsentimental plants breathe something of the longing of the maiden who\nsits in the Sunday evenings of summer on the lonesome front\ndoorstone, singing the hymns of the saints, and perennial as the\nmyrtle that grows thereby.\n\nYet not always in summer, even with the aid of unrequited love and\ndevotional feeling, is it safe to let the fire go out on the hearth,\nin our latitude.  I remember when the last almost total eclipse of\nthe sun happened in August, what a bone-piercing chill came over the\nworld.  Perhaps the imagination had something to do with causing the\nchill from that temporary hiding of the sun to feel so much more\npenetrating than that from the coming on of night, which shortly\nfollowed.  It was impossible not to experience a shudder as of the\napproach of the Judgment Day, when the shadows were flung upon the\ngreen lawn, and we all stood in the wan light, looking unfamiliar to\neach other.  The birds in the trees felt the spell.  We could in\nfancy see those spectral camp-fires which men would build on the\nearth, if the sun should slow its fires down to about the brilliancy\nof the moon.  It was a great relief to all of us to go into the\nhouse, and, before a blazing wood-fire, talk of the end of the world.\n\nIn New England it is scarcely ever safe to let the fire go out; it is\nbest to bank it, for it needs but the turn of a weather-vane at any\nhour to sweep the\n\nAtlantic rains over us, or to bring down the chill of Hudson's Bay.\nThere are days when the steam ship on the Atlantic glides calmly\nalong under a full canvas, but its central fires must always be ready\nto make steam against head-winds and antagonistic waves.  Even in our\nmost smiling summer days one needs to have the materials of a\ncheerful fire at hand.  It is only by this readiness for a change\nthat one can preserve an equal mind.  We are made provident and\nsagacious by the fickleness of our climate.  We should be another\nsort of people if we could have that serene, unclouded trust in\nnature which the Egyptian has.  The gravity and repose of the Eastern\npeoples is due to the unchanging aspect of the sky, and the\ndeliberation and reg-ularity of the great climatic processes.  Our\nliterature, politics, religion, show the effect of unsettled weather.\nBut they compare favorably with the Egyptian, for all that.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nYou cannot know, the Young Lady wrote, with what longing I look back\nto those winter days by the fire; though all the windows are open to\nthis May morning, and the brown thrush is singing in the chestnut-\ntree, and I see everywhere that first delicate flush of spring, which\nseems too evanescent to be color even, and amounts to little more\nthan a suffusion of the atmosphere.  I doubt, indeed, if the spring\nis exactly what it used to be, or if, as we get on in years [no one\never speaks of \"getting on in years\" till she is virtually settled in\nlife], its promises and suggestions do not seem empty in comparison\nwith the sympathies and responses of human friendship, and the\nstimulation of society.  Sometimes nothing is so tiresome as a\nperfect day in a perfect season.\n\nI only imperfectly understand this.  The Parson says that woman is\nalways most restless under the most favorable conditions, and that\nthere is no state in which she is really happy except that of change.\nI suppose this is the truth taught in what has been called the \"Myth\nof the Garden.\"  Woman is perpetual revolution, and is that element\nin the world which continually destroys and re-creates.  She is the\nexperimenter and the suggester of new combinations.  She has no\nbelief in any law of eternal fitness of things.  She is never even\ncontent with any arrangement of her own house.  The only reason the\nMistress could give, when she rearranged her apartment, for hanging a\npicture in what seemed the most inappropriate place, was that it had\nnever been there before.  Woman has no respect for tradition, and\nbecause a thing is as it is is sufficient reason for changing it.\nWhen she gets into law, as she has come into literature, we shall\ngain something in the destruction of all our vast and musty libraries\nof precedents, which now fetter our administration of individual\njustice.  It is Mandeville's opinion that women are not so\nsentimental as men, and are not so easily touched with the unspoken\npoetry of nature; being less poetical, and having less imagination,\nthey are more fitted for practical affairs, and would make less\nfailures in business.  I have noticed the almost selfish passion for\ntheir flowers which old gardeners have, and their reluctance to part\nwith a leaf or a blossom from their family.  They love the flowers\nfor themselves.  A woman raises flowers for their use.  She is\ndestruct-ion in a conservatory.  She wants the flowers for her lover,\nfor the sick, for the poor, for the Lord on Easter day, for the\nornamentation of her house.  She delights in the costly pleasure of\nsacrificing them.  She never sees a flower but she has an intense but\nprobably sinless desire to pick it.\n\nIt has been so from the first, though from the first she has been\nthwarted by the accidental superior strength of man.  Whatever she\nhas obtained has been by craft, and by the same coaxing which the sun\nuses to draw the blossoms out of the apple-trees.  I am not surprised\nto learn that she has become tired of indulgences, and wants some of\nthe original rights.  We are just beginning to find out the extent to\nwhich she has been denied and subjected, and especially her condition\namong the primitive and barbarous races.  I have never seen it in a\nplatform of grievances, but it is true that among the Fijians she is\nnot, unless a better civilization has wrought a change in her behalf,\npermitted to eat people, even her own sex, at the feasts of the men;\nthe dainty enjoyed by the men being considered too good to be wasted\non women.  Is anything wanting to this picture of the degradation of\nwoman?  By a refinement of cruelty she receives no benefit whatever\nfrom the missionaries who are sent out by--what to her must seem a\nnew name for Tantalus--the American Board.\n\nI suppose the Young Lady expressed a nearly universal feeling in her\nregret at the breaking up of the winter-fireside company.  Society\nneeds a certain seclusion and the sense of security.  Spring opens\nthe doors and the windows, and the noise and unrest of the world are\nlet in.  Even a winter thaw begets a desire to travel, and summer\nbrings longings innumerable, and disturbs the most tranquil souls.\nNature is, in fact, a suggester of uneasiness, a promoter of\npilgrimages and of excursions of the fancy which never come to any\nsatisfactory haven.  The summer in these latitudes is a campaign of\nsentiment and a season, for the most part, of restlessness and\ndiscontent.  We grow now in hot-houses roses which, in form and\ncolor, are magnificent, and appear to be full of passion; yet one\nsimple June rose of the open air has for the Young Lady, I doubt not,\nmore sentiment and suggestion of love than a conservatory full of\nthem in January.  And this suggestion, leavened as it is with the\ninconstancy of nature, stimulated by the promises which are so often\nlike the peach-blossom of the Judas-tree, unsatisfying by reason of\nits vague possibilities, differs so essentially from the more limited\nand attainable and home-like emotion born of quiet intercourse by the\nwinter fireside, that I do not wonder the Young Lady feels as if some\nspell had been broken by the transition of her life from in-doors to\nout-doors.  Her secret, if secret she has, which I do not at all\nknow, is shared by the birds and the new leaves and the blossoms on\nthe fruit trees.  If we lived elsewhere, in that zone where the poets\npretend always to dwell, we might be content, perhaps I should say\ndrugged, by the sweet influences of an unchanging summer; but not\nliving elsewhere, we can understand why the Young Lady probably now\nlooks forward to the hearthstone as the most assured center of\nenduring attachment.\n\nIf it should ever become the sad duty of this biographer to write of\ndisappointed love, I am sure he would not have any sensational story\nto tell of the Young Lady.  She is one of those women whose\nunostentatious lives are the chief blessing of humanity; who, with a\nsigh heard only by herself and no change in her sunny face, would put\nbehind her all the memories of winter evenings and the promises of\nMay mornings, and give her life to some ministration of human\nkindness with an assiduity that would make her occupation appear like\nan election and a first choice.  The disappointed man scowls, and\nhates his race, and threatens self-destruction, choosing oftener the\nflowing bowl than the dagger, and becoming a reeling nuisance in the\nworld.  It would be much more manly in him to become the secretary of\na Dorcas society.\n\nI suppose it is true that women work for others with less expectation\nof reward than men, and give themselves to labors of self-sacrifice\nwith much less thought of self.  At least, this is true unless woman\ngoes into some public performance, where notoriety has its\nattractions, and mounts some cause, to ride it man-fashion, when I\nthink she becomes just as eager for applause and just as willing that\nself-sacrifice should result in self-elevation as man.  For her,\nusually, are not those unbought--presentations which are forced upon\nfiremen, philanthropists, legislators, railroad-men, and the\nsuperintendents of the moral instruction of the young.  These are\nalmost always pleasing and unexpected tributes to worth and modesty,\nand must be received with satisfaction when the public service\nrendered has not been with a view to procuring them.  We should say\nthat one ought to be most liable to receive a \"testimonial\" who,\nbeing a superintendent of any sort, did not superintend with a view\nto getting it.  But \"testimonials\" have become so common that a\nmodest man ought really to be afraid to do his simple duty, for fear\nhis motives will be misconstrued.  Yet there are instances of very\nworthy men who have had things publicly presented to them.  It is the\nblessed age of gifts and the reward of private virtue.  And the\npresentations have become so frequent that we wish there were a\nlittle more variety in them.  There never was much sense in giving a\ngallant fellow a big speaking-trumpet to carry home to aid him in his\nintercourse with his family; and the festive ice-pitcher has become a\ntoo universal sign of absolute devotion to the public interest.  The\nlack of one will soon be proof that a man is a knave.  The\nlegislative cane with the gold head, also, is getting to be\nrecognized as the sign of the immaculate public servant, as the\ninscription on it testifies, and the steps of suspicion must ere-long\ndog him who does not carry one.  The \"testimonial\" business is, in\ntruth, a little demoralizing, almost as much so as the \"donation;\"\nand the demoralization has extended even to our language, so that a\nperfectly respectable man is often obliged to see himself \"made the\nrecipient of\" this and that.  It would be much better, if\ntestimonials must be, to give a man a barrel of flour or a keg of\noysters, and let him eat himself at once back into the ranks of\nordinary men.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nWe may have a testimonial class in time, a sort of nobility here in\nAmerica, made so by popular gift, the members of which will all be\nable to show some stick or piece of plated ware or massive chain, \"of\nwhich they have been the recipients.\"  In time it may be a\ndistinction not to belong to it, and it may come to be thought more\nblessed to give than to receive.  For it must have been remarked that\nit is not always to the cleverest and the most amiable and modest man\nthat the deputation comes with the inevitable ice-pitcher (and\n\"salver to match\"), which has in it the magic and subtle quality of\nmaking the hour in which it is received the proudest of one's life.\nThere has not been discovered any method of rewarding all the\ndeserving people and bringing their virtues into the prominence of\nnotoriety.  And, indeed, it would be an unreasonable world if there\nhad, for its chief charm and sweetness lie in the excellences in it\nwhich are reluctantly disclosed; one of the chief pleasures of living\nis in the daily discovery of good traits, nobilities, and kindliness\nboth in those we have long known and in the chance passenger whose\nway happens for a day to lie with ours.  The longer I live the more I\nam impressed with the excess of human kindness over human hatred, and\nthe greater willingness to oblige than to disoblige that one meets at\nevery turn.  The selfishness in politics, the jealousy in letters,\nthe bickering in art, the bitterness in theology, are all as nothing\ncompared to the sweet charities, sacrifices, and deferences of\nprivate life.  The people are few whom to know intimately is to\ndislike.  Of course you want to hate somebody, if you can, just to\nkeep your powers of discrimination bright, and to save yourself from\nbecoming a mere mush of good-nature; but perhaps it is well to hate\nsome historical person who has been dead so long as to be indifferent\nto it.  It is more comfortable to hate people we have never seen.  I\ncannot but think that Judas Iscariot has been of great service to the\nworld as a sort of buffer for moral indignation which might have made\na collision nearer home but for his utilized treachery.  I used to\nknow a venerable and most amiable gentleman and scholar, whose\nhospitable house was always overrun with wayside ministers, agents,\nand philanthropists, who loved their fellow-men better than they\nloved to work for their living; and he, I suspect, kept his moral\nbalance even by indulgence in violent but most distant dislikes.\nWhen I met him casually in the street, his first salutation was\nlikely to be such as this: \"What a liar that Alison was!  Don't you\nhate him?\"  And then would follow specifications of historical\ninveracity enough to make one's blood run cold.  When he was thus\ndischarged of his hatred by such a conductor, I presume he had not a\nspark left for those whose mission was partly to live upon him and\nother generous souls.\n\nMandeville and I were talking of the unknown people, one rainy night\nby the fire, while the Mistress was fitfully and interjectionally\nplaying with the piano-keys in an improvising mood.  Mandeville has a\ngood deal of sentiment about him, and without any effort talks so\nbeautifully sometimes that I constantly regret I cannot report his\nlanguage.  He has, besides, that sympathy of presence--I believe it\nis called magnetism by those who regard the brain as only a sort of\ngalvanic battery--which makes it a greater pleasure to see him think,\nif I may say so, than to hear some people talk.\n\nIt makes one homesick in this world to think that there are so many\nrare people he can never know; and so many excellent people that\nscarcely any one will know, in fact.  One discovers a friend by\nchance, and cannot but feel regret that twenty or thirty years of\nlife maybe have been spent without the least knowledge of him.  When\nhe is once known, through him opening is made into another little\nworld, into a circle of culture and loving hearts and enthusiasm in a\ndozen congenial pursuits, and prejudices perhaps.  How instantly and\neasily the bachelor doubles his world when he marries, and enters\ninto the unknown fellowship of the to him continually increasing\ncompany which is known in popular language as \"all his wife's\nrelations.\"\n\nNear at hand daily, no doubt, are those worth knowing intimately, if\none had the time and the opportunity.  And when one travels he sees\nwhat a vast material there is for society and friendship, of which he\ncan never avail himself.  Car-load after car-load of summer travel\ngoes by one at any railway-station, out of which he is sure he could\nchoose a score of life-long friends, if the conductor would introduce\nhim.  There are faces of refinement, of quick wit, of sympathetic\nkindness,--interesting people, traveled people, entertaining people,\n--as you would say in Boston, \"nice people you would admire to know,\"\nwhom you constantly meet and pass without a sign of recognition, many\nof whom are no doubt your long-lost brothers and sisters.  You can\nsee that they also have their worlds and their interests, and they\nprobably know a great many \"nice\" people.  The matter of personal\nliking and attachment is a good deal due to the mere fortune of\nassociation.  More fast friendships and pleasant acquaintanceships\nare formed on the Atlantic steamships between those who would have\nbeen only indifferent acquaintances elsewhere, than one would think\npossible on a voyage which naturally makes one as selfish as he is\nindifferent to his personal appearance.  The Atlantic is the only\npower on earth I know that can make a woman indifferent to her\npersonal appearance.\n\nMandeville remembers, and I think without detriment to himself, the\nglimpses he had in the White Mountains once of a young lady of whom\nhis utmost efforts could give him no further information than her\nname.  Chance sight of her on a passing stage or amid a group on some\nmountain lookout was all he ever had, and he did not even know\ncertainly whether she was the perfect beauty and the lovely character\nhe thought her.  He said he would have known her, however, at a great\ndistance; there was to her form that command of which we hear so much\nand which turns out to be nearly all command after the \"ceremony;\" or\nperhaps it was something in the glance of her eye or the turn of her\nhead, or very likely it was a sweet inherited reserve or hauteur that\ncaptivated him, that filled his days with the expectation of seeing\nher, and made him hasten to the hotel-registers in the hope that her\nname was there recorded.  Whatever it was, she interested him as one\nof the people he would like to know; and it piqued him that there was\na life, rich in friendships, no doubt, in tastes, in many\nnoblenesses, one of thousands of such, that must be absolutely\nnothing to him,--nothing but a window into heaven momentarily opened\nand then closed.  I have myself no idea that she was a countess\nincognito, or that she had descended from any greater heights than\nthose where Mandeville saw her, but I have always regretted that she\nwent her way so mysteriously and left no glow, and that we shall wear\nout the remainder of our days without her society.  I have looked for\nher name, but always in vain, among the attendants at the rights-\nconventions, in the list of those good Americans presented at court,\namong those skeleton names that appear as the remains of beauty in\nthe morning journals after a ball to the wandering prince, in the\nreports of railway collisions and steamboat explosions.  No news\ncomes of her.  And so imperfect are our means of communication in\nthis world that, for anything we know, she may have left it long ago\nby some private way.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nThe lasting regret that we cannot know more of the bright, sincere,\nand genuine people of the world is increased by the fact that they\nare all different from each other.  Was it not Madame de Sevigne who\nsaid she had loved several different women for several different\nqualities?  Every real person--for there are persons as there are\nfruits that have no distinguishing flavor, mere gooseberries--has a\ndistinct quality, and the finding it is always like the discovery of\na new island to the voyager.  The physical world we shall exhaust\nsome day, having a written description of every foot of it to which\nwe can turn; but we shall never get the different qualities of people\ninto a biographical dictionary, and the making acquaintance with a\nhuman being will never cease to be an exciting experiment.  We cannot\neven classify men so as to aid us much in our estimate of them.  The\nefforts in this direction are ingenious, but unsatisfactory.  If I\nhear that a man is lymphatic or nervous-sanguine, I cannot tell\ntherefrom whether I shall like and trust him.  He may produce a\nphrenological chart showing that his knobby head is the home of all\nthe virtues, and that the vicious tendencies are represented by holes\nin his cranium, and yet I cannot be sure that he will not be as\ndisagreeable as if phrenology had not been invented.  I feel\nsometimes that phrenology is the refuge of mediocrity.  Its charts\nare almost as misleading concerning character as photographs.  And\nphotography may be described as the art which enables commonplace\nmediocrity to look like genius.  The heavy-jowled man with shallow\ncerebrum has only to incline his head so that the lying instrument\ncan select a favorable focus, to appear in the picture with the brow\nof a sage and the chin of a poet.  Of all the arts for ministering to\nhuman vanity the photographic is the most useful, but it is a poor\naid in the revelation of character.  You shall learn more of a man's\nreal nature by seeing him walk once up the broad aisle of his church\nto his pew on Sunday, than by studying his photograph for a month.\n\nNo, we do not get any certain standard of men by a chart of their\ntemperaments; it will hardly answer to select a wife by the color of\nher hair; though it be by nature as red as a cardinal's hat, she may\nbe no more constant than if it were dyed.  The farmer who shuns all\nthe lymphatic beauties in his neighborhood, and selects to wife the\nmost nervous-sanguine, may find that she is unwilling to get up in\nthe winter mornings and make the kitchen fire.  Many a man, even in\nthis scientific age which professes to label us all, has been cruelly\ndeceived in this way.  Neither the blondes nor the brunettes act\naccording to the advertisement of their temperaments.  The truth is\nthat men refuse to come under the classifications of the pseudo-\nscientists, and all our new nomenclatures do not add much to our\nknowledge.  You know what to expect--if the comparison will be\npardoned--of a horse with certain points; but you wouldn't dare go on\na journey with a man merely upon the strength of knowing that his\ntemperament was the proper mixture of the sanguine and the\nphlegmatic.  Science is not able to teach us concerning men as it\nteaches us of horses, though I am very far from saying that there are\nnot traits of nobleness and of meanness that run through families and\ncan be calculated to appear in individuals with absolute certainty;\none family will be trusty and another tricky through all its members\nfor generations; noble strains and ignoble strains are perpetuated.\nWhen we hear that she has eloped with the stable-boy and married him,\nwe are apt to remark, \"Well, she was a Bogardus.\"  And when we read\nthat she has gone on a mission and has died, distinguishing herself\nby some extraordinary devotion to the heathen at Ujiji, we think it\nsufficient to say, \"Yes, her mother married into the Smiths.\"  But\nthis knowledge comes of our experience of special families, and\nstands us in stead no further.\n\nIf we cannot classify men scientifically and reduce them under a kind\nof botanical order, as if they had a calculable vegetable\ndevelopment, neither can we gain much knowledge of them by\ncomparison.  It does not help me at all in my estimate of their\ncharacters to compare Mandeville with the Young Lady, or Our Next\nDoor with the Parson.  The wise man does not permit himself to set up\neven in his own mind any comparison of his friends.  His friendship\nis capable of going to extremes with many people, evoked as it is by\nmany qualities.  When Mandeville goes into my garden in June I can\nusually find him in a particular bed of strawberries, but he does not\nspeak disrespectfully of the others.  When Nature, says Mandeville,\nconsents to put herself into any sort of strawberry, I have no\ncriticisms to make, I am only glad that I have been created into the\nsame world with such a delicious manifestation of the Divine favor.\nIf I left Mandeville alone in the garden long enough, I have no doubt\nhe would impartially make an end of the fruit of all the beds, for\nhis capacity in this direction is as all-embracing as it is in the\nmatter of friendships.  The Young Lady has also her favorite patch of\nberries.  And the Parson, I am sorry to say, prefers to have them\npicked for him the  elect of the garden--and served in an orthodox\nmanner.  The straw-berry has a sort of poetical precedence, and I\npresume that no fruit is jealous of it any more than any flower is\njealous of the rose; but I remark the facility with which liking for\nit is transferred to the raspberry, and from the raspberry (not to\nmake a tedious enumeration) to the melon, and from the melon to the\ngrape, and the grape to the pear, and the pear to the apple.  And we\ndo not mar our enjoyment of each by comparisons.\n\nOf course it would be a dull world if we could not criticise our\nfriends, but the most unprofitable and unsatisfactory criticism is\nthat by comparison.  Criticism is not necessarily uncharitableness,\nbut a wholesome exercise of our powers of analysis and\ndiscrimination.  It is, however, a very idle exercise, leading to no\nresults when we set the qualities of one over against the qualities\nof another, and disparage by contrast and not by independent\njudgment.  And this method of procedure creates jealousies and heart-\nburnings innumerable.\n\nCriticism by comparison is the refuge of incapables, and especially\nis this true in literature.  It is a lazy way of disposing of a young\npoet to bluntly declare, without any sort of discrimination of his\ndefects or his excellences, that he equals Tennyson, and that Scott\nnever wrote anything finer.  What is the justice of damning a\nmeritorious novelist by comparing him with Dickens, and smothering\nhim with thoughtless and good-natured eulogy?  The poet and the\nnovelist may be well enough, and probably have qualities and gifts of\ntheir own which are worth the critic's attention, if he has any time\nto bestow on them; and it is certainly unjust to subject them to a\ncomparison with somebody else, merely because the critic will not\ntake the trouble to ascertain what they are.  If, indeed, the poet\nand novelist are mere imitators of a model and copyists of a style,\nthey may be dismissed with such commendation as we bestow upon the\nmachines who pass their lives in making bad copies of the pictures of\nthe great painters.  But the critics of whom we speak do not intend\ndepreciation, but eulogy, when they say that the author they have in\nhand has the wit of Sydney Smith and the brilliancy of Macaulay.\nProbably he is not like either of them, and may have a genuine though\nmodest virtue of his own; but these names will certainly kill him,\nand he will never be anybody in the popular estimation.  The public\nfinds out speedily that he is not Sydney Smith, and it resents the\nextravagant claim for him as if he were an impudent pretender.  How\nmany authors of fair ability to interest the world have we known in\nour own day who have been thus sky-rocketed into notoriety by the\nlazy indiscrimination of the critic-by-comparison, and then have sunk\ninto a popular contempt as undeserved!  I never see a young aspirant\ninjudiciously compared to a great and resplendent name in literature,\nbut I feel like saying, My poor fellow, your days are few and full of\ntrouble; you begin life handicapped, and you cannot possibly run a\ncreditable race.\n\nI think this sort of critical eulogy is more damaging even than that\nwhich kills by a different assumption, and one which is equally\ncommon, namely, that the author has not done what he probably never\nintended to do.  It is well known that most of the trouble in life\ncomes from our inability to compel other people to do what we think\nthey ought, and it is true in criticism that we are unwilling to take\na book for what it is, and credit the author with that.  When the\nsolemn critic, like a mastiff with a ladies' bonnet in his mouth,\ngets hold of a light piece of verse, or a graceful sketch which\ncatches the humor of an hour for the entertainment of an hour, he\ntears it into a thousand shreds.  It adds nothing to human knowledge,\nit solves none of the problems of life, it touches none of the\nquestions of social science, it is not a philosophical treatise, and\nit is not a dozen things that it might have been.  The critic cannot\nforgive the author for this disrespect to him.  This isn't a rose,\nsays the critic, taking up a <DW29> and rending it; it is not at all\nlike a rose, and the author is either a pretentious idiot or an\nidiotic pretender.  What business, indeed, has the author to send the\ncritic a bunch of sweet-peas, when he knows that a cabbage would be\npreferred,--something not showy, but useful?\n\nA good deal of this is what Mandeville said and I am not sure that it\nis devoid of personal feeling.  He published, some years ago, a\nlittle volume giving an account of a trip through the Great West, and\na very entertaining book it was.  But one of the heavy critics got\nhold of it, and made Mandeville appear, even to himself, he\nconfessed, like an ass, because there was nothing in the volume about\ngeology or mining prospects, and very little to instruct the student\nof physical geography.  With alternate sarcasm and ridicule, he\nliterally basted the author, till Mandeville said that he felt almost\nlike a depraved scoundrel, and thought he should be held up to less\nexecration if he had committed a neat and scientific murder.\n\nBut I confess that I have a good deal of sympathy with the critics.\nConsider what these public tasters have to endure!  None of us, I\nfancy, would like to be compelled to read all that they read, or to\ntake into our mouths, even with the privilege of speedily ejecting it\nwith a grimace, all that they sip.  The critics of the vintage, who\npursue their calling in the dark vaults and amid mouldy casks, give\ntheir opinion, for the most part, only upon wine, upon juice that has\nmatured and ripened into development of quality.  But what crude,\nunrestrained, unfermented--even raw and drugged liquor, must the\nliterary taster put to his unwilling lips day after day!\n\n\n\n\nTENTH STUDY\n\n\nI\n\nIt was my good fortune once to visit a man who remembered the\nrebellion of 1745.  Lest this confession should make me seem very\naged, I will add that the visit took place in 1851, and that the man\nwas then one hundred and thirteen years old.  He was quite a lad\nbefore Dr. Johnson drank Mrs. Thrale's tea.  That he was as old as he\nhad the credit of being, I have the evidence of my own senses (and I\nam seldom mistaken in a person's age), of his own family, and his own\nword; and it is incredible that so old a person, and one so\napparently near the grave, would deceive about his age.\n\nThe testimony of the very aged is always to be received without\nquestion, as Alexander Hamilton once learned.  He was trying a\nland-title with Aaron Burr, and two of the witnesses upon whom Burr\nrelied were venerable Dutchmen, who had, in their youth, carried the\nsurveying chains over the land in dispute, and who were now aged\nrespectively one hundred and four years and one hundred and six\nyears.  Hamilton gently attempted to undervalue their testimony, but\nhe was instantly put down by the Dutch justice, who suggested that\nMr. Hamilton could not be aware of the age of the witnesses.\n\nMy old man (the expression seems familiar and inelegant) had indeed\nan exaggerated idea of his own age, and sometimes said that he\nsupposed he was going on four hundred, which was true enough, in\nfact; but for the exact date, he referred to his youngest son,--a\nfrisky and humorsome lad of eighty years, who had received us at the\ngate, and whom we had at first mistaken for the veteran, his father.\nBut when we beheld the old man, we saw the difference between age and\nage.  The latter had settled into a grizzliness and grimness which\nbelong to a very aged and stunted but sturdy oak-tree, upon the bark\nof which the gray moss is thick and heavy.  The old man appeared hale\nenough, he could walk about, his sight and hearing were not seriously\nimpaired, he ate with relish) and his teeth were so sound that he\nwould not need a dentist for at least another century; but the moss\nwas growing on him.  His boy of eighty seemed a green sapling beside\nhim.\n\nHe remembered absolutely nothing that had taken place within thirty\nyears, but otherwise his mind was perhaps as good as it ever was, for\nhe must always have been an ignoramus, and would never know anything\nif he lived to be as old as he said he was going on to be.  Why he\nwas interested in the rebellion of 1745 I could not discover, for he\nof course did not go over to Scotland to carry a pike in it, and he\nonly remembered to have heard it talked about as a great event in the\nIrish market-town near which he lived, and to which he had ridden\nwhen a boy.  And he knew much more about the horse that drew him, and\nthe cart in which he rode, than he did about the rebellion of the\nPretender.\n\nI hope I do not appear to speak harshly of this amiable old man, and\nif he is still living I wish him well, although his example was bad\nin some respects.  He had used tobacco for nearly a century, and the\nhabit has very likely been the death of him.  If so, it is to be\nregretted.  For it would have been interesting to watch the process\nof his gradual disintegration and return to the ground: the loss of\nsense after sense, as decaying limbs fall from the oak; the failure\nof discrimination, of the power of choice, and finally of memory\nitself; the peaceful wearing out and passing away of body and mind\nwithout disease, the natural running down of a man.  The interesting\nfact about him at that time was that his bodily powers seemed in\nsufficient vigor, but that the mind had not force enough to manifest\nitself through his organs.  The complete battery was there, the\nappetite was there, the acid was eating the zinc; but the electric\ncurrent was too weak to flash from the brain.  And yet he appeared so\nsound throughout, that it was difficult to say that his mind was not\nas good as it ever had been.  He had stored in it very little to feed\non, and any mind would get enfeebled by a century's rumination on a\nhearsay idea of the rebellion of '45.\n\nIt was possible with this man to fully test one's respect for age,\nwhich is in all civilized nations a duty.  And I found that my\nfeelings were mixed about him.  I discovered in him a conceit in\nregard to his long sojourn on this earth, as if it were somehow a\ncredit to him.  In the presence of his good opinion of himself, I\ncould but question the real value of his continued life) to himself\nor to others.  If he ever had any friends he had outlived them,\nexcept his boy; his wives--a century of them--were all dead; the\nworld had actually passed away for him.  He hung on the tree like a\nfrost-nipped apple, which the farmer has neglected to gather.  The\nworld always renews itself, and remains young.  What relation had he\nto it?\n\nI was delighted to find that this old man had never voted for George\nWashington.  I do not know that he had ever heard of him.  Washington\nmay be said to have played his part since his time.  I am not sure\nthat he perfectly remembered anything so recent as the American\nRevolution.  He was living quietly in Ireland during our French and\nIndian wars, and he did not emigrate to this country till long after\nour revolutionary and our constitutional struggles were over.  The\nRebellion Of '45 was the great event of the world for him, and of\nthat he knew nothing.\n\nI intend no disrespect to this man,--a cheerful and pleasant enough\nold person,--but he had evidently lived himself out of the world, as\ncompletely as people usually die out of it.  His only remaining value\nwas to the moralist, who might perchance make something out of him.\nI suppose if he had died young, he would have been regretted, and his\nfriends would have lamented that he did not fill out his days in the\nworld, and would very likely have called him back, if tears and\nprayers could have done so.  They can see now what his prolonged life\namounted to, and how the world has closed up the gap he once filled\nwhile he still lives in it.\n\nA great part of the unhappiness of this world consists in regret for\nthose who depart, as it seems to us, prematurely.  We imagine that if\nthey would return, the old conditions would be restored.  But would\nit be so?  If they, in any case, came back, would there be any place\nfor them?  The world so quickly readjusts itself after any loss, that\nthe return of the departed would nearly always throw it, even the\ncircle most interested, into confusion.  Are the Enoch Ardens ever\nwanted?\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nA popular notion akin to this, that the world would have any room for\nthe departed if they should now and then return, is the constant\nregret that people will not learn by the experience of others, that\none generation learns little from the preceding, and that youth never\nwill adopt the experience of age.  But if experience went for\nanything, we should all come to a standstill; for there is nothing so\ndiscouraging to effort.  Disbelief in Ecclesiastes is the mainspring\nof action.  In that lies the freshness and the interest of life, and\nit is the source of every endeavor.\n\nIf the boy believed that the accumulation of wealth and the\nacquisition of power were what the old man says they are, the world\nwould very soon be stagnant.  If he believed that his chances of\nobtaining either were as poor as the majority of men find them to be,\nambition would die within him.  It is because he rejects the\nexperience of those who have preceded him, that the world is kept in\nthe topsy-turvy condition which we all rejoice in, and which we call\nprogress.\n\nAnd yet I confess I have a soft place in my heart for that rare\ncharacter in our New England life who is content with the world as he\nfinds it, and who does not attempt to appropriate any more of it to\nhimself than he absolutely needs from day to day.  He knows from the\nbeginning that the world could get on without him, and he has never\nhad any anxiety to leave any result behind him, any legacy for the\nworld to quarrel over.\n\nHe is really an exotic in our New England climate and society, and\nhis life is perpetually misunderstood by his neighbors, because he\nshares none of their uneasiness about getting on in life.  He is even\ncalled lazy, good-for-nothing, and \"shiftless,\"--the final stigma\nthat we put upon a person who has learned to wait without the\nexhausting process of laboring.\n\nI made his acquaintance last summer in the country, and I have not in\na long time been so well pleased with any of our species.  He was a\nman past middle life, with a large family.  He had always been from\nboyhood of a contented and placid mind, slow in his movements, slow\nin his speech.  I think he never cherished a hard feeling toward\nanybody, nor envied any one, least of all the rich and prosperous\nabout whom he liked to talk.  Indeed, his talk was a good deal about\nwealth, especially about his cousin who had been down South and \"got\nfore-handed\" within a few years.  He was genuinely pleased at his\nrelation's good luck, and pointed him out to me with some pride.  But\nhe had no envy of him, and he evinced no desire to imitate him.  I\ninferred from all his conversation about \"piling it up\" (of which he\nspoke with a gleam of enthusiasm in his eye), that there were moments\nwhen he would like to be rich himself; but it was evident that he\nwould never make the least effort to be so, and I doubt if he could\neven overcome that delicious inertia of mind and body called\nlaziness, sufficiently to inherit.\n\nWealth seemed to have a far and peculiar fascination for him, and I\nsuspect he was a visionary in the midst of his poverty.  Yet I\nsuppose he had--hardly the personal property which the law exempts\nfrom execution.  He had lived in a great many towns, moving from one\nto another with his growing family, by easy stages, and was always\nthe poorest man in the town, and lived on the most niggardly of its\nrocky and bramble-grown farms, the productiveness of which he reduced\nto zero in a couple of seasons by his careful neglect of culture.\nThe fences of his hired domain always fell into ruins under him,\nperhaps because he sat on them so much, and the hovels he occupied\nrotted down during his placid residence in them.  He moved from\ndesolation to desolation, but carried always with him the equal mind\nof a philosopher.  Not even the occasional tart remarks of his wife,\nabout their nomadic life and his serenity in the midst of discomfort,\ncould ruffle his smooth spirit.\n\nHe was, in every respect, a most worthy man, truthful, honest,\ntemperate, and, I need not say, frugal; and he had no bad habits,--\nperhaps he never had energy enough to acquire any.  Nor did he lack\nthe knack of the Yankee race.  He could make a shoe, or build a\nhouse, or doctor a cow; but it never seemed to him, in this brief\nexistence, worth while to do any of these things.  He was an\nexcellent angler, but he rarely fished; partly because of the\nshortness of days, partly on account of the uncertainty of bites, but\nprincipally because the trout brooks were all arranged lengthwise and\nran over so much ground.  But no man liked to look at a string of\ntrout better than he did, and he was willing to sit down in a sunny\nplace and talk about trout-fishing half a day at a time, and he would\ntalk pleasantly and well too, though his wife might be continually\ninterrupting him by a call for firewood.\n\nI should not do justice to his own idea of himself if I did not add\nthat he was most respectably connected, and that he had a justifiable\nthough feeble pride in his family.  It helped his self-respect, which\nno ignoble circumstances could destroy.  He was, as must appear by\nthis time, a most intelligent man, and he was a well-informed man;\nthat is to say, he read the weekly newspapers when he could get them,\nand he had the average country information about Beecher and Greeley\nand the Prussian war (\" Napoleon is gettin' on't, ain't he?\"), and\nthe general prospect of the election campaigns.  Indeed, he was\nwarmly, or rather luke-warmly, interested in politics.  He liked to\ntalk about the inflated currency, and it seemed plain to him that his\ncondition would somehow be improved if we could get to a specie\nbasis.  He was, in fact, a little troubled by the national debt; it\nseemed to press on him somehow, while his own never did.  He\nexhibited more animation over the affairs of the government than he\ndid over his own,--an evidence at once of his disinterestedness and\nhis patriotism.  He had been an old abolitionist, and was strong on\nthe rights of free labor, though he did not care to exercise his\nprivilege much.  Of course he had the proper contempt for the poor\nwhites down South.  I never saw a person with more correct notions on\nsuch a variety of subjects.  He was perfectly willing that churches\n(being himself a member), and Sunday-schools, and missionary\nenterprises should go on; in fact, I do not believe he ever opposed\nanything in his life.  No one was more willing to vote town taxes and\nroad-repairs and schoolhouses than he.  If you could call him\nspirited at all, he was public-spirited.\n\nAnd with all this he was never very well; he had, from boyhood,\n\"enjoyed poor health.\"  You would say he was not a man who would ever\ncatch anything, not even an epidemic; but he was a person whom\ndiseases would be likely to overtake, even the slowest of slow\nfevers.  And he was n't a man to shake off anything.  And yet\nsickness seemed to trouble him no more than poverty.  He was not\ndiscontented; he never grumbled.  I am not sure but he relished a\n\"spell of sickness\" in haying-time.\n\nAn admirably balanced man, who accepts the world as it is, and\nevidently lives on the experience of others.  I have never seen a man\nwith less envy, or more cheerfulness, or so contented with as little\nreason for being so.  The only drawback to his future is that rest\nbeyond the grave will not be much change for him, and he has no works\nto follow him.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nThis Yankee philosopher, who, without being a Brahmin, had, in an\nuncongenial atmosphere, reached the perfect condition of Nirvina,\nreminded us all of the ancient sages; and we queried whether a world\nthat could produce such as he, and could, beside, lengthen a man's\nyears to one hundred and thirteen, could fairly be called an old and\nworn-out world, having long passed the stage of its primeval poetry\nand simplicity.  Many an Eastern dervish has, I think, got\nimmortality upon less laziness and resignation than this temporary\nsojourner in Massachusetts.  It is a common notion that the world\n(meaning the people in it) has become tame and commonplace, lost its\nprimeval freshness and epigrammatic point.  Mandeville, in his\nargumentative way, dissents from this entirely.  He says that the\nworld is more complex, varied, and a thousand times as interesting as\nit was in what we call its youth, and that it is as fresh, as\nindividual and capable of producing odd and eccentric characters as\never.  He thought the creative vim had not in any degree abated, that\nboth the types of men and of nations are as sharply stamped and\ndefined as ever they were.\n\nWas there ever, he said, in the past, any figure more clearly cut and\nfreshly minted than the Yankee?  Had the Old World anything to show\nmore positive and uncompromising in all the elements of character\nthan the Englishman?  And if the edges of these were being rounded\noff, was there not developing in the extreme West a type of men\ndifferent from all preceding, which the world could not yet define?\nHe believed that the production of original types was simply\ninfinite.\n\nHerbert urged that he must at least admit that there was a freshness\nof legend and poetry in what we call the primeval peoples that is\nwanting now; the mythic period is gone, at any rate.\n\nMandeville could not say about the myths.  We couldn't tell what\ninterpretation succeeding ages would put upon our lives and history\nand literature when they have become remote and shadowy.  But we need\nnot go to antiquity for epigrammatic wisdom, or for characters as\nracy of the fresh earth as those handed down to us from the dawn of\nhistory.  He would put Benjamin Franklin against any of the sages of\nthe mythic or the classic period.  He would have been perfectly at\nhome in ancient Athens, as Socrates would have been in modern Boston.\nThere might have been more heroic characters at the siege of Troy\nthan Abraham Lincoln, but there was not one more strongly marked\nindividually; not one his superior in what we call primeval craft and\nhumor.  He was just the man, if he could not have dislodged Priam by\na writ of ejectment, to have invented the wooden horse, and then to\nhave made Paris the hero of some ridiculous story that would have set\nall Asia in a roar.\n\nMandeville said further, that as to poetry, he did not know much\nabout that, and there was not much he cared to read except parts of\nShakespeare and Homer, and passages of Milton.  But it did seem to\nhim that we had men nowadays, who could, if they would give their\nminds to it, manufacture in quantity the same sort of epigrammatic\nsayings and legends that our scholars were digging out of the Orient.\nHe did not know why Emerson in antique setting was not as good as\nSaadi.  Take for instance, said Mandeville, such a legend as this,\nand how easy it would be to make others like it:\n\nThe son of an Emir had red hair, of which he was ashamed, and wished\nto dye it.  But his father said: \"Nay, my son, rather behave in such\na manner that all fathers shall wish their sons had red hair.\"\n\nThis was too absurd.  Mandeville had gone too far, except in the\nopinion of Our Next Door, who declared that an imitation was just as\ngood as an original, if you could not detect it.  But Herbert said\nthat the closer an imitation is to an original, the more unendurable\nit is.  But nobody could tell exactly why.\n\nThe Fire-Tender said that we are imposed on by forms.  The nuggets of\nwisdom that are dug out of the Oriental and remote literatures would\noften prove to be only commonplace if stripped of their quaint\nsetting.  If you gave an Oriental twist to some of our modern\nthought, its value would be greatly enhanced for many people.\n\nI have seen those, said the Mistress, who seem to prefer dried fruit\nto fresh; but I like the strawberry and the peach of each season, and\nfor me the last is always the best.\n\nEven the Parson admitted that there were no signs of fatigue or decay\nin the creative energy of the world; and if it is a question of\nPagans, he preferred Mandeville to Saadi.\n\n\n\n\nELEVENTH STUDY\n\n\nIt happened, or rather, to tell the truth, it was contrived,--for I\nhave waited too long for things to turn up to have much faith in\n\"happen,\" that we who have sat by this hearthstone before should all\nbe together on Christmas eve.  There was a splendid backlog of\nhickory just beginning to burn with a glow that promised to grow more\nfiery till long past midnight, which would have needed no apology in\na loggers' camp,--not so much as the religion of which a lady (in a\ncity which shall be nameless) said, \"If you must have a religion,\nthis one will do nicely.\"\n\nThere was not much conversation, as is apt to be the case when people\ncome together who have a great deal to say, and are intimate enough\nto permit the freedom of silence.  It was Mandeville who suggested\nthat we read something, and the Young Lady, who was in a mood to\nenjoy her own thoughts, said, \"Do.\"  And finally it came about that\nthe Fire Tender, without more resistance to the urging than was\nbecoming, went to his library, and returned with a manuscript, from\nwhich he read the story of\n\n\nMY UNCLE IN INDIA\n\nNot that it is my uncle, let me explain.  It is Polly's uncle, as I\nvery well know, from the many times she has thrown him up to me, and\nis liable so to do at any moment.  Having small expectations myself,\nand having wedded Polly when they were smaller, I have come to feel\nthe full force, the crushing weight, of her lightest remark about \"My\nUncle in India.\"  The words as I write them convey no idea of the\ntone in which they fall upon my ears.  I think it is the only fault\nof that estimable woman, that she has an \"uncle in India\" and does\nnot let him quietly remain there.  I feel quite sure that if I had an\nuncle in Botany Bay, I should never, never throw him up to Polly in\nthe way mentioned.  If there is any jar in our quiet life, he is the\ncause of it; all along of possible \"expectations\" on the one side\ncalculated to overawe the other side not having expectations.  And\nyet I know that if her uncle in India were this night to roll a\nbarrel of \"India's golden sands,\" as I feel that he any moment may\ndo, into our sitting-room, at Polly's feet, that charming wife, who\nis more generous than the month of May, and who has no thought but\nfor my comfort in two worlds, would straightway make it over to me,\nto have and to hold, if I could lift it, forever and forever.  And\nthat makes it more inexplicable that she, being a woman, will\ncontinue to mention him in the way she does.\n\nIn a large and general way I regard uncles as not out of place in\nthis transitory state of existence.  They stand for a great many\npossible advantages.  They are liable to \"tip\" you at school, they\nare resources in vacation, they come grandly in play about the\nholidays, at which season mv heart always did warm towards them with\nlively expectations, which were often turned into golden solidities;\nand then there is always the prospect, sad to a sensitive mind, that\nuncles are mortal, and, in their timely taking off, may prove as\ngenerous in the will as they were in the deed.  And there is always\nthis redeeming possibility in a niggardly uncle.  Still there must be\nsomething wrong in the character of the uncle per se, or all history\nwould not agree that nepotism is such a dreadful thing.\n\nBut, to return from this unnecessary digression, I am reminded that\nthe charioteer of the patient year has brought round the holiday\ntime.  It has been a growing year, as most years are.  It is very\npleasant to see how the shrubs in our little patch of ground widen\nand thicken and bloom at the right time, and to know that the great\ntrees have added a laver to their trunks.  To be sure, our garden,--\nwhich I planted under Polly's directions, with seeds that must have\nbeen patented, and I forgot to buy the right of, for they are mostly\nstill waiting the final resurrection,--gave evidence that it shared\nin the misfortune of the Fall, and was never an Eden from which one\nwould have required to have been driven.  It was the easiest garden\nto keep the neighbor's pigs and hens out of I ever saw.  If its\nincrease was small its temptations were smaller, and that is no\nlittle recommendation in this world of temptations.  But, as a\ngeneral thing, everything has grown, except our house.  That little\ncottage, over which Polly presides with grace enough to adorn a\npalace, is still small outside and smaller inside; and if it has an\nair of comfort and of neatness, and its rooms are cozy and sunny by\nday and cheerful by night, and it is bursting with books, and not\nunattractive with modest pictures on the walls, which we think do\nwell enough until my uncle--(but never mind my uncle, now),--and if,\nin the long winter evenings, when the largest lamp is lit, and the\nchestnuts glow in embers, and the kid turns on the spit, and the\nhouse-plants are green and flowering, and the ivy glistens in the\nfirelight, and Polly sits with that contented, far-away look in her\neyes that I like to see, her fingers busy upon one of those cruel\nmysteries which have delighted the sex since Penelope, and I read in\none of my fascinating law-books, or perhaps regale ourselves with a\ntaste of Montaigne,--if all this is true, there are times when the\ncottage seems small; though I can never find that Polly thinks so,\nexcept when she sometimes says that she does not know where she\nshould bestow her uncle in it, if he should suddenly come back from\nIndia.\n\nThere it is, again.  I sometimes think that my wife believes her\nuncle in India to be as large as two ordinary men; and if her ideas\nof him are any gauge of the reality, there is no place in the town\nlarge enough for him except the Town Hall.  She probably expects him\nto come with his bungalow, and his sedan, and his palanquin, and his\nelephants, and his retinue of servants, and his principalities, and\nhis powers, and his ha--(no, not that), and his chowchow, and his--I\nscarcely know what besides.\n\nChristmas eve was a shiny cold night, a creaking cold night, a\nplacid, calm, swingeing cold night.\n\nOut-doors had gone into a general state of crystallization.  The\nsnow-fields were like the vast Arctic ice-fields that Kane looked on,\nand lay sparkling under the moonlight, crisp and Christmasy, and all\nthe crystals on the trees and bushes hung glistening, as if ready, at\na breath of air, to break out into metallic ringing, like a million\nsilver joy-bells.  I mentioned the conceit to Polly, as we stood at\nthe window, and she said it reminded her of Jean Paul.  She is a\nwoman of most remarkable discernment.\n\nChristmas is a great festival at our house in a small way.  Among the\nmany delightful customs we did not inherit from our Pilgrim Fathers,\nthere is none so pleasant as that of giving presents at this season.\nIt is the most exciting time of the year.  No one is too rich to\nreceive something, and no one too poor to give a trifle.  And in the\nact of giving and receiving these tokens of regard, all the world is\nkin for once, and brighter for this transient glow of generosity.\nDelightful custom!  Hard is the lot of childhood that knows nothing\nof the visits of Kriss Kringle, or the stockings hung by the chimney\nat night; and cheerless is any age that is not brightened by some\nChristmas gift, however humble.  What a mystery of preparation there\nis in the preceding days, what planning and plottings of surprises!\nPolly and I keep up the custom in our simple way, and great is the\nperplexity to express the greatest amount of affection with a limited\noutlay.  For the excellence of a gift lies in its appropriateness\nrather than in its value.  As we stood by the window that night, we\nwondered what we should receive this year, and indulged in I know not\nwhat little hypocrisies and deceptions.\n\nI wish, said Polly, \"that my uncle in India would send me a\ncamel's-hair shawl, or a string of pearls, each as big as the end of\nmy thumb.\"\n\n\"Or a white cow, which would give golden milk, that would make butter\nworth seventy-five cents a pound,\" I added, as we drew the curtains,\nand turned to our chairs before the open fire.\n\nIt is our custom on every Christmas eve--as I believe I have\nsomewhere said, or if I have not, I say it again, as the member from\nErin might remark--to read one of Dickens's Christmas stories.  And\nthis night, after punching the fire until it sent showers of sparks\nup the chimney, I read the opening chapter of \"Mrs. Lirriper's\nLodgings,\" in my best manner, and handed the book to Polly to\ncontinue; for I do not so much relish reading aloud the succeeding\nstories of Mr. Dickens's annual budget, since he wrote them, as men\ngo to war in these days, by substitute.  And Polly read on, in her\nmelodious voice, which is almost as pleasant to me as the Wasser-\nfluth of Schubert, which she often plays at twilight; and I looked\ninto the fire, unconsciously constructing stories of my own out of\nthe embers.  And her voice still went on, in a sort of running\naccompaniment to my airy or fiery fancies.\n\n\"Sleep?\" said Polly, stopping, with what seemed to me a sort of\ncrash, in which all the castles tumbled into ashes.\n\n\"Not in the least,\" I answered brightly never heard anything more\nagreeable.\"  And the reading flowed on and on and on, and I looked\nsteadily into the fire, the fire, fire, fi....\n\nSuddenly the door opened, and into our cozy parlor walked the most\nvenerable personage I ever laid eyes on, who saluted me with great\ndignity.  Summer seemed to have burst into the room, and I was\nconscious of a puff of Oriental airs, and a delightful, languid\ntranquillity.  I was not surprised that the figure before me was clad\nin full turban, baggy drawers, and a long loose robe, girt about the\nmiddle with a rich shawl.  Followed him a swart attendant, who\nhastened to spread a rug upon which my visitor sat down, with great\ngravity, as I am informed they do in farthest Ind.  The slave then\nfilled the bowl of a long-stemmed chibouk, and, handing it to his\nmaster, retired behind him and began to fan him with the most\nprodigious palm-leaf I ever saw.  Soon the fumes of the delicate\ntobacco of Persia pervaded the room, like some costly aroma which you\ncannot buy, now the entertainment of the Arabian Nights is\ndiscontinued.\n\nLooking through the window I saw, if I saw anything, a palanquin at\nour door, and attendant on it four dusky, half-naked bearers, who did\nnot seem to fancy the splendor of the night, for they jumped about on\nthe snow crust, and I could see them shiver and shake in the keen\nair.  Oho!  thought!, this, then, is my uncle from India!\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" now spoke my visitor extraordinary, in a gruff, harsh\nvoice.\n\n\"I think I have heard Polly speak of you,\" I rejoined, in an attempt\nto be civil, for I did n't like his face any better than I did his\nvoice,--a red, fiery, irascible kind of face.\n\n\"Yes I've come over to O Lord,--quick, Jamsetzee, lift up that foot,-\n-take care.  There, Mr.  Trimings, if that's your name, get me a\nglass of brandy, stiff.\"\n\nI got him our little apothecary-labeled bottle and poured out enough\nto preserve a whole can of peaches.  My uncle took it down without a\nwink, as if it had been water, and seemed relieved.  It was a very\npleasant uncle to have at our fireside on Christmas eve, I felt.\n\nAt a motion from my uncle, Jamsetzee handed me a parcel which I saw\nwas directed to Polly, which I untied, and lo!  the most wonderful\ncamel's-hair shawl that ever was, so fine that I immediately drew it\nthrough my finger-ring, and so large that I saw it would entirely\ncover our little room if I spread it out; a dingy red color, but\nsplendid in appearance from the little white hieroglyphic worked in\none corner, which is always worn outside, to show that it cost nobody\nknows how many thousands of dollars.\n\n\"A Christmas trifle for Polly.  I have come home--as I was saying\nwhen that confounded twinge took me--to settle down; and I intend to\nmake Polly my heir, and live at my ease and enjoy life.  Move that\nleg a little, Jamsetzee.\"\n\nI meekly replied that I had no doubt Polly would be delighted to see\nher dear uncle, and as for inheriting, if it came to that, I did n't\nknow any one with a greater capacity for that than she.\n\n\"That depends,\" said the gruff old smoker, \"how I like ye.  A\nfortune, scraped up in forty years in Ingy, ain't to be thrown away\nin a minute.  But what a house this is to live in!\"; the\nuncomfortable old relative went on, throwing a contemptuous glance\nround the humble cottage.  \"Is this all of it?\"\n\n\"In the winter it is all of it,\" I said, flushing up; but in the\nsummer, when the doors and windows are open, it is as large as\nanybody's house.  And,\" I went on, with some warmth, \"it was large\nenough just before you came in, and pleasant enough.  And besides, I\nsaid, rising into indignation, \"you can not get anything much better\nin this city short of eight hundred dollars a year, payable first\ndays of January, April, July, and October, in advance, and my\nsalary....\"\n\n\"Hang your salary, and confound your impudence and your seven-by-nine\nhovel!  Do you think you have anything to say about the use of my\nmoney, scraped up in forty years in Ingy?  THINGS HAVE GOT TO BE\nCHANGED!\" he burst out, in a voice that rattled the glasses on the\nsideboard.\n\nI should think they were.  Even as I looked into the little fireplace\nit enlarged, and there was an enormous grate, level with the floor,\nglowing with seacoal; and a magnificent mantel carved in oak, old and\nbrown; and over it hung a landscape, wide, deep, summer in the\nforeground with all the gorgeous coloring of the tropics, and beyond\nhills of blue and far mountains lying in rosy light.  I held my\nbreath as I looked down the marvelous perspective.  Looking round for\na second, I caught a glimpse of a Hindoo at each window, who vanished\nas if they had been whisked off by enchantment; and the close walls\nthat shut us in fled away.  Had cohesion and gravitation given out?\nWas it the \"Great Consummation\" of the year 18-?  It was all like the\nswift transformation of a dream, and I pinched my arm to make sure\nthat I was not the subject of some diablerie.\n\nThe little house was gone; but that I scarcely minded, for I had\nsuddenly come into possession of my wife's castle in Spain.  I sat in\na spacious, lofty apartment, furnished with a princely magnificence.\nRare pictures adorned the walls, statues looked down from deep\nniches, and over both the dark ivy of England ran and drooped in\ngraceful luxuriance.  Upon the heavy tables were costly, illuminated\nvolumes; luxurious chairs and ottomans invited to easy rest; and upon\nthe ceiling Aurora led forth all the flower-strewing daughters of the\ndawn in brilliant frescoes.  Through the open doors my eyes wandered\ninto magnificent apartment after apartment.  There to the south,\nthrough folding-doors, was the splendid library, with groined roof,\n light streaming in through painted windows, high shelves\nstowed with books, old armor hanging on the walls, great carved oaken\nchairs about a solid oaken table, and beyond a conservatory of\nflowers and plants with a fountain springing in the center, the\nsplashing of whose waters I could hear.  Through the open windows I\nlooked upon a lawn, green with close-shaven turf, set with ancient\ntrees, and variegated with parterres of summer plants in bloom.  It\nwas the month of June, and the smell of roses was in the air.\n\nI might have thought it only a freak of my fancy, but there by the\nfireplace sat a stout, red-faced, puffy-looking man, in the ordinary\ndress of an English gentleman, whom I had no difficulty in\nrecognizing as my uncle from India.\n\n\"One wants a fire every day in the year in this confounded climate,\"\nremarked that amiable old person, addressing no one in particular.\n\nI had it on my lips to suggest that I trusted the day would come when\nhe would have heat enough to satisfy him, in permanent supply.  I\nwish now that I had.\n\nI think things had changed.  For now into this apartment, full of the\nmorning sunshine, came sweeping with the air of a countess born, and\na maid of honor bred, and a queen in expectancy, my Polly, stepping\nwith that lofty grace which I always knew she possessed, but which\nshe never had space to exhibit in our little cottage, dressed with\nthat elegance and richness that I should not have deemed possible to\nthe most Dutch duchess that ever lived, and, giving me a complacent\nnod of recognition, approached her uncle, and said in her smiling,\ncheery way, \"How is the dear uncle this morning?\"  And, as she spoke,\nshe actually bent down and kissed his horrid old cheek, red-hot with\ncurrie and brandy and all the biting pickles I can neither eat nor\nname, kissed him, and I did not turn into stone.\n\n\"Comfortable as the weather will permit, my darling!\"--and again I\ndid not turn into stone.\n\n\"Wouldn't uncle like to take a drive this charming morning?\" Polly\nasked.\n\nUncle finally grunted out his willingness, and Polly swept away again\nto prepare for the drive, taking no more notice of me than if I had\nbeen a poor assistant office lawyer on a salary.  And soon the\ncarriage was at the door, and my uncle, bundled up like a mummy, and\nthe charming Polly drove gayly away.\n\nHow pleasant it is to be married rich, I thought, as I arose and\nstrolled into the library, where everything was elegant and prim and\nneat, with no scraps of paper and piles of newspapers or evidences of\nliterary slovenness on the table, and no books in attractive\ndisorder, and where I seemed to see the legend staring at me from all\nthe walls, \"No smoking.\"  So I uneasily lounged out of the house.\nAnd a magnificent house it was, a palace, rather, that seemed to\nfrown upon and bully insignificant me with its splendor, as I walked\naway from it towards town.\n\nAnd why town?  There was no use of doing anything at the dingy\noffice.  Eight hundred dollars a year!  It wouldn't keep Polly in\ngloves, let alone dressing her for one of those fashionable\nentertainments to which we went night after night.  And so, after a\nweary day with nothing in it, I went home to dinner, to find my uncle\nquite chirruped up with his drive, and Polly regnant, sublimely\nengrossed in her new world of splendor, a dazzling object of\nadmiration to me, but attentive and even tender to that\nhypochondriacal, gouty old subject from India.\n\nYes, a magnificent dinner, with no end of servants, who seemed to\nknow that I couldn't have paid the wages of one of them, and plate\nand courses endless.  I say, a miserable dinner, on the edge of which\nseemed to sit by permission of somebody, like an invited poor\nrelation, who wishes he had sent a regret, and longing for some of\nthose nice little dishes that Polly used to set before me with\nbeaming face, in the dear old days.\n\nAnd after dinner, and proper attention to the comfort for the night\nof our benefactor, there was the Blibgims's party.  No long,\nconfidential interviews, as heretofore, as to what she should wear\nand what I should wear, and whether it would do to wear it again.\nAnd Polly went in one coach, and I in another.  No crowding into the\nhired hack, with all the delightful care about tumbling dresses, and\ngetting there in good order; and no coming home together to our\nlittle cozy cottage, in a pleasant, excited state of \"flutteration,\"\nand sitting down to talk it all over, and \"Was n't it nice?\" and \"Did\nI look as well as anybody?\" and \"Of course you did to me,\" and all\nthat nonsense.  We lived in a grand way now, and had our separate\nestablishments and separate plans, and I used to think that a real\nseparation couldn't make matters much different.  Not that Polly\nmeant to be any different, or was, at heart; but, you know, she was\nso much absorbed in her new life of splendor, and perhaps I was a\nlittle old-fashioned.\n\nI don't wonder at it now, as I look back.  There was an army of\ndressmakers to see, and a world of shopping to do, and a houseful of\nservants to manage, and all the afternoon for calls, and her dear,\ndear friend, with the artless manners and merry heart of a girl, and\nthe dignity and grace of a noble woman, the dear friend who lived in\nthe house of the Seven Gables, to consult about all manner of im-\nportant things.  I could not, upon my honor, see that there was any\nplace for me, and I went my own way, not that there was much comfort\nin it.\n\nAnd then I would rather have had charge of a hospital ward than take\ncare of that uncle.  Such coddling as he needed, such humoring of\nwhims.  And I am bound to say that Polly could n't have been more\ndutiful to him if he had been a Hindoo idol.  She read to him and\ntalked to him, and sat by him with her embroidery, and was patient\nwith his crossness, and wearied herself, that I could see, with her\ndevoted ministrations.\n\nI fancied sometimes she was tired of it, and longed for the old\nhomely simplicity.  I was.  Nepotism had no charms for me.  There was\nnothing that I could get Polly that she had not.  I could surprise\nher with no little delicacies or trifles, delightedly bought with\nmoney saved for the purpose.  There was no more coming home weary\nwith office work and being met at the door with that warm, loving\nwelcome which the King of England could not buy.  There was no long\nevening when we read alternately from some favorite book, or laid our\ndeep housekeeping plans, rejoiced in a good bargain or made light of\na poor one, and were contented and merry with little.  I recalled\nwith longing my little den, where in the midst of the literary\ndisorder I love, I wrote those stories for the \"Antarctic\" which\nPolly, if nobody else, liked to read.  There was no comfort for me in\nmy magnificent library.  We were all rich and in splendor, and our\nuncle had come from India.  I wished, saving his soul, that the ship\nthat brought him over had foundered off Barnegat Light.  It would\nalways have been a tender and regretful memory to both of us.  And\nhow sacred is the memory of such a loss!\n\nChristmas?  What delight could I have in long solicitude and\ningenious devices touching a gift for Polly within my means, and\nhitting the border line between her necessities and her extravagant\nfancy?  A drove of white elephants would n't have been good enough\nfor her now, if each one carried a castle on his back.\n\n\"--and so they were married, and in their snug cottage lived happy\never after.\"--It was Polly's voice, as she closed the book.\n\n\"There, I don't believe you have heard a word of it,\" she said half\ncomplaininglv.\n\n\"Oh, yes, I have,\" I cried, starting up and giving the fire a jab\nwith the poker; \"I heard every word of it, except a few at the close\nI was thinking\"--I stopped, and looked round.\n\n\"Why, Polly, where is the camel's-hair shawl?\"\n\n\"Camel's-hair fiddlestick!  Now I know you have been asleep for an\nhour.\"\n\nAnd, sure enough, there was n't anv camel's-hair shawl there, nor any\nuncle, nor were there any Hindoos at our windows.\n\nAnd then I told Polly all about it; how her uncle came back, and we\nwere rich and lived in a palace and had no end of money, but she\ndidn't seem to have time to love me in it all, and all the comfort of\nthe little house was blown away as by the winter wind.  And Polly\nvowed, half in tears, that she hoped her uncle never would come back,\nand she wanted nothing that we had not, and she wouldn't exchange our\nindependent comfort and snug house, no, not for anybody's mansion.\nAnd then and there we made it all up, in a manner too particular for\nme to mention; and I never, to this day, heard Polly allude to My\nUncle in India.\n\nAnd then, as the clock struck eleven, we each produced from the place\nwhere we had hidden them the modest Christmas gifts we had prepared\nfor each other, and what surprise there was!  \"Just the thing I\nneeded.\"  And, \"It's perfectly lovely.\"  And, \"You should n't have\ndone it.\"  And, then, a question I never will answer, \"Ten?  fifteen?\nfive?  twelve?\" \"My dear, it cost eight hundred dollars, for I have\nput my whole year into it, and I wish it was a thousand times\nbetter.\"\n\nAnd so, when the great iron tongue of the city bell swept over the\nsnow the twelve strokes that announced Christmas day, if there was\nanywhere a happier home than ours, I am glad of it!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBADDECK AND THAT SORT OF THING\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nTO JOSEPH H.  TWICHELL\n\nIt would be unfair to hold you responsible for these light sketches\nof a summer trip, which are now gathered into this little volume in\nresponse to the usual demand in such cases; yet you cannot escape\naltogether.  For it was you who first taught me to say the name\nBaddeck; it was you who showed me its position on the map, and a\nseductive letter from a home missionary on Cape Breton Island, in\nrelation to the abundance of trout and salmon in his field of labor.\nThat missionary, you may remember, we never found, nor did we see his\ntackle; but I have no reason to believe that he does not enjoy good\nfishing in the right season.  You understand the duties of a home\nmissionary much better than I do, and you know whether he would be\nlikely to let a couple of strangers into the best part of his\npreserve.\n\nBut I am free to admit that after our expedition was started you\nspeedily relieved yourself of all responsibility for it, and turned\nit over to your comrade with a profound geographical indifference;\nyou would as readily have gone to Baddeck by Nova Zembla as by Nova\nScotia.  The flight over the latter island was, you knew, however, no\npart of our original plan, and you were not obliged to take any\ninterest in it.  You know that our design was to slip rapidly down,\nby the back way of Northumberland Sound, to the Bras d'Or, and spend\na week fishing there; and that the greater part of this journey here\nimperfectly described is not really ours, but was put upon us by fate\nand by the peculiar arrangement of provincial travel.\n\nIt would have been easy after our return to have made up from\nlibraries a most engaging description of the Provinces, mixing it\nwith historical, legendary, botanical, geographical, and ethnological\ninformation, and seasoning it with adventure from your glowing\nimagination.  But it seemed to me that it would be a more honest\ncontribution if our account contained only what we saw, in our rapid\ntravel; for I have a theory that any addition to the great body of\nprint, however insignificant it may be, has a value in proportion to\nits originality and individuality,--however slight either is,--and\nvery little value if it is a compilation of the observations of\nothers.  In this case I know how slight the value is; and I can only\nhope that as the trip was very entertaining to us, the record of it\nmay not be wholly unentertaining to those of like tastes.\n\nOf one thing, my dear friend, I am certain: if the readers of this\nlittle journey could have during its persual the companionship that\nthe writer had when it was made, they would think it altogether\ndelightful.  There is no pleasure comparable to that of going about\nthe world, in pleasant weather, with a good comrade, if the mind is\ndistracted neither by care, nor ambition, nor the greed of gain.  The\ndelight there is in seeing things, without any hope of pecuniary\nprofit from them!  We certainly enjoyed that inward peace which the\nphilosopher associates with the absence of desire for money.  For, as\nPlato says in the Phaedo, \"whence come wars and fightings and\nfactions?  whence but from the body and the lusts of the body?  For\nwars are occasioned by the love of money.\"  So also are the majority\nof the anxieties of life.  We left these behind when we went into the\nProvinces with no design of acquiring anything there.  I hope it may\nbe my fortune to travel further with you in this fair world, under\nsimilar circumstances.\n\nNOOK FARM, HARTFORD, April 10, 1874.\n\nC.  D.  W.\n\n\n\n\nBADDECK AND THAT SORT OF THING\n\n\nAy, now I am in Arden: the more fool I; when I was at home,\nI was in a better place; but travellers must be content.\"--\nTOUCHSTONE.\n\nTwo comrades and travelers, who sought a better country than the\nUnited States in the month of August, found themselves one\nevening in apparent possession of the ancient town of Boston.\n\nThe shops were closed at early candle-light; the fashionable\ninhabitants had retired into the country, or into the\nsecond-story-back, of their princely residences, and even an air of\ntender gloom settled upon the Common.  The streets were almost empty,\nand one passed into the burnt district, where the scarred ruins and\nthe uplifting piles of new brick and stone spread abroad under the\nflooding light of a full moon like another Pompeii, without any\nincrease in his feeling of tranquil seclusion.  Even the news-offices\nhad put up their shutters, and a confiding stranger could nowhere buy\na guide-book to help his wandering feet about the reposeful city, or\nto show him how to get out of it.  There was, to be sure, a cheerful\ntinkle of horse-car bells in the air, and in the creeping vehicles\nwhich created this levity of sound were a few lonesome passengers on\ntheir way to Scollay's Square; but the two travelers, not having\nwell-regulated minds, had no desire to go there.  What would have\nbecome of Boston if the great fire had reached this sacred point of\npilg-rimage no merely human mind can imagine.  Without it, I suppose\nthe horse-cars would go continually round and round, never stopping,\nuntil the cars fell away piecemeal on the track, and the horses\ncollapsed into a mere mass of bones and harness, and the brown-\ncovered books from the Public Library, in the hands of the fading\nvirgins who carried them, had accumulated fines to an incalculable\namount.\n\nBoston) notwithstanding its partial destruction by fire, is still a\ngood place to start from.  When one meditates an excursion into an\nunknown and perhaps perilous land, where the flag will not protect\nhim and the greenback will only partially support him, he likes to\nsteady and tranquilize his mind by a peaceful halt and a serene\nstart.  So we--for the intelligent reader has already identified us\nwith the two travelers resolved to spend the last night, before\nbeginning our journey, in the quiet of a Boston hotel.  Some people\ngo into the country for quiet: we knew better.  The country is no\nplace for sleep.  The general absence of sound which prevails at\nnight is only a sort of background which brings out more vividly the\nspecial and unexpected disturbances which are suddenly sprung upon\nthe restless listener.  There are a thousand pokerish noises that no\none can account for, which excite the nerves to acute watchfulness.\n\nIt is still early, and one is beginning to be lulled by the frogs and\nthe crickets, when the faint rattle of a drum is heard,--just a few\npreliminary taps.  But the soul takes alarm, and well it may, for a\nroll follows, and then a rub-a-dub-dub, and the farmer's boy who is\nhandling the sticks and pounding the distended skin in a neighboring\nhorse-shed begins to pour out his patriotism in that unending\nrepetition of rub-a-dub-dub which is supposed to represent love of\ncountry in the young.  When the boy is tired out and quits the field,\nthe faithful watch-dog opens out upon the stilly night.  He is the\nguardian of his master's slumbers.  The howls of the faithful\ncreature are answered by barks and yelps from all the farmhouses for\na mile around, and exceedingly poor barking it usually is, until all\nthe serenity of the night is torn to shreds.  This is, however, only\nthe opening of the orchestra.  The cocks wake up if there is the\nfaintest moonshine and begin an antiphonal service between responsive\nbarn-yards.  It is not the clear clarion of chanticleer that is heard\nin the morn of English poetry, but a harsh chorus of cracked voices,\nhoarse and abortive attempts, squawks of young experimenters, and\nsome indescribable thing besides, for I believe even the hens crow in\nthese days.  Distracting as all this is, however, happy is the man\nwho does not hear a goat lamenting in the night.  The goat is the\nmost exasperating of the animal creation.  He cries like a deserted\nbaby, but he does it without any regularity.  One can accustom\nhimself to any expression of suffering that is regular.  The\nannoyance of the goat is in the dreadful waiting for the uncertain\nsound of the next wavering bleat.  It is the fearful expectation of\nthat, mingled with the faint hope that the last was the last, that\nag-gravates the tossing listener until he has murder in his heart.\nHe longs for daylight, hoping that the voices of the night will then\ncease, and that sleep will come with the blessed morning.  But he has\nforgotten the birds, who at the first streak of gray in the east have\nassembled in the trees near his chamber-window, and keep up for an\nhour the most rasping dissonance,--an orchestra in which each artist\nis tuning his instrument, setting it in a different key and to play a\ndifferent tune: each bird recalls a different tune, and none sings\n\"Annie Laurie,\"--to pervert Bayard Taylor's song.\n\nGive us the quiet of a city on the night before a journey.  As we\nmounted skyward in our hotel, and went to bed in a serene altitude,\nwe congratulated ourselves upon a reposeful night.  It began well.\nBut as we sank into the first doze, we were startled by a sudden\ncrash.  Was it an earthquake, or another fire?  Were the neighboring\nbuildings all tumbling in upon us, or had a bomb fallen into the\nneighboring crockery-store?  It was the suddenness of the onset that\nstartled us, for we soon perceived that it began with the clash of\ncymbals, the pounding of drums, and the blaring of dreadful brass.\nIt was somebody's idea of music.  It opened without warning.  The men\ncomposing the band of brass must have stolen silently into the alley\nabout the sleeping hotel, and burst into the clamor of a rattling\nquickstep, on purpose.  The horrible sound thus suddenly let loose\nhad no chance of escape; it bounded back from wall to wall, like the\nclapping of boards in a tunnel, rattling windows and stunning all\ncars, in a vain attempt to get out over the roofs.  But such music\ndoes not go up.  What could have been the intention of this assault\nwe could not conjecture.  It was a time of profound peace through the\ncountry; we had ordered no spontaneous serenade, if it was a\nserenade.  Perhaps the Boston bands have that habit of going into an\nalley and disciplining their nerves by letting out a tune too big for\nthe alley, and taking the shock of its reverberation.  It may be well\nenough for the band, but many a poor sinner in the hotel that night\nmust have thought the judgment day had sprung upon him.  Perhaps the\nband had some remorse, for by and by it leaked out of the alley, in\nhumble, apologetic retreat, as if somebody had thrown something at it\nfrom the sixth-story window, softly breathing as it retired the notes\nof \"Fair Harvard.\"\n\nThe band had scarcely departed for some other haunt of slumber and\nweariness, when the notes of singing floated up that prolific alley,\nlike the sweet tenor voice of one bewailing the prohibitory movement;\nand for an hour or more a succession of young bacchanals, who were\nevidently wandering about in search of the Maine Law, lifted up their\nvoices in song.  Boston seems to be full of good singers; but they\nwill ruin their voices by this night exercise, and so the city will\ncease to be attractive to travelers who would like to sleep there.\nBut this entertainment did not last the night out.\n\nIt stopped just before the hotel porter began to come around to rouse\nthe travelers who had said the night before that they wanted to be\nawakened.  In all well-regulated hotels this process begins at two\no'clock and keeps up till seven.  If the porter is at all faithful,\nhe wakes up everybody in the house; if he is a shirk, he only rouses\nthe wrong people.  We treated the pounding of the porter on our door\nwith silent contempt.  At the next door he had better luck.  Pound,\npound.  An angry voice, \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"Time to take the train, sir.\"\n\n\"Not going to take any train.\"\n\n\"Ain't your name Smith?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, Smith\"--\n\n\"I left no order to be called.\"  (Indistinct grumbling from Smith's\nroom.)\n\nPorter is heard shuffling slowly off down the passage.  In a little\nwhile he returns to Smith's door, evidently not satisfied in his\nmind.  Rap, rap, rap!\n\n\"Well, what now?\"\n\n\"What's your initials?  A. T.; clear out!\"\n\nAnd the porter shambles away again in his slippers, grumbling\nsomething about a mistake.  The idea of waking a man up in the middle\nof the night to ask him his \"initials\" was ridiculous enough to\nbanish sleep for another hour.  A person named Smith, when he\ntravels, should leave his initials outside the door with his boots.\n\nRefreshed by this reposeful night, and eager to exchange the\nstagnation of the shore for the tumult of the ocean, we departed next\nmorning for Baddeck by the most direct route.  This we found, by\ndiligent study of fascinating prospectuses of travel, to be by the\nboats of the International Steamship Company; and when, at eight\no'clock in the morning, we stepped aboard one of them from Commercial\nWharf, we felt that half our journey and the most perplexing part of\nit was accomplished.  We had put ourselves upon a great line of\ntravel, and had only to resign ourselves to its flow in order to\nreach the desired haven.  The agent at the wharf assured us that it\nwas not necessary to buy through tickets to Baddeck,--he spoke of it\nas if it were as easy a place to find as Swampscott,--it was a\nconspicuous name on the cards of the company, we should go right on\nfrom St. John without difficulty.  The easy familiarity of this\nofficial with Baddeck, in short, made us ashamed to exhibit any\nanxiety about its situation or the means of approach to it.\nSubsequent experience led us to believe that the only man in the\nworld, out of Baddeck, who knew anything about it lives in Boston,\nand sells tickets to it, or rather towards it.\n\nThere is no moment of delight in any pilgrimage like the beginning of\nit, when the traveler is settled simply as to his destination, and\ncommits himself to his unknown fate and all the anticipations of\nadventure before him.  We experienced this pleasure as we ascended to\nthe deck of the steamboat and snuffed the fresh air of Boston Harbor.\nWhat a beautiful harbor it is, everybody says, with its irregularly\nindented shores and its islands.  Being strangers, we want to know\nthe names of the islands, and to have Fort Warren, which has a\nnational reputation, pointed out.  As usual on a steamboat, no one is\ncertain about the names, and the little geographical knowledge we\nhave is soon hopelessly confused.  We make out South Boston very\nplainly : a tourist is looking at its warehouses through his opera-\nglass, and telling his boy about a recent fire there.  We find out\nafterwards that it was East Boston.  We pass to the stern of the boat\nfor a last look at Boston itself; and while there we have the\npleasure of showing inquirers the Monument and the State House.  We\ndo this with easy familiarity; but where there are so many tall\nfactory chimneys, it is not so easy to point out the Monument as one\nmay think.\n\nThe day is simply delicious, when we get away from the unozoned air\nof the land.  The sky is cloudless, and the water sparkles like the\ntop of a glass of champagne.  We intend by and by to sit down and\nlook at it for half a day, basking in the sunshine and pleasing\nourselves with the shifting and dancing of the waves.  Now we are\nbusy running about from side to side to see the islands, Governor's,\nCastle, Long, Deer, and the others.  When, at length, we find Fort\nWarren, it is not nearly so grim and gloomy as we had expected, and\nis rather a pleasure-place than a prison in appearance.  We are\nconscious, however, of a patriotic emotion as we pass its green turf\nand peeping guns.  Leaving on our right Lovell's Island and the Great\nand Outer Brewster, we stand away north along the jagged\nMassachusetts shore.  These outer islands look cold and wind-swept\neven in summer, and have a hardness of outline which is very far from\nthe aspect of summer isles in summer seas.  They are too low and bare\nfor beauty, and all the coast is of the most retiring and humble\ndescription.  Nature makes some compensation for this lowness by an\neccentricity of indentation which looks very picturesque on the map,\nand sometimes striking, as where Lynn stretches out a slender arm\nwith knobby Nahant at the end, like a New Zealand war club.  We sit\nand watch this shore as we glide by with a placid delight.  Its\ncurves and low promontories are getting to be speckled with villages\nand dwellings, like the shores of the Bay of Naples; we see the white\nspires, the summer cottages of wealth, the brown farmhouses with an\noccasional orchard, the gleam of a white beach, and now and then the\nflag of some many-piazzaed hotel.  The sunlight is the glory of it\nall; it must have quite another attraction--that of melancholy--under\na gray sky and with a lead- water foreground.\n\nThere was not much on the steamboat to distract our attention from\nthe study of physical geography.  All the fashionable travelers had\ngone on the previous boat or were waiting for the next one.  The\npassengers were mostly people who belonged in the Provinces and had\nthe listless provincial air, with a Boston commercial traveler or\ntwo, and a few gentlemen from the republic of Ireland, dressed in\ntheir uncomfortable Sunday clothes.  If any accident should happen to\nthe boat, it was doubtful if there were persons on board who could\ndraw up and pass the proper resolutions of thanks to the officers.  I\nheard one of these Irish gentlemen, whose satin vest was insufficient\nto repress the mountainous protuberance of his shirt-bosom,\nenlightening an admiring friend as to his idiosyncrasies.  It\nappeared that he was that sort of a man that, if a man wanted\nanything of him, he had only to speak for it \"wunst;\" and that one of\nhis peculiarities was an instant response of the deltoid muscle to\nthe brain, though he did not express it in that language.  He went on\nto explain to his auditor that he was so constituted physically that\nwhenever he saw a fight, no matter whose property it was, he lost all\ncontrol of himself.  This sort of confidence poured out to a single\nfriend, in a retired place on the guard of the boat, in an unexcited\ntone, was evidence of the man's simplicity and sincerity.  The very\nact of traveling, I have noticed, seems to open a man's heart, so\nthat he will impart to a chance acquaintance his losses, his\ndiseases, his table preferences, his disappointments in love or in\npolitics, and his most secret hopes.  One sees everywhere this\nbeautiful human trait, this craving for sympathy.  There was the old\nlady, in the antique bonnet and plain cotton gloves, who got aboard\nthe express train at a way-station on the Connecticut River Road.\nShe wanted to go, let us say, to Peak's Four Corners.  It seemed that\nthe train did not usually stop there, but it appeared afterwards that\nthe obliging conductor had told her to get aboard and he would let\nher off at Peak's.  When she stepped into the car, in a flustered\ncondition, carrying her large bandbox, she began to ask all the\npassengers, in turn, if this was the right train, and if it stopped\nat Peak's.  The information she received was various, but the weight\nof it was discouraging, and some of the passengers urged her to get\noff without delay, before the train should start.  The poor woman got\noff, and pretty soon came back again, sent by the conductor; but her\nmind was not settled, for she repeated her questions to every person\nwho passed her seat, and their answers still more discomposed her.\n\"Sit perfectly still,\" said the conductor, when he came by.  \"You\nmust get out and wait for a way train,\" said the passengers, who\nknew.  In this confusion, the train moved off, just as the old lady\nhad about made up her mind to quit the car, when her distraction was\ncompleted by the discovery that her hair trunk was not on board.  She\nsaw it standing on the open platform, as we passed, and after one\nlook of terror, and a dash at the window, she subsided into her seat,\ngrasping her bandbox, with a vacant look of utter despair.  Fate now\nseemed to have done its worst, and she was resigned to it.  I am sure\nit was no mere curiosity, but a desire to be of service, that led me\nto approach her and say, \"Madam, where are you going?\"\n\n\"The Lord only knows,\" was the utterly candid ,response; but then,\nforgetting everything in her last misfortune and impelled to a burst\nof confidence, she began to tell me her troubles.  She informed me\nthat her youngest daughter was about to be married, and that all her\nwedding-clothes and all her summer clothes were in that trunk; and as\nshe said this she gave a glance out of the window as if she hoped it\nmight be following her.  What would become of them all now, all brand\nnew, she did n't know, nor what would become of her or her daughter.\nAnd then she told me, article by article and piece by piece, all that\nthat trunk contained, the very names of which had an unfamiliar sound\nin a railway-car, and how many sets and pairs there were of each.  It\nseemed to be a relief to the old lady to make public this catalogue\nwhich filled all her mind; and there was a pathos in the revelation\nthat I cannot convey in words.  And though I am compelled, by way of\nillustration, to give this incident, no bribery or torture shall ever\nextract from me a statement of the contents of that hair trunk.\n\nWe were now passing Nahant, and we should have seen Longfellow's\ncottage and the waves beating on the rocks before it, if we had been\nnear enough.  As it was, we could only faintly distinguish the\nheadland and note the white beach of Lynn.  The fact is, that in\ntravel one is almost as much dependent upon imagination and memory as\nhe is at home.  Somehow, we seldom get near enough to anything.  The\ninterest of all this coast which we had come to inspect was mainly\nliterary and historical.  And no country is of much interest until\nlegends and poetry have draped it in hues that mere nature cannot\nproduce.  We looked at Nahant for Longfellow's sake; we strained our\neyes to make out Marblehead on account of Whittier's ballad; we\nscrutinized the entrance to Salem Harbor because a genius once sat in\nits decaying custom-house and made of it a throne of the imagination.\nUpon this low shore line, which lies blinking in the midday sun, the\nwaves of history have beaten for two centuries and a half, and\nromance has had time to grow there.  Out of any of these coves might\nhave sailed Sir Patrick Spens \"to Noroway, to Noroway,\"\n\n\"They hadna sailed upon the sea\nA day but barely three,\n\nTill loud and boisterous grew the wind,\nAnd gurly grew the sea.\"\n\nThe sea was anything but gurly now; it lay idle and shining in an\nAugust holiday.  It seemed as if we could sit all day and watch the\nsuggestive shore and dream about it.  But we could not.  No man, and\nfew women, can sit all day on those little round penitential stools\nthat the company provide for the discomfort of their passengers.\nThere is no scenery in the world that can be enjoyed from one of\nthose stools.  And when the traveler is at sea, with the land failing\naway in his horizon, and has to create his own scenery by an effort\nof the imagination, these stools are no assistance to him.  The\nimagination, when one is sitting, will not work unless the back is\nsupported.  Besides, it began to be cold; notwithstanding the shiny,\nspecious appearance of things, it was cold, except in a sheltered\nnook or two where the sun beat.  This was nothing to be complained of\nby persons who had left the parching land in order to get cool.  They\nknew that there would be a wind and a draught everywhere, and that\nthey would be occupied nearly all the time in moving the little\nstools about to get out of the wind, or out of the sun, or out of\nsomething that is inherent in a steamboat.  Most people enjoy riding\non a steamboat, shaking and trembling and chow-chowing along in\npleasant weather out of sight of land; and they do not feel any\nennui, as may be inferred from the intense excitement which seizes\nthem when a poor porpoise leaps from the water half a mile away.\n\"Did you see the porpoise?\" makes conversation for an hour.  On our\nsteamboat there was a man who said he saw a whale, saw him just as\nplain, off to the east, come up to blow; appeared to be a young one.\nI wonder where all these men come from who always see a whale.  I\nnever was on a sea-steamer yet that there was not one of these men.\n\nWe sailed from Boston Harbor straight for Cape Ann, and passed close\nby the twin lighthouses of Thacher, so near that we could see the\nlanterns and the stone gardens, and the young barbarians of Thacher\nall at play; and then we bore away, straight over the trackless\nAtlantic, across that part of the map where the title and the\npublisher's name are usually printed, for the foreign city of St.\nJohn.  It was after we passed these lighthouses that we did n't see\nthe whale, and began to regret the hard fate that took us away from a\nview of the Isles of Shoals.  I am not tempted to introduce them into\nthis sketch, much as its surface needs their romantic color, for\ntruth is stronger in me than the love of giving a deceitful pleasure.\nThere will be nothing in this record that we did not see, or might\nnot have seen.  For instance, it might not be wrong to describe a\ncoast, a town, or an island that we passed while we were performing\nour morning toilets in our staterooms.  The traveler owes a duty to\nhis readers, and if he is now and then too weary or too indifferent\nto go out from the cabin to survey a prosperous village where a\nlanding is made, he has no right to cause the reader to suffer by his\nindolence.  He should describe the village.\n\nI had intended to describe the Maine coast, which is as fascinating\non the map as that of Norway.  We had all the feelings appropriate to\nnearness to it, but we couldn't see it.  Before we came abreast of it\nnight had settled down, and there was around us only a gray and\nmelancholy waste of salt water.  To be sure it was a lovely night,\nwith a young moon in its sky,\n\n\"I saw the new moon late yestreen\nWi' the auld moon in her arms,\"\n\nand we kept an anxious lookout for the Maine hills that push so\nboldly down into the sea.  At length we saw them,--faint, dusky\nshadows in the horizon, looming up in an ashy color and with a most\npoetical light.  We made out clearly Mt. Desert, and felt repaid for\nour journey by the sight of this famous island, even at such a\ndistance.  I pointed out the hills to the man at the wheel, and asked\nif we should go any nearer to Mt. Desert.\n\n\"Them!\" said he, with the merited contempt which officials in this\ncountry have for inquisitive travelers,--\" them's Camden Hills.  You\nwon't see Mt. Desert till midnight, and then you won't.\"\n\nOne always likes to weave in a little romance with summer travel on a\nsteamboat; and we came aboard this one with the purpose and the\nlanguage to do so.  But there was an absolute want of material, that\nwould hardly be credited if we went into details.  The first meeting\nof the passengers at the dinner-table revealed it.  There is a kind\nof female plainness which is pathetic, and many persons can truly say\nthat to them it is homelike; and there are vulgarities of manner that\nare interesting; and there are peculiarities, pleasant or the\nreverse, which attract one's attention : but there was absolutely\nnothing of this sort on our boat.  The female passengers were all\nneutrals, incapable, I should say, of making any impression whatever\neven under the most favorable circumstances.  They were probably\nwomen of the Provinces, and took their neutral tint from the foggy\nland they inhabit, which is neither a republic nor a monarchy, but\nmerely a languid expectation of something undefined.  My comrade was\ndisposed to resent the dearth of beauty, not only on this vessel but\nthroughout the Provinces generally,--a resentment that could be shown\nto be unjust, for this was evidently not the season for beauty in\nthese lands, and it was probably a bad year for it.  Nor should an\nAmerican of the United States be forward to set up his standard of\ntaste in such matters; neither in New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, nor\nCape Breton have I heard the inhabitants complain of the plainness of\nthe women.\n\nOn such a night two lovers might have been seen, but not on our boat,\nleaning over the taffrail,--if that is the name of the fence around\nthe cabin-deck, looking at the moon in the western sky and the long\ntrack of light in the steamer's wake with unutterable tenderness.\nFor the sea was perfectly smooth, so smooth as not to interfere with\nthe most perfect tenderness of feeling; and the vessel forged ahead\nunder the stars of the soft night with an adventurous freedom that\nalmost concealed the commercial nature of her mission.  It seemed--\nthis voyaging through the sparkling water, under the scintillating\nheavens, this resolute pushing into the opening splendors of night--\nlike a pleasure trip.  \"It is the witching hour of half past ten,\"\nsaid my comrade, \"let us turn in.\"  (The reader will notice the\nconsideration for her feelings which has omitted the usual\ndescription of \"a sunset at sea.\")\n\nWhen we looked from our state-room window in the morning we saw land.\nWe were passing within a stone's throw of a pale-green and rather\ncold-looking coast, with few trees or other evidences of fertile\nsoil.  Upon going out I found that we were in the harbor of Eastport.\nI found also the usual tourist who had been up, shivering in his\nwinter overcoat, since four o'clock.  He described to me the\nmagnificent sunrise, and the lifting of the fog from islands and\ncapes, in language that made me rejoice that he had seen it.  He knew\nall about the harbor.  That wooden town at the foot of it, with the\nwhite spire, was Lubec; that wooden town we were approaching was\nEastport.  The long island stretching clear across the harbor was\nCampobello.  We had been obliged to go round it, a dozen miles out of\nour way, to get in, because the tide was in such a stage that we\ncould not enter by the Lubec Channel.  We had been obliged to enter\nan American harbor by British waters.\n\nWe approached Eastport with a great deal of curiosity and\nconsiderable respect.  It had been one of the cities of the\nimagination.  Lying in the far east of our great territory, a\nmilitary and even a sort of naval station, a conspicuous name on the\nmap, prominent in boundary disputes and in war operations, frequent\nin telegraphic dispatches,--we had imagined it a solid city, with\nsome Oriental, if decayed, peculiarity, a port of trade and commerce.\nThe tourist informed me that Eastport looked very well at a distance,\nwith the sun shining on its white houses.  When we landed at its\nwooden dock we saw that it consisted of a few piles of lumber, a\nsprinkling of small cheap houses along a sidehill, a big hotel with a\nflag-staff, and a very peaceful looking arsenal.  It is doubtless a\nvery enterprising and deserving city, but its aspect that morning was\nthat of cheapness, newness, and stagnation, with no compensating\npictur-esqueness.  White paint always looks chilly under a gray sky\nand on naked hills.  Even in hot August the place seemed bleak.  The\ntour-ist, who went ashore with a view to breakfast, said that it\nwould be a good place to stay in and go a-fishing and picnicking on\nCampobello Island.  It has another advantage for the wicked over\nother Maine towns.  Owing to the contiguity of British territory, the\nMaine Law is constantly evaded, in spirit.  The thirsty citizen or\nsailor has only to step into a boat and give it a shove or two across\nthe narrow stream that separates the United States from Deer Island\nand land, when he can ruin his breath, and return before he is\nmissed.\n\nThis might be a cause of war with, England, but it is not the most\nserious grievance here.  The possession by the British of the island\nof Campobello is an insufferable menace and impertinence.  I write\nwith the full knowledge of what war is.  We ought to instantly\ndislodge the British from Campobello.  It entirely shuts up and\ncommands our harbor, one of our chief Eastern harbors and war\nstations, where we keep a flag and cannon and some soldiers, and\nwhere the customs officers look out for smuggling.  There is no way\nto get into our own harbor, except in favorable conditions of the\ntide, without begging the courtesy of a passage through British\nwaters.  Why is England permitted to stretch along down our coast in\nthis straggling and inquisitive manner?  She might almost as well own\nLong Island.  It was impossible to prevent our cheeks mantling with\nshame as we thought of this, and saw ourselves, free American\ncitizens, land-locked by alien soil in our own harbor.\n\nWe ought to have war, if war is necessary to possess Campobello and\nDeer Islands; or else we ought to give the British Eastport.  I am\nnot sure but the latter would be the better course.\n\nWith this war spirit in our hearts, we sailed away into the British\nwaters of the Bay of Fundy, but keeping all the morning so close to\nthe New Brunswick shore that we could see there was nothing on it;\nthat is, nothing that would make one wish to land.  And yet the best\npart of going to sea is keeping close to the shore, however tame it\nmay be, if the weather is pleasant.  A pretty bay now and then, a\nrocky cove with scant foliage, a lighthouse, a rude cabin, a level\nland, monotonous and without noble forests,--this was New Brunswick\nas we coasted along it under the most favorable circumstances.  But\nwe were advancing into the Bay of Fundy; and my comrade, who had been\nbrought up on its high tides in the district school, was on the\nlookout for this phenomenon.  The very name of Fundy is stimulating\nto the imagination, amid the geographical wastes of youth, and the\nyoung fancy reaches out to its tides with an enthusiasm that is given\nonly to Fingal's Cave and other pictorial wonders of the text-book.\nI am sure the district schools would become what they are not now, if\nthe geographers would make the other parts of the globe as attractive\nas the sonorous Bay of Fundy.  The recitation about that is always an\neasy one; there is a lusty pleasure in the mere shouting out of the\nname, as if the speaking it were an innocent sort of swearing.  From\nthe Bay of Fundy the rivers run uphill half the time, and the tides\nare from forty to ninety feet high.  For myself, I confess that, in\nmy imagination, I used to see the tides of this bay go stalking into\nthe land like gigantic waterspouts; or, when I was better instructed,\nI could see them advancing on the coast like a solid wall of masonry\neighty feet high.  \"Where,\" we said, as we came easily, and neither\nuphill nor downhill, into the pleasant harbor of St. John,---where\nare the tides of our youth?\"\n\nThey were probably out, for when we came to the land we walked out\nupon the foot of a sloping platform that ran into the water by the\nside of the piles of the dock, which stood up naked and blackened\nhigh in the air.  It is not the purpose of this paper to describe St.\nJohn, nor to dwell upon its picturesque situation.  As one approaches\nit from the harbor it gives a promise which its rather shabby\nstreets, decaying houses, and steep plank sidewalks do not keep.  A\ncity set on a hill, with flags flying from a roof here and there, and\na few shining spires and walls glistening in the sun, always looks\nwell at a distance.  St. John is extravagant in the matter of\nflagstaffs; almost every well-to-do citizen seems to have one on his\npremises, as a sort of vent for his loyalty, I presume.  It is a good\nfashion, at any rate, and its more general adoption by us would add\nto the gayety of our cities when we celebrate the birthday of the\nPresident.  St. John is built on a steep sidehill, from which it\nwould be in danger of sliding off, if its houses were not mortised\ninto the solid rock.  This makes the house-foundations secure, but\nthe labor of blasting out streets is considerable.  We note these\nthings complacently as we toil in the sun up the hill to the Victoria\nHotel, which stands well up on the backbone of the ridge, and from\nthe upper windows of which we have a fine view of the harbor, and of\nthe hill opposite, above Carleton, where there is the brokenly\ntruncated ruin of a round stone tower.  This tower was one of the\nfirst things that caught our eyes as we entered the harbor.  It gave\nan antique picturesqueness to the landscape which it entirely wanted\nwithout this.  Round stone towers are not so common in this world\nthat we can afford to be indifferent to them.  This is called a\nMartello tower, but I could not learn who built it.  I could not\nunderstand the indifference, almost amounting to contempt, of the\ncitizens of St. John in regard to this their only piece of curious\nantiquity.  \"It is nothing but the ruins of an old fort,\" they said;\n\"you can see it as well from here as by going there.\"  It was, how-\never, the one thing at St.  John I was determined to see.  But we\nnever got any nearer to it than the ferry-landing.  Want of time and\nthe vis inertia of the place were against us.  And now, as I think of\nthat tower and its perhaps mysterious origin, I have a longing for it\nthat the possession of nothing else in the Provinces could satisfy.\n\nBut it must not be forgotten that we were on our way to Baddeck; that\nthe whole purpose of the journey was to reach Baddeck; that St. John\nwas only an incident in the trip; that any information about St.\nJohn, which is here thrown in or mercifully withheld, is entirely\ngratuitous, and is not taken into account in the price the reader\npays for this volume.  But if any one wants to know what sort of a\nplace St. John is, we can tell him: it is the sort of a place that if\nyou get into it after eight o'clock on Wednesday morning, you cannot\nget out of it in any direction until Thursday morning at eight\no'clock, unless you want to smuggle goods on the night train to\nBangor.  It was eleven o'clock Wednesday forenoon when we arrived at\nSt. John.  The Intercolonial railway train had gone to Shediac; it\nhad gone also on its roundabout Moncton, Missaquat River, Truro,\nStewiack, and Shubenacadie way to Halifax; the boat had gone to Digby\nGut and Annapolis to catch the train that way for Halifax; the boat\nhad gone up the river to Frederick, the capital.  We could go to none\nof these places till the next day.  We had no desire to go to\nFrederick, but we made the fact that we were cut off from it an\naddition to our injury.  The people of St. John have this\npeculiarity: they never start to go anywhere except early in the\nmorning.\n\nThe reader to whom time is nothing does not yet appreciate the\nannoyance of our situation.  Our time was strictly limited.  The\nactive world is so constituted that it could not spare us more than\ntwo weeks.  We must reach Baddeck Saturday night or never.  To go\nhome without seeing Baddeck was simply intolerable.  Had we not told\neverybody that we were going to Baddeck?  Now, if we had gone to\nShediac in the train that left St. John that morning, we should have\ntaken the steamboat that would have carried us to Port Hawkesbury,\nwhence a stage connected with a steamboat on the Bras d'Or, which\n(with all this profusion of relative pronouns) would land us at\nBaddeck on Friday.  How many times had we been over this route on the\nmap and the prospectus of travel!  And now, what a delusion it\nseemed!  There would not another boat leave Shediac on this route\ntill the following Tuesday,--quite too late for our purpose.  The\nreader sees where we were, and will be prepared, if he has a map (and\nany feelings), to appreciate the masterly strategy that followed.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nDuring the pilgrimage everything does not suit the tastes of the\npilgrim. --TURKISH PROVERB.\n\nOne seeking Baddeck, as a possession, would not like to be detained a\nprisoner even in Eden,--much less in St. John, which is unlike Eden\nin several important respects.  The tree of knowledge does not grow\nthere, for one thing; at least St. John's ignorance of Baddeck\namounts to a feature.  This encountered us everywhere.  So dense was\nthis ignorance, that we, whose only knowledge of the desired place\nwas obtained from the prospectus of travel, came to regard ourselves\nas missionaries of geographical information in this dark provincial\ncity.\n\nThe clerk at the Victoria was not unwilling to help us on our\njourney, but if he could have had his way, we would have gone to a\nplace on Prince Edward Island which used to be called Bedeque, but is\nnow named Summerside, in the hope of attracting summer visitors.  As\nto Cape Breton, he said the agent of the Intercolonial could tell us\nall about that, and put us on the route.  We repaired to the agent.\nThe kindness of this person dwells in our memory.  He entered at once\ninto our longings and perplexities.  He produced his maps and time-\ntables, and showed us clearly what we already knew.  The Port\nHawkesbury steamboat from Shediac for that week had gone, to be sure,\nbut we could take one of another line which would leave us at Pictou,\nwhence we could take another across to Port Hood, on Cape Breton.\nThis looked fair, until we showed the agent that there was no steamer\nto Port Hood.\n\n\"Ah, then you can go another way.  You can take the Intercolonial\nrailway round to Pictou, catch the steamer for Port Hawkesbury,\nconnect with the steamer on the Bras d'Or, and you are all right.\"\n\nSo it would seem.  It was a most obliging agent; and it took us half\nan hour to convince him that the train would reach Pictou half a day\ntoo late for the steamer, that no other boat would leave Pictou for\nCape Breton that week, and that even if we could reach the Bras d'Or,\nwe should have no means of crossing it, except by swimming.  The\nperplexed agent thereupon referred us to Mr. Brown, a shipper on the\nwharf, who knew all about Cape Breton, and could tell us exactly how\nto get there.  It is needless to say that a weight was taken off our\nminds.  We pinned our faith to Brown, and sought him in his\nwarehouse.  Brown was a prompt business man, and a traveler, and\nwould know every route and every conveyance from Nova Scotia to Cape\nBreton.\n\nMr. Brown was not in.  He never is in.  His store is a rusty\nwarehouse, low and musty, piled full of boxes of soap and candles and\ndried fish, with a little glass cubby in one corner, where a thin\nclerk sits at a high desk, like a spider in his web.  Perhaps he is a\nspider, for the cubby is swarming with flies, whose hum is the only\nnoise of traffic; the glass of the window-sash has not been washed\nsince it was put in apparently.  The clerk is not writing, and has\nevidently no other use for his steel pen than spearing flies.  Brown\nis out, says this young votary of commerce, and will not be in till\nhalf past five.  We remark upon the fact that nobody ever is \"in\"\nthese dingy warehouses, wonder when the business is done, and go out\ninto the street to wait for Brown.\n\nIn front of the store is a dray, its horse fast-asleep, and waiting\nfor the revival of commerce.  The travelers note that the dray is of\na peculiar construction, the body being dropped down from the axles\nso as nearly to touch the ground,--a great convenience in loading and\nunloading; they propose to introduce it into their native land.  The\ndray is probably waiting for the tide to come in.  In the deep slip\nlie a dozen helpless vessels, coasting schooners mostly, tipped on\ntheir beam ends in the mud, or propped up by side-pieces as if they\nwere built for land as well as for water.  At the end of the wharf is\na long English steamboat unloading railroad iron, which will return\nto the Clyde full of Nova Scotia coal.  We sit down on the dock,\nwhere the fresh sea-breeze comes up the harbor, watch the lazily\nswinging crane on the vessel, and meditate upon the greatness of\nEngland and the peacefulness of the drowsy after noon.  One's feeling\nof rest is never complete--unless he can see somebody else at work,--\nbut the labor must be without haste, as it is in the Provinces.\n\nWhile waiting for Brown, we had leisure to explore the shops of\nKing's Street, and to climb up to the grand triumphal arch which\nstands on top of the hill and guards the entrance to King's Square.\n\nOf the shops for dry-goods I have nothing to say, for they tempt the\nunwary American to violate the revenue laws of his country; but he\nmay safely go into the book-shops.  The literature which is displayed\nin the windows and on the counters has lost that freshness which it\nonce may have had, and is, in fact, if one must use the term, fly-\nspecked, like the cakes in the grocery windows on the side streets.\nThere are old illustrated newspapers from the States, cheap novels\nfrom the same, and the flashy covers of the London and Edinburgh\nsixpenny editions.  But this is the dull season for literature, we\nreflect.\n\nIt will always be matter of regret to us that we climbed up to the\ntriumphal arch, which appeared so noble in the distance, with the\ntrees behind it.  For when we reached it, we found that it was built\nof wood, painted and sanded, and in a shocking state of decay; and\nthe grove to which it admitted us was only a scant assemblage of\nsickly locust-trees, which seemed to be tired of battling with the\nunfavorable climate, and had, in fact, already retired from the\nbusiness of ornamental shade trees.  Adjoining this square is an\nancient cemetery, the surface of which has decayed in sympathy with\nthe mouldering remains it covers, and is quite a model in this\nrespect.  I have called this cemetery ancient, but it may not be so,\nfor its air of decay is thoroughly modern, and neglect, and not\nyears, appears to have made it the melancholy place of repose it is.\nWhether it is the fashionable and favorite resort of the dead of the\ncity we did not learn, but there were some old men sitting in its\ndamp shades, and the nurses appeared to make it a rendezvous for\ntheir baby-carriages,--a cheerful place to bring up children in, and\nto familiarize their infant minds with the fleeting nature of\nprovincial life.  The park and burying-ground, it is scarcely\nnecessary to say, added greatly to the feeling of repose which stole\nover us on this sunny day.  And they made us long for Brown and his\ninformation about Baddeck.\n\nBut Mr. Brown, when found, did not know as much as the agent.  He had\nbeen in Nova Scotia; he had never been in Cape Breton; but he\npresumed we would find no difficulty in reaching Baddeck by so and\nso, and so and so.  We consumed valuable time in convincing Brown\nthat his directions to us were impracticable and valueless, and then\nhe referred us to Mr. Cope.  An interview with Mr. Cope discouraged\nus; we found that we were imparting everywhere more geographical\ninform-ation than we were receiving, and as our own stock was small,\nwe concluded that we should be unable to enlighten all the\ninhabitants of St. John upon the subject of Baddeck before we ran\nout.  Returning to the hotel, and taking our destiny into our own\nhands, we resolved upon a bold stroke.\n\nBut to return for a moment to Brown.  I feel that Brown has been let\noff too easily in the above paragraph.  His conduct, to say the\ntruth, was not such as we expected of a man in whom we had put our\nentire faith for half a day,--a long while to trust anybody in these\ntimes,--a man whom we had exalted as an encyclopedia of information,\nand idealized in every way.  A man of wealth and liberal views and\ncourtly manners we had decided Brown would be.  Perhaps he had a\nsuburban villa on the heights over-looking Kennebeckasis Bay, and,\nrecognizing us as brothers in a common interest in Baddeck, not-\nwithstanding our different nationality, would insist upon taking us\nto his house, to sip provincial tea with Mrs. Brown and Victoria\nLouise, his daughter.  When, therefore, Mr.  Brown whisked into his\ndingy office, and, but for our importunity, would have paid no more\nattention to us than to up-country customers without credit, and when\nhe proved to be willingly, it seemed to us, ignorant of Baddeck, our\nfeelings received a great shock.  It is incomprehensible that a man\nin the position of Brown with so many boxes of soap and candles to\ndispose of--should be so ignorant of a neighboring province.  We had\nheard of the cordial unity of the Provinces in the New Dominion.\nHeaven help it, if it depends upon such fellows as Brown!  Of course,\nhis directing us to Cope was a mere fetch.  For as we have intimated,\nit would have taken us longer to have given Cope an idea of Baddeck,\nthan it did to enlighten Brown.  But we had no bitter feelings about\nCope, for we never had reposed confidence in him.\n\nOur plan of campaign was briefly this: To take the steamboat at eight\no'clock, Thursday morning, for Digby Gut and Annapolis; thence to go\nby rail through the poetical Acadia down to Halifax; to turn north\nand east by rail from Halifax to New Glasgow, and from thence to push\non by stage to the Gut of Canso.  This would carry us over the entire\nlength of Nova Scotia, and, with good luck, land us on Cape Breton\nIsland Saturday morning.  When we should set foot on that island, we\ntrusted that we should be able to make our way to Baddeck, by walk-\ning, swimming, or riding, whichever sort of locomotion should be most\npopular in that province.  Our imaginations were kindled by reading\nthat the \"most superb line of stages on the continent\" ran from New\nGlasgow to the Gut of Canso.  If the reader perfectly understands\nthis programme, he has the advantage of the two travelers at the time\nthey made it.\n\nIt was a gray morning when we embarked from St. John, and in fact a\nlittle drizzle of rain veiled the Martello tower, and checked, like\nthe cross-strokes of a line engraving, the hill on which it stands.\nThe miscellaneous shining of such a harbor appears best in a golden\nhaze, or in the mist of a morning like this.  We had expected days of\nfog in this region; but the fog seemed to have gone out with the high\ntides of the geography.  And it is simple justice to these\npossessions of her Majesty, to say that in our two weeks'\nacquaintance of them they enjoyed as delicious weather as ever falls\non sea and shore, with the exception of this day when we crossed the\nBay of Fundy.  And this day was only one of those cool interludes of\nlow color, which an artist would be thankful to introduce among a\ngroup of brilliant pictures.  Such a day rests the traveler, who is\noverstimulated by shifting scenes played upon by the dazzling sun.\nSo the cool gray clouds spread a grateful umbrella above us as we ran\nacross the Bay of Fundy, sighted the headlands of the Gut of Digby,\nand entered into the Annapolis Basin, and into the region of a\nromantic history.  The white houses of Digby, scattered over the\ndowns like a flock of washed sheep, had a somewhat chilly aspect, it\nis true, and made us long for the sun on them.  But as I think of it\nnow, I prefer to have the town and the pretty hillsides that stand\nabout the basin in the light we saw them; and especially do I like to\nrecall the high wooden pier at Digby, deserted by the tide and so\nblown by the wind that the passengers who came out on it, with their\ntossing drapery, brought to mind the windy Dutch harbors that\nBackhuysen painted.  We landed a priest here, and it was a pleasure\nto see him as he walked along the high pier, his broad hat flapping,\nand the wind blowing his long skirts away from his ecclesiastical\nlegs.\n\nIt was one of the coincidences of life, for which no one can account,\nthat when we descended upon these coasts, the Governor-General of the\nDominion was abroad in his Provinces.  There was an air of expec-\ntation of him everywhere, and of preparation for his coming; his\nlordship was the subject of conversation on the Digby boat, his\nmovements were chronicled in the newspapers, and the gracious bearing\nof the Governor and Lady Dufferin at the civic receptions, balls, and\npicnics was recorded with loyal satisfaction; even a literary flavor\nwas given to the provincial journals by quotations from his\nlordship's condescension to letters in the \"High Latitudes.\"  It was\nnot without pain, however, that even in this un-American region we\ndiscovered the old Adam of journalism in the disposition of the\nnewspapers of St. John toward sarcasm touching the well-meant\nattempts to entertain the Governor and his lady in the provincial\ntown of Halifax,--a disposition to turn, in short, upon the\ndemonstrations of loyal worship the faint light of ridicule.  There\nwere those upon the boat who were journeying to Halifax to take part\nin the civic ball about to be given to their excellencies, and as we\nwere going in the same direction, we shared in the feeling of\nsatisfaction which prox-imity to the Great often excites.\n\nWe had other if not deeper causes of satisfaction.  We were sailing\nalong the gracefully moulded and tree-covered hills of the Annapolis\nBasin, and up the mildly picturesque river of that name, and we were\nabout to enter what the provincials all enthusiastically call the\nGarden of Nova Scotia.  This favored vale, skirted by low ranges of\nhills on either hand, and watered most of the way by the Annapolis\nRiver, extends from the mouth of the latter to the town of Windsor on\nthe river Avon.  We expected to see something like the fertile\nvalleys of the Connecticut or the Mohawk.  We should also pass\nthrough those meadows on the Basin of Minas which Mr.  Longfellow has\nmade more sadly poetical than any other spot on the Western\nContinent.  It is,--this valley of the Annapolis,--in the belief of\nprovincials, the most beautiful and blooming place in the world, with\na soil and climate kind to the husbandman; a land of fair meadows,\norchards, and vines.  It was doubtless our own fault that this land\ndid not look to us like a garden, as it does to the inhabitants of\nNova Scotia; and it was not until we had traveled over the rest of\nthe country, that we saw the appropriateness of the designation.  The\nexplanation is, that not so much is required of a garden here as in\nsome other parts of the world.  Excellent apples, none finer, are\nexported from this valley to England, and the quality of the potatoes\nis said to ap-proach an ideal perfection here.  I should think that\noats would ripen well also in a good year, and grass, for those who\ncare for it, may be satisfactory.  I should judge that the other\nproducts of this garden are fish and building-stone.  But we\nanticipate.  And have we forgotten the \"murmuring pines and the\nhemlocks\"?  Nobody, I suppose, ever travels here without believing\nthat he sees these trees of the imagination, so forcibly has the poet\nprojected them upon the uni-versal consciousness.  But we were unable\nto see them, on this route.\n\nIt would be a brutal thing for us to take seats in the railway train\nat Annapolis, and leave the ancient town, with its modern houses and\nremains of old fortifications, without a thought of the romantic\nhistory which saturates the region.  There is not much in the smart,\nnew restaurant, where a tidy waiting-maid skillfully depreciates our\ncurrency in exchange for bread and cheese and ale, to recall the\nearly drama of the French discovery and settlement.  For it is to the\nFrench that we owe the poetical interest that still invests, like a\ngarment, all these islands and bays, just as it is to the Spaniards\nthat we owe the romance of the Florida coast.  Every spot on this\ncontinent that either of these races has touched has a color that is\nwanting in the prosaic settlements of the English.\n\nWithout the historical light of French adventure upon this town and\nbasin of Annapolis, or Port Royal, as they were first named, I\nconfess that I should have no longing to stay here for a week;\nnotwithstanding the guide-book distinctly says that this harbor has\n\"a striking resemblance to the beautiful Bay of Naples.\"  I am not\noffended at this remark, for it is the one always made about a\nharbor, and I am sure the passing traveler can stand it, if the Bay\nof Naples can.  And yet this tranquil basin must have seemed a haven\nof peace to the first discoverers.\n\nIt was on a lovely summer day in 1604, that the Sieur de Monts and\nhis comrades, Champlain and the Baron de Poutrincourt, beating about\nthe shores of Nova Scotia, were invited by the rocky gateway of the\nPort Royal Basin.  They entered the small inlet, says Mr. Parkman,\nwhen suddenly the narrow strait dilated into a broad and tranquil\nbasin, compassed with sunny hills, wrapped with woodland verdure and\nalive with waterfalls.  Poutrincourt was delighted with the scene,\nand would fain remove thither from France with his family.  Since\nPoutrincourt's day, the hills have been somewhat denuded of trees,\nand the waterfalls are not now in sight; at least, not under such a\ngray sky as we saw.\n\nThe reader who once begins to look into the French occupancy of\nAcadia is in danger of getting into a sentimental vein, and sentiment\nis the one thing to be shunned in these days.  Yet I cannot but stay,\nthough the train should leave us, to pay my respectful homage to one\nof the most heroic of women, whose name recalls the most romantic\nincident in the history of this region.  Out of this past there rises\nno figure so captivating to the imagination as that of Madame de la\nTour.  And it is noticeable that woman has a curious habit of coming\nto the front in critical moments of history, and performing some\nexploit that eclipses in brilliancy all the deeds of contemporary\nmen; and the exploit usually ends in a pathetic tragedy, that fixes\nit forever in the sympathy of the world.  I need not copy out of the\npages of De Charlevoix the well-known story of Madame de la Tour; I\nonly wish he had told us more about her.  It is here at Port Royal\nthat we first see her with her husband.  Charles de St. Etienne, the\nChevalier de la Tour,--there is a world of romance in these mere\nnames,--was a Huguenot nobleman who had a grant of Port Royal and of\nLa Hive, from Louis XIII.  He ceded La Hive to Razilli, the\ngovernor-in-chief of the provinces, who took a fancy to it, for a\nresidence.  He was living peacefully at Port Royal in 1647, when the\nChevalier d'Aunay Charnise, having succeeded his brother Razilli at\nLa Hive, tired of that place and removed to Port Royal.  De Charnise\nwas a Catholic; the difference in religion might not have produced\nany unpleasantness, but the two noblemen could not agree in dividing\nthe profits of the peltry trade,--each being covetous, if we may so\nexpress it, of the hide of the savage continent, and determined to\ntake it off for himself.  At any rate, disagreement arose, and De la\nTour moved over to the St. John, of which region his father had\nenjoyed a grant from Charles I. of England,--whose sad fate it is not\nnecessary now to recall to the reader's mind,--and built a fort at\nthe mouth of the river.  But the differences of the two ambitious\nFrenchmen could not be composed.  De la Tour obtained aid from\nGovernor Winthrop at Boston, thus verifying the Catholic prediction\nthat the Huguenots would side with the enemies of France on occasion.\nDe Charnise received orders from Louis to arrest De la Tour; but a\nlittle preliminary to the arrest was the possession of the fort of\nSt. John, and this he could not obtain, although be sent all his\nforce against it.  Taking advantage, however, of the absence of De la\nTour, who had a habit of roving about, he one day besieged St. John.\nMadame de la Tour headed the little handful of men in the fort, and\nmade such a gallant resistance that De Charnise was obliged to draw\noff his fleet with the loss of thirty-three men,--a very serious\nloss, when the supply of men was as distant as France.  But De\nCharnise would not be balked by a woman; he attacked again; and this\ntime, one of the garrison, a Swiss, betrayed the fort, and let the\ninvaders into the walls by an unguarded entrance.  It was Easter\nmorning when this misfortune occurred, but the peaceful influence of\nthe day did not avail.  When Madame saw that she was betrayed, her\nspirits did not quail; she took refuge with her little band in a\ndetached part of the fort, and there made such a bold show of\ndefense, that De Charnise was obliged to agree to the terms of her\nsurrender, which she dictated.  No sooner had this unchivalrous\nfellow obtained possession of the fort and of this Historic Woman,\nthan, overcome with a false shame that he had made terms with a\nwoman, he violated his noble word, and condemned to death all the\nmen, except one, who was spared on condition that he should be the\nexecutioner of the others.  And the poltroon compelled the brave\nwoman to witness the execution, with the added indignity of a rope\nround her neck,--or as De Charlevoix much more neatly expresses it,\n\"obligea sa prisonniere d'assister a l'execution, la corde au cou.\"\n\nTo the shock of this horror the womanly spirit of Madame de la Tour\nsuccumbed; she fell into a decline and died soon after.  De la Tour,\nhimself an exile from his province, wandered about the New World in\nhis customary pursuit of peltry.  He was seen at Quebec for two\nyears.  While there, he heard of the death of De Charnise, and\nstraightway repaired to St. John.  The widow of his late enemy\nreceived him graciously, and he entered into possession of the estate\nof the late occupant with the consent of all the heirs.  To remove\nall roots of bitterness, De la Tour married Madame de Charnise, and\nhistory does not record any ill of either of them.  I trust they had\nthe grace to plant a sweetbrier on the grave of the noble woman to\nwhose faithfulness and courage they owe their rescue from obscurity.\nAt least the parties to this singular union must have agreed to\nignore the lamented existence of the Chevalier d'Aunay.\n\nWith the Chevalier de la Tour, at any rate, it all went well\nthereafter.  When Cromwell drove the French from Acadia, he granted\ngreat territorial rights to De la Tour, which that thrifty adventurer\nsold out to one of his co-grantees for L16,000; and he no doubt\ninvested the money in peltry for the London market.\n\nAs we leave the station at Annapolis, we are obliged to put Madame de\nla Tour out of our minds to make room for another woman whose name,\nand we might say presence, fills all the valley before us.  So it is\nthat woman continues to reign, where she has once got a foothold,\nlong after her dear frame has become dust.  Evangeline, who is as\nreal a personage as Queen Esther, must have been a different woman\nfrom Madame de la Tour.  If the latter had lived at Grand Pre, she\nwould, I trust, have made it hot for the brutal English who drove the\nAcadians out of their salt-marsh paradise, and have died in her\nheroic shoes rather than float off into poetry.  But if it should\ncome to the question of marrying the De la Tour or the Evangeline, I\nthink no man who was not engaged in the peltry trade would hesitate\nwhich to choose.  At any rate, the women who love have more influence\nin the world than the women who fight, and so it happens that the\nsentimental traveler who passes through Port Royal without a tear for\nMadame de la Tour, begins to be in a glow of tender longing and\nregret for Evangeline as soon as he enters the valley of the\nAnnapolis River.  For myself, I expected to see written over the\nrailway crossings the legend,\n\n\"Look out for Evangeline while the bell rings.\"\n\nWhen one rides into a region of romance he does not much notice his\nspeed or his carriage; but I am obliged to say that we were not\nhurried up the valley, and that the cars were not too luxurious for\nthe plain people, priests, clergymen, and belles of the region, who\nrode in them.  Evidently the latest fashions had not arrived in the\nProvinces, and we had an opportunity of studying anew those that had\nlong passed away in the States, and of remarking how inappropriate a\nfashion is when it has ceased to be the fashion.\n\nThe river becomes small shortly after we leave Annapolis and before\nwe reach Paradise.  At this station of happy appellation we looked\nfor the satirist who named it, but he has probably sold out and\nremoved.  If the effect of wit is produced by the sudden recognition\nof a remote resemblance, there was nothing witty in the naming of\nthis station.  Indeed, we looked in vain for the \"garden\" appearance\nof the valley.  There was nothing generous in the small meadows or\nthe thin orchards; and if large trees ever grew on the bordering\nhills, they have given place to rather stunted evergreens; the\nscraggy firs and balsams, in fact, possess Nova Scotia generally as\nwe saw it,--and there is nothing more uninteresting and wearisome\nthan large tracts of these woods.  We are bound to believe that Nova\nScotia has somewhere, or had, great pines and hemlocks that murmur,\nbut we were not blessed with the sight of them.  Slightly picturesque\nthis valley is with its winding river and high hills guarding it, and\nperhaps a person would enjoy a foot-tramp down it; but, I think he\nwould find little peculiar or interesting after he left the\nneighborhood of the Basin of Minas.\n\nBefore we reached Wolfville we came in sight of this basin and some\nof the estuaries and streams that run into it; that is, when the tide\ngoes out; but they are only muddy ditches half the time.  The Acadia\nCollege was pointed out to us at Wolfville by a person who said that\nit is a feeble institution, a remark we were sorry to hear of a place\ndescribed as \"one of the foremost seats of learning in the Province.\"\nBut our regret was at once extinguished by the announcement that the\nnext station was Grand Pre!  We were within three miles of the most\npoetic place in North America.\n\nThere was on the train a young man from Boston, who said that he was\nborn in Grand Pre.  It seemed impossible that we should actually be\nnear a person so felicitously born.  He had a justifiable pride in\nthe fact, as well as in the bride by his side, whom he was taking to\nsee for the first time his old home.  His local information, imparted\nto her, overflowed upon us; and when he found that we had read\n\"Evangeline, his delight in making us acquainted with the scene of\nthat poem was pleasant to see.  The village of Grand Pre is a mile\nfrom the station; and perhaps the reader would like to know exactly\nwhat the traveler, hastening on to Baddeck, can see of the famous\nlocality.\n\nWe looked over a well-grassed meadow, seamed here and there by beds\nof streams left bare by the receding tide, to a gentle swell in the\nground upon which is a not heavy forest growth.  The trees partly\nconceal the street of Grand Pre, which is only a road bordered by\ncommon houses.  Beyond is the Basin of Minas, with its sedgy shore,\nits dreary flats; and beyond that projects a bold headland, standing\nperpendicular against the sky.  This is the Cape Blomidon, and it\ngives a certain dignity to the picture.\n\nThe old Normandy picturesqueness has departed from the village of\nGrand Pre.  Yankee settlers, we were told, possess it now, and there\nare no descendants of the French Acadians in this valley.  I believe\nthat Mr. Cozzens found some of them in humble circumstances in a\nvillage on the other coast, not far from Halifax, and it is there,\nprobably, that the\n\n\"Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun,\nAnd by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story,\nWhile from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring ocean\nSpeaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.\"\n\nAt any rate, there is nothing here now except a faint tradition of\nthe French Acadians; and the sentimental traveler who laments that\nthey were driven out, and not left behind their dikes to rear their\nflocks, and cultivate the rural virtues, and live in the simplicity\nof ignorance, will temper his sadness by the reflection that it is to\nthe expulsion he owes \"Evangeline \" and the luxury of his romantic\ngrief.  So that if the traveler is honest, and examines his own soul\nfaithfully, he will not know what state of mind to cherish as he\npasses through this region of sorrow.\n\nOur eyes lingered as long as possible and with all eagerness upon\nthese meadows and marshes which the poet has made immortal, and we\nregretted that inexorable Baddeck would not permit us to be pilgrims\nfor a day in this Acadian land.  Just as I was losing sight of the\nskirt of trees at Grand Pre, a gentleman in the dress of a rural\nclergyman left his seat, and complimented me with this remark: \"I\nperceive, sir, that you are fond of reading.\"\n\nI could not but feel flattered by this unexpected discovery of my\nnature, which was no doubt due to the fact that I held in my hand one\nof the works of Charles Reade on social science, called \"Love me\nLittle, Love me Long,\" and I said, \"Of some kinds, I am.\"\n\n\"Did you ever see a work called 'Evangeline'?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I have frequently seen it.\"\n\n\"You may remember,\" continued this Mass of Information, \"that there\nis an allusion in it to Grand Pre.  That is the place, sir!\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed, is that the place?  Thank you.\"\n\n\"And that mountain yonder is Cape Blomidon, blow me down, you know.\"\n\nAnd under cover of this pun, the amiable clergyman retired,\nunconscious, I presume, of his prosaic effect upon the atmosphere of\nthe region.  With this intrusion of the commonplace, I suffered an\neclipse of faith as to Evangeline, and was not sorry to have my\nattention taken up by the river Avon, along the banks of which we\nwere running about this time.  It is really a broad arm of the basin,\nextending up to Windsor, and beyond in a small stream, and would have\nbeen a charming river if there had been a drop of water in it.  I\nnever knew before how much water adds to a river.  Its slimy bottom\nwas quite a ghastly spectacle, an ugly gash in the land that nothing\ncould heal but the friendly returning tide.  I should think it would\nbe confusing to dwell by a river that runs first one way and then the\nother, and then vanishes altogether.\n\nAll the streams about this basin are famous for their salmon and\nshad, and the season for these fish was not yet passed.  There seems\nto be an untraced affinity between the shad and the strawberry; they\nappear and disappear in a region simultaneously.  When we reached\nCape Breton, we were a day or two late for both.  It is impossible\nnot to feel a little contempt for people who do not have these\nluxuries till July and August; but I suppose we are in turn despised\nby the Southerners because we do not have them till May and June.\nSo, a great part of the enjoyment of life is in the knowledge that\nthere are people living in a worse place than that you inhabit.\n\nWindsor, a most respectable old town round which the railroad sweeps,\nwith its iron bridge, conspicuous King's College, and handsome church\nspire, is a great place for plaster and limestone, and would be a\ngood location for a person interested in these substances.  Indeed,\nif a man can live on rocks, like a goat, he may settle anywhere\nbetween Windsor and Halifax.  It is one of the most sterile regions\nin the Province.  With the exception of a wild pond or two, we saw\nnothing but rocks and stunted firs, for forty-five miles, a monotony\nunrelieved by one picturesque feature.  Then we longed for the\n\"Garden of Nova Scotia,\" and understood what is meant by the name.\n\nA member of the Ottawa government, who was on his way to the\nGovernor-General's ball at Halifax, informed us that this country is\nrich in minerals, in iron especially, and he pointed out spots where\ngold had been washed out.  But we do not covet it.  And we were not\nsorry to learn from this gentleman, that since the formation of the\nDominion, there is less and less desire in the Provinces for\nannexation to the United States.  One of the chief pleasures in\ntraveling in Nova Scotia now is in the constant reflection that you\nare in a foreign country; and annexation would take that away.\n\nIt is nearly dark when we reach the head of the Bedford Basin.  The\nnoble harbor of Halifax narrows to a deep inlet for three miles along\nthe rocky <DW72> on which the city stands, and then suddenly expands\ninto this beautiful sheet of water.  We ran along its bank for five\nmiles, cheered occasionally by a twinkling light on the shore, and\nthen came to a stop at the shabby terminus, three miles out of town.\nThis basin is almost large enough to float the navy of Great Britain,\nand it could lie here, with the narrows fortified, secure from the\nattacks of the American navy, hovering outside in the fog.  With\nthese patriotic thoughts we enter the town.  It is not the fault of\nthe railroad, but its present inability to climb a rocky hill, that\nit does not run into the city.  The suburbs are not impressive in the\nnight, but they look better then than they do in the daytime; and the\nsame might be said of the city itself.  Probably there is not\nanywhere a more rusty, forlorn town, and this in spite of its\nmagnificent situation.\n\nIt is a gala-night when we rattle down the rough streets, and have\npointed out to us the somber government buildings.  The Halifax Club\nHouse is a blaze of light, for the Governor-General is being received\nthere, and workmen are still busy decorating the Provincial Building\nfor the great ball.  The city is indeed pervaded by his lordship, and\nwe regret that we cannot see it in its normal condition of quiet; the\nhotels are full, and it is impossible to escape the festive feeling\nthat is abroad.  It ill accords with our desires, as tranquil\ntravelers, to be plunged into such a vortex of slow dissipation.\nThese people take their pleasures more gravely than we do, and\nprobably will last the longer for their moderation.  Having\nascertained that we can get no more information about Baddeck here\nthan in St. John, we go to bed early, for we are to depart from this\nfascinating place at six o'clock.\n\nIf any one objects that we are not competent to pass judgment on the\ncity of Halifax by sleeping there one night, I beg leave to plead the\nusual custom of travelers,--where would be our books of travel, if\nmore was expected than a night in a place?  --and to state a few\nfacts.  The first is, that I saw the whole of Halifax.  If I were\ninclined, I could describe it building by building.  Cannot one see\nit all from the citadel hill, and by walking down by the\nhorticultural garden and the Roman Catholic cemetery?  and did not I\nclimb that hill through the most dilapidated rows of brown houses,\nand stand on the greensward of the fortress at five o'clock in the\nmorning, and see the whole city, and the British navy riding at\nanchor, and the fog coming in from the Atlantic Ocean?  Let the\nreader go to!  and if he would know more of Halifax, go there.  We\nfelt that if we remained there through the day, it would be a day of\nidleness and sadness.  I could draw a picture of Halifax.  I could\nrelate its century of history; I could write about its free-school\nsystem, and its many noble charities.  But the reader always skips\nsuch things.  He hates information; and he himself would not stay in\nthis dull garrison town any longer than he was obliged to.\n\nThere was to be a military display that day in honor of the Governor.\n\n\"Why,\" I asked the bright and light-minded <DW52> boy who sold\npapers on the morning train, \"don't you stay in the city and see it?\"\n\n\"Pho,\" said he, with contempt, \"I'm sick of 'em.  Halifax is played\nout, and I'm going to quit it.\"\n\nThe withdrawal of this lively trader will be a blow to the enterprise\nof the place.\n\nWhen I returned to the hotel for breakfast--which was exactly like\nthe supper, and consisted mainly of green tea and dry toast--there\nwas a commotion among the waiters and the hack-drivers over a nervous\nlittle old man, who was in haste to depart for the morning train.  He\nwas a specimen of provincial antiquity such as could not be seen\nelsewhere.  His costume was of the oddest: a long-waisted coat\nreaching nearly to his heels, short trousers, a flowered silk vest,\nand a napless hat.  He carried his baggage tied up in mealbags, and\nhis attention was divided between that and two buxom daughters, who\nwere evidently enjoying their first taste of city life.  The little\nold man, who was not unlike a petrified Frenchman of the last\ncentury, had risen before daylight, roused up his daughters, and had\nthem down on the sidewalk by four o'clock, waiting for hack, or\nhorse-car, or something to take them to the station.  That he might\nbe a man of some importance at home was evident, but he had lost his\nhead in the bustle of this great town, and was at the mercy of all\nadvisers, none of whom could understand his mongrel language.  As we\ncame out to take the horse-car, he saw his helpless daughters driven\noff in one hack, while he was raving among his meal-bags on the\nsidewalk.  Afterwards we saw him at the station, flying about in the\ngreatest excitement, asking everybody about the train; and at last he\nfound his way into the private office of the ticket-seller.  \"Get out\nof here!  \"roared that official.  The old man persisted that he\nwanted a ticket.  \"Go round to the window; clear out!\"  In a very\nflustered state he was hustled out of the room.  When he came to the\nwindow and made known his destination, he was refused tickets,\nbecause his train did not start for two hours yet!\n\nThis mercurial old gentleman only appears in these records because he\nwas the only person we saw in this Province who was in a hurry to do\nanything, or to go anywhere.\n\nWe cannot leave Halifax without remarking that it is a city of great\nprivate virtue, and that its banks are sound.  The appearance of its\npaper-money is not, however, inviting.  We of the United States lead\nthe world in beautiful paper-money; and when I exchanged my crisp,\nhandsome greenbacks for the dirty, flimsy, ill-executed notes of the\nDominion, at a dead loss of value, I could not be reconciled to the\ntransaction.  I sarcastically called the stuff I received\n\"Confederate money;\" but probably no one was wounded by the severity;\nfor perhaps no one knew what a resemblance in badness there is\nbetween the \"Confederate\" notes of our civil war and the notes of the\nDominion; and, besides, the Confederacy was too popular in the\nProvinces for the name to be a reproach to them.  I wish I had\nthought of something more insulting to say.\n\nBy noon on Friday we came to New Glasgow, having passed through a\ncountry where wealth is to be won by hard digging if it is won at\nall; through Truro, at the head of the Cobequid Bay, a place\nexhibiting more thrift than any we have seen.  A pleasant enough\ncountry, on the whole, is this which the road runs through up the\nSalmon and down the East River.  New Glasgow is not many miles from\nPictou, on the great Cumberland Strait; the inhabitants build\nvessels, and strangers drive out from here to see the neighboring\ncoal mines.  Here we were to dine and take the stage for a ride of\neighty miles to the Gut of Canso.\n\nThe hotel at New Glasgow we can commend as one of the most\nunwholesome in the Province; but it is unnecessary to emphasize its\ncondition, for if the traveler is in search of dirty hotels, he will\nscarcely go amiss anywhere in these regions.  There seems to be a\nfashion in diet which endures.  The early travelers as well as the\nlater in these Atlantic provinces all note the prevalence of dry,\nlimp toast and green tea; they are the staples of all the meals;\nthough authorities differ in regard to the third element for\ndiscouraging hunger: it is sometimes boiled salt-fish and sometimes\nit is ham.  Toast was probably an inspiration of the first woman of\nthis part of the New World, who served it hot; but it has become now\na tradition blindly followed, without regard to temperature; and the\ncustom speaks volumes for the non-inventiveness of woman.  At the inn\nin New Glasgow those who choose dine in their shirt-sleeves, and\nthose skilled in the ways of this table get all they want in seven\nminutes.  A man who understands the use of edged tools can get along\ntwice as fast with a knife and fork as he can with a fork alone.\n\nBut the stage is at the door; the coach and four horses answer the\nadvertisement of being \"second to none on the continent.\"  We mount\nto the seat with the driver.  The sun is bright; the wind is in the\nsouthwest; the leaders are impatient to go; the start for the long\nride is propitious.\n\nBut on the back seat in the coach is the inevitable woman, young and\nsickly, with the baby in her arms.  The woman has paid her fare\nthrough to Guysborough, and holds her ticket.  It turns out, however,\nthat she wants to go to the district of Guysborough, to St. Mary's\nCross Roads, somewhere in it, and not to the village of Guysborough,\nwhich is away down on Chedabucto Bay.  (The reader will notice this\ngeographical familiarity.)  And this stage does not go in the\ndirection of St. Mary's.  She will not get out, she will not\nsurrender her ticket, nor pay her fare again.  Why should she?  And\nthe stage proprietor, the stage-driver, and the hostler mull over the\nproblem, and sit down on the woman's hair trunk in front of the\ntavern to reason with her.  The baby joins its voice from the coach\nwindow in the clamor of the discussion.  The baby prevails.  The\nstage company comes to a compromise, the woman dismounts, and we are\noff, away from the white houses, over the sandy road, out upon a\nhilly and not cheerful country.  And the driver begins to tell us\nstories of winter hardships, drifted highways, a land buried in snow,\nand great peril to men and cattle.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\"It was then summer, and the weather very fine; so pleased was I with\nthe country, in which I had never travelled before, that my delight\nproved equal to my wonder.\"--BENVENUTO CELLINI.\n\nThere are few pleasures in life equal to that of riding on the\nbox-seat of a stagecoach, through a country unknown to you and\nhearing the driver talk about his horses.  We made the intimate\nacquaintance of twelve horses on that day's ride, and learned the\npeculiar disposition and traits of each one of them, their ambition\nof display, their sensitiveness to praise or blame, their\nfaithfulness, their playfulness, the readiness with which they\nyielded to kind treatment, their daintiness about food and lodging.\n\nMay I never forget the spirited little jade, the off-leader in the\nthird stage, the petted belle of the route, the nervous, coquettish,\nmincing mare of Marshy Hope.  A spoiled beauty she was; you could see\nthat as she took the road with dancing step, tossing her pretty head\nabout, and conscious of her shining black coat and her tail done up\n\"in any simple knot,\"--like the back hair of Shelley's Beatrice\nCenci.  How she ambled and sidled and plumed herself, and now and\nthen let fly her little heels high in air in mere excess of larkish\nfeeling.\n\n\"So!  girl; so!  Kitty,\" murmurs the driver in the softest tones of\nadmiration; \"she don't mean anything by it, she's just like a\nkitten.\"\n\nBut the heels keep flying above the traces, and by and by the driver\nis obliged to \"speak hash\" to the beauty.  The reproof of the\ndispleased tone is evidently felt, for she settles at once to her\nwork, showing perhaps a little impatience, jerking her head up and\ndown, and protesting by her nimble movements against the more\ndeliberate trot of her companion.  I believe that a blow from the\ncruel lash would have broken her heart; or else it would have made a\nlittle fiend of the spirited creature.  The lash is hardly ever good\nfor the sex.\n\nFor thirteen years, winter and summer, this coachman had driven this\nmonotonous, uninteresting route, with always the same sandy hills,\nscrubby firs, occasional cabins, in sight.  What a time to nurse his\nthought and feed on his heart!  How deliberately he can turn things\nover in his brain!  What a system of philosophy he might evolve out\nof his consciousness!  One would think so.  But, in fact, the\nstagebox is no place for thinking.  To handle twelve horses every\nday, to keep each to its proper work, stimulating the lazy and\nrestraining the free, humoring each disposition, so that the greatest\namount of work shall be obtained with the least friction, making each\ntrip on time, and so as to leave each horse in as good condition at\nthe close as at the start, taking advantage of the road, refreshing\nthe team by an occasional spurt of speed,--all these things require\nconstant attention; and if the driver was composing an epic, the\ncoach might go into the ditch, or, if no accident happened, the\nhorses would be worn out in a month, except for the driver's care.\n\nI conclude that the most delicate and important occupation in life is\nstage-driving.  It would be easier to \"run\" the Treasury Department\nof the United States than a four-in-hand.  I have a sense of the\nunimportance of everything else in comparison with this business in\nhand.  And I think the driver shares that feeling.  He is the\nautocrat of the situation.  He is lord of all the humble passengers,\nand they feel their inferiority.  They may have knowledge and skill\nin some things, but they are of no use here.  At all the stables the\ndriver is king; all the people on the route are deferential to him;\nthey are happy if he will crack a joke with them, and take it as a\nfavor if he gives them better than they send.  And it is his joke\nthat always raises the laugh, regardless of its quality.\n\nWe carry the royal mail, and as we go along drop little sealed canvas\nbags at way offices.  The bags would not hold more than three pints\nof meal, and I can see that there is nothing in them.  Yet somebody\nalong here must be expecting a letter, or they would not keep up the\nmail facilities.  At French River we change horses.  There is a mill\nhere, and there are half a dozen houses, and a cranky bridge, which\nthe driver thinks will not tumble down this trip.  The settlement may\nhave seen better days, and will probably see worse.\n\nI preferred to cross the long, shaky wooden bridge on foot, leaving\nthe inside passengers to take the risk, and get the worth of their\nmoney; and while the horses were being put to, I walked on over the\nhill.  And here I encountered a veritable foot-pad, with a club in\nhis hand and a bundle on his shoulder, coming down the dusty road,\nwith the wild-eyed aspect of one who travels into a far country in\nsearch of adventure.  He seemed to be of a cheerful and sociable\nturn, and desired that I should linger and converse with him.  But he\nwas more meagerly supplied with the media of conversation than any\nperson I ever met.  His opening address was in a tongue that failed\nto convey to me the least idea.  I replied in such language as I had\nwith me, but it seemed to be equally lost upon him.  We then fell\nback upon gestures and ejaculations, and by these I learned that he\nwas a native of Cape Breton, but not an aborigine.  By signs he asked\nme where I came from, and where I was going; and he was so much\npleased with my destination, that he desired to know my name; and\nthis I told him with all the injunction of secrecy I could convey;\nbut he could no more pronounce it than I could speak his name.  It\noccurred to me that perhaps he spoke a French patois, and I asked\nhim; but he only shook his head.  He would own neither to German nor\nIrish.  The happy thought came to me of inquiring if he knew English.\nBut he shook his head again, and said,\n\n\"No English, plenty garlic.\"\n\nThis was entirely incomprehensible, for I knew that garlic is not a\nlanguage, but a smell.  But when he had repeated the word several\ntimes, I found that he meant Gaelic; and when we had come to this\nunderstanding, we cordially shook hands and willingly parted.  One\nseldom encounters a wilder or more good-natured savage than this\nstalwart wanderer.  And meeting him raised my hopes of Cape Breton.\n\nWe change horses again, for the last stage, at Marshy Hope.  As we\nturn down the hill into this place of the mournful name, we dash past\na procession of five country wagons, which makes way for us:\neverything makes way for us; even death itself turns out for the\nstage with four horses.  The second wagon carries a long box, which\nreveals to us the mournful errand of the caravan.  We drive into the\nstable, and get down while the fresh horses are put to.  The\ncompany's stables are all alike, and open at each end with great\ndoors.  The stable is the best house in the place; there are three or\nfour houses besides, and one of them is white, and has vines growing\nover the front door, and hollyhocks by the front gate.  Three or four\nwomen, and as many barelegged girls, have come out to look at the\nproces-sion, and we lounge towards the group.\n\n\"It had a winder in the top of it, and silver handles,\" says one.\n\n\"Well, I declare; and you could 'a looked right in?\"\n\n\"If I'd been a mind to.\"\n\n\"Who has died?\" I ask.\n\n\"It's old woman Larue; she lived on Gilead Hill, mostly alone.  It's\nbetter for her.\"\n\n\"Had she any friends?\"\n\n\"One darter.  They're takin' her over Eden way, to bury her where she\ncome from.\"\n\n\"Was she a good woman?\"  The traveler is naturally curious to know\nwhat sort of people die in Nova Scotia.\n\n\"Well, good enough.  Both her husbands is dead.\"\n\nThe gossips continued talking of the burying.  Poor old woman Larue!\nIt was mournful enough to encounter you for the only time in this\nworld in this plight, and to have this glimpse of your wretched life\non lonesome Gilead Hill.  What pleasure, I wonder, had she in her\nlife, and what pleasure have any of these hard-favored women in this\ndoleful region?  It is pitiful to think of it.  Doubtless, however,\nthe region isn't doleful, and the sentimental traveler would not have\nfelt it so if he had not encountered this funereal flitting.\n\nBut the horses are in.  We mount to our places; the big doors swing\nopen.\n\n\"Stand away,\" cries the driver.\n\nThe hostler lets go Kitty's bridle, the horses plunge forward, and we\nare off at a gallop, taking the opposite direction from that pursued\nby old woman Larue.\n\nThis last stage is eleven miles, through a pleasanter country, and we\nmake it in a trifle over an hour, going at an exhilarating gait, that\nraises our spirits out of the Marshy Hope level.  The perfection of\ntravel is ten miles an hour, on top of a stagecoach; it is greater\nspeed than forty by rail.  It nurses one's pride to sit aloft, and\nrattle past the farmhouses, and give our dust to the cringing foot\ntramps.  There is something royal in the swaying of the coach body,\nand an excitement in the patter of the horses' hoofs.  And what an\nhonor it must be to guide such a machine through a region of rustic\nadmiration!\n\nThe sun has set when we come thundering down into the pretty Catholic\nvillage of Antigonish,--the most home-like place we have seen on the\nisland.  The twin stone towers of the unfinished cathedral loom up\nlarge in the fading light, and the bishop's palace on the hill--the\nhome of the Bishop of Arichat--appears to be an imposing white barn\nwith many staring windows.  At Antigonish--with the emphasis on the\nlast syllable--let the reader know there is a most comfortable inn,\nkept by a cheery landlady, where the stranger is served by the comely\nhandmaidens, her daughters, and feels that he has reached a home at\nlast.  Here we wished to stay.  Here we wished to end this weary\npilgrimage.  Could Baddeck be as attractive as this peaceful valley?\nShould we find any inn on Cape Breton like this one?\n\n\"Never was on Cape Breton,\" our driver had said; \"hope I never shall\nbe.  Heard enough about it.  Taverns?  You'll find 'em occupied.\"\n\n\"Fleas?\n\n\"Wus.\"\n\n\"But it is a lovely country?\"\n\n\"I don't think it.\"\n\nInto what unknown dangers were we going?  Why not stay here and be\nhappy?  It was a soft summer night.  People were loitering in the\nstreet; the young beaux of the place going up and down with the\nbelles, after the leisurely manner in youth and summer; perhaps they\nwere students from St. Xavier College, or visiting gallants from\nGuysborough.  They look into the post-office and the fancy store.\nThey stroll and take their little provincial pleasure and make love,\nfor all we can see, as if Antigonish were a part of the world.  How\nthey must look down on Marshy Hope and Addington Forks and Tracadie!\nWhat a charming place to live in is this!\n\nBut the stage goes on at eight o'clock.  It will wait for no man.\nThere is no other stage till eight the next night, and we have no\nalternative but a night ride.  We put aside all else except duty and\nBaddeck.  This is strictly a pleasure-trip.\n\nThe stage establishment for the rest of the journey could hardly be\ncalled the finest on the continent.  The wagon was drawn by two\nhorses.  It was a square box, covered with painted cloth.  Within\nwere two narrow seats, facing each other, affording no room for the\nlegs of passengers, and offering them no position but a strictly\nupright one.  It was a most ingeniously uncomfortable box in which to\nput sleepy travelers for the night.  The weather would be chilly\nbefore morning, and to sit upright on a narrow board all night, and\nshiver, is not cheerful.  Of course, the reader says that this is no\nhardship to talk about.  But the reader is mistaken.  Anything is a\nhardship when it is unpleasantly what one does not desire or expect.\nThese travelers had spent wakeful nights, in the forests, in a cold\nrain, and never thought of complaining.  It is useless to talk about\nthe Polar sufferings of Dr. Kane to a guest at a metropolitan hotel,\nin the midst of luxury, when the mosquito sings all night in his ear,\nand his mutton-chop is overdone at breakfast.  One does not like to\nbe set up for a hero in trifles, in odd moments, and in inconspicuous\nplaces.\n\nThere were two passengers besides ourselves, inhabitants of Cape\nBreton Island, who were returning from Halifax to Plaster Cove, where\nthey were engaged in the occupation of distributing alcoholic liquors\nat retail.  This fact we ascertained incidentally, as we learned the\nnationality of our comrades by their brogue, and their religion by\ntheir lively ejaculations during the night.  We stowed ourselves into\nthe rigid box, bade a sorrowing good-night to the landlady and her\ndaughters, who stood at the inn door, and went jingling down the\nstreet towards the open country.\n\nThe moon rises at eight o'clock in Nova Scotia.  It came above the\nhorizon exactly as we began our journey, a harvest-moon, round and\nred.  When I first saw it, it lay on the edge of the horizon as if\ntoo heavy to lift itself, as big as a cart-wheel, and its disk cut by\na fence-rail.  With what a flood of splendor it deluged farmhouses\nand farms, and the broad sweep of level country!  There could not be\na more magnificent night in which to ride towards that geographical\nmystery of our boyhood, the Gut of Canso.\n\nA few miles out of town the stage stopped in the road before a post-\nstation.  An old woman opened the door of the farmhouse to receive\nthe bag which the driver carried to her.  A couple of sprightly\nlittle girls rushed out to \"interview \" the passengers, climbing up\nto ask their names and, with much giggling, to get a peep at their\nfaces.  And upon the handsomeness or ugliness of the faces they saw\nin the moonlight they pronounced with perfect candor.  We are not\nobliged to say what their verdict was.  Girls here, no doubt, as\nelsewhere, lose this trustful candor as they grow older.\n\nJust as we were starting, the old woman screamed out from the door,\nin a shrill voice, addressing the driver, \"Did you see ary a sick man\n'bout 'Tigonish?\"\n\n\"Nary.\"\n\n\"There's one been round here for three or four days, pretty bad off;\n's got the St. Vitus's.  He wanted me to get him some medicine for it\nup to Antigonish.  I've got it here in a vial, and I wished you could\ntake it to him.\"\n\n\"Where is he?\"\n\n\"I dunno.  I heern he'd gone east by the Gut. Perhaps you'll hear of\nhim.\"  All this screamed out into the night.\n\n\"Well, I'll take it.\"\n\nWe took the vial aboard and went on; but the incident powerfully\naffected us.  The weird voice of the old woman was exciting in it-\nself, and we could not escape the image of this unknown man, dancing\nabout this region without any medicine, fleeing perchance by night\nand alone, and finally flitting away down the Gut of Canso.  This\nfugitive mystery almost immediately shaped itself into the following\nsimple poem:\n\n\"There was an old man of Canso,\nUnable to sit or stan' so.\nWhen I asked him why he ran so,\nSays he, 'I've St. Vitus' dance so,\nAll down the Gut of Canso.'\"\n\nThis melancholy song is now, I doubt not, sung by the maidens of\nAntigonish.\n\nIn spite of the consolations of poetry, however, the night wore on\nslowly, and soothing sleep tried in vain to get a lodgment in the\njolting wagon.  One can sleep upright, but not when his head is every\nmoment knocked against the framework of a wagon-cover.  Even a jolly\nyoung Irishman of Plaster Cove, whose nature it is to sleep under\nwhatever discouragement, is beaten by these circumstances.  He wishes\nhe had his fiddle along.  We never know what men are on casual\nacquaintance.  This rather stupid-looking fellow is a devotee of\nmusic, and knows how to coax the sweetness out of the unwilling\nviolin.  Sometimes he goes miles and miles on winter nights to draw\nthe seductive bow for the Cape Breton dancers, and there is\nenthusiasm in his voice, as he relates exploits of fiddling from\nsunset till the dawn of day.  Other information, however, the young\nman has not; and when this is exhausted, he becomes sleepy again, and\ntries a dozen ways to twist himself into a posture in which sleep\nwill be possible.  He doubles up his legs, he slides them under the\nseat, he sits on the wagon bottom; but the wagon swings and jolts and\nknocks him about.  His patience under this punishment is admirable,\nand there is something pathetic in his restraint from profanity.\n\nIt is enough to look out upon the magnificent night; the moon is now\nhigh, and swinging clear and distant; the air has grown chilly; the\nstars cannot be eclipsed by the greater light, but glow with a\nchastened fervor.  It is on the whole a splendid display for the sake\nof four sleepy men, banging along in a coach,--an insignificant\nlittle vehicle with two horses.  No one is up at any of the\nfarmhouses to see it; no one appears to take any interest in it,\nexcept an occasional baying dog, or a rooster that has mistaken the\ntime of night.  By midnight we come to Tracadie, an orchard, a\nfarmhouse, and a stable.  We are not far from the sea now, and can\nsee a silver mist in the north.  An inlet comes lapping up by the old\nhouse with a salty smell and a suggestion of oyster-beds.  We knock\nup the sleeping hostlers, change.  horses, and go on again, dead\nsleepy, but unable to get a wink.  And all the night is blazing with\nbeauty.  We think of the criminal who was sentenced to be kept awake\ntill he died.\n\nThe fiddler makes another trial.  Temperately remarking, \"I am very\nsleepy,\" he kneels upon the floor and rests his head on the seat.\nThis position for a second promises repose; but almost immediately\nhis head begins to pound the seat, and beat a lively rat-a-plan on\nthe board.  The head of a wooden idol couldn't stand this treatment\nmore than a minute.  The fiddler twisted and turned, but his head\nwent like a triphammer on the seat.  I have never seen a devotional\nattitude so deceptive, or one that produced less favorable results.\nThe young man rose from his knees, and meekly said,\n\n\"It's dam hard.\"\n\nIf the recording angel took down this observation, he doubtless made\na note of the injured tone in which it was uttered.\n\nHow slowly the night passes to one tipping and swinging along in a\nslowly moving stage!  But the harbinger of the day came at last.\nWhen the fiddler rose from his knees, I saw the morning-star burst\nout of the east like a great diamond, and I knew that Venus was\nstrong enough to pull up even the sun, from whom she is never distant\nmore than an eighth of the heavenly circle.  The moon could not put\nher out of countenance.  She blazed and scintillated with a dazzling\nbrilliance, a throbbing splendor, that made the moon seem a pale,\nsentimental invention.  Steadily she mounted, in her fresh beauty,\nwith the confidence and vigor of new love, driving her more domestic\nrival out of the sky.  And this sort of thing, I suppose, goes on\nfrequently.  These splendors burn and this panorama passes night\nafter night down at the end of Nova Scotia, and all for the stage-\ndriver, dozing along on his box, from Antigonish to the strait.\n\n\"Here you are,\" cries the driver, at length, when we have become\nwearily indifferent to where we are.  We have reached the ferry.  The\ndawn has not come, but it is not far off.  We step out and find a\nchilly morning, and the dark waters of the Gut of Canso flowing\nbefore us lighted here and there by a patch of white mist.  The\nferryman is asleep, and his door is shut.  We call him by all the\nnames known among men.  We pound upon his house, but he makes no\nsign.  Before he awakes and comes out, growling, the sky in the east\nis lightened a shade, and the star of the dawn sparkles less\nbrilliantly.  But the process is slow.  The twilight is long.  There\nis a surprising deliberation about the preparation of the sun for\nrising, as there is in the movements of the boatman.  Both appear to\nbe reluctant to begin the day.\n\nThe ferryman and his shaggy comrade get ready at last, and we step\ninto the clumsy yawl, and the slowly moving oars begin to pull us\nupstream.  The strait is here less than a mile wide; the tide is\nrunning strongly, and the water is full of swirls,--the little\nwhirlpools of the rip-tide.  The morning-star is now high in the sky;\nthe moon, declining in the west, is more than ever like a silver\nshield; along the east is a faint flush of pink.  In the increasing\nlight we can see the bold shores of the strait, and the square\nprojection of Cape Porcupine below.\n\nOn the rocks above the town of Plaster Cove, where there is a black\nand white sign,--Telegraph Cable,--we set ashore our companions of\nthe night, and see them climb up to their station for retailing the\nnecessary means of intoxication in their district, with the mournful\nthought that we may never behold them again.\n\nAs we drop down along the shore, there is a white sea-gull asleep on\nthe rock, rolled up in a ball, with his head under his wing.  The\nrock is dripping with dew, and the bird is as wet as his hard bed.\nWe pass within an oar's length of him, but he does not heed us, and\nwe do not disturb his morning slumbers.  For there is no such cruelty\nas the waking of anybody out of a morning nap.\n\nWhen we land, and take up our bags to ascend the hill to the white\ntavern of Port Hastings (as Plaster Cove now likes to be called), the\nsun lifts himself slowly over the treetops, and the magic of the\nnight vanishes.\n\nAnd this is Cape Breton, reached after almost a week of travel.  Here\nis the Gut of Canso, but where is Baddeck?  It is Saturday morning;\nif we cannot make Baddeck by night, we might as well have remained in\nBoston.  And who knows what we shall find if we get there?  A forlorn\nfishing-station, a dreary hotel?  Suppose we cannot get on, and are\nforced to stay here?  Asking ourselves these questions, we enter the\nPlaster Cove tavern.  No one is stirring, but the house is open, and\nwe take possession of the dirty public room, and almost immediately\ndrop to sleep in the fluffy rocking-chairs; but even sleep is not\nstrong enough to conquer our desire to push on, and we soon rouse up\nand go in pursuit of information.\n\nNo landlord is to be found, but there is an unkempt servant in the\nkitchen, who probably does not see any use in making her toilet more\nthan once a week.  To this fearful creature is intrusted the dainty\nduty of preparing breakfast.  Her indifference is equal to her lack\nof information, and her ability to convey information is fettered by\nher use of Gaelic as her native speech.  But she directs us to the\nstable.  There we find a driver hitching his horses to a two-horse\nstage-wagon.\n\n\"Is this stage for Baddeck?\"\n\n\"Not much.\"\n\n\"Is there any stage for Baddeck?\"\n\n\"Not to-day.\"\n\n\"Where does this go, and when?\"\n\n\"St. Peter's.  Starts in fifteen minutes.\"\n\nThis seems like \"business,\" and we are inclined to try it, especially\nas we have no notion where St. Peter's is.\n\n\"Does any other stage go from here to-day anywhere else?\"\n\n\"Yes.  Port Hood.  Quarter of an hour.\"\n\nEverything was about to happen in fifteen minutes.  We inquire\nfurther.  St. Peter's is on the east coast, on the road to Sydney.\nPort Hood is on the west coast.  There is a stage from Port Hood to\nBaddeck.  It would land us there some time Sunday morning; distance,\neighty miles.\n\nHeavens!  what a pleasure-trip.  To ride eighty miles more without\nsleep!  We should simply be delivered dead on the Bras d'Or; that is\nall.  Tell us, gentle driver, is there no other way?\n\n\"Well, there's Jim Hughes, come over at midnight with a passenger\nfrom Baddeck; he's in the hotel now; perhaps he'll take you.\"\n\nOur hope hung on Jim Hughes.  The frowzy servant piloted us up to his\nsleeping-room.  \"Go right in,\" said she; and we went in, according to\nthe simple custom of the country, though it was a bedroom that one\nwould not enter except on business.  Mr. Hughes did not like to be\ndisturbed, but he proved himself to be a man who could wake up\nsuddenly, shake his head, and transact business,--a sort of Napoleon,\nin fact.  Mr.  Hughes stared at the intruders for a moment, as if he\nmeditated an assault.\n\n\"Do you live in Baddeck?\" we asked.\n\n\"No; Hogamah,--half-way there.\"\n\n\"Will you take us to Baddeck to-day?\n\nMr. Hughes thought.  He had intended to sleep--till noon.  He had\nthen intended to go over the Judique Mountain and get a boy.  But he\nwas disposed to accommodate.  Yes, for money--sum named--he would\ngive up his plans, and start for Baddeck in an hour.  Distance, sixty\nmiles.  Here was a man worth having; he could come to a decision\nbefore he was out of bed.  The bargain was closed.\n\nWe would have closed any bargain to escape a Sunday in the Plaster\nCove hotel.  There are different sorts of hotel uncleanliness.  There\nis the musty old inn, where the dirt has accumulated for years, and\nslow neglect has wrought a picturesque sort of dilapidation, the\nmouldiness of time, which has something to recommend it.  But there\nis nothing attractive in new nastiness, in the vulgar union of\nsmartness and filth.  A dirty modern house, just built, a house\nsmelling of poor whiskey and vile tobacco, its white paint grimy, its\nfloors unclean, is ever so much worse than an old inn that never\npretended to be anything but a rookery.  I say nothing against the\nhotel at Plaster Cove.  In fact, I recommend it.  There is a kind of\nharmony about it that I like.  There is a harmony between the\nbreakfast and the frowzy Gaelic cook we saw \"sozzling\" about in the\nkitchen.  There is a harmony between the appearance of the house and\nthe appearance of the buxom young housekeeper who comes upon the\nscene later, her hair saturated with the fatty matter of the bear.\nThe traveler will experience a pleasure in paying his bill and\ndeparting.\n\nAlthough Plaster Cove seems remote on the map, we found that we were\nright in the track of the world's news there.  It is the transfer\nstation of the Atlantic Cable Company, where it exchanges messages\nwith the Western Union.  In a long wooden building, divided into two\nmain apartments, twenty to thirty operators are employed.  At eight\no'clock the English force was at work receiving the noon messages\nfrom London.  The American operators had not yet come on, for New\nYork business would not begin for an hour.  Into these rooms is\npoured daily the news of the world, and these young fellows toss it\nabout as lightly as if it were household gossip.  It is a marvelous\nexchange, however, and we had intended to make some reflections here\nupon the en rapport feeling, so to speak, with all the world, which\nwe experienced while there; but our conveyance was waiting.  We\ntelegraphed our coming to Baddeck, and departed.  For twenty-five\ncents one can send a dispatch to any part of the Dominion, except the\nregion where the Western Union has still a foothold.\n\nOur conveyance was a one-horse wagon, with one seat.  The horse was\nwell enough, but the seat was narrow for three people, and the entire\nestablishment had in it not much prophecy of Baddeck for that day.\nBut we knew little of the power of Cape Breton driving.  It became\nevident that we should reach Baddeck soon enough, if we could cling\nto that wagon-seat.  The morning sun was hot.  The way was so\nuninteresting that we almost wished ourselves back in Nova Scotia.\nThe sandy road was bordered with discouraged evergreens, through\nwhich we had glimpses of sand-drifted farms.  If Baddeck was to be\nlike this, we had come on a fool's errand.  There were some savage,\nlow hills, and the Judique Mountain showed itself as we got away from\nthe town.  In this first stage, the heat of the sun, the monotony of\nthe road, and the scarcity of sleep during the past thirty-six hours\nwere all unfavorable to our keeping on the wagon-seat.  We nodded\nseparately, we nodded and reeled in unison.  But asleep or awake, the\ndriver drove like a son of Jehu.  Such driving is the fashion on Cape\nBreton Island.  Especially downhill, we made the most of it; if the\nhorse was on a run, that was only an inducement to apply the lash;\nspeed gave the promise of greater possible speed.  The wagon rattled\nlike a bark-mill; it swirled and leaped about, and we finally got the\nexciting impression that if the whole thing went to pieces, we should\nsomehow go on,--such was our impetus.  Round corners, over ruts and\nstones, and uphill and down, we went jolting and swinging, holding\nfast to the seat, and putting our trust in things in general.  At the\nend of fifteen miles, we stopped at a Scotch farmhouse, where the\ndriver kept a relay, and changed horse.\n\nThe people were Highlanders, and spoke little English; we had struck\nthe beginning of the Gaelic settlement.  From here to Hogamah we\nshould encounter only the Gaelic tongue; the inhabitants are all\nCatholics.  Very civil people, apparently, and living in a kind of\nniggardly thrift, such as the cold land affords.  We saw of this\nfamily the old man, who had come from Scotland fifty years ago, his\nstalwart son, six feet and a half high, maybe, and two buxom\ndaughters, going to the hay-field,--good solid Scotch lassies, who\nsmiled in English, but spoke only Gaelic.  The old man could speak a\nlittle English, and was disposed to be both communicative and\ninquisitive.  He asked our business, names, and residence.  Of the\nUnited States he had only a dim conception, but his mind rather\nrested upon the statement that we lived \"near Boston.\"  He complained\nof the degeneracy of the times.  All the young men had gone away from\nCape Breton; might get rich if they would stay and work the farms.\nBut no one liked to work nowadays.  From life, we diverted the talk\nto literature.  We inquired what books they had.\n\n\"Of course you all have the poems of Burns?\"\n\n\"What's the name o' the mon?\"\n\n\"Burns, Robert Burns.\"\n\n\"Never heard tell of such a mon.  Have heard of Robert Bruce.  He was\na Scotchman.\"\n\nThis was nothing short of refreshing, to find a Scotchman who had\nnever heard of Robert Burns!  It was worth the whole journey to take\nthis honest man by the hand.  How far would I not travel to talk with\nan American who had never heard of George Washington!\n\nThe way was more varied during the next stage; we passed through some\npleasant valleys and picturesque neighborhoods, and at length,\nwinding around the base of a wooded range, and crossing its point, we\ncame upon a sight that took all the sleep out of us.  This was the\nfamous Bras d'Or.\n\nThe Bras d'Or is the most beautiful salt-water lake I have ever seen,\nand more beautiful than we had imagined a body of salt water could\nbe.  If the reader will take the map, he will see that two narrow\nestuaries, the Great and the Little Bras d'Or, enter the island of\nCape Breton, on the ragged northeast coast, above the town of Sydney,\nand flow in, at length widening out and occupying the heart of the\nisland.  The water seeks out all the low places, and ramifies the\ninterior, running away into lovely bays and lagoons, leaving slender\ntongues of land and picturesque islands, and bringing into the\nrecesses of the land, to the remote country farms and settlements,\nthe flavor of salt, and the fish and mollusks of the briny sea.\nThere is very little tide at any time, so that the shores are clean\nand sightly for the most part, like those of fresh-water lakes.  It\nhas all the pleasantness of a fresh-water lake, with all the\nadvantages of a salt one.  In the streams which run into it are the\nspeckled trout, the shad, and the salmon; out of its depths are\nhooked the cod and the mackerel, and in its bays fattens the oyster.\nThis irregular lake is about a hundred miles long, if you measure it\nskillfully, and in some places ten miles broad; but so indented is\nit, that I am not sure but one would need, as we were informed, to\nride a thousand miles to go round it, following all its incursions\ninto the land.  The hills about it are never more than five or six\nhundred feet high, but they are high enough for reposeful beauty, and\noffer everywhere pleasing lines.\n\nWhat we first saw was an inlet of the Bras d'Or, called, by the\ndriver, Hogamah Bay.  At its entrance were long, wooded islands,\nbeyond which we saw the backs of graceful hills, like the capes of\nsome poetic sea-coast.  The bay narrowed to a mile in width where we\ncame upon it, and ran several miles inland to a swamp, round the head\nof which we must go.  Opposite was the village of Hogamah.  I had my\nsuspicions from the beginning about this name, and now asked the\ndriver, who was liberally educated for a driver, how he spelled\n\"Hogamah.\"\n\n\"Why-ko-ko-magh.  Hogamah.\"\n\nSometimes it is called Wykogamah.  Thus the innocent traveler is\nmisled.  Along the Whykokomagh Bay we come to a permanent encampment\nof the Micmac Indians,--a dozen wigwams in the pine woods.  Though\nlumber is plenty, they refuse to live in houses.  The wigwams,\nhowever, are more picturesque than the square frame houses of the\nwhites.  Built up conically of poles, with a hole in the top for the\nsmoke to escape, and often set up a little from the ground on a\ntimber foundation, they are as pleasing to the eye as a Chinese or\nTurkish dwelling.  They may be cold in winter, but blessed be the\ntenacity of barbarism, which retains this agreeable architecture.\nThe men live by hunting in the season, and the women support the\nfamily by making moccasins and baskets.  These Indians are most of\nthem good Catholics, and they try to go once a year to mass and a\nsort of religious festival held at St.  Peter's, where their sins are\nforgiven in a yearly lump.\n\nAt Whykokomagh, a neat fishing village of white houses, we stopped\nfor dinner at the Inverness House.  The house was very clean, and the\ntidy landlady gave us as good a dinner as she could of the inevitable\ngreen tea, toast, and salt fish.  She was Gaelic, but Protestant, as\nthe village is, and showed us with pride her Gaelic Bible and\nhymn-book.  A peaceful place, this Whykokomagh; the lapsing waters of\nBras d'Or made a summer music all along the quiet street; the bay lay\nsmiling with its islands in front, and an amphitheater of hills rose\nbehind.  But for the line of telegraph poles one might have fancied\nhe could have security and repose here.\n\nWe put a fresh pony into the shafts, a beast born with an everlasting\nuneasiness in his legs, and an amount of \"go\" in him which suited his\nreckless driver.  We no longer stood upon the order of our going; we\nwent.  As we left the village, we passed a rocky hay-field, where the\nGaelic farmer was gathering the scanty yield of grass.  A comely\nIndian girl was stowing the hay and treading it down on the wagon.\nThe driver hailed the farmer, and they exchanged Gaelic repartee\nwhich set all the hay-makers in a roar, and caused the Indian maid to\ndarkly and sweetly beam upon us.  We asked the driver what he had\nsaid.  He had only inquired what the man would take for the load--as\nit stood!  A joke is a joke down this way.\n\nI am not about to describe this drive at length, in order that the\nreader may skip it; for I know the reader, being of like passion and\nfashion with him.  From the time we first struck the Bras d'Or for\nthirty miles we rode in constant sight of its magnificent water.  Now\nwe were two hundred feet above the water, on the hillside, skirting a\npoint or following an indentation; and now we were diving into a\nnarrow valley, crossing a stream, or turning a sharp corner, but\nalways with the Bras d'Or in view, the afternoon sun shining on it,\nsoftening the outlines of its embracing hills, casting a shadow from\nits wooded islands.  Sometimes we opened on a broad water plain\nbounded by the Watchabaktchkt hills, and again we looked over hill\nafter hill receding into the soft and hazy blue of the land beyond\nthe great mass of the Bras d'Or.  The reader can compare the view and\nthe ride to the Bay of Naples and the Cornice Road; we did nothing of\nthe sort; we held on to the seat, prayed that the harness of the pony\nmight not break, and gave constant expression to our wonder and\ndelight.  For a week we had schooled ourselves to expect nothing more\nfrom this wicked world, but here was an enchanting vision.\n\nThe only phenomenon worthy the attention of any inquiring mind, in\nthis whole record, I will now describe.  As we drove along the side\nof a hill, and at least two hundred feet above the water, the road\nsuddenly diverged and took a circuit higher up.  The driver said that\nwas to avoid a sink-hole in the old road,--a great curiosity, which\nit was worth while to examine.  Beside the old road was a circular\nhole, which nipped out a part of the road-bed, some twenty-five feet\nin diameter, filled with water almost to the brim, but not running\nover.  The water was dark in color, and I fancied had a brackish\ntaste.  The driver said that a few weeks before, when he came this\nway, it was solid ground where this well now opened, and that a large\nbeech-tree stood there.  When he returned next day, he found this\nhole full of water, as we saw it, and the large tree had sunk in it.\nThe size of the hole seemed to be determined by the reach of the\nroots of the tree.  The tree had so entirely disappeared, that he\ncould not with a long pole touch its top.  Since then the water had\nneither subsided nor overflowed.  The ground about was compact\ngravel.  We tried sounding the hole with poles, but could make\nnothing of it.  The water seemed to have no outlet nor inlet; at\nleast, it did not rise or fall.  Why should the solid hill give way\nat this place, and swallow up a tree?  and if the water had any\nconnection with the lake, two hundred feet below and at some distance\naway, why didn't the water run out?  Why should the unscientific\ntraveler have a thing of this kind thrown in his way?  The driver did\nnot know.\n\nThis phenomenon made us a little suspicious of the foundations of\nthis island which is already invaded by the jealous ocean, and is\nanchored to the continent only by the cable.\n\nThe drive became more charming as the sun went down, and we saw the\nhills grow purple beyond the Bras d'Or.  The road wound around lovely\ncoves and across low promontories, giving us new beauties at every\nturn.  Before dark we had crossed the Middle River and the Big\nBaddeck, on long wooden bridges, which straggled over sluggish waters\nand long reaches of marsh, upon which Mary might have been sent to\ncall the cattle home.  These bridges were shaky and wanted a plank at\nintervals, but they are in keeping with the enterprise of the\ncountry.  As dusk came on, we crossed the last hill, and were bowling\nalong by the still gleaming water.  Lights began to appear in\ninfrequent farmhouses, and under cover of the gathering night the\nhouses seemed to be stately mansions; and we fancied we were on a\nnoble highway, lined with elegant suburban seaside residences, and\nabout to drive into a town of wealth and a port of great commerce.\nWe were, nevertheless, anxious about Baddeck.  What sort of haven\nwere we to reach after our heroic (with the reader's permission) week\nof travel?  Would the hotel be like that at Plaster Cove?  Were our\nthirty-six hours of sleepless staging to terminate in a night of\nmisery and a Sunday of discomfort?\n\nWe came into a straggling village; that we could see by the\nstarlight.  But we stopped at the door of a very unhotel-like\nappearing hotel.  It had in front a flower-garden; it was blazing\nwith welcome lights; it opened hospitable doors, and we were received\nby a family who expected us.  The house was a large one, for two\nguests; and we enjoyed the luxury of spacious rooms, an abundant\nsupper, and a friendly welcome; and, in short, found ourselves at\nhome.  The proprietor of the Telegraph House is the superintendent of\nthe land lines of Cape Breton, a Scotchman, of course; but his wife\nis a Newfoundland lady.  We cannot violate the sanctity of what\nseemed like private hospitality by speaking freely of this lady and\nthe lovely girls, her daughters, whose education has been so\nadmirably advanced in the excellent school at Baddeck; but we can\nconfidently advise any American who is going to Newfoundland, to get\na wife there, if he wants one at all.  It is the only new article he\ncan bring from the Provinces that he will not have to pay duty on.\nAnd here is a suggestion to our tariff-mongers for the \"protection\"\nof New England women.\n\nThe reader probably cannot appreciate the delicious sense of rest and\nof achievement which we enjoyed in this tidy inn, nor share the\nanticipations of undisturbed, luxurious sleep, in which we indulged\nas we sat upon the upper balcony after supper, and saw the moon rise\nover the glistening Bras d'Or and flood with light the islands and\nheadlands of the beautiful bay.  Anchored at some distance from the\nshore was a slender coasting vessel.  The big red moon happened to\ncome up just behind it, and the masts and spars and ropes of the\nvessel came out, distinctly traced on the golden background, making\nsuch a night picture as I once saw painted of a ship in a fiord of\nNorway.  The scene was enchanting.  And we respected then the\nheretofore seemingly insane impulse that had driven us on to Baddeck.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\"He had no ill-will to the Scotch; for, if he had been conscious of\nthat, he never would have thrown himself into the bosom of their\ncountry, and trusted to the protection of its remote inhabitants with\na fearless confidence.\"--BOSWELL'S JOHNSON.\n\nAlthough it was an open and flagrant violation of the Sabbath day as\nit is kept in Scotch Baddeck, our kind hosts let us sleep late on\nSunday morning, with no reminder that we were not sleeping the sleep\nof the just.  It was the charming Maud, a flitting sunbeam of a girl,\nwho waited to bring us our breakfast, and thereby lost the\nopportunity of going to church with the rest of the family,--an act\nof gracious hospitality which the tired travelers appreciated.\n\nThe travelers were unable, indeed, to awaken into any feeling of\nSabbatical straitness.  The morning was delicious,--such a morning as\nnever visits any place except an island; a bright, sparkling morning,\nwith the exhilaration of the air softened by the sea.  What a day it\nwas for idleness, for voluptuous rest, after the flight by day and\nnight from St. John!  It was enough, now that the morning was fully\nopened and advancing to the splendor of noon, to sit upon the upper\nbalcony, looking upon the Bras d'Or and the peaceful hills beyond,\nreposeful and yet sparkling with the air and color of summer, and\ninhale the balmy air.  (We greatly need another word to describe good\nair, properly heated, besides this overworked \"balmy.\") Perhaps it\nmight in some regions be considered Sabbath-keeping, simply to rest\nin such a soothing situation,--rest, and not incessant activity,\nhaving been one of the original designs of the day.\n\nBut our travelers were from New England, and they were not willing to\nbe outdone in the matter of Sunday observances by such an out-of-\nthe-way and nameless place as Baddeck.  They did not set themselves\nup as missionaries to these benighted Gaelic people, to teach them by\nexample that the notion of Sunday which obtained two hundred years\nago in Scotland had been modified, and that the sacredness of it had\npretty much disappeared with the unpleasantness of it.  They rather\nlent themselves to the humor of the hour, and probably by their\ndemeanor encouraged the respect for the day on Cape Breton Island.\nNeither by birth nor education were the travelers fishermen on\nSunday, and they were not moved to tempt the authorities to lock them\nup for dropping here a line and there a line on the Lord's day.\n\nIn fact, before I had finished my second cup of Maud-mixed coffee, my\ncompanion, with a little show of haste, had gone in search of the\nkirk, and I followed him, with more scrupulousness, as soon as I\ncould without breaking the day of rest.  Although it was Sunday, I\ncould not but notice that Baddeck was a clean-looking village of\nwhite wooden houses, of perhaps seven or eight hundred inhabitants;\nthat it stretched along the bay for a mile or more, straggling off\ninto farmhouses at each end, lying for the most part on the sloping\ncurve of the bay.  There were a few country-looking stores and shops,\nand on the shore three or four rather decayed and shaky wharves ran\ninto the water, and a few schooners lay at anchor near them; and the\nusual decaying warehouses leaned about the docks.  A peaceful and\nperhaps a thriving place, but not a bustling place.  As I walked down\nthe road, a sailboat put out from the shore and slowly disappeared\nround the island in the direction of the Grand Narrows.  It had a\nsmall pleasure party on board.  None of them were drowned that day,\nand I learned at night that they were Roman Catholics from\nWhykokornagh.\n\nThe kirk, which stands near the water, and at a distance shows a\npretty wooden spire, is after the pattern of a New England\nmeeting-house.  When I reached it, the house was full and the service\nhad begun.  There was something familiar in the bareness and\nuncompromising plainness and ugliness of the interior.  The pews had\nhigh backs, with narrow, uncushioned seats.  The pulpit was high,--a\nsort of theological fortification,--approached by wide, curving\nflights of stairs on either side.  Those who occupied the near seats\nto the right and left of the pulpit had in front of them a blank\nboard partition, and could not by any possibility see the minister,\nthough they broke their necks backwards over their high coat-collars.\nThe congregation had a striking resemblance to a country New England\ncongregation of say twenty years ago.  The clothes they wore had been\nSunday clothes for at least that length of time.\n\nSuch clothes have a look of I know not what devout and painful\nrespectability, that is in keeping with the worldly notion of rigid\nScotch Presbyterianism.  One saw with pleasure the fresh and rosy-\ncheeked children of this strict generation, but the women of the\naudience were not in appearance different from newly arrived and\nrespectable Irish immigrants.  They wore a white cap with long frills\nover the forehead, and a black handkerchief thrown over it and\nhanging down the neck,--a quaint and not unpleasing disguise.\n\nThe house, as I said, was crowded.  It is the custom in this region\nto go to church,--for whole families to go, even the smallest\nchildren; and they not unfrequently walk six or seven miles to attend\nthe service.  There is a kind of merit in this act that makes up for\nthe lack of certain other Christian virtues that are practiced\nelsewhere.  The service was worth coming seven miles to participate\nin!--it was about two hours long, and one might well feel as if he\nhad performed a work of long-suffering to sit through it.  The\nsinging was strictly congregational.  Congregational singing is good\n(for those who like it) when the congregation can sing.  This\ncongregation could not sing, but it could grind the Psalms of David\npowerfully.  They sing nothing else but the old Scotch version of the\nPsalms, in a patient and faithful long meter.  And this is regarded,\nand with considerable plausibility, as an act of worship.  It\ncertainly has small element of pleasure in it.  Here is a stanza from\nPsalm xlv., which the congregation, without any instrumental\nnonsense, went through in a dragging, drawling manner, and with\nperfect individual independence as to time:\n\n\"Thine arrows sharply pierce the heart of th' enemies of the king,\nAnd under thy sub-jec-shi-on the people down do bring.\"\n\nThe sermon was extempore, and in English with Scotch pronunciation;\nand it filled a solid hour of time.  I am not a good judge of ser-\nmons, and this one was mere chips to me; but my companion, who knows\na sermon when he hears it, said that this was strictly theological,\nand Scotch theology at that, and not at all expository.  It was\ndoubtless my fault that I got no idea whatever from it.  But the\nadults of the congregation appeared to be perfectly satisfied with\nit; at least they sat bolt upright and nodded assent continually.\nThe children all went to sleep under it, without any hypocritical\nshow of attention.  To be sure, the day was warm and the house was\nunventilated.  If the windows had been opened so as to admit the\nfresh air from the Bras d'Or, I presume the hard-working farmers and\ntheir wives would have resented such an interference with their\nordained Sunday naps, and the preacher's sermon would have seemed\nmore musty than it appeared to be in that congenial and drowsy air.\nConsidering that only half of the congregation could understand the\npreacher, its behavior was exemplary.\n\nAfter the sermon, a collection was taken up for the minister; and I\nnoticed that nothing but pennies rattled into the boxes,--a\nmelancholy sound for the pastor.  This might appear niggardly on the\npart of these Scotch Presbyterians, but it is on principle that they\nput only a penny into the box; they say that they want a free gospel,\nand so far as they are concerned they have it.  Although the farmers\nabout the Bras d'Or are well-to-do they do not give their minister\nenough to keep his soul in his Gaelic body, and his poor support is\neked out by the contributions of a missionary society.  It was\ngratifying to learn that this was not from stinginess on the part of\nthe people, but was due to their religious principle.  It seemed to\nus that everybody ought to be good in a country where it costs next\nto nothing.\n\nWhen the service was over, about half of the people departed; the\nrest remained in their seats and prepared to enter upon their Sabbath\nexercises.  These latter were all Gaelic people, who had understood\nlittle or nothing of the English service.  The minister turned\nhimself at once into a Gaelic preacher and repeated in that language\nthe long exercises of the morning.  The sermon and perhaps the\nprayers were quite as enjoyable in Gaelic as in English, and the\nsinging was a great improvement.  It was of the same Psalms, but the\ncongregation chanted them in a wild and weird tone and manner, as\nwailing and barbarous to modern ears as any Highland devotional\noutburst of two centuries ago.  This service also lasted about two\nhours; and as soon as it was over the faithful minister, without any\nrest or refreshment, organized the Sunday-school, and it must have\nbeen half past three o'clock before that was over.  And this is\nconsidered a day of rest.\n\nThese Gaelic Christians, we were informed, are of a very old pattern;\nand some of them cling more closely to religious observances than to\nmorality.  Sunday is nowhere observed with more strictness.  The\ncommunity seems to be a very orderly and thrifty one, except upon\nsolemn and stated occasions.  One of these occasions is the\ncelebration of the Lord's Supper; and in this the ancient Highland\ntraditions are preserved.  The rite is celebrated not oftener than\nonce a year by any church.  It then invites the neighboring churches\nto partake with it,--the celebration being usually in the summer and\nearly fall months.  It has some of the characteristics of a \"camp-\nmeeting.\"  People come from long distances, and as many as two\nthousand and three thousand assemble together.  They quarter\nthemselves without special invitation upon the members of the\ninviting church.  Sometimes fifty people will pounce upon one farmer,\noverflowing his house and his barn and swarming all about his\npremises, consuming all the provisions he has laid up for his family,\nand all he can raise money to buy, and literally eating him out of\nhouse and home.  Not seldom a man is almost ruined by one of these\nreligious raids,--at least he is left with a debt of hundreds of\ndollars.  The multitude assembles on Thursday and remains over\nSunday.  There is preaching every day, but there is something\nbesides.  Whatever may be the devotion of a part of the assembly, the\nfour days are, in general, days of license, of carousing, of\ndrinking, and of other excesses, which our informant said he would\nnot particularize; we could understand what they were by reading St.\nPaul's rebuke of the Corinthians for similar offenses.  The evil has\nbecome so great and burdensome that the celebration of this sacred\nrite will have to be reformed altogether.\n\nSuch a Sabbath quiet pervaded the street of Baddeck, that the fast\ndriving of the Gaels in their rattling, one-horse wagons, crowded\nfull of men, women, and children,--released from their long sanctuary\nprivileges, and going home,--was a sort of profanation of the day;\nand we gladly turned aside to visit the rural jail of the town.\n\nUpon the principal street or road of Baddeck stands the dreadful\nprison-house.  It is a story and a quarter edifice, built of stone\nand substantially whitewashed; retired a little from the road, with a\nsquare of green turf in front of it, I should have taken it for the\nresidence of the Dairyman's Daughter, but for the iron gratings at\nthe lower windows.  A more inviting place to spend the summer in, a\nvicious person could not have.  The Scotch keeper of it is an old,\ngarrulous, obliging man, and keeps codfish tackle to loan.  I think\nthat if he had a prisoner who was fond of fishing, he would take him\nwith him on the bay in pursuit of the mackerel and the cod.  If the\nprisoner were to take advantage of his freedom and attempt to escape,\nthe jailer's feelings would be hurt, and public opinion would hardly\napprove the prisoner's conduct.\n\nThe jail door was hospitably open, and the keeper invited us to\nenter.  Having seen the inside of a good many prisons in our own\ncountry (officially), we were interested in inspecting this.  It was\na favorable time for doing so, for there happened to be a man\nconfined there, a circumstance which seemed to increase the keeper's\nfeeling of responsibility in his office.  The edifice had four rooms\non the ground-floor, and an attic sleeping-room above.  Three of\nthese rooms, which were perhaps twelve feet by fifteen feet, were\ncells; the third was occupied by the jailer's family.  The family\nwere now also occupying the front cell,--a cheerful room commanding a\nview of the village street and of the bay.  A prisoner of a\nphilosophic turn of mind, who had committed some crime of sufficient\nmagnitude to make him willing to retire from the world for a season\nand rest, might enjoy himself here very well.\n\nThe jailer exhibited his premises with an air of modesty.  In the\nrear was a small yard, surrounded by a board fence, in which the\nprisoner took his exercise.  An active boy could climb over it, and\nan enterprising pig could go through it almost anywhere.  The keeper\nsaid that he intended at the next court to ask the commissioners to\nbuild the fence higher and stop up the holes.  Otherwise the jail was\nin good condition.  Its inmates were few; in fact, it was rather apt\nto be empty: its occupants were usually prisoners for debt, or for\nsome trifling breach of the peace, committed under the influence of\nthe liquor that makes one \"unco happy.\"  Whether or not the people of\nthe region have a high moral standard, crime is almost unknown; the\njail itself is an evidence of primeval simplicity.  The great\nincident in the old jailer's life had been the rescue of a well-known\ncitizen who was confined on a charge of misuse of public money.  The\nkeeper showed me a place in the outer wall of the front cell, where\nan attempt had been made to batter a hole through.  The Highland clan\nand kinsfolk of the alleged defaulter came one night and threatened\nto knock the jail in pieces if he was not given up.  They bruised the\nwall, broke the windows, and finally smashed in the door and took\ntheir man away.  The jailer was greatly excited at this rudeness, and\nwent almost immediately and purchased a pistol.  He said that for a\ntime he did n't feel safe in the jail without it.  The mob had thrown\nstones at the upper windows, in order to awaken him, and had insulted\nhim with cursing and offensive language.\n\nHaving finished inspecting the building, I was unfortunately moved by\nI know not what national pride and knowledge of institutions superior\nto this at home, to say,\n\n\"This is a pleasant jail, but it doesn't look much like our great\nprisons; we have as many as a thousand to twelve hundred men in some\nof our institutions.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay, I have heard tell,\" said the jailer, shaking his head in\npity, \"it's an awfu' place, an awfu' place,--the United States.  I\nsuppose it's the wickedest country that ever was in the world.  I\ndon't know,--I don't know what is to become of it.  It's worse than\nSodom.  There was that dreadful war on the South; and I hear now it's\nvery unsafe, full of murders and robberies and corruption.\"\n\nI did not attempt to correct this impression concerning my native\nland, for I saw it was a comfort to the simple jailer, but I tried to\nput a thorn into him by saying,\n\n\"Yes, we have a good many criminals, but the majority of them, the\nmajority of those in jails, are foreigners; they come from Ireland,\nEngland, and the Provinces.\"\n\nBut the old man only shook his head more solemnly, and persisted,\n\"It's an awfu' wicked country.\"\n\nBefore I came away I was permitted to have an interview with the sole\nprisoner, a very pleasant and talkative man, who was glad to see\ncompany, especially intelligent company who understood about things,\nhe was pleased to say.  I have seldom met a more agreeable rogue, or\none so philosophical, a man of travel and varied experiences.  He was\na lively, robust Provincial of middle age, bullet-headed, with a mass\nof curly black hair, and small, round black eyes, that danced and\nsparkled with good humor.  He was by trade a carpenter, and had a\nwork-bench in his cell, at which he worked on week-days.  He had been\nput in jail on suspicion of stealing a buffalo-robe, and he lay in\njail eight months, waiting for the judge to come to Baddeck on his\nyearly circuit.  He did not steal the robe, as he assured me, but it\nwas found in his house, and the judge gave him four months in jail,\nmaking a year in all,--a month of which was still to serve.  But he\nwas not at all anxious for the end of his term; for his wife was\noutside.\n\nJock, for he was familiarly so called, asked me where I was from.  As\nI had not found it very profitable to hail from the United States,\nand had found, in fact, that the name United States did not convey\nany definite impression to the average Cape Breton mind, I ventured\nupon the bold assertion, for which I hope Bostonians will forgive me,\nthat I was from Boston.  For Boston is known in the eastern\nProvinces.\n\n\"Are you?\" cried the man, delighted.  \"I've lived in Boston, myself.\nThere's just been an awful fire near there.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" I said; \"I heard nothing of it.' And I was startled with\nthe possibility that Boston had burned up again while we were\ncrawling along through Nova Scotia.\n\n\"Yes, here it is, in the last paper.\"  The man bustled away and found\nhis late paper, and thrust it through the grating, with the inquiry,\n\"Can you read?\"\n\nThough the question was unexpected, and I had never thought before\nwhether I could read or not, I confessed that I could probably make\nout the meaning, and took the newspaper.  The report of the fire\n\"near Boston\" turned out to be the old news of the conflagration in\nPortland, Oregon!\n\nDisposed to devote a portion of this Sunday to the reformation of\nthis lively criminal, I continued the conversation with him.  It\nseemed that he had been in jail before, and was not unaccustomed to\nthe life.  He was not often lonesome; he had his workbench and\nnewspapers, and it was a quiet place; on the whole, he enjoyed it,\nand should rather regret it when his time was up, a month from then.\n\nHad he any family?\n\n\"Oh, yes.  When the census was round, I contributed more to it than\nanybody in town.  Got a wife and eleven children.\"\n\n\"Well, don't you think it would pay best to be honest, and live with\nyour family, out of jail?  You surely never had anything but trouble\nfrom dishonesty.\"\n\n\"That's about so, boss.  I mean to go on the square after this.  But,\nyou see,\" and here he began to speak confidentially, \"things are\nfixed about so in this world, and a man's got to live his life.  I\ntell you how it was.  It all came about from a woman.  I was a\ncarpenter, had a good trade, and went down to St. Peter's to work.\nThere I got acquainted with a Frenchwoman,--you know what Frenchwomen\nare,--and I had to marry her.  The fact is, she was rather low\nfamily; not so very low, you know, but not so good as mine.  Well, I\nwanted to go to Boston to work at my trade, but she wouldn't go; and\nI went, but she would n't come to me, so in two or three years I came\nback.  A man can't help himself, you know, when he gets in with a\nwoman, especially a Frenchwoman.  Things did n't go very well, and\nnever have.  I can't make much out of it, but I reckon a man 's got\nto live his life.  Ain't that about so?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so.  But you'd better try to mend matters when you get out.\nWon't it seem rather good to get out and see your wife and family\nagain?\"\n\n\"I don't know.  I have peace here.\"\n\nThe question of his liberty seemed rather to depress this cheerful\nand vivacious philosopher, and I wondered what the woman could be\nfrom whose companionship the man chose to be protected by jail-bolts.\nI asked the landlord about her, and his reply was descriptive and\nsufficient.  He only said,\n\n\"She's a yelper.\"\n\nBesides the church and the jail there are no public institutions in\nBaddeck to see on Sunday, or on any other day; but it has very good\nschools, and the examination-papers of Maud and her elder sister\nwould do credit to Boston scholars even.  You would not say that the\nplace was stuffed with books, or overrun by lecturers, but it is an\norderly, Sabbath-keeping, fairly intelligent town.  Book-agents visit\nit with other commercial travelers, but the flood of knowledge, which\nis said to be the beginning of sorrow, is hardly turned in that\ndirection yet.  I heard of a feeble lecture-course in Halifax,\nsupplied by local celebrities, some of them from St. John; but so far\nas I can see, this is a virgin field for the platform philosophers\nunder whose instructions we have become the well-informed people we\nare.\n\nThe peaceful jail and the somewhat tiresome church exhaust one's\nopportunities for doing good in Baddeck on Sunday.  There seemed to\nbe no idlers about, to reprove; the occasional lounger on the\nskeleton wharves was in his Sunday clothes, and therefore within the\nstatute.  No one, probably, would have thought of rowing out beyond\nthe island to fish for cod,--although, as that fish is ready to bite,\nand his associations are more or less sacred, there might be excuses\nfor angling for him on Sunday, when it would be wicked to throw a\nline for another sort of fish.  My earliest recollections are of the\ncodfish on the meeting-house spires in New England,--his sacred tail\npointing the way the wind went.  I did not know then why this emblem\nshould be placed upon a house of worship, any more than I knew why\ncodfish-balls appeared always upon the Sunday breakfast-table.  But\nthese associations invested this plebeian fish with something of a\nreligious character, which he has never quite lost, in my mind.\n\nHaving attributed the quiet of Baddeck on Sunday to religion, we did\nnot know to what to lay the quiet on Monday.  But its peacefulness\ncontinued.  I have no doubt that the farmers began to farm, and the\ntraders to trade, and the sailors to sail; but the tourist felt that\nhe had come into a place of rest.  The promise of the red sky the\nevening before was fulfilled in another royal day.  There was an\ninspiration in the air that one looks for rather in the mountains\nthan on the sea-coast; it seemed like some new and gentle compound of\nsea-air and land-air, which was the perfection of breathing material.\nIn this atmosphere, which seemed to flow over all these Atlantic\nisles at this season, one endures a great deal of exertion with\nlittle fatigue; or he is content to sit still, and has no feeling of\nsluggishness.  Mere living is a kind of happiness, and the easy-going\ntraveler is satisfied with little to do and less to see, Let the\nreader not understand that we are recommending him to go to Baddeck.\nFar from it.  The reader was never yet advised to go to any place,\nwhich he did not growl about if he took the advice and went there.\nIf he discovers it himself, the case is different.  We know too well\nwhat would happen.  A shoal of travelers would pour down upon Cape\nBreton, taking with them their dyspepsia, their liver-complaints,\ntheir \"lights\" derangements, their discontent, their guns and\nfishing-tackle, their big trunks, their desire for rapid travel,\ntheir enthusiasm about the Gaelic language, their love for nature;\nand they would very likely declare that there was nothing in it.  And\nthe traveler would probably be right, so far as he is concerned.\nThere are few whom it would pay to go a thousand miles for the sake\nof sitting on the dock at Baddeck when the sun goes down, and\nwatching the purple lights on the islands and the distant hills, the\nred flush in the horizon and on the lake, and the creeping on of gray\ntwilight.  You can see all that as well elsewhere?  I am not so sure.\nThere is a harmony of beauty about the Bras d'Or at Baddeck which is\nlacking in many scenes of more pretension.  No.  We advise no person\nto go to Cape Breton.  But if any one does go, he need not lack\noccupation. If he is there late in the fall or early in the winter,\nhe may hunt, with good luck, if he is able to hit anything with a\nrifle, the moose and the caribou on that long wilderness peninsula\nbetween Baddeck and Aspy Bay, where the old cable landed.  He may\nalso have his fill of salmon fishing in June and July, especially on\nthe Matjorie River.  As late as August, at the time, of our visit, a\nhundred people were camped in tents on the Marjorie, wiling the\nsalmon with the delusive fly, and leading him to death with a hook in\nhis nose.  The speckled trout lives in all the streams, and can be\ncaught whenever he will bite.  The day we went for him appeared to be\nan off-day, a sort of holiday with him.\n\nThere is one place, however, which the traveler must not fail to\nvisit.  That is St. Ann's Bay.  He will go light of baggage, for he\nmust hire a farmer to carry him from the Bras d'Or to the branch of\nSt. Ann's harbor, and a part of his journey will be in a row-boat.\nThere is no ride on the continent, of the kind, so full of\npicturesque beauty and constant surprises as this around the\nindentations of St. Ann's harbor.  From the high promontory where\nrests the fishing village of St. Ann, the traveler will cross to\nEnglish Town.  High bluffs, bold shores, exquisite sea-views,\nmountainous ranges, delicious air, the society of a member of the\nDominion Parliament, these are some of the things to be enjoyed at\nthis place.  In point of grandeur and beauty it surpasses Mt. Desert,\nand is really the most attractive place on the whole line of the\nAtlantic Cable.  If the traveler has any sentiment in him, he will\nvisit here, not without emotion, the grave of the Nova Scotia Giant,\nwho recently laid his huge frame along this, his native shore.  A man\nof gigantic height and awful breadth of shoulders, with a hand as big\nas a shovel, there was nothing mean or little in his soul.  While the\nvisitor is gazing at his vast shoes, which now can be used only as\nsledges, he will be told that the Giant was greatly respected by his\nneighbors as a man of ability and simple integrity.  He was not\nspoiled by his metropolitan successes, bringing home from his foreign\ntriumphs the same quiet and friendly demeanor he took away; he is\nalmost the only example of a successful public man, who did not feel\nbigger than he was.  He performed his duty in life without\nostentation, and returned to the home he loved unspoiled by the\nflattery of constant public curiosity.  He knew, having tried both,\nhow much better it is to be good than to be great.  I should like to\nhave known him.  I should like to know how the world looked to him\nfrom his altitude.  I should like to know how much food it took at\none time to make an impression on him; I should like to know what\neffect an idea of ordinary size had in his capacious head.  I should\nlike to feel that thrill of physical delight he must have experienced\nin merely closing his hand over something.  It is a pity that he\ncould not have been educated all through, beginning at a high school,\nand ending in a university.  There was a field for the multifarious\nnew education!  If we could have annexed him with his island, I\nshould like to have seen him in the Senate of the United States.  He\nwould have made foreign nations respect that body, and fear his\nlightest remark like a declaration of war.  And he would have been at\nhome in that body of great men.  Alas!  he has passed away, leaving\nlittle influence except a good example of growth, and a grave which\nis a new promontory on that ragged coast swept by the winds of the\nuntamed Atlantic.\n\nI could describe the Bay of St. Ann more minutely and graphically, if\nit were desirable to do so; but I trust that enough has been said to\nmake the traveler wish to go there.  I more unreservedly urge him to\ngo there, because we did not go, and we should feel no responsibility\nfor his liking or disliking.  He will go upon the recommendation of\ntwo gentlemen of taste and travel whom we met at Baddeck, residents\nof Maine and familiar with most of the odd and striking combinations\nof land and water in coast scenery.  When a Maine man admits that\nthere is any place finer than Mt. Desert, it is worth making a note\nof.\n\nOn Monday we went a-fishing.  Davie hitched to a rattling wagon\nsomething that he called a horse, a small, rough animal with a great\ndeal of \"go\" in him, if he could be coaxed to show it.  For the first\nhalf-hour he went mostly in a circle in front of the inn, moving\nindifferently backwards or forwards, perfectly willing to go down the\nroad, but refusing to start along the bay in the direction of Middle\nRiver.  Of course a crowd collected to give advice and make remarks,\nand women appeared at the doors and windows of adjacent houses.\nDavie said he did n't care anything about the conduct of the horse,--\nhe could start him after a while,--but he did n't like to have all\nthe town looking at him, especially the girls; and besides, such an\nexhibition affected the market value of the horse.  We sat in the\nwagon circling round and round, sometimes in the ditch and sometimes\nout of it, and Davie \"whaled\" the horse with his whip and abused him\nwith his tongue.  It was a pleasant day, and the spectators\nincreased.\n\nThere are two ways of managing a balky horse.  My companion knew one\nof them and I the other.  His method is to sit quietly in the wagon,\nand at short intervals throw a small pebble at the horse.  The theory\nis that these repeated sudden annoyances will operate on a horse's\nmind, and he will try to escape them by going on.  The spectators\nsupplied my friend with stones, and he pelted the horse with measured\ngentleness.  Probably the horse understood this method, for he did\nnot notice the attack at all.  My plan was to speak gently to the\nhorse, requesting him to go, and then to follow the refusal by one\nsudden, sharp cut of the lash; to wait a moment, and then repeat the\noperation.  The dread of the coming lash after the gentle word will\nstart any horse.  I tried this, and with a certain success.  The\nhorse backed us into the ditch, and would probably have backed\nhimself into the wagon, if I had continued.  When the animal was at\nlength ready to go, Davie took him by the bridle, ran by his side,\ncoaxed him into a gallop, and then, leaping in behind, lashed him\ninto a run, which had little respite for ten miles, uphill or down.\nRemonstrance on behalf of the horse was in vain, and it was only on\nthe return home that this specimen Cape Breton driver began to\nreflect how he could erase the welts from the horse's back before his\nfather saw them.\n\nOur way lay along the charming bay of the Bras d'Or, over the\nsprawling bridge of the Big Baddeck, a black, sedgy, lonesome stream,\nto Middle River, which debouches out of a scraggy country into a\nbayou with ragged shores, about which the Indians have encampments,\nand in which are the skeleton stakes of fish-weirs.  Saturday night\nwe had seen trout jumping in the still water above the bridge.  We\nfollowed the stream up two or three miles to a Gaelic settlement of\nfarmers.  The river here flows through lovely meadows, sandy,\nfertile, and sheltered by hills,--a green Eden, one of the few\npeaceful inhabited spots in the world.  I could conceive of no news\ncoming to these Highlanders later than the defeat of the Pretender.\nTurning from the road, through a lane and crossing a shallow brook,\nwe reached the dwelling of one of the original McGregors, or at least\nas good as an original.  Mr. McGregor is a fiery-haired Scotchman and\nbrother, cordial and hospitable, who entertained our wayward horse,\nand freely advised us where the trout on his farm were most likely to\nbe found at this season of the year.\n\nIt would be a great pleasure to speak well of Mr. McGregor's\nresidence, but truth is older than Scotchmen) and the reader looks to\nus for truth and not flattery.  Though the McGregor seems to have a\ngood farm, his house is little better than a shanty, a rather\ncheerless place for the \"woman \" to slave away her uneventful life\nin, and bring up her scantily clothed and semi-wild flock of\nchildren.  And yet I suppose there must be happiness in it,--there\nalways is where there are plenty of children, and milk enough for\nthem.  A white-haired boy who lacked adequate trousers, small though\nhe was, was brought forward by his mother to describe a trout he had\nrecently caught, which was nearly as long as the boy himself.  The\nyoung Gael's invention was rewarded by a present of real fish-hooks.\nWe found here in this rude cabin the hospitality that exists in all\nremote regions where travelers are few.  Mrs. McGregor had none of\nthat reluctance, which women feel in all more civilized agricultural\nregions, to \"break a pan of milk,\" and Mr. McGregor even pressed us\nto partake freely of that simple drink.  And he refused to take any\npay for it, in a sort of surprise that such a simple act of\nhospitality should have any commercial value.  But travelers\nthemselves destroy one of their chief pleasures.  No doubt we planted\nthe notion in the McGregor mind that the small kindnesses of life may\nbe made profitable, by offering to pay for the milk; and probably the\nnext travelers in that Eden will succeed in leaving some small change\nthere, if they use a little tact.\n\nIt was late in the season for trout.  Perhaps the McGregor was aware\nof that when he freely gave us the run of the stream in his meadows,\nand pointed out the pools where we should be sure of good luck.  It\nwas a charming August day, just the day that trout enjoy lying in\ncool, deep places, and moving their fins in quiet content,\nindifferent to the skimming fly or to the proffered sport of rod and\nreel.  The Middle River gracefully winds through this Vale of Tempe,\nover a sandy bottom, sometimes sparkling in shallows, and then gently\nreposing in the broad bends of the grassy banks.  It was in one of\nthese bends, where the stream swirled around in seductive eddies,\nthat we tried our skill.  We heroically waded the stream and threw\nour flies from the highest bank; but neither in the black water nor\nin the sandy shallows could any trout be coaxed to spring to the\ndeceitful leaders.  We enjoyed the distinction of being the only\npersons who had ever failed to strike trout in that pool, and this\nwas something.  The meadows were sweet with the newly cut grass, the\nwind softly blew down the river, large white clouds sailed high\noverhead and cast shadows on the changing water; but to all these\ngentle influences the fish were insensible, and sulked in their cool\nretreats.  At length in a small brook flowing into the Middle River\nwe found the trout more sociable; and it is lucky that we did so, for\nI should with reluctance stain these pages with a fiction; and yet\nthe public would have just reason to resent a fish-story without any\nfish in it.  Under a bank, in a pool crossed by a log and shaded by a\ntree, we found a drove of the speckled beauties at home, dozens of\nthem a foot long, each moving lazily a little, their black backs\nrelieved by their  fins.  They must have seen us, but at first\nthey showed no desire for a closer acquaintance.  To the red ibis and\nthe white miller and the brown hackle and the gray fly they were\nalike indifferent.  Perhaps the love for made flies is an artificial\ntaste and has to be cultivated.  These at any rate were uncivilized\n-trout, and it was only when we took the advice of the young McGregor\nand baited our hooks with the angleworm, that the fish joined in our\nday's sport.  They could not resist the lively wiggle of the worm\nbefore their very noses, and we lifted them out one after an other,\ngently, and very much as if we were hooking them out of a barrel,\nuntil we had a handsome string.  It may have been fun for them but it\nwas not much sport for us.  All the small ones the young McGregor\ncontemptuously threw back into the water.  The sportsman will perhaps\nlearn from this incident that there are plenty of trout in Cape\nBreton in August, but that the fishing is not exhilarating.\n\nThe next morning the semi-weekly steamboat from Sydney came into the\nbay, and drew all the male inhabitants of Baddeck down to the wharf;\nand the two travelers, reluctant to leave the hospitable inn, and the\npeaceful jail, and the double-barreled church, and all the loveliness\nof this reposeful place, prepared to depart.  The most conspicuous\nperson on the steamboat was a thin man, whose extraordinary height\nwas made more striking by his very long-waisted black coat and his\nvery short pantaloons.  He was so tall that he had a little\ndifficulty in keeping his balance, and his hat was set upon the back\nof his head to preserve his equilibrium.  He had arrived at that\nstage when people affected as he was are oratorical, and overflowing\nwith information and good-nature.  With what might in strict art be\ncalled an excess of expletives, he explained that he was a civil\nengineer, that he had lost his rubber coat, that he was a great\ntraveler in the Provinces, and he seemed to find a humorous\nsatisfaction in reiterating the fact of his familiarity with Painsec\njunction.  It evidently hovered in the misty horizon of his mind as a\njoke, and he contrived to present it to his audience in that light.\n>From the deck of the steamboat he addressed the town, and then, to\nthe relief of the passengers, he decided to go ashore.  When the boat\ndrew away on her voyage we left him swaying perilously near the edge\nof the wharf, good-naturedly resenting the grasp of his coat-tail by\na friend, addressing us upon the topics of the day, and wishing us\nprosperity and the Fourth of July.  His was the only effort in the\nnature of a public lecture that we heard in the Provinces, and we\ncould not judge of his ability without hearing a \"course.\"\n\nPerhaps it needed this slight disturbance, and the contrast of this\nhazy mind with the serene clarity of the day, to put us into the most\ncomplete enjoyment of our voyage.  Certainly, as we glided out upon\nthe summer waters and began to get the graceful outlines of the\nwidening shores, it seemed as if we had taken passage to the\nFortunate Islands.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\n\"One town, one country, is very like another; ...... there are indeed\nminute discriminations both of places and manners, which, perhaps,\nare not wanting of curiosity, but which a traveller seldom stays long\nenough to investigate and compare.\"  --DR.  JOHNSON.\n\nThere was no prospect of any excitement or of any adventure on the\nsteamboat from Baddeck to West Bay, the southern point of the Bras\nd'Or.  Judging from the appearance of the boat, the dinner might have\nbeen an experiment, but we ran no risks.  It was enough to sit on\ndeck forward of the wheel-house, and absorb, by all the senses, the\ndelicious day.  With such weather perpetual and such scenery always\npresent, sin in this world would soon become an impossibility.  Even\ntowards the passengers from Sydney, with their imitation English ways\nand little insular gossip, one could have only charity and the most\nkindly feeling.\n\nThe most electric American, heir of all the nervous diseases of all\nthe ages, could not but find peace in this scene of tranquil beauty,\nand sail on into a great and deepening contentment.  Would the voyage\ncould last for an age, with the same sparkling but tranquil sea, and\nthe same environment of hills, near and remote!  The hills approached\nand fell away in lines of undulating grace, draped with a tender\ncolor which helped to carry the imagination beyond the earth.  At\nthis point the narrative needs to flow into verse, but my comrade did\nnot feel like another attempt at poetry so soon after that on the Gut\nof Canso.  A man cannot always be keyed up to the pitch of\nproduction, though his emotions may be highly creditable to him.  But\npoetry-making in these days is a good deal like the use of profane\nlanguage,--often without the least provocation.\n\nTwelve miles from Baddeck we passed through the Barra Strait, or the\nGrand Narrows, a picturesque feature in the Bras d'Or, and came into\nits widest expanse.  At the Narrows is a small settlement with a\nflag-staff and a hotel, and roads leading to farmhouses on the hills.\nHere is a Catholic chapel; and on shore a fat padre was waiting in\nhis wagon for the inevitable priest we always set ashore at such a\nplace.  The missionary we landed was the young father from Arichat,\nand in appearance the pleasing historical Jesuit.  Slender is too\ncorpulent a word to describe his thinness, and his stature was\nprimeval.  Enveloped in a black coat, the skirts of which reached his\nheels, and surmounted by a black hat with an enormous brim, he had\nthe form of an elegant toadstool.  The traveler is always grateful\nfor such figures, and is not disposed to quarrel with the faith which\npreserves so much of the ugly picturesque.  A peaceful farming\ncountry this, but an unremunerative field, one would say, for the\ncolporteur and the book-agent; and winter must inclose it in a\nlonesome seclusion.\n\nThe only other thing of note the Bras d'Or offered us before we\nreached West Bay was the finest show of medusm or jelly-fish that\ncould be produced.  At first there were dozens of these disk-shaped,\ntransparent creatures, and then hundreds, starring the water like\nmarguerites sprinkled on a meadow, and of sizes from that of a teacup\nto a dinner-plate.  We soon ran into a school of them, a convention,\na herd as extensive as the vast buffalo droves on the plains, a\ncollection as thick as clover-blossoms in a field in June, miles of\nthem, apparently; and at length the boat had to push its way through\na mass of them which covered the water like the leaves of the\npondlily, and filled the deeps far down with their beautiful\ncontracting and expanding forms.  I did not suppose there were so\nmany jelly-fishes in all the world.  What a repast they would have\nmade for the Atlantic whale we did not see, and what inward comfort\nit would have given him to have swum through them once or twice with\nopen mouth!  Our delight in this wondrous spectacle did not prevent\nthis generous wish for the gratification of the whale.  It is\nprobably a natural human desire to see big corporations swallow up\nlittle ones.\n\nAt the West Bay landing, where there is nothing whatever attractive,\nwe found a great concourse of country wagons and clamorous drivers,\nto transport the passengers over the rough and uninteresting nine\nmiles to Port Hawkesbury.  Competition makes the fare low, but\nnothing makes the ride entertaining.  The only settlement passed\nthrough has the promising name of River Inhabitants, but we could see\nlittle river and less inhabitants; country and people seem to belong\nto that commonplace order out of which the traveler can extract\nnothing amusing, instructive, or disagreeable; and it was a great\nrelief when we came over the last hill and looked down upon the\nstraggling village of Port Hawkesbury and the winding Gut of Canso.\n\nOne cannot but feel a respect for this historical strait, on account\nof the protection it once gave our British ancestors.  Smollett makes\na certain Captain C---- tell this anecdote of George II. and his\nenlightened minister, the Duke of Newcastle: \"In the beginning of the\nwar this poor, half-witted creature told me, in a great fright, that\nthirty thousand French had marched from Acadie to Cape Breton.\n'Where did they find transports?' said I.  'Transports!' cried he; 'I\ntell you, they marched by land.'  By land to the island of Cape\nBreton?'  'What!  is Cape Breton an island?'  'Certainly.'  'Ha!  are\nyou sure of that?'  When I pointed it out on the map, he examined it\nearnestly with his spectacles; then taking me in his arms, 'My dear\nC----!' cried he, you always bring us good news.  I'll go directly\nand tell the king that Cape Breton is an island.'\"\n\nPort Hawkesbury is not a modern settlement, and its public house is\none of the irregular, old-fashioned, stuffy taverns, with low rooms,\nchintz-covered lounges, and fat-cushioned rocking-chairs, the decay\nand untidiness of which are not offensive to the traveler.  It has a\nlow back porch looking towards the water and over a mouldy garden,\ndamp and unseemly.  Time was, no doubt, before the rush of travel\nrubbed off the bloom of its ancient hospitality and set a vigilant\nman at the door of the dining-room to collect pay for meals, that\nthis was an abode of comfort and the resort of merry-making and\nfrolicsome provincials.  On this now decaying porch no doubt lovers\nsat in the moonlight, and vowed by the Gut of Canso to be fond of\neach other forever.  The traveler cannot help it if he comes upon the\ntraces of such sentiment.  There lingered yet in the house an air of\nthe hospitable old time; the swift willingness of the waiting-maids\nat table, who were eager that we should miss none of the home-made\ndishes, spoke of it; and as we were not obliged to stay in the hotel\nand lodge in its six-by-four bedrooms, we could afford to make a\nlittle romance about its history.\n\nWhile we were at supper the steamboat arrived from Pictou.  We\nhastened on board, impatient for progress on our homeward journey.\nBut haste was not called for.  The steamboat would not sail on her\nreturn till morning.  No one could tell why.  It was not on account\nof freight to take in or discharge; it was not in hope of more\npassengers, for they were all on board.  But if the boat had returned\nthat night to Pictou, some of the passengers might have left her and\ngone west by rail, instead of wasting two, or three days lounging\nthrough Northumberland Sound and idling in the harbors of Prince\nEdward Island.  If the steamboat would leave at midnight, we could\ncatch the railway train at Pictou.  Probably the officials were aware\nof this, and they preferred to have our company to Shediac.  We\nmention this so that the tourist who comes this way may learn to\npossess his soul in patience, and know that steamboats are not run\nfor his accommodation, but to give him repose and to familiarize him\nwith the country.  It is almost impossible to give the unscientific\nreader an idea of the slowness of travel by steamboat in these\nregions.  Let him first fix his mind on the fact that the earth moves\nthrough space at a speed of more than sixty-six thousand miles an\nhour.  This is a speed eleven hundred times greater than that of the\nmost rapid express trains.  If the distance traversed by a locomotive\nin an hour is represented by one tenth of an inch, it would need a\nline nine feet long to indicate the corresponding advance of the\nearth in the same time.  But a tortoise, pursuing his ordinary gait\nwithout a wager, moves eleven hundred times slower than an express\ntrain.  We have here a basis of comparison with the provincial\nsteamboats.  If we had seen a tortoise start that night from Port\nHawkesbury for the west, we should have desired to send letters by\nhim.\n\nIn the early morning we stole out of the romantic strait, and by\nbreakfast-time we were over St. George's Bay and round his cape, and\nmaking for the harbor of Pictou.  During the forenoon something in\nthe nature of an excursion developed itself on the steamboat, but it\nhad so few of the bustling features of an American excursion that I\nthought it might be a pilgrimage.  Yet it doubtless was a highly\ndeveloped provincial lark.  For a certain portion of the passengers\nhad the unmistakable excursion air: the half-jocular manner towards\neach other, the local facetiousness which is so offensive to\nuninterested fellow-travelers, that male obsequiousness about ladies'\nshawls and reticules, the clumsy pretense of gallantry with each\nother's wives, the anxiety about the company luggage and the company\nhealth.  It became painfully evident presently that it was an\nexcursion, for we heard singing of that concerted and determined kind\nthat depresses the spirits of all except those who join in it.  The\nexcursion had assembled on the lee guards out of the wind, and was\nenjoying itself in an abandon of serious musical enthusiasm.  We\nfeared at first that there might be some levity in this performance,\nand that the unrestrained spirit of the excursion was working itself\noff in social and convivial songs.  But it was not so.  The singers\nwere provided with hymn-and-tune books, and what they sang they\nrendered in long meter and with a most doleful earnestness.  It is\nagreeable to the traveler to see that the provincials disport\nthemselves within bounds, and that an hilarious spree here does not\ndiffer much in its exercises from a prayer-meeting elsewhere.  But\nthe excursion enjoyed its staid dissipation amazingly.\n\nIt is pleasant to sail into the long and broad harbor of Pictou on a\nsunny day.  On the left is the Halifax railway terminus, and three\nrivers flow into the harbor from the south.  On the right the town of\nPictou, with its four thousand inhabitants, lies upon the side of the\nridge that runs out towards the Sound.  The most conspicuous building\nin it as we approach is the Roman Catholic church; advanced to the\nedge of the town and occupying the highest ground, it appears large,\nand its gilt cross is a beacon miles away.  Its builders understood\nthe value of a striking situation, a dominant position; it is a part\nof the universal policy of this church to secure the commanding\nplaces for its houses of worship.  We may have had no prejudices in\nfavor of the Papal temporality when we landed at Pictou, but this\nchurch was the only one which impressed us, and the only one we took\nthe trouble to visit.  We had ample time, for the steamboat after its\narduous trip needed rest, and remained some hours in the harbor.\nPictou is said to be a thriving place, and its streets have a cindery\nappearance, betokening the nearness of coal mines and the presence of\nfurnaces.  But the town has rather a cheap and rusty look.  Its\nstreets rise one above another on the hillside, and, except a few\ncomfortable cottages, we saw no evidences of wealth in the dwellings.\nThe church, when we reached it, was a commonplace brick structure,\nwith a raw, unfinished interior, and weedy and untidy surroundings,\nso that our expectation of sitting on the inviting hill and enjoying\nthe view was not realized; and we were obliged to descend to the hot\nwharf and wait for the ferry-boat to take us to the steamboat which\nlay at the railway terminus opposite.  It is the most unfair thing in\nthe world for the traveler, without an object or any interest in the\ndevelopment of the country, on a sleepy day in August, to express any\nopinion whatever about such a town as Pictou.  But we may say of it,\nwithout offence, that it occupies a charming situation, and may have\nan interesting future; and that a person on a short acquaintance can\nleave it without regret.\n\nBy stopping here we had the misfortune to lose our excursion, a loss\nthat was soothed by no know ledge of its destination or hope of\nseeing it again, and a loss without a hope is nearly always painful.\nGoing out of the harbor we encounter Pictou Island and Light, and\npresently see the low coast of Prince Edward Island,--a coast\nindented and agreeable to those idly sailing along it, in weather\nthat seemed let down out of heaven and over a sea that sparkled but\nstill slept in a summer quiet.  When fate puts a man in such a\nposition and relieves him of all responsibility, with a book and a\ngood comrade, and liberty to make sarcastic remarks upon his fellow-\ntravelers, or to doze, or to look over the tranquil sea, he may be\npronounced happy.  And I believe that my companion, except in the\nmatter of the comrade, was happy.  But I could not resist a worrying\nanxiety about the future of the British Provinces, which not even the\nremembrance of their hostility to us during our mortal strife with\nthe Rebellion could render agreeable.  For I could not but feel that\nthe ostentatious and unconcealable prosperity of \"the States\" over-\nshadows this part of the continent.  And it was for once in vain that\nI said, \"Have we not a common land and a common literature, and no\ncopyright, and a common pride in Shakespeare and Hannah More and\nColonel Newcome and Pepys's Diary?\" I never knew this sort of\nconsolation to fail before; it does not seem to answer in the\nProvinces as well as it does in England.\n\nNew passengers had come on board at Pictou, new and hungry, and not\nall could get seats for dinner at the first table.  Notwithstanding\nthe supposed traditionary advantage of our birthplace, we were unable\nto dispatch this meal with the celerity of our fellow-voyagers, and\nconsequently, while we lingered over our tea, we found ourselves at\nthe second table.  And we were rewarded by one of those pleasing\nsights that go to make up the entertainment of travel.  There sat\ndown opposite to us a fat man whose noble proportions occupied at the\nboard the space of three ordinary men.  His great face beamed delight\nthe moment he came near the table.  He had a low forehead and a wide\nmouth and small eyes, and an internal capacity that was a prophecy of\nfamine to his fellow-men.  But a more good-natured, pleased animal\nyou may never see.  Seating himself with unrepressed joy, he looked\nat us, and a great smile of satisfaction came over his face, that\nplainly said, \"Now my time has come.\"  Every part of his vast bulk\nsaid this.  Most generously, by his friendly glances, he made us\npartners in his pleasure.  With a Napoleonic grasp of his situation,\nhe reached far and near, hauling this and that dish of fragments\ntowards his plate, giving orders at the same time, and throwing into\nhis cheerful mouth odd pieces of bread and pickles in an unstudied\nand preliminary manner.  When he had secured everything within his\nreach, he heaped his plate and began an attack upon the contents,\nusing both knife and fork with wonderful proficiency.  The man's\ngood-humor was contagious, and he did not regard our amusement as\ndifferent in kind from his enjoyment.  The spectacle was worth a\njourney to see.  Indeed, its aspect of comicality almost overcame its\ngrossness, and even when the hero loaded in faster than he could\nswallow, and was obliged to drop his knife for an instant to arrange\nmatters in his mouth with his finger, it was done with such a beaming\nsmile that a pig would not take offense at it.  The performance was\nnot the merely vulgar thing it seems on paper, but an achievement\nunique and perfect, which one is not likely to see more than once in\na lifetime.  It was only when the man left the table that his face\nbecame serious.  We had seen him at his best.\n\nPrince Edward Island, as we approached it, had a pleasing aspect, and\nnothing of that remote friendlessness which its appearance on the map\nconveys to one; a warm and sandy land, in a genial climate, without\nfogs, we are informed.  In the winter it has ice communication with\nNova Scotia, from Cape Traverse to Cape Tormentine,--the route of the\nsubmarine cable.  The island is as flat from end to end as a floor.\nWhen it surrendered its independent government and joined the\nDominion, one of the conditions of the union was that the government\nshould build a railway the whole length of it.  This is in process of\nconstruction, and the portion that is built affords great\nsatisfaction to the islanders, a railway being one of the necessary\nadjuncts of civilization; but that there was great need of it, or\nthat it would pay, we were unable to learn.\n\nWe sailed through Hillsborough Bay and a narrow strait to\nCharlottetown, the capital, which lies on a sandy spit of land\nbetween two rivers.  Our leisurely steamboat tied up here in the\nafternoon and spent the night, giving the passengers an opportunity\nto make thorough acquaintance with the town.  It has the appearance\nof a place from which something has departed; a wooden town, with\nwide and vacant streets, and the air of waiting for something.\nAlmost melancholy is the aspect of its freestone colonial building,\nwhere once the colonial legislature held its momentous sessions, and\nthe colonial governor shed the delightful aroma of royalty.  The\nmansion of the governor--now vacant of pomp, because that official\ndoes not exist--is a little withdrawn from the town, secluded among\ntrees by the water-side.  It is dignified with a winding approach,\nbut is itself only a cheap and decaying house.  On our way to it we\npassed the drill-shed of the local cavalry, which we mistook for a\nskating-rink, and thereby excited the contempt of an old lady of whom\nwe inquired.  Tasteful residences we did not find, nor that attention\nto flowers and gardens which the mild climate would suggest.  Indeed,\nwe should describe Charlottetown as a place where the hollyhock in\nthe dooryard is considered an ornament.  A conspicuous building is a\nlarge market-house shingled all over (as many of the public buildings\nare), and this and other cheap public edifices stand in the midst of\na large square, which is surrounded by shabby shops for the most\npart.  The town is laid out on a generous scale, and it is to be\nregretted that we could not have seen it when it enjoyed the glory of\na governor and court and ministers of state, and all the\nparaphernalia of a royal parliament.  That the productive island,\nwith its system of free schools, is about to enter upon a prosperous\ncareer, and that Charlottetown is soon to become a place of great\nactivity, no one who converses with the natives can doubt; and I\nthink that even now no traveler will regret spending an hour or two\nthere; but it is necessary to say that the rosy inducements to\ntourists to spend the summer there exist only in the guide-books.\n\nWe congratulated ourselves that we should at least have a night of\ndelightful sleep on the steamboat in the quiet of this secluded\nharbor.  But it was wisely ordered otherwise, to the end that we\nshould improve our time by an interesting study of human nature.\nTowards midnight, when the occupants of all the state-rooms were\nsupposed to be in profound slumber, there was an invasion of the\nsmall cabin by a large and loquacious family, who had been making an\nexcursion on the island railway.  This family might remind an\nantiquated novel-reader of the delightful Brangtons in \"Evelina;\"\nthey had all the vivacity of the pleasant cousins of the heroine of\nthat story, and the same generosity towards the public in regard to\ntheir family affairs.  Before they had been in the cabin an hour, we\nfelt as if we knew every one of them.  There was a great squabble as\nto where and how they should sleep; and when this was over, the\nrevelations of the nature of their beds and their peculiar habits of\nsleep continued to pierce the thin deal partitions of the adjoining\nstate-rooms.  When all the possible trivialities of vacant minds\nseemed to have been exhausted, there followed a half-hour of\n\"Goodnight, pa; good-night, ma;\"  \"Goodnight, pet;\" and \"Are you\nasleep, ma?\"  \"No.\"  \"Are you asleep, pa?\"  \" No; go to sleep, pet.\"\n\"I'm going.  Good-night, pa; good-night, ma.\"  \" Goodnight, pet.\"\n\"This bed is too short.\"  \" Why don't you take the other?\"  \"I'm all\nfixed now.\"  \"Well, go to sleep; good-night.\"  \"Good-night, ma;\ngoodnight, pa,\"--no answer.  \"Good-night,pa.\"  \"Goodnight, pet.\"  \"\nMa, are you asleep?\"  \"Most.\"  \"This bed is all lumps; I wish I'd\ngone downstairs.\"  \"Well, pa will get up.\"  \" Pa, are you asleep?\"\n\"Yes.\"  \"It's better now; good-night, pa.\"  \" Goodnight, pet.\"\n\"Good-night, ma.\"  \" Good-night, pet.\"  And so on in an exasperating\nrepetition, until every passenger on the boat must have been\nthoroughly informed of the manner in which this interesting family\nhabitually settled itself to repose.\n\nHalf an hour passes with only a languid exchange of family feeling,\nand then: \"Pa?\"  \"Well, pet.\"  \"Don't call us in the morning; we\ndon't want any breakfast; we want to sleep.\"  \"I won't.\"  \"Goodnight,\npa; goodnight, ma.  Ma?\"  \"What is it, dear?\"  \"Good-night, ma.\"\n\"Good-night, pet.\"  Alas for youthful expectations!  Pet shared her\nstateroom with a young companion, and the two were carrying on a\nprivate dialogue during this public performance.  Did these young\nladies, after keeping all the passengers of the boat awake till near\nthe summer dawn, imagine that it was in the power of pa and ma to\ninsure them the coveted forenoon slumber, or even the morning snooze?\nThe travelers, tossing in their state-room under this domestic\ninfliction, anticipated the morning with grim satisfaction; for they\nhad a presentiment that it would be impossible for them to arise and\nmake their toilet without waking up every one in their part of the\nboat, and aggravating them to such an extent that they would stay\nawake.  And so it turned out.  The family grumbling at the unexpected\ndisturbance was sweeter to the travelers than all the exchange of\nfamily affection during the night.\n\nNo one, indeed, ought to sleep beyond breakfast-time while sailing\nalong the southern coast of Prince Edward Island.  It was a sparkling\nmorning.  When we went on deck we were abreast Cape Traverse; the\nfaint outline of Nova Scotia was marked on the horizon, and New\nBrunswick thrust out Cape Tomentine to greet us.  On the still, sunny\ncoasts and the placid sea, and in the serene, smiling sky, there was\nno sign of the coming tempest which was then raging from Hatteras to\nCape Cod; nor could one imagine that this peaceful scene would, a few\ndays later, be swept by a fearful tornado, which should raze to the\nground trees and dwelling-houses, and strew all these now inviting\nshores with wrecked ships and drowning sailors,--a storm which has\npassed into literature in \"The Lord's-Day Gale \" of Mr Stedman.\n\nThrough this delicious weather why should the steamboat hasten, in\norder to discharge its passengers into the sweeping unrest of\ncontinental travel?  Our eagerness to get on, indeed, almost melted\naway, and we were scarcely impatient at all when the boat lounged\ninto Halifax Bay, past Salutation Point and stopped at Summerside.\nThis little seaport is intended to be attractive, and it would give\nthese travelers great pleasure to describe it, if they could at all\nremember how it looks.  But it is a place that, like some faces,\nmakes no sort of impression on the memory.  We went ashore there, and\ntried to take an interest in the ship-building, and in the little\noysters which the harbor yields; but whether we did take an interest\nor not has passed out of memory.  A small, unpicturesque, wooden\ntown, in the languor of a provincial summer; why should we pretend an\ninterest in it which we did not feel?  It did not disturb our\nreposeful frame of mind, nor much interfere with our enjoyment of the\nday.\n\nOn the forward deck, when we were under way again, amid a group\nreading and nodding in the sunshine, we found a pretty girl with a\ncompanion and a gentleman, whom we knew by intuition as the \"pa\" of\nthe pretty girl and of our night of anguish.  The pa might have been\na clergyman in a small way, or the proprietor of a female boarding-\nschool; at any rate, an excellent and improving person to travel\nwith, whose willingness to impart information made even the travelers\nlong for a pa.  It was no part of his plan of this family summer\nexcursion, upon which he had come against his wish, to have any hour\nof it wasted in idleness.  He held an open volume in his hand, and\nwas questioning his daughter on its contents.  He spoke in a loud\nvoice, and without heeding the timidity of the young lady, who shrank\nfrom this public examination, and begged her father not to continue\nit.  The parent was, however, either proud of his daughter's\nacquirements, or he thought it a good opportunity to shame her out of\nher ignorance.  Doubtless, we said, he is instructing her upon the\ngeography of the region we are passing through, its early settlement,\nthe romantic incidents of its history when French and English fought\nover it, and so is making this a tour of profit as well as pleasure.\nBut the excellent and pottering father proved to be no disciple of\nthe new education.  Greece was his theme and he got his questions,\nand his answers too, from the ancient school history in his hand.\nThe lesson went on:\n\n\"Who was Alcibiades?\n\n\"A Greek.\"\n\n\"Yes.  When did he flourish?\"\n\n\"I can't think.\"\n\n\"Can't think?  What was he noted for?\"\n\n\"I don't remember.\"\n\n\"Don't remember?  I don't believe you studied this.\"\n\n\"Yes, I did.\"\n\n\"Well, take it now, and study it hard, and then I'll hear you again.\"\n\nThe young girl, who is put to shame by this open persecution, begins\nto study, while the peevish and small tyrant, her pa, is nagging her\nwith such soothing remarks as, \"I thought you'd have more respect for\nyour pride;\" \"Why don't you try to come up to the expectations of\nyour teacher?\"  By and by the student thinks she has \"got it,\" and\nthe public exposition begins again.  The date at which Alcibiades\n\"flourished\" was ascertained, but what he was \"noted for\" got\nhopelessly mixed with what Thernistocles was \"noted for.\"  The\nmomentary impression that the battle of Marathon was fought by\nSalamis was soon dissipated, and the questions continued.\n\n\"What did Pericles do to the Greeks?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Elevated 'em, did n't he?  Did n't he elevate Pem?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Always remember that; you want to fix your mind on leading things.\nRemember that Pericles elevated the Greeks.  Who was Pericles?\n\n\"He was a\"--\n\n\"Was he a philosopher?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"No, he was n't.  Socrates was a philosopher.  When did he flourish?\nAnd so on, and so on.\n\nO my charming young countrywomen, let us never forget that Pericles\nelevated the Greeks; and that he did it by cultivating the national\ngenius, the national spirit, by stimulating art and oratory and the\npursuit of learning, and infusing into all society a higher\nintellectual and social life!  Pa was this day sailing through seas\nand by shores that had witnessed some of the most stirring and\nromantic events in the early history of our continent.  He might have\nhad the eager attention of his bright daughter if he had unfolded\nthese things to her in the midst of this most living landscape, and\ngiven her an \"object lesson\" that she would not have forgotten all\nher days, instead of this pottering over names and dates that were as\ndry and meaningless to him as they were uninteresting to his\ndaughter.  At least, O Pa, Educator of Youth, if you are insensible\nto the beauty of these summer isles and indifferent to their history,\nand your soul is wedded to ancient learning, why do you not teach\nyour family to go to sleep when they go to bed, as the classic Greeks\nused to?\n\nBefore the travelers reached Shediac, they had leisure to ruminate\nupon the education of American girls in the schools set apart for\nthem, and to conjecture how much they are taught of the geography and\nhistory of America, or of its social and literary growth; and\nwhether, when they travel on a summer tour like this, these coasts\nhave any historical light upon them, or gain any interest from the\ndaring and chivalric adventurers who played their parts here so long\nago.  We did not hear pa ask when Madame de la Tour \"flourished,\"\nthough \"flourish\" that determined woman did, in Boston as well as in\nthe French provinces.  In the present woman revival, may we not hope\nthat the heroic women of our colonial history will have the\nprominence that is their right, and that woman's achievements will\nassume their proper place in affairs?  When women write history, some\nof our popular men heroes will, we trust, be made to acknowledge the\nfemale sources of their wisdom and their courage.  But at present\nwomen do not much affect history, and they are more indifferent to\nthe careers of the noted of their own sex than men are.\n\nWe expected to approach Shediac with a great deal of interest.  It\nhad been, when we started, one of the most prominent points in our\nprojected tour.  It was the pivot upon which, so to speak, we\nexpected to swing around the Provinces.  Upon the map it was so\nattractive, that we once resolved to go no farther than there.  It\nonce seemed to us that, if we ever reached it, we should be contented\nto abide there, in a place so remote, in a port so picturesque and\nforeign.  But returning from the real east, our late interest in\nShediac seemed unaccountable to us.  Firmly resolved as I was to note\nour entrance into the harbor, I could not keep the place in mind; and\nwhile we were in our state-room and before we knew it, the steamboat\nJay at the wharf.  Shediac appeared to be nothing but a wharf with a\nrailway train on it, and a few shanty buildings, a part of them\ndevoted to the sale of whiskey and to cheap lodgings.  This landing,\nhowever, is called Point du Chene, and the village of Shediac is two\nor three miles distant from it; we had a pleasant glimpse of it from\nthe car windows, and saw nothing in its situation to hinder its\ngrowth.  The country about it is perfectly level, and stripped of its\nforests.  At Painsec Junction we waited for the train from Halifax,\nand immediately found ourselves in the whirl of intercolonial travel.\nWhy people should travel here, or why they should be excited about\nit, we could not see; we could not overcome a feeling of the\nunreality of the whole thing; but yet we humbly knew that we had no\nright to be otherwise than awed by the extraordinary intercolonial\nrailway enterprise and by the new life which it is infusing into the\nProvinces.  We are free to say, however, that nothing can be less\ninteresting than the line of this road until it strikes the\nKennebeckasis River, when the traveler will be called upon to admire\nthe Sussex Valley and a very fair farming region, which he would like\nto praise if it were not for exciting the jealousy of the \"Garden of\nNova Scotia.\"  The whole land is in fact a garden, but differing\nsomewhat from the Isle of Wight.\n\nIn all travel, however, people are more interesting than land, and so\nit was at this time.  As twilight shut down upon the valley of the\nKennebeckasis, we heard the strident voice of pa going on with the\nGrecian catechism.  Pa was unmoved by the beauties of Sussex or by\nthe colors of the sunset, which for the moment made picturesque the\nscraggy evergreens on the horizon.  His eyes were with his heart, and\nthat was in Sparta.  Above the roar of the car-wheels we heard his\nnagging inquiries.\n\n\"What did Lycurgus do then?\"\n\nAnswer not audible.\n\n\"No.  He made laws.  Who did he make laws for?\"\n\n\"For the Greeks.\"\n\n\"He made laws for the Lacedemonians.  Who was another great\nlawgiver?\"\n\n\"It was--it was--Pericles.\"\n\n\"No, it was n't.  It was Solon.  Who was Solon?\"\n\n\"Solon was one of the wise men of Greece.\"\n\n\"That's right.  When did he flourish?\"\n\nWhen the train stops at a station the classics continue, and the\nstudious group attracts the attention of the passengers.  Pa is well\npleased, but not so the young lady, who beseechingly says,\n\n\"Pa, everybody can hear us.\"\n\n\"You would n't care how much they heard, if you knew it,\" replies\nthis accomplished devotee of learning.\n\nIn another lull of the car-wheels we find that pa has skipped over to\nMarathon; and this time it is the daughter who is asking a question.\n\n\"Pa, what is a phalanx?\"\n\n\"Well, a phalanx--it's a--it's difficult to define a phalanx.  It's a\nstretch of men in one line,--a stretch of anything in a line.  When\ndid Alexander flourish?\"\n\nThis domestic tyrant had this in common with the rest of us, that he\nwas much better at asking questions than at answering them.  It\ncertainly was not our fault that we were listeners to his instructive\nstruggles with ancient history, nor that we heard his petulant\ncomplaining to his cowed family, whom he accused of dragging him away\non this summer trip.  We are only grateful to him, for a more\nentertaining person the traveler does not often see.  It was with\nregret that we lost sight of him at St. John.\n\nNight has settled upon New Brunswick and upon ancient Greece before\nwe reach the Kennebeckasis Bay, and we only see from the car windows\ndimly a pleasant and fertile country, and the peaceful homes of\nthrifty people.  While we are running along the valley and coming\nunder the shadow of the hill whereon St. John sits, with a regal\noutlook upon a most variegated coast and upon the rising and falling\nof the great tides of Fundy, we feel a twinge of conscience at the\ninjustice the passing traveler must perforce do any land he hurries\nover and does not study.  Here is picturesque St. John, with its\ncouple of centuries of history and tradition, its commerce, its\nenterprise felt all along the coast and through the settlements of\nthe territory to the northeast, with its no doubt charming society\nand solid English culture; and the summer tourist, in an idle mood\nregarding it for a day, says it is naught!  Behold what \"travels\"\namount to!  Are they not for the most part the records of the\nmisapprehensions of the misinformed?  Let us congratulate ourselves\nthat in this flight through the Provinces we have not attempted to do\nany justice to them, geologically, economically, or historically,\nonly trying to catch some of the salient points of the panorama as it\nunrolled itself.  Will Halifax rise up in judgment against us?  We\nlook back upon it with softened memory, and already see it again in\nthe light of history.  It stands, indeed, overlooking a gate of the\nocean, in a beautiful morning light; and we can hear now the\nrepetition of that profane phrase, used for the misdirection of\nwayward mortals,---\"Go to Halifax!\" without a shudder.\n\nWe confess to some regret that our journey is so near its end.\nPerhaps it is the sentimental regret with which one always leaves the\neast, for we have been a thousand miles nearer Ireland than Boston\nis.  Collecting in the mind the detached pictures given to our eyes\nin all these brilliant and inspiring days, we realize afresh the\nvariety, the extent, the richness of these northeastern lands which\nthe Gulf Stream pets and tempers.  If it were not for attracting\nspeculators, we should delight to speak of the beds of coal, the\nquarries of marble, the mines of gold.  Look on the map and follow\nthe shores of these peninsulas and islands, the bays, the penetrating\narms of the sea, the harbors filled with islands, the protected\nstraits and sounds.  All this is favorable to the highest commercial\nactivity and enterprise.  Greece itself and its islands are not more\nindented and inviting.  Fish swarm about the shores and in all the\nstreams.  There are, I have no doubt, great forests which we did not\nsee from the car windows, the inhabitants of which do not show\nthemselves to the travelers at the railway-stations.  In the\ndining-room of a friend, who goes away every autumn into the wilds of\nNova Scotia at the season when the snow falls, hang trophies-\n-enormous branching antlers of the caribou, and heads of the mighty\nmoose--which I am assured came from there; and I have no reason to\ndoubt that the noble creatures who once carried these superb horns\nwere murdered by my friend at long range.  Many people have an\ninsatiate longing to kill, once in their life, a moose, and would\ntravel far and endure great hardships to gratify this ambition.  In\nthe present state of the world it is more difficult to do it than it\nis to be written down as one who loves his fellow-men.\n\nWe received everywhere in the Provinces courtesy and kindness, which\nwere not based upon any expectation that we would invest in mines or\nrailways, for the people are honest, kindly, and hearty by nature.\nWhat they will become when the railways are completed that are to\nbind St. John to Quebec, and make Nova Scotia, Cape Breton, and\nNewfoundland only stepping-stones to Europe, we cannot say.  Probably\nthey will become like the rest of the world, and furnish no material\nfor the kindly persiflage of the traveler.\n\nRegretting that we could see no more of St. John, that we could\nscarcely see our way through its dimly lighted streets, we found the\nferry to Carleton, and a sleeping-car for Bangor.  It was in the\nheart of the <DW64> porter to cause us alarm by the intelligence that\nthe customs officer would, search our baggage during the night.  A\nsearch is a blow to one's self-respect, especially if one has\nanything dutiable.  But as the porter might be an agent of our\ngovernment in disguise, we preserved an appearance of philosophical\nindifference in his presence.  It takes a sharp observer to tell\ninnocence from assurance.  During the night, awaking, I saw a great\nlight.  A man, crawling along the aisle of the car, and poking under\nthe seats, had found my traveling-bag and was \"going through\" it.\n\nI felt a thrill of pride as I recognized in this crouching figure an\nofficer of our government, and knew that I was in my native land.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of this Project Gutenberg Etext of MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN, BACKLOG\nSTUDIES and BADDECK--Volume One of The Complete Writings of Charles\nDudley Warner.\n\n"}
{"text": "\n\nE-text prepared by David Ceponis\n\n\n\nNote: A compilation of all five volumes of this work is also available\n      individually in the Project Gutenberg library.\n      See http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/10706\n\n      The original German version of this work, Roemische Geschichte,\n      Viertes Buch: Die Revolution, is in the Project Gutenberg\n      E-Library as E-book #3063.\n      See http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/3063\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE HISTORY OF ROME, BOOK IV\n\nThe Revolution\n\nby\n\nTHEODOR MOMMSEN\n\nTranslated with the Sanction of the Author\n\nby\n\nWilliam Purdie Dickson, D.D., LL.D.\nProfessor of Divinity in the University of Glasgow\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPreparer's Note\n\nThis work contains many literal citations of and references to words,\nsounds, and alphabetic symbols drawn from many languages, including\nGothic and Phoenician, but chiefly Latin and Greek.  This English\nlanguage Gutenberg edition, constrained within the scope of 7-bit\nASCII code, adopts the following orthographic conventions:\n\n1) Words and phrases regarded as \"foreign imports\", italicized in the\noriginal text published in 1903; but which in the intervening century\nhave become \"naturalized\" into English; words such as \"de jure\",\n\"en masse\", etc. are not given any special typographic distinction.\n\n2) Except for Greek, all literally cited non-English words that do\nnot refer to texts cited as academic references, words that in the\nsource manuscript appear italicized, are rendered with a single\npreceding, and a single following dash; thus, -xxxx-.\n\n3) Greek words, first transliterated into Roman alphabetic equivalents,\nare rendered with a preceding and a following double-dash; thus, --xxxx--.\nNote that in some cases the root word itself is a compound form such as\nxxx-xxxx, and is rendered as --xxx-xxx--\n\n4) Simple non-ideographic references to vocalic sounds, single letters,\nor alphabeic dipthongs; and prefixes, suffixes, and syllabic references\nare represented by a single preceding dash; thus, -x, or -xxx.\n\n5) The following refers particularly to the complex discussion of\nalphabetic evolution in Ch. XIV: Measuring And Writing).  Ideographic\nreferences, meaning pointers to the form of representation itself rather\nthan to its content, are represented as -\"id:xxxx\"-.  \"id:\" stands for\n\"ideograph\", and indicates that the reader should form a mental picture\nbased on the \"xxxx\" following the colon.  \"xxxx\" may represent a single\nsymbol, a word, or an attempt at a picture composed of ASCII characters.\nE. g. --\"id:GAMMA gamma\"-- indicates an uppercase Greek gamma-form\nFollowed by the form in lowercase.  Some such exotic parsing as this\nis necessary to explain alphabetic development because a single symbol\nmay have been used for a number of sounds in a number of languages,\nor even for a number of sounds in the same language at different\ntimes.  Thus, -\"id:GAMMA gamma\" might very well refer to a Phoenician\nconstruct that in appearance resembles the form that eventually\nstabilized as an uppercase Greek \"gamma\" juxtaposed to another one\nof lowercase.  Also, a construct such as --\"id:E\" indicates a symbol\nthat in graphic form most closely resembles an ASCII uppercase \"E\",\nbut, in fact, is actually drawn more crudely.\n\n6) The numerous subheading references, of the form \"XX. XX. Topic\"\nfound in the appended section of endnotes are to be taken as \"proximate\"\nrather than topical indicators.  That is, the information contained\nin the endnote indicates primarily the location in the main text\nof the closest indexing \"handle\", a subheading, which may or may not\necho congruent subject matter.\n\nThe reason for this is that in the translation from an original\npaged manuscript to an unpaged \"cyberscroll\", page numbers are lost.\nIn this edition subheadings are the only remaining indexing \"handles\"\nof sub-chapter scale.  Unfortunately, in some stretches of text these\nsubheadings may be as sparse as merely one in three pages.  Therefore,\nit would seem to make best sense to save the reader time and temper\nby adopting a shortest path method to indicate the desired reference.\n\n7) Dr. Mommsen has given his dates in terms of Roman usage, A.U.C.;\nthat is, from the founding of Rome, conventionally taken to be 753 B. C.\nTo the end of each volume is appended a table of conversion between\nthe two systems.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nBOOK IV:  The Revolution\n\n   CHAPTER\n\n      I. The Subject Countries Down to the Times of the Gracchi\n\n     II. The Reform Movement and Tiberius Gracchus\n\n    III. The Revolution and Gaius Gracchus\n\n     IV. The Rule of the Restoration\n\n      V. The Peoples of the North\n\n     VI. The Attempt of Marius at Revolution and the Attempt\n         of Drusus at Reform\n\n    VII. The Revolt of the Italian Subjects, and the Sulpician\n         Revolution\n\n   VIII. The East and King Mithradates\n\n     IX. Cinna and Sulla\n\n      X. The Sullan Constitution\n\n     XI. The Commonwealth and Its Economy\n\n    XII. Nationality, Religion, and Education\n\n   XIII. Literature and Art\n\n\n\n\nBOOK FOURTH\n\nThe Revolution\n\n\n\n\n\"-Aber sie treiben's toll;\nIch furcht', es breche.\"\nNicht jeden Wochenschluss\nMacht Gott die Zeche-.\n\nGoethe.\n\n\n\n\nChapter I\n\nThe Subject Countries Down to the Times of the Gracchi\n\nThe Subjects\n\nWith the abolition of the Macedonian monarchy the supremacy of Rome\nnot only became an established fact from the Pillars of Hercules to\nthe mouths of the Nile and the Orontes, but, as if it were the final\ndecree of fate, it weighed on the nations with all the pressure of\nan inevitable necessity, and seemed to leave them merely the choice\nof perishing in hopeless resistance or in hopeless endurance.\nIf history were not entitled to insist that the earnest reader\nshould accompany her through good and evil days, through landscapes\nof winter as well as of spring, the historian might be tempted to shun\nthe cheerless task of tracing the manifold and yet monotonous turns\nof this struggle between superior power and utter weakness, both in\nthe Spanish provinces already annexed to the Roman empire and in the\nAfrican, Hellenic, and Asiatic territories which were still treated\nas clients of Rome.  But, however unimportant and subordinate the\nindividual conflicts may appear, they have collectively a deep\nhistorical significance; and, in particular, the state of things\nin Italy at this period only becomes intelligible in the light of\nthe reaction which the provinces exercised over the mother-country.\n\nSpain\n\nExcept in the territories which may be regarded as natural appendages\nof Italy--in which, however, the natives were still far from being\ncompletely subdued, and, not greatly to the credit of Rome, Ligurians,\nSardinians, and Corsicans were continually furnishing occasion for\n\"village triumphs\"--the formal sovereignty of Rome at the commencement\nof this period was established only in the two Spanish provinces,\nwhich embraced the larger eastern and southern portions of the\npeninsula beyond the Pyrenees.  We have already(1) attempted to\ndescribe the state of matters in the peninsula.  Iberians and Celts,\nPhoenicians, Hellenes, and Romans were there confusedly intermingled.\nThe most diverse kinds and stages of civilization subsisted there\nsimultaneously and at various points crossed each other, the ancient\nIberian culture side by side with utter barbarism, the civilized\nrelations of Phoenician and Greek mercantile cities side by side with\nan incipient process of Latinizing, which was especially promote\nby the numerous Italians employed in the silver mines and by the\nlarge standing garrison.  In this respect the Roman township of\nItalica (near Seville) and the Latin colony of Carteia (on the bay\nOf Gibraltar) deserve mention--the latter being the first transmarine\nurban community of Latin tongue and Italian constitution.  Italica\nwas founded by the elder Scipio, before he left Spain (548), for\nhis veterans who were inclined to remain in the peninsula--probably,\nhowever, not as a burgess-community, but merely as a market-place.(2)\nCarteia was founded in 583 and owed its existence to the multitude of\ncamp-children--the offspring of Roman soldiers and Spanish slaves--who\ngrew up as slaves de jure but as free Italians de facto, and were now\nmanumitted on behalf of the state and constituted, along with the old\ninhabitants of Carteia, into a Latin colony.  For nearly thirty years\nafter the organizing of the province of the Ebro by Tiberius Sempronius\nGracchus (575, 576)(3) the Spanish provinces, on the whole, enjoyed the\nblessings of peace undisturbed, although mention is made of one or two\nexpeditions against the Celtiberians and Lusitanians.\n\nLusitanian War\n\nBut more serious events occurred in 600.  The Lusitanians, under the\nleadership of a chief called Punicus, invaded the Roman territory,\ndefeated the two Roman governors who had united to oppose them, and\nslew a great number of their troops.  The Vettones (between the Tagus\nand the Upper Douro) were thereby induced to make common cause with\nthe Lusitanians; and these, thus reinforced, were enabled to extend\ntheir excursions as far as the Mediterranean, and to pillage even\nthe territory of the Bastulo-Phoenicians not far from the Roman\ncapital New Carthage (Cartagena).  The Romans at home took the matter\nseriously enough to resolve on sending a consul to Spain, a step\nwhich had not been taken since 559; and, in order to accelerate the\ndespatch of aid, they even made the new consuls enter on office two\nmonths and a half before the legal time.  For this reason the day for\nthe consuls entering on office was shifted from the 15th of March\nto the 1st of January; and thus was established the beginning of the\nyear, which we still make use of at the present day.  But, before\nthe consul Quintus Fulvius Nobilior with his army arrived, a very\nserious encounter took place on the right bank of the Tagus between\nthe praetor Lucius Mummius, governor of Further Spain, and the\nLusitanians, now led after the fall of Punicus by his successor\nCaesarus (601).  Fortune was at first favourable to the Romans; the\nLusitanian army was broken and their camp was taken.  But the Romans,\npartly already fatigued by their march and partly broken up in the\ndisorder of the pursuit, were at length completely beaten by their\nalready vanquished antagonists, and lost their own camp in addition\nto that of the enemy, as well as 9000 dead.\n\nCeltiberian War\n\nThe flame of war now blazed up far and wide.  The Lusitanians on\nthe left bank of the Tagus, led by Caucaenus, threw themselves on\nthe Celtici subject to the Romans (in Alentejo), and took away their\ntown Conistorgis.  The Lusitanians sent the standards taken from\nMummius to the Celtiberians at once as an announcement of victory\nand as a warning; and among these, too, there was no want of ferment.\nTwo small Celtiberian tribes in the neighbourhood of the powerful\nArevacae (about the sources of the Douro and Tagus), the Belli and\nthe Titthi, had resolved to settle together in Segeda, one of their\ntowns.  While they were occupied in building the walls, the Romans\nordered them to desist, because the Sempronian regulations prohibited\nthe subject communities from founding towns at their own discretion;\nand they at the same time required the contribution of money and men\nwhich was due by treaty but for a considerable period had not been\ndemanded.  The Spaniards refused to obey either command, alleging\nthat they were engaged merely in enlarging, not in founding, a city,\nand that the contribution had not been merely suspended, but\nremitted by the Romans.  Thereupon Nobilior appeared in Hither\nSpain with an army of nearly 30,000 men, including some Numidian\nhorsemen and ten elephants.  The walls of the new town of Segeda\nstill stood unfinished: most of the inhabitants submitted.  But the\nmost resolute men fled with their wives and children to the powerful\nArevacae, and summoned these to make common cause with them against\nthe Romans.  The Arevacae, emboldened by the victory of the\nLusitanians over Mummius, consented, and chose Carus, one of the\nSegedan refugees, as their general.  On the third day after his\nelection the valiant leader had fallen, but the Roman army was\ndefeated and nearly 6000 Roman burgesses were slain; the 23rd day of\nAugust, the festival of the Volcanalia, was thenceforth held in sad\nremembrance by the Romans.  The fall of their general, however,\ninduced the Arevacae to retreat into their strongest town Numantia\n(Guarray, a Spanish league to the north of Soria on the Douro),\nwhither Nobilior followed them.  Under the walls of the town a second\nengagement took place, in which the Romans at first by means of their\nelephants drove the Spaniards back into the town; but while doing\nso they were thrown into confusion in consequence of one of the\nanimals being wounded, and sustained a second defeat at the hands of\nthe enemy again issuing from the walls.  This and other misfortunes--\nsuch as the destruction of a corps of Roman cavalry despatched to\ncall forth the contingents--imparted to the affairs of the Romans in\nthe Hither province so unfavourable an aspect that the fortress of\nOcilis, where the Romans had their chest and their stores, passed\nover to the enemy, and the Arevacae were in a position to think,\nalthough without success, of dictating peace to the Romans.  These\ndisadvantages, however, were in some measure counterbalanced by the\nsuccesses which Mummius achieved in the southern province.  Weakened\nthough his army was by the disaster which it had suffered, he yet\nsucceeded with it in defeating the Lusitanians who had imprudently\ndispersed themselves on the right bank of the Tagus; and passing\nover to the left bank, where the Lusitanians had overrun the whole\nRoman territory, and had even made a foray into Africa, he cleared\nthe southern province of the enemy.\n\nMarcellus\n\nTo the northern province in the following year (602) the senate sent\nconsiderable reinforcements and a new commander-in-chief in the place\nof the incapable Nobilior, the consul Marcus Claudius Marcellus, who\nhad already, when praetor in 586, distinguished himself in Spain, and\nhad since that time given proof of his talents as a general in two\nconsulships.  His skilful leadership, and still more his clemency,\nspeedily changed the position of affairs: Ocilis at once surrendered\nto him; and even the Arevacae, confirmed by Marcellus in the hope\nthat peace would be granted to them on payment of a moderate fine,\nconcluded an armistice and sent envoys to Rome.  Marcellus could thus\nproceed to the southern province, where the Vettones and Lusitanians\nhad professed submission to the praetor Marcus Atilius so long as he\nremained within their bounds, but after his departure had immediately\nrevolted afresh and chastised the allies of Rome.  The arrival of\nthe consul restored tranquillity, and, while he spent the winter\nin Corduba, hostilities were suspended throughout the peninsula.\nMeanwhile the question of peace with the Arevacae was discussed at\nRome.  It is a significant indication of the relations subsisting\namong the Spaniards themselves, that the emissaries of the Roman\nparty subsisting among the Arevacae were the chief occasion of the\nrejection of the proposals of peace at Rome, by representing that,\nif the Romans were not willing to sacrifice the Spaniards friendly\nto their interests, they had no alternative save either to send a\nconsul with a corresponding army every year to the peninsula or to\nmake an emphatic example now.  In consequence of this, the ambassadors\nof the Arevacae were dismissed without a decisive answer, and it was\nresolved that the war should be prosecuted with vigour.  Marcellus\naccordingly found himself compelled in the following spring (603) to\nresume the war against the Arevacae.  But--either, as was asserted,\nfrom his unwillingness to leave to his successor, who was to be\nexpected soon, the glory of terminating the war, or, as is perhaps\nmore probable, from his believing like Gracchus that a humane\ntreatment of the Spaniards was the first thing requisite for a lasting\npeace--the Roman general after holding a secret conference with the\nmost influential men of the Arevacae concluded a treaty under the\nwalls of Numantia, by which the Arevacae surrendered to the Romans\nat discretion, but were reinstated in their former rights according\nto treaty on their undertaking to pay money and furnish hostages.\n\nLucullus\n\nWhen the new commander-in-chief, the consul Lucius Lucullus, arrived\nat head-quarters, he found the war which he had come to conduct already\nterminated by a formally concluded peace, and his hopes of bringing\nhome honour and more especially money from Spain were apparently\nfrustrated.  But there was a means of surmounting this difficulty.\nLucullus of his own accord attacked the western neighbours of the\nArevacae, the Vaccaei, a Celtiberian nation still independent which\nwas living on the best understanding with the Romans.  The question\nof the Spaniards as to what fault they had committed was answered by\na sudden attack on the town of Cauca (Coca, eight Spanish leagues to\nthe west of Segovia); and, while the terrified town believed that it\nhad purchased a capitulation by heavy sacrifices of money, Roman\ntroops marched in and enslaved or slaughtered the inhabitants without\nany pretext at all.  After this heroic feat, which is said to have\ncost the lives of some 20,000 defenceless men, the army proceeded\non its march.  Far and wide the villages and townships were abandoned\nor, as in the case of the strong Intercatia and Pallantia (Palencia)\nthe capital of the Vaccaei, closed their gates against the Roman army.\nCovetousness was caught in its own net; there was no community\nThat would venture to conclude a capitulation with the perfidious\ncommander, and the general flight of the inhabitants not only\nrendered booty scarce, but made it almost impossible for him\nto remain for any length of time in these inhospitable regions.\nIn front of Intercatia, Scipio Aemilianus, an esteemed military tribune,\nthe son of the victor of Pydna and the adopted grandson of the victor\nof Zama, succeeded, by pledging his word of honour when that of the\ngeneral no longer availed, in inducing the inhabitants to conclude an\nagreement by virtue of which the Roman army departed on receiving a\nsupply of cattle and clothing.  But the siege of Pallantia had to\nbe raised for want of provisions, and the Roman army in its retreat\nwas pursued by the Vaccaei as far as the Douro.  Lucullus thereupon\nproceeded to the southern province, where in the same year the\npraetor, Servius Sulpicius Galba, had allowed himself to be defeated\nby the Lusitanians.  They spent the winter not far from each other--\nLucullus in the territory of the Turdetani, Galba at Conistorgis--\nAnd in the following year (604) jointly attacked the Lusitanians.\nLucullus gained some advantages over them near the straits of Gades.\nGalba performed a greater achievement, for he concluded a treaty with\nthree Lusitanian tribes on the right bank of the Tagus and promised\nto transfer them to better settlements; whereupon the barbarians,\nwho to the number of 7000 came to him for the sake of the expected\nlands, were separated into three divisions, disarmed, and partly\ncarried off into slavery, partly massacred.  War has hardly ever\nbeen waged with so much perfidy, cruelty, and avarice as by these\ntwo generals; who yet by means of their criminally acquired treasures\nescaped the one from condemnation, and the other even from impeachment.\nThe veteran Cato in his eighty-fifth year, a few months before his\ndeath, attempted to bring Galba to account before the burgesses;\nbut the weeping children of the general, and the gold which he had\nbrought home with him, proved to the Roman people his innocence.\n\nVariathus\n\nIt was not so much the inglorious successes which Lucullus and Galba\nhad attained in Spain, as the outbreak of the fourth Macedonian\nand of the third Carthaginian war in 605, which induced the Romans\nagain to leave Spanish affairs in the first instance to the ordinary\ngovernors.  Accordingly the Lusitanians, exasperated rather than\nhumbled by the perfidy of Galba, immediately overran afresh the rich\nterritory of the Turdetani.  The Roman governor Gaius Vetilius\n(607-8?)(4) marched against them, and not only defeated them, but\ndrove the whole host towards a hill where it seemed lost irretrievably.\nThe capitulation was virtually concluded, when Viriathus--a man of\nhumble origin, who formerly, when a youth, had bravely defended\nhis flock from wild beasts and robbers and was now in more serious\nconflictsa dreaded guerilla chief, and who was one of the few that had\naccidentally escaped from the perfidious onslaught of Galba--warned his\ncountrymen against relying on the Roman word of honour, and promised\nthem deliverance if they would follow him.  His language and his\nexample produced a deep effect: the army entrusted him with the\nsupreme command.  Viriathus gave orders to the mass of his men to\nproceed in detached parties, by different routes, to the appointed\nrendezvous; he himself formed the best mounted and most trustworthy\ninto a corps of 1000 horse, with which he covered the departure of\nhis men.  The Romans, who wanted light cavalry, did not venture to\ndisperse for the pursuit under the eyes of the enemy's horsemen.\nAfter Viriathus and his band had for two whole days held in check\nthe entire Roman army he suddenly disappeared during the night and\nhastened to the general rendezvous.  The Roman general followed him,\nbut fell into an adroitly-laid ambush, in which he lost the half of\nhis army and was himself captured and slain; with difficulty the\nrest of the troops escaped to the colony of Carteia on the Straits.\nIn all haste 5000 men of the Spanish militia were despatched from the\nEbro to reinforce the defeated Romans; but Viriathus destroyed the\ncorps while still on its march, and commanded so absolutely the whole\ninterior of Carpetania that the Romans did not even venture to seek\nhim there.  Viriathus, now recognized as lord and king of all the\nLusitanians, knew how to combine the full dignity of his princely\nposition with the homely habits of a shepherd.  No badge distinguished\nhim from the common soldier: he rose from the richly adorned marriage-\ntable of his father-in-law, the prince Astolpa in Roman Spain, without\nhaving touched the golden plate and the sumptuous fare, lifted his bride\non horseback, and rode back with her to his mountains.  He never took\nmore of the spoil than the share which he allotted to each of his\ncomrades.  The soldier recognized the general simply by his tall\nfigure, by his striking sallies of wit, and above all by the fact\nthat he surpassed every one of his men in temperance as well as in toil,\nsleeping always in full armour and fighting in front of all in battle.\nIt seemed as if in that thoroughly prosaic age one of the Homeric\nheroes had reappeared: the name of Viriathus resounded far and wide\nthrough Spain; and the brave nation conceived that in him it had\nat length found the man who was destined to break the fetters\nof alien domination.\n\nHis Successors\n\nExtraordinary successes in northern and in southern Spain marked the\nnext years of his generalship.  After destroying the vanguard of the\npraetor Gaius Plautius (608-9), Viriathus had the skill to lure him\nover to the right bank of the Tagus, and there to defeat him so\nemphatically that the Roman general went into winter quarters in\nthe middle of summer--on which account he was afterwards charged\nbefore the people with having disgraced the Roman community, and was\ncompelled to live in exile.  In like manner the army of the governor--\napparently of the Hither province--Claudius Unimanus was destroyed,\nthat of Gaius Negidius was vanquished, and the level country was\npillaged far and wide.  Trophies of victory, decorated with the insignia\nof the Roman governors and the arms of the legions, were erected on the\nSpanish mountains; people at Rome heard with shame and consternation\nof the victories of the barbarian king.  The conduct of the Spanish\nwar was now committed to a trustworthy officer, the consul Quintus\nFabius Maximus Aemilianus, the second son of the victor of Pydna\n(609).  But the Romans no longer ventured to send the experienced\nveterans, who bad just returned from Macedonia and Asia, forth anew\ntothe detested Spanish war; the two legions, which Maximus brought\nwith him, were new levies and scarcely more to be trusted than the\nold utterly demoralized Spanish army.  After the first conflicts had\nagain issued favourably for the Lusitanians, the prudent general\nkept together his troops for the remainder of the year in the camp\nat Urso (Osuna, south-east from Seville) without accepting the\nenemy's offer of battle, and only took the field afresh in the\nfollowing year (610), after his troops had by petty warfare become\nqualified for fighting; he was then enabled to maintain the\nsuperiority, and after successful feats of arms went into winter\nquarters at Corduba.  But when the cowardly and incapable praetor\nQuinctius took the command in room of Maximus, the Romans again\nsuffered defeat after defeat, and their general in the middle of\nsummer shut himself up in Corduba, while the bands of Viriathus\noverran the southern province (611).\n\nHis successor, Quintus Fabius Maximus Servilianus, the adopted brother\nof Maximus Aemilianus, sent to the peninsula with two fresh legions\nand ten elephants, endeavoured to penetrate into the Lusitanian\ncountry, but after a series of indecisive conflicts and an assault\non the Roman camp, which was with difficulty repulsed, found himself\ncompelled to retreat to the Roman territory.  Viriathus followed him\ninto the province, but as his troops after the wont of Spanish\ninsurrectionary armies suddenly melted away, he was obliged to return\nto Lusitania (612).  Next year (613) Servilianus resumed the offensive,\ntraversed the districts on the Baetis and Anas, and then advancing\ninto Lusitania occupied a number of townships.  A large number of the\ninsurgents fell into his hands; the leaders--of whom there were about\n500--were executed; those who had gone over from Roman territory to\nthe enemy had their hands cut off; the remaining mass were sold into\nslavery.  But on this occasion also the Spanish war proved true to\nits fickle and capricious character.  After all these successes the\nRoman army was attacked by Viriathus while it was besieging Erisane,\ndefeated, and driven to a rock where it was wholly in the power of the\nenemy.  Viriathus, however, was content, like the Samnite general\nformerly at the Caudine passes, to conclude a peace with Servilianus,\nin which the community of the Lusitanians was recognized as sovereign\nand Viriathus acknowledged as its king.  The power of the Romans had\nnot risen more than the national sense of honour had sunk; in the\ncapital men were glad to be rid of the irksome war, and the senate\nand people ratified the treaty.  But Quintus Servilius Caepio, the\nfull brother of Servilianus and his successor in office, was far\nfrom satisfied with this complaisance; and the senate was weak\nenough at first to authorize the consul to undertake secret\nmachinations against Viriathus, and then to view at least with\nindulgence the open breach of his pledged word for which there was\nno palliation.  So Caepio invaded Lusitania, and traversed the land\nas far as the territories of the Vettones and Callaeci; Viriathus\ndeclined a conflict with the superior force, and by dexterous movements\nevaded his antagonist (614).  But when in the ensuing year (615)\nCaepio renewed the attack, and in addition the army, which had in\nThe meantime become available in the northern province, made its\nappearance under Marcus Popillius in Lusitania, Viriathus sued for\npeace on any terms.  He was required to give up to the Romans all\nwho had passed over to him from the Roman territory, amongst whom\nwas his own father-in-law; he did so, and the Romans ordered them\nto be executed or to have their hands cut off.  But this was not\nsufficient; the Romans were not in the habit of announcing to the\nvanquished all at once their destined fate.\n\nHis Death\n\nOne behest after another was issued to the Lusitanians, each successive\ndemand more intolerable than its predecessors; and at length they were\nrequired even to surrender their arms.  Then Viriathus recollected\nthe fate of his countrymen whom Galba had caused to be disarmed, and\ngrasped his sword afresh.  But it was too late.  His wavering had\nsown the seeds of treachery among those who were immediately around\nhim; three of his confidants, Audas, Ditalco, and Minucius from Urso,\ndespairing of the possibility of renewed victory, procured from the\nking permission once more to enter into negotiations for peace with\nCaepio, and employed it for the purpose of selling the life of the\nLusitanian hero to the foreigners in return for the assurance of\npersonal amnesty and further rewards.  On their return to the camp\nthey assured the king of the favourable issue of their negotiations,\nand in the following night stabbed him while asleep in his tent.\nThe Lusitanians honoured the illustrious chief by an unparalleled\nfuneral solemnity at which two hundred pairs of champions fought in\nthe funeral games; and still more highly by the fact, that they did\nnot renounce the struggle, but nominated Tautamus as their commander-\nin-chief in room of the fallen hero.  The plan projected by the\nlatter for wresting Saguntum from the Romans was sufficiently bold;\nbut the new general possessed neither the wise moderation nor the\nmilitary skill of his predecessor.  The expedition utterly broke\ndown, and the army on its return was attacked in crossing the Baetis\nand compelled to surrender unconditionally.  Thus was Lusitania\nsubdued, far more by treachery and assassination on the part of\nforeigners and natives than by honourable war.\n\nNumantia\n\nWhile the southern province was scourged by Viriathus and the\nLusitanians, a second and not less serious war had, not without\ntheir help, broken out in the northern province among the Celtiberian\nnations.  The brilliant successes of Viriathus induced the Arevacae\nlikewise in 610 to rise against the Romans; and for this reason the\nconsul Quintus Caecilius Metellus, who was sent to Spain to relieve\nMaximus Aemilianus, did hot proceed to the southern province, but\nturned against the Celtiberians.  In the contest with them, and\nmore especially during the siege of the town of Contrebia which was\ndeemed impregnable, he showed the same ability which he had displayed\nin vanquishing the Macedonian pretender; after his two years'\nadministration (611, 612) the northern province was reduced to\nobedience.  The two towns of Termantia and Numantia alone had not\nyet opened their gates to the Romans; but in their case also a\ncapitulation had been almost concluded, and the greater part of\nthe conditions had been fulfilled by the Spaniards.  When required,\nhowever, to deliver up their arms, they were restrained like\nViriathus by their genuine Spanish pride in the possession of a well-\nwielded sword, and they resolved to continue the war under the daring\nMegaravicus.  It seemed folly: the consular army, the command of\nwhich was taken up in 613 by the consul Quintus Pompeius, was four\ntimes as numerous as the whole population capable of bearing arms in\nNumantia.  But the general, who was wholly unacquainted with war,\nsustained defeats so severe under the walls of the two cities (613,\n614), that he preferred at length to procure by means of negotiations\nthe peace which he could not compel.  With Termantia a definitive\nagreement must have taken place.  In the case of the Numantines the\nRoman general liberated their captives, and summoned the community\nunder the secret promise of favourable treatment to surrender to him\nat discretion.  The Numantines, weary of the war, consented, and\nthe general actually limited his demands to the smallest possible\nmeasure.  Prisoners of war, deserters, and hostages were delivered up,\nand the stipulated sum of money was mostly paid, when in 615 the new\ngeneral Marcus Popillius Laenas arrived in the camp.  As soon as\nPompeius saw the burden of command devolve on other shoulders, he,\nwith a view to escape from the reckoning that awaited him at Rome\nfor a peace which was according to Roman ideas disgraceful, lighted\non the expedient of not merely breaking, but of disowning his word;\nand when the Numantines came to make their last payment, in the\npresence of their officers and his own he flatly denied the conclusion\nof the agreement.  The matter was referred for judicial decision to\nthe senate at Rome.  While it was discussed there, the war before\nNumantia was suspended, and Laenas occupied himself with an expedition\nto Lusitania where he helped to accelerate the catastrophe of\nViriathus, and with a foray against the Lusones, neighbours of the\nNumantines.  When at length the decision of the senate arrived, its\npurport was that the war should be continued--the state became thus\na party to the knavery of Pompeius.\n\nMancinus\n\nWith unimpaired courage and increased resentment the Numantines\nresumed the struggle; Laenas fought against them unsuccessfully,\nnor was his successor Gaius Hostilius Mancinus more fortunate (617).\nBut the catastrophe was brought about not so much by the arms of the\nNumantines, as by the lax and wretched military discipline of the Roman\ngenerals and by--what was its natural consequence--the annually-\nincreasing dissoluteness, insubordination, and cowardice of the Roman\nsoldiers.  The mere rumour, which moreover was false, that the\nCantabri and Vaccaei were advancing to the relief of Numantia,\ninduced the Roman army to evacuate the camp by night without orders,\nand to seek shelter in the entrenchments constructed sixteen years\nbefore by Nobilior.(5)  The Numantines, informed of their sudden\ndeparture, hotly pursued the fugitive army, and surrounded it:\nthere remained to it no choice save to fight its way with sword in\nhand through the enemy, or to conclude peace on the terms laid down\nby the Numantines.  Although the consul was personally a man of\nhonour, he was weak and little known.  Tiberius Gracchus, who served\nin the army as quaestor, had more influence with the Celtiberians from\nthe hereditary respect in which he was held on account of his father\nwho had so wisely organized the province of the Ebro, and induced the\nNumantines to be content with an equitable treaty of peace sworn to\nby all the staff-officers.  But the senate not only recalled the\ngeneral immediately, but after long deliberation caused a proposal to\nbe submitted to the burgesses that the convention should be treated\nas they had formerly treated that of Caudium, in other words, that\nthey should refuse to ratify it and should devolve the responsibility\nfor it on those by whom it had been concluded.  By right this\ncategory ought to have included all the officers who had sworn to the\ntreaty; but Gracchus and the others were saved by their connections.\nMancinus alone, who did not belong to the circles of the highest\naristocracy, was destined to pay the penalty for his own and others'\nguilt.  Stripped of his insignia, the Roman consular was conducted to\nthe enemy's outposts, and, when the Numantines refused to receive him\nthat they might not on their part acknowledge the treaty as null,\nthe late commander-in-chief stood in his shirt and with his hands tied\nbehind his back for a whole day before the gates of Numantia, a\npitiful spectacle to friend and foe.  Yet the bitter lesson seemed\nutterly lost on the successor of Mancinus, his colleague in the\nconsulship, Marcus Aemilius Lepidus.  While the discussions as to\nthe treaty with Mancinus were pending in Rome, he attacked the free\npeople of the Vaccaei under frivolous pretexts just as Lucullus had\ndone sixteen years before, and began in concert with the general of\nthe Further province to besiege Pallantia (618).  A decree of the\nsenate enjoined him to desist from the war; nevertheless, under the\npretext that the circumstances had meanwhile changed, he continued\nthe siege.  In doing so he showed himself as bad a soldier as he was\na bad citizen.  After lying so long before the large and strong city\nthat his supplies in that rugged and hostile country failed, he was\nobliged to leave behind all the sick and wounded and to undertake a\nretreat, in which the pursuing Pallantines destroyed half of his\nsoldiers, and, if they had not broken off the pursuit too early,\nwould probably have utterly annihilated the Roman army, which was\nalready in full course of dissolution.  For this conduct a fine was\nimposed on the high-born general at his return.  His successors\nLucius Furius Philus (618) and Gaius Calpurnius Piso (619) had\nagain to wage war against the Numantines; and, inasmuch as they\ndid nothing at all, they fortunately came home without defeat.\n\nScipio Aemilianus\n\nEven the Roman government began at length to perceive that matters\ncould no longer continue on this footing; they resolved to entrust\nthe subjugation of the small Spanish country-town, as an extraordinary\nmeasure, to the first general of Rome, Scipio Aemilianus.  The pecuniary\nmeans for carrying on the war were indeed doled out to him with\npreposterous parsimony, and the permission to levy soldiers, which\nhe asked, was even directly refused--a result towards which coterie-\nintrigues and the fear of being burdensome to the sovereign people may\nhave co-operated.  But a great number of friends and clients voluntarily\naccompanied him; among them was his brother Maximus Aemilianus, whosome\nyears before had commanded with distinction against Viriathus.  Supported\nby this trusty band, which was formed into a guard for the general, Scipio\nbegan to reorganize the deeply disordered army (620).  First of all, the\ncamp-followers had to take their departure--there were found as many as\n2000 courtesans, and an endless number of soothsayers and priests of all\nsorts--and, if the soldier was not available for fighting, he had at\nleast to work in the trenches and to march.  During the first summer\nthe general avoided any conflict with the Numantines; he contented\nhimself with destroying the stores in the surrounding country, and with\nchastising the Vaccaei who sold corn to the Numantines, and compelling\nthem to acknowledge the supremacy of Rome.  It was only towards winter\nthat Scipio drew together his army round Numantia.  Besides the Numidian\ncontingent of horsemen, infantry, and twelve elephants led by the\nprince Jugurtha, and the numerous Spanish contingents, there were\nfour legions, in all a force of 60,000 men investing a city whose\ncitizens capable of bearing arms did not exceed 8000 at the most.\nNevertheless the besieged frequently offered battle; but Scipio,\nperceiving clearly that the disorganization of many years was not to\nbe repaired all at once, refused to accept it, and, when conflicts\ndid occur in connection with the sallies of the besieged, the\ncowardly flight of the legionaries, checked with difficulty by\nthe appearance of the general in person, justified such tactics\nonly too forcibly.  Never did a general treat his soldiers more\ncontemptuously than Scipio treated the Numantine army; and he showed\nhis opinion of it not only by bitter speeches, but above all by his\ncourse of action.  For the first time the Romans waged war by means of\nmattock and spade, where it depended on themselves alone whether they\nshould use the sword.  Around the whole circuit of the city wall,\nwhich was nearly three miles in length, there was constructed a double\nline of circumvallation of twice that extent, provided with walls,\ntowers, and ditches; and the river Douro, by which at first some\nsupplies had reached the besieged through the efforts of bold boatmen\nand divers, was at length closed.  Thus the town, which they did not\nventure to assault, could not well fail to be reduced through famine;\nthe more so, as it had not been possible for the citizens to lay in\nprovisions during the last summer.  The Numantines soon suffered from\nwant of everything.  One of their boldest men, Retogenes, cut his\nway with a few companions through the lines of the enemy, and his\ntouching entreaty that kinsmen should not be allowed to perish without\nhelp produced a great effect in Lutia at least, one of the towns\nof the Arevacae.  But before the citizens of Lutia had come to a\ndecision, Scipio, having received information from the partisans of\nRome in the town, appeared with a superior force before its walls, and\ncompelled the authorities to deliver up to him the leaders of the\nmovement, 400 of the flower of the youth, whose hands were all cut\noff by order of the Roman general.  The Numantines, thus deprived of\ntheir last hope, sent to Scipio to negotiate as to their submission\nand called on the brave man to spare the brave; but when the envoys\non their return announced that Scipio required unconditional surrender,\nthey were torn in pieces by the furious multitude, and a fresh term\nelapsed before famine and pestilence had completed their work.\nAt length a second message was sent to the Roman headquarters,\nthat the town was now ready to submit at discretion.  When the citizens\nwere accordingly instructed to appear on the following day before the\ngates, they asked for some days delay, to allow those of their number\nwho had determined not to survive the loss of liberty time to die.\nIt was granted, and not a few took advantage of it.  At last the\nmiserable remnant appeared before the gates.  Scipio chose fifty of\nthe most eminent to form part of his triumphal procession; the rest\nwere sold into slavery, the city was levelled with the ground, and\nits territory was distributed among the neighbouring towns.  This\noccurred in the autumn of 621, fifteen months after Scipio had\nassumed the chief command.\n\nThe fall of Numantia struck at the root of the opposition that was\nstill here and there stirring against Rome; military demonstrations\nand the imposition of fines sufficed to secure the acknowledgment of\nthe Roman supremacy in all Hither Spain.\n\nThe Callaeci Conquered\nNew Organization of Spain\n\nIn Further Spain the Roman dominion was confirmed and extended by\nthe subjugation of the Lusitanians.  The consul Decimus Junius Brutus,\nwho came in Caepio's room, settled the Lusitanian war-captives in\nthe neighbourhood of Saguntum, and gave to their new town Valentia\n(Valencia), like Carteia, a Latin constitution (616); he moreover\n(616-618) traversed the Iberian west coast in various directions,\nand was the first of the Romans to reach the shore of the Atlantic Ocean.\nThe towns of the Lusitanians dwelling there, which were obstinately\ndefended by their inhabitants, both men and women, were subdued by\nhim; and the hitherto independent Callaeci were united with the Roman\nprovince after a great battle, in which 50,000 of them are said to\nhave fallen.  After the subjugation of the Vaccaei, Lusitanians, and\nCallaeci, the whole peninsula, with the exception of the north coast,\nwas now at least nominally subject to the Romans.\n\nA senatorial commission was sent to Spain in order to organize, in\nconcert with Scipio, the newly-won provincial territory after the Roman\nmethod; and Scipio did what he could to obviate the effects of the\ninfamous and stupid policy of his predecessors.  The Caucani for\ninstance, whose shameful maltreatment by Lucullus he had been obliged\nto witness nineteen years before when a military tribune, were invited\nby him to return to their town and to rebuild it.  Spain began again\nto experience more tolerable times.  The suppression of piracy, which\nfound dangerous lurking-places in the Baleares, through the occupation\nof these islands by Quintus Caecilius Metellus in 631, was singularly\nconducive, to the prosperity of Spanish commerce; and in other respects\nalso the fertile islands, inhabited by a dense population which was\nunsurpassed in the use of the sling, were a valuable possession.\nHow numerous the Latin-speaking population in the peninsula was even\nthen, is shown by the settlement of 3000 Spanish Latins in the towns\nof Palma and Pollentia (Pollenza) in the newly-acquired islands.\nIn spite of various grave evils the Roman administration of Spain\npreserved on the whole the stamp which the Catonian period, and\nprimarily Tiberius Gracchus, had impressed on it.  It is true that\nthe Roman frontier territory had not a little to suffer from the\ninroads of the tribes, but half subdued or not subdued at all, on\nthe north and west.  Among the Lusitanians in particular the poorer\nyouths regularly congregated as banditti, and in large gangs levied\ncontributions from their countrymen or their neighbours, for which\nreason, even at a much later period, the isolated homesteads in this\nregion were constructed in the style of fortresses, and were, in case\nof need, capable of defence; nor did the Romans succeed in putting\nan end to these predatory habits in the inhospitable and almost\ninaccessible Lusitanian mountains.  But what had previously been wars\nassumed more and more the character of brigandage, which every tolerably\nefficient governor was able to repress with his ordinary resources;\nand in spite of such inflictions on the border districts Spain was\nthe most flourishing and best-organized country in all the Roman\ndominions; the system of tenths and the middlemen were there\nunknown; the population was numerous, and the country was rich\nin corn and cattle.\n\nThe Protected States\n\nFar more insupportable was the condition--intermediate between formal\nsovereignty and actual subjection--of the African, Greek, and Asiatic\nstates which were brought within the sphere of Roman hegemony through\nthe wars of Rome with Carthage, Macedonia, and Syria, and their\nconsequences.  An independent state does not pay too dear a price\nfor its independence in accepting the sufferings of war when it\ncannot avoid them; a state which has lost its independence may find\nat least some compensation in the fact that its protector procures\nfor it peace with its neighbours.  But these client states of Rome\nhad neither independence nor peace.  In Africa there practically\nsubsisted a perpetual border-war between Carthage and Numidia.\nIn Egypt Roman arbitration had settled the dispute as to the\nsuccession between the two brothers Ptolemy Philometor and Ptolemy\nthe Fat; nevertheless the new rulers of Egypt and Cyrene waged war\nfor the possession of Cyprus.  In Asia not only were most of the\nkingdoms--Bithynia, Cappadocia, Syria--likewise torn by internal\nquarrels as to the succession and by the interventions of\nneighbouring states to which these quarrels gave rise, but various\nand severe wars were carried on between the Attalids and the\nGalatians, between the Attalids and the kings of Bithynia, and even\nbetween Rhodes and Crete.  In Hellas proper, in like manner, the\npigmy feuds which were customary there continued to smoulder; and\neven Macedonia, formerly so tranquil, consumed its strength in the\nintestine strife that arose out of its new democratic constitutions.\nIt was the fault of the rulers as well as the ruled, that the last\nvital energies and the last prosperity of the nations were expended\nin these aimless feuds.  The client states ought to have perceived\nthat a state which cannot wage war against every one cannot wage war\nat all, and that, as the possessions and power enjoyed by all these\nstates were practically under Roman guarantee, they had in the event\nof any difference no alternative but to settle the matter amicably\nwith their neighbours or to call in the Romans as arbiters.  When the\nAchaean diet was urged by the Rhodians and Cretans to grant them the\naid of the league, and seriously deliberated as to sending it (601),\nit was simply a political farce; the principle which the leader of the\nparty friendly to Rome then laid down--that the Achaeans were no\nlonger at liberty to wage war without the permission of the Romans--\nexpressed, doubtless with disagreeable precision, the simple truth\nthat the sovereignty of the dependent states was merely a formal\none, and that any attempt to give life to the shadow must necessarily\nlead to the destruction of the shadow itself.  But the ruling\ncommunity deserves a censure more severe than that directed against\nthe ruled.  It is no easy task for a man--any more than for a\nstate--to own to insignificance; it is the duty and right of the\nruler either to renounce his authority, or by the display of an\nimposing material superiority to compel the ruled to resignation.\nThe Roman senate did neither.  Invoked and importuned on all hands,\nthe senate interfered incessantly in the course of African, Hellenic,\nAsiatic, and Egyptian affairs; but it did so after so inconstant\nand loose a fashion, that its attempts to settle matters usually only\nrendered the confusion worse.  It was the epoch of commissions.\nCommissioners of the senate were constantly going to Carthage and\nAlexandria, to the Achaean diet, and to the courts of the rulers of\nwestern Asia; they investigated, inhibited, reported, and yet\ndecisive steps were not unfrequently taken in the most important\nmatters without the knowledge, or against the wishes, of the senate.\nIt might happen that Cyprus, for instance, which the senate had\nassigned to the kingdom of Cyrene, was nevertheless retained by Egypt;\nthat a Syrian prince ascended the throne of his ancestors under the\npretext that he had obtained a promise of it from the Romans, while\nthe senate had in fact expressly refused to give it to him, and he\nhimself had only escaped from Rome by breaking their interdict; that\neven the open murder of a Roman commissioner, who under the orders of\nthe senate administered as guardian the government of Syria, passed\ntotally unpunished.  The Asiatics were very well aware that they\nwere not in a position to resist the Roman legions; but they were\nno less aware that the senate was but little inclined to give the\nburgesses orders to march for the Euphrates or the Nile.  Thus the\nstate of these remote countries resembled that of the schoolroom\nwhen the teacher is absent or lax; and the government of Rome\ndeprived the nations at once of the blessings of freedom and of\nthe blessings of order.  For the Romans themselves, moreover, this\nstate of matters was so far perilous that it to a certain extent left\ntheir northern and eastern frontier exposed.  In these quarters\nkingdoms might be formed by the aid of the inland countries situated\nbeyond the limits of the Roman hegemony and in antagonism to the weak\nstates under Roman protection, without Rome being able directly or\nspeedily to interfere, and might develop a power dangerous to, and\nentering sooner or later into rivalry with, Rome.  No doubt the\ncondition of the bordering nations--everywhere split into fragments\nand nowhere favourable to political development on a great scale--\nformed some sort of protection against this danger; yet we very\nclearly perceive in the history of the east, that at this period the\nEuphrates was no longer guarded by the phalanx of Seleucus and was\nnot yet watched by the legions of Augustus.  It was high time to put\nan end to this state of indecision.  But the only possible way of\nending it was by converting the client states into Roman provinces.\nThis could be done all the more easily, that the Roman provincial\nconstitution in substance only concentrated military power in the\nhands of the Roman governor, while administration and jurisdiction\nin the main were, or at any rate were intended to be, retained by\nthe communities, so that as much of the old political independence as\nwas at all capable of life might be preserved in the form of communal\nfreedom.  The necessity for this administrative reform could not\nwell be mistaken; the only question was, whether the senate would\ndelay and mar it, or whether it would have the courage and the power\nclearly to discern and energetically to execute what was needful.\n\nCarthage and Numidia\n\nLet us first glance at Africa.  The order of things established by\nthe Romans in Libya rested in substance on a balance of power between\nthe Nomad kingdom of Massinissa and the city of Carthage.  While the\nformer was enlarged, confirmed, and civilized under the vigorous\nand sagacious government of Massinissa,(6) Carthage in consequence\nsimply of a state of peace became once more, at least in wealth and\npopulation, what it had been at the height of its political power.\nThe Romans saw with ill-concealed and envious fear the apparently\nindestructible prosperity of their old rival; while hitherto they had\nrefused to grant to it any real protection against the constantly\ncontinued encroachments of Massinissa, they now began openly to\ninterfere in favour of the neighbouring prince.  The dispute which\nhad been pending for more than thirty years between the city and the\nking as to the possession of the province of Emporia on the Lesser\nSyrtis, one of the most fertile in the Carthaginian territory, was\nat length (about 594) decided by Roman commissioners to the effect\nthat the Carthaginians should evacuate those towns of Eniporia which\nstill remained in their possession, and should pay 500 talents\n(120,000 pounds) to the king as compensation for the illegal enjoyment\nof the territory.  The consequence was, that Massinissa immediately\nseized another Carthaginian district on the western frontier of\ntheir territory, the town of Tusca and the great plains near the\nBagradas; no course was left to the Carthaginians but to commence\nanother hopeless process at Rome.  After long and, beyond doubt,\nintentional delay a second commission appeared in Africa (597);\nbut, when the Carthaginians were unwilling to commit themselves\nunconditionally to a decision to be pronounced by it as arbiter\nwithout an exact preliminary investigation into the question of\nlegal right, and insisted on a thorough discussion of the latter\nquestion, the commissioners without further ceremony returned to Rome.\n\nThe Destruction of Carthage Resolved on at Rome\n\nThe question of right between Carthage and Massinissa thus remained\nunsettled; but the mission gave rise to a more important decision.\nThe head of this commission had been the old Marcus Cato, at that\ntime perhaps the most influential man in the senate, and, as a\nveteran survivor from the Hannibalic war, still filled with thorough\nhatred and thorough dread of the Phoenicians.  With surprise and\njealousy Cato had seen with his own eyes the flourishing state of\nthe hereditary foes of Rome, the luxuriant country and the crowded\nstreets, the immense stores of arms in the magazines and the rich\nmaterials for a fleet; already he in spirit beheld a second\nHannibal wielding all these resources against Rome.  In his honest\nand manly, but thoroughly narrow-minded, fashion, he came to the\nconclusion that Rome could not be secure until Carthage had\ndisappeared from the face of the earth, and immediately after his\nreturn set forth this view in the senate.  Those of the aristocracy\nwhose ideas were more enlarged, and especially Scipio Nasica,\nopposed this paltry policy with great earnestness; and showed how\nblind were the fears entertained regarding a mercantile city whose\nPhoenician inhabitants were becoming more and more disused to warlike\narts and ideas, and how the existence of that rich commercial city\nwas quite compatible with the political supremacy of Rome.  Even the\nconversion of Carthage into a Roman provincial town would have been\npracticable, and indeed, compared with the present condition of the\nPhoenicians, perhaps even not unwelcome.  Cato, however, desired not\nthe submission, but the destruction of the hated city.  His policy,\nas it would seem, found allies partly in the statesmen who were\ninclined to bring the transmarine territories into immediate\ndependence on Rome, partly and especially in the mighty influence\nof the Roman bankers and great capitalists on whom, after the\ndestruction of the rich moneyed and mercantile city, its inheritance\nwould necessarily devolve.  The majority resolved at the first fitting\nopportunity--respect for public opinion required that they should\nwait for such--to bring about war with Carthage, or rather the\ndestruction of the city.\n\nWar between Massinissa and Carthage\n\nThe desired occasion was soon found.  The provoking violations of\nright on the part of Massinissa and the Romans brought to the helm\nin Carthage Hasdrubal and Carthalo, the leaders of the patriotic\nparty, which was not indeed, like the Achaean, disposed to revolt\nagainst the Roman supremacy, but was at least resolved to defend,\nif necessary, by arms against Massinissa the rights belonging by\ntreaty to the Carthaginians.  The patriots ordered forty of the most\ndecided partisans of Massinissa to be banished from the city, and made\nthe people swear that they would on no account ever permit their return;\nat the same time, in order to repel the attacks that might be expected\nfrom Massinissa, they formed out of the free Numidians a numerous army\nunder Arcobarzanes, the grandson of Syphax (about 600).  Massinissa,\nhowever, was prudent enough not to take arms now, but to submit\nhimself unconditionally to the decision of the Romans respecting\nthe disputed territory on the Bagradas; and thus the Romans could\nassert with some plausibility that the Carthaginian preparations must\nhave been directed against them, and could insist on the immediate\ndismissal of the army and destruction of the naval stores.\nThe Carthaginian senate was disposed to consent, but the multitude\nprevented the execution of the decree, and the Roman envoys, who\nhad brought this order to Carthage, were in peril of their lives.\nMassinissa sent his son Gulussa to Rome to report the continuance of\nthe Carthaginian warlike preparations by land and sea, and to hasten\nthe declaration of war.  After a further embassy of ten men had\nconfirmed the statement that Carthage was in reality arming (602),\nthe senate rejected the demand of Cato for an absolute declaration\nof war, but resolved in a secret sitting that war should be declared\nif the Carthaginians would not consent to dismiss their army and\nto burn their materials for a fleet.  Meanwhile the conflict had\nalready begun in Africa.  Massinissa had sent back the men whom the\nCarthaginians had banished, under the escort of his son Gulussa, to\nthe city.  When the Carthaginians closed their gates against them and\nkilled also some of the Numidians returning home, Massinissa put his\ntroops in motion, and the patriot party in Carthage also prepared\nfor the struggle.  But Hasdrubal, who was placed at the head of their\narmy, was one of the usual army-destroyers whom the Carthaginians\nwere in the habit of employing as generals; strutting about in his\ngeneral's purple like a theatrical king, and pampering his portly\nperson even in the camp, that vain and unwieldy man was little\nfitted to render help in an exigency which perhaps even the genius\nof Hamilcar and the arm of Hannibal could have no longer averted.\nBefore the eyes of Scipio Aemilanus, who at that time a military tribune\nin the Spanish army, had been sent to Massinissa to bring over African\nelephants for his commander, and who on this occasion looked down on\nthe conflict from a mountain \"like Zeus from Ida,\" the Carthaginians\nand Numidians fought a great battle, in which the former, though\nreinforced by 6000 Numidian horsemen brought to them by discontented\ncaptains of Massinissa, and superior in number to the enemy, were\nworsted.  After this defeat the Carthaginians offered to make\ncessions of territory and payments of money to Massinissa, and\nScipio at their solicitation attempted to bring about an agreement;\nbut the project of peace was frustrated by the refusal of the\nCarthaginian patriots to surrender the deserters.  Hasdrubal,\nhowever, closely hemmed in by the troops of his antagonist, was\ncompelled to grant to the latter all that he demanded--the surrender\nof the deserters, the return of the exiles, the delivery of arms,\nthe marching off under the yoke, the payment of 100 talents (24,000\npounds) annually for the next fifty years.  But even this agreement\nwas not kept by the Numidians; on the contrary the disarmed remnant\nof the Carthaginian army was cut to pieces by them on the way home.\n\nDeclaration of War by Rome\n\nThe Romans, who had carefully abstained from preventing the war\nItself by seasonable interposition, had now what they wished: namely,\nA serviceable pretext for war--for the Carthaginians had certainly\nNow transgressed the stipulations of the treaty, that they should not\nwage war against the allies of Rome or beyond their own bounds(7)--\nand an antagonist already beaten beforehand.  The Italian contingents\nwere already summoned to Rome, and the ships were assembled; the\ndeclaration of war might issue at any moment.  The Carthaginians made\nevery effort to avert the impending blow.  Hasdrubal and Carthalo,\nthe leaders of the patriot party, were condemned to death, and an\nembassy was sent to Rome to throw the responsibility on them.\nBut at the same time envoys from Utica, the second city of the\nLibyan Phoenicians, arrived there with full powers to surrender\ntheir Community wholly to the Romans--compared with such obliging\nsubmissiveness, it seemed almost an insolence that the Carthaginians\nhad rested content with ordering, unbidden, the execution of their most\neminent men.  The senate declared that the excuse of the Carthaginians\nwas found insufficient; to the question, what in that case would suffice,\nthe reply was given that the Carthaginians knew that themselves.  They\nmight, no doubt, have known what the Romans wished; but yet it seemed\nimpossible to believe that the last hour of their loved native city had\nreally come.  Once more Carthaginian envoys--on this occasion thirty\nin number and with unlimited powers--were sent to Rome.  When they\narrived, war was already declared (beginning of 605), and the double\nconsular army had embarked.  Yet they even now attempted to dispel\nthe storm by complete submission.  The senate replied that Rome was\nready to guarantee to the Carthaginian community its territory, its\nmunicipal freedom and its laws, its public and private property,\nprovided that it would furnish to the consuls who had just departed for\nSicily within the space of a month at Lilybaeum 300 hostages from the\nchildren of the leading families, and would fulfil the further orders\nwhich the consuls in conformity with their instructions should issue\nto them.  The reply has been called ambiguous; but very erroneously,\nas even at the time clearsighted men among the Carthaginians themselves\npointed out.  The circumstance that everything which they could ask\nwas guaranteed with the single exception of the city, and that\nnothing was said as to stopping the embarkation of the troops for\nAfrica, showed very clearly what the Roman intentions were; the\nsenate acted with fearful harshness, but it did not assume the\nsemblance of concession.  The Carthaginians, however, would not open\ntheir eyes; there was no statesman found, who had the power to move\nthe unstable multitude of the city either to thorough resistance or\nto thorough resignation.  When they heard at the same time of the\nhorrible decree of war and of the endurable demand for hostages, they\ncomplied immediately with the latter, and still clung to hope, because\nthey had not the courage fully to realize the import of surrendering\nthemselves beforehand to the arbitrary will of a mortal foe.\nThe consuls sent back the hostages from Lilybaeum to Rome, and informed\nthe Carthaginian envoys that they would learn further particulars in\nAfrica.  The landing was accomplished without resistance, and the\nprovisions demanded were supplied.  When the gerusia of Carthage\nappeared in a body at the head-quarters in Utica to receive the\nfurther orders, the consuls required in the first instance the\ndisarming of the city.  To the question of the Carthaginians, who\nwas in that case to protect them even against their own emigrants--\nagainst the army, which had swelled to 20,000 men, under the command\nof Husdrubal who had saved himself from the sentence of death by\nflight--it was replied, that this would be the concern of the Romans.\nAccordingly the council of the city obsequiously appeared before the\nconsuls, with all their fleet-material, all the military stores of the\npublic magazines, all the arms that were found in the possession of\nprivate persons--to the number of 3000 catapults and 200,000 sets of\narmour--and inquired whether anything more was desired.  Then the\nconsul Lucius Marcius Censorinus rose and announced to the council,\nthat in accordance with the instructions given by the senate the\nexisting city was to be destroyed, but that the inhabitants were\nat liberty to settle anew in their territory wherever they chose,\nprovided it were at a distance of at least ten miles from the sea.\n\nResistance of the Carthaginians\n\nThis fearful command aroused in the Phoenicians all the--shall\nwe say magnanimous or frenzied?--enthusiasm, which was displayed\npreviously by the Tyrians against Alexander, and subsequently by the\nJews against Vespasian.  Unparalleled as was the patience with which\nthis nation could endure bondage and oppression, as unparalleled was\nnow the furious rising of that mercantile and seafaring population,\nwhen the things at stake were not the state and freedom, but the\nbeloved soil of their ancestral city and their venerated and dear\nhome beside the sea.  Hope and deliverance were out of the question;\npolitical discretion enjoined even now an unconditional submission.\nBut the voice of the few who counselled the acceptance of what was\ninevitable was, like the call of the pilot during a hurricane,\ndrowned amidst the furious yells of the multitude; which, in its\nfrantic rage, laid hands on the magistrates of the city who had\ncounselled the surrender of the hostages and arms, made such of the\ninnocent bearers of the news as had ventured at all to return home\nexpiate their terrible tidings, and tore in pieces the Italians who\nchanced to be sojourning in the city by way of avenging beforehand,\nat least on them, the destruction of its native home.  No resolution\nwas passed to defend themselves; unarmed as they were, this was\na matter of course.  The gates were closed; stones were carried\nto the battlements of the walls that had been stripped of the\ncatapults; the chief command was entrusted to Hasdrubal, the grandson\nof Massinissa; the slaves in a body were declared free.  The army\nof refugees under the fugitive Hasdrubal--which was in possession of\nthe whole Carthaginian territory with the exception of the towns on\nthe east coast occupied by the Romans, viz.  Hadrumetum, Little\nLeptis, Thapsus and Achulla, and the city of Utica, and offered an\ninvaluable support for the defence--was entreated not to refuse its\naid to the commonwealth in this dire emergency.  At the same time,\nconcealing in true Phoenician style the most unbounded resentment\nunder the cloak of humility, they attempted to deceive the enemy.\nA message was sent to the consuls to request a thirty days'\narmistice for the despatch of an embassy to Rome.  The Carthaginians\nwere well aware that the generals neither would nor could grant this\nrequest, which had been refused once already; but the consuls were\nconfirmed by it in the natural supposition that after the first outbreak\nof despair the utterly defenceless city would submit, and accordingly\npostponed the attack.  The precious interval was employed in preparing\ncatapults and armour; day and night all, without distinction of age or\nsex, were occupied in constructing machines and forging arms; the public\nbuildings were torn down to procure timber and metal; women cut off\ntheir hair to furnish the strings indispensable for the catapults; in\nan incredibly short time the walls and the men were once more armed.\nThat all this could be done without the consuls, who were but a few\nmiles off, learning anything of it, is not the least marvellous feature\nin this marvellous movement sustained by a truly enthusiastic, and in\nfact superhuman, national hatred.  When at length the consuls, weary\nof waiting, broke up from their camp at Utica, and thought that they\nshould be able to scale the bare walls with ladders, they found to their\nsurprise and horror the battlements crowned anew with catapults, and\nthe large populous city which they had hoped to occupy like an open\nvillage, able and ready to defend itself to the last man.\n\nSituation of Carthage\n\nCarthage was rendered very strong both by the nature of its\nsituation(8) and by the art of its inhabitants, who had very often\nto depend on the protection of its walls.  Into the broad gulf of\nTunis, which is bounded on the west by Cape Farina and on the east\nby Cape Bon, there projects in a direction from west to east a\npromontory, which is encompassed on three sides by the sea and is\nconnected with the mainland only towards the west.  This promontory,\nat its narrowest part only about two miles broad and on the whole flat,\nagain expands towards the gulf, and terminates there in the two\nheights of Jebel-Khawi and Sidi bu Said, between which extends\nthe plain of El Mersa.  On its southern portion which ends in the\nheight of Sidi bu Said lay the city of Carthage.  The pretty steep\ndeclivity of that height towards the gulf and its numerous rocks and\nshallows gave natural strength to the side of the city next to the\ngulf, and a simple circumvallation was sufficient there.  On the\nwall along the west or landward side, on the other hand, where nature\nafforded no protection, every appliance within the power of the art\nof fortification in those times was expended.  It consisted, as its\nrecently discovered remains exactly tallying with the description of\nPolybius have shown, of an outer wall 6 1/2 feet thick and immense\ncasemates attached to it behind, probably along its whole extent;\nthese were separated from the outer wall by a covered way 6 feet\nbroad, and had a depth of 14 feet, exclusive of the front and back\nwalls, each of which was fully 3 feet broad.(9)  This enormous wall,\ncomposed throughout of large hewn blocks, rose in two stories,\nexclusive of the battlements and the huge towers four stories high,\nto a height of 45 feet,(10) and furnished in the lower range of the\ncasemates stables and provender-stores for 300 elephants, in the upper\nrange stalls for horses, magazines, and barracks.(11)  The citadel-hill,\nthe Byrsa (Syriac, birtha = citadel), a comparatively considerable\nrock having a height of 188 feet and at its base a circumference\nof fully 2000 double paces,(12) was joined to this wall at its\nsouthern end, just as the rock-wall of the Capitol was joined\nto the city-wall of Rome.  Its summit bore the huge temple of the\nGod of Healing, resting on a basement of sixty steps.  The south\nside of the city was washed partly by the shallow lake of Tunes towards\nthe south-west, which was separated almost wholly from the gulf by a\nnarrow and low tongue of land running southwards from the Carthaginian\npeninsula,(13) partly by the open gulf towards the south-east.\nAt this last spot was situated the double harbour of the city,\na work of human hands; the outer or commercial harbour, a longish\nrectangle with the narrow end turned to the sea, from whose entrance,\nonly 70 feet wide, broad quays stretched along the water on both sides,\nand the inner circular war-harbour, the Cothon,(14) with the island\ncontaining the admiral's house in the middle, which was approached\nthrough the outer harbour.  Between the two passed the city wall,\nwhich turning eastward from the Byrsa excluded the tongue of\nland and the outer harbour, but included the war-harbour, so that\nthe entrance to the latter must be conceived as capable of being\nclosed like a gate.  Not far from the war-harbour lay the\nmarketplace, which was connected by three narrow streets with\nthe citadel open on the side towards the town.  To the north of,\nand beyond, the city proper, the pretty considerable space of\nthe modern El Mersa, even at that time occupied in great part by\nvillas and well-watered gardens, and then called Magalia, had a\ncircumvallation of its own joining on to the city wall.  On the\nopposite point of the peninsula, the Jebel-Khawi near the modern\nvillage of Ghamart, lay the necropolis.  These three--the old\ncity, the suburb, and the necropolis--together filled the whole\nbreadth of the promontory on its side next the gulf, and were only\naccessible by the two highways leading to Utica and Tunes along\nthat narrow tongue of land, which, although not closed by a wall,\nyet afforded a most advantageous position for the armies taking\ntheir stand under the protection of the capital with the view of\nprotecting it in return.\n\nThe difficult task of reducing so well fortified a city was rendered\nstill more difficult by the fact, that the resources of the capital\nitself and of its territory which still included 800 townships and\nwas mostly under the power of the emigrant party on the one hand,\nand the numerous tribes of the free or half-free Libyans hostile to\nMassinissa on the other, enabled the Carthaginians simultaneously\nwith their defence of the city to keep a numerous army in the field--\nan army which, from the desperate temper of the emigrants and the\nserviceableness of the light Numidian cavalry, the besiegers could\nnot afford to disregard.\n\nThe Siege\n\nThe consuls accordingly had by no means an easy task to perform,\nwhen they now found themselves compelled to commence a regular siege.\nManius Manilius, who commanded the land army, pitched his camp\nopposite the wall of the citadel, while Lucius Censorinus stationed\nhimself with the fleet on the lake and there began operations on the\ntongue of land.  The Carthaginian army, under Hasdrubal, encamped on\nthe other side of the lake near the fortress of Nepheris, whence it\nobstructed the labours of the Roman soldiers despatched to cut\ntimber for constructing machines, and the able cavalry-leader in\nparticular, Himilco Phameas, slew many of the Romans.  Censorinus\nfitted up two large battering-rams on the tongue, and made a\nbreach with them at this weakest place of the wall; but, as evening\nhad set in, the assault had to be postponed.  During the night the\nbesieged succeeded in filling up a great part of the breach, and in\nso damaging the Roman machines by a sortie that they could not work\nnext day.  Nevertheless the Romans ventured on the assault; but\nthey found the breach and the portions of the wall and houses in the\nneighbourhood so strongly occupied, and advanced with such imprudence,\nthat they were repulsed with severe loss and would have suffered\nstill greater damage, had not the military tribune Scipio Aemilianus,\nforeseeing the issue of the foolhardy attack, kept together his men\nin front of the walls and with them intercepted the fugitives.\nManilius accomplished still less against the impregnable wall of\nthe citadel.  The siege thus lingered on.  The diseases engendered in\nthe camp by the heat of summer, the departure of Censorinus the abler\ngeneral, the ill-humour and inaction of Massinissa who was naturally\nfar from pleased to see the Romans taking for themselves the booty\nwhich he had long coveted, and the death of the king at the age of\nninety which ensued soon after (end of 605), utterly arrested the\noffensive operations of the Romans.  They had enough to do in\nprotecting their ships against the Carthaginian incendiaries and\ntheir camp against nocturnal surprises, and in securing food for\ntheir men and horses by the construction of a harbour-fort and by\nforays in the neighbourhood.  Two expeditions directed against\nHasdrubal remained without success; and in fact the first, badly\nled over difficult ground, had almost terminated in a formal defeat.\nBut, while the course of the war was inglorious for the general\nand the army, the military tribune Scipio achieved in it brilliant\ndistinction.  It was he who, on occasion of a nocturnal attack by\nthe enemy on the Roman camp, starting with some squadrons of horse\nand taking the enemy in rear, compelled him to retreat.  On the\nfirst expedition to Nepheris, when the passage of the river had\ntaken place in opposition to his advice and had almost occasioned\nthe destruction of the army, by a bold attack in flank he relieved\nthe pressure on the retreating troops, and by his devoted and\nheroic courage rescued a division which had been given up as\nlost While the other officers, and the consul in particular,\nby their perfidy deterred the towns and party-leaders that were\ninclined to negotiate, Scipio succeeded in inducing one of the\nablest of the latter, Himilco Phameas, to pass over to the Romans\nwith 2200 cavalry.  Lastly, after he had in fulfilment of the charge\nof the dying Massinissa divided his kingdom among his three sons,\nMicipsa, Gulussa, and Mastanabal, he brought to the Roman army in\nGulussa a cavalry-leader worthy of his father, and thereby remedied\nthe want, which had hitherto been seriously felt, of light cavalry.\nHis refined and yet simple demeanour, which recalled rather his own\nfather than him whose name he bore, overcame even envy, and in the\ncamp as in the capital the name of Scipio was on the lips of all.\nEven Cato, who was not liberal with his praise, a few months before\nhis death--he died at the end of 605 without having seen the wish of\nhis life, the destruction of Carthage, accomplished--applied to the\nyoung officer and to his incapable comrades the Homeric line:--\n\nHe only is a living man, the rest are gliding shades.(15)\n\nWhile these events were passing, the close of the year had come\nand with it a change of commanders; the consul Lucius Piso (606)\nwas somewhat late in appearing and took the command of the land\narmy, while Lucius Mancinus took charge of the fleet.  But, if their\npredecessors had done little, these did nothing at all.  Instead of\nprosecuting the siege of Carthage or subduing the army of Hasdrubal,\nPiso employed himself in attacking the small maritime towns of the\nPhoenicians, and that mostly without success.  Clupea, for example,\nrepulsed him, and he was obliged to retire in disgrace from Hippo\nDiarrhytus, after having lost the whole summer in front of it and\nhaving had his besieging apparatus twice burnt.  Neapolis was no\ndoubt taken; but the pillage of the town in opposition to his pledged\nword of honour was not specially favourable to the progress of\nthe Roman arms.  The courage of the Carthaginians rose.  Bithyas,\na Numidian sheik, passed over to them with 800 horse; Carthaginian\nenvoys were enabled to attempt negotiations with the kings of Numidia\nand Mauretania and even with Philip the Macedonian pretender.\nIt was perhaps internal intrigues--Hasdrubal the emigrant brought\nthe general of the same name, who commanded in the city, into\nsuspicion on account of his relationship with Massinissa, and\ncaused him to be put to death in the senate-house--rather than\nthe activity of the Romans, that prevented things from assuming\na turn still more favourable for Carthage.\n\nScipio Aemilianus\n\nWith the view of producing a change in the state of African affairs,\nwhich excited uneasiness, the Romans resorted to the extraordinary\nmeasure of entrusting the conduct of the war to the only man who had\nas yet brought home honour from the Libyan plains, and who was\nrecommended for this war by his very name.  Instead of calling Scipio\nto the aedileship for which he was a candidate, they gave to him\nthe consulship before the usual time, setting aside the laws to the\ncontrary effect, and committed to him by special decree the conduct\nof the African war.  He arrived (607) in Utica at a moment when much\nwas at stake.  The Roman admiral Mancinus, charged by Piso with the\nnominal continuance of the siege of the capital, had occupied a steep\ncliff, far remote from the inhabited district and scarcely defended,\non the almost inaccessible seaward side of the suburb of Magalia, and\nhad united nearly his whole not very numerous force there, in the hope\nof being able to penetrate thence into the outer town.  In fact the\nassailants had been for a moment within its gates and the camp-\nfollowers had flocked forward in a body in the hope of spoil, when\nthey were again driven back to the cliff and, being without supplies\nand almost cut off, were in the greatest danger.  Scipio found matters\nin that position.  He had hardly arrived when he despatched the\ntroops which he had brought with him and the militia of Utica by sea\nto the threatened point, and succeeded in saving its garrison and\nholding the cliff itself.  After this danger was averted, the general\nproceeded to the camp of Piso to take over the army and bring it back\nto Carthage.  Hasdrubal and Bithyas availed themselves of his absence\nto move their camp immediately up to the city, and to renew the\nattack on the garrison of the cliff before Magalia; but even now\nScipio appeared with the vanguard of the main army in sufficient time\nto afford assistance to the post.  Then the siege began afresh and\nmore earnestly.  First of all Scipio cleared the camp of the mass of\ncamp-followers and sutlers and once more tightened the relaxed reins\nof discipline.  Military operations were soon resumed with increased\nvigour.  In an attack by night on the suburb the Romans succeeded in\npassing from a tower--placed in front of the walls and equal to them\nin height--on to the battlements, and opened a little gate through\nwhich the whole army entered.  The Carthaginians abandoned the\nsuburb and their camp before the gates, and gave the chief command\nof the garrison of the city, amounting to 30,000 men, to Hasdrubal.\nThe new commander displayed his energy in the first instance by\ngiving orders that all the Roman prisoners should be brought to the\nbattlements and, after undergoing cruel tortures, should be thrown\nover before the eyes of the besieging army; and, when voices were\nraised in disapproval of the act, a reign of terror was introduced\nwith reference to the citizens also.  Scipio, meanwhile, after having\nconfined the besieged to the city itself, sought totally to cut off\ntheir intercourse with the outer world.  He took up his head-quarters\non the ridge by which the Carthaginian peninsula was connected with\nthe mainland, and, notwithstanding the various attempts of the\nCarthaginians to disturb his operations, constructed a great camp\nacross the whole breadth of the isthmus, which completely blockaded\nthe city from the landward side.  Nevertheless ships with provisions\nstill ran into the harbour, partly bold merchantmen allured by the\ngreat gain, partly vessels of Bithyas, who availed himself of every\nfavourable wind to convey supplies to the city from Nepheris at the\nend of the lake of Tunes; whatever might now be the sufferings of the\ncitizens, the garrison was still sufficiently provided for.  Scipio\ntherefore constructed a stone mole, 96 feet broad, running from the\ntongue of land between the lake and gulf into the latter, so as thus\nto close the mouth of the harbour.  The city seemed lost, when the\nsuccess of this undertaking, which was at first ridiculed by the\nCarthaginians as impracticable, became evident.  But one surprise\nwas balanced by another.  While the Roman labourers were constructing\nthe mole, work was going forward night and day for two months\nin the Carthaginian harbour, without even the deserters being\nable to tell what were the designs of the besieged.  All of a\nsudden, just as the Romans had completed the bar across the entrance\nto the harbour, fifty Carthaginian triremes and a number of boats and\nskiffs sailed forth from that same harbour into the gulf--while the\nenemy were closing the old mouth of the harbour towards the south,\nthe Carthaginians had by means of a canal formed in an easterly\ndirection procured for themselves a new outlet, which owing to the\ndepth of the sea at that spot could not possibly be closed.  Had the\nCarthaginians, instead of resting content with a mere demonstration,\nthrown themselves at once and resolutely on the half-dismantled and\nwholly unprepared Roman fleet, it must have been lost; when they\nreturned on the third day to give the naval battle, they found the\nRomans in readiness.  The conflict came off without decisive result;\nbut on their return the Carthaginian vessels so ran foul of each\nother in and before the entrance of the harbour, that the damage thus\noccasioned was equivalent to a defeat.  Scipio now directed his\nattacks against the outer quay, which lay outside of the city walls\nand was only protected for the exigency by an earthen rampart of recent\nconstruction.  The machines were stationed on the tongue of land,\nand a breach was easily made; but with unexampled intrepidity the\nCarthaginians, wading through the shallows, assailed the besieging\nimplements, chased away the covering force which ran off in such a\nmanner that Scipio was obliged to make his own troopers cut them\ndown, and destroyed the machines.  In this way they gained time to\nclose the breach.  Scipio, however, again established the machines\nand set on fire the wooden towers of the enemy; by which means he\nobtained possession of the quay and of the outer harbour along\nwith it.  A rampart equalling the city wall in height was here\nconstructed, and the town was now at length completely blockaded\nby land and sea, for the inner harbour could only be reached through\nthe outer.  To ensure the completeness of the blockade, Scipio\nordered Gaius Laelius to attack the camp at Nepheris, where Diogenes\nnow held the command; it was captured by a fortunate stratagem,\nand the whole countless multitude assembled there were put to\ndeath or taken prisoners.  Winter had now arrived and Scipio\nsuspended his operations, leaving famine and pestilence to\ncomplete what he had begun.\n\nCapture of the City\n\nHow fearfully these mighty agencies had laboured in the work of\ndestruction during the interval while Hasdrubal continued to vaunt\nand to gormandize, appeared so soon as the Roman army proceeded in\nthe spring of 608 to attack the inner town.  Hasdrubal gave orders\nto set fire to the outer harbour and made himself ready to repel\nthe expected assault on the Cothon; but Laelius succeeded in scaling\nthe wall, hardly longer defended by the famished garrison, at a point\nfarther up and thus penetrated into the inner harbour.  The city\nwas captured, but the struggle was still by no means at an end.\nThe assailants occupied the market-place contiguous to the small\nharbour, and slowly pushed their way along the three narrow streets\nleading from this to the citadel--slowly, for the huge houses of\nsix stories in height had to be taken one by one; on the roofs or\non beams laid over the street the soldiers penetrated from one of\nthese fortress-like buildings to that which was adjoining or opposite,\nand cut down whatever they encountered there.  Thus six days\nelapsed, terrible for the inhabitants of the city and full of\ndifficulty and danger also for the assailants; at length they\narrived in front of the steep citadel-rock, whither Hasdrubal and\nthe force still surviving had retreated.  To procure a wider approach,\nScipio gave orders to set fire to the captured streets and to level\nthe ruins; on which occasion a number of persons unable to fight, who\nwere concealed in the houses, miserably perished.  Then at last the\nremnant of the population, crowded together in the citadel, besought\nfor mercy.  Bare life was conceded to them, and they appeared before\nthe victor, 30,000 men and 25,000 women, not the tenth part of the\nformer population.  The Roman deserters alone, 900 in number, and\nthe general Hasdrubal with his wife and his two children had thrown\nthemselves into the temple of the God of Healing; for them--for\nsoldiers who had deserted their posts, and for the murderer of the\nRoman prisoners--there were no terms.  But when, yielding to famine,\nthe most resolute of them set fire to the temple, Hasdrubal could\nnot endure to face death; alone he ran forth to the victor and\nfalling upon his knees pleaded for his life.  It was granted; but,\nwhen his wife who with her children was among the rest on the roof\nof the temple saw him at the feet of Scipio, her proud heart swelled\nat this disgrace brought on her dear perishing home, and, with bitter\nwords bidding her husband be careful to save his life, she plunged\nfirst her sons and then herself into the flames.  The struggle was\nat an end.  The joy in the camp and at Rome was boundless; the\nnoblest of the people alone were in secret ashamed of the most recent\ngrand achievement of the nation.  The prisoners were mostly sold as\nslaves; several were allowed to languish in prison; the most notable,\nHasdrubal and Bithyas, were sent to the interior of Italy as Roman\nstate-prisoners and tolerably treated.  The moveable property, with\nthe exception of gold, silver, and votive gifts, was abandoned to\nthe pillage of the soldiers.  As to the temple treasures, the booty\nthat had been in better times carried off by the Carthaginians from\nthe Sicilian towns was restored to them; the bull of Phalaris,\nfor example, was returned to the Agrigentines; the rest fell\nto the Roman state.\n\nDestruction of Carthage\n\nBut by far the larger portion of the city still remained standing.\nWe may believe that Scipio desired its preservation; at least he\naddressed a special inquiry to the senate on the subject.  Scipio\nNasica once more attempted to gain a hearing for the demands of\nreason and honour; but in vain.  The senate ordered the general\nto level the city of Carthage and the suburb of Magalia with the\nground, and to do the same with all the townships which had held by\nCarthage to the last; and thereafter to pass the plough over the site\nof Carthage so as to put an end in legal form to the existence of\nthe city, and to curse the soil and site for ever, that neither\nhouse nor cornfield might ever reappear on the spot.  The command was\npunctually obeyed.  The ruins burned for seventeen days: recently,\nwhen the remains of the Carthaginian city wall were excavated, they\nwere found to be covered with a layer of ashes from four to five feet\ndeep, filled with half-charred pieces of wood, fragments of iron,\nand projectiles.  Where the industrious Phoenicians had bustled and\ntrafficked for five hundred years, Roman slaves henceforth pastured\nthe herds of their distant masters.  Scipio, however, whom nature\nhad destined for a nobler part than that of an executioner, gazed\nwith horror on his own work; and, instead of the joy of victory,\nthe victor himself was haunted by a presentiment of the retribution\nthat would inevitably follow such a misdeed.\n\nProvince of Africa\n\nThere remained the work of arranging the future organization of\nthe country.  The earlier plan of investing the allies of Rome with\nthe transmarine possessions that she acquired was no longer viewed\nwith favour.  Micipsa and his brothers retained in substance their\nformer territory, including the districts recently wrested from the\nCarthaginians on the Bagradas and in Emporia; their long-cherished\nhope of obtaining Carthage as a capital was for ever frustrated;\nthe senate presented them instead with the Carthaginian libraries.\nThe Carthaginian territory as possessed by the city in its last days--\nviz.  The narrow border of the African coast lying immediately opposite\nto Sicily, from the river Tusca (near Thabraca) to Thaenae (opposite\nto the island of Karkenah)--became a Roman province.  In the interior,\nwhere the constant encroachments of Massinissa had more and more\nnarrowed the Carthaginian dominions and Bulla, Zama, and Aquae\nalready belonged to the kings, the Numidians retained what they\npossessed.  But the careful regulation of the boundary between the\nRoman province and the Numidian kingdom, which enclosed it on three\nsides, showed that Rome would by no means tolerate in reference\nto herself what she had permitted in reference to Carthage; while\nthe name of the new province, Africa, on the other hand appeared\nto indicate that Rome did not at all regard the boundary now marked\noff as a definitive one.  The supreme administration of the new\nprovince was entrusted to a Roman governor, who had his seat at Utica.\nIts frontier did not need any regular defence, as the allied Numidian\nkingdom everywhere separated it from the inhabitants of the desert.\nIn the matter of taxes Rome dealt on the whole with moderation.\nThose communities which from the beginning of the war had taken part\nwith Rome--viz.  Only the maritime towns of Utica, Hadrumetum, Little\nLeptis, Thapsus, Achulla, and Usalis, and the inland town of Theudalis--\nretained their territory and became free cities; which was also the\ncase with the newly-founded community of deserters.  The territory\nof the city of Carthage--with the exception of a tract presented to\nUtica--and that of the other destroyed townships became Roman domain-\nland, which was let on lease.  The remaining townships likewise\nforfeited in law their property in the soil and their municipal\nliberties; but their land and their constitution were for the time\nbeing, and until further orders from the Roman government, left to\nthem as a possession liable to be recalled, and the communities paid\nannually to Rome for the use of their soil which had become Roman a\nonce-for-all fixed tribute (stipendium), which they in their turn\ncollected by means of a property-tax levied from the individuals\nliable.  The real gainers, however, by this destruction of the\nfirst commercial city of the west were the Roman merchants, who, as\nsoon as Carthage lay in ashes, flocked in troops to Utica, and from\nthis as their head-quarters began to turn to profitable account not\nonly the Roman province, but also the Numidian and Gaetulian regions\nwhich had hitherto been closed to them.\n\nMacedonia and the Pseudo-Phillip\nVictory of Metellus\n\nMacedonia also disappeared about the same time as Carthage from\nthe ranks of the nations.  The four small confederacies, into which\nthe wisdom of the Roman senate had parcelled out the ancient kingdom,\ncould not live at peace either internally or one with another.\nHow matters stood in the country appears from a single accidentally\nmentioned occurrence at Phacus, where the whole governing council\nof one of these confederacies were murdered on the instigation of\none Damasippus.  Neither the commissions sent by the senate (590),\nnor the foreign arbiters, such as Scipio Aemilianus (603) called in\nafter the Greek fashion by the Macedonians, were able to establish\nany tolerable order.  Suddenly there appeared in Thrace a young man,\nwho called himself Philip the son of king Perseus, whom he strikingly\nresembled, and of the Syrian Laodice.  He had passed his youth\nin the Mysian town of Adramytium; there he asserted that he had\npreserved the sure proofs of his illustrious descent.  With these\nhe had, after a vain attempt to obtain recognition in his native\ncountry, resorted to Demetrius Soter, king of Syria, his mother's\nbrother.  There were in fact some who believed the Adramytene or\nprofessed to believe him, and urged the king either to reinstate\nthe prince in his hereditary kingdom or to cede to him the crown\nof Syria; whereupon Demetrius, to put an end to the foolish proceedings,\narrested the pretender and sent him to the Romans.  But the senate\nattached so little importance to the man, that it confined him in an\nItalian town without taking steps to have him even seriously guarded.\nThus he had escaped to Miletus, where the civic authorities once more\nseized him and asked the Roman commissioners what they should do with\nthe prisoner.  The latter advised them to let him go; and they did\nso.  He now tried his fortune further in Thrace; and, singularly\nenough, he obtained recognition and support there not only from\nTeres the chief of the Thracian barbarians, the husband of his\nfather's sister, and Barsabas, but also from the prudent Byzantines.\nWith Thracian support the so-called Philip invaded Macedonia, and,\nalthough he was defeated at first, he soon gained one victory over\nthe Macedonian militia in the district of Odomantice beyond the Strymon,\nfollowed by a second on the west side of the river, which gave him\npossession of all Macedonia.  Apocryphal as his story sounded, and\ndecidedly as it was established that the real Philip, the son of\nPerseus, had died when eighteen years of age at Alba, and that this\nman, so far from being a Macedonian prince, was Andriscus a fuller of\nAdramytium, yet the Macedonians were too much accustomed to the rule\nof a king not to be readily satisfied on the point of legitimacy and\nto return with pleasure into the old track.  Messengers arrived\nfrom the Thessalians, announcing that the pretender had advanced\ninto their territory; the Roman commissioner Nasica, who, in the\nexpectation that a word of earnest remonstrance would put an end\nto the foolish enterprise, had been sent by the senate to Macedonia\nwithout soldiers, was obliged to call out the Achaean and Pergamene\ntroops and to protect Thessaly against the superior force by\nmeans of the Achaeans, as far as was practicable, till (605?)\nthe praetor Juventius appeared with a legion.  The latter attacked\nthe Macedonians with his small force; but he himself fell, his army\nwas almost wholly destroyed, and the greater part of Thessaly fell into\nthe power of the pseudo-Philip, who conducted his government there and\nin Macedonia with cruelty and arrogance.  At length a stronger Roman\narmy under Quintus Caecilius Metellus appeared on the scene of\nconflict, and, supported by the Pergamene fleet, advanced into\nMacedonia.  In the first cavalry combat the Macedonians retained\nthe superiority; but soon dissensions and desertions occurred in the\nMacedonian army, and the blunder of the pretender in dividing his\narmy and detaching half of it to Thessaly procured for the Romans an\neasy and decisive victory (606).  Philip fled to the chieftain Byzes\nin Thrace, whither Metellus followed him and after a second victory\nobtained his surrender.\n\nProvince of Macedonia\n\nThe four Macedonian confederacies had not voluntarily submitted to\nthe pretender, but had simply yielded to force.  According to the\npolicy hitherto pursued there was therefore no reason for depriving\nthe Macedonians of the shadow of independence which the battle of\nPydna had still left to them; nevertheless the kingdom of Alexander\nwas now, by order of the senate, converted by Metellus into a Roman\nprovince.  This case clearly showed that the Roman government had\nchanged its system, and had resolved to substitute for the relation\nof clientship that of simple subjects; and accordingly the suppression\nof the four Macedonian confederacies was felt throughout the whole range\nof the client-states as a blow directed against all.  The possessions\nin Epirus which were formerly after the first Roman victories detached\nfrom Macedonia--the Ionian islands and the ports of Apollonia and\nEpidamnus,(16) that had hitherto been under the jurisdiction of the\nItalian magistrates--were now reunited with Macedonia, so that the latter,\nprobably as early as this period, reached on the north-west to a point\nbeyond Scodra, where Illyria began.  The protectorate which Rome claimed\nover Greece proper likewise devolved, of itself, on the new governor of\nMacedonia.  Thus Macedonia recovered its unity and nearly the same limits\nwhich it had in its most flourishing times.  It had no longer, however,\nthe unity of a kingdom, but that of a province, retaining its communal\nand even, as it would seem, its district organization, but placed under\nan Italian governor and quaestor, whose names make their appearance\non the native coins along with the name of the country.  As tribute,\nthere was retained the old moderate land-tax, as Paullus had arranged\nit(17)--a sum of 100 talents (24,000 pounds) which was allocated in\nfixed proportions on the several communities.  Yet the land could not\nforget its old glorious dynasty.  A few years after the subjugation\nof the pseudo-Philip another pretended son of Perseus, Alexander,\nraised the banner of insurrection on the Nestus (Karasu), and\nhad in a short time collected 1600 men; but the quaestor Lucius\nTremellius mastered the insurrection without difficulty and pursued\nthe fugitive pretender as far as Dardania (612).  This was the last\nmovement of the proud national spirit of Macedonia, which two\nhundred years before had accomplished so great things in Hellas\nand Asia.  Henceforward there is scarcely anything else to be told of\nthe Macedonians, save that they continued to reckon their inglorious\nyears from the date at which the country received its definitive\nprovincial organization (608).\n\nThenceforth the defence of the northern and eastern frontiers\nof Macedonia or, in other words, of the frontier of Hellenic\ncivilization against the barbarians devolved on the Romans.  It was\nconducted by them with inadequate forces and not, on the whole, with\nbefitting energy; but with a primary view to this military object\nthe great Egnatian highway was constructed, which as early as the\ntime of Polybius ran from Apollonia and Dyrrhachium, the two chief\nports on the west coast, across the interior to Thessalonica, and was\nafterwards prolonged to the Hebrus (Maritza).(18)  The new province\nbecame the natural basis, on the one hand for the movements against\nthe turbulent Dalmatians, and on the other hand for the numerous\nexpeditions against the Illyrian, Celtic, and Thracian tribes settled\nto the north of the Grecian peninsula, which we shall afterwards\nhave to exhibit in their historical connection.\n\nGreece\n\nGreece proper had greater occasion than Macedonia to congratulate\nherself on the favour of the ruling power; and the Philhellenes of\nRome might well be of opinion that the calamitous effects of the war\nwith Perseus were disappearing, and that the state of things in general\nwas improving there.  The bitterest abettors of the now dominant\nparty, Lyciscus the Aetolian, Mnasippus the Boeotian, Chrematas\nthe Acarnanian, the infamous Epirot Charops whom honourable Romans\nforbade even to enter their houses, descended one after another to\nthe grave; another generation grew up, in which the old recollections\nand the old antagonisms had faded.  The Roman senate thought that\nthe time for general forgiveness and oblivion had come, and in 604\nreleased the survivors of those Achaean patriots who had been\nconfined for seventeen years in Italy, and whose liberation the\nAchaean diet had never ceased to demand.  Nevertheless they were\nmistaken.  How little the Romans with all their Philhellenism had\nbeen successful in heartily conciliating Hellenic patriotism, was\nnowhere more clearly apparent than in the attitude of the Greeks\ntowards the Attalids.  King Eumenes II had been, as a friend of\nthe Romans, extremely hated in Greece;(19) but scarcely had a\ncoldness arisen between him and the Romans, when he became suddenly\npopular in Greece, and the Hellenic hopefuls expected the deliverer\nfrom a foreign yoke to come now from Pergamus as formerly from\nMacedonia.  Social disorganization more especially was visibly\non the increase among the petty states of Hellas now left to\nthemselves.  The country became desolate not through war and\npestilence, but through the daily increasing disinclination of\nthe higher classes to trouble themselves with wife and children;\non the other hand the criminal or the thoughtless flocked as\nhitherto chiefly to Greece, there to await the recruiting officer.\nThe communities sank into daily deeper debt, and into financial\ndishonour and a corresponding want of credit: some cities, more\nespecially Athens and Thebes, resorted in their financial distress\nto direct robbery, and plundered the neighbouring communities.\nThe internal dissensions in the leagues also--e. g. between the\nvoluntary and the compulsory members of the Achaean confederacy--\nwere by no means composed.  If the Romans, as seems to have been\nthe case, believed what they wished and confided in the calm which\nfor the moment prevailed, they were soon to learn that the younger\ngeneration in Hellas was in no respect better or wiser than the older.\nThe Greeks directly sought an opportunity of picking a quarrel\nwith the Romans.\n\nAchaean War\n\nIn order to screen a foul transaction, Diaeus, the president of the\nAchaean league for the time being, about 605 threw out in the diet\nthe assertion that the special privileges conceded by the Achaean\nleague to the Lacedaemonians as members--viz. their exemption from\nthe Achaean criminal jurisdiction, and the right to send separate\nembassies to Rome--were not at all guaranteed to them by the Romans.\nIt was an audacious falsehood; but the diet naturally believed what\nit wished, and, when the Achaeans showed themselves ready to make\ngood their assertions with arms in hand, the weaker Spartans yielded\nfor the time, or, to speak more correctly, those whose surrender was\ndemanded by the Achaeans left the city to appear as complainants\nbefore the Roman senate.  The senate answered as usual that it would\nsend a commission to investigate the matter; but instead of reporting\nthis reply the envoys stated in Achaia as well as in Sparta, and in\nboth cases falsely, that the senate had decided in their favour.\nThe Achaeans, who felt more than ever their equality with Rome as\nallies and their political importance on account of the aid which\nthe league had just rendered in Thessaly against the pseudo-Philip,\nadvanced in 606 under their -strategus- Damocritus into Laconia: in\nvain a Roman embassy on its way to Asia, at the suggestion of Metellus,\nadmonished them to keep the peace and to await the commissioners of\nthe senate.  A battle took place, in which nearly 1000 Spartans\nfell, and Sparta might have been taken if Damocritus had not been\nequally incapable as an officer and as a statesman.  He was superseded,\nand his successor Diaeus, the instigator of all this mischief,\nzealously continued the war, while at the same time he gave to the\ndreaded commandant of Macedonia assurances of the full loyalty of the\nAchaean league.  Thereupon the long-expected Roman commission made its\nappearance, with Aurelius Orestes at its head; hostilities were now\nsuspended, and the Achaean diet assembled at Corinth to receive its\ncommunications.  They were of an unexpected and far from agreeable\ncharacter.  The Romans had resolved to cancel the unnatural and\nforced(20) inclusion of Sparta among the Achaean states, and generally\nto act with vigour against the Achaeans.  Some years before (591)\nthese had been obliged to release from their league the Aetolian\ntown of Pleuron;(21) now they were directed to renounce all the\nacquisitions which they had made since the second Macedonian war--viz.\nCorinth, Orchomenus, Argos, Sparta in the Peloponnesus, and Heraclea\nnear to Oeta--and to reduce their league to the condition in which it\nstood at the end of the Hannibalic war.  When the Achaean deputies\nlearned this, they rushed immediately to the market-place without even\nhearing the Romans to an end, and communicated the Roman demands to the\nmultitude; whereupon the governing and the governed rabble with one\nvoice resolved to arrest at once the whole Lacedaemonians present in\nCorinth, because Sparta forsooth had brought on them this misfortune.\nThe arrest accordingly took place in the most tumultuary fashion,\nso that the possession of Laconian names or Laconian shoes appeared\nsufficient ground for imprisonment: in fact they even entered the\ndwellings of the Roman envoys to seize the Lacedaemonians who had\ntaken shelter there, and hard words were uttered against the Romans,\nalthough they did not lay hands on their persons.  The envoys\nreturned home in indignation, and made bitter and even exaggerated\ncomplaints in the senate; but the latter, with the same moderation\nwhich marked all its measures against the Greeks, confined itself at\nfirst to representations.  In the mildest form, and hardly mentioning\nsatisfaction for the insults which they had endured, Sextus Julius\nCaesar repeated the commands of the Romans at the diet in Aegium\n(spring of 607).  But the leaders of affairs in Achaia with the new\n-strategus- Critolaus at their head -strategus- (from May 607 to May\n608), as men versed in state affairs and familiar with political arts,\nmerely drew from that fact the inference that the position of Rome\nwith reference to Carthage and Viriathus could not but be very\nunfavourable, and continued at once to cheat and to affront the\nRomans.  Caesar was requested to arrange a conference of deputies of\nthe contending parties at Tegea for the settlement of the question.\nHe did so; but, after Caesar and the Lacedaemonian envoys had waited\nthere long in vain for the Achaeans, Critolaus at last appeared\nalone and informed them that the general assembly of the Achaeans\nwas solely competent in this matter, and that it could only be settled\nat the diet or, in other words, in six months.  Caesar thereupon\nreturned to Rome; and the next national assembly of the Achaeans\non the proposal of Critolaus formally declared war against Sparta.\nEven now Metellus made an attempt amicably to settle the quarrel, and\nsent envoys to Corinth; but the noisy -ecclesia-, consisting mostly of\nthe populace of that wealthy commercial and manufacturing city, drowned\nthe voice of the Roman envoys and compelled them to leave the platform.\nThe declaration of Critolaus, that they wished the Romans to be their\nfriends but not their masters, was received with inexpressible delight;\nand, when the members of the diet wished to interpose, the mob\nprotected the man after its own heart, and applauded the sarcasms\nas to the high treason of the rich and the need of a military\ndictatorship as well as the mysterious hints regarding an impending\ninsurrection of countless peoples and kings against Rome.  The spirit\nanimating the movement is shown by the two resolutions, that all clubs\nshould be permanent and all actions for debt should be suspended till\nthe restoration of peace.\n\nThe Achaeans thus had war; and they had even actual allies, namely\nthe Thebans and Boeotians and also the Chalcidians.  At the beginning\nof 608 the Achaeans advanced into Thessaly to reduce to obedience\nHeraclea near to Oeta, which, in accordance with the decree of\nthe senate, had detached itself from the Achaean league. The consul\nLucius Mummius, whom the senate had resolved to send to Greece,\nhad not yet arrived; accordingly Metellus undertook to protect\nHeraclea with the Macedonian legions.  When the advance of the Romans\nwas announced to the Achaeo-Theban army, there was no more talk of\nfighting; they deliberated only how they might best succeed in reaching\nonce more the secure Peloponnesus; in all haste the army made off,\nand did not even attempt to hold the position at Thermopylae.\nBut Metellus quickened the pursuit, and overtook and defeated\nthe Greek army near Scarpheia in Locris.  The loss in prisoners and\ndead was considerable; Critolaus was never heard of after the battle.\nThe remains of the defeated army wandered about Greece in single troops,\nand everywhere sought admission in vain; the division of Patrae\nwas destroyed in Phocis, the Arcadian select corps at Chaeronea;\nall northern Greece was evacuated, and only a small portion of\nthe Achaean army and of the citizens of Thebes, who fled in a body,\nreached the Peloponnesus.  Metellus sought by the utmost moderation\nto induce the Greeks to abandon their senseless resistance, and gave\norders, for example, that all the Thebans with a single exception,\nshould be allowed their liberty; his well-meant endeavours were\nthwarted not by the energy of the people, but by the desperation of\nthe leaders apprehensive for their own safety.  Diaeus, who after\nthe fall of Critolaus had resumed the chief command, summoned all men\ncapable of bearing arms to the isthmus, and ordered 12,000 slaves,\nnatives of Greece, to be enrolled in the army; the rich were applied\nto for advances, and the ranks of the friends of peace, so far as they\ndid not purchase their lives by bribing the ruling agents in this reign\nof terror, were thinned by bloody prosecutions.  The war accordingly was\ncontinued, and after the same style.  The Achaean vanguard, which, 4000\nstrong, was stationed under Alcamenes at Megara, dispersed as soon as\nit saw the Roman standards.  Metellus was just about to order an\nattack upon the main force on the isthmus, when the consul Lucius\nMummius with a few attendants arrived at the Roman head-quarters\nand took the command.  Meanwhile the Achaeans, emboldened by a\nsuccessful attack on the too incautious Roman outposts, offered\nbattle to the Roman army, which was about twice as strong, at\nLeucopetra on the isthmus.  The Romans were not slow to accept it.\nAt the very first the Achaean horsemen broke off en masse before the\nRoman cavalry of six times their strength; the hoplites withstood the\nenemy till a flank attack by the Roman select corps brought confusion\nalso into their ranks.  This terminated the resistance.  Diaeus fled\nto his home, put his wife to death, and took poison himself.  All the\ncities submitted without opposition; and even the impregnable Corinth,\ninto which Mummius for three days hesitated to enter because he\nfeared an ambush, was occupied by the Romans without a blow.\n\nProvince of Achaia\n\nThe renewed regulation of the affairs of Greece was entrusted to\na commission of ten senators in concert with the consul Mummius,\nwho left behind him on the whole a blessed memory in the conquered\ncountry.  Doubtless it was, to say the least, a foolish thing in him\nto assume the name of \"Achaicus\" on account of his feats of war and\nvictory, and to build in the fulness of his gratitude a temple to\nHercules Victor; but, as he had not been reared in aristocratic\nluxury and aristocratic corruption but was a \"new man\" and\ncomparatively without means, he showed himself an upright and\nindulgent administrator.  The statement, that none of the Achaeans\nperished but Diaeus and none of the Boeotians but Pytheas, is a\nrhetorical exaggeration: in Chalcis especially sad outrages occurred;\nbut yet on the whole moderation was observed in the infliction of\npenalties.  Mummius rejected the proposal to throw down the statues\nof Philopoemen, the founder of the Achaean patriotic party; the\nfines imposed on the communities were destined not for the Roman\nexchequer, but for the injured Greek cities, and were mostly\nremitted afterwards; and the property of those traitors who had\nparents or children was not sold on public account, but handed over\nto their relatives.  The works of art alone were carried away from\nCorinth, Thespiae, and other cities and were erected partly in the\ncapital, partly in the country towns of Italy:(22) several pieces were\nalso presented to the Isthmian, Delphic, and Olympic temples.  In the\ndefinitive organization of the country also moderation was in general\ndisplayed.  It is true that, as was implied in the very introduction\nof the provincial constitution,(23) the special confederacies, and\nthe Achaean in particular, were as such dissolved; the communities were\nisolated; and intercourse between them was hampered by the rule that no\none might acquire landed property simultaneously in two communities.\nMoreover, as Flamininus had already attempted,(24) the democratic\nconstitutions of the towns were altogether set aside, and the\ngovernment in each community was placed in the hands of a council\ncomposed of the wealthy.  A fixed land-tax to be paid to Rome was\nimposed on each community; and they were all subordinated to the\ngovernor of Macedonia in such a manner that the latter, as supreme\nmilitary chief, exercised a superintendence over administration and\njustice, and could, for example, personally assume the decision of\nthe more important criminal processes.  Yet the Greek communities\nretained \"freedom,\" that is, a formal sovereignty--reduced, doubtless,\nby the Roman hegemony to a name--which involved the property of the\nsoil and the right to a distinct administration and jurisdiction of\ntheir own.(25)  Some years later not only were the old confederacies\nagain allowed to have a shadowy existence, but the oppressive\nrestriction on the alienation of landed property was removed.\n\nDestruction of Corinth\n\nThe communities of Thebes, Chalcis, and Corinth experienced a treatment\nmore severe.  There is no ground for censure in the fact that the two\nformer were disarmed and converted by the demolition of their walls\ninto open villages; but the wholly uncalled-for destruction of\nthe flourishing Corinth, the first commercial city in Greece, remains\na dark stain on the annals of Rome.  By express orders from the senate\nthe Corinthian citizens were seized, and such as were not killed were\nsold into slavery; the city itself was not only deprived of its walls\nand its citadel--a measure which, if the Romans were not disposed\npermanently to garrison it, was certainly inevitable--but was\nlevelled with the ground, and all rebuilding on the desolate site\nwas prohibited in the usual forms of accursing; part of its territory\nwas given to Sicyon under the obligation that the latter should\ndefray the costs of the Isthmian national festival in room of Corinth,\nbut the greater portion was declared to be public land of Rome.\nThus was extinguished \"the eye of Hellas,\" the last precious ornament\nof the Grecian land, once so rich in cities.  If, however, we review\nthe whole catastrophe, the impartial historian must acknowledge--\nwhat the Greeks of this period themselves candidly confessed--that\nthe Romans were not to blame for the war itself, but that on the\ncontrary, the foolish perfidy and the feeble temerity of the Greeks\ncompelled the Roman intervention.  The abolition of the mock\nsovereignty of the leagues and of all the vague and pernicious dreams\nconnected with them was a blessing for the country; and the government\nof the Roman commander-in-chief of Macedonia, however much it fell\nshort of what was to be wished, was yet far better than the previous\nconfusion and misrule of Greek confederacies and Roman commissions.\nThe Peloponnesus ceased to be the great harbour of mercenaries;\nit is affirmed, and may readily be believed, that with the direct\ngovernment of Rome security and prosperity in some measure returned.\nThe epigram of Themistocles, that ruin had averted ruin, was applied\nby the Hellenes of that day not altogether without reason to the loss\nof Greek independence.  The singular indulgence, which Rome even now\nshowed towards the Greeks, becomes fully apparent only when compared\nwith the contemporary conduct of the same authorities towards the\nSpaniards and Phoenicians.  To treat barbarians with cruelty seemed\nnot unallowable, but the Romans of this period, like the emperor Trajan\nin later times, deemed it \"harsh and barbarous to deprive Athens\nand Sparta of the shadow of freedom which they still retained.\" All\nthe more marked is the contrast between this general moderation and\nthe revolting treatment of Corinth--a treatment disapproved by the\norators who defended the destruction of Numantia and Carthage, and\nfar from justified, even according to Roman international law, by\nthe abusive language uttered against the Roman deputies in the streets\nof Corinth.  And yet it by no means proceeded from the brutality\nof any single individual, least of all of Mummius, but was a measure\ndeliberated and resolved on by the Roman senate.  We shall not err,\nif we recognize it as the work of the mercantile party, which even thus\nearly began to interfere in politics by the side of the aristocracy\nproper, and which in destroying Corinth got rid of a commercial\nrival.  If the great merchants of Rome had anything to say in the\nregulation of Greece, we can understand why Corinth was singled out for\npunishment, and why the Romans not only destroyed the city as it stood,\nbut also prohibited any future settlement on a site so pre-eminently\nfavourable for commerce.  The Peloponnesian Argos thenceforth became\nthe rendezvous for the Roman merchants, who were very numerous even\nin Greece.  For the Roman wholesale traffic, however, Delos was\nof greater importance; a Roman free port as early as 586, it had\nattracted a great part of the business of Rhodes,(26) and now\nin a similar way entered on the heritage of Corinth.  This island\nremained for a considerable time the chief emporium for merchandise\ngoing from the east to the west.(27)\n\nIn the third and more distant continent the Roman dominion\nexhibited a development more imperfect than in the African and\nMacedono-Hellenic countries, which were separated from Italy\nonly by narrow seas.\n\nKingdom of Pergamus\n\nIn Asia Minor, after the Seleucids were driven back, the kingdom\nof Pergamus had become the first power.  Not led astray by\nthe traditions of the Alexandrine monarchies, but sagacious and\ndispassionate enough to renounce what was impossible, the Attalids\nkept quiet; and endeavoured not to extend their bounds nor to\nwithdraw from the Roman hegemony, but to promote the prosperity of\ntheir empire, so far as the Romans allowed, and to foster the arts\nof peace.  Nevertheless they did not escape the jealousy and suspicion\nof Rome.  In possession of the European shore of the Propontis,\nof the west coast of Asia Minor, and of its interior as far as\nthe Cappadocian and Cilician frontiers, and in close connection with\nthe Syrian kings--one of whom, Antiochus Epiphanes (d. 590), had\nascendedthe throne by the aid of the Attalids--king Eumenes II had\nby his power, which seemed still more considerable from the more and\nmore deep decline of Macedonia and Syria, instilled apprehension\nin the minds even of its founders.  We have already related(28)\nhow the senate sought to humble and weaken this ally after the third\nMacedonian war by unbecoming diplomatic arts.  The relations--\nperplexing from the very nature of the case--of the rulers of\nPergamus towards the free or half-free commercial cities within\ntheir kingdom, and towards their barbarous neighbours on its borders,\nbecame complicated still more painfully by this ill humour on the part\nof their patrons.  As it was not clear whether, according to the\ntreaty of peace in 565, the heights of the Taurus in Pamphylia and\nPisidia belonged to the kingdom of Syria or to that of Pergamus,(29)\nthe brave Selgians, nominally recognizing, as it would seem, the Syrian\nsupremacy, made a prolonged and energetic resistance to the kings\nEumenes II and Attalus II in the hardly accessible mountains of\nPisidia.  The Asiatic Celts also, who for a time with the permission\nof the Romans had yielded allegiance to Pergamus, revolted from\nEumenes and, in concert with Prusias king of Bithynia the hereditary\nenemy of the Attalids, suddenly began war against him about 587.\nThe king had had no time to hire mercenary troops; all his skill\nand valour could not prevent the Celts from defeating the Asiatic\nmilitia and overrunning his territory; the peculiar mediation, to which\nthe Romans condescended at the request of Eumenes, has already been\nmentioned.(30) But, as soon as he had found time with the help of his\nwell-filled exchequer to raise an army capable of taking the field, he\nspeedily drove the wild hordes back over the frontier, and, although\nGalatia remained lost to him, and his obstinately-continued attempts\nto maintain his footing there were frustrated by Roman influence,(31)\nhe yet, in spite of all the open attacks and secret machinations which\nhis neighbours and the Romans directed against him, at his death\n(about 595) left his kingdom in standing un-diminished.  His brother\nAttalus II Philadelphia (d. 616) with Roman aid repelled the attempt\nof Pharnaces king of Pontus to seize the guardianship of Eumenes'\nson who was a minor, and reigned in the room of his nephew, like\nAntigonus Doson, as guardian for life.  Adroit, able, pliant,\na genuine Attalid, he had the art to convince the suspicious senate\nthat the apprehensions which it had formerly cherished were baseless.\nThe anti-Roman party accused him of having to do with keeping the land\nfor the Romans, and of acquiescing in every insult and exaction at\ntheir hands; but, sure of Roman protection, he was able to interfere\ndecisively in the disputes as to the succession to the throne in Syria,\nCappadocia, and Bithynia.  Even from the dangerous Bithynian war, which\nking Prusias II, surnamed the Hunter (572?-605), a ruler who combined\nin his own person all the vices of barbarism and of civilization,\nbegan against him, Roman intervention saved him--although not until\nhe had been himself besieged in his capital, and a first warning given\nby the Romans had remained unattended to, and had even been scoffed at,\nby Prusias (598-600).  But, when his ward Attalus III Philometor\nascended the throne (616-621), the peaceful and moderate rule of\nthe citizen kings was replaced by the tyranny of an Asiatic sultan;\nunder which for instance, the king, with a view to rid himself of\nthe inconvenient counsel of his father's friends, assembled them in\nthe palace, and ordered his mercenaries to put to death first them,\nand then their wives and children.  Along with such recreations he\nwrote treatises on gardening, reared poisonous plants, and prepared\nwax models, till a sudden death carried him off.\n\nProvince of Asia\nWar against Aristonicus\n\nWith him the house of the Attalids became extinct.  In such an event,\naccording to the constitutional law which held good at least for\nthe client-states of Rome, the last ruler might dispose of the\nsuccession by testament.  Whether it was the insane rancour against\nhis subjects which had tormented the last Attalid during life that\nnow suggested to him the thought of bequeathing his kingdom by will\nto the Romans, or whether his doing so was merely a further recognition\nof the practical supremacy of Rome, cannot be determined.  The testament\nwas made;(32) the Romans accepted the bequest, and the question as to\nthe land and the treasure of the Attalids threw a new apple of contention\namong the conflicting political parties in Rome.  In Asia also this\nroyal testament kindled a civil war.  Relying on the aversion of\nthe Asiatics to the foreign rule which awaited them, Aristonicus,\na natural son of Eumenes II, made his appearance in Leucae, a small\nseaport between Smyrna and Phocaea, as a pretender to the crown.\nPhocaea and other towns joined him, but he was defeated at sea off\nCyme by the Ephesians--who saw that a steady adherence to Rome\nwas the only possible way of preserving their privileges--and was\nobliged to flee into the interior.  The movement was believed to\nhave died away when he suddenly reappeared at the head of the new\n\"citizens of the city of the sun,\"(33) in other words, of the slaves\nwhom he had called to freedom en masse, mastered the Lydian towns of\nThyatira and Apollonis as well as a portion of the Attalic townships,\nand summoned bands of Thracian free-lances to join his standard.\nThe struggle was serious.  There were no Roman troops in Asia;\nthe Asiatic free cities and the contingents of the client-princes\nof Bithynia, Paphlagonia, Cappadocia, Pontus, Armenia, could not\nwithstand the pretender; he penetrated by force of arms into Colophon,\nSamos, and Myndus, and already ruled over almost all his father's\nkingdom, when at the close of 623 a Roman army landed in Asia.\nIts commander, the consul and -pontifex maximus- Publius Licinius\nCrassus Mucianus, one of the wealthiest and at the same time one of\nthe most cultivated men in Rome, equally distinguished as an orator\nand as a jurist, was about to besiege the pretender in Leucae, but\nduring his preparations for that purpose allowed himself to be surprised\nand defeated by his too-much-underrated opponent, and was made a prisoner\nin person by a Thracian band.  But he did not allow such an enemy\nthe triumph of exhibiting the Roman commander-in-chief as a captive;\nhe provoked the barbarians, who had captured him without knowing\nwho he was, to put him to death (beginning of 624), and the consular\nwas only recognised when a corpse.  With him, as it would seem, fell\nAriarathes king of Cappadocia.  But not long after this victory\nAristonicus was attacked by Marcus Perpenna, the successor of\nCrassus; his army was dispersed, he himself was besieged and taken\nprisoner in Stratonicea, and was soon afterwards executed in Rome.\nThe subjugation of the last towns that still offered resistance\nand the definitive regulation of the country were committed, after\nthe sudden death of Perpenna, to Manius Aquillius (625).  The same\npolicy was followed as in the case of the Carthaginian territory.\n\nThe eastern portion of the kingdom of the Attalids was assigned\nto the client kings, so as to release the Romans from the protection\nof the frontier and thereby from the necessity of maintaining a\nstanding force in Asia; Telmissus(34) went to the Lycian confederacy;\nthe European possessions in Thrace were annexed to the province of\nMacedonia; the rest of the territory was organized as a new Roman\nprovince, which like that of Carthage was, not without design,\ndesignated by the name of the continent in which it lay.  The land\nwas released from the taxes which had been paid to Pergamus; and it\nwas treated with the same moderation as Hellas and Macedonia.  Thus\nthe most considerable state in Asia Minor became a Roman province.\n\nWestern Asia\nCappadocia\n\nThe numerous other small states and cities of western Asia--\nthe kingdom of Bithynia, the Paphlagonian and Gallic principalities,\nthe Lycian and Pamphylian confederacies, the free cities of Cyzicus\nand Rhodes--continued in their former circumscribed relations.\n\nBeyond the Halys Cappadocia--after king Ariarathes V Philopator\n(591-624) had, chiefly by the aid of the Attalids, held his ground\nagainst his brother and rival Holophernes who was supported by Syria--\nfollowed substantially the Pergamene policy, as respected both absolute\ndevotion to Rome and the tendency to adopt Hellenic culture.  He was\nthe means of introducing that culture into the hitherto almost barbarous\nCappadocia, and along with it its extravagancies also, such as\nthe worship of Bacchus and the dissolute practices of the bands\nof wandering actors--the \"artists\" as they were called.  In reward\nfor the fidelity to Rome, which had cost this prince his life in the\nstruggle with the Pergamene pretender, his youthful heir Ariarathes\nVI was not only protected by the Romans against the usurpation\nattempted by the king of Pontus, but received also the south-eastern\npart of the kingdom of the Attalids, Lycaonia, along with the\ndistrict bordering on it to the eastward reckoned in earlier\ntimes as part of Cilicia.\n\nPontus\n\nIn the remote north-east of Asia Minor \"Cappadocia on the sea,\"\nor more briefly the \"sea-state,\" Pontus, increased in extent and\nimportance.  Not long after the battle of Magnesia king Pharnaces I\nhad extended his dominion far beyond the Halys to Tius on the\nfrontier of Bithynia, and in particular had possessed himself of\nthe rich Sinope, which was converted from a Greek free city into the\nresidence of the kings of Pontus.  It is true that the neighbouring\nstates endangered by these encroachments, with king Eumenes II at\ntheir head, had on that account waged war against him (571-575), and\nunder Roman mediation had exacted from him a promise to evacuate\nGalatia and Paphlagonia; but the course of events shows that Pharnaces\nas well as his successor Mithradates V.  Euergetes (598?-634),\nfaithful allies of Rome in the third Punic war as well as in the\nstruggle with Aristonicus, not only remained in possession beyond\nthe Halys, but also in substance retained the protectorate over\nthe Paphlagonian and Galatian dynasts.  It is only on this hypothesis\nthat we can explain how Mithradates, ostensibly for his brave\ndeeds in the war against Aristonicus, but in reality for\nconsiderable sums paid to the Roman general, could receive Great\nPhrygia from the latter after the dissolution of the Attalid\nkingdom.  How far on the other hand the kingdom of Pontus about\nthis time extended in the direction of the Caucasus and the sources\nof the Euphrates, cannot be precisely determined; but it seems\nto have embraced the western part of Armenia about Enderes and\nDivirigi, or what was called Lesser Armenia, as a dependent\nsatrapy, while the Greater Armenia and Sophene formed distinct\nand independent kingdoms.\n\nSyria and Egypt\n\nWhile in the peninsula of Asia Minor Rome thus substantially conducted\nthe government and, although much was done without or in opposition\nto her wishes, yet determined on the whole the state of possession,\nthe wide tracts on the other hand beyond the Taurus and the Upper\nEuphrates as far down as the valley of the Nile continued to be mainly\nleft to themselves.  No doubt the principle which formed the basis of\nthe regulation of Oriental affairs in 565, viz.  That the Halys should\nform the eastern boundary of the Roman client-states,(35) was not\nadhered to by the senate and was in its very nature untenable.\nThe political horizon is a self-deception as well as the physical;\nif the state of Syria had the number of ships of war and war-elephants\nallowed to it prescribed in the treaty of peace,(36) and if the\nSyrian army at the bidding of the Roman senate evacuated Egypt when\nhalf-won(37), these things implied a complete recognition of hegemony\nand of clientship.  Accordingly the disputes as to the throne in\nSyria and in Egypt were referred for settlement to the Roman\ngovernment.  In the former after the death of Antiochus Epiphanes\n(590) Demetrius afterwards named Soter, the son of Seleucus IV,\nliving as a hostage at Rome, and Antiochus Eupator, a minor, the son\nof the last king Antiochus Epiphanes, contended for the crown; in\nthe latter Ptolemy Philometor (573-608), the elder of the two\nbrothers who had reigned jointly since 584, had been driven from\nthe country (590) by the younger Ptolemy Euergetes II or the Fat\n(d. 637), and had appeared in person at Rome to procure his restoration.\nBoth affairs were arranged by the senate entirely through diplomatic\nagency, and substantially in accordance with Roman advantage.\nIn Syria Demetrius, who had the better title, was set aside, and\nAntiochus Eupator was recognized as king; while the guardianship of\nthe royal boy was entrusted by the senate to the Roman senator Gnaeus\nOctavius, who, as was to be expected, governed thoroughly in the\ninterest of Rome, reduced the war-marine and the army of elephants\nagreeably to the treaty of 565, and was in the fair way of completing\nthe military ruin of the country.  In Egypt not only was the\nrestoration of Philometor accomplished, but--partly in order to put\nan end to the quarrel between the brothers, partly in order to weaken\nthe still considerable power of Egypt--Cyrene was separated from that\nkingdom and assigned as a provision for Euergetes.  \"The Romans make\nkings of those whom they wish,\" a Jew wrote not long after this, \"and\nthose whom they do not wish they chase away from land and people.\"\nBut this was the last occasion--for a long time--on which the Roman\nsenate came forward in the affairs of the east with that ability and\nenergy, which it had uniformly displayed in the complications with\nPhilip, Antiochus, and Perseus.  Though the internal decline of the\ngovernment was late in affecting the treatment of foreign affairs,\nyet it did affect them at length.  The government became unsteady and\nvacillating; they allowed the reins which they had just grasped to\nslacken and almost to slip from their hands.  The guardian-regent\nof Syria was murdered at Laodicea; the rejected pretender Demetrius\nescaped from Rome and, setting aside the youthful prince, seized the\ngovernment of his ancestral kingdom under the bold pretext that the\nRoman senate had fully empowered him to do so (592).  Soon afterwards\nwar broke out between the kings of Egypt and Cyrene respecting the\npossession of the island of Cyprus, which the senate had assigned first\nto the elder, then to the younger; and in opposition to the most\nrecent Roman decision it finally remained with Egypt.  Thus the\nRoman government, in the plenitude of its power and during the most\nprofound inward and outward peace at home, had its decrees derided\nby the impotent kings of the east; its name was misused, its ward\nand its commissioner were murdered.  Seventy years before, when\nthe Illyrians had in a similar way laid hands on Roman envoys,\nthe senate of that day had erected a monument to the victim in the\nmarket-place, and had with an army and fleet called the murderers to\naccount.  The senate of this period likewise ordered a monument to be\nraised to Gnaeus Octavius, as ancestral custom prescribed; but instead\nof embarking troops for Syria they recognized Demetrius as king of the\nland.  They were forsooth now so powerful, that it seemed superfluous\nto guard their own honour.  In like manner not only was Cyprus\nretained by Egypt in spite of the decree of the senate to the\ncontrary, but, when after the death of Philometor (608) Euergetes\nsucceeded him and so reunited the divided kingdom, the senate\nallowed this also to take place without opposition.\n\nIndia, Bactria\n\nAfter such occurrences the Roman influence in these countries was\npractically shattered, and events pursued their course there for\nthe present without the help of the Romans; but it is necessary for\nthe right understanding of the sequel that we should not wholly omit\nto notice the history of the nearer, and even of the more remote,\neast.  While in Egypt, shut off as it is on all sides, the status quo\ndid not so easily admit of change, in Asia both to the west and\neast of the Euphrates the peoples and states underwent essential\nmodifications during, and partly in consequence of, this temporary\nsuspension of the Roman superintendence.  Beyond the great desert\nof Iran there had arisen not long after Alexander the Great\nthe kingdom of Palimbothra under Chandragupta (Sandracottus)\non the Indus, and the powerful Bactrian state on the upper Oxus,\nboth formed from a mixture of national elements with the most\neastern offshoots of Hellenic civilization.\n\nDecline of the Kingdom of Asia\n\nTo the west of these began the kingdom of Asia, which, although\ndiminished under Antiochus the Great, still stretched its unwieldy\nbulk from the Hellespont to the Median and Persian provinces, and\nembraced the whole basin of the Euphrates and Tigris.  That king had\nstill carried his arms beyond the desert into the territory of the\nParthians and Bactrians; it was only under him that the vast state\nhad begun to melt away.  Not only had western Asia been lost in\nconsequence of the battle of Magnesia; the total emancipation of the\ntwo Cappadocias and the two Armenias--Armenia proper in the northeast\nand the region of Sophene in the south-west--and their conversion\nfrom principalities dependent on Syria into independent kingdoms\nalso belong to this period.(38)  Of these states Great Armenia in\nparticular, under the Artaxiads, soon attained to a considerable\nposition.  Wounds perhaps still more dangerous were inflicted on the\nempire by the foolish levelling policy of his successor Antiochus\nEpiphanes (579-590).  Although it was true that his kingdom resembled\nan aggregation of countries rather than a single state, and that the\ndifferences of nationality and religion among his subjects placed the\nmost material obstacles in the way of the government, yet the plan\nof introducing throughout his dominions Helleno-Roman manners and\nHelleno-Roman worship and of equalizing the various peoples in a\npolitical as well as a religious point of view was under any\ncircumstances a folly; and all the more so from the fact, that\nthis caricature of Joseph II  was personally far from equal to so\ngigantic an enterprise, and introduced his reforms in the very worst\nway by the pillage of temples on the greatest scale and the most\ninsane persecution of heretics.\n\nThe Jews\n\nOne consequence of this policy was, that the inhabitants of the\nprovince next to the Egyptian frontier, the Jews, a people formerly\nsubmissive even to humility and extremely active and industrious, were\ndriven by systematic religious persecution to open revolt (about 587).\nThe matter came to the senate; and, as it was just at that time with\ngood reason indignant at Demetrius Soter and apprehensive of a\ncombination between the Attalids and Seleucids, while the establishment\nof a power intermediate between Syria and Egypt was at any rate for\nthe interest of Rome, it made no difficulty in at once recognizing\nthe freedom and autonomy of the insurgent nation (about 593).  Nothing,\nhowever, was done by Rome for the Jews except what could be done\nwithout personal exertion: in spite of the clause of the treaty\nconcluded between the Romans and the Jews which promised Roman aid to\nthe latter in the event of their being attacked, and in spite of the\ninjunction addressed to the kings of Syria and Egypt not to march\ntheir troops through Judaea, it was of course entirely left to the Jews\nthemselves to hold their ground against the Syrian kings.  The brave\nand prudent conduct of the insurrection by the heroic family of the\nMaccabees and the internal dissension in the Syrian empire did more\nfor them than the letters of their powerful allies; during the strife\nbetween the Syrian kings Trypho and Demetrius Nicator autonomy and\nexemption from tribute were formally accorded to the Jews (612);\nand soon afterwards the head of the Maccabaean house, Simon son of\nMattathias, was even formally acknowledged by the nation as well as by\nthe Syrian great-king as high priest and prince of Israel (615).(39)\n\nThe Parthian Empire\n\nOf still more importance in the sequel than this insurrection of\nthe Israelites was the contemporary movement--probably originating\nfrom the same cause--in the eastern provinces, where Antiochus Epiphanes\nemptied the temples of the Persian gods just as he had emptied that at\nJerusalem, and doubtless accorded no better treatment there to the\nadherents of Ahuramazda and Mithra than here to those of Jehovah.\nJust as in Judaea--only with a wider range and ampler proportions--\nthe result was a reaction on the part of the native manners and\nthe native religion against Hellenism and the Hellenic gods; the\npromoters of this movement were the Parthians, and out of it arose\nthe great Parthian empire.  The \"Parthwa,\" or Parthians, who are early\nmet with as one of the numerous peoples merged in the great Persian\nempire, at first in the modern Khorasan to the south-east of the\nCaspian sea, appear after 500 under the Scythian, i. e. Turanian,\nprincely race of the Arsacids as an independent state; which,\nhowever, only emerged from its obscurity about a century afterwards.\nThe sixth Arsaces, Mithradates I (579?-618?), was the real founder\nof the Parthian as a great power.  To him succumbed the Bactrian\nempire, in itself far more powerful, but already shaken to the very\nfoundation partly by hostilities with the hordes of Scythian horsemen\nfrom Turan and with the states of the Indus, partly by internal\ndisorders.  He achieved almost equal successes in the countries\nto the west of the great desert.  The Syrian empire was just then\nin the utmost disorganization, partly through the failure of the\nHellenizing attempts of Antiochus Epiphanes, partly through the\ntroubles as to the succession that occurred after his death; and\nthe provinces of the interior were in full course of breaking off\nfrom Antioch and the region of the coast.  In Commagene for instance,\nthe most northerly province of Syria on the Cappadocian frontier,\nthe satrap Ptolemaeus asserted his independence, as did also on\nthe opposite bank of the Euphrates the prince of Edessa in northern\nMesopotamia or the province of Osrhoene, and the satrap Timarchus in\nthe important province of Media; in fact the latter got his independence\nconfirmed by the Roman senate, and, supported by Armenia as his ally,\nruled as far down as Seleucia on the Tigris.  Disorders of this sort\nwere permanent features of the Asiatic empire: the provinces under\ntheir partially or wholly independent satraps were in continual\nrevolt, as was also the capital with its unruly and refractory\npopulace resembling that of Rome or Alexandria.  The whole pack of\nneighbouring kings--those of Egypt, Armenia, Cappadocia, Pergamus--\nincessantly interfered in the affairs of Syria and fostered disputes\nas to the succession, so that civil war and the division of the\nsovereignty de facto among two or more pretenders became almost\nstanding calamities of the country.  The Roman protecting power,\nif it did not instigate these neighbours, was an inactive spectator.\nIn addition to all this the new Parthian empire from the eastward\npressed hard on the aliens not merely with its material power, but\nwith the whole superiority of its national language and religion\nand of its national military and political organization.  This is\nnot yet the place for a description of this regenerated empire of\nCyrus; it is sufficient to mention generally the fact that powerful\nas was the influence of Hellenism in its composition, the Parthian\nstate, as compared with that of the Seleucids, was based on a national\nand religious reaction, and that the old Iranian language, the order\nof the Magi and the worship of Mithra, the Oriental feudatory system,\nthe cavalry of the desert and the bow and arrow, first emerged there\nin renewed and superior opposition to Hellenism.  The position of the\nimperial kings in presence of all this was really pitiable.  The family\nof the Seleucids was by no means so enervated as that of the Lagids\nfor instance, and individuals among them were not deficient in\nvalour and ability; they reduced, it may be, one or another of those\nnumerous rebels, pretenders, and intermeddlers to due bounds; but\ntheir dominion was so lacking in a firm foundation, that they were\nunable to impose even a temporary check on anarchy.  The result was\ninevitable.  The eastern provinces of Syria under their unprotected\nor even insurgent satraps fell into subjection to the Parthians;\nPersia, Babylonia, Media were for ever severed from the Syrian\nempire; the new state of the Parthians reached on both sides of the\ngreat desert from the Oxus and the Hindoo Coosh to the Tigris and\nthe Arabian desert--once more, like the Persian empire and all the\nolder great states of Asia, a pure continental monarchy, and once\nmore, just like the Persian empire, engaged in perpetual feud on\nthe one side with the peoples of Turan, on the other with the\nOccidentals.  The Syrian state embraced at the most Mesopotamia\nin addition to the region of the coast, and disappeared, more in\nconsequence of its internal disorganization than of its diminished\nsize, for ever from the ranks of the great states.  If the danger--\nwhich was repeatedly imminent--of a total subjugation of the land by\nthe Parthians was averted, that result must be ascribed not to the\nresistance of the last Seleucids and still less to the influence of\nRome, but rather to the manifold internal disturbances in the Parthian\nempire itself, and above all to the incursions of the peoples of the\nTuranian steppes into its eastern provinces.\n\nReaction of the East against the West\n\nThis revolution in the relations of the peoples in the interior of\nAsia is the turning-point in the history of antiquity.  The tide of\nnational movement, which had hitherto poured from the west to the east\nand had found in Alexander the Great its last and highest expression,\nwas followed by the ebb.  On the establishment of the Parthian state\nnot only were such Hellenic elements, as may still perhaps have\nbeen preserved in Bactria and on the Indus, lost, but western Iran\nalso relapsed into the track which had been abandoned for centuries\nbut was not yet obliterated.  The Roman senate sacrificed the first\nessential result of the policy of Alexander, and thereby paved the\nway for that retrograde movement, whose last offshoots ended in\nthe Alhambra of Granada and in the great Mosque of Constantinople.\nSo long as the country from Ragae and Persepolis to the Mediterranean\nobeyed the king of Antioch, the power of Rome extended to the border\nof the great desert; the Parthian state could never take its place\namong the dependencies of the Mediterranean empire, not because\nit was so very powerful, but because it had its centre far from\nthe coast, in the interior of Asia.  Since the time of Alexander\nthe world had obeyed the Occidentals alone, and the east seemed to\nbe for these merely what America and Australia afterwards became\nfor the Europeans; with Mithradates I the east re-entered the sphere\nof political movement.  The world had again two masters.\n\nMaritime Relations\nPiracy\n\nIt remains that we glance at the maritime relations of this period;\nalthough there is hardly anything else to be said, than that there\nno longer existed anywhere a naval power.  Carthage was annihilated;\nthe war-fleet of Syria was destroyed in accordance with the treaty;\nthe war-marine of Egypt, once so powerful, was under its present\nindolent rulers in deep decay.  The minor states, and particularly\nthe mercantile cities, had doubtless some armed transports; but\nthese were not even adequate for the task--so difficult in the\nMediterranean--of repressing piracy.  This task necessarily devolved\non Rome as the leading power in the Mediterranean.  While a century\npreviously the Romans had come forward in this matter with especial\nand salutary decision, and had in particular introduced their supremacy\nin the east by a maritime police energetically handled for the general\ngood,(40) the complete nullity of this police at the very beginning\nof this period as distinctly betokens the fearfully rapid decline of\nthe aristocratic government.  Rome no longer possessed a fleet of\nher own; she was content to make requisitions for ships, when it\nseemed necessary, from the maritime towns of Italy, Asia Minor,\nand elsewhere.  The consequence naturally was, that buccaneering\nbecame organized and consolidated.  Something, perhaps, though\nnot enough, was done towards its suppression, so far as the direct\npower of the Romans extended, in the Adriatic and Tyrrhene seas.\nThe expeditions  directed  against the Dalmatian and Ligurian coasts\nat this epoch aimed especially at the suppression of piracy in the\ntwo Italian seas; for the same reason the Balearic islands were\noccupied in 631.(41)  But in the Mauretanian and Greek waters the\ninhabitants along the coast and the mariners were left to settle\nmatters with the corsairs in one way or another, as they best\ncould; for Roman policy adhered to the principle of troubling\nitself as little as possible about these more remote regions.\nThe disorganized and bankrupt commonwealths in the states along\nthe coast thus left to themselves naturally became places of refuge\nfor the corsairs; and there was no want of such, especially in Asia.\n\nCrete\n\nA bad pre-eminence in this respect belonged to Crete, which, from its\nfavourable situation and the weakness or laxity of the great states\nof the west and east, was the only one of all the Greek settlements\nthat had preserved its independence.  Roman commissions doubtless came\nand went to this island, but accomplished still less there than they\ndid even in Syria and Egypt.  It seemed almost as if fate had left\nliberty to the Cretans only in order to show what was the result of\nHellenic independence.  It was a dreadful picture.  The old Doric\nrigour of the Cretan institutions had become, just as in Tarentum,\nchanged into a licentious democracy, and the chivalrous spirit\nof the inhabitants into a wild love of quarrelling and plunder;\na respectable Greek himself testifies, that in Crete alone nothing\nwas accounted disgraceful that was lucrative, and even the Apostle\nPaul quotes with approval the saying of a Cretan poet,\n\n--Kretes aei pseustai, kaka theria, gasteres argai--.\n\nPerpetual civil wars, notwithstanding the Roman efforts to bring\nabout peace, converted one flourishing township after another\non the old \"island of the hundred cities\" into heaps of ruins.\nIts inhabitants roamed as robbers at home and abroad, by land and\nby sea; the island became the recruiting ground for the surrounding\nkingdoms, after that evil was no longer tolerated in the Peloponnesus,\nand above all the true seat of piracy; about this period, for instance,\nthe island of Siphnus was thoroughly pillaged by a fleet of Cretan\ncorsairs.  Rhodes--which, besides, was unable to recover from the loss\nof its possessions on the mainland and from the blows inflicted on its\ncommerce(42)--expended its last energies in the wars which it found\nitself compelled to wage against the Cretans for the suppression of\npiracy (about 600), and in which the Romans sought to mediate, but\nwithout earnestness and apparently without success.\n\nCilicia\n\nAlong with Crete, Cilicia soon began to become a second home for\nthis buccaneering system.  Piracy there not only gained ground\nowing to the impotence of the Syrian rulers, but the usurper Diodotus\nTryphon, who had risen from a slave to be king of Syria (608-615),\nencouraged it by all means in his chief seat, the rugged or western\nCilicia, with a view to strengthen his throne by the aid of the\ncorsairs.  The uncommonly lucrative character of the traffic with\nthe pirates, who were at once the principal captors of, and dealers\nin slaves, procured for them among the mercantile public, even in\nAlexandria, Rhodes, and Delos, a certain toleration, in which the\nvery governments shared at least by inaction.  The evil was so\nserious that the senate, about 611, sent its best man Scipio\nAemilianus to Alexandria and Syria, in order to ascertain on the spot\nwhat could be done in the matter.  But diplomatic representations of\nthe Romans did not make weak governments strong; there was no other\nremedy but that of directly maintaining a fleet in these waters, and\nfor this the Roman government lacked energy and perseverance.  So all\nthings just remained on the old footing; the piratic fleet was the\nonly considerable naval power in the Mediterranean; the capture of\nmen was the only trade that flourished there.  The Roman government\nwas an onlooker; but the Roman merchants, as the best customers in\nthe slave market, kept up an active and friendly traffic with the\npirate captains, as the most important wholesale dealers in that\ncommodity, at Delos and elsewhere.\n\nGeneral Result\n\nWe have followed the transformation of the outward relations of\nRome and the Romano-Hellenic world generally in its leading outlines,\nfrom the battle of Pydna to the period of the Gracchi, from the Tagus\nand the Bagradas to the Nile and the Euphrates.  It was a great and\ndifficult problem which Rome undertook, when she undertook to govern\nthis Romano-Hellenic world; it was not wholly misunderstood, but it\nwas by no means solved.  The untenableness of the idea of Cato's time--\nthat the state should be limited to Italy, and that its rule beyond\nItaly should be only over clients--was doubtless discerned by the\nleading men of the following generation; and the necessity of\nsubstituting for this ruling by clientship a direct sovereignty\nof Rome, that should preserve the liberties of the communities,\nwas doubtless recognized.  But instead of carrying out this new\narrangement firmly, speedily, and uniformly, they annexed isolated\nprovinces just as convenience, caprice, collateral advantage, or\naccident led them to do so; whereas the greater portion of the\nterritory under clientship either remained in the intolerable\nuncertainty of its former position, or even, as was the case with\nSyria especially, withdrew entirely from the influence of Rome.\nAnd even the government itself degenerated more and more into a feeble\nand short-sighted selfishness.  They were content with governing from\none day to another, and merely transacting the current business as\nexigency required.  They were stern masters towards the weak.  When\nthe city of Mylasa in Caria sent to Publius Crassus, consul in 623,\na beam for the construction of a battering-ram different from what\nhe had asked, the chief magistrate of the town was scourged for it;\nand Crassus was not a bad man, and a strictly upright magistrate.\nOn the other hand sternness was wanting in those cases where it would\nhave been in place, as in dealing with the barbarians on the frontiers\nand with the pirates.  When the central government renounced all\nsuperintendence and all oversight of provincial affairs, it entirely\nabandoned not only the interests of the subjects, but also those of\nthe state, to the governor of the day.  The events which occurred in\nSpain, unimportant in themselves, are instructive in this respect.\nIn that country, where the government was less able than in other\nprovinces to confine itself to the part of a mere onlooker, the law\nof nations was directly trampled under foot by the Roman governors;\nand the honour of Rome was permanently dragged in the mire by a\nfaithlessness and treachery without parallel, by the most wanton\ntrifling with capitulations and treaties, by massacring people who\nhad submitted and instigating the assassination of the generals of\nthe enemy.  Nor was this all; war was even waged and peace concluded\nagainst the expressed will of the supreme authority in Rome, and\nunimportant incidents, such as the disobedience of the Numantines,\nwere developed by a rare combination of perversity and folly into\na crisis of fatal moment for the state.  And all this took place\nwithout any effort to visit it with even a serious penalty in Rome.\nNot only did the sympathies and rivalries of the different coteries\nin the senate contribute to decide the filling up of the most\nimportant places and the treatment of the most momentous political\nquestions; but even thus early the money of foreign dynasts found\nits way to the senators of Rome.  Timarchus, the envoy of Antiochus\nEpiphanes king of Syria (590), is mentioned as the first who\nattempted with success to bribe the Roman senate; the bestowal of\npresents from foreign kings on influential senators soon became so\ncommon, that surprise was excited when Scipio Aemilianus cast into\nthe military chest the gifts from the king of Syria which reached\nhim in camp before Numantia.  The ancient principle, that rule was\nits own sole reward and that such rule was as much a duty and a\nburden as a privilege and a benefit, was allowed to fall wholly into\nabeyance.  Thus there arose the new state-economy, which turned its\neyes away from the taxation of the burgesses, but regarded the body\nof subjects, on the other hand, as a profitable possession of the\ncommunity, which it partly worked out for the public benefit, partly\nhanded over to be worked out by the burgesses.  Not only was free\nscope allowed with criminal indulgence to the unscrupulous greed of\nthe Roman merchant in the provincial administration, but even the\ncommercial rivals who were disagreeable to him were cleared away by\nthe armies of the state, and the most glorious cities of neighbouring\nlands were sacrificed, not to the barbarism of the lust of power, but\nto the far more horrible barbarism of speculation.  By the ruin of\nthe earlier military organization, which certainly imposed heavy\nburdens on the burgesses, the state, which was solely dependent in\nthe last resort on its military superiority, undermined its own\nsupport.  The fleet was allowed to go to ruin; the system of land\nwarfare fell into the most incredible decay.  The duty of guarding\nthe Asiatic and African frontiers was devolved on the subjects; and\nwhat could not be so devolved, such as the defence of the frontier\nin Italy, Macedonia, and Spain, was managed after the most wretched\nfashion.  The better classes began to disappear so much from the\narmy, that it was already difficult to raise the necessary number of\nofficers for the Spanish armies.  The daily increasing aversion to\nthe Spanish war-service in particular, combined with the partiality\nshown by the magistrates in the levy, rendered it necessary in 602\nto abandon the old practice of leaving the selection of the requisite\nnumber of soldiers from the men liable to serve to the free discretion\nof the officers, and to substitute for it the drawing lots on the\npart of all the men liable to service--certainly not to the advantage\nof the military esprit de corps, or of the warlike efficiency\nof the individual divisions.  The authorities, instead of acting\nwith vigour and sternness, extended their pitiful flattery of the\npeople even to this field; whenever a consul in the discharge of\nhis duty instituted rigorous levies for the Spanish service, the\ntribunes made use of their constitutional right to arrest him (603,\n616); and it has been already observed, that Scipio's request that\nhe should be allowed a levy for the Numantine war was directly\nrejected by the senate.  Accordingly the Roman armies before\nCarthage or Numantia already remind one of those Syrian armies, in\nwhich the number of bakers, cooks, actors, and other non-combatants\nexceeded fourfold that of the so-called soldiers; already the Roman\ngenerals are little behind their Carthaginian colleagues in the art\nof ruining armies, and the wars in Africa as in Spain, in Macedonia\nas in Asia, are regularly opened with defeats; the murder of Gnaeus\nOctavius is now passed over in silence; the assassination of\nViriathus is now a masterpiece of Roman diplomacy; the conquest\nof Numantia is now a great achievement.  How completely the idea\nof national and manly honour was already lost among the Romans,\nwas shown with epigrammatic point by the statue of the stripped\nand bound Mancinus, which he himself, proud of his patriotic\ndevotedness, caused to be erected in Rome.  Wherever we turn our\neyes, we find the internal energy as well as the external power\nof Rome rapidly on the decline.  The ground won in gigantic struggles\nis not extended, norin fact even maintained, in this period of peace.\nThe government of the world, which it was difficult to achieve, it\nwas still more difficult to preserve; the Roman senate had mastered\nthe former task, but it broke down under the latter.\n\n\n\n\nChapter II\n\nThe Reform Movement and Tiberius Gracchus\n\nThe Roman Government before the Period of the Gracchi\n\nFor a whole generation after the battle of Pydna the Roman state\nenjoyed a profound calm, scarcely varied by a ripple here and there\non the surface.  Its dominion extended over the three continents;\nthe lustre of the Roman power and the glory of the Roman name were\nconstantly on the increase; all eyes rested on Italy, all talents and\nall riches flowed thither; it seemed as if a golden age of peaceful\nprosperity and intellectual enjoyment of life could not but there\nbegin.  The Orientals of this period told each other with astonishment\nof the mighty republic of the west, \"which subdued kingdoms far and\nnear, and whoever heard its name trembled; but it kept good faith\nwith its friends and clients.  Such was the glory of the Romans, and\nyet no one usurped the crown and no one paraded in purple dress; but\nthey obeyed whomsoever from year to year they made their master, and\nthere was among them neither envy nor discord.\"\n\nSpread of Decay\n\nSo it seemed at a distance; matters wore a different aspect on a\ncloser view.  The government of the aristocracy was in full train\nto destroy its own work.  Not that the sons and grandsons of the\nvanquished at Cannae and of the victors at Zama had so utterly\ndegenerated from their fathers and grandfathers; the difference was\nnot so much in the men who now sat in the senate, as in the times.\nWhere a limited number of old families of established wealth and\nhereditary political importance conducts the government, it will\ndisplay in seasons of danger an incomparable tenacity of purpose and\npower of heroic self-sacrifice, just as in seasons of tranquillity\nit will be shortsighted, selfish, and negligent--the germs of both\nresults are essentially involved in its hereditary and collegiate\ncharacter.  The morbid matter had been long in existence, but it\nneeded the sun of prosperity to develop it.  There was a profound\nmeaning in the question of Cato, \"What was to become of Rome, when\nshe should no longer have any state to fear?\" That point had now\nbeen reached.  Every neighbour whom she might have feared was\npolitically annihilated; and of the men who had been reared under\nthe old order of things in the severe school of the Hannibalic war,\nand whose words still sounded as echoes of that mighty epoch so long\nas they survived, death called one after another away, till at length\neven the voice of the last of them, the veteran Cato, ceased to be heard\nin the senate-house and in the Forum.  A younger generation came to the\nhelm, and their policy was a sorry answer to that question of the old\npatriot.  We have already spoken of the shape which the government of\nthe subjects and the external policy of Rome assumed in their hands.\nIn internal affairs they were, if possible, still more disposed to\nlet the ship drive before the wind: if we understand by internal\ngovernment more than the transaction of current business, there was at\nthis period no government in Rome at all.  The single leading thought\nof the governing corporation was the maintenance and, if possible, the\nincrease of their usurped privileges.  It was not the state that had\na title to get the right and best man for its supreme magistracy;\nbut every member of the coterie had an inborn title to the highest\noffice of the state--a title not to be prejudiced either by the\nunfair rivalry of men of his own class or by the encroachments of\nthe excluded.  Accordingly the clique proposed to itself, as its\nmost important political aim, the restriction of re-election to the\nconsulship and the exclusion of \"new men\"; and in fact it succeeded\nin obtaining the legal prohibition of the former about 603,(1) and\nin sufficing with a government of aristocratic nobodies.  Even the\ninaction of the government in its outward relations was doubtless\nconnected with this policy of the nobility, exclusive towards\ncommoners, and distrustful towards the individual members of their\nown order.  By no surer means could they keep commoners, whose deeds\nwere their patent of nobility, aloof from the pure circles of the\naristocracy than by giving no opportunity to any one to perform\ndeeds at all; to the existing government of general mediocrity\neven an aristocratic conqueror of Syria or Egypt would have\nproved extremely inconvenient.\n\nAttempts at Reform\nPermanent Criminal Commissions\nVote by Ballot\nExclusion of the Senators from the Equestrian Centuries\nThe Public Elections\n\nIt is true that now also there was no want of opposition, and it was\neven to a certain extent effectual.  The administration of justice\nwas improved.  The administrative jurisdiction, which the senate\nexercised either of itself or, on occasion, by extraordinary commissions,\nover the provincial magistrates, was confessedly inadequate.  It was\nan innovation with a momentous bearing on the whole public life of the\nRoman community, when in 605, on the proposal of Lucius Calpurnius Piso,\na standing senatorial commission (-quaestio ordinaria-) was instituted to\ntry in judicial form the complaints of the provincials against the Roman\nmagistrates placed over them on the score of extortion.  An effort\nwas made to emancipate the comitia from the predominant influence\nof the aristocracy.  The panacea of Roman democracy was secret voting\nin the assemblies of the burgesses, which was introduced first for\nthe elections of magistrates by the Gabinian law (615), then for\nthe public tribunals by the Cassian law (617), lastly for the voting\non legislative proposals by the Papirian law (623).  In a similar\nway soon afterwards (about 625) the senators were by decree of the\npeople enjoined on admission to the senate to surrender their public\nhorse, and thereby to renounce their privileged place in the voting\nof the eighteen equestrian centuries.(2)  These measures, directed to\nthe emancipation of the electors from the ruling aristocratic order,\nmay perhaps have seemed to the party which suggested them the first\nstep towards a regeneration of the state; in fact they made not the\nslightest change in the nullity and want of freedom of the legally\nsupreme organ of the Roman community; that nullity indeed was only\nthe more palpably evinced to all whom it did or did not concern.\nEqually ostentatious and equally empty was the formal recognition\naccorded to the independence and sovereignty of the burgesses by\nthe transference of their place of assembly from the old Comitium below\nthe senate-house to the Forum (about 609).  But this hostility between\nthe formal sovereignty of the people and the practically subsisting\nconstitution was in great part a semblance.  Party phrases were in\nfree circulation: of the parties themselves there was little trace in\nmatters really and directly practical.  Throughout the whole seventh\ncentury the annual public elections to the civil magistracies,\nespecially to the consulship and censorship, formed the real standing\nquestion of the day and the focus of political agitation; but it was\nonly in isolated and rare instances that the different candidates\nrepresented opposite political principles; ordinarily the question\nrelated purely to persons, and it was for the course of affairs a\nmatter of indifference whether the majority of the votes fell to a\nCaecilian or to a Cornelian.  The Romans thus lacked that which\noutweighs and compensates all the evils of party-life--the free and\ncommon movement of the masses towards what they discern as a befitting\naim--and yet endured all those evils solely for the benefit of the\npaltry game of the ruling coteries.\n\nIt was comparatively easy for the Roman noble to enter on the career\nof office as quaestor or tribune of the people; but the consulship\nand the censorship were attainable by him only through great exertions\nprolonged for years.  The prizes were many, but those really worth\nhaving were few; the competitors ran, as a Roman poet once said, as\nit were over a racecourse wide at the starting-point but gradually\nnarrowing its dimensions.  This was right, so long as the magistracy\nwas--what it was called--an \"honour\" and men of military, political,\nor juristic ability were rival competitors for the rare chaplets; but\nnow the practical closeness of the nobility did away with the benefit\nof competition, and left only its disadvantages.  With few exceptions\nthe young men belonging to the ruling families crowded into the\npolitical career, and hasty and premature ambition soon caught at\nmeans more effective than was useful action for the common good.\nThe first requisite for a public career came to be powerful connections;\nand therefore that career began, not as formerly in the camp, but in\nthe ante-chambers of influential men.  A new and genteel body of clients\nnow undertook--what had formerly been done only by dependents and\nfreedmen--to come and wait on their patron early in the morning, and\nto appear publicly in his train.  But the mob also is a great lord,\nand desires as such to receive attention.  The rabble began to demand\nas its right that the future consul should recognize and honour the\nsovereign people in every ragged idler of the street, and that every\ncandidate should in his \"going round\" (-ambitus-) salute every\nindividual voter by name and press his hand.  The world of quality\nreadily entered into this degrading canvass.  The true candidate\ncringed not only in the palace, but also on the street, and\nrecommended himself to the multitude by flattering attentions,\nindulgences, and civilities more or less refined.  Demagogism and\nthe cry for reforms were sedulously employed to attract the notice and\nfavour of the public; and they were the more effective, the more they\nattacked not things but persons.  It became the custom for beardless\nyouths of genteel birth to introduce themselves with -eclat- into\npublic life by playing afresh the part of Cato with the immature\npassion of their boyish eloquence, and by constituting and proclaiming\nthemselves state-attorneys, if possible, against some man of very\nhigh standing and very great unpopularity; the Romans suffered the\ngrave institutions of criminal justice and of political police to\nbecome a means of soliciting office.  The provision or, what was\nstill worse, the promise of magnificent popular amusements had long\nbeen the, as it were legal, prerequisite to the obtaining of the\nconsulship;(3) now the votes of the electors began to be directly\npurchased with money, as is shown by the prohibition issued against\nthis about 595.  Perhaps the worst consequence of the continual\ncourting of the favour of the multitude by the ruling aristocracy\nwas the incompatibility of such a begging and fawning part with\nthe position which the government should rightfully occupy in\nrelation to the governed.  The government was thus converted from\na blessing into a curse for the people.  They no longer ventured to\ndispose of the property and blood of the burgesses, as exigency required,\nfor the good of their country.  They allowed the burgesses to become\nhabituated to the dangerous idea that they were legally exempt from\nthe payment of direct taxes even by way of advance--after the war\nwith Perseus no further advance had been asked from the community.\nThey allowed their military system to decay rather than compel the\nburgesses to enter the odious transmarine service; how it fared\nwith the individual magistrates who attempted to carry out the\nconscription according to the strict letter of the law, has\nalready been related.(4)\n\nOptimates and Populares\n\nIn the Rome of this epoch the two evils of a degenerate oligarchy\nand a democracy still undeveloped but already cankered in the bud\nwere interwoven in a manner pregnant with fatal results.  According\nto their party names, which were first heard during this period,\nthe \"Optimates\" wished to give effect to the will of the best, the\n\"Populares\" to that of the community; but in fact there was in the Rome\nof that day neither a true aristocracy nor a truly self-determining\ncommunity.  Both parties contended alike for shadows, and numbered\nin their ranks none but enthusiasts or hypocrites.  Both were equally\naffected by political corruption, and both were in fact equally\nworthless.  Both were necessarily tied down to the status quo, for\nneither on the one side nor on the other was there found any political\nidea--to say nothing of any political plan--reaching beyond the\nexisting state of things; and accordingly the two parties were so\nentirely in agreement that they met at every step as respected both\nmeans and ends, and a change of party was a change of political\ntactics more than of political sentiments.  The commonwealth would\nbeyond doubt have been a gainer, if either the aristocracy had directly\nintroduced a hereditary rotation instead of election by the burgesses,\nor the democracy had produced from within it a real demagogic government.\nBut these Optimates and these Populares of the beginning of the seventh\ncentury were far too indispensable for eachother to wage such internecine\nwar; they not only could not destroy each other, but, even if they had\nbeen able to do so, they would not have been willing.  Meanwhile the\ncommonwealth was politically and morally more and more unhinged, and\nwas verging towards utter disorganization.\n\nSocial Crisis\n\nThe crisis with which the Roman revolution was opened arose not out\nof this paltry political conflict, but out of the economic and social\nrelations which the Roman government allowed, like everything else,\nsimply to take their course, and which thus found opportunity to\nbring the morbid matter, that had been long fermenting, without\nhindrance and with fearful rapidity and violence to maturity.  From\na very early period the Roman economy was based on the two factors\n--always in quest of each other, and always at variance--the husbandry\nof the small farmer and the money of the capitalist.  The latter in the\nclosest alliance with landholding on a great scale had already for\ncenturies waged against the farmer-class a war, which seemed as though\nit could not but terminate in the destruction first of the farmers\nand thereafter of the whole commonwealth, but was broken off without\nbeing properly decided in consequence of the successful wars and the\ncomprehensive and ample distribution of domains for which these wars\ngave facilities.  It has already been shown(5) that in the same age,\nwhich renewed the distinction between patricians and plebeians under\naltered names, the disproportionate accumulation of capital was\npreparing a second assault on the farming system.  It is true that\nthe method was different.  Formerly the small farmer had been ruined\nby advances of money, which practically reduced him to be the steward\nof his creditor; now he was crushed by the competition of transmarine,\nand especially of slave-grown, corn.  The capitalists kept pace with\nthe times; capital, while waging war against labour or in other words\nagainst the liberty of the person, of course, as it had always done,\nunder the strictest form of law, waged it no longer in the unseemly\nfashion which converted the free man on account of debt into a slave,\nbut, throughout, with slaves legitimately bought and paid; the former\nusurer of the capital appeared in a shape conformable to the times\nas the owner of industrial plantations.  But the ultimate result was\nin both cases the same--the depreciation of the Italian farms; the\nsupplanting of the petty husbandry, first in a part of the provinces\nand then in Italy, by the farming of large estates; the prevailing\ntendency to devote the latter in Italy to the rearing of cattle and\nthe culture of the olive and vine; finally, the replacing of the\nfree labourers in the provinces as in Italy by slaves.  Just as the\nnobility was more dangerous than the patriciate, because the former\ncould not, like the latter, be set aside by a change of the\nconstitution; so this new power of capital was more dangerous than\nthat of the fourth and fifth centuries, because nothing was to be\ndone against it by changes in the law of the land.\n\nSlavery and Its Consequences\n\nBefore we attempt to describe the course of this second great\nconflict between labour and capital, it is necessary to give here\nsome indication of the nature and extent of the system of slavery.\nWe have not now to do with the old, in some measure innocent, rural\nslavery, under which the farmer either tilled the field along with\nhis slave, or, if he possessed more land than he could manage, placed\nthe slave--either as steward or as a sort of lessee obliged to render\nup a portion of the produce--over a detached farm.(6)  Such relations\nno doubt existed at all times--around Comum, for instance, they were\nstill the rule in the time of the empire--but as exceptional features\nin privileged districts and on humanely-managed estates.  What we now\nrefer to is the system of slavery on a great scale, which in the Roman\nstate, as formerly in the Carthaginian, grew out of the ascendency\nof capital.  While the captives taken in war and the hereditary\ntransmission of slavery sufficed to keep up the stock of slaves\nduring the earlier period, this system of slavery was, just like that\nof America, based on the methodically-prosecuted hunting of man; for,\nowing to the manner in which slaves were used with little regard to\ntheir life or propagation, the slave population was constantly on\nthe wane, and even the wars which were always furnishing fresh\nmasses to the slave-market were not sufficient to cover the deficit.\nNo country where this species of game could be hunted remained exempt\nfrom visitation; even in Italy it was a thing by no means unheard\nof, that the poor freeman was placed by his employer among the slaves.\nBut the Negroland of that period was western Asia,(7) where the Cretan\nand Cilician corsairs, the real professional slave-hunters and slave-\ndealers, robbed the coasts of Syria and the Greek islands; and where,\nemulating their feats, the Roman revenue-farmers instituted human hunts\nin the client states and incorporated those whom they captured among\ntheir slaves.  This was done to such an extent, that about 650 the king\nof Bithynia declared himself unable to furnish the required contingent,\nbecause all the people capable of labour had been dragged off from his\nkingdom by the revenue-farmers.  At the great slave-market in Delos,\nwhere the slave-dealers of Asia Minor disposed of their wares to\nItalian speculators, on one day as many as 10,000 slaves are said to\nhave been disembarked in the morning and to have been all sold before\nevening--a proof at once how enormous was the number of slaves\ndelivered, and how, notwithstanding, the demand still exceeded the\nsupply.  It was no wonder.  Already in describing the Roman economy\nof the sixth century we have explained that it was based, like all\nthe large undertakings of antiquity generally, on the employment of\nslaves.(8)  In whatever direction speculation applied itself, its\ninstrument was without exception man reduced in law to a beast of\nburden.  Trades were in great part carried on by slaves, so that\nthe proceeds fell to the master.  The levying of the public revenues\nin the lower grades was regularly conducted by the slaves of the\nassociations that leased them.  Servile hands performed the operations\nof mining, making pitch, and others of a similar kind; it became early\nthe custom to send herds of slaves to the Spanish mines, whose\nsuperintendents readily received them and paid a high rent for them.\nThe vine and olive harvest in Italy was not conducted by the people\non the estate, but was contracted for by a slave-owner.  The tending\nof cattle was universally performed by slaves.  We have already\nmentioned the armed, and frequently mounted, slave-herdsmen in\nthe great pastoral ranges of Italy;(9) and the same sort of pastoral\nhusbandry soon became in the provinces also a favourite object of Roman\nspeculation--Dalmatia, for instance, was hardly acquired (599) when\nthe Roman capitalists began to prosecute the rearing of cattle there on\na great scale after the Italian fashion.  But far worse in every respect\nwas the plantation-system proper--the cultivation of the fields by a\nband of slaves not unfrequently branded with iron, who with shackles\non their legs performed the labours of the field under overseers\nduring the day, and were locked up together by night in the common,\nfrequently subterranean, labourers' prison.  This plantation-system\nhad migrated from the east to Carthage,(10) and seems to have been\nbrought by the Carthaginians to Sicily, where, probably for this reason,\nit appears developed earlier and more completely than in any other part\nof the Roman dominions.(11)  We find the territory of Leontini, about\n30,000 -jugera- of arable land, which was let on lease as Roman\ndomain(12) by the censors, divided some decades after the time of the\nGracchi among not more than 84 lessees, to each of whom there thus fell\non an average 360 jugera, and among whom only one was a Leontine; the\nrest were foreign, mostly Roman, speculators.  We see from this instance\nwith what zeal the Roman speculators there walked in the footsteps of\ntheir predecessors, and what extensive dealings in Sicilian cattle\nand Sicilian slave-corn must have been carried on by the Roman and\nNon-Roman speculators who covered the fair island with their pastures\nand plantations.  Italy however still remained for the present\nsubstantially exempt from this worst form of slave-husbandry.  Although\nin Etruria, where the plantation-system seems to have first emerged\nin Italy, and where it existed most extensively at least forty years\nafterwards, it is extremely probable that even now -ergastula- were\nnot wanting; yet Italian agriculture at this epoch was still chiefly\ncarried on by free persons or at any rate by non-fettered slaves,\nwhile the greater tasks were frequently let out to contractors.\nThe difference between Italian and Sicilian slavery is very clearly\napparent from the fact, that the slaves of the Mamertine community,\nwhich lived after the Italian fashion, were the only slaves who did\nnot take part in the Sicilian servile revolt of 619-622.\n\nThe abyss of misery and woe, which opens before our eyes in this most\nmiserable of all proletariates, may be fathomed by those who venture\nto gaze into such depths; it is very possible that, compared with the\nsufferings of the Roman slaves, the sum of all <DW64> sufferings is but\na drop.  Here we are not so much concerned with the hardships of the\nslaves themselves as with the perils which they brought upon the Roman\nstate, and with the conduct of the government in confronting them.\nIt is plain that this proletariate was not called into existence by\nthe government and could not be directly set aside by it; this could\nonly have been accomplished by remedies which would have been still\nworse than the disease.  The duty of the government was simply, on\nthe one hand, to avert the direct danger to property and life, with\nwhich the slave-proletariate threatened the members of the state,\nby an earnest system of police for securing order; and on the other\nhand, to aim at the restriction of the proletariate, as far as possible,\nby the elevation of free labour.  Let us see how the Roman aristocracy\nexecuted these two tasks.\n\nInsurrection of the Slaves\nThe First Sicilian Slave War\n\nThe servile conspiracies and servile wars, breaking out everywhere,\nillustrate their management as respects police.  In Italy the scenes\nof disorder, which were among the immediate painful consequences of\nthe Hannibalic war,(13) seemed now to be renewed; all at once the\nRomans were obliged to seize and execute in the capital 150, in\nMinturnae 450, in Sinuessa even 4000 slaves (621).  Still worse,\nas may be conceived, was the state of the provinces.  At the great\nslave-market at Delos and in the Attic silver-mines about the same\nperiod the revolted slaves had to be put down by force of arms.\nThe war against Aristonicus and his \"Heliopolites\" in Asia Minor was\nin substance a war of the landholders against the revolted slaves.(14)\nBut worst of all, naturally, was the condition of Sicily, the chosen\nland of the plantation system.  Brigandage had long been a standing\nevil there, especially in the interior; it began to swell into\ninsurrection.  Damophilus, a wealthy planter of Enna (Castrogiovanni),\nwho vied with the Italian lords in the industrial investment of his\nliving capital, was attacked and murdered by his exasperated rural\nslaves; whereupon the savage band flocked into the town of Enna, and\nthere repeated the same process on a greater scale.  The slaves rose\nin a body against their masters, killed or enslaved them, and summoned\nto the head of the already considerable insurgent army a juggler\nfrom Apamea in Syria who knew how to vomit fire and utter oracles,\nformerly as a slave named Eunus, now as chief of the insurgents\nstyled Antiochus king of the Syrians.  And why not? A few years before\nanother Syrian slave, who was not even a prophet, had in Antioch\nitself worn the royal diadem of the Seleucids.(15)  The Greek slave\nAchaeus, the brave \"general\" of the new king, traversed the island,\nand not only did the wild herdsmen flock from far and near to\nthe strange standards, but the free labourers also, who bore no\ngoodwill to the planters, made common cause with the revolted slaves.\nIn another district of Sicily Cleon, a Cilician slave, formerly in his\nnative land a daring bandit, followed the example which had been set\nand occupied Agrigentum; and, when the leaders came to a mutual\nunderstanding, after gaining various minor advantages they succeeded\nin at last totally defeating the praetor Lucius Hypsaeus in person\nand his army, consisting mostly of Sicilian militia, and in capturing\nhis camp.  By this means almost the whole island came into the power\nof the insurgents, whose numbers, according to the most moderate\nestimates, are alleged to have amounted to 70,000 men capable of\nbearing arms.  The Romans found themselves compelled for three\nsuccessive years (620-622) to despatch consuls and consular armies\nto Sicily, till, after several undecided and even some unfavourable\nconflicts, the revolt was at length subdued by the capture of\nTauromenium and of Enna.  The most resolute men of the insurgents\nthrew themselves into the latter town, in order to hold their ground\nin that impregnable position with the determination of men who\ndespair of deliverance or of pnrdon; the consuls Lucius Calpurnius\nPiso and Publius Rupilius lay before it for two years, and reduced\nit at last more by famine than by arms.(16)\n\nThese were the results of the police system for securing order, as\nit was handled by the Roman senate and its officials in Italy and\nthe provinces.  While the task of getting quit of the proletariate\ndemands and only too often transcends the whole power and wisdom of\na government, its repression by measures of police on the other hand\nis for any larger commonwealth comparatively easy.  It would be well\nwith states, if the unpropertied masses threatened them with no other\ndanger than that with which they are menaced by bears and wolves;\nonly the timid and those who trade upon the silly fears of the\nmultitude prophesy the destruction of civil order through servile\nrevolts or insurrections of the proletariate.  But even to this easier\ntask of restraining the oppressed masses the Roman government was by no\nmeans equal, notwithstanding the profound peace and the inexhaustible\nresources of the state.  This was a sign of its weakness; but not of\nits weakness alone.  By law the Roman governor was bound to keep the\npublic roads clear and to have the robbers who were caught, if they were\nslaves, crucified; and naturally, for slavery is not possible without a\nreign of terror.  At this period in Sicily a razzia was occasionally\ndoubtless set on foot by the governor, when the roads became too\ninsecure; but, in order not to disoblige the Italian planters, the\ncaptured robbers were ordinarily given up by the authorities to\ntheir masters to be punished at their discretion; and those masters\nwere frugal people who, if their slave-herdsmen asked clothes, replied\nwith stripes and with the inquiry whether travellers journeyed through\nthe land naked.  The consequence of such connivance accordingly was,\nthat OH the subjugation of the slave-revolt the consul Publius Rupilius\nordered all that came into his hands alive--it is said upwards of\n20,000 men--to be crucified.  It was in truth no longer possible\nto spare capital.\n\nThe Italian Farmers\n\nThe care of the government for the elevation of free labour,\nand by consequence for the restriction of the slave-proletariate,\npromised fruits far more difficult to be gained but also far richer.\nUnfortunately, in this respect there was nothing done at all.  In the\nfirst social crisis the landlord had been enjoined by law to employ\na number of free labourers proportioned to the number of his slave\nlabourers.(17)  Now at the suggestion of the government a Punic\ntreatise on agriculture,(18) doubtless giving instructions in the\nsystem of plantation after the Carthaginian mode, was translated\ninto Latin for the use and benefit of Italian speculators--the first\nand only instance of a literary undertaking suggested by the Roman\nsenate! The same tendency showed itself in a more important matter,\nor to speak more correctly in the vital question for Rome--the system\nof colonization.  It needed no special wisdom, but merely a\nrecollection of the course of the first social crisis in Rome,\nto perceive that the only real remedy against an agricultural\nproletariate consisted in a comprehensive and duly-regulated system\nof emigration;(19) for which the external relations of Rome offered\nthe most favourable opportunity.  Until nearly the close of the sixth\ncentury, in fact, the continuous diminution of the small landholders\nof Italy was counteracted by the continuous establishment of new\nfarm-allotments.(20)  This, it is true, was by no means done to the\nextent to which it might and should have been done; not only was the\ndomain-land occupied from ancient times by private persons(21) not\nrecalled, but further occupations of newly-won land were permitted;\nand other very important acquisitions, such as the territory of Capua,\nwhile not abandoned to occupation, were yet not brought into\ndistribution, but were let on lease as usufructuary domains.\nNevertheless the assignation of land had operated beneficially--giving\nhelp to many of the sufferers and hope to all.  But after the founding\nof Luna (577) no trace of further assignations of land is to be met\nwith for a long time, with the exception of the isolated institution\nof the Picenian colony of Auximum (Osimo) in 597.  The reason is\nsimple.  After the conquest of the Boii and Apuani no new territory was\nacquired in Italy excepting the far from attractive Ligurian valleys;\ntherefore no other land existed for distribution there except the\nleased or occupied domain-land, the laying hands on which was, as may\neasily be conceived, just as little agreeable to the aristocracy now as\nit was three hundred years before.  The distribution of the territory\nacquired out of Italy appeared for political reasons inadmissible;\nItaly was to remain the ruling country, and the wall of partition\nbetween the Italian masters and their provincial servants was not\nto be broken down.  Unless the government were willing to set aside\nconsiderations of higher policy or even the interests of their order,\nno course was left to them but to remain spectators of the ruin of\nthe Italian farmer-class; and this result accordingly ensued.\nThe capitalists continued to buy out the small landholders, or indeed,\nif they remained obstinate, to seize their fields without title of\npurchase; in which case, as may be supposed, matters were not always\namicably settled.  A peculiarly favourite method was to eject the wife\nand children of the farmer from the homestead, while he was in the\nfield, and to bring him to compliance by means of the theory of\n\"accomplished fact.\" The landlords continued mainly to employ slaves\ninstead of free labourers, because the former could not like the\nlatter be called away to military service; and thus reduced the free\nproletariate to the same level of misery with the slaves.  They\ncontinued to supersede Italian grain in the market of the capital,\nand to lessen its value over the whole peninsula, by selling Sicilian\nslave-corn at a mere nominal price.  In Etruria the old native\naristocracy in league with the Roman capitalists had as early as 620\nbrought matters to such a pass, that there was no longer a free farmer\nthere.  It could be said aloud in the market of the capital, that the\nbeasts had their lairs but nothing was left to the burgesses save\nthe air and sunshine, and that those who were styled the masters\nof the world had no longer a clod that they could call their own.\nThe census lists of the Roman burgesses furnished the commentary on\nthese words.  From the end of the Hannibalic war down to 595 the numbers\nof the burgesses were steadily on the increase, the cause of which is\nmainly to be sought in the continuous and considerable distributions\nof domain-land:(22) after 595 again, when the census yielded 328,000\nburgesses capable of bearing arms, there appears a regular falling-off,\nfor the list in 600 stood at 324,000, that in 607 at 322,000, that\nin 623 at 319,000 burgesses fit for service--an alarming result for a\ntime of profound peace at home and abroad.  If matters were to go on\nat this rate, the burgess-body would resolve itself into planters and\nslaves; and the Roman state might at length, as was the case with the\nParthians, purchase its soldiers in the slave-market.\n\nIdeas of Reform\nScipio Aemilianus\n\nSuch was the external and internal condition of Rome, when the state\nentered on the seventh century of its existence.  Wherever the eye\nturned, it encountered abuses and decay; the question could not\nbut force itself on every sagacious and well-disposed man, whether\nthis state of things was not capable of remedy or amendment.  There\nwas no want of such men in Rome; but no one seemed more called to the\ngreat work of political and social reform than Publius Cornelius Scipio\nAemilianus Africanus (570-625), the favourite son of Aemilius Paullus\nand the adopted grandson of the great Scipio, whose glorious surname\nof Africanus he bore by virtue not merely of hereditary but of\npersonal right.  Like his father, he was a man temperate and\nthoroughly healthy, never ailing in body, and never at a loss to\nresolve on the immediate and necessary course of action.  Even\nin his youth he had kept aloof from the usual proceedings of\npolitical novices--the attending in the antechambers of prominent\nsenators and the delivery of forensic declamations.  On the other\nhand he loved the chase--when a youth of seventeen, after having\nserved with distinction under his father in the campaign against\nPerseus, he had asked as his reward the free range of the deer\nforest of the kings of Macedonia which had been untouched for\nfour years--and he was especially fond of devoting his leisure to\nscientific and literary enjoyment.  By the care of his father he had\nbeen early initiated into that genuine Greek culture, which elevated\nhim above the insipid Hellenizing of the semi-culture commonly in\nvogue; by his earnest and apt appreciation of the good and bad\nqualities in the Greek character, and by his aristocratic carriage,\nthis Roman made an impression on the courts of the east and even on\nthe scoffing Alexandrians.  His Hellenism was especially recognizable\nin the delicate irony of his discourse and in the classic purity of\nhis Latin.  Although not strictly an author, he yet, like Cato,\ncommitted to writing his political speeches--they were, like the letters\nof his adopted sister the mother of the Gracchi, esteemed by the later\n-litteratores- as masterpieces of model prose--and took pleasure in\nsurrounding himself with the better Greek and Roman -litterati-,\na plebeian society which was doubtless regarded with no small\nsuspicion by those colleagues in the senate whose noble birth was\ntheir sole distinction.  A man morally steadfast and trustworthy,\nhis word held good with friend and foe; he avoided buildings and\nspeculations, and lived with simplicity; while in money matters he\nacted not merely honourably and disinterestedly, but also with a\ntenderness and liberality which seemed singular to the mercantile\nspirit of his contemporaries.  He was an able soldier and officer;\nhe brought home from the African war the honorary wreath which was\nwont to be conferred on those who saved the lives of citizens in\ndanger at the peril of their own, and terminated as general the\nwar which he had begun as an officer; circumstances gave him no\nopportunity of trying his skill as a general on tasks really\ndifficult.  Scipio was not, any more than his father, a man\nof brilliant gifts--as is indicated by the very fact of his\npredilection for Xenophon, the sober soldier and correct author-\nbut he was an honest and true man, who seemed pre-eminently called\nto stem the incipient decay by organic reforms.  All the more\nsignificant is the fact that he did not attempt it.  It is true\nthat he helped, as he had opportunity and means, to redress or\nprevent abuses, and laboured in particular at the improvement of\nthe administration of justice.  It was chiefly by his assistance\nthat Lucius Cassius, an able man of the old Roman austerity and\nuprightness, was enabled to carry against the most vehement\nopposition of the Optimates his law as to voting, which introduced\nvote by ballot for those popular tribunals which still embraced\nthe most important part of the criminal jurisdiction.(23)  In like\nmanner, although he had not chosen to take part in boyish\nimpeachments, he himself in his mature years put upon their trial\nseveral of the guiltiest of the aristocracy.  In a like spirit, when\ncommanding before Carthage and Numantia, he drove forth the women\nand priests to the gates of the camp, and subjected the rabble of\nsoldiers once more to the iron yoke of the old military discipline;\nand when censor (612), he cleared away the smooth-chinned coxcombs\namong the world of quality and in earnest language urged the\ncitizens to adhere more faithfully to the honest customs of their\nfathers.  But no one, and least of all he himself, could fail to\nsee that increased stringency in the administration of justice and\nisolated interference were not even first steps towards the healing\nof the organic evils under which the state laboured.  These Scipio did\nnot touch.  Gaius Laelius (consul in 614), Scipio's elder friend and\nhis political instructor and confidant, had conceived the plan of\nproposing the resumption of the Italian domain-land which had not\nbeen given away but had been temporarily occupied, and of giving\nrelief by its distribution to the visibly decaying Italian farmers;\nbut he desisted from the project when he saw what a storm he was\ngoing to raise, and was thenceforth named the \"Judicious.\" Scipio was\nof the same opinion.  He was fully persuaded of the greatness of the\nevil, and with a courage deserving of honour he without respect of\npersons remorselessly assailed it and carried his point, where he\nrisked himself alone; but he was also persuaded that the country\ncould only be relieved at the price of a revolution similar to that\nwhich in the fourth and fifth centuries had sprung out of the question\nof reform, and, rightly or wrongly, the remedy seemed to him worse than\nthe disease.  So with the small circle of his friends he held a middle\nposition between the aristocrats, who never forgave him for his advocacy\nof the Cassian law, and the democrats, whom he neither satisfied nor\nwished to satisfy; solitary during his life, praised after his death\nby both parties, now as the champion of the aristocracy, now as\nthe promoter of reform.  Down to his time the censors on laying\ndown their office had called upon the gods to grant greater power\nand glory to the state: the censor Scipio prayed that they might\ndeign to preserve the state.  His whole confession of faith lies\nin that painful exclamation.\n\nTiberius Gracchus\n\nBut where the man who had twice led the Roman army from deep decline\nto victory despaired, a youth without achievements had the boldness to\ngive himself forth as the saviour of Italy.  He was called Tiberius\nSempronius Gracchus (591-621).  His father who bore the same name\n(consul in 577, 591; censor in 585), was the true model of a Roman\naristocrat.  The brilliant magnificence of his aedilician games, not\nproduced without oppressing the dependent communities, had drawn upon\nhim the severe and deserved censure of the senate;(24) his interference\nin the pitiful process directed against the Scipios who were personally\nhostile to him(25) gave proof of his chivalrous feeling, and perhaps of\nhis regard for his own order; and his energetic action against the\nfreedmen in his censorship(26) evinced his conservative disposition.\nAs governor, moreover, of the province of the Ebro,(27) by his bravery\nand above all by his integrity he rendered a permanent service to his\ncountry, and at the same time raised to himself in the hearts of\nthe subject nation an enduring monument of reverence and affection.\n\nHis mother Cornelia was the daughter of the conqueror of Zama, who,\nsimply on account of that generous intervention, had chosen his former\nopponent as a son-in-law; she herself was a highly cultivated and\nnotable woman, who after the death of her much older husband had\nrefused the hand of the king of Egypt and reared her three surviving\nchildren in memory of her husband and her father.  Tiberius, the\nelder of the two sons, was of a good and moral disposition, of\ngentle aspect and quiet bearing, apparently fitted for anything rather\nthan for an agitator of the masses.  In all his relations and views\nhe belonged to the Scipionic circle, whose refined and thorough\nculture, Greek and national, he and his brother and sister shared.\nScipio Aemilianus was at once his cousin and his sister's husband;\nunder him Tiberius, at the age of eighteen, had taken part in the\nstorming of Carthage, and had by his valour acquired the commendation\nof the stern general and warlike distinctions.  It was natural\nthat the able young man should, with all the vivacity and all the\nstringent precision of youth, adopt and intensify the views as to\nthe pervading decay of the state which were prevalent in that circle,\nand more especially their ideas as to the elevation of the Italian\nfarmers.  Nor was it merely to the young men that the shrinking of\nLaelius from the execution of his ideas of reform seemed to be not\njudicious, but weak.  Appius Claudius, who had already been consul\n(611) and censor (618), one of the most respected men in the senate,\ncensured the Scipionic circle for having so soon abandoned the scheme\nof distributing the domain-lands with all the passionate vehemence\nwhich was the hereditary characteristic of the Claudian house; and with\nthe greater bitterness, apparently because he had come into personal\nconflict with Scipio Aemilianus in his candidature for the censorship.\nSimilar views were expressed by Publius Crassus Mucianus,(28) the\n-pontifex maximus- of the day, who was held in universal honour by\nthe senate and the citizens as a man and a jurist.  Even his brother\nPublius Mucius Scaevola, the founder of scientific jurisprudence in\nRome, seemed not averse to the plan of reform; and his voice was of\nthe greater weight, as he stood in some measure aloof from the parties.\nSimilar were the sentiments of Quintus Metellus, the conqueror of\nMacedonia and of the Achaeans, but respected not so much on account of\nhis warlike deeds as because he was a model of the old discipline and\nmanners alike in his domestic and his public life.  Tiberius Gracchus\nwas closely connected with these men, particularly with Appius whose\ndaughter he had married, and with Mucianus whose daughter was married\nto his brother.  It was no wonder that he cherished the idea of\nresuming in person the scheme of reform, so soon as he should find\nhimself in a position which would constitutionally allow him the\ninitiative.  Personal motives may have strengthened this resolution.\nThe treaty of peace which Mancinus concluded with the Numantines in\n617, was in substance the work of Gracchus;(29) the recollection that\nthe senate had cancelled it, that the general had been on its account\nsurrendered to the enemy, and that Gracchus with the other superior\nofficers had only escaped a like fate through the greater favour\nwhich he enjoyed among the burgesses, could not put the young,\nupright, and proud man in better humour with the ruling aristocracy.\nThe Hellenic rhetoricians with whom he was fond of discussing philosophy\nand politics, Diophanes of Mytilene and Gaius Blossius of Cumae,\nnourished within his soul the ideals over which he brooded: when his\nintentions became known in wider circles, there was no want of approving\nvoices, and many a public placard summoned the grandson of Africanus to\nthink of the poor people and the deliverance of Italy.\n\nTribunate of Gracchus\nHis Agrarian Law\n\nTiberius Gracchus was invested with the tribunate of the people on\nthe 10th of December, 620.  The fearful consequences of the previous\nmisgovernment, the political, military, economic, and moral decay of\nthe burgesses, were just at that time naked and open to the eyes of\nall.  Of the two consuls of this year one fought without success in\nSicily against the revolted slaves, and the other, Scipio Aemilianus,\nwas employed for months not in conquering, but in crushing a small\nSpanish country town.  If Gracchus still needed a special summons to\ncarry his resolution into effect, he found it in this state of matters\nwhich filled the mind of every patriot with unspeakable anxiety.\nHis father-in-law promised assistance in counsel and action; the support\nof the jurist Scaevola, who had shortly before been elected consul for\n621, might be hoped for.  So Gracchus, immediately after entering on\noffice, proposed the enactment of an agrarian law, which in a certain\nsense was nothing but a renewal of the Licinio-Sextian law of 387.(30)\nUnder it all the state-lands which were occupied and enjoyed by\nthe possessors without remuneration--those that were let on lease,\nsuch as the territory of Capua, were not affected by the law--were to\nbe resumed on behalf of the state; but with the restriction, that\neach occupier should reserve for himself 500 -jugera- and for each son\n250 (so as not, however, to exceed 1000 -jugera- in all) in permanent\nand guaranteed possession, or should be entitled to claim compensation\nin land to that extent.  Indemnification appears to have been\ngranted for any improvements executed by the former holders, such\nas buildings and plantations.  The domain-land thus resumed was to\nbe broken up into lots of 30 jugera; and these were to be distributed\npartly to burgesses, partly to Italian allies, not as their own free\nproperty, but as inalienable heritable leaseholds, whose holders bound\nthemselves to use the land for agriculture and to pay a moderate\nrent to the state-chest.  A -collegium- of three men, who were\nregarded as ordinary and standing magistrates of the state and were\nannually elected by the assembly of the people, was entrusted with\nthe work of resumption and distribution; to which was afterwards added\nthe important and difficult function of legally settling what was\ndomain-land and what was private property.  The distribution was\naccordingly designed to go on for an indefinite period until the\nItalian domains which were very extensive and difficult of adjustment\nshould be regulated.  The new features in the Sempronian agrarian law,\nas compared with the Licinio-Sextian, were, first, the clause in favour\nof the hereditary possessors; secondly, the leasehold and inalienable\ntenure proposed for the new allotments; thirdly and especially, the\nregulated and permanent executive, the want of which under the older\nlaw had been the chief reason why it had remained without lasting\npractical application.\n\nWar was thus declared against the great landholders, who now, as\nthree centuries ago, found substantially their organ in the senate;\nand once more, after a long interval, a single magistrate stood forth\nin earnest opposition to the aristocratic government.  It took up the\nconflict in the mode--sanctioned by use and wont for such cases--of\nparalyzing the excesses of the magistrates by means of the magistracy\nitself.(31)  A colleague of Gracchus, Marcus Octavius, a resolute man\nwho was seriously persuaded of the objectionable character of the\nproposed domain law, interposed his veto when it was about to be put\nto the vote; a step, the constitutional effect of which was to set\naside the proposal.  Gracchus in his turn suspended the business\nof the state and the administration of justice, and placed his seal\non the public chest; the government acquiesced--it was inconvenient,\nbut the year would draw to an end.  Gracchus, in perplexity, brought his\nlaw to the vote a second time.  Octavius of course repeated his -veto-;\nand to the urgent entreaty of his colleague and former friend, that\nhe would not obstruct the salvation of Italy, he might reply that on\nthat very question, as to how Italy could be saved, opinions differed,\nbut that his constitutional right to use his veto against the proposal\nof his colleague was beyond all doubt.  The senate now made an attempt\nto open up to Gracchus a tolerable retreat; two consulars challenged\nhim to discuss the matter further in the senate house, and the tribune\nentered into the scheme with zeal.  He sought to construe this\nproposal as implying that the senate had conceded the principle of\ndistributing the domain-land; but neither was this implied in it,\nnor was the senate at all disposed to yield in the matter; the\ndiscussions ended without any result.  Constitutional means were\nexhausted.  In earlier times under such circumstances men were not\nindisposed to let the proposal go to sleep for the current year, and\nto take it up again in each succeeding one, till the earnestness of\nthe demand and the pressure of public opinion overbore resistance.\nNow things were carried with a higher hand.  Gracchus seemed to himself\nto have reached the point when he must either wholly renounce his\nreform or begin a revolution.  He chose the latter course; for he\ncame before the burgesses with the declaration that either he or\nOctavius must retire from the college, and suggested to Octavius\nthat a vote of the burgesses should be taken as to which of them\nthey wished to dismiss.  Octavius naturally refused to consent to\nthis strange challenge; the -intercessio- existed for the very purpose\nof giving scope to such differences of opinion among colleagues.  Then\nGracchus broke off the discussion with his colleague, and turned to\nthe assembled multitude with the question whether a tribune of the\npeople, who acted in opposition to the people, had not forfeited his\noffice; and the assembly, long accustomed to assent to all proposals\npresented to it, and for the most part composed of the agricultural\nproletariate which had flocked in from the country and was\npersonally interested in the carrying of the law, gave almost\nunanimously an affirmative answer.  Marcus Octavius was at the bidding\nof Gracchus removed by the lictors from the tribunes' bench; and then,\namidst universal rejoicing, the agrarian law was carried and the\nfirst allotment-commissioners were nominated.  The votes fell on the\nauthor of the law along with his brother Gaius, who was only twenty\nyears of age, and his father-in-law Appius Claudius.  Such a family-\nselection augmented the exasperation of the aristocracy.  When the\nnew magistrates applied as usual to the senate to obtain the moneys\nfor their equipment and for their daily allowance, the former was\nrefused, and a daily allowance was assigned to them of 24 -asses-\n(1 shilling).  The feud spread daily more and more, and became\nmore envenomed and more personal.  The difficult and intricate task\nof defining, resuming, and distributing the domains carried strife\ninto every burgess-community, and even into the allied Italian towns.\n\nFurther Plans of Gracchus\n\nThe aristocracy made no secret that, while they would acquiesce perhaps\nin the law because they could not do otherwise, the officious legislator\nshould never escape their vengeance; and the announcement of Quintus\nPompeius, that he would impeach Gracchus on the very day of his\nresigning his tribunate, was far from being the worst of the threats\nthrown out against the tribune.  Gracchus believed, probably with\nreason, that his personal safety was imperilled, and no longer\nappeared in the Forum without a retinue of 3000 or 4000 men--a step\nwhich drew down on him bitter expressions in the senate, even from\nMetellus who was not averse to reform in itself.  Altogether, if\nhe had expected to reach the goal by the carrying of his agrarian\nlaw, he had now to learn that he was only at the starting-point.\nThe \"people\" owed him gratitude; but he was a lost man, if he had\nno farther protection than this gratitude of the people, if he did\nnot continue indispensable to them and did not constantly attach\nto himself fresh interests and hopes by means of other and more\ncomprehensive proposals.  Just at that time the kingdom and wealth\nof the Attalids had fallen to the Romans by the testament of the\nlast king of Pergamus;(32) Gracchus proposed to the people that the\nPergamene treasure should be distributed among the new landholders for\nthe procuring of the requisite implements and stock, and vindicated\ngenerally, in opposition to the existing practice, the right of the\nburgesses to decide definitively as to the new province.  He is said\nto have prepared farther popular measures, for shortening the period\nof service, for extending the right of appeal, for abolishing the\nprerogative of the senators exclusively to do duty as civil jurymen,\nand even for the admission of the Italian allies to Roman\ncitizenship.  How far his projects in reality reached, cannot be\nascertained; this alone is certain, that Gracchus saw that his only\nsafety lay in inducing the burgesses to confer on him for a second\nyear the office which protected him, and that, with a view to obtain\nthis unconstitutional prolongation, he held forth a prospect of\nfurther reforms.  If at first he had risked himself in order to save\nthe commonwealth, he was now obliged to put the commonwealth at stake\nin order to his own safety.\n\nHe Solicits Re-election to the Tribunate\n\nThe tribes met to elect the tribunes for the ensuing year, and\nthe first divisions gave their votes for Gracchus; but the opposite\nparty in the end prevailed with their veto, so far at least that\nthe assembly broke up without having accomplished its object, and\nthe decision was postponed to the following day.  For this day Gracchus\nput in motion all means legitimate and illegitimate; he appeared to the\npeople dressed in mourning, and commended to them his youthful son;\nanticipating that the election would once more be disturbed by the\nveto, he made provision for expelling the adherents of the aristocracy\nby force from the place of assembly in front of the Capitoline\ntemple.  So the second day of election came on; the votes fell as on\nthe preceding day, and again the veto was exercised; the tumult began.\nThe burgesses dispersed; the elective assembly was practically dissolved;\nthe Capitoline temple was closed; it was rumoured in the city, now that\nTiberius had deposed all the tribunes, now that he had resolved to\ncontinue his magistracy without reelection.\n\nDeath of Gracchus\n\nThe senate assembled in the temple of Fidelity, close by the temple\nof Jupiter; the bitterest opponents of Gracchus spoke in the sitting;\nwhen Tiberius moved his hand towards his forehead to signify\nto the people, amidst the wild tumult, that his head was in danger,\nit was said that he was already summoning the people to adorn his\nbrow with the regal chaplet.  The consul Scaevola was urged to have\nthe traitor put to death at once.  When that temperate man, by no\nmeans averse to reform in itself, indignantly refused the equally\nirrational and barbarous request, the consular Publius Scipio Nasica,\na harsh and vehement aristocrat, summoned those who shared his views\nto arm themselves as they could and to follow him.  Almost none of the\ncountry people had come into town for the elections; the people of the\ncity timidly gave way, when they saw men of quality rushing along with\nfury in their eyes, and legs of chairs and clubs in their hands.\nGracchus attempted with a few attendants to escape.  But in his\nflight he fell on the <DW72> of the Capitol, and was killed by a\nblow on the temples from the bludgeon of one of his furious pursuers\n--Publius Satureius and Lucius Rufus afterwards contested the infamous\nhonour--before the statues of the seven kings at the temple of\nFidelity; with him three hundred others were slain, not one by\nweapons of iron.  When evening had come on, the bodies were thrown\ninto the Tiber; Gaius vainly entreated that the corpse of his\nbrother might be granted to him for burial.  Such a day had never\nbefore been seen by Rome.  The party-strife lasting for more than\na century during the first social crisis had led to no such\ncatastrophe as that with which the second began.  The better portion\nof the aristocracy might shudder, but they could no longer recede.\nThey had no choice save to abandon a great number of their most\ntrusty partisans to the vengeance of the multitude, or to assume\ncollectively the responsibility of the outrage: the latter course was\nadopted.  They gave official sanction to the assertion that Gracchus\nhad wished to seize the crown, and justified this latest crime by\nthe primitive precedent of Ahala;(33) in fact, they even committed\nthe duty of further investigation as to the accomplices of Gracchus\nto a special commission and made its head, the consul Publius Popillius,\ntake care that a sort of legal stamp should be supplementarily impressed\non the murder of Gracchus by bloody sentences directed against a large\nnumber of inferior persons (622).  Nasica, against whom above all\nothers the multitude breathed vengeance, and who had at least the\ncourage openly to avow his deed before the people and to defend it,\nwas under honourable pretexts despatched to Asia, and soon afterwards\n(624) invested, during his absence, with the office of Pontifex\nMaximus.  Nor did the moderate party dissociate themselves from these\nproceedings of their colleagues.  Gaius Laelius bore a part in the\ninvestigations adverse to the partisans of Gracchus; Publius Scaevola,\nwho had attempted to prevent the murder, afterwards defended it in the\nsenate; when Scipio Aemilianus, after his return from Spain (622), was\nchallenged publicly to declare whether he did or did not approve the\nkilling of his brother-in-law, he gave the at least ambiguous reply\nthat, so far as Tiberius had aspired to the crown, he had been\njustly put to death.\n\nThe Domain Question Viewed in Itself\n\nLet us endeavour to form a judgment regarding these momentous events.\nThe appointment of an official commission, which had to counteract\nthe dangerous diminution of the farmer-class by the comprehensive\nestablishment of new small holdings from the whole Italian landed\nproperty at the disposal of the state, was doubtless no sign of a\nhealthy condition of the national economy; but it was, under the\nexisting circumstances political and social, suited to its purpose.\nThe distribution of the domains, moreover, was in itself no political\nparty-question; it might have been carried out to the last sod without\nchanging the existing constitution or at all shaking the government\nof the aristocracy.  As little could there be, in that case, any\ncomplaint of a violation of rights.  The state was confessedly\nthe owner of the occupied land; the holder as a possessor on mere\nsufferance could not, as a rule, ascribe to himself even a bonafide\nproprietary tenure, and, in the exceptional instances where he could\ndo so, he was confronted by the fact that by the Roman law prescription\ndid not run against the state.  The distribution of the domains was not\nan abolition, but an exercise, of the right of property; all jurists\nwere agreed as to its formal legality.  But the attempt now to carry\nout these legal claims of the state was far from being politically\nwarranted by the circumstance that the distribution of the domains\nneither infringed the existing constitution nor involved a violation\nof right.  Such objections as have been now and then raised in our\nday, when a great landlord suddenly begins to assert in all their\ncompass claims belonging to him in law but suffered for a long period\nto lie dormant in practice, might with equal and better right be\nadvanced against the rogation of Gracchus.  These occupied domains\nhad been undeniably in heritable private possession, some of them for\nthree hundred years; the state's proprietorship of the soil, which\nfrom its very nature loses more readily than that of the burgess the\ncharacter of a private right, had in the case of these lands become\nvirtually extinct, and the present holders had universally come\nto their possessions by purchase or other onerous acquisition.\nThe jurist might say what he would; to men of business the measure\nappeared to be an ejection of the great landholders for the benefit\nof the agricultural proletariate; and in fact no statesman could give\nit any other name.  That the leading men of the Catonian epoch formed\nno other judgment, is very clearly shown by their treatment of a similar\ncase that occurred in their time.  The territory of Capua and the\nneighbouring towns, which was annexed as domain in 543, had for\nthe most part practically passed into private possession during\nthe following unsettled times.  In the last years of the sixth\ncentury, when in various respects, especially through the influence\nof Cato, the reins of government were drawn tighter, the burgesses\nresolved to resume the Campanian territory and to let it out for\nthe benefit of the treasury (582).  The possession in this instance\nrested on an occupation justified not by previous invitation but\nat the most by the connivance of the authorities, and had continued\nin no case much beyond a generation; but the holders were not\ndispossessed except in consideration of a compensatory sum disbursed\nunder the orders of the senate by the urban praetor Publius Lentulus\n(c. 589).(34)  Less objectionable perhaps, but still not without\nhazard, was the arrangement by which the new allotments bore\nthe character of heritable leaseholds and were inalienable.  The most\nliberal principles in regard to freedom of dealing had made Rome\ngreat; and it was very little consonant to the spirit of the Roman\ninstitutions, that these new farmers were peremptorily bound down\nto cultivate their portions of land in a definite manner, and that\ntheir allotments were subject to rights of revocation and all the\ncramping measures associated with commercial restriction.\n\nIt will be granted that these objections to the Sempronian agrarian\nlaw were of no small weight.  Yet they are not decisive.  Such a\npractical eviction of the holders of the domains was certainly a\ngreat evil; yet it was the only means of checking, at least for a\nlong time, an evil much greater still and in fact directly destructive\nto the state--the decline of the Italian farmer-class.  We can well\nunderstand therefore why the most distinguished and patriotic men\neven of the conservative party, headed by Gaius Laelius and Scipio\nAemilianus, approved and desired the distribution of the domains\nviewed in itself.\n\nThe Domain Question before the Burgesses\n\nBut, if the aim of Tiberius Gracchus probably appeared to\nthe great majority of the discerning friends of their country\ngood and salutary, the method which he adopted, on the other hand,\ndid not and could not meet with the approval of a single man of note\nand of patriotism.  Rome about this period was governed by the senate.\nAny one who carried a measure of administration against the majority\nof the senate made a revolution.  It was revolution against the spirit\nof the constitution, when Gracchus submitted the domain question to the\npeople; and revolution also against the letter, when he destroyed not\nonly for the moment but for all time coming the tribunician veto--\nthe corrective of the state machine, through which the senate\nconstitutionally got rid of interferences with its government--by the\ndeposition of his colleague, which he justified with unworthy sophistry.\nBut it was not in this step that the moral and political mistake of\nthe action of Gracchus lay.  There are no set forms of high treason\nin history; whoever provokes one power in the state to conflict with\nanother is certainly a revolutionist, but he may be at the same time\na discerning and praiseworthy statesman.  The essential defect of the\nGracchan revolution lay in a fact only too frequently overlooked--in\nthe nature of the then existing burgess-assemblies.  The agrarian law\nof Spurius Cassius(35) and that of Tiberius Gracchus had in the main\nthe same tenor and the same object; but the enterprises of the two\nmen were as different, as the former Roman burgess-body which shared\nthe Volscian spoil with the Latins and Hernici was different from\nthe present which erected the provinces of Asia and Africa.  The former\nwas an urban community, which could meet together and act together;\nthe latter was a great state, as to which the attempt to unite those\nbelonging to it in one and the same primary assembly, and to leave to\nthis assembly the decision, yielded a result as lamentable as it was\nridiculous.(36)  The fundamental defect of the policy of antiquity\n--that it never fully advanced from the urban form of constitution to\nthat of a state or, which is the same thing, from the system of\nprimary assemblies to a parliamentary system--in this case avenged\nitself.  The sovereign assembly of Rome was what the sovereign\nassembly in England would be, if instead of sending representatives\nall the electors of England should meet together as a parliament--an\nunwieldy mass, wildly agitated by all interests and all passions, in\nwhich intelligence was totally lost; a body, which was neither able\nto take a comprehensive view of things nor even to form a resolution\nof its own; a body above all, in which, saving in rare exceptional\ncases, a couple of hundred or thousand individuals accidentally\npicked up from the streets of the capital acted and voted in name of\nthe burgesses.  The burgesses found themselves, as a rule, nearly as\nsatisfactorily represented by their de facto representatives in the\ntribes and centuries as by the thirty lictors who de jure represented\nthem in the curies; and just as what was called the decree of the\ncuries was nothing but a decree of the magistrate who convoked the\nlictors, so the decree of the tribes and centuries at this time was\nin substance simply a decree of the proposing magistrate, legalised\nby some consentients indispensable for the occasion.  But while in\nthese voting-assemblies, the -comitia-, though they were far from\ndealing strictly in the matter of qualification, it was on the whole\nburgesses alone that appeared, in the mere popular assemblages on the\nother hand--the -contiones---every one in the shape of a man was\nentitled to take his place and to shout, Egyptians and Jews, street-\nboys and slaves.  Such a \"meeting\" certainly had no significance\nin the eyes of the law; it could neither vote nor decree.  But it\npractically ruled the street, and already the opinion of the street\nwas a power in Rome, so that it was of some importance whether this\nconfused mass received the communications made to it with silence or\nshouts, whether it applauded and rejoiced or hissed and howled at\nthe orator.  Not many had the courage to lord it over the populace\nas Scipio Aemilianus did, when they hissed him on account of his\nexpression as to the death of his brother-in-law.  \"Ye,\" he said,\n\"to whom Italy is not mother but step-mother, ought to keep silence!\"\nand when their fury grew still louder, \"Surely you do not think\nthat I will fear those let loose, whom I have sent in chains\nto the slave-market?\"\n\nThat the rusty machinery of the comitia should be made use of for the\nelections and for legislation, was already bad enough.  But when those\nmasses--the -comitia- primarily, and practically also the -contiones---\nwere permitted to interfere in the administration, and the instrument\nwhich the senate employed to prevent such interferences was wrested out\nof its hands; when this so-called burgess-body was allowed to decree\nto itself lands along with all their appurtenances out of the public\npurse; when any one, whom circumstances and his influence with the\nproletariate enabled to command the streets for a few hours, found it\npossible to impress on his projects the legal stamp of the sovereign\npeople's will, Rome had reached not the beginning, but the end of\npopular freedom--had arrived not at democracy, but at monarchy.\nFor that reason in the previous period Cato and those who shared\nhis views never brought such questions before the burgesses,\nbut discussed them solely in the senate.(37)  For that reason\ncontemporaries of Gracchus, the men of the Scipionic circle,\ndescribed the Flaminian agrarian law of 522--the first step in\nthat fatal career--as the beginning of the decline of Roman greatness.\nFor that reason they allowed the author of the domain-distribution\nto fall, and saw in his dreadful end, as it were, a rampart against\nsimilar attempts in future, while yet they maintained and turned\nto account with all their energy the domain-distribution itself\nwhich he had carried through--so sad was the state of things in\nRome that honest patriots were forced into the horrible hypocrisy\nof abandoning the evil-doer and yet appropriating the fruit of\nthe evil deed.  For that reason too the opponents of Gracchus were\nin a certain sense not wrong, when they accused him of aspiring to the\ncrown.  For him it is a fresh impeachment rather than a justification,\nthat he himself was probably a stranger to any such thought.\nThe aristocratic government was so thoroughly pernicious, that\nthe citizen, who was able to depose the senate and to put\nhimself in its place, might perhaps benefit the commonwealth\nmore than he injured it.\n\nResults\n\nBut such a bold player Tiberius Gracchus was not.  He was a tolerably\ncapable, thoroughly well-meaning, conservative patriot, who simply\ndid not know what he was doing; who in the fullest belief that he\nwas calling the people evoked the rabble, and grasped at the crown\nwithout being himself aware of it, until the inexorable sequence of\nevents urged him irresistibly into the career of the demagogue-tyrant;\nuntil the family commission, the interferences with the public\nfinances, the further \"reforms\" exacted by necessity and despair,\nthe bodyguard from the pavement, and the conflicts in the streets\nbetrayed the lamentable usurper more and more clearly to himself and\nothers; until at length the unchained spirits of revolution seized and\ndevoured the incapable conjurer.  The infamous butchery, through which\nhe perished, condemns itself, as it condemns the aristocratic faction\nwhence it issued; but the glory of martyrdom, with which it has\nembellished the name of Tiberius Gracchus, came in this instance,\nas usually, to the wrong man.  The best of his contemporaries judged\notherwise.  When the catastrophe was announced to Scipio Aemilianus,\nhe uttered the words of Homer:\n\n\"--Os apoloito kai allos, otis toiauta ge pezoi--\"\n\nand when the younger brother of Tiberius seemed disposed to come forward\nin the same career, his own mother wrote to him: \"Shall then our house\nhave no end of madness?  Where shall be the limit?  Have we not yet\nenough to be ashamed of, in having confused and disorganized the state?\"\nSo spoke not the anxious mother, but the daughter of the conqueror of\nCarthage, who knew and experienced a misfortune yet greater than the\ndeath of her children.\n\n\n\n\nChapter III\n\nThe Revolution and Gaius Gracchus\n\nThe Commisssion for Distributing the Domains\n\nTiberius Gracchus was dead; but his two works, the distribution\nof land and the revolution, survived their author.  In presence\nof the starving agricultural proletariate the senate might venture\non a murder, but it could not make use of that murder to annul\nthe Sempronian agrarian law; the law itself had been far more\nstrengthened than shaken by the frantic outbreak of party fury.\nThe party of the aristocracy friendly towards reform, which openly\nfavoured the distribution of the domains--headed by Quintus Metellus,\njust about this time (623) censor, and Publius Scaevola--in concert with\nthe party of Scipio Aemilianus, which was at least not disinclined to\nreform, gained the upper hand for the time being even in the senate;\nand a decree of the senate expressly directed the triumvirs to begin\ntheir labours.  According to the Sempronian law these were to be\nnominated annually by the community, and this was probably done: but\nfrom the nature of their task it was natural that the election should\nfall again and again on the same men, and new elections in the proper\nsense occurred only when a place became vacant through death.  Thus in\nthe place of Tiberius Gracchus there was appointed the father-in-law\nof his brother Gaius, Publius Crassus Mucianus; and after the fall of\nMucianus in 624(1) and the death of Appius Claudius, the business of\ndistribution was managed in concert with the young Gaius Gracchus by\ntwo of the most active leaders of the movement party, Marcus Fulvius\nFlaccus and Gaius Papirius Carbo.  The very names of these men are\nvouchers that the work of resuming and distributing the occupied\ndomain-land was prosecuted with zeal and energy; and, in fact, proofs\nto that effect are not wanting.  As early as 622 the consul of that\nyear, Publius Popillius, the same who directed the prosecutions of\nthe adherents of Tiberius Gracchus, recorded on a public monument that\nhe was \"the first who had turned the shepherds out of the domains and\ninstalled farmers in their stead\"; and tradition otherwise affirms that\nthe distribution extended over all Italy, and that in the formerly\nexisting communities the number of farms was everywhere augmented--for\nit was the design of the Sempronian agrarian law to elevate the farmer-\nclass not by the founding of new communities, but by the strengthening\nof those already in existence.  The extent and the comprehensive effect\nof these distributions are attested by the numerous arrangements\nin the Roman art of land-measuring that go back to the Gracchan\nassignations of land; for instance, a due placing of boundary-stones\nso as to obviate future mistakes appears to have been first called\ninto existence by the Gracchan courts for demarcation and the land-\ndistributions.  But the numbers on the burgess-rolls give the\nclearest evidence.  The census, which was published in 623 and actually\ntook place probably in the beginning of 622, yielded not more than\n319,000 burgesses capable of bearing arms, whereas six years afterwards\n(629) in place of the previous falling-off(2) the number rises to\n395,000, that is 76,000 of an increase--beyond all doubt solely\nin consequence of what the allotment-commission did for the Roman\nburgesses.  Whether it multiplied the farms among the Italians in\nthe same proportion maybe doubted; at any rate what it did accomplish\nyielded a great and beneficent result.  It is true that this\nresult was not achieved without various violations of respectable\ninterests and existing rights.  The allotment-commission, composed\nof the most decided partisans, and absolute judge in its own cause,\nproceeded with its labours in a reckless and even tumultuary fashion;\npublic notices summoned every one, who was able, to give information\nregarding the extent of the domain-lands; the old land-registers were\ninexorably referred to, and not only was occupation new and old\nrevoked without distinction, but in various cases real private\nproperty, as to which the holder was unable satisfactorily to prove\nhis tenure, was included in the confiscation.  Loud and for the most\npart well founded as were the complaints, the senate allowed the\ndistributors to pursue their course; it was clear that, if the\ndomain question was to be settled at all, the matter could not\nbe carried through without such unceremonious vigour of action.\n\nIts Suspension by Scipio Aemilianus\n\nBut this acquiescence had its limit.  The Italian domain-land was not\nsolely in the hands of Roman burgesses; large tracts of it had been\nassigned in exclusive usufruct to particular allied communities by\ndecrees of the people or senate, and other portions had been occupied\nwith or without permission by Latin burgesses.  The allotment-\ncommission at length attacked these possessions also.  The resumption\nof the portions simply occupied by non-burgesses was no doubt allowable\nin formal law, and not less presumably the resumption of the domain-land\nhanded over by decrees of the senate or even by resolutions of the\nburgesses to the Italian communities, since thereby the state by no\nmeans renounced its ownership and to all appearance gave its grants\nto communities, just as to private persons, subject to revocation.\nBut the complaints of these allied or subject communities, that Rome\ndid not keep the settlements that were in force, could not be simply\ndisregarded like the complaints of the Roman citizens injured by the\naction of the commissioners.  Legally the former might be no better\nfounded than the latter; but, while in the latter case the matter\nat stake was the private interests of members of the state, in\nreference to the Latin possessions the question arose, whether it was\npolitically right to give fresh offence to communities so important in\na military point of view and already so greatly estranged from Rome by\nnumerous disabilities de jure and de facto(3) through this keenly-felt\ninjury to their material interests.  The decision lay in the hands\nof the middle party; it was that party which after the fall of\nGracchus had, in league with his adherents, protected reform against\nthe oligarchy, and it alone was now able in concert with the oligarchy\nto set a limit to reform.  The Latins resorted personally to the\nmost prominent man of this party, Scipio Aemilianus, with a request\nthat he would protect their rights.  He promised to do so; and\nmainly through his influence,(4) in 625, a decree of the people\nwithdrew from the commission its jurisdiction, and remitted the\ndecision respecting what were domanial and what private possessions\nto the censors and, as proxies for them, the consuls, to whom according\nto the general principles of law it pertained.  This was simply a\nsuspension of further domain-distribution under a mild form.  The consul\nTuditanus, by no means Gracchan in his views and little inclined to\noccupy himself with the difficult task of agrarian definition,\nembraced the opportunity of going off to the Illyrian army and leaving\nthe duty entrusted to him unfulfilled.  The allotment-commission no\ndoubt continued to subsist, but, as the judicial regulation of the\ndomain-land was at a standstill, it was compelled to remain inactive.\n\nAssassination of Aemilianus\n\nThe reform-party was deeply indignant.  Even men like Publius Mucius\nand Quintus Metellus disapproved of the intervention of Scipio.  Other\ncircles were not content with expressing disapproval.  Scipio had\nannounced for one of the following days an address respecting the\nrelations of the Latins; on the morning of that day he was found dead\nin his bed.  He was but fifty-six years of age, and in full health\nand vigour; he had spoken in public the day before, and then in the\nevening had retired earlier than usual to his bedchamber with a view\nto prepare the outline of his speech for the following day.  That he\nhad been the victim of a political assassination, cannot be doubted;\nhe himself shortly before had publicly mentioned the plots formed\nto murder him.  What assassin's hand had during the night slain\nthe first statesman and the first general of his age, was never\ndiscovered; and it does not become history either to repeat the\nreports handed down from the contemporary gossip of the city, or\nto set about the childish attempt to ascertain the truth out of such\nmaterials.  This much only is clear, that the instigator of the deed\nmust have belonged to the Gracchan party; the assassination of Scipio\nwas the democratic reply to the aristocratic massacre at the temple\nof Fidelity.  The tribunals did not interfere.  The popular party,\njustly fearing that its leaders Gaius Gracchus, Flaccus, and Carbo,\nwhether guilty or not, might be involved in the prosecution, opposed\nwith all its might the institution of an inquiry; and the aristocracy,\nwhich lost in Scipio quite as much an antagonist as an ally, was not\nunwilling to let the matter sleep.  The multitude and men of moderate\nviews were shocked; none more so than Quintus Metellus, who had\ndisapproved of Scipio's interference against reform, but turned away\nwith horror from such confederates, and ordered his four sons to carry\nthe bier of his great antagonist to the funeral pile.  The funeral\nwas hurried over; with veiled head the last of the family of the\nconqueror of Zama was borne forth, without any one having been\npreviously allowed to see the face of the deceased, and the flames\nof the funeral pile consumed with the remains of the illustrious\nman the traces at the same time of the crime.\n\nThe history of Rome presents various men of greater genius than Scipio\nAemilianus, but none equalling him in moral purity, in the utter\nabsence of political selfishness, in generous love of his country,\nand none, perhaps, to whom destiny has assigned a more tragic part.\nConscious of the best intentions and of no common abilities, he was\ndoomed to see the ruin of his country carried out before his eyes,\nand to repress within him every earnest attempt to save it, because\nhe clearly perceived that he should only thereby make the evil worse;\ndoomed to the necessity of sanctioning outrages like that of Nasica,\nand at the same time of defending the work of the victim against\nhis murderers.  Yet he might say that he had not lived in vain.\nIt was to him, at least quite as much as to the author of the\nSempronian law, that the Roman burgesses were indebted for an increase\nof nearly 80,000 new farm-allotments; he it was too who put a stop to\nthis distribution of the domains, when it had produced such benefit\nas it could produce.  That it was time to break it off, was no doubt\ndisputed at the moment even by well-meaning men; but the fact that\nGaius Gracchus did not seriously recur to those possessions which\nmight have been, and yet were not, distributed under the law of his\nbrother, tells very much in favour of the belief that Scipio hit\nsubstantially the right moment.  Both measures were extorted from\nthe parties--the first from the aristocracy, the second from the\nfriends of reform; for each its author paid with his life.  It was\nScipio's lot to fight for his country on many a battle-field and to\nreturn home uninjured, that he might perish there by the hand of an\nassassin; but in his quiet chamber he no less died for Rome than if\nhe had fallen before the walls of Carthage.\n\nDemocratic Agitation under Carbo and Flaccus\n\nThe distribution of land was at an end; the revolution went on.\nThe revolutionary party, which possessed in the allotment-commission\nas it were a constituted leadership, had even in the lifetime of Scipio\nskirmished now and then with the existing government.  Carbo, in\nparticular, one of the most distinguished men of his time in oratorical\ntalent, had as tribune of the people in 623 given no small trouble to\nthe senate; had carried voting by ballot in the burgess-assemblies, so\nfar as it had not been introduced already;(5) and had even made the\nsignificant proposal to leave the tribunes of the people free to\nreappear as candidates for the same office in the year immediately\nfollowing, and thus legally to remove the obstacle by which Tiberius\nGracchus had primarily been thwarted.  The scheme had been at that\ntime frustrated by the resistance of Scipio; some years later,\napparently after his death, the law was reintroduced and carried\nthrough, although with limiting clauses.(6) The principal object\nof the party, however, was to revive the action of the allotment-\ncommission which had been practically suspended; the leaders seriously\ntalked of removing the obstacles which the Italian allies interposed\nto the scheme by conferring on them the rights of citizenship, and the\nagitation assumed mainly that direction.  In order to meet it, the\nsenate in 628 got the tribune of the people Marcus Junius Pennus to\npropose the dismissal of all non-burgesses from the capital, and\nin spite of the resistance of the democrats, particularly of Gaius\nGracchus, and of the ferment occasioned by this odious measure in the\nLatin communities, the proposal was carried.  Marcus Fulvius Flaccus\nretorted in the following year (629) as consul with the proposal to\nfacilitate the acquisition of burgess-rights by the burgesses of the\nallied communities, and to concede even to those who had not acquired\nthem an appeal to the Roman comitia against penal judgments.  But he\nstood almost alone--Carbo had meanwhile changed his colours and was\nnow a zealous aristocrat, Gaius Gracchus was absent as quaestor in\nSardinia--and the project was frustrated by the resistance not of the\nsenate merely, but also of the burgesses, who were but little inclined\nto extend their privileges to still wider circles.  Flaccus left Rome\nto undertake the supreme command against the Celts; by his Transalpine\nconquests he prepared the way for the great schemes of the democracy,\nwhile he at the same time withdrew out of the difficulty of having to\nbear arms against the allies instigated by himself.\n\nDestruction of Fregallae\n\nFregellae, situated on the borders of Latium and Campania at the\nprincipal passage of the Liris in the midst of a large and fertile\nterritory, at that time perhaps the second city of Italy and in the\ndiscussions with Rome the usual mouthpiece of all the Latin colonies,\nbegan war against Rome in consequence of the rejection of the proposal\nbrought in by Flaccus--the first instance which had occurred for a\nhundred and fifty years of a serious insurrection, not brought about\nby foreign powers, in Italy against the Roman hegemony.  But on this\noccasion the fire was successfully extinguished before it had caught\nhold of other allied communities.  Not through the superiority of\nthe Roman arms, but through the treachery of a Fregellan Quintus\nNumitorius Pullus, the praetor Lucius Opimius quickly became master\nof the revolted city, which lost its civic privileges and its walls\nand was converted like Capua into a village.  The colony of Fabrateria\nwas founded on a part of its territory in 630; the remainder and\nthe former city itself were distributed among the surrounding\ncommunities.  This rapid and fearful punishment alarmed the\nallies, and endless impeachments for high treason pursued not only\nthe Fregellans, but also the leaders of the popular party in Rome,\nwho naturally were regarded by the aristocracy as accomplices in\nthis insurrection.  Meanwhile Gaius Gracchus reappeared in Rome.\nThe aristocracy had first sought to detain the object of their dread\nin Sardinia by omitting to provide the usual relief, and then, when\nwithout caring for that point he returned, had brought him to trial\nas one of the authors of the Fregellan revolt (629-30).  But the\nburgesses acquitted him; and now he too threw down the gauntlet,\nbecame a candidate for the tribuneship of the people, and was\nnominated to that office for the year 631 in an elective assembly\nattended by unusual numbers.  War was thus declared.  The democratic\nparty, always poor in leaders of ability, had from sheer necessity\nremained virtually at rest for nine years; now the truce was at an\nend, and this time it was headed by a man who, with more honesty\nthan Carbo and with more talent than Flaccus, was in every respect\ncalled to take the lead.\n\nGaius Gracchus\n\nGaius Gracchus (601-633) was very different from his brother, who\nwas about nine years older.  Like the latter, he had no relish for\nvulgar pleasures and vulgar pursuits; he was a man of thorough\nculture and a brave soldier; he had served with distinction before\nNumantia under his brother-in-law, and afterwards in Sardinia.\nBut in talent, in character, and above all in passion he was decidedly\nsuperior to Tiberius.  The clearness and self-possession, which the\nyoung man afterwards displayed amidst the pressure of all the varied\nlabours requisite for the practical carrying out of his numerous laws,\nbetokened his genuine statesmanly talent; as the passionate devotedness\nfaithful even to death, with which his intimate friends clung to\nhim, evinced the loveable nature of that noble mind.  The discipline\nof suffering which he had undergone, and his compulsory reserve during\nthe last nine years, augmented his energy of purpose and action; the\nindignation repressed within the depths of his breast only glowed there\nwith an intensified fervour against the party which had disorganized\nhis country and murdered his brother.  By virtue of this fearful\nvehemence of temperament he became the foremost orator that Rome ever\nhad; without it, we should probably have been able to reckon him among\nthe first statesmen of all times.  Among the few remains of his\nrecorded orations several are, even in their present condition, of\nheart-stirring power;(7) and we can well understand how those who heard\nor even merely read them were carried away by the impetuous torrent\nof his words.  Yet, great master as he was of speech, he was himself\nnot unfrequently mastered by anger, so that the utterance of the\nbrilliant speaker became confused or faltering.  It was the true image\nof his political acting and suffering.  In the nature of Gaius there was\nno vein, such as his brother had, of that somewhat sentimental but very\nshort-sighted and confused good-nature, which would have desired to\nchange the mind of a political opponent by entreaties and tears; with\nfull assurance he entered on the career of revolution and strove to\nreach the goal of vengeance.  \"To me too,\" his mother wrote to him,\n\"nothing seems finer and more glorious than to retaliate on an enemy,\nso far as it can be done without the country's ruin.  But if this is\nnot possible, then may our enemies continue and remain what they are,\na thousand times rather than that our country should perish.\"\nCornelia knew her son; his creed was just the reverse.  Vengeance he\nwould wreak on the wretched government, vengeance at any price, though\nhe himself and even the commonwealth were to be ruined by it--the\npresentiment, that fate would overtake him as certainly as his brother,\ndrove him only to make haste like a man mortally wounded who throws\nhimself on the foe.  The mother thought more nobly; but the son--\nwith his deeply provoked, passionately excited, thoroughly Italian\nnature--has been more lamented than blamed by posterity, and posterity\nhas been right in its judgment.\n\nAlterations on the Constituion by Gaius Gracchus\nDistribution of Grain\nChange in the Order of Voting\n\nTiberius Gracchus had come before the burgesses with a single\nadministrative reform.  What Gaius introduced in a series of separate\nproposals was nothing else than an entirely new constitution; the\nfoundation-stone of which was furnished by the innovation previously\ncarried through, that a tribune of the people should be at liberty to\nsolicit re-election for the following year.(8) While this step enabled\nthe popular chief to acquire a permanent position and one which\nprotected its holder, the next object was to secure for him material\npower or, in other words, to attach the multitude of the capital--for\nthat no reliance was to be placed on the country people coming only\nfrom time to time to the city, had been sufficiently apparent--with its\ninterests steadfastly to its leader.  This purpose was served, first of\nall, by introducing distributions of corn in the capital.  The grain\naccruing to the state from the provincial tenths had already been\nfrequently given away at nominal prices to the burgesses.(9) Gracchus\nenacted that every burgess who should personally present himself in the\ncapital should thenceforth be allowed monthly a definite quantity--\napparently 5 -modii- (1 1/4 bushel)--from the public stores, at 6 1/3\n-asses- (3d.) for the -modius-, or not quite the half of a low average\nprice;(10) for which purpose the public corn-stores were enlarged by the\nconstruction of the new Sempronian granaries.  This distribution--which\nconsequently excluded the burgesses living out of the capital, and\ncould not but attract to Rome the whole mass of the burgess-\nproletariate--was designed to bring the burgess-proletariate of the\ncapital, which hitherto had mainly depended on the aristocracy, into\ndependence on the leaders of the movement-party, and thus to supply\nthe new master of the state at once with a body-guard and with a firm\nmajority in the comitia.  For greater security as regards the latter,\nmoreover, the order of voting still subsisting in the -comitia\ncenturiata-, according to which the five property-classes in each\ntribe gave their votes one after another,(11) was done away; instead\nof this, all the centuries were in future to vote promiscuously in an\norder of succession to be fixed on each occasion by lot.  While these\nenactments were mainly designed to procure for the new chief of the\nstate by means of the city-proletariate the complete command of the\ncapital and thereby of the state, the amplest control over the comitial\nmachinery, and the possibility in case of need of striking terror into\nthe senate and magistrates, the legislator certainly at the same\ntime set himself with earnestness and energy to redress the\nexisting social evils.\n\nAgrarian Laws\nColony of Capua\nTransmarine Colonialization\n\nIt is true that the Italian domain question was in a certain sense\nsettled.  The agrarian law of Tiberius and even theallotment-commission\nstill continued legally in force; the agrarian law carried by Gracchus\ncan have enacted nothing new save the restoration to the commissioners\nof the jurisdiction which they had lost.  That the object of this step\nwas only to save the principle, and that the distribution of lands,\nif resumed at all, was resumed only to a very limited extent, is\nshown by the burgess-roll, which gives exactly the same number of\npersons for the years 629 and 639.  Gaius beyond doubt did not\nproceed further in this matter, because the domain-land taken\ninto possession by Roman burgesses was already in substance distributed,\nand the question as to the domains enjoyed by the Latins could only\nbe taken up anew in connection with the very difficult question as\nto the extension of Roman citizenship.  On the other hand he took an\nimportant step beyond the agrarian law of Tiberius, when he proposed\nthe establishment of colonies in Italy--at Tarentum, and more\nespecially at Capua--and by that course rendered the domain-land,\nwhich had been let on lease by the state and was hitherto excluded\nfrom distribution, liable to be also parcelled out, not, however,\naccording to the previous method, which excluded the founding of new\ncommunities,(12) but according to the colonial system.  Beyond doubt\nthese colonies were also designed to aid in permanently defending the\nrevolution to which they owed their existence.  Still more significant\nand momentous was the measure, by which Gaius Gracchus first proceeded\nto provide for the Italian proletariate in the transmarine territories\nof the state.  He despatched to the site on which Carthage had stood\n6000 colonists selected perhaps not merely from Roman burgesses but\nalso from the Italian allies, and conferred on the new town Junonia\nthe rights of a Roman burgess-colony.  The foundation was important,\nbut still more important was the principle of transmarine emigration\nthereby laid down.  It opened up for the Italian proletariate a\npermanent outlet, and a relief in fact more than provisional; but\nit certainly abandoned the principle of state-law hitherto in force,\nby which Italy was regarded as exclusively the governing, and the\nprovincial territory as exclusively the governed, land.\n\nModifications of the Penal Law\n\nTo these measures having immediate reference to the great question of\nthe proletariate there was added a series of enactments, which arose\nout of the general tendency to introduce principles milder and more\naccordant with the spirit of the age than the antiquated severity of\nthe existing constitution.  To this head belong the modifications in\nthe military system.  As to the length of the period of service there\nexisted under the ancient law no other limit, except that no citizen\nwas liable to ordinary service in the field before completing his\nseventeenth or after completing his forty-sixth year.  When, in\nconsequence of the occupation of Spain, the service began to become\npermanent,(13) it seems to have been first legally enacted that any\none who had been in the field for six successive years acquired thereby\na right to discharge, although this discharge did not protect him from\nbeing called out again afterwards.  At a later period, perhaps about\nthe beginning of this century, the rule arose, that a service of\ntwenty years in the infantry or ten years in the cavalry gave exemption\nfrom further military service.(14) Gracchus renewed the rule--which\npresumably was often violently infringed--that no burgess should be\nenlisted in the army before the commencement of his eighteenth year;\nand also, apparently, restricted the number of campaigns requisite\nfor full exemption from military duty.  Besides, the clothing of the\nsoldiers, the value of which had hitherto been deducted from their pay,\nwas henceforward furnished gratuitously by the state.\n\nTo this head belongs, moreover, the tendency which is on various\noccasions apparent in the Gracchan legislation, if not to abolish\ncapital punishment, at any rate to restrict it still further than had\nbeen done before--a tendency, which to some extent made itself felt even\nin military jurisdiction.  From the very introduction of the republic\nthe magistrate had lost the right of inflicting capital punishment on\nthe burgess without consulting the community, except under martial\nlaw;(15) if this right of appeal by the burgess appears soon after\nthe period of the Gracchi available even in the camp, and the right\nof the general to inflict capital punishments appears restricted to\nallies and subjects, the source of the change is probably to be sought\nin the law of Gaius Gracchus -de provocatione- But the right of the\ncommunity to inflict or rather to confirm sentence of death was\nindirectly yet essentially limited by the fact, that Gracchus withdrew\nthe cognizance of those public crimes which most frequently gave\noccasion to capital sentences--poisoning and murder generally--\nfrom the burgesses, and entrusted it to permanent judicial commissions.\nThese could not, like the tribunals of the people, be broken up by\nthe intercession of a tribune, and there not only lay no appeal from\nthem to the community, but their sentences were as little subject to\nbe annulled by the community as those of the long-established civil\njurymen.  In the burgess-tribunals it had, especially in strictly\npolitical processes, no doubt long been the rule that the accused\nremained at liberty during his trial, and was allowed by\nsurrendering his burgess-rights to save at least life and freedom;\nfor the fine laid on property, as well as the civil condemnation,\nmight still affect even the exiled.  But preliminary arrest and\ncomplete execution of the sentence remained in such cases at least\nlegally possible, and were still sometimes carried into effect even\nagainst persons of rank; for instance, Lucius Hostilius Tubulus,\npraetor of 612, who was capitally impeached for a heinous crime,\nwas refused the privilege of exile, arrested, and executed.  On the\nother hand the judicial commissions, which originated out of the civil\nprocedure, probably could not at the outset touch the liberty or\nlife of the citizen, but at the most could only pronounce sentence\nof exile; this, which had hitherto been a mitigation of punishment\naccorded to one who was found guilty, now became for the first time a\nformal penalty This involuntary exile however, like the voluntary, left\nto the person banished his property, so far as it was not exhausted\nin satisfying claims for compensation and money-fines.  Lastly, in\nthe matter of debt Gaius Gracchus made no alteration; but very\nrespectable authorities assert that he held out to those in debt the\nhope of a diminution or remission of claims--which, if it is correct,\nmust likewise be reckoned among those radically popular measures.\n\nElevation of the Equestrian Order\n\nWhile Gracchus thus leaned on the support of the multitude, which\npartly expected, partly received from him a material improvement\nof its position, he laboured with equal energy at the ruin of the\naristocracy.  Perceiving clearly how insecure was the rule of the\nhead of the state built merely on the proletariate, he applied himself\nabove all to split the aristocracy and to draw a part of it over to\nhis interests.  The elements of such a rupture were already in\nexistence.  The aristocracy of the rich, which had risen as one man\nagainst Tiberius Gracchus, consisted in fact of two essentially\ndissimilar bodies, which may be in some measure compared to the\npeerage and the city aristocracy of England.  The one embraced the\npractically closed circle of the governing senatorial families who\nkept aloof from direct speculation and invested their immense capital\npartly in landed property, partly as sleeping partners in the great\nassociations.  The core of the second class was composed of the\nspeculators, who, as managers of these companies, or on their own\naccount, conducted the large mercantile and pecuniary transactions\nthroughout the range of the Roman hegemony.  We have already shown(16)\nhow the latter class, especially in the course of the sixth century,\ngradually took its place by the side of the senatorial aristocracy,\nand how the legal exclusion of the senators from mercantile pursuits\nby the Claudian enactment, suggested by Gaius Flaminius the precursor\nof the Gracchi, drew an outward line of demarcation between the senators\nand the mercantile and moneyed men.  In the present epoch the mercantile\naristocracy began, under the name of the -equites-, to exercise a\ndecisive influence in political affairs.  This appellation, which\noriginally belonged only to the burgess-cavalry on service, came\ngradually to be transferred, at any rate in ordinary use, to all\nthose who, as possessors of an estate of at least 400,000 sesterces,\nwere liable to cavalry service in general, and thus comprehended the\nwhole of the upper society, senatorial and non-senatorial, in Rome.\nBut not long before the time of Gaius Gracchus the law had declared\na seat in the senate incompatible with service in the cavalry,(17) and\nthe senators were thus eliminated from those qualified to be equites;\nand accordingly the equestrian order, taken as a whole, might be regarded\nas representing the aristocracy of speculators in contradistinction\nto the senate.  Nevertheless those members of senatorial families who\nhad not entered the senate, especially the younger members, did not\ncease to serve as equites and consequently to bear the name; and,\nin fact, the burgess-cavalry properly so called--that is, the\neighteen equestrian centuries--in consequence of being made up\nby the censors continued to be chiefly filled up from the young\nsenatorial aristocracy.(18)\n\nThis order of the equites--that is to say, substantially, of the\nwealthy merchants--in various ways came roughly into contact with\nthe governing senate.  There was a natural antipathy between the\ngenteel aristocrats and the men to whom money had brought rank.\nThe ruling lords, especially the better class of them, stood just\nas much aloof from speculations, as the men of material interests\nwere indifferent to political questions and coterie-feuds.  The two\nclasses had already frequently come into sharp collision, particularly\nin the provinces; for, though in general the provincials had far more\nreason than the Roman capitalists had to complain of the partiality of\nthe Roman magistrates, yet the ruling lords of the senate did not lend\ncountenance to the greedy and unjust doings of the moneyed men, at\nthe expense of the subjects, so thoroughly and absolutely as those\ncapitalists desired.  In spite of their concord in opposing a common\nfoe such as was Tiberius Gracchus, a deep gulf lay between the nobility\nand the moneyed aristocracy; and Gaius, more adroit than his brother,\nenlarged it till the alliance was broken up and the mercantile class\nranged itself on his side.\n\nInsignia of the Equites\n\nThat the external privileges, through which afterwards the men of\nequestrian census were distinguished from the rest of the multitude--\nthe golden finger-ring instead of the ordinary ring of iron or copper,\nand the separate and better place at the burgess-festivals--were first\nconferred on the equites by Gaius Gracchus, is not certain, but is not\nimprobable.  For they emerged at any rate about this period, and, as\nthe extension of these hitherto mainly senatorial privileges(19) to\nthe equestrian order which he brought into prominence was quite in\nthe style of Gracchus, so it was in very truth his aim to impress on\nthe equites the stamp of an order, similarly close and privileged,\nintermediate between the senatorial aristocracy and the common multitude;\nand this same aim was more promoted by those class-insignia, trifling\nthough they were in themselves and though many qualified to be equites\nmight not avail themselves of them, than by many an ordinance far\nmore intrinsically important.  But the party of material interests,\nthough it by no means despised such honours, was yet not to be\ngained through these alone.  Gracchus perceived well that it would\ndoubtless duly fall to the highest bidder, but that it needed a high\nand substantial bidding; and so he offered to it the revenues of Asia\nand the jury courts.\n\nTaxation of Asia\n\nThe system of Roman financial administration, under which the indirect\ntaxes as well as the domain-revenues were levied by means of\nmiddlemen, in itself granted to the Roman capitalist-class the most\nextensive advantages at the expense of those liable to taxation.\nBut the direct taxes consisted either, as in most provinces, of fixed\nsums of money payable by the communities--which of itself excluded\nthe intervention of Roman capitalists--or, as in Sicily and Sardinia,\nof a ground-tenth, the levying of which for each particular community\nwas leased in the provinces themselves, so that wealthy provincials\nregularly, and the tributary communities themselves very frequently,\nfarmed the tenth of their districts and thereby kept at a distance\nthe dangerous Roman middlemen.  Six years before, when the province\nof Asia had fallen to the Romans, the senate had organized it\nsubstantially according to the first system.(20) Gaius Gracchus(21)\noverturned this arrangement by a decree of the people, and not only\nburdened the province, which had hitherto been almost free from\ntaxation, with the most extensive indirect and direct taxes,\nparticularly the ground-tenth, but also enacted that these taxes\nshould be exposed to auction for the province as a whole and in Rome--\na rule which practically excluded the provincials from participation,\nand called into existence in the body of middlemen for the -decumae-,\n-scriptura-, and -vectigalia- of the province of Asia an association of\ncapitalists of colossal magnitude.  A significant indication, moreover,\nof the endeavour of Gracchus to make the order of capitalists\nindependent of the senate was the enactment, that the entire or\npartial remission of the stipulated rent was no longer, as hitherto,\nto be granted by the senate at discretion, but was under definite\ncontingencies to be accorded by law.\n\nJury Courts\n\nWhile a gold mine was thus opened for the mercantile class, and the\nmembers of the new partnership constituted a great financial power\nimposing even for the government--a \"senate of merchants\"-a definite\nsphere of public action was at the same time assigned to them in\nthe jury courts.  The field of the criminal procedure, which by right\ncame before the burgesses, was among the Romans from the first very\nnarrow, and was, as we have already stated,(22) still further narrowed\nby Gracchus; most processes--both such as related to public crimes, and\ncivil causes--were decided either by single jurymen [-indices-], or by\ncommissions partly permanent, partly extraordinary.  Hitherto both the\nformer and the latter had been exclusively taken from the senate;\nGracchus transferred the functions of jurymen--both in strictly civil\nprocesses, and in the case of the standing and temporary commissions--\nto the equestrian order, directing a new list of jurymen to be\nannually formed after the analogy of the equestrian centuries from\nall persons of equestrian rating, and excluding the senators\ndirectly, and the young men of senatorial families by the fixing of\na certain limit of age, from such judicial functions.(23) It is not\nimprobable that the selection of jurymen was chiefly made to fall\non the same men who played the leading part in the great mercantile\nassociations, particularly those farming the revenues in Asia and\nelsewhere, just because these had a very close personal interest in\nsitting in the courts; and, if the lists of jurymen and the societies\nof -publicani- thus coincided as regards their chiefs, we can all\nthe better understand the significance of the counter-senate thus\nconstituted.  The substantial effect of this was, that, while hitherto\nthere had been only two authorities in the state--the government as the\nadministering and controlling, and the burgesses as the legislative,\nauthority--and the courts had been divided between them, now the moneyed\naristocracy was not only united into a compact and privileged class on\nthe solid basis of material interests, but also, as a judicial and\ncontrolling power, formed part of the state and took its place almost\non a footing of equality by the side of the ruling aristocracy.  All\nthe old antipathies of the merchants against the nobility could not\nbut thenceforth find only too practical an expression in the sentences\nof the jurymen; above all, when the provincial governors were called\nto a reckoning, the senator had to await a decision involving his\ncivic existence at the hands no longer as formerly of his peers,\nbut of great merchants and bankers.  The feuds between the Roman\ncapitalists and the Roman governors were transplanted from the\nprovincial administration to the dangerous field of these processes\nof reckoning.  Not only was the aristocracy of the rich divided, but\ncare was taken that the variance should always find fresh nourishment\nand easy expression.\n\nMonarchical Government Substituted for That of the Senate\n\nWith his weapons--the proletariate and the mercantile class--thus\nprepared, Gracchus set about his main work, the overthrow of the\nruling aristocracy.  The overthrow of the senate meant, on the one\nhand, the depriving it of its essential functions by legislative\nalterations; and on the other hand, the ruining of the existing\naristocracy by measures of a more personal and transient kind.\nGracchus did both.  The function of administration, in particular,\nhad hitherto belonged exclusively to the senate; Gracchus took it away,\npartly by settling the most important administrative questions by means\nof comitial laws or, in other words, practically through tribunician\ndictation, partly by restricting the senate as much as possible\nin current affairs, partly by taking business after the most\ncomprehensive fashion into his own hands.  The measures of the\nformer kind have been mentioned already: the new master of the state\nwithout consulting the senate dealt with the state-chest, by imposing\na permanent and oppressive burden on the public finances in the\ndistribution of corn; dealt with the domains, by sending out colonies\nnot as hitherto by decree of the senate and people, but by decree of\nthe people alone; and dealt with the provincial administration, by\noverturning through a law of the people the financial constitution given\nby the senate to the province of Asia and substituting for it one\naltogether different.  One of the most important of the current duties\nof the senate--that of fixing at its pleasure the functions for the\ntime being of the two consuls--was not withdrawn from it; but the\nindirect pressure hitherto exercised in this way over the supreme\nmagistrates was limited by directing the senate to fix these functions\nbefore the consuls concerned were elected.  With unrivalled\nactivity, lastly, Gaius concentrated the most varied and most\ncomplicated functions of government in his own person.  He himself\nwatched over the distribution of grain, selected the jurymen, founded\nthe colonies in person notwithstanding that his magistracy legally\nchained him to the city, regulated the highways and concluded building-\ncontracts, led the discussions of the senate, settled the consular\nelections--in short, he accustomed the people to the fact that one man\nwas foremost in all things, and threw the lax and lame administration\nof the senatorial college into the shade by the vigour and versatility\nof his personal rule.  Gracchus interfered with the judicial\nomnipotence, still more energetically than with the administration,\nof the senate.  We have already mentioned that he set aside the\nsenators as jurymen; the same course was taken with the jurisdiction\nwhich the senate as the supreme administrative board allowed to itself\nin exceptional cases.  Under severe penalties he prohibited--\napparently in his renewal of the law -de provocatione-(24)--the\nappointment of extraordinary commissions of high treason by decree\nof the senate, such as that which after his brother's murder had sat\nin judgment on his adherents.  The aggregate effect of these measures\nwas, that the senate wholly lost the power of control, and retained\nonly so much of administration as the head of the state thought fit\nto leave to it.  But these constitutive measures were not enough; the\ngoverning aristocracy for the time being was also directly assailed.\nIt was a mere act of revenge, which assigned retrospective effect to\nthe last-mentioned law and thereby compelled Publius Popillius--the\naristocrat who after the death of Nasica, which had occurred in the\ninterval, was chiefly obnoxious to the democrats--to go into exile.\nIt is remarkable that this proposal was only carried by 18 to 17\nvotes in the assembly of the tribes--a sign how much the influence\nof the aristocracy still availed with the multitude, at least in\nquestions of a personal interest.  A similar but far less justifiable\ndecree--the proposal, directed against Marcus Octavius, that whoever\nhad been deprived of his office by decree of the people should be\nfor ever incapable of filling a public post--was recalled by Gaius\nat the request of his mother; and he was thus spared the disgrace\nof openly mocking justice by legalizing a notorious violation of\nthe constitution, and of taking base vengeance on a man of honour,\nwho had not spoken an angry word against Tiberius and had only acted\nconstitutionally and in accordance with what he conceived to be\nhis duty.  But of very different importance from these measures was\nthe scheme of Gaius--which, it is true, was hardly carried into effect--\nto strengthen the senate by 300 new members, that is, by just about as\nmany as it hitherto had contained, and to have them elected from the\nequestrian order by the comitia--a creation of peers after the most\ncomprehensive style, which would have reduced the senate into the most\ncomplete dependence on the chief of the state.\n\nCharacter of the Constitution of Gaius Gracchus\n\nThis was the political constitution which Gaius Gracchus projected\nand, in its most essential points, carried out during the two years\nof his tribunate (631, 632), without, so far as we can see,\nencountering any resistance worthy of mention, and without requiring\nto apply force for the attainment of his ends.  The order of sequence\nin which these measures were carried can no longer be recognized in\nthe confused accounts handed down to us, and various questions that\nsuggest themselves have to remain unanswered.  But it does not seem\nas if, in what is missing, many elements of material importance have\nescaped us; for as to the principal matters we have quite trustworthy\ninformation, and Gaius was by no means, like his brother, urged on\nfurther and further by the current of events, but evidently had a well-\nconsidered and comprehensive plan, the substance of which he fully\nembodied in a series of special laws.  Now the Sempronian constitution\nitself shows very clearly to every one who is able and willing to\nsee, that Gaius Gracchus did not at all, as many good-natured\npeople in ancient and modern times have supposed, wish to place\nthe Roman republic on new democratic bases, but that on the contrary\nhe wished to abolish it and to introduce in its stead a -tyrannis---\nthat is, in modern language, a monarchy not of the feudal or of the\ntheocratic, but of the Napoleonic absolute, type--in the form of a\nmagistracy continued for life by regular re-election and rendered\nabsolute by an unconditional control over the formally sovereign\ncomitia, an unlimited tribuneship of the people for life.  In fact\nif Gracchus, as his words and still more his works plainly testify,\naimed at the overthrow of the government of the senate, what other\npolitical organization but the -tyrannis- remained possible, after\noverthrowing the aristocratic government, in a commonwealth which\nhad outgrown primary assemblies and for which parliamentary government\ndid not exist? Dreamers such as was his predecessor, and knaves such\nas after-times produced, might call this in question; but Gaius\nGracchus was a statesman, and though the formal shape, which that great\nman had inwardly projected for his great work, has not been handed\ndown to us and may be conceived of very variously, yet he was beyond\ndoubt aware of what he was doing.  Little as the intention of\nusurping monarchical power can be mistaken, as little will those\nwho survey the whole circumstances on this account blame Gracchus.\nAn absolute monarchy is a great misfortune for a nation, but it is\na less misfortune than an absolute oligarchy; and history cannot\ncensure one who imposes on a nation the lesser suffering instead\nof the greater, least of all in the case of a nature so vehemently\nearnest and so far aloof from all that is vulgar as was that of Gaius\nGracchus.  Nevertheless it may not conceal the fact that his whole\nlegislation was pervaded in a most pernicious way by conflicting\naims; for on the one hand it aimed at the public good, while on the\nother hand it ministered to the personal objects and in fact the\npersonal vengeance of the ruler.  Gracchus earnestly laboured to find\na remedy for social evils, and to check the spread of pauperism; yet\nhe at the same time intentionally reared up a street proletariate of\nthe worst kind in the capital by his distributions of corn, which were\ndesigned to be, and became, a premium to all the lazy and hungry civic\nrabble.  Gracchus censured in the bitterest terms the venality of\nthe senate, and in particular laid bare with unsparing and just\nseverity the scandalous traffic which Manius Aquillius had driven with\nthe provinces of Asia Minor;(25) yet it was through the efforts of\nthe same man that the sovereign populace of the capital got itself\nalimented, in return for its cares of government, by the body of its\nsubjects.  Gracchus warmly disapproved the disgraceful spoliation of\nthe provinces, and not only instituted proceedings of wholesome\nseverity in particular cases, but also procured the abolition of the\nthoroughly insufficient senatorial courts, before which even Scipio\nAemilianus had vainly staked his whole influence to bring the most\ndecided criminals to punishment.  Yet he at the same time, by the\nintroduction of courts composed of merchants, surrendered the\nprovincials with their hands fettered to the party of material\ninterests, and thereby to a despotism still more unscrupulous than\nthat of the aristocracy had been; and he introduced into Asia a\ntaxation, compared with which even the form of taxation current after\nthe Carthaginian model in Sicily might be called mild and humane--\njust because on the one hand he needed the party of moneyed men,\nand on the other hand required new and comprehensive resources to\nmeet his distributions of grain and the other burdens newly imposed\non the finances.  Gracchus beyond doubt desired a firm administration\nand a well-regulated dispensing of justice, as numerous thoroughly\njudicious ordinances testify; yet his new system of administration\nrested on a continuous series of individual usurpations only formally\nlegalized, and he intentionally drew the judicial system--which every\nwell-ordered state will endeavour as far as possible to place, if not\nabove political parties, at any rate aloof from them--into the midst\nof the whirlpool of revolution.  Certainly the blame of these\nconflicting tendencies in Gaius Gracchus is chargeable to a very great\nextent on his position rather than on himself personally.  On the\nvery threshold of the -tyrannis- he was confronted by the fatal\ndilemma, moral and political, that the same man had at one and the\nsame time to maintain his ground, we may say, as a robber-chieftain\nand to lead the state as its first citizen--a dilemma to which\nPericles, Caesar, and Napoleon had also to make dangerous sacrifices.\nBut the conduct of Gaius Gracchus cannot be wholly explained from\nthis necessity; along with it there worked in him the consuming\npassion, the glowing revenge, which foreseeing its own destruction\nhurls the firebrand into the house of the foe.  He has himself\nexpressed what he thought of his ordinance as to the jurymen and similar\nmeasures intended to divide the aristocracy; he called them daggers\nwhich he had thrown into the Forum that the burgesses--the men of\nrank, obviously--might lacerate each other with them.  He was a\npolitical incendiary.  Not only was the hundred years' revolution which\ndates from him, so far as it was one man's work, the work of Gaius\nGracchus, but he was above all the true founder of that terrible\nurban proletariate flattered and paid by the classes above it, which\nthrough its aggregation in the capital--the natural consequence of\nthe largesses of corn--became at once utterly demoralized and aware\nof its power, and which--with its demands, sometimes stupid, sometimes\nknavish, and its talk of the sovereignty of the people--lay like\nan incubus for five hundred years upon the Roman commonwealth and\nonly perished along with it And yet--this greatest of political\ntransgressors was in turn the regenerator of his country.  There is\nscarce a structural idea in Roman monarchy, which is not traceable\nto Gaius Gracchus.  From him proceeded the maxim--founded doubtless\nin a certain sense in the nature of the old traditional laws of war,\nbut yet, in the extension and practical application now given to it,\nforeign to the older state-law--that all the land of the subject\ncommunities was to be regarded as the private property of the state;\na maxim, which was primarily employed to vindicate the right of the\nstate to tax that land at pleasure, as was the case in Asia, or to\napply it for the institution of colonies, as was done in Africa,\nand which became afterwards a fundamental principle of law under the\nempire.  From him proceeded the tactics, whereby demagogues and\ntyrants, leaning for support on material interests, break down the\ngoverning Aristocracy, but subsequently legitimize the change of\nconstitution by substituting a strict and efficient administration\nfor the previous misgovernment.  To him, in particular, are traceable\nthe first steps towards such a reconciliation between Rome and the\nprovinces as the establishment of monarchy could not but bring in its\ntrain; the attempt to rebuild Carthage destroyed by Italian rivalry\nand generally to open the way for Italian emigration towards the\nprovinces, formed the first link in the long chain of that momentous\nand beneficial course of action.  Right and wrong, fortune and\nmisfortune were so inextricably blended in this singular man\nand in this marvellous political constellation, that it may well\nbeseem history in this case--though it beseems her but seldom--\nto reserve her judgment.\n\nThe Question As to the Allies\n\nWhen Gracchus had substantially completed the new constitution\nprojected by him for the state, he applied himself to a second and\nmore difficult work.  The question as to the Italian allies was still\nundecided.  What were the views of the democratic leaders regarding\nit, had been rendered sufficiently apparent.(26) They naturally\ndesired the utmost possible extension of the Roman franchise, not\nmerely that they might bring in the domains occupied by the Latins for\ndistribution, but above all that they might strengthen their body of\nadherents by the enormous mass of the new burgesses, might bring the\ncomitial machine still more fully under their power by widening the\nbody of privileged electors, and generally might abolish a distinction\nwhich had now with the fall of the republican constitution lost all\nserious importance.  But here they encountered resistance from their\nown party, and especially from that band which otherwise readily gave\nits sovereign assent to all which it did or did not understand.\nFor the simple reason that Roman citizenship seemed to these people,\nso to speak, like a partnership which gave them a claim to share in\nsundry very tangible profits, direct and indirect, they were not at\nall disposed to enlarge the number of the partners.  The rejection\nof the Fulvian law in 629, and the insurrection of the Fregellans\narising out of it, were significant indications both of the obstinate\nperseverance of the fraction of the burgesses that ruled the comitia,\nand of the impatient urgency of the allies.  Towards the end of his\nsecond tribunate (632) Gracchus, probably urged by obligations which\nhe had undertaken towards the allies, ventured on a second attempt.\nIn concert with Marcus Flaccus--who, although a consular, had again\ntaken the tribuneship of the people, in order now to carry the law\nwhich he had formerly proposed without success--he made a proposal\nto grant to the Latins the full franchise, and to the other Italian\nallies the former rights of the Latins.  But the proposal encountered\nthe united opposition of the senate and the mob of the capital.\nThe nature of this coalition and its mode of conflict are clearly and\ndistinctly seen from an accidentally preserved fragment of the speech\nwhich the consul Gaius Fannius made to the burgesses in opposition to\nthe proposal.  \"Do you then think,\" said the Optimate, \"that, if you\nconfer the franchise on the Latins, you will be able to find a place\nin future--just as you are now standing there in front of me--in the\nburgess-assembly, or at the games and popular amusements? Do you not\nbelieve, on the contrary, that those people will occupy every spot?\"\nAmong the burgesses of the fifth century, who on one day conferred\nthe franchise on all the Sabines, such an orator might perhaps have\nbeen hissed; those of the seventh found his reasoning uncommonly clear\nand the price of the assignation of the Latin domains, which was\noffered to it by Gracchus, far too low.  The very circumstance, that\nthe senate carried a permission to eject from the city all non-\nburgesses before the day for the decisive vote, showed the fate in\nstore for the proposal.  And when before the voting Livius Drusus,\na colleague of Gracchus, interposed his veto against the law, the\npeople received the veto in such a way that Gracchus could not\nventure to proceed further or even to prepare for Drusus the fate\nof Marcus Octavius.\n\nOverthrow of Gracchus\n\nIt was, apparently, this success which emboldened the senate to\nattempt the overthrow of the victorious demagogue.  The weapons of\nattack were substantially the same with which Gracchus himself had\nformerly operated.  The power of Gracchus rested on the mercantile\nclass and the proletariate; primarily on the latter, which in this\nconflict, wherein neither side had any military reserve, acted as\nit were the part of an army.  It was clear that the senate was not\npowerful enough to wrest either from the merchants or from the\nproletariate their new privileges; any attempt to assail the corn-\nlaws or the new jury-arrangement would have led, under a somewhat\ngrosser or somewhat more civilized form, to a street-riot in presence\nof which the senate was utterly defenceless.  But it was no less\nclear, that Gracchus himself and these merchants and proletarians were\nonly kept together by mutual advantage, and that the men of material\ninterests were ready to accept their posts, and the populace strictly so\ncalled its bread, quite as well from any other as from Gaius Gracchus.\nThe institutions of Gracchus stood, for the moment at least,\nimmoveably firm with the exception of a single one--his own supremacy.\nThe weakness of the latter lay in the fact, that in the constitution of\nGracchus there was no relation of allegiance subsisting at all between\nthe chief and the army; and, while the new constitution possessed all\nother elements of vitality, it lacked one--the moral tie between ruler\nand ruled, without which every state rests on a pedestal of clay.\nIn the rejection of the proposal to admit the Latins to the franchise\nit had been demonstrated with decisive clearness that the multitude\nin fact never voted for Gracchus, but always simply for itself.\nThe aristocracy conceived the plan of offering battle to the author\nof the corn-largesses and land-assignations on his own ground.\n\nRival Demagogism of the Senate\nThe Livian Laws\n\nAs a matter of course, the senate offered to the proletariate not merely\nthe same advantages as Gracchus had already assured to it in corn and\notherwise, but advantages still greater.  Commissioned by the senate,\nthe tribune of the people Marcus Livius Drusus proposed to relieve\nthose who received land under the laws of Gracchus from the rent\nimposed on them,(27) and to declare their allotments to be free and\nalienable property; and, further, to provide for the proletariate\nnot in transmarine, but in twelve Italian, colonies, each of 3000\ncolonists, for the planting of which the people might nominate\nsuitable men; only, Drusus himself declined--in contrast with the\nfamily-complexion of the Gracchan commission--to take part in this\nhonourable duty.  Presumably the Latins were named as those who would\nhave to bear the costs of the plan, for there does not appear to have\nnow existed in Italy other occupied domain-land of any extent save that\nwhich was enjoyed by them.  We find isolated enactments of Drusus--\nsuch as the regulation that the punishment of scourging might only be\ninflicted on the Latin soldier by the Latin officer set over him, and\nnot by the Roman officer--which were to all appearance intended to\nindemnify the Latins for other losses.  The plan was not the most\nrefined.  The attempt at rivalry was too clear; the endeavour to draw\nthe fair bond between the nobles and the proletariate still closer\nby their exercising jointly a tyranny over the Latins was too\ntransparent; the inquiry suggested itself too readily, In what part of\nthe peninsula, now that the Italian domains had been mainly given away\nalready--even granting that the whole domains assigned to the Latins\nwere confiscated--was the occupied domain-land requisite for the\nformation of twelve new, numerous, and compact burgess-communities to\nbe discovered? Lastly the declaration of Drusus, that he would have\nnothing to do with the execution of his law, was so dreadfully prudent\nas to border on sheer folly.  But the clumsy snare was quite suited\nfor the stupid game which they wished to catch.  There was the\nadditional and perhaps decisive consideration, that Gracchus,\non whose personal influence everything depended, was just then\nestablishing the Carthaginian colony in Africa, and that his\nlieutenant in the capital, Marcus Flaccus, played into the hands of\nhis opponents by his vehement and maladroit actings.  The \"people\"\naccordingly ratified the Livian laws as readily as it had before\nratified the Sempronian.  It then, as usual, repaid its latest, by\ninflicting a gentle blow on its earlier, benefactor, declining to\nre-elect him when he stood for the third time as a candidate for the\ntribunate for the year 633; on which occasion, however, there are\nalleged to have been unjust proceedings on the part of the tribune\npresiding at the election, who had been formerly offended by\nGracchus.  Thus the foundation of his despotism gave way beneath\nhim.  A second blow was inflicted on him by the consular elections,\nwhich not only proved in a general sense adverse to the democracy,\nbut which placed at the head of the state Lucius Opimius, who as\npraetor in 629 had conquered Fregellae, one of the most decided\nand least scrupulous chiefs of the strict aristocratic party,\nand a man firmly resolved to get rid of their dangerous antagonist\nat the earliest opportunity.\n\nAttack on the Transmarine Colonialization\nDownfall of Gracchus\n\nSuch an opportunity soon occurred.  On the 10th of December, 632,\nGracchus ceased to be tribune of the people; on the 1st of January,\n633, Opimius entered on his office.  The first attack, as was fair,\nwas directed against the most useful and the most unpopular measure of\nGracchus, the re-establishment of Carthage.  While the transmarine\ncolonies had hitherto been only indirectly assailed through the\ngreater allurements of the Italian, African hyaenas, it was now alleged,\ndug up the newly-placed boundary-stones of Carthage, and the Roman\npriests, when requested, certified that such signs and portents ought\nto form an express warning against rebuilding on a site accursed by the\ngods.  The senate thereby found itself in its conscience compelled to\nhave a law proposed, which prohibited the planting of the colony of\nJunonia.  Gracchus, who with the other men nominated to establish it\nwas just then selecting the colonists, appeared on the day of voting\nat the Capitol whither the burgesses were convoked, with a view to\nprocure by means of his adherents the rejection of the law.  He wished\nto shun acts of violence, that he might not himself supply his\nopponents with the pretext which they sought; but he had not been able\nto prevent a great portion of his faithful partisans, who remembered\nthe catastrophe of Tiberius and were well acquainted with the designs\nof the aristocracy, from appearing in arms, and amidst the immense\nexcitement on both sides quarrels could hardly be avoided.  The consul\nLucius Opimius offered the usual sacrifice in the porch of the\nCapitoline temple; one of the attendants assisting at the ceremony,\nQuintus Antullius, with the holy entrails in his hand, haughtily\nordered the \"bad citizens\" to quit the porch, and seemed as though he\nwould lay hands on Gaius himself; whereupon a zealous Gracchan drew his\nsword and cut the man down.  A fearful tumult arose.  Gracchus vainly\nsought to address the people and to disclaim the responsibility for\nthe sacrilegious murder; he only furnished his antagonists with a\nfurther formal ground of accusation, as, without being aware of it in\nthe confusion, he interrupted a tribune in the act of speaking to\nthe people--an offence, for which an obsolete statute, originating at\nthe time of the old dissensions between the orders,(28) had prescribed\nthe severest penalty.  The consul Lucius Opimius took his measures to\nput down by force of arms the insurrection for the overthrow of the\nrepublican constitution, as they were fond of designating the events\nof this day.  He himself passed the night in the temple of Castor in\nthe Forum; at early dawn the Capitol was filled with Cretan archers,\nthe senate-house and Forum with the men of the government party--the\nsenators and the section of the equites adhering to them--who by order\nof the consul had all appeared in arms and each attended by two\narmed slaves.  None of the aristocracy were absent; even the aged and\nvenerable Quintus Metellus, well disposed to reform, had appeared with\nshield and sword.  An officer of ability and experience acquired in\nthe Spanish wars, Decimus Brutus, was entrusted with the command of\nthe armed force; the senate assembled in the senate-house.  The bier\nwith the corpse of Antullius was deposited in front of it; the senate,\nas if surprised, appeared en masse at the door in order to view\nthe dead body, and then retired to determine what should be done.\nThe leaders of the democracy had gone from the Capitol to their\nhouses; Marcus Flaccus had spent the night in preparing for the war\nin the streets, while Gracchus apparently disdained to strive with\ndestiny.  Next morning, when they learned the preparations made by\ntheir opponents at the Capitol and the Forum, both proceeded to the\nAventine, the old stronghold of the popular party in the struggles\nbetween the patricians and the plebeians.  Gracchus went thither\nsilent and unarmed; Flaccus called the slaves to arms and entrenched\nhimself in the temple of Diana, while he at the same time sent his\nyounger son Quintus to the enemy's camp in order if possible to arrange\na compromise.  The latter returned with the announcement that the\naristocracy demanded unconditional surrender; at the same time he\nbrought a summons from the senate to Gracchus and Flaccus to appear\nbefore it and to answer for their violation of the majesty of the\ntribunes.  Gracchus wished to comply with the summons, but Flaccus\nprevented him from doing so, and repeated the equally weak and\nmistaken attempt to move such antagonists to a compromise.  When\ninstead of the two cited leaders the young Quintus Flaccus once more\npresented himself alone, the consul treated their refusal to appear\nas the beginning of open insurrection against the government; he\nordered the messenger to be arrested and gave the signal for attack\non the Aventine, while at the same time he caused proclamation to be\nmade in the streets that the government would give to whosoever should\nbring the head of Gracchus or of Flaccus its literal weight in gold,\nand that they would guarantee complete indemnity to every one who\nshould leave the Aventine before the beginning of the conflict.\nThe ranks on the Aventine speedily thinned; the valiant nobility in\nunion with the Cretans and the slaves stormed the almost undefended\nmount, and killed all whom they found, about 250 persons, mostly of\nhumble rank.  Marcus Flaccus fled with his eldest son to a place of\nconcealment, where they were soon afterwards hunted out and put to\ndeath.  Gracchus had at the beginning of the conflict retired into\nthe temple of Minerva, and was there about to pierce himself with his\nsword, when his friend Publius Laetorius seized his arm and besought\nhim to preserve himself if possible for better times.  Gracchus was\ninduced to make an attempt to escape to the other bank of the Tiber;\nbut when hastening down the hill he fell and sprained his foot.\nTo gain time for him to escape, his two attendants turned to face\nhis pursuers and allowed themselves to be cut down, Marcus Pomponius\nat the Porta Trigemina under the Aventine, Publius Laetorius at\nthe bridge over the Tiber where Horatius Cocles was said to have once\nsingly withstood the Etruscan army; so Gracchus, attended only by his\nslave Euporus, reached the suburb on the right bank of the Tiber.\nThere, in the grove of Furrina, were afterwards found the two dead\nbodies; it seemed as if the slave had put to death first his master\nand then himself.  The heads of the two fallen leaders were handed over\nto the government as required; the stipulated price and more was paid\nto Lucius Septumuleius, a man of quality, the bearer of the head of\nGracchus, while the murderers of Flaccus, persons of humble rank, were\nsent away with empty hands.  The bodies of the dead were thrown into\nthe river; the houses of the leaders were abandoned to the pillage of\nthe multitude.  The warfare of prosecution against the partisans of\nGracchus began on the grandest scale; as many as 3000 of them are said\nto have been strangled in prison, amongst whom was Quintus Flaccus,\neighteen years of age, who had taken no part in the conflict and\nwas universally lamented on account of his youth and his amiable\ndisposition.  On the open space beneath the Capitol where the altar\nconsecrated by Camillus after the restoration of internal peace(29) and\nother shrines erected on similar occasions to Concord were situated,\nthese small chapels were pulled down; and out of the property of the\nkilled or condemned traitors, which was confiscated even to the\nportions of their wives, a new and splendid temple of Concord with\nthe basilica belonging to it was erected in accordance with a decree\nof the senate by the consul Lucius Opimius.  Certainly it was an act\nin accordance with the spirit of the age to remove the memorials of\nthe old, and to inaugurate a new, concord over the remains of the three\ngrandsons of the conqueror of Zama, all of whom--first Tiberius\nGracchus, then Scipio Aemilianus, and lastly the youngest and the\nmightiest, Gaius Gracchus--had now been engulfed by the revolution.\nThe memory of the Gracchi remained officially proscribed; Cornelia was\nnot allowed even to put on mourning for the death of her last son;\nbut the passionate attachment, which very many had felt towards the two\nnoble brothers and especially towards Gaius during their life, was\ntouchingly displayed also after their death in the almost religious\nveneration which the multitude, in spite of all precautions of\npolice, continued to pay to their memory and to the spots where\nthey had fallen.\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nThe Rule of the Restoration\n\nVacancy in the Government\n\nThe new structure, which Gaius Gracchus had reared, became on\nhis death a ruin.  His death indeed, like that of his brother, was\nprimarily a mere act of vengeance; but it was at the same time a very\nmaterial step towards the restoration of the old constitution, when\nthe person of the monarch was taken away from the monarchy, just as\nit was on the point of being established.  It was all the more so in\nthe present instance, because after the fall of Gaius and the sweeping\nand bloody prosecutions of Opimius there existed at the moment\nabsolutely no one, who, either by blood-relationship to the fallen\nchief of the state or by preeminent ability, might feel himself\nwarranted in even attempting to occupy the vacant place.  Gaius\nhad departed from the world childless, and the son whom Tiberius\nhad left behind him died before reaching manhood; the whole popular\nparty, as it was called, was literally without any one who could be\nnamed as leader.  The Gracchan constitution resembled a fortress\nwithout a commander; the walls and garrison were uninjured, but\nthe general was wanting, and there was no one to take possession of\nthe vacant place save the very government which had been overthrown.\n\nThe Restored Aristocracy\n\nSo it accordingly happened.  After the decease of Gaius Gracchus\nwithout heirs, the government of the senate as it were spontaneously\nresumed its place; and this was the more natural, that it had not\nbeen, in the strict sense, formally abolished by the tribune, but\nhad merely been reduced to a practical nullity by his exceptional\nproceedings.  Yet we should greatly err, if we should discern in\nthis restoration nothing further than a relapse of the state-machine\ninto the old track which had been trodden and worn for centuries.\nRestoration is always revolution; but in this case it was not so\nmuch the old government as the old governor that was restored.\nThe oligarchy made its appearance newly equipped in the armour of\nthe -tyrannis- which had been overthrown.  As the senate had beaten\nGracchus from the field with his own weapons, so it continued in the\nmost essential points to govern with the constitution of the Gracchi;\nthough certainly with the ulterior idea, if not of setting it aside\nentirely, at any rate of thoroughly purging it in due time from the\nelements really hostile to the ruling aristocracy.\n\nProsecutions of the Democrats\n\nAt first the reaction was mainly directed against persons.  Publius\nPopillius was recalled from banishment after the enactments relating\nto him had been cancelled (633), and a warfare of prosecution was\nwaged against the adherents of Gracchus; whereas the attempt of\nthe popular party to have Lucius Opimius after his resignation of\noffice condemned for high treason was frustrated by the partisans\nof the government (634).  The character of this government of\nthe restoration is significantly indicated by the progress of the\naristocracy in soundness of sentiment.  Gaius Carbo, once the ally\nof the Gracchi, had for long been a convert,(1) and had but recently\nshown his zeal and his usefulness as defender of Opimius.  But he\nremained the renegade; when the same accusation was raised against him\nby the democrats as against Opimius, the government were not unwilling\nto let him fall, and Carbo, seeing himself lost between the two\nparties, died by his own hand.  Thus the men of the reaction showed\nthemselves in personal questions pure aristocrats.  But the reaction\ndid not immediately attack the distributions of grain, the taxation\nof the province of Asia, or the Gracchan arrangement as to the jurymen\nand courts; on the contrary, it not only spared the mercantile\nclass and the proletariate of the capital, but continued to render\nhomage, as it had already done in the introduction of the Livian\nlaws, to these powers and especially to the proletariate far more\ndecidedly than had been done by the Gracchi.  This course was not\nadopted merely because the Gracchan revolution still thrilled for\nlong the minds of its contemporaries and protected its creations;\nthe fostering and cherishing at least of the interests of the populace\nwas in fact perfectly compatible with the personal advantage of\nthe aristocracy, and thereby nothing further was sacrificed than\nmerely the public weal.\n\nThe Domain Question under the Restoration\n\nAll those measures which were devised by Gaius Gracchus for the\npromotion of the public welfare--the best but, as may readily be\nconceived, also the most unpopular part of his legislation--were\nallowed by the aristocracy to drop.  Nothing was so speedily and so\nsuccessfully assailed as the noblest of his projects, the scheme of\nintroducing a legal equality first between the Roman burgesses and\nItaly, and thereafter between Italy and the provinces, and--inasmuch\nas the distinction between the merely ruling and consuming and the\nmerely serving and working members of the state was thus done away--\nat the same time solving the social question by the most comprehensive\nand systematic emigration known in history.  With all the determination\nand all the peevish obstinacy of dotage the restored oligarchy\nobtruded the principle of deceased generations--that Italy must\nremain the ruling land and Rome the ruling city in Italy--afresh\non the present.  Even in the lifetime of Gracchus the claims of\nthe Italian allies had been decidedly rejected, and the great idea of\ntransmarine colonization had been subjected to a very serious attack,\nwhich became the immediate cause of Gracchus' fall.  After his\ndeath the scheme of restoring Carthage was set aside with little\ndifficulty by the government party, although the individual allotments\nalready distributed there were left to the recipients.  It is true\nthat they could not prevent a similar foundation by the democratic\nparty from succeeding at another point: in the course of the conquests\nbeyond the Alps which Marcus Flaccus had begun, the colony of Narbo\n(Narbonne) was founded there in 636, the oldest transmarine burgess-\ncity in the Roman empire, which, in spite of manifold attacks by the\ngovernment party and in spite of a proposal directly made by the\nsenate to abolish it, permanently held its ground, protected, as it\nprobably was, by the mercantile interests that were concerned.  But,\napart from this exception--in its isolation not very important--the\ngovernment was uniformly successful in preventing the assignation\nof land out of Italy.\n\nThe Italian domain-question was settled in a similar spirit.\nThe Italian colonies of Gaius, especially Capua, were cancelled,\nand such of them as had already been planted were again broken up;\nonly the unimportant one of Tarentum was allowed to subsist in the\nform of the new town Neptunia placed alongside of the former Greek\ncommunity.  So much of the domains as had already been distributed\nby non-colonial assignation remained in the hands of the recipients;\nthe restrictions imposed on them by Gracchus in the interest of the\ncommonwealth--the ground-rent and the prohibition of alienation--had\nalready been abolished by Marcus Drusus.  With reference on the other\nhand to the domains still possessed by right of occupation--which,\nover and above the domain-land enjoyed by the Latins, must have mostly\nconsisted of the estates left with their holders in accordance with\nthe Gracchan maximum(2)--it was resolved definitively to secure them to\nthose who had hitherto been occupants and to preclude the possibility\nof future distribution.  It was primarily from these lands, no doubt,\nthat the 36,000 new farm-allotments promised by Drusus were to have\nbeen formed; but they saved themselves the trouble of inquiring where\nthose hundreds of thousands of acres of Italian domain-land were to\nbe found, and tacitly shelved the Livian colonial law, which had\nserved its purpose;--only perhaps the small colony of Scolacium\n(Squillace) may be referred to the colonial law of Drusus.  On the\nother hand by a law, which the tribune of the people Spurius Thorius\ncarried under the instructions of the senate, the allotment-commission\nwas abolished in 635, and there was imposed on the occupants of the\ndomain-land a fixed rent, the proceeds of which went to the benefit\nof the populace of the capital--apparently by forming part of the fund\nfor the distribution of corn; proposals going still further, including\nperhaps an increase of the largesses of grain, were averted by the\njudicious tribune of the people Gaius Marius.  The final step was\ntaken eight years afterwards (643), when by a new decree of the\npeople(3) the occupied domain-land was directly converted into the\nrent-free private property of the former occupants.  It was added,\nthat in future domain-land was not to be occupied at all, but was\neither to be leased or to lie open as public pasture; in the latter\ncase provision was made by the fixing of a very low maximum of ten\nhead of large and fifty head of small cattle, that the large herd-\nowner should not practically exclude the small.  In these judicious\nregulations the injurious character of the occupation-system, which\nmoreover was long ago given up,(4) was at length officially recognized,\nbut unhappily they were only adopted when it had already deprived the\nstate in substance of its domanial possessions.  While the Roman\naristocracy thus took care of itself and got whatever occupied land\nwas still in its hands converted into its own property, it at the same\ntime pacified the Italian allies, not indeed by conferring on them the\nproperty of the Latin domain-land which they and more especially their\nmunicipal aristocracy enjoyed, but by preserving unimpaired the rights\nin relation to it guaranteed to them by their charters.  The opposite\nparty was in the unfortunate position, that in the most important\nmaterial questions the interests of the Italians ran diametrically\ncounter to those of the opposition in the capital; in fact the\nItalians entered into a species of league with the Roman government,\nand sought and found protection from the senate against the\nextravagant designs of various Roman demagogues.\n\nThe Proletariate and the Equestrian Order under the Restoration\n\nWhile the restored government was thus careful thoroughly to eradicate\nthe germs of improvement which existed in the Gracchan constitution,\nit remained completely powerless in presence of the hostile powers\nthat had been, not for the general weal, aroused by Gracchus.\nThe proletariate of the capital continued to have a recognized title\nto aliment; the senate likewise acquiesced in the taking of the jurymen\nfrom the mercantile order, repugnant though this yoke was to the\nbetter and prouder portion of the aristocracy.  The fetters which\nthe aristocracy wore did not beseem its dignity; but we do not find\nthat it seriously set itself to get rid of them.  The law of Marcus\nAemilius Scaurus in 632, which at least enforced the constitutional\nrestrictions on the suffrage of freedmen, was for long the only\nattempt--and that a very tame one--on the part of the senatorial\ngovernment once more to restrain their mob-tyrants.  The proposal,\nwhich the consul Quintus Caepio seventeen years after the introduction\nof the equestrian tribunals (648) brought in for again entrusting the\ntrials to senatorial jurymen, showed what the government wished; but\nshowed also how little it could do, when the question was one not\nof squandering domains but of carrying a measure in the face of\nan influential order.  It broke down.(5)  The government was not\nemancipated from the inconvenient associates who shared its power;\nbut these measures probably contributed still further to disturb the\nnever sincere agreement of the ruling aristocracy with the merchant-\nclass and the proletariate.  Both were very well aware, that the\nsenate granted all its concessions only from fear and with reluctance;\npermanently attached to the rule of the senate by considerations\nneither of gratitude nor of interest, both were very ready to render\nsimilar services to any other master who offered them more or even as\nmuch, and had no objection, if an opportunity occurred, to cheat or\nto thwart the senate.  Thus the restoration continued to govern with\nthe desires and sentiments of a legitimate aristocracy, and with\nthe constitution and means of government of a -tyrannis-.  Its rule\nnot only rested on the same bases as that of Gracchus, but it was\nequally ill, and in fact still worse, consolidated; it was strong,\nwhen in league with the populace it overthrew serviceable\ninstitutions, but it was utterly powerless, when it had to face the\nbands of the streets or the interests of the merchants.  It sat on\nthe vacated throne with an evil conscience and divided hopes, indignant\nat the institutions of the state which it ruled and yet incapable of\neven systematically assailing them, vacillating in all its conduct\nexcept where its own material advantage prompted a decision, a picture\nof faithlessness towards its own as well as the opposite party, of\ninward inconsistency, of the most pitiful impotence, of the meanest\nselfishness--an unsurpassed ideal of misrule.\n\nThe Men of the Restoration\n\nIt could not be otherwise; the whole nation was in a state of\nintellectual and moral decline, but especially the upper classes.\nThe aristocracy before the period of the Gracchi was truly not over-\nrich in talent, and the benches of the senate were crowded by a pack\nof cowardly and dissolute nobles; nevertheless there sat in it Scipio\nAemilianus, Gaius Laelius, Quintus Metellus, Publius Crassus, Publius\nScaevola and numerous other respectable and able men, and an observer\nfavourably predisposed might be of opinion that the senate maintained\na certain moderation in injustice and a certain decorum in\nmisgovernment.  This aristocracy had been overthrown and then\nreinstated; henceforth there rested on it the curse of restoration.\nWhile the aristocracy had formerly governed for good or ill, and for\nmore than a century without any sensible opposition, the crisis which\nit had now passed through revealed to it, like a flash of lightning\nin a dark night, the abyss which yawned before its feet.  Was it any\nwonder that henceforward rancour always, and terror wherever they\ndurst, characterized the government of the lords of the old\nnobility? that those who governed confronted as an united and compact\nparty, with far more sternness and violence than hitherto, the non-\ngoverning multitude? that family-policy now prevailed once more, just\nas in the worst times of the patriciate, so that e. g. the four\nsons and (probably) the two nephews of Quintus Metellus--with a\nsingle exception persons utterly insignificant and some of them called\nto office on account of their very simplicity--attained within fifteen\nyears (631-645) all of them to the consulship, and all with one\nexception also to triumphs--to say nothing of sons-in-law and so\nforth? that the more violent and cruel the bearing of any of their\npartisans towards the opposite party, he received the more signal\nhonour, and every outrage and every infamy were pardoned in the\ngenuine aristocrat? that the rulers and the ruled resembled two\nparties at war in every respect, save in the fact that in their\nwarfare no international law was recognized? It was unhappily only\ntoo palpable that, if the old aristocracy beat the people with rods,\nthis restored aristocracy chastised it with scorpions.  It returned\nto power; but it returned neither wiser nor better.  Never hitherto\nhad the Roman aristocracy been so utterly deficient in men of\nstatesmanly and military capacity, as it was during this epoch\nof restoration between the Gracchan and the Cinnan revolutions.\n\nMarcus Aemilius Scaurus\n\nA significant illustration of this is afforded by the chief of the\nsenatorial party at this time, Marcus Aemilius Scaurus.  The son of\nhighly aristocratic but not wealthy parents, and thus compelled to\nmake use of his far from mean talents, he raised himself to the\nconsulship (639) and censorship (645), was long the chief of the\nsenate and the political oracle of his order, and immortalized his\nname not only as an orator and author, but also as the originator\nof some of the principal public buildings executed in this century.\nBut, if we look at him more closely, his greatly praised achievements\namount merely to this much, that, as a general, he gained some\ncheap village triumphs in the Alps, and, as a statesman, won by his\nlaws about voting and luxury some victories nearly as serious over\nthe revolutionary spirit of the times.  His real talent consisted\nin this, that, while he was quite as accessible and bribable as any\nother upright senator, he discerned with some cunning the moment when\nthe matter began to be hazardous, and above all by virtue of his\nsuperior and venerable appearance acted the part of Fabricius before\nthe public.  In a military point of view, no doubt, we find some\nhonourable exceptions of able officers belonging to the highest\ncircles of the aristocracy; but the rule was, that the lords of\nquality, when they were to assume the command of armies, hastily\nread up from the Greek military manuals and the Roman annals as much\nas was required for holding a military conversation, and then, when\nin the field, acted most wisely by entrusting the real command to an\nofficer of humble lineage but of tried capacity and tried discretion.\nIn fact, if a couple of centuries earlier the senate resembled an\nassembly of kings, these their successors played not ill the part of\nprinces.  But the incapacity of these restored aristocrats was fully\nequalled by their political and moral worthlessness.  If the state\nof religion, to which we shall revert, did not present a faithful\nreflection of the wild dissoluteness of this epoch, and if the\nexternal history of the period did not exhibit the utter depravity of\nthe Roman nobles as one of its most essential elements, the horrible\ncrimes, which came to light in rapid succession among the highest\ncircles of Rome, would alone suffice to indicate their character.\n\nAdministration under the Restoration\nSocial State of Italy\n\nThe administration, internal and external, was what was to be\nexpected under such a government.  The social ruin of Italy spread\nwith alarming rapidity; since the aristocracy had given itself legal\npermission to buy out the small holders, and in its new arrogance\nallowed itself with growing frequency to drive them out, the farms\ndisappeared like raindrops in the sea.  That the economic oligarchy\nat least kept pace with the political, is shown by the opinion\nexpressed about 650 by Lucius Marcius Philippus, a man of moderate\ndemocratic views, that there were among the whole burgesses hardly\n2000 families of substantial means.  A practical commentary on this\nstate of things was once more furnished by the servile insurrections,\nwhich during the first years of the Cimbrian war broke out annually\nin Italy, e. g. at Nuceria, at Capua, and in the territory of\nThurii.  This last conspiracy was so important that the urban\npraetor had to march with a legion against it and yet overcame\nthe insurrection not by force of arms, but only by insidious treachery.\nIt was moreover a suspicious circumstance, that the insurrection was\nheaded not by a slave, but by the Roman knight Titus Vettius, whom\nhis debts had driven to the insane step of manumitting his slaves\nand declaring himself their king (650).  The apprehensions of the\ngovernment with reference to the accumulation of masses of slaves in\nItaly are shown by the measures of precaution respecting the gold-\nwashings of Victumulae, which were carried on after 611 on account of\nthe Roman government: the lessees were at first bound not to employ\nmore than 5000 labourers, and subsequently the workings were totally\nstopped by decree of the senate.  Under such a government as the\npresent there was every reason in fact for fear, if, as was very\npossible, a Transalpine host should penetrate into Italy and summon\nthe slaves, who were in great part of kindred lineage, to arms.\n\nThe Provinces\nOccupation of Cilicia\n\nThe provinces suffered still more in comparison.  We shall have an\nidea of the condition of Sicily and Asia, if we endeavour to realize\nwhat would be the aspect of matters in the East Indies provided the\nEnglish aristocracy were similar to the Roman aristocracy of that\nday.  The legislation, which entrusted the mercantile class with\ncontrol over the magistrates, compelled the latter to make common cause\nto a certain extent with the former, and to purchase for themselves\nunlimited liberty of plundering and protection from impeachment by\nunconditional indulgence towards the capitalists in the provinces.\nIn addition to these official and semi-official robbers, freebooters\nand pirates pillaged all the countries of the Mediterranean.  In the\nAsiatic waters more especially the buccaneers carried their outrages\nso far that even the Roman government found itself under the necessity\nin 652 of despatching to Cilicia a fleet, mainly composed of the vessels\nof the dependent mercantile cities, under the praetor Marcus Antonius,\nwho was invested with proconsular powers.  This fleet captured a number\nof corsair-vessels and destroyed some rock-strongholds and not only so,\nbut the Romans even settled themselves permanently there, and in order\nto the suppression of piracy in its chief seat, the Rugged or western\nCilicia occupied strong military positions--the first step towards the\n establishment of the province of Cilicia, which thenceforth appears\namong the Roman magistracies.(7)  The design was commendable, and the\nscheme in itself was suitable for its purpose; only, the continuance\nand the increase of the evil of piracy in the Asiatic waters, and\nespeciallyin Cilicia, unhappily showed with how inadequate means\nthe pirates were combated from the newly-acquired position.\n\nRevolt of the Slaves\n\nBut nowhere did the impotence and perversity of the Roman provincial\nadministration come to light so conspicuously as in the insurrections\nof the slave proletariate, which seemed to have revived on their\nformer footing simultaneously with the restoration of the aristocracy.\nThese insurrections of the slaves swelling from revolts into wars--\nwhich had emerged just about 620 as one, and that perhaps the proximate,\ncause of the Gracchan revolution--were renewed and repeated with dreary\nuniformity.  Again, as thirty years before, a ferment pervaded the body\nof slaves throughout the Roman empire.  We have already mentioned\nthe Italian conspiracies.  The miners in the Attic silver-mines rose\nin revolt, occupied the promontory of Sunium, and issuing thence\npillaged for a length of time the surrounding country.  Similar\nmovements appeared at other places.\n\nThe Second Sicilian Slave-War\n\nBut the chief seat of these fearful commotions was once more Sicily\nwith its plantations and its hordes of slaves brought thither from\nAsia Minor.  It is significant of the greatness of the evil, that\nan attempt of the government to check the worst iniquities of the\nslaveholders was the immediate cause of the new insurrection.  That\nthe free proletarians in Sicily were little better than the slaves,\nhad been shown by their attitude in the first insurrection;(8)\nafter it was subdued, the Roman speculators took their revenge and\nreduced numbers of the free provincials into slavery.  In consequence\nof a sharp enactment issued against this by the senate in 650, Publius\nLicinius Nerva, the governor of Sicily at the time, appointed a court\nfor deciding on claims of freedom to sit in Syracuse.  The court\nwent earnestly to work; in a short time decision was given in eight\nhundred processes against the slave-owners, and the number of causes in\ndependence was daily on the increase.  The terrified planters hastened\nto Syracuse, to compel the Roman governor to suspend such unparalleled\nadministration of justice; Nerva was weak enough to let himself be\nterrified, and in harsh language informed the non-free persons\nrequesting trial that they should forgo their troublesome demand for\nright and justice and should instantly return to those who called\nthemselves their masters.  Those who were thus dismissed, instead of\ndoing as he bade them, formed a conspiracy and went to the mountains.\n\nThe governor was not prepared for military measures, and even the\nwretched militia of the island was not immediately at hand; so that he\nconcluded an alliance with one of the best known captains of banditti\nin the island, and induced him by the promise of personal pardon to\nbetray the revolted slaves into the hands of the Romans.  He thus\ngained the mastery over this band.  But another band of runaway\nslaves succeeded in defeating a division of the garrison of Enna\n(Castrogiovanni); and this first success procured for the insurgents--\nwhat they especially needed--arms and a conflux of associates.\nThe armour of their fallen or fugitive opponents furnished the first\nbasis of their military organization, and the number of the insurgents\nsoon swelled to many thousands.  These Syrians in a foreign land\nalready, like their predecessors, seemed to themselves not unworthy\nto be governed by kings, as were their countrymen at home; and--\nparodying the trumpery king of their native land down to the very\nname--they placed the slave Salvius at their head as king Tryphon.\nIn the district between Enna and Leontini (Lentini) where these bands\nhad their head-quarters, the open country was wholly in the hands of\nthe insurgents and Morgantia and other walled towns were already\nbesieged by them, when the Roman governor with his hastily-collected\nSicilian and Italian troops fell upon the slave-army in front\nof Morgantia.  He occupied the undefended camp; but the slaves,\nalthough surprised, made a stand.  In the combat that ensued the\nlevy of the island not only gave way at the first onset, but, as the\nslaves allowed every one who threw down his arms to escape unhindered,\nthe militia almost without exception embraced the good opportunity\nof taking their departure, and the Roman army completely dispersed.\nHad the slaves in Morgantia been willing to make common cause with\ntheir comrades before the gates, the town was lost; but they preferred\nto accept the gift of freedom in legal form from their masters, and by\ntheir valour helped them to save the town--whereupon the Roman governor\ndeclared the promise of liberty solemnly given to the slaves by the\nmasters to be void in law, as having been illegally extorted.\n\nAthenion\n\nWhile the revolt thus spread after an alarming manner in the interior\nof the island, a second broke out on the west coast.  It was headed\nby Athenion.  He had formerly been, just like Cleon, a dreaded\ncaptain of banditti in his native country of Cilicia, and had been\ncarried thence as a slave to Sicily.  He secured, just as his\npredecessors had done, the adherence of the Greeks and Syrians\nespecially by prophesyings and other edifying impostures; but skilled\nin war and sagacious as he was, he did not, like the other leaders, arm\nthe whole mass that flocked to him, but formed out of the men able for\nwarfare an organized army, while he assigned the remainder to peaceful\nemployment.  In consequence of his strict discipline, which repressed\nall vacillation and all insubordinate movement in his troops, and his\ngentle treatment of the peaceful inhabitants of the country and even of\nthe captives, he gained rapid and great successes.  The Romans were on\nthis occasion disappointed in the hope that the two leaders would fall\nout; Athenion voluntarily submitted to the far less capable king\nTryphon, and thus preserved unity among the insurgents.  These soon\nruled with virtually absolute power over the flat country, where\nthe free proletarians again took part more or less openly with the\nslaves; the Roman authorities were not in a position to take the field\nagainst them, and had to rest content with protecting the towns,\nwhich were in the most lamentable plight, by means of the militia of\nSicily and that of Africa brought over in all haste.  The administration\nof justice was suspended over the whole island, and force was\nthe only law.  As no cultivator living in town ventured any longer\nbeyond the gates, and no countryman ventured into the towns, the most\nfearful famine set in, and the town-population of this island which\nformerly fed Italy had to be supported by the Roman authorities\nsending supplies of grain.  Moreover, conspiracies of the town-\nslaves everywhere threatened to break out within, while the insurgent\narmies lay before, the walls; even Messana was within a hair's breadth\nof being conquered by Athenion.\n\nAquillius\n\nDifficult as it was for the government during the serious war with\nthe Cimbri to place a second army in the field, it could not avoid\nsending in 651 an army of 14,000 Romans and Italians, not including\nthe transmarine militia, under the praetor Lucius Lucullus to the\nisland.  The united slave-army was stationed in the mountains above\nSciacca, and accepted the battle which Lucullus offered.  The better\nmilitary organization of the Romans gave them the victory; Athenion\nwas left for dead on the field, Tryphon had to throw himself into the\nmountain-fortress of Triocala; the insurgents deliberated earnestly\nwhether it was possible to continue the struggle longer.  But the\nparty, which was resolved to hold out to the last man, retained the\nupper hand; Athenion, who had been saved in a marvellous manner,\nreappeared among his troops and revived their sunken courage; above\nall Lucullus with incredible negligence took not the smallest step\nto follow up his victory; in fact, he is said to have intentionally\ndisorganized the army and to have burned his field baggage, with a\nview to screen the total inefficacy of his administration and not to\nbe cast into the shade by his successor.  Whether this was true or\nnot, his successor Gaius Servilius (652) obtained no better results;\nand both generals were afterwards criminally impeached and condemned\nfor their conduct in office--which, however, was not at all a certain\nproof of their guilt.  Athenion, who after the death of Tryphon\n(652) was invested with the sole command, stood victorious at the\nhead of a considerable army, when in 653 Manius Aquillius, who had\nduring the previous year distinguished himself under Marius in the\nwar with the Teutones, was as consul and governor entrusted with the\nconduct of the war.  After two years of hard conflicts--Aquillius is\nsaid to have fought in person with Athenion, and to have killed him\nin single combat--the Roman general at length put down the desperate\nresistance, and vanquished the insurgents in their last retreats by\nfamine.  The slaves on the island were prohibited from bearing arms\nand peace was again restored to it, or, in other words, its recent\ntormentors were relieved by those of former use and wont; in fact,\nthe victor himself occupied a prominent place among the numerous\nand energetic robber-magistrates of this period.  Any one who still\nrequired a proof of the internal quality of the government of\nthe restored aristocracy might be referred to the origin and\nto the conduct of this second Sicilian slave-war, which,\nlasted for five years.\n\nThe Dependent States\n\nBut wherever the eye might turn throughout the wide sphere of Roman\nadministration, the same causes and the same effects appeared.\nIf the Sicilian slave-war showed how far the government was from\nbeing equal to even its simplest task of keeping in check the\nproletariate, contemporary events in Africa displayed the skill with\nwhich the Romans now governed the client-states.  About the very time\nwhen the Sicilian slave-war broke out, there was exhibited before\nthe eyes of the astonished world the spectacle of an unimportant\nclient-prince able to carry out a fourteen years' usurpation and\ninsurrection against the mighty republic which had shattered the\nkingdoms of Macedonia and Asia with one blow of its weighty arm--\nand that not by means of arms, but through the pitiful character\nof its rulers.\n\nNumidia\nJugurtha\n\nThe kingdom of Numidia stretched from the river Molochath to\nthe great Syrtis,(9) bordering on the one side with the Mauretanian\nkingdom of Tingis (the modern Morocco) and on the other with Cyrene\nand Egypt, and surrounding on the west, south, and east the narrow\ndistrict of coast which formed the Roman province of Africa.\nIn addition to the old possessions of the Numidian chiefs, it embraced\nby far the greatest portion of the territory which Carthage had possessed\nin Africa during the times of its prosperity--including several\nimportant Old-Phoenician cities, such as Hippo Regius (Bona) and Great\nLeptis (Lebidah)--altogether the largest and best part of the rich\nseaboard of northern Africa.  Numidia was beyond question, next to\nEgypt, the most considerable of all the Roman client-states.  After the\ndeath of Massinissa (605), Scipio had divided the sovereign functions\nof that prince among his three sons, the kings Micipsa, Gulussa, and\nMastanabal, in such a way that the firstborn obtained the residency\nand the state-chest, the second the charge of war, and the third the\nadministration of justice.(10) Now after the death of his two brothers\nMassinissa's eldest son, Micipsa,(11) reigned alone, a feeble peaceful\nold man, who was fond of occupying himself more with the study of\nGreek philosophy than with affairs of state.  As his sons were not\nyet grown up, the reins of government were practically held by an\nillegitimate nephew of the king, the prince Jugurtha.  Jugurtha was\nno unworthy grandson of Massinissa.  He was a handsome man and a\nskilled and courageous rider and hunter; his countrymen held him\nin high honour as a clear and sagacious administrator, and he had\ndisplayed his military ability as leader of the Numidian contingent\nbefore Numantia under the eyes of Scipio.  His position in the\nkingdom, and the influence which he possessed with the Roman\ngovernment by means of his numerous friends and war-comrades, made\nit appear to king Micipsa advisable to adopt him (634), and to arrange\nin his testament that his own two elder sons Adherbal and Hiempsal,\nand his adopted son Jugurtha along with them, should jointly inherit\nand govern the kingdom, just as he himself had done with his two\nbrothers.  For greater security this arrangement was placed under\nthe guarantee of the Roman government.\n\nThe War for the Numidian Succession\n\nSoon afterwards, in 636, king Micipsa died.  The testament came into\nforce: but the two sons of Micipsa--the vehement Hiempsal still more\nthan his weak elder brother--soon came into so violent collision\nwith their cousin whom they looked on as an intruder into the\nlegitimate line of succession, that the idea of a joint reign of the\nthree kings had to be abandoned.  An attempt was made to carry out\na division of the heritage; but the quarrelling kings could not agree\nas to their quotas of land and treasure, and the protecting power, to\nwhich in this case the decisive word by right belonged, gave itself,\nas usual, no concern about this affair.  A rupture took place;\nAdherbal and Hiempsal were disposed to characterize their father's\ntestament as surreptitious and altogether to dispute Jugurtha's right\nof joint inheritance, while on the other hand Jugurtha came forward\nas a pretender to the whole kingdom.  While the discussions as to the\npartition were still going on, Hiempsal was made away with by hired\nassassins; then a civil war arose between Adherbal and Jugurtha, in\nwhich all Numidia took part.  With his less numerous but better\ndisciplined and better led troops Jugurtha conquered, and seized the\nwhole territory of the kingdom, subjecting the chiefs who adhered to\nhis cousin to the most cruel persecution.  Adherbal escaped to the\nRoman province and proceeded to Rome to make his complaint there.\nJugurtha had expected this, and had made his arrangements to meet the\nthreatened intervention.  In the camp before Numantia he had learned\nmore from Rome than Roman tactics; the Numidian prince, introduced\nto the circles of the Roman aristocracy, had at the same time been\ninitiated into the intrigues of Roman coteries, and had studied at\nthe fountain-head what might be expected from Roman nobles.  Even\nthen, sixteen years before Micipsa's death, he had entered into\ndisloyal negotiations as to the Numidian succession with Roman\ncomrades of rank, and Scipio had been under the necessity of gravely\nreminding him that it was becoming in foreign princes to be on terms\nof friendship with the Roman state rather than with individual\nRoman citizens.  The envoys of Jugurtha appeared in Rome, furnished\nwith something more than words: that they had chosen the right means\nof diplomatic persuasion, was shown by the result.  The most zealous\nchampions of Adherbal's just title were with incredible rapidity\nconvinced that Hiempsal had been put to death by his subjects on\naccount of his cruelty, and that the originator of the war as to the\nsuccession was not Jugurtha, but Adherbal.  Even the leading men in\nthe senate were shocked at the scandal; Marcus Scaurus sought to\ncheck it, but in vain.  The senate passed over what had taken place\nin silence, and ordained that the two surviving testamentary heirs\nshould have the kingdom equally divided between them, and that, for\nthe prevention of fresh quarrels, the division should be undertaken\nby a commission of the senate.  This was done: the consular Lucius\nOpimius, well known through his services in setting aside the\nrevolution, had embraced the opportunity of gathering the reward\nof his patriotism, and had got himself placed at the head of the\ncommission.  The division turned out thoroughly in favour of Jugurtha,\nand not to the disadvantage of the commissioners; Cirta (Constantine)\nthe capital with its port of Rusicade (Philippeville) was no doubt\ngiven to Adherbal, but by that very arrangement the portion which\nfell to him was the eastern part of the kingdom consisting almost\nwholly of sandy deserts, while Jugurtha obtained the fertile\nand populous western half (what was afterwards Mauretania\nCaesariensis and Sitifensis).\n\nSiege of Cirta\n\nThis was bad; but matters soon became worse.  In order to be able\nunder the semblance of self-defence to defraud Adherbal of his portion,\nJugurtha provoked him to war; but when the weak man, rendered wiser\nby experience, allowed Jugurtha's horsemen to ravage his territory\nunhindered and contented himself with lodging complaints at Rome,\nJugurtha, impatient of these ceremonies, began the war even without\npretext.  Adherbal was totally defeated in the region of the modern\nPhilippeville, and threw himself into his capital of Cirta in the\nimmediate vicinity.  While the siege was in progress, and Jugurtha's\ntroops were daily skirmishing with the numerous Italians who were\nsettled in Cirta and who took a more vigorous part in the defence of\nthe city than the Africans themselves, the commission despatched by\nthe Roman senate on Adherbal's first complaint made its appearance;\ncomposed, of course, of young inexperienced men, such as the\ngovernment of those times regularly employed in the ordinary missions\nof the state.  The envoys demanded that Jugurtha should allow them\nas deputed by the protecting power to Adherbal to enter the city,\nand generally that he should suspend hostilities and accept their\nmediation.  Jugurtha summarily rejected both demands, and the envoys\nhastily returned home--like boys, as they were--to report to the\nfathers of the city.  The fathers listened to the report, and\nallowed their countrymen in Cirta just to fight on as long as they\npleased.  It was not till, in the fifth month of the siege, a\nmessenger of Adherbal stole through the entrenchments of the enemy\nand a letter of the king full of the most urgent entreaties reached\nthe senate, that the latter roused itself and actually adopted a\nresolution--not to declare war as the minority demanded but to send a\nnew embassy--an embassy, however, headed by Marcus Scaurus, the great\nconqueror of the Taurisci and the freedmen, the imposing hero of\nthe aristocracy, whose mere appearance would suffice to bring the\nrefractory king to a different mind.  In fact Jugurtha appeared, as\nhe was bidden, at Utica to discuss the matter with Scaurus; endless\ndebates were held; when at length the conference was concluded, not\nthe slightest result had been obtained.  The embassy returned to Rome\nwithout having declared war, and the king went off again to the\nsiege of Cirta.  Adherbal found himself reduced to extremities and\ndespaired of Roman support; the Italians in Cirta moreover, weary of\nthe siege and firmly relying for their own safety on the terror of the\nRoman name, urged a surrender.  So the town capitulated.  Jugurtha\nordered his adopted brother to be executed amid cruel tortures, and\nall the adult male population of the town, Africans as well as\nItalians, to be put to the sword (642).\n\nRoman Intervention\nTreaty between Rome and Numidia\n\nA cry of indignation rose throughout Italy.  The minority in the\nsenate itself and every one out of the senate unanimously condemned\nthe government, with whom the honour and interest of the country\nseemed mere commodities for sale; loudest of all was the outcry of\nthe mercantile class, which was most directly affected by the sacrifice\nof the Roman and Italian merchants at Cirta.  It is true that the\nmajority of the senate still even now struggled; they appealed to\nthe class-interests of the aristocracy, and set in motion all the\ncontrivances of collegiate procrastination, with a view to preserve\nstill longer the peace which they loved.  But when Gaius Memmius,\ndesignated as tribune of the people for next year, an active and\neloquent man, brought the matter publicly forward and threatened in\nhis capacity of tribune to call the worst offenders to judicial account,\nthe senate permitted war to be declared against Jugurtha (642-3).\nThe step seemed taken in earnest.  The envoys of Jugurtha were dismissed\nfrom Italy without being admitted to an audience; the new consul\nLucius Calpurnius Bestia, who was distinguished, among the members of\nhis order at least, by judgment and activity, prosecuted the warlike\npreparations with energy; Marcus Scaurus himself took the post of a\ncommander in the African army.  In a short time a Roman army was on\nAfrican ground, and marching upward along the Bagradas (Mejerdah)\nadvanced into the Numidian kingdom, where the towns most remote from\nthe seat of the royal power, such as Great Leptis, already voluntarily\nsent in their submission, while Bocchus king of Mauretania, although\nhis daughter was married to Jugurtha, offered friendship and alliance\nto the Romans.  Jugurtha himself lost courage, and sent envoys to the\nRoman headquarters to request an armistice.  The end of the contest\nseemed near, and came still more rapidly than was expected.  The treaty\nwith Bocchus broke down, because the king, unacquainted with Roman\ncustoms, had conceived that he should be able to conclude a treaty so\nadvantageous for the Romans without any gratuity, and therefore had\nneglected to furnish his envoys with the usual market price of Roman\nalliances.  Jugurtha at all events knew Roman institutions better,\nand had not omitted to support his proposals for an armistice by a\ndue accompaniment of money; but he too was deceived.  After the first\nnegotiations it turned out that not an armistice merely but a peace\nwas purchaseable at the Roman head-quarters.  The royal treasury\nwas still well filled with the savings of Massinissa; the transaction\nwas soon settled.  The treaty was concluded, after it had been for the\nsake of form submitted to a council of war whose consent was procured\nafter an irregular and extremely summary discussion.  Jugurtha\nsubmitted at discretion; but the victor was merciful and gave him back\nhis kingdom undiminished, in consideration of his paying a moderate\nfine and delivering up the Roman deserters and the war elephants\n(643); the greater part of the latter the king afterwards repurchased\nby bargaining with the individual Roman commandants and officers.\n\nOn the news of this peace the storm once more broke forth in Rome.\nEverybody knew how the peace had been brought about; even Scaurus was\nevidently open to bribery, only at a price higher than the ordinary\nsenatorial average.  The legal validity of the peace was seriously\nassailed in the senate; Gaius Memmius declared that the king, if he\nhad really submitted unconditionally, could not refuse to appear in\nRome, and that he should accordingly be summoned before them, with\nthe view of ascertaining how the matter actually stood as to the\nthoroughly irregular negotiations for peace by hearing both the\ncontracting parties.  They yielded to the inconvenient demand: but\nat the same time granted a safe-conduct to the king inconsistently\nwith the law, for he came not as an enemy, but as one who had made\nhis submission.  Thereupon the king actually appeared at Rome and\npresented himself to be heard before the assembled people, which was\nwith difficulty induced to respect the safe-conduct and to refrain\nfrom tearing in pieces on the spot the murderer of the Italians at\nCirta.  But scarcely had Gaius Memmius addressed his first question\nto the king, when one of his colleagues interfered in virtue of his\nveto and enjoined the king to be silent.  Here too African gold was\nmore powerful than the will of the sovereign people and of its\nsupreme magistrates.  Meanwhile the discussions respecting the\nvalidity of the peace so concluded went on in the senate, and the\nnew consul Spurius Postumius Albinus zealously supported the proposal\nto cancel it, in the expectation that in that case the chief command\nin Africa would devolve on him.  This induced Massiva, a grandson of\nMassinissa living in Rome, to assert before the senate his claims\nto the vacant Numidian kingdom; upon which Bomilcar, one of the\nconfidants of king Jugurtha, doubtless under his instructions made\naway with the rival of his master by assassination, and, when he was\nprosecuted on account of it, escaped with Jugurtha's aid from Rome.\n\nCancelling of the Treaty\nDeclaration of War\nCapitulation of the Romans\nSecond Peace\n\nThis new outrage perpetrated under the eyes of the Roman government\nwas at least so far effectual, that the senate now cancelled the\npeace and dismissed the king from the city (winter of 643-644).\nThe war was accordingly resumed, and the consul Spurius Albinus was\ninvested with the command (644).  But the African army down to its\nlowest ranks was in a state of disorganization corresponding to such\na political and military superintendence.  Not only had discipline\nceased and the spoliation of Numidian townships and even of the\nRoman provincial territory become during the suspension of hostilities\nthe chief business of the Roman soldiery, but not a few officers\nand soldiers had as well as their generals entered into secret\nunderstanding with the enemy.  It is easy to see that such an army\ncould do nothing in the field; and if Jugurtha on this occasion\nbribed the Roman general into inaction, as was afterwards judicially\nasserted against the latter, he did in truth what was superfluous.\nSpurius Albinus therefore contented himself with doing nothing.\nOn the other hand his brother who after his departure assumed the\ninterim command--the equally foolhardy and incapable Aulus Postumius--\nin the middle of winter fell on the idea of seizing by a bold coup de\nmain the treasures of the king, which were kept in the town of Suthul\n(afterwards Calama, now Guelma) difficult of access and still more\ndifficult of conquest.  The army set out thither and reached the\ntown; but the siege was unsuccessful and without prospect of result,\nand, when the king who had remained for a time with his troops in\nfront of the town went into the desert, the Roman general preferred\nto pursue him.  This was precisely what Jugurtha intended in a\nnocturnal assault, which was favoured by the difficulties of the\nground and the secret understanding which Jugurtha had with some in\nthe Roman army, the Numidians captured the Roman camp, and drove\nthe Romans, many of whom were unarmed, before them in the most\ncomplete and disgraceful rout.  The consequence was a capitulation,\nthe terms of which--the marching off of the Roman army under the yoke,\nthe immediate evacuation of the whole Numidian territory, and the\nrenewal of the treaty cancelled by the senate--were dictated by\nJugurtha and accepted by the Romans (in the beginning of 645).\n\nDissatisfaction in the Capital\n\nThis was too much to be borne.  While the Africans were exulting and\nthe prospect--thus suddenly opened up--of such an overthrow of the\nalien domination as had been reckoned scarcely possible was bringing\nnumerous tribes of the free and half-free inhabitants of the desert\nto the standards of the victorious king, public opinion in Italy was\nvehemently aroused against the equally corrupt and pernicious governing\naristocracy, and broke out in a storm of prosecutions which, fostered\nby the exasperation of the mercantile class, swept away a succession\nof victims from the highest circles of the nobility.  On the proposal\nof the tribune of the people Gaius Mamilius Limetanus, in spite of the\ntimid attempts of the senate to avert the threatened punishment, an\nextraordinary jury-commission was appointed to investigate the high\ntreason that had occurred in connection with the question of the\nNumidian succession; and its sentences sent the two former commanders-\nin-chief Gaius Bestia and Spurius Albinus as well as Lucius Opimius,\nthe head of the first African commission and the executioner withal\nof Gaius Gracchus, along with numerous other less notable men of the\ngovernment party, guilty and innocent, into exile.  That these\nprosecutions, however, were only intended to appease the excitement\nof public opinion, in the capitalist circles more especially, by the\nsacrifice of some of the persons most compromised, and that there was\nin them not the slightest trace of a rising of popular indignation\nagainst the government itself, void as it was of right and honour,\nis shown very clearly by the fact that no one ventured to attack\nthe guiltiest of the guilty, the prudent and powerful Scaurus; on\nthe contrary he was about this very time elected censor and also,\nincredible as it may seem, chosen as one of the presidents of the\nextraordinary commission of treason.  Still less was any attempt even\nmade to interfere with the functions of the government, and it was\nleft solely to the senate to put an end to the Numidian scandal in a\nmanner as gentle as possible for the aristocracy; for that it was\ntime to do so, even the most aristocratic aristocrat probably began\nto perceive.\n\nCancelling of the Second Treaty\nMetellus Appointed to the Command\nRenewal of the War\n\nThe senate in the first place cancelled the second treaty of peace--\nto surrender to the enemy the commander who had concluded it, as was\ndone some thirty years before, seemed according to the new ideas of\nthe sanctity of treaties no longer necessary--and determined, this\ntime in all earnest, to renew the war.  The supreme command in Africa\nwas entrusted, as was natural, to an aristocrat, but yet to one of\nthe few men of quality who in a military and moral point of view were\nequal to the task.  The choice fell on Quintus Metellus.  He was,\nlike the whole powerful family to which he belonged, in principle a\nrigid and unscrupulous aristocrat; as a magistrate, he, no doubt,\nreckoned it honourable to hire assassins for the good of the state and\nwould presumably have ridiculed the act of Fabricius towards Pyrrhus\nas unpractical knight errantry, but he was an inflexible administrator\naccessible neither to fear nor to corruption, and a judicious and\nexperienced warrior.  In this respect he was so far free from the\nprejudices of his order that he selected as his lieutenants not men\nof rank, but the excellent officer Publius Rutilius Rufus, who was\nesteemed in military circles for his exemplary discipline and as the\nauthor of an altered and improved system of drill, and the brave Latin\nfarmer's son Gaius Marius, who had risen from the pike.  Attended by\nthese and other able officers, Metellus presented himself in the course\nof 645 as consul and commander-in-chief to the African army, which he\nfound in such disorder that the generals had not hitherto ventured\nto lead it into the enemy's territory and it was formidable to none\nsave the unhappy inhabitants of the Roman province.  It was\nsternly and speedily reorganized, and in the spring of 646.(12)\n\nMetellus led it over the Numidian frontier.  When Jugurtha\nperceived the altered state of things, he gave himself up as lost,\nand, before the struggle began, made earnest proposals for an\naccommodation, requesting ultimately nothing more than a guarantee for\nhis life.  Metellus, however, was resolved and perhaps even instructed\nnot to terminate the war except with the unconditional subjugation and\nexecution of the daring client-prince; which was in fact the only\nissue that could satisfy the Romans.  Jugurtha since the victory over\nAlbinus was regarded as the deliverer of Libya from the rule of the\nhated foreigners; unscrupulous and cunning as he was, and unwieldy\nas was the Roman government, he might at any time even after a peace\nrekindle the war in his native country; tranquillity would not be\nsecured, and the removal of the African army would not be possible,\nuntil king Jugurtha should cease to exist.  Officially Metellus gave\nevasive answers to the proposals of the king; secretly he instigated\nthe envoys to deliver their master living or dead to the Romans.  But,\nwhen the Roman general undertook to compete with the African in the\nfield of assassination, he there met his master; Jugurtha saw\nthrough the plan, and, when he could not do otherwise, prepared\nfor a desperate resistance.\n\nBattle on the Muthul\n\nBeyond the utterly barren mountain-range, over which lay the route of\nthe Romans into the interior, a plain of eighteen miles in breadth\nextended as far as the river Muthul, which ran parallel to the\nmountain-chain.  The plain was destitute of water and of trees except\nin the immediate vicinity of the river, and was only intersected by\na hill-ridge covered with low brushwood.  On this ridge Jugurtha\nawaited the Roman army.  His troops were arranged in two masses;\nthe one, including a part of the infantry and the elephants, under\nBomilcar at the point where the ridge abutted on the river, the\nother, embracing the flower of the infantry and all the cavalry,\nhigher up towards the mountain-range, concealed by the bushes.\nOn debouching from the mountains, the Romans saw the enemy in a\nposition completely commanding their right flank; and, as they could\nnot possibly remain on the bare and arid crest of the chain and were\nunder the necessity of reaching the river, they had to solve the\ndifficult problem of gaining the stream through the entirely open plain\nof eighteen miles in breadth, under the eyes of the enemy's horsemen and\nwithout light cavalry of their own.  Metellus despatched a detachment\nunder Rufus straight towards the river, to pitch a camp there;\nthe main body marched from the defiles of the mountain-chain in an\noblique direction through the plain towards the hill-ridge, with a\nview to dislodge the enemy from the latter.  But this march in the\nplain threatened to become the destruction of the army; for, while\nNumidian infantry occupied the mountain defiles in the rear of the\nRomans as the latter evacuated them, the Roman attacking column found\nitself assailed on all sides by swarms of the enemy's horse, who\ncharged down on it from the ridge.  The constant onset of the\nhostile swarms hindered the advance, and the battle threatened to\nresolve itself into a number of confused and detached conflicts;\nwhile at the same time Bomilcar with his division detained the corps\nunder Rufus, to prevent it from hastening to the help of the hard-\npressed Roman main army.  Nevertheless Metellus and Marius with a\ncouple of thousand soldiers succeeded in reaching the foot of the\nridge; and the Numidian infantry which defended the heights, in\nspite of their superior numbers and favourable position, fled almost\nwithout resistance when the legionaries charged at a rapid pace\nup the hill.  The Numidian infantry held its ground equally ill\nagainst Rufus; it was scattered at the first charge, and the\nelephants were all killed or captured on the broken ground.  Late\nin the evening the two Roman divisions, each victorious on its\nown part and each anxious as to the fate of the other, met between\nthe two fields of battle.  It was a battle attesting alike the\nuncommon military talent of Jugurtha and the indestructible solidity\nof the Roman infantry, which alone had converted their strategical\ndefeat into a victory.  Jugurtha sent home a great part of his troops\nafter the battle, and restricted himself to a guerilla warfare, which\nhe likewise managed with skill.\n\nNumidia Occupied by the Romans\n\nThe two Roman columns, the one led by Metellus, the other by Marius--\nwho, although by birth and rank the humblest, occupied since the\nbattle on the Muthul the first place among the chiefs of the staff--\ntraversed the Numidian territory, occupied the towns, and, when any\nplace did not readily open its gates, put to death the adult male\npopulation.  But the most considerable among the eastern inland\ntowns, Zama, opposed to the Romans a serious resistance, which the\nking energetically supported.  He was even successful in surprising\nthe Roman camp; and the Romans found themselves at last compelled to\nabandon the siege and to go into winter quarters.  For the sake of\nmore easily provisioning his army Metellus, leaving behind garrisons\nin the conquered towns, transferred it into the Roman province, and\nemployed the opportunity of suspended hostilities to institute fresh\nnegotiations, showing a disposition to grant to the king a peace on\ntolerable terms.  Jugurtha readily entered into them; he had at\nonce bound himself to pay 200,000 pounds of silver, and had even\ndelivered up his elephants and 300 hostages, as well as 3000 Roman\ndeserters, who were immediately put to death.  At the same time,\nhowever, the king's most confidential counsellor, Bomilcar--who not\nunreasonably apprehended that, if peace should ensue, Jugurtha would\ndeliver him up as the murderer of Massiva to the Roman courts--was\ngained by Metellus and induced, in consideration of an assurance of\nimpunity as respected that murder and of great rewards, to promise\nthat he would deliver the king alive or dead into the hands of the\nRomans.  But neither that official negotiation nor this intrigue\nled to the desired result.  When Metellus brought forward the\nsuggestion that the king should give himself up in person as a\nprisoner, the latter broke off the negotiations; Bomilcar's\nintercourse with the enemy was discovered, and he was arrested and\nexecuted.  These diplomatic cabals of the meanest kind admit of no\napology; but the Romans had every reason to aim at the possession of\nthe person of their antagonist.  The war had reached a point, at which\nit could neither be carried farther nor abandoned.  The state of\nfeeling in Numidia was evinced by the revolt of Vaga,(13) the most\nconsiderable of the cities occupied by the Romans, in the winter of\n646-7; on which occasion the whole Roman garrison, officers and men,\nwere put to death with the exception of the commandant Titus Turpilius\nSilanus, who was afterwards--whether rightly or wrongly, we cannot\ntell--condemned to death by a Roman court-martial and executed for\nhaving an understanding with the enemy.  The town was surprised\nby Metellus on the second day after its revolt, and given over to\nall the rigour of martial law; but if such was the temper of the\neasy to be reached and comparatively submissive dwellers on the\nbanks of the Bagradas, what might be looked for farther inland and\namong the roving tribes of the desert? Jugurtha was the idol of\nthe Africans, who readily overlooked the double fratricide in the\nliberator and avenger of their nation.  Twenty years afterwards a\nNumidian corps which was fighting in Italy for the Romans had to\nbe sent back in all haste to Africa, when the son of Jugurtha\nappeared in the enemy's ranks; we may infer from this, how great\nwas the influence which he himself exercised over his people.\nWhat prospect was there of a termination of the struggle in regions\nwhere the combined peculiarities of the population and of the soil\nallowed a leader, who had once secured the sympathies of the\nnation, to protract the war in endless guerilla conflicts, or even\nto let it sleep for a time in order to revive it at the right moment\nwith renewed vigour?\n\nWar in the Desert\nMauretanian Complications\n\nWhen Metellus again took the field in 647, Jugurtha nowhere held\nhis ground against him; he appeared now at one point, now at another\nfar distant; it seemed as if they would as easily get the better of\nthe lions as of these horsemen of the desert.  A battle was fought,\na victory was won; but it was difficult to say what had been\ngained by the victory.  The king had vanished out of sight in\nthe distance.  In the interior of the modern beylik of Tunis,\nclose on the edge of the great desert, there lay on an oasis\nprovided with springs the strong place Thala;(14) thither Jugurtha\nhad retired with his children, his treasures, and the flower of his\ntroops, there to await better times.  Metellus ventured to follow the\nking through a desert, in which his troops had to carry water along\nwith them in skins forty-five miles; Thala was reached and fell after\na forty days' siege; but the Roman deserters destroyed the most\nvaluable part of the booty along with the building in which they\nburnt themselves after the capture of the town, and--what was of more\nconsequence--king Jugurtha escaped with his children and his chest.\nNumidia was no doubt virtually in the hands of the Romans; but,\ninstead of their object being thereby gained, the war seemed only\nto extend over a field wider and wider.  In the south the free\nGaetulian tribes of the desert began at the call of Jugurtha a\nnational war against the Romans.  In the west Bocchus king of\nMauretania, whose friendship the Romans had in earlier times\ndespised, seemed now not indisposed to make common cause with his\nson-in-law against them; he not only received him in his court, but,\nuniting to Jugurtha's followers his own numberless swarms of horsemen,\nhe marched into the region of Cirta, where Metellus was in winter\nquarters.  They began to negotiate: it was clear that in the\nperson of Jugurtha he held in his hands the real prize of the\nstruggle for Rome.  But what were his intentions--whether to sell\nhis son-in-law dear to the Romans, or to take up the national war\nin concert with that son-in-law--neither the Romans nor Jugurtha\nnor perhaps even the king himself knew; and he was in no hurry\nto abandon his ambiguous position.\n\nMarius Commander-in-Chief\n\nThereupon Metellus left the province, which he had been compelled by\ndecree of the people to give up to his former lieutenant Marius who\nwas now consul; and the latter assumed the supreme command for the\nnext campaign in 648.  He was indebted for it in some degree to a\nrevolution.  Relying on the services which he had rendered and at\nthe same time on oracles which had been communicated to him, he had\nresolved to come forward as a candidate for the consulship.  If the\naristocracy had supported the constitutional, and in other respects\nquite justifiable, candidature of this able man, who was not at all\ninclined to take part with the opposition, nothing would have come\nof the matter but the enrolment of a new family in the consular\nFasti.  Instead of this the man of non-noble birth, who aspired to\nthe highest public dignity, was reviled by the whole governing caste\nas a daring innovator and revolutionist; just as the plebeian\ncandidate had been formerly treated by the patricians, but now\nwithout any formal ground in law.  The brave officer was sneered at\nin sharp language by Metellus--Marius was told that he might wait with\nhis candidature till Metellus' son, a beardless boy, could be his\ncolleague--and he was with the worst grace suffered to leave almost\nat the last moment, that he might appear in the capital as a candidate\nfor the consulship of 647.  There he amply retaliated on his\ngeneral the wrong which he had suffered, by criticising before the\ngaping multitude the conduct of the war and the administration of\nMetellus in Africa in a manner as unmilitary as it was disgracefully\nunfair; and he did not even disdain to serve up to the darling\npopulace--always whispering about secret conspiracies equally\nunprecedented and indubitable on the part of their noble masters--\nthe silly story, that Metellus was designedly protracting the war\nin order to remain as long as possible commander-in-chief.  To the\nidlers of the streets this was quite clear: numerous persons\nunfriendly for reasons good or bad to the government, and especially\nthe justly-indignant mercantile order, desired nothing better than such\nan opportunity of annoying the aristocracy in its most sensitive point:\nhe was elected to the consulship by an enormous majority, and not only\nso, but, while in other cases by the law of Gaius Gracchus the\ndecision as to the respective functions to be assigned to the consuls\nlay with the senate (p.  355), the arrangement made by the senate\nwhich left Metellus at his post was overthrown, and by decree of\nthe sovereign comitia the supreme command in the African war\nwas committed to Marius.\n\nConflicts without Result\n\nAccordingly he took the place of Metellus in the course of 647;\nand held the command in the campaign of the following year; but his\nconfident promise to do better than his predecessor and to deliver\nJugurtha bound hand and foot with all speed at Rome was more easily\ngiven than fulfilled.  Marius carried on a desultory warfare with\nthe Gaetulians; he reduced several towns that had not previously been\noccupied; he undertook an expedition to Capsa (Gafsa) in the extreme\nsouth-east of the kingdom, which surpassed even that of Thala in\ndifficulty, took the town by capitulation, and in spite of the\nconvention caused all the adult men in it to be slain--the only\nmeans, no doubt, of preventing the renewed revolt of that remote city\nof the desert; he attacked a mountain-stronghold--situated on the\nriver Molochath, which separated the Numidian territory from the\nMauretanian--whither Jugurtha had conveyed his treasure-chest, and,\njust as he was about to desist from the siege in despair of success,\nfortunately gained possession of the impregnable fastness through\nthe coup de main of some daring climbers.  Had his object merely\nbeen to harden the army by bold razzias and to procure booty for the\nsoldiers, or even to eclipse the march of Metellus into the desert\nby an expedition going still farther, this method of warfare might\nbe allowed to pass unchallenged; but the main object to be aimed at,\nand which Metellus had steadfastly and perseveringly kept in view--\nthe capture of Jugurtha--was in this way utterly set aside.\nThe expedition of Marius to Capsa was a venture as aimless, as\nthat of Metellus to Thala had been judicious; but the expedition\nto the Molochath, which passed along the border of, if not into,\nthe Mauretanian territory, was directly repugnant to sound policy.\nKing Bocchus, in whose power it lay to bring the war to an issue\nfavourable for the Romans or endlessly to prolong it, now concluded\nwith Jugurtha a treaty, in which the latter ceded to him a part of\nhis kingdom and Bocchus promised actively to support his son-in-law\nagainst Rome.  The Roman army, which was returning from the river\nMolochath, found itself one evening suddenly surrounded by immense\nmasses of Mauretanian and Numidian cavalry; they were obliged to fight\njust as the divisions stood without forming in a proper order of battle\nor carrying out any leading command, and had to deem themselves\nfortunate when their sadly-thinned troops were brought into temporary\nsafety for the night on two hills not far remote from each other.\nBut the culpable negligence of the Africans intoxicated with victory\nwrested from them its consequences; they allowed themselves to be\nsurprised in a deep sleep during the morning twilight by the Roman\ntroops which had been in some measure reorganized during the night,\nand were fortunately dispersed.  Thereupon the Roman army continued\nits retreat in better order and with greater caution; but it was\nyet again assailed simultaneously on ail the four sides and was in\ngreat danger, till the cavalry officer Lucius Cornelius Sulla first\ndispersed the squadrons opposed to him and then, rapidly returning\nfrom their pursuit, threw himself also on Jugurtha and Bocchus at\nthe point where they in person pressed hard on the rear of the\nRoman infantry.  Thus this attack also was successfully repelled;\nMarius brought his army back to Cirta, and took up his winter\nquarters there (648-9).\n\nNegotiations with Bocchus\n\nStrange as it may seem, we can yet understand why the Romans now,\nafter king Bocchus had commenced the war, began to make most zealous\nexertions to secure his friendship, which they had at first slighted\nand thereafter had at least not specially sought; by doing so they\ngained this advantage, that no formal declaration of war took place\non the part of Mauretania.  King Bocchus was not unwilling to return\nto his old ambiguous position: without dissolving his agreement with\nJugurtha or dismissing him, he entered into negotiations with the\nRoman general respecting the terms of an alliance with Rome.  When\nthey were agreed or seemed to be so, the king requested that, for\nthe purpose of concluding the treaty and receiving the royal captive,\nMarius would send to him Lucius Sulla, who was known and acceptable\nto the king partly from his having formerly appeared as envoy of\nthe senate at the Mauretanian court, partly from the commendations of\nthe Mauretanian envoys destined for Rome to whom Sulla had rendered\nservices on their way.  Marius was in an awkward position.\nHis declining the suggestion would probably lead to a breach; his\naccepting it would throw his most aristocratic and bravest officer\ninto the hands of a man more than untrustworthy, who, as every one\nknew, played a double game with the Romans and with Jugurtha, and\nwho seemed almost to have contrived the scheme for the purpose of\nobtaining for himself provisional hostages from both sides in the\npersons of Jugurtha and Sulla.  But the wish to terminate the war\noutweighed every other consideration, and Sulla agreed to undertake\nthe perilous task which Marius suggested to him.  He boldly departed\nunder the guidance of Volux the son of king Bocchus, nor did his\nresolution waver even when his guide led him through the midst of\nJugurtha's camp.  He rejected the pusillanimous proposals of flight\nthat came from his attendants, and marched, with the king's son at\nhis side, uninjured through the enemy.  The daring officer evinced\nthe same decision in the discussions with the sultan, and induced\nhim at length seriously to make his choice.\n\nSurrender and Execution of Jugurtha\n\nJugurtha was sacrificed.  Under the pretext that all his requests were\nto be granted, he was allured by his own father-in-law into an ambush,\nhis attendants were killed, and he himself was taken prisoner.\nThe great traitor thus fell by the treachery of his nearest relatives.\nLucius Sulla brought the crafty and restless African in chains along\nwith his children to the Roman headquarters; and the war which had\nlasted for seven years was at an end.  The victory was primarily\nassociated with the name of Marius.  King Jugurtha in royal robes\nand in chains, along with his two sons, preceded the triumphal chariot\nof the victor, when he entered Rome on the 1st of January 650: by\nhis orders the son of the desert perished a few days afterwards in\nthe subterranean city-prison, the old -tullianum- at the Capitol--\nthe \"bath of ice,\" as the African called it, when he crossed the\nthreshold in order either to be strangled or to perish from cold and\nhunger there.  But it could not be denied that Marius had the least\nimportant share in the actual successes: the conquest of Numidia up\nto the edge of the desert was the work of Metellus, the capture of\nJugurtha was the work of Sulla, and between the two Marius played a\npart somewhat compromising the dignity of an ambitious upstart.\nMarius reluctantly tolerated the assumption by his predecessor of the\nname of conqueror of Numidia; he flew into a violent rage when king\nBocchus afterwards consecrated a golden effigy at the Capitol, which\nrepresented the surrender of Jugurtha to Sulla; and yet in the eyes\nof unprejudiced judges the services of these two threw the generalship\nof Marius very much into the shade--more especially Sulla's brilliant\nexpedition to the desert, which had made his courage, his presence of\nmind, his acuteness, his power over men to be recognized by the\ngeneral himself and by the whole army.  In themselves these military\nrivalries would have been of little moment, if they had not been mixed\nup with the conflict of political parties, if the opposition had not\nsupplanted the senatorial general by Marius, and if the party of the\ngovernment had not, with the deliberate intention of exasperating,\npraised Metellus and still more Sulla as the military celebrities\nand preferred them to the nominal victor.  We shall have to return\nto the fatal consequences of these animosities when narrating\nthe internal history.\n\nReorganization of Numidia\n\nOtherwise, this insurrection of the Numidian client-state passed\naway without producing any noticeable change either in political\nrelations generally or even in those of the African province.\nBy a deviation from the policy elsewhere followed at this period\nNumidia was not converted into a Roman province; evidently because\nthe country could not be held without an army to protect the frontier\nagainst the barbarians of the desert, and the Romans were by no\nmeans disposed to maintain a standing army in Africa.  They\ncontented themselves accordingly with annexing the most westerly\ndistrict of Numidia, probably the tract from the river Molochath to\nthe harbour of Saldae (Bougie)--the later Mauretania Caesariensis\n(province of Algiers)--to the kingdom of Bocchus, and with handing\nover the kingdom of Numidia thus diminished to the last legitimate\ngrandson of Massinissa still surviving, Gauda the half-brother of\nJugurtha, feeble in body and mind, who had already in 646 at the\nsuggestion of Marius asserted his claims before the senate.(15)\nAt the same time the Gaetulian tribes in the interior of Africa were\nreceived as free allies into the number of the independent nations\nthat had treaties with Rome.\n\nPolitical Issues\n\nOf greater importance than this regulation of African clientship were\nthe political consequences of the Jugurthine war or rather of the\nJugurthine insurrection, although these have been frequently estimated\ntoo highly.  Certainly all the evils of the government were therein\nbrought to light in all their nakedness; it was now not merely\nnotorious but, so to speak, judicially established, that among the\ngoverning lords of Rome everything was treated as venal--the treaty\nof peace and the right of intercession, the rampart of the camp and\nthe life of the soldier; the African had said no more than the simple\ntruth, when on his departure from Rome he declared that, if he\nhad only gold enough, he would undertake to buy the city itself.\nBut the whole external and internal government of this period bore\nthe same stamp of miserable baseness.  In our case the accidental fact,\nthat the war in Africa is brought nearer to us by means of better\naccounts than the other contemporary military and political events,\nshifts the true perspective; contemporaries learned by these\nrevelations nothing but what everybody knew long before and every\nintrepid patriot had long been in a position to support by facts.\nThe circumstance, however, that they were now furnished with some fresh,\nstill stronger and still more irrefutable, proofs of the baseness of\nthe restored senatorial government--a baseness only surpassed by its\nincapacity--might have been of importance, had there been an opposition\nand a public opinion with which the government would have found\nit necessary to come to terms.  But this war had in fact exposed the\ncorruption of the government no less than it had revealed the utter\nnullity of the opposition.  It was not possible to govern worse than\nthe restoration governed in the years 637-645; it was not possible\nto stand forth more defenceless and forlorn than was the Roman\nsenate in 645: had there been in Rome a real opposition, that is to\nsay, a party which wished and urged a fundamental alteration of the\nconstitution, it must necessarily have now made at least an attempt\nto overturn the restored senate.  No such attempt took place; the\npolitical question was converted into a personal one, the generals\nwere changed, and one or two useless and unimportant people were\nbanished.  It was thus settled, that the so-called popular party\nas such neither could nor would govern; that only two forms of\ngovernment were at all possible in Rome, a -tyrannis- or an\noligarchy; that, so long as there happened to be nobody sufficiently\nwell known, if not sufficiently important, to usurp the regency of\nthe state, the worst mismanagement endangered at the most individual\noligarchs, but never the oligarchy; that on the other hand, so soon\nas such a pretender appeared, nothing was easier than to shake the\nrotten curule chairs.  In this respect the coming forward of Marius\nwas significant, just because it was in itself so utterly unwarranted.\nIf the burgesses had stormed the senate-house after the defeat of\nAlbinus, it would have been a natural, not to say a proper course; but\nafter the turn which Metellus had given to the Numidian war, nothing\nmore could be said of mismanagement, and still less of danger to the\ncommonwealth, at least in this respect; and yet the first ambitious\nofficer who turned up succeeded in doing that with which the older\nAfricanus had once threatened the government,(16) and procured for\nhimself one of the principal military commands against the distinctly-\nexpressed will of the governing body.  Public opinion, unavailing in\nthe hands of the so-called popular party, became an irresistible\nweapon in the hands of the future king of Rome.  We do not mean to say\nthat Marius intended to play the pretender, at least at the time when\nhe canvassed the people for the supreme command in Africa; but,\nwhether he did or did not understand what he was doing, there was\nevidently an end of the restored aristocratic government when the\ncomitial machine began to make generals, or, which was nearly the\nsame thing, when every popular officer was able in legal fashion to\nnominate himself as general.  Only one new element emerged in these\npreliminary crises; this was the introduction of military men and of\nmilitary power into the political revolution.  Whether the coming\nforward of Marius would be the immediate prelude of a new attempt\nto supersede the oligarchy by the -tyrannis-, or whether it would,\nas in various similar cases, pass away without further consequence\nas an isolated encroachment on the prerogative of the government,\ncould not yet be determined; but it could well be foreseen that, if\nthese rudiments of a second -tyrannis- should attain any development,\nit was not a statesman like Gaius Gracchus, but an officer that would\nbecome its head.  The contemporary reorganization of the military\nsystem--which Marius introduced when, in forming his army destined\nfor Africa, he disregarded the property-qualification hitherto\nrequired, and allowed even the poorest burgess, if he was otherwise\nserviceable, to enter the legion as a volunteer--may have been\nprojected by its author on purely military grounds; but it was none\nthe less on that account a momentous political event, that the army\nwas no longer, as formerly, composed of those who had much, no\nlonger even, as in the most recent times, composed of those who had\nsomething, to lose, but became gradually converted into a host of\npeople who had nothing but their arms and what the general bestowed\non them.  The aristocracy ruled in 650 just as absolutely as in 620;\nbut the signs of the impending catastrophe had multiplied, and on\nthe political horizon the sword had begun to appear by the side\nof the crown.\n\n\n\n\nChapter V\n\nThe Peoples of the North\n\nRelations of Rome to the North\nThe Country between the Alps and the Pyrenees\nConflicts with the Ligurians and the Salassi\n\nFrom the close of the sixth century the Roman community ruled over\nthe three great peninsulas projecting from the northern continent into\nthe Mediterranean, at least taken as a whole.  Even there however--in\nthe north and west of Spain, in the valleys of the Ligurian Apennines\nand the Alps, and in the mountains of Macedonia and Thrace--tribes\nwholly or partially free continued to defy the lax Roman government.\nMoreover the continental communication between Spain and Italy as\nwell as between Italy and Macedonia was very superficially provided\nfor, and the countries beyond the Pyrenees, the Alps, and the Balkan\nchain--the great river basins of the Rhone, the Rhine, and the Danube--\nin the main lay beyond the political horizon of the Romans.  We have\nnow to set forth what steps were taken on the part of Rome to secure\nand to round off her empire in this direction, and how at the same\ntime the great masses of peoples, who were ever moving to and fro\nbehind that mighty mountain-screen, began to beat at the gates of the\nnorthern mountains and rudely to remind the Graeco-Roman world that\nit was mistaken in believing itself the sole possessor of the earth.\n\nLet us first glance at the region between the western Alps and the\nPyrenees.  The Romans had for long commanded this part of the coast\nof the Mediterranean through their client city of Massilia, one of\nthe oldest, most faithful, and most powerful of the allied communities\ndependent on Rome.  Its maritime stations, Agatha (Agde) and Rhoda\n(Rosas) to the westward, and Tauroentium (Ciotat), Olbia (Hyeres?),\nAntipolis (Antibes), and Nicaea (Nice) on the east secured the\nnavigation of the coast as well as the land-route from the Pyrenees\nto the Alps; and its mercantile and political connections reached far\ninto the interior.  An expedition into the Alps above Nice and Antibes,\ndirected against the Ligurian Oxybii and Decietae, was undertaken by\nthe Romans in 600 partly at the request of the Massiliots, partly\nin their own interest; and after hot conflicts, some of which were\nattended with much loss, this district of the mountains was compelled\nto furnish thenceforth standing hostages to the Massiliots and to pay\nthem a yearly tribute.  It is not improbable that about this same\nperiod the cultivation of the vine and olive, which flourished in this\nquarter after the model set by the Massiliots, was in the interest\nof the Italian landholders and merchants simultaneously prohibited\nthroughout the territory beyond the Alps dependent on Massilia.(1)\nA similar character of financial speculation marks the war, which was\nwaged by the Romans under the consul Appius Claudius in 611 against the\nSalassi respecting the gold mines and gold washings of Victumulae (in\nthe district of Vercelli and Bard and in the whole valley of the Dorea\nBaltea).  The great extent of these washings, which deprived the\ninhabitants of the country lying lower down of water for their fields,\nfirst gave rise to an attempt at mediation and then to the armed\nintervention of the Romans.  The war, although the Romans began it\nlike all the other wars of this period with a defeat, led at last to\nthe subjugation of the Salassi, and the cession of the gold district\nto the Roman treasury.  Some forty years afterwards (654) the colony of\nEporedia (Ivrea) was instituted on the territory thus gained, chiefly\ndoubtless with a view to command the western, as Aquileia commanded\nthe eastern, passage of the Alps.\n\nTransalpine Relations of Rome\nThe Arverni\n\nThese Alpine wars first assumed a more serious character, when Marcus\nFulvius Flaccus, the faithful ally of Gaius Gracchus, took the chief\ncommand in this quarter as consul in 629.  He was the first to enter\non the career of Transalpine conquest.  In the much-divided Celtic\nnation at this period the canton of the Bituriges had lost its\nreal hegemony and retained merely an honorary presidency, and the\nactually leading canton in the region from the Pyrenees to the Rhine\nand from the Mediterranean to the Western Ocean was that of the\nArverni;(2) so that the statement seems not quite an exaggeration,\nthat it could bring into the field as many as 180,000 men.  With\nthem the Haedui (about Autun) carried on an unequal rivalry for the\nhegemony; while in north-eastern Gaul the kings of the Suessiones\n(about Soissons) united under their protectorate the league of the\nBelgic tribes extending as far as Britain.  Greek travellers of\nthat period had much to tell of the magnificent state maintained by\nLuerius, king of the Arvernians--how, surrounded by his brilliant train\nof clansmen, his huntsmen with their pack of hounds in leash and his\nband of wandering minstrels, he travelled in a silver-mounted chariot\nthrough the towns of his kingdom, scattering the gold with a full\nhand among the multitude, and gladdening above all the heart of the\nminstrel with the glittering shower.  The descriptions of the open\ntable which he kept in an enclosure of 1500 double paces square, and\nto which every one who came in the way was invited, vividly remind us\nof the marriage table of Camacho.  In fact, the numerous Arvernian\ngold coins of this period still extant show that the canton of the\nArvernians had attained to extraordinary wealth and a comparatively\nhigh standard of civilization.\n\nWar with Allobroges and Arverni\n\nThe attack of Flaccus, however, fell in the first instance not on\nthe Arverni, but on the smaller tribes in the district between the Alps\nand the Rhone, where the original Ligurian inhabitants had become mixed\nwith subsequent arrivals of Celtic bands, and there had arisen a\nCelto-Ligurian population that may in this respect be compared to the\nCeltiberian.  He fought (629, 630) with success against the Salyes\nor Salluvii in the region of Aix and in the valley of the Durance,\nand against their northern neighbours the Vocontii (in the departments\nof Vaucluse and Drome); and so did his successor Gaius Sextius Calvinus\n(631, 632) against the Allobroges, a powerful Celtic clan in the rich\nvalley of the Isere, which had come at the request of the fugitive\nking of the Salyes, Tutomotulus, to help him to reconquer his land, but\nwas defeated in the district of Aix.  When the Allobroges nevertheless\nrefused to surrender the king of the Salyes, Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus,\nthe successor of Calvinus, penetrated into their own territory (632).\nUp to this period the leading Celtic tribe had been spectators of the\nencroachments of their Italian neighbours; the Arvernian king Betuitus,\nson of the Luerius already mentioned, seemed not much inclined to enter\non a dangerous war for the sake of the loose relation of clientship\nin which the eastern cantons might stand to him.  But when the Romans\nshowed signs of attacking the Allobroges in their own territory,\nhe offered his mediation, the rejection of which was followed by\nhis taking the field with all his forces to help the Allobroges;\nwhereas the Haedui embraced the side of the Romans.  On receiving\naccounts of the rising of the Arverni, the Romans sent the consul\nof 633, Quintus Fabius Maximus, to meet in concert with Ahenobarbus\nthe impending attack.  On the southern border of the canton of the\nAllobroges at the confluence of the Isere with the Rhone, on the\n8th of August 633, the battle was fought which decided the mastery\nof southern Gaul.  King Betuitus, when he saw the innumerable\nhosts of the dependent clans marching over to him on the bridge\nof boats thrown across the Rhone and the Romans who had not a\nthird of their numbers forming in array against them, is said to have\nexclaimed that there were not enough of the latter to satisfy the dogs\nof the Celtic army.  Nevertheless Maximus, a grandson of the victor\nof Pydna, achieved a decisive victory, which, as the bridge of boats\nbroke down under the mass of the fugitives, ended in the destruction\nof the greater part of the Arvernian army.  The Allobroges, to whom\nthe king of the Arverni declared himself unable to render further\nassistance, and whom he advised to make their peace with Maximus,\nsubmitted to the consul; whereupon the latter, thenceforth called\nAllobrogicus, returned to Italy and left to Ahenobarbus the no longer\ndistant termination of the Arvernian war.  Ahenobarbus, personally\nexasperated at king Betuitus because he had induced the Allobroges\nto surrender to Maximus and not to him, possessed himself\ntreacherously of the person of the king and sent him to Rome, where\nthe senate, although disapproving the breach of fidelity, not only kept\nthe men betrayed, but gave orders that his son, Congonnetiacus, should\nlikewise be sent to Rome.  This seems to have been the reason why\nthe Arvernian war, already almost at an end, once more broke out, and\na second appeal to arms took place at Vindalium (above Avignon) at\nthe confluence of the Sorgue with the Rhone.  The result was not\ndifferent from that of the first: on this occasion it was chiefly\nthe African elephants that scattered the Celtic army.  Thereupon\nthe Arverni submitted to peace, and tranquillity was re-established\nin the land of the Celts.(3)\n\nProvince of Narbo\n\nThe result of these military operations was the institution of a\nnew Roman province between the maritime Alps and the Pyrenees.\nAll the tribes between the Alps and the Rhone became dependent\non the Romans and, so far as they did not pay tribute to Massilia,\npresumably became now tributary to Rome.  In the country between\nthe Rhone and the Pyrenees the Arverni retained freedom and were not\nbound to pay tribute to the Romans; but they had to cede to Rome\nthe most southerly portion of their direct or indirect territory-\nthe district to the south of the Cevennes as far as the Mediterranean,\nand the upper course of the Garonne as far as Tolosa (Toulouse).\nAs the primary object of these occupations was the establishment of\na land communication between Italy and Spain, arrangements were made\nimmediately thereafter for the construction of the road along the\ncoast.  For this purpose a belt of coast from the Alps to the Rhone,\nfrom 1 to 1 3/4 of a mile in breadth, was handed over to the Massiliots,\nwho already had a series of maritime stations along this coast, with\nthe obligation of keeping the road in proper condition; while from\nthe Rhone to the Pyrenees the Romans themselves laid out a military\nhighway, which obtained from its originator Ahenobarbus the name\nof the -Via Domitia-.\n\nRoman Settlements in the Region of the Rhone\n\nAs usual, the formation of new fortresses was combined with\nthe construction of roads.  In the eastern portion the Romans chose\nthe spot where Gaius Sextius had defeated the Celts, and where the\npleasantness and fertility of the region as well as the numerous hot\nand cold springs invited them to settlement; a Roman township sprang\nup there--the \"baths of Sextius,\" Aquae Sextiae (Aix).  To the west\nof the Rhone the Romans settled in Narbo, an ancient Celtic town on the\nnavigable river Atax (Aude) at a small distance from the sea, which is\nalready mentioned by Hecataeus, and which even before its occupation\nby the Romans vied with Massilia as a place of stirring commerce, and\nas sharing the trade in British tin.  Aquae did not obtain civic rights,\nbut remained a standing camp;(4) whereas Narbo, although in like\nmanner founded mainly as a watch and outpost against the Celts,\nbecame as \"Mars' town,\" a Roman burgess-colony and the usual seat\nof the governor of the new Transalpine Celtic province or, as it\nwas more frequently called, the province of Narbo.\n\nThe Advance of the Romans Checked by the Policy of the Restoration\n\nThe Gracchan party, which suggested these extensions of territory\nbeyond the Alps, evidently wished to open up there a new and\nimmeasurable field for their plans of colonization,--a field which\noffered the same advantages as Sicily and Africa, and could be more\neasily wrested from the natives than he Sicilian and Libyan estates\nfrom the Italian capitalists.  The fall of Gaius Gracchus, no doubt,\nmade itself felt here also in the restriction of acquisitions of\nterritory and still more of the founding of towns; but, if the design\nwas not carried out in its full extent, it was at any rate not wholly\nfrustrated.  The territory acquired and, still more, the foundation of\nNarbo--a settlement for which the senate vainly endeavoured to prepare\nthe fate of that at Carthage--remained standing as parts of an\nunfinished structure, exhorting the future successor of Gracchus\nto continue the building.  It is evident that the Roman mercantile\nclass, which was able to compete with Massilia in the Gallo-Britannic\ntraffic at Narbo alone, protected that settlement from the assaults\nof the Optimates.\n\nIllyria\nDalmatians\nTheir Subjugation\n\nA problem similar to that in the north-west had to be dealt\nwith in the north-east of Italy; it was in like manner not wholly\nneglected, but was solved still more imperfectly than the former.\nWith the foundation of Aquileia (571) the Istrian peninsula came\ninto possession of the Romans;(5) in part of Epirus and the former\nterritory of the lords of Scodra they had already ruled for some\nconsiderable time previously.  But nowhere did their dominion reach\ninto the interior; and even on the coast they exercised scarcely a\nnominal sway over the inhospitable shore-belt between Istria and\nEpirus, which, with its wild series of mountain-caldrons broken neither\nby river-valleys nor by coast-plains and arranged like scales one above\nanother, and with its chain of rocky islands stretching along the\nshore, separates more than it connects Italy and Greece.  Around the\ntown of Delminium (on the Cettina near Trigl) clustered the confederacy\nof the Delmatians or Dalmatians, whose manners were rough as their\nmountains.  While the neighbouring peoples had already attained a\nhigh degree of culture, the Dalmatians were as yet unacquainted with\nmoney, and divided their land, without recognizing any special right\nof property in it, afresh every eight years among the members of\nthe community.  Brigandage and piracy were the only native trades.\nThese tribes had in earlier times stood in a loose relation of\ndependence on the rulers of Scodra, and had so far shared in the\nchastisement inflicted by the Roman expeditions against queen\nTeuta(6) and Demetrius of Pharos;(7) but on the accession of king\nGenthius they had revolted and had thus escaped the fate which involved\nsouthern Illyria in the fall of the Macedonian empire and rendered it\npermanently dependent on Rome.(8)  The Romans were glad to leave the\nfar from attractive region to itself.  But the complaints of the Roman\nIllyrians, particularly of the Daorsi, who dwelt on the Narenta to\nthe south of the Dalmatians, and of the inhabitants of the islands of\nIssa (Lissa), whose continental stations Tragyrium (Trau) and Epetium\n(near Spalato) suffered severely from the natives, compelled the Roman\ngovernment to despatch an embassy to the latter, and on receiving the\nreply that the Dalmatians had neither troubled themselves hitherto\nabout the Romans nor would do so in future, to send thither an army\nin 598 under the consul Gaius Marcius Figulus.  He penetrated into\nDalmatia, but was again driven back as far as the Roman territory.\nIt was not till his successor Publius Scipio Nasica took the large\nand strong town of Delminium in 599, that the confederacy conformed\nand professed itself subject to the Romans.  But the poor and only\nsuperficially subdued country was not sufficiently important to be\nerected into a distinct province: the Romans contented themselves, as\nthey had already done in the case of the more important possessions in\nEpirus, with having it administered from Italy along with Cisalpine\nGaul; an arrangement which was, at least as a rule, retained even\nwhen the province of Macedonia had been erected in 608 and its north\nwestern frontier had been fixed to the northward of Scodra.(9)\n\nThe Romans in Macedonia and Thrace\n\nBut this very conversion of Macedonia into a province directly\ndependent on Rome gave to the relations of Rome with the peoples\non the north-east greater importance, by imposing on the Romans\nthe obligation of defending the everywhere exposed frontier on\nthe north and east against the adjacent barbarian tribes; and in\na similar way not long afterwards (621) the acquisition by Rome of\nthe Thracian Chersonese (peninsula of Gallipoli) previously belonging\nto the kingdom of the Attalids devolved on the Romans the obligation\nhitherto resting on the kings of Pergamus to protect the Hellenes here\nagainst the Thracians.  From the double basis furnished by the valley\nof the Po and the province of Macedonia the Romans could now advance\nin earnest towards the region of the headwaters of the Rhine and towards\nthe Danube, and possess themselves of the northern mountains at least\nso far as was requisite for the security of the lands to the south.\n\nThe Tribes at the Sources of the Rhine and along the Danube\nHelvetii\nBoii\nTaurisci\nCerni\nRaeti, Euganei, Veneti\n\nIn these regions the most powerful nation at that time was the great\nCeltic people, which according to the native tradition(10) had issued\nfrom its settlements on the Western Ocean and poured itself about the\nsame time into the valley of the Po on the south of the main chain of\nthe Alps and into the regions on the Upper Rhine and on the Danube to\nthe north of that chain.  Among their various tribes, both banks of\nthe Upper Rhine were occupied by the powerful and rich Helvetii, who\nnowhere came into immediate contact with the Romans and so lived in\npeace and in treaty with them: at this time they seem to have stretched\nfrom the lake of Geneva to the river Main, and to have occupied the\nmodern Switzerland, Suabia, and Franconia Adjacent to them dwelt\nthe Boii, whose settlements were probably in the modern Bavaria and\nBohemia.(11)  To the south-east of these we meet with another Celtic\nstock, which made its appearance in Styria and Carinthia under the\nname of the Taurisci and afterwards of the Norici, in Friuli, Carniola,\nand Istria under that of the Carni.  Their city Noreia (not far from\nSt.  Veit to the north of Klagenfurt) was flourishing and widely known\nfrom the iron mines that were even at that time zealously worked\nin those regions; still more were the Italians at this very period\nallured thither by the rich seams of gold brought to light, till the\nnatives excluded them and took this California of that day wholly into\ntheir own hands.  These Celtic hordes streaming along on both sides of\nthe Alps had after their fashion occupied chiefly the flat and hill\ncountry; the Alpine regions proper and likewise the districts along\nthe Adige and the Lower Po were not occupied by them, and remained\nin the hands of the earlier indigenous population.  Nothing certain\nhas yet been ascertained as to the nationality of the latter; but they\nappear under the name of the Raeti in the mountains of East Switzerland\nand the Tyrol, and under that of the Euganei and Veneti about Padua\nand Venice; so that at this last point the two great Celtic streams\nalmost touched each other, and only a narrow belt of native population\nseparated the Celtic Cenomani about Brescia from the Celtic Carnians\nin Friuli.  The Euganei and Veneti had long been peaceful subjects of\nthe Romans; whereas the peoples of the Alps proper were not only still\nfree, but made regular forays down from their mountains into the\nplain between the Alps and the Po, where they were not content with\nlevying contributions, but conducted themselves with fearful cruelty\nin the townships which they captured, not unfrequently slaughtering\nthe whole male population down to the infant in the cradle--the practical\nanswer, it may be presumed, to the Roman razzias in the Alpine valleys.\nHow dangerous these Raetian inroads were, appears from the fact that\none of them about 660 destroyed the considerable township of Comum.\n\nIllyrian Peoples\nJapydes\nScordisci\n\nIf these Celtic and non-Celtic tribes having their settlements upon and\nbeyond the Alpine chain were already variously intermingled, there was,\nas may easily be conceived, a still more comprehensive intermixture\nof peoples in the countries on the Lower Danube, where there were no\nhigh mountain ranges, as in the more western regions, to serve as\nnatural walls of partition.  The original Illyrian population, of\nwhich the modern Albanians seem to be the last pure survivors, was\nthroughout, at least in the interior, largely mixed with Celtic\nelements, and the Celtic armour and Celtic method of warfare were\nprobably everywhere introduced in that quarter.  Next to the Taurisci\ncame the Japydes, who had their settlements on the Julian Alps in the\nmodern Croatia as far down as Fiume and Zeng,--a tribe originally\ndoubtless Illyrian, but largely mixed with Celts.  Bordering with these\nalong the coast were the already-mentioned Dalmatians, into whose rugged\nmountains the Celts do not seem to have penetrated; whereas in the\ninterior the Celtic Scordisci, to whom the tribe of the Triballi\nformerly especially powerful in that quarter had succumbed, and who\nhad played a principal part in the Celtic expeditions to Delphi,\nwere about this time the leading nation along the Lower Save as far\nas the Morava in the modern Bosnia and Servia.  They roamed far and\nwide towards Moesia, Thrace, and Macedonia, and fearful tales were\ntold of their savage valour and cruel customs.  Their chief place of\narms was the strong Segestica or Siscia at the point where the Kulpa\nfalls into the Save.  The peoples who were at that time settled in\nHungary, Transylvania, Roumania, and Bulgaria still remained for the\npresent beyond the horizon of the Romans; the latter came into contact\nonly with the Thracians on the eastern frontier of Macedonia in\nthe Rhodope mountains.\n\nConflicts on the Frontier\nIn the Alps\n\nIt would have been no easy task for a government more energetic than was\nthe Roman government of that day to establish an organized and adequate\ndefence of the frontier against these wide domains of barbarism; what\nwas done for this important object under the auspices of the government\nment of the restoration, did not come up to even the most moderate\nrequirements.  There seems to have been no want of expeditions against\nthe inhabitants of the Alps: in 636 there was a triumph over the Stoeni,\nwho were probably settled in the mountains above Verona; in 659 the consul\nLucius Crassus caused the Alpine valleys far and wide to De ransacked\nand the inhabitants to be put to death, and yet he did not succeed in\nkilling enough of them to enable him to celebrate a village triumph and\nto couple the laurels of the victor with his oratorical fame.  But as\nthe Romans remained satisfied with razzias of this sort which merely\nexasperated the natives without rendering them harmless, and, apparently,\nwithdrew the troops again after every such inroad, the state of matters\nin the region beyond the Po remained substantially the same as before.\n\nIn Thrace\n\nOn the opposite Thracian frontier they appear to have given themselves\nlittle concern about their neighbours; except that there is mention\nmade in 651 of conflicts with the Thracians, and in 657 of others with\nthe Maedi in the border mountains between Macedonia and Thrace.\n\nIn Illyria\n\nMore serious conflicts took place in the Illyrian land, where complaints\nwere constantly made as to the turbulent Dalmatians by their neighbours\nand those who navigated the Adriatic; and along the wholly exposed\nnorthern frontier of Macedonia, which, according to the significant\nexpression of a Roman, extended as far as the Roman swords and spears\nreached, the conflicts with the barbarians never ceased.  In 619 an\nexpedition was undertaken against the Ardyaei or Vardaei and the Pleraei\nor Paralii, a Dalmatian tribe on the coast to the north of the mouth\nof the Narenta, which was incessantly perpetrating outrages on the sea\nand on the opposite coast: by order of the Romans they removed from\nthe coast and settled in the interior, the modern Herzegovina, where\nthey began to cultivate the soil, but, unused to their new calling,\npined away in that inclement region.  At the same time an attack was\ndirected from Macedonia against the Scordisci, who had, it may be\npresumed, made common cause with the assailed inhabitants of the coast.\nSoon afterwards (625) the consul Tuditanus in connection with the able\nDecimus Brutus, the conqueror of the Spanish Callaeci, humbled\nthe Japydes, and, after sustaining a defeat at the outset, at length\ncarried the Roman arms into the heart of Dalmatia as far as the river\nKerka, 115 miles distant from Aquileia; the Japydes thenceforth appear\nas a nation at peace and on friendly terms with Rome.  But ten years\nlater (635) the Dalmatians rose afresh, once more in concert with\nthe Scordisci.  While the consul Lucius Cotta fought against the latter\nand in doing so advanced apparently as far as Segestica, his colleague\nLucius Metellus afterwards named Dalmaticus, the elder brother of the\nconqueror of Numidia, marched against the Dalmatians, conquered them\nand passed the winter in Salona (Spalato), which town henceforth\nappears as the chief stronghold of the Romans in that region.  It is\nnot improbable that the construction of the Via Gabinia, which led\nfrom Salona in an easterly direction to Andetrium (near Much)\nand thence farther into the interior, falls within this period.\n\nThe Romans Cross the Eastern Alps and Reach the Danube\n\nThe expedition of the consul of 639, Marcus Aemilius Scaurus, against\nthe Taurisci(12) presented more the character of a war of conquest.\nHe was the first of the Romans to cross the chain of the eastern Alps\nwhere it falls lowest between Trieste and Laybach, and contracted\nhospitable relations with the Taurisci; which secured a not\nunimportant commercial intercourse without involving the Romans,\nas a formal subjugation would have involved them, in the movements\nof the peoples to the north of the Alps.  Of the conflicts with the\nScordisci, which have passed almost wholly into oblivion, a page,\nwhich speaks clearly even in its isolation, has recently been brought\nto light through a memorial stone from the year 636 lately discovered\nin the neighbourhood of Thessalonica.  According to it, in this year\nthe governor of Macedonia Sextus Pompeius fell near Argos (not far from\nStobi on the upper Axius or Vardar) in a battle fought with these\nCelts; and, after his quaestor Marcus Annius had come up with his\ntroops and in some measure mastered the enemy, these same Celts in\nconnection with Tipas the king of the Maedi (on the upper Strymon)\nsoon made a fresh irruption in still larger masses, and it was with\ndifficulty that the Romans defended themselves against the onset of\nthe barbarians.(13)  Things soon assumed so threatening a shape that\nit became necessary to despatch consular armies to Macedonia.(14)\nA few years afterwards the consul of 640 Gaius Porcius Cato was\nsurprised in the Servian mountains by the same Scordisci, and his\narmy completely destroyed, while he himself with a few attendants\ndisgracefully fled; with difficulty the praetor Marcus Didius\nprotected the Roman frontier.  His successors fought with better\nfortune, Gaius Metellus Caprarius (641-642), Marcus Livius Drusus\n(642-643), the first Roman general to reach the Danube, and Quintus\nMinucius Rufus (644-647) who carried his arms along the Morava(15) and\nthoroughly defeated the Scordisci.  Nevertheless they soon afterwards\nin league with the Maedi and the Dardani invaded the Roman territory\nand plundered even the sanctuary at Delphi; it was not till then\nthat Lucius Scipio put an end to the thirty-two years' warfare with\nthe Scordisci and drove the remnant over to the left bank of the\nDanube.(16)  Thenceforth in their stead the just-named Dardani\n(in Servia) begin to play the first part in the territory between\nthe northern frontier of Macedonia and the Danube.\n\nThe Cimbri\n\nBut these victories had an effect which the victors did not\nanticipate.  For a considerable period an \"unsettled people\" had\nbeen wandering along the northern verge of the country occupied by\nthe Celts on both sides of the Danube.  They called themselves the\nCimbri, that is, the Chempho, the champions or, as their enemies\ntranslated it, the robbers; a designation, however, which to all\nappearance had become the name of the people even before their\nmigration.  They came from the north, and the first Celtic people\nwith whom they came in contact were, so far as is known, the Boii,\nprobably in Bohemia.  More exact details as to the cause and\nthe direction of their migration have not been recorded by\ncontemporaries,(17) and cannot be supplied by conjecture, since the\nstate of things in those times to the north of Bohemia and the Main\nand to the east of the Lower Rhine lies wholly beyond our knowledge.\nBut the hypothesis that the Cimbri, as well as the similar horde of\nthe Teutones which afterwards joined them, belonged essentially not\nto the Celtic nation, to which the Romans at first assigned them,\nbut to the Germanic, is supported by the most definite facts: viz.,\nby the appearance of two small tribes of the same name--remnants\napparently left behind in their primitive seats--the Cimbri in\nthe modern Denmark, the Teutones in the north-east of Germany in\nthe neighbourhood of the Baltic, where Pytheas, a contemporary of\nAlexander the Great, makes mention of them thus early in connection\nwith the amber trade; by the insertion of the Cimbri and Teutones in\nthe list of the Germanic peoples among the Ingaevones alongside of\nthe Chauci; by the judgment of Caesar, who first made the Romans\nacquainted with the distinction betweenthe Ge rmans and the Celts,\nand who includes the Cimbri, many of whom he must himself have seen,\namong the Germans; and lastly, by the very names of the peoples and\nthe statements as to their physical appearance and habits in other\nrespects, which, while applying to the men of the north generally,\nare especially applicable to the Germans.  On the other hand it is\nconceivable enough that such a horde, after having been engaged in\nwandering perhaps for many years and having in its movements near to\nor within the land of the Celts doubtless welcomed every brother-in-arms\nwho joined it, would include a certain amount of Celtic elements; so\nthat it is not surprising that men of Celtic name should be at\nthe head of the Cimbri, or that the Romans should employ spies\nspeaking the Celtic tongue to gain information among them.  It was\na marvellous movement, the like of which the Romans had not yet seen;\nnot a predatory expedition of men equipped for the purpose, nor\na \"-ver sacrum-\" of young men migrating to a foreign land, but a\nmigratory people that had set out with their women and children, with\ntheir goods and chattels, to seek a new home.  The waggon, which had\neverywhere among the still not fully settled peoples of the north a\ndifferent importance from what it had among the Hellenes and the\nItalians, and which universally accompanied the Celts also in their\nencampments, was among the Cimbri as it were their house, where,\nbeneath the leather covering stretched over it, a place was found for\nthe wife and children and even for the house-dog as well as for the\nfurniture.  The men of the south beheld with astonishment those tall\nlank figures with the fair locks and bright blue eyes, the hardy and\nstately women who were little inferior in size and strength to the\nmen, and the children with old men's hair, as the amazed Italians\ncalled the flaxen-haired youths of the north.  Their system of warfare\nwas substantially that of the Celts of this period, who no longer\nfought, as the Italian Celts had formerly done, bareheaded and with\nmerely sword and dagger, but with copper helmets often richly adorned\nand with a peculiar missile weapon, the -materis-; the large sword was\nretained and the long narrow shield, along with which they probably\nwore also a coat of mail.  They were not destitute of cavalry; but\nthe Romans were superior to them in that arm.  Their order of battle\nwas as formerly a rude phalanx professedly drawn up with just as many\nranks in depth as in breadth, the first rank of which in dangerous\ncombats not unfrequently tied together their metallic girdles with\ncords.  Their manners were rude.  Flesh was frequently devoured raw.\nThe bravest and, if possible, the tallest man was king of the host.\nNot unfrequently, after the manner of the Celts and of barbarians\ngenerally, the time and place of the combat were previously arranged\nwith the enemy, and sometimes also, before the battle began, an individual\nopponent was challenged to single combat.  The conflict was ushered\nin by their insulting the enemy with unseemly gestures, and by a\nhorrible noise--the men raising their battle-shout, and the women\nand children increasing the din by drumming on the leathern covers\nof the waggons.  The Cimbrian fought bravely--death on the bed of\nhonour was deemed by him the only death worthy of a free man--but\nafter the victory he indemnified himself by the most savage brutality,\nand sometimes promised beforehand to present to the gods of\nbattle whatever victory should place in the power of the victor.\nThe effects of the enemy were broken in pieces, the horses were killed,\nthe prisoners were hanged or preserved only to be sacrificed to the gods.\nIt was the priestesses--grey-haired women in white linen dresses and\nunshod--who, like Iphigenia in Scythia, offered these sacrifices, and\nprophesied the future from the streaming blood of the prisoner of war\nor the criminal who formed the victim.  How much in these customs was\nthe universal usage of the northern barbarians, how much was borrowed\nfrom the Celts, and how much was peculiar to the Germans, cannot\nbe ascertained; but the practice of having the army accompanied\nand directed not by priests, but by priestesses, may be pronounced\nan undoubtedly Germanic custom.  Thus marched the Cimbri into\nthe unknown land--an immense multitude of various origin which had\ncongregated round a nucleus of Germanic emigrants from the Baltic--\nnot without resemblance to the great bodies of emigrants, that in our\nown times cross the ocean similarly burdened and similarly mingled, and\nwith aims not much less vague; carrying their lumbering waggon-castle,\nwith the dexterity which a long migratory life imparts, over streams\nand mountains; dangerous to more civilized nations like the sea-wave\nand the hurricane, and like these capricious and unaccountable, now\nrapidly advancing, now suddenly pausing, turning aside, or receding.\nThey came and struck like lightning; like lightning they vanished;\nand unhappily, in the dull age in which they appeared, there was\nno observer who deemed it worth while accurately to describe the\nmarvellous meteor.  When men afterwards began to trace the chain,\nof which this emigration, the first Germanic movement which touched\nthe orbit of ancient civilization, was a link, the direct and living\nknowledge of it had long passed away.\n\nCimbrian Movements and Conflicts\nDefeat of Carbo\n\nThis homeless people of the Cimbri, which hitherto had been\nprevented from advancing to the south by the Celts on the Danube,\nmore especially by the Boii, broke through that barrier in consequence\nof the attacks directed by the Romans against the Danubian Celts;\neither because the latter invoked the aid of their Cimbrian\nantagonists against the advancing legions, or because the Roman attack\nprevented them from protecting as hitherto their northern frontiers.\nAdvancing through the territory of the Scordisci into the Tauriscan\ncountry, they approached in 641 the passes of the Carnian Alps, to\nprotect which the consul Gnaeus Papirius Carbo took up a position\non the heights not far from Aquileia.  Here, seventy years before,\nCeltic tribes had attempted to settle on the south of the Alps, but\nat the bidding of the Romans had evacuated without resistance the\nground which they had already occupied;(18) even now the dread of\nthe Transalpine peoples at the Roman name showed itself strongly.\nThe Cimbri did not attack; indeed, when Carbo ordered them to evacuate\nthe territory of the Taurisci who were in relations of hospitality\nwith Rome--an order which the treaty with the latter by no means bound\nhim to make--they complied and followed the guides whom Carbo had\nassigned to them to escort them over the frontier.  But these guides\nwere in fact instructed to lure the Cimbri into an ambush, where the\nconsul awaited them.  Accordingly an engagement took place not far\nfrom Noreia in the modern Carinthia, in which the betrayed gained\nthe victory over the betrayer and inflicted on him considerable loss;\na storm, which separated the combatants, alone prevented the complete\nannihilation of the Roman army.  The Cimbri might have immediately\ndirected their attack towards Italy; they preferred to turn to the\nwestward.  By treaty with the Helvetii and the Sequani rather than by\nforce of arms they made their way to the left bank of the Rhine and\nover the Jura, and there some years after the defeat of Carbo once\nmore threatened the Roman territory by their immediate vicinity.\n\nDefeat of Silanus\n\nWith a view to cover the frontier of the Rhine and the immediately\nthreatened territory of the Allobroges, a Roman army under Marcus\nJunius Silanus appeared in 645 in Southern Gaul.  The Cimbri\nrequested that land might be assigned to them where they might\npeacefully settle--a request which certainly could not be granted.\nThe consul instead of replying attacked them; he was utterly defeated\nand the Roman camp was taken.  The new levies which were occasioned\nby this misfortune were already attended with so much difficulty, that\nthe senate procured the abolition of the laws--presumably proceeding\nfrom Gaius Gracchus--which limited the obligation to military service\nin point of time.(19)  But the Cimbri, instead of following up their\nvictory over the Romans, sent to the senate at Rome to repeat their\nrequest for the assignment of land, and meanwhile employed themselves,\napparently, in the subjugation of the surrounding Celtic cantons.\n\nInroad of the Helvetii into Southern Gaul\nDefeat of Longinus\n\nThus the Roman province and the new Roman army were left for the\nmoment undisturbed by the Germans; but a new enemy arose in Gaul\nitself.  The Helvetii, who had suffered much in the constant conflicts\nwith their north-eastern neighbours, felt themselves stimulated by\nthe example of the Cimbri to seek in their turn for more quiet and\nfertile settlements in western Gaul, and had perhaps, even when the\nCimbrian hosts marched through their land, formed an alliance with\nthem for that purpose.  Now under the leadership of Divico the forces\nof the Tougeni (position unknown) and of the Tigorini (on the lake\nof Murten) crossed the Jura,(20) and reached the territory of the\nNitiobroges (about Agen on the Garonne).  The Roman army under the\nconsul Lucius Cassius Longinus, which they here encountered, allowed\nitself to be decoyed by the Helvetii into an ambush, in which the\ngeneral himself and his legate, the consular Lucius Piso, along with\nthe greater portion of the soldiers met their death; Gaius Popillius,\nthe interim commander-in-chief of the force which had escaped to\nthe camp, was allowed to withdraw under the yoke on condition of\nsurrendering half the property which the troops carried with them\nand furnishing hostages (647).  So perilous was the state of things\nfor the Romans, that one of the most important towns in their\nown province, Tolosa, rose against them and placed the Roman\ngarrison in chains.\n\nBut, as the Cimbri continued to employ themselves elsewhere, and\nthe Helvetii did not further molest for the moment the Roman province,\nthe new Roman commander-in-chief, Quintus Servilius Caepio, had full\ntime to recover possession of the town of Tolosa by treachery and to\nempty at leisure the immense treasures accumulated in the old and\nfamous sanctuary of the Celtic Apollo.  It was a desirable gain for\nthe embarrassed exchequer, but unfortunately the gold and silver vessels\non the way from Tolosa to Massilia were taken from the weak escort by\na band of robbers, and totally disappeared: the consul himself and\nhis staff were, it was alleged, the instigators of this onset (648).\nMeanwhile they confined themselves to the strictest defensive\nas regarded the chief enemy, and guarded the Roman province\nwith three strong armies, till it should please the Cimbri\nto repeat their attack.\n\nDefeat of Arausio\n\nThey came in 649 under their king Boiorix, on this occasion seriously\nmeditating an inroad into Italy.  They were opposed on the right bank\nof the Rhone by the proconsul Caepio, on the left by the consul Gnaeus\nMallius Maximus and by his legate, the consular Marcus Aurelius\nScaurus, under him at the head of a detached corps.  The first onset\nfell on the latter; he was totally defeated and brought in person as\na prisoner to the enemy's head-quarters, where the Cimbrian king,\nindignant at the proud warning given to him by the captive Roman\nnot to venture with his army into Italy, put him to death.  Maximus\nthereupon ordered his colleague to bring his army over the Rhone:\nthe latter complying with reluctance at length appeared at Arausio\n(Orange) on the left bank of the river, where the whole Roman force\nnow stood confronting the Cimbrian army, and is alleged to have made\nsuch an impression by its considerable numbers that the Cimbri began\nto negotiate.  But the two leaders lived in the most vehement discord.\nMaximus, an insignificant and incapable man, was as consul the legal\nsuperior of his prouder and better born, but not better qualified,\nproconsular colleague Caepio; but the latter refused to occupy a\ncommon camp and to devise operations in concert with him, and still,\nas formerly, maintained his independent command.  In vain deputies from\nthe Roman senate endeavoured to effect a reconciliation; a personal\nconference between the generals, on which the officers insisted, only\nwidened the breach.  When Caepio saw Maximus negotiating with the\nenvoys of the Cimbri, he fancied that the latter wished to gain the\nsole credit of their subjugation, and threw himself with his portion of\nthe army alone in all haste on the enemy.  He was utterly annihilated,\nso that even his camp fell into the hands of the enemy (6 Oct. 649);\nand his destruction was followed by the no less complete defeat\nof the second Roman army.  It is asserted that 80,000 Roman soldiers\nand half as many of the immense and helpless body of camp-followers\nperished, and that only ten men escaped: this much is certain, that only\na few out of the two armies succeeded in escaping, for the Romans had\nfought with the river in their rear.  It was a calamity which materially\nand morally far surpassed the day of Cannae.  The defeats of Carbo,\nof Silanus, and of Longinus had passed without producing any permanent\nimpression on the Italians.  They were accustomed to open every war\nwith disasters; the invincibleness of the Roman arms was so firmly\nestablished, that it seemed superfluous to attend to the pretty numerous\nexceptions.  But the battle of Arausio, the alarming proximity of\nthe victorious Cimbrian army to the undefended passes of the Alps,\nthe insurrections breaking out afresh and with increased force both\nin the Roman territory beyond the Alps and among the Lusitanians,\nthe defenceless condition of Italy, produced a sudden and fearful\nawakening from these dreams.  Men recalled the never wholly forgotten\nCeltic inroads of the fourth century, the day on the Allia and\nthe burning of Rome: with the double force at once of the oldest\nremembrance and of the freshest alarm the terror of the Gauls came\nupon Italy; through all the west people seemed to be aware that\nthe Roman empire was beginning to totter.  As after the battle\nof Cannae, the period of mourning was shortened by decree of\nthe senate.(21)  The new enlistments brought out the most painful\nscarcity of men.  All Italians capable of bearing arms had to swear\nthat they would not leave Italy; the captains of the vessels lying\nin the Italian ports were instructed not to take on board any man fit\nfor service.  It is impossible to tell what might have happened, had\nthe Cimbri immediately after their double victory advanced through\nthe gates of the Alps into Italy.  But they first overran the territory\nof the Arverni, who with difficulty defended themselves in their\nfortresses against the enemy; and soon, weary of sieges, set out\nfrom thence, not to Italy, but westward to the Pyrenees.\n\nThe Roman Opposition\nWarfare of Prosecutions\n\nIf the torpid organism of the Roman polity could still of itself reach\na crisis of wholesome reaction, that reaction could not but set in\nnow, when, by one of the marvellous pieces of good fortune, in which\nthe history of Rome is so rich, the danger was sufficiently imminent\nto rouse all the energy and all the patriotism of the burgesses, and\nyet did not burst upon them so suddenly as to leave no space for the\ndevelopment of their resources.  But the very same phenomena, which\nhad occurred four years previously after the African defeats, presented\nthemselves afresh.  In fact the African and Gallic disasters were\nessentially of the same kind.  It may be that primarily the blame\nof the former fell more on the oligarchy as a whole, that of the\nlatter more on individual magistrates; but public opinion justly\nrecognized in both, above all things, the bankruptcy of the government,\nwhich in its progressive development imperilled first the honour and\nnow the very existence of the state.  People just as little deceived\nthemselves then as now regarding the true seat of the evil, but\nas little now as then did they make even an attempt to apply the\nremedy at the proper point.  They saw well that the system was\nto blame; but on this occasion also they adhered to the method\nof calling individuals to account--only no doubt this second storm\ndischarged itself on the heads of the oligarchy so much the more\nheavily, as the calamity of 649 exceeded in extent and peril that of\n645.  The sure instinctive feeling of the public, that there was no\nresource against the oligarchy except the -tyrannis-, was once more\napparent in their readily entering into every attempt by officers\nof note to force the hand of the government and, under one form\nor another, to overturn the oligarchic rule by a dictatorship.\n\nIt was against Quintus Caepio that their attacks were first\ndirected; and justly, in so far as he had primarily occasioned the\ndefeat of Arausio by his insubordination, even apart from the probably\nwell-founded but not proved charge of embezzling the Tolosan booty;\nbut the fury which the opposition displayed against him was essentially\naugmented by the fact, that he had as consul ventured on an attempt\nto wrest the posts of jurymen from the capitalists.(22)  On his account\nthe old venerable principle, that the sacredness of the magistracy\nshould be respected even in the person of its worst occupant, was\nviolated; and, while the censure due to the author of the calamitous\nday of Cannae had been silently repressed within the breast, the author\nof the defeat of Arausio was by decree of the people unconstitutionally\ndeprived of his proconsulship, and--what had not occurred since\nthe crisis in which the monarchy had perished--his property was\nconfiscated to the state-chest (649?).  Not long afterwards he was\nby a second decree of the burgesses expelled from the senate (650).\nBut this was not enough; more victims were desired, and above all\nCaepio's blood.  A number of tribunes of the people favourable to the\nopposition, with Lucius Appuleius Saturninus and Gaius Norbanus at their\nhead, proposed in 651 to appoint an extraordinary judicial commission in\nreference to the embezzlement and treason perpetrated in Gaul; in spite\nof the de facto abolition of arrest during investigation and of the\npunishment of death for political offences, Caepio was arrested and\nthe intention of pronouncing and executing in his case sentence of\ndeath was openly expressed.  The government party attempted to get\nrid of the proposal by tribunician intervention; but the interceding\ntribunes were violently driven from the assembly, and in the furious\ntumult the first men of the senate were assailed with stones.\nThe investigation could not be prevented, and the warfare of\nprosecutions pursued its course in 651 as it had done six years\nbefore; Caepio himself, his colleague in the supreme command Gnaeus\nMallius Maximus, and numerous other men of note were condemned: a\ntribune of the people, who was a friend of Caepio, with difficulty\nsucceeded by the sacrifice of his own civic existence in saving at\nleast the life of the chief persons accused.(23)\n\nMarius Commander-in-Chief\n\nOf more importance than this measure of revenge was the question how\nthe dangerous war beyond the Alps was to be further carried on, and\nfirst of all to whom the supreme command in it was to be committed.\nWith an unprejudiced treatment of the matter it was not difficult to\nmake a fitting choice.  Rome was doubtless, in comparison with earlier\ntimes, not rich in military notabilities; yet Quintus Maximus had\ncommanded with distinction in Gaul, Marcus Aemilius Scaurus and\nQuintus Minucius in the regions of the Danube, Quintus Metellus,\nPublius Rutilius Rufus, Gaius Marius in Africa; and the object\nproposed was not to defeat a Pyrrhus or a Hannibal, but again\nto make good the often-tried superiority of Roman arms and Roman\ntactics in opposition to the barbarians of the north--an object which\nrequired no genius, but merely a stern and capable soldier.  But it\nwas precisely a time when nothing was so difficult as the unprejudiced\nsettlement of a question of administration.  The government was, as\nit could not but be and as the Jugurthine war had already shown, so\nutterly bankrupt in public opinion, that its ablest generals had to\nretire in the full career of victory, whenever it occurred to an\nofficer of mark to revile them before the people and to get himself as\nthe candidate of the opposition appointed by the latter to the head of\naffairs.  It was no wonder that what took place after the victories of\nMetellus was repeated on a greater scale after the defeats of Gnaeus\nMallius and Quintus Caepio.  Once more Gaius Marius came forward, in\nspite of the law which prohibited the holding of the consulship more\nthan once, as a candidate for the supreme magistracy; and not only was\nhe nominated as consul and charged with the chief command in the Gallic\nwar, while he was still in Africa at the head of the army there, but\nhe was reinvested with the consulship for five years in succession\n(650-654)--in a way, which looked like an intentional mockery of\nthe exclusive spirit that the nobility had exhibited in reference\nto this very man in all its folly and shortsightedness, but was also\nunparalleled in the annals of the republic, and in fact absolutely\nincompatible with the spirit of the free constitution of Rome.\nIn the Roman military system in particular--the transformation of which\nfrom a burgess-militia into a body of mercenaries, begun in the African\nwar, was continued and completed by Marius during his five years of a\nsupreme command unlimited through the exigencies of the time still more\nthan through the terms of his appointment--the profound traces of this\nunconstitutional commandership-in-chief of the first democratic general\nremained visible for all time.\n\nRoman Defensive\n\nThe new commander-in-chief, Gaius Marius, appeared in 650 beyond the\nAlps, followed by a number of experienced officers--among whom the\nbold captor of Jugurtha, Lucius Sulla, soon acquired fresh distinction--\nand by a numerous host of Italian and allied soldiers.  At first he\ndid not find the enemy against whom he was sent.  The singular people,\nwho had conquered at Arausio, had in the meantime (as we have\nalready mentioned), after plundering the country to the west of\nthe Rhone, crossed the Pyrenees and were carrying on a desultory\nwarfare in Spain with the brave inhabitants of the northern coast\nand of the interior; it seemed as if the Germans wished at their very\nfirst appearance in the field of history to display their lack of\npersistent grasp.  So Marius found ample time on the one hand to\nreduce the revolted Tectosages to obedience, to confirm afresh the\nwavering fidelity of the subject Gallic and Ligurian cantons, and to\nobtain support and contingents within and without the Roman province\nfrom the allies who were equally with the Romans placed in peril by\nthe Cimbri, such as the Massiliots, the Allobroges, and the Sequani;\nand on the other hand, to discipline the army entrusted to him by\nstrict training and impartial justice towards all whether high or\nhumble, and to prepare the soldiers for the more serious labours of\nwar by marches and extensive works of entrenching--particularly the\nconstruction of a canal of the Rhone, afterwards handed over to the\nMassiliots, for facilitating the transit of the supplies sent from\nItaly to the army.  He maintained a strictly defensive attitude,\nand did not cross the bounds of the Roman province.\n\nThe Cimbri, Teutones, and Helvetii Unite\nExpedition to Italy Resolved on\nTeutones in the Province of Gaul\n\nAt length, apparently in the course of 651, the wave of the Cimbri,\nafter having broken itself in Spain on the brave resistance of the\nnative tribes and especially of the Celtiberians, flowed back again\nover the Pyrenees and thence, as it appears, passed along the shore\nof the Atlantic Ocean, where everything from the Pyrenees to the\nSeine submitted to the terrible invaders.  There, on the confines\nof the brave confederacy of the Belgae, they first encountered serious\nresistance; but there also, while they were in the territory of the\nVellocassi (near Rouen), considerable reinforcements reached them.\nNot only three cantons of the Helvetii, including the Tigorini\nand Tougeni who had formerly fought against the Romans at the Garonne,\nassociated themselves, apparently about this period, with the Cimbri,\nbut these were also joined by the kindred Teutones under their king\nTeutobod, who had been driven by events which tradition has not\nrecorded from their home on the Baltic sea to appear now on the\nSeine.(24)  But even the united hordes were unable to overcome the\nbrave resistance of the Belgae.  The leaders accordingly resolved,\nnow that their numbers were thus swelled, to enter in all earnest on\nthe expedition to Italy which they had several times contemplated.\nIn order not to encumber themselves with the spoil which they had\nheretofore collected, they left it behind under the protection of a\ndivision of 6000 men, which after many wanderings subsequently gave\nrise to the tribe of the Aduatuci on the Sambre.  But, whether from\nthe difficulty of finding supplies on the Alpine routes or from other\nreasons, the mass again broke up into two hosts, one of which,\ncomposed of the Cimbri and Tigorini, was to recross the Rhine\nand to invade Italy through the passes of the eastern Alps already\nreconnoitred in 641, and the other, composed of the newly-arrived\nTeutones, the Tougeni, and the Ambrones--the flower of the Cimbrian\nhost already tried in the battle of Arausio--was to invade Italy\nthrough Roman Gaul and the western passes.  It was this second\ndivision, which in the summer of 652 once more crossed the Rhone\nwithout hindrance, and on its left bank resumed, after a pause of\nnearly three years, the struggle with the Romans.  Marius awaited them\nin a well-chosen and well-provisioned camp at the confluence of the\nIsere with the Rhone, in which position he intercepted the passage\nof the barbarians by either of the only two military routes to Italy\nthen practicable, that over the Little St.  Bernard, and that along\nthe coast.  The Teutones attacked the camp which obstructed their\npassage; for three consecutive days the assault of the barbarians\nraged around the Roman entrenchments, but their wild courage was\nthwarted by the superiority of the Romans in fortress-warfare and by\nthe prudence of the general.  After severe loss the bold associates\nresolved to give up the assault, and to march onward to Italy past\nthe camp.  For six successive days they continued to defile--a proof\nof the cumbrousness of their baggage still more than of the immensity\nof their numbers.  The general permitted the march to proceed without\nattacking them.  We can easily understand why he did not allow himself\nto be led astray by the insulting inquiries of the enemy whether the\nRomans had no commissions for their wives at home; but the fact, that\nhe did not take advantage of this audacious defiling of the hostile\ncolumns in front of the concentrated Roman troops for the purpose of\nattack, shows how little he trusted his unpractised soldiers.\n\nBattle of Aquae Sextiae\n\nWhen the march was over, he broke up his encampment and followed\nin the steps of the enemy, preserving rigorous order and carefully\nentrenching himself night after night.  The Teutones, who were striving\nto gain the coast road, marching down the banks of the Rhone reached\nthe district of Aquae Sextiae, followed by the Romans.  The light\nLigurian troops of the Romans, as they were drawing water, here came\ninto collision with the Celtic rear-guard, the Ambrones; the conflict\nsoon became general; after a hot struggle the Romans conquered and\npursued the retreating enemy up to their waggon-stronghold.  This first\nsuccessful collision elevated the spirits of the general as well as of\nthe soldiers; on the third day after it Marius drew up his array for\na decisive battle on the hill, the summit of which bore the Roman\ncamp.  The Teutones, long impatient to measure themselves against\ntheir antagonists, immediately rushed up the hill and began the\nconflict.  It was severe and protracted: up to midday the Germans\nstood like walls; but the unwonted heat of the Provengal sun\nrelaxed their energies, and a false alarm in their rear, where a\nband of Roman camp-boys ran forth from a wooded ambuscade with loud\nshouts, utterly decided the breaking up of the wavering ranks.\nThe whole horde was scattered, and, as was to be expected in a foreign\nland, either put to death or taken prisoners.  Among the captives\nwas king Teutobod; among the killed a multitude of women, who, not\nunacquainted with the treatment which awaited them as slaves, had\ncaused themselves to be slain in desperate resistance at their\nwaggons, or had put themselves to death in captivity, after having\nvainly requested to be dedicated to the service of the gods and of\nthe sacred virgins of Vesta (summer of 652).\n\nCimbrians in Italy\n\nThus Gaul was relieved from the Germans; and it was time, for\ntheir brothers-in-arms were already on the south side of the Alps.\nIn alliance with the Helvetii, the Cimbri had without difficulty passed\nfrom the Seine to the upper valley of the Rhine, had crossed the chain\nof the Alps by the Brenner pass, and had descended thence through\nthe valleys of the Eisach and Adige into the Italian plain.  Here\nthe consul Quintus Lutatius Catulus was to guard the passes; but\nnot fully acquainted with the country and afraid of having his flank\nturned, he had not ventured to advance into the Alps themselves, but\nhad posted himself below Trent on the left bank of the Adige, and had\nsecured in any event his retreat to the right bank by the construction\nof a bridge.  When the Cimbri, however, pushed forward in dense\nmasses from the mountains, a panic seized the Roman army, and\nlegionaries and horsemen ran off, the latter straight for the capital,\nthe former to the nearest height which seemed to afford security.\nWith great difficulty Catulus brought at least the greater portion of\nhis army by a stratagem back to the river and over the bridge, before\nthe enemy, who commanded the upper course of the Adige and were\nalready floating down trees and beams against the bridge, succeeded\nin destroying it and thereby cutting off the retreat of the army.\nBut the general had to leave behind a legion on the other bank, and\nthe cowardly tribune who led it was already disposed to capitulate,\nwhen the centurion Gnaeus Petreius of Atina, struck him down and cut\nhis way through the midst of the enemy to the main army on the right\nbank of the Adige.  Thus the army, and in some degree even the\nhonour of their arms, was saved; but the consequences of the neglect\nto occupy the passes and of the too hasty retreat were yet very\nseriously felt Catulus was obliged to withdraw to the right bank of\nthe Po and to leave the whole plain between the Po and the Alps in\nthe power of the Cimbri, so that communication was maintained with\nAquileia only by sea.  This took place in the summer of 652, about\nthe same time when the decisive battle between the Teutones and the\nRomans occurred at Aquae Sextiae.  Had the Cimbri continued their\nattack without interruption, Rome might have been greatly embarrassed;\nbut on this occasion also they remained faithful to their custom of\nresting in winter, and all the more, because the rich country, the\nunwonted quarters under the shelter of a roof, the warm baths, and\nthe new and abundant supplies for eating and drinking invited them\nto make themselves comfortable for the moment.  Thereby the Romans\ngained time to encounter them with united forces in Italy.  It was\nno season to resume--as the democratic general would perhaps otherwise\nhave done--the interrupted scheme of conquest in Gaul, such as Gaius\nGracchus had probably projected.  From the battle-field of Aix the\nvictorious army was conducted to the Po; and after a brief stay in\nthe capital, where Marius refused the triumph offered to him until\nhe had utterly subdued the barbarians, he arrived in person at the\nunited armies.  In the spring of 653 they again crossed the Po,\n50,000 strong, under the consul Marius and the proconsul Catulus,\nand marched against the Cimbri, who on their part seem to have marched\nup the river with a view to cross the mighty stream at its source.\n\nBattle on the Raudine Plain\n\nThe two armies met below Vercellae not far from the confluence of\nthe Sesia with the Po,(25) just at the spot where Hannibal had fought\nhis first battle on Italian soil.  The Cimbri desired battle, and\naccording to their custom sent to the Romans to settle the time and\nplace for it; Marius gratified them and named the next day--it was\nthe 30th July 653--and the Raudine plain, a wide level space, which\nthe superior Roman cavalry found advantageous for their movements.\nHere they fell upon the enemy expecting them and yet taken by\nsurprise; for in the dense morning mist the Cimbrian cavalry found\nitself in hand-to-hand conflict with the stronger cavalry of the\nRomans before it anticipated attack, and was thereby thrown back\nupon the infantry which was just making its dispositions for battle.\nA complete victory was gained with slight loss, and the Cimbri were\nannihilated.  Those might be deemed fortunate who met death in the\nbattle, as most did, including the brave king Boiorix; more fortunate\nat least than those who afterwards in despair laid hands on themselves,\nor were obliged to seek in the slave-market of Rome the master who\nmight retaliate on the individual Northman for the audacity of having\ncoveted the beauteous south before it was time.  The Tigorini, who had\nremained behind in the passes of the Alps with the view of subsequently\nfollowing the Cimbri, ran off on the news of the defeat to their native\nland.  The human avalanche, which for thirteen years had alarmed the\nnations from the Danube to the Ebro, from the Seine to the Po, rested\nbeneath the sod or toiled under the yoke of slavery; the forlorn hope\nof the German migrations had performed its duty; the homeless people\nof the Cimbri and their comrades were no more.\n\nThe Victory and the Parties\n\nThe political parties of Rome continued their pitiful quarrels over\nthe carcase, without troubling themselves about the great chapter in\nthe world's history the first page of which was thus opened, without\neven giving way to the pure feeling that on this day Rome's aristocrats\nas well as Rome's democrats had done their duty.  The rivalry of\nthe two generals--who were not only political antagonists, but were\nalso set at variance in a military point of view by the so different\nresults of the two campaigns of the previous year--broke out immediately\nafter the battle in the most offensive form.  Catulus might with\njustice assert that the centre division which he commanded had\ndecided the victory, and that his troops had captured thirty-one\nstandards, while those of Marius had brought in only two, his\nsoldiers led even the deputies of the town of Parma through the heaps\nof the dead to show to them that Marius had slain his thousand, but\nCatulus his ten thousand.  Nevertheless Marius was regarded as the real\nconqueror of the Cimbri, and justly; not merely because by virtue of\nhis higher rank he had held the chief command on the decisive day,\nand was in military gifts and experience beyond doubt far superior to\nhis colleague, but especially because the second victory at Vercellae\nhad in fact been rendered possible only by the first victory at Aquae\nSextiae.  But at that period it was considerations of political\npartisanship rather than of military merit which attached the glory\nof having saved Rome from the Cimbri and Teutones entirely to the name\nof Marius.  Catulus was a polished and clever man, so graceful a\nspeaker that his euphonious language sounded almost like eloquence,\na tolerable writer of memoirs and occasional poems, and an excellent\nconnoisseur and critic of art; but he was anything but a man of the\npeople, and his victory was a victory of the aristocracy.  The battles\nof the rough farmer on the other hand, who had been raised to honour\nby the common people and had led the common people to victory, were\nnot merely defeats of the Cimbri and Teutones, but also defeats of the\ngovernment: there were associated with them hopes far different from\nthat of being able once more to carry on mercantile transactions on\nthe one side of the Alps or to cultivate the fields without molestation\non the other.  Twenty years had elapsed since the bloody corpse of\nGaius Gracchus had been flung into the Tiber; for twenty years the\ngovernment of the restored oligarchy had been endured and cursed;\nstill there had risen no avenger for Gracchus, no second master to\nprosecute the building which he had begun.  There were many who\nhated and hoped, many of the worst and many of the best citizens\nof the state: was the man, who knew how to accomplish this vengeance\nand these wishes, found at last in the son of the day-labourer of\nArpinum? Were they really on the threshold of the new much-dreaded\nand much-desired second revolution?\n\n\n\n\nChapter VI\n\nThe Attempt of Marius at Revolution and the Attempt of Drusus at Reform\n\nMarius\n\nGaius Marius, the son of a poor day-labourer, was born in 599 at the\nvillage of Cereatae then belonging to Arpinum, which afterwards obtained\nmunicipal rights as Cereatae Marianae and still at the present day bears\nthe name of \"Marius' home\" (Casamare).  He was reared at the plough,\nin circumstances so humble that they seemed to preclude him from access\neven to the municipal offices of Arpinum: he learned early--what he\npractised afterwards even when a general--to bear hunger and thirst,\nthe heat of summer and the cold of winter, and to sleep on the hard\nground. As soon as his age allowed him, he had entered the army and\nthrough service in the severe school of the Spanish wars had rapidly\nrisen to be an officer.  In Scipio's Numantine war he, at that time\ntwenty-three years of age, attracted the notice of the stern general\nby the neatness with which he kept his horse and his accoutrements,\nas well as by his bravery in combat and his decorous demeanour in camp.\nHe had returned home with honourable scars and warlike distinctions,\nand with the ardent wish to make himself a name in the career on which\nhe had gloriously entered; but, as matters then stood, a man of even the\nhighest merit could not attain those political offices, which alone led\nto the higher military posts, without wealth and without connections.\nThe young officer acquired both by fortunate commercial speculations and\nby his union with a maiden of the ancient patrician clan of the Julii.\nSo by dint of great efforts and after various miscarriages he succeeded,\nin 639, in attaining the praetorship, in which he found opportunity of\ndisplaying afresh his military ability as governor of Further Spain.\nHow he thereafter in spite of the aristocracy received the consulship in\n647 and, as proconsul (648, 649), terminated the African war; and how,\ncalled after the calamitous day of Arausio to the superintendence of\nthe war against the Germans, he had his consulship renewed for four\nsuccessive years from 650 to 653 (a thing unexampled in the annals of\nthe republic) and vanquished and annihilated the Cimbri in Cisalpine,\nand the Teutones in Transalpine, Gaul--has been already related.  In his\nmilitary position he had shown himself a brave and upright man, who\nadministered justice impartially, disposed of the spoil with rare\nhonesty and disinterestedness, and was thoroughly incorruptible; a\nskilful organizer, who had brought the somewhat rusty machinery of the\nRoman military system once more into a state of efficiency; an able\ngeneral, who kept the soldier under discipline and withal in good humour\nand at the same time won his affections in comrade-like intercourse, but\nlooked the enemy boldly in the face and joined issue with him at the\nproper time.  He was not, as far as we can judge, a man of eminent\nmilitary capacity; but the very respectable qualities which he possessed\nwere quite sufficient under the existing circumstances to procure for\nhim the reputation of such capacity, and by virtue of it he had taken\nhis place in a fashion of unparalleled honour among the consulars and\nthe triumphators.  But he was none the better fitted on that account for\nthe brilliant circle.  His voice remained harsh and loud, and his look\nwild, as if he still saw before him Libyans or Cimbrians, and not well-\nbred and perfumed colleagues.  That he was superstitious like a genuine\nsoldier of fortune; that he was induced to become a candidate for his\nfirst consulship, not by the impulse of his talents, but primarily by\nthe utterances of an Etruscan -haruspex-; and that in the campaign with\nthe Teutones a Syrian prophetess Martha lent the aid of her oracles\nto the council of war,--these things were not, in the strict sense,\nunaristocratic: in such matters, then as at all times, the highest and\nlowest strata of society met.  But the want of political culture was\nunpardonable; it was commendable, no doubt, that he had the skill to\ndefeat the barbarians, but what was to be thought of a consul who was so\nignorant of constitutional etiquette as to appear in triumphal costume\nin the senate! In other respects too the plebeian character clung to\nhim.  He was not merely--according to aristocratic phraseology--a poor\nman, but, what was worse, frugal and a declared enemy of all bribery and\ncorruption.  After the manner of soldiers he was not nice, but was fond\nof his cups, especially in his later years; he knew not the art of\ngiving feasts, and kept a bad cook.  It was likewise awkward that the\nconsular understood nothing but Latin and had to decline conversing\nin Greek; that he felt the Greek plays wearisome might pass--he was\npresumably not the only one who did so--but to confess to the feeling of\nweariness was naive.  Thus he remained throughout life a countryman cast\nadrift among aristocrats, and annoyed by the keenly-felt sarcasms and\nstill more keenly--felt commiseration of his colleagues, which he\nhad not the self-command to despise as he despised themselves.\n\nPolitical Position of Marius\n\nMarius stood aloof from the parties not much less than from society.\nThe measures which he carried in his tribunate of the people (635)--a\nbetter control over the delivery of the voting-tablets with a view to\ndo away with the scandalous frauds that were therein practised, and the\nprevention of extravagant proposals for largesses to the people(1)--do\nnot bear the stamp of a party, least of all that of the democratic, but\nmerely show that he hated what was unjust and irrational; and how could\na man like this, a farmer by birth and a soldier by inclination, have\nbeen from the first a revolutionist? The hostile attacks of the\naristocracy had no doubt driven him subsequently into the camp of\nthe opponents of the government; and there he speedily found himself\nelevated in the first instance to be general of the opposition, and\ndestined perhaps for still higher things hereafter.  But this was far\nmore the effect of the stringent force of circumstances and of the\ngeneral need which the opposition had for a chief, than his own work;\nhe had at any rate since his departure for Africa in 647-8 hardly\ntarried, in passing, for a brief period in the capital.  It was not till\nthe latter half of 653 that he returned to Rome, victor over the Teutones\nas over the Cimbri, to celebrate his postponed triumph now with double\nhonours--decidedly the first man in Rome, and yet at the same time a\nnovice in politics.  It was certain beyond dispute, not only that Marius\nhad saved Rome, but that he was the only man who could have saved it;\nhis name was on every one's lips; the men of quality acknowledged his\nservices; with the people he was more popular than any one before or\nafter him, popular alike by his virtues and by his faults, by his\nunaristocratic disinterestedness no less than by his boorish roughness;\nhe was called by the multitude a third Romulus and a second Camillus;\nlibations were poured forth to him like the gods.  It was no wonder that\nthe head of the peasant's son grew giddy at times with all this glory;\nthat he compared his march from Africa to Gaul to the victorious\nprocessions of Dionysus from continent to continent, and had a cup--none\nof the smallest--manufactured for his use after the model of that of\nBacchus.  There was just as much of hope as of gratitude in this\ndelirious enthusiasm of the people, which might well have led astray\na man of colder blood and more mature political experience.  The work\nof Marius seemed to his admirers by no means finished.  The wretched\ngovernment oppressed the land more heavily than did the barbarians: on\nhim, the first man of Rome, the favourite of the people, the head of the\nopposition, devolved the task of once more delivering Rome.  It is true\nthat to one who was a rustic and a soldier the political proceedings\nof the capital were strange and incongruous: he spoke as ill as he\ncommanded well, and displayed a far firmer bearing in presence of\nthe lances and swords of the enemy than in presence of the applause\nor hisses of the multitude; but his inclinations were of little moment.\nThe hopes of which he was the object constrained him.  His military\nand political position was such that, if he would not break with the\nglorious past, if he would not deceive the expectations of his party and\nin fact of the nation, if he would not be unfaithful to his own sense of\nduty, he must check the maladministration of public affairs and put an\nend to the government of the restoration; and if he only possessed the\ninternal qualities of a head of the people, he might certainly dispense\nwith those which he lacked as a popular leader.\n\nThe New Military Organization\n\nHe held in his hand a formidable weapon in the newly organized army.\nPreviously to his time the fundamental principle of the Servian\nconstitution--by which the levy was limited entirely to the burgesses\npossessed of property, and the distinctions as to armour were regulated\nsolely by the property qualification(2)--had necessarily been in various\nrespects relaxed.  The minimum census of 11,000 -asses- (43 pounds),\nwhich bound its possessor to enter the burgess-army, had been lowered to\n4000 (17 pounds;(3)).  The older six property-classes, distinguished by\ntheir respective kinds of armour, had been restricted to three; for,\nwhile in accordance with the Servian organization they selected the\ncavalry from the wealthiest, and the light-armed from the poorest,\nof those liable to serve, they arranged the middle class, the proper\ninfantry of the line, no longer according to property but according to\nage of service, in the three divisions of -hastati-, -principes-, and\n-triarii-.  They had, moreover, long ago brought in the Italian allies\nto share to a very great extent in war-service; but in their case too,\njust as among the Roman burgesses, military duty was chiefly imposed\non the propertied classes.  Nevertheless the Roman military system down\nto the time of Marius rested in the main on that primitive organization\nof the burgess-militia.  But it was no longer suited for the altered\ncircumstances.  The better classes of society kept aloof more and more\nfrom service in the army, and the Roman and Italic middle class in\ngeneral was disappearing; while on the other hand the considerable\nmilitary resources of the extra-Italian allies and subjects had become\navailable, and the Italian proletariate also, properly applied, afforded\nat least a very useful material for military objects.  The burgess-\ncavalry,(4) which was meant to be formed from the class of the wealthy,\nhad practically ceased from service in the field even before the time of\nMarius.  It is last mentioned as an actual corps d'armee in the Spanish\ncampaign of 614, when it drove the general to despair by its insolent\narrogance and its insubordination, and a war broke out between\nthe troopers and the general, waged on both sides with equal\nunscrupulousness.  In the Jugurthine war it continues to appear merely\nas a sort of guard of honour for the general and foreign princes;\nthenceforth it wholly disappears.  In like manner the filling up of the\ncomplement of the legions with properly qualified persons bound to serve\nproved in the ordinary course of things difficult; so that exertions,\nsuch as were necessary after the battle of Arausio, would have been in\nall probability really impracticable with the retention of the existing\nrules as to the obligation of service.  On the other hand even before\nthe time of Marius, especially in the cavalry and the light infantry,\nextra-Italian subjects--the heavy mounted troopers of Thrace, the light\nAfrican cavalry, the excellent light infantry of the nimble Ligurians,\nthe slingers from the Baleares--were employed in ever-increasing numbers\neven beyond their own provinces for the Roman armies; and at the same\ntime, while there was a want of qualified burgess-recruits, the non-\nqualified poorer burgesses pressed forward unbidden to enter the army;\nin fact, from the mass of the civic rabble without work or averse\nto it, and from the considerable advantages which the Roman war-service\nyielded, the enlistment of volunteers could not be difficult.  It was\ntherefore simply a necessary consequence of the political and social\nchanges in the state, that its military arrangements should exhibit\na transition from the system of the burgess-levy to the system of\ncontingents and enlisting; that the cavalry and light troops should\nbe essentially formed out of the contingents of the subjects--in the\nCimbrian campaign, for instance, contingents were summoned from as far\nas Bithynia; and that in the case of the infantry of the line, while\nthe former arrangement of obligation to service was not abolished,\nevery free-born burgess should at the same time be permitted voluntarily\nto enter the army as was first done by Marius in 647.\n\nTo this was added the reducing the infantry of the line to a level,\nwhich is likewise to be referred to Marius.  The Roman method of\naristocratic classification had hitherto prevailed also within the\nlegion.  Each of the four divisions of the -velites-, the -hastati-,\nthe -principes-, and the -triarii---or, as we may say, the vanguard,\nthe first, second, and third line--had hitherto possessed its special\nqualification for service, as respected property or age, and in great\npart also its distinctive equipment; each had its definite place once\nfor all assigned in the order of battle; each had its definite military\nrank and its own standard.  All these distinctions were now superseded.\nAny one admitted as a legionary at all needed no further qualification\nin order to serve in any division; the discretion of the officers alone\ndecided as to his place.  All distinctions of armour were set aside, and\nconsequently all recruits were uniformly trained.  Connected, doubtless,\nwith this change were the various improvements which Marius introduced\nin the armament, the carrying of the baggage, and similar matters, and\nwhich furnish an honourable evidence of his insight into the practical\ndetails of the business of war and of his care for his soldiers; and\nmore especially the new method of drill devised by Publius Rutilius\nRufus (consul 649) the comrade of Marius in the African war.  It is a\nsignificant fact, that this method considerably increased the military\nculture of the individual soldier, and was essentially based upon the\ntraining of the future gladiators which was usual in the fighting-\nschools of the time.  The arrangement of the legion became totally\ndifferent.  The thirty companies (-manipuli-) of heavy infantry, which--\neach in two sections (-centuriae-) composed respectively of 60 men in\nthe first two, and of 30 men in the third, division--had hitherto formed\nthe tactical unit, were replaced by 10 cohorts (-cohortes-) each with\nits own standard and each of 6, or often only of 5, sections of 100\nmen apiece; so that, although at the same time 1200 men were saved by\nthe suppression of the light infantry of the legion, yet the total\nnumbers of the legion were raised from 4200 to from 5000 to 6000 men.\nThe custom of fighting in three divisions was retained, but, while\npreviously each division had formed a distinct corps, it was in future\nleft to the general to distribute the cohorts, of which he had the\ndisposal, in the three lines as he thought best.  Military rank was\ndetermined solely by the numerical order of the soldiers and of the\ndivisions.  The four standards of the several parts of the legion--the\nwolf, the ox with a man's head, the horse, the boar--which had hitherto\nprobably been carried before the cavalry and the three divisions of\nheavy infantry, disappeared; there came instead the ensigns of the new\ncohorts, and the new standard which Marius gave to the legion as a\nwhole--the silver eagle.  While within the legion every trace of the\nprevious civic and aristocratic classification thus disappeared, and the\nonly distinctions henceforth occurring among the legionaries were purely\nmilitary, accidental circumstances had some decades earlier given\nrise to a privileged division of the army alongside of the legions--\nthe bodyguard of the general.  Hitherto selected men from the allied\ncontingents had formed the personal escort of the general; the\nemployment of Roman legionaries, or even men voluntarily offering\nthemselves, for personal service with him was at variance with the\nstern disciplinary obligations of the mighty commonwealth.  But when the\nNumantine war had reared an army demoralized beyond parallel, and Scipio\nAemilianus, who was called to check the wild disorder, had not been able\nto prevail on the government to call entirely new troops under arms, he\nwas at least allowed to form, in addition to a number of men whom the\ndependent kings and free cities outside of the Roman bounds placed at\nhis disposal, a personal escort of 500 men composed of volunteer Roman\nburgesses (p.  230).  This cohort drawn partly from the better classes,\npartly from the humbler personal clients of the general, and hence\ncalled sometimes that of the friends, sometimes that of the headquarters\n(-praetoriani-), had the duty of serving in the latter (-praetorium-)\nin return for which it was exempt from camp and entrenching service\nand enjoyed higher pay and greater repute.\n\nPolitical Significance of the Marian Military Reform\n\nThis complete revolution in the constitution of the Roman army seems\ncertainly in substance to have originated from purely military motives;\nand on the whole to have been not so much the work of an individual,\nleast of all of a man of calculating ambition, as the remodelling which\nthe force of circumstances enjoined in arrangements which had become\nuntenable.  It is probable that the introduction of the system of inland\nenlistment by Marius saved the state in a military point of view from\ndestruction, just as several centuries afterwards Arbogast and Stilicho\nprolonged its existence for a time by the introduction of foreign\nenlistment.  Nevertheless, it involved a complete--although not yet\ndeveloped--political revolution.  The republican constitution was\nessentially based on the view that the citizen was at the same time\na soldier, and that the soldier was above all a citizen; there was an\nend of it, so soon as a soldier-class was formed.  To this issue the\nnew system of drill, with its routine borrowed from the professional\ngladiator, could not but lead; the military service became gradually\na profession.  Far more rapid was the effect of the admission--though\nbut limited--of the proletariate to participate in military service;\nespecially in connection with the primitive maxims, which conceded to\nthe general an arbitrary right of rewarding his soldiers compatible only\nwith very solid republican institutions, and gave to the capable and\nsuccessful soldier a sort of title to demand from the general a share\nof the moveable spoil and from the stale a portion of the soil that had\nbeen won.  While the burgess or farmer called out under the levy saw in\nmilitary service nothing but a burden to be undertaken for the public\ngood, and in the gains of war nothing but a slight compensation for the\nfar more considerable loss brought upon him by serving, it was otherwise\nwith the enlisted proletarian.  Not only was he for the moment solely\ndependent upon his pay, but, as there was no Hotel des Invalides nor\neven a poorhouse to receive him after his discharge, for the future\nalso he could not but wish to abide by his standard, and not to leave\nit otherwise than with the establishment of his civic status, His only\nhome was the camp, his only science war, his only hope the general--what\nthis implied, is clear.  When Marius after the engagement on the Raudine\nplain unconstitutionally gave Roman citizenship on the very field\nof battle to two cohorts of Italian allies en masse for their brave\nconduct, he justified himself afterwards by saying that amidst the noise\nof battle he had not been able to distinguish the voice of the laws.\nIf once in more important questions the interest of the army and that\nof the general should concur to produce unconstitutional demands,\nwho could be security that then other laws also would not cease to\nbe heard amid the clashing of swords? They had now the standing army,\nthe soldier-class, the bodyguard; as in the civil constitution, so also\nin the military, all the pillars of the future monarchy were already\nin existence: the monarch alone was wanting.  When the twelve eagles\ncircled round the Palatine hill, they ushered in the reign of the Kings;\nthe new eagle which Gaius Marius bestowed on the legions proclaimed\nthe near advent of the Emperors.\n\nPolitical Projects of Marius\n\nThere is hardly any doubt that Marius entered into the brilliant\nprospects which his military and political position opened up to him.\nIt was a sad and troubled time.  Men had peace, but they were not glad\nof having it; the state of things was not now such as it had formerly\nbeen after the first mighty onset of the men of the north on Rome, when,\nso soon as the crisis was over, all energies were roused anew in the\nfresh consciousness of recovered health, and had by their vigorous\ndevelopment rapidly and amply made up for what was lost.  Every one felt\nthat, though able generals might still once and again avert immediate\ndestruction, the commonwealth was only the more surely on the way to\nruin under the government of the restored oligarchy; but every one felt\nalso that the time was past when in such cases the burgess-body came to\nits own help, and that there was no amendment so long as the place of\nGaius Gracchus remained empty.  How deeply the multitude felt the blank\nthat was left after the disappearance of those two illustrious youths\nwho had opened the gates to revolution, and how childishly in fact it\ngrasped at any shadow of a substitute, was shown by the case of the\npretended son of Tiberius Gracchus, who, although the very sister of\nthe two Gracchi charged him with fraud in the open Forum, was yet chosen\nby the people in 655 as tribune solely on account of his usurped name.\nIn the same spirit the multitude exulted in the presence of Gaius\nMarius; how should it not? He, if any one, seemed the right man--he\nwas at any rate the first general and the most popular name of his time,\nconfessedly brave and upright, and recommended as regenerator of the\nstate by his very position aloof from the proceedings of party--how\nshould not the people, how should not he himself, have held that he was\nso! Public opinion as decidedly as possible favoured the opposition.\nIt was a significant indication of this, that the proposal to have the\nvacant stalls in the chief priestly colleges filled up by the burgesses\ninstead of the colleges themselves--which the government had frustrated\nin the comitia in 609 by the suggestion of religious scruples--was\ncarried in 650 by Gnaeus Domitius without the senate having been able\neven to venture a serious resistance.  On the whole it seemed as if\nnothing was wanted but a chief, who should give to the opposition a firm\nrallying point and a practical aim; and this was now found in Marius.\n\nFor the execution of his task two methods of operation offered\nthemselves; Marius might attempt to overthrow the oligarchy either as\n-imperator- at the head of the army, or in the mode prescribed by the\nconstitution for constitutional changes: his own past career pointed to\nthe former course, the precedent of Gracchus to the latter.  It is easy\nto understand why he did not adopt the former plan, perhaps did not even\nthink of the possibility of adopting it The senate was or seemed so\npowerless and helpless, so hated and despised, that Marius conceived\nhimself scarcely to need any other support in opposing it than his\nimmense popularity, but hoped in case of necessity to find such a\nsupport, notwithstanding the dissolution of the army, in the soldiers\ndischarged and waiting for their rewards.  It is probable that Marius,\nlooking to Gracchus' easy and apparently almost complete victory and to\nhis own resources far surpassing those of Gracchus, deemed the overthrow\nof a constitution four hundred years old, and intimately bound up with\nthe manifold habits and interests of the body-politic arranged in a\ncomplicated hierarchy, a far easier task than it was.  But any one, who\nlooked more deeply into the difficulties of the enterprise than Marius\nprobably did, might reflect that the army, although in the course of\ntransition from a militia to a body of mercenaries, was still during\nthis state of transition by no means adapted for the blind instrument of\na coup d'etat, and that an attempt to set aside the resisting elements\nby military means would have probably augmented the power of resistance\nin his antagonists.  To mix up the organized armed force in the struggle\ncould not but appear at the first glance superfluous and at the second\nhazardous; they were just at the beginning of the crisis, and the\nantagonistic elements were still far from having reached their last,\nshortest, and simplest expression.\n\nThe Popular Party\n\nMarius therefore discharged the army after his triumph in accordance\nwith the existing regulation, and entered on the course traced out by\nGaius Gracchus for procuring to himself supremacy in the state by\nundertaking its constitutional magistracies.  In this enterprise he\nfound himself dependent for support on what was called the popular\nparty, and sought his allies in its leaders for the time being all\nthe more, that the victorious general by no means possessed the gifts\nand experiences requisite for the command of the streets.  Thus the\ndemocratic party after long insignificance suddenly regained political\nimportance.  It had, in the long interval from Gaius Gracchus to Marius,\nmaterially deteriorated.  Perhaps the dissatisfaction with the\nsenatorial government was not now less than it was then; but several\nof the hopes, which had brought to the Gracchi their most faithful\nadherents, had in the meanwhile been recognized as illusory, and there\nhad sprung up in many minds a misgiving that this Gracchan agitation\ntended towards an issue whither a very large portion of the discontented\nwere by no means willing to follow it.  In fact, amidst the chase and\nturmoil of twenty years there had been rubbed off and worn away very\nmuch of the fresh enthusiasm, the steadfast faith, the moral purity\nof effort, which mark the early stages of revolutions.  But, if the\ndemocratic party was no longer what it had been under Gaius Gracchus,\nthe leaders of the intervening period were now as far beneath their\nparty as Gaius Gracchus had been exalted above it.  This was implied\nin the nature of the case.  Until there should emerge a man having\nthe boldness like Gaius Gracchus to grasp at the supremacy of the state,\nthe leaders could only be stopgaps: either political novices, who gave\nfurious vent to their youthful love of opposition and then, when duly\naccredited as fiery declaimers and favourite speakers, effected with\nmore or less dexterity their retreat to the camp of the government\nparty; or people who had nothing to lose in respect of property and\ninfluence, and usually not even anything to gain in respect of honour,\nand who made it their business to obstruct and annoy the government\nfrom personal exasperation or even from the mere pleasure of creating a\nnoise.  To the former sort belonged, for instance, Gaius Memmius(5) and\nthe well-known orator Lucius Crassus, who turned the oratorical laurels\nwhich they had won in the ranks of the opposition to account in the\nsequel as zealous partisans of the government.\n\nGlaucia\nSaturninus\n\nBut the most notable leaders of the popular party about this time were\nmen of the second sort.  Such were Gaius Servilius Glaucia, called by\nCicero the Roman Hyperbolus, a vulgar fellow of the lowest origin and of\nthe most shameless street-eloquence, but effective and even dreaded by\nreason of his pungent wit; and his better and abler associate, Lucius\nAppuleius Saturninus, who even according to the accounts of his enemies\nwas a fiery and impressive speaker, and was at least not guided by\nmotives of vulgar selfishness.  When he was quaestor, the charge of the\nimportation of corn, which had fallen to him in the usual way, had been\nwithdrawn from him by decree of the senate, not so much perhaps on\naccount of maladministration, as in order to confer this--just at that\ntime popular--office on one of the heads of the government party, Marcus\nScaurus, rather than upon an unknown young man belonging to none of\nthe ruling families.  This mortification had driven the aspiring and\nsensitive man into the ranks of the opposition; and as tribune of\nthe people in 651 he repaid what he had received with interest.\nOne scandalous affair had at that time followed hard upon another.\nHe had spoken in the open market of the briberies practised in Rome\nby the envoys of king Mithradates--these revelations, compromising in\nthe highest degree the senate, had wellnigh cost the bold tribune his\nlife.  He had excited a tumult against the conqueror of Numidia, Quintus\nMetellus, when he was a candidate for the censorship in 652, and kept\nhim besieged in the Capitol till the equites liberated him not without\nbloodshed; the retaliatory measure of the censor Metellus--the expulsion\nwith infamy of Saturninus and of Glaucia from the senate on occasion of\nthe revision of the senatorial roll--had only miscarried through the\nremissness of the colleague assigned to Metellus.  Saturninus mainly had\ncarried that exceptional commission against Caepio and his associates(6)\nin spite of the most vehement resistance by the government party; and in\nopposition to the same he had carried the keenly-contested re-election\nof Marius as consul for 652.  Saturninus was decidedly the most\nenergetic enemy of the senate and the most active and eloquent leader\nof the popular party since Gaius Gracchus; but he was also violent\nand unscrupulous beyond any of his predecessors, always ready to\ndescend into the street and to refute his antagonist with blows\ninstead of words.\n\nSuch were the two leaders of the so-called popular party, who now made\ncommon cause with the victorious general.  It was natural that they\nshould do so; their interests and aims coincided, and even in the\nearlier candidatures of Marius Saturninus at least had most decidedly\nand most effectively taken his side.  It was agreed between them that\nfor 654 Marius should become a candidate for a sixth consulship,\nSaturninus for a second tribunate, Glaucia for the praetorship, in order\nthat, possessed of these offices, they might carry out the intended\nrevolution in the state.  The senate acquiesced in the nomination of\nthe less dangerous Glaucia, but did what it could to hinder the election\nof Marius and Saturninus, or at least to associate with the former a\ndetermined antagonist in the person of Quintus Metellus as his colleague\nin the consulship.  All appliances, lawful and unlawful, were put in\nmotion by both parties; but the senate was not successful in arresting\nthe dangerous conspiracy in the bud.  Marius did not disdain in person\nto solicit votes and, it was said, even to purchase them; in fact, at\nthe tribunician elections when nine men from the list of the government\nparty were proclaimed, and the tenth place seemed already secured for a\nrespectable man of the same complexion Quintus Nunnius, the latter was\nset upon and slain by a savage band, which is said to have been mainly\ncomposed of discharged soldiers of Marius.  Thus the conspirators gained\ntheir object, although by the most violent means.  Marius was chosen as\nconsul, Glaucia as praetor, Saturninus as tribune of the people for 654;\nthe second consular place was obtained not by Quintus Metellus, but by\nan insignificant man, Lucius Valerius Flaccus: the confederates might\nproceed to put into execution the further schemes which they\ncontemplated and to complete the work broken off in 633.\n\nThe Appuleian Laws\n\nLet us recall the objects which Gaius Gracchus pursued, and the means\nby which he pursued them.  His object was to break down the oligarchy\nwithin and without.  He aimed, on the one hand, to restore the power of\nthe magistrates, which had become completely dependent on the senate, to\nits original sovereign rights, and to re-convert the senatorial assembly\nfrom a governing into a deliberative board; and, on the other hand, to\nput an end to the aristocratic division of the state into the three\nclasses of the ruling burgesses, the Italian allies, and the subjects,\nby the gradual equalization of those distinctions which were\nincompatible with a government not oligarchical.  These ideas the three\nconfederates revived in the colonial laws, which Saturninus as tribune\nof the people had partly introduced already (651), partly now introduced\n(654).(7) As early as the former year the interrupted distribution of\nthe Carthaginian territory had been resumed primarily for the benefit of\nthe soldiers of Marius--not the burgesses only but, as it would seem,\nalso the Italian allies--and each of these veterans had been promised an\nallotment of 100 -jugera-, or about five times the size of an ordinary\nItalian farm, in the province of Africa.  Now not only was the\nprovincial land already available claimed in its widest extent for\nthe Romano-Italian emigration, but also all the land of the still\nindependent Celtic tribes beyond the Alps, by virtue of the legal\nfiction that through the conquest of the Cimbri all the territory\noccupied by these had been acquired de jure by the Romans.  Gaius Marius\nwas called to conduct the assignations of land and the farther measures\nthat might appear necessary in this behalf; and the temple-treasures of\nTolosa, which had been embezzled but were refunded or had still to be\nrefunded by the guilty aristocrats, were destined for the outfit of the\nnew receivers of land.  This law therefore not only revived the plans of\nconquest beyond the Alps and the projects of Transalpine and transmarine\ncolonization, which Gaius Gracchus and Flaccus had sketched, on the most\nextensive scale; but, by admitting the Italians along with the Romans\nto emigration and yet undoubtedly prescribing the erection of all the\nnew communities as burgess-colonies, it formed a first step towards\nsatisfying the claims--to which it was so difficult to give effect, and\nwhich yet could not be in the long run refused--of the Italians to be\nplaced on an equality with the Romans.  First of all, however, if the\nlaw passed and Marius was called to the independent carrying out of\nthese immense schemes of conquest and assignation, he would become\npractically--until those plans should be realized or rather, considering\ntheir indefinite and unlimited character, for his lifetime--monarch of\nRome; with which view it may be presumed that Marius intended to have\nhis consulship annually renewed, like the tribunate of Gracchus.  But,\namidst the agreement of the political positions marked out for the\nyounger Gracchus and for Marius in all other essential particulars,\nthere was yet a very material distinction between the land-assigning\ntribune and the land-assigning consul in the fact, that the former was\nto occupy a purely civil position, the latter a military position as\nwell; a distinction, which partly but by no means solely arose out of\nthe personal circumstances under which the two men had risen to the head\nof the state.  While such was the nature of the aim which Marius and his\ncomrades had proposed to themselves, the next question related to the\nmeans by which they purposed to break down the resistance--which might\nbe anticipated to be obstinate--of the government party.  Gaius Gracchus\nhad fought his battles with the aid of the capitalist class and the\nproletariate.  His successors did not neglect to make advances likewise\nto these.  The equites were not only left in possession of the\ntribunals, but their power as jurymen was considerably increased, partly\nby a stricter ordinance regarding the standing commission--especially\nimportant to the merchants--as to extortions on the part of the public\nmagistrates in the provinces, which Glaucia carried probably in this\nyear, partly by the special tribunal, appointed doubtless as early as\n651 on the proposal of Saturninus, respecting the embezzlements and\nother official malversations that had occurred during the Cimbrian\nmovement in Gaul.  For the benefit, moreover, of the proletariate of\nthe capital the sum below cost price, which hitherto had to be paid on\noccasion of the distributions of grain for the -modius-, was lowered\nfrom 6 1/3 -asses- to a mere nominal charge of 5/6 of an -as-.\nBut although they did not despise the alliance with the equites and\nthe proletariate of the capital, the real power by which the confederates\nenforced their measures lay not in these, but in the discharged soldiers\nof the Marian army, who for that very reason had been provided for in\nthe colonial laws themselves after so extravagant a fashion.  In this\nalso was evinced the predominating military character, which forms\nthe chief distinction between this attempt at revolution and that\nwhich preceded it.\n\nViolent Proceedings in the Voting\n\nThey went to work accordingly.  The corn and colonial laws encountered,\nas was to be expected, the keenest opposition from the government.\nThey proved in the senate by striking figures, that the former must\nmake the public treasury bankrupt; Saturninus did not trouble himself\nabout that.  They brought tribunician intercession to bear against\nboth laws; Saturninus ordered the voting to go on.  They informed\nthe magistrates presiding at the voting that a peal of thunder had\nbeen heard, a portent by which according to ancient belief the gods\nenjoined the dismissal of the public assembly; Saturninus remarked\nto the messengers that the senate would do well to keep quiet, otherwise\nthe thunder might very easily be followed by hail.  Lastly the urban\nquaestor, Quintus Caepio, the son, it may be presumed, of the general\ncondemned three years before,(8) and like his father a vehement\nantagonist of the popular party, with a band of devoted partisans\ndispersed the comitia by violence.  But the tough soldiers of Marius,\nwho had flocked in crowds to Rome to vote on this occasion, quickly\nrallied and dispersed the city bands, and on the voting ground thus\nreconquered the vote on the Appuleian laws was successfully brought to\nan end.  The scandal was grievous; but when it came to the question\nwhether the senate would comply with the clause of the law that\nwithin five days after its passing every senator should on pain of\nforfeiting his senatorial seat take an oath faithfully to observe it,\nall the senators took the oath with the single exception of Quintus\nMetellus, who preferred to go into exile.  Marius and Saturninus\nwere not displeased to see the best general and the ablest man among\nthe opposing party removed from the state by voluntary banishment.\n\nThe Fall of the Revolutionary Party\n\nTheir object seemed to be attained; but even now to those who saw\nmore clearly the enterprise could not but appear a failure.  The cause\nof the failure lay mainly in the awkward alliance between a politically\nincapable general and a street-demagogue, capable but recklessly\nviolent, and filled with passion rather than with the aims of a\nstatesman.  They had agreed excellently, so long as the question related\nonly to plans.  But when the plans came to be executed, it was very soon\napparent that the celebrated general was in politics utterly incapable;\nthat his ambition was that of the farmer who would cope with and,\nif possible, surpass the aristocrats in titles, and not that of the\nstatesman who desires to govern because he feels within him the power\nto do so; that every enterprise, which was based on his personal standing\nas a politician, must necessarily even under the most favourable\ncircumstances be ruined by himself.\n\nOpposition of the Whole Aristocracy\n\nHe knew neither the art of gaining his antagonists, nor that of keeping\nhis own party in subjection.  The opposition against him and his\ncomrades was even of itself sufficiently considerable; for not only did\nthe government party belong to it in a body, but also a great part of\nthe burgesses, who guarded with jealous eyes their exclusive privileges\nagainst the Italians; and by the course which things took the whole\nclass of the wealthy was also driven over to the government.  Saturninus\nand Glaucia were from the first masters and servants of the proletariate\nand therefore not at all on a good footing with the moneyed aristocracy,\nwhich had no objection now and then to keep the senate in check by means\nof the rabble, but had no liking for street-riots and violent outrages.\nAs early as the first tribunate of Saturninus his armed bands had their\nskirmishes with the equites; the vehement opposition which his election\nas tribune for 654 encountered shows clearly how small was the party\nfavourable to him.  It should have been the endeavour of Marius to avail\nhimself of the dangerous help of such associates only in moderation,\nand to convince all and sundry that they were destined not to rule, but\nto serve him as the ruler.  As he did precisely the contrary, and the\nmatter came to look quite as if the object was to place the government\nin the hands not of an intelligent and vigorous master, but of the mere\n-canaille-, the men of material interests, terrified to death at the\nprospect of such confusion, again attached themselves closely to the\nsenate in presence of this common danger.  While Gaius Gracchus, clearly\nperceiving that no government could be overthrown by means of the\nproletariate alone, had especially sought to gain over to his side\nthe propertied classes, those who desired to continue his work began by\nproducing a reconciliation between the aristocracy and the bourgeoisie.\n\nVariance between Marius and the Demogogues\n\nBut the ruin of the enterprise was brought about, still more rapidly\nthan by this reconciliation of enemies, through the dissension which\nthe more than ambiguous behaviour of Marius necessarily produced among\nits promoters.  While the decisive proposals were brought forward by\nhis associates and carried after a struggle by his soldiers, Marius\nmaintained an attitude wholly passive, just as if the political leader\nwas not bound quite as much as the military, when the brunt of battle\ncame, to present himself everywhere and foremost in person.  Nor was\nthis all; he was terrified at, and fled from the presence of, the\nspirits which he had himself evoked.  When his associates resorted to\nexpedients which an honourable man could not approve, but without which\nin fact the object of their efforts could not be attained, he attempted,\nin the fashion usual with men whose ideas of political morality are\nconfused, to wash his hands of participation in those crimes and at the\nsame time to profit by their results.  There is a story that the general\nonce conducted secret negotiations in two different rooms of his house,\nwith Saturninus and his partisans in the one, and with the deputies of\nthe oligarchy in the other, talking with the former of striking a blow\nagainst the senate, and with the latter of interfering against the\nrevolt, and that under a pretext which was in keeping with the anxiety\nof the situation he went to and fro between the two conferences--a story\nas certainly invented, and as certainly appropriate, as any incident in\nAristophanes.  The ambiguous attitude of Marius became notorious in the\nquestion of the oath.  At first he seemed as though he would himself\nrefuse the oath required by the Appuleian laws on account of the\ninformalities that had occurred at their passing, and then swore it with\nthe reservation, \"so far as the laws were really valid\"; a reservation\nwhich annulled the oath itself, and which of course all the senators\nlikewise adopted in swearing, so that by this mode of taking the oath\nthe validity of the laws was not secured, but on the contrary was for\nthe first time really called in question.\n\nThe consequences of this behaviour--stupid beyond parallel--on the part\nof the celebrated general soon developed themselves.  Saturninus and\nGlaucia had not undertaken the revolution and procured for Marius\nthe supremacy of the state, in order that they might be disowned and\nsacrificed by him; if Glaucia, the favourite jester of the people, had\nhitherto lavished on Marius the gayest flowers of his jovial eloquence,\nthe garlands which he now wove for him were by no means redolent of\nroses and violets.  A total rupture took place, by which both parties\nwere lost; for Marius had not a footing sufficiently firm singly to\nmaintain the colonial law which he had himself called in question and\nto possess himself of the position which it assigned to him, nor were\nSaturninus and Glaucia in a condition to continue on their own account\nthe work which Marius had begun.\n\nSaturninus Isolated\nSaturninus Assailed and Overpowered\n\nBut the two demagogues were so compromised that they could not recede;\nthey had no alternative save to resign their offices in the usual way\nand thereby to deliver themselves with their hands bound to their\nexasperated opponents, or now to grasp the sceptre for themselves,\nalthough they felt that they could not bear its weight.  They resolved\non the latter course; Saturninus would come forward once more as a\ncandidate for the tribunate of the people for 655, Glaucia, although\npraetor and not eligible for the consulship till two years had elapsed,\nwould become a candidate for the latter.  In fact the tribunician\nelections were decided entirely to their mind, and the attempt of\nMarius to prevent the spurious Tiberius Gracchus from soliciting the\ntribuneship served only to show the celebrated man what was now the\nworth of his popularity; the multitude broke the doors of the prison in\nwhich Gracchus was confined, bore him in triumph through the streets,\nand elected him by a great majority as their tribune.  Saturninus and\nGlaucia sought to control the more important consular election by the\nexpedient for the removal of inconvenient competitors which had been\ntried in the previous year; the counter-candidate of the government\nparty, Gaius Memmius--the same who eleven years before had led the\nopposition against them(9)--was suddenly assailed by a band of ruffians\nand beaten to death.  But the government party had only waited for a\nstriking event of this sort in order to employ force.  The senate\nrequired the consul Gaius Marius to interfere, and the latter in reality\nprofessed his readiness now to draw for the conservative party the\nsword, which he had obtained from the democracy and had promised to\nwield on its behalf.  The young men were hastily called out, equipped\nwith arms from the public buildings, and drawn up in military array; the\nsenate itself appeared under arms in the Forum, with its venerable chief\nMarcus Scaurus at its head.  The opposite party were doubtless superior\nin a street-riot, but were not prepared for such an attack; they had now\nto defend themselves as they could.  They broke open the doors of the\nprisons, and called the slaves to liberty and to arms; they proclaimed--\nso it was said at any rate--Saturninus as king or general; on the day\nwhen the new tribunes of the people had to enter on their office, the\n10th of December 654, a battle occurred in the great market-place--the\nfirst which, since Rome existed, had ever been fought within the walls\nof the capital.  The issue was not for a moment doubtful.  The Populares\nwere beaten and driven up to the Capitol, where the supply of water was\ncut off from them and they were thus compelled to surrender.  Marius,\nwho held the chief command, would gladly have saved the lives of his\nformer allies who were now his prisoners; Saturninus proclaimed to the\nmultitude that all which he had proposed had been done in concert with\nthe consul: even a worse man than Marius was could not but shudder at\nthe inglorious part which he played on this day.  But he had long ceased\nto be master of affairs.  Without orders the youth of rank climbed\nthe roof of the senate-house in the Forum where the prisoners were\ntemporarily confined, stripped off the tiles, and with these stoned\ntheir victims.  Thus Saturninus perished with most of the more notable\nprisoners.  Glaucia was found in a lurking-place and likewise put\nto death.  Without sentence or trial there died on this day four\nmagistrates of the Roman people--a praetor, a quaestor, and two\ntribunes of the people--and a number of other well-known men, some of\nwhom belonged to good families.  In spite of the grave faults by which\nthe chiefs had invited on themselves this bloody retribution, we may\nnevertheless lament them: they fell like advanced posts, which are left\nunsupported by the main army and are forced to perish without aim in\na conflict of despair.\n\nAscendency of the Government\nMarius Politically Annihilated\n\nNever had the government party achieved a more complete victory, never\nhad the opposition suffered a more severe defeat, than on this 10th of\nDecember.  It was the least part of the success that they had got rid\nof some troublesome brawlers, whose places might be supplied any day by\nassociates of a like stamp; it was of greater moment that the only man,\nwho was then in a position to become dangerous to the government, had\npublicly and completely effected his own annihilation; and most\nimportant of all that the two elements of the opposition, the capitalist\norder and the proletariate, emerged from the strife wholly at variance.\nIt is true that this was not the work of the government; the fabric\nwhich had been put together by the adroit hands of Gaius Gracchus\nhad been broken up, partly by the force of circumstances, partly\nand especially by the coarse and boorish management of his incapable\nsuccessor; but in the result it mattered not whether calculation or good\nfortune helped the government to its victory.  A more pitiful position\ncan hardly be conceived than that occupied by the hero of Aquae and\nVercellae after such a disaster--all the more pitiful, because people\ncould not but compare it with the lustre which only a few months before\nsurrounded the same man.  No one either on the aristocratic or the\ndemocratic side any longer thought of the victorious general on occasion\nof filling up the magistracies; the hero of six consulships could not\neven venture to become a candidate in 656 for the censorship.  He went\naway to the east, ostensibly for the purpose of fulfilling a vow there,\nbut in reality that he might not be a witness of the triumphant return\nof his mortal foe Quintus Metellus; he was allowed to go.  He returned\nand opened his house; his halls stood empty.  He always hoped that\nconflicts and battles would occur and that the people would once\nmore need his experienced arm; he thought to provide himself with an\nopportunity for war in the east, where the Romans might certainly have\nfound sufficient occasion for energetic interference.  But this also\nmiscarried, like every other of his wishes; profound peace continued\nto prevail.  Yet the longing after honours once aroused within him,\nthe oftener it was disappointed, ate the more deeply into his heart.\nSuperstitious as he was, he cherished in his bosom an old oracular\nsaying which had promised him seven consulships, and in gloomy\nmeditation brooded over the means by which this utterance was to\nobtain its fulfilment and he his revenge, while he appeared to all,\nhimself alone excepted, insignificant and innocuous.\n\nThe Equestrian Party\n\nStill more important in its consequences than the setting aside of the\ndangerous man was the deep exasperation against the Populares, as they\nwere called, which the insurrection of Saturninus left behind in the\nparty of material interests.  With the most remorseless severity the\nequestrian tribunals condemned every one who professed oppositional\nviews; Sextus Titius, for instance, was condemned not so much on\naccount of his agrarian law as because he had in his house a statue of\nSaturninus; Gaius Appuleius Decianus was condemned, because he had as\ntribune of the people characterized the proceedings against Saturninus\nas illegal.  Even for earlier injuries inflicted by the Populares on\nthe aristocracy satisfaction was now demanded, not without prospect of\nsuccess, before the equestrian tribunals.  Because Gaius Norbanus had\neight years previously in concert with Saturninus driven the consular\nQuintus Caepio into exile(10) he was now (659) on the ground of his own\nlaw accused of high treason, and the jurymen hesitated long--not whether\nthe accused was guilty or innocent, but whether his ally Saturninus\nor his enemy Caepio was to be regarded as the most deserving of their\nhate--till at last they decided for acquittal.  Even if people were not\nmore favourably disposed towards the government in itself than before,\nyet, after having found themselves, although but for a moment, on the\nverge of a real mob-rule, all men who had anything to lose viewed the\nexisting government in a different light; it was notoriously wretched\nand pernicious for the state, but the anxious dread of the still more\nwretched and still more pernicious government of the proletariate had\nconferred on it a relative value.  The current now set so much in that\ndirection that the multitude tore in pieces a tribune of the people\nwho had ventured to postpone the return of Quintus Metellus, and the\ndemocrats began to seek their safety in league with murderers and\npoisoners--ridding themselves, for example, of the hated Metellus\nby poison--or even in league with the public enemy, several of them\nalready taking refuge at the court of king Mithradates who was secretly\npreparing for war against Rome.  External relations also assumed an\naspect favourable for the government.  The Roman arms were employed but\nlittle in the period from the Cimbrian to the Social war, but everywhere\nwith honour.  The only serious conflict was in Spain, where, during\nthe recent years so trying for Rome (649 seq.), the Lusitanians and\nCeltiberians had risen with unwonted vehemence against the Romans.\nIn the years 656-661 the consul Titus Didius in the northern and the consul\nPublius Crassus in the southern province not only re-established with\nvalour and good fortune the ascendency of the Roman arms, but also razed\nthe refractory towns and, where it seemed necessary, transplanted the\npopulation of the strong mountain-towns to the plains.  We shall show in\nthe sequel that about the same time the Roman government again directed\nits attention to the east which had been for a generation neglected,\nand displayed greater energy than had for long been heard of in Cyrene,\nSyria, and Asia Minor.  Never since the commencement of the revolution\nhad the government of the restoration been so firmly established, or so\npopular.  Consular laws were substituted for tribunician; restrictions\non liberty replaced measures of progress.  The cancelling of the laws of\nSaturninus was a matter of course; the transmarine colonies of Marius\ndisappeared down to a single petty settlement on the barbarous island\nof Corsica.  When the tribune of the people Sextus Titius--a caricatured\nAlcibiades, who was greater in dancing and ball-playing than in\npolitics, and whose most prominent talent consisted in breaking the\nimages of the gods in the streets at night--re-introduced and carried\nthe Appuleian agrarian law in 655, the senate was able to annul the new\nlaw on a religious pretext without any one even attempting to defend it;\nthe author of it was punished, as we have already mentioned, by the\nequites in their tribunals.  Next year (656) a law brought in by the\ntwo consuls made the usual four-and-twenty days' interval between the\nintroduction and the passing of a project of law obligatory, and forbade\nthe combination of several enactments different in their nature in one\nproposal; by which means the unreasonable extension of the initiative\nin legislation was at least somewhat restricted, and the government was\nprevented from being openly taken by surprise with new laws.  It became\ndaily more evident that the Gracchan constitution, which had survived\nthe fall of its author, was now, since the multitude and the moneyed\naristocracy no longer went together, tottering to its foundations.\nAs that constitution had been based on division in the ranks of\nthe aristocracy, so it seemed that dissensions in the ranks of the\nopposition could not but bring about its fall.  Now, if ever, the\ntime had come for completing the unfinished work of restoration of 633,\nfor making the Gracchan constitution share the fate of the tyrant,\nand for replacing the governing oligarchy in the sole possession\nof political power.\n\nCollision between the Senate and Equites in the Administration of\nthe Provinces\n\nEverything depended on recovering the nomination of the jurymen.\nThe administration of the provinces--the chief foundation of the\nsenatorial government--had become dependent on the jury courts, more\nparticularly on the commission regarding exactions, to such a degree\nthat the governor of a province seemed to administer it no longer for\nthe senate, but for the order of capitalists and merchants.  Ready as\nthe moneyed aristocracy always was to meet the views of the government\nwhen measures against the democrats were in question, it sternly\nresented every attempt to restrict it in this its well-acquired right\nof unlimited sway in the provinces.  Several such attempts were now\nmade; the governing aristocracy began again to come to itself, and\nits very best men reckoned themselves bound, at least for their\nown part, to oppose the dreadful maladministration in the provinces.\nThe most resolute in this respect was Quintus Mucius Scaevola, like\nhis father Publius -pontifex maximus- and in 659 consul, the foremost\njurist and one of the most excellent men of his time.  As praetorian\ngovernor (about 656) of Asia, the richest and worst-abused of all the\nprovinces, he--in concert with his older friend, distinguished as an\nofficer, jurist, and historian, the consular Publius Rutilius Rufus--\nset a severe and deterring example.  Without making any distinction\nbetween Italians and provincials, noble and ignoble, he took up every\ncomplaint, and not only compelled the Roman merchants and state-lessees\nto give full pecuniary compensation for proven injuries, but, when some\nof their most important and most unscrupulous agents were found guilty\nof crimes deserving death, deaf to all offers of bribery he ordered them\nto be duly crucified.  The senate approved his conduct, and even made it\nan instruction afterwards to the governors of Asia that they should take\nas their model the principles of Scaevola's administration; but the\nequites, although they did not venture to meddle with that highly\naristocratic and influential statesman himself, brought to trial his\nassociates and ultimately (about 662) even the most considerable of\nthem, his legate Publius Rufus, who was defended only by his merits\nand recognized integrity, not by family connection.  The charge that\nsuch a man had allowed himself to perpetrate exactions in Asia, almost\nbroke down under its own absurdity and under the infamy of the accuser,\none Apicius; yet the welcome opportunity of humbling the consular was\nnot allowed to pass, and, when the latter, disdaining false rhetoric,\nmourning robes, and tears, defended himself briefly, simply, and to\nthe point, and proudly refused the homage which the sovereign capitalists\ndesired, he was actually condemned, and his moderate property was\nconfiscated to satisfy fictitious claims for compensation.  The condemned\nresorted to the province which he was alleged to have plundered, and\nthere, welcomed by all the communities with honorary deputations, and\npraised and beloved during his lifetime, he spent in literary leisure\nhis remaining days.  And this disgraceful condemnation, while perhaps\nthe worst, was by no means the only case of the sort.  The senatorial\nparty was exasperated, not so much perhaps by such abuse of justice in\nthe case of men of stainless walk but of new nobility, as by the fact\nthat the purest nobility no longer sufficed to cover possible stains\non its honour.  Scarcely was Rufus out of the country, when the most\nrespected of all aristocrats, for twenty years the chief of the senate,\nMarcus Scaurus at seventy years of age was brought to trial for exactions;\na sacrilege according to aristocratic notions, even if he were guilty.\nThe office of accuser began to be exercised professionally by worthless\nfellows, and neither irreproachable character, nor rank, nor age longer\nfurnished protection from the most wicked and most dangerous attacks.\nThe commission regarding exactions was converted from a shield of the\nprovincials into their worst scourge; the most notorious robber escaped\nwith impunity, if he only indulged his fellow-robbers and did not refuse\nto allow part of the sums exacted to reach the jury; but any attempt\nto respond to the equitable demands of the provincials for right and\njustice sufficed for condemnation.  It seemed as if the intention was to\nbring the Roman government into the same dependence on the controlling\ncourt, as that in which the college of judges at Carthage had formerly\nheld the council there.  The prescient expression of Gaius Gracchus was\nfinding fearful fulfilment, that with the dagger of his law as to the\njurymen the world of quality would lacerate itself.\n\nLivius Drusus\n\nAn attack on the equestrian courts was inevitable.  Every one in the\ngovernment party who was still alive to the fact that governing implies\nnot merely rights but also duties, every one in fact who still felt any\nnobler or prouder ambition within him, could not but rise in revolt\nagainst this oppressive and disgraceful political control, which\nprecluded any possibility of upright administration.  The scandalous\ncondemnation of Rutilius Rufus seemed a summons to begin the attack at\nonce, and Marcus Livius Drusus, who was tribune of the people in 663,\nregarded that summons as specially addressed to himself.  Son of the man\nof the same name, who thirty years before had primarily caused the\noverthrow of Gaius Gracchus(11) and had afterwards made himself a name\nas an officer by the subjugation of the Scordisci,(12) Drusus was, like\nhis father, of strictly conservative views, and had already given\npractical proof that such were his sentiments in the insurrection of\nSaturninus.  He belonged to the circle of the highest nobility, and was\nthe possessor of a colossal fortune; in disposition too he was a genuine\naristocrat--a man emphatically proud, who scorned to bedeck himself with\nthe insignia of his offices, but declared on his death-bed that there\nwould not soon arise a citizen like to him; a man with whom the\nbeautiful saying, that nobility implies obligation, was and continued\nto be the rule of his life.  With all the vehement earnestness of his\ntemperament he had turned away from the frivolity and venality that\nmarked the nobles of the common stamp; trustworthy and strict in morals,\nhe was respected rather than properly beloved on the part of the common\npeople, to whom his door and his purse were always open, and\nnotwithstanding his youth, he was through the personal dignity of his\ncharacter a man of weight in the senate as in the Forum.  Nor did he\nstand alone.  Marcus Scaurus had the courage on occasion of his defence\nin the trial for extortion publicly to summon Drusus to undertake a\nreform of the judicial arrangements; he and the famous orator, Lucius\nCrassus, were in the senate the most zealous champions of his proposals,\nand were perhaps associated with him in originating them.  But the mass\nof the governing aristocracy was by no means of the same mind with\nDrusus, Scaurus, and Crassus.  There were not wanting in the senate\ndecided adherents of the capitalist party, among whom in particular a\nconspicuous place belonged to the consul of the day, Lucius Marcius\nPhilippus, who maintained the cause of the equestrian order as he had\nformerly maintained that of the democracy(13) with zeal and prudence,\nand to the daring and reckless Quintus Caepio, who was induced to this\nopposition primarily by his personal hostility to Drusus and Scaurus.\nMore dangerous, however, than these decided opponents was the cowardly\nand corrupt mass of the aristocracy, who no doubt would have preferred\nto plunder the provinces alone, but in the end had not much objection to\nshare the spoil with the equites, and, instead of taking in hand the\ngrave and perilous struggle against the haughty capitalists, reckoned\nit far more equitable and easy to purchase impunity at their hands by\nfair words and by an occasional prostration or even by a round sum.\nThe result alone could show how far success would attend the attempt to\ncarry along with the movement this body, without which it was impossible\nto attain the desired end.\n\nAttempt at Reform on the Part of the Moderate Party\n\nDrusus drew up a proposal to withdraw the functions of jurymen from\nthe burgesses of equestrian rating and to restore them to the senate,\nwhich at the same time was to be put in a position to meet its increased\nobligations by the admission of 300 new members; a special criminal\ncommission was to be appointed for pronouncing judgment in the case\nof those jurymen who had been or should be guilty of accepting bribes.\nBy this means the immediate object was gained; the capitalists were\ndeprived of their political exclusive rights, and were rendered\nresponsible for the perpetration of injustice.  But the proposals\nand designs of Drusus were by no means limited to this; his projects\nwere not measures adapted merely for the occasion, but a comprehensive\nand thoroughly-considered plan of reform.  He proposed, moreover,\nto increase the largesses of grain and to cover the increased expense\nby the permanent issue of a proportional number of copper plated,\nalongside of the silver, -denarii-; and then to set apart all the\nstill undistributed arable land of Italy--thus including in particular\nthe Campanian domains--and the best part of Sicily for the settlement\nof burgess-colonists.  Lastly, he entered into the most distinct\nobligations towards the Italian allies to procure for them the Roman\nfranchise.  Thus the very same supports of power and the very same ideas\nof reform, on which the constitution of Gaius Gracchus had rested,\npresented themselves now on the side of the aristocracy--a singular,\nand yet easily intelligible coincidence.  It was only to be expected\nthat, as the -tyrannis- had rested for its support against the oligarchy,\nso the latter should rest for its support against the moneyed aristocracy,\non the paid and in some degree organized proletariate; while the\ngovernment had formerly accepted the feeding of the proletariate at\nthe expense of the state as an inevitable evil, Drusus now thought of\nemploying it, at least for the moment, against the moneyed aristocracy.\nIt was only to be expected that the better part of the aristocracy, just\nas it formerly consented to the agrarian law of Tiberius Gracchus, would\nnow readily consent to all those measures of reform, which, without\ntouching the question of a supreme head, only aimed at the cure of the\nold evils of the state.  In the question of emigration and colonization,\nit is true, they could not go so far as the democracy, since the power\nof the oligarchy mainly rested on their free control over the provinces\nand was endangered by any permanent military command; the ideas of\nequalizing Italy and the provinces and of making conquests beyond the\nAlps were not compatible with conservative principles.  But the senate\nmight very well sacrifice the Latin and even the Campanian domains\nas well as Sicily in order to raise the Italian farmer class, and\nyet retain the government as before; to which fell to be added the\nconsideration, that they could not more effectually obviate future\nagitations than by providing that all the land at all disposable should\nbe brought to distribution by the aristocracy itself, and that according\nto Drusus' own expression, nothing should be left for future demagogues\nto distribute but \"the street-dirt and the daylight.\" In like manner it\nwas for the government--whether that might be a monarch, or a close\nnumber of ruling families--very much a matter of indifference whether\nthe half or the whole of Italy possessed the Roman franchise; and hence\nthe reforming men on both sides probably could not but coincide in the\nidea of averting the danger of a recurrence of the insurrection of\nFregellae on a larger scale by a judicious and reasonable extension of\nthe franchise, and of seeking allies, moreover, for their plans in the\nnumerous and influential Italians.  Sharply as in the question of the\nheadship of the state the views and designs of the two great political\nparties differed, the best men of both camps had many points of contact\nin their means of operation and in their reforming tendencies; and, as\nScipio Aemilianus may be named alike among the adversaries of Tiberius\nGracchus and among the promoters of his reforming efforts, so Drusus\nwas the successor and disciple no less than the antagonist of Gaius.\nThe two high-born and high-minded youthful reformers had a greater\nresemblance than was apparent at the first glance; and, personally also,\nthe two were not unworthy to meet, as respects the substance of their\npatriotic endeavours, in purer and higher views above the obscuring\nmists of prejudiced partisanship.\n\nDiscussions on the Livian Laws\n\nThe question at stake was the passing of the laws drawn up by Drusus.\nOf these the proposer, just like Gaius Gracchus, kept in reserve for\nthe moment the hazardous project of conferring the Roman franchise on\nthe Italian allies, and brought forward at first only the laws as to\nthe jurymen, the assignation of land, and the distribution of grain.\nThe capitalist party offered the most vehement resistance, and, in\nconsequence of the irresolution of the greater part of the aristocracy\nand the vacillation of the comitia, would beyond question have carried\nthe rejection of the law as to jurymen, if it had been put to the vote\nby itself.  Drusus accordingly embraced all his proposals in one law;\nand, as thus all the burgesses interested in the distributions of grain\nand land were compelled to vote also for the law as to jurymen, he\nsucceeded in carrying the law with their help and that of the Italians,\nwho stood firmly by Drusus with the exception of the large landowners,\nparticularly those in Umbria and Etruria, whose domanial possessions\nwere threatened.  It was not carried, however, until Drusus had caused\nthe consul Philippus, who would not desist from opposition, to be\narrested and carried off to prison by a bailiff.  The people celebrated\nthe tribune as their benefactor, and received him in the theatre by\nrising up and applauding; but the voting had not so much decided the\nstruggle as transferred it to another ground, for the opposite party\njustly characterized the proposal of Drusus as contrary to the law\nof 656(14) and therefore as null.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VII\n\nThe Revolt of the Italian Subjects, and the Sulpician Revolution\n\nRomans and Italians\n\nFrom the time when the defeat of Pyrrhus had put an end to the last\nwar which the Italians had waged for their independence--or, in other\nwords, for nearly two hundred years--the Roman primacy had now\nsubsisted in Italy, without having been once shaken in its\nfoundations even under circumstances of the utmost peril.  Vainly\nhad the heroic family of the Barcides, vainly had the successors\nof Alexander the Great and of the Achaemenids, endeavoured to rouse\nthe Italian nation to contend with the too powerful capital; it had\nobsequiously appeared in the fields of battle on the Guadalquivir\nand on the Mejerdah, at the pass of Tempe and at Mount Sipylus, and\nwith the best blood of its youth had helped its masters to achieve\nthe subjugation of three continents.  Its own position meanwhile had\nchanged, but had deteriorated rather than improved.  In a material\npoint of view, doubtless, it had in general not much ground to\ncomplain.  Though the small and intermediate landholders throughout\nItaly suffered in consequence of the injudicious Roman legislation\nas to corn, the larger landlords and still more the mercantile and\ncapitalist class were flourishing, for the Italians enjoyed, as\nrespected the turning of the provinces to financial account,\nsubstantially the same protection and the same privileges as\nRoman burgesses, and thus shared to a great extent in the material\nadvantages of the political ascendency of the Romans.  In general,\nthe economic and social condition of Italy was not primarily dependent\non political distinctions; there were allied districts, such as Umbria\nand Etruria, in which the class of free farmers had mostly disappeared,\nwhile in others, such as the valleys of the Abruzzi, the same\nclass had still maintained a tolerable footing or remained almost\nunaffected--just as a similar diversity could be pointed out in the\ndifferent Roman burgess-districts.  On the other hand the political\ninferiority of Italy was daily displayed more harshly and more\nabruptly.  No formal open breach of right indeed occurred, at\nleast in the principal questions.  The communal freedom, which\nunder the name of sovereignty was accorded by treaty to the Italian\ncommunities, was on the whole respected by the Roman government;\nthe attack, which the Roman reform party at the commencement of the\nagrarian agitation made on the Roman domains guaranteed to the\ncommunities of better position, had not only been earnestly opposed\nby the strictly conservative as well as by the middle party in Rome,\nbut had been very soon abandoned by the Roman opposition itself.\n\nDisabilities and Wrongs of the Subjects\n\nBut the rights, which belonged and could not but belong to Rome as\nthe leading community--the supreme conduct of war-affairs, and the\nsuperintendence of the whole administration--were exercised in a way\nwhich was almost as bad as if the allies had been directly declared\nto be subjects devoid of rights.  The numerous modifications of the\nfearfully severe martial law of Rome, which were introduced there in\nthe course of the seventh century, seem to have remained on the whole\nlimited to the Roman burgess-soldiers: this is certain as to the most\nimportant, the abolition of executions by martial law,(1) and we may\neasily conceive the impression which was produced when, as happened\nin the Jugurthine war, Latin officers of repute were beheaded by\nsentence of the Roman council of war, while the lowest burgess-soldier\nhad in the like case the right of presenting an appeal to the civil\ntribunals of Rome.  The proportions in which the burgesses and\nItalian allies were to be drawn for military service had, as was fair,\nremained undefined by treaty; but, while in earlier times the two had\nfurnished on an average equal numbers of soldiers,(2) now, although the\nproportions of the population had changed probably in favour of the\nburgesses rather than to their disadvantage, the demands on the allies\nwere by degrees increased disproportionately,(3) so that on the one\nhand they had the chief burden of the heavier and more costly service\nimposed on them, and on the other hand there were two allies now\nregularly levied for one burgess.  In like manner with this military\nsupremacy the civil superintendence, which (including the supreme\nadministrative jurisdiction which could hardly be separated from it)\nthe Roman government had always and rightly reserved to itself over\nthe dependent Italian communities, was extended in such a way that\nthe Italians were hardly less than the provincials abandoned without\nprotection to the caprice of any one of the numberless Roman\nmagistrates.  In Teanum Sidicinum, one of the most considerable\nof the allied towns, a consul had ordered the chief magistrate of\nthe town to be scourged with rods at the stake in the marketplace,\nbecause, on the consul's wife expressing a desire to bathe in the\nmen's bath, the municipal officers had not driven forth the bathers\nquickly enough, and the bath appeared to her not to be clean.\nSimilar scenes had taken place in Ferentinum, likewise a town\nholding the best position in law, and even in the old and important\nLatin colony of Cales.  In the Latin colony of Venusia a free peasant\nhad been seized by a young Roman diplomatist not holding office but\npassing through the town, on account of a jest which he had allowed\nhimself to make on the Roman's litter, had been thrown down, and\nwhipped to death with the straps of the litter.  These occurrences are\nincidentally mentioned about the time of the Fregellan insurrection;\nit admits of no doubt that similar outrages frequently occurred, and\nof as little that no real satisfaction for such misdeeds could anywhere\nbe obtained, whereas the right of appeal--not lightly violated with\nimpunity--protected in some measure at least the life and limbs of the\nRoman burgess.  In consequence of this treatment of the Italians on the\npart of the Roman government, the variance, which the wisdom of their\nancestors had carefully fostered between the Latin and the other\nItalian communities, could not fail, if not to disappear, at any\nrate to undergo abatement.(4)  The curb-fortresses of Rome and the\ndistricts kept to their allegiance by these fortresses lived now under\nthe like oppression; the Latin could remind the Picentine that they\nwere both in like manner \"subject to the fasces\"; the overseers and\nthe slaves of former days were now united by a common hatred towards\nthe common despot.\n\nWhile the present state of the Italian allies was thus transformed from\na tolerable relation of dependence into the most oppressive bondage,\nthey were at the same time deprived of every prospect of obtaining\nbetter rights.  With the subjugation of Italy the Roman burgess-body\nhad closed its ranks; the bestowal of the franchise on whole\ncommunities was totally given up, its bestowal on individuals was\ngreatly restricted.(5)  They now advanced a step farther: on occasion\nof the agitation which contemplated the extension of the Roman franchise\nto all Italy in the years 628, 632, the right of migration to Rome was\nitself attacked, and all the non-burgesses resident in Rome were\ndirectly ejected by decree of the people and of the senate from the\ncapital(6)--a measure as odious on account of its illiberality, as\ndangerous from the various private interests which it injuriously\naffected.  In short, while the Italian allies had formerly stood to\nthe Romans partly in the relation of brothers under tutelage, protected\nrather than ruled and not destined to perpetual minority, partly in\nthat of slaves tolerably treated and not utterly deprived of the hope\nof manumission, they were now all of them subject nearly in equal\ndegree, and with equal hopelessness, to the rods and axes of their\nRoman masters, and might at the utmost presume like privileged\nslaves to transmit the kicks received from their masters onward\nto the poor provincials.\n\nThe Rupture\nFregellan War\nDifficulty of a General Insurrection\n\nIt belongs to the nature of such differences that, restrained by the\nsense of national unity and by the remembrance of dangers surmounted\nin common, they make their appearance at first gently and as it were\nmodestly, till the breach gradually widens and the relation between\nthe rulers, whose might is their sole right, and the ruled, whose\nobedience reaches no farther than their fears, manifests at length\nundisguisedly the character of force.  Down to the revolt and razing\nof Fregellae in 629, which as it were officially attested the altered\ncharacter of the Roman rule, the ferment among the Italians did not\nproperly wear a revolutionary character.  The longing after equal\nrights had gradually risen from a silent wish to a loud request,\nonly to be the more decidedly rejected, the more distinctly it was\nput forward.  It was very soon apparent that a voluntary concession\nwas not to be hoped for, and the wish to extort what was refused\nwould not be wanting; but the position of Rome at that time hardly\npermitted them to entertain any idea of realizing that wish.  Although\nthe numerical proportions of the burgesses and non-burgesses in Italy\ncannot be properly ascertained, it may be regarded as certain that\nthe number of the burgesses was not very much less than that of the\nItalian allies; for nearly 400,000 burgesses capable of bearing arms\nthere were at least 500,000, probably 600,000 allies.(7)  So long\nas with such proportions the burgesses were united and there was no\noutward enemy worthy of mention, the Italian allies, split up into\nan endless number of isolated urban and cantonal communities, and\nconnected with Rome by a thousand relations public and private,\ncould never attain to common action; and with moderate prudence the\ngovernment could not fail to control their troublesome and indignant\nsubjects partly by the compact mass of the burgesses, partly by the very\nconsiderable resources which the provinces afforded, partly by setting\none community against another.\n\nThe Italian and the Roman Parties\n\nAccordingly the Italians kept themselves quiet, till the revolution\nbegan to shake Rome; but, as soon as this had broken out, they too\nmingled in the movements and agitations of the Roman parties, with a\nview to obtain equality of rights by means of the one or the other.\nThey had made common cause first with the popular and then with the\nsenatorial party, and gained equally little by either.  They had been\ndriven to the conviction that, while the best men of both parties\nacknowledged the justice and equity of their claims, these best men,\naristocrats as well as Populares, had equally little power to\nprocure ahearing for those claims with the mass of their party.\nThey had also observed that the most gifted, most energetic, and most\ncelebrated statesmen of Rome had found themselves, at the very moment\nwhen they came forward as advocates of the Italians, deserted by their\nown adherents and had been accordingly overthrown.  In all the\nvicissitudes of the thirty years of revolution and restoration\ngovernments enough had been installed and deposed, but, however\nthe programme might vary, a short-sighted and narrow-minded spirit\nsat always at the helm.\n\nThe Italians and the Oligarchy\nThe Licinio-Mucian Law\n\nAbove all, the recent occurrences had clearly shown how vain was the\nexpectation of the Italians that their claims would be attended to\nby Rome.  So long as the demands of the Italians were mixed up with\nthose of the revolutionary party and had in the hands of the latter\nbeen thwarted by the folly of the masses, they might still resign\nthemselves to the belief that the oligarchy had been hostile merely\nto the proposers, not to the proposal itself, and that there was still\na possibility that the mere intelligent senate would accept a measure\nwhich was compatible with the nature of the oligarchy and salutary\nfor the state.  But the recent years, in which the senate once more\nruled almost absolutely, had shed only too disagreeable a light on\nthe designs of the Roman oligarchy also.  Instead of the expected\nmodifications, there was issued in 659 a consular law which most\nstrictly prohibited the non-burgesses from laying claim to the\nfranchise and threatened transgressors with trial and punishment--a\nlaw which threw back a large number of most respectable persons who\nwere deeply interested in the question of equalization from the ranks\nof Romans into those of Italians, and which in point of indisputable\nlegality and of political folly stands completely on a parallel with\nthat famous act which laid the foundation for the separation of North\nAmerica from the mother-country; in fact it became, just like that\nact, the proximate cause of the civil war.  It was only so much\nthe worse, that the authors of this law by no means belonged to\nthe obstinate and incorrigible Optimates; they were no other than\nthe sagacious and universally honoured Quintus Scaevola, destined,\nlike George Grenville, by nature to be a jurist and by fate to be\na statesman--who by his equally honourable and pernicious rectitude\ninflamed more than any one else first the war between senate and\nequites, and then that between Romans and Italians--and the orator\nLucius Crassus, the friend and ally of Drusus and altogether one of\nthe most moderate and judicious of the Optimates.\n\nThe Italians and Drusus\n\nAmidst the vehement ferment, which this law and the numerous processes\narising out of it called forth throughout Italy, the star of hope once\nmore appeared to arise for the Italians in the person of Marcus\nDrusus.  That which had been deemed almost impossible--that a\nconservative should take up the reforming ideas of the Gracchi,\nand should become the champion of equal rights for the Italians--had\nnevertheless occurred; a man of the high aristocracy had resolved to\nemancipate the Italians from the Sicilian Straits to the Alps and\nthe government at one and the same time, and to apply all his earnest\nzeal, all his trusty devotedness to these generous plans of reform.\nWhether he actually, as was reported, placed himself at the head of\na secret league, whose threads ramified through Italy and whose\nmembers bound themselves by an oath(8) to stand by each other\nfor Drusus and for the common cause, cannot be ascertained; but,\neven if he did not lend himself to acts so dangerous and in fact\nunwarrantable for a Roman magistrate, yet it is certain that he did\nnot keep to mere general promises, and that dangerous connections were\nformed in his name, although perhaps without his consent and against\nhis will.  With joy the Italians heard that Drusus had carried his\nfirst proposals with the consent of the great majority of the senate;\nwith still greater joy all the communities of Italy celebrated not long\nafterwards the recovery of the tribune, who had been suddenly attacked\nby severe illness.  But as the further designs of Drusus became\nunveiled, a change took place; he could not venture to bring in\nhis chief law; he had to postpone, he had to delay, he had soon\nto retire.  It was reported that the majority of the senate were\nvacillating and threatened to fall away from their leader; in rapid\nsuccession the tidings ran through the communities of Italy, that the\nlaw which had passed was annulled, that the capitalists ruled more\nabsolutely than ever, that the tribune had been struck by the hand\nof an assassin, that he was dead (autumn of 663).\n\nPreparations for General Revolt against Rome\n\nThe last hope that the Italians might obtain admission to Roman\ncitizenship by agreement was buried with Marcus Drusus.  A measure,\nwhich that conservative and energetic man had not been able under the\nmost favourable circumstances to induce his own party to adopt, was\nnot to be gained at all by amicable means.  The Italians had no\ncourse left save to submit patiently or to repeat once more, and\nif possible with their united strength, the attempt which had been\ncrushed in the bud five-and-thirty years before by the destruction\nof Fregellae--so as by force of arms either to destroy Rome and\nsucceed to her heritage, or at least to compel her to grant equality\nof rights.  The latter resolution was no doubt a resolution of\ndespair; as matters stood, the revolt of the isolated urban communities\nagainst the Roman government might well appear still more hopeless\nthan the revolt of the American colonies against the British empire;\nto all appearance the Roman government might with moderate attention\nand energy of action prepare for this second insurrection the fate\nof its predecessor.  But was it less a resolution of despair, to sit\nstill and allow things to take their course? When they recollected\nhow the Romans had been in the habit of behaving in Italy without\nprovocation, what could they expect now that the most considerable\nmen in every Italian town had or were alleged to have had--the\nconsequences on either supposition being pretty much the same--an\nunderstanding with Drusus, which was immediately directed against the\nparty now victorious and might well be characterized as treason? All\nthose who had taken part in this secret league, all in fact who\nmight be merely suspected of participation, had no choice left\nsave to begin the war or to bend their neck beneath the axe\nof the executioner.\n\nMoreover, the present moment presented comparatively favourable\nprospects for a general insurrection throughout Italy.  We are not\nexactly informed how far the Romans had carried out the dissolution\nof the larger Italian confederacies;(9) but it is not improbable that\nthe Marsians, the Paelignians, and perhaps even the Samnites and\nLucanians still were associated in their old communal leagues, though\nthese had lost their political significance and were in some cases\nprobably reduced to mere fellowship of festivals and sacrifices.\nThe insurrection, if it should now begin, would still find a rallying\npoint in these unions; but who could say how soon the Romans would\nfor that very reason proceed to abolish these also? The secret\nleague, moreover, which was alleged to be headed by Drusus, had lost\nin him its actual or expected chief, but it continued to exist and\nafforded an important nucleus for the political organization of the\ninsurrection; while its military organization might be based on the\nfact that each allied town possessed its own armament and experienced\nsoldiers.  In Rome on the other hand no serious preparations had\nbeen made.  It was reported, indeed, that restless movements were\noccurring in Italy, and that the communities of the allies maintained\na remarkable intercourse with each other; but instead of calling the\ncitizens in all haste to arms, the governing corporation contented\nitself with exhorting the magistrates in the customary fashion to\nwatchfulness and with sending out spies to learn farther particulars.\nThe capital was so totally undefended, that a resolute Marsian officer\nQuintus Pompaedius Silo, one of the most intimate friends of Drusus,\nis said to have formed the design of stealing into the city at the\nhead of a band of trusty associates carrying swords under their\nclothes, and of seizing it by a coup de main.  Preparations were\naccordingly made for a revolt; treaties were concluded, and arming\nwent on silently but actively, till at last, as usual, the insurrection\nbroke out through an accident somewhat earlier than the leading\nmen had intended.\n\nOutbreak of the Insurrection in Asculum\n\nMarsians and Sabellians\nCentral and Southern Italy\n\nThe Roman praetor with proconsular powers, Gaius Servilius, informed\nby his spies that the town of Asculum (Ascoli) in the Abruzzi was\nsending hostages to the neighbouring communities, proceeded thither\nwith his legate Fonteius and a small escort, and addressed to the\nmultitude, which was just then assembled in the theatre for the\ncelebration of the great games, a vehement and menacing harangue.\nThe sight of the axes known only too well, the proclamation of\nthreats that were only too seriously meant, threw the spark into\nthe fuel of bitter hatred that had been accumulating for centuries;\nthe Roman magistrates were torn to pieces by the multitude in the\ntheatre itself, and immediately, as if it were their intention by a\nfearful outrage to break down every bridge of reconciliation, the\ngates were closed by command of the magistracy, all the Romans\nresiding in Asculum were put to death, and their property was\nplundered.  The revolt ran through the peninsula like the flame\nthrough the steppe.  The brave and numerous people of the Marsians\ntook the lead, in connection with the small but hardy confederacies\nin the Abruzzi--the Paeligni, Marrucini, Frentani, and Vestini.\nThe brave and sagacious Quintus Silo, already mentioned, was here\nthe soul of the movement.  The Marsians were the first formally to\ndeclare against the Romans, whence the war retained afterwards the\nname of the Marsian war.  The example thus given was followed by\nthe Samnite communities, and generally by the mass of the communities\nfrom the Liris and the Abruzzi down to Calabria and Apulia; so that\nall Central and Southern Italy was soon in arms against Rome.\n\nItalians Friendly to Rome\n\nThe Etruscans and Umbrians on the other hand held by Rome, as they\nhad already taken part with the equites against Drusus.(10)  It is\na significant fact, that in these regions the landed and moneyed\naristocracy had from ancient times preponderated and the middle class\nhad totally disappeared, whereas among and near the Abruzzi the\nfarmer-class had preserved its purity and vigour better than anywhere\nelse in Italy: it was from the farmers accordingly and the middle\nclass in general that the revolt substantially proceeded, whereas the\nmunicipal aristocracy still went hand in hand with the government of\nthe capital.  This also readily explains the fact, that there were in\nthe insurgent districts isolated communities, and in the insurgent\ncommunities minorities, adhering to the Roman alliance; the Vestinian\ntown Pinna, for instance, sustained a severe siege for Rome, and a\ncorps of loyalists that was formed in the Hirpinian country under\nMinatius Magius of Aeclanum supported the Roman operations in Campania.\nLastly, there adhered to Rome the allied communities of best legal\nposition--in Campania Nola and Nuceria and the Greek maritime towns\nNeapolis and Rhegium, and in like manner at least most of the Latin\ncolonies, such as Alba and Aesernia--just as in the Hannibalic war\nthe Latin and Greek towns on the whole had taken part with, and the\nSabellian towns against, Rome.  The forefathers of the city had\nbased their dominion over Italy on an aristocratic classification,\nand with skilful adjustment of the degrees of dependence had kept in\nsubjection the less privileged communities by means of those with\nbetter rights, and the burgesses within each community by means of\nthe municipal aristocracy.  It was only now, under the incomparably\nwretched government of the oligarchy, that the solidity and strength\nwith which the statesmen of the fourth and fifth centuries had joined\ntogether the stones of their structure were thoroughly put to the test;\nthe building, though shaken in various ways, still held out against\nthis storm.  When we say, however, that the towns of better position\ndid not at the first shock abandon Rome, we by no means affirm that\nthey would now, as in the Hannibalic war, hold out for a length of\ntime and after severe defeats, without wavering in their allegiance\nto Rome; that fiery trial had not yet been endured.\n\nImpression As to the Insurrection in Rome\nRejection of the Proposals for an Accomodation\nCommission of High Treason\n\nThe first blood was thus shed, and Italy was divided into two great\nmilitary camps.  It is true, as we have seen, that the insurrection\nwas still very far from being a general rising of the Italian allies;\nbut it had already acquired an extent exceeding perhaps the hopes of\nthe leaders themselves, and the insurgents might without arrogance\nthink of offering to the Roman government a fair accommodation.  They\nsent envoys to Rome, and bound themselves to lay down their arms in\nreturn for admission to citizenship; it was in vain.  The public\nspirit, which had been so long wanting in Rome, seemed suddenly to\nhave returned, when the question was one of obstructing with stubborn\nnarrow-mindedness a demand of the subjects just in itself and now\nsupported by a considerable force.  The immediate effect of the\nItalian insurrection was, just as was the case after the defeats\nwhich the policy of the government had suffered in Africa and Gaul,(11)\nthe commencement of a warfare of prosecutions, by means of which\nthe aristocracy of judges took vengeance on those men of the government\nwhom they, rightly or wrongly, looked upon as the primary cause\nof this mischief.  On the proposal of the tribune Quintus Varius,\nin spite of the resistance of the Optimates and in spite of tribunician\ninterference, a special commission of high treason--formed, of course,\nfrom the equestrian order which contended for the proposal with\nopen violence--was appointed for the investigation of the conspiracy\ninstigated by Drusus and widely ramified in Italy as well as in Rome,\nout of which the insurrection had originated, and which now, when\nthe half of Italy was under arms, appeared to the whole of the indignant\nand alarmed burgesses as undoubted treason.  The sentences of this\ncommission largely thinned the ranks of the senatorial party favourable\nto mediation: among other men of note Drusus' intimate friend, the young\nand talented Gaius Cotta, was sent into banishment, and with difficulty\nthe grey-haired Marcus Scaurus escaped the same fate.  Suspicion went\nso far against the senators favourable to the reforms of Drusus, that\nsoon afterwards the consul Lupus reported from the camp to the senate\nregarding the communications that were constantly maintained between\nthe Optimates in his camp and the enemy; a suspicion which, it is true,\nwas soon shown to be unfounded by the arrestof Marsian spies.  So far\nking Mithradates might not without reason assert, that the mutual\nenmities of the factions were more destructive to the Roman state\nthan the Social War itself.\n\nEnergetic Decrees\n\nIn the first instance, however, the outbreak of the insurrection,\nand the terrorism which the commission of high treason exercised,\nproduced at least a semblance of unity and vigour.  Party feuds were\nsilent; able officers of all shades--democrats like Gaius Marius,\naristocrats like Lucius Sulla, friends of Drusus like Publius\nSulpicius Rafus--placed themselves at the disposal of the government.\nThe largesses of corn were, apparently about this time, materially\nabridged by decree of the people with a view to husband the financial\nresources of the state for the war; which was the more necessary, as,\nowing to the threatening attitude of king Mithradates, the province of\nAsia might at any moment fall into the hand of the enemy and thus one\nof the chief sources of the Roman revenue be dried up.  The courts,\nwith the exception of the commission of high treason, in accordance\nwith a decree of the senate temporarily suspended their action; all\nbusiness stood still, and nothing was attended to but the levying of\nsoldiers and the manufacture of arms.\n\nPolitical Organizatin of the Insurrection\nOpposition--Rome\n\nWhile the leading state thus collected its energies in the prospect\nof the severe war impending, the insurgents had to solve the more\ndifficult task of acquiring political organization during the\nstruggle.  In the territory of the Paeligni situated in the centre\nof the Marsian, Samnite, Marrucinian, and Vestinian cantons and\nconsequently in the heart of the insurgent districts, in the beautiful\nplain on the river Pescara, the town of Corfinium was selected as the\nOpposition-Rome or city of Italia, whose citizenship was conferred on\nthe burgesses of all the insurgent communities; there a Forum and a\nsenate-house were staked off on a suitable scale.  A senate of five\nhundred members was charged with the settlement of the constitution\nand the superintendence of the war.  In accordance with its directions\nthe burgesses selected from the men of senatorial rank two consuls and\ntwelve praetors, who, just like the two consuls and six praetors of\nRome, were invested with the supreme authority in war and peace.\nThe Latin language, which was even then the prevailing language among\nthe Marsians and Picentes, continued in official use, but the Samnite\nlanguage which predominated in Southern Italy was placed side by\nside with it on a footing of equality; and the two were made use of\nalternately on the silver pieces which the new Italian state began to\ncoin in its own name after Roman models and after the Roman standard,\nthus appropriating likewise the monopoly of coinage which Rome had\nexercised for two centuries.  It is evident from these arrangements--\nand was, indeed a matter of course-that the Italians now no longer\nthought of wresting equality of rights from the Romans, but purposed\nto annihilate or subdue them and to form a new state.  But it is also\nobvious that their constitution was nothing but a pure copy of that\nof Rome or, in other words, was the ancient polity handed down by\ntradition among the Italian nations from time immemorial:--the\norganization of a city instead of the constitution of a state, with\nprimary assemblies as unwieldy and useless as the Roman comitia, with\na governing corporation which contained within it the same elements\nof oligarchy as the Roman senate, with an executive administered in\nlike manner by a plurality of coordinate supreme magistrates.  This\nimitation descended to the minutest details; for instance, the title\nof consul or praetor held by the magistrate in chief command was\nafter a victory exchanged by the general of the Italians also for\nthe title of Imperator.  Nothing in fact was changed but the name;\non the coins of the insurgents the same image of the gods appears, the\ninscription only being changed from Roma to Italia.  This Rome of the\ninsurgents was distinguished--not to its advantage--from the original\nRome merely by the circumstance, that, while the latter had at any\nrate an urban development, and its unnatural position intermediate\nbetween a city and a state had formed itself at least in a natural\nway, the new Italia was nothing at all but a place of congress\nfor the insurgents, and it was by a pure fiction of law that the\ninhabitants of the peninsula were stamped as burgesses of this new\ncapital.  But it is significant that in this case, where the sudden\namalgamation of a number of isolated cantons into a new political unity\nmight have so naturally suggested the idea of a representative\nconstitution in the modern sense, no trace of any such idea occurs;\nin fact the very opposite course was followed,(12) and the communal\norganization was simply reproduced in a far more absurd manner than\nbefore.  Nowhere perhaps is it so clearly apparent as in this\ninstance, that in the view of antiquity a free constitution was\ninseparable from the appearance of the sovereign people in person in\nthe primary assemblies, or from a city; and that the great fundamental\nidea of the modern republican-constitutional state, viz. the expression\nof the sovereignty of the people by a representative assembly--an idea\nwithout which a free state would be a chaos--is wholly modern.  Even\nthe Italian polity, although in its somewhat representative senates\nand in the diminished importance of the comitia it approximated to a\nfree state, never was able in the case either of Rome or of Italia\nto cross the boundary-line.\n\nWarlike Preparations\n\nThus began, a few months after the death of Drusus, in the winter of\n663-4, the struggle--as one of the coins of the insurgents represents\nit--of the Sabellian ox against the Roman she-wolf.  Both sides made\nzealous preparations: in Italia great stores of arms, provisions, and\nmoney were accumulated; in Rome the requisite supplies were drawn from\nthe provinces and particularly from Sicily, and the long-neglected walls\nwere put in a state of defence against any contingency.  The forces\nwere in some measure equally balanced.  The Romans filled up the\nblanks in their Italian contingents partly by increased levies from\nthe burgesses and from the inhabitants--already almost wholly Romanized--\nof the Celtic districts on the south of the Alps, of whom 10,000\nserved in the Campanian army alone,(13) partly by the contingents\nof the Numidians and other transmarine nations; and with the aid\nof the free cities in Greece and Asia Minor they collected a war\nfleet.(14)  On both sides, without reckoning garrisons, as many as\n100,000 soldiers were brought into the field,(15) and in the ability\nof their men, in military tactics and armament, the Italians were\nnowise inferior to the Romans.\n\nSubdivision of the Armies on Either Side\n\nThe conduct of the war was very difficult both for the insurgents and\nfor the Romans, because the territory in revolt was very extensive and\na great number of fortresses adhering to Rome were scattered up and\ndown in it: so that on the one hand the insurgents found themselves\ncompelled to combine a siege-warfare, which broke up their forces\nand consumed their time, with the protection of an extended frontier;\nand on the other hand the Romans could not well do otherwise than\ncombat the insurrection, which had no proper centre, simultaneously\nin all the insurgent districts.  In a military point of view the\ninsurgent country fell into two divisions; in the northern, which\nreached from Picenum and the Abruzzi to the northern border of\nCampania and embraced the districts speaking Latin, the chief command\nwas held on the Italian side by the Marsian Quintus Silo, on the Roman\nside by Publius Rutilius Lupus, both as consuls; in the southern,\nwhich included Campania, Samnium, and generally the regions speaking\nSabellian, the Samnite Gaius Papius Mutilus commanded as consul of the\ninsurgents, and Lucius Julius Caesar as the Roman consul.  With each\nof the two commanders-in-chief there were associated on the Italian\nside six, on the Roman side five, lieutenant-commanders, each of whom\nconducted the attack or defence in a definite district, while the\nconsular armies were destined to act more freely and to strike the\ndecisive blow.  The most esteemed Roman officers, such as Gaius\nMarius, Quintus Catulus, and the two consulars of experience in the\nSpanish war, Titus Didius and Publius Crassus, placed themselves at\nthe disposal of the consuls for these posts; and though the Italians\nhad not names so celebrated to oppose to them, yet the result\nshowed that their leaders were in a military point of view nowise\ninferior to the Romans.\n\nThe offensive in this thoroughly desultory war was on the whole on the\nside of the Romans, but was nowhere decisively assumed even on their\npart.  It is surprising that the Romans did not collect their troops\nfor the purpose of attacking the insurgents with a superior force,\nand that the insurgents made no attempt to advance into Latium and to\nthrow themselves on the hostile capital.  We are how ever too little\nacquainted with their respective circumstances to judge whether or\nhow they could have acted otherwise, or to what extent the remissness\nof the Roman government on the one hand and the looseness of the\nconnection among the federate communities on the other contributed\nto this want of unity in the conduct of the war.  It is easy to see\nthat with such a system there would doubtless be victories and defeats,\nbut the final settlement might be very long delayed; and it is no less\nplain that a clear and vivid picture of such a war--which resolved\nitself into a series of engagements on the part of individual corps\noperating at the same time, sometimes separately, sometimes in\ncombination--cannot be prepared out of the remarkably fragmentary\naccounts which have come down to us.\n\nCommencement of the War\nThe Fortresses\nCaesar in Campania and Samnium\nAesernia Taken by the Insurgents\nAs also Nola\nCampania for the Most Part Lost to the Romans\n\nThe first assault, as a matter of course, fell on the fortresses\nadhering to Rome in the insurgent districts, which in all haste\nclosed their gates and carried in their moveable property from the\ncountry.  Silo threw himself on the fortress designed to hold in\ncheck the Marsians, the strong Alba, Mutilus on the Latin town of\nAesernia established in the heart of Samnium: in both cases they\nencountered the most resolute resistance.  Similar conflicts probably\nraged in the north around Firmum, Atria, Pinna, in the south around\nLuceria, Beneventum, Nola, Paestum, before and while the Roman armies\ngathered on the borders of the insurgent country.  After the southern\narmy under Caesar had assembled in the spring of 664 in Campania which\nfor the most part held by Rome, and had provided Capua--with its\ndomain so important for the Roman finances--as well as the more\nimportant allied cities with garrisons, it attempted to assume the\noffensive and to come to the aid of the smaller divisions sent on\nbefore it to Samnium and Lucania under Marcus Marcellus and Publius\nCrassus.  But Caesar was repulsed by the Samnites and Marsians under\nPublius Vettius Scato with severe loss, and the important town of\nVenafrum thereupon passed over to the insurgents, into whose hands\nit delivered its Roman garrison.  By the defection of this town,\nwhich lay on the military road from Campania to Samnium, Aesernia was\nisolated, and that fortress already vigorously assailed found itself now\nexclusively dependent on the courage and perseverance of its defenders\nand their commandant Marcellus.  It is true that an incursion, which\nSulla happily carried out with the same artful audacity as formerly\nhis expedition to Bocchus, relieved the hard-pressed Aesernians for a\nmoment; nevertheless they were after an obstinate resistance compelled\nby the extremity of famine to capitulate towards the end of the year.\nIn Lucania too Publius Crassus was defeated by Marcus Lamponius, and\ncompelled to shut himself up in Grumentum, which fell after a long\nand obstinate siege.  With these exceptions, they had been obliged\nto leave Apulia and the southern districts totally to themselves.\nThe insurrection spread; when Mutilus advanced into Campania at the\nhead of the Samnite army, the citizens of Nola surrendered to him\ntheir city and delivered up the Roman garrison, whose commander was\nexecuted by the orders of Mutilus, while the men were distributed\nthrough the victorious army.  With the single exception of Nuceria,\nwhich adhered firmly to Rome, all Campania as far as Vesuvius was lost\nto the Romans; Salernum, Stabiae, Pompeii, Herculaneum declared for\nthe insurgents; Mutilus was able to advance into the region to the\nnorth of Vesuvius, and to besiege Acerrae with his Samnito-Lucanian\narmy.  The Numidians, who were in great numbers in Caesar's army,\nbegan to pass over in troops to Mutilus or rather to Oxyntas, the son\nof Jugurtha, who on the surrender of Venusia had fallen into the hands\nof the Samnites and now appeared among their ranks in regal purple;\nso that Caesar found himself compelled to send home the whole\nAfrican corps.  Mutilus ventured even to attack the Roman camp;\nbut he was repulsed, and the Samnites, who while retreating were\nassailed in the rear by the Roman cavalry, left nearly 6000 dead on\nthe field of battle.  It was the first notable success which the Romans\ngained in this war; the army proclaimed the general -imperator-, and\nthe sunken courage of the capital began to revive.  It is true that\nnot long afterwards the victorious army was attacked in crossing a\nriver by Marius Egnatius, and so emphatically defeated that it had\nto retreat as far as Teanum and to be reorganized there; but the\nexertions of the active consul succeeded in restoring his army to\na serviceable condition even before the arrival of winter, and he\nreoccupied his old position under the walls of Acerrae, which the\nSamnite main army under Mutilus continued to besiege.\n\nCombats with the Marsians\nDefeat and Death of Lupus\n\nAt the same time operations had also begun in Central Italy, where\nthe revolt of the Abruzzi and the region of the Fucine lake threatened\nthe capital in dangerous proximity.  An independent corps under Gnaeus\nPompeius Strabo was sent into Picenum in order that, resting for\nsupport on Firmum and Falerio, it might threaten Asculum; but the\nmain body of the Roman northern army took its position under the\nconsul Lupus on the borders of the Latin and Marsian territories,\nwhere the Valerian and Salarian highways brought the enemy nearest to\nthe capital; the rivulet Tolenus (Turano), which crosses the Valerian\nroad between Tibur and Alba and falls into the Velino at Rieti,\nseparated the two armies.  The consul Lupus impatiently pressed for\na decision, and did not listen to the disagreeable advice of Marius\nthat he should exercise his men--unaccustomed to service--in the first\ninstance in petty warfare.  At the very outset the division of Gaius\nPerpenna, 10,000 strong, was totally defeated.  The commander-in-\nchief deposed the defeated general from his command and united the\nremnant of the corps with that which was under the orders of Marius,\nbut did not allow himself to be deterred from assuming the offensive\nand crossing the Tolenus in two divisions, led partly by himself,\npartly by Marius, on two bridges constructed not far from each other.\nPublius Scato with the Marsians confronted them; he had pitched his\ncamp at the spot where Marius crossed the brook, but, before the\npassage took place, he had withdrawn thence, leaving behind the mere\nposts that guarded the camp, and had taken a position in ambush\nfarther up the river.  There he attacked the other Roman corps under\nLupus unexpectedly during the crossing, and partly cut it down, partly\ndrove it into the river (11th June 664).  The consul in person and\n8000 of his troops fell.  It could scarcely be called a compensation\nthat Marius, becoming at length aware of Scato's departure, had crossed\nthe river and not without loss to the enemy occupied their camp.\nYet this passage of the river, and a victory at the same time obtained\nover the Paelignians by the general Servius Sulpicius, compelled the\nMarsians to draw their line of defence somewhat back, and Marius, who\nby decree of the senate succeeded Lupus as commander-in-chief, at least\nprevented the enemy from gaining further successes.  But, when Quintus\nCaepio was soon afterwards associated in the command with equal powers,\nnot so much on account of a conflict which he had successfully\nsustained, as because he had recommended himself to the equites then\nleading the politics of Rome by his vehement opposition to Drusus,\nhe allowed himself to be lured into an ambush by Silo on the pretext\nthat the latter wished to betray to him his army, and was cut to\npieces with a great part of his force by the Marsians and Vestinians.\nMarius, after Caepio's fall once more sole commander-in-chief, through\nhis tenacious resistance prevented his antagonist from profiting by\nthe advantages which he had gained, and gradually penetrated far into\nthe Marsian territory.  He long refused battle; when he at length\ngave it, he vanquished his impetuous opponent, who left on the battle--\nfield among other dead Herius Asinius the chieftain of the Marrucini.\nIn a second engagement the army of Marius and the corps of Sulla\nwhich belonged to the army of the south co-operated to inflict on\nthe Marsians a still more considerable defeat, which cost them 6000 men;\nbut the glory of this day remained with the younger officer, for, while\nMarius had given and gained the battle, Sulla had intercepted the retreat\nof the fugitives and destroyed them.\n\nPicenian War\n\nWhile the conflict was proceeding thus warmly and with varying success\nat the Fucine lake, the Picenian corps under Strabo had also fought\nwith alternations of fortune.  The insurgent chiefs, Gaius Iudacilius\nfrom Asculum, Publius Vettius Scato, and Titus Lafrenius, had\nassailed it with their united forces, defeated it, and compelled it\nto throw itself into Firmum, where Lafrenius kept Strabo besieged,\nwhile Iudacilius moved into Apulia and induced Canusium, Venusia, and\nthe other towns still adhering to Rome in that quarter to join the\ninsurgents.  But on the Roman side Servius Sulpicius by his victory\nover the Paeligni cleared the way for his advancing into Picenum and\nrendering aid to Strabo; Lafrenius was attacked by Strabo in front\nand taken in rear by Sulpicius, and his camp was set on fire; he\nhimself fell, the remnant of his troops fled in disorder and threw\nthemselves into Asculum.  So completely had the state of affairs\nchanged in Picenum, that the Italians now found themselves confined\nto Asculum as the Romans were previously to Firmum, and the war was\nthus once more converted into a siege.\n\nUmbro-Etruscan Conflicts\n\nLastly, there was added in the course of the year to the two difficult\nand straggling wars in southern and central Italy a third in the\nnorth.  The state of matters apparently so dangerous for Rome after\nthe first months of the war had induced a great portion of the\nUmbrian, and isolated Etruscan, communities to declare for the\ninsurrection; so that it became necessary to despatch against the\nUmbrians Aulus Plotius, and against the Etruscans Lucius Porcius Cato.\nHere however the Romans encountered a far less energetic resistance\nthan in the Marsian and Samnite countries, and maintained a most\ndecided superiority in the field.\n\nDisadvantageous Aggregate Result of the First Year of the War\n\nThus the severe first year of the war came to an end, leaving behind\nit, both in a military and political point of view, sorrowful\nmemories and dubious prospects.  In a military point of view both\narmies of the Romans, the Marsian as well as the Campanian, had been\nweakened and discouraged by severe defeats; the northern army had\nbeen compelled especially to attend to the protection of the capital,\nthe southern army at Neapolis had been seriously threatened in its\ncommunications, as the insurgents could without much difficulty break\nforth from the Marsian or Samnite territory and establish themselves\nbetween Rome and Naples; for which reason it was found necessary to\ndraw at least a chain of posts from Cumae to Rome.  In a political\npoint of view, the insurrection had gained ground on all sides during\nthis first year of the war; the secession of Nola, the rapid\ncapitulation of the strong and large Latin colony of Venusia, and\nthe Umbro-Etruscan revolt were suspicious signs that the Roman symmachy\nwas tottering to its very base and was not in a position to hold out\nagainst this last trial.  They had already made the utmost demands on\nthe burgesses; they had already, with a view to form that chain of\nposts along the Latino-Campanian coast, incorporated nearly 6000\nfreedmen in the burgess-militia; they had already required the\nseverest sacrifices from the allies that still remained faithful;\nit was not possible to draw the string of the bow any tighter\nwithout hazarding everything.\n\nDespondency of the Romans\n\nThe temper of the burgesses was singularly depressed.  After the\nbattle on the Tolenus, when the dead bodies of the consul and the\nnumerous citizens of note who had fallen with him were brought back\nfrom the neighbouring battlefield to the capital and were buried there;\nwhen the magistrates in token of public mourning laid aside their\npurple and insignia; when the government issued orders to the\ninhabitants of the capital to arm en masse; not a few had resigned\nthemselves to despair and given up all as lost.  It is true that the\nworst despondency had somewhat abated after the victories achieved by\nCaesar at Acerrae and by Strabo in Picenum: on the news of the former\nthe wardress in the capital had been once more exchanged for the dress\nof the citizen, on the news of the second the signs of public mourning\nhad been laid aside; but it was not doubtful that on the whole the\nRomans had been worsted in this passage of arms: and above all the\nsenate and the burgesses had lost the spirit, which had formerly\nborne them to victory through all the crises of the Hannibalic war.\nThey still doubtless began war with the same defiant arrogance as then,\nbut they knew not how to end it as they had then done; rigid obstinacy,\ntenacious persistence had given place to a remiss and cowardly\ndisposition.  Already after the first year of war their outward and\ninward policy became suddenly changed, and betook itself to compromise.\nThere is no doubt that in this they did the wisest thing which could\nbe done; not however because, compelled by the immediate force of\narms, they could not avoid acquiescing in disadvantageous conditions,\nbut because the subject-matter of dispute--the perpetuation of the\npolitical precedence of the Romans over the other Italians--was\ninjurious rather than beneficial to the commonwealth itself.\nIt sometimes happens in public life that one error compensates another;\nin this case cowardice in some measure remedied the mischief which\nobstinacy had incurred.\n\nRevolution in Political Processes\n\nThe year 664 had begun with a most abrupt rejection of the\ncompromise offered by the insurgents and with the opening of a war\nof prosecutions, in which the most passionate defenders of patriotic\nselfishness, the capitalists, took vengeance on all those who were\nsuspected of having counselled moderation and seasonable concession.\nOn the other hand the tribune Marcus Plautius Silvanus, who entered\non his office on the 10th of December of the same year, carried a\nlaw which took the commission of high treason out of the hands\nof the capitalist jurymen, and entrusted it to other jurymen who\nwere nominated by the free choice of the tribes without class--\nqualification; the effect of which was, that this commission was\nconverted from a scourge of the moderate party into a scourge of the\nultras, and sent into exile among others its own author, Quintus\nVarius, who was blamed by the public voice for the worst democratic\noutrages--the poisoning of Quintus Metellus and the murder of Drusus.\n\nBestowal of the Franchise on the Italians Who Remained Faithful--\nor Submitted\n\nOf greater importance than this singularly candid political\nrecantation, was the change in the course of their policy toward\nthe Italians.  Exactly three hundred years had passed since Rome had\nlast been obliged to submit to the dictation of peace; Rome was now\nworsted once more, and the peace which she desired could only be got\nby yielding in part at least to the terms of her antagonists.  With\nthe communities, doubtless, which had already risen in arms to subdue\nand to destroy Rome, the feud had become too bitter for the Romans to\nprevail on themselves to make the required concessions; and, had they\ndone so, these terms would now perhaps have been rejected by the other\nside.  But, if the original demands were conceded under certain\nlimitations to the communities that had hitherto remained faithful,\nsuch a course would on the one hand preserve the semblance of voluntary\nconcession, while on the other hand it would prevent the otherwise\ninevitable consolidation of the confederacy and thereby pave the way\nfor its subjugation.  Accordingly the gates of Roman citizenship, which\nhad so long remained closed against entreaty, now suddenly opened when\nthe sword knocked at them; yet even now not fully and wholly, but in\na manner reluctant and annoying even for those admitted.  A law carried\nby the consul Lucius Caesar(16) conferred the Roman franchise on the\nburgesses of all those communities of Italian allies which had not up\nto that time openly declared against Rome; a second, emanating from\nthe tribunes of the people Marcus Plautius Silvanus and Gaius Papirius\nCarbo, laid down for every man who had citizenship and domicile in\nItaly a term of two months, within which he was to be allowed to acquire\nthe Roman franchise by presenting himself before a Roman magistrate.\nBut these new burgesses were to be restricted as to the right of\nvoting in a way similar to the freedmen, inasmuch as they could only\nbe enrolled in eight, as the freedmen only in four, of the thirty-five\ntribes; whether the restriction was personal or, as it would seem,\nhereditary, cannot be determined with certainty.\n\nBestowal of Latin Rights on the Italian Celts\n\nThis measure related primarily to Italy proper, which at that time\nextended northward little beyond Ancona and Florence.  In Cisalpine\nGaul, which was in the eye of the law a foreign country, but in\nadministration and colonization had long passed as part of Italy,\nall the Latin colonies were treated like the Italian communities.\nOtherwise on the south side of the Po the greatest portion of the\nsoil was, after the dissolution of the old Celtic tribal communities,\nnot organized according to the municipal system, but remained withal in\nthe ownership of Roman burgesses mostly dwelling together in market-\nvillages (-fora-).  The not numerous allied townships to the south of\nthe Po, particularly Ravenna, as well as the whole country between the\nPo and the Alps was, in consequence of a law brought in by the consul\nStrabo in 665, organized after the Italian urban constitution, so that\nthe communities not adapted for this, more especially the townships in\nthe Alpine valleys, were assigned to particular towns as dependent and\ntributary villages.  These new town-communities, however, were not\npresented with the Roman franchise, but, by means of the legal fiction\nthat they were Latin colonies, were invested with those rights which\nhad hitherto belonged to the Latin towns of inferior legal position.\nThus Italy at that time ended practically at the Po, while the\nTranspadane country was treated as an outlying dependency.  Here\nto the north of the Po, with the exception of Cremona, Eporedia\nand Aquileia, there were no burgess or Latin colonies, and even\nthe native tribes here had been by no means dislodged as they were\nto the south of the Po.  The abolition of the Celtic cantonal, and\nthe introduction of the Italian urban, constitution paved the way\nfor the Romanizing of the rich and important territory; this was the\nfirst step in the long and momentous transformation of the Gallic stock--\nwhich once stood contrasted with Italy, and the assaults of which\nItaly had rallied to repel--into comrades of their Italian masters.\n\nConsiderable as these concessions were, if we compare them with the\nrigid exclusiveness which the Roman burgess-body had retained for\nmore than a hundred and fifty years, they were far from involving a\ncapitulation with the actual insurgents; they were on the contrary\nintended partly to retain the communities that were wavering and\nthreatening to revolt, partly to draw over as many deserters as\npossible from the ranks of the enemy.  To what extent these laws and\nespecially the most important of them--that of Caesar--were applied,\ncannot be accurately stated, as we are only able to specify in general\nterms the extent of the insurrection at the time when the law was\nissued.  The main matter at any rate was that the communities hitherto\nLatin--not only the survivors of the old Latin confederacy, such as\nTibur and Praeneste, but more especially the Latin colonies, with the\nexception of the few that passed over to the insurgents--were thereby\nadmitted to Roman citizenship.  Besides, the law was applied to the\nallied cities that remained faithful in Etruria and especially in\nSouthern Italy, such as Nuceria and Neapolis.  It was natural that\nindividual communities, hitherto specially privileged, should hesitate\nas to the acceptance of the franchise; that Neapolis, for example,\nshould scruple to give up its former treaty with Rome--which\nguaranteed to its citizens exemption from land-service and their\nGreek constitution, and perhaps domanial advantages besides--for\nthe restricted rights of new burgesses.  It was probably in virtue of\nconventions concluded on account of these scruples that this city, as\nwell as Rhegium and perhaps other Greek communities in Italy, even\nafter their admission to Roman citizenship retained unchanged their\nformer communal constitution and Greek as their official language.\nAt all events, as a consequence of these laws, the circle of Roman\nburgesses was extraordinarily enlarged by the merging into it of\nnumerous and important urban communities scattered from the Sicilian\nStraits to the Po; and, further, the country between the Po and the\nAlps was, by the bestowal of the best rights of allies, as it were\ninvested with the legal expectancy of full citizenship.\n\nSecond Year of the War\nEtruria and Umbria Tranquillized\n\nOn the strength of these concessions to the wavering communities, the\nRomans resumed with fresh courage the conflict against the insurgent\ndistricts.  They had pulled down as much of the existing political\ninstitutions as seemed necessary to arrest the extension of the\nconflagration; the insurrection thenceforth at least spread no\nfarther.  In Etruria and Umbria especially, where it was just\nbeginning, it was subdued with singular rapidity, still more, probably,\nby means of the Julian law than through the success of the Roman arms.\nIn the former Latin colonies, and in the thickly-peopled region of the\nPo, there were opened up copious and now trustworthy sources of aid:\nwith these, and with the resources of the burgesses themselves, they\ncould proceed to subdue the now isolated conflagration.  The two former\ncommanders-in-chief returned to Rome, Caesar as censor elect, Marius\nbecause his conduct of the war was blamed as vacillating and slow, and\nthe man of sixty-six was declared to be in his dotage.  This objection\nwas very probably groundless; Marius showed at least his bodily\nvigour by appearing daily in the circus at Rome, and even as\ncommander-in-chief he seems to have displayed on the whole his old\nability in the last campaign; but he had not achieved the brilliant\nsuccesses by which alone after his political bankruptcy he could have\nrehabilitated himself in public opinion, and so the celebrated champion\nwas to his bitter vexation now, even as an officer, unceremoniously laid\naside as useless.  The place of Marius in the Marsian army was taken\nby the consul of this year, Lucius Porcius Cato, who had fought with\ndistinction in Etruria, and that of Caesar in the Campanian army by\nhis lieutenant, Lucius Sulla, to whom were due some of the most\nmaterial successes of the previous campaign; Gnaeus Strabo retained--\nnow as consul--the command which he had held so successfully in\nthe Picenian territory.\n\nWar in Picenum\nAsculum Besieged\nAnd Conquered\nSubjugation of the Sabellians and Marsians\n\nThus began the second campaign in 665.  The insurgents opened it,\neven before winter was over, by the bold attempt--recalling the grand\npassages of the Samnite wars--to send a Marsian army of 15,000 men to\nEtruria with a view to aid the insurrection brewing in Northern Italy.\nBut Strabo, through whose district it had to pass, intercepted\nand totally defeated it; only a few got back to their far distant\nhome.  When at length the season allowed the Roman armies to assume\nthe offensive, Cato entered the Marsian territory and advanced,\nsuccessfully encountering the enemy there; but he fell in the region\nof the Fucine lake during an attack on the enemy's camp, so that the\nexclusive superintendence of the operations in Central Italy devolved\non Strabo.  The latter employed himself partly in continuing the\nsiege of Asculum, partly in the subjugation of the Marsian, Sabellian,\nand Apulian districts.  To relieve his hard-pressed native town,\nIudacilius appeared before Asculum with the Picentine levy and\nattacked the besieging army, while at the same time the garrison\nsallied forth and threw itself on the Roman lines.  It is said that\n75,000 Romans fought on this day against 60,000 Italians.  Victory\nremained with the Romans, but Iudacilius succeeded in throwing himself\nwith a part of the relieving army into the town.  The siege resumed\nits course; it was protracted(17) by the strength of the place and the\ndesperate defence of the inhabitants, who fought with a recollection of\nthe terrible declaration of war within its walls.  When Iudacilius\nat length after a brave defence of several months saw the day of\ncapitulation approach, he ordered the chiefs of that section of\nthe citizens which was favourable to Rome to be put to death under\ntorture, and then died by his own hand.  So the gates were opened,\nand Roman executions were substituted for Italian; all officers and\nall the respectable citizens were executed, the rest were driven forth\nto beggary, and all their property was confiscated on account of\nthe state.  During the siege and after the fall of Asculum numerous\nRoman corps marched through the adjacent rebel districts, and induced\none after another to submit.  The Marrucini yielded, after Servius\nSulpicius had defeated them decidedly at Teate (Chieti).  The praetor\nGaius Cosconius penetrated into Apulia, took Salapia and Cannae, and\nbesieged Canusium.  A Samnite corps under Marius Egnatius came to the\nhelp of the unwarlike region and actually drove back the Romans, but\nthe Roman general succeeded in defeating it at the passage of the\nAufidus; Egnatius fell, and the rest of the army had to seek shelter\nbehind the walls of Canusium.  The Romans again advanced as far\nas Venusia and Rubi, and became masters of all Apulia.  Along the\nFucine lake also and at the Majella mountains--the chief seats of\nthe insurrection--the Romans re-established their mastery; the Marsians\nsuccumbed to Strabo's lieutenants, Quintus Metellus Pius and Gaius\nCinna, the Vestinians and Paelignians in the following year (666) to\nStrabo himself; Italia the capital of the insurgents became once more\nthe modest Paelignian country-town of Corfinium; the remnant of the\nItalian senate fled to the Samnite territory.\n\nSubjugation of Campania As Far As Nola\nSulla in Samnium\n\nThe Roman southern army, which was now under the command of Lucius\nSulla, had at the same time assumed the offensive and had penetrated\ninto southern Campania which was occupied by the enemy.  Stabiae was\ntaken and destroyed by Sulla in person (30 April 665) and Herculaneum\nby Titus Didius, who however fell himself (11 June) apparently at the\nassault on that city.  Pompeii resisted longer.  The Samnite general\nLucius Cluentius came up to bring relief to the town, but he was\nrepulsed by Sulla; and when, reinforced by bands of Celts, he\nrenewed his attempt, he was, chiefly owing to the wavering of these\nuntrustworthy associates, so totally defeated that his camp was taken\nand he himself was cut down with the greater part of his troops on\ntheir flight towards Nola.  The grateful Roman army conferred on its\ngeneral the grass-wreath--the homely badge with which the usage of\nthe camp decorated the soldier who had by his capacity saved a division\nof his comrades.  Without pausing to undertake the siege of Nola and\nof the other Campanian towns still occupied by the Samnites, Sulla\nat once advanced into the interior, which was the head-quarters of\nthe insurrection.  The speedy capture and fearful punishment of\nAeclanum spread terror throughout the Hirpinian country; it submitted\neven before the arrival of the Lucanian contingent which had set itself\nin motion to render help, and Sulla was able to advance unhindered as\nfar as the territory of the Samnite confederacy.  The pass, where the\nSamnite militia under Mutilus awaited him, was turned, the Samnite army\nwas attacked in rear, and defeated; the camp was lost, the general\nescaped wounded to Aesernia.  Sulla advanced to Bovianum, the capital of\nthe Samnite country, and compelled it to surrender by a second victory\nachieved beneath its walls.  The advanced season alone put an end\nto the campaign there.\n\nThe Insurrection on the Whole Overpowered\n\nThe position of affairs had undergone a most complete change.\nPowerful, victorious, aggressive as was the insurrection when it\nbegan the campaign of 665, it emerged from it deeply humbled, everywhere\nbeaten, and utterly hopeless.  All northern Italy was pacified.\nIn central Italy both coasts were wholly in the Roman power, and the\nAbruzzi almost entirely; Apulia as far as Venusia, and Campania as far\nas Nola, were in the hands of the Romans; and by the occupation of the\nHirpinian territory the communication was broken off between the only\ntwo regions still persevering in open resistance, the Samnite and the\nLucano-Bruttian.  The field of the insurrection resembled the scene\nof an immense conflagration dying out; everywhere the eye fell on\nashes and ruins and smouldering brands; here and there the flame\nstill blazed up among the ruins, but the fire was everywhere mastered,\nand there was no further threatening of danger.  It is to be\nregretted that we no longer sufficiently discern in the superficial\naccounts handed down to us the causes of this sudden revolution.\nWhile undoubtedly the dexterous leadership of Strabo and still more\nof Sulla, and especially the more energetic concentration of the\nRoman forces, and their more rapid offensive contributed materially\nto that result, political causes may have been at work along with the\nmilitary in producing the singularly rapid fall of the power of the\ninsurgents; the law of Silvanus and Carbo may have fulfilled its design\nin carrying defection and treason to the common cause into the ranks\nof the enemy; and misfortune, as has so frequently happened, may\nhave fallen as an apple of discord among the loosely-connected\ninsurgent communities.\n\nPerseverance of the Samnites\n\nWe see only--and this fact points to an internal breaking up of Italia,\nthat must certainly have been attended by violent convulsions--that\nthe Samnites, perhaps under the leadership of the Marsian Quintus Silo\nwho had been from the first the soul of the insurrection and after the\ncapitulation of the Marsians had gone as a fugitive to the neighbouring\npeople, now assumed another organization purely confined to their\nown land, and, after \"Italia\" was vanquished, undertook to continue\nthe struggle as \"Safini\" or Samnites.(18) The strong Aesernia was\nconverted from the fortress that had curbed, into the last retreat\nthat sheltered, Samnite freedom; an army assembled consisting, it was\nsaid, of 30,000 infantry and 1000 cavalry, and was strengthened by the\nmanumission and incorporation of 20,000 slaves; five generals were\nplaced at its head, among whom Silo was the first and Mutilus next to\nhim.  With astonishment men saw the Samnite wars beginning anew after\na pause of two hundred years, and the resolute nation of farmers making\na fresh attempt, just as in the fifth century, after the Italian\nconfederation was shattered, to force Rome with their own hand to\nrecognize their country's independence.  But this resolution of the\nbravest despair made not much change in the main result; although the\nmountain-war in Samnium and Lucania might still require some time and\nsome sacrifices, the insurrection was nevertheless already\nsubstantially at an end.\n\nOutbreak of the Mithradatic War\n\nIn the meanwhile, certainly, there had occurred a fresh complication,\nfor the Asiatic difficulties had rendered it imperatively necessary\nto declare war against Mithradates king of Pontus, and for next year\n(666) to destine the one consul and a consular army to Asia Minor.\nHad this war broken out a year earlier, the contemporary revolt of\nthe half of Italy and of the most important of the provinces would have\nformed an immense peril to the Roman state.  Now that the marvellous\ngood fortune of Rome had once more been evinced in the rapid collapse\nof the Italian insurrection, this Asiatic war just beginning was,\nnotwithstanding its being mixed up with the expiring Italian\nstruggle, not of a really dangerous character; and the less so,\nbecause Mithradates in his arrogance refused the invitation of the\nItalians that he should afford them direct assistance.  Still it\nwas in a high degree inconvenient.  The times had gone by, when\nthey without hesitation carried on simultaneously an Italian and\na transmarine war, the state-chest was already after two years of\nwarfare utterly exhausted, and the formation of a new army in addition\nto that already in the field seemed scarcely practicable.  But they\nresorted to such expedients as they could.  The sale of the sites\nthat had from ancient times(19) remained unoccupied on and near the\ncitadel to persons desirous of building, which yielded 9000 pounds of\ngold (360,000 pounds), furnished the requisite pecuniary means.  No new\narmy was formed, but that which was under Sulla in Campania was destined\nto embark for Asia, as soon as the state of things in southern Italy\nshould allow its departure; which might be expected, from the progress\nof the army operating in the north under Strabo, to happen soon.\n\nThird Campaign\nCapture of Venusia\nFall of Silo\n\nSo the third campaign in 666 began amidst favourable prospects for\nRome.  Strabo put down the last resistance which was still offered\nin the Abruzzi.  In Apulia the successor of Cosconius, Quintus Metellus\nPius, son of the conqueror of Numidia and not unlike his father in\nhis strongly conservative views as well as in military endowments,\nput an end to the resistance by the capture of Venusia, at which 3000\narmed men were taken prisoners.  In Samnium Silo no doubt succeeded\nin retaking Bovianum; but in a battle, in which he engaged the Roman\ngeneral Mamercus Aemilius, the Romans conquered, and--what was more\nimportant than the victory itself--Silo was among the 6000 dead whom\nthe Samnites left on the field.  In Campania the smaller townships,\nwhich the Samnites still occupied, were wrested from them by Sulla,\nand Nola was invested.  The Roman general Aulus Gabinius penetrated\nalso into Lucania and gained no small advantages; but, after he had\nfallen in an attack on the enemy's camp, Lamponius the insurgent\nleader and his followers once more held almost undisturbed command\nover the wide and desolate Lucano-Bruttian country.  He even made an\nattempt to seize Rhegium, which was frustrated, however, by the Sicilian\ngovernor Gaius Norbanus.  Notwithstanding isolated mischances the Romans\nwere constantly drawing nearer to the attainment of their end; the fall\nof Nola, the submission of Samnium, the possibility of rendering\nconsiderable forces available for Asia appeared no longer distant,\nwhen the turn taken by affairs in the capital unexpectedly gave fresh\nlife to the well-nigh extinguished insurrection.\n\nFerment in Rome\nThe Bestowal of the Franchise and Its Limitations\nSecondary Effect of the Political Prosecutions\nMarius\n\nRome was in a fearful ferment.  The attack of Drusus upon the\nequestrian courts and his sudden downfall brought about by the\nequestrian party, followed by the two-edged Varian warfare of\nprosecutions, had sown the bitterest discord between the aristocracy\nand the bourgeoisie as well as between the moderates and the ultras.\nEvents had completely justified the party of concession; what it had\nproposed voluntarily to bestow, men had been more than half compelled\nto concede; but the mode in which the concession was made bore, just\nlike the earlier refusal, the stamp of obstinate and shortsighted\nenvy.  Instead of granting equality of rights to all Italian\ncommunities, they had only expressed the inferiority in another form.\nThey had received a great number of Italian communities into Roman\ncitizenship, but had attached to what they thus conferred an offensive\nstigma, by placing the new burgesses alongside of the old on nearly\nthe same footing as the freedmen occupied alongside of the freeborn.\nThey had irritated rather than pacified the communities between the\nPo and the Alps by the concession of Latin rights.  Lastly, they had\nwithheld the franchise from a considerable, and that not the worst,\nportion of the Italians--the whole of the insurgent communities\nwhich had again submitted; and not only so, but, instead of legally\nre-establishing the former treaties annulled by the insurrection, they\nhad at most renewed them as a matter of favour and subject to revocation\nat pleasure.(20)  The disability as regarded the right of voting\ngave the deeper offence, that it was--as the comitia were then\nconstituted--politically absurd, and the hypocritical care of the\ngovernment for the unstained purity of the electors appeared to every\nunprejudiced person ridiculous; but all these restrictions were\ndangerous, inasmuch as they invited every demagogue to carry his\nulterior objects by taking up the more or less just demands of the\nnew burgesses and of the Italians excluded from the franchise.  While\naccordingly the more clear-seeing of the aristocracy could not but find\nthese partial and grudging concessions as inadequate as did the new\nburgesses and the excluded themselves, they further painfully felt\nthe absence from their ranks of the numerous and excellent men whom\nthe Varian commission of high treason had exiled, and whom it was the\nmore difficult to recall because they had been condemned by the verdict\nnot of the people but of the jury-courts; for, while there was little\nhesitation as to cancelling a decree of the people even of a judicial\ncharacter by means of a second, the cancelling of a verdict of\njurymen bythe people appeared to the betterportion of the aristocracy\nas a very dangerous precedent.  Thus neither the ultras nor the\nmoderates were content with the issue of the Italian crisis.  But still\ndeeper indignation swelled the heart of the old man, who had gone\nforth to the Italian war with freshened hopes and had come back from\nit reluctantly, with the consciousness of having rendered new services\nand of having received in return new and most severe mortifications,\nwith the bitter feeling of being no longer dreaded but despised by\nhis enemies, with that gnawing spirit of vengeance in his heart,\nwhich feeds on its own poison.  It was true of him also, as of the\nnew burgesses and the excluded; incapable and awkward as he had shown\nhimself to be, his popular name was still a formidable weapon in\nthe hand of a demagogue.\n\nDecay of Military Discipline\n\nWith these elements of political convulsion was combined the rapidly\nspreading decay of decorous soldierly habits and of military\ndiscipline.  The seeds, which were sown by the enrolment of the\nproletariate in the army, developed themselves with alarming rapidity\nduring the demoralizing insurrectionary war, which compelled Rome\nto admit to the service every man capable of bearing arms without\ndistinction, and which above all carried political partizanship\ndirectly into the headquarters and into the soldiers' tent.\nThe effects soon appeared in the slackening of all the bonds of\nthe military hierarchy.  During the siege of Pompeii the commander\nof the Sullan besieging corps, the consular Aulus Postumius Albinus,\nwas put to death with stones and bludgeons by his soldiers, who believed\nthemselves betrayed by their general to the enemy; and Sulla the\ncommander-in-chief contented himself with exhorting the troops to efface\nthe memory of that occurrence by their brave conduct in presence of\nthe enemy.  The authors of that deed were the marines, from of old\nthe least respectable of the troops.  A division of legionaries raised\nchiefly from the city populace soon followed the example thus given.\nInstigated by Gaius Titius, one of the heroes of the market-place, it\nlaid hands on the consul Cato.  By an accident he escaped death on\nthis occasion; Titius was arrested, but was not punished.  When Cato\nsoon afterwards actually perished in a combat, his own officers, and\nparticularly the younger Gaius Marius, were--whether justly or unjustly,\ncannot be ascertained--designated as the authors of his death.\n\nEconomic Crisis\nMurder of Asellio\n\nTo the political and military crisis thus beginning fell to be added\nthe economic crisis--perhaps still more terrible--which set in upon the\nRoman capitalists in consequence of the Social war and the Asiatic\ntroubles.  The debtors, unable even to raise the interest due and yet\ninexorably pressed by their creditors, had on the one hand entreated\nfrom the proper judicial authority, the urban praetor Asellio, a\nrespite to enable them to dispose of their possessions, and on the\nother hand had searched out once more the old obsolete laws as to\nusury(21) and, according to the rule established in olden times,\nhad sued their creditors for fourfold the amount of the interest\npaid to them contrary to the law.  Asellio lent himself to bend the\nactually existing law into conformity with the letter, and put into\nshape in the usual way the desired actions for interest; whereupon\nthe offended creditors assembled in the Forum under the leadership of\nthe tribune of the people Lucius Cassius, and attacked and killed the\npraetor in front of the temple of Concord, just as in his priestly\nrobes he was presenting a sacrifice--an outrage which was not even\nmade a subject of investigation (665).  On the other hand it was\nsaid in the circles of the debtors, that the suffering multitude could\nnot be relieved otherwise than by \"new account-books,\" that is, by\nlegally cancelling the claims of all creditors against all debtors.\nMatters stood again exactly as they had stood during the strife\nof the orders; once more the capitalists in league with the\nprejudiced aristocracy made war against, and prosecuted, the oppressed\nmultitude and the middle party which advised a modification of the\nrigour of the law; once more Rome stood on the verge of that abyss\ninto which the despairing debtor drags his creditor along with him.\nOnly, since that time the simple civil and moral organization of a\ngreat agricultural city had been succeeded by the social antagonisms\nof a capital of many nations, and by that demoralization in which\nthe prince and the beggar meet; now all incongruities had come to be\non a broader, more abrupt, and fearfully grander scale.  When the\nSocial war brought all the political and social elements fermenting\namong the citizens into collision with each other, it laid the\nfoundation for a new resolution.  An accident led to its outbreak.\n\nThe Sulpician Laws\nSulpicius Rufus\n\nIt was the tribune of the people Publius Sulpicius Rufus who in 666\nproposed to the burgesses to declare that every senator, who owed more\nthan 2000 -denarii- (82 pounds), should forfeit his seat in the senate;\nto grant to the burgesses condemned by non-free jury courts liberty\nto return home; to distribute the new burgesses among all the tribes,\nand likewise to allow the right of voting in all tribes to the\nfreedmen.  They were proposals which from the mouth of such a man\nwere at least somewhat surprising.  Publius Sulpicius Rufus (born in\n630) owed his political importance not so much to his noble birth, his\nimportant connections, and his hereditary wealth, as to his remarkable\noratorical talent, in which none of his contemporaries equalled him.\nHis powerful voice, his lively gestures sometimes bordering on\ntheatrical display, the luxuriant copiousness of his flow of words\narrested, even if they did not convince, his hearers.  As a partisan\nhe was from the outset on the side of the senate, and his first public\nappearance (659) had been the impeachment of Norbanus who was mortally\nhated by the government party.(22)  Among the conservatives he belonged\nto the section of Crassus and Drusus.  We do not know what primarily\ngave occasion to his soliciting the tribuneship of the people for 666,\nand on its account renouncing his patrician nobility; but he seems\nto have been by no means rendered a revolutionist through the\nfact that he, like the whole middle party, had been persecuted as\nrevolutionary by the conservatives, and to have by no means intended\nan overthrow of the constitution in the sense of Gaius Gracchus.\nIt would rather seem that, as the only man of note belonging to\nthe party of Crassus and Drusus who had come forth uninjured from\nthe storm of the Varian prosecutions, he felt himself called on\nto complete the work of Drusus and finally to set aside the still\nsubsisting disabilities of the new burgesses--for which purpose he\nneeded the tribunate.  Several acts of his even during his tribuneship\nare mentioned, which betray the very opposite of demagogic designs.\nFor instance, he prevented by his veto one of his colleagues from\ncancelling through a decree of the people the sentences of jurymen\nissued under the Varian law; and when the late aedile Gaius Caesar,\npassing over the praetorship, unconstitutionally became a candidate\nfor the consulship for 667, with the design, it was alleged, of getting\nthe charge of the Asiatic war afterwards entrusted to him, Sulpicius\nopposed him more resolutely and sharply than any one else.  Entirely\nin the spirit of Drusus, he thus demanded from himself as from\nothers primarily and especially the maintenance of the constitution.\nBut in fact he was as little able as was Drusus to reconcile things\nthat were incompatible, and to carry out in strict form of law the\nchange of the constitution which he had in view--a change judicious\nin itself, but never to be obtained from the great majority of the\nold burgesses by amicable means.  His breach with the powerful\nfamily of the Julii--among whom in particular the consular Lucius\nCaesar, the brother of Gaius, was very influential in the senate--\nand withthesectionof the aristocracy adhering to it, beyond doubt\nmaterially cooperated and carried the irascible man through personal\nexasperation beyond his original design.\n\nTendency of These Laws\n\nYet the proposals brought in by him were of such a nature as\nto be by no means out of keeping with the personal character and\nthe previous party-position of their author.  The equalization of\nthe new burgesses with the old was simply a partial resumption of\nthe proposals drawn up by Drusus in favour of the Italians; and,\nlike these, only carried out the requirements of a sound policy.\nThe recall of those condemned by the Varian jurymen no doubt sacrificed\nthe principle of the inviolability of such a sentence, in defence of\nwhich Sulpicius himself had just practically interposed; but it mainly\nbenefited in the first instance the members of the proposer's own\nparty, the moderate conservatives, and it may be very well conceived\nthat so impetuous a man might when first coming forward decidedly\ncombat such a measure and then, indignant at the resistance which\nhe encountered, propose it himself.  The measure against the\ninsolvency of senators was doubtless called forth by the exposure\nof the economic condition of the ruling families--so deeply embarrassed\nnotwithstanding all their outward splendour--on occasion of the last\nfinancial crisis.  It was painful doubtless, but yet of itself\nconducive to the rightly understood interest of the aristocracy,\nif, as could not but be the effect of the Sulpician proposal, all\nindividuals should withdraw from the senate who were unable speedily\nto meet their liabilities, and if the coterie-system, which found its\nmain support in the insolvency of many senators and their consequent\ndependence on their wealthy colleagues, should be checked by the\nremoval of the notoriously venal pack of the senators.  At the same\ntime, of course, we do not mean to deny that such a purification\nof the senate-house so abruptly and invidiously exposing the senate,\nas Rufus proposed, would certainly never have been proposed without\nhis personal quarrels with the ruling coterie-heads.  Lastly, the\nregulationin favour of the freedmen had undoubtedly for its primary\nobject to make its proposer master of the street; but in itself it\nwas neither unwarranted nor incompatible with the aristocratic\nconstitution.  Since the freedmen had begun to be drawn upon for\nmilitary service, their demand for the right of voting was so far\njustified, as the right of voting and the obligation of service had\nalways gone hand in hand.  Moreover, looking to the nullity of the\ncomitia, it was politically of very little moment whether one sewer\nmore emptied itself into that slough.  The difficulty which the\noligarchy felt in governing with the comitia was lessened rather than\nincreased by the unlimited admission of the freedmen, who were to a\nvery great extent personally and financially dependent on the ruling\nfamilies and, if rightly used, might quite furnish the government with\na means of controlling the elections more thoroughly than before.\nThis measure certainly, like every other political favour shown to\nthe proletariate, ran counter to the tendencies of the aristocracy\nfriendly to reform; but it was for Rufus hardly anything else\nthan what the corn-law had been for Drusus--a means of drawing\nthe proletariate over to his side and of breaking down with its aid\nthe opposition against the truly beneficial reforms which he meditated.\nIt was easy to foresee that this opposition would not be slight; that\nthe narrow-minded aristocracy and the narrow-minded bourgeoisie would\ndisplay the same stupid jealousy after the subduing of the insurrection\nas they had displayed before its outbreak; that the great majority\nof all parties would secretly or even openly characterize the partial\nconcessions made at the moment of the most formidable danger as\nunseasonable compliances, and would passionately resist every attempt\nto extend them.  The example of Drusus had shown what came of\nundertakingto carry conservative reforms solely in reliance on the\nmajority of the senate; it was a course quite intelligible, that his\nfriend who shared his views should attempt to carry out kindred designs\nin opposition to that majority and under the forms of demagogism.\nRufus accordingly gave himself no trouble to gain the senate over to\nhis views by the bait of the jury courts.  He found a better support\nin the freedmen and above all in the armed retinue--consisting,\naccording to the report of his opponents, of 3000 hired men and an\n\"opposition-senate\" of 600 young men from the better class--with\nwhich he appeared in the streets and in the Forum.\n\nResistance of the Government\nRiots\nPosition of Sulla\n\nHis proposals accordingly met with the most decided resistance from\nthe majority of the senate, which first, to gain time, induced the\nconsuls Lucius Cornelius Sulla and Quintus Pompeius Rufus, both declared\nopponents of demagogism, to enjoin extraordinary religious observances,\nduring which the popular assemblies were suspended.  Sulpicius\nreplied by a violent tumult, in which among other victims the young\nQuintus Pompeius, son of the one and son-in-law of the other consul,\nmet his death and the lives of both consuls themselves were seriously\nthreatened--Sulla is said even to have escaped only by Marius\nopening to him his house.  They were obliged to yield; Sulla agreed\nto countermand the announced solemnities, and the Sulpician proposals\nnow passed without further difficulty.  But this was far from\ndetermining their fate.  Though the aristocracy in the capital might\nown its defeat, there was now--for the first time since the commencement\nof the revolution--yet another power in Italy which could not be\noverlooked, viz. the two strong and victorious armies of the proconsul\nStrabo and the consul Sulla.  The political position of Strabo might\nbe ambiguous, but Sulla, although he had given way to open violence\nfor the moment, was on the best terms with the majority of the senate;\nand not only so, but he had, immediately after countermanding\nthe solemnities, departed for Campania to join his army. To terrify\nthe unarmed consul by bludgeon-men or the defenceless capital by\nthe swords of the legions, amounted to the same thing in the end:\nSulpicius assumed that his opponent, now when he could, would\nrequite violence with violence and return to the capital at the head\nof his legions to overthrow the conservative demagogue and his laws\nalong with him.  Perhaps he was mistaken.  Sulla was just as eager\nfor the war against Mithradates as he was probably averse to the\npolitical exhalations of the capital; considering his original spirit\nof indifference and his unrivalled political nonchalance, there is\ngreat probability that he by no means intended the coup d'etat which\nSulpicius expected, and that, if he had been let alone, he would have\nembarked without delay with his troops for Asia so soon as he had\ncaptured Nola, with the siege of which he was still occupied.\n\nMarius Nominated Commander-in-Chief in Sulla's Stead\n\nBut, be this as it might, Sulpicius, with a view to parry the presumed\nblow, conceived the scheme of taking the supreme command from Sulla;\nand for this purpose joined with Marius, whose name was still\nsufficiently popular to make a proposal to transfer to him the chief\ncommand in the Asiatic war appear plausible to the multitude, and\nwhose military position and ability might prove a support in the\nevent of a rupture with Sulla.  Sulpicius probably did not overlook\nthe danger involved in placing that old man--not less incapable than\nvengeful and ambitious--at the head of the Campanian army, and as little\nthe scandalous irregularity of entrusting an extraordinary supreme\ncommand by decree of the people to a private man; but the very tried\nincapacity of Marius as a statesman gave a sort of guarantee that he\nwould not be able seriously to endanger the constitution, and above\nall the personal position of Sulpicius, if he formed a correct\nestimate of Sulla's designs, was one of so imminent peril that such\nconsiderations could hardly be longer heeded.  That the worn-out\nhero himself readily met the wishes of any one who would employ him\nas a -condottiere-, was a matter of course; his heart had now for\nmany years longed for the command in an Asiatic war, and not less\nperhaps for an opportunity of once settling accounts thoroughly with\nthe majority of the senate.  Accordingly on the proposal of Sulpicius\nGaius Marius was by decree of the people invested with extraordinary\nsupreme, or as it was called proconsular, power, and obtained the\ncommand of the Campanian army and the superintendence of the war\nagainst Mithradates; and two tribunes of the people were despatched\nto the camp at Nola, to take over the army from Sulla.\n\nSulla's Recall\n\nSulla was not the man to yield to such a summons.  If any one had a\nvocation to the chief command in the Asiatic war, it was Sulla.  He\nhad a few years before commanded with the greatest success in the\nsame theatre of war; he had contributed more than any other man to\nthe subjugation of the dangerous Italian insurrection; as consul of\nthe year in which the Asiatic war broke out, he had been invested with\nthe command in it after the customary way and with the full consent\nof his colleague, who was on friendly terms with him and related to\nhim by marriage.  It was expecting a great deal to suppose that he\nwould, in accordance with a decree of the sovereign burgesses of\nRome, give up a command undertaken in such circumstances to an old\nmilitary and political antagonist, in whose hands the army might be\nturned to none could tell what violent and preposterous proceedings.\nSulla was neither good-natured enough to comply voluntarily with such\nan order, nor dependent enough to need to do so.  His army was--\npartly in consequence of the alterations of the military system\nwhich originated with Marius, partly from the moral laxity and the\nmilitary strictness of its discipline in the hands of Sulla--little\nmore than a body of mercenaries absolutely devoted to their leader\nand indifferent to political affairs.  Sulla himself was a hardened,\ncool, and clearheaded man, in whose eyes the sovereign Roman burgesses\nwere a rabble, the hero of Aquae Sextiae a bankrupt swindler,\nformal legality a phrase, Rome itself a city without a garrison\nand with its walls half in ruins, which could be far more easily\ncaptured than Nola.\n\nSulla's March on Rome\n\nOn these views he acted.  He assembled his soldiers--there were six\nlegions, or about 35,000 men--and explained to them the summons that\nhad arrived from Rome, not forgetting to hint that the new commander-\nin-chief would undoubtedly lead to Asia Minor not the army as it stood,\nbut another formed of fresh troops.  The superior officers, who still\nhad more of the citizen than the soldier, kept aloof, and only one\nof them followed the general towards the capital; but the soldiers,\nwho in accordance with earlier experiences(23) hoped to find in Asia an\neasy war and endless booty, were furious; in a moment the two tribunes\nthat had come from Rome were torn in pieces, and from all sides the\ncry arose that the general should lead them to Rome.  Without delay\nthe consul started, and forming a junction with his like-minded\ncolleague by the way, he arrived by quick marches--little troubling\nhimself about the deputies who hastened from Rome to meet and\nattempted to detain him--beneath the walls of the capital.  Suddenly\nthe Romans beheld columns of Sulla's army take their station at the\nbridge over the Tiber and at the Colline and Esquiline gates; and then\ntwo legions in battle array, with their standards at their head, passed\nthe sacred ring-wall within which the law had forbidden war to enter.\nMany a worse quarrel, many an important feud had been brought to a\nsettlement within those walls, without any need for a Roman army\nbreaking the sacred peace of the city; that step was now taken,\nprimarily for thesake of the miserable question whether this or\nthat officer was called to command in the east.\n\nRome Occupied\n\nThe entering legions advanced as far as the height of the Esquiline;\nwhen the missiles and stones descending in showers from the roofs made\nthe soldiers waver and they began to give way, Sulla himself brandished\na blazing torch, and with firebrands and threats of setting the houses\non fire the legions cleared their way to the Esquiline market-place\n(not far from S.  Maria Maggiore).  There the force hastily collected\nby Marius and Sulpicius awaited them, and by its superior numbers\nrepelled the first invading columns.  But reinforcements came up from\nthe gates; another division of the Sullans made preparations for\nturning the defenders by the street of the Subura; the latter were\nobliged to retire.  At the temple of Tellus, where the Esquiline\nbegins to <DW72> towards the great Forum, Marius attempted once more\nto make a stand; he adjured the senate and equites and all the citizens\nto throw themselves across the path of the legions.  But he himself\nhad transformed them from citizens to mercenaries; his own work turned\nagainst him: they obeyed not the government, but their general.  Even\nwhen the slaves were summoned to arm under the promise of freedom,\nnot more than three of them appeared.  Nothing remained for the\nleaders but to escape in all haste through the still unoccupied gates;\nafter a few hours Sulla was absolute master of Rome.  That night\nthe watchfires of the legions blazed in the great market-place\nof the capital.\n\nFirst Sullan Restoration\nDeath of Sulpicius\nFlight of Marius\n\nThe first military intervention in civil feuds had made it quite\nevident, not only that the political struggles had reached the point\nat which nothing save open and direct force proves decisive, but\nalso that the power of the bludgeon was of no avail against the\npower of the sword.  It was the conservative party which first drew\nthe sword, and which accordingly in due time experienced the truth\nof the ominous words of the Gospel as to those who first have recourse\nto it.  For the present it triumphed completely and might put the\nvictory into formal shape at its pleasure.  As a matter of course,\nthe Sulpician laws were characterized as legally null.  Their author\nand his most notable adherents had fled; they were, twelve in number,\nproscribed by the senate for arrest and execution as enemies of their\ncountry.  Publius Sulpicius was accordingly seized at Laurentum and\nput to death; and the head of the tribune, sent to Sulla, was by\nhis orders exposed in the Forum at the very rostra where he himself had\nstood but a few days before in the full vigour of youth and eloquence.\nThe rest of the proscribed were pursued; the assassins were on the\ntrack of even the old Gaius Marius.  Although the general might have\nclouded the memory of his glorious days by a succession of pitiful\nproceedings, now that the deliverer of his country was running for\nhis life, he was once more the victor of Vercellae, and with breathless\nsuspense all Italy listened to the incidents of his marvellous\nflight.  At Ostia he had gone on board a transport with the view of\nsailing for Africa; but adverse winds and want of provisions compelled\nhim to land at the Circeian promontory and to wander at random.\nWith few attendants and without trusting himself under a roof, the\ngrey-haired consular, often suffering from hunger, found his way on\nfoot to the neighbourhood of the Roman colony of Minturnae at the mouth\nof the Garigliano.  There the pursuing cavalry were seen in the\ndistance; with great difficulty he reached the shore, and a trading--\nvessel lying there withdrew him from his pursuers; but the timid\nmariners soon put him ashore again and made off, while Marius stole\nalong the beach.  His pursuers found him in the salt-marsh of\nMinturnae sunk to the girdle in the mud and with his head concealed\namidst a quantity of reeds, and delivered him to the civic authorities\nof Minturnae.  He was placed in prison, and the town-executioner, a\nCimbrian slave, was sent to put him to death; but the German trembled\nbefore the flashing eyes of his old conqueror and the axe fell from\nhis hands, when the general with his powerful voice haughtily demanded\nwhether he dared to kill Gaius Marius.  When they learned this, the\nmagistrates of Minturnae were ashamed that the deliverer of Rome should\nmeet with greater reverence from slaves to whom he had brought bondage\nthan from his fellow-citizens to whom he had brought freedom; they\nloosed his fetters, gave him a vessel and money for travelling expenses,\nand sent him to Aenaria (Ischia).  The proscribed with the exception\nof Sulpicius gradually met in those waters; they landed at Eryx and\nat what was formerly Carthage, but the Roman magistrates both in\nSicily and in Africa sent them away.  So they escaped to Numidia,\nwhose desert sand-dunes gave them a place of refuge for the winter.\nBut the king Hiempsal II, whom they hoped to gain and who had seemed\nfor a while willing to unite with them, had only done so to lull them\ninto security, and now attempted to seize their persons.  With great\ndifficulty the fugitives escaped from his cavalry, and found a temporary\nrefuge in the little island of Cercina (Kerkena) on the coast of Tunis.\nWe know not whether Sulla thanked his fortunate star that he had been\nspared the odium of putting to death the victor of the Cimbrians; at any\nrate it does not appear that the magistrates of Minturnae were punished.\n\nLegislation of Sulla\n\nWith a view to remove existing evils and to prevent future\nrevolutions, Sulla suggested a series of new legislative enactments.\nFor the hard-pressed debtors nothing seems to have been done, except\nthat the rules as to the maximum of interest were enforced;(24)\ndirections moreover were given for the sending out of a number of\ncolonies.  The senate which had been greatly thinned by the battles\nand prosecutions of the Social war was filled up by the admission of\n300 new senators, who were naturally selected in the interest of the\nOptimates.  Lastly, material changes were adopted in respect to the\nmode of election and the initiative of legislation.  The old Servian\narrangement for voting in the centuriate comitia, under which the\nfirst class, with an estate of 100,000 sesterces (1000 pounds) or\nupwards, alone possessed almost half of the votes, again took the\nplace of the arrangements introduced in 513 to mitigate the\npreponderance of the first class.(25)  Practically there was thus\nintroduced for the election of consuls, praetors, and censors, a\ncensus which really excluded the non-wealthy from exercising the\nsuffrage.  The legislative initiative in the case of the tribunes\nof the people was restricted by the rule, that every proposal had\nhenceforth to be submitted by them in the first instance to\nthe senate and could only come before the people in the event\nof the senate approving it.\n\nThese enactments which were called forth by the Sulpician attempt at\nrevolution from the man who then came forward as the shield and sword\nof the constitutional party--the consul Sulla--bear an altogether\npeculiar character.  Sulla ventured, without consulting the burgesses\nor jurymen, to pronounce sentence of death on twelve of the most\ndistinguished men, including magistrates actually in office and\nthe most famous general of his time, and publicly to defend these\nproscriptions; a violation of the venerable and sacred laws of appeal,\nwhich met with severe censure even from very conservative men, such\nas Quintus Scaevola.  He ventured to overthrow an arrangement as to\nthe elections which had subsisted for a century and a half, and to\nre-establish the electoral census which had been long obsolete and\nproscribed.  He ventured practically to withdraw the right of\nlegislation from its two primitive factors, the magistrates and the\ncomitia, and to transfer it to a board which had at no time possessed\nformally any other privilege in this respect than that of being asked\nfor its advice.(26)  Hardly had any democrat ever exercised justice\nin forms so tyrannical, or disturbed and remodelled the foundations of\nthe constitution with so reckless an audacity, as this conservative\nreformer.  But if we look at the substance instead of the form, we\nreach very different results.  Revolutions have nowhere ended, and\nleast of all in Rome, without demanding a certain number of victims,\nwho under forms more or less borrowed from justice atone for the fault\nof being vanquished as though it were a crime.  Any one who recalls\nthe succession of prosecutions carried on by the victorious party\nafter the fall of the Gracchi and Saturninus(27) will be inclined\nto yield to the victor of the Esquiline market the praise of candour\nand comparative moderation, in so far as, first he without ceremony\naccepted as war what was really such and proscribed the men who were\ndefeated as enemies beyond the pale of the law, and, secondly, he\nlimited as far as possible the number of victims and allowed at least\nno offensive outbreak of fury against inferior persons.  A similar\nmoderation appears in the political arrangements.  The innovation as\nrespects legislation--the most important and apparently the most\ncomprehensive--in fact only brought the letter of the constitution\ninto harmony with its spirit.  The Roman legislation, under which\nany consul, praetor, or tribune could propose to the burgesses any\nmeasure at pleasure and bring it to the vote without debate, had from\nthe first been, irrational and had become daily more so with the\ngrowing nullity of the comitia; it was only tolerated, because in\npractice the senate had claimed for itself the right of previous\ndeliberation and regularly crushed any proposal, if put to the vote\nwithout such previous deliberation, by means of the political or\nreligious veto.(28)  The revolution hadswept away thesebarriers;\nandin consequence that absurd system now began fully to develop its\nresults, and to put it in the power of any petulant knave to overthrow\nthe state in due form of law.  What was under such circumstances more\nnatural, more necessary, more truly conservative, than now to recognize\nformally and expressly the legislation of the senate to which effect\nhad been hitherto given by a circuitous process? Something similar\nmay be said of the renewal of the electoral census.  The earlier\nconstitution was throughout based on it; even the reform of 513 had\nmerely restricted the privileges of the men of wealth.  But since that\nyear there had occurred an immense financial revolution, which might\nwell justify a raising of the electoral census.  The new timocracy\nthus changed the letter of the constitution only to remain faithful\nto its spirit, while it at the same time in the mildest possible form\nattempted at least to check the disgraceful purchase of votes with all\nthe evils therewith connected.  Lastly, the regulations in favour of\ndebtors and the resumption of the schemes of colonization gave express\nproof that Sulla, although not disposed to approve the impetuous\nproposals of Sulpicius, was yet, like Sulpicius and Drusus and all the\nmore far-seeing aristocrats in general, favourable to material reforms\nin themselves; as to which we may not overlook the circumstance, that\nhe proposed these measures after the victory and entirely of his own\nfree will.  If we combine with such considerations the fact, that Sulla\nallowed the principal foundations of the Gracchan constitution to\nstand and disturbed neither the equestrian courts nor the largesses\nof grain, we shall find warrant for the opinion that the Sullan\narrangement of 666 substantially adhered to the status quo subsisting\nsince the fall of Gaius Gracchus; he merely, on the one hand, altered\nas the times required the traditional rules that primarily threatened\ndanger to the existing government, and, on the other hand, sought to\nremedy according to his power the existing social evils, so far as\neither could be done without touching ills that lay deeper.  Emphatic\ncontempt for constitutional formalism in connection with a vivid\nappreciation of the intrinsic value of existing arrangements, clear\nperceptions, and praiseworthy intentions mark this legislation\nthroughout.  But it bears also a certain frivolous and superficial\ncharacter; it needed in particular a great amount of good nature\nto believe that the fixing a maximum of interest would remedy the\nconfused relations of credit, and that the right of previous\ndeliberation on the part of the senate would prove more capable\nof resisting future demagogism than the right of veto and religion\nhad previously been.\n\nNew Complications\nCinna\nStrabo\nSulla Embarks for Asia\n\nIn reality new clouds very soon began to overcast the clear sky\nof the conservatives.  The relations of Asia assumed daily a more\nthreatening character.  The state had already suffered the utmost\ninjury through the delay which the Sulpician revolution had\noccasioned in the departure of the army for Asia; the embarkation\ncould on no account be longer postponed.  Meanwhile Sulla hoped to\nleave behind him guarantees against a new assault on the oligarchy\nin Italy, partly in the consuls who would be elected under the new\nelectoral arrangement, partly and especially in the armies employed\nin suppressing the remains of the Italian insurrection.  In the\nconsular comitia, however, the choice did not fall on the candidates\nset up by Sulla, but Lucius Cornelius Cinna, who belonged to the most\ndetermined opposition, was associated with Gnaeus Octavius, a man\ncertainly of strictly Optimate views.  It may be presumed that it\nwas chiefly the capitalist party, which by this choice retaliated\non the author of the law as to interest.  Sulla accepted the\nunpleasant election with the declaration that he was glad to see\nthe burgesses making use of their constitutional liberty of choice,\nand contented himself with exacting from both consuls an oath that they\nwould faithfully observe the existing constitution.  Of the armies,\nthe one on which the matter chiefly depended was that of the north,\nas the greater part of the Campanian army was destined to depart for\nAsia.  Sulla got the command of the former entrusted by decree of the\npeople to his devoted colleague Quintus Rufus, and procured the recall\nof the former general Gnaeus Strabo in such a manner as to spare as far\nas possible his feelings--the more so, because the latter belonged to\nthe equestrian party and his passive attitude during the Sulpician\ntroubles had occasioned no small anxiety to the aristocracy.  Rufus\narrived at the army and took the chief command in Strabo's stead;\nbut a few days afterwards he was killed by the soldiers, and Strabo\nreturned to the command which he had hardly abdicated.  He was\nregarded as the instigator of the murder; it is certain that he\nwas a man from whom such a deed might be expected, that he reaped the\nfruits of the crime, and that he punished the well-known originators\nof it only with words.  The removal of Rufus and the commandership of\nStrabo formed a new and serious danger for Sulla; yet he did nothing\nto deprive the latter of his command.  Soon afterwards, when his\nconsulship expired, he found himself on the one hand urged by his\nsuccessor Cinna to depart at length for Asia where his presence was\ncertainly urgently needed, and on the other hand cited by one of\nthe new tribunes before the bar of the people; it was clear to\nthe dullest eye, that a new attack on him and his party was in\npreparation, and that his opponents wished his removal.  Sulla had\nno alternative save either to push the matter to a breach with Cinna\nand perhaps with Strabo and once more to march on Rome, or to leave\nItalian affairs to take their course and to remove to another\ncontinent.  Sulla decided--whether more from patriotism or more from\nindifference, will never be ascertained--for the latter alternative;\nhanded over the corps left behind in Samnium to the trustworthy and\nexperienced soldier, Quintus Metellus Pius, who was invested in\nSulla's stead with the proconsular commandership-in-chief over Lower\nItaly; gave the conduct of the siege of Nola to the propraetor Appius\nClaudius; and in the beginning of 667 embarked with his legions for\nthe Hellenic East.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VIII\n\nThe East and King Mithradates\n\nState of the East\n\nThe state of breathless excitement, in which the revolution kept\nthe Roman government by perpetually renewing the alarm of fire and\nthe cry to quench it, made them lose sight of provincial matters\ngenerally; and that most of all in the case of the Asiatic lands,\nwhose remote and unwarlike nations did not thrust themselves so\ndirectly on the attention of the government as Africa, Spain, and\nits Transalpine neighbours.  After the annexation of the kingdom of\nAttalus, which took place contemporaneously with the outbreak of\nthe revolution, for a whole generation there is hardly any evidence\nof Rome taking a serious part in Oriental affairs--with the exception\nof the establishment of the province of Cilicia in 652,(1) to which\nthe Romans were driven by the boundless audacity of the Cilician\npirates, and which was in reality nothing more than the institution\nof a permanent station for a small division of the Roman army and\nfleet in the eastern waters.  It was not till the downfall of Marius\nin 654 had in some measure consolidated the government of the\nrestoration, that the Roman authorities began anew to bestow\nsome attention on the events in the east\n\nCyrene Romans\n\nIn many respects matters still stood as they had done thirty years\nago.  The kingdom of Egypt with its two appendages of Cyrene and\nCyprus was broken up, partly de jure, partly de facto, on the death\nof Euergetes II (637).  Cyrene went to his natural son, Ptolemaeus\nApion, and was for ever separated from Egypt.  The sovereignty of\nthe latter formed a subject of contention between the widow of\nthe last king Cleopatra (665), and his two sons Soter II Lathyrus\n(673) and Alexander I (666); which gave occasion to Cyprus also to\nseparate itself for a considerable period from Egypt.  The Romans\ndid not interfere in these complications; in fact, when the\nCyrenaean kingdom fell to them in 658 by the testament of the\nchildless king Apion, while not directly rejecting the acquisition,\nthey left the country in substance to itself by declaring the Greek\ntowns of the kingdom, Cyrene, Ptolemais, and Berenice, free cities\nand even handing over to them the use of the royal domains.\nThe supervision of the governor of Africa over this territory was\nfrom its remoteness merely nominal, far more so than that of the\ngovernor of Macedonia over the Hellenic free cities.  The consequences\nof this measure--which beyond doubt originated not in Philhellenism,\nbut simply in the weakness and negligence of the Roman government--\nwere substantially similar to those which had occurred under the like\ncircumstances in Hellas; civil wars and usurpations so rent the land\nthat, when a Roman officer of rank accidentally made his appearance\nthere in 668, the inhabitants urgently besought him to regulate\ntheir affairs and to establish a permanent government among them.\n\nIn Syria also during the interval there had not been much change,\nand still less any improvement.  During the twenty years' war of\nsuccession between the two half-brothers Antiochus Grypus (658) and\nAntiochus of Cyzicus(659), which after their death was inherited by\ntheir sons, the kingdom which was the object of contention became\nalmost an empty name, inasmuch as the Cilician sea-kings, the Arab\nsheiks of the Syrian desert, the princes of the Jews, and the\nmagistrates of the larger towns had ordinarily more to say than the\nwearers of the diadem.  Meanwhile the Romans established themselves\nin western Cilicia, and the important Mesopotamia passed over\ndefinitively to the Parthians.\n\nThe Parthian State\nArmenia\n\nThe monarchy of the Arsacids had to pass through a dangerous crisis\nabout the time of the Gracchi, chiefly in consequence of the inroads\nof Turanian tribes.  The ninth Arsacid, Mithradates II or the Great\n(630?-667?), had recovered for the state its position of ascendency\nin the interior of Asia, repulsed the Scythians, and advanced the\nfrontier of the kingdom towards Syria and Armenia; but towards the\nend of his life new troubles disturbed his reign; and, while the\ngrandees of the kingdom including his own brother Orodes rebelled\nagainst the king and at length that brother overthrew him and had\nput him to death, the hitherto unimportant Armenia rose into power.\nThis country, which since its declaration of independence(2) had\nbeen divided into the north-eastern portion or Armenia proper, the\nkingdom of the Artaxiads, and the south-western or Sophene, the\nkingdom of the Zariadrids, was for the first time united into one\nkingdom by the Artaxiad Tigranes (who had reigned since 660); and\nthis doubling of his power on the one hand, and the weakness of the\nParthian rule on the other, enabled the new king of all Armenia not\nonly to free himself from dependence on the Parthians and to recover\nthe provinces formerly ceded to them, but even to bring to Armenia\nthe titular supremacy of Asia, as it had passed from the Achaemenids\nto the Seleucids and from the Seleucids to the Arsacids.\n\nAsia Minor\n\nLastly in Asia Minor the territorial arrangements, which had been\nmade under Roman influence after the dissolution of the kingdom of\nAttalus,(3) still subsisted in the main unchanged.  In the condition\nof the dependent states--the kingdoms of Bithynia, Cappadocia,\nPontus, the principalities of Paphlagonia and Galatia, the numerous\ncity-leagues and free towns--no outward change was at first\ndiscernible.  But, intrinsically, the character of the Roman rule\nhad certainly undergone everywhere a material alteration.  Partly\nthrough the constant growth of oppression naturally incident to every\ntyrannic government, partly through the indirect operation of the\nRoman revolution--in the seizure, for instance, of the property of\nthe soil in the province of Asia by Gaius Gracchus, in the Roman\ntenths and customs, and in the human hunts which the collectors of\nthe revenue added to their other avocations there--the Roman rule,\nbarely tolerable even from the first, pressed so heavily on Asia\nthat neither the crown of the king nor the hut of the peasant there\nwas any longer safe from confiscation, that every stalk of corn\nseemed to grow for the Roman -decumanus-, and every child of free\nparents seemed to be born for the Roman slave-drivers.  It is true\nthat the Asiatic bore even this torture with his inexhaustible\npassive endurance; but it was not patience and reflection that\nmade him bear it peacefully.  It was rather the peculiarly Oriental\nlack of initiative; and in these peaceful lands, amidst these\neffeminate nations, strange and terrible things might happen,\nif once there should appear among them a man who knew how to\ngive the signal for revolt.\n\nMithradates Eupator\n\nThere reigned at that time in the kingdom of Pontus Mithradates VI\nsurnamed Eupator (born about 624, 691) who traced back his lineage on\nthe father's side in the sixteenth generation to king Darius the son\nof Hystaspes and in the eighth to Mithradates I the founder of the\nPontic kingdom, and was on the mother's side descended from the\nAlexandrids and the Seleucids.  After the early death of his father\nMithradates Euergetes, who fell by the hand of an assassin at Sinope,\nhe had received the title of king about 634, when a boy of eleven\nyears of age; but the diadem brought to him only trouble and danger.\nHis guardians, and even as it would seem his own mother called to\ntake a part in the government by his father's will, conspired against\nthe boy-king's life.  It is said that, in order to escape from the\ndaggers of his legal protectors, he became of his own accord a\nwanderer, and during seven years, changing his resting-place night\nafter night, a fugitive in his own kingdom, led the homeless life\nof a hunter.  Thus the boy grew into a powerful man.  Although our\naccounts regarding him are in substance traceable to written\nrecords of contemporaries, yet the legendary tradition, which is\ngenerated in the east with the rapidity of lightning, early adorned\nthe mighty king with many of the traits of its Samsons and Rustems.\nThese traits, however, belong to the character, just as the crown of\nclouds belongs to the character of the highest mountain-peaks; the\noutlines of the figure appear in both cases only more  and\nfantastic, not disturbed or essentially altered.  The armour, which\nfitted the gigantic frame of king Mithradates, excited the wonder of\nthe Asiatics and still more that of the Italians.  As a runner he\novertook the swiftest deer; as a rider he broke in the wild steed,\nand was able by changing horses to accomplish 120 miles in a day;\nas a charioteer he drove with sixteen in hand, and gained in\ncompetition many a prize--it was dangerous, no doubt, in such sport\nto carry off victory from the king.  In hunting on horseback, he hit\nthe game at full gallop and never missed his aim.  He challenged\ncompetition at table also--he arranged banqueting matches and carried\noff in person the prizes proposed for the most substantial eater and\nthe hardest drinker--and not less so in the pleasures of the harem,\nas was shown among other things by the licentious letters of his Greek\nmistresses, which were found among his papers.  His intellectual\nwants he satisfied by the wildest superstition--the interpretation of\ndreams and the Greek mysteries occupied not a few of the king's hours--\nand by a rude adoption of Hellenic civilization.  He was fond of\nGreek art and music; that is to say, he collected precious articles,\nrich furniture, old Persian and Greek objects of luxury--his cabinet\nof rings was famous--he had constantly Greek historians, philosophers,\nand poets in his train, and proposed prizes at his court-festivals not\nonly for the greatest eaters and drinkers, but also for the merriest\njester and the best singer.  Such was the man; the sultan\ncorresponded.  In the east, where the relation between the ruler\nand the ruled bears the character of natural rather than of moral\nlaw, the subject resembles the dog alike in fidelity and in\nfalsehood, the ruler is cruel and distrustful.  In both respects\nMithradates has hardly been surpassed.  By his orders there died\nor pined in perpetual captivity for real or alleged treason his\nmother, his brother, his sister espoused to him, three of his sons\nand as many of his daughters.  Still more revolting perhaps is the\nfact, that among his secret papers were found sentences of death,\ndrawn up beforehand, against several of his most confidential\nservants.  In like manner it was a genuine trait of the sultan, that\nhe afterwards, for the mere purpose of withdrawing from his enemies\nthe trophies of victory, caused his two Greek wives, his sister and\nhis whole harem to be put to death, and merely left to the women\nthe choice of the mode of dying.  He prosecuted the experimental\nstudy of poisons and antidotes as an important branch of the\nbusiness of government, and tried to inure his body to particular\npoisons.  He had early learned to look for treason and assassination\nat the hands of everybody and especially of his nearest relatives,\nand he had early learned to practise them against everybody and\nmost of all against those nearest to him; of which the necessary\nconsequence--attested by all his history--was, that all his\nundertakings finally miscarried through the perfidy of those whom\nhe trusted.  At the same time we doubtless meet with isolated\ntraits of high-minded justice: when he punished traitors, he\nordinarily spared those who had become involved in the crime simply\nfrom their personal relations with the leading culprit; but such fits\nof equity are not wholly wanting in every barbarous tyrant.  What\nreally distinguishes Mithradates amidst the multitude of similar\nsultans, is his boundless activity.  He disappeared one fine morning\nfrom his palace and remained unheard of for months, so that he was\ngiven over as lost; when he returned, he had wandered incognito\nthrough all western Asia and reconnoitred everywhere the country\nand the people.  In like manner he was not only in general a man of\nfluent speech, but he administered justice to each of the twenty-two\nnations over which he ruled in its own language without needing\nan interpreter--a trait significant of the versatile ruler of\nthe many-tongued east.  His whole activity as a ruler bears\nthe same character.  So far as we know (for our authorities are\nunfortunately altogether silent as to his internal administration)\nhis energies, like those of every other sultan, were spent in\ncollecting treasures, in assembling armies--which were usually,\nin his earlier years at least, led against the enemy not by the king\nin person, but by some Greek -condottiere---in efforts to add new\nsatrapies to the old.  Of higher elements--desire to advance\ncivilization, earnest leadership of the national opposition, special\ngifts of genius--there are found, in our traditional accounts at\nleast, no distinct traces in Mithradates, and we have no reason to\nplace him on a level even with the great rulers of the Osmans, such\nas Mohammed II and Suleiman.  Notwithstanding his Hellenic culture,\nwhich sat on him not much better than the Roman armour sat on his\nCappadocians, he was throughout an Oriental of the ordinary stamp,\ncoarse, full of the most sensual appetites, superstitious, cruel,\nperfidious, and unscrupulous, but so vigorous in organization, so\npowerful in physical endowments, that his defiant laying about him\nand his unshaken courage in resistance look frequently like talent,\nsometimes even like genius.  Granting that during the death-struggle\nof the republic it was easier to offer resistance to Rome than in the\ntimes of Scipio or Trajan, and that it was only the complication of the\nAsiatic events with the internal commotions of Italy which rendered\nit possible for Mithradates to resist the Romans twice as long as\nJugurtha did, it remains nevertheless true that before the Parthian\nwars he was the only enemy who gave serious trouble to the Romans in\nthe east, and that he defended himself against them as the lion of the\ndesert defends himself against the hunter.  Still we are not entitled,\nin accordance with what we know, to recognize in him more than the\nresistance to be expected from so vigorous a nature.  But, whatever\njudgment we may form as to the individual character of the king,\nhis historical position remains in a high degree significant.\nThe Mithradatic wars formed at once the last movement of the political\nopposition offered by Hellas to Rome, and the beginning of a revolt\nagainst the Roman supremacy resting on very different and far deeper\ngrounds of antagonism--the national reaction of the Asiatics against\nthe Occidentals.  The empire of Mithradates was, like himself,\nOriental; polygamy and the system of the harem prevailed at court\nand generally among persons of rank; the religion of the inhabitants\nof the country as well as the official religion of the court was\npre-eminently the old national worship; the Hellenism there was\nlittle different from the Hellenism of the Armenian Tigranids and\nthe Arsacids of the Parthian empire.  The Greeks of Asia Minor\nmight imagine for a brief moment that they had found in this king a\nsupport for their political dreams; his battles were really fought\nfor matters very different from those which were decided on the fields\nof Magnesia and Pydna.  They formed--after a long truce--a new\npassage in the huge duel between the west and the east, which has\nbeen transmitted from the conflicts at Marathon to the present\ngeneration and will perhaps reckon its future by thousands of\nyears as it has reckoned its past.\n\nThe Nationalities of Asia Minor\n\nManifest however as is the foreign and un-Hellenic character of\nthe whole life and action of the Cappadocian king, it is difficult\ndefinitely to specify the national element preponderating in it,\nnor will research perhaps ever succeed in getting beyondbgeneralities\nor in attaining clear views on this point.  In the whole circle\nof ancient civilization there is no region where the stocks\nsubsisting side by side or crossing each other were so numerous,\nso heterogeneous, so variously from the remotest times intermingled,\nand where in consequence the relations of the nationalities were\nless clear than in Asia Minor.  The Semitic population continued in\nan unbroken chain from Syria to Cyprus and Cilicia, and to it the\noriginal stock of the population along the west coast in the regions\nof Caria and Lydia seems also to have belonged, while the north-\nwestern point was occupied by the Bithynians, who were akin to\nthe Thracians in Europe.  The interior and the north coast, on\nthe other hand, were filled chiefly by Indo-Germanic peoples most\nnearly cognate to the Iranian.  In the case of the Armenian and\nPhrygian languages(4) it is ascertained, in that of the Cappadocian\nit is highly probable, that they had immediate affinity with the Zend;\nand the statement made as to the Mysians, that among them the Lydian\nand Phrygian languages met, just denotes a mixed Semitic-Iranian\npopulation that may be compared perhaps with that of Assyria.  As to\nthe regions stretching between Cilicia and Caria, more especially\nLydia, there is still, notwithstanding the full remains of the\nnative language and writing that are in this particular instance\nextant, a want of assured results, and it is merely probable that\nthese tribes ought to be reckoned among the Indo-Germans rather\nthan the Semites.  How all this confused mass of peoples was\noverlaid first with a net of Greek mercantile cities, and then\nwith the Hellenism called into life by the military as well\nas intellectual ascendency of the Greek nation, has been set\nforth in outline already.\n\nPontus\n\nIn these regions ruled king Mithradates, and that first of all in\nCappadocia on the Black Sea or Pontus as it was called, a district\nin which, situated as it was at the northeastern extremity of Asia\nMinor towards Armenia and in constant contact with the latter, the\nIranian nationality presumably preserved itself with less admixture\nthan anywhere else in Asia Minor.  Not even Hellenism had penetrated\nfar into that region.  With the exception of the coast where several\noriginally Greek settlements subsisted--especially the important\ncommercial marts Trapezus, Amisus, and above all Sinope, the birthplace\nand residence of Mithradates and the most flourishing city of the\nempire--the country was still in a very primitive condition.  Not that\nit had lain waste; on the contrary, as the region of Pontus is still\none of the most fertile on the face of the earth, with its fields of\ngrain alternating with forests of wild fruit trees, it was beyond\ndoubt even in the time of Mithradates well cultivated and also\ncomparatively populous.  But there were hardly any towns properly\nso called; the country possessed nothing but strongholds, which\nserved the peasants as places of refuge and the king as treasuries\nfor the custody of the revenues which accrued to him; in the Lesser\nArmenia alone, in fact, there were counted seventy-five of these\nlittle royal forts.  We do not find that Mithradates materially\ncontributed to promote the growth of towns in his empire; and situated\nas he was,--in practical, though not perhaps on his own part quite\nconscious, reaction against Hellenism,--this is easily conceivable.\n\nAcquisitions of Territory by Mithradates\nColchis\nNorthern Shores of the Black Sea\n\nHe appears more actively employed--likewise quite in the Oriental\nstyle--in enlarging on all sides his kingdom, which was even then not\nsmall, though its compass is probably over-stated at 2300 miles; we find\nhis armies, his fleets, and his envoys busy along the Black Sea as well\nas towards Armenia and towards Asia Minor.  But nowhere did so free and\nample an arena present itself to him as on the eastern and northern\nshores of the Black Sea, the state of which at that time we must not\nomit to glance at, however difficult or in fact impossible it is to\ngive a really distinct idea of it.  On the eastern coast of the Black\nSea--which, previously almost unknown, was first opened up to more\ngeneral knowledge by Mithradates--the region of Colchis on the\nPhasis (Mingrelia and Imeretia) with the important commercial town\nof Dioscurias was wrested from the native princes and converted into\na satrapy of Pontus.  Of still greater moment were his enterprises in\nthe northern regions.(5)  The wide steppes destitute of hills and\ntrees, which stretch to the north of the Black Sea, of the Caucasus,\nand of the Caspian, are by reason of their natural conditions--more\nespecially from the variations of temperature fluctuating between\nthe climate of Stockholm and that of Madeira, and from the absolute\ndestitution of rain or snow which occurs not unfrequently and lasts\nfor a period of twenty-two months or longer--little adapted for\nagriculture or for permanent settlement at all; and they always were\nso, although two thousand years ago the state of the climate was\npresumably somewhat less unfavourable than it is at the present\nday.(6)  The various tribes, whose wandering impulse led them into\nthese regions, submitted to this ordinance of nature and led (and still\nto some extent lead) a wandering pastoral life with their herds of oxen\nor still more frequently of horses, changing their places of abode and\npasture, and carrying their effects along with them in waggon-houses.\nTheir equipment and style of fighting were consonant to this mode of\nlife; the inhabitants of these steppes fought in great measure on\nhorseback and always in loose array, equipped with helmet and coat\nof mail of leather and leather-covered shield, armed with sword,\nlance, and bow--the ancestors of the modern Cossacks.  The Scythians\noriginally settled there, who seem to have been of Mongolian race\nand akin in their habits and physical appearance to the present\ninhabitants of Siberia, had been followed up by Sarmatian tribes\nadvancing from east to west,--Sauromatae, Roxolani, Jazyges,--who are\ncommonly reckoned of Slavonian descent, although the proper names, which\nwe are entitled to ascribe to them, show more affinity with Median\nand Persian names and those peoples perhaps belonged rather to the\ngreat Zend stock.  Thracian tribes moved in the opposite direction,\nparticularly the Getae, who reached as far as the Dniester.  Between\nthe two there intruded themselves--probably as offsets of the great\nGermanic migration, the main body of which seems not to have touched\nthe Black Sea--the Celts, as they were called, on the Dnieper, the\nBastarnae in the same quarter, and the Peucini at the mouth of the\nDanube.  A state, in the proper sense, was nowhere formed; every\ntribe lived by itself under its princes and elders.\n\nHellenism in That Quarter\n\nIn sharp contrast to all these barbarians stood the Hellenic\nsettlements, which at the time of the mighty impetus given to Greek\ncommerce had been founded chiefly by the efforts of Miletus on these\ncoasts, partly as trading-marts, partly as stations for prosecuting\nimportant fisheries and even for agriculture, for which, as we have\nalready said, the north-western shores of the Black Sea presented in\nantiquity conditions less unfavourable than at the present day.\nFor the use of the soil the Hellenes paid here, like the Phoenicians\nin Libya, tax and ground-rent to the native rulers.  The most important\nof these settlements were the free city of Chersonesus (not far from\nSebastopol), built on the territory of the Scythians in the Tauric\npeninsula (Crimea), and maintaining itself in moderate prosperity,\nunder circumstances far from favourable, by virtue of its good\nconstitution and the public spirit of its citizens; and Panticapaeum\n(Kertch) at the opposite side of the peninsula on the straits leading\nfrom the Black Sea to the Sea of Azov, governed since the year 457\nby hereditary burgomasters, afterwards called kings of the Bosporus,\nthe Archaeanactidae, Spartocidae, and Paerisadae.  The culture of\ncorn and the fisheries of the Sea of Azov had rapidly raised the\ncity to prosperity.  Its territory still in the time of Mithradates\nembraced the lesser eastern division of the Crimea including the town\nof Theodosia, and on the opposite Asiatic continent the town of\nPhanagoria and the district of Sindica.  In better times the lords\nof Panticapaeum had by land ruled the peoples on the east coast\nof the Sea of Azov and the valley of the Kuban, and had commanded\nthe Black Sea with their fleet; but Panticapaeum was no longer what\nit had been.  Nowhere was the sad decline of the Hellenic nation felt\nmore deeply than at these distant outposts.  Athens in its good times\nhad been the only Greek state which fulfilled there the duties of a\nleading power--duties which certainly were specially brought home to\nthe Athenians by their need of Pontic grain.  After the downfall of\nthe Attic maritime power these regions were, on the whole, left to\nthemselves.  The Greek land-powers never got so far as to intervene\nseriously there, although Philip the father of Alexander and\nLysimachus sometimes attempted it; and the Romans, on whom with the\nconquest of Macedonia and Asia Minor devolved the political obligation\nof becoming the strong protectors of Greek civilization at the point\nwhere it needed such protection, utterly neglected the summons of\ninterest as well as of honour.  The fall of Sinope, the decline of\nRhodes, completed the isolation of the Hellenes on the northern\nshore of the Black Sea.  A vivid picture of their position with\nreference to the roving barbarians is given to us by an inscription\nof Olbia (near Oczakow not far from the mouth of the Dnieper), which\napparently may be placed not long before the time of Mithradates.\nThe citizens had not only to send annual tribute to the court-camp\nof the barbarian king, but also to make him a gift when he encamped\nbefore the town or even simply passed by, and in a similar way to\nbuy off minor chieftains and in fact sometimes the whole horde with\npresents; and it fared ill with them if the gift appeared too small.\nThe treasury of the town was bankrupt and they had to pledge the\ntemple-jewels.  Meanwhile the savage tribes were thronging without in\nfront of the gates; the territory was laid waste, the field-labourers\nwere dragged away en masse, and, what was worst of all, the weaker\nof their barbarian neighbours, the Scythians, sought, in order\nto shelter themselves from the pressure of the more savage Celts,\nto obtain possession of the walled town, so that numerous\ncitizens were leaving it and the inhabitants already contemplated\nits entire surrender.\n\nMithradates Master of the Bosphoran Kingdom\n\nSuch was the state in which Mithradates found matters, when his\nMacedonian phalanx crossing the ridge of the Caucasus descended into\nthe valleys of the Kuban and Terek and his fleet at the same time\nappeared in the Crimean waters.  No wonder that here too, as had\nalready been the case in Dioscurias, the Hellenes everywhere received\nthe king of Pontus with open arms and regarded the half-Hellene and\nhis Cappadocians armed in Greek fashion as their deliverers.  What\nRome had here neglected, became apparent.  The demands on the rulers\nof Panticapaeum for tribute had just then been raised to an exorbitant\nheight; the town of Chersonesus found itself hard pressed by Scilurus\nking of the Scythians dwelling in the peninsula and his fifty sons;\nthe former were glad to surrender their hereditary lordship, and\nthe latter their long-preserved freedom, in order to save their\nlast possession, their Hellenism.  It was not in vain.  Mithradates'\nbrave generals, Diophantus and Neoptolemus, and his disciplined troops\neasily got the better of the peoples of the steppes.  Neoptolemus\ndefeated them at the straits of Panticapaeum partly by water, partly\nin winter on the ice; Chersonesus was delivered, the strongholds of\nthe Taurians were broken, and the possession of the peninsula was\nsecured by judiciously constructed fortresses.  Diophantus marched\nagainst the Reuxinales or, as they were afterwards called, the Roxolani\n(between the Dnieper and Don) who came forward to the aid of the Taurians;\n50,000 of them fled before his 6000 phalangites, and the Pontic arms\npenetrated as far as the Dnieper.(7)  Thus Mithradates acquired here\na second kingdom combined with that of Pontus and, like the latter,\nmainly based on a number of Greek commercial towns.  It was called\nthe kingdom of the Bosporus; it embraced the modern Crimea with the\nopposite Asiatic promontory, and annually furnished to the royal\nchests and magazines 200 talents (48,000 pounds) and 270,000 bushels\nof grain.  The tribes of the steppe themselves from the north <DW72>\nof the Caucasus to the mouth of the Danube entered, at least in great\npart, into relations of dependence on, or treaty with, the Pontic\nking and, if they furnished him with no other aid, afforded at any\nrate an inexhaustible field for recruiting his armies.\n\nLesser Armenia\nAlliance with Tigranes\n\nWhile thus the most important successes were gained towards the north,\nthe king at the same time extended his dominions towards the east and\nthe west.  The Lesser Armenia was annexed by him and converted from a\ndependent principality into an integral part of the Pontic kingdom;\nbut still more important was the close connection which he formed with\nthe king of the Greater Armenia.  He not only gave his daughter\nCleopatra in marriage to Tigranes, but it was mainly through his\nsupport that Tigranes shook off the yoke of the Arsacids and took\ntheir place in Asia.  An agreement seems to have been made between\nthe two to the effect that Tigranes should take in hand to occupy\nSyria and the interior of Asia, and Mithradates Asia Minor and\nthe coasts of the Black Sea, under promise of mutual support;\nand it was beyond doubt the more active and capable Mithradates\nwho brought about this agreement with a view to cover his rear\nand to secure a powerful ally.\n\nPaphlagonia and Cappadocia Acquired\n\nLastly, in Asia Minor the king turned his eyes towards the interior\nof Paphlagonia--the coast had for long belonged to the Pontic empire--\nand towards Cappadocia.(8)  The former was claimed on the part of\nPontus as having been bequeathed by the testament of the last of\nthe Pylaemenids to king Mithradates Euergetes: against this, however,\nlegitimate or illegitimate pretenders and the land itself protested.\nAs to Cappadocia, the Pontic rulers had not forgotten that this\ncountry and Cappadocia on the sea had been formerly united, and\ncontinually cherished ideas of reunion.  Paphlagonia was occupied by\nMithradates in concert with Nicomedes king of Bithynia, with whom he\nshared the land.  When the senate raised objections to this course,\nMithradates yielded to its remonstrance, while Nicomedes equipped one\nof his sons with the name of Pylaemenes and under this title retained\nthe country to himself.  The policy of the allies adopted still worse\nexpedients in Cappadocia.  King Ariarathes VI was killed by Gordius,\nit was said by the orders, at any rate in the interest, of Ariarathes'\nbrother-in-law Mithradates Eupator: his young son Ariarathes knew no\nmeans of meeting the encroachments of the king of Bithynia except\nthe ambiguous help of his uncle, in return for which the latter then\nsuggested to him that he should allow the murderer of his father,\nwho had taken flight, to return to Cappadocia.  This led to a rupture\nand to war; but when the two armies confronted each other ready for\nbattle, the uncle requested a previous conference with the nephew and\nthereupon cut down the unarmed youth with his own hand.  Gordius, the\nmurderer of the father, then undertook the government by the directions\nof Mithradates; and although the indignant population rose against\nhim and called the younger son of the last king to the throne, the\nlatter was unable to offer any permanent resistance to the superior\nforces of Mithradates.  The speedy death of the youth placed by the\npeople on the throne gave to the Pontic king the greater liberty of\naction, because with that youth the Cappadocian royal house became\nextinct.  A pseudo-Ariarathes was proclaimed as nominal regent,\njust as had been done in Paphlagonia; under whose name Gordius\nadministered the kingdom as lieutenant of Mithradates.\n\nEmpire of Mithradates\n\nMightier than any native monarch for many a day had been,\nMithradates bore rule alike over the northern and the southern\nshores of the Black Sea and far into the interior of Asia Minor.\nThe resources of the king for war by land and by sea seemed\nimmeasurable.  His recruiting field stretched from the mouth of\nthe Danube to the Caucasus and the Caspian Sea; Thracians, Scythians,\nSauromatae, Bastarnae, Colchians, Iberians (in the modern Georgia)\ncrowded under his banners; above all he recruited his war-hosts from\nthe brave Bastarnae.  For his fleet the satrapy of Colchis supplied\nhim with the most excellent timber, which was floated down from the\nCaucasus, besides flax, hemp, pitch, and wax; pilots and officers\nwere hired in Phoenicia and Syria.  The king, it was said, had\nmarched into Cappadocia with 600 scythe-chariots, 10,000 horse,\n80,000 foot; and he had by no means mustered for this war all his\nresources.  In the absence of any Roman or other naval power worth\nmentioning, the Pontic fleet, with Sinope and the ports of the Crimea\nas its rallying points, had exclusive command of the Black Sea.\n\nThe Romans and Mithradates\nIntervention of the Senate\n\nThat the Roman senate asserted its general policy--of keeping down\nthe states more or less dependent on it--also in dealing with that\nof Pontus, is shown by its attitude on occasion of the succession to\nthe throne after the sudden death of Mithradates V.  From the boy in\nminority who followed him there was taken away Great Phrygia, which\nhad been conferred on his father for his taking part in the war\nagainst Aristonicus or rather for his good money,(9) and this region\nwas added to the territory immediately subject to Rome.(10)  But,\nafter this boy had at length attained majority, the same senate\nshowed utter passiveness towards his aggressions on all sides and\ntowards the formation of this imposing power, the development of\nwhich occupies perhaps a period of twenty years.  It was passive,\nwhile one of its dependent states became developed into a great\nmilitary power, having at command more than a hundred thousand\narmed men; while the ruler of that state entered into the closest\nconnection with the new great-king of the east, who was placed partly\nby his aid at the head of the states in the interior of Asia; while\nhe annexed the neighbouring Asiatic kingdoms and principalities under\npretexts which sounded almost like a mockery of the ill-informed\nand far-distant protecting power; while, in fine, he even\nestablished himself in Europe and ruled as king over the Tauric\npeninsula, and as lord-protector almost to the Macedono-Thracian\nfrontier.  These circumstances indeed formed the subject of\ndiscussion in the senate; but when the illustrious corporation\nconsoled itself in the affair of the Paphlagonian succession with\nthe fact that Nicomedes appealed to his pseudo-Pylaemenes, it was\nevidently not so much deceived as grateful for any pretext which\nspared it from serious interference.  Meanwhile the complaints\nbecame daily more numerous and more urgent.  The princes of the\nTauric Scythians, whom Mithradates had driven from the Crimea,\nturned for help to Rome; those of the senators who at all reflected\non the traditional maxims of Roman policy could not but recollect\nthat formerly, under circumstances so wholly different, the crossing\nof king Antiochus to Europe and the occupation of the Thracian\nChersonese by his troops had become the signal for the Asiatic\nwar,(11) and could not but see that the occupation of the Tauric\nChersonese by the Pontic king ought still less to be tolerated now.\nThe scale was at last turned by the practical reunion of the kingdom\nof Cappadocia, respecting which, moreover, Nicomedes of Bithynia--\nwho on his part had hoped to gain possession of Cappadocia by\nanother pseudo-Ariarathes, and now saw that the Pontic pretender\nexcluded his own--would hardly fail to urge the Roman government to\nintervention.  The senate resolved that Mithradates should reinstate\nthe Scythian princes--so far were they driven out of the track of\nright policy by their negligent style of government, that instead of\nsupporting the Hellenes against the barbarians they had now on the\ncontrary to support the Scythians against those who were half their\ncountrymen.  Paphlagonia was declared independent, and the pseudo-\nPylaemenes of Nicomedes was directed to evacuate the country.\nIn like manner the pseudo-Ariarathes of Mithradates was to retire\nfrom Cappadocia, and, as the representatives of the country refused\nthe freedom proffered to it, a king was once more to be appointed\nby free popular election.\n\nSulla Sent to Cappadocia\n\nThe decrees sounded energetic enough; only it was an error, that\ninstead of sending an army they directed the governor of Cilicia,\nLucius Sulla, with the handful of troops whom he commanded there\nagainst the pirates and robbers, to intervene in Cappadocia.\nFortunately the remembrance of the former energy of the Romans\ndefended their interests in the east better than their present\ngovernment did, and the energy and dexterity of the governor supplied\nwhat the senate lacked in both respects.  Mithradates kept back and\ncontented himself with inducing Tigranes the great-king of Armenia,\nwho held a more free position with reference to the Romans than he\ndid, to send troops to Cappadocia.  Sulla quickly collected his\nforces and the contingents of the Asiatic allies, crossed the\nTaurus, and drove the governor Gordius along with his Armenian\nauxiliaries out of Cappadocia.  This proved effectual.  Mithradates\nyielded on all points; Gordius had to assume the blame of the\nCappadocian troubles, and the pseudo-Ariarathes disappeared;\nthe election of king, which the Pontic faction had vainly\nattempted to direct towards Gordius, fell on the respected\nCappadocian Ariobarzanes.\n\nFirst Contact between the Romans and the Parthians\n\nWhen Sulla in following out his expedition arrived in the region of\nthe Euphrates, in whose waters the Roman standards were then first\nmirrored, the Romans came for the first time into contact with the\nParthians, who in consequence of the variance between them and Tigranes\nhad occasion to make approaches to the Romans.  On both sides there\nseemed a feeling that it was of some moment, in this first contact\nbetween the two great powers of the east and the west, that neither\nshould renounce its claims to the sovereignty of the world; but Sulla,\nbolder than the Parthian envoy, assumed and maintained in the\nconference the place of honour between the king of Cappadocia and\nthe Parthian ambassador.  Sulla's fame was more increased by this\ngreatly celebrated conference on the Euphrates than by his victories\nin the east; on its account the Parthian envoy afterwards forfeited\nhis life to his masters resentment.  But for the moment this contact\nhad no further result.  Nicomedes in reliance on the favour of\nthe Romans omitted to evacuate Paphlagonia, but the decrees adopted\nby the senate against Mithradates were carried further into effect,\nthe reinstatement of the Scythian chieftains was at least promised by\nhim; the earlier status quo in the east seemed to be restored (662).\n\nNew Aggressions of Mithradates\n\nSo it was alleged; but in fact there was little trace of any real\nreturn of the former order of things.  Scarce had Sulla left Asia,\nwhen Tigranes king of Great Armenia fell upon Ariobarzanes the new\nking of Cappadocia, expelled him, and reinstated in his stead the\nPontic pretender Ariarathes.  In Bithynia, where after the death\nof the old king Nicomedes II (about 663) his son Nicomedes III\nPhilopator had been recognized by the people and by the Roman senate\nas legitimate king, his younger brother Socrates came forward as\npretender to the crown and possessed himself of the sovereignty.\nIt was clear that the real author of the Cappadocian as of the Bithynian\ntroubles was no other than Mithradates, although he refrained from\ntaking any open part.  Every one knew that Tigranes only acted at\nhis beck; but Socrates also had marched into Bithynia with Pontic\ntroops, and the legitimate king's life was threatened by the\nassassins of Mithradates.  In the Crimea even and the neighbouring\ncountries the Pontic king had no thought of receding, but on the\ncontrary carried his arms farther and farther.\n\nAquillius Sent to Asia\n\nThe Roman government, appealed to for aid by the kings Ariobarzanes\nand Nicomedes in person, despatched to Asia Minor in support of\nLucius Cassius who was governor there the consular Manius Aquillius--\nan officer tried in the Cimbrian and Sicilian wars--not, however,\nas general at the head of an army, but as an ambassador, and\ndirected the Asiatic client states and Mithradates in particular\nto lend armed assistance in case of need.  The result was as\nit had been two years before.  The Roman officer accomplished the\ncommission entrusted to him with the aid of the small Roman corps\nwhich the governor of the province of Asia had at his disposal, and\nof the levy of the Phrygians and Galatians; king Nicomedes and king\nAriobarzanes again ascended their tottering thrones; Mithradates\nunder various pretexts evaded the summons to furnish contingents,\nbut gave to the Romans no open resistance; on the contrary\nthe Bithynian pretender Socrates was even put to death by\nhis orders (664).\n\nThe State of Things Intermediate between War and Peace\n\nIt was a singular complication.  Mithradates was fully convinced\nthat he could do nothing against the Romans in open conflict, and\nwas therefore firmly resolved not to allow matters to come to an\nopen rupture and war with them.  Had he not been so resolved, there\nwas no more favourable opportunity for beginning the struggle than\nthe present: just at the time when Aquillius marched into Bithynia\nand Cappadocia, the Italian insurrection was at the height of its\npower and might encourage even the weak to declare against Rome;\nyet Mithradates allowed the year 664 to pass without profiting by\nthe opportunity.  Nevertheless he pursued with equal tenacity and\nactivity his plan of extending his territory in Asia Minor.  This\nstrange combination of a policy of peace at any price with a policy\nof conquest was certainly in itself untenable, and was simply a\nfresh proof that Mithradates did not belong to the class of genuine\nstatesmen; he knew neither how to prepare for conflict like king\nPhilip nor how to submit like king Attalus, but in the true style\nof a sultan was perpetually fluctuating between a greedy desire of\nconquest and the sense of his own weakness.  But even in this point\nof view his proceedings can only be understood, when we recollect\nthat Mithradates had become acquainted by twenty years' experience\nwith the Roman policy of that day.  He knew very well that the Roman\ngovernment were far from desirous of war; that they in fact, looking\nto the serious danger which threatened their rule from any general\nof reputation, and with the fresh remembrance of the Cimbrian war\nand Marius, dreaded war still more if possible than he did himself.\nHe acted accordingly.  He was not afraid to demean himself in a way\nwhich would have given to any energetic government not fettered by\nselfish considerations manifold ground and occasion for declaring war;\nbut he carefully avoided any open rupture which would have placed the\nsenate under the necessity of declaring it.  As soon as men appeared\nto be in earnest he drew back, before Sulla as well as before\nAquillius; he hoped, doubtless, that he would not always be\nconfronted by energetic generals, that he too would, as well as\nJugurtha, fall in with his Scaurus or Albinus.  It must be owned\nthat this hope was not without reason; although the very example\nof Jugurtha had on the other hand shown how foolish it was to\nconfound the bribery of a Roman commander and the corruption\nof a Roman army with the conquest of the Roman people.\n\nAquillius Brings about War\nNicomedes\n\nThus matters stood between peace and war, and looked quite as if\nthey would drag on for long in the same indecisive position.  But\nit was not the intention of Aquillius to allow this; and, as he could\nnot compel his government to declare war against Mithradates, he\nmade use of Nicomedes for that purpose.  The latter, who was under\nthe power of the Roman general and was, moreover, his debtor for\nthe accumulated war expenses and for sums promised to the general in\nperson, could not avoid complying with the suggestion that he should\nbegin war with Mithradates.  The declaration of war by Bithynia\ntook place; but, even when the vessels of Nicomedes closed the\nBosporus against those of Pontus, and his troops marched into the\nfrontier districts of Pontus and laid waste the region of Amastris,\nMithradates remained still unshaken in his policy of peace; instead\nof driving the Bithynians over the frontier, he lodged a complaint\nwith the Roman envoys and asked them either to mediate or to allow\nhim the privilege of self-defence.  But he was informed by\nAquillius, that he must under all circumstances refrain from war\nagainst Nicomedes.  That indeed was plain.  They had employed\nexactly the same policy against Carthage; they allowed the victim\nto be set upon by the Roman hounds and forbade its defending itself\nagainst them.  Mithradates reckoned himself lost, just as the\nCarthaginians had done; but, while the Phoenicians yielded from\ndespair, the king of Sinope did the very opposite and assembled\nhis troops and ships.  \"Does not even he who must succumb,\" he is\nreported to have said, \"defend himself against the robber?\" His son\nAriobarzanes received orders to advance into Cappadocia; a message\nwas sent once more to the Roman envoys to inform them of the step\nto which necessity had driven the king, and to demand their\nultimatum.  It was to the effect which was to be anticipated.\nAlthough neither the Roman senate nor king Mithradates nor king\nNicomedes had desired the rupture, Aquillius desired it and war\nensued (end of 665).\n\nPreparations of Mithradates\n\nMithradates prosecuted the political and military preparations for\nthe passage of arms thus forced upon him with all his characteristic\nenergy.  First of all he drew closer his alliance with Tigranes king\nof Armenia, and obtained from him the promise of an auxiliary army\nwhich was to march into western Asia and to take possession of the\nsoil there for king Mithradates and of the moveable property for\nking Tigranes.  The Parthian king, offended by the haughty carriage\nof Sulla, though not exactly coming forward as an antagonist to\nthe Romans, did not act as their ally.  To the Greeks the king\nendeavoured to present himself in the character of Philip and\nPerseus, as the defender of the Greek nation against the alien rule\nof the Romans.  Pontic envoys were sent to the king of Egypt and to\nthe last remnant of free Greece, the league of the Cretan cities,\nand adjured those for whom Rome had already forged her chains to rise\nnow at the last moment and save Hellenic nationality; the attempt was\nin the case of Crete at least not wholly in vain, and numerous Cretans\ntook service in the Pontic army.  Hopes were entertained that the\nlesser and least of the protected states--Numidia, Syria, the Hellenic\nrepublics--would successively rebel, and that the provinces would\nrevolt, particularly the west of Asia Minor, the victim of unbounded\noppression.  Efforts were made to excite a Thracian rising, and even\nto arouse Macedonia to revolt.  Piracy, which even previously was\nflourishing, was now everywhere let loose as a most welcome ally,\nand with alarming rapidity squadrons of corsairs, calling themselves\nPontic privateers, filled the Mediterranean far and wide.  With\neagerness and delight accounts were received of the commotions among\nthe Roman burgesses, and of the Italian insurrection subdued yet far\nfrom extinguished.  No direct relations, however, were formed with\nthe discontented and the insurgents in Italy; except that a foreign\ncorps armed and organized in the Roman fashion was created in Asia,\nthe flower of which consisted of Roman and Italian refugees.\nForces like those of Mithradates had not been seen in Asia since\nthe Persian wars.  The statements that, leaving out of account the\nArmenian auxiliary army, he took the field with 250,000 infantry and\n40,000 cavalry, and that 300 Pontic decked and 100 open vessels put\nto sea, seem not too exaggerated in the case of a warlike sovereign\nwho had at his disposal the numberless inhabitants of the steppes.\nHis generals, particularly the brothers Neoptolemus and Archelaus,\nwere experienced and cautious Greek captains; among the soldiers of\nthe king there was no want of brave men who despised death; and the\narmour glittering with gold and silver and the rich dresses of the\nScythians and Medes mingled gaily with the bronze and steel of the\nGreek troopers.  No unity of military organization, it is true,\nbound together these party-<DW52> masses; the army of Mithradates\nwas just one of those unwieldy Asiatic war-machines, which had so often\nalready--on the last occasion exactly a century before at Magnesia--\nsuccumbed to a superior military organization; but still the east was\nin arms against the Romans, while in the western half of the empire\nalso matters looked far from peaceful.\n\nWeak Counterpreparatons of the Romans\n\nHowever much it was in itself a political necessity for Rome to\ndeclare war against Mithradates, yet the particular moment was as\nunhappily chosen as possible; and for this reason it is very probable\nthat Manius Aquillius brought about the rupture between Rome and\nMithradates at this precise time primarily from regard to his own\ninterests.  For the moment they had no other troops at their disposal\nin Asia than the small Roman division under Lucius Cassius and the\nmilitia of western Asia, and, owing to the military and financial\ndistress in which they were placed at home in consequence of the\ninsurrectionary war, a Roman army could not in the most favourable\ncase land in Asia before the summer of 666.  Hitherto the Roman\nmagistrates there had a difficult position; but they hoped to\nprotect the Roman province and to be able to hold their ground as\nthey stood--the Bithynian army under king Nicomedes in its position\ntaken up in the previous year in the Paphlagonian territory between\nAmastris and Sinope, and the divisions under Lucius Cassius, Manius\nAquillius, and Quintus Oppius, farther back in the Bithynian, Galatian,\nand Cappadocian territories, while the Bithyno-Roman fleet continued\nto blockade the Bosporus.\n\nMithradates Occupies Asia Minor\nAnti-Roman Movements There\n\nIn the beginning of the spring of 666 Mithradates assumed the\noffensive.  On a tributary of the Halys, the Amnias (near the modern\nTesch Kopri), the Pontic vanguard of cavalry and light-armed\ntroops encountered the Bithynian army, and notwithstanding its very\nsuperior numbers so broke it at the first onset that the beaten army\ndispersed and the camp and military chest fell into the hands of the\nvictors.  It was mainly to Neoptolemus and Archelaus that the king\nwas indebted for this brilliant success.  The far more wretched\nAsiatic militia, stationed farther back, thereupon gave themselves\nup as vanquished, even before they encountered the enemy; when the\ngenerals of Mithradates approached them, they dispersed.  A Roman\ndivision was defeated in Cappadocia; Cassius sought to keep the field\nin Phrygia with the militia, but he discharged it again without\nventuring on a battle, and threw himself with his few trustworthy\ntroops into the townships on the upper Maeander, particularly into\nApamea.  Oppius in like manner evacuated Pamphylia and shut himself\nup in the Phrygian Laodicea; Aquillius was overtaken while retreating\nat the Sangarius in the Bithynian territory, and so totally defeated\nthat he lost his camp and had to seek refuge at Pergamus in the Roman\nprovince; the latter also was soon overrun, and Pergamus itself fell\ninto the hands of the king, as likewise the Bosporus and the ships\nthat were there.  After each victory Mithradates had dismissed all\nthe prisoners belonging to the militia of Asia Minor, and had\nneglected no step to raise to a higher pitch the national sympathies\nthat were from the first turned towards him.  Now the whole country\nas far as the Maeander was with the exception of a few fortresses in\nhis power; and news at the same time arrived, that a new revolution\nhad broken out at Rome, that the consul Sulla destined to act\nagainst Mithradates had instead of embarking for Asia marched on\nRome, that the most celebrated Roman generals were fighting battles\nwith each other in order to settle to whom the chief command in the\nAsiatic war should belong.  Rome seemed zealously employed in the\nwork of self-destruction: it is no wonder that, though even now\nminorities everywhere adhered to Rome, the great body of the natives\nof Asia Minor joined the Pontic king.  Hellenes and Asiatics united\nin the rejoicing which welcomed the deliverer; it became usual to\ncompliment the king, in whom as in the divine conqueror of the\nIndians Asia and Hellas once more found a common meeting-point, under\nthe name of the new Dionysus.  The cities and islands sent messengers\nto meet him, wherever he went, and to invite \"the delivering god\"\nto visit them; and in festal attire the citizens flocked forth in\nfront of their gates to receive him.  Several places delivered the\nRoman officers sojourning among them in chains to the king; Laodicea\nthus surrendered Quintus Oppius, the commandant of the town, and\nMytilene in <DW26>s the consular Manius Aquillius.(12)  The whole\nfury of the barbarian, who gets the man before whom he has trembled\ninto his power, discharged itself on the unhappy author of the war.\nThe aged man was led throughout Asia Minor, sometimes on foot chained\nto a powerful mounted Bastarnian, sometimes bound on an ass and\nproclaiming his own name; and, when at length the pitiful spectacle\nagain arrived at the royal quarters in Pergamus, by the king's\norders molten gold was poured down his throat--in order to\nsatiate his avarice, which had really occasioned the war--\ntill he expired in torture.\n\nOrders Issued from Ephesus for a General Massacre\n\nBut the king was not content with this savage mockery, which alone\nsuffices to erase its author's name from the roll of true nobility.\nFrom Ephesus king Mithradates issued orders to all the governors\nand cities dependent on him to put to death on one and the same day\nall Italians residing within their bounds, whether free or slaves,\nwithout distinction of sex or age, and on no account, under severe\npenalties, to aid any of the proscribed to escape; to cast forth\nthe corpses of the slain as a prey to the birds; to confiscate their\nproperty and to hand over one half of it to the murderers, and the\nother half to the king.  The horrible orders were--excepting in a\nfew districts, such as the island of Cos--punctually executed,\nand eighty, or according to other accounts one hundred and fifty,\nthousand--if not innocent, at least defenceless--men, women, and\nchildren were slaughtered in cold blood in one day in Asia Minor;\na fearful execution, in which the good opportunity of getting\nrid of debts and the Asiatic servile willingness to perform any\nexecutioner's office at the bidding of the sultan had at least\nas much part as the comparatively noble feeling of revenge.  In a\npolitical point of view this measure was not only without any rational\nobject--for its financial purpose might have been attained without\nthis bloody edict, and the natives of Asia Minor were not to be driven\ninto warlike zeal even by the consciousness of the most blood-stained\nguilt--but even opposed to the king's designs, for on the one hand\nit compelled the Roman senate, so far as it was still capable of\nenergy at all, to an energetic prosecution of the war, and on the\nother hand it struck at not the Romans merely, but the king's natural\nallies as well, the non-Roman Italians.  This Ephesian massacre\nwas altogether a mere meaningless act of brutally blind revenge,\nwhich obtains a false semblance of grandeur simply through the\ncolossal proportions in which the character of sultanic rule\nwas here displayed.\n\nOrganization of the Conquered Provinces\n\nThe king's views altogether grew high; he had begun the war from\ndespair, but the unexpectedly easy victory and the non-arrival of\nthe dreaded Sulla occasioned a transition to the most highflown hopes.\nHe set up his home in the west of Asia Minor; Pergamus the seat\nof the Roman governor became his new capital, the old kingdom\nof Sinope was handed over to the king's son Mithradates to be\nadministered as a viceroyship; Cappadocia, Phrygia, Bithynia were\norganized as Pontic satrapies.  The grandees of the empire and the\nking's favourites were loaded with rich gifts and fiefs, and not\nonly were the arrears of taxes remitted, but exemption from\ntaxation for five years was promised, to all the communities-\na measure which was as much a mistake as the massacre of the\nRomans, if the king expected thereby to secure the fidelity of\nthe inhabitants of Asia Minor.\n\nThe king's treasury was, no doubt, copiously replenished otherwise\nby the immense sums which accrued from the property of the Italians\nand other confiscations; for instance in Cos alone 800 talents\n(195,000 pounds) which the Jews had deposited there were carried\nof by Mithradates.  The northern portion of Asia Minor and most of\nthe islands belonging to it were in the king's power; except some petty\nPaphlagonian dynasts, there was hardly a district which still adhered\nto Rome; the whole Aegean Sea was commanded by his fleets.  The south-\nwest alone, the city-leagues of Caria and Lycia and the city of Rhodes,\nresisted him.  In Caria, no doubt, Stratonicea was reduced by force\nof arms; but Magnesia on the Sipylus successfully withstood a severe\nsiege, in which Mithradates' ablest officer Archelaus was defeated and\nwounded.  Rhodes, the asylum of the Romans who had escaped from Asia\nwith the governor Lucius Cassius among them, was assailed on the part\nof Mithradates by sea and land with immense superiority of force.\nBut his sailors, courageously as they did their duty under the eyes\nof the king, were awkward novices, and so Rhodian squadrons\nvanquished those of Pontus four times as strong and returned home\nwith captured vessels.  By land also the siege made no progress;\nafter a part of the works had been destroyed, Mithradates abandoned\nthe enterprise, and the important island as well as the mainland\nopposite remained in the hands of the Romans.\n\nPontic Invasion of Europe\nPredatory Inroads of the Thracians\nThrace and Macedonia Occupied by the Pontic Armies\nPontic Fleet in the Aegean\n\nBut not only was the Asiatic province occupied by Mithradates almost\nwithout defending itself, chiefly in consequence of the Sulpician\nrevolution breaking out at a most unfavourable time; Mithradates\neven directed an attack against Europe.  Already since 662 the\nneighbours of Macedonia on her northern and eastern frontier had been\nrenewing their incursions with remarkable vehemence and perseverance;\nin the years 664, 665 the Thracians overran Macedonia and all Epirus\nand plundered the temple of Dodona.  Still more singular was the\ncircumstance, that with these movements was combined a renewed\nattempt to place a pretender on the Macedonian throne in the person\nof one Euphenes.  Mithradates, who from the Crimea maintained\nconnections with the Thracians, was hardly a stranger to all these\nevents.  The praetor Gaius Sentius defended himself, it is true,\nagainst these intruders with the aid of the Thracian Dentheletae;\nbut it was not long before mightier opponents came against him.\nMithradates, carried away by his successes, had formed the bold\nresolution that he would, like Antiochus, bring the war for the\nsovereignty of Asia to a decision in Greece, and had by land and sea\ndirected thither the flower of his troops.  His son Ariarathes\npenetrated from Thrace into the weakly-defended Macedonia, subduing\nthe country as he advanced and parcelling it into Pontic satrapies.\nAbdera and Philippi became the principal bases for the operations of\nthe Pontic arms in Europe.  The Pontic fleet, commanded by\nMithradates' best general Archelaus, appeared in the Aegean Sea,\nwhere scarce a Roman sail was to be found.  Delos, the emporium of\nthe Roman commerce in those waters, was occupied and nearly 20,000\nmen, mostly Italians, were massacred there; Euboea suffered a similar\nfate; all the islands to the east of the Malean promontory were soon\nin the hands of the enemy; they might proceed to attack the mainland\nitself.  The assault, no doubt, which the Pontic fleet made from\nEuboea on the important Demetrias, was repelled by Bruttius Sura, the\nbrave lieutenant of the governor of Macedonia, with his handful of\ntroops and a few vessels hurriedly collected, and he even occupied\nthe island of Sciathus; but he could not prevent the enemy from\nestablishing himself in Greece proper.\n\nThe Pontic Proceedings in Greece\n\nThere Mithradates carried on his operations not only by arms, but\nat the same time by national propagandism.  His chief instrument\nfor Athens was one Aristion, by birth an Attic slave, by profession\nformerly a teacher of the Epicurean philosophy, now a minion of\nMithradates; an excellent master of persuasion, who by the brilliant\ncareer which he pursued at court knew how to dazzle the mob, and\nwith due gravity to assure them that help was already on the way\nto Mithradates from Carthage, which had been for about sixty years\nlying in ruins.  These addresses of the new Pericles were so far\neffectual that, while the few persons possessed of judgment escaped\nfrom Athens, the mob and one or two literati whose heads were turned\nformally renounced the Roman rule.  So the ex-philosopher became a\ndespot who, supported by his bands of Pontic mercenaries, commenced\nan infamous and bloody rule; and the Piraeeus was converted into\na Pontic harbour.  As soon as the troops of Mithradates gained a\nfooting on the Greek continent, most of the small free states--the\nAchaeans, Laconians, Boeotians--as far as Thessaly joined them.\nSura, after having drawn some reinforcements from Macedonia, advanced\ninto Boeotia to bring help to the besieged Thespiae and engaged in\nconflicts with Archelaus and Aristion during three days at Chaeronea;\nbut they led to no decision and Sura was obliged to retire when\nthe Pontic reinforcements from the Peloponnesus approached (end of\n666, beg. of 667).  So commanding was the position of Mithradates,\nparticularly by sea, that an embassy of Italian insurgents could invite\nhim to make an attempt to land in Italy; but their cause was already\nby that time lost, and the king rejected the suggestion.\n\nPosition of the Romans\n\nThe position of the Roman government began to be critical.  Asia\nMinor and Hellas were wholly, Macedonia to a considerable extent,\nin the enemy's hands; by sea the Pontic flag ruled without a rival.\nThen there was the Italian insurrection, which, though baffled on\nthe whole, still held the undisputed command of wide districts of\nItaly; the barely hushed revolution, which threatened every moment\nto break out afresh and more formidably; and, lastly, the alarming\ncommercial and monetary crisis(13) occasioned by the internal\ntroubles of Italy and the enormous losses of the Asiatic\ncapitalists, and the want of trustworthy troops.  The government\nwould have required three armies, to keep down the revolution in\nRome, to crush completely the insurrection in Italy, and to wage\nwar in Asia; it had but one, that of Sulla; for the northern army\nwas, under the untrustworthy Gnaeus Strabo, simply an additional\nembarrassment.  Sulla had to choose which of these three tasks he\nwould undertake; he decided, as we have seen, for the Asiatic war.\nIt was no trifling matter--we should perhaps say, it was a great\nact of patriotism--that in this conflict between the general interest\nof his country and the special interest of his party the former\nretained the ascendency; and that Sulla, in spite of the dangers\nwhich his removal from Italy involved for his constitution and his\nparty, landed in the spring of 667 on the coast of Epirus.\n\nSulla's Landing\nGreece Occupied\n\nBut he came not, as Roman commanders-in-chief had been wont to\nmake their appearance in the East.  That his army of five legions\nor of at most 30,000 men,(14) was little stronger than an ordinary\nconsular army, was the least element of difference.  Formerly in\nthe eastern wars a Roman fleet had never been wanting, and had in\nfact without exception commanded the sea; Sulla, sent to reconquer\ntwo continents and the islands of the Aegean sea, arrived without a\nsingle vessel of war.  Formerly the general had brought with him a\nfull chest and drawn the greatest portion of his supplies by sea\nfrom home; Sulla came with empty hands--for the sums raised with\ndifficulty for the campaign of 666 were expended in Italy--and\nfound himself exclusively left dependent on requisitions.  Formerly\nthe general had found his only opponent in the enemy's camp, and\nsince the close of the struggle between the orders political\nfactions had without exception been united in opposing the public\nfoe; but Romans of note fought under the standards of Mithradates,\nlarge districts of Italy desired to enter into alliance with him,\nand it was at least doubtful whether the democratic party would follow\nthe glorious example that Sulla had set before it, and keep truce with\nhim so long as he was fighting against the Asiatic king.  But the\nvigorous general, who had to contend with all these embarrassments,\nwas not accustomed to trouble himself about more remote dangers\nbefore finishing the task immediately in hand.  When his proposals\nof peace addressed to the king, which substantially amounted to a\nrestoration of the state of matters before the war, met with no\nacceptance, he advanced just as he had landed, from the harbours of\nEpirus to Boeotia, defeated the generals of the enemy Archelaus and\nAristion there at Mount Tilphossium, and after that victory\npossessed himself almost without resistance of the whole Grecian\nmainland with the exception of the fortresses of Athens and the\nPiraeeus, into which Aristion and Archelaus had thrown themselves,\nand which he failed to carry by a coup de main.  A Roman division\nunder Lucius Hortensius occupied Thessaly and made incursions into\nMacedonia; another under Munatius stationed itself before Chalcis,\nto keep off the enemy's corps under Neoptolemus in Euboea; Sulla\nhimself formed a camp at Eleusis and Megara, from which he\ncommanded Greece and the Peloponnesus, and prosecuted the siege of\nthe city and harbour of Athens.  The Hellenic cities, governed as\nthey always were by their immediate fears, submitted unconditionally\nto the Romans, and were glad when they were allowed to ransom\nthemselves from more severe punishment by supplying provisions\nand men and paying fines.\n\nProtracted Siege of Athens and the Piraeus\nAthens Falls\n\nThe sieges in Attica advanced less rapidly.  Sulla found himself\ncompelled to prepare all sorts of heavy besieging implements for\nwhich the trees of the Academy and the Lyceum had to supply the\ntimber.  Archelaus conducted the defence with equal vigour and\njudgment; he armed the crews of his vessels, and thus reinforced\nrepelled the attacks of the Romans with superior strength and made\nfrequent and not seldom successful sorties.  The Pontic army of\nDromichaetes advancing to the relief of the city was defeated under\nthe walls of Athens by the Romans after a severe struggle, in which\nSulla's brave legate Lucius Licinius Murena particularly distinguished\nhimself; but the siege did not on that account advance more rapidly.\nFrom Macedonia, where the Cappadocians had meanwhile definitively\nestablished themselves, plentiful and regular supplies arrived by\nsea, which Sulla was not in a condition to cut off from the harbour-\nfortress; in Athens no doubt provisions were beginning to fail, but\nfrom the proximity of the two fortresses Archelaus was enabled to\nmake various attempts to throw quantities of grain into Athens, which\nwere not wholly unsuccessful.  So the winter of 667-8 passed away\ntediously without result.  As soon as the season allowed, Sulla threw\nhimself with vehemence on the Piraeus; he in fact succeeded by\nmissiles and mines in making a breach in part of the strong walls of\nPericles, and immediately the Romans advanced to the assault; but it\nwas repulsed, and on its being renewed crescent-shaped entrenchments\nwere found constructed behind the fallen walls, from which the\ninvaders found themselves assailed on three sides with missiles\nand compelled to retire.  Sulla then raised the siege, and contented\nhimself with a blockade.  In the meanwhile the provisions in Athens\nwere wholly exhausted; the garrison attempted to procure a capitulation,\nbut Sulla sent back their fluent envoys with the hint that he stood\nbefore them not as a student but as a general, and would accept only\nunconditional surrender.  When Aristion, well knowing what fate was\nin store for him, delayed compliance, the ladders were applied and\nthe city, hardly any longer defended, was taken by storm (1 March\n668).  Aristion threw himself into the Acropolis, where he soon\nafterwards surrendered.  The Roman general left the soldiery to\nmurder and plunder in the captured city and the more considerable\nringleaders of the revolt to be executed; but the city itself\nobtained back from him its liberty and its possessions--\neven the important Delos,--and was thus once more saved\nby its illustrious dead.\n\nCritical Position of Sulla\nWant of a Fleet\n\nThe Epicurean schoolmaster had thus been vanquished; but the position\nof Sulla remained in the highest degree difficult, and even\ndesperate.  He had now been more than a year in the field without\nhaving advanced a step worth mentioning; a single port mocked all\nhis exertions, while Asia was utterly left to itself, and the conquest\nof Macedonia by Mithradates' lieutenants had recently been completed\nby the capture of Amphipolis.  Without a fleet--it was becoming daily\nmore apparent--it was not only impossible to secure his communications\nand supplies in presence of the ships of the enemy and the numerous\npirates, but impossible to recover even the Piraeeus, to say\nnothing of Asia and the islands; and yet it was difficult to see\nhow ships of war were to be got.  As early as the winter of 667-8\nSulla had despatched one of his ablest and most dexterous officers,\nLucius Licinius Lucullus, into the eastern waters, to raise ships\nthere if possible.  Lucullus put to sea with six open boats, which he\nhad borrowed from the Rhodians and other small communities; he himself\nmerely by an accident escaped from a piratic squadron, which captured\nmost of his boats; deceiving the enemy by changing his vessels he\narrived by way of Crete and Cyrene at Alexandria; but the Egyptian\ncourt rejected his request for the support of ships of war with equal\ncourtesy and decision.  Hardly anything illustrates so clearly as\ndoes this fact the sad decay of the Roman state, which had once\nbeen able gratefully to decline the offer of the kings of Egypt to\nassist the Romans with all their naval force, and now itself seemed\nto the Alexandrian statesmen bankrupt.  To all this fell to be added\nthe financial embarrassment; Sulla had already been obliged to empty\nthe treasuries of the Olympian Zeus, of the Delphic Apollo, and of\nthe Epidaurian Asklepios, for which the gods were compensated by\nthe moiety, confiscated by way of penalty, of the Theban territory.\nBut far worse than all this military and financial perplexity was\nthe reaction of the political revolution in Rome; the rapid, sweeping,\nviolent accomplishment of which had far surpassed the worst\napprehensions.  The revolution conducted the government in the\ncapital; Sulla had been deposed, his Asiatic command had been\nentrusted to the democratic consul Lucius Valerius Flaccus, who\nmight be daily looked for in Greece.  The soldiers had no doubt\nadhered to Sulla, who made every effort to keep them in good humour;\nbut what could be expected, when money and supplies were wanting,\nwhen the general was deposed and proscribed, when his successor\nwas on the way, and, in addition to all this, the war against\nthe tough antagonist who commanded the sea was protracted without\nprospect of a close?\n\nPontic Armies Enter Greece\nEvacuation of the Piraeus\n\nKing Mithradates undertook to deliver his antagonist from his\nperilous position.  He it was, to all appearance, who disapproved\nthe defensive system of his generals and sent orders to them to\nvanquish the enemy with the utmost speed.  As early as 667 his son\nAriarathes had started from Macedonia to combat Sulla in Greece\nproper; only the sudden death, which overtook the prince on the march\nat the Tisaean promontory in Thessaly, had at that time led to the\nabandonment of the expedition.  His successor Taxiles now appeared\n(668), driving before him the Roman corps stationed in Thessaly,\nwith an army of, it is said, 100,000 infantry and 10,000 cavalry at\nThermopylae.  Dromichaetes joined him.  Archelaus also--compelled,\napparently, not so much by Sulla's arms as by his master's orders--\nevacuated the Piraeeus first partially and then entirely, and joined\nthe Pontic main army in Boeotia.  Sulla, after the Piraeeus with\nall its greatly-admired fortifications had been by his orders\ndestroyed, followed the Pontic army, in the hope of being able\nto fight a pitched battle before the arrival of Flaccus.  In vain\nArchelaus advised that they should avoid such a battle, but should\nkeep the sea and the coast occupied and the enemy in suspense.\nNow just as formerly under Darius and Antiochus, the masses of\nthe Orientals, like animals terrified in the midst of a fire, flung\nthemselves hastily and blindly into battle; and did so on this\noccasion more foolishly than ever, since the Asiatics might perhaps\nhave needed to wait but a few months in order to be the spectators\nof a battle between Sulla and Flaccus.\n\nBattle of Chaerones\n\nIn the plain of the Cephissus not far from Chaeronea, in March 668,\nthe armies met.  Even including the division driven back from\nThessaly, which had succeeded in accomplishing its junction with\nthe Roman main army, and including the Greek contingents, the Roman\narmy found itself opposed to a foe three times as strong and\nparticularly to a cavalry fur superior and from the nature of\nthe field of battle very dangerous, against which Sulla found it\nnecessary to protect his flanks by digging trenches, while in front\nhe caused a chain of palisades to be introduced between his first and\nsecond lines for protection against the enemy's war-chariots.  When\nthe war chariots rolled on to open the battle, the first line of the\nRomans withdrew behind this row of stakes: the chariots, rebounding\nfrom it and scared by the Roman slingers and archers, threw themselves\non their own line and carried confusion both into the Macedonian\nphalanx and into the corps of the Italian refugees.  Archelaus\nbrought up in haste his cavalry from both flanks and sent it to\nengage the enemy, with a view to gain time for rearranging his infantry;\nit charged with great fury and broke through the Roman ranks; but\nthe Roman infantry rapidly formed in close masses and courageously\nwithstood the horsemen assailing them on every side.  Meanwhile Sulla\nhimself on the right wing led his cavalry against the exposed flank\nof the enemy; the Asiatic infantry gave way before it was even properly\nengaged, and its giving way carried confusion also into the masses\nof the cavalry.  A general attack of the Roman infantry, which\nthrough the wavering demeanour of the hostile cavalry gained time\nto breathe, decided the victory.  The closing of the gates of the\ncamp which Archelaus ordered to check the flight, only increased\nthe slaughter, and when the gates at length were opened, the Romans\nentered at the same time with the Asiatics.  It is said that\nArchelaus brought not a twelfth part of his force in safety to\nChalcis; Sulla followed him to the Euripus; he was not in a position\nto cross that narrow arm of the sea.\n\nSlight Effect of the Victory\nSulla and Flaccus\n\nIt was a great victory, but the results were trifling, partly\nbecause of the want of a fleet, partly because the Roman conqueror,\ninstead of pursuing the vanquished, was under the necessity in the\nfirst instance of protecting himself against his own countrymen.\nThe sea was still exclusively covered by Pontic squadrons, which\nnow showed themselves even to the westward of the Malean promontory;\neven after the battle of Chaeronea Archelaus landed troops on\nZacynthus and made an attempt to establish himself on that island.\nMoreover Lucius Flaccus had in the meanwhile actually landed with two\nlegions in Epirus, not without having sustained severe loss on the\nway from storms and from the war-vessels of the enemy cruising in\nthe Adriatic; his troops were already in Thessaly; thither Sulla had\nin the first instance to turn.  The two Roman armies encamped over\nagainst each other at Melitaea on the northern <DW72> of Mount\nOthrys; a collision seemed inevitable.  But Flaccus, after he had\nopportunity of convincing himself that Sulla's soldiers were by no\nmeans inclined to betray their victorious leader to the totally\nunknown democratic commander-in chief, but that on the contrary his\nown advanced guard began to desert to Sulla's camp, evaded a conflict\nto which he was in no respect equal, and set out towards the north,\nwith the view of getting through Macedonia and Thrace to Asia and\nthere paving the way for further results by subduing Mithradates.\nThat Sulla should have allowed his weaker opponent to depart without\nhindrance, and instead of following him should have returned to\nAthens, where he seems to have passed the winter of 668-9, is in\na military point of view surprising.  We may suppose perhaps that\nin this also he was guided by political motives, and that he was\nsufficiently moderate and patriotic in his views willingly to forgo\na victory over his countrymen, at least so long as they had\nstill the Asiatics to deal with, and to find the most tolerable\nsolution of the unhappy dilemma in allowing the armies of the\nrevolution in Asia and of the oligarchy in Europe to fight\nagainst the common foe.\n\nSecond Pontic Army Sent to Greece\nBattle of Orchomenus\n\nIn the spring of 669 there was again fresh work in Europe.\nMithradates, who continued his preparations indefatigably in Asia\nMinor, had sent an army not much less than that which had been\nextirpated at Chaeronea, under Dorylaus to Euboea; thence it had,\nafter a junction with the remains of the army of Archelaus, passed\nover the Euripus to Boeotia.  The Pontic king, who judged of what his\narmy could do by the standard of victories over the Bithynian and\nCappadocian militia, did not understand the unfavourable turn which\nthings had taken in Europe; the circles of the courtiers were\nalready whispering as to the treason of Archelaus; peremptory orders\nwere issued to fight a second battle at once with the new army, and\nnot to fail on this occasion to annihilate the Romans.  The master's\nwill was carried out, if not in conquering, at least in fighting.\nThe Romans and Asiatics met once more in the plain of the Cephissus,\nnear Orchomenus.  The numerous and excellent cavalry of the latter\nflung itself impetuously on the Roman infantry, which began to waver\nand give way: the danger was so urgent, that Sulla seized a standard\nand advancing with his adjutants and orderlies against the enemy\ncalled out with a loud voice to the soldiers that, if they should\nbe asked at home where they had abandoned their general, they\nmight reply--at Orchomenus.  This had its effect; the legions\nrallied and vanquished the enemy's horse, after which the infantry\nwere overthrown with little difficulty.  On the following day the camp\nof the Asiatics was surrounded and stormed; far the greatest portion\nof them fell or perished in the Copaic marshes; a few only,\nArchelaus among the rest, reached Euboea.  The Boeotian communities\nhad severely to pay for their renewed revolt from Rome, some of\nthem even to annihilation.  Nothing opposed the advance into\nMacedonia and Thrace; Philippi was occupied, Abdera was voluntarily\nevacuated by the Pontic garrison, the European continent in general\nwas cleared of the enemy.  At the end of the third year of the war\n(669) Sulla was able to take up winter-quarters in Thessaly, with a\nview to begin the Asiatic campaign in the spring of 670,(15) for\nwhich purpose he gave orders to build ships in the Thessalian ports.\n\nReaction in Asia Minor against Mithradates\n\nMeanwhile the circumstances of Asia Minor also had undergone a\nmaterial change.  If king Mithradates had once come forward as the\nliberator of the Hellenes, if he had introduced his rule with the\nrecognition of civic independence and with remission of taxes, they\nhad after this brief ecstasy been but too rapidly and too bitterly\nundeceived.  He had very soon emerged in his true character, and\nhad begun to exercise a despotism far surpassing the tyranny of\nthe Roman governors--a despotism which drove even the patient\ninhabitants of Asia Minor to open revolt.  The sultan again resorted\nto the most violent expedients.  His decrees granted independence\nto the townships which turned to him, citizenship to the -metoeci-,\nfull remission of debts to the debtors, lands to those that had none,\nfreedom to the slaves; nearly 15,000 such manumitted slaves fought\nin the army of Archelaus.  The most fearful scenes were the result\nof this high-handed subversion of all existing order.  The most\nconsiderable mercantile cities, Smyrna, Colophon, Ephesus, Tralles,\nSardes, closed their gates against the king's governors or put\nthem to death, and declared for Rome.(16)  On the other hand the\nking's lieutenant Diodorus, a philosopher of note like Aristion, of\nanother school, but equally available for the worst subservience,\nunder the instructions of his master caused the whole town-council\nof Adramyttium to be put to death.  The Chians, who were suspected\nof an inclination to Rome, were fined in the first instance in 2000\ntalents (480,000 pounds) and, when the payment was found not correct,\nthey were en masse put on board ship and deported in chains under\nthe charge of their own slaves to the coast of Colchis, while their\nisland was occupied with Pontic colonists. The king gave orders that\nthe chiefs of the Celts in Asia Minor should all be put to death along\nwith their wives and children in one day, and that Galatia should be\nconverted into a Pontic satrapy.  Most of these bloody edicts were\ncarried into effect either at Mithradates' own headquarters or in\nGalatia, but the few who escaped placed themselves at the head of\ntheir powerful tribes and expelled Eumachus, the governor of the king,\nout of their bounds.  It may readily be conceived that such a king\nwould be pursued by the daggers of assassins; sixteen hundred men\nwere condemned to death by the royal courts of inquisition as having\nbeen implicated in such conspiracies.\n\nLucullus and the Fleet on the Asiatic Coast\n\nWhile the king was thus by his suicidal fury provoking his\ntemporary subjects to rise in arms against him, he was at the same\ntime hard pressed by the Romans in Asia, both by sea and by land.\nLucullus, after the failure of his attempt to lead forth the Egyptian\nfleet against Mithradates, had with better success repeated his\nefforts to procure vessels of war in the Syrian maritime towns, and\nreinforced his nascent fleet in the ports of Cyprus, Pamphylia, and\nRhodes till he found himself strong enough to proceed to the attack.\nHe dexterously avoided measuring himself against superior forces and\nyet obtained no inconsiderable advantages.  The Cnidian island and\npeninsula were occupied by him, Samos was assailed, Colophon and\nChios were wrested from the enemy.\n\nFlaccus Arrives in Asia\nFimbria\nFimbria's Victory at Miletopolis\nPerilous Position of Mithradates\n\nMeanwhile Flaccus had proceeded with his army through Macedonia and\nThrace to Byzantium, and thence, passing the straits, had reached\nChalcedon (end of 668).  There a military insurrection broke out\nagainst the general, ostensibly because he embezzled the spoil\nfrom the soldiers.  The soul of it was one of the chief officers\nof the army, a man whose name had become a proverb in Rome for a\ntrue mob-orator, Gaius Flavius Fimbria, who, after having differed\nwith his commander-in-chief, transferred the demagogic practices\nwhich he had begun in the Forum to the camp.  Flaccus was deposed\nby the army and soon afterwards put to death at Nicomedia, not far\nfrom Chalcedon; Fimbria was installed by decree of the soldiers\nin his stead.  As a matter of course he allowed his troops every\nindulgence; in the friendly Cyzicus, for instance, the citizens\nwere ordered to surrender all their property to the soldiers on pain\nof death, and by way of warning example two of the most respectable\ncitizens were at once executed.  Nevertheless in a military point\nof view the change of commander-in-chief was a gain; Fimbria was not,\nlike Flaccus, an incapable general, but energetic and talented.\nAt Miletopolis (on the Rhyndacus to the west of Brussa) he defeated\nthe younger Mithradates, who as governor of the satrapy of Pontus had\nmarched against him, completely in a nocturnal assault, and by this\nvictory opened his way to Pergamus, the capital formerly of the\nRoman province and now of the Pontic king, whence he dislodged the\nking and compelled him to take flight to the port of Pitane not far\noff, with the view of there embarking.  Just at that moment Lucullus\nappeared in those waters with his fleet; Fimbria adjured him to\nrender assistance so that he might be enabled to capture the king.\nBut the Optimate was stronger in Lucullus than the patriot; he\nsailed onward and the king escaped to Mitylene.  The situation\nof Mithradates was even thus sufficiently embarrassed.  At the end\nof 669 Europe was lost, Asia Minor was partly in rebellion against\nhim, partly occupied by a Roman army; and he was himself threatened\nby the latter in his immediate vicinity.  The Roman fleet under\nLucullus had maintained its position on the Trojan coast by two\nsuccessful naval engagements at the promontory of Lectum and at\nthe island of Tenedos; it was joined there by the ships which had\nin the meanwhile been built by Sulla's orders in Thessaly, and by\nit position commanding the Hellespont it secured to the general of\nthe Roman senatorial army a safe and easy passage next spring to Asia.\n\nNegotiations for Peace\n\nMithradates attempted to negotiate.  Under other circumstances no\ndoubt the author of the edict for the Ephesian massacre could never\nhave cherished the hope of being admitted at all to terms of peace\nwith Rome; but amidst the internal convulsions of the Roman\nrepublic, when the ruling government had declared the general sent\nagainst Mithradates an outlaw and subjected his partisans at home to\nthe most fearful persecutions, when one Roman general opposed the\nother and yet both stood opposed to the same foe, he hoped that he\nshould be able to obtain not merely a peace, but a favourable peace.\nHe had the choice of applying to Sulla or to Fimbria; he caused\nnegotiations to be instituted with both, yet it seems from the first\nto have been his design to come to terms with Sulla, who, at least\nfrom the king's point of view, seemed decidedly superior to his\nrival.  His general Archelaus, a instructed by his master, asked\nSulla to cede Asia to the king and to expect in return the king's\naid against the democratic party in Rome.  But Sulla, cool and\nclear as ever, while urgently desiring a speedy settlement of\nAsiatic affairs on account of the position of things in Italy,\nestimated the advantages of the Cappadocian alliance for\nthe war impending over him in Italy as very slight, and was\naltogether too much of a Roman to consent to so disgraceful\nand so injurious a concession.\n\nPreliminaries of Delium\n\nIn the peace conferences, which took place in the winter of 669-70,\nat Delium on the coast of Boeotia opposite to Euboea, Sulla distinctly\nrefused to cede even a foot's-breadth of land, but, with good\nreason faithful to the old Roman custom of not increasing after\nvictory the demands made before battle, did not go beyond the\nconditions previously laid down.  He required the restoration of\nall the conquests made by the king and not wrested from him again--\nCappadocia, Paphlagonia, Galatia, Bithynia, Asia Minor and the\nislands--the surrender of prisoners and deserters, the delivering\nup of the eighty war-vessels of Archelaus to reinforce the still\ninsignificant Roman fleet; lastly, pay and provisions for the army\nand the very moderate sum of 3000 talents (720,000 pounds) as\nindemnity for the expenses of the war.  The Chians carried off to\nthe Black Sea were to be sent home, the families of the Macedonians\nwho were friendly to Rome and had become refugees were to be\nrestored, and a number of war-vessels were to be delivered to the\ncities in alliance with Rome.  Respecting Tigranes, who in strictness\nshould likewise have been included in the peace, there was silence on\nboth sides, since neither of the contracting parties cared for the\nendless further steps which would be occasioned by making him a party.\nThe king thus retained the state of possession which he had before\nthe war, nor was he subjected to any humiliation affecting his\nhonour.(17)  Archelaus, clearly perceiving that much comparatively\nbeyond expectation was obtained and that more was not obtainable,\nconcluded the preliminaries and an armistice on these conditions,\nand withdrew the troops from the places which the Asiatics\nstill possessed in Europe.\n\nNew Difficulties\nSulla Proceeds to Asia\n\nBut Mithradates rejected the peace and demanded at least that\nthe Romans should not insist on the surrender of the war-vessels\nand should concede to him Paphlagonia; while he at the same time\nasserted that Fimbria was ready to grant him far more favourable\nconditions.  Sulla, offended by this placing of his offers on an\nequal footing with those of an unofficial adventurer, and having\nalready gone to the utmost measure of concession, broke off the\nnegotiations.  He had employed the interval to reorganize Macedonia\nand to chastise the Dardani, Sinti, and Maedi, in doing which he at\nonce procured booty for his army and drew nearer Asia; for he was\nresolved at any rate to go thither, in order to come to a reckoning\nwith Fimbria.  He now at once put his legions stationed in Thrace as\nwell as his fleet in motion towards the Hellespont.  Then at length\nArchelaus succeeded in wringing from his obstinate master a reluctant\nconsent to the treaty; for which he was subsequently regarded with\nan evil eye at court as the author of the injurious peace, and even\naccused of treason, so that some time afterwards he found himself\ncompelled to leave the country and to take refuge with the Romans,\nwho readily received him and loaded him with honours.  The Roman\nsoldiers also murmured; their disappointment doubtless at not\nreceiving the expected spoil of Asia probably contributed to that\nmurmuring more than their indignation--in itself very justifiable--\nthat the barbarian prince, who had murdered eighty thousand of their\ncountrymen and had brought unspeakable misery on Italy and Asia,\nshould be allowed to return home unpunished with the greatest part\nof the treasures which he had collected by the pillage of Asia.\nSulla himself may have been painfully sensible that the political\ncomplications thwarted in a most vexatious way a task which was\nin a military point of view so simple, and compelled him after\nsuch victories to content himself with such a peace.  But the self-\ndenial and the sagacity with which he had conducted this whole war\nwere only displayed afresh in the conclusion of this peace; for war\nwith a prince, to whom almost the whole coast of the Black Sea\nbelonged, and whose obstinacy was clearly displayed by the very last\nnegotiations, would still under the most favourable circumstances\nrequire years, and the situation of Italy was such that it seemed\nalmost too late even for Sulla to oppose the party in power there\nwith the few legions which he possessed.(18)  Before this could be\ndone, however, it was absolutely necessary to overthrow the bold\nofficer who was at the head of the democratic army in Asia, in order\nthat he might not at some future time come from Asia to the help of\nthe Italian revolution, just as Sulla now hoped to return from Asia\nand crush it.  At Cypsela on the Hebrus Sulla obtained accounts of\nthe ratification of the peace by Mithradates; but the march to Asia\nwent on.  The king, it was said, desired personally to confer with\nthe Roman general and to cement the peace with him; it may be\npresumed that this was simply a convenient pretext for transferring\nthe army to Asia and there putting an end to Fimbria.\n\nPeace at Dardanus\nSulla against Fimbria\nFimbria's Death\n\nSo Sulla, attended by his legions and by Archelaus, crossed the\nHellespont; after he had met with Mithradates on its Asiatic shore\nat Dardanus and had orally concluded the treaty, he made his army\ncontinue its march till he came upon the camp of Fimbria at\nThyatira not far from Pergamus, and pitched his own close beside\nit.  The Sullan soldiers, far superior to the Fimbrians in number,\ndiscipline, leadership, and ability, looked with contempt on the\ndispirited and demoralized troops and their uncalled commander-in-\nchief.  Desertions from the ranks of the Fimbrians became daily more\nnumerous.  When Fimbria ordered an attack, the soldiers refused to\nfight against their fellow-citizens, or even to take the oath which he\nrequired that they would stand faithfully by each other in battle.\nAn attempt to assassinate Sulla miscarried; at the conference which\nFimbria requested Sulla did not make his appearance, but contented\nhimself with suggesting to him through one of his officers a means of\npersonal escape.  Fimbria was of an insolent temperament, but he was\nno poltroon; instead of accepting the vessel which Sulla offered to\nhim and fleeing to the barbarians, he went to Pergamus and fell on\nhis own sword in the temple of Asklepios.  Those who were most\ncompromised in his army resorted to Mithradates or to the pirates,\nwith whom they found ready reception; the main body placed itself\nunder the orders of Sulla.\n\nRegulation of Asiatic Affairs\n\nSulla determined to leave these two legions, whom he did not trust\nfor the impending war, behind in Asia, where the fearful crisis\nleft for long its lingering traces in the several cities and\ndistricts.  The command of this corps and the governorship of Roman\nAsia he committed to his best officer, Lucius Licinius Murena.\nThe revolutionary measures of Mithradates, such as the liberation\nof the slaves and the annulling of debts, were of course cancelled;\na restoration, which in many places could not be carried into effect\nwithout force of arms.  The towns of the territory on the eastern\nfrontier underwent a comprehensive reorganization, and reckoned\nfrom the year 670 as the date of their being constituted.  Justice\nmoreover was exercised, as the victors understood the term.\nThe most noted adherents of Mithradates and the authors of the\nmassacre of the Italians were punished with death.  The persons\nliable to taxes were obliged immediately to pay down in cash according\nto valuation the whole arrears of tenths and customs for the last five\nyears; besides which they had to pay a war-indemnity of 20,000\ntalents (4,800,000 pounds), for the collection of which Lucius\nLucullus was left behind. These were measures fearful in their rigour\nand dreadful in their effects; but when we recall the Ephesian decree\nand its execution, we feel inclined to regard them as a comparatively\nmild retaliation.  That the exactions in other respects were not\nunusually oppressive, is shown by the value of the spoil afterwards\ncarried in triumph, which amounted in precious metal to only about\n1,000,000 pounds.  The few communities on the other hand that had\nremained faithful--particularly the island of Rhodes, the region of\nLycia, Magnesia on the Maeander--were richly rewarded: Rhodes received\nback at least a portion of the possessions withdrawn from it after\nthe war against Perseus.(19)  In like manner compensation was made\nas far as possible by free charters and special favours to the Chians\nfor the hardships which they had borne, and to the Ilienses for the\ninsanely cruel maltreatment inflicted on them by Fimbria on account\nof the negotiations into which they had entered with Sulla.  Sulla\nhad already brought the kings of Bithynia and Cappadocia to meet\nthe Pontic king at Dardanus, and had made them all promise to live\nin peace and good neighbourhood; on which occasion, however, the\nhaughty Mithradates had refused to admit Ariobarzanes who was not\ndescended of royal blood--the slave, as he called him--to his\npresence.  Gaius Scribonius Curio was commissioned to superintend\nthe restoration of the legal order of things in the two kingdoms\nevacuated by Mithradates.\n\nSulla Embarks for Italy\n\nThe goal was thus attained.  After four years of war the Pontic\nking was again a client of the Romans, and a single and settled\ngovernment was re-established in Greece, Macedonia, and Asia Minor;\nthe requirements of interest and honour were satisfied, if not\nadequately, yet so far as circumstances would allow; Sulla had not\nonly brilliantly distinguished himself as a soldier and general, but\nhad the skill, in his path crossed by a thousand obstacles, to preserve\nthe difficult mean between bold perseverance and prudent concession.\nAlmost like Hannibal he had fought and conquered, in order that\nwith the forces, which the first victory gave him, he might prepare\nforthwith for a second and severer struggle.  After he had in some\ndegree compensated his soldiers for the fatigues which they had\nundergone by luxurious winter-quarters in the rich west of Asia Minor,\nhe in the spring of 671 transferred them in 1600 vessels from\nEphesus to the Piraeeus and thence by the land route to Patrae,\nwhere the vessels again lay ready to convey the troops to Brundisium.\nHis arrival was preceded by a report addressed to the senate\nrespecting his campaigns in Greece and Asia, the writer of which\nappeared to know nothing of his deposition; it was the mute herald\nof the impending restoration.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IX\n\nCinna and Sulla\n\nFerment in Italy\n\nThis state of suspense and uncertainty existing in Italy when\nSulla took his departure for Greece in the beginning of 667 has been\nalready described: the half-suppressed insurrection, the principal\narmy under the more than half-usurped command of a general whose\npolitics were very doubtful, the confusion and the manifold\nactivity of intrigue in the capital.  The victory of the oligarchy\nby force of arms had, in spite or because of its moderation,\nengendered manifold discontent.  The capitalists, painfully\naffected by the blows of the most severe financial crisis which\nRome had yet witnessed, were indignant at the government on account\nof the law which it had issued as to interest, and on account\nof the Italian and Asiatic wars which it had not prevented.\nThe insurgents, so far as they had laid down their arms, bewailed\nnot only the disappointment of their proud hopes of obtaining equal\nrights with the ruling burgesses, but also the forfeiture of their\nvenerable treaties, and their new position as subjects utterly\ndestitute of rights.  The communities between the Alps and the Po\nwere likewise discontented with the partial concessions made to\nthem, and the new burgesses and freedmen were exasperated by\nthe cancelling of the Sulpician laws.  The populace of the city\nsuffered amid the general distress, and found it intolerable that\nthe government of the sabre was no longer disposed to acquiesce in\nthe constitutional rule of the bludgeon.  The adherents, resident\nin the capital, of those outlawed after the Sulpician revolution--\nadherents who remained very numerous in consequence of the\nremarkable moderation of Sulla--laboured zealously to procure\npermission for the outlaws to return home; and in particular some\nladies of wealth and distinction spared for this purpose neither\ntrouble nor money.  None of these grounds of ill-humour were such\nas to furnish any immediate prospect of a fresh violent collision\nbetween the parties; they were in great part of an aimless and\ntemporary nature; but they all fed the general discontent, and had\nalready been more or less concerned in producing the murder of\nRufus, the repeated attempts to assassinate Sulla, the issue\nof the consular and tribunician elections for 667 partly in\nfavour of the opposition.\n\nCinna\nCarbo\nSertorius\n\nThe name of the man whom the discontented had summoned to the head\nof the state, Lucius Cornelius Cinna, had been hitherto scarcely\nheard of, except so far as he had borne himself well as an officer\nin the Social war.  We have less information regarding the\npersonality and the original designs of Cinna than regarding those\nof any other party leader in the Roman revolution.  The reason is,\nto all appearance, simply that this man, altogether vulgar and\nguided by the lowest selfishness, had from the first no ulterior\npolitical plans whatever.  It was asserted at his very first\nappearance that he had sold himself for a round sum of money to\nthe new burgesses and the coterie of Marius, and the charge looks\nvery credible; but even were it false, it remains nevertheless\nsignificant that a suspicion of the sort, such as was never\nexpressed against Saturninus and Sulpicius, attached to Cinna.\nIn fact the movement, at the head of which he put himself, has\naltogether the appearance of worthlessness both as to motives and\nas to aims.  It proceeded not so much from a party as from a number\nof malcontents without proper political aims or notable support,\nwho had mainly undertaken to effect the recall of the exiles by\nlegal or illegal means.  Cinna seems to have been admitted into the\nconspiracy only by an afterthought and merely because the intrigue,\nwhich in consequence of the restriction of the tribunician powers\nneeded a consul to bring forward its proposals, saw in him among\nthe consular candidates for 667 its fittest instrument and so\npushed him forward as consul.  Among the leaders appearing in the\nsecond rank of the movement were some abler heads; such was the\ntribune of the people Gnaeus Papirius Carbo, who had made himself\na name by his impetuous popular eloquence, and above all Quintus\nSertorius, one of the most talented of Roman officers and a man\nin every respect excellent, who since his candidature for the\ntribunate of the people had been a personal enemy to Sulla and had\nbeen led by this quarrel into the ranks of the disaffected to which\nhe did not at all by nature belong.  The proconsul Strabo, although\nat variance with the government, was yet far from going along\nwith this faction.\n\nOutbreak of the Cinnan Revolution\nVictory of the Government\n\nSo long as Sulla was in Italy, the confederates for good reasons\nremained quiet.  But when the dreaded proconsul, yielding not to\nthe exhortations of the consul Cinna but to the urgent state of\nmatters in the east, had embarked, Cinna, supported by the majority\nof the college of tribunes, immediately submitted the projects\nof law which had been concerted as a partial reaction against\nthe Sullan restoration of 666.  They embraced the political\nequalization of the new burgesses and the freedmen, as Sulpicius\nhad proposed it, and the restitution of those who had been banished\nin consequence of the Sulpician revolution to their former status.\nThe new burgesses flocked en masse to the capital, that along with\nthe freedmen they might terrify, and in case of need force, their\nopponents into compliance.  But the government party was determined\nnot to yield, consul stood against consul, Gnaeus Octavius against\nLucius Cinna, and tribune against tribune; both sides appeared in\ngreat part armed on the day and at the place of voting.  The\ntribunes of the senatorial party interposed their veto; when swords\nwere drawn against them even on the rostra, Octavius employed force\nagainst force.  His compact bands of armed men not only cleared the\nVia Sacra and the Forum, but also, disregarding the commands of\ntheir more gentle-minded leader, exercised horrible atrocities\nagainst the assembled multitude.  The Forum swam with blood on this\n\"Octavius' day,\" as it never did before or afterwards--the number\nof corpses was estimated at ten thousand.  Cinna called on the\nslaves to purchase freedom for themselves by sharing in the\nstruggle; but his appeal was as unsuccessful as the like appeal of\nMarius in the previous year, and no course was left to the leaders\nof the movement but to take flight.  The constitution supplied no\nmeans of proceeding farther against the chiefs of the conspiracy,\nso long as their year of office lasted.  But a prophet presumably\nmore loyal than pious had announced that the banishment of the\nconsul Cinna and of the six tribunes of the people adhering to\nhim would restore peace and tranquillity to the country; and,\nin conformity not with the constitution but with this counsel of\nthe gods fortunately laid hold of by the custodiers of oracles,\nthe consul Cinna was by decree of the senate deprived of his office,\nLucius Cornelius Merula was chosen in his stead, and outlawry was\npronounced against the chiefs who had fled.  It seemed as if the\nwhole crisis were about to end in a few additions to the number\nof the men who were exiles in Numidia.\n\nThe Cinnans in Italy\nLanding of Marius\n\nBeyond doubt nothing further would have come of the movement, had\nnot the senate on the one hand with its usual remissness omitted to\ncompel the fugitives at least rapidly to quit Italy, and had the\nlatter on the other hand been, as champions of the emancipation of\nthe new burgesses, in a position to renew to some extent in their\nown favour the revolt of the Italians.  Without obstruction they\nappeared in Tibur, in Praeneste, in all the important communities\nof new burgesses in Latium and Campania, and asked and obtained\neverywhere money and men for the furtherance of the common cause.\nThus supported, they made their appearance at the army besieging\nNola, The armies of this period were democratic and revolutionary\nin their views, wherever the general did not attach them to himself\nby the weight of his personal influence; the speeches of the\nfugitive magistrates, some of whom, especially Cinna and Sertorius,\nwere favourably remembered by the soldiers in connection with the\nlast campaigns, made a deep impression; the unconstitutional\ndeposition of the popular consul and the interference of the senate\nwith the rights of the sovereign people told on the common soldier,\nand the gold of the consul or rather of the new burgesses made the\nbreach of the constitution clear to the officers.  The Campanian\narmy recognized Cinna as consul and swore the oath of fidelity to\nhim man by man; it became a nucleus for the bands that flocked in\nfrom the new burgesses and even from the allied communities; a\nconsiderable army, though consisting mostly of recruits, soon moved\nfrom Campania towards the capital.  Other bands approached it from\nthe north.  On the invitation of Cinna those who had been banished\nin the previous year had landed at Telamon on the Etruscan coast.\nThere were not more than some 500 armed men, for the most part\nslaves of the refugees and enlisted Numidian horsemen; but, as\nGaius Marius had in the previous year been willing to fraternize\nwith the rabble of the capital, so he now ordered the -ergastula-\nin which the landholders of this region shut up their field-\nlabourers during the night to be broken open, and the arms which\nhe offered to these for the purpose of achieving their freedom were\nnot despised.  Reinforced by these men and the contingents of the\nnew burgesses, as well as by the exiles who flocked to him with\ntheir partisans from all sides, he soon numbered 6000 men under his\neagles and was able to man forty ships, which took their station\nbefore the mouth of the Tiber and gave chase to the corn-ships\nsailing towards Rome.  With these he placed himself at the disposal\nof the \"consul\" Cinna.  The leaders of the Campanian army\nhesitated; the more sagacious, Sertorius in particular, seriously\npointed out the danger of too closely connecting themselves with\na man whose name would necessarily place him at the head of\nthe movement, and who yet was notoriously incapable of any\nstatesmanlike action and haunted by an insane thirst for revenge;\nbut Cinna disregarded these scruples, and confirmed Marius in the\nsupreme command in Etruria and at sea with proconsular powers.\n\nDubious Attitude of Strabo\nThe Cinnans around Rome\n\nThus the storm gathered around the capital, and the government\ncould no longer delay bringing forward their troops to protect\nit.(1)  But the forces of Metellus were detained by the Italians\nin Samnium and before Nola; Strabo alone was in a position to hasten\nto the help of the capital.  He appeared and pitched his camp at\nthe Colline gate: with his numerous and experienced army he might\ndoubtless have rapidly and totally annihilated the still weak bands\nof insurgents; but this seemed to be no part of his design.  On the\ncontrary he allowed Rome to be actually invested by the insurgents.\nCinna with his corps and that of Carbo took post on the right bank\nof the Tiber opposite to the Janiculum, Sertorius on the left bank\nconfronting Pompeius over against the Servian wall.  Marius with\nhis band which had gradually increased to three legions, and in\npossession of a number of war-vessels, occupied one place on the\ncoast after another till at length even Ostia fell into his hands\nthrough treachery, and, by way of prelude as it were to the\napproaching reign of terror, was abandoned by the general to\nthe savage band for massacre and pillage.  The capital was placed,\neven by the mere obstruction of traffic, in great danger; by command\nof the senate the walls and gates were put in a state of defence and\nthe burgess-levy was ordered to the Janiculum.  The inaction of\nStrabo excited among all classes alike surprise and indignation.\nThe suspicion that he was negotiating secretly with Cinna was\nnatural, but was probably without foundation.  A serious conflict\nin which he engaged the band of Sertorius, and the support which\nhe gave to the consul Octavius when Marius had by an understanding\nwith one of the officers of the garrison penetrated into the\nJaniculum, and by which in fact the insurgents were successfully\nbeaten off again with much loss, showed that he was far from\nintending to unite with, or rather to place himself under, the\nleaders of the insurgents.  It seems rather to have been his design\nto sell his assistance in subduing the insurrection to the alarmed\ngovernment and citizens of the capital at the price of the\nconsulship for the next year, and thereby to get the reins\nof government into his own hands.\n\nNegotiations of Parties with the Italians\nDeath of Strabo\n\nThe senate was not, however, inclined to throw itself into the\narms of one usurper in order to escape from another, and sought\nhelp elsewhere.  The franchise was by decree of the senate\nsupplementarily conferred on all the Italian communities involved\nin the Social war, which had laid down their arms and had in\nconsequence thereof forfeited their old alliance.(2)  It seemed as\nit were their intention officially to demonstrate that Rome in the\nwar against the Italians had staked her existence for the sake not\nof a great object but of her own vanity: in the first momentary\nembarrassment, for the purpose of bringing into the field an\nadditional thousand or two of soldiers, she sacrificed everything\nwhich had been gained at so terribly dear a cost in the Social war.\nIn fact, troops arrived from the communities who were benefited by\nthis concession; but instead of the many legions promised, their\ncontingent on the whole amounted to not more than, at most, ten\nthousand men.  It would have been of more moment that an agreement\nshould be come to with the Samnites and Nolans, so that the troops\nof the thoroughly trustworthy Metellus might be employed for the\nprotection of the capital.  But the Samnites made demands which\nrecalled the yoke of Caudium--restitution of the spoil taken from\nthe Samnites and of their prisoners and deserters, renunciation of\nthe booty wrested by the Samnites from the Romans, the bestowal of\nthe franchise on the Samnites themselves as well as on the Romans\nwho had passed over to them.  The senate rejected even in this\nemergency terms of peace so disgraceful, but instructed Metellus to\nleave behind a small division and to lead in person all the troops\nthat could at all be dispensed with in southern Italy as quickly as\npossible to Rome.  He obeyed.  But the consequence was, that the\nSamnites attacked and defeated Plautius the legate left behind by\nMetellus and his weak band; that the garrison of Nola marched out\nand set on fire the neighbouring town of Abella in alliance with\nRome; that Cinna and Marius, moreover, granted to the Samnites\neverything they asked--what mattered Roman honour to them!--and a\nSamnite contingent reinforced the ranks of the insurgents.  It was\na severe loss also, when after a combat unfavourable to the troops\nof the government Ariminum was occupied by the insurgents and thus\nthe important communication between Rome and the valley of the Po,\nwhence men and supplies were expected, was interrupted.  Scarcity\nand famine set in.  The large populous city numerously garrisoned\nwith troops was but inadequately supplied with provisions; and\nMarius in particular took care to cut off its supplies more and\nmore.  He had already blocked up the Tiber by a bridge of ships;\nnow by the capture of Antium, Lanuvium, Aricia, and other townships\nhe gained control over the means of land communication still open,\nand at the same time appeased temporarily his revenge by causing\nall the citizens, wherever resistance was offered, to be put to\nthe sword with the exception of those who had possibly betrayed\nto him the town.  Contagious diseases followed on the distress and\ncommitted dreadful ravages among the masses of soldiers densely\ncrowded round the capital; of Strabo's veteran army 11,000, and of\nthe troops of Octavius 6000 are said to have fallen victims to\nthem.  Yet the government did not despair; and the sudden death of\nStrabo was a fortunate event for it.  He died of the pestilence;(3)\nthe masses, exasperated on many grounds against him, tore his\ncorpse from the bier and dragged it through the streets.\nThe remnant of his troops was incorporated by the consul\nOctavius with his army.\n\nVacillation of the Government\nRome Capitulates\n\nAfter the arrival of Metellus and the decease of Strabo the army\nof the government was again at least a match for its antagonists,\nand was able to array itself for battle against the insurgents at\nthe Alban Mount.  But the minds of the soldiers of the government\nwere deeply agitated; when Cinna appeared in front of them, they\nreceived him with acclamation as if he were still their general and\nconsul; Metellus deemed it advisable not to allow the battle to\ncome on, but to lead back the troops to their camp.  The Optimates\nthemselves wavered, and fell at variance with each other.  While\none party, with the honourable but stubborn and shortsighted consul\nOctavius at their head, perseveringly opposed all concession,\nMetellus more experienced in war and more judicious attempted to\nbring about a compromise; but his conference with Cinna excited\nthe wrath of the extreme men on both sides: Cinna was called by\nMarius a weakling, Metellus was called by Octavius a traitor.\nThe soldiers, unsettled otherwise and not without cause distrusting\nthe leadership of the untried Octavius, suggested to Metellus that\nhe should assume the chief command, and, when he refused, began\nin crowds to throw away their arms or even to desert to the enemy.\nThe temper of the burgesses became daily more depressed and\ntroublesome.  On the proclamation of the heralds of Cinna\nguaranteeing freedom to the slaves who should desert, these flocked\nin troops from the capital to the enemy's camp.  But the proposal\nthat the senate should guarantee freedom to the slaves willing to\nenter the army was decidedly resisted by Octavius.  The government\ncould not conceal from itself that it was defeated, and that\nnothing remained but to come to terms if possible with the leaders\nof the band, as the overpowered traveller comes to terms with\nthe captain of banditti.  Envoys went to Cinna; but, while they\nfoolishly made difficulties as to recognizing him as consul, and\nCinna in the interval thus prolonged transferred his camp close to\nthe city-gates, the desertion spread to so great an extent that it\nwas no longer possible to settle any terms.  The senate submitted\nitself unconditionally to the outlawed consul, adding only a\nrequest that he would refrain from bloodshed, Cinna promised this,\nbut refused to ratify his promise by an oath; Marius, who kept by\nhis side during the negotiations, maintained a sullen silence.\n\nMarian Reign of Terror\n\nThe gates of the capital were opened.  The consul marched in with\nhis legions; but Marius, scoffingly recalling the law of outlawry,\nrefused to set foot in the city until the law allowed him to do\nso and the burgesses hastily assembled in the Forum to pass the\nannulling decree.  He then entered, and with him the reign of\nterror.  It was determined not to select individual victims, but\nto have all the notable men of the Optimate party put to death and\nto confiscate their property.  The gates were closed; for five days\nand five nights the slaughter continued without interruption; even\nafterwards the execution of individuals who had escaped or been\noverlooked was of daily occurrence, and for months the bloody\npersecution went on throughout Italy.  The consul Gnaeus Octavius\nwas the first victim.  True to his often-expressed principle, that\nhe would rather suffer death than make the smallest concession to\nmen acting illegally, he refused even now to take flight, and in\nhis consular robes awaited at the Janiculum the assassin, who was\nnot slow to appear.  Among the slain were Lucius Caesar (consul in\n664) the celebrated victor of Acerrae;(4) his brother Gaius, whose\nunseasonable ambition had provoked the Sulpician tumult,(5) well\nknown as an orator and poet and as an amiable companion; Marcus\nAntonius (consul in 655), after the death of Lucius Crassus beyond\ndispute the first pleader of his time; Publius Crassus (consul\nin 657) who had commanded with distinction in the Spanish and in\nthe Social wars and also during the siege of Rome; and a multitude\nof the most considerable men of the government party, among whom\nthe wealthy were traced out with especial zeal by the greedy\nexecutioners.  Peculiarly sad seemed the death of Lucius Merula,\nwho very much against his own wish had become Cinna's successor,\nand who now, when criminally impeached on that account and cited\nbefore the comitia, in order to anticipate the inevitable\ncondemnation opened his veins, and at the altar of the Supreme\nJupiter whose priest he was, after laying aside the priestly\nheadband as the religious duty of the dying Flamen required,\nbreathed his last; and still more the death of Quintus Catulus\n(consul in 652), once in better days the associate of the most\nglorious victory and triumph of that same Marius who now had no\nother answer for the suppliant relatives of his aged colleague\nthan the monosyllabic order, \"He must die.\"\n\nThe Last Days of Marius\n\nThe originator of all these outrages was Gaius Marius.\nHe designated the victims and the executioners--only in exceptional\ncases, as in those of Merula and Catulus, was any form of law\nobserved; not unfrequently a glance or the silence with which he\nreceived those who saluted him formed the sentence of death, which\nwas always executed at once.  His revenge was not satisfied even\nwith the death of his victim; he forbade the burial of the dead\nbodies: he gave orders--anticipated, it is true, in this respect\nby Sulla--that the heads of the senators slain should be fixed to\nthe rostra in the Forum; he ordered particular corpses to be dragged\nthrough the Forum, and that of Gaius Caesar to be stabbed afresh\nat the tomb of Quintus Varius, whom Caesar presumably had once\nimpeached;(6) he publicly embraced the man who delivered to him\nas he sat at table the head of Antonius, whom he had been with\ndifficulty restrained from seeking out in his hiding-place,\nan slaying with his own hand.  His legions of slaves, and in\nparticular a division of Ardyaeans,(7) chiefly served as his\nexecutioners, and did not neglect, amidst these Saturnalia of\ntheir new freedom, to plunder the houses of their former masters\nand to dishonour and murder all whom they met with there.  His own\nassociates were in despair at this insane fury; Sertorius adjured\nthe consul to put a stop to it at any price, and even Cinna was\nalarmed.  But in times such as these were, madness itself becomes\na power; man hurls himself into the abyss, to save himself from\ngiddiness.  It was not easy to restrain the furious old man and\nhis band, and least of all had Cinna the courage to do so; on the\ncontrary, he chose Marius as his colleague in the consulship for\nthe next year.  The reign of terror alarmed the more moderate of\nthe victors not much less than the defeated party; the capitalists\nalone were not displeased to see that another hand lent itself to\nthe work of thoroughly humbling for once the haughty oligarchs,\nand that at the same time, in consequence of the extensive\nconfiscations and auctions, the best part of the spoil came to\nthemselves--in these times of terror they acquired from the people\nthe surname of the \"hoarders.\"\n\nDeath of Marius\n\nFate had thus granted to the author of this reign of terror,\nthe old Gaius Marius, his two chief wishes.  He had taken vengeance\non the whole genteel pack that had embittered his victories and\nenvenomed his defeats; he had been enabled to retaliate for every\nsarcasm by a stroke of the dagger.  Moreover he entered on the new\nyear once more as consul; the vision of a seventh consulate, which\nthe oracle had promised him, and which he had sought for thirteen\nyears to grasp, had now been realized.  The gods had granted to him\nwhat he wished; but now too, as in the old legendary period, they\npractised the fatal irony of destroying man by the fulfilment of\nhis wishes.  In his early consulates the pride, in his sixth the\nlaughing-stock, of his fellow-citizens, he was now in his seventh\nloaded with the execration of all parties, with the hatred of the\nwhole nation; he, the originally upright, capable, gallant man, was\nbranded as the crackbrained chief of a reckless band of robbers.\nHe himself seemed to feel it.  His days were passed as in delirium,\nand by night his couch denied him rest, so that he grasped the\nwine-cup in order merely to drown thought.  A burning fever seized\nhim; after being stretched for seven days on a sick bed, in the\nwild fancies of which he was fighting on the fields of Asia Minor\nthe battles of which the laurels were destined for Sulla, he\nexpired on the 13th Jan. 668.  He died, more than seventy years\nold, in full possession of what he called power and honour, and in\nhis bed; but Nemesis assumes various shapes, and does not always\nexpiate blood with blood.  Was there no sort of retaliation in the\nfact, that Rome and Italy now breathed more freely on the news of\nthe death of the famous saviour of the people than at the tidings\nof the battle on the Raudine plain?\n\nEven after his death individual incidents no doubt occurred, which\nrecalled that time of terror; Gaius Fimbria, for instance, who more\nthan any other during the Marian butcheries had dipped his hand in\nblood, made an attempt at the very funeral of Marius to kill the\nuniversally revered -pontifex maximus- Quintus Scaevola (consul in\n659) who had been spared even by Marius, and then, when Scaevola\nrecovered from the wound he had received, indicted him criminally\non account of the offence, as Fimbria jestingly expressed it, of\nhaving not been willing to let himself be murdered.  But the orgies\nof murder at any rate were over.  Sertorius called together the\nMarian bandits, under pretext of giving them their pay, surrounded\nthem with his trusty Celtic troops, and caused them to be cut down\nen masse to the number, according to the lowest estimate, of 4000.\n\nGovernment of Cinna\n\nAlong with the reign of terror came the -tyrannis-.  Cinna not\nonly stood at the head of the state for four years in succession\n(667-670) as consul, but he regularly nominated himself and his\ncolleagues without consulting the people; it seemed as if these\ndemocrats set aside the sovereign popular assembly with intentional\ncontempt.  No other chief of the popular party, before or\nafterwards, possessed so perfectly absolute a power in Italy\nand in the greater part of the provinces for so long a time almost\nundisturbed, as Cinna; but no one can be named, whose government\nwas so utterly worthless and aimless.  The law proposed by\nSulpicius and thereafter by Cinna himself, which promised to\nthe new burgesses and the freedmen equality of suffrage with the\nold burgesses, was naturally revived; and it was formally confirmed\nby a decree of the senate as valid in law (670).  Censors were\nnominated (668) for the purpose of distributing all the Italians,\nin accordance with it, into the thirty-five burgess-districts--by a\nsingular conjuncture, in consequence of a want of qualified\ncandidates for the censorship the same Philippus, who when consul\nin 663 had chiefly occasioned the miscarriage of the plan of Drusus\nfor bestowing the franchise on the Italians,(8) was now selected\nas censor to inscribe them in the burgess-rolls.  The reactionary\ninstitutions established by Sulla in 666 were of course overthrown.\nSome steps were taken to please the proletariate--for instance,\nthe restrictions on the distribution of grain introduced some years\nago,(9) were probably now once more removed; the design of Gaius\nGracchus to found a colony at Capua was in reality carried out\nin the spring of 671 on the proposal of the tribune of the people,\nMarcus Junius Brutus; Lucius Valerius Flaccus the younger\nintroduced a law as to debt, which reduced every private claim to\nthe fourth part of its nominal amount and cancelled three fourths\nin favour of the debtors.  But these measures, the only positive\nones during the whole Cinnan government, were without exception the\ndictates of the moment; they were based--and this is perhaps the\nmost shocking feature in this whole catastrophe--not on a plan\npossibly erroneous, but on no political plan at all.  The populace\nwere caressed, and at the same time offended in a very unnecessary\nway by a meaningless disregard of the constitutional arrangements\nfor election.  The capitalist party might have furnished a support,\nbut it was injured in the most sensitive point by the law as to\ndebt.  The true mainstay of the government was--wholly without\nany cooperation on its part--the new burgesses; their assistance\nwas acquiesced in, but nothing was done to regulate the strange\nposition of the Samnites, who were now nominally Roman citizens,\nbut evidently regarded their country's independence as practically\nthe real object and prize of the struggle and remained in arms\nto defend it against all and sundry.  Illustrious senators were\nstruck down like mad dogs; but not the smallest step was taken to\nreorganize the senate in the interest of the government, or even\npermanently to terrify it; so that the government was by no means\nsure of its aid.  Gaius Gracchus had not understood the fall of the\noligarchy as implying that the new master might conduct himself on\nhis self-created throne, as legitimate cipher-kings think proper to\ndo.  But this Cinna had been elevated to power not by his will, but\nby pure accident; was there any wonder that he remained where the\nstorm-wave of revolution had washed him up, till a second wave came\nto sweep him away again?\n\nCinna and Sulla\nItaly and the Provinces in Favour of the Government\n\nThe same union of the mightiest plenitude of power with the most\nutter impotence and incapacity in those who held it, was apparent\nin the warfare waged by the revolutionary government against the\noligarchy--a warfare on which withal its existence primarily\ndepended.  In Italy it ruled with absolute sway.  Of the old\nburgesses a very large portion were on principle favourable to\ndemocratic views; and the still greater mass of quiet people, while\ndisapproving the Marian horrors, saw in an oligarchic restoration\nsimply the commencement of a second reign of terror by the opposite\nparty.  The impression of the outrages of 667 on the nation at\nlarge had been comparatively slight, as they had chiefly affected\nthe mere aristocracy of the capital; and it was moreover somewhat\neffaced by the three years of tolerably peaceful government that\nensued.  Lastly the whole mass of the new burgesses--three-fifths\nperhaps of the Italians--were decidedly, if not favourable to the\npresent government, yet opposed to the oligarchy.\n\nLike Italy, most of the provinces adhered to the oligarchy--\nSicily, Sardinia, the two Gauls, the two Spains.  In Africa\nQuintus Metellus, who had fortunately escaped the murderers, made\nan attempt to hold that province for the Optimates; Marcus Crassus,\nthe youngest son of the Publius Crassus who had perished in the\nMarian massacre, resorted to him from Spain, and reinforced him\nby a band which he had collected there.  But on their quarrelling\nwith each other they were obliged to yield to Gaius Fabius Hadrianus,\nthe governor appointed by the revolutionary government.  Asia\nwas in the hands of Mithradates; consequently the province of\nMacedonia, so far as it was in the power of Sulla, remained the\nonly asylum of the exiled oligarchy.  Sulla's wife and children\nwho had with difficulty escaped death, and not a few senators\nwho had made their escape, sought refuge there, so that a sort\nof senate was soon formed at his head-quarters.\n\nMeasures against Sulla\n\nThe government did not fail to issue decrees against the oligarchic\nproconsul.  Sulla was deprived by the comitia of his command and of\nhis other honours and dignities and outlawed, as was also the case\nwith Metellus, Appius Claudius, and other refugees of note; his\nhouse in Rome was razed, his country estates were laid waste.\nBut such proceedings did not settle the matter.  Had Gaius Marius\nlived longer, he would doubtless have marched in person against Sulla\nto those fields whither the fevered visions of his death-bed drew him;\nthe measures which the government took after his death have been\nstated already.  Lucius Valerius Flaccus the younger,(10) who after\nMarius' death was invested with the consulship and the command in\nthe east (668), was neither soldier nor officer; Gaius Fimbria who\naccompanied him was not without ability, but insubordinate; the\narmy assigned to them was even in numbers three times weaker than\nthe army of Sulla.  Tidings successively arrived, that Flaccus, in\norder not to be crushed by Sulla, had marched past him onward to\nAsia (668); that Fimbria had set him aside and installed himself\nin his room (beg. of 669); that Sulla had concluded peace with\nMithradates (669-670).  Hitherto Sulla had been silent so far as\nthe authorities ruling in the capital were concerned.  Now a letter\nfrom him reached the senate, in which he reported the termination\nof the war and announced his return to Italy; he stated that he\nwould respect the rights conferred on the new burgesses, and that,\nwhile penal measures were inevitable, they would light not on the\nmasses, but on the authors of the mischief.  This announcement\nfrightened Cinna out of his inaction: while he had hitherto taken\nno step against Sulla except the placing some men under arms and\ncollecting a number of vessels in the Adriatic, he now resolved to\ncross in all haste to Greece.\n\nAttempts at a Compromise\nDeath of Cinna\nCarbo and the New Burgesses Arm against Sulla\n\nOn the other hand Sulla's letter, which in the circumstances might\nbe called extremely moderate, awakened in the middle-party hopes\nof a peaceful adjustment.  The majority of the senate resolved,\non the proposal of the elder Flaccus, to set on foot an attempt\nat reconciliation, and with that view to summon Sulla to come under\nthe guarantee of a safe-conduct to Italy, and to suggest to the\nconsuls Cinna and Carbo that they should suspend their preparations\ntill the arrival of Sulla's answer.  Sulla did not absolutely\nreject the proposals.  Of course he did not come in person, but\nhe sent a message that he asked nothing but the restoration of\nthe banished to their former status and the judicial punishment of\nthe crimes that had been perpetrated, and moreover that he did not\ndesire security to be provided for himself, but proposed to bring\nit to those who were at home.  His envoys found the state of things\nin Italy essentially altered.  Cinna had, without concerning\nhimself further about that decree of the senate, immediately after\nthe termination of its sitting proceeded to the army and urged\nit embarkation.  The summons to trust themselves to the sea at\nthat unfavourable season of the year provoked among the already\ndissatisfied troops in the head-quarters at Ancona a mutiny, to\nwhich Cinna fell a victim (beg. of 670); whereupon his colleague\nCarbo found himself compelled to bring back the divisions that had\nalready crossed and, abandoning the idea of taking up the war in\nGreece, to enter into winter-quarters in Ariminum.  But Sulla's\noffers met no better reception on that account; the senate rejected\nhis proposals without even allowing the envoys to enter Rome, and\nenjoined him summarily to lay down arms.  It was not the coterie of\nthe Marians which primarily brought about this resolute attitude.\nThat faction was obliged to abandon its hitherto usurped occupation\nof the supreme magistracy at the very time when it was of moment,\nand again to institute consular elections for the decisive year\n671.  The suffrages on this occasion were united not in favour\nof the former consul Carbo or of any of the able officers of the\nhitherto ruling clique, such as Quintus Sertorius or Gaius Marius\nthe younger, but in favour of Lucius Scipio and Gaius Norbanus,\ntwo incapables, neither of whom knew how to fight and Scipio not\neven how to speak; the former of these recommended himself to the\nmultitude only as the great-grandson of the conqueror of Antiochus,\nand the latter as a political opponent of the oligarchy.(11)  The\nMarians were not so much abhorred for their misdeeds as despised\nfor their incapacity; but if the nation would have nothing to do\nwith these, the great majority of it would have still less to do\nwith Sulla and an oligarchic restoration.  Earnest measures of\nself-defence were contemplated.  While Sulla crossed to Asia and\ninduced such defection in the army of Fimbria that its leader\nfell by his own hand, the government in Italy employed the further\ninterval of a year granted to it by these steps of Sulla in\nenergetic preparations; it is said that at Sulla's landing 100,000\nmen, and afterwards even double that number of troops, were arrayed\nin arms against him.\n\nDifficult Position of Sulla\n\nAgainst this Italian force Sulla had nothing to place in the scale\nexcept his five legions, which, even including some contingents\nlevied in Macedonia and the Peloponnesus, probably amounted to\nscarce 40,000 men.  It is true that this army had been, during\nits seven years' conflicts in Italy, Greece, and Asia, weaned from\npolitics, and adhered to its general--who pardoned everything in\nhis soldiers, debauchery, brutality, even mutiny against their\nofficers, required nothing but valour and fidelity towards their\ngeneral, and set before them the prospect of the most extravagant\nrewards in the event of victory--with all that soldierly\nenthusiasm, which is the more powerful that the noblest and the\nmeanest passions often combine to produce it in the same breast.\nThe soldiers of Sulla voluntarily according to the Roman custom\nswore mutual oaths that they would stand firmly by each other, and\neach voluntarily brought to the general his savings as a contribution\nto the costs of the war.  But considerable as was the weight\nof this solid and select body of troops in comparison with the\nmasses of the enemy, Sulla saw very well that Italy could not\nbe subdued with five legions if it remained united in resolute\nresistance.  To settle accounts with the popular party and their\nincapable autocrats would not have been difficult; but he saw\nopposed to him and united with that party the whole mass of those\nwho desired no oligarchic restoration with its terrors, and above\nall the whole body of new burgesses--both those who had been\nwithheld by the Julian law from taking part in the insurrection,\nand those whose revolt a few years before had brought Rome to\nthe brink of ruin.\n\nHis Moderation\n\nSulla fully surveyed the situation of affairs, and was far\nremoved from the blind exasperation and the obstinate rigour which\ncharacterized the majority of his party.  While the edifice of the\nstate was in flames, while his friends were being murdered, his\nhouses destroyed, his family driven into exile, he had remained\nundisturbed at his post till the public foe was conquered and the\nRoman frontier was secured.  He now treated Italian affairs in the\nsame spirit of patriotic and judicious moderation, and did whatever\nhe could to pacify the moderate party and the new burgesses, and\nto prevent the civil war from assuming the far more dangerous form\nof a fresh war between the Old Romans and the Italian allies.\nThe first letter which Sulla addressed to the senate had asked\nnothing but what was right and just, and had expressly disclaimed\na reign of terror.  In harmony with its terms, he now presented\nthe prospect of unconditional pardon to all those who should even\nnow break off from the revolutionary government, and caused his\nsoldiers man by man to swear that they would meet the Italians\nthoroughly as friends and fellow-citizens.  The most binding\ndeclarations secured to the new burgesses the political rights\nwhich they had acquired; so that Carbo, for that reason, wished\nhostages to be furnished to him by every civic community in Italy,\nbut the proposal broke down under general indignation and under the\nopposition of the senate.  The chief difficulty in the position of\nSulla really consisted in the fact, that in consequence of the\nfaithlessness and perfidy which prevailed the new burgesses had\nevery reason, if not to suspect his personal designs, to doubt at\nany rate whether he would be able to induce his party to keep their\nword after the victory.\n\nSulla Lands in Italy\nAnd Is Reinforced by Partisans and Deserters\n\nIn the spring of 671 Sulla landed with his legions in the port\nof Brundisium.  The senate, on receiving the news, declared the\ncommonwealth in danger, and committed to the consuls unlimited\npowers; but these incapable leaders had not looked before them,\nand were surprised by a landing which had nevertheless been\nforeseen for years.  The army was still at Ariminum, the ports\nwere not garrisoned, and--what is almost incredible--there was\nnot a man under arms at all along the whole south-eastern coast.\nThe consequences were soon apparent Brundisium itself, a considerable\ncommunity of new burgesses, at once opened its gates without\nresistance to the oligarchic general, and all Messapia and Apulia\nfollowed its example.  The army marched through these regions as\nthrough a friendly country, and mindful of its oath uniformly\nmaintained the strictest discipline.  From all sides the scattered\nremnant of the Optimate party flocked to the camp of Sulla.\nQuintus Metellus came from the mountain ravines of Liguria, whither\nhe had made his escape from Africa, and resumed, as colleague of\nSulla, the proconsular command committed to him in 667,(12) and\nwithdrawn from him by the revolution.  Marcus Crassus in like\nmanner appeared from Africa with a small band of armed men.  Most\nof the Optimates, indeed, came as emigrants of quality with great\npretensions and small desire for fighting, so that they had to\nlisten to bitter language from Sulla himself regarding the noble\nlords who wished to have themselves preserved for the good of the\nstate and could not even be brought to arm their slaves.  It was of\nmore importance, that deserters already made their appearance from\nthe democratic camp--for instance, the refined and respected Lucius\nPhilippus, who was, along with one or two notoriously incapable\npersons, the only consular that had come to terms with the\nrevolutionary government and accepted offices under it He met with\nthe most gracious reception from Sulla, and obtained the honourable\nand easy charge of occupying for him the province of Sardinia.\nQuintus Lucretius Ofella and other serviceable officers were\nlikewise received and at once employed; even Publius Cethegus,\none of the senators banished after the Sulpician -emeute- by Sulla,\nobtained pardon and a position in the army.\n\nPompeius\n\nStill more important than these individual accessions was the gain\nof the district of Picenum, which was substantially due to the son\nof Strabo, the young Gnaeus Pompeius.  The latter, like his father\noriginally no adherent of the oligarchy, had acknowledged the\nrevolutionary government and even taken service in Cinna's army;\nbut in his case the fact was not forgotten, that his father had\nborne arms against the revolution; he found himself assailed in\nvarious forms and even threatened with the loss of his very\nconsiderable wealth by an indictment charging him to give up\nthe booty which was, or was alleged to have been, embezzled by his\nfather after the capture of Asculum.  The protection of the consul\nCarbo, who was personally attached to him, still more than the\neloquence of the consular Lucius Philippus and of the young\nQuintus Hortensius, averted from him financial ruin; but the\ndissatisfaction remained.  On the news of Sulla's landing he\nwent to Picenum, where he had extensive possessions and the best\nmunicipal connections derived from his father and the Social war,\nand set up the standard of the Optimate party in Auximum (Osimo).\nThe district, which was mostly inhabited by old burgesses, joined\nhim; the young men, many of whom had served with him under his\nfather, readily ranged themselves under the courageous leader who,\nnot yet twenty-three years of age, was as much soldier as general,\nsprang to the front of his cavalry in combat, and vigorously\nassailed the enemy along with them.  The corps of Picenian\nvolunteers soon grew to three legions; divisions under Cloelius,\nGaius Carrinas, Lucius Junius Brutus Damasippus,(13) were\ndespatched from the capital to put down the Picenian insurrection,\nbut the extemporized general, dexterously taking advantage of the\ndissensions that arose among them, had the skill to evade them or\nto beat them in detail and to effect his junction with the main\narmy of Sulla, apparently in Apulia.  Sulla saluted him as\n-imperator-, that is, as an officer commanding in his own name\nand not subordinate but co-ordinate, and distinguished the youth\nby marks of honour such as he showed to none of his noble\nclients--presumably not without the collateral design of thereby\nadministering an indirect rebuke to the lack of energetic character\namong his own partisans.\n\nSulla in Campania Opposed by Norbanus and Scipio\nSulla Gains a Victory over Norbanus at Mount Tifata\nDefection of Scipio's Army\n\nReinforced thus considerably both in a moral and material point\nof view, Sulla and Metellus marched from Apulia through the still\ninsurgent Samnite districts towards Campania.  The main force of\nthe enemy also proceeded thither, and it seemed as if the matter\ncould not but there be brought to a decision.  The army of the\nconsul Gaius Norbanus was already at Capua, where the new colony\nhad just established itself with all democratic pomp; the second\nconsular army was likewise advancing along the Appian road.  But,\nbefore it arrived, Sulla was in front of Norbanus.  A last attempt\nat mediation, which Sulla made, led only to the arrest of his\nenvoys.  With fresh indignation his veteran troops threw themselves\non the enemy; their vehement charge down from Mount Tifata at the\nfirst onset broke the enemy drawn up in the plain; with the remnant\nof his force Norbanus threw himself into the revolutionary colony\nof Capua and the new-burgess town of Neapolis, and allowed himself\nto be blockaded there.  Sulla's troops, hitherto not without\napprehension as they compared their weak numbers with the masses\nof the enemy, had by this victory gained a full conviction of their\nmilitary superiority, instead of pausing to besiege the remains of\nthe defeated army, Sulla left the towns where they took shelter to\nbe invested, and advanced along the Appian highway against Teanum,\nwhere Scipio was posted.  To him also, before beginning battle,\nhe made fresh proposals for peace; apparently in good earnest.\nScipio, weak as he was, entered into them; an armistice was\nconcluded; between Cales and Teanum the two generals, both members\nof the same noble -gens-, both men of culture and refinement\nand for many years colleagues in the senate, met in personal\nconference; they entered upon the several questions; they had\nalready made such progress, that Scipio despatched a messenger\nto Capua to procure the opinion of his colleague.  Meanwhile the\nsoldiers of the two camps mingled; the Sullans, copiously furnished\nwith money by their general, had no great difficulty in persuading\nthe recruits--not too eager for warfare--over their cups that it\nwas better to have them as comrades than as foes; in vain Sertorius\nwarned the general to put a stop to this dangerous intercourse.\nThe agreement, which had seemed so near, was not effected; it was\nScipio who denounced the armistice.  But Sulla maintained that it\nwas too late and that the agreement had been already concluded;\nwhereupon Scipio's soldiers, under the pretext that their general\nhad wrongfully denounced the armistice, passed over en masse to the\nranks of the enemy.  The scene closed with an universal embracing,\nat which the commanding officers of the revolutionary army had to\nlook on.  Sulla gave orders that the consul should be summoned to\nresign his office--which he did--and should along with his staff be\nescorted by his cavalry to whatever point they desired; but Scipio\nwas hardly set at liberty when he resumed the insignia of his\ndignity and began afresh to collect troops, without however\nexecuting anything further of moment.  Sulla and Metellus took\nup winter-quarters in Campania and, after the failure of a second\nattempt to come to terms with Norbanus, maintained the blockade\nof Capua during the winter.\n\nPreparations on Either Side\n\nThe results of the first campaign in favour of Sulla were the\nsubmission of Apulia, Picenum, and Campania, the dissolution of\nthe one, and the vanquishing and blockading of the other, consular\narmy.  The Italian communities, compelled severally to choose\nbetween their twofold oppressors, already in numerous instances\nentered into negotiations with him, and caused the political\nrights, which had been won from the opposition party, to be\nguaranteed to them by formal separate treaties on the part\nof the general of the oligarchy.  Sulla cherished the distinct\nexpectation, and intentionally made boast of it, that he would\noverthrow the revolutionary government in the next campaign and\nagain march into Rome.\n\nBut despair seemed to furnish the revolution with fresh energies.\nThe consulship was committed to two of its most decided leaders,\nto Carbo for the third time and to Gaius Marius the younger; the\ncircumstance that the latter, who was just twenty years of age,\ncould not legally be invested with the consulship, was as little\nheeded as any other point of the constitution.  Quintus Sertorius,\nwho in this and other matters proved an inconvenient critic, was\nordered to proceed to Etruria with a view to procure new levies,\nand thence to his province Hither Spain.  To replenish the\ntreasury, the senate was obliged to decree the melting down of\nthe gold and silver vessels of the temples in the capital; how\nconsiderable the produce was, is clear from the fact that after\nseveral months' warfare there was still on hand nearly 600,000\npounds (14,000 pounds of gold and 6000 pounds of silver).  In the\nconsiderable portion of Italy, which still voluntarily or under\ncompulsion adhered to the revolution, warlike preparations were\nprosecuted with vigour.  Newly-formed divisions of some strength\ncame from Etruria, where the communities of new burgesses were very\nnumerous, and from the region of the Po.  The veterans of Marius\nin great numbers ranged themselves under the standards at the call\nof his son.  But nowhere were preparations made for the struggle\nagainst Sulla with such eagerness as in the insurgent Samnium and\nsome districts of Lucania.  It was owing to anything but devotion\ntowards the revolutionary Roman government, that numerous\ncontingents from the Oscan districts reinforced their armies;\nbut it was well understood there that an oligarchy restored by\nSulla would not acquiesce, like the lax Cinnan government, in\nthe independence of these lands as now de facto subsisting; and\ntherefore the primitive rivalry between the Sabellians and\nthe Latins was roused afresh in the struggle against Sulla.\nFor Samnium and Latium this war was as much a national struggle\nas the wars of the fifth century; they strove not for a greater\nor less amount of political rights, but for the purpose of appeasing\nlong-suppressed hate by the annihilation of their antagonist.\nIt was no wonder, therefore, that the war in this region bore\na character altogether different from the conflicts elsewhere,\nthat no compromise was attempted there, that no quarter was given\nor taken, and that the pursuit was continued to the very uttermost.\n\nThus the campaign of 672 was begun on both sides with augmented\nmilitary resources and increased animosity.  The revolution in\nparticular threw away the scabbard: at the suggestion of Carbo\nthe Roman comitia outlawed all the senators that should be found\nin Sulla's camp.  Sulla was silent; he probably thought that\nthey were pronouncing sentence beforehand on themselves.\n\nSulla Proceeds to Latium to Oppose the Younger Marius\nHis Victory at Sacriportus\nDemocratic Massacres in Rome\n\nThe army of the Optimates was divided.  The proconsul Metellus\nundertook, resting on the support of the Picenian insurrection, to\nadvance to Upper Italy, while Sulla marched from Campania straight\nagainst the capital.  Carbo threw himself in the way of the former;\nMarius would encounter the main army of the enemy in Latium.\nAdvancing along the Via Latina, Sulla fell in with the enemy not\nfar from Signia; they retired before him as far as the so-called\n\"Port of Sacer,\" between Signia and the chief stronghold of the\nMarians, the strong Praeneste.  There Marius drew up his force for\nbattle.  His army was about 40,000 strong, and he was in savage\nfury and personal bravery the true son of his father; but his\ntroops were not the well trained bands with which the latter had\nfought his battles, and still less might this inexperienced young\nman bear comparison with the old master of war.  His troops soon\ngave way; the defection of a division even during the battle\naccelerated the defeat.  More than the half of the Marians were\ndead or prisoners; the remnant, unable either to keep the field or\nto gain the other bank of the Tiber, was compelled to seek\nprotection in the neighbouring fortresses; the capital, which they\nhad neglected to provision, was irrecoverably lost.  In consequence\nof this Marius gave orders to Lucius Brutus Damasippus, the praetor\ncommanding there, to evacuate it, but before doing so to put to\ndeath all the esteemed men, hitherto spared, of the opposite party.\nThis injunction, by which the son even outdid the proscriptions of\nhis father, was carried into effect; Damasippus made a pretext for\nconvoking the senate, and the marked men were struck down partly in\nthe sitting itself, partly on their flight from the senate-house.\nNotwithstanding the thorough clearance previously effected, there\nwere still found several victims of note.  Such were the former\naedile Publius Antistius, the father-in-law of Gnaeus Pompeius,\nand the former praetor Gaius Carbo, son of the well-known friend\nand subsequent opponent of the Gracchi,(14) since the death of\nso many men of more distinguished talent the two best orators in\nthe judicial courts of the desolated Forum; the consular Lucius\nDomitius, and above all the venerable -pontifex maximus- Quintus\nScaevola, who had escaped the dagger of Fimbria only to bleed to\ndeath during these last throes of the revolution in the vestibule\nof the temple of Vesta entrusted to his guardianship.  With\nspeechlesshorror the multitude saw the corpses of these last\nvictims of the reign of terror dragged through the streets,\nand thrown into the river.\n\nSiege of Praeneste\nOccupation of Rome\n\nThe broken bands of Marius threw themselves into the neighbouring\nand strong cities of new burgesses Norba and Praeneste: Marius in\nperson with the treasure and the greater part of the fugitives\nentered the latter.  Sulla left an able officer, Quintus Ofella,\nbefore Praeneste just as he had done in the previous year before\nCapua, with instructions not to expend his strength in the siege\nof the strong town, but to enclose it with an extended line of\nblockade and starve it into surrender.  He himself advanced from\ndifferent sides upon the capital, which as well as the whole\nsurrounding district he found abandoned by the enemy, and occupied\nwithout resistance.  He barely took time to compose the minds of\nthe people by an address and to make the most necessary arrangements,\nand immediately passed on to Etruria, that in concert with Metellus\nhe might dislodge his antagonists from Northern Italy.\n\nMetellus against Carbo in Northern Italy\nCarbo Assailed on Three Sides of Etruria\n\nMetellus had meanwhile encountered and defeated Carbo's lieutenant\nCarrinas at the river Aesis (Esino between Ancona and Sinigaglia),\nwhich separated the district of Picenum from the Gallic province;\nwhen Carbo in person came up with his superior army, Metellus had\nbeen obliged to abstain from any farther advance.  But on the news\nof the battle at Sacriportus, Carbo, anxious about his communications,\nhad retreated to the Flaminian road, with a view to take up his\nheadquarters at the meeting-point of Ariminum, and from that point\nto hold the passes of the Apennines on the one hand and the valley\nof the Po on the other.  In this retrograde movement different\ndivisions fell into the hands of the enemy, and not only so,\nbut Sena Gallica was stormed and Carbo's rearguard was broken\nin a brilliant cavalry engagement by Pompeius; nevertheless Carbo\nattained on the whole his object.  The consular Norbanus took\nthe command in the valley of the Po; Carbo himself proceeded to\nEtruria.  But the march of Sulla with his victorious legions to\nEtruria altered the position of affairs; soon three Sullan armies\nfrom Gaul, Umbria, and Rome established communications with each\nother.  Metellus with the fleet went past Ariminum to Ravenna, and\nat Faventia cut off the communication between Ariminum and the\nvalley of the Po, into which he sent forward a division along the\ngreat road to Placentia under Marcus Lucullus, the quaestor of\nSulla and brother of his admiral in the Mithradatic war.  The young\nPompeius and his contemporary and rival Crassus penetrated from\nPicenum by mountain-paths into Umbria and gained the Flaminian road\nat Spoletium, where they defeated Carbo's legate Carrinas and shut\nhim up in the town; he succeeded, however, in escaping from it on\na rainy night and making his way, though not without loss, to the\narmy of Carbo.  Sulla himself marched from Rome into Etruria with\nhis army in two divisions, one of which advancing along the coast\ndefeated the corps opposed to it at Saturnia (between the rivers\nOmbrone and Albegna); the second led by Sulla in person fell in\nwith the army of Carbo in the valley of the Clanis, and sustained\na successful conflict with his Spanish cavalry.  But the pitched\nbattle which was fought between Carbo and Sulla in the region of\nChiusi, although it ended without being properly decisive, was\nso far at any rate in favour of Carbo that Sulla's victorious\nadvance was checked.\n\nConflicts about Praeneste\n\nIn the vicinity of Rome also events appeared to assume a more\nfavourable turn for the revolutionary party, and the war seemed\nas if it would again be drawn chiefly towards this region.\nFor, while the oligarchic party were concentrating all their\nenergies on Etruria, the democracy everywhere put forth the utmost\nefforts to break the blockade of Praeneste.  Even the governor of\nSicily Marcus Perpenna set out for that purpose; it does not appear,\nhowever, that he reached Praeneste.  Nor was the very considerable\ncorps under Marcius, detached by Carbo, more successful in this;\nassailed and defeated by the troops of the enemy which were at\nSpoletium, demoralized by disorder, want of supplies, and mutiny,\none portion went back to Carbo, another to Ariminum; the rest\ndispersed.  Help in earnest on the other hand came from Southern\nItaly.  There the Samnites under Pontius of Telesia, and the\nLucanians under their experienced general Marcus Lamponius, set\nout without its being possible to prevent their departure, were\njoined in Campania where Capua still held out by a division of\nthe garrison under Gutta, and thus to the number, it was said, of\n70,000 marched upon Praeneste.  Thereupon Sulla himself, leaving\nbehind a corps against Carbo, returned to Latium and took up a\nwell-chosen position in the defiles in front of Praeneste, where\nhe barred the route of the relieving army.(15)  In vain the garrison\nattempted to break through the lines of Ofella, in vain the\nrelieving army attempted to dislodge Sulla; both remained\nimmoveable in their strong positions, even after Damasippus,\nsent by Carbo, had reinforced the relieving army with two legions.\n\nSuccesses of the Sullans in Upper Italy\nEtruria Occupied by the Sullans\n\nBut while the war stood still in Etruria and in Latium, matters\ncame to a decision in the valley of the Po.  There the general of\nthe democracy, Gaius Norbanus, had hitherto maintained the upper\nhand, had attacked Marcus Lucullus the legate of Metellus with\nsuperior force and compelled him to shut himself up in Placentia,\nand had at length turned against Metellus in person.  He encountered\nthe latter at Faventia, and immediately made his attack late in\nthe afternoon with his troops fatigued by their march; the consequence\nwas a complete defeat and the total breaking up of his corps, of which\nonly about 1000 men returned to Etruria.  On the news of this battle\nLucullus sallied from Placentia, and defeated the division left behind\nto oppose him at Fidentia (between Piacenza and Parma).  The Lucanian\ntroops of Albinovanus deserted in a body: their leader made up\nfor his hesitation at first by inviting the chief officers of\nthe revolutionary army to banquet with him and causing them to be\nput to death; in general every one, who at all could, now concluded\nhis peace.  Ariminum with all its stores and treasures fell into the\npower of Metellus; Norbanus embarked for Rhodes; the whole land between\nthe Alps and Apennines acknowledged the government of the Optimates.\nThe troops hitherto employed there were enabled to turn to the attack\nof Etruria, the last province where their antagonists still kept\nthe field.  When Carbo received this news in the camp at Clusium,\nhe lost his self-command; although he had still a considerable body\nof troops under his orders, he secretly escaped from his headquarters\nand embarked for Africa.  Part of his abandoned troops followed the\nexample which their general had set, and went home; part of them were\ndestroyed by Pompeius: Carrinas gathered together the remainder and\nled them to Latium to join the army of Praeneste.  There no change\nhad in the meanwhile taken place; and the final decision drew nigh.\nThe troops of Carrinas were not numerous enough to shake Sulla's\nposition; the vanguard of the army of the oligarchic party,\nhitherto employed in Etruria, was approaching under Pompeius;\nin a few days the net would be drawn tight around the army of\nthe democrats and the Samnites.\n\nThe Samnites and Democrats Attack Rome\nBattle at the Colline Gate\nSlaughter of the Prisoners\n\nIts leaders then determined to desist from the relief of Praeneste\nand to throw themselves with all their united strength on Rome,\nwhich was only a good day's march distant.  By so doing they were,\nin a military point of view, ruined; their line of retreat, the\nLatin road, would by such a movement fall into Sulla's hands;\nand even if they got possession of Rome, they would be infallibly\ncrushed there, enclosed within a city by no means fitted for\ndefence, and wedged in between the far superior armies of Metellus\nand Sulla.  Safety, however, was no longer thought of; revenge\nalone dictated this march to Rome, the last outbreak of fury in\nthe passionate revolutionists and especially in the despairing\nSabellian nation.  Pontius of Telesia was in earnest, when he\ncalled out to his followers that, in order to get rid of the wolves\nwhich had robbed Italy of freedom, the forest in which they\nharboured must be destroyed.  Never was Rome in a more fearful\nperil than on the 1st November 672, when Pontius, Lamponius,\nCarrinas, Damasippus advanced along the Latin road towards Rome,\nand encamped about a mile from the Colline gate.  It was threatened\nwith a day like the 20th July 365 u. c. or the 15th June 455 a. d.--\nthe days of the Celts and the Vandals.  The time was gone by when\na coup de main against Rome was a foolish enterprise, and the\nassailants could have no want of connections in the capital.\nThe band of volunteers which sallied from the city, mostly youths\nof quality, was scattered like chaff before the immense superiority\nof force.  The only hope of safety rested on Sulla.  The latter,\non receiving accounts of the departure of the Samnite army in\nthe direction of Rome, had likewise set out in all haste to the\nassistance of the capital.  The appearance of his foremost horsemen\nunder Balbus in the course of the morning revived the sinking\ncourage of the citizens; about midday he appeared in person with\nhis main force, and immediately drew up his ranks for battle at\nthe temple of the Erycine Aphrodite before the Colline gate (not\nfar from Porta Pia).  His lieutenants adjured him not to send the\ntroops exhausted by the forced march at once into action; but Sulla\ntook into consideration what the night might bring on Rome, and,\nlate as it was in the afternoon, ordered the attack.  The battle\nwas obstinately contested and bloody.  The left wing of Sulla,\nwhich he led in person, gave way as far as the city wall, so that\nit became necessary to close the city gates; stragglers even\nbrought accounts to Ofella that the battle was lost.  But on the\nright wing Marcus Crassus overthrew the enemy and pursued him as\nfar as Antemnae; this somewhat relieved the left wing also, and an\nhour after sunset it in turn began to advance.  The fight continued\nthe whole night and even on the following morning; it was only the\ndefection of a division of 3000 men, who immediately turned their\narms against their former comrades, that put an end to the\nstruggle.  Rome was saved.  The army of the insurgents, for which\nthere was no retreat, was completely extirpated.  The prisoners\ntaken in the battle--between 3000 and 4000 in number, including the\ngenerals Damasippus, Carrinas, and the severely-wounded Pontius--\nwere by Sulla's orders on the third day after the battle brought to\nthe Villa Publica in the Campus Martius and there massacred to the\nlast man, so that the clatter of arms and the groans of the dying\nwere distinctly heard in the neighbouring temple of Bellona, where\nSulla was just holding a meeting of the senate.  It was a ghastly\nexecution, and it ought not to be excused; but it is not right to\nforget that those very men who perished there had fallen like a\nband of robbers on the capital and the burgesses, and, had they\nfound time, would have destroyed them as far as fire and sword\ncan destroy a city and its citizens.\n\nSieges\nPraeneste\nNorba\nNola\n\nWith this battle the war was, in the main, at an end.  The garrison\nof Praeneste surrendered, when it learned the issue of the battle\nof Rome from the heads of Carrinas and other officers thrown over\nthe walls.  The leaders, the consul Gaius Marius and the son of\nPontius, after having failed in an attempt to escape, fell on each\nother's swords.  The multitude cherished the hope, in which it\nwas confirmed by Cethegus, that the victor would even now have\nmercy upon them.  But the times of mercy were past.  The more\nunconditionally Sulla had up to the last moment granted full pardon\nto those who came over to him, the more inexorable he showed\nhimself toward the leaders and communities that had held out to\nthe end.  Of the Praenestine prisoners, 12,000 in number, most\nof the Romans and individual Praenestines as well as the women\nand children were released, but the Roman senators, almost all\nthe Praenestines and the whole of the Samnites, were disarmed and\ncut to pieces; and the rich city was given up to pillage.  It was\nnatural that, after such an occurrence, the cities of new burgesses\nwhich had not yet passed over should continue their resistance with\nthe utmost obstinacy.  In the Latin town of Norba for instance,\nwhen Aemilius Lepidus got into it by treason, the citizens killed\neach other and set fire themselves to their town, solely in order\nto deprive their executioners of vengeance and of booty.  In Lower\nItaly Neapolis had already been taken by assault, and Capua had,\nas it would seem, been voluntarily surrendered; but Nola was only\nevacuated by the Samnites in 674.  On his flight from Nola the last\nsurviving leader of note among the Italians, the consul of the\ninsurgents in the hopeful year 664, Gaius Papius Mutilus, disowned\nby his wife to whom he had stolen in disguise and with whom he had\nhoped to find an asylum, fell on his sword in Teanum before the\ndoor of his own house.  As to the Samnites, the dictator declared\nthat Rome would have no rest so long as Samnium existed, and that\nthe Samnite name must therefore be extirpated from the earth; and,\nas he verified these words in terrible fashion on the prisoners\ntaken before Rome and in Praeneste, so he appears to have also\nundertaken a raid for the purpose of laying waste the country,\nto have captured Aesernia(16) (674?), and to have converted that\nhitherto flourishing and populous region into the desert which it\nhas since remained.  In the same manner Tuder in Umbria was stormed\nby Marcus Crassus.  A longer resistance was offered in Etruria\nby Populonium and above all by the impregnable Volaterrae, which\ngathered out of the remains of the beaten party an army of four\nlegions, and stood a two years' siege conducted first by Sulla\nin person and then by the former praetor Gaius Carbo, the brother\nof the democratic consul, till at length in the third year after\nthe battle at the Colline gate (675) the garrison capitulated on\ncondition of free departure.  But in this terrible time neither\nmilitary law nor military discipline was regarded; the soldiers\nraised a cry of treason and stoned their too compliant general; a\ntroop of horse sent by the Roman government cut down the garrison\nas it withdrew in terms of the capitulation.  The victorious army\nwas distributed throughout Italy, and all the insecure townships\nwere furnished with strong garrisons: under the iron hand of the\nSullan officers the last palpitations of the revolutionary and\nnational opposition slowly died away.\n\nThe Provinces\n\nThere was still work to be done in the provinces.  Sardinia had\nbeen speedily wrested by Lucius Philippus from the governor of the\nrevolutionary government Quintus Antonius (672), and Transalpine\nGaul offered little or no resistance; but in Sicily, Spain, and\nAfrica the cause of the party defeated in Italy seemed still by\nno means lost.  Sicily was held for them by the trustworthy governor\nMarcus Perpenna.  Quintus Sertorius had the skill to attach to\nhimself the provincials in Hither Spain, and to form from among the\nRomans settled in that quarter a not inconsiderable army, which in\nthe first instance closed the passes of the Pyrenees: in this he\nhad given fresh proof that, wherever he was stationed, he was in\nhis place, and amidst all the incapables of the revolution was the\nonly man practically useful.  In Africa the governor Hadrianus, who\nfollowed out the work of revolutionizing too thoroughly and began\nto give liberty to the slaves, had been, on occasion of a tumult\ninstigated by the Roman merchants of Utica, attacked in his\nofficial residence and burnt with his attendants (672); nevertheless\nthe province adhered to the revolutionary government, and Cinna's\nson-in-law, the young and able Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus,\nwas invested with the supreme command there.  Propagandism had\neven been carried from thence into the client-states, Numidia\nand Mauretania.  Their legitimate rulers, Hiempsal II son of Gauda,\nand Bogud son of Bocchus, adhered doubtless to Sulla; but with the\naid of the Cinnans the former had been dethroned by the democratic\npretender Hiarbas, and similar feuds agitated the Mauretanian\nkingdom.  The consul Carbo who had fled from Italy tarried on the\nisland Cossyra (Pantellaria) between Africa and Sicily, at a loss,\napparently, whether he should flee to Egypt or should attempt to\nrenew the struggle in one of the faithful provinces.\n\nSpain\nSertorius Embarks\n\nSulla sent to Spain Gaius Annius and Gaius Valerius Flaccus,\nthe former as governor of Further Spain, the latter as governor\nof the province of the Ebro.  They were spared the difficult task\nof opening up the passes of the Pyrenees by force, in consequence\nof the general who was sent thither by Sertorius having been killed\nby one of his officers and his troops having thereafter melted away.\nSertorius, much too weak to maintain an equal struggle, hastily\ncollected the nearest divisions and embarked at New Carthage--for\nwhat destination he knew not himself, perhaps for the coast of\nAfrica, or for the Canary Islands--it mattered little whither,\nprovided only Sulla's arm did not reach him.  Spain then willingly\nsubmitted to the Sullan magistrates (about 673) and Flaccus fought\nsuccessfully with the Celts, through whose territory he marched,\nand with the Spanish Celtiberians (674).\n\nSicily\n\nGnaeus Pompeius was sent as propraetor to Sicily, and, when he\nappeared on the coast with 120 sail and six legions, the island was\nevacuated by Perpenna without resistance.  Pompeius sent a squadron\nthence to Cossyra, which captured the Marian officers sojourning\nthere.  Marcus Brutus and the others were immediately executed;\nbut Pompeius had enjoined that the consul Carbo should be brought\nbefore himself at Lilybaeum in order that, unmindful of the\nprotection accorded to him in a season of peril by that very\nman,(17) he might personally hand him over to the executioner (672).\n\nAfrica\n\nHaving been ordered to go on to Africa, Pompeius with his\narmy which was certainly far more numerous, defeated the not\ninconsiderable forces collected by Ahenobarbus and Hiarbas, and,\ndeclining for the time to be saluted as -imperator-, he at once\ngave the signal for assault on the hostile camp.  He thus became\nmaster of the enemy in one day; Ahenobarbus was among the fallen:\nwith the aid of king Bogud, Hiarbas was seized and slain at Bulla,\nand Hiempsal was reinstated in his hereditary kingdom; a great\nrazzia against the inhabitants of the desert, among whom a number\nof Gaetulian tribes recognized as free by Marius were made subject\nto Hiempsal, revived in Africa also the fallen repute of the Roman\nname: in forty days after the landing of Pompeius in Africa all was\nat an end (674?).  The senate instructed him to break up his army--\nan implied hint that he was not to be allowed a triumph, to which\nas an extraordinary magistrate he could according to precedent make\nno claim.  The general murmured secretly, the soldiers loudly; it\nseemed for a moment as if the African army would revolt against the\nsenate and Sulla would have to take the field against his son-in-\nlaw.  But Sulla yielded, and allowed the young man to boast of\nbeing the only Roman who had become a triumphator before he was\na senator (12 March 675); in fact the \"Fortunate,\" not perhaps\nwithout a touch of irony, saluted the youth on his return from\nthese easy exploits as the \"Great.\"\n\nFresh Difficulties with Mithradates\n\nIn the east also, after the embarkation of Sulla in the spring of\n671, there had been no cessation of warfare.  The restoration of\nthe old state of things and the subjugation of individual towns\ncost in Asia as in Italy various bloody struggles.  Against the\nfree city of Mytilene in particular Lucius Lucullus was obliged\nat length to bring up troops, after having exhausted all gentler\nmeasures; and even a victory in the open field did not put an end\nto the obstinate resistance of the citizens.\n\nMeanwhile the Roman governor of Asia, Lucius Murena, had fallen\ninto fresh difficulties with king Mithradates.  The latter had\nsince the peace busied himself in strengthening anew his rule,\nwhich was shaken even in the northern provinces; he had pacified\nthe Colchians by appointing his able son Mithradates as their\ngovernor; he had then made away with that son, and was now preparing\nfor an expedition into his Bosporan kingdom.  The assurances of\nArchelaus who had meanwhile been obliged to seek an asylum with\nMurena,(18) that these preparations were directed against Rome,\ninduced Murena, under the pretext that Mithradates still kept\npossession of Cappadocian frontier districts, to move his troops\ntowards the Cappadocian Comana and thus to violate the Pontic\nfrontier (671).  Mithradates contented himself with complaining\nto Murena and, when this was in vain, to the Roman government.\nIn fact commissioners from Sulla made their appearance to dissuade\nthe governor, but he did not submit; on the contrary he crossed\nthe Halys and entered on the undisputed territory of Pontus,\nwhereupon Mithradates resolved to repel force by force.  His general\nGordius had to detain the Roman army till the king came up with\nfar superior forces and compelled battle; Murena was vanquished\nand with great loss driven back over the Roman frontier to Phrygia,\nand the Roman garrisons were expelled from all Cappadocia.  Murena\nhad the effrontery, no doubt, to call himself the victor and to\nassume the title of -imperator- on account of these events (672);\nbut the sharp lesson and a second admonition from Sulla induced\nhim at last to push the matter no farther; the peace between\nRome and Mithradates was renewed (673).\n\nSecond Peace\nCapture of Mytilene\n\nThis foolish feud, while it lasted, had postponed the reduction\nof the Mytilenaeans; it was only after a long siege by land and\nby sea, in which the Bithynian fleet rendered good service, that\nMurena's successor succeeded in taking the city by storm (675).\n\nGeneral Peace\n\nThe ten years' revolution and insurrection were at an end in the\nwest and in the east; the state had once more unity of government\nand peace without and within.  After the terrible convulsions of\nthe last years even this rest was a relief.  Whether it was to\nfurnish more than a mere relief; whether the remarkable man, who\nhad succeeded in the difficult task of vanquishing the public foe\nand in the more difficult work of subduing the revolution, would\nbe able to meet satisfactorily the most difficult task of all--\nthe re-establishing of social and political order shaken to its\nvery foundations--could not but be speedily decided\n\n\n\n\nChapter X\n\nThe Sullan Constitution\n\nThe Restoration\n\nAbout the time when the first pitched battle was fought between\nRomans and Romans, in the night of the 6th July 671, the venerable\ntemple, which had been erected by the kings, dedicated by the\nyouthful republic, and spared by the storms of five hundred years--\nthe temple of the Roman Jupiter in the Capitol--perished in the flames.\nIt was no augury, but it was an image of the state of the Roman\nconstitution.  This, too, lay in ruins and needed reconstruction.\nThe revolution was no doubt vanquished, but the victory was far\nfrom implying as a matter of course the restoration of the old\ngovernment.  The mass of the aristocracy certainly was of opinion\nthat now, after the death of the two revolutionary consuls, it would\nbe sufficient to make arrangements for the ordinary supplemental\nelection and to leave it to the senate to take such steps as should\nseem farther requisite for the rewarding of the victorious army, for\nthe punishment of the most guilty revolutionists, and possibly also\nfor the prevention of similar outbreaks.  But Sulla, in whose hands\nthe victory had concentrated for the moment all power, formed a\nmore correct judgment of affairs and of men.  The aristocracy of\nRome in its best epoch had not risen above an adherence--partly\nnoble and partly narrow--to traditional forms; how should the clumsy\ncollegiate government of this period be in a position to carry out\nwith energy and thoroughness a comprehensive reform of the state?\nAnd at the present moment, when the last crisis had swept away\nalmost all the leading men of the senate, the vigour and intelligence\nrequisite for such an enterprise were less than ever to be found there.\nHow thoroughly useless was the pure aristocratic blood, and how little\ndoubt Sulla had as to its worthlessness, is shown by the fact that,\nwith the exception of Quintus Metellus who was related to him by marriage,\nhe selected all his instruments out of what was previously the middle\nparty and the deserters from the democratic camp--such as Lucius\nFlaccus, Lucius Philippus, Quintus Ofella, Gnaeus Pompeius.\nSulla was as much in earnest about the re-establishment of the old\nconstitution as the most vehement aristocratic emigrant; he understood\nhowever, not perhaps to the full extent--for how in that case could\nhe have put hand to the work at all?--but better at any rate than\nhis party, the enormous difficulties which attended this work of\nrestoration.  Comprehensive concessions so far as concession was\npossible without affecting the essence of oligarchy, and the\nestablishment of an energetic system of repression and prevention,\nwere regarded by him as unavoidable; and he saw clearly that the senate\nas it stood would refuse or mutilate every concession, and would\nparliamentarily ruin every systematic reconstruction.  If Sulla had\nalready after the Sulpician revolution carried out what he deemed\nnecessary in both respects without asking much of their advice, he\nwas now determined, under circumstances of far more severe and intense\nexcitement, to restore the oligarchy--not with the aid, but in spite,\nof the oligarchs--by his own hand.\n\nSulla Regent of Rome\n\nSulla, however, was not now consul as he had been then, but was\nfurnished merely with proconsular, that is to say, purely military\npower: he needed an authority keeping as near as possible to\nconstitutional forms, but yet extraordinary, in order to impose his\nreform on friends and foes.  In a letter to the senate he announced\nto them that it seemed to him indispensable that they should place\nthe regulation of the state in the hands of a single man equipped\nwith unlimited plenitude of power, and that he deemed himself qualified\nto fulfil this difficult task.  This proposal, disagreeable as it was\nto many, was under the existing circumstances a command.  By direction\nof the senate its chief, the interrex Lucius Valerius Flaccus the\nfather, as interim holder of the supreme power, submitted to the\nburgesses the proposal that the proconsul Lucius Cornelius Sulla\nshould receive for the past a supplementary approval of all the\nofficial acts performed by him as consul and proconsul, and should\nfor the future be empowered to adjudicate without appeal on the life\nand property of the burgesses, to deal at his pleasure with the\nstate-domains, to shift at discretion the boundaries of Rome, of\nItaly, and of the state, to dissolve or establish urban communities\nin Italy, to dispose of the provinces and dependent states, to confer\nthe supreme -imperium- instead of the people and to nominate proconsuls\nand propraetors, and lastly to regulate the state for the future by\nmeans of new laws; that it should be left to his own judgment to\ndetermine when he had fulfilled his task and might deem it time to\nresign this extraordinary magistracy; and, in fine, that during its\ncontinuance it should depend on his pleasure whether the ordinary\nsupreme magistracy should subsist side by side with his own or should\nremain in abeyance.  As a matter of course, the proposal was adopted\nwithout opposition (Nov. 672); and now the new master of the state,\nwho hitherto had as proconsul avoided entering the capital, appeared\nfor the first time within the walls of Rome.  This new office derived\nits name from the dictatorship, which had been practically abolished\nsince the Hannibalic war;(1) but, as besides his armed retinue he was\npreceded by twice as many lictors as the dictator of earlier times,\nthis new \"dictatorship for the making of laws and the regulation of\nthe commonwealth,\" as its official title ran, was in fact altogether\ndifferent from the earlier magistracy which had been limited in point\nof duration and of powers, had not excluded appeal to the burgesses,\nand had not annulled the ordinary magistracy.  It much more resembled\nthat of the -decemviri legibus scribundis-, who likewise came forward\nas an extraordinary government with unlimited fulness of powers\nsuperseding the ordinary magistracy, and practically at least\nadministered their office as one which was unlimited in point of\ntime.  Or, we should rather say, this new office, with its absolute\npower based on a decree of the people and restrained by no set term\nor colleague, was no other than the old monarchy, which in fact just\nrested on the free engagement of the burgesses to obey one of their\nnumber as absolute lord.  It was urged even by contemporaries in\nvindication of Sulla that a king is better than a bad constitution,(2)\nand presumably the title of dictator was only chosen to indicate\nthat, as the former dictatorship implied a reassumptionwith various\nlimitations,(3) so this new dictatorship involved a complete\nreassumption, of the regal power.  Thus, singularly enough,\nthe course of Sulla here also coincided with that on which Gaius\nGracchus had entered with so wholly different a design.  In this\nrespect too the conservative party had to borrow from its opponents;\nthe protector of the oligarchic constitution had himself to\ncome forward as a tyrant, in order to avert the ever-impending\n-tyrannis-.  There was not a little of defeat in this last victory\nof the oligarchy.\n\nExecutions\n\nSulla had not sought and had not desired the difficult and dreadful\nlabour of the work of restoration; out, as no other choice was left\nto him but either to leave it to utterly incapable hands or to\nundertake it in person, he set himself to it with remorseless energy.\nFirst of all a settlement had to be effected in respect to the guilty.\nSulla was personally inclined to pardon.  Sanguine as he was in\ntemperament, he could doubtless break forth into violent rage, and\nwell might those beware who saw his eye gleam and his cheeks colour;\nbut the chronic vindictiveness, which characterized Marius in the\nembitterment of his old age, was altogether foreign to Sulla's easy\ndisposition.  Not only had he borne himself with comparatively great\nmoderation after the revolution of 666;(4) even the second revolution,\nwhich had perpetrated so fearful outrages and had affected him in\nperson so severely, had not disturbed his equilibrium.  At the same\ntime that the executioner was dragging the bodies of his friends\nthrough the streets of the capital, he had sought to save the life of\nthe blood-stained Fimbria, and, when the latter died by his own hand,\nhad given orders for his decent burial.  On landing in Italy he had\nearnestly offered to forgive and to forget, and no one who came to\nmake his peace had been rejected.  Even after the first successes\nhe had negotiated in this spirit with Lucius Scipio; it was the\nrevolutionary party, which had not only broken off these negotiations,\nbut had subsequently, at the last moment before their downfall,\nresumed the massacres afresh and more fearfully than ever, and had\nin fact conspired with the inveterate foes of their country for the\ndestruction of the city of Rome.  The cup was now full.  By virtue\nof his new official authority Sulla, immediately after assuming the\nregency, outlawed as enemies of their country all the civil and\nmilitary officials who had taken an active part in favour of the\nrevolution after the convention with Scipio (which according to\nSulla's assertion was validly concluded), and such of the other\nburgesses as had in any marked manner aided its cause.  Whoever\nkilled one of these outlaws was not only exempt from punishment like\nan executioner duly fulfilling his office, but also obtained for the\nexecution a compensation of 12,000 -denarii- (480 pounds); any one on\nthe contrary who befriended an outlaw, even the nearest relative, was\nliable to the severest punishment.  The property of the proscribed\nwas forfeited to the state like the spoil of an enemy; their children\nand grandchildren were excluded from a political career, and yet,\nso far as they were of senatorial rank, were bound to undertake their\nshare of senatorial burdens.  The last enactments also applied to the\nestates and the descendants of those who had fallen in conflict for\nthe revolution--penalties which went even beyond those enjoined by\nthe earliest law in the case of such as had borne arms against their\nfatherland.  The most terrible feature in this system of terror was\nthe indefiniteness of the proposed categories, against which there was\nimmediate remonstrance in the senate, and which Sulla himself sought\nto remedy by directing the names of the proscribed to be publicly\nposted up and fixing the 1st June 673 as the final term for closing\nthe lists of proscription.\n\nProscription-Lists\n\nMuch as this bloody roll, swelling from day to day and amounting\nat last to 4700 names,(5) excited the just horror of the multitude,\nit at any rate checked in some degree the mere caprice of the\nexecutioners.  It was not at least to the personal resentment of\nthe regent that the mass of these victims were sacrificed; his furious\nhatred was directed solely against the Marians, the authors of the\nhideous massacres of 667 and 672.  By his command the tomb of the\nvictor of Aquae Sextiae was broken open and his ashes were scattered\nin the Anio, the monuments of his victories over Africans and Germans\nwere overthrown, and, as death had snatched himself and his son from\nSulla's vengeance, his adopted nephew Marcus Marius Gratidianus,\nwho had been twice praetor and was a great favourite with the Roman\nburgesses, was executed amid the most cruel tortures at the tomb\nof Catulus, who most deserved to be regretted of all the Marian\nvictims.  In other cases also death had already swept away the most\nnotable of his opponents: of the leaders there survived only Gaius\nNorbanus, who laid hands on himself at Rhodes, while the -ecclesia-\nwas deliberating on his surrender; Lucius Scipio, for whom his\ninsignificance and probably also his noble birth procured indulgence\nand permission to end his days in peace at his retreat in Massilia;\nand Quintus Sertorius, who was wandering about as an exile on the\ncoast of Mauretania.  But yet the heads of slaughtered senators were\npiled up at the Servilian Basin, at the point where the -Vicus\nJugarius- opened into the Forum, where the dictator had ordered them\nto be publicly exposed; and among men of the second and third rank in\nparticular death reaped a fearful harvest.  In addition to those who\nwere placed on the list for their services in or on behalf of the\nrevolutionary army with little discrimination, sometimes on account of\nmoney advanced to one of its officers or on account of relations of\nhospitality formed with such an one, the retaliation fell specially on\nthose capitalists who had sat in judgment on the senators and had\nspeculated in Marian confiscations--the \"hoarders\"; about 1600 of\nthe equites, as they were called,(6) were inscribed on the proscription-\nlist.  In like manner the professional accusers, the worst scourge of\nthe nobility, who made it their trade to bring men of the senatorial\norder before the equestrian courts, had now to suffer for it--\"how\ncomes it to pass,\" an advocate soon after asked, \"that they have left\nto us the courts, when they were putting to death the accusers and\njudges?\" The most savage and disgraceful passions raged without\nrestraint for many months throughout Italy.  In the capital a Celtic\nband was primarily charged with the executions, and Sullan soldiers\nand subaltern officers traversed for the same purpose the different\ndistricts of Italy; but every volunteer was also welcome, and the\nrabble high and low pressed forward not only to earn the rewards\nof murder, but also to gratify their own vindictive or covetous\ndispositions under the mantle of political prosecution.  It sometimes\nhappened that the assassination did not follow, but preceded, the\nplacing of the name on the list of the proscribed.  One example shows\nthe way in which these executions took place.  At Larinum, a town of\nnew burgesses and favourable to Marian views, one Statius Albius\nOppianicus, who had fled to Sulla's headquarters to avoid a charge\nof murder, made his appearance after the victory as commissioner of\nthe regent, deposed the magistrates of the town, installed himself\nand his friends in their room, and caused the person who had\nthreatened to accuse him, along with his nearest relatives and\nfriends, to be outlawed and killed.  Countless persons--including\nnot a few decided adherents of the oligarchy--thus fell as the victims\nof private hostility or of their own riches: the fearful confusion,\nand the culpable indulgence which Sulla displayed in this as in every\ninstance towards those more closely connected with him, prevented\nany punishment even of the ordinary crimes that were perpetrated\namidst the disorder.\n\nConfiscations\n\nThe confiscated property was dealt with in a similar way.  Sulla\nfrom political considerations sought to induce the respectable\nburgesses to take part in its purchase; a great portion of them,\nmoreover, voluntarily pressed forward, and none more zealously than\nthe young Marcus Crassus.  Under the existing circumstances the\nutmost depreciation was inevitable; indeed, to some extent it was the\nnecessary result of the Roman plan of selling the property confiscated\nby the state for a round sum payable in ready money.  Moreover, the\nregent did not forget himself; while his wife Metella more especially\nand other persons high and low closely connected with him, even\nfreedmen and boon-companions, were sometimes allowed to purchase without\ncompetition, sometimes had the purchase-money wholly or partially\nremitted.  One of his freedmen, for instance, is said to have\npurchased a property of 6,000,000 sesterces (60,000 pounds) for 2000\n(20 pounds), and one of his subalterns is said to have acquired by\nsuch speculations an estate of 10,000,000 sesterces (100,000 pounds).\nThe indignation was great and just; even during Sulla's regency an\nadvocate asked whether the nobility had waged civil war solely for the\npurpose of enriching their freedmen and slaves.  But in spite of this\ndepreciation the whole proceeds of the confiscated estates amounted to\nnot less than 350,000,000 sesterces (3,500,000 pounds), which gives\nan approximate idea of the enormous extent of these confiscations\nfalling chiefly on the wealthiest portion of the burgesses.  It was\naltogether a fearful punishment.  There was no longer any process or\nany pardon; mute terror lay like a weight of lead on the land, and\nfree speech was silenced in the market-place alike of the capital and\nof the country-town.  The oligarchic reign of terror bore doubtless a\ndifferent stamp from that of the revolution; while Marius had glutted\nhis personal vengeance in the blood of his enemies, Sulla seemed\nto account terrorism in the abstract, if we may so speak, a thing\nnecessary to the introduction of the new despotism, and to prosecute\nand make others prosecute the work of massacre almost with indifference.\nBut the reign of terror presented an appearance all the more horrible,\nwhen it proceeded from the conservative side and was in some measure\ndevoid of passion; the commonwealth seemed all the more irretrievably\nlost, when the frenzy and the crime on both sides were equally balanced.\n\nMaintenance of the Burgess-Rights Previously Conferred\n\nIn regulating the relations of Italy and of the capital, Sulla--\nalthough he otherwise in general treated as null all state-acts done\nduring the revolution except in the transaction of current business--\nfirmly adhered to the principle, which it had laid down, that every\nburgess of an Italian community was by that very fact a burgess also\nof Rome; the distinctions between burgesses and Italian allies,\nbetween old burgesses with better, and new burgesses with more\nrestricted, rights, were abolished, and remained so.  In the case\nof the freedmen alone the unrestricted right of suffrage was again\nwithdrawn, and for them the old state of matters was restored.\nTo the aristocratic ultras this might seem a great concession;\nSulla perceived that it was necessary to wrest these mighty levers\nout of the hands of the revolutionary chiefs, and that the rule\nof the oligarchy was not materially endangered by increasing\nthe number of the burgesses.\n\nPunishments Inflicted on Particular Communities\n\nBut with this concession in principle was combined a most rigid\ninquisition, conducted by special commissioners with the co-operation\nof the garrisons distributed throughout Italy, in respect to\nparticular communities in all districts of the land.  Several towns\nwere rewarded; for instance Brundisium, the first community which\nhad joined Sulla, now obtained the exemption from customs so\nimportant for such a seaport; more were punished.  The less guilty\nwere required to pay fines, to pull down their walls, to raze their\ncitadels; in the case of those whose opposition had been most\nobstinate the regent confiscated a part of their territory, in some\ncases even the whole of it--as it certainly might be regarded in law as\nforfeited, whether they were to be treated as burgess-communities which\nhad borne arms against their fatherland, or as allied states which had\nwaged war with Rome contrary to their treaties of perpetual peace.\nIn this case all the dispossessed burgesses--but these only--were\ndeprived of their municipal, and at the same time of the Roman,\nfranchise, receiving in return the lowest Latin rights.(7)  Sulla\nthus avoided furnishing the opposition with a nucleus in Italian\nsubject-communities of inferior rights; the homeless dispossessed\nof necessity were soon lost in the mass of the proletariate.\nIn Campania not only was the democratic colony of Capua done away\nand its domain given back to the state, as was naturally to be\nexpected, but the island of Aenaria (Ischia) was also, probably\nabout this time, withdrawn from the community of Neapolis.  In Latium\nthe whole territory of the large and wealthy city of Praeneste and\npresumably of Norba also was confiscated, as was likewise that of\nSpoletium in Umbria.  Sulmo in the Paelignian district was even\nrazed.  But the iron arm of the regent fell with especial weight\non the two regions which had offered a serious resistance up to\nthe end and even after the battle at the Colline gate--Etruria and\nSamnium.  There a number of the most considerable communes, such\nas Florentia, Faesulae, Arretium, Volaterrae, were visited with total\nconfiscation.  Of the fate of Samnium we have already spoken; there\nwas no confiscation there, but the land was laid waste for ever, its\nflourishing towns, even the former Latin colony of Aesernia, were left\nin ruins, and the country was placed on the same footing with the\nBruttian and Lucanian regions.\n\nAssignations to the Soldiers\n\nThese arrangements as to the property of the Italian soil placed\non the one hand those Roman domain-lands which had been handed\nover in usufruct to the former allied communities and now on their\ndissolution reverted to the Roman government, and on the other hand\nthe confiscated territories of the communities incurring punishment,\nat the disposal of the regent; and he employed them for the purpose\nof settling thereon the soldiers of the victorious army.  Most of these\nnew settlements were directed towards Etruria, as for instance to\nFaesulae and Arretium, others to Latium and Campania, where Praeneste\nand Pompeii among other places became Sullan colonies.  To repeople\nSamnium was, as we have said, no part of the regent's design.\nA great part of these assignations took place after the Gracchan\nmode, so that the settlers were attached to an already-existing urban\ncommunity.  The comprehensiveness of this settlement is shown by the\nnumber of land-allotments distributed, which is stated at 120,000;\nwhile yet some portions of land withal were otherwise applied, as\nin the case of the lands bestowed on the temple of Diana at Mount\nTifata; others, such as the Volaterran domain and a part of the\nArretine, remained undistributed; others in fine, according to\nthe old abuse legally forbidden(8) but now reviving, were taken\npossession of on the part of Sulla's favourites by the right of\noccupation.  The objects which Sulla aimed at in this colonization\nwere of a varied kind.  In the first place, he thereby redeemed\nthe pledge given to his soldiers.  Secondly, he in so doing adopted\nthe idea, in which the reform-party and the moderate conservatives\nconcurred, and in accordance with which he had himself as early\nas 666 arranged the establishment of a number of colonies--\nthe idea namely of augmenting the number of the small agricultural\nproprietors in Italy by a breaking up of the larger possessions\non the part of the government; how seriously he had this at heart\nis shown by the renewed prohibition of the throwing together of\nallotments.  Lastly and especially, he saw in these settled\nsoldiers as it were standing garrisons, who would protect his new\nconstitution along with their own right of property.  For this\nreason, where the whole territory was not confiscated, as at Pompeii,\nthe colonists were not amalgamated with the urban-community, but\nthe old burgesses and the colonists were constituted as two bodies\nof burgesses associated within the same enclosing wall.  In other\nrespects these colonial foundations were based, doubtless, like the\nolder ones, on a decree of the people, but only indirectly, in so\nfar as the regent constituted them by virtue of the clause of the\nValerian law to that effect; in reality they originated from the\nruler's plenitude of power, and so far recalled the freedom with\nwhich the former regal authority disposed of the state-property.\nBut, in so far as the contrast between the soldier and the burgess,\nwhich was in other instances done away by the very sending out of\nthe soldiers or colonists, was intended to remain, and did remain,\nin force in the Sullan colonies even after their establishment,\nand these colonists formed, as it were, the standing array of the\nsenate, they are not incorrectly designated, in contradistinction\nto the older ones, as military colonies.\n\nThe Cornelian Freedmen in Rome\n\nAkin to this practical constituting of a standing army for the senate\nwas the measure by which the regent selected from the slaves of the\nproscribed upwards of 10,000 of the youngest and most vigorous men,\nand manumitted them in a body.  These new Cornelians, whose civil\nexistence was linked to the legal validity of the institutions of their\npatron, were designed to be a sort of bodyguard for the oligarchy and\nto help it to command the city populace, on which, indeed, in the\nabsence of a garrison everything in the capital now primarily depended.\n\nAbolition of the Gracchan Institutions\n\nThese extraordinary supports on which the regent made the oligarchy\nprimarily to rest, weak and ephemeral as they doubtless might appear\neven to their author, were yet its only possible buttresses, unless\nexpedients were to be resorted to--such as the formal institution\nof a standing army in Rome and other similar measures--which would\nhave put an end to the oligarchy far sooner than the attacks of\ndemagogues.  The permanent foundation of the ordinary governing\npower of the oligarchy of course could not but be the senate,\nwith a power so increased and so concentrated that it presented a\nsuperiority to its non-organized opponents at every single point\nof attack.  The system of compromises followed for forty years was\nat an end.  The Gracchan constitution, still spared in the first\nSullan reform of 666, was now utterly set aside.  Since the time of\nGaius Gracchus the government had conceded, as it were, the right of\n-'emeute- to the proletariate of the capital, and bought it off by\nregular distributions of corn to the burgesses domiciled there;\nSulla abolished these largesses.  Gaius Gracchus had organized and\nconsolidated the order of capitalists by the letting of the tenths\nand customs of the province of Asia in Rome; Sulla abolished the\nsystem of middlemen, and converted the former contributions of the\nAsiatics into fixed taxes, which were assessed on the several\ndistricts according to the valuation-rolls drawn up for the purpose\nof gathering in the arrears.(9)  Gaius Gracchus had by entrusting\nthe posts of jurymen to men of equestrian census procured for\nthe capitalist class an indirect share in administering and in\ngoverning, which proved itself not seldom stronger than the official\nadminis-tration and government; Sulla abolished the equestrian and\nrestored the senatorial courts.  Gaius Gracchus or at any rate the\nGracchan period had conceded to the equites a special place at the\npopular festivals, such as the senators had for long possessed;(10)\nSulla abolished it and relegated the equites to the plebeian benches.(11)\nThe equestrian order, created as such by Gaius Gracchus, was deprived\nof its political existence by Sulla.  The senate was to exercise\nthe supreme power in legislation, administration, and jurisdiction,\nunconditionally, indivisibly, and permanently, and was to be\ndistinguished also by outward tokens not merely as a privileged,\nbut as the only privileged, order.\n\nReorganization of the Senate\nIts Complement Filled Up by Extraordinary Election\nAdmission to the Senate through the Quaestorship\nAbolition of the Censorial Supervision of the Senate\n\nFor this purpose the governing board had, first of all, to have its\nranks filled up and to be itself placed on a footing of independence.\nThe numbers of the senators had been fearfully reduced by the recent\ncrises.  Sulla no doubt now gave to those who were exiled by the\nequestrian courts liberty to return, for instance to the consular\nPublius Rutilius Rufus,(12) who however made no use of the permission,\nand to Gaius Cotta the friend of Drusus;(13) but this made only slight\namends for the gaps which the revolutionary and reactionary reigns\nof terror had created in the ranks of the senate.  Accordingly by\nSulla's directions the senate had its complement extraordinarily made\nup by about 300 new senators, whom the assembly of the tribes had\nto nominate from among men of equestrian census, and whom they\nselected, as may be conceived, chiefly from the younger men of the\nsenatorial houses on the one hand, and from Sullan officers and\nothers brought into prominence by the last revolution on the other.\nFor the future also the mode of admission to the senate was\nregulated anew and placed on an essentially different basis.\nAs the constitution had hitherto stood, men entered the senate\neither through the summons of the censors, which was the proper and\nordinary way, or through the holding of one of the three curule\nmagistracies--the consulship, the praetorship, or the aedileship--\nto which since the passing of the Ovinian law a seat and vote in\nthe senate had been de jure attached.(14)  The holding of an inferior\nmagistracy, of the tribunate or the quaestorship, gave doubtless a\nclaim de facto to a place in the senate--inasmuch as the censorial\nselection especially turned towards the men who had held such\noffices--but by no means a reversion de jure.  Of these two modes\nof admission, Sulla abolished the former by setting aside--at least\npractically--the censorship, and altered the latter to the effect\nthat the right of admission to the senate was attached to the\nquaestorship instead of the aedileship, and at the same time\nthe number of quaestors to be annually nominated was raised to\ntwenty.(15)  The prerogative hitherto legally pertaining to the\ncensors, although practically no longer exercised in its original\nserious sense--of deleting any senator from the roll, with a\nstatement of the reasons for doing so, at the revisals which\ntook place every five years (16)--likewise fell into abeyance for\nthe future; the irremoveable character which had hitherto de facto\nbelonged to the senators was thus finally fixed by Sulla.\nThe total number of senators, which hitherto had presumably not\nmuch exceeded the old normal number of 300 and often perhaps had\nnot even reached it, was by these means considerably augmented,\nperhaps on an average doubled(17)--an augmentation which was rendered\nnecessary by the great increase of the duties of the senate through\nthe transference to it of the functions of jurymen.  As, moreover,\nboth the extraordinarily admitted senators and the quaestors were\nnominated by the -comitia tributa-, the senate, hitherto resting\nindirectly on the election of the people,(18) was now based throughout\non direct popular election; and thus made as close an approach to a\nrepresentative government as was compatible with the nature of the\noligarchy and the notions of antiquity generally.  The senate had in\ncourse of time been converted from a corporation intended merely to\nadvise the magistrates into a board commanding the magistrates and\nself-governing; it was only a consistent advance in the same direction,\nwhen the right of nominating and cancelling senators originally\nbelonging to the magistrates was withdrawn from them, and the senate\nwas placed on the same legal basis on which the magistrates' power\nitself rested.  The extravagant prerogative of the censors to revise\nthe list of the senate and to erase or add names at pleasure was\nin reality incompatible with an organized oligarchic constitution.\nAs provision was now made for a sufficient regular recruiting of its\nranks by the election of the quaestors, the censorial revisions became\nsuperfluous; and by their abeyance the essential principle at the\nbottom of every oligarchy, the irremoveable character and life-tenure\nof the members of the ruling order who obtained seat and vote,\nwas definitively consolidated.\n\nRegulations As to the Burgesses\n\nIn respect to legislation Sulla contented himself with reviving the\nregulations made in 666, and securing to the senate the legislative\ninitiative, which had long belonged to it practically, by legal\nenactment at least as against the tribunes.  The burgess-body\nremained formally sovereign; but so far as its primary assemblies\nwere concerned, while it seemed to the regent necessary carefully\nto preserve the form, he was still more careful to prevent any real\nactivity on their part.  Sulla dealt even with the franchise itself\nin the most contemptuous manner; he made no difficulty either in\nconceding it to the new burgess-communities, or in bestowing it on\nSpaniards and Celts en masse; in fact, probably not without design,\nno steps were taken at all for the adjustment of the burgess-roll,\nwhich nevertheless after so violent revolutions stood in urgent\nneed of a revision, if the government was still at all in earnest\nwith the legal privileges attaching to it.  The legislative functions\nof the comitia, however, were not directly restricted; there was\nno need in fact for doing so, for in consequence of the better-\nsecured initiative of the senate the people could not readily\nagainst the will of the government intermeddle with administration,\nfinance, or criminal jurisdiction, and its legislative co-operation\nwas once more reduced in substance to the right of giving assent to\nalterations of the constitution.\n\nCo-optation Restored in the Priestly Colleges\nRegulating of the Qualifications for Office\n\nOf greater moment was the participation of the burgesses in the\nelections--a participation, with which they seemed not to be able to\ndispense without disturbing more than Sulla's superficial restoration\ncould or would disturb.  The interferences of the movement party in\nthe sacerdotal elections were set aside; not only the Domitian law\nof 650, which transferred the election of the supreme priesthoods\ngenerally to the people,(19) but also the similar older enactments\nas to the -Pontifex Maximus- and the -Curio Maximus-(20) were\ncancelled by Sulla, and the colleges of priests received back the\nright of self-completion in its original absoluteness.  In the case\nof elections to the offices of state, the mode hitherto pursued was\non the whole retained; except in so far as the new regulation of\nthe military command to be mentioned immediately certainly involved\nas its consequence a material restriction of the powers of the\nburgesses, and indeed in some measure transferred the right of\nbestowing the appointment of generals from the burgesses to the\nsenate.  It does not even appear that Sulla now resumed the previously\nattempted restoration of the Servian voting-arrangement;(21) whether\nit was that he regarded the particular composition of the voting-\ndivisions as altogether a matter of indifference, or whether it was\nthat this older arrangement seemed to him to augment the dangerous\ninfluence of the capitalists.  Only the qualifications were restored\nand partially raised.  The limit of age requisite for the holding\nof each office was enforced afresh; as was also the enactment that\nevery candidate for the consulship should have previously held the\npraetorship, and every candidate for the praetorship should have\npreviously held the quaestorship, whereas the aedileship was\nallowed to be passed over.  The various attempts that had been\nrecently made to establish a -tyrannis- under the form of a\nconsulship continued for several successive years led to special\nrigour in dealing with this abuse; and it was enacted that at\nleast two years should elapse between the holding of one magistracy\nand the holding of another, and at least ten years should elapse\nbefore the same office could be held a second time.  In this\nlatter enactment the earlier ordinance of 412 (22) was revived,\ninstead of the absolute prohibition of all re-election to the\nconsulship, which had been the favourite idea of the most recent\nultra-oligarchical epoch.(23)  On the whole, however, Sulla left\nthe elections to take their course, and sought merely to fetter the\npower of the magistrates in such a way that--let the incalculable\ncaprice of the comitia call to office whomsoever it might--the person\nelected should not be in a position to rebel against the oligarchy.\n\nWeakening of the Tribunate of the People\n\nThe supreme magistrates of the state were at this period practically\nthe three colleges of the tribunes of the people, the consuls and\npraetors, and the censors.  They all emerged from the Sullan\nrestoration with materially diminished rights, more especially\nthe tribunician office, which appeared to the regent an instrument\nindispensable doubtless for senatorial government, but yet--\nas generated by revolution and having a constant tendency to\ngenerate fresh revolutions in its turn--requiring to be rigorously\nand permanently shackled.  The tribunician authority had arisen out\nof the right to annul the official acts of the magistrates by veto,\nand, eventually, to fine any one who should oppose that right and to\ntake steps for his farther punishment; this was still left to the\ntribunes, excepting that a heavy fine, destroying as a rule a man's\ncivil existence, was imposed on the abuse of the right of intercession.\nThe further prerogative of the tribune to have dealings with the\npeople at pleasure, partly for the purpose of bringing up accusations\nand especially of calling former magistrates to account at the bar\nof the people, partly for the purpose of submitting laws to the vote,\nhad been the lever by which the Gracchi, Saturninus, and Sulpicius\nhad revolutionized the state; it was not abolished, but its exercise\nwas probably made dependent on a permission to be previously requested\nfrom the senate.(24)  Lastly it was added that the holding of\nthe tribunate should in future disqualify for the undertaking of\na higher office--an enactment which, like many other points in Sulla's\nrestoration, once more reverted to the old patrician maxims, and,\njust as in the times before the admission of the plebeians to\nthe civil magistracies, declared the tribunate and the curule\noffices to be mutually incompatible.  In this way the legislator\nof the oligarchy hoped to check tribunician demagogism and to keep\nall ambitious and aspiring men aloof from the tribunate, but to\nretain it as an instrument of the senate both for mediating\nbetween it and the burgesses, and, should circumstances require,\nfor keeping in check the magistrates; and, as the authority of the\nking and afterwards of the republican magistrates over the burgesses\nscarcely anywhere comes to light so clearly as in the principle\nthat they exclusively had the right of addressing the people,\nso the supremacy of the senate, now first legally established,\nis most distinctly apparent in this permission which the leader\nof the people had to ask from the senate for every transaction\nwith his constituents.\n\nLimitation of the Supreme Magistracy\nRegulation of the Consular and Praetorian Functions before--\nThe Time of Sulla\n\nThe consulship and praetorship also, although viewed by the\naristocratic regenerator of Rome with a more favourable eye than\nthe tribunate liable in itself to be regarded with suspicion, by\nno means escaped that distrust towards its own instruments which is\nthroughout characteristic of oligarchy.  They were restricted with\nmore tenderness in point of form, but in a way very sensibly felt.\nSulla here began with the partition of functions.  At the beginning\nof this period the arrangement in that respect stood as follows.\nAs formerly there had devolved on the two consuls the collective\nfunctions of the supreme magistracy, so there still devolved on them\nall those official duties for which distinct functionaries had not\nbeen by law established.  This latter course had been adopted with\nthe administration of justice in the capital, in which the consuls,\naccording to a rule inviolably adhered to, might not interfere, and\nwith the transmarine provinces then existing--Sicily, Sardinia, and\nthe two Spains--in which, while the consul might no doubt exercise\nhis -imperium-, he did so only exceptionally.  In the ordinary course\nof things, accordingly, the six fields of special jurisdiction--\nthe two judicial appointments in the capital and the four transmarine\nprovinces--were apportioned among the six praetors, while there devolved\non the two consuls, by virtue of their general powers, the management\nof the non-judicial business of the capital and the military command\nin the continental possessions.  Now as this field of general powers\nwas thus doubly occupied, the one consul in reality remained at the\ndisposal of the government; and in ordinary times accordingly those\neight supreme annual magistrates fully, and in fact amply, sufficed.\nFor extraordinary cases moreover power was reserved on the one\nhand to conjoin the non-military functions, and on the other hand\nto prolong the military powers beyond the term of their expiry\n(-prorogare-).  It was not unusual to commit the two judicial offices\nto the same praetor, and to have the business of the capital, which\nin ordinary circumstances had to be transacted by the consuls,\nmanaged by the -praetor urbanus-; whereas, as far as possible, the\ncombination of several commands in the same hand was judiciously\navoided.  For this case in reality a remedy was provided by the\nrule that there was no interregnum in the military -imperium-, so\nthat, although it had its legal term, it yet continued after the\narrival of that term de jure, until the successor appeared and\nrelieved his predecessor of the command; or--which is the same thing--\nthe commanding consul or praetor after the expiry of his term of\noffice, if a successor did not appear, might continue to act, and was\nbound to do so, in the consul's or praetor's stead.  The influence\nof the senate on this apportionment of functions consisted in its\nhaving by use and wont the power of either giving effect to the\nordinary rule--so that the six praetors allotted among themselves\nthe six special departments and the consuls managed the continental\nnon-judicial business--or prescribing some deviation from it; it\nmight assign to the consul a transmarine command of especial importance\nat the moment, or include an extraordinary military or judicial\ncommission--such as the command of the fleet or an important criminal\ninquiry--among the departments to be distributed, and might arrange\nthe further cumulations and extensions of term thereby rendered\nnecessary.  In this case, however, it was simply the demarcation of\nthe respective consular and praetorian functions on each occasion\nwhich belonged to the senate, not the designation of the persons to\nassume the particular office; the latter uniformly took place by\nagreement among the magistrates concerned or by lot.  The burgesses\nin the earlier period were doubtless resorted to for the purpose\nof legitimising by special decree of the community the practical\nprolongation of command that was involved in the non-arrival of\nrelief;(25) but this was required rather by the spirit than by the\nletter of the constitution, and soon the burgesses ceased from\nintervention in the matter.  In the course of the seventh century\nthere were gradually added to the six special departments already\nexisting six others, viz. the five new governorships of Macedonia,\nAfrica, Asia, Narbo, and Cilicia, and the presidency of the standing\ncommission respecting exactions.(26)  With the daily extending sphere\nof action of the Roman government, moreover, it was a case of more\nand more frequent occurrence, that the supreme magistrates were\ncalled to undertake extraordinary military or judicial commissions.\nNevertheless the number of the ordinary supreme annual magistrates\nwas not enlarged; and there thus devolved on eight magistrates to\nbe annually nominated--apart from all else--at least twelve special\ndepartments to be annually occupied.  Of course it was no mere\naccident, that this deficiency was not covered once for all by\nthe creation of new praetorships.  According to the letter of\nthe constitution all the supreme magistrates were to be nominated\nannually by the burgesses; according to the new order or rather\ndisorder--under which the vacancies that arose were filled up mainly\nby prolonging the term of office, and a second year was as a rule\nadded by the senate to the magistrates legally serving for one year,\nbut might also at discretion be refused--the most important and\nmost lucrative places in the state were filled up no longer by the\nburgesses, but by the senate out of a list of competitors formed by\nthe burgess-elections.  Since among these positions the transmarine\ncommands were especially sought after as being the most lucrative,\nit was usual to entrust a transmarine command on the expiry of\ntheir official year to those magistrates whom their office confined\neither in law or at any rate in fact to the capital, that is, to the\ntwo praetors administering justice in the city and frequently also\nto the consuls; a course which was compatible with the nature of\nprorogation, since the official authority of supreme magistrates\nacting in Rome and in the provinces respectively, although differently\nentered on, was not in strict state-law different in kind.\n\nRegulation of Their Functions by Sulla\nSeparation of the Political and Military Authority\nCisalpine Gaul Erected into a Province\n\nSuch was the state of things which Sulla found existing, and which\nformed the basis of his new arrangement.  Its main principles were,\na complete separation between the political authority which governed\nin the burgess-districts and the military authority which governed in\nthe non-burgess-districts, and an uniform extension of the duration of\nthe supreme magistracy from one year to two, the first of which was\ndevoted to civil, and the second to military affairs.  Locally the\ncivil and the military authority had certainly been long separated\nby the constitution, and the former ended at the -pomerium-, where\nthe latter began; but still the same man held the supreme political\nand the supreme military power united in his hand.  In future the\nconsul and praetor were to deal with the senate and burgesses, the\nproconsul and propraetor were to command the army; but all military\npower was cut off by law from the former, and all political action\nfrom the latter.  This primarily led to the political separation of\nthe region of Northern Italy from Italy proper.  Hitherto they had\nstood doubtless in a national antagonism, inasmuch as Northern Italy\nwas inhabited chiefly by Ligurians and Celts, Central and Southern\nItaly by Italians; but, in a political and administrative point of\nview, the whole continental territory of the Roman state from the\nStraits to the Alps including the Illyrian possessions--burgess,\nLatin, and non-Italian communities without exception--was in the\nordinary course of things under the administration of the supreme\nmagistrates who were acting in Rome, as in fact her colonial\nfoundations extended through all this territory.  According to Sulla's\narrangement Italy proper, the northern boundary of which was at the\nsame time changed from the Aesis to the Rubico, was--as a region now\ninhabited without exception by Roman citizens--made subject to the\nordinary Roman authorities; and it became one of the fundamental\nprinciples of Roman state-law, that no troops and no commandant\nshould ordinarily be stationed in this district.  The Celtic\ncountry south of the Alps on the other hand, in which a military\ncommand could not be dispensed with on account of the continued\nincursions of the Alpine tribes, was constituted a distinct\ngovernorship after the model of the older transmarine commands.(27)\n\nLastly, as the number of praetors to be nominated yearly was raised\nfrom six to eight, the new arrangement of the duties was such, that\nthe ten chief magistrates to be nominated yearly devoted themselves,\nduring their first year of office, as consuls or praetors to\nthe business of the capital--the two consuls to government and\nadministration, two of the praetors to the administration of civil\nlaw, the remaining six to the reorganized administration of criminal\njustice--and, during their second year of office, were as proconsuls\nor propraetors invested with the command in one of the ten\ngovernorships: Sicily, Sardinia, the two Spains, Macedonia, Asia,\nAfrica, Narbo, Cilicia, and Italian Gaul.  The already-mentioned\naugmentation of the number of quaestors by Sulla to twenty was\nlikewise connected with this arrangement.(28)\n\nBetter Arrangement of Business\nIncrease of the Power of the Senate\n\nBy this plan, in the first instance, a clear and fixed rule was\nsubstituted for the irregular mode of distributing offices hitherto\nadopted, a mode which invited all manner of vile manoeuvres and\nintrigues; and, secondly, the excesses of magisterial authority were\nas far as possible obviated and the influence of the supreme governing\nboard was materially increased.  According to the previous\narrangement the only legal distinction in the empire was that drawn\nbetween the city which was surrounded by the ring-wall, and the\ncountry beyond the -pomerium-; the new arrangement substituted for\nthe city the new Italy henceforth, as in perpetual peace, withdrawn\nfrom the regular -imperium-,(29) and placed in contrast to it the\ncontinental and transmarine territories, which were, on the other hand,\nnecessarily placed under military commandants--the provinces as they\nwere henceforth called.  According to the former arrangement the\nsame man had very frequently remained two, and often more years in\nthe same office.  The new arrangement restricted the magistracies\nof the capital as well as the governorships throughout to one year;\nand the special enactment that every governor should without fail\nleave his province within thirty days after his successor's arrival\nthere, shows very clearly--particularly if we take along with it the\nformerly-mentioned prohibition of the immediate re-election of the\nlate magistrate to the same or another public office--what the\ntendency of these arrangements was.  It was the time-honoured maxim\nby which the senate had at one time made the monarchy subject to\nit, that the limitation of the magistracy in point of function\nwas favourable to democracy, and its limitation in point of time\nfavourable to oligarchy.  According to the previous arrangement\nGaius Marius had acted at once as head of the senate and as\ncommander-in-chief of the state; if he had his own unskilfulness\nalone to blame for his failure to overthrow the oligarchy by means\nof this double official power, care seemed now taken to prevent\nsome possibly wiser successor from making a better use of the\nsame lever.  According to the previous arrangement the magistrate\nimmediately nominated by the people might have had a military\nposition; the Sullan arrangement, on the other hand, reserved\nsuch a position exclusively for those magistrates whom the senate\nconfirmed in their official authority by prolonging their term\nof office.  No doubt this prolongation of office had now become\na standing usage; but it still--so far as respects the auspices\nand the name, and constitutional form in general--continued to be\ntreated as an extraordinary extension of their term.  This was no\nmatter of indifference.  The burgesses alone could depose the consul\nor praetor from his office; the proconsul and propraetor were\nnominated and dismissed by the senate, so that by this enactment\nthe whole military power, on which withal everything ultimately\ndepended, became formally at least dependent on the senate.\n\nShelving of the Censorship\n\nLastly we have already observed that the highest of all magistracies,\nthe censorship, though not formally abolished, was shelved in the\nsame way as the dictatorship had previously been.  Practically it\nmight certainly be dispensed with.  Provision was otherwise made\nfor filling up the senate.  From the time that Italy was practically\ntax-free and the army was substantially formed by enlistment, the\nregister of those liable to taxation and service lost in the main\nits significance; and, if disorder prevailed in the equestrian roll\nor the list of those entitled to the suffrage, that disorder was\nprobably not altogether unwelcome.  There thus remained only the current\nfinancial functions which the consuls had hitherto discharged when,\nas frequently happened, no election of censors had taken place, and\nwhich they now took as a part of their ordinary official duties.\nCompared with the substantial gain that by the shelving of the\ncensorship the magistracy lost its crowning dignity, it was a matter\nof little moment and was not at all prejudicial to the sole dominion\nof the supreme governing corporation, that--with a view to satisfy\nthe ambition of the senators now so much more numerous--the number\nof the pontifices and that of the augurs was increased from\nnine,(30) that of the custodiers of oracles from ten,(31) to fifteen\neach, and that of the banquet-masters from three(32) to seven.\n\nRegulation of the Finances\n\nIn financial matters even under the former constitution the decisive\nvoice lay with the senate; the only point to be dealt with, accordingly,\nwas the re-establishment of an orderly administration.  Sulla had found\nhimself at first in no small difficulty as to money; the sums brought\nwith him from Asia Minor were soon expended for the pay of his numerous\nand constantly swelling army.  Even after thevictory at the Colline gate\nthe senate, seeing that the state-chest had been carried off to Praeneste,\nhad been obliged to resort to urgent measures.  Various building-sites\nin the capital and several portions of the Campanian domains were exposed\nto sale, the client kings, the freed and allied communities, were laid\nunder extraordinary contribution, their landed property and their\ncustoms-revenues were in some cases confiscated, and in others new\nprivileges were granted to them for money.  But the residue of nearly\n600,000 pounds found in the public chest on the surrender of Praeneste,\nthe public auctions which soon began, and other extraordinary resources,\nrelieved the embarrassment of the moment.  Provision was made for\nthe future not so much by the reform in the Asiatic revenues, under\nwhich the tax-payers were the principal gainers, and the state chest\nwas perhaps at most no loser, as by the resumption of the Campanian\ndomains, to which Aenaria was now added,(33) and above all by the\nabolition of the largesses of grain, which since the time of Gaius\nGracchus had eaten like a canker into the Roman finances.\n\nReorganization of the Judicial System.\nPrevious Arrangements\nOrdinary Procedure\nPermanent and Special -Quaestiones-\nCentumviral Court\n\nThe judicial system on the other hand was essentially revolutionized,\npartly from political considerations, partly with a view to\nintroduce greater unity and usefulness into the previous very\ninsufficient and unconnected legislation on the subject.  According\nto the arrangements hitherto subsisting, processes fell to be decided\npartly by the burgesses, partly by jurymen.  The judicial cases in\nwhich the whole burgesses decided on appeal from the judgment of\nthe magistrate were, down to the time of Sulla, placed in the\nhands primarily of the tribunes of the people, secondarily of the\naediles, inasmuch as all the processes, through which a person\nentrusted with an office or commission by the community was brought\nto answer for his conduct of its affairs, whether they involved\nlife and limb or money-fines, had to be in the first instance dealt\nwith by the tribunes of the people, and all the other processes in\nwhich ultimately the people decided, were in the first instance\nadjudicated on, in the second presided over, by the curule or plebeian\naediles.  Sulla, if he did not directly abolish the tribunician\nprocess of calling to account, yet made it dependent, just like\nthe initiative of the tribunes in legislation, on the previous\nconsent of the senate, and presumably also limited in like manner\nthe aedilician penal procedure.  On the other hand he enlarged the\njurisdiction of the jury courts.  There existed at that time two\nsorts of procedure before jurymen.  The ordinary procedure, which\nwas applicable in all cases adapted according to our view for a\ncriminal or civil process with the exception of crimes immediately\ndirected against the state, consisted in this, that one of the two\npraetors of the capital technically adjusted the cause and a juryman\n(-iudex-) nominated by him decided it on the basis of this adjustment.\nThe extraordinary jury-procedure again was applicable in particular\ncivil or criminal cases of importance, for which, instead of\nthe single juryman, a special jury-court had been appointed by\nspecial laws.  Of this sort were the special tribunals constituted\nfor individual cases;(34) the standing commissional tribunals, such\nas had been appointed for exactions,(35) for poisoning and murder,(36)\nperhaps also for bribery at elections and other crimes, in the course\nof the seventh century; and lastly, the two courts of the \"Ten-men\"\nfor processes affecting freedom, and the \"Hundred and five,\" or more\nbriefly, the \"Hundred-men,\" for processes affecting inheritance,\nalso called, from the shaft of a spear employed in all disputes\nas to property, the \"spear-court\" (-hasta-).  The court of Ten-men\n(-decemviri litibus iudicandis-) was a very ancient institution for\nthe protection of the plebeians against their masters.(37)  The period\nand circumstances in which the spear-court originated are involved in\nobscurity; but they must, it may be presumed, have been nearly the\nsame as in the case of the essentially similar criminal commissions\nmentioned above.  As to the presidency of these different tribunals\nthere were different regulations in the respective ordinances\nappointing them: thus there presided over the tribunal as to\nexactions a praetor, over the court for murder a president specially\nnominated from those who had been aediles, over the spear-court several\ndirectors taken from the former quaestors.  The jurymen at least for\nthe ordinary as for the extraordinary procedure were, in accordance\nwith the Gracchan arrangement, taken from the non-senatorial men\nof equestrian census; the selection belonged in general to the\nmagistrates who had the conducting of the courts, yet on such a\nfooting that they, in entering upon their office, had to set\nforth once for all the list of jurymen, and then the jury for an\nindividual case was formed from these, not by free choice of the\nmagistrate, but by drawing lots, and by rejection on behalf of the\nparties.  From the choice of the people there came only the \"Ten-men\"\nfor procedure affecting freedom.\n\nSullan -Quaestiones-\n\nSulla's leading reforms were of a threefold character.  First, he\nvery considerably increased the number of the jury-courts.  There\nwere henceforth separate judicial commissions for exactions; for\nmurder, including arson and perjury; for bribery at elections; for\nhigh treason and any dishonour done to the Roman name; for the most\nheinous cases of fraud--the forging of wills and of money; for\nadultery; for the most heinous violations of honour, particularly\nfor injuries to the person and disturbance of the domestic peace;\nperhaps also for embezzlement of public moneys, for usury and other\ncrimes; and at least the greater number of these courts were either\nfound in existence or called into life by Sulla, and were provided\nby him with special ordinances setting forth the crime and form of\ncriminal procedure.  The government, moreover, was not deprived of\nthe right to appoint in case of emergency special courts for\nparticular groups of crimes.  As a result of these arrangements,\nthe popular tribunals were in substance done away with, processes\nof high treason in particular were consigned to the new high treason\ncommission, and the ordinary jury procedure was considerably\nrestricted, for the more serious falsifications and injuries were\nwithdrawn from it.  Secondly, as respects the presidency of the courts,\nsix praetors, as we have already mentioned, were now available for\nthe superintendence of the different jury-courts, and to these were\nadded a number of other directors in the care of the commission\nwhich was most frequently called into action--that for dealing with\nmurder.  Thirdly, the senators were once more installed in the\noffice of jurymen in room of the Gracchan equites.\n\nThe political aim of these enactments--to put an end to the share\nwhich the equites had hitherto had in the government--is clear as\nday; but it as little admits of doubt, that these were not mere\nmeasures of a political tendency, but that they formed the first\nattempt to amend the Roman criminal procedure and criminal law, which\nhad since the struggle between the orders fallen more and more into\nconfusion.  From this Sullan legislation dates the distinction--\nsubstantially unknown to the earlier law--between civil and criminal\ncauses, in the sense which we now attach to these expressions;\nhenceforth a criminal cause appears as that which comes before the\nbench of jurymen under the presidency of the praetor, a civil cause\nas the procedure, in which the juryman or jurymen do not discharge\ntheir duties under praetorian presidency.  The whole body of the\nSullan ordinances as to the -quaestiones- may be characterized\nat once as the first Roman code after the Twelve Tables, and as\nthe first criminal code ever specially issued at all.  But in\nthe details also there appears a laudable and liberal spirit.\nSingular as it may sound regarding the author of the proscriptions,\nit remains nevertheless true that he abolished the punishment\nof death for political offences; for, as according to the Roman\ncustom which even Sulla retained unchanged the people only, and\nnot the jury-commission, could sentence to forfeiture of life or\nto imprisonment,(38) the transference of processes of high treason\nfrom the burgesses to a standing commission amounted to the abolition\nof capital punishment for such offences.  On the other hand, the\nrestriction of the pernicious special commissions for particular cases\nof high treason, of which the Varian commission(39) in the Social war\nhad been a specimen, likewise involved an improvement.  The whole\nreform was of singular and lasting benefit, and a permanent monument\nof the practical, moderate, statesmanly spirit, which made its author\nwell worthy, like the old decemvirs, to step forward between the\nparties as sovereign mediator with his code of law.\n\nPolice Laws\n\nWe may regard as an appendix to these criminal laws the police\nordinances, by which Sulla, putting the law in place of the censor,\nagain enforced good discipline and strict manners, and, by\nestablishing new maximum rates instead of the old ones which\nhad long been antiquated, attempted to restrain luxury at banquets,\nfunerals, and otherwise.\n\nThe Roman Municipal System\n\nLastly, the development of an independent Roman municipal system\nwas the work, if not of Sulla, at any rate of the Sullan epoch.\nThe idea of organically incorporating the community as a subordinate\npolitical unit in the higher unity of the state was originally\nforeign to antiquity; the despotism of the east knew nothing of urban\ncommonwealths in the strict sense of the word, and city and state\nwere throughout the Helleno-Italic world necessarily coincident.\nIn so far there was no proper municipal system from the outset either\nin Greece or in Italy.  The Roman polity especially adhered to this\nview with its peculiar tenacious consistency; even in the sixth\ncentury the dependent communities of Italy were either, in order to\ntheir keeping their municipal constitution, constituted as formally\nsovereign states of non-burgesses, or, if they obtained the Roman\nfranchise, were--although not prevented from organizing themselves\nas collective bodies--deprived of properly municipal rights, so that\nin all burgess-colonies and burgess--municipia- even the administration\nof justice and the charge of buildings devolved on the Roman praetors\nand censors.  The utmost to which Rome consented was to allow at\nleast the most urgent lawsuits to be settled on the spot by a\ndeputy (-praefectus-) of the praetor nominated from Rome.(40)\nThe provinces were similarly dealt with, except that the governor\nthere came in place of the authorities of the capital.  In the free,\nthat is, formally sovereign towns the civil and criminal jurisdiction\nwas administered by the municipal magistrates according to the local\nstatutes; only, unless altogether special privileges stood in the\nway, every Roman might either as defendant or as plaintiff request\nto have his cause decided before Italian judges according to Italian\nlaw For the ordinary provincial communities the Roman governor was\nthe only regular judicial authority, on whom devolved the direction\nof all processes.  It was a great matter when, as in Sicily, in the\nevent of the defendant being a Sicilian, the governor was bound by the\nprovincial statute to give a native juryman and to allow him to decide\naccording to local usage; in most of the provinces this seems to\nhave depended on the pleasure of the directing magistrate.\n\nIn the seventh century this absolute centralization of the public\nlife of the Roman community in the one focus of Rome was given up,\nso far as Italy at least was concerned.  Now that Italy was a\nsingle civic community and the civic territory reached from the Arnus\nand Rubico down to the Sicilian Straits,(41) it was necessary to\nconsent to the formation of smaller civic communities within that\nlarger unit.  So Italy was organized into communities of full\nburgesses; on which occasion also the larger cantons that were\ndangerous from their size were probably broken up, so far as this\nhad not been done already, into several smaller town-districts.(42)\nThe position of these new communities of full burgesses was a compromise\nbetween that which had belonged to them hitherto as allied states,\nand that which by the earlier law would have belonged to them as\nintegral parts of the Roman community.  Their basis was in general\nthe constitution of the former formally sovereign Latin community, or,\nso far as their constitution in its principles resembled the Roman,\nthat of the Roman old-patrician-consular community; only care was\ntaken to apply to the same institutions in the -municipium- names\ndifferent from, and inferior to, those used in the capital, or,\nin other words, in the state.  A burgess-assembly was placed at\nthe head, with the prerogative of issuing municipal statutes and\nnominating the municipal magistrates.  A municipal council of a\nhundred members acted the part of the Roman senate.  The administration\nof justice was conducted by four magistrates, two regular judges\ncorresponding to the two consuls, and two market-judges corresponding\nto the curule aediles.  The functions of the censorship, which\nrecurred, as in Rome, every five years and, to all appearance,\nconsisted chiefly in the superintendence of public buildings, were also\nundertaken by the supreme magistrates of the community, namely the\nordinary -duumviri-, who in this case assumed the distinctive title\nof -duumviri- \"with censorial or quinquennial power.\"  The municipal\nfunds were managed by two quaestors.  Religious functions primarily\ndevolved on the two colleges of men of priestly lore alone known to\nthe earliest Latin constitution, the municipal pontifices and augurs.\n\nRelation of the -Municipium- to the State\n\nWith reference to the relation of this secondary political organism\nto the primary organism of the state, political prerogatives in\ngeneral belonged completely to the former as well as to the latter,\nand consequently the municipal decree and the -imperium- of the\nmunicipal magistrates bound the municipal burgess just as the\ndecree of the people and the consular -imperium- bound the Roman.\nThis led, on the whole, to a co-ordinate exercise of power by the\nauthorities of the state and of the town; both had, for instance,\nthe right of valuation and taxation, so that in the case of any\nmunicipal valuations and taxes those prescribed by Rome were not\ntaken into account, and vice versa; public buildings might be\ninstituted both by the Roman magistrates throughout Italy and by\nthe municipal authorities in their own district, and so in other\ncases.  In the event of collision, of course the community yielded\nto the state and the decree of the people invalidated the municipal\ndecree.  A formal division of functions probably took place only in\nthe administration of justice, where the system of pure co-ordination\nwould have led to the greatest confusion.  In criminal procedure\npresumably all capital causes, and in civil procedure those more\ndifficult cases which presumed an independent action on the part\nof the directing magistrate, were reserved for the authorities and\njurymen of the capital, and the Italian municipal courts were\nrestricted to the minor and less complicated lawsuits, or to those\nwhich were very urgent.\n\nRise of the -Municipium-\n\nThe origin of this Italian municipal system has not been recorded\nby tradition.  It is probable that its germs may be traced to\nexceptional regulations for the great burgess-colonies, which were\nfounded at the end of the sixth century;(43) at least several, in\nthemselves indifferent, formal differences between burgess-colonies\nand burgess--municipia- tend to show that the new burgess-colony,\nwhich at that time practically took the place of the Latin, had\noriginally a better position in state-law than the far older burgess-\n-municipium-, and the advantage doubtless can only have consisted in a\nmunicipal constitution approximating to the Latin, such as afterwards\nbelonged to all burgess-colonies and burgess--municipia-.  The new\norganization is first distinctly demonstrable for the revolutionary\ncolony of Capua;(44) and it admits of no doubt that it was first\nfully applied, when all the hitherto sovereign towns of Italy had\nto be organized, in consequence of the Social war, as burgess-\ncommunities.  Whether it was the Julian law, or the censors of 668,\nor Sulla, that first arranged the details, cannot be determined:\nthe entrusting of the censorial functions to the -duumviri- seems\nindeed to have been introduced after the analogy of the Sullan\nordinance superseding the censorship, but may be equally well\nreferred to the oldest Latin constitution to which also the\ncensorship was unknown.  In any case this municipal constitution--\ninserted in, and subordinate to, the state proper--is one of the\nmost remarkable and momentous products of the Sullan period, and\nof the life of the Roman state generally.  Antiquity was certainly\nas little able to dovetail the city into the state as to develop\nof itself representative government and other great principles of\nour modern state-life; but it carried its political development\nup to those limits at which it outgrows and bursts its assigned\ndimensions, and this was the case especially with Rome, which in\nevery respect stands on the line of separation and connection between\nthe old and the new intellectual worlds.  In the Sullan constitution\nthe primary assembly and the urban character of the commonwealth\nof Rome, on the one hand, vanished almost into a meaningless form;\nthe community subsisting within the state on the other hand was\nalready completely developed in the Italian -municipium-.  Down\nto the name, which in such cases no doubt is the half of the matter,\nthis last constitution of the free republic carried out the\nrepresentative system and the idea of the state built upon the\nbasis of the municipalities.\n\nThe municipal system in the provinces was not altered by this\nmovement; the municipal authorities of the non-free towns continued--\nspecial exceptions apart--to be confined to administration and\npolice, and to such jurisdiction as the Roman authorities did\nnot prefer to take into their own hands.\n\nImpression Produced by the Sullan Reorganization\nOpposition of the Officers\n\nSuch was the constitution which Lucius Cornelius Sulla gave to\nthe commonwealth of Rome.  The senate and equestrian order, the\nburgesses and proletariate, Italians and provincials, accepted it\nas it was dictated to them by the regent, if not without grumbling,\nat any rate without rebelling: not so the Sullan officers.  The Roman\narmy had totally changed its character.  It had certainly been\nrendered by the Marian reform more ready for action and more\nmilitarily useful than when it did not fight before the walls of\nNumantia; but it had at the same time been converted from a burgess-\nforce into a set of mercenaries who showed no fidelity to the state\nat all, and proved faithful to the officer only if he had the skill\npersonally to gain their attachment.  The civil war had given fearful\nevidence of this total revolution in the spirit of the army: six\ngenerals in command, Albinus,(45) Cato,(46) Rufus,(47) Flaccus,(48)\nCinna,(49) and Gaius Carbo,(50) had fallen during its course by the\nhands of their soldiers: Sulla alone had hitherto been able to\nretain the mastery of the dangerous crew, and that only, in fact,\nby giving the rein to all their wild desires as no Roman general\nbefore him had ever done.  If the blame of destroying the old\nmilitary discipline is on this account attached to him, the\ncensure is not exactly without ground, but yet without justice;\nhe was indeed the first Roman magistrate who was only enabled to\ndischarge his military and political task by coming forward as a\n-condottiere-.  He had not however taken the military dictatorship\nfor the purpose of making the state subject to the soldiery, but\nrather for the purpose of compelling everything in the state, and\nespecially the army and the officers, to submit once more to the\nauthority of civil order.  When this became evident, an opposition\narose against him among his own staff.  The oligarchy might play\nthe tyrant as respected other citizens; but that the generals also,\nwho with their good swords had replaced the overthrown senators in\ntheir seats, should now be summoned to yield implicit obedience to\nthis very senate, seemed intolerable.  The very two officers in\nwhom Sulla had placed most confidence resisted the new order of\nthings.  When Gnaeus Pompeius, whom Sulla had entrusted with the\nconquest of Sicily and Africa and had selected for his son-in-law,\nafter accomplishing his task received orders from the senate to\ndismiss his army, he omitted to comply and fell little short\nof open insurrection.\n\nQuintus Ofella, to whose firm perseverance in front of Praeneste\nthe success of the last and most severe campaign was essentially\ndue in equally open violation of the newly issued ordinances became\na candidate for the consulship without having held the inferior\nmagistracies.  With Pompeius there was effected, if not a cordial\nreconciliation, at any rate a compromise.  Sulla, who knew his man\nsufficiently not to fear him, did not resent the impertinent remark\nwhich Pompeius uttered to his face, that more people concerned\nthemselves with the rising than with the setting sun; and accorded\nto the vain youth the empty marks of honour to which his heart\nclung.(51)  If in this instance he appeared lenient, he showed on\nthe other hand in the case of Ofella that he was not disposed to\nallow his marshals to take advantage of him; as soon as the latter\nhad appeared unconstitutionally as candidate, Sulla had him cut down\nin the public market-place, and then explained to the assembled citizens\nthat the deed was done by his orders and the reason for doing it.\nSo this significant opposition of the staff to the new order of things\nwas no doubt silenced for the present; but it continued to subsist\nand furnished the practical commentary on Sulla's saying, that what\nhe did on this occasion could not be done a second time.\n\nRe-establishment of Constitutional Order\n\nOne thing still remained--perhaps the most difficult of all:\nto bring the exceptional state of things into accordance with\nthe paths prescribed by the new or old laws.  It was facilitated\nby the circumstance, that Sulla never lost sight of this as his\nultimate aim.  Although the Valerian law gave him absolute power\nand gave to each of his ordinances the force of law, he had nevertheless\navailed himself of this extraordinary prerogative only in the case of\nmeasures, which were of transient importance, and to take part in\nwhich would simply have uselessly compromised the senate and burgesses,\nespecially in the case of the proscriptions.\n\nSulla Resigns the Regency\n\nOrdinarily he had himself observed those regulations, which he\nprescribed for the future.  That the people were consulted, we read\nin the law as to the quaestors which is still in part extant; and the\nsame is attested of other laws, e. g. the sumptuary law and those\nregarding the confiscation of domains.  In like manner the senate\nwas previously consulted in the more important administrative acts,\nsuch as in the sending forth and recall of the African army and in\nthe conferring of the charters of towns.  In the same spirit Sulla\ncaused consuls to be elected even for 673, through which at least\nthe odious custom of dating officially by the regency was avoided;\nnevertheless the power still lay exclusively with the regent, and\nthe election was directed so as to fall on secondary personages.\nBut in the following year (674) Sulla revived the ordinary constitution\nin full efficiency, and administered the state as consul in concert\nwith his comrade in arms Quintus Metellus, retaining the regency, but\nallowing it for the time to lie dormant.  He saw well how dangerous\nit was for his own very institutions to perpetuate the military\ndictatorship.  When the new state of things seemed likely to hold\nits ground and the largest and most important portion of the\nnew arrangements had been completed, although various matters,\nparticularly in colonization, still remained to be done, he allowed\nthe elections for 675 to have free course, declined re-election to\nthe consulship as incompatible with his own ordinances, and at the\nbeginning of 675 resigned the regency, soon after the new consuls\nPublius Servilius and Appius Claudius had entered on office.  Even\ncallous hearts were impressed, when the man who had hitherto dealt\nat his pleasure with the life and property of millions, at whose nod\nso many heads had fallen, who had mortal enemies dwelling in every\nstreet of Rome and in every town of Italy, and who without an ally\nof equal standing and even, strictly speaking, without the support\nof a fixed party had brought to an end his work of reorganizing\nthe state, a work offending a thousand interests and opinions--when\nthis man appeared in the market-place of the capital, voluntarily\nrenounced his plenitude of power, discharged his armed attendants,\ndismissed his lictors, and summoned the dense throng of burgesses to\nspeak, if any one desired from him a reckoning.  All were silent: Sulla\ndescended from the rostra, and on foot, attended only by his friends,\nreturned to his dwelling through the midst of that very populace which\neight years before had razed his house to the ground.\n\nCharacter of Sulla\n\nPosterity has not justly appreciated either Sulla himself or his work\nof reorganization, as indeed it is wont to judge unfairly of persons\nwho oppose themselves to the current of the times.  In fact Sulla\nis one of the most marvellous characters--we may even say a unique\nphenomenon--in history.  Physically and mentally of sanguine\ntemperament, blue-eyed, fair, of a complexion singularly white but\nblushing with every passionate emotion--though otherwise a handsome\nman with piercing eyes--he seemed hardly destined to be of more\nmoment to the state than his ancestors, who since the days of his\ngreat-great-grandfather Publius Cornelius Rufinus (consul in 464, 477),\none of the most distinguished generals and at the same time the\nmost ostentatious man of the times of Pyrrhus, had remained in second-\nrate positions.  He desired from life nothing but serene enjoyment.\nReared in the refinement of such cultivated luxury as was at that\ntime naturalized even in the less wealthy senatorial families of\nRome, he speedily and adroitly possessed himself of all the fulness of\nsensuous and intellectual enjoyments which the combination of Hellenic\npolish and Roman wealth could secure.  He was equally welcome as a\npleasant companion in the aristocratic saloon and as a good comrade\nin the tented field; his acquaintances, high and low, found in him a\nsympathizing friend and a ready helper in time of need, who gave his\ngold with far more pleasure to his embarrassed comrade than to his\nwealthy creditor.  Passionate was his homage to the wine-cup, still\nmore passionate to women; even in his later years he was no longer\nthe regent, when after the business of the day was finished he\ntook his place at table.  A vein of irony--we might perhaps say\nof buffoonery--pervaded his whole nature.  Even when regent he gave\norders, while conducting the public sale of the property of the\nproscribed, that a donation from the spoil should be given to the\nauthor of a wretched panegyric which was handed to him, on condition\nthat the writer should promise never to sing his praises again.\nWhen he justified before the burgesses the execution of Ofella,\nhe did so by relating to the people the fable of the countryman and\nthe lice.  He delighted to choose his companions among actors, and\nwas fond of sitting at wine not only with Quintus Roscius--the Roman\nTalma--but also with far inferior players; indeed he was himself not\na bad singer, and even wrote farces for performance within his own\ncircle.  Yet amidst these jovial Bacchanalia he lost neither bodily\nnor mental vigour, in the rural leisure of his last years he was\nstill zealously devoted to the chase, and the circumstance that he\nbrought the writings of Aristotle from conquered Athens to Rome\nattests withal his interest in more serious reading.  The specific\ntype of Roman character rather repelled him.  Sulla had nothing\nof the blunt hauteur which the grandees of Rome were fond of\ndisplaying in presence of the Greeks, or of the pomposity of\nnarrow-minded great men; on the contrary he freely indulged his\nhumour, appeared, to the scandal doubtless of many of his countrymen,\nin Greek towns in the Greek dress, or induced his aristocratic\ncompanions to drive their chariots personally at the games.\nHe retained still less of those half-patriotic, half-selfish hopes,\nwhich in countries of free constitution allure every youth of talent\ninto the political arena, and which he too like all others probably\nat one time felt.  In such a life as his was, oscillating between\npassionate intoxication and more than sober awaking, illusions are\nspeedily dissipated.  Wishing and striving probably appeared to him\nfolly in a world which withal was absolutely governed by chance, and\nin which, if men were to strive after anything at all, this chance\ncould be the only aim of their efforts.  He followed the general\ntendency of the age in addicting himself at once to unbelief and\nto superstition.  His whimsical credulity was not the plebeian\nsuperstition of Marius, who got a priest to prophesy to him for money\nand determined his actions accordingly; still less was it the sullen\nbelief of the fanatic in destiny; it was that faith in the absurd,\nwhich necessarily makes its appearance in every man who has out and\nout ceased to believe in a connected order of things--the superstition\nof the fortunate player, who deems himself privileged by fate to throw\non each and every occasion the right number.  In practical questions\nSulla understood very well how to satisfy ironically the demands of\nreligion.  When he emptied the treasuries of the Greek temples, he\ndeclared that the man could never fail whose chest was replenished\nby the gods themselves.  When the Delphic priests reported to him\nthat they were afraid to send the treasures which he asked, because\nthe harp of the god emitted a clear sound when they touched it,\nhe returned the reply that they might now send them all the more\nreadily, as the god evidently approved his design.  Nevertheless\nhe fondly flattered himself with the idea that he was the chosen\nfavourite of the gods, and in an altogether special manner of that\ngoddess, to whom down to his latest years he assigned the pre-\neminence, Aphrodite.  In his conversations as well as in his\nautobiography he often plumed himself on the intercourse which\nthe immortals held with him in dreams and omens.  He had more right\nthan most men to be proud of his achievements he was not so, but he\nwas proud of his uniquely faithful fortune.  He was wont to say that\nevery improvised enterprise turned out better with him than those\nwhich were systematically planned; and one of his strangest whims--\nthat of regularly stating the number of those who had fallen on his\nside in battle as nil--was nothing but the childishness of a child of\nfortune.  It was but the utterance of his natural disposition, when,\nhaving reached the culminating point of his career and seeing all\nhis contemporaries at a dizzy depth beneath him, he assumed the\ndesignation of the Fortunate--Sulla Felix--as a formal surname,\nand bestowed corresponding appellations on his children,\n\nSulla's Political Career\n\nNothing lay farther from Sulla than systematic ambition.  He had too\nmuch sense to regard, like the average aristocrats of his time, the\ninscription of his name in the roll of the consuls as the aim of his\nlife; he was too indifferent and too little of an ideologue to be\ndisposed voluntarily to engage in the reform of the rotten structure\nof the state.  He remained--where birth and culture placed him--in the\ncircle of genteel society, and passed through the usual routine of\noffices; he had no occasion to exert himself, and left such exertion\nto the political working bees, of whom there was in truth no lack.\nThus in 647, on the allotment of the quaestorial places, accident\nbrought him to Africa to the headquarters of Gaius Marius.\nThe untried man-of-fashion from the capital was not very well received\nby the rough boorish general and his experienced staff.  Provoked\nby this reception Sulla, fearless and skilful as he was, rapidly\nmade himself master of the profession of arms, and in his daring\nexpedition to Mauretania first displayed that peculiar combination\nof audacity and cunning with reference to which his contemporaries\nsaid of him that he was half lion half fox, and that the fox in him\nwas more dangerous than the lion.  To the young, highborn, brilliant\nofficer, who was confessedly the real means of ending the vexatious\nNumidian war, the most splendid career now lay open; he took part\nalso in the Cimbrian war, and manifested his singular talent for\norganization in the management of the difficult task of providing\nsupplies; yet even now the pleasures of life in the capital had far\nmore attraction for him than war or even politics.  During his\npraetorship, which office he held in 661 after having failed in a\nprevious candidature, it once more chanced that in his province,\nthe least important of all, the first victory over king Mithradates\nand the first treaty with the mighty Arsacids, as well as their first\nhumiliation, occurred.  The Civil war followed.  It was Sulla\nmainly, who decided the first act of it--the Italian insurrection--\nin favour of Rome, and thus won for himself the consulship by his\nsword; it was he, moreover, who when consul suppressed with\nenergetic rapidity the Sulpician revolt.  Fortune seemed to make\nit her business to eclipse the old hero Marius by means of this\nyounger officer.  The capture of Jugurtha, the vanquishing of\nMithradates, both of which Marius had striven for in vain, were\naccomplished in subordinate positions by Sulla: in the Social war,\nin which Marius lost his renown as a general and was deposed,\nSulla established his military repute and rose to the consulship;\nthe revolution of 666, which was at the same time and above all a\npersonal conflict between the two generals, ended with the outlawry\nand flight of Marius.  Almost without desiring it, Sulla had\nbecome the most famous general of his time and the shield of the\noligarchy.  New and more formidable crises ensued--the Mithradatic war,\nthe Cinnan revolution; the star of Sulla continued always in the\nascendant.  Like the captain who seeks not to quench the flames of\nhis burning ship but continues to fire on the enemy, Sulla, while\nthe revolution was raging in Italy, persevered unshaken in Asia\ntill the public foe was subdued.  So soon as he had done with that\nfoe, he crushed anarchy and saved the capital from the firebrands of\nthe desperate Samnites and revolutionists.  The moment of his return\nhome was for Sulla an overpowering one in joy and in pain: he himself\nrelates in his memoirs that during his first night in Rome he had\nnot been able to close an eye, and we may well believe it.\nBut still his task was not at an end; his star was destined to\nrise still higher.  Absolute autocrat as was ever any king, and\nyet constantly abiding on the ground of formal right, he bridled\nthe ultra-reactionary party, annihilated the Gracchan constitution\nwhich had for forty years limited the oligarchy, and compelled first\nthe powers of the capitalists and of the urban proletariate which\nhad entered into rivalry with the oligarchy, and ultimately the\narrogance of the sword which had grown up in the bosom of his own\nstaff, to yield once more to the law which he strengthened afresh.\nHe established the oligarchy on a more independent footing than ever,\nplaced the magisterial power as a ministering instrument in its\nhands, committed to it the legislation, the courts, the supreme\nmilitary and financial power, and furnished it with a sort of\nbodyguard in the liberated slaves and with a sort of army in the\nsettled military colonists.  Lastly, when the work was finished,\nthe creator gave way to his own creation; the absolute autocrat\nbecame of his own accord once more a simple senator.  In all this\nlong military and political career Sulla never lost a battle, was\nnever compelled to retrace a single step, and, led astray neither\nby friends nor by foes, brought his work to the goal which he had\nhimself proposed.  He had reason, indeed, to thank his star.\nThe capricious goddess of fortune seemed in his case for once to\nhave exchanged caprice for steadfastness, and to have taken a\npleasure in loading her favourite with successes and honours--\nwhether he desired them or not.  But history must be more just\ntowards him than he was towards himself, and must place him in a\nhigher rank than that of the mere favourites of fortune.\n\nSulla and His Work\n\nWe do not mean that the Sullan constitution was a work of political\ngenius, such as those of Gracchus and Caesar.  There does not occur\nin it--as is, indeed, implied in its very nature as a restoration--a\nsingle new idea in statesmanship.  All its most essential features--\nadmission to the senate by the holding of the quaestorship, the\nabolition of the censorial right to eject a senator from the senate,\nthe initiative of the senate in legislation, the conversion of the\ntribunician office into an instrument of the senate for fettering\nthe -imperium-, the prolonging of the duration of the supreme\noffice to two years, the transference of the command from the\npopularly-elected magistrate to the senatorial proconsul or\npropraetor, and even the new criminal and municipal arrangements--\nwere not created by Sulla, but were institutions which had\npreviously grown out of the oligarchic government, and which he\nmerely regulated and fixed.  And even as to the horrors attaching\nto his restoration, the proscriptions and confiscations--are they,\ncompared with the doings of Nasica, Popillius, Opimius, Caepio and\nso on, anything else than the legal embodiment of the customary\noligarchic mode of getting rid of opponents? On the Roman\noligarchy of this period no judgment can be passed save one of\ninexorable and remorseless condemnation; and, like everything, else\nconnected with it, the Sullan constitution is completely involved in\nthat condemnation.  To accord praise which the genius of a bad man\nbribes us into bestowing is to sin against the sacred character of\nhistory; but we may be allowed to bear in mind that Sulla was far\nless answerable for the Sullan restoration than the body of the\nRoman aristocracy, which had ruled as a clique for centuries and had\nevery year become more enervated and embittered by age, and that all\nthat was hollow and all that was nefarious therein is ultimately\ntraceable to that aristocracy.  Sulla reorganized the state--not,\nhowever, as the master of the house who puts his shattered estate\nand household in order according to his own discretion, but as\nthe temporary business-manager who faithfully complies with his\ninstructions; it is superficial and false in such a case to devolve\nthe final and essential responsibility from the master upon the\nmanager.  We estimate the importance of Sulla much too highly, or\nrather we dispose of those terrible proscriptions, ejections, and\nrestorations--for which there never could be and never was any\nreparation--on far too easy terms, when we regard them as the work\nof a bloodthirsty tyrant whom accident had placed at the head of\nthe state.  These and the terrorism of the restoration were the\ndeeds of the aristocracy, and Sulla was nothing more in the matter\nthan, to use the poet's expression, the executioner's axe following\nthe conscious thought as its unconscious instrument.  Sulla carried\nout that part with rare, in fact superhuman, perfection; but within\nthe limits which it laid down for him, his working was not only\ngrand but even useful.  Never has any aristocracy deeply decayed\nand decaying still farther from day to day, such as was the Roman\naristocracy of that time, found a guardian so willing and able as\nSulla to wield for it the sword of the general and the pen of the\nlegislator without any regard to the gain of power for himself.\nThere is no doubt a difference between the case of an officer who\nrefuses the sceptre from public spirit and that of one who throws it\naway from a cloyed appetite; but, so far as concerns the total absence\nof political selfishness--although, it is true, in this one respect\nonly--Sulla deserves to be named side by side with Washington.\n\nValue of the Sullan Constitution\n\nBut the whole country--and not the aristocracy merely--was more\nindebted to him than posterity was willing to confess.  Sulla\ndefinitely terminated the Italian revolution, in so far as it was\nbased on the disabilities of individual less privileged districts\nas compared with others of better rights, and, by compelling himself\nand his party to recognize the equality of the rights of all\nItalians in presence of the law, he became the real and final\nauthor of the full political unity of Italy--a gain which was\nnot too dearly purchased by ever so many troubles and streams\nof blood.  Sulla however did more.  For more than half a century\nthe power of Rome had been declining, and anarchy had been her\npermanent condition: for the government of the senate with the\nGracchan constitution was anarchy, and the government of Cinna and\nCarbo was a yet far worse illustration of the absence of a master-\nhand (the sad image of which is most clearly reflected in that\nequally confused and unnatural league with the Samnites), the most\nuncertain, most intolerable, and most mischievous of all\nconceivable political conditions--in fact the beginning of the\nend.  We do not go too far when we assert that the long-undermined\nRoman commonwealth must have necessarily fallen to pieces, had not\nSulla by his intervention in Asia and Italy saved its existence.\nIt is true that the constitution of Sulla had as little endurance\nas that of Cromwell, and it was not difficult to see that his\nstructure was no solid one; but it is arrant thoughtlessness to\noverlook the fact that without Sulla most probably the very site of\nthe building would have been swept away by the waves; and even the\nblame of its want of stability does not fall primarily on Sulla.\nThe statesman builds only so much as in the sphere assigned to him\nhe can build.  What a man of conservative views could do to save the\nold constitution, Sulla did; and he himself had a foreboding that,\nwhile he might doubtless erect a fortress, he would be unable to\ncreate a garrison, and that the utter worthlessness of the oligarchs\nwould render any attempt to save the oligarchy vain.  His constitution\nresembled a temporary dike thrown into the raging breakers; it was\nno reproach to the builder, if some ten years afterwards the waves\nswallowed up a structure at variance with nature and not defended\neven by those whom it sheltered.  The statesman has no need to be\nreferred to highly commendable isolated reforms, such as those of\nthe Asiatic revenue-system and of criminal justice, that he may not\nsummarily dismiss Sulla's ephemeral restoration: he will admire it\nas a reorganization of the Roman commonwealth judiciously planned\nand on the whole consistently carried out under infinite difficulties,\nand he will place the deliverer of Rome and the accomplisher of Italian\nunity below, but yet by the side of, Cromwell.\n\nImmoral and Superficial Nature of the Sullan Restoration\n\nIt is not, however, the statesman alone who has a voice in\njudging the dead; and with justice outraged human feeling will\nnever reconcile itself to what Sulla did or suffered others to do.\nSulla not only established his despotic power by unscrupulous violence,\nbut in doing so called things by their right name with a certain cynical\nfrankness, through which he has irreparably offended the great mass\nof the weakhearted who are more revolted at the name than at the\nthing, but through which, from the cool and dispassionate character\nof his crimes, he certainly appears to the moral judgment more\nrevolting than the criminal acting from passion.  Outlawries, rewards\nto executioners, confiscations of goods, summary procedure with\ninsubordinate officers had occurred a hundred times, and the obtuse\npolitical morality of ancient civilization had for such things\nonly lukewarm censure; but it was unexampled that the names of\nthe outlaws should be publicly posted up and their heads publicly\nexposed, that a set sum should be fixed for the bandits who slew them\nand that it should be duly entered in the public account-books, that\nthe confiscated property should be brought to the hammer like the spoil\nof an enemy in the public market, that the general should order a\nrefractory officer to be at once cut down and acknowledge the deed\nbefore all the people.  This public mockery of humanity was also\na political error; it contributed not a little to envenom later\nrevolutionary crises beforehand, and on that account even now\na dark shadow deservedly rests on the memory of the author\nof the proscriptions.\n\nSulla may moreover be justly blamed that, while in all important\nmatters he acted with remorseless vigour, in subordinate and more\nespecially in personal questions he very frequently yielded to\nhis sanguine temperament and dealt according to his likings or\ndislikings.  Wherever he really felt hatred, as for instance against\nthe Marians, he allowed it to take its course without restraint even\nagainst the innocent, and boasted of himself that no one had better\nrequited friends and foes.(52)  He did not disdain on occasion of\nhis plenitude of power to accumulate a colossal fortune.  The first\nabsolute monarch of the Roman state, he verified the maxim of\nabsolutism--that the laws do not bind the prince--forthwith in\nthe case of those laws which he himself issued as to adultery and\nextravagance.  But his lenity towards his own party and his own\ncircle was more pernicious for the state than his indulgence towards\nhimself.  The laxity of his military discipline, although it was\npartly enjoined by his political exigencies, may be reckoned as\ncoming under this category; but far more pernicious was his indulgence\ntowards his political adherents.  The extent of his occasional\nforbearance is hardly credible: for instance Lacius Murena was not only\nreleased from punishment for defeats which he sustained through arrant\nperversity and insubordination,(53) but was even allowed a triumph;\nGnaeus Pompeius, who had behaved still worse, was still more\nextravagantly honoured by Sulla.(54)  The extensive range and\nthe worst enormities of the proscriptions and confiscations probably\narose not so much from Sulla's own wish as from this spirit of\nindifference, which in his position indeed was hardly more pardonable.\nThat Sulla with his intrinsically energetic and yet withal indifferent\ntemperament should conduct himself very variously, sometimes with\nincredible indulgence, sometimes with inexorable severity, may readily\nbe conceived.  The saying repeated a thousand times, that he was before\nhis regency a good-natured, mild man, but when regent a bloodthirsty\ntyrant, carries in it its own refutation; if he as regent displayed\nthe reverse of his earlier gentleness, it must rather be said that\nhe punished with the same careless nonchalance with which he\npardoned.  This half-ironical frivolity pervades his whole\npolitical action.  It is always as if the victor, just as it\npleased him to call his merit in gaining victory good fortune,\nesteemed the victory itself of no value; as if he had a partial\npresentiment of the vanity and perishableness of his own work; as\nif after the manner of a steward he preferred making repairs to\npulling down and rebuilding, and allowed himself in the end to\nbe content with a sorry plastering to conceal the flaws.\n\nSulla after His Retirement\n\nBut, such as he was, this Don Juan of politics was a man of one\nmould.  His whole life attests the internal equilibrium of his\nnature; in the most diverse situations Sulla remained unchangeably\nthe same.  It was the same temper, which after the brilliant\nsuccesses in Africa made him seek once more the idleness of the\ncapital, and after the full possession of absolute power made him\nfind rest and refreshment in his Cuman villa.  In his mouth the\nsaying, that public affairs were a burden which he threw off so\nsoon as he might and could, was no mere phrase.  After his resignation\nhe remained entirely like himself, without peevishness and without\naffectation, glad to be rid of public affairs and yet interfering\nnow and then when opportunity offered.  Hunting and fishing and\nthe composition of his memoirs occupied his leisure hours; by way\nof interlude he arranged, at the request of the discordant citizens,\nthe internal affairs of the neighbouring colony of Puteoli as\nconfidently and speedily as he had formerly arranged those of\nthe capital.  His last action on his sickbed had reference to the\ncollection of a contribution for the rebuilding of the Capitoline\ntemple, of which he was not allowed to witness the completion.\n\nDeath of Sulla\n\nLittle more than a year after his retirement, in the sixtieth year\nof his life, while yet vigorous in body and mind, he was overtaken by\ndeath; after a brief confinement to a sick-bed--he was writing at his\nautobiography two days even before his death--the rupture of a blood-\nvessel(55) carried him off (676).  His faithful fortune did not\ndesert him even in death.  He could have no wish to be drawn once\nmore into the disagreeable vortex of party struggles, and to be\nobliged to lead his old warriors once more against a new revolution;\nyet such was the state of matters at his death in Spain and in\nItaly, that he could hardly have been spared this task had his life\nbeen prolonged.  Even now when it was suggested that he should have a\npublic funeral in the capital, numerous voices there, which had been\nsilent in his lifetime, were raised against the last honour which it\nwas proposed to show to the tyrant.  But his memory was still too\nfresh and the dread of his old soldiers too vivid: it was resolved\nthat the body should be conveyed to the capital and that the obsequies\nshould be celebrated there.\n\nHis Funeral\n\nItaly never witnessed a grander funeral solemnity.  In every place\nthrough which the deceased was borne in regal attire, with his well-\nknown standards and fasces before him, the inhabitants and above all\nhis old soldiers joined the mourning train: it seemed as if the whole\narmy would once more meet round the hero in death, who had in life\nled it so often and never except to victory.  So the endless\nfuneral procession reached the capital, where the courts kept\nholiday and all business was suspended, and two thousand golden\nchaplets awaited the dead--the last honorary gifts of the faithful\nlegions, of the cities, and of his more intimate friends.  Sulla,\nfaithful to the usage of the Cornelian house, had ordered that his\nbody should be buried without being burnt; but others were more\nmindful than he was of what past days had done and future days\nmight do: by command of the senate the corpse of the man who had\ndisturbed the bones of Marius from their rest in the grave was\ncommitted to the flames.  Headed by all the magistrates and the\nwhole senate, by the priests and priestesses in their official robes\nand the band of noble youths in equestrian armour, the procession\narrived at the great market-place; at this spot, filled by his\nachievements and almost by the sound as yet of his dreaded words,\nthe funeral oration was delivered over the deceased; and thence the\nbier was borne on the shoulders of senators to the Campus Martius,\nwhere the funeral pile was erected.  While the flames were blazing,\nthe equites and the soldiers held their race of honour round\nthe corpse; the ashes of the regent were deposited in the Campus\nMartius beside the tombs of the old kings, and the Roman women\nmourned him for a year.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XI\n\nThe Commonwealth and Its Economy\n\nExternal and Internal Bankruptcy of the Roman State\n\nWe have traversed a period of ninety years--forty years of profound\npeace, fifty of an almost constant revolution.  It is the most\ninglorious epoch known in Roman history.  It is true that the Alps\nwere crossed both in an easterly and westerly direction,(1) and the\nRoman arms reached in the Spanish peninsula as far as the Atlantic\nOcean(2) and in the Macedono-Grecian peninsula as far as the\nDanube;(3) but the laurels thus gained were as cheap as they were\nbarren.  The circle of the \"extraneous peoples under the will,\nsway, dominion, or friendship of the Roman burgesses,\"(4) was not\nmaterially extended; men were content to realize the gains of a\nbetter age and to bring the communities, annexed to Rome in laxer\nforms of dependence, more and more into full subjection.  Behind\nthe brilliant screen of provincial reunions was concealed a very\nsensible decline of Roman power.  While the whole ancient civilization\nwas daily more and more distinctly embraced in the Roman state,\nand embodied there in forms of more general validity, the nations\nexcluded from it began simultaneously beyond the Alps and beyond\nthe Euphrates to pass from defence to aggression.  On the battle-\nfields of Aquae Sextiae and Vercellae, of Chaeronea and Orchomenus,\nwere heard the first peals of that thunderstorm, which the Germanic\ntribes and the Asiatic hordes were destined to bring upon the Italo-\nGrecian world, and the last dull rolling of which has reached\nalmost to our own times.  But in internal development also this\nepoch bears the same character.  The old organization collapses\nirretrievably.  The Roman commonwealth was planned as an urban\ncommunity, which through its free burgess-body gave to itself\nrulers and laws; which was governed by these well-advised rulers\nwithin these legal limits with kingly freedom; and around which\nthe Italian confederacy, as an aggregate of free urban communities\nessentially homogeneous and cognate with the Roman, and the body\nof extra-Italian allies, as an aggregate of Greek free cities and\nbarbaric peoples and principalities--both more superintended, than\ndomineered over, by the community of Rome--formed a double circle.\nIt was the final result of the revolution--and both parties, the\nnominally conservative as well as the democratic party, had co-\noperated towards it and concurred in it--that of this venerable\nstructure, which at the beginning of the present epoch, though full\nof chinks and tottering, still stood erect, not one stone was at\nits close left upon another.  The holder of sovereign power was\nnow either a single man, or a close oligarchy--now of rank, now\nof riches.  The burgesses had lost all legitimate share in the\ngovernment.  The magistrates were instruments without independence\nin the hands of the holder of power for the time being.  The urban\ncommunity of Rome had broken down by its unnatural enlargement.\nThe Italian confederacy had been merged in the urban community.\nThe body of extra-Italian allies was in full course of being\nconverted into a body of subjects.  The whole organic classification\nof the Roman commonwealth had gone to wreck, and nothing was left\nbut a crude mass of more or less disparate elements.\n\nThe Prospect\n\nThe state of matters threatened to end in utter anarchy and in\nthe inward and outward dissolution of the state.  The political\nmovement tended thoroughly towards the goal of despotism; the only\npoint still in dispute was whether the close circle of the families\nof rank, or the senate of capitalists, or a monarch was to be the\ndespot.  The political movement followed thoroughly the paths that\nled to despotism; the fundamental principle of a free commonwealth--\nthat the contending powers should reciprocally confine themselves\nto indirect coercion--had become effete in the eyes of all parties\nalike, and on both sides the fight for power began to be carried on\nfirst by the bludgeon, and soon by the sword.  The revolution, at\nan end in so far as the old constitution was recognized by both\nsides as finally set aside and the aim and method of the new\npolitical development were clearly settled, had yet up to this\ntime discovered nothing but provisional solutions for this problem\nof the reorganization of the state; neither the Gracchan nor the\nSullan constitution of the community bore the stamp of finality.\nBut the bitterest feature of this bitter time was that even hope\nand effort failed the clear-seeing patriot.  The sun of freedom\nwith all its endless store of blessings was constantly drawing\nnearer to its setting, and the twilight was settling over the\nvery world that was still so brilliant.  It was no accidental\ncatastrophe which patriotism and genius might have warded off;\nit was ancient social evils--at the bottom of all, the ruin of\nthe middle class by the slave proletariate--that brought destruction\non the Roman commonwealth.  The most sagacious statesman was in the\nplight of the physician to whom it is equally painful to prolong or\nto abridge the agony of his patient.  Beyond doubt it was the\nbetter for the interests of Rome, the more quickly and thoroughly\na despot set aside all remnants of the ancient free constitution,\nand invented new forms and expressions for the moderate measure\nof human prosperity for which in absolutism there is room: the\nintrinsic advantage, which belonged to monarchy under the given\ncircumstances as compared with any oligarchy, lay mainly in the\nvery circumstance that such a despotism, energetic in pulling\ndown and energetic in building up, could never be exercised by\na collegiate board.  But such calm considerations do not mould\nhistory; it is not reason it is passion alone, that builds for\nthe future.  The Romans had just to wait and to see how long their\ncommonwealth would continue unable to live and unable to die, and\nwhether it would ultimately find its master and, so far as might\nbe possible, its regenerator, in a man of mighty gifts, or would\ncollapse in misery and weakness.\n\nFinances of the State\n\nIt remains that we should notice the economic and social relations\nof the period before us, so far as we have not already done so.\n\nItalian Revenues\n\nThe finances of the state were from the commencement of this\nepoch substantially dependent on the revenues from the provinces.\nIn Italy the land-tax, which had always occurred there merely as\nan extraordinary impost by the side of the ordinary domanial and\nother revenues, had not been levied since the battle of Pydna,\nso that absolute freedom from land-tax began to be regarded as a\nconstitutional privilege of the Roman landowner.  The royalties of\nthe state, such as the salt monopoly(5) and the right of coinage,\nwere not now at least, if ever at all, treated as sources of income.\nThe new tax on inheritance(6) was allowed to fall into abeyance or\nwas perhaps directly abolished.  Accordingly the Roman exchequer\ndrew from Italy including Cisalpine Gaul nothing but the produce\nof the domains, particularly of the Campanian territory and of\nthe gold mines in the land of the Celts, and the revenue from\nmanumissions and from goods imported by sea into the Roman civic\nterritory not for the personal consumption of the importer.  Both\nof these may be regarded essentially as taxes on luxury, and they\ncertainly must have been considerably augmented by the extension\nof the field of Roman citizenship and at the same time of Roman\ncustoms-dues to all Italy, probably including Cisalpine Gaul.\n\nProvincial Revenues\n\nIn the provinces the Roman state claimed directly as its private\nproperty, on the one hand, in the states annulled by martial law\nthe whole domain, on the other hand in those states, where the\nRoman government came in room of the former rulers, the landed\nproperty possessed by the latter.  By virtue of this right the\nterritories of Leontini, Carthage, and Corinth, the domanial\nproperty of the kings of Macedonia, Pergamus, and Cyrene, the mines\nin Spain and Macedonia were regarded as Roman domains; and, in like\nmanner with the territory of Capua, were leased by the Roman\ncensors to private contractors in return for the delivery of a\nproportion of the produce or a fixed sum of money.  We have already\nexplained that Gaius Gracchus went still farther, claimed the whole\nland of the provinces as domain, and in the case of the province of\nAsia practically carried out this principle; inasmuch as he legally\njustified the -decumae-, -scriptura-, and -vectigalia- levied there\non the ground of the Roman state's right of property in the land,\npasture, and coasts of the province, whether these had previously\nbelonged to the king or private persons.(7)\n\nThere do not appear to have been at this period any royalties\nfrom which the state derived profit, as respected the provinces;\nthe prohibition of the culture of the vine and olive in Transalpine\nGaul did not benefit the state-chest as such.  On the other hand\ndirect and indirect taxes were levied to a great extent.  The client\nstates recognized as fully sovereign--such as the kingdoms of Numidia\nand Cappadocia, the allied states (-civitates foederatae-) of Rhodes,\nMessana, Tauromenium, Massilia, Gades--were legally exempt from taxation,\nand merely bound by their treaties to support the Roman republic in times\nof war by regularly furnishing a fixed number of ships or men at their\nown expense, and, as a matter of course in case of need, by rendering\nextraordinary aid of any kind.\n\nTaxes\n\nThe rest of the provincial territory on the other hand, even\nincluding the free cities, was throughout liable to taxation; the\nonly exceptions were the cities invested with the Roman franchise,\nsuch as Narbo, and the communities on which immunity from taxation\nwas specially conferred (-civitates immunes-), such as Centuripa\nin Sicily.  The direct taxes consisted partly--as in Sicily and\nSardinia--of a title to the tenth(8) of the sheaves and other field\nproduce as of grapes and olives, or, if the land lay in pasture,\nto a corresponding -scriptura-; partly--as in Macedonia, Achaia,\nCyrene, the greater part of Africa, the two Spains, and by Sulla's\narrangements also in Asia--of a fixed sum of money to be paid\nannually by each community to Rome (-stipendium-, -tributum-).\nThis amounted, e. g. for all Macedonia, to 600,000 -denarii-\n(24,000 pounds), for the small island of Gyaros near Andros to 150\n-denarii- (6 pounds, 10 shillings), and was apparently on the whole\nlow and less than the tax paid before the Roman rule.  Those\nground-tenths and pasture-moneys the state farmed out to private\ncontractors on condition of their paying fixed quantities of grain\nor fixed sums of money; with respect to the latter money-payments\nthe state drew upon the respective communities, and left it to\nthese to assess the amount, according to the general principles\nlaid down by the Roman government, on the persons liable, and to\ncollect it from them.(9)\n\nCustoms\n\nThe indirect taxes consisted--apart from the subordinate moneys\nlevied from roads, bridges, and canals--mainly of customs-duties.\nThe customs-duties of antiquity were, if not exclusively, at any\nrate principally port-dues, less frequently frontier-dues, on\nimports and exports destined for sale, and were levied by each\ncommunity in its ports and its territory at discretion.  The Romans\nrecognized this principle generally, in so far as their original\ncustoms-domain did not extend farther than the range of the Roman\nfranchise and the limit of the customs was by no means coincident\nwith the limits of the empire, so that a general imperial tariff\nwas unknown: it was only by means of state-treaty that a total\nexemption from customs-dues in the client communities was secured\nfor the Roman state, and in various cases at least favourable\nterm for the Roman burgess.  But in those districts, which had\nnot been admitted to alliance with Rome but were in the condition\nof subjects proper and had not acquired immunity, the customs fell\nas a matter of course to the proper sovereign, that is, to the Roman\ncommunity; and in consequence of this several larger regions within\nthe empire were constituted as separate Roman customs-districts, in\nwhich the several communities allied or privileged with immunity\nwere marked off as exempt from Roman customs.  Thus Sicily even\nfrom the Carthaginian period formed a closed customs-district, on\nthe frontier of which a tax of 5 per cent on the value was levied\nfrom all imports or exports; thus on the frontiers of Asia there\nwas levied in consequence of the Sempronian law(10) a similar tax\nof 21 per cent; in like manner the province of Narbo, exclusively\nthe domain of the Roman colony, was organized as a Roman customs-\ndistrict This arrangement, besides its fiscal objects, may have\nbeen partly due to the commendable purpose of checking the\nconfusion inevitably arising out of a variety of communal tolls by\na uniform regulation of frontier-dues.  The levying of the customs,\nlike that of the tenths, was without exception leased to middlemen.\n\nCosts of Collection\n\nThe ordinary burdens of Roman taxpayers were limited to these\nimposts; but we may not overlook the fact, that the expenses of\ncollection were very considerable, and the contributors paid an\namount disproportionately great as compared with what the Roman\ngovernment received.  For, while the system of collecting taxes\nby middlemen, and especially by general lessees, is in itself\nthe most expensive of all, in Rome effective competition was\nrendered extremely difficult in consequence of the slight\nextent to which the lettings were subdivided and the immense\nassociation of capital.\n\nRequisitions\n\nTo these ordinary burdens, however, fell to be added in the first\nplace the requisitions which were made.  The costs of military\nadministration were in law defrayed by the Roman community.\nIt provided the commandants of every province with the means of\ntransport and all other requisites; it paid and provisioned the\nRoman soldiers in the province.  The provincial communities had to\nfurnish merely shelter, wood, hay, and similar articles free of\ncost to the magistrates and soldiers; in fact the free towns were\neven ordinarily exempted from the winter quartering of the troops--\npermanent camps were not yet known.  If the governor therefore\nneeded grain, ships, slaves to man them, linen, leather, money,\nor aught else, he was no doubt absolutely at liberty in time\nof war--nor was it far otherwise in time of peace--to demand such\nsupplies according to his discretion and exigencies from the subject-\ncommunities or the sovereign protected states; but these supplies\nwere, like the Roman land-tax, treated legally as purchases or\nadvances, and the value was immediately or afterwards made good by\nthe Roman exchequer.  Nevertheless these requisitions became, if\nnot in the theory of state-law, at any rate practically, one of the\nmost oppressive burdens of the provincials; and the more so, that\nthe amount of compensation was ordinarily settled by the government\nor even by the governor after a one-sided fashion.  We meet indeed\nwith several legislative restrictions on this dangerous right of\nrequisition of the Roman superior magistrates: for instance, the\nrule already mentioned, that in Spain there should not be taken\nfrom the country people by requisitions for grain more than the\ntwentieth sheaf, and that the price even of this should be equitably\nascertained;(11) the fixing of a maximum quantity of grain to be\ndemanded by the governor for the wants of himself and his retinue;\nthe previous adjustment of a definite and high rate of compensation\nfor the grain which was frequently demanded, at least from Sicily,\nfor the wants of the capital.  But, while by fixing such rules\nthe pressure of those requisitions on the economy of the communities\nand of individuals in the province was doubtless mitigated here\nand there, it was by no means removed.  In extraordinary crises\nthis pressure unavoidably increased and often went beyond all bounds,\nfor then in fact the requisitions not unfrequently assumed the form\nof a punishment imposed or that of voluntary contributions enforced,\nand compensation was thus wholly withheld.  Thus Sulla in 670-671\ncompelled the provincials of Asia Minor, who certainly had very\ngravely offended against Rome, to furnish to every common soldier\nquartered among them forty-fold pay (per day 16 -denarii- = 11 shillings),\nto every centurion seventy-five-fold pay, in addition to clothing\nand meals along with the right to invite guests at pleasure; thus\nthe same Sulla soon afterwards imposed a general contribution on\nthe client and subject communities,(12) in which case nothing,\nof course, was said of repayment.\n\nLocal Burdens\n\nFurther the local public burdens are not to be left out of view.\nThey must have been, comparatively, very considerable;(13) for the\ncosts of administration, the keeping of the public buildings in\nrepair, and generally all civil expenses were borne by the local\nbudget, and the Roman government simply undertook to defray the\nmilitary expenses from their coffers.  But even of this military\nbudget considerable items were devolved on the communities--such as\nthe expense of making and maintaining the non-Italian military\nroads, the costs of the fleets in the non-Italian seas, nay even\nin great part the outlays for the army, inasmuch as the forces of\nthe client-states as well as those of the subjects were regularly\nliable to serve at the expense of their communities within their\nprovince, and began to be employed with increasing frequency even\nbeyond it--Thracians in Africa, Africans in Italy, arid so on--at\nthe discretion of the Romans.(14)  If the provinces only and not\nItaly paid direct taxes to the government, this was equitable in\na financial, if not in a political, aspect so long as Italy alone\nbore the burdens and expense of the military system; but from the\ntime that this system was abandoned, the provincials were, in a\nfinancial point of view, decidedly overburdened.\n\nExtortions\n\nLastly we must not forget the great chapter of injustice by which\nin manifold ways the Roman magistrates and farmers of the revenue\naugmented the burden of taxation on the provinces.  Although every\npresent which the governor took might be treated legally as an\nexaction, and even his right of purchase might be restricted by\nlaw, yet the exercise of his public functions offered to him, if he\nwas disposed to do wrong, pretexts more than enough for doing so.\nThe quartering of the troops; the free lodging of the magistrates\nand of the host of adjutants of senatorial or equestrian rank, of\nclerks, lictors, heralds, physicians, and priests; the right which\nthe messengers of the state had to be forwarded free of cost; the\napproval of, and providing transport for, the contributions payable\nin kind; above all the forced sales and the requisitions--gave all\nmagistrates opportunity to bring home princely fortunes from the\nprovinces.  And the plundering became daily more general, the more\nthat the control of the government appeared to be worthless and\nthat of the capitalist-courts to be in reality dangerous to the\nupright magistrate alone.  The institution of a standing commission\nregarding the exactions of magistrates in the provinces, occasioned\nby the frequency of complaints as to such cases, in 605,(15) and\nthe laws as to extortion following each other so rapidly and\nconstantly augmenting its penalties, show the daily increasing\nheight of the evil, as the Nilometer shows the rise of the flood.\n\nUnder all these circumstances even a taxation moderate in theory\nmight become extremely oppressive in its actual operation; and that\nit was so is beyond doubt, although the financial oppression, which\nthe Italian merchants and bankers exercised over the provinces, was\nprobably felt as a far heavier burden than the taxation with all\nthe abuses that attached to it.\n\nAggregate Financial Result\n\nIf we sum up, the income which Rome drew from the provinces was\nnot properly a taxation of the subjects in the sense which we now\nattach to that expression, but rather in the main a revenue that\nmay be compared with the Attic tributes, by means of which the\nleading state defrayed the expense of the military system which\nit maintained.  This explains the surprisingly small amount of the\ngross as well as of the net proceeds.  There exists a statement,\naccording to which the income of Rome, exclusive, it may be\npresumed, of the Italian revenues and of the grain delivered in\nkind to Italy by the -decumani- up to 691 amounted to not more\nthan 200 millions of sesterces (2,000,000 pounds); that is, but\ntwo-thirds of the sum which the king of Egypt drew from his country\nannually.  The proportion can only seem strange at the first\nglance.  The Ptolemies turned to account the valley of the Nile as\ngreat, plantation-owners, and drew immense sums from their monopoly\nof the commercial intercourse with the east; the Roman treasury was\nnot much more than the joint military chest of the communities\nunited under Rome's protection.  The net produce was probably still\nless in proportion.  The only provinces yielding a considerable\nsurplus were perhaps Sicily, where the Carthaginian system of\ntaxation prevailed, and more especially Asia from the time that\nGaius Gracchus, in order to provide for his largesses of corn, had\ncarried out the confiscation of the soil and a general domanial\ntaxation there.  According to manifold testimonies the finances of\nthe Roman state were essentially dependent on the revenues of Asia.\nThe assertion sounds quite credible that the other provinces on an\naverage cost nearly as much as they brought in; in fact those which\nrequired a considerable garrison, such as the two Spains,\nTransalpine Gaul, and Macedonia, probably often cost more than they\nyielded.  On the whole certainly the Roman treasury in ordinary\ntimes possessed a surplus, which enabled them amply to defray the\nexpense of the buildings of the state and city, and to accumulate a\nreserve-fund; but even the figures appearing for these objects,\nwhen compared with the wide domain of the Roman rule, attest the\nsmall amount of the net proceeds of the Roman taxes.  In a certain\nsense therefore the old principle equally honourable and judicious--\nthat the political hegemony should not be treated as a privilege\nyielding profit--still governed the financial administration of the\nprovinces as it had governed that of Rome in Italy.  What the Roman\ncommunity levied from its transmarine subjects was, as a rule, re-\nexpended for the military security of the transmarine possessions;\nand if these Roman imposts fell more heavily on those who paid them\nthan the earlier taxation, in so far as they were in great part\nexpended abroad, the substitution, on the other hand, of a single\nruler and a centralized military administration for the many petty\nrulers and armies involved a very considerable financial saving.\nIt is true, however, that this principle of a previous better age\ncame from the very first to be infringed and mutilated by the\nnumerous exceptions which were allowed to prevail.  The ground-\ntenth levied by Hiero and Carthage in Sicily went far beyond the\namount of an annual war-contributioa With justice moreover Scipio\nAemilianus says in Cicero, that it was unbecoming for the Roman\nburgess-body to be at the same time the ruler and the tax-gatherer\nof the nations.  The appropriation of the customs-dues was not\ncompatible with the principle of disinterested hegemony, and the\nhigh rates of the customs as well as the vexatious mode of levying\nthem were not fitted to allay the sense of the injustice thereby\ninflicted.  Even as early probably as this period the name of\npublican became synonymous among the eastern peoples with that of\nrogue and robber: no burden contributed so much as this to make the\nRoman name offensive and odious especially in the east.  But when\nGaius Gracchus and those who called themselves the \"popular party\"\nin Rome came to the helm, political sovereignty was declared in\nplain terms to be a right which entitled every one who shared in\nit to a number of bushels of corn, the hegemony was converted into\na direct ownership of the soil, and the most complete system of\nmaking the most of that ownership was not only introduced but\nwith shameless candour legally justified and proclaimed.  It was\ncertainly not a mere accident, that the hardest lot in this respect\nfell precisely to the two least warlike provinces, Sicily and Asia.\n\nThe Finances and Public Buildings\n\nAn approximate measure of the condition of Roman finance at this\nperiod is furnished, in the absence of definite statements, first\nof all by the public buildings.  In the first decades of this epoch\nthese were prosecuted on the greatest scale, and the construction\nof roads in particular had at no time been so energetically\npursued.  In Italy the great southern highway of presumably earlier\norigin, which as a prolongation of the Appian road ran from Rome by\nway of Capua, Beneventum, and Venusia to the ports of Tarentum and\nBrundisium, had attached to it a branch-road from Capua to the\nSicilian straits, a work of Publius Popillius, consul in 622.\nOn the east coast, where hitherto only the section from Fanum to\nAriminum had been constructed as part of the Flaminian highway (ii.\n229), the coast road was prolonged southward as far as Brundisium,\nnorthward by way of Atria on the Po as far as Aquileia, and the\nportion at least from Ariminum to Atria was formed by the Popillius\njust mentioned in the same year.  The two great Etruscan highways--\nthe coast or Aurelian road from Rome to Pisa and Luna, which was in\ncourse of formation in 631, and the Cassian road leading by way of\nSutrium and Clusium to Arretium and Florentia, which seems not to\nhave been constructed before 583--may as Roman public highways\nbelong only to this age.  About Rome itself new projects were\nnot required; but the Mulvian bridge (Ponte Molle), by which\nthe Flaminian road crossed the Tiber not far from Rome, was in 645\nreconstructed of stone.  Lastly in Northern Italy, which hitherto\nhad possessed no other artificial road than the Flaminio-Aemilian\nterminating at Placentia, the great Postumian road was constructed\nin 606, which led from Genua by way of Dertona, where probably\na colony was founded at the same time, and onward by way of\nPlacentia, where it joined the Flaminio-Aemilian road, and of\nCremona and Verona to Aquileia, and thus connected the Tyrrhenian\nand Adriatic seas; to which was added the communication established\nin 645 by Marcus Aemilius Scaurus between Luna and Genua, which\nconnected the Postumian road directly with Rome.  Gaius Gracchus\nexerted himself in another way for the improvement of the Italian\nroads.  He secured the due repair of the great rural roads by\nassigning, on occasion of his distribution of lands, pieces of\nground alongside of the roads, to which was attached the obligation\nof keeping them in repair as an heritable burden.  To him,\nmoreover, or at any rate to the allotment-commission, the custom\nof erecting milestones appears to be traceable, as well as that\nof marking the limits of fields by regular boundary-stones.  Lastly\nhe provided for good -viae vicinales-, with the view of thereby\npromoting agriculture.  But of still greater moment was the\nconstruction of the imperial highways in the provinces, which\nbeyond doubt began in this epoch.  The Domitian highway after long\npreparations(16) furnished a secure land-route from Italy to Spain,\nand was closely connected with the founding of Aquae Sextiae and\nNarbo;(17) the Gabinian(18) and the Egnatian (19) led from the\nprincipal places on the east coast of the Adriatic sea--the former\nfrom Salona, the latter from Apollonia and Dyrrhachium--into\nthe interior; the network of roads laid out by Manius Aquillius\nimmediately after the erection of the Asiatic province in 625\nled from the capital Ephesus in different directions towards the\nfrontier.  Of the origin of these works no mention is to be found\nin the fragmentary tradition of this epoch, but they were\nnevertheless undoubtedly connected with the consolidation\nof the Roman rule in Gaul, Dalmatia, Macedonia, and Asia Minor,\nand came to be of the greatest importance for the centralization of\nthe state and the civilizing of the subjugated barbarian districts.\n\nIn Italy at least great works of drainage were prosecuted as well\nas the formation of roads.  In 594 the drying of the Pomptine\nmarshes--a vital matter for Central Italy--was set about with great\nenergy and at least temporary success; in 645 the draining of the\nlow-lying lands between Parma and Placentia was effected in\nconnection with the construction of the north Italian highway.\nMoreover, the government did much for the Roman aqueducts, as\nindispensable for the health and comfort of the capital as they\nwere costly.  Not only were the two that had been in existence\nsince the years 442 and 492--the Appian and the Anio aqueducts--\nthoroughly repaired in 610, but two new ones were formed; the\nMarcian in 610, which remained afterwards unsurpassed for the\nexcellence and abundance of the water, and the Tepula as it was\ncalled, nineteen years later.  The power of the Roman exchequer to\nexecute great operations by means of payments in pure cash without\nmaking use of the system of credit, is very clearly shown by the\nway in which the Marcian aqueduct was created: the sum required for\nit of 180,000,000 sesterces (in gold nearly 2,000,000 pounds) was\nraised and applied within three years.  This leads us to infer a\nvery considerable reserve in the treasury: in fact at the very\nbeginning of this period it amounted to almost 860,000 pounds,(20)\nand was doubtless constantly on the increase.\n\nAll these facts taken together certainly lead to the inference that\nthe position of the Roman finances at this epoch was on the whole\nfavourable.  Only we may not in a financial point of view overlook\nthe fact that, while the government during the two earlier thirds\nof this period executed splendid and magnificent buildings, it\nneglected to make other outlays at least as necessary.  We have\nalready indicated how unsatisfactory were its military provisions;\nthe frontier countries and even the valley of the Po(21) were\npillaged by barbarians, and bands of robbers made havoc in the\ninterior even of Asia Minor, Sicily, and Italy.  The fleet even was\ntotally neglected; there was hardly any longer a Roman vessel of\nwar; and the war-vessels, which the subject cities were required to\nbuild and maintain, were not sufficient, so that Rome was not only\nabsolutely unable to carry on a naval war, but was not even in a\nposition to check the trade of piracy.  In Rome itself a number of\nthe most necessary improvements were left untouched, and the river-\nbuildings in particular were singularly neglected.  The capital\nstill possessed no other bridge over the Tiber than the primitive\nwooden gangway, which led over the Tiber island to the Janiculum;\nthe Tiber was still allowed to lay the streets every year under\nwater, and to demolish houses and in fact not unfrequently whole\ndistricts, without anything being done to strengthen the banks;\nmighty as was the growth of transmarine commerce, the roadstead\nof Ostia--already by nature bad--was allowed to become more and\nmore sanded up.  A government, which under the most favourable\ncircumstances and in an epoch of forty years of peace abroad and\nat home neglected such duties, might easily allow taxes to fall\ninto abeyance and yet obtain an annual surplus of income over\nexpenditure and a considerable reserve; but such a financial\nadministration by no means deserves commendation for its mere\nsemblance of brilliant results, but rather merits the same censure--\nin respect of laxity, want of unity in management, mistaken\nflattery of the people--as falls to be brought in every other\nsphere of political life against the senatorial government\nof this epoch.\n\nThe Finances in the Revolution\n\nThe financial condition of Rome of course assumed a far worse\naspect, when the storms of revolution set in.  The new and, even in\na mere financial point of view, extremely oppressive burden imposed\nupon the state by the obligation under which Gaius Gracchus placed\nit to furnish corn at nominal rates to the burgesses of the\ncapital, was certainly counterbalanced at first by the newly-opened\nsources of income in the province of Asia.  Nevertheless the public\nbuildings seem from that time to have almost come to a standstill.\nWhile the public works which can be shown to have been constructed\nfrom the battle of Pydna down to the time of Gaius Gracchus were\nnumerous, from the period after 632 there is scarcely mention of\nany other than the projects of bridges, roads, and drainage which\nMarcus Aemilius Scaurus organized as censor in 645.  It must remain\na moot point whether this was the effect of the largesses of grain\nor, as is perhaps more probable, the consequence of the system of\nincreased savings, such as befitted a government which became daily\nmore and more a rigid oligarchy, and such as is indicated by the\nstatement that the Roman reserve reached its highest point in 663.\nThe terrible storm of insurrection and revolution, in combination\nwith the five years' deficit of the revenues of Asia Minor, was the\nfirst serious trial to which the Roman finances were subjected\nafter the Hannibalic war: they failed to sustain it.  Nothing\nperhaps so clearly marks the difference of the times as the\ncircumstance that in the Hannibalic war it was not till the tenth\nyear of the struggle, when the burgesses were almost sinking under\ntaxation, that the reserve was touched;(22) whereas the Social war\nwas from the first supported by the balance in hand, and when this\nwas expended after two campaigns to the last penny, they preferred\nto sell by auction the public sites in the capital(23) and to seize\nthe treasures of the temples(24) rather than levy a tax on the\nburgesses.  The storm however, severe as it was, passed over;\nSulla, at the expense doubtless of enormous economic sacrifices\nimposed on the subjects and Italian revolutionists in particular,\nrestored order to the finances and, by abolishing the largesses of\ncorn and retaining although in a reduced form the Asiatic revenues,\nsecured for the commonwealth a satisfactory economic condition, at\nleast in the sense of the ordinary expenditure remaining far below\nthe ordinary income.\n\nPrivate Economics\nAgriculture\n\nIn the private economics of this period hardly any new feature\nemerges; the advantages and disadvantages formerly set forth as\nincident to the social circumstances of Italy(25) were not altered,\nbut merely farther and more distinctly developed.  In agriculture\nwe have already seen that the growing power of Roman capital was\ngradually absorbing the intermediate and small landed estates in\nItaly as well as in the provinces, as the sun sucks up the drops of\nrain.  The government not only looked on without preventing, but\neven promoted this injurious division of the soil by particular\nmeasures, especially by prohibiting the production of wine and oil\nbeyond the Alps with a view to favour the great Italian landlords\nand merchants.(26)  It is true that both the opposition and the\nsection of the conservatives that entered into ideas of reform\nworked energetically to counteract the evil; the two Gracchi, by\ncarrying out the distribution of almost the whole domain land, gave\nto the state 80,000 new Italian farmers; Sulla, by settling 120,000\ncolonists in Italy, filled up at least in part the gaps which the\nrevolution and he himself had made in the ranks of the Italian\nyeomen.  But, when a vessel is emptying itself by constant efflux,\nthe evil is to be remedied not by pouring in even considerable\nquantities, but only by the establishment of a constant influx--\na remedy which was on various occasions attempted, but not with\nsuccess.  In the provinces, not even the smallest effort was made\nto save the farmer class there from being bought out by the Roman\nspeculators; the provincials, forsooth, were merely men, and not a\nparty.  The consequence was, that even the rents of the soil beyond\nItaly flowed more and more to Rome.  Moreover the plantation-\nsystem, which about the middle of this epoch had already gained\nthe ascendant even in particular districts of Italy, such as Etruria,\nhad, through the co-operation of an energetic and methodical\nmanagement and abundant pecuniary resources, attained to a state\nof high prosperity after its kind.  The production of Italian wine\nin particular, which was artificially promoted partly by the opening\nof forced markets in a portion of the provinces, partly by the\nprohibition of foreign wines in Italy as expressed for instance\nin the sumptuary law of 593, attained very considerable results:\nthe Aminean and Falernian wine began to be named by the side of the\nThasian and Chian, and the \"Opimian wine\" of 633, the Roman vintage\n\"Eleven,\" was long remembered after the last jar was exhausted.\n\nTrades\n\nOf trades and manufactur es there is nothing to be said, except\nthat the Italian nation in this respect persevered in an inaction\nbordering on barbarism.  They destroyed the Corinthian factories,\nthe depositories of so many valuable industrial traditions--not\nhowever that they might establish similar factories for themselves,\nbut that they might buy up at extravagant prices such Corinthian\nvases of earthenware or copper and similar \"antique works\" as were\npreserved in Greek houses.  The trades that were still somewhat\nprosperous, such as those connected with building, were productive\nof hardly any benefit for the commonwealth, because here too the\nsystem of employing slaves in every more considerable undertaking\nintervened: in the construction of the Marcian aqueduct, for\ninstance, the government concluded contracts for building and\nmaterials simultaneously with 3000 master-tradesmen, each of whom\nthen performed the work contracted for with his band of slaves.\n\nMoney-Dealing and Commerce\n\nThe most brilliant, or rather the only brilliant, side of Roman\nprivate economics was money-dealing and commerce.  First of all\nstood the leasing of the domains and of the taxes, through which a\nlarge, perhaps the larger, part of the income of the Roman state\nflowed into the pockets of the Roman capitalists.  The money-\ndealings, moreover, throughout the range of the Roman state were\nmonopolized by the Romans; every penny circulated in Gaul, it is\nsaid in a writing issued soon after the end of this period, passes\nthrough the books of the Roman merchants, and so it was doubtless\neverywhere.  The co-operation of rude economic conditions and of\nthe unscrupulous employment of Rome's political ascendency for the\nbenefit of the private interests of every wealthy Roman rendered a\nusurious system of interest universal, as is shown for example by\nthe treatment of the war-tax imposed by Sulla on the province of\nAsia in 670, which the Roman capitalists advanced; it swelled with\npaid and unpaid interest within fourteen years to sixfold its\noriginal amount.  The communities had to sell their public buildings,\ntheir works of art and jewels, parents had to sell their grown-up\nchildren, in order to meet the claims of the Roman creditor: it\nwas no rare occurrence for the debtor to be not merely subjected\nto moral torture, but directly placed upon the rack.  To these\nsources of gain fell to be added the wholesale traffic.  The exports\nand imports of Italy were very considerable.  The former consisted\nchiefly of wine and oil, with which Italy and Greece almost\nexclusively--for the production of wine in the Massiliot and\nTurdetanian territories can at that time have been but small--\nsupplied the whole region of the Mediterranean; Italian wine was\nsent in considerable quantities to the Balearic islands and\nCeltiberia, to Africa, which was merely a corn and pasture country,\nto Narbo and into the interior of Gaul.  Still more considerable\nwas the import to Italy, where at that time all luxury was\nconcentrated, and whither most articles of luxury for food, drink,\nor clothing, ornaments, books, household furniture, works of art\nwere imported by sea.  The traffic in slaves, above all, received\nthrough the ever-increasing demand of the Roman merchants an\nimpetus to which no parallel had been known in the region of the\nMediterranean, and which stood in the closest connection with the\nflourishing of piracy.  All lands and all nations were laid under\ncontribution for slaves, but the places where they were chiefly\ncaptured were Syria and the interior of Asia Minor.(27)\n\nOstia\nPuteoli\n\nIn Italy the transmarine imports were chiefly concentrated in\nthe two great emporia on the Tyrrhene sea, Ostia and Puteoli.\nThe grain destined for the capital was brought to Ostia, which\nwas far from having a good roadstead, but, as being the nearest\nport to Rome, was the most appropriate mart for less valuable wares;\nwhereas the traffic in luxuries with the east was directed mainly\nto Puteoli, which recommended itself by its good harbour for ships\nwith valuable cargoes, and presented to merchants a market in its\nimmediate neighbourhood little inferior to that of the capital--\nthe district of Baiae, which came to be more and more filled with\nvillas.  For a long time this latter traffic was conducted through\nCorinth and after its destruction through Delos, and in this sense\naccordingly Puteoli is called by Lucilius the Italian \"Little Delos\";\nbut after the catastrophe which befel Delos in the Mithradatic war,(28)\nand from which it never recovered, the Puteolans entered into direct\ncommercial connections with Syria and Alexandria, and their city became\nmore and more decidedly the first seat of transmarine commerce in Italy.\nBut it was not merely the gain which was made by the Italian exports\nand imports, that fell mainly to the Italians; at Narbo they competed\nin the Celtic trade with the Massiliots, and in general it admits of\nno doubt that the Roman merchants to be met with everywhere, floating\nor settled, took to themselves the best share of all speculations.\n\nCapitalist Oligarchy\n\nPutting together these phenomena, we recognize as the most prominent\nfeature in the private economy of this epoch the financial oligarchy\nof Roman capitalists standing alongside of, and on a par with,\nthe political oligarchy.  In their hands were united the rents\nof the soil of almost all Italy and of the best portions of\nthe provincial territory, the proceeds at usury of the capital\nmonopolized by them, the commercial gain from the whole empire,\nand lastly, a very considerable part of the Roman state-revenue\nin the form of profits accruing from the lease of that revenue.\nThe daily-increasing accumulation of capital is evident in the rise\nof the average rate of wealth: 3,000,000 sesterces (30,000 pounds)\nwas now a moderate senatorial, 2,000,000 (20,000 pounds) was a decent\nequestrian fortune; the property of the wealthiest man of the\nGracchan age, Publius Crassus consul in 623 was estimated at\n100,000,000 sesterces (1,000,000 pounds).  It is no wonder,\nthat this capitalist order exercised a preponderant influence\non external policy; that it destroyed out of commercial rivalry\nCarthage and Corinth(29) as the Etruscans had formerly destroyed\nAlalia and the Syracusans Caere; that it in spite of the senate\nupheld the colony of Narbo.(30)  It is likewise no wonder, that\nthis capitalist oligarchy engaged in earnest and often victorious\ncompetition with the oligarchy of the nobles in internal politics.\nBut it is also no wonder, that ruined men of wealth put themselves\nat the head of bands of revolted slaves,(31) and rudely reminded\nthe public that the transition is easy from the haunts of\nfashionable debauchery to the robber's cave.  It is no wonder,\nthat that financial tower of Babel, with its foundation not purely\neconomic but borrowed from the political ascendency of Rome,\ntottered at every serious political crisis nearly in the same\nway as our very similar fabric of a paper currency.  The great\nfinancial crisis, which in consequence of the Italo-Asiatic\ncommotions of 664 f.  set in upon the Roman capitalist-class,\nthe bankruptcy of the state and of private persons, the general\ndepreciation of landed property and of partnership-shares, can no\nlonger be traced out in detail; but their general nature and their\nimportance are placed beyond doubt by their results--the murder of\nthe praetor by a band of creditors,(32) the attempt to eject from\nthe senate all the senators not free of debt,(33) the renewal of\nthe maximum of interest by Sulla,(34) the cancelling of 75 per cent\nof all debts by the revolutionary party.(35)  The consequence of\nthis system was naturally general impoverishment and depopulation\nin the provinces, whereas the parasitic population of migratory\nor temporarily settled Italians was everywhere on the increase.\nIn Asia Minor 80,000 men of Italian origin are said to have perished\nin one day.(36)  How numerous they were in Delos, is evident from\nthe tombstones still extant on the island and from the statement\nthat 20,000 foreigners, mostly Italian merchants, were put to death\nthere by command of Mithradates.(37)  In Africa the Italians were\nso many, that even the Numidian town of Cirta could be defended\nmainly by them against Jugurtha.(38)  Gaul too, it is said, was\nfilled with Roman merchants; in the case of Spain alone--perhaps\nnot accidentally--no statements of this sort are found.  In Italy\nitself, on the other hand, the condition of the free population\nat this epoch had on the whole beyond doubt retrograded.  To this\nresult certainly the civil wars essentially contributed, which,\naccording to statements of a general kind and but littletrustworthy,\nare alleged to have swept away from 100,000 to 150,000 of the Roman\nburgesses and 300,000 of the Italian population generally; but still\nworse was the effect of the economic ruin of the middle class, and of\nthe boundless extent of the mercantile emigration which induced a great\nportion of the Italian youth to spend their most vigorous years abroad.\n\nA compensation of very dubious value was afforded by the free\nparasitic Helleno-Oriental population, which sojourned in the\ncapital as diplomatic agents for kings or communities, as physicians,\nschoolmasters, priests, servants, parasites, and in the myriad\nemployments of sharpers and swindlers, or, as traders and\nmariners, frequented especially Ostia, Puteoli, and Brundisium.\nStill more hazardous was the disproportionate increase of the\nmultitude of slaves in the peninsula.  The Italian burgesses by\nthe census of 684 numbered 910,000 men capable of bearing arms, to\nwhich number, in order to obtain the amount of the free population\nin the peninsula, those accidentally passed over in the census,\nthe Latins in the district between the Alps and the Po, and the\nforeigners domiciled in Italy, have to be added, while the Roman\nburgesses domiciled abroad are to be deducted.  It will therefore\nbe scarcely possible to estimate the free population of the\npeninsula at more than from 6 to 7 millions.  If its whole\npopulation at this time was equal to that of the present day, we\nshould have to assume accordingly a mass of slaves amounting to 13\nor 14 millions.  It needs however no such fallacious calculations\nto render the dangerous tension of this state of things apparent;\nthis is loudly enough attested by the partial servile insurrections,\nand by the appeal which from the beginning of the revolutions was\nat the close of every outbreak addressed to the slaves to take\nup arms against their masters and to fight out their liberty.\nIf we conceive of England with its lords, its squires, and\nabove all its City, but with its freeholders and lessees converted\ninto proletarians, and its labourers and sailors converted into slaves,\nwe shall gain an approximate image of the population of the Italian\npeninsula in those days.\n\nThe economic relations of this epoch are clearly mirrored to\nus even now in the Roman monetary system.  Its treatment shows\nthroughout the sagacious merchant.  For long gold and silver stood\nside by side as general means of payment on such a footing that,\nwhile for the purpose of general cash-balances a fixed ratio of\nvalue was legally laid down between the two metals,(39) the giving\none metal for the other was not, as a rule, optional, but payment\nwas to be in gold or silver according to the tenor of the bond.\nIn this way the great evils were avoided, that are otherwise\ninevitably associated with the setting up of two precious metals;\nthe severe gold crises--as about 600, for instance, when in\nconsequence of the discovery of the Tauriscan gold-seams(40) gold\nas compared with silver fell at once in Italy about 33 1/3 per\ncent--exercised at least no direct influence on the silver money\nand retail transactions.  The nature of the case implied that,\nthe more transmarine traffic extended, gold the more decidedly\nrose from the second place to the first; and that it did so, is\nconfirmed by the statements as to the balances in the treasury and\nas to its transactions; but the government was not thereby induced\nto introduce gold into the coinage.  The coining of gold attempted\nin the exigency of the Hannibalic war(41) had been long allowed\nto fall into abeyance; the few gold pieces which Sulla struck as\nregent were scarcely more than pieces coined for the occasion\nof his triumphal presents.  Silver still as before circulated\nexclusively as actual money; gold, whether it, as was usual,\ncirculated in bars or bore the stamp of a foreign or possibly even\nof an inland mint, was taken solely by weight.  Nevertheless gold\nand silver were on a par as means of exchange, and the fraudulent\nalloying of gold was treated in law, like the issuing of spurious\nsilver money, as a monetary offence.  They thus obtained the\nimmense advantage of precluding, in the case of the most important\nmedium of payment, even the possibility of monetary fraud and\nmonetary adulteration.  Otherwise the coinage was as copious as it\nwas of exemplary purity.  After the silver piece had been reduced\nin the Hannibalic war from 1/72 (42) to 1/84 of a pound,(43) it\nretained for more than three centuries quite the same weight\nand the same quality; no alloying took place.  The copper money\nbecame about the beginning of this period quite restricted to\nsmall change, and ceased to be employed as formerly in large\ntransactions; for this reason the -as- was no longer coined after\nperhaps the beginning of the seventh century, and the copper\ncoinage was confined to the smaller values of a -semis- (1/4 pence)\nand under, which could not well be represented in silver.\nThe sorts of coins were arranged according to a simple principle,\nand in the then smallest coin of the ordinary issue--the -quadrans-\n(1/8 pence)--carried down to the limit of appreciable value.\nIt was a monetary system, which, for the judicious principles\non which it was based and for the iron rigour with which they\nwere applied, stands alone in antiquity and has been but rarely\nparalleled even in modern times.\n\nYet it had also its weak point.  According to a custom, common\nin all antiquity, but which reached its highest development at\nCarthage,(44) the Roman government issued along with the good\nsilver -denarii- also -denarii- of copper plated with silver, which\nhad to be accepted like the former and were just a token-money\nanalogous to our paper currency, with compulsory circulation and\nrecourse on the public chest, inasmuch as it also was not entitled\nto reject the plated pieces.  This was no more an official\nadulteration of the coinage than our manufacture of paper-money,\nfor they practised the thing quite openly; Marcus Drusus proposed\nin 663, with the view of gaining the means for his largesses of\ngrain, the sending forth of one plated -denarius- for every seven\nsilver ones issuing fresh from the mint; nevertheless this measure\nnot only offered a dangerous handle to private forgery, but\ndesignedly left the public uncertain whether it was receiving\nsilver or token money, and to what total amount the latter was\nin circulation.  In the embarrassed period of the civil war and\nof the great financial crisis they seem to have so unduly availed\nthemselves of plating, that a monetary crisis accompanied the\nfinancial one, and the quantity of spurious and really worthless\npieces rendered dealings extremely insecure.  Accordingly during\nthe Cinnan government an enactment was passed by the praetors and\ntribunes, primarily by Marcus Marius Gratidianus,(45) for redeeming\nall the token-money by silver, and for that purpose an assay-office\nwas established.  How far the calling-in was accomplished,\ntradition has not told us; the coining of token-money itself\ncontinued to subsist.\n\nAs to the provinces, in accordance with the setting aside of gold\nmoney on principle, the coining of gold was nowhere permitted, not\neven in the client-states; so that a gold coinage at this period\noccurs only where Rome had nothing at all to say, especially among\nthe Celts to the north of the Cevennes and among the states in\nrevolt against Rome; the Italians, for instance, as well as\nMithradates Eupator struck gold coins.  The government seems to\nhave made efforts to bring the coinage of silver also more and more\ninto its hands, particularly in the west.  In Africa and Sardinia\nthe Carthaginian gold and silver money may have remained in\ncirculation even after the fall of the Carthaginian state; but\nno coinage of precious metals took place there after either the\nCarthaginian or the Roman standard, and certainly very soon after\nthe Romans took possession, the -denarius- introduced from Italy\nacquired the predominance in the transactions of the two countries.\nIn Spain and Sicily, which came earlier to the Romans and\nexperienced altogether a milder treatment, silver was no doubt\ncoined under the Roman rule, and indeed in the former country the\nsilver coinage was first called into existence by the Romans and\nbased on the Roman standard;(46) but there exist good grounds for\nthe supposition, that even in these two countries, at least from\nthe beginning of the seventh century, the provincial and urban\nmints were obliged to restrict their issues to copper small money.\nOnly in Narbonese Gaul the right of coining silver could not be\nwithdrawn from the old-allied and considerable free city of\nMassilia; and the same was presumably true of the Greek cities in\nIllyria, Apollonia and Dyrrhachium.  But the privilege of these\ncommunities to coin money was restricted indirectly by the fact,\nthat the three-quarter -denarius-, which by ordinance of the Roman\ngovernment was coined both at Massilia and in Illyria, and which\nhad been under the name of -victoriatus- received into the Roman\nmonetary system,(47) was about the middle of the seventh century\nset aside in the latter; the effect of which necessarily was, that\nthe Massiliot and Illyrian currency was driven out of Upper Italy\nand only remained in circulation, over and above its native field,\nperhaps in the regions of the Alps and the Danube.  Such progress\nhad thus been made already in this epoch, that the standard of the\n-denarius- exclusively prevailed in the whole western division of\nthe Roman state; for Italy, Sicily--of which it is as respects the\nbeginning of the next period expressly attested, that no other\nsilver money circulated there but the -denarius---Sardinia, Africa,\nused exclusively Roman silver money, and the provincial silver\nstill current in Spain as well as the silver money of the Massiliots\nand Illyrians were at least struck after the standard of the -denarius-.\n\nIt was otherwise in the east.  Here, where the number of the states\ncoining money from olden times and the quantity of native coin in\ncirculation were very considerable, the -denarius- did not make its\nway into wider acceptance, although it was perhaps declared a legal\ntender.  On the contrary either the previous monetary standard\ncontinued in use, as in Macedonia for instance, which still as\na province--although partially adding the names of the Roman\nmagistrates to that of the country--struck its Attic -tetradrachmae-\nand certainly employed in substance no other money; or a peculiar\nmoney-standard corresponding to the circumstances was introduced\nunder Roman authority, as on the institution of the province of Asia,\nwhen a new -stater-, the -cistophorus- as it was called, was prescribed\nby the Roman government and was thenceforth struck by the district-\ncapitals there under Roman superintendence.  This essential diversity\nbetween the Occidental and Oriental systems of currency came to be\nof the greatest historical importance: the Romanizing of the subject\nlands found one of its mightiest levers in the adoption of Roman money,\nand it was not through mere accident that what we have designated at\nthis epoch as the field of the -denarius- became afterwards the Latin,\nwhile the field of the -drachma- became afterwards the Greek, half\nof the empire.  Still at the present day the former field substantially\nrepresents the sum of Romanic culture, whereas the latter has\nsevered itself from European civilization.\n\nIt is easy to form a general conception of the aspect which under\nsuch economic conditions the social relations must have assumed;\nbut to follow out in detail the increase of luxury, of prices, of\nfastidiousness and frivolity is neither pleasant nor instructive.\nExtravagance and sensuous enjoyment formed the main object with\nall, among the parvenus as well as among the Licinii and Metelli;\nnot the polished luxury which is the acme of civilization, but\nthat sort of luxury which had developed itself amidst the decaying\nHellenic civilization of Asia Minor and Alexandria, which degraded\neverything beautiful and significant to the purpose of decoration\nand studied enjoyment with a laborious pedantry, a precise\npunctiliousness, rendering it equally nauseous to the man of fresh\nfeeling as to the man of fresh intellect.  As to the popular\nfestivals, the importation of transmarine wild beasts prohibited\nin the time of Cato(48) was, apparently about the middle of this\ncentury, formally permitted anew by a decree of the burgesses\nproposed by Gnaeus Aufidius; the effect of which was, that animal-\nhunts came into enthusiastic favour and formed a chief feature of\nthe burgess-festivals.  Several lions first appeared in the Roman\narena about 651, the first elephants about 655; Sulla when praetor\nexhibited a hundred lions in 661.  The same holds true of\ngladiatorial games.  If the forefathers had publicly exhibited\nrepresentations of great battles, their grandchildren began to\ndo the same with their gladiatorial games, and by means of such\nleading or state performances of the age to make themselves a\nlaughing-stock to their descendants.  What sums were spent on these\nand on funeral solemnities generally, may be inferred from the\ntestament of Marcus Aemilius Lepidus (consul in 567, 579; 602);\nhe gave orders to his children, forasmuch as the true last honours\nconsisted not in empty pomp but in the remembrance of personal\nand ancestral services, to expend on his funeral not more than\n1,000,000 -asses- (4000 pounds).  Luxury was on the increase also\nas respected buildings and gardens; the splendid town house of the\norator Crassus (663), famous especially for the old trees of its\ngarden, was valued with the trees at 6,000,000 sesterces (60,000\npounds), without them at the half; while the value of an ordinary\ndwelling-house in Rome may be estimated perhaps at 60,000 sesterces\n(600 pounds).(49)  How quickly the prices of ornamental estates\nincreased, is shown by the instance of the Misenian villa, for\nwhich Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, paid 75,000 sesterces\n(750 pounds), and Lucius Lucullus, consul in 680, thirty-three\ntimes that price.  The villas and the luxurious rural and sea-\nbathing life rendered Baiae and generally the district around the\nBay of Naples the El Dorado of noble idleness.  Games of hazard,\nin which the stake was no longer as in the Italian dice-playing a\ntrifle, became common, and as early as 639 a censorial edict was\nissued against them.  Gauze fabrics, which displayed rather than\nconcealed the figure, and silken clothing began to displace the old\nwoollen dresses among women and even among men.  Against the insane\nextravagance in the employment of foreign perfumery the sumptuary\nlaws interfered in vain.\n\nBut the real focus in which the brilliance of this genteel life was\nconcentrated was the table.  Extravagant prices--as much as 100,000\nsesterces (1000 pounds)--were paid for an exquisite cook.  Houses\nwere constructed with special reference to this object, and the\nvillas in particular along the coast were provided with salt-water\ntanks of their own, in order that they might furnish marine fishes\nand oysters at any time fresh to the table.  A dinner was already\ndescribed as poor, at which the fowls were served up to the guests\nentire and not merely the choice portions, and at which the guests\nwere expected to eat of the several dishes and not simply to taste\nthem.  They procured at a great expense foreign delicacies and\nGreek wine, which had to be sent round at least once at every\nrespectable repast.  At banquets above all the Romans displayed\ntheir hosts of slaves ministering to luxury, their bands of\nmusicians, their dancing-girls, their elegant furniture, their\ncarpets glittering with gold or pictorially embroidered, their\npurple hangings, their antique bronzes, their rich silver plate.\nAgainst such displays the sumptuary laws were primarily directed,\nwhich were issued more frequently (593, 639, 665, 673) and in\ngreater detail than ever; a number of delicacies and wines were\ntherein totally prohibited, for others a maximum in weight and\nprice was fixed; the quantity of silver plate was likewise\nrestricted by law, and lastly general maximum rates were prescribed\nfor the expenses of ordinary and festal meals; these, for example,\nwere fixed in 593 at 10 and 100 sesterces (2 shillings and 1 pound)\nin 673 at 30 and 300 sesterces (6 shillings and 3 pounds)\nrespectively.  Unfortunately truth requires us to add that, of all\nthe Romans of rank, not more than three--and these not including\nthe legislators themselves--are said to have complied with these\nimposing laws; and in the case of these three it was the law of the\nStoa, and not that of the state, that curtailed the bill of fare.\n\nIt is worth while to dwell for a moment on the luxury that went\non increasing in defiance of these laws, as respects silver plate.\nIn the sixth century silver plate for the table was, with the\nexception of the traditionary silver salt-dish, a rarity; the\nCarthaginian ambassadors jested over the circumstance, that at\nevery house to which they were invited they had encountered the\nsame silver plate.(50)  Scipio Aemilianus possessed not more than\n32 pounds (120 pounds) in wrought silver; his nephew Quintus Fabius\n(consul in 633) first brought his plate up to 1000 pounds (4000\npounds), Marcus Drusus (tribune of the people in 663) reached\n10,000 pounds (40,000 pounds); in Sulla's time there were already\ncounted in the capital about 150 silver state-dishes weighing 100\npounds each, several of which brought their possessors into the\nlists of proscription.  To judge of the sums expended on these,\nwe must recollect that the workmanship also was paid for at enormous\nrates; for instance Gaius Gracchus paid for choice articles of\nsilver fifteen times, and Lucius Crassus, consul in 659, eighteen\ntimes the value of the metal, and the latter gave for a pair of\ncups by a noted silversmith 100,000 sesterces (1000 pounds).\nSo it was in proportion everywhere.\n\nHow it fared with marriage and the rearing of children, is shown\nby the Gracchan agrarian laws, which first placed a premium on\nthese.(51)  Divorce, formerly in Rome almost unheard of, was now an\neveryday occurrence; while in the oldest Roman marriage the husband\nhad purchased his wife, it might have been proposed to the Romans\nof quality in the present times that, with the view of bringing\nthe name into accordance with the reality, they should introduce\nmarriage for hire.  Even a man like Metellus Macedonicus, who for\nhis honourable domestic life and his numerous host of children was\nthe admiration of his contemporaries, when censor in 623 enforced\nthe obligation of the burgesses to live in a state of matrimony by\ndescribing it as an oppressive public burden, which patriots ought\nnevertheless to undertake from a sense of duty.(52)\n\nThere were, certainly, exceptions.  The circles of the rural towns,\nand particularly those of the larger landholders, had preserved\nmore faithfully the old honourable habits of the Latin nation.\nIn the capital, however, the Catonian opposition had become a mere\nform of words; the modern tendency bore sovereign sway, and though\nindividuals of firm and refined organization, such as Scipio\nAemilianus, knew the art of combining Roman manners with Attic\nculture, Hellenism was among the great multitude synonymous with\nintellectual and moral corruption.  We must never lose sight of\nthe reaction exercised by these social evils on political life,\nif we would understand the Roman revolution.  It was no matter\nof indifference, that of the two men of rank, who in 662 acted\nas supreme masters of morals to the community, the one publicly\nreproached the other with having shed tears over the death of a\n-muraena- the pride of his fishpond, and the latter retaliated on\nthe former that he had buried three wives and had shed tears over\nnone of them.  It was no matter of indifference, that in 593 an\norator could make sport in the open Forum with the following\ndescription of a senatorial civil juryman, whom the time fixed\nfor the cause finds amidst the circle of his boon-companions.\n\"They play at hazard, delicately perfumed, surrounded by their\nmistresses.  As the afternoon advances, they summon the servant\nand bid him make enquiries on the Comitium, as to what has occurred\nin the Forum, who has spoken in favour of or against the new project\nof law, what tribes have voted for and what against it. At length\nthey go themselves to the judgment-seat, just early enough not to\nbring the process down on their own neck.  On the way there is no\nopportunity in any retired alley which they do not avail themselves\nof, for they have gorged themselves with wine.  Reluctantly they\ncome to the tribunal and give audience to the parties.  Those who\nare concerned bring forward their cause.  The juryman orders the\nwitnesses to come forward; he himself steps aside.  When he returns,\nhe declares that he has heard everything, and asks for the documents.\nHe looks into the writings; he can hardly keep his eyes open for wine.\nWhen he thereupon withdraws to consider his sentence, he says to his\nboon-companions, 'What concern have I with these tiresome people?\nwhy should we not rather go to drink a cup of mulse mixed with Greek wine,\nand accompany it with a fat fieldfare and a good fish, a veritable pike\nfrom the Tiber island?'  Those who heard the orator laughed; but was it\nnot a very serious matter, that such things were subjects for laughter?\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter XII\n\nNationality, Religion, and Education\n\nParamount Ascendency of Latinism and Hellenism\n\nIn the great struggle of the nationalities within the wide circuit\nof the Roman empire, the secondary nations seem at this period on\nthe wane or disappearing.  The most important of them all, the\nPhoenician, received through the destruction of Carthage a mortal\nwound from which it slowly bled to death.  The districts of Italy\nwhich had hitherto preserved their old language and manners,\nEtruria and Samnium, were not only visited by the heaviest blows\nof the Sullan reaction, but were compelled also by the political\nlevelling of Italy to adopt the Latin language and customs in\npublic intercourse, so that the old native languages were reduced\nto popular dialects rapidly decaying.  There no longer appears\nthroughout the bounds of the Roman state any nationality entitled\neven to compete with the Roman and the Greek.\n\nLatinism\n\nOn the other hand the Latin nationality was, as respected both\nthe extent of its diffusion and the depth of its hold, in the most\ndecided ascendant.  As after the Social war any portion of Italian\nsoil might belong to any Italian in full Roman ownership, and any\ngod of an Italian temple might receive Roman gifts; as in all\nItaly, with the exception of the region beyond the Po, the Roman\nlaw thenceforth had exclusive authority, superseding all other\ncivic and local laws; so the Roman language at that time became\nthe universal language of business, and soon likewise the universal\nlanguage of cultivated intercourse, in the whole peninsula from the\nAlps to the Sicilian Straits.  But it no longer restricted itself\nto these natural limits.  The mass of capital accumulating in\nItaly, the riches of its products, the intelligence of its\nagriculturists, the versatility of its merchants, found no adequate\nscope in the peninsula; these circumstances and the public service\ncarried the Italians in great numbers to the provinces.(1)  Their\nprivileged position there rendered the Roman language and the Roman\nlaw privileged also, even where Romans were not merely transacting\nbusiness with each other.(2)  Everywhere the Italians kept together\nas compact and organized masses, the soldiers in their legions, the\nmerchants of every larger town as special corporations, the Roman\nburgesses domiciled or sojourning in the particular provincial\ncourt-district as \"circuits\" (-conventus civium Romanorum-) with\ntheir own list of jurymen and in some measure with a communal\nconstitution; and, though these provincial Romans ordinarily\nreturned sooner or later to Italy, they nevertheless gradually\nlaid the foundations of a fixed population in the provinces,\npartly Roman, partly mixed, attaching itself to the Roman settlers.\nWe have already mentioned that it was in Spain, where the Roman army\nfirst became a standing one, that distinct provincial towns with\nItalian constitution were first organized--Carteia in 583,(3)\nValentia in 616,(4) and at a later date Palma and Pollentia.(5)\nAlthough the interior was still far from civilized,--the territory\nof the Vaccaeans, for instance, being still mentioned long after\nthis time as one of the rudest and most repulsive places of abode\nfor the cultivated Italian--authors and inscriptions attest that as\nearly as the middle of the seventh century the Latin language was\nin common use around New Carthage and elsewhere along the coast.\nGracchus first distinctly developed the idea of colonizing, or in\nother words of Romanizing, the provinces of the Roman state by\nItalian emigration, and endeavoured to carry it out; and, although\nthe conservative opposition resisted the bold project, destroyed\nfor the most part its attempted beginnings, and prevented its\ncontinuation, yet the colony of Narbo was preserved, important even\nof itself as extending the domain of the Latin tongue, and far more\nimportant still as the landmark of a great idea, the foundation-\nstone of a mighty structure to come.  The ancient Gallic, and in\nfact the modern French, type of character, sprang out of that\nsettlement, and are in their ultimate origin creations of Gaius\nGracchus.  But the Latin nationality not only filled the bounds\nof Italy and began to pass beyond them; it came also to acquire\nintrinsically a deeper intellectual basis.  We find it in the\ncourse of creating a classical literature, and a higher instruction\nof its own; and, though in comparison with the Hellenic classics\nand Hellenic culture we may feel ourselves tempted to attach little\nvalue to the feeble hothouse products of Italy, yet, so far as its\nhistorical development was primarily concerned, the quality of\nthe Latin classical literature and the Latin culture was of far\nless moment than the fact that they subsisted side by side with\nthe Greek; and, sunken as were the contemporary Hellenes in a\nliterary point of view, one might well apply in this case also\nthe saying of the poet, that the living day-labourer is better\nthan the dead Achilles.\n\nHellenism\n\nBut, however rapidly and vigorously the Latin language and\nnationality gain ground, they at the same time recognize the\nHellenic nationality as having an entirely equal, indeed an earlier\nand better title, and enter everywhere into the closest alliance\nwith it or become intermingled with it in a joint development.\nThe Italian revolution, which otherwise levelled all the non-Latin\nnationalities in the peninsula, did not disturb the Greek cities of\nTarentum, Rhegium, Neapolis, Locri.(6)  In like manner Massilia,\nalthough now enclosed by Roman territory, remained continuously\na Greek city and, just as such, firmly connected with Rome.  With\nthe complete Latinizing of Italy the growth of Hellenizing went hand\nin hand.  In the higher circles of Italian society Greek training\nbecame an integral element of their native culture.  The consul of 623,\nthe -pontifex maximus- Publius Crassus, excited the astonishment even\nof the native Greeks, when as governor of Asia he delivered his judicial\ndecisions, as the case required, sometimes in ordinary Greek, sometimes\nin one of the four dialects which had become written languages.  And if\nthe Italian literature and art for long looked steadily towards the east,\nHellenic literature and art now began to look towards the west.  Not only\ndid the Greek cities in Italy continue to maintain an active intellectual\nintercourse with Greece, Asia Minor, and Egypt, and confer on the\nGreek poets and actors who had acquired celebrity there the like\nrecognition and the like honours among themselves; in Rome also,\nafter the example set by the destroyer of Corinth at his triumph\nin 608, the gymnastic and aesthetic recreations of the Greeks--\ncompetitions in wrestling as well as in music, acting, reciting,\nand declaiming--came into vogue.(7)  Greek men of letters even thus\nearly struck root in the noble society of Rome, especially in the\nScipionic circle, the most prominent Greek members of which--the\nhistorian Polybius and the philosopher Panaetius--belong rather to\nthe history of Roman than of Greek development.  But even in other\nless illustrious circles similar relations occur; we may mention\nanother contemporary of Scipio, the philosopher Clitomachus,\nbecause his life at the same time presents a vivid view of the\ngreat intermingling of nations at this epoch.  A native of\nCarthage, then a disciple of Carneades at Athens, and afterwards\nhis successor in his professorship, Clitomachus held intercourse\nfrom Athens with the most cultivated men of Italy, the historian\nAulus Albinus and the poet Lucilius, and dedicated on the one hand\na scientific work to Lucius Censorinus the Roman consul who opened\nthe siege of Carthage, and on the other hand a philosophic\nconsolatory treatise to his fellow-citizens who were conveyed to\nItaly as slaves.  While Greek literary men of note had hitherto\ntaken up their abode temporarily in Rome as ambassadors, exiles,\nor otherwise, they now began to settle there; for instance, the\nalready-mentioned Panaetius lived in the house of Scipio, and\nthe hexameter-maker Archias of Antioch settled at Rome in 652 and\nsupported himself respectably by the art of improvising and by epic\npoems on Roman consulars.  Even Gaius Marius, who hardly understood\na line of his -carmen- and was altogether as ill adapted as\npossible for a Maecenas, could not avoid patronizing the artist\nin verse.  While intellectual and literary life thus brought the\nmore genteel, if not the purer, elements of the two nations into\nconnection with each other, on the other hand the arrival of troops\nof slaves from Asia Minor and Syria and the mercantile immigration\nfrom the Greek and half-Greek east brought the coarsest strata of\nHellenism--largely alloyed with Oriental and generally barbaric\ningredients--into contact with the Italian proletariate, and gave\nto that also a Hellenic colouring.  The remark of Cicero, that new\nphrases and new fashions first make their appearance in maritime\ntowns, probably had a primary reference to the semi-Hellenic\ncharacter of Ostia, Puteoli, and Brundisium, where with foreign\nwares foreign manners also first found admission and became thence\nmore widely diffused.\n\nMixture of Peoples\n\nThe immediate result of this complete revolution in the relations\nof nationality was certainly far from pleasing.  Italy swarmed with\nGreeks, Syrians, Phoenicians, Jews, Egyptians, while the provinces\nswarmed with Romans; sharply defined national peculiarities\neverywhere came into mutual contact, and were visibly worn off; it\nseemed as if nothing was to be left behind but the general impress\nof utilitarianism.  What the Latin character gained in diffusion\nit lost in freshness; especially in Rome itself, where the middle\nclass disappeared the soonest and most entirely, and nothing was\nleft but the grandees and the beggars, both in like measure\ncosmopolitan.  Cicero assures us that about 660 the general culture\nin the Latin towns stood higher than in Rome; and this is confirmed\nby the literature of this period, whose most pleasing, healthiest,\nand most characteristic products, such as the national comedy and\nthe Lucilian satire, are with greater justice described as Latin,\nthan as Roman.  That the Italian Hellenism of the lower orders was\nin reality nothing but a repulsive cosmopolitanism tainted at once\nwith all the extravagances of culture and with a superficially\nwhitewashed barbarism, is self-evident; but even in the case of\nthe better society the fine taste of the Scipionic circle did not\nremain the permanent standard.  The more the mass of society began\nto take interest in Greek life, the more decidedly it resorted not\nto the classical literature, but to the most modern and frivolous\nproductions of the Greek mind; instead of moulding the Roman\ncharacter in the Hellenic spirit, they contented themselves with\nborrowing that sort of pastime which set their own intellect to\nwork as little as possible.  In this sense the Arpinate landlord\nMarcus Cicero, the father of the orator, said that among the\nRomans, just as among Syrian slaves, each was the less worth,\nthe more he understood Greek.\n\nNational Decomposition\n\nThis national decomposition is, like the whole age, far from\npleasing, but also like that age significant and momentous.\nThe circle of peoples, which we are accustomed to call the ancient\nworld, advances from an outward union under the authority of Rome\nto an inward union under the sway of the modern culture resting\nessentially on Hellenic elements.  Over the ruins of peoples of the\nsecond rank the great historical compromise between the two ruling\nnations is silently completed; the Greek and Latin nationalities\nconclude mutual peace.  The Greeks renounce exclusive claims for\ntheir language in the field of culture, as do the Romans for theirs\nin the field of politics; in instruction Latin is allowed to stand\non a footing of equality--restricted, it is true, and imperfect--\nwith Greek; on the other hand Sulla first allows foreign ambassadors\nto speak Greek before the Roman senate without an interpreter.\nThe time heralds its approach, when the Roman commonwealth will\npass into a bilingual state and the true heir of the throne and\nthe ideas of Alexander the Great will arise in the west, at once\na Roman and a Greek.\n\nThe suppression of the secondary, and the mutual interpenetration\nof the two primary nationalities, which are thus apparent on a\ngeneral survey of national relations, now fall to be more precisely\nexhibited in detail in the several fields of religion, national\neducation, literature, and art.\n\nReligion\n\nThe Roman religion was so intimately interwoven with the Roman\ncommonwealth and the Roman household--so thoroughly in fact the\npious reflection of the Roman burgess-world--that the political\nand social revolution necessarily overturned also the fabric of\nreligion.  The ancient Italian popular faith fell to the ground;\nover its ruins rose--like the oligarchy and the -tyrannis- rising\nover the ruins of the political commonwealth--on the one side\nunbelief, state-religion, Hellenism, and on the other side\nsuperstition, sectarianism, the religion of the Orientals, The\ngerms certainly of both, as indeed the germs of the politico-social\nrevolution also, may be traced back to the previous epoch (iii.\n109-117).  Even then the Hellenic culture of the higher circles was\nsecretly undermining their ancestral faith; Ennius introduced the\nallegorizing and historical versions of the Hellenic religion into\nItaly; the senate, which subdued Hannibal, had to sanction the\ntransference of the worship of Cybele from Asia Minor to Rome,\nand to take the most serious steps against other still worse\nsuperstitions, particularly the Bacchanalian scandal.  But, as\nduring the preceding period the revolution generally was rather\npreparing its way in men's minds than assuming outward shape, so\nthe religious revolution was in substance, at any rate, the work\nonly of the Gracchan and Sullan age.\n\nGreek Philosophy\n\nLet us endeavour first to trace the tendency associating itself\nwith Hellenism.  The Hellenic nation, which bloomed and faded far\nearlier than the Italian, had long ago passed the epoch of faith\nand thenceforth moved exclusively in the sphere of speculation and\nreflection; for long there had been no religion there--nothing but\nphilosophy.  But even the philosophic activity of the Hellenic mind\nhad, when it began to exert influence on Rome, already left the\nepoch of productive speculation far behind it, and had arrived at\nthe stage at which there is not only no origination of truly new\nsystems, but even the power of apprehending the more perfect of\nthe older systems begins to wane and men restrict themselves to the\nrepetition, soon passing into the scholastic tradition, of the less\ncomplete dogmas of their predecessors; at that stage, accordingly,\nwhen philosophy, instead of giving greater depth and freedom to\nthe mind, rather renders it shallow and imposes on it the worst of\nall chains--chains of its own forging.  The enchanted draught of\nspeculation, always dangerous, is, when diluted and stale, certain\npoison.  The contemporary Greeks presented it thus flat and diluted\nto the Romans, and these had not the judgment either to refuse it\nor to go back from the living schoolmasters to the dead masters.\nPlato and Aristotle, to say nothing of the sages before Socrates,\nremained without material influence on the Roman culture, although\ntheir illustrious names were freely used, and their more easily\nunderstood writings were probably read and translated.  Accordingly\nthe Romans became in philosophy simply inferior scholars of bad\nteachers.\n\nLeading Schools\nNewer Academy\nEpicurus and Zeno\n\nBesides the historico-rationalistic conception of religion, which\nresolved the myths into biographies of various benefactors of the\nhuman race living in the grey dawn of early times whom superstition\nhad transformed into gods, or Euhemerism as it was called,(8) there\nwere chiefly three philosophical schools that came to be of\nimportance for Italy; viz. the two dogmatic schools of Epicurus\n(484) and Zeno (491) and the sceptical school of Arcesilaus (513)\nand Carneades (541-625), or, to use the school-names, Epicureanism,\nthe Stoa, and the newer Academy.  The last of these schools, which\nstarted from the impossibility of assured knowledge and in its\nstead conceded as possible only a provisional opinion sufficient\nfor practical needs, presented mainly a polemical aspect, seeing\nthat it caught every proposition of positive faith or of\nphilosophic dogmatism in the meshes of its dilemmas.  So far it\nstands nearly on a parallel with the older method of the sophists;\nexcept that, as may be conceived, the sophists made war more\nagainst the popular faith, Carneades and his disciples more against\ntheir philosophical colleagues.  On the other hand Epicurus and\nZeno agreed both in their aim of rationally explaining the nature\nof things, and in their physiological method, which set out from\nthe conception of matter.  They diverged, in so far as Epicurus,\nfollowing the atomic theory of Democritus, conceived the first\nprinciple as rigid matter, and evolved the manifoldness of things\nout of this matter merely by mechanical variations; whereas Zeno,\nforming his views after the Ephesian Heraclitus, introduces even\ninto his primordial matter a dynamic antagonism and a movement\nof fluctuation up and down.  From this are derived the further\ndistinctions--that in the Epicurean system the gods as it were did\nnot exist or were at the most a dream of dreams, while the Stoical\ngods formed the ever-active soul of the world, and were as spirit,\nas sun, as God powerful over the body, the earth, and nature; that\nEpicurus did not, while Zeno did, recognize a government of the\nworld and a personal immortality of the soul; that the proper\nobject of human aspiration was according to Epicurus an absolute\nequilibrium disturbed neither by bodily desire nor by mental\nconflict, while it was according to Zeno a manly activity always\nincreased by the constant antagonistic efforts of the mind and\nbody, and striving after a harmony with nature perpetually in\nconflict and perpetually at peace.  But in one point all these\nschools were agreed with reference to religion, that faith as such\nwas nothing, and had necessarily to be supplemented by reflection--\nwhether this reflection might consciously despair of attaining any\nresult, as did the Academy; or might reject the conceptions of\nthe popular faith, as did the school of Epicurus; or might partly\nretain them with explanation of the reasons for doing so, and\npartly modify them, as did the Stoics.\n\nCarneades at Rome\n\nIt was accordingly only a natural result, that the first contact of\nHellenic philosophy with the Roman nation equally firm in faith and\nadverse to speculation should be of a thoroughly hostile character.\nThe Roman religion was entirely right in disdaining alike the\nassaults and the reasoned support of these philosophical systems,\nboth of which did away with its proper character.  The Roman state,\nwhich instinctively felt itself assailed when religion was\nattacked, reasonably assumed towards the philosophers the attitude\nwhich a fortress assumes towards the spies of the army advancing\nto besiege it, and as early as 593 dismissed the Greek philosophers\nalong with the rhetoricians from Rome.  In fact the very first\ndebut of philosophy on a great scale in Rome was a formal\ndeclaration of war against faith and morals.  It was occasioned\nby the occupation of Oropus by the Athenians, a step which they\ncommissioned three of the most esteemed professors of philosophy,\nincluding Carneades the master of the modern sophistical school,\nto justify before the senate (599).  The selection was so far\nappropriate, as the utterly scandalous transaction defied any\njustification in common sense; whereas it was quite in keeping with\nthe circumstances of the case, when Carneades proved by thesis and\ncounter-thesis that exactly as many and as cogent reasons might be\nadduced in praise of injustice as in praise of justice, and when\nhe showed in the best logical form that with equal propriety the\nAthenians might be required to surrender Oropus and the Romans\nto confine themselves once more to their old straw huts on the\nPalatine.  The young men who were masters of the Greek language\nwere attracted in crowds by the scandal as well as by the rapid and\nemphatic delivery of the celebrated man; but on this occasion at\nleast Cato could not be found fault with, when he not only bluntly\nenough compared the dialectic arguments of the philosophers to\nthe tedious dirges of the wailing-women, but also insisted on the\nsenate dismissing a man who understood the art of making right\nwrong and wrong right, and whose defence was in fact nothing but\na shameless and almost insulting confession of wrong.  But such\ndismissals had no great effect, more especially as the Roman youth\ncould not be prevented from hearing philosophic discourses at\nRhodes and Athens.  Men became accustomed first to tolerate\nphilosophy at least as a necessary evil, and ere long to seek for\nthe Roman religion, which in its simplicity was no longer tenable,\na support in foreign philosophy--a support which no doubt ruined\nit as faith, but in return at any rate allowed the man of culture\ndecorously to retain in some measure the names and forms of the\npopular creed.  But this support could neither be Euhemerism, nor\nthe system of Carneades or of Epicurus.\n\nEuhemerism Not an Adequate Support\n\nThe historical version of the myths came far too rudely into\ncollision with the popular faith, when it declared the gods\ndirectly to be men; Carneades called even their existence in\nquestion, and Epicurus denied to them at least any influence on\nthe destinies of men.  Between these systems and the Roman religion\nno alliance was possible; they were proscribed and remained so.\nEven in the writings of Cicero it is declared the duty of a citizen\nto resist Euhemerism as prejudicial to religious worship; and if the\nAcademic and the Epicurean appear in his dialogues, the former has\nto plead the excuse that, while as a philosopher he is a disciple\nof Carneades, as a citizen and -pontifex- he is an orthodox\nconfessor of the Capitoline Jupiter, and the Epicurean has even\nultimately to surrender and be converted.  No one of these three\nsystems became in any proper sense popular.  The plain intelligible\ncharacter of Euhemerism exerted doubtless a certain power of\nattraction over the Romans, and in particular produced only too\ndeep an effect on the conventional history of Rome with its at\nonce childish and senile conversion of fable into history; but it\nremained without material influence on the Roman religion, because\nthe latter from the first dealt only in allegory and not in fable,\nand it was not possible in Rome as in Hellas to write biographies\nof Zeus the first, second, and third.  The modern sophistry could\nonly succeed where, as in Athens, clever volubility was indigenous,\nand where, moreover, the long series of philosophical systems that\nhad come and gone had accumulated huge piles of intellectual\nrubbish.  Against the Epicurean quietism, in fine, everything\nrevolted that was sound and honest in the Roman character so\nthoroughly addressing itself to action.  Yet it found more\npartisans than Euhemerism and the sophistic school, and this was\nprobably the reason why the police continued to wage war against\nit longest and most seriously.  But this Roman Epicureanism was not\nso much a philosophic system as a sort of philosophic mask, under\nwhich--very much against the design of its strictly moral founder--\nthoughtless sensual enjoyment disguised itself for good society;\none of the earliest adherents of this sect, for instance, Titus\nAlbucius, figures in the poems of Lucilius as the prototype of\na Roman Hellenizing to bad purpose.\n\nRoman Stoa\n\nFar different were the position and influence of the Stoic\nphilosophy in Italy.  In direct contrast to these schools it\nattached itself to the religion of the land as closely as science\ncan at all accommodate itself to faith.  To the popular faith with\nits gods and oracles the Stoic adhered on principle, in so far as\nhe recognized in it an instinctive knowledge, to which scientific\nknowledge was bound to have regard and even in doubtful cases\nto subordinate itself.  He believed in a different way from\nthe people rather than in different objects; the essentially true\nand supreme God was in his view doubtless the world-soul, but every\nmanifestation of the primitive God was in its turn divine, the\nstars above all, but also the earth, the vine, the soul of the\nillustrious mortal whom the people honoured as a hero, and in fact\nevery departed spirit of a former man.  This philosophy was really\nbetter adapted for Rome than for the land where it first arose.\nThe objection of the pious believer, that the god of the Stoic had\nneither sex nor age nor corporeality and was converted from a\nperson into a conception, had a meaning in Greece, but not in\nRome.  The coarse allegorizing and moral purification, which were\ncharacteristic of the Stoical doctrine of the gods, destroyed the\nvery marrow of the Hellenic mythology; but the plastic power of the\nRomans, scanty even in their epoch of simplicity, had produced no\nmore than a light veil enveloping the original intuition or the\noriginal conception, out of which the divinity had arisen--a veil\nthat might be stripped off without special damage.  Pallas Athene\nmight be indignant, when she found herself suddenly transmuted into\nthe conception of memory: Minerva had hitherto been in reality not\nmuch more.  The supernatural Stoic, and the allegoric Roman,\ntheology coincided on the whole in their result.  But, even if\nthe philosopher was obliged to designate individual propositions\nof the priestly lore as doubtful or as erroneous--as when the Stoics,\nfor example, rejecting the doctrine of apotheosis, saw in Hercules,\nCastor, and Pollux nothing but the spirits of distinguished men, or\nas when they could not allow the images of the gods to be regarded\nas representations of divinity--it was at least not the habit of\nthe adherents of Zeno to make war on these erroneous doctrines\nand to overthrow the false gods; on the contrary, they everywhere\nevinced respect and reverence for the religion of the land even\nin its weaknesses.  The inclination also of the Stoa towards a\ncasuistic morality and towards a systematic treatment of the\nprofessional sciences was quite to the mind of the Romans,\nespecially of the Romans of this period, who no longer like their\nfathers practised in unsophisticated fashion self-government and\ngood morals, but resolved the simple morality of their ancestors\ninto a catechism of allowable and non-allowable actions; whose\ngrammar and jurisprudence, moreover, urgently demanded a methodical\ntreatment, without possessing the ability to develop such a\ntreatment of themselves.\n\nWide Influence of Stoicism\nPanaetius\n\nSo this philosophy thoroughly incorporated itself, as a plant\nborrowed no doubt from abroad but acclimatized on Italian soil,\nwith the Roman national economy, and we meet its traces in the\nmost diversified spheres of action.  Its earliest appearance beyond\ndoubt goes further back; but the Stoa was first raised to full\ninfluence in the higher ranks of Roman society by means of the\ngroup which gathered round Scipio Aemilianus.  Panaetius of Rhodes,\nthe instructor of Scipio and of all Scipio's intimate friends in\nthe Stoic philosophy, who was constantly in his train and usually\nattended him even on journeys, knew how to adapt the system to\nclever men of the world, to keep its speculative side in the\nbackground, and to modify in some measure the dryness of the\nterminology and the insipidity of its moral catechism, more\nparticularly by calling in the aid of the earlier philosophers,\namong whom Scipio himself had an especial predilection for the\nSocrates of Xenophon.  Thenceforth the most noted statesmen and\nscholars professed the Stoic philosophy--among others Stilo and\nQuintus Scaevola, the founders of scientific philology and of\nscientific jurisprudence.  The scholastic formality of system,\nwhich thenceforth prevails at least externally in these\nprofessional sciences and is especially associated with a fanciful,\ncharade-like, insipid method of etymologizing, descends from the\nStoa.  But infinitely more important was the new state-philosophy\nand state-religion, which emanated from the blending of the Stoic\nphilosophy and the Roman religion.  The speculative element, from\nthe first impressed with but little energy on the system of Zeno,\nand still further weakened when that system found admission to\nRome--after the Greek schoolmasters had already for a century been\nbusied in driving this philosophy into boys' heads and thereby\ndriving the spirit out of it--fell completely into the shade in\nRome, where nobody speculated but the money-changers; little more\nwas said as to the ideal development of the God ruling in the soul\nof man, or of the divine world-law.  The Stoic philosophers showed\nthemselves not insensible to the very lucrative distinction of\nseeing their system raised into the semi-official Roman state-\nphilosophy, and proved altogether more pliant than from their\nrigorous principles we should have expected.  Their doctrine as to\nthe gods and the state soon exhibited a singular family resemblance\nto the actual institutions of those who gave them bread; instead of\nillustrating the cosmopolitan state of the philosopher, they made\ntheir meditations turn on the wise arrangement of the Roman\nmagistracies; and while the more refined Stoics such as Panaetius\nhad left the question of divine revelation by wonders and signs\nopen as a thing conceivable but uncertain, and had decidedly\nrejected astrology, his immediate successors contended for that\ndoctrine of revelation or, in other words, for the Roman augural\ndiscipline as rigidly and firmly as for any other maxim of the\nschool, and made extremely unphilosophical concessions even to\nastrology.  The leading feature of the system came more and more\nto be its casuistic doctrine of duties.  It suited itself to the\nhollow pride of virtue, in which the Romans of this period sought\ntheir compensation amidst the various humbling circumstances of\ntheir contact with the Greeks; and it put into formal shape a\nbefitting dogmatism of morality, which, like every well-bred system\nof morals, combined with the most rigid precision as a whole the\nmost complaisant indulgence in the details.(9)  Its practical\nresults can hardly be estimated as much more than that, as\nwe have said, two or three families of rank ate poor fare\nto please the Stoa.\n\nState-Religion\n\nClosely allied to this new state-philosophy--or, strictly speaking,\nits other side--was the new state-religion; the essential\ncharacteristic of which was the conscious retention, for reasons of\noutward convenience, of the principles of the popular faith, which\nwere recognized as irrational.  One of the most prominent men of\nthe Scipionic circle, the Greek Polybius, candidly declares that\nthe strange and ponderous ceremonial of Roman religion was invented\nsolely on account of the multitude, which, as reason had no power\nover it, required to be ruled by signs and wonders, while people of\nintelligence had certainly no need of religion.  Beyond doubt the\nRoman friends of Polybius substantially shared these sentiments,\nalthough they did not oppose science and religion to each other\nin so gross and downright a fashion.  Neither Laelius nor Scipio\nAemilianus can have looked on the augural discipline, which\nPolybius has primarily in view, as anything else than a political\ninstitution; yet the national spirit in them was too strong and\ntheir sense of decorum too delicate to have permitted their coming\nforward in public with such hazardous explanations.  But even in\nthe following generation the -pontifex maximus- Quintus Scaevola\n(consul in 659;(10)) set forth at least in his oral instructions in\nlaw without hesitation the propositions, that there were two sorts\nof religion--one philosophic, adapted to the intellect, and one\ntraditional, not so adapted; that the former was not fitted for\nthe religion of the state, as it contained various things which\nit was useless or even injurious for the people to know; and that\naccordingly the traditional religion of the state ought to remain\nas it stood.  The theology of Varro, in which the Roman religion\nis treated throughout as a state institution, is merely a further\ndevelopment of the same principle.  The state, according to his\nteaching, was older than the gods of the state as the painter is\nolder than the picture; if the question related to making the gods\nanew, it would certainly be well to make and to name them after a\nmanner more befitting and more in theoretic accordance with the\nparts of the world-soul, and to lay aside the images of the gods\nwhich only excited erroneous ideas,(11) and the mistaken system of\nsacrifice; but, since these institutions had been once established,\nevery good citizen ought to own and follow them and do his part,\nthat the \"common man\" might learn rather to set a higher value on,\nthan to contemn, the gods.  That the common man, for whose benefit\nthe grandees thus surrendered their judgment, now despised this\nfaith and sought his remedy elsewhere, was a matter of course and\nwill be seen in the sequel.  Thus then the Roman \"high church\"\nwas ready, a sanctimonious body of priests and Levites, and an\nunbelieving people.  The more openly the religion of the land was\ndeclared a political institution, the more decidedly the political\nparties regarded the field of the state-church as an arena for\nattack and defence; which was especially, in a daily-increasing\nmeasure, the case with augural science and with the elections to\nthe priestly colleges.  The old and natural practice of dismissing\nthe burgess-assembly, when a thunderstorm came on, had in the hands\nof the Roman augurs grown into a prolix system of various celestial\nomens and rules of conduct associated therewith; in the earlier\nportion of this period it was even directly enacted by the Aelian\nand Fufian law, that every popular assembly should be compelled\nto disperse if it should occur to any of the higher magistrates\nto look for signs of a thunderstorm in the sky; and the Roman\noligarchy was proud of the cunning device which enabled them\nthenceforth by a single pious fraud to impress the stamp of\ninvalidity on any decree of the people.\n\nPriestly Colleges\n\nConversely, the Roman opposition rebelled against the ancient\npractice under which the four principal colleges of priests filled\nup their own ranks when vacancies arose, and demanded the extension\nof popular election to the stalls themselves, as it had been\npreviously introduced with reference to the presidents, of these\ncolleges.(12)  This was certainly inconsistent with the spirit of\nthese corporations; but they had no right to complain of it, after\nthey had become themselves untrue to their spirit, and had played\ninto the hands of the government at its request by furnishing\nreligious pretexts for the annulling of political proceedings.\nThis affair became an apple of contention between the parties:\nthe senate beat off the first attack in 609, on which occasion the\nScipionic circle especially turned the scale for the rejection of\nthe proposal; on the other hand the project passed in 650 with the\nproviso already made in reference to the election of the presidents\nfor the benefit of scrupulous consciences, that not the whole\nburgesses but only the lesser half of the tribes should make\nthe election;(13) finally Sulla restored the right of co-optation\nin its full extent.(14)\n\nPractical Use Made of Religion\n\nWith this care on the part of the conservatives for the pure\nnational religion, it was of course quite compatible that the\ncircles of the highest rank should openly make a jest of it.\nThe practical side of the Roman priesthood was the priestly cuisine;\nthe augural and pontifical banquets were as it were the official\ngala-days in the life of a Roman epicure, and several of them\nformed epochs in the history of gastronomy: the banquet on the\naccession of the augur Quintus Hortensius for instance brought\nroast peacocks into vogue.  Religion was also found very useful\nin giving greater zest to scandal.  It was a favourite recreation\nof the youth of quality to disfigure or mutilate the images of the\ngods in the streets by night.(15)  Ordinary love affairs had for\nlong been common, and intrigues with married women began to become\nso; but an amour with a Vestal virgin was as piquant as the\nintrigues with nuns and the cloister-adventures in the world of\nthe Decamerone.  The scandalous affair of 640 seq. is well known,\nin which three Vestals, daughters of the noblest families, and their\nparamours, young men likewise of the best houses, were brought to\ntrial for unchastity first before the pontifical college, and then,\nwhen it sought to hush up the matter, before an extraordinary court\ninstituted by special decree of the people, and were all condemned\nto death.  Such scandals, it is true, sedate people could not\napprove; but there was no objection to men finding positive\nreligion to be a folly in their familiar circle; the augurs might,\nwhen one saw another performing his functions, smile in each\nother's face without detriment to their religious duties.  We learn\nto look favourably on the modest hypocrisy of kindred tendencies,\nwhen we compare with it the coarse shamelessness of the Roman\npriests and Levites.  The official religion was quite candidly\ntreated as a hollow framework, now serviceable only for political\nmachinists; in this respect with its numerous recesses and trapdoors\nit might and did serve either party, as it happened.  Most of\nall certainly the oligarchy recognized its palladium in the state-\nreligion, and particularly in the augural discipline; but the\nopposite party also made no resistance in point of principle to\nan institute, which had now merely a semblance of life; they rather\nregarded it, on the whole, as a bulwark which might pass from the\npossession of the enemy into their own.\n\nOriental Religions in Italy\n\nIn sharp contrast to this ghost of religion which we have just\ndescribed stand the different foreign worships, which this epoch\ncherished and fostered, and which were at least undeniably\npossessed of a very decided vitality.  They meet us everywhere,\namong genteel ladies and lords as well as among the circles of\nthe slaves, in the general as in the trooper, in Italy as in the\nprovinces.  It is incredible to what a height this superstition\nalready reached.  When in the Cimbrian war a Syrian prophetess,\nMartha, offered to furnish the senate with ways and means for the\nvanquishing of the Germans, the senate dismissed her with contempt;\nnevertheless the Roman matrons and Marius' own wife in particular\ndespatched her to his head-quarters, where the general readily\nreceived her and carried her about with him till the Teutones were\ndefeated.  The leaders of very different parties in the civil war,\nMarius, Octavius, Sulla, coincided in believing omens and oracles.\nDuring its course even the senate was under the necessity, in the\ntroubles of 667, of consenting to issue directions in accordance\nwith the fancies of a crazy prophetess.  It is significant of\nthe ossification of the Romano-Hellenic religion as well as of\nthe increased craving of the multitude after stronger religious\nstimulants, that superstition no longer, as in the Bacchic\nmysteries, associates itself with the national religion; even\nthe Etruscan mysticism is already left behind; the worships matured\nin the sultry regions of the east appear throughout in the foremost\nrank.  The copious introduction of elements from Asia Minor and\nSyria into the population, partly by the import of slaves, partly\nby the augmented traffic of Italy with the east, contributed very\ngreatly to this result.\n\nThe power of these foreign religions is very distinctly apparent\nin the revolts of the Sicilian slaves, who for the most part were\nnatives of Syria.  Eunus vomited fire, Athenion read the stars;\nthe plummets thrown by the slaves in these wars bear in great part\nthe names of gods, those of Zeus and Artemis, and especially that\nof the mysterious Mother who had migrated from Crete to Sicily and\nwas zealously worshipped there.  A similar effect was produced by\ncommercial intercourse, particularly after the wares of Berytus and\nAlexandria were conveyed directly to the Italian ports; Ostia and\nPuteoli became the great marts not only for Syrian unguents and\nEgyptian linen, but also for the faith of the east.  Everywhere\nthe mingling of religions was constantly on the increase along with\nthe mingling of nations.  Of all allowed worships the most popular\nwas that of the Pessinuntine Mother of the Gods, which made a deep\nimpression on the multitude by its eunuch-celibacy, its banquets,\nits music, its begging processions, and all its sensuous pomp; the\ncollections from house to house were already felt as an economic\nburden.  In the most dangerous time of the Cimbrian war Battaces\nthe high-priest of Pessinus appeared in person at Rome, in order\nto defend the interests of the temple of his goddess there which\nwas alleged to have been profaned, addressed the Roman people by\nthe special orders of the Mother of the Gods, and performed also\nvarious miracles.  Men of sense were scandalized, but the women\nand the great multitude were not to be debarred from escorting\nthe prophet at his departure in great crowds.  Vows of pilgrimage\nto the east were already no longer uncommon; Marius himself, for\ninstance, thus undertook a pilgrimage to Pessinus; in fact even\nthus early (first in 653) Roman burgesses devoted themselves\nto the eunuch-priesthood.\n\nSecret Worships\n\nBut the unallowed and secret worships were naturally still more\npopular.  As early as Cato's time the Chaldean horoscope-caster had\nbegun to come into competition with the Etruscan -haruspex- and the\nMarsian bird-seer;(16) star-gazing and astrology were soon as much\nat home in Italy as in their dreamy native land.  In 615 the Roman\n-praetor peregrinus- directed all the Chaldeans to evacuate Rome\nand Italy within ten days.  The same fate at the same time befel\nthe Jews, who had admitted Italian proselytes to their sabbath.\nIn like manner Scipio had to clear the camp before Numantia from\nsoothsayers and pious impostors of every sort.  Some forty years\nafterwards (657) it was even found necessary to prohibit human\nsacrifices.  The wild worship of the Cappadocian Ma, or, as the\nRomans called her, Bellona, to whom the priests in their festal\nprocessions shed their own blood as a sacrifice, and the gloomy\nEgyptian worships began to make their appearance; the former\nCappadocian goddess appeared in a dream to Sulla, and of the later\nRoman communities of Isis and Osiris the oldest traced their origin\nto the Sullan period.  Men had become perplexed not merely as to\nthe old faith, but as to their very selves; the fearful crises of a\nfifty years' revolution, the instinctive feeling that the civil war\nwas still far from being at an end, increased the anxious suspense,\nthe gloomy perplexity of the multitude.  Restlessly the wandering\nimagination climbed every height and fathomed every abyss, where it\nfancied that it might discover new prospects or new light amidst\nthe fatalities impending, might gain fresh hopes in the desperate\nstruggle against destiny, or perhaps might find merely fresh\nalarms.  A portentous mysticism found in the general distraction--\npolitical, economic, moral, religious--the soil which was adapted\nfor it, and grew with alarming rapidity; it was as if gigantic\ntrees had grown by night out of the earth, none knew whence\nor whither, and this very marvellous rapidity of growth\nworked new wonders and seized like an epidemic on all minds\nnot thoroughly fortified.\n\nEducation\n\nJust as in the sphere of religion, the revolution begun in the\nprevious epoch was now completed also in the sphere of education\nand culture.  We have already shown how the fundamental idea of\nthe Roman system--civil equality--had already during the sixth\ncentury begun to be undermined in this field also.  Even in the\ntime of Pictor and Cato Greek culture was widely diffused in Rome,\nand there was a native Roman culture; but neither of them had then\ngot beyond the initial stage.  Cato's encyclopaedia shows tolerably\nwhat was understood at this period by a Romano-Greek model\ntraining;(16) it was little more than an embodiment of the\nknowledge of the old Roman householder, and truly, when compared\nwith the Hellenic culture of the period, scanty enough.  At how\nlow a stage the average instruction of youth in Rome still stood\nat the beginning of the seventh century, may be inferred from\nthe expressions of Polybius, who in this one respect prominently\ncensures the criminal indifference of the Romans as compared\nwith the intelligent private and public care of his countrymen;\nno Hellene, not even Polybius himself, could rightly enter\ninto the deeper idea of civil equality that lay at the root\nof this indifference.\n\nNow the case was altered.  Just as the naive popular faith was\nsuperseded by an enlightened Stoic supernaturalism, so in education\nalongside of the simple popular instruction a special training, an\nexclusive -humanitas-, developed itself and eradicated the last\nremnants of the old social equality.  It will not be superfluous\nto cast a glance at the aspect assumed by the new instruction of\nthe young, both the Greek and the higher Latin.\n\nGreek Instruction\n\nIt was a singular circumstance that the same man, who in a\npolitical point of view definitively vanquished the Hellenic\nnation, Lucius Aemilius Paullus, was at the same time the first or\none of the first who fully recognized the Hellenic civilization as--\nwhat it has thenceforth continued to be beyond dispute--the\ncivilization of the ancient world.  He was himself indeed an old\nman before it was granted to him, with the Homeric poems in his\nmind, to stand before the Zeus of Phidias; but his heart was young\nenough to carry home the full sunshine of Hellenic beauty and the\nunconquerable longing after the golden apples of the Hesperides\nin his soul; poets and artists had found in the foreigner a more\nearnest and cordial devotee than was any of the wise men of the\nGreece of those days.  He made no epigram on Homer or Phidias,\nbut he had his children introduced into the realms of intellect.\nWithout neglecting their national education, so far as there\nwas such, he made provision like the Greeks for the physical\ndevelopment of his boys, not indeed by gymnastic exercises which\nwere according to Roman notions inadmissible, but by instruction in\nthe chase, which was among the Greeks developed almost like an art;\nand he elevated their Greek instruction in such a way that the\nlanguage was no longer merely learned and practised for the sake\nof speaking, but after the Greek fashion the whole subject-matter\nof general higher culture was associated with the language and\ndeveloped out of it--embracing, first of all, the knowledge of\nGreek literature with the mythological and historical information\nnecessary for understanding it, and then rhetoric and philosophy.\nThe library of king Perseus was the only portion of the Macedonian\nspoil that Paullus took for himself, with the view of presenting it\nto his sons.  Even Greek painters and sculptors were found in his\ntrain and completed the aesthetic training of his children.  That\nthe time was past when men could in this field preserve a merely\nrepellent attitude as regarded Hellenism, had been felt even by\nCato; the better classes had probably now a presentiment that the\nnoble substance of Roman character was less endangered by Hellenism\nas a whole, than by Hellenism mutilated and misshapen: the mass of\nthe upper society of Rome and Italy went along with the new mode.\nThere had been for long no want of Greek schoolmasters in Rome; now\nthey arrived in troops--and as teachers not merely of the language\nbut of literature and culture in general--at the newly-opened\nlucrative market for the sale of their wisdom.  Greek tutors and\nteachers of philosophy, who, even if they were not slaves, were\nas a rule accounted as servants,(17) were now permanent inmates\nin the palaces of Rome; people speculated in them, and there is\na statement that 200,000 sesterces (2000 pounds) were paid for\na Greek literary slave of the first rank.  As early as 593 there\nexisted in the capital a number of special establishments for\nthe practice of Greek declamation.  Several distinguished names\nalready occur among these Roman teachers; the philosopher Panaetius\nhas been already mentioned;(18) the esteemed grammarian Crates of\nMallus in Cilicia, the contemporary and equal rival of Aristarchus,\nfound about 585 at Rome an audience for the recitation and\nillustration, language, and matter of the Homeric poems.  It is\ntrue that this new mode of juvenile instruction, revolutionary\nand anti-national as it was, encountered partially the resistance\nof the government; but the edict of dismissal, which the authorities\nin 593 fulminated against rhetoricians and philosophers, remained\n(chiefly owing to the constant change of the Roman chief\nmagistrates) like all similar commands without any result worth\nmentioning, and after the death of old Cato there were still\ndoubtless frequent complaints in accordance with his views, but\nthere was no further action.  The higher instruction in Greek and\nin the sciences of Greek culture remained thenceforth recognized\nas an essential part of Italian training.\n\nLatin Instruction\nPublic Readings of Classical Works\n\nBut by its side there sprang up also a higher Latin instruction.\nWe have shown in the previous epoch how Latin elementary instruction\nraised its character; how the place of the Twelve Tables was taken\nby the Latin Odyssey as a sort of improved primer, and the Roman\nboy was now trained to the knowledge and delivery of his mother-tongue\nby means of this translation, as the Greek by means of the original:\nhow noted teachers of the Greek language and literature, Andronicus,\nEnnius, and others, who already probably taught not children properly\nso called, but boys growing up to maturity and young men, did not\ndisdain to give instruction in the mother-tongue along with the Greek.\nThese were the first steps towards a higher Latin instruction, but\nthey did not as yet form such an instruction itself.  Instruction\nin a language cannot go beyond the elementary stage, so long as it\nlacks a literature.  It was not until there were not merely Latin\nschoolbooks but a Latin literature, and this literature already\nsomewhat rounded-off in the works of the classics of the sixth century,\nthat the mother-tongue and the native literature truly entered into\nthe circle of the elements of higher culture; and the emancipation\nfrom the Greek schoolmasters was now not slow to follow.  Stirred up\nby the Homeric prelections of Crates, cultivated Romans began to read\nthe recitative works of their own literature, the Punic War of Naevius,\nthe Annals of Ennius, and subsequently also the Poems of Lucilius first\nto a select circle, and then in public on set days and in presence of\na great concourse, and occasionally also to treat them critically after\nthe precedent of the Homeric grammarians.  These literary prelections,\nwhich cultivated -dilettanti- (-litterati-) held gratuitously, were not\nformally a part of juvenile instruction, but were yet an essential means\nof introducing the youth to the understanding and the discussion of\nthe classic Latin literature.\n\nRhetorical Exercises\n\nThe formation of Latin oratory took place in a similar way.\nThe Roman youth of rank, who were even at an early age incited\nto come forward in public with panegyrics and forensic speeches,\ncan never have lacked exercises in oratory; but it was only at this\nepoch, and in consequence of the new exclusive culture, that there\narose a rhetoric properly so called.  Marcus Lepidus Porcina (consul\nin 617) is mentioned as the first Roman advocate who technically\nhandled the language and subject-matter; the two famous advocates\nof the Marian age, the masculine and vigorous Marcus Antonius (611-\n667) and the polished and chaste orator Lucius Crassus (614-663)\nwere already complete rhetoricians.  The exercises of the young men\nin speaking increased naturally in extent and importance, but still\nremained, just like the exercises in Latin literature, essentially\nlimited to the personal attendance of the beginner on the master of\nthe art so as to be trained by his example and his instructions.\n\nFormal instruction both in Latin literature and in Latin rhetoric\nwas given first about 650 by Lucius Aelius Praeconinus of Lanuvium,\ncalled the \"penman\" (-Stilo-), a distinguished Roman knight of\nstrict conservative views, who read Plautus and similar works with\na select circle of younger men--including Varro and Cicero--and\nsometimes also went over outlines of speeches with the authors,\nor put similar outlines into the hands of his friends.  This was\ninstruction, but Stilo was not a professional schoolmaster; he\ntaught literature and rhetoric, just as jurisprudence was taught\nat Rome, in the character of a senior friend of aspiring young men,\nnot of a man hired and holding himself at every one's command.\n\nCourse of Literature and Rhetoric\n\nBut about his time began also the scholastic higher instruction\nin Latin, separated as well from elementary Latin as from Greek\ninstruction, and imparted in special establishments by paid\nmasters, ordinarily manumitted slaves.  That its spirit and method\nwere throughout borrowed from the exercises in the Greek literature\nand language, was a matter of course; and the scholars also consisted,\nas at these exercises, of youths, and not of boys.  This Latin\ninstruction was soon divided like the Greek into two courses;\nin so far as the Latin literature was first the subject of\nscientific lectures, and then a technical introduction was given\nto the preparation of panegyrics, public, and forensic orations.\nThe first Roman school of literature was opened about Stilo's time\nby Marcus Saevius Nicanor Postumus, the first separate school for\nLatin rhetoric about 660 by Lucius Plotius Gallus; but ordinarily\ninstructions in rhetoric were also given in the Latin schools of\nliterature.  This new Latin school-instruction was of the most\ncomprehensive importance.  The introduction to the knowledge of\nLatin literature and Latin oratory, such as had formerly been\nimparted by connoisseurs and masters of high position, had\npreserved a certain independence in relation to the Greeks.\nThe judges of language and the masters of oratory were doubtless\nunder the influence of Hellenism, but not absolutely under that of\nthe Greek school-grammar and school-rhetoric; the latter in particular\nwas decidedly an object of dread.  The pride as well as the sound\ncommon sense of the Romans demurred to the Greek assertion that\nthe ability to speak of things, which the orator understood and felt,\nintelligibly and attractively to his peers in the mother-tongue\ncould be learned in the school by school-rules.  To the solid\npractical advocate the procedure of the Greek rhetoricians, so\ntotally estranged from life, could not but appear worse for the\nbeginner than no preparation at all; to the man of thorough culture\nand matured by the experience of life, the Greek rhetoric seemed\nshallow and repulsive; while the man of serious conservative views\ndid not fail to observe the close affinity between a professionally\ndeveloped rhetoric and the trade of the demagogue.  Accordingly\nthe Scipionic circle had shown the most bitter hostility to the\nrhetoricians, and, if Greek declamations before paid masters were\ntolerated doubtless primarily as exercises in speaking Greek, Greek\nrhetoric did not thereby find its way either into Latin oratory or\ninto Latin oratorical instruction.  But in the new Latin rhetorical\nschools the Roman youths were trained as men and public orators by\ndiscussing in pairs rhetorical themes; they accused Ulysses, who\nwas found beside the corpse of Ajax with the latter's bloody sword,\nof the murder of his comrade in arms, or upheld his innocence; they\ncharged Orestes with the murder of his mother, or undertook to\ndefend him; or perhaps they helped Hannibal with a supplementary\ngood advice as to the question whether he would do better to comply\nwith the invitation to Rome, or to remain in Carthage, or to take\nflight.  It was natural that the Catonian opposition should once\nmore bestir itself against these offensive and pernicious conflicts\nof words.  The censors of 662 issued a warning to teachers and\nparents not to allow the young men to spend the whole day in\nexercises, whereof their ancestors had known nothing; and the man,\nfrom whom this warning came, was no less than the first forensic\norator of his age, Lucius Licinius Crassus.  Of course the\nCassandra spoke in vain; declamatory exercises in Latin on the\ncurrent themes of the Greek schools became a permanent ingredient\nin the education of Roman youth, and contributed their part to\neducate the very boys as forensic and political players and to\nstifle in the bud all earnest and true eloquence.\n\nAs the aggregate result of this modern Roman education there sprang\nup the new idea of \"humanity,\" as it was called, which consisted\npartly of a more or less superficial appropriation of the aesthetic\nculture of the Hellenes, partly of a privileged Latin culture as\nan imitation or mutilated copy of the Greek.  This new humanity,\nas the very name indicates, renounced the specific characteristics\nof Roman life, nay even came forward in opposition to them, and\ncombined in itself, just like our closely kindred \"general\nculture,\" a nationally cosmopolitan and socially exclusive\ncharacter.  Here too we trace the revolution, which separated\nclasses and blended nations.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XIII\n\nLiterature and Art\n\nLiterary Reaction\n\nThe sixth century was, both in a political and a literary point of\nview, a vigorous and great age.  It is true that we do not find in\nthe field of authorship any more than in that of politics a man of\nthe first rank; Naevius, Ennius, Plautus, Cato, gifted and lively\nauthors of distinctly-marked individuality, were not in the highest\nsense men of creative talent; nevertheless we perceive in the\nsoaring, stirring, bold strain of their dramatic, epic, and\nhistoric attempts, that these rest on the gigantic struggles of\nthe Punic wars.  Much is only artificially transplanted, there\nare various faults in delineation and colouring, the form of art\nand the language are deficient in purity of treatment, Greek and\nnational elements are quaintly conjoined; the whole performance\nbetrays the stamp of its scholastic origin and lacks independence\nand completeness; yet there exists in the poets and authors of that\nage, if not the full power to reach their high aim, at any rate\nthe courage to compete with and the hope of rivalling the Greeks.\nIt is otherwise in the epoch before us.  The morning mists fell;\nwhat had been begun in the fresh feeling of the national strength\nhardened amidst war, with youthful want of insight into the\ndifficulty of the undertaking and into the measure of their own\ntalent, but also with youthful delight in and love to the work,\ncould not be carried farther now, when on the one hand the dull\nsultriness of the approaching revolutionary storm began to fill\nthe air, and on the other hand the eyes of the more intelligent\nwere gradually opened to the incomparable glory of Greek poetry and\nart and to the very modest artistic endowments of their own nation.\nThe literature of the sixth century had arisen from the influence\nof Greek art on half-cultivated, but excited and susceptible minds.\nThe increased Hellenic culture of the seventh called forth a literary\nreaction, which destroyed the germs of promise contained in those\nsimple imitative attempts by the winter-frost of reflection, and rooted\nup the wheat and the tares of the older type of literature together.\n\nScipionic Circle\n\nThis reaction proceeded primarily and chiefly from the circle\nwhich assembled around Scipio Aemilianus, and whose most prominent\nmembers among the Roman world of quality were, in addition to\nScipio himself, his elder friend and counsellor Gaius Laelius\n(consul in 614) and Scipio's younger companions, Lucius Furius\nPhilus (consul in 618) and Spurius Mummius, the brother of the\ndestroyer of Corinth, among the Roman and Greek literati the\ncomedian Terence, the satirist Lucilius, the historian Polybius,\nand the philosopher Panaetius.  Those who were familiar with the\nIliad, with Xenophon, and with Menander, could not be greatly\nimpressed by the Roman Homer, and still less by the bad\ntranslations of the tragedies of Euripides which Ennius had\nfurnished and Pacuvius continued to furnish.  While patriotic\nconsiderations might set bounds to criticism in reference to the\nnative chronicles, Lucilius at any rate directed very pointed\nshafts against \"the dismal figures from the complicated expositions\nof Pacuvius\"; and similar severe, but not unjust criticisms of\nEnnius, Plautus, Pacuvius--all those poets \"who appeared to have a\nlicence to talk pompously and to reason illogically\"--are found in\nthe polished author of the Rhetoric dedicated to Herennius, written\nat the close of this period.  People shrugged their shoulders at\nthe interpolations, with which the homely popular wit of Rome\nhad garnished the elegant comedies of Philemon and Diphilus.\nHalf smiling, half envious, they turned away from the inadequate\nattempts of a dull age, which that circle probably regarded\nsomewhat as a mature man regards the poetical effusions of his\nyouth; despairing of the transplantation of the marvellous tree,\nthey allowed the higher species of art in poetry and prose\nsubstantially to fall into abeyance, and restricted themselves\nin these departments to an intelligent enjoyment of foreign\nmasterpieces.  The productiveness of this epoch displayed itself\nchiefly in the subordinate fields of the lighter comedy, the\npoetical miscellany, the political pamphlet, and the professional\nsciences.  The literary cue was correctness, in the style of art\nand especially in the language, which, as a more limited circle of\npersons of culture became separated from the body of the people,\nwas in its turn divided into the classical Latin of higher society\nand the vulgar Latin of the common people.  The prologues of\nTerence promise \"pure Latin\"; warfare against faults of language\nforms a chief element of the Lucilian satire; and with this\ncircumstance is connected the fact, that composition in Greek among\nthe Romans now falls decidedly into the shade.  In so far certainly\nthere is an improvement; inadequate efforts occur in this epoch far\nless frequently; performances in their kind complete and thoroughly\npleasing occur far oftener than before or afterwards; in a\nlinguistic point of view Cicero calls the age of Laelius and Scipio\nthe golden age of pure unadulterated Latin.  In like manner\nliterary activity gradually rises in public opinion from a trade\nto an art.  At the beginning of this period the preparation of\ntheatrical pieces at any rate, if not the publication of recitative\npoems, was still regarded as not becoming for the Roman of quality;\nPacuvius and Terence lived by their pieces; the writing of dramas\nwas entirely a trade, and not one of golden produce.  About the time\nof Sulla the state of matters had entirely changed. The remuneration\ngiven to actors at this time proves that even the favourite dramatic\npoet might then lay claim to a payment, the high amount of which\nremoved the stigma.  By this means composing for the stage was raised\ninto a liberal art; and we accordingly find men of the highest\naristocratic circles, such as Lucius Caesar (aedile in 664, 667),\nengaged in writing for the Roman stage and proud of sitting in the Roman\n\"poet's club\" by the side of the ancestorless Accius.  Art gains in\nsympathy and honour; but the enthusiasm has departed in life and in\nliterature.  The fearless self-confidence, which makes the poet a poet,\nand which is very decidedly apparent in Plautus especially, is found\nin none of those that follow; the Epigoni of the men that fought with\nHannibal are correct, but feeble.\n\nTragedy\nPacuvius\n\nLet us first glance at the Roman dramatic literature and the stage\nitself.  Tragedy has now for the first time her specialists; the\ntragic poets of this epoch do not, like those of the preceding,\ncultivate comedy and epos side by side.  The appreciation of this\nbranch of art among the writing and reading circles was evidently\non the increase, but tragic poetry itself hardly improved.  We now\nmeet with the national tragedy (-praetexta-), the creation of\nNaevius, only in the hands of Pacuvius to be mentioned immediately--\nan after-growth of the Ennian epoch.  Among the probably numerous\npoets who imitated Greek tragedies two alone acquired a\nconsiderable name.  Marcus Pacuvius from Brundisium (535-c. 625)\nwho in his earlier years earned his livelihood in Rome by painting\nand only composed tragedies when advanced in life, belongs as\nrespects both his years and his style to the sixth rather than\nthe seventh century, although his poetical activity falls within\nthe latter.  He composed on the whole after the manner of his\ncountryman, uncle, and master Ennius.  Polishing more carefully and\naspiring to a higher strain than his predecessor, he was regarded\nby favourable critics of art afterwards as a model of artistic\npoetry and of rich style: in the fragments, however, that have\nreached us proofs are not wanting to justify the censure of the\npoet's language by Cicero and the censure of his taste by Lucilius;\nhis language appears more rugged than that of his predecessor, his\nstyle of composition pompous and punctilious.(1)  There are traces\nthat he like Ennius attached more value to philosophy than to\nreligion; but he did not at any rate, like the latter, prefer\ndramas chiming in with neological views and preaching sensuous\npassion or modern enlightenment, and drew without distinction from\nSophocles or from Euripides--of that poetry with a decided special\naim, which almost stamps Ennius with genius, there can have been\nno vein in the younger poet.\n\nAccius\n\nMore readable and adroit imitations of Greek tragedy were furnished\nby Pacuvius' younger contemporary, Lucius Accius, son of a freedman\nof Pisaurum (584-after 651), with the exception of Pacuvius the\nonly notable tragic poet of the seventh century.  An active author\nalso in the field of literary history and grammar, he doubtless\nlaboured to introduce instead of the crude manner of his\npredecessors greater purity of language and style into Latin\ntragedy; yet even his inequality and incorrectness were\nemphatically censured by men of strict observance like Lucilius.\n\nGreek Comedy\nTerence\n\nFar greater activity and far more important results are apparent\nin the field of comedy.  At the very commencement of this period\na remarkable reaction set in against the sort of comedy hitherto\nprevalent and popular.  Its representative Terentius (558-595) is\none of the most interesting phenomena, in a historical point of\nview, in Roman literature.  Born in Phoenician Africa, brought in\nearly youth as a slave to Rome and there introduced to the Greek\nculture of the day, he seemed from the very first destined for the\nvocation of giving back to the new Attic comedy that cosmopolitan\ncharacter, which in its adaptation to the Roman public under the\nrough hands of Naevius, Plautus, and their associates it had in\nsome measure lost.  Even in the selection and employment of models\nthe contrast is apparent between him and that predecessor whom\nalone we can now compare with him.  Plautus chooses his pieces from\nthe whole range of the newer Attic comedy, and by no means disdains\nthe livelier and more popular comedians, such as Philemon; Terence\nkeeps almost exclusively to Menander, the most elegant, polished,\nand chaste of all the poets of the newer comedy.  The method of\nworking up several Greek pieces into one Latin is retained by\nTerence, because in fact from the state of the case it could not be\navoided by the Roman editors; but it is handled with incomparably\nmore skill and carefulness.  The Plautine dialogue beyond doubt\ndeparted very frequently from its models; Terence boasts of the\nverbal adherence of his imitations to the originals, by which\nhowever we are not to understand a verbal translation in our sense.\nThe not unfrequently coarse, but always effective laying on of\nRoman local tints over the Greek ground-work, which Plautus was\nfond of, is completely and designedly banished from Terence;\nnot an allusion puts one in mind of Rome, not a proverb, hardly\na reminiscence;(2) even the Latin titles are replaced by Greek.\nThe same distinction shows itself in the artistic treatment.  First\nof all the players receive back their appropriate masks, and greater\ncare is observed as to the scenic arrangements, so that it is no\nlonger the case, as with Plautus, that everything needs to take\nplace on the street, whether belonging to it or not.  Plautus ties\nand unties the dramatic knot carelessly and loosely, but his plot\nis droll and often striking; Terence, far less effective, keeps\neverywhere account of probability, not unfrequently at the cost of\nsuspense, and wages emphatic war against the certainly somewhat\nflat and insipid standing expedients of his predecessors, e. g.\nagainst allegoric dreams.(3)  Plautus paints his characters with\nbroad strokes, often after a stock-model, always with a view to\nthe gross effect from a distance and on the whole; Terence handles\nthe psychological development with a careful and often excellent\nminiature-painting, as in the -Adelphi- for instance, where the\ntwo old men--the easy bachelor enjoying life in town, and the sadly\nharassed not at all refined country-landlord--form a masterly\ncontrast.  The springs of action and the language of Plautus are\ndrawn from the tavern, those of Terence from the household of the\ngood citizen.  The lazy Plautine hostelry, the very unconstrained\nbut very charming damsels with the hosts duly corresponding,\nthe sabre-rattling troopers, the menial world painted with an\naltogether peculiar humour, whose heaven is the cellar, and whose\nfate is the lash, have disappeared in Terence or at any rate\nundergone improvement.  In Plautus we find ourselves, on the whole,\namong incipient or thorough rogues, in Terence again, as a rule,\namong none but honest men; if occasionally a -leno- is plundered or\na young man taken to the brothel, it is done with a moral intent,\npossibly out of brotherly love or to deter the boy from frequenting\nimproper haunts.  The Plautine pieces are pervaded by the significant\nantagonism of the tavern to the house; everywhere wives are\nvisited with abuse, to the delight of all husbands temporarily\nemancipated and not quite sure of an amiable salutation at home.\nThe comedies of Terence are pervaded by a conception not more\nmoral, but doubtless more becoming, of the feminine nature and of\nmarried life.  As a rule, they end with a virtuous marriage, or,\nif possible, with two--just as it was the glory of Menander that\nhe compensated for every seduction by a marriage.  The eulogies of\na bachelor life, which are so frequent in Menander, are repeated by\nhis Roman remodeller only with characteristic shyness,(4) whereas\nthe lover in his agony, the tender husband at the -accouchement-,\nthe loving sister by the death-bed in the -Eunuchus- and the\n-Andria- are very gracefully delineated; in the -Hecyra- there even\nappears at the close as a delivering angel a virtuous courtesan,\nlikewise a genuine Menandrian figure, which the Roman public, it is\ntrue, very properly hissed.  In Plautus the fathers throughout only\nexist for the purpose of being jeered and swindled by their sons;\nwith Terence in the -Heauton Timorumenos- the lost son is reformed\nby his father's wisdom, and, as in general he is full of excellent\ninstructions as to education, so the point of the best of his\npieces, the -Adelphi-, turns on finding the right mean between the\ntoo liberal training of the uncle and the too rigid training of the\nfather.  Plautus writes for the great multitude and gives utterance\nto profane and sarcastic speeches, so far as the censorship of the\nstage at all allowed; Terence on the contrary describes it as his\naim to please the good and, like Menander, to offend nobody.\nPlautus is fond of vigorous, often noisy dialogue, and his pieces\nrequire a lively play of gesture in the actors; Terence confines\nhimself to \"quiet conversation.\" The language of Plautus abounds in\nburlesque turns and verbal witticisms, in alliterations, in comic\ncoinages of new terms, Aristophanic combinations of words, pithy\nexpressions of the day jestingly borrowed from the Greek.  Terence\nknows nothing of such caprices; his dialogue moves on with the\npurest symmetry, and its points are elegant epigrammatic and\nsententious turns.  The comedy of Terence is not to be called an\nimprovement, as compared with that of Plautus, either in a poetical\nor in a moral point of view.  Originality cannot be affirmed of\neither, but, if possible, there is less of it in Terence; and\nthe dubious praise of more correct copying is at least outweighed\nby the circumstance that, while the younger poet reproduced the\nagreeableness, he knew not how to reproduce the merriment of\nMenander, so that the comedies of Plautus imitated from Menander,\nsuch as the -Stichus-, the -Cistellaria-, the -Bacchides-, probably\npreserve far more of the flowing charm of the original than the\ncomedies of the \"-dimidiatus Menander-.\" And, while the aesthetic\ncritic cannot recognize an improvement in the transition from the\ncoarse to the dull, as little can the moralist in the transition\nfrom the obscenity and indifference of Plautus to the accommodating\nmorality of Terence.  But in point of language an improvement\ncertainly took place.  Elegance of language was the pride of the\npoet, and it was owing above all to its inimitable charm that the\nmost refined judges of art in aftertimes, such as Cicero, Caesar,\nand Quinctilian, assigned the palm to him among all the Roman poets\nof the republican age.  In so far it is perhaps justifiable to date\na new era in Roman literature--the real essence of which lay not\nin the development of Latin poetry, but in the development of\nthe Latin language--from the comedies of Terence as the first\nartistically pure imitation of Hellenic works of art.  The modern\ncomedy made its way amidst the most determined literary warfare.\nThe Plautine style of composing had taken root among the Roman\nbourgeoisie; the comedies of Terence encountered the liveliest\nopposition from the public, which found their \"insipid language,\"\ntheir \"feeble style,\" intolerable.  The, apparently, pretty\nsensitive poet replied in his prologues--which properly were not\nintended for any such purpose--with counter-criticisms full of\ndefensive and offensive polemics; and appealed from the multitude,\nwhich had twice run off from his -Hecyra- to witness a band of\ngladiators and rope-dancers, to the cultivated circles of the\ngenteel world.  He declared that he only aspired to the approval\nof the \"good\"; in which doubtless there was not wanting a hint,\nthat it was not at all seemly to undervalue works of art which\nhad obtained the approval of the \"few.\" He acquiesced in or even\nfavoured the report, that persons of quality aided him in composing\nwith their counsel or even with their cooperation.(5)  In reality\nhe carried his point; even in literature the oligarchy prevailed,\nand the artistic comedy of the exclusives supplanted the comedy\nof the people: we find that about 620 the pieces of Plautus\ndisappeared from the set of stock plays.  This is the more\nsignificant, because after the early death of Terence no man of\nconspicuous talent at all further occupied this field.  Respecting\nthe comedies of Turpilius (651 at an advanced age) and other stop-\ngaps wholly or almost wholly forgotten, a connoisseur already at\nthe close of this period gave it as his opinion, that the new\ncomedies were even much worse than the bad new pennies.(6)\n\nNational Comedy\nAfranius\n\nWe have formerly shown(7) that in all probability already in the\ncourse of the sixth century a national Roman comedy (-togata-) was\nadded to the Graeco-Roman (-palliata-), as a portraiture not of the\ndistinctive life of the capital, but of the ways and doings of the\nLatin land.  Of course the Terentian school rapidly took possession\nof this species of comedy also; it was quite in accordance with\nits spirit to naturalise Greek comedy in Italy on the one hand\nby faithful translation, and on the other hand by pure Roman\nimitation.  The chief representative of this school was Lucius\nAfranius (who flourished about 66).  The fragments of his comedies\nremaining give no distinct impression, but they are not\ninconsistent with what the Roman critics of art remark regarding\nhim.  His numerous national comedies were in their construction\nthoroughly formed on the model of the Greek intrigue-piece; only,\nas was natural in imitation, they were simpler and shorter.  In the\ndetails also he borrowed what pleased him partly from Menander,\npartly from the older national literature.  But of the Latin local\ntints, which are so distinctly marked in Titinius the creator of\nthis species of art, we find not much in Afranius;(8) his subjects\nretain a very general character, and may well have been throughout\nimitations of particular Greek comedies with merely an alteration\nof costume.  A polished eclecticism and adroitness in composition--\nliterary allusions not unfrequently occur--are characteristic of\nhim as of Terence: the moral tendency too, in which his pieces\napproximated to the drama, their inoffensive tenor in a police\npoint of view, their purity of language are common to him with the\nlatter.  Afranius is sufficiently indicated as of a kindred spirit\nwith Menander and Terence by the judgment of posterity that he wore\nthe -toga- as Menander would have worn it had he been an Italian,\nand by his own expression that to his mind Terence surpassed\nall other poets.\n\nAtellanae\n\nThe farce appeared afresh at this period in the field of Roman\nliterature.  It was in itself very old:(9) long before Rome arose,\nthe merry youths of Latium may have improvised on festal occasions\nin the masks once for all established for particular characters.\nThese pastimes obtained a fixed local background in the Latin\n\"asylum of fools,\" for which they selected the formerly Oscan\ntown of Atella, which was destroyed in the Hannibalic war and\nwas thereby handed over to comic use; thenceforth the name of\n\"Oscan plays\" or \"plays of Atella\" was commonly used for these\nexhibitions.(10)  But these pleasantries had nothing to do with\nthe stage(11) and with literature; they were performed by amateurs\nwhere and when they pleased, and the text was not written or at any\nrate was not published.  It was not until the present period that\nthe Atellan piece was handed over to actors properly so called,(12)\nand was employed, like the Greek satyric drama, as an afterpiece\nparticularly after tragedies; a change which naturally suggested\nthe extension of literary activity to that field.  Whether this\nauthorship developed itself altogether independently, or whether\npossibly the art-farce of Lower Italy, in various respects of\nkindred character, gave the impulse to this Roman farce,(13) can\nno longer be determined; that the several pieces were uniformly\noriginal works, is certain.  The founder of this new species of\nliterature, Lucius Pomponius from the Latin colony of Bononia,\nappeared in the first half of the seventh century;(14) and along\nwith his pieces those of another poet Novius soon became\nfavourites.  So far as the few remains and the reports of the old\n-litteratores- allow us to form an opinion, they were short farces,\nordinarily perhaps of one act, the charm of which depended less on\nthe preposterous and loosely constructed plot than on the drastic\nportraiture of particular classes and situations.  Festal days and\npublic acts were favourite subjects of comic delineation, such as\nthe \"Marriage,\" the \"First of March,\" \"Harlequin Candidate\";\nso were also foreign nationalities--the Transalpine Gauls,\nthe Syrians; above all, the various trades frequently appear\non the boards.  The sacristan, the soothsayer, the bird-seer,\nthe physician, the publican, the painter, fisherman, baker, pass\nacross the stage; the public criers were severely assailed and still\nmore the fullers, who seem to have played in the Roman fool-world\nthe part of our tailors.  While the varied life of the city thus\nreceived its due attention, the farmer with his joys and sorrows\nwas also represented in all aspects.  The copiousness of this rural\nrepertory may be guessed from the numerous titles of that nature,\nsuch as \"the Cow,\" \"the Ass,\" \"the Kid,\" \"the Sow,\" \"the Swine,\"\n\"the Sick Boar,\" \"the Farmer,\" \"the Countryman,\" \"Harlequin\nCountryman,\" \"the Cattle-herd,\" \"the Vinedresser,\" \"the Fig-\ngatherer,\" \"Woodcutting,\" \"Pruning,\" \"the Poultry-yard.\" In these\npieces it was always the standing figures of the stupid and the\nartful servant, the good old man, the wise man, that delighted\nthe public; the first in particular might never be wanting--\nthe -Pulcinello- of this farce--the gluttonous filthy -Maccus-,\nhideously ugly and yet eternally in love, always on the point\nof stumbling across his own path, set upon by all with jeers\nand with blows and eventually at the close the regular scapegoat.\nThe titles \"-Maccus Miles-,\" \"-Maccus Copo-,\" \"-Maccus Virgo-,\"\n\"-Maccus Exul-,\" \"-Macci Gemini-\" may furnish the good-humoured\nreader with some conception of the variety of entertainment in the\nRoman masquerade.  Although these farces, at least after they came\nto be written, accommodated themselves to the general laws of\nliterature, and in their metres for instance followed the Greek\nstage, they yet naturally retained a far more Latin and more\npopular stamp than even the national comedy.  The farce resorted\nto the Greek world only under the form of travestied tragedy;(15)\nand this style appears to have been cultivated first by Novius,\nand not very frequently in any case.  The farce of this poet moreover\nventured, if not to trespass on Olympus, at least to touch the most\nhuman of the gods, Hercules: he wrote a -Hercules Auctionator-.\nThe tone, as a matter of course, was not the most refined; very\nunambiguous ambiguities, coarse rustic obscenities, ghosts\nfrightening and occasionally devouring children, formed part of\nthe entertainment, and offensive personalities, even with the mention\nof names, not unfrequently crept in.  But there was no want also of\nvivid delineation, of grotesque incidents, of telling jokes, and of\npithy sayings; and the harlequinade rapidly won for itself no\ninconsiderable position in the theatrical life of the capital\nand even in literature.\n\nDramatic Arrangements\n\nLastly as regards the development of dramatic arrangements we are\nnot in a position to set forth in detail--what is clear on the\nwhole--that the general interest in dramatic performances was\nconstantly on the increase, and that they became more and more\nfrequent and magnificent.  Not only was there hardly any ordinary\nor extraordinary popular festival that was now celebrated without\ndramatic exhibitions; even in the country-towns and in private\nhouses representations by companies of hired actors were common.\nIt is true that, while probably various municipal towns already at\nthis time possessed theatres built of stone, the capital was still\nwithout one; the building of a theatre, already contracted for,\nhad been again prohibited by the senate in 599 on the suggestion\nof Publius Scipio Nasica.  It was quite in the spirit of the\nsanctimonious policy of this age, that the building of a permanent\ntheatre was prohibited out of respect for the customs of their\nancestors, but nevertheless theatrical entertainments were allowed\nrapidly to increase, and enormous sums were expended annually\nin erecting and decorating structures of boards for them.\nThe arrangements of the stage became visibly better.  The improved\nscenic arrangements and the reintroduction of masks about the time\nof Terence are doubtless connected with the fact, that the erection\nand maintenance of the stage and stage-apparatus were charged\nin 580 on the public chest.(16) The plays which Lucius Mummius\nproduced after the capture of Corinth (609) formed an epoch in\nthe history of the theatre.  It was probably then that a theatre\nacoustically constructed after the Greek fashion and provided with\nseats was first erected, and more care generally was expended on\nthe exhibitions.(17)  Now also there is frequent mention of the\nbestowal of a prize of victory--which implies the competition of\nseveral pieces--of the audience taking a lively part for or against\nthe leading actors, of cliques and -claqueurs-.  The decorations\nand machinery were improved; moveable scenery artfully painted\nand audible theatrical thunder made their appearance under the\naedileship of Gaius Claudius Pulcher in 655;(18) and twenty years\nlater (675) under the aedileship of the brothers Lucius and Marcus\nLucullus came the changing of the decorations by shifting the\nscenes.  To the close of this epoch belongs the greatest of Roman\nactors, the freedman Quintus Roscius (d. about 692 at a great age),\nthroughout several generations the ornament and pride of the Roman\nstage,(19) the friend and welcome boon-companion of Sulla--to whom\nwe shall have to recur in the sequel.\n\nSatura\n\nIn recitative poetry the most surprising circumstance is the\ninsignificance of the Epos, which during the sixth century had\noccupied decidedly the first place in the literature destined for\nreading; it had numerous representatives in the seventh, but not a\nsingle one who had even temporary success.  From the present epoch\nthere is hardly anything to be reported save a number of rude\nattempts to translate Homer, and some continuations of the Ennian\nAnnals, such as the \"Istrian War\" of Hostius and the \"Annals\n(perhaps) of the Gallic War\" by Aulus Furius (about 650), which to\nall appearance took up the narrative at the very point where Ennius\nhad broken off--the description of the Istrian war of 576 and 577.\nIn didactic and elegiac poetry no prominent name appears.  The only\nsuccesses which the recitative poetry of this period has to show,\nbelong to the domain of what was called -Satura---a species of art,\nwhich like the letter or the pamphlet allowed of any form and\nadmitted any sort of contents, and accordingly in default of all\nproper generic characters derived its individual shape wholly from\nthe individuality of each poet, and occupied a position not merely\non the boundary between poetry and prose, but even more than half\nbeyond the bounds of literature proper.  The humorous poetical\nepistles, which one of the younger men of the Scipionic circle,\nSpurius Mummius, the brother of the destroyer of Corinth, sent home\nfrom the camp of Corinth to his friends, were still read with\npleasure a century afterwards; and numerous poetical pleasantries\nof that sort not destined for publication probably proceeded at\nthat time from the rich social and intellectual life of the\nbetter circles of Rome.\n\nLucilius\n\nIts representative in literature is Gaius Lucilius (606-651) sprung\nof a respectable family in the Latin colony of Suessa, and likewise\na member of the Scipionic circle.  His poems are, as it were, open\nletters to the public.  Their contents, as a clever successor\ngracefully says, embrace the whole life of a cultivated man of\nindependence, who looks upon the events passing on the political\nstage from the pit and occasionally from the side-scenes; who\nconverses with the best of his epoch as his equals; who follows\nliterature and science with sympathy and intelligence without\nwishing personally to pass for a poet or scholar; and who, in fine,\nmakes his pocket-book the confidential receptacle for everything\ngood and bad that he meets with, for his political experiences and\nexpectations, for grammatical remarks and criticisms on art, for\nincidents of his own life, visits, dinners, journeys, as well as\nfor anecdotes which he has heard.  Caustic, capricious, thoroughly\nindividual, the Lucilian poetry has yet the distinct stamp of an\noppositional and, so far, didactic aim in literature as well as in\nmorals and politics; there is in it something of the revolt of the\ncountry against the capital; the Suessan's sense of his own purity\nof speech and honesty of life asserts itself in antagonism to the\ngreat Babel of mingled tongues and corrupt morals.  The aspiration\nof the Scipionic circle after literary correctness, especially in\npoint of language, finds critically its most finished and most\nclever representative in Lucilius.  He dedicated his very first\nbook to Lucius Stilo, the founder of Roman philology,(20) and\ndesignated as the public for which he wrote not the cultivated\ncircles of pure and classical speech, but the Tarentines, the\nBruttians, the Siculi, or in other words the half-Greeks of Italy,\nwhose Latin certainly might well require a corrective.  Whole books\nof his poems are occupied with the settlement of Latin orthography\nand prosody, with the combating of Praenestine, Sabine, Etruscan\nprovincialisms, with the exposure of current solecisms; along with\nwhich, however, the poet by no means forgets to ridicule the\ninsipidly systematic Isocratean purism of words and phrases,(21)\nand even to reproach his friend Scipio in right earnest jest\nwith the exclusive fineness of his language.(22)  But the poet\ninculcates purity of morals in public and private life far more\nearnestly than he preaches pure and simple Latinity.  For this\nhis position gave him peculiar advantages.  Although by descent,\nestate, and culture on a level with the genteel Romans of his time\nand possessor of a handsome house in the capital, he was yet not a\nRoman burgess, but a Latin; even his position towards Scipio, under\nwhom he had served in his early youth during the Numantine war, and\nin whose house he was a frequent visitor, may be connected with the\nfact, that Scipio stood in varied relations to the Latins and was\ntheir patron in the political feuds of the time.(23)  He was thus\nprecluded from a public life, and he disdained the career of a\nspeculator--he had no desire, as he once said, to \"cease to be\nLucilius in order to become an Asiatic revenue-farmer.\" So he lived\nin the sultry age of the Gracchan reforms and the agitations preceding\nthe Social war, frequenting the palaces and villas of the Roman\ngrandees and yet not exactly their client, at once in the midst\nof the strife of political coteries and parties and yet not directly\ntaking part with one or another; in a way similar to Beranger,\nof whom there is much that reminds us in the political and poetical\nposition of Lucilius.  From this position he uttered his comments\non public life with a sound common sense that was not to be\nshaken, with a good humour that was inexhaustible, and with\na wit perpetually gushing:\n\n-Nunc vero a mane ad noctem, festo atque profesto\nToto itidem pariterque die populusque patresque\nIactare indu foro se omnes, decedere nusquam.\nUni se atque eidem studio omnes dedere et arti;\nVerba dare ut caute possint, pugnare dolose,\nBlanditia certare, bonum simulare virum se,\nInsidias facere ut si hostes sint omnibus omnes-.\n\nThe illustrations of this inexhaustible text remorselessly, without\nomitting his friends or even the poet himself, assailed the evils\nof the age, the coterie-system, the endless Spanish war-service,\nand the like; the very commencement of his Satires was a great\ndebate in the senate of the Olympian gods on the question, whether\nRome deserved to enjoy the continued protection of the celestials.\nCorporations, classes, individuals, were everywhere severally\nmentioned by name; the poetry of political polemics, shut out\nfrom the Roman stage, was the true element and life-breath of\nthe Lucilian poems, which by the power of the most pungent wit\nillustrated with the richest imagery--a power which still entrances\nus even in the remains that survive--pierce and crush their\nadversary \"as by a drawn sword.\" In this--in the moral ascendency\nand the proud sense of freedom of the poet of Suessa--lies the\nreason why the refined Venusian, who in the Alexandrian age of\nRoman poetry revived the Lucilian satire, in spite of all his\nsuperiority in formal skill with true modesty yields to the earlier\npoet as \"his better.\" The language is that of a man of thorough\nculture, Greek and Latin, who freely indulges his humour; a poet\nlike Lucilius, who is alleged to have made two hundred hexameters\nbefore dinner and as many after it, is in far too great a hurry to\nbe nice; useless prolixity, slovenly repetition of the same turn,\nculpable instances of carelessness frequently occur: the first\nword, Latin or Greek, is always the best.  The metres are similarly\ntreated, particularly the very predominant hexameter: if we transpose\nthe words--his clever imitator says--no man would observe that\nhe had anything else before him than simple prose; in point of\neffect they can only be compared to our doggerel verses.(24)\nThe poems of Terence and those of Lucilius stand on the same level\nof culture, and have the same relation to each other as a carefully\nprepared and polished literary work has to a letter written on the\nspur of the moment.  But the incomparably higher intellectual gifts\nand the freer view of life, which mark the knight of Suessa as\ncompared with the African slave, rendered his success as rapid\nand brilliant as that of Terence had been laborious and doubtful;\nLucilius became immediately the favourite of the nation, and he\nlike Beranger could say of his poems that \"they alone of all were\nread by the people.\" The uncommon popularity of the Lucilian poem\nis, in a historical point of view, a remarkable event; we see from\nit that literature was already a power, and beyond doubt we should\nfall in with various traces of its influence, if a thorough history\nof this period had been preserved.  Posterity has only confirmed\nthe judgment of contemporaries; the Roman judges of art who were\nopposed to the Alexandrian school assigned to Lucilius the first\nrank among all the Latin poets.  So far as satire can be regarded\nas a distinct form of art at all, Lucilius created it; and in it\ncreated the only species of art which was peculiar to the Romans\nand was bequeathed by them to posterity.\n\nOf poetry attaching itself to the Alexandrian school nothing\noccurs in Rome at this epoch except minor poems translated from or\nmodelled on Alexandrian epigrams, which deserve notice not on their\nown account, but as the first harbingers of the later epoch of\nRoman literature.  Leaving out of account some poets little known\nand whose dates cannot be fixed with certainty, there belong to\nthis category Quintus Catulus, consul in 652(25) and Lucius\nManlius, an esteemed senator, who wrote in 657.  The latter seems\nto have been the first to circulate among the Romans various\ngeographical tales current among the Greeks, such as the Delian\nlegend of Latona, the fables of Europa and of the marvellous bird\nPhoenix; as it was likewise reserved for him on his travels to\ndiscover at Dodona and to copy that remarkable tripod, on which\nmight be read the oracle imparted to the Pelasgians before their\nmigration into the land of the Siceli and Aborigines--a discovery\nwhich the Roman annals did not neglect devoutly to register.\n\nHistorical Composition\nPolybius\n\nIn historical composition this epoch is especially marked by the\nemergence of an author who did not belong to Italy either by birth\nor in respect of his intellectual and literary standpoint, but who\nfirst or rather alone brought literary appreciation and description\nto bear on Rome's place in the world, and to whom all subsequent\ngenerations, and we too, owe the best part of our knowledge of\nthe Roman development.  Polybius (c. 546-c. 627) of Megalopolis in\nthe Peloponnesus, son of the Achaean statesman Lycortas, took part\napparently as early as 565 in the expedition of the Romans against\nthe Celts of Asia Minor, and was afterwards on various occasions,\nespecially during the third Macedonian war, employed by his\ncountrymen in military and diplomatic affairs.  After the crisis\noccasioned by that war in Hellas he was carried off along with the\nother Achaean hostages to Italy,(26) where he lived in exile for\nseventeen years (587-604) and was introduced by the sons of Paullus\nto the genteel circles of the capital.  By the sending back of\nthe Achaean hostages(27) he was restored to his home, where he\nthenceforth acted as permanent mediator between his confederacy\nand the Romans.  He was present at the destruction of Carthage\nand of Corinth (608).  He seemed educated, as it were, by destiny\nto comprehend the historical position of Rome more clearly than\nthe Romans of that day could themselves.  From the place which\nhe occupied, a Greek statesman and a Roman prisoner, esteemed and\noccasionally envied for his Hellenic culture by Scipio Aemilianus\nand the first men of Rome generally, he saw the streams, which had\nso long flowed separately, meet together in the same channel and\nthe history of the states of the Mediterranean resolve itself into\nthe hegemony of Roman power and Greek culture.  Thus Polybius\nbecame the first Greek of note, who embraced with serious\nconviction the comprehensive view of the Scipionic circle, and\nrecognized the superiority of Hellenism in the sphere of intellect\nand of the Roman character in the sphere of politics as facts,\nregarding which history had given her final decision, and to which\npeople on both sides were entitled and bound to submit.  In this\nspirit he acted as a practical statesman, and wrote his history.\nIf in his youth he had done homage to the honourable but\nimpracticable local patriotism of the Achaeans, during his later\nyears, with a clear discernment of inevitable necessity, he\nadvocated in the community to which he belonged the policy of the\nclosest adherence to Rome.  It was a policy in the highest degree\njudicious and beyond doubt well-intentioned, but it was far from\nbeing high-spirited or proud.  Nor was Polybius able wholly to\ndisengage himself from the vanity and paltriness of the Hellenic\nstatesmanship of the time.  He was hardly released from exile,\nwhen he proposed to the senate that it should formally secure to\nthe released their former rank in their several homes; whereupon\nCato aptly remarked, that this looked to him as if Ulysses were to\nreturn to the cave of Polyphemus to request from the giant his hat\nand girdle.  He often made use of his relations with the great\nmen in Rome to benefit his countrymen; but the way in which he\nsubmitted to, and boasted of, the illustrious protection somewhat\napproaches fawning servility.  His literary activity breathes\nthroughout the same spirit as his practical action.  It was\nthe task of his life to write the history of the union of the\nMediterranean states under the hegemony of Rome.  From the first\nPunic war down to the destruction of Carthage and Corinth his work\nembraces the fortunes of all the civilized states--namely Greece,\nMacedonia, Asia Minor, Syria, Egypt, Carthage, and Italy--and\nexhibits in causal connection the mode in which they came under\nthe Roman protectorate; in so far he describes it as his object to\ndemonstrate the fitness and reasonableness of the Roman hegemony.\nIn design as in execution, this history stands in clear and\ndistinct contrast with the contemporary Roman as well as with the\ncontemporary Greek historiography.  In Rome history still remained\nwholly at the stage of chronicle; there existed doubtless important\nhistorical materials, but what was called historical composition\nwas restricted--with the exception of the very respectable but\npurely individual writings of Cato, which at any rate did not reach\nbeyond the rudiments of research and narration--partly to nursery\ntales, partly to collections of notices.  The Greeks had certainly\nexhibited historical research and had written history; but the\nconceptions of nation and state had been so completely lost amidst\nthe distracted times of the Diadochi, that none of the numerous\nhistorians succeeded in following the steps of the great Attic\nmasters in spirit and in truth, or in treating from a general\npoint of view the matter of world-wide interest in the history\nof the times.\n\nTheir histories were either purely outward records, or they were\npervaded by the verbiage and sophistries of Attic rhetoric and only\ntoo often by the venality and vulgarity, the sycophancy and the\nbitterness of the age.  Among the Romans as among the Greeks there\nwas nothing but histories of cities or of tribes.  Polybius,\na Peloponnesian, as has been justly  remarked, and holding\nintellectually a position at least as far aloof from the Attics\nas from the Romans, first stepped beyond these miserable limits,\ntreated the Roman materials with mature Hellenic criticism, and\nfurnished a history, which was not indeed universal, but which was\nat any rate dissociated from the mere local states and laid hold of\nthe Romano-Greek state in the course of formation.  Never perhaps\nhas any historian united within himself all the advantages of an\nauthor drawing from original sources so completely as Polybius.\nThe compass of his task is completely clear and present to him\nat every moment; and his eye is fixed throughout on the real\nhistorical connection of events.  The legend, the anecdote,\nthe mass of worthless chronicle-notices are thrown aside; the\ndescription of countries and peoples, the representation of\npolitical and mercantile relations--all the facts of so infinite\nimportance, which escape the annalist because they do not admit of\nbeing nailed to a particular year--are put into possession of their\nlong-suspended rights.  In the procuring of historic materials\nPolybius shows a caution and perseverance such as are not perhaps\nparalleled in antiquity; he avails himself of documents, gives\ncomprehensive attention to the literature of different nations,\nmakes the most extensive use of his favourable position for\ncollecting the accounts of actors and eye-witnesses, and, in fine,\nmethodically travels over the whole domain of the Mediterranean\nstates and part of the coast of the Atlantic Ocean.(28)\nTruthfulness is his nature.  In all great matters he has no\ninterest for one state or against another, for this man or against\nthat, but is singly and solely interested in the essential\nconnection of events, to present which in their true relation of\ncauses and effects seems to him not merely the first but the sole\ntask of the historian.  Lastly, the narrative is a model of\ncompleteness, simplicity, and clearness.  Still all these uncommon\nadvantages by no means constitute a historian of the first rank.\nPolybius grasps his literary task, as he grasped his practical,\nwith great understanding, but with the understanding alone.\nHistory, the struggle of necessity and liberty, is a moral problem;\nPolybius treats it as if it were a mechanical one.  The whole alone\nhas value for him, in nature as in the state; the particular event,\nthe individual man, however wonderful they may appear, are yet\nproperly mere single elements, insignificant wheels in the highly\nartificial mechanism which is named the state.  So far Polybius was\ncertainly qualified as no other was to narrate the history of the\nRoman people, which actually solved the marvellous problem of\nraising itself to unparalleled internal and external greatness\nwithout producing a single statesman of genius in the highest\nsense, and which resting on its simple foundations developed itself\nwith wonderful almost mathematical consistency.  But the element of\nmoral freedom bears sway in the history of every people, and it was\nnot neglected by Polybius in the history of Rome with impunity.\nHis treatment of all questions, in which right, honour, religion\nare involved, is not merely shallow, but radically false.  The same\nholds true wherever a genetic construction is required; the purely\nmechanical attempts at explanation, which Polybius substitutes,\nare sometimes altogether desperate; there is hardly, for instance,\na more foolish political speculation than that which derives\nthe excellent constitution of Rome from a judicious mixture of\nmonarchical, aristocratic, and democratic elements, and deduces\nthe successes of Rome from the excellence of her constitution.\nHis conception of relations is everywhere dreadfully jejune and\ndestitute of imagination: his contemptuous and over-wise mode of\ntreating religious matters is altogether offensive.  The narrative,\npreserving throughout an intentional contrast to the usual Greek\nhistoriography with its artistic style, is doubtless correct and\nclear, but flat and languid, digressing with undue frequency into\npolemical discussions or into biographical, not seldom very self-\nsufficient, description of his own experiences.  A controversial\nvein pervades the whole work; the author destined his treatise\nprimarily for the Romans, and yet found among them only a very\nsmall circle that understood him; he felt that he remained in the\neyes of the Romans a foreigner, in the eyes of his countrymen a\nrenegade, and that with his grand conception of his subject he\nbelonged more to the future than to the present Accordingly he was\nnot exempt from a certain ill-humour and personal bitterness, which\nfrequently appear after a quarrelsome and paltry fashion in his\nattacks upon the superficial or even venal Greek and the uncritical\nRoman historians, so that he degenerates from the tone of the\nhistorian to that of the reviewer.  Polybius is not an attractive\nauthor; but as truth and truthfulness are of more value than all\nornament and elegance, no other author of antiquity perhaps can\nbe named to whom we are indebted for so much real instruction.\nHis books are like the sun in the field of Roman history; at the point\nwhere they begin the veil of mist which still envelops the Samnite\nand Pyrrhic wars is raised, and at the point where they end a new\nand, if possible, still more vexatious twilight begins.\n\nRoman Chroniclers\n\nIn singular contrast to this grand conception and treatment of\nRoman history by a foreigner stands the contemporary historical\nliterature of native growth.  At the beginning of this period we\nstill find some chronicles written in Greek such as that already\nmentioned(29) of Aulus Postumius (consul in 603), full of wretched\nrationalizing, and that of Gaius Acilius (who closed it at an\nadvanced age about 612).  Yet under the influence partly of\nCatonian patriotism, partly of the more refined culture of\nthe Scipionic circle, the Latin language gained so decided an\nascendency in this field, that of the later historical works not\nmore than one or two occur written in Greek;(30) and not only so,\nbut the older Greek chronicles were translated into Latin and were\nprobably read mainly in these translations.  Unhappily beyond the\nemployment of the mother-tongue there is hardly anything else\ndeserving of commendation in the chronicles of this epoch composed\nin Latin.  They were numerous and detailed enough--there are\nmentioned, for example, those of Lucius Cassius Hemina (about 608),\nof Lucius Calpurnius Piso (consul in 621), of Gaius Sempronius\nTuditanus (consul in 625), of Gaius Fannius (consul in 632).\nTo these falls to be added the digest of the official annals of\nthe city in eighty books, which Publius Mucius Scaevola (consul\nin 621), a man esteemed also as a jurist, prepared and published\nas -pontifex maximus-, thereby closing the city-chronicle in so\nfar as thenceforth the pontifical records, although not exactly\ndiscontinued, were no longer at any rate, amidst the increasing\ndiligence of private chroniclers, taken account of in literature.\nAll these annals, whether they gave themselves forth as private or\nas official works, were substantially similar compilations of the\nextant historical and quasi-historical materials; and the value of\ntheir authorities as well as their formal value declined beyond\ndoubt in the same proportion as their amplitude increased.\nChronicle certainly nowhere presents truth without fiction, and it\nwould be very foolish to quarrel with Naevius and Pictor because\nthey have not acted otherwise than Hecataeus and Saxo Grammaticus;\nbut the later attempts to build houses out of such castles in the\nair put even the most tried patience to a severe test No blank in\ntradition presents so wide a chasm, but that this system of smooth\nand downright invention will fill it up with playful facility.\nThe eclipses of the sun, the numbers of the census, family-registers,\ntriumphs, are without hesitation carried back from the current year\nup to the year One; it stands duly recorded, in what year, month,\nand day king Romulus went up to heaven, and how king Servius\nTullius triumphed over the Etruscans first on the 25th November\n183, and again on the 25th May 187, In entire harmony with such\ndetails accordingly the vessel in which Aeneas had voyaged from\nIlion to Latium was shown in the Roman docks, and even the\nidentical sow, which had served as a guide to Aeneas, was preserved\nwell pickled in the Roman temple of Vesta.  With the lying\ndisposition of a poet these chroniclers of rank combine all the\ntiresome exactness of a notary, and treat their great subject\nthroughout with the dulness which necessarily results from the\nelimination at once of all poetical and all historical elements.\nWhen we read, for instance, in Piso that Romulus avoided indulging\nin his cups when he had a sitting of the senate next day; or that\nTarpeia betrayed the Capitol to the Sabines out of patriotism,\nwith a view to deprive the enemy of their shields; we cannot be\nsurprised at the judgment of intelligent contemporaries as to all\nthis sort of scribbling, \"that it was not writing history, but\ntelling stories to children.\" Of far greater excellence were\nisolated works on the history of the recent past and of the\npresent, particularly the history of the Hannibalic war by Lucius\nCaelius Antipater (about 633) and the history of his own time\nby Publius Sempronius Asellio, who was a little younger.  These\nexhibited at least valuable materials and an earnest spirit of truth,\nin the case of Antipater also a lively, although strongly affected,\nstyle of narrative; yet, judging from all testimonies and fragments,\nnone of these books came up either in pithy form or in originality\nto the \"Origines\" of Cato, who unhappily created as little of a school\nin the field of history as in that of politics.\n\nMemoirs and Speeches\n\nThe subordinate, more individual and ephemeral, species of\nhistorical literature--memoirs, letters, and speeches--were\nstrongly represented also, at least as respects quantity.\nThe first statesmen of Rome already recorded in person their\nexperiences: such as Marcus Scaurus (consul in 639), Publius Rufus\n(consul in 649), Quintus Catulus (consul in 652), and even the\nregent Sulla; but none of these productions seem to have been of\nimportance for literature otherwise than by the substance of their\ncontents.  The collection of letters of Cornelia, the mother of\nthe Gracchi, was remarkable partly for the classical purity of\nthe language and the high spirit of the writer, partly as the first\ncorrespondence published in Rome, and as the first literary\nproduction of a Roman lady.  The literature of speeches preserved\nat this period the stamp impressed on it by Cato; advocates'\npleadings were not yet looked on as literary productions, and such\nspeeches as were published were political pamphlets.  During the\nrevolutionary commotions this pamphlet-literature increased in\nextent and importance, and among the mass of ephemeral productions\nthere were some which, like the Philippics of Demosthenes and\nthe fugitive pieces of Courier, acquired a permanent place in\nliterature from the important position of their authors or from\ntheir own weight.  Such were the political speeches of Gaius\nLaelius and of Scipio Aemilianus, masterpieces of excellent Latin\nas of the noblest patriotism; such were the gushing speeches of\nGaius Titius, from whose pungent pictures of the place and the\ntime--his description of the senatorial juryman has been given\nalready(31)--the national comedy borrowed various points; such\nabove all were the numerous orations of Gaius Gracchus, whose\nfiery words preserved in a faithful mirror the impassioned\nearnestness, the aristocratic bearing, and the tragic destiny\nof that lofty nature.\n\nSciences\n\nIn scientific literature the collection of juristic opinions by\nMarcus Brutus, which was published about the year 600, presents\na remarkable attempt to transplant to Rome the method usual among\nthe Greeks of handling professional subjects by means of dialogue,\nand to give to his treatise an artistic semi-dramatic form by a\nmachinery of conversation in which the persons, time, and place\nwere distinctly specified.  But the later men of science, such\nas Stilo the philologist and Scaevola the jurist, laid aside\nthis method, more poetical than practical, both in the sciences\nof general culture and in the special professional sciences.\nThe increasing value of science as such, and the preponderance\nof a material interest in it at Rome, are clearly reflected in this\nrapid rejection of the fetters of artistic form.  We have already\nspoken(32) in detail of the sciences of general liberal culture,\ngrammar or rather philology, rhetoric and philosophy, in so far\nas these now became essential elements of the usual Roman training\nand thereby first began to be dissociated from the professional\nsciences properly so called.\n\nPhilology\n\nIn the field of letters Latin philology flourished vigorously, in\nclose association with the philological treatment--long ago placed\non a sure basis--of Greek literature.  It was already mentioned\nthat about the beginning of this century the Latin epic poets found\ntheir -diaskeuastae- and revisers of their text;(33) it was also\nnoticed, that not only did the Scipionic circle generally insist\non correctness above everything else, but several also of the most\nnoted poets, such as Accius and Lucilius, busied themselves with\nthe regulation of orthography and of grammar.  At the same period\nwe find isolated attempts to develop archaeology from the\nhistorical side; although the dissertations of the unwieldy\nannalists of this age, such as those of Hemina \"on the Censors\"\nand of Tuditanus \"on the Magistrates,\" can hardly have been better\nthan their chronicles.  Of more interest were the treatise on\nthe Magistracies by Marcus Junius the friend of Gaius Gracchus, as\nthe first attempt to make archaeological investigation serviceable\nfor political objects,(34) and the metrically composed -Didascaliae-\nof the tragedian Accius, an essay towards a literary history of the\nLatin drama.  But those early attempts at a scientific treatment\nof the mother-tongue still bear very much a dilettante stamp, and\nstrikingly remind us of our orthographic literature in the Bodmer-\nKlopstock period; and we may likewise without injustice assign but\na modest place to the antiquarian researches of this epoch.\n\nStilo\n\nThe Roman, who established the investigation of the Latin language\nand antiquities in the spirit of the Alexandrian masters on a\nscientific basis, was Lucius Aelius Stilo about 650.(35)  He first\nwent back to the oldest monuments of the language, and commented on\nthe Salian litanies and the Twelve Tables.  He devoted his special\nattention to the comedy of the sixth century, and first formed a\nlist of the pieces of Plautus which in his opinion were genuine.\nHe sought, after the Greek fashion, to determine historically the\norigin of every single phenomenon in the Roman life and dealings\nand to ascertain in each case the \"inventor,\" and at the same time\nbrought the whole annalistic tradition within the range of his\nresearch.  The success, which he had among his contemporaries, is\nattested by the dedication to him of the most important poetical,\nand the most important historical, work of his time, the Satires\nof Lucilius and the Annals of Antipater; and this first Roman\nphilologist influenced the studies of his nation for the future by\ntransmitting his spirit of investigation both into words and into\nthings to his disciple Varro.\n\nRhetoric\n\nThe literary activity in the field of Latin rhetoric was, as might\nbe expected, of a more subordinate kind.  There was nothing here to\nbe done but to write manuals and exercise-books after the model of\nthe Greek compendia of Hermagoras and others; and these accordingly\nthe schoolmasters did not fail to supply, partly on account of the\nneed for them, partly on account of vanity and money.  Such a\nmanual of rhetoric has been preserved to us, composed under Sulla's\ndictatorship by an unknown author, who according to the fashion\nthen prevailing(36) taught simultaneously Latin literature and\nLatin rhetoric, and wrote on both; a treatise remarkable not merely\nfor its terse, clear, and firm handling of the subject, but above\nall for its comparative independence in presence of Greek models.\nAlthough in method entirely dependent on the Greeks, the Roman yet\ndistinctly and even abruptly rejects all \"the useless matter which\nthe Greeks had gathered together, solely in order that the science\nmight appear more difficult to learn.\" The bitterest censure is\nbestowed on the hair-splitting dialectics--that \"loquacious science\nof inability to speak\"--whose finished master, for sheer fear of\nexpressing himself ambiguously, at last no longer ventures to\npronounce his own name.  The Greek school-terminology is throughout\nand intentionally avoided.  Very earnestly the author points out\nthe danger of many teachers, and inculcates the golden rule that\nthe scholar ought above all to be induced by the teacher to help\nhimself; with equal earnestness he recognizes the truth that the\nschool is a secondary, and life the main, matter, and gives in\nhis examples chosen with thorough independence an echo of those\nforensic speeches which during the last decades had excited notice\nin the Roman advocate-world.  It deserves attention, that the\nopposition to the extravagances of Hellenism, which had formerly\nsought to prevent the rise of a native Latin rhetoric,(37)\ncontinued to influence it after it arose, and thereby secured\nto Roman eloquence, as compared with the contemporary eloquence\nof the Greeks, theoretically and practically a higher dignity\nand a greater usefulness.\n\nPhilosophy\n\nPhilosophy, in fine, was not yet represented in literature,\nsince neither did an inward need develop a national Roman philosophy\nnor did outward circumstances call forth a Latin philosophical\nauthorship.  It cannot even be shown with certainty that there\nwere Latin translations of popular summaries of philosophy\nbelonging to this period; those who pursued philosophy read\nand disputed in Greek.\n\nProfessional Sciences\nJurisprudence\n\nIn the professional sciences there was but little activity.\nWell as the Romans understood how to farm and how to calculate,\nphysical and mathematical research gained no hold among them.\nThe consequences of neglecting theory appeared practically in\nthe low state of medical knowledge and of a portion of the military\nsciences.  Of all the professional sciences jurisprudence alone was\nflourishing.  We cannot trace its internal development with\nchronological accuracy.  On the whole ritual law fell more and\nmore into the shade, and at the end of this period stood nearly\nin the same position as the canon law at the present day.  The finer\nand more profound conception of law, on the other hand, which\nsubstitutes for outward criteria the motive springs of action\nwithin--such as the development of the ideas of offences arising\nfrom intention and from carelessness respectively, and of\npossession entitled to temporary protection--was not yet in\nexistence at the time of the Twelve Tables, but was so in the age\nof Cicero, and probably owed its elaboration substantially to the\npresent epoch.  The reaction of political relations on the development\nof law has been already indicated on several occasions; it was\nnot always advantageous.  By the institution of the tribunal of the\n-Centumviri- to deal with inheritance,(38) for instance, there was\nintroduced in the law of property a college of jurymen, which, like\nthe criminal authorities, instead of simply applying the law placed\nitself above it and with its so-called equity undermined the legal\ninstitutions; one consequence of which among others was the\nirrational principle, that any one, whom a relative had passed over\nin his testament, was at liberty to propose that the testament\nshould be annulled by the court, and the court decided according\nto its discretion.\n\nThe development of juristic literature admits of being more\ndistinctly recognized.  It had hitherto been restricted to\ncollections of formularies and explanations of terms in the laws;\nat this period there was first formed a literature of opinions\n(-responsa-), which answers nearly to our modern collections of\nprecedents.  These opinions--which were delivered no longer merely\nby members of the pontifical college, but by every one who found\npersons to consult him, at home or in the open market-place,\nand with which were already associated rational and polemical\nillustrations and the standing controversies peculiar to\njurisprudence--began to be noted down and to be promulgated in\ncollections about the beginning of the seventh century.  This was\ndone first by the younger Cato (d. about 600) and by Marcus Brutus\n(nearly contemporary); and these collections were, as it would\nappear, arranged in the order of matters.(39)  A strictly\nsystematic treatment of the law of the land soon followed.\nIts founder was the -pontifex maximus- Quintus Mucius Scaevola\n(consul in 659, d.  672),(40) in whose family jurisprudence was,\nlike the supreme priesthood, hereditary.  His eighteen books\non the -Ius Civile-, which embraced the positive materials of\njurisprudence--legislative enactments, judicial precedents, and\nauthorities--partly from the older collections, partly from oral\ntradition in as great completeness as possible, formed the starting-\npoint and the model of the detailed systems of Roman law; in like\nmanner his compendious treatise of \"Definitions\" (--oroi--) became\nthe basis of juristic summaries and particularly of the books\nof Rules.  Although this development of law proceeded of course\nin the main independently of Hellenism, yet an acquaintance with\nthe philosophico-practical scheme-making of the Greeks beyond\ndoubt gave a general impulse to the more systematic treatment of\njurisprudence, as in fact the Greek influence is in the case of\nthe last-mentioned treatise apparent in the very title.  We have\nalready remarked that in several more external matters Roman\njurisprudence was influenced by the Stoa.(41)\n\nArt exhibits still less pleasing results.  In architecture,\nsculpture, and painting there was, no doubt, a more and more\ngeneral diffusion of a dilettante interest, but the exercise of\nnative art retrograded rather than advanced.  It became more and\nmore customary for those sojourning in Grecian lands personally to\ninspect the works of art; for which in particular the winter-\nquarters of Sulla's army in Asia Minor in 670-671 formed an epoch.\nConnoisseur-ship developed itself also in Italy.  They had\ncommenced with articles in silver and bronze; about the commencement\nof this epoch they began to esteem not merely Greek statues,\nbut also Greek pictures.  The first picture publicly exhibited in\nRome was the Bacchus of Aristides, which Lucius Mummius withdrew\nfrom the sale of the Corinthian spoil, because king Attalus offered\nas much as 6000 -denarii- (260 pounds) for it.  The buildings became\nmore splendid; and in particular transmarine, especially Hymettian,\nmarble (Cipollino) came into use for that purpose--the Italian\nmarble quarries were not yet in operation.  A magnificent colonnade\nstill admired in the time of the empire, which Quintus Metellus\n(consul in 611) the conqueror of Macedonia constructed in the\nCampus Martius, enclosed the first marble temple which the capital\nhad seen; it was soon followed by similar structures built on the\nCapitol by Scipio Nasica (consul in 616), and near to the Circus by\nGnaeus Octavius (consul in 626).  The first private house adorned\nwith marble columns was that of the orator Lucius Crassus (d. 663)\non the Palatine.(42)  But where they could plunder or purchase,\ninstead of creating for themselves, they did so; it was a wretched\nindication of the poverty of Roman architecture, that it already\nbegan to employ the columns of the old Greek temples; the Roman\nCapitol, for instance, was embellished by Sulla with those of the\ntemple of Zeus at Athens.  The works, that were produced in Rome,\nproceeded from the hands of foreigners; the few Roman artists of\nthis period, who are particularly mentioned, are without exception\nItalian or transmarine Greeks who had migrated thither.  Such was\nthe case with the architect Hermodorus from the Cyprian Salamis,\nwho among other works restored the Roman docks and built for\nQuintus Metellus (consul in 611) the temple of Jupiter Stator\nin the basilica constructed by him, and for Decimus Brutus (consul\nin 616) the temple of Mars in the Flaminian circus; with the sculptor\nPasiteles (about 665) from Magna Graecia, who furnished images\nof the gods in ivory for Roman temples; and with the painter\nand philosopher Metrodorus of Athens, who was summoned to paint\nthe pictures for the triumph of Lucius Paullus (587).  It is\nsignificant that the coins of this epoch exhibit in comparison\nwith those of the previous period a greater variety of types,\nbut a retrogression rather than an improvement in the cutting\nof the dies.\n\nFinally, music and dancing passed over in like manner from Hellas\nto Rome, solely in order to be there applied to the enhancement of\ndecorative luxury.  Such foreign arts were certainly not new in\nRome; the state had from olden time allowed Etruscan flute-players\nand dancers to appear at its festivals, and the freedmen and\nthe lowest class of the Roman people had previously followed\nthis trade.  But it was a novelty that Greek dances and musical\nperformances should form the regular accompaniment of a genteel\nbanquet.  Another novelty was a dancing-school, such as Scipio\nAemilianus full of indignation describes in one of his speeches,\nin which upwards of five hundred boys and girls--the dregs of the\npeople and the children of magistrates and of dignitaries mixed up\ntogether--received instruction from a ballet-master in far from\ndecorous castanet-dances, in corresponding songs, and in the use of\nthe proscribed Greek stringed instruments.  It was a novelty too--\nnot so much that a consular and -pontifex maximus- like Publius\nScaevola (consul in 621) should catch the balls in the circus as\nnimbly as he solved the most complicated questions of law at home--\nas that young Romans of rank should display their jockey-arts\nbefore all the people at the festal games of Sulla.  The government\noccasionally attempted to check such practices; as for instance in\n639, when all musical instruments, with the exception of the simple\nflute indigenous in Latium, were prohibited by the censors.\nBut Rome was no Sparta; the lax government by such prohibitions\nrather drew attention to the evils than attempted to remedy them\nby a sharp and consistent application of the laws.\n\nIf, in conclusion, we glance back at the picture as a whole which\nthe literature and art of Italy unfold to our view from the death\nof Ennius to the beginning of the Ciceronian age, we find in these\nrespects as compared with the preceding epoch a most decided\ndecline of productiveness.  The higher kinds of literature--such\nas epos, tragedy, history--have died out or have been arrested in\ntheir development.  The subordinate kinds--the translation and\nimitation of the intrigue-piece, the farce, the poetical and prose\nbrochure--alone are successful; in this last field of literature\nswept by the full hurricane of revolution we meet with the two men\nof greatest literary talent in this epoch, Gaius Gracchus and Gaius\nLucilius, who stand out amidst a number of more or less mediocre\nwriters just as in a similar epoch of French literature Courier\nand Beranger stand out amidst a multitude of pretentious nullities.\nIn the plastic and delineative arts likewise the production,\nalways weak, is now utterly null.  On the other hand the receptive\nenjoyment of art and literature flourished; as the Epigoni of\nthis period in the political field gathered in and used up the\ninheritance that fell to their fathers, we find them in this field\nalso as diligent frequenters of plays, as patrons of literature,\nas connoisseurs and still more as collectors in art.  The most\nhonourable aspect of this activity was its learned research,\nwhich put forth a native intellectual energy, more especially in\njurisprudence and in linguistic and antiquarian investigation.\nThe foundation of these sciences which properly falls within the\npresent epoch, and the first small beginnings of an imitation of\nthe Alexandrian hothouse poetry, already herald the approaching\nepoch of Roman Alexandrinism.  All the productions of the present\nepoch are smoother, more free from faults, more systematic than\nthe creations of the sixth century.  The literati and the friends\nof literature of this period not altogether unjustly looked down\non their predecessors as bungling novices: but while they ridiculed\nor censured the defective labours of these novices, the very men\nwho were the most gifted among them may have confessed to themselves\nthat the season of the nation's youth was past, and may have\never and anon perhaps felt in the still depths of the heart\na secret longing to stray once more in the delightful paths\nof youthful error.\n\n\n\nEnd of Volume IV\n\n\n\nNOTES FOR VOLUME IV\n\n\n\nChapter I\n\n1.  III. VII. The State of Culture in Spain.\n\n2.   Italica must have been intended by Scipio to be what was called in\nItaly forum et -conciliabulum civium Romanorum-; Aquae Sextiae in Gaul\nhad a similar origin afterwards.  The formation of transmarine burgess-\ncommunities only began at a later date with Carthage and Narbo: yet\nit is remarkable that Scipio already made a first step, in a certain\nsense, in that direction.\n\n3.  III. VII. Gracchus\n\n4.  The chronology of the war with Viriathus is far from being\nprecisely settled.  It is certain that the appearance of Viriathus\ndates from the conflict with Vetilius (Appian, Hisp. 61; Liv. lii.;\nOros. v. 4), and that he perished in 615 (Diod. Vat. p. 110, etc.);\nthe duration of his rule is reckoned at eight (Appian, Hisp. 63), ten\n(Justin, xliv. 2), eleven (Diodorus, p. 597), fifteen (Liv. liv.;\nEutrop. iv. 16; Oros. v. 4; Flor. i. 33), and twenty years (Vellei.\nii. 90).  The first estimate possesses some probability, because the\nappearance of Viriathus is connected both in Diodorus (p. 591; Vat.\np. 107, 108) and in Orosius (v. 4) with the destruction of Corinth.\nOf the Roman governors, with whom Viriathus fought, several undoubtedly\nbelong to the northern province; for though Viriathus was at work\nchiefly in the southern, he was not exclusively so (Liv. lii.);\nconsequently we must not calculate the number of the years of his\ngeneralship by the number of these names.\n\n5.  IV. I. Celtiberian War\n\n6.  III. VII. Massinissa\n\n7.  III. VI. Peace, III. VII. Carthage\n\n8.  The line of the coast has been in the course of centuries so\nmuch changed that the former local relations are but imperfectly\nrecognizable on the ancient site.  The name of the city is preserved\nby Cape Cartagena--also called from the saint's tomb found there\nRas Sidi bu Said--the eastern headland of the peninsula, projecting\ninto the gulf with its highest point rising to 393 feet above\nthe level of the sea.\n\n9.  The dimensions given by Beule (Fouilles a Carthage, 1861)\nare as follows in metres and in Greek feet (1=0.309 metre):--\n\nOuter wall                   2   metres = 6 1/2 feet.\nCorridor                     1.9 \"      = 6     \"\nFront wall of casemates      1   \"      = 3 1/4 \"\nCasemate rooms               4.2 \"      = 14    \"\nBack wall of casemates       1   \"      = 3 1/4 \"\n                         ------------------------\nWhole breadth of the walls  10.1 metres = 33    feet.\n\nOr, as Diodorus (p. 522) states it, 22 cubits (1 Greek cubit = 1 1/2\nfeet), while Livy (ap. Oros. iv.  22) and Appian (Pun. 95), who seem\nto have had before them another less accurate passage of Polybius,\nstate the breadth of the walls at 30 feet.  The triple wall of\nAppian--as to which a false idea has hitherto been diffused by\nFloras (i. 31)--denotes the outer wall, and the front and back walls\nof the casemates.  That this coincidence is not accidental, and that\nwe have here in reality the remains of the famed walls of Carthage\nbefore us, will be evident to every one: the objections of Davis\n(Carthage and her Remains, p. 370 et seq.) only show how little\neven the utmost zeal can adduce in opposition to the main results\nof Beule.  Only we must maintain that all the ancient authorities\ngive the statements of which we are now speaking with reference not\nto the citadel-wall, but to the city-wall on the landward side, of\nwhich the wall along the south side of the citadel-hill was an\nintegral part (Oros. iv. 22).  In accordance with this view, the\nexcavations at the citadel-hill on the east, north, and west, have\nshown no traces of fortifications, whereas on the south side they\nhave brought to light the very remains of this great wall.  There is\nno reason for regarding these as the remains of a separate\nfortification of the citadel distinct from the city wall; it may\nbe presumed that further excavations at a corresponding depth--the\nfoundation of the city wall discovered at the Byrsa lies fifty-six\nfeet beneath the present surface--will bring to light like, or at\nany rate analogous, foundations along the whole landward side,\nalthough it is probable that at the point where the walled suburb of\nMagalia rested on the main wall the fortification was either weaker\nfrom the first or was early neglected.  The length of the wall as a\nwhole cannot be stated with precision; but it must have been very\nconsiderable, for three hundred elephants were stabled there, and\nthe stores for their fodder and perhaps other spaces also as well as\nthe gates are to be taken into account.  It is easy to conceive how\nthe inner city, within the walls of which the Byrsa was included,\nshould, especially by way of contrast to the suburb of Magalia which\nhad its separate circumvallation, be sometimes itself called Byrsa\n(App. Pun. 117; Nepos, ap. Serv. Aen. i. 368).\n\n10.  Such is the height given by Appian, l. c.; Diodorus gives\nthe height, probably inclusive of the battlements, at 40 cubits\nor 60 feet.  The remnant preserved is still from 13 to 16 feet\n(4-5 metres) high.\n\n11.  The rooms of a horse-shoe shape brought to light in excavation\nhave a depth of 14, and a breadth of 11, Greek feet; the width of\nthe entrances is not specified.  Whether these dimensions and the\nproportions of the corridor suffice for our recognizing them\nas elephants' stalls, remains to be settled by a more accurate\ninvestigation.  The partition-walls, which separate the apartments,\nhave a thickness of 1.1 metre = 3 1/2 feet.\n\n12.  Oros. iv. 22.  Fully 2000 paces, or--as Polybius must have\nsaid--16 stadia, are=about 3000 metres.  The citadel-hill, on which\nthe church of St.  Louis now stands, measures at the top about 1400,\nhalf-way up about 2600, metres in circumference (Beule, p. 22); for\nthe circumference at the base that estimate will very well suffice.\n\n13.  It now bears the fort Goletta.\n\n14.  That this Phoenician word signifies a basin excavated in a\ncircular shape, is shown both by Diodorus (iii. 44), and by its\nbeing employed by the Greeks to denote a \"cup.\" It thus suits only\nthe inner harbour of Carthage, and in that sense it is used by Strabo\n(xvii. 2, 14, where it is strictly applied to the admiral's island)\nand Fest. Ep. v. -cothones-, p. 37.  Appian (Pun. 127) is not quite\naccurate in describing the rectangular harbour in front of the Cothon\nas part of it.\n\n15.  --Oios pepnutai, toi de skiai aissousin--.\n\n16.  III. III. Acquisition of Territory in Illyria, III. IX. Macedonia\n\n17.  III. X. Macedonia Broken Up\n\n18.  This road was known already by the author of the pseudo-\nAristotelian treatise De Mirabilibus as a commercial route between\nthe Adriatic and Black seas, viz.  As that along which the wine jars\nfrom Corcyra met halfway those from Thasos and <DW26>s.  Even now\nit runs substantially in the same direction from Durazzo, cutting\nthrough the mountains of Bagora (Candavian chain) near the lake\nof Ochrida (Lychnitis), by way of Monastir to Salonica.\n\n19.  III. X. Greek National Party\n\n20.  III. IX. The Achaeans\n\n21.  III. IX. The Achaeans\n\n22.  At Sabine townships, at Parma, and even at Italica in Spain\n(p. 214), several pediments marked with the name of Mummius have\nbeen brought to light, which once supported gifts forming part\nof the spoil.\n\n23.  III. III. Organization of the Provinces\n\n24.  III. VIII. Final Regulation of Greece\n\n25.  The question whether Greece did or did  not become  a Roman\nprovince in 608, virtually runs into a dispute about words.  It is\ncertain that the Greek communities throughout remained \"free\" (C. I.\nGr. 1543, 15; Caesar, B. C. iii. 5; Appian, Mithr. 58; Zonar. ix.\n31).  But it is no less certain that Greece was then \"taken possession\nof\" by the Romans (Tac. Ann. xiv. 21; 1 Maccab. viii. 9, 10); that\nthenceforth each community paid a fixed tribute to Rome (Pausan. vii.\n16, 6; comp. Cic. De Prov. Cons. 3, 5), the little island of Gyarus,\nfor instance, paying 150 --drachmae-- annually (Strabo, x. 485);\nthat the \"rods and axes\" of the Roman governor thenceforth ruled\nin Greece (Polyb. xxxviii. l. c.; comp. Cic. Verr. l. i. 21, 55),\nand that he thenceforth exercised the superintendence over the\nconstitutions of the cities (C. I. Gr. 1543), as well as in certain\ncases the criminal jurisdiction (C. I. Gr. 1543; Plut. Cim. 2), just\nas the senate had hitherto done; and that, lastly, the Macedonian\nprovincial era was also in use in Greece. Between these facts there\nis no inconsistency, or at any rate none further than is involved\nin the position of the free cities generally, which are spoken of\nsometimes as if excluded from the province (e. g. Sueton. Cats., 25;\nColum. xi. 3, 26), sometimes as assigned to it (e. g. Joseph. Ant.\nJud. xiv. 4, 4). The Roman domanial possessions in Greece were,\nno doubt, restricted to the territory of Corinth and possibly some\nportions of Euboea (C. I. Gr. 5879), and there were no subjects\nin the strict sense there at all; yet if we look to the relations\npractically subsisting between the Greek communities and the\nMacedonian governor, Greece may be reckoned as included in the\nprovince of Macedonia in the same manner as Massilia in the province\nof Narbo or Dyrrhachium in that of Macedonia. We find even cases\nthat go much further: Cisalpine Gaul consisted after 665 of mere\nburgess or Latin communities and was yet made a province by Sulla,\nand in the time of Caesar we meet with regions which consisted\nexclusively of burgess-communities and yet by no means ceased to\nbe provinces. In these cases the fundamental idea of the Roman\n-provinicia- comes out very clearly; it was primarily nothing but\na \"command,\" and all the administrative and judicial functions of\nthe commandant were originally collateral duties and corollaries\nof his military position.\n\nOn the other hand, if we look to the formal sovereignty of the free\ncommunities, it must be granted that the position of Greece was not\naltered in point of constitutional law by the events of 608. It was\na difference de facto rather than de jure, when instead of the Achaean\nleague the individual communities of Achaia now appeared by the side\nof Rome as tributary protected states, and when, after the erection\nof Macedonia as a separate Roman province, the latter relieved the\nauthorities of the capital of the superintendence over the Greek\nclient-states. Greece therefore may or may not be regarded as a part\nof the \"command\" of Macedonia, according as the practical or the\nformal point of view preponderates; but the preponderance is justly\nconceded to the former.\n\n26.  III. X. Intervention in the Syro-Egyptian War\n\n27.  A remarkable proof of this is found in the names employed to\ndesignate the fine bronze and copper wares of Greece, which in the time\nof Cicero were called indiscriminately \"Corinthian\" or \"Delian\" copper.\nTheir designation in Italy was naturally derived not from the places\nof manufacture but from those of export (Plin. H. N. xxxiv. 2, 9);\nalthough, of course, we do not mean to deny that similar vases were\nmanufactured in Corinth and Delos themselves.\n\n28.  III. X. Course Pursued with Pergamus\n\n29.  III. IX. Extension of the Kingdom of Pergamus\n\n30.  III. X. Course Pursued with Pergamus\n\n31.  Several letters recently brought to light (Munchener\nSitzungsberichte, 1860, p. 180 et seq.) from the kings Eumenes II,\nand Attalus II to the priest of Pessinus, who was uniformly called\nAttis (comp. Polyb. xxii. 20), very clearly illustrate these\nrelations.  The earliest of these and the only one with a date,\nwritten in the 34th year of the reign of Eumenes on the 7th day\nbefore the end of Gorpiaeus, and therefore in 590-1 u. c. offers to\nthe priest military aid in order to wrest from the Pesongi (not\notherwise known) temple-land occupied by them.  The following,\nlikewise from Eumenes, exhibits the king as a party in the feud\nbetween the priest of Pessinus and his brother Aiorix.  Beyond doubt\nboth acts of Eumenes were included among those which were reported at\nRome in 590 et seq. as attempts on his part to interfere further in\nGallic affairs, and to support his partisans in that quarter (Polyb.\nxxxi. 6, 9; xxxii. 3, 5).  On the other hand it is plain from one of\nthe letters of his successor Attalus that the times had changed and\nhis wishes had lowered their tone.  The priest Attis appears to have\nat a conference at Apamea obtained once more from Attalus the promise\nof armed assistance; but afterwards the king writes to him that in a\nstate council held for the purpose, at which Athenaeus (certainly the\nknown brother of the king), Sosander, Menogenes, Chlorus, and other\nrelatives (--anagkaioi--) had been present, after long hesitation the\nmajority had at length acceded to the opinion of Chlorus that nothing\nshould be done without previously consulting the Romans; for, even if\na success were obtained, they would expose themselves to its being lost\nagain, and to the evil suspicion \"which they had cherished also\nagainst his brother\" (Eumenes II.).\n\n32.  In the same testament the king gave to his city Pergamus\n\"freedom,\" that is the --demokratia--, urban self-government.\nAccording to the tenor of a remarkable document that has recently\nbeen found there (Staatsrecht, iii(3). p. 726) after the testament\nwas opened, but before its confirmation by the Romans, the Demos thus\nconstituted resolved to confer urban burgess-rights on the classes\nof the population  hitherto excluded  from  them, especially on the\n-paroeci- entered in the census and on the soldiers dwelling in town\nand country, including the Macedonians, in order thus to bring\nabout a good understanding among the whole population.  Evidently\nthe burgesses, in confronting the Romans with this comprehensive\nreconciliation as an accomplished fact, desired, before the Roman\nrule was properly introduced, to prepare themselves against it\nand to take away from the foreign rulers the possibility of using\nthe differences of rights within the population for breaking up\nits municipal freedom.\n\n33.  These strange \"Heliopolites\" may, according to the probable\nopinion which a friend has expressed to me, be accounted for by supposing\nthat the liberated slaves constituted themselves citizens of a town\nHeliopolis--not otherwise mentioned or perhaps having an existence\nmerely in imagination for the moment--which derived its name from\nthe God of the Sun so highly honoured in Syria.\n\n34.  III. IX. Extension of the Kingdom of Pergamus\n\n35.  III. IX. Extension of the Kingdom of Pergamus\n\n36.  III. IX. Extension of the Kingdom of Pergamus\n\n37.  III. X. Intervention in the Syro-Egyptian War\n\n38.  III. IX. Armenia\n\n39.  From him proceed the coins with the inscription \"Shekel\nIsrael,\" and the date of the \"holy Jerusalem,\" or the \"deliverance\nof Sion.\" The similar coins with the name of Simon, the prince\n(Nessi) of Israel, belong not to him, but to Bar-Cochba the leader\nof the insurgents in the time of Hadrian.\n\n40.  III. III. Illyrian Piracy\n\n41.  IV. I. New Organization of Spain\n\n42.  III. X. Intervention in the Syro-Egyptian War\n\n\n\nChapter II\n\n1.  In 537 the law restricting re-election to the consulship was\nsuspended during the continuance of the war in Italy, that is, down to\n551 (p. 14; Liv.  xxvii. 6).  But after the death of Marcellus in 546\nre-elections to the consulship, if we do not include the abdicating\nconsuls of 592, only occurred in the years 547, 554, 560, 579, 585, 586,\n591, 596, 599, 602; consequently not oftener in those fifty-six years\nthan, for instance, in the ten years 401-410.  Only one of these, and\nthat the very last, took place in violation of the ten years' interval\n(i.  402); and beyond doubt the singular election of Marcus Marcellus\nwho was consul in 588 and 599 to a third consulship in 602, with the\nspecial circumstances of which we are not acquainted, gave occasion to\nthe law prohibiting re-election to the consulship altogether (Liv.  Ep.\n56); especially as this proposal must have been introduced before 605,\nseeing that it was supported by Cato (p.  55, Jordan).\n\n2.  III. XI. The Nobility in Possession of the Equestrian Centuries\n\n3.  III. XI. Festivals\n\n4.  IV. I. General Results\n\n5.  III. XII. Results\n\n6.  I. XIII. Landed Proprietors\n\n7.  It was asserted even then, that the human race in that quarter\nwas pre-eminently fitted for slavery by its especial power of\nendurance.  Plautus (Trin.  542) commends the Syrians: -genus quod\npatientissitmum est hominum-.\n\n8.  III. XII. Rural Slaves ff., III. XII. Culture of Oil and Wine,\nand Rearing of Cattle\n\n9.  III. XII. Pastoral Husbandry\n\n10.  III. I. The Carthaginian Dominion in Africa\n\n11.  The hybrid Greek name for the workhouse (-ergastulum-, from\n--ergaszomai--, after the analogy of -stabulum-, -operculum-) is\nan indication that this mode of management came to the Romans from\na region where the Greek language was used, but at a period when\na thorough Hellenic culture was not yet attained.\n\n12.  III. VI. Guerilla War in Sicily\n\n13.  III. XII. Falling Off in the Population\n\n14.  IV. I. War against Aristonicus\n\n15.  IV. I. Cilicia\n\n16.  Even now there are not unfrequently found in front of\nCastrogiovanni, at the point where the ascent is least abrupt, Roman\nprojectiles with the name of the consul of 621: L. Piso L. f. cos.\n\n17.  II. III. Licinio-Sextian Laws\n\n18.  III. I. Capital and Its Power in Carthage\n\n19.  II. III. Influence of the Extension of the Roman Dominion in\nElevating the Farmer-Class\n\n20.  III. XI. Assignations of Land\n\n21.  II. II. Public Land\n\n22.  III. XII. Falling Off of the Population\n\n23.  IV. II. Permanent Criminal Commissions\n\n24.  III. XI. Position of the Governors\n\n25.  III. IX. Death of Scipio\n\n26.  III. XI. Reform of the Centuries\n\n27.  III. VII. Gracchus\n\n28.  IV. I. War against Aristonicus\n\n29.  IV. I. Mancinus\n\n30.  II. III. Licinio-Sextian Laws\n\n31.  II. III. Its Influence in Legislation\n\n32.  IV. I. War against Aristonicus\n\n33.  II. III. Attempts at Counter-Revolution\n\n34.  This fact, hitherto only partially known from Cicero (De L. Agr.\nii. 31. 82; comp.  Liv. xlii. 2, 19), is now more fully established\nby the fragments of Licinianus, p. 4.  The two accounts are to be\ncombined to this effect, that Lentulus ejected the possessors in\nconsideration of a compensatory sum fixed by him, but accomplished\nnothing with real landowners, as he was not entitled to dispossess\nthem and they would not consent to sell.\n\n35.  II. II. Agrarian Law of Spurius Cassius\n\n36.  III. XI. Rise of A City Rabble\n\n37.  III. IX. Nullity of the Comitia\n\n\n\nChapter III\n\n1.  IV. I. War against Aristonicus\n\n2.  IV. II. Ideas of Reform\n\n3.  III. VI. The African Expedition of Scipio\n\n4.  To this occasion belongs his oration -contra legem iudiciariam-\nTi. Gracchi--which we are to understand as referring not, as has been\nasserted, to a law as to the -indicia publica-, but to the supplementary\nlaw annexed to his agrarian rogation: -ut triumviri iudicarent-, qua\npublicus ager, qua privatus esset (Liv. Ep. lviii.; see IV. II.\nTribunate of Gracchus above).\n\n5.  IV. II. Vote by Ballot\n\n6.  The restriction, that the continuance should only be allowable if\nthere was a want of other qualified candidates (Appian, B. C. i. 21),\nwas not difficult of evasion. The law itself seems not to have belonged\nto the older regulations (Staatsrecht, i. 473), but to have been\nintroduced for the first time by the Gracchans.\n\n7.  Such are the words spoken on the announcement of his projects of\nlaw:--\"If I were to speak to you and ask of you--seeing that I am of\nnoble descent and have lost my brother on your account, and that there\nis now no survivor of the descendants of Publius Africanus and Tiberius\nGracchus excepting only myself and a boy--to allow me to take rest for\nthe present, in order that our stock may not be extirpated and that\nan offset of this family may still survive; you would perhaps readily\ngrant me such a request.\"\n\n8.  IV. III. Democratic Agitation under Carbo and Flaccus\n\n9.  III. XII. Results. Competition of Transmarine Corn\n\n10.  III. XII. Prices of Italian Corn\n\n11.  III. XI. Reform of the Centuries\n\n12.  IV. III. The Commission for Distributing the Domains\n\n13.  III. VII. The Romans Maintain A Standing Army in Spain\n\n14.  Thus the statement of Appian (Hisp. 78) that six years' service\nentitled a man to demand his discharge, may perhaps be reconciled with\nthe better known statement of Polybius (vi. 19), respecting which\nMarquardt (Handbuch, vi. 381) has formed a correct judgment. The time,\nat which the two alterations were introduced, cannot be determined\nfurther, than that the first was probably in existence as early as 603\n(Nitzsch, Gracchen, p. 231), and the second certainly as early as the\ntime of Polybius. That Gracchus reduced the number of the legal years of\nservice, seems to follow from Asconius in Cornel, p. 68; comp. Plutarch,\nTi. Gracch. 16; Dio, Fr. 83, 7, Bekk.\n\n15.  II. I. Right of Appeal; II. VIII. Changes in Procedure\n\n16.  III. XII. Moneyed Aristocracy\n\n17.  IV. II. Exclusion of the Senators from the Equestrian Centuries\n\n18.  III. XI. The Censorship A Prop of the Nobility\n\n19.  III. XI. Patricio-Plebeian Nobility, III. XI. Family Government\n\n20.  IV. I. Western Asia\n\n21.  That he, and not Tiberius, was the author of this law, now appears\nfrom Fronto in the letters to Verus, init. Comp. Gracchus ap. Gell. xi.\n10; Cic. de. Rep. iii. 29, and Verr. iii. 6, 12; Vellei. ii. 6.\n\n22.  IV. III. Modifications of the Penal Law\n\n23.  We still possess a great portion of the new judicial ordinance--\nprimarily occasioned by this alteration in the personnel of the judges--\nfor the standing commission regarding extortion; it is known under the\nname of the Servilian, or rather Acilian, law -de repetundis-.\n\n24.  This and the law -ne quis iudicio circumveniatur- may\nhave been identical.\n\n25.  A considerable fragment of a speech of Gracchus, still extant,\nrelates to this trafficking about the possession of Phrygia, which after\nthe annexation of the kingdom of Attalus was offered for sale by Manius\nAquillius to the kings of Bithynia and of Pontus, and was bought by the\nlatter as the highest bidder.(p. 280) In this speech he observes that\nno senator troubled himself about public affairs for nothing, and adds\nthat with reference to the law under discussion (as to the bestowal\nof Phrygia on king Mithradates) the senate was divisible into three\nclasses, viz. Those who were in favour of it, those who were against it,\nand those who were silent: that the first were bribed by kingMithra dates,\nthe second by king Nicomedes, while the third were the most cunning,\nfor they accepted money from the envoys of both kings and made each\nparty believe that they were silent in its interest.\n\n26.  IV. III. Democratic Agitation under Carbo and Flaccus\n\n27.  IV. II. Tribunate of Gracchus\n\n28.  II. II. Legislation\n\n29.  II. III. Political Abolition of the Patriciate\n\n\n\nChapter IV\n\n1.  IV. III. Democratic Agitation under Carbo and Flaccus\n\n2.  IV. II. Tribunate of Gracchus\n\n3.  It is in great part still extant and known under the erroneous\nname, which has now been handed down for three hundred years,\nof the Thorian agrarian law.\n\n4.  II. VII. Attempts at Peace\n\n5.  II. VII. Attempts at Peace\n\n6.  This is apparent, as is well known, from the further course of\nevents. In opposition to this view stress has been laid on the fact\nthat in Valerius Maximus, vi. 9, 13, Quintus Caepio is called patron\nof the senate; but on the one hand this does not prove enough, and on\nthe other hand what is there narrated does not at all suit the consul\nof 648, so that there must be an error either in the name or in\nthe facts reported.\n\n7.  It is assumed in many quarters that the establishment of the\nprovince of Cilicia only took place after the Cilician expedition of\nPublius Servilius in 676 et seq., but erroneously; for as early as 662\nwe find Sulla (Appian, Mithr. 57; B. C. i. 77; Victor, 75), and in\n674, 675, Gnaeus Dolabella (Cic. Verr. i. 1, 16, 44) as governors of\nCilicia--which leaves no alternative but to place the establishment of\nthe province in 652. This view is further supported by the fact that\nat this time the expeditions of the Romans against the corsairs--e. g.\nthe Balearic, Ligurian, and Dalmatian expeditions--appear to have been\nregularly directed to the occupation of the points of the coast whence\npiracy issued; and this was natural, for, as the Romans had no standing\nfleet, the only means of effectually checking piracy was the occupation\nof the coasts. It is to be remembered, moreover, that the idea of a\n-provincia- did not absolutely involve possession of the country, but\nin itself implied no more than an independent military command; it is\nvery possible, that the Romans in the first instance occupied nothing in\nthis rugged country save stations for their vessels and troops.\n\nThe plain of eastern Cilicia remained down to the war against Tigranes\nattached to the Syrian empire (Appian, Syr. 48); the districts to\nthe north of the Taurus formerly reckoned as belonging to Cilicia--\nCappadocian Cilicia, as it was called, and Cataonia--belonged to\nCappadocia, the former from the time of the breaking up of the kingdom\nof Attalus (Justin, xxxvii. 1; see above, IV. I. War against Aristonicus),\nthe latter probably even from the time of the peace with Antiochus.\n\n8.  IV. II. Insurrections of the Slaves\n\n9.  III. VII. Numidians\n\n10.  IV. I The Siege\n\n11.  The following table exhibits the genealogy of the Numidian princes:--\n\nMassinissa\n516-605\n(238-149)\n------------------------------------------------------\nMicipsa                        Gulussa      Mastanabal\nd. 636                         d. bef. 636  d. bef. 636\n(118)                          (118)        (118)\n----------------------------   -------     ---------------------\nAdherbal Hiempsal I  Micipsa   Massiva     Gauda        Jugurtha\nd. 642   d. c. 637   (Diod.    d. 643      d.bef. 666   d. 650\n(112)    (117)       p. 607)   (111)       (88)         (104)\n                                           -----------  -------\n                                           Hiempsal II  Oxyntas\n                                           ------\n                                           Juba I\n                                           -------\n                                           Juba II\n\n12.  In the exciting and clever description of this war by Sallust\nthe chronology has been unduly neglected. The war terminated in the\nsummer of 649 (c. 114); if therefore Marius began his management\nof the war as consul in 647, he held the command there in three\ncampaigns. But the narrative describes only two, and rightly so.\nFor, just as Metellus to all appearance went to Africa as early as 645,\nbut, since he arrived late (c. 37, 44), and the reorganization of the\narmy cost time (c. 44), only began his operations in the following\nyear, in like manner Marius, who was likewise detained for a\nconsiderable time in Italy by his military preparations (c. 84),\nentered on the chief command either as consul in 647 late in the\nseason and after the close of the campaign, or only as proconsul in\n648; so that the two campaigns of Metellus thus fall in 646, 647, and\nthose of Marius in 648, 649. It is in keeping with this that Metellus\ndid not triumph till the year 648 (Eph. epigr. iv. p. 277). With this\nview the circumstance also very well accords, that the battle on the\nMuthul and the siege of Zama must, from the relation in which they\nstand to Marius' candidature for the consulship, be necessarily\nplaced in 646. In no case can the author be pronounced free from\ninaccuracies; Marius, for instance, is even spoken of by him\nas consul in 649.\n\nThe prolongation of the command of Metellus, which Sallust reports\n(lxii. 10), can in accordance with the place at which it stands only\nrefer to the year 647; when in the summer of 646 on the footing of the\nSempronian law the provinces of the consuls to be elected for 647 were\nto be fixed, the senate destined two other provinces and thus left\nNumidia to Metellus. This resolve of the senate was overturned by\nthe plebiscitum mentioned at lxxii. 7. The following words which are\ntransmitted to us defectively in the best manuscripts of both families,\n-sed paulo... decreverat; ea res frustra fuit,- must either have named\nthe provinces destined for the consuls by the senate, possibly -sed\npaulo [ante ut consulibus Italia et Gallia provinciae essent senatus]\ndecreverat- or have run according to the way of filling up the\npassage in the ordinary manuscripts; -sed paulo [ante senatus\nMetello Numidiam] decreverat-.\n\n13.  Now Beja on the Mejerdah.\n\n14.  The locality has not been discovered. The earlier supposition\nthat Thelepte (near Feriana, to the northward of Capsa) was meant, is\narbitrary; and the identification with a locality still at the present\nday named Thala to the east of Capsa is not duly made out.\n\n15.  Sallust's political genre-painting of the Jugurthine war--the\nonly picture that has preserved its colours fresh in the otherwise\nutterly faded and blanched tradition of this epoch--closes with the\nfall of Jugurtha, faithful to its style of composition, poetical, not\nhistorical; nor does there elsewhere exist any connected account of\nthe treatment of the Numidian kingdom. That Gauda became Jugurtha's\nsuccessor is indicated by Sallust, c. 65 and Dio. Fr. 79, 4, Bekk.,\nand confirmed by an inscription of Carthagena (Orell. 630), which\ncalls him king and father of Hiempsal II. That on the east the\nfrontier relations subsisting between Numidia on the one hand and\nRoman Africa and Cyrene on the other remained unchanged, is shown by\nCaesar (B. C. ii. 38; B. Afr. 43, 77) and by the later provincial\nconstitution. On the other hand the nature of the case implied, and\nSallust (c. 97, 102, 111) indicates, that the kingdom of Bocchus was\nconsiderably enlarged; with which is undoubtedly connected the fact,\nthat Mauretania, originally restricted to the region of Tingis\n(Morocco), afterwards extended to the region of Caesarea (province\nof Algiers) and to that of Sitifis (western half of the province of\nConstantine). As Mauretania was twice enlarged by the Romans, first\nin 649 after the surrender of Jugurtha, and then in 708 after the\nbreaking up of the Numidian kingdom, it is probable that the\nregion of Caesarea was added on the first, and that of Sitifis\non the second augmentation.\n\n16.  III. VIII. Interference of the Community with the Finances\n\n\n\nChapter V\n\n1.  If Cicero has not allowed himself to fall into an anachronism\nwhen he makes Africanus say this as early as 625 (de Rep. iii. 9),\nthe view indicated in the text remains perhaps the only possible one.\nThis enactment did not refer to Northern Italy and Liguria, as the\ncultivation of the vine by the Genuates in 637 (III. XII. Culture Of\nOil and Wine, and Rearing of Cattle, note) proves; and as little to\nthe immediate territory of Massilia (Just. xliii 4; Posidon. Fr. 25,\nMull.; Strabo, iv. 179).  The large export of wine and oil from\nItaly to the region of the Rhone in the seventh century of the\ncity is well known.\n\n2.  In Auvergne.  Their capital, Nemetum or Nemossus, lay not\nfar from Clermont.\n\n3.  The battle at Vindalium is placed by the epitomator of Livy and by\nOrosius before that on the Isara; but the reverse order is supported by\nFloras and Strabo (iv. 191), and is confirmed partly by the circumstance\nthat Maximus, according to the epitome of Livy and Pliny, H. N. vii. 50,\nconquered the Gauls when consul, partly and especially by the Capitoline\nFasti, according to which Maximus not only triumphed before Ahenobarbus,\nbut the former triumphed over the Allobroges and the king of the Arverni,\nthe latter only over the Arverni.  It is clear that the battle with\nthe Allobroges and Arverni must have taken place earlier than that\nwith the Arverni alone.\n\n4.  Aquae was not a colony, as Livy says (Ep. 61), but a -castellum-\n(Strabo, iv. 180; Velleius, i. 15; Madvig, Opusc. i. 303).  The same\nholds true of Italica (p. 214), and of many other places--Vindonissa,\nfor instance, never was in law anything else than a Celtic village,\nbut was withal a fortified Roman camp, and a township of very\nconsiderable importance.\n\n5.  III. VII. Measures Adopted to Check the Immigrations of\nthe Transalpine Gauls\n\n6.  III. III. Expedition against Scodra\n\n7.  III. III. Impression in Greece and Macedonia\n\n8.  III. X. Humiliation of the Greeks in General\n\n9.  IV. I. Province of Macedonia. the Pirustae in the valleys of\nthe Drin belonged to the province of Macedonia, but made forays\ninto the neighbouring Illyricum (Caesar, B. G. v. 1).\n\n10.  II. IV. the Celts Assail the Etruscans in Northern Italy\n\n11.  \"The Helvetii dwelt,\" Tacitus says (Germ. 28), \"between the\nHercynian Forest (i. e. here probably the Rauhe Alp), the Rhine, and\nthe Main; the Boii farther on.\"  Posidonius also (ap. Strab. vii. 293)\nstates that the Boii, at the time when they repulsed the Cimbri,\ninhabited the Hercynian Forest, i. e. the mountains from the Rauhe\nAlp to the Bohmerwald The circumstance that Caesar transplants them\n\"beyond the Rhine\" (B. G. i. 5) is by no means inconsistent with this,\nfor, as he there speaks from the Helvetian point of view, he may very\nwell mean the country to the north-east of the lake of Constance; which\nquite accords with the fact, that Strabo (vii. 292) describes the former\nBoian country as bordering on the lake of Constance, except that he is\nnot quite accurate in naming along with them the Vindelici as dwelling\nby the lake of Constance, for the latter only established themselves\nthere after the Boii had evacuated these districts.  From these seats\nof theirs the Boii were dispossessed by the Marcomani and other\nGermanic tribes even before the time of Posidonius, consequently\nbefore 650; detached portions of them in Caesar's time roamed about\nin Carinthia (B. G. i. 5), and came thence to the Helvetii and into\nwestern Gaul; another swarm found new settlements on the Plattensee,\nwhere it was annihilated by the Getae; but the district--the \"Boian\ndesert,\" as it was called--preserved the name of this the most harassed\nof all the Celtic peoples (III. VII. Colonizing of The Region South\nof The Po, note).\n\n12.  They are called in the Triumphal Fasti -Galli Karni-; and in Victor\n-Ligures Taurisci- (for such should be the reading instead of the\nreceived -Ligures et Caurisci-).\n\n13.  The quaestor of Macedonia M. Annius P. f., to whom the town of\nLete (Aivati four leagues to the north-west of Thessalonica) erected\nin the year 29 of the province and 636 of the city this memorial stone\n(Dittenberger, Syll. 247), is not otherwise known; the praetor Sex.\nPompeius whose fall is mentioned in it can be no other than the\ngrandfather of the Pompeius with whom Caesar fought and the brother-in-\nlaw of the poet Lucilius.  The enemy are designated as --Galaton\nethnos--.  It is brought into prominence that Annius in order to spare\nthe provincials omitted to call out their contingents and repelled the\nbarbarians with the Roman troops alone.  To all appearance Macedonia\neven at that time required a de facto standing Roman garrison.\n\n14.  If Quintus Fabius Maximus Eburnus consul in 638 went to Macedonia\n(C. I. Gr. 1534; Zumpt, Comm. Epigr. ii. 167), he too must have\nsuffered a misfortune there, since Cicero, in Pison. 16, 38, says:\n-ex (Macedonia) aliquot praetorio imperio, consulari quidem nemo rediit,\nqui incolumis fuerit, quin triumpharit-; for the triumphal list, which\nis complete for this epoch, knows only the three Macedonian triumphs\nof Metellus in 643, of Drusus in 644, and of Minucius in 648.\n\n15.  As, according to Frontinus (ii. 43), Velleius and Eutropius, the\ntribe conquered by Minucius was the Scordisci, it can only be through\nan error on the part of Florus that he mentions the Hebrus (the Maritza)\ninstead of the Margus (Morava).\n\n16.  This annihilation of the Scordisci, while the Maedi and Dardani\nwere admitted to treaty, is reported by Appian (Illyr. 5), and in fact\nthence forth the Scordisci disappear from this region.  If the final\nsubjugation took place in the 32nd year --apo teis proteis es Keltous\npeiras--, it would seem that this must be understood of a thirty-two\nyears' war between the Romans and the Scordisci, the commencement of\nwhich presumably falls not long after the constituting of the province\nof Macedonia (608) and of which the incidents in arms above recorded,\n636-647, are a part.  It is obvious from Appian's narrative that the\nconquest ensued shortly before the outbreak of the Italian civil wars,\nand so probably at the latest in 663.  It falls between 650 and 656,\nif a triumph followed it, for the triumphal list before and after is\ncomplete; it is possible however that for some reason there was no\ntriumph.  The victor is not further known; perhaps it was no other than\nthe consul of the year 671; since the latter may well have been late\nin attaining the consulate in consequence of the Cinnan-Marian troubles.\n\n17.  The account that large tracts on the coasts of the North Sea\nhad been torn away by inundations, and that this had occasioned the\nmigration of the Cimbri in a body (Strabo, vii. 293), does not indeed\nappear to us fabulous, as it seemed to those who recorded it; but\nwhether it was based on tradition or on conjecture, cannot be decided.\n\n18.  III. VII. Measures Adopted to Check the Immigrations of\nthe Transalpine Gauls\n\n19.  IV. III. Modifications of the Penal Law\n\n20.  The usual hypothesis, that the Tougeni and Tigorini had advanced\nat the same time with the Cimbri into Gaul, cannot be supported by\nStrabo (vii. 293), and is little in harmony with the separate part acted\nby the Helvetii.  Our traditional accounts of this war are, besides, so\nfragmentary that, just as in the case of the Samnite wars, a connected\nhistorical narration can only lay claim to approximate accuracy.\n\n21.  To this, beyond doubt, the fragment of Diodorus (Vat. p. 122)\nrelates.\n\n22.  IV. IV. The Proletariate and Equestrian Order under the Restoration\n\n23.  The deposition from office of the proconsul Caepio, with which was\ncombined the confiscation of his property (Liv. Ep. 67), was probably\npronounced by the assembly of the people immediately after the battle\nof Arausio (6th October 649).  That some time elapsed between the\ndeposition and his proper downfall, is clearly shown by the proposal\nmade in 650, and aimed at Caepio, that deposition from office should\ninvolve the forfeiture of a seat in the senate (Asconius in Cornel,\np. 78).  The fragments of Licinianus (p. 10; -Cn. Manilius ob eandem\ncausam quam et Caepio L. Saturnini rogatione e civitate est cito [?]\neiectus-; which clears up the allusion in Cic. de Or. ii. 28, 125) now\ninform us that a law proposed by Lucius Appuleius Saturninus brought\nabout this catastrophe.  This is evidently no other than the Appuleian\nlaw as to the -minuta maiestas- of the Roman state (Cic. de Or. ii.\n25, 107; 49, 201), or, as its tenor was already formerly explained\n(ii. p. 143 of the first edition [of the German]), the proposal of\nSaturninus for the appointment of an extraordinary commission to\ninvestigate the treasons that had taken place during the Cimbrian\ntroubles.  The commission of inquiry as to the gold of Tolosa\n(Cic. de N. D. iii. 30, 74) arose in quite a similar way out of\nthe Appuleian law, as the special courts of inquiry--further mentioned\nin that passage--as to a scandalous bribery of judges out of the Mucian\nlaw of 613, as to the occurrences with the Vestals out of the Peducaean\nlaw of 641, and as to the Jugurthine war out of the Mamilian law of 644.\nA comparison of these cases also shows that in such special\ncommissions--different in this respect from the ordinary ones--even\npunishments affecting life and limb might be and were inflicted.  If\nelsewhere the tribune of the people, Gaius Norbanus, is named as the\nperson who set agoing the proceedings against Caepio and was afterwards\nbrought to trial for doing so (Cic. de Or. ii. 40, 167; 48, 199; 49, 200;\nOr. Part. 30, 105, et al.), this is not inconsistent with the view\ngiven above; for the proposal proceeded as usual from several tribunes\nof the people (ad Herenn. i. 14, 24; Cic. de Or. ii. 47, 197), and,\nas Saturninus was already dead when the aristocratic party was in a\nposition to think of retaliation, they fastened on his colleague.\nAs to the period of this second and final condemnation of Caepio,\nthe usual very inconsiderate hypothesis, which places it in 659,\nten years after the battle of Arausio, has been already rejected.\nIt rests simply on the fact that Crassus when consul, consequently\nin 659, spoke in favour of Caepio (Cic. Brut. 44, 162); which, however,\nhe manifestly did not as his advocate, but on the occasion when\nNorbanus was brought to account by Publius Sulpicius Rufus for his\nconduct toward Caepio in 659.  Formerly the year 650 was assumed for\nthis second accusation; now that we know that it originated from a\nproposal of Saturninus, we can only hesitate between 651, when he was\ntribune of the people for the first time (Plutarch, Mar. 14; Oros,\nv. 17; App. i. 28; Diodor. p. 608, 631), and 654, when he held that\noffice a second time.  There are not materials for deciding the point\nwith entire certainty, but the great preponderance of probability is\nin favour of the former year; partly because it was nearer to the\ndisastrous events in Gaul, partly because in the tolerably full\naccounts of the second tribunate of Saturninus there is no mention\nof Quintus Caepio the father and the acts of violence directed against\nhim.  The circumstance, that the sums paid back to the treasury in\nconsequence of the verdicts as to the embezzlement of the Tolosan\nbooty were claimed by Saturninus in his second tribunate for his\nschemes of colonization (De Viris Ill. 73, 5, and thereon Orelli,\nInd. Legg. p. 137), is not in itself decisive, and may, moreover,\nhave been easily transferred by mistake from the first African to\nthe second general agrarian law of Saturninus.\n\nThe fact that afterwards, when Norbanus was impeached, his impeachment\nproceeded on the very ground of the law which he had taken part in\nsuggesting, was an ironical incident common in the Roman political\nprocedure of this period (Cic. Brut. 89, 305) and should not mislead\nus into the belief that the Appuleian law was, like the later\nCornelian, a general law of high treason.\n\n24.  The view here presented rests in the main on the comparatively\ntrustworthy account in the Epitome of Livy (where we should read\n-reversi in Gallium in Vellocassis se Teutonis coniunxerunt) and in\nObsequens; to the disregard of authorities of lesser weight, which\nmake the Teutones appear by the side of the Cimbri at an earlier date,\nsome of them, such as Appian, Celt. 13, even as early as the battle of\nNoreia.  With these we connect the notices in Caesar (B. G. i. 33; ii.\n4, 29); as the invasion of the Roman province and of Italy by the Cimbri\ncan only mean the expedition of 652.\n\n25.  It is injudicious to deviate from the traditional account\nand to transfer the field of battle to Verona: in so doing the fact\nis overlooked that a whole winter and various movements of troops\nintervened between the conflicts on the Adige and the decisive\nengagement, and that Catulus, according to express statement (Plut. Mar.\n24), had retreated as far as the right bank of the Po.  The statements\nthat the Cimbri were defeated on the Po (Hier. Chron.), and that they\nwere defeated where Stilicho afterwards defeated the Getae, i. e. at\nCherasco on the Tanaro, although both inaccurate, point at least to\nVercellae much rather than to Verona.\n\n\n\nChapter VI\n\n1.  IV. IV. The Domain Question under the Restoration\n\n2.  I. VI. The Servian Constitution, II. III. Its Composition\n\n3.  III. XI. Reforms in the Military Service\n\n4. III. XI. The Nobility in Possession of the Equestrian Centuries\n\n5.  IV. IV. Treaty between Rome and Numidia\n\n6.  IV. V. Warfare of Prosecutions\n\n7.  It is not possible to distinguish exactly what belongs to the first\nand what to the second tribunate of Saturninus; the more especially,\nas in both he evidently followed out the same Gracchan tendencies.\nThe African agrarian law is definitely placed by the treatise De Viris Ill.\n73, 1 in 651; and this date accords with the termination, which had\ntaken place just shortly before, of the Jugurthine war.  The second\nagrarian law belongs beyond doubt to 654.  The treason-law and the corn-\nlaw have been only conjecturally placed, the former in 651 (p. 442\nnote), the latter in 654.\n\n8.  All indications point to this conclusion.  The elder Quintus Caepio\nwas consul in 648, the younger quaestor in 651 or 654, the former\nconsequently was born about or before 605, the latter about 624 or 627.\nThe fact that the former died without leaving sons (Strabo, iv. 188) is\nnot inconsistent with this view, for the younger Caepio fell in 664,\nand the elder, who ended his life in exile at Smyrna, may very well\nhave survived him.\n\n9.  IV. IV. Treaty between Rome and Numidia\n\n10.  IV. V. Warfare of Prosecutions\n\n11.  IV. IV. Rival Demagogism of the Senate.  The Livian Laws\n\n12.  IV. V. And Reach the Danube\n\n13.  IV. IV. Administration under the Restoration\n\n14.  IV. VI. Collision between the Senate and Equites in\nthe Administration of the Provinces\n\n\n\nChapter VII\n\n1.  IV. III. Modifications of the Penal Law\n\n2.  I. VII. Relation of Rome to Latium, II. V. As to the Officering\nof the Army\n\n3.  II. VII. Furnishing of Contingents; III. XI. Latins\n\n4.  III. XI. Roman Franchise More Difficult of Acquisition\n\n5.  III. XI. Roman Franchise More Difficult of Acquisition\n\n6.  IV. III. Democratic Agitation under Carbo and Flaccus,\nIV. III. Overthrow of Gracchus\n\n7.  These figures are taken from the numbers of the census of 639 and\n684; there were in the former year 394, 336 burgesses capable of bearing\narms, in the latter 910,000 (according to Phlegon Fr. 12 Mull., which\nstatement Clinton and his copyists erroneously refer to the census of\n668; according to Liv. Ep. 98 the number was--by the correct reading--\n900,000 persons).  The only figures known between these two--those of\nthe census of 668, which according to Hieronymus gave 463,000 persons--\nprobably turned out so low only because the census took place amidst\nthe crisis of the revolution.  As an increase of the population of Italy\nis not conceivable in the period from 639 to 684, and even the Sullan\nassignations of land can at the most have but filled the gaps which the\nwar had made, the surplus of fully 500,000 men capable of bearing arms\nmay be referred with certainty to the reception of the allies which had\ntaken place in the interval.  But it is possible, and even probable,\nthat in these fateful years the total amount of the Italian population\nmay have retrograded rather than advanced: if we reckon the total\ndeficit at 100,000 men capable of bearing arms, which seems not\nexcessive, there were at the time of the Social War in Italy three non-\nburgesses for two burgesses.\n\n8.  The form of oath is preserved (in Diodor. Vat. p. 116); it runs\nthus: \"I swear by the Capitoline Jupiter and by the Roman Vesta and by\nthe hereditary Mars and by the generative Sun and by the nourishing\nEarth and by the divine founders and enlargers (the Penates) of the City\nof Rome, that he shall be my friend and he shall be my foe who is friend\nor foe to Drusus; also that I will spare neither mine own life nor the\nlife of my children or of my parents, except in so far as it is for the\ngood of Drusus and those who share this oath.  But if I should become a\nburgess by the law of Drusus, I will esteem Rome as my home and Drusus\nas the greatest of my benefactors.  I shall tender this oath to as many\nof my fellow-citizens as I can; and if I swear truly, may it fare with\nme well; if I swear falsely, may it fare with me ill.\" But we shall do\nwell to employ this account with caution; it is derived either from\nthe speeches delivered against Drusus by Philippus (which seems to\nbe indicated by the absurd title \"oath of Philippus\" prefixed by the\nextractor of the formula) or at best from the documents of criminal\nprocedure subsequently drawn up respecting this conspiracy in Rome; and\neven on the latter hypothesis it remains questionable, whether this form\nof oath was elicited from the accused or imputed to them in the inquiry.\n\n9.  II. VII. Dissolution of National Leagues\n\n10.  IV. VI. Discussions on the Livian Laws\n\n11.  IV. IV. Dissatisfaction in the Capital, IV. V. Warfare\nof Prosecutions\n\n12.  Even from our scanty information, the best part of which is\ngiven by Diodorus, p. 538 and Strabo, v. 4, 2, this is very distinctly\napparent; for example, the latter expressly says that the burgess-body\nchose the magistrates.  That the senate of Italia was meant to be formed\nin another manner and to have different powers from that of Rome,\nhas been asserted, but has not been proved.  Of course in its first\ncomposition care would be taken to have a representation in some degree\nuniform of the insurgent cities; but that the senators were to be\nregularly deputed by the communities, is nowhere stated.  As little\ndoes the commission given to the senate to draw up a constitution exclude\nits promulgation by the magistrates and ratification by the assembly\nof the people.\n\n13.  The bullets found at Asculum show that the Gauls were very\nnumerousalso in the army of Strabo.\n\n14.  We still have a decree of the Roman senate of 22 May 676, which\ngrants honours and advantages on their discharge to three Greek ship-\ncaptains of Carystus, Clazomenae, and Miletus for faithful services\nrenderedsince the commencement of the Italian war (664).  Of the same\nnature is the account of Memnon, that two triremes were summoned from\nHeraclea on the Black Sea for the Italian war, and that they returned\nin the eleventh year with rich honorary gifts.\n\n15.  That this statement of Appian is not exaggerated, is shown\nby the bullets found at Asculum which name among others the\nfifteenth legion.\n\n16.  The Julian law must have been passed in the last months of 664,\nfor during the good season of the year Caesar was in the field;\nthe Plautian was probably passed, as was ordinarily the rule with\ntribunician proposals, immediately after the tribunes entered on office,\nconsequently in Dec. 664 or Jan. 665.\n\n17.  Leaden bullets with the name of the legion which threw them, and\nsometimes with curses against the \"runaway slaves\"--and accordingly\nRoman--or with the inscription \"hit the Picentes\" or \"hit Pompeius\"--\nthe former Roman, the latter Italian--are even now sometimes found,\nbelonging to that period, in the region of Ascoli.\n\n18.  The rare -denarii- with -Safinim- and -G. Mutil- in Oscan\ncharacters must belong to this period; for, as long as the designation\n-Italia- was retained by the insurgents, no single canton could, as a\nsovereign power, coin money with its own name.\n\n19.  I. VII. Servian Wall\n\n20.  Licinianus (p. 15) under the year 667 says: -dediticiis omnibus\n[ci]vita[s] data; qui polliciti mult[a] milia militum vix XV... cohortes\nmiserunt-; a statement in which Livy's account (Epit. 80): -Italicis\npopulis a senatu civitas data est- reappears in a somewhat more precise\nshape.  The -dediticii- were according to Roman state-law those\n-peregrini liberi- (Gaius i. 13-15, 25, Ulp. xx. 14, xxii. 2) who\nhad become subject to the Romans and had not been admitted to alliance.\nThey not merely retain life, liberty, and property, but may be formed\ninto communities with a constitution of their own. --Apolides--,\n-nullius certae civitatis cives- (Ulp. xx. 14; comp. Dig. xlviii. 19, 17,\ni), were only the freedmen placed by legal fiction on the same footing\nwith the -dediticii qui dediticiorum numero sunt-, only by erroneous\nusage and rarely by the better authors called directly -dediticii-; (Gai.\ni. 12, Ulp. i. 14, Paul. iv. 12, 6) as well as the kindred -liberti\nLatini Iuniani-.  But the -dediticii-nevertheless were destitute of\nrights as respected the Roman state, in so far as by Roman state-law\nevery -deditio- was necessarily unconditional (Polyb, xxi. 1; comp. xx.\n9, 10, xxxvi. 2) and all the privileges expressly or tacitly conceded to\nthem were conceded only -precario- and therefore revocable at pleasure\n(Appian, Hisp. 44); so that the Roman state, what ever it might\nimmediately or afterwards decree regarding its -dediticii-, could never\nperpetrate as respected them a violation of rights.  This destitution of\nrights only ceased on the conclusion of a treaty of alliance (Liv.\nxxxiv. 57).  Accordingly -deditio- and -foedus- appear in constitutional\nlaw as contrasted terms excluding each other (Liv. iv. 30, xxviii. 34;\nCod. Theod. vii. 13, 16 and Gothofr. thereon), and of precisely the same\nnature is the distinction current among the jurists between the -quasi-\ndediticii- and the -quasi Latini-, for the Latins are just the\n-foederati- in an eminent sense (Cic. pro Balb. 24, 54).\n\nAccording to the older constitutional law there were, with the exception\nof the not numerous communities that were declared to have forfeited\ntheir treaties in consequence of the Hannibalic war (p. 24), no Italian\n-dediticii-; in the Plautian law of 664-5 the description: -qui\nfoederatis civitatibus adscripti fuerunt- (Cic. pro Arch. 4, 7)\nstill included in substance all Italians.  But as the -dediticii-\nwho received the franchise supplementary in 667 cannot reasonably\nbe understood as embracing merely the Bruttii and Picentes, we may\nassume that all the insurgents, so far as they had laid down their\narms and had not acquired the franchise under the Plautio-Papirian\nlaw were treated as -dediticii-, or--which is the same thing--\nthat their treaties cancelled as a matter of course by the insurrection\n(hence -qui foederati fuerunt- in the passage of Cicero cited) were\nnot legally renewed to them on their surrender.\n\n21.  II. III. Laws Imposing Taxes\n\n22.  IV. VI. The Equestrian Party\n\n23.  II. XI. Squandering of the Spoil\n\n24.  It is not clear, what the -lex unciaria- of the consuls Sulla and\nRufus in the year 666 prescribed in this respect; but the simplest\nhypothesis is that which regards it as a renewal of the law of 397 (i.\n364), so that the highest allowable rate of interest was again 1 1/12th\nof the capital for the year of ten months or 10 per cent for the year\nof twelve months.\n\n25.  III. XI. Reform of the Centuries\n\n26.  II. III. Powers of the Senate\n\n27.  IV. II. Death of Gracchus, IV. III. Attack on The Transmarine\nColonization.  Downfall of Gracchus, IV. VI. Saturninus Assailed\n\n28.  II. III. The Tribunate of the People As an Instrument of Government\n\n\n\nChapter VIII\n\n1.  IV. VIII. Occupation of Cilicia\n\n2.  III. IX. Armenia\n\n3.  IV. I. Western Asia\n\n4.  The words quoted as Phrygian --Bagaios-- = Zeus and the old\nroyal name --Manis-- have been beyond doubt correctly referred to\nthe Zend -bagha- = God and the Germanic -Mannus-, Indian -Manus-\n(Lassen, -Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenland-.  Gesellschaft,\nvol. x. p. 329 f.).\n\n5.  They are here grouped together, because, though they were in\npart doubtless not executed till between the first and the second\nwar with Rome, they to some extent preceded even the first (Memn.\n30; Justin, xxxviii. 7 ap. fin.; App. Mithr. 13; Eutrop. v. 5) and\na narrative in chronological order is in this case absolutely\nimpracticable.  Even the recently found decree of Chersonesus\n(p. 17) has given no information in this respect According to it\nDiophantus was twice sent against the Taurian Scythians; but that\nthe second insurrection of these is connected with the decree of\nthe Roman senate in favour of the Scythian princes (p. 21) is not\nclear from the document, and is not even probable.\n\n6.  It is very probable that the extraordinary drought, which\nis the chief obstacle now to agriculture in the Crimea and in\nthese regions generally, has been greatly increased by the\ndisappearance of the forests of central and southern Russia,\nwhich formerly to some extent protected the coast-provinces\nfrom the parching northeast wind.\n\n7.  The recently discovered decree of the town of Chersonesus in\nhonour of this Diophantus (Dittenberger, Syll. n. 252) thoroughly\nconfirms the traditional account.  It shows us the city in the\nimmediate vicinity--the port of Balaclava must at that time have\nbeen in the power of the Tauri and Simferopol in that of the\nScythians--hard pressed partly by the Tauri on the south coast of\nthe Crimea, partly and especially by the Scythians who held in\ntheir power the whole interior of the peninsula and the mainland\nadjoining; it shows us further how the general of king Mithradates\nrelieves on all sides the Greek city, defeats the Tauri, and erects\nin their territory a stronghold (probably Eupatorion), restores the\nconnection between the western and the eastern Hellenes of the\npeninsula, overpowers in the west the dynasty of Scilurus, and in\nthe east Saumacus prince of the Scythians, pursues the Scythians\neven to the mainland, and at length conquers them with the\nReuxinales--such is the name given to the later Roxolani here,\nwhere they first appear--in the great pitched battle, which is\nmentioned also in the traditional account.  There does not seem to\nhave been any formal subordination of the Greek city under the king;\nMithradates appears only as protecting ally, who fights the battles\nagainst the Scythians that passed as invincible (--tous anupostatous\ndokountas eimen--), on behalf of the Greek city, which probably\nstood to him nearly in the relation of Massilia and Athens to Rome.\nThe Scythians on the other band in the Crimea become subjects\n(--upakooi--) of Mithradates.\n\n8.  The chronology of the following events can only be determined\napproximately.  Mithradates Eupator seems to have practically\nentered on the government somewhere about 640; Sulla's intervention\ntook place in 662 (Liv. Ep. 70) with which accords the calculation\nassigning to the Mithradatic wars a period of thirty years (662-691)\n(Plin. H. N. vii. 26, 97).  In the interval fell the quarrels as to\nthe Paphlagonian and Cappadocian succession, with which the bribery\nattempted by Mithradates in Rome (Diod. 631) apparently in the first\ntribunate of Saturninus in 651 (IV. VI. Saturninus) was probably\nconnected.  Marius, who left Rome in 665 and did not remain long\nin the east, found Mithradates already in Cappadocia and negotiated\nwith him regarding his aggressions (Cic. ad Brut. i. 5; Plut. Mar. 31);\nAriarathes VI had consequently been by that time put to death.\n\n9.  IV. III. Character of the Constitution of Gaius Gracchus\n\n10.  A decree of the senate of the year 638 recently found in the\nvillage Aresti to the south of Synnada (Viereck, -Sermo Graecus quo\nsenatus Romanus usus sit-, p. 51) confirms all the regulations made\nby the king up to his death and thus shows that Great Phrygia after\nthe death of the father was not merely taken from the son, as Appian\nalso states, but was thereby brought directly under Roman allegiance.\n\n11.  III. IX. Rupture between Antiochus and the Romans\n\n12.  Retribution came upon the authors of the arrest and surrender\nof Aquillius twenty-five years afterwards, when after Mithradates'\ndeath his son Pharnaces handed them over to the Romans.\n\n13.  IV. VII. Economic Crisis\n\n14.  We must recollect that after the outbreak of the Social War\nthe legion had at least not more than half the number of men which it\nhad previously, as it was no longer accompanied by Italian contingents.\n\n15.  The chronology of these events is, like all their details,\nenveloped in an obscurity which investigation is able to dispel,\nat most, only partially.  That the battle of Chaeronea took place,\nif not on the same day as the storming of Athens (Pausan, i. 20),\nat any rate soon afterwards, perhaps in March 668, is tolerably certain.\nThat the succeeding Thessalian and the second Boeotian campaign took\nup not merely the remainder of 668 but also the whole of 669, is in\nitself probable and is rendered still more so by the fact that Sulla's\nenterprises in Asia are not sufficient to fill more than a single\ncampaign.  Licinianus also appears to indicate that Sulla returned to\nAthens for the winter of 668-669 and there took in hand the work of\ninvestigation and punishment; after which he relates the battle of\nOrchomenus.  The crossing of Sulla to Asia has accordingly been\nplaced not in 669, but in 670.\n\n16.  The resolution of the citizens of Ephesus to this effect has\nrecently been found (Waddington, Additions to Lebas, Inscr. iii.\n136 a).  They had, according to their own declaration, fallen into\nthe power of Mithradates \"the king of Cappadocia,\" being frightened\nby the magnitude of his forces and the suddenness of his attack;\nbut, when opportunity offered, they declared war against him \"for\nthe rule (--egemonia--) of the Romans and the common weal.\"\n\n17.  The statement that Mithradates in the peace stipulated for\nimpunity to the towns which had embraced his side (Memnon, 35)\nseems, looking to the character of the victor and of the\nvanquished, far from credible, and it is not given by Appian\nor by Licinianus.  They neglected to draw up the treaty of\npeace in writing, and this neglect afterwards left room far\nvarious misrepresentations.\n\n18.  Armenian tradition also is acquainted with the first\nMithradatic war.  Ardasches king of Armenia--Moses of Chorene tells\nus--was not content with the second rank which rightfully belonged\nto him in the Persian (Parthian) empire, but compelled the Parthian\nking Arschagan to cede to him the supreme power, whereupon he had a\npalace built for himself in Persia and had coins struck there with\nhis own image.  He appointed Arschagan viceroy of Persia and his\nson Dicran (Tigranes) viceroy of Armenia, and gave his daughter\nArdaschama in marriage to the great-prince of the Iberians\nMihrdates (Mithradates) who was descended from Mihrdates satrap\nof Darius and governor appointed by Alexander over the conquered\nIberians, and ruled in the northern mountains as well as over the\nBlack Sea.  Ardasches then took Croesus the king of the Lydians\nprisoner, subdued the mainland between the two great seas (Asia\nMinor), and crossed the sea with innumerable vessels to subjugate\nthe west.  As there was anarchy at that time in Rome, he nowhere\nencountered serious resistance, but his soldiers killed each other\nand Ardasches fell by the hands of his own troops.  After\nArdasches' death his successor Dicran marched against the army of\nthe Greeks (i. e. the Romans) who now in turn invaded the Armenian\nland; he set a limit to their advance, handed over to his brother-\nin-law Mihrdates the administration of Madschag (Mazaca in\nCappadocia) and of the interior along with a considerable force,\nand returned to Armenia.  Many years afterwards there were still\npointed out in the Armenian towns statues of Greek gods by well-\nknown masters, trophies of this campaign.\n\nWe have no difficulty in recognizing here various facts of\nthe first Mithradatic war, but the whole narrative is evidently\nconfused, furnished with heterogeneous additions, and in particular\ntransferred by patriotic falsification to Armenia.  In just the\nsame way the victory over Crassus is afterwards attributed to\nthe Armenians.  These Oriental accounts are to be received with all\nthe greater caution, that they are by no means mere popular legends;\non the contrary the accounts of Josephus, Eusebius, and other\nauthorities current among the Christians of the fifth century have been\namalgamated with the Armenian traditions, and the historical romances\nof the Greeks and beyond doubt the patriotic fancies also of Moses\nhimself have been laid to a considerable extent under contribution.\nBad as is cur Occidental tradition in itself, to call in the aid of\nOriental tradition in this and similar cases--as has been attempted\nfor instance by the uncritical Saint-Martin--can only lead to\nstill further confusion.\n\n19.  III. X. Intervention in the Syro-Egyptian War\n\n\n\nChapter IX\n\n1.  The whole of the representation that follows is based in\nsubstance on the recently discovered account of Licinianus, which\ncommunicates a number of facts previously unknown, and in\nparticular enables us to perceive the sequence and connection of\nthese events more clearly than was possible before.\n\n2.  IV. VII. The Bestowal of the Franchise and Its Limitations.\nThat there was no confirmation by the comitia, is clear from\nCic. Phil. xii. 11, 27.  The senate seems to have made use of\nthe form of simply prolonging the term of the Plautio- Papirian\nlaw (IV. VII. Bestowal of Latin Rights on the Italian Celts),\na course which by use and wont (i. 409) was open to it and\npractically amounted to conferring the franchise on all Italians.\n\n3.  \"-Ad flatus sidere-,\" as Livy (according to Obsequens, 56)\nexpresses it, means \"seized by the pestilence\" (Petron. Sat. 2;\nPlin. H. N. ii. 41, 108; Liv. viii. 9, 12), not \"struck by\nlightning,\" as later writers have misunderstood it.\n\n4.  IV. VII. Combats with the Marsians\n\n5.  IV. VII. Sulpicius Rufus\n\n6.  IV. VII. Bestowal of Latin Rights on the Italian Celts\n\n7.  IV. V. In Illyria\n\n8.  IV. VI. Discussions on the Livian Laws\n\n9.  IV. VII. Energetic Decrees\n\n10.  Lucius Valerius Flaccus, whom the Fasti name as consul in 668,\nwas not the consul of 654, but a younger man of the same name,\nperhaps son of the preceding.  For, first, the law which prohibited\nre-election to the consulship remained legally in full force from\nc. 603 (IV. II. Attempts at Reform) to 673, and it is not probable\nthat what was done in the case of Scipio Aemilianus and Marius was\ndone also for Flaccus.  Secondly, there is no mention anywhere, when\neither Flaccus is named, of a double consulship, not even where it\nwas necessary as in Cic. pro Flacc. 32, 77.  Thirdly, the Lucius\nValerius Flaccus who was active in Rome in 669 as -princeps\nsenatus- and consequently of consular rank (Liv. 83), cannot have\nbeen the consul of 668, for the latter had already at that time\ndeparted for Asia and was probably already dead.  The consul of\n654, censor in 657, is the person whom Cicero (ad Att. viii. 3, 6)\nmentions among the consulars present in Rome in 667; he was in 669\nbeyond doubt the oldest of the old censors living and thus fitted\nto be -princeps senatus-; he was also the -interrex- and the\n-magister equitum- of 672.  On the other hand, the consul of 668,\nwho Perished at Nicomedia (p. 47), was the father of the Lucius\nFlaccus defended by Cicero (pro Flacc. 25, 61, comp. 23, 55. 32, 77).\n\n11.  IV. VI. The Equestrian Party\n\n12.  IV. VII. Sulla Embarks for Asia\n\n13.  We can only suppose this to be the Brutus referred to, since\nMarcus Brutus the father of the so-called Liberator was tribune of\nthe people in 671, and therefore could not command in the field.\n\n14.  IV. IV. Prosecutions of the Democrats\n\n15.  It is stated, that Sulla occupied the defile by which alone\nPraeneste was accessible (App. i. 90); and the further events\nshowed that the road to Rome was open to him as well as to the\nrelieving army.  Beyond doubt Sulla posted himself on the cross\nroad which turns off from the Via Latina, along which the Samnites\nadvanced, at Valmontone towards Palestrina; in this case Sulla\ncommunicated with the capital by the Praenestine, and the enemy by\nthe Latin or Labican, road.\n\n16.  Hardly any other name can well be concealed under the corrupt\nreading in Liv. 89 -miam in Samnio-; comp. Strabo, v. 3, 10.\n\n17.  IV. IX. Pompeius\n\n18.  IV. VIII. New Difficulties\n\n\n\nChapter X\n\n1.  III. XI. Abolition of the Dictatorship\n\n2.  -Satius est uti regibus quam uti malis legibus- (Ad Herenn. ii.\n36).\n\n3.  II. I. The Dictator, II. II. The Valerio-Horatian Laws, II. III.\nLimitation of the Dictatorship\n\n4.  IV. VII. Legislation of Sulla\n\n5.  This total number is given by Valerius Maximus, ix. 2. 1.\nAccording to Appian (B. C. i. 95), there were proscribed by Sulla\nnearly 40 senators, which number subsequently received some\nadditions, and about 1600 equites; according to Florus (ii. 9,\nwhence Augustine de Civ. Dei, iii. 28), 2000 senators and equites.\nAccording to Plutarch (Sull. 31), 520 names were placed on the list\nin the first three days; according to Orosius (v. 21), 580 names\nduring the first days.  there is no material contradiction between\nthese various reports, for it was not senators and equites alone\nthat were put to death, and the list remained open for months.\nWhen Appian, at another passage (i. 103), mentions as put to death\nor banished by Sulla, 15 consulars, 90 senators, 2600 equites, he\nthere confounds, as the connection shows, the victims of the civil\nwar throughout with the victims of Sulla.  The 15 consulars were--\nQuintus Catulus, consul in 652; Marcus Antonius, 655; Publius\nCrassus, 657; Quintus Scaevola, 659; Lucius Domitius, 660; Lucius\nCaesar, 664; Quintus Rufus, 666; Lucius Cinna, 667-670; Gnaeus\nOctavius, 667; Lucius Merula, 667; Lucius Flaccus, 668; Gnaeus\nCarbo, 669, 670, 672; Gaius Norbanus, 671; Lucius Scipio, 671;\nGaius Marius, 672; of whom fourteen were killed, and one, Lucius\nScipio, was banished.  When, on the other hand, the Livian account\nin Eutropius (v. 9) and Orosius (v. 22) specifies as swept away\n(-consumpti-) in the Social and Civil wars, 24 consulars, 7\npraetorians, 60 aedilicians, 200 senators, the calculation includes\npartly the men who fell in the Italian war, such as the consulars\nAulus Albinus, consul in 655; Titus Didius, 656; Publius Lupus,\n664; Lucius Cato, 665; partly perhaps Quintus Metellus Numidicus\n(IV. VI. Violent Proceedings in The Voting), Manius Aquillius,\nGaius Marius the father, Gnaeus Strabo, whom we may certainly regard\nas also victims of that period, or other men whose fate is unknown to us.\nOf the fourteen consulars killed, three--Rufus, Cinna, and Flaccus--\nfell through military revolts, while eight Sullan and three Marian\nconsulars fell as victims to the opposite party.  On a comparison of\nthe figures given above, 50 senators and 1000 equites were regarded\nas victims of Marius, 40 senators and 1600 equites as victims\nof Sulla; this furnishes a standard--at least not altogether\narbitrary--for estimating the extent of the crimes on both sides.\n\n6.  The Sextus Alfenus, frequently mentioned in Cicero's oration on\nbehalf of Publius Quinctius, was one of these.\n\n7.  II. VII. Latins.  To this was added the peculiar aggravation that,\nwhile in other instances the right of the Latins, like that of\nthe -peregrini-, implied membership in a definite Latin or foreign\ncommunity, in this case--just as with the later freedmen of Latin\nand deditician rights (comp. IV. VII. The Bestowal of the Franchise and\nIts Limitations. n.)--it was without any such right of urban membership.\nThe consequence was, that these Latins were destitute of the privileges\nattaching to an urban constitution, and, strictly speaking, could not\neven make a testament, since no one could execute a testament otherwise\nthan according to the law of his town; they could doubtless, however,\nacquire under Roman testaments, and among the living could hold dealings\nwith each other and with Romans or Latins in the forms of Roman law.\n\n8.  IV. IV. The Domain Question under the Restoration\n\n9.  That Sulla's assessment of the five years' arrears and of the\nwar expenses levied on the communities of Asia (Appian, Mithr. 62\net al.) formed a standard for the future, is shown by the facts,\nthat the distribution of Asia into forty districts is referred to\nSulla (Cassiodor. Chron. 670) and that the Sullan apportionment\nwas assumed as a basis in the case of subsequent imposts (Cic. pro\nFlacc. 14, 32), and by the further circumstance, that on occasion\nof building a fleet in 672 the sums applied for that purpose were\ndeducted from the payment of tribute (-ex pecunia vectigali populo\nRomano-: Cic. Verr. l. i. 35, 89).  Lastly, Cicero (ad Q. fr. i. i,\nii, 33) directly says, that the Greeks \"were not in a position of\nthemselves to pay the tax imposed on them by Sulla without -publicani-.\"\n\n10.  III. XI. Separation of the Orders in the Theatre\n\n11.  IV. III. Insignia of the Equites.  Tradition has not indeed\ninformed us by whom that law was issued, which rendered it necessary\nthat the earlier privilege should be renewed by the Roscian theatre-law\nof 687 (Becker-Friedlander, iv, 531); but under the circumstances\nthe author of that law was undoubtedly Sulla.\n\n12.  IV. VI. Livius Drusus\n\n13.  IV. VII. Rejection of the Proposals for an Accomodation\n\n14.  III. XI. The Nobility in Possession of the Senate\n\n15.  How many quaestors had been hitherto chosen annually, is not\nknown.  In 487 the number stood at eight--two urban, two military,\nand four naval, quaestors (II. VII. Quaestors of the Fleet,\nII. VII. Intermediate Fuctionaries); to which there fell to be added\nthe quaestors employed in the provinces (III. III. Provincial Praetors).\nFor the naval quaestors at Ostia, Cales, and so forth were by no means\ndiscontinued, and the military quaestors could not be employed\nelsewhere, since in that case the consul, when he appeared as\ncommander-in-chief, would have been without a quaestor.  Now, as\ndown to Sulla's time there were nine provinces, and moreover two\nquaestors were sent to Sicily, he may possibly have found as many\nas eighteen quaestors in existence.  But as the number of the\nsupreme magistrates of this period was considerably less than that\nof their functions (p. 120), and the difficulty thus arising was\nconstantly remedied by extension of the term of office and other\nexpedients, and as generally the tendency of the Roman government\nwas to limit as much as possible the number of magistrates, there\nmay have been more quaestorial functions than quaestors, and it may\nbe even that at this period no quaestor at all was sent to small\nprovinces such as Cilicia.  Certainly however there were, already\nbefore Sulla's time, more than eight quaestors.\n\n16.  III. XI. The Censorship A Prop of the Nobility\n\n17.  We cannot strictly speak at all of a fixed number of senators.\nThough the censors before Sulla prepared on each occasion a list of\n300 persons, there always fell to be added to this list those non-\nsenators who filled a curule office between the time when the list\nwas drawn up and the preparation of the next one; and after Sulla\nthere were as many senators as there were surviving quaestorians\nBut it may be probably assumed that Sulla meant to bring the senate\nup to 500 or 600 members; and this number results, if we assume\nthat 20 new members, at an average age of 30, were admitted\nannually, and we estimate the average duration of the senatorial\ndignity at from 25 to 30 years.  At a numerously attended sitting\nof the senate in Cicero's time 417 members were present.\n\n18.  II. III. The Senate. Its Composition\n\n19.  IV. VI. Political Projects of Marius\n\n20.  III. XI. Interference of the Community in War and Administration\n\n21.  IV. VII. Legislation of Sulla\n\n22.  II. III. Restrictions As to the Accumulation and the Reoccupation\nof Offices\n\n23.  IV. II. Attempts at Reform\n\n24.  To this the words of Lepidus in Sallust (Hist. i. 41, 11\nDietsch) refer: -populus Romanus excitus... iure agitandi-, to\nwhich Tacitus (Ann. iii. 27) alludes: -statim turbidis Lepidi\nrogationibus neque multo post tribunis reddita licentia quoquo\nvellent populum agitandi-.  That the tribunes did not altogether\nlose the right of discussing matters with the people is shown by\nCic. De Leg. iii. 4, 10 and more clearly by the -plebiscitum de\nThermensibus-, which however in the opening formula also designates\nitself as issued -de senatus sententia-.  That the consuls on the\nother hand could under the Sullan arrangements submit proposals to\nthe people without a previous resolution of the senate, is shown\nnot only by the silence of the authorities, but also by the course\nof the revolutions of 667 and 676, whose leaders for this very\nreason were not tribunes but consuls.  Accordingly we find at this\nperiod consular laws upon secondary questions of administration,\nsuch as the corn law of 681, for which at other times we should\nhave certainly found -plebiscita-.\n\n25.  II. III. Influence of the Elections\n\n26.  IV. II. Vote by Ballot\n\n27.  For this hypothesis there is no other proof, except that\nthe Italian Celt-land was as decidedly not a province--in the sense\nin which the word signifies a definite district administered by a\ngovernor annually changed--in the earlier times, as it certainly was\none in the time of Caesar (comp. Licin. p. 39; -data erat et Sullae\nprovincia Gallia Cisalpina-).\n\nThe case is much the same with the advancement of the frontier;\nwe know that formerly the Aesis, and in Caesar's time the Rubico,\nseparated the Celtic land from Italy, but we do not know when the\nboundary was shifted.  From the circumstance indeed, that Marcus\nTerentius Varro Lucullus as propraetor undertook a regulation of\nthe frontier in the district between the Aesis and Rubico (Orelli,\nInscr. 570), it has been inferred that that must still have been\nprovincial land at least in the year after Lucullus' praetorship 679,\nsince the propraetor had nothing to do on Italian soil.  But it was\nonly within the -pomerium- that every prolonged -imperium- ceased of\nitself; in Italy, on the other hand, such a prolonged -imperium- was\neven under Sulla's arrangement--though not regularly existing--at\nany rate allowable, and the office held by Lucullus was in any case\nan extraordinary one.  But we are able moreover to show when and\nhow Lucullus held such an office in this quarter.  He was already\nbefore the Sullan reorganization in 672 active as commanding\nofficer in this very district (p, 87), and was probably, just like\nPompeius, furnished by Sulla with propraetorian powers; in this\ncharacter he must have regulated the boundary in question in 672\nor 673 (comp. Appian, i. 95).  No inference therefore may be drawn\nfrom this inscription as to the legal position of North Italy, and\nleast of all for the time after Sulla's dictatorship.  On the other\nhand a remarkable hint is contained in the statement, that Sulla\nadvanced the Roman -pomerium- (Seneca, de brev. vitae, 14; Dio,\nxliii. 50); which distinction was by Roman state-law only accorded\nto one who had advanced the bounds not of the empire, but of the\ncity--that is, the bounds of Italy (i. 128).\n\n28.  As two quaestors were sent to Sicily, and one to each of the\nother provinces, and as moreover the two urban quaestors, the two\nattached to the consuls in conducting war, and the four quaestors\nof the fleet continued to subsist, nineteen magistrates were\nannually required for this office.  The department of the twentieth\nquaestor cannot be ascertained.\n\n29.  The Italian confederacy was much older (II. VII. Italy and\nThe Italians); but it was a league of states, not, like the Sullan\nItaly, a state-domain marked off as an unit within the Roman empire.\n\n30.  II. III. Complete Opening Up of Magistracies and Priesthoods\n\n31.  II. III. Combination of The Plebian Aristocracy and The Farmers\nagainst The Nobility\n\n32.  III. XIII. Religious Economy\n\n33.  IV. X. Punishments Inflicted on Particular Communities\n\n34.  e. g. IV. IV. Dissatisfaction in the Capital, IV. V. Warfare of\nProsecutions\n\n35.  IV. II. Vote by Ballot\n\n36.  IV. III. Modifications of the Penal Law\n\n37.  II. II. Intercession\n\n38.  IV. III. Modifications of the Penal Law\n\n39.  IV. VII. Rejection of the Proposals for an Accomodation\n\n40.  II. VII. Subject Communities\n\n41.  IV. X. Cisapline Gaul Erected into A Province\n\n42.  IV. VII. Preparations for General Revolt against Rome\n\n43.  III. XI. Roman Franchise More Difficult of Acquisition\n\n44.  IV. IX. Government of Cinna\n\n45.  IV. VII. Decay of Military Discipline\n\n46.  IV. VII. Economic Crisis\n\n47.  IV. VII. Strabo\n\n48.  IV. VIII. Flaccus Arrives in Asia\n\n49.  IV. IX. Death of Cinna\n\n50.  IV. IX. Nola\n\n51.  IV. IX. Fresh Difficulties with Mithradates\n\n52.  Euripides, Medea, 807:-- --Meideis me phaulein kasthenei\nnomizeto Meid eisuchaian, alla thateron tropou Bareian echthrois\nkai philoisin eumenei--.\n\n53.  IV. IX. Fresh Difficulties with Mithradates\n\n54.  IV. IX. Fresh Difficulties with Mithradates, IV. X. Re-establishment\nof Constitutional Order\n\n55.  Not -pthiriasis-, as another account states; for the simple\nreason that such a disease is entirely imaginary.\n\n\n\nChapter XI\n\n1.  IV. V. Transalpine Relations of Rome, IV. V. The Romans Cross\nthe Eastern Alps\n\n2.  IV. I. The Callaeci Conquered\n\n3.  IV. V. And Reach the Danube\n\n4.  -Exterae nationes in arbitratu dicione potestate amicitiave\npopuli Romani- (lex repet. v. i), the official designation of the\nnon-Italian subjects and clients as contrasted with the Italian\n\"allies and kinsmen\" (-socii nominisve Latini-).\n\n5.  III. XI. As to the Management of the Finances\n\n6.  III. XII. Mercantile Spirit\n\n7.  IV. III. Jury Courts, IV. III. Character of the Constitution\nof Gaius Gracchus\n\n8.  This tax-tenth, which the state levied from private landed\nproperty, is to be clearly distinguished from the proprietor's\ntenth, which it imposed on the domain-land.  The former was let in\nSicily, and was fixed once for all; the latter--especially that of\nthe territory of Leontini--was let by the censors in Rome, and the\nproportion of produce payable and other conditions were regulated\nat their discretion (Cic. Verr. iii. 6, 13; v. 21, 53; de leg. agr.\ni. 2, 4; ii. 18, 48).  Comp, my Staatsrecht, iii. 730.\n\n9.  The mode of proceeding was apparently as follows.  The Roman\ngovernment fixed in the first instance the kind and the amount of\nthe tax.  Thus in Asia, for instance, according to the arrangement\nof Sulla and Caesar the tenth sheaf was levied (Appian. B. C. v.\n4); thus the Jews by Caesar's edict contributed every second year\na fourth of the seed (Joseph, iv. 10, 6; comp. ii. 5); thus in\nCilicia and Syria subsequently there was paid 5 per cent from\nestate (Appian. Syr. 50), and in Africa also an apparently similar\ntax was paid--in which case, we may add, the estate seems to have\nbeen valued according to certain presumptive indications, e. g. the\nsize of the land occupied, the number of doorways, the number of\nhead of children and slaves (-exactio capitum atque ostiorum-,\nCicero, Ad Fam. iii. 8, 5, with reference to Cilicia; --phoros epi\ntei gei kai tois somasin--, Appian. Pun. 135, with reference to\nAfrica).  In accordance with this regulation the magistrates of\neach community under the superintendence of the Roman governor\n(Cic. ad Q. Fr. i. 1, 8; SC. de Asclep. 22, 23) settled who were\nliable to the tax, and what was to be paid by each tributary (\n-imperata- --epikephalia--, Cic. ad Att. v. 16); if any one did not\npay this in proper time, his tax-debt was sold just as in Rome, i.\ne. it was handed over to a contractor with an adjudication to\ncollect it (-venditio tributorum-, Cic. Ad Fam. iii. 8, 5; --onas--\n-omnium venditas-, Cic. ad Att. v. 16).  The produce of these taxes\nflowed into the coffers of the leading communities--the Jews, for\ninstance, had to send their corn to Sidon--and from these coffers\nthe fixed amount in money was then conveyed to Rome.  These taxes\nalso were consequently raised indirectly, and the intermediate\nagent either retained, according to circumstances, a part of the\nproduce of the taxes for himself, or advanced it from his own\nsubstance; the distinction between this mode of raising and the\nother by means of the -publicani- lay merely in the circumstance,\nthat in the former the public authorities of the contributors,\nin the latter Roman private contractors, constituted the\nintermediate agency.\n\n10.  IV. III. Jury Courts\n\n11.  III. VII. Administration of Spain\n\n12.  IV. X. Regulation of the Finances\n\n13.  For example, in Judaea the town of Joppa paid 26,075 -modii-\nof corn, the other Jews the tenth sheaf, to the native princes; to\nwhich fell to be added the temple-tribute and the Sidonian payment\ndestined for the Romans.  In Sicily too, in addition to the Roman\ntenth, a very considerable local taxation was raised from property.\n\n14.  IV. VI. The New Military Organization\n\n15.  IV. II. Vote by Ballot\n\n16.  III. VII. Liguria\n\n17.  IV. V. Province of Narbo\n\n18.  IV. V. In Illyria\n\n19.  IV. I. Province of Macedonia\n\n20.  III. XI. Italian Subjects, III. XII. Roman Wealth\n\n21.  IV. V. Taurisci\n\n22.  III. IV. Pressure of the War\n\n23.  IV. VII. Outbreak of the Mithradatic War\n\n24.  IV. IX. Preparations on Either Side\n\n25.  III. XII. The Management of Land and of Capital\n\n26.  IV. V. Conflicts with the Ligurians.  With this may be connected\nthe remark of the Roman agriculturist, Saserna, who lived after Cato\nand before Varro (ap. Colum. i. 1, 5), that the culture of the vine\nand olive was constantly moving farther to the north.--The decree of\nthe senate as to the translation of the treatise of Mago (IV. II.\nThe Italian Farmers) belongs also to this class of measures.\n\n27.  IV. II. Slavery and Its Consequences\n\n28.  IV. VIII. Thrace and Macedonia Occupied by the Pontic Armies.\n\n29.  IV. I. Destruction of Carthage, IV. I. Destruction of Corinth\n\n30.  IV. V. The Advance of the Romans Checked by the Policy\nof the Restoration\n\n31.  IV. IV. The Provinces\n\n32.  IV. VII. Economic Crisis\n\n33.  IV. VII. The Sulpician Laws\n\n34.  IV. VII. Legislation of Sulla\n\n35.  IV. IX. Government of Cinna\n\n36.  IV. VIII. Orders Issued from Ephesus for A General Massacre\n\n37.  IV. VIII. Thrace and Macedonia Occupied by the Pontic Armies.\n\n38.  IV. VI. Roman Intervention\n\n39.  III. XII. Roman Wealth\n\n40.  IV. V. Taurisci\n\n41.  III. VI. Pressure of the War\n\n42.  II. VIII. Silver Standard of Value\n\n43.  III. VI. Pressure of the War\n\n44.  III. I. Comparison between Carthage and Rome\n\n45.  IV. X. Proscription-Lists\n\n46.  III. III. Autonomy, III. VII. the State of Culture in Spain,\nIII. XII. Coins and Moneys\n\n47.  III. XII. Coins and Moneys\n\n48.  III. XIII. Increase of Amusements\n\n49.  In the house, which Sulla inhabited when a young man, he paid\nfor the ground-floor a rent of 3000 sesterces, and the tenant of\nthe upper story a rent of 2000 sesterces (Plutarch, Sull. 1);\nwhich, capitalized at two-thirds of the usual interest on capital,\nyields nearly the above amount.  This was a cheap dwelling.  That a\nrent of 6000 sesterces (60 pounds) in the capital is called a high\none in the case of the year 629 (Vell. ii. 10) must have been due\nto special circumstances.\n\n50.  III. I. Comparison between Carthage and Rome\n\n51.  IV. II. Tribunate of Gracchus\n\n52.  \"If we could, citizens\"--he said in his speech--\"we should\nindeed all keep clear of this burden.  But, as nature has so\narranged it that we cannot either live comfortably with wives\nor live at all without them, it is proper to have regard rather\nto the permanent weal than to our own brief comfort.\"\n\n\n\nChapter XII\n\n1.  IV. XI. Money-Dealing and Commerce\n\n2.  IV. X. The Roman Municipal System\n\n3.  IV. I. The Subjects\n\n4.  IV. I. The Callaeci Conquered\n\n5.  IV. I. The New Organization of Spain\n\n6.  IV. VII. Second Year of the War\n\n7.  The statement that no \"Greek games\" were exhibited in Rome\nbefore 608 (Tac. Ann. xiv. 21) is not accurate: Greek artists\n(--technitai--) and athletes appeared as early as 568 (Liv. xxxix.\n22), and Greek flute-players, tragedians, and pugilists in 587\n(Pol. xxx, 13).\n\n8.  III. XIII. Irreligious Spirit\n\n9.  A delightful specimen may be found in Cicero de Officiis,\niii. 12, 13.\n\n10.  IV. VI. Collision between the Senate and Equites in the\nAdministration of the Provinces; IV. IX. Siege of Praeneste\n\n11.  In Varro's satire, \"The Aborigines,\" he sarcastically set\nforth how the primitive men had not been content with the God\nwho alone is recognized by thought, but had longed after\npuppets and effigies.\n\n12.  III. XI. Interference of The Community in War and Administration\n\n13.  IV. VI. Political Projects of Marius\n\n14.  IV. X. Co-optation Restored in the Priestly Colleges\n\n15.  IV. VI. The Equestrian Party\n\n16.  III. XIV. Cato's Encyclopedia\n\n17.  Cicero says that he treated his learned slave Dionysius more\nrespectfully than Scipio treated Panaetius, and in the same sense\nit is said in Lucilius:--\n\n-Paenula, si quaeris, canteriu', servu', segestre Utilior mihi,\nquam sapiens-.\n\n18.  IV. XII. Panaetius\n\n\n\nChapter XIII\n\n1.  Thus in the -Paulus-, an original piece, the following line\noccurred, probably in the description of the pass of Pythium\n(III. X. Perseus Is Driven Back to Pydna):--\n\n-Qua vix caprigeno generi gradilis gressio est-.\n\nAnd in another piece the hearers are expected to understand the\nfollowing description--\n\n-Quadrupes tardigrada agrestis humilis aspera, Capite brevi,\ncervice anguina, aspectu truci, Eviscerata inanima cum\nanimali sono-.\n\nTo which they naturally reply--\n\n-Ita saeptuosa dictione abs te datur, Quod conjectura sapiens aegre\ncontuit; Non intellegimus, nisi si aperte dixeris-.\n\nThen follows the confession that the tortoise is referred to.\nSuch enigmas, moreover, were not wanting even among the Attic\ntragedians, who on that account were often and sharply taken to\ntask by the Middle Comedy.\n\n2.  Perhaps the only exception is in the -Andria- (iv. 5) the\nanswer to the question how matters go:--\n\n\"-Sic Ut quimus,\" aiunt, \"quando ut volumus non licet-\"\n\nin allusion to the line of Caecilius, which is, indeed, also\nimitated from a Greek proverb:--\n\n-Vivas ut possis, quando non quis ut velis-.\n\nThe comedy is the oldest of Terence's, and was exhibited by\nthe theatrical authorities on the recommendation of Caecilius.\nThe gentle expression of gratitude is characteristic.\n\n3.  A counterpart to the hind chased by dogs and with tears calling\non a young man for help, which Terence ridicules (Phorm. prol. 4),\nmay be recognized in the far from ingenious Plautine allegory of\nthe goat and the ape (Merc, ii. 1).  Such excrescences are\nultimately traceable to the rhetoric of Euripides (e. g.\nEurip. Hec. 90).\n\n4.  Micio in the -Adelphi- (i. i) praises his good fortune in life,\nmore particularly because he has never had a wife, \"which those\n(the Greeks) reckon a piece of good fortune.\"\n\n5.  In the prologue of the -Heauton Timorumenos- he puts\nthe objection into the mouth of his censors:--\n\n-Repente ad studium hunc se applicasse musicum Amicum ingenio\nfretum, haud natura sua-.\n\nAnd in the later prologue (594) to the -Adelphi- he says--\n\n-Nam quod isti dicunt malevoli, homines nobiles Eum adiutare,\nadsidueque una scribere; Quod illi maledictum vehemens esse\nexistimant Eam laudem hic ducit maximam, quum illis placet Qui\nvobis universis et populo placent; Quorum opera in bello, in otio,\nin negotio, Suo quisque tempore usus est sine superbia-.\n\nAs early as the time of Cicero it was the general supposition that\nLaelius and Scipio Aemilianus were here meant: the scenes were\ndesignated which were alleged to proceed from them; stories were\ntold of the journeys of the poor poet with his genteel patrons to\ntheir estates near Rome; and it was reckoned unpardonable that\nthey should have done nothing at all for the improvement of his\nfinancial circumstances.  But the power which creates legend is,\nas is well known, nowhere more potent than in the history of\nliterature.  It is clear, and even judicious Roman critics\nacknowledged, that these lines could not possibly apply to Scipio\nwho was then twenty-five years of age, and to his friend Laelius\nwho was not much older.  Others with at least more judgment thought\nof the poets of quality Quintus Labeo (consul in 571) and Marcus\nPopillius (consul in 581), and of the learned patron of art and\nmathematician, Lucius Sulpicius Gallus (consul in 588); but this\ntoo is evidently mere conjecture.  That Terence was in close\nrelations with the Scipionic house cannot, however, be doubted: it\nis a significant fact, that the first exhibition of the -Adelphi-\nand the second of the -Hecyra- took place at the funeral games of\nLucius Paullus, which were provided by his sons Scipio and Fabius.\n\n6.  IV. XI. Token-Money\n\n7.  III. XIV. National Comedy\n\n8.  External circumstances also, it may be presumed, co-operated in\nbringing about this change.  After all the Italian communities had\nobtained the Roman franchise in consequence of the Social war, it\nwas no longer allowable to transfer the scene of a comedy to any\nsuch community, and the poet had either to keep to general ground\nor to choose places that had fallen into ruin or were situated\nabroad.  Certainly this circumstance, which was taken into account\neven in the production of the older comedies, exercised an\nunfavourable effect on the national comedy.\n\n9.  I. XV. Masks\n\n10.  With these names there has been associated from ancient times\na series of errors.  The utter mistake of Greek reporters, that\nthese farces were played at Rome in the Oscan language, is now with\njustice universally rejected; but it is, on a closer consideration,\nlittle short of impossible to bring these pieces, which are laid in\nthe midst of Latin town and country life, into relation with the\nnational Oscan character at all.  The appellation of \"Atellan play\"\nis to be explained in another way.  The Latin farce with its fixed\ncharacters and standing jests needed a permanent scenery: the fool-\nworld everywhere seeks for itself a local habitation.  Of course\nunder the Roman stage-police none of the Roman communities, or of\nthe Latin communities allied with Rome, could be taken for this\npurpose, although it was allowable to transfer the -togatae- to\nthese.  But Atella, which, although destroyed de jure along with\nCapua in 543 (III. VI. Capua Capitulates, III. VI. In Italy),\ncontinued practically to subsist as a village inhabited by Roman\nfarmers, was adapted in every respect for the purpose.  This conjecture\nis changed into certainty by our observing that several of these farces\nare laid in other communities within the domain of the Latin tongue,\nwhich existed no longer at all, or no longer at any rate in the eye\nof the law-such as the -Campani- of Pomponius and perhaps also his\n-Adelphi- and his -Quinquatria- in Capua, and the -Milites Pometinenses-\nof Novius in Suessa Pometia--while no existing community was subjected\nto similar maltreatment.  The real home of these pieces was\ntherefore Latium, their poetical stage was the Latinized Oscan\nland; with the Oscan nation they have no connection.  The statement\nthat a piece of Naevius (d. after 550) was for want of proper\nactors performed by \"Atellan players\" and was therefore called\n-personata- (Festus, s. v.), proves nothing against this view:\nthe appellation \"Atellan players\" comes to stand here proleptically,\nand we might even conjecture from this passage that they were\nformerly termed \"masked players\" (-personati-).\n\nAn explanation quite similar may be given of the \"lays of\nFescennium,\" which likewise belong to the burlesque poetry of\nthe Romans and were localized in the South Etruscan village of\nFescennium; it is not necessary on that account to class them\nwith Etruscan poetry any more than the Atellanae with Oscan.\nThat Fescennium was in historical times not a town but a village,\ncannot certainly be directly proved, but is in the highest degree\nprobable from the way in which authors mention the place and from\nthe silence of inscriptions.\n\n11.  The close and original connection, which Livy in particular\nrepresents as subsisting between the Atellan farce and the -satura-\nwith the drama thence developed, is not at all tenable.  The\ndifference between the -histrio- and the Atellan player was\njust about as great as is at present the difference between a\nprofessional actor and a man who goes to a masked ball; between the\ndramatic piece, which down to Terence's time had no masks, and the\nAtellan, which was essentially based on the character-mask, there\nsubsisted an original distinction in no way to be effaced.  The\ndrama arose out of the flute-piece, which at first without any\nrecitation was confined merely to song and dance, then acquired a\ntext (-satura-), and lastly obtained through Andronicus a libretto\nborrowed from the Greek stage, in which the old flute-lays occupied\nnearly the place of the Greek chorus.  This course of development\nnowhere in its earlier stages comes into contact with the farce,\nwhich was performed by amateurs.\n\n12.  In the time of the empire the Atellana was represented by\nprofessional actors (Friedlander in Becker's Handbuch. vi. 549).\nThe time at which these began to engage in it is not reported, but\nit can hardly have been other than the time at which the Atellan\nwas admitted among the regular stage-plays, i. e. the epoch before\nCicero (Cic. ad Fam. ix. 16).  This view is not inconsistent with\nthe circumstance that still in Livy's time (vii. 2) the Atellan\nplayers retained their honorary rights as contrasted with other\nactors; for the statement that professional actors began to take\npart in performing the Atellana for pay does not imply that\nthe Atellana was no longer performed, in the country towns\nfor instance, by unpaid amateurs, and the privilege therefore\nstill remained applicable,\n\n13.  It deserves attention that the Greek farce was not only\nespecially at home in Lower Italy, but that several of its\npieces (e. g. among those of Sopater, the \"Lentile-Porridge,\"\nthe \"Wooers of Bacchis,\" the \"Valet of Mystakos,\" the \"Bookworms,\"\nthe \"Physiologist\") strikingly remind us of the Atellanae.\nThis composition of farces must have reached down to the time\nat which the Greeks in and around Neapolis formed a circle\nenclosed within the Latin-speaking Campania; for one of these\nwriters of farces, Blaesus of Capreae, bears even a Roman name\nand wrote a farce \"Saturnus.\"\n\n14.  According to Eusebius, Pomponius flourished about 664;\nVelleius calls him a contemporary of Lucius Crassus (614-663) and\nMarcus Antonius (611-667).  The former statement is probably about\na generation too late; the reckoning by -victoriati- (p. 182) which\nwas discontinued about 650 still occurs in his -Pictores-, and\nabout the end of this period we already meet the mimes which\ndisplaced the Atellanae from the stage.\n\n15.  It was probably merry enough in this form.  In the\n-Phoenissae- of Novius, for instance, there was the line:--\n\n-Sume arma, iam te occidam clava scirpea-, Just as Menander's\n--Pseudeirakleis-- makes his appearance.\n\n16.  Hitherto the person providing the play had been obliged to fit\nup the stage and scenic apparatus out of the round sum assigned to\nhim or at his own expense, and probably much money would not often\nbe expended on these.  But in 580 the censors made the erection of\nthe stage for the games of the praetors and aediles a matter of\nspecial contract (Liv. xli. 27); the circumstance that the stage-\napparatus was now no longer erected merely for a single performance\nmust have led to a perceptible improvement of it.\n\n17.  The attention given to the acoustic arrangements of the Greeks\nmay be inferred from Vitruv. v. 5, 8. Ritschl (Parerg. i. 227, xx.)\nhas discussed the question of the seats; but it is probable\n(according to Plautus, Capt. prol. 11) that those only who were\nnot -capite censi- had a claim to a seat.  It is probable, moreover,\nthat the words of Horace that \"captive Greece led captive her\nconqueror\" primarily refer to these epoch-making theatrical games\nof Mummius (Tac. Ann. xiv. 21).\n\n18.  The scenery of Pulcher must have been regularly painted, since\nthe birds are said to have attempted to perch on the tiles (Plin.\nH. N. xxxv. 4, 23; Val. Max. ii. 4, 6).  Hitherto the machinery for\nthunder had consisted in the shaking of nails and stones in a\ncopper kettle; Pulcher first produced a better thunder by rolling\nstones, which was thenceforth named \"Claudian thunder\" (Festus,\nv. Claudiana, p. 57).\n\n19.  Among the few minor poems preserved from this epoch there\noccurs the following epigram on this illustrious actor:--\n\n-Constiteram, exorientem Auroram forte salutans, Cum subito a laeva\nRoscius exoritur.  Pace mihi liceat, coelestes, dicere vestra;\nMortalis visust pulchrior esse deo-.\n\nThe author of this epigram, Greek in its tone and inspired by Greek\nenthusiasm for art, was no less a man than the conqueror of the\nCimbri, Quintus Lutatius Catulus, consul in 652.\n\n20.  IV. XII. Course of Literature and Rhetoric\n\n21.  -Quam lepide --legeis-- compostae ut tesserulae omnes Arte\npavimento atque emblemate vermiculato-.\n\n22.  The poet advises him--\n\n-Quo facetior videare et scire plus quant ceteri---to say not\n-pertaesum- but -pertisum-.\n\n23.  IV. III. Its Suspension by Scipio Aemilianus\n\n24.  The following longer fragment is a characteristic specimen of\nthe style and metrical treatment, the loose structure of which\ncannot possibly be reproduced in German hexameters:--\n\n-Virtus, Albine, est pretium persolvere verum\nQueis in versamur, queis vivimu' rebu' potesse;\nVirtus est homini scire quo quaeque habeat res;\nVirtus scire homini rectum, utile, quid sit honestum,\nQuae bona, quae mala item, quid inutile, turpe, inhonestum;\nVirtus quaerendae finem rei scire modumque;\nVirtus divitiis pretium persolvere posse;\nVirtus id dare quod re ipsa debetur honori,\nHostem esse atque inimicum hominum morumque malorum,\nContra defensorem hominum morumque bonorum,\nHos magni facere, his bene velle, his vivere amicum;\nCommoda praeterea patriai prima putare,\nDeinde parentum, tertia iam postremaque nostra-.\n\n25.  IV. XIII. Dramatic Arrangements, second note\n\n26.  III. X. Measures of Security in Greece\n\n27.  IV. I. Greece\n\n28.  Such scientific travels were, however, nothing uncommon among\nthe Greeks of this period.  Thus in Plautus (Men. 248, comp. 235)\none who has navigated the whole Mediterranean asks--\n\n-Quin nos hinc domum Redimus, nisi si historiam scripturi sumus-?\n\n29.  III. XIV. National Opposition\n\n30.  The only real exception, so far as we know, is the Greek\nhistory of Gnaeus Aufidius, who flourished in Cicero's boyhood\n(Tusc, v. 38, 112), that is, about 660.  The Greek memoirs of\nPublius Rutilius Rufus (consul in 649) are hardly to be regarded\nas an exception, since their author wrote them in exile at Smyrna.\n\n31.  IV. XI. Hellenism and Its Results\n\n32.  IV. XII. Education\n\n33.  IV. XII. Latin Instruction\n\n34.  The assertion, for instance, that the quaestors were\nnominated in the regal period by the burgesses, not by the king,\nis as certainly erroneous as it bears on its face the impress of\na partisan character.\n\n35.  IV. XII. Course of Literature and Rhetoric\n\n36.  IV. XII. Course of Literature and Rhetoric\n\n37.  IV. XII. Course of Literature and Rhetoric\n\n38.  IV. X. Permanent and Special -Quaestiones-\n\n39.  Cato's book probably bore the title -De iuris disciplina-\n(Gell. xiii. 20), that of Brutus the title -De iure civili- (Cic.\npro Cluent. 51, 141; De Orat. ii. 55, 223); that they were\nessentially collections of opinions, is shown by Cicero (De Orat.\nii. 33, 142).\n\n40.  IV. VI. Collision between the Senate and Equites in the\nAdministration of the Provinces, pp. 84, 205\n\n41.  IV. XII. Roman Stoa f.\n\n42.  IV. XI. Buildings\n\n\n\nEnd of Book IV\n\n\n\nTABLE OF CALENDAR EQUIVALENTS\n\nA.U.C.*          B.C.  B.C.             A.U.C.\n---------------------------------------------------------------\n000              753   753              000\n    025          728       750          003\n        050      703           725      028\n            075  678               700  053\n100              653   675              078\n    125          628       650          103\n        150      603           625      128\n            175  578               600  153\n200              553   575              178\n    225          528       550          203\n        250      503           525      228\n            275  478               500  253\n300              453   475              278\n    325          428       450          303\n        350      303           425      328\n            375  378               400  353\n400              353   375              378\n    425          328       350          403\n        450      303           325      428\n            475  278               300  453\n500              253   275              478\n    525          228       250          503\n        550      203           225      528\n            575  178               200  553\n600              153   175              578\n    625          128       150          603\n        650      103           125      628\n            675  078               100  653\n700              053   075              678\n    725          028       050          703\n        750      003           025      728\n            753  000               000  753\n\n*A. U. C.--Ab Urbe Condita (from the founding of the City of Rome)\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM\n\nby Tobias Smollett\n\n\nCOMPLETE IN TWO PARTS\n\nPART I.\n\nWith the Author's Preface, and an Introduction by G. H. Maynadier, Ph.D.\nDepartment of English, Harvard University.\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n   INTRODUCTION\n\n   PREFATORY ADDRESS\n\n   CHAPTER\n       I   Some sage Observations that naturally introduce our important\n             History\n      II   A superficial View of our Hero's Infancy\n     III   He is initiated in a Military Life, and has the good Fortune\n             to acquire a generous Patron\n      IV   His Mother's Prowess and Death; together with some Instances\n             of his own Sagacity\n       V   A brief Detail of his Education\n      VI   He meditates Schemes of Importance\n     VII   Engages in Partnership with a female Associate, in order to\n             put his Talents in Action\n    VIII   Their first Attempt; with a Digression which some Readers\n             may think impertinent\n      IX   The Confederates change their Battery, and achieve a remarkable\n             Adventure\n       X   They proceed to levy Contributions with great Success, until\n             our Hero sets out with the young Count for Vienna, where he\n             enters into League with another Adventurer\n      XI   Fathom makes various Efforts in the World of Gallantry\n     XII   He effects a Lodgment in the House of a rich Jeweller\n    XIII   He is exposed to a most perilous Incident in the Course of his\n             Intrigue with the Daughter\n     XIV   He is reduced to a dreadful Dilemma, in consequence of an\n             Assignation with the Wife\n      XV   But at length succeeds in his Attempt upon both\n     XVI   His Success begets a blind Security, by which he is once again\n             well-nigh entrapped in his Dulcinea's Apartment\n    XVII   The Step-dame's Suspicions being awakened, she lays a Snare\n             for our Adventurer, from which he is delivered by the\n             Interposition of his Good Genius\n   XVIII   Our Hero departs from Vienna, and quits the Domain of Venus\n             for the rough Field of Mars\n     XIX   He puts himself under the Guidance of his Associate, and\n             stumbles upon the French Camp, where he finishes his\n             Military Career\n      XX   He prepares a Stratagem, but finds himself countermined--\n             Proceeds on his Journey, and is overtaken by a terrible\n             Tempest\n     XXI   He falls upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis.\n    XXII   He arrives at Paris, and is pleased with his Reception\n   XXIII   Acquits himself with Address in a Nocturnal Riot\n    XXIV   He overlooks the Advances of his Friends, and smarts severely\n             for his Neglect\n     XXV   He bears his Fate like a Philosopher; and contracts\n             acquaintance with a very remarkable Personage\n    XXVI   The History of the Noble Castilian\n   XXVII   A flagrant Instance of Fathom's Virtue, in the Manner of his\n             Retreat to England\n  XXVIII   Some Account of his Fellow-Travellers\n    XXIX   Another providential Deliverance from the Effects of the\n             Smuggler's ingenious Conjecture\n     XXX   The singular Manner of Fathom's Attack and Triumph over the\n             Virtue of the fair Elenor\n    XXXI   He by accident encounters his old Friend, with whom he holds\n             a Conference, and renews a Treaty\n   XXXII   He appears in the great World with universal Applause and\n             Admiration\n  XXXIII   He attracts the Envy and Ill Offices of the minor Knights of\n             his own Order, over whom he obtains a complete Victory\n   XXXIV   He performs another Exploit, that conveys a true Idea of his\n             Gratitude and Honour\n    XXXV   He repairs to Bristol Spring, where he reigns paramount during\n             the whole Season\n   XXXVI   He is smitten with the Charms of a Female Adventurer, whose\n             Allurements subject him to a new Vicissitude of Fortune\n  XXXVII   Fresh Cause for exerting his Equanimity and Fortitude\n XXXVIII   The Biter is Bit\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom, Smollett's third novel, was\ngiven to the world in 1753.  Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, writing to her\ndaughter, the Countess of Bute, over a year later [January 1st, 1755],\nremarked that \"my friend Smollett .  .  .  has certainly a talent for\ninvention, though I think it flags a little in his last work.\"  Lady Mary\nwas both right and wrong.  The inventive power which we commonly think of\nas Smollett's was the ability to work over his own experience into\nrealistic fiction.  Of this, Ferdinand Count Fathom shows comparatively\nlittle.  It shows relatively little, too, of Smollett's vigorous\npersonality, which in his earlier works was present to give life and\ninterest to almost every chapter, were it to describe a street brawl, a\nludicrous situation, a whimsical character, or with venomous prejudice to\ngibbet some enemy.  This individuality--the peculiar spirit of the author\nwhich can be felt rather than described--is present in the dedication of\nFathom to Doctor ------, who is no other than Smollett himself, and a\ncandid revelation of his character, by the way, this dedication contains.\nIt is present, too, in the opening chapters, which show, likewise, in the\npicture of Fathom's mother, something of the author's peculiar \"talent\nfor invention.\"  Subsequently, however, there is no denying that the\nSmollett invention and the Smollett spirit both flag.  And yet, in a way,\nFathom displays more invention than any of the author's novels; it is\nbased far less than any other on personal experience.  Unfortunately\nsuch thorough-going invention was not suited to Smollett's genius.  The\nresult is, that while uninteresting as a novel of contemporary manners,\nFathom has an interest of its own in that it reveals a new side of its\nauthor.  We think of Smollett, generally, as a rambling storyteller, a\nrational, unromantic man of the world, who fills his pages with his own\noddly-metamorphosed acquaintances and experiences.  The Smollett of Count\nFathom, on the contrary, is rather a forerunner of the romantic school,\nwho has created a tolerably organic tale of adventure out of his own\nbrain.  Though this is notably less readable than the author's earlier\nworks, still the wonder is that when the man is so far \"off his beat,\" he\nshould yet know so well how to meet the strange conditions which confront\nhim.  To one whose idea of Smollett's genius is formed entirely by Random\nand Pickle and Humphry Clinker, Ferdinand Count Fathom will offer many\nsurprises.\n\nThe first of these is the comparative lifelessness of the book.  True,\nhere again are action and incident galore, but generally unaccompanied by\nthat rough Georgian hurly-burly, common in Smollett, which is so\ninteresting to contemplate from a comfortable distance, and which goes so\nfar towards making his fiction seem real.  Nor are the characters, for\nthe most part, life-like enough to be interesting.  There is an apparent\nexception, to be sure, in the hero's mother, already mentioned, the\nhardened camp-follower, whom we confidently expect to become vitalised\nafter the savage fashion of Smollett's characters.  But, alas! we have no\nchance to learn the lady's style of conversation, for the few words that\ncome from her lips are but partially characteristic; we have only too\nlittle chance to learn her manners and customs.  In the fourth chapter,\nwhile she is making sure with her dagger that all those on the field of\nbattle whom she wishes to rifle are really dead, an officer of the\nhussars, who has been watching her lucrative progress, unfeelingly puts a\nbrace of bullets into the lady's brain, just as she raises her hand to\nsmite him to the heart.  Perhaps it is as well that she is thus removed\nbefore our disappointment at the non-fulfilment of her promise becomes\npoignant.  So far as we may judge from the other personages of Count\nFathom, even this interesting Amazon would sooner or later have turned\ninto a wooden figure, with a label giving the necessary information as to\nher character.\n\nSuch certainly is her son, Fathom, the hero of the book.  Because he is\nplacarded, \"Shrewd villain of monstrous inhumanity,\" we are fain to\naccept him for what his creator intended; but seldom in word or deed is\nhe a convincingly real villain.  His friend and foil, the noble young\nCount de Melvil, is no more alive than he; and equally wooden are Joshua,\nthe high-minded, saint-like Jew, and that tedious, foolish Don Diego.\nNeither is the heroine alive, the peerless Monimia, but then, in her\ncase, want of vitality is not surprising; the presence of it would amaze\nus.  If she were a woman throbbing with life, she would be different from\nSmollett's other heroines.  The \"second lady\" of the melodrama,\nMademoiselle de Melvil, though by no means vivified, is yet more real\nthan her sister-in-law.\n\nThe fact that they are mostly inanimate figures is not the only surprise\ngiven us by the personages of Count Fathom.  It is a surprise to find few\nof them strikingly whimsical; it is a surprise to find them in some cases\nfar more distinctly conceived than any of the people in Roderick Random\nor Peregrine Pickle.  In the second of these, we saw Smollett beginning\nto understand the use of incident to indicate consistent development of\ncharacter.  In Count Fathom, he seems fully to understand this principle\nof art, though he has not learned to apply it successfully.  And so, in\nspite of an excellent conception, Fathom, as I have said, is unreal.\nAfter all his villainies, which he perpetrates without any apparent\nqualms of conscience, it is incredible that he should honestly repent of\nhis crimes.  We are much inclined to doubt when we read that \"his vice\nand ambition was now quite mortified within him,\" the subsequent\ntestimony of Matthew Bramble, Esq., in Humphry Clinker, to the contrary,\nnotwithstanding.  Yet Fathom up to this point is consistently drawn, and\ndrawn for a purpose:--to show that cold-blooded roguery, though\nsuccessful for a while, will come to grief in the end.  To heighten the\neffect of his scoundrel, Smollett develops parallel with him the virtuous\nCount de Melvil.  The author's scheme of thus using one character as the\nfoil of another, though not conspicuous for its originality, shows a\ndecided advance in the theory of constructive technique.  Only, as I have\nsaid, Smollett's execution is now defective.\n\n\"But,\" one will naturally ask, \"if Fathom lacks the amusing, and not\ninfrequently stimulating, hurly-burly of Smollett's former novels; if its\ncharacters, though well-conceived, are seldom divertingly fantastic and\nnever thoroughly animate; what makes the book interesting?\"  The surprise\nwill be greater than ever when the answer is given that, to a large\nextent, the plot makes Fathom interesting.  Yes, Smollett, hitherto\nindifferent to structure, has here written a story in which the plot\nitself, often clumsy though it may be, engages a reader's attention.  One\nactually wants to know whether the young Count is ever going to receive\nconsolation for his sorrows and inflict justice on his basely ungrateful\npensioner.  And when, finally, all turns out as it should, one is amazed\nto find how many of the people in the book have helped towards the\ndesigned conclusion.  Not all of them, indeed, nor all of the adventures,\nare indispensable, but it is manifest at the end that much, which, for\nthe time, most readers think irrelevant--such as Don Diego's history--is,\nafter all, essential.\n\nIt has already been said that in Count Fathom Smollett appears to some\nextent as a romanticist, and this is another fact which lends interest to\nthe book.  That he had a powerful imagination is not a surprise.  Any one\nversed in Smollett has already seen it in the remarkable situations which\nhe has put before us in his earlier works.  These do not indicate,\nhowever, that Smollett possessed the imagination which could excite\nromantic interest; for in Roderick Random and in Peregrine Pickle, the\nwonderful situations serve chiefly to amuse.  In Fathom, however, there\nare some designed to excite horror; and one, at least, is eminently\nsuccessful.  The hero's night in the wood between Bar-le-duc and Chalons\nwas no doubt more blood-curdling to our eighteenth-century ancestors than\nit is to us, who have become acquainted with scores of similar situations\nin the small number of exciting romances which belong to literature, and\nin the greater number which do not.  Still, even to-day, a reader, with\nhis taste jaded by trashy novels, will be conscious of Smollett's power,\nand of several thrills, likewise, as he reads about Fathom's experience\nin the loft in which the beldame locks him to pass the night.\n\nThis situation is melodramatic rather than romantic, as the word is used\ntechnically in application to eighteenth and nineteenth-century\nliterature.  There is no little in Fathom, however, which is genuinely\nromantic in the latter sense.  Such is the imprisonment of the Countess\nin the castle-tower, whence she waves her handkerchief to the young\nCount, her son and would-be rescuer.  And especially so is the scene in\nthe church, when Renaldo (the very name is romantic) visits at midnight\nthe supposed grave of his lady-love.  While he was waiting for the sexton\nto open the door, his \"soul .  .  .  was wound up to the highest pitch of\nenthusiastic sorrow.  The uncommon darkness, .  .  .  the solemn silence,\nand lonely situation of the place, conspired with the occasion of his\ncoming, and the dismal images of his fancy, to produce a real rapture of\ngloomy expectation, which the whole world could not have persuaded him to\ndisappoint.  The clock struck twelve, the owl screeched from the ruined\nbattlement, the door was opened by the sexton, who, by the light of a\nglimmering taper, conducted the despairing lover to a dreary aisle, and\nstamped upon the ground with his foot, saying, 'Here the young lady lies\ninterred.'\"\n\nWe have here such an amount of the usual romantic machinery of the\n\"grave-yard\" school of poets--that school of which Professor W. L. Phelps\ncalls Young, in his Night Thoughts, the most \"conspicuous exemplar\"--that\none is at first inclined to think Smollett poking fun at it.  The\ncontext, however, seems to prove that he was perfectly serious.  It is\ninteresting, then, as well as surprising, to find traces of the romantic\nspirit in his fiction over ten years before Walpole's Castle of Otranto.\nIt is also interesting to find so much melodramatic feeling in him,\nbecause it makes stronger the connection between him and his\nnineteenth-century disciple, Dickens.\n\nFrom all that I have said, it must not be thought that the usual Smollett\nis always, or almost always, absent from Count Fathom.  I have spoken of\nthe dedication and of the opening chapters as what we might expect from\nhis pen.  There are, besides, true Smollett strokes in the scenes in the\nprison from which Melvil rescues Fathom, and there is a good deal of the\nsatirical Smollett fun in the description of Fathom's ups and downs,\nfirst as the petted beau, and then as the fashionable doctor.  In\nchronicling the latter meteoric career, Smollett had already observed the\npeculiarity of his countrymen which Thackeray was fond of harping on in\nthe next century--\"the maxim which universally prevails among the English\npeople .  .  .  to overlook, .  .  .  on their return to the metropolis,\nall the connexions they may have chanced to acquire during their\nresidence at any of the medical wells.  And this social disposition is\nso scrupulously maintained, that two persons who live in the most\nintimate correspondence at Bath or Tunbridge, shall, in four-and-twenty\nhours .  .  .  meet in St. James's Park, without betraying the least\ntoken of recognition.\"  And good, too, is the way in which, as Dr. Fathom\ngoes rapidly down the social hill, he makes excuses for his declining\nsplendour.  His chariot was overturned \"with a hideous crash\" at such\ndanger to himself, \"that he did not believe he should ever hazard himself\nagain in any sort of wheel carriage.\"  He turned off his men for maids,\nbecause \"men servants are generally impudent, lazy, debauched, or\ndishonest.\"  To avoid the din of the street, he shifted his lodgings into\na quiet, obscure court.  And so forth and so on, in the true Smollett\nvein.\n\nBut, after all, such of the old sparks are struck only occasionally.\nApart from its plot, which not a few nineteenth-century writers of\ndetective-stories might have improved, The Adventures of Ferdinand Count\nFathom is less interesting for itself than any other piece of fiction\nfrom Smollett's pen.  For a student of Smollett, however, it is highly\ninteresting as showing the author's romantic, melodramatic tendencies,\nand the growth of his constructive technique.\n\nG. H. MAYNADIER\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM\n\n\n\n\nTO DOCTOR ------\n\n\nYou and I, my good friend, have often deliberated on the difficulty of\nwriting such a dedication as might gratify the self-complacency of a\npatron, without exposing the author to the ridicule or censure of the\npublic; and I think we generally agreed that the task was altogether\nimpracticable.--Indeed, this was one of the few subjects on which we have\nalways thought in the same manner.  For, notwithstanding that deference\nand regard which we mutually pay to each other, certain it is, we have\noften differed, according to the predominancy of those different\npassions, which frequently warp the opinion, and perplex the\nunderstanding of the most judicious.\n\nIn dedication, as in poetry, there is no medium; for, if any one of the\nhuman virtues be omitted in the enumeration of the patron's good\nqualities, the whole address is construed into an affront, and the writer\nhas the mortification to find his praise prostituted to very little\npurpose.\n\nOn the other hand, should he yield to the transports of gratitude or\naffection, which is always apt to exaggerate, and produce no more than\nthe genuine effusions of his heart, the world will make no allowance for\nthe warmth of his passion, but ascribe the praise he bestows to\ninterested views and sordid adulation.\n\nSometimes too, dazzled by the tinsel of a character which he has no\nopportunity to investigate, he pours forth the homage of his admiration\nupon some false Maecenas, whose future conduct gives the lie to his\neulogium, and involves him in shame and confusion of face.  Such was the\nfate of a late ingenious author [the Author of the \"Seasons\"], who was so\noften put to the blush for the undeserved incense he had offered in the\nheat of an enthusiastic disposition, misled by popular applause, that he\nhad resolved to retract, in his last will, all the encomiums which he had\nthus prematurely bestowed, and stigmatise the unworthy by name--a\nlaudable scheme of poetical justice, the execution of which was fatally\nprevented by untimely death.\n\nWhatever may have been the fate of other dedicators, I, for my own part,\nsit down to write this address, without any apprehension of disgrace or\ndisappointment; because I know you are too well convinced of my affection\nand sincerity to repine at what I shall say touching your character and\nconduct.  And you will do me the justice to believe, that this public\ndistinction is a testimony of my particular friendship and esteem.\n\nNot that I am either insensible of your infirmities, or disposed to\nconceal them from the notice of mankind.  There are certain foibles which\ncan only be cured by shame and mortification; and whether or not yours be\nof that species, I shall have the comfort to think my best endeavours\nwere used for your reformation.\n\nKnow then, I can despise your pride, while I honour your integrity, and\napplaud your taste, while I am shocked at your ostentation.--I have known\nyou trifling, superficial, and obstinate in dispute; meanly jealous and\nawkwardly reserved; rash and haughty in your resentments; and coarse and\nlowly in your connexions.  I have blushed at the weakness of your\nconversation, and trembled at the errors of your conduct--yet, as I own\nyou possess certain good qualities, which overbalance these defects, and\ndistinguish you on this occasion as a person for whom I have the most\nperfect attachment and esteem, you have no cause to complain of the\nindelicacy with which your faults are reprehended.  And as they are\nchiefly the excesses of a sanguine disposition and looseness of thought,\nimpatient of caution or control, you may, thus stimulated, watch over\nyour own intemperance and infirmity with redoubled vigilance and\nconsideration, and for the future profit by the severity of my reproof.\n\nThese, however, are not the only motives that induce me to trouble you\nwith this public application.  I must not only perform my duty to my\nfriends, but also discharge the debt I owe to my own interest.  We live\nin a censorious age; and an author cannot take too much precaution to\nanticipate the prejudice, misapprehension, and temerity of malice,\nignorance, and presumption.\n\nI therefore think it incumbent upon me to give some previous intimation\nof the plan which I have executed in the subsequent performance, that I\nmay not be condemned upon partial evidence; and to whom can I with more\npropriety appeal in my explanation than to you, who are so well\nacquainted with all the sentiments and emotions of my breast?\n\nA novel is a large diffused picture, comprehending the characters of\nlife, disposed in different groups, and exhibited in various attitudes,\nfor the purposes of an uniform plan, and general occurrence, to which\nevery individual figure is subservient.  But this plan cannot be executed\nwith propriety, probability, or success, without a principal personage to\nattract the attention, unite the incidents, unwind the clue of the\nlabyrinth, and at last close the scene, by virtue of his own importance.\n\nAlmost all the heroes of this kind, who have hitherto succeeded on the\nEnglish stage, are characters of transcendent worth, conducted through\nthe vicissitudes of fortune, to that goal of happiness, which ever ought\nto be the repose of extraordinary desert.--Yet the same principle by\nwhich we rejoice at the remuneration of merit, will teach us to relish\nthe disgrace and discomfiture of vice, which is always an example of\nextensive use and influence, because it leaves a deep impression of\nterror upon the minds of those who were not confirmed in the pursuit of\nmorality and virtue, and, while the balance wavers, enables the right\nscale to preponderate.\n\nIn the drama, which is a more limited field of invention, the chief\npersonage is often the object of our detestation and abhorrence; and we\nare as well pleased to see the wicked schemes of a Richard blasted, and\nthe perfidy of a Maskwell exposed, as to behold a Bevil happy, and an\nEdward victorious.\n\nThe impulses of fear, which is the most violent and interesting of all\nthe passions, remain longer than any other upon the memory; and for one\nthat is allured to virtue, by the contemplation of that peace and\nhappiness which it bestows, a hundred are deterred from the practice of\nvice, by that infamy and punishment to which it is liable, from the laws\nand regulations of mankind.\n\nLet me not, therefore, be condemned for having chosen my principal\ncharacter from the purlieus of treachery and fraud, when I declare my\npurpose is to set him up as a beacon for the benefit of the unexperienced\nand unwary, who, from the perusal of these memoirs, may learn to avoid\nthe manifold snares with which they are continually surrounded in the\npaths of life; while those who hesitate on the brink of iniquity may be\nterrified from plunging into that irremediable gulf, by surveying the\ndeplorable fate of Ferdinand Count Fathom.\n\nThat the mind might not be fatigued, nor the imagination disgusted, by a\nsuccession of vicious objects, I have endeavoured to refresh the\nattention with occasional incidents of a different nature; and raised up\na virtuous character, in opposition to the adventurer, with a view to\namuse the fancy, engage the affection, and form a striking contrast which\nmight heighten the expression, and give a relief to the moral of the\nwhole.\n\nIf I have not succeeded in my endeavours to unfold the mysteries of\nfraud, to instruct the ignorant, and entertain the vacant; if I have\nfailed in my attempts to subject folly to ridicule, and vice to\nindignation; to rouse the spirit of mirth, wake the soul of compassion,\nand touch the secret springs that move the heart; I have, at least,\nadorned virtue with honour and applause, branded iniquity with reproach\nand shame, and carefully avoided every hint or expression which could\ngive umbrage to the most delicate reader--circumstances which (whatever\nmay be my fate with the public) will with you always operate\nin favour of,\n\nDear sir, your very affectionate friend and servant,\n\nTHE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER ONE\n\nSOME SAGE OBSERVATIONS THAT NATURALLY INTRODUCE OUR IMPORTANT HISTORY.\n\n\nCardinal de Retz very judiciously observes, that all historians must of\nnecessity be subject to mistakes, in explaining the motives of those\nactions they record, unless they derive their intelligence from the\ncandid confession of the person whose character they represent; and that,\nof consequence, every man of importance ought to write his own memoirs,\nprovided he has honesty enough to tell the truth, without suppressing any\ncircumstance that may tend to the information of the reader.  This,\nhowever, is a requisite that, I am afraid, would be very rarely found\namong the number of those who exhibit their own portraits to the public.\nIndeed, I will venture to say, that, how upright soever a man's\nintentions may be, he will, in the performance of such a task, be\nsometimes misled by his own phantasy, and represent objects, as they\nappeared to him, through the mists of prejudice and passion.\n\nAn unconcerned reader, when he peruses the history of two competitors,\nwho lived two thousand years ago, or who perhaps never had existence,\nexcept in the imagination of the author, cannot help interesting himself\nin the dispute, and espousing one side of the contest, with all the zeal\nof a warm adherent.  What wonder, then, that we should be heated in our\nown concerns, review our actions with the same self-approbation that they\nhad formerly acquired, and recommend them to the world with all the\nenthusiasm of paternal affection?\n\nSupposing this to be the case, it was lucky for the cause of historical\ntruth, that so many pens have been drawn by writers, who could not be\nsuspected of such partiality; and that many great personages, among the\nancients as well as moderns, either would not or could not entertain the\npublic with their own memoirs.  From this want of inclination or capacity\nto write, in our hero himself, the undertaking is now left to me, of\ntransmitting to posterity the remarkable adventures of FERDINAND COUNT\nFATHOM; and by the time the reader shall have glanced over the subsequent\nsheets, I doubt not but he will bless God that the adventurer was not his\nown historian.\n\nThis mirror of modern chivalry was none of those who owe their dignity to\nthe circumstances of their birth, and are consecrated from the cradle for\nthe purposes of greatness, merely because they are the accidental\nchildren of wealth.  He was heir to no visible patrimony, unless we\nreckon a robust constitution, a tolerable appearance, and an uncommon\ncapacity, as the advantages of inheritance.  If the comparison obtains in\nthis point of consideration, he was as much as any man indebted to his\nparent; and pity it was, that, in the sequel of his fortune, he never had\nan opportunity of manifesting his filial gratitude and regard.  From this\nagreeable act of duty to his sire, and all those tendernesses that are\nreciprocally enjoyed betwixt the father and the son, he was unhappily\nexcluded by a small circumstance; at which, however, he was never heard\nto repine.  In short, had he been brought forth in the fabulous ages of\nthe world, the nature of his origin might have turned to his account; he\nmight, like other heroes of antiquity, have laid claim to divine\nextraction, without running the risk of being claimed by an earthly\nfather.  Not that his parents had any reason to disown or renounce their\noffspring, or that there was anything preternatural in the circumstances\nof his generation and birth; on the contrary, he was, from the beginning,\na child of promising parts, and in due course of nature ushered into the\nworld amidst a whole cloud of witnesses.  But, that he was acknowledged\nby no mortal sire, solely proceeded from the uncertainty of his mother,\nwhose affections were so dissipated among a number of admirers, that she\ncould never pitch upon the person from whose loins our hero sprung.\n\nOver and above this important doubt under which he was begotten, other\nparticularities attended his birth, and seemed to mark him out as\nsomething uncommon among the sons of men.  He was brought forth in a\nwaggon, and might be said to be literally a native of two different\ncountries; for, though he first saw the light in Holland, he was not born\ntill after the carriage arrived in Flanders; so that, all these\nextraordinary circumstances considered, the task of determining to what\ngovernment he naturally owed allegiance, would be at least as difficult\nas that of ascertaining the so much contested birthplace of Homer.\n\nCertain it is, the Count's mother was an Englishwoman, who, after having\nbeen five times a widow in one campaign, was, in the last year of the\nrenowned Marlborough's command, numbered among the baggage of the allied\narmy, which she still accompanied, through pure benevolence of spirit,\nsupplying the ranks with the refreshing streams of choice Geneva, and\naccommodating individuals with clean linen, as the emergency of their\noccasions required.  Nor was her philanthropy altogether confined to such\nministration; she abounded with \"the milk of human kindness,\" which\nflowed plentifully among her fellow-creatures; and to every son of Mars\nwho cultivated her favour, she liberally dispensed her smiles, in order\nto sweeten the toils and dangers of the field.\n\nAnd here it will not be amiss to anticipate the remarks of the reader,\nwho, in the chastity and excellency of his conception, may possibly\nexclaim, \"Good Heaven! will these authors never reform their\nimaginations, and lift their ideas from the obscene objects of low life?\nMust the public be again disgusted with the grovelling adventures of a\nwaggon?  Will no writer of genius draw his pen in the vindication of\ntaste, and entertain us with the agreeable characters, the dignified\nconversation, the poignant repartee, in short, the genteel comedy of the\npolite world?\"\n\nHave a little patience, gentle, delicate, sublime critic; you, I doubt\nnot, are one of those consummate connoisseurs, who, in their\npurifications, let humour evaporate, while they endeavour to preserve\ndecorum, and polish wit, until the edge of it is quite worn off.  Or,\nperhaps, of that class, who, in the sapience of taste, are disgusted with\nthose very flavours in the productions of their own country which have\nyielded infinite delectation to their faculties, when imported from\nanother clime; and d--n an author in despite of all precedent and\nprescription;--who extol the writings of Petronius Arbiter, read with\nrapture the amorous sallies of Ovid's pen, and chuckle over the story of\nLucian's ass; yet, if a modern author presumes to relate the progress of\na simple intrigue, are shocked at the indecency and immorality of the\nscene;--who delight in following Guzman d'Alfarache, through all the\nmazes of squalid beggary; who with pleasure accompany Don Quixote and his\nsquire, in the lowest paths of fortune; who are diverted with the\nadventures of Scarron's ragged troop of strollers, and highly entertained\nwith the servile situations of Gil Blas; yet, when a character in humble\nlife occasionally occurs in a performance of our own growth, exclaim,\nwith an air of disgust, \"Was ever anything so mean! sure, this writer\nmust have been very conversant with the lowest scenes of life\";--who,\nwhen Swift or Pope represents a coxcomb in the act of swearing, scruple\nnot to laugh at the ridiculous execrations; but, in a less reputed\nauthor, condemn the use of such profane expletives;--who eagerly explore\nthe jakes of Rabelais, for amusement, and even extract humour from the\ndean's description of a lady's dressing-room; yet in a production of\nthese days, unstamped with such venerable names, will stop their noses,\nwith all the signs of loathing and abhorrence, at a bare mention of the\nchina chamber-pot;--who applauded Catullus, Juvenal, Persius, and Lucan,\nfor their spirit in lashing the greatest names of antiquity; yet, when a\nBritish satirist, of this generation, has courage enough to call in\nquestion the talents of a pseudo-patron in power, accuse him of\ninsolence, rancour, and scurrility.\n\nIf such you be, courteous reader, I say again, have a little patience;\nfor your entertainment we are about to write.  Our hero shall, with all\nconvenient despatch, be gradually sublimed into those splendid connexions\nof which you are enamoured; and God forbid, that, in the meantime, the\nnature of his extraction should turn to his prejudice in a land of\nfreedom like this, where individuals are every day ennobled in\nconsequence of their own qualifications, without the least retrospective\nregard to the rank or merit of their ancestors.  Yes, refined reader, we\nare hastening to that goal of perfection, where satire dares not show her\nface; where nature is castigated, almost even to still life; where humour\nturns changeling, and slavers in an insipid grin; where wit is\nvolatilised into a mere vapour; where decency, divested of all substance,\nhovers about like a fantastic shadow; where the salt of genius, escaping,\nleaves nothing but pure and simple phlegm; and the inoffensive pen for\never drops the mild manna of soul-sweetening praise.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWO\n\nA SUPERFICIAL VIEW OF OUR HERO'S INFANCY.\n\n\nHaving thus bespoken the indulgence of our guests, let us now produce the\nparticulars of our entertainment, and speedily conduct our adventurer\nthrough the stage of infancy, which seldom teems with interesting\nincidents.\n\nAs the occupations of his mother would not conveniently permit her to\nsuckle this her firstborn at her own breast, and those happy ages were\nnow no more, in which the charge of nursing a child might be left to the\nnext goat or she-wolf, she resolved to improve upon the ordinances of\nnature, and foster him with a juice much more energetic than the milk of\ngoat, wolf, or woman; this was no other than that delicious nectar,\nwhich, as we have already hinted, she so cordially distributed from a\nsmall cask that hung before her, depending from her shoulders by a\nleathern zone.  Thus determined, ere he was yet twelve days old, she\nenclosed him in a canvas knapsack, which being adjusted to her neck, fell\ndown upon her back, and balanced the cargo that rested on her bosom.\n\nThere are not wanting those who affirm, that, while her double charge was\ncarried about in this situation, her keg was furnished with a long and\nslender flexible tube, which, when the child began to be clamorous, she\nconveyed into his mouth, and straight he stilled himself with sucking;\nbut this we consider as an extravagant assertion of those who mix the\nmarvellous in all their narrations, because we cannot conceive how the\ntender organs of an infant could digest such a fiery beverage, which\nnever fails to discompose the constitutions of the most hardy and robust.\nWe therefore conclude that the use of this potation was more restrained,\nand that it was with simple element diluted into a composition adapted to\nhis taste and years.  Be this as it will, he certainly was indulged in\nthe use of it to such a degree as would have effectually obstructed his\nfuture fortune, had not he been happily cloyed with the repetition of the\nsame fare, for which he conceived the utmost detestation and abhorrence,\nrejecting it with loathing and disgust, like those choice spirits, who,\nhaving been crammed with religion in their childhood, renounce it in\ntheir youth, among other absurd prejudices of education.\n\nWhile he was thus dangled in a state of suspension, a German trooper was\ntransiently smit with the charms of his mother, who listened to his\nhonourable addresses, and once more received the silken bonds of\nmatrimony; the ceremony having been performed as usual at the drum-head.\nThe lady had no sooner taken possession of her new name, than she\nbestowed it upon her son, who was thenceforward distinguished by the\nappellation of Ferdinand de Fadom; nor was the husband offended at this\npresumption in his wife, which he not only considered as a proof of her\naffection and esteem, but also as a compliment, by which he might in time\nacquire the credit of being the real father of such a hopeful child.\n\nNotwithstanding this new engagement with a foreigner, our hero's mother\nstill exercised the virtues of her calling among the English troops, so\nmuch was she biassed by that laudable partiality, which, as Horace\nobserves, the natale solum generally inspires.  Indeed this inclination\nwas enforced by another reason, that did not fail to influence her\nconduct in this particular; all her knowledge of the High Dutch language\nconsisted in some words of traffic absolutely necessary for the practice\nof hex vocation, together with sundry oaths and terms of reproach, that\nkept her customers in awe; so that, except among her own countrymen, she\ncould not indulge that propensity to conversation, for which she had been\nremarkable from her earliest years.  Nor did this instance of her\naffection fail of turning to her account in the sequel.  She was promoted\nto the office of cook to a regimental mess of officers; and, before the\npeace of Utrecht, was actually in possession of a suttling-tent, pitched\nfor the accommodation of the gentlemen in the army.\n\nMeanwhile, Ferdinand improved apace in the accomplishments of infancy;\nhis beauty was conspicuous, and his vigour so uncommon, that he was\nwith justice likened unto Hercules in the cradle.  The friends of his\nfather-in-law dandled him on their knees, while he played with their\nwhiskers, and, before he was thirteen months old, taught him to suck\nbrandy impregnated with gunpowder, through the touch-hole of a pistol.\nAt the same time, he was caressed by divers serjeants of the British\narmy, who severally and in secret contemplated his qualifications with a\nfather's pride, excited by the artful declaration with which the mother\nhad flattered each apart.\n\nSoon as the war was (for her unhappily) concluded, she, as in duty bound,\nfollowed her husband into Bohemia; and his regiment being sent into\ngarrison at Prague, she opened a cabaret in that city, which was\nfrequented by a good many guests of the Scotch and Irish nations, who\nwere devoted to the exercise of arms in the service of the Emperor.  It\nwas by this communication that the English tongue became vernacular to\nyoung Ferdinand, who, without such opportunity, would have been a\nstranger to the language of his forefathers, in spite of all his mother's\nloquacity and elocution; though it must be owned, for the credit of her\nmaternal care, that she let slip no occasion of making it familiar to his\near and conception; for, even at those intervals in which she could find\nno person to carry on the altercation, she used to hold forth in earnest\nsoliloquies upon the subject of her own situation, giving vent to many\nopprobrious invectives against her husband's country, between which and\nOld England she drew many odious comparisons; and prayed, without\nceasing, that Europe might speedily be involved in a general war, so as\nthat she might have some chance of re-enjoying the pleasures and\nemoluments of a Flanders campaign.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THREE\n\nHE IS INITIATED IN A MILITARY LIFE, AND HAS THE GOOD FORTUNE TO ACQUIRE A\nGENEROUS PATRON.\n\nWhile she wearied Heaven with these petitions, the flame of war broke out\nbetwixt the houses of Ottoman and Austria, and the Emperor sent forth an\narmy into Hungary, under the auspices of the renowned Prince Eugene.  On\naccount of this expedition, the mother of our hero gave up housekeeping,\nand cheerfully followed her customers and husband into the field; having\nfirst provided herself with store of those commodities in which she had\nformerly merchandised.  Although the hope of profit might in some measure\naffect her determination, one of the chief motives for her visiting the\nfrontiers of Turkey, was the desire of initiating her son in the\nrudiments of his education, which she now thought high time to inculcate,\nhe being, at this period, in the sixth year of his age; he was\naccordingly conducted to the camp, which she considered as the most\nconsummate school of life, and proposed for the scene of his instruction;\nand in this academy he had not continued many weeks, when he was an\neye-witness of that famous victory, which, with sixty thousand men, the\nImperial general obtained over an army of one hundred and fifty thousand\nTurks.\n\nHis father-in-law was engaged, and his mother would not be idle on this\noccasion.  She was a perfect mistress of all the camp qualifications, and\nthought it a duty incumbent on her to contribute all that lay in her\npower towards distressing the enemy.  With these sentiments she hovered\nabout the skirts of the army, and the troops were no sooner employed in\nthe pursuit, than she began to traverse the field of battle with a\npoignard and a bag, in order to consult her own interest, annoy the foe,\nand exercise her humanity at the same time.  In short, she had, with\namazing prowess, delivered some fifty or threescore disabled Mussulmen of\nthe pain under which they groaned, and made a comfortable booty of the\nspoils of the slain, when her eyes were attracted by the rich attire of\nan Imperial officer, who lay bleeding on the plain, to all appearance in\nthe agonies of death.\n\nShe could not in her heart refuse that favour to a friend and Christian\nshe had so compassionately bestowed upon so many enemies and infidels,\nand therefore drew near with the sovereign remedy, which she had already\nadministered with such success.  As she approached this deplorable object\nof pity, her ears were surprised with an ejaculation in the English\ntongue, which he fervently pronounced, though with a weak and languid\nvoice, recommending his soul to God, and his family to the protection of\nHeaven.  Our Amazon's purpose was staggered by this providential\nincident; the sound of her native language, so unexpectedly heard, and so\npathetically delivered, had a surprising effect upon her imagination; and\nthe faculty of reflection did not forsake her in such emergency.  Though\nshe could not recollect the features of this unhappy officer, she\nconcluded, from his appearance, that he was some person of distinction in\nthe service, and foresaw greater advantage to herself in attempting to\npreserve his life, than she could possibly reap from the execution of her\nfirst resolve.  \"If,\" said she to herself, \"I can find means of conveying\nhim to his tent alive, he cannot but in conscience acknowledge my\nhumanity with some considerable recompense; and, should he chance to\nsurvive his wounds, I have everything to expect from his gratitude and\npower.\"\n\nFraught with these prudential suggestions, she drew near the unfortunate\nstranger, and, in a softened accent of pity and condolence, questioned\nhim concerning his name, condition, and the nature of his mischance, at\nthe same time making a gentle tender of her service.  Agreeably surprised\nto hear himself accosted in such a manner, by a person whose equipage\nseemed to promise far other designs, he thanked her in the most grateful\nterms for her humanity, with the appellation of kind countrywoman; gave\nher to understand that he was colonel of a regiment of horse; that he had\nfallen in consequence of a shot he received in his breast at the\nbeginning of the action; and, finally, entreated her to procure some\ncarriage on which he might be removed to his tent.  Perceiving him faint\nand exhausted with loss of blood, she raised up his head, and treated him\nwith that cordial which was her constant companion.  At that instant,\nespying a small body of hussars returning to the camp with the plunder\nthey had taken, she invoked their assistance, and they forthwith carried\nthe officer to his own quarters, where his wound was dressed, and his\npreserver carefully tended him until his recovery was completed.\n\nIn return for these good offices, this gentleman, who was originally of\nScotland, rewarded her for the present with great liberality, assured her\nof his influence in promoting her husband, and took upon himself the\ncharge of young Ferdinand's education; the boy was immediately taken into\nhis protection, and entered as a trooper in his own regiment; but his\ngood intentions towards his father-in-law were frustrated by the death of\nthe German, who, in a few days after this disposition, was shot in the\ntrenches before Temiswaer.\n\nThis event, over and above the conjugal affliction with which it invaded\nthe lady's quiet, would have involved her in infinite difficulty and\ndistress, with regard to her temporal concerns, by leaving her\nunprotected in the midst of strangers, had not she been thus\nprovidentially supplied with an effectual patron in the colonel, who was\nknown by the appellation of Count Melvil.  He no sooner saw her, by the\ndeath of her husband, detached from all personal connexions with a\nmilitary life, than he proposed that she should quit her occupation in\nthe camp, and retire to his habitation in the city of Presburg, where she\nwould be entertained in ease and plenty during the remaining part of her\nnatural life.  With all due acknowledgments of his generosity, she begged\nto be excused from embracing his proposal, alleging she was so much\naccustomed to her present way of life, and so much devoted to the service\nof the soldiery, that she should never be happy in retirement, while the\ntroops of any prince in Christendom kept the field.\n\nThe Count, finding her determined to prosecute her scheme, repeated his\npromise of befriending her upon all occasions; and in the meantime\nadmitted Ferdinand into the number of his domestics, resolving that he\nshould be brought up in attendance upon his own son, who was a boy of the\nsame age.  He kept him, however, in his tent, until he should have an\nopportunity of revisiting his family in person; and, before that occasion\noffered, two whole years elapsed, during which the illustrious Prince\nEugene gained the celebrated battle of Belgrade, and afterwards made\nhimself master of that important frontier.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FOUR\n\nHIS MOTHER'S PROWESS AND DEATH; TOGETHER WITH SOME INSTANCES OF HIS OWN\nSAGACITY.\n\n\nIt would have been impossible for the mother of our adventurer, such as\nshe hath been described, to sit quietly in her tent, while such an heroic\nscene was acting.  She was no sooner apprised of the general's intention\nto attack the enemy, than she, as usual, packed up her moveables in a\nwaggon, which she committed to the care of a peasant in the\nneighbourhood, and put herself in motion with the troops; big with the\nexpectation of re-acting that part in which she had formerly acquitted\nherself so much to her advantage.--Nay, she by this time looked upon her\nown presence as a certain omen of success to the cause which she\nespoused; and, in their march to battle, actually encouraged the ranks\nwith repeated declarations, importing, that she had been eye-witness of\nten decisive engagements, in all of which her friends had been\nvictorious, and imputing such uncommon good fortune to some supernatural\nquality inherent in her person.\n\nWhether or not this confidence contributed to the fortune of the day, by\ninspiring the soldiers to an uncommon pitch of courage and resolution, I\nshall not pretend to determine.  But, certain it is, the victory began\nfrom that quarter in which she had posted herself; and no corps in the\narmy behaved with such intrepidity as that which was manifested by those\nwho were favoured with her admonitions and example; for she not only\nexposed her person to the enemy's fire, with the indifference and\ndeliberation of a veteran, but she is said to have achieved a very\nconspicuous exploit by the prowess of her single arm.  The extremity of\nthe line to which she had attached herself, being assaulted in flank by a\nbody of the spahis, wheeled about, in order to sustain the charge, and\nreceived them with such a seasonable fire, as brought a great number of\nturbans to the ground; among those who fell, was one of the chiefs or\nagas, who had advanced before the rest, with a view to signalise his\nvalour.\n\nOur English Penthesilea no sooner saw this Turkish leader drop, than,\nstruck with the magnificence of his own and horse's trappings, she sprung\nforward to seize them as her prize, and found the aga not dead, though in\na good measure disabled by his misfortune, which was entirely owing to\nthe weight of his horse, that, having been killed by a musket-ball, lay\nupon his leg, so that he could not disengage himself.  Nevertheless,\nperceiving the virago approach with fell intent, he brandished his\nsymitar, and tried to intimidate his assailant with a most horrible\nexclamation; but it was not the dismal yell of a dismounted cavalier,\nthough enforced with a hideous ferocity of countenance, and the menacing\ngestures with which he waited her approach, that could intimidate such an\nundaunted she-campaigner; she saw him writhing in the agonies of a\nsituation from which he could not move; and, running towards him with the\nnimbleness and intrepidity of a Camilla, described a semicircle in the\nprogress of her assault, and attacking him on one side, plunged her\nwell-tried dagger in his throat.  The shades of death encompassed him,\nhis life-blood issued at the wound, he fell prone upon the earth, he bit\nthe dust, and having thrice invoked the name of Allah! straight expired.\n\nWhile his destiny was thus fulfilled, his followers began to reel; they\nseemed dismayed at the fate of their chief, beheld their companions drop\nlike the leaves in autumn, and suddenly halted in the midst of their\ncareer.  The Imperialists, observing the confusion of the enemy,\nredoubled their fire; and, raising a dreadful shout, advanced in order to\nimprove the advantage they had gained.  The spahis durst not wait the\nshock of such an encounter; they wheeled to the right-about, and clapping\nspurs to their horses, fled in the utmost disorder.  This was actually\nthe circumstance that turned the scale of battle.  The Austrians pursued\ntheir good fortune with uncommon impetuosity, and in a few minutes left\nthe field clear for the mother of our hero, who was such an adept in the\nart of stripping, that in the twinkling of an eye the bodies of the aga\nand his Arabian lay naked to the skin.  It would have been happy for her,\nhad she been contented with these first-fruits, reaped from the fortune\nof the day, and retired with her spoils, which were not inconsiderable;\nbut, intoxicated with the glory she had won, enticed by the glittering\ncaparisons that lay scattered on the plain, and without doubt prompted by\nthe secret instinct of her fate, she resolved to seize opportunity by the\nforelock, and once for all indemnify herself for the many fatigues,\nhazards, and sorrows she had undergone.\n\nThus determined, she reconnoitred the field, and practised her address so\nsuccessfully, that in less than half an hour she was loaded with ermine\nand embroidery, and disposed to retreat with her burden, when her regards\nwere solicited by a splendid bundle, which she descried at some distance\nlying on the ground.  This was no other than an unhappy officer of\nhussars; who, after having the good fortune to take a Turkish standard,\nwas desperately wounded in the thigh, and obliged to quit his horse;\nfinding himself in such a helpless condition, he had wrapped his\nacquisition round his body, that whatever might happen, he and his glory\nshould not be parted; and thus shrouded, among the dying and the dead, he\nhad observed the progress of our heroine, who stalked about the field,\nlike another Atropos, finishing, wherever she came, the work of death.\nHe did not at all doubt, that he himself would be visited in the course\nof her peregrinations, and therefore provided for her reception, with a\npistol ready cocked in his hand, while he lay perdue beneath his covert,\nin all appearance bereft of life.  He was not deceived in his prognostic;\nshe no sooner eyed the golden crescent than, inflamed with curiosity or\ncupidity, she directed thitherward her steps, and discerning the carcase\nof a man, from which, she thought, there would be a necessity for\ndisengaging it, she lifted up her weapon, in order to make sure of her\npurchase; and in the very instant of discharging her blow, received a\nbrace of bullets in her brain.\n\nThus ended the mortal pilgrimage of this modern Amazon; who, in point of\ncourage, was not inferior to Semiramis, Tomyris, Zenobia, Thalestris, or\nany boasted heroine of ancient times.  It cannot be supposed that this\ncatastrophe made a very deep impression upon the mind of young Ferdinand,\nwho had just then attained the ninth year of his age, and been for a\nconsiderable time weaned from her maternal caresses; especially as he\nfelt no wants nor grievances in the family of the Count, who favoured him\nwith a particular share of indulgence, because he perceived in him a\nspirit of docility, insinuation, and sagacity, far above his years.  He\ndid not, however, fail to lament the untimely fate of his mother, with\nsuch filial expressions of sorrow, as still more intimately recommended\nhim to his patron; who, being himself a man of extraordinary benevolence,\nlooked upon the boy as a prodigy of natural affection, and foresaw in his\nfuture services a fund of gratitude and attachment, that could not fail\nto render him a valuable acquisition to his family.\n\nIn his own country, he had often seen connexions of that sort, which\nhaving been planted in the infancy of the adherent, had grown up to a\nsurprising pitch of fidelity and friendship, that no temptation could\nbias, and no danger dissolve.  He therefore rejoiced in the hope of\nseeing his own son accommodated with such a faithful attendant, in the\nperson of young Fathom, on whom he resolved to bestow the same education\nhe had planned for the other, though conveyed in such a manner as should\nbe suitable to the sphere in which he was ordained to move.  In\nconsequence of these determinations, our young adventurer led a very easy\nlife, in quality of page to the Count, in whose tent he lay upon a\npallet, close to his field-bed, and often diverted him with his childish\nprattle in the English tongue, which the more seldom his master had\noccasion to speak, he the more delighted to hear.  In the exercise of his\nfunction, the boy was incredibly assiduous and alert; far from neglecting\nthe little particulars of his duty, and embarking in the mischievous\namusements of the children belonging to the camp, he was always diligent,\nsedate, agreeably officious and anticipating; and in the whole of his\nbehaviour seemed to express the most vigilant sense of his patron's\ngoodness and generosity; nay, to such a degree had these sentiments, in\nall appearance, operated upon his reflection, that one morning, while he\nsupposed the Count asleep, he crept softly to his bedside, and gently\nkissing his hand, which happened to be uncovered, pronounced, in a low\nvoice, a most fervent prayer in his behalf, beseeching Heaven to shower\ndown blessings upon him, as the widow's friend and the orphan's father.\nThis benediction was not lost upon the Count, who chanced to be awake,\nand heard it with admiration; but what riveted Ferdinand in his good\ngraces, was a discovery that our youth made, while his master was upon\nduty in the trenches before Belgrade.\n\nTwo foot soldiers, standing sentry near the door of the tent, were\ncaptivated with the sight of some valuable moveables belonging to it; and\nsupposing, in their great wisdom, that the city of Belgrade was too well\nfortified to be taken during that campaign, they came to a resolution of\nwithdrawing themselves from the severe service of the trenches, by\ndeserting to the enemy, after they should have rifled Count Melvil's tent\nof the furniture by which they were so powerfully allured.  The\nparticulars of this plan were concerted in the French language, which,\nthey imagined, would screen them from all risk of being detected, in case\nthey should be overheard, though, as there was no living creature in\nsight, they had no reason to believe that any person was privy to their\nconversation.  Nevertheless, they were mistaken in both these\nconjectures.  The conference reached the ears of Fathom, who was at the\nother end of the tent, and had perceived the eager looks with which they\nconsidered some parts of the furniture.  He had penetration enough to\nsuspect their desire, and, alarmed by that suspicion, listened\nattentively to their discourse; which, from a slender knowledge in the\nFrench tongue, he had the good fortune partly to understand.\n\nThis important piece of intelligence he communicated to the Count at his\nreturn, and measures were immediately taken to defeat the design, and\nmake an example of the authors, who being permitted to load themselves\nwith the booty, were apprehended in their retreat, and punished with\ndeath according to their demerits.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FIVE\n\nA BRIEF DETAIL OF HIS EDUCATION.\n\n\nNothing could have more seasonably happened to confirm the good opinion\nwhich the colonel entertained of Ferdinand's principles.  His intentions\ntowards the boy grew every day more and more warm; and, immediately after\nthe peace of Passarowitz, he retired to his own house at Presburg, and\npresented young Fathom to his lady, not only as the son of a person to\nwhom he owed his life, but also as a lad who merited his peculiar\nprotection and regard by his own personal virtue.  The Countess, who was\nan Hungarian, received him with great kindness and affability, and her\nson was ravished with the prospect of enjoying such a companion.  In\nshort, fortune seemed to have provided for him an asylum, in which he\nmight be safely trained up, and suitably prepared for more important\nscenes of life than any of his ancestors had ever known.\n\nHe was not, in all respects, entertained on the footing of his young\nmaster; yet he shared in all his education and amusements, as one whom\nthe old gentleman was fully determined to qualify for the station of an\nofficer in the service; and, if he did not eat with the Count, he was\nevery day regaled with choice bits from his table; holding, as it were, a\nmiddle place between the rank of a relation and favourite domestic.\nAlthough his patron maintained a tutor in the house, to superintend the\nconduct of his heir, he committed the charge of his learning to the\ninstructions of a public school; where he imagined the boy would imbibe a\nlaudable spirit of emulation among his fellows, which could not fail of\nturning out to the advantage of his education.  Ferdinand was entered in\nthe same academy; and the two lads proceeded equally in the paths of\nerudition; a mutual friendship and intimacy soon ensued, and,\nnotwithstanding the levity and caprice commonly discernible in the\nbehaviour of such boys, very few or rather no quarrels happened in the\ncourse of their communication.  Yet their dispositions were altogether\ndifferent, and their talents unlike.  Nay, this dissimilarity was the\nvery bond of their union; because it prevented that jealousy and\nrivalship which often interrupts the harmony of two warm contemporaries.\n\nThe young Count made extraordinary progress in the exercises of the\nschool, though he seemed to take very little pains in the cultivation of\nhis studies; and became a perfect hero in all the athletic diversions of\nhis fellow-scholars; but, at the same time, exhibited such a bashful\nappearance and uncouth address, that his mother despaired of ever seeing\nhim improved into any degree of polite behaviour.  On the other hand,\nFathom, who was in point of learning a mere dunce, became, even in his\nchildhood, remarkable among the ladies for his genteel deportment and\nvivacity; they admired the proficiency he made under the directions of\nhis dancing-master, the air with which he performed his obeisance at his\nentrance and exit; and were charmed with the agreeable assurance and\nlively sallies of his conversation; while they expressed the utmost\nconcern and disgust at the boorish demeanour of his companion, whose\nextorted bows resembled the pawings of a mule, who hung his head in\nsilence like a detected sheep-stealer, who sat in company under the most\nawkward expressions of constraint, and whose discourse never exceeded the\nsimple monosyllables of negation and assent.\n\nIn vain did all the females of the family propose to him young Fathom, as\na pattern and reproach.  He remained unaltered by all their efforts and\nexpostulations, and allowed our adventurer to enjoy the triumph of his\npraise, while he himself was conscious of his own superiority in those\nqualifications which seemed of more real importance than the mere\nexteriors and forms of life.  His present ambition was not to make a\nfigure at his father's table, but to eclipse his rivals at school, and to\nacquire an influence and authority among these confederates.\nNevertheless, Fathom might possibly have fallen under his displeasure or\ncontempt, had not that pliant genius found means to retain his friendship\nby seasonable compliances and submission; for the sole study, or at least\nthe chief aim of Ferdinand, was to make himself necessary and agreeable\nto those on whom his dependence was placed.  His talent was in this\nparticular suited to his inclination; he seemed to have inherited it from\nhis mother's womb; and, without all doubt, would have raised upon it a\nmost admirable superstructure of fortune and applause, had not it been\ninseparably yoked with a most insidious principle of self-love, that grew\nup with him from the cradle, and left no room in his heart for the least\nparticle of social virtue.  This last, however, he knew so well how to\ncounterfeit, by means of a large share of ductility and dissimulation,\nthat, surely, he was calculated by nature to dupe even the most cautious,\nand gratify his appetites, by levying contributions on all mankind.\n\nSo little are the common instructors of youth qualified to judge the\ncapacities of those who are under their tutelage and care, that Fathom,\nby dint of his insinuating arts, made shift to pass upon the schoolmaster\nas a lad of quick parts, in despite of a natural inaptitude to retain his\nlessons, which all his industry could never overcome.  In order to\nremedy, or rather to cloak this defect in his understanding, he had\nalways recourse to the friendship of the young Count, who freely\npermitted him to transcribe his exercises, until a small accident\nhappened, which had well-nigh put a stop to these instances of his\ngenerosity.--The adventure, inconsiderable as it is, we shall record, as\nthe first overt act of Ferdinand's true character, as well as an\nillustration of the opinion we have advanced touching the blind and\ninjudicious decisions of a right pedagogue.\n\nAmong other tasks imposed by the pedant upon the form to which our two\ncompanions belonged, they were one evening ordered to translate a chapter\nof Caesar's Commentaries.  Accordingly the young Count went to work, and\nperformed the undertaking with great elegance and despatch.  Fathom,\nhaving spent the night in more effeminate amusements, was next morning so\nmuch hurried for want of time, that in his transcription he neglected to\ninsert a few variations from the text, these being the terms on which he\nwas allowed to use it; so that it was verbatim a copy of the original.\nAs those exercises were always delivered in a heap, subscribed with the\nseveral names of the boys to whom they belonged, the schoolmaster chanced\nto peruse the version of Ferdinand, before he looked into any of the\nrest, and could not help bestowing upon it particular marks of\napprobation.  The next that fell under his examination was that of the\nyoung Count, when he immediately perceived the sameness, and, far from\nimputing it to the true cause, upbraided him with having copied the\nexercise of our adventurer, and insisted upon chastising him upon the\nspot for his want of application.\n\nHad not the young gentleman thought his honour was concerned, he would\nhave submitted to the punishment without murmuring; but he inherited,\nfrom his parents, the pride of two fierce nations, and, being overwhelmed\nwith reproaches for that which he imagined ought to have redounded to his\nglory, he could not brook the indignity, and boldly affirmed, that he\nhimself was the original, to whom Ferdinand was beholden for his\nperformance.  The schoolmaster, nettled to find himself mistaken in his\njudgment, resolved that the Count should have no cause to exult in the\ndiscovery he had made, and, like a true flogger, actually whipped him for\nhaving allowed Fathom to copy his exercise.  Nay, in the hope of\nvindicating his own penetration, he took an opportunity of questioning\nFerdinand in private concerning the circumstances of the translation, and\nour hero, perceiving his drift, gave him such artful and ambiguous\nanswers, as persuaded him that the young Count had acted the part of a\nplagiary, and that the other had been restrained from doing himself\njustice, by the consideration of his own dependence.\n\nThis profound director did not fail, in honour of his own discernment, to\nwhisper about the misrepresentation, as an instance of the young Count's\ninsolence, and Fathom's humility and good sense.  The story was\ncirculated among the servants, especially the maids belonging to the\nfamily, whose favour our hero had acquired by his engaging behaviour; and\nat length it reached the ears of his patron, who, incensed at his son's\npresumption and inhospitality, called him to a severe account, when the\nyoung gentleman absolutely denied the truth of the allegation, and\nappealed to the evidence of Fathom himself.  Our adventurer was\naccordingly summoned by the father, and encouraged to declare the truth,\nwith an assurance of his constant protection; upon which Ferdinand very\nwisely fell upon his knees, and, while the tears gushed from his eyes,\nacquitted the young Count of the imputation, and expressed his\napprehension, that the report had been spread by some of his enemies, who\nwanted to prejudice him in the opinion of his patron.\n\nThe old gentleman was not satisfied of his son's integrity by this\ndeclaration; being naturally of a generous disposition, highly\nprepossessed in favour of the poor orphan, and chagrined at the\nunpromising appearance of his heir, he suspected that Fathom was overawed\nby the fear of giving offence, and that, notwithstanding what he had\nsaid, the case really stood as it had been represented.  In this\npersuasion, he earnestly exhorted his son to resist and combat with any\nimpulse he might feel within himself, tending to selfishness, fraud, or\nimposition; to encourage every sentiment of candour and benevolence, and\nto behave with moderation and affability to all his fellow-creatures.  He\nlaid upon him strong injunctions, not without a mixture of threats, to\nconsider Fathom as the object of his peculiar regard; to respect him as\nthe son of the Count's preserver, as a Briton, a stranger, and, above\nall, an helpless orphan, to whom the rights of hospitality were doubly\ndue.\n\nSuch admonitions were not lost upon the youth, who, under the rough husk\nof his personal exhibition, possessed a large share of generous\nsensibility.  Without any formal professions to his father, he resolved\nto govern himself according to his remonstrances; and, far from\nconceiving the least spark of animosity against Fathom, he looked upon\nthe poor boy as the innocent cause of his disgrace, and redoubled his\nkindness towards him, that his honour might never again be called\nin question, upon the same subject.  Nothing is more liable to\nmisconstruction than an act of uncommon generosity; one half of the world\nmistake the motive, from want of ideas to conceive an instance of\nbeneficence that soars so high above the level of their own sentiments;\nand the rest suspect it of something sinister or selfish, from the\nsuggestions of their own sordid and vicious inclinations.  The young\nCount subjected himself to such misinterpretation, among those who\nobserved the increased warmth of civility and complaisance in his\nbehaviour to Ferdinand.  They ascribed it to his desire of still\nprofiting by our adventurer's superior talents, by which alone they\nsupposed him enabled to maintain any degree of reputation at school; or\nto the fear of being convicted by him of some misdemeanour of which he\nknew himself guilty.  These suspicions were not effaced by the conduct of\nFerdinand, who, when examined on the subject, managed his answers in such\na manner, as confirmed their conjectures, while he pretended to refute\nthem, and at the same time acquired to himself credit for his\nextraordinary discretion and self-denial.\n\nIf he exhibited such a proof of sagacity in the twelfth year of his age,\nwhat might not be expected from his finesse in the maturity of his\nfaculties and experience?  Thus secured in the good graces of the whole\nfamily, he saw the days of his puerility glide along in the most\nagreeable elapse of caresses and amusement.  He never fairly plunged into\nthe stream of school-education, but, by floating on the surface, imbibed\na small tincture of those different sciences which his master pretended\nto teach.  In short, he resembled those vagrant swallows that skim along\nthe level of some pool or river, without venturing to wet one feather in\ntheir wings, except in the accidental pursuit of an inconsiderable fly.\nYet, though his capacity or inclination was unsuited for studies of this\nkind, he did not fail to manifest a perfect genius in the acquisition of\nother more profitable arts.  Over and above the accomplishments of\naddress, for which he hath been already celebrated, he excelled all his\nfellows in his dexterity at fives and billiards; was altogether\nunrivalled in his skill at draughts and backgammon; began, even at these\nyears, to understand the moves and schemes of chess; and made himself a\nmere adept in the mystery of cards, which he learned in the course of his\nassiduities and attention to the females of the house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SIX\n\nHE MEDITATES SCHEMES OF IMPORTANCE.\n\n\nIt was in these parties that he attracted the notice and friendship of\nhis patron's daughter, a girl by two years older than himself, who was\nnot insensible to his qualifications, and looked upon him with the most\nfavourable eyes of prepossession.  Whether or not he at this period of\nhis life began to project plans for availing himself of her\nsusceptibility, is uncertain; but, without all doubt, he cultivated her\nesteem with as obsequious and submissive attention as if he had already\nformed the design, which, in his advanced age, he attempted to put in\nexecution.\n\nDivers circumstances conspired to promote him in the favour of this young\nlady; the greenness of his years secured him from any appearance of\nfallacious aim; so that he was indulged in frequent opportunities of\nconversing with his young mistress, whose parents encouraged this\ncommunication, by which they hoped she would improve in speaking the\nlanguage of her father.  Such connexions naturally produce intimacy and\nfriendship.  Fathom's person was agreeable, his talents calculated for\nthe meridian of those parties, and his manners so engaging, that there\nwould have been no just subject for wonder, had he made an impression\nupon the tender unexperienced heart of Mademoiselle de Melvil, whose\nbeauty was not so attractive as to extinguish his hope, in raising up a\nnumber of formidable rivals; though her expectations of fortune were such\nas commonly lend additional lustre to personal merit.\n\nAll these considerations were so many steps towards the success of\nFerdinand's pretensions; and though he cannot be supposed to have\nperceived them at first, he in the sequel seemed perfectly well apprised\nof his advantages, and used them to the full extent of his faculties.\nObserving that she delighted in music, he betook himself to the study of\nthat art, and, by dint of application and a tolerable ear, learned of\nhimself to accompany her with a German flute, while she sung and played\nupon the harpsichord.  The Count, seeing his inclination, and the\nprogress he had made, resolved that his capacity should not be lost for\nwant of cultivation; and accordingly provided him with a master, by whom\nhe was instructed in the principles of the art, and soon became a\nproficient in playing upon the violin.\n\nIn the practice of these improvements and avocations, and in attendance\nupon his young master, whom he took care never to disoblige or neglect,\nhe attained to the age of sixteen, without feeling the least abatement in\nthe friendship and generosity of those upon whom he depended; but, on the\ncontrary, receiving every day fresh marks of their bounty and regard.  He\nhad before this time been smit with the ambition of making a conquest of\nthe young lady's heart, and foresaw manifold advantages to himself in\nbecoming son-in-law to Count Melvil, who, he never doubted, would soon be\nreconciled to the match, if once it could be effectuated without his\nknowledge.  Although he thought he had great reason to believe that\nMademoiselle looked upon him with an eye of peculiar favour, his\ndisposition was happily tempered with an ingredient of caution, that\nhindered him from acting with precipitation; and he had discerned in the\nyoung lady's deportment certain indications of loftiness and pride, which\nkept him in the utmost vigilance and circumspection; for he knew, that,\nby a premature declaration, he should run the risk of forfeiting all the\nadvantages he had gained, and blasting those expectations that now\nblossomed so gaily in his heart.\n\nRestricted by these reflections, he acted at a wary distance, and\ndetermined to proceed by the method of sap, and, summoning all his\nartifice and attractions to his aid, employed them under the insidious\ncover of profound respect, in order to undermine those bulwarks of\nhaughtiness or discretion, which otherwise might have rendered his\napproaches to her impracticable.  With a view to enhance the value of his\ncompany, and sound her sentiments at the same time, he became more\nreserved than usual, and seldomer engaged in her parties of music and\ncards; yet, in the midst of his reserve, he never failed in those\ndemonstrations of reverence and regard, which he knew perfectly well how\nto express, but devised such excuses for his absence, as she could not\nhelp admitting.  In consequence of this affected shyness, she more than\nonce gently chid him for his neglect and indifference, observing, with an\nironical air, that he was now too much of a man to be entertained with\nsuch effeminate diversions; but her reproofs were pronounced with too\nmuch ease and good-humour to be agreeable to our hero, who desired to see\nher ruffled and chagrined at his absence, and to hear himself rebuked\nwith an angry affectation of disdain.  This effort, therefore, he\nreinforced with the most captivating carriage he could assume, in those\nhours which he now so sparingly bestowed upon his mistress.  He regaled\nher with all the entertaining stories he could learn or invent,\nparticularly such as he thought would justify and recommend the levelling\npower of love, that knows no distinctions of fortune.  He sung nothing\nbut tender airs and passionate complaints, composed by desponding or\ndespairing swains; and, to render his performances of this kind the more\npathetic, interlarded them with some seasonable sighs, while the tears,\nwhich he had ever at command, stood collected in either eye.\n\nIt was impossible for her to overlook such studied emotions; she in a\njocose manner taxed him with having lost his heart, rallied the excess of\nhis passion, and in a merry strain undertook to be an advocate for his\nlove.  Her behaviour was still wide of his wish and expectation.  He\nthought she would, in consequence of her discovery, have betrayed some\ninterested symptom; that her face would have undergone some favourable\nsuffusion; that her tongue would have faltered, her breast heaved, and\nher whole deportment betokened internal agitation and disorder, in which\ncase, he meant to profit by the happy impression, and declare himself,\nbefore she could possibly recollect the dictates of her pride.--Baffled\nhowever in his endeavours, by the serenity of the young lady, which he\nstill deemed equivocal, he had recourse to another experiment, by which\nhe believed he should make a discovery of her sentiments beyond all\npossibility of doubt.  One day, while he accompanied Mademoiselle in her\nexercise of music, he pretended all of a sudden to be taken ill, and\ncounterfeited a swoon in her apartment.  Surprised at this accident, she\nscreamed aloud, but far from running to his assistance, with the\ntransports and distraction of a lover, she ordered her maid, who was\npresent, to support his head, and went in person to call for more help.\nHe was accordingly removed to his own chamber, where, willing to be still\nmore certified of her inclinations, he prolonged the farce, and lay\ngroaning under the pretence of a severe fever.\n\nThe whole family was alarmed upon this occasion; for, as we have already\nobserved, he was an universal favourite.  He was immediately visited by\nthe old Count and his lady, who expressed the utmost concern at his\ndistemper, ordered him to be carefully attended, and sent for a physician\nwithout loss of time.  The young gentleman would scarce stir from his\nbedside, where he ministered unto him with all the demonstrations of\nbrotherly affection; and Miss exhorted him to keep up his spirits, with\nmany expressions of unreserved sympathy and regard.  Nevertheless, he saw\nnothing in her behaviour but what might be naturally expected from common\nfriendship, and a compassionate disposition, and was very much mortified\nat his disappointment.\n\nWhether the miscarriage actually affected his constitution, or the doctor\nhappened to be mistaken in his diagnostics, we shall not pretend to\ndetermine; but the patient was certainly treated secundum artem, and all\nhis complaints in a little time realised; for the physician, like a true\ngraduate, had an eye to the apothecary in his prescriptions; and such was\nthe concern and scrupulous care with which our hero was attended, that\nthe orders of the faculty were performed with the utmost punctuality.  He\nwas blooded, vomited, purged, and blistered, in the usual forms (for the\nphysicians of Hungary are generally as well skilled in the arts of their\noccupation as any other leeches under the sun), and swallowed a whole\ndispensary of bolusses, draughts, and apozems, by which means he became\nfairly delirious in three days, and so untractable, that he could be no\nlonger managed according to rule; otherwise, in all likelihood, the world\nwould never have enjoyed the benefit of these adventures.  In short, his\nconstitution, though unable to cope with two such formidable antagonists\nas the doctor and the disease he had conjured up, was no sooner rid of\nthe one, than it easily got the better of the other; and though\nFerdinand, after all, found his grand aim unaccomplished, his malady was\nproductive of a consequence, which, though he had not foreseen it, he did\nnot fail to convert to his own use and advantage.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SEVEN\n\nENGAGES IN PARTNERSHIP WITH A FEMALE ASSOCIATE, IN ORDER TO PUT HIS\nTALENTS IN ACTION.\n\n\nWhile he displayed his qualifications in order to entrap the heart of his\nyoung mistress, he had unwittingly enslaved the affections of her maid.\nThis attendant was also a favourite of the young lady, and, though her\nsenior by two or three good years at least, unquestionably her superior\nin point of personal beauty; she moreover possessed a good stock of\ncunning and discernment, and was furnished by nature with a very amorous\ncomplexion.  These circumstances being premised, the reader will not be\nsurprised to find her smitten by those uncommon qualifications which we\nhave celebrated in young Fathom.  She had in good sooth long sighed in\nsecret, under the powerful influence of his charms, and practised upon\nhim all those little arts, by which a woman strives to attract the\nadmiration, and ensnare the heart of a man she loves; but all his\nfaculties were employed upon the plan which he had already projected;\nthat was the goal of his whole attention, to which all his measures\ntended; and whether or not he perceived the impression he had made upon\nTeresa, he never gave her the least reason to believe he was conscious of\nhis victory, until he found himself baffled in his design upon the heart\nof her mistress.--She therefore persevered in her distant attempts to\nallure him, with the usual coquetries of dress and address, and, in the\nsweet hope of profiting by his susceptibility, made shift to suppress her\nfeelings, and keep her passion within bounds, until his supposed danger\nalarmed her fears, and raised such a tumult within her breast, that she\ncould no longer conceal her love, but gave a loose to her sorrow in the\nmost immoderate expressions of anguish and affliction, and, while his\ndelirium lasted, behaved with all the agitation of a despairing\nshepherdess.\n\nFerdinand was, or pretended to be, the last person in the family who\nunderstood the situation of her thoughts; when he perceived her passion,\nhe entered into deliberation with himself, and tasked his reflection and\nforesight, in order to discover how best he might convert this conquest\nto his own advantage.  Here, then, that we may neglect no opportunity of\ndoing justice to our hero, it will be proper to observe, that, howsoever\nunapt his understanding might be to receive and retain the usual culture\nof the schools, he was naturally a genius self-taught, in point of\nsagacity and invention.--He dived into the characters of mankind, with a\npenetration peculiar to himself, and, had he been admitted as a pupil in\nany political academy, would have certainly become one of the ablest\nstatesmen in Europe.\n\nHaving revolved all the probable consequences of such a connexion, he\ndetermined to prosecute an amour with the lady whose affection he had\nsubdued; because he hoped to interest her as an auxiliary in his grand\nscheme upon Mademoiselle, which he did not as yet think proper to lay\naside; for he was not more ambitious in the plan, than indefatigable in\nthe prosecution of it.  He knew it would be impossible to execute his\naims upon the Count's daughter under the eye of Teresa, whose natural\ndiscernment would be whetted with jealousy, and who would watch his\nconduct, and thwart his progress with all the vigilance and spite of a\nslighted maiden.  On the other hand, he did not doubt of being able to\nbring her over to his interest, by the influence he had already gained,\nor might afterwards acquire over her passions; in which case, she would\neffectually espouse his cause, and employ her good offices with her\nmistress in his behalf; besides, he was induced by another motive, which,\nthough secondary, did not fail in this case to have an effect upon his\ndetermination.  He looked upon Teresa with the eyes of appetite, which he\nlonged to gratify; for he was not at all dead to the instigations of the\nflesh, though he had philosophy enough to resist them, when he thought\nthey interfered with his interest. Here the case was quite different.\nHis desire happened to be upon the side of his advantage, and therefore,\nresolving to indulge it, he no sooner found himself in a condition to\nmanage such an adventure, than he began to make gradual advances in point\nof warmth and particular complacency to the love-sick maid.\n\nHe first of all thanked her, in the most grateful terms, for the concern\nshe had manifested at his distemper, and the kind services he had\nreceived from her during the course of it; he treated her upon all\noccasions with unusual affability and regard, assiduously courted her\nacquaintance and conversation, and contracted an intimacy that in a\nlittle time produced a declaration of love.  Although her heart was too\nmuch intendered to hold out against all the forms of assault, far from\nyielding at discretion, she stood upon honourable terms, with great\nobstinacy of punctilio, and, while she owned he was master of her\ninclinations, gave him to understand, with a peremptory and resolute air,\nthat he should never make a conquest of her virtue; observing, that, if\nthe passion he professed was genuine, he would not scruple to give such a\nproof of it as would at once convince her of his sincerity; and that he\ncould have no just cause to refuse her that satisfaction, she being his\nequal in point of birth and situation; for, if he was the companion and\nfavourite of the young Count, she was the friend and confidant of\nMademoiselle.\n\nHe acknowledged the strength of her argument, and that her condescension\nwas greater than his deserts, but objected against the proposal, as\ninfinitely prejudicial to the fortunes of them both.  He represented the\nstate of dependence in which they mutually stood; their utter incapacity\nto support one another under the consequences of a precipitate match,\nclandestinely made, without the consent and concurrence of their patrons.\nHe displayed, with great eloquence, all those gay expectations they had\nreason to entertain, from that eminent degree of favour which they had\nalready secured in the family; and set forth, in the most alluring\ncolours, those enchanting scenes of pleasure they might enjoy in each\nother, without that disagreeable consciousness of a nuptial chain,\nprovided she would be his associate in the execution of a plan which he\nhad projected for their reciprocal convenience.\n\nHaving thus inflamed her love of pleasure and curiosity, he, with great\ncaution, hinted his design upon the young lady's fortune, and, perceiving\nher listening with the most greedy attention, and perfectly ripe for the\nconspiracy, he disclosed his intention at full length, assuring her, with\nthe most solemn protestations of love and attachment, that, could he once\nmake himself legal possessor of an estate which Mademoiselle inherited by\nthe will of a deceased aunt, his dear Teresa should reap the happy fruits\nof his affluence, and wholly engross his time and attention.\n\nSuch a base declaration our hero would not have ventured to make, had he\nnot implicitly believed the damsel was as great a latitudinarian as\nhimself, in point of morals and principle; and been well assured, that,\nthough he should be mistaken in her way of thinking, so far as to be\nthreatened with a detection of his purpose, he would always have it in\nhis power to refute her accusation as mere calumny, by the character he\nhad hitherto maintained, and the circumspection of his future conduct.\n\nHe seldom or never erred in his observations on the human heart.  Teresa,\ninstead of disapproving, relished the plan in general, with\ndemonstrations of singular satisfaction.  She at once conceived all the\nadvantageous consequences of such a scheme, and perceived in it only one\nflaw, which, however, she did not think incurable.  This defect was no\nother than a sufficient bond of union, by which they might be effectually\ntied down to their mutual interest.  She foresaw, that, in case Ferdinand\nshould obtain possession of the prize, he might, with great ease, deny\ntheir contract, and disavow her claim of participation.  She therefore\ndemanded security, and proposed, as a preliminary of the agreement, that\nhe should privately take her to wife, with a view to dispel all her\napprehensions of his inconstancy or deceit, as such a previous engagement\nwould be a check upon his behaviour, and keep him strictly to the letter\nof their contract.\n\nHe could not help subscribing to the righteousness of this proposal,\nwhich, nevertheless, he would have willingly waived, on the supposition\nthat they could not possibly be joined in the bands of wedlock with such\nsecrecy as the nature of the case absolutely required.  This would have\nbeen a difficulty soon removed, had the scene of the transaction been\nlaid in the metropolis of England, where passengers are plied in the\nstreets by clergymen, who prostitute their characters and consciences for\nhire, in defiance of all decency and law; but in the kingdom of Hungary,\necclesiastics are more scrupulous in the exercise of their function, and\nthe objection was, or supposed to be, altogether insurmountable; so that\nthey were fain to have recourse to an expedient, with which, after some\nhesitation, our she-adventurer was satisfied.  They joined hands in the\nsight of Heaven, which they called to witness, and to judge the sincerity\nof their vows, and engaged, in a voluntary oath, to confirm their union\nby the sanction of the church, whenever a convenient opportunity for so\ndoing should occur.\n\nThe scruples of Teresa being thus removed, she admitted Ferdinand to the\nprivileges of a husband, which he enjoyed in stolen interviews, and\nreadily undertook to exert her whole power in promoting his suit with her\nyoung mistress, because she now considered his interest as inseparably\nconnected with her own.  Surely nothing could be more absurd or\npreposterous than the articles of this covenant, which she insisted upon\nwith such inflexibility.  How could she suppose that her pretended lover\nwould be restrained by an oath, when the very occasion of incurring it\nwas an intention to act in violation of all laws human and divine? and\nyet such ridiculous conjuration is commonly the cement of every\nconspiracy, how dark, how treacherous, how impious soever it may be: a\ncertain sign that there are some remains of religion left in the human\nmind, even after every moral sentiment hath abandoned it; and that the\nmost execrable ruffian finds means to quiet the suggestions of his\nconscience, by some reversionary hope of Heaven's forgiveness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER EIGHT\n\nTHEIR FIRST ATTEMPT; WITH A DIGRESSION WHICH SOME READERS MAY THINK\nIMPERTINENT.\n\n\nBe this as it will, our lovers, though real voluptuaries, amidst the\nfirst transports of their enjoyment did not neglect the great political\naim of their conjunction.  Teresa's bedchamber, to which our hero\nconstantly repaired at midnight, was the scene of their deliberations,\nand there it was determined that the damsel, in order to avoid suspicion,\nshould feign herself irritated at the indifference of Ferdinand, her\npassion for whom was by this time no secret in the family; and that, with\na view to countenance this affectation, he should upon all occasions\ntreat her with an air of loftiness and disdain.\n\nSo screened from all imputation of fraud, she was furnished by him with\nartful instructions how to sound the inclinations of her young mistress,\nhow to recommend his person and qualifications by the sure methods of\ncontradiction, comparisons, revilings, and reproach; how to watch the\nparoxysms of her disposition, inflame her passions, and improve, for his\nadvantage, those moments of frailty from which no woman is exempted.  In\nshort, this consummate politician taught his agent to poison the young\nlady's mind with insidious conversation, tending to inspire her with the\nlove of guilty pleasure, to debauch her sentiments, and confound her\nideas of dignity and virtue.  After all, the task is not difficult to\nlead the unpractised heart astray, by dint of those opportunities her\nseducer possessed.  The seeds of insinuation seasonably sown upon the\nwarm luxuriant soil of youth, could hardly fail of shooting up into such\nintemperate desires as he wanted to produce, especially when cultured and\ncherished in her unguarded hours, by that stimulating discourse which\nfamiliarity admits, and the looser passions, ingrafted in every breast,\nare apt to relish and excuse.\n\nFathom had previously reconnoitred the ground, and discovered some marks\nof inflammability in Mademoiselle's constitution; her beauty was not such\nas to engage her in those gaieties of amusement which could flatter her\nvanity and dissipate her ideas; and she was of an age when the little\nloves and young desires take possession of the fancy; he therefore\nconcluded, that she had the more leisure to indulge these enticing images\nof pleasure that youth never fails to create, particularly in those who,\nlike her, were addicted to solitude and study.\n\nTeresa, full fraught with the wily injunctions of her confederate, took\nthe field, and opened the campaign with such remarkable sourness in her\naspect when Ferdinand appeared, that her young lady could not help taking\nnotice of her affected chagrin, and asked the reason of such apparent\nalteration in her way of thinking.  Prepared for this question, the other\nreplied, in a manner calculated for giving Mademoiselle to understand,\nthat, whatever impressions Ferdinand might have formerly made on her\nheart, they were now altogether effaced by the pride and insolence with\nwhich he had received her advances; and that her breast now glowed with\nall the revenge of a slighted lover.\n\nTo evince the sincerity of this declaration, she bitterly inveighed\nagainst him, and even affected to depreciate those talents, in which she\nknew his chief merit to consist; hoping, by these means, to interest\nMademoiselle's candour in his defence.  So far the train succeeded.  That\nyoung lady's love for truth was offended at the calumnies that were\nvented against Ferdinand in his absence.  She chid her woman for the\nrancour of her remarks, and undertook to refute the articles of his\ndispraise.  Teresa supported her own assertions with great obstinacy, and\na dispute ensued, in which her mistress was heated into some extravagant\ncommendations of our adventurer.\n\nHis supposed enemy did not fail to make a report of her success, and to\nmagnify every advantage they had gained; believing, in good earnest, that\nher lady's warmth was the effect of a real passion for the fortunate Mr.\nFathom.  But he himself viewed the adventure in a different light, and\nrightly imputed the violence of Mademoiselle's behaviour to the\ncontradiction she had sustained from her maid, or to the fire of her\nnatural generosity glowing in behalf of innocence traduced.\nNevertheless, he was perfectly well pleased with the nature of the\ncontest; because, in the course of such debates, he foresaw that he\nshould become habitually her hero, and that, in time, she would actually\nbelieve those exaggerations of his merit, which she herself had feigned,\nfor the honour of her own arguments.\n\nThis presage, founded upon that principle of self-respect, without which\nno individual exists, may certainly be justified by manifold occurrences\nin life.  We ourselves have known a very pregnant example, which we shall\nrelate, for the emolument of the reader.  A certain needy author having\nfound means to present a manuscript to one of those sons of fortune who\nare dignified with the appellation of patrons, instead of reaping that\napplause and advantage with which he had regaled his fancy, had the\nmortification to find his performance treated with infinite irreverence\nand contempt, and, in high dudgeon and disappointment, appealed to the\njudgment of another critic, who, he knew, had no veneration for the\nfirst.\n\nThis common consolation, to which all baffled authors have recourse, was\nproductive of very happy consequences to our bard; for, though the\nopinions of both judges concerning the piece were altogether the same,\nthe latter, either out of compassion to the appellant, or desire of\nrendering his rival ridiculous in the eye of taste, undertook to repair\nthe misfortune, and in this manner executed the plan.  In a meeting of\nliterati, to which both these wits belonged, he who had espoused the\npoet's cause, having previously desired another member to bring his\ncomposition on the carpet, no sooner heard it mentioned, than he began to\ncensure it with flagrant marks of scorn, and, with an ironical air,\nlooking at its first condemner, observed, that he must be furiously\ninfected with the rage of patronising, who could take such a deplorable\nperformance into his protection.  The sarcasm took effect.\n\nThe person against whom it was levelled, taking umbrage at his\npresumption, assumed an aspect of disdain, and replied with great\nanimosity, that nothing was more easily supported than the character of a\nZoilus, because no production was altogether free from blemishes; and any\nman might pronounce against any piece by the lump, without interesting\nhis own discernment; but to perceive the beauties of a work, it was\nrequisite to have learning, judgment, and taste; and therefore he did not\nwonder that the gentleman had overlooked a great many in the composition\nwhich he so contemptuously decried.  A rejoinder succeeded this reply,\nand produced a long train of altercation, in which the gentleman, who had\nformerly treated the book with such disrespect, now professed himself its\npassionate admirer, and held forth in praise of it with great warmth and\nelocution.\n\nNot contented with having exhibited this instance of regard, he next\nmorning sent a message to the owner, importing, that he had but\nsuperficially glanced over the manuscript, and desiring the favour of\nperusing it a second time.  Being indulged in this request, he\nrecommended it in terms of rapture to all his friends and dependants,\nand, by dint of unwearied solicitation, procured a very ample\nsubscription for the author.\n\nBut, to resume the thread of our story.  Teresa's practices were not\nconfined to simple defamation.  Her reproaches were contrived so as to\nimply some intelligence in favour of the person she reviled.  In\nexemplifying his pertness and arrogance, she repeated his witty repartee;\non pretence of blaming his ferocity, she recounted proofs of his spirit\nand prowess; and, in explaining the source of his vanity, gave her\nmistress to understand, that a certain young lady of fashion was said to\nbe enamoured of his person.  Nor did this well-instructed understrapper\nomit those other parts of her cue which the principal judged necessary\nfor the furtherance of his scheme.  Her conversation became less guarded,\nand took a freer turn than usual; she seized all opportunities of\nintroducing little amorous stories, the greatest part of which were\ninvented for the purposes of warming her passions, and lowering the price\nof chastity in her esteem; for she represented all the young lady's\ncontemporaries in point of age and situation, as so many sensualists,\nwho, without scruple, indulged themselves in the stolen pleasures of\nyouth.\n\nMeanwhile, Ferdinand seconded these endeavours with his whole industry\nand address.  He redoubled, if possible, his deference and respect,\nwhetting his assiduity to the keenest edge of attention; and, in short,\nregulated his dress, conversation, and deportment, according to the\nfancy, turn, and prevailing humour of his young mistress.  He, moreover,\nattempted to profit by her curiosity, which he knew to be truly feminine;\nand having culled from the library of his patron certain dangerous books,\ncalculated to debauch the minds of young people, left them occasionally\nupon the table in his apartment, after having directed Teresa to pick\nthem up, as if by accident, in his absence, and carry them off for the\nentertainment of Mademoiselle; nay, this crafty projector found means to\nfurnish his associate with some mischievous preparations, which were\nmingled in her chocolate, tea, or coffee, as provocations to warm her\nconstitution; yet all these machinations, ingenious as they were, failed,\nnot only in fulfilling their aim, but even in shaking the foundations of\nher virtue or pride, which stood their assaults unmoved, like a strong\ntower built upon a rock, impregnable to all the tempestuous blasts of\nheaven.\n\nNot but that the conspirators were more than once mistaken in the effects\nof their artifices, and disposed to applaud themselves on the progress\nthey had made.  When at any time she expressed a desire to examine those\nperformances which were laid before her as snares to entrap her chastity,\nthey attributed that, which was no other than curiosity, to a looseness\nof sentiment; and when she discovered no aversion to hear those anecdotes\nconcerning the frailty of her neighbours, they imputed to abatement of\nchastity that satisfaction which was the result of self-congratulation on\nher own superior virtue.\n\nSo far did the treacherous accomplice of Fathom presume upon these\nmisconstructions, that she at length divested her tongue of all\nrestraint, and behaved in such a manner, that the young lady, confounded\nand incensed at her indecency and impudence, rebuked her with great\nseverity, and commanded her to reform her discourse, on pain of being\ndismissed with disgrace from her service.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER NINE\n\nTHE CONFEDERATES CHANGE THEIR BATTERY, AND ACHIEVE A REMARKABLE\nADVENTURE.\n\n\nThunderstruck at this disappointment, the confederates held a council, in\norder to deliberate upon the next measures that should be taken; and\nFerdinand, for the present, despairing of accomplishing his grand aim,\nresolved to profit in another manner, by the conveniency of his\nsituation.  He represented to his helpmate, that it would be prudent for\nthem to make hay while the sun shone, as their connexion might be sooner\nor later discovered, and an end put to all those opportunities which they\nnow so happily enjoyed.  All principles of morality had been already\nexcluded from their former plan; consequently he found it an easy task to\ninterest Teresa in any other scheme tending to their mutual advantage,\nhowsoever wicked and perfidious it might be.  He therefore persuaded her\nto be his auxiliary in defrauding Mademoiselle at play, and gave her\nsuitable directions for that purpose; and even tutored her how to abuse\nthe trust reposed in her, by embezzling the young lady's effects, without\nincurring the suspicion of dishonesty.\n\nOn the supposition that every servant in the house was not able to resist\nsuch temptation, the purse of her mistress, to which the maid had always\naccess, was dropped in a passage which the domestics had occasion to\nfrequent; and Fathom posted himself in a convenient place, in order to\nobserve the effect of his stratagem.  Here he was not disappointed in his\nconjecture.  The first person who chanced to pass that way, was one of\nthe chambermaids, with whom Teresa had lived for some time in a state of\ninveterate enmity, because the wench had failed in that homage and\nrespect which was paid to her by the rest of the servants.\n\nFerdinand had, in his heart, espoused the quarrel of his associate, and\nlonged for an occasion to deliver her from the malicious observance of\nsuch an antagonist.  When he, therefore, saw her approach, his heart\nthrobbed with joyful expectations; but, when she snatched up the purse,\nand thrust it in her bosom, with all the eagerness and confusion of one\ndetermined to appropriate the windfall to her own use, his transports\nwere altogether unspeakable.  He traced her to her own apartment, whither\nshe immediately retreated with great trepidation, and then communicated\nthe discovery to Teresa, together with instructions how to behave in the\nsequel.\n\nIn conformity with these lessons, she took the first opportunity of going\nto Mademoiselle, and demanding money for some necessary expense, that the\nloss might be known before the finder could have leisure to make any\nfresh conveyance of the prize; and, in the meantime, Ferdinand kept a\nstrict eye upon the motions of the chambermaid.  The young lady, having\nrummaged her pockets in vain, expressed some surprise at the loss of her\npurse; upon which her attendant gave indications of extreme amazement and\nconcern.  She said, it could not possibly be lost; entreated her to\nsearch her escritoir, while she herself ran about the room, prying into\nevery corner, with all the symptoms of fear and distraction.  Having made\nthis unsuccessful inquiry, she pretended to shed a flood of tears,\nbewailing her own fate, in being near the person of any lady who met with\nsuch a misfortune, by which, she observed, her character might be called\nin question.  She produced her own keys, and begged upon her knees, that\nher chamber and boxes might be searched without delay.\n\nIn a word, she demeaned herself so artfully upon this occasion, that her\nmistress, who never entertained the least doubt of her integrity, now\nlooked upon her as a miracle of fidelity and attachment, and was at\ninfinite pains to console her for the accident which had happened;\nprotesting that, for her own part, the loss of the money should never\naffect her with a moment's uneasiness, if she could retrieve a certain\nmedal which she had long kept in her purse, as a remembrance of her\ndeceased aunt, from whom she received it in a present.\n\nFathom entered accidentally into the midst of this well-acted scene, and,\nperceiving the agitation of the maid, and the concern of the mistress,\ndesired, in a respectful manner, to know the cause of their disorder.\nBefore the young lady had time to make him acquainted with the\ncircumstances of the case, his accomplice exclaimed, in an affected\npassion, \"Mr. Fathom, my lady has lost her purse; and, as no persons in\nthe family are so much about her as you and I, you must give me leave, in\nmy own justification, to insist upon Mademoiselle's ordering the\napartments of us both to be searched without loss of time.  Here are my\npockets and my keys, and you cannot scruple to give her the same\nsatisfaction; for innocence has nothing to fear.\"\n\nMiss Melvil reprimanded her sharply for her unmannerly zeal; and\nFerdinand eyeing her with a look of disdain, \"Madam,\" said he, \"I approve\nof your proposal; but, before I undergo such mortification, I would\nadvise Mademoiselle to subject the two chambermaids to such inquiry; as\nthey also have access to the apartments, and are, I apprehend, as likely\nas you or I to behave in such a scandalous manner.\"\n\nThe young lady declared that she was too well satisfied of Teresa's\nhonesty and Ferdinand's honour, to harbour the least suspicion of either,\nand that she would sooner die than disgrace them so far as to comply with\nthe proposal the former had made; but as she saw no reason for exempting\nthe inferior servants from that examination which Fathom advised, she\nwould forthwith put it in execution.  The chambermaids being accordingly\nsummoned, she calmly asked if either of them had accidentally found the\npurse she had dropped? and both replying in the negative, she assumed an\nair of severity and determination, and demanding their keys, threatened\nto examine their trunks on the instant.\n\nThe guilty Abigail, who, though an Hungarian, was not inferior, in point\nof effrontery, to any one of the sisterhood in England, no sooner heard\nthis menace, than she affected an air of affronted innocence, thanked God\nshe had lived in many reputable families, and been trusted with untold\ngold, but was never before suspected of theft; that the other maid might\ndo as she should think proper, and be mean-spirited enough to let her\nthings be tumbled topsy-turvy and exposed; but, for her own part, if she\nshould be used in that inhuman and disgraceful manner, she would not stay\nanother hour in the house; and in conclusion said, that Mademoiselle had\nmore reason to look sharp after those who enjoyed the greatest share of\nher favour, than believe their malicious insinuations against innocent\npeople whom they were well known to hate and defame.\n\nThis declaration, implying an hint to the prejudice of Teresa, far from\ndiverting Miss Melvil from her purpose, served only to enhance the\ncharacter of the accused in her opinion, and to confirm her suspicion of\nthe accuser, of whom she again demanded her keys, protesting that, should\nshe prove refractory, the Count himself should take cognisance of the\naffair, whereas, if she would deal ingenuously, she should have no cause\nto repent of her confession.  So saying, she desired our adventurer to\ntake the trouble of calling up some of the men-servants; upon which the\nconscious criminal began to tremble, and, falling upon her knees,\nacknowledged her guilt, and implored the forgiveness of her young\nmistress.\n\nTeresa, seizing this occasion to signalise her generosity, joined in the\nrequest, and the offender was pardoned, after having restored the purse,\nand promised in the sight of Heaven, that the devil should never again\nentice her to the commission of such a crime.  This adventure fully\nanswered all the purposes of our politician; it established the opinion\nof his fellow-labourer's virtue, beyond the power of accident or\ninformation to shake, and set up a false beacon to mislead the sentiments\nof Mademoiselle, in case she should for the future meet with the like\nmisfortune.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TEN\n\nTHEY PROCEED TO LEVY CONTRIBUTIONS WITH GREAT SUCCESS, UNTIL OUR HERO\nSETS OUT WITH THE YOUNG COUNT FOR VIENNA, WHERE HE ENTERS INTO LEAGUE\nWITH ANOTHER ADVENTURER.\n\n\nUnder this secure cover, Teresa levied contributions upon her mistress\nwith great success.  Some trinket was missing every day; the young lady's\npatience began to fail; the faithful attendant was overwhelmed with\nconsternation, and, with the appearance of extreme chagrin, demanded her\ndismission, affirming that these things were certainly effected by some\nperson in the family, with a view of murdering her precious reputation.\nMiss Melvil, not without difficulty, quieted her vexation with assurances\nof inviolable confidence and esteem, until a pair of diamond earrings\nvanished, when Teresa could no longer keep her affliction within bounds.\nIndeed, this was an event of more consequence than all the rest which had\nhappened, for the jewels were valued at five hundred florins.\n\nMademoiselle was accordingly alarmed to such a degree, that she made her\nmother acquainted with her loss, and that good lady, who was an excellent\neconomist, did not fail to give indications of extraordinary concern.\nShe asked, if her daughter had reason to suspect any individual in the\nfamily, and if she was perfectly confident of her own woman's integrity?\nUpon which Mademoiselle, with many encomiums on the fidelity and\nattachment of Teresa, recounted the adventure of the chambermaid, who\nimmediately underwent a strict inquiry, and was even committed to prison,\non the strength of her former misdemeanour.  Our adventurer's mate\ninsisted upon undergoing the same trial with the rest of the domestics,\nand, as usual, comprehended Fathom in her insinuations; while he seconded\nthe proposal, and privately counselled the old lady to introduce Teresa\nto the magistrate of the place.  By these preconcerted recriminations,\nthey escaped all suspicion of collusion.  After a fruitless inquiry, the\nprisoner was discharged from her confinement, and turned out of the\nservice of the Count, in whose private opinion the character of no person\nsuffered so much, as that of his own son, whom he suspected of having\nembezzled the jewels, for the use of a certain inamorata, who, at that\ntime, was said to have captivated his affections.\n\nThe old gentleman felt upon this occasion all that internal anguish which\na man of honour may be supposed to suffer, on account of a son's\ndegeneracy; and, without divulging his sentiments, or even hinting his\nsuspicions to the youth himself, determined to detach him at once from\nsuch dangerous connexions, by sending him forthwith to Vienna, on\npretence of finishing his exercises at the academy, and ushering him into\nacquaintance with the great world.  Though he would not be thought by the\nyoung gentleman himself to harbour the least doubt of his morals, he did\nnot scruple to unbosom himself on that subject to Ferdinand, whose\nsagacity and virtue he held in great veneration.  This indulgent patron\nexpressed himself in the most pathetic terms, on the untoward disposition\nof his son; he told Fathom, that he should accompany Renaldo (that was\nthe youth's name) not only as a companion, but a preceptor and pattern;\nconjured him to assist his tutor in superintending his conduct, and to\nreinforce the governor's precepts by his own example; to inculcate upon\nhim the most delicate punctilios of honour, and decoy him into\nextravagance, rather than leave the least illiberal sentiment in his\nheart.\n\nOur crafty adventurer, with demonstrations of the utmost sensibility,\nacknowledged the great goodness of the Count in reposing such confidence\nin his integrity; which, as he observed, none but the worst of villains\ncould abuse; and fervently wished that he might no longer exist, than he\nshould continue to remember and resent the obligations he owed to his\nkind benefactor.  While preparations were making for their departure, our\nhero held a council with his associate, whom he enriched with many sage\ninstructions touching her future operations; he at the same time\ndisburdened her of all or the greatest part of the spoils she had won,\nand after having received divers marks of bounty from the Count and his\nlady, together with a purse from his young mistress, he set out for\nVienna, in the eighteenth year of his age, with Renaldo and his governor,\nwho were provided with letters of recommendation to some of the Count's\nfriends belonging to the Imperial court.\n\nSuch a favourable introduction could not fail of being advantageous to a\nyouth of Ferdinand's specious accomplishments; for he was considered\nas the young Count's companion, admitted into his parties, and included\nin all the entertainments to which Renaldo was invited.  He soon\ndistinguished himself by his activity and address, in the course of\nthose exercises that were taught at the academy of which he was pupil;\nhis manners were so engaging as to attract the acquaintance of his\nfellow-students, and his conversation being sprightly and inoffensive,\ngrew into very great request; in a word, he and the young Count formed a\nremarkable contrast, which, in the eye of the world, redounded to his\nadvantage.\n\nThey were certainly, in all respects, the reverse of each other.\nRenaldo, under a total defect of exterior cultivation, possessed a most\nexcellent understanding, with every virtue that dignifies the human\nheart; while the other, beneath a most agreeable outside, with an\ninaptitude and aversion to letters, concealed an amazing fund of villany\nand ingratitude.  Hitherto his observation had been confined to a narrow\nsphere, and his reflections, though surprisingly just and acute, had not\nattained to that maturity which age and experience give; but now, his\nperceptions began to be more distinct, and extended to a thousand objects\nwhich had never before come under his cognisance.\n\nHe had formerly imagined, but was now fully persuaded, that the sons of\nmen preyed upon one another, and such was the end and condition of their\nbeing.  Among the principal figures of life, he observed few or no\ncharacters that did not bear a strong analogy to the savage tyrants of\nthe wood.  One resembled a tiger in fury and rapaciousness; a second\nprowled about like an hungry wolf, seeking whom he might devour; a third\nacted the part of a jackal, in beating the bush for game to his voracious\nemployer; and the fourth imitated the wily fox, in practising a thousand\ncrafty ambuscades for the destruction of the ignorant and unwary.  This\nlast was the department of life for which he found himself best qualified\nby nature and inclination; and he accordingly resolved that his talent\nshould not rust in his possession.  He was already pretty well versed in\nall the sciences of play; but he had every day occasion to see these arts\ncarried to such a surprising pitch of finesse and dexterity, as\ndiscouraged him from building his schemes on that foundation.\n\nHe therefore determined to fascinate the judgment, rather than the eyes\nof his fellow-creatures, by a continual exercise of that gift of\ndeceiving, with which he knew himself endued to an unrivalled degree; and\nto acquire unbounded influence with those who might be subservient to his\ninterest, by an assiduous application to their prevailing passions.  Not\nthat play was altogether left out in the projection of his economy.--\nThough he engaged himself very little in the executive part of gaming, he\nhad not been long in Vienna, when he entered into league with a genius of\nthat kind, whom he distinguished among the pupils of the academy, and who\nindeed had taken up his habitation in that place with a view to pillage\nthe provincials on their first arrival in town, before they could be\narmed with proper circumspection to preserve their money, or have time to\ndispose of it in any other shape.\n\nSimilar characters naturally attract each other, and people of our hero's\nprinciples are, of all others, the most apt to distinguish their own\nlikeness wheresoever it occurs; because they always keep the faculty of\ndiscerning in full exertion.  It was in consequence of this mutual\nalertness, that Ferdinand and the stranger, who was a native of Tyrol,\nperceived themselves reflected in the dispositions of each other, and\nimmediately entered into an offensive and defensive alliance; our\nadventurer undertaking for the articles of intelligence, countenance, and\ncounsel, and his associate charging himself with the risk of execution.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER ELEVEN\n\nFATHOM MAKES VARIOUS EFFORTS IN THE WORLD OF GALLANTRY.\n\n\nThus connected, they began to hunt in couples; and Fathom, in order to\nprofit by the alliance with a good grace, contrived a small scheme that\nsucceeded to his wish.  Renaldo being one night intoxicated in the course\nof a merry-making with his fellow-pupils, from which Fathom had purposely\nabsented himself, was by the Tyrolese so artfully provoked to play, that\nhe could not resist the temptation, but engaged at passdice with that\nfell adversary, who, in less than an hour, stripped him of a pretty round\nsum.  Next day, when the young gentleman recovered the use of his\nreflection, he was sensibly chagrined at the folly and precipitation of\nhis own conduct, an account of which he communicated in confidence to our\nhero, with demonstrations of infinite shame and concern.\n\nFerdinand, having moralised upon the subject with great sagacity, and\nsharply inveighed against the Tyrolese, for the unfair advantage he had\ntaken, retired to his closet, and wrote the following billet, which was\nimmediately sent to his ally:--\n\n\"The obligations I owe, and the attachments I feel, to the Count de\nMelvil, will not suffer me to be an idle spectator of the wrongs offered\nto his son, in the dishonourable use, I understand, you made last night\nof his unguarded hours.  I therefore insist upon your making immediate\nrestitution of the booty which you so unjustly got; otherwise I expect\nyou will meet me upon the ramparts, near the bastion de la Port Neuve,\nto-morrow morning at daybreak, in order to justify, with your sword, the\nfinesse you have practised upon the friend of      FERDINAND DE FATHOM.\"\n\nThe gamester no sooner received this intimation, than, according to the\nplan which had been preconcerted betwixt the author and him, he went to\nthe apartment of Renaldo, and presenting the sum of money which he had\ndefrauded him of the preceding night, told him, with a stern countenance,\nthat, though it was a just acquisition, he scorned to avail himself of\nhis good fortune against any person who entertained the smallest doubt of\nhis honour.\n\nThe young Count, surprised at this address, rejected his offer with\ndisdain, and desired to know the meaning of such an unexpected\ndeclaration.  Upon which, the other produced Ferdinand's billet, and\nthreatened, in very high terms, to meet the stripling according to his\ninvitation, and chastise him severely for his presumption.  The\nconsequence of this explanation is obvious.  Renaldo, imputing the\nofficiousness of Fathom to the zeal of his friendship, interposed in the\nquarrel, which was amicably compromised, not a little to the honour of\nour adventurer, who thus obtained an opportunity of displaying his\ncourage and integrity, without the least hazard to his person; while, at\nthe same time, his confederate recommended himself to the esteem of the\nyoung Count, by his spirited behaviour on this occasion; so that Renaldo\nbeing less shy of his company for the future, the Tyrolese had the fairer\nopportunities to prosecute his designs upon the young gentleman's purse.\n\nIt would be almost superfluous to say, that these were not neglected.\nThe son of Count Melvil was not deficient in point of penetration; but\nhis whole study was at that time engrossed by the care of his education,\nand he had sometimes recourse to play as an amusement by which he sought\nto unbend the severity of his attention.  No wonder then that he fell a\nprey to an artful gamester, who had been regularly trained to the\nprofession, and made it the sole study of his life; especially as the\nHungarian was remarkable for a warmth of temper, which a knight of the\npost always knows how to manage for his own advantage.\n\nIn the course of these operations, Fathom was a very useful\ncorrespondent.  He instructed the Tyrolese in the peculiarities of\nRenaldo's disposition, and made him acquainted with the proper seasons\nfor profiting by his dexterity.  Ferdinand, for example, who, by the\nauthority derived to him from the injunctions of the old Count, sometimes\ntook upon himself the office of an adviser, cunningly chose to counsel\nthe son at those conjunctures when he knew him least able to bear such\nexpostulation.  Advice improperly administered generally acts in\ndiametrical opposition to the purpose for which it is supposed to be\ngiven; at least this was the case with the young gentleman, who, inflamed\nby the reproof of such a tutor, used to obey the dictates of his\nresentment in an immediate repetition of that conduct which our\nadventurer had taken the liberty to disapprove; and the gamester was\nalways at hand to minister unto his indignation.  By these means he was\ndisencumbered of divers considerable remittances, with which his father\ncheerfully supplied him, on the supposition that they were spent with\ntaste and liberality, under the direction of our adventurer.\n\nBut Ferdinand's views were not confined to the narrow field of this\nalliance.  He attempted divers enterprises in the world of gallantry,\nconscious of his own personal qualifications, and never doubting that he\ncould insinuate himself into the good graces of some married lady about\ncourt, or lay an opulent dowager under contribution.  But he met with an\nobstacle in his endeavours of this kind, which all his art was unable to\nsurmount.  This was no other than the obscurity of his birth, and the\nwant of a title, without which no person in that country lays claim to\nthe privileges of a gentleman.  Had he foreseen this inconvenience he\nmight have made shift to obviate the consequences, by obtaining\npermission to appear in the character of the Count's kinsman; though, in\nall probability, such an expedient would not have been extremely\nagreeable to the old gentleman, who was very tenacious of the honour of\nhis family; nevertheless, his generosity might have been prevailed upon\nto indulge Fathom with such a pretext, in consideration of the youth's\nsupposed attachment, and the obligations for which he deemed himself\nindebted to his deceased mother.\n\nTrue it is, Ferdinand, upon his first arrival at Vienna, had been\nadmitted into fashionable company, on the footing of Renaldo's companion,\nbecause nobody suspected the defect of his pedigree; and even after a\nreport had been circulated to the prejudice of his extraction, by the\nindustry of a lacquey who attended the young Count, there were not\nwanting many young people of distinction who still favoured him with\ntheir countenance and correspondence; but he was no longer invited to\nprivate families, in which only he could expect to profit by his address\namong the ladies, and had the mortification of finding himself frequently\nexcepted from parties which were expressly calculated for the\nentertainment of the young Count.  Luckily, his spirit was so pliant as\nto sustain these slights without being much dejected; instead of repining\nat the loss of that respect which had been paid to him at first, he\nendeavoured, with all his might, to preserve the little that still\nremained, and resolved to translate into a humbler sphere that gallantry\nwhich he had no longer opportunities of displaying in the world of rank\nand fashion.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWELVE\n\nHE EFFECTS A LODGMENT IN THE HOUSE OF A RICH JEWELLER.\n\n\nIn consequence of this determination, he to the uttermost exerted his\ngood-humour among the few friends of consequence his fortune had left,\nand even carried his complaisance so far as to become the humble servant\nof their pleasures, while he attempted to extend his acquaintance in an\ninferior path of life, where he thought his talents would shine more\nconspicuous than at the assemblies of the great, and conduce more\neffectually to the interest of all his designs.  Nor did he find himself\ndisappointed in that expectation, sanguine as it was.  He soon found\nmeans to be introduced to the house of a wealthy bourgeois, where every\nindividual was charmed with his easy air and extraordinary\nqualifications.  He accommodated himself surprisingly to the humours of\nthe whole family; smoked tobacco, swallowed wine, and discoursed of\nstones with the husband, who was a rich jeweller; sacrificed himself to\nthe pride and loquacity of the wife; and played upon the violin, and sung\nalternately, for the amusement of his only daughter, a buxom lass, nearly\nof his own age, the fruit of a former marriage.\n\nIt was not long before Ferdinand had reason to congratulate himself on\nthe footing he had gained in this society.  He had expected to find, and\nin a little time actually discovered, that mutual jealousy and rancour\nwhich almost always subsist between a daughter and her step-dame,\ninflamed with all the virulence of female emulation; for the disparity in\ntheir ages served only to render them the more inveterate rivals in the\ndesire of captivating the other sex.  Our adventurer having deliberated\nupon the means of converting this animosity to his own advantage, saw no\nmethod for this purpose so feasible as that of making his approaches to\nthe hearts of both, by ministering to each in private, food for their\nreciprocal envy and malevolence; because he well knew that no road lies\nso direct and open to a woman's heart as that of gratifying her passions\nof vanity and resentment.\n\nWhen he had an opportunity of being particular with the mother, he\nexpressed his concern for having unwittingly incurred the displeasure of\nMademoiselle, which, he observed, was obvious in every circumstance of\nher behaviour towards him; protesting he was utterly innocent of all\nintention of offending her; and that he could not account for his\ndisgrace any other way, than by supposing she took umbrage at the\ndirection of his chief regards towards her mother-in-law, which, he\nowned, was altogether involuntary, being wholly influenced by that lady's\nsuperior charms and politeness.\n\nSuch a declaration was perfectly well calculated for the meridian of a\ndame like her, who with all the intoxications of unenlightened pride, and\nan increased appetite for pleasure, had begun to find herself neglected,\nand even to believe that her attractions were actually on the wane.  She\nvery graciously consoled our gallant for the mishap of which he\ncomplained, representing Wilhelmina (that was the daughter's name) as a\npert, illiterate, envious baggage, of whose disgust he ought to make no\nconsideration; then she recounted many instances of her own generosity to\nthat young lady, with the returns of malice and ingratitude she had made;\nand, lastly, enumerated all the imperfections of her person, education,\nand behaviour; that he might see with what justice the gypsy pretended to\nvie with those who had been distinguished by the approbation and even\ngallantry of the best people in Vienna.\n\nHaving thus established himself her confidant and gossip, he knew his\nnext step of promotion would necessarily be to the degree of her lover;\nand in that belief resolved to play the same game with Mademoiselle\nWilhelmina, whose complexion was very much akin to that of her\nstepmother; indeed they resembled each other too much to live upon any\nterms of friendship or even decorum.  Fathom, in order to enjoy a private\nconversation with the young lady, never failed to repeat his visit every\nafternoon, till at length he had the pleasure of finding her disengaged,\nthe jeweller being occupied among his workmen, and his wife gone to\nassist at a lying-in.\n\nOur adventurer and the daughter had already exchanged their vows, by the\nexpressive language of the eyes; he had even declared himself in some\ntender ejaculations which had been softly whispered in her ear, when he\ncould snatch an opportunity of venting them unperceived; nay, he had upon\ndivers occasions gently squeezed her fair hand, on pretence of tuning her\nharpsichord, and been favoured with returns of the same cordial pressure;\nso that, instead of accosting her with the fearful hesitation and reserve\nof a timid swain, he told her, after the exercise of the doux-yeux, that\nhe was come to confer with her upon a subject that nearly concerned her\npeace; and asked if she had not observed of late an evident abatement of\nfriendship in her mother's behaviour to him, whom she had formerly\ntreated with such marks of favour and respect.  Mademoiselle would not\npay so ill a compliment to her own discernment as to say she had not\nperceived the alteration; which, on the contrary, she owned was extremely\npalpable; nor was it difficult to divine the cause of such estranged\nlooks.  This remark was accompanied with an irresistible glance; she\nsmiled enchanting, the colour deepened on her cheeks, her breast began to\nheave, and her whole frame underwent a most agreeable confusion.\n\nFerdinand was not a man to let such a favourable conjuncture pass\nunregarded.  \"Yes, charming Wilhelmina!\" exclaimed the politician in an\naffected rapture, \"the cause is as conspicuous as your attractions.  She\nhath, in spite of all my circumspection, perceived that passion which it\nis not in my power to conceal, and in consequence of which I now declare\nmyself your devoted adorer; or, conscious of your superior excellence,\nher jealousy hath taken the alarm, and, though stung with conjecture\nonly, repines at the triumph of your perfections.  How far this spirit of\nmalignity may be inflamed to my prejudice, I know not.  Perhaps, as this\nis the first, it may be also the last opportunity I shall have of avowing\nthe dearest sentiments of my heart to the fair object that inspired them;\nin a word, I may be for ever excluded from your presence.  Excuse me,\nthen, divine creature! from the practice of those unnecessary forms,\nwhich I should take pride in observing, were I indulged with the ordinary\nprivileges of an honourable lover; and, once for all, accept the homage\nof an heart overflowing with love and admiration.  Yes, adorable\nWilhelmina! I am dazzled with your supernatural beauty; your other\naccomplishments strike me with wonder and awe.  I am enchanted by the\ngraces of your deportment, ravished with the charms of your conversation;\nand there is a certain tenderness of benevolence in that endearing\naspect, which, I trust, will not fail to melt with sympathy at the\nemotions of a faithful slave like me.\"\n\nSo saying, he threw himself upon his knees, and, seizing her plump hand,\npressed it to his lips with all the violence of real transport.  The\nnymph, whose passions nature had filled to the brim, could not hear such\na rhapsody unmoved.  Being an utter stranger to addresses of this kind,\nshe understood every word of it in the literal acceptation; she believed\nimplicitly in the truth of the encomiums he had bestowed, and thought it\nreasonable he should be rewarded for the justice he had done to her\nqualifications, which had hitherto been almost altogether overlooked.  In\nshort, her heart began to thaw, and her face to hang out the flag of\ncapitulation; which was no sooner perceived by our hero, than he renewed\nhis attack with redoubled fervour, pronouncing in a most vehement tone,\n\"Light of my eyes, and empress of my soul! behold me prostrate at your\nfeet, waiting with the most pious resignation, for that sentence from\nyour lips, on which my future happiness or misery must altogether depend.\nNot with more reverence does the unhappy bashaw kiss the sultan's letter\nthat contains his doom, than I will submit to your fatal determination.\nSpeak then, angelic sweetness! for never, ah! never will I rise from this\nsuppliant posture, until I am encouraged to live and hope.  No! if you\nrefuse to smile upon my passion, here shall I breathe the last sighs of a\ndespairing lover; here shall this faithful sword do the last office to\nits unfortunate master, and shed the blood of the truest heart that ever\nfelt the cruel pangs of disappointed love.\"\n\nThe young lady, well-nigh overcome by this effusion, which brought the\ntears into her eyes, \"Enough, enough,\" cried she, interrupting him, \"sure\nyou men were created for the ruin of our sex.\"--\"Ruin!\" re-echoed Fathom,\n\"talk not of ruin and Wilhelmina! let these terms be for ever parted, far\nas the east and west asunder! let ever smiling peace attend her steps,\nand love and joy still wanton in her train!  Ruin, indeed, shall wait\nupon her enemies, if such there be, and those love-lorn wretches who pine\nwith anguish under her disdain.  Grant me, kind Heaven, a more propitious\nboon; direct her genial regards to one whose love is without example, and\nwhose constancy is unparalleled.  Bear witness to my constancy and faith,\nye verdant hills, ye fertile plains, ye shady groves, ye purling streams;\nand if I prove untrue, ah! let me never find a solitary willow or a\nbubbling brook, by help of which I may be enabled to put a period to my\nwretched life.\"\n\nHere this excellent actor began to sob most piteously, and the\ntender-hearted Wilhelmina, unable longer to withstand his moving tale,\nwith a repetition of the interjection, ah! gently dropped into his\narms.  This was the beginning of a correspondence that soon rose to a\nvery interesting pitch; and they forthwith concerted measures for\ncarrying it on without the knowledge or suspicion of her mother-in-law.\nNevertheless, the young lady, vanquished as she was, and unskilled in the\nways of men, would not all at once yield at discretion; but insisted upon\nthose terms, without which no woman's reputation can be secured.  Our\nlover, far from seeking to evade the proposal, assented to it in terms of\nuncommon satisfaction, and promised to use his whole industry in finding\na priest upon whose discretion they could rely; nay, he certainly\nresolved to comply with her request in good earnest, rather than forfeit\nthe advantages which he foresaw in their union.  His good fortune,\nhowever, exempted him from the necessity of taking such a step, which at\nbest must have been disagreeable; for so many difficulties occurred in\nthe inquiry which was set on foot, and so artfully did Fathom in the\nmeantime manage the influence he had already gained over her heart, that,\nbefore her passion could obtain a legal gratification, she surrendered to\nhis wish, without any other assurance, than his solemn profession of\nsincerity and truth, on which she reposed herself with the most implicit\nconfidence and faith.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTEEN\n\nHE IS EXPOSED TO A MOST PERILOUS INCIDENT IN THE COURSE OF HIS INTRIGUE\nWITH THE DAUGHTER.\n\n\nHe was rejoiced to find her so easily satisfied in such a momentous\nconcern, for the principal aim of the intrigue was to make her necessary\nto his interested views, and even, if possible, an associate in the\nfraudulent plans he had projected upon her father; consequently he\nconsidered this relaxation in her virtue as an happy omen of his future\nsuccess.  All the obstacles to their mutual enjoyment being thus removed,\nour adventurer was by his mistress indulged with an assignation in her\nown chamber, which, though contiguous to that of her stepmother, was\nprovided with a door that opened into a common staircase, to which he had\naccess at all hours of the night.\n\nHe did not neglect the rendezvous, but, presenting himself at the\nappointed time, which was midnight, made the signal they had agreed upon,\nand was immediately admitted by Wilhelmina, who waited for hire with a\nlover's impatience.  Fathom was not deficient in those expressions of\nrapture that are current on those occasions; but, on the contrary, became\nso loud in the transports of self-congratulation, that his voice reached\nthe ears of the vigilant stepmother, who wakening the jeweller from his\nfirst nap, gave him to understand that some person was certainly in close\nconversation with his daughter; and exhorted him to rise forthwith, and\nvindicate the honour of his family.\n\nThe German, who was naturally of a phlegmatic habit, and never went to\nbed without a full dose of the creature, which added to his\nconstitutional drowsiness, gave no ear to his wife's intimation, until\nshe had repeated it thrice, and used other means to rouse him from the\narms of slumber.  Meanwhile Fathom and his inamorata overheard her\ninformation, and our hero would have made his retreat immediately,\nthrough the port by which he entered, had not his intention been\noverruled by the remonstrances of the young lady, who observed that the\ndoor was already fast bolted, and could not possibly be opened without\ncreating a noise that would confirm the suspicion of her parents; and\nthat over and above this objection he would, in sallying from that door,\nrun the risk of being met by her father, who in all probability would\npresent himself before it, in order to hinder our hero's escape.  She\ntherefore conveyed him softly into her closet, where she assured him he\nmight remain with great tranquillity, in full confidence that she would\ntake such measures as would effectually screen him from detection.\n\nHe was fain to depend upon her assurance, and accordingly ensconced\nhimself behind her dressing-table; but he could not help sweating with\napprehension, and praying fervently to God for his deliverance, when he\nheard the jeweller thundering at the door, and calling to his daughter\nfor admittance.  Wilhelmina, who was already undressed, and had purposely\nextinguished the light, pretended to be suddenly waked from her sleep,\nand starting up, exclaimed in a tone of surprise and affright, \"Jesu,\nMaria! what is the matter?\"--\"Hussy!\" replied the German in a terrible\naccent, \"open the door this instant; there is a man in your bedchamber,\nand, by the lightning and thunder! I will wash away the stain he has cast\nupon my honour with the schellum's heart's-blood.\"\n\nNot at all intimidated by this boisterous threat, she admitted him\nwithout hesitation, and, with a shrillness of voice peculiar to herself,\nbegan to hold forth upon her own innocence and his unjust suspicion,\nmingling in her harangue sundry oblique hints against her mother-in-law,\nimporting, that some people were so viciously inclined by their own\nnatures, that she did not wonder at their doubting the virtue of other\npeople; but that these people despised the insinuations of such people,\nwho ought to be more circumspect in their own conduct, lest they\nthemselves should suffer reprisals from those people whom they had so\nmaliciously slandered.\n\nHaving uttered these flowers of rhetoric, which were calculated for the\nhearing of her step-dame, who stood with a light at her husband's back,\nthe young lady assumed an ironical air, and admonished her father to\nsearch every corner of her apartment.  She even affected to assist his\ninquiry; with her own hands pulled out a parcel of small drawers, in\nwhich her trinkets were contained; desired him to look into her\nneedlecase and thimble, and, seeing his examination fruitless, earnestly\nintreated him to rummage her closet also, saying, with a sneer, that, in\nall probability, the dishonourer would be found in that lurking-place.\nThe manner in which she pretended to ridicule his apprehensions made an\nimpression upon the jeweller, who was very well disposed to retreat into\nhis own nest, when his wife, with a certain slyness in her countenance,\nbesought him to comply with his daughter's request, and look into that\nsame closet, by which means Wilhelmina's virtue would obtain a complete\ntriumph.\n\nOur adventurer, who overheard the conversation, was immediately seized\nwith a palsy of fear.  He trembled at every joint, the sweat trickled\ndown his forehead, his teeth began to chatter, his hair to stand on end;\nand he, in his heart, bitterly cursed the daughter's petulance, the\nmother's malice, together with his own precipitation, by which he was\ninvolved in an adventure so pregnant with danger and disgrace.  Indeed,\nthe reader may easily conceive his disorder, when he heard the key\nturning in the lock, and the German swearing that he would make him food\nfor the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air.\n\nFathom had come unprepared with weapons of defence, was naturally an\neconomist of his person, and saw himself on the brink of forfeiting not\nonly the promised harvest of his double intrigue, but also the reputation\nof a man of honour, upon which all his future hopes depended.  His agony\nwas therefore unspeakable, when the door flew open; and it was not till\nafter a considerable pause of recollection, that he perceived the candle\nextinguished by the motion of the air produced from the German's sudden\nirruption.  This accident, which disconcerted him so much as to put a\nfull stop to his charge, was very favourable to our hero, who, summoning\nall his presence of mind, crept up into the chimney, while the jeweller\nstood at the door, waiting for his wife's return with another light; so\nthat, when the closet was examined, there was nothing found to justify\nthe report which the stepmother had made; and the father, after having\nmade a slight apology to Wilhelmina for his intrusion, retired with his\nyoke-fellow into their own chamber.\n\nThe young lady, who little thought that her papa would have taken her at\nher word, was overwhelmed with confusion and dismay, when she saw him\nenter the closet; and, had her lover been discovered, would, in all\nprobability, have been the loudest in his reproach, and, perhaps, have\naccused him of an intention to rob the house; but she was altogether\nastonished when she found he had made shift to elude the inquiry of her\nparents, because she could not conceive the possibility of his escaping\nby the window, which was in the third storey, at a prodigious distance\nfrom the ground; and how he should conceal himself in the apartment, was\na mystery which she could by no means unfold.  Before her father and\nmother retired, she lighted her lamp, on pretence of being afraid to be\nin the dark, after the perturbation of spirits she had undergone; and her\nroom was no sooner evacuated of such troublesome visitants, than she\nsecured the doors, and went in quest of her lover.\n\nAccordingly, every corner of the closet underwent a new search, and she\ncalled upon his name with a soft voice, which she thought no other person\nwould overhear.  But Ferdinand did not think proper to gratify her\nimpatience, because he could not judge of the predicament in which he\nstood by the evidence of all his senses, and would not relinquish his\npost, until he should be better certified that the coast was clear.\nMeanwhile, his Dulcinea, having performed her inquiry to no purpose,\nimagined there was something preternatural in the circumstance of his\nvanishing so unaccountably, and began to cross herself with great\ndevotion.  She returned to her chamber, fixed the lamp in the fireplace,\nand, throwing herself upon the bed, gave way to the suggestions of her\nsuperstition, which were reinforced by the silence that prevailed, and\nthe gloomy glimmering of the light.  She reflected upon the trespass she\nhad already committed in her heart, and, in the conjectures of her fear,\nbelieved that her lover was no other than the devil himself, who had\nassumed the appearance of Fathom, in order to tempt and seduce her\nvirtue.\n\nWhile her imagination teemed with those horrible ideas, our adventurer,\nconcluding, from the general stillness, that the jeweller and his wife\nwere at last happily asleep, ventured to come forth from his\nhiding-place, and stood before his mistress all begrimed with soot.\nWilhelmina, lifting up her eyes, and seeing this sable apparition, which\nshe mistook for Satan in propria persona, instantly screamed, and began\nto repeat her pater-noster with an audible voice.  Upon which Ferdinand,\nforeseeing that her parents would be again alarmed, would not stay to\nundeceive her and explain himself, but, unlocking the door with great\nexpedition, ran downstairs, and luckily accomplished his escape.  This\nwas undoubtedly the wisest measure he could have taken; for he had not\nperformed one half of his descent toward the street, when the German was\nat his daughter's bedside, demanding to know the cause of her\nexclamation.  She then gave him an account of what she had seen, with all\nthe exaggerations of her own fancy, and, after having weighed the\ncircumstances of her story, he interpreted the apparition into a thief,\nwho had found means to open the door that communicated with the stair;\nbut, having been scared by Wilhelmina's shriek, had been obliged to\nretreat before he could execute his purpose.\n\nOur hero's spirits were so wofully disturbed by this adventure, that, for\na whole week, he felt no inclination to visit his inamorata, and was not\nwithout apprehension that the affair had terminated in an explanation\nvery little to his advantage.  He was, however, delivered from this\ndisagreeable suspense, by an accidental meeting with the jeweller\nhimself, who kindly chid him for his long absence, and entertained him in\nthe street with an account of the alarm which his family had sustained,\nby a thief who broke into Wilhelmina's apartment.  Glad to find his\napprehension mistaken, he renewed his correspondence with the family,\nand, in a little time, found reason to console himself for the jeopardy\nand panic he had undergone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FOURTEEN\n\nHE IS REDUCED TO A DREADFUL DILEMMA, IN CONSEQUENCE OF AN ASSIGNATION\nWITH THE WIFE.\n\n\nNor was his whole care and attention engrossed by the execution of this\nscheme upon the daughter.  While he managed his concerns in that quarter\nwith incredible ardour and application, he was not the less indefatigable\nin the prosecution of his design upon the mother-in-law, which he\nforwarded with all his art during those opportunities he enjoyed in the\nabsence of Wilhelmina, who was frequently called away by the domestic\nduties of the house.  The passions of the jeweller's wife were in such a\nstate of exaltation, as exempted our hero from the repulses and fatigue\nattending a long siege.\n\nWe have already observed how cunningly he catered for the gratification\nof her ruling appetite, and have exhibited pregnant proofs of his ability\nin gaining upon the human heart; the reader will not therefore be\nsurprised at the rapidity of his conquest over the affections of a lady\nwhose complexion was perfectly amorous, and whose vanity laid her open to\nall the attempts of adulation.  In a word, matters were quickly brought\nto such a mutual understanding, that, one evening, while they amused\nthemselves at lansquenet, Fathom conjured her to give him the rendezvous\nnext day at the house of any third person of her own sex, in whose\ndiscretion she could confide; and, after a few affected scruples on her\nside, which he well knew how to surmount, she complied with his request,\nand the circumstances of the appointment were settled accordingly.  After\nthis treaty, their satisfaction rose to such a warmth, and the\nconversation became so reciprocally endearing, that our gallant expressed\nhis impatience of waiting so long for the accomplishment of his wishes,\nand, with the most eager transport, begged she would, if possible,\ncurtail the term of his expectation, that his brain might not suffer by\nhis standing so many tedious hours on the giddy verge of rapture.\n\nThe dame, who was naturally compassionate, sympathised with his\ncondition, and, unable to resist his pathetic supplications, gave him to\nunderstand that his desire could not be granted, without subjecting them\nboth to some hazard, but that she was disposed to run any risk in behalf\nof his happiness and peace.  After this affectionate preamble, she told\nhim that her husband was then engaged in a quarterly meeting of the\njewellers, from whence he never failed to return quite overwhelmed with\nwine, tobacco, and the phlegm of his own constitution; so that he would\nfall fast asleep as soon as his head should touch the pillow, and she be\nat liberty to entertain the lover without interruption, provided he could\nfind means to deceive the jealous vigilance of Wilhelmina, and conceal\nhimself in some corner of the house, unsuspected and unperceived.\n\nOur lover, remembering his adventure with the daughter, would have\nwillingly dispensed with this expedient, and began to repent of the\neagerness with which he had preferred his solicitation; but, seeing there\nwas now no opportunity of retracting with honour, he affected to enter\nheartily into the conversation, and, after much canvassing, it was\ndetermined, that, while Wilhelmina was employed in the kitchen, the\nmother should conduct our adventurer to the outer door, where he should\npay the compliment of parting, so as to be overheard by the young lady;\nbut, in the meantime, glide softly into the jeweller's bedchamber, which\nwas a place they imagined least liable to the effects of a daughter's\nprying disposition, and conceal himself in a large press or wardrobe,\nthat stood in one corner of the apartment.  The scene was immediately\nacted with great success, and our hero cooped up in his cage, where he\nwaited so long, that his desires began to subside, and his imagination to\naggravate the danger of his situation.\n\n\"Suppose,\" said he to himself, \"this brutal German, instead of being\nstupefied with wine, should come home inflamed with brandy, to the use of\nwhich he is sometimes addicted, far from feeling any inclination to\nsleep, he will labour under the most fretful anxiety of watching; every\nirascible particle in his disposition will be exasperated; he will be\noffended with every object that may present itself to his view; and, if\nthere is the least ingredient of jealousy in his temper, it will manifest\nitself in riot and rage.  What if his frenzy should prompt him to search\nhis wife's chamber for gallants? this would certainly be the first place\nto which he would direct his inquiry; or, granting this supposition\nchimerical, I may be seized with an irresistible inclination to cough,\nbefore he is oppressed with sleep; he may be waked by the noise I shall\nmake in disengaging myself from this embarrassed situation; and, finally,\nI may find it impracticable to retire unseen or unheard, after everything\nelse shall have succeeded to my wish.\"\n\nThese suggestions did not at all contribute to the quiet of our\nadventurer, who, having waited three whole hours in the most\nuncomfortable suspense, heard the jeweller brought into the room in that\nvery condition which his fears had prognosticated.  He had, it seems,\nquarrelled over his cups with another tradesman, and received a\nsalutation on the forehead with a candlestick, which not only left an\nignominious and painful mark upon his countenance, but even disordered\nhis brain to a very dangerous degree of delirium; so that, instead of\nallowing himself quietly to be undressed and put to bed by his wife, he\nanswered all her gentle admonitions and caresses with the most\nopprobrious invectives and obstreperous behaviour; and, though he did not\ntax her with infidelity to his bed, he virulently accused her of\nextravagance and want of economy; observed, her expensive way of living\nwould bring him to a morsel of bread; and unfortunately recollecting the\nattempt of the supposed thief, started up from his chair, swearing by\nG--'s mother that he would forthwith arm himself with a brace of pistols,\nand search every apartment in the house.  \"That press,\" said he, with\ngreat vociferation, \"may, for aught I know, be the receptacle of some\nruffian.\"\n\nSo saying, he approached the ark in which Fathom was embarked, and\nexclaiming, \"Come forth, Satan,\" applied his foot to the door of it, with\nsuch violence as threw him from the centre of gravity, and laid him\nsprawling on his back.  This address made such an impression upon our\nadventurer, that he had well-nigh obeyed the summons, and burst from his\nconcealment, in a desperate effort to escape, without being recognised by\nthe intoxicated German; and indeed, had the application been repeated, he\nin all likelihood would have tried the experiment, for by this time his\nterrors had waxed too strong to be much longer suppressed.  From this\nhazardous enterprise he was, however, exempted by a lucky accident that\nhappened to his disturber, whose head chancing to pitch upon the corner\nof a chair in his fall, he was immediately lulled into a trance, during\nwhich the considerate lady, guessing the disorder of her gallant, and\ndreading further interruption, very prudently released him from his\nconfinement, after she had put out the light, and in the dark conveyed\nhim to the door, where he was comforted with the promise that she would\npunctually remember the rendezvous of next day.\n\nShe then invoked the assistance of the servants, who, being waked for the\npurpose, lifted up their master, and tumbled him into bed, while\nFerdinand hied him home in an universal sweat, blessing himself from any\nfuture achievement of that sort in a house where he had been twice in\nsuch imminent danger of life and reputation.  Nevertheless, he did not\nfail to honour the assignation, and avail himself of the disposition his\nmistress manifested to make him all the recompense in her power for the\ndisappointment and chagrin which he had undergone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FIFTEEN\n\nBUT AT LENGTH SUCCEEDS IN HIS ATTEMPT UPON BOTH.\n\nHaving thus gained a complete victory over the affections of these two\nladies, he began to convert his good fortune to the purposes of that\nprinciple, from which his view was never, no, not for a moment, detached.\nIn other words, he used them as ministers and purveyors to his avarice\nand fraud.  As for the mother-in-law, she was of herself so liberal as to\nanticipate the wishes of any moderate adventurer, and presented him with\nsundry valuable jewels, as memorials of her esteem; nor was the daughter\nbackward in such expressions of regard; she already considered his\ninterest as her own, and took frequent opportunities of secreting for his\nbenefit certain stray trinkets that she happened to pick up in her\nexcursions within doors.\n\nAll these gratifications he received with demonstrations of infinite\nconstraint and reluctance, and, in the midst of his rapacious extortion,\nacted so cunningly as to impose himself upon both for a miracle of\ndisinterested integrity.  Yet, not contented with what he thus could\nearn, and despairing of being able to steer the bark of his fortune for\nany length of time between two such dangerous quicksands, he resolved to\nprofit by the occasion while it lasted, and strike some considerable\nstroke at once.  A plan was formed in consequence of this determination,\nand, at an appointment with the mother in the house of their female\nfriend, our adventurer appeared with an air of dejection, which he veiled\nwith a thin cover of forced pleasantry, that his mistress might suppose\nhe endeavoured to conceal some mortal chagrin that preyed upon his heart.\n\nThe stratagem succeeded to his wish.  She observed his countenance\nbetween whiles overcast, took notice of the involuntary sighs he heaved;\nand, with the most tender expressions of sympathy, conjured him to make\nher acquainted with the cause of his affliction.  Instead of gratifying\nher request immediately, he evaded her questions with a respectful\nreserve, implying, that his love would not suffer him to make her a\npartner in his sorrow; and this delicacy on his part whetted her\nimpatience and concern to such a degree, that, rather than keep her in\nsuch an agony of doubt and apprehension, he was prevailed upon to tell\nher, that he had been, the preceding night, engaged with a company of his\nfellow-students, where he had made too free with the champagne, so that\nhis caution forsook him, and he had been decoyed into play by a Tyrolese\ngamester, who stripped him of all his ready money, and obtained from him\nan obligation for two hundred florins, which he could not possibly pay\nwithout having recourse to his relation the Count de Melvil, who would\nhave just cause to be incensed at his extravagance.\n\nThis information he concluded, by declaring that, cost what it would, he\nwas resolved to make a candid confession of the truth, and throw himself\nentirely upon the generosity of his patron, who could inflict no other\npunishment than that of discarding him from his favour and protection,--a\nmisfortune which, how grievous soever it might be, he should be able to\nsustain with fortitude, could he fall upon some method of satisfying the\nTyrolese, who was very importunate and savage in his demand.  His kind\nmistress no sooner found out the source of his inquietude, than she\npromised to dry it up, assuring him that next day, at the same hour, she\nwould enable him to discharge the debt; so that he might set his heart at\nease, and recollect that gaiety which was the soul of her enjoyment.\n\nHe expressed the utmost astonishment at this generous proffer, which,\nhowever, he declined, with an affected earnestness of refusal,\nprotesting, that he should be extremely mortified, if he thought she\nlooked upon him as one of those mercenary gallants who could make such a\nsordid use of a lady's affection.  \"No, madam,\" cried our politician in a\npathetic strain, \"whatever happens, I shall never part with that internal\nconsolation, that conscious honour never fails to yield in the deepest\nscenes of solitary distress.  The attachment I have the honour to profess\nfor your amiable person, is not founded on such inglorious motives, but\nis the genuine result of that generous passion which none but the\nnoble-minded feel, and the only circumstance of this misfortune that I\ndread to encounter, is the necessity of withdrawing myself for ever from\nthe presence of her whose genial smiles could animate my soul against all\nthe persecution of adverse fortune.\"\n\nThis declamation, accompanied with a profound sigh, served only to\ninflame her desire of extricating him from the difficulty in which he was\ninvolved.  She exhausted all her eloquence in attempting to persuade him\nthat his refusal was an outrage against her affection.  He pretended to\nrefute her arguments, and remained unshaken by all the power of her\nsolicitations, until she had recourse to the most passionate\nremonstrances of love, and fell at his feet in the posture of a forlorn\nshepherdess.  What he refused to her reason, he granted to her tears,\nbecause his heart was melted by her affliction, and next day condescended\nto accept of her money, out of pure regard to her happiness and peace.\n\nEncouraged by the success of this achievement, he resolved to practise\nthe same experiment upon Wilhelmina, in hope of extracting an equal share\nof profit from her simplicity and attachment, and, at their very next\nnocturnal rendezvous in her chamber, reacted the farce already rehearsed,\nwith a small variation, which he thought necessary to stimulate the young\nlady in his behalf.  He rightly concluded, that she was by no means\nmistress of such a considerable sum as he had already extorted from her\nmother, and therefore thought proper to represent himself in the most\nurgent predicament, that her apprehension, on his account, might be so\nalarmed as to engage her in some enterprise for his advantage, which\notherwise she would never have dreamed of undertaking.  With this view,\nafter having described his own calamitous situation, in consequence of\nher pressing entreaties, which he affected to evade, he gave her to\nunderstand, that there was no person upon earth to whom he would have\nrecourse in this emergency; for which reason he was determined to rid\nhimself of all his cares at once, upon the friendly point of his own\nfaithful sword.\n\nSuch a dreadful resolution could not fail to operate upon the tender\npassions of his Dulcinea; she was instantly seized with an agony of fear\nand distraction.  Her grief manifested itself in a flood of tears, while\nshe hung round his neck, conjuring him in the most melting terms, by\ntheir mutual love, in which they had been so happy, to lay aside that\nfatal determination, which would infallibly involve her in the same fate;\nfor, she took Heaven to witness, that she would not one moment survive\nthe knowledge of his death.\n\nHe was not deficient in expressions of reciprocal regard.  He extolled\nher love and tenderness with a most extravagant eulogium, and seemed\nwrung with mortal anguish at the prospect of parting for ever from his\nlovely Wilhelmina; but his honour was a stern and rigid creditor, that\ncould not be appeased, except with his blood; and all the boon she could\nobtain, by dint of the most woful supplication, was a promise to defer\nthe execution of his baleful purpose for the space of four-and-twenty\nhours, during which she hoped Heaven would compassionate her sufferings,\nand inspire her with some contrivance for their mutual relief.  Thus he\nyielded to her fervent request, rather with a view to calm the present\ntransports of her sorrow, than with any expectation of seeing himself\nredeemed from his fate by her interposition; such at least were his\nprofessions when he took his leave, assuring her, that he would not quit\nhis being before he should have devoted a few hours to another interview\nwith the dear object of his love.\n\nHaving thus kindled the train, he did not doubt that the mine of his\ncraft would take effect, and repaired to his own lodging, in full\npersuasion of seeing his aim accomplished, before the time fixed for\ntheir last assignation.  His prognostic was next morning verified by the\narrival of a messenger, who brought to him a small parcel, to which was\ncemented, with sealing wax, the following epistle:--\n\n\"JEWEL OF MY SOUL!--Scarce had you, last night, quitted my disconsolate\narms, when I happily recollected that there was in my possession a gold\nchain, of value more than sufficient to answer the exigence of your\npresent occasions.  It was pledged to my grandfather for two hundred\ncrowns by a knight of Malta, who soon after perished in a sea engagement\nwith the enemies of our faith, so that it became the property of our\nhouse, and was bequeathed to me by the old gentleman, as a memorial of\nhis particular affection.  Upon whom can I more properly bestow it, than\nhim who is already master of my heart!  Receive it, therefore, from the\nbearer of this billet, and convert it, without scruple, to that use which\nshall be most conducive to your ease and satisfaction; nor seek, from a\ntrue romantic notion of honour, which I know you entertain, to excuse\nyourself from accepting this testimony of my affection.  For I have\nalready sworn before an image of our blessed Lady, that I will no longer\nown you as the sovereign of my heart, nor even indulge you with another\ninterview, if you reject this mark of tenderness and concern from your\never faithful                            WILHELMINA.\"\n\nThe heart of our adventurer began to bound with joy when he surveyed the\ncontents of this letter; and his eyes sparkled with transport at sight of\nthe chain, which he immediately perceived to be worth twice the sum she\nhad mentioned.  Nevertheless, he would not avail himself, without further\nquestion, of her generosity; but, that same night, repairing to her\napartment at the usual hour of meeting, he prostrated himself before her,\nand counterfeiting extreme agitation of spirit, begged, in the most\nurgent terms, not even unaccompanied with tears, that she would take back\nthe present, which he tendered for her acceptance, and spare him the most\ninsufferable mortification of thinking himself exposed to the imputation\nof being mercenary in his love.  Such, he said, was the delicacy of his\npassion, that he could not possibly exist under the apprehension of\nincurring a censure so unworthy of his sentiments; and he would a\nthousand times sooner undergo the persecution of his rancorous creditor,\nthan bear the thought of being in the smallest consideration lessened in\nher esteem; nay, so far did he carry his pretensions to punctilio, as to\nprotest, that, should she refuse to quiet the scruples of his honour on\nthis score, her unyielding beneficence would serve only to hasten the\nexecution of his determined purpose, to withdraw himself at once from a\nlife of vanity and misfortune.\n\nThe more pathetically he pleaded for her compliance, the more strenuously\ndid she resist his remonstrances.  She advanced all the arguments her\nreason, love, and terror could suggest, reminded him of her oath, from\nwhich he could not suppose she would recede, whatever the consequence\nmight be; and in conclusion vowed to Heaven, with great solemnity and\ndevotion, that she would not survive the news of his death.  Thus the\nalternative she offered was either to retain the chain and be happy in\nher affection, or forfeit all title to her love, and die in the\nconviction of having brought his innocent mistress to an untimely grave.\n\nHis fortitude was not proof against this last consideration.  \"My savage\nhonour,\" said he, \"would enable me to endure the pangs of eternal\nseparation in the confidence of being endowed with the power of ending\nthese tortures by the energy of my own hand; but the prospect of\nWilhelmina's death, and that too occasioned by my inflexibility, disarms\nmy soul of all her resolution, swallows up the dictates of my jealous\npride, and fills my bosom with such a gush of tenderness and sorrow, as\noverwhelms the whole economy of my purpose!  Yes, enchanting creature! I\nsacrifice my glory to that irresistible reflection; and, rather than know\nmyself the cruel instrument of robbing the world of such perfection,\nconsent to retain the fatal testimony of your love.\"\n\nSo saying, he pocketed the chain, with an air of ineffable mortification,\nand was rewarded for his compliance with the most endearing caresses of\nhis Dulcinea, who, amidst the tumults of her joy, ejaculated a thousand\nacknowledgments to Heaven for having blessed her with the affection of\nsuch a man, whose honour was unrivalled by anything but his love.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SIXTEEN\n\nHIS SUCCESS BEGETS A BLIND SECURITY, BY WHICH HE IS ONCE AGAIN WELL-NIGH\nENTRAPPED IN HIS DULCINEA'S APARTMENT.\n\n\nIn this manner did the crafty Fathom turn to account those ingratiating\nqualifications he inherited from nature, and maintain, with incredible\nassiduity and circumspection, an amorous correspondence with two domestic\nrivals, who watched the conduct of each other with the most indefatigable\nvirulence of envious suspicion, until an accident happened, which had\nwell-nigh overturned the bark of his policy, and induced him to alter the\ncourse, that he might not be shipwrecked on the rocks that began to\nmultiply in the prosecution of his present voyage.\n\nThe jeweller, who, as a German, wanted neither pride nor ostentation,\nnever failed to celebrate the anniversary of his birth by an annual feast\ngranted to his neighbours and friends; and on these occasions was\naccustomed to wear that chain which, though bequeathed to his daughter,\nhe considered as an ornament appertaining to the family, whereof he\nhimself was head.  Accordingly, when the time of this festival revolved,\nhe, as usual, ordered Wilhelmina to surrender it for the day.  This\ninjunction, the reader will perceive, our young lady was in no condition\nto obey; she had, however, foreseen the demand, and contrived a scheme of\nbehaviour for the occasion, which she forthwith put in execution.\n\nWith an air of uncommon cheerfulness, purposely assumed, she retired to\nher closet, on pretence of complying with his desire, and, having\nemployed a few minutes in rummaging her drawers and disordering her\nmoveables, uttered a loud shriek, that brought her father instantly into\nthe apartment, where he found his daughter tossing about her clothes and\ntrinkets with violent demonstrations of disorder and affright, and heard\nher, in a lamentable strain, declare that she was robbed of her chain,\nand for ever undone.  This was so far from being an agreeable intimation\nto the jeweller, that he was struck dumb with astonishment and vexation,\nand it was not till after a long pause that he pronounced the word\nSacrament! with an emphasis denoting the most mortifying surprise.\n\nSoon as that exclamation escaped from his lips, he flew to the escritoire\nas if instinctively, and, joining Wilhelmina in her occupation, tumbled\nits whole contents upon the floor in a trice.\n\nWhile he was thus employed, in the most expressive silence, the wife of\nhis bosom chanced to pass that way, and seeing them both occupied with\nsuch violence and trepidation, believed at first that they were certainly\nactuated by the spirit of frenzy; but, when she interposed, by asking,\nwith great earnestness, the cause of such transports and distracted\nbehaviour, and heard her husband reply, with an accent of despair, \"The\nchain! the chain of my forefathers is no more!\" she immediately justified\nhis emotion, by undergoing the same alarm, and, without further\nhesitation, engaged herself in the search, beginning with a song, which\nmight be compared to the hymn of battle among the Greeks, or rather more\naptly to that which the Spartan females sung round the altar of Diana,\nsurnamed Orthian; for it was attended with strange gesticulations, and,\nin the course of utterance, became so loud and shrill, that the guests,\nwho were by this time partly assembled, being confounded at the clamour,\nrushed towards the place from whence it seemed to proceed, and found\ntheir landlord, with his wife and daughter, in the attitudes of\ndistraction and despair.\n\nWhen they understood the nature of the case, they condoled the family on\ntheir misfortune, and would have retired, on the supposition that it\nwould defeat the mirthful intent of their meeting; but the jeweller,\nmustering up his whole temper and hospitality, entreated them to excuse\nhis disorder, and favour him with their company, which, he observed, was\nnow more than ever wanted, to dispel the melancholy ideas inspired by his\nloss.  Notwithstanding this apology, and the efforts he made in the\nsequel to entertain his friends with jollity and good-humour, his heart\nwas so linked to the chain, that he could not detach himself from the\nthoughts of it, which invaded him at short intervals in such qualms as\neffectually spoiled his appetite, and hindered his digestion.\n\nHe revolved within himself the circumstances of his disaster, and, in\ncanvassing all the probable means by which the chain would be stolen,\nconcluded that the deed must have been done by some person in the family,\nwho, in consequence of having access to his daughter's chamber, had\neither found the drawer left open by her carelessness and neglect, or\nfound means to obtain a false key, by some waxen impression; for the\nlocks of the escritoire were safe and uninjured.  His suspicion being\nthus confined within his own house, sometimes pitched upon his workmen,\nand sometimes upon his wife, who, he thought, was the more likely to\npractise such finesse, as she considered Wilhelmina in the light of a\ndaughter-in-law, whose interest interfered with her own, and who had\noften harangued to him in private on the folly of leaving this very chain\nin the young lady's possession.\n\nThe more he considered this subject, he thought he saw the more reason to\nattribute the damage he had sustained to the machinations of his spouse,\nwho, he did not doubt, was disposed to feather her own nest, at the\nexpense of him and his heirs, and who, with the same honest intention,\nhad already secreted, for her private use, those inconsiderable jewels\nwhich of late had at different times been missing.  Aroused by these\nsentiments, he resolved to retaliate her own schemes, by contriving means\nto visit her cabinet in secret, and, if possible, to rob the robber of\nthe spoils she had gathered to his prejudice, without coming to any\nexplanation, which might end in domestic turmoils and eternal disquiet.\n\nWhile the husband exercised his reflection in this manner, his innocent\nmate did not allow the powers of her imagination to rest in idleness and\nsloth.  Her observations touching the loss of the chain were such as a\nsuspicious woman, biassed by hatred and envy, would naturally make.  To\nher it seemed highly improbable, that a thing of such value, so carefully\ndeposited, should vanish without the connivance of its keeper, and\nwithout much expense of conjecture, divined the true manner in which it\nwas conveyed.  The sole difficulty that occurred in the researches of her\nsagacity, was to know the gallant who had been favoured with such a\npledge of Wilhelmina's affection; for, as the reader will easily imagine,\nshe never dreamed of viewing Ferdinand in that odious perspective.  In\norder to satisfy her curiosity, discover this happy favourite, and be\nrevenged on her petulant rival, she prevailed upon the jeweller to employ\na scout, who should watch all night upon the stair, without the knowledge\nof any other person in the family, alleging, that in all likelihood, the\nhousemaid gave private admittance to some lover who was the author of all\nthe losses they had lately suffered, and that they might possibly detect\nhim in his nocturnal adventures; and observing that it would be imprudent\nto intimate their design to Wilhelmina, lest, through the heedlessness\nand indiscretion of youth, she might chance to divulge the secret, so as\nto frustrate their aim.\n\nA Swiss, in whose honesty the German could confide, being hired for this\npurpose, was posted in a dark corner of the staircase, within a few paces\nof the door, which he was directed to watch, and actually stood sentinel\nthree nights, without perceiving the least object of suspicion; but, on\nthe fourth, the evil stars of our adventurer conducted him to the spot,\non his voyage to the apartment of his Dulcinea, with whom he had\npreconcerted the assignation.  Having made the signal, which consisted of\ntwo gentle taps on her door, he was immediately admitted; and the Swiss\nno sooner saw him fairly housed, than he crept softly to the other door,\nthat was left open for the purpose, and gave immediate intimation of what\nhe had perceived.  This intelligence, however, he could not convey so\nsecretly, but the lovers, who were always vigilant upon these occasions,\noverheard a sort of commotion in the jeweller's chamber, the cause of\nwhich their apprehension was ingenious enough to comprehend.\n\nWe have formerly observed that our adventurer could not make his retreat\nby the door, without running a very great risk of being detected, and the\nexpedient of the chimney he had no inclination to repeat; so that he\nfound himself in a very uncomfortable dilemma, and was utterly abandoned\nby all his invention and address, when his mistress, in a whisper,\ndesired him to begin a dialogue, aloud, in an apology, importing, that he\nhad mistaken the door, and that his intention was to visit her father,\ntouching a ring belonging to the young Count Melvil, which she knew\nFathom had put into his hands, in order to be altered.\n\nFerdinand, seizing the hint, availed himself of it without delay, and,\nunbolting the door, pronounced in an audible voice, \"Upon my honour,\nMademoiselle, you wrong my intention, if you imagine I came hither with\nany disrespectful or dishonourable motive.  I have business with your\nfather, which cannot be delayed till to-morrow, without manifest\nprejudice to my friend and myself; therefore I took the liberty of\nvisiting him at these untimely hours, and it has been my misfortune to\nmistake the door in the dark.  I beg pardon for my involuntary intrusion,\nand again assure you, that nothing was farther from my thoughts than any\ndesign to violate that respect which I have always entertained for you\nand your father's family.\"\n\nTo this remonstrance, which was distinctly heard by the German and his\nwife, who by this time stood listening at the door, the young lady\nreplied, in a shrill accent of displeasure, \"Sir, I am bound to believe\nthat all your actions are conducted by honour; but you must give me leave\nto tell you, that your mistake is a little extraordinary, and your visit,\neven to my father, at this time of the night, altogether unseasonable, if\nnot mysterious.  As for the interruption I have suffered in my repose, I\nimpute it to my own forgetfulness, in leaving my door unlocked, and blame\nmyself so severely for the omission, that I shall, to-morrow, put it out\nof my own power to be guilty of the like for the future, by ordering the\npassage to be nailed up; meanwhile, if you would persuade me of your\nwell-meaning, you will instantly withdraw, lest my reputation should\nsuffer by your continuance in my apartment.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" answered our hero, \"I will not give you an opportunity to repeat\nthe command, which I shall forthwith obey, after having entreated you\nonce more to forgive the disturbance I have given.\"  So saying, he gently\nopened the door, and, at sight of the German and his wife, who, he well\nknew, waited for his exit, started back, and gave tokens of confusion,\nwhich was partly real and partly affected.  The jeweller, fully satisfied\nwith Fathom's declaration to his daughter, received him with a\ncomplaisant look, and, in order to alleviate his concern, gave him to\nunderstand, that he already knew the reason of his being in that\napartment, and desired to be informed of what had procured him the honour\nto see him at such a juncture.\n\n\"My dear friend,\" said our adventurer, pretending to recollect himself\nwith difficulty, \"I am utterly ashamed and confounded to be discovered in\nthis situation; but, as you have overheard what passed between\nMademoiselle and me, I know you will do justice to my intention, and\nforgive my mistake.  After begging pardon for having intruded upon your\nfamily at these hours, I must now tell you that my cousin, Count Melvil,\nwas some time ago so much misrepresented to his mother by certain\nmalicious informers, who delight in sowing discord in private families,\nthat she actually believed her son an extravagant spendthrift, who had\nnot only consumed his remittances in the most riotous scenes of disorder,\nbut also indulged a pernicious appetite for gaming, to such a degree,\nthat he had lost all his clothes and jewels at play.  In consequence of\nsuch false information, she expostulated with him in a severe letter, and\ndesired he would transmit to her that ring which is in your custody, it\nbeing a family stone, for which she expressed an inestimable value.  The\nyoung gentleman, in his answer to her reproof, endeavoured to vindicate\nhimself from the aspersions which had been cast upon his character, and,\nwith regard to the ring, told her it was at present in the hands of a\njeweller, in order to be new set according to her own directions, and\nthat, whenever it should be altered, he would send it home to her by some\nsafe conveyance.  This account the good lady took for an evasion, and\nupon that supposition has again written to him, in such a provoking\nstyle, that, although the letter arrived but half an hour ago, he is\ndetermined to despatch a courier before morning with the mischievous\nring, for which, in compliance with the impetuosity of his temper, I have\ntaken the freedom to disturb you at this unseasonable hour.\"\n\nThe German paid implicit faith to every circumstance of his story, which\nindeed could not well be supposed to be invented extempore; the ring was\nimmediately restored, and our adventurer took his leave, congratulating\nhimself upon his signal deliverance from the snare in which he had\nfallen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SEVENTEEN\n\nTHE STEP-DAME'S SUSPICIONS BEING AWAKENED, SHE LAYS A SNARE FOR OUR\nADVENTURER, FROM WHICH HE IS DELIVERED BY THE INTERPOSITION OF HIS GOOD\nGENIUS.\n\n\nThough the husband swallowed the bait without further inquiry, the\npenetration of the wife was not so easily deceived.  That same dialogue\nin Wilhelmina's apartment, far from allaying, rather inflamed her\nsuspicion; because, in the like emergency, she herself had once profited\nby the same, or nearly the same contrivance.  Without communicating her\ndoubts to the father, she resolved to double her attention to the\ndaughter's future conduct, and keep such a strict eye over the behaviour\nof our gallant, that he should find it very difficult, if not impossible,\nto elude her observation.  For this purpose she took into her pay an old\nmaiden, of the right sour disposition, who lived in a house opposite to\nher own, and directed her to follow the young lady in all her outgoings,\nwhenever she should receive from the window a certain signal, which the\nmother-in-law agreed to make for the occasion.  It was not long before\nthis scheme succeeded to her wish.  The door of communication betwixt\nWilhelmina's apartment and the staircase being nailed up by the\njeweller's express order, our adventurer was altogether deprived of those\nopportunities he had hitherto enjoyed, and was not at all mortified to\nfind himself so restricted in a correspondence which began to be tiresome\nand disagreeable.  But the case was far otherwise with his Dulcinea,\nwhose passion, the more it was thwarted, raged with greater violence,\nlike a fire, that, from the attempts that are made to extinguish it,\ngathers greater force, and flames with double fury.\n\nUpon the second day of her misfortune, she had written a very tender\nbillet, lamenting her unhappiness in being deprived of those meetings\nwhich constituted the chief joy of her life, and entreating him to\ncontrive some means of renewing the delicious commerce in an unsuspected\nplace.  This intimation she proposed to convey privately into the hand of\nher lover, during his next visit to the family; but both were so narrowly\neyed by the mother, that she found the execution of her design\nimpracticable; and next forenoon, on pretence of going to church,\nrepaired to the house of a companion, who, being also her confidant,\nundertook to deliver the billet with her own hand.\n\nThe she-dragon employed by her mother, in obedience to the sign which was\ndisplayed from the window immediately put on her veil, and followed\nWilhelmina at a distance, until she saw her fairly housed.  She would not\neven then return from her excursion, but hovered about in sight of the\ndoor, with a view of making further observations.  In less than five\nminutes after the young lady disappeared, the scout perceived her coming\nout, accompanied by her comrade, from whom she instantly parted, and bent\nher way towards the church in good earnest, while the other steered her\ncourse in another direction.  The duenna, after a moment's suspense and\nconsideration, divined the true cause of this short visit, and resolved\nto watch the motions of the confidant, whom she traced to the academy in\nwhich our hero lodged, and from which she saw her return, after the\nsupposed message was delivered.\n\nFraught with this intelligence, the rancorous understrapper hied her home\nto the jeweller's wife, and made a faithful recital of what she had seen,\ncommunicating at the same time her own conjectures on that subject.  Her\nemployer was equally astonished and incensed at this information.  She\nwas seized with all that frenzy which takes possession of a slighted\nwoman, when she finds herself supplanted by a detested rival; and, in the\nfirst transports of her indignation, devoted them as sacrifices to her\nvengeance.  Nor was her surprise so much the effect of his dissimulation,\nas of his want of taste and discernment.  She inveighed against him, not\nas the most treacherous lover, but as the most abject wretch, in courting\nthe smiles of such an awkward dowdy, while he enjoyed the favours of a\nwoman who had numbered princes in the train of her admirers.  For the\nbrilliancy of her attractions, such as they at present shone, she\nappealed to the decision of her minister, who consulted her own\nsatisfaction and interest, by flattering the other's vanity and\nresentment; and so unaccountable did the depravity of our hero's judgment\nappear to this conceited dame, that she began to believe there was some\nmistake in the person, and to hope that Wilhelmina's gallant was not in\nreality her professed admirer, Mr. Fathom, but rather one of his\nfellow-lodgers, whose passion he favoured with his mediation and\nassistance.\n\nOn this notion, which nothing but mere vanity could have inspired, in\nopposition to so many more weighty presumptions, she took the resolution\nof bringing the affair to a fuller explanation, before she would concert\nany measures to the prejudice of our adventurer, and forthwith despatched\nher spy back to his lodgings, to solicit, on the part of Wilhelmina, an\nimmediate answer to the letter he had received.  This was an expedition\nwith which the old maiden would have willingly dispensed, because it was\nfounded upon an uncertainty, which might be attended with troublesome\nconsequences; but, rather than be the means of retarding a negotiation so\nproductive of that sort of mischief which is particularly agreeable to\nall of her tribe, she undertook to manage and effect the discovery, in\nfull confidence of her own talents and experience.\n\nWith such a fund of self-sufficiency and instigation, she repaired to the\nacademy on the instant, and inquiring for Mr. Fathom, was introduced to\nhis apartment, where she found him in the very act of writing a billet to\nthe jeweller's daughter.  The artful agent having asked, with the\nmysterious air of an expert go-between, if he had not lately received a\nmessage from a certain young lady, and, being answered in the\naffirmative, gave him to understand, that she herself was a person\nfavoured with the friendship and confidence of Wilhelmina, whom she had\nknown from her cradle, and often dandled on her knee; then, in the\ngenuine style of a prattling dry nurse, she launched out in encomiums on\nhis Dulcinea's beauty and sweetness of temper, recounting many simple\noccurrences of her infancy and childhood; and, finally, desiring a more\ncircumstantial answer to that which she had sent to him by her friend\nCatherina.  In the course of her loquacity she had also, according to her\ninstructions, hinted at the misfortune of the door; and, on the whole,\nperformed her cue with such dexterity and discretion that our politician\nwas actually overreached, and, having finished his epistle, committed it\nto her care, with many verbal expressions of eternal love and fidelity to\nhis charming Wilhelmina.\n\nThe messenger, doubly rejoiced at her achievement, which not only\nrecommended her ministry, but also gratified her malice, returned to her\nprincipal with great exultation, and, delivering the letter, the reader\nwill easily conceive the transports of that lady when she read the\ncontents of it in these words:--\n\n\"ANGELIC WILHELMINA!--To forget those ecstatic scenes we have enjoyed\ntogether, or even live without the continuation of that mutual bliss,\nwere to quit all title to perception, and resign every hope of future\nhappiness.  No! my charmer, while my head retains the least spark of\ninvention, and my heart glows with the resolution of a man, our\ncorrespondence shall not be cut off by the machinations of an envious\nstepmother, who never had attractions to inspire a generous passion; and,\nnow that age and wrinkles have destroyed what little share of beauty she\nonce possessed, endeavours, like the fiend in paradise, to blast those\njoys in others, from which she is herself eternally excluded.  Doubt not,\ndear sovereign of my soul! that I will study, with all the eagerness of\ndesiring love, how to frustrate her malicious intention, and renew those\ntransporting moments, the remembrance of which now warms the breast of\nyour ever constant                               FATHOM.\"\n\nHad our hero murdered her father, or left her a disconsolate widow, by\neffecting the death of her dear husband, there might have been a\npossibility of her exerting the Christian virtues of resignation and\nforgiveness; but such a personal outrage as that contained in this\nepistle precluded all hope of pardon, and rendered penitence of no\nsignification.  His atrocious crime being now fully ascertained, this\nvirago gave a loose to her resentment, which became so loud and\ntempestuous, that her informer shuddered at the storm she had raised, and\nbegan to repent of having communicated the intelligence which seemed to\nhave such a violent effect upon hex brain.\n\nShe endeavoured, however, to allay the agitation, by flattering her fancy\nwith the prospect of revenge, and gradually soothed her into a state of\ndeliberate ire; during which she determined to take ample vengeance on\nthe delinquent.  In the zenith of her rage, she would have had immediate\nrecourse to poison or steel, had she not been diverted from her mortal\npurpose by her counsellor, who represented the danger of engaging in such\nviolent measures, and proposed a more secure scheme, in the execution of\nwhich she would see the perfidious wretch sufficiently punished, without\nany hazard to her own person or reputation.  She advised her to inform\nthe jeweller of Fathom's efforts to seduce her conjugal fidelity, and\nimpart to him a plan, by which he would have it in his power to detect\nour adventurer in the very act of practising upon her virtue.\n\nThe lady relished her proposal, and actually resolved to make an\nassignation with Ferdinand, as usual, and give notice of the appointment\nto her husband, that he might personally discover the treachery of his\npretended friend, and inflict upon him such chastisement as the German's\nbrutal disposition should suggest, when inflamed by that species of\nprovocation.  Had this project been brought to bear, Ferdinand, in all\nlikelihood, would have been disqualified from engaging in any future\nintrigue; but fate ordained that the design should be defeated, in order\nto reserve him for more important occasions.\n\nBefore the circumstances of the plan could be adjusted, it was his good\nfortune to meet his Dulcinea in the street, and, in the midst of their\nmutual condolence on the interruption they had suffered in their\ncorrespondence, he assured her, that he would never give his invention\nrespite, until he should have verified the protestations contained in the\nletter he had delivered to her discreet agent.  This allusion to a billet\nshe had never received, did not fail to alarm her fears, and introduce a\nvery mortifying explanation, in which he so accurately described the\nperson of the messenger, that she forthwith comprehended the plot, and\ncommunicated to our hero her sentiments on that subject.\n\nThough he expressed infinite anxiety and chagrin at this misfortune,\nwhich could not fail to raise new obstacles to their love, his heart was\na stranger to the uneasiness he affected; and rather pleased with the\noccasion, which would furnish him with pretences to withdraw himself\ngradually from an intercourse by this time become equally cloying and\nunprofitable.  Being well acquainted with the mother's temperament, he\nguessed the present situation of her thoughts, and concluding she would\nmake the jeweller a party in her revenge, he resolved from that moment to\ndiscontinue his visits, and cautiously guard against any future interview\nwith the lady whom he had rendered so implacable.\n\nIt was well for our adventurer that his good fortune so seasonably\ninterposed; for that same day, in the afternoon, he was favoured with a\nbillet from the jeweller's wife, couched in the same tender style she had\nformerly used, and importing an earnest desire of seeing him next day at\nthe wonted rendezvous.  Although his penetration was sufficient to\nperceive the drift of this message, or at least to discern the risk he\nshould run in complying with her request, yet he was willing to be more\nfully certified of the truth of his suspicion, and wrote an answer to the\nbillet, in which he assured her, that he would repair to the place of\nappointment with all the punctuality of an impatient lover.\nNevertheless, instead of performing this promise, he, in the morning,\ntook post in a public-house opposite to the place of assignation, in\norder to reconnoitre the ground, and about noon had the pleasure of\nseeing the German, wrapped in a cloak, enter the door of his wife's\nshe-friend, though the appointment was fixed at five in the evening.\nFathom blessed his good angel for having conducted him clear of this\nconspiracy, and kept his station with great tranquillity till the hour of\nmeeting, when he beheld his enraged Thalestris take the same route, and\nenjoyed her disappointment with ineffable satisfaction.\n\nThus favoured with a pretext, he took his leave of her, in a letter,\ngiving her to understand, that he was no stranger to the barbarous snare\nshe had laid for him; and upbraiding her with having made such an\nungrateful return for all his tenderness and attachment.  She was not\nbackward in conveying a reply to this expostulation, which seemed to have\nbeen dictated in all the distraction of a proud woman who sees her\nvengeance baffled, as well as her love disdained.  Her letter was nothing\nbut a succession of reproaches, menaces, and incoherent execrations.  She\ntaxed him with knavery, insensibility, and dissimulation; imprecated a\nthousand curses upon his head, and threatened not only to persecute his\nlife with all the arts that hell and malice could inspire, but also to\nwound him in the person of her daughter-in-law, who should be enclosed\nfor life in a convent, where she should have leisure to repent of those\nloose and disorderly practices which he had taught her to commit, and of\nwhich she could not pretend innocence, as they had it in their power to\nconfront her with the evidence of her lover's own confession.  Yet all\nthis denunciation was qualified with an alternative, by which he was\ngiven to understand, that the gates of mercy were still open, and that\npenitence was capable of washing out the deepest stain of guilt.\n\nFerdinand read the whole remonstrance with great composure and\nmoderation, and was content to incur the hazard of her hate, rather than\nput her to the trouble of making such an effort of generosity, as would\ninduce her to forgive the heinous offence he had committed; nor did his\napprehension for Wilhelmina in the least influence his behaviour on this\noccasion.  So zealous was he for her spiritual concerns, that he would\nhave been glad to hear she had actually taken the veil; but he knew such\na step was not at all agreeable to her disposition, and that no violence\nwould be offered to her inclinations on that score, unless her stepmother\nshould communicate to the father that letter of Fathom's which she had\nintercepted, and by which the German would be convinced of his daughter's\nbacksliding; but this measure, he rightly supposed, the wife would not\nventure to take, lest the husband, instead of taking her advice touching\nthe young lady, should seek to compromise the affair, by offering her in\nmarriage to her debaucher, a proffer which, if accepted, would overwhelm\nthe mother with vexation and despair.  He therefore chose to trust to the\neffects of lenient time, which he hoped would gradually weaken the\nresentment of this Penthesilea, and dissolve his connexion with the other\nparts of the family, from which he longed to be totally detached.\n\nHow well soever he might have succeeded in his attempts to shake off the\nyoke of the mother, who by her situation in life was restrained from\nprosecuting those measures her resentment had planned against his\nfortitude and indifference, he would have found greater difficulty than\nhe had foreseen, in disengaging himself from the daughter, whose\naffections he had won under the most solemn professions of honour and\nfidelity, and who, now she was debarred of his company and conversation,\nand in danger of losing him for ever, had actually taken the resolution\nof disclosing the amour to her father, that he might interpose in behalf\nof her peace and reputation, and secure her happiness by the sanction of\nthe church.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER EIGHTEEN\n\nOUR HERO DEPARTS FROM VIENNA, AND QUITS THE DOMAIN OF VENUS FOR THE ROUGH\nFIELD OF MARS.\n\n\nLuckily for our adventurer, before she adhered to this determination, the\nyoung Count de Melvil was summoned to Presburg by his father, who desired\nto see him, before he should take the field, in consequence of a rupture\nbetween the Emperor and the French King; and Fathom of course quitted\nVienna, in order to attend his patron, after he and Renaldo had resided\ntwo whole years in that capital, where the former had made himself\nperfect in all the polite exercises, become master of the French tongue,\nand learned to speak the Italian with great facility; over and above\nthose other accomplishments in which we have represented him as an\ninimitable original.\n\nAs for the young Count, his exteriors were so much improved by the\ncompany to which he had access, since his departure from his father's\nhouse, that his parents were equally surprised and overjoyed at the\nalteration.  All that awkwardness and rusticity, which hung upon his\ndeportment, was, like the rough coat of a diamond, polished away; the\nconnexion and disposition of his limbs seemed to have been adjusted anew;\nhis carriage was become easy, his air perfectly genteel, and his\nconversation gay and unrestrained.  The merit of this reformation was in\na great measure ascribed to the care and example of Mr. Fathom, who was\nreceived by the old Count and his lady with marks of singular friendship\nand esteem; nor was he overlooked by Mademoiselle, who still remained in\na state of celibacy, and seemed to have resigned all hope of altering her\ncondition; she expressed uncommon satisfaction at the return of her old\nfavourite, and readmitted him into the same degree of familiarity with\nwhich he had been honoured before his departure.\n\nThe joy of Teresa was so excessive at his arrival, that she could scarce\nsuppress her raptures, so as to conceal them from the notice of the\nfamily; and our hero, upon this occasion, performed the part of an\nexquisite actor, in dissembling those transports which his bosom never\nknew.  So well had this pupil retained the lessons of her instructor,\nthat, in the midst of those fraudulent appropriations, which she still\ncontinued to make, she had found means to support her interest and\ncharacter with Mademoiselle, and even to acquire such influence in the\nfamily, that no other servant, male or female, could pretend to live\nunder the same roof, without paying incessant homage to this artful\nwaiting-woman, and yielding the most abject submission to her will.\n\nThe young gentlemen having tarried at Presburg about six weeks, during\nwhich a small field equipage was prepared for Renaldo, they repaired to\nthe camp at Heilbron, under the auspices of Count Melvil, in whose\nregiment they carried arms as volunteers, with a view to merit promotion\nin the service by their own personal behaviour.  Our adventurer would\nhave willingly dispensed with this occasion of signalising himself, his\ntalents being much better adapted to another sphere of life;\nnevertheless, he affected uncommon alacrity at the prospect of gathering\nlaurels in the field, and subscribed to his fortune with a good grace;\nforeseeing, that even in a campaign, a man of his art and ingenuity might\nfind means to consult his corporal safety, without any danger to his\nreputation.  Accordingly, before he had lived full three weeks in camp,\nthe damp situation, and sudden change in his way of life, had such a\nviolent effect upon his constitution, that he was deprived of the use of\nall his limbs, and mourned, without ceasing, his hard fate, by which he\nfound himself precluded from all opportunity of exerting his diligence,\ncourage, and activity, in the character of a soldier, to which he now\naspired.\n\nRenaldo, who was actually enamoured of a martial life, and missed no\noccasion of distinguishing himself, consoled his companion with great\ncordiality, encouraged him with the hope of seeing his constitution\nfamiliarised to the inconveniences of a camp, and accommodated him with\neverything which he thought would alleviate the pain of his body, as well\nas the anxiety of his mind.  The old Count, who sincerely sympathised\nwith his affliction, would have persuaded him to retire into quarters,\nwhere he could be carefully nursed, and provided with everything\nnecessary to a person in his condition; but such was his desire of glory,\nthat he resisted his patron's importunities with great constancy, till at\nlength, seeing the old gentleman obstinately determined to consult his\nhealth by removing him from the field, he gradually suffered himself to\nrecover the use of his hands, made shift to sit up in his bed, and amuse\nhimself with cards or backgammon, and, notwithstanding the feeble\ncondition of his legs, ventured to ride out on horseback to visit the\nlines, though the Count and his son would never yield to his\nsolicitations so far, as to let him accompany Renaldo in those excursions\nand reconnoitring parties, by which a volunteer inures himself to toil\nand peril, and acquires that knowledge in the operations of war, which\nqualifies him for a command in the service.\n\nNotwithstanding this exemption from all duty, our adventurer managed\nmatters so as to pass for a youth of infinite mettle, and even rendered\nhis backwardness and timidity subservient to the support of that\ncharacter, by expressing an impatience of lying inactive, and a desire of\nsignalising his prowess, which even the disabled condition of his body\ncould scarce restrain.  He must be a man of very weak nerves and\nexcessive irresolution, who can live in the midst of actual service,\nwithout imbibing some portion of military fortitude: danger becomes\nhabitual, and loses a great part of its terror; and as fear is often\ncaught by contagion, so is courage communicated among the individuals of\nan army.  The hope of fame, desire of honours and preferment, envy,\nemulation, and the dread of disgrace, are motives which co-operate in\nsuppressing that aversion to death or mutilation, which nature hath\nimplanted in the human mind; and therefore it is not to be wondered at,\nif Fathom, who was naturally chicken-hearted, gained some advantages over\nhis disposition before the end of the campaign, which happened to be\nneither perilous nor severe.\n\nDuring the winter, while both armies remained in quarters, our adventurer\nattended his patron to Presburg, and, before the troops were in motion,\nRenaldo obtained a commission, in consequence of which he went into\ngarrison at Philipsburg, whither he was followed by our hero, while the\nold Count's duty called him to the field in a different place.  Ferdinand\nfor some time had no reason to be dissatisfied with this disposition, by\nwhich he was at once delivered from the fatigues of a campaign, and the\ninspection of a severe censor, in the person of Count Melvil; and his\nsatisfaction was still increased by an accidental meeting with the\nTyrolese who had been his confederate at Vienna, and now chanced to serve\nin garrison on the same footing with himself.  These two knights-errant\nrenewed their former correspondence, and, as all soldiers are addicted to\ngaming, levied contributions upon all those officers who had money to\nlose, and temerity to play.\n\nHowever, they had not long pursued this branch of traffic, when their\nsuccess was interrupted by a very serious occurrence, that for the\npresent entirely detached the gentlemen in the garrison from such\namusements.  The French troops invested Fort Kehl, situated on the Rhine,\nopposite to Strasburg; and the Imperialists, dreading that the next storm\nwould fall upon Philipsburg, employed themselves with great diligence to\nput that important fortress in a proper posture of defence.  If the\nsuspension of play was displeasing to our hero, the expectation of being\nbesieged was by no means more agreeable.  He knew the excellence of the\nFrench engineers, the power of their artillery, and the perseverance of\ntheir general.  He felt, by anticipation, the toils of hard duty upon the\nworks, the horrors of night-alarms, cannonading, bombardment, sallies,\nand mines blown up; and deliberated with himself whether or not he should\nprivately withdraw, and take refuge among the besiegers; but, when he\nreflected that such a step, besides the infamy that must attend it, would\nbe like that of running upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis, as he\nwould be exposed to more danger and inconvenience in the trenches than he\ncould possibly undergo in the town, and after all run the risk of being\ntaken and treated as a deserter; upon these considerations he resolved to\nsubmit himself to his destiny, and endeavoured to mitigate the rigour of\nhis fate by those arts he had formerly practised with success.  He\naccordingly found means to enjoy a very bad state of health during the\nwhole siege, which lasted about six weeks after the trenches were opened;\nand then the garrison marched out by capitulation, with all the honours\nof war.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER NINETEEN\n\nHE PUTS HIMSELF UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF HIS ASSOCIATE, AND STUMBLES UPON\nTHE FRENCH CAMP, WHERE HE FINISHES HIS MILITARY CAREER.\n\n\nNothing else of moment was transacted during that campaign; and in the\nwinter our adventurer, with the young Count, and his friend the Tyrolese,\nwere disposed in quarters of cantonment, where Ferdinand made himself\namends for the chagrin he had undergone, by the exercise of those talents\nin which he excelled.  Not that he was satisfied with the sphere of life\nin which he acted; though he knew himself consummate in the art of play,\nhe was not at all ambitious of a gamester's name; nor did he find himself\ndisposed to hazard those discoveries and explanations to which heroes of\nthat class are sometimes necessarily exposed.  His aim was to dwell among\nthe tents of civil life, undisturbed by quarrels and the din of war, and\nrender mankind subservient to his interest, not by stratagems which\nirritate, but by that suppleness of insinuation, which could not fail to\nsoothe the temper of those on whom he meant to prey.\n\nHe saw that all his expectations of Count Melvil's future favour were\nconnected with his choice of a military life; and that his promotion in\nthe service would, in a great measure, depend upon his personal behaviour\nin such emergencies as he did not at all wish to encounter.  On the other\nhand, he confided so much in his own dexterity and address, that he never\ndoubted of being able to rear a splendid fortune for himself, provided he\ncould once obtain a fixed and firm foundation.  He had in fancy often\nenjoyed a prospect of England, not only as his native country, to which,\nlike a true citizen, he longed to be united; but also as the land of\npromise, flowing with milk and honey, and abounding with subjects on\nwhich he knew his talents would be properly exercised.\n\nThese reflections never occurred, without leaving a strong impression\nupon the mind of our adventurer, which influenced his deliberations in\nsuch a manner, as at length amounted to a perfect resolution of\nwithdrawing himself privately from a service that teemed with\ndisagreeable events, and of transporting himself into the country of his\nancestors, which he considered as the Canaan of all able adventurers.\nBut, previous to his appearance on that stage, he was desirous of\nvisiting the metropolis of France, in which he hoped to improve himself\nin the knowledge of men and things, and acquire such intelligence as\nwould qualify him to act a more important part upon the British scene.\nAfter having for some time indulged these prospects in secret, he\ndetermined to accommodate himself with the company and experience of the\nTyrolese, whom, under the specious title of an associate, he knew he\ncould convert into a very serviceable tool, in forwarding the execution\nof his own projects.\n\nAccordingly, the inclination of this confederate was sounded by distant\nhints, and being found apt, our hero made him privy to his design of\ndecamping without beat of drum; though, at the same time, he begged his\nadvice touching the method of their departure, that he might retire with\nas much delicacy as the nature of such a step would permit.  Divers\nconsultations were held upon this subject, before they adhered to the\nresolution of making their escape from the army, after it should have\ntaken the field in the spring; because, in that case, they would have\nfrequent opportunities of going abroad on foraging parties, and, during\none of these excursions, might retire in such a manner as to persuade\ntheir companions that they had fallen into the enemy's hands.\n\nAgreeable to this determination, the camp was no sooner formed in Alsace\nthan our associates began to make preparations for their march, and had\nalready taken all the previous measures for their departure, when an\naccident happened, which our hero did not fail to convert to his own\nadvantage.  This was no other than the desertion of Renaldo's valet, who,\nin consequence of a gentle chastisement, which he had richly merited,\nthought proper to disappear, after having plundered his master's\nportmanteau, which he had forced open for the purpose.  Ferdinand, who\nwas the first person that discovered the theft, immediately comprehended\nthe whole adventure, and, taking it for granted that the delinquent would\nnever return, resolved to finish what the fugitive had imperfectly\nperformed.\n\nBeing favoured with the unreserved confidence of the young Count, he\ninstantly had recourse to his bureau, the locks of which he found means\nto burst open, and, examining a private drawer, contrived with great art\nto conceal Renaldo's jewels and cash, made himself master of the contents\nwithout hesitation; then cutting open his cloak-bag, and strewing the\ntent with his linen and clothes, began to raise his voice, and produce\nsuch a clamour as alarmed the whole neighbourhood, and brought a great\nmany officers into the tent.\n\nHe on this, as on all other occasions, performed his cue to a miracle,\nexpressing confusion and concern so naturally in his gestures and\nexclamation, that no man could possibly suspect his sincerity; nay, to\nsuch a degree of finesse did his cunning amount, that when his friend and\npatron entered, in consequence of an intimation he soon received of his\nloss, our adventurer exhibited undoubted signs of distraction and\ndelirium, and, springing upon Renaldo with all the frantic fury of a\nbedlamite, \"Villain,\" cried he, \"restore the effects you have stole from\nyour master, or you shall be immediately committed to the care of the\nprevot.\"  However mortified M. de Melvil might be at his own misfortune,\nthe condition of his friend seemed to touch him more nearly; he\nundervalued his own loss as a trifle that could be easily repaired; said\neverything which he thought would tend to soothe and compose the\nagitation of Ferdinand; and finally prevailed upon him to retire to rest.\nThe calamity was wholly attributed to the deserter; and Renaldo, far from\nsuspecting the true author, took occasion, from his behaviour on this\nemergency, to admire him as a mirror of integrity and attachment; in such\nan exquisite manner did he plan all his designs, that almost every\ninstance of his fraud furnished matter of triumph to his reputation.\n\nHaving thus profitably exercised his genius, this subtle politician\nthought it high time to relinquish his military expectations, and\nsecuring all his valuable acquisitions about his own person, rode out\nwith his understrapper, in the midst of fifty dragoons, who went in quest\nof forage.  While the troopers were employed in making up their trusses,\nthe two adventurers advanced towards the skirt of a wood, on pretence of\nreconnoitring, and the Tyrolese, who undertook to be our hero's guide,\ndirecting him to a path which leads towards Strasburg, they suddenly\nvanished from the eyes of their companions, who in a few minutes hearing\nthe report of several pistols, which the confederates purposely fired,\nconjectured that they had fallen in with a party of French, by whom they\nwere made prisoners of war.\n\nThe Tyrolese had overrated his own knowledge when he took upon himself\nthe charge of conducting our hero; for upon their arrival at a certain\nplace, where two roads crossed each other, he chanced to follow that\nwhich not only frustrated their intention, but even led them directly to\nthe French camp; so that, in the twilight, they fell in upon one of the\noutguards before they were aware of their mistake.\n\nWhatever confusion and perplexity they might undergo, when they heard\nthemselves questioned by the sentinel on the advanced post, certain it\nis, they betrayed no symptoms of fear or disorder; but while Ferdinand\nendeavoured to recollect himself, his fellow-traveller, with the\nappearance of admirable intrepidity and presence of mind, told the\nsoldier that he and his companion were two gentlemen of family, who had\nquitted the Austrian army, on account of having sustained some ill-usage,\nwhich they had no opportunity of resenting in any other way, and that\nthey were come to offer their services to the French general, to whose\nquarters they desired to be immediately conveyed.\n\nThe sentinel, to whom such an instance of desertion was neither rare, nor\nindeed uncommon, directed them without scruple to the next post, where\nthey found a serjeant's party, from which, at their request, they were\ntransmitted to the officer of the grand guard, and by him next morning\nintroduced to Count Coigny, who very politely received them as volunteers\nin the army of France.  Though this translation was not at all to our\nhero's liking, he was forced to acquiesce in his fate, glad to find\nhimself, on these terms, in possession of his effects, of which he would\notherwise have been infallibly rifled.\n\nThis campaign, however, was the most disagreeable period of his whole\nlife; because the manner in which he had entered into the service\nsubjected him to the particular observation and notice of the French\nofficers; so that he was obliged to be very alert in his duty, and summon\nall his fortitude to maintain the character he had assumed.  What\nrendered his situation still more unpalatable, was the activity of both\narmies in the course of this season, during which, over and above sundry\nfatiguing marches and countermarches, he was personally engaged in the\naffair of Halleh, which was very obstinate; where, being in the skirts of\nthe detachment, he was actually wounded in the face by the sword of an\nhussar; but this was, luckily for him, the last time he found himself\nunder the necessity of exerting his military prowess, for a cessation of\narms was proclaimed before he was cured of his wound, and peace concluded\nabout the end of the campaign.\n\nDuring his sojourn in the French camp, he assumed the character of a man\nof family, who being disgusted at some supercilious treatment he had met\nwith in the German service, and at the same time ambitious of carrying\narms under the banners of France, took the opportunity of retreating by\nstealth from his friends, accompanied only by one with whom he could\nintrust his intention.  In this capacity he had managed his matters to\nsuch advantage, that many French officers of rank were very well disposed\nto contribute their interest in his behalf, had his inclination verged\ntowards promotion in the army; but he thought proper to conceal his real\ndesign, under the specious pretext of longing to see the metropolis of\nFrance, that centre of pleasure and politeness, in which he proposed to\nspend some time for the improvement of his address and understanding.\nThese were motives too laudable to be opposed by his new patrons, some of\nwhom furnished him with letters of recommendation to certain noblemen of\nthe first rank at the court of Versailles, for which place he and his\ncompanion set out from the banks of the Rhine, very well satisfied with\nthe honourable dismission they had obtained from a life of inconvenience,\ndanger, and alarm.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY\n\nHE PREPARES A STRATAGEM BUT FINDS HIMSELF COUNTERMINED--PROCEEDS ON HIS\nJOURNEY, AND IS OVERTAKEN BY A TERRIBLE TEMPEST.\n\n\nIn the course of this journey, Ferdinand, who was never deficient in his\npolitical capacity, held a secret conclave with his own thoughts, not\nonly touching the plan of his own future conduct, but also concerning his\nassociate, of whose fidelity and adherence he began to entertain such\ndoubts as discouraged him from the prosecution of that design in which\nthe Tyrolese had been at first included; for he had lately observed him\npractise the arts of his occupation among the French officers, with such\nrapacity and want of caution, as indicated a dangerous temerity of\ntemper, as well as a furious rage of acquiring, which might be some time\nor other satiated upon his own friends.  In other words, our adventurer\nwas afraid that his accomplice would profit by his knowledge of the road\nand countries through which they travelled, and, after having made free\nwith his most valuable effects, in consequence of the familiarity\nsubsisting between them, leave him some morning without the ceremony of a\nformal adieu.\n\nAroused by this suspicion, he resolved to anticipate the supposed\nintention of the Tyrolese, by taking his own departure in the same abrupt\nmanner; and this scheme he actually put in execution, upon their arrival\nin Bar-le-duc, where it was agreed they should spend a day to repose and\nrefresh themselves from the fatigue of hard riding.  Ferdinand,\ntherefore, taking the advantage of his companion's absence--for the\nTyrolese had walked abroad to view the town--found means to hire a\npeasant, who undertook to conduct him through a by-road as far as\nChalons, and with his guide he accordingly set out on horseback, after\nhaving discharged the bill, left a blank paper sealed up in form of a\nletter, directed to his friend, and secured behind his own saddle a pair\nof leathern bags, in which his jewels and cash were usually contained.\nSo eager was our hero to leave the Tyrolese at a considerable distance\nbehind, that he rode all night at a round pace without halting, and next\nmorning found himself at a village distant thirteen good leagues from any\npart of the route which he and his companion had at first resolved to\npursue.\n\nHere, thinking himself safely delivered from the cause of all his\napprehension, he determined to lie incognito for a few days, so as that\nhe might run no risk of an accidental meeting upon the road with the\nperson whose company he had forsaken; and accordingly took possession of\nan apartment, in which he went to rest, desiring his guide to wake him\nwhen dinner should be ready.  Having enjoyed a very comfortable\nrefreshment of sleep, with his bags under his pillow, he was summoned,\naccording to his direction, and ate a very hearty meal, with great\ntranquillity and internal satisfaction.  In the afternoon he amused\nhimself with happy presages and ideal prospects of his future fortune,\nand, in the midst of these imaginary banquets, was seized with an\ninclination of realising his bliss, and regaling his eyesight with the\nfruits of that success which had hitherto attended his endeavours.  Thus\ninflamed, he opened the repository, and, O reader! what were his\nreflections, when, in lieu of Mademoiselle Melvil's ear-rings and\nnecklace, the German's golden chain, divers jewels of considerable value,\nthe spoils of sundry dupes, and about two hundred ducats in ready money,\nhe found neither more nor less than a parcel of rusty nails, disposed in\nsuch a manner as to resemble in weight and bulk the moveables he had\nlost.\n\nIt is not to be supposed our adventurer made this discovery without\nemotion.  If the eternal salvation of mankind could have been purchased\nfor the tenth part of his treasure, he would have left the whole species\nin a state of reprobation, rather than redeem them at that price, unless\nhe had seen in the bargain some evident advantage to his own concerns.\nOne may, therefore, easily conceive with what milkiness of resignation he\nbore the loss of the whole, and saw himself reduced from such affluence\nto the necessity of depending upon about twenty ducats, and some loose\nsilver, which he carried in his pocket, for his expense upon the road.\nHowever bitter this pill might be in swallowing, he so far mastered his\nmortification, as to digest it with a good grace.  His own penetration at\nonce pointed out the canal through which this misfortune had flowed upon\nhim; he forthwith placed the calamity to the account of the Tyrolese, and\nnever doubting that he had retired with the booty across the Rhine, into\nsome place to which he knew Fathom would not follow his footsteps, he\nformed the melancholy resolution of pursuing with all despatch his\njourney to Paris, that he might, with all convenient expedition,\nindemnify himself for the discomfiture he had sustained.\n\nWith regard to his confederate, his conjecture was perfectly right; that\nadventurer, though infinitely inferior to our hero in point of genius and\ninvention, had manifestly the advantage of him in the articles of age and\nexperience; he was no stranger to Fathom's qualifications, the happy\nexertion of which he had often seen.  He knew him to be an economist of\nthe most frugal order, consequently concluded his finances were worthy of\nexamination; and, upon the true principles of a sharper, eased him of the\nencumbrance, taking it for granted, that, in so doing, he only precluded\nFerdinand from the power of acting the same tragedy upon him, should ever\nopportunity concur with his inclination.  He had therefore concerted his\nmeasures with the dexterity of an experienced conveyancer, and, snatching\nthe occasion, while our hero, travel-tainted, lay sunk in the arms of\nprofound repose, he ripped up the seams of the leather depository,\nwithdrew the contents, introduced the parcel of nails, which he had made\nup for the purpose, and then repaired the breach with great deliberation.\n\nHad Fathom's good genius prompted him to examine his effects next\nmorning, the Tyrolese, in all probability, would have maintained his\nacquisition by force of arms; for his personal courage was rather more\ndetermined than that of our adventurer, and he was conscious of his own\nascendency in this particular; but his good fortune prevented such\nexplanation.  Immediately after dinner, he availed himself of his\nknowledge, and, betaking himself to a remote part of the town, set out in\na post-chaise for Luneville, while our hero was meditating his own\nescape.\n\nFathom's conception was sufficient to comprehend the whole of this\nadventure, as soon as his chagrin would give his sagacity fair play; nor\nwould he allow his resolution to sink under the trial; on the contrary,\nhe departed from the village that same afternoon, under the auspices of\nhis conductor, and found himself benighted in the midst of a forest, far\nfrom the habitations of men.  The darkness of the night, the silence and\nsolitude of the place, the indistinct images of the trees that appeared\non every side, \"stretching their extravagant arms athwart the gloom,\"\nconspired, with the dejection of spirits occasioned by his loss, to\ndisturb his fancy, and raise strange phantoms in his imagination.\nAlthough he was not naturally superstitious, his mind began to be invaded\nwith an awful horror, that gradually prevailed over all the consolations\nof reason and philosophy; nor was his heart free from the terrors of\nassassination.  In order to dissipate these disagreeable reveries, he had\nrecourse to the conversation of his guide, by whom he was entertained\nwith the history of divers travellers who had been robbed and murdered by\nruffians, whose retreat was in the recesses of that very wood.\n\nIn the midst of this communication, which did not at all tend to the\nelevation of our hero's spirits, the conductor made an excuse for\ndropping behind, while our traveller jogged on in expectation of being\njoined again by him in a few minutes.  He was, however, disappointed in\nthat hope; the sound of the other horse's feet by degrees grew more and\nmore faint, and at last altogether died away.  Alarmed at this\ncircumstance, Fathom halted in the middle of the road, and listened with\nthe most fearful attention; but his sense of hearing was saluted with\nnought but the dismal sighings of the trees, that seemed to foretell an\napproaching storm.  Accordingly, the heavens contracted a more dreary\naspect, the lightning began to gleam, and the thunder to roll, and the\ntempest, raising its voice to a tremendous roar, descended in a torrent\nof rain.\n\nIn this emergency, the fortitude of our hero was almost quite overcome.\nSo many concurring circumstances of danger and distress might have\nappalled the most undaunted breast; what impression then must they have\nmade upon the mind of Ferdinand, who was by no means a man to set fear at\ndefiance!  Indeed, he had well-nigh lost the use of his reflection, and\nwas actually invaded to the skin, before he could recollect himself so\nfar as to quit the road, and seek for shelter among the thickets that\nsurrounded him.  Having rode some furlongs into the forest, he took his\nstation under a tuft of tall trees, that screened him from the storm, and\nin that situation called a council within himself, to deliberate upon his\nnext excursion.  He persuaded himself that his guide had deserted him for\nthe present, in order to give intelligence of a traveller to some gang of\nrobbers with whom he was connected; and that he must of necessity fall a\nprey to those banditti, unless he should have the good fortune to elude\ntheir search, and disentangle himself from the mazes of the wood.\n\nHarrowed with these apprehensions, he resolved to commit himself to the\nmercy of the hurricane, as of two evils the least, and penetrate\nstraightforwards through some devious opening, until he should be\ndelivered from the forest. For this purpose he turned his horse's head in\na line quite contrary to the direction of the high road which he had\nleft, on the supposition that the robbers would pursue that track in\nquest of him, and that they would never dream of his deserting the\nhighway, to traverse an unknown forest, amidst the darkness of such a\nboisterous night.  After he had continued in this progress through a\nsuccession of groves, and bogs, and thorns, and brakes, by which not only\nhis clothes, but also his skin suffered in a grievous manner, while every\nnerve quivered with eagerness and dismay, he at length reached an open\nplain, and pursuing his course, in full hope of arriving at some village,\nwhere his life would be safe, he descried a rush-light at a distance,\nwhich he looked upon as the star of his good fortune, and riding towards\nit at full speed, arrived at the door of a lone cottage, into which he\nwas admitted by an old woman, who, understanding he was a bewildered\ntraveller, received him with great hospitality.\n\nWhen he learned from his hostess, that there was not another house within\nthree leagues; that she could accommodate him with a tolerable bed, and\nhis horse with lodging and oats, he thanked Heaven for his good fortune,\nin stumbling upon this homely habitation, and determined to pass the\nnight under the protection of the old cottager, who gave him to\nunderstand, that her husband, who was a <DW19>-maker, had gone to the next\ntown to dispose of his merchandise; and that, in all probability, he\nwould not return till next morning, on account of the tempestuous night.\nFerdinand sounded the beldame with a thousand artful interrogations, and\nshe answered with such appearance of truth and simplicity, that he\nconcluded his person was quite secure; and, after having been regaled\nwith a dish of eggs and bacon, desired she would conduct him into the\nchamber where she proposed he should take his repose.  He was accordingly\nushered up by a sort of ladder into an apartment furnished with a\nstanding-bed, and almost half filled with trusses of straw.  He seemed\nextremely well pleased with his lodging, which in reality exceeded his\nexpectation; and his kind landlady, cautioning him against letting the\ncandle approach the combustibles, took her leave, and locked the door on\nthe outside.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-ONE\n\nHE FALLS UPON SCYLLA, SEEKING TO AVOID CHARYBDIS.\n\n\nFathom, whose own principles taught him to be suspicious, and ever upon\nhis guard against the treachery of his fellow-creatures, could have\ndispensed with this instance of her care, in confining her guest to her\nchamber, and began to be seized with strange fancies, when he observed\nthat there was no bolt on the inside of the door, by which he might\nsecure himself from intrusion.  In consequence of these suggestions, he\nproposed to take an accurate survey of every object in the apartment,\nand, in the course of his inquiry, had the mortification to find the dead\nbody of a man, still warm, who had been lately stabbed, and concealed\nbeneath several bundles of straw.\n\nSuch a discovery could not fail to fill the breast of our hero with\nunspeakable horror; for he concluded that he himself would undergo the\nsame fate before morning, without the interposition of a miracle in his\nfavour.  In the first transports of his dread, he ran to the window, with\na view to escape by that outlet, and found his flight effectually\nobstructed by divers strong bars of iron.  Then his heart began to\npalpitate, his hair to bristle up, and his knees to totter; his thoughts\nteemed with presages of death and destruction; his conscience rose up in\njudgment against him, and he underwent a severe paroxysm of dismay and\ndistraction.  His spirits were agitated into a state of fermentation that\nproduced a species of resolution akin to that which is inspired by brandy\nor other strong liquors, and, by an impulse that seemed supernatural, he\nwas immediately hurried into measures for his own preservation.\n\nWhat upon a less interesting occasion his imagination durst not propose,\nhe now executed without scruple or remorse.  He undressed the corpse that\nlay bleeding among the straw, and, conveying it to the bed in his arms,\ndeposited it in the attitude of a person who sleeps at his ease; then he\nextinguished the light, took possession of the place from whence the body\nhad been removed, and, holding a pistol ready cocked in each hand, waited\nfor the sequel with that determined purpose which is often the immediate\nproduction of despair.  About midnight he heard the sound of feet\nascending the ladder; the door was softly opened; he saw the shadow of\ntwo men stalking towards the bed, a dark lanthorn being unshrouded,\ndirected their aim to the supposed sleeper, and he that held it thrust a\nponiard to his heart; the force of the blow made a compression on the\nchest, and a sort of groan issued from the windpipe of the defunct; the\nstroke was repeated, without producing a repetition of the note, so that\nthe assassins concluded the work was effectually done, and retired for\nthe present with a design to return and rifle the deceased at their\nleisure.\n\nNever had our hero spent a moment in such agony as he felt during this\noperation; the whole surface of his body was covered with a cold sweat,\nand his nerves were relaxed with an universal palsy.  In short, he\nremained in a trance that, in all probability, contributed to his safety;\nfor, had he retained the use of his senses, he might have been discovered\nby the transports of his fear.  The first use he made of his retrieved\nrecollection, was to perceive that the assassins had left the door open\nin their retreat; and he would have instantly availed himself of this\ntheir neglect, by sallying out upon them, at the hazard of his life, had\nhe not been restrained by a conversation he overheard in the room below,\nimporting, that the ruffians were going to set out upon another\nexpedition, in hopes of finding more prey.  They accordingly departed,\nafter having laid strong injunctions upon the old woman to keep the door\nfast locked during their absence; and Ferdinand took his resolution\nwithout farther delay.  So soon as, by his conjecture, the robbers were\nat a sufficient distance from the house, he rose from his lurking-place,\nmoved softly towards the bed, and, rummaging the pockets of the deceased,\nfound a purse well stored with ducats, of which, together with a silver\nwatch and a diamond ring, he immediately possessed himself without\nscruple; then, descending with great care and circumspection into the\nlower apartment, stood before the old beldame, before she had the least\nintimation of his approach.\n\nAccustomed as she was to the trade of blood, the hoary hag did not behold\nthis apparition without giving signs of infinite terror and astonishment,\nbelieving it was no other than the spirit of her second guest, who had\nbeen murdered; she fell upon her knees and began to recommend herself to\nthe protection of the saints, crossing herself with as much devotion as\nif she had been entitled to the particular care and attention of Heaven.\nNor did her anxiety abate, when she was undeceived in this her\nsupposition, and understood it was no phantom, but the real substance of\nthe stranger, who, without staying to upbraid her with the enormity of\nher crimes, commanded her, on pain of immediate death, to produce his\nhorse, to which being conducted, he set her upon the saddle without\ndelay, and, mounting behind, invested her with the management of the\nreins, swearing, in a most peremptory tone, that the only chance she had\nfor her life, was in directing him safely to the next town; and that, so\nsoon as she should give him the least cause to doubt her fidelity in the\nperformance of that task, he would on the instant act the part of her\nexecutioner.\n\nThis declaration had its effect upon the withered Hecate, who, with many\nsupplications for mercy and forgiveness, promised to guide him in safety\nto a certain village at the distance of two leagues, where he might lodge\nin security, and be provided with a fresh horse, or other convenience,\nfor pursuing his intended route.  On these conditions he told her she\nmight deserve his clemency; and they accordingly took their departure\ntogether, she being placed astride upon the saddle, holding the bridle in\none hand and a switch in the other; and our adventurer sitting on the\ncrupper, superintending her conduct, and keeping the muzzle of a pistol\nclose at her ear.  In this equipage they travelled across part of the\nsame wood in which his guide had forsaken him; and it is not to be\nsupposed that he passed his time in the most agreeable reverie, while he\nfound himself involved in the labyrinth of those shades, which he\nconsidered as the haunts of robbery and assassination.\n\nCommon fear was a comfortable sensation to what he felt in this\nexcursion.  The first steps he had taken for his preservation were the\neffects of mere instinct, while his faculties were extinguished or\nsuppressed by despair; but now, as his reflection began to recur, he was\nhaunted by the most intolerable apprehensions.  Every whisper of the wind\nthrough the thickets was swelled into the hoarse menaces of murder, the\nshaking of the boughs was construed into the brandishing of poniards, and\nevery shadow of a tree became the apparition of a ruffian eager for\nblood.  In short, at each of these occurrences he felt what was\ninfinitely more tormenting than the stab of a real dagger; and at every\nfresh fillip of his fear, he acted as a remembrancer to his conductress,\nin a new volley of imprecations, importing, that her life was absolutely\nconnected with his opinion of his own safety.\n\nHuman nature could not longer subsist under such complicated terror.  At\nlast he found himself clear of the forest, and was blessed with the\ndistant view of an inhabited place.  He then began to exercise his\nthoughts upon a new subject.  He debated with himself, whether he should\nmake a parade of his intrepidity and public spirit, by disclosing his\nachievement, and surrendering his guide to the penalty of the law; or\nleave the old hag and her accomplices to the remorse of their own\nconsciences, and proceed quietly on his journey to Paris in undisturbed\npossession of the prize he had already obtained.  This last step he\ndetermined to take, upon recollecting, that, in the course of his\ninformation, the story of the murdered stranger would infallibly attract\nthe attention of justice, and, in that case, the effects he had borrowed\nfrom the defunct must be refunded for the benefit of those who had a\nright to the succession.  This was an argument which our adventurer could\nnot resist; he foresaw that he should be stripped of his acquisition,\nwhich he looked upon as the fair fruits of his valour and sagacity; and,\nmoreover, be detained as an evidence against the robbers, to the manifest\ndetriment of his affairs.  Perhaps too he had motives of conscience, that\ndissuaded him from bearing witness against a set of people whose\nprinciples did not much differ from his own.\n\nInfluenced by such considerations, he yielded to the first importunity of\nthe beldame, whom he dismissed at a very small distance from the village,\nafter he had earnestly exhorted her to quit such an atrocious course of\nlife, and atone for her past crimes, by sacrificing her associates to the\ndemands of justice.  She did not fail to vow a perfect reformation, and\nto prostrate herself before him for the favour she had found; then she\nbetook herself to her habitation, with full purpose of advising her\nfellow-murderers to repair with all despatch to the village, and impeach\nour hero, who, wisely distrusting her professions, stayed no longer in\nthe place than to hire a guide for the next stage, which brought him to\nthe city of Chalons-sur-Marne.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-TWO\n\nHE ARRIVES AT PARIS, AND IS PLEASED WITH HIS RECEPTION.\n\nHe was not so smitten with the delightful situation of this ancient town,\nbut that he abandoned it as soon as he could procure a post-chaise, in\nwhich he arrived at Paris, without having been exposed to any other\ntroublesome adventure upon the road.  He took lodgings at a certain hotel\nin the Fauxbourg de St. Germain, which is the general rendezvous of all\nthe strangers that resort to this capital; and now sincerely\ncongratulated himself upon his happy escape from his Hungarian\nconnexions, and from the snares of the banditti, as well as upon the\nspoils of the dead body, and his arrival at Paris, from whence there was\nsuch a short conveyance to England, whither he was attracted, by far\nother motives than that of filial veneration for his native soil.\n\nHe suppressed all his letters of recommendation, which he justly\nconcluded would subject him to a tedious course of attendance upon the\ngreat, and lay him under the necessity of soliciting preferment in the\narmy, than which nothing was farther from his inclination; and resolved\nto make his appearance in the character of a private gentleman, which\nwould supply him with opportunities of examining the different scenes of\nlife in such a gay metropolis, so as that he should be able to choose\nthat sphere in which he could move the most effectually to his own\nadvantage.  He accordingly hired an occasional domestic, and under the\ndenomination of Count Fathom, which he had retained since his elopement\nfrom Renaldo, repaired to dinner at an ordinary, to which he was directed\nas a reputable place, frequented by fashionable strangers of all nations.\n\nHe found this piece of information perfectly just; for he no sooner\nentered the apartment, than his ears were saluted with a strange\nconfusion of sounds, among which he at once distinguished the High and\nLow Dutch, barbarous French, Italian, and English languages.  He was\nrejoiced at this occasion of displaying his own qualifications, took his\nplace at one of the three long tables, betwixt a Westphalian count and a\nBolognian marquis, insinuated himself into the conversation with his\nusual address, and in less than half an hour, found means to accost a\nnative of each different country in his own mother-tongue.\n\nSuch extensive knowledge did not pass unobserved.  A French abbe, in a\nprovincial dialect, complimented him upon his retaining that purity in\npronunciation, which is not to be found in the speech of a Parisian.  The\nBolognian, mistaking him for a Tuscan, \"Sir,\" said he, \"I presume you are\nfrom Florence.  I hope the illustrious house of Lorrain leaves you\ngentlemen of that famous city no room to regret the loss of your own\nprinces.\"  The castle of Versailles becoming the subject of conversation,\nMonsieur le Compte appealed to him, as to a native German, whether it was\nnot inferior in point of magnificence to the chateau of Grubenhagen.  The\nDutch officer, addressing himself to Fathom, drank to the prosperity of\nFaderland, and asked if he had not once served in garrison at\nShenkenschans; and an English knight swore, with great assurance, that he\nhad frequently rambled with him at midnight among the hundreds of Drury.\n\nTo each person he replied in a polite, though mysterious manner, which\ndid not fail to enhance their opinion of his good breeding and\nimportance; and, long before the dessert appeared, he was by all the\ncompany supposed to be a personage of great consequence, who for some\nsubstantial reasons, found it convenient to keep himself incognito.  This\nbeing the case, it is not to be doubted that particular civilities were\npoured upon him from all quarters.  He perceived their sentiments, and\nencouraged them, by behaving with that sort of complaisance which seems\nto be the result of engaging condescension in a character of superior\ndignity and station.  His affability was general but his chief attention\nlimited to those gentlemen already mentioned, who chanced to sit nearest\nhim at table; and he no sooner gave them to understand that he was an\nutter stranger in Paris, than they unanimously begged to have the honour\nof making him acquainted with the different curiosities peculiar to that\nmetropolis.\n\nHe accepted of their hospitality, accompanied them to a coffee-house in\nthe afternoon, from whence they repaired to the opera, and afterwards\nadjourned to a noted hotel, in order to spend the remaining part of the\nevening.  It was here that our hero secured himself effectually in the\nfooting he had gained in their good graces.  He in a moment saw through\nall the characters of the party, and adapted himself to the humour of\neach individual, without descending from that elevation of behaviour\nwhich he perceived would operate among them in his behalf.  With the\nItalian he discoursed on music, in the style of a connoisseur; and indeed\nhad a better claim to that title than the generality of those upon whom\nit is usually conferred; for he understood the art in theory as well as\nin practice, and would have made no contemptible figure among the best\nperformers of the age.\n\nHe harangued upon taste and genius to the abbe, who was a wit and critic,\nex officio, or rather ex vestitu for a young pert Frenchman, the very\nmoment he puts on the petit collet, or little band, looks upon himself as\nan inspired son of Apollo; and every one of the fraternity thinks it\nincumbent upon him to assert the divinity of his mission.  In a word, the\nabbes are a set of people that bear a strong analogy to the templars in\nLondon.  Fools of each fabric, sharpers of all sorts, and dunces of every\ndegree, profess themselves of both orders.  The templar is, generally\nspeaking, a prig, so is the abbe: both are distinguished by an air of\npetulance and self-conceit, which holds a middle rank betwixt the\ninsolence of a first-rate buck and the learned pride of a supercilious\npedant.  The abbe is supposed to be a younger brother in quest of\npreferment in the church--the Temple is considered as a receptacle or\nseminary for younger sons intended for the bar; but a great number of\neach profession turn aside into other paths of life, long before they\nreach these proposed goals.  An abbe is often metamorphosed into a foot\nsoldier; a templar sometimes sinks into an attorney's clerk.  The galleys\nof France abound with abbes; and many templars may be found in our\nAmerican plantations; not to mention those who have made a public exit\nnearer home.  Yet I would not have it thought that my description\nincludes every individual of those societies.  Some of the greatest\nscholars, politicians, and wits, that ever Europe produced, have worn the\nhabit of an abbe; and many of our most noble families in England derive\ntheir honours from those who have studied law in the Temple.  The worthy\nsons of every community shall always be sacred from my censure and\nridicule; and, while I laugh at the folly of particular members, I can\nstill honour and revere the institution.\n\nBut let us return from this comparison, which some readers may think\nimpertinent and unseasonable, and observe, that the Westphalian count,\nDutch officer, and English knight, were not excepted from the particular\nregard and attention of our adventurer.  He pledged the German in every\nbumper; flattered the Hollander with compliments upon the industry,\nwealth, and policy of the Seven United Provinces; but he reserved his\nchief battery for his own countryman, on the supposition that he was, in\nall respects, the best adapted for the purposes of a needy gamester.\nHim, therefore, he cultivated with extraordinary care and singular\nobservance; for he soon perceived him to be a humourist, and, from that\ncircumstance, derived an happy presage of his own success.  The baronet's\ndisposition seemed to be cast in the true English mould.  He was sour,\nsilent, and contemptuous; his very looks indicated a consciousness of\nsuperior wealth; and he never opened his mouth, except to make some dry,\nsarcastic, national reflection.  Nor was his behaviour free from that air\nof suspicion which a man puts on when he believes himself in a crowd of\npick-pockets, whom his caution and vigilance set at defiance.  In a word,\nthough his tongue was silent on the subject, his whole demeanour was\ncontinually saying, \"You are all a pack of poor lousy rascals, who have a\ndesign upon my purse.  'Tis true, I could buy your whole generation, but\nI won't be bubbled, d'ye see; I am aware of your flattery, and upon my\nguard against all your knavish pranks; and I come into your company for\nmy own amusement only.\"\n\nFathom having reconnoitred this peculiarity of temper, instead of\ntreating him with that assiduous complaisance, which he received from the\nother gentlemen of the party, kept aloof from him in the conversation,\nwith a remarkable shyness of distant civility, and seldom took notice of\nwhat he said, except with a view to contradict him, or retort some of his\nsatirical observations.  This he conceived to be the best method of\nacquiring his good opinion; because the Englishman would naturally\nconclude he was a person who could have no sinister views upon his\nfortune, else he would have chosen quite a different manner of\ndeportment.  Accordingly, the knight seemed to bite at the hook.  He\nlistened to Ferdinand with uncommon regard; he was even heard to commend\nhis remarks, and at length drank to their better acquaintance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-THREE\n\nACQUITS HIMSELF WITH ADDRESS IN A NOCTURNAL RIOT.\n\n\n\nThe Italian and the abbe were the first who began to grow whimsical under\nthe influence of the burgundy; and, in the heat of their elevation,\nproposed that the company should amuse themselves during the remaining\npart of the night, at the house of an obliging dame, who maintained a\ntroop of fair nymphs for the accommodation of the other sex.  The\nproposal was approved by all, except the Hollander, whose economy the\nwine had not as yet invaded; and, while he retreated soberly to his own\nlodgings, the rest of the society adjourned in two coaches to the temple\nof love, where they were received by the venerable priestess, a personage\nturned of seventy, who seemed to exercise the functions of her calling,\nin despite of the most cruel ravages of time; for age had bent her into\nthe form of a Turkish bow.  Her head was agitated by the palsy, like the\nleaf of the poplar tree; her hair fell down in scanty parcels, as white\nas the driven snow; her face was not simply wrinkled, but ploughed into\ninnumerable furrows; her jaws could not boast of one remaining tooth; one\neye distilled a large quantity of rheum, by virtue of the fiery edge that\nsurrounded it; the other was altogether extinguished, and she had lost\nher nose in the course of her ministration.  The Delphic sibyl was but a\ntype of this hoary matron, who, by her figure, might have been mistaken\nfor the consort of Chaos, or mother of Time.  Yet there was something\nmeritorious in her appearance, as it denoted her an indefatigable\nminister to the pleasure of mankind, and as it formed an agreeable\ncontrast with the beauty and youth of the fair damsels that wantoned in\nher train.  It resembled those discords in music, which, properly\ndisposed, contribute to the harmony of the whole piece; or those horrible\ngiants, who, in the world of romance, used to guard the gates of the\ncastle in which the enchanted damsel was confined.\n\nThis Urganda seemed to be aware of her own importance, and perfectly well\nacquainted with the human appetite; for she compelled the whole company\nto undergo her embrace.  Then a lacquey, in magnificent livery, ushered\nthem into a superb apartment, where they waited some minutes, without\nbeing favoured with the appearance of the ladies, to the manifest\ndissatisfaction of the abbe, who, sending for the gouvernante,\nreprimanded her severely for her want of politesse.  The old lady, who\nwas by no means a pattern of patience and submission, retorted his\nreproaches with great emphasis and vivacity.  Her eloquence flowed\naltogether in the Covent Garden strain; and I question whether the\ncelebrated Mother Douglas herself could have made such a figure in an\nextemporaneous altercation.\n\nAfter having bestowed upon the abbe the epithets of saucy insignificant\npimp, she put him in mind of the good offices which he had received at\nher hands; how she had supplied him with bed, board, and bedfellow, in\nhis greatest necessity; sent him abroad with money in his pockets--and,\nin a word, cherished him in her bosom, when his own mother had abandoned\nhim to distress.  She then reviled him for presuming to affront her\nbefore strangers, and gave the company to understand, that the young\nladies would wait upon them as soon as they could be confessed and\nreceive absolution from a worthy cordelier, who was now employed in\nperforming that charitable office.  The gentlemen were satisfied with\nthis remonstrance, which argued the old lady's pious concern for the\nsouls that were under her care, and our adventurer proposed an\naccommodation betwixt her and the abbe, who was prevailed upon to ask her\npardon, and received her blessing upon his knees.\n\nThis affair had not been long adjusted, when five damsels were introduced\nin a very gay dishabille, and our hero was complimented with the\nprivilege of choosing his Amanda from the whole bevy.  When he was\nprovided, the others began to pair themselves, and, unhappily, the German\ncount chanced to pitch upon the same nymph who had captivated the desires\nof the British knight.  A dispute immediately ensued; for the Englishman\nmade his addresses to the lady, without paying the least regard to the\npriority of the other's claim; and she, being pleased with his\nattachment, did not scruple to renounce his rival, who swore by the\nthunder, lightning, and sacrament, that he would not quit his pretensions\nfor any prince in Christendom, much less for a little English cavalier,\nwhom he had already honoured too much in condescending to be his\ncompanion.\n\nThe knight, provoked at this stately declaration, which was the immediate\neffect of anger and ebriety, eyed his antagonist with a most contemptuous\naspect, and advised him to avoid such comparisons for the future.  \"We\nall know,\" said he, \"the importance of a German count; I suppose your\nrevenue amounts to three hundred rix-dollars; and you have a chateau that\nlooks like the ruins of an English gaol.  I will bind myself to lend you\na thousand pounds upon a mortgage of your estate, (and a bad bargain I am\nsure I shall have,) if I do not, in less than two months, find a yeoman\nof Kent, who spends more in strong ale than the sum-total of your yearly\nincome; and, were the truth known, I believe that lace upon your coat is\nno better than tinsel, and those fringed ruffles, with fine Holland\nsleeves, tacked to a shirt of brown canvas, so that, were you to undress\nyourself before the lady, you would only expose your own poverty and\npride.\"\n\nThe count was so much enraged at these sarcastic observations, that his\nfaculty of speech was overwhelmed by his resentment; though, in order to\nacquit himself of the Englishman's imputation, he forthwith pulled off\nhis clothes with such fury, that his brocade waistcoat was tore from top\nto bottom.  The knight, mistaking his meaning, considered this demeanour\nas a fair challenge, to try which was the better man in the exercise of\nboxing; and, on that supposition, began to strip in his turn, when he was\nundeceived by Fathom, who put the right interpretation upon the count's\nbehaviour, and begged that the affair might be compromised.  By this time\nthe Westphalian recovered the use of his tongue, and with many threats\nand imprecations, desired they would take notice how falsely he had been\naspersed, and do him justice in espousing his claim to the damsel in\nquestion.\n\nBefore the company had time or inclination to interest themselves in the\nquarrel, his opponent observed that no person who was not a mere German,\nwould ever dream of forcing the inclinations of a pretty girl, whom the\naccidents of fortune had subjected to his power; that such compulsion was\nequivalent to the most cruel rape that could be committed; and that the\nlady's aversion was not at all surprising; for, to speak his own\nsentiments, were he a woman of pleasure, he would as soon grant favours\nto a Westphalian hog, as to the person of his antagonist.  The German,\nenraged at this comparison, was quite abandoned by his patience and\ndiscretion.  He called the knight an English clown, and, swearing he\nwas the most untoward beast of a whole nation of mules, snatched up one\nof the candlesticks, which he launched at him with such force and\nviolence, that it sung through the air, and, winging its flight into the\nante-chamber, encountered the skull of his own valet, who with immediate\nprostration received the message of his master.\n\nThe knight, that he might not be behindhand with the Westphalian in point\nof courtesy, returned the compliment with the remaining chandelier, which\nalso missed its mark, and, smiting a large mirror that was fixed behind\nthem, emitted such a crash as one might expect to hear if a mine were\nsprung beneath a manufacture of glass.  Both lights being thus\nextinguished, a furious combat ensued in the dark; the Italian scampered\noff with infinite agility, and, as he went downstairs, desired that\nnobody would interpose, because it was an affair of honour, which could\nnot be made up.  The ladies consulted their safety in flight; Count\nFathom slyly retired to one corner of the room; while the abbe, having\nupon him the terrors of the commissaire, endeavoured to appease and part\nthe combatants, and, in the attempt, sustained a random blow upon his\nnose, which sent him howling into the other chamber, where, finding his\nband besmeared with his own blood, he began to caper about the apartment,\nin a transport of rage and vexation.\n\nMeanwhile, the old gentlewoman being alarmed with the noise of the\nbattle, and apprehensive that it would end in murder, to the danger and\ndiscredit of herself and family, immediately mustered up her myrmidons,\nof whom she always retained a formidable band, and, putting herself at\ntheir head, lighted them to the scene of uproar.  Ferdinand, who had\nhitherto observed a strict neutrality, no sooner perceived them approach,\nthan he leaped in between the disputants, that he might be found acting\nin the character of a peacemaker; and, indeed, by this time, victory\nhad declared for the baronet, who had treated his antagonist with a\ncross-buttock, which laid him almost breathless on the floor.  The victor\nwas prevailed upon, by the entreaties of Fathom, to quit the field of\nbattle, and adjourn into another room, where, in less than half an hour,\nhe received a billet from the count, defying him to single combat on the\nfrontiers of Flanders, at an appointed time and place.  The challenge was\nimmediately accepted by the knight, who, being flushed with conquest,\ntreated his adversary with great contempt.\n\nBut, next day, when the fumes of the burgundy were quite exhaled, and the\nadventure recurred to his remembrance and sober reflection, he waited\nupon our adventurer at his lodgings, and solicited his advice in such a\nmanner, as gave him to understand that he looked upon what had happened\nas a drunken brawl, which ought to have no serious consequences.  Fathom\nforeseeing that the affair might be managed for his own interest,\nprofessed himself of the baronet's opinion; and, without hesitation,\nundertook the office of a mediator, assuring his principal, that his\nhonour should suffer no stain in the course of his negotiation.\n\nHaving received the Englishman's acknowledgments for this instance of\nfriendship, he forthwith set out for the place of the German's\nhabitation, and understanding he was still asleep, insisted upon his\nbeing immediately waked, and told, that a gentleman from the chevalier\ndesired to see him, upon business of importance which could not be\ndelayed.  Accordingly, his valet-de-chambre, pressed by Fathom's\nimportunities and remonstrances, ventured to go in and shake the count by\nthe shoulder; when this furious Teutonian, still agitated by the fever of\nthe preceding night, leaped out of bed in a frenzy, and seizing his sword\nthat lay upon a table, would have severely punished the presumption of\nhis servant, had not he been restrained by the entrance of Ferdinand,\nwho, with a peremptory countenance, gave him to understand that the valet\nhad acted at his immediate instigation; and that he was come, as the\nEnglishman's friend, to concert with him proper measures for keeping the\nappointment they had made at their last meeting.\n\nThis message effectually calmed the German, who was not a little\nmortified to find himself so disagreeably disturbed.  He could not help\ncursing the impatience of his antagonist, and even hinting that he would\nhave acted more like a gentleman and good Christian, in expressing a\ndesire of seeing the affair accommodated, as he knew himself to be the\naggressor, consequently the first offender against the laws of politeness\nand good-fellowship.  Fathom, finding him in a fit temper of mind, took\nthe opportunity of assenting to the reasonableness of his observation.\nHe ventured to condemn the impetuosity of the baronet, who, he perceived,\nwas extremely nice and scrupulous in the punctilios of honour; and said\nit was a pity that two gentlemen should forfeit each other's friendship,\nmuch less expose their lives, for such a frivolous cause.  \"My dear\ncount,\" cried the Westphalian, \"I am charmed to find your sentiments so\nconformable to my own.  In an honourable cause, I despise all danger; my\ncourage, thank Heaven! has been manifested in many public engagements as\nwell as in private rencounters; but, to break with my friend, whose\neminent virtues I admire, and even to seek his life, on such a scandalous\noccasion, for a little insignificant w---e, who, I suppose, took the\nadvantage of our intoxication, to foment the quarrel: by Heaven! my\nconscience cannot digest it.\"\n\nHaving expressed himself to this purpose, he waited impatiently for the\nreply of Ferdinand, who, after a pause of deliberation, offered his\nservices in the way of mediation; though, he observed, it was a matter of\ngreat delicacy, and the event altogether uncertain.  \"Nevertheless,\"\nadded our adventurer, \"I will strive to appease the knight, who, I hope,\nwill be induced by my remonstrances to forget the unlucky accident, which\nhath so disagreeably interrupted your mutual friendship.\"  The German\nthanked him for this proof of his regard, which yielded him more\nsatisfaction on account of the chevalier than of himself.  \"For, by the\ntombs of my fathers,\" cried he, \"I have so little concern for my personal\nsafety, that, if my honour were interested, I durst oppose myself singly\nto the whole ban of the empire; and I am now ready, if the chevalier\nrequires it, to give him the rendezvous in the forest of Senlis, either\non horseback or on foot, where this contest may be terminated with the\nlife of one or both of us.\"\n\nCount Fathom, with a view to chastise the Westphalian for this\nrhodomontade, told him, with a mortifying air of indifference, that if\nthey were both bent upon taking the field, he would save himself the\ntrouble of interposing farther in the affair; and desired to know the\nhour at which it would suit him to take the air with the baronet.  The\nother, not a little embarrassed by this question, said, with a faltering\ntongue, he should be proud to obey the chevalier's orders; but, at the\nsame time, owned he should be much better pleased if our hero would\nexecute the pacific proposal he had made.  Fathom accordingly promised to\nexert himself for that purpose, and returned to the knight, with whom he\nassumed the merit of having tranquillised the rage of an incensed\nbarbarian, who was now disposed to a reconciliation upon equal terms.\nThe baronet overwhelmed him with caresses and compliments upon his\nfriendship and address; the parties met that same forenoon, as if by\naccident, in Fathom's apartment, where they embraced each other\ncordially, exchanged apologies, and renewed their former correspondence.\n\nOur adventurer thought he had good reason to congratulate himself upon\nthe part he had acted in this pacification.  He was treated by both with\nsignal marks of particular affection and esteem.  The count pressed him\nto accept, as a token of his attachment, a sword of very curious\nworkmanship, which he had received in a present from a certain prince of\nthe empire.  The knight forced upon his finger a very splendid diamond\nring, as a testimony of his gratitude and esteem.  But there was still\nanother person to be appeased, before the peace of the whole company\ncould be established.  This was no other than the abbe, from whom each of\nthe reconciled friends received at dinner a billet couched in these\nwords:--\n\n\"I have the honour to lament the infinite chagrin and mortification that\ncompels me to address myself in this manner to a person of your rank and\neminence, whom I should do myself the pleasure of waiting upon in person,\nwere I not prevented by the misfortune of my nose, which was last night\nmost cruelly disarranged, by a violent contusion I had the honour to\nreceive, in attempting to compose that unhappy fracas, at the house of\nMadame la Maquerelle; and what puts the finishing stroke to my mishap, is\nmy being rendered incapable of keeping three or four assignations with\nladies of fashion, by whom I have the honour to be particularly esteemed.\nThe disfiguration of my nose, the pain I have undergone, with the\ndiscomposure of brain which it produced, I could bear as a philosopher;\nbut the disappointment of the ladies, my glory will not permit me to\noverlook.  And as you know the injury was sustained in your service, I\nhave the pleasure to hope you will not refuse to grant such reparation as\nwill be acceptable to a gentleman, who has the honour to be with\ninviolable attachment,--\n     Sir, your most devoted slave,\n          PEPIN CLOTHAIRE CHARLE HENRI LOOUIS BARNABE DE FUMIER.\"\n\nThis epistle was so equivocal, that the persons to whom it was addressed\ndid not know whether or not they ought to interpret the contents into a\nchallenge; when our hero observed, that the ambiguity of his expressions\nplainly proved there was a door left open for accommodation; and proposed\nthat they should forthwith visit the writer at his own apartment.  They\naccordingly followed his advice, and found the abbe in his morning gown\nand slippers, with three huge nightcaps on his head, and a crape hat-band\ntied over the middle of his face, by way of bandage to his nose.  He\nreceived his visitors with the most ridiculous solemnity, being still a\nstranger to the purport of their errand; but soon as the Westphalian\ndeclared they were come in consequence of his billet, in order to ask\npardon for the undesigned offence they had given, his features retrieved\ntheir natural vivacity, and he professed himself perfectly satisfied with\ntheir polite acknowledgment.  Then they condoled him upon the evil plight\nof his nose, and seeing some marks upon his shirt, asked with seeming\nconcern, if he had lost any blood in the fray?  To this interrogation he\nreplied, that he had still a sufficient quantity left for the occasions\nof his friends; and that he should deem it his greatest glory to expend\nthe last drop of it in their service.\n\nMatters being thus amicably adjusted, they prevailed upon him to unease\nhis nose, which retained no signs of the outrage he had suffered; and the\namusements of the day were concerted.  It was in consequence of this\nplan, that, after the comedy, they were entertained at the count's\nlodgings, where quadrille was proposed by the abbe, as the most innocent\npastime, and the proposal was immediately embraced by all present, and by\nnone with more alacrity than by our adventurer, who, without putting\nforth a moiety of his skill, went home with twenty louis clear gain.\nThough, far from believing himself greatly superior to the rest of the\nparty, in the artifices of play, he justly suspected that they had\nconcealed their skill, with a view of stripping him on some other\noccasion; for he could not suppose that persons of their figure and\ncharacter should be, in reality, such novices as they affected to appear.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR\n\nHE OVERLOOKS THE ADVANCES OF HIS FRIENDS, AND SMARTS SEVERELY FOR HIS\nNEGLECT.\n\n\nSteeled with this cautious maxim, he guarded himself from their united\nendeavours, in sundry subsequent attacks, by which his first conjecture\nwas confirmed, and still came off conqueror, by virtue of his\nunparalleled finesse and discretion; till at length they seemed to\ndespair of making him their prey, and the count began to drop some hints,\nimporting a desire of seeing him more closely united to the views and\ninterest of their triumvirate.  But Ferdinand, who was altogether\nselfish, and quite solitary in his prospects, discouraged all those\nadvances, being resolved to trade upon his own bottom only, and to avoid\nall such connexions with any person or society whatever; much more, with\na set of raw adventurers whose talents he despised.  With these\nsentiments, he still maintained the dignity and reserve of his first\nappearance among them, and rather enhanced than diminished that idea of\nimportance which he had inspired at the beginning; because, besides his\nother qualifications, they gave him credit for the address with which he\nkept himself superior to their united designs.\n\nWhile he thus enjoyed his pre-eminence, together with the fruits of his\nsuccess at play, which he managed so discreetly as never to incur the\nreputation of an adventurer, he one day chanced to be at the ordinary,\nwhen the company was surprised by the entrance of such a figure as had\nnever appeared before in that place.  This was no other than a person\nhabited in the exact uniform of an English jockey.  His leathern cap, cut\nbob, fustian frock, flannel waistcoat, buff breeches, hunting-boots and\nwhip, were sufficient of themselves to furnish out a phenomenon for the\nadmiration of all Paris.  But these peculiarities were rendered still\nmore conspicuous by the behaviour of the man who owned them.  When he\ncrossed the threshold of the outward door, he produced such a sound from\nthe smack of his whip, as equalled the explosion of an ordinary cohorn;\nand then broke forth into the halloo of a foxhunter, which he uttered\nwith all its variations, in a strain of vociferation that seemed to\nastonish and confound the whole assembly, to whom he introduced himself\nand his spaniel, by exclaiming, in a tone something less melodious than\nthe cry of mackerel or live cod, \"By your leave, gentlevolks, I hope\nthere's no offence, in an honest plain Englishman's coming with money in\nhis pocket, to taste a bit of your Vrench frigasee and ragooze.\"\n\nThis declaration was made in such a wild, fantastical manner, that the\ngreatest part of the company mistook him for some savage monster or\nmaniac, and consulted their safety by starting up from table, and drawing\ntheir swords.  The Englishman, seeing such a martial apparatus produced\nagainst him, recoiled two or three steps, saying, \"Waunds! a believe the\npeople are all bewitched.  What, do they take me for a beast of prey? is\nthere nobody here that knows Sir Stentor Stile, or can speak to me in my\nown lingo?\"  He had no sooner pronounced these words, than the baronet,\nwith marks of infinite surprise, ran towards him, crying, \"Good Heaven!\nSir Stentor, who expected to meet with you in Paris?\"  Upon which, the\nother eyeing him very earnestly, \"Odds heartlikins!\" cried he, \"my\nneighbour, Sir Giles Squirrel, as I am a living soul!\"  With these words\nhe flew upon him like a tiger, kissed him from ear to ear, demolished his\nperiwig, and disordered the whole economy of his dress, to the no small\nentertainment of the company.\n\nHaving well-nigh stifled his countryman with embraces, and besmeared\nhimself with pulville from head to foot, he proceeded in this manner,\n\"Mercy upon thee, knight, thou art so transmographied, and bedaubed, and\nbedizened, that thou mought rob thy own mother without fear of\ninformation.  Look ye here now, I will be trussed, if the very bitch that\nwas brought up in thy own bosom knows thee again.  Hey, Sweetlips, here\nhussy, d--n the tuoad, dos't n't know thy old measter?  Ey, ey, thou\nmay'st smell till Christmas, I'll be bound to be hanged, knight, if the\ncreature's nose an't foundered by the d----d stinking perfumes you have\ngot among you.\"\n\nThese compliments being passed, the two knights sat down by one another,\nand Sir Stentor being asked by his neighbour, upon what errand he had\ncrossed the sea, gave him to understand, that he had come to France, in\nconsequence of a wager with Squire Snaffle, who had laid a thousand\npounds, that he, Sir Stentor, would not travel to Paris by himself, and\nfor a whole month appear every day at a certain hour in the public walks,\nwithout wearing any other dress than that in which he saw him.  \"The\nfellor has got no more stuff in his pate,\" continued this polite\nstranger, \"than a jackass, to think I could not find my way hither thof I\ncould not jabber your French lingo.  Ecod! the people of this country are\nsharp enough to find out your meaning, when you want to spend anything\namong them; and, as for the matter of dress, bodikins! for a thousand\npound, I would engage to live in the midst of them, and show myself\nwithout any clothes at all.  Odds heart! a true-born Englishman needs not\nbe ashamed to show his face, nor his backside neither, with the best\nFrenchman that ever trod the ground.  Thof we Englishmen don't beplaister\nour doublets with gold and silver, I believe as how we have our pockets\nbetter lined than most of our neighbours; and for all my bit of a fustian\nfrock, that cost me in all but forty shillings, I believe, between you\nand me, knight, I have more dust in my fob, than all those powdered\nsparks put together.  But the worst of the matter is this; here is no\nsolid belly-timber in this country.  One can't have a slice of delicate\nsirloin, or nice buttock of beef, for love nor money.  A pize upon them!\nI could get no eatables upon the ruoad, but what they called bully, which\nlooks like the flesh of Pharaoh's lean kine stewed into rags and tatters;\nand then their peajohn, peajohn, rabbet them!  One would think every old\nwoman of this kingdom hatched pigeons from her own body.\"\n\nIt is not to be supposed that such an original sat unobserved.  The\nFrench and other foreigners, who had never been in England, were struck\ndumb with amazement at the knight's appearance and deportment; while the\nEnglish guests were overwhelmed with shame and confusion, and kept a most\nwary silence, for fear of being recognised by their countryman.  As for\nour adventurer, he was inwardly transported with joy at sight of this\ncuriosity.  He considered him as a genuine, rich country booby, of the\nright English growth, fresh as imported; and his heart throbbed with\nrapture, when he heard Sir Stentor value himself upon the lining of his\npockets.  He foresaw, indeed, that the other knight would endeavour to\nreserve him for his own game; but he was too conscious of his own\naccomplishments to think he should find great difficulty in superseding\nthe influence of Sir Giles.\n\nMeanwhile, the new-comer was by his friend helped to some ragout, which\npleased his palate so well, that he declared he should now make a hearty\nmeal, for the first time since he had crossed the water; and, while his\ngood-humour prevailed, he drank to every individual around the table.\nFerdinand seized this opportunity of insinuating himself into his favour,\nby saying in English, he was glad to find there was anything in France\nthat was agreeable to Sir Stentor.  To this compliment the knight replied\nwith an air of surprise: \"Waunds! I find here's another countryman of\nmine in this here company.  Sir, I am proud to see you with all my\nheart.\"  So speaking, he thrust out his right hand across the table, and\nshook our hero by the fist, with such violence of civility, as proved\nvery grievous to a French marquis, who, in helping himself to soup, was\njostled in such a manner, as to overturn the dividing-spoon in his own\nbosom.  The Englishman, seeing the mischief he had produced, cried, \"No\noffence, I hope,\" in a tone of vociferation, which the marquis in all\nprobability misconstrued; for he began to model his features into a very\nsublime and peremptory look, when Fathom interpreted the apology, and at\nthe same time informed Sir Stentor, that although he himself had not the\nhonour of being an Englishman, he had always entertained a most\nparticular veneration for the country, and learned the language in\nconsequence of that esteem.\n\n\"Blood!\" answered the knight, \"I think myself the more obliged to you for\nyour kind opinion, than if you was my countryman in good earnest.  For\nthere be abundance of we English--no offence, Sir Giles--that seem to be\nashamed of their own nation, and leave their homes to come and spend\ntheir fortunes abroad, among a parcel of--you understand me, sir--a word\nto the wise, as the saying is.\"--Here he was interrupted by an article of\nthe second course, that seemed to give him great disturbance.  This was a\nroasted leveret, very strong of the fumet, which happened to be placed\ndirectly under his nose.  His sense of smelling was no sooner encountered\nby the effluvia of this delicious fare, than he started up from table,\nexclaiming, \"Odd's my liver! here's a piece of carrion, that I would not\noffer to e'er a hound in my kennel; 'tis enough to make any Christian\nvomit both gut and gall\"; and indeed by the wry faces he made while he\nran to the door, his stomach seemed ready to justify this last assertion.\n\nThe abbe, who concluded, from these symptoms of disgust, that the leveret\nwas not sufficiently stale, began to exhibit marks of discontent, and\ndesired that it might be brought to the other end of the table for his\nexamination.  He accordingly hung over it with the most greedy appetite,\nfeasting his nostrils with the steams of animal putrefaction; and at\nlength declared that the morceau was passable, though he owned it would\nhave been highly perfect, had it been kept another week.  Nevertheless,\nmouths were not wanting to discuss it, insipid as it was; for in three\nminutes there was not a vestige to be seen of that which had offended the\norgans of Sir Stentor, who now resumed his place, and did justice to the\ndessert.  But what he seemed to relish better than any other part of the\nentertainment, was the conversation of our adventurer, whom, after\ndinner, he begged to have the honour of treating with a dish of coffee,\nto the seeming mortification of his brother knight, over which Fathom\nexulted in his own heart.\n\nIn short, our hero, by his affability and engaging deportment,\nimmediately gained possession of Sir Stentor's good graces, insomuch,\nthat he desired to crack a bottle with him in the evening, and they\nrepaired to an auberge, whither his fellow-knight accompanied him, not\nwithout manifest signs of reluctance.  There the stranger gave a loose to\njollity; though at first he d---ed the burgundy as a poor thin liquor,\nthat ran through him in a twinkling, and, instead of warming, cooled his\nheart and bowels.  However, it insensibly seemed to give the lie to his\nimputation; for his spirits rose to a more elevated pitch of mirth and\ngood-fellowship; he sung, or rather roared, the Early Horn, so as to\nalarm the whole neighbourhood, and began to slabber his companions with a\nmost bear-like affection.  Yet whatever haste he made to the goal of\nebriety, he was distanced by his brother baronet, who from the beginning\nof the party had made little other use of his mouth than to receive the\nglass, and now sunk down upon the floor, in a state of temporary\nannihilation.\n\nHe was immediately carried to bed by the direction of Ferdinand, who now\nsaw himself in a manner possessor of that mine to which he had made such\neager and artful advances.  That he might, therefore, carry on the\napproaches in the same cautious manner, he gradually shook off the\ntrammels of sobriety, gave a loose to that spirit of freedom which good\nliquor commonly inspires, and, in the familiarity of drunkenness, owned\nhimself head of a noble family of Poland, from which he had been obliged\nto absent himself on account of an affair of honour, not yet compromised.\n\nHaving made this confession, and laid strong injunctions of secrecy upon\nSir Stentor, his countenance seemed to acquire from every succeeding\nglass a new symptom of intoxication.  They renewed their embraces,\nswore eternal friendship from that day, and swallowed fresh bumpers, till\nboth being in all appearance quite overpowered, they began to yawn in\nconcert, and even nod in their chairs.  The knight seemed to resent the\nattacks of slumber, as so many impertinent attempts to interrupt their\nentertainment; he cursed his own propensity to sleep, imputing it to the\nd---ed French climate, and proposed to engage in some pastime that would\nkeep them awake.  \"Odd's flesh!\" cried the Briton, \"when I'm at home, I\ndefy all the devils in hell to fasten my eyelids together, if so be as\nI'm otherwise inclined.  For there's mother and sister Nan, and brother\nNumps and I, continue to divert ourselves at all-fours, brag, cribbage,\ntetotum, husslecap, and chuck-varthing, and, thof I say it, that should\nn't say it, I won't turn my back to e'er a he in England, at any of these\npastimes.  And so, Count, if you are so disposed, I am your man, that is,\nin the way of friendship, at which of these you shall please to pitch\nupon.\"\n\nTo this proposal Fathom replied, he was quite ignorant of all the games\nhe had mentioned; but, in order to amuse Sir Stentor, he would play with\nhim at lansquenet, for a trifle, as he had laid it down for a maxim, to\nrisk nothing considerable at play.  \"Waunds!\" answered the knight, \"I\nhope you don't think I come here in quest of money.  Thank God! I have a\ngood landed estate worth five thousand a year, and owe no man a\nhalfpenny; and I question whether there be many counts in your nation--no\noffence, I hope--that can say a bolder word.  As for your lambskin net, I\nknow nothing of the matter; but I will toss up with you for a guinea,\ncross or pile, as the saying is; or, if there's such a thing in this\ncountry as a box and dice, I love to hear the bones rattle sometimes.\"\n\nFathom found some difficulty in concealing his joy at the mention of this\nlast amusement, which had been one of his chief studies, and in which he\nhad made such progress, that he could calculate all the chances with the\nutmost exactness and certainty.  However, he made shift to contain\nhimself within due bounds, and, with seeming indifference, consented to\npass away an hour at hazard, provided the implements could be procured.\nAccordingly, the landlord was consulted, and their desire gratified; the\ndice were produced, and the table resounded with the effects of their\nmutual eagerness.  Fortune, at first, declared for the Englishman, who\nwas permitted by our adventurer to win twenty broad pieces; and he was so\nelated with his success, as to accompany every lucky throw with a loud\nburst of laughter, and other savage and simple manifestations of\nexcessive joy, exclaiming, in a tone something less sweet than the\nbellowing of a bull, \"Now for the main, Count,--odd! here they come--here\nare the seven black stars, i'faith.  Come along, my yellow boys--odd's\nheart! I never liked the face of Lewis before.\"\n\nFathom drew happy presages from these boyish raptures, and, after having\nindulged them for some time, began to avail himself of his arithmetic, in\nconsequence of which the knight was obliged to refund the greatest part\nof his winning.  Then he altered his note, and became as intemperate in\nhis chagrin, as he had been before immoderate in his mirth.  He cursed\nhimself and his whole generation, d---ed his bad luck, stamped with his\nfeet upon the floor, and challenged Ferdinand to double stakes.  This was\na very welcome proposal to our hero, who found Sir Stentor just such a\nsubject as he had long desired to encounter with; the more the Englishman\nlaid, the more he lost, and Fathom took care to inflame his passions, by\ncertain well-timed sarcasms upon his want of judgment, till at length he\nbecame quite outrageous, swore the dice were false, and threw them out at\nthe window; pulled off his periwig, and committed it to the flames, spoke\nwith the most rancorous contempt of his adversary's skill, insisted upon\nhis having stripped many a better man, for all he was a Count, and\nthreatening that, before they parted, he should not only look like a\nPole, but also smell like a pole-cat.\n\nThis was a spirit which our adventurer industriously kept up, observing\nthat the English were dupes to all the world; and that, in point of\ngenius and address, they were no more than noisy braggadocios.  In short,\nanother pair of dice was procured, the stakes were again raised, and,\nafter several vicissitudes, fortune declared so much in favour of the\nknight, that Fathom lost all the money in his pocket, amounting to a\npretty considerable sum.  By this time he was warmed into uncommon\neagerness and impatience; being equally piqued at the success and\nprovoking exultations of his antagonist, whom he now invited to his\nlodgings, in order to decide the contest. Sir Stentor complied with this\nrequest; the dispute was renewed with various success, till, towards\ndaylight, Ferdinand saw this noisy, raw, inexperienced simpleton, carry\noff all his ready cash, together with his jewels, and almost everything\nthat was valuable about his person; and, to crown the whole, the victor\nat parting told him with a most intolerable sneer, that as soon as the\nCount should receive another remittance from Poland, he would give him\nhis revenge.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE\n\nHE BEARS HIS FATE LIKE A PHILOSOPHER; AND CONTRACTS ACQUAINTANCE WITH A\nVERY REMARKABLE PERSONAGE.\n\n\nThis was a proper subject for our hero to moralise upon; and accordingly\nit did not pass without his remarks; he found himself fairly foiled at\nhis own weapons, reduced to indigence in a foreign land, and, what he\nchiefly regretted, robbed of all those gay expectations he had indulged\nfrom his own supposed excellence in the wiles of fraud; for, upon a\nlittle recollection, he plainly perceived he had fallen a sacrifice to\nthe confederacy he had refused to join; and did not at all doubt that the\ndice were loaded for his destruction.  But, instead of beating his head\nagainst the wall, tearing his hair, imprecating vain curses upon himself,\nor betraying other frantic symptoms of despair, he resolved to\naccommodate himself to his fate, and profit by the lesson he had so\ndearly bought.\n\nWith this intention, he immediately dismissed his valet, quitted his\nlodgings, retired to an obscure street on the other side of the river,\nand, covering one eye with a large patch of black silk, presented himself\nin quality of a musician to the director of the opera, who, upon hearing\na trial of his skill, received him into the band without further\nquestion.  While he continued in this situation, he not only improved his\ntaste and execution in music, but likewise found frequent opportunities\nto extend his knowledge of mankind; for, besides the employment he\nexercised in public, he was often concerned in private concerts that were\ngiven in the hotels of noblemen; by which means he became more and more\nacquainted with the persons, manners, and characters of high life, which\nhe contemplated with the most industrious attention, as a spectator, who,\nbeing altogether unconcerned in the performance, is at more liberty to\nobserve and enjoy the particulars of the entertainment.\n\nIt was in one of those assemblies he had the pleasure of seeing his\nfriend Sir Stentor, dressed in the most fashionable manner, and behaving\nwith all the overstrained politesse of a native Frenchman.  He was\naccompanied by his brother knight and the abbe; and this triumvirate,\neven in Fathom's hearing, gave a most ludicrous detail of the finesse\nthey had practised upon the Polish Count, to their entertainer, who was\nambassador from a certain court, and made himself extremely merry with\nthe particulars of the relation.  Indeed, they made shift to describe\nsome of the circumstances in such a ridiculous light, that our adventurer\nhimself, smarting as he was with the disgrace, could not help laughing in\nsecret at the account.  He afterwards made it his business to inquire\ninto the characters of the two British knights, and understood they were\nnotorious sharpers, who had come abroad for the good of their country,\nand now hunted in couple among a French pack, that dispersed themselves\nthrough the public ordinaries, walks, and spectacles, in order to make a\nprey of incautious strangers.\n\nThe pride of Ferdinand was piqued at this information; and he was even\nanimated with the desire of making reprisals upon this fraternity, from\nwhich he ardently longed to retrieve his honour and effects.  But the\nissue of his last adventure had reinforced his caution; and, for the\npresent, he found means to suppress the dictates of his avarice and\nambition; resolving to employ his whole penetration in reconnoitring the\nground, before he should venture to take the field again.  He therefore\ncontinued to act the part of a one-eyed fiddler, under the name of\nFadini, and lived with incredible frugality, that he might save a purse\nfor his future operations.  In this manner had he proceeded for the space\nof ten months, during which he acquired a competent knowledge of the city\nof Paris, when his curiosity was attracted by certain peculiarities in\nthe appearance of a man who lived in one of the upper apartments\nbelonging to the house in which he himself had fixed his habitation.\n\nThis was a tall, thin, meagre figure, with a long black beard, an\naquiline nose, a brown complexion, and a most piercing vivacity in his\neyes.  He seemed to be about the age of fifty, wore the Persian habit,\nand there was a remarkable severity in his aspect and demeanour.  He and\nour adventurer had been fellow-lodgers for some time, and, according to\nthe laudable custom in these days, had hitherto remained as much\nestranged to one another, as if they had lived on opposite sides of the\nglobe; but of late the Persian seemed to regard our hero with particular\nattention; when they chanced to meet on the staircase, or elsewhere, he\nbowed to Ferdinand with great solemnity, and complimented him with the\npas.  He even proceeded, in the course of this communication, to open his\nmouth, and salute him with a good-morrow, and sometimes made the common\nremarks upon the weather.  Fathom, who was naturally complaisant, did not\ndiscourage these advances.  On the contrary, he behaved to him with marks\nof particular respect, and one day desired the favour of his company to\nbreakfast.\n\nThis invitation the stranger declined with due acknowledgment, on\npretence of being out of order; and, in the meantime, our adventurer\nbethought himself of questioning the landlord concerning his outlandish\nguest.  His curiosity was rather inflamed than satisfied with the\ninformation he could obtain from this quarter; for all he learned was,\nthat the Persian went by the name of Ali Beker, and that he had lived in\nthe house for the space of four months, in a most solitary and\nparsimonious manner, without being visited by one living soul; that, for\nsome time after his arrival, he had been often heard to groan dismally in\nthe night, and even to exclaim in an unknown language, as if he had\nlaboured under some grievous affliction; and though the first transports\nof his grief had subsided, it was easy to perceive he still indulged a\ndeep-rooted melancholy; for the tears were frequently observed to trickle\ndown his beard.  The commissaire of the quarter had at first ordered this\nOriental to be watched in his outgoings, according to the maxims of the\nFrench police; but his life was found so regular and inoffensive, that\nthis precaution was soon set aside.\n\nAny man of humane sentiments, from the knowledge of these particulars,\nwould have been prompted to offer his services to the forlorn stranger;\nbut as our hero was devoid of all these infirmities of human nature, it\nwas necessary that other motives should produce the same effect.  His\ncuriosity, therefore, joined with the hopes of converting the confidence\nof Ali to his own emolument, effectually impelled him towards his\nacquaintance; and, in a little time, they began to relish the\nconversation of each other.  For, as the reader may have already\nobserved, Fathom possessed all the arts of insinuation, and had\ndiscernment enough to perceive an air of dignity in the Persian, which\nthe humility of his circumstances could not conceal.  He was, moreover, a\nman of good understanding, not without a tincture of letters, perfectly\nwell bred, though in a ceremonious style, extremely moral in his\ndiscourse, and scrupulously nice in his notions of honour.\n\nOur hero conformed himself in all respects to the other's opinions, and\nmanaged his discretion so as to pass upon him for a gentleman reduced by\nmisfortunes to the exercise of an employment which was altogether\nunsuitable to his birth and quality.  He made earnest and repeated\ntenders of his good offices to the stranger, and pressed him to make use\nof his purse with such cordial perseverance, that, at length, Ali's\nreserve was overcome, and he condescended to borrow of him a small sum,\nwhich in all probability, saved his life; for he had been driven to the\nutmost extremity of want before he would accept of this assistance.\n\nFathom, having gradually stole into his good graces, began to take notice\nof many piteous sighs that escaped him in the moments of their\nintercourse, and seemed to denote an heart fraught with woe; and, on\npretence of administering consolation and counsel, begged leave to know\nthe cause of his distress, observing, that his mind would be disburdened\nby such communication, and, perhaps, his grief alleviated by some means\nwhich they might jointly concert and execute in his behalf.\n\nAli, thus solicited, would often shake his head, with marks of extreme\nsorrow and despondence, and, while the tears gushed from his eyes,\ndeclared that his distress was beyond the power of any remedy but death,\nand that, by making our hero his confidant, he should only extend his\nunhappiness to a friend, without feeling the least remission of his own\ntorture.  Notwithstanding these repeated declarations, Ferdinand, who was\nwell enough acquainted with the mind of man to know that such importunity\nis seldom or never disagreeable, redoubled his instances, together with\nhis expressions of sympathy and esteem, until the stranger was prevailed\nupon to gratify his curiosity and benevolence.  Having, therefore,\nsecured the chamber door one night, while all the rest of the family were\nasleep, the unfortunate Ali disclosed himself in these words.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-SIX\n\nTHE HISTORY OF THE NOBLE CASTILIAN.\n\n\nI should be ungrateful, as well as unwise, did I longer resist the desire\nyou express to know the particulars of that destiny which hath driven me\nto this miserable disguise, and rendered me in all considerations the\nmost wretched of men.  I have felt your friendship, am confident of your\nhonour, and though my misfortunes are such as can never be repaired,\nbecause I am utterly cut off from hope, which is the wretch's last\ncomfort, yet I may, by your means, be enabled to bear them with some\ndegree of fortitude and resignation.\n\nKnow then, my name is not Ali; neither am I of Persian extraction.  I had\nonce the honour to own myself a Castilian, and was, under the appellation\nof Don Diego de Zelos, respected as the head of one of the most ancient\nfamilies of that kingdom.  Judge, then, how severe that distress must be,\nwhich compels a Spaniard to renounce his country, his honours, and his\nname.  My youth was not spent in inglorious ease, neither did it waste\nunheeded in the rolls of fame.  Before I had attained the age of\nnineteen, I was twice wounded in battle.  I once fortunately recovered\nthe standard of the regiment to which I belonged, after it had been\nseized by the enemy; and, at another occasion, made shift to save the\nlife of my colonel, when he lay at the mercy of an enraged barbarian.\n\nHe that thinks I recapitulate these particulars out of ostentation, does\nwrong to the unhappy Don Diego de Zelos, who, in having performed these\nlittle acts of gallantry, thinks he has done nothing, but simply approved\nhimself worthy of being called a Castilian.  I mean only to do justice to\nmy own character, and to make you acquainted with one of the most\nremarkable incidents of my life.  It was my fate, during my third\ncampaign, to command a troop of horse in the regiment of Don Gonzales\nOrgullo, between whom and my father a family feud had long been\nmaintained with great enmity; and that gentleman did not leave me without\nreason to believe he rejoiced at the opportunity of exercising his\nresentment upon his adversary's son; for he withheld from me that\ncountenance which my fellow-officers enjoyed, and found means to subject\nme to divers mortifications, of which I was not at liberty to complain.\nThese I bore in silence for some time, as part of my probation in the\ncharacter of a soldier; resolved, nevertheless, to employ my interest at\ncourt for a removal into another corps, and to take some future\nopportunity of explaining my sentiments to Don Gonzales upon the\ninjustice of his behaviour.\n\nWhile I animated myself with these sentiments against the discouragements\nI underwent, and the hard duty to which I was daily exposed, it was our\nfate to be concerned in the battle of Saragossa, where our regiment was\nso severely handled by the English infantry, that it was forced to give\nground with the loss of one half of its officers and men.  Don Gonzales,\nwho acted as brigadier in another wing, being informed of our fate, and\ndreading the disgrace of his corps, which had never turned back to the\nenemy, put spurs to his horse, and, riding across the field at full\nspeed, rallied our broken squadrons, and led us back to the charge with\nsuch intrepidity of behaviour, as did not fail to inspire us all with\nuncommon courage and alacrity.  For my own part, I thought myself doubly\ninterested to distinguish my valour, not only on account of my own glory,\nbut likewise on the supposition, that, as I was acting under the eye of\nGonzales, my conduct would be narrowly observed.\n\nI therefore exerted myself with unusual vigour, and as he began the\nattack with the remains of my troop, fought close by his side during the\nrest of the engagement.  I even acquired his applause in the very heat of\nbattle.  When his hat was struck off, and his horse fell under him, I\naccommodated and remounted him upon my own, and, having seized for my own\nuse another that belonged to a common trooper, attended this stern\ncommander as before, and seconded him in all his repeated efforts; but it\nwas impossible to withstand the numbers and impetuosity of the foe, and\nDon Gonzales having had the mortification to see his regiment cut in\npieces, and the greatest part of the army routed, was fain to yield to\nthe fortune of the day; yet he retired as became a man of honour and a\nCastilian; that is, he marched off with great deliberation in the rear of\nthe Spanish troops, and frequently faced about to check the pursuit of\nthe enemy.  Indeed, this exercise of his courage had well-nigh cost him\nhis life; for, in one of those wheelings, he was left almost alone, and a\nsmall party of the Portuguese horse had actually cut off our\ncommunication with the retreating forces of Spain.\n\nIn this dilemma, we had no other chance of saving our lives and liberty,\nthan that of opening a passage sword in hand; and this was what Gonzales\ninstantly resolved to attempt.  We accordingly recommended our souls to\nGod, and, charging the line abreast of one another, bore down all\nopposition, and were in a fair way of accomplishing our retreat without\nfurther danger; but the gallant Orgullo, in crossing a ditch, had the\nmisfortune to be thrown from his horse, and was almost the same instant\novertaken by one of the Portuguese dragoons, whose sword was already\nsuspended over his head, as he lay half stunned with his fall; when I\nrode up, discharged a pistol in the ruffian's brain, and, seating my\ncolonel on his horse, had the good fortune to conduct him to a place of\nsafety.\n\nHere he was provided with such accommodation as his case required; for he\nhad been wounded in the battle, and dangerously bruised by his fall, and,\nwhen all the necessary steps were taken towards his recovery, I desired\nto know if he had any further commands for his service, being resolved to\njoin the army without delay.  I thought proper to communicate this\nquestion by message, because he had not spoke one word to me during our\nretreat, notwithstanding the good office he had received at my hands; a\nreserve which I attributed to his pride, and resented accordingly.  He no\nsooner understood my intention, than he desired to see me in his\napartment, and, as near as I can remember, spoke to this effect:--\n\n\"Were your father Don Alonzo alive, I should now, in consequence of your\nbehaviour, banish every suggestion of resentment, and solicit his\nfriendship with great sincerity.  Yes, Don Diego, your virtue hath\ntriumphed over that enmity I bore your house, and I upbraid myself with\nthe ungenerous treatment you have suffered under my command.  But it is\nnot enough for me to withdraw that rigour which it was unjust to\nexercise, and would be wicked to maintain.  I must likewise atone for the\ninjuries you have sustained, and make some suitable acknowledgment for\nthat life which I have twice to-day owed to your valour and generosity.\nWhatever interest I have at court shall be employed in your behalf; and I\nhave other designs in your favour, which shall be disclosed in due\nseason.  Meanwhile, I desire you will still add one obligation to the\ndebt which I have already incurred, and carry this billet in person to my\nEstifania, who, from the news of this fatal overthrow must be in despair\nupon my account.\"\n\nSo saying, he presented a letter, directed to his lady, which I received\nin a transport of joy, with expressions suitable to the occasion, and\nimmediately set out for his country house, which happened to be about\nthirty leagues from the spot.  This expedition was equally glorious and\ninteresting; for my thoughts upon the road were engrossed by the hope of\nseeing Don Orgullo's daughter and heiress Antonia, who was reported to be\na young lady of great beauty, and the most amiable accomplishments.\nHowever ridiculous it may seem for a man to conceive a passion for an\nobject which he hath never beheld, certain it is, my sentiments were so\nmuch prepossessed by the fame of her qualifications, that I must have\nfallen a victim to her charms, had they been much less powerful than they\nwere.  Notwithstanding the fatigues I had undergone in the field, I\nclosed not an eye until I arrived at the gate of Gonzales, being\ndetermined to precede the report of the battle, that Madame d'Orgullo\nmight not be alarmed for the life of her husband.\n\nI declared my errand, and was introduced into a saloon, where I had not\nwaited above three minutes, when my colonel's lady appeared, and in great\nconfusion received the letter, exclaiming, \"Heaven grant that Don\nGonzales be well!\"  In reading the contents, she underwent a variety of\nagitations; but, when she had perused the whole, her countenance regained\nits serenity, and, regarding me with an air of ineffable complacency,\n\"Don Diego,\" said she, \"while I lament the national calamity, in the\ndefeat of our army, I at the same time feel the most sincere pleasure on\nseeing you upon this occasion, and, according to the directions of my\ndear lord, bid you heartily welcome to this house, as his preserver and\nfriend.  I was not unacquainted with your character before this last\ntriumph of your virtue, and have often prayed to Heaven for some lucky\ndetermination of that fatal quarrel which raged so long between the\nfamily of Gonzales and your father's house.  My prayers have been heard,\nthe long-wished-for reconciliation is now effected, and I hope nothing\nwill ever intervene to disturb this happy union.\"\n\nTo this polite and affectionate declaration, I made such a reply as\nbecame a young man, whose heart overflowed with joy and benevolence, and\ndesired to know how soon her answer to my commander would be ready, that\nI might gratify his impatience with all possible despatch.  After having\nthanked me for this fresh proof of my attachment, she begged I would\nretire into a chamber, and repose myself from the uncommon fatigues I\nmust have undergone; but, finding I persisted in the resolution of\nreturning to Don Gonzales, without allowing myself the least benefit of\nsleep, she left me engaged in conversation with an uncle of Don Gonzales,\nwho lodged in the house, and gave orders that a collation should be\nprepared in another apartment, while she retired to her closet, and wrote\na letter to her husband.\n\nIn less than an hour from my first arrival, I was introduced into a most\nelegant dining-room, where a magnificent entertainment was served up, and\nwhere we were joined by Donna Estifania, and her beautiful daughter the\nfair Antonia, who, advancing with the most amiable sweetness, thanked me\nin very warm expressions of acknowledgment, for the generosity of my\nconduct towards her father.  I had been ravished with her first\nappearance, which far exceeded my imagination, and my faculties were so\ndisordered by this address, that I answered her compliment with the most\nawkward confusion.  But this disorder did not turn to my prejudice in the\nopinion of that lovely creature, who has often told me in the sequel,\nthat she gave herself credit for that perplexity in my behaviour, and\nthat I never appeared more worthy of her regard and affection than at\nthat juncture, when my dress was discomposed, and my whole person\ndisfigured by the toils and duty of the preceding day; for this very\ndishabille presented itself to her reflection as the immediate effect of\nthat very merit by which I was entitled to her esteem.\n\nWretch that I am! to survive the loss of such an excellent woman,\nendeared to my remembrance by the most tender offices of wedlock, happily\nexercised for the space of five-and-twenty years!  Forgive these tears;\nthey are not the drops of weakness, but remorse.  Not to trouble you with\nidle particulars, suffice it is to say, I was favoured with such marks of\ndistinction by Madame d'Orgullo, that she thought it incumbent upon her\nto let me know she had not overacted her hospitality, and, while we sat\nat table, accosted me in these words: \"You will not be surprised, Don\nDiego, at my expressions of regard, which I own are unusual from a\nSpanish lady to a young cavalier like you, when I communicate the\ncontents of this letter from Don Gonzales.\"  So saying, she put the\nbillet into my hand, and I read these words, or words to this effect:--\n\n\"AMIABLE ESTIFANIA,--You will understand that I am as well as a person\ncan possibly be who hath this day lived to see the army of his king\ndefeated.  If you would know the particulars of this unfortunate action,\nyour curiosity will be gratified by the bearer, Don Diego de Zelos, to\nwhose virtue and bravery I am twice indebted for my life.  I therefore\ndesire you will receive him with that respect and gratitude which you\nshall think due for such an obligation; and, in entertaining him, dismiss\nthat reserve which often disgraces the Spanish hospitality.  In a word,\nlet your own virtue and beneficence conduct you upon this occasion, and\nlet my Antonia's endeavours be joined with your own in doing honour to\nthe preserver of her father!  Adieu.\"\n\nSuch a testimonial could not fail of being very agreeable to a young\nsoldier, who by this time had begun to indulge the transporting hope of\nbeing happy in the arms of the adorable Antonia.  I professed myself\nextremely happy in having met with an opportunity of acquiring such a\ndegree of my colonel's esteem, entertained them with a detail of his\npersonal prowess in the battle, and answered all their questions with\nthat moderation which every man ought to preserve in speaking of his own\nbehaviour.  Our repast being ended, I took my leave of the ladies, and at\nparting received a letter from Donna Estifania to her husband, together\nwith a ring of great value, which she begged I would accept, as a token\nof her esteem.  Thus loaded with honour and caresses, I set out on my\nreturn for the quarters of Don Gonzales, who could scarce credit his own\neyes when I delivered his lady's billet; for he thought it impossible to\nperform such a journey in so short a time.\n\nWhen he had glanced over the paper, \"Don Diego,\" said he, \"by your short\nstay one would imagine you had met with indifferent reception at my\nhouse.  I hope Estifania has not been deficient in her duty?\"  I answered\nthis question, by assuring him my entertainment had been so agreeable in\nall respects, that nothing but my duty to him could have induced me to\ngive it up so soon.  He then turned the conversation upon Antonia, and\nhinted his intention of giving her in marriage to a young cavalier, for\nwhom he had a particular friendship.  I was so much affected by this\ninsinuation, which seemed at once to blast all my hopes of love and\nhappiness, that the blood forsook my face; I was seized with an universal\ntrepidation, and even obliged to retire, on pretence of being suddenly\ntaken ill.\n\nThough Gonzales seemed to impute this disorder to fatigue and want of\nrest, he in his heart ascribed it to the true cause; and, after having\nsounded my sentiments to his own satisfaction, blessed me with a\ndeclaration, importing, that I was the person upon whom he had pitched\nfor a son-in-law.  I will not trouble you with a repetition of what\npassed on this interesting occasion, but proceed to observe, that his\nintention in my favour was far from being disagreeable to his lady; and\nthat, in a little time, I had the good fortune to espouse the charming\nAntonia, who submitted to the will of her father without reluctance.\n\nSoon after this happy event, I was, by the influence of Don Gonzales,\njoined to my own interest, promoted to the command of a regiment, and\nserved with honour during the remaining part of the war.  After the\ntreaty of Utrecht, I was employed in reducing the Catalans to their\nallegiance; and, in an action with those obstinate rebels had the\nmisfortune to lose my father-in-law, who by that time was preferred to\nthe rank of a major-general.  The virtuous Estifania did not long survive\nthis melancholy accident; and the loss of these indulgent parents made\nsuch a deep impression upon the tender heart of my Antonia, that I took\nthe first opportunity of removing her from a place in which every object\nserved to cherish her grief, to a pleasant villa near the city of\nSeville, which I purchased on account of its agreeable situation.  That I\nmight the more perfectly enjoy the possession of my amiable partner, who\ncould no longer brook the thoughts of another separation, peace was no\nsooner re-established than I obtained leave to resign my commission, and\nI wholly devoted myself to the joys of a domestic life.\n\nHeaven seemed to smile upon our union, by blessing us with a son, whom,\nhowever, it was pleased to recall in his infancy, to our unspeakable\ngrief and mortification; but our mutual chagrin was afterwards alleviated\nby the birth of a daughter, who seemed born with every accomplishment to\nexcite the love and admiration of mankind.  Why did nature debase such a\nmasterpiece with the mixture of an alloy, which hath involved herself and\nher whole family in perdition?  But the ways of Providence are\nunsearchable.  She hath paid the debt of her degeneracy; peace be with\nher soul!  The honour of my family is vindicated; though by a sacrifice\nwhich hath robbed me of everything else that is valuable in life, and\nruined my peace past all redemption.  Yes, my friend, all the tortures\nthat human tyranny can inflict would be ease, tranquillity, and delight,\nto the unspeakable pangs and horrors I have felt.\n\nBut, to return from this digression.--Serafina, which was the name of\nthat little darling, as she grew up, not only disclosed all the natural\ngraces of external beauty, but likewise manifested the most engaging\nsweetness of disposition, and a capacity for acquiring with ease all the\naccomplishments of her sex.  It is impossible to convey any adequate idea\nof a parent's raptures in the contemplation of such a fair blossom.  She\nwas the only pledge of our love, she was presumptive heiress to a large\nfortune, and likely to be the sole representative of two noble Castilian\nfamilies.  She was the delight of all who saw her, and a theme of praise\nfor every tongue.  You are not to suppose that the education of such a\nchild was neglected.  Indeed, it wholly engrossed the attention of me and\nmy Antonia, and her proficiency rewarded our care.  Before she had\nattained the age of fifteen, she was mistress of every elegant\nqualification, natural and acquired.  Her person was, by that time, the\nconfessed pattern of beauty.  Her voice was enchantingly sweet, and she\ntouched the lute with the most ravishing dexterity.  Heaven and earth!\nhow did my breast dilate with joy at the thoughts of having given birth\nto such perfection! how did my heart gush with paternal fondness,\nwhenever I beheld this ornament of my name! and what scenes of endearing\ntransport have I enjoyed with my Antonia, in mutual congratulation upon\nour parental happiness!\n\nSerafina, accomplished as she was, could not fail to make conquests among\nthe Spanish cavaliers, who are famous for sensibility in love.  Indeed,\nshe never appeared without a numerous train of admirers; and though we\nhad bred her up in that freedom of conversation and intercourse which\nholds a middle space between the French licence and Spanish restraint,\nshe was now so much exposed to the addresses of promiscuous gallantry,\nthat we found it necessary to retrench the liberty of our house, and\nbehave to our male visitants with great reserve and circumspection, that\nour honour and peace might run no risk from the youth and inexperience of\nour daughter.\n\nThis caution produced overtures from a great many young gentlemen of rank\nand distinction, who courted my alliance, by demanding Serafina in\nmarriage; and from the number I had actually selected one person, who was\nin all respects worthy the possession of such an inestimable prize.  His\nname was Don Manuel de Mendoza.  His birth was noble, and his character\ndignified with repeated acts of generosity and virtue.  Yet, before I\nwould signify to him my approbation of his suit, I resolved to inform\nmyself whether or not the heart of Serafina was totally unengaged, and\nindifferent to any other object, that I might not lay a tyrannical\nrestraint upon her inclinations.  The result of my inquiry was a full\nconviction of her having hitherto been deaf to the voice of love; and\nthis piece of information, together with my own sentiments in his favour,\nI communicated to Don Manuel, who heard these tidings with transports of\ngratitude and joy.  He was immediately favoured with opportunities of\nacquiring the affection of my daughter, and his endeavours were at first\nreceived with such respectful civility, as might have been easily warmed\ninto a mutual passion, had not the evil genius of our family interposed.\n\nO my friend! how shall I describe the depravity of that unhappy virgin's\nsentiments! how recount the particulars of my own dishonour!  I that am\ndescended from a long line of illustrious Castilians, who never received\nan injury they did not revenge, but washed away every blemish in their\nfame with the blood of those who attempted to stain it!  In that\ncircumstance I have imitated the example of my glorious progenitors, and\nthat consideration alone hath supported me against all the assaults of\ndespair.\n\nAs I grudged no pains and expense in perfecting the education of\nSerafina, my doors were open to every person who made an extraordinary\nfigure in the profession of those amusing sciences in which she\ndelighted.  The house of Don Diego de Zelos was a little academy for\npainting, poetry, and music; and Heaven decreed that it should fall a\nsacrifice to its regard for these fatal and delusive arts.  Among other\npreceptors, it was her fate to be under the instruction of a cursed\nGerman, who, though his profession was drawing, understood the elements\nand theory of music, possessed a large fund of learning and taste, and\nwas a person remarkable for his agreeable conversation.  This traitor,\nwho like you had lost one eye, I not only admitted into my house for the\nimprovement of my daughter, but even distinguished with particular marks\nof confidence and favour, little thinking he had either inclination or\ncapacity to debauch the sentiments of my child.  I was rejoiced beyond\nmeasure to see with what alacrity she received his lessons, with what\navidity she listened to his discourse, which was always equally moral,\ninstructing, and entertaining.\n\nAntonia seemed to vie with me in expressions of regard for this\naccomplished stranger, whom she could not help supposing to be a person\nof rank and family, reduced to his present situation by some unfortunate\nvicissitude of fate.  I was disposed to concur with this opinion, and\nactually conjured him to make me his confidant, with such protestations\nas left him no room to doubt my honour and beneficence; but he still\npersisted in declaring himself the son of an obscure mechanic in Bohemia;\nan origin to which surely no man would pretend who had the least claim to\nnobility of birth.  While I was thus undeceived in my conjecture touching\nhis birth and quality, I was confirmed in an opinion of his integrity and\nmoderation, and looked upon him as a man of honour, in despite of the\nlowness of his pedigree.  Nevertheless, he was at bottom a most\nperfidious wretch, and all this modesty and self-denial were the effects\nof the most villanous dissimulation, a cloak under which he, unsuspected,\nrobbed me of my honour and my peace.\n\nNot to trouble you with particulars, the recital of which would tear my\nheart-strings with indignation and remorse, I shall only observe, that,\nby the power of his infernal insinuation, he fascinated the heart of\nSerafina, brought over Antonia herself to the interests of his passion,\nand at once detached them both from their duty and religion.  Heaven and\nearth! how dangerous, how irresistible is the power of infatuation!\nWhile I remained in the midst of this blind security, waiting for the\nnuptials of my daughter, and indulging myself with the vain prospect of\nher approaching felicity, Antonia found means to protract the\nnegotiations of the marriage, by representing that it would be a pity to\ndeprive Serafina of the opportunity she then had of profiting by the\nGerman's instructions; and, upon that account, I prevailed upon Don\nManuel to bridle the impatience of his love.\n\nDuring this interval, as I one evening enjoyed the cool air in my own\ngarden, I was accosted by an old duenna, who had been my nurse and lived\nin the family since the time of my childhood.--\"My duty,\" said she, \"will\nno longer permit me to wink in silence at the wrongs I see you daily\nsuffer.  Dismiss that German from your house without delay, if you\nrespect the glory of your name, and the rights of our holy religion; the\nstranger is an abominable heretic; and, grant Heaven! he may not have\nalready poisoned the minds of those you hold most dear.\"  I had been\nextremely alarmed at the beginning of this address; but, finding the\nimputation limited to the article of religion, in which, thank God, I am\nno bigot, I recovered my serenity of disposition, thanked the old woman\nfor her zeal, commended her piety, and encouraged her to persevere in\nmaking observations on such subjects as should concern my honour and my\nquiet.\n\nWe live in such a world of wickedness and fraud, that a man cannot be too\nvigilant in his own defence: had I employed such spies from the\nbeginning, I should in all probability have been at this day in\npossession of every comfort that renders life agreeable.  The duenna,\nthus authorised, employed her sagacity with such success, that I had\nreason to suspect the German of a design upon the heart of Serafina; but,\nas the presumptions did not amount to conviction, I contented myself with\nexiling him from my house, under the pretext of having discovered that he\nwas an enemy to the Catholic church; and forthwith appointed a day for\nthe celebration of my daughter's marriage with Don Manuel de Mendoza.  I\ncould easily perceive a cloud of melancholy overspread the faces of\nSerafina and her mother, when I declared these my resolutions; but, as\nthey made no objection to what I proposed, I did not at that time enter\ninto an explanation of the true motives that influenced my conduct.  Both\nparties were probably afraid of such expostulation.\n\nMeanwhile, preparations were made for the espousals of Serafina; and,\nnotwithstanding the anxiety I had undergone, on account of her connexion\nwith the German, I began to think that her duty, her glory, had triumphed\nover all such low-born considerations, if ever they had been entertained;\nbecause she, and even Antonia, seemed to expect the ceremony with\nresignation, though the features of both still retained evident marks of\nconcern, which I willingly imputed to the mutual prospect of their\nseparation.  This, however, was but a faithless calm, that soon, ah! too\nsoon, brought forth a tempest which hath wrecked my hopes.\n\nTwo days before the appointed union of Don Manuel and Serafina, I was\ninformed by the duenna, that, while she accompanied Antonia's\nwaiting-maid at church, she had seen her receive a billet from an old\nwoman, who, kneeling at her side, had conveyed it in such a mysterious\nmanner, as awakened the duenna's apprehensions about her young lady; she\nhad therefore hastened home to communicate this piece of intelligence,\nthat I might have an opportunity of examining the messenger before she\ncould have time to deposit her trust.  I could not help shivering with\nfearful presages upon this occasion, and even abhorring the person to\nwhose duty and zeal I was beholden for the intelligence, even while I\nendeavoured to persuade myself that the inquiry would end in the\ndetection of some paltry intrigue between the maid and her own gallant.\nI intercepted her in returning from church, and, commanding her to follow\nme to a convenient place, extorted from her, by dint of threats, the\nfatal letter, which I read to this effect:--\n\n\"The whole business of my life, O divine Serafina! will be to repay that\naffection I have been so happy as to engage.  With what transport then\nshall I obey your summons, in performing that enterprise, which will\nrescue you from the bed of a detested rival, and put myself in full\npossession of a jewel which I value infinitely more than life!  Yes,\nadorable creature!  I have provided everything for our escape, and at\nmidnight will attend you in your own apartment, from whence you shall be\nconveyed into a land of liberty and peace, where you will, unmolested,\nenjoy the purity of that religion you have espoused, and in full security\nbless the arms of your ever faithful,       ORLANDO.\"\n\nWere you a fond parent, a tender husband, and a noble Castilian, I should\nnot need to mention the unutterable horrors that took possession of my\nbosom, when I perused this accursed letter, by which I learned the\napostasy, disobedience, and degeneracy of my idolised Serafina, who had\noverthrown and destroyed the whole plan of felicity which I had erected,\nand blasted all the glories of my name; and when the wretched messenger,\nterrified by my menaces and agitation, confessed that Antonia herself was\nprivy to the guilt of her daughter, whom she had solemnly betrothed to\nthat vile German, in the sight of Heaven, and that by her connivance this\nplebeian intended, that very night, to bereave me of my child, I was for\nsome moments stupefied with grief and amazement, that gave way to an\necstasy of rage, which had well-nigh terminated in despair and\ndistraction.\n\nI now tremble, and my head grows giddy with the remembrance of that\ndreadful occasion.  Behold how the drops trickle down my forehead; this\nagony is a fierce and familiar visitant; I shall banish it anon.  I\nsummoned my pride, my resentment, to my assistance; these are the\ncordials that support me against all other reflections; those were the\nauxiliaries that enabled me, in the day of trial, to perform that\nsacrifice which my honour demanded, in a strain so loud as to drown the\ncries of nature, love, and compassion.  Yes, they espoused that glory\nwhich humanity would have betrayed, and my revenge was noble, though\nunnatural.\n\nMy scheme was soon laid, my resolution soon taken; I privately confined\nthe wretch who had been the industrious slave of this infamous\nconspiracy, that she might take no step to frustrate or interrupt the\nexecution of my design.  Then repairing to the house of an apothecary who\nwas devoted to my service, communicated my intention, which he durst not\ncondemn, and could not reveal, without breaking the oath of secrecy I had\nimposed; and he furnished me with two vials of poison for the dismal\ncatastrophe I had planned.  Thus provided, I, on pretence of sudden\nbusiness at Seville, carefully avoided the dear, the wretched pair, whom\nI had devoted to death, that my heart might not relent, by means of those\ntender ideas which the sight of them would have infallibly inspired; and,\nwhen daylight vanished, took my station near that part of the house\nthrough which the villain must have entered on his hellish purpose.\nThere I stood, in a state of horrid expectation, my soul ravaged with the\ndifferent passions that assailed it, until the fatal moment arrived; when\nI perceived the traitor approach the window of a lower apartment, which\nled into that of Serafina, and gently lifting the casement, which was\npurposely left unsecured, insinuated half of his body into the house.\nThen rushing upon him, in a transport of fury, I plunged my sword into\nhis heart, crying, \"Villain! receive the reward of thy treachery and\npresumption.\"\n\nThe steel was so well aimed as to render a repetition of the stroke\nunnecessary; he uttered one groan, and fell breathless at my feet.\nExulting with this first success of my revenge, I penetrated into the\nchamber where the robber of my peace was expected by the unhappy Serafina\nand her mother, who, seeing me enter with a most savage aspect, and a\nsword reeking with the vengeance I had taken, seemed almost petrified\nwith fear.  \"Behold,\" said I, \"the blood of that base plebeian, who made\nan attempt upon the honour of my house; your conspiracy against the\nunfortunate Don Diego de Zelos is now discovered; that presumptuous\nslave, the favoured Orlando, is now no more.\"\n\nScarce had I pronounced these words, when a loud scream was uttered by\nboth the unhappy victims.  \"If Orlando is slain,\" cried the infatuated\nSerafina, \"what have I to do with life?  O my dear lord! my husband, and\nmy lover! how are our promised joys at once cut off! here, strike, my\nfather! complete your barbarous sacrifice! the spirit of the murdered\nOrlando still hovers for his wife.\"  These frantic exclamations, in which\nshe was joined by Antonia, kept up the fury of my resentment, which by\nmeekness and submission might have been weakened and rendered\nineffectual.  \"Yes, hapless wretches,\" I replied, \"ye shall enjoy your\nwish: the honour of my name requires that both shall die; yet I will not\nmangle the breast of Antonia, on which I have so often reposed; I will\nnot shed the blood of Zelos, nor disfigure the beauteous form of\nSerafina, on which I have so often gazed with wonder and unspeakable\ndelight.  Here is an elixir, to which I trust the consummation of my\nrevenge.\"\n\nSo saying, I emptied the vials into separate cups, and, presenting one in\neach hand, the miserable, the fair offenders instantly received the\ndestined draughts, which they drank without hesitation; then praying to\nheaven for the wretched Don Diego, sunk upon the same couch, and expired\nwithout a groan.  O well-contrived beverage!  O happy composition, by\nwhich all the miseries of life are so easily cured!\n\nSuch was the fate of Antonia and Serafina; these hands were the\ninstruments that deprived them of life, these eyes beheld them the\nrichest prize that death had ever won.  Powers supreme! does Don Diego\nlive to make this recapitulation?  I have done my duty; but ah! I am\nhaunted by the furies of remorse; I am tortured with the incessant stings\nof remembrance and regret; even now the images of my wife and daughter\npresent themselves to my imagination.  All the scenes of happiness I have\nenjoyed as a lover, husband, and parent, all the endearing hopes I have\ncherished, now pass in review before me, embittering the circumstances of\nmy inexpressible woe; and I consider myself as a solitary outcast from\nall the comforts of society.  But, enough of these unmanly complaints;\nthe yearnings of nature are too importunate.\n\nHaving completed my vengeance, I retired into my closet, and, furnishing\nmyself with some ready money and jewels of considerable value, went into\nthe stable, saddled my favourite steed, which I instantly mounted, and,\nbefore the tumults of my breast subsided, found myself at the town of St.\nLucar.  There I learned from inquiry, that there was a Dutch bark in the\nharbour ready to sail; upon which I addressed myself to the master, who,\nfor a suitable gratification, was prevailed upon to weigh anchor that\nsame night; so that, embarking without delay, I soon bid eternal adieu to\nmy native country.  It was not from reason and reflection that I took\nthese measures for my personal safety; but, in consequence of an\ninvoluntary instinct, that seems to operate in the animal machine, while\nthe faculty of thinking is suspended.\n\nTo what a dreadful reckoning was I called, when reason resumed her\nfunction!  You may believe me, my friend, when I assure you, that I\nshould not have outlived those tragedies I acted, had I not been\nrestrained from doing violence upon myself by certain considerations,\nwhich no man of honour ought to set aside.  I could not bear the thought\nof falling ingloriously by the hand of an executioner, and entailing\ndisgrace upon a family that knew no stain; and I was deterred from\nputting an end to my own misery, by the apprehension of posthumous\ncensure, which would have represented me as a desponding wretch, utterly\ndestitute of that patience, fortitude, and resignation, which are the\ncharacteristics of a true Castilian.  I was also influenced by religious\nmotives that suggested to me the necessity of living to atone, by my\nsufferings and sorrow, for the guilt I had incurred in complying with a\nsavage punctilio, which is, I fear, displeasing in the sight of Heaven.\n\nThese were the reasons that opposed my entrance into that peaceful\nharbour which death presented to my view; and they were soon reinforced\nby another principle that sanctioned my determination to continue at the\nservile oar of life.  In consequence of unfavourable winds, our vessel\nfor some days made small progress in her voyage to Holland, and near the\ncoast of Gallicia we were joined by an English ship from Vigo, the master\nof which gave us to understand, that before he set sail, a courier had\narrived from Madrid at that place, with orders for the corregidore to\nprevent the escape of any native Spaniard by sea from any port within his\ndistrict; and to use his utmost endeavours to apprehend the person of Don\nDiego de Zelos, who was suspected of treasonable practices against the\nstate.  Such an order, with a minute description of my person, was at the\nsame time despatched to all the seaports and frontier places in Spain.\n\nYou may easily suppose how I, who was already overwhelmed with distress,\ncould bear this aggravation of misfortune and disgrace: I, who had always\nmaintained the reputation of loyalty, which was acquired at the hazard of\nmy life, and the expense of my blood.  To deal candidly, I must own, that\nthis intelligence roused me from a lethargy of grief which had begun to\noverpower my faculties.  I immediately imputed this dishonourable charge\nto the evil offices of some villain, who had basely taken the advantage\nof my deplorable situation, and I was inflamed, inspirited with the\ndesire of vindicating my fame, and revenging the injury.  Thus animated,\nI resolved to disguise myself effectually from the observation of those\nspies which every nation finds its account in employing in foreign\ncountries; I purchased this habit from the Dutch navigator, in whose\nhouse I kept myself concealed, after our arrival at Amsterdam, until my\nbeard was grown to a sufficient length to favour my design, and then\nappeared as a Persian dealer in jewels.  As I could gain no satisfactory\ninformation touching myself in this country, had no purpose to pursue,\nand was extremely miserable among a people, who, being mercenary and\nunsocial, were very ill adapted to alleviate the horrors of my condition,\nI gratified my landlord for his important services, with the best part of\nmy effects; and having, by his means, procured a certificate from the\nmagistracy, repaired to Rotterdam, from whence I set out in a travelling\ncarriage for Antwerp, on my way to this capital; hoping, with a\nsuccession of different objects, to mitigate the anguish of my mind, and\nby the most industrious inquiry, to learn such particulars of that false\nimpeachment, as would enable me to take measures for my own\njustification, as well as for projecting a plan of revenge against the\nvile perfidious author.\n\nThis, I imagined, would be no difficult task, considering the friendship\nand intercourse subsisting between the Spanish and French nations, and\nthe communicative disposition for which the Parisians are renowned; but I\nhave found myself egregiously deceived in my expectation.  The officers\nof police in this city are so inquisitive and vigilant that the most\nminute action of a stranger is scrutinised with great severity; and,\nalthough the inhabitants are very frank in discoursing on indifferent\nsubjects, they are at the same time extremely cautious in avoiding all\nconversation that turns upon state occurrences and maxims of government.\nIn a word, the peculiarity of my appearance subjects me so much to\nparticular observation, that I have hitherto thought proper to devour my\ngriefs in silence, and even to bear the want of almost every convenience,\nrather than hazard a premature discovery, by offering my jewels to sale.\n\nIn this emergency I have been so far fortunate as to become acquainted\nwith you, whom I look upon as a man of honour and humanity.  Indeed, I\nwas at first sight prepossessed in your favour, for, notwithstanding the\nmistakes which men daily commit in judging from appearances, there is\nsomething in the physiognomy of a stranger from which one cannot help\nforming an opinion of his character and disposition.  For once, my\npenetration hath not failed me; your behaviour justifies my decision; you\nhave treated me with that sympathy and respect which none but the\ngenerous will pay to the unfortunate.  I have trusted you accordingly.  I\nhave put my life, my honour, in your power; and I must beg leave to\ndepend upon your friendship, for obtaining that satisfaction for which\nalone I seek to live.  Your employment engages you in the gay world; you\ndaily mingle with the societies of men; the domestics of the Spanish\nambassador will not shun your acquaintance; you may frequent the\ncoffee-houses to which they resort; and, in the course of these\noccasions, unsuspected inform yourself of that mysterious charge which\nlies heavy on the fame of the unfortunate Don Diego.  I must likewise\nimplore your assistance in converting my jewels into money, that I may\nbreathe independent of man, until Heaven shall permit me to finish this\nweary pilgrimage of life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN\n\nA FLAGRANT INSTANCE OF FATHOM'S VIRTUE, IN THE MANNER OF HIS RETREAT TO\nENGLAND.\n\n\nFathom, who had lent an attentive ear to every circumstance of this\ndisastrous story, no sooner heard it concluded, than, with an aspect of\ngenerous and cordial compassion, not even unattended with tears, he\ncondoled the lamentable fate of Don Diego de Zelos, deplored the untimely\ndeath of the gentle Antonia and the fair Serafina, and undertook the\ninterest of the wretched Castilian with such warmth of sympathising zeal,\nas drew a flood from his eyes, while he wrung his benefactor's hand in a\ntransport of gratitude.  Those were literally tears of joy, or at least\nof satisfaction, on both sides; as our hero wept with affection and\nattachment to the jewels that were to be committed to his care; but, far\nfrom discovering the true source of his tenderness, he affected to\ndissuade the Spaniard from parting with the diamonds, which he counselled\nhim to reserve for a more pressing occasion; and, in the meantime,\nearnestly entreated him to depend upon his friendship for present relief.\n\nThis generous proffer served only to confirm Don Diego's resolution,\nwhich he forthwith executed, by putting into the hands of Ferdinand\njewels to the value of a thousand crowns, and desiring him to detain for\nhis own use any part of the sum they would raise.  Our adventurer thanked\nhim for the good opinion he entertained of his integrity, an opinion\nfully manifested in honouring him with such important confidence, and\nassured him he would transact his affairs with the utmost diligence,\ncaution, and despatch.  The evening being by this time almost consumed,\nthese new allies retired separately to rest; though each passed the night\nwithout repose, in very different reflections, the Castilian being, as\nusual, agitated with the unceasing pangs of his unalterable misery,\ninterspersed with gleaming hopes of revenge; and Fathom being kept awake\nwith revolving plans for turning his fellow-lodger's credulity to his own\nadvantage.  From the nature of the Spaniard's situation, he might have\nappropriated the jewels to himself, and remained in Paris without fear of\na prosecution, because the injured party had, by the above narrative,\nleft his life and liberty at discretion.--But he did not think himself\nsecure from the personal resentment of an enraged desperate Castilian;\nand therefore determined to withdraw himself privately into that country\nwhere he had all along proposed to fix the standard of his finesse, which\nfortune had now empowered him to exercise according to his wish.\n\nBent upon this retreat, he went abroad in the morning, on pretence of\nacting in the concerns of his friend Don Diego, and having hired a\npost-chaise to be ready at the dawning of next day, returned to his\nlodgings, where he cajoled the Spaniard with a feigned report of his\nnegotiation; then, securing his most valuable effects about his person,\narose with the cock, repaired to the place at which he had appointed to\nmeet the postillion with the carriage, and set out for England without\nfurther delay, leaving the unhappy Zelos to the horrors of indigence, and\nthe additional agony of this fresh disappointment.  Yet he was not the\nonly person affected by the abrupt departure of Fathom, which was\nhastened by the importunities, threats, and reproaches of his landlord's\ndaughter, whom he had debauched under promise of marriage, and now left\nin the fourth month of her pregnancy.\n\nNotwithstanding the dangerous adventure in which he had been formerly\ninvolved by travelling in the night, he did not think proper to make the\nusual halts on this journey, for sleep or refreshment, nor did he once\nquit the chaise till his arrival at Boulogne, which he reached in twenty\nhours after his departure from Paris.  Here he thought he might safely\nindulge himself with a comfortable meal; accordingly he bespoke a poulard\nfor dinner, and while that was preparing, went forth to view the city and\nharbour.  When he beheld the white cliffs of Albion, his heart throbbed\nwith all the joy of a beloved son, who, after a tedious and fatiguing\nvoyage, reviews the chimneys of his father's house.  He surveyed the\nneighbouring coast of England with fond and longing eyes, like another\nMoses, reconnoitring the land of Canaan from the top of Mount Pisgah; and\nto such a degree of impatience was he inflamed by the sight, that,\ninstead of proceeding to Calais, he resolved to take his passage directly\nfrom Boulogne, even if he should hire a vessel for the purpose.  With\nthese sentiments, he inquired if there was any ship bound for England,\nand was so fortunate as to find the master of a small bark, who intended\nto weigh anchor for Deal that same evening at high water.\n\nTransported with this information, he immediately agreed for his passage,\nsold the post-chaise to his landlord for thirty guineas, as a piece of\nfurniture for which he could have no further use, purchased a\nportmanteau, together with some linen and wearing apparel, and, at the\nrecommendation of his host, took into his service an extra postillion or\nhelper, who had formerly worn the livery of a travelling marquis.  This\nnew domestic, whose name was Maurice, underwent, with great applause, the\nexamination of our hero, who perceived in him a fund of sagacity and\npresence of mind, by which he was excellently qualified for being the\nvalet of an adventurer.  He was therefore accommodated with a second-hand\nsuit and another shirt, and at once listed under the banners of Count\nFathom, who spent the whole afternoon in giving him proper instructions\nfor the regulation of his conduct.\n\nHaving settled these preliminaries to his own satisfaction, he and his\nbaggage were embarked about six o'clock in the month of September, and it\nwas not without emotion that he found himself benighted upon the great\ndeep, of which, before the preceding day, he had never enjoyed even the\nmost distant prospect.  However, he was not a man to be afraid, where\nthere was really no appearance of danger; and the agreeable presages of\nfuture fortune supported his spirits, amidst the disagreeable nausea\nwhich commonly attends landsmen at sea, until he was set ashore upon the\nbeach at Deal, which he entered in good health about seven o'clock in the\nmorning.\n\nLike Caesar, however, he found some difficulty in landing, on account of\nthe swelling surf, that tumbled about with such violence as had almost\noverset the cutter that carried him on shore; and, in his eagerness to\njump upon the strand, his foot slipped from the side of the boat, so that\nhe was thrown forwards in an horizontal direction, and his hands were the\nfirst parts of him that touched English ground.  Upon this occasion, he,\nin imitation of Scipio's behaviour on the coast of Africa, hailed the\nomen, and, grasping a handful of the sand, was heard to exclaim, in the\nItalian language: \"Ah, ah, Old England, I have thee fast.\"\n\nAs he walked up to the inn, followed by Maurice loaded with his\nportmanteau, he congratulated himself upon his happy voyage, and the\npeaceable possession of his spoil, and could not help snuffing up the\nBritish air with marks of infinite relish and satisfaction.  His first\ncare was to recompense himself for the want of sleep he had undergone,\nand, after he had sufficiently recruited himself with several hours of\nuninterrupted repose, he set out in a post-chaise for Canterbury, where\nhe took a place in the London stage, which he was told would depart next\nmorning, the coach being already full.  On this very first day of his\narrival, he perceived between the English and the people among whom he\nhad hitherto lived, such essential difference in customs, appearance, and\nway of living, as inspired him with high notions of that British freedom,\nopulence, and convenience, on which he had often heard his mother\nexpatiate.  On the road, he feasted his eyesight with the verdant hills\ncovered with flocks of sheep, the fruitful vales parcelled out into\ncultivated enclosures; the very cattle seemed to profit by the wealth of\ntheir masters, being large, sturdy, and sleek, and every peasant breathed\nthe insolence of liberty and independence.  In a word, he viewed the\nwide-extended plains of Kent with a lover's eye, and, his ambition\nbecoming romantic, could not help fancying himself another conqueror of\nthe isle.\n\nHe was not, however, long amused by these vain chimeras, which soon\nvanished before other reflections of more importance and solidity.  His\nimagination, it must be owned, was at all times too chaste to admit those\noverweening hopes, which often mislead the mind of the projector.  He had\nstudied mankind with incredible diligence, and knew perfectly well how\nfar he could depend on the passions and foibles of human nature.  That he\nmight now act consistent with his former sagacity, he resolved to pass\nhimself upon his fellow-travellers for a French gentleman, equally a\nstranger to the language and country of England, in order to glean from\ntheir discourse such intelligence as might avail him in his future\noperations; and his lacquey was tutored accordingly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT\n\nSOME ACCOUNT OF HIS FELLOW-TRAVELLERS.\n\n\nThose who had taken places for the coach, understanding the sixth seat\nwas engaged by a foreigner, determined to profit by his ignorance; and,\nwith that politeness which is peculiar to this happy island, fixed\nthemselves in the vehicle, in such a manner, before he had the least\nintimation of their design, that he found it barely practicable to\ninsinuate himself sidelong between a corpulent quaker and a fat Wapping\nlandlady, in which attitude he stuck fast, like a thin quarto between two\nvoluminous dictionaries on a bookseller's shelf.  And, as if the pain and\ninconvenience of such compression was not sufficient matter of chagrin,\nthe greatest part of the company entertained themselves with laughing at\nhis ludicrous station.\n\nThe jolly dame at his left hand observed, with a loud exclamation of\nmirth, that monsieur would be soon better acquainted with a buttock of\nEnglish beef; and said, by that time they should arrive at their\ndining-place, he might be spitted without larding.  \"Yes, verily,\"\nreplied Obadiah, who was a wag in his way, \"but the swine's fat will be\nall on one side.\"--\"So much the better for you,\" cried mine hostess, \"for\nthat side is all your own.\"  The quaker was not so much disconcerted by\nthe quickness of this repartee, but that he answered with great\ndeliberation, \"I thank thee for thy love, but will not profit by thy\nloss, especially as I like not the savour of these outlandish fowls; they\nare profane birds of passage, relished only by the children of vanity,\nlike thee.\"\n\nThe plump gentlewoman took umbrage at this last expression, which she\nconsidered as a double reproach, and repeated the words, \"Children of\nvanity!\" with an emphasis of resentment.  \"I believe, if the truth were\nknown,\" said she, \"there's more vanity than midriff in that great belly\nof yours, for all your pretending to humility and religion.  Sirrah! my\ncorporation is made up of good, wholesome, English fat; but you are\npuffed up with the wind of vanity and delusion; and when it begins to\ngripe your entrails, you pretend to have a motion, and then get up and\npreach nonsense.  Yet you'll take it upon you to call your betters\nchildren.  Marry come up, Mr. Goosecap, I have got children that are as\ngood men as you, or any hypocritical trembler in England.\"\n\nA person who sat opposite to the quaker, hearing this remonstrance, which\nseemed pregnant with contention, interposed in the conversation with a\nconscious leer, and begged there might be no rupture between the spirit\nand the flesh.  By this remonstrance he relieved Obadiah from the satire\nof this female orator, and brought the whole vengeance of her elocution\nupon his own head.  \"Flesh!\" cried she, with all the ferocity of an\nenraged Thalestris; \"none of your names, Mr. Yellowchaps.  What! I\nwarrant you have an antipathy to flesh, because you yourself are nothing\nbut skin and bone.  I suppose you are some poor starved journeyman tailor\ncome from France, where you have been learning to cabbage, and have not\nseen a good meal of victuals these seven years.  You have been living\nupon rye-bread and soup-maigre, and now you come over like a walking\natomy with a rat's tail at your wig, and a tinsey jacket.  And so,\nforsooth, you set up for a gentleman, and pretend to find fault with a\nsirloin of roast beef.\"\n\nThe gentleman heard this address with admirable patience, and when she\nhad rung out her alarm, very coolly replied, \"Anything but your stinking\nfish madam.  Since when, I pray, have you travelled in stage-coaches, and\nleft off your old profession of crying oysters in winter, and rotten\nmackerel in June?  You was then known by the name of Kate Brawn, and in\ngood repute among the ale-houses in Thames Street, till that unlucky\namour with the master of a corn-vessel, in which he was unfortunately\ndetected by his own spouse; but you seem to have risen by that fall; and\nI wish you joy of your present plight.  Though, considering your\neducation on Bear Quay, you can give but a sorry account of yourself.\"\n\nThe Amazon, though neither exhausted nor dismayed, was really confounded\nat the temper and assurance of this antagonist, who had gathered all\nthese anecdotes from the fertility of his own invention; after a short\npause, however, she poured forth a torrent of obloquy sufficient to\noverwhelm any person who had not been used to take up arms against such\nseas of trouble; and a dispute ensued, which would have not only\ndisgraced the best orators on the Thames, but even have made a figure in\nthe celebration of the Eleusinian mysteries, during which the Athenian\nmatrons rallied one another from different waggons, with that freedom of\naltercation so happily preserved in this our age and country.\n\nSuch a redundancy of epithets, and variety of metaphors, tropes, and\nfigures were uttered between these well-matched opponents, that an epic\nbard would have found his account in listening to the contest; which, in\nall probability, would not have been confined to words, had it not been\ninterrupted for the sake of a young woman of an agreeable countenance and\nmodest carriage; who, being shocked at some of their flowers of speech,\nand terrified by the menacing looks and gestures of the fiery-featured\ndame, began to scream aloud, and beg leave to quit the coach.  Her\nperturbation put an end to the high debate.  The sixth passenger, who had\nnot opened his mouth, endeavoured to comfort her with assurances of\nprotection; the quaker proposed a cessation of arms; the male disputant\nacquiesced in the proposal, assuring the company he had entered the lists\nfor their entertainment only, without acquiring the least grudge or\nill-will to the fat gentlewoman, whom he protested he had never seen\nbefore that day, and who, for aught he knew, was a person of credit and\nreputation.  He then held forth his hand in token of amity, and asked\npardon of the offended party, who was appeased by his submission; and, in\ntestimony of her benevolence, presented to the other female, whom she had\ndiscomposed, an Hungary-water bottle filled with cherry-brandy,\nrecommending it as a much more powerful remedy than the sal-volatile\nwhich the other held to her nose.\n\nPeace being thus re-established, in a treaty comprehending Obadiah and\nall present, it will not be improper to give the reader some further\ninformation, touching the several characters assembled in this vehicle.\nThe quaker was a London merchant, who had been at Deal superintending the\nrepairs of a ship which had suffered by a storm in the Downs.  The\nWapping landlady was on her return from the same place, where she had\nattended the payment of a man-of-war, with sundry powers of attorney,\ngranted by the sailors, who had lived upon credit at her house.  Her\ncompetitor in fame was a dealer in wine, a smuggler of French lace, and a\npetty gamester just arrived from Paris, in the company of an English\nbarber, who sat on his right hand, and the young woman was daughter of a\ncountry curate, in her way to London, where she was bound apprentice to a\nmilliner.\n\nHitherto Fathom had sat in silent astonishment at the manners of his\nfellow-travellers, which far exceeded the notions he had preconceived of\nEnglish plainness and rusticity.  He found himself a monument of that\ndisregard and contempt which a stranger never fails to meet with from the\ninhabitants of this island; and saw, with surprise, an agreeable young\ncreature sit as solitary and unheeded as himself.\n\nHe was, indeed, allured by the roses of her complexion, and the innocence\nof her aspect, and began to repent of having pretended ignorance of the\nlanguage, by which he was restrained from exercising his eloquence upon\nher heart; he resolved, however, to ingratiate himself, if possible, by\nthe courtesy and politeness of dumb show, and for that purpose put his\neyes in motion without farther delay.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY-NINE\n\nANOTHER PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCE FROM THE EFFECTS OF THE SMUGGLER'S\nINGENIOUS CONJECTURE.\n\n\nDuring these deliberations, the wine merchant, with a view to make a\nparade of his superior parts and breeding, as well as to pave the way for\na match at backgammon, made a tender of his snuff-box to our adventurer,\nand asked, in bad French, how he travelled from Paris.  This question\nproduced a series of interrogations concerning the place of Ferdinand's\nabode in that city, and his business in England, so that he was fain to\npractise the science of defence, and answered with such ambiguity, as\naroused the suspicion of the smuggler, who began to believe our hero had\nsome very cogent reason for evading his curiosity; he immediately set his\nreflection at work, and, after various conjectures, fixed upon Fathom's\nbeing the Young Pretender.  Big with this supposition, he eyed him with\nthe most earnest attention, comparing his features with those of the\nChevalier's portrait which he had seen in France, and though the faces\nwere as unlike as any two human faces could be, found the resemblance so\nstriking as to dispel all his doubts, and persuade him to introduce the\nstranger to some justice on the road; a step by which he would not only\nmanifest his zeal for the Protestant succession, but also acquire the\nsplendid reward proposed by parliament to any person who should apprehend\nthat famous adventurer.\n\nThese ideas intoxicated the brain of this man to such a pitch of\nenthusiasm, that he actually believed himself in possession of the thirty\nthousand pounds, and amused his fancy with a variety of magnificent\nprojects to be executed by means of that acquisition, until his reverie\nwas interrupted by the halting of the coach at the inn where the\npassengers used to eat their breakfasts.  Waked as he was from the dream\nof happiness, it had made such impression upon his mind, that, seeing\nFathom rise up with an intention to alight, he took it for granted his\ndesign was to escape, and seizing him by the collar, called aloud for\nassistance in the King's name.\n\nOur hero, whose sagacity and presence of mind very often supplied the\nplace of courage, instead of being terrified at this assault, which might\nhave disturbed the tranquillity of an ordinary villain, was so perfectly\nmaster of every circumstance of his own situation, as to know at once\nthat the aggressor could not possibly have the least cause of complaint\nagainst him; and therefore, imputing this violence either to madness or\nmistake, very deliberately suffered himself to be made prisoner by the\npeople of the house, who ran to the coach door in obedience to the\nsummons of the wine merchant.  The rest of the company were struck dumb\nwith surprise and consternation at this sudden adventure; and the quaker,\ndreading some fell resistance on the side of the outlandish man, unpinned\nthe other coach door in the twinkling of an eye, and trundled himself\ninto the mud for safety.  The others, seeing the temper and resignation\nof the prisoner, soon recovered their recollection, and began to inquire\ninto the cause of his arrest, upon which, the captor, whose teeth\nchattered with terror and impatience, gave them to understand that he was\na state criminal, and demanded their help in conveying him to justice.\n\nLuckily for both parties, there happened to be at the inn a company of\nsquires just returned from the death of a leash of hares, which they had\nordered to be dressed for dinner, and among these gentlemen was one of\nthe quorum, to whom the accuser had immediate recourse, marching before\nthe captive, who walked very peaceably between the landlord and one of\nhis waiters, and followed by a crowd of spectators, some of whom had\nsecured the faithful Maurice, who in his behaviour closely imitated the\ndeliberation of his master.  In this order did the procession advance to\nthe apartment in which the magistrate, with his fellows of the chase, sat\nsmoking his morning pipe over a tankard of strong ale, and the smuggler\nbeing directed to the right person, \"May it please your worship,\" said\nhe, \"I have brought this foreigner before you, on a violent suspicion of\nhis being a proclaimed outlaw; and I desire, before these witnesses, that\nmy title may be made good to the reward that shall become due upon his\nconviction.\"\n\n\"Friend,\" replied the justice, \"I know nothing of you or your titles; but\nthis I know, if you have any information to give in, you must come to my\nhouse when I am at home, and proceed in a lawful way, that is, d'ye mind\nme, if you swear as how this here person is an outlaw; then if so be as\nhe has nothing to say to the contrary, my clerk shall make out a\nmittimus, and so to jail with him till next 'size.\"  \"But, sir,\" answered\nthe impeacher, \"this is a case that admits of no delay; the person I have\napprehended is a prisoner of consequence to the state.\"  \"How, fellor!\"\ncried the magistrate, interrupting him, \"is there any person of more\nconsequence than one of his Majesty's justices of the peace, who is\nbesides a considerable member of the landed interest!  D'ye know, sirrah,\nwho you are talking to?  If you don't go about your business, I believe I\nshall lay you by the heels.\"\n\nThe smuggler, fearing his prize would escape through the ignorance,\npride, and obstinacy of this country justice, approached his worship, and\nin a whisper which was overheard by all the company, assured him he had\nindubitable reason to believe the foreigner was no other than the\nPretender's eldest son.  At mention of this formidable name, every\nindividual of the audience started, with signs of terror and amazement.\nThe justice dropped his pipe, recoiled upon his chair, and, looking most\nridiculously aghast, exclaimed, \"Seize him, in the name of God and his\nMajesty King George!  Has he got no secret arms about him!\"\n\nFathom being thus informed of the suspicion under which he stood, could\nnot help smiling at the eagerness with which the spectators flew upon\nhim, and suffered himself to be searched with great composure, well\nknowing they would find no moveables about his person, but such as upon\nexamination would turn to his account; he therefore very calmly presented\nto the magistrate his purse, and a small box that contained his jewels,\nand in the French language desired they might be preserved from the hands\nof the mob.  This request was interpreted by the accuser, who, at the\nsame time, laid claim to the booty.  The justice took charge of the\ndeposit, and one of his neighbours having undertaken the office of clerk,\nhe proceeded to the examination of the culprit, whose papers were by this\ntime laid on the table before him.  \"Stranger,\" said he, \"you stand\ncharged with being son of the Pretender to these realms; what have you to\nsay in your own defence?\"  Our hero assured him, in the French language,\nthat he was falsely impeached, and demanded justice on the accuser, who,\nwithout the least reason, had made such a malicious attack upon the life\nand honour of an innocent gentleman.\n\nThe smuggler, instead of acting the part of a faithful interpreter, told\nhis worship, that the prisoner's answer was no more than a simple denial,\nwhich every felon would make who had nothing else to plead in his own\nbehalf, and that this alone was a strong presumption of his guilt,\nbecause, if he was not really the person they suspected him to be, the\nthing would speak for itself, for, if he was not the Young Pretender, who\nthen was he?  This argument had great weight with the justice, who,\nassuming a very important aspect, observed, \"Very true, friend, if you\nare not the Pretender, in the name of God, who are you?  One may see with\nhalf an eye that he is no better than a promiscuous fellow.\"\n\nFerdinand now began to repent of having pretended ignorance of the\nEnglish language, as he found himself at the mercy of a rascal, who put a\nfalse gloss upon all his words, and addressed himself to the audience\nsuccessively in French, High Dutch, Italian, and Hungarian Latin,\ndesiring to know if any person present understood any of these tongues,\nthat his answers might be honestly explained to the bench.  But he might\nhave accosted them in Chinese with the same success: there was not one\nperson present tolerably versed in his mother-tongue, much less\nacquainted with any foreign language, except the wine merchant, who,\nincensed at this appeal, which he considered as an affront to his\nintegrity, gave the judge to understand, that the delinquent, instead of\nspeaking to the purpose, contumaciously insulted his authority in sundry\nforeign lingos, which he apprehended was an additional proof of his being\nthe Chevalier's son, inasmuch as no person would take the pains to learn\nsuch a variety of gibberish, except with some sinister intent.\n\nThis annotation was not lost upon the squire, who was too jealous of the\nhonour of his office to overlook such a flagrant instance of contempt.\nHis eyes glistened, his cheeks were inflated with rage.  \"The case is\nplain,\" said he; \"having nothing of signification to offer in his own\nfavour, he grows refractory, and abuses the court in his base Roman\nCatholic jargon; but I'll let you know, for all you pretend to be a\nprince, you are no better than an outlawed vagrant, and I'll show you\nwhat a thing you are when you come in composition with an English\njustice, like me, who have more than once extinguished myself in the\nservice of my country.  As nothing else accrues, your purse, black box,\nand papers shall be sealed up before witnesses, and sent by express to\none of his Majesty's secretaries of state; and, as for yourself, I will\napply to the military at Canterbury, for a guard to conduct you to\nLondon.\"\n\nThis was a very unwelcome declaration to our adventurer, who was on the\npoint of haranguing the justice and spectators in their own language,\nwhen he was relieved from the necessity of taking that step by the\ninterposition of a young nobleman just arrived at the inn, who, being\ninformed of this strange examination, entered the court, and, at first\nsight of the prisoner, assured the justice he was imposed upon; for that\nhe himself had often seen the Young Pretender in Paris, and that there\nwas no kind of resemblance between that adventurer and the person now\nbefore him.  The accuser was not a little mortified at his lordship's\naffirmation, which met with all due regard from the bench, though the\nmagistrate took notice, that, granting the prisoner was not the Young\nChevalier himself, it was highly probable he was an emissary of that\nhouse, as he could give no satisfactory account of himself, and was\npossessed of things of such value as no honest man could expose to the\naccidents of the road.\n\nFathom, having thus found an interpreter, who signified to him, in the\nFrench tongue, the doubts of the justice, told his lordship, that he\nwas a gentleman of a noble house in Germany, who, for certain reasons,\nhad come abroad incognito, with a view to see the world; and that,\nalthough the letters they had seized would prove the truth of that\nassertion, he should be loth to expose his private concerns to the\nknowledge of strangers, if he could possibly be released without that\nmortification.  The young nobleman explained his desire to the court;\nbut, his own curiosity being interested, observed, at the same time,\nthat the justice could not be said to have discharged the duties of his\nstation, until he should have examined every circumstance relating to the\nprisoner.  Upon which remonstrance, he was requested by the bench to\nperuse the papers, and accordingly communicated the substance of one\nletter to this effect:--\n\n\"MY DEAR SON,--Though I am far from approving the rash step you have\ntaken in withdrawing yourself from your father's house, in order to avoid\nan engagement which would have been equally honourable and advantageous\nto your family, I cannot so far suppress my affection, as to bear the\nthought of your undergoing those hardships which, for your disobedience,\nyou deserve to suffer.  I have therefore, without the knowledge of your\nfather, sent the bearer to attend you in your peregrinations; his\nfidelity you know hath been tried in a long course of service, and I have\nentrusted to his care, for your use, a purse of two hundred ducats, and a\nbox of jewels to the value of twice that sum, which, though not\nsufficient to support an equipage suitable to your birth, will, at least\nfor some time, preserve you from the importunities of want.  When you are\ndutiful enough to explain your designs and situation, you may expect\nfurther indulgence from your tender and disconsolate mother,--\n                                                COUNTESS OF FATHOM.\"\n\nThis letter, which, as well as the others, our hero had forged for the\npurpose, effectually answered his intent, in throwing dust in the eyes\nand understanding of the spectators, who now regarded the prisoner with\nlooks of respectful remorse, as a man of quality who had been falsely\naccused.  His lordship, to make a parade of his own politeness and\nimportance, assured the bench, he was no stranger to the family of the\nFathoms, and, with a compliment, gave Ferdinand to understand he had\nformerly seen him at Versailles.  There being no longer room for\nsuspicion, the justice ordered our adventurer to be set at liberty, and\neven invited him to be seated, with an apology for the rude manner in\nwhich he had been treated, owing to the misinformation of the accuser,\nwho was threatened with the stocks, for his malice and presumption.\n\nBut this was not the only triumph our hero obtained over the wine\nmerchant.  Maurice was no sooner unfettered, than, advancing into the\nmiddle of the room, \"My lord,\" said he, addressing himself in French to\nhis master's deliverer, \"since you have been so generous as to protect a\nnoble stranger from the danger of such a false accusation, I hope you\nwill still lay an additional obligation upon the Count, by retorting the\nvengeance of the law upon his perfidious accuser, whom I know to be a\ntrader in those articles of merchandise which are prohibited by the\nordinances of this nation.  I have seen him lately at Boulogne, and am\nperfectly well acquainted with some persons who have supplied him with\nFrench lace and embroidery; and, as a proof of what I allege, I desire\nyou will order him and this barber, who is his understrapper, to be\nexamined on the spot.\"\n\nThis charge, which was immediately explained to the bench, yielded\nextraordinary satisfaction to the spectators, one of whom, being an\nofficer of the customs, forthwith began to exercise his function upon the\nunlucky perruquier, who, being stripped of his upper garments, and even\nof his shirt, appeared like the mummy of an Egyptian king, most curiously\nrolled up in bandages of rich figured gold shalloon, that covered the\nskirts of four embroidered waistcoats.  The merchant, seeing his\nexpectation so unhappily reversed, made an effort to retire with a most\nrueful aspect, but was prevented by the officer, who demanded the\ninterposition of the civil power, that he might undergo the same\nexamination to which the other had been subjected.  He was accordingly\nrifled without loss of time, and the inquiry proved well worth the care\nof him who made it; for a considerable booty of the same sort of\nmerchandise was found in his boots, breeches, hat, and between the\nbuckram and lining of his surtout.  Yet, not contented with this prize,\nthe experienced spoiler proceeded to search his baggage, and, perceiving\na false bottom in his portmanteau, detected beneath it a valuable\naccession to the plunder he had already obtained.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY\n\nTHE SINGULAR MANNER OF FATHOM'S ATTACK AND TRIUMPH OVER THE VIRTUE OF THE\nFAIR ELENOR.\n\n\nProper cognisance being thus taken of these contraband effects, and the\ninformer furnished with a certificate, by which he was entitled to a\nshare of the seizure, the coachman summoned his passengers to the\ncarriage; the purse and jewels were restored to Count Fathom, who thanked\nthe justice, and his lordship in particular, for the candour and\nhospitality with which he had been treated, and resumed his place in the\nvehicle, amidst the congratulations of all his fellow-travellers, except\nthe two forlorn smugglers, who, instead of re-embarking in the coach,\nthought proper to remain at the inn, with view to mitigate, if possible,\nthe severity of their misfortune.\n\nAmong those who felicitated Fathom upon the issue of this adventure, the\nyoung maiden seemed to express the most sensible pleasure at that event.\nThe artful language of his eyes had raised in her breast certain\nfluttering emotions, before she knew the value of her conquest; but now\nthat his rank and condition were discovered, these transports were\nincreased by the ideas of vanity and ambition, which are mingled with the\nfirst seeds of every female constitution.  The belief of having\ncaptivated the heart of a man who could raise her to the rank and dignity\nof a countess, produced such agreeable sensations in her fancy, that her\neyes shone with unusual lustre, and a continual smile played in dimples\non her rosy cheeks; so that her attractions, though not powerful enough\nto engage the affection, were yet sufficient to inflame the desire of our\nadventurer, who very honestly marked her chastity for prey to his\nvoluptuous passion.  Had she been well seasoned with knowledge and\nexperience, and completely armed with caution against the artifice and\nvillany of man, her virtue might not have been able to withstand the\nengines of such an assailant, considering the dangerous opportunities to\nwhich she was necessarily exposed.  How easy then must his victory have\nbeen over an innocent, unsuspecting country damsel, flushed with the\nwarmth of youth, and an utter stranger to the ways of life!\n\nWhile Obadiah, therefore, and his plump companion, were engaged in\nconversation, on the strange incidents which had passed, Fathom acted a\nvery expressive pantomime with this fair buxom nymph, who comprehended\nhis meaning with surprising facility, and was at so little pains to\nconceal the pleasure she took in this kind of intercourse, that several\nwarm squeezes were interchanged between her and her lover, before they\narrived at Rochester, where they proposed to dine.  It was during this\nperiod, he learned from the answers she made to the inquisitive quaker,\nthat her sole dependence was upon a relation, to whom she had a letter,\nand that she was a perfect stranger in the great city; circumstances on\nwhich he soon formed the project of her ruin.\n\nUpon their arrival at the Black Bull, he for the first time found himself\nalone with his Amanda, whose name was Elenor, their fellow-travellers\nbeing elsewhere employed about their own concerns; and, unwilling to lose\nthe precious opportunity, he began to act the part of a very importunate\nlover, which he conceived to be a proper sequel to the prelude which had\nbeen performed in the coach.  The freedoms which she, out of pure\nsimplicity and good-humour, permitted him to take with her hand, and even\nher rosy lips, encouraged him to practise other familiarities upon her\nfair bosom, which scandalised her virtue so much, that, in spite of the\npassion she had begun to indulge in his behalf, she rejected his advances\nwith all the marks of anger and disdain; and he found it necessary to\nappease the storm he had raised, by the most respectful and submissive\ndemeanour; resolving to change his operations, and carry on his attacks,\nso as to make her yield at discretion, without alarming her religion or\npride.  Accordingly, when the bill was called after dinner, he took\nparticular notice of her behaviour, and, perceiving her pull out a large\nleathern purse that contained her money, reconnoitred the pocket in which\nit was deposited, and, while they sat close to each other in the\ncarriage, conveyed it with admirable dexterity into an hole in the\ncushion.  Whether the corpulent couple, who sat opposite to these lovers,\nhad entered into an amorous engagement at the inn, or were severally\ninduced by other motives, is uncertain; but sure it is, both left the\ncoach on that part of the road which lies nearest to Gravesend, and bade\nadieu to the other pair, on pretence of having urgent business at that\nplace.\n\nFerdinand, not a little pleased at their departure, renewed his most\npathetic expressions of love, and sung several French songs on that\ntender subject, which seemed to thrill to the soul of his beauteous\nHelen.  While the driver halted at Dartford to water his horses, she was\nsmit with the appearance of some cheesecakes, which were presented by the\nlandlady of the house, and having bargained for two or three, put her\nhand in her pocket, in order to pay for her purchase; but what was her\nastonishment, when, after having rummaged her equipage, she understood\nher whole fortune was lost!  This mishap was, by a loud shriek, announced\nto our hero, who affected infinite amazement and concern; and no sooner\nlearned the cause of her affliction, than he presented her with his own\npurse, from which he, in emphatic dumb show, begged she would indemnify\nherself for the damage she had sustained.  Although this kind proffer was\nsome alleviation of her misfortunes, she did not fail to pour forth a\nmost piteous lamentation, importing that she had not only lost all her\nmoney, amounting to five pounds, but also her letter of recommendation,\nupon which she had altogether relied for present employment.\n\nThe vehicle was minutely searched from top to bottom, by herself and our\nadventurer, assisted by Maurice and the coachman, who, finding their\ninquiry ineffectual, did not scruple to declare his suspicion of the two\nfat turtles who had deserted the coach in such an abrupt manner.  In a\nword, he rendered this conjecture so plausible, by wresting the\ncircumstances of their behaviour and retreat, that poor Elenor implicitly\nbelieved they were the thieves by whom she had suffered; and was\nprevailed upon to accept the proffered assistance of the generous Count,\nwho, seeing her very much disordered by this mischance, insisted upon her\ndrinking a large glass of canary, to quiet the perturbation of her\nspirits.  This is a season, which of all others is most propitious to the\nattempts of an artful lover; and justifies the metaphorical maxim of\nfishing in troubled waters.  There is an affinity and short transition\nbetwixt all the violent passions that agitate the human mind.  They are\nall false perspectives, which, though they magnify, yet perplex and\nrender indistinct every object which they represent.  And flattery is\nnever so successfully administered, as to those who know they stand in\nneed of friendship, assent, and approbation.\n\nThe cordial she swallowed, far from calming, increased the disturbance of\nher thoughts, and produced an intoxication; during which, she talked in\nan incoherent strain, laughed and wept by turns, and acted other\nextravagances, which are known to be symptoms of the hysterical\naffection.  Fathom, though an utter stranger to the sentiments of honour,\npity, and remorse, would not perpetrate his vicious purpose, though\nfavoured by the delirium his villany had entailed upon this unfortunate\nyoung maiden; because his appetite demanded a more perfect sacrifice than\nthat which she could yield in her present deplorable situation, when her\nwill must have been altogether unconcerned in his success.  Determined,\ntherefore, to make a conquest of her virtue, before he would take\npossession of her person, he mimicked that compassion and benevolence\nwhich his heart had never felt, and, when the coach arrived at London,\nnot only discharged what she owed for her place, but likewise procured\nfor her an apartment in the house to which he himself had been directed\nfor lodgings, and even hired a nurse to attend her during a severe fever,\nwhich was the consequence of her disappointment and despondence.  Indeed,\nshe was supplied with all necessaries by the generosity of this noble\nCount, who, for the interest of his passion, and the honour of his name,\nwas resolved to extend his charity to the last farthing of her own money,\nwhich he had been wise enough to secure for this purpose.\n\nHer youth soon got the better of her distemper, and when she understood\nher obligations to the Count, who did not fail to attend her in person\nwith great tenderness, her heart, which had been before prepossessed in\nhis favour, now glowed with all the warmth of gratitude, esteem, and\naffection.  She knew herself in a strange place, destitute of all\nresource but in his generosity.  She loved his person, she was dazzled by\nhis rank; and he knew so well how to improve the opportunities and\nadvantages he derived from her unhappy situation, that he gradually\nproceeded in sapping from one degree of intimacy to another, until all\nthe bulwarks of her chastity were undermined, and she submitted to his\ndesire; not with the reluctance of a vanquished people, but with all the\ntransports of a joyful city, that opens its gates to receive a darling\nprince returned from conquest.  For by this time he had artfully\nconcentred and kindled up all the inflammable ingredients of her\nconstitution; and she now looked back upon the virtuous principles of her\neducation, as upon a disagreeable and tedious dream, from which she had\nwaked to the fruition of never-fading joy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-ONE\n\nHE BY ACCIDENT ENCOUNTERS HIS OLD FRIEND, WITH WHOM HE HOLDS A\nCONFERENCE, AND RENEWS A TREATY.\n\n\nOur hero, having thus provided himself with a proper subject for his\nhours of dalliance, thought it was now high time to study the ground\nwhich he had pitched upon for the scene of his exploits, and with that\nview made several excursions to different parts of the town, where there\nwas aught of entertainment or instruction to be found.  Yet he always, on\nthese occasions, appeared in an obscure ordinary dress, in order to avoid\nsingularity, and never went twice to the same coffee-house, that his\nperson might not be afterwards known, in case he should shine forth to\nthe public in a superior sphere.  On his return from one of those\nexpeditions, while he was passing through Ludgate, his eyes were suddenly\nencountered by the apparition of his old friend the Tyrolese, who,\nperceiving himself fairly caught in the toil, made a virtue of necessity,\nand, running up to our adventurer with an aspect of eagerness and joy,\nclasped him in his arms, as some dear friend, whom he had casually found\nafter a most tedious and disagreeable separation.\n\nFathom, whose genius never failed him in such emergencies, far from\nreceiving these advances with the threats and reproaches which the other\nhad deserved at his hands, returned the salute with equal warmth, and was\nreally overjoyed at meeting with a person who might one way or other make\namends for the perfidy of his former conduct.  The Tyrolese, whose name\nwas Ratchcali, pleased with his reception, proposed they should adjourn\nto the next tavern, in which they had no sooner taken possession of an\napartment, than he addressed himself to his old companion in these\nwords:--\n\n\"Mr. Fathom, by your frank and obliging manner of treating a man who hath\ndone you wrong, I am more and more confirmed in my opinion of your\nsagacity, which I have often considered with admiration; I will not\ntherefore attempt to make an apology for my conduct at our last parting;\nbut only assure you that this meeting may turn out to our mutual\nadvantage, if we now re-enter into an unreserved union, the ties of which\nwe will soon find it our interest and inclination to preserve.  For my\nown part, as my judgment is ripened by experience, so are my sentiments\nchanged since our last association.  I have seen many a rich harvest\nlost, for want of a fellow-labourer in the vineyard; and I have more than\nonce fallen a sacrifice to a combination, which I could have resisted\nwith the help of one able auxiliary.  Indeed, I might prove what I allege\nby mathematical demonstration; and I believe nobody will pretend to deny,\nthat two heads are better than one, in all cases that require discernment\nand deliberation.\"\n\nFerdinand could not help owning the sanity of his observations, and\nforthwith acquiesced in his proposal of the new alliance; desiring to\nknow the character in which he acted on the English stage, and the scheme\nhe would offer for their mutual emolument.  At the same time he resolved\nwithin himself to keep such a strict eye over his future actions, as\nwould frustrate any design he might hereafter harbour, of repeating the\nprank he had so successfully played upon him, in their journey from the\nbanks of the Rhine.\n\n\"Having quitted you at Bar-le-duc,\" resumed the Tyrolese, \"I travelled\nwithout ceasing, until I arrived at Frankfort upon the Maine, where I\nassumed the character of a French chevalier, and struck some masterly\nstrokes, which you yourself would not have deemed unworthy of your\ninvention; and my success was the more agreeable, as my operations were\nchiefly carried on against the enemies of our religion.  But my\nprosperity was not of long duration.  Seeing they could not foil me at my\nown weapons, they formed a damned conspiracy, by which I not only lost\nall the fruits of my industry, but likewise ran the most imminent hazard\nof my life.  I had ordered some of those jewels which I had borrowed of\nmy good friend Fathom to be new set in a fashionable taste, and soon\nafter had an opportunity to sell one of these, at a great advantage, to\none of the fraternity, who offered an extraordinary price for the stone,\non purpose to effect my ruin.  In less than four-and-twenty hours after\nthis bargain, I was arrested by the officers of justice upon the oath of\nthe purchaser, who undertook to prove me guilty of a fraud, in selling a\nSaxon pebble for a real diamond; and this accusation was actually true;\nfor the change had been artfully put upon me by the jeweller, who was\nhimself engaged in the conspiracy.\n\n\"Had my conscience been clear of any other impeachment, perhaps I should\nhave rested my cause upon the equity and protection of the law; but I\nforesaw that the trial would introduce an inquiry, to which I was not at\nall ambitious of submitting, and therefore was fain to compromise the\naffair, at the price of almost my whole fortune.  Yet this accommodation\nwas not made so secretly, but that my character was blasted, and my\ncredit overthrown; so that I was fain to relinquish my occasional\nequipage, and hire myself as journeyman to a lapidary, an employment\nwhich I had exercised in my youth.  In this obscure station, I laboured\nwith great assiduity, until I made myself perfect in the knowledge of\nstones, as well as in the different methods of setting them off to the\nbest advantage; and having, by dint of industry and address, got\npossession of a small parcel, set out for this kingdom, in which I\nhappily arrived about four months ago; and surely England is the paradise\nof artists of our profession.\n\n\"One would imagine that nature had created the inhabitants for the\nsupport and enjoyment of adventurers like you and me.  Not that these\nislanders open the arms of hospitality to all foreigners without\ndistinction.  On the contrary, they inherit from their fathers an\nunreasonable prejudice against all nations under the sun; and when an\nEnglishman happens to quarrel with a stranger, the first term of reproach\nhe uses is the name of his antagonist's country, characterised by some\nopprobrious epithet, such as a chattering Frenchman, an Italian ape, a\nGerman hog, and a beastly Dutchman; nay, their national prepossession is\nmaintained even against those people with whom they are united under the\nsame laws and government; for nothing is more common than to hear them\nexclaim against their fellow-subjects, in the expressions of a beggarly\nScot, and an impudent Irish bog-trotter.  Yet this very prejudice will\nnever fail to turn to the account of every stranger possessed of ordinary\ntalents; for he will always find opportunities of conversing with them in\ncoffee-houses and places of public resort, in spite of their professed\nreserve, which, by the bye, is so extraordinary, that I know some people\nwho have lived twenty years in the same house without exchanging one word\nwith their next-door neighbours; yet, provided he can talk sensibly, and\npreserve the deportment of a sober gentleman, in those occasional\nconversations, his behaviour will be the more remarkably pleasing, as it\nwill agreeably disappoint the expectation of the person who had\nentertained notions to his prejudice.  When a foreigner has once crossed\nthis bar, which perpetually occurs, he sails without further difficulty\ninto the harbour of an Englishman's goodwill; for the pique is neither\npersonal nor rancorous, but rather contemptuous and national; so that,\nwhile he despises a people in the lump, an individual of that very\ncommunity may be one of his chief favourites.\n\n\"The English are in general upright and honest, therefore unsuspecting\nand credulous.  They are too much engrossed with their own business to\npry into the conduct of their neighbours, and too indifferent, in point\nof disposition, to interest themselves in what they conceive to be\nforeign to their own concerns.  They are wealthy and mercantile, of\nconsequence liberal and adventurous, and so well disposed to take a man's\nown word for his importance, that they suffer themselves to be preyed\nupon by such a bungling set of impostors, as would starve for lack of\naddress in any other country under the sun.  This being a true sketch of\nthe British character, so far as I have been able to observe and learn,\nyou will easily comprehend the profits that may be extracted from it, by\nvirtue of those arts by which you so eminently excel;--the great, the\nunbounded prospect lies before me!  Indeed, I look upon this opulent\nkingdom as a wide and fertile common, on which we adventurers may range\nfor prey, without let or molestation.  For so jealous are the natives of\ntheir liberties, that they will not bear the restraint of necessary\npolice, and an able artist may enrich himself with their spoils, without\nrunning any risk of attracting the magistrate, or incurring the least\npenalty of the law.\n\n\"In a word, this metropolis is a vast masquerade, in which a man of\nstratagem may wear a thousand different disguises, without danger of\ndetection.  There is a variety of shapes in which we the knights of\nindustry make our appearance in London.  One glides into a nobleman's\nhouse in the capacity of a valet-de-chambre, and in a few months leads\nthe whole family by the nose.  Another exhibits himself to the public, as\nan empiric or operator for the teeth; and by dint of assurance and\naffidavits, bearing testimony to wonderful cures that never were\nperformed, whirls himself into his chariot, and lays the town under\ncontribution.  A third professes the composition of music, as well as the\nperformance, and by means of a few capriciosos on the violin, properly\nintroduced, wriggles himself into the management of private and public\nconcerts.  And a fourth breaks forth at once in all the splendour of a\ngay equipage, under the title and denomination of a foreign count.  Not\nto mention those inferior projectors, who assume the characters of\ndancers, fencing-masters, and French ushers, or, by renouncing their\nreligion, seek to obtain a provision for life.\n\n\"Either of these parts will turn to the account of an able actor; and, as\nyou are equally qualified for all, you may choose that which is most\nsuitable to your own inclination.  Though, in my opinion, you was\ndesigned by nature to shine in the great world, which, after all, is the\nmost ample field for men of genius; because the game is deeper, and\npeople of fashion being, for the most part, more ignorant, indolent,\nvain, and capricious, than their inferiors, are of consequence more\neasily deceived; besides, their morals sit generally so loose about them,\nthat, when a gentleman of our fraternity is discovered in the exercise of\nhis profession, their contempt of his skill is the only disgrace he\nincurs.\"\n\nOur hero was so well pleased with this picture, that he longed to peruse\nthe original, and, before these two friends parted, they settled all the\noperations of the campaign.  Ratchcali, that same evening, hired\nmagnificent lodgings for Count Fathom, in the court end of the town, and\nfurnished his wardrobe and liveries from the spoils of Monmouth Street;\nhe likewise enlisted another footman and valet-de-chambre into his\nservice, and sent to the apartments divers large trunks, supposed to be\nfilled with the baggage of this foreign nobleman, though, in reality,\nthey contained little else than common lumber.\n\nNext day, our adventurer took possession of his new habitation, after\nhaving left to his friend and associate the task of dismissing the\nunfortunate Elenor, who was so shocked at the unexpected message, that\nshe fainted away; and when she recovered the use of her senses so well as\nto reflect upon her forlorn condition, she was seized with the most\nviolent transports of grief and dismay, by which her brain was disordered\nto such a degree, that she grew furious and distracted, and was, by the\nadvice and assistance of the Tyrolese, conveyed into the hospital of\nBethlem; where we shall leave her for the present, happily bereft of her\nreason.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-TWO\n\nHE APPEARS IN THE GREAT WORLD WITH UNIVERSAL APPLAUSE AND ADMIRATION.\n\n\nMeanwhile, Fathom and his engine were busied in completing his equipage,\nso that in a few days he had procured a very gay chariot, adorned with\npainting, gilding, and a coat of arms, according to his own fancy and\ndirection.  The first use he made of this vehicle was that of visiting\nthe young nobleman from whom he had received such important civilities on\nthe road, in consequence of an invitation at parting, by which he learned\nhis title and the place of his abode in London.\n\nHis lordship was not only pleased, but proud to see such a stranger at\nhis gate, and entertained him with excess of complaisance and\nhospitality; insomuch that, by his means, our hero soon became acquainted\nwith the whole circle of polite company, by whom he was caressed for his\ninsinuating manners and agreeable conversation.  He had thought proper to\ntell the nobleman, at their first interview in town, that his reasons for\nconcealing his knowledge of the English tongue were now removed, and that\nhe would no longer deny himself the pleasure of speaking a language which\nhad been always music to his ear.  He had also thanked his lordship for\nhis generous interposition at the inn, which was an instance of that\ngenerosity and true politeness which are engrossed by the English people,\nwho leave nought to other nations but the mere shadow of these virtues.\n\nA testimony like this, from the mouth of such a noble stranger, won the\nheart of the peer, who professed a friendship for him on the spot, and\nundertook to see justice done to his lacquey, who in a short time was\ngratified with a share of the seizure which had been made upon his\ninformation, amounting to fifty or sixty pounds.\n\nFerdinand put not forth the whole strength of his accomplishments at\nonce, but contrived to spring a new mine of qualification every day, to\nthe surprise and admiration of all his acquaintance.  He was gifted with\na sort of elocution, much more specious than solid, and spoke on every\nsubject that occurred in conversation with that familiarity and ease,\nwhich, one would think, could only be acquired by long study and\napplication.  This plausibility and confidence are faculties really\ninherited from nature, and effectually serve the possessor, in lieu of\nthat learning which is not to be obtained without infinite toil and\nperseverance.  The most superficial tincture of the arts and sciences in\nsuch a juggler, is sufficient to dazzle the understanding of half\nmankind; and, if managed with circumspection, will enable him even to\nspend his life among the literati, without once forfeiting the character\nof a connoisseur.\n\nOur hero was perfectly master of this legerdemain, which he carried to\nsuch a pitch of assurance, as to declare, in the midst of a mathematical\nassembly, that he intended to gratify the public with a full confutation\nof Sir Isaac Newton's philosophy, to the nature of which he was as much a\nstranger as the most savage Hottentot in Africa.  His pretensions to\nprofound and universal knowledge were supported not only by this kind of\npresumption, but also by the facility with which he spoke so many\ndifferent languages, and the shrewd remarks he had made in the course of\nhis travels and observation.\n\nAmong politicians, he settled the balance of power upon a certain\nfooting, by dint of ingenious schemes, which he had contrived for the\nwelfare of Europe.  With officers, he reformed the art of war, with\nimprovements which had occurred to his reflection while he was engaged in\na military life.  He sometimes held forth upon painting, like a member of\nthe Dilettanti club.  The theory of music was a theme upon which he\nseemed to expatiate with particular pleasure.  In the provinces of love\nand gallantry, he was a perfect Oroondates.  He possessed a most\nagreeable manner of telling entertaining stories, of which he had a large\ncollection; he sung with great melody and taste, and played upon the\nviolin with surprising execution.  To these qualifications let us add his\naffability and pliant disposition, and then the reader will not wonder\nthat he was looked upon as the pattern of human perfection, and his\nacquaintance courted accordingly.\n\nWhile he thus captivated the favour and affection of the English\nnobility, he did not neglect to take other measures in behalf of the\npartnership to which he had subscribed.  The adventure with the two\nsquires at Paris had weakened his appetite for play, which was not at all\nrestored by the observations he had made in London, where the art of\ngaming is reduced into a regular system, and its professors so laudably\ndevoted to the discharge of their functions, as to observe the most\ntemperate regimen, lest their invention should be impaired by the fatigue\nof watching or exercise, and their ideas disturbed by the fumes of\nindigestion.  No Indian Brachman could live more abstemious than two of\nthe pack, who hunted in couple, and kennelled in the upper apartments of\nthe hotel in which our adventurer lived.  They abstained from animal food\nwith the abhorrence of Pythagoreans, their drink was a pure simple\nelement, they were vomited once a week, took physic or a glyster every\nthird day, spent the forenoon in algebraical calculations, and slept from\nfour o'clock till midnight, that they might then take the field with that\ncool serenity which is the effect of refreshment and repose.\n\nThese were terms upon which our hero would not risk his fortune; he was\ntoo much addicted to pleasure to forego every other enjoyment but that of\namassing; and did not so much depend upon his dexterity in play as upon\nhis talent of insinuation, which, by this time, had succeeded so far\nbeyond his expectation, that he began to indulge the hope of enslaving\nthe heart of some rich heiress, whose fortune would at once raise him\nabove all dependence.  Indeed, no man ever set out with a fairer prospect\non such an expedition; for he had found means to render himself so\nagreeable to the fair sex, that, like the boxes of the playhouse, during\nthe representation of a new performance, his company was often bespoke\nfor a series of weeks; and no lady, whether widow, wife, or maiden, ever\nmentioned his name, without some epithet of esteem or affection; such as\nthe dear Count! the charming Man! the Nonpareil, or the Angel!\n\nWhile he thus shone in the zenith of admiration, it is not to be doubted,\nthat he could have melted some wealthy dowager or opulent ward; but,\nbeing an enemy to all precipitate engagements, he resolved to act with\ngreat care and deliberation in an affair of such importance, especially\nas he did not find himself hurried by the importunities of want; for,\nsince his arrival in England, he had rather increased than exhausted his\nfinances, by methods equally certain and secure.  In a word, he, with the\nassistance of Ratchcali, carried on a traffic, which yielded great\nprofits, without subjecting the trader to the least loss or\ninconvenience.  Fathom, for example, wore upon his finger a large\nbrilliant, which he played to such advantage one night, at a certain\nnobleman's house, where he was prevailed upon to entertain the company\nwith a solo on the violin, that everybody present took notice of its\nuncommon lustre, and it was handed about for the perusal of every\nindividual.  The water and the workmanship were universally admired; and\none among the rest having expressed a desire of knowing the value of such\na jewel, the Count seized that opportunity of entertaining them with a\nlearned disquisition into the nature of stones; this introduced the\nhistory of the diamond in question, which he said had been purchased of\nan Indian trader of Fort St. George, at an under price; so that the\npresent proprietor could afford to sell it at a very reasonable rate; and\nconcluded with telling the company, that, for his own part, he had been\nimportuned to wear it by the jeweller, who imagined it would have a\nbetter chance for attracting a purchaser on his finger, than while it\nremained in his own custody.\n\nThis declaration was no sooner made, than a certain lady of quality\nbespoke the refuse of the jewel, and desired Ferdinand to send the owner\nnext day to her house, where he accordingly waited upon her ladyship with\nthe ring, for which he received one hundred and fifty guineas, two-thirds\nof the sum being clear gain, and equally divided betwixt the associates.\nNor was this bargain such as reflected dishonour upon the lady's taste,\nor could be productive of ill consequences to the merchant; for the\nmethod of estimating diamonds is altogether arbitrary; and Ratchcali, who\nwas an exquisite lapidary, had set it in such a manner as would have\nimposed upon any ordinary jeweller.  By these means of introduction, the\nTyrolese soon monopolised the custom of a great many noble families, upon\nwhich he levied large contributions, without incurring the least\nsuspicion of deceit.  He every day, out of pure esteem and gratitude for\nthe honour of their commands, entertained them with the sight of some new\ntrinket, which he was never permitted to carry home unsold; and from the\nprofits of each job, a tax was raised for the benefit of our adventurer.\n\nYet his indultos were not confined to the article of jewels, which\nconstituted only one part of his revenue.  By the industry of his\nunderstrapper, he procured a number of old crazy fiddles, which were\nthrown aside as lumber; upon which he counterfeited the Cremona mark, and\notherwise cooked them up with great dexterity; so that, when he had\noccasion to regale the lovers of music, he would send for one of these\nvamped instruments, and extract from it such tones as quite ravished the\nhearers; among whom there was always some conceited pretender, who spoke\nin raptures of the violin, and gave our hero an opportunity of launching\nout in its praise, and declaring it was the best Cremona he had ever\ntouched.  This encomium never failed to inflame the desires of the\naudience, to some one of whom he was generous enough to part with it at\nprime cost--that is, for twenty or thirty guineas clear profit; for he\nwas often able to oblige his friends in this manner, because, being an\neminent connoisseur, his countenance was solicited by all the musicians,\nwho wanted to dispose of such moveables.\n\nNor did he neglect the other resources of a skilful virtuoso.  Every\nauction afforded some picture, in which, though it had been overlooked by\nthe ignorance of the times, he recognised the style of a great master,\nand made a merit of recommending it to some noble friend.  This commerce\nhe likewise extended to medals, bronzes, busts, intaglios, and old china,\nand kept divers artificers continually employed in making antiques for\nthe English nobility.  Thus he went on with such rapidity of success in\nall his endeavours, that he himself was astonished at the infatuation he\nhad produced.  Nothing was so wretched among the productions of art, that\nhe could not impose upon the world as a capital performance; and so\nfascinated were the eyes of his admirers, he could easily have persuaded\nthem that a barber's bason was an Etrurian patera, and the cover of a\ncopper pot no other than the shield of Ancus Martius.  In short, it was\nbecome so fashionable to consult the Count in everything relating to\ntaste and politeness, that not a plan was drawn, not even a house\nfurnished, without his advice and approbation; nay, to such a degree did\nhis reputation in these matters excel, that a particular pattern of\npaper-hangings was known by the name of Fathom; and his hall was every\nmorning crowded with upholsterers, and other tradesmen, who came, by\norder of their employers, to learn his choice, and take his directions.\n\nThe character and influence he thus acquired, he took care to maintain\nwith the utmost assiduity and circumspection.  He never failed to appear\nthe chief personage at all public diversions and private assemblies, not\nonly in conversation and dress, but also in the article of dancing, in\nwhich he outstripped all his fellows, as far as in every other genteel\naccomplishment.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-THREE\n\nHE ATTRACTS THE ENVY AND ILL OFFICES OF THE MINOR KNIGHTS OF HIS OWN\nORDER, OVER WHOM HE OBTAINS A COMPLETE VICTORY.\n\n\nSuch a pre-eminence could not be enjoyed without exciting the malevolence\nof envy and detraction, in the propagation of which none were so\nindustrious as the brethren of his own order, who had, like him, made a\ndescent upon this island, and could not, without repining, see the whole\nharvest in the hands of one man, who, with equal art and discretion,\navoided all intercourse with their society.  In vain they strove to\ndiscover his pedigree, and detect the particular circumstances of his\nlife and conversation; all their inquiries were baffled by the obscurity\nof his origin, and that solitary scheme which he had adopted in the\nbeginning of his career.  The whole fruit of their investigation amounted\nto no more than a certainty that there was no family of any consideration\nin Europe known by the denomination of Fathom; and this discovery they\ndid not fail to divulge for the benefit of our adventurer, who had by\nthis time taken such firm root in the favour of the great, as to set all\nthose little arts at defiance; and when the report reached his ear,\nactually made his friends merry with the conjectures which had been\ncirculated at his expense.\n\nHis adversaries, finding themselves disappointed in this effort, held a\nconsultation to devise other measures against him, and came to a\nresolution of ending him by the sword, or rather of expelling him from\nthe kingdom by the fear of death, which they hoped he had not courage\nenough to resist, because his deportment had always been remarkably mild\nand pacific.  It was upon this supposition that they left to the\ndetermination of the dice the choice of the person who should execute\ntheir plan; and the lot falling upon a Swiss, who, from the station of a\nfoot soldier in the Dutch service, out of which he had been drummed for\ntheft, had erected himself into the rank of a self-created chevalier,\nthis hero fortified himself with a double dose of brandy, and betook\nhimself to a certain noted coffee-house, with an intent to affront Count\nFathom in public.\n\nHe was lucky enough to find our adventurer sitting at a table in\nconversation with some persons of the first rank; upon which he seated\nhimself in the next box, and after having intruded himself into their\ndiscourse, which happened to turn upon the politics of some German\ncourts, \"Count,\" said he to Ferdinand, in a very abrupt and disagreeable\nmanner of address, \"I was last night in company with some gentlemen,\namong whom a dispute happened about the place of your nativity; pray,\nwhat country are you of?\"  \"Sir,\" answered the other, with great\npoliteness, \"I at present have the honour to be of England.\"  \"Oho!\"\nreplied the chevalier, \"I ask your pardon, that is to say, you are incog;\nsome people may find it convenient to keep themselves in that situation.\"\n\"True,\" said the Count, \"but some people are too well known to enjoy that\nprivilege.\"  The Swiss being a little disconcerted at this repartee,\nwhich extracted a smile from the audience, after some pause, observed,\nthat persons of a certain class had good reason to drop the remembrance\nof what they have been; but a good citizen will not forget his country,\nor former condition.  \"And a bad citizen,\" said Fathom, \"cannot, if he\nwould, provided he has met with his deserts; a sharper may as well forget\nthe shape of a die, or a discarded soldier the sound of a drum.\"\n\nAs the chevalier's character and story were not unknown, this application\nraised an universal laugh at his expense, which provoked him to such a\ndegree, that, starting up, he swore Fathom could not have mentioned any\nobject in nature that he himself resembled so much as a drum, which was\nexactly typified by his emptiness and sound, with this difference,\nhowever, that a drum was never noisy till beaten, whereas the Count would\nnever be quiet, until he should have undergone the same discipline.  So\nsaying, he laid his hand upon his sword with a menacing look, and walked\nout as if in expectation of being followed by our adventurer, who\nsuffered himself to be detained by the company, and very calmly took\nnotice, that his antagonist would not be ill pleased at their\ninterposition.  Perhaps he would not have comported himself with such\nease and deliberation, had not he made such remarks upon the disposition\nof the chevalier, as convinced him of his own safety.  He had perceived a\nperplexity and perturbation in the countenance of the Swiss, when he\nfirst entered the coffee-room; his blunt and precipitate way of accosting\nhim seemed to denote confusion and compulsion; and, in the midst of his\nferocity, this accurate observer discerned the trepidation of fear.  By\nthe help of these signs, his sagacity soon comprehended the nature of his\nschemes, and prepared accordingly for a formal defiance.\n\nHis conjecture was verified next morning by a visit from the chevalier,\nwho, taking it for granted that Fathom would not face an adversary in the\nfield, because he had not followed him from the coffee-house, went to his\nlodgings with great confidence, and demanded to see the Count upon an\naffair that would admit of no delay.  Maurice, according to his\ninstructions, told him that his master was gone out, but desired he would\nhave the goodness to repose himself in the parlour, till the Count's\nreturn, which he expected every moment.  Ferdinand, who had taken post in\na proper place for observation, seeing his antagonist fairly admitted,\ntook the same road, and appearing before him, wrapped up in a long\nSpanish cloak, desired to know what had procured him the honour of such\nan early visit.  The Swiss, raising his voice to conceal his agitation,\nexplained his errand, in demanding reparation for the injury his honour\nhad sustained the preceding day, in that odious allusion to a scandalous\nreport which had been raised by the malice of his enemies; and insisted,\nin a very imperious style, upon his attending him forthwith to the\nnursery in Hyde Park.  \"Have a little patience,\" said our adventurer with\ngreat composure, \"and I will do myself the pleasure to wait upon you in a\nfew moments.\"\n\nWith these words, he rang the bell, and, calling for a bason of water,\nlaid aside his cloak, and displayed himself in his shirt, with a sword in\nhis right hand, which was all over besmeared with recent blood, as if he\nhad just come from the slaughter of a foe.  This phenomenon made such an\nimpression upon the astonished chevalier, already discomposed by the\nresolute behaviour of the Count, that he became jaundiced with terror and\ndismay, and, while his teeth chattered in his head, told our hero he had\nhoped, from his known politeness, to have found him ready to acknowledge\nan injury which might have been the effect of anger or misapprehension,\nin which case the affair might have been compromised to their mutual\nsatisfaction, without proceeding to those extremities which, among men of\nhonour, are always accounted the last resource.  To this representation\nFerdinand answered, that the affair had been of the chevalier's own\nseeking, inasmuch as he had intruded himself into his company, and\ntreated him with the most insolent and unprovoked abuse, which plainly\nflowed from a premeditated design against his honour and reputation; he,\ntherefore, far from being disposed to own himself in the wrong, would not\neven accept of a public acknowledgment from him, the aggressor, whom he\nlooked upon as an infamous sharper, and was resolved to chastise\naccordingly.\n\nHere the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a person who was\nbrought to the door in a chair, and conducted into another apartment,\nfrom which a message was brought to the Count, importing, that the\nstranger desired to speak with him upon business of the last importance.\nFathom having chid the servant for admitting people without his order,\ndesired the Swiss to excuse him for a minute longer, and went in to the\nnext room, from whence the following dialogue was overheard by this\nchallenger:--\"Count,\" said the stranger, \"you are not ignorant of my\npretensions to the heart of that young lady, at whose house I met you\nyesterday; therefore you cannot be surprised when I declare myself\ndispleased with your visits and behaviour to my mistress, and demand that\nyou will instantly promise to drop the correspondence.\"  \"Else what\nfollows?\" answered Ferdinand, with a cool and temperate voice.  \"My\nresentment and immediate defiance,\" replied the other; \"for the only\nalternative I propose is, to forego your design upon that lady, or to\ndecide our pretension by the sword.\"\n\nOur hero, having expressed a regard for this visitant as the son of a\ngentleman whom he honoured, was at the pains to represent the\nunreasonableness of his demand, and the folly of his presumption; and\nearnestly exhorted him to put the issue of his cause upon a more safe and\nequitable footing.  But this admonition, instead of appeasing the wrath,\nseemed to inflame the resentment of the opponent, who swore he would not\nleave him until he should have accomplished the purport of his errand.\nIn vain our adventurer requested half an hour for the despatch of some\nurgent business, in which he was engaged with a gentleman in the other\nparlour.  This impetuous rival rejected all the terms he could propose,\nand even challenged him to decide the controversy upon the spot; an\nexpedient to which the other having assented with reluctance, the door\nwas secured, the swords unsheathed, and a hot engagement ensued, to the\ninexpressible pleasure of the Swiss, who did not doubt that he himself\nwould be screened from all danger by the event of this rencontre.\nNevertheless, his hope was disappointed in the defeat of the stranger,\nwho was quickly disarmed, in consequence of a wound through the\nsword-arm; upon which occasion Fathom was heard to say, that, in\nconsideration of his youth and family, he had spared his life; but he\nwould not act with the same tenderness towards any other antagonist.  He\nthen bound up the limb he had disabled, conducted the vanquished party to\nhis chair, rejoined the chevalier with a serene countenance, and, asking\npardon for having detained him so long, proposed they should instantly\nset out in a hackney-coach for the place of appointment.\n\nThe stratagem thus conducted, had all the success the inventor could\ndesire.  The fear of the Swiss had risen almost to an ecstasy before the\nCount quitted the room; but after this sham battle, which had been\npreconcerted betwixt our adventurer and his friend Ratchcali, the\nchevalier's terrors were unspeakable.  He considered Fathom as a devil\nincarnate, and went into the coach as a malefactor bound for Tyburn.  He\nwould have gladly compounded for the loss of a leg or arm, and\nentertained some transient gleams of hope, that he should escape for half\na dozen flesh-wounds, which he would have willingly received as the price\nof his presumption; but these hopes were banished by the remembrance of\nthat dreadful declaration which he had heard the Count make, after having\novercome his last adversary; and he continued under the power of the most\nunsupportable panic, until the carriage halted at Hyde Park Corner, where\nhe crawled forth in a most piteous and lamentable condition; so that,\nwhen they reached the spot, he was scarce able to stand.\n\nHere he made an effort to speak, and propose an accommodation upon a new\nplan, by which he promised to leave his cause to the arbitrement of those\ngentlemen who were present at the rupture, and to ask pardon of the\nCount, provided he should be found guilty of a trespass upon good\nmanners; but this proposal would not satisfy the implacable Ferdinand,\nwho, perceiving the agony of the Swiss, resolved to make the most of the\nadventure, and giving him to understand he was not a man to be trifled\nwith, desired him to draw without further preamble.  Thus compelled, the\nunfortunate gamester pulled off his coat, and, putting himself in a\nposture, to use the words of Nym, \"winked, and held out his cold iron.\"\n\nOur adventurer, far from making a gentle use of the advantages he\npossessed, fiercely attacked him, while he was incapable of making\nresistance, and, aiming at a fleshy part, ran him through the arm and\noutside of the shoulder at the very first pass.  The chevalier, already\nstupefied with the horror of expectation, no sooner felt his adversary's\npoint in his body than he fell to the ground, and, concluding he was no\nlonger a man for this world, began to cross himself with great devotion;\nwhile Fathom walked home deliberately, and in his way sent a couple of\nchairmen to the assistance of the wounded knight.\n\nThis achievement, which could not be concealed from the knowledge of the\npublic, not only furnished the character of Fathom with fresh wreaths of\nadmiration and applause, but likewise effectually secured him from any\nfuture attempts of his enemies, to whom the Swiss, for his own sake, had\ncommunicated such terrible ideas of his valour, as overawed the whole\ncommunity.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR\n\nHE PERFORMS ANOTHER EXPLOIT, THAT CONVEYS A TRUE IDEA OF HIS GRATITUDE\nAND HONOUR.\n\n\nIt was not long after this celebrated victory, that he was invited to\nspend part of the summer at the house of a country gentleman, who lived\nabout one hundred miles from London, possessed of a very opulent fortune,\nthe greatest part of which was expended in acts of old English\nhospitality.  He had met with our hero by accident at the table of a\ncertain great man, and was so struck with his manner and conversation, as\nto desire his acquaintance, and cultivate his friendship; and he thought\nhimself extremely happy in having prevailed upon him to pass a few weeks\nin his family.\n\nFathom, among his other observations, perceived that there was a domestic\nuneasiness, occasioned by a very beautiful young creature about the age\nof fifteen, who resided in the house under the title of the gentleman's\nniece, though she was in reality his natural daughter, born before his\nmarriage.  This circumstance was not unknown to his lady, by whose\nexpress approbation he had bestowed particular attention upon the\neducation of the child, whom we shall distinguish by the name of Celinda.\nTheir liberality in this particular had not been misapplied; for she not\nonly gave marks of uncommon capacity, but, as she grew up, became more\nand more amiable in her person, and was now returned from the boarding\nschool, possessed of every accomplishment that could be acquired by one\nof her age and opportunities.  These qualifications, which endeared her\nto every other person, excited the jealousy and displeasure of her\nsupposed aunt, who could not bear to see her own children eclipsed by\nthis illegitimate daughter, whom she therefore discountenanced upon all\noccasions, and exposed to such mortifications as would in all appearance\ndrive her from her father's house.  This persecuting spirit was very\ndisagreeable to the husband, who loved Celinda with a truly paternal\naffection, and produced abundance of family disquiet; but being a man of\na peaceable and yielding disposition, he could not long maintain the\nresolution he had taken in her favour, and therefore he ceased opposing\nthe malevolence of his wife.\n\nIn this unfortunate predicament stood the fair bastard, at the arrival of\nour adventurer, who, being allured by her charms, apprised of her\nsituation at the same time, took the generous resolution to undermine her\ninnocence, that he might banquet his vicious appetite with the spoils of\nher beauty.  Perhaps such a brutal design might not have entered his\nimagination, if he had not observed, in the disposition of this hapless\nmaiden, certain peculiarities from which he derived the most confident\npresages of success.  Besides a total want of experience, that left her\nopen and unguarded against the attacks of the other sex, she discovered a\nremarkable spirit of credulity and superstitious fear, which had been\ncherished by the conversation of her school-fellows.  She was\nparticularly fond of music, in which she had made some progress; but so\ndelicate was the texture of her nerves, that one day, while Fathom\nentertained the company with a favourite air, she actually swooned with\npleasure.\n\nSuch sensibility, our projector well knew, must be diffused through all\nthe passions of her heart; he congratulated himself upon the sure\nascendency he had gained over her in this particular; and forthwith began\nto execute the plan he had erected for her destruction.  That he might\nthe more effectually deceive the vigilance of her father's wife, he threw\nsuch a dash of affectation in his complaisance towards Celinda, as could\nnot escape the notice of that prying matron, though it was not palpable\nenough to disoblige the young lady herself, who could not so well\ndistinguish between overstrained courtesy and real good breeding.  This\nbehaviour screened him from the suspicion of the family, who considered\nit as an effort of politeness, to cover his indifference and disgust for\nthe daughter of his friend, who had by this time given some reason to\nbelieve she looked upon him with the eyes of affection; so that the\nopportunities he enjoyed of conversing with her in private, were less\nliable to intrusion or inquiry.  Indeed, from what I have already\nobserved, touching the sentiments of her stepdame, that lady, far from\ntaking measures for thwarting our hero's design, would have rejoiced at\nthe execution of it, and, had she been informed of his intent, might have\nfallen upon some method to facilitate the enterprise; but, as he solely\ndepended upon his own talents, he never dreamed of soliciting such an\nauxiliary.\n\nUnder cover of instructing and accomplishing her in the exercise of\nmusic, he could not want occasions for promoting his aim; when, after\nhaving soothed her sense of hearing, even to a degree of ravishment, so\nas to extort from her an exclamation, importing, that he was surely\nsomething supernatural! he never failed to whisper some insidious\ncompliment or tale of love, exquisitely suited to the emotions of her\nsoul.  Thus was her heart insensibly subdued; though more than half his\nwork was still undone; for, at all times, she disclosed such purity of\nsentiment, such inviolable attachment to religion and virtue, and seemed\nso averse to all sorts of inflammatory discourse, that he durst not\npresume upon the footing he had gained in her affection, to explain the\nbaseness of his desire; he therefore applied to another of her passions,\nthat proved the bane of her virtue.  This was her timidity, which at\nfirst being constitutional, was afterwards increased by the circumstances\nof her education, and now aggravated by the artful conversation of\nFathom, which he chequered with dismal stories of omens, portents,\nprophecies, and apparitions, delivered upon such unquestionable\ntestimony, and with such marks of conviction, as captivated the belief of\nthe devoted Celinda, and filled her imagination with unceasing terrors.\n\nIn vain she strove to dispel those frightful ideas, and avoid such topics\nof discourse for the future.  The more she endeavoured to banish them,\nthe more troublesome they became; and such was her infatuation, that as\nher terrors increased, her thirst after that sort of knowledge was\naugmented.  Many sleepless nights did she pass amidst those horrors of\nfancy, starting at every noise, and sweating with dreary apprehension,\nyet ashamed to own her fears, or solicit the comfort of a bedfellow, lest\nshe should incur the ridicule and censure of her father's wife; and what\nrendered this disposition the more irksome, was the solitary situation of\nher chamber, that stood at the end of a long gallery scarce within\nhearing of any other inhabited part of the house.\n\nAll these circumstances had been duly weighed by our projector, who,\nhaving prepared Celinda for his purpose, stole at midnight from his\napartment, which was in another storey, and approaching her door, there\nuttered a piteous groan; then softly retired to his bed, in full\nconfidence of seeing next day the effect of this operation.  Nor did his\narrow miss the mark.  Poor Celinda's countenance gave such indications of\nmelancholy and dismay, that he could not omit asking the cause of her\ndisquiet, and she, at his earnest request, was prevailed upon to\ncommunicate the dreadful salutation of the preceding night, which she\nconsidered as an omen of death to some person of the family, in all\nprobability to herself, as the groan seemed to issue from one corner of\nher own apartment.  Our adventurer argued against this supposition, as\ncontradictory to the common observation of those supernatural warnings\nwhich are not usually imparted to the person who is doomed to die, but to\nsome faithful friend, or trusty servant, particularly interested in the\nevent.  He therefore supposed, that the groans foreboded the death of my\nlady, who seemed to be in a drooping state of health, and were, by her\ngenius, conveyed to the organs of Celinda, who was the chief sufferer by\nher jealous and barbarous disposition; he likewise expressed an earnest\ndesire to be an ear-witness of such solemn communication, and, alleging\nthat it was highly improper for a young lady of her delicate feelings to\nexpose herself alone to such another dismal visitation, begged he might\nbe allowed to watch all night in her chamber, in order to defend her from\nthe shocking impressions of fear.\n\nThough no person ever stood more in need of a companion or guard, and her\nheart throbbed with transports of dismay at the prospect of night, she\nrejected his proposal with due acknowledgment, and resolved to trust\nsolely to the protection of Heaven.  Not that she thought her innocence\nor reputation could suffer by her compliance with his request; for,\nhitherto, her heart was a stranger to those young desires which haunt the\nfancy, and warm the breast of youth; so that, being ignorant of her\ndanger, she saw not the necessity of avoiding temptation; but she refused\nto admit a man into her bedchamber, merely because it was a step\naltogether opposite to the forms and decorum of life.  Nevertheless, far\nfrom being discouraged by this repulse, he knew her fears would multiply\nand reduce that reluctance, which, in order to weaken, he had recourse to\nanother piece of machinery, that operated powerfully in behalf of his\ndesign.\n\nSome years ago, a twelve-stringed instrument was contrived by a very\ningenious musician, by whom it was aptly entitled the \"Harp of Aeolus,\"\nbecause, being properly applied to a stream of air, it produces a wild\nirregular variety of harmonious sounds, that seem to be the effect of\nenchantment, and wonderfully dispose the mind for the most romantic\nsituations.  Fathom, who was really a virtuoso in music, had brought one\nof those new-fashioned guitars into the country, and as the effect of it\nwas still unknown in the family, he that night converted it to the\npurposes of his amour, by fixing it in the casement of a window belonging\nto the gallery, exposed to the west wind, which then blew in a gentle\nbreeze.  The strings no sooner felt the impression of the balmy zephyr,\nthan they began to pour forth a stream of melody more ravishingly\ndelightful than the song of Philomel, the warbling brook, and all the\nconcert of the wood.  The soft and tender notes of peace and love were\nswelled up with the most delicate and insensible transition into a loud\nhymn of triumph and exultation, joined by the deep-toned organ, and a\nfull choir of voices, which gradually decayed upon the ear, until it died\naway in distant sound, as if a flight of angels had raised the song in\ntheir ascent to heaven.  Yet the chords hardly ceased to vibrate after\nthe expiration of this overture, which ushered in a composition in the\nsame pathetic style; and this again was succeeded by a third, almost\nwithout pause or intermission, as if the artist's hand had been\nindefatigable, and the theme never to be exhausted.\n\nHis heart must be quite callous, and his ear lost to all distinction, who\ncould hear such harmony without emotion; how deeply, then, must it have\naffected the delicate Celinda, whose sensations, naturally acute, were\nwhetted to a most painful keenness by her apprehension; who could have no\nprevious idea of such entertainment, and was credulous enough to believe\nthe most improbable tale of superstition!  She was overwhelmed with awful\nterror, and, never doubting that the sounds were more than mortal,\nrecommended herself to the care of Providence in a succession of pious\nejaculations.\n\nOur adventurer, having allowed some time for the effect of this\ncontrivance, repaired to her chamber door, and, in a whisper, conveyed\nthrough the keyhole, asked if she was awake, begged pardon for such an\nunseasonable visit, and desired to know her opinion of the strange music\nwhich he then heard.  In spite of her notions of decency, she was glad of\nhis intrusion, and, being in no condition to observe punctilios, slipped\non a wrapper, opened the door, and, with a faltering voice, owned herself\nfrightened almost to distraction.  He pretended to console her with\nreflections, importing, that she was in the hands of a benevolent Being,\nwho would not impose upon his creatures any task which they could not\nbear; he insisted upon her returning to bed, and assured her he would not\nstir from her chamber till day.  Thus comforted, she betook herself again\nto rest, while he sat down in an elbow-chair at some distance from the\nbedside, and, in a soft voice, began the conversation with her on the\nsubject of those visitations from above, which, though undertaken on\npretence of dissipating her fear and anxiety, was, in reality, calculated\nfor the purpose of augmenting both.\n\n\"That sweet air,\" said he, \"seems designed for soothing the bodily\nanguish of some saint in his last moments.  Hark! how it rises into a\nmore sprightly and elevated strain, as if it were an inspiriting\ninvitation to the realms of bliss!  Sure, he is now absolved from all the\nmisery of this life!  That full and glorious concert of voices and\ncelestial harps betoken his reception among the heavenly choir, who now\nwaft his soul to paradisian joys!  This is altogether great, solemn, and\namazing!  The clock strikes one, the symphony hath ceased!\"\n\nThis was actually the case; for he had ordered Maurice to remove the\ninstrument at that hour, lest the sound of it should become too familiar,\nand excite the curiosity of some undaunted domestic, who might frustrate\nhis scheme by discovering the apparatus.  As for poor Celinda, her fancy\nwas, by his music and discourse, worked up to the highest pitch of\nenthusiastic terrors; the whole bed shook with her trepidation, the awful\nsilence that succeeded the supernatural music threw an additional damp\nupon her spirits, and the artful Fathom affecting to snore at the same\ntime, she could no longer contain her horror, but called upon his name\nwith a fearful accent, and, having owned her present situation\ninsupportable, entreated him to draw near her bedside, that he might be\nwithin touch on any emergency.\n\nThis was a welcome request to our adventurer, who, asking pardon for his\ndrowsiness, and taking his station on the side of her bed, exhorted her\nto compose herself; then locking her hand fast in his own, was again\nseized with such an inclination to sleep, that he gradually sunk down by\nher side, and seemed to enjoy his repose in that attitude.  Meanwhile,\nhis tender-hearted mistress, that he might not suffer in his health by\nhis humanity and complaisance, covered him with the counterpane as he\nslept, and suffered him to take his rest without interruption, till he\nthought proper to start up suddenly with an exclamation of, \"Heaven watch\nover us!\" and then asked, with symptoms of astonishment, if she had heard\nnothing.  Such an abrupt address upon such an occasion, did not fail to\namaze and affright the gentle Celinda, who, unable to speak, sprung\ntowards her treacherous protector; and he, catching her in his arms, bade\nher fear nothing, for he would, at the expense of his life, defend her\nfrom all danger.\n\nHaving thus, by tampering with her weakness, conquered the first and\nchief obstacles to his design, he, with great art and perseverance,\nimproved the intercourse to such a degree of intimacy, as could not but\nbe productive of all the consequences which he had foreseen.  The groans\nand music were occasionally repeated, so as to alarm the whole family,\nand inspire a thousand various conjectures.  He failed not to continue\nhis nocturnal visits and ghastly discourse, until his attendance became\nso necessary to this unhappy maiden, that she durst not stay in her own\nchamber without his company, nor even sleep, except in contact with her\nbetrayer.\n\nSuch a commerce between two such persons of a different sex could not\npossibly be long carried on, without degenerating from the Platonic\nsystem of sentimental love.  In her paroxysms of dismay, he did not\nforget to breathe the soft inspirations of his passion, to which she\nlistened with more pleasure, as they diverted the gloomy ideas of her\nfear; and by this time his extraordinary accomplishments had made a\nconquest of her heart.  What therefore could be a more interesting\ntransition than that from the most uneasy to the most agreeable sensation\nof the human breast?\n\nThis being the case, the reader will not wonder that a consummate\ntraitor, like Fathom, should triumph over the virtue of an artless,\ninnocent young creature, whose passions he had entirely under his\ncommand.  The gradations towards vice are almost imperceptible, and an\nexperienced seducer can strew them with such enticing and agreeable\nflowers, as will lead the young sinner on insensibly, even to the most\nprofligate stages of guilt.  All therefore that can be done by virtue,\nunassisted with experience, is to avoid every trial with such a\nformidable foe, by declining and discouraging the first advances towards\na particular correspondence with perfidious man, howsoever agreeable it\nmay seem to be.  For here is no security but in conscious weakness.\n\nFathom, though possessed of the spoils of poor Celinda's honour, did not\nenjoy his success with tranquillity.  Reflection and remorse often\ninvaded her in the midst of their guilty pleasures, and embittered all\nthose moments they had dedicated to mutual bliss.  For the seeds of\nvirtue are seldom destroyed at once.  Even amidst the rank productions of\nvice, they regerminate to a sort of imperfect vegetation, like some\nscattered hyacinths shooting up among the weeds of a ruined garden, that\ntestify the former culture and amenity of the soil.  She sighed at the\nsad remembrance of that virgin dignity which she had lost; she wept at\nthe prospect of that disgrace, mortification, and misery she should\nundergo, when abandoned by this transient lover, and severely reproached\nhim for the arts he had used to shipwreck her innocence and peace.\n\nSuch expostulations are extremely unseasonable, when addressed to a man\nwell-nigh sated with the effects of his conquest.  They act like strong\nblasts of wind applied to embers almost extinguished, which, instead of\nreviving the flame, scatter and destroy every remaining particle of fire.\nOur adventurer, in the midst of his peculiarities, had inconstancy in\ncommon with the rest of his sex.  More than half cloyed with the\npossession of Celinda, he could not fail to be disgusted with her\nupbraidings; and had she not been the daughter of a gentleman whose\nfriendship he did not think it his interest to forfeit, he would have\ndropped this correspondence, without reluctance or hesitation.  But, as\nhe had measures to keep with a family of such consequence, he constrained\nhis inclinations, so far as to counterfeit those raptures he no longer\nfelt, and found means to appease those intervening tumults of her grief.\n\nForeseeing, however, that it would not be always in his power to console\nher on these terms, he resolved, if possible, to divide her affection,\nwhich now glowed upon him too intensely; and, with that view, whenever\nshe complained of the vapours or dejection, he prescribed, and even\ninsisted upon her swallowing certain cordials of the most palatable\ncomposition, without which he never travelled; and these produced such\nagreeable reveries and flow of spirits, that she gradually became\nenamoured of intoxication; while he encouraged the pernicious passion, by\nexpressing the most extravagant applause and admiration at the wild\nirregular sallies it produced.  Without having first made this diversion,\nhe would have found it impracticable to leave the house with\ntranquillity; but, when this bewitching philtre grew into an habit, her\nattachment to Ferdinand was insensibly dissolved; she began to bear his\nneglect with indifference, and, sequestering herself from the rest of the\nfamily, used to solicit this new ally for consolation.\n\nHaving thus put the finishing stroke to the daughter's ruin, he took\nleave of the father, with many acknowledgments and expressions of\ngratitude for his hospitality and friendship, and, riding across the\ncountry to Bristol, took up his habitation near the hot well, where he\nstayed during the remaining part of the season.  As for the miserable\nCelinda, she became more and more addicted to the vices in which she had\nbeen initiated by his superlative perfidy and craft, until she was quite\nabandoned by decency and caution.  Her father's heart was torn with\nanguish, while his wife rejoiced in her fall; at length her ideas were\nquite debased by her infirmity; she grew every day more and more sensual\nand degenerate, and contracted an intimacy with one of the footmen, who\nwas kind enough to take her to wife, in hope of obtaining a good\nsettlement from his master; but, being disappointed in his aim, he\nconducted her to London, where he made shift to insinuate himself into\nanother service, leaving her to the use, and partly the advantage, of her\nown person, which was still uncommonly attractive.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE\n\nHE REPAIRS TO BRISTOL SPRING, WHERE HE REIGNS PARAMOUNT DURING THE WHOLE\nSEASON.\n\n\nWe shall therefore leave her in this comfortable situation, and return to\nour adventurer, whose appearance at Bristol was considered as a happy\nomen by the proprietor of the hot well, and all the people who live by\nthe resort of company to that celebrated spring.  Nor were they deceived\nin their prognostic.  Fathom, as usual, formed the nucleus or kernel of\nthe beau monde; and the season soon became so crowded, that many people\nof fashion were obliged to quit the place for want of lodging.  Ferdinand\nwas the soul that animated the whole society.  He not only invented\nparties of pleasure, but also, by his personal talents, rendered them\nmore agreeable.  In a word, he regulated their diversions, and the master\nof the ceremonies never would allow the ball to be begun till the Count\nwas seated.\n\nHaving thus made himself the object of admiration and esteem, his advice\nwas an oracle, to which they had recourse in all doubtful cases of\npunctilio or dispute, or even of medicine; for among his other\naccomplishments, his discourse on that subject was so plausible, and well\nadapted to the understanding of his hearers, that any person who had not\nactually studied the medical art would have believed he was inspired by\nthe spirit of Aesculapius.  What contributed to the aggrandisement of his\ncharacter in this branch of knowledge, was a victory he obtained over an\nold physician, who plied at the well, and had one day unfortunately begun\nto harangue in the pump-room upon the nature of the Bristol water.  In\nthe course of this lecture he undertook to account for the warmth of the\nfluid; and his ideas being perplexed with a great deal of reading, which\nhe had not been able to digest, his disquisition was so indistinct, and\nhis expression so obscure and unentertaining, that our hero seized the\nopportunity of displaying his own erudition, by venturing to contradict\nsome circumstances of the doctor's hypothesis, and substituting a theory\nof his own, which, as he had invented it for the purpose, was equally\namusing and chimerical.\n\nHe alleged, that fire was the sole vivifying principle that pervaded all\nnature; that, as the heat of the sun concocted the juice of vegetables,\nand ripened those fruits that grow upon the surface of this globe, there\nwas likewise an immense store of central fire reserved within the bowels\nof the earth, not only for the generation of gems, fossils, and all the\npurposes of the mineral world, but likewise for cherishing and keeping\nalive those plants which would otherwise perish by the winter's cold.\nThe existence of such a fire he proved from the nature of all those\nvolcanoes, which in almost every corner of the earth are continually\nvomiting up either flames or smoke.  \"These,\" said he, \"are the great\nvents appointed by nature for the discharge of that rarefied air and\ncombustible matter, which, if confined, would burst the globe asunder;\nbut, besides the larger outlets, there are some small chimneys through\nwhich part of the heat transpires; a vapour of that sort, I conceive,\nmust pass through the bed or channel of this spring, the waters of which,\naccordingly retain a moderate warmth.\"\n\nThis account, which totally overthrew the other's doctrine, was so\nextremely agreeable to the audience, that the testy doctor lost his\ntemper, and gave them to understand, without preamble, that he must be a\nperson wholly ignorant of natural philosophy, who could invent such a\nridiculous system, and they involved in worse than an Egyptian fog, that\ncould not at once discern its weakness and absurdity.  This declaration\nintroduced a dispute, which was unanimously determined in favour of our\nadventurer.  On all such occasions the stream of prejudice runs against\nthe physician, even though his antagonist has nothing to recommend\nhimself to the favour of the spectators; and this decision depends upon\ndivers considerations.  In the first place, there is a continual war\ncarried on against the learned professions, by all those who, conscious\nof their own ignorance, seek to level the reputation of their superiors\nwith their own.  Secondly, in all disputes upon physic that happen\nbetwixt a person who really understands the art, and an illiterate\npretender, the arguments of the first will seem obscure and\nunintelligible to those who are unacquainted with the previous systems on\nwhich they are built; while the other's theory, derived from common\nnotions, and superficial observation, will be more agreeable, because\nbetter adapted to the comprehension of the hearers.  Thirdly, the\njudgment of the multitude is apt to be biassed by that surprise which is\nthe effect of seeing an artist foiled at his own weapons, by one who\nengages him only for amusement.\n\nFathom, besides these advantages, was blessed with a flow of language, an\nelegant address, a polite and self-denying style of argumentation,\ntogether with a temper not to be ruffled; so that the victory could not\nlong waver between him and the physician, to whom he was infinitely\nsuperior in every acquisition but that of solid learning, of which the\njudges had no idea.  This contest was not only glorious but profitable to\nour adventurer, who grew into such request in his medical capacity, that\nthe poor doctor was utterly deserted by his patients, and Fathom's advice\nsolicited by every valetudinarian in the place; nor did he forfeit the\ncharacter he thus acquired by any miscarriages in his practice.  Being\nbut little conversant with the materia medica, the circle of his\nprescriptions was very small; his chief study was to avoid all drugs of\nrough operation and uncertain effect, and to administer such only as\nshould be agreeable to the palate, without doing violence to the\nconstitution.  Such a physician could not but be agreeable to people of\nall dispositions; and, as most of the patients were in some shape\nhypochondriac, the power of imagination, co-operating with his remedies,\noften effected a cure.\n\nOn the whole, it became the fashion to consult the Count in all\ndistempers, and his reputation would have had its run, though the death\nof every patient had given the lie to his pretensions.  But empty fame\nwas not the sole fruit of his success.  Though no person would presume to\naffront this noble graduate with a fee, they did not fail to manifest\ntheir gratitude by some more valuable present.  Every day some superb\npiece of china, curious snuffbox, or jewel, was pressed upon him; so\nthat, at the end of the season, he could almost have furnished a toyshop\nwith the acknowledgments he had received.  Not only his avarice, but his\npleasure, was gratified in the course of his medical administration.  He\nenjoyed free access, egress, and regress with all the females at the\nwell, and no matron scrupled to put her daughter under his care and\ndirection.  These opportunities could not be lost upon a man of his\nintriguing genius; though he conducted his amours with such discretion,\nthat, during the whole season, no lady's character suffered on his\naccount, yet he was highly fortunate in his addresses, and we may venture\nto affirm, that the reproach of barrenness was more than once removed by\nthe vigour of his endeavours.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-SIX\n\nHE IS SMITTEN WITH THE CHARMS OF A FEMALE ADVENTURER, WHOSE ALLUREMENTS\nSUBJECT HIM TO A NEW VICISSITUDE OF FORTUNE.\n\n\nAmong those who were distinguished by his gallantry was the young wife of\nan old citizen of London, who had granted her permission to reside at the\nhot well for the benefit of her health, under the eye and inspection of\nhis own sister, who was a maiden of fifty years.  The pupil, whose name\nwas Mrs. Trapwell, though low in stature, was finely shaped, her\ncountenance engaging, though her complexion was brown, her hair in colour\nrivalled the raven's back, and her eyes emulated the lustre of the\ndiamond.  Fathom had been struck with her first appearance; but found it\nimpracticable to elude the vigilance of her duenna, so as to make a\ndeclaration of his flame; until she herself, guessing the situation of\nhis thoughts, and not displeased with the discovery, thought proper to\nfurnish him with the opportunity he wanted, by counterfeiting an\nindisposition, for the cure of which she knew his advice would be\nimplored.  This was the beginning of an acquaintance, which was soon\nimproved to his wish; and so well did she manage her attractions, as in\nsome measure to fix the inconstancy of his disposition; for, at the end\nof the season, his passion was not sated; and they concerted the means of\ncontinuing their commerce, even after their return to London.\n\nThis intercourse effectually answered the purpose of the husband, who had\nbeen decoyed into matrimony by the cunning of his spouse, whom he had\nprivately kept as a concubine before marriage.  Conscious of her own\nprecarious situation, she had resolved to impose upon the infirmities of\nTrapwell, and, feigning herself pregnant, gave him to understand she\ncould no longer conceal her condition from the knowledge of her brother,\nwho was an officer in the army, and of such violent passions, that,\nshould he once discover her backsliding, he would undoubtedly wipe away\nthe stains of his family dishonour with her own blood, as well as that of\nher keeper.  The citizen, to prevent such a catastrophe, took her to\nwife; but soon after perceiving the trick which had been played upon him,\nset his invention at work, and at length contrived a scheme which he\nthought would enable him, not only to retrieve his liberty, but also\nindemnify himself for the mortification he had undergone.\n\nFar from creating any domestic disturbance, by upbraiding her with her\nfinesse, he seemed perfectly well pleased with his acquisition; and, as\nhe knew her void of any principle, and extremely addicted to pleasure, he\nchose proper occasions to insinuate, that she might gratify her own\ninclination, and at the same time turn her beauty to good account.  She\njoyfully listened to these remonstrances, and, in consequence of their\nmutual agreement, she repaired to Bristol Spring, on pretence of an ill\nstate of health, accompanied by her sister-in-law, whom they did not\nthink proper to intrust with the real motive of her journey.  Fathom's\nperson was agreeable, and his finances supposed to be in flourishing\norder; therefore, she selected him from the herd of gallants, as a proper\nsacrifice to the powers which she adored; and, on her arrival in London,\nmade her husband acquainted with the importance of her conquest.\n\nTrapwell overwhelmed her with caresses and praise for her discreet and\ndutiful conduct, and faithfully promised that she should pocket in her\nown privy purse one-half of the spoils that should be gathered from her\ngallant, whom she therefore undertook to betray, after he had swore, in\nthe most solemn manner, that his intention was not to bring the affair to\na public trial, which would redound to his own disgrace, but to extort a\nround sum of money from the Count, by way of composition.  Confiding in\nthis protestation, she in a few days gave him intelligence of an\nassignation she had made with our adventurer, at a certain bagnio near\nCovent Garden; upon which he secured the assistance of a particular\nfriend and his own journeyman, with whom, and a constable, he repaired to\nthe place of rendezvous, where he waited in an adjoining room, according\nto the directions of his virtuous spouse, until she made the preconcerted\nsignal of hemming three times aloud, when he and his associates rushed\ninto the chamber and surprised our hero in bed with his inamorata.\n\nThe lady on this occasion acted her part to a miracle; she screamed at\ntheir approach; and, after an exclamation of \"Ruined and undone!\"\nfainted away in the arms of her spouse, who had by this time seized her\nby the shoulders, and begun to upbraid her with her infidelity and guilt.\nAs for Fathom, his affliction was unutterable, when he found himself\ndiscovered in that situation, and made prisoner by the two assistants,\nwho had pinioned him in such a manner, that he could not stir, much less\naccomplish an escape.  All his ingenuity and presence of mind seemed to\nforsake him in this emergency.  The horrors of an English jury overspread\nhis imagination; for he at once perceived that the toil into which he had\nfallen was laid for the purpose; consequently he took it for granted that\nthere would be no deficiency in point of evidence.  Soon as he\nrecollected himself, he begged that no violence might be offered to his\nperson, and entreated the husband to favour him with a conference, in\nwhich the affair might be compromised, without prejudice to the\nreputation of either.\n\nAt first Trapwell breathed nothing but implacable revenge, but, by the\npersuasion of his friends, after he had sent home his wife in a chair, he\nwas prevailed upon to hear the proposals of the delinquent, who having\nassured him, by way of apology, that he had always believed the lady was\na widow, made him an offer of five hundred pounds, as an atonement for\nthe injury he had sustained.  This being a sum no ways adequate to the\nexpectation of the citizen, who looked upon the Count as possessor of an\nimmense estate, he rejected the terms with disdain, and made instant\napplication to a judge, from whom he obtained a warrant for securing his\nperson till the day of trial.  Indeed, in this case, money was but a\nsecondary consideration with Trapwell, whose chief aim was to be legally\ndivorced from a woman he detested.  Therefore there was no remedy for the\nunhappy Count, who in vain offered to double the sum.  He found himself\nreduced to the bitter alternative of procuring immediate bail, or going\ndirectly to Newgate.\n\nIn this dilemma he sent a messenger to his friend Ratchcali, whose\ncountenance fell when he understood the Count's condition; nor would he\nopen his mouth in the style of consolation, until he had consulted a\ncertain solicitor of his acquaintance, who assured him the law abounded\nwith such resources as would infallibly screen the defendant, had the\nfact been still more palpable than it was.  He said there was great\npresumption to believe the Count had fallen a sacrifice to a conspiracy,\nwhich by some means or other would be detected; and, in that case, the\nplaintiff might obtain one shilling in lieu of damages.  If that\ndependence should fail, he hinted that, in all probability, the witnesses\nwere not incorruptible; or, should they prove to be so, one man's oath\nwas as good as another's; and, thank Heaven, there was no dearth of\nevidence, provided money could be found to answer the necessary\noccasions.\n\nRatchcali, comforted by these insinuations, and dreading the resentment\nof our adventurer, who, in his despair, might punish him severely for his\nwant of friendship, by some precipitate explanation of the commerce they\nhad carried on; moved, I say, by these considerations, and moreover\ntempted with the prospect of continuing to reap the advantages resulting\nfrom their conjunction, he and another person of credit with whom he\nlargely dealt in jewels, condescended to become sureties for the\nappearance of Fathom, who was accordingly admitted to bail.  Not but that\nthe Tyrolese knew Ferdinand too well to confide in his parole.  He\ndepended chiefly upon his ideas of self-interest, which, he thought,\nwould persuade him to risk the uncertain issue of a trial, rather than\nquit the field before the harvest was half over; and he was resolved to\nmake his own retreat without ceremony, should our hero be unwise enough\nto abandon his bail.\n\nSuch an adventure could not long lie concealed from the notice of the\npublic, even if both parties had been at pains to suppress the\ncircumstances.  But the plaintiff, far from seeking to cover, affected to\ncomplain loudly of his misfortune, that he might interest his neighbours\nin his behalf, and raise a spirit of rancour and animosity, to influence\nthe jury against this insolent foreigner, who had come over into England\nto debauch our wives and deflower our daughters; while he employed a\nformidable band of lawyers to support the indictment, which he laid at\nten thousand pounds damages.\n\nMeanwhile, Fathom and his associate did not fail to take all proper\nmeasures for his defence; they retained a powerful bar of counsel, and\nthe solicitor was supplied with one hundred pounds after another, to\nanswer the expense of secret service; still assuring his clients that\neverything was in an excellent train, and that his adversary would gain\nnothing but shame and confusion of face.  Nevertheless, there was a\nnecessity for postponing the trial, on account of a material evidence,\nwho, though he wavered, was not yet quite brought over; and the attorney\nfound means to put off the decision from term to term, until there was no\nquibble left for further delay.  While this suit was depending, our hero\ncontinued to move in his usual sphere; nor did the report of his\nsituation at all operate to his disadvantage in the polite world; on the\ncontrary, it added a fresh plume to his character, in the eyes of all\nthose who were not before acquainted with the triumphs of his gallantry.\nNotwithstanding this countenance of his friends, he himself considered\nthe affair in a very serious light; and perceiving that, at any rate, he\nmust be a considerable loser, he resolved to double his assiduity in\ntrade, that he might be the more able to afford the extraordinary expense\nto which he was subjected.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN\n\nFRESH CAUSE FOR EXERTING HIS EQUANIMITY AND FORTITUDE.\n\n\nThe reader may have observed, that Fathom, with all his circumspection,\nhad a weak side, which exposed him to sundry mischances; this was his\ncovetousness, which on some occasions became too hard for his discretion.\nAt this period of time it was, by the circumstances of his situation,\ninflamed to a degree of rapacity.  He was now prevailed upon to take a\nhand at whist or piquet, and even to wield the hazard-box; though he had\nhitherto declared himself an irreconcilable enemy to all sorts of play;\nand so uncommon was his success and dexterity at these exercises, as to\nsurprise his acquaintance, and arouse the suspicion of some people, who\nrepined at his prosperity.\n\nBut in nothing was his conduct more inexcusable than in giving way to the\ndangerous temerity of Ratchcali, which he had been always at pains to\nrestrain, and permitting him to practise the same fraud upon an English\nnobleman, which had been executed upon himself at Frankfort.  In other\nwords, the Tyrolese, by the canal of Ferdinand's finger and\nrecommendation, sold a pebble for a real brilliant, and in a few days the\ncheat was discovered, to the infinite confusion of our adventurer, who\nnevertheless assumed the guise of innocence with so much art, and\nexpressed such indignation against the villain who had imposed upon his\njudgment and unsuspecting generosity, that his lordship acquitted him of\nany share in the deceit, and contented himself with the restitution,\nwhich he insisted upon making out of his own pocket, until he should be\nable to apprehend the rogue, who had thought proper to abscond for his\nown safety.  In spite of all this exculpation, his character did not fail\nto retain a sort of stigma, which indeed the plainest proofs of innocence\nare hardly able to efface; and his connexion with such a palpable knave\nas the Tyrolese appeared to be, had an effect to his prejudice in the\nminds of all those who were privy to the occurrence.\n\nWhen a man's reputation is once brought in question, every trifle is, by\nthe malevolence of mankind, magnified into a strong presumption against\nthe culprit.  A few whispers communicated by the envious mouth of\nslander, which he can have no opportunity to answer and refute, shall, in\nthe opinion of the world, convict him of the most horrid crimes; and for\none hypocrite who is decked with the honours of virtue, there are twenty\ngood men who suffer the ignominy of vice; so well disposed are\nindividuals to trample upon the fame of their fellow-creatures.  If the\nmost unblemished merit is not protected from this injustice, it will not\nbe wondered at that no quarter was given to the character of an\nadventurer like Fathom, who, among other unlucky occurrences, had the\nmisfortune to be recognised about this time by his two Parisian friends,\nSir Stentor Stile and Sir Giles Squirrel.\n\nThese worthy knights-errant had returned to their own country, after\nhaving made a very prosperous campaign in France, at the end of which,\nhowever, they very narrowly escaped the galleys; and seeing the Polish\nCount seated at the head of taste and politeness, they immediately\ncirculated the story of his defeat at Paris, with many ludicrous\ncircumstances of their own invention, and did not scruple to affirm that\nhe was a rank impostor.  When the laugh is raised upon a great man, he\nnever fails to dwindle into contempt.  Ferdinand began to perceive a\nchange in the countenance of his friends.  His company was no longer\nsolicited with that eagerness which they had formerly expressed in his\nbehalf.  Even his entertainments were neglected; when he appeared at any\nprivate or public assembly, the ladies, instead of glowing with pleasure,\nas formerly, now tittered or regarded him with looks of disdain; and a\ncertain pert, little, forward coquette, with a view to put him out of\ncountenance, by raising the laugh at his expense, asked him one night, at\na drum, when he had heard from his relations in Poland?  She succeeded in\nher design upon the mirth of the audience, but was disappointed in the\nother part of her aim; for our hero replied, without the least mark of\ndiscomposure, \"They are all in good health at your service, madam; I wish\nI knew in what part of the world your relations reside, that I might\nreturn the compliment.\"  By this answer, which was the more severe, as\nthe young lady was of very doubtful extraction, he retorted the laugh\nupon the aggressor, though he likewise failed in his attempt upon her\ntemper; for she was perhaps the only person present who equalled himself\nin stability of countenance.\n\nNotwithstanding this appearance of unconcern, he was deeply touched with\nthese marks of alienation in the behaviour of his friends, and,\nforeseeing in his own disgrace the total shipwreck of his fortune, he\nentered into a melancholy deliberation with himself about the means of\nretrieving his importance in the beau monde, or of turning his address\ninto some other channel, where he could stand upon a less slippery\nfoundation.  In this exercise of his thoughts, no scheme occurred more\nfeasible than that of securing the booty he had made, and retiring with\nhis associate, who was also blown, into some other country, where their\nnames and characters being unknown, they might pursue their old plan of\ncommerce without molestation.  He imparted this suggestion to the\nTyrolese, who approved the proposal of decamping, though he combated with\nall his might our hero's inclination to withdraw himself before the\ntrial, by repeating the assurances of the solicitor, who told him he\nmight depend upon being reimbursed by the sentence of the court for great\npart of the sums he had expended in the course of the prosecution.\n\nFathom suffered himself to be persuaded by these arguments, supported\nwith the desire of making an honourable retreat, and, waiting patiently\nfor the day of trouble, discharged his sureties, by a personal appearance\nin court.  Yet this was not the only score he discharged that morning;\nthe solicitor presented his own bill before they set out for Westminster\nHall, and gave the Count to understand that it was the custom, from time\nimmemorial, for the client to clear with his attorney before trial.\nFerdinand had nothing to object against this established rule, though he\nlooked upon it as a bad omen, in spite of all the solicitor's confidence\nand protestations; and he was not a little confounded, when, looking into\nthe contents, he found himself charged with 350 attendances.  He knew it\nwas not his interest to disoblige his lawyer at such a juncture;\nnevertheless, he could not help expostulating with him on this article,\nwhich seemed to be so falsely stated with regard to the number; when his\nquestions drew on an explanation, by which he found he had incurred the\npenalty of three shillings and fourpence for every time he chanced to\nmeet the conscientious attorney, either in the park, the coffee-house, or\nthe street, provided they had exchanged the common salutation; and he had\ngood reason to believe the solicitor had often thrown himself in his way,\nwith a view to swell this item of his account.\n\nWith this extortion our adventurer was fain to comply, because he lay at\nthe mercy of the caitiff; accordingly, he with a good grace paid the\ndemand, which, including his former disbursements, amounted to three\nhundred and sixty-five pounds eleven shillings and threepence three\nfarthings, and then presenting himself before the judge, quietly\nsubmitted to the laws of the realm.  His counsel behaved like men of\nconsummate abilities in their profession; they exerted themselves with\nequal industry, eloquence, and erudition, in their endeavours to perplex\nthe truth, browbeat the evidence, puzzle the judge, and mislead the jury;\nbut the defendant found himself wofully disappointed in the deposition of\nTrapwell's journeyman, whom the solicitor pretended to have converted to\nhis interest.  This witness, as the attorney afterwards declared, played\nbooty, and the facts came out so clear, that Ferdinand Count Fathom was\nconvicted of criminal conversation with the plaintiff's wife, and cast in\nfifteen hundred pounds, under the denomination of damages.\n\nHe was not so much surprised as afflicted at this decision, because he\nsaw it gradually approaching from the examination of the first evidence.\nHis thoughts were now employed in casting about for some method of\ndeliverance from the snare in which he found himself entangled.  To\nescape, he foresaw it would be impracticable, as Trapwell would\nundoubtedly be prepared for arresting him before he could quit\nWestminster Hall; he was too well acquainted with Ratchcali's principles,\nto expect any assistance from that quarter in money matters; and he was\nutterly averse to the payment of the sum awarded against him, which would\nhave exhausted his whole fortune.  He therefore resolved to try the\nfriendship of some persons of fashion, with whom he had maintained an\nintimacy of correspondence.  Should they fail him in the day of his\nnecessity, he proposed to have recourse to his former sureties, one of\nwhom he meant to bilk, while the other might accompany him in his\nretreat; or, should both these expedients miscarry, he determined, rather\nthan part with his effects, to undergo the most disagreeable confinement,\nin hope of obtaining the jailor's connivance at his escape.\n\nThese resolutions being taken, he met his fate with great fortitude and\nequanimity, and calmly suffered himself to be conveyed to the house of a\nsheriff's officer, who, as he made his exit from the hall, according to\nhis own expectation, executed a writ against him, at the suit of\nTrapwell, for a debt of two thousand pounds.  To this place he was\nfollowed by his solicitor, who was allured by the prospect of another\njob, and who, with great demonstrations of satisfaction, congratulated\nhim upon the happy issue of the trial; arrogating to himself the merit of\nhaving saved him eight thousand pounds in the article of damages, by the\nprevious steps he had taken, and the noble defence that he and his\nfriends the counsel had made for their client; he even hinted an\nexpectation of receiving a gratuity for his extraordinary care and\ndiscretion.\n\nFathom, galled as he was with his misfortune, and enraged at the\neffrontery of this pettifogger, maintained a serenity of countenance, and\nsent the attorney with a message to the plaintiff, importing, that, as he\nwas a foreigner, and could not be supposed to have so much cash about\nhim, as to spare fifteen hundred pounds from the funds of his ordinary\nexpense, he would grant him a bond payable in two months, during which\nperiod he should be able to procure a proper remittance from his own\nestate.  While the solicitor was employed in this negotiation, he\ndespatched his valet-de-chambre to one nobleman, and Maurice to another,\nwith billets, signifying the nature of the verdict which his adversary\nhad obtained, and desiring that each would lend him a thousand pounds\nupon his parole, until he could negotiate bills upon the Continent.\n\nHis three messengers returned almost at the same instant of time, and\nthese were the answers they brought back.\n\nTrapwell absolutely rejected his personal security; and threatened him\nwith all the horrors of a jail, unless he would immediately discharge the\ndebt, or procure sufficient bondsmen; and one of his quality friends\nfavoured him with this reply to his request:--\n\n\"MY DEAR COUNT!--I am mortally chagrined at the triumph you have\nfurnished to that rascally citizen.  By the lard! the judge must have\nbeen in the terrors of cuckoldom, to influence the decision; and the jury\na mere herd of horned beasts, to bring in such a barbarous verdict.\nEgad! at this rate, no gentleman will be able to lie with another man's\nwife, but at the risk of a cursed prosecution.  But to waive this\ndisagreeable circumstance, which you must strive to forget; I declare my\nmortification is still the greater, because I cannot at present supply\nyou with the trifle your present exigency requires; for, to tell you a\nsecret, my own finances are in damnable confusion.  But a man of Count\nFathom's figure and address can never be puzzled for the want of such a\npaltry sum.  Adieu, my dear Count! we shall, I suppose, have the pleasure\nof seeing you to-morrow at White's: meanwhile, I have the honour to be,\nwith the most perfect attachment, yours,             GRIZZLEGRIN.\"\n\nThe other noble peer, to whom he addressed himself on this occasion,\ncherished the same sentiments of virtue, friendship, and generosity; but\nhis expression was so different, that we shall, for the edification of\nthe reader, transcribe his letter in his own words:--\n\n\"SIR,--I was never more astonished than at the receipt of your very\nextraordinary billet, wherein you solicit the loan of a thousand pounds,\nwhich you desire may be sent with the bearer on the faith of your parole.\nSir, I have no money to send you or lend you; and cannot help repeating\nmy expressions of surprise at your confidence in making such a strange\nand unwarranted demand.  'Tis true, I may have made professions of\nfriendship, while I looked upon you as a person of honour and good\nmorals; but now that you are convicted of such a flagrant violation of\nthe laws of that kingdom where you have been treated with such\nhospitality and respect, I think myself fully absolved from any such\nconditional promise, which indeed is never interpreted into any other\nthan a bare compliment.  I am sorry you have involved your character and\nfortune in such a disagreeable affair, and am, Sir, yours, etc.\n                                                       TROMPINGTON.\"\n\nFerdinand was not such a novice in the world as to be disappointed at\nthese repulses; especially as he had laid very little stress upon the\napplication, which was made by way of an experiment upon the gratitude or\ncaprice of those two noblemen, whom he had actually more than once\nobliged with the same sort of assistance which he now solicited, though\nnot to such a considerable amount.\n\nHaving nothing further to expect from the fashionable world, he sent the\nTyrolese to the person who had been bail for his appearance, with full\ninstructions to explain his present occasion in the most favourable\nlight, and desire he would reinforce the credit of the Count with his\nsecurity; but that gentleman, though he placed the most perfect\nconfidence on the honour of our hero, and would have willingly entered\ninto bonds again for his personal appearance, was not quite so well\nsatisfied of his circumstances, as to become liable for the payment of\ntwo thousand pounds, an expense which, in his opinion, the finances of no\nforeign Count were able to defray.  He therefore lent a deaf ear to the\nmost pressing remonstrances of the ambassador, who had recourse to\nseveral other merchants, with the same bad success; so that the prisoner,\ndespairing of bail, endeavoured to persuade Ratchcali, that it would be\nhis interest to contribute a thousand pounds towards his discharge, that\nhe might be enabled to quit England with a good grace, and execute his\npart of the plan they had projected.\n\nSo powerful was his eloquence on the occasion, and such strength of\nargument did he use, that even the Tyrolese seemed convinced, though\nreluctantly, and agreed to advance the necessary sum upon the bond and\njudgment of our adventurer, who, being disabled from transacting his own\naffairs in person, was obliged to intrust Ratchcali with his keys,\npapers, and power of attorney, under the check and inspection of his\nfaithful Maurice and the solicitor, whose fidelity he bespoke with the\npromise of an ample recompense.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT\n\nTHE BITER IS BIT.\n\n\nYet, he had no sooner committed his effects to the care of this\ntriumvirate, than his fancy was visited with direful warnings, which\nproduced cold sweats and palpitations, and threw him into such agonies of\napprehension as he had never known before.  He remembered the former\ndesertion of the Tyrolese, the recent villany of the solicitor, and\nrecollected the remarks he had made upon the disposition and character of\nhis valet, which evinced him a fit companion for the other two.\n\nAlarmed at these reflections, he entreated the bailiff to indulge him\nwith a visit to his own lodgings, and even offered one hundred guineas as\na gratification for his compliance.  But the officer, who had formerly\nlost a considerable sum by the escape of a prisoner, would not run any\nrisk in an affair of such consequence, and our hero was obliged to submit\nto the tortures of his own presaging fears.  After he had waited five\nhours in the most racking impatience, he saw the attorney enter with all\nthe marks of hurry, fatigue, and consternation, and heard him exclaim,\n\"Good God, have you seen the gentleman?\"\n\nFathom found his fears realised in this interrogation, to which he\nanswered in a tone of horror and dismay, \"What gentleman?  I suppose I am\nrobbed.  Speak, and keep me no longer in suspense.\"  \"Robbed!\" cried the\nattorney, \"the Lord forbid!  I hope you can depend upon the person you\nempowered to receive your jewels and cash?  I must own his proceedings\nare a little extraordinary; for after he had rummaged your scrutoire,\nfrom which, in presence of me and your servant, he took one hundred and\nfifty guineas, a parcel of diamond rings and buckles, according to this\nhere inventory, which I wrote with my own hand, and East India bonds to\nthe tune of five hundred more, we adjourned to Garraway's, where he left\nme alone, under pretence of going to a broker of his acquaintance who\nlived in the neighbourhood, while the valet, as I imagined, waited for us\nin the alley.  Well, sir, he stayed so long, that I began to be uneasy,\nand at length resolved to send the servant in quest of him, but when I\nwent out for that purpose, deuce a servant was to be found; though I in\nperson inquired for him at every alehouse within half a mile of the\nplace.  I then despatched no less than five ticket porters upon the scent\nafter them, and I myself, by a direction from the bar-keeper, went to\nSignior Ratchcali's lodgings, where, as they told me, he had not been\nseen since nine o'clock in the morning.  Upon this intimation, I came\ndirectly hither, to give you timely notice, that you may without delay\ntake measures for your own security.  The best thing you can do, is to\ntake out writs for apprehending him, in the counties of Middlesex,\nSurrey, Kent, and Essex, and I shall put them in the hands of trusty and\ndiligent officers, who will soon ferret him out of his lurking-place,\nprovided he skulks within ten miles of the bills of mortality.  To be\nsure, the job will be expensive; and all these runners must be paid\nbeforehand.  But what then? the defendant is worth powder, and if we can\nonce secure him, I'll warrant the prosecution will quit cost.\"\n\nFathom was almost choked with concern and resentment at the news of this\nmischance, so that he could not utter one word until this narrative was\nfinished.  Nor was his suspicion confined to the Tyrolese and his own\nlacquey; he considered the solicitor as their accomplice and director,\nand was so much provoked at the latter part of his harangue, that his\ndiscretion seemed to vanish, and, collaring the attorney, \"Villain!\" said\nhe, \"you yourself have been a principal actor in this robbery.\"  Then\nturning to the bystanders, \"and I desire in the King's name that he may\nbe secured, until I can make oath before a magistrate in support of the\ncharge.  If you refuse your assistance in detaining him, I will make\nimmediate application to one of the secretaries of state, who is my\nparticular friend, and he will see justice done to all parties.\"\n\nAt mention of this formidable name, the bailiff and his whole family were\nin commotion, to obstruct the retreat of the lawyer, who stood aghast and\ntrembled under the grasp of our adventurer.  But, soon as he found\nhimself delivered from this embrace, by the interposition of the\nspectators, and collected his spirits, which had been suddenly dissipated\nby Fathom's unexpected assault, he began to display one art of his\noccupation, which he always reserved for extraordinary occasions.  This\nwas the talent of abuse, which he poured forth with such fluency of\nopprobrious language, that our hero, smarting as he was, and almost\ndesperate with his loss, deviated from that temperance of behaviour which\nhe had hitherto preserved, and snatching up the poker, with one stroke\nopened a deep trench upon the attorney's skull, that extended from the\nhind head almost to the upper part of the nose, upon each side of which\nit discharged a sanguine stream.  Notwithstanding the pain of this\napplication, the solicitor was transported with joy at the sense of the\nsmart, and inwardly congratulated himself upon the appearance of his own\nblood, which he no sooner perceived, than he exclaimed, \"I'm a dead man,\"\nand fell upon the floor at full length.\n\nImmediate recourse was had to a surgeon in the neighbourhood, who, having\nexamined the wound, declared there was a dangerous depression of the\nfirst table of the skull, and that, if he could save the patient's life\nwithout the application of the trepan, it would be one of the greatest\ncures that ever were performed.  By this time, Fathom's first transport\nbeing overblown, he summoned up his whole resolution, and reflected upon\nhis own ruin with that fortitude which had never failed him in the\nemergencies of his fate.  Little disturbed at the prognostic of the\nsurgeon, which he considered in the right point of view; \"Sir,\" said he,\n\"I am not so unacquainted with the resistance of an attorney's skull, as\nto believe the chastisement I have bestowed on him will at all endanger\nhis life, which is in much greater jeopardy from the hands of the common\nexecutioner.  For, notwithstanding this accident, I am determined to\nprosecute the rascal for robbery with the utmost severity of the law;\nand, that I may have a sufficient fund left for that prosecution, I shall\nnot at present throw away one farthing in unnecessary expense, but insist\nupon being conveyed to prison without farther delay.\"\n\nThis declaration was equally unwelcome to the bailiff, surgeon, and\nsolicitor, who, upon the supposition that the Count was a person of\nfortune, and would rather part with an immense sum than incur the\nignominy of a jail, or involve himself in another disgraceful lawsuit,\nhad resolved to fleece him to the utmost of their power.  But, now the\nattorney finding him determined to set his fate at defiance, and to\nretort upon him a prosecution, which he had no design to undergo, began\nto repent heartily of the provocation he had given, and to think\nseriously on some method to overcome the obstinacy of the incensed\nforeigner.  With this view, while the bailiff conducted him to bed in\nanother apartment, he desired the catchpole to act the part of mediator\nbetween him and the Count, and furnished him with proper instructions for\nthat purpose.  Accordingly the landlord, on his return, told Fathom that\nhe was sure the solicitor was not a man for this world; for that he had\nleft him deprived of his senses, and praying to God with great devotion\nfor mercy to his murderer.  He then exhorted him, with many protestations\nof friendship, to compromise the unhappy affair by exchanging releases\nwith the attorney before his delirium should be known, otherwise he would\nbring himself into a most dangerous premunire, whether the plaintiff\nshould die of his wound, or live to prosecute him for assault.  \"And with\nregard to your charge of robbery against him,\" said he, \"as it is no more\nthan a base suspicion, unsupported by the least shadow of evidence, the\nbill would be thrown out, and then he might sue you for damages.  I\ntherefore, out of pure friendship and good-nature, advise you to\ncompromise the affair, and, if you think proper, will endeavour to bring\nabout a mutual release.\"\n\nOur hero, whose passion was by this time pretty well cooled, saw reason\nfor assenting to the proposal; upon which the deed was immediately\nexecuted, the mediator's bill was discharged, and Ferdinand conveyed in\nan hackney-coach to prison, after he had empowered his own landlord to\ndischarge his servants, and convert his effects into ready money.  Thus,\nhe saw himself, in the course of a few hours, deprived of his reputation,\nrank, liberty, and friends; and his fortune reduced from two thousand\npounds to something less than two hundred, fifty of which he had carried\nto jail in his pocket.\n\n\nEND OF VOL. I.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventures of Ferdinand Count\nFathom, Part I., by Tobias Smollett\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Cover art]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"'WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DREAM!'\" (See page 187)]\n\n\n\n\n                                 IN THE\n                              MORNING GLOW\n\n                             SHORT STORIES\n\n\n                                   By\n\n                            ROY ROLFE GILSON\n\n                               AUTHOR OF\n                 \"Miss Primrose\" \"The Flower of Youth\"\n                               Etc. Etc.\n\n\n\n                              ILLUSTRATED\n\n\n\n                                NEW YORK\n                            GROSSET & DUNLAP\n                               PUBLISHERS\n\n            Published by arrangement with Harper & Brothers\n\n\n\n\n                 Copyright, 1902, by HARPER & BROTHERS.\n\n                         _All rights reserved._\n\n                        Published October, 1902.\n\n\n\n\n                                   TO\n                                MY WIFE\n\n\n\n\n                               *Contents*\n\n\nGRANDFATHER\n\nGRANDMOTHER\n\nWHILE AUNT JANE PLAYED\n\nLITTLE SISTER\n\nOUR YARD\n\nTHE TOY GRENADIER\n\nFATHER\n\nMOTHER\n\n\n\n\n                            *Illustrations*\n\n\n\"'WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DREAM!'\" . . . . . . _Frontispiece_\n\n\"WHEN GRANDFATHER WORE HIS WHITE VEST YOU WALKED LIKE OTHER FOLKS\"\n\n\"YOU STOLE SOFTLY TO HIS SIDE\"\n\n\"WATCHED HIM MAKE THE BLUE FRAGMENTS INTO THE BLUE PITCHER AGAIN\"\n\n\"THE SAIL-BOATS HE WHITTLED FOR YOU ON RAINY DAYS\"\n\n\"YOU CLUNG TO HER APRON FOR SUPPORT IN YOUR MUTE AGONY\"\n\n\"YOU WATCHED THEM AS THEY WENT DOWN THE WALK TOGETHER\"\n\n\"TO AND FRO GRANDMOTHER ROCKED YOU\"\n\n\"YOU SAID 'NOW I LAY ME' IN UNISON\"\n\n\"MOTHER TUCKED YOU BOTH INTO BED AND KISSED YOU\"\n\n\"THEY TOOK YOU AS FAR AS THE BEDROOM DOOR TO SEE HER\"\n\n\"'BAD DREAM, WAS IT, LITTLE CHAP?'\"\n\n\"'FATHER, WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU DON'T SAY ANYTHING, BUT JUST\nLOOK?'\"\n\n\"'MOTHER,' YOU SAID, SOFTLY\"\n\n\"THE PICTURE-BOOK\"\n\n\"BEFORE YOU WENT TO BED\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *Grandfather*\n\n\nWhen you gave Grandfather both your hands and put one foot against his\nknee and the other against his vest, you could walk right up to his\nwhite beard like a fly--but you had to hold tight. Sometimes your foot\nslipped on the knee, but the vest was wider and not so hard, so that\nwhen you were that far you were safe.  And when you had both feet in the\nsoft middle of the vest, and your body was stiff, and your face was\nlooking right up at the ceiling, Grandfather groaned down deep inside,\nand that was the sign that your walk was ended.  Then Grandfather\ncrumpled you up in his arms.  But on Sunday, when Grandfather wore his\nwhite vest, you walked like other folks.\n\n[Illustration: \"WHEN GRANDFATHER WORE HIS WHITE VEST YOU WALKED LIKE\nOTHER FOLKS\"]\n\nIn the morning Grandfather sat in the sun by the wall--the stone wall at\nthe back of the garden, where the golden-rod grew.  Grandfather read the\npaper and smoked.  When it was afternoon and Mother was taking her nap,\nGrandfather was around the corner of the house, on the porch, in the\nsun--always in the sun, for the sun followed Grandfather wherever he\nwent, till he passed into the house at supper-time.  Then the sun went\ndown and it was night.\n\nGrandfather walked with a cane; but even then, with all the three legs\nhe boasted of, you could run the meadow to the big rock before\nGrandfather had gone half-way.  Grandfather's pipe was corn-cob, and\nevery week he had a new one, for the little brown juice that cuddled\ndown in the bottom of the bowl, and wouldn't come out without a straw,\nwasn't good for folks, Grandfather said.  Old Man Stubbs, who came\nacross the road to see Grandfather, chewed his tobacco, yet the little\nbrown juice did not hurt him at all, he said.  Still it was not pleasant\nto kiss Old Man Stubbs, and Mother said that chewing tobacco was a\nfilthy habit, and that only very old men ever did it nowadays, because\nlots of people used to do it when Grandfather and Old Man Stubbs were\nlittle boys.  Probably, you thought, people did not kiss other folks so\noften then.\n\nOne morning Grandfather was reading by the wall, in the sun.  You were\non the ground, flat, peeping under the grass, and you were so still that\na cricket came and teetered on a grass-stalk near at hand. Two red ants\nclimbed your hat as it lay beside you, and a white worm swung itself\nfrom one grass-blade to another, like a monkey.  The ground under the\napple-trees was broken out with sun-spots. Bees were humming in the red\nclover. Butterflies lazily flapped their wings and sailed like little\nboats in a sea of goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace.\n\n\"Dee, dee-dee, dee-dee,\" you sang, and Mr. Cricket sneaked under a\nplantain leaf.  You tracked him to his lair with your finger, and he\nscuttled away.\n\n\"Grandfather.\"\n\nNo reply.\n\n\"_Grand_father.\"\n\nNot a word.  Then you looked.  Grandfather's paper had slipped to the\nground, and his glasses to his lap.  He was fast asleep in the sunshine\nwith his head upon his breast.  You stole softly to his side With a long\ngrass you tickled his ear. With a jump he awoke, and you tumbled,\nlaughing, on the grass.\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU STOLE SOFTLY TO HIS SIDE\"]\n\n\"Ain't you 'shamed?\" cried Lizzie-in-the-kitchen, who was hanging out\nthe clothes.\n\n\"Huh!  Grandfather don't care.\"\n\nGrandfather never cared.  That is one of the things which made him\nGrandfather. If he had scolded he might have been Father, or even Uncle\nNed--but he would not have been Grandfather.  So when you spoiled his\nnap he only said, \"H'm,\" deep in his beard, put on his glasses, and read\nhis paper again.\n\nWhen it was afternoon, and the sun followed Grandfather to the porch,\nand you were tired of playing House, or Hop-Toad, or Indian, or the\nThree Bears, it was only a step from Grandfather's foot to Grandfather's\nlap.  When you sat back and curled your legs, your head lay in the\nhollow of Grandfather's shoulder, in the shadow of his white beard.\nThen Grandfather would say,\n\n\"Once upon a time there was a bear...\"\n\nOr, better still,\n\n\"Once, when I was a little boy...\"\n\nOr, best of all,\n\n\"When Grandfather went to the war...\"\n\nThat was the story where Grandfather lay all day in the tall grass\nwatching for Johnny Reb, and Johnny Reb was watching for Grandfather.\nWhen it came to the exciting part, you sat straight up to see\nGrandfather squint one eye and look along his outstretched arm, as\nthough it were his gun, and say, \"Bang!\"\n\nBut Johnny Reb saw the tip of Grandfather's blue cap just peeping over\nthe tops of the tall grass, and so he, too, went \"Bang!\"\n\nAnd ever afterwards Grandfather walked with a cane.\n\n\"Did Johnny Reb have to walk with a cane, too, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"Johnny Reb, he just lay in the tall grass, all doubled up, and says he,\n'Gimme a chaw o' terbaccer afore I die.'\"\n\n\"Did you give it to him, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"He died 'fore I could get the plug out o' my pocket.\"\n\nThen Mother would say:\n\n\"I wouldn't, Father--such stories to a child!\"\n\nThen Grandfather would smoke grimly, and would not tell you any more,\nand you would play Grandfather and Johnny Reb in the tall grass.\nLizzie-in-the-kitchen would give you a piece of brown-bread for the chaw\nof tobacco, and when Johnny Reb died too soon you ate it yourself, to\nsave it.  You wondered what would have happened if Johnny Reb had not\ndied too soon.  Standing over Johnny Reb's prostrate but still animate\nform in the tall grass, with the brown-bread tobacco in your hand, you\neven contemplated playing that your adversary lived to tell the tale,\nbut the awful thought that in that case you would have to give up the\nchaw (the brown-bread was fresh that day) kept you to the letter of\nGrandfather's story.  Once only did you play that Johnny Reb lived--but\nthe brown-bread was hard that day, and you were not hungry.\n\nGrandfather wore the blue, and on his breast were the star and flag of\nthe Grand Army.  Every May he straightened his bent shoulders and\nmarched to the music of fife and drum to the cemetery on the hill.  So\nonce a year there were tears in Grandfather's eyes.  All the rest of\nthat solemn May day he marched in the garden with his hands behind him,\nand a far-away look in his eyes, and once in a while his steps quickened\nas he hummed to himself,\n\n    \"Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching.\"\n\nAnd if it so happened that he told you the story of Johnny Reb that day,\nhe would always have a new ending:\n\n\"Then we went into battle.  The Rebs were on a tarnal big hill, and as\nwe charged up the side, 'Boys,' says the Colonel--'boys, give 'em hell!'\nsays he.  And, sir, we just did, I tell you.\"\n\n\"Oh Father, Father--_don't!_--such language before the child!\" Mother\nwould cry, and that would be the end of the new end of Grandfather's\nstory.\n\nOn a soap-box in Abe Jones's corner grocery, Grandfather argued politics\nwith Old Man Stubbs and the rest of the boys.\n\n\"I've voted the straight Republican ticket all my life,\" he would say,\nproudly, when the fray was at its height, \"and, by George!  I'll not\nmake a darned old fool o' myself by turning coat now.  Pesky few\nDemocrats ever I see who--\"\n\nHere Old Man Stubbs would rise from the cracker-barrel.\n\n\"If I understand you correctly, sir, you have called me a darned old\nfool.\"\n\n\"Not at all, Stubbs,\" Grandfather would reply, soothingly.  \"Not by a\njugful.  Now you're a Democrat--\"\n\n\"And proud of it, sir,\" Old Man Stubbs would break in.\n\n\"You're a Democrat, Stubbs, and as such you are not responsible; but if\nI was to turn Democrat, Stubbs, I'd be a darned old fool.\"\n\nAnd in the roar that followed, Old Man Stubbs would subside to the\ncracker-barrel and smoke furiously.  Then Grandfather would say:\n\n\"Stubbs, do you remember old Mose Gray?\"  That was to clear the\nbattle-field of the political carnage, so to speak--so that Old Man\nStubbs would forget his grievance and walk home with Grandfather\npeaceably when the grocery closed for the night.\n\nIf it was winter-time, and the snowdrifts were too deep for grandfathers\nand little boys, you sat before the fireplace, Grandfather in his\narm-chair, you flat on the rug, your face between your hands, gazing\ninto the flames.\n\n\"Who was the greatest man that ever lived, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"Jesus of Nazareth, boy.\"\n\n\"And who was the greatest soldier?\"\n\n\"Ulysses S. Grant.\"\n\n\"And the next greatest?\"\n\n\"George Washington.\"\n\n\"But Old Man Stubbs says Napoleon was the greatest soldier.\"\n\n\"Old Man Stubbs?  Old Man Stubbs? What does he know about it, I'd like\nto know?  He wasn't in the war.  He's afraid of his own shadder.  U. S.\nGrant was the greatest general that ever lived. I guess I know.  I was\nthere, wasn't I? Napoleon!  Old Man Stubbs!  Fiddlesticks!\"\n\nAnd Grandfather would sink back into his chair, smoking wrath and weed\nin his trembling corn-cob, and scowling at the blazing fagots and the\ncurling hickory smoke.  By-and-by--\n\n\"Who was the greatest woman that ever lived, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"Your mother, boy.\"\n\n\"Oh, Father\"--it was Mother's voice--\"you forget.\"\n\n\"Forget nothing,\" cried Grandfather, fiercely.  \"Boy, your mother is the\nbest woman that ever lived, and mind you remember it, too.  Every boy's\nmother is the best woman that ever lived.\"\n\nAnd when Grandfather leaned forward in his chair and waved his pipe,\nthere was no denying Grandfather.\n\nAt night, after supper, when your clothes were in a little heap on the\nchair, and you had your nighty on, and you had said your prayers, Mother\ntucked you in bed and kissed you and called Grandfather.  Then\nGrandfather came stumping up the stairs with his cane.  Sitting on the\nedge of your bed, he sang to you,\n\n    \"The wild gazelle with the silvery feet\n    I'll give thee for a playmate sweet.\"\n\n\nAnd after Grandfather went away the wild gazelle came and stood beside\nyou, and put his cold little nose against your cheek, and licked your\nface with his tongue. It was rough at first, but by-and-by it got softer\nand softer, till you woke up and wanted a drink, and found beside you,\nin place of the wild gazelle, a white mother with a brimming cup in her\nhand.  She covered you up when you were through, and kissed you, and\nthen you went looking for the wild gazelle, and sometimes you found him;\nbut sometimes, when you had just caught up to him and his silvery feet\nwere shining like stars, he turned into Grandfather with his cane.\n\n\"Hi, sleepy-head!  The dicky-birds are waitin' for you.\"\n\nAnd then Grandfather would tickle you in the ribs, and help you on with\nyour stockings, till it was time for him to sit by the wall in the sun.\n\nWhen you were naughty, and Mother used the little brown switch that hung\nover the wood-shed door, Grandfather tramped up and down in the garden,\nand the harder you hollered, the harder Grandfather tramped.  Once when\nyou played the empty flower-pots were not flower-pots at all, but just\ncannon-balls, and you killed a million Indians with them, Mother showed\nyou the pieces, and the switch descended, and the tears fell, and\nGrandfather tramped and tramped, and lost the garden-path completely,\nand stepped on the <DW29>s.  Then they shut you up in your own room\nup-stairs, and you cried till the hiccups came.  You heard the dishes\nrattling on the dining-room table below.  They would be eating supper\nsoon, and at one end of the table in a silver dish there would be a\nchocolate cake, for Lizzie-in-the-kitchen had baked one that afternoon.\nYou had seen it in the pantry window with your own eyes, while you fired\nthe flower-pots.  Now chocolate cake was your favorite, so you hated\nyour bread-and-milk, and tasted and wailed defiantly.  Now and then you\nlistened to hear if they pitied and came to you, but they came not, and\nyou moaned and sobbed in the twilight, and hoped you would die, to make\nthem sorry. By-and-by, between the hiccups, you heard the door open\nsoftly.  Then Grandfather's hand came through the crack with a piece of\nchocolate cake in it.  You knew it was Grandfather's hand, because it\nwas all knuckly.  So you cried no more, and while the chocolate cake was\nstopping the hiccups, you heard Grandfather steal down the stairs,\nsoftly--but it did not sound like Grandfather at all, for you did not\nhear the stumping of his cane. Next morning, when you asked him about\nit, his vest shook, and just the tip of his tongue showed between his\nteeth, for that was the way it did when anything pleased him.  And\nGrandfather said:\n\n\"You won't ever tell?\"\n\n\"No, Grandfather.\"\n\n\"Sure as shootin'?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, then--\" but Grandfather kept shaking so he could not tell.\n\n\"Oh, Grandfather!  _Why_ didn't the cane sound on the stairs?\"\n\n\"Whisht, boy!  I just wrapped my old bandanna handkerchief around the\nend.\"\n\nBut worse than that time was the awful morning when you broke the blue\npitcher that came over in the _Mayflower_.  An old family law said you\nshould never even touch it, where it sat on the shelf by the clock, but\nthe Old Nick said it wouldn't hurt if you looked inside--just once. You\nhad been munching bread-and-butter, and your fingers were slippery, and\nthat is how the pitcher came to fall. Grandfather found you sobbing over\nthe pieces, and his face was white.\n\n\"Sonny, Sonny, what have you done?\"\n\n\"I--I d-didn't mean to, Grandfather.\"\n\nIn trembling fingers Grandfather gathered up the blue fragments--all\nthat was left of the family heirloom, emblem of Mother's ancestral\npride.\n\n\"'Sh!  Don't cry, Sonny.  We'll make it all right again.\"\n\n\"M-Moth--Mother 'll whip me.\"\n\n\"'Sh, boy.  No, she won't.  We'll take it to the tinker.  He'll make it\nall right again.  Come.\"\n\nAnd you and Grandfather slunk guiltily to the tinker and watched him\nmake the blue fragments into the blue pitcher again, and then you\ncarried it home, and as Grandfather set it back on the shelf you\nwhispered:\n\n[Illustration: \"WATCHED HIM MAKE THE BLUE FRAGMENTS INTO THE BLUE\nPITCHER AGAIN\"]\n\n\"Grandfather!\"\n\nGrandfather bent his ear to you.  Very softly you said it:\n\n\"Grandfather, the cracks don't show at all from here.\"\n\nGrandfather nodded his head.  Then he tramped up and down in the garden.\nHe forgot to smoke.  Crime weighed upon his soul.\n\n\"Boy,\" said he, sternly, stopping in his walk.  \"You must never be\nnaughty again.  Do you hear me?\"\n\n\"I won't, Grandfather.\"\n\nGrandfather resumed his tramping; then paused and turned to where you\nsat on the wheelbarrow.\n\n\"But if you ever _are_ naughty again, you must go at once and tell\nMother.  Do you understand?\"\n\n\"Yes, Grandfather.\"\n\nUp and down Grandfather tramped moodily, his head bent, his hands\nclasped behind him--up and down between the verbenas and hollyhocks.  He\npaused irresolutely--turned--turned again--and came back to you.\n\n\"Boy, Grandfather's just as bad and wicked as you are.  He ought to have\nmade you tell Mother about the pitcher first, and take it to the tinker\nafterwards. You must never keep anything from your mother again--never.\nDo you hear?\"\n\n\"Yes, Grandfather,\" you whimpered, hanging your head.\n\n\"Come, boy.\"\n\nYou gave him your hand.  Mother listened, wondering, while Grandfather\nspoke out bravely to the very end.  You had been bad, but he had been\nworse, he confessed; and he asked to be punished for himself and you.\n\nMother did not even look at the cracked blue pitcher on the clock-shelf,\nbut her eyes filled, and at the sight of her tears you flung yourself,\nsobbing, into her arms.\n\n\"Oh, Mother, don't whip Grandfather. Just whip me.\"\n\n\"It isn't the blue pitcher I care about,\" she said.  \"It's only to think\nthat Grandfather and my little boy were afraid to tell me.\"\n\nAnd at this she broke out crying with your wet cheek against her wet\ncheek, and her warm arms crushing you to her breast.  And you cried, and\nGrandfather blew his nose, and Carlo barked and leaped to lick your\nface, until by-and-by, when Mother's white handkerchief and\nGrandfather's red one were quite damp, you and Mother smiled through\nyour tears, and she said it did not matter, and Grandfather patted one\nof her hands while you kissed the other.  And you and Grandfather said\nyou would never be bad again. When you were good, or sick--dear\nGrandfather!  It was not what he said, for only Mother could say the\nlove-words. It was the things he did without saying much at all--the\ncircus he took you to see, the lessons in A B C while he held the book\nfor you in his hand, the sail-boats he whittled for you on rainy\ndays--for Grandfather was a ship-carpenter before he was a\ngrandfather--and the willow whistles he made for you, and the soldier\nswords.  It was Grandfather who fished you from the brook.  Grandfather\nsaved you from Farmer Tompkins's cow--the black one which gave no milk.\nGrandfather snatched you from prowling dogs, and stinging bees, and bad\nboys and their wiles.  That is what grandfathers are for, and so we love\nthem and climb into their laps and beg for sail-boats and tales--and\n_that_ is their reward.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE SAIL-BOATS HE WHITTLED FOR YOU ON RAINY DAYS\"]\n\nOne day--your birthday had just gone by and it was time to think of\nThanksgiving--you walked with Grandfather in the fields.  Between the\nstacked corn the yellow pumpkins lay, and they made you think of\nThanksgiving pies.  The leaves, red and gold, dropped of old age in the\nautumn stillness, and you gathered an armful for Mother.\n\n\"Why don't all the people die every year, Grandfather, like the leaves?\"\n\n\"Everybody dies when his work's done, little boy.  The leaf's work is\ndone in the fall when the frost comes.  It takes longer for a man to do\nhis work, 'cause a man has more to do.\"\n\n\"When will your work be done, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"It's almost done now, little boy.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Grandfather.  There's lots for you to do.  You said you'd make\nme a bob-sled, and a truly engine what goes, when I'm bigger; and when I\nget to be a grown-up man like Father, you are to come and make willow\nwhistles for my little boys.\"\n\nAnd you were right, for while the frost came again and again for the\nlittle leaves, Grandfather stayed on in the sun, and when he had made\nyou the bob-sled he still lingered, for did he not have the truly engine\nto make for you, and the willow whistles for your own little boys?\n\nWaking from a nap, you could not remember when you fell asleep.  You\nwondered what hour it was.  Was it morning? Was it afternoon?  Dreamily\nyou came down-stairs.  Golden sunlight crossed the ivied porch and\nsmiled at you through the open door.  The dining-room table was set with\nblue china, and at every place was a dish of red, red strawberries.\nThen you knew it was almost supper-time. You were rested with sleep,\ngentle with dreams of play, happy at the thought of red berries in blue\ndishes with sugar and cream.  You found Grandfather in the garden\nsitting in the sun.  He was not reading or smoking; he was just waiting.\n\n\"Are you tired waiting for me, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"No, little boy.\"\n\n\"I came as soon as I could, Grandfather.\"\n\nThe leaves did not move.  The flowers were motionless.  Grandfather sat\nquite still, his soft, white beard against your cheek, flushed with\nsleep.  You nestled in his lap.  And so you sat together, with the sun\ngoing down about you, till Mother came and called you to supper.  Even\nnow when you are grown, you remember, as though it were yesterday, the\nlong nap and the golden light in the doorway, and the red berries on the\ntable, and Grandfather waiting in the sun.\n\nOne day--it was not long afterwards--they took you to see Aunt Mary, on\nthe train.  When you came home again, Grandfather was not waiting for\nyou.\n\n\"Where is Grandfather?\"\n\n\"Grandfather isn't here any more, dearie. He has gone 'way up in the sky\nto see God and the angels.\"\n\n\"And won't he ever come back to our house?\"\n\n\"No, dear; but if you are a good boy, you will go to see him some day.\"\n\n\"But, oh, Mother, what will Grandfather do when he goes to walk with the\nlittle boy angels?  See--he's gone and forgot his cane!\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *Grandmother*\n\n\nIn the days when you went into the country to visit her, Grandmother was\na gay, spry little lady with velvety cheeks and gold-rimmed spectacles,\nknitting reins for your hobby-horse, and spreading bread-and-butter and\nbrown sugar for you in the hungry middle of the afternoon.  For a bumped\nhead there was nothing in the bottles to compare with the magic of her\nlips.\n\n\"And what did the floor do to my poor little lamb?  See!  Grandmother\nwill make the place well again.\"  And when she had kissed it three\ntimes, lo! you knew that you were hungry, and on the door-sill of\nGrandmother's pantry you shed a final tear.\n\nWhen you arrived for a visit, and Grandmother had taken off your cap and\ncoat as you sat in her lap, you would say, softly, \"Grandmother.\"  Then\nshe would know that you wanted to whisper, and she would lower her ear\ntill it was even with your lips.  Through the hollow of your two hands\nyou said it:\n\n\"I think I would like some sugar pie now, Grandmother.\"\n\nAnd then she would laugh till the tears came, and wipe her spectacles,\nfor that was just what she had been waiting for you to say all the time,\nand if you had not said it--but, of course, that was impossible.\nAlways, on the day before you came, she made two little sugar pies in\ntwo little round tins with crinkled edges. One was for you, and the\nother was for Lizbeth.\n\nAfter you had eaten your pies you chased the rooster till he dropped you\na white tail-feather in token of surrender, and just tucking the feather\ninto your cap made you an Indian.  Grandmother stood at the window and\nwatched you while you scalped the sunflowers.  The Indians and tigers at\nGrandmother's were wilder than those in Our Yard at home.\n\nBeing an Indian made you think of tents, and then you remembered\nGrandmother's old plaid shawl.  She never wore it now, for she had a new\none, but she kept it for you in the closet beneath the stairs.  While\nyou were gone, it hung in the dark alone, dejected, waiting for you to\ncome back and play.  When you came, at last, and dragged it forth, it\nclung to you warmly, and did everything you said: stretched its frayed\nlength from chair to chair and became a tent for you; swelled proudly in\nthe summer gale till your boat scudded through the surf of waving grass,\nand you anchored safely, to fish with string and pin, by the Isles of\nthe Red Geraniums.\n\n\"The pirates are coming,\" you cried to Lizbeth, scanning the horizon of\npicket fence.\n\n\"The pirates are coming,\" she repeated, dutifully.\n\n\"And now we must haul up the anchor,\" you commanded, dragging in the\nstone. Lizbeth was in terror.  \"Oh, my poor dolly!\" she cried, hushing\nit in her arms. Gallantly the old plaid shawl caught the breeze; and as\nit filled, your boat leaped forward through--\n\n\"Harry!  Lizbeth!  Come and be washed for dinner!\"\n\nGrandmother's voice came out to you across the waters.  You hesitated.\nThe pirate ship was close behind.  You could see the cutlasses flashing\nin the sun.\n\n\"More sugar pies,\" sang the Grandmother siren on the rocks of the front\nporch, and at those melting words the pirate ship was a mere speck on\nthe horizon.  Seizing Lizbeth by the hand, you ran boldly across the\nsea.\n\nBy the white bowl Grandmother took your chin in one hand and lifted your\nface.\n\n\"My, what a dirty boy!\"\n\nWith the rough wet rag she mopped the dirt away--grime of your long\nsea-voyage--while you squinted your eyes and pursed up your lips to keep\nout the soap. You clung to her apron for support in your mute agony.\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU CLUNG TO HER APRON FOR SUPPORT IN YOUR MUTE AGONY\"]\n\n\"Grand--\" you managed to sputter ere the wet rag smothered you.  Warily\nyou waited till the cloth went higher, to your puckered eyes.  Then,\n\"Grand-m-m--\"  But that was all, for with a trail of suds the rag swept\ndown again, and as the half-word slipped out, the soap slipped in.  So\nGrandmother dug and dug till she came to the pink stratum of your\ncheeks, and then it was wipe, wipe, wipe, till the stratum shone.  Then\nit was your hands' turn, while Grandmother listened to your belated\ntale, and last of all she kissed you above and gave you a little spank\nbelow, and you were done.\n\nAll through dinner your mind was on the table--not on the middle of it,\nwhere the meat was, but on the end of it.\n\n\"Harry, why don't you eat your bread?\"\n\n\"Why, I don't feel for bread, Grandmother,\" you explained, looking at\nthe end of the table.  \"I just feel for pie.\"\n\nIt was hard when you were back home again, for there it was mostly\nbread, and no sugar pies at all, and very little cake.\n\n\"Grandmother lets me have _two_ pieces,\" you would urge to Mother, but\nthe argument was of no avail.  Two pieces, she said, were not good for\nlittle boys.\n\n\"Then why does Grandmother let me have them?\" you would demand,\nsullenly, kicking the table leg; but Mother could not hear you unless\nyou kicked hard, and then it was naughty boys, not Grandmothers, that\nshe talked about.  And if that happened which sometimes does to naughty\nlittle boys--\n\n\"Grandmother don't hurt at all when _she_ spanks,\" you said.\n\nSo there were wrathful moments when you wished you might live always\nwith Grandmother.  It was so easy to be good at her house--so easy, that\nis, to get two pieces of cake.  And when God made little boys, you\nthought, He must have made Grandmothers to bake sugar pies for them.\n\n\"Suppose you were a little boy like me, Grandmother?\" you once said to\nher.\n\n\"That would be fine,\" she admitted; \"but suppose you were a little\ngrandmother like me?\"\n\n\"Well,\" you replied, with candor, \"I think I would rather be like\nGrandfather, 'cause he was a soldier, and fought Johnny Reb.\"\n\n\"And if you were a grandfather,\" Grandmother asked, \"what would you do?\"\n\n\"Why, if I were a grandfather,\" you said--\"why--\"\n\n\"Well, what would you do?\"\n\n\"Why, if I were a grandfather,\" you said, \"I should want you to come and\nbe a grandmother with me.\"  And Grandmother kissed you for that.\n\n\"But I like you best as a little boy,\" she said.  \"Once Grandmother had\na little boy just like you, and he used to climb into her lap and put\nhis arms around her. Oh, he was a beautiful little boy, and sometimes\nGrandmother gets very lonesome without him--till you come, and then it's\nlike having him back again. For you've got his blue eyes and his brown\nhair and his sweet little ways, and Grandmother loves you--once for\nyourself and once for him.\"\n\n\"But where is the little boy now, Grandmother?\"\n\n\"He's a man now, darling.  He's your own father.\"\n\nEvery Sunday, Grandmother went to church.  After breakfast there was a\nflurry of dressing, with an opening and shutting of doors up-stairs, and\nGrandfather would be down-stairs in the kitchen, blacking his Sunday\nboots.  On Sunday his beard looked whiter than on other days, but that\nwas because he seemed so much blacker everywhere else.  He creaked out\nto the stable and hitched Peggy to the buggy and led them around to the\nfront gate.  Then he would snap his big gold watch and go to the bottom\nof the stairs and say:\n\n\"Maria!  Come!  It's ten o'clock.\"\n\nGrandmother's door would open a slender crack--\"Yes, John\"--and\nGrandfather would creak up and down in his Sunday boots, up and down,\nwaiting, till there was a rustling on the stairs and Grandmother came\ndown to him in a glory of black silk.  There was a little frill of white\nabout her neck, fastened with her gold brooch, and above that her gentle\nSabbath face.  Her face took on a new light when Sunday came, and she\nnever seemed so near, somehow, as on other days.  There was a look in\nher eyes that did not speak of sugar pies or play.  There was a little\npressure of the thin lips and a silence, as though she had no time for\nfairy-tales or lullabies.  When she set her little black bonnet on her\ngray hair and lifted up her chin to tie the ribbon strings beneath, you\nstopped your game to watch, wondering at her awesomeness; and when in\nher black-gloved fingers she clasped her worn Bible and stooped and\nkissed you good-bye, you never thought of putting your arms around her.\nShe was too wonderful--this little Sabbath Grandmother--for that.\n\nThrough the window you watched them as they went down the walk together\nto the front gate, Grandmother and Grandfather, the tips of her gloved\nfingers laid in the hollow of his arm.  Solemn was the steady stumping\nof his cane.  Solemn was the day.  Even the roosters knew it was Sunday,\nsomehow, and crowed dismally; and the bells--the church-bells tolling\nthrough the quiet air--made you lonesome and cross with Lizbeth.  Your\ncollar was very stiff, and your Sunday trousers were very tight, and\nthere was nothing to do, and you were dreary.\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU WATCHED THEM AS THEY WENT DOWN THE WALK TOGETHER\"]\n\nAfter dinner Grandfather went to sleep on the sofa, with a newspaper\nover his face.  Then Grandmother took you up into her black silk lap and\nread you Bible stories and taught you the Twenty-third Psalm and the\ngolden text.  And every one of the golden texts meant the same\nthing--that little boys should be very good and do as they are told.\n\nGrandmother's Sunday lap was not so fine as her other ones to lie in.\nHer Monday lap, for instance, was soft and gray, and there were no texts\nto disturb your reverie.  Then Grandmother would stop her knitting to\npinch your cheek and say, \"You don't love Grandmother.\"\n\n\"Yes, I do.\"\n\n\"How much?\"\n\n\"More'n tonguecantell.  What is a tonguecantell, Grandmother?\"\n\nAnd while she was telling you she would be poking the tip of her finger\ninto the soft of your jacket, so that you doubled up suddenly with your\nknees to your chin; and while you guarded your ribs a funny spider would\ncrawl down the back of your neck; and when you chased the spider out of\nyour collar it would suddenly creep under your chin, or there would be a\npanic in the ribs again.  By that time you were nothing but wriggles and\ngiggles and little cries.\n\n\"Don't, Grandmother; you tickle.\"  And Grandmother would pause,\nbreathless as yourself, and say, \"_Oh_, my!\"\n\n\"Now you must do it some more, Grandmother,\" you would urge, but she\nwould shake her head at you and go back to her knitting again.\n\n\"Grandmother's tired,\" she would say.\n\nYou were tired, too, so you lay with your head on her shoulder, sucking\nyour thumb.  To and fro Grandmother rocked you, to and fro, while the\nkitten played with the ball of yarn on the floor.  The afternoon\nsunshine fell warmly through the open window.  Bees and butterflies\nhovered in the honeysuckles.  Birds were singing.  Your mind went\na-wandering--out through the yard and the front gate and across the\nroad.  On it went past the Taylors' big dog and up by Aunty Green's,\nwhere the crullers lived, all brown and crusty, in the high stone crock.\nIt scrambled down by the brook where the little green frogs were hopping\ninto the water, leaving behind them trembling rings that grew wider and\nwider and wider, till pretty soon they were the ocean.  That was a big\nthought, and you roused yourself.\n\n[Illustration: \"TO AND FRO GRANDMOTHER ROCKED YOU\"]\n\n\"How big is the ocean, Grandmother?\"\n\n\"As big--oh, as big as all out-doors.\"\n\nYour mind waded out into the ocean till the water was up to its knees.\nThen it scrambled back again and lay in the warm sand and looked up at\nthe sky. And the sand rocked to and fro, to and fro, as your mind lay\nthere, all curled up and warm, by the ocean, watching the butterflies in\nthe honeysuckles and the crullers in the crock.  And all the people were\nsinging ... all the people in the world, almost ... and the little green\nfrogs....  \"Bye--bye, bye--bye,\" they were singing, in time to the\nrocking of the sand ... \"Bye--bye\" ... \"Bye\" ... \"Bye\" ...\n\nAnd when you awoke you were on the sofa, all covered up with\nGrandmother's shawl.\n\nSo you liked the gay week-day Grandmother best, with her soft lap and\nher lullabies.  Grandfather must have liked her best too, you thought,\nfor when he went away forever and forgot his cane, it was the Sunday\nGrandmother he left behind--a little, gray Grandmother sitting by the\nwindow and gazing silently through the panes.\n\nWhat she saw there you never knew--but it was not the trees, or the\ndistant hills, or the people passing in the road.\n\n\n\n\n                        *While Aunt Jane Played*\n\n\nAunt Jane played the piano in the parlor.  You could play, too--\"Peter,\nPeter, Punkin-eater,\" with your forefinger, Aunt Jane holding it in her\nhand so that you would strike the right notes. But when Aunt Jane played\nshe used both hands.  Sometimes the music was so fast and stirring that\nit made you dance, or romp, or sing, or play that you were not a little\nboy at all, but a soldier like Grandfather or George Washington; and\nsometimes the music was so soft and beautiful that you wanted to be a\nprince in a fairy tale; and then again it was so slow and grim that you\nwished it were not Sunday, for the Sunday tunes, like your tight, black,\nSunday shoes, had all their buttons on, and so were not comfy or made\nfor fun.  You could not march to them, or fight to them, or be a\ngrown-up man to them.  Somehow they always reminded you that you were\nonly a pouting, naughty little boy.\n\nThe sound of the piano came out to you as you lingered by the table\nwhere Lizzie-in-the-kitchen was making pies.  You ran into the parlor\nand sat on a hassock by Aunt Jane, watching her as she played. It was\nnot a fast piece that day, nor yet a slow one, but just in-between, so\nthat as you sat by the piano you wondered if the snow and sloppy little\npuddles would ever go and leave Our Yard green again. Even with rubber\nboots now Mother made you keep the paths, and mostly you had to stay in\nthe house.  Through the window you could see the maple boughs still\nbare, but between them the sky was warm and blue.  Pretty soon the\nleaves would be coming, hiding the sky.\n\n\"Auntie.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" though she did not stop playing.\n\n\"Where do the leaves come from?\"\n\n\"From the little buds on the twigs, dearie.\"\n\n\"But how do they know when it's time to come, Auntie Jane?  'Cause if\nthey came too soon, they might catch cold and die.\"\n\n\"Well, the sun tells them when.\"\n\n\"How does the sun tell them, Auntie?\"\n\n\"Why, he makes the trees all warm, and when the buds feel it, out they\ncome.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\nYour eyes were very wide.  They were always wide when you wondered; and\nsometimes when you were not wondering at all, just hearing Aunt Jane\nplay would make you, and then your eyes would grow bigger and bigger as\nyou sat on the hassock by the piano, looking at the maple boughs and\nhearing the music and being a little boy.\n\nIt was a beautiful piece that Aunt Jane was playing that March morning.\nThe sun came and shone on the maple boughs.\n\n\"And now the sun is telling the little buds,\" you said to yourself in\ntime to Aunt Jane's music, but so softly that she did not hear.\n\n\"And now the little buds are saying 'All right,'\" you whispered, more\nsoftly still, for the bigger your eyes got, the smaller, always, was\nyour voice.\n\nA little song-sparrow came and teetered on a twig.\n\n\"Oh, Auntie, see!  The birdie's come, too, to tell the buds, I guess.\"\n\nAunt Jane turned her head and smiled at the sparrow, but she did not\nstop playing.  Your heart was beating in time to the music, as you sat\non the hassock by the piano, watching the bird and the sun. The sparrow\ndanced like Aunt Jane's fingers, and put up his little open bill.  He\nwas singing, though you could not hear.\n\n\"But, Auntie.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Who told the little bird?\"\n\n\"God told the little bird, dearie--away down South where the oranges and\nroses grow in the winter, and there isn't any snow.  And the little bird\nflew up here to Ourtown to build his nest and sing in our maple-tree.\"\n\nYour eyes were so wide now that you had no voice at all.  You just sat\nthere on the hassock while Aunt Jane played.\n\nAway down South ... away down South, singing in an orange-tree, you saw\nthe little bird ... but now he stopped to listen with his head on one\nside, and his bright eye shining, while the warm wind rustled in the\nleaves ... God was telling him ... So the little bird spread his wings\nand flew ... away up in the blue sky, above the trees, above the\nsteeples, over the hills and running brooks ... miles and miles and\nmiles ... till he came to Our Yard, in the sun.\n\n\"And here he is now,\" you ended aloud your little story, for you had\nfound your voice again.\n\n\"Who is here, dearie?\" asked Aunt Jane, still playing.\n\n\"Why, the little bird,\" you said.\n\nThe sparrow flew away.  The sun came through the window to where you sat\non the hassock, by the piano.  It warmed your knees and told you--what\nit told the buds, what God told the little bird in the orange-tree.\nLike the little bird you could stay no longer.  You ran out-of-doors\ninto the soft, sweet wind and the morning.\n\nAunt Jane gave the keys a last caress. Grandmother turned in her chair\nby the sitting-room window.\n\n\"What were you playing, Janey?\"\n\n\"Mendelssohn's 'Spring Song,' Mother.\"\n\nThe little gray Grandmother looked out-of-doors again to where you\nplayed, singing, in the sun.\n\n\"Isn't it beautiful?\" she murmured.\n\nYou waved your hand to her and laughed, and she nodded back at you,\nsmiling at your fun.\n\n\"Bless his heart, _he's_ playing the music, too,\" she said.\n\n\n\n\n                            *Little Sister*\n\n\nIn the daytime she played with you, and believed all you said, and was\nalways ready to cry.  At night she slept with you and the four dolls.\nShe was your little sister, Lizbeth.\n\n\"Whose little girl are you?\" they would ask her.  If she were sitting in\nFather's lap, she would doubtless reply--\n\n\"Father's little girl.\"\n\nBut--\n\n\"Oh, _Lizbeth_!\" Mother would cry.\n\n\"--and Mother's,\" Lizbeth would add, to keep peace in the family.\nThough she never mentioned you at such times, she told you privately\nthat she would marry you when you grew to be a man, and publicly she\nremembered you in her prayers.  Kneeling down at Mother's knee, you and\nLizbeth, in your little white nighties, before you went to bed, you said\n\"Now I lay me\" in unison, and ended with blessing every one, only at the\nvery end _you_ said:\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU SAID 'NOW I LAY ME' IN UNISON\"]\n\n\"--and God bless Captain Jinks,\" for even a wooden soldier needed God in\nthose long, dark nights of childhood, while Lizbeth said:\n\n\"--and God bless all my dollies, and send my Sally doll a new leg.\"\n\nBut though God sent three new legs in turn, Sally was always losing\nthem, so that finally Lizbeth confided in Mother:\n\n\"Pretty soon God 'll be tired of sending Sally new legs, I guess.  _You_\nspeak to Him next time, Mother, 'cause I'm 'shamed to any more.\"\n\nAnd when Mother asked Him, He sent a new Sally instead of a new leg.  It\nwould be cheaper, Mother told Father, in the long-run.\n\nIn the diplomatic precedence of Lizbeth's prayers, Father and Mother\nwere blessed first, and you came between \"Grandfather and Grandmother\"\nand \"God bless my dollies.\"  Thus was your family rank established for\nall time by a little girl in a white night-gown.  You were a little\nlower than your elders, it is true, but you were higher than the legless\nSally or the waxen blonde.\n\nWhen Lizbeth and you were good, you loved each other, and when you were\nbad, both of you at the same time, you loved each other too, _very_\ndearly.  But sometimes it happened that Lizbeth was good and you were\nbad, and then she only loved Mother, and ran and told tales on you. And\nyou--well, you did not love anybody at all.\n\nWhen your insides said it would be a long time before dinner, and your\nmouth watered, and you stood on a chair by the pantry shelf with your\nhand in a brown jar, and when Lizbeth found you there, you could tell by\njust looking at her face that she was very good that day, and that she\nloved Mother better than she did you. So you knew without even thinking\nabout it that you were very bad, and you did not love anybody at all,\nand your heart quaked within you at Lizbeth's sanctity.  But there was\nalways a last resort.\n\n\"Lizbeth, if you tell\"--you mumbled awfully, pointing at her an uncanny\nforefinger dripping preserves--\"if you tell, a great big black Gummy-gum\n'll get you when it's dark, and he'll pick out your eyes and gnaw your\nears off, and he'll keep one paw over your mouth, so you can't holler,\nand when the blood comes--\"\n\nLizbeth quailed before you.  She began to cry.\n\n\"You won't tell, _will_ you?\" you demanded, fiercely, making eyes like a\nGummy-gum and showing your white teeth.\n\n\"No--o--o,\" wailed Lizbeth.\n\n\"Well, stop crying, then,\" you commanded, sucking your syrupy fingers.\n\"If you cry, the Gummy-gum 'll come and get you _now_.\"\n\nLizbeth looked fearfully over her shoulder and stopped.  By that time\nyour fingers were all sucked, and the cover was back on the jar, and you\nwere saved.  But that night, when Mother and Father came home, you\nwatched Lizbeth, and lest she should forget, you made the eyes of a\nGummy-gum, when no one but Lizbeth saw.  Mother tucked you both into bed\nand kissed you and put out the light.  Then Lizbeth whimpered.\n\n[Illustration: \"MOTHER TUCKED YOU BOTH INTO BED AND KISSED YOU\"]\n\n\"Why, Lizbeth,\" said Mother from the dark.\n\nQuick as a flash you snuggled up to Lizbeth's side.  \"The Gummy-gum 'll\nget you if you don't stop,\" you whispered, warningly--but with one\ndismal wail Lizbeth was out of bed and in Mother's arms. Then you knew\nall was over.  Desperately you awaited retribution, humming a little\nsong, and so it was to the tune of \"I want to be an angel\" that you\nheard Lizbeth sob out her awful tale:\n\n\"Harry ... he ... he said the Gummy-gum 'd get me ... if I told about\nthe p'serves.\"\n\nAnd it was _you_ the Gummy-gum got that time, and your blood, you\nthought, almost came.\n\nBut other nights when you went to bed--nights after days when you had\nboth been good and loved each other--it was fine to lie there in the\ndark with Lizbeth, playing Make-Believe before you fell asleep.\n\n\"I tell you,\" you said, putting up your foot so that the covers rose\nupon it, making a little tent--\"I tell you; let's be Indians.\"\n\n\"Let's,\" said Lizbeth.\n\n\"And this is our little tent, and there's bears outside what 'll eat you\nup if you don't look out.\"\n\nLizbeth shivered and drew her knees up to her chin, so that she was\nnothing but a little warm roll under the wigwam.\n\n\"And now the bears are coming--wow! wow! wow!\"\n\nAnd as the great hungry beasts pushed their snouts under the canvas and\ngrowled and gnashed their teeth, Lizbeth, little squaw, squealed with\nterror, and seized you as you lay there helpless in your triple role of\ntent and bears and Indian brave; seized you in the ticklish ribs so that\nthe wigwam came tumbling about your ears, and the Indian brave rolled\nand shrieked with laughter, and the brute bears fled to their mountain\ncaves.\n\n\"Children!\"\n\n\"W-what?\"\n\n\"Stop that noise and go right to sleep. Do you hear me?\"\n\nWas it not the voice of the mamma bear? Stealthily you crept under the\nfallen canvas, which had grown smaller, somehow, in the _melee_, so that\nwhen you pulled it up to your chin and tucked it in around you, Lizbeth\nwas out in the cold; and when Lizbeth tucked herself in, then you were\nshivering.  But by-and-by you huddled close in the twisted sheets and\ntalked low beneath the edge of the coverlet, so that no one heard\nyou--not even the Gummy-gum, who spent his nights on the back stairs.\n\n\"Does the Gummy-gum eat little folks while they're asleep?\" asked\nLizbeth, with a precautionary snuggle-up.\n\n\"No; 'cause the Gummy-gum is afraid of the little black gnomes what live\nin the pillows.\"\n\n\"Well, if the little black gnomes live in the pillows, why can't you\nfeel them then?\"\n\n\"'Cause, now, they're so teenty-weenty and so soft.\"\n\n\"And can't you ever see them at all?\"\n\n\"No; 'cause they don't come out till you're asleep.\"\n\n\"Oh ... Well, Harry--now--if a Gummy-gum had a head like a horse, and a\ntail like a cow, and a bill like a duck, what?\"\n\n\"Why--why, he _wouldn't_, 'cause he _isn't_.\"\n\n\"Oh ... Well, is the Gummy-gum just afraid of the little gnomes, and\nthat's all?\"\n\n\"Um-hm; 'cause the little gnomes have little knives, all sharp and\nshiny, what they got on the Christmas-tree.\"\n\n\"_Our_ Christmas-tree?\"\n\n\"No; the little gnomes's Christmas-tree.\"\n\n\"The little gnomes's Christmas-tree?\"\n\n\"Um-hm.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"'Cause ... why, there ain't any why ... just Christmas-tree.\"\n\n\"Just ... just Christmas-tree?\"\n\n\"Um.\"\n\n\"Why ... I thought ... I ...\"\n\nAnd you and Lizbeth never felt Mother smooth out the covers at all,\nthough she lifted you up to straighten them; and so you slept,\nspoon-fashion, warm as toast, with the little black gnomes watching in\nthe pillows, and the Gummy-gum, hungry but afraid, in the dark of the\nback stairs.\n\nThe pear-tree on the edge of the enchanted garden, green with summer and\ntremulous with breeze, sheltered a little girl and her dolls.  On the\ncool turf she sat alone, preoccupied, her dress starched and white like\nthe frill of a valentine, her fat little legs straight out before her,\nher bright little curls straight down behind, her lips parted, her eyes\ngentle with a dream of motherhood--Mamma Lizbeth crooning lullabies to\nher four children cradled in the soft grass.\n\n\"I'll tell you just one more story,\" she was saying, \"just one, and\nthat's all, and then you children must go to sleep.  Sally, lie still!\nAin't you 'shamed, kicking all the covers off and catching cold?\nNaughty girl.  Now you must listen.  Well ... Once upon a time there was\na fairy what lived in a rose, and she had beautiful wings--oh, all\ncolors--and she could go wherever she wanted to without anybody ever\nseeing her, 'cause she was iwisible, which is when you can't see anybody\nat all.  Well, one day the fairy saw a little girl carrying her father's\ndinner, and she turned herself into an old witch and said to the little\ngirl, 'Come to me, pretty one, and I will give thee a stick of\npeppermint candy.'  Now the little girl, she just loved candy, and\npeppermint was her favorite, but she was a good little girl and minded\nher mother most dut'fly, and never told any lies or anything; so she\ncourtesied to the old witch and said, 'Thank you kindly, but I must\nhurry with my father's dinner, or he will be hungry waiting.'  _And what\ndo you think_?  Just then the old witch turned into the beautiful fairy\nagain, and she kissed the little girl, and gave her a whole bag of\npeppermint candy, and a doll what talked, and a velocipede for her\nlittle brother. And what does this story teach us, children? ... Yes.\nThat's right.  It teaches us to be good little boys and girls and mind\nour parents.  And that's all.\"\n\nThe dolls fell asleep.  Lizbeth whispered lest they should awake, and\ntiptoed through the grass.  A blue-jay called harshly from a neighboring\ntree.  Lizbeth frowned and glanced anxiously at the grassy trundle-bed.\n\"'Sh!\" she said, warningly, her finger on her lip, whenever you came\nnear.\n\nSuddenly there was a rustle in the leaves above, and out of their\ngreenness a little pear dropped to the grass at Lizbeth's feet.\n\n\"It's mine,\" you cried, reaching out your hand.\n\n\"No--o,\" screamed Lizbeth.  \"It's for my dollies' breakfast,\" and she\nhugged the stunted, speckled fruit to her bosom so tightly that its\nbrown, soft side was crushed in her hands.  You tried to snatch it from\nher, but she struck you with her little clinched fist.\n\n\"No--o,\" she cried again.  \"It's my dollies' pear.\"  Her lip quivered.\nTears sprang into her eyes.  You straightened yourself.\n\n\"All right,\" you muttered, fiercely.  \"All right for you.  I'll run\naway, I will, and I'll never come back--_never_!\"\n\nYou climbed the stone wall.\n\n\"No,\" cried Lizbeth.\n\n\"I'll never come back,\" you called, defiantly, as you stood on the top.\n\n\"No,\" Lizbeth screamed, scrambling to her feet and turning to you a face\nwet with tears and white with terror.\n\n\"Never, _never_!\" was your farewell to her as you jumped.  Deaf to the\npitiful wail behind you, you ran out across the meadow, muttering to\nyourself your fateful, parting cry.\n\nLizbeth looked for a moment at the wall where you had stood.  Then she\nran sobbing after you, around through the gate, for the wall was too\nhigh for her, and out into the field, where to her blurred vision you\nwere only a distant figure now, never, never to return.\n\n\"Harry!\" she screamed, and the wind blew her cry to you across the\nmeadow, but you ran on, unheeding.  She struggled after you.  The\ndaisies brushed her skirt.  Creeping vines caught at her little shoes\nand she fell.  Scratched by briers, she scrambled to her feet again and\nstumbled on, blind with tears, crying ever \"Harry, Harry!\" but so\nfaintly now in her sobs and breathlessness that you did not hear.  At\nthe top of a weary, weary <DW72> she sank helpless and heartbroken in the\ngrass, a little huddle of curls and pinafore, so that your conscience\nsmote you as you stood waiting, half hidden by the hedge.\n\n\"Don't be a cry-baby.  I was only fooling,\" you said, and at the sound\nof your voice Lizbeth lifted her face from the grasses and put out her\narms to you with a cry. In one hand was the little pear.\n\n\"Oh, I don't want the old thing,\" you cried, throwing yourself beside\nher on the turf.  Smiling again through her tears, Lizbeth reached out a\nlittle hand scratched by briers, and patted your cheek.\n\n\"Harry,\" she said, \"you can have all my animal crackers for your\nm'nagerie, if you want to, and my little brown donkey; and I'll play\nhorse with you any time you want me to, Harry, I will.\"\n\nSo, after all, you did not run away, and you and Lizbeth went home at\nlast across the meadow, hand in hand. Behind you, hidden and forgotten\nin the red clover, lay your quarrel and the little pear.\n\nWhen Lizbeth loved you, there were stars in her brown eyes; when you\nlooked more closely, so that you were very near their shining, you saw\nin their round, black pupils, smiling back at you, the face of a little\nboy; and then in your own eyes, Lizbeth, holding your cheeks between her\nhands, found the face of a little girl.\n\n\"Why, it's _me_!\" she cried.\n\nAnd when you looked again into Lizbeth's eyes, you saw yourself; and\n\"Oh, Mother,\" you said afterwards, for you had thought deeply, \"I think\nit's the _good_ Harry that's in Lizbeth's eyes, 'cause when I look at\nhim, he's always smiling.\"  That was as far as you thought about it\nthen; but once, long afterwards, it came to you that little boys never\nfind their pictures in a sister's eyes unless they are good, and love\nher, and hold her cheeks between their hands.\n\nLizbeth's cheeks were softer than yours, and when she played horse, or\nthe day was windy, so that the grass rippled and the trees sang, or when\nit was tub-day with soap and towels up-stairs, her cheeks were pink as\nthe roses in Mother's garden.  That is how you came to tell Mother a\ngreat secret, one evening in summer, as you sat with her and Lizbeth on\nthe front steps watching the sun go down.\n\n\"I guess it's tub-day in the sky, Mother.\"\n\n\"Tub-day?\"\n\n\"Why, yes.  All the little clouds have been having their bath, I think,\n'cause they're all pink and shiny, like Lizbeth.\"\n\nBut once Lizbeth's cheeks were white, and she stayed in bed every day,\nand you played by yourself.  Twice a day they took you as far as the\nbedroom door to see her.\n\n[Illustration: \"THEY TOOK YOU AS FAR AS THE BEDROOM DOOR TO SEE HER\"]\n\n\"H'lo,\" you said, as you peeked.\n\n\"H'lo,\" she whispered back, very softly, for she was almost asleep, and\nshe did not even smile at you, and before you could tell her what the\nPussy-cat did they took you away--but not till you had seen the two\nglasses on the table with the silver spoon on top.\n\nThere was no noise in the days then. Even the trees stopped singing, and\nthe wind walked on tiptoe and whispered into people's ears, like you.\n\n\"Is it to-day Lizbeth comes down-stairs?\" you asked every morning.\n\n\"Do you think Lizbeth will play with me to-morrow?\" you asked every\nnight. Night came a long time after morning in the days when Lizbeth\ncould not play.\n\n\"Oh, dear, I don't think I feel very well,\" you told Mother.  Tears\nspilled out of your eyes and rolled down your cheeks. Mother felt your\nbrow and looked at your tongue.\n\n\"_I_ know what's the matter with my little boy,\" she said, and kissed\nyou; but she did not put you to bed.\n\nOne day, when no one was near, you peeked and saw Lizbeth.  She was\nalone and very little and very white.\n\n\"H'lo,\" you said.\n\n\"H'lo,\" she whispered back, and smiled at you, and when she smiled you\ncould not wait any longer.  You went in very softly and kissed her where\nshe lay and gave her a little hug.  She patted your cheek.\n\n\"I'd like my dollies,\" she whispered. You brought them to her, all\nfour--the two china ones and the rag brunette and the waxen blonde.\n\n\"Dollies are sick,\" she said.  \"They 'most died, I guess.  Play you're\nsick, too.\"\n\nMother found you there--Lizbeth and you and the four dolls, side by side\non the bed, all in a little sick row.  And from the very moment that you\nkissed Lizbeth and gave her the little hug, she grew better, so that\nby-and-by the wind blew louder and the trees sang lustily, and all Our\nYard was bright with flowers and sun and voices and play, for you and\nLizbeth and the four dolls were well again.\n\n\n\n\n                               *Our Yard*\n\n\nThe breadth of Our Yard used to be from the beehives to the red\ngeraniums.  When the beehives were New York, the geraniums were Japan,\nso the distance is easy to calculate.  The apple-tree Alps overshadowed\nNew York then, which seems strange now, but geography is not what it\nused to be.  In the lapse of years the Manhattan hives have crumbled in\nthe Alpine shade, an earthquake of garden spade has wiped Japan from the\nmap, and where the scarlet islands lay in the sun there are green\nbillows now, and other little boys in the grass, at play.\n\nIn the old days when you sailed away on the front gate, which swung and\ncreaked through storms, to the other side of the sea, you could just\ndescry through a fog of foliage the rocky shores of the back-yard fence,\nwashed by a surf of golden-rod.  If you moored your ship--for an\nunlatched gate meant prowling dogs in the garden, and Mother was cross\nat that--if you anchored your gate-craft dutifully to become a soldier,\nyou could march to the back fence, but it was a long journey.  Starting,\na drummer-boy, you could never foretell your end, for the future was\nvague, even with the fence in view, and your cocked hat on your curls,\nand your drumsticks in your hand.  Lizbeth and the dolls might halt you\nat the front steps and muster you out of service to become a doctor with\nGrandmother's spectacles and Grandfather's cane.  And if the dolls were\nwell that day, with normal pulses and unflushed cheeks, and you marched\nby with martial melody, there was your stalled hobby-horse on the side\nporch, neighing to you for clover hay; and stopping to feed him meant\ndesertion from the ranks, to become a farmer, tilling the soil and\nbartering acorn eggs and clean sand butter on market-day.  And even\nthough you marched untempted by bucolic joys, there lay in wait for you\nthe kitchen door, breathing a scent of crullers, or gingerbread, or\napple-pies, or leading your feet astray to the unscraped frosting-bowl\nor the remnant cookies burned on one side, and so not good for supper,\nbut fine for weary drummer-boys.  So whether you reached the fence that\nday was a question for you and the day and the sirens that beckoned to\nyou along your play.\n\nAcross the clover prairie the trellis mountains reared their vine-clad\nheights. Through their morning-glories ran a little pass, which led to\nthe enchanted garden on the other side, but the pass was so narrow and\noverhung with vines that when Grandfather was a pack-horse and carried\nyou through on his back, your outstretched feet would catch on the\ntrellis sides.  Then the pack-horse would pick his way cautiously and\nyou would dig your heels into his sides and hold fast, and so you got\nthrough.  Once inside the garden, oh, wonder of <DW29>s and hollyhocks\nand bachelor's-buttons and roses and sweet smells!  The sun shone\nwarmest there, and the fairies lived there, Mother said.\n\n\"But when it rains, Mother?\"\n\n\"Oh, then they hide beneath the trellis, under the honeysuckles.\"\n\nMother wore an apron and sun-bonnet, and knelt in the little path,\ndigging with a trowel in the moist, brown earth.  You helped her with\nyour little spade.  Under a lilac-bush Lizbeth made mud-pies, and the\npies of the enchanted garden were the brownest and richest in all Our\nYard. They were the most like Mother's, Lizbeth said.  Grandfather sat\non the wheelbarrow-ship and smoked.\n\n\"Do fairies smoke, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"The old grandfather fairies do,\" he said.\n\nOf all the flowers in the enchanted garden you liked the roses best, and\nof all the roses you liked the red.  There was a big one that hung on\nthe wall above your head.  You could just reach it when you stood on\ntiptoe, and pulling it down to you then, you would bury your face in its\npetals and take a long snuff, and say,\n\n\"Um-m-m.\"\n\nAnd when you let it go, it bobbed and courtesied on its prickly stem.\nBut one morning, very early, when you pulled it down to you, you were\nrough with it, and it sprinkled your face with dew.\n\n\"The rose is crying,\" Lizbeth said.\n\n\"You should be very gentle with roses,\" Mother told you.  \"Sometimes\nwhen folks are sick or cross, just the sight of a red rose cheers them\nand makes them smile again.\"\n\nThat was a beautiful thought, and it came back to you the day you left\nOur Yard and ran away.  You were gone a long time.  It was late in the\nafternoon when you trudged guiltily back again, and when you were still\na long way off you could see Mother waiting for you at the gate.  The\nbrown switch, doubtless, was waiting too.  So you stole into Our Yard\nthrough the back fence, and hid in the enchanted garden, crying and\nafraid. It began to rain, a gentle summer shower, and like the fairies\nyou hid beneath the honeysuckles.  Looking up through your tears, you\nsaw the red rose--and remembered.  The rain stopped.  You climbed upon\nthe wheelbarrow-ship and pulled the rose from the vine.  Trembling, you\napproached the house.  Softly you opened the front door.  At the sight\nof you Mother gave a little cry.  Your lip quivered; the tears rolled\ndown your cheeks; for you were cold and wet and dreary.\n\n\"M-mother,\" you said, with outstretched hand, \"here's a r-rose I brought\nyou\"; and she folded you and the flower in her arms.  It was true, then,\nwhat she had told you--that when people are cross there is sometimes\nnothing in the world like the sight of a sweet red rose to cheer them\nand make them smile again.\n\nOnce in Our Yard, you were safe from bad boys and their fists, from bad\ndogs and their bites, and all the other perils of the road.  Yet Our\nYard had its dangers too.  Through the rhubarb thicket in the corner of\nthe fence stalked a black bear. You had heard him growl.  You had seen\nthe flash of his white teeth.  You had tracked him to his lair.  Just\nbehind you, one hand upon your coat, came Lizbeth.\n\n\"'Sh!  I see him,\" you whispered, as you raised your wooden gun.\n\nBang!  Bang!\n\nAnd the bear fell dead.\n\n\"Don't hurt Pussy,\" said Mother, warningly.\n\n\"No,\" you said, and the dead bear purred and rubbed his head against\nyour legs.  Once, after you had killed and eaten him, he mewed and ran\nbefore you to his basket-cave; and there were five little bears, all\nblind and crying, and you took them home and tamed them by the kitchen\nfire.\n\nBut the bear was nothing to the Wild Man who lived next door.  In the\nbarn, close to your fence, he lay in wait for little girls and boys to\neat them and drink their blood and gnaw their bones.  Oh, you had seen\nhim once yourself, as you peered through a knot-hole in the barn-side.\nHe was sitting on an upturned water-pail, smoking a pipe and muttering.\n\nYou and Lizbeth stole out to look at him.  Hand in hand you tiptoed\nacross the clover prairie where the red Indians roved. You scanned the\nhorizon, but there was not a feather or painted face in sight\nto-day--though they always came when you least expected them, popping up\nfrom the tall grass with wild, blood-curdling yells, and scalping you\nwhen you didn't watch out.  Across the prairie, then, you went,\nsilently, hand in hand.  The sun fell warm and golden in the open.\nBirds were singing in the sky, unmindful of the lurking perils among the\ntall grass and beyond the fence.  Back of you were home and Mother's\narms, and in the pantry window, cooling, two juicy pies.  Before you,\nacross the clover, a great gray dungeon frowned upon you; within its\nwalls a creature of blood and mystery waiting with hungry jaws.  Hushed\nand timorous, you approached.\n\n\"Oh, I'm afraid,\" Lizbeth whimpered. Savagely you caught her arm.\n\n\"'Sh!  He'll hear you,\" you hissed through chattering teeth.  A cloud\nhid the sun, and the ominous shadow fell upon you as you crouched,\ntrembling, on the edge of the raspberry wood.\n\n\"Sh!\" you said.  Under cover of the forest shade you crept with bated\nbreath, on all-fours, stealthily.  Oh, what was that?  That awful sound,\nthat hideous groan?  From the barn it came, with a crunching of teeth\nand a rattle of chain. Lizbeth gave a little cry, seized you, and hid\nher face against your coat.\n\n\"'Sh!\" you said.  \"That's him!  Hear him!\"\n\nThrough wood and prairie rang a piercing cry--\n\n\"Mother!  I want my mother!\"\n\nAnd Lizbeth fled, wailing, across the plain.  You followed--to cheer\nher.\n\n\"Cowardy Calf!\" you said, but you did not say it till you had reached\nthe kitchen door.  And in hunting the Wild Man you never got farther\nthan his groan.\n\nMornings in Our Yard the clover prairie sparkled with a million gems.\nThe fairies had dropped them, dancing in the moonbeams, while you slept.\nStrung on a blade of grass you found a necklace of diamonds left by the\nqueen herself in her flight at dawn, but when you plucked it, the\nquivering brilliants melted into water drops and trickled down your\nhand.  Then the warm sun came and took the diamonds back to the fairies\nagain--but your shoes were still damp with dew.  And by-and-by you would\nbe sneezing, and Mother would be taking down bottles for you, for the\nthings that fairies wear are not good for little boys.  And if ever you\nsquash the fairies' diamonds beneath your feet, and don't change your\nshoes, the fairies will be angry with you, and you will be catching\ncold; and if you take the queen's necklace--oh, then watch out, for they\nwill be putting a necklace of red flannel on you!\n\nWide-awake was Our Yard in the morning with its birds and wind and\nsunshine and your play, but when noonday dinner was over there was a\nyawning in the trees. The birds hushed their songs.  Grandfather dozed\nin his chair on the porch. The green grass dozed in the sun.  And as the\nshadows lengthened even the perils slept--Indians on the clover prairie,\nbear in the rhubarb thicket, Wild Man in the barn.  In the apple-tree\nshade you lay wondering, looking up at the sky--wondering why bees\npurred like pussy-cats, why the sparrows bowed to you as they eyed you\nsidewise, what they twittered in the leaves, where the clouds went when\nthey sailed to the end of the sky.  Three clouds there were, floating\nabove the apple-tree, and two were big and one was little.\n\n\"The big clouds are the Mother and Father clouds,\" you told yourself,\nfor no one was there to hear, \"and the little one is the Little Boy\ncloud, and they are out walking in the sky.  And now the Mother cloud is\ntalking to the Little Boy cloud. 'Hurry up,' she says; 'why do you walk\nso slow?'  And the Little Boy cloud says, 'I can't go any faster 'cause\nmy legs are so short.'  And then the Father cloud laughs and says,\n'Let's have some ice-cream soda.'  Then the Little Boy cloud says, 'I'll\ntake vaniller, and make it sweet,' and they all drink.  And by-and-by\nthey all go home and have supper, and after supper the Mother cloud\nundresses the Little Boy cloud, and puts on his nighty, and he kneels\ndown and says, 'Now I lay me down to sleep.'  And then the Mother cloud\nkisses the Little Boy cloud on both cheeks and on his eyes and on his\ncurls and on his mouth twice, and he cuddles down under the moon and\ngoes to sleep.  And that's all.\"\n\nFar beyond the apple-tree, far beyond your ken, the three clouds\nfloated--Father and Mother and Little Son--else your story had been\nlonger; and in the floating of little clouds, in the making of little\nstories, in the sleeping of little boys, it was always easiest when Our\nYard slumbered in the afternoon.\n\nWhen supper was over a bonfire blazed in the western sky, just over the\nback fence.  The clouds built it, you explained to Lizbeth, to keep\nthemselves warm at night.  It was a beautiful fire, all gold and red,\nbut as Our Yard darkened, the fire sank lower till only the sparks\nremained, and sometimes the clouds came and put the sparks out too.\nWhen the moon shone you could see, through the window by your bed, the\nclover prairie and the trellis mountains, silver with fairies, and you\nlonged to hold one in your hand.  But when the night fell moonless and\nstarless, the fairies in Our Yard groped their way--you could see their\nlanterns twinkling in the trees--and there were goblins under every\nbush, and, crouching in the black shadows, was the Wild Man, gnawing a\nlittle boy's bone. Oh, Our Yard was awful on a dark night, and when you\nwere tucked in bed and the lamp was out and Mother away downstairs, you\ncould hear the Wild Man crunching his bone beneath your window, and you\npulled the covers over your head. But always, when you woke, Our Yard\nwas bright and green again, for though the moon ran away some nights,\nthe sun came every day.\n\nWith all its greenness and its brightness and its vastness and its\nenchanted garden, Our Yard bore a heavy yoke. You were not quite sure\nwhat the burden was, but it was something about tea. Men, painted and\nfeathered like the red Indians, had gone one night to a ship in the\nharbor and poured the tea into the sea. That you knew; and you had\nlistened and heard of the midnight ride of Paul Revere. Through the\nwindow you saw Our Yard smiling in the morning sun; trees green with\nsummer; flight of white clouds in the sky; flight of brown birds in the\nbush. Wondering, you saw it there, a fair land manacled by a tyrant's\nhand, and the blood mounted to your cheeks.\n\n\"Mother, I want my sword.\"\n\n\"It is where you left it, my boy.\"\n\n\"And my soldier-hat and drum.\"\n\n\"They are under the stairs.\"\n\nOver your shoulder you slung your drum.  With her own hands Mother\nbelted your sword around you and set your cocked hat on your curls.\nThen twice she kissed you, and you marched away to the music of your\ndrum.  She watched you from the open door.\n\nIt was a windy morning, and you were bravest in the wind.  From the back\nfence to the front gate, from the beehives to the red geraniums, there\nwas a scent and stir of battle in the air.  Rhubarb thicket and\nraspberry wood re-echoed with the beat of drums and the tramp of\nmarching feet.  Far away beyond the wood-pile hills, behind the trellis\nmountains where the morning-glories clung, tremulous, in the gale, even\nthe enchanted garden woke from slumber and the flowers shuddered in\ntheir peaceful beds.  On you marched, through the wind and the morning,\non through Middlesex, village and farm, till you heard the cannon and\nthe battle-cries.\n\n\"Halt!\"\n\nYou unslung your drum.  Mounting your charger, you galloped down the\nline.\n\n\"Forward!\"\n\nAnd you rode across the blood-stained clover.  Into the battle you led\nthem, sword in hand--into the thickest of the fight--while all about\nyou, thundering in the apple-boughs, reverberating in the wood-pile\nhills, roared the guns of the west wind.  Fair in the face of that\ncannonade you flung the flower of your army. Around you lay the wounded,\nthe dead, the dying.  Beneath you your charger fell, blood gushing from\nhis torn side. A thrust bayonet swept off your cocked hat.  You were\ndown yourself.  Tut! 'Twas a mere scratch--and you struggled on.\nRepulsed, you rallied and charged again ... again ... again, across the\nclover, to the mouths of the smoking guns. Afoot, covered with blood,\nyour shattered sword gleaming in the morning sun, you stood at last on\nthe scorched heights. Before your flashing eyes, a rout of redcoats in\nretreat; behind your tossing curls, the buff and blue.\n\nA cry of triumph came down the beaten wind:\n\n\"Mother!  Mother!  We licked 'em!\"\n\n\"Whom?\"\n\n\"The Briddish!\"\n\nAnd Our Yard was free.\n\n\n\n\n                          *The Toy Grenadier*\n\n\nIt was a misnomer.  He was not a captain at all, nor was he of the Horse\nMarines. He was a mere private in the Grenadier Guards, with his musket\nat a carry and his heels together, and his little fingers touching the\nseams of his pantaloons.  Still, Captain Jinks was the name he went by\nwhen he first came to Our House, years ago, and Captain Jinks he will be\nalways in your memory--the only original Captain Jinks, the ballad to\nthe contrary notwithstanding.\n\nIt was Christmas Eve when you first saw him.  He was stationed on sentry\nduty beneath a fir-tree, guarding a pile of commissary stores.  He\nlooked neither to the left nor to the right, but straight before him,\nand not a tremor or blink or sigh disturbed his military bearing.  His\nbearskin was glossy as a pussy-cat's fur; his scarlet coat, with the\ncross of honor on his heart, fitted him like a glove, and every gilt\nbutton of it shone in the candlelight; and oh, the loveliness, the\nspotless loveliness, of his sky-blue pantaloons!\n\n\"My boy,\" said Father, \"allow me to present Captain Jinks.  Captain\nJinks, my son.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" you cried, the moment you clapped eyes on him.  \"Oh, Father!  What\na beautiful soldier!\"\n\nAnd at your praise the Captain's checks were scarlet.  He would have\nsaluted, no doubt, had you been a military man, but you were only a\ncivilian then.\n\n\"Take him,\" said Father, \"and give him some rations.  He's about\nstarved, I guess, guarding those chocolates.\"\n\nSo you relieved the Captain of his stern vigil--or, rather, the Captain\nand his gun, for he refused to lay down his arms even for mess call,\nwithout orders from the officer of the guard, though he did desert his\npost, which was inconsistent from a military point of view, and deserved\ncourt-martial.  And while he was gone the commissary stores were\nplundered by ruthless, sticky hands.\n\nLizbeth brought a new wax doll to mess with the Captain.  A beautiful\nblonde she was, and the Captain was gallantry itself, but she was a\nlittle stiff with him, in her silks and laces, preferring, no doubt, a\nmessmate with epaulets and sword.  So the chat lagged till the Rag Doll\ncame--an unassuming brunette creature--and the Captain got on very well\nwith her. Indeed, when the Wax Doll flounced away, the Captain leaned\nand whispered in the Rag Doll's ear.  What he said you did not hear, but\nthe Rag Doll drew away, shyly--\n\n\"Very sudden,\" she seemed to say. But the Captain leaned nearer, at an\nangle perilous to both, and--kissed her!  The Rag Doll fainted to the\nfloor.  The Captain was at his wits' end.  Without orders he could not\nlay aside his gun, for he was a sentry, albeit off his post.  Yet here\nwas a lady in distress.  The gun or the lady?  The lady or the gun?  The\nCaptain struggled betwixt his honor and his love. In the very stress of\nhis contending emotions he tottered, and would have fallen to the Rag\nDoll's side, but you caught him just in time.  Lizbeth applied the\nsmelling-bottle to the Rag Doll's nose, and she revived.  Pale, but\nevery inch a rag lady, she rose, leaning on Lizbeth. She gave the\nCaptain a withering glance, and swept towards the open door.  The\nCaptain did not flinch.  Proudly he drew himself to his full height; his\nheels clicked together; his gun fell smartly to his side; and as the\nlady passed he looked her squarely in her scornful eyes, and bore their\n_conge_ like a soldier.\n\nNext morning--Christmas morning--in the trenches before the Coal\nScuttle, the Captain fought with reckless bravery. The earthworks of\nbuilding-blocks reached barely to his cartridge-belt, yet he stood erect\nin a hail of marble balls.\n\n\"Jinks, you're clean daft,\" cried Grandfather.  \"Lie down, man!\"\n\nBut the Captain would not budge. Commies and glassies crashed around\nhim. They ploughed up the earthworks before him; they did great\nexecution on the legs of chairs and tables and other non-combatants\nbehind.  Yet there he stood, unmoved in the midst of the carnage, his\nheels together, his little fingers just touching the seams of his\npantaloons.  It was for all the world as though he were on dress parade.\nPerhaps he was--for while he stood there, valorous in that Christmas\nfight, his eyes were on the heights of Rocking Chair beyond, where, safe\nfrom the marble hail, sat the Rag Doll with Lizbeth and the waxen\nblonde.\n\nThere was a rumble--a crash through the torn earthworks--a shock--a\nscream from the distant heights--and the Captain fell.  A monstrous\nglassy had struck him fairly in the legs, and owing to his military\nhabit of standing with them close together--well, it was all too sad,\ntoo harrowing, to relate.  An ambulance corps of Grandfather and Uncle\nNed carried the crippled soldier to the Tool Chest Hospital.  He was\njust conscious, that was all.  The operation he bore with great\nfortitude, refusing to take chloroform, and insisting on dying with his\nmusket beside him, if die he must.  What seemed to give him greatest\nanguish was his heels, for, separated at last, they would not click\ntogether now; and his little fingers groped nervously for the misplaced\nseams of his pantaloons.\n\nLong afterwards, when the Captain had left his cot for active duty\nagain, it was recalled that the very moment when he fell so gallantly in\nthe trenches that day a lady was found unconscious, flat on her face, at\nthe foot of Rocking Chair Hill.\n\nCaptain Jinks was never the same after that.  Still holding his gun as\nsmartly as before, there was, on the other hand, a certain carelessness\nof attire, a certain dulness of gilt buttons, a smudginess of scarlet\ncoat, as though it were thumb-marked; and dark clouds were beginning to\nlower in the clear azure of his pantaloons. There was, withal, a certain\nrakishness of bearing not provided for in the regulations; a little\nuncertainty as to legs; a tilt and limp, as it were, in sharp contrast\nto the trim soldier who had guarded the commissary chocolates under the\nChristmas fir.  Moreover--though his comrades at arms forbore to mention\nit, loving him for his gallant service--he was found one night, flat on\nhis face, under the dinner-table.  Now the Captain had always been\nabstemious before.  Liquor of any kind he had shunned as poison, holding\nthat it spotted his uniform; and once when forced to drink from\nLizbeth's silver cup, at the end of a dusty march, his lips paled at the\ncontaminating touch, his red cheeks blanched, and his black mustache, in\na single drink, turned gray.  But here he lay beneath the festive board,\nbedraggled, his nose buried in the soft rug, hopelessly\ninarticulate--though the last symptom was least to be wondered at, since\nhe had always been a silent man.\n\nYou shook him where he lay.  There was no response.  You dragged him\nforth in his shame and set him on his feet again, but he staggered and\nfell.  Yet as he lay there in his cups--oh, mystery of discipline!--his\nheels were close together, his toes turned out, his musket was at a\ncarry, and his little fingers were just touching the seams of his\npantaloons.\n\nFor the good of the service Mother offered to retire the Captain on half\npay, and give him free lodging on the garret stair, but he scorned the\nproposal, and you backed him in his stand.  All his life he had been a\nsoldier.  Now, with war and rumors of war rife in the land, should he,\nCaptain Jinks, a private in the Grenadier Guards, lay down his arms for\nthe piping peace of a garret stair?  No, by gad, sir!  No!  And he\nstayed; and, strangest thing of all, he was yet to fight and stand guard\nand suffer as he had never done before.\n\nBut while the Captain thus sadly went down hill, the Rag Doll retired to\na modest villa in the closet country up-stairs.  It was quiet there, and\nshe could rest her shattered nerves.  Whether she blamed herself for her\nrejected lover's downfall, or whether it was mere petulance at the\nsocial triumphs of the waxen blonde is a question open to debate.\nSentimentalists will find the former theory more to their fancy, but,\nthe blonde and her friends told a different tale.  Be that as it may,\nthe Rag Doll went away.\n\nJanuary passed in barracks; then February and March, with only an\noccasional scouting after cattle-thieves and brigand bands.  The Captain\nchafed at such inactivity.\n\n\"War!  You call this war!\" his very bristling manner seemed to say.  \"By\ngad! sir, when I was in the trenches before...\"\n\nIt was fine then to see the Captain and Grandfather--both grizzled\nveterans with tales to tell--side by side before the library fire.  When\nGrandfather told the story of Johnny Reb in the tall grass, the Captain\nwas visibly moved.\n\n\"Jinks,\" Grandfather would say--\"Jinks, you know how it is\nyourself--when the bacon's wormy and the coffee's thin, and there's a\nman with a gun before you and a girl with a tear behind.\"\n\nAnd at the mention of the girl and the tear the Captain would turn away.\n\nSpring came, and with it the marching orders for which you and the\nCaptain had yearned so long.  There was a stir in the barracks that\nmorning.  The Captain was drunk again, it is true, but drunk this time\nwith joy.  He could not march in the ranks--he was too far gone for\nthat--so you stationed him on a wagon to guard the commissary stores.\n\nA blast from the bugle--Assembly--and you fell into line.\n\n\"Forward--_March!_\"\n\nAnd you marched away, your drum beating a double-quick, the Captain\nswaying ignominiously on the wagon and hugging his old brown gun.  As\nthe Guards swung by the reviewing-stand, their arms flashing in the sun,\nthe Captain did not raise his eyes.  So he never knew that looking down\nupon his shame that April day sat his rag lady, with Lizbeth and the\nwaxen blonde.  Her cheeks were pale, but her eyes were tearless. She did\nnot utter a sound as her tottering lover passed.  She just leaned far\nout over the flag-hung balcony and watched him as he rode away.\n\nIt was a hard campaign.  Clover Plain, Wood-pile Mountain, and the\nRaspberry Wilderness are names to conjure with. From the back fence to\nthe front gate, from the beehives to the red geraniums, the whole land\nran with blood.  Brevetted for personal gallantry on the Wood-pile\nHeights, you laid aside your drum for epaulets and sword.  The Guards\nand the Captain drifted from your ken.  When you last saw him he was\nvaliantly defending a tulip pass, and defying a regiment of the Black\nAnt Brigade to come and take him--by gad! sirs--if they dared.\n\nThe war went on.  Days grew into weeks, weeks into months, and the\nsummer passed.  Search in camps and battlefields revealed no trace of\nCaptain Jinks. Sitting by the camp-fire on blustering nights, your\nthoughts went back to the old comrade of the winter days.\n\n\"Poor Captain Jinks!\" you sighed.\n\n\"Jinks?\" asked Grandfather, laying down his book.\n\n\"Yes.  He's lost.  Didn't you know?\"\n\n\"Jinks among the missing!\" Grandfather cried.  Then he gazed silently\ninto the fire.\n\n\"Poor old Jinks!\" he mused.  \"He was a brave soldier, Jinks was--a brave\nsoldier, sir.\"  He puffed reflectively on his corn-cob pipe.  Presently\nhe spoke again, more sadly than before:\n\n\"But he had one fault, Jinks had--just one, sir.  He was a leetle too\nfond o' his bottle on blowy nights.\"\n\nNovember came.  The year and the war were drawing to a close.  Before\nGrape Vine Ridge the enemy lay intrenched for a final desperate stand.\nTo your council of war in the fallen leaves came Grandfather, a scarf\naround his throat, its loose ends flapping in the gale.  He leaned on\nhis cane; you, on your sword.\n\n\"Bring up your guns, boy,\" he cried. \"Bring up your heavy guns.  Fling\nyour cavalry to the left, your infantry to the right.  'Up, Guards, and\nat 'em!'  Cold steel, my boy--as Jinks used to say.\"\n\nGrandfathers for counsel; little boys for war.  At five that night the\nenemy surrendered--horse, foot, and a hundred guns.  Declining the\nGeneral's proffered sword, you rode back across the battle field to your\ncamp in the fallen leaves. The afternoon was waning.  In the gathering\ntwilight your horse stumbled on a prostrate form.  You dismounted,\nknelt, brushed back the leaves, peered into the dimmed eyes and ashen\nface.\n\n\"Captain!\" you cried.  \"Captain Jinks!\"  And at your call came Lizbeth,\nrunning, dragging the Rag Doll by her hand. Breathless they knelt beside\nhim where he lay.\n\n\"Oh, it's Captain Jinks,\" said Lizbeth, but softly, when she saw.  Prone\non the battle-field lay the wounded Grenadier, his uniform gray with\nservice in the wind and rain.\n\n\"Captain!\" you cried again, but he did not hear you.  Then the Rag Doll\nbent her face to his, in the twilight, though she could not speak.  A\nglimmer of recognition blazed for a moment, but faded in the Captain's\neyes.\n\n\"He's tired marching, I guess,\" said Lizbeth.\n\n\"'Sh!\" you said.  \"He's dying.\"\n\nYou bent lower to feel his fluttering pulse.  You placed your ear to the\ncross of honor, rusted, on his breast.  His heart was silent.  And so he\ndied--on the battlefield, his musket at his side, his heels together,\nhis little fingers just touching the seams of his pantaloons.\n\n\n\n\n                                *Father*\n\n\nEvery evening at half-past six there was a sound of footsteps on the\nfront porch. You ran, you and Lizbeth, and by the time you had reached\nthe door it opened suddenly from without, and you each had a leg of\nFather.  Mother was just behind you in the race, and though she did not\nshout or dance, or pull his coat or seize his bundles, she won his first\nkiss, so that you and Lizbeth came in second after all.\n\n\"Hello, Buster!\" he would sing out to you, so that you cried, \"My name\nain't Buster--it's Harry,\" at which he would be mightily surprised.  But\nhe always called Lizbeth by her right name.\n\n\"Well, Lizbeth,\" he would say, kneeling, for you had pulled him down to\nyou, bundles and all, and Lizbeth would cuddle down into his arms and\nsay:\n\n\"_Fa_-ther.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Why, Father, now what do you think? My Sally doll has got the measles\nawful.\"\n\n\"No!  You don't say?\"\n\nAnd \"Father!\" you would yell into his other ear, for while Lizbeth used\none, you always used the other--using one by two persons at the same\ntime being strictly forbidden.\n\n\"Father.\"\n\n\"Yes, my son.\n\n\"The Jones boy was here to-day and--and--and he said--why, now, he\nsaid--\"\n\n\"_Fa_-ther\" (it was Lizbeth talking into _her_ ear now), \"do you think\nmy Sally doll--\"\n\nIt was Mother who rescued Father and his bundles at last and carried you\noff to supper, and when your mouth was not too full you finished telling\nhim what the Jones boy said, and he listened gravely, and prescribed for\nthe Sally doll.  Though he came home like that every night except Sunday\nin all the year, you always had something new to tell him in both ears,\nand it was always, to all appearances, the most wonderful thing he had\never heard.\n\nBut now and then there were times when you did not yearn for the sound\nof Father's footsteps on the porch.\n\n\"Wait till Father comes home and Mother tells him what a bad, bad boy\nyou have been!\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" you whispered, defiantly, all to yourself, scowling out\nof the window, but \"Tick-tock, tick-tock\" went the clock on the\nmantel-shelf--\"Tick-tock, tick-tock\"--more loudly, more swiftly than you\nhad ever heard it tick before.  Still you were brave in the broad light\nof day, and if sun and breeze and bird-songs but held out long enough,\nMother might forget.  You flattened your nose against the pane.  There\nwas a dicky-bird hopping on the apple-boughs outside.  You heard him\ntwittering.  If you were only a bird, now, instead of a little boy.\nBirds were so happy and free.  Nobody ever made them stay in-doors on an\nafternoon made for play.  If only a fairy godmother would come in a gold\ncoach and turn you into a bird.  Then you would fly away, miles and\nmiles, and when they looked for you, at half-past six, you would be\nchirping in some cherry-tree.\n\n\"Tick-tock, tick-tock--whir-r-r!  One! Two!  Three!  Four!  Five!\"\nstruck the clock on the mantel-shelf.  The bright day was running away\nfrom you, leaving you far behind to be caught, at half-past six--caught\nand ...\n\nBut Father might not come home to supper to-night!  Once he did not.  At\nthe thought the sun lay warm upon your cheek, and you rapped on the pane\nbravely at the dicky-bird outside.  The bird flew away.\n\n\"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.\"\n\nSwiftly the day passed.  Terribly fell the black night, fastening its\nshadows on you and all the world.  Grimly Mother passed you, without a\nlook or word.  She pulled down the window shades.  One by one she\nlighted the lamps--the tall piano-lamp with the red globe, the little\ngreen lamp on the library-table, the hanging lamp in the dining-room.\nAlready the supper-table was set.\n\nThe clock struck six!\n\nYou watched Mother out of the corners of your eyes.  Had she forgotten?\n\n\"Mother,\" you said, engagingly.  \"See me stand on one leg.\"\n\n\"Mother does not care to look at naughty little boys.\"\n\n\"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.\"\n\nYou were very little to punish.  Besides, you were not feeling very\nwell.  It was not your tummy, nor your head, nor yet the pussy-scratch\non your finger.  It was a deeper pain.\n\n\"Tick-tock, tick-tock.\"\n\nIf you should die like the Jones boy's little brother and be put in the\ncemetery on the hill, they would be sorry.\n\n\"Tick-tock, tick-tock.\"\n\nMother went to the window and peered out.\n\n\"TICK-TOCK!\"\n\n\"Whir-r-r-\"\n\nAnd the clock struck half-past six!\n\nSteps sounded upon the porch--Mother was going to the door--it opened!\n\n\"Where's Buster?\"\n\nAnd Mother told!\n\n... And somehow when Father spanked it always seemed as if he were\nmeddling. He was an outsider all day.  Why, then, did he concern himself\nso mightily at night?\n\nAfter supper Father would sit before the fire with you on one knee and\nLizbeth on the other, while Mother sewed, till by-and-by, just when you\nwere most comfy and the talk most charming, he would say:\n\n\"Well, Father must go now.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Father.  Don't go yet.\"\n\n\"But Father must.  He must go to Council-meeting.\"\n\n\"What's a Council-meeting, Father?\" you asked, and while he was telling\nyou he would be putting on his coat.\n\n\"Don't sit up for me,\" he would tell Mother, and the door would shut at\nhalf-past seven just as it had opened at half-past six, with the same\nsound of footsteps on the porch.\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" you would say.  \"Father's always going somewhere.  I guess\nhe doesn't like to stay home, Mother.\"\n\nThen Mother would take you and Lizbeth on her lap.\n\n\"Dearies, Father would love to stay at home and play with you and\nMother, but he can't.  All day long he has to work to take care of us\nand buy us bread-and-butter--\"\n\n\"And chocolate cake, Mother?\"\n\n\"Yes, and chocolate cake.  And he goes to the Council to help the other\nmen take care of Ourtown so that the burglars won't get in or the\nstreet-lamps go out and leave us in the dark.\"\n\nYour eyes were very round.  That night after you and Lizbeth were in bed\nand the lights were out, you thought of the Council and the burglars so\nthat you could not sleep, and while you lay there thinking, the\nwolf-wind began to howl outside. Then suddenly you heard the patter,\npatter, patter of its feet upon the roof.  You shuddered and drew the\nbedclothes over your head.  What if It got inside?  Could It bite\nthrough the coverlet with its sharp teeth?  Would the Council come and\nsave you just in time? ... Which would be worse, a wolf or a burglar?  A\nwolf, of course, for a burglar might have a little boy of his own\nsomewhere, in bed, curled up and shivering, with the covers over his\nhead....  But what if the burglar had no little boy?  Did burglars ever\nhave little boys? ... How could a man ever be brave enough to be a\nburglar, in the dead of night, crawling through windows into pitch-dark\nrooms, ... into little boys' rooms, ... crawling in stealthily with\npistols and false-faces and l-lanterns? ...\n\nBut That One was crawling in!  Right into your room, ... right in over\nthe window-sill, ... like a cat, ... with a false-face on, and pistols,\nloaded and pointed right at you....  You tried to call; ... your voice\nwas dried up in your throat, ... and all the time He was coming nearer,\n... nearer, ... nearer...\n\n\"Bad dream, was it, little chap?\" asked the Council, holding you close\nto his coat, all smoky of cigars, and patting your cheek.\n\n[Illustration: \"BAD DREAM, WAS IT, LITTLE CHAP?\"]\n\n\"F-father, where did he go?\"\n\n\"Who go, my boy?\"\n\n\"Why, the burglar, Father.\"\n\n\"There wasn't any burglar, child.\"\n\n\"Why, yes, Father.  I saw him.  Right there.  Coming through the\nwindow.\"\n\nAnd it took Father and Mother and two oatmeal crackers and a drink of\nwater to convince you that it was all a dream. So whether it was in\nfrightening burglars away, or keeping the street-lamps burning, or\nsmoking cigars, or soothing a little boy with a nightmare and a fevered\nhead, the Council was a useful body, and always came just in time.\n\nOn week-day mornings Father had gone to work when you came down-stairs,\nbut on Sunday mornings, when you awoke, a trifle earlier if anything--\n\n\"Father!\"\n\nSilence.\n\n\"Father!\" a little louder.\n\nThen a sleepy \"Yes.\"\n\n\"We want to get up.\"\n\n\"It isn't time yet.  You children go to sleep.\"\n\nYou waited.  Then--\n\n\"Father, is it time yet?\"\n\n\"No.  You children lie still.\"\n\nSo you and Lizbeth, wide-awake, whispered together; and then, to while\naway the time while Father slept, you played Indian, which required two\nlittle yells from you to begin with (when the Indian You arrived in your\nwar-paint) and two big yells from Lizbeth to end with (when the Paleface\nShe was being scalped).\n\nThen Father said it was \"no use,\" and Mother took a hand.  You were\nquiet after that, but it was yawny lying there with the sun so high.\nYou listened.  Not a sound came from Father and Mother's room.  You rose\ncautiously, you and Lizbeth, in your little bare feet.  You stole softly\nacross the floor.  The door was a crack open, so you peeked in, your\nface even with the knob and Lizbeth's just below.  And then, at one and\nthe same instant, you both said \"Boo!\" and grinned; and the harder you\ngrinned the harder Father tried not to laugh, which was a sign that you\ncould scramble into bed with him, you on one side and Lizbeth on the\nother, cuddling down close while Mother went to see about breakfast.\n\nIt was very strange, but while it had been so hard to drowse in your own\nbed, the moment you were in Father's you did not want to get up at all.\nIndeed, it was Father who wanted to get up first, and it was you who\ncried that it was not time.\n\nWeek-days were always best for most things, but for two reasons Sunday\nwas the best day of all.  One reason was Sunday dinner.  The other was\nFather.  On Sunday the dinner-table was always whitest with clean linen\nand brightest with silver and blue china and fullest of good things to\neat, and sometimes Company came and brought their children with them.\nOn Sunday, too, there was no store to keep, and Father could stay at\nhome all day.\n\nHe came down to breakfast in slippers and a beautiful, wide jacket,\nwhich was brown to match the coffee he always took three cups of, and\nthe cigar which he smoked afterwards in a big chair with his feet thrust\nout on a little one.  While he smoked he would read the paper, and\nsometimes he would laugh and read it out loud to Mother; and sometimes\nhe would say, \"That's so,\" and lay down his paper and talk to Mother\nlike the minister's sermon.  And once he talked so loudly that he said\n\"Damn.\"  Mother looked at you, for you were listening, and sent you for\nher work-basket up-stairs. After that, when you talked loudest to\nLizbeth or the Jones boy, you said \"Damn,\" too, like Father, till Mother\noverheard you and explained that only fathers and grandfathers and bad\nlittle boys ever said such things.  It wasn't a pretty word, she said,\nfor nice little boys like you.\n\n\"But, Mother, if the bad little boys say it, why do the good fathers say\nit--hm?\"\n\nMother explained that, too.  Little boys should mind their mothers, she\nsaid.\n\nIt was easy enough not to say the word when you talked softly, but when\nyou talked loudest it was hard to remember what Mother said.  For when\nyou talked softly, somehow, you always remembered Mother, and when you\ntalked loudly it was Father you remembered best.\n\nThe sun rose high and warm.  It was a long time after breakfast.\nFragrance came from the kitchen to where you sat in the library, all\ndressed-up, looking at picture-books and waiting for dinner, and\nwondering if there would be pie.  Father was all dressed-up, too, and\nwhile he read silently, you and Lizbeth felt his cheeks softly with your\nfinger-tips.  Where the prickers had been at breakfast-time it was as\nsmooth as velvet now.  Father's collar was as white as snow.  In place\nof his jacket he wore his long, black Sunday coat, and in his shoes you\ncould almost see your face.\n\n\"Father's beautifulest on Sunday,\" Lizbeth said.\n\n\"So am I,\" you said, proudly, looking down your blouse and trousers to\nthe shine of your Sunday shoes.\n\n\"So are you, too,\" you added kindly to Lizbeth, who was all in white and\ncurls.\n\nThen you drew a little chair beside Father's and sat, quiet and very\nstraight, with your legs crossed carelessly like his and an open book\nlike his in your lap. And when Father changed his legs, you changed your\nlegs, too.  Lizbeth looked at you two awhile awesomely.  Then she\nbrought her little red chair and sat beside you with the Aladdin book on\nher lap, but she did not cross her legs.  And so you sat there, all\nthree, clean and dressed-up and beautiful, by the bay-window, while the\nsun lay warm and golden on the library rug, and sweeter and sweeter grew\nthe kitchen smells.\n\nThen dinner came, and the last of it was best because it was sweetest,\nand if Company were not there you cried:\n\n\"It's going to be pie to-day, isn't it, Mother?\"\n\nBut Mother would only smile mysteriously while the roast was carried\naway.  Then Lizbeth guessed.\n\n\"It's pudding,\" she said.\n\n\"No, pie,\" you cried again, \"'cause yesterday was pudding.\"\n\n\"Now, Father, you guess,\" said Lizbeth.\n\n\"I guess?\"\n\n\"Yes, Father.\"\n\nAnd at that Father would knit his brows and put one finger to one side\nof his nose, so that he could think the harder, and by-and-by he would\nsay:\n\n\"I know.  I'll bet it's custard.\"\n\n\"Oh _no_, Father,\" you broke in, for you liked pie best, and even to\nadmit the possibility of custard, aloud, might make it come true.\n\n\"Then it's lemon jelly with cream,\" said Father, trying another finger\nto his nose and pondering deeply.\n\n\"Oh, you only have one guess,\" cried you and Lizbeth together, and\nFather, cornered, stuck to the jelly and cream.\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" Lizbeth said, \"I don't see what good it does to brush off\nthe crumbs in the middle of dinner.\"\n\nSilence fell upon the table, you and Lizbeth holding Father's\noutstretched hands. Your eyes were wide, the better to see. Your lips\nwere parted, the better, doubtless, to hear.  Only Mother was serene,\nfor only Mother knew.  And then through the stillness came the sound of\nrattling plates.\n\n\"Pie,\" you whispered.\n\n\"Pudding,\" whispered Lizbeth.\n\n\"Jelly,\" whispered Father, hoarsely.\n\nThe door swung open.  You rose in your seats, you and Lizbeth and\nFather, craning your necks to see, and, seeing--\n\n\"_Pie!_\" you cried, triumphantly.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Father, lifting his pie-crust gayly with the tip of his fork.\n\n\"Apples,\" you said, peeping under your crust.\n\n\"Apples, my son?  Apples?  Why, no. Bless my soul!  As I live, this is a\nrobber's cave filled with sacks of gold.\"\n\n\"Oh, _Father_!\" you cried, incredulous, not knowing how to take him yet;\nbut you peeped again, and under your pie-crust it was like a cave, and\nthe little slices of juicy apple lay there like sacks of gold.\n\n\"And see!\" said Father, pointing with his fork, \"there is the entrance\nto the cave, and when the policemen chased the robbers--pop! they went,\nright into their hole, like rabbits.\"\n\nAnd sure enough, in the upper crusts were the little cuts through which\nthe robbers popped.  Your eyes widened.\n\n\"And oh, Father,\" you said, \"the smoke can come out through the little\nholes when the robbers build their fire.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" cried Father, fiercely.  \"I'm the policeman breaking into the\ncave while the robbers are away,\" and he took a bite.\n\n\"And I'm another policeman,\" you cried, catching the spirit of the thing\nand taking a bigger bite than Father's.\n\n\"And I'm a policeman's wife coming along, too,\" said Lizbeth, helping\nherself, so that Mother said:\n\n\"John, John, how am I ever going to teach these children table manners\nwhen--\"\n\n\"But see, Mother, see!\" Father explained, taking another bite, and\nignoring Mother's eyes.  \"If we don't get the gold away the robbers will\ncome back and--\"\n\n\"Kill us!\" you broke in.\n\n\"Yes, kill us, Mother!\" shouted Father, balancing another sack of gold\non the end of his fork.  \"Yes, yes, Mother, don't you see?\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Mother, just between laugh and frown, and when the robbers\ncame back around the coffee-pot hill, lo! there was no gold or cave\nawaiting them--only three plates scraped clean, and two jubilant\npolicemen and a policeman's wife, full of gold.\n\nAnd when Father was Father again, leaning on the back of Mother's chair,\nshe said to him, \"You're nothing but a great big boy,\" so that Father\nchuckled, his cheek against hers and his eyes shining.  That was the way\nwith Father.  Six days he found quite long enough to be a man; so on\nSunday he became a boy.\n\nThe gate clicked behind you, Father in the middle and you and Lizbeth\nholding each a hand, and keeping step with him when you could, running a\nlittle now and then to catch up again.  Your steps were always longest\non Sunday when you walked with Father, and even Lizbeth knew you then\nfor a little man, and peeked around Father's legs to see you as you\nstrode along.  Father was proud of you, too, though he did not tell you.\nHe just told other people when he thought you could not hear.\n\n\"Little pitchers have big ears,\" Mother would warn him then, but you\nheard quite plainly out of one ear, and it was small at that.\n\nEverybody looked as you three went down the shady street together, and\nthe nice young ladies gave you smiles and the nice old ladies gave you\nflowers, handing them out to you over their garden walls.\n\n\"Thank you.  My name is Harry,\" you said.\n\n\"And I'm Lizbeth,\" said little sister. And as you passed on your stride\ngrew longer and your voice sank bigger and deeper in your throat, like\nFather's.\n\nBut it wasn't the town you liked best to walk in with Father in the\nlong, warm Sunday afternoons.  It was the river-side, where the willows\ndrooped over the running waters, and the grass was deepest and greenest\nand waved in the sun.  On the meadow-bank at the water's silver edge you\nsat down together.\n\n\"Who can hear the most?\" asked Father.\n\nYou listened.\n\n\"I hear the river running over the log,\" you said, softly.\n\n\"And the birds,\" whispered Lizbeth.\n\n\"And the wind in the willows,\" said Father.\n\n\"And the cow-bells tinkling way, way off,\" you added, breathlessly.\n\n\"Oh, and I hear the grass whispering,\" said Lizbeth.\n\n\"And oh, a bee,\" you cried.\n\n\"And something else,\" said Father.\n\nYou held your breath and listened. From the distant village the wind\nblew you faintly the sound of--\n\n\"Church-bells,\" cried you and Lizbeth together.\n\nYou fell to playing in the long grass. Lizbeth gathered daisies for\nMother.  You lay with your face just over the river-bank, humming a\nlittle song and gazing down into the mirror of the waters.  You wondered\nhow it would feel to be a little boy-fish, darting in and out among the\nriver grasses.\n\nBy-and-by you went back to Father and sat beside him with your cheek\nagainst his arm.\n\n\"Father.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What do you think when you don't say anything, but just look?\"\n\n[Illustration: \"'FATHER, WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU DON'T SAY ANYTHING,\nBUT JUST LOOK?'\"]\n\n\"When I just look?\"\n\n\"Yes.  Do you think what I do?\"\n\n\"Well, what do you think?\"\n\n\"Why, I think I'd like to be a big man like you and wear a long coat,\nand take my little boy and girl out walking.  Did you think that,\nFather?\"\n\n\"No.  I was thinking how nice it would be just to be a little boy again\nlike you and go out walking by the river with my father.\"\n\n\"Oh, Father, how funny!  I wanted to be you and you wanted to be me.  I\nguess people always want to be somebody else when they just look and\ndon't say anything.\"\n\n\"What makes you think that, my boy?\"\n\n\"Well, there's Grandmother.  _She_ sits by the window all day long and\njust looks and looks, and wishes she was an angel with Grandfather up in\nthe sky.\"\n\n\"And Lizbeth?\"\n\n\"Oh, Lizbeth wishes she was Mother.\"\n\n\"And how about Mother?  Does she wish she were somebody else, do you\nthink?\"\n\n\"Oh no, Father, _she_ doesn't, 'cause then she wouldn't have me and\nLizbeth. Besides, she don't have time to just sit and look, Mother\ndon't.\"\n\nYour eyes were big and shining.  Father just looked and looked a long\ntime.\n\n\"And what do you think _now_, Father?\"\n\n\"I was thinking of Mother waiting for you and Lizbeth and Father, and\nwondering why we don't come home.\"\n\nAnd almost always after that, when you went out walking with Father,\nSundays, Mother went with you.  It seemed strange at first, but fine, to\nhave her sit with you on the river-bank and just look and look and look,\nsmiling but never saying a word; and though you asked her many times\nwhat she thought about as she sat there dreaming, she was never once\ncaught wishing that she were anybody but her own self.  She was happy,\nshe told you; but while it was you she told, she would be looking at\nFather.\n\nOh, it was golden in the morning glow, when you were a little boy.  But\nclouds skurried across the sky--black clouds, storm clouds--casting\ntheir chill and shadow for a while over all Our Yard, darkening Our\nHouse, so that a little boy playing on the hearth-rug left his toy\nsoldier prostrate there to wander, wondering, from room to room.\n\n\"Mother, why doesn't Father play with us like he used to?\"\n\n\"Mother, why do you sew and sew and sew all the time?  Hm, Mother?\"\n\nAll through the long evenings till bed-time came, and long afterwards,\nFather and Mother talked low together before the fire.  The murmur of\ntheir voices downstairs was the last thing you heard before you fell\nasleep.  It sounded like the brook in the meadow where the little green\nfrogs lived, hopping through water-rings.\n\nOf those secret conferences by the fire you could make nothing at all.\nMother stopped you whenever you drew near.\n\n\"Run away, dear, and play.\"\n\nYou frowned and sidled off as far as the door, lingering wistfully.\n\n\"Father, the Jones boy made fun of me to-day.  He called me\nPatchy-pants.\"\n\n\"Never mind what the Jones boy says,\" Mother broke in; but Father said,\n\"He ought to have a new pair, Mother.\"  You brightened at that.\n\n\"The Jones boy's got awful nice pants,\" you said; \"all striped like a\nzebra.\"\n\nFather smiled a little at that.  Mother looked down at her sewing,\nsaying never a word.  That night you dreamed you had new pants, all\nspotted like a leopard, and you were proud, for every one knows that a\nleopard could whip a zebra, once he jumped upon his back.\n\nLeaning on the garden fence, the Jones boy watched you as you sprinkled\nthe geraniums with your little green watering-can.\n\n\"Where'd you get it?\" he asked.\n\n\"Down at my father's store,\" you replied, loftily, for the Jones boy had\nno watering-can.\n\n\"Your father hasn't got a store any more.\"\n\n\"He has, too,\" you replied.\n\n\"He hasn't, either, 'cause my pa says he hasn't.\"\n\n\"I don't care what your pa says.  My father has, too, got a store.\"\n\n\"He hasn't.\"\n\n\"He has.\"\n\n\"He hasn't, either.\"\n\n\"He has, teether.\"\n\n\"I say he hasn't.\"\n\n\"And I say he has,\" you screamed, and threw the watering-can straight at\nthe Jones boy.  It struck the fence and the water splashed all over him\nso that he retreated to the road.  There in a rage he hurled stones at\nyou.\n\n\"Your--father--hasn't--got--any-- store--any--more--old--Patchy-pants--\nold--Patchy-pants--old--\"\n\nAnd then suddenly the Jones boy fled, and when you looked around there\nwas Father standing behind you by the geraniums.\n\n\"Never mind what the Jones boy says,\" he told you, and he was not angry\nwith you for throwing the watering-can.  The little green spout of it\nwas broken when you picked it up, but Father said he would buy you a new\none.\n\n\"To-morrow, Father?\"\n\n\"No, not to-morrow--some day.\"\n\nYou and Lizbeth, tumbling down-stairs to breakfast, found Father sitting\nbefore the fire.\n\n\"Father!\" you cried, astonished, for it was not Sunday, and though you\nran to him he did not hear you till you pounced upon him in his chair.\n\n\"Oh, Father,\" you said, joyfully, \"are you going to stay home and play\nwith us all day?\"\n\n\"_Fa_-ther!\" cried Lizbeth.  \"Will you play house with us?\"\n\n\"Oh no, Father.  Play _store_ with us,\" you cried.\n\n\"Don't bother Father,\" Mother said, but Father just held you both in his\narms and would not let you go.\n\n\"No--let them stay,\" he said, and Mother slipped away.\n\n\"Mother's got an awful cold,\" said Lizbeth.  \"Her eyes--\"\n\n\"So has Father; only Father's cold is in his voice,\" you said.\n\nYou scarcely waited to eat your breakfast before you were back again to\nFather by the fire, telling him of the beautiful games just three could\nplay.  But while you were telling him the door-bell rang, and there were\ntwo men with books under their arms, come to see Father.  They stayed\nwith him all day long--you could hear them muttering in the library--and\nall day you looked wistfully at the closed door, lingering there lest\nFather should come out to play and find you gone.\n\nHe did not come out till dinner-time. After dinner he walked in the\ngarden alone. He held a cigar in his clinched teeth.\n\n\"Why don't you smoke the cigar, Father?\"\n\nHe did not hear you.  He just walked up and down, up and down, with his\neyes on the ground and his hands thrust hard into the pockets of his\ncoat.\n\nMother watched him for a moment through the window.  Then with her own\nhands she built a fire in the grate, for the night was chill.  Before it\nshe drew an easy-chair, and put Father's smoking-jacket on the back of\nit and set his slippers to warm against the fender.  On a reading-table\nnear by she laid the little blue china ash-tray you had given Father for\nChristmas, and beside it a box of matches ready for his hand.  Then she\ncalled him in.\n\nHe came and sat there before the fire, saying nothing, but looking into\nthe flames--looking, looking, till your mind ran back to a Sunday\nafternoon in summer by the river-side.\n\n\"I know what you are thinking, Father.\"\n\nSlowly he turned his head to you, so that you knew he was listening\nthough he did not speak.\n\n\"You're thinking how nice it would be, Father, if you were a little boy\nlike me.\"\n\nHe made no answer.  Mother came and sat on one of the arms of his chair,\nher cheek against his hair.  Lizbeth undressed her dolls for the night,\ncrooning a lullaby. One by one you dropped your marbles into their\nlittle box.  Then you rose and sat like Mother on an arm of Father's\nchair.  For a while you dreamed there, drowsy, in the glow.\n\n\"Mother,\" you said, softly.\n\n[Illustration: \"'MOTHER, YOU SAID, SOFTLY'\"]\n\n\"Yes,\" she whispered back to you.\n\n\"Mother, isn't it _fine_?\" you said.\n\n\"Fine, dearie?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mother, everything ... 'specially--\"\n\n\"Yes, sweetheart?\"\n\n\"--'specially just having Father.\"\n\nFather gave a little jump; seized you; crushed you in his arms, stars\nshining in his brimming eyes.\n\n\"Little chap--little chap,\" he cried, but could get no further, till\nby-and-by--\n\n\"Mother,\" he said--and his voice was clear and strong--\"Mother, with a\nlittle chap like that and two girls like you and Lizbeth--\"\n\nHis voice caught, but he shook it free again.\n\n\"--_any_ man could begin--all over again--and _win_,\" he said.\n\n\n\n\n                                *Mother*\n\n\nA,\" you said.\n\n\"And what's that?\"\n\n\"B.\"\n\n\"And that?\"\n\nYou sat on Mother's lap.  The wolf-wind howled at the door, and you\nshuddered, cuddling down in Mother's arms and the glow.  The wilder the\nwolf-wind howled, the softer was the lamp-light, the redder were the\napples on the table, the warmer was the fire.\n\nOn your knees lay the picture-book with its sad, sad little tale.\nMother read it to you--she had read it fifty times before--her face\ngrave, her voice low and tragic, while you listened with bated breath:\n\n    \"Who killed Cock Robin?\n    'I,' said the Sparrow,\n    'With my bow and arrow--\n    I killed Cock Robin.'\"\n\n\n[Illustration: \"THE PICTURE-BOOK\"]\n\nIt was the first murder you had ever heard about.  You saw it all, the\nhideous spectacle--a beautiful, warm, red breast pierced by that fatal\ndart--a poor, soft little birdie, dead, by an assassin's hand. A lump\nrose in your throat.  A tear rose in your eye--two tears, three tears.\nThey rolled down your cheek.  They dropped, hot and sad, on the fish\nwith his little dish, on the owl with his spade and trowel, on the rook\nwith his little book.\n\n\"P-poor Cock R-robin!\"\n\n\"There, there, dear.  Don't cry.\"\n\n\"But, M-mother--the Sparrow--he k-killed him.\"\n\nAlas, yes!  The Sparrow had killed him, for the book said so, but had\nyou heard?\n\n\"N-no, w-what?\"\n\nThe book, it seems, like other books, had told but half the story.\nMother knew the other half.  Cock Robin was murdered, murdered in cold\nblood, it was true, but--O merciful, death-winged arrow!--he had gone\nwhere the good birds go.  And there--O joy!--he had met his robin wife\nand his little robin boy, who had gone before.\n\n\"And I expect they are all there now, dear,\" she told you, kissing your\ntear-stained cheek, \"the happiest robins that ever were.\"\n\nDry and wide were your eyes.  In the place where the good birds go, you\nsaw Cock Robin.  His eyes and his fat, red breast were bright again.  He\nchirped. He sang.  He hopped from bough to bough, with his robin wife\nand his little robin boy.  For in the mending of little stories or the\nmending of little hearts, like the mending of little stockings, Mother\nwas wonderful.\n\nIn those times there were knees to your stockings, knees with holes in\nthem at the end of the day, with the soiled skin showing through.\n\n\"Just look!\" Mother would cry.  \"Just look there!  And I'd only just\nmended them.\"\n\n\"Well, you see, Mother, when you play Black Bear--\"\n\n\"I see,\" she said, and before you went to bed you would be sitting on\nthe edge of a tub, paddling your feet in the water.\n\n[Illustration: \"BEFORE YOU WENT TO BED\"]\n\n\"You dirty boy,\" she would be saying, scrubbing at the scratched, black\nknees; but when you were shining again she would be saying--\n\n\"You darling!\"\n\nAnd though your stockings were whole in the clean of morning when you\nscampered out into the sun, in the dirt of night when you scampered back\nagain--O skein, where is thy yarn?  O darning-needle, where is thy\nvictory?\n\nSummer mornings, in the arbor-seat of the garden, Mother would be\nsewing, her lap brimming, her work-basket at her feet, the sun falling\ngolden through the trellised green.  In the nap of the afternoon, when\neven the birds drowsed and the winds slept, she would be sewing, ever\nsewing.  And when night fell and the dishes were put away, she would be\nsewing still, in the lamp-light's yellow glow.\n\n\"Mother, why do you sew and sew?\"\n\n\"To make my little boy blue sailor suits and my little girl white\nfrocks, and to stop the holes.\"\n\n\"Do you like to sew, Mother?\"\n\n\"I don't mind it.\"\n\n\"But doesn't it make you tired, Mother?\"\n\n\"Oh, now and then.\"\n\n\"But I should think you'd rest sometimes, Mother.\"\n\n\"Should you, dear?\"\n\n\"Yes, I would.  Oh, I'd sew a _little_--just enough--and then I'd play.\"\n\n\"But Mother does sew _just enough_, and it takes all day, my dear.  What\ndo you say to that?\"\n\nYou pondered.\n\n\"Well,\" you said, and stopped.\n\n\"Well?\" she said, and laughed.  Then you laughed, too.\n\n\"A mother,\" you told them afterwards, \"is a person what takes care of\nyou, and loves you, and sews and sews--just enough--all day.\"\n\nSince mothers take care of little boys, they told you, little boys\nshould take care of their mothers, too.  So right in front of her you\nstood, bravely, your fists clinched, your lips trembling, your eyes\nflashing with rage and tears.\n\n\"You sha'n't touch my mother!\"\n\nBut Mother's arms stole swiftly around you, pinning your own to your\nside.\n\n\"Father was only fooling, dear,\" she said, kneeling behind you and\nfolding you to her breast.  \"See, he's laughing at us.\"\n\n\"Why, little chap,\" he said, \"Father was only playing.\"\n\nMother wiped away your tears, smiling at them, but proudly.  You looked\ndoubtfully at Father, who held out his arms to you; then slowly you went\nto him, urged by Mother's hand.\n\n\"You must always take care of Mother like that,\" he said, \"and never let\nany one hurt her, or bother her, when Father's away.\"\n\n\"Mother's little knight,\" she said, kissing your brow.  And ever\nafterwards she was safe when you were near.\n\n\"Oh, that Mrs. Waddles.  I wish she wouldn't bother me.\"\n\nUnder her breath Mother said it, but you heard, and you hated Mrs.\nWaddles with all your soul, and her day of reckoning came.  Mother was\nin the garden and did not hear.  You answered the knock yourself.\n\n\"Little darling, how--\"\n\n\"You can't see my mother to-day,\" you said, stiffly.\n\n\"That's very strange,\" said Mrs. Waddles, with a forward step.\n\n\"No,\" you said, a little louder, throwing yourself into the breach and\nholding the door-knob with all your might.  \"No! You mustn't come in!\"\n\n\"You impertinent little child!\" cried Mrs. Waddles, threateningly, but\nyou faced her down, raising your voice again:\n\n\"You can't see my mother any more,\" you repeated, firmly.\n\n\"And why not, I'd like to know?\" demanded the old lady, swelling\nvisibly. \"Why not, I'd like to know?\"\n\n\"'Cause I'm to take care of my mother when my father's away, and he said\nnot to let anybody bother her that she don't want to see.\"\n\nIt was a long explanation and took all your breath.\n\n\"Oh, is _that_ it?\" cackled Mrs. Waddles, with withering scorn.  \"And\nhow do you _know_ that your mother doesn't want to see me--_hey_?\"\n\n\"'Cause--she--said--so!\"\n\nYou separated your words like the ABC book, that Mrs. Waddles might\nunderstand. It was a master-stroke.  Gasping, her face on fire,\ngathering her skirts together with hands that trembled in their black\nsilk mitts, Mrs. Waddles turned and swept away.\n\n\"I never!\" she managed to utter as she slammed the gate.\n\nYou shut the door softly, the battle won, and went back to the garden.\n\n\"Well, _that's_ over,\" you said, with a sigh, as Mother herself would\nhave said it.\n\n\"What's over, dear?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Waddles,\" you replied.\n\nSo you took care of Mother so well that she loved you more and more as\nthe days of your knighthood passed; and she took care of you so well\nthat your cheeks grew rosier and your eyes brighter and your legs\nstronger, and you loved her more and more with the days of her\nmotherhood.\n\nEven being sick was fine in those days, for she brought you little\nthings in bowls with big spoons in them, and you ate till you wanted\nmore--a sign that you would not die.  And so you lay in the soft of the\npillows, with the patchwork coverlet that Mother made with her own\nhands. There was the white silk triangle from her wedding-gown, and a\nblue one from a sash that was her Sunday best, long ago, when she was a\nlittle girl.  There was a soft-gray piece from a dress of Grandmother's,\nand a bright-pink one that was once Lizbeth's, and a striped one, blue\nand yellow, that was once Father's necktie in the gay plumage of his\nyouth.\n\nAs you lay there, sick and drowsy, the bridal triangle turned to snow,\ncold and white and pure, and you heard sleighbells and saw the Christmas\ncards with the little church in the corner, its steeple icy, but its\nwindows warm and red with the Christmas glow.  That was the white\ntriangle.  But the blue one, next, was sky, and when you saw it you\nthought of birds and stars and May; and if it so happened that your eyes\nturned to the gray piece that was Grandmother's, and the sky that was\nblue darkened and the rain fell, you had only to look at the pink piece\nthat was Lizbeth's, or the blue and yellow that was Father's, to find\nthe flowers and the sun again.  Then the colors blended.  Dandelions\njingled, sleigh-bells and violets blossomed in the snow, and you\nslept--the sleep that makes little boys well.\n\nThe bees and the wind were humming in the cherry-trees, for it was May.\nYou were all alone, you and Mother, in the garden, where the white\npetals were falling, silently, like snow-flakes, and the birds were\nsinging in the morning glow.\n\nYour feet scampered down the paths. Your curls bobbed among the budding\nshrubs and vines.  You leaped.  You laughed.  You sang.  In your wide\neyes blue of the great sky, green of the grasses. On your flushed cheeks\nsunshine and breeze.  In your beating heart childhood and spring--a\nchildhood too big, a spring too wonderful, for the smallness of one\nlittle, brimming boy.\n\n\"Look, Mother!  See me jump.\"\n\n\"My!\" she said.\n\n\"And see me almost stand on my head.\"\n\n\"Wonderful!\"\n\n\"I know what I'll be when I grow to be a man, Mother.\"\n\n\"What will you be?\"\n\n\"A circus-rider.\"\n\n\"Gracious!\" said she.\n\n\"On a big, white horse, Mother.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\"\n\n\"And we'll jump 'way over the moon, Mother.\"\n\n\"The moon?\"\n\n\"Yes, the moon.  See!\"\n\nThen you jumped over the rake-handle. You were practising for the moon,\nyou said.\n\n\"But maybe I _won't_ be a circus-rider, Mother, after all.\"\n\n\"Maybe not,\" said she.\n\n\"Maybe I'll be President, like George Washington.  Father said I could.\nCould I, Mother?\"\n\n\"Yes--you might--some day.\"\n\n\"But the Jones boy couldn't, Mother.\"\n\n\"Why couldn't the Jones boy?\"\n\n\"Because he swears and tells lies.  _I_ don't.  And George Washington\ndidn't, Mother.  I guess I won't be a circus-rider, after all.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm glad of that, dear.\"\n\n\"No, I guess I'll keep right on, Mother--as long as I've started--and\njust be President.\"\n\n\"Oh, that will be fine,\" said she.  She was sewing in the arbor, her lap\nfilled with linen, her work-basket at her feet.\n\n\"Mother.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I think I'd like to sing a song now.\"\n\nStraight and proper you stood in the little path, your heels together,\nyour hands at your side, and so you sang to her the song of the little\nduck:\n\n    \"'Quack, quack,' said the Duck,\n    'Quack, quack.'\n    'Quack, quack,' said--\"\n\n\nYou stopped.\n\n\"Try it a little lower, dear.\"\n\n    \"'Quack, quack,' said--\"\n\n\n\"No, that's _too_ low,\" you said.  You tried again and started right\nthat time and sang it through, the song of the little duck who\n\n    \"'... wouldn't be a girl,\n    With only a curl,\n    I wouldn't be a girl, would you?'\"\n\n\n\"Oh, it's beautiful,\" Mother said.\n\n\"Now it's your turn, Mother, to tell a story.\"\n\n\"A story?\"\n\n\"Yes.  About the violets.\"\n\n\"The violets?\" she said, poising her needle, musingly.  \"The blue, blue\nviolets--\"\n\n\"As blue as the sky, Mother,\" you said, softly, for it is always in the\nhush of the garden that the stories grow.\n\n\"As blue as the sky,\" she said.  \"Ah, yes.  Well, once there wasn't a\nviolet in the whole world.\"\n\n\"Nor a single star,\" you said, awesomely, helping her.  And as you sat\nthere listening the world grew wider and wider--for when you are a\nlittle boy the world is always just as wide as your eyes.\n\n\"Not a violet or a single star in the whole world,\" Mother went on.\n\"And what do you think?  They just took little bits of the blue sky and\nsprinkled them all over the green world, and they were the first\nviolets.\"\n\n\"And the stars, Mother?\"\n\n\"Why, don't you see?  The stars are the little holes they left in the\nblue sky, with the light of heaven shining through.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" you said, softly.  \"Oh, Mother!\"\n\nAnd then, in the hush of the garden, you looked at her, and lo! her eyes\nwere blue like the violets, and bright like the stars, for the light of\nheaven was shining through.\n\nShe was the most wonderful person in the whole world--who never did\nanything wrong, who knew everything, even who God was, watching, night\nand day, over little boys.  Even the hairs of your head were numbered,\nshe told you, and not a little bird died but He knew.\n\n\"And did He know when Cock Robin died, Mother?\"\n\n\"Yes.  He knew.\"\n\n\"And when I hurt my finger, Mother? Did He know then?\"\n\n\"Yes, He knows everything.\"\n\n\"And was He sorry, Mother, when I hurt my finger?\"\n\n\"Very sorry, dear.\"\n\n\"Then why did He _let_ me hurt my finger--why?\"\n\nFor a moment she did not speak.\n\n\"Dearie,\" she said at last, \"I don't know.  There are many things that\nnobody knows but God.\"\n\nHushed and wondering you sat in Mother's lap, for His eye was upon you.\nSomewhere up in the sky, above the clouds, you knew He was sitting, on a\ngreat, bright throne, with a gold crown upon His head and a sceptre in\nHis hand--King of Kings and Lord of All.  Down below Him on the green\nearth little birds were falling, little boys were hurting their fingers\nand crying in their Mothers' arms, and He saw them all, every one,\nlittle birds and little boys, but did not help them. You crept closer to\nMother's bosom, flinging your arms about her neck.\n\n\"Don't let Him get me, Mother!\"\n\n\"Why, darling, He loves you.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Mother--not like you do; not like you.\"\n\nThe bees and the wind were in the apple trees, for it was May.  You were\nall alone, you and Mother, in the garden, where the white petals were\nfalling, like snowflakes, silently.  In the swing Grandfather built for\nyou, you sat swaying, to and fro, in the shadows; and the shadows\nswayed, to and fro, in the gale; and to and fro your thoughts swayed in\nyour dreaming.\n\nThe wind sang in the apple-boughs, the flowering branches filled and\nbent, and all about you were the tossing, shimmering grasses, and all\nabove you birds singing and flitting in the sky.  And so you swayed, to\nand fro, till you were a sailor, in a blue suit, sailing the blue sea.\n\nThe wind sang in the rigging.  The white sails filled and bent.  Your\nship scudded through the tossing, shimmering foam.  Gulls screamed and\ncircled in the sky, ... and so you sailed and sailed with the sea-breeze\nin your curls...\n\nThe ship anchored.\n\nThe swing stopped.\n\nYou were only a little boy.\n\n\"Mother,\" you said, softly, for your voice was drowsy with your dream.\n\nShe did not hear you.  She sat there in the arbor-seat, smiling at you,\nher hands idle, her sewing slipping from her knees. You did not know it\nthen, but you do now--that to see the most beautiful woman in the whole\nworld you must be her little boy.\n\nThere in her garden, in her lap, with her arms around you and her cheeks\nbetween your hands, you gazed, wondering, into the blue fondness of her\neyes.  You saw her lips, forever smiling at you, forever seeking your\nown.  You heard her voice, sweet with love-words--\n\n\"My dearest.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"My darling.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"My own dear little boy.\"\n\nAnd then her arms crushing you to her breast; and then her lips; and\nthen her voice again--\n\n\"Once in this very garden, in this very seat, Mother sat dreaming of\nyou.\"\n\n\"Of me, Mother?\"\n\n\"Of you.  Here in the garden, with that very bush there red with\nblossoms, and the birds singing in these very trees. She dreamed that\nyou were a little baby--a little baby, warm and soft in her arms--and\nwhile the wind sang to the flowers Mother sang you a lullaby, and you\nstretched out your hands to her and smiled; and then--ah, darling!\"\n\n\"But it was a _dream_, Mother.\"\n\n\"It was only a dream--yes--but it came true.  It came true on a night in\nJune--the First of June, it was--\"\n\n\"_My_ birthday, Mother!\"\n\n\"Your birthday, dear.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mother,\" you said, breathlessly--\"what a beautiful dream!\"\n\n\n\n\n                                THE END\n\n\n\n\n           *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\n                               *A FEW OF\n                           GROSSET & DUNLAP'S\n                     Great Books at Little Prices*\n\n                       NEW, CLEVER, ENTERTAINING.\n\n\nGRET: The Story of a Pagan.  By Beatrice Mantle.  Illustrated by C. M.\nRelyea.\n\nThe wild free life of an Oregon lumber camp furnishes the setting for\nthis strong original story.  Gret is the daughter of the camp and is\nutterly content with the wild life--until love comes.  A fine book,\nunmarred by convention.\n\n\nOLD CHESTER TALES.  By Margaret Deland.  Illustrated by Howard Pyle.\n\nA vivid yet delicate portrayal of characters in an old New England town.\n\nDr. Lavendar's fine, kindly wisdom is brought to bear upon the lives of\nall, permeating the whole volume like the pungent odor of pine,\nhealthful and life giving.  \"Old Chester Tales\" will surely be among the\nbooks that abide.\n\n\nTHE MEMOIRS OF A BABY.  By Josephine Daskam.  Illustrated by F. Y. Cory.\n\nThe dawning intelligence of the baby was grappled with by its great\naunt, an elderly maiden, whose book knowledge of babies was something at\nwhich even the infant himself winked.  A delicious bit of humor.\n\n\nREBECCA MARY.  By Annie Hamilton Donnell.  Illustrated by Elizabeth\nShippen Green.\n\nThe heart tragedies of this little girl with no one near to share them,\nare told with a delicate art, a keen appreciation of the needs of the\nchildish heart and a humorous knowledge of the workings of the childish\nmind.\n\n\nTHE FLY ON THE WHEEL.  By Katherine Cecil Thurston. Frontispiece by\nHarrison Fisher.\n\nAn Irish story of real power, perfect in development and showing a true\nconception of the spirited Hibernian character as displayed in the\ntragic as well as the tender phases of life.\n\n\nTHE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S.  By George Barr McCutcheon. Illustrated by\nHarrison Fisher.\n\nAn island in the South Sea is the setting for this entertaining tale,\nand an all-conquering hero and a beautiful princess figure in a most\ncomplicated plot.  One of Mr. McCutcheon's best books.\n\n\nTOLD BY UNCLE REMUS.  By Joel Chandler Harris. Illustrated by A. B.\nFrost, J. M. Conde and Frank Verbeck.\n\nAgain Uncle Remus enters the fields of childhood, and leads another\nlittle boy to that non-locatable land called \"Brer Rabbit's Laughing\nPlace,\" and again the quaint animals spring into active life and play\ntheir parts, for the edification of a small but appreciative audience.\n\n\nTHE CLIMBER.  By E. F. Benson.  With frontispiece.\n\nAn unsparing analysis of an ambitious woman's soul--a woman who believed\nthat in social supremacy she would find happiness, and who finds instead\nthe utter despair of one who has chosen the things that pass away.\n\n\nLYNCH'S DAUGHTER.  By Leonard Merrick.  Illustrated by Geo. Brehm.\n\nA story of to-day, telling how a rich girl acquires ideals of beautiful\nand simple living, and of men and love, quite apart from the teachings\nof her father, \"Old Man Lynch\" of Wall St.  True to life, clever in\ntreatment.\n\n\n\n                          *GROSSET & DUNLAP'S\n                           DRAMATIZED NOVELS*\n\n                A Few that are Making Theatrical History\n\n\nMARY JANE'S PA.  By Norman Way.  Illustrated with scenes from the play.\n\nDelightful, irresponsible \"Mary Jane's Pa\" awakes one morning to find\nhimself famous, and, genius being ill adapted to domestic joys, he\nwanders from home to work out his own unique destiny.  One of the most\nhumorous bits of recent fiction.\n\n\nCHERUB DEVINE.  By Sewell Ford.\n\n\"Cherub,\" a good hearted but not over refined young man is brought in\ntouch with the aristocracy.  Of sprightly wit, he is sometimes a\nmerciless analyst, but he proves in the end that manhood counts for more\nthan ancient lineage by winning the love of the fairest girl in the\nflock.\n\n\nA WOMAN'S WAY.  By Charles Somerville.  Illustrated with scenes from the\nplay.\n\nA story in which a woman's wit and self-sacrificing love save her\nhusband from the toils of an adventuress, and change an apparently\ntragic situation into one of delicious comedy.\n\n\nTHE CLIMAX.  By George C. Jenks.\n\nWith ambition luring her on, a young choir soprano leaves the little\nvillage where she was born and the limited audience of St. Jude's to\ntrain for the opera in New York.  She leaves love behind her and meets\nlove more ardent but not more sincere in her new environment.  How she\nworks, how she studies, how she suffers, are vividly portrayed.\n\n\nA FOOL THERE WAS.  By Porter Emerson Browne.  Illustrated by Edmund\nMagrath and W. W. Fawcett.\n\nA relentless portrayal of the career of a man who comes under the\ninfluence of a beautiful but evil woman; how she lures him on and on,\nhow he struggles, falls and rises, only to fall again into her net, make\na story of unflinching realism.\n\n\nTHE SQUAW MAN.  By Julie Opp Faversham and Edwin Milton Royle.\nIllustrated with scenes from the play.\n\nA glowing story, rapid in action, bright in dialogue with a fine\ncourageous hero and a beautiful English heroine.\n\n\nTHE GIRL IN WAITING.  By Archibald Eyre.  Illustrated with scenes from\nthe play.\n\nA droll little comedy of misunderstandings, told with a light touch, a\nventuresome spirit and an eye for human oddities.\n\n\nTHE SCARLET PIMPERNEL.  By Baroness Orczy.  Illustrated with scenes from\nthe play.\n\nA realistic story of the days of the French Revolution, abounding in\ndramatic incident, with a young English soldier of fortune, daring,\nmysterious as the hero.\n\n\n\n                         *TITLES SELECTED FROM\n                        GROSSET & DUNLAP'S LIST*\n\n                  REALISTIC, ENGAGING PICTURES OF LIFE\n\n\nTHE GARDEN OF FATE.  By Roy Norton.  Illustrated by Joseph Clement Coll.\n\nThe colorful romance of an American girl in Morocco, and of a beautiful\ngarden, whose beauty and traditions of strange subtle happenings were\nclosed to the world by a Sultan's seal.\n\n\nTHE MAN HIGHER UP.  By Henry Russell Miller. Full page vignette\nillustrations by M. Leone Bracker.\n\nThe story of a tenement waif who rose by his own ingenuity to the office\nof mayor of his native city.  His experiences while \"climbing,\" make a\nmost interesting example of the possibilities of human nature to rise\nabove circumstances.\n\n\nTHE KEY TO YESTERDAY.  By Charles Neville Buck.  Illustrated by R.\nSchabelitz.\n\nRobert Saxon, a prominent artist, has an accident, while in Paris, which\nobliterates his memory, and the only clue he has to his former life is a\nrusty key.  What door in Paris will it unlock?  He must know that before\nhe woos the girl he loves.\n\n\nTHE DANGER TRAIL.  By James Oliver Curwood. Illustrated by Charles\nLivingston Bull.\n\nThe danger trail is over the snow-smothered North.  A young Chicago\nengineer, who is building a road through the Hudson Bay region, is\ninvolved in mystery, and is led into ambush by a young woman.\n\n\nTHE GAY LORD WARING.  By Houghton Townley. Illustrated by Will Grefe.\n\nA story of the smart hunting set in England.  A gay young lord wins in\nlove against his selfish and cowardly brother and apparently against\nfate itself.\n\n\nBY INHERITANCE.  By Octave Thanet.  Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.\nElaborate wrapper in colors.\n\nA wealthy New England spinster with the most elaborate plans for the\neducation of the <DW64> goes to visit her nephew in Arkansas, where she\nlearns the needs of the <DW52> race first hand and begins to lose her\ntheories.\n\n\n                         *KATE DOUGLAS WIGGINS\n                        STORIES OF PURE DELIGHT*\n\n          Full of originality and humor, kindliness and cheer\n\n\nTHE OLD PEABODY PEW.  Large Octavo.  Decorative text pages, printed in\ntwo colors.  Illustrations by Alice Barber Stephens.\n\nOne of the prettiest romances that has ever come from this author's pen\nis made to bloom on Christmas Eve in the sweet freshness of an old New\nEngland meeting house.\n\n\nPENELOPE'S PROGRESS.  Attractive cover design in colors.\n\nScotland is the background for the merry doings of three very clever and\noriginal American girls.  Their adventures in adjusting themselves to\nthe Scot and his land are full of humor.\n\n\nPENELOPE'S IRISH EXPERIENCES.  Uniform in style with \"Penelope's\nProgress.\"\n\nThe trio of clever girls who rambled over Scotland cross the border to\nthe Emerald Isle, and again they sharpen their wits against new\nconditions, and revel in the land of laughter and wit.\n\n\nREBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM.\n\nOne of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic,\nunusual and quaintly charming qualities stand cut midst a circle of\naustere New Englanders.  The stage version is making a phenomenal\ndramatic record.\n\n\nNEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA.  With illustrations by F. C. Yohn.\n\nSome more quaintly amusing chronicles that carry Rebecca through various\nstages to her eighteenth birthday.\n\n\nROSE O' THE RIVER.  With illustrations by George Wright.\n\nThe simple story of Rose, a country girl and Stephen a sturdy young\nfarmer.  The girl's fancy for a city man interrupts their love and\nmerges the story into an emotional strain where the reader follows the\nevents with rapt attention.\n\n\n\n             GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\n\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Eve Sobol\n\n\n\n\n\nGREAT CATHERINE (WHOM GLORY STILL ADORES)\n\nBy George Bernard Shaw\n\n\n     \"In Catherine's reign, whom Glory still adores\"\n                                           BYRON\n\n\n\n\nTHE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR GREAT CATHERINE\n\nException has been taken to the title of this seeming tomfoolery on the\nground that the Catherine it represents is not Great Catherine, but the\nCatherine whose gallantries provide some of the lightest pages of modern\nhistory. Great Catherine, it is said, was the Catherine whose diplomacy,\nwhose campaigns and conquests, whose plans of Liberal reform, whose\ncorrespondence with Grimm and Voltaire enabled her to cut such a\nmagnificent figure in the eighteenth century. In reply, I can only\nconfess that Catherine's diplomacy and her conquests do not interest\nme. It is clear to me that neither she nor the statesmen with whom she\nplayed this mischievous kind of political chess had any notion of\nthe real history of their own times, or of the real forces that were\nmoulding Europe. The French Revolution, which made such short work of\nCatherine's Voltairean principles, surprised and scandalized her as much\nas it surprised and scandalized any provincial governess in the French\nchateaux.\n\nThe main difference between her and our modern Liberal Governments was\nthat whereas she talked and wrote quite intelligently about Liberal\nprinciples before she was frightened into making such talking and\nwriting a flogging matter, our Liberal ministers take the name of\nLiberalism in vain without knowing or caring enough about its meaning\neven to talk and scribble about it, and pass their flogging Bills, and\ninstitute their prosecutions for sedition and blasphemy and so forth,\nwithout the faintest suspicion that such proceedings need any apology\nfrom the Liberal point of view.\n\nIt was quite easy for Patiomkin to humbug Catherine as to the condition\nof Russia by conducting her through sham cities run up for the occasion\nby scenic artists; but in the little world of European court intrigue\nand dynastic diplomacy which was the only world she knew she was more\nthan a match for him and for all the rest of her contemporaries. In such\nintrigue and diplomacy, however, there was no romance, no scientific\npolitical interest, nothing that a sane mind can now retain even if\nit can be persuaded to waste time in reading it up. But Catherine as a\nwoman with plenty of character and (as we should say) no morals,\nstill fascinates and amuses us as she fascinated and amused her\ncontemporaries. They were great sentimental comedians, these Peters,\nElizabeths, and Catherines who played their Tsarships as eccentric\ncharacter parts, and produced scene after scene of furious harlequinade\nwith the monarch as clown, and of tragic relief in the torture chamber\nwith the monarch as pantomime demon committing real atrocities, not\nforgetting the indispensable love interest on an enormous and utterly\nindecorous scale. Catherine kept this vast Guignol Theatre open for\nnearly half a century, not as a Russian, but as a highly domesticated\nGerman lady whose household routine was not at all so unlike that of\nQueen Victoria as might be expected from the difference in their notions\nof propriety in sexual relations.\n\nIn short, if Byron leaves you with an impression that he said very\nlittle about Catherine, and that little not what was best worth saying,\nI beg to correct your impression by assuring you that what Byron said\nwas all there really is to say that is worth saying. His Catherine is my\nCatherine and everybody's Catherine. The young man who gains her favor\nis a Spanish nobleman in his version. I have made him an English country\ngentleman, who gets out of his rather dangerous scrape, by simplicity,\nsincerity, and the courage of these qualities. By this I have given some\noffence to the many Britons who see themselves as heroes: what they mean\nby heroes being theatrical snobs of superhuman pretensions which, though\nquite groundless, are admitted with awe by the rest of the human race.\nThey say I think an Englishman a fool. When I do, they have themselves\nto thank.\n\nI must not, however, pretend that historical portraiture was the motive\nof a play that will leave the reader as ignorant of Russian history\nas he may be now before he has turned the page. Nor is the sketch of\nCatherine complete even idiosyncratically, leaving her politics out of\nthe question. For example, she wrote bushels of plays. I confess I\nhave not yet read any of them. The truth is, this play grew out of the\nrelations which inevitably exist in the theatre between authors and\nactors. If the actors have sometimes to use their skill as the author's\npuppets rather than in full self-expression, the author has sometimes to\nuse his skill as the actors' tailor, fitting them with parts written to\ndisplay the virtuosity of the performer rather than to solve problems of\nlife, character, or history. Feats of this kind may tickle an author's\ntechnical vanity; but he is bound on such occasions to admit that the\nperformer for whom he writes is \"the onlie begetter\" of his work,\nwhich must be regarded critically as an addition to the debt dramatic\nliterature owes to the art of acting and its exponents. Those who have\nseen Miss Gertrude Kingston play the part of Catherine will have no\ndifficulty in believing that it was her talent rather than mine that\nbrought the play into existence. I once recommended Miss Kingston\nprofessionally to play queens. Now in the modern drama there were no\nqueens for her to play; and as to the older literature of our stage: did\nit not provoke the veteran actress in Sir Arthur Pinero's Trelawny of\nthe Wells to declare that, as parts, queens are not worth a tinker's\noath? Miss Kingston's comment on my suggestion, though more elegantly\nworded, was to the same effect; and it ended in my having to make good\nmy advice by writing Great Catherine. History provided no other queen\ncapable of standing up to our joint talents.\n\nIn composing such bravura pieces, the author limits himself only by the\nrange of the virtuoso, which by definition far transcends the modesty\nof nature. If my Russians seem more Muscovite than any Russian, and\nmy English people more insular than any Briton, I will not plead, as\nI honestly might, that the fiction has yet to be written that can\nexaggerate the reality of such subjects; that the apparently outrageous\nPatiomkin is but a timidly bowdlerized ghost of the original; and\nthat Captain Edstaston is no more than a miniature that might hang\nappropriately on the walls of nineteen out of twenty English country\nhouses to this day. An artistic presentment must not condescend to\njustify itself by a comparison with crude nature; and I prefer to admit\nthat in this kind my dramatic personae are, as they should be, of the\nstage stagey, challenging the actor to act up to them or beyond them,\nif he can. The more heroic the overcharging, the better for the\nperformance.\n\nIn dragging the reader thus for a moment behind the scenes, I am\ndeparting from a rule which I have hitherto imposed on myself so rigidly\nthat I never permit myself, even in a stage direction, to let slip a\nword that could bludgeon the imagination of the reader by reminding him\nof the boards and the footlights and the sky borders and the rest of\nthe theatrical scaffolding, for which nevertheless I have to plan as\ncarefully as if I were the head carpenter as well as the author. But\neven at the risk of talking shop, an honest playwright should take at\nleast one opportunity of acknowledging that his art is not only limited\nby the art of the actor, but often stimulated and developed by it. No\nsane and skilled author writes plays that present impossibilities to\nthe actor or to the stage engineer. If, as occasionally happens, he asks\nthem to do things that they have never done before and cannot conceive\nas presentable or possible (as Wagner and Thomas Hardy have done,\nfor example), it is always found that the difficulties are not really\ninsuperable, the author having foreseen unsuspected possibilities both\nin the actor and in the audience, whose will-to-make-believe can perform\nthe quaintest miracles. Thus may authors advance the arts of acting and\nof staging plays. But the actor also may enlarge the scope of the drama\nby displaying powers not previously discovered by the author. If the\nbest available actors are only Horatios, the authors will have to\nleave Hamlet out, and be content with Horatios for heroes. Some of the\ndifference between Shakespeare's Orlandos and Bassanios and Bertrams and\nhis Hamlets and Macbeths must have been due not only to his development\nas a dramatic poet, but to the development of Burbage as an actor.\nPlaywrights do not write for ideal actors when their livelihood is at\nstake: if they did, they would write parts for heroes with twenty arms\nlike an Indian god. Indeed the actor often influences the author too\nmuch; for I can remember a time (I am not implying that it is yet wholly\npast) when the art of writing a fashionable play had become very\nlargely the art of writing it \"round\" the personalities of a group of\nfashionable performers of whom Burbage would certainly have said that\ntheir parts needed no acting. Everything has its abuse as well as its\nuse.\n\nIt is also to be considered that great plays live longer than great\nactors, though little plays do not live nearly so long as the worst of\ntheir exponents. The consequence is that the great actor, instead of\nputting pressure on contemporary authors to supply him with heroic\nparts, falls back on the Shakespearean repertory, and takes what he\nneeds from a dead hand. In the nineteenth century, the careers of Kean,\nMacready, Barry Sullivan, and Irving, ought to have produced a group of\nheroic plays comparable in intensity to those of Aeschylus, Sophocles,\nand Euripides; but nothing of the kind happened: these actors played\nthe works of dead authors, or, very occasionally, of live poets who\nwere hardly regular professional playwrights. Sheridan Knowles, Bulwer\nLytton, Wills, and Tennyson produced a few glaringly artificial high\nhorses for the great actors of their time; but the playwrights proper,\nwho really kept the theatre going, and were kept going by the theatre,\ndid not cater for the great actors: they could not afford to compete\nwith a bard who was not for an age but for all time, and who had,\nmoreover, the overwhelming attraction for the actor-managers of not\ncharging author's fees. The result was that the playwrights and the\ngreat actors ceased to think of themselves as having any concern with\none another: Tom Robertson, Ibsen, Pinero, and Barrie might as well have\nbelonged to a different solar system as far as Irving was concerned; and\nthe same was true of their respective predecessors.\n\nThus was established an evil tradition; but I at least can plead that\nit does not always hold good. If Forbes Robertson had not been there to\nplay Caesar, I should not have written Caesar and Cleopatra. If Ellen\nTerry had never been born, Captain Brassbound's Conversion would never\nhave been effected. The Devil's Disciple, with which I won my cordon\nbleu in America as a potboiler, would have had a different sort of hero\nif Richard Mansfield had been a different sort of actor, though the\nactual commission to write it came from an English actor, William\nTerriss, who was assassinated before he recovered from the dismay into\nwhich the result of his rash proposal threw him. For it must be said\nthat the actor or actress who inspires or commissions a play as often\nas not regards it as a Frankenstein's monster, and will have none of it.\nThat does not make him or her any the less parental in the fecundity of\nthe playwright.\n\nTo an author who has any feeling of his business there is a keen and\nwhimsical joy in divining and revealing a side of an actor's genius\noverlooked before, and unsuspected even by the actor himself. When I\nsnatched Mr Louis Calvert from Shakespeare, and made him wear a frock\ncoat and silk hat on the stage for perhaps the first time in his life, I\ndo not think he expected in the least that his performance would enable\nme to boast of his Tom Broadbent as a genuine stage classic. Mrs\nPatrick Campbell was famous before I wrote for her, but not for playing\nilliterate cockney flower-maidens. And in the case which is provoking me\nto all these impertinences, I am quite sure that Miss Gertrude\nKingston, who first made her reputation as an impersonator of the most\ndelightfully feather-headed and inconsequent ingenues, thought me more\nthan usually mad when I persuaded her to play the Helen of Euripides,\nand then launched her on a queenly career as Catherine of Russia.\n\nIt is not the whole truth that if we take care of the actors the plays\nwill take care of themselves; nor is it any truer that if we take care\nof the plays the actors will take care of themselves. There is both give\nand take in the business. I have seen plays written for actors that made\nme exclaim, \"How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes deeds ill\ndone!\" But Burbage may have flourished the prompt copy of Hamlet under\nShakespeare's nose at the tenth rehearsal and cried, \"How oft the sight\nof means to do great deeds makes playwrights great!\" I say the tenth\nbecause I am convinced that at the first he denounced his part as a\nrotten one; thought the ghost's speech ridiculously long; and wanted to\nplay the king. Anyhow, whether he had the wit to utter it or not, the\nboast would have been a valid one. The best conclusion is that every\nactor should say, \"If I create the hero in myself, God will send an\nauthor to write his part.\" For in the long run the actors will get the\nauthors, and the authors the actors, they deserve.\n\nGreat Catherine was performed for the first time at the Vaudeville\nTheatre in London on the 18th November 1913, with Gertrude Kingston as\nCatherine, Miriam Lewes as Yarinka, Dorothy Massingham as Claire, Norman\nMcKinnell as Patiomkin, Edmond Breon as Edstaston, Annie Hill as the\nPrincess Dashkoff, and Eugene Mayeur and F. Cooke Beresford as Naryshkin\nand the Sergeant.\n\n\n\n\nGREAT CATHERINE\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST SCENE\n\n1776. Patiomkin in his bureau in the Winter Palace, St. Petersburgh.\nHuge palatial apartment: style, Russia in the eighteenth century\nimitating the Versailles du Roi Soleil. Extravagant luxury. Also dirt\nand disorder.\n\nPatiomkin, gigantic in stature and build, his face marred by the loss\nof one eye and a marked squint in the other, sits at the end of a\ntable littered with papers and the remains of three or four successive\nbreakfasts. He has supplies of coffee and brandy at hand sufficient for\na party of ten. His coat, encrusted with diamonds, is on the floor. It\nhas fallen off a chair placed near the other end of the table for the\nconvenience of visitors. His court sword, with its attachments, is on\nthe chair. His three-cornered hat, also bejewelled, is on the table.\nHe himself is half dressed in an unfastened shirt and an immense\ndressing-gown, once gorgeous, now food-splashed and dirty, as it serves\nhim for towel, handkerchief, duster, and every other use to which a\ntextile fabric can be put by a slovenly man. It does not conceal his\nhuge hairy chest, nor his half-buttoned knee breeches, nor his legs.\nThese are partly clad in silk stockings, which he occasionally hitches\nup to his knees, and presently shakes down to his shins, by his restless\nmovement. His feet are thrust into enormous slippers, worth, with their\ncrust of jewels, several thousand roubles apiece.\n\nSuperficially Patiomkin is a violent, brutal barbarian, an upstart\ndespot of the most intolerable and dangerous type, ugly, lazy, and\ndisgusting in his personal habits. Yet ambassadors report him the ablest\nman in Russia, and the one who can do most with the still abler Empress\nCatherine II, who is not a Russian but a German, by no means barbarous\nor intemperate in her personal habits. She not only disputes with\nFrederick the Great the reputation of being the cleverest monarch in\nEurope, but may even put in a very plausible claim to be the cleverest\nand most attractive individual alive. Now she not only tolerates\nPatiomkin long after she has got over her first romantic attachment to\nhim, but esteems him highly as a counsellor and a good friend. His love\nletters are among the best on record. He has a wild sense of humor,\nwhich enables him to laugh at himself as well as at everybody else. In\nthe eyes of the English visitor now about to be admitted to his presence\nhe may be an outrageous ruffian. In fact he actually is an outrageous\nruffian, in no matter whose eyes; but the visitor will find out, as\neveryone else sooner or later fends out, that he is a man to be reckoned\nwith even by those who are not intimidated by his temper, bodily\nstrength, and exalted rank.\n\nA pretty young lady, Yarinka, his favorite niece, is lounging on an\nottoman between his end of the table and the door, very sulky and\ndissatisfied, perhaps because he is preoccupied with his papers and his\nbrandy bottle, and she can see nothing of him but his broad back.\n\nThere is a screen behind the ottoman.\n\nAn old soldier, a Cossack sergeant, enters.\n\n\nTHE SERGEANT [softly to the lady, holding the door handle]. Little\ndarling honey, is his Highness the prince very busy?\n\nVARINKA. His Highness the prince is very busy. He is singing out of\ntune; he is biting his nails; he is scratching his head; he is hitching\nup his untidy stockings; he is making himself disgusting and odious to\neverybody; and he is pretending to read state papers that he does\nnot understand because he is too lazy and selfish to talk and be\ncompanionable.\n\nPATIOMKIN [growls; then wipes his nose with his dressing-gown]!!\n\nVARINKA. Pig. Ugh! [She curls herself up with a shiver of disgust and\nretires from the conversation.]\n\nTHE SERGEANT [stealing across to the coat, and picking it up to replace\nit on the back of the chair]. Little Father, the English captain,\nso highly recommended to you by old Fritz of Prussia, by the English\nambassador, and by Monsieur Voltaire (whom [crossing himself] may God in\nhis infinite mercy damn eternally!), is in the antechamber and desires\naudience.\n\nPATIOMKIN [deliberately]. To hell with the English captain; and to hell\nwith old Fritz of Prussia; and to hell with the English ambassador; and\nto hell with Monsieur Voltaire; and to hell with you too!\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Have mercy on me, Little Father. Your head is bad this\nmorning. You drink too much French brandy and too little good Russian\nkvass.\n\nPATIOMKIN [with sudden fury]. Why are visitors of consequence announced\nby a sergeant? [Springing at him and seizing him by the throat.] What\ndo you mean by this, you hound? Do you want five thousand blows of the\nstick? Where is General Volkonsky?\n\nTHE SERGEANT [on his knees]. Little Father, you kicked his Highness\ndownstairs.\n\nPATIOMKIN [flinging him dawn and kicking him]. You lie, you dog. You\nlie.\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Little Father, life is hard for the poor. If you say it is\na lie, it is a lie. He FELL downstairs. I picked him up; and he kicked\nme. They all kick me when you kick them. God knows that is not just,\nLittle Father!\n\nPATIOMKIN [laughs ogreishly; then returns to his place at the table,\nchuckling]!!!\n\nVARINKA. Savage! Boot! It is a disgrace. No wonder the French sneer at\nus as barbarians.\n\nTHE SERGEANT [who has crept round the table to the screen, and\ninsinuated himself between Patiomkin's back and Varinka]. Do you think\nthe Prince will see the captain, little darling?\n\nPATIOMKIN. He will not see any captain. Go to the devil!\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Be merciful, Little Father. God knows it is your duty to\nsee him! [To Varinka.] Intercede for him and for me, beautiful little\ndarling. He has given me a rouble.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Oh, send him in, send him in; and stop pestering me. Am I\nnever to have a moment's peace?\n\nThe Sergeant salutes joyfully and hurries out, divining that Patiomkin\nhas intended to see the English captain all along, and has played this\ncomedy of fury and exhausted impatience to conceal his interest in the\nvisitor.\n\nVARINKA. Have you no shame? You refuse to see the most exalted persons.\nYou kick princes and generals downstairs. And then you see an English\ncaptain merely because he has given a rouble to that common soldier. It\nis scandalous.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Darling beloved, I am drunk; but I know what I am doing. I\nwish to stand well with the English.\n\nVARINKA. And you think you will impress an Englishman by receiving him\nas you are now, half drunk?\n\nPATIOMKIN [gravely]. It is true: the English despise men who cannot\ndrink. I must make myself wholly drunk [he takes a huge draught of\nbrandy.]\n\nVARINKA. Sot!\n\nThe Sergeant returns ushering a handsome strongly built young English\nofficer in the uniform of a Light Dragoon. He is evidently on fairly\ngood terms with himself, and very sure of his social position. He\ncrosses the room to the end of the table opposite Patiomkin's, and\nawaits the civilities of that statesman with confidence. The Sergeant\nremains prudently at the door.\n\nTHE SERGEANT [paternally]. Little Father, this is the English captain,\nso well recommended to her sacred Majesty the Empress. God knows, he\nneeds your countenance and protec-- [he vanishes precipitately,\nseeing that Patiomkin is about to throw a bottle at him. The Captain\ncontemplates these preliminaries with astonishment, and with some\ndispleasure, which is not allayed when, Patiomkin, hardly condescending\nto look at his visitor, of whom he nevertheless takes stock with the\ncorner of his one eye, says gruffly]. Well?\n\nEDSTASTON. My name is Edstaston: Captain Edstaston of the Light\nDragoons. I have the honor to present to your Highness this letter from\nthe British ambassador, which will give you all necessary particulars.\n[He hands Patiomkin the letter.]\n\nPATIOMKIN [tearing it open and glancing at it for about a second]. What\ndo you want?\n\nEDSTASTON. The letter will explain to your Highness who I am.\n\nPATIOMKIN. I don't want to know who you are. What do you want?\n\nEDSTASTON. An audience of the Empress. [Patiomkin contemptuously throws\nthe letter aside. Edstaston adds hotly.] Also some civility, if you\nplease.\n\nPATIOMKIN [with derision]. Ho!\n\nVARINKA. My uncle is receiving you with unusual civility, Captain. He\nhas just kicked a general downstairs.\n\nEDSTASTON. A Russian general, madam?\n\nVARINKA. Of course.\n\nEDSTASTON. I must allow myself to say, madam, that your uncle had better\nnot attempt to kick an English officer downstairs.\n\nPATIOMKIN. You want me to kick you upstairs, eh? You want an audience of\nthe Empress.\n\nEDSTASTON. I have said nothing about kicking, sir. If it comes to that,\nmy boots shall speak for me. Her Majesty has signified a desire to have\nnews of the rebellion in America. I have served against the rebels; and\nI am instructed to place myself at the disposal of her Majesty, and to\ndescribe the events of the war to her as an eye-witness, in a discreet\nand agreeable manner.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Psha! I know. You think if she once sets eyes on your face\nand your uniform your fortune is made. You think that if she could stand\na man like me, with only one eye, and a cross eye at that, she must fall\ndown at your feet at first sight, eh?\n\nEDSTASTON [shocked and indignant]. I think nothing of the sort; and I'll\ntrouble you not to repeat it. If I were a Russian subject and you made\nsuch a boast about my queen, I'd strike you across the face with my\nsword. [Patiomkin, with a yell of fury, rushes at him.] Hands off, you\nswine! [As Patiomkin, towering over him, attempts to seize him by the\nthroat, Edstaston, who is a bit of a wrestler, adroitly backheels him.\nHe falls, amazed, on his back.]\n\nVARINKA [rushing out]. Help! Call the guard! The Englishman is murdering\nmy uncle! Help! Help!\n\nThe guard and the Sergeant rush in. Edstaston draws a pair of small\npistols from his boots, and points one at the Sergeant and the other at\nPatiomkin, who is sitting on the floor, somewhat sobered. The soldiers\nstand irresolute.\n\nEDSTASTON. Stand off. [To Patiomkin.] Order them off, if you don't want\na bullet through your silly head.\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Little Father, tell us what to do. Our lives are yours;\nbut God knows you are not fit to die.\n\nPATIOMKIN [absurdly self-possessed]. Get out.\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Little Father--\n\nPATIOMKIN [roaring]. Get out. Get out, all of you. [They withdraw, much\nrelieved at their escape from the pistol. Patiomkin attempts to rise,\nand rolls over.] Here! help me up, will you? Don't you see that I'm\ndrunk and can't get up?\n\nEDSTASTON [suspiciously]. You want to get hold of me.\n\nPATIOMKIN [squatting resignedly against the chair on which his clothes\nhang]. Very well, then: I shall stay where I am, because I'm drunk and\nyou're afraid of me.\n\nEDSTASTON. I'm not afraid of you, damn you!\n\nPATIOMKIN [ecstatically]. Darling, your lips are the gates of truth. Now\nlisten to me. [He marks off the items of his statement with ridiculous\nstiff gestures of his head and arms, imitating a puppet.] You are\nCaptain Whatshisname; and your uncle is the Earl of Whatdyecallum; and\nyour father is Bishop of Thingummybob; and you are a young man of the\nhighest spr--promise (I told you I was drunk), educated at Cambridge,\nand got your step as captain in the field at the GLORIOUS battle of\nBunker's Hill. Invalided home from America at the request of Aunt Fanny,\nLady-in-Waiting to the Queen. All right, eh?\n\nEDSTASTON. How do you know all this?\n\nPATIOMKIN [crowing fantastically]. In er lerrer, darling, darling,\ndarling, darling. Lerrer you showed me.\n\nEDSTASTON. But you didn't read it.\n\nPATIOMKIN [flapping his fingers at him grotesquely]. Only\none eye, darling. Cross eye. Sees everything. Read lerrer\ninceince--istastaneously. Kindly give me vinegar borle. Green borle.\nOn'y to sober me. Too drunk to speak porply. If you would be so kind,\ndarling. Green borle. [Edstaston, still suspicious, shakes his head and\nkeeps his pistols ready.] Reach it myself. [He reaches behind him up\nto the table, and snatches at the green bottle, from which he takes a\ncopious draught. Its effect is appalling. His wry faces and agonized\nbelchings are so heartrending that they almost upset Edstaston. When the\nvictim at last staggers to his feet, he is a pale fragile nobleman,\naged and quite sober, extremely dignified in manner and address, though\nshaken by his recent convulsions.] Young man, it is not better to be\ndrunk than sober; but it is happier. Goodness is not happiness. That is\nan epigram. But I have overdone this. I am too sober to be good company.\nLet me redress the balance. [He takes a generous draught of brandy, and\nrecovers his geniality.] Aha! That's better. And now listen, darling.\nYou must not come to Court with pistols in your boots.\n\nEDSTASTON. I have found them useful.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Nonsense. I'm your friend. You mistook my intention because\nI was drunk. Now that I am sober--in moderation--I will prove that I\nam your friend. Have some diamonds. [Roaring.] Hullo there! Dogs, pigs:\nhullo!\n\nThe Sergeant comes in.\n\nTHE SERGEANT. God be praised, Little Father: you are still spared to us.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Tell them to bring some diamonds. Plenty of diamonds. And\nrubies. Get out. [He aims a kick at the Sergeant, who flees.] Put up\nyour pistols, darling. I'll give you a pair with gold handgrips. I am\nyour friend.\n\nEDSTASTON [replacing the pistols in his boots rather unwillingly]. Your\nHighness understands that if I am missing, or if anything happens to me,\nthere will be trouble.\n\nPATIOMKIN [enthusiastically]. Call me darling.\n\nEDSTASTON. It is not the English custom.\n\nPATIOMKIN. You have no hearts, you English! [Slapping his right breast.]\nHeart! Heart!\n\nEDSTASTON. Pardon, your Highness: your heart is on the other side.\n\nPATIOMKIN [surprised and impressed]. Is it? You are learned! You are\na doctor! You English are wonderful! We are barbarians, drunken pigs.\nCatherine does not know it; but we are. Catherine's a German. But I have\ngiven her a Russian heart [he is about to slap himself again.]\n\nEDSTASTON [delicately]. The other side, your Highness.\n\nPATIOMKIN [maudlin]. Darling, a true Russian has a heart on both sides.\n\nThe Sergeant enters carrying a goblet filled with precious stones.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Get out. [He snatches the goblet and kicks the Sergeant out,\nnot maliciously but from habit, indeed not noticing that he does it.]\nDarling, have some diamonds. Have a fistful. [He takes up a handful and\nlets them slip back through his fingers into the goblet, which he then\noffers to Edstaston.]\n\nEDSTASTON. Thank you, I don't take presents.\n\nPATIOMKIN [amazed]. You refuse!\n\nEDSTASTON. I thank your Highness; but it is not the custom for English\ngentlemen to take presents of that kind.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Are you really an Englishman?\n\nEDSTASTON [bows]!\n\nPATIOMKIN. You are the first Englishman I ever saw refuse anything\nhe could get. [He puts the goblet on the table; then turns again to\nEdstaston.] Listen, darling. You are a wrestler: a splendid wrestler.\nYou threw me on my back like magic, though I could lift you with one\nhand. Darling, you are a giant, a paladin.\n\nEDSTASTON [complacently]. We wrestle rather well in my part of England.\n\nPATIOMKIN. I have a Turk who is a wrestler: a prisoner of war. You shall\nwrestle with him for me. I'll stake a million roubles on you.\n\nEDSTASTON [incensed]. Damn you! do you take me for a prize-fighter? How\ndare you make me such a proposal?\n\nPATIOMKIN [with wounded feeling]. Darling, there is no pleasing you.\nDon't you like me?\n\nEDSTASTON [mollified]. Well, in a sort of way I do; though I don't know\nwhy I should. But my instructions are that I am to see the Empress;\nand--\n\nPATIOMKIN. Darling, you shall see the Empress. A glorious woman, the\ngreatest woman in the world. But lemme give you piece 'vice--pah! still\ndrunk. They water my vinegar. [He shakes himself; clears his throat;\nand resumes soberly.] If Catherine takes a fancy to you, you may ask for\nroubles, diamonds, palaces, titles, orders, anything! and you may aspire\nto everything: field-marshal, admiral, minister, what you please--except\nTsar.\n\nEDSTASTON. I tell you I don't want to ask for anything. Do you suppose I\nam an adventurer and a beggar?\n\nPATIOMKIN [plaintively]. Why not, darling? I was an adventurer. I was a\nbeggar.\n\nEDSTASTON. Oh, you!\n\nPATIOMKIN. Well: what's wrong with me?\n\nEDSTASTON. You are a Russian. That's different.\n\nPATIOMKIN [effusively]. Darling, I am a man; and you are a man; and\nCatherine is a woman. Woman reduces us all to the common denominator.\n[Chuckling.] Again an epigram! [Gravely.] You understand it, I hope.\nHave you had a college education, darling? I have.\n\nEDSTASTON. Certainly. I am a Bachelor of Arts.\n\nPATIOMKIN. It is enough that you are a bachelor, darling: Catherine will\nsupply the arts. Aha! Another epigram! I am in the vein today.\n\nEDSTASTON [embarrassed and a little offended]. I must ask your Highness\nto change the subject. As a visitor in Russia, I am the guest of the\nEmpress; and I must tell you plainly that I have neither the right nor\nthe disposition to speak lightly of her Majesty.\n\nPATIOMKIN. You have conscientious scruples?\n\nEDSTASTON. I have the scruples of a gentleman.\n\nPATIOMKIN. In Russia a gentleman has no scruples. In Russia we face\nfacts.\n\nEDSTASTON. In England, sir, a gentleman never faces any facts if they\nare unpleasant facts.\n\nPATIOMKIN. In real life, darling, all facts are unpleasant. [Greatly\npleased with himself.] Another epigram! Where is my accursed chancellor?\nthese gems should be written down and recorded for posterity. [He rushes\nto the table: sits down: and snatches up a pen. Then, recollecting\nhimself.] But I have not asked you to sit down. [He rises and goes to\nthe other chair.] I am a savage: a barbarian. [He throws the shirt and\ncoat over the table on to the floor and puts his sword on the table.] Be\nseated, Captain.\n\nEDSTASTON Thank you.\n\nThey bow to one another ceremoniously. Patiomkin's tendency to grotesque\nexaggeration costs him his balance; he nearly falls over Edstaston, who\nrescues him and takes the proffered chair.\n\nPATIOMKIN [resuming his seat]. By the way, what was the piece of advice\nI was going to give you?\n\nEDSTASTON. As you did not give it, I don't know. Allow me to add that I\nhave not asked for your advice.\n\nPATIOMKIN. I give it to you unasked, delightful Englishman. I remember\nit now. It was this. Don't try to become Tsar of Russia.\n\nEDSTASTON [in astonishment]. I haven't the slightest intention--\n\nPATIOMKIN. Not now; but you will have: take my words for it. It will\nstrike you as a splendid idea to have conscientious scruples--to desire\nthe blessing of the Church on your union with Catherine.\n\nEDSTASTON [racing in utter amazement]. My union with Catherine! You're\nmad.\n\nPATIOMKIN [unmoved]. The day you hint at such a thing will be the day of\nyour downfall. Besides, it is not lucky to be Catherine's husband. You\nknow what happened to Peter?\n\nEDSTASTON [shortly; sitting down again]. I do not wish to discuss it.\n\nPATIOMKIN. You think she murdered him?\n\nEDSTASTON. I know that people have said so.\n\nPATIOMKIN [thunderously; springing to his feet]. It is a lie: Orloff\nmurdered him. [Subsiding a little.] He also knocked my eye out; but\n[sitting down placidly] I succeeded him for all that. And [patting\nEdstaston's hand very affectionately] I'm sorry to say, darling, that if\nyou become Tsar, I shall murder you.\n\nEDSTASTON [ironically returning the caress]. Thank you. The occasion\nwill not arise. [Rising.] I have the honor to wish your Highness good\nmorning.\n\nPATIOMKIN [jumping up and stopping him on his way to the door]. Tut tut!\nI'm going to take you to the Empress now, this very instant.\n\nEDSTASTON. In these boots? Impossible! I must change.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Nonsense! You shall come just as you are. You shall show her\nyour calves later on.\n\nEDSTASTON. But it will take me only half an hour to--\n\nPATIOMKIN. In half an hour it will be too late for the petit lever.\nCome along. Damn it, man, I must oblige the British ambassador, and the\nFrench ambassador, and old Fritz, and Monsieur Voltaire and the rest of\nthem. [He shouts rudely to the door.] Varinka! [To Edstaston, with tears\nin his voice.] Varinka shall persuade you: nobody can refuse Varinka\nanything. My niece. A treasure, I assure you. Beautiful! devoted!\nfascinating! [Shouting again.] Varinka, where the devil are you?\n\nVARINKA [returning]. I'll not be shouted for. You have the voice of a\nbear, and the manners of a tinker.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Tsh-sh-sh. Little angel Mother: you must behave yourself\nbefore the English captain. [He takes off his dressing-gown and throws\nit over the papers and the breakfasts: picks up his coat: and disappears\nbehind the screen to complete his toilette.]\n\nEDSTASTON. Madam! [He bows.]\n\nVARINKA [courtseying]. Monsieur le Capitaine!\n\nEDSTASTON. I must apologize for the disturbance I made, madam.\n\nPATIOMKIN [behind the screen]. You must not call her madam. You must\ncall her Little Mother, and beautiful darling.\n\nEDSTASTON. My respect for the lady will not permit it.\n\nVARINKA. Respect! How can you respect the niece of a savage?\n\nEDSTASTON [deprecatingly]. Oh, madam!\n\nVARINKA. Heaven is my witness, Little English Father, we need someone\nwho is not afraid of him. He is so strong! I hope you will throw him\ndown on the floor many, many, many times.\n\nPATIOMKIN [behind the screen]. Varinka!\n\nVARINKA. Yes?\n\nPATIOMKIN. Go and look through the keyhole of the Imperial bed-chamber;\nand bring me word whether the Empress is awake yet.\n\nVARINKA. Fi donc! I do not look through keyholes.\n\nPATIOMKIN [emerging, having arranged his shirt and put on his diamonded\ncoat]. You have been badly brought up, little darling. Would any lady or\ngentleman walk unannounced into a room without first looking through the\nkeyhole? [Taking his sword from the table and putting it on.] The great\nthing in life is to be simple; and the perfectly simple thing is to look\nthrough keyholes. Another epigram: the fifth this morning! Where is my\nfool of a chancellor? Where is Popof?\n\nEDSTASTON [choking with suppressed laughter]!!!!\n\nPATIOMKIN [gratified]. Darling, you appreciate my epigram.\n\nEDSTASTON. Excuse me. Pop off! Ha! ha! I can't help laughing: What's his\nreal name, by the way, in case I meet him?\n\nVARINKA [surprised]. His real name? Popof, of course. Why do you laugh,\nLittle Father?\n\nEDSTASTON. How can anyone with a sense of humor help laughing? Pop off!\n[He is convulsed.]\n\nVARINKA [looking at her uncle, taps her forehead significantly]!!\n\nPATIOMKIN [aside to Varinka]. No: only English. He will amuse Catherine.\n[To Edstaston.] Come, you shall tell the joke to the Empress: she is by\nway of being a humorist [he takes him by the arm, and leads him towards\nthe door].\n\nEDSTASTON [resisting]. No, really. I am not fit--\n\nPATIOMKIN. Persuade him, Little angel Mother.\n\nVARINKA [taking his other arm]. Yes, yes, yes. Little English Father:\nGod knows it is your duty to be brave and wait on the Empress. Come.\n\nEDSTASTON. No. I had rather--\n\nPATIOMKIN [hauling him along]. Come.\n\nVARINKA [pulling him and coaxing him]. Come, little love: you can't\nrefuse me.\n\nEDSTASTON. But how can I?\n\nPATIOMKIN. Why not? She won't eat you.\n\nVARINKA. She will; but you must come.\n\nEDSTASTON. I assure you--it is quite out of the question--my clothes--\n\nVARINKA. You look perfect.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Come along, darling.\n\nEDSTASTON [struggling]. Impossible--\n\nVARINKA. Come, come, come.\n\nEDSTASTON. No. Believe me--I don't wish--I--\n\nVARINKA. Carry him, uncle.\n\nPATIOMKIN [lifting him in his arms like a father carrying a little boy].\nYes: I'll carry you.\n\nEDSTASTON. Dash it all, this is ridiculous!\n\nVARINKA [seizing his ankles and dancing as he is carried out]. You must\ncome. If you kick you will blacken my eyes.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Come, baby, come.\n\nBy this time they have made their way through the door and are out of\nhearing.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND SCENE\n\nThe Empress's petit lever. The central doors are closed. Those who\nenter through them find on their left, on a dais of two broad steps, a\nmagnificent curtained bed. Beyond it a door in the panelling leads to\nthe Empress's cabinet. Near the foot of the bed, in the middle of\nthe room, stands a gilt chair, with the Imperial arms carved and the\nImperial monogram embroidered.\n\nThe Court is in attendance, standing in two melancholy rows down the\nside of the room opposite to the bed, solemn, bored, waiting for the\nEmpress to awaken. The Princess Dashkoff, with two ladies, stands\na little in front of the line of courtiers, by the Imperial chair.\nSilence, broken only by the yawns and whispers of the courtiers.\nNaryshkin, the Chamberlain, stands by the head of the bed.\n\nA loud yawn is heard from behind the curtains.\n\nNARYSHKIN [holding up a warning hand]. Ssh!\n\nThe courtiers hastily cease whispering: dress up their lines: and\nstiffen. Dead silence. A bell tinkles within the curtains. Naryshkin and\nthe Princess solemnly draw them and reveal the Empress.\n\nCatherine turns over on her back, and stretches herself.\n\nCATHERINE [yawning]. Heigho--ah--yah--ah--ow--what o'clock is it? [Her\naccent is German.]\n\nNARYSHKIN [formally]. Her Imperial Majesty is awake. [The Court falls on\nits knees.]\n\nALL. Good morning to your Majesty.\n\nNARYSHKIN. Half-past ten, Little Mother.\n\nCATHERINE [sitting up abruptly]. Potztausend! [Contemplating the\nkneeling courtiers.] Oh, get up, get up. [All rise.] Your etiquette\nbores me. I am hardly awake in the morning before it begins. [Yawning\nagain, and relapsing sleepily against her pillows.] Why do they do it,\nNaryshkin?\n\nNARYSHKIN. God knows it is not for your sake, Little Mother. But you see\nif you were not a great queen they would all be nobodies.\n\nCATHERINE [sitting up]. They make me do it to keep up their own little\ndignities? So?\n\nNARYSHKIN. Exactly. Also because if they didn't you might have them\nflogged, dear Little Mother.\n\nCATHERINE [springing energetically out of bed and seating herself on\nthe edge of it]. Flogged! I! A Liberal Empress! A philosopher! You are a\nbarbarian, Naryshkin. [She rises and turns to the courtiers.] And then,\nas if I cared! [She turns again to Naryshkin.] You should know by this\ntime that I am frank and original in character, like an Englishman. [She\nwalks about restlessly.] No: what maddens me about all this ceremony\nis that I am the only person in Russia who gets no fun out of my being\nEmpress. You all glory in me: you bask in my smiles: you get titles and\nhonors and favors from me: you are dazzled by my crown and my robes: you\nfeel splendid when you have been admitted to my presence; and when I\nsay a gracious word to you, you talk about it to everyone you meet for\na week afterwards. But what do I get out of it? Nothing. [She throws\nherself into the chair. Naryshkin deprecates with a gesture; she hurls\nan emphatic repetition at him.] Nothing!! I wear a crown until my neck\naches: I stand looking majestic until I am ready to drop: I have to\nsmile at ugly old ambassadors and frown and turn my back on young and\nhandsome ones. Nobody gives me anything. When I was only an Archduchess,\nthe English ambassador used to give me money whenever I wanted it--or\nrather whenever he wanted to get anything out of my sacred predecessor\nElizabeth [the Court bows to the ground]; but now that I am Empress\nhe never gives me a kopek. When I have headaches and colics I envy the\nscullerymaids. And you are not a bit grateful to me for all my care of\nyou, my work, my thought, my fatigue, my sufferings.\n\nTHE PRINCESS DASHKOFF. God knows, Little Mother, we all implore you\nto give your wonderful brain a rest. That is why you get headaches.\nMonsieur Voltaire also has headaches. His brain is just like yours.\n\nCATHERINE. Dashkoff, what a liar you are! [Dashkoff curtsies with\nimpressive dignity.] And you think you are flattering me! Let me tell\nyou I would not give a rouble to have the brains of all the philosophers\nin France. What is our business for today?\n\nNARYSHKIN. The new museum, Little Mother. But the model will not be\nready until tonight.\n\nCATHERINE [rising eagerly]. Yes, the museum. An enlightened capital\nshould have a museum. [She paces the chamber with a deep sense of the\nimportance of the museum.] It shall be one of the wonders of the world.\nI must have specimens: specimens, specimens, specimens.\n\nNARYSHKIN. You are in high spirits this morning, Little Mother.\n\nCATHERINE [with sudden levity.] I am always in high spirits, even when\npeople do not bring me my slippers. [She runs to the chair and sits\ndown, thrusting her feet out.]\n\nThe two ladies rush to her feet, each carrying a slipper. Catherine,\nabout to put her feet into them, is checked by a disturbance in the\nantechamber.\n\nPATIOMKIN [carrying Edstaston through the antechamber]. Useless to\nstruggle. Come along, beautiful baby darling. Come to Little Mother. [He\nsings.]\n\nMarch him baby, Baby, baby, Lit-tle ba-by bumpkins.\n\nVARINKA [joining in to the same doggerel in canon, a third above]. March\nhim, baby, etc., etc.\n\nEDSTASTON [trying to make himself heard]. No, no. This is carrying a\njoke too far. I must insist. Let me down! Hang it, will you let me\ndown! Confound it! No, no. Stop playing the fool, will you? We don't\nunderstand this sort of thing in England. I shall be disgraced. Let me\ndown.\n\nCATHERINE [meanwhile]. What a horrible noise! Naryshkin, see what it is.\n\nNaryshkin goes to the door.\n\nCATHERINE [listening]. That is Prince Patiomkin.\n\nNARYSHKIN [calling from the door]. Little Mother, a stranger.\n\nCatherine plunges into bed again and covers herself up. Patiomkin,\nfollowed by Varinka, carries Edstaston in: dumps him down on the foot\nof the bed: and staggers past it to the cabinet door. Varinka joins\nthe courtiers at the opposite side of the room. Catherine, blazing with\nwrath, pushes Edstaston off her bed on to the floor: gets out of bed:\nand turns on Patiomkin with so terrible an expression that all kneel\ndown hastily except Edstaston, who is sprawling on the carpet in angry\nconfusion.\n\nCATHERINE. Patiomkin, how dare you? [Looking at Edstaston.] What is\nthis?\n\nPATIOMKIN [on his knees, tearfully]. I don't know. I am drunk. What is\nthis, Varinka?\n\nEDSTASTON [scrambling to his feet]. Madam, this drunken ruffian--\n\nPATIOMKIN. Thas true. Drungn ruffian. Took dvantage of my being drunk.\nSaid: take me to Lil angel Mother. Take me to beaufl Empress. Take me\nto the grea'st woman on earth. Thas whas he he said. I took him. I was\nwrong. I am not sober.\n\nCATHERINE. Men have grown sober in Siberia for less, Prince.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Serve em right! Sgusting habit. Ask Varinka.\n\nCatherine turns her face from him to the Court. The courtiers see that\nshe is trying not to laugh, and know by experience that she will not\nsucceed. They rise, relieved and grinning.\n\nVARINKA. It is true. He drinks like a pig.\n\nPATIOMKIN [plaintively]. No: not like pig. Like prince. Lil Mother made\npoor Patiomkin prince. Whas use being prince if I mayn't drink?\n\nCATHERINE [biting her lips]. Go. I am offended.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Don't scold, Lil Mother.\n\nCATHERINE [imperiously]. Go.\n\nPATIOMKIN [rising unsteadily]. Yes: go. Go bye bye. Very sleepy. Berr go\nbye bye than go Siberia. Go bye bye in Lil Mother's bed [he pretends to\nmake an attempt to get into the bed].\n\nCATHERINE [energetically pulling him back]. No, no! Patiomkin! What\nare you thinking of? [He falls like a log on the floor, apparently dead\ndrunk.]\n\nTHE PRINCESS DASHKOFF. Scandalous! An insult to your Imperial Majesty!\n\nCATHERINE. Dashkoff: you have no sense of humor. [She steps down to the\ndoor level and looks indulgently at Patiomkin. He gurgles brutishly. She\nhas an impulse of disgust.] Hog. [She kicks him as hard as she can.] Oh!\nYou have broken my toe. Brute. Beast. Dashkoff is quite right. Do you\nhear?\n\nPATIOMKIN. If you ask my pi-pinion of Dashkoff, my pipinion is that\nDashkoff is drunk. Scanlous. Poor Patiomkin go bye bye. [He relapses\ninto drunken slumbers.]\n\nSome of the courtiers move to carry him away.\n\nCATHERINE [stopping them]. Let him lie. Let him sleep it off. If he\ngoes out it will be to a tavern and low company for the rest of the day.\n[Indulgently.] There! [She takes a pillow from the bed and puts it under\nhis head: then turns to Edstaston: surveys him with perfect dignity: and\nasks, in her queenliest manner.] Varinka, who is this gentleman?\n\nVARINKA. A foreign captain: I cannot pronounce his name. I think he is\nmad. He came to the Prince and said he must see your Majesty. He can\ntalk of nothing else. We could not prevent him.\n\nEDSTASTON [overwhelmed by this apparent betrayal]. Oh! Madam: I am\nperfectly sane: I am actually an Englishman. I should never have dreamt\nof approaching your Majesty without the fullest credentials. I have\nletters from the English ambassador, from the Prussian ambassador.\n[Naively.] But everybody assured me that Prince Patiomkm is all-powerful\nwith your Majesty; so I naturally applied to him.\n\nPATIOMKIN [interrupts the conversation by an agonized wheezing groan as\nof a donkey beginning to bray]!!!\n\nCATHERINE [like a fishfag]. Schweig, du Hund. [Resuming her impressive\nroyal manner.] Have you never been taught, sir, how a gentleman should\nenter the presence of a sovereign?\n\nEDSTASTON. Yes, Madam; but I did not enter your presence: I was carried.\n\nCATHERINE. But you say you asked the Prince to carry you.\n\nEDSTASTON. Certainly not, Madam. I protested against it with all my\nmight. I appeal to this lady to confirm me.\n\nVARINKA [pretending to be indignant]. Yes, you protested. But, all the\nsame, you were very very very anxious to see her Imperial Majesty.\nYou blushed when the Prince spoke of her. You threatened to strike him\nacross the face with your sword because you thought he did not speak\nenthusiastically enough of her. [To Catherine.] Trust me: he has seen\nyour Imperial Majesty before.\n\nCATHERINE [to Edstaston]. You have seen us before?\n\nEDSTASTON. At the review, Madam.\n\nVARINKA [triumphantly]. Aha! I knew it. Your Majesty wore the hussar\nuniform. He saw how radiant! how splendid! your Majesty looked. Oh! he\nhas dared to admire your Majesty. Such insolence is not to be endured.\n\nEDSTASTON. All Europe is a party to that insolence, Madam.\n\nTHE PRINCESS DASHKOFF. All Europe is content to do so at a respectful\ndistance. It is possible to admire her Majesty's policy and her eminence\nin literature and philosophy without performing acrobatic feats in the\nImperial bed.\n\nEDSTASTON. I know nothing about her Majesty's eminence in policy or\nphilosophy: I don't pretend to understand such things. I speak as a\npractical man. And I never knew that foreigners had any policy: I always\nthought that policy was Mr. Pitt's business.\n\nCATHERINE [lifting her eyebrows]. So?\n\nVARINKA. What else did you presume to admire her Majesty for, pray?\n\nEDSTASTON [addled]. Well, I--I--I--that is, I--[He stammers himself\ndumb.]\n\nCATHERINE [after a pitiless silence]. We are waiting for your answer.\n\nEDSTASTON. But I never said I admired your Majesty. The lady has twisted\nmy words.\n\nVARINKA. You don't admire her, then?\n\nEDSTASTON. Well, I--naturally--of course, I can't deny that the uniform\nwas very becoming--perhaps a little unfeminine--still--Dead silence.\nCatherine and the Court watch him stonily. He is wretchedly embarrassed.\n\nCATHERINE [with cold majesty]. Well, sir: is that all you have to say?\n\nEDSTASTON. Surely there is no harm in noticing that er--that er--[He\nstops again.]\n\nCATHERINE. Noticing that er--? [He gazes at her, speechless, like a\nfascinated rabbit. She repeats fiercely.] That er--?\n\nEDSTASTON [startled into speech]. Well, that your Majesty\nwas--was--[soothingly] Well, let me put it this way: that it was rather\nnatural for a man to admire your Majesty without being a philosopher.\n\nCATHERINE [suddenly smiling and extending her hand to him to be kissed].\nCourtier!\n\nEDSTASTON [kissing it]. Not at all. Your Majesty is very good. I have\nbeen very awkward; but I did not intend it. I am rather stupid, I am\nafraid.\n\nCATHERINE. Stupid! By no means. Courage, Captain: we are pleased. [He\nfalls on his knee. She takes his cheeks in her hands: turns up his face:\nand adds] We are greatly pleased. [She slaps his cheek coquettishly: he\nbows almost to his knee.] The petit lever is over. [She turns to go into\nthe cabinet, and stumbles against the supine Patiomkin.] Ach! [Edstaston\nsprings to her assistance, seizing Patiomkin's heels and shifting him\nout of the Empress's path.] We thank you, Captain.\n\nHe bows gallantly and is rewarded by a very gracious smile. Then\nCatherine goes into her cabinet, followed by the princess Dashkoff, who\nturns at the door to make a deep courtsey to Edstaston.\n\nVARINKA. Happy Little Father! Remember: I did this for you. [She runs\nout after the Empress.]\n\nEdstaston, somewhat dazed, crosses the room to the courtiers, and is\nreceived with marked deference, each courtier making him a profound bow\nor curtsey before withdrawing through the central doors. He returns\neach obeisance with a nervous jerk, and turns away from it, only to find\nanother courtier bowing at the other side. The process finally reduced\nhim to distraction, as he bumps into one in the act of bowing to another\nand then has to bow his apologies. But at last they are all gone except\nNaryshkin.\n\nEDSTASTON. Ouf!\n\nPATIOMKIN [jumping up vigorously]. You have done it, darling. Superbly!\nBeautifully!\n\nEDSTASTON [astonished]. Do you mean to say you are not drunk?\n\nPATIOMKIN. Not dead drunk, darling. Only diplomatically drunk. As a\ndrunken hog, I have done for you in five minutes what I could not have\ndone in five months as a sober man. Your fortune is made. She likes you.\n\nEDSTASTON. The devil she does!\n\nPATIOMKIN. Why? Aren't you delighted?\n\nEDSTASTON. Delighted! Gracious heavens, man, I am engaged to be married.\n\nPATIOMKIN. What matter? She is in England, isn't she?\n\nEDSTASTON. No. She has just arrived in St. Petersburg.\n\nTHE PRINCESS DASHKOFF [returning]. Captain Edstaston, the Empress is\nrobed, and commands your presence.\n\nEDSTASTON. Say I was gone before you arrived with the message. [He\nhurries out. The other three, too taken aback to stop him, stare after\nhim in the utmost astonishment.]\n\nNARYSHKIN [turning from the door]. She will have him knouted. He is a\ndead man.\n\nTHE PRINCESS DASHKOFF. But what am I to do? I cannot take such an answer\nto the Empress.\n\nPATIOMKIN. P-P-P-P-P-P-W-W-W-W-W-rrrrrr [a long puff, turning into a\ngrowl]! [He spits.] I must kick somebody.\n\nNARYSHKIN [flying precipitately through the central doors]. No, no.\nPlease.\n\nTHE PRINCESS DASHKOFF [throwing herself recklessly in front of Patiomkin\nas he starts in pursuit of the Chamberlain]. Kick me. Disable me. It\nwill be an excuse for not going back to her. Kick me hard.\n\nPATIOMKIN. Yah! [He flings her on the bed and dashes after Naryshkin.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD SCENE\n\nIn a terrace garden overlooking the Neva. Claire, a robust young English\nlady, is leaning on the river wall. She turns expectantly on hearing\nthe garden gate opened and closed. Edstaston hurries in. With a cry of\ndelight she throws her arms round his neck.\n\nCLAIRE. Darling!\n\nEDSTASTON [making a wry face]. Don't call me darling.\n\nCLAIRE [amazed and chilled]. Why?\n\nEDSTASTON. I have been called darling all the morning.\n\nCLAIRE [with a flash of jealousy]. By whom?\n\nEDSTASTON. By everybody. By the most unutterable swine. And if we do\nnot leave this abominable city now: do you hear? now; I shall be called\ndarling by the Empress.\n\nCLAIRE [with magnificent snobbery]. She would not dare. Did you tell her\nyou were engaged to me?\n\nEDSTASTON. Of course not.\n\nCLAIRE. Why?\n\nEDSTASTON. Because I didn't particularly want to have you knouted, and\nto be hanged or sent to Siberia myself.\n\nCLAIRE. What on earth do you mean?\n\nEDSTASTON. Well, the long and short of it is--don't think me a coxcomb,\nClaire: it is too serious to mince matters--I have seen the Empress;\nand--\n\nCLAIRE. Well, you wanted to see her.\n\nEDSTASTON. Yes; but the Empress has seen me.\n\nCLAIRE. She has fallen in love with you!\n\nEDSTASTON. How did you know?\n\nCLAIRE. Dearest: as if anyone could help it.\n\nEDSTASTON. Oh, don't make me feel like a fool. But, though it does sound\nconceited to say it, I flatter myself I'm better looking than Patiomkin\nand the other hogs she is accustomed to. Anyhow, I daren't risk staying.\n\nCLAIRE. What a nuisance! Mamma will be furious at having to pack, and at\nmissing the Court ball this evening.\n\nEDSTASTON. I can't help that. We haven't a moment to lose.\n\nCLAIRE. May I tell her she will be knouted if we stay?\n\nEDSTASTON. Do, dearest.\n\nHe kisses her and lets her go, expecting her to run into the house.\n\nCLAIRE [pausing thoughtfully]. Is she--is she good-looking when you see\nher close?\n\nEDSTASTON. Not a patch on you, dearest.\n\nCLAIRE [jealous]. Then you did see her close?\n\nEDSTASTON. Fairly close.\n\nCLAIRE. Indeed! How close? No: that's silly of me: I will tell mamma.\n[She is going out when Naryshkin enters with the Sergeant and a squad of\nsoldiers.] What do you want here?\n\nThe Sergeant goes to Edstaston: plumps down on his knees: and takes\nout a magnificent pair of pistols with gold grips. He proffers them to\nEdstaston, holding them by the barrels.\n\nNARYSHKIN. Captain Edstaston: his Highness Prince Patiomkin sends you\nthe pistols he promised you.\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Take them, Little Father; and do not forget us poor\nsoldiers who have brought them to you; for God knows we get but little\nto drink.\n\nEDSTASTON [irresolutely]. But I can't take these valuable things. By\nJiminy, though, they're beautiful! Look at them, Claire.\n\nAs he is taking the pistols the kneeling Sergeant suddenly drops them;\nflings himself forward; and embraces Edstaston's hips to prevent him\nfrom drawing his own pistols from his boots.\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Lay hold of him there. Pin his arms. I have his pistols.\n[The soldiers seize Edstaston.]\n\nEDSTASTON. Ah, would you, damn you! [He drives his knee into the\nSergeant's epigastrium, and struggles furiously with his captors.]\n\nTHE SERGEANT [rolling on the ground, gasping and groaning]. Owgh!\nMurder! Holy Nicholas! Owwwgh!\n\nCLAIRE. Help! help! They are killing Charles. Help!\n\nNARYSHKIN [seizing her and clapping his hand over her mouth]. Tie\nhim neck and crop. Ten thousand blows of the stick if you let him go.\n[Claire twists herself loose: turns on him: and cuffs him furiously.]\nYow--ow! Have mercy, Little Mother.\n\nCLAIRE. You wretch! Help! Help! Police! We are being murdered. Help!\n\nThe Sergeant, who has risen, comes to Naryshkin's rescue, and grasps\nClaire's hands, enabling Naryshkin to gag her again. By this time\nEdstaston and his captors are all rolling on the ground together. They\nget Edstaston on his back and fasten his wrists together behind his\nknees. Next they put a broad strap round his ribs. Finally they pass a\npole through this breast strap and through the waist strap and lift him\nby it, helplessly trussed up, to carry him of. Meanwhile he is by no\nmeans suffering in silence.\n\nEDSTASTON [gasping]. You shall hear more of this. Damn you, will\nyou untie me? I will complain to the ambassador. I will write to the\nGazette. England will blow your trumpery little fleet out of the water\nand sweep your tinpot army into Siberia for this. Will you let me\ngo? Damn you! Curse you! What the devil do you mean by it?\nI'll--I'll--I'll-- [he is carried out of hearing].\n\nNARYSHKIN [snatching his hands from Claire's face with a scream, and\nshaking his finger frantically]. Agh! [The Sergeant, amazed, lets go her\nhands.] She has bitten me, the little vixen.\n\nCLAIRE [spitting and wiping her mouth disgustedly]. How dare you put\nyour dirty paws on my mouth? Ugh! Psha!\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Be merciful, Little angel Mother.\n\nCLAIRE. Do not presume to call me your little angel mother. Where are\nthe police?\n\nNARYSHKIN. We are the police in St Petersburg, little spitfire.\n\nTHE SERGEANT. God knows we have no orders to harm you, Little Mother.\nOur duty is done. You are well and strong; but I shall never be the same\nman again. He is a mighty and terrible fighter, as stout as a bear.\nHe has broken my sweetbread with his strong knees. God knows poor folk\nshould not be set upon such dangerous adversaries!\n\nCLAIRE. Serve you right! Where have they taken Captain Edstaston to?\n\nNARYSHKIN [spitefully]. To the Empress, little beauty. He has insulted\nthe Empress. He will receive a hundred and one blows of the knout. [He\nlaughs and goes out, nursing his bitten finger.]\n\nTHE SERGEANT. He will feel only the first twenty and he will be\nmercifully dead long before the end, little darling.\n\nCLAIRE [sustained by an invincible snobbery]. They dare not touch an\nEnglish officer. I will go to the Empress myself: she cannot know who\nCaptain Edstaston is--who we are.\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Do so in the name of the Holy Nicholas, little beauty.\n\nCLAIRE. Don't be impertinent. How can I get admission to the palace?\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Everybody goes in and out of the palace, little love.\n\nCLAIRE. But I must get into the Empress's presence. I must speak to her.\n\nTHE SERGEANT. You shall, dear Little Mother. You shall give the poor old\nSergeant a rouble; and the blessed Nicholas will make your salvation his\ncharge.\n\nCLAIRE [impetuously]. I will give you [she is about to say fifty\nroubles, but checks herself cautiously]--Well: I don't mind giving you\ntwo roubles if I can speak to the Empress.\n\nTHE SERGEANT [joyfully]. I praise Heaven for you, Little Mother. Come.\n[He leads the way out.] It was the temptation of the devil that led\nyour young man to bruise my vitals and deprive me of breath. We must be\nmerciful to one another's faults.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOURTH SCENE\n\nA triangular recess communicating by a heavily curtained arch with the\nhuge ballroom of the palace. The light is subdued by red shades on the\ncandles. In the wall adjoining that pierced by the arch is a door. The\nonly piece of furniture is a very handsome chair on the arch side. In\nthe ballroom they are dancing a polonaise to the music of a brass band.\n\nNaryshkin enters through the door, followed by the soldiers carrying\nEdstaston, still trussed to the pole. Exhausted and dogged, he makes no\nsound.\n\nNARYSHKIN. Halt. Get that pole clear of the prisoner. [They dump\nEdstaston on the floor and detach the pole. Naryshkin stoops over him\nand addresses him insultingly.] Well! are you ready to be tortured? This\nis the Empress's private torture chamber. Can I do anything to make you\nquite comfortable? You have only to mention it.\n\nEDSTASTON. Have you any back teeth?\n\nNARYSHKIN [surprised]. Why?\n\nEDSTASTON. His Majesty King George the Third will send for six of them\nwhen the news of this reaches London; so look out, damn your eyes!\n\nNARYSHKIN [frightened]. Oh, I assure you I am only obeying my orders.\nPersonally I abhor torture, and would save you if I could. But the\nEmpress is proud; and what woman would forgive the slight you put upon\nher?\n\nEDSTASTON. As I said before: Damn your eyes!\n\nNARYSHKIN [almost in tears]. Well, it isn't my fault. [To the soldiers,\ninsolently.] You know your orders? You remember what you have to do when\nthe Empress gives you the word? [The soldiers salute in assent.]\n\nNaryshkin passes through the curtains, admitting a blare of music and\na strip of the brilliant white candlelight from the chandeliers in\nthe ballroom as he does so. The white light vanishes and the music is\nmuffled as the curtains fall together behind him. Presently the band\nstops abruptly: and Naryshkin comes back through the curtains. He makes\na warning gesture to the soldiers, who stand at attention. Then he\nmoves the curtain to allow Catherine to enter. She is in full Imperial\nregalia, and stops sternly just where she has entered. The soldiers fall\non their knees.\n\nCATHERINE. Obey your orders.\n\nThe soldiers seize Edstaston, and throw him roughly at the feet of the\nEmpress.\n\nCATHERINE [looking down coldly on him]. Also [the German word], you have\nput me to the trouble of sending for you twice. You had better have come\nthe first time.\n\nEDSTASTON [exsufflicate, and pettishly angry]. I haven't come either\ntime. I've been carried. I call it infernal impudence.\n\nCATHERINE. Take care what you say.\n\nEDSTASTON. No use. I daresay you look very majestic and very handsome;\nbut I can't see you; and I am not intimidated. I am an Englishman; and\nyou can kidnap me; but you can't bully me.\n\nNARYSHKIN. Remember to whom you are speaking.\n\nCATHERINE [violently, furious at his intrusion]. Remember that dogs\nshould be dumb. [He shrivels.] And do you, Captain, remember that famous\nas I am for my clemency, there are limits to the patience even of an\nEmpress.\n\nEDSTASTON. How is a man to remember anything when he is trussed up\nin this ridiculous fashion? I can hardly breathe. [He makes a futile\nstruggle to free himself.] Here: don't be unkind, your Majesty: tell\nthese fellows to unstrap me. You know you really owe me an apology.\n\nCATHERINE. You think you can escape by appealing, like Prince Patiomkin,\nto my sense of humor?\n\nEDSTASTON. Sense of humor! Ho! Ha, ha! I like that. Would anybody with\na sense of humor make a guy of a man like this, and then expect him to\ntake it seriously? I say: do tell them to loosen these straps.\n\nCATHERINE [seating herself]. Why should I, pray?\n\nEDSTASTON. Why! Why! Why, because they're hurting me.\n\nCATHERINE. People sometimes learn through suffering. Manners, for\ninstance.\n\nEDSTASTON. Oh, well, of course, if you're an ill-natured woman, hurting\nme on purpose, I have nothing more to say.\n\nCATHERINE. A monarch, sir, has sometimes to employ a necessary, and\nsalutary severity--\n\nEDSTASTON [Interrupting her petulantly]. Quack! quack! quack!\n\nCATHERINE. Donnerwetter!\n\nEDSTASTON [continuing recklessly]. This isn't severity: it's tomfoolery.\nAnd if you think it's reforming my character or teaching me anything,\nyou're mistaken. It may be a satisfaction to you; but if it is, all I\ncan say is that it's not an amiable satisfaction.\n\nCATHERINE [turning suddenly and balefully on Naryshkin]. What are you\ngrinning at?\n\nNARYSHKIN [falling on his knees in terror]. Be merciful, Little Mother.\nMy heart is in my mouth.\n\nCATHERINE. Your heart and your mouth will be in two separate parts of\nyour body if you again forget in whose presence you stand. Go. And take\nyour men with you. [Naryshkin crawls to the door. The soldiers rise.]\nStop. Roll that [indicating Edstaston] nearer. [The soldiers obey.] Not\nso close. Did I ask you for a footstool? [She pushes Edstaston away with\nher foot.]\n\nEDSTASTON [with a sudden squeal]. Agh!!! I must really ask your\nMajesty not to put the point of your Imperial toe between my ribs. I am\nticklesome.\n\nCATHERINE. Indeed? All the more reason for you to treat me with respect,\nCaptain. [To the others.] Begone. How many times must I give an order\nbefore it is obeyed?\n\nNARYSHKIN. Little Mother: they have brought some instruments of torture.\nWill they be needed?\n\nCATHERINE [indignantly]. How dare you name such abominations to a\nLiberal Empress? You will always be a savage and a fool, Naryshkin.\nThese relics of barbarism are buried, thank God, in the grave of Peter\nthe Great. My methods are more civilized. [She extends her toe towards\nEdstaston's ribs.]\n\nEDSTASTON [shrieking hysterically]. Yagh! Ah! [Furiously.] If your\nMajesty does that again I will write to the London Gazette.\n\nCATHERINE [to the soldiers]. Leave us. Quick! do you hear? Five thousand\nblows of the stick for the soldier who is in the room when I speak\nnext. [The soldiers rush out.] Naryshkin: are you waiting to be knouted?\n[Naryshkin backs out hastily.]\n\nCatherine and Edstaston are now alone. Catherine has in her hand a\nsceptre or baton of gold. Wrapped round it is a new pamphlet, in French,\nentitled L'Homme aux Quarante Ecus. She calmly unrolls this and begins\nto read it at her ease as if she were quite alone. Several seconds\nelapse in dead silence. She becomes more and more absorbed in the\npamphlet, and more and more amused by it.\n\nCATHERINE [greatly pleased by a passage, and turning over the leaf].\nAusgezeiehnet!\n\nEDSTASTON. Ahem!\n\nSilence. Catherine reads on.\n\nCATHERINE. Wie komisch!\n\nEDSTASTON. Ahem! ahem!\n\nSilence.\n\nCATHERINE [soliloquizing enthusiastically]. What a wonderful author is\nMonsieur Voltaire! How lucidly he exposes the folly of this crazy plan\nfor raising the entire revenue of the country from a single tax on land!\nhow he withers it with his irony! how he makes you laugh whilst he is\nconvincing you! how sure one feels that the proposal is killed by his\nwit and economic penetration: killed never to be mentioned again among\neducated people!\n\nEDSTASTON. For Heaven's sake, Madam, do you intend to leave me tied up\nlike this while you discuss the blasphemies of that abominable infidel?\nAgh!! [She has again applied her toe.] Oh! Oo!\n\nCATHERINE [calmly]. Do I understand you to say that Monsieur Voltaire is\na great philanthropist and a great philosopher as well as the wittiest\nman in Europe?\n\nEDSTASTON. Certainly not. I say that his books ought to be burnt by\nthe common hangman [her toe touches his ribs]. Yagh! Oh don't. I shall\nfaint. I can't bear it.\n\nCATHERINE. Have you changed your opinion of Monsieur Voltaire?\n\nEDSTASTON. But you can't expect me as a member of the Church of England\n[she tickles him] --agh! Ow! Oh Lord! he is anything you like. He is a\nphilanthropist, a philosopher, a beauty: he ought to have a statue, damn\nhim! [she tickles him]. No! bless him! save him victorious, happy and\nglorious! Oh, let eternal honors crown his name: Voltaire thrice worthy\non the rolls of fame! [Exhausted.] Now will you let me up? And look\nhere! I can see your ankles when you tickle me: it's not ladylike.\n\nCATHERINE [sticking out her toe and admiring it critically]. Is the\nspectacle so disagreeable?\n\nEDSTASTON. It's agreeable enough; only [with intense expression] for\nheaven's sake don't touch me in the ribs.\n\nCATHERINE [putting aside the pamphlet]. Captain Edstaston, why did you\nrefuse to come when I sent for you?\n\nEDSTASTON. Madam, I cannot talk tied up like this.\n\nCATHERINE. Do you still admire me as much as you did this morning?\n\nEDSTASTON. How can I possibly tell when I can't see you? Let me get up\nand look. I can't see anything now except my toes and yours.\n\nCATHERINE. Do you still intend to write to the London Gazette about me?\n\nEDSTASTON. Not if you will loosen these straps. Quick: loosen me. I'm\nfainting.\n\nCATHERINE. I don't think you are [tickling him].\n\nEDSTASTON. Agh! Cat!\n\nCATHERINE. What [she tickles him again].\n\nEDSTASTON [with a shriek]. No: angel, angel!\n\nCATHERINE [tenderly]. Geliebter!\n\nEDSTASTON. I don't know a word of German; but that sounded kind.\n[Becoming hysterical.] Little Mother, beautiful little darling angel\nmother: don't be cruel: untie me. Oh, I beg and implore you. Don't be\nunkind. I shall go mad.\n\nCATHERINE. You are expected to go mad with love when an Empress deigns\nto interest herself in you. When an Empress allows you to see her foot\nyou should kiss it. Captain Edstaston, you are a booby.\n\nEDSTASTON [indignantly]. I am nothing of the kind. I have been mentioned\nin dispatches as a highly intelligent officer. And let me warn your\nMajesty that I am not so helpless as you think. The English Ambassador\nis in that ballroom. A shout from me will bring him to my side; and then\nwhere will your Majesty be?\n\nCATHERINE. I should like to see the English Ambassador or anyone else\npass through that curtain against my orders. It might be a stone wall\nten feet thick. Shout your loudest. Sob. Curse. Scream. Yell [she\ntickles him unmercifully].\n\nEDSTASTON [frantically]. Ahowyou!!!! Agh! oh! Stop! Oh Lord! Ya-a-a-ah!\n[A tumult in the ballroom responds to his cries].\n\nVOICES FROM THE BALLROOM. Stand back. You cannot pass. Hold her back\nthere. The Empress's orders. It is out of the question. No, little\ndarling, not in there. Nobody is allowed in there. You will be sent to\nSiberia. Don't let her through there, on your life. Drag her back. You\nwill be knouted. It is hopeless, Mademoiselle: you must obey orders.\nGuard there! Send some men to hold her.\n\nCLAIRE'S VOICE. Let me go. They are torturing Charles in there. I WILL\ngo. How can you all dance as if nothing was happening? Let me go, I tell\nyou. Let--me--go. [She dashes through the curtain, no one dares follow\nher.]\n\nCATHERINE [rising in wrath]. How dare you?\n\nCLAIRE [recklessly]. Oh, dare your grandmother! Where is my Charles?\nWhat are they doing to him?\n\nEDSTASTON [shouting]. Claire, loosen these straps, in Heaven's name.\nQuick.\n\nCLAIRE [seeing him and throwing herself on her knees at his side]. Oh,\nhow dare they tie you up like that! [To Catherine.] You wicked wretch!\nYou Russian savage! [She pounces on the straps, and begins unbuckling\nthem.]\n\nCATHERINE [conquering herself with a mighty effort]. Now self-control.\nSelf-control, Catherine. Philosophy. Europe is looking on. [She forces\nherself to sit down.]\n\nEDSTASTON. Steady, dearest: it is the Empress. Call her your Imperial\nMajesty. Call her Star of the North, Little Mother, Little Darling:\nthat's what she likes; but get the straps off.\n\nCLAIRE. Keep quiet, dear: I cannot get them off if you move.\n\nCATHERINE [calmly]. Keep quite still, Captain [she tickles him.]\n\nEDSTASTON. Ow! Agh! Ahowyow!\n\nCLAIRE [stopping dead in the act of unbuckling the straps and turning\nsick with jealousy as she grasps the situation]. Was THAT what I thought\nwas your being tortured?\n\nCATHERINE [urbanely]. That is the favorite torture of Catherine the\nSecond, Mademoiselle. I think the Captain enjoys it very much.\n\nCLAIRE. Then he can have as much more of it as he wants. I am sorry I\nintruded. [She rises to go.]\n\nEDSTASTON [catching her train in his teeth and holding on like a\nbull-dog]. Don't go. Don't leave me in this horrible state. Loosen me.\n[This is what he is saying: but as he says it with the train in his\nmouth it is not very intelligible.]\n\nCLAIRE. Let go. You are undignified and ridiculous enough yourself\nwithout making me ridiculous. [She snatches her train away.]\n\nEDSTASTON. Ow! You've nearly pulled my teeth out: you're worse than the\nStar of the North. [To Catherine.] Darling Little Mother: you have a\nkind heart, the kindest in Europe. Have pity. Have mercy. I love you.\n[Claire bursts into tears.] Release me.\n\nCATHERINE. Well, just to show you how much kinder a Russian savage can\nbe than an English one (though I am sorry to say I am a German) here\ngoes! [She stoops to loosen the straps.]\n\nCLAIRE [jealously]. You needn't trouble, thank you. [She pounces on\nthe straps: and the two set Edstaston free between them.] Now get up,\nplease; and conduct yourself with some dignity if you are not utterly\ndemoralized.\n\nEDSTASTON. Dignity! Ow! I can't. I'm stiff all over. I shall never be\nable to stand up again. Oh Lord! how it hurts! [They seize him by the\nshoulders and drag him up.] Yah! Agh! Wow! Oh! Mmmmmm! Oh, Little Angel\nMother, don't ever do this to a man again. Knout him; kill him; roast\nhim; baste him; head, hang, and quarter him; but don't tie him up like\nthat and tickle him.\n\nCATHERINE. Your young lady still seems to think that you enjoyed it.\n\nCLAIRE. I know what I think. I will never speak to him again. Your\nMajesty can keep him, as far as I am concerned.\n\nCATHERINE. I would not deprive you of him for worlds; though really I\nthink he's rather a darling [she pats his cheek].\n\nCLAIRE [snorting]. So I see, indeed.\n\nEDSTASTON. Don't be angry, dearest: in this country everybody's a\ndarling. I'll prove it to you. [To Catherine.] Will your Majesty be good\nenough to call Prince Patiomkin?\n\nCATHERINE [surprised into haughtiness]. Why?\n\nEDSTASTON. To oblige me.\n\nCatherine laughs good-humoredly and goes to the curtains and opens them.\nThe band strikes up a Redowa.\n\nCATHERINE [calling imperiously]. Patiomkin! [The music stops suddenly.]\nHere! To me! Go on with your music there, you fools. [The Redowa is\nresumed.]\n\nThe sergeant rushes from the ballroom to relieve the Empress of the\ncurtain. Patiomkin comes in dancing with Yarinka.\n\nCATHERINE [to Patiomkin]. The English captain wants you, little darling.\n\nCatherine resumes her seat as Patiomkin intimates by a grotesque bow\nthat he is at Edstaston's service. Yarinka passes behind Edstaston and\nClaire, and posts herself on Claire's right.\n\nEDSTASTON. Precisely. [To Claire. ] You observe, my love: \"little\ndarling.\" Well, if her Majesty calls him a darling, is it my fault that\nshe calls me one too?\n\nCLAIRE. I don't care: I don't think you ought to have done it. I am very\nangry and offended.\n\nEDSTASTON. They tied me up, dear. I couldn't help it. I fought for all I\nwas worth.\n\nTHE SERGEANT [at the curtains]. He fought with the strength of lions and\nbears. God knows I shall carry a broken sweetbread to my grave.\n\nEDSTASTON. You can't mean to throw me over, Claire. [Urgently.] Claire.\nClaire.\n\nVARINKA [in a transport of sympathetic emotion, pleading with clasped\nhands to Claire]. Oh, sweet little angel lamb, he loves you: it shines\nin his darling eyes. Pardon him, pardon him.\n\nPATIOMKIN [rushing from the Empress's side to Claire and falling on his\nknees to her]. Pardon him, pardon him, little cherub! little wild duck!\nlittle star! little glory! little jewel in the crown of heaven!\n\nCLAIRE. This is perfectly ridiculous.\n\nVARINKA [kneeling to her]. Pardon him, pardon him, little delight,\nlittle sleeper in a rosy cradle.\n\nCLAIRE. I'll do anything if you'll only let me alone.\n\nTHE SERGEANT [kneeling to her]. Pardon him, pardon him, lest the mighty\nman bring his whip to you. God knows we all need pardon!\n\nCLAIRE [at the top of her voice]. I pardon him! I pardon him!\n\nPATIOMKIN [springing up joyfully and going behind Claire, whom he raises\nin his arms]. Embrace her, victor of Bunker's Hill. Kiss her till she\nswoons.\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Receive her in the name of the holy Nicholas.\n\nVARINKA. She begs you for a thousand dear little kisses all over her\nbody.\n\nCLAIRE [vehemently]. I do not. [Patiomkin throws her into Edstaston's\narms.] Oh! [The pair, awkward and shamefaced, recoil from one another,\nand remain utterly inexpressive.]\n\nCATHERINE [pushing Edstaston towards Claire]. There is no help for it,\nCaptain. This is Russia, not England.\n\nEDSTASTON [plucking up some geniality, and kissing Claire ceremoniously\non the brow]. I have no objection.\n\nVARINKA [disgusted]. Only one kiss! and on the forehead! Fish. See how I\nkiss, though it is only my horribly ugly old uncle [she throws her arms\nround Patiomkin's neck and covers his face with kisses].\n\nTHE SERGEANT [moved to tears]. Sainted Nicholas: bless your lambs!\n\nCATHERINE. Do you wonder now that I love Russia as I love no other place\non earth?\n\nNARYSHKIN [appearing at the door]. Majesty: the model for the new museum\nhas arrived.\n\nCATHERINE [rising eagerly and making for the curtains]. Let us go. I can\nthink of nothing but my museum. [In the archway she stops and turns to\nEdstaston, who has hurried to lift the curtain for her.] Captain, I wish\nyou every happiness that your little angel can bring you. [For his\near alone.] I could have brought you more; but you did not think so.\nFarewell.\n\nEDSTASTON [kissing her hand, which, instead of releasing, he holds\ncaressingly and rather patronizingly in his own]. I feel your Majesty's\nkindness so much that I really cannot leave you without a word of plain\nwholesome English advice.\n\nCATHERINE [snatching her hand away and bounding forward as if he had\ntouched her with a spur]. Advice!!!\n\nPATIOMKIN. Madman: take care!\n\nNARYSHKIN. Advise the Empress!!\n\nTHE SERGEANT. Sainted Nicholas!\n\nVARINKA. Hoo hoo! [a stifled splutter of laughter].\n\nEDSTASTON [following the Empress and resuming kindly but judicially].\nAfter all, though your Majesty is of course a great queen, yet when all\nis said, I am a man; and your Majesty is only a woman.\n\nCATHERINE. Only a wo-- [she chokes].\n\nEDSTASTON [continuing]. Believe me, this Russian extravagance will not\ndo. I appreciate as much as any man the warmth of heart that prompts it;\nbut it is overdone: it is hardly in the best taste: it is really I must\nsay it--it is not proper.\n\nCATHERINE [ironically, in German]. So!\n\nEDSTASTON. Not that I cannot make allowances. Your Majesty has, I know,\nbeen unfortunate in your experience as a married woman--\n\nCATHERINE [furious]. Alle Wetter!!!\n\nEDSTASTON [sentimentally]. Don't say that. Don't think of him in that\nway. After all, he was your husband; and whatever his faults may have\nbeen, it is not for you to think unkindly of him.\n\nCATHERINE [almost bursting]. I shall forget myself.\n\nEDSTASTON. Come! I am sure he really loved you; and you truly loved him.\n\nCATHERINE [controlling herself with a supreme effort]. No, Catherine.\nWhat would Voltaire say?\n\nEDSTASTON. Oh, never mind that vile scoffer. Set an example to Europe,\nMadam, by doing what I am going to do. Marry again. Marry some good man\nwho will be a strength and support to your old age.\n\nCATHERINE. My old--[she again becomes speechless].\n\nEDSTASTON. Yes: we must all grow old, even the handsomest of us.\n\nCATHERINE [sinking into her chair with a gasp]. Thank you.\n\nEDSTASTON. You will thank me more when you see your little ones round\nyour knee, and your man there by the fireside in the winter evenings--by\nthe way, I forgot that you have no fireside here in spite of the\ncoldness of the climate; so shall I say by the stove?\n\nCATHERINE. Certainly, if you wish. The stove by all means.\n\nEDSTASTON [impulsively]. Ah, Madam, abolish the stove: believe me, there\nis nothing like the good old open grate. Home! duty! happiness! they\nall mean the same thing; and they all flourish best on the drawing-room\nhearthrug. [Turning to Claire.] And now, my love, we must not detain the\nQueen: she is anxious to inspect the model of her museum, to which I am\nsure we wish every success.\n\nCLAIRE [coldly]. I am not detaining her.\n\nEDSTASTON. Well, goodbye [wringing Patiomkin's hand] goo-oo-oodbye,\nPrince: come and see us if ever you visit England. Spire View, Deepdene,\nLittle Mugford, Devon, will always find me. [To Yarinka, kissing her\nhand.] Goodbye, Mademoiselle: goodbye, Little Mother, if I may call you\nthat just once. [Varinka puts up her face to be kissed.] Eh? No, no, no,\nno: you don't mean that, you know. Naughty! [To the Sergeant.] Goodbye,\nmy friend. You will drink our healths with this [tipping him].\n\nTHE SERGEANT. The blessed Nicholas will multiply your fruits, Little\nFather.\n\nEDSTASTON. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.\n\nHe goes out backwards, bowing, with Claire curtseying, having been\nlistened to in utter dumbfoundedness by Patiomkin and Naryshkin, in\nchildlike awe by Yarinka, and with quite inexpressible feelings by\nCatherine. When he is out of sight she rises with clinched fists and\nraises her arms and her closed eyes to Heaven. Patiomkin: rousing\nhimself from his stupor of amazement, springs to her like a tiger, and\nthrows himself at her feet.\n\nPATIOMKIN. What shall I do to him for you? Skin him alive? Cut off his\neyelids and stand him in the sun? Tear his tongue out? What shall it be?\n\nCATHERINE [opening her eyes]. Nothing. But oh, if I could only have had\nhim for my--for my--for my--\n\nPATIOMKIN [in a growl of jealousy]. For your lover?\n\nCATHERINE [with an ineffable smile]. No: for my museum.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Great Catherine, by George Bernard Shaw\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by sp1nd, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\nWORKHOUSE CHARACTERS\n\n[Illustration: Logo]\n\n\n\n\n_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_\n\nIN THE WORKHOUSE\n\nA PLAY IN ONE ACT\n\nThe International Suffrage Shop, John St., Strand, W.C.2 (6d.)\n\n\nPress Notices\n\n\"Dull talk none the less offensive because it may have been\nlife-like.\"--_Daily Mail._\n\n\"The piece though mere talk is strong talk.\"--_Morning Advertiser._\n\n\"The play is clean and cold and humorous. The main value of the piece is\nthat it is a superb genre picture. One or two of the flashes from this\nstrange, generally unknown world are positive sparks of\nlife.\"--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._\n\n\"I found it interesting and convincing; but then I am prepared to\nbelieve that our laws always will be rotten till lawyers are\ndisqualified from sitting in Parliament.\"--_Reynolds'._\n\n\"The masculine portion of the audience walked with heads abashed in the\n_entr'acte_; such things had been said upon the stage that they were\nsuffused with blushes.\"--_Standard._\n\n\"Delicate matters were discussed with much knowledge and some\ntact.\"--_Morning Post._\n\n\"'In the Workhouse' reminds us forcibly of certain works of M. Brieux,\nwhich plead for reform by painting a terrible, and perhaps overcharged,\npicture of things as they are.... The presence of the idiot girl helps\nto point another moral in Mrs. Nevinson's arraignment, and is therefore\nartistically justifiable; and the more terrible it appears the better\nhave the author and the actress done their work.... Such is the power of\nthe dramatic pamphlet, sincerely written and sincerely acted. There is\nnothing to approach it in directness and force. It sweeps all mere\nprettiness into oblivion.\"--_Pall Mall Gazette._\n\n\"It is one of the strongest indictments of our antiquated laws relating\nto married women. A man seated behind the present writer called the play\nimmoral! and as Mrs. Nevinson says in her preface to the published\nedition, the only apology she makes for its realism is that it is\ntrue.\"--_Christian Commonwealth._\n\n\"The whole thing left an unpleasant taste.\"--_Academy._\n\n\nNOTE.--Two years after this piece was given by the _Pioneer Players_ the\nlaw was altered.\n\n\n\n\nWORKHOUSE CHARACTERS\n\nAND OTHER SKETCHES OF THE LIFE OF THE POOR\n\nBY\n\nMARGARET WYNNE NEVINSON\n\nL.L.A.\n\n\n     The depth and dream of my desire,\n     The bitter paths wherein I stray.\n     Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,\n     Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay.\n\n     One stone the more swings to her place\n     In that dread Temple of Thy Worth--\n     It is enough that through Thy grace\n     I saw naught common on Thy earth.\n\n     RUDYARD KIPLING.\n\n\nLONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD. RUSKIN HOUSE 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.1\n\n\n     Almost the whole of these sketches have appeared in the\n     _Westminster Gazette_; the last two were published in the _Daily\n     News_, and \"Widows Indeed\" and \"The Runaway\" in the _Herald_. It is\n     by the courtesy of the Editors of the above papers that they are\n     reproduced in book form.\n\n     _First published in 1918_\n\n     _(All rights reserved.)_\n\n\nTO MY SON\n\nC. R. W. NEVINSON\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThese sketches have been published in various papers during the last\nthirteen years. Many of the characters are life portraits, and the wit\nand wisdom of the common people have been faithfully recorded in a true\nBoswellian spirit; others are _Wahrheit und Dichtung_ (if one may still\nquote Goethe), but all have been suggested by actual fact and\nexperience.\n\nDuring the last ten years great reforms have been taking place in the\ncountry. In 1908 the Old Age Pensions Act came into force, and the\nweekly miracle of 5s. a week (now 7s. 6d.) changed the world for the\naged, giving them the liberty and independence, which ought to be the\nright of every decent citizen in the evening of life.\n\nThe order by which a pauper husband had the right to detain his wife in\nthe workhouse by \"his marital authority\" is now repealed. A case some\nyears ago of this abominable breach of the law of Habeas Corpus startled\nthe country, especially the ratepayers, and even the House of Commons\nwere amazed at their own laws. The order was withdrawn in 1913 on the\nprecedent of the judgment given in the case of the Queen _v._ Jackson\n(1891), when it was decided \"that the husband has no right, where his\nwife refuses to live with him, to take her person by force and restrain\nher of her liberty\" (60 L. J. Q. B. 346).\n\nMany humane reforms and regulations for the classification of inmates\nwere made in 1913, and the obnoxious words \"pauper\" and \"workhouse\" have\nbeen abolished; but before the authorities rightly grasped the changes\nthe war was upon us, the workhouses were commandeered as military\nhospitals, the inmates sent into other institutions, and all reforms\nlapsed in overcrowded and understaffed buildings.\n\nOnce again the Poor Law is in the melting-pot, and it seems as if now it\nwill pass into the limbo of the past with other old, unhappy far-off\nthings.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n                                     PAGE\nEUNICE SMITH--DRUNK                    13\n\nDETAINED BY MARITAL AUTHORITY          21\n\nA WELSH SAILOR                         27\n\nTHE VOW                                33\n\nBLIND AND DEAF                         39\n\n\"AND, BEHOLD, THE BABE WEPT\"           47\n\n\"MARY, MARY, PITY WOMEN!\"              53\n\nTHE SUICIDE                            61\n\nPUBLICANS AND HARLOTS                  68\n\nOLD INKY                               75\n\nA DAUGHTER OF THE STATE                80\n\nIN THE PHTHISIS WARD                   85\n\nAN IRISH CATHOLIC                      91\n\nAN OBSCURE CONVERSATIONIST             97\n\nMOTHERS                               104\n\n\"YOUR SON'S YOUR SON\"                 110\n\n\"TOO OLD AT FORTY\"                    115\n\nIN THE LUNATIC ASYLUM                 118\n\nTHE SWEEP'S LEGACY                    126\n\nAN ALIEN                              130\n\n\"WIDOWS INDEED!\"                      134\n\nTHE RUNAWAY                           138\n\n\"A GIRL! GOD HELP HER!\"               145\n\nON THE PERMANENT LIST                 148\n\nTHE PAUPER AND THE OLD-AGE PENSION    153\n\nTHE EVACUATION OF THE WORKHOUSE       157\n\n\n\n\nWORKHOUSE CHARACTERS\n\n\n\n\nEUNICE SMITH--DRUNK\n\n     The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,\n     But Here and There as strikes the Player goes;\n     And He that toss'd you down into the Field,\n     _He_ knows about it all--He knows--_He_ knows.\n\n\n\"Eunice Smith, drunk, brought by the police.\"\n\nThe quaint Scriptural name, not heard for years, woke me up from the\ndull apathy to which even the most energetic Guardian is reduced at the\nend of a long Board meeting, and I listened intently as the Master of\nthe workhouse went on to explain that the name Smith had been given by\nthe woman, but her clothes and a small book, which the doctor said was\nHomer, in Greek, were marked Eunice Romaine.\n\nEunice Romaine--the name took me back down long vistas of years to a\nconvent school at Oxford, to the clanging bells of Tom Tower, to the\nvibrant note of boys' voices in college chapels, to the scent of flowers\nand incense at early celebrations, to the high devotions and ideals of\nyouth, to its passionate griefs and joys. Eunice Romaine had been the\ngenius of our school--one of those gifted students in whom knowledge\nseems innate; her name headed every examination list, and every prize in\nthe form fell to her; other poor plodders had no chance where she was.\nFrom school she had gone with many a scholarship and exhibition to\nCambridge, where she had taken a high place in the Classical Tripos;\nlater I heard she had gone as Classical Mistress to one of the London\nHigh Schools, then our paths had separated, and I heard no more.\n\nI went down to the Observation Ward after the meeting, where between a\nmaniacal case lying in a strait-waistcoat, alternately singing hymns and\nblaspheming, and a tearful melancholic who begged me to dig up her\nhusband's body in the north-east corner of the garden, I saw my old\nfriend and classmate.\n\nShe was lying very quiet with closed eyes; her hair had gone grey before\nher time, and her face was pinched and scored with the deep\nperpendicular lines of grief and disappointment; but I recognized the\nschool-girl Eunice by the broad, intellectual brow and by the delicate,\nhigh-bred hands.\n\n\"She is rather better,\" said the nurse in answer to my question, \"but\nshe has had a very bad night, screaming the whole time at the rats and\nmice she thought she saw, and the doctor fears collapse, as her heart is\nweak; but if she can get some sleep she may recover.\"\n\nSleep in the crowded Mental Ward, with maniacs shrieking and shouting\naround! But exhausted Nature can do a great deal, and when I called some\ndays later I found my old friend discharged to the General Sick Ward, a\nplacard above her head setting forth her complaint as \"chronic\nalcoholism, cirrhosis of the liver, and cardiac disease.\"\n\nShe recognized me at once, but with the apathy of weakness she expressed\nneither surprise nor interest at our meeting, and only after some weeks\nhad passed I found her one evening brighter and better, and anxious to\ngo out. Over an impromptu banquet of grapes and cakes we fell into one\nof those intimate conversations that come so spontaneously but are so\nimpossible to force, and I heard the short history of a soul's tragedy.\n\n\"Just after I left Cambridge mother died. She told me on her death-bed\nthat I had the taint of drink in the blood, and urged me never to touch\nalcohol. My father--a brilliant scholar and successful journalist--had\nkilled himself with drink whilst we were all quite young; mother had\nkept us all away at school, so that we should not know, and had borne\nher burden alone. I promised light-heartedly; I was young and strong,\nand had not known temptation. After mother died I was very lonely: both\nmy brothers had gone to Canada. My father's classical and literary\nabilities had come only to me: their talents were purely mechanical and\nthey had never been able to acquire book knowledge. I was not very happy\nteaching. Classics had come to me so easily--hereditary question\nagain--that I never could understand the difficulties of the average\ngirl, and I had very little patience with dullness and stupidity.\nHowever, very soon I became engaged to be married, and lived for some\ntime in a fool's paradise of love and joy. My _fiance_ was a literary\nman--I will not tell you his name, as he is one of those who have\narrived--but it is difficult to start, and we waited about two years\nbefore he got an appointment sufficiently secure to make marriage\npossible. I was very busy; we had taken a flat, and I was engaged in\nchoosing furniture and preparing my humble trousseau. I had given notice\nat the school, and the wedding-day was within a fortnight, when one\nmorning I got a letter from my _fiance_, couched in wild, allegorical\nlanguage, bemoaning his unworthiness, but asking me to release him from\nhis engagement, as he found his love for me had been a mirage now that\nhe had come across his twin-soul. I read the letter over and over again,\nhardly grasping the meaning, when there fell from the envelope a little\nnewspaper cutting that I had overlooked--it was the announcement of his\nmarriage three days before to his twin-soul.\n\n\"Still I was unable to realize what had happened. I kept saying over and\nover to myself, 'Charlie is married,' but in my heart I did not believe\nit. That afternoon the head-mistress came to see me; she was very kind,\nand took me herself to a brain specialist, who said I had had a nervous\nshock, that I ought to have a rest, and mountain air would be best for\nme. The council of my school agreed to take me back again, and allow me\na term's holiday on full pay. One of my colleagues (it was holiday-time)\ncame with me to Switzerland, and there, amid the ice and snow of the\nhigh latitudes, the full understanding of what had come to me dawned\nupon my mind, and I realized the pangs of despised love, of jealousy,\nand hate. A _Nachschein_ of Christianity suddenly made me rush back to\nEngland in terror of what might happen; it is easy to commit suicide in\nSwitzerland, and a certain black precipice near the hotel drew me ever\ntowards it with baleful fascination. Some one dragged me again to Harley\nStreet, and this time the great specialist advised sea air and cheerful\nsociety. The latter prescription is not available for lonely and jilted\nhigh-school mistresses in London, but I tried sea air, and it did me\ngood. I don't think for a moment that the doctor realized that I was\npractically off my head; the terribly obsession of love and jealousy had\nme in its grip. It had taken me some time to fall in love, and I could\nnot fall out again to order, whilst the knowledge that the man who had\nbroken his promise to me now belonged to another woman was driving me to\nmadness. One day I went down to bathe, and suddenly determined to end my\nwoe. I swam out far to sea--so far that I judged it beyond my force ever\nto get back; but though my will commanded my limbs to cease their work\nthey refused to obey. I was always a very strong swimmer, and I landed\nagain more humiliated than ever: I had not even the pluck to end my\nsorrows.\n\n\"After that I went back to work; mountains and sea had no message for\nme. I was better sitting at my desk in the class-room, trying to drill\nLatin and Greek into the unresponsive brains of girls.\n\n\"I got through the days, but the nights were terrible; all the great\narmy of forsaken lovers know that the nights are the worst. I used to\nlie awake hour after hour, sobbing and crying for mercy and strength to\nendure, and I used to batter my head against the floor, not knowing any\none could hear. One night a fellow-lodger, who slept in the next room,\ncame in and begged me to be quiet; she had her work to do, and night\nafter night I kept her awake with my sobbing. 'I suppose it is all about\nsome wretched man,' she observed coolly; 'but, believe me, they are not\nworth the love we give them. I left my husband some years ago, finding\nthat he had been carrying on with a woman who called herself my friend.\nAt first I cried and sobbed just as you do now; but I felt such a fool\nmaking such a fuss about a man who had played it down so low, that I\nmade up my mind I would forget him; and in time you will get over this,\nand give thanks that you have been delivered from a liar and a traitor.'\n\n\"She gave me a glass of strong brandy and water; it was the first I had\never tasted, and I remember how it ran warm through my veins, and how I\nslept as I had not slept for months.\n\n\"My fellow-lodger and I became great friends; she was quite an\nuneducated woman, the matron of a laundry, but she braced me up like a\ntonic with her keen humour and experience of life.\n\n\"How strange it seems for a middle-aged drunkard in a pauper infirmary\nto be telling this ancient love-tale, and posing as one of 'the\naristocracy of passionate souls,' But _tout passe tout casse_, and after\nyears of anguish and strife I woke up one bright spring morning and felt\nthat I was cured and for ever free of the wild passion of love. That day\nalways stands out as the happiest of my life. I shall never forget it.\nIt was Saturday, and a holiday; and I got on my bicycle and rode off for\nmiles far into the country singing the _Benedicite_ for pure joy. I\nlunched at a little inn on the Thames, and ordered some champagne to\ncelebrate the recovery of my liberty.\n\n\"But by strange irony of fate the very day I escaped from the toils of\nlove I fell under another tyranny--that of alcohol. Now, Peg\"--I started\nat the unfamiliar old nickname of my school days--\"I believe you are\ncrying. Having shed more than my own share of tears, nothing irritates\nme so much as to see other women cry, and if you don't stop I'll not say\nanother word.\"\n\nI drew my handkerchief across my eyes and admitted to a cold in the\nhead.\n\n\"Shortly afterward I received notice to leave the High School. I did not\nmind--I always hated teaching, and I found that I had the power of\nwriting; an article that I could flash off in a few hours would keep me\nfor a week, and I could create my own paradise for half a crown--now,\nPeg, you are crying again. But of late life was not so bad. I enjoyed\nwriting, and shall always be thankful I can read Greek; besides, I was\nnot always drunk; the craving only takes me occasionally, and at its\nworst alcohol is a kinder master than love. I shall be well enough to go\nout in a few days; bring me some pens and paper, and my editor will\nadvance me some money. I am going to write an article on workhouse\ninfirmaries that will startle the public. What do you know of\nworkhouses? You are only a Guardian; 'tis we musicians (or rather\ninmates) who know.\"\n\nThe article never got written. The next day I found Eunice very ill; she\nwas unconscious and delirious till her death, reeling off sonorous\nhexameters from Homer and Virgil and stately passages from the Greek\ntragedians.\n\nWe spared her a pauper funeral, and a few old school and college friends\ngathered round the grave. A white-haired professor of world fame was\nthere also, and he shook hands with us as we parted at the cemetery\ngates. \"Poor Eunice!\" he said, his aged face working painfully. \"One of\nthe best Greek scholars of the day, and the daughter of my oldest\nfriend. Both of them geniuses, and both of them with the same taint in\nthe blood; but I feel I ought not to have let her come to this.\"\n\nI think we all felt the same as we walked sadly home.\n\n\n\n\nDETAINED BY MARITAL AUTHORITY\n\n     (By the law of England the mothers of illegitimate children are\n     often in a better position than their married sisters.)\n\n\nAn unusual sense of expectancy pervaded the young women's ward; Mrs.\nCleaver had gone down \"to appear before the Committee,\" and though the\nways of committees are slow, and pauper-time worthless, it was felt that\nher ordeal was being unduly protracted.\n\n\"She's having a dose, she is,\" said a young woman walking up and down,\nfutilely patting the back of a shrieking infant. \"I 'ate appearing afore\nthem committees; last time I was down I called the lady 'Sir' and the\ngentleman 'Mum,' and my 'eart went pitter-patter in my breast so that\nyou might have knocked me down with a feather. 'Ere she is--well, my\ndear, and you do look bad----\"\n\n\"Them committees allus turn me dead sick, and, being a stout woman, my\nboots feel too tight for me, and I goes into a perspiration, and the\ngreat drops go rolling off my forehead. Well, 'e's kept 'is word, and\ngot the law and right of England behind 'im.\"\n\nWhat reporters call a \"sensation\" made itself felt through the ward; the\ninmates gathered closer round Mrs. Cleaver, and screaming infants were\nrocked and patted and soothed with much vigour and little result.\n\n\"Well,\" said Mrs. Cleaver, sinking on to the end of a bed, \"I went afore\nthe Committee and I says, 'I want to take my discharge,' I says; I\napplied last week to the Master, but mine got at 'im first, and Master\nup and says--\n\n\"'No, Mrs. Cleaver, you can't go,' he says; 'your 'usband can't spare\nyou,' he says, 'wants you to keep 'im company in 'ere,' he says.\n\n\"'Is that true, Master?' says the little man wot sits lost in the big\nchair.\n\n\"'That is so, sir,' says Master, and then 'e outs with a big book and\nreads something very learned and brain-confusing that I did not rightly\nunderstand, as to how a 'usband may detain his wife in the workhouse by\nhis marital authority.\n\n\"'Good 'eavens!' says the little lady Guardian 'er wot's dressed so\nshabby. 'Is that the law of England?'\n\n\"Then they all began talking at once most excited, and the little man in\nthe big chair beat like a madman on the table with a 'ammer, and no one\ntook the slightest notice, but when some quiet was restored the little\nman asked me to tell the Board the circumstances. So I says 'ow he lost\nhis work through being drunk on duty, which was the lying tongue of the\nperlice, for 'is 'ed was clear, the drink allus taking him in the legs,\nlike most cabmen, and the old 'oss keeps sober. It was a thick fog, and\nhe'd just got off the box to lead the 'oss through the gates of the\nmews, and the perliceman spotted 'is legs walking out in contrary\ndirections, though 'is 'ed was clear as daylight, and so the perlice ran\n'im in and the beak took his licence from 'im, and 'ere we are.\n\n\"Now I've got over my confinement, and the child safe in 'eaven, after\nall the worrit and starvation, I thought I'd like to go out and earn my\nown living--I'm a dressmaker by trade, and my sister will give me a\n'ome; I 'ate being 'ere--living on the rates, and 'e not having done\nbetter for us than this Bastille--though I allus says as it was the\nlying tongue of a perliceman--it seems fair I should go free. The lady\nwot comes round Sundays told me I ain't got no responsibility for my\nchildren being a married lady with the lines. Then the little man flew\nout most violent: 'Don't talk like that, my good woman; of course you\nhave responsibility to your children; you must not believe what ignorant\npeople tell you.'\n\n\"Then I heard the tall, ginger-haired chap wot sits next to the little\nman--'im as you unmarried girls go before to try and father your\nchildren--I 'eard 'im say quite distinct: 'The woman is right, sir;\nmarried women are not responsible for their children, but I believe the\nhusband is within his rights in refusing to allow her to leave the\nworkhouse without him.'\n\n\"Then they asked me to retire, and the Master told me to come back\n'ere, and I should know the result later. Oh, Lord! I'm that 'ot and\nupset with the worry of it all, I feel I'll never cool again,\" and Mrs.\nCleaver wiped her brow and fanned herself with her apron.\n\n\"Single life has its advantages,\" said a tall, handsome woman, who was\nnursing a baby by the window. \"You with the lines ain't been as perlite\nas might be to us who ain't got 'em, but we 'as the laugh over you\nreally. I'm taking my discharge to-morrow morning, and not one of 'em\ndare say me nay; I needn't appear afore Boards and be worried and upset\nwith 'usbands and Guardians and things afore I can take myself off the\nparish and eat my bread independent.\"\n\n\"But why weren't you married, Pennyloaf? Not for want of asking, I'll be\nbound.\"\n\n\"No, it warn't for want of asking; fact is, I was put off marriage at a\nvery early age. I 'ad a drunken beast of a father as spent his time\na-drinking by day and a-beating mother by night--one night he overdid it\nand killed 'er; he got imprisonment for life, and we was put away in the\nworkhouse schools; it would have been kinder of the parish to put us in\nthe lethal chamber, as they do to cats and dogs as ain't wanted. But we\ngrew up somehow, knowing as we weren't wanted, and then the parish found\nme a situation, under-housemaid in a big house; and then I found as the\nyoung master wanted me, the first time as any human soul had taken any\ninterest in me, and, oh, Lord! I laughs now when I think what a 'appy\ntime it was. Since then I've had four children, and I have twenty-five\nshillings a week coming in regular besides what I can make at the\ncooking. I lives clean and respectable--no drinking, no bad language; my\nchildren never see nor hear what I saw and heard, and they are\nmine--mine--mine. I always comes into the House for confinement, liking\nquiet and skilled medical attendance. I never gets refused--the law\ndaren't refuse such as me. I always leaves the coming in till the last\nmoment; then there are no awkward questions, and when they begin to\ninquire as to settlement, I'm off. All the women in our street are\nexpecting next week, their husbands all out of work, and not a pair of\nsheets or the price of a pint of milk between them, all lying in one\nroom, too, with children and husbands about, as I don't consider decent,\nbut having the lines, it's precious hard for them to get in here, and\nhalf of them daren't come for fear he and some one else will sell up the\n'ome whilst they're away. You remember Mrs. Hall, who died here last\nweek? Well, she told me that her husband swore at her so fearful for\nhaving twins that the doctor sent her in here out of his way, and what\nwith all the upset and the starvation whilst she was carrying the\nchildren, she took fever and snuffed out like a candle. No, the\nneighbours don't know as I'm a bad woman; I generally moves before a\nconfinement, and I 'as a 'usband on the 'igh seas.\n\n\"Well, I'm going back to-morrow to my neat little home, that my\nlady-help has been minding for me, to my dear children and to my regular\nincome, and I don't say as I envies you married ladies your rings or\nyour slavery.\"\n\n\n\n\nA WELSH SAILOR\n\n     I will go back to the great sweet mother,\n       Mother and lover of men, the sea.\n\n\nThe Master of the Casual Ward rattled his keys pompously in the lock of\nthe high workhouse gates, and the shivering tramps entered the yard, a\nbattered and footsore procession of this world's failures, the outcast\nand down-trodden in the fierce struggle for existence. Some of them were\nyoung and strong, some old and feeble, all wan and white with hunger and\nthe chill of the November fog which wrapped like a wet blanket round\ntheir ill-clothed bodies. Amongst them was an old man with ear-rings,\nand thick, curly white hair, with broad shoulders and rolling gait, and\nas he passed I seemed to feel the salt wind of the sea blowing in my\nface, and the plunge of the good ship in the billows of the bay. One by\none the master shut them up in the dreary little cell where each man is\nlocked for thirty-six hours on a dietary of porridge, cheese, and bread,\nand ten hours' work a day at stone-breaking or fibre-picking. And yet\nthe men walk in with something approaching relief on their weary faces;\nthe hot bath will restore circulation; and really to appreciate a bed\none should wander the streets through a winter's night, or \"lodge with\nMiss Green\" as they term sleeping on the heath.\n\nHalf an hour later, as I sat in one of the sick-wards, I felt once again\nthe salt freshness of the air above the iodoform and carbolic, and lying\non the ambulance I saw the curly white head of the old sailor, his face\nblanched under its tan.\n\n\"Fainted in the bath, no food for three days; we get them in sometimes\nlike that from the Casual Ward. Wait a moment till I put the pillow\nstraight,\" said the nurse, as quickly and deftly she raised the hoary\nhead, which has been called a crown of glory.\n\nA few weeks later I passed through the ward, and saw the old man still\nlying in bed; his sleeves were rolled up, and his nightshirt loose at\nthe throat, and I saw his arms and chest tattooed gorgeously with ships\nand anchors and flags, with hearts and hands and the red dragon of\nWales.\n\n\"He's been very bad,\" said the nurse; \"bronchitis and great\nweakness--been starving for weeks, the doctor thinks. Talks English all\nright when his temperature is down, but raves to himself in a sort of\ndouble-Dutch no one can understand, though we have French and Germans\nand Russians in the ward.\"\n\n\"Fy Nuw, fy Nuw, paham y'm gadewaist?\" cried the old man, and I\nrecognized the cry from the Cross, \"My God, My God, why hast Thou\nforsaken Me?\"\n\n\"Oh! lady,\" he exclaimed as I sat down beside him--\"oh! lady, get me\nout of this. My mates tell me as I'm in the workhouse, and if my old\nmother knew it would kill her--it would, indeed. Yes, lady, I follow the\nsea--went off with my old dad when I was eight year old; we sailed our\nold ship _Pollybach_ for wellnigh forty years; and then she foundered\noff Bushy Island Reef, Torres Straits, and we lost nearly all we had.\nAfter that I've sailed with Captain Jones, of the _Highflyer_, as first\nmate; but now he's dead I can't get a job nohow. I'm too old, and I've\nlost my left hand; some tackle got loose in a storm and fell upon it,\nand though the hook is wonderful handy, they won't enter me any more as\nan A.B.\n\n\"I'm a skipper of the ancient time--a Chantey-man and a fiddler. I can\nnavigate, checking the chronometer by lunar observation. I can rig a\nship from rail to truck; I can reef, hand-steer, and set and take in a\ntop-mast studding sail; and I can show the young fools how to use a\nmarlin-spike. Yes, indeed! But all this is no good now.\n\n\"I came up to London to find an old shipmate--Hugh Pugh. We sailed\ntogether fifty years ago, but he left the sea when he got married and\nstarted in the milk business in London. We was always good mates, and he\nsaid to me not long ago, down in Wales, that the Lord had prospered him,\nand that I was to turn to him in any trouble. So when my skipper died I\nremembered me of Hugh Pugh, and slung my bundle to come and find him.\nFolks was wonderful kind to me along the road, and I sailed along in\nfair weather till I got to London; and then I was fair frightened;\nnavigation is very difficult along the streets--the craft's too\ncrowded--and folks were shocking hard and unkind. I cruised about for a\nlong time, but London's a bigger place than I thought, knowing only the\ndocks; and David Evans doesn't seem to have got the address quite\nship-shape, and I just drifted and lost faith. Somehow it's harder to\ntrust the Lord in London than on the high seas. Then the mates tell me I\nfainted and was brought into the ship's hospital; and here I've lain,\na-coughing, and a-burning, and a-shivering, with queer tunes a-playing\nin my head; couldn't remember the English, they say, and talked only\nWelsh; and they thought I was a Dutchman. This morning I felt a sight\nbetter, and though the nurse told me not to get up, I just tried to put\non my clothes and go; but blowed if my legs didn't behave\nshocking--rolled to larboard, rolled to starboard, and then pitched me\nheadlong, so that I thought I'd shivered all my timbers. So I suppose I\nmust lie at anchor a bit longer; my legs will never stand the homeward\nvoyage, they're that rotten and barnacled; but I'll never get better\nhere; what I'm sickening for is the sea--the sight of her, and the smell\nof her, and the noise of the waves round the helm; she and me's never\nbeen parted before for more than two days, and I'm as sick for her as a\nman for his lass. Oh, dear! oh, dear! If I could only find Hugh\nPugh----\"\n\nI suggested that there was a penny post. \"Yes, lady; but, to tell the\ntruth, I haven't got a stamp, nor yet a penny; and David Evans hasn't\ngot the address ship-shape. The policeman laughed in my face when I\nasked him where Hugh Pugh lived, and said I must get it writ down better\nthan that for London.\" Out of his locker he drew a Welsh Testament\ncontaining a piece of tobacco-stained paper, on which was written--\n\n\n     HUGH PUGH, Master Mariner, now Dairyman;\n     In a big house in a South-Eastern Road,\n     Off the North-road, out of London, Nor-East by Nor.\n\n\nFortunately, Hugh Pugh is not a common name--a visit to the library, a\nsearch in the trade directory, and a telephonic communication saved all\nfurther cruising.\n\nA couple of days later I got a letter from Hugh Pugh--\n\n\nDEAR MADAM,\n\nI thank you for your communication with regard to my old friend and\nshipmate, Joshua Howell, of whom I had lost sight. I am glad to say I am\nin a position to find him some work at once, having given up my London\nbusiness to my sons, and taken a house down by the sea. I am in want of\na good waterman to manage a ferryboat over the river and to take charge\nof a small yacht, and I know that I can trust old Joshua with one hand\nbetter than most men with two. There is a cottage on the shore where he\ncan live with his mother; and tell him we shall all be delighted to\nwelcome an old friend and shipmate. My daughter is coming down here\nshortly with her children, and will be very glad for Joshua to travel\nwith her; she will call and make arrangements for him to go to her house\nas soon as he is well enough to be moved. I enclose L5 for clothes or\nany immediate expenses, and am sorry that my old friend has been through\nsuch privations. As to any expenses for his keep at the infirmary, I\nwill hold myself responsible.\n\nYours faithfully,\n\nHUGH PUGH.\n\nLLANRHYWMAWR, _December 6._\n\n\nA Welsh letter was enclosed for the old sailor, over which he pored with\ntears of joy running down his cheeks.\n\nA few days later Hugh Pugh's daughter's motor throbbed at the door of\nthe workhouse, and the old tar rolled round shaking hands vigorously\nwith the mates: \"Good-bye; good-bye, maties; the Lord has brought me out\nof the stormy waters, and it's smooth sailing now. He'll do the same for\nyou, mates, if you trust Him.\"\n\nThen the door closed, and the fresh breeze dropped, and it seemed as if\nthe ward grew dark and grey.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VOW\n\n     Better thou shouldest not vow than thou shouldest vow and not pay.\n\n\nThe heavy machines in the steam-laundry clanked and groaned, and the\nsmell of soap and soda, cleansing the unspeakable foulness of the\ninfirmary linen, rose up strong and pungent, as the women carried out\nthe purified heaps to blow dry in the wind and sunshine.\n\nThe inmates worked hard and steadily under the keen eye of the matron;\nmany of them knew by bitter experience that inattention or gossip might\ncost them the loss of fingers at the calenders and wringing machines.\nMost of the women were strong and able-bodied, and yet the briefest\ninquiry would reveal some moral flaw rendering them incapable of\ncompeting in the labour market--drink, dishonesty, immorality,\nfeeble-mindedness. Amongst the heavy, uncomely figures I noticed a young\nwoman, tall and well-grown, with a face modest and refined, framed in\nmasses of dark hair under the pauper cap. She was folding sheets and\ntable-cloths, working languidly as if in pain, and I drew the matron's\nattention to the fact.\n\n\"Yes, I don't think she'll finish the day's work. I told her to go over\nto the infirmary if she liked, but she said she would rather stay here\nas long as she could. Yes, usual thing, but she is a better class than\nwe get here as a rule.\"\n\nA few days later I saw her again in the lying-in ward, a black-haired\nbabe in the cradle beside her, and her hair in two rope-like plaits\nhanging over the pillow nearly to the ground.\n\nShe looked so healthy, handsome, and honest amongst the disease and\nugliness and vice around that one wondered how she came to the\nworkhouse. \"Yes,\" said the nurse, in answer to my thoughts, \"she is not\nthe sort we have here generally. No, I don't know anything about her;\nshe is very silent, and they say she refused to answer the relieving\nofficer.\" I sat down beside her and tried to talk about her future, but\nthe girl answered in monosyllables, with tightly shut lips, as if she\nwere afraid to speak.\n\n\"Won't the father of your child do anything for you?\"\n\n\"I do not wish him to.\"\n\nI had been a Guardian long enough to respect reticence, and I rose to\ngo. The darkness of the December afternoon had fallen in the long,\nhalf-empty ward, the sufferers dozed, the wailing of babes was hushed,\nall was strangely quiet, and as I reached the door I heard a voice,\n\"Please come back, ma'am; I should like to ask you something.\" Then, as\nI turned to her bedside again, \"I have not told any one my story here;\nI don't think they would believe me; but it is true all the same. But\nplease tell me first, do you hold with keeping a vow?\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly I do.\"\n\n\"That is why I am here. I swore an oath to my dying mother, and I have\nkept it. I did not know how hard it would be to keep, but because I\nwould not break it I have come to disgrace. When we were children we had\na cruel, drunken father, and I seem to remember mother always crying,\nand at night we would be wakened with screams, and we used to rush in\nand try and stop father beating her to death, and the cruel blows used\nto half shatter our poor little bodies. One night we were too late, and\nwe saw mother wrapped in a sheet of flame--and her shrieks! It is\nfifteen years ago now, but they still ring in my ears. The neighbours\ncame and the police, and they put out the fire, and took mother to the\nhospital and father to the lock-up. Mother did not live long and she\nsuffered cruel. The next day they took us children to see her. We hardly\nknew it was mother; she was bandaged up with white like a mummy, and\nonly one black eye blazing like a live coal out of the rags--she had\nbeautiful eyes--made us know her. The little boys cried, so that nurse\ntook them out again, but they let me stay with her all night, holding a\nbit of rag where her hand had once been. Just as the grey dawn came in\nat the windows mother spoke, very low so that I had to stoop down to\nhear: 'Hester, my child, swear to me you will never marry, and I will\ndie happy. The boys can look after themselves, but I cannot bear to\nthink of you suffering as I have suffered.'\n\n\"'Yes, mother, I'll swear.' No girl of thirteen is keen on marriage,\nparticularly with a father like ours, and I took up the book\nlight-heartedly and swore 'So help me, God.'\n\n\"'Thank Heaven, my dear! Now kiss me.'\n\n\"I kissed a bit of rag where her mouth had been, and I saw that the\nblack eye was dim and glazed, and the eyelid fell down as if she were\nsleeping. I sat on till the nurses changed watch, and then they told me\nshe was dead.\n\n\"Father got a life sentence, the boys were sent to workhouse schools,\nand some ladies found me a situation in the country near Oxford. When I\nwas about seventeen the under-gardener came courting me. He was a\nstraight, well-set-up young chap, and I fell in love with him at once,\nbut when he talked about marriage--having good wages--I remembered my\noath. Jem said an oath like that wasn't binding; and when I said I'd\nlive with him if he liked, he was very shocked, having honourable\nintentions, and he went and fetched the vicar to talk to me. He was a\nvery holy man, with the peace of God shining through his eyes, and he\ntalked so kind and clever, telling me that mother was dying and half-mad\nwith pain and weakness, and that she would be the first to absolve me\nfrom such a vow. I couldn't argue with him, and so I forgot my manners,\nand ran out of the room for fear he'd master me. When Jem saw nothing\nwould move me he went off one morning to America, leaving a letter to\nsay as he had gone away for fear he should take me at my word and be my\nruin.\n\n\"Things were very black after that; I had not known what he was to me\ntill the sea was between us, and, worse than the sea, my oath to the\ndying. I left my good situation because I could not bear it any longer\nwithout him, and I came up to London and got into bad places and saw\nmuch wickedness, and got very lonely and very miserable, and learnt what\ntemptation is to girls left alone. I used to go into the big Catholic\ncathedral by Victoria Station and kneel down by the image of the Virgin\nand just say, 'Please help me to keep my oath.'\n\n\"Then one day in spring, when all the flowers were out in the park, and\nall the lovers whispering under the trees, I remembered I was\ntwenty-seven, and though I could never have a husband at least I might\nhave a child. A great wave of longing came over me that I could not\nresist, and so I fell. And then later, when I knew what was coming to\nme, I was filled with terrible remorse--leastways one day I was full of\njoy because of my baby, and the next day I was fit to drown myself in\nshame. Then the Sunday before I was brought in here I went to service in\nSt. Paul's. I had felt sick and queer all day, and I just sat down on\none of the seats at the back and listened to the singing high and sweet\nabove my head, like the chanting of the heavenly host. I was always fond\nof going to St. Paul's, and once on my Sunday out I even went to the\nSacrament, and I says, 'O God, I've lost my character, but I've kept my\noath. You made me so fond of children; please don't let me eat and drink\nmy own damnation.'\n\n\"I sat and thought of this, puzzling and puzzling, and the hot air out\nof the gratings made me drowsy, and I fell asleep and dreamt it was the\nJudgment Day, and I stood with my baby before the Throne, and a great\nwhite light shone on me, bleak and terrible, so that I felt scorched\nwith blinding cold. And the angel from his book read out: 'Hester French\nand her bastard child.'\n\n\"Then there came a little kind voice: 'She kept her oath to her dying\nmother, and remember, she was a woman and all alone'; and I knew it was\nthe Virgin Mary pleading for me. And then a voice like thunder sounded:\n'Blot out her sin!' and all the choirs of heaven sang together; and I\nawoke, but it was only the organ crashing out very loud, and the verger\nshaking me because he wanted to lock up. Oh, ma'am, do you think as my\nsin will be forgiven? At least I kept my vow.\"\n\n\n\n\nBLIND AND DEAF\n\n     Oh, human soul! as long as thou canst so\n     Set up a mark of everlasting light,\n     Above the howling senses' ebb and flow,\n     To cheer thee and to right thee if thou roam--\n     Not with lost toil thou labourest through the night!\n     Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.\n\n\nMary Grant, pauper, of Sick Ward 42, had been making charges of\nunkindness against Nurse Smith, and I had been appointed by the House\nCommittee to inquire into the matter. I found a somewhat\nharassed-looking nurse filling up temperature-charts in a corner of the\nward, and she began volubly to deny the charges.\n\n\"The woman's deaf, so it is no good shouting at her, and I believe she\nis angry because I can't talk on my fingers; but what with looking after\nboth wards and washing and bathing them all, and taking their\ntemperatures and feeding them, and giving them their medicine, I have\nnot time to attend to the fads and fancies of each one. Granny Hunt,\ntoo, takes half my time seeing that she does not break her neck with her\nantics; and as to scraping the butter off Grant's bread I hope as the\nCommittee did not attend to such a tale.\"\n\nThe last accusation, I assured her, had not even been brought before\nus, and I passed down the long clean ward where lay sufferers of all\nages and conditions--the mighty head of the hydrocephalus child side by\nside with the few shrivelled bones of an aged paralytic. I passed the\nfamous Mrs. Hunt--a \"granny\" of ninety-six, who \"kept all her limbs very\nsupple\" and herself in excellent condition by a system of mattress\ngymnastics which she had evolved for herself. Two comparatively young\npeople of seventy and eighty, who were unfortunate enough to lie next\nher, complained bitterly of Granny's restlessness; but the old lady was\npast discipline and \"restraining influences,\" and, beyond putting a\nscreen round her to check vanity and ensure decency, the authorities\nleft her to her gymnastic displays. On the whole, though, the ward was\nvery proud of Granny; she was the oldest inhabitant, not only in the\nHouse but also in the parish, and even female sick-wards take a certain\npride in holding a record. The old lady cocked a bright eye, like a\nbird, upon me as I passed her bed, and, cheerfully murmuring \"Oh, the\nagony!\" executed a species of senile somersault with much agility.\n\nRound the blazing fire at the end of the ward (for excellent fires\ncommend me to those rate-supported) sat a group of \"chronics\" and\nconvalescents--a poor girl, twisted and racked with St. Vitus's dance,\nwhite-haired \"grannies\" in every stage of rheumatic or senile decay, and\na silent figure with bowed head, still in early middle life, who, they\ntold me, was Mary Grant.\n\nI shouted my inquiries down her ear _crescendo fortissimo_, without the\nsmallest response--not even the flicker of an eyelid--whilst the\ngrannies listened with apathetic indifference.\n\n\"Not a bit of good, ma'am,\" they said presently, when I paused,\nexhausted; \"she's stone deaf.\"\n\nThen I drew a piece of paper from my pocket and wrote my questions, big\nand clear.\n\n\"Not a bit of good, ma'am,\" shouted the grannies again; \"she's stone\nblind.\"\n\nI gazed helplessly at the silent figure, with the blood still flowing in\nher veins, and yet living, as it were, in the darkness and loneliness of\nthe tomb.\n\n\"If she is blind and deaf and dumb, how does she manage to complain?\"\n\n\"Oh! she manages that all right, ma'am,\" said a granny whose one eye\ntwinkled humorously in its socket; \"she's not dumb--not 'alf. The nuss\nthat's left and Mrs. Green, the other blind lidy, talk on her fingers to\nher, and she grumbles away, when the fit takes 'er, a treat to 'ear; not\nas I blimes her, poor sowl; most of us who comes 'ere 'ave something to\nput up with; but she 'as more than 'er share of trouble. No, none of us\nknow 'ow to do it--we aren't scholards; but you catches 'old on 'er\n'and, and mauls it about in what they call the deaf-and-dumb halphabet,\nand she spells out loud like the children.\"\n\nI remembered with joy that I also was \"a scholard,\" for one of the few\nthings we all learned properly at school was the art of talking to each\nother on our fingers under the desks during class. A good deal of water\nhad flowed under London Bridge since then, but for once I felt the\nadvantage of what educationists call \"a thorough grounding.\"\n\n\"How are you?\" spelt out a feeble, harsh voice as I made the signs--I\nhad forgotten the \"w\" and was not sure of the \"r,\" but she guessed them\nwith ready wit--then in weird rasping tones, piping and whistling into\nshrill falsetto like the \"cracking\" voice of a youth, she burst into\ntalk: \"Oh! I am so thankful--so thankful. It seems years since any one\ncame to talk to me--the dear nurse has left, and the other blind lady's\ngone to have her inside taken out, and the blind gentleman is taking a\nholiday, and I have been that low I have not known how to live. '_Thou\nhast laid me in the lowest pit; in a place of darkness and in the deep.\nThine indignation lieth hard upon me; and Thou hast vexed me with all\nThy storms._' David knew how I feel just exactly--might have been a deaf\nand blind woman himself, shut up in a work'us. I have been here nigh on\ntwo year now; I used to do fine sewing and lace-mending for the shops,\nand earned a tidy bit, being always very handy with my needle; then one\nday, as I was stitching by the window--finishing a job as had to go home\nthat night--a flash of lightning seemed to come and hit me in the eye\nsomehow--I remember how the fire shone bright zig-zag across the black\nsky, and then there was a crash, and nothing more.\n\n\"No, it was not a very nice thing to happen to anybody; two year ago\nnow, and there has been nothing but fierce, aching blackness round me\never since, and great silence except for the rumblings in my ears like\ntrains in a tunnel; but I hear nothing, not even the thunder. At first I\nfretted awful; I felt as if I must have done something very wicked for\nGod to rain down fire from heaven on me as if I had been Sodom and\nGomorrah; but I'd not done half so bad as many; I'd always kept myself\nrespectable, and done the lace-mending, and earned enough for mother,\ntoo--fortunately, she died afore the thunder came and hit me, or she'd\nhave broken her heart for me. It was very strange. Mother was such a one\nto be frightened at thunder, and when we lived in the country before\nfather died she always took a candle and the Book and went down to the\ncellar out of the way of the lightning--seemed as if she knew what a\nnasty trick the thunder was going to play me--she was always a very\nunderstanding woman, was mother--she came from Wales, and had what she\ncalled 'the sight.'\n\n\"Yes; I went on fretting fearful about my sins until the blind gentleman\nfound me out--him as comes oh Saturdays and teaches us blind ladies to\nread. Oh, he was a comfort! He learned me the deaf alphabet, and how to\nread in the Braille book, and it's not so bad now. He knows all about\nthe heavenly Jerusalem, and the beautiful music and the flowers\nblossoming round the Throne of God. I think he's what they calls a\nMethody, and mother and I were Church. I used to go to the Sunday\nSchool, and learnt the Catechism, and 'thus to think of the Trinity.'\nHowever, he's a very good man all the same, and a great comfort--and he\nfound me a special text from God: 'Then the eyes of the blind shall be\nopened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped.' That is the\npromise to me and to him; being blind, he understands a bit himself,\nthough what the hullaballoo in my ears is no tongue can tell.\n\n\"Mrs. Green, the other blind lady, is such a one to be talking about the\ndiamonds and pearls in the crowns of glory; but I don't understand\nnothing about no jewels. What I seem to want to see again is the row of\nscarlet geraniums that used to stand on our window-sill; the sun always\nshone in on them about tea-time, and mother and I thought a world of the\nlight shining on them red Jacobys. But the blind gentleman says as I\nshall see them again round the Throne.\"\n\n\"She wanders a bit,\" said the one-eyed granny, touching her forehead\nsignificantly; \"she's such a one for this Methody talk.\"\n\nI have noticed that the tone of the workhouse, though perfectly tolerant\nand liberal, is inclined to scepticism, in spite of the vast\npreponderance of the Church of England (C. of E.) in the \"Creed Book.\"\n\n\"Let her wander, then,\" retorted another orthodox member; \"she ain't\ngot much to comfort her 'ere below--the work'us ain't exactly a\nparadise. For Gawd's sake leave 'er 'er 'eaven and 'er scarlet\ngeraniums.\"\n\n\"One thing, ma'am, as pleased her was some dirty old lace one of the\nlidies brought for her one afternoon. She was just as 'appy as most\nfemales are with a babby, a-fingering of it and calling it all manner of\nqueer names. There isn't a sight of old lace knocking about 'ere,\" and\nher one eye twinkled merrily; \"I guess we lidies willed it all away to\nour h'ancestry afore seeking retirement. Our gowns aren't hexactly\ntrimmed with priceless guipure, though there's some fine 'and embroidery\non my h'apern,\" and she thrust the coarsely darned linen between the\ndelicate fingers.\n\n\"Garn!--they're always a-kiddin' of me. Yes, ma'am, I love to feel real\nlace; I can still tell them all by the touch--Brussels and Chantilly and\nHoniton and rose-point; it reminds me of the lovely things I used to\nmend up for the ladies to go to see the Queen in.\"\n\nThey showed me her needlework--handkerchiefs and dusters hemmed with\nmuch accuracy, and knitting more even than that of many of us who can\nsee.\n\nAs I rose to go she took my finger and laid it upon the cabalistic signs\nof the \"Book.\"\n\n\"Don't you understand it? That's my own text, as I reads when things are\nworse than general: 'Our light affliction, which is but for a moment,\nworketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.' Yes,\nthere'll be glory for me--glory for me--glory for me.\"\n\nI heard the shrill, hoarse voice piping out the old revival hymn, very\nmuch out of tune, as I passed down the ward.\n\nI had a nasty lump in my throat when I got back to the Board Room, and I\ncan't exactly remember what I said to the Committee. I think I cleared\nNurse Smith from any definite charge of cruelty, something after the\nfashion of the Irish jurymen: \"Not guilty, but don't do it again,\"\nadding the rider that Mary Grant was blind and deaf, and if she grumbled\nit was not surprising.\n\nIt is possible my report was incoherent and subversive of discipline,\nand my feelings were not hurt because it was neither \"received,\" nor\n\"adopted,\" nor \"embodied,\" nor \"filed for future reference,\" but,\nmetaphorically speaking, \"lay on the table\" to all eternity.\n\n\n\n\n\"AND, BEHOLD, THE BABE WEPT\"\n\n     And, behold, the babe wept. And she had compassion upon him.\n\n\nThe night-porter sat in his lodge at 1 a.m., trying hard to keep off the\nsleep that weighed his eyelids down--that heavy sleep that all\nnight-watchers know when nothing in the world seems worth a longer\nvigil.\n\nBut the man before him had been dismissed for sleeping on duty, and our\nnight-porter had had six months out of work, so, with resolute\ndetermination, he dragged up his leaden limbs and began to pace the\ncorridors towards the Mental Ward, where he knew the screams of the\ninsane were generally to be relied upon to keep sleep away from any one\nin the neighbourhood. To-night all was quiet, and it was with a brief\nprayer of thanksgiving that he heard the insistent note of the electric\nbell, and rushed to answer it, the lethargy leaving him under the\nnecessity of action.\n\nA policeman entered in a blast of wind and rain, drops off his cape,\nmaking black runlets on the white stone floor. From under his arm he\ndrew a red bundle and laid it carefully down on a mat in front of the\nfire. \"Evening, porter, I've brought you a present from the cabbage-bed.\nWhat do you think of that for a saucy girl? Hush, my dear! don't cry,\"\nas the babe, unsettled from his warm arms, gave forth a shrill cry of\ndispleasure. \"Pretty little thing, ain't she? and left out under a\nlaurel-bush this bitter night. Some women are worse than brutes.\"\n\nThe porter, who was himself a married man, picked up the babe and\nsoothed it in practised arms. \"And 'ow about the father? Something as\ncalls itself a man 'as 'ad an 'and in this business, and druv the gal to\nit, may be. My old dad allus says, 'God cuss the scoundrel who leaves a\npoor lass to bear her trouble alone!'\"\n\n\"And now,\" said the policeman, when the nurse, summoned by telephone,\nhad borne off the indignant babe to the Children's Ward, \"I suppose you\nmust enter the case. I found the kid under a laurel-bush at 7, Daventry\nTerrace. A lady blew a whistle out of the window and said she could not\nsleep for a whining outside. I tried to put her off as it was cats, but\nshe stuck to it; so, just to quiet her, I cast round with my lantern,\nand, sure enough, she was right. Mighty upset about it, poor woman, she\nwas, being a single lady. However, as I told her, such things may happen\nin any garden, married or single.\"\n\nA name was chosen for her by an imaginative member of the House\nCommittee, remembering his classical education--Daphne Daventry--the\nChristian name as an everlasting reminder of her foster parent the\nlaurel-bush.\n\nIn due season the familiar notices were posted at the police-stations\noffering \"a reward for the discovery of person or persons unknown who\nhad abandoned a female infant in the garden of 7, Daventry Terrace,\nwhereby the aforesaid female infant had become chargeable to the\nparish\"; and, the Press giving publicity to the affair, offers of\nadoption poured in to the Guardians--pathetic letters from young mothers\nwhose children had died, and business-like communications from\nmiddle-aged couples, who had \"weighed the matter\" and were \"prepared to\nadopt the foundling.\"\n\nThe Board discussed the question at their next meeting, and the Clerk\nwas directed to inquire into the character and circumstances of the most\nlikely applicants.\n\n\"One thing to which I should like to draw the attention of the Board,\"\nsaid a conscientious Guardian, \"is the importance of bringing up a child\nin the religion of its parents.\"\n\n\"Seems to me, in this case,\" retorted a working-man member, who was also\na humorist, \"that it might be a good thing to try a change.\"\n\nAnd then the Clerk, in his clear legal way, pointed out that the\nreligious question had better not be pressed, as there was small\nevidence before him as to the theological tenets of the person or\npersons unknown who had exposed the female infant.\n\nMeantime, the latest workhouse character slumbered in the nursery in\npassive enjoyment of the excellent rate-supported fires, and was fed\nwith a scientific fluid, so Pasteurized and sterilized and generally\nBowdlerized that it seemed quite vulgar to call it milk. The nurses\nadorned the cot with all the finery they could collect, and all the\nwomen in the place managed to evade the rules of classification, and got\ninto the nursery, where they dandled the infant and said it was \"a\nshame.\"\n\nOne of the most devoted worshippers at the shrine of Daphne Daventry was\na lady Guardian, a frail and tiny little woman, with a pair of wide-open\neyes, from which a look of horror was never wholly absent. She was\nalways very shabbily dressed--so shabbily, indeed, that a new official\nhad once taken her for a \"case\" and conducted her to the waiting-room of\napplicants for relief. After such an object-lesson, any other woman\nwould have gone to do some shopping; but not so the little lady\nGuardian--she did not even brighten her dowdiness with a new pair of\nbonnet-strings. Though she wrote herself down in the nomination-papers\nas a \"married woman,\" no one had ever seen or heard of her husband, and\nreport said that he was either a lunatic or a convict.\n\nThis mystery of her married life, combined with her \"dreadful\nappearance\" and a certain reckless generosity towards the poor, made her\nmany enemies amongst scientific philanthropists. Her large-hearted\ncharity had been given to the just and the unjust, to the drunk as well\nas the sober, and the Charity Organization Society complained that her\ninvestigations were not thorough, and that the quality of her mercy was\nneither strained nor trained. But the little lady Guardian opened her\nold silk purse again and quoted the Scriptures: \"Give to him that asketh\nthee, and from him that would borrow turn not thou away.\"\n\nThe C.O.S. replied, such precepts had proved to be out of date\neconomically, and nominated a more modern lady, who had missed a great\ncareer as a private detective.\n\nBut the little lady Guardian had a faithful majority, and her name was\nalways head of the poll.\n\nOne afternoon, as the little lady Guardian sat by the fire with Daphne\nDaventry on her shabby serge lap, a prospective parent, Mrs. Annie\nSmith, was brought up to see if she \"took to the child.\"\n\n\"Oh, what a lovely baby!\" she cried, falling on her knees to adore.\n\"What nice blue eyes, and what dear little hands! And her hair is\nbeginning to grow already! Both my children died five years ago; I have\nnever had another, and I just feel as if I could not live without a\nbaby. It is terrible to lose one's children.\"\n\n\"It is worse to have none.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no!\"\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" said the little lady Guardian in a low voice, as if she\nwere talking to herself. \"When I was a little girl I had six sailor-boy\ndolls, and I always meant to have six sons; but directly after my\nmarriage I realized it could never be.\"\n\nMrs. Smith had known sorrow, and, feeling by intuition that she was in\nthe presence of no ordinary tragedy, she held her peace.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" she asked presently, \"you are going to adopt this baby? You\nseem very fond of her.\"\n\n\"I love all babies, but I don't think I could adopt one; these workhouse\nchildren don't start fair, and I should be too frightened. If the child\nwent wrong later, I don't think I could bear it.\"\n\nMrs. Smith had been a pupil-teacher, and in the last five years of\nleisure she had read widely, if confusedly, at the free library. \"But\npeople now no longer believe in heredity. Weissman's theory is that\nenvironment is stronger then heredity.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said the little lady Guardian.\n\n\"Do read him,\" said Mrs. Smith excitedly, \"and then you won't feel so\nlow-spirited, and perhaps the Guardians will let you adopt the next\nfoundling. But please let me have this one. I have taken to her more\nthan I thought. Oh! please, please----\"\n\n\"I will vote for you at the next Board meeting,\" said the little lady\nGuardian, \"and may she make up to you for the children you have lost.\"\n\nA few days later Mrs. Annie Smith, her honest face beaming with joy,\narrived again at the workhouse, followed by a small servant with a big\nbundle. The attiring of the infant was long and careful, and many came\nto help, and then Daphne Daventry was whirled away in a flutter of\npurple and fine linen, and the burden of the rates was lightened.\n\n\n\n\n\"MARY, MARY, PITY WOMEN!\"\n\n\nA woman sat alone with folded hands in a dark fireless room. There was\nlittle or no furniture to hold the dust, and one could see that the\npitiful process known as \"putting away\" had been going on, for the\ncleanly scrubbed boards and polished grate showed the good housewife's\nstruggle after decency. On a small table in the centre of the room stood\nhalf a loaf of bread, a jug of water, and a cup of milk. The woman bore\ntraces of good looks, but her face was grey and pinched with hunger, and\nin her eyes was a smouldering fire of resentment and despair.\n\nPresently the silence and gloom was broken by the entrance of a troop of\nchildren returning noisily from school. Their faces fell when they saw\nthe scanty meal, and the youngest, a child of four or five, threw\nhimself sobbing into his mother's arms: \"Oh, mother, I'se so hungry; we\nonly had that bit of bread for dinner.\"\n\n\"Hush, dear! There is a little milk for you and Gladys; you can drink as\nfar as the blue pattern, and the rest is for her.\"\n\nThe mother kissed him and tried to dry his tears; but it is hard to hear\none's children crying for food; and presently her fortitude gave way,\nand she began to sob too. The older children, frightened at her\nbreakdown, clung round her, weeping; and the room echoed like a\ntorture-chamber with sobs and wails.\n\nPresently a knock sounded at the door, and a stout, motherly woman\nentered. \"Good evening, Mrs. Blake; I've just looked in to know if you'd\nbring the children to have a cup of tea with me. I'm all alone, and I\nlike a bit of company. H'albert is always the boy for my money. I just\nopened a pot of my home-made plum jam on purpose for him. There, my\ndear, have your cry out, and never mind me! Things have gone badly with\nyou, I know, and nothing clears the system so well as a good cry; you\nfeel a sight better after, and able to face the world fair and square.\nNow, kiddies, leave mother to herself for a bit and come and help me set\nthe tea things. Let's see, we shall be seven all told; so, Lily, will\nyou run upstairs to Mrs. Johnson--my compliments, and will she oblige\nwith a cup and saucer, as we are such a big party.\"\n\nThe landlady's kitchen was warmed with a big fire, and hermetically\nsealed against draughts; a big bed took up the greater part of the room,\nand this formed a luxurious divan for the four children, to whom the hot\ntea and toast, the tinned lobster, and the home-made jam were nectar and\nambrosia. Mrs. Blake had the place of honour by the fire, and when the\nmeal was over the children were advised to run out for a game in the\nstreet, and Mrs. Wells, turning her chair round to the cheerful blaze,\nsaid soothingly--\n\n\"Now, my dear, you look a bit better. Tell us all about it.\"\n\n\"Yes, you were quite right; we have to go into the workhouse. I went\nround to the Rev. Walker, and he advised me to go to the police-station,\nand they told me there as I and the children had better become a burden\nto the rates as we are destitute, and they can start looking for Blake,\nto make him pay the eighteen shillings a week separation order. To think\nof me and my children having to go into the House, and me first-class in\nthe scholarship examination! It breaks my heart to think of it.\"\n\n\"Yes; you've 'ad a rough time, my dear--worse than the rest of us, and\nwe all have our troubles. I remember when you came a twelvemonth ago to\nengage the room, and you said you was a widow. I passed the remark to\nWells that evening: 'The lidy in the top-floor back ain't no widow; mark\nmy words, there's a 'usband knocking about somewhere!' On the faces of\nthem as are widows I have noticed a great peace, as if they were giving\nof thanks that they are for ever free from the worritings of men, and\nthat look ain't on your face, my dear--not by a long chalk!\"\n\n\"Yes, he's alive all right; I got a separation order from him a couple\nof years ago. He went off with a woman in the next street, and though he\nsoon tired of her and came back again, I felt I could not live with him\nany longer; the very sight of him filled me with repulsion and loathing.\nFather and mother always warned me against him; father told me he saw he\nwasn't any good; but then, I was only nineteen, and obstinate as girls\nin love always are, and I wouldn't be said. Poor father! I often wish as\nI'd listened to him, but I didn't, and I always think it was the death\nof him when I went home and told him what my married life was. He had\nbeen so proud of me doing so well at school and in all the examinations.\nJust at first we were very happy after our marriage. He earned good\nmoney as a commercial traveller in the drapery business; we had a little\nhouse in Willesden, and a piano, and an india-rubber plant between the\ncurtains in the parlour, and a girl to help with the housework, and I,\nlike a fool, worshipped the very ground he walked on. Then, after a\ntime, he seemed to change; he came home less and took to going after\nwomen as if he were a boy of eighteen instead of a married man getting\non for forty. He gave me less and less money for the house, and spent\nhis week-ends at the sea for the good of his health. One very hot summer\nthe children were pale and fretting, and I was just sick for a sight of\nthe sea, but he said he could not afford to take us, not even for a\nday-trip; afterwards I heard as Mrs. Bates was always with him, there\nwas plenty of money for that. That summer it seemed as if it never would\nget cool again, and one evening in late September my Martin was taken\nvery queer. I begged my husband not to go away, I felt frightened\nsomehow, but he said as some sea-air was necessary for his health, and\nthat there was nothing the matter with the boy, only my fussing. That\nnight Martin got worse and worse; towards morning a neighbour went for\nthe doctor, but the child throttled and died in my arms before he came.\nI was all alone. I didn't even know my husband's address, and when I\nwent with the little coffin all alone to the cemetery it seemed as if I\nleft my heart there in the grave with the boy. He was my eldest, and\nnone of the others have been to me what he was. Later on all the girls\ncaught the diphtheria, but they got well again, only Martin was taken.\nBlake seemed a bit ashamed when he got back; but he left Willesden, some\nof the neighbours speaking out plain to him about Mrs. Bates, and he not\nto be found to follow his child's funeral. He tried to make it up with\nme; but I told him I was going to get a separation order, as I'd taken a\nsort of repulsion against looking at him since Martin had died alone\nwith me, and the magistrate made an order upon him for eighteen\nshillings a week--little enough out of the five or six pounds a week he\ncould earn before he took to wine and women and Mrs. Bates. My little\nhome and the piano were sold up, and I soon found eighteen shillings a\nweek did not go far with four hungry children to clothe and feed, and\nrent beside. I tried to get back in my old profession, but I had been\nout of it too long, no one would look at me, and I could only get\ncooking and charing to do--very exhausting work when you haven't been\nbrought up to it. At first I got the money pretty regular, but lately it\nhas been more and more uncertain, some weeks only eight or ten\nshillings, and sometimes missing altogether. He owes me now a matter of\ntwenty pound or more, and last week I braced myself up and determined to\ndo what I could to recover it. If it was only myself, I'd manage, but,\nwork hard as I can, I can't keep the five of us, and it has about broke\nmy heart lately to hear the children crying with hunger and cold. Mrs.\nRobins, where I used to work, died a fortnight ago, and I shan't find\nany one like her again. When one of the ladies goes, it is a job to get\nanother, so many poor creatures are after the charing and cleaning. The\nRev. Walker has been a good friend to me, but he says I ought to go into\nthe House. 'A man ought to support his wife and children,' he says, 'and\nI hope as they'll catch him,' he says.\"\n\n\"'Yes,' I says, but it is awful to go into the House when we haven't\ndone anything wrong, and my father an organist.'\n\n\"'Very cruel, Mrs. Blake,' he says, 'but I see no other way. I will\nwrite to the Guardians to ask if they will allow you out-relief, but I\nfear they will say you are too destitute!'\n\n\"And now, Mrs. Wells, we had better be starting. I hope if they find him\nI shall be able to pay up the back rent; the table and chairs left I\nhope you will keep towards the payment of the debt. Thank you for all\nyour kindness.\"\n\n\"All right, Mrs. Blake, don't you worry about that, my dear. Wells is in\ngood work, thank God, and I don't miss a few 'apence. I'm such a one for\nchildren, and your H'albert is a beauty, he is; I've been right glad to\ngive them a bite and sup now and again. I know children sent out with\nempty stomachs aren't in a fit state to absorb learning; it leads to\nwords and rows with the teachers and canings afore the day's over. I\ncan't abear to see people cross with children, and I'd do anything to\nsave them the cane. Well, I hope, my dear, as they'll soon nail that\nbeauty of yours, and that we shall see you back again. Perhaps I ought\nto tell you that a chap calling 'isself a sanitary inspector called this\nmorning to say as five people mustn't sleep in the top-back floor. I\ntold 'im as the room was let to a widow lady in poor circumstances, and\nwas he prepared to guarantee the rent of two rooms. That made him huffy.\nIt wasn't his business, he said, but overcrowding was agen his Council's\nrules.\"\n\nAnd the old lady held up the document upside down and then consigned it\nto the flames.\n\n\"There will be no overcrowding to night,\" said Mrs. Blake bitterly.\n\nThe children were collected and scrubbed till their faces shone with\nfriction and yellow soap, and then the little procession started to the\nworkhouse. Mr. Wells, returned from work, announced his intention of\ngiving his arm up the hill to Mrs. Blake, and the young man of the\nsecond floor volunteered his services to help carry \"H'albert,\" who was\nheavy and sleepy, and his contribution of a packet of peppermints\ncheered the journey greatly. When the cruel gates of the House closed on\nthe weeping children the two men walked home silently. Once Wells swore\nquietly but forcibly under his breath.\n\n\"You're right, mate,\" said the young man. \"This job has put me off my\ntea. I'll just turn into the 'King of Bohemia,' and drink till I forget\nthem children's sobs.\"\n\n\n_Note._--I understand that under a separation order the police have\nauthority to search for the husband without forcing the family into the\nHouse. I called at the police-station to inquire why this was not done,\nand was informed that the woman's destitution was so great that they\nfeared the children might die of starvation before the man was brought\nto book.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SUICIDE\n\n     In she plunged boldly,\n     No matter how coldly\n       The rough river ran;\n     Over the brink of it--\n     Picture it--think of it,\n         Dissolute man.\n\n\nShe lay in bed, in the long, clean Sick Ward--a fine-grown and\nwell-favoured young woman with masses of black hair tossed over the\nwhiteness of the ratepayers' sheets. Such a sight is rare in a workhouse\ninfirmary, where one needs the infinite compassion of Christian charity\nor the hardness of habit to bear the pitiful sights of disease and\nimbecility.\n\n\"She looks as if she ought not to be here?\" I observed interrogatively\nto the nurse.\n\n\"Attempted suicide. Brought last night by the police, wrapped in a\nblanket and plastered in mud from head to foot. Magnificent hair?--yes,\nand a magnificent job I had washing of it, and my corridor and bathroom\nlike a ploughed field. Usual thing--might have killed her?--oh, no;\nthese bad girls take a deal of killing.\"\n\nI sat down beside the bed, and heard the usual story--too common to\nexcite either interest or compassion in an official mind.\n\nShe had been a nursemaid, but had left service for the bar; and there\none of the gentlemen customers had been very kind to her and had walked\nout with her on Sundays and taken her to restaurants and the theatre.\nThen followed the usual promise of marriage and the long delay, till her\nwork had become impossible, \"and the governor had spoken his mind and\ngiven her the sack.\"\n\n\"I wrote to the gentleman, but the letter came back through the Returned\nLetter Office. He must have given me a false name, because when I called\nat the house no one had heard of him. I had no money, and had to pawn my\nclothes and the jewellery he had given me to pay for food and the rent\nof my room. I dared not go home; they are very strict Chapel people, and\nthey told me I never was to come near them after I became a barmaid.\nThen one day the gentleman wrote, giving no address, and saying that his\nwife had found out about me, and our friendship must come to an end. He\nenclosed two pounds, which was all he could afford, and asked me to\nforgive him the wrong he had done me. I seemed to go clean mad after\nthat letter. I did not know he was married, and I had kept hoping it\nwould be all right, and that he would make an honest woman of me. I\nthought I should have died in the night. I was taken with dreadful\npains, so that I could not move from my bed, and though I shouted for\nhelp no one heard till the next morning, when my landlady came to me,\nand she went for the doctor. The two pounds lasted me about a month, and\nthen I had nothing left again--nothing to eat and nothing to pawn, and\nthe rent always mounting up against me. My landlady was very kind to me,\nbut her husband had gone off with another woman and left her with three\nchildren. She was often in want herself, and I couldn't take anything\nfrom her. There seemed nothing but the pond; and after the gentleman had\nplayed it down so low the whole world looked black and inky before my\neyes. I just seemed to long for death and peace before every one knew my\ndisgrace. I came up twice to chuck myself into the pond, and twice I\nhadn't the pluck. Then last night I had been so sick and dizzy all day\nwith hunger I did not feel a bit of a coward any longer, so I waited\nabout till it was dark and then I climbed up on the railings and threw\nmyself backwards. The water was bitterly cold, and like a fool I\nhollered; then I sank again, and the water came strangling and choking\ndown my throat, and I remember nothing more till I felt something\nraising my head and a dark-lantern shining in my face. The nurse came\nabout half an hour ago to tell me that I must go before the magistrates\nto-morrow; it seems rather hard, when one cannot live, that the police\nwill not even let you die. No, I did not know that girls like me might\ncome to the workhouse. I thought it was only for the very old and the\nvery poor; perhaps if I had known that I need not have made a hole in\nthe water. But must I go with the police to the court all alone amongst\na lot of men? Oh, ma'am, I can't; I should be so shamed. And think of\nthe questions they will ask me! And I was a good girl till such a short\ntime ago. Won't one of the nurses come with me, or will you?\"\n\nIt is one thing to promise to chaperone a beautiful, forlorn young woman\nlying in bed, a type of injured youth and innocence, and another to meet\nher in the cold light of 9 a.m. arrayed in the cheap finery of her\nclass. Her flimsy skirt was shrunk and warped after its adventure in the\npond, and with the best will in the world the nurses had been unable to\nbrush away the still damp mud which stuck to the gauged flounces and the\ninterstices of the \"peek-a-boo\" blouse. A damp and shapeless mass of\npink roses and chiffon adorned the beautiful hair, which had been\ntortured and puffed into vulgarity, and to complete the scarecrow\nappearance, her own boots being quite unwearable, she had been provided\nwith a pair of felt slippers very much _en evidence_ owing to the\nshrinkage of draperies.\n\nI am afraid I longed for a telegram or sudden indisposition--anything\nfor an excuse decently to break faith. There are not even cabs near our\nworkhouse, and so, under the escort of a mighty policeman, the forlorn\nlittle procession set forth to brave the humorous glances of the\nheartless street-boys until the walls of the police-court hid us, along\nwith other human wreckage, from mocking eyes.\n\nPresently a boy of seventeen or eighteen, small and slight, in the\ndress of a clerk, came up to my companion and hoped in a very hoarse\nvoice that she had not taken cold.\n\n\"This is the gentleman,\" said the girl, \"who saved my life the other\nnight in the pond.\"\n\n\"I don't know how I managed it,\" said the boy, \"but I was passing along\nthe Heath when I heard you screaming so dreadfully that I rushed down to\nthe pond and into the water before I really knew what I was doing, for I\ncan't swim a stroke. I just managed to catch your dress before you sank,\nbut the mud was so slippery I could hardly keep my footing, and your\nweight was dragging me down into deep water. Fortunately I managed to\ncatch hold of the sunk fence, and that steadied me so that I could lift\nyour head out, and you came round. Yes, I have had a very bad cold. I\nhad to walk a long way in my wet clothes, and the night air was sharp.\nBut never mind that--what I did want to say to you is that you must buck\nup, you know, and not do this sort of thing. We are here now, and we've\ngot to make the best of it.\" And, all unconscious of the tragedy of\nwomanhood, the boy read her a simple, straightforward lesson on the duty\nof fortitude and trust in God.\n\nWhilst he talked my eye wandered round the court and the motley\ncollection of plaintiffs, defendants, and witnesses. The preponderance\nof the male sex bore witness to the law-abiding qualities of women, for,\nwith the exception of the girl and myself, the only other woman was a\nthin, grey-haired person very primly dressed.\n\n\"Yes, that is mother,\" said the girl, \"but she won't speak to me. She\nhas taken no notice of me for more than a year. I've been such a bad\nexample to the younger girls, and they're all strict Chapel folks.\"\n\n\"Lily Weston!\" cried a stentorian voice, and our \"case\" was bundled into\nthe inner court, mother and daughter walking next to each other in\nsilent hostility. The poor girl was placed in the prisoner's dock\nbetween iron bars as if she were some dangerous wild beast, whilst \"the\ngentleman\" who was the real offender ranged free and unmolested.\nConstable X 172 told the story of attempted suicide, and then the boy\nfollowed. Then the mother spoke shortly and bitterly as to the girl's\ntroubles being of her own making.\n\n\"Anything to say?\" asked the magistrate; but the girl hung her head low\nin shame and confusion, whilst the magistrate congratulated the boy on\nhis pluck and presence of mind.\n\nThe clerk came round and whispered in the ear of his chief, who looked\nat the prisoner with grave kindliness under his bushy white eyebrows; he\nhad more sympathy than the laws he administered.\n\n\"Call Miss Sperling,\" he said to the policeman, and then to the\nprisoner: \"If I discharge you now, will you go away with this lady, who\nwill find a home for you?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, sir,\" cried the prisoner with a burst of hysterical weeping\nas the bolts rattled from the dock and the kindly hand of the lady\nmissionary clasped hers.\n\nA distinguished Nonconformist once told me that our Anglican Prayer Book\nwas a mass of ungranted petitions, which, after careful thought, I had\nto admit was true; but at least on the whole I think our prayers for\nthis particular magistrate have been answered.\n\n\n\n\nPUBLICANS AND HARLOTS\n\n     Verily I say unto you, that the publicans and harlots go into the\n     kingdom of God before you.\n\n\nIt was 7.30 p.m., and in the Young Women's Ward of the workhouse the\ninmates were going to bed by the crimson light of the July sunset. Most\nof the women had babies, and now and then a fretful cry would interrupt\na story that was being listened to with much interest and laughter and\nloud exclamations: \"Oh, Daisy, you are a caution!\"\n\nHad a literary critic been present, he would have classed the tale as\nbelonging to the French realistic school of Zola and Maupassant. The\n_raconteuse_, Daisy Crabtree, who might have sat as a model for\nRossetti's Madonna of the Annunciation, was a slight, golden-haired\ngirl, known to philanthropists as a \"daughter of the State,\" and an\nobject-lesson against such stepmothering. Picked up as an infant under a\ncrab-tree by the police, and christened later in commemoration of the\ndiscovery, she had been brought up in a \"barrack-school,\" and a \"place\"\nfound for her at fifteen, from which she had \"run\" the following day;\nthe streets had called to their daughter, and she had obeyed. Since then\nshe had been \"rescued\" twenty-seven times--by Catholics, Anglicans,\nWesleyans, Methodists, Baptists, and Salvationists--but not even the\ngreat influence of \"Our Lady of the Snows\" or \"The Home of the Guardian\nAngels\" could save this child of vice, and most Homes in London being\nclosed against her, she perpetually sought shelter in the various\nworkhouses of the Metropolis, always being \"passed\" back to the parish\nof the patronymic crab-tree where she was \"chargeable.\" Here she resided\nat the expense of the rates, till some lady visitor, struck by her\nbeauty and seeming innocence, provided her with an outfit and a\nsituation.\n\n\"Shut up, Daisy!\" said one girl, quiet and demure as her namesake\nPriscilla. \"You're only fit for a pigsty.\"\n\n\"'The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament showeth His\nhandiwork,'\" sang Musical Meg, a half-witted girl, who had given two\nidiots to the guardianship of the ratepayers. She was possessed of a\nsoprano voice, very clear and true, and, having been brought up in a\nHigh Church Home, she punctiliously chanted the offices of _Prime_ and\n_Compline_, slightly muddling them as her memory was bad.\n\n\"Hold your noise, Meg; we want to hear the tale.\"\n\n\"'Brethren, be sober, be vigilant, because your adversary the devil as a\nroaring lion walketh about, seeking whom he may devour, whom resist,\nsteadfast in the faith,'\" chanted Musical Meg again.\n\nThe door opened and the white-capped attendant entered, leading by the\nhand two little girls of about twelve and fourteen, who were sobbing\npitifully.\n\n\"Less noise here, if you please. Meg, you know you have been forbidden\nto sing at bedtime. Now, my dears, don't cry any more; get undressed and\ninto bed at once; you'll see your mother in the morning.\"\n\n\"Why are you here, duckies? Father run away and left you all starving?\"\nasked an older woman who had been walking about the room administering\nmedicine, opening windows, and generally doing the work of wardswoman.\n\n\"Yes,\" sobbed the children; \"they've put mother in another room, and we\nare so frightened.\"\n\n\"There, stop crying, my dears,\" said Priscilla; \"come and look at my\nbaby.\"\n\n\"What a lot of babies!\" said the elder girl. \"Have all your husbands run\naway and left you?\"\n\n\"Oh, Lor'! child, don't ask questions; get into bed, quick.\" The\nchildren donned their pink flannelette nightgowns and then knelt down\nbeside their beds, making the sign of the Cross. There was deep silence,\nsome of the girls began to cry, \"Irish Biddy\" threw herself on her knees\nand recited the Rosary with sobs and gasps.\n\n\n     \"Oh, wash me and I shall be whiter than snow,\n     Whiter than snow, whiter than snow,\"\n\n\nsang a blear-eyed girl in a raucous, tuneless chant.\n\nMusical Meg put her fingers to her ears. \"You've got the wrong tune,\nRosie; listen, I'll hum it to you,\" but finding her attempts after\nmusical correctness were unheeded, she started herself the _Qui habitat_\nof the _Compline_ office.\n\n\"Good Lord, girls!\" came the shrill voice of Daisy Crabtree; \"what's up\nnow? It gives me the hump to hear you sniffing and sobbing over your\npsalm tunes; let's have something cheerful with a chorus: ''Allo! 'allo!\n'allo! it's a different girl again----'\"\n\n\"Oh! do be quiet, Daisy; wait until the poor little things has said\ntheir prayers,\" came the gentle voice of Priscilla.\n\n\"'Different eyes and a different nose----'\"\n\n\"Stow that, Daisy, or I'll drive those teeth you're so proud of down\nyour throat,\" said the tall wardswoman.\n\nTemperance Hunt (known to her associates as \"Tipsy Tempie,\" all\nunconscious of the classical dignity of the oxymoron) was a clear\nstarcher and ironer, so skilled in the trade that it was said she could\ncommand her own terms in West End laundries, but like many \"shirt and\ncollar hands,\" she was given to bouts of terrible drunkenness, during\nwhich she would pawn her furniture and her last rag for gin. Then she\nwould retire to the workhouse for a time, get some clothes out of the\ncharitable, sign another pledge, and come forth again, to the comfort\nand peace of many households--for the wearers of Tempie's shirts\ndressed for dinner without a murmur, and \"never said a single 'damn.'\"\n\nTipsy Tempie was a very powerful woman, and the song died on Daisy's\nlips as she came towards her, a threatening light in her eyes. \"All\nright, keep your 'air on; if I mayn't sing I'll tell you another tale.\nWhen I was in the Haymarket last Boat-race night----\"\n\n\"Now, duckies, you go and get washed; your poor faces are all swelled\nwith crying--can't go to bed like that, you know; we lidies in this ward\nare most particular.\"\n\n\"Please, teacher,\" said the elder child, \"governess downstairs said as\nwe were to go straight to bed; we had a bath yesterday directly we came\nin.\"\n\n\"Do what I tell you. A little drop of water'll stop the smarting of all\nyour tears, and you'll get to sleep quicker.\"\n\n\"Now, then, Daisy,\" she exclaimed, as the two children obediently\ndeparted, \"if you tell any more of your beastly stories before them two\ninnocent dears, I'll throttle you.\"\n\n\"Then you will be hung,\" said Daisy airily.\n\n\"Do you think I'd care? Good riddance of bad rubbish, as can't help\nmaking a beast of itself. But one thing I insists on--don't let us\ncorrupt these 'ere little girls; we're a bad lot in here; most of you\nare--well, I won't say what, for it ain't polite, and I don't 'old with\nthe pot calling the kettle black, and I know as I'm a drunkard. My\nfather took me to church hisself and had me christened 'Temperance,'\nhoping as that might counterrack the family failing; but drink is in the\nblood too deep down for the font-water to get at. Poor father! he\nstruggled hard hisself; but he kicked my blessed mother wellnigh to\ndeath, and then 'anged hisself in the morning when he found what he\ndone; so I ain't got no manner of chance, and though I take the pledge\nwhen the lidies ask me, I know it ain't no good. Well, as I said before,\nwe're a rotten lot, but not so bad that we can't respect little kiddies,\nand any one can see that these little girls aren't our sort. I ask you\nall--all you who are mothers, even though your children ain't any\nfathers in particular--to back me in this.\" (\"'Ear, 'ear!\" said\nPriscilla.) \"I ain't had the advantage some of you have; I ain't been in\ntwenty-seven religious homes like Daisy, and I don't know psalms and\nhymns like Meg; but I've got as strong a pair of fists as ever grasped\nirons, and those shall feel 'em who says a word as wouldn't be fit for\nthe lady Guardian's ears.\"\n\nThe frightened Daisy had crept meekly into bed; the two little children\ncame back, and Tempie tucked them up with motherly hands, kissing the\nlittle swollen faces; Musical Meg started a hymn.\n\nThe assistant matron came up from supper, and her brows knitted angrily\nas she heard the singing. But at the door of the ward she paused, handle\nin hand, for, from the lips of the fallen and the outcast, of the wanton\nand the drunkard, led by the strangely beautiful voice of the\nhalf-witted girl, rose the hymn of high Heaven--\n\n\n     Holy, Holy, Holy! Lord God Almighty!\n       All Thy works shall praise Thy Name, in earth, and sky, and sea;\n     Holy, Holy, Holy! Merciful and Mighty;\n       God in Three Persons, Blessed Trinity.\n\n\n\n\nOLD INKY\n\n     There be two things that grieve my heart; and the third maketh\n       me angry:\n     A man of war that suffereth poverty.\n\n\nA cab stood at the door of the workhouse, and a crowd of children and\nidlers collected at once. A cab there often contained a lunatic or a\n\"d.t.\" case, or some person maimed or unconscious--generally something\nsensational. The cabman slashed his whip several times across the window\nto apprise the fares of his arrival, but there was no movement from\nwithin, and an enterprising boy, peering in through the closed windows,\nannounced gleefully: \"Why, it's old Inky and his wife, drunk as lords!\"\n\nA volunteer rang the bell, and an aged inmate at once opened the door,\nand finding that matters were beyond him, fetched a liveried officer,\nwho gazed contemptuously at the cabman and asked satirically what he had\ngot there.\n\n\"I have just driven back the Dook and Duchess of Hinkerman to the quiet\nof their suburban residence after the h'arduous festivities of the\nseason. Her Grace was a little overcome by the 'eat at the crowded\nreception of the King of Bohemia, and was compelled to withdraw. I sent\nthe footman round to the town 'ouse to say as their Graces would not\ndine at 'ome this evening, so I must ask you kindly to assist her Grace\nto alight.\"\n\nThe crowd roared loudly at this sally, and the porter, opening the cab\ndoor, drew out an aged and infirm man, whom he dragged off roughly\nthrough the whitewashed lobby. Then he returned for the wife, a shrunken\nlittle body in a state of stupefaction, whom he flung over his shoulder\nlike a baby, and then the hall door shut with a bang.\n\nThe cabman looked rather crestfallen, and requested that the bell might\nbe rung again, and again the aged inmate blinked forth helplessly.\n\n\"I am waiting,\" said the cabman, \"for a little gratuity from his Grace;\nhis own brougham not being in sight, I volunteered my services.\"\n\nThe liveried officer again appeared, and a heated altercation ensued, in\nthe midst of which the Master of the workhouse arrived and endeavoured\nto cut short the dispute, observing that his workhouse not being Poplar,\nhe had no power to pay cab fares for drunken paupers out of the rates.\nThe cabman gulped, and, dropping his Society manner, appealed to the\nMaster as man to man, asking what there was about his appearance that\ncaused him to be taken for \"such a ---- fool as to have driven a ----\npair of ---- paupers to a ---- workhouse unless he had seen the colour\nof a florin a kind-'earted lady had put into the old man's hand afore\nthe perlice ran them both in.\"\n\nHe appealed to the public to decide \"whether he looked a greater fool\nthan he was, or whether they took him for a greater fool than he\nlooked.\" In either case, he \"scorned the himputation,\" and if the Master\nthought cabmen were so easy to be had he (the Master) had better\nwithdraw to a wing of his own work'us, where, he understood, a ward was\nset apart for the \"h'observation of h'alleged lunatics.\"\n\nThe crowd roared approval, and orders were sent that the old couple\nshould be searched, and after a breathless ten minutes, spent by the\ncabman with his pink newspaper, a florin was brought out by the aged\ninmate, reported to have been found in the heel of the old lady's\nstocking. The crowd roared and cheered, and the cabman drove off\ntriumphant, master of the situation.\n\nI found old \"Inky\" a few days later sitting in a corner, surly and\nsullen and pipeless, having been cut off tobacco and leave of absence\nfor four weeks. I suppose discipline must be maintained, but there is\nsomething profoundly pathetic in the sight of hoary-headed men and\nwomen, who have borne life's heavy load for seventy and eighty years,\ncut off their little comforts and punished like school-children.\n\nHe stood up and saluted at my approach; his manners to what he called\n\"his betters\" were always irreproachable. I brought him a message from a\nteetotal friend urging him to take the pledge, but he sniffed\ncontemptuously; like many a hard drinker, he never would admit the\noffence.\n\n\"I warn't drunk, not I; never been drunk in my life. 'Cos why? I've got\na strong 'ed; can take my liquor like a man. Small wonder, though,\nma'am, if we old soldiers do get drunk now and then. Our friends are\ngood to us and stand us a drop; and we need it now and then when we get\nlow-spirited, and this work'us and them clothes\"--and he glanced\ncontemptuously at his fustians--\"do take the pluck out of a man. We\nain't got nothing to live for and nothing to be proud on; and it takes\nour self-respeck--that's what it does--the self-respeck oozes out of our\nfinger-tips. Old Blowy, at St. Pancras Work'us, 'e says just the same.\nDon't you know Old Blowy, ma'am--'im as had the good luck to ride at\nBalaclava? I'm told some gentleman's got 'im out of there and boards 'im\nout independent for the rest of his life. Can't you get me out, ma'am? I\nain't done nothin' wrong, and 'ere I am in prison. If it weren't for the\nmissis I'd starve outside. I can play a little mouth-organ and pick up a\nfew pence, and my pals at the 'King of Bohemia' are very good to me. I\ncan rough it, but my missis can't--females are different--and so we was\ndruv in 'ere. The Guardians wouldn't give me the little bit of\nout-relief I asked for--four shillings would have done us nicely. They\nlistened to some foolish women's cackle--teetotal cant, I call it--and\nrefused me anything. 'Offered the 'Ouse,' as they say; and, though me\nand the missis half-clemmed afore we accepted the kind invitation, a\nman can't see 'is wife starve; and so 'ere we are--paupers. Yes, I\nfought for the Queen\"--and he saluted--\"Gawd bless 'er! all through the\nCrimean War; got shot in the arm at Inkermann and half-frozen before\nSebastopol, and I didn't think as I should come to the work'us in my old\nage; but one never knows. The world ain't been right to us old soldiers\nsince the Queen went. I can't get used to a King nohow, and it's no good\npretending; and Old Blowy at St. Pancras says just the same. I suppose\nwe're too old. I can't think why the Almighty leaves us all a-mouldering\nin the work'uses when she's gone. However, I'm a-going out; I shall take\nmy discharge, if it's only to spite 'im and show my independent spirit,\"\nand he shook an impotent fist at the Master, who passed through the\nhall. \"It's warm weather now, and we can sleep about on the 'eath a bit.\nWe shan't want much to eat--we're too old.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA week or so later I heard of the death of old \"Inky.\" He had been found\nin a half-dying condition on one of the benches on the heath, and had\nbeen brought by the police into the infirmary, where he passed away\nwithout recovering consciousness. As we \"rattled his bones over the\nstones\" to his pauper grave I said a sincere _Laus Deo_ that another man\nof war had been delivered from poverty and the hated workhouse.\n\n\n\n\nA DAUGHTER OF THE STATE\n\n     Quis est <DW25>, qui non fleret?\n\n\n\"No, ma'am, I've never had no misfortune; I'm a respectable girl, I am.\nWhy am I in the workhouse, then? Well, you see, it was like this: I had\na very wicked temper, and I can't control it somehow when the mistresses\nare aggravating, and I runned from my place. I always do run away. No,\nthere was nothing agen the last mistress--it was just my nasty temper.\nThen I got wandering about the streets, and a policeman spoke to me and\ntook me to a kind lady, and she put me here to prove me, and left me to\nlearn my lesson. She takes great interest in my case. Yes, Matron says\nit is a disgrace for a strong girl to be on the rates, but what am I to\ndo? I ain't got no clothes and no character, so I suppose I shall always\nbe here now. No, it ain't nice; we never go out nor see\nnothing--leastways, the young women don't. There's no sweet puddings and\nno jam. Some of the girls say jail's far better. Yes, I am an orphan--at\nleast, father died when I was very little, and the Board gentlemen put\nme and my brothers into the schools. No, I never heard any more of\nthem. Mother came to see me at first, but she ain't been nor wrote for\nfive years; perhaps she is dead or married again. No, I don't know how\nold I am; Matron says she expects about eighteen. Oh, yes, I have been\nin places. The Board ladies got me my first place at a butcher's, only\nhe was always coming after me trying to kiss me, and the missis did not\nseem to like it somehow and she cut up nasty to me, and there was words\nand I went off in a temper. No gentleman! I should think not. A damned\nlow scoundrel I call him. I beg your pardon, ma'am, I know 'damned'\nisn't a word for ladies. I ain't an ignorant girl, but there's worse\nsaid in the Young Women's Room sometimes. Then after that the Salvation\nArmy took me in and found me a place in a boarding-house. Heaps to do I\nhad, and such a lot of glasses and plates and things for every meal. I\nalways got muddled laying the table, and the missis had an awful nasty\ntemper, quite as bad as mine, and one day she blew me up cruel, and I\nran away. Then this time some nuns took me to their Home, and there I\nmade a great mistake; I thought it was a Church of England Home, but\nthey was Cartholics. Oh, yes, the nuns were very kind to me--real good\nladies--but the lady who takes an interest in my case said as I had made\na great mistake; I don't know why except that I always was a Church of\nEngland girl. No, ma'am, I hope I may never make a worse mistake--for\nthey was good, and they sang beautiful in the chapel. Then the nuns\nfound a place for me with two old homespun people; they was very dull\nand often ill, and I was always getting muddled over the spoons and\nforks, an that made them _urri_table, and one day I felt so low-spirited\nand nasty-tempered that I ran away again. The worst of places for me is,\nno porters sit at the front doors and I run away before I think, and\nthen I get no character. But this time I have been proved, and I have\nlearnt my lesson. I won't do it any more. No, ma'am, I never knew I\ncould be taken to the police-courts just for running away--none of the\nladies never told me; I thought you were only copped for murders and\nstealing. Daisy White--she pinched her missis's silk petticoat to go out\nin on Sunday, and now she's out of jail no one won't have her any more.\nBut it's mostly misfortunes that brings girls here, and fits of course.\nBlanche, that big girl with the squint eye, went off in a fit yesterday\nas we were scrubbing the wards. No, I don't have no fits, and I'm honest\nas the day. Would I be a good girl and not run away if you get me a\nplace? Oh, ma'am, only try me. The kind ladies quote textesses to me,\nbut they never get me a job. No, I don't mind missing my dinner. Matron\nwill keep it hot for me, but it's only suet pudding to-day with very\nlittle sugar. In situations they give you beautiful sweet puddings\nnearly every day, and Juliet Brown--she that's in with her third\nmisfortune--she says she's lived with lords and ladies near the King's\nPalace at Buckingham--at least, she pretends she has--well, she says in\nher places the servants had jam with their tea every day.\n\n\"No, I haven't got no clothes but these workhouse things, but Matron\nkeeps a hat and jacket to lend to girls who ain't got none. Oh! it is\nbeautiful to see the sun shining, and the shops, and the horses, and the\nladies walking about, and the dear little children. I love children.\nOften when the Labour Mistress wasn't about I ran up to the nursery to\nkiss the babies. Juliet's third misfortune is a lovely boy with curls. I\nhaven't been out of doors for three months--the young women mayn't go\nout in the workhouse, only the old people--so you can guess I like it:\nbut the air makes me hungry. We had our gruel at seven this morning. We\ndon't have no tea for breakfast, but girls do in situations, I know, and\nas much sugar as they like--at least, in most places. Thank you, ma'am,\nI should love a bun. I love cakes. Yes; I have a cold in my head, and I\nain't got no pocket-handkerchief. I've lost it, and it wasn't very\ngrand. An old bit of rag I call it. It would be so kind of you to buy me\none, ma'am. I know it looks bad to go to see ladies without one. I ain't\nan ignorant girl; the kind lady who takes an interest in my case always\nsaid so. Isn't that barrel-organ playing beautiful! It makes me want to\ndance, only I don't know how. Daisy White--she that pinched the silk\npetticoat--can dance beautiful; some of us sing tunes in the Young\nWomen's Room, and she'd dance. I love music--that's why I liked the\nCartholic Home best; the nuns sang lovely in the chapel.\n\n\"Is this the house? Ain't it lovely! I never saw such a beautiful\ndroring-room in all my life. Just look at the carpet and the flowers and\nthe pictures! Ain't that a beautiful one, ma'am, with the trees and the\nwater running down the rocks, and the old castle at the back! The nuns\nat the Cartholic Home once took us an excursion by train to a place just\nlike that, and whilst we were having our tea the old castle turned\nsudden all yellow in the sun--just like Jerusalem the Golden.\n\n\"Do you think the lady will have me, ma'am? I shan't never want to run\naway here. I will be a good girl, ma'am; I promise I will be good.\"\n\n\n\n\nIN THE PHTHISIS WARD\n\n     Why, O my God, hast Thou forsaken Me?\n     Not so My mother; for behold and see,\n     She steadfast stands! O Father, shall it be\n     That she abides when Thou forsakest Me?\n\n\nThree days of frost had brought the customary London fog--dense, yellow,\nand choking. Londoners groped their way about with set, patient faces,\nbreaking out, however, into wild jubilation in the bowels of the earth,\nwhere the comparative purity and brightness of the atmosphere of the\nTube railway seemed to rush to their heads like cheap champagne.\n\nIn the Open-air Ward of the workhouse infirmary the sufferers coughed\nand choked away their last strength in the poisonous atmosphere; the\ncold was very great, but the fever in their veins kept the patients\nwarm, though the nurses went about blue and shivering, and on the side\nof the ward open to the elements the snow had drifted in, melted, and\nfrozen again, making a perilous slide for the unwary. The sky was black\nas at midnight, but according to the clock the long night had ended, the\nlong day had begun, the patients were washed, the breakfast was served,\nand a few, who were well enough, got up, dressed themselves, and\noccupied themselves with a book or paper. One man worked furiously at\nrug-making, his knotted fingers dragging the hanks of wool through the\ncanvas as if his life depended on speed. By the side of the ward open to\nthe fog lay a young man so wasted and shrunken that he looked almost\nlike a child. When the nurse brought him his breakfast he raised his\nhead eagerly: \"Has mother come?\"\n\n\"Why, Teddy, you're dreaming! Your mother has only just gone; it's\nmorning, my dear, and she had to get back to the factory; but she'll be\nhere again this evening, never fear. You have a mother in ten thousand,\nlucky boy! Now get your breakfast.\"\n\nTeddy's head fell back again in apathetic indifference, and he listened\nforlornly to a dispute between two men who had been playing dominoes.\nOne had accused the other of cheating, and an angry wrangle had arisen,\ntill at length the nurse had stepped in and stopped the game.\n\nLater on the same men began to dispute about horse-racing, and the\nworld-renowned names of Ladas and Persimmon and Minoru, etc., figured\nlargely.\n\n\"I tell you Persimmon was the King's 'oss, and he won the Derby in 1898.\nI know I'm right, because it was the year I got the Scripture Prize at\nNetherwood Street.\"\n\n\"No, that warn't till 1900, and I'll tell you why--\"\n\n\"I tell you it war!\"\n\n\"I tell you it warn't!\"\n\nAgain the nurse intervened, and tried to distract the disputants with a\ncopy of a newspaper, but the warfare was renewed after her back was\nturned, to the amusement or irritation of the sufferers.\n\nIn the farther corner of the ward a man in delirium raved and\nblasphemed, occasionally giving rapid character-sketches of some\nwoman--not complimentary either to her taste or morals; then he would\nrelapse into semi-unconsciousness and wake with a loud, agonized cry for\nhis mother.\n\nIn the afternoon a visitor came to see Teddy Wilson. Teddy had sung in\nthe choir and his vicar called often to visit him. Teddy had been a\nprize-scholar of the L.C.C. schools; from scholarship to scholarship he\nhad passed to a lawyer's office in the City; and then one day he had\nbegun to cough and to shiver, and the hospital to which he had been\ntaken had seen that phthisis was galloping him to the grave. They did\nnot keep incurable cases, and Teddy had been passed on to die in the\nworkhouse infirmary. When Teddy found himself a pauper he had raged\nfuriously and futilely, and the gallop to the grave went at double pace.\nHe lifted his head eagerly when the nurse brought the clergyman to his\nbedside. \"Has mother come?\" he asked, and then fell back apathetically.\nYes, he was getting better; it was only the remains of pleurisy. Would\nhe like prayers read? Oh, yes, he didn't mind. Teddy was always docile.\n\nScreens were fetched, and the clergyman knelt down by his bedside. The\ntwo men noisily resumed their quarrel about horse-racing in order to\nshow their contempt for the Church, till the nurse stuck thermometers\ninto their mouths to secure some silence.\n\nThe man in delirium raved on, cursing in picturesque variety the woman\nof his love and hate. All around the sick and dying coughed and choked\nin their agonized struggle for breath.\n\n\"Consider his contrition, accept his tears, assuage his pain.... We\nhumbly commend the soul of this Thy servant, our dear brother, into Thy\nhands.... Wash it, we pray Thee, in the blood of the immaculate Lamb ...\nthat whatsoever defilements it may have contracted in the midst of this\nmiserable and naughty world ... it may be presented pure and without\nspot before Thee.\"\n\nAs the vicar read on silence fell upon the ward; the question of\nPersimmon was dropped, and even the delirious man ceased to blaspheme\nand lay quiet for a time. It seemed to the young priest as if the peace\nof God for which he had prayed had fallen upon this place of pain and\nterror.\n\nBefore he went he stopped for a word or a hand-shake with the patients,\nand settled the vexed question of Persimmon's victory.\n\n\"Fancy his knowing that!\" said the first disputant. \"Not so bad for a\ndevil-dodger.\"\n\n\"They aren't all quite fools. There was a bloke down at Bethnal Green, a\nreal good cricketer and sportsman; they've made him a bishop now, and\nas I allus says, there's bigger liars knocking about London than that\nthere bishop.\"\n\nAfter tea visitors began to arrive; most of the patients in the Open-air\nWard were on the danger list and could see their friends at any time,\nand now at the close of the day fathers and mothers and wives and\nsweethearts were coming straight from factory and workshop to comfort\ntheir sick. Teddy Wilson, propped up with pillows, watched the door, and\npresently, when a frail little woman entered, the faces of both mother\nand son lit up with the light of joy and love ineffable.\n\n\"At last!\" said Teddy. \"Oh, mother, you have been long!\"\n\n\"I came straight from the factory, dear. I did not even wait for a cup\nof tea or to get washed. Here are some grapes for you.\"\n\nThe grapes were best hot-house--the poor always give recklessly--and\nMrs. Wilson and a bright-eyed little girl who was sweeping up\nscholarships and qualifying as a typist and _tisica_ would go short of\nfood for a week.\n\nTen years ago Mr. Wilson had grown weary of monogamy and had\ndisappeared. His wife, scorning charity and the parish, had starved and\nfought her own way. Latterly she had found employment at the tooth\nfactory, but food was not abundant on a weekly wage varying from seven\nto fifteen shillings, and the L.C.C. had worked the brains of the\ngrowing children on a diet chiefly of dry bread and tea.\n\nThrough the long night she sat by her son--the long night of agony and\nsuffering which she was powerless to relieve--and the nurse, who was\nreputed a hard woman, looked at her with tearful eyes, and muttered to\nherself: \"Thank God, I never bore a child!\"\n\nIn the early hours of morning Teddy began to sing, in strange, raucous\nfashion, fragments of oratorios. \"'My God, my God,'\" sang Teddy in the\nrecitative of Bach's Passion music, \"'why hast Thou forsaken Me?' Oh,\nmother, don't leave me!\"\n\nThe next time the nurse came round Teddy lay quiet, and his mother\nlooked up with eyes tearless and distraught. \"He has stopped coughing,\"\nshe said; \"I think I am glad.\"\n\n\n\n\nAN IRISH CATHOLIC\n\n     Godliness is great riches if a man be content with that which he\n     hath.\n\n\n\"God bless all the kind ratepayers for my good dinner and a good cup o'\ntay to wash it down with, and a nice bit of fire this cold day. You\npaupers never give thanks unto the Lord, a nasty Protestant lot without\na ha'porth of manners between you, a-cursing and swearing, and\nblaspheming; they have not the grace of God. Say 'Good afternoon' to the\nlady, Betsy Brown, and don't be so rude; they never do have a word of\nthanks to the kind ladies and gentlemen who come a-visiting them, and we\ndon't get many visitors just now; all the dear ladies are away\na-paddling in the ocean. The gentleman Guardians come sometimes, but\nthey are not so chatty as the ladies, don't seem to know what to say to\nus old women. You don't happen to have a bit of snuff about you, my\nlady?--excuse me asking you, but some of the ladies carries a bit for\nme. I ain't allowed my pipe in here, and I misses it cruel; at first I\nhad gripes a-seizing my vitals through missing the comfort of a bit of\n'baccy, and the doctor he seemed much gratified with the symtims of my\nsufferings, and says I was attacked by the pensis, I think he termed\nit, the royal disease of the King, and he was all for cutting me up at\nonce. But I up and says, 'Young man, don't talk to your elders. It's\nnothing but my poor hinnards a-craving for a pipe and a drop o' Irish,\nand you'll kindly keep your knives and hatchets off me. The King can be\ncut up if he likes, but I'll go before my Judge on the Resurrection\nmorning with my poor old body undisfigured by gaping holes and wounds!'\nYes, I frets cruel in the work'us, lady. If I could only get away back\nto Kensington, where I belong, I'd be all right. I have no friends\nhere--only you and the Almighty God. I'm a poor old blind Irishwoman,\nlady; and my sons is out in Ameriky and seems to have forgotten the\nmother that bore them, and my husband's been dead these forty years, and\nhe was not exakly one to thank God for on bare knees--God rest his poor\nblack sowl! Yes, I've been blind now these thirty years (I was ninety on\nthe Feast of the Blessed Lady of Mount Carmel), and one day in the\nwinter we'd just been saying Mass for the sowl of the Cardinal Newman,\nand when I got back home I put up a bit of gunpowder to clane the\nchimbly, which smoked cruel (I always was a decent, clane body) and the\nwicked stuff turned round on me very vindictious, and blew down into the\nroom, burning red-hot into my poor, innocent eyes. They cut one out at\nSt. Bartholomew's 'Orspital, and they hoped to save the other, but it\ntook to weeping itself away voluntarious, and a-throbbing like\nsteam-engines, and the young chaps fetched it out a few weeks later.\nBut I'm a very happy blind woman. Yes, lady, it was dreadful at first,\nand I'll not deny that the cross seemed too heavy for my poor back--as\nif God Himself had forsaken me--great, black, thundering darkness all\nround as I couldn't cut a peep-show in nohow. All night I'd be a raging\nand a-fighting to get one little ray of light, and then I'd howl and\nshriek to the Blessed Virgin and all the saints, and then I'd curse and\nblaspheme and call to all the devils in hell; but no one heard, and the\ndarkness continued dark. But, glory be to the saints! it's astonishing\nhow used you get to things. At the end of a couple of months you seems\nto forget as there was ever anything else but darkness around, and by\nthe grace of God and the favour of the angels I gets about most\nnimblous. No, I don't belong to this parish at all; that's why I hopes\none day to get sixpence and get back to Kensington. But, you see, lady,\nit was like this--I came up to call on my poor sister at the top of the\nhill, and when I got there they told me she was dead and buried (God\nrest her sowl!), and the shock was so great I fell down overcome, as you\nmay say, by emotion, and a kind gentleman picked me up and brought me in\nhere, and there I lay stretched out on a bed of pain with a great bruise\nall down my poor side, and my poor hinnards a-struggling amongst\ntheirselves for a bit of comfort, which they've never got since I've\nbeen here, and the young chap of a doctor a-talking in long and\nindecent words to the nusses. (I hear you inmates a-smiling again!) But\nI was not in liquor lady--s'help me it's God's truth! (May your lips\nstiffen for ever, sitting there a-grinning and a-mocking at God's\ntruth!) I've allus been a sober woman, and I've always conducted myself.\n(God blast you all, and your children and children's children!) Yes, my\nlady, I know it's not a prison and I can take my discharge; but, you\nsee, I don't know the way to the 'bus as'll take me to Kensington, and I\nain't got sixpence--a most distressful and unpleasant circumstance not\nto have sixpence. May the Holy Mother preserve you in wealth and\nprosperity so that you may never know! If I had sixpence of my own do\nyou think I'd stay in this wicked Bastille, ordered about by the ladies\nof the bar? I calls them ladies of the bar, not as they ever give you a\ndrop to cheer you, but because as they is puffed up with vanity and\nthree-ha'porth of starched linen. Yes, my lady, I know as they calls\ntheirselves nusses, but when you're ninety you won't like to be ordered\nabout by a parcel of girls. Oh, my lady, if you would only put me in the\n'bus that goes to Kensington and give me a sixpence here in my poor old\nhand, then may the Blessed Mother keep you for ever, you and your good\nchildren, and may the crown of glory that is waiting for you before the\nGreat White Throne be studded with di'monds and rubies brighter than the\nstars! How could I get on? I'd be all right if I only got to Kensington;\nthere's the praists!--God love 'em!--they knows me and helps me, and\nkind ladies who give me the tickets for meat and groceries; and there's\nthe landlord of the 'Fish and Quart'--he'll be near you, lady, before\nthe Great White Throne--and on wet days, when the quality don't come\nout, I go round to him and there's always a bite and a sup for old\nBridget. I hear you paupers smiling again, but believe me, lady, it is\nthe black wickedness of their iniquitous hearts. Ask the perlice,\nlady--God bless the bhoys for leading the old pauper over many a\ntumultuous street!--they will tell you my excellent character for\ntemperance and sobriety and cleanliness. They give me a paper from\nScotland Yard, which lets me walk in the High Street. I sells nothing\nand I asks nothing, but I just stands, and the ladies and gentlemen\nrains pennies in my hand thick as hail in May-time. And do I get enough\nto live on? I should think I did, and enough to fill the belly of\nanother woman who clanes my room and cooks my food and leads me about.\nNo, I shan't get run over by no motor-car. The Lord may have taken the\nsight of my eyes, but He has left me an uncommon sharp pair of ears and\na nose like a ferret, and by this special mercy I can hear the things\nstinking and rampaging long afore they're near me. You needn't be afeard\nfor me, lady--old Bridget can take care of herself, being always a sober\nand temperate woman. Any one who tells you different in this wicked\nBastille is a liar and a slanderer, a child of the Devil and Satan, who\nshall have their portion in hell-fire. Matron says I've no clothes,\ndoes she?--and after the beautiful dress as I came up to see my poor\nsister with? Yes, I know as I must have a decent gown on in a\nfashionable neighbourhood. I like to be in the fashion, even if I am\nblind; but you'll find me an old one of yours, lady, and I shall look so\nbeautiful in it the bhoys will be all for eloping with me as I stand.\n\n\"Most peculiar joyful feeling there is about a sixpence if you've not\nfelt one these fower months. The other night I'd been worriting my poor\nold head shocking all day how to get sixpence in this den of paupers,\nand when I fell asleep I had a vision of our Blessed Lady a-smiling most\ngracious like and a-stretching out a silver sixpence bright as the glory\nround her most blessed head. I cried cruel when I woke, sixpence seemed\nso far off; but now, thanks be to God and to all His howly angels, my\ndream is true!\"\n\n\n\n\nAN OBSCURE CONVERSATIONIST\n\n     Out of the night that covers me,\n       Black as the Pit from pole to pole,\n     I thank whatever gods may be\n       For my unconquerable soul.\n\n        *       *       *       *       *\n\n     It matters not how strait the gate,\n       How charged with punishments the scroll,\n     I am the master of my fate;\n       I am the captain of my soul.\n\n\n\"Aye, lass, but you ain't been to see me for a long time, and me been\nthat queer and quite a fixture in bed all along of catching cold at that\nfuneral. Been abroad, have you? Oh, well, you're welcome, for I've been\na bit upset about not seeing you and because of a dream I 'ad. I dreamt\nI was up in 'eaven all along of the Great White Throne and the golden\ngates, with 'oly angels all around a-singing most vigorous. Mrs. Curtis\nwas there, and my blessed mother and my niece Nellie and the Reverent\nWalker--you know the Reverent Walker, ma'am, 'im as I sits under?--yes,\nI like little Walker, what there is of him to like, for I wish he was\nbigger; but he was all right in my dream, larger than life, with a crown\non 'im; but I missed some of you, and I says to myself: 'Mrs. Nevinson\nain't 'ere,' so I'm glad, lass, as you're safe like.\n\n\"Yes, I've been that queer I couldn't know myself, and though I'm better\nI'm that bone-lazy I can't move, but I'll be all right again soon and\nI'll get those petticoats of yourn finished which I am ashamed of having\ncluttering about still. I've 'ad what's called brownchitis. Mrs. Curtis\nfetched the doctor when I was took bad, and they built me up a sort of\ntent with a sheet, and a kettle a-spitting steam at me through a roll of\nbrown paper they fixed on the spout, and I 'alf-killed myself with\nlaughing at such goings-on. I was that hot and smothered I had to get up\nin the middle of the night and get to the open window to take a breath\nof fog, for you can't call it air; I felt just like a boiled lobster. I\nain't had nothing to do with doctors before and I don't understand their\nways. This young chap 'e got 'old on a piece of wood and planked it down\non my chest with 'is ear clapped to the other end. 'Say ninety-nine,' 'e\nsays as grave as a judge. 'Sir,' I says, 'I'm not an imbecile, and not\nhaving much breath to spare I'll keep it to talk sense.'\n\n\"He burst hisself with laughing, and then 'e catches 'old on my 'and as\nmen do when they go a-courting. 'Sir,' I says, 'a fine young chap like\nyou 'ad better 'ang on with some young wench.'\n\n\"He guffawed again fit to split 'isself. 'It's a treat to come and see\nyou,' 'e says, 'but you're really ill this time, you know, and you ought\nto go into the infirmary and get properly nursed up.' 'Never,' I says,\n'never!' and 'e went away cowed like.\n\n\"No, lass, I ain't a-going to no work'us with poor critturs a-gasping\nand a-groaning all round. I've kept myself to myself free and\nindependent all my life, and free and independent I'll die. Little\nWalker catched it 'ot the other day sending a sort of visiting lady\n'ere--the Organization lady she calls 'erself, so Mrs. Curtis said.\nWell, she asked so many questions and wanted to know why I had not had\nthrift, as she called it, that I turned on 'er and I says: 'I think\nyou've made a little mistake in the number. I ain't got no 'idden crime\non my conscience, but I'm a lady of independent means, and must ask for\nthe peace and quiet which is due to wealth.'\n\n\"I was that angry with the Reverend Walker!--did it for the best, he\nsaid, thought as I might have got a little 'elp from the Organization if\nI hadn't been so rude. The very idea! I 'ate help. I've hung by mine own\n'ed like every proper herring and human ought to, and when I can't 'ang\nno longer I'll drop quiet and decent into my grave.\n\n\"No, I never got married--what I saw of men in service did not exactly\nset me coveting my neighbours' husbands, a set of big babies as must\nhave the moon if they want it--to say nothing of the wine, and the\nwomen, and the trotting horses, and the betting on them silly cards.\nBesides, to tell the truth, lass, no man of decent stature ever asked me\nto wed; being a big woman, all the little scrubs came a-following me,\nbut I would not go with any of them, always liking Grenadier Guards, six\nfoot at least. Perhaps it was as well; I should never have had patience\nto put up with a man about the place, being so masterful myself;\nbesides, ain't I been sort of father and 'usband to my sister Cordelia?\nMother died when Cordelia was born, and she says to me: 'Ruth, take care\nof this 'elpless babby,' and, God help me! I done my best, though the\npoor girl made a poor bargain with life, 'er husband getting queerer and\nmore cantankerous, wandering the country up and down as fast as they\nbrought 'im 'ome and having to be shut up in Colney Hatch at the end. I\nwas not going to satisfy that Organization lady's curiosity and boast\nhow I helped to bring up that family, and a deal of 'thrift' that lady\nwould have managed on the two shillings a week I kept of my wages, the\nmissus often passing the remark that, considering the good money she\npaid, she liked her servants better dressed. Cordelia was left with\nthree little ones, and I couldn't abide the thought of 'er coming to the\nparish and having them nice little kids took from 'er and brought up in\nthem work'us schools, so I agreed to give 'er eight shillings week out\nof my wages, and that with the twelve shillings she got cooking at the\n'Pig and Whistle' kept the 'ome together. Poor lass! she's had no luck\nwith her boys either, poor Tim going off weak in his head and having to\nbe put away, and Jonathan killed straight off at Elandslaagter with a\nbullet through his brain. Yes, there's Ambrose--no, I don't ask Ambrose\nto help me; 'e's got his mother to 'elp and a heavy family besides. No,\nI don't take food out of the stomachs of little children, a-stunting of\ntheir growth, as nothing can be done for them later, and a-starving of\ntheir brains--I pulls my belt a bit tighter, thank you. Yes, I know what\nI am talking about--didn't I spend nearly every Sunday afternoon for\nnigh on twenty years at Colney Hatch? Well, the will of the Lord be\ndone--but why if He be Almighty He lets folks be mad when He might\nstrike 'em dead has always puzzled and tried my faith.\n\n\"Yes, I lives on my five-shilling pension and what my last master left\nme; half a crown rent doesn't leave me much for food. I allus had a good\nappetite, I'm sorry to say, and I often dream of grilled steaks--not\nsince the brownchitis, though; I'm all for lemons and fizzy drinks. The\nfolks 'ere are very kind and often bring me some of their dinner, but\nLord! they are poor cooks, and if their 'usbands drink I for one ain't\nsurprised. I can grill a steak with any one, and I attribute my\nindependent income to my steaks; at my last place the master thought the\nworld of them, and when there was rumpuses in the kitchen I used to hear\n'im say: 'Sack the whole blooming lot, but remember Brooks stays,' and\nstay I did till the old gentleman died and remembered his steaks in his\nwill.\n\n\"Well, I was going to tell you how I caught this cold, only you will\nkeep on interrupting of me. I saw as how there was going to be a funeral\nat St. Paul's, and I thought I'd go. I allus was one for looking at men,\nand having been kitchen-maid at York Palace, I took on a taste for\ncathedrals and stained windows and music and such-like, as a sort of\nrespite from the troubles and trials of life.\n\n\"It was just beautiful to hear the organ play and to see the gold cross\ncarried in front of the dear little chorister-boys, and I says to\nmyself: 'Their mas are proud of them this day.' Then came the young\nchaps who sing tenor and bass--fine upstanding young men--and then the\ncurates with their holy faces, but at the end were the bishops and deans\nand such-like, and they were that h'old and h'ugly I was quite ashamed.\n\n\"Well, I thought I'd treat myself to a motor-bus after my long walk. The\nyoung chap says: 'Don't go up top, mother, you'll catch cold.' 'Thank\nyou kindly,' I says, 'but I ain't a 'ot-house plant, being born on the\nmoors,' and up I went, but Lor'! I hadn't reckoned how the wind cut\ngoing the galloping pace we went; it petrified to the negrigi, as poor\nmother used to say--no, I don't know where the negrigi is--but take off\nyour fur-coat top of a motor-bus in a vehement east wind and perhaps\nyou'll feel.\n\n\"Yes, that's little Walker's bell a-going--it ain't a wedding and it\nain't a funeral; it's a kind of prayers that he says, chiefly to\n'isself, at five o'clock--'e's 'Igh Church.\n\n\"Must you be going? Well, come again soon; being country yourself, you\nunderstands fresh air as folk brought up among chimbleys can't be\nexpected to--but don't worry me about no infirmaries, for I ain't\na-going, so there!\n\n\"Mrs. Curtis has her orders, and when I'm took worse she's to put me in\nthe long train that whistles and goes to York--yes, I've saved up the\nrailway fare, and from there I can get 'ome and die comfortable on the\nmoor with plenty of air and the peace of God all around.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe landlady came to open the door for me as I went down the\nwell-scrubbed staircase. \"Yes, ma'am, Miss Brooks is better, but she's\nvery frail; the doctor thinks as she can't last much longer, but her\nconversation continues as good as ever. My old man or one of my sons\ngoes up to sit with her every evening; she's such good company she saves\nthem the money for the 'alls, and makes them laugh as much as Little\nTich. We'll take care of her, ma'am; the Reverent Walker told me to get\nwhatever she wanted, and 'e'd pay, and all the folks are real fond of\nher in the house, she's that quick with her tongue.\n\n\"No, ma'am, she'll never get to York, she's too weak, but the doctor\ntold me to humour her.\"\n\n\n\n\nMOTHERS\n\n     For the hurt of the daughter of my people am I hurt; ...\n     astonishment hath taken hold on me. Is there no balm in Gilead; is\n     there no physician there? why then is not the health of the\n     daughter of my people recovered?\n\n\nEvery first Monday of the month a trainload of shabby, half-starved\nwomen moves southwards from London to one of our great Poor Law schools;\nand perhaps in the whole world, spite of poverty, hunger, and rags,\nthere is no more joyous band. For two blessed hours they meet their\nchildren again, and though later they return weary, hungry, and\nheart-sore, nothing is allowed to mar the joy of the present, for the\npoor are great philosophers, and hold in practice as well as in theory\nthat \"an ounce of pleasure is worth a peck of pain.\"\n\nHumour exudes from every pore; triumphs are related on all\nsides--triumphs over civil authorities, triumphs over Boards of\nGuardians, triumphs over \"Organization ladies\" and \"cruelty men\"; and\nmethods are discussed as to the best way of triumphing over the school\nauthorities and conveying sweets and cakes to the children.\n\n\"Yes, 'e kept 'is word and had me up, but I said as I was a widder, and\nhad to keep the girl at 'ome to mind the sick children, and the beak\ndismissed the summons, and I came out and danced a jig under 'is nose.\n'Done you again, old chap,' I says, and 'e looked fit to eat me.\n\n\"'E's a good sort, our chairman, with a terrible soft spot in his heart\nfor widows. We allus says you have only got to put on a widow's crape\nand you can get what you like out of him; so Mrs. James upstairs--she's\nbeen a milliner, you know--she rigged me out with a little bonnet, and a\nlong crape fall, and a white muslin collar, and she pulled my 'air out\nloose round my ears, and gave me a 'andkerchief with an inch border of\nblack, and she says, 'There, Mrs. Evans, there ain't a bloke on the\nBoard as won't say you are a deserving case,' and sure enough they went\nand did just as I told them as good as gold. If I'd my time over again\nI'd come into the world a widder born.\"\n\n\"Just what I says. When Spriggs was alive we were half-clemmed, but\nnothing could we get from the parish, 'cos they said 'e was an\nable-bodied man. Spriggs wasn't a lazy man, and 'e did try for work, and\nhe wasn't a drunkard though 'e did fall down under the motor-bus, one of\nhis mates standing 'im a drink on a empty stomach, which we all knows\nflies quicker to the 'ead. It don't seem right as married ladies\na-carrying the kiddies should always go 'ungry, but it's the fact. Since\nSpriggs was took and the inquest sat on 'im we've had enough, but it's\ntoo late to save the little 'un, who was born silly, and Ernest was put\naway in Darenth, and I always says it was being starved, and the teacher\nalways a-caning of 'im because 'e couldn't learn on an empty stomach.\"\n\n\"Best not to marry, I says, and then if 'e falls out of work we can go\nto the parish and get took in on our own, and you don't 'ave to keep 'im\nlater on. Did you 'ear about Mrs. Moore? Mrs. Moore was our landlady,\nand 'er 'usband went off about three year ago with the barmaid at 'The\nBell'; the perlice tells 'er as she must come in the 'Ouse whilst they\nlooked for 'im, but she said she wouldn't, not if it was ever so, and\nshe was glad to be rid of bad rubbish. So she went to 'er old missis,\nwho lent her money to set up a lodging-house, and, being a good cook,\nshe soon had a 'ouseful, and brings up the three little ones clean and\nwell-behaved like ladies' children. Then the Guardians sent the other\nday to say as Moore had been taken off to Colney Hatch, mad with drink\nand wickedness, and she'd got to pay for 'im in there. Well, Mrs. Moore\nwent to appear afore the Board. Lord! we 'alf split ourselves with\nlaughing when she was a-telling us about it; she's got a tongue in 'er\nhead, as cooks have, I notice; the heat affects their tempers; and she\nwent off in one of 'er tantrums and fair frighted them.\n\n\"'I'm sure you'd like to pay for your 'usband, Mrs. Moore,' says the\nlittle man wot sits in the big chair.\n\n\"'I'm quite sure I shouldn't,' says Mrs. Moore; ''e's never been a\n'usband to me, pawning the 'ome and drinking and carrying-on with other\nwomen shocking. 'E promised to support me, 'e did: \"with all my worldly\ngoods I thee endow,\" and lies of that sort, but I made no such promise,\nand I won't do it. Working 'ard as I can I just keep a roof and get food\nfor the four of us, and if you takes a penny out of me I don't pay it,\nand I drops the job, and comes into the 'Ouse with Claude and Ruby and\nEsmeralda, and lives on the ratepayers, same as other women, which I 'as\na right to, being a deserted woman for three years, while 'e kep 'is\nbarmaids--or they kep 'im, which is probable if I knows Moore. And my\nyoung Claude being a <DW36> for life, 'is father kicking 'im when he\nwas a crawler in one of 'is drunken fits. You may fine me and imprison\nme, and 'ang me by the neck till I am dead, but not a 'apenny shall you\nget out of me.'\n\n\"They told her to be quiet, but she wouldn't, and they pushed 'er out of\nthe room and into the street, still talking, and quite a crowd came\nround and listened to 'er, and they all says, 'Quite right; don't you\npay it, my gal,' and she didn't, and no one ain't asked 'er any more\nabout it. She fair frighted that Board of Guardians, she says. She's a\nfine talker, is Mrs. Moore, and nothing stops 'er when she's once\nstarted.\"\n\n\"I'm another who's done better since mine died,\" said a frail little\nwoman on crutches, with a red gash across her throat from ear to ear,\n\"and 'e was a real good 'usband, as came 'ome regular and did 'is duty\nto us all till he lost his work through the firm bankrupting, and not a\njob could 'e get again. And somehow, walking about all day with nothing\nin 'is inside, and 'earing the kids always crying for bread, seemed to\nturn 'im savage and queer in 'is head. 'E took to sleeping with a\ncarving-knife under the pillow, and hitting me about cruel. I knew it\nwas only trouble, and didn't think wrong of the man, but I went to ask\nthe magistrate for advice just what to do, as I thought 'is brain was\nqueer, and yet didn't want 'im put away. And the beak said 'e didn't\nthink much of a black eye, and I'd better go 'ome and make the best of\n'im. Just what I did, but 'e got worse, and the Organization lady said\nas we must go to the 'Ouse, or she'd have the cruelty man on us. And\nJack got wild and said 'e wasn't so cruel as to have bred paupers, and\nthey should go with 'im to a better land, far, far away. That night 'e\nblazed out shocking, as you know, for it was all in _Lloyd's News_, and\ncut little Daisy's throat, and rushed at H'albert, killing them dead.\nI'd an awful struggle with 'im, but I jumped out of the window just in\ntime, though my throat was bleeding fearful, and I broke both legs with\nthe fall. The perlice came then, but it was too late; 'e'd done for\n'imself and the two children, though I always give thanks to Mrs. Dore,\nwho came in whilst 'e was wrestling with me, and took off the little\nones and locked them up in the top-floor back. I done better since\nthen--the Board's took Amy and Leonard, and I manage nicely on my twelve\nshillings a week, with only Cholmondeley and the baby to look after. But\nit don't seem right somehow.\"\n\n\"No, it ain't right; married ladies ought not to go short, but we always\ndo. Boards and Organization ladies think as men keeps us. Granny says\nthey most always did in her day, and rich people does still, I suppose,\nbut it ain't the fashion down our street, and it falls 'eavy on the\nwoman what with earning short money and being most always confined. My\nson says as it's the laws as is old, and ought to be swept somewhere\ninto limbo, not as I understands it, being no scholard.\"\n\n\"Here we are at last! Ain't it a joyful sight to see the 'eavens and the\nearth, and no 'ouses in between; it always feels like Sunday in the\ncountry.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"YOUR SON'S YOUR SON\"\n\n     My little son is my true lover--\n     It seems no time ago since he was born.\n     I know he will be quick and happy to discover\n     The world of other women and leave me forlorn!\n     Sometimes I think that I'll be scarcely human\n     If I can brook his chosen woman!\n\n     _Anna Wickham._\n\n\n\"Oh, dear! oh, dear!\" wailed the old lady, burying her face in her\npocket-handkerchief; \"to think as I've lived to see the day! I've always\nlived with 'Orace, and I've always prayed that the Lord would take me\nunto Himself before I was left alone with my grey hairs. A poor, pretty\nthing she is, too, with a pair of blue eyes and frizzled yellow curls,\ndressed out beyond her station in cheap indecencies of lace showing her\nneck and arms, as no proper-minded girl should. And she won't have me to\nlive with them--I who have never been parted from 'Orace not one day\nsince he was born thirty year ago come Sunday. Yes, I've got Esther;\nshe's away in service: she's Johnson's child; I've buried two husbands,\nboth of them railway men and both of them dying violent deaths. Johnson\nwas an engine-driver on the Great Northern, and he smashed 'isself to a\njelly in that accident near York nigh on forty year ago now. I said I'd\nnever marry on the line again, hating accidents and blood about the\nplace; however, it's a bit lonesome being a widow when you're young, and\nThompson courted me so faithful at last I gave in. He was 'Orace's\nfather, a guard on the Midland, and he went to step on his van after the\ntrain was off, as is the habit of guards--none of them ever getting\nkilled as I ever heard of except Thompson, who must needs miss his\nfooting and fall on the line, a-smashing of his skull fearful. Yes; I\ndrew two prizes in the matrimonial market--good, steady men, as always\ncame 'ome punctual and looked after the jennies in the window-boxes, and\nplayed with the children; but, as Mrs. Wells says, them is the sort as\ngets killed. If a woman gets 'old on a brute she may be quite sure he'll\ncome safe through all perils both on land and water, and live to torture\nseveral unfortunate women into their graves. 'Orace was a toddling babe\nthen, and Esther just ten years older. Fortunately, I was a good hand at\nthe waistcoat-making, and so I managed to keep the 'ome going; 'Orace\nwas always very clever, and he got a scholarship and worked 'isself up\nas an electrical engineer. One of the ladies got Esther a place at Copt\nHall, Northamptonshire, when she was only thirteen, and she's done well\never since, being cook now to Lady Mannering at thirty-six pounds a\nyear. No, she's never got married, Esther--a chap she walked out with\nwasn't as faithful as he should have been, a-carrying on with another at\nthe same time; and Esther took on awful, I believe, though she's one as\nholds her tongue, is Esther--at all events, she's never had naught to do\nwith chaps since. She's a good girl, is Esther; but 'Orace and me were\nalways together, and he always was such a one to sit at home with me\nworking at his wires and currents and a-taking me to see all the\nexhibitions, and explaining to me about the positives and negatives and\nthe volts and ampts; he never went after girls, and I always hoped as he\nwould never fall in love with mortal woman, only with a current; so it\nknocked all the heart out of me when he took to staying out in the\nevenings, and then brought the girl in one night as his future wife.\n'Orace was the prettiest baby you ever see'd, and when he used to sit on\nmy knee, with his head all over golden curls, like a picture-book, I\nused to hate to think that somewhere a girl-child was growing up to take\nhim from me--and to think it's come now, just when I thought I was safe\nand he no more likely to marry than the Pope of Rome, being close on\nthirty, and falling in love for the first time! And she won't have me to\nlive with them!\n\n\"Mrs. Wells has been telling me I mustn't stand in the young people's\nway. Of course I don't want to stand in their way; but I'm wondering how\nI'll shift without 'Orace; he always made the fire and brought me a cup\nof tea before he went to his work; and when the rheumatics took me bad\nhe'd help me dress and be as handy as a woman. I can't get the work I\nused to; my eyesight isn't what it was, and my fingers are stiff. No, I\nain't what I was, and I suppose I mustn't expect it, being turned\nsixty-seven, and I ain't old enough either for them pensions.\n\n\"Well, if it ain't Esther. You're early, lass; and it's not your evening\nout, neither. I've just been telling this lady how Ruby won't have me to\nlive with them; it's upset me shocking the thought of leaving 'Orace\nafter all these years. I'm trying not to complain, and I know 'Orace has\nbeen a son in ten thousand; but I'm afeard of the lonesomeness, and I\ndon't know how I'll live. Mrs. Wells says if the Guardians see my hands\nthey won't give me no outdoor relief, but they'll force me into the\nHouse, and I'd sooner be in my bury-hole.\" And again the poor old lady\nsobbed into her pocket-handkerchief.\n\n\"Don't cry, mother; it's all right; you shan't go on the parish, never\nfear, neither for outdoor relief nor indoor relief. I've left my place,\nand I'm coming to live with you and take care of you to the end of your\ndays. I'm not 'Orace, I know, but I'm your daughter, and after the\ncourting's over 'Orace will be your son again.\"\n\n\"Left your place, Esther! What do you mean, lass?\"\n\n\"What I say, mother. 'Orace wrote and told me what Ruby said, and I was\nthat sorry I went and gave notice. 'Orace is awful upset, too, but\nthere, it is no good talking to a man in love, and perhaps Ruby will get\nnicer; she's a young thing yet. So when I told my lady all about it she\nlet me come away at once. The family is going to the Riviera next week,\nand the housekeeper can manage quite well.\"\n\n\"You've left your good place, Esther, all for me?\"\n\n\"Yes; all right, old dear. I've got a fourteen-year character from my\nlady, and I'll soon find something to do; I'm not the sort as starves.\"\nAnd Esther rolled up her sleeves, made up the fire, and poured the\ncontents of the indignant kettle into the little black teapot.\n\n\"Oh, dear!\" wailed the old lady, \"you must not do this for me, lass;\nyou're heaping coals of fire on my 'ead, for, as Mrs. Wells often said\nto me, 'Don't be so set on 'Orace; remember, you have a girl too.' I was\nalways set on the boys, and not on the girls; women's life is a poor\ngame, and when I heard of them 'eathen 'Indus who kill the girl babies,\nI thought it a very sensible thing too--better than letting them grow up\nto slave for a pittance. But it is you now who are the faithful one,\"\nand she drew Esther's face down to hers and kissed her fondly.\n\nTears rose in the daughter's eyes; she seemed to remember with a sense\nof loss that her mother had never kissed her like that since she was a\nlittle child, before Horace was born.\n\n\n\n\n\"TOO OLD AT FORTY\"\n\n     I had no place to flee unto; and no man careth for my soul.\n\n\nMiss Allison sat at her desk in the class-room, where she had sat for\nover twenty years, and gazed dreamily out of the window into the\ncourtyard below, where the girls of the ---- High School were at play.\nIn her hand she held a letter, which had brought the white, rigid look\nto her face, like that of a soldier who has received his death-wound.\nPerhaps she ought to have been prepared for the shock; the system of\n\"too old at forty\" has long been in working order in girls' schools,\npossibilities had been freely discussed in the mistresses' room; but,\nnevertheless, the blow had struck her dumb and senseless. The note was\nvery polite--\"owing to changes on the staff her valuable services would\nbe no longer required after the summer vacation\"--but Miss Allison had\nseen enough of the inner workings of High Schools to know that changes\non the staff meant that the old and incompetent were to be crushed out\nto make room for the young and fresh. Miss Allison was not\nincompetent--her worst enemy could not accuse her of that--but she was\ngetting just a little tired, just a little irritable; above all, her\nforty-second birthday had come and gone. Teaching is well known to\naffect the nerves, and in Miss Allison's case nervous exhaustion caused\nher tongue to run away with her; her sharp speeches to the idlers of her\nform were reported at home--losing nothing in the telling--and duly\nretailed by captious parents to the head mistress; the constant\ncomplaints were becoming a nuisance. Moreover, a young mistress, who\nwould take interest in the sports and could bowl round-arm, was badly\nwanted on the staff. Miss Allison belonged to an older generation, when\nathletics were not a _sine qua non_; she had never been a cricketer, at\nhockey her pupils easily outran her, and she had lost her nerve for\nhigh-diving--altogether, she had lived past her age. The queer part was,\nit had all taken such a little time; it seemed only yesterday that she\nhad come to the school, the youngest on the staff, and now she was the\noldest there, far older than the young girl from Girton who reigned as\nhead. And yet life was not nearly over yet; Miss Allison remembered with\ndismay that women went on living for fifty, sixty, seventy, and even\neighty and ninety years--it might be that half the journey still lay\nbefore her.\n\nShe made a rapid calculation in her brain of her little capital in the\nsavings-bank, which yielded her (after the income-tax had been\nrecovered) an annual sum of L10 13s. 9d. Though too old to teach, she\nwas too young to buy much of an annuity with the capital, and she knew\nthe state of the labour market too well to cherish any illusions as to\nthe possibility of obtaining work. Perhaps she ought to have saved more,\nbut for some years she had her invalid mother mainly dependent upon her,\nand illness runs away with money; she grudged nothing to the dead, but\nshe remembered almost with shame the amount she had spent in holiday\ntours.\n\nHer eyes rested with a sense of coming loss on the crowd in the\nplayground, a kaleidoscopic scene of flying legs and whirling draperies,\nthe sun shining on bright frocks and on the loose locks of gold and\nauburn till the dreary courtyard seemed to blossom like a flower-garden.\nHow she had loved all these girls, toiled and slaved for them, rejoiced\nin their success and mourned for their disappointments; but the children\nof the Higher Education, unlike Saturn, devour the mothers of the\nmovement, and suddenly these fair young girls had turned into rivals and\nenemies, beating her down in the dust with cricket bats and hockey\nsticks. An hour of bitter atheism fell upon Miss Allison; all her life\nhad been spent in serving \"the cause,\" the Higher Education of Women had\nbeen her creed, but now in middle life it had failed and she was left\nhelpless and superfluous as the poor women of an earlier generation, who\nhung so forlornly round the neck of their nearest male relation.\n\nA dry sob half choked her, as she rose mechanically in obedience to the\nbell to take her class in geometry.\n\n\n\n\nIN THE LUNATIC ASYLUM\n\n     O Father, we beseech Thee, sustain and comfort Thy servants who\n     have lost the powers of reason and self-control, suffer not the\n     Evil One to vex them, and in Thy mercy deliver them from the\n     darkness of this world....--_Prayer for Lunatics._\n\n\nI passed through the spacious grounds of A---- Asylum on my way to visit\nthe patients chargeable to our parish. A group of men were playing Rugby\nfootball, but even to the eye of the tyro there was something wrong with\nthe game--there was no unity, no enthusiasm; some lurking sinister\npresence--grotesque, hideous, that made one shudder--worse than\nstrait-waistcoat and padded-room. In conversation the lunatics struck me\nas no worse mentally than the rest of us outside. Most of them\ncomplained of unlawful detention, and begged pathetically for freedom.\n\"It is a dreadful place; why should I be kept here? We have just had a\nharvest festival, but I'm not thankful. What have we to do with harvest\nfestivals?\"\n\n\"I am quite well,\" said a tall, powerful-looking man; \"I assure you\nthere is nothing the matter with me,\" and as I was chronicling the fact\nin my notebook a fiendish light blazed in his eyes--the hate of hates,\nred-gleaming with fury and malice, as if all the devils in hell were\nmocking behind his eyes. For a moment that seemed an eternity I watched,\nparalysed, and then two stout warders pinioned him from behind and led\nhim away, swearing. \"Homicidal mania,\" said the doctor shortly; \"we have\nto be always on the watch.\"\n\nI interviewed the man who would be King, and heard his theory as to the\nillegal usurpation of the Throne by the Guelph family. I saw a new\nRedeemer of the world, and the woman who had conducted one of the great\nlawsuits of last century.\n\nThe women were more talkative, and complained volubly of captivity. A\nfew were sullen and suspicious, and would not come to the roll-call and\nI visited them on the stairs and corridors, or wherever they threw\nthemselves down.\n\nThe doctor saw to it that my inspection was thorough. I was conducted to\nthe padded-rooms, where maniacs laughed and shouted and sang and\nblasphemed, some of them throwing themselves frantically against the\ncushioned walls, others lying silently on the floor, plucking futilely\nat their sacking clothing. One poor woman lay in bed wasted to a shadow,\nher bones nearly sticking through her skin. \"Pray for him,\" she cried;\n\"oh, pray for him! His soul is burning in hell; night and day he cries\nto me for a drop of cold water, but I may not take it to him. Look at\nhis poor throat where the rope cut; look at his poor starting eyes. Is\nthere no mercy in heaven?\"\n\n\"Poor woman!\" said the doctor. \"Her only son was hanged, and it has\nturned her brain. She is sinking fast. I don't think she can live the\nday out, and we shall all say 'Thank God!' It is a most pitiful case.\"\n\nIn the general ward I saw a magnificent growth of golden hair plaited\nround and round the head of a young girl who sat in a corner, her face\nburied in her hands. Beside her sat a visitor, pressing some hot-house\ngrapes upon her. \"Just try one, Mabel darling; don't you know me, dear?\"\nThe hands were not withdrawn, but as I passed with the doctor she\nsuddenly sprang to her feet. \"Has he come?\" The doctor paused, and\nnodded cheerfully at the visitor. \"Very good sign, Mrs. Foster; I will\nsee you later about your daughter.\" At last it was over; my report-sheet\nwas filled, and with great thankfulness I passed into the outer air. I\ngazed at the men and women outside with a sense of comradeship and\nsecurity; whatever their private troubles, at least they were\n\"uncertified,\" free men, not possessed of devils, grievously tormented.\nOne gets used to everything; but that first visit to A---- Asylum stands\nout in letters of flame in my memory, and as I waited on the platform\nfor my train, I shivered as if with ague and a sense of deadly nausea\noverpowered me.\n\nI entered an empty compartment, but just as the train was starting the\nwoman whom I had seen visiting at the asylum got in after me, and we\nwere alone together. She glanced at me shyly several times, as if she\nwished to say something; and then, suddenly clutching my hand, she burst\ninto tears: \"Oh! I am so thankful--so thankful! Did you see my poor girl\nto-day? Yes, I know you did, for I saw you look at her beautiful golden\nhair--whenever I see the sun shining on cornfields I think of my Mabel's\nhair. Well, for nigh three years Mabel has sat in that awful place; she\nhas never taken her hands away from her face, nor looked up, nor spoken\na word, till this afternoon; and then, whether it was the doctor, or\nyour blue cloak--but, as you saw, she stood up and spoke, and after that\nshe ate some grapes, and knew me again, and grumbled at the way they had\ndone her hair--the nurse says that is the best sign of all, and so does\nthe doctor. Oh! thank God! thank God!\" and the poor woman sobbed in\nchoking spasms of joy.\n\nI felt that I and my blue cloak were such unconscious agents in the\nrestoration of reason that her gratitude was quite embarrassing.\n\n\"Yes, she has been in there just on three years; acute melancholia, they\ncall it, brought on by nervous shock. Our doctor at home always gave me\nsome hope, but not the people in there. I suppose they see such a lot of\nmisery, they get into the habit of despair. Mabel is my only child; my\nhusband died just after she was born, so you can guess what she has\nbeen to me. Fortunately, I understood the greengrocery business; so when\nI lost my husband I went on with the shop just the same, and was able to\ngive her a good education. She took to her books wonderful, and got a\nscholarship on to the High School; she learnt French and German, and\nwent on to Pitman's College for shorthand and typewriting; and at\neighteen she got an engagement as typist and secretary to a City firm.\nShe was a wonderful pretty girl, my Mabel; just like a lily, with her\nslight figure and golden head; and the men came about her like flies;\nbut she would never go with any of them; she was such a one to come home\nand spend her evenings quietly with me, reading or sewing. Then suddenly\nI saw a change had come over my girl; one of the gentlemen in the office\nhad been after her, and she had fallen in love with him, head over\nheels, as girls will. I wasn't glad; perhaps it was a mother's jealousy,\nperhaps it was second-sight a-warning of me; but I couldn't be pleased\nnohow. He came up to tea on Sunday afternoon, and I hated him at once;\nif ever liar and scoundrel was written on a man's face, it was there\nplain for all to read, except my poor child, and she was blind as folks\nin love always are. Then, though he wasn't a gentleman as I count\ngentlemen, he was above her in station, and I could see as he looked\ndown on me and the shop; and, as I told my poor girl, them unequal\nmarriages don't lead to no good. But there, I saw it was no use\na-talking; we only fell out over the wretch--the only time she ever\nspoke nasty to me was over him--I saw she would only marry him on the\nsly if I said 'No'--we must let our children go to their doom when they\nare in love--and so I took my savings out of the bank and gave her a\ntrousseau of the best; and all the time my heart was heavy as lead.\nFolks used to laugh at me and tell me I looked as if I were getting\nready for a funeral instead of a wedding. There's many a true word\nspoken in jest; and that was how I felt all the time--a great, black\ncloud of horror over everything.\n\n\"You should have seen my Mabel on her wedding-day. She looked just\nbeautiful in her plain white dress and long veil. The two bridesmaids\nwore white muslin, with blue sashes; and Mrs. Allen--my first-floor\nlodger--said as they might have been three angels of heaven. I drove in\nthe cab to give my girl away. God only knows how I felt. Folks have told\nme since that I was white and rigid like a corpse, and that I sat in\nchurch with my hand held up before Mabel as if to ward off a blow. We\nsat, and waited, and waited, and waited. It was summer-time; and, being\nin the trade, I had not spared the flowers; and the church was heavy\nwith the scent of roses and sweet-peas--I have sickened every summer\nsince at the smell of them. The organist played all the wedding tunes\nthrough, and then began them over again--I have hated the sound of them\never since--and still we waited. The best man went out to telephone for\nthe bridegroom; and my eldest nephew took a motor to drive round to\nfetch him. The clock struck three, and the vicar, looking very troubled\nfor Mabel, came out in his surplice to say the ceremony could not take\nplace that day; so we all drove home again. Mabel never spoke; but she\nsat up in her bedroom cold as a stone, with her face buried in her\nhands, just as you saw her this afternoon, leaning her arms on the\nlittle writing-table where she used to sit to do her lessons. She would\nnot speak, nor eat, nor move; and by sheer force we tore off her wedding\nfinery and got her into bed. The doctor came and said she was suffering\nfrom nervous shock, and if she could cry she might recover. We pitied\nher and called him, and the bridesmaids swelled up their eyes with\ncrying, hoping to infect her; but not a tear could we get out of her;\nnot even when my nephew came back with a note the scoundrel had left. He\nwas a married man all the time; and the crime of bigamy was too much for\nhim at the end. My sister and I sat up all night, but we could do\nnothing with her; and at the end of the week the doctor said she must be\nput away, as it was not safe for her to be at home. Ah, well! we live\nthrough terrible things; and when I left my pretty, clever girl at the\nlunatic asylum I did not think I could bear it; but I went on living.\nThat is three years ago now and never once has Mabel looked up or spoken\ntill to-day, I think it was your blue cloak; her going-away dress was\njust that colour, and it seemed to rouse her somehow.\"\n\nThe train drew up at the terminus, and she held out her hand in\nfarewell. \"Good-bye. Please think of my Mabel sometimes. I don't know\nwhat religion you are, but if you would sometimes say this prayer for\nher, perhaps God might hear.\" She held out a little bit of paper, soiled\nand smudged as if with many tears; and then the crowds surged between\nus, and we parted.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SWEEP'S LEGACY\n\n     (1900)\n\n\nMost visitors among the poor have come across the person who believes\nthat he has a large fortune kept back from him by the Queen, aided and\nabetted by the gentlemen of Somerset House and other public offices.\n\nI once knew a sweep in Whitechapel who was firmly persuaded that he had\na legacy of five hundred pounds in the Bank of England. \"Yes, lady, if I\nhad my rights, I should not be so poor. My aunt, Lady Cable Knight--she\nmarried a tip-top nobleman, she did--left me on her dying bed five\nhundred pounds in gold. The money's in the Bank of England. I seed it\nthere myself on a shelf, labelled A. A.--Anthony Adams--but I ain't no\nscholard, and the gentleman behind the counter said I must have a\nscholard to speak for me. The money is there right enough, and I've got\nmy aunt's marriage lines, so that proves it clear.\"\n\nAt first I paid little heed to his story, but after a time I got fond of\nthe old sweep, and began to wonder if I could not help him to obtain\nthis legacy. He was a good old man--always serene, always \"trustful in\nthe Lord,\" though he well knew the pangs of hunger and cold, for\nyounger and stronger men were crushing him out of his profession. A\npoor deformed creature lived with him--one of those terrible abortions\nfound in the homes of the poor--epileptic, crippled, hydrocephalous,\nwhom I took for the son of the house but on inquiry I found he was no\nrelation.\n\n\"We were neighbours up George Yard, lady; no, he ain't no son of mine,\nH'albert ain't. He's very afflicted, poor chap, and 'is own family would\nhave nothing to do with 'im, so I gave 'im a 'ome. The lad don't eat\nmuch, and the Lord will reward me some day. If I only had that money,\nthough, we might live comfortable!\" Of course it was strictly against\nthe rules of the Buildings for \"H'albert\" to share the room, but even\nwomen rent-collectors have hearts.\n\n\"If you only had some proof of your claim to the money, I would try to\nhelp you,\" I said one day when the rent had been missed. I had noticed\nthe little room getting barer and shabbier week by week, and to-day the\nold man, his wife, and \"H'albert\" looked pinched and blue with cold and\nhunger. Already I had secretly paid a visit to Somerset House to inspect\nthe will of Lady Cable Knight.\n\n\"Well, I've got my aunt's marriage lines; doesn't that prove it? But the\nQueen she gets 'old of us poor people's money. We've no chance against\nthe rich; we're no scholards--they never larnt us nothing when I was a\nboy. The man in a paper 'at, that sells whelks in Whitechapel, knows all\nabout it, but he's no scholard neither.\"\n\nTouched by the want of scholarship amongst his friends, I put my\nattainments at his service, and we went together to claim five hundred\npounds in gold, labelled \"A. A.\" on a shelf in the Bank of England.\n\nI half hoped that, after the habit of his class, the old man would not\n\"turn up.\" But when I got out of the train at Broad Street, our place of\nrendezvous, I saw him waiting at the corner, \"cleaned\" for the occasion,\nin a strange old swallow-tail coat that might have figured at stately\nCourt dances when George III was king. On his arm he carried a coarse\nbag of sacking, not quite cleansed from soot. We attracted no small\nattention as we passed through the City, and it was quite a relief when\nthe classic walls of the Bank hid us from the vulgar gaze, though it was\nno small ordeal to face the clerks and explain our errand. But I suppose\nthose gentlemen are used to monetary claims of this kind, and to their\neternal honour be it said that they never smiled, not even at the\nproduction of the sooty marriage certificate by way of establishing our\nclaim.\n\nWhen at last we passed out again into the roar and glare of the street,\nthe bag provided for the spoil empty as before, I saw the old man draw\nhis sleeve across his eyes, leaving a long sooty trail. \"It's no good,\nma'am; the poor have no chance against the rich. I didn't even see the\nbag marked A. A. this time. Most likely the Queen and those gentlemen\nhave spent it all long ago. But I thank you, lady, all the same, and\nwill you allow me to pay your fare for coming down to speak for me?\"\n\nWhen his offer was refused, he wrung my hand in silence, and then turned\neastwards towards his home.\n\nI watched him till he disappeared in the crowd, a forlorn and pathetic\nfigure, not without dignity in his strange old-world garb.\n\n\n\n\nAN ALIEN[1]\n\n\n\"No, I ain't got it, ma'am; he says I'm a foreigner. I filled up the\npapers same as you told me, and then the gentleman called and asked for\nthe birth-certificate, same as you said he would. 'I ain't got it,' I\nsays. 'I suppose when I was born children were too common and folks too\nbusy to go twenty miles down the hillside to crow over a baby at\nCarlisle Town Hall. There were fifteen of us all told, and my father\nonly a farm labourer; if he went abroad the work stayed at 'ome, and\n'e'd no time for gallivanting with seventeen mouths to fill. But I've\ngot my baptism here all right; my mother was a pious body, and as soon\nas she could stand up she went to be churched and take the new stranger\nto be washed free of original sin in font-water; 'ere's the date written\non it, 1837--year Queen Victoria began her most happy reign--you'll\nbelieve that, I suppose, in a parson's 'andwriting? Stands to reason I\nwas born afore I was christened; they couldn't put the cross on my\nforehead, now could they, till my face was out in the world? Silly\ntalk, I calls it, so now don't say no more, but pay me that five\nshillings and give me the book with the tickets--same as other ladies!'\n\n\"'You've lost your domicile,' he says.\n\n\"'Don't know what that is,' I says.\n\n\"'Married a foreigner,' he says.\n\n\"'Well, and if I did, that ain't no business of yours, my lad; you\nweren't born nor thought of and he died afore you come near this wicked\nworld. He's been dead wellnigh on fifty year, so 'e didn't cross your\npath to worry you. Couldn't talk English? I says as 'e talked a deal\nbetter than you. I understood what 'e says, and I can't make 'ead nor\ntail of your silly talk, my lad, so there. Coverture? No--I ain't 'eard\nof that--no, nor naturalization either; you go down and fetch up Mrs.\nNash--she's a rare scholard, she is--such a one for her books and\npoetry. Perhaps she'll make sense of your long words, for I can't. I\nlived afore the school-boards, and all the schooling I got I found out\nfor myself sitting up in bed at night a-teaching myself to read and\nwrite. Not as I think much of all the larning myself; the girls can't\nkeep a 'ome together as we used, and though the boys sit at the school\ndesks a-cyphering till they are grown young men, they seem allus out of\nwork at the end of it,' I says.\n\n\"'Yes, yes, you needn't olloa, my lad; I'm not deaf, though I am old and\ngrey-headed. So I can't have the pension because fifty years ago I fell\nin love and married a steady young man, who worked hard, and knew how to\ntreat his wife (which 'alf you Englishmen don't), though 'e was a\nFrenchman? I tell you marriage don't matter; 'usbands are come-by-chance\nsort of people--you go a walk in the moonlight, and you kisses each\nother, and then, afore you're clear in your mind, you're standing at the\naltar, and the \"better for worse\" curse a-thundering over you. Ah! well,\npoor Alphonse didn't live long enough to get worse, and his death made\nme a widow indeed, and though I was only twenty-two, and plenty of men\ncame after me, I never took none of 'em. I didn't want no nasty bigamous\ntroubles on the Resurrection morning. Why should five years out of my\nseventy-two change me into a Frenchy? What counts is my father and\nmother, and my childhood by Helvellyn,' I says. 'I'm British-born, of\nBritish parents, on British soil. I've never stirred from my land, and I\ncan't speak a word of nowt but English, so stop your silly talk, my lad.\nAnd then,' I says, 'if my husband made me a Frenchy, ain't I English\nagain by my sons? (it says in the Book a woman shall be saved by\nchild-bearing)--two of 'em in the Navy and one of 'em killed and buried\nat Tel-el-Kebir, and a dozen grandsons or more a-serving of Her Majesty\nin furrin parts--yes, I allus say \"Her Majesty\"; I've been used to the\nQueen all my life, and Kings don't seem right in England somehow.\n\n\"What stumps me is that you gone and paid a pension to that woman\nopposite; now, she's an alien and a foreigner if you like--can't speak a\nword of English as a body can understand, and she hates England--allus\na-boasting about Germany and the Emperor and their army, and how they'll\ncome and smash us to pieces--she married an Englishman, so that makes\nher English--'eavens, what rubbish! Why, 'e died a few years after the\nwedding, and she's only been here a couple of years at the most; I\nremember them coming quite well. So she's English, with her German\ntongue and her German ways, just because she belonged for a couple of\nyears to an English corpse in the cemetery; and I, with my English birth\nand life and sons, am French because of my poor Alphonse rotted to dust\nfifty years ago. Well, England's a nice land for women, a cruel\nstep-dame to her daughters; seems as if English girls 'ad better get\ntheirselves born in another planet, where people can behave decent-like\nto them, and not make it a crime and a sin at seventy for marrying nice\nyoung men who court them at eighteen. I pray as God will send a plague\nof boys in the land and never a girl amongst them, so that the English\npeople shall die out by their own wickedness, or have to mate only with\nfurriners.\"\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[1] Since this monologue was spoken the old lady has received her\npension. By the order of September 1911 twenty years of widowhood\ncleanse from alien pollution.\n\n\n\n\n\"WIDOWS INDEED\"\n\n\nMrs. Woods had just returned from her search after work, worn and weary\nafter a day of walking and waiting about on an empty stomach; the\nEducational Committee of Whitelime had informed her that they had\ndecided to take no deserted wives as school-scrubbers, only widows need\napply. Outside she heard the voices of her children at play in the fog\nand mist, and remembered with dull misery that she had neither food nor\nfiring for them, and she shuddered as she heard the language on their\nyouthful lips; she had been brought up in the godly ways of the\nNorth-country farmhouse and the struggle against evil seemed too hard\nfor her.\n\nShe fitted the key into the lock of her little bare room and lit the\nevil-smelling lamp, then she sank into a chair overpowered by deadly\nnausea; strange whirligigs of light flashed before her eyes, and then\nshe collapsed on the floor in a dead faint.\n\nWhen she came to herself she was sitting by a bright little fire in the\nnext room and friendly neighbours were chafing her hands and pouring a\npotent spirit down her throat.\n\n\"That's right, my dear, you're coming round nicely; have another sip of\ngin and then a good cup of tea will put you right; faint you were, my\ndear, I know, and I suppose you had no luck at them Board Schools?\"\n\nMrs. Woods raised a weary hand to her dazed head and thought dully\nbefore she answered--\n\n\"They asked me if I was a widow, and when I said my husband had deserted\nme over a month ago they said as they were sorry they could not give me\nany work, they were keeping it for the widows of the Borough.\"\n\n\"Yes, I 'eard that from Mrs. James, but why didn't you have the sense to\nsay as you were a widow?\"\n\n\"I never thought on that. I am a truthful woman, I am.\"\n\n\"Can't afford to be truthful if you are a deserted woman; men on boards\nand committees don't like the breed, thinks you did something to drive\nthe old man away, but widows moves the 'ardest 'earts. What you wants is\na crape fall and Mrs. Lee's black-bordered 'ankerchief.\"\n\n\"You'll have to get work, my dear. All the pack will be loose on you\nsoon--school-board visitors and sanitaries, and cruelty-men to say as\nyour children have not enough food----\"\n\n\"There, there, don't upset her again; we'll fix you up all right, my\ndear, only you must remember, Mrs. Woods, that you are young and\nignorant and must be guided by them as knows the world,\" said Mrs. Lee,\na shrewd-eyed old dame of great wisdom and experience, who, like some of\nthe cures in Brittany, was consulted by all her friends and neighbours\nin all problems spiritual and temporal.\n\n\"First of all, my dear, you must get out of this, you're getting too\nwell known in this locality. Go into London Street right across the 'igh\nroad. I 'ave a daughter as can give you a room, and there you become a\nwidow, Mrs. Spence--just buried 'im in Sheffield. You're from Yorkshire,\nI reckon?\"\n\nMrs. Woods nodded.\n\n\"You talk queer just like my old man did, so that'll sound true. You\ntakes your children from Nightingale Lane, and you sends them to that\nbig Board School by the docks--my Muriel knows the name--and you enters\nthem as Spence, not Woods--mind you tells them they are Spence. Then you\nstarts a new life. There are cleaners wanted in that idiot school just\nbuilt by Whitelime Church, and I'll be your reference if you want one.\nI'll lend you my crape fall, and I'll wash my black-bordered\n'ankerchief, which has mourned afore boards and committees for the last\nten years or more; mind you use it right and sniff into it when they\nasks too many questions, and be sure and rub it in as 'ow you've buried\n'im in Sheffield. I've 'eard all the women talking at the laundry as 'ow\nthey're refusing work to deserted wives, says as the Council don't want\nto make it easy for 'usbands to dump families on the rates--good Gawd!\nas if a man eat up body and soul with a fancy for another woman stops\nto think of his family and where they will get dumped. Well, I mustn't\ngrumble. Lee was a good man to me and I miss 'im sad, but there is my\nGladys, the prettiest of the bunch, the flower of the flock as 'er dad\nused to call 'er, left within three year of 'er wedding by 'er 'usband,\nwho was the maddest and silliest lover I ever seed till she said 'Yes'\nto 'im, though dad and I always told 'er 'e was no good. No, my dear,\nI'm afraid as it isn't the truth, but if folks play us such dirty tricks\nwe must be even with them. Think of your little 'ome and your little\nkiddies and rouse yourself for their sakes. You are a strong and 'earty\nwoman when you stop crying for 'im and get some victuals into you, and\nyou don't want the Board to get at 'em and take 'em away, protecting\nthem against you and sending them to that great Bastille. Don't give\nway, dearie. I'll come with you to-morrow. And I'd better be your\nmother-in-law; folks know me round 'ere, and 'ow me and the old dad 'ad\nfifteen of 'em, and a daughter-in-law more or less won't matter. Don't\ngive way, I tell you. Give us another cup of tea, Mrs. Hayes.\"\n\nThe next morning a deep-crape-veiled Mrs. Spence, propped up by an\nequally funereal Mrs. Lee, the black-bordered handkerchief much in\nevidence, sought and obtained work at the new L.C.C. School for the\nMentally Defective, and the terrors of the workhouse, the Poor Law\nSchools, or even prison were temporarily averted.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RUNAWAY\n\n\nHe sat alone, in a corner of the playing field, a white-faced child of\nthe slums, in a dumb agony of loneliness and despair.\n\nHe was frightened and appalled at the wide stretches of green woodland\naround and the great dome of the blue sky above. It made him feel\nsmaller and more deserted than ever, and his head was sore with\nhome-sickness for his mother and Mabel, the sister next him, and the\nbaby, his especial charge, for whose warm weight his little arms ached\nwith longing.\n\nHe had always been his mother's special help. He had minded the younger\nones when she got a job at washing or charing, and helped her to sew\nsacks with little fingers quickly grown deft with practice. They had\nbeen very happy, even though food was often short, and spent many\npleasant hours amongst the graves of their churchyard playgrounds, or\nsitting on the Tower Wharf watching the river and the big ships.\n\nThe nightmare of his short life had been a man called Daddy, who came\nback when they were all asleep, smelling strong and queer, and then\nthere would be furious words and the dull thuds of blows falling on his\nmother's slender body, and he would throw himself screaming to protect\nhis beloved against the wild beast that was attacking her. Once in the\nfray his arm had got broken, and he had seen, as in an evil dream, a\ndreaded \"cop\" enter the room, and Daddy had been hailed to prison, after\nwhich there was long peace and joy in the little home.\n\nThen the man came out, and the quarrels were worse than ever, till a\nkindly neighbour took Percy to sleep on the rag bed with her other\nchildren, out of the way of Daddy, who had conceived a violent hatred\nagainst his firstborn.\n\nThen one day Daddy was brought home, straight and stiff, on a stretcher.\nThere had been a drunken row at the \"Pig and Whistle,\" and Daddy had\nfallen backwards on the pavement, and died of a fractured skull. An\ninquest was held, and much more interest was shown in Daddy's dead body\nthan any one had evinced in his living one. A coroner and a doctor and\ntwelve jurymen \"sat\" gravely on the corpse, and decided he had died \"an\naccidental death.\"\n\nThen there was a funeral and a long drive in a carriage with much crape\nand black about, and Daddy was left in a deep yellow hole with muddy\nwater at the bottom. And peace came again to the widow and orphans.\n\nPeace, but starvation, for the mother's wage did not suffice to buy\nbread for them all. The rent got behind, and finally, with many tears\nand much pressure from various black-coated men, who seemed always\nworrying at the door, he and Mabel had been taken to a big, terrible\nplace called a workhouse. And, after some preliminary misery at another\nplace, called a \"Receiving Home,\" wretchedness had culminated in this\nstrange vastness of loneliness and greenery. Only two days had passed,\nbut they seemed like years, and he trembled lest his sentence here\nshould be a life-one, and he would never see his mother again. He had\nnot killed nor robbed nor hurt any one, and he wondered with the\nbewilderment of seven years why men and women could be so cruel to him.\nThen he determined to run away. It had not taken long in the train. If\nhe started soon, he would be home by bedtime.\n\n\"Where's London?\" he asked a boy who was hitting a smaller one to pass\nthe time.\n\n\"Dunno. You go in a train.\"\n\n\"I know. But which way?\"\n\n\"Dunno, I tell you.\"\n\nNear him stood one of the teachers, but as a natural enemy the boy felt\nhe was not to be trusted, and did not ask him.\n\nThen the bell rang for dinner, and they took their seats round the long,\nbare tables, in front of a steaming plate of stewed meat and vegetables.\nHis pulses were beating with excitement at his secret plot, and the food\nwas like sawdust in his mouth. Afternoon school began, and he sat with\nthe resigned boredom of his kind, chanting in shrill chorus the eternal\ntruths of the multiplication table.\n\nThen some other subject, equally dull, was started, when suddenly his\nheart leaped to his mouth, and he nearly fell off the bench with the\nunexpected joy of it, for the teacher had brought up the intimate\nquestion of his soul: \"Which is the way to London?\"\n\nThe blood throbbed so loud in his ears that he could scarcely hear the\nanswer. \"London lies south of this schoolroom. If you walked out of that\nwindow, and followed your nose up the white road yonder, it would take\nyou to London.\"\n\nOther strange instruction followed--how to find north and south, and all\nabout the sun and moon--but he purposely refrained from attending. By\nthe act of God the position of London had been miraculously revealed to\nhim, and he clung fast to that knowledge, so that his brain was burning\nwith the effort of concentration.\n\nAt last the bell rang, and they flocked out again into the playing\nfield. He stood alone with his great knowledge and reconnoitred the\nsituation like an experienced general; a high fence with barbed wire ran\nround the field (clearly boys had run away before), but on the left of\nthe square school-house he could see the shrubbery and the big locked\ngates by which he had been brought in with fellow-prisoners two days\nbefore.\n\nClearly, there was no escape but by going back to the house and facing\nperils unspeakable. So, humming softly to himself, he walked back\nthrough the long corridors to the entrance-hall, and out at the front\ndoor, which was standing open, for the day was hot. He sneaked along\nlike a cat under the laurel bushes.\n\nThe big gates were locked, but farther down, hidden in the ivy of the\nwall, was a small door which yielded to his push, and then, by the\nfavour of the angels, he stood free, and ran for his life up the white\nroad which led to London. At the top of the hill he paused and panted\nfor breath. The windows of the great school-house glared at him like the\neyes of some evil beast, and, small as he was, he was painfully\nconscious of his conspicuousness on the white highway. A farmer's cart\npassed him, and the man turned round and gazed after him curiously. A\nmotor-bus thundered past in a cloud of white, and again it seemed as if\nevery head turned to watch him.\n\nHot and faint and thirsty, he still plodded on. London, with its beloved\nchimneys and friendly crowds, would soon burst into view, and his\nmother, with her cheery \"What-ho, Percy!\" would be welcoming him. The\nnew shoes of the school were pinching badly. He longed to take them off,\nbut funked the knots, which some female person had tied that morning\nwith damnable efficiency. The sun had suddenly tumbled into a\ndangerous-looking pool of red fire, and the shadows which ran beside him\nhad grown so gigantic he felt alarmed. Such terrifying phenomena were\nunknown in the blessed streets of London. The queer night noises of the\ncountryside had begun around him: strange chirrups and cries from\nunseen beasts, which seemed to follow and run beside him; and every now\nand then a horned monster stuck its head over the gate and roared\nhungrily for its prey.\n\nAt length, wearied and hungry, and terrified by the sinister darkness\nstealing over the landscape, he threw himself down by the wayside. He\nheard the sound of footsteps behind, and braced himself to meet the\nknife of the murderer, when a cheerful voice greeted him: \"What-ho,\nsonnie! You are out late. Time for little boys to be in bed.\"\n\n\"Please, sir,\" said the child, \"I am going home to mother.\"\n\n\"Where does your mother live?\"\n\n\"In London.\"\n\n\"London, eh! But you've a long way to go.\"\n\nA sob rose and tore at his throat. Still a long way to go, and darkness\nwas coming on--black, inky darkness, uncut by familiar street-lamps.\n\n\"Come home with me, Tommy, and my missis will sleep you for the night.\"\n\nWith a feeling of perfect confidence, the child slipped his small\nfingers into the horny hand of the farm labourer, and half an hour\nlater, washed and fed, he was sleeping in a big bed amongst a\nheterogeneous collection of curly heads.\n\n\"Look 'ere, Bill,\" said the labourer's wife as she folded up the neat\nlittle garments provided by unwilling ratepayers, \"'e's runned away from\nthat there barrack school.\"\n\n\"I knowed that,\" said Bill, knocking the ashes out from his clay pipe.\n\"It ain't the first time as I've met youngsters on the road, and, mebbe,\nit won't be the last, as folks in the village have been before the beak\nfor harbouring them, poor little devils!\"\n\n\n\n\n\"A GIRL! GOD HELP HER!\"\n\n\nThe Lady Catherine Castleton lay dying in the stately bed-chamber of\nCastleton Hall. Night and day they had sought for my lord in clubs and\ngambling dens and well-known haunts of vice and pleasure, but they did\nnot know of the rose-grown cottage on the Thames which he had taken for\nhis latest inamorata.\n\nWhen they told my lady the child was a girl she had given a low cry,\n\"God help her!\" and had turned her face to the wall. Great obstetricians\nsummoned by telephone had sped in flying motors from town, but they\nstood baffled and helpless by the bedside of the young woman, who lay so\nstill and indifferent, making no effort to live.\n\nIn the library the family lawyer and the white-haired admiral, her\nfather, sat signing cheques for the great specialists, who had done so\nlittle and charged so much.\n\nWhen they had gone the admiral, who loved his daughter, swore long and\nvigorously with the gorgeous powers of the seafaring man, and the lawyer\nlistened with fascinated approval.\n\n\"I told her what her life would be with a loose-living scoundrel like\nCastleton, but she would not listen--madly in love with him and his\nhandsome face, and now he has killed her at twenty-two!\"\n\n\"I had a very distressing interview with Lady Catherine a few weeks ago.\nShe went away in disgust and despair when I had to tell her that I did\nnot think she had sufficient evidence for a divorce, and that she must\nprove cruelty or desertion as well as adultery.\"\n\n\"D---d shameful law, sir; can't think how the country puts up with it.\nBut she shall be safe from him if she lives, my poor little girl!\"\n\nThen they were silent, for the shadow of death crept nearer.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOutside the park gates at the end of the village, in Castleton Union,\nanother girl lay dying. The local practitioner had been called in on his\nway back from consultation with the great gynaecologists, and as at the\nhall, so in the workhouse, he found his patient sinking. \"She came in\nlate last night, sir,\" said the nurse, \"and the child was born almost\nimmediately. Her pulse is very weak, and I can't rouse her; she won't\neven look at the child.\"\n\n\"I hear it is Jennie Appleton, the carpenter's daughter at\nKingsford--very respectable people. How did she get here?\"\n\n\"Usual thing. Got into trouble at her situation in London; the man\npromised to marry her, but he kept putting it off, and then one day he\ndisappeared, and wrote to her from Glasgow saying that he was a married\nman. She came back home, but her father drove her out with blows and\ncurses, and she walked here from Kingsford--goodness knows how. It is a\nsad case, and the relieving officer tells me she will probably not be\nable to get any affiliation order enforced, as the man has evaded\nliability by going to Scotland.\"\n\n\"Abominable!\" said the doctor; then he went towards the bedside of his\npatient, felt her pulse, glanced at the temperature chart, and his face\ngrew grave.\n\nTaking the babe from the cradle, he laid it beside the mother: \"You have\na pretty little girl.\"\n\nThe eyelids flickered, and, as the Countess had spoken, so spoke the\npauper: \"God help her!\"\n\n\"He will,\" said the doctor, who was a religious man.\n\n\"He didn't help me. He let me come to this, and I was born respectable.\nShe is only a little come-by-chance maid.\"\n\n\"Cheer up, my lass! My wife will help you: she knows it has not been\nyour fault.\"\n\nThe doctor gave a few directions, and then left, looking puzzled and\nworried. He was a good _accoucheur_, and hated to lose a case. What was\nthe matter with the women that they seemed to have lost the will to\nlive?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThree days later, in the glory of the May sunshine, there was a double\nfuneral in Castleton churchyard.\n\n\n\n\nON THE PERMANENT LIST\n\n     (1905)\n\n     Now also when I am old and grey-headed,\n         O God, forsake me not.\n\n\n\"Spend but a few days in the police-court,\" says Juvenal, \"and then call\nyourself an unhappy man if you dare.\" Had he sat on a Board of\nGuardians, he would doubtless have included that also as a school of\npersonal contentment.\n\nAll sorts of griefs and tragedies are brought up before us, some of them\nabnormal and Theban in horror, some of them so common that we seem to\nhear them unmoved: an honest man who cannot find employment, women with\nunborn babes kicked, starved, and deserted, children neglected or\ntortured, poor human beings marred in the making, the crippled, the\ndiseased, the defective physically and mentally, too often the pitiful\nscapegoats for the sins of the race.\n\nAll these things seem too terrible for words or tears; it is the\ncheeriness and humour of the poor, their pluck and endurance, their\nkindness and generosity one to another, that bring a lump to the throat\nand a dimness to the eyes.\n\nWe are a very careful Board, and pride ourselves on the strict way in\nwhich we administer our small amount of out-relief; to get it at all\none must be, as an applicant observed, \"a little 'igher than an angel,\"\nand so it is the very aristocracy of labour that files past us this\nmorning, men and women against whom even the Charity Organization\nSociety could find no fault, a brave old army, seventy and eighty odd\nyears of age, some of them bent and crippled with rheumatism and weight\nof years, short of breath, asthmatic, hard of hearing, dim in vision,\nbut plucky to the last, always in terror of looking too ill or too old,\nand being forced into the workhouse.\n\nA few, like Moses, do not suffer the usual stigmata of age. \"Their eye\nis not dim, nor their natural force abated.\"\n\n\"How do you keep so young?\" said our chairman, half-enviously, to an\napplicant eighty years of age, but upright still, with hair thick and\nuntinged with grey.\n\n\"'Igh living does it, sir,\" replied the old man, as he took his food\ntickets for the week, amounting to 3s. 13/4d. One old lady of eighty-two\nruns a private school, and, in spite of the competition of free\neducation and palatial school buildings, she has six pupils, whose\nparents value individual attention and \"manners\" at sixpence per head a\nweek. She is fully qualified and certificated, and is a person of strong\nviews and much force of character, and not only holds Solomon's opinions\nupon corporal punishment in theory, but still puts them into practice. I\nwonder which of us will have the conviction and energy to cane boys at\neighty-two?\n\nWe are a very clean Board, and every half-year the relieving officer\nbrings a report as to the condition of the homes; but some of the old\npeople are so withered and shrunken, and their span of remaining life is\nso short, that there seems little left both of time and space in which\ndirt can collect, and I always hope death will free them before they are\nbrought into the bleak cleanliness of the House.\n\nLately in the workhouse one old man took such an affectionate leave of\nme that I asked him if he felt ill. \"Not yet, ma'am, but I have got to\nhave a bath to-night, and the last one I took turned me so queer I was\nlaid up ten weeks in the infirmary. It does you no 'arm, ma'am, very\nlikely--I've 'eard say as the gentry is born and bred to it--but when\nthey starts a-bathing of us poor people for the first time at eighty in\nthem great long coffins full of water, no wonder our rheumatics comes on\nworse than ever. And then, ma'am, you forget as you ladies and gentlemen\n'ave a drop of something hot to keep the cold out afterwards, and I\ndon't blame you for it, but that we never gets.\"\n\nOn the whole, the old ladies keep themselves wonderfully clean and\nsmart, and the cheap drapery stores in the vicinity of the workhouse do\na great trade twice a year in violets and rosebuds at 13/4d. a dozen for\nthe adornment of bonnets; feminine instinct is not atrophied by age, and\nthe applicants know the value of a good appearance before \"the\ngentlemen.\" The old men are not so clever, and when deprived of the\nministrations of a wife they seem to have no idea of \"mackling\" for\nthemselves, and too often lapse into a fatal condition of dirt and\nhugger-mugger. Sometimes the reports are brought by daughters, nieces,\nor neighbours, or sometimes \"only the landlady\"--that abused class\nshowing often much Christian charity and generosity.\n\nSome of the old people have led such blameless lives that members of the\nC.O.S. offer to take them up and save them from the Poor Law, a\nprivilege they do not always fully appreciate.\n\n\"No, thank you, sir, I don't want to go there. I've 'eard of the Charity\nOrganization, and the questions as they ask--Mrs. Smith told me they\nsifted and sifted her case and give her nothing in the end. I'd rather\nhave a few ha'pence from you, sir.\"\n\n\"But you will be a pauper!\" said one of the Guardians, in a sepulchral\nvoice of horror.\n\n\"Oh! I don't mind that a bit, sir. My mother was left a widow and on the\nparish at forty. I'm sixty-seven, and I'd work if I could, but they\nturned me off at the laundry because the rheumatics has stiffened up my\nfingers, and I can't wash any more, and I don't see why I shouldn't come\non the parish now.\"\n\nHaving no vote, and being accustomed to be classed in the category of\n\"lunatics, criminals, and idiots,\" no wonder the term \"pauper\" conveys\nlittle opprobrium to women.\n\n\"Bother the House!\" says another spirited old laundress, who complains\nthat \"a parcel of girls\" are preferred before her. \"I'm too young to\ncome in there. I'm only seventy, and I'll wait till I'm eighty.\"\n\nOne poor old man has his relief stopped because his wife is reported as\n\"a drinking woman,\" though he is told he may still draw the money if his\nwife enters the House. \"Thank you, sir, my wife does not come into the\nworkhouse. She has a glass sometimes, but she is never the worse for\nliquor, and she's been a good wife to me. Spiteful gossip, sir. Good\nmorning!\" and he walks out, an honourable and loyal gentleman fallen on\nevil days.\n\nSometimes cold and starvation is worse than they thought, and they do\ncome in; sometimes they die. The body of an old man was lately fished\nout of the pond, and at the inquest it was stated that he had lost his\nemployment after thirty years at one place. The firm had changed hands,\nand the new manager had told him, brutally, \"he wanted no old iron\nabout.\" At seventy-five one is a drag in the labour market, and the poor\nold fellow, feeling acutely that he would only be a burden on his sons\nand his daughters, asked neither for out-relief nor indoor-relief, but\nstood his mates a drink with his last shilling, and took the old Roman\nmethod.\n\nHowever, light seems dawning through the darkness, and I think many Poor\nLaw Guardians will rest better in their beds knowing that old-age\npensions seem to have come into the sphere of practical politics.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PAUPER AND THE OLD-AGE PENSION[2]\n\n\nOn January 1st the receipt of Poor Law relief ceases to be a\ndisqualification for old-age pensions, and some interesting statistics\nhave been compiled by the _Daily Mail_ which show that only about 17 per\ncent. of old people in the workhouses are applying for their 5s. per\nweek. These are the figures for England and Wales. In the Metropolitan\narea, where rents are high, and the smallest room cannot be had under\ntwo shillings or half a crown a week, the proportion will be lower\nstill.\n\nAt first sight these figures are very disappointing, and it seems to\nsome of us who have counted so much on this reform as if we cannot\nescape from the evils of the workhouse system. But a little thought will\nshow how impossible it is for this generation of old folk to take\nadvantage of the change; the wished-for has come too late; they have\nburnt their ships, or rather their beds, sold up \"the little 'ome\"; they\nhave neither bag nor baggage, bed nor clothing. They are like snails\nwith broken shells. There is no protection against the rude world, and\nonce having made the sacrifice, few people over seventy have the pluck\nto start life afresh. It is hardly worth while; for them the bitterness\nof death is past.\n\nA committee of our Board has held three special sessions for the purpose\nof interviewing these old people, and the answer has come with wearying\nmonotony, \"No, thank you, five shillings would be no good to me. I have\nnowhere to go.\" Some have sons and daughters, but \"heavy families\" and\ncrowded rooms dry up filial piety. There is no place for the aged father\nor mother in our rack-rented city, and the old people accept their fate\nwith the quiet philosophy of the poor. The long string of human wreckage\nfiles past us, some bowed and bent with the weight of years, others\nupright and active, some with the hoary heads of the traditional\nprophets, others black-haired and keen-eyed still, for the \"high living\"\nof the workhouse, as is often remarked, preserves youth in a miraculous\nway. Some are crippled and half-blind, others suffer with deafness--an\nailment of poverty, which very naturally grows worse under inquisitive\nquestioning--and nearly all have rheumatism. A curate once told me that\nhe was summoned to a sick parishioner who was \"troubled in mind,\" and\nwanted to make his peace with Heaven, but the only sin he could remember\nwas \"the rheumatics.\" The disease seems to be a national sin.\n\nOne hears the country accents of the United Kingdom--the burr of\nNorthumbria, the correct English of East Anglia, the rough homeliness\nof Yorkshire and the Midlands, the soft accents of Devonshire and the\nWest, the precision of the foreign English of the Welsh mountains, the\npleasant ring of the Scottish tongue, the brogue of old Ireland. Few\nseem Londoners. Take any group of people, and see how few of her\nchildren London seems to bring to maturity.\n\nIt is our last meeting to-day, and we go to visit those who cannot\nattend, the sick and bed-ridden in the infirmary--a mere form, for these\nare vessels which will sail no more, sea-battered, half-derelict,\nnearing port, and for them the dawn will break in the New Jerusalem.\nSome are palsied and paralysed and half-senile, but now and again keen\nold eyes look at us from the whiteness of the ratepayers' sheets and\nregret they are \"too old to apply.\"\n\nVery ancient folk live in these wards, and their birthdays go back to\nthe tens and twenties of last century, one old lady being born in the\nhistoric year of 1815. An old man, jealous of her greater glory, says he\nis 109, but our register of age gives the comparatively recent date of\n1830. Few of them seem to have any friends or visitors. Children are\ndead, grandchildren and great-grandchildren have forgotten them; but\nthey do not complain, age mercifully deadens the faculties, though their\nterrible loneliness was once graphically written on my brain by the\nspeech of an old Irishwoman: \"I am quite alone, lady; I have no friends\nbut you and the Almighty God.\"\n\nWe have interviewed 103, and only eleven have applied for the pension.\nThe wished-for, as I have said, has come too late; but another\ngeneration will be saved from \"the House\" and will be able \"to die\noutside,\" so often the last wish of the aged.\n\nThe merciful alteration in the law will save this generation of \"outdoor\npoor.\" Old people in the late sixties have no longer been dying of\nstarvation in the terror of losing the pension through accepting poor\nrelief, and the greater independence of the State pensioner is\nheartening many. \"On the Imperial taxes,\" said an old gentleman with a\nsomewhat low standard of cleanliness, \"I can be as dirty as ever I\nlike.\"\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[2] Act amended 1911.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EVACUATION OF THE WORKHOUSE\n\n     (1915)\n\n\nThe workhouse is being evacuated; the whole premises, infirmary and\nHouse, have been taken over by the War Office as a military hospital;\nafter weeks of waiting final orders have come, and to-day\nmotor-omnibuses and ambulances are carrying off the inmates to a\nneighbouring parish.\n\nOne feels how widespread and far-reaching are the sufferings caused by\nwar, and spite of this bright May sunshine one realizes that the whole\nearth is full of darkness and cruel habitations, the white blossoms of\nthe spring seem like funeral flowers, and the red tulips glow like a\nfield of blood.\n\nIt never occurred to me before that any one could have any feeling,\nexcept repugnance, towards a workhouse, but some one--I think it was the\nprisoner of Chillon--grew attached to his prison, and evidently it is\nthe same with these old folk. Old faces work painfully, tears stand in\nbright old eyes, knotted old fingers clutch ours in farewell, and some\nof the old women break down utterly and sob bitterly. On the journey\nsome of them lose all sense of control, take off their bonnets, and let\ndown their hair, obeying a human instinct of despair which scholars\nwill remember dates back to the siege of Troy. \"It's all the home I've\nknown for twenty years, and I be right sorry to go,\" says an aged man,\nas he shakes my hand.\n\nFolks live long in the workhouse, and seventy and eighty years are\nregarded as comparative youth by the older people of ninety and upwards;\nto the aged any change is upheaval; they have got used to their bed,\ntheir particular chair, their daily routine, and to have to leave the\naccustomed looms in the light of a perilous adventure. Perhaps heaviest\nof all is the sense of exile; it is a long walk to the adjoining parish,\nand bus fares will be hard to spare with bread at ninepence a quartern.\n\"I've been on the danger list and my son came every day to see me,\" says\none old lady, \"but he won't be able to get so far now.\"\n\nAlarming rumours are being spread by a pessimist much travelled in\nvagrant wards, but they are speedily contradicted by an optimist, also\nan expert in Poor Law both in theory and practice.\n\nWe try to cheer them, but our comfort is not whole-hearted; we can guess\nhow the chafing of the unaccustomed, the new discipline, the crowds of\nunfamiliar faces will jar upon the aged. We try to impress upon them the\njoy of self-sacrifice, the needs of our wounded soldiers, the patriotic\npride in giving up something for them. Oh, yes, they know all that, the\nGuardians had been and talked to them \"just like a meeting,\" they\nunderstand about the soldiers, they want to do their best for them; but\nit is hard. The workhouse is nothing if not military in its traditions;\nheroes of South Africa, of Balaclava, and the Crimea have found asylum\nin the whitewashed wards; many of the present inmates have been\nsoldiers, and there are few who have not some relatives--grandsons and\ngreat-grandsons--fighting in the trenches. One of the oldest of the\n\"grannies,\" aged ninety-three, went off smiling, proud, as she said, \"to\ndo her bit.\"\n\nThe sick are being brought down now into the ambulances--the phthisical,\nthe paralytic, the bed-ridden--blinking in the sunlight from their\nmattress-tomb, one poor woman stricken with blindness and deafness, who\nin spite of nervousness looks forward to her first motor-drive. These\nare less troubled; they are younger, and the sick hope ever for a quick\ncure, and the majority are only in for temporary illness. Then come the\nbabies, astonishingly smart and well-dressed, including the youngest\ninmate, aged but eight days.\n\nThe costumes are odd and eccentric, and in spite of misery a good deal\nof good-tempered chaff flies round. All inmates are to leave in their\nown clothes, and strange garments have been brought to the light of day,\nwhilst much concern is expressed about excellent coats and skirts\nmoth-eaten or mislaid in the course of twenty-five years. The storage of\nthe workhouse often suffers strain, and the wholesome practice of\n\"stoving\" all clothes does not improve the colours nor contribute to the\npreservation of what _modistes_ call _la ligne_. Fortunately, all\nfashions come round again, and we try to assure the women that the\nvoluminous skirts and high collars of last century are _le dernier cri_\nin Bond Street, but it is difficult for one woman to deceive another\nover the question of fashion.\n\nFor twelve hours the 'buses and ambulances have plied backwards and\nforwards, and now the last load home has started, and tired nurses and\nharassed officials wave their last good-bye, thankful the long day has\ncome at length to an end. In a few days other loads will arrive, all\nyoung these and all soldiers, many of them, perhaps, as the\nadvertisements say, belonging to the nobility and gentry. The workhouse\nhas ceased to be. From to-day it will be no longer rate-supported; the\nnurses and the whole staff draw rations and are in the pay and service\nof the War Office. As soon as possible gilt letters will announce it as\na \"Military Hospital.\"\n\nOn the table before me lies a copy of the local paper, and I read with\nsurprise the thanks of a public body for our \"offer to give up the\nworkhouse as a military hospital, and expressing appreciation of the\npatriotic action of the Guardians in the matter.\"\n\nIn my opinion we made no offer; we merely obeyed a command, and the\npeople who did a patriotic action were those who turned out of their\nhome, such as it was; but in this world credit is given where it is not\ndue, and thanks are bestowed on the wrong people. We reap where we have\nnot sown and gather where we have not strawed.\n\n\n_Printed in Great Britain by_\nUNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Workhouse Characters, by Margaret Wynne  Nevinson\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCREED AND DEED\n\nA SERIES OF DISCOURSES\n\n\nBy Felix Adler\n\n\n1880\n\n\n\n\nPREFATORY NOTICE.\n\nThe lectures contained in the following pages are published by request\nof the society before which they were delivered. Those on Immortality\nand Religion have been considerably abridged and condensed. The\nremainder have been allowed to retain their original form without any\nserious modification. The First Anniversary Discourse reviews the work\nof the year, and gives a brief account of the motives which impelled the\nsociety to organize and of the general animus by which its labors are\ndirected. The Lecture entitled The Form of the Ideal foreshadows the\nconstructive purpose of the movement. The articles on The Evolution of\nHebrew Religion and Reformed Judaism from the _Popular Science Monthly\n(September_, 1876) and the _North American Review (July-August and\nSeptember-October)_ contain in the substance of several of the lectures\nof last winter's course, and are reprinted in the appendix with the\nkind consent of the editors. Rigid adherrence to the requirements of\nsystematic exposition is neither possible nor desirable in addresses of\nthe kind and has not therefore been attempted.\n\nIn giving this volume to the public I gladly embrace the opportunity of\nexpressing my sincere gratitude to those faithful and self-sacrificing\nfriends whose indefatigable labors have gone so far to win for a\nhazardous venture the promise of assured permanence and satisfactory\ndevelopment.\n\nFelix Adler.\n\nNew York, September, 1877.\n\n\n\n\nCREED AND DEED\n\n\n\n\nI. IMMORTALITY\n\n     \"not by the Creed but by the Deed.\"\n\nThe Spciety which I have the privilege of addressing, has been organized\nwith the above for its motto. Some of my hearers have entirely abandoned\nthe tenets of the positive religions; others continue to hold them true,\nbut, are discouraged by the lack of spiritual force, the prominence\ngiven to mere externals, the barren formalism in the churches and\nsynagogues. We agree in believing that theology is flourishing at\nthe expense of religion. It seems to us that differences in creed are\nconstantly increasing, and will continue to multiply with the growth and\ndifferentiation of the human intellect. We perceive that every attempt\nto settle problems of faith has thus far signally failed, nor can we\nhope for better results in the future. Certainty even with regard to\nthe essential dogmas appears to us impossible. We do not therefore deny\ndogma, but prefer to remit it to the sphere of individual conviction\nwith which public associations should have no concern. Far from\nbelieving that the doctrines of religion as commonly taught are\nessential to the well being of society, we apprehend that the disputes\nconcerning the \"author of the law\" have diverted the attention of men\nfrom the law itself, and that the so-called duties toward God too often\ninterfere with the proper performance of our duties toward one another.\nIt were better to insist less upon a right belief, and more upou right\naction.\n\nIn order to find a common basis whereon good men, whether believers or\nunbelievers can unite, we look to the moral law itself, whose certainty\nrests in the universal experience of civilized Humanity. We shall\nhold questions of faith in abeyance, shall endeavor to stimulate the\nconscience and to this end shall seek to awaken an interest in the grave\nsocial problems of our day, which need nothing so much as a vigorous\nexertion of our moral energies, in order to arrive at a peaceable\nsolution. To broaden and deepen the ethical sentiment in ourselves, and\nto hold up to the sad realities of the times, the mirror of the ideal\nlife, is the object with which we set out. We do not therefore delude\nourselves with the hope that the ideal will ever be fully realized,\nbut are convinced that in aspiring to noble ends the soul will take on\nsomething of the grandeur of what it truly admires. Starting with the\nassumption that the doctrines of religion are incapable of proof,\nit behooves us to show in one or more instances the fallacy of the\narguments upon which they are commonly founded, and we shall begin with\nthe doctrine of IMMORTALITY.\n\nIn approaching our subject we are first confronted by the argument\nfrom the common consent of mankind. Like the belief in God, the hope\nof immortality is said to be implanted in every human heart, and the\nexperience of travellers is cited to show that even the most barbarous\nraces have given it expression in some form, however crude. Aside from\nthe fact that the statement, as it stands, is somewhat exaggerated, we\nwill admit that the belief in a future state is widely current among\nsavage tribes. But the value of this testimony becomes extremely\ndoubtful on closer inspection. A brief account of the origin of the\nconception of soul among our primitive ancestors, will make this plain.\n\nIf we observe a child in its sleep, some half articulate word, some cry\nor gesture occasionally reveals to us the vividness of the dreams with\nwhich the little brain is teeming. It is hardly doubtful that the child\nmistakes the visions of its dream for actual occurrences, and attaches\nthe same reality to these miasmas of the stagnant night as to the\nclear prospects of daylight reason. Even the adult sometimes finds it\ndifficult to clear his brain of the fancies which occupied it in the\nhours of sleep. And the test of large experience can alone enable him to\ndistinguish between fact and phantom. I call attention to these facts,\nbecause the phenomena of sleep and dreams seem to offer a satisfactory\nclue to the naive theories of the lower races concerning death and the\nafter life. The savage indeed is the veritable child-man. His ardent\nemotions, his crude logic, the eagerness with which he questions the how\nand wherefore of nature, and the comparative ease with which his simple\nunderstanding accepts the most fanciful solutions, all combine to place\nhim on the level of the child.\n\nAware that the body in sleep is at rest, while at the same time the\nsleeper is conscious of acting and suffering, visiting distant regions\nperhaps, conversing with friends, engaging in battle with enemies, the\nsavage reasoned that there must be a man within the man, as it were,--an\nairy counterfeit of man which leaves its grosser tenement in the night,\nand in the course of its wanderings experiences whatever the fortunes of\nthe dream may chance to be. Instances are related where the body was\nprematurely disturbed, the inner man was prevented from returning to his\nenvelope, and death resulted. The shadow cast by the human figure, an\nattenuated image of man, connected with the body and yet distinct from\nit, afforded a curious confirmation of this artless theory. The Basutos*\naffirm that a person having on one occasion incautiously approached the\nbank of a river, his shadow was seized by a crocodile, and he died in\nconsequence. The story of shadowless or soulless men has been made\nfamiliar to modern literature by Chamisso's well known tale. The\nspectral man who severs his connection with the body during sleep,\nremains concealed within it during the hours of waking, and in this\nmanner, the idea of a human soul as distinct from the body, takes its\nrise.** It is easy to see how by extending the analogy, what we call\ndeath must have appeared as only another form of sleep, and how the\ntheory of dreams gave rise to a belief in the continuance of life beyond\nthe grave. That sleep and death are twin brothers, was to the primitive\nman more than mere metaphor. As in sleep, so in death, the body is at\nrest, but as in sleep, so also in death, a shade was supposed to go\nforth capable of acting and suffering, and yearning to return to its\nformer condition. The apparitions of the deceased seen at night by the\nfriends they had left behind, were taken to be real visitations, and\ncorroborated the assumption of the continued existence of the departed.\nThe ghosts of the dead were dreaming phantoms, debarred from permanently\nreturning to their abandoned bodies.\n\n     * The dream theory seems to be the one generally adopted by\n     writers on primitive culture. For an extended account of\n     this subject vide the works of Tylor, Lubbock and Bastian,\n     from which the illustrations given in the text are taken.\n\n     ** Peter Schlemihl.\n\n     *** The soul was believed to be corporeal in nature, only\n     more vague and shadowy than the framework of the body, and\n     distinguished by greater swiftness of locomotion.\n\nThe view we have taken of the origin of the conception of soul is\ngreatly strengthened when we consider the thoroughly material character\nof the ghost's life after death. The ghost continues to be liable to\nhunger, pain, cold, as before. But the living have shut it out from\ntheir communion; in consequence it hates its former companions,\npersecutes them where it can, and wreaks its vengeance upon them when\nthey are least prepared to resist it. In a certain district of Germany\nit was believed that the dead person, when troubled by the pangs of\nhunger, begins by gnawing its shroud until that is completely devoured,\nthen rising from the grave, it stalks through the village and in the\nshape of a vampire, sits upon the children in their cradles, and sucks\ntheir blood. When sated with the hideous feast, it returns to the\nchurchyard to renew its visits on the succeeding nights. In order to\nhinder them from using their jaws, it was customary to place stones or\ncoins into the mouths of the dead before burial and the most grotesque\ndevices were resorted to, to prevent the much dreaded return of the\ndenizens of the tomb. In the middle ages the corpse was often spiked\ndown to hinder its rising. Among the Hottentots a hole was broken into\nthe wall, through which the corpse was carried from the house, and then\ncarefully covered up, it being the prevailing superstition, that the\ndead can only reenter by the same way in which they have previously made\ntheir exit. Among a certain <DW64> tribe of Africa, the path from the\nhouse to the grave was strewn with thorns, in the hope that the ghost\nwould find the path too painful, and desist. As late as 1861, it\noccurred in a village in Gallicia, that the ghost of a dead peasant was\nfound to pursue the living, and the inhabitants rushing out to the grave\nfearfully mutilated the body, to prevent it from committing further\ninjury.\n\nThe same conception, from a more charitable point of view, led to the\ninstitution of regular meals for the ghosts at stated intervals. In\nNorth-eastern India, after the body has been consigned to its final\nresting-place, a friend of the deceased steps forward, and holding food\nand drink in his hand, speaks the following suggestive words, \"Take and\neat; heretofore you have eaten and drunk with us, you can do so no more;\nyou were one of us, you can be so no longer; we come no more to you;\ncome you not to us.\" In Eastern Africa, the Wanicas are accustomed to\nfill a cocoa-nut shell with rice and tembo, and place it near the grave.\nIn the Congo district, a channel is dug into the grave leading to the\nmouth of the corpse, by which means food and drink are duly conveyed.\nThe sense of decorum impels certain Turanian tribes to place not only\nfood, but even napkins, on the graves of their relatives. We cannot\nresist the temptation of quoting the following passage from Mr. Tylor's\ngraphic account of the manner in which the Chinese feast their ghostly\nvisitors. \"Some victuals are left over for any blind or feeble spirit\nwho may be late, and a pail of gruel is provided for headless souls,\nwith spoons for them to put it down their throats with. Such proceedings\nculminate in the so-called Universal Rescue, now and then celebrated,\nwhen a little house is built for the expected visitors, with separate\naccommodations, and bath rooms for male and female ghosts.\" * In the\nAlpach Valley of Tyrol, ghosts released from purgatory on the night\nof All Souls, return to the houses of the peasantry. A light is left\nburning in the dining room, and a certain cake, prepared for the\noccasion, is placed upon the table for their delectation, also a pot of\ngrease for the poor souls to anoint their wounds with.\n\n     * Tylor, Primitive Culture, ii, p. 34.\n\nOccasionally, to obviate the necessity of continued attendance upon\nthe dead, a single sumptuous feast is provided immediately after their\ndemise, and this is believed to cancel their claims once for all. In\nthis manner arose the custom of funeral banquets. In England, in the\nfifteenth century, a noisy revel of three days' duration attended the\nobsequies of Sir John Paston. The so-called Irish wake originated in\nthe same way. After the first outbreaks of grief have subsided, meat and\ndrink are brought in, chiefly the latter, and what was at first intended\nfor a parting entertainment to the dead, often ends in the boisterous\nexcesses of the living.\n\nIt is here proper to remark that the savage tribes who believe in an\nafter existence, do not in many instances claim this privilege for\nthemselves alone, but share it willingly with the lower animals and even\nwith inanimate objects. Weapons, utensils, and even victuals--have their\nghostly representatives like men. When a great chief dies, his widow is\noften forced by public opinion to follow him to the grave, in order that\nthe departed brave may not be wifeless in the hereafter. But besides the\nwidow, his horse, his war-club, his girdle, his favorite trinkets are\nburied or burned with him to serve his use or vanity in spectre-land.\n\nFrom what has preceded, it must be clear that the savage's conception of\na ghost bears but a faint and distant resemblance to the idea of soul,\nas it became current in the schools of philosophy; nor can the latter\nderive support from the ignorant reasonings, the hasty inductions of\nprimitive man. On the lower levels of culture the idea of immortality\nindeed is quite unknown. If the ghost continues its shadowy existence\nafter death, it is none the less liable to come to an abrupt end, and\nthen nothing whatever of its former substance remains; it is a pale,\nfilmy thing, exposed to the inroads of the hostile elements, surrounded\nby numerous dangers, to which it may at any moment succumb. In the Tonga\nIslands only the souls of the well-born are supposed to survive at all.\nThe common people have no souls worth speaking of, and when they die,\nare completely extinguished. The ghosts of Guinea <DW64>s are compelled\nto approach the bank of the terrible river of death. Some of them are\nthereupon wafted across to lead pleasant lives on the opposite side,\nothers are drowned in the stream, or beaten to atoms with a club. With\nthe Fijians it is always a matter of doubt whether a soul will succeed\nat all in maintaining its feeble existence after it has left its\nprotecting house of sinew and bone. But they open a peculiarly dismal\nprospect to wifeless souls. Nanananga, a fierce demoniac being, watches\nfor them on the shore as they approach, and dashes them to pieces upon\nthe rocks. The Greenlanders affirm that after death the soul enters\nupon a long, lone journey over a mountain full of precipitous descents,\ncovered with ice and snow. The storms howl about its path, and every\nstep is fraught with pain and danger. If any harm happens to the poor\nwanderer here, then it dies \"the other death\" from which there is no\nre-awakening.\n\nIn the theories of a future state, as devised by the lower races, we are\nat a loss to detect the germs of any more spiritual longings. Far from\nlooking forward with pleased anticipation or confidence to the world to\ncome, the barbarian shuddered as he thought of his approaching end,\nand was loath to exchange the white and sunny world for the dreary\ncompanionship of luckless shades. The life that awaited him was not in\nthe majority of instances a better or a higher life than this; not free\nfrom the limitations of sense; no larger perfecting of what is here\ndwarfed and crippled; it was lower, poorer, meaner; it was to the\npresent, what the pressed flower is to the full-blown rose; the same\nin substance, indeed, but with its beauty perished, and its joyous\nfragrance evanesced.\n\nThe argument from the common consent of mankind in truth deserves no\nserious attention.*\n\n     * The doctrine of spiritual immortality is not common to the\n     human race.   The material life of the ghost bears no\n     analogy to what we mean by the soul's continuance.    The\n     continuance of the ghost's existence is not an immortal\n     continuance.\n\nThe argument cannot be substantiated, it would prove nothing, if it\ncould. The general concurrence of the whole human race in any form of\nerror would not make that error less erroneous, and the testimony of\nunited millions against a solitary thinker might kick the beam when\nbalanced in the scales of truth.\n\nWhen we behold an ignorant knave squandering his ill-gotten gains\non superfluities, while honest people are famishing for want of the\nnecessaries; when we see the unscrupulous politician outstripping the\ndeserving statesman, in the race for fame and station; when modest merit\nshrinks in corners, and the native royalty of talent plays courtier to\nthe kings of lucre, we are reminded of the complaint of Job, that the\nbad prosper, and the righteous are down-trodden, yet that they sleep\ntogether in the dust and the worm covers them alike.\n\nThis evident disparity between virtue and happiness has led men to take\nrefuge in the thought of compensation hereafter, and the necessity of a\nfuture state in which the good shall be rewarded, and the evil punished,\naccording to the verdict of a just judge, has been deduced even from the\napparent injustice of the present. Thus the very imperfections of our\nown life on earth, afford a pretext for the most ambitious conceptions\nof human destiny.\n\nThe argument from the necessity of reward and punishment is extremely\npopular among the uneducated, since it appeals ostensibly to their sense\nof justice and assures them that by the aid of Divine omnipotence, a\nfull correspondence between worthiness and happiness, though vainly\nexpected here, will be established in another sphere. It behooves us to\nenquire whether there is anything in the nature of virtue, that demands\na correspondence of this kind.\n\nThe philosopher Epicurus was perhaps the first among the ancients to\ntake strong ground in favor of the utilitarian view of virtue. Pleasure,\nhe holds, is the purpose of existence, and virtue is thus reduced\nto enlightened self-interest. There are different kinds of pleasure;\npleasures of the senses and of the soul. Epicurus points out that the\nformer cannot be considered true pleasures, since they defeat their\nown end, blunting the capacity of enjoyment in proportion as they are\nindulged, and incapable of affording permanent satisfaction. Himself\na man of refined tastes and fastidious habits, he shrank from the very\ncoarseness of the passions, and counselled moderation, friendship and\nbenevolence. But he refused to recognize in these virtues any intrinsic\nvalue of their own, and lauded them only because in contrast to the\nlower appetites, the enjoyment they afford is lasting and constantly\nincreases with their exercise. It is easy to perceive that when the\nmoral law is thus stripped of its authority to command, the choice\nbetween duty and inclination will be governed by fortuitous preferences,\nand not by principle. It then remains for each individual to decide what\nform of pleasure may be most congenial to his temper and desires. The\nphilosopher will value the delights of contemplative ease, and of kindly\ncommunion with his fellow-men; the passionate youth may hold that a\nsingle deep draught from the chalice of sensual pleasure is worth more\nthan a whole lifetime of neutral self-restraint; \"eat and drink\" will\nbe his motto; \"remote consequences--who knows? To-morrow we may die.\"\nMoreover the doctrine of enlightened self-interest has this fatal\nobjection to it, that if consistently applied, at least among the\npowerful of the earth, it would lead to consequences the very reverse\nof moral. It is but too true that honesty is not always the best policy;\nthat fraud and violence, when perpetrated on a scale of sufficient\nmagnitude, (instance the division of unfortunate Poland,) are not always\npunished as they deserve to be. Far from teaching the tyrant to subdue\nhis baser instincts, enlightened self-interest might rather lead him to\nstifle the accusing voice of conscience, and to root out the scruples\nthat interfere with his ambition. Unless we concede that the moral law\nhas a claim upon us which the constitution of our nature does not permit\nus to deny with impunity, and that its pleasures differ, not only in\ndegree, but in kind, from all others, virtue, while a necessity to the\nweak, becomes folly in the strong; and Napoleon, that gigantic egotist,\nwas correct, when he called love a silly infatuation, and sentiment a\nthing for women.\n\nThe principles of Epicurus not only adulterate the motives of goodness\nwith the desire of reward, but they make the reward of desire the very\nsanction of all virtue, and thus deprive human nature of its best title\nto nobility.\n\nTruly disinterestedness is the distinguishing mark of every high\nendeavor. The pursuit of the artist is unselfish, the beauty he creates\nis his reward. The toil of the scientist in the pursuit of abstract\ntruth is unselfish, the truth he sees is his reward. Why should we\nhesitate to acknowledge in the domain of ethics, what we concede in the\nrealm of art and science? To say that unselfishness itself is only\nthe more refined expression of a selfish instinct, is to use the term\nselfish with a double meaning, is a mere empty play on words. We have\nthe innate need of harmony in the moral relations; this is our glory,\nand the stamp of the Divine upon our nature. We cannot demonstrate the\nexistence of disinterested motives, any more than we can demonstrate\nthat there is joy in the sunlight and freedom in the mountain breeze.\nThe fact that we _demand unselfishness_ in action alone assures us that\nthe standard of enlightened self-interest is false.\n\nAnd indeed if we consult the opinions of men, where they are least\nlikely to be warped by sophistry, we shall find that disinterestedness\nis the universal criterion by which moral worth is measured. If we\nsuspect the motive we condemn the act. If a person gives largely for\nsome object of public useful ness or charity, we do not permit the\nmunificence of the gift to deceive our judgment. Perhaps he is merely\ndesirous of vaunting his wealth, perhaps it is social standing he aims\nat, perhaps he is covetous of fame. If these suspicions prove well\nfounded, the very men who accept his bounty will in their secret hearts\ndespise him, and by a certain revulsion of feeling we shall resent his\naction all the more, because, not only is he destitute of honorable\npurpose, but he has filched the fair front of virtue, and defiled the\nlaurel even in the wearing of it.\n\nWe do not even accord the name of goodness to that easy, amiable\nsympathy which leads us to alleviate the sufferings of others, unless it\nbe guided by wise regard for their permanent welfare.\n\nThe tattered clothes, the haggard looks, the piteous pleading voice of\nthe pauper on the public highway may awaken our pity, but the system of\nindiscriminate alms-giving is justly condemned as a weakness rather than\na virtue.\n\nOn the other hand obedience to duty, when it involves pain and\nself-abnegation, seems to rise in the general estimation. Clearly\nbecause in this instance even the suspicion of interested motives is\nremoved, since hardship, injury in estate and happiness, and even the\npossible loss of life, are among the foreseen consequences of the act.\nIt is for this reason that the Book of Martyrs has become the golden\nbook of mankind, and that the story of their lives never fails to fill\nus with mingled sorrow, and admiration, and pride. They are monuments\non the field of history, milestones on the path of human progress. We\nregard them and gain new courage and confidence in our better selves.\nThe blazing pyre on the Campo Fiore, whereon Giordano Bruno breathes his\nlast, becomes a beacon-light for the truth-seeker; the dying Socrates\nstill pours benignant peace over many a sufferer's couch; the Man of\nsorrows, on Calvary, comforts the hearts of the Christian millions.\nIn the presence of these high examples the inadequacy of the selfish\nstandard becomes clearly apparent. We recognize what a sublime quality\nthat is in man which enables him, not only to triumph over torment and\nsuffering, but to devote his very self to destruction for the sake of\nhonor and truth. Freely must virtue be wooed, not for the dowry she may\nbring; by loyal devotion to her for her own sake only, can she be won!\n\nIf thus it appears that not only is there nothing in the nature of\nvirtue to warrant a claim to reward, but that it is her very nature to\ndisclaim any reward, it will become plain that the problem, as stated\nin the beginning, rests upon an entirely false foundation. That the\nunrighteous and unprincipled should enjoy temporal happiness, does not\noffend the law of justice. That you, my good sir, honest in all your\ndealings, truthful in all your acts, should be unhappy, is greatly to\nbe deplored. Why evil and unhappiness should have been allowed at all to\nenter a world created by an all good and all powerful Being may fairly\nbe asked. Why those who possess the treasure of a clear conscience\nshould not also possess the lesser goods of earth, is a question with\nwhich morality is in no wise concerned.\n\nVirtue can have no recompense, save as it is its own recompense, and\nvice can receive no real punishment save as it is its own avenger.\nThe hope of immortality, in so far as it is based upon the supposed\nnecessity of righting in a future state what is here wrong, is therefore\nuntenable, for it is based upon the assumption of a wrong which exists\nin the imagination merely. _And he who claims a reward because of his\nvirtue, has thereby forfeited his right to maintain the claim, since\nthat is not virtue, which looks for reward._\n\n*****\n\nHaving endeavored to show that the joys of earth cannot be claimed as\nthe recompense of a moral life, we must yet admit that the desire of\nhappiness is altogether too strong and deep-seated in human nature to\nbe thus summarily dismissed. We seek happiness on its own account quite\napart from any title which virtue may give us to its enjoyment. Were we\ncreated for misery? Does not the poverty and general unsatisfactoriness\nof our present condition warrant us in expecting ampler fulfilment,\npermanent bliss in an after life? I think we shall derive some\nassistance in discussing this question, by attempting to resolve the\nconception of happiness into its constituent elements.\n\nPleasure has been defined to consist in the satisfaction of any of man's\nnatural wants. The variety of our pleasures corresponds to the diversity\nof our wants.\n\nFood to the hungry, rest to the weary, are sources of pleasure. To feel\non some cold wintry day the genial warmth of true hearth fire creeping\ninto our blood, and the frozen limbs relaxing their stiffness, is\npleasure. All men admire the beautiful and delight in adornment. Even\nthe rude savage seeks to gratify his aesthetic tastes, so far as the\nmeans which nature places at his command permit. The custom of tattooing\nthe skin is widely practiced among the lower races, and stars and\ncircles, trees and plants, and other ingenious devices are impressed\nwith laborious patience upon the different members of the body. The\nchiefs of the Fiji Islanders, a nude and cannibal race, are represented\nas wearing an elaborate head-dress of three and even five feet in\ndimensions, and were accustomed to spend several hours each day, under\nthe care of the royal hair-dresser. Among civilized men the desire for\nadornment finds vent chiefly in external objects, while every coarse\nsolicitation of attention to the person is shunned. Tastily decorated\nhouses, flowers, paintings, music, gratify our sense of symmetry, and\nspread an atmosphere of culture and refinement in the vicinity of our\ndaily occupations. But there are deeper and purer joys in reserve. Man\nis eminently a social being; he has the need of sympathy and depends\nupon the affections of his fellows. The presence of cherished companions\nand friends becomes a necessity to him; in absence he yearns for it,\nand the lack of it is one of the most serious afflictions of human life.\n\"Woe unto him who, far from parents and loved kinsmen, a lonely life\nmust lead. His present joys devouring grief doth snatch. His thoughts\nare ever straying in the distance back to his father's hall, where the\nsun of life first rose upon him, and where children of the common\nhome, playfully, with gentle bonds, close and closer drew their hearts\ntogether.\"* The tranquil delight which we derive from the enlargement of\nintellect, and the exquisite inward satisfaction that results from high\nfidelity to duty, may be mentioned as the last to crown the scale of\npleasures.\n\n     * Goethe, Iphigenie auf Tauris, Act I.\n\nNow, it is evident that all these elements of happiness, these diverse\nrays that nowhere melt into the perfect light, are dependent upon the\nphysical organization of man, such as it is, even for their partial\nattainment; of the lower pleasures, this is at once evident. But a\nlittle reflection will show the same to be the case with the higher. If\nwe consider the aesthetic faculty, we find its gratification conditioned\nby a physical basis. What were music without the ear; what the symmetry\nof form, without the eye and touch? The intellect, in its turn,\nfashions-the rough timber of experience, which an ever flowing stream of\nsensation carries into the workshop of the brain. Can the mind feed upon\nitself? Can the laws of thought act otherwise than upon the material\nafforded by the senses? The same is also true with respect to our moral\nqualities, and the exercise of the virtues is inconceivable beyond the\npale of human society. All virtue presupposes a tendency to err;\nthe failings and limitations of our mortal condition. Justice is the\nadjustment of limitations common to all men in such manner that their\nstress shall not bear more heavily upon one than upon the other. Love\nis the expansion of one limited nature in another and their mutual\nenrichment by such union. Charity, fortitude, continence, whatever we\napplaud in human conduct, is but an indirect testimony to the natural\nimperfections inherent in the human heart, and is accounted admirable\nonly in so far as it tends to ensure the best interests of the race on\nearth. When therefore this body is corrupted, when we depart from out\nthe fellowship of men, the gratification of the appetites, the enjoyment\nof beauty, the exercise of reason, and the practice of virtue become\nalike unthinkable.\n\nWe desire larger happiness than we can here achieve; but because we\ndesire a thing, are we therefore at all warranted in believing that\nwe shall obtain it? Is the course of the world's affairs such as to\nencourage so flattering an hypothesis? Is not the fatality that so often\nattends our best efforts in this life, an argument against, rather than\nin favor of increasing felicity in another? We should assume a wiser\nattitude as against fate. There are those who fret under disappointment,\nand murmur and rebel as if they had been defrauded of a right; as if\nthey had entered into a compact with destiny to their advantage, as if\nthe myriad worlds moved through space for their especial good. This is\nan insane spirit. We need something of the vim of stoicism to grapple\nwith the difficulties of life; we need to cultivate a larger patience;\nan humble spirit prepared for every loss, and welcoming every hour\nof joy as an unlooked for gain. There are a thousand pleasures too in\nlittle things which we, with the petulance of children, daily spurn,\nbecause we cannot have all we ask for. In every stone there is\ninstruction, in every varying aspect of the sky there is beauty,\nwherever men congregate and commune, lessons of wisdom are revealed to\nthe observer. The movement of everlasting laws quivers in the meanest\ntrifles, and the eternities, thinly veiled, look out upon us with their\nsolemn gaze from every passing mask of time. These let us study; art\nwill help us; science will open to us a wondrous chain of workings which\nthe mind cannot exhaust, and active exertions for the common weal will\ngive a generous glow to our lives, and still the unquiet yearnings which\nwe may never entirely set at rest. You have seen how the flowers grow,\nhow that many seeds are scattered and but few take root; how the germ\nslowly and with difficulty develops. The rain waters it, the warm\nsunbeam fosters it; storms sweeping over the earth, may crush it while\nit is still a young and tender shoot. At last, sometimes after years of\npreparation, it buds and opens and blooms and becomes a delight and a\nglory, a fount of fragrance, a crown of beauty. A few days pass and\nit droops; what the long process of time has slowly created, a single\nmoment may suffice to destroy; and yet though its time was brief, the\nflower fulfilled its nature only in that passing bloom; all the previous\nstages of its existence had a meaning only as they led up to this, the\nfinal revelation of its purpose.\n\nThe bloom of human life is morality; whatever else we may possess,\nhealth, and wealth, power, grace, knowledge, have a value only as they\nlead up to this; have a meaning only as they make this possible. Nor\nshould we complain that the blight of death so quickly withers what the\ncourse of threescore years has scarce sufficed to produce. In the hour\nof our destruction, we will lift up our hearts in triumph--we have\nblossomed! We have blossomed!\n\nBut it will be said, that the flower when it is wilted and withered\nhere, may be transplanted to fairer regions; that the soul may take\non new organs, when it has abandoned its earthly habitation, and in a\nseries of transformations of which, it is true, we can form no definite\nconception, may enter afresh upon its struggles for worthiness in other\nspheres. This is, indeed, the loftiest expression which the hope of\nimmortality has found. Unlike the arguments previously considered, it\nis unalloyed by any selfish motive, is founded upon a really exalted\nsentiment, and it is Love and Virtue themselves that here take up the\nstrain, and sing us their animating song of ceaseless progress toward\nthe good. The argument in this shape, involves the further question\nwhether the existence of an independent and indestructible soul is\nassured, and upon this point the whole problem of immortality finally\nhinges.\n\nThe question whether what we are accustomed to call the soul is a\ndistinct and indivisible entity, or merely the result of material\nprocesses, has divided mankind for more than two thousand years, and\nsome of the ablest thinkers have ranged themselves on either side. As\nearly as the fifth century B. C. the philosopher Democritus propounded\nmaterialistic doctrines among the Greeks. According to him, the soul is\na combination of smooth, round, polished and moving atoms, and to the\nmotions of these atoms the phenomena of life are to be ascribed.\n\nAmong the Romans, Lucretius advanced similar views. He took particular\npains to combat the \"vulgar fear of death,\" protesting that the prospect\nof dissolution would lose its terrors, did we not foolishly imagine\nourselves conscious of being dead, forgetting that death implies the\nentire cessation of consciousness. The followers of materialistic\nopinions among the ancients, were not a few. But during the ascendancy\nof the Christian Church, these opinions retired into the background,\nuntil in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, they were revived by\nsuch men as Gassendi and La Mettrie, and others. In modern times they\nhave been widely spread.\n\nThe list of names on the opposite side is headed by Socrates, Plato,\nAristotle, and embraces the great majority of writers and public\nteachers, down to the present day.\n\nIt may appear strange that when the belief in immortality had once\nbecome current, men should have been tempted to forego its pleasing\nprospects, and even, with a certain vehemence, to urge their sceptical\nviews upon others. Let us consider for a moment, what it was that\ninduced the materialists to assume their position. The observed\ncorrespondence between mental and physical phenomena doubtless led them\nin the first instance to adopt their peculiar views.\n\nWe see in the tiny body of the new born babe, barely more than the faint\nstirrings of animal life; months pass by before it is able to form any\nclear conception of the persons and things in its vicinity, the simpler\nmental processes appearing simultaneously with the growth of the bodily\norgans. The intellect reaches its highest development in the age of\nmanhood and womanhood, when we stand in the maturity of our physical\npowers. In that middle age of life lies, with rare exceptions, the best\nwork we are destined to accomplish. Having entered upon the downward\n<DW72>, our faculties gradually lose their vigor, until we sink into the\nfinal stage of drivelling old age, and become feeble in mind, as we\nare helpless in body. In this manner the close connection between our\nspiritual and material parts, is brought home forcibly, even to\nthe unreflecting; as the one enlarges so does the other: as the one\ndiminishes so does the other: together they increase, together they are\nweakened; the inference is drawn, shall it not be, that together they\nwill perish?\n\nThe phenomena of sleep and of coma seem to convey the same lesson. A\nhaze steals over our consciousness; sometimes settling into impenetrable\nnight; as the body for a time wears the semblance of death, so also\nis the mind stupefied or completely paralyzed. Hours pass by; in the\ninterval, the business of the world has gone on as before, but to us\nthere has been only a void and utter blank. And thus it is said shall\nthere be a void and a blank in the tomb; time will pass by, and we shall\nnot know it; men will move and act and we shall be none the wiser for\nit; it will be all like sleep, only that there will be no dreams.\n\nAnd again when some malignant fever seizes upon the body and corrupts\nthe currents of the blood, how do the poor disordered thoughts dance\nabout wildly, driven by the lash of the distemper; how does the use of\nstimulants besot the intellect, so that every higher power is deadened;\nhow in the wild ravings of the diseased brain, do we behold the hideous\nmockery of mind.\n\nAnd does not the grave itself testify loudly that the end is an end\nindeed; the body falls to pieces, the dust commingles with the dust, and\nnothing remains, nothing at least of which we can ever have experience.\nRight or wrong, these facts impress the mind, and their leaden weight\nserves to drag down our aspirations.\n\nIt is true, the considerations I have enumerated are based upon a mere\nsurface view of things, but the more accurate methods of science seem,\nat first sight, to confirm the general conclusions to which they lead.\nOn this point, it would be well to dwell for a moment. John Stuart Mill\nacknowledges that \"the evidence is well-nigh complete that all thought\nand feeling has some action of the bodily organism for its immediate\ncoincident and accompaniment, and that the specific variations, and\nespecially the different degrees of complication of the nervous and\ncerebral organism, correspond to differences in the development of our\nmental faculties.\"\n\nThe prodigious difficulties in the way of the study of the brain may\nlong <DW44> the progress of the investigator, but for the purposes of\nour argument we are at liberty to assume whatever is within the limits\nof possible achievement. We may suppose that physiology will succeed\nso far that the brain will be accurately and completely mapped out, and\nthat the motions of the atoms upon which the thousand varying modes of\nthought and feeling depend, will be known and measured. In anticipating\nsuch results, we have reached the utmost tenable position of\nmaterialism.\n\nBut now to our surprise we discover that all this being allowed, the\nultimate question, what is soul, remains still unsolved and as insoluble\nas ever. The unvarying coincidence of certain modes of soul with certain\nmaterial processes may be within the range of proof, but what cannot be\nproven is, that these material processes explain the psychic phenomena.\n\nIf it is urged that the same difficulty presents itself in the\nexplanation of the most ordinary occurrences, this objection is based\nupon a misapprehension of the point at issue.\n\nThe scientist cannot show why heat should be convertible into motion,\nbut how it is thus transformed is easy to demonstrate, and the exact\nmechanical equivalent of heat has been calculated. But how certain\nmotions of atoms in the brain should generate, not heat, but\nconsciousness, but thought and love, is past all conception. There are\nhere two different orders of facts, having no common principle to which\nthey could both be reduced. There is an impassable gulf between them\nwhich can in nowise be bridged over.\n\nNor would it avail us to endow the atom itself with the promise and\npotency of intellect; we should thereby throw back the issue a step\nfurther, and disguise the problem whose existence it were better to\nplainly acknowledge. The broad fact of consciousness therefore remains\nunexplained and inexplicable as before. Arrived at this limit, science\nitself pauses and refuses to pass further.\n\nSome of the leading naturalists of our day have lately expressed\nthemselves clearly and tersely in this sense. The eminent physiologist\nDubois Rey-mond denies that the connection between certain motions of\ncertain atoms in the brain, and what he calls, the primal, undefinable\nand undeniable facts of consciousness, is at all conceivable.\nProfessor Tyndall in his address on \"The scope and limits of Scientific\nMaterialism,\" explains his views with similar precision.\n\nWere our minds so expanded, strengthened and illuminated as to enable\nus to see and feel the very molecules of the brain; were we capable of\nfollowing all their motions, all their groupings, all their electric\ndischarges, if such there be; and were we intimately acquainted with the\ncorresponding states of thought and feeling, we should be as far as\never from the solution of the problem. How are these physical processes\nconnected by and with the facts of consciousness? I do not think the\nmaterialist is entitled to say that his molecular groupings and\nhis molecular motions explain everything, in reality they explain\nnothing.... The problem of body and soul is as insoluble in its modern\nform as it was in the pre-scientific ages.\n\nNow since it is impossible to demonstrate that the powers of mind are a\nproduct of matter, the possibility undoubtedly remains that these powers\nmay continue to exist even after their connection with the physical\norganism has been dissolved. If all the arguments that are commonly\nadduced in support of the doctrine of a future life fall short of their\nobject, it is but just to add that every argument to the contrary is\nequally devoid of foundation. The doctrine of immortality cannot be\ndisproved. Of the nature of soul we are in absolute ignorance we know\nnothing; what is more, we can know nothing At this point we touch the\nutmost boundary of human reason, and must be content to write mystery of\nmysteries.\n\nIn the state of settled uncertainty to which we are thus reduced, the\nshape of our opinions will be determined by the bias of our natures or\nthe influence of education. The sceptic will remind us of the points\nin which we resemble all the perishable forms of nature and hold it\nimprobable that we alone should escape the universal law of dissolution.\nOthers will cling to the hope of continued life, even on the brink of\nthe grave, and the strong instinct of self preservation will give tone\nand color to their religious beliefs. Deep philosophical speculations\nare possible as to that ultimate source of being, that hidden light of\nwhich both matter and mind are diverse reflections. And here too poetry\nassumes its legitimate office. On the mists that cover the infinite\nabyss, we may project whatever images, foul or fair, we list. Science\nyou may be sure will never disturb us. Dogmatic assertion however, on\neither side is totally unwarranted: and the question of immortality (I\nthink we must sooner or later make up our minds to that) will remain an\nopen one. Certain, only, is the fact of our uncertainty.\n\nIf the conclusions to which we have thus been led, seem purely negative\nin their bearings, they are none the less capable of certain positive\napplications, which deserve our serious attention. The longing for\nimmortality has been developed into a morbid craving under the influence\nof the current religious teachings, and has become a disturbing element\nin human society. On more than one occasion it has imperilled the peace\nof nations, and the doctrines of salvation became the watchwords of\ncontending armies. The doubtful chances of eternal felicity or damnation\nbecame the one absorbing topic on which men's minds dwelt, and the wild\nhorrors of the Christian Hell have cast a gloom over many an innocent\nlife, and curtailed the scant measure of its earthly happiness. It were\nsomething gained, if by a cool and dispassionate judgment the influence\nof these dismal fantasies could be lessened, and men be freed from\ntheir slavish subjection to phantoms born of their own distempered\nimaginations.\n\nFurthermore, it follows from what we have said that the belief in\nimmortality should not be inculcated as a dogma in our schools of\nreligion, and above all that the dictates of the moral law should in no\nwise be made to depend upon it for their sanction. The moral law is\nthe common ground upon which all religious and in fact all true men may\nmeet. It is the one basis of union that remains to us amid the clashing\nantagonisms of the sects. While dogma is by its nature, open to attack,\nand its acceptance at all times a matter of choice, the principles of\nmorality have a right to demand implicit obedience, and should rest as\neverlasting verities in the human heart. Let us reflect well before we\nimperil the latter by the undue prominence which we give the former. It\nis not needful to impart to a child the whole truth, but what it learns\nshould be wholly true, and nothing should be taught it as a fundamental\nfact which it can ever in after years be led to call in question. How\noften has it occurred that when the riper reason of the man has rejected\nthe tenets of the church in which he was educated, he has been tempted\nto cast aside all the religious teachings of his youth, the moral with\nthe rest, as idle fable and deceit.\n\nAnd lastly, friends, as we do not, cannot know, it is presumably wise\nthat we should not know. The vanity of all our efforts to grasp the\ninfinite, should teach us that on this island of time whereon we live,\nlies our work. In its joys we may freely take delight; for its woes we\nshould reserve our sympathies, and in laboring to advance the progress\nof the good we must find our satisfaction.\n\nBefore closing this subject however let us recall vividly to our minds\nthat the desire for continuance after death is capable of the most\nnoble expression, and of supplying us with wholesome consolation and\ninspiriting motives to action. The individual passes, but the race\nlives! There is a law in nature that no force is ever lost. The thousand\nvarying forms that ebb and flow around us are various only to our feeble\nvision. At the core they are one, transmuted, yet the same, changing\nyet changeless, perishing to rise anew. The law of the conservation of\nenergy holds good throughout the entire domain of matter. And such a law\ntoo obtains in our spiritual life. The law of the conservation of moral\nenergy is no less an abiding truth; we are not dust merely, that returns\nto dust; we are not summer flies that bask in the sunshine of the\npassing day; we are not bounded in our influence by the narrow tenure\nof our years. Say not when the sod has closed above those who have been\ndear to you that all is gone. Say not that the grace and loveliness, and\nwisdom that once dwelt within the pallid form is breathed away like\na hollow wind. Nor yet stand idly gazing upon the cloud-land of the\nfuture, watching if you can trace perchance their shadowy lineaments\nfading into the dimness of untried worlds. The dead are not dead if we\nhave loved them truly. In our own lives we give them immortality. Let us\narise and take up the work they have left unfinished, and preserve the\ntreasures they have won, and round out the circuit of their being to the\nfullness of an ampler orbit in our own.\n\nAll the good that was in them lives in you, the germ and nucleus of\nthe better that shall be. All the evil that inhered in them shall be\ncleansed away in you and your virtues shall be the atonement for their\nsins. Thus shall the fathers live in the children, and from generation\nto generation the bond that connects the past with the future remains\nunbroken. They that have left you are not afar; their presence is near\nand real, a silent and august companionship. In the still hours of\nmeditation; under the starlit night, in the stress of action, in trials\nand temptations, you will hear their voices whispering words of cheer or\nwarning, and your deeds are their deeds and your lives are their lives.\n\nSo does the light of other days still shine in the bright hued flowers\nthat clothe our fields; so do they who are long since gathered into\nthe silent city of the dead still move about our houses, distributing\nkindness and nobleness among our lives. So does the toll of the funeral\nbell become an alarum to rouse us to more active effort and to the\nnobler service of mankind.\n\n\n\n\nII. RELIGION.\n\nThe question, Have we still a religion, propounded by David Friedrich\nStrauss some few years ago, will long engage the attention of radical\nthinkers. It is clear that to answer it satisfactorily we must\ndetermine, in the first instance, what meaning ought rightly to be\nattached to the term religion. In common parlance, it is often used with\nreference to mere externals, a religious person being one who conforms\nto the rites and usages of some particular church. On the other hand,\nevery innovation in the sphere of doctrine is branded as irreligious.\nThus Luther was deemed irreligious by the Catholics; St. Boniface by\nthe heathen Germans, Jesus by the Jews, Elijah by the servants of Baal.\nThere is not any single form, nor even a single fundamental principle\ncommon to all religions. Religion is not identical with theology. It\nis indeed often maintained that the belief in a personal God should\nbe regarded as the foundation and criterion of religion; but upon this\nassumption, two facts remain inexplicable, the existence of religion\nbefore ever the idea of a deity had arisen among men, and the existence\nof what may be termed an atheistical religion, in conscious antagonism\nto the doctrine of a personal God. Among the lower races we find men\nworshipping, sacrificing and uttering their invocations to mountains,\nfountains, rivers, rocks and stones: they know not a deity--sometimes\nthey have not even idols, and yet they certainly have, after a fashion\nof their own, a religion. Again, Buddhism, while possessing a subtle\nsystem of philosophy and an admirable code of ethics, starts with the\nproposition that there never was a creation, and in consequence, never\na creator, and yet more than four hundred millions of the earth's\ninhabitants call it their religion!\n\nThe question returns to us, What is religion? It is not creed; it is\nnot sacrifice; it is not prayer; it is not covered by the dogmas of any\nspecial form of belief; it has acted as a controlling force in all ages,\nin every zone, among all manner of men. Are we devoid of it? Of it? Of\nwhat?\n\nThe feeling which the presence of the Infinite in the thoughts of man\nawakens within him, is called, the feeling of the sublime. _The feeling\nof the sublime is the root of the religious sentiment._ It assumes\nvarious phases, and to these correspond the various religions. Let us\nendeavor to enumerate some of the most prominent.\n\nThe feeling of the sublime is awakened by the mysterious. The indefinite\ngives us our earliest presentiment of the infinite; the religion\nof mystery is fetishism. The feeling of the sublime is awakened by\nexhibitions of superhuman power. The religion of power is paganism. The\nfeeling of the sublime is evoked by vastness; the religions of vastness\nare Brahminism and Buddhism. The loftiest type of sublimity is to be\nfound in the morally infinite. Judaism, Christianity and Islam have\nsought to give it expression.*\n\n     * We do not pretend that the above schedule is at all\n     exhaustive. Various elements of the sublime, not mentioned\n     in the text, have entered into the composition of each of\n     the great religions. We have merely attempted to seize the\n     more salient feature of a few leading types.\n\nLet us discuss in the first place the origin of Fetishism. There are\ncertain natural phenomena that fill us with alarm, without our being\nable to attribute the effect to any definite cause. The darkness of\nnight, the rustling of leaves, the moaning of the wind through the\nforest, the wailing cry of certain birds, and the peculiar effects of a\ngathering fog, are of this kind. I have had occasion to observe a little\nchild suddenly starting from its play with every sign of fear depicted\nupon its countenance; the spasm passed away as quickly as it had come,\nbut was repeated at various intervals, until at last the child ran up to\nme in uncontrollable alarm, and threw up its arms for protection: it was\na raw wintry day, a gusty wind blew fitfully against the windows; and\nthe dreary sound of the rattling panes could be distinctly heard in the\nstillness of the room; on closer observation I noticed that the signs\nof alarm in the child recurred with great regularity, as often as\nthis sound was repeated. In a similar way we may imagine our earliest\nancestors to have been affected by whatever was vague and mysterious in\nnature. The sense of uncertainty occasioned in this manner, gave rise in\nthe primitive man to the first conceptions of mysterious powers beyond\nhim.\n\nThe invention, or rather the discovery, of fire tended still further in\nthe same direction. To us it is barely possible to imagine life without\nthis most useful of the elements. The wild beast flees fire and fears\nit, man uses it, and it becomes the chief instrument of civilization.\nBut if we strive to picture to ourselves the state of the savage's mind\non his first acquaintance with fire and its properties we shall find\nhim utterly at a loss to account for. How will he regard this nimble,\nplayful being, so bright and yet so fearful in its ravages. Of the laws\nof chemical action he has of course no conception, but he has sometimes\nseen the lightning strike into the wood of the tree, and now from the\nsame wood he evokes the semblance of the lightning. He is twirling two\ndry sticks between his hands; of a sudden, a lambent flame shoots forth,\nseizes the wood, makes away with it, and leaves nothing but blackened\ncinders behind. Whence did it come, whither has it vanished? Here was\na new mystery; a spiritual presence, latent in trees and stones; kindly\nand beneficent at times, then again hostile and fiercely destructive.\n\nThe mystery of the preparation of fire is celebrated in the ancient\nhymns of the Vedah. We there find its birth from the friction of the\ndouble sticks described, and its properties rehearsed in reverent\nlanguage. It is invoked like any superior spirit to bless its votaries,\nand to protect them from harm. The important role ascribed to fire in\nthe sacred usages of the ancients, is well-known, and the origin of fire\nworship apparent.\n\nThe theory of dreams, to which we have referred on a previous occasion,\ncontributed in like manner, to extend the boundaries of the world of\nmystery. Convinced that he bore within himself an airy counterfeit of\nself, the savage attributed the same species of possession to things\nanimate and inanimate alike. Why should not beasts and rivers and stones\nhave their ghosts like man? Moreover, as to the ghosts of the human\ndead, no one could tell where they might take up their abode. They\nmight be anywhere and everywhere. Their countless legions surrounded\nthe living in all places. They were heard shouting in the echo among\nthe hills; they were seen to ride past on the midnight gale. Often\nthey assumed the shape of birds and reptiles and beasts of prey. Those\ncreatures were singled out with a preference, whose movements and habits\nsuggested the idea of mystery. Thus the owl was supposed to harbor an\nevil spirit, and the serpent was worshipped because of its stealthy,\ngliding motion, its venomous bite, and the fascination in its eye.\nSerpent worship existed the world over. Traces of it are preserved in\nthe literature of the Greeks and Romans, and it was practised even among\nthe Hebrews, as the Books of Kings attest. Among certain African tribes\nit is still customary to keep huge serpents in temples, and priests are\ndedicated to their service. Powerful animals also, such as the bear,\nthe lion and the tiger, were sometimes supposed to contain the ghosts of\ndeparted chieftains, and were revered accordingly.\n\nIf we remember the unfriendly relations supposed to subsist between the\nliving and the dead, we may conceive the state of alarm in which our\nprimitive ancestors must have passed their lives on beholding themselves\nthus beset on every side, with ghosts or demons in disguise. A thousand\nfabulous terrors haunted their imagination. Wherever they turned they\nsuspected lurking foes; spirits were in the earth, in the air, in birds,\nin animals, in reptiles, in trees. They could not move a step without\ninfringing on the boundaries of the spirit realm. Every object the least\nextraordinary in size, or shape, or color, appeared to them the token of\nsome demon's presence, and was worshipped in consequence, not on its own\naccount, but because of the mystery which it suggested.\n\nIn this manner Fetishism arose. The fetish worshipper leaves his hut in\nthe morning, sees some bright pebble glistening on his path, lifts it\nfrom the ground and says, this shall be my fetish. If he succeeds in the\nbusiness of the day, he places the little object in a shrine, gilds it,\nbrings it food, addresses his prayers to it; if it fails, it is cast\naside. Again, if after a little time the fetish ceases to fulfil his\nwishes, he breaks it and drags it in the mire by way of punishment.\n\nSuch are a few of the gross and grotesque conceptions to which the\nreligion of mystery has given birth. It is true, to the educated mind\nof the present day they will appear the very reverse of sublime. But\ngreatness is relative, and our own loftier conceptions of the sublime\nare but the slow result of a long process of growth and development.\n\n\nTHE RELIGION OF POWER\n\nIt has often been said that fear is the beginning of religion; a\nstatement of this kind however, cannot be accepted, without serious\nqualification. There is a sense of kinship with the great, in whatever\nform it may appear, of which even the meanest are susceptible. A nation\nworships the hero who ruins it; and slaves will take a certain pride in\nthe superiority of their masters. It is not fear so much as admiration\nof might which makes men servants of the mighty. The first tyrants on\nearth were, in all likelihood, strong, agile, and brave men, possessing\nin an extraordinary degree, the qualities which all others coveted. They\nwon applause, they were looked up to as natural leaders, and the arm of\nforce maintained what the esteem of their fellows had accorded in the\nfirst instance. There is a touch of the sublime even in the rudest\nadoration of force.\n\nIn the second stage of religious development, which we are now\napproaching, the theory of possession discussed in the above, was\nextended to the heavenly bodies, and the sun, moon and stars were\nendowed with the attributes of personal beings. Hence the origin of the\ngreat gods. As the sun is the most conspicuous body in the heavens,\nthe sun god figures as the central deity in every pantheon. The various\nphases through which the luminary passes are represented in distinct\npersonalities. We find gods of the rising sun and of the setting\nsun; gods of the sun of spring, summer and winter, gods also of the\ncloud-enshrouded sun, that battles with the storm giants.\n\nSince the hosts of heaven were supposed to be beings allied in nature\nto ourselves, the action and interaction of the meteoric phenomena\nwas ascribed to personal motives, and the ingenuity of the primitive\nphilosophers was exhausted in finding plausible pretexts to explain\ntheir attractions and repulsions, their seeming friendships and\nhostilities. Thus arose the quaint and fanciful myths with which the\ntraditions of antiquity abound. Those problems which the modern mind\nseeks to settle with the help of scientific investigation, the limited\nexperience of an earlier age was barely competent to attack, and it\ncovered with some pretty fiction, the difficulties which it could not\nsolve. The genealogy and biography of the sun-god formed the main theme\nof all mythologies.\n\nThe daily progress of the sun through the heavens, is described as\nfollows: Each morning the golden crowned god leaves his golden palace\nin the East, deep down below the ocean's waves; he mounts his golden\nchariot, drawn by fiery steeds. A rosy fingered maiden opens the purple\ngate of day, upward rush the steeds through blinding mist along the\nsteep ascent of heaven, down they plunge at evening into the cooling\nwaters of the sea; the naiads await the deity and bear him backward to\nhis orient home.\n\nAgain the fair youth Adonis is said to come out of the forest, where\nnymphs had nurtured him. Venus and he hunt in joyous company through\nwood and dale. One day Adonis is slain; the blood that trickled from\nhis wounds has turned the roses red, and the tender anemones have sprung\nfrom the tears that love wept when she beheld his fall. The young god\nwho comes out of the forest is Spring; for a time he disports joyously\non earth, with love for his companion, but his term of life is quickly\nended. Spring dies, but ever returns anew. Among the Syrian women it\nwas customary for a long period to observe the festival of the Adoneiah;\nwith every sign of grief they first bemoaned the god's untimely death;\nthey beat their breasts, cut off the rich luxuriance of their hair;\nshowed upon his effigy the marks of the wounds he had received; bound\nhim with linen bands, anointed him with costly oil and spices, and then\nburied him. On the seventh day the cry was heard, Adonis lives, Adonis\nis resurrected from the grave. The story of a young god typical of the\nSpring who suffers a premature death, and after a time resurrects from\nthe grave is well known in the mythologies of other nations.\n\nThe progress of the sun through the seasons is thus personified. The\nrays of the sun are described as the locks of the sun-god's hair. When\nthe sun's heat waxes, these locks increase in abundance, when it wanes\nthey diminish, until in mid-winter the head of the sun-god is entirely\nbald. At this season the god is supposed to be exceedingly weak, and his\neye, bright in the summer, is now become blind. He is far from his home,\nand subject to the power of his enemies, the wintry storms. These traits\nrecur in the familiar Hebrew myth of Samson. The word Samson means sun;\nhe is bound with ropes, as is also the sun-god among the Polynesians.\nThe secret of his strength is in his hair. Shorn of this the giant\nbecomes feeble as a child, and is blinded by his foes.\n\nBut it is the sun in its conflict with the demons of the storm, the sun\nas a warrior and a hero, that chiefly attracts the _religious_ reverence\nof the heroic age. In nature there is no more striking exhibition of\npower than is revealed in the phenomena of the thunder-storm. Even to us\nit has not lost its sublimity, and a sense of awe overcomes us whenever\nthe mighty spectacle is enacted in the heavens. Primitive man had a far\ndeeper interest in the issue of the tempest than we are now capable of\nappreciating. To him the clouds appeared to be ferocious monsters, and\nwhen they crowded about the central luminary, he feared that they might\nquench its light in everlasting darkness. The very existence of the\nuniverse seemed to be threatened. The sun-god, the true friend of man,\nhowever arises to wage war against the demons: a terrific uproar follows\nand the contending forces meet. Do you hear Thor's far-sounding\nhammer, Jove's bolt falling in the thunder clap: do you see Indra's\nlightning-spear flashing across the sky, and piercing the sides of the\nstorm dragon? The light triumphs; the tempest rolls away, but presently\nreturns to be again defeated. In this way arose the transparent stories\nof Jupiter's conflict with Typhon, his precipitate flight, and his final\nvictory; the story of Indra's warfare against the writhing serpent,\nVritra, and numerous others that might be mentioned. It is the sun-god\nwho flashes the lightning and hurls the thunder. To him men owe the\nmaintenance of the order of existence. He is the mightiest of the gods.\nFighting their battles on high, he is invoked by the warriors to aid\nthem in their earthly-conflicts; he takes precedence of all the other\ndeities; he the strongest god is raised to the throne of the celestial\nstate.\n\nNow if we study the history of these deities, their intercourse among\nthemselves and with men, we find them to be no more than colossal images\nof ourselves cast on the mists of the unknown. It is our face and form\nthat Jupiter wears; the echo of our wishes comes back to us in his\noracles. \"If horses and cows could draw their gods,\" an ancient\nphilosopher has pointedly said, \"as horses and cows would they draw\nthem.\" The gods share our passions, the good and the evil, distinguished\nonly in this, that what we feebly attempt, they can execute on a scale\nof gigantic magnitude. They love and bless and shower a thousand gifts\nupon their worshippers; but they can hate also; are vain, vindictive,\ncruel.\n\nThe gods demand tribute. Like the kings of earth, they received the best\nshare of the spoils of war and of the chase; and gold and silver also\nwas deposited in their sanctuaries. Perfumed incense and dainty cakes\nwere placed upon their altars. The gods are hungry, they must be fed.\nThe gods are thirsty, and certain strong narcotic beverages were brewed\nespecially for their benefit. For this among the Hindoos the juice of\nthe soma plant was mixed with pure milk.\n\nThe gods demand blood. The wide prevalence of human sacrifice is the\nsaddest fact that stains the annals of religious history. Among the\nFijians the new boat of the chieftain was not permitted to venture upon\nthe waves until it had been washed with human blood, in order to secure\nit against shipwreck. Among the Khonds of India, we learn that the body\nof a human victim was literally torn in pieces and his blood mixed\nwith the new turned clod, in order to insure a plentiful harvest. It is\nestimated that at least twenty-five hundred human beings were annually\nsacrificed in the temples of Mexico. Human sacrifice was known among\nthe Greeks, and its practice among the Hebrews is recorded in the Hebrew\nBible.\n\nWhen the manners of men ameliorated, and gentler customs began to\nsupplant the barbarous usages of an earlier day, the tyranny of the\ngods was still feared, but various modes of substitution were adopted\nto appease their jealousy of human happiness. In India we are told, that\nthe god of light being displeased with the constant effusion of blood,\ncommanded a buffalo to appear from out the jungle, and a voice was heard\nsaying, sacrifice the buffalo and liberate the man.\n\nAnother mode of substitution was to give a part for the whole. Some one\nmember of the body was mutilated or curtailed in order to indicate that\nthe person's life was in reality forfeit to the god. Among certain of\nthe aboriginal tribes of America, the youth, on reaching the years of\nmaturity, was forced to place his hand upon a buffalo's skull, and one\nor more joints of the finger were then cut off and dedicated to the\ngreat spirit. There were other modes of mutilation of which I dare not\nspeak, but I will briefly add that the so-called rite of the covenant,\nwhich is practised among the Jews even at the present day, rose in\nexactly the same manner. Of course the original signification of the\ncustom has been forgotten and a purely symbolical mean-ing has been\nattached to it. Nevertheless, its continuance is a disgrace to religion.\nThe grounds of sanity on which it is urged, are not in themselves\ntenable, and if they were, religion would have no concern with them. It\nis but a fresh instance of the stubborn vitality which seems to inhere\nin the hoary superstitions of the past.\n\nOccasionally, when a whole people was threatened with destruction, some\nprominent and beloved individual was selected for sacrifice, in order\nthat by his death he might save the rest. The same feature was also\nintroduced into the legends of the gods. Philo tells us that the great\nGod El whom the Hebrews and Phoenicians worshiped, once descended to\nearth, and became a king. This El was the supreme deity. He had an only\nson whom he loved. One day when great dangers threatened his people,\nthe god determined to sacrifice his only begotten (--Greek--) son and\nto redeem his people: and year by year thereafter a solemn festival was\ncelebrated in Phoenicia in honor of that great sacrifice.\n\nThe religion of force has left its dark traces in the history of\nmankind. Even the higher religions accepted, while they spiritualized,\nits degrading conceptions into their systems. Slowly only and with the\ngeneral spread of intelligence and morality, can we hope that its last\nvestiges will be purged from the minds of men.\n\nVastness is an element of the sublime. In the religious conceptions of\nthe Hindoos we find it illustrated. It entered alike into the system of\nthe Brahmin and of the Buddhist, and determined their tone and quality.\nA certain fondness for the gigantic, is peculiar to Hindoo character.\nWitness the almost boundless periods of their ancient chronology;\nthe colossal forms with which the remains of their monuments and\narchitecture abound. A great Aryan nation having advanced from the\nwaters of the Indus to the shores of the sacred Ganges and having\nsubdued the natives by the force of superior numbers or bravery,\nhad learned to forget the active pursuits of war, and yielded to the\nlassitude engendered by the climate of their new settlements. Around\nthem they beheld a rich and luxuriant vegetation; birds of rare and\nmany  plumage, stately trees rising from interminable jungles.\nRavishing perfumes lulled their senses as they reposed in the shade of\nthese fairy-like forests. It was a land suited to dreamy contemplation.\nHere the philosophic priests might dwell upon the vastness of the\nUniversal, and the imagination bewildered by the ever shifting phenomena\nof the scene might well seek some principle of unity which could connect\nand explain the whole. Brahma was the name they gave to the pervading\nSpirit of All things. From Brahma the entire order of existence has\nemanated; the elements of material things, plants, birds, beasts and\nmen. The lower castes came forth first and are nearest the brutes;\nthe castes of free-born workmen, and of warriors next, the priests and\nsaints last, in whom the world's soul found its loftiest expression.\n\nTo Brahma all things must return. Passing through an endless series of\ntransformations, and paying in the long and painful interval the penalty\nof every crime it has committed, the migrating spirit of man is led back\nat last to its primal source, and is resolved in the Brahma whence it\narose. The connection between individual and universal life was thus\nkept constantly in view. The soul in the course of its wanderings might\npass through every conceivable mode of existence; might assume the\nshape of creeping plants and worms, and wild animals; might rise to the\npossession of miraculous powers in the heavens of the Rishis, while its\nfinal destiny was to be reunited with the One and All.\n\nThe Buddhist Nirvana resembles the Brahma in being accounted the\nultimate principle of the world. When in the sixth century B. C. the\nroyal Hermit of the Cakyas revolted against the cruel despotism of the\npriesthood, the legend relates that the sight of suffering in the forms\nof sickness, old age and death, roused him from a life of indolent\npleasure, and impelled him to seek a remedy for the ills of human life.\nHis counsels were sweet and kindly; he taught self-control and wise\nmoderation in the indulgence of the passions, and brotherly help and\nsympathy to lessen the evils which foresight cannot avert. He lifted\nthe degraded masses of the Indian land from out their dull despair; he\nwarred against the distinctions of caste, he took women and slaves for\nhis companions, he was a prophet of the people, whom the people loved.\nBut even to him the ills of this mortal condition seemed little when\ncompared with the endless possibilities of future ill that awaited\nthe soul in the course of its ceaseless transmigrations. He yearned to\nshorten its weary path to the goal; and the mystic methods by which he\nsought to enter Nirvana were a means adapted to this end. Nirvana is\nthe beginning and the end of things. Nirvana in which there is neither\naction nor feeling; in which intelligence and consciousness are\nsubmerged, appeared to this pessimist preacher the last, the only\nreality. Life is a delusion, real only in its pains: the entire\ncessation of conscious existence, is the solution he offers to human\nsuffering.\n\nNirvana is the universal--its conception is vast and dim; it hovers in\nthe distance before the pilgrim of the earth; there will he find rest.\n\nUnlike the Western nations, the Hindoos regarded the idea of immortality\nwith dread and terror, rather than pleased anticipation. The highest\npromises of their religion, were intended to assure them that they would\ncease to continue as individual beings or cease to continue altogether.\nPeace in the tomb when this present toil is over seemed to them the\nmost desirable of goods, and a dreamless sleep from which no angel trump\nshould ever wake the sleeper.\n\n\"Two things,\" says Kant, \"fill the soul with ever new and increasing\nadmiration and reverence; the star-lit heavens above me, and the moral\nlaw within me.\"*\n\n     * Kant's Works (Rosenkranz edition) vol. viii. p. 312.\n\nThe Hebrews were the first to lend to the moral ideas a controlling\ninfluence in the sphere of religion. Let me attempt to briefly sketch\nthe origin of Monotheism amongst them, as numerous considerations\nelsewhere recited in detail, have led me to conceive of it. The\nreligions of the Semitic nations who surrounded ancient Israel were\nintensely emotional in character, and their gods were gods of pleasure\nand pain. In the temples unbounded license alternated with self\nsacrificing asceticism. The lewd rites of the goddess of love must\nbe regarded as typical of the one; the slaughter of sons in honor of\nMoloch, of the other. Now the Hebrews have been distinguished for the\npurity of their home life from a very early period of their history. The\nhigh value which they set on male offspring, the jealous vigilance with\nwhich they guarded the virtue of their women are alike illustrated in\nthe narratives of the Bible. The more gifted and noble minded among\nthem, beholding their domestic feelings outraged by the prevailing\nreligions, rebelled against the gross conceptions of idolatry. How could\nthey offer up their beloved sons for sacrifice, how could they give\nover their wives and daughters to shame? The controlling force of their\ncharacter determined the doctrines of their creed. Judaism became, so to\nspeak, a family religion. Jehovah is conceived of as the husband of\nthe people. Israel shall be his true and loyal spouse, the children\nof Israel are His children. The image of Jehovah is that of the ideal\npatriarch. Like the patriarch, he is the head of the spiritual family\nof man. Like the patriarch in ancient times, he is the lawgiver and\nthe judge; He is the guardian of domestic purity. The word for false\nreligion in Hebrew signifies fornication. \"Contend against your mother,\"\nsays Jehovah, \"for I am not her spouse, nor she my wife.\" \"My people\nlust after false gods, for the spirit of impurity has seduced them.\" And\nthe day of the triumph of the true religion is thus predicted: \"On that\nday thou shalt not call me any more my Baal, (paramour) but thou shalt\ncall me my husband, and I shall wed thee in justice, etc.\" Thus the idea\nof Jehovah sprang from the soil of the family, and the conception of a\ndivine father in heaven was derived from the analogy of the noblest of\nmoral institutions on earth. The spiritual God of the Hebrews was the\npersonification of the moral Ideal.\n\nLike his relations to the chosen people and to mankind in general,\nthe relations of the Deity to the external world were described in\naccordance with the demands of the Ethical Law. Two things morality\ninsists upon; first, that the natural in its coarser acceptation shall\nbe subordinate to the moral. Secondly, that in the scale of values\nitself shall occupy the highest rank, and that the purpose human life on\nearth can only be a moral purpose. As the mechanism of nature is not of\nitself calculated to harmonize with the purposes of spirit, it behooves\nthat the spiritual God shall possess a power over matter adequate to\nenforce the claims of the moral ideal, such power as only the creator\ncan exert over his creatures. Hence the doctrine of the creation. And\nagain the state of perfection to which the human heart aspires can only\nbe attained through the instrumentality of supreme wisdom, power and\nlove, in a millennial age when the scheme of the universe will be\nperfected in the reign of absolute justice and peace. Hence the doctrine\nof the Messiah. Both doctrines are the typical expression of a moral\nneed.\n\nIn the opening of Genesis we read a description of the making of the\nworld. All was wild vast chaos, and darkness brooded over the abyss,\nwhen the Spirit of Jehovah breathed on the waters; a single word of\ncommand and light penetrated the gloom, the waters divided, the great\nluminaries started forth on their course; the earth clothed herself in\nverdure, and the forms of living beings sprang into existence. The words\n\"God saw everything he had made and behold it was very good,\" contain\nthe gist of the narrative. In Zephaniah and Isaiah we read: \"On that day\nI will turn to the people a pure language that they may all call upon\nthe name of the Lord to serve him with one consent.\" \"No one shall then\ndo evil, no one hurt in all my holy mountain, for the earth shall be\nfull of the knowledge of God as the waters cover the sea.\"\n\nThese visions are not true in the sense of historical occurrences past\nor future. That the world was ever created out of nothing, what human\nunderstanding can conceive of it? That a time will come when society\nshall be so transformed that the pure language of love alone shall be\nspoken, who that is instructed in the failings of our finite nature can\ncredit it? They are true in the sense of ideals; true, with the truth\nof poetry, bodying forth in concrete shape the universal yearnings of\nmankind.\n\nThere is also another element of belief associated with the doctrine of\nthe Messiah, which still more plainly illustrates the typical value of\nreligious tenets. In the coming week the churches throughout Christendom\nwill rehearse the story of the passion and the death of their founder.\nMournful chants and lamentations will recall every circumstance of the\ndark drama that closed on Calvary. That tale of harrowing agony still\nmoves the hearts of millions as though it were a tale of yesterday. It\nis the symbol of the suffering and the crucifixion of the whole human\nrace. \"Ah, but our griefs he has borne, our sorrows he has carried, he\nwas wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities.\"\nHundreds of years before the birth of Christ, the author of these lines\ntranscribed in them the sad experience of the reformers of his day. He\ndoes not refer to any one Messiah; he speaks of that legacy of sacrifice\nwhich is the heritage of the great and good, the world over. For who can\nhelp us when we are plunged in deepest anguish, when it seems as though\nwe must sink under the load of trouble, but one who has endured like\ntrials, endured and triumphed over them? It is the martyrdom of the pure\nthat has redeemed mankind from guilt and sin? There is this constant\natonement of the strong for the weak, of the good for the evil. As old\nPaul Gerhard has it in his seventeenth century hymn:\n\n     \"When utmost dread shall seize me,\n     That human heart can know,\n     Do thou from pain release me,\n     By thy great pain and woe.\"\n\nThe teachings of religion then have their source in the aspirations\nof the human heart; are the echoes of our wishes and our hopes. Not\nvalueless on that account, but valuable only in so far as they express\nin noble types, noble aspirations of our souls. It were sad indeed if\nmorality depended upon the certainty of dogma. On the contrary it\nis true that all that is best and grandest in dogma, is due to the\ninspiration of the moral law in man. The time will come when the tenets\nof faith will no longer be narrowly understood as now; and while\ntheir influence will still be great, they will cease to be harmful\nand confining. They will be used as rare imagery, to deck the sublime\nmeanings which they symbolize; not as vessels that contain the absolute\ntruth, but as choice and beautiful vases, fit to hold the ever fresh and\never blooming flowers of the ideal.\n\nThe dogmatic assertion of religious teachings we hold to be a serious\nevil, and dogma as such we cannot accept. Its influence in the past has\nbeen pernicious, and is so at the present day no less. It has inflamed\nthe hatred of man against his brother man, it has led to the fatal error\nof duties toward a personal Creator, distinct from our duties toward our\nfellows: it has perverted the moral sense, by giving to the concern of\nfuture salvation, a degree of prominence before which the interests\nof the present life sink into comparative insignificance; it does not\nafford us a common basis whereon we could unite, for it is by nature\nuncertain and calculated to provoke dissensions. On the other hand we\nbehold in conscience the root of whatever good religion has achieved,\nand the law of conscience must suffice to guide and elevate our lives.\nTo refresh the moral sentiment is the one thing needful in our time, and\nindeed presents a task on whose accomplishment the highest interests of\nsociety depend. Time will show that a simple appeal to duty will surely\nsuffice to lead men to more earnest exertions toward the good. Time will\nshow that those who know no other mode of salvation than the salvation\nwhich is attained by works of love, will be at least as active in the\npursuit of virtue as those who put their trust in faith.\n\nThe gold of morality has been variously coined in the world's religious\nsystems. Various have been the symbols that were stamped thereon, and\nvarious the images of the King in whose name it was issued, but\ntheir value so far as they had value was in the moral gold that they\ncontained, and in naught else. Let Liberalism stamp its coin with the\nEagle of Liberty only, in its ethical teachings it will still retain the\nsubstance of all religion.\n\nDogma we will keep in abeyance,--this is our point of departure, and\nthe deed superior to the creed. Be it ours to hold high the moral ideal,\nwhether we clothe it with personality or not. Be it ours to act divine\nthings, no matter how we regard divine mysteries. Be it ours to help in\nlifting up the fallen, to lend free utterance to the complaints of\nthe oppressed, to brand the social iniquities of our time, to give our\nhearts warmth and the labor of our hands to the cause of their redress,\nand to push on with whatever power we may, the progress of our race\ntoward those high and holy goals of which the dreamers dream, the\nprophets prophesy.\n\n\n\n\nIII. THE NEW IDEAL\n\nThe old religions and science are at war. With pitiless consistency\nscience directs its attack upon their vulnerable positions. The\nconception of inexorable law subverts the testimony of miracles; the\nfond belief in truths divinely revealed fails to withstand the searching\nanalysis of historical criticism; the battle of science is yet far from\nbeing won, but from our standpoint the issue cannot appear doubtful. It\nbehooves us therefore to inquire into the moral bearings of the general\nresult thus far achieved and to review what we have lost and won.\nShall we succeed thereby in allaying the sense of alarm that is wont\nto agitate the timid heart when it beholds so much that it confidently\nbelieved a part of the everlasting verities of life, sink back into the\ngulf of uncertainty and doubt?\n\nWe are standing at the portals of a new age, and new conceptions have\narisen of the purpose which we are here to accomplish and of the means\nof help we can command in the attempt to realize our destiny. These\nnew conceptions we call The New Ideal. It is the purpose of our present\ndiscourse to compare some salient features of the old and new.\n\nThe old and new Ideals agree in looking to an Infinite beyond the\nborders of experience, for it is in the nature of the ideal to lift us\nabove the merely real. They differ in the direction in which they\nseek their object, and the bias which they consequently give to men's\nthoughts and actions. Theology, perceiving the inability of reason to\nsolve the problems of the beginning and the end, yet unable to\nrestrain a desire to know what is really unknowable, has impressed the\nimagination into its service, and drawn a picture of the transcendental\nworld, conforming indeed to the analogies of man's terrestrial\nexistence, but on this account all the more adapted to answer the wishes\nof the masses of mankind. Enough for them that they feel the need of\nbelieving the picture true. We of the New School are, if possible,\neven more profoundly convinced of the limitations of human reason. We\ncheerfully accord to the religious conceptions of the past a poetic\nvalue; they are poetry, often of the sublimest kind; but we cannot\ndeceive ourselves as to the noble weakness of the heart to which they\nowe their origin; we cannot forget that in their case alas the wish\nhas been father to the thought. To us the mystery is still mystery--the\nveiled arcana are not revealed, the riddle is unread. But we are not\ntherefore filled with terror or dismay. In the moral nature of man we\ndiscover a divine element. In the voice of conscience we hear the voice\nof the present divinity within us, and we learn to regard this mortal\nstate of ours as a channel through which the currents of Eternity ebb\nand flow ceaselessly. The divine nature is not far off, nor beyond the\nsea; in our own hearts on our own lips!\n\nBut let us seek to scrutinize the distinctive features of the old and\nnew more closely. The old ideal was supernatural in character, it taught\nman to regard his life on earth as a brief, temporary transit, himself\nan exile from the Kingdom on high. The concerns of the present world\nwere in consequence deemed of secondary importance, and the eye dwelt\nwith anxious preference on the dim chances of the hereafter. Where the\nhope of immortality has been prominently put forward by any religion,\nthe effect has thus but too often proved disastrous to the progress and\nsecurity of society. It is well-known by what painful penances the monks\nof the Middle Ages sought release from the trammels of the flesh,\nhow they affected to despise the ties of domestic affection, how they\nretarded the advancement of knowledge, how the passions which they\nsought in vain to suppress often recoiled upon them with fearful\nretribution, and gave rise to disorders which seriously undermined\npublic virtue.\n\nBut not only has supernaturalism tended indirectly to weaken the springs\nof virtue, it has called into being an order of men whose very existence\nis a standing menace to the freedom of intellect and the rights of\nconscience. The distance between the Creator and his creatures is so\ngreat, that the intervention of some third party is deemed necessary\nto mediate between the finite and the Infinite. The priest steps in to\nperform this office, and his influence is great in proportion to the\nvalue of the services which he is supposed to render. Furthermore it\nis believed that the personal deity requires the performance of certain\nactions in his honor, and what these actions are is again left to the\npriest to determine. In this manner the ceremonial part of religion\ngrows up, and acquires a degree of importance fatal to the moral life.\nThe duties toward God transcend the duties toward man, and but too often\nusurp their place.\n\nThe Bible likens the relations of man to God to those of a child to its\nfather. It is true supernaturalism has often proved a valuable stay to\nthose already morally strong, and it were absurd to deny that under its\nfostering care many of the noblest qualities that distinguish the filial\nrelation have been developed in the lives of religious men. It is from\nno lack of appreciation on our part that we have dwelt on the evils\nrather than the blessings it has brought. But in acknowledging that we\nhave really lost the sense of protection, the childlike trust which lend\nsuch rare beauty to the character of many ancient models of piety, we\ndeemed it important to point to the shades that darken the picture\nof the * supernatural religions, its lights are made the theme of a\nthousand discourses week after week, and are hardly in any danger of\nbeing speedily forgotten.\n\nFrom the back-ground of the old Ideal stands out in bold relief the new.\nIt is the reverse of supernatural; if it takes pride in anything, it is\nin marking a return to nature. Trammels of the flesh, contamination of the\nbody? There is nothing it tells us in itself contaminating. The body is\nnot alien to the mind, it is the seed plot from which mind flowers out\nin every part. Regard the form of man, observe the quick play of the\nfeatures, the expressive smile, the speaking glance, every attitude,\nevery gesture full of meaning, the whole body irradiated as it were,\nwith the indwelling intelligence. And so the passions too which we are\nwont to associate with our corporeal nature are but the rough material\nfrom which the artist soul behind them fashions its immortal types of\nbeauty and of holiness. There is a graceless innuendo in the term nature,\nas of something hard, gross, material. In truth, nature is the subtlest,\nmost ethereal presence of which we catch a gleam only at rare intervals,\nthe reflex of a hidden light that glimmers through the facts and motions\nof the world. Take the nature of water for instance. Is it in the\nhydrogen, in the oxygen, in the single atom? Not there, yet there!\nsomewhere hovering, imponderous, elusive. It comes nighest to the senses\nwhen the atoms act and react upon each other, in the flow of mighty\nrivers, in the leap of cataracts, in the turmoil of the sea. Or the\nnature of the tree; is it in the roots, in the trunk, in the spreading\nbranches, the leafy crown? Perhaps in the fruit more than elsewhere the\nhidden being of the tree comes forth into external reality, and opens\nto the eye and touch. In action and fruition the deeper nature appears.\nThus in the outward world, and thus in man. Our soul-life, too, is a\nflowing stream, whose power is not in any part but in the ceaseless,\nchangeful motion of the whole, that forms a strong spiritual current on\nwhich our thoughts and sentiments move like swimmers toward an infinite\nsea. And like a tree are we, with the mighty trunk of intellect, the\nspreading branches of imagination, the fibrous roots of the lower\ninstincts, that bind us to the earth. But the moral life is the fruit we\nbear; in it our true nature is revealed; in it we see the purpose of\nour being fulfilled. So when we speak of a return to nature, it is this\nhigher nature to which we refer, whose origin we know not, but whose\nworkings we feel, and know them by the token of the sweet satisfaction\nthey afford us to be the crown and glory of our lives. The old Ideal\nemphasizes the Eternal that is without us; the new the Eternal that is\nwithin ourselves. The old styles us exiles from the kingdom of truth;\nthe new summons us to be the banner-bearers of truth; the old points to\na heaven beyond the earth, the new tells us that our earth too is a part\nof the heaven, a light-world, among endless worlds of light.\n\nIf secondly we consider the means of support at our disposal in\nthe pursuit of the ideal, we find prayer in universal use among the\nadherents of the old. Prayer in the sense of supplication, has been\ndefined as \"a request made to the Deity as if he were a man.\" And truly\nthe language of prayer often tallies with this description. \"Let me\nsucceed in this undertaking,\" prays the Indian, \"that I may slay my\nenemy and bring home the tokens of victory to my dear family, in order\nthat they may rejoice together. Have pity on me and protect my life,\nand I will bring thee an offering.\" Some such inducement as the last is\nfrequently coupled with the petition, \"Here is an offering for you, O\nGod! Look kindly towards this family, let it prosper and increase, and\nlet us all be in good health.\" \"Let me come upon my enemies speedily,\nlet me find them sleeping and not awake, and let me slay a good many of\nthem.\" \"I pray for cattle, I pray for corn, I ask also for children, in\norder that this village may have a large population, and that your name\nmay never come to an end, for of old we have lived by your favor, let us\ncontinue to receive it. Remember that the increase of our produce is the\nincrease of your worship, and that its diminution must be the diminution\nof your rites.\" Among the Hindoos the efficacy ascribed to prayer was\nsuch that the gods themselves were deemed powerless to resist it, and\nthe mystic invocations of the priests exerted a fateful influence on the\ndestinies of the world. The ancient and modern literature of the Hebrews\nlikewise testifies to their faith in prayer, and Christianity has\nherein followed if not outstripped their example. In case of drought\nthe following prayer is offered in many of our churches: \"Send us, we\nbeseech thee, in this our necessity, such moderate rain and showers that\nwe may receive the fruits of the earth to our comfort and to thy honor.\"\nIn case of storms: \"We humbly beseech thee to restrain these immoderate\nrains, wherewith for our sins thou hast afflicted us, and we pray thee\nto send such seasonable weather that the earth may in due time yield her\nincrease for our benefit.\" In case of famine, \"Increase the fruits of\nthe earth by thy heavenly benediction, and grant that the scarcity\nand dearth which we now most justly suffer for our sins, through thy\ngoodness may be turned into plenty.\" In case of sickness, prayers are\noffered for the recovery of the sufferer.\n\nAgainst all these forms of petition the modern view of life emphatically\nprotests. It starts with the grandest of scientific generalizations,\nthat of the universality of nature's laws. These laws cannot be broken;\nthey govern the course of the planets as they revolve through space,\nthey appear in the slightest eddy of dust that rises on our streets. The\nworld is a Kosmos; to pray for a change in its arrangements is to pray\nfor its destruction. The rains come when they must come, and the earth\nyields or withholds her crop, as a system of causes determined from\nimmeasurable aeons of time prescribes. Is the God to whom men pray\nso poor a workman that he will change the mechanism of the Universe at\ntheir bidding? If all that is, is his work, why then the drought is\nhis work, and the famine, and the sickness are his work, and they are,\nbecause he has willed that they should be. \"The gods help them that\nhelp themselves.\" We are placed in a world with which we are but half\nacquainted; our business is to know it thoroughly. All the history of\nmankind from the beginning has been a series of tentative struggles to\nacquire this precious knowledge, and we have made indeed some headway.\nWe began by defending ourselves against the attacks of wild beasts; we\ntilled the soil; we invented tools, we formed communities, we moderated\nthe friction of social intercourse; we discovered the talisman of\nscience, and the Aladdin's lamp of art. In the treatment of disease also\na great advance has been made. When the Mayflower reached the American\ncontinent, she found a bleak and barren shore, full only of graves. A\ngreat epidemic had swept over the Indian tribes, and the natives fell\nlike dead flies before the scourge. They had charms and prayers; these\ndid not help them. We have accomplished a little; we are bound to aim\nat more. Why then call in the supernatural? It will not come, though we\ncall never so loudly. The vain attempt does but keep us from that which\nis more needful, active exertion and strenuous efforts at self-help.\nBut we are told that our success is poor at best, and that in the vast\nmajority of cases, all our exertions avail nothing: moreover it is said\nthat man is too frail and feeble a creature to depend upon himself alone\nin times of trial, and that prayer, whether it be answered or not, is\nvaluable as a means of consolation that soothes and stills the heart. It\nis but too true that our achievements fall far short of our desires. Let\nthose that do not, cannot pray, seek support in the sympathies of\ntheir kind, and where self-help fails, mutual help will offer them an\ninexhaustible source of strength and comfort. As for that species of\nprayer which is not addressed to a personal God at all, but claims to\nbe an aspiration, an outpouring of the spirit, we do fail to see how it\ndeserves the name of prayer in any sense. The use of the vocative,\nand of the pronoun thou is certainly calculated to mislead, and the\nappearance of inconsistency is hardly avoidable.\n\nLastly, the old Ideal was stationary, retrospective; it placed its\nparadise at the beginning of human history. In the far off past it\nbeheld our best and loftiest hopes anticipated and realized. Then the\nfull significance of life had been reached; then the oracles had spoken\nloudly and clearly whose faint echoes now float like memories of\nhalf forgotten melodies to our ear; then the imperishable truths were\nrevealed in those olden, golden days. Not so, says the new Ideal. Rude\nand wretched were the beginnings of mankind on earth, poor the mind, and\nvoid the heart. Far from being exemplary, the ideas of right and wrong\nentertained by our earliest progenitors were infinitely below our\nown. Not indeed, that the substance of the moral sentiment has ever\nperceptibly changed. The inherent principle of right remains the same,\nbut it assumes higher forms and is applied on a wider scale as the race\nadvances. Thus the commandment not to kill a being like ourselves was\nrecognized from the first, but in the earliest times, only members of\nthe same family were esteemed beings like ourselves; to kill a neighbor\nwas not wrong. The family widened into the clan, the clan into the\npeople, and all the nations are now embraced in the common bond of\nhumanity. Thus step by step the life of the clansman, the fellow citizen\nand at last of every human being came to be regarded as sacred. From a\ncommon centre morality has developed _outward in concentric circles_.\nIn different ages also different virtues predominated. Patriotism was\nesteemed highest in the Roman world; self-sacrifice and chastity in the\nfirst Christian communities. But whatever had thus been gained was not\nthereafter lost. Each age added its own to the stock of virtue; each\ncontributed its share to swell the treasure of mankind. The struggle for\nexistence that raged fiercely on the lower levels of culture, loses its\nharsher aspects as we advance upon the path of civilization. The methods\nof force by which the unfit were eliminated are gradually falling into\ndisrepute, if not into disuse. At last the good will survive because\nof its own persuasive excellency. The conflict will become one of ideas\nmerely, an emulous peaceful contest for the prize of truth.\n\nThat the manners of the modern world have indeed become ameliorated, our\nown brief experience as a society serves to illustrate. A few centuries\nago, such an enterprise as ours would never have been attempted, or if\nundertaken, would have been speedily crushed by the arm of authority or\nthe weight of prejudice. We will not say that bigotry is dead; the fires\nof persecution still slumber beneath their ashes, and now and then start\nup into pretty bonfires to amuse the idle crowd; but the time has\ngone by when they could mount on funeral pyres--they can kindle\nconflagrations no more.\n\nThe new Ideal is progressive. Whatever we have achieved, it tells us\nthere are larger achievements yet beyond. As we rise in the scale of\nmoral worth, the eye becomes clearer and wider of vision. We see in\nremote ages a race of men freer and stronger because of our toils, and\nthat is our dearest hope and our sweetest recompense that they shall\nreap what we have sown.\n\nThe old and the new Ideals will struggle for the mastery; that which is\nstronger will conquer as of old, in the struggle for existence. But the\nnew hope fills us with trust and gladness that that which is true will\nbe strong.\n\n\n\n\nIV. THE PRIESTS OF THE IDEAL\n\nIt is with good reason, that the very name of the priesthood, has become\nodious to the modern mind. How has their fanaticism drenched the earth\nwith blood, how has their unbridled ambition sown seeds of discord\namong the nations; how lamentable a commentary is the record of their\nfrailties upon the assumption of superior sanctity and God-given\nauthority. Yet it is not the priestly office, but its abuse, which has\nproved of evil, nor has the time yet come, when the ministry of priests\ncan be safely dispensed with. There shall come a new Ideal to attract\nmen's reverence and a new service of the Infinite and a new priesthood\nalso to do its ministry. It is of this modern priesthood, I would speak.\n\nFear not that I am about to advocate a return to that system of\nspiritual bondage, from which we have but just escaped. The priests to\nwhom we allude shall not be known by cassock or surplice. It is not\nat the altar they shall serve, least of all shall they have dogmas to\ncommunicate. They shall not be more than human, only if possible more\nhuman. Priests have we of science, we name them so; men whose whole soul\nis wrapped up in the pursuit of knowledge: priests of art, who dedicate\ntheir lives to the service of the Beautiful, priests also of the Moral,\nartists of the Good, sages in the science of Virtue, teachers of the\nIdeal.\n\nLet us consider for a moment, in order to illustrate our meaning, the\nlife of one such priest, whose fame has come down to us undimmed by the\ncorroding influence of time--the life of Socrates. He held no office, he\nministered at no shrine, yet he was in the true sense a priest. A plain\nunpretentious man, content to live on coarse fare, inured to want,\nhomely in appearance, using homely language; nothing had he in\nappearance to attract; yet the gay youths left their feasts and frolics\nwhen he approached, and the busy market-place was hushed to listen\nto the strange wisdom of his sayings; there was indeed a singular and\npotent charm in this man's soul. He had a great need of righteousness,\nwonderful, how he awakened the same need in the hearts of the Athenian\nburghers of his day. He was the reverse of dogmatic. In comparison with\nthe vastness of the unknown, he was wont to say, all human knowledge\nis little even to nothingness, he did not assume to know the truth, but\nstrove to assist men in finding truths for themselves. He had his own\nenlightened views on questions of theology. But far from desiring to\nconvert others to his convictions, he rather sought to divert their\nattention from those mysterious problems, in which men can never be\nwise, problems that are no nearer their solution today, than they were\ntwo thousand years ago. To those who questioned him concerning religion\nhe replied: Are ye then masters of the humanities, that ye seek to pry\ninto divine secrets? His father had been a fashioner of statues before\nhim, he was a fashioner of souls! This Socrates was condemned to suffer\ndeath on the charge of atheism, and met his fate with the calmness of\nthe philosophic mind. If death, he said, is progress to untried spheres,\nthen welcome death! If it is sleep only, then also welcome death and its\ndeep repose. All the tokens of the priest were fulfilled in him. He was\ntrue to himself and unbared to others the veiled truths of their own\nhigher nature. He was a loftier presence on earth, a living flame fed\nfrom its own central being, a sun to which the world turned and was\nthereby enlightened. We perceive then, that what we desire is not a new\nthing. There has been this service of the Ideal from the earliest times.\nOnly a new plea would we urge for larger fidelity to that which the best\nhave striven for, and which under new conditions it will be the glory of\nour age to approach more nearly.\n\nThe priest shall be a teacher of the \"Ideal,\" but what is the Ideal and\nhow distinguish it from the Real. Regard the trees, behold their number,\nthe wondrous plenitude of their kinds.. There is the lithe and slender\npine, the mighty oak, the stately palm, the tender willow. Alike\nyet most unlike. And who has ever seen the perfect tree! Observe the\nexpressive features of the human face. How many thousands of such faces\nare born into the world each year and yet no two alike. By what fine\nshades, what scarce perceptible curves, what delicate touches has\nnature's chisel marked them each apart. Graceful forms and lovely faces\nthere are, yet perfect none. Now the Ideal is the perfection of the\nReal. To find it we must go beyond the Realities. We study the nature of\nthe tree, of man. We note the suggestions of the various parts, complete\nand produce them in utmost harmony, each perfect in itself, each serving\nby its own perfection, the rounded symmetry of the whole. In the image\nthus created we grasp the ideal form. Art with its genial enchantments,\ncreates such images and gives them permanence in pure types of immortal\nsignificance. Art is idealism of form.\n\nThe intellect also, which looks out from behind the features, the\nindwelling man, exhibits the same twofold aspect of the Real and Ideal.\nOur real thoughts are incomplete and inadequate. We are led astray a\nthousand times by false analogies, we are decoyed into the labyrinths\nof fancy, we become the victims of impression, the toys of circumstance.\nBut deep down in the basic structure of the mind are true laws, unerring\nguides. Logic expresses them, logic is the idealism of intellect.\n\nAnd lastly we recognize the same distinction in the realm of feeling.\nTo the untutored caprice, the overmastering impulse, in brief to the\nrealism of the passions is opposed the law of right feeling, which\nethics expresses. Ethics is the idealism of character. We call this last\nthe capital revelation of man's nature. The moral law is not derivative,\nit can not be proven, it can not be denied. It is the root from which\nsprings every virtue, every grace, all wisdom and all achievement. An\nattempt has indeed been made to base morality upon a certain commonplace\nutility, but true morality scorns your sad utilities. That is useful,\nwhich serves an object besides itself, while morality is itself an end,\nand needs and admits no sanction save its own excellency. As it delights\nthe man of science to expand his judgment in ever wider and wider\ngeneralizations, as the larger thought is ever the truer thought, so is\nthere an exquisite pleasure and an unspeakable reward in expanding the\nnarrow consciousness of self in the unselfish, and the larger emotion\nis ever the nobler emotion. We speak of the moral Ideal, as The IDEAL,\nbecause it expresses the central idea of human life,# the purpose of our\nexistence on earth. To expound and illustrate its bearings on our daily\nduties, our joys, our griefs and our aspirations, is the scope and limit\nof the priestly office.\n\nThe moral ideal would embrace the whole of life. Before it nothing is\npetty or indifferent, it touches the veriest trifles and turns them into\nshining gold. We are royal by virtue of it, and like the kings in the\nfairy tale, we may never lay aside our crowns. It tells us, that nothing\nshall be for its uses only, but all things shall take their tone and\nquality from the central idea.\n\nWhen we build a house, it shall not be for its uses only. We shall have\nkitchens and drawing rooms and libraries and pictures and flowers, if\npossible. But the house, with all its comforts and luxuries, is mere\nframework, and our words and doings construct the true, the spiritual\nhome. When we sit down to table, it shall not be for the use of the\nfood and the flavor of the wine only, but morality should preside at the\nfeast and lend it grace and dignity. Morality does not mope in corners,\nis not sour nor gloomy. It loves genial fellowship, loves to convert\nour meanest wants into golden occasions for joy and sympathy and happy\ncommunion. Manners too are the offspring of character. We do not rate\nhighly the dry and cheerless conventionalisms of etiquette, but in\ntheir origin, they were the fruit of truth, and love. The rules of good\nbreeding may be reduced to two; self-possession and deference. As when\na public speaker loses his self-control, his own uncertainty is quickly\ncommunicated to his audience, and he forfeits his influence over his\nhearers; so the same cause produces the same effect in every lesser\naudience that gathers in our parlors. Society says to you: If I shall\ntrust you, you must begin by trusting yourself. The man of the world\nwill enter the palace of the prince and the cottage of the peasant with\nthe same equipoise of manner. If he respects himself, there is no\nreason why he should stand abashed. Self-possession is essentially\nself-respect. Deference, too, is a primary condition of all courtesy.\nIt teaches us to concede to others whatever we claim for ourselves; it\nleads us instinctively to avoid loudness, and self-complacency. It is\nexpressed not only in the polished phrase, but in mien, attitude, every\nmovement. Self-possession and deference of manner are both the outgrowth\nof moral qualities, the one depending on the consciousness of personal\nworth, the other inspired by an unselfish regard for the well-being of\nothers. From these two it were possible to deduce the rules of a\nnew 'Chesterfield,' which should be free from all the conceit and\naffectation of the old. Unfortunately, manners are no longer the natural\noutpouring of heart-goodness. Men attire themselves in politeness as\nthey do in rich apparel; they may be as rude as they please, the year\nround, they know they can be fine on occasion. Moreover in the home\ncircle, where the forms of courtesy are quite indispensable to prevent\nundue friction; to send the light of grace and poetry into a world of\nlittle cares; to fill the atmosphere of our daily surroundings as\nwith the fragrance of a pervading perfume; they are yet most commonly\nneglected. The word manners has the same meaning as morals. When we\nshall have better morals, we shall have truer and sweeter manners.\n\nThe Ideal which thus seeks to interpenetrate the most ordinary affairs\nof private life, stands out also in the market place, in the forum, in\nthe halls of legislation, and setting aside the merely useful, exhorts\nmen to return to permanent values. That is the ideal view of politics\nwhich teaches us to hold the idea of country superior to the utilities\nof party, to exact worthiness of the public servants, to place the\ncommon good above sectional animosities and jealousies. That is the\nideal view of commerce, which impels the merchant, while seeking\nprosperity by legitimate means, to put conscience into his wares and\ndealings and to keep ever in sight the larger purposes of human\nlife. That is the ideal view of the professions, which leads their\nrepresentatives to subordinate the claims of ambition and material gain\nto the enduring interests of science, justice, and of all the great\ntrusts that are confided to their keeping. And he therefore shall be\ncalled a priest of the Ideal, who by precept and example will divert us\nfrom the absorbing pursuit of the realities and make plain to us that\nthe real is transitory, while in the pursuit of the Ideal alone we can\nfind lasting happiness. For the realities are constantly disconcerting\nus in our search for the better. They are so powerful, so insistent; we\nthink them every thing until we have proved their attractions and find\nthem nothing. We have that only which we are. But the common judgment\nholds to the reverse; we are only what we have. And so the turbulent\ncrowd plunges madly into the race--for acres, for equipage, for\nwell-stocked larders, for office, for fame. Good things are these, as\nscales on the ladder of life, but life is somewhat more than acres and\nequipage and office and fame. Seldom indeed do we truly live. Often are\nwe but shadows of other lives. We affect the fashions not only in dress\nbut also in thought and opinion. We are good or bad, as public opinion\nbids us. The state is ruined, the church is corrupted, and the world's\ngiddy masquerade rushes heedlessly on. Give me one who will think Having\nand Seeming less than Being; who will be content to be himself and a\nlaw unto himself and in him I will revere the ideal man. Before him the\nshams and mockeries of existence shall sink away. He will look into his\nown soul and tell you the oracles he has read there, and you will hear\nand behold your own heart. He will plant the sign of the Eternal on a\nhigh standard and call unto a people that strays in the wilderness to\nlook up to that and be saved. The old and the young will he instruct,\nand they shall love him, for his words will be an articulate cry to the\ndumb voices in their own breasts. This is the be-all and end-all of his\nmission,--to make them acquainted with themselves. Do you know he will\nsay, what a power is in you, what a light is hidden in the deep recesses\nof your nature. Artists are ye all to whom your own soul is given to\nmold it into beauty. Happy, happy indeed if you seek no other reward\nbut the artist's joy in his work and know that to be your glory and your\nrecompense.\n\nIt is well, that there should be priests appointed to bear such messages\nto us from time to time as we rest from our toil; to bring us face\nto face with the inner life. But there are special occasions in these\npassing years of ours, when the ideal bearings of life come home to us\nwith peculiar force and when we require the priest to be their proper\ninterpreter.\n\nMarriage is one of them. We often hear it said that marriage is a mere\nlegal compact. The state, it is true, has a vital interest in protecting\nthe purity of the conjugal relation and may prescribe certain forms to\nwhich its citizens are bound to conform. But has the meaning of the new\nbond been indeed fully expressed, when the magistrate in the court room\nhas pronounced the young man and the maiden to be now husband and wife?\nAmong the ancient Hebrews youths and young girls were wont to meet\non the Day of Atonement, the most solemn day of the year, the day of\npurification from sin, to cement their affections and plight their\ntroth. For marriage itself was esteemed an act of purification. Marriage\nis the foundation of all morality. Its celebration does not end with the\nwedding day: it is a constant celebration, a perpetual intermarrying of\ntwo souls while life lasts.\n\nNot the state only, but humanity also, that ideal state of which we are\nall citizens, has an interest in the contract. A new sanctuary is to be\nreared sacred to the ineffable mysteries of the home-life; in the home\nwith all the tender and holy associations that cluster about it let it\nbe dedicated. The supreme festival of humanity is marriage. There shall\nbe music and joy and a white-robed bride with myrtle wreath; and solemn\nwords to express the solemn meanings of the act.\n\nAt the grave also is the office of the priest, When some dear friend has\nbeen taken from us, when the whole earth seems empty for the loss\nof one and the pillars of existence seem broken, he shall say to the\ngrieving heart: Arise, be strong. He shall bid your brooding sorrow\npause. He shall speak of larger duties, which they you mourn have left\nyou, as their legacy. Larger duties: this is his medicine. You are not\nfree, you poor and sadly stricken friends to stand aside in idle woe,\nbut you shall make for the departed a memorial in your lives and assume\ntheir half completed tasks. So the loss, though loss it be, will purify\nyou, and vim and vigor be found in the consolations of the Ideal. We\ntrust that we have used the term priest in no narrow restricted sense.\nIt is not the hierarchies of the past or the present of whom we have\nspoken. The priest is not superior to his fellow men, nor has he access\nto those transcendental regions which are closed to others. His power\nis in this, that he speaks what all feel. And he shall be counted an\nacceptable teacher, then only, when the slumbering echoes within you\nwaken to the music that moves and masters him.\n\nThere have been those, whose lives were molded on such a pattern among\nthe clergy at all times, and it is this circumstance, that has attracted\nthe reverence of mankind to the priestly office.\n\nNoble men were they whose love burst through the cramping fetters of\ntheir creeds, apostles of liberty, missionaries of humanity.\n\nBut there is one other trait necessary to complete the picture. The\npriest of the Ideal must have the gift of tongues and kingly words to\nutter kingly thoughts. In the philosophy of Alexandria it was held, that\nbefore the world was, the word was, and the word created a universe out\nof chaos and the word was divine. With that heaven-born energy must he\nbe filled, and with a breath of that creative speech must he inspire.\nNo tawdry eloquence be his, no glittering gift of phrase or fantasy, but\nwords of the soul's own language, words of the pith and core of truth.\n\nThe image of the Ideal priest which I have attempted to draw is itself\nan ideal image, nowhere realized, never to be fully attained. But it\nis to it that the priests of the new age will strive to come near and\nnearer, and that will be their pride and their happiness, if they can\nbecome in this sense friends and helpers of their kind.\n\nIn the eyes of the dogmatist they are strangers out of a strange land of\nthought. If you ask them for their pass word, it is freedom, if you ask\nfor their creed, it is boundless. The multitude seeking to compress\nthe infinite within the narrow limits of the senses, must needs have\ntangible shapes to lay hands on, names if nothing better. But the Ideal\nin the highest is void of form and its name unutterable. We will ascend\non the wings of the morning, we will let ourselves down to the uttermost\ndepths of the sea, and know it there. But chiefly within ourselves shall\nwe seek it, in ourselves is its shrine. The time will come when single\nmen shall no more be needed to do its ministry, when in the brotherhood\nand sisterhood of mankind all shall be priests and priestesses one to\nanother, for all their life shall be a song of praise to the highest,\nand their whole being shall be consecrated and glorified in the immortal\nservice of deathless Ideals.\n\n\n\n\nV. THE FORM OF THE NEW IDEAL\n\n\n\n\nA NEW ORDER.\n\nI AM aware that there exists a deep seated prejudice in the minds of\nmany of my hearers against what are called the forms of religion. We\nhave too long experienced their limitations and restraints, not to be\njealous now of our hard won liberties. But let us ask ourselves what\nit is that alienates our sympathies from the ritual and ceremonial\nobservances of the dominant creeds? Is it the forms as such? Is it not\nrather the fact that to us they have become dead forms: that they no\nlonger appeal to our sentiments, that they fail to stir, to invigorate,\nto ennoble us? We have not cast them aside lightly. Often have we\nentered the house of worship, prepared to be drawn back into the\ninfluence of its once familiar surroundings: we beheld again the great\nassembly, we heard the solemn music, we listened to the preacher as he\nstrove to impress upon a silent multitude, the lessons of the higher\nlife. But in the prayers we could not join, and the words to which\nthe music moved we could not sing, and the maxims of the preacher were\ncouched in language, and enforced with doctrinal arguments that touched\nno chord in our hearts. We left disappointed, we had received no help:\nif this were religion, we felt ourselves more distant from religion than\never before.\n\nOn the banks of the Euphrates there flourished of old an extensive\ncolony of Jews. A \"Prince of the Captivity\" revived the memory of the\nvanished glory of King David's house. High schools were erected that\nafforded a common centre to the scattered members of the Jewish Faith.\nIn these the people beheld at once their bond of connection with the\npast, and the pledge of future restoration to their patrimony. In the\nearly part of the middle ages, a prayer for the health and prosperity of\nthe presidents of the high schools was inserted into the liturgy. Well\nnigh eight hundred years have elapsed since these dignitaries, and\nthe schools themselves, have ceased to exist, yet the prayer is still\nretained, and may be heard repeated on any Sabbath in the synagogues of\nthe orthodox--a prayer for the health of the Prince and the high schools\non the Euphrates that vanished from the face of the earth eight hundred\nyears ago. Thus do religious forms continue to maintain themselves long\nafter their vitality is perished and their very meaning is forgotten.\nBut if the prevalent forms have ceased to satisfy us, can we therefore\ndispense with form altogether? If the house that has given us shelter is\nin ruins, shall we therefore live in the woods and fields, or shall we\nnot rather erect a new mansion on a broader foundation, and with firmer\nwalls? It has been the bane of liberalism, that it was simply critical\nand not constructive. Your thought must have not wings only, but hands\nand feet to walk and work, to form and reform. Liberalism must have its\norgans, must enter the race with its rivals; must not criticise only,\nbut do better. Liberalism must pass the stage of individualism, must\nbecome the soul of great combinations. What then shall be the form\nadequate to express the new Ideal?\n\nThe form of any religion is the image of its ideal. To illustrate what\nthis means, let us consider for a moment the origin of the synagogue and\nthe church.\n\nThe orthodox opinion that Judaism was revealed to Moses fourteen hundred\nyears B. C. is condemned by modern critics of the Bible. The following\nare some of the considerations that have influenced their verdict.\nFirst, we read in scripture that so late as the reign of David, idolatry\nwas still rampant among the Hebrews, and the attempt to explain this\nfact upon the theory of a relapse, is contrary to the testimony of the\nBible itself.\n\nSecondly: The name of Moses is unknown to the prophets, his ostensible\nsuccessors, a circumstance which would remain inexplicable if Moses had\nindeed been the founder of monotheism.\n\nThirdly: Large portions of the Pentateuch were probably not composed\nbefore the sixth or fifth century B. C, that is to say about a thousand\nyears after the time of Moses. The account they give of the early\nhistory of the people is therefore open to serious and just doubt. The\nprophets were the real authors of monotheism. The priestly code of the\nPentateuch does not represent the form of Judaism which they taught.\nThey are not chargeable with the technicalities and dry formalism of the\n\"Books of Moses.\" They were the avowed enemies of the priesthood and for\na long time engaged in fierce struggles with the ruling hierarchy. Their\ndoctrines were in the essence these: That there is a Creator, that he\nis just and merciful, that the same qualities in man are the most\nacceptable species of divine service, that God directs all events,\nwhether great or small; and that it is the duty of man to accept the\nguidance of the Deity, and to follow with tireless diligence the clews\nof the Divine Will. Jehovah is to be reverenced not only as a spiritual,\nbut also as a temporal sovereign, and the prophets are his ministers\ncommissioned to transmit his decrees to men. Thus Monotheism found\nexpression in the form of Theocratic government. It is true the heathen\nworld was not yet prepared to enter into so near a relationship with the\nCreator. On this account the Jews were selected to be a typical people,\nand the Kingdom of God was for the time being confined to them. It\nis evident from the above that the order of the prophets was the very\nmainstay of the Theocratic fabric. When these inspired messengers\nceased to appear, the conclusion was drawn that the Will of God had been\nfully revealed. The writings of the prophets were then collected into\nsacred books, and were regarded as the constitution of the divine\nempire. When Jerusalem was destroyed, the sacrifices were discontinued\nand Judaism was purged of many heathenish elements which had been\nallowed to mar the simplicity of the prophetic religion. The synagogue\ntook the place of the Temple, and an intricate code of ceremonies was\ngradually elaborated, intended to remind the pious Jew at all hours and\nseasons of his duties toward God, and the peculiar mission accorded to\nhis people. The synagogue was a single prominent peak in the range\nof the religious life, a rallying point for the members of the Jewish\ncommunity, a meeting house where they assembled to confirm their\nallegiance to their heavenly King.\n\nNow the cardinal point of difference between primitive Christianity and\nJudaism related to the alleged abrogation of the ancient constitution\nset forth in the old Testament. Christianity said: The Messiah has come;\nthe law of Moses is fulfilled; the King has issued a new constitution,\nand sent his own Son to put it in force. The time has arrived when the\nKingdom of God need no longer be restricted to a single people. Jesus\nwho perished on the cross will presently return, and the universal\ntheocracy will then be proclaimed. But Jesus did not return, his\nfollowers waited long and patiently, but they waited in vain. As time\nrolled on, they learned to dwell less upon the expected Millennium on\nearth, and to defer the fulfilment of their hopes to the life beyond the\ngrave. In the interval they perfected the organization of the church.\nThe Christian Ideal of the Kingdom of Heaven is that of a communion of\nall saints under the sovereignty of God through Christ. The Christian\nChurch is designed to be an image of this Ideal, a communion of saintly\nmen on earth, accepting Christ as their Master. Christianity aspired to\nbe the universal religion; there should be no barriers any more between\nman and man; the exclusiveness of ancient Judaism should be broken down;\nyet withal the barriers of a new creed soon arose in place of the old;\nthe portals of the Kingdom of Heaven were rigidly closed against all who\nrefused to bow to the despotism of dogma; and the virtues of pagans were\ndeclared to be shining vices. The moral teachings of Christ are gentle\nand kindly, but in the doctrinal contentions of the Christians the\nspirit of the Master was forgotten, and the earth was deluged with\nblood. And now the new Ideal differs from Christianity in this, that it\nseeks to approach the goal of a Kingdom of Heaven upon earth, not by the\nmiraculous interference of the Deity, but by the laborious exertions\nof men, and the slow but certain progress of successive generations. We\nhave named the form of religion an image of the Ideal, yet an image poor\nand incomplete at best, rather a symbol, a suggestion of what can never\nbe realized. In the realm of art we do not find the soul of beauty in\nthe  canvas or the marble statue; these are helpful hieroglyphics\nonly, teaching those that can read their mute language to create anew\nthe ideal as it lived in the artist's soul, in the divine hour of\nconception. Thus all form has its value only in what it suggests. Our\nIdeal is that of the fellowship of humanity in highest wisdom, highest\ntruth and highest love. The form of this ideal therefore can be none\nother than a new fellowship united by the higher truths and purer love\nthat make its bond to be a symbol of the highest! We are weary of the\nunreal and untrue existence we are forced to lead; we are weary of the\nemptiness of routine, weary of the false coin of reputation that passes\ncurrent in the market of vanity fair; we are weary of the low standards\nby which actions are judged, and to which, to our dismay, we perceive\nour actions insensibly conform. But the pressure of social influences\nabout us is enormous, and no single arm can resist it. We must needs\nband together then, if we would achieve a higher life; we must create\nfor ourselves a purer atmosphere, if any rarer virtues are to flourish\nin our midst; we must make our own public opinion, to buoy us up in\nevery loftier aspiration. Unions we want that will hold, not religion\nas a duty, but duty as a religion; union to achieve a larger morality.\nThree things morality demands of us as interpreted in the light of our\npresent social conditions: greater simplicity in manners, greater purity\nin the passions, greater charity. The habit of luxurious living\nis eating into the vitals of society, is defiling the family, and\ncorrupting the state. Let me not be falsely understood. All that is\nluxury which political economists are wont to class as unproductive\nconsumption. In this sense, books, music and pictures are luxuries, and\nwho would be willing to forego them. It becomes us to the utmost of our\npowers to satisfy the thirst for knowledge, and to educate the sense of\nharmony: it is wise to expend generously upon every means of culture and\nrefinement. But this we must bear in mind, that there should be a rank\nand a proper subordination among our tastes and desires. Now that is\nluxury in the evil, in the debasing sense of the term, that we subvert\nthe natural order of our tastes, that we make the mere gratification of\nthe animal passions, the mere pursuit of wealth, the mere adornment of\nour clay, main objects, while the graces of intellect perish, and the\nadornment of the soul is neglected. Say not, we will do the one, and not\nleave undone the other; for the inordinate degree to which the meaner\npassions are developed, dulls our sense of loftier needs. We cannot\nserve these two masters. Frivolous in prosperity, we become helpless in\nadversity and perish inwardly, our growth stunted, our nobler sympathies\nblunted, long before we are bedded in our graves. What single effort can\nachieve a change? Fellowship, friends are needed, and a public opinion\non behalf of simplicity.\n\nAnd purity in the passions is needed. An ugly sore is here concealed,\na skeleton in the closet of which men speak with bated breath. Is there\nnot such a thing as sanctity of the person! Did you not rebel against\nhuman slavery because you said it was wrong that any being born in\nthe image of man should be the tool of another? And no arguments could\ndeceive you--not if the slave offered himself willingly to the yoke, and\nrejoiced in his bondage. You dared not so sin against human nature, and\naccept that offer. And yet New York has its slaves, Boston its slaves,\nand every large town on the face of the wide earth has this sinful,\noutcast army of slaves--tools, whom we have robbed of that which no\nhuman being has a right to barter, the right to virtue at least, if not\nto happiness. Call not that a law of nature, which is the lawlessness of\nnature! Say not, it has ever been thus, and ever shall be! From depths\nof vice which the imagination dare not recall, humanity has slowly risen\nto its present level, and higher and higher will it take its course when\nthe conscience is quickened and true love expands. Fellowship is needed\nto support this difficult virtue and a public opinion on behalf of\npurity.\n\nAnd charity, friends; not that which we commonly called charity; but\ncharity that prevents rather than cures. You pass through the lower\nquarters of our city, you see the misery, the filth, the gaunt, grim\npoverty, the careworn faces, the candidates for starvation. Starvation!\nwhoever hears of it? The newspapers rarely speak of it; here or there an\nexceptional case. Nay truly, these people do not starve; they die of a\ncold perhaps; the small-pox came and carried them off: diphtheria\nmakes its ravage among them. Ah, but was it not want that sapped their\nstrength, and made them powerless to resist disease? Was it not their\nlife of pinched pauperism that ripened them for the reaper's scythe?\nThen pass from these sorrowful sights to our stately Avenue. Behold\nthe gay world of fashion, its painted pomp, its gilded sinfulness, its\nheartless extravagance. Is not this an intolerable contrast? Shall we\nrest quiet under the talk of irremediable evils? Is it not true\nthat something must be done, and can be done because it must? The\ndistribution of wealth they say, is governed by economic laws, and\nsentiment has no right to be considered in affairs of business. But\nwhere I pray you is the sentiment of brotherly love considered as it\nshould be? Educate the masses! But do we educate them? Stimulate their\nself-respect and teach them self-help! But what large or effective\nmeasures are we taking to this most desirable end? You cannot help,\ngood friend, nor I. But a dozen might aid somewhat, and a thousand brave\nunselfish hearts knit together for such a purpose, who shall say what\nmighty changes they could work. Surely fellowship is needed here, and a\npublic opinion on behalf of charity.\n\nThe \"fine phrase,\" humanity has pregnant meanings. They stand for the\ngrandest, the sternest realities of the times. Purity, charity and\nsimplicity, these shall be the watchwords of a new fellowship, which\nshall practice the teachings of humanity, that are vain as the empty\nwind, if heard only and approved, but not made actual in our deeds.\n\nAnd yet some will smile incredulously and ask, where are the men and\nwomen prepared to undertake such a task? It is true, we must begin at\nthe beginning. From earliest childhood the young must be trained on\na nobler method, and in the ethical school lies the main work of\npreparation. There every step in the course of development must be\ncarefully considered, vigilantly watched and wisely directed, to the\none crowning purpose of ripening the young minds and hearts for that\nfellowship of love and hope.\n\nA new fellowship, a new order, I say boldly, whose members shall not be\nbound by any vows, which shall have no convents, no mysteries, but shall\nmake itself an exemplar of the virtues it preaches, a form of the ideal.\nThe perils that attend such organizations are great; we will not attempt\nto underrate their gravity, but we believe they can be overcome. The\nspirit of co-operation lends mighty momentum to every cause; it depends\nupon the cause itself whether the influence exerted shall be for good or\nevil. And there has been in history a single order at least of the kind\nwhich I describe: \"The brotherhood of the common life,\" it was called;\nan order composed of earnest, studious men, to whom the upheaval of\nEurope in the sixteenth century was largely due; a noble brotherhood\nthat prepared the way for the great Reformation. The Catholic orders are\ndedicated to the world to come; the order of the Ideal will be dedicated\nto the world of the living: to deepen and broaden the conscience of men\nwill be its mission.\n\nThe propaganda of Liberalism in the past has been weak and barren of\ngreat results. Strong personalities it has brought forth; around these\nsocieties have clustered and fallen asunder when the personal magnet was\nwithdrawn. What we need is institutions of which persons shall be merely\nthe exponents; institutions that must be grounded on the needs of the\npresent, and that shall last by their own vitality, to future ages and\nto the increase of future good.\n\nIt is the opening of the spring.* After its long winter sleep, the earth\nreawakens, and amid the fierce storms of the Equinox nature ushers in\nthe season of flowers and of summer's golden plenty. It is the day of\nEaster. Loudly the bells are pealing and joyous songs celebrate in the\nlegend of \"Christ risen from the grave,\" the marvel of the Resurrection.\nWhat we cannot credit of an individual, is true of the nations. After\nlong periods of seeming torpor and death, humanity ever arises anew from\nthe dust, shakes off its slumbers, and clothes itself with fresher vigor\nand diviner powers.\n\n     * The above discourse was delivered on Easter Sunday, April\n     1st.\n\nLet the hope of the season animate us. Let it fill our souls with\nconfidence in our greater destinies; let it teach us to trust in them\nand to labor for them, that a new Ideal may vivify the palsied hearts\nand a new spring tide come, and a new Easter dawn arise over all\nmankind.\n\n\n\n\nVI. THE RELIGIOUS CONSERVATISM OF WOMEN.\n\nNo thoughtful person can fail to appreciate the enormous influence which\nwomen are constantly exercising for good and evil upon the destinies\nof the world. The charms and graces of existence, whatever ennobles and\nembellishes life, we owe mainly to them. They are the natural guardians\nof morality, and from age to age the mothers of households have\npreserved the sacred fire on the domestic hearth, whereat every virtue\nis kindled. But they have also been the most formidable enemies of\nprogress. Their conservatism is usually of the most unreasoning kind,\nand the tenacity with which they cling to favorite prejudices is\nrarely overcome either by argument or appeal. They have been from\ntime immemorial the dupes, the tools, and the most effective allies of\npriestcraft. Their hostility to the cause of Reform has been so fatal,\nnot only because of the direct influence of their actions, but because\nof that subtle power which they exert so skilfully over the minds of\nhusbands, brothers and friends, by the arts of remonstrance, entreaty\nand the contagion of their feeble alarms. The question whether their\nhostility can be turned into friendship, is one of momentous importance\nfor the leaders of the Liberal movement to consider.\n\nIn the following we shall endeavor to make plain that the subordinate\nposition hitherto assigned to women, is the principal cause that has\nimpelled them to take sides against religious progress.\n\nAmong the primitive races woman was reduced to a condition of abject\nslavery. Affection of the deeper kind was unknown. The wife was robbed\nor purchased from her relations; was treated as a menial by her husband,\nand often exposed to the most brutal abuse. As civilization advanced,\nthe marriage bond became more firm, and common interest in the offspring\nof the union served to create common sympathies. Among the Greeks, the\nideal of domestic life was pure and elevated. The tales of Andromache,\nPenelope and Alcestes illustrate the strength of conjugal fidelity and\nthe touching pathos of love that outlasts death. The Grecian home was\nfenced about with scrupulous care and strictest privacy protected its\ninmates from temptation. It was the duty of the wife to superintend\nthe internal economy of the household, to spin and weave, to direct the\nslaves in their various occupations, to nurse them when sick, to\nwatch over the young children, and chiefly to insure the comfort and\nsatisfaction of her lord. His cares and ambitions indeed she hardly\nshared. She never aspired to be his equal, and simple obedience to\nhis wishes was the supreme virtue impressed upon her by education, and\nenforced by habit. Among the Romans, the character of the matron is\ndescribed in the most laudatory and reverential terms. Still the laws\nof the Republic made woman practically the bondswoman of man. It is\nwell-known that our English word family is derived from the Latin\nwhere it originally means the household of slaves. The matron too, was\ncounted, at least theoretically, among these slaves, and the right of\ndeciding her fate literally for life or death, belonged exclusively to\nher husband. It is true in the cordial intimacy of the monogamic bond,\nthe austerity of usage, and the harshness of the laws are often tempered\nby affection and mutual respect; yet we are aptly reminded by a modern\nwriter on this subject, that the law which remains a dead letter to\nthe refined and cultivated becomes the instrument of the most heartless\noppression in the hands of the vulgar and the passionate.\n\nAmong the Hebrews, a position of great dignity and consequence was\nsometimes accorded to their women. The wives of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob\nplayed an important part in directing the affairs of the Patriarchal\nhouseholds. A woman performed the functions of judge and leader of\narmies, women sat upon the throne, prophetesses were consulted in grave\nmatters of the State and of religion; in the absence of sons, the\nMosaic law guarantees to daughters the right of succession to the family\nestate. The later writings of the Jews are likewise replete with noble\nsentiments touching the sanctity of the conjugal tie. Many of the\nordinances of the Talmud depend upon women for their execution, and this\ncircumstance alone must have contributed to raise them in the popular\nestimation. In every marriage contract a certain sum was set apart for\nthe wife, in case of her husband's death or of divorce. Still the right\nof dissolving the matrimonial connection belonged exclusively to the\nhusband, although under certain conditions he could be forced by the\ncourt to issue the \"writ of separation.\" However the wife might be\nhonored and loved, she was ever regarded as man's inferior.\n\nThe influence of Christianity upon the position of women, was twofold,\nand in opposite directions. On the one hand women had been among\nthe first and most devoted followers of Jesus; women were largely\ninstrumental in effecting the conversion of the Roman Empire, and in the\nlist of martyrs, their names shine preeminent. On the other hand, the\nchurch in the early centuries cast an unpardonable slur on the\nmarriage relation. We read of young maidens fleeing the society of dear\ncompanions and friends, to escape the temptation of the affections, of\nfaithful wives, filled with inexpressible loathing at a connection which\nthey deemed contrary to the dictates of religion, and deserting husbands\nand children. The desire of love was poisoned with a sense of guilt. The\ncelibacy of the clergy, finally enforced by Pope Hildebrand, gave rise\nto the most shocking irregularities. All this tended to degrade the\nfemale sex.\n\nAt the time of the crusades a partial revulsion of feeling took place.\nThe spirit of chivalry entered the church, the character of woman was\ntransfigured, and the worship of the Virgin Mary spread in consequence\nthroughout Europe. A change in the education of girls was one of the\nresults of the rise of Chivalry. Music and poetry became its chief\nelements; women were fed on intellectual sweetmeats, but strong and\nhealthy nourishment was still denied them.\n\nIn all the different stages of progress which we have thus rapidly\nscanned, the assumption of man's superiority to woman was held as an\nincontestible article of belief, and even the chivalric ideal is only a\nmore amiable and disguised expression of the same view.\n\nWhat effect the disabilities under which they labored must have had upon\nthe religious life of women will readily be perceived. There are two\nattitudes of mind peculiarly favorable to orthodoxy; the one a tendency\nto lean on authority, the other a disposition to give free sway to the\nfeelings without submitting them to the checks of reason. Now it is\nplain that the condition of dependence to which society has condemned\nwoman is calculated to develop these very qualities to an abnormal\ndegree. From early childhood she receives commands and is taught to\ndistrust her own judgment. When she enters the bonds of matrimony she\nbecomes dependent on her husband for support, and in the vast majority\nof cases, his riper judgment shames her inexperience. In all graver\nmatters she must perforce defer to his decision. Accustomed to rely on\nauthority, is it surprising that in matters of religion, where even\nmen confess their ignorance, she should rejoice in the authority of the\npriest, whose directions relieve her of doubt and supply a ready channel\nfor her thoughts and acts. Again the feelings are her natural weapons,\nshall she not trust them! The stability and security of society are the\nconditions on which her dearest hopes depend for their realization. Can\nshe welcome the struggles of innovation. All her feelings cluster about\nthe religious traditions of the past; all a woman's heart pleads for\ntheir maintenance.\n\nNow to confine the feelings of woman within their proper bounds, it is\nnecessary to give wider scope, and a more generous cultivation to her\nintellect; in brief to allow her the same freedom of development as is\nuniversally accorded to man. Freedom makes strong, and the confidence of\nothers generates an independent and self-reliant spirit in ourselves. It\nis indeed often urged that woman is by nature the inferior of man. But\nthe appeal to physiology seems to be at least premature; the relation of\nthe size of the brain to intellectual capacity being by no means clearly\ndetermined; while the appeal to history is, if possible, even more\ntreacherous, because it cites the evils engendered by an ancient and\nlong continued system of oppression in favor of the system itself.\nCounting all the disadvantages against which woman has been forced\nto contend, and which have hampered her every effort to elevate her\ncondition, it is truly marvelous, not that she has done so little, but\nthat she has accomplished that which she has. Even in the difficult art\nof government she has earned well merited distinction, and women are\nnamed among the wisest and most beneficent rulers of ancient and modern\ntimes.* What the possibilities of woman's nature may be, no one can\ntell; least of all she herself. As it is she is credited with a superior\npower of intuition, a readier insight into character, a more complete\nmastery of details. What larger powers now latent a broader culture will\nbring to light, remains for the future to show.\n\n     * J. S. Mill, The Subjection of Women, p. 100.\n\nBut we are told that the sphere of woman's work is in the home, and that\nproperly to perform her vocation there, she does not need the vigorous\ntraining required for men. That woman's mission ought to be and happily\nis in the majority of cases in the home, no one will gainsay. At the\nsame time, we should not close our eyes to patent facts, facts such as\nthese; that the number of women whose mission actually does not lie in\nthe home, is exceedingly great; that according to the last census of the\nUnited States, for instance, the female population of the State of New\nYork, is fifty-six thousand in excess of the male; that well nigh two\nmillions of women in this country are engaged in working for their\nlivelihood. Is it not cruel mockery to say to these women that their\nbusiness is in the household? If the condition of things is such that\nthey must seek outside labor; if we permit them to toil by hundreds of\nthousands in the fields and factories, on what plea of right or reason\ncan we deny them admission to the higher grades of service? Is it not\nsimple justice to admit them to all the professions, and to allow them\nthe same advantages in colleges and professional schools as are enjoyed\nby men?\n\nWe need not fear that the privilege will be abused. If women undertake\nto engage in pursuits for which they are physically or mentally unfit,\nthe effect of competition will quickly discourage them, and here as\nelsewhere, only the fittest will survive.\n\nBut aside from those who are destined to remain single, and considering\nthe seven millions of women, or more, who will become wives and mothers\nof families; is not the demand for higher education equally imperative\nin their case? Young girls are but too often educated to be the\nagreeable companions, rather than the partners of their future husbands.\nThey receive sufficient instruction to give them a general acquaintance\nwith the surface of things, but not sufficient to develop what ought to\nbe the chief end of every scheme of education--a permanent intellectual\ninterest in any one direction. Much time is wasted on minor\naccomplishments. At an age when the young girl is still totally\nimmature, she is often withdrawn from the influence of her preceptors,\nand hurried from dissipation to dissipation, to tread the round of\nsociety's gayeties, and to inhale the poisonous atmosphere of flattery\nand conventional falsehoods. She enters a new world. The contrast\nbetween the restraints of school life, and her novel sense of\nconsequence intoxicates her; the desire for pleasure becomes a passion;\nthe books of useful information, that never possessed a real charm for\nher, are cast aside, and the literature of the sentiments alone retains\nits attractions during the remainder of life. It is not astonishing\nthat those whose minds are thus left barren, should employ their leisure\nhours in frivolous or vicious occupations; that an exorbitant luxury,\nthe sign at all times, of deficient culture, should have infected the\ncommunity. It is not wonderful that when the trials of life approach,\nthese women grasp wildly at the nearest superstition, and prostrate\nthemselves before any idol of the vulgar, in their blind ignorance and\ncredulity.\n\nI have said that higher education can alone make marriage what it ought\nto be, for it is not fancy or the glow of passion that can bind the\nhearts together in lasting wedlock. The marriage bond has deeper\nmeanings. Two souls are united, each to be all in all to each. Here\nshall be the very consummation of love; love, that precious boon that\nassuages every pang, and stills every grief, and triumphs over sickness,\nsorrow, and the tomb. All nature's symbols fail to express its fulness;\nit has the hope of the dawning day; it has the tender pathos of the\nlight of the moon; it has the melody of birds, the mystic stillness\nof the forest, the infinity of the fathomless sea! Bounteous love,\nhow inexhaustible are its treasures! The fires of the passions kindle\naffection, but cannot secure it. If there be only the stubble of desire\nin the heart, that will quickly be consumed; if there be veins of true\ngold there, that will be melted and refined. Years pass, youth fades,\nthe attendant train of the graces vanishes, loveliness falls like a\nmask, but the union only becomes firmer and trustier, because it is a\nunion, not of the sentiments merely, but of the souls. The wife becomes\nthe true sharer of her husband's thoughts; mutual confidence reigns\nbetween them; they grow by mutual furtherance; each sees in each the\nmirror of his nobler self; they are the true complement one to the\nother. Who does not know that such unions are rare! Common sympathies,\ncommon duties do indeed create a tolerable understanding in most\nhouseholds; but that is not wedlock that men and women should jog on\ntolerably well together for the better part of a lifetime.\n\nThe modern mind is constantly broadening; new facts, new discoveries are\nconstantly coming to light, and loftier problems engage the attention\nof thinkers. If woman would not be utterly left behind in the race, then\nmust she make an effort to acquire more solid knowledge, and educational\nreform is the first step in the cause of woman's emancipation. The\nelectoral franchise, and whatever other measures may be included in\nthe popular phrase of \"Woman's rights\" should be reserved for future\ndiscussion. If practicable at all, they are assuredly for the present of\nsecondary importance.\n\nPermit me to close by briefly formulating a few points that seem to me\nto deserve special consideration in this connection.\n\nWoman, like man, should comprehend the age in which she lives and the\ngreat questions by which it is agitated. To this end a knowledge of\nhistory, and chiefly the history of her own nation, is requisite. She\nshould learn to understand the principles of the language she speaks,\nand the literature in which it is preserved, not from dry text-books,\nbut from the living works of the authors themselves. She should be able\nto pass an intelligent judgment upon the political issues of the day,\nthat take up so large a share of men's conversation, and to this end\nthe rudiments of political science might profitably be taught her.\nShe should possess sufficient familiarity with the natural sciences to\ncomprehend at least the main results of scientific investigations, and\na training of this kind would have the further advantage of accustoming\nher mind to the methods of accurate thinking. She should gain some\nknowledge of the human body and of the laws upon which its health\ndepends. Is it not strange that this important branch of knowledge is\nso generally neglected in the training of those who are to be mothers of\nthe future generation? How often would proper attention to a few simple\nrules of hygiene prevent sickness; how often would more efficient\nnursing avert death, where it is now freely allowed to enter. Then too\nthe outlines of pedagogy should be included in a course of advanced\ninstruction for women. Mothers are the educators of the children, but\nthe educators themselves require to be educated.\n\nIf the intellect of girls were braced and stimulated in this manner,\nthey would exhibit greater self-possession and self-reliance in their\nlater lives; they would be less apt to be deluded by false appeals to\nthe feelings: \"the woman's view\" would be no longer proverbial for the\nweaker view; the whole of society would feel the beneficent change, and\nthe problem which we set out to discuss in the beginning would in due\ntime solve itself.\n\nWe do not for a moment apprehend that the increased cultivation of\nthe intellect would entail any loss of sweetness or of those gracious\nqualities that make the charm of womanhood. Wherever such a result has\nbeen apparently observed, it is safe to ascribe it to other causes.\nTruth and beauty are far too closely akin in their inmost nature to\nexclude each other. Nor do we fear that the intensity of moral feeling,\nfor which women are distinguished, would suffer under the restraining\ninfluence of reason's guidance. The moral feelings would indeed be\npurified, elevated and directed to their proper objects by the judicious\nuse of reason; they would not therefore be enfeebled. In the past,\nthe conservatism of women has been a mighty obstacle in the path\nof progress. It is but just to add that at the dawn of every great\nreligious movement which promised the moral advancement of the race,\ngifted women, rising above the weakness of their sisters, have been\namong the earliest to welcome the new hope for humanity; have been among\nthe most ardent, the most self-sacrificing of its disciples. The Liberal\nmovement of our day also is essentially a movement for larger morality,\nand more and more as this feature will be clearly developed, may it hope\nto gain the sympathies of brave and good women to its side. In their\nsupport it will behold at once the criterion of its worthiness, and the\nsurest pledge of its ultimate triumph.\n\n\n\n\nVII. OUR CONSOLATIONS\n\n     {A discourse delivered on Sunday, April 29, 1877.}\n\nWe go out in these balmy days of spring into the reviving fields, and\nthe eye drinks in with delight the fresh and succulent green of the\nmeadows; the willows begin to put forth their verdant foliage, the\nbrooks purl and babble of the new life that has waked in the forest:\nbe glad, all nature cries, summer is coming. And the freshness of the\nseason enters into our own hearts, our pulses beat more quickly, our\nstep is more buoyant. We remember all that is joyful in existence; the\narts that embellish, the aspirations that ennoble, the affections that\nendear it. Golden the future lies before us; our very cares lose their\nsombre hues; like the golden islands of cloud that glow in the glory of\nsunset skies.\n\nBut beneath the fair semblance of nature that for a time deludes our\nsenses, a dark and terrible reality is concealed. Observe how pitilessly\nthe destructive elements pursue their path, the earthquake the tornado,\nthe epidemic. A few months ago a rise of the sea swept away two hundred\nthousand human lives in the course of a few hours. Myriads of sentient\nbeings are daily cast up in the summer to perish with the first breath\nof cold. In the animal world, the strong feed upon the weak, and the\nremorseless struggle for existence extends even into the sphere of human\nactivity. At this very moment the whole of Europe is filled with\nanxious alarm in view of an impending war of conquest. While industry\nis paralyzed, while trade is at a stand-still, while a virulent disease\ngenerated by starvation has broken out in Silesia, and the workmen\nof Lyons have become dependent on the public charity of France, the\nresources of nations, already well nigh exhausted, are drained to\nprepare for the emergencies of conflict. With a secret thrill of terror\nwe read that beds for the wounded and millions of roubles for hospital\nappliances are being voted by the municipalities of Russia. Readily the\nimagination can picture to itself what these ghastly preparations mean.\nIt is true, so long as all is well with us, the larger evils of the\nworld do not greatly disturb our equanimity. Man has the happy faculty\nof abstracting his attention from things remote. The accumulated woes of\na continent affect us less than some trifling accident in our immediate\nvicinity. But when the messengers of evil have cast their shadows across\nour threshold, when calamity has laid its heavy hand upon our shoulder,\nit is then that the general unsatisfactoriness of life recurs to us with\nadded force in view of our own experience; the splendor fades from the\nsurrounding scene; every dark stain takes on a deeper blackness, and the\ngloom that comes from within fills and obscures the entire field of our\nvision. We have sustained financial loss, perhaps we are harrowed by\ndomestic discord, we are suddenly stricken in the midst of health, and\ndrag on long years as hopeless invalids, or worse still, we stand at the\nbedside of some dear friend or kinsman, see him stretched upon the rack\nof pain, and can do nothing to alleviate his sufferings; we see the end\nslowly nearing; but oh, the weary waiting, the patient's agonizing cry\nfor death, the cruel struggle that must still intervene. And when at\nlast, it is over, and we have laid him away under the sod, and returned\nto our desolate homes, what hope remains! Whither now, we ask, shall we\nturn for consolation? Is there no outlook from this night of trouble? Is\nthere no winged thought, that will bear us upward from out the depths;\nis there no solace to assuage our pangs?\n\nAmong the means of consolation commonly recommended the doctrine of\nImmortality seems to be regarded as the most appropriate and effective.\nIt is needless to lament; the deceased has entered a better life. Yet a\nlittle and you will join him to be no more parted. Nor can we deny that\nto those who cordially entertain it, the belief in the soul's\nimmortal continuance becomes a source of pure and inexpressibly tender\nsatisfaction. But with a certain class of minds--and their number, I\nbelieve, is on the increase--the consoling influence of this doctrine is\nmarred by the fatal uncertainty in which the whole question is involved,\nand which no efforts of man have ever yet, nor ever will, avail to\nremove. Christianity indeed claims to have settled the point. The Deity\nhimself, it avers, intervened by direct revelation from on high, to set\nour doubts at rest, and Jesus when he arose on the third day forever\ndeprived the grave of its sting and took away our fears of the tomb. But\nto those who read the books of revelations with unbiased mind, the fact\nof their human authorship becomes sadly apparent, and the resurrection\nitself is as difficult to prove as the doctrine which it is designed to\nsubstantiate.\n\nIn modern times spiritualism has likewise endeavored to demonstrate to\nthe senses the existence of a world of souls beyond our own. But\nthe phenomena on which it lies are in part disputed, in part the\ninterpretation put upon them, must, to say the least, be regarded as\npremature.\n\nMoreover we should remember that even if by some unknown means the fact\nof immortality could be established, the question of our re-union with\nfriends in the hereafter, in which alone the heart of the mourner is\ninterested, would still remain an open one and might be answered in the\nnegative. The belief in immortality has been held in this way by some of\nthe greatest intellects of the human race, Spinoza among the rest. If we\nknew that we shall continue to live, we should not therefore know how\nwe shall continue to live. Perhaps it might prove that all our previous\nconnections would be severed; and who can tell what new phases of\nexistence, what endless metamorphoses might await us among the infinite\npossibilities of Eternity.\n\nSo deep seated is the sense of uncertainty concerning our fate beyond\nthe tomb, that no religion, however great the control which it exerted\nover men, has ever been able to banish it entirely from their hearts.\nThe most ardent Christian is hardly less anxious than the infidel to\nretain those who are dear to him in life. He prays as fervently for\ntheir health as though their present state were the sum total of their\nexistence. And yet he should rather hail the day of death as a day of\nthanksgiving, and rejoice that those whom he loves have been translated\nto a sphere every way so much more desirable than our own. No, the\nnatural feeling cannot be suppressed, loss is felt to be loss, and death\nremains death. No hope of a happier condition in the world to come, no\nconfidence in the promises and prophesies of faith, can efface the sense\nof present bereavement, and as we all alike feel it, so are we all,\nbelievers and unbelievers, interested in seeking the means of its\npresent relief.\n\nSome of the most fervid, religious natures of the past endeavored to\nescape the sorrows of the world by having recourse to the cruel remedy\nof asceticism. The ascetic ponders the origin of suffering; he sees\nthat the desire for pleasure is the cause of pain. Were we not eager to\npossess we should not regret to lose. He cuts the gordian knot saying,\nabjure desire! When you cease to want, you shall no longer be bruised.\nThere are certain wants inherent in the body--the want of food,\ndrink, sleep; the heart has its needs--friendship, sympathy; the\nmind--knowledge, culture. All these should be subdued. We should eat\nand drink the coarsest in quality and the least possible in quantity; we\nshould avoid the attachments of love; we should be poor in spirit, and\ndespise wisdom. The ascetic ideal took firm root in Christianity at an\nearly period of its history. The extravagance of the Egyptian anchorites\nis well known. The \"pillar saint,\" St. Simeon, who is said to have\npassed some thirty years of his life on the summit of a column twenty\nyards in height, taking only the scantiest nourishment, eschewing\nablutions, covered with filth and sores, was worshipped as a holy man by\nthe multitude and his example was followed by others, though with less\nrigor, during a period of nearly a thousand years. Among the Hindoos,\ntoo, the ascetic ideal acquired a baneful ascendency. We can hardly\ncredit the tales that have come to us concerning the insane fanaticism\nwhich raged amongst this people. To what tortures of body and soul did\nthey subject themselves, what cruel ordeals did they invent in order to\nsteel themselves against the inevitable sufferings of life. It was their\nbeau-ideal to achieve a state bordering upon absolute unconsciousness,\nin which the power of sensation might be entirely blunted, and even the\nexistence of the physical man be forgotten.\n\nThis, indeed, is a capital remedy, a species of heroic treatment that\nattains its end. Man becomes passive in pain, incapable of sorrow,\nunmoved by any loss. But with the pains, the joys of existence have\nlikewise fled. The human being walks as a shadow among shadows, a\nsoulless substance, the wretched semblance of his former self. Who would\nnot rather bear the heaviest ills that flesh is heir to, than purchase\nhis release at such a cost.\n\nAnd now in setting forth our own view of this mighty problem of human\nsorrow, let us bear in mind that our private hardships and those general\nevils which we see enacted on a scale of such appalling magnitude in\nthe world around us, must be considered together, for the same cause\nconstantly gives rise to both. It is of the utmost importance that\nwe should weigh well what we have a right to expect, and ponder the\nconditions on which humanity holds the tenure of its existence. Perhaps\nour deepest disappointments are often due to the fact that we ask more\nthan we have any legitimate title to receive, and judge the scheme of\nthe Universe according to false analogies and preconceived notions which\nthe constitution of things does not bear out. We are subject to two\nlaws, the one the law of nature, the other that of morality: the two\nclash and collide, and a conflict ensues. Theology labors to show that\nthis conflict is apparent rather than real, to admit it would seem to\nimpugn the justice of the Deity. Thus we read in the Old Testament that\nwhen the sufferer Job protested his innocence, his friends assailed his\nveracity, and persisted in holding the bare fact of his misfortune as\nunimpeachable evidence of his sinfulness. And thus the Psalmist assures\nus, that he has grown old and never seen the righteous man in want. The\nexperience of the Psalmist must have been limited indeed! The conflict\nexists, however it may be denied. Nature is indifferent to morality,\ngoes on regardless. The great laws that rule the Kosmos, act upon this\nplanet of ours, nor heed our presence. If we chance to stand in the way,\nthey grind us to pieces with grim unconcern: the earth opens, the\nvolcano sends forth its smoldering fires, populous cities are\noverwhelmed, locusts devastate the country; they do not pause before the\nfield of the righteous; they have no moral preference. The seeds of\ndisease also are scattered broadcast over the land, and the best, often\nthose whom we can least afford to lose, are taken. These are the hostile\nforces, and against these man must contend. To them he opposes his\nintellect, his moral energy; he seeks to adapt himself to his place in\nthe universe. He discovers that these foes are blind, not necessarily\nhis enemies, if he can trace their path. If he can read the secret of\ntheir working, they cease to threaten him; he holds them with the reins\nof intellect, and binds them to his chariot, and behold like swift\nsteeds they carry him whithersoever it pleases him, and on, on, they\ndraw his car of progress. In this manner the sway of man's genius is\nextended on earth. Already life is far easier than it was among our\nancestors ten thousand years ago; the epidemic is checked by wise\nsanitary regulations, greater justice prevails in government, and the\nmeans of happiness are extended over wider areas of the population. What\nwe thus behold realized on a partial scale, we conceive in our visions\nof the future to be indefinitely prolonged, the course of development\nleading to higher and higher planes, healthier conditions, wiser laws,\nnobler manners. The moral order will thus increase on earth. The moral\norder never is, but is ever becoming. It grows with our growth, and to\nbring on the triumph of intellect over mechanism, of responsible\nmorality over irresponsible force, is our mission. The purpose of man's\nlife is not happiness, but worthiness. Happiness may come as an\naccessory, we dare never make it an end. There is that striving for the\nperfect within us: in it we live, by it we are exalted above the clod;\nit is the one and only solace that never fails us, and the experience of\nprogress in the past, the hope of greater progress in the future, is the\nredeeming feature of life. But the condition of all progress is\nexperience; we must go wrong a thousand times before we find the right.\nWe struggle, and grope and injure ourselves until we learn the uses of\nthings. Pain therefore becomes a necessity, but it acquires in this view\na new and nobler meaning, for it is the price humanity pays for an\ninvaluable good. Every painful sickness, every premature death, becomes\nthe means of averting sickness and death hereafter. Every form of\nviolence, every social wrong, every inmost tribulation, is the result of\ngeneral causes and becomes a goad in the sides of mankind, pressing them\non to correct the hoary abuses it has tolerated, the vicious principles\nof government, education and economy to which it has conformed. Wide as\nthe earth is the martyrdom of man, but the cry of the martyr is the\ncreaking of the wheel which warns us that the great car of human\nprogress is in motion.\n\nIf we keep duly in mind the position which the human race occupies over\nagainst nature, we shall not accuse fate. Fate is our adversary; we\nmust wrestle with it, we are here to establish the law of our own higher\nnature in defiance of fate. And this is the prerogative of man, that he\nneed not blindly follow the law of his being, but that he is himself the\nauthor of the moral law, and creates it even in acting it out. We are\nall soldiers in the great army of mankind, battling in the cause of\nmoral freedom; some to fight as captains, others to do valiant service\nin the ranks; some to shout the paean of victory, others to fall on the\nbattle field or to retire wounded or crippled to the rear. But as in\nevery battle so too in this, the fallen and the wounded have a share\nin the victory; by their sufferings have they helped, and the greenest\nwreath belongs to them.\n\nIt is strictly in accordance with the view we have taken, that we behold\nin the performance of duty the solace of affliction. All of us have\nfelt, after some great bereavement, the beneficent influence of mere\nlabor: even the mechanical part of duty affords us some relief. The\nknowledge that something must be done calls us away from brooding over\nour griefs, and forces us back into the active currents of life. The\ncultivation of the intellect also is a part of man's duty, and stands us\nin great stead in times of trouble. We should seek to accustom the mind\nto the aspect of large interests. In the pursuit of knowledge there is\nnothing of the personal: into the calm and silent realm of thought the\nfeelings can gain no entrance. There, after the first spasms of emotion\nhave subsided, we may find at least a temporary relief,--there for hours\nwe drink in a happy oblivion. But more is needed, and the discharge of\nthe duties of the heart alone can really console the heart. There is\nthis secret in the affections, that they constantly add to our strength.\nConstant communion between allied natures leads to their mutual\nenrichment by all that is best in either. But when the rude hand of\ndeath interferes, we are as a stream whose outlet is barred, as a\ncreeper whose stay is broken. A larger channel is needed then into which\nthe waters of our love may flow, a firm support, to which the tattered\ntendrils of affection may cling anew. True, the close and intimate bond\nthat unites friend to friend can have no substitute, but the warm love\nthat obtains in the personal relations may be expanded into a wider\nand impersonal love, which, if less intense, is broader, which, if less\nfond, is even more ennobling. The love you can no longer lavish on one,\nthe many call for it. The cherishing care you can no longer bestow\nupon your child, the neglected children of the poor appeal for it; the\nsympathy you can no longer give your friend, the friendless cry for it.\nIn alleviating the misery of others, your own misery will be alleviated,\nand in healing you will find that there is cure.\n\nThis remedy is suggested in an ancient legend related of the Buddha, the\ngreat Hindoo reformer, who was so deeply affected by the ills of human\nlife.* There came to him one day a woman who had lost her only child.\nShe was wild with grief, and with disconsolate sobs and cries called\nfrantically on the prophet to give back her little one to life. The\nBuddha gazed on her long and with that tender sympathy which drew all\nhearts to him, said, \"Go my daughter, get me a mustard seed from a house\ninto which death has never entered, and I will do as thou hast bidden\nme.\" And the woman took up the dead child, and began her search. From\nhouse to house she went saying, \"Give me a mustard seed, kind folk, a\nmustard seed for the prophet to revive my child.\" And they gave her\nwhat she asked, and when she had taken it, she inquired whether all were\ngathered about the hearth, father and mother and the children; but the\npeople would shake their heads and sigh, and she would turn on her way\nsadder than before. And far as she wandered, in town and village, in\nthe crowded thoroughfare, and by the lonely road side, she found not the\nhouse into which death had never entered. Then gradually as she went on,\nthe meaning of the Buddha's words dawned upon her mind; gradually as she\nlearned to know the great sorrow of the race every where around her,\nher heart went out in great yearning sympathy to the companions of her\nsorrow; the tears of her pity fell free and fast, and the passion of\nher grief was merged in compassion. She had learned the great lesson of\nrenunciation; had learned to sink self in the unselfish.\n\n     * We have ventured to offer this interpretation of the\n     legend in an article published in the Atlantic Monthly for\n     June, 1875, from which the account in the text is taken.\n\nFrom the depths of the heart the stream of grief rises resistless, the\ndams and <DW18>s of reason are impotent to stay its course. Prepare a\nchannel therefore to lead out its swelling tide away to the great ocean\nof mankind's sorrow, where in commingling it shall be absorbed.\n\nThe consolations of the Ideal are vigorous: they do not encourage idle\nsentiment: they recommend to the sufferer, action. The loss indeed as we\nset out by saying, remains a loss, and no preaching or teaching can ever\nmake it otherwise. The question is, whether it shall weaken and embitter\nus, or become the very purification of our souls, and lead us to grander\nand diviner deeds, lead us to raise unto the dead we mourn, a monument\nin our lives that shall be better than tiny pillared chapel or storied\nmarble tomb.\n\nThus from whatever point we start, we arrive at the same conclusion\nstill: \"not in the creed but in the deed!\" In the deed is the pledge of\nthe sacredness of life; in the deed is the reward of our activities in\nhealth; in the deed our solace, and our salvation even in the abysmal\ngulfs of woe. In hours of great sorrow we turn in vain to nature for an\ninspiring thought. We question the sleepless stars; they are cold\nand distant: the winds blow, the rivers run their course, the seasons\nchange; they are careless of man. In the world of men alone do we find\nan answering echo to the heart's needs. Let us grasp hands cordially and\nlook into each other's eyes for sympathy, while we travel together on\nour road toward the unknown goal. To help one another is our wisdom, and\nour renown, and our sweet consolation.\n\n\n\n\nVIII. SPINOZA.\n\nTwo centuries have elapsed since Spinoza passed from the world of the\nliving, and to-day that high and tranquil spirit walks the earth once\nmore and men make wide their hearts to receive his memory and his name.\nThe great men whom the past has wronged, receive at last time's tardy\nrecompense.\n\nOn the day that Columbus set sail for America, the Jews left Spain in\nexile. Many of their number, however, who could not find it in their\nhearts to bid adieu to their native land, remained and simulated the\npractice of devout Catholics while in secret they preserved their\nallegiance to their ancestral religion. They occupied high places in the\nchurch and state, and monks, prelates and bishops were counted in their\nranks. Ere long the suspicions of the Inquisition were alarmed against\nthese covert heretics, and their position became daily more perilous and\ninsecure. Some were condemned to the stake, others pined for years in\ndungeons; those that could find the means, escaped and sought in distant\nlands security and repose from persecution. It was especially the Free\nStates of Holland whose enlightened policy offered an asylum to the\nfugitives, and thither accordingly in great numbers they directed their\nsteps. Their frugality, their thrift and enterprise, contributed not a\nlittle to build up the prosperity of the Dutch metropolis.\n\nIn the opening of the seventeenth century a considerable congregation of\nthe Jews had collected in the city of Amsterdam. There in the year\n1632, the child of Spanish emigrants, Benedict Spinoza was born. Of\nhis childhood we know little. At an early age he was initiated into\nthe mysteries of Hebrew lore, was instructed in the Hebrew grammar, and\nlearned to read and translate the various writings of the Old Testament.\nHe was taught to thread his way through the mazes of the Talmud, and its\nsubtle discussions proved an admirable discipline in preparing him for\nthe favorite pursuits of his after years. Lastly he was introduced to\nthe study of the Jewish philosophers, among whom Maimonides and Ibn Ezra\nengaged his especial attention. Maimonides, one of the most profound\nthinkers of the middle ages, strove to harmonize the teachings of\nAristotle with the doctrines of the Bible. Ibn Ezra on the other hand,\nwas a confirmed sceptic. In his biblical commentaries he anticipates\nmany noteworthy discoveries of modern criticism, and his orthodoxy in\nother respects also is more than doubtful.\n\nIn all these different branches of theology the young Spinoza made rapid\nprogress and soon gained astonishing proficiency. He was the favorite\nof his instructors, and they predicted that he would one day become a\nshining light of the synagogue. Not content, however, with this course\nof study, Spinoza addressed himself to the study of Roman literature,\nand with the assistance of a certain Dr. Van den Ende, who had at that\ntime gained considerable repute as a teacher of liberal learning, he\nsoon became an accomplished Latin scholar. He also took up the study of\nGeometry and of Physics, and acquired considerable skill in the art of\nsketching. His mind being thus stored with various knowledge, he was\nprepared to enter the vast realm of metaphysical speculation and\nhere the works of Rene Descartes, preeminently engaged his attention.\nDescartes, whose motto, _De omnibus dubitandum est_, sufficiently\nindicates the revolutionary character of his teachings, was the leader\nof the new school of thought on the continent. His influence proved\ndecisive in shaping the career of Spinoza. Bruno also deserves mention\namong those who determined the bias of Spinoza's mind. I mean that Bruno\nwas among the first followers of Copernicus, proclaimed the doctrine of\nthe infinity of worlds and who himself inculcated a species of pantheism\nfor which he paid the last penalty at Rome in the year 1600, thirty-two\nyears before Spinoza was born. By all these influences the mind of the\nyoung philosopher was widened beyond the sphere of his early education.\nIn the pursuit of truth he sought the society of congenial minds, and\nfound among the cultivated Christians of his day that intellectual\nsympathy of which he stood in need. From the high plane of thought\nwhich he had now reached, the rites and practices of external religion\ndwindled in importance, and the questions of creed for which the mass\nof men contend appeared little and insignificant. His absence from the\nworship of the synagogue now began to be remarked; it was rumored\nthat he neglected the prescribed fasts and he was openly charged\nwith partaking of forbidden food. At first he was treated with great\nleniency. So high was his credit with the Rabbis, so impressed were they\nwith his singular abilities, that they strove by every gentle means to\nwin him back to his allegiance. They admonished him, held out prospects\nof honor and emolument; it is even stated that at last in despair of\nreclaiming him they offered an annual pension of a thousand florins to\npurchase his silence. Spinoza himself was keenly alive to the gravity\nof his position. It had been fondly hoped that he would shed new lustre\nupon the religion of Israel. He would be accused of vile ingratitude for\ndeserting his people. He foresaw the inevitable rupture that would cut\nhim off forever from friends and kinsmen, from the opportunities of\nwealth and honorable position, and deliver him over to privation and\npoverty. He himself tells us in the introduction of a work which had\nlong been forgotten and has been only recently rescued from oblivion,\nthat he saw riches and honor and all those goods for which men strive,\nplaced before him on the one hand, and a sincere life serenely true\nto itself on the other; but that the former seemed veritable shams and\nevils compared with that one great good. Nay, he said, though he might\nnever reach the absolute truth, he felt as one sick unto death, who\nknows but one balm that can help him and who must needs search for that\nbalm whereby perchance he may be healed.\n\nGreat was the commotion stirred up against him in the Jewish community\nof Amsterdam. One evening a fanatic assaulted him on the street and\nattempted his life. The stroke of the assassin's dagger was successfully\nparried. But Spinoza felt that the city was now no longer safe for him\nto dwell in. He fled and for some time frequently changed his place of\nresidence, until at last he settled at the Hague where he remained until\nhis death. In the mean time the lenient spirit of the Jewish leaders had\nchanged into stern, uncompromising rigor. Observe now how persecution\nbreeds persecution. It had been the pride of Judaism from of old that\nwithin its pale the practice of religion was deemed more essential\nthan the theory; that it permitted the widest divergence in matters of\nbelief, and granted ample tolerance to all. But these Jews of Amsterdam,\nfresh from the dungeons and the torture chambers of the Inquisition, had\nthemselves imbibed the dark spirit of their oppressors. Uriel d'Acosta\nthey had driven to the verge of insanity and to a tragic death by their\ncruel bigotry. And now the same methods were employed against a wiser\nand greater and purer man, far than he.\n\nOn the 27th of July, 1656, in the synagogue of Amsterdam, the sacred\nark, containing the scrolls of the law, being kept open during the\nceremony, the edict of excommunication was solemnly promulgated. It\nreads somewhat as follows:\n\n\"By the decree of the angels and the verdict of the saints we separate,\ncurse and imprecate Baruch de Spinoza with the consent of the blessed\nGod and of this holy congregation, before the holy books of the Law with\nthe commandments that are inscribed therein, with the ban with which\nJoshua banned Jericho, with the curse with which Elias cursed the\nyouths, and with all the imprecations that are written in the Law.\nCursed be he by day and cursed by night; cursed when he lies down,\nand cursed when he rises; cursed in his going forth, and cursed in his\ncoming in. May the Lord God refuse to pardon him; may his wrath and\nanger be kindled against this man, and on him rest all the curses that\nare written in this book of the Law. May the Lord wipe out his name\nfrom under the heavens, and separate him for evil from all the tribes\nof Israel, with all the curses of the firmament that are written in the\nbook of the Law. And ye that hold fast to the Lord God are all living\nthis day! we warn you that none shall communicate with him either by\nword of mouth or letter, nor show him any favor, nor rest under the same\nroof with him, nor approach his person within four yards, nor read any\nwriting that he has written.\"\n\nWhen Spinoza heard of this anathema he calmly replied: \"They compel me\nto do nothing which I was not previously resolved upon.\" He retired\nfrom the commerce of the world. He coveted solitude. Within his silent\nchamber he moved in a world of his own. There in twenty years of patient\npassionless toil he built up the mighty edifice of his system. It rises\nbefore us as if hewn of granite rock. Its simplicity, its grandeur,\nits structural power have been the wonder of men. I can offer only the\nbarest outline of its design.\n\nMan's questioning spirit seeks to penetrate to the heart of Nature,\nwould grasp the origin of things. There is this mighty riddle: who will\nsolve it? Various attempts have been made. Pantheism is one. Spinoza was\nthe great philosopher of Pantheism.\n\nBeneath all diversity there is unity. In all of Nature's myriad forms\nand changes, there is a substance unchangeable. It is uncreated,\nundivided, uncaused, the Absolute, Infinite, God. Thought and extension\nare its attributes; it is the One in All, the All in One. God is not\nmatter, is not mind; is that deeper unity in which matter and mind are\none; God or Nature, Spinoza says. This is not the God of theology. God\nis in the tree, in the stone, in the stars, in man. God does not live,\nnor labor for any purpose, but produces from the necessity of his Being\nin endless variety, in ceaseless activity. He is the inner cause of all\nthings, the ultimate Reality, and all things are as in their nature they\npartake of him.\n\nMan also is of God. The essence of man is in the mind. Man is a logical\nbeing. God alone owns truth; in so far as man thinks truly and clearly,\nhe is a part of the infinite God. Logic is the basis of ethics. Spinoza\nignores sentiment, ignores art. Good and evil are but other names for\nuseful and not useful. But that alone is useful that we follow the\nnecessary and universal laws, seeking by the depth and reach of\nintellect to know and understand.\n\nVirtue is the pursuit of knowledge. There are three kinds of knowledge:\nthe blurred perceptions of the senses, the light of the understanding,\nthe intuition of intellect. The last is the highest.\n\nVirtue is the sense of being; whatever heightens the joyous\nconsciousness of our active faculties is therefore good. The wise man\ndelights in the moderate enjoyment of pleasant food and drink, in the\ncolor and loveliness of green shrubs, in the adornment of garments, in\nmusic's sweetness. But our true being is to be found only in intellect;\nhence, virtue the joy of being, is the joy of thought; hence, the bold\nassertion--that is moral which helps, and that immoral which hinders\nthought.\n\nMan is a social being. As a drop is raised upward in the great ocean\nby the onflowing of the wave, so the individual mind is exalted by the\npresence and communion of congenial minds moving in the same current.\n\n'Tis thus that Spinoza deduces the social virtues. Hate is evil at all\ntimes, for hate implies the isolation and the weakness of the powers of\nreason. We should reward hatred with love and restore the broken accord\nof intellect. Love is the sense of kinship in the common search for\nreason's goal--wisdom. That all men should so live and act together that\nthey may form, as it were, one body and one mind, is the ideal of life.\nFriendship therefore he prizes as the dearest of earth's possessions,\nand wedlock he esteems holy because in it is cemented the union of two\nsouls for the common search of truth. We should be serene at all times\nand shun fear, which is weakness, and hope also which is the child of\ndesire, and haughtiness and humbleness and remorse and pity should we\navoid. But in stillness and with collected power shall we possess our\nsouls obedient to the laws of mind that make our being and helping when\nwe help for reason's sake. The passions bind us to passing phenomena.\nWhen they become transparent to our reason, when we know their causes\nthen our nature conquers outward nature and we are masters, we are free.\n\nThus the emotional life is extinguished. The feelings lose their color\nand vitality, become blank \"as lines and surfaces,\" and man, freed from\nthe constraints of passion, dwells in the pure realm of intellect, and\nin constant intercourse with the mind of God, fulfills the purpose of\nhis existence--to know and understand.\n\nAgainst the blows of misfortune also reason steels us. Sorrow is but the\nlurking suspicion that all might have been otherwise. When we come to\nknow that all things are by necessity, we shall find tranquillity in\nyielding to the inevitable. For so God works by necessity. For all\nthings are in his hands as clay in the hand of the potter, which the\npotter taketh and fashioneth therefrom vessels of diverse value, some\nto honor and some to disgrace. And none shall rebuke him, for all is by\nnecessity.\n\nWhen the body passes away the mind does not wholly perish, but something\nremains that is infinite, an eternal modus dwelling in the depths of\nthe eternal mind. But though we knew not that something of the mind\nremained, yet were goodness and strength of soul to be sought for above\nall else. For who, foreseeing that he cannot always feed on healthy\nnourishment, would therefore sate himself with deadly poison? or who,\nthough he knew that the mind is not immortal, would therefore lead an\nempty life, devoid of reason's good and guidance? The wisdom of the wise\nand the freedom of the free is not in the aspect of death but of life.\nReligion and piety lead us to follow the laws of necessity in the world\nwhere they are manifest, to dwell on the intellect of God, of God their\nfount and origin.\n\nBut I forbear to enter farther into this wonderful system. We see a\ngiant wrestling with nature, seeking to wrest from her her secret.\nMysterious nature baffles him and the riddle is still unread. That\nsubstance of which he speaks is no more than an abstraction of the mind\nwhose reality in the outward world he has failed to prove. He has also\nerred in turning aside from the rich and manifold life of the emotions,\nfor the emotions are not in themselves evil, they are the seminal\nprinciple of all virtue.\n\nOn pillars of intellect, Spinoza reared his system. Still, solemn,\nsublime like high mountains it towers upward, but is devoid of color and\nwarmth, and even the momentary glow that now and then starts up in his\nwritings, passes quickly away like the flush of evening that reddens the\nsnowy summits of Alpine ranges.\n\nSpinoza's name marks a lofty peak in human history. He was a true man;\nno man more fully lived his teachings. If he describes the pursuit\nof knowledge as the highest virtue, he was himself a noble example of\ntireless devotion in that pursuit. He was well versed in the natural\nsciences, skillful in the use of the microscope, and his contributions\nto the study of the inner life of man have earned him lasting\nrecognition. Johannes Mueller, the distinguished physiologist, has\nincluded the third division of Spinoza's _Ethics_ in his well known work\non physiology.\n\nReligion, however, was Spinoza's favorite theme, that religion which is\nfree from all passionate longings and averse to superstition of whatever\nkind. He was among the first to hurl his mighty arguments against\nthe infallible authority of the Bible, arguments that still command\nattention though two hundred years have since passed by. Miracles, he\nsaid, are past belief, the beauty of Cosmos is far more deserving\nof admiration than any so called miracle could possibly be. He\ndemanded--this was a great and novel claim--that the methods of natural\nscience be applied to the study of scripture, that the character of the\nage and local surroundings be considered in determining the meaning of\neach scriptural author. In brief that a natural history of the bible,\nso to speak, should be attempted. He claimed that the priesthood had\nfalsified the very book which they professed to regard most holy.\nHe denied the Mosaic authorship of the Pentateuch, and set forth in\nsingularly clear and lucid language the discrepancies in which that work\nabounds. He closed the treatise in which these views are laid down--the\nTheologico-political Tract--with a magnificent plea for liberty of\nconscience and of speech. That state alone, he says, can be free and\nhappy which rests on the freedom of the Individual citizen. Where the\nright of free utterance is curtailed, hypocrisy and shameful conformance\nflourish, and public contumely and disgrace which ought to serve as a\nmete punishment for the vicious, become a halo about the head of the\nmost noble of men. Religion and piety, he concludes, the state has a\nright to demand, but nothing hereafter shall be known as religion and\npiety save the practice of equity and of a wise and helpful love.\n\nIt was a bold awakening note which thus rang out into the seventeenth\ncentury, and theologians were bitter in their replies. The book was\nconfiscated and Christian curses were added to Jewish anathemas. But\nthey failed to affect Spinoza.\n\nFew men have suffered as he did. Few have preserved the same equanimity\nof soul in the face of adverse fortune. Twenty years he dwelt alone. For\ndays he did not leave his student's closet, drawing his mighty circles,\nintent on those high thoughts that formed the companionship he loved.\nThose that knew him well revered him. De Witt the noble statesman, De\nWitt who ended his days so miserably, torn to pieces by a maddened mob,\nsought his counsel. Young ardent disciples from a distance sent him\nwords of cheer into his solitude. His soul was pure as sunlight, his\ncharacter crystal clear. He was frugal in the extreme: a few pence a day\nsufficed to sustain him. Not that he affected austere views in general,\nbut the deep meditations that occupied his mind left him little time\nor inclination for the grosser pleasures. His sense of honor was\nscrupulously nice. Again and again did he reject the munificent pensions\nwhich his friends pressed upon him; he would be free and self-sustained\nin all things. In his leisure hours he busied himself with the grinding\nand polishing of optical lenses, an exercise that offered him at once\nthe means of support and a welcome relaxation from the severe strain\nof mental effort. His temper was rarely ruffled; he was placid, genial,\nchildlike. When wearied with his labors he would descend to the family\nof his landlord, the painter Van der Speke, and entering into the\naffairs of these simple people, he found, in their unaffected converse,\nthe relief he sought.\n\nHe valued the peace of mind which he had purchased so dearly. When the\nElector of the Palatinate offered him the chair of philosophy at the\nUniversity of Heidelberg on condition that he would so expound his\nphilosophy as not to interfere with the established religion, he\ndeclined, replying that he could teach the truth only as he saw it, and\nthat evil and designing men would doubtless add point and poison to his\nwords. Yet he was fearless. When toward the close of his career,\nhis life was again imperiled, the grave tranquillity of his demeanor\ninspired his agitated friends with calmness and confidence.\n\nHe had gained his forty-fourth year. For half a life time he had been\nfighting a treacherous disease, that preyed in secret upon his health.\nHis life was slowly ebbing away amidst constant suffering, yet no\ncomplaint crossed his lips and his nearest companions were hardly\naware of what he endured. In the early part of the year 1677 one day\nin February, while the family of the painter were at church the end\napproached. Only a single friend was with him. Calmly as he had lived,\nin the stillness of the Sunday afternoon, Spinoza passed away.\n\nHe has left a name in history that will not fade. His people cast him\nout, Christianity rejected him, but he has found a wider fellowship, he\nbelongs to all mankind. Great hearts have throbbed responsive to his\nteachings and many a sorrowful soul has owned the restful influence of\nhis words. He was a helper of mankind. Not surely because he solved the\nultimate problems of existence--what mortal ever will--but because he\nwas wise in the secret of the heart, because he taught men to appease\ntheir fretful passions in the aspect of the infinite laws in which we\nlive and are.\n\nSacred is the hour in which we read his Ethics. From the heat and glare\nof life we enter into its precincts as into the cool interior of some\nhallowed temple of religion. But no idol stands there; the spirit of\ntruth alone presides and sanctifies the place and us. The great men\nof the past we will reverence. They are mile-stones on the highway of\nhumanity, types of the Infinite, that has dawned in human breasts. Such\nan one was he of whom I have spoken. And more and more as the light\nincreases among men will all that was good and great in him shine forth\nto irradiate their path. And as we stand here to-day on this day of\nremembrance to recall his teachings and his example, so when other\ncenturies shall have elapsed, the memory of Spinoza will still live,\nposterity will still own him, and distant generations will name him\nanew: Benedictus--Blessed!\n\n\n\n\nIX. THE FOUNDER OF CHRISTIANITY\n\n     {A discourse delivered on Sunday, December 31, 1876.}\n\n\"I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil, for verily I say unto you till\nheaven and earth pass away one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass\nfrom the law till all be fulfilled.\" \"Resist not evil, * * * bless them\nthat curse you, do good to them that hate you.\"\n\nIn these sayings of Jesus the key note of early Christianity is struck.\nIt was not a revolt against Judaism, it was but a reiterated assertion\nof what other and older Prophets of the Hebrews had so often and so\nfervently preached. The law was to remain intact, but the spiritual\nlaw was meant, the deeper law of conscience that underlies the forms of\nlegislation and the symbols of external worship.\n\nThere is a rare and gracious quality in the personality of Jesus as\ndescribed in the Gospels, which has exercised its charm upon the most\nheterogeneous nations and periods of history wide apart in the order of\ntime and of culture.\n\nTo grasp the subtle essence of that charm, and thereby to understand\nwhat it was that has given Christianity so powerful a hold upon\nthe affections of mankind, were a task well worthy the attention of\nthoughtful minds. We desire to approach our subject in the spirit of\nreverence that befits a theme with which the tenderest fibres of faith\nare so intimately interwoven; at the same time we shall pay no regard\nto the dogmatic character with which his later followers have invested\nJesus, for we behold his true grandeur in the pure and noble humanity\nwhich he illustrated in his life and teachings.\n\nThe New Testament presents but scant material for the biography of\nJesus, and the authenticity, even of the little that remains to us, has\nbeen rendered extremely uncertain by the labors of modern critics. A few\nleading narratives, however, are doubtless trustworthy, and these will\nsuffice for our purpose. A brief introduction on the character of the\npeople among whom the new prophet arose, the characteristics of the\nage in which he lived, and the beliefs that obtained in his immediate\nsurroundings, will assist us in our task.\n\nThe expectation of the Messiah had long been rife among the Jews.\nHolding themselves to be the elect people of God, they believed the\ntriumph of monotheism to be dependent upon themselves. The prophets of\nJehovah had repeatedly assured them that their supremacy would finally\nbe acknowledged. Events however had turned out differently. Instead of\nsuccess they met with constant defeat and disaster; Persia, Egypt, Syria\nhad successively held their land in subjection; the very existence of\ntheir religion was threatened, and the heathen world, far from showing\nsigns of approaching conversion, insisted upon its errors with increased\nobstinacy and assurance. And yet Jehovah had distinctly promised that he\nwould raise up in his own good time, a new ruler from the ancient\nline of Israel's Kings, a son of David, who should lead the people to\nVictory. To his sceptre all the nations would bow, and in his reign the\nfaith of the Hebrews would be acknowledged as the universal religion.\nEvery natural means for the fulfilment of these predictions seemed now\ncut off, nothing remained but to take refuge in the supernatural; it was\nsaid that the old order of things must entirely pass away; a new heaven\nand a new earth be created and what was called the Kingdom of Heaven\nmight then be expected. The \"Kingdom of Heaven,\" a phrase that\nfrequently recurs in the literature of the Jews, is used, not to\ndescribe a locality, but to denote a state of affairs on earth, in\nwhich the will of heaven would be generally obeyed without the further\nintervention of human laws and government. The agency of the Messiah was\nlooked to, for the consummation of these happy hopes. To reward those\nwho had perished before his coming, many moreover of those that slept\nin the dust would awaken, and the general resurrection of the dead would\nsignalize the approach of the millennium.\n\nAt the end of the first century B. C. these expectations had created\na wild ferment among the population of Palestine. Now if ever, it was\nfondly urged, they must be fulfilled. The need was at its highest, help\nthen must be nighest. For matters had indeed grown from bad to worse,\nthe political situation was intolerable, after the brief spell of\nindependence in the days of the Maccabees, the Roman yoke had been\nfastened upon the necks of the people, and the weight of oppression\nbecame tenfold more difficult to support from the sweet taste of liberty\nthat had preceded it. The rapacity of the Roman Governors knew no\nbounds. A land impoverished by incessant wars and the frequent failure\nof the crops, was drained of its last resources to satisfy the\nenormous exactions of a foreign despot, while to all this was added the\nhumiliating consciousness that it was a nation of idolators which was\nthus permitted to grind the chosen people.\n\nNor was the condition of religion at all more satisfactory. It is true\nthe splendid rites of the public worship were still maintained at the\nTemple, and Herod was even then re-building the Sanctuary on a scale of\nunparalleled magnificence. Bright was the sheen and glitter of gold upon\nits portals, solemn the ceremonies enacted in its halls, and grand and\nimpressive the voices of the Levitic choirs as they sang to the tuneful\nmelody of cymbals and of harps. But the lessons of history teach us\nthat the times in which lavish sums are expended on externals, are not\nusually those in which religion possesses true vitality and power and\ndepth. Here was a brand flickering near extinction; here was a builder\nwho built for destruction; the Temple had ceased to satisfy the needs of\nthe people.\n\nIn the cities an attempt to supply the deficiency was made by the party\nof the Pharisees. They sought to broaden and to spiritualize the meaning\nof scripture--they laid down new forms of religious observance by means\nof which every educated man became, so to speak, his own priest. The\nreligion of the Pharisees however assumed a not inconsiderable degree of\nintellectual ability on the part of its followers. So far as it went it\nanswered very well for the intelligent middle classes. But out in the\ncountry districts it did not answer at all; not for the herdsmen, not\nfor the poor peasants, not for those who had not even the rudiments of\nlearning and who could do nothing with a learned religion. And yet these\nvery men before all others needed something to support them, something\nto cling to, even because they were so miserably poor and illiterate.\nThey did not get what they wanted--they felt very strongly that the\nburdens upon them were exceedingly grievous; that while they suffered\nand starved, religion dwelt in palaces, and had no heart for their\nmisfortunes. They felt that something was wrong and rotten in the then\nstate of affairs, and that a new state must come, and a heaven-sent\nking, who would lend a voice to their needs, and lift them with strong\narms from out their despair and degradation. Nowhere was this feeling\nmore marked than in the district of Galilee. A beautiful land with\ngreen, grassy valleys, groves of sycamores, broad blue lakes, and\nvillages nestling picturesquely on the mountain <DW72>s, it nourished\nan ardent and impulsive population. Their impatience with the existing\norder of things had already found vent in furious revolt. Judah, their\nfamous leader, had perished; his two sons, James and Simon, had been\nnailed to the cross; the Messiah was daily and hourly expected; various\nimpostors successively arose and quickly disappeared; when would the\nhour of deliverance come; when would the true Messiah appear at last?\n\nIt was at such a time and among such a people, that there arose Jesus\nof Nazareth in Galilee. What was the startling truth he taught? What was\nthe new revelation he preached to the sons of men? An old truth, and an\nold sermon--Righteousness; no more, meaning nothing at all, a mere trite\ncommon-place, on the lips of the time-server and the plausible vendor of\nmoral phrases. Meaning mighty changes for the better, when invoked with\na profounder sense of its sanctity, and a new sacredness in life, and\nlarger impulses for ever and for ever. Righteousness he taught, and\nthe change that was to come by righteousness. Yes, so deep was his\nconviction, so profoundly had the current conceptions of the day\naffected him, that he believed the change to be near at hand, that he\nhimself might be its author, himself Messiah.\n\nThe novelty of Jesus' work has been sought in various directions. It has\nbeen said, for instance, to consist in the overthrow of phariseeism; and\nit is true that he rebukes the pharisees in the most severe terms; these\nreproaches, however, were not directed against the party as a whole, but\nonly against its more extravagant and unworthy members. The pharisees\nwere certainly not a \"race of hypocrites, and a generation of vipers.\"\nLet us remember that Jesus himself, in the main, adhered to their\nprinciples; that his words often tally strictly with theirs; that even\nthe golden sayings which are collected in the sermon on the mount, may\nbe found in the contemporaneous Hebrew writings, whose authors were\npharisees. Thirty years before his time, Hillel arose among the\npharisees, renowned for his marvellous erudition, beloved and revered\nbecause of the gentleness and kindliness of his bearing, the meekness\nwith which he endured persecution, the loving patience with which he\novercame malice and hate. When asked to express in brief terms the\nessence of the law, he to the pharisee replied, \"Do not unto others what\nthou wouldst not that others do unto thee;\" this is the essence, all the\nrest is commentary,--\"go and learn.\" Jesus fully admits the authority\nof the pharisees. \"The pharisees,\" he says, \"sit in Moses' seat; all\ntherefore whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe and do.\" If we\nread the gospel of Matthew, we find that he does not attempt to abrogate\nthe pharisaic commandments, but only insists upon the greater importance\nof the commandments of the heart. \"Woe,\" he cries, \"or ye pay tithe of\nmint, of anise and cumin, but ye have omitted the weightier matters of\nthe law, judgment, mercy and faith, these ought ye to have done, _and\nnot to leave the other undone_,\"--and again, \"If thou bring thy gift\nto the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath aught against\nthee, leave there thy gift before the altar and go thy way; first be\nreconciled to thy brother, and then _come and offer thy gift_.\" The\nleper also whom he cured of his disease, he advises to bring the gift\nprescribed by the Jewish ritual. We cannot fully understand the conduct\nof Jesus in this respect, unless we bear in mind that he believed the\nmillenial time to be near at hand. At that time it was supposed\nthe ancient ceremonial of Judaism would come to an end by its own\nlimitation; until that time arrived, it should be respected. He does\nnot wage war against the religious tenets and practices of his age; only\nwhen they interfere with the superior claims of moral rectitude does\nhe bitterly denounce them, and ever insists that righteousness be\nrecognized as the one thing above all others needful.\n\nNor is the novelty of Jesus' work to be found in the extension of the\ngospel to the heathen world. It seems, on the contrary, highly probable\nthat he conceived his mission to lie within the sphere of his own\npeople, and devoted his chief care and solicitude to their welfare. \"I\nam not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel,\" he says;\nand thus he charges his apostles, \"Go ye not into the way of the\nGentiles, and into any city of the Samaritans enter ye not. Go rather to\nthe lost sheep of the house of Israel, and as ye go, preach, saying the\nkingdom of heaven is at hand.\" And yet his exclusive devotion to\nthe interest of the Jews is not at variance with the world-embracing\ninfluence attributed to the Messianic character. In common with all\nhis people, he believed that upon the approach of the millennium, the\nnations of the earth would come of their own accord, to the holy mount\nof Israel, accept Israel's religion, and thenceforth live obedient to\nthe Messianic King. The millennium was now believed to be actually in\nsight. \"Verily I say unto you there be some standing here who shall not\ntaste of death until they see the Son of man coming in his Kingdom.\"\nFrom the Jewish standpoint, therefore, which was the one taken by Jesus\nand the earliest Christians, the mission to the heathen was unnecessary.\n\nAnd again it has been said that the evangel of Jesus was new, in that\nit substituted for the stern law of retribution the methods of charity\nand the law of love; that while the elder prophets had taught the people\nto consider themselves servants of a task-master, he taught them freedom\nand brotherhood. But is this true? Will any one who has read the Hebrew\nProphets with attention, venture to assert that they instil a slavish\nfear into the hearts of men; they whose every line speaks aspiration,\nwhose every word breathes liberty? It is true their language is often\nstern when they dwell on duty. And it is right that it should be so, for\nso also is duty stern and in matters of conscience sentimental ism is\nout of place, harmful. Simple obedience to the dictates of the moral law\nis required, imperatively, unconditionally, not for pity's sake, nor for\nlove's sake, but for the right's sake, simply and solely because it\nis right. But the emotions that are never the sufficient sanctions of\nconduct may ennoble and glorify right conduct. And how tenderly do the\nancient prophets also attune their monitions to the promptings of the\nrichest and purest of human sympathies. \"Thy neighbor thou shalt love as\nthyself,\" was written by them, and \"Have we not all one Father, has not\none God created us all.\" Thy poor brother too is thy brother, and in\nsecret shalt thou give charity. In the dusk of the evening the poor are\nto come into the cornfields and gather there, and no man shall know who\nhas given and who has received. The ancient prophets were idealists,\npreachers of the Spirit as opposed to the form that cramps and\nbelittles. In Jesus we behold a renewal of their order, a living protest\nagainst the formalism that had in the interval become encrusted about\ntheir teachings, only differing from his predecessors in this, that the\nhopes which they held out for a distant future, seemed to him nigh their\nfulfilment, and that he believed himself destined to fulfil them.\n\nIf we can discover nothing that had not been previously stated in the\nsubstance of Jesus' teachings, there is that in the method he pursued,\nwhich calls for genuine admiration and reverence, the method of rousing\nagainst the offender the better nature in himself: of seeming yielding\nto offence based on an implicit trust in the resilient energy of the\ngood; of conquering others, by the strength of meekness and the might of\nlove. Hillel too was endowed with this strength of meekness, and Buddha\nhad said, long before the days of Jesus: \"Hatred is not conquered by\nhatred at any time, hatred is conquered by love; this is an old rule.\"\nBut in the story of no other life has this method been applied with such\nsingular sweetness, with such consistent harmony from the beginning to\nthe end. Whether we find him in the intimate circle of his disciples,\nwhether he is instructing the multitude along the sunny shores of Lake\nGennesareth, whether he stands before the tribunal of his judges, or in\nthe last dire agonies of death--he is ever the patient man, the loving\nteacher, the man of sorrows, who looks beyond men and their crimes to\nan ideal humanity, and confides in that; who gives largely, and forgives\neven because he gives so much.\n\nBut we shall not touch the true secret of his power until we recall\nhis sympathy with the neglected classes of society; that quality of his\nnature which caused the poor of Galilee to hail him as their deliverer,\nwhich produced so lasting an impression upon his contemporaries, and\nmade the development of his doctrines into a great religion possible.\nHis gospel was preeminently the gospel for the poor: he sat down with\ndespised publicans, he did not shun the contamination of lepers, nay nor\nof the moral leprosy of sin--he visited the hovels of paupers and\ntaught his disciples to prefer them to the mansions of the fortunate; he\napplied himself with peculiar fervor to those dumb illiterate masses of\nGalilee, who knew not whither they might turn, to what they might cling.\nHe gave them hope, he brought them help. And so it came about that in\nthe early Christian communities which were still fresh from the presence\nof the master, the appeal to conscience he had made so powerfully,\nresulted in solid helpfulness; so it came about that in those pristine\ndays, the Church was a real instrument of practical good, with few\nforms, and little parade, but with love feasts and the communion table\nspread with repasts for the needy. \"Come unto me all ye that labor and\nare heavy laden and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and\nlearn of me, * * * for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.\" It is\nfrom such particulars that there was drawn that fascinating image which\nhas captivated the fancy and attracted the worship of mankind. The\nimage of the pale man with the deep, earnest eyes, who roused men to new\nexertions for the good, who lifted up the down-trodden, who loved little\nchildren and taught the older children in riddles and parables that they\nmight understand, and the brief career of whose life was hallowed all\nthe more in memory, because of the mournful tragedy in which it closed.\nAll the noblest qualities of humanity were put into this picture and\nmade it lovely. It was the humanity, not the dogma of Jesus, by which\nChristianity triumphed. Like a refreshing shower in the perfumed spring,\nhis glad tidings of a new enthusiasm for the good came upon the\narid Roman world, sickening with the dry rot of self-indulgence, and\nthirsting for some principle to give a purpose to the empty weariness\nof existence. Like a message from a sphere of light it spread to the\nGermanic tribes, tempered the harshness of their manners, taught them\na higher law than that of force, and conquered their grim strength with\nthe mild pleadings of the Master of meekness in far-off Galilee.\n\nIt is the moral element contained in it that alone gives value and\ndignity to any religion, and only then when its teachings serve to\nstimulate and purify our aspirations toward the good, does it deserve to\nretain its ascendancy over mankind. Claiming to be of celestial origin,\nthe religions have drawn their secret spell from the human heart itself.\nThere is a principle of reverence inborn in every child of man,--this he\nwould utter. He sees the firmament above him, with its untold hosts;\nhe stands in the midst of mighty workings, he is filled with awe; he\nstretches forth his arms to grasp the Infinite which his soul seeketh,\nhe makes unto himself signs and symbols, saying, let these be tokens of\nwhat no words can convey. But a little time elapses, and these symbols\nthemselves seem more than human, they point no more beyond themselves,\nand man becomes an idolator, not of stone and wood merely. Then it is\nneedful that he remember the divine power with which his soul has been\nclothed from the beginning, that by the force of some moral impulse he\nmay break through the fetters of the creeds, and cast aside the weight\nof doctrines that express his best ideals no more. And so we find in\nhistory that every great religious reformation has been indebted for its\ntriumphs, not to the doctrines that swam upon the surface, but to the\nswelling currents of moral energy that stirred it from below; not to the\ndoctrine of the Logos in Jesus' day, but to the tidings of release\nwhich he brought to the oppressed, not to \"justification by faith,\"\nin Luther's time, but to the mighty reaction to which his thunderous\nprotest lent a voice, against the lewdness and the license of a corrupt\nand cankerous priesthood. The appeal to conscience has ever been the\nlever that raised mankind to a higher plane of religion.\n\nConscience, righteousness, what is there new in these--their maxims\nare as old as the hills? Truly, and as barren often as the rocks. The\nnovelty of righteousness is not in itself, but in its novel application\nto the particular unrighteousness of a particular age. It was thus that\nJesus applied to the sins and mock sanctities of his day, the ancient\ntruths known to the prophets and to others long before him. It is\nthus that every new reformer will seek to bring home to the men of his\ngeneration what it is that the ancient standard of right and justice now\nrequires at their hands. That all men are brothers, who did not concede\nit? But that the enslaved man too is our brother, what a convulsion did\nthat not cause, what vast expenditure of blood and treasure until that\nwas made plain. That we should relieve the necessities of the poor, who\nwill deny it? But that a social system which year by year witnesses the\nincrease of the pauper class, and the increase of their miseries, stands\ncondemned before the tribunal of Religion, of justice, how long will\nit take before that is understood and taken to heart? The facts of\nrighteousness are few and simple, but to apply them how mighty, how\ndifficult a task. The time is approaching when this stupendous work\nmust be attempted anew, and we, a small phalanx in the army of progress,\nwould aid, with what power in us resides. Let this inspire us that we\nhave the loftiest cause of the age for our own, that we are helping\nto pave the way for a stronger and freer and happier race. For by so\nlaboring, alone can we feel that our life has a meaning under the sky\nand the sacred stars.\n\nThe year in which we have entered upon our journey is passing away.\nTo-night when the midnight bells send forth their clamorous voices, we\nshall greet the new year, and the work it brings. No peaceful task dare\nwe expect, but something of good accomplished may it see.\n\n     \"Ring out wild bells to the wild sky,\n     The flying cloud, the frosty light,\n     The year is dying in the night,\n     Ring out wild bells and let him die.\n\n     \"Ring out the old, ring in the new,\n     Ring happy bells across the snow,\n     The year is going, let him go,\n     Ring out the false, ring in the true.\"\n\n\n\n\nX. THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY DISCOURSE.\n\nIt is May, the gladdest season of the year. Life is in the breezes, life\nin the vernal glory of the fields, life in the earth and in the skies.\nOf old, men were wont to go forth at this time into the forest, to\nwreath the fountains with garlands, to cover their houses with green\nbranches, with songs and dances to celebrate the triumph of the Spring.\nHappy festivals, happy omens.\n\nA year has now passed since we began our work, and for many months we\nhave met in this hall week after week. We have reached the first resting\nplace upon our journey, and it behooves us to look back once more upon\nthe path we have travelled, and forward into the yet untried future that\nawaits us.\n\nWhat was it that induced us to enter upon so perilous and for many\nreasons so uncertain an enterprise?\n\nWe felt a great need. Religion which ought to stand for the highest\ntruth, had ceased to be true to us. We saw it at war with the highest\nintelligence of the day; religion and conscience also seemed no longer\ninseparably connected, as they should be. We saw that millions are\nannually lavished upon the mere luxuries of religion, gorgeous temples,\nchurches and on the elaborate apparatus of salvation; we could not but\nreflect that if one tithe of the sums thus set apart were judiciously\nexpended upon the wants of the many who are famishing, distress might\noften be relieved, sickness averted, and crime confined within more\nnarrow boundaries. We saw around us many who had lapsed from their\nancient faith but still preserved the outward show of conformance,\nencouraged in so equivocal a course, by the advice and example of noted\nleaders in the churches themselves. We saw that the great tides of being\nare everywhere sweeping mankind on to larger achievements than were\nknown to the past; only within the churches all is still and motionless;\nonly within the churches the obsolete forms of centuries ago are\nretained, or if concessions to the present are made, they are tardy,\nungracious and insufficient. We beheld that the essentials of religion\nare neglected, even while its accessories are observed with greater\npunctiliousness than ever.\n\nWe were passing moreover through a period of momentous import in our\ncountry's history. The nation had just entered upon the second century\nof its existence, and the great recollections of what the fathers had\ndone and designed for the republic, were fresh in our minds. We recalled\nthe memorable words of Washington in his first inaugural address: \"That\nthe national policy would be laid in the pure and immutable principles\nof private morality.\" But we were startled to observe how greatly recent\nevents had falsified these hopes and felt it our duty, within our own\nlimited sphere, to restore something of that noble simplicity, something\nof that high fidelity to righteousness which it is said adorned the\nearlier days, and on which alone the fortunes of the state can rest\nsecurely hereafter.\n\nThen also the question, how best to educate the children to a worthy\nlife, confronted us. The doctrines of religion as commonly interpreted,\nwe could no longer impart to them; did we attempt to do so, they would\nbe likely to discard them in later years, and would in the mean time be\nseriously injured in their moral estate by the struggle and its probable\nissue. On the other hand we were aware that the temptations which\nsurround the young in this complex and highly wrought civilization of\nours, are peculiarly dangerous and alluring, and by all the holiest\ninstincts of humanity, we conceived ourselves bound to provide more\neffectively for their moral welfare. A few of us therefore took counsel\nhow these objects might be attained, and we determined to take a step in\na new direction. We did not conceal from ourselves the difficulties that\nwould attend what we were about to undertake. We might expect honest\nopposition. There would be no need to shrink from that. We might expect\nmisconstruction, unintentioned or with malice aforethought; we might\nexpect also cold comfort from those illiberal liberals, who are eager\nenough to assert the principles of freedom for themselves, but relax\nalike their principles and their tempers when the limits are transcended\nwhich they have themselves reached, and which, on this account, they\narbitrarily set up as the barriers of future progress. There were other\nobstacles inherent in the nature of the work itself. But all these\nweighed lightly in the scales, when opposed to the stern conviction,\nthat there are certain hideous shams allowed to flourish in our public\nlife; that there are certain great truths which ought to be brought home\nwith new energy to the conscience of the people.\n\nUpon what platform could we unite. To formulate a new creed was out of\nthe question. However comprehensive in its statements it might be, nay\nthough it had been the creed of absolute negation, from which indeed we\nare far removed, it would never have combined our efforts in permanent\nunion. And yet it was plain that to be strong and to exert influence,\nwe must effect a firm, cordial, enthusiastic agreement upon some great\nprinciple. The weakness of the Liberal Party had hitherto been, as we\nknew, its dread of organization. It ensured thereby for its members a\ngreater measure of freedom than is elsewhere known, but it purchased\nthis advantage at an immense expense of practical influence and\ncoherency. Its forces are scattered, and in every emergency, it finds\nitself paralyzed for want of unity in its own ranks. The Catholic Church\nhas pursued the opposite policy, and presents the most notable instance\nof its successful prosecution. It is so formidable, mainly because of\nits splendid scheme of organization, and the high executive ability\nof its leaders. But its power is maintained at a complete sacrifice of\nfreedom. Could we not secure both? Could we not be free and strong? This\nwas the problem before us, and it seemed to us we could.\n\nWhat the exigencies of the modern age demand, more than aught else, is a\nnew movement for the moral elevation of the race. Now the basic facts of\nman's moral nature, though insufficiently illustrated in practice, are\nuniversally admitted among civilized human beings. Concerning them there\nis and can be no dispute. Here then appeared the solid principle of our\nunion. The moral ideal would point the way of safety, the moral ideal\nwould permit us to preserve the sacred right of individual differences\nintact, and yet to combine with our fellow-men for the loftiest and\npurest ends. Taking the term creed therefore in its widest application,\nwe started out with the watchword, Diversity in the Creed, Unanimity in\nthe Deed. This feature, if any at all, lends character to our movement,\nand by it would we be judged. We claim to be thereby distinguished, as\nwell from those religious corporations that base their organization upon\ndefinite theological dogmas, as also from the great majority of Liberals\nwho meet for purposes of contemplation and poetical aspiration, in that\nwe put the moral element prominently forward and behold in it the bond\nof our union, the pledge of our vitality.\n\nBut at the very threshold of our enterprise, we were met by the\nobjection that our main premise is false; that morality is impossible\nwithout dogma, and that in neglecting the one we were virtually\nneutralizing our efforts toward the other. It became our first and most\nserious task therefore to show the futility of this objection, and to\nmake clear by an appeal to philosophy and history that the claims of\ndogma are conditional, while the dictates of morality are imperative.\nThen, having established the priority and supremacy of the moral law,\nto examine what manner of substitute the ethical ideal can offer us to\nreplace the offices of the doctrinal religions; what are the hopes it\nholds out, what its consolations, what it can give us for the priesthood\nand the church. With this task we have been occupied during the year\nthat has gone by, and now, at the close, we propose to review once more,\nthe chief steps which we have taken in the course of our enquiry.\n\nWe discussed in the first place the doctrine of immortality, and some of\nthe main arguments upon which it is commonly founded.\n\nWe next proceeded to take up the study of the Hebrew Bible; for it is\nevident that so long as this book is clothed with infallible authority,\narguments based on fact and logic avail nothing, and reason is helpless\nbefore any random scriptural quotation. We examined the composition of\nthe work: we learned that many of those portions that are esteemed most\nancient, are of comparatively recent origin; that the text is studded\nwith discrepancies, and that the marks of savage and cruel customs such\nas the offering of human sacrifices to the Deity, are still clearly\nindented on the sacred volume. The conclusion followed that a book\nso full of contradiction, so deeply tinged with the evidence of human\nfallibility, could not have been the work of a divine author. The\ninspiration theory being thus divested of its support, we considered how\nbaneful *had been its influence on the course of human history; how it\nhad retarded the progress of the Jews among whom it arose; how it had\nchecked the intellectual development of Europe, how it had hampered\nthe advancement of science; how it had offered a specious plea for the\ndespotism of kings, and of the holy Inquisition; how in our own days it\nhad become in the hands of the Southern slaveholders a most formidable\nmeans of perpetuating their infamous scheme of oppression. We concluded\nthat whatever is false and worthless in the book we should feel at\nliberty to reject, while what is great and holy would not therefore\nbecome less great or less holy to us, because it was proven to be man's\nwork, man's testimony to the divine possibilities inherent in the human\nsoul.\n\nWe went on striving to penetrate more deeply the origin of that\nmysterious power which we call religion. To us it appeared that the\nfeeling of the sublime is the root of the religious sentiment in man.\nThat the Vedahs, Avesta, Koran, Bible are the songs of the nations on\nthe theme of the infinite; and that the moral ideal, whether we endow\nit with personality or not, presents to us the highest type of sublimity\nand is the sole object worthy of religious reverence.\n\n     \"Who dare express him And who profess him\n     Saying, 'I believe in him?'\n     Who feeling, seeing, deny his being\n     Saying I believe him not?\n\n     \"Call it then what thou wilt\n     Call it bliss, heart, love,\n     God; I have no name to give it.\n     Feeling is all in all,\n     The name is sound and smoke.\"\n\nWe maintained lastly, that the entrance of the moral into the sphere\nof religion has endowed the latter with whatever excellence it now\npossesses.\n\nWe showed in another course of lectures, that every great religious\nmovement has been in the essence, a protest against the formalism and\nmock holiness of its time, and derived its vital impulses from the\nmoral elements with which it was suffused. We instanced the case of\nmonotheism, which, as we believe, arose in the struggle of the prophets\nagainst the immoral rites of Baal: We mentioned Buddha, the reformer of\nthe Hindoos, whose sermon of unselfishness won for him the affections\nof the people. We referred on frequent occasions to the fact that\nChristianity likewise triumphed because of the humanity of Jesus:\nbecause he was the Master of meekness; because his gospel was a gospel\nfor the poor. The result of all which was to confirm the priority\nof morality, and to show that it is indeed the source of whatever is\ndurable and valuable in the Creeds.\n\nToward the end of February the two hundredth anniversary of the death\nof Benedict Spinoza, afforded us a welcome opportunity to dwell upon the\nlife and philosophy of that illustrious thinker.\n\nLater on, we endeavored to comprehend the causes which have produced\nthat remarkable change the religious opinions of modern men, that is\ndaily becoming more widely apparent. We found them to be the critical\ninvestigation of the Bible, the progress of the natural sciences, and\nindirectly, the influence of commerce and of industry. We attempted\nto set forth how the introduction of machinery became the means of\nfostering the growth of scepticism even among those classes to whom the\narguments of scholars and men of science do not appeal. We spoke of the\nenlightenment of the masses, and considered the theory of those who\nhold that a religion, even when it is found to be false, should still\nbe maintained as a salutary curb upon the passions of the multitude. We\ninsisted that this view of religion is as unsound as it is degrading;\nthat while all men may not be capable of the highest order of\nintellectual action, all men are capable of heart goodness, and goodness\nis the better part of religion; that a generous confidence is the\nhighest principle of education, and that to trust men is the surest\nmeans of leading them to respond to our confidence; that we should cease\ntherefore to preach the depravity of human nature and preach rather the\ngrandeur which is possible to human nature; that in freedom alone can we\nbecome worthy of being free.\n\nAnd again in a distinct group of lectures we sought to unfold our\nconception of the New Ideal, and to point out that which distinguishes\nit from what has gone before. We spoke of its appeal to the higher\nnature, of its teachings concerning the Infinite within ourselves. We\nspoke of the priests that shall do its service; of the solace it affords\nus by its summons to larger duties; of the ethical schools that shall be\nerected for its culture; of the manner in which women may be prepared\nto aid in its propaganda; lastly of the form which it may assume in the\nfuture, in our discourse on the Order of the Ideal. Thus far have we\nproceeded. We issued our appeal, at first, as men uncertain what the\nfortunes of their enterprise might be. But while we avowed it to be an\nexperiment, we were deeply convinced that it was an experiment which\ndeserved to be tried. And more and more as week followed week, the\nresponse from your side came back full and cordial; and more and more\nas the scope and the ultimate tendencies of our work were developed, new\nfriends came to us whom we had not known, and it became apparent that\nthere is a deep, downright purpose in your midst which will form a bond\nof union for us that shall not easily be snapped asunder. Until at\nlast after a period had gone by, you thought it time to exchange your\ntemporary organization for one more stable, and you declared to all who\nmight be interested in learning it, that it is your intention and your\nhope to become a permanent institution in this community.\n\nWe have made a beginning only. If we look ahead, dangers and\ndifficulties still lie thickly on our path. The larger work is still\nbefore us. But we will confide in the goodness of our cause, and believe\nthat if it be good indeed, in the end it must succeed.\n\nThe country in which we live is most favorable for such experiments as\nours. There are lands of older culture, and men' there of wider vision\nand maturer wisdom, but nowhere, as in America, is a truth once seen,\nso readily applied, nowhere do even the common order of men so feel\nthe responsibility for what transpires, and the impulse to see the best\naccomplished. Here no heavy hand of rulers crushes the incipient good.\nWhen the Pilgrims set out on their voyage across the unknown Atlantic,\nRobinson, their pastor, their leader, addressed them once more before\nthey embarked, and in that solemn hour of parting, warned them against\nthe self-sufficiency of a false conservatism, and dedicated them and the\nnew states they might found, to the increase and the service of larger\ntruths. To larger truths America is dedicated.\n\nO, if it were thine, America, America that hast given political liberty\nto the world, to give that spiritual liberty for which we pant, to break\nalso those spiritual fetters that load thy sons and daughters! All over\nthis land thousands are searching and struggling for the better, they\nknow not what. Oh that we might aid them in the struggle, and they us;\nand the hearts of many be knit together once more in a common purpose\nthat would lift them above their sordid, weary cares, and ennoble their\nlives and make them glorious! The crops are waiting; may the reapers\ncome!\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n\n\n\nI. THE EVOLUTION OF HEBREW RELIGION.\n\n     \"Dans l'opinion du peuple pour qui ces liyres ont ete ecrits\n     le point capital et essentiel n'est certes pas la narration\n     historiquc, mais bien la legislation et l'idification\n     religieuse.\"\n\nIn 1795, Frederick Augustus Wolf published a modest octavo volume\nentitled \"Prolegomena to Homer,\" from whose appearance is dated the\nbeginning of a new era of historic criticism. The composition of the\npoems of Homer formed its subject. For wellnigh twenty years the author\nhad collected evidence, weighed arguments, and patiently tested his\nresults by constant revision. His own wishes were engaged on the side of\nthe unity of the great Grecian epic. But the results of his researches\ncontinued to point in the opposite direction, and at last his earnest\ndevotion to truth compelled him to adopt a theory the soundness of whose\nconstruction seemed to be no longer questionable. He was thus worthy\nto become the \"founder of the science of philology in its present\nsignificance.\" ** The influence of Wolfs discovery was not confined to\nthe study of classic literature only.\n\n     * \"In the estimation of the people for whom these books were\n     written, the capital, essential point surely was, not the\n     historic narrative, but rather legislation and religious\n     edification.\" (Noldeke, 'Histoire Litte'raire de l'Ancien\n     Testament,' p. 19.)\n\n     ** Bonitz, \"Ueber den Ursprung der Homerischen Gedichte.\"\n\nIt quickly radiated through every department of history. \"In every\nsinging age,\" he said, \"a single saeculum is almost like a single man.\nIt is all one mind, one soul.\"* This conception involved a new social\nlaw, and radically altered the current opinions concerning the relation\nof individual effort to the larger forces that affect the development\nof nations. The creative energy of remarkable minds was not, indeed,\nlessened in importance, but spontaneity, in this connection, acquired\na new meaning; and for the _Deus ex machina_ of the olden time\nwas substituted the cumulative force of centuries of progressive\nadvancement, culminating, it is true, at last in the triumphant\nsynthesis of genius. The commotion which the Wolfian theory has stirred\nup in the literary world is largely due to the wide range of ideas\nwhich it affected. Yet it was itself but a part of that general movement\nwhich, toward the close of the last century, became conspicuous in its\neffects on every field of human inquiry. Everywhere the shackles of\nauthority were thrown off, and, in place of blindly accepting the\ntestimony of the past, men turned to investigate for themselves. A new\nprinciple of research was everywhere acknowledged, a new method\nwas created, and science, natural and historical, entered upon that\nastonishing career of discovery whose rich promise for the future we\nhave but begun to anticipate.**\n\n     * In a letter given in Kttrte's \"Leben und Studien F. A\n     Wolf s.\" i., p. 307.\n\n     ** Scientific pursuits are distinguished from others, not by\n     the material, but by the method of knowledge. The mere\n     collection of data, however multiplied in detail, however\n     abstruse the subjects to which they may refer, does not of\n     itself deserve the name of science. The term properly\n     applies only when phenomena are placed in causal relation,\n     and the laws which govern their development are traced.\n     Measured by this standard, every attempt to explain the\n     growth of human thought and institutions, and to elucidate\n     the laws which have acted in the process of their evolution,\n     has a just claim to be classed under the head of scientific\n     inquiry.\n\nTo the impetus given by Wolf, and to the new-born spirit of science\nwhich he carried into the sphere of philology, we owe among other\nvaluable results the beginnings of a more critical inquiry into the\nrecords of the ancient Hebrew religion. Indeed, the author of the\n\"Prolegomena\" himself clearly foresaw the influence which his book was\ndestined to exert on Hebrew studies. In a letter, from which we have\nalready quoted above, he says: \"The demonstration that the Pentateuch is\nmade up of unequal portions, that these are the products of different\ncenturies, and that they were put together shortly after the time of\nSolomon, may, ere long, be confidently expected. I should myself be\nwilling to undertake such an argument without fear, for nowhere do we\nfind any ancient witness to guarantee the authorship of the Pentateuch\nto Moses himself.\"*\n\n     * Letter in Korte's \"Leben und Studien F. A. Wolf,\" i., p.\n     309.\n\nThe prediction embodied in these words soon came true. A host of\ncompetent scholars took up the study of the Hebrew Bible, and, profiting\nby Wolf's example and suggestions, applied to its elucidation the same\ncareful methods, the same scrupulous honesty of interpretation, that had\nproved so successful in the realm of classical philology. Theologians\nby profession, they set aside their predilections, and placed the\nascertainment of the truth above all other interests. They believed in\nthe indestructible vitality of religion, and were willing to admit the\nfull light of criticism upon the scriptural page, confident that any\nloss would be temporary only, the gain permanent. In the course of\ntheir researches they arrived, among others, at the following important\nconclusions:\n\nThat the editor of the Pentateuch had admitted into his volume several\naccounts touching the main facts of early Hebrew history; that these\naccounts are often mutually at variance; that minute analysis and\ncareful comparison alone can lead to an approximately true estimate\nof their comparative value; and, lastly, that the transmission of\nhistorical information had in no wise been the object of the Hebrew\nwriters. The history of their people served, it is true, to illustrate\ncertain of their doctrines concerning the divine government of the\nworld, and especially the peculiar relations of the Deity to the chosen\nrace; but it was employed much in the sense of a moral tale, being\ndesigned, not to convey facts, but to enforce lessons. Had the\nacceptance of any particular scheme of Hebrew history been deemed\nessential to the integrity of religious belief, the Bible, they argued,\nwould certainly not have included discrepant accounts of that history in\nits pages. In the light of this new insight, it seemed advisable to draw\na distinction between the biblical narrative proper and the doctrines\nwhich it was designed to illustrate. The latter belong to the province\nof faith, and their treatment may be left to the expounders of faith.\nThe former is a department of general history, and in dealing with it\nwe are at liberty to apply the same canons of criticism that obtain in\nevery other department, without fearing to trespass upon sacred ground.\nIt is our purpose in the following pages to present some of the\nmore interesting results that have been reached in the study of the\nPentateuch, so far as they illustrate the evolution of religious ideas\namong the Hebrews. We shall begin by summarizing a few instances of\ndiscrepant testimony to introduce our subject, and, in particular, to\nshow how little the ordinary purposes of history have been considered\nin the composition of the biblical writings; how little the bare\ntransmission of facts was an object with the sacred authors.*\n\nThe Scriptures open with two divergent accounts of the creation. In\nGenesis i., the work of creation proceeds in two grand movements,\nincluding the formation of inanimate and animate Nature respectively.**\nOn the first day a diffused light is spread out over chaos. Then are\nmade the firmament, the dry earth, the green herbs, and fruit-bearing\ntrees; on the fourth day the great luminaries are called into being; on\nthe fifth, the fishes and birds of the air; on the sixth, the beasts of\nthe field; and, lastly, crowning all, man, his Maker's masterpiece. The\nhuman species enters at once upon its existence _as a pair_. \"Male and\nfemale did he create them.\" In the second chapter the same methodical\narrangement, the same deliberate progress from the lower to the\nhigher forms of being, is not observed. Man, his interests and\nresponsibilities, stand in the foreground of the picture. The trees of\nthe field are not made until after Adam; and, subsequently to them,\nthe cattle and beasts. Moreover, man is a solitary being. A comparison\nbetween his lonely condition and the dual existence of the remainder\nof the animal world leads the Deity to determine upon the creation of\nwoman. A profound slumber then falls upon Adam, a rib is taken from\nhis side, and from it Eve is fashioned.* We may observe that the\nname Jehovah, as appertaining to the Deity, is employed in the second\nchapter, while it is scrupulously avoided in the first. The recognition\nof this distinction has led to further discoveries of far-reaching\nimportance, but too complicated in their nature to be here detailed.\nThe conflicting statements of the two accounts, which we have just\nindicated, have induced scholars to regard them as the work of different\nwriters. In Genesis iv. we learn that in the days of Enoch, Adam's\ngrandson, men began to call on the name of Jehovah; in Exodus vi, on\nthe contrary, that the name Jehovah was first revealed to Moses, being\nunknown even to the patriarchs.\n\n     * Many of the following examples are familiarly known. A\n     few, however, are drawn from recent investigations. Compare,\n     especially, Kuenen, \"The Religion of Israel.\"\n\n     ** Tuch's \"Genesis,\" p. 3, second edition, Halle, 1871.\n\nGen. xvi., Hagar is driven from her home by the jealousy of her\nmistress; escapes into the desert; beholds a vision of God at a well in\na wilderness. Gen. xxi., the flight of Hagar is related a second time.\nThe general scheme of the narrative is the same as above; but there\nare important divergencies of detail. As narrated in chapter xvi., the\nescape took place immediately before the birth of Ishmael. Fifteen years\nelapsed,** and Ishmael, now approaching the years of maturity, is once\nmore driven forth from the house of Abraham. But, to our surprise, in\nchapter xxi. the lad is described as a mere infant; he is carried on\nhis mother's shoulders, and laid away, like a helpless babe, under some\nbushes by the wayside. It appears that we have before us two accounts\ntouching the same event, agreeing in the main incidents of the escape,\nbut showing a disagreement of fifteen years as to the date of its\noccurrence. The narratives are distinguished as above by the employment\nof different names of the Deity: Jehovah in the one instance, Elohim in\nthe other.\n\n     * For an account of the close analogy between the biblical\n     narration and the Persian story of Meshja and Meshjane,\n     their temptation and fall, vide ibid. p. 40. It is of\n     special importance to note that reference to the account of\n     Genesis ii. is made only in the later literature of the\n     Hebrews, ibid., p. 42.\n\n     ** Gen. xvii. 25. In quoting from the Old Testament, we\n     follow the order of the Hebrew text.\n\nGen. xxxii., Jacob at the fords of Jabbok, after wrestling during the\nnight with a divine being, receives the name of Israel. Gen. xxxv.,\nwithout reference to the previous account, the name Israel is conferred\nupon Jacob at a different place and under different circumstances.\n\nGen. xlix., the dispersion of the Levites among the tribes is\ncharacterized as a punishment and a curse. They are to be forever\nhomeless and fugitive. Deuteronomy xxxiii. and elsewhere, it is\ndescribed as a blessing. The Levites have been scattered as good seed\nover the land. They are apostles, commissioned to propagate Jehovah's\nlaw.\n\nPassing on to the second book of the Pentateuch, we pause before the\naccount of the Revelation on Mount Sinai, beyond a doubt the most\nimportant event of Israel's ancient history. Exodus xxiv. 2, Moses alone\nis to approach the divine presence. Exod. xix. 24, Aaron is to accompany\nhim. Exod. xxiv. 13, Aaron is to remain below and Joshua is to go in\nhis stead. Again, Exod. xxxiii. 20, instant death will overtake him\nwho beholds God. Exod. xxiv. 9-11, Moses, Aaron, two of his sons, and\nseventy elders of Israel \"ascended, and they saw the God of Israel....\nAlso, they saw God, and did eat and drink.\" Once more, Exod. xxiv. 4-7,\nMoses himself writes down the words of revelation in a book of covenant.\nExod. xxiv. 12, not Moses but God writes them; and, elsewhere, \"Two\ntables of stone inscribed by the finger of God.\"\n\nExod. xx. enjoins the observance of the sabbath-day as a memorial of\nthe repose of the Maker of heaven and earth on the sabbath of creation.\nDeut. v., the fourth commandment is enjoined because of the redemption\nof Israel from Egyptian bondage. Exod. xxxiv., a new version of the\ndecalogue, differing in most respects from the one commonly received,\nis promulgated.* The first commandment is to worship no strange god;\nthe second, to make no graven images; the third, to observe the feast\nof unleavened bread; the fourth, to deliver the first-born unto Jehovah;\nthe fifth, to observe the sabbath, etc.\n\n     * Compare De Wette's \"Einleitung in das alte Testament\"\n     (Schrader's edition), p. 286, note 53.\n\nIn Exod. xx. we read that the guilt of the fathers will be avenged upon\nthe children down even to the third and fourth generation; in Deut.\nxxiv., the children shall not die for their fathers. Every one for his\nown sin shall die.\n\nIn Deut. xxv. the marrying of a deceased brother's wife is under certain\nconditions enjoined as a duty. In Levit. xviii. it is unconditionally\nprohibited as a crime.\n\nExod. xxxiii., Moses removes the tabernacle beyond the camp. Num. ii.,\nthe tabernacle rests in the very heart of the camp, with all the tribes\nof Israel grouped round about it, according to their standards and\ndivisions.\n\nNum. xvi., the sons of Korah, the leader of the great Leviti-cal\nsedition, perish with their father. Num. xxvi., the sons of Korah do not\nperish.*\n\nOf the forty years which the Israelites are said to have dwelt in the\ndesert, not more than two are covered by the events of the narrative.\nThe remainder are wrapped in dense obscurity. There is, however, a\nsignificant fact which deserves mention in this connection. The death\nof Aaron marks, as it were, the close of Israel's journey. Now, while in\nNum. xxxiii. the death of the high-priest is described as occurring in\nthe fortieth year, in Deut. x. it is actually referred to the second\nyear of the Exodus.**\n\n     * Num. xxvi. 11. Indeed, had the sons of Korah and every\n     human being related to him perished, as Num. xvi. avers, how\n     could we account for the fact that Korah's descendants\n     filled high offices in the Temple at Jerusalem later on?\n     The celebrated singer, Heman, himself was a lineal\n     descendant of Korah. To the descendants of Korah also are\n     ascribed the following Psalms: Ps. xlii., xliv.-xlix.,\n     lxxxiv., lxxxv., lxxxvii., lxxxviii.\n\n     ** In connection with this subject it is of interest to\n     compare Goethe's argument in the \"Westoslicher Divan\" on the\n     duration of the desert journey. Here, as in so many other\n     instances, the intuitive perception of the great poet\n     anticipated the tardy results of subsequent investigation.\n\nA brief digression beyond the borders of the Pentateuch will show that\nthe conflict of testimony which we have thus far noticed, affecting as\nit does some of the leading events of ancient Hebrew history, does not\ndiminish as we proceed in the narrative. In I Samuel vii. it is said\nthat the Philistines ceased to harass the land of Israel all the days of\nSamuel. Immediately thereupon we read of new Philistine incursions more\ndireful than ever in their consequences.* The popular proverb, \"Is Saul\namong the prophets?\" is variously explained, I Sam. x. and xix. Two\ndiscrepant accounts are given of Saul's rejection from the kingdom, I\nSam. xiii. and xv.; of David's introduction to Saul, i Sam. xvi. and\nxvii. The charming story of David's encounter with the giant Goliath\ntold in I Sam. xvii. is contradicted in 2 Sam. xxi. 19, where, not\nDavid, but some person otherwise unknown to fame, is reported to\nhave slain the giant Goliath, and also the time, place, and attendant\ncircumstances, are differently related.**\n\n     * Compare 1 Sam. vii. 13, and 1 Sam. xiii. 19.\n\n     ** In 1 Chron. xx. 5, we read, \"the brother of Goliath.\" The\n     purpose of the change is clear, and accords well with the\n     apologetical tendencies of the author of Chronicles. Vide De\n     Wette, \"Einleitung,\" etc., p. 370.    Geiger, \"Urschrift.\"\n\nIt thus appears that the compiler of the Pentateuch has admitted a\nvariety of views, not only on the ancient history of his people, but\nalso on the general subject of religion and morals, into his work; and\nthat the discordant opinions of diverse authors and of diverse stages of\nhuman progress are reflected in its pages. It is the monument of a grand\nreligious movement extending over many centuries of gradual development.\nIt is the image of a nation's struggles and growth. As contained in the\nbooks of the Pentateuch, the Mosaic religion is a religious mosaic.\n\nIn the foregoing sketch we have observed how deep a mist of uncertainty\nhangs over the earliest period, the golden age of the history of the\nHebrews. All is in a state of flux, and what appeared compact and\ncoherent at a distance yields to our touch upon closer contact. To gain\n_terra firma_ let us turn to the period which immediately succeeded the\nsettlement of the Israelites in Palestine; a period in which the outline\nof historical events begins to assume a more definite and tangible\nshape.\n\nIt was a dismal and sorrowful age. The bonds of social order were\nloosened; the current conceptions of the Deity and the rites of his\nworship were gross and often degrading. Mutual jealousies kindled the\nfirebrand of war among the contending clans. Almost the whole tribe of\nBenjamin was extirpated. Abimelech slew seventy princes upon one stone.\nLust and treachery ran riot. A wilder deed has never been chronicled in\nthe annals of mankind than that related in chapter xix. of Judges,\nnor ever has a terrible deed been more terribly avenged. Now, looking\nbackward, we ask, Is it to be believed that in the fourteenth century B.\nC. not only the leader of Israel, but also their elders, their priests,\nnay, large numbers of the very populace, shared in the most exalted,\nthe most spiritual conceptions of God, and nourished the most refined\nsentiments in regard to human relationships, while immediately\nthereupon, and centuries thereafter, violence and bloodshed, and\nidolatry, do not cease from the records? It has been argued, indeed,\nthat the worship of idols was but a _relapse_ from the purity of a\npreceding age; and that, though the tradition of the Mosaic time may\nhave been lost in the succeeding period among the people at large, it\nwas still preserved in the circle of a select few, the judges, King\nDavid, and others. These, it is believed, continued to remain faithful\ndisciples of the great lawgiver. But these very men, the judges--King\nDavid himself--all fall immeasurably below the standard that is set up\nin the Pentateuch. If they were esteemed the true representatives of\nthe national religion in their day, if the very points in which they\ntransgressed the provisions of the Mosaic code are distinguished by\nthe approval of God and man, we are forced to conclude that that\nstandard--by which they stand condemned--did not yet exist; that, in\nthe days of David, the laws of Moses, as we now have them; were as yet\nunwritten and unknown. Let us illustrate this important point by a few\nexamples taken from the records. Gideon no sooner returns from victory\nthan he makes a golden idol and sets it up for worship. Jephthah\nslays his daughter as an offering of thanksgiving to Jehovah. In\nthe Pentateuch the adoration of images is branded as the gravest of\noffences. David keeps household gods in his own home (Sam. xix). In the\nPentateuch, on its opening page, God is proclaimed as a pure spirit,\nmaker of heaven and earth. In the eyes of David (1 Sam, xxvi. 19), the\nsway of Jehovah does not extend beyond the borders of Palestine.* In the\nPentateuch the ark of the covenant is described as the treasury of all\nthat is brightest and best in the worship of the one God. None but\nthe consecrated priest dare approach it, and even he only under\ncircumstances calculated to inspire peculiar veneration and awe. In 2\nSam. vi., David abandons the ark to the keeping of a heathen Philistine.\nIn an early age of culture, when fear and terror in the presence of\nsuperior force entered largely into the religious conceptions of\nthe Hebrews, the taking of the census was deemed an act of grave\ntransgression. It appeared a vaunting of one's strength; it seemed to\nindicate a defiant attitude toward the loftier power of the Deity, which\nhe would certainly visit with condign punishment. At a later period the\npriesthood found it in their interest to override these scruples, and\nthe taking of the census became an affair of habitual occurrence. In\nthe last chapter of Samuel the more primitive view still predominated.\nSeventy thousand Israelites are miserably slain to atone for King\nDavid's presumption in commanding a census of the people. In the fourth\nbook of Moses, on the other hand, the numbering of the people not only\nproceeds without the slightest evil resulting therefrom, but at the\nexpress command of God himself.\n\nIn the book of Deuteronomy the service of Jehovah is said to consist\nmainly in the practice of righteousness, in works of kindness toward our\nfellows, in sincere and holy love toward the Deity, who is represented\nas the merciful father of all his human children. Second Sam. xxi., a\nfamine comes upon the land of Israel. The anger of Jehovah is kindled\nagainst the people. To appease him, David offers sacrifice--human\nsacrifice. The seven sons of Saul are slain, and their bodies kept\nexposed on the hill, \"in sight of Jehovah,\" and the horrid offering _is\naccepted_, and the divine wrath is thereby pacified.** Truly, in the age\nof in the beginning of the barley-harvest. This circumstance seems to\nthrow light on the primitive mode of celebrating the Passover. That the\nrite of human sacrifice was originally connected with this festival is\ngenerally acknowledged. Vide, e. g., Exod. xiii., 2. By such offerings\nit was intended, no doubt, to secure the favor of the god during the\ncontinuance of the harvest.\n\n     * Banishment being described as a transfer of allegiance to\n     strange gods.\n\n     ** It is important to note that the seven sons of Saul were\n     sacrificed\n\nDavid, the Hebrews were far, far removed from the high state of culture\nin which the ideal conception of religion that pervades Deuteronomy\nbecame possible. And long after, when centuries had gone by and the\nkingdom of Judah was already approaching its dissolution, the direful\npractices of David's reign still survived, and the root of idolatry had\nnot been plucked from the heart of the people. Still do we hear of human\nsacrifice perpetrated in the midst of Jerusalem, and steeds and chariots\ndedicated to the sun-god, and images of the Phallus, and all the\nabominations of sensual worship, filled the very Temple of Jehovah.\n\nBut in the meantime a new force had entered the current of Hebrew\nhistory. The conviction that one God, and he an all-just, almighty\nbeing, ruled the destinies of Israel, began to take root. In the eighth\ncentury B. C. authentic records prove that monotheism, as a form of\nreligious belief, obtained, at least among the more illustrious members\nof the prophetic order. We have elsewhere attempted to trace the causes\nwhich led to the rise of monotheism at this particular epoch, and can do\nno more than briefly allude to them here.\n\nWhen the mountaineers of Southern Palestine, after centuries of\nprotracted struggles, had secured the safe possession of individual\nhomes, the endearments of domestic life were invested with a sanctity in\ntheir eyes never before known. The attachment of the Hebrew toward his\noffspring was intensified; his devotion to the wife of his bosom became\npurer and more enduring. Now, the prevailing forms of Semitic religion\noutraged these feelings at every point. The gods of the surrounding\nnations were gods of pleasure and of pain; and in their worship the\nstern practices of fanatic asceticism alternated with the wildest orgies\nof sensual enjoyment. The worship of Baal Moloch demanded the sacrifice\nof children; that of the lascivious Baaltis insulted the modesty of\nwoman. The nobler spirits among the Hebrews rebelled against both these\ndemands. And, as the latter were put forth in the name of the dominant\nreligion, the inevitable conclusion followed that that religion itself\nmust be radically wrong. The spirit of opposition thus awakened was\naroused into powerful activity when, in the days of Ahab, the queen,\nsupported by an influential priesthood, determined to introduce the\nforms of Phoenician religion in Israel by measures of force. The\nroyal edicts were resisted, but for a while the rule of the stronger\nprevailed. The leaders of the opposition were compelled to flee, and,\navoiding the habitations of men, to take refuge in wild and solitary\nplaces. Thus the rupture was widened into schism, and persecution\ninflamed the zeal and kindled the energies of that new order of men of\nwhom Elijah is the well-known type.\n\nThrough their agency the emotional nature of the Semitic race now found\nexpression in a form of religious worship loftier by far than any\nthat had ever arisen among men. If Baal was the embodiment of Semitic\nasceticism and Baaltis the type of sensual orgiastic passion, the\nnational God of Israel now became the type of a nobler emotion, the\nguardian of domestic purity, the source of sanctity, the ideal Father.\nIt is indeed the image of a just patriarch that fills the mind and\nwings the fancy of the eldest prophets, when they describe the nature of\nJehovah, their God. Jehovah is the husband of the people. Israel shall\nbe his true and loyal spouse. The children of Israel are his children.\nUnchastity and irreligion are synonymous terms. And thus, if we err not,\nthe peculiar feature of Hebrew character, their faithful attachment\nto kith and kin, the strength and purity of their domestic affections,\nserves to explain the peculiar character, the origin and development\nof the Hebrew religion. And because the essential elements of the new\nreligion were moral elements it could not tolerate the Nature-worship of\nthe heathens: and the way was prepared for the gradual ascendency of\nthe purely spiritual in religion, which after ages of gradual progress\nconstituted the last, the lasting triumph of prophecy.\n\nAfter ages of development! For we are not to suppose that, in the\ncenturies succeeding Hosea, the doctrines of the prophetic schools had\nbecome in any sense the property of the people at large. \"The powers\nthat be\" were arrayed against them, and the annals of the kings are\nreplete with evidence of their sufferings. It was in the late reign\nof Josiah that they at last received not only the countenance of the\nreigning monarch, but also a decisive influence upon the direction of\naffairs. In that reign a scroll was found in the temple imbued with the\ndoctrine of the unity of God, and breathing the vigorous spirit of the\nprophets. In it was emphasized the heart's religion in preference to the\nempty ceremonial of priestly worship. The allegiance of the people was\ndirected toward the God who had elected them from among the nations of\nthe earth, and dire disaster was predicted in case of disobedience.\nWhen brought to the king and read in his presence, he was powerfully\naffected, and determined, if possible, to stem the tide of impending\nruin by such salutary measures of reform as the injunctions of the\nnewly-found Scripture seemed most urgently to call for. The concurrence\nof many critics has identified this scroll, written and published at or\nabout the time when the youthful Josiah succeeded to the throne of his\nancestors, with Deuteronomy, the fifth of the books of Moses. It differs\nmaterially from the more recent writings of the Pentateuch. The family\nof Aaron are not yet exclusively endowed with the priesthood. The\npriests are all Levites, the Levites all priests. There are, moreover,\nother vital differences, into which the limits of this article do not\npermit us to enter.* The date of the composition of Deuteronomy is thus\nreferred to the closing decades of the seventh century B. C.**\n\n     * E. G., the rebellion of Korah is unknown to the author of\n     Deuteronomy.\n\n     ** The language of Deuteronomy attests its late origin.\n     Sixty-six phrases of Deuteronomy recur in the writings of\n     Jeremiah. Vide Zunz, Zeitschrift der Deutschen\n     Morgenlandischen Gesellschaft, xxviii., p. 670.\n\nThe princes who succeeded Josiah fell back into the old course, and\nquite undid the work which had begun with such fair promise. Indeed,\nlittle permanent good was to be hoped for in so disordered a condition\nof political affairs, and from the degenerate rulers who then swayed\nthe helm of state. The fortunes of the kingdom of Judah were swiftly\ndeclining, and not fully a quarter of a century after the pious Josiah\nhad breathed his last, Nebuchadnezzar burned the Temple of Jerusalem,\nand carried its inhabitants captive to Babylon.\n\nHeretofore, with but a brief, brilliant interlude, idolatry had been\nthe court religion of Judah. Early training, long usage, the example of\nrevered ancestors, had endeared its forms and symbols to the affections\nof the people. Resistance to the innovating prophets was natural; men\nbeing then, as ever, loath to abandon the sacred usages which had come\ndown to them from the distant generations of the past. But, in the long\nyears of the captivity, a profound change came over the spirit of\nthe Hebrew people; \"by Babel's streams they sat and wept;\" by Babel's\nstreams they recalled the memories of their native land, that land which\nthey had lost. It was then that the voices of Jehovah's messengers,\nwhich had so earnestly warned them of the approaching doom, recurred to\ntheir startled recollection. They remembered the message; they beheld\nits fulfillment; the testimony of the prophets had been confirmed by\nevents; the one God to whom they testified had revealed his omnipotence\nin history; and with ready assent the exiles promised allegiance to his\ncommandments in the future. The love of country, the dread of further\nchastisement, the dear hope of restoration, combined to win them to\nthe purer worship of their God, and, in the crucible of Babylon, the\nnational religion was purged of the last dregs of heathendom.\n\nWith the permission of Cyrus, the Jews returned to Palestine and the\nTemple at Jerusalem was rebuilt. The question now arose in what\nforms the ceremonial of the new sanctuary should be conducted. The\ntime-honored festivals, the solemn and joyful convocations, the\nsacrifices and purifications of the olden time, were all more or\nless infected with the taint of paganism. Prophecy would have none of\nthem--prophecy, free child of genius, contemned sacrifice, denounced the\npriesthood, even the temple and its ritual;* proclaimed humbleness and\nloving-kindness as the true service in which Jehovah takes delight.\nThere was formalism on the one hand, idealism on the other. As is\nusual in such cases, when the time had arrived for turning theory into\npractice, it was found necessary to effect a compromise.\n\n     * Jeremiah vii. 4; Isaiah lxvi. 1; Micah vi. 6.\n\nAs Christianity in later days adopted the yule-tree into its system, and\nlit the lamps of the heathen festival of the 25th of December in honor\nof the nativity of its founder, so the leaders of the Jews, in the fifth\ncentury before our era, adopted the feasts and usages of an ancient\nNature-worship, breathed into them a new spirit informed them with a\nloftier meaning, and made them tokens, symbols of the eternal God. The\nold foes were thus reconciled; priesthood and prophecy joined hands, and\nwere thenceforth united. As an offspring of this union, we behold a new\ncode of laws and prescriptions, whose marked and inharmonious features\nat once betray the dual nature of its progenitors. \"A rough preliminary\ndraft, as it were,\" of this code, is preserved in the book of Ezekiel,\ncomposed probably about the middle of the fifth century. In its finished\nand final shape, it forms the bulk of a still later work--of Leviticus,\nnamely the third of the books of the Pentateuch: of all the discoveries\nof criticism none more noteworthy, none we are permitted to consider\nmore assured. What lends additional certainty to the result is the\ncircumstance that it was reached independently by two of the most\nesteemed scholars of our day, the one a Professor of Theology in the\nUniversity of Leyden,* the other a veteran of thought, whose brow is\nwreathed by the ripe honors of more than fourscore years.** Let us\nbriefly advert to the line of argument by which this astonishing\nconclusion was reached:\n\n     * Prof. A. Kuenen.\n\n     ** The venerable Dr. Zunz, of Berlin.\n\nThe author of the book of Ezekiel was a priest, and one confessedly\nloyal to the sanctuary of Jerusalem. Now, had the laws of the Levitical\ncode, which minutely describe the ritual of that sanctuary, existed, or\nbeen regarded as authoritative in his day, he could not, would not have\ndisregarded, much less contradicted, their provisions. He does this,\nand, be it remarked, in points of capital importance. In chapter xlv.\nof Ezekiel are mentioned the great festivals, with the sacrifices\nappropriate to each; but the feast of Pentecost, commanded in Leviticus,\nis entirely omitted; also that of the eighth day of tabernacles. The\nsecond of the daily burnt-offerings, upon which the legislator of the\nfourth book of Moses dwells with such marked emphasis, is not commanded.\nThe order of sacrifices appointed in Ezekiel is at variance with that in\nthe more recent code. Ezekiel nowhere mentions the ark of the covenant.\nAccording to him, the new year begins on the tenth of the seventh month,\nwhile the festival of the trumpets, ordained in Leviticus for the first\nof that month (the present new year of the Jews), is nowhere referred\nto. We are not to suppose, however, that the festivals, the ark, etc.,\ndid not yet exist in the time of Ezekiel. They existed, no doubt,\nbut were still too intimately associated with pagan customs and\nsuperstitions to receive or merit the countenance of a prophetic writer.\nIn Leviticus the process of assimilation above described had reached its\nclimax. The new meaning had been successfully engrafted upon the\nrites and symbols of the olden time; and they were thenceforth freely\nemployed. The legislation of the Levitical code exhibits the familiar\nfeatures which in every instance mark the ascendency or consolidation of\nthe hierarchical order. The lines of gradation and distinction between\nthe members of the order among themselves are precisely drawn and\nstrictly adhered to. The prerogatives of the whole order as against the\npeople are fenced about with stringent laws. The revenues of the order\nare largely increased. In the older code of Deuteronomy, the annual\ntithes were set apart for a festival occasion, and given over to the\nenjoyment of the people. In the new code, the hierarchy claims the\ntithes for its own use. New taxes are invented. The best portions of\nthe sacrificial animal are reserved for the banquets of the Temple.\nThe first-born of men and cattle belong to the priesthood, and must be\nransomed by the payment of a sum of money. In no period prior to the\nfifth century B. C. was the hierarchy powerful enough to design such\nlaws. At that time, however, when in the absence of a temporal sovereign\nthey, with the high-priest at their head, were the acknowledged rulers\nof the state, they were both prepared to conceive and able to carry\nthem into effect. The language of Leviticus contributes not a little to\nbetray its late origin.* The period in the history of the Jews, when\nthe fear of taking the name of the Lord in vain induced men to avoid,\nif possible, mentioning it at all. We find ha Shem in the above sense in\nLev. xxiv. 11. authorship of Moses attributed to the Levitical code is\nsymbolical. The name of Moses is utterly unknown to the elder prophets.\n\n     * To mention only a single instance, ha Shem (meaning the\n     name, i. e. the ineffable name of God) was not employed\n     until very late.\n\nIn all their manifold writings it does not occur a single time, though\nthey make frequent reference to the past. There can now be little doubt\nthat the composition of the bulk of Leviticus, and of considerable\nportions of the books of Numbers, Exodus, and even parts of Genesis,\nbelongs to the epoch of the second Temple, and that the date of these\nwritings may be approximately fixed at about one thousand years after\nthe time of Moses. As to the story of Israel's desert wanderings, it\nrests upon ancient traditions whose character it is not our present\nbusiness to investigate. It was successively worked up in various\nschools of priests and prophets, and this accounts for the host of\ndiscrepancies it contains, some of which have been noticed in the\nbeginning of this essay. It was finally amplified by the inventive\ngenius of the second-Temple priesthood, who succeeded in heightening the\nsanctity of their own institutions by tracing them back to a revered,\nheroic person, who had lived in the dim days of remote antiquity.\n\nIn the preceding pages we have indicated the more important phases of\nthat conflict which ended in the establishment of monotheism, a conflict\nwhose traces, though sometimes barely legible, are still preserved\nin our records. We saw in the first instance that the Mosaic age is\nshrouded in uncertainty. We pointed out that pure monotheism was unknown\nin the time of the early kings. We briefly referred to the rise of\nmonotheism. Finally, we endeavored to show how the prophetic idea had\nbeen successively expressed in various codes, each corresponding to a\ncertain stage in the great process of evolution. From what we have said,\nit follows that the prophetic ideal of religion is the root and core\nof all that is valuable in the Hebrew Bible. The laws, rites, and\nobservances, in which it found a temporary and changeful expression,\nmay lose their vitality; it will always continue to exert its high\ninfluence. It was not the work of one man, nor of a single age, but was\nreached in the long course of generations on generations, evolved amid\nerror and vice, slowly, and against all the odds of time. It has been\nsaid that the Bible is opposed to the theory of evolution. The Bible\nitself is a prominent example of evolution in history. It is not\nhomogeneous in all its parts. There are portions filled with tales of\nhuman error and fallibility. These are the incipient stages of an early\nage--the dark and dread beginnings. There are others thrilling with\nnoblest emotion, freighted with eternal truths, breathing celestial\nmusic. These are the triumph and the fruition of a later day. It is\nthus by discriminating between what is essentially excellent and what\nis comparatively valueless that we shall best reconcile the discordant\nclaims of reason and of faith. The Bible was never designed to convey\nscientific information, nor was it intended to serve as a text-book of\nhistory. In its ethical teachings lies its true significance. On them it\nmay fairly rest its claims to the immortal reverence of mankind.\n\nThere was a time in the olden days of Greece when it was demanded that\nthe poems of Homer should be removed from the schools, lest the minds of\nthe young might be poisoned by the weeds of superstitious belief. Plato,\nthe poet-philosopher, it was who urged this demand. That time is past.\nThe tales of the gods and heroes have long since ceased to entice our\ncredulity. The story of Achilles's wrath and the wanderings of the sage\nUlysses are not believed as history, but the beauty and freshness and\nthe golden poetry of the Homeric epic have a reality all their own, and\nare a delight and a glory now, as they have ever been before. The Bible\nalso is a classical book. It is the classical book of noble ethical\nsentiment. In it the mortal fear, the overflowing hope, the quivering\nlongings of the human soul toward the better and the best, have found\ntheir first, their freshest, their fittest utterance. In this respect it\ncan never be superseded.\n\nTo Greek philosophy we owe the evolution of the logical categories; to\nHebrew prophecy, the pure canon of moral principle and action. That\nthis result was the outcome of a long process of suffering and struggle\ncannot diminish its value in our estimation. When we compare the\ndegrading offices of the Hebrew religion in the days of the judges with\nthe lofty aspirations of the second Isaiah, when we remember the utter\nabyss of moral abasement from which the nobler spirits of the Hebrews\nrose to the free heights of prophecy, our confidence in the divine\npossibilities of the human soul is reinvigorated, our emulation is\nkindled, and from the great things already accomplished we gather the\ncheering promise of the greater things that are yet to come. It is in\nthis moral incentive that the practical value of the evolutionary theory\nchiefly lies.*\n\n     * Most aptly has this thought been expressed in the lines\n     with which Goethe welcomed the appearance of F. A. Wolfs\n     \"Prolegomena.\"\n\n     \"Erst die Gesundheit des Mannes, der, endhch vom Namen\n     Homeros Kuhn uns befreiend, uns auch flihrt in die vollere\n     Bahn. Denn wer wagte mit Gettern den Kampf? und wer mit dem\n     Einen?--Doch Homeride zu seyn, auch nur als letzter, ist\n     schon.\"\n\n     The Elegy of Hermann und Dorothea\n\n\n\n\nII. REFORMED JUDAISM.\n\nThe Jews are justly called a peculiar people. During the past three\nthousand years they have lived apart from their fellow-men, in a state\nof voluntary or enforced isolation. The laws of the Pentateuch directed\nthem to avoid contact with heathens. Christianity in turn shunned\nand execrated them. Proud and sensitive by nature, subjected to every\nspecies of humiliation and contempt, they retired upon themselves, and\ncontinued to be what the seer from Aram had described them in the olden\ntime, \"A people that dwells in solitude.\"* It followed that, in the\nprogress of time, idiosyncrasies of character were developed, and\nhabits of thinking and feeling grew up amongst them, which could not but\ncontribute to alienate them still more from the surrounding world. They\nfelt that they were not understood. They were too shy to open their\nconfidence to their oppressors. They remained an enigma. At wide\nintervals books appeared purporting to give an account of the Jews and\ntheir sacred customs. But these attempts were, in the main, dictated by\nno just or generous motive. Their authors, narrow bigots or renegades\nfrom Judaism, ransacked the vast literature of the Hebrew people for\nsuch scattered fragments as might be used to their discredit, and\nexhibited these as samples of Jewish manners and Jewish religion.\nThe image thus presented, it is needless to say, was extremely\nuntrustworthy. And yet the writings of these partial judges have\nremained almost the only sources from which even many modern writers are\naccustomed to draw their information. The historian is yet to come who\nwill dispel the dense mists of prejudice that have gathered about Jewish\nhistory, and reveal the inward life of this wonderful people, whose\nperennial freshness has been preserved through so many centuries of\nthe most severe trials and persecution. In one respect, indeed, let us\nhasten to add, the popular judgment concerning the Jews has never been\ndeceived.\n\n     * Numbers xxiii. 9.\n\nThe intense conservatism in religion for which they have become\nproverbial is fully confirmed by facts. There exists no other race of\nmen that has approved its fidelity to religious conviction for an equal\nperiod, under equal difficulties, and amid equal temptations. Antiochus,\nTitus, Firuz, Reccared, Edward I. of England, Philip Augustus of France,\nFerdinand of Spain, exhausted the resources of tyranny in vain to shake\ntheir constancy. Their power of resistance rose with the occasion that\ncalled it forth; and their fervid loyalty to the faith transmitted to\nthem by the fathers never appeared to greater, advantage than when it\ncost them their peace, their happiness, and their life to maintain\nit. Since the close of the last century, however, a great change has\napparently come over the Jewish people. Not only have they abandoned\ntheir former attitude of reserve and mingled freely with their\nfellow-citizens of whatever creed, not only have they taken a leading\npart in the great political revolutions that swept over Europe, but the\npassion for change, so characteristic of the age in which we live, has\nextended even to their time-honored religion; and a movement aiming at\nnothing less than the complete reformation of Judaism has arisen, and\nrapidly acquired the largest dimensions. The very fact that such a\nmovement should exist among such a people is rightly interpreted as a\nsign of the times deserving of careful and candid consideration; and\ngreat interest has accordingly been manifested of late on the subject\nof Jewish Reform. In a series of articles we shall undertake to give\na brief sketch of the origin and bearings of the movement. But before\naddressing ourselves to this task it will be necessary to review a few\nof the main causes that have enabled the Jews to perdure in history, and\nto consider the motives that impelled them to resist change so long, if\nwe would properly appreciate the process of transformation that is even\nnow taking place among them. Among the efficient forces that conduced to\nthe preservation of the Jewish people we rank highest:\n\n\n\n\nTHE PURITY OF THEIR DOMESTIC RELATIONS\n\nThe sacredness of the family tie is the condition both of the physical\nsoundness and the moral vigor of nations. The family is the miniature\ncommonwealth, upon whose integrity the safety of the larger commonwealth\ndepends. It is the seedplot of all morality. In the child's intercourse\nwith its parents the sentiment of reverence is instilled--the essence\nof all piety, all idealism; also the habit of obedience to rightful\nauthority, which forms so invaluable a feature in the character of the\nloyal citizen. In the companionship of brothers deference to the rights\nof equals is practically inculcated, without which no community could\nexist. The relations between brother and sister give birth to the\nsentiment of chivalry,--regard for the rights of the weaker,--and this\nforms the basis of magnanimity, and every generous and tender quality\nthat graces humanity. Reverence for superiors, respect for equals,\nregard for inferiors,--these form the supreme trinity of the virtues.\nWhatever is great and good in the institutions and usages of mankind\nis an application of sentiments that have drawn their first nourishment\nfrom the soil of the family. The family is the school of duties. But\nit has this distinguishing excellency, that among those who are linked\ntogether by the strong ties of affection duty is founded on love. On\nthis account it becomes typical of the perfect morality in all the\nrelations of life, and we express the noblest longings of the human\nheart when we speak of a time to come in which all mankind will be\nunited \"as one family.\" Now the preeminence of the Jews in point of\ndomestic purity will hardly be disputed. \"In this respect they stand\nout like a bold promontory in the history of the past, singular and\nunapproached,\" said the philosopher Trendelenburg.* According to the\nprovisions of the Mosaic Code, the crime of adultery is punished with\ndeath. The most minute directions are given touching the dress of the\npriests and the common people, in order to check the pruriency of fancy.\nThe scale of forbidden marriages is widely extended with the same end in\nview.\n\n     * Vide the essay on the Origin of Monotheism in Jahrbuch des\n     Vereins fur Wissenschaftliche Padagogik, Vol IX. 1877, by\n     the author of this article.\n\nAlmost the entire tribe of Benjamin is extirpated to atone for an\noutrage upon feminine virtue committed within its borders. The undutiful\nson is stoned to death in the presence of the whole people. That husband\nand wife shall become \"as one flesh,\" is a conception which we find only\namong the Jews. Among them the picture of the true housewife which is\nunrolled to us in Proverbs had its original,--the picture of her who\nunites all womanly grace and gentleness, in whose environment dwell\ncomfort and beauty, \"whose husband and sons rise up to praise her.\" The\nmarriage tie was held so sacred that it was freely used by the prophets\nto describe the relations between the Deity and the chosen people.\nJehovah is called the husband of the people. Israel shall be his true\nand loyal spouse. The children of Israel are his children. The worship\nof false gods was designated by the Hebrew word that signifies conjugal\ninfidelity. This feature of Jewish life remained equally prominent in\nlater times. In the age of the Talmud marriage was called Hillula,--a\nsong of praise! The most holy day of the year, the tenth of the seventh\nmonth, a day of fasting and the atonement of sins, was deemed a proper\noccasion to collect the young people for the purpose of choosing\nhusbands and wives. On that day the maidens of Jerusalem, arrayed in\npure white, went out into the vineyards that covered the <DW72>s of the\nneighboring hills, dancing as they went, and singing as the bands of\nyouth came up to meet them from the valleys. \"Youth, raise now thine\neyes,\" sang the beautiful among them, \"and regard her whom thou\nchoosest.\" \"Look not to beauty,\" sang the well-born, \"but rather to\nancient lineage and high descent.\" Lastly, those who were neither\nbeautiful nor well born took up the strain, and thus they sang:\n\"Treacherous is grace, and beauty deceitful; the woman that fears God\nalone shall be praised.\" The appropriateness of such proceedings on the\nAtonement day was justified by the remark that marriage is itself an act\nof spiritual purification. The high value attached to the institution of\nthe family is further illustrated by many tender legends of the Talmud\nwhich we cannot here stop to recount. A separate gate, it is said, was\nreserved in Solomon's Temple for the use of bridegrooms, before which\nthey received the felicitations of the assembled people. The marriage\ncelebration was essentially a festival of religion. Seven days it\nlasted. The Talmudic law, usually so unbending in its exactions, relaxed\nits austerity in favor of these auspicious occasions, and recommended to\nall to rejoice with the joyful. On the Sabbath of the marriage-week, the\nyoung husband was received with peculiar honors in the synagogue, and\nthe liturgy of the mediaeval Jews is crowded with hymns composed in\nhonor of these solemn receptions. If a whole congregation thus united\nto magnify and sanctify the erection of a new home, the continued\npreservation of its sanctity might safely be left to the jealous\nwatchfulness of its inmates. Cases of sensual excess or of unfilial\nconduct have been extremely infrequent among the Jews, down to modern\ntimes. However mean the outward appearance of their homes might be,\nthe moral atmosphere that pervaded them was rarely contaminated. If\nthe question be asked, how it came about that so feeble a people could\nresist the malevolence of its foes; that a nation, deprived of any\nvisible rallying-point, with no political or religious centre to cement\ntheir union, had not long since been wiped out from the earth's surface,\nwe answer that the hearth was their rallying-point and the centre of\ntheir union. There the scattered atoms gained consistency sufficient to\nwithstand the pressure of the world. Thither they could come to recreate\ntheir torn and lacerated spirits. There was the well-spring of their\npower.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCHOOLS.\n\nIf the Jewish people were preserved in moral vigor by the influence\nof their domestic life, the care they bestowed on the education of the\nyoung kept them intellectually fresh. Schools were erected in every town\nand country district. It was forbidden a Jew to reside in cities where\nno provision had been made for the instruction of children. Teachers\nwere called the guardians of cities. The destruction of Jerusalem was\nattributed to the fact that the schools had been suffered to fall into\nneglect. Synagogues were often used for purposes of primary instruction.\n\"A sage is greater than a prophet,\" said the proverb. To increase in\nknowledge, at least in a certain kind of knowledge, was a part of the\nJew's religion. According to the theory of the Rabbies the revelation\nof God to man is fully embodied in the books of the Old Testament,\nespecially in the books of the Pentateuch, commonly called the\nTora,--the Law. They contain, either by direct statement or by\nimplication, whatever it is necessary for men to know. They anticipate\nall future legislation. Though apparently scanty in substance, they\nare replete with suggestions of profound and inexhaustible wisdom. To\npenetrate the hidden meanings of \"the Law\" became, on this account, the\nprimary obligation of the devout; and ignorance was not only despised\non its own account, but was, in addition, branded as a sign of deficient\npiety. The ordinances of the Jewish sages are all ostensibly deduced\nfrom the words of the Sacred Law. Without such sanction no enactment of\nany later lawgiver, however salutary in itself, could aspire to general\nrecognition. The civil and criminal law, the principles of science,\nsanitary and police regulations, even the rules of courtesy and decorum,\nare alike rested on scriptural authority. The entire Talmud may be\nroughly described as an extended commentary on the Mosaic Law.* The\nauthors of the Talmud led a studious life, and relied in great measure\nupon the habit of study to preserve the vitality of their faith. Among\nthe sayings of the sages** we read such as these. Jose ben Joeser says:\n\"Let thy house be the resort of the wise, and let the dust of their feet\ncover thee, and drink in thirstily their words.\" Joshua ben Perachia\nsays: \"Get thee an instructor, gain a companion [for thy studies], and\njudge all men upon the presumption of their innocence.\" Hillel says:\n\"Who gains not in knowledge loses.... Say not, 'When I am at leisure\nI will study'; 't is likely thou wilt never be at leisure.... He who\nincreases flesh increases corruption; he who increases worldly goods\nincreases care; he who increases servants increases theft; but he who\nincreases in the knowledge of the Law increases life.\" Jochanan ben\nSakkai says: \"If thou art wise in the knowledge of the Law, take not\ncredit to thyself, for to this end wast thou created.\"\n\n     * For a concise but comprehensive account of the origin of\n     the Talmud, vide the art. Talmud in Johnson's Encyclopaedia.\n\n     ** Collected in the Tract Aboth (Fathers).\n\nAfter the destruction of the Temple by Titus, academies sacred to the\nstudy of the Law were erected in different cities of Palestine, and\nsimilar institutions flourished on the banks of the Euphrates. In the\neleventh century the chief seats of Jewish learning were transplanted\nto the West; and since that time the European Jews have excelled their\nbrethren of the East in all the elements of mental culture. In the\ncourse of their manifold wanderings the Jews carried their libraries\neverywhere with them. Wherever a synagogue arose, a school for young\nchildren and a high school for youths were connected with it. In the\ndark night of the ghetto the flame of knowledge was never quenched.\nWhile the nations of Europe were still sunk in barbarism the Jews\nzealously devoted themselves to the pursuit of medicine, mathematics,\nand dialectics, and the love of learning became an hereditary quality\nin their midst. The efforts of many generations have contributed to keep\ntheir intellectual faculties bright; and, unlike most oppressed races,\nthey have emerged from a long epoch of systematic persecution well\nfitted to attack the problems of the present with fresh interest and\nundiminished capacity.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEMOCRATIC ORGANIZATION OF THE SYNAGOGUE.\n\nThe spirit of monotheism is essentially democratic both in politics\nand religion. There is to be but one king, and he the spiritual Lord\nin heaven. All the people are equal before him. When the Hebrews\nclamorously demanded a king the prophet charged them with treason\nagainst their proper ruler. The prophet and priest were hostile powers;\nand their antagonism was clearly felt, and sometimes energetically\nexpressed. The Lord takes no delight in the slaughter of animals. The\nbloody sacrifices are an offence to Him. What He requires is purity of\nheart, righteous judgment, and care for the widow and the fatherless.\nThe idea of priestly mediation--of mediation in any shape--was repugnant\nto the Jews. \"The whole people are priests,\" it was said. When the\nsanctuary at Jerusalem had been laid in ashes, anything resembling a\nhierarchical caste was no longer tolerated among them. The Law and\nthe Science of the Law were open to all; and each one was expected,\naccording to the measure of his capacity, to draw directly from the\nfountain-head of faith. The autonomy of the congregations was strictly\nguarded. Entire uniformity in the ritual was never achieved.* The public\nlector of prayers was called \"the delegate of the congregation.\" The\nRabbies (the word means Masters, in the sense of teachers) were men\ndistinguished for superior erudition and the blamelessness of their\nlives, and these qualities formed their only title to distinction.**\nTheir duties differed radically from those of the Catholic priest or the\nProtestant clergyman. They never took upon themselves the care of souls.\nTheir office was to instruct the young, and in general to regulate the\npractice of religion according to the principles and precedents laid\ndown in the sacred traditions of their people. The several congregations\nwere independent of each other. There were no general synods or\ncouncils, no graded hierarchy culminating in a spiritual head, no\noligarchy of ministers and elders; but rather a federation of small\ncommunities, each being a sovereign unit, and connected with the others\nsolely by the ties of a common faith, common sympathies, and common\nsufferings. Any ten men were competent to form themselves into a\ncongregation, and to discharge all the duties of religion. The fact that\nthis was so proved of the utmost consequence in preserving the integrity\nof Judaism. The Jews were parcelled out over the whole earth. The body\nof the people was again and again divided. But in every case the\nbarest handful that remained sufficed to become the nucleus of new\norganizations. Had the system of Judaism required any one central organ,\na blow aimed against this would doubtless have proved fatal to the\nwhole. But by the wise provisions of the federative system the vital\npower seems to have been equally disseminated over the entire community.\nLike the worm that is trodden under foot, to which Israel so often\nlikens itself in the Hebrew prayers, the divided members lived a new\nlife of their own, and though apparently crushed beneath the heel of\ntheir oppressors, they ever rose again in indestructible vitality.\n\n     * Vide Zunz Die Ritus.\n\n     ** Many of them supported themselves by following some\n     humble calling, refusing to receive remuneration for their\n     teachings, on the principle that the Law \"should not be made\n     a spade to dig with.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE INFLUENCE OF PERSECUTION.\n\nIn surveying the history of the Jewish people we find a strange blending\nof nationalism and cosmopolitism illustrated in their actions and\nbeliefs. They proudly styled themselves the elect people of God, they\nlooked down with a certain contempt upon the Gentile nations, yet they\nconceived themselves chosen, not on their own account, but for the\nworld's sake, in order to spread the knowledge of the true God among\nmen. They repudiated heathenism, and regarded Trinitarianism as an\naberration. In contradistinction to these their mission was to protect\nthe purity of the monotheistic religion until in the millennial age all\nnations would gather about their \"holy Mount.\" They considered their\nown continued existence as a people foreordained in the Divine scheme,*\nbecause they believed themselves divinely commissioned to bring about\nthe eternal happiness of the human race. The centripetal and centrifugal\nforces of character were thus evenly balanced, and this circumstance\ncontributed not a little to enliven their courage in the face of\nlong-continued adversity. When the independence of Greece was lost, the\nGreeks ceased to exist as a nation. But the loss of the Temple and\nthe fatherland gave barely more than a passing shock to the national\nconsciousness of the Jews. Easily they acclimatized themselves in\nevery quarter of the globe. The fact of their dispersion was cited\nby Christianity as a sign of their rejection by God. They themselves\nregarded it as a part of their mission to be scattered as seed over\nthe whole earth. That they should suffer was necessary, they being the\nMessianic people! Their prayers were filled with lamentations and the\nrecital of their cruel woes. But they invariably ended with words of\npromise and confidence in the ultimate fulfillment of Israel's hope.\nThus in the very depths of their degradation they were supported by a\nsense of the grandeur of their destinies, and by the proud consciousness\nthat their sufferings were the price paid for the world's spiritual\nredemption.\n\n     * \"Let it not seem strange to you that we should regain our\n     former condition, even though only a single one of us were\n     left, as it is written, 'Fear not, thou worm, Jacob!'\"--Juda\n     HA-Levi, in the book Cusari (twelfth century), iii. ii.\n\nIn the earlier half of the Middle Ages the Jews were still permitted to\nenjoy a certain measure of liberty. In Spain, France and Germany they\nlived on amicable terms with their neighbors, they engaged in trade and\nmanufacture, and were allowed to possess landed property. In the tenth\nand eleventh centuries a great part of the city of Paris was owned by\nJews. But at the time of the Crusades a terrible change in the aspect of\ntheir affairs took place. The principles embodied in the canonical law\nhad by this time entered into the practice of the European nations.\nFanaticism was rampant. The banks of the Rhine and the Moselle became\nthe theatre of the most pitiless persecution. Among the Crusaders the\ncry was raised, \"We go to Palestine to slay the unbelievers; why not\nbegin with the infidel Jews in our own midst?\" Worms, Spires, Mayence,\nStrassburg, Basle, Regens-burg, Breslau, witnessed the slaughter of\ntheir Jewish inhabitants. Toward the close of the thirteenth century\none hundred thousand Jews perished at the hands of Rindfleisch, and the\nmurderous hordes of whom he was the leader. To add fuel to the passions\nof the populace the most absurd accusations were brought forward against\nthem, and their religion was made odious by connecting it with charges\nof grave moral obliquity. Jewish physicians being in great request,\nespecially at the court of kings, it was given out that with fiendish\nmalice they were wont to procure the death of their Christian patients.*\nThey were accused of killing Christian children, and using the blood\nof Christians in celebrating the Passover festival, and this monstrous\nfalsehood was repeated until no one doubted its substantial truth.\nLet it be remembered that this charge was originally preferred, in a\nsomewhat different shape, against the Christians themselves. It floated\ndown, as such rumors will, from age to age, until, its authorship being\nforgotten, it was finally used as a convenient handle against the hated\nJews. In this manner the Easter-tide which was to announce the triumph\nof a religion of love became to the Jews a season of terror and mortal\nagony, and the Easter dawn was often reddened with the flames that rose\nfrom Jewish homes.\n\n     * Thus in the case of Charles the Bald, and others.\n\nIt is impossible to calculate the number of lives that have been lost\nin consequence of this single accusation. It has lived on even into the\npresent century.* In the fourteenth century the Black Death devastated\nthe Continent of Europe. Soon the opinion gained ground that the Jews\nwere responsible for the ravages of the plague. It was claimed that the\nRabbi of Toledo had sent out a venomous mixture concocted of consecrated\nwafers and the blood of Christian hearts to the various congregations,\nwith orders to poison the wells. The Pope himself undertook to plead for\ntheir innocency, but even papal bulls were powerless to stay the popular\nmadness. In Dekkendorf a church was built in honor of the massacre of\nthe Jews of that town, and the spot thus consecrated has remained a\nfavorite resort of pilgrims down to modern times. The preaching friars\nof the Franciscan and Dominican orders were particularly active in\nfanning the embers of bigotry whenever they threatened to die down. In\nEngland, France and Spain the horrors enacted in Germany were repeated\non a scale of similar magnitude. The tragic fate of the Jews of York,\nthe fury of the Pastoureaux, the miserable scenes that accompanied the\nexodus of the Jews from Spain are familiar facts of history. In Poland,\nin the seventeenth century, the uprising of the Cossacks under the\nchieftainship of Chmielnicki became once more the signal of destruction.\nIt is estimated that in ten years (1648-1658) upwards of two hundred\nand fifty thousand Jews perished.** Even when the lives of the Jews were\nspared, their condition was so extremely wretched that death might often\nhave seemed the preferable alternative.\n\n     *  In the year 1840 it was simultaneously renewed in Rhenish\n     Prussia, on the Isle of Rhodos, and in the city of Damascus.\n     In that city the most respected members of the Jewish\n     community were arrested, with the assistance of the French\n     Consul, Ratti Menton, and underwent cruel torture. The\n     intense excitement caused throughout Europe at the time is,\n     doubtless, still fresh in the memory of many who will read\n     these pages. The utter falsity of the charge was at last\n     exposed, thanks to the efforts of the Austrian Consul\n     Merlato and the energetic action of Lord Palmerston.\n\n     **  Graetz, Gesch. der Juden, X. p. 78.\n\nThe theory propounded by the Church and acted out by the temporal rulers\nof the Middle Ages is expressed in the words of Innocent III.,\n\"Quos propria culpa submisit perpetuae servituti, quum Dominum\ncrucifixerint--pietas Christiana receptet et sus-tineat cohabitationem\nillorum.\"*\n\nBy the crucifixion of Jesus the Jews had forfeited for themselves and\ntheir posterity the right to exist in Christian states. They lived on\nsufferance merely. In the feudal system there was no room for them. They\nwere aliens, were regarded as the property of the Emperor, and he was\nfree to deal with them as suited his convenience. Hence the name _servi\ncamera_--servants of the imperial chamber--was applied to them. They\ncould be sold, purchased, given away at pleasure. Charles IV. presented\n\"the persons and property of his Jews\" to the city of Worms. In a\nschedule of toll-dues dating from the year 1398 we read: \"a horse pays\ntwo shillings, a Jew six shillings, an ox two heller.\"** They were\ncompelled to wear a badge of shame upon their garments;*** were confined\nto narrow and filthy quarters,---_ghetto, juderia_,--debarred from all\nhonorable employments. The schools and universities were closed against\nthem. The guilds shut them out from the various trades. To gain the\nmeans of subsistence nothing remained for them but to engage in the\npetty traffic of the peddler or the disreputable business of the\nmoney-lender. They had absolutely no choice in the matter. The laws of\nMoses certainly discountenance the lending of money at interest. The\nauthorities of the Talmud severely condemn the practice of usury, and\nrefuse to admit the testimony of usurers in courts of law.****\n\n     *  Cassel, art. Juden, p. 83, in Ersch und Gruber; vide also\n     p. 85, \"ad perpetuam Judaici sceleris ultionem eisdem\n     Judaeis induxerit perpetuam servitutem.\"\n\n     ** Ibid, p. 91\n\n     *** The _signum circulate_ was borrowed from Islam. It has\n     been ingeniously conjectured that the circular form was\n     selected in contradistinction to the sign of the crescent.\n     Ibid, p. 75.\n\n     **** Mishna Sanhedrin, III. 3.\n\nBut all scruples on the part of the Jews had now to be set aside. Gold\nthey must have, and in abundance. It was the only means of buying their\npeace. The taxes levied by the imperial chamber were enormous.* The\ncities, the baronial lords, in whose territory they took refuge,\nconstantly imposed new burdens as the price of toleration. The Jews\nhave often been held up to contempt for their avarice and rapacity.\nThe reproach is unjust. It reminds one of the ancient Philistines, who,\nhaving shorn the Hebrew of his strength and blinded him, called him with\njeers from his prison-house to exhibit him to the popular gaze and to\nmake sport of his infirmity.\n\nUnder these circumstances the conservatism of the Jews in matters of\nreligion can no longer astonish us. Rejected by the world, they lived\nin a world of their own. They had inherited from their ancestors an\nextended code of ceremonial observances, dietary laws, and minute and\nmanifold directions for the conduct of life. In these they beheld the\nbulwark of their religion, the common bond that united the scattered\nmembers of their race. The Jew of Persia or Palestine could come among\nhis German brethren, and hear the same prayers expressed in the same\nlanguage, and recognize the same customs as were current among his\nco-religionists in the East. The passwords of the faith were everywhere\nunderstood. To preserve complete unanimity with respect to\nreligious usage was a measure dictated by the commanding instinct of\nself-preservation. The Jews of all countries were furthermore united by\nthe common yearnings with which they looked back to the past, and their\ncommon hope of ultimate restoration to the heritage of the promised\nland.**\n\n     * A general tax paid in recognition of the Emperor's\n     protection; the Temple tax claimed by the Holy Roman\n     Emperor in his capacity as the successor of Vespasian; the\n     so-called _aurum coronarium_, or coronation tax, by virtue\n     of which every new emperor, upon his accession to the\n     throne, could confiscate the third part of the property of\n     the Jews.    Besides these, extraordinary levies were\n     frequent.\n\n     ** On the eve of the 9th of the fifth month it was customary\n     at Jerusalem to announce the number of years that had\n     elapsed since the fall of the Temple.   Zunz, Die Ritus, p.\n     84.\n\nHowever prolonged their abode in the land of the stranger might be, they\nnever regarded it otherwise than in the light of a temporary sojourn,\nand Palestine remained their true fatherland, \"If I forget thee,\nJerusalem, wither my right hand,\" was sung as plaintively on the banks\nof the Danube and the Rhine as it had resounded of old by Babel's\nstreams. The Jewish people walked through history as in a dream, their\neyes fixed on Zion's vanished glories. Empires fell; wars devastated the\nearth; new manners, new modes of life, arose around them. What was all\nthis toil and turmoil of the nations to them! They were not admitted\nto the fellowship of mankind, they preserved their iron stability, they\nalone remained changeless. So long as the world maintained its hostile\nattitude toward them, there was little likelihood that they would\nabandon their time-honored traditions. But toward the close of the\nlast century the first tokens of political, social, and spiritual\nregeneration began to appear among the despondent people of the Hebrews.\nThe spirit of the Reformation, which had slumbered so long, awoke to\nnew vitality. The voice of love rebuked the selfishness of creeds;\nPhilosophy in the person of Kant emphasized the duties of man to man;\nPoetry sent its warm breath through the German land, and with its sweet\nstrains instilled broad, humanitarian doctrine into the hearts of men.\nLessing celebrated the virtues of his friend, Moses Mendelssohn, in\n\"Nathan the Wise,\" and in the parable of the rings showed how the\ntrue religion is to be sought and found. The Royal Academy at Berlin\nnominated the same Mendelssohn for membership in its body. Jewish\nscholars were received with distinction in the Austrian and Prussian\ncapitals. Eminent statesmen and writers began to exert themselves\nto remove the foul blot that had so long stained the conduct of the\nChristian states in their dealings with the Jews. In France the\ngreat Revolution was rapidly sweeping away the accumulated wrongs of\ncenturies. When the emancipation of the Jews came up for discussion\nin the Convention, the ablest speakers rose in their behalf. The Abbe\nGregoire exclaimed: \"A new century is about to open. May its portals be\nwreathed with the palm of humanity!\" Mirabeau lent his mighty eloquence\nto their cause. \"I will not speak of tolerance,\" he said; \"the freedom\nof conscience is a right so sacred that even the name of tolerance\ninvolves a species of tyranny.\"*\n\n     *Vide the account of the debates in the official Moniteur.\n\nOn the 28th September, 1791, the National Convention decreed\nthe equality of the Israelites of France with their Christian\nfellow-citizens. The waves of the Revolution, however, overflowed\nthe borders of France, and the agitation they caused was quickly\ncommunicated to all Germany. Wherever the armies of the Republic\npenetrated, the gates of the ghettos were thrown open, and in the name\nof Fraternity, Liberty and Equality were announced to their inhabitants.\nWhen Napoleonic misrule at last exasperated Germany into resistance, the\nseeds which French influence had sown had already taken firm root in the\nGerman soil. On the 11th March, 1812, Frederick William III. issued his\nfamous edict, removing the main disabilities from which the Jews of his\ndominions had suffered, granting them the rights and imposing upon them\nthe honorable duties of citizenship. They were no longer to be classed\nas foreigners. The state claimed them as its children, and exacted of\nthem the same sacrifices as all its sons were called upon to bring in\nthe troublous times that soon followed. With what eager alacrity the\nJews responded to the king's call the records of the German wars for\nindependence amply testify. On the battlefields of Leipzig and Waterloo\nthey stood side by side with their Christian brethren. Many sons and\nfathers of Jewish households yielded their lives in the country's\ndefence. In the blood of the fallen the new covenant of equal justice\nwas sealed for all time to come. However prejudice might still dog their\nfootsteps, however shamefully the government might violate its solemn\npledges to the Jewish soldiers on their return from the wars, the Jews\nof Germany had now gained what they could no more lose. They felt that\nthe land for which they had adventured their all, in whose behalf they\nhad lost so much, was indeed their fatherland. For the first time, after\nmany, many centuries, the fugitives had gained a home, a country. They\nawoke as from a long sleep. They found the world greatly changed around\nthem; vast problems engaging the attention of thinkers, science and\nphilosophy everywhere shedding new light upon the path of mankind. They\nwere eager to approve themselves worthy and loyal citizens, eager to\njoin in the general work of progress. They dwelt no more with anxious\npreference on the past. The present and the future demanded their\nexertions, and the motives that had so long compelled their exclusion\nfrom the fellowship of the Gentiles were gradually disappearing. As\ntheir religion was mainly retrospective in character and exclusive in\ntendency, great changes were needed to bring it into harmony with the\naltered condition of affairs. These changes were accordingly attempted,\nand their history is the history of Jewish Reform.\n\n\n\n\nIII. REFORMED JUDAISM.\n\nReformed Judaism originated in Germany; its leading representatives\nhave invariably been Germans. The history of Germany during the past one\nhundred years is the background upon which our account of the movement\nmust be projected.\n\nThe Jews of Germany had waited long and patiently for deliverance. At\nlast, toward the close of the eighteenth century it came, and one whom\nthey delight to call their \"Second Moses\" arose to lead them into the\npromised land of freedom. This was Moses Mendelssohn. His distinguished\nmerits as a writer on philosophy and aesthetics we need not here\npause to dilate upon, but shall proceed at once to consider him in his\nrelations to the political, social, and religious emancipation of his\npeople. In each of these different directions his example and influence\nupon others served to initiate a series of salutary changes, and he may\nthus appropriately be termed the father of the Reform movement in its\nwidest acceptation. It was Mendelssohn who, in 1781, inspired Christian\nWilhelm Dohm to publish his book \"On the Civil Amelioration of the\nJews,\" a work in which an earnest plea for their enfranchisement was for\nthe first time put forth. The author points to the thrift and frugality\nthat mark the Jewish race, their temperate habits and love of peace,\nand exposes the folly of debarring so valuable a class of the population\nfrom the rights of the citizen. He appeals to the wisdom of the\ngovernment to redeem the errors and injustice of the past; he defends\nthe Jews against the absurd charges which were still repeated to their\ndiscredit, and strenuously insists that liberty and humane treatment\nwould not only accrue to their own advantage, but would ultimately\nredound to the honor and lasting welfare of the state. Dohm's book\ncreated a profound impression, and though it failed to produce immediate\nresults, materially aided the cause of emancipation at a later period.\n\nAgain Mendelssohn was the first to break through the social restraints\nthat obstructed the intercourse of Jews and Christians, and thus\ntriumphed over a form of prejudice which is commonly the last to yield.\nHis fame as a writer greatly assisted him in this respect. The grace\nand freshness of his style, the apparent ease with which he divested the\nstern problems of philosophy of their harsher aspects, had won him many\nand sincere admirers. His \"Phaedon\" was eagerly read by thousands, whom\nthe writings of Leibnitz and Kant had repelled. On the afternoon of the\nJewish Sabbath he was accustomed to assemble many of the choice spirits\nof the Prussian capital, among whom we may mention Lessing, Nikolai,\nand Gleim, in his home. The conversation turned upon the gravest\nand loftiest topics that can occupy the human soul. The host himself\nskilfully guided the stream of discussion, and the waves of thought\nflowed easily along in that placid, restful motion which is adapted to\nspeculative themes. The spirit that of old had hallowed the shades of\nAcademe presided over these gatherings. Mendelssohn emulated the plastic\nidealism of Plato and the divine hilarity of Socrates. The singular\nmodesty, the truthfulness and quiet dignity that adorned his character\nwere reflected upon the people from whom he had sprung, and produced a\nsalutary change in their favor in the sentiments of the better classes.\n\nBut it is as the author of a profound revolution in the Jewish religion,\nthat Mendelssohn attracts our especial interest. Not, indeed, that he\nhimself ever assumed the character of a religious reformer. He was, on\nthe contrary, sincerely devoted to the orthodox form of Judaism, and\neven had a change appeared to him feasible or desirable, he would in all\nprobability have declined the responsibility of publicly advocating it.\nHis was the contemplative spirit which instinctively shrinks from the\nrude contact of reality. He had neither the aggressive temper nor the\nbold self-confidence that stamp the leader of parties. And yet,\nwithout intending it, he gave the first impulse to Jewish Reform, whose\nsubsequent progress, could he have foreseen it, he would assuredly have\nbeen the first to deprecate.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BIBLE.\n\nThe condition of the Jews at the close of the last century was in many\nrespects unlike that of any other race that has ever been led from a\nstate of subjection to one of acknowledged equality. Long oppression\nhad not, on the whole, either blunted their intellects or debased their\nmorals. If they were ignorant in modern science and literature, they\nwere deeply versed in their own ancient literature, and this species\nof learning was not the privilege of a single class, but the common\nproperty of the whole people. What they lacked was system. In the\nrambling debates of the Talmud the true principles of logical sequence\nare but too often slighted, and the student is encouraged to value the\nsubtle play of dialectics on its own account, without regard to any\nultimate gain in positive and useful knowledge. Impatience of orderly\narrangement being allowed to develop into a habit, became contagious. It\nimpressed itself equally on the thought, the manners, the language*\nof the Jews, and contributed not a little to alienate from them the\nsympathies of the refined. Such, however, was the preponderating\ninfluence of the Talmud that it not only engrossed the attention of the\nJewish youth to the exclusion of secular knowledge, but even perverted\nthe exegesis of the Bible and caused the study of Scripture to be\ncomparatively neglected.\n\n     * The German Jews spoke a mixed dialect of German and\n     Hebrew, which has been likened to the so-called Pennsylvania\n     Dutch.\n\nTo weaken the controlling influence of the Talmud became the first\nneedful measure of Reform, and to accomplish this it was necessary to\ngive back to the Bible its proper place in the education of the young.\nIt was an event, therefore, of no mean significance when Mendelssohn,\nin conjunction with a few friends, determined to prepare a German\ntranslation of the Pentateuch, and thus, by presenting the teachings of\nScripture in the garb of a modern tongue, to render their true meaning\napparent to every reflecting mind. The work was finished in 1783.\nIt holds a like relation to the Jewish Reform movement that Luther's\ntranslation held to the great Protestant movement of the sixteenth\ncentury. It was greeted with a storm of abuse upon its appearance, and\nwas loudly execrated by the orthodox as the beginning of larger and\nfar-reaching innovations. Its author might sincerely protest his entire\ninnocency of the radical designs imputed to him, but subsequent events\nhave proved the keener insight of his opponents. The influence of the\nnew translation was twofold. In the first place it facilitated a more\ncorrect understanding of the doctrine, the literature and language of\nScripture; secondly,--and this is worthy of special remark,--it served\nthe purpose of a text-book of the German for the great mass of the Jews,\nwho were at that time unable to read a book written in the vernacular,\nand thus became the means of opening to them the treasure-house of\nmodern thought.*\n\n     * The  German  of  Mendelssohn's   translation was   written\n     in Hebrew letters.\n\nIn the very year in which Mendelssohn's work appeared we notice among\nthe younger generation a general revival of interest in the Hebrew,\nthe mother-tongue of their race. Two students of the University of\nKonigsberg began the issue of a periodical devoted to the culture of\nthe Hebrew, which was widely read and attracted great attention. Poems,\noriginal essays, Hebrew versions of modern writings, appeared in its\ncolumns; the style of the Prophets and of the Psalmists was emulated,\nthe works of the ancient masters of the language served as models, and\nin the aspect of the noble forms employed in the diction of the biblical\nauthors the aesthetic sense of the modern Jews revived. We are inclined\nto doubt whether the Hebrew Bible, considered merely with a view to\nits aesthetic value, is even yet fully appreciated. The extravagance\nof religious credulity and the violent extreme of scepticism have alike\ntended to obscure its proper merits. The one accustomed to behold in the\n\"holy book\" a message from the Creator to his creatures shrinks, as a\nrule, from applying to the work of a Divine author the critical standard\nof human composition. The sceptics on the other hand, impatient of the\nexorbitant claims which are urged for the sacred writings of the Jews,\nand resenting the sway which they still exercise over the human reason,\nare hardly in a proper frame of mind to estimate justly its intrinsic\nand imperishable excellences. And yet, setting aside all questions of\nthe supernatural origin of the Bible, and regarding only the style in\nwhich its thoughts are conveyed, how incomparably valuable does it still\nremain! It would be difficult to calculate the extent to which many of\nour standard authors are indebted for the grandest passages of their\nworks to their early familiarity with the biblical style. Those who\nare able to read the text in the original become aware of even subtler\nbeauties that escape in the process of translation. Purity of diction,\npower of striking antithesis, simple and yet sublime imagery, a\nmarvellous facility in the expression of complex states of feeling, and\nthose the deepest of which the human soul is capable, are but a few\nof the obvious features that distinguish the golden age of Hebrew\nliterature. Never perhaps has the symbolism of nature been used with\nsuch supreme effect to express the unspeakable emotions that are deep\ndown in the heart of man. Such music as that which swells through the\npages of Isaiah's prophecies cannot be forgotten; such ringing, rhythmic\nperiods, in which the eloquence of conviction bursts forth into the\nrounded fulness of perfect oratory, can never fail to touch and to\ninspire. We know of no nobler pattern on which the modern orator could\nmould his style. And thus, too, the exquisite poetry of the Song of\nSongs, the idyl of the Book of Ruth, the weird pathos of Jeremiah's\nlament, the grand descriptions of Job, will ever be counted among the\nmasterpieces of human genius. Whatever we may think of the doctrines of\nthe Bible, it is safe to predict that the book will live long after the\nmyths that surround its origin shall have been dispelled; nay, all\nthe more, when it shall cease to be worshipped as a fetish will men\nappreciate its abiding claims to their reverence, and it will continue\nto hold its honored place in the libraries of the nations. The refining\ninfluence of the study of the Bible soon became evident among the\ncontemporaries of Mendelssohn. But in another way also his translation\ntended to their improvement. We have said that it became the means\nof acquainting them with the language of the land. A wide field of\nknowledge, embracing the rich results of modern science, philosophy,\nand art, was thus laid open to their industry. Eagerly they availed\nthemselves of the proffered opportunity; schools were erected, in which\nthe elements of liberal culture were imparted to the young, and ere long\nwe find a new generation of the Jews engaging in honorable competition\nwith their Christian brethren for the prize of learning and the rewards\nof literary distinction. It was at this time that Kant's \"Critique of\nPure Reason\" appeared, a work which marks a new epoch in the world's\nthought. Its profound reasoning and technical style made it difficult of\ncomprehension to all but the initiated. Three Jewish scholars--Dr. Herz,\nSalomon Maimon, and Ben-David--undertook the task of popularizing\nits main results, and were among the first to call attention to the\ntranscendent importance of the new system. Plainly new vital energy was\ncoursing through the veins of the Jewish people.\n\n\n\n\nSOCIAL STANDING.\n\nBut at this very time, while they were rapidly assimilating the best\nresults of modern culture and winning the respect and confidence of the\nlearned, the Jews of Germany were still laboring under an odious system\nof special laws, and beheld themselves excluded from the common rights\nof citizenship. The manly effort of Dohm in their behalf had as yet\navailed nothing; the voice of bigotry was still supreme in the councils\nof the sovereign. And yet they felt themselves to be the equals of those\nwhom the law unjustly ranked their superiors, and longed to see the\nbarriers done away that still divided them from their fellow-men. Many\nof their number had amassed fortunes, and expended their wealth with\ncommendable prudence and generosity. They supported needy students,\nfounded libraries, extended their knowledge, and refined their tastes.\nEven the Jewish maidens followed the general impulse toward self-culture\nthat was setting with such force in the Jewish community. In particular\nthe works of Schiller and Goethe, as they successively appeared at this\nperiod, inflamed their enthusiasm, and none were more zealous than\nthey in spreading the fame and influence of the new school of German\nliterature. Still they were taught to consider themselves an inferior\nclass, and were despised as such. The position of equality which the\nnarrowness of the laws denied them they were resolved to achieve by the\nweight ol character and the force of spiritual attractions. Henrietta de\nLemos, a young girl of singular beauty and attainments, had at this time\nbecome the wife of Dr. Herz, of whom we have casually spoken above in\nhis connection with Kant. She is described as tall, graceful, possessing\na face in which the features of Hellenic and Oriental beauty were\nblended in exquisite harmony; while the sobriquet of the \"Tragic\nMuse,\" by which she became known, denoted the majestic nobleness of\nher presence. Under the guidance of competent masters she had acquired\nconsiderable proficiency in many of the modern and ancient languages,\nand to a mind stored with various knowledge was added the mellow charm\nof a most sweet and loving disposition. Attracted by her fame and\ncaptivated by her genius, the most eminent men of the day sought the\nprivilege of her society. The art of conversation, which had till then\nreceived but little attention in the Prussian capital, was for the first\ntime cultivated in the _salon_ of Henrietta Herz. Sparkling wit and\nprofound philosophy were alike encouraged. Statesmen high in the service\nof their country sought the amenities of these delightful gatherings.\nAlexander and Wilhelm von Humboldt, Gentz, Schleier-macher, Friedrich\nvon Schlegel, Mirabeau, Dorothea, the daughter of Mendelssohn, Rahel,\nafterwards wife of Varnhagen von Ense, were among the intimates of her\ncircle. Christians and Jews met here on terms of mutual deference, and\nforgot for a while the paltry distinctions which still kept them\nasunder in the world without. And yet these distinctions, senseless in\nthemselves, were full of ominous meaning to those who felt their\nburden. Young men eager for advancement in life found their religion\nan insuperable obstacle in their way. The professions, the army, the\noffices of the government, were closed against them. On the threshold of\nevery higher career they were rudely repulsed, unless they embraced\nthe base alternative of changing their creed to satisfy their ambition.\nUnder these circumstances that fidelity to the faith of the fathers\nwhich had so long marked the conduct of the Jews began seriously\nto waver, and in many instances gave way. Not, indeed, that the new\nconverts became true and loyal Christians. On the contrary, they\nconsidered the rite of baptism a mere hollow form, and left it to the\nstate, which had insisted upon their conformance, to justify the deep\ndisgrace that was thus brought upon the Christian sacraments. Moreover,\na certain laxity in the interpretation of dogma had at this time\nbecome widely prevalent, which greatly assisted them in setting their\nconscience at ease. Rationalism had stripped the positive religions\nof much of their substance and individuality. To none of them was an\nabsolute value allowed. They were regarded as forms in which a principle\nhigher than all forms had found an imperfect and temporary expression.\nEven the influence of Schleiermacher tended rather to obliterate than to\ndefine the outlines of the contending creeds. Schleiermacher, the author\nof a Protestant revival in Germany, spoke the language of Pantheism,\nand his opinions are deeply suffused with the spirit of Pantheistic\nteachings. He defines religion to be the sense of dependence on the\nInfinite, the Universal. To the fact that different men in different\nages have been variously affected by the conception of the Infinite\nhe ascribes the origin of the different creeds. Theological dogmas,\naccording to him, cannot claim to be true in the sense of scientific or\nphilosophical propositions. They approach the truth only in so far as\nthey typically express certain emotional processes of our soul, and\nthose dogmas are nearest the truth which typify emotions of the most\nnoble and exalted character. Allowing Christianity to be what its\nlearned expounders had defined it, intelligent Jews could hardly find\nit difficult to assume the Christian name. It is estimated that in the\ncourse of three decades full one half of the Jewish community of Berlin\nwere nominally Christianized.\n\nHow thoroughly conventional, at the same time, the use of the term\nChristian had become may be judged from a letter addressed by David\nFriedlander, a friend of Mendelssohn's, to Councillor Teller of\nthe Consistory, in which he offered, on behalf of himself and some\nco-religionists, to accept Christianity in case they might be permitted\nto omit the observance of the Christian festivals, to reject the\ndoctrine of the Trinity, of the divinity of Jesus, and, in fact,\nwhatever is commonly regarded as essentially and specifically Christian.\nIt is true the reply of the Councillor was not encouraging.\n\n\n\n\nPARIS, THE NEW JERUSALEM.\n\nWhile the very existence of Judaism was thus threatened in Germany, it\nseemed about to regain its pristine vigor in France. More than seventeen\ncenturies had elapsed since the Sanhedrin, the High Court of Jerusalem,\nhad passed out of existence. Quite unexpectedly it was recalled to\nmomentary life by the caprice of the great Corsican, who then ruled the\ndestinies of the world. In the year 1806 Napoleon convened a parliament\nof Jewish Notables at Paris in order to definitely settle the relations\nof French Israelites to the state. Soon after an imperial decree\nconvoked the grand Sanhedrin for the purpose of ratifying the decisions\nof the Notables. The glories of Jerusalem were to be renewed in \"modern\nBabylon\" on the Seine. On February 9, 1807, the Sanhedrin met in\nthe Hotel de Ville. Care was taken to invest its sittings with due\nsolemnity; the seats of the members were arranged in crescent shape\nabout the platform of the presiding officers, as had been customary at\nJerusalem; the president was saluted with the title of Nassi (Prince),\nas in the olden time; the ancient titles and forms were copied with\nscrupulous exactness. Two-thirds of the members were Rabbis, the\nremainder laymen. The opening of the Sanhedrin attracted universal\nattention, but its proceedings were void of interest. In fact, its sole\ntask was to lend the authority of an ancient tribunal to the action of\nthe Notables, and this having been accomplished it was adjourned after\na brief session. In connection with these conventions of the years 1806\nand 1807 it behooves us to mention the creation of a new constitution\nfor the French synagogue elaborated by the joint efforts of the imperial\nCommissioners and the Notables. The form of government adopted was\nmoulded on the pattern of the secular power. A system of consistories\nwas organized throughout France, culminating in a central consistory at\nParis with a Grand-Rabbin at its head. The officers of the consistories\nwere treated as officers of the state, the charge of their maintenance\nwas in part defrayed at the public expense, and, in the course of time,\nthey were placed on a footing of almost complete equality with the\ndignitaries of the Christian churches. The union of the teachers of\nJudaism in a species of graded hierarchy, dependent upon temporal rulers\nfor their support, was as have have been expected, fruitful of evil\nresults. If it is true that the supremacy of the church over the state\ndisturbs the peace of nations and endangers the very existence of\ngovernments, it is equally certain that no religion can long continue\nto maintain its purity when the church becomes the subservient vassal\nof the state. Whatever the apparent gain in stability may be, it is more\nthan counterbalanced by the loss of spontaneity and sincerity. Hypocrisy\nflourishes, the liberty of conscience is abridged, and a spirit of base\ntime-serving eventually prepares the downfall of institutions whose\nperfect safety is consistent only with perfect freedom.\n\nThe French Synagogue, as we have indicated, presents a case in point.\nDuring the past seventy years it has stagnated. No single luminous\nthought lights up its dreary record, no single whole-souled effort to\nappropriate the larger truths of our time dignifies its annals. In the\nhistory of the Reform movement it merits no further mention.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITURGY.\n\nReturning to Germany we behold the leading Jews at last awakened to the\nnecessity of energetic measures to check the wide-spread disaffection\nthat was thinning out their ranks. Hitherto the liturgy of the synagogue\nhad not been affected by the growing tendency to change. An attempt in\nthis direction was initiated by Israel Jacobsohn, the financial agent\nof the Duke of Brunswick, a man of wealth, culture, and generous\ndisposition. He was shocked by the scenes of disorder, the utter lack of\ndecorum, that disgraced the public worship; he was resolved as far as\nin his power lay to correct the abuses which had been allowed to grow up\nunrestrained in the gloomy period of mediaeval persecution, and to\nwin back to the faith those whose affections had been estranged by\nthe barbarous form in which it appeared to view. He erected at his own\nexpense, and dedicated on July 17, 1810, in the town of Seesen, a new\ntemple,* at the same time introducing certain radical modifications into\nthe service which we shall presently take occasion to consider.\n\n     * The term Temple has since been used by the Reformers in\n     contradistinction to the orthodox Synagogue.\n\nBeing appointed to the Presidency of the Consistory of Cassel, during\nthe reign of Jerome Bonaparte, he took advantage of his official\nposition to urge his innovations upon the congregations under his\ncharge. In 1815 he transplanted the \"new fashion in religion\" to Berlin,\nand in 1818 assisted in founding the temple at Hamburg, which soon\nbecame one of the leading strongholds of Reform. A provisional service\non the same plan was likewise instituted at Leipsic,* during the\nperiod of the annual fair, and tidings of the reform were thus rapidly\ntransmitted to distant parts of Germany. The main changes introduced by\nJacobsohn, and copied by others, may be briefly summed up as follows:\nThe introduction of regular weekly sermons, which had not previously\nbeen customary; of prayers in the vernacular by the side of the Hebrew;\nof choir singing with organ accompaniment, and the confirmation of young\nchildren. These innovations implied a revolution in the character of the\npublic worship.\n\n     * Dr. Zunz was appointed preacher, and the composer\n     Meyerbeer directed the musical services.\n\nThe Jewish people had been wont to regard themselves individually and\ncollectively, as soldiers in the army of their God, commissioned to wage\nwarfare against every species of false religion. A spirit of martial\ndiscipline, as it were, pervaded their ranks. The repetition of prayers\nand benedictions by day and night in the privacy of domestic life, on\nthe public square and by the roadside, was a species of drill intended\nto keep alive in them the consciousness of their mission, and to prepare\nthem for the emergencies of actual conflict. Thrice a day they mustered\nin their synagogues, and renewed their oath of allegiance in the\npresence of their spiritual king. The term Jewish Church, though in\nfrequent use, is a misnomer based upon false analogy. The difference\nbetween the synagogue and the church is as clearly marked as that\nbetween Judaism and Christianity themselves. The sentimental element,\nusing the word in its nobler signification, which is distinctive of the\nlatter, is almost entirely lacking in the former. Both make it their\naim to elevate the moral life in man, but while Judaism acts through\nthe will upon the affections, Christianity places the affections in the\nforeground and seeks by their means to persuade and captivate the will.\n\nIt cannot be denied that the Reformers had in some measure modified the\ntraditional character of Jewish worship. The purely emotional element\nacquired a prominence which it had never had before, the very word\nemployed to designate the purpose of the temple service--\"Erbauung,\"\nedification--was foreign to the ancient vocabulary of Judaism. In\nanother direction, too, they transgressed the limits prescribed\nby time-honored usage. We have referred above to the ceremony of\nconfirmation, which has since been generally adopted by congregations\nof the Reform school. On some festival or Sabbath--the Feast of Weeks,\ncelebrated about Whitsuntide, being commonly preferred--boys and girls\nof thirteen or fourteen are assembled in the temple, where, after having\nundergone an examination in the chief tenets of their religion, they\nare required to repeat aloud a confession of faith. The ceremony usually\nattracts a large congregation, and is one of the few institutions\nintroduced by the Reformers that have strongly seized upon the popular\nheart.\n\nThe natural concern of parents for the welfare of their offspring lends\na solemn interest to the occasion. At an age when the child's character\nbegins to assume definite outlines, when the reason unfolds, and the\nperils and temptations that attend every pilgrim on the valley road of\nlife, approach near, an instinctive prompting of the human heart leads\nus to forecast the future of sons and daughters, and to embrace with\njoy whatever means are placed at our disposal to guard them against\naberration and misfortune. To utilize the impressiveness of a great\npublic gathering, the sympathetic presence of parents and friends, the\nearnest monitions of a wise and revered teacher, in order to confirm\nthem in every virtuous endeavor and high resolve, is therefore fit and\nproper.*\n\n     * It deserves to be noted that the ceremony of confirmation\n     among the Jews took its origin in the schools of Seesen,\n     Frankfort-on-the-Main, etc. Indeed, the first Reformed\n     congregations were formed by natural accretion about these\n     schools. The influence of schools in giving character and\n     stability to new religious movements is a subject of\n     sufficient importance to deserve separate treatment.\n\nThe propriety of exacting a formal confession of faith, however, has\nbeen hotly disputed both by the orthodox and the more advanced liberals.\nIt is urged that Judaism is a practical, rather than a dogmatical\nreligion. Even the existence of a God is rather presupposed as a fact\nthan asserted as a matter of belief. Apart from this it is claimed that\na child at thirteen can hardly be prepared to comprehend the fundamental\nquestions of religion, much less to express convictions on problems so\ngrave and difficult. The age of reflection and consequently of doubt is\nyet to come, nor can any child on the day of its confirmation answer for\nits convictions ten years thereafter.\n\nThe progress of the Reform movement was thus of a character to awaken\ndistrust and fierce contention at every step. The conservative party\nwere enraged at what they considered unwarrantable encroachments upon\nthe traditions of an immemorial past. The radicals were dissatisfied\nwith the lack of substance and vitality in the teachings of the\nReformers, the shallow moralizing tone of their preachers, the\nsuperficial views of Judaism which they scattered among the multitude.\n\nIt may indeed be asked how could better things have been expected at\nthat time. The great facts of Jewish history were not yet clearly known,\nthe philosophy of Judaism was proportionately vague and uncertain. No\nJewish author had ever undertaken to write out the annals of his people;\nchaotic confusion reigned in their chronicles. To know what Judaism\nmight be it seemed necessary to ascertain in the first instance what it\nhad been; the past would prove the index of the future. Untoward events\nthat happened at this period gave a powerful impulse to historical\nresearch, and led to fruitful investigations in the domain of Judaism.\n\n\n\n\n\"HEP-HEP.\"\n\nThe great battles of 1813 and 1815, in which the German people regained\ntheir independence, effected a marvellous change in the spirits and\nsentiments of the nation.\n\nAccustomed for a long time to endure in silence the insults and\narrogance of a foreign despot, they had learned to despair of\nthemselves; a deadly lethargy held their energies in bondage and in\nthe fairy visions of poetry and the daring dreams of metaphysical\nspeculation they sought consolation for the pains and burdens of\nreality. The victories of Leipsic and Waterloo completely altered the\ntone of their feelings. It is a not uncommon fact that individuals\nusually the reverse of self-asserting exhibit, on occasions, an\noverweening self-consciousness, which is all the more pointed and\naggressive because of their secret and habitual self-distrust. We note\nwith curious interest the recurrence of the same obnoxious trait in the\nlife of a great nation. The novel sense of power intoxicated them, the\nGerman mind for the moment lost its poise; Romanticism flourished, the\nviolence of the Middle Ages was mistaken for manhood, and held up to the\nemulation of the present generation. Whatever was German was therefore\nesteemed good; whatever was foreign was therefore despised, or at best\nignored.\n\nThe Jews were made to feel the sharp sting of this feverish vanity;\ntheir Asiatic origin was cast up against them, though it might have been\nsupposed that a residence of fifteen centuries had given them some claim\nto dwell at peace with the children of the soil. In the year 1819 the\nassassination of Kotzebue added fresh fuel to the fervor of Teutonic\npassion. In August of that year a professor of Wurzburg, who had written\nin defence of the Jews, was publicly insulted by the students. A tumult\nensued, the cry \"Hep-Hep\"* arose on every side, and \"Death to the Jews\"\nwas the watchword. On the next day the magistrate ordered them to leave\nWurzburg, and four hundred in number they were driven beyond the city's\nlimits. Similar excesses occurred in Frankfort-on-the-Main, Meiningen,\nCarlsruhe, and elsewhere. Inflammatory pamphlets contributed to\nincrease the excitement.\n\n     * \"Hep-Hep\" has been explained as an abbreviation of the\n     words \"Hierosolyma est perdita\" (Jerusalem is perished).\n     Probably it is no more than one of those meaningless\n     exclamations which are not infrequent in college jargon.\n\nGrattenauer, Runs, Fries, had written to good effect. All the old\nfalsehoods were revived, the fable of the use of Christian blood at\nPassover among the rest. It seemed as though the genius of chivalry\nwhich the Romantic school had invoked had returned with its grim\nattendant train to renew the orgies of mediaeval persecution in the\nfull light of the nineteenth century. In November appeared the\n\"Judenspiegel,\" by Hundt-Radowsky. In this the author argues that\nthe murder of a Jew is neither criminal nor sinful. In order to avoid\nunnecessary bloodshed however, he proposes a more peaceful means of\nridding the German people of \"these vermin.\" His propositions, couched\nin plain language and delivered in sober earnest, are simply these:\nthe men to be castrated, and sold as slaves to the East Indies; the\nwomen--but the pen refuses to record the fiendish suggestion. It\nis mortifying to reflect that this infamous publication was widely\ncirculated and eagerly read.*\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCIENCE OF JUDAISM.\n\nThe sole reply which these occurrences elicited from the intelligent\nmembers of the Jewish community was a more strenuous effort on their\npart to complete the work of inward purification, and renewed zeal\nin the study of their historic past. They trusted that the image of\nJudaism, if presented in its proper light, would remove the odium which\nrested upon their people, and would furthermore become their sure guide\nin the work of reconstructing the religion of their ancestors.\n\nLate in the year 1819 a \"Society for the Culture and Science* of the\nJews\" was founded at Berlin. Its object was twofold: first to promote\na more effective prosecution of the \"Science of Judaism\"; secondly, to\nelevate the moral tone of the people, to counteract their prevailing\nbias toward commerce, and to encourage them in the pursuits of\nagriculture, the trades, and such of the professions as they had access\nto.\n\n     * Graetz, Geschichte der Juden, X. p. 361.\n\n     ** Throughout this article we use the word \"science\" in the\n     sense of the German Wissenschaft.\n\nThe science of Judaism embraces the departments of history, philosophy,\nand philology, the last being of special importance, since it presents\nthe key to the correct understanding of the two former. The means\nadopted to secure these objects were chiefly three,--a scientific\ninstitute, a journal whose columns were enriched by many contributions\nof enduring value, and a school in which instruction was imparted gratis\nto poor students and Partisans. Among the members of the society\nwe mention Edward Gans, the President, afterwards Professor of\nJurisprudence at the University of Berlin; the eminent critic, Dr. Zunz;\nthe poet, Heinrich Heine;* Moser; the noble Wholwill; and others.\n\n     * Heine was for some time an instructor in the society's\n     school. For an account of the Cultur-Verein, and of the\n     poet's cordial interest in its success, vide Strodtmann,\n     \"Heine's Leben und Werke,\" p. 237.\n\nUnfortunately, the public mind was not yet prepared to appreciate the\nlabors of these men; the society languished for want of support, and\nafter a few years its formal organization was dissolved. But in the\nbrief term of its existence it had accomplished its main object; the\nscience of Judaism was securely established, and it could safely be left\nto the industry of a few gifted individuals to cultivate and propagate\nit. The ten years following the \"Hep-Hep\" excitement witnessed a series\nof literary achievements whose importance it would be difficult\nto overrate. Zunz and Rappoport, the pioneers of the new science,\ndiscovered the thread by which they were enabled to push their way\nthrough the labyrinth of Jewish literature. Profound erudition,\ncritical acumen, and a subtle insight amounting almost to intuition, are\ndisplayed in their writings. A band of worthy disciples followed their\nlead. The chain of tradition, which had seemed hopelessly tangled, was\nunravelled; many of its missing links were ingeniously supplied, and the\nsequence of events, on the whole, satisfactorily determined. The dimness\nand vagueness that had hung over the history of the Jews was giving way,\nand the leading figures in the procession of past generations assumed\nclear and distinct outlines. At this time Jost was employed in writing\nthe first connected history of his people which had ever emanated from\nJewish sources.\n\n\n\n\nSCIENTIFIC THEOLOGY.\n\nWhile scholars were thus busy preparing the way for a new theory of\nJudaism based on the facts of its history, no efforts were made to press\nthe needful work of practical reform. Indeed, the hostile attitude of\nthe temporal rulers discouraged any such undertaking. The influence\nof Metternich swayed the councils of the German princes. The King of\nPrussia had broken the promise of constitutional government which he\nhad given to his people in the hour of need. The power of the Triple\nAlliance was prepared to crush out the faintest stirrings of political\nor religious liberty wherever they appeared.\n\nIn 1830, however, the revolution in France swept away a second time the\nthrone of the Bourbons, and changed the face of affairs. The courage\nof the liberal party revived everywhere; the bonds of despotism were\nrelaxed; a spirit of resistance to oppression arose, and grew in\nintensity from year to year, until it at last found vent in the\nconvulsions of 1848. The Jews felt the prophetic promise of a better\norder of things, and roused themselves to renewed exertions.\n\nWe have indicated in a previous article that the cause of political and\nof religious emancipation, so far at least as Germany was concerned,\nadvanced in parallel lines. In 1831 Gabriel Riesser addressed a\nmanifesto to the German people on the position of the Jews among them.*\nIt was a clear and forcible presentment of the case. The style is\ndignified, free from the taint of undue self-assertion, and equally free\nfrom misplaced modesty. He did not petition for a favor; he demanded a\nright. He disdained all measures of compromise; he dared to treat the\nquestion as one of national importance; he asked for simple justice,\nand would be content with nothing less. The German people rewarded his\nmanliness with their confidence,** and under his able leadership the\nstruggle for emancipation was finally brought to a triumphant close.\n\n     * Ueber die Stellung der Bekenner des Mosaischen Glaubens an\n     die Deutschen aller Confessionen.    Riesser's Works, II.\n\n     ** He was elected Vice-President of the first German\n     Parliament that met in the Pauls-Kirche in Frankfort.\n\nIn 1835 Abraham Geiger, then Rabbi of Wiesbaden, began the publication\nof a \"Scientific Journal for Jewish Theology,\" and with the appearance\nof this periodical the Reform movement entered into its present phase.\nIt was the purpose of Geiger and his coadjutors to prosecute the work of\nreligious renovation on the basis of the science of Judaism. This is\nthe distinguishing feature of the modern school of Jewish Reform.\nBut, before we proceed to sketch the principles of these \"scientific\ntheologians,\" let us rapidly advert to the brief series of events that\nmark the outward development of the new school.\n\nAround the standard which Geiger had unfurled a body of earnest men\nsoon collected, who agreed with him in the main in desiring to reconcile\nscience and life (_Wissenschaft und Leben_). They were mostly young men,\nfresh from the universities, profoundly versed in Hebrew and rabbinic\nlore, zealous lovers of their religion, equipped with the elements of\nancient and modern culture, and anxious to harmonize the conflicting\nclaims of both in their private lives and public station. Many of them\nunderwent severe privations for their convictions' sake. They were\ndistrusted by the various governments, without whose sanction no Jewish\nclergyman could enter upon his functions, and were made to feel, in\ncommon with other Liberals, the displeasure which their measures,\nmoderate though they were, had provoked in high quarters. They were\nsubjected to numberless petty annoyances, and even downright force\nwas employed to check their growing popularity. With the accession of\nFrederick William IV., the Ultramontanes and the party of retrogression\nin the Protestant Church completely gained the ascendant. Covered by\nthe shield of royal favor they offered the most audacious insults to the\nconscience and common-sense of the people, the right of free speech was\nimpaired, the press was shackled, while the most abject superstitions\nwere openly encouraged. The holy coat of Jesus, exhibited at the\ncathedral of Treves, attracted hundreds of thousands of pilgrims, and\nthe fame of the miraculous cures it had effected was diligently spread.\nBut the very violence of the extremists provoked a determined opposition\namong the intelligent classes. National unity and individual liberty\nwere loudly demanded, a German Catholic party was formed with the avowed\nobject of reorganizing Catholicism on the basis of the modern State.\nFree religious congregations began to crop up here and there, which,\nthough feeble as yet in their organization, were properly regarded as\nsignificant of the spirit of the times. On the waves of the turning tide\nthe young Rabbis were carried along. They were ardent patriots;\nthey too, were eager to see their religion wedded to the progressive\ntendencies of the age. The sympathies of the most enlightened of their\nbrethren were cheerfully extended to them, and high hopes were founded\non their success.\n\nIn 1844 they were sufficiently strong to meet in convention. Disclaiming\nthe functions of a religious synod, they assumed the character of a\nscientific body, assembled to promote the objects of truth in their\nspecial department. The discussions were indeed intended to secure\nharmony of sentiment and action, but the resolutions adopted were\nbinding neither upon the members themselves nor upon the congregations\nthey represented. Three times these conventions were repeated at\nBrunswick, Frankfort, and Breslau.\n\nIn 1845 a new congregation was formed, called \"The Reform Association of\nBerlin,\" which was recruited from the extreme left wing of the liberal\nJewish party. This congregation became noted for the introduction of a\nSunday service, a measure which eventually compelled them to entirely\nabandon the Jewish Sabbath. Samuel Holdheim, the ablest exponent of\nradical Judaism, was selected to be their preacher.\n\nThus far had the Reform movement proceeded, when, in 1848, the\nincidents of a great political revolution crowded every other issue into\ncomparative insignificance. The fall of Metter-nich before the intrigues\nof the camarilla and the fury of a popular uprising, the humiliation\nof the king of Prussia, the convocation of the national parliament, the\nBaden insurrection,--these were the events that absorbed the interest\nof the public. Political incompetency on the part of the leaders\nprecipitated the catastrophe of the revolution, and the hopes of the\nGerman people were again doomed to disappointment. Soon the reaction\nset in, a dreary period of stagnation followed, and the efforts of the\nfriends of freedom were paralyzed.\n\nThe Jewish Reformers were stricken down by the general reverse that had\novertaken the liberal party, nor have they since been able to recover\nfrom its stunning effects. Two revolutions, those of 1830 and 1848,\nmark the growth and the decline of \"scientific reform.\" Within the past\nthirty years a number of prominent reformers have been called to this\ncountry, and to them is due the spread of the movement in the United\nStates.\n\nThe difficulties which confronted them here were of the most formidable\nkind. The great bulk of the Jewish emigration to the United States were\noriginally drawn from the village congregations of the Fatherland, and\nwere by no means fair specimens of the intelligence and culture of the\nJewish race. While they displayed the qualities of energy, perseverance,\nand thrift, and soon acquired wealth and influence in the commercial\nworld, few only were fitted to appreciate a movement so thoroughly\nintellectual in its bearings as that which the reformers came to\npropagate amongst them. The mere externals of reform were readily\nadopted, but its spiritual essence escaped them. Accordingly, the\ndevelopment of Reformed Judaism on American soil presents no novel or\nstriking features for our consideration, and it may appropriately be\ntreated as a mere offshoot of the German stock.\n\n\n\n\nPRINCIPLES.\n\nEver since the appearance of Geiger's \"Scientific Journal,\" Jewish\nphilology and Jewish theology have been inseparably connected. To\nattempt a detailed account of the latter would involve the necessity\nof frequent reference to the former, an attempt in which we can hardly\nassume the reader's interest would bear us out. Unwilling to test his\npatience by such a course, we shall content ourselves with stating\nthe main principles of Reformed Judaism, and briefly indicating the\nsuccessive steps by which it advanced to its present positions.\n\nThe one great fact which the Science of Judaism has indisputably\nestablished was the fact of evolution in the sphere of the Jewish\nreligion. Each generation had legislated for itself. The authorities of\nthe Middle Ages had introduced changes in the ritual; the Talmud itself,\nthat corner-stone of orthodoxy, was a stupendous innovation on the\nsimplicity of Bible religion.* Applying the theory of evolution to their\nown case, the modern Rabbis assumed on their part the right to institute\nwhatever changes the exigencies of the age had rendered imperative.\n\n     * The theory of an Oral Law, delivered to Moses on Sinai and\n     handed down from generation to generation, until it was\n     finally embodied in the ordinance of the Talmudical\n     academies, is a palpable fiction, invented by the Talmudists\n     in order to lend to their own decisions the sanction of\n     Divine authorship.\n\nThe very fact of change, it is true, presupposes the existence of a\nsubstratum that remains unchangeable. What that substratum in the case\nof Judaism is claimed to be, we shall presently discover. The measures\nof the Reformers were in the main dictated by the sentiment of\npatriotism and the desire to remove the barriers that interposed between\nthem and their fellow-men. They would cease to be a \"state within-the\nstate,\" cease to separate themselves from the fellowship of the\nGentiles. Hence the leading proposition upon which Reformed Judaism is\nfounded. _The Jewish people have ceased to be a national unit, and will\nexist hereafter as a confederation of religious societies._\n\nIf the Jews have ceased to be a nation, then the Reformers must abandon\nthe idea of a national restoration. They did so. If they have ceased to\nbe a nation, they must give up the hope of a personal Messiah who should\nlead them back to the promised land. They did so> If they desired no\nlonger to dwell in seclusion they must abolish the dietary laws, which\nforbid them to taste of the food of Christians, though commanded by the\nTalmud and founded apparently on the authority of Moses. This, too,\nthey were willing to do. Other changes were inspired by the philosophic\nteachings of the day, and were undertaken with equal readiness. Thus\nthe doctrine of resurrection in the flesh was set aside. The fabric\nof ceremonial observances had been rudely shaken, and soon gave way\naltogether. Changes in the ritual followed. The prayer-book reflected\nthe gloomy spirit of a people whose life was embittered by constant\ntrials and dangers. Naturally they had turned to the past and the\nglories of Zion; the pomp of the sacrifices, the advent of the Messiah,\nthe future restoration of the kingdom of David, were the themes on which\nthey loved to dwell. All this was no longer suited to the temper of\nthe modern Jews, and radical alterations became necessary. Many of the\nfestivals and fast-days also were struck from the calendar. One of the\nmost distinctive customs of the Jews, the so-called rite of Abraham's\nCovenant, was boldly attacked, and though the abolition of this ancient\npractice is still strenuously resisted, there is little doubt that\nit will ultimately go with the rest. Samuel Holdheim advocated the\npropriety of intermarriage between Jews and Christians.\n\nThe manner in which these conclusions were reached may be described\nas follows. At first an attempt was made to found each new measure of\nReform on the authority of the Talmud. The Talmud was attacked with\nits own weapons. The fallacy of such a method becoming apparent, the\nauthority of the Talmud was entirely set aside. A return to the Bible\nwas next in order. But even the laws of the Bible proved to be no longer\ncapable of fulfilment in their totality. A distinction was therefore\ndrawn between the letter and the spirit of the Bible. The letter is\nman's handiwork, the spirit alone ought to be regarded as the Divine\nrule of faith. The \"spirit of the Bible\" is the essence of Judaism,\nwhich cannot change. In the process of evolution it constantly assumes\nnew forms, but remains substantially the same. Nor could any motives of\nexpediency, nor could even the ardent desire of political emancipation\nhave induced the Reformers to pursue the course they did, had they for\none moment believed it contrary to the substantial teachings of\nthe Bible. The spirit of the Bible is expressed in two fundamental\npropositions: the existence of one God, the author and governor of the\nuniverse; and the Messianic mission of the people of Israel. The\nformer is no longer the exclusive property of Judaism, the latter is\ndistinctively its own; both together express the simple creed of the\nReformers.\n\n\n\n\nPROSPECTS.\n\nIf now we cast a glance upon the present aspect of Reformed Judaism we\nare confronted by a state of affairs that by no means corresponds to\nthe great anticipations which were connected with the movement in its\nearlier stages. The ancient institutions have been cleared away,--that\nwas unavoidable; they had long been tottering to their ruin,--but\nan adequate substitute for what was taken has not been provided. The\nleaders have penetrated to the foundations of their religion, but\nupon these bare foundations they have erected what is at best a mere\ntemporary structure incapable of affording them permanent shelter and\nprotection. The temper of the Reform school has been critical.\nIts members were admirably fitted to analyze and to dissect; their\nscholarship is unquestionably great; the stainless purity of their lives\nhas elevated the character of their people and entitled them to sincere\nrespect But they lacked the constructive genius needed for the creation\nof new institutions. In the year 1822 Wholwill declared that \"the Jews\nmust raise themselves and their principle to the level of science.\nScience is the one bond that alone can unite the whole human race.\" The\nemphasis thus placed on science has continued to distinguish the Reform\nmovement down to the present day. In the sphere of religion, however, it\nis not sufficient to apprehend the abstract truth of ideas with the\nhelp of intellect, but it is necessary to array these ideas in concrete\nforms, in order that they may warm the heart and stimulate the will.\n\nWe hold it erroneous to believe that the age of symbolism is passed. The\nprovince of religion is to bring the human soul into communion with\nthe Infinite. In the lower religions the conception of the Infinite was\nmeagre and insufficient and the symbols in use proportionately gross.\nAt the present day it is the ideal of moral perfection that alone is\ncapable of exciting our devotion and kindling our enthusiasm. Now it is\ntrue that the material symbolism of the churches and the synagogues, the\nvenerable, the bread and wine, the scrolls of the Pentateuch tricked\nout in fanciful vestments, fail to appeal to the sympathies of many\neducated men and women of our time; not, however, because they are\nsymbols, but because they are inadequate symbols, because of an almost\npainful disparity between their earthy origin and the vastness of the\nspiritual ideas which they are intended to suggest. There is, on the\nother hand, a species of symbolism peculiarly adapted to the needs of\nthe present generation, and which, if properly understood, might be\nemployed to incalculable advantage in the interest of a revival of the\nreligious sentiment. We allude to the symbolism of association.\n\nThe tendency to associate the efforts of individuals in corporate action\nhas never been more markedly displayed than in our own day. So long as\nsuch associations confine themselves to certain finite objects, they are\nmere social engines organized with a view to utility and power, and\nwith such we are not concerned. The characteristic of symbols is their\nsuggestiveness. They have a meaning in themselves, but they suggest\nillimitable meanings beyond their scope. Now a form of organization is\nnot only conceivable, but has actually been attempted, that fully meets\nthe requirements of the symbolic character. The Christian Church is\ndesigned to be such an organization. Not only does it propose to unite\nits members and to satisfy their spiritual needs during the term of\ntheir sojourn on earth, but it aspires to typify the union of all saints\nunder the sovereignty of Jesus, and thus to give to the believer a\npresentiment of the felicity and perfection of the higher world. In\nlike manner the Hebrews have been acquainted with the symbolism of\nassociation from a very early period of their history. If they delight\nto style themselves the chosen people, the meaning of that phrase, so\noften misunderstood, is purely symbolical.\n\nRecognizing the fact that the majority of mankind are at no time\nprepared to entertain the ideals of the few, they undertook to work out\namong themselves a nobler conception of religion and a loftier morality,\ntrusting that the force of their example would in the end bring about\nthe universal adoption of their faith and ethical code. In this sense\nthe choice of Israel was interpreted by the Prophets. They believed that\ntheir selection by the Deity imposed upon them heavier responsibilities,\nand regarded it in the light of an obligation rather than a privilege.\nWhat the statue is to the ideal of beauty, a whole people resolved to\nbe in relation to the ideal of the good. The same conception still\ndominates the thoughts of the Reformers, and is expressed by them in\ntheir doctrine of Israel's messianic mission. They claim that the\nJews have been for the past three thousand years the \"Swiss guard of\nmonotheism.\" They still believe themselves to be the typical people,\nand their firm persuasion on this head is the one strong feature of\nthe Reformers' creed. If they will use their world-wide association to\nillustrate anew the virtues for which their race became renowned in the\npast,--and we refer especially to the purity of the sexual relations\namong them, their pious reverence for domestic ties,--they may still\nbecome, as they aspire to do, exemplars of purity to be joyfully\nimitated by others. If they will use it in the spirit of their ancient\nlawgiver to tone down the harsh distinctions of wealth and poverty, to\nestablish juster relations between the strong and weak, in brief, to\nharmonize the social antagonisms of modern life, they may confer an\ninestimable benefit upon mankind. But the manner in which the symbolism\nof association might be applied to invigorate the religious sentiment,\nand to expel the coldness of the times by the fervor of a new\nenthusiasm, is a subject of too vast dimensions to be thus summarily\ndespatched, and we shall hope to recur to it on some future occasion.*\n\n     * In an article on the religious aspects of the social\n     question.\n\nThe present condition of liberal Judaism is strongly akin to that of\nliberal Christianity. The old is dead, the new has not been born. It\nis hardly safe to predict what possible developments the future may yet\nhave in store. As regards the Jews, however, it is right to add that\nsuch changes as have taken place in the constitution of their religion\nhave not brought them in any sense nearer to Christianity. On the\ncontrary, since the belief in a personal Messiah has been dropped, the\nhope of their conversion has become more vague and visionary than\never. Those whom the worship of the synagogue and the temple no longer\nattracts either become wholly sceptical and indifferent, or, as is often\nthe case, transfer their allegiance to the new humanitarian doctrine\nwhich is fast assuming the character of a religion in the ardor it\ninspires and the strong spiritual union it cements. For the great body\nof the Jews, however, the central doctrine of Judaism remains unshaken,\nand doubtless, so long as Christianity exists, Judaism as a distinct\ncreed will coexist with it. The modern Jews, like their ancestors,\nbelieve that their mission is not yet ended, and they await with\npatience the rising of some new man of genius amongst them, who will\ncombine the qualities of the popular leader with.'the attributes of\nthe scholar, and will give body and form to the ideas elaborated by the\nReformers. As a religious society they desire to remain distinct. But\nas citizens, they are eager to remove whatever distinctions still hamper\ntheir intercourse with their neighbors of other creeds. Never has the\ndesire to return to Palestine and retrieve their lost nationality been\nmore foreign to their sentiments than at the present day, though recent\nspeculations have misled many to believe otherwise. They know they can\nno more return thither. They would not if they could. They love the land\nof their birth; they wish to join their labors with those of others in\npromoting the progress of the entire human race. They have ceased to\nregret the past, and desire nothing more earnestly than to live in the\npresent and for the future.\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Creed And Deed, by Felix Adler\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\nE-text prepared by Larry B. Harrison and the Project Gutenberg Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 32251-h.htm or 32251-h.zip:\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32251/32251-h/32251-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32251/32251-h.zip)\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n      Text enclosed between equal signs was in bold face\n      in the original (=bold=).\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPLIED PHYSIOLOGY\n\nIncluding the Effects of Alcohol and Narcotics\n\nby\n\nFRANK OVERTON, A.M., M.D.\n\nLate House Surgeon to the City Hospital, New York\n\nPrimary Grade\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNew York  Cincinnati  Chicago\nAmerican Book Company\n\nCopyright, 1898, 1910, by\nFrank Overton\n\nOV. PHYSIOL. (PRIM.)\nE-P 42\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThis primary text-book of applied physiology follows a natural order\nof treatment. In each subject elementary anatomical facts are\npresented in a manner which impresses function rather than form, and\nfrom the form described derives the function. The facts and principles\nare then applied to everyday life. Anatomy and pure physiology make\nclear and fix hygienic points, while applied physiology lends interest\nto the otherwise dry facts of physiology and anatomy. From the great\nrange of the science there are included only those subjects which are\ndirectly concerned in the growth and development of children.\n\nThe value of a primary book depends largely upon the language used. In\nbringing the truths within the comprehension of children, the author\nhas made sparing use of the complex sentence. He has made the\nsentences short and simple in form, and logical in arrangement.\n\nA child grasps new ideas mainly as they appeal directly to the senses.\nFor this reason, physiological demonstrations are indispensable.\nSubjects for demonstrations are not given, because they cannot be\nperformed by the children; but the teacher should make free use of the\nseries given in the author's advanced physiology.\n\nCuts and diagrams are inserted where they are needed to explain the\ntext. They are taken from the author's _Applied Physiology,\nIntermediate Grade_. Each was chosen, not for artistic effect, but\nbecause of its fitness to illustrate a point. Most of the cuts are\nadapted for reproduction on the blackboard.\n\nThe effects of alcohol and other narcotics are treated with special\nfulness. The subject is given a fair and judicial discussion, and\nthose conclusions are presented which are universally accepted by the\nmedical profession. But while this most important form of intemperance\nis singled out, it should be remembered that the breaking of any of\nnature's laws is also a form of intemperance, and that the whole study\nof applied physiology is to encourage a more healthy and a more noble\nand self-denying mode of life.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER                                        PAGE\n\n       I. CELLS                                     7\n\n      II. OF WHAT CELLS ARE MADE                   10\n\n     III. DIGESTION OF FOOD IN THE MOUTH           13\n\n      IV. DIGESTION OF FOOD IN THE STOMACH         17\n\n       V. FOODS                                    23\n\n      VI. TOBACCO                                  31\n\n     VII. FERMENTATION                             37\n\n    VIII. KINDS OF STRONG DRINK                    42\n\n      IX. THE BLOOD                                49\n\n       X. BREATHING, HEAT, AND CLOTHING            59\n\n      XI. THE SKIN AND KIDNEYS                     75\n\n     XII. THE NERVES, SPINAL CORD, AND BRAIN       84\n\n    XIII. THE SENSES                              100\n\n     XIV. BONES AND JOINTS                        109\n\n      XV. MUSCLES                                 115\n\n     XVI. DISEASE GERMS                           123\n\n    XVII. PREVENTING SICKNESS                     132\n\n    INDEX                                         139\n\n\n\n\nAPPLIED PHYSIOLOGY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nCELLS\n\n\nOur body is made of many parts. Its head thinks. Its legs carry it,\nand its arms and hands take hold of things. The leg cannot do the work\nof the arm, nor the head do the work of the hand; but each part does\nonly its own work.\n\n=1. The simplest animal.=--Some animals have parts like a man's; but\nthese parts are fewer. No animal has arms or hands like a man. A fish\nhas little fins in place of legs and arms, while a worm has not even a\nhead, but only a body, and yet it moves. An oyster has only a body and\ncannot move. The simplest of all animals is very small. A thousand of\nthem would not reach an inch. Yet each is a complete animal. It is\ncalled the _ameba_. It is only a lump of jelly. It can put out any part\nof its body like an arm and take a lump of food. This same arm can eat\nthe food, too. It can also put out any part of its body like a leg and\nmove by rolling the rest of its body into the leg. It can do some things\nbetter than a man can do them, for any part of its body can do all kinds\nof work. So the ameba grows and moves and does as it likes.\n\n[Illustration: =Different forms of an ameba (x400).=]\n\n[Illustration: =Cells from the human body (x200).=\n\n  _a_ A colored cell from the eye.\n  _b_ A white blood cell.\n  _c_ A connective tissue cell.\n  _d_ A cell from the lining of the mouth.\n  _e_ Liver cells.\n  _f_ A muscle cell from the intestine.]\n\n=2. Cells.=--A man's finger moves and grows something like a separate\nanimal, but it must keep with the rest of the body. A little piece of\na finger moves and grows, too. If you should look at a finger, or any\nother part of your body, through a microscope, you would see that it\nis composed of little lumps of jelly. Each little lump looks like an\nameba. We call each lump a cell. The cells make up the finger.\n\n=3. What cells do.=--Each cell acts much as an ameba does. From the\nblood it gets food and air and takes them in through any part of its\nbody. It also grows and moves. But the cells are not free to do as\nthey wish, for they are all tied together in armies by very fine\nstrings. We call these strings _connective tissue_. One army of cells\nmakes the skin, and other armies make the bones and flesh. Some armies\nmake the fingers, and some the legs. Every part of our body is made up\nof armies of separate cells.\n\n=4. The mind.=--The body is a home for the mind. The cells obey the\nmind. The mind pays the cells by feeding them and taking good care\nof them. When an army of cells is hurt, the body feels sick, and\nthen the mind tells the whole body to rest until the cells are well\nagain. When we study about a man's body, we learn about the separate\ncells in his body.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Our body is made up of many small parts.\n\n     2. The smallest parts are each like a little animal, and are\n          called _cells_.\n\n     3. Each cell eats and grows.\n\n     4. One army of cells makes a finger and another a leg, and so on\n          through the body.\n\n     5. The mind lives in the body.\n\n     6. The mind takes care of the cells.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nOF WHAT CELLS ARE MADE\n\n\nThe cells of our body are made of five common things. You would know\nall these things if you should see them.\n\n=5. Water.=--The first thing in the cells is _water_. Water is\neverywhere in the body. Even the teeth have water. Most of our flesh\nis water. Without water we should soon shrink up. Our flesh would be\nstiff like bone and no one could live.\n\n[Illustration: =The body is made of these five things.=]\n\n[Illustration: =Fat tissue (x100).= The liquid fat is stored in living\npockets.]\n\n=6. Albumin.=--_Second_, next to water, something like the white of an\negg makes the most of the body. The white of an egg is _albumin_.\nWhen dried it is like gelatine or glue. Albumin makes the most of the\nsolid part of each cell. Lean meat and cheese are nearly all albumin.\nWhen it is heated it becomes harder and turns white. The word albumin\nmeans white. Dry albumin is hard and tough, but in the living cells it\nis dissolved in water and is soft like meat. It is the only living\nsubstance in the body, and it alone gives it strength.\n\n=7. Fat.=--_Third_, next to albumin, the most of the body is fat. Fat\ndoes not grow inside the cells of the body, but it fills little\npockets between the cells. Fat does not give strength. It makes the\nbody round and handsome. It also makes the cells warm and keeps them\nfrom getting hurt.\n\n=8. Sugar.=--_Fourth_, sugar also is found in the body. Sugar is made\nout of starch. When we eat starch it changes to sugar. Starch and sugar\nare much alike. We eat a great deal of starch and sugar, but they are\nsoon used in warming the body. Only a little is in the body at once.\n\n=9. Minerals.=--_Fifth_, there are also some minerals in the body.\nWhen flesh is burned they are left as _ashes_. Salt, lime, iron, soda,\nand potash are all found in the body.\n\n[Illustration: =Starch grains (x400).=\n\n  _a_, of potato.\n  _b_, of corn.]\n\nEverything in the body is either water, albumin, fat, sugar, or\nminerals. These things are also our food. We eat them mixed together\nin bread, meat, eggs, milk, and other foods.\n\n=10. Life.=--Our food is not alive, but after we eat it the body makes\nit alive. We do not know how it does it. When the body dies we cannot\nput life into it again. There is life in each cell.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. The body is made of five things: water, albumin, fat, sugar,\n          and minerals.\n\n     2. Water is mixed with all parts of the body.\n\n     3. Albumin makes the living part of each cell.\n\n     4. Fat is in pockets between the cells. It warms the cells and\n          keeps them from being hurt.\n\n     5. Sugar is made from starch. It warms the body.\n\n     6. The minerals in the body are salt, lime, iron, soda, and potash.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nDIGESTION OF FOOD IN THE MOUTH\n\n\n=11. Food of the cells.=--All the cells of the body work and wear out.\nThey must eat and keep growing. The food of the cells is the blood.\nWater, albumin, fat, sugar, and minerals are in the blood. The cells\neat these things and grow. All food must be one or more of these five\nthings. Before they reach the blood, they must all be changed to a\nliquid. A few cells of the body are set aside to do this work of\nchanging them. Changing food into blood is digestion.\n\n=12. Cooking.=--Cooking begins digestion. It softens and dissolves\nfood. It makes food taste better. Most food is unfit for use until it\nis cooked. Poor cooking often makes food still worse for use. Food\nshould always be soft and taste good after cooking. Softening food by\ncooking saves the mouth and stomach a great deal of work. The good\ntaste of the food makes it pleasant for them to digest it. We must cut\nour food into small pieces before we eat it. If we eat only a small\npiece at a time we shall not eat too fast. If we cut our food fine we\ncan find any bones and other hard things, and can keep them from\ngetting inside the body.\n\n=13. Chewing.=--Digestion goes on in the mouth. The mouth does three\nthings to food. _First_, it mixes and grinds it between the teeth.\n\n_Second_, it pours water over the food through fine tubes. The water of\nthe mouth is called the saliva. The saliva makes the food a thin paste.\n\n_Third_, the saliva changes some of the starch to sugar. Starch must\nbe all changed to sugar before it can feed the cells.\n\n=14. Too fast eating.=--Some boys fill their mouths with food. Then\nthey cannot chew their food and cannot mix saliva with it. They\nswallow their food whole, and then their stomachs have to grind it.\nThe saliva cannot mix with the food and so it is too dry in the\nstomach. Then their stomachs ache, and they are sick. Eating too fast\nand too much makes children sick oftener than anything else.\n\nBirds swallow their food whole, for they have no teeth. Instead, a\nstrong gizzard inside grinds the food. We have no gizzards, and so we\nmust grind our food with our teeth.\n\n=15. Teeth.=--We have two kinds of teeth. The front teeth are sharp\nand cut the food; the back teeth are flat and rough and grind it. If\nyou bite nuts or other hard things you may break off a little piece of\na tooth. Then the tooth may decay and ache.\n\nAfter you eat, some food will sometimes stick to the teeth. Then it\nmay decay and make your breath smell bad. After each meal always pick\nthe teeth with a wooden toothpick. Your teeth will also get dirty and\nbecome stained unless you clean them. Always brush your teeth with\nwater every morning. This will also keep them from decaying.\n\n[Illustration: =Digestive organs of a bird.=\n\n  _a_ esophagus or swallowing tube.\n  _b_ crop or bag for carrying food.\n  _c_ stomach.\n  _d_ intestine.\n  _e_ gizzard or food grinder.]\n\n=16. Swallowing.=--When food has been chewed and mixed with saliva\nuntil it is a paste, it is ready to be swallowed. The tongue pushes\nthe food into a bag just back of the mouth. We call the bag the\n_pharynx_. Then the pharynx squeezes it down a long tube and into the\nstomach. The nose and windpipe also open into this bag, but both are\nclosed by little doors while we swallow. We cannot breathe while we\nswallow. If the doors are not shut tightly, some food gets into the\nwindpipe and chokes us.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. We eat to feed the cells of the body.\n\n     2. All food must be made into blood.\n\n     3. Changing food to blood is digestion.\n\n     4. Cooking softens food and makes it taste good.\n\n     5. Food is ground fine in the mouth, and mixed with saliva to\n          form a paste. Some of its starch is changed to sugar.\n\n     6. If food is only half chewed the stomach has to grind it.\n\n     7. When we swallow, the tongue pushes the food into a bag back of\n          the mouth and the bag squeezes it down a long tube to the\n          stomach.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nDIGESTION IN THE STOMACH\n\n\n=17. The stomach.=--When food is swallowed it goes to the stomach. The\nstomach is a thin bag. In a man it holds about three pints. Like the\nmouth, it does three things to the food.\n\n[Illustration: =Gastric glands in the stomach (x200).=\n\nThe cells _a_ and _b_, form the juice. The fibers _c_, bind the tubes\nin place.]\n\n_First_, the stomach gently stirs and mixes the food.\n\n_Second_, it pours a fluid over the food. This fluid is called the\n_gastric juice_. The gastric juice is sour and bitter.\n\n_Third_, the gastric juice changes some of the albumin of food to a\nliquid form.\n\nIf the mouth has done its work well, the stomach does its work easily\nand we do not know it. But if the mouth has eaten food too fast and\nhas not chewed it well, then the stomach must do the work of the mouth\ntoo. In that case it gets tired and aches.\n\n=18. The intestine.=--The food stays in the stomach only a little\nwhile. All the time a little keeps trickling into a long coil of tube.\nThis tube is called the _intestine_ or the _bowels_. Three or four\nhours after a hearty meal the stomach is empty. Some of the food has\nbeen changed to a liquid, but most of it has only been ground to\nsmaller pieces, and mixed with a great deal of water. Now it all must\nbe changed to a liquid.\n\n=19. What the intestine does.=--Like the mouth and stomach, the\nintestine does three things.\n\n_First_, it mixes the food and makes it pass down the tube.\n\n_Second_, two sets of cells behind the stomach make two liquids and\npour them into the intestine. One set of cells is the _sweetbread_, or\n_pancreas_, and its liquid is the _pancreatic juice_. The other is the\n_liver_ and its fluid is the _bile_.\n\n_Third_, the pancreatic juice makes three changes in food. _First_,\nlike the mouth, it changes starch to sugar. _Second_, like the\nstomach, it makes albumin a liquid. _Third_, it divides fat into fine\ndrops. These drops then mix with water and do not float on its top.\n\n=20. Bile.=--The bile is yellow and bitter. It helps the pancreatic\njuice do its work. It also helps to keep the inside of the intestine\nclean.\n\n=21. Digestion of water and minerals.=--Water and the mineral parts of\nfood do not need to be changed at all, but can become part of the\nblood just as they are. Seeds and husks and tough strings of flesh all\npass the length of the intestine and are not changed.\n\n=22. How food gets into the blood.=--By the time food is half way down\nthe intestine it is mostly liquid and ready to become part of the\nblood. This liquid soaks through the sides of the intestine and into\nthe blood tubes. At last the food reaches the end of the intestine.\nMost of its liquid has then soaked into the blood tubes and only some\nsolid waste is left.\n\n=23. Work of the liver.=--The food is now in the blood, but has not\nbecome a part of it. It is carried to the liver. There the liver changes\nthe food to good blood, and then the blood hurries on and feeds the\ncells of the body. Spoiled food may be swallowed and taken into the\nblood with the good food. The liver takes out the poisons and sends them\nback again with the bile. The liver keeps us from getting poisoned.\n\n=24. Bad food.=--Sometimes the stomach and intestine cannot digest the\nfood. They cannot digest green apples, but they try hard to do so.\nThey stir the apples faster and faster until there is a great pain.\nSometimes the stomach throws up the food and then the pain and\nsickness stop. Spoiled food makes us sick in the same way.\n\n=25. Too fast eating.=--When the food stays too long in the stomach or\nintestine it sours, or decays, just as it does outside of the body.\nThis makes us very sick. When we eat too much, or when we do not chew\nthe food to small pieces, the stomach may be a long time in digesting\nthe food. Then it may become sour and make us sick.\n\n=26. Biliousness.=--When the food is poor or becomes sour, it is\npoorly digested. Then the liver has more work to do, and does not\nchange the food to blood as it should. It also lets some of the sour\npoisons pass by it. These poison the whole body and make the head\nache. We call this _biliousness_. The tongue is then covered with a\nwhite or yellow coat and the mouth tastes bad. These are signs of\nsickness. The stomach and liver are out of order.\n\n=27. Rules for eating.=--If we eat as we should, our stomach will\ndigest its food. We must follow three rules.\n\n_First_, we must chew the food in the mouth until all the lumps are\nfine. Then the food will be ready for the stomach.\n\n_Second_, we must eat slowly. If we eat fast we cannot chew the food\nwell. The stomach cannot take care of food if it comes too fast. We\nmust swallow all of one mouthful before we put another into the mouth.\n\n_Third_, we must eat only at meal times. The stomach needs a rest.\nEven a little candy, or apples, or nuts will keep the stomach at work,\nand tire it out. A child needs to eat more often than his father. So,\nbesides his meals, he should have something to eat in the middle of\nthe morning and some more in the afternoon. But he should not be\neating at all hours. He ought not to eat little bits just before\ndinner, for that spoils his meal.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. The stomach and intestine stir and rub the food, and mix it\n          with juices.\n\n     2. The juices change albumin to a liquid, and starch to sugar.\n          They also change fat to the form of tiny drops.\n\n     3. The digested food soaks through the sides of the intestine\n          into the blood tubes.\n\n     4. The blood carries the food to the liver.\n\n     5. The liver changes food to blood.\n\n     6. Blood goes to all parts of the body and feeds the cells.\n\n     7. The liver keeps poisons from getting into the blood.\n\n     8. Water and minerals become a part of the blood without being\n          digested.\n\n     9. When food is not well digested, the liver cannot make it into\n          good blood. This makes us bilious.\n\n     10. If food is not soon digested it sours and decays. This makes\n          us sick.\n\n     11. We can make food digest quickly by chewing it well and eating\n          slowly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nFOODS\n\n\n=28. Kinds of food.=--The cells of the body need water, albumin, fat,\nsugar, and minerals for food. We sometimes eat sugar alone, and we\ndrink pure water. But most of our food is a mixture of all five kinds\nof food. Food comes from animals and plants.\n\n=29. Milk=.--Milk is the best food known. It contains just enough\nwater, albumin, fat, sugar, and minerals. Babies and young mammals\nlive on milk alone. A man can live upon four quarts of milk a day. In\nsickness, milk is the very best food for men, as well as for babies.\n\nThe albumin of milk becomes hard when the milk sours. This makes\n_cheese_. The fat of milk rises to the top. We call it _cream_. When\ncream is churned, the pure fat comes together in a lump. Pure fat of\nmilk is called _butter_. Cheese and butter are both good foods.\n\n=30. Eggs.=--Eggs are also good food. The white of an egg is almost pure\nalbumin. The yolk is albumin and fat. Eggs have no starch or sugar.\nThey are not a perfect food, for some sugar must be eaten. But they can\nbe quickly digested and they produce a great deal of strength.\n\n=31. Meat.=--Meat contains albumin and fat, but no sugar. Fish,\noysters, and clams are like meat. They all make good food. Boys and\ngirls should eat milk, eggs, and meat. These foods are the best to\ngive strength to the body. Nearly all food from animals is more\nquickly digested and gives more strength than food from plants.\n\n=32. Bread.=--White bread is a food made from wheat. The wheat is\nground to flour. Flour is mixed with water, and yeast is added. The\nyeast makes a gas, and the gas puffs up the wet flour and makes it\nfull of holes. The holes make the bread _light_. Then bread is baked.\nRye or corn meal makes good bread. Cake, biscuit, and pancakes are\nmuch like bread. Sometimes in place of yeast, baking powder is used to\nmake the bread or cake light.\n\n=33. Meal.=--Oatmeal, corn meal, and cracked wheat and rice are\nsometimes boiled, and eaten with milk. Bread, biscuit, oatmeal, and\ncorn meal are made from grain. All are very much alike. The cooking\nmakes them look and taste different, but yet they are nearly the same.\n\n=34. Why we need grain food.=--All kinds of grain have much albumin,\nbut only a little fat. But all have a great deal of starch. By\ndigestion the starch becomes sugar. Grain is a good food because it\nhas starch or sugar. Animal foods have no sugar, so we eat grain food\nwith them. The two together make the most nourishing food. Potatoes\nhave a great deal of starch and only a little albumin. They also are\ngood food with meat.\n\n[Illustration: =A healthy man needs as much food as this every day.=]\n\nA person cannot live well upon plant food alone, for it has too much\nstarch and sugar, and too little albumin and fat. We need nearly equal\nparts of albumin, fat, and sugar. A mixture of bread, meat, eggs,\nvegetables, and milk makes the best food.\n\n=35. Fruit.=--Fruit, like apples, peaches, and plums all have sugar.\nThey taste good, and give us an appetite for other kinds of food.\nThey have little albumin or fat.\n\n=36. Salt.=--There is enough mineral matter in all food, and we do not\nhave to eat iron or lime or soda. But we do need some more salt. Even\nanimals need salt. Salt makes food taste good, and helps its digestion.\n\n[Illustration: =People are made sick by drinking water from such a\nwell.=]\n\n=37. Water.=--Water is also a food, for it forms the most of our\nbodies. All food has water. Even dry crackers contain it.\n\n=38. Pure water.=--Water in a well runs through the dirty earth, and\nyet is clear and pure. This is because sand holds back the dirt. But\nsometimes slops from the house, and water from the barn yard, soak\nthrough the soil until the sand is full. Then the well water will be\ndirty and poisonous. People are often made sick by drinking such\nwater. In cities the dirt fills all the soil and spoils the water. So\nthe water must be brought from the country in large pipes.\n\nWater in lead pipes takes up some of the lead. Lead is a poison. You\nshould let the water run off from a pipe a little while before you use\nit. Good water is clear and has no smell or taste. Dirty or yellow\nwater, or water with a taste or smell, is not fit for use.\n\n=39. Tea and coffee.=--Tea and coffee are steeped in water and used as a\ndrink. The drink is the water. The tea and coffee are neither food nor\ndrink. They cause the cells of the body to do more work, and at the same\ntime they take away the feeling of being tired. They do not give\nstrength to the body, but are like a whip and make the body work harder.\n\n=40. The appetite.=--When we have so many kinds of food, what kind is\nbest for us? The taste of food tells us the kind of food to eat. Bread\nand meat, and such plain foods, always taste good, and we never get\ntired of them. Sugar tastes good until we get enough. Any more makes us\nsick. More than enough sugar or starch is found in bread and potatoes.\n\n[Illustration: =One kind of intemperance.=]\n\nIf we can eat food day after day, without getting tired of it, the\nfood is good for us. If we get tired of its taste, either the food is\nnot good for us or we are eating too much. Bad tasting or bad smelling\nfood is always dangerous.\n\nWe can tell how much food to eat by our _hunger_ or _appetite_. We can\nalways feel when we have enough. Then is the time to stop.\n\nSometimes we eat plain bread and meat until we have enough, and then\nsweet cake or pie is brought in. Then we have a false appetite for\nsweet things. If the sweet things had not made a false hunger, we\nshould have had enough to eat. But the false appetite makes us want\nmore, and so we eat too much, and sometimes get sick from it.\n\n=41. Intemperance.=--Eating for the sake of a false appetite is\n_intemperance_. Drinking strong drink for the sake of its taste is a\ncommon form of intemperance. But eating too much preserves, pie, and\ncandy is intemperance too, and can do a great deal of harm. A little\npie, or pudding, or candy, is good, because we can eat our sugar as\nwell that way as in bread. But we should eat only a little.\n\n=42. Food and Diseases.=--If our food is dirty or is handled with\ndirty hands, or is put into dirty dishes, there may be disease germs\nin it. Our food should always be clean, and we should have our hands\nclean when we handle it or eat it.\n\nStorekeepers sometimes keep fruit and vegetables out of doors where\nstreet dust may blow upon it. This dust is often full of disease\ngerms. Flies may also bring disease germs to the food. If food is\nkept where dust and flies can get at it, we ought not to buy it.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Food is a mixture of water, albumin, fat, starch or sugar, and\n          minerals.\n\n     2. Animal foods, like milk, eggs, and meat, have albumin and fat\n          in the best form.\n\n     3. Plant food has albumin and fat, but it has very much starch or\n          sugar. So, taken together with animal food, it makes a\n          complete food.\n\n     4. Lime, iron, soda, and salt are found in all foods, but we must\n          add a little more salt to food.\n\n     5. Water is found in all food, but we must drink some besides.\n\n     6. Dirty water, or water with a taste or smell, is not fit for use.\n\n     7. Taste tells us what kind of food to use.\n\n     8. Hunger, or the appetite, tells us how much food to use.\n\n     9. There can be a false hunger for sweet things. This may lead us\n          to eat too much.\n\n     10. Eating too much of sweet things is one form of intemperance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTOBACCO\n\n\n=43. Harmful eating.=--Men often eat for the fun of eating, and\nsometimes they eat harmful things. They chew tobacco and drink strong\ndrinks, because they like their taste, just as a child eats candy.\n\n=44. Tobacco.=--Men have always drunk strong drink. Within the last\nfour hundred years, men have learned another way to please a wrong\ntaste. When Columbus discovered America, the Indians were using\ntobacco. They taught the Spaniards how to smoke it, and since then\nalmost the whole world has used it.\n\nTobacco is the leaf of a tall plant. It needs a better soil than any\nother crop. It takes the richness from the ground, and spoils it for\nother crops.\n\n=45. Nicotine.=--About 1/30 of each tobacco leaf is a strong poison.\nThis poison is called _nicotine_. A drop or two of it, or as much of\nit as is in a strong cigar, will kill a man. It gives the tobacco its\nsmell and taste. Men use tobacco for the sake of a poison.\n\n=46. Why men use tobacco.=--Men give queer reasons for using tobacco.\nOne smokes for its company, another because he is with company. One\nsmokes to make his brain think better, and another to keep himself\nfrom thinking. Some use tobacco to help digest their food, and others\nuse it to keep themselves from eating so much. Boys smoke to make\nthemselves look like men. The real reason for using tobacco is that\nmen learn to like its taste, and do not care if it harms them.\n\n=47. Spitting.=--Tobacco in any form makes the saliva flow. Men do not\ndare swallow it, for it makes them sick. So they spit it out. No one\nlikes to see this. It is a dirty and filthy habit. Besides, the saliva\nis lost, and cannot help digest food.\n\nTobacco stains the teeth brown. You can always tell a tobacco chewer\nby his teeth. His breath will smell of tobacco, and even his clothes\nare offensive to the nose.\n\n=48. Tobacco lessens strength.=--Tobacco always makes a person sick at\nthe stomach, at first. After a while, he becomes used to it, and an\nordinary chew or smoke does not make him sick. But a large chew or\nsmoke will always make him sick again. When a person is sick from\ntobacco he is very weak. Even if he is not sick, the tobacco poisons\nhis muscles and makes his strength less. When a man trains for a hard\nrace he never uses tobacco.\n\n=49. Tobacco hinders digestion.=--Tobacco and its smoke both have a\nburning taste. This makes the throat sore, and causes a cough. Tobacco\ndoes not help the stomach to digest food. Smokers and chewers often\nhave headaches and coated tongues. These are signs of a poor digestion.\n\n=50. Effect upon the young.=--Tobacco is more harmful to boys than to\nmen. If boys smoke they cannot run fast or long. They cannot work hard\nwith their brains or hands. They do not grow fast, and are liable to\nhave weak hearts.\n\n=51. Tobacco harms others.=--Many persons do not like the smell of\ntobacco, and no one likes the spit. No one should use it in the\npresence of others. The tobacco user's pleasure should not spoil the\ncomfort and happiness of others.\n\n=52. Snuff.=--Powdered tobacco is called snuff. Snuff causes sneezing.\nNo one should harm the nose and the whole body for the pleasure of a\nsneeze. Years ago snuff was used much more than it is now.\n\n=53. Chewing.=--Chewing tobacco is the most poisonous way of using it,\nfor it keeps most of the nicotine in the mouth. Chewing will make any\none very sick, unless he spits out all the saliva.\n\n=54. Smoking.=--Men smoke pipes, cigars, and cigarettes. The smoke has\nnicotine, and is poisonous. Pipe stems get dirty and full of nicotine.\nAfter a while they smell bad and are very poisonous. An old smoker's\npipe will make a young smoker sick.\n\n=55. Cigarettes.=--Cigars are not so poisonous as a pipe, for more of\nthe nicotine is burned up. Cigarettes are often made of weak tobacco.\nA cigarette does not contain so much tobacco as a cigar. Hence a\ncigarette does not cost much. It can be smoked in a hurry. It does not\nmake a boy so sick as cigars do. Boys and men use a great many\ncigarettes where they would not touch a cigar. This makes the use of\ncigarettes the most dangerous form of smoking. Selling cigarettes to\nyoung boys is forbidden by law.\n\n=56. Habit.=--When men have used tobacco for some time, they like it\nand feel bad without it. So they get into the habit of using it, and\nfind it hard to stop. The tobacco seems to help them, but it does not\ndo so. It cheats men, and they do not know it.\n\n=57. Chewing gum.=--Chewing gum is made from pitch or paraffin, for\nthese substances will not dissolve in the mouth. The gum is flavored\nwith sugar and spices. The gum and its flavors are not harmful in\nthemselves, and yet chewing them is harmful. Chewing makes a great\ndeal of saliva flow. All this saliva is wasted, and when we eat our\nmeals we may have too little. Then our food will not digest well, but\nwe shall have dyspepsia and headaches.\n\nBy pulling and handling the gum while chewing it, you may get some\npoisonous dirt into your mouth, and make yourself very sick.\n\nEven if your gum should not harm you, there is a good reason for\nletting it alone. When you are chewing gum, you look as if you were\nchewing tobacco. No one likes to see a boy or girl even appearing to\nchew tobacco. If you form a habit of chewing gum you will be more\nlikely to chew tobacco when you are grown.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Men use tobacco for the sake of its nicotine. Nicotine is a\n          very strong poison.\n\n     2. Tobacco causes a man to waste his saliva.\n\n     3. Tobacco makes the mouth dry.\n\n     4. Tobacco hinders digestion.\n\n     5. Tobacco stains the teeth, and makes the breath smell bad.\n\n     6. Tobacco makes a person sick at the stomach.\n\n     7. Tobacco weakens the muscles.\n\n     8. Tobacco is more harmful to the young than to grown persons.\n\n     9. Chewing is the worst form of using tobacco.\n\n     10. Smoking cigarettes is the worst form of smoking.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nFERMENTATION\n\n\n=58. Souring of fruit.=--When a little fruit is set away in a warm\nplace for a day or two it sours or ferments. Anything sweet will do\nthe same thing. Little bubbles rise up through the juice and a foam\ncomes on top. Then the juice has a sharp taste or is sour. Canned and\npreserved fruit becomes sour soon after the jar is opened, and cider\nsoon turns to vinegar. All fruit juice does this even in cold weather.\nBut in cold weather it keeps for a longer time.\n\n[Illustration: =Fermentation in a jar of cherries.=]\n\n=59. Preserving fruit.=--If your mother wishes to keep fruit all winter\nshe boils it and at once puts it into tight jars. This shuts out the air\nand then the fruit keeps good all winter. Boiling kills all living\nthings, and no more can get in through the tight jars. Does a living\nthing have anything to do with making the fruit juice turn sour?\n\n=60. Yeast.=--Yeast will make all sweet things ferment. Bakers make\nyeast grow in bread sponge. Yeast is alive. It is made of millions of\ntiny round cells. New cells sprout out from the side of the old cells\nlike young lilies on an old lily bulb. Soon each new cell breaks off\nand lives all by itself. In a single night enough new cells will form\nto fill the whole loaf of bread.\n\n[Illustration: =Yeast plant cells (x500).=]\n\n=61. How yeast makes alcohol.=--Yeast will grow only where sugar is.\nWhen it has grown for some time there is no more sugar, and instead of\na sweet taste there is a sharp or sour taste. The yeast has changed\nthe sugar to alcohol. All alcohol is made from sugar by yeast.\n\nThe seeds of the yeast plant are everywhere in the air. Some are on\nthe skins of fruit and so are found in the juice when it is squeezed\nout. There they begin to grow at once and soon change the sugar to\nalcohol. They do this by taking a gas away from the sugar. The gas\nrises in little bubbles, and makes a froth upon the top of the juice.\nBoiling kills the yeast plant. If the juice is at once put into tight\njars no new yeast plants can get in, and so the juice keeps.\n\n=62. Vinegar.=--Sometimes fruit juice turns sour. The sourness is due\nto vinegar. Besides yeast, other little living plants fall into the\njuice and turn the sugar to vinegar. But if there is much alcohol in\nthe juice, the vinegar plants will not grow.\n\n=63. Yeast in bread.=--Growing yeast plants always make alcohol. They\nchange some of the sugar of bread dough to alcohol and a gas. The gas\nbubbles through the bread and makes it light. When bread is baked, the\nheat of the oven drives off the alcohol, and so we do not eat any in\nbread.\n\n=64. Alcohol.=--Alcohol is a clear liquid and looks like water. It has\na sharp taste and smell. It burns very easily and makes a very hot\nflame. Its smoke cannot be seen, and its flame will not make anything\nblack, as a match flame will do.\n\n=65. Use of alcohol.=--Alcohol will dissolve more things than water\nwill dissolve. It is used to dissolve drugs, varnishes, perfumery, and\nmany other things. It will dissolve even oil and fat. Tailors clean\ngrease spots from clothes with it. It takes water away from flesh and\nmakes it dry, hard, and tough. It will keep anything from rotting. In\nmuseums we pour alcohol over pieces of flesh or plants in glass jars.\nThen they will keep and we can look at them at any time. Thus alcohol\nis a very useful thing, and we could hardly do without it.\n\n=66. Strong drink.=--Some men use alcohol in a wrong way. They swallow\nit as a drink. But men cannot drink pure alcohol, for it would burn\ntheir mouths. They always drink it mixed with some water. Alcohol in\nwater is called _strong drink_.\n\n=67. Why men use strong drink.=--Some men take strong drink to make\nthemselves warm, and some to make themselves cool. Some drink to keep\nthemselves awake, and some to make themselves sleep. Some drink to\nkeep themselves still, and some to make themselves stir around faster.\nMen use strong drink really because it seems to make them feel strong\nfor a while. It does not make them stronger, but it harms the body and\nthe mind. Its alcohol does the harm.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Sugar in fruit or in water turns to alcohol or vinegar, and a\n          gas.\n\n     2. The change to alcohol is caused by the cells of the yeast plant.\n\n     3. The change to vinegar is caused by another small plant.\n\n     4. Boiling fruit juice kills the yeast plants and then the juice\n          will keep without change.\n\n     5. Alcohol looks like water. It has a sharp and burning taste.\n\n     6. Alcohol takes water from flesh and hardens it.\n\n     7. Alcohol burns with a great heat and no smoke.\n\n     8. Alcohol is used to dissolve things, and to keep things from\n          spoiling.\n\n     9. Alcohol in water forms _strong drink_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nKINDS OF STRONG DRINK\n\n\n=68. Wine.=--All strong drink is alcohol and water. There may be other\nthings to give it taste, but alcohol and water are always in it. No\nstrong drink is over one half alcohol.\n\n[Illustration: =A glass of wine contains so much alcohol.=]\n\nIn olden times wine was the only strong drink. Men used to crush out\nthe juice of grapes and let it ferment. This made wine. But very often\nthey used the juice before it fermented. Then it had no alcohol and\ncould do no harm, but was a good food. We read of wine in the Bible.\nSome of it was fresh fruit juice.\n\nIn wine, the sugar is changed to alcohol. The rest of the juice stays\nthe same. All wine is made by the yeast plant growing in fruit juice.\nNo yeast is put in, for there is always enough on the outside of the\nfruit. Wine is about one tenth alcohol.\n\n=69. Homemade wine.=--Cider is a kind of wine. It is made from apple\njuice. It has alcohol a day or two after it is made. All homemade\nwines have alcohol. Any of them can make a person drunk. Using weak\nhomemade wine and cider often makes an appetite for stronger drinks.\nThe alcohol in any of them is enough to harm the body.\n\n[Illustration: =A glass of beer contains so much alcohol.=]\n\n=70. Beer.=--After man had made wine for a long time, some one found\nout how to cultivate yeast. Then men could make sugar and water\nferment whenever they wanted to. So men boiled grain to take out its\nsugar. Then they poured off the liquor and added yeast and let it\nferment. This made beer and ale. Now millions of bushels of grain are\nused every year in making beer. Men call beer a _light_ drink. But it\nhas alcohol and is a strong drink, and can make men drunk.\n\n=71. Root beer.=--Some persons boil roots and herbs, and add molasses\nand yeast. Then the liquid ferments and becomes _root beer_. They say\n\"it has no alcohol, for we made it.\" But it does have alcohol, for\nyeast always makes alcohol. Some ginger ale is made by putting yeast\nin sweetened ginger water. It has alcohol, too.\n\n=72. Distillation.=--Boiling water turns to vapor or steam and goes\noff in the air. When the vapor is cooled, you can see the water again.\nIt often cools on the window and makes little streams of water. You\ncan catch the steam in a tube. If you keep the tube cool, the steam\nwill turn to water in the tube. This process is called _distillation_.\n\n[Illustration: =A glass of whisky contains so much alcohol.=]\n\nBoiling alcohol also passes off into the air as vapor. When the vapor\nis cooled, it becomes liquid again. Alcohol boils with less heat than\nwater. When alcohol in water is heated, the alcohol boils first. So\nthe vapor has more alcohol than the water. When the vapor is cooled,\nthe liquid has more alcohol than it had at first. When the liquid is\ndistilled again it has more alcohol yet. Pure alcohol can be made in\nthis way.\n\n=73. Whisky.=--Distilling wine or strong beer makes _whisky_ and\n_brandy_. Whisky is one half alcohol. It is more harmful than wine or\nbeer.\n\n=74. Habit.=--Some strong drinks have only a little alcohol and some\nhave a great deal. No one begins to drink the strong liquors. He\nbegins with wine or beer. When he has once learned, he has a hard time\nto stop drinking. It is dangerous to drink even weak drinks.\n\n=75. Strong drink and thirst.=--When a man is thirsty, water will\nsatisfy him but strong drink will not. Sometimes the mouth is dry and\ndirty and then a man feels thirsty. Rinsing the mouth with water, and\nrubbing the tongue and teeth clean will help the dryness and stop the\nthirst. At any rate, strong drink will only make the mouth dryer.\n\nSome men drink only when they are tired. Then a cup of strong and hot\ntea or coffee will make them feel much better than a glass of strong\ndrink, and will not harm them so much.\n\nWhen strong drink is swallowed, its alcohol takes water from the\nmouth. When your mouth is dry, you feel thirsty. Strong drink makes\nthe mouth dry, and so a drink makes a man more thirsty. The alcohol\nalso makes the mouth smart. Men need another drink to cool the mouth\nafter the first one. So one drink leads to another. All the while a\nperson drinks water with the alcohol until he has too much water. But\nhis mouth is dry and he feels as thirsty as ever.\n\n=76. Effect of alcohol upon the stomach.=--When strong drink is\nswallowed it makes the stomach smart just as it does the mouth. So the\nstomach feels warm, but it is really no warmer. This harms the stomach\nand keeps it from working well.\n\nAlcohol also keeps the gastric juice from changing albumin to a\nliquid. Alcohol keeps flesh from decaying in a museum. In the same way\nit may hinder the digestion of food in the stomach.\n\nWhen alcohol is used for only a short time, the stomach can get well;\nbut if it is used for months and years, the stomach will stay weak.\nThen the drinker can hardly eat at all.\n\n=77. What becomes of alcohol.=--In the stomach a great deal of gastric\njuice is mixed with the alcohol. So it is very weak when it reaches\nthe intestine. Alcohol needs only a little digesting. It soon soaks\ninto the blood from the intestine along with the other food. The blood\nflows fast and washes the alcohol away as soon as it leaves the\nintestine. Too little gets into the blood at once to harm it much.\n\nAlcohol goes to the liver, and is there destroyed; but it still does\ngreat harm. The liver has to attend to the alcohol, and so it does not\nchange the food to good blood, and it does not take all the poisons\nout of the blood. Then the whole body becomes weak and sick. Alcohol\nhurts the liver first, and more than other parts of the body. On this\naccount, drinkers often have bilious attacks and stomach troubles.\n\n=78. Bitters.=--Many medicines are made by dissolving drugs in\nalcohol. In taking a strong medicine, we use only a few drops, and so\ndo not get much alcohol. Some kinds of medicines must be taken in\nlarge doses. Bitters are weak medicines, and must be taken by the\ntablespoonful. A tablespoonful of the medicine has more alcohol than a\nlarge drink of whisky. The bitters seem to make a person feel well,\nbut it is because he is taking a large amount of strong drink.\n\nJamaica Ginger is only common ginger dissolved in alcohol. It, too, is\na form of strong drink.\n\n=79. Strong drink as medicine.=--People sometimes keep whisky or\nbrandy in the house to give for colds or other slight forms of\nsickness. A drink of hot coffee does more good than the strong drink,\nand has none of its dangers.\n\nBy using whisky or brandy for medicine, children learn to believe in\nstrong drink, and so they will be likely to use it when they grow up.\nThis reason alone ought to keep any one from giving it to a child.\n\n=80. Alcohol in cooking.=--In making bread, alcohol is formed in the\ndough by the yeast. When the bread is baked, all the alcohol is driven\noff by the heat, and so we do not eat any.\n\nSometimes brandy or wine is put into desserts. If it is put in after\nthe dessert is cooked, we shall get as much alcohol as if we had drunk\nit. If the liquor is put in before cooking, the heat will drive off\nthe alcohol but the flavor of the liquor will remain. The flavor will\ndo no harm in itself, but people will learn its taste, and from it\nmay learn to like the strong drink itself. The alcohol in bread has no\nspecial flavor and does not leave any taste behind. So we cannot learn\nto like strong drink by eating bread.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Fruit juice makes wine or cider.\n\n     2. All kinds of wine contain alcohol.\n\n     3. When the liquid from boiled grain has fermented, it becomes\n          beer, or ale.\n\n     4. By boiling wine or beer, and cooling the vapor, distilled\n          drinks like whisky are made. They are one half alcohol.\n\n     5. Water will satisfy a real thirst. Strong drink will not.\n\n     6. Alcohol keeps the stomach from digesting food.\n\n     7. Alcohol soaks into the blood tubes and goes to the liver.\n\n     8. The liver destroys the alcohol, but is hurt in doing it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE BLOOD\n\n\n=81. Blood.=--After food becomes blood, it goes to every part of the\nbody to feed the cells. Even a pin prick anywhere in the body draws\nblood. The blood makes the skin pink. There are five or six quarts of\nblood in a man's body. This is about 1/13 of his body.\n\n[Illustration: =Blood corpuscles (x400).=\n\n  _a_ a pile of red blood cells.\n  _b_ red blood cells seen flatwise.\n  _c_ red blood cells seen edgewise.\n  _d_ white blood cells.]\n\nBlood looks like a red liquid. But if you look at it through a strong\nmicroscope, it looks like water, and millions of little red cells.\nThese cells carry air through the body. They make the blood look red.\nThere are also a smaller number of white cells. Blood is made of red\ncells, white cells, and a liquid.\n\n=82. The liquid in blood.=--The liquid part of the blood is albumin,\nand water, with a little fat, sugar, and minerals. It is food and\ndrink for the cells of the body. When blood is drawn from the body it\nsoon becomes like jelly. We call the jelly a _clot_. When you cut your\nfinger, a clot forms in the cut and plugs up the bleeding place. If\nit did not, the blood would all run out of the body and we should die.\n\n[Illustration: =Diagram of the heart while it is beating.=\n\n  _a_ vein entering the auricle.\n  _b_ auricle.\n  _c_ closed valve to keep blood from flowing back into the auricle.\n  _d_ ventricle.\n  _e_ artery.\n  _f_ valve to keep blood from returning to the ventricle.]\n\n=83. The heart.=--The blood is held in tubes. A pump inside the body\nkeeps it always moving. This pump is called the _heart_. The heart is\na bag of muscle with thick sides. It is about as large as your fist.\nWhen it is full, it has the power to make itself smaller, and so it\nsqueezes the blood out through a tube. We can feel each squeeze as a\nheart-beat. You can find the heart-beat just to the left of the middle\nof the body about two hand-breadths below the neck.\n\n=84. The heart-beat.=--A man's heart beats about seventy times each\nminute. Boys' and girls' hearts beat much faster. Running or hard work\nof any kind makes the heart beat faster yet. Your heart will keep on\nbeating until you die. It does not seem to rest at all, yet it works\nonly while you feel it beat. Between each beat it rests while the\nblood is filling it again. So it really rests one half of the time.\n\n=85. Arteries.=--The heart pumps the blood through a single tube. This\ntube opens into smaller tubes. These open into still smaller ones. You\nmust use a strong microscope to see the finest blood tubes. The tubes\nreach every part of the body, and carry blood to its cells. They are\ncalled _arteries_. At each heart-beat a wave of blood can be felt in\nan artery. This wave is the _pulse_. It can be felt in the wrist,\ntemples, and other places. By the pulse we can tell how often and how\nstrongly the heart is beating.\n\n[Illustration: =Arrangement of capillaries.=\n\n  _a_ smallest artery.\n  _b_ smallest vein.\n  _c_ network of capillaries.]\n\n=86. Capillaries.=--The smallest arteries divide into a fine network\nof small tubes. These tubes are the _capillaries_. They lie around\nevery cell of the body. Their sides are very thin. As the blood flows\nthrough them, some of it soaks through the sides of the tubes. Blood\ncontains all kinds of food for the cells. Each cell is always wet with\nfood and can eat it at any time. The cells are like the tiny animal,\nthe ameba, and can take in the food by any part of their bodies. The\ncells are better off than the ameba, for their food is brought to\nthem. They pay the body for their food by working for it.\n\n=87. Veins.=--The capillaries come together again to form large tubes.\nThese tubes are called _veins_. Only a little of the blood goes through\nthe sides of a capillary. The rest flows on into the veins. The veins\nunite to form two large tubes. These two tubes open into the heart.\n\n=88. How the blood flows.=--The blood is pumped out of the heart,\nthrough the arteries to the capillaries. There some goes out to the\ncells. The rest flows into the veins and goes back to the heart. All\nthe blood in the body passes through the heart every two minutes. It\ntakes only twenty seconds for a drop of blood to go from the heart to\nthe toes and back again. The arteries are deep in the flesh, but some\nof the large veins can be seen upon the back of the hands.\n\n=89. Bleeding.=--If a large artery or vein is cut there is a great\ndeal of bleeding. You can always stop a cut from bleeding by holding\nit fast between the hands. Do not be afraid of the blood when you see\nany one bleeding, but hold the sides of the cut tightly with both of\nyour hands. This will stop any bleeding until help comes. You may keep\na person from bleeding to death by doing this when other persons are\nafraid of the blood.\n\n=90. Healing cuts.=--When your flesh is cut it soon grows together\nagain. The work of the little white cells in the blood is to help heal\ncuts and wounds and bruises. These cells are like little amebas in the\nblood. They keep moving around with the blood, and now and then burrow\noutside the capillaries to see if all is well. If they find a cut,\nhundreds and thousands rush to the spot at once. Some eat up any\nspecks of dirt on the cut. Others fit themselves into the sides of the\ncut and grow long and slender, like strings, and so bind the two edges\nof the cut together. In this way all cuts are healed.\n\n[Illustration: =Bacteria growing in a kidney and producing an abscess\n(x300).=\n\n  _a_ kidney tube.\n  _b_ white blood cell attacking bacteria.\n  _c_ bacteria.\n  _d_ blood vessel of the kidney.]\n\n=91. The white blood cells kill disease germs.=--There are tiny living\nbeings everywhere in the air, and soil, and water. Some of them can grow\ninside a man and make him sick. These tiny things are called _disease\ngerms_. One kind gives a man typhoid fever, and another diphtheria.\nAnother kind grows on cuts, and sometimes makes them very sore. The\nwhite cells of the blood are always watching for these enemies, like a\ncat hunting mice, and when they find them they at once try to kill them.\nBut sometimes the white blood cells get killed. Then they look like\ncream in the cut. We call this creamy liquid _matter_ or _pus_, and say\n\"We have caught cold in the cut.\" In most pricks and cuts the white\ncells of the blood can kill all these enemies and also heal the cut.\n\n=92. Catching cold.=--Sometimes the cold air blows on our head and\nhurts the cells of the nose. If there are disease germs in the air,\nthey may grow in the injured part of the nose and make us have a \"cold\nin the head.\" Then the white blood cells gather at the spot so as to\nkill the disease germs. Also the arteries bring a great deal of blood\nto the nose so as to heal the injured parts. Some of the white blood\ncells and the liquid from the blood run out, and we have to blow the\nnose. The white blood cells help to make us well whenever we catch a\ncold or other kind of sickness.\n\n=93. Red blood cells.=--The red blood cells are like tiny flat plates.\nThey float in the liquid part of the blood and make the blood look\nred. They carry air from the lungs to the cells of every part of the\nbody, and thus help all the cells to breathe.\n\n=94. Why the heart beats hard when we run.=--When we work hard, the\ncells of our bodies need a great deal of food. So the heart beats much\nharder, and sends them much more blood. We can feel our heart beat\nwhen we run hard.\n\nWhen the cells work they get more blood in another way. The arteries\nbecome larger and hold more blood. Then the part looks red and feels\nwarm. Thus your face gets red when you run hard. This is because your\nheart and arteries bring more blood to feed the working cells.\n\n=95. Need of a strong heart.=--The heart must keep sending blood to\nfeed the cells. If it should stop for only a little while, the cells\nwould starve to death and we should die. We need strong hearts. When\nwe work very hard for a long time, the heart gets tired. Then the\ncells do not get enough food and we feel weak all over. Boys ought not\nto run and lift till they are tired out, for this hurts their hearts.\n\n=96. What alcohol does to the blood.=--Alcohol hinders the digestion\nof food. Then too little food will reach the blood, and so the cells\nof the body will get too little. Alcohol does not add strength to the\nbody, but it takes it away. It seems to make men stronger, for it\ntakes away their tired feelings. But it makes them really weaker, for\nit harms the blood.\n\n=97. How alcohol affects the heart.=--Alcohol at first makes the heart\nbeat more strongly and quickly, but it tires it out and makes it\nweaker. Then the heart pumps too little blood to the rest of the body,\nand a man is weaker all over.\n\nIf a drinker tries to run or work hard, his heart may not pump enough\nfood to the working cells of his arms and legs. Strong drink takes\naway a man's strength and makes him less able to endure a long strain.\n\n=98. How alcohol harms the arteries.=--Alcohol causes the arteries to\nbecome larger and to carry more blood. Then the face will be red and\nthe skin will become warm. This makes a person feel well, and he seems\nto be helped. His blood seems to be flowing faster because his face is\nred. But really it is flowing slower.\n\nWhen the arteries have been made large very often, they stay large all\nthe time. A drinker's nose is often red from this cause.\n\nAlcohol sometimes causes the arteries to become hard, and even to\nchange to a kind of bone. Then they cannot change their size to carry\njust so much blood as each part needs.\n\n=99. How tobacco affects the heart.=--Tobacco weakens all the body,\nbut it harms the heart more than the rest. It often makes the heart\nbeat slowly at one time and fast at another. It weakens the heart and\nkeeps it from working harder when the working cells need more food. A\nsmoker gets out of breath quickly. He cannot run far or work very\nhard. Chewing is a still more harmful form of using tobacco. When men\ntrain for a game or a race they never use tobacco.\n\nBoys are not so strong as men, and so tobacco is more hurtful to them.\nBoys are harmed by tobacco far more than men. Cigarette smoke harms\ntheir stomachs and keeps food from their blood. If boys smoke, they\nbecome pale and weak. The poisonous smoke weakens the heart, and they\ncannot run or work so hard as they should. Even if a father uses\ntobacco, he should not allow his boys to use it.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Blood is a liquid. It contains many round red cells and a few\n          white cells.\n\n     2. Blood contains all kinds of food for the cells of the body.\n\n     3. The blood is kept moving by the heart.\n\n     4. The heart pumps or beats about seventy times a minute.\n\n     5. The blood flows through arteries to all parts of the body.\n\n     6. The arteries open into the capillaries. Capillaries make a\n          network around each cell of the body.\n\n     7. Some of the liquid parts of the blood go out through the sides\n          of the capillaries and become food for the cells of the\n          body.\n\n     8. From the capillaries the blood flows into the veins and back\n          to the heart.\n\n     9. Bleeding can be stopped by holding the cut tightly between the\n          hands.\n\n     10. The white blood cells grow into the sides of cuts, and so\n          heal them. They also guard the body against the seeds of\n          many diseases.\n\n     11. The red blood cells carry air to the cells of the body.\n\n     12. Alcohol weakens the heart and arteries.\n\n     13. Tobacco harms the heart.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nBREATHING, HEAT, AND CLOTHING\n\n\n=100. The lungs.=--Our food becomes blood and feeds the cells of our\nbody, but we grow only a little heavier. What becomes of the food?\n\n[Illustration: =The air tubes and lung.=\n\n  _a_ larynx or voice box.\n  _b_ trachea or windpipe.\n  _d_ air sacs, each like a tiny frog's lung.]\n\nBesides food, air is always getting into our bodies. In breathing, air\npasses through the nose into a tube in the neck. This tube is called\nthe _windpipe_. You can feel it as a pile of hard rings in the front\npart of the neck. The windpipe divides into many branches. At the end\nof its smallest branches are little bags or sacs. The branches and\nthe sacs make the two lungs. So a lung is a soft and spongy piece of\nflesh, and can be blown up like a rubber bag. A frog's lung is a\nsingle, thin bag, about half an inch across it. Each little sac of a\nman's lung is like a tiny frog's lung.\n\n[Illustration: =A frog's lung (x4).=]\n\n=101. The diaphragm.=--The lungs fill the upper part of the body just\nbelow the neck. They are covered by the bony ribs, and rest upon a\nbroad muscle. This muscle is called the _diaphragm_. It divides the\ninside of the body into two parts. The upper part is the _chest_, and\nholds the heart and lungs. The lower part is the _abdomen_, and holds\nthe stomach, intestine, and liver, and a few other parts.\n\n[Illustration: =The parts inside the body.=\n\n  _a_ lungs.\n  _b_ heart.\n  _c_ diaphragm.\n  _d_ stomach.\n  _e_ liver.\n  _f_ intestine.]\n\n=102. Breathing.=--When the diaphragm lowers itself, or the ribs are\nraised, the chest is made larger. Then the air rushes through the\nnose and swells out the lungs to the size of the chest. This is taking\na breath. Then the chest becomes smaller again, and blows the air out.\nA man breathes about eighteen times a minute. He does not seem to rest\nin breathing, but as he works only when he takes in breath, he rests\none half of the time.\n\n=103. How air gets into the blood.=--After the blood has been around the\nbody through the arteries and capillaries and veins, the heart sends\nevery drop to the lungs before it sends it out to feed the cells again.\nThe blood flows through little capillaries upon the sides of the air\nsacs. There the red blood cells take up some of the air, and carry it\nwith them. When they have a load of air, they become of a brighter red\ncolor. The blood in the arteries on its way to the cells is bright red.\n\n=104. How the cells get air.=--When the blood reaches the capillaries\naround the cells of the body, the red blood cells give up some of the\nair to the cells. Thus each cell of the body gets some air, and so it\nbreathes. The cells cannot reach the air themselves, and so the red\nblood cells bring it to them. We breathe so as to supply the cells\nwith air.\n\n=105. What burning is.=--When meat is put into a hot stove it quickly\nburns, and passes off in smoke, and leaves only a little ashes. The\nashes are the mineral parts of the meat. If the fire is very hot, you\ncannot see the smoke. The burning of the meat makes heat. Heat in a\nsteam engine makes the machine do work.\n\nEvery fire must have plenty of air. If air is shut off, the fire goes\nout. When meat burns, the air unites with the meat and makes smoke, and\nashes, and gives out heat. Air unites with something in every fire.\n\n=106. Burning inside the body.=--In every part of a man's body a very\nslow fire is always burning. The blood brings to the cells food from\nthe intestine, and air from the lungs. The food and air join in a\nburning. The smoke goes back to the blood and is carried to the lungs,\nand breathed out with the breath. The ashes, also, go back to the\nblood, and are carried away by the skin and kidneys. The burning makes\nno flame or light for it goes on very slowly. You cannot see the\nsmoke, but you can feel the warmth of the burning. Some of the heat is\nturned to power, and gives the body strength to do work. The body is\nlike a steam engine. It burns up all its food.\n\n=107. How the body is warmed.=--The body is warmed by the slow burning\nin the cells. This burning keeps the body always at the same warmth.\nOn a hot summer's day you feel warmer than on a cold snowy morning.\nBut your body is no warmer. Only your skin is warmer.\n\nIf the skin is warm, the whole body feels warm, but if the skin is\ncold, the whole body feels cold. On a hot summer's day the heat is\nkept in the skin, and we feel warm. On a cold winter's day a great\ndeal of heat passes off from the skin, and we feel cold. Yet our\nbodies have the same warmth in winter as in summer.\n\n=108. How the sweat keeps us cool.=--When your hands or feet are wet,\nthey are cold. On a hot summer's day, your body becomes wet with\nsweat. This cools the body as if water were poured over it. So\nsweating keeps you from getting too warm, and from being sunstruck.\n\nWe are sweating all the time, but the sweat usually dries as fast as\nit forms. When we are too warm it comes out faster than it dries. On a\nwinter's day we sweat only a little, and so we save the heat. But more\nheat passes off from the skin into the cold air, and we do not grow\nwarmer.\n\n=109. Clothes.=--We wear clothes to keep the heat in the body. They do\nnot make heat, but they keep it from going off. Wool and flannel\nclothes keep the heat in better than cotton. We wear woolen in the\nwinter, and cotton in the summer.\n\nFur keeps in heat the best of all. In very cold lands only fur is worn.\n\nLinen lets heat out easily. It makes good summer clothes.\n\n=110. Where to wear the most clothes.=--The face and hands are kept\nwarm by the blood and we do not cover them except in the coldest\nweather. Our feet are more tender and need to be covered enough to\nkeep them warm. We ought to wear thick-soled shoes or rubbers in damp\nweather so as to keep the feet dry and warm. We ought to dry the\nstockings every night, for they will get wet with sweat.\n\nThe trunk of the body needs the most clothes. The legs ought to be\nkept warm, too. If the dress reaches only to the knee, thick\nunderclothing is needed for the lower part of the leg.\n\nDo not keep one part of the body warm while another part remains cold.\nIt is wrong to bundle the neck or wear too much clothing over any part\nof the body. It is also wrong to wear too little and be cold.\n\nWhen you are moving about, you need less clothing than when you are\nsitting still. When you have worked until you are very warm, it is\nwrong to stop to cool off. When you stop, you ought to put on a thick\ncoat or else go into the house. If you do not, you may be chilled and\nmade weak so that you can easily catch cold or some other disease.\n\n=111. Heating houses.=--In winter our bodies cannot make heat fast\nenough to keep us warm unless we put on a great deal of clothing. So\nwe warm our houses. Our grandfathers used fireplaces, but these did\nnot give out much heat. People now use stoves, but some use a furnace\nin the cellar, or heat the rooms by steam. Some use kerosene stoves,\nbut they are not so good, for they make the air bad. A room should\nfeel neither too warm nor too cold. It is of the right warmth when we\ndo not notice either heat or cold.\n\n=112. Change of air.=--After air has been breathed it is no longer fit\nfor use. In an hour or two you would breathe all the air of a small room\nonce if it were not changed. When the air is partly used, you feel dull\nand short of breath, and your head aches. As soon as you get out of\ndoors, you feel better. Foul air of houses and meeting places often\ncontains disease germs. It is necessary to change the air of all rooms\noften. You can do this by opening a door or window. It is a good plan to\nsleep with your bedroom window open, so as to get good air all night.\n\nAir passes in and out of every crack in the windows and doors. If\nonly one person is in a room, this may make enough change of air. If\nmany persons are in a room, you will need to change the air in other\nways. You can do this by opening a door or window. Do not let the cold\nair blow upon any one, for it may help to make him catch cold, if the\nair of the room is impure. If we lower a window from the top, warm\nimpure air may pass out above it without making a draft.\n\n[Illustration: =Diagram of the natural ventilation of a room.=\n\nThe arrows show the direction of the air currents.]\n\nYou need fresh air at night as much as in the daytime. You need not be\nafraid of the night air, for it is good and pure like the day air. You\nought to sleep with your window open a little. You ought to open the\nwindows wide every morning and air your bed well. At night you ought\nto take off all your clothes and put on a night-dress. Then hang your\nclothes up to air and dry.\n\n=113. When to air a room.=--When you first enter a room full of bad\nair it smells musty and unpleasant. But after you have been in the\nroom a while, you get used to it. If, however, you go out of doors a\nminute and then come back, you will smell the bad air again. If the\nair smells bad, open a door or window until it is sweet again.\n\n=114. How to breathe.=--When you run hard, the cells of your body use\nup all the air, and then you feel short of breath. While you run,\nburning goes on faster, and you feel warmer. You can work harder and\nlonger if you can breathe in a great deal of air. You will also feel\nbetter and stronger for it. Then if you are sick, you will be able to\nget well more quickly. You ought to know how to breathe right.\n\n_First_, you ought to breathe through your nose. Even when you run,\nyou ought to keep your mouth closed.\n\n_Second_, you should try to breathe deeply. You should take a very\ndeep breath often, and hold it as long as you can. By practice you can\nlearn to hold it a full minute.\n\n_Third_, you ought to run, or do some hard work, every day. When you\nget short of breath, you will have to breathe more deeply. After a\nwhile you may be able to run a half mile, or even a mile, without\ngetting out of breath. But do not get tired out in your run, for this\nwill harm you.\n\n_Fourth_, you must sit and stand with your shoulders back, and your\nchest thrown forward. A round-shouldered boy cannot have large lungs\nor be long winded.\n\nBy breathing right, you can make your lungs very much larger and\nstronger.\n\n=115. The voice.=--We talk by means of the breath. At the upper part\nof the windpipe is a small box. Its front corner can be felt in the\nneck, just under the chin, and is called the _Adam's apple_. Two thin,\nstrong covers slide across the top of the box, and can be made to meet\nin the middle. The covers have sharp edges. When they are near\ntogether, and air is breathed out between them, a sound is made. This\nsound is the _voice_. The tongue and lips change it to form _words_.\n\n=116. Care of the voice.=--The voice shows our feelings, even if we\ndo not tell them in words. We can form a habit of speaking in a loud\nand harsh tone, as if we were always angry, or we can speak gently and\nkindly. We shall be more pleasant company to others if we are careful\nalways to speak in gentle but distinct tones.\n\n[Illustration: =Top view of the larynx, with the vocal cords closed,\nas in speaking.=\n\n  _a_ epiglottis.\n  _b_ vocal cords.]\n\n[Illustration: =Top view of the larynx, with the vocal cords open, as\nin breathing.=\n\n  _a_ epiglottis.\n  _b_ vocal cords.]\n\nShouting strains the voice and spoils its tone for singing. Reading\nuntil the throat is tired makes the voice weak. Singing or shouting in\na cold or damp air is also bad for the voice. Breathing through the\nmouth is the worst of all for the voice.\n\n=117. What becomes of alcohol in the body.=--When alcohol is taken up\nby the blood, it is carried to the liver. The liver tries to get rid\nof it by taking some air from the blood and burning it up, just as it\nburns the real food of the body. But this takes some air from the\ncells of the body. Then they do not burn as they should.\n\nWhen a stove gets too little air through its draft, it makes an\nunpleasant smoke, and cools off. Just so, when the cells of the body\ndo not burn as they should, they produce the wrong kind of smoke and\nashes. This poisons the body and makes men sick. The most of the\npoisoning of alcohol is due to these new poisons.\n\nWhen alcohol takes air from the cells of the body, they do not get\nenough air. Then they are like a short-winded boy, and do not do their\nwork well. In this way alcohol makes the body weak.\n\nAlcohol does not cease to be harmful because it is burned up in the\nbody. It is harmful just because it burns so quickly. Using alcohol in\nthe body is like trying to burn kerosene in a coal stove. The body is\nnot made to burn alcohol any more than a coal stove is made to burn\nkerosene. You can burn a little kerosene in a coal stove if you are\nvery careful. Just so, men can burn alcohol in their bodies. But\nkerosene will always smoke and clog up the stove, and may explode and\nkill some one. So alcohol in the body burns quickly and forms poisons.\nIt always harms the body and may destroy life at once.\n\n=118. Alcohol and the lungs.=--If you run a long race, your lungs will\nneed a great deal of air. If you take strong drink, the alcohol will\nuse up much of the air, and you will not have enough to use on your\nrun. So you will feel short of breath, and will surely lose the race.\nYou cannot drink and be long-winded.\n\nTwo drinks of whisky will use up as much air as the body uses in an\nhour. It would be easy to smother a person with strong drink. Drunken\npersons are really smothered; they often die because of the failure of\ntheir breathing, even while their heart is able to beat well.\n\nAlcohol often causes the lungs to become thickened. Then air cannot\neasily pass through their sides, and a person suffers from shortness\nof breath. Sometimes these persons cannot lie down at all, but must\nsit up to catch their breath.\n\n=119. Drinking and taking cold.=--A strong, healthy man can stand a\ngreat deal of cold and wet. If he breathes deeply in his work, all the\ncells of his body get plenty of air, and if he eats good food, the\ncells get plenty to eat. Then it will take a great deal to harm them.\nBut alcohol hinders the digestion of their food, and also takes away\ntheir air. So the cells are both starved and smothered, and are easily\nhurt. Then a little cold and wet may do great harm to his body, for a\ndrinker cannot stand bad weather or hard work so well as he could if\nhe should leave drink alone.\n\nMen often drink to keep themselves from taking cold. The alcohol\nreally makes them more liable to take cold. It causes the blood to\nflow near the surface of the skin; there it is easily cooled, and the\ndrinker soon becomes chilled; then he feels colder than ever. The cold\nharms the cells of his body, and then the white blood cells cannot\neasily fight disease germs. For this reason a drinker easily takes\ncold and other diseases.\n\n=120. Alcohol lessens the warmth of the body.=--Alcohol causes the\nblood tubes in the skin to become larger. Then more blood will touch\nthe cool air, and the body will become cooler. But because more warm\nblood flows through the skin, a man feels warmer. But he is really\ncolder. Alcohol makes men less able to stand the cold. Travelers in\ncold lands know this and do not use it.\n\n=121. How tobacco affects breathing.=--We would not live in a room\nwith a smoking stove. But tobacco smoke is more harmful than smoke\nfrom a stove, for it has nicotine in it. Tobacco smoke in a room may\nmake a child sick.\n\nCigarette smoking is very harmful to the lungs, for the smoke is drawn\ndeeply into them, and more of the poison is likely to stay in the\nbody. The smoke of tobacco burns the throat and causes a cough. This\nharms the voice.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Air is always being breathed into little sacs inside the body.\n          The sacs form the lungs.\n\n     2. The red blood cells pass through the lungs, and take little\n          loads of air. They then carry the air through the arteries\n          to the capillaries.\n\n     3. In the capillaries the air leaves the red blood cells, and\n          goes to the cells of the body.\n\n     4. The air unites with the cells, and slowly burns them to smoke\n          and ashes.\n\n     5. The smoke goes back to the blood, and is carried to the lungs\n          and given off by the breath. The ashes go back to the blood\n          and pass off through the skin and the kidneys.\n\n     6. The burning in the cells makes heat.\n\n     7. Some of the heat is changed to power, as it is in a steam\n          engine.\n\n     8. The heat also warms the body. It keeps it at the same warmth\n          on a cold day as on a hot day.\n\n     9. We wear clothes to keep the heat in, and so to keep us warm.\n\n     10. The air of a room needs to be changed often. It is made\n          stuffy by our breath.\n\n     11. The voice is made by the breath in a box in the neck.\n\n     12. Alcohol uses air belonging to the cells of the body.\n\n     13. Tobacco smoke has the same poisons as tobacco. It can poison\n          the whole body through the lungs.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE SKIN AND KIDNEYS\n\n\n=122. Waste matters.=--The food is burned in the cells. As this\nburning goes on, the _smoke_ goes off by the lungs and the unburned\nsubstances, the _ashes_, go off by the skin and kidneys. The ashes are\nmostly the minerals of the cells, but there are also some from the\nburned albumin. All these go back to the blood and are carried to the\nskin and kidneys.\n\n[Illustration: =The skin (x100).=\n\n  _a_, _b_ and _c_ epidermis.\n  _d_ and _g_ tough and thick part of skin.\n  _e_ sweat gland.\n  _f_ blood tubes.\n  _h_ fat pockets.]\n\n=123. The skin.=--The skin covers the whole body. It is strong and\nkeeps the body from being hurt.\n\n=124. The epithelium.=--The skin is covered with a thin layer of cells\nlike fine scales. These scales are called _epithelium_, or _epidermis_.\nThey have no blood tubes or nerves and so have no feeling. You can run a\npin under them without feeling pain. They are always growing on their\nunder side and wearing off on their upper side. They keep the nerves and\nblood tubes of the skin from being hurt.\n\n=125. The nails.=--The top scales of epithelium at the ends of the\nfingers become matted together to make the nails. The nails keep the\nends of the fingers from being hurt. They can also be used to hold or\ncut small things. The new parts of the nails form under the skin and\npush down the older parts. So the nail grows farther than the end of the\nfinger and needs to be cut off. Biting the nails leaves their ends\nrough. Then they may catch in the clothes and tear into the tender\nflesh. We ought to keep the nails cut even with the ends of the fingers.\n\nThe nails are not poisonous, but the dirt under them may be. We ought\nto keep them clean. Clean nails are one mark of a careful boy or girl.\n\n=126. Hair.=--Some of the scales of epithelium over some parts of the\nbody dip into tiny holes in the skin. In each hole they become matted\ntogether to form a _hair_. Fine short hair grows on almost every part\nof the body. On the top of the head it grows long and thick. When\nboys become men, it also grows long upon their faces. The skin pours\nout a kind of oil to keep the hair soft and glossy.\n\n[Illustration: =A hair (x200).=\n\n  _a_ the surface of the skin.\n  _b_ a hair.\n  _c_ an oil gland.\n  _d_ a muscle to make the hair stand on end.\n  _e_ and _g_, the growing cells of the hair.\n  _f_ fat in the skin.]\n\n=127. Care of the hair.=--The hair may become dirty like any other\npart of the body. Brushing it takes out a great deal of dirt, but you\nshould also wash it once a week.\n\nThe oil in the skin ought to be enough for the hair. Hair oils do not\ndo the hair any good. If you wet the hair too often, you may make it\nstiff and take away its gloss. It is best to comb the hair dry. Brush\nit so as to spread the oil of the skin. Hair dyes are poisonous, and\nought not to be used.\n\n=128. The sweat or perspiration.=--The scales of epithelium dip into\nthe skin and there line tiny tubes. The tubes form the _sweat_, or\n_perspiration_, out of the blood. The tubes are too fine to be seen,\nbut they are upon almost every part of the body. They take the ashes\nor other waste matter or poisons from the blood and wash them out of\nthe tubes with the perspiration. So the perspiration has two uses.\nFirst, it takes heat away from the body (see Sec. 108). Second, it\ngets rid of the waste matters or ashes of the body. It has very little\nof these at any one time, but in a day it gets rid of a great deal.\n\n=129. The kidneys.=--The kidneys are close to the backbone, below the\nheart. They are made of tiny tubes much like the sweat tubes in the\nskin. The tubes take ashes and other waste matters from the blood, also\na great deal of water. They also take away poisons and disease germs\nwhen we are sick. The kidneys take away about as much water as the skin,\nbut they get rid of very much more poisons and waste matters than the\nskin does. If our kidneys should stop their work, we should soon die.\n\n=130. Need of bathing.=--When the perspiration dries from the skin, it\nleaves the waste and poisons behind. We cannot always see the dried\nmatters, but they always have an unpleasant odor. We should bathe\noften enough to keep our body from having an unpleasant smell. We\nshould wash the whole body with soap and hot water at least once a\nweek in winter and more often than that in summer.\n\nAnother reason for bathing is to wash disease germs from the body.\nMost dirt has disease germs in it. Disease germs also float in the\ndust of the air and stick to our skin when we go into a dusty room. If\nour skin is dirty, some of the germs may be carried into our flesh\nwhen our skin is pricked, or scratched, or cut. We sometimes catch\nboils, or erysipelas, or lockjaw, from very little wounds in a dirty\nskin. Cleanliness of our skin helps to keep us from catching diseases.\n\n=131. Cold baths.=--Sometimes we bathe when we are clean so as to get\nrefreshed. If we bathe in cold water, we feel cold at first. In a\nlittle while we feel warm again. Then we feel stronger, and refreshed\nfor work. If we stay in the bath too long, we become cold again and\nfeel weak. When boys go in swimming, they ought to come out before\nthey begin to feel cold.\n\nIt is a good plan to take a cold bath every morning when you get up,\neven if you use only a wash-bowl with a little water. It will take\nonly a few minutes, but will keep you clean and make you feel more\nlike doing your day's work.\n\n=132. A fair skin.=--We must wash often, to make the skin fair and\nsmooth. Use enough good soap to keep the skin clean.\n\nIf you eat as you should, and digest the food well, your skin will\nhave the least amount of waste to give off. Then it will look well. A\nbad looking skin is due to bad food and to bad digestion. If you do\nnot digest your food well, you cannot have a fair skin.\n\nFace paint and powder make the skin look worse, for they hinder\nperspiration. Nothing of that sort will do the skin any good. You must\neat as you should, and you must keep clean. Then your skin will be\nclear.\n\n=133. Washing clothes.=--Our clothes rub off a great deal of the\nperspiration and waste. They become soiled. A great deal of dirt also\ngets upon the sheets of our beds. Our clothes need to be washed as\nwell as our bodies when they are soiled. Air and the sun as well as\nwater destroy the waste of the body. Our clothes need to be aired at\nnight, and the bed and bedroom should be aired through the day.\n\n=134. Slops.=--After water has been used to wash our body or our\nclothes it is dirty and is not fit to be used again. It must not be\nthrown where it can run into a well. If a person has typhoid fever or\ncholera or other catching disease, the water may carry germs of the\ndisease to the well, and so other persons may get it. Slops from the\nhouse should not be poured out at the back door, but they should be\ncarried away from the house. In cities the slops are poured into large\npipes and tunnels underground. These pipes are called _sewers_. They\nempty outside the city.\n\n=135. Alcohol and the skin.=--Alcohol interferes with digestion and\ncauses biliousness. This makes the skin rough and pimply. A drinker\nseldom has a clear skin.\n\nAlcohol causes the arteries of the face to become enlarged. Then the\nface is red. A red nose is one of the signs of drinking. When a person\nuses strong drink he is often uncleanly. He does not care for the bad\nlooks of his clothes and skin, and so he lets them stay dirty. This\nharms the skin and makes it look bad. The dirt also poisons the skin\nand may itself be a cause of sickness.\n\nBecause alcohol poisons the whole body and often produces kidney\ndiseases, the drinker is apt to catch other diseases. Drinkers are the\nfirst to catch such diseases as smallpox and yellow fever. Where there\nare great numbers of cases, the drinkers are the first and often the\nonly persons to die. This is because their skin and kidneys have been\nharmed by the alcohol and cannot throw off the poisons of the disease.\nAny kind of sickness will be worse in a drinker. Surgeons do not like\nto operate on drinkers, for their wounds do not heal so quickly as in\nother people.\n\nWhen there is too little air, a fire burns slower, and makes a blacker\nsmoke and more ashes. Alcohol takes some air from the cells of the\nbody. So they burn with smoke and ashes of the wrong kind. The skin\nhas to work harder to get rid of these, and sometimes it cannot do it\nwell. Then the body is poisoned. The alcohol is burned and cannot\npoison the body any more. But it causes the body to make poisons, and\nso it is to blame. The poisons do great harm to the skin and kidneys.\nAlcohol causes more kidney disease than all other things put together.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Little tubes in the skin are always giving off ashes and waste\n          matters in the perspiration.\n\n     2. Perspiration dries on the skin. So the skin must be washed\n          often.\n\n     3. The kidneys get rid of more water and waste matter than the\n          skin does.\n\n     4. Perspiration also gets upon the clothes and bed sheets. These\n          must be washed too.\n\n     5. Dirty water from washing should be thrown out where it cannot\n          run into a well.\n\n     6. The skin is thick and strong and keeps the body from being hurt.\n\n     7. The skin is covered with a layer of scales. The scales have no\n          feeling.\n\n     8. The scales form the nails on the ends of the fingers.\n\n     9. The scales also form the hair.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE NERVES, SPINAL CORD, AND BRAIN\n\n\n=136. Need of nerves.=--The cells of the mouth, stomach, and intestine\ndigest food; the cells of the liver change the food to blood; the\ncells of the heart pump the blood to feed all the cells of the body;\nthe red blood cells carry air for the cells to breathe; and the cells\nof the skin and kidneys carry away the waste of the rest of the cells.\nEach set of cells works for all the rest. If the cells of the body\nwere only tied together, each one would do as it pleased, and no two\nwould work together. But something tells each cell of the body to work\nwith the others. The cells all obey the mind. A tiny thread goes to\neach cell of the body. Each thread is a _nerve_. The mind and the\ncells signal to each other over the nerves. By means of the nerves the\nmind makes the cells work together.\n\n[Illustration: =A nerve thread (x400).=\n\n  _a_ central conducting fiber.\n  _b_ covering of fat.]\n\n[Illustration: =A thin slice for the end of a cut nerve (x200).=\n\n  _a_ nerve thread.\n  _b_ connective tissue binding the threads into a cord.]\n\n=137. Nerve messages.=--The nerve threads run in bundles and form\nnerves large enough to be seen. The mind uses the nerves to tell the\ncells to do work. It tells the muscles to move the arms and legs. It\ntells the heart to beat and stomach to pour out gastric juice; and it\ntells each of the cells to eat.\n\nThe cells also send word over the nerves to the mind. They tell the\nmind when they are touching anything, and whether it is hard, or\nsmooth, or hot, and many other things about it. The cells also tell\nthe mind if they need more food, or are tired.\n\nThe nerves are always carrying messages to and from the cells. The\ncells depend upon these messages to tell them when and how to work. If\nthe nerve of any part of the body is hurt or cut, we cannot feel with\nthe part or move it, and its cells do not act in the right way. We do\nnot feel the nerves while they are carrying the messages. We wish the\ncells of the arm to work, and they work, but we do not feel the\nmessage as it goes from the mind to the cells of the arm.\n\n[Illustration: =A thin slice from the spinal cord with the cells and\nnerves magnified 200 diameters.=\n\n  _a_ cells in the gray matter.\n  _b_ fibers in the gray matter.\n  _c_ nerve threads in the white matter.]\n\n=138. The spinal cord.=--The nerves start inside the backbone. The\nbackbone is hollow. It has a soft, white cord inside, as thick as the\nlittle finger. Part of the mind lives in this cord. The cord is called\nthe _spinal cord_. Some of the nerves start from cells of the spinal\ncord. These cells send word to the muscles to move and to all the\ncells of the body to eat and grow. They also send word to the arteries\nto carry the right amount of blood to the cells.\n\nFrom the nerves the spinal cord gets word when something hurts any\npart of the body. You may put your finger on a sharp pin. The spinal\ncord feels the prick, and quickly sends word to snatch the finger\naway. So the finger is taken away before you really feel the prick.\nWhen some one sticks a pin into you, you cannot help jumping. This is\nbecause the spinal cord sends word for you to jump away from the pin\nbefore it can harm you much. Thus the spinal cord keeps the body from\nbeing hurt. It acts while we are asleep as well as when we are awake.\n\n=139. Need of a spinal cord.=--We do not feel the spinal cord acting,\nand we cannot keep it from acting. It tells the cells when to eat and\ngrow, and it tells the heart and arteries how much blood to send to\neach cell. If we had to think about feeding an arm or a leg, we should\nsometimes forget it, but the spinal cord keeps doing it without our\nthinking of it. We put food into the body, and the spinal cord tells\nthe cells to use it. If it stops acting for an instant, the cells stop\nwork and we die. We cannot change its action by any amount of thinking.\n\n[Illustration: =Regions of the head and action of the different parts\nof the brain.=]\n\n=140. The brain.=--The nerves of the body go to the brain as well as\nto the spinal cord. The brain lies in the top of the head. A hard\ncover of bone keeps it from getting hurt. It is a soft white mass, and\nweighs about three pounds. Its outside is made of cells, while its\ninside is the very beginning of the nerves of the body.\n\n=141. The mind.=--The mind is the real man. It is the thinking part of\nhimself. It lives in the body and works by means of the cells of the\nbrain. If these cells are hurt or killed, the body seems to have no\nmind, but yet it may keep on living. If all the mind leaves the body,\nthe body is dead.\n\nBy means of the mind we feel, and know, and think. The mind uses each\npart of the brain for only one kind of work.\n\n=142. The senses.=--The cells of the body send word to the brain over\nthe nerves. The eye tells of sight, the ear of sounds, the nose of\nodors, the mouth of tastes, and the skin of feelings. All these\nmessages go to the back part of the brain. They tell the mind of the\nnews outside of the body. We get all our knowledge in this way. The\ncells also tell of their need of food and drink by means of the\nfeelings of hunger and thirst.\n\n=143. Motion.=--The mind in the cells of the top part of the head\nsends the orders for moving the different parts of the body. When we\nwish to run, the mind in the top of our head sends an order over our\nnerves to our legs, and they carry the body where we wish. If the top\npart of your brain is hurt, as by a blow, it cannot send orders to\nmove, but you will lie stunned.\n\n=144. Memory.=--The mind lays away all its messages, and often looks\nthem over again. These old messages are called _memories_. They always\nstay with the brain, and the mind can call them up at any time. Our\nmemories make our knowledge.\n\nEvery act of the mind leaves some mark on the memory. We may not be\nable to bring it back when we want to, but it will come back some\ntime. Every bad word and evil deed will tend to come back and make us\nbad again. Every good work and word will leave its memory and make us\nbetter. We ought to fill our minds with good memories.\n\n=145. Thinking.=--The brain also thinks. Thinking is different from\nfeeling and from moving, but we can think about our feelings and about\nour movements. The brain just back of the forehead does all our\nthinking. A dog has only a little forehead, and cannot think much. But\nthe rest of its brain is large, for it can see and hear and run as\nwell as a man. A baby can see and hear and move, but it cannot think\nuntil it is taught how. Boys and girls go to school to learn to think.\nThinking is work, just as truly as running is work. At school, no one\ncan learn to think without working. Looking at things and hearing some\none talk about them will not make you a strong-minded man, but\nthinking about these things will. Boys and girls should study and\nthink, as well as look around and listen.\n\n=146. How thought rules the body.=--We are always feeling and moving.\nWe often do these things without trying, but we must make ourselves\nthink. We can make our bodies move, or keep still, and we can keep\nfrom too much feeling. Our thoughts direct our natural desires to move\nand feel. In an animal, the feelings and movements direct the\nthoughts. When men let their feelings rule their thoughts, they are\nlike animals. When the thoughts control the feelings and acts, we are\nmen. If you get angry and cry, when you hurt your finger, then you are\nlike an animal; but if you think about it and control your feelings,\nyou are behaving like a strong and noble man. The thought part of the\nbrain ought to rule all the rest.\n\n=147. Sleep.=--Most of the brain does its work without our knowing it,\nbut we know when we think. The thinking part of the brain gets tired,\nlike any other part of the body. When it stops work, we are asleep.\n\nWe must give the brain a rest in sleep, just as we must rest an arm or\na leg. We ought to give it regular rest. Every night we ought to go to\nbed early. Then we shall be ready to get up early and shall feel like\nworking. Boys and girls need nine or ten hours' sleep each day. When\nthey are grown, they need seven or eight hours' sleep each day.\n\nThe spinal cord and some parts of the brain must always stay awake to\nmake the cells of the body eat and grow. When we are asleep, they must\nbe wide awake, and must repair the worn-out parts. They do not seem to\nrest at all. If they rested for any length of time, then the lungs,\nheart, stomach and all other parts of the body would stop work, and we\nshould die. But they really rest a part of the time. Like the heart,\nthey act for a second, and then stop for a second. They seem to act\nall the time, but in all they rest half the time.\n\n=148. Worry.=--The mind can do a great deal of work, if it gets good\nsleep. If a person gets enough sleep and rest, he cannot harm his mind\nby hard work. Sometimes the mind is troubled and worried over a danger\nor a loss. Then it cannot rest, but soon wears itself out. Worry is\nfar more tiresome than hard work. By an effort, we can keep from\nworrying. It never does us good to worry, and we ought to keep from it.\n\n=149. Nervousness.=--The thoughts are able to rule all the rest of the\nmind. They can keep us from feeling ill-tempered when we cannot have\nour own way. Sometimes a little unpleasant feeling makes us very\nunhappy, and keeps us from thinking about our work. A little noise or\npain keeps some children from study, while others can bear a great\ndeal without being disturbed by it. Some persons jump at a little\nnoise, and are afraid of a tiny bug or mouse. This is because their\nfeelings rule their thoughts. Such persons are called _nervous_.\n\nA nervous person is very uncomfortable and makes others so too. Yet\nany one can get over the habit of being nervous, if he will try. You\nought not to laugh at a nervous person if he is afraid of some little\nthing while you are not. You should help him to get over his\nnervousness and to become brave.\n\n=150. Fear.=--Some persons are always brave. In danger they calmly\nstop to think, and then know how to save themselves. A timid person\ndoes not think, but rushes where his feelings lead. When a crowd is\nin danger, all will rush to do one thing. All will run for a door, and\nperhaps tread on one another. Then some one will surely be hurt. At a\nfire, or in any other danger, you should always stop to think how to\nact. If you rush with the crowd, you may be hurt. You will be more\nlikely to be safe, if you stay away from them. Then, if help comes,\nyou will be able to receive it. Besides, if you are cool and brave,\nyou will help others around you to be brave too.\n\n=151. Fire drill.=--In schools the children are taught how to go out\nof the building when there is a fire. A bell is struck when the\nchildren do not expect it. Then every child must leave his seat at\nonce and march out of the building. The bell is struck every few days.\nThen, when the bell really sounds for a fire, the children know how to\nmarch out quickly, and so they learn to be brave.\n\nBy training we can learn to be brave at all times. We fear many\nharmless things, and in many cases do not fear real dangers. We are\nliable to be hurt at any time. We are more liable to be hurt by a\nhorse when we are out driving than we are by the dark. Yet we do not\nfear the horse, while some do fear the dark. We ought to learn to\nthink, so as to control our fear.\n\nSome are afraid of the dark, some are frightened by ghost stories,\nand others expect to see a wild animal jump from behind every bush. No\none fears these things unless he has been told about them. We ought to\nbe careful not to tell children of these things. We ought to teach\nthem to control their fear.\n\n=152. Habit.=--After we have thought about a thing a few times, its\nhold on our memory becomes strong, and leads us to think about it\noften. When we have done a thing a few times, we are likely to do it\nagain without knowing it. We call this doing things over again\n_habit_. When we once form a habit, we find it very hard to break. We\ncan form habits of doing right or of doing wrong. We can get into the\nhabit of swearing or of drinking by doing these things a few times.\nThen we shall do these things when we do not want to. When a drinker\nbegins, he does not expect to keep on drinking. But his habit makes\nhim drink, and he cannot help it. We should be careful not to do bad\nthings, for we easily form the habit of doing them.\n\n=153. Good habits.=--We can form habits of doing right. We can speak\nkindly and be generous. Then we shall do these things as easily as\nothers get cross. After a person has tried to do good a few times, he\nwill find it much easier to do good. Then he will speak kindly and\ngive generously just as easily as others get angry and keep their good\nthings to themselves.\n\n=154. Alcohol takes away thought.=--Alcohol affects and weakens the\ncells of the brain sooner than it does those of any other part of the\nbody. It first makes the thought cells weak. Then a person does not\nthink how he acts. He lights his pipe in the barn and throws the match\nin the hay. He drives his horse on a run through a crowded street. He\nswears and uses bad language. He gets angry at little things and wants\nto fight. He seems to think of himself, and of no one else. He is\nhappy, for he does not think of the bad effects of the drink. He has a\ngood time, and does not care for its cost. He likes to drink, because\nit makes him feel happy.\n\n=155. Alcohol spoils motion.=--Some cells of the brain cause the arms\nand legs, and all other parts of the body, to move. Alcohol next makes\nthese weak. Then a person cannot move his legs right, but he staggers\nwhen he walks. He cannot carry a full cup to his lips. His hands\ntremble, and he cannot take care of himself. He is now really drunk.\n\n=156. Alcohol takes away feeling.=--After a man is drunk, he loses the\nsense of feeling. He does not feel cuts and blows. Because he does\nnot feel tired, he feels very strong. He often sees two things for\none, and hears strange noises. The whole brain at last gets weak, and\ncannot act. Then the drinker lies down in a drunken sleep, and cannot\nbe waked up. Some die in this state.\n\n=157. Insanity.=--When the brain is misused by alcohol for some time,\nit cannot get over it. Then the person becomes insane. Drink sends\nmore persons to the insane asylum than all other causes put together.\n\n=158. Delirium tremens.=--If a drinker gets hurt, or becomes sick, he\nsometimes has terrible dreams. In them he sees dirty and savage\nanimals coming to harm him. These dreams seem very real to him, and he\ncries out in his fright. This is called _delirium tremens_. A person\nis liable to die from it.\n\n=159. Alcohol harms a drinker's children.=--The children of drinkers\nare apt to be weak in body and mind. A drinker hurts his children even\nmore than he hurts himself. They are liable to catch diseases, and are\noften cross and nervous, or weak-minded. It is a terrible thing for a\nman to make his children weak and nervous.\n\n=160. Other bad things about drink.=--There are many other terrible\nthings about drink, besides the harm it does a man's body. Many a man\nhas made himself drunk so as to steal or kill. No man can drink long\nwithout becoming a worse man for it. Men will not trust him, and he\nloses the respect of his friends.\n\nMaking strong drink takes thousands of men away from good work. They\nmight work at building houses, or raising grain, or teaching school.\nAs it is, their work is wasted.\n\nA great deal of money is wasted on strong drink. All the mines of the\nworld cannot produce enough gold and silver to pay the drink bill. The\npeople of the United States pay more for strong drink than for bread.\n\nThe price of two or three drinks a day would amount to enough, in ten\nyears, to buy a small home.\n\nThe cost of strong drink is made much greater if we count the cost of\njails and insane asylums. Over one half of all crimes and cases of\ninsanity are caused by strong drink.\n\nWe must also add the misery and suffering of most children of drunken\nfathers. This loss cannot be counted in money. Numbers of children\nbecome truants from school and learn theft and falsehoods from lack of\na father's care. When all the cost is counted, nothing will be found\nso expensive as strong drink.\n\nOn the other hand, what do people get for their money and suffering?\nThey get only a little pleasure, and then they are ashamed of it. Men\nuse strong drink only because they like it more than they dislike its\nbad effects.\n\nSince drink does a great deal of harm, with no good to any one, it is\nright to make laws to control its sale.\n\n=161. How tobacco affects the brain.=--Some men smoke to make\nthemselves think, and some to keep themselves from thinking. Now,\nsmoking cannot do both things. It really makes the brain less able to\nthink, for it weakens the whole body. A school-boy's brain will surely\nbe harmed if he uses tobacco at all.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. The mind makes all the cells of the body work together.\n\n     2. Tiny nerve threads carry messages from the mind to the cells.\n\n     3. Most of the nerves begin at the spinal cord in the backbone.\n\n     4. The mind in the spinal cord tells the cells to eat and grow.\n          It tells the arteries how much blood to carry to the cells.\n\n     5. The cells tell the spinal cord if they need food, or if\n          something suddenly hurts them. The spinal cord sends word to\n          snatch the part from danger.\n\n     6. Nerves carry to the brain news of sight, sound, odor, taste,\n          and touch.\n\n     7. The brain sends word to the muscles to move the arms, the\n          legs, and the rest of the body.\n\n     8. The brain thinks.\n\n     9. The brain stores up all its messages; these make memory and\n          knowledge.\n\n     10. The thought part of the brain can control the feelings and\n          the movements of the body.\n\n     11. Alcohol is more harmful to the brain than to any other part\n          of the body.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE SENSES\n\n\n=162.= A man has five ways of knowing about things outside of the\nbody. He can feel, see, hear, smell, and taste.\n\n=163. Feeling.=--Nerves go to nearly every cell in the body. They\ncarry news to the brain when anything touches them. The news produces\na feeling. Feelings are of three kinds:--\n\n_First_, when anything touches the cells without harming them, we feel\na _touch_. We feel a touch by nerves in the skin. Those in the ends of\nthe fingers and tongue can feel the best. Those upon the back give but\nlittle feeling.\n\nTouch tells whether anything is hard, or rough, or round, or square,\nor has other qualities and shapes.\n\n_Second_, when anything touches the bare nerves or hurts the cells, we\nfeel a _pain_. We can feel a pain anywhere in the body. Pain tells us if\nwe are being harmed. If we had no feeling of pain, we might be killed\nbefore we could know of our danger. Pain warns us away from danger.\n\n_Third_, we can feel _heat_ and _cold_. Anything very hot or very\ncold, however, makes only a pain and gives no feeling either of cold\nor of heat.\n\n=164. Sight.=--We see with our eyes. An eye is a hollow ball. In its\nfront is a clear window. Behind the window is a round curtain with a\nround hole in its middle. When we speak of the color of the eye, we\nmean the color of this curtain. Light passes through the hole in the\ncurtain and falls upon some nerves in the back of the eyeballs. There\nit forms a picture like a photograph. The nerves carry this picture to\nthe brain, and we see it.\n\n[Illustration: =The human eye.=\n\n  _a_ bony case of the eye.\n  _b_ muscle to move the eye.\n  _c_ and _d_ coverings of the eye.\n  _e_ lining or seeing part of the eye.\n  _f_ eyelid.\n  _g_ colored curtain or iris.\n  _h_ and _i_ clear windows of the eye.]\n\n=165. Movements of the eyes.=--We can turn our eyes so as to look in any\ndirection. Sometimes a person has one eye turned sidewise. Such a person\nis cross-eyed, and sees well out of only one eye at a time. Glasses may\nhelp the eyes, but sometimes a surgeon has to cut a tiny muscle.\n\n=166. Coverings of the eyes.=--The eyeballs lie in a bony case, upon a\nsoft bed of fat. In front each is covered with two lids. We can shut\nthe lids to keep out dust and insects. When we are sleepy, they come\ntogether and cover the eyes. Little hairs at their edges help to keep\nout the dust.\n\nSometimes a little dirt gets under the lids. Then the eye smarts or\nitches, and we want to rub it; but this may grind the dirt in deeper.\nThen you should get some one else to lift your eyelid and pick out the\ndust with a soft handkerchief. If you cannot get help, lift the lid by\nthe eyelashes; blow your nose hard, and the tears may wash the dirt\naway.\n\nDust and disease germs may get into our eyes and make them sore and\nred. You should bathe your eyes well every time you wash your face.\nYou should use a clean towel, for a dirty one may carry disease germs\nto your eyes. Some forms of sore eyes are catching. If any one has\nsore eyes, no one else should use his towels or handkerchiefs.\n\n=167. Tears.=--Clear salt water is always running over the eyes and\ndown a tube into the nose. The use of this water is to bathe the eyes\nand keep them clean. It sometimes runs over the lids in drops called\n_tears_.\n\n=168. How to use the eyes.=--If using your eyes makes them painful or\ngives you a headache, you are straining your eyes. Facing a bright\nlight strains the eyes. Shade your eyes while you study. A cap may be\nused as a shade if you cannot get anything else. Never try to look at\nthe sun or a very bright light. You should have the light at one side\nor behind you. The light should be steady. Reading in a dim light will\nharm the eyes.\n\n=169. Near sight.=--If you cannot read without holding your book less\nthan a foot from your eyes, you are nearsighted, and should wear\nglasses all the time. If you do this, your eyes may be strong, and you\nmay be able to see well.\n\n=170. Far sight.=--If you cannot read without holding your book at\narm's length, you are farsighted and need glasses. Most old persons\nare farsighted.\n\n=171. Alcohol and the eyes.=--Alcohol makes the eyes red. It weakens the\neyes and may produce blindness. A drunken person often sees double.\n\n=172. Tobacco= causes dimness of sight and sometimes produces blindness.\n\n=173. Hearing.=--We hear with the ears. Sound is made by waves in the\nair. The part of the ear on the outside of the head catches the air\nwaves and throws them inside the ear. These air waves strike against a\nlittle drum. Three little bones then carry the waves on to nerves\nfarther inside the head. Animals can turn their ears and catch sound\nfrom any direction.\n\n[Illustration: =Diagram of the ear.=\n\n  _a_ outer ear.\n  _b_ drum head.\n  _c_ _d_ and _e_ bones to carry sound to inner ear.\n  _f_ _g_ and _h_ inner ear.\n  _i_ tube to the mouth.\n  _j_ middle ear.]\n\n=174. Ear wax.=--Wax is formed just inside the ear. It keeps flies and\ninsects from crawling into the ear. Boys in swimming sometimes get\ncold water into their ears. This may make them have an earache.\n\n=175. How the throat affects the ear.=--An air tube runs from the\ninside of the ear to the mouth. Sometimes when you blow your nose, you\nblow air into the ear. This makes you partly deaf and you hear a\nroaring in your ears.\n\nSometimes when you have a cold in your throat, this little tube is\nstopped. Then your ear may ache and may even discharge matter. This\nmay make you somewhat deaf. Earache and deafness are most often due to\na cold in the throat and a stoppage of this tube.\n\nMany little boys and girls are deaf and do not know it. They cannot\nhear the teacher well, and sometimes the teacher thinks they are bad\nor careless because they do not answer.\n\n=176. Care of the ears.=--Very loud noises may harm the ear and make\nyou deaf. When you expect a very loud noise, put your fingers in your\nears to shut out the sound.\n\nBoxing the ears may break their tiny drums and make you deaf.\n\nDo not get cold water in your ear. This may cause an earache and make\nyou deaf. If you get water in your ear while you are in swimming, turn\nyour head to one side and shake it. This will get the water out.\n\nDo not put cotton or anything else into your ears.\n\n=177. Smell.=--We smell with the nose. Some things give out a vapor to\nthe air. When we draw the air into the nose, this vapor touches the\nnerves, and we perceive a smell. The nerves are high up in the nose.\nIn order to perceive smell clearly, we sniff the air far up the nose.\n\n=178. Use of smell.=--Bad air and spoiled food smell bad. A bad smell\nis the sign of something spoiled. The sense of smell tells us when\nfood or air is unfit for use. Some people try to hide a bad smell with\nperfumery. To do this only makes the danger greater, for then the\nsmell does not tell us of the danger of food or air.\n\nSome animals can smell much better than a man. A dog will smell the\ntrack of a wild animal hours after it is made. Savages can smell much\nbetter than civilized men.\n\n=179. Taste.=--We taste with the tongue. Dry food has no taste, but it\nmust first dissolve in the mouth. Spoiled food tastes bad. Bad-tasting\nfood is not fit to eat. Taste tells us whether food is good or bad.\n\nWe can learn to like the taste of harmful things. At first no one\nlikes tobacco or strong drink, but the liking is formed the more one\nuses these. We ought to be careful not to begin to use such things.\n\n_Alcohol_ and _tobacco_ burn the mouth and harm the taste. Food does\nnot taste so good and we may eat spoiled food and not know it.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. We can feel in every part of the body, but mostly in the ends\n          of the fingers.\n\n     2. Light makes a picture upon the nerves inside of the eye.\n\n     3. If the eyes ache, the light should be softened or the position\n          of the book or work changed, or else the eyes should be\n          rested.\n\n     4. Sound in the air goes into the ear and strikes against a drum.\n          Bones then carry the sound to the ear nerves.\n\n     5. Air snuffed up the nose gives the sense of smell. Smell tells\n          us if the air or food is fit for use.\n\n     6. Taste tells us whether food is fit for use. Men can learn to\n          like the taste of wrong things like tobacco or alcohol.\n\n[Illustration: =The Human Skeleton, showing position of bones.=]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nBONES AND JOINTS\n\n\n=180.= Bones make the body stiff and strong, and give it shape. Long\nbones reach through the arms and legs, and little bones reach down the\nfingers and toes. Rounded plates of bone form the head, and a pile of\nbony rings makes up the backbone. Each bone is built to fit exactly\ninto its own place and to do its own work. In all there are over two\nhundred bones in the body. They form one seventh of its weight.\n\n=181. Form of bones.=--A bone is not like a solid piece of timber, but\nis hollow like the frame of a bicycle. This makes it strong and light.\nAt its ends a bone is like a hard sponge covered with a firm shell.\nThis makes it too strong to be easily crushed, and keeps it light.\n\nA bone grows like any other part of the body. It is made of living cells\nlike woven threads. Lime is mixed among the cells, and makes them stiff\nlike starch among the threads of a linen collar. Blood tubes go through\nevery part of the bone so as to feed the cells. The living cells form\none third of the bone, while the lime forms two thirds.\n\n=182. Broken bones.=--Bones are very hard, and yet they can bend a\nlittle without breaking. Most of them are curved a little, and so they\nwill spring instead of breaking when they are pressed hard. But\nsometimes they break. Then a person must wear a splint and bandage to\nkeep the bones in place until they grow together again. The living\ncells will mend a bone in about a month.\n\nAn old person's bones are more tender than a child's, and will not\nspring much without breaking. An old man is afraid of falling and\nbreaking his bones, while a child falls a dozen times a day without\ndanger.\n\nThe bones of some children bend too easily. When they stand, the bones\nof their legs bend a little. After a while they grow in the crooked\nshape, and the child is bow-legged.\n\n=183. Joints.=--Some bones are hinged upon each other. A bone hinge is a\n_joint_. The rings of the backbone are held together by very tough pads\nof flesh. Each pad lets the backbone bend only a little, but altogether\nthey let us bend our backs in any direction. These pads are like rubber\nsprings in a wagon, and keep our bodies from being jarred too much.\n\nThe finger and toe joints, the wrists and ankles, the elbows and the\nknees, bend back and forth like a hinge. Tough bands of flesh bind the\nbones together. The ends of the bones are rounded and smooth. They fit\ntogether and make perfect hinges. The joints are oiled by a fluid like\nthe white of an egg. In old people this fluid sometimes dries up. Then\nthe joints become stiff, and creak like a squeaking hinge.\n\n[Illustration: =Hinge joint of the elbow.=\n\n  1 humerus\n  2 ulna]\n\nThe shoulders and hips can be moved in every direction. The upper ends\nof the arm and leg bones are round like half a ball. They fit into cups\non the shoulder and hip bones. They are very smooth, and are oiled like\nthe hinge joints. The joints are made to work very smoothly and easily.\n\n=184. Bones out of joint.=--When the ends of bones are torn away from\neach other, the bone is out of joint. Then the bone cannot be moved\nwithout great pain. It should be put back in place at once and kept\nthere by splints and bandages. A person is less liable to have his\njoints out of place than he is to have his bones broken.\n\n=185. Sprains.=--Sometimes a joint is turned too much. This stretches\nthe flesh around the joint, and makes it very tender and painful. This\nis a _sprain_. When you sprain a joint, you should put it in hot water\nfor an hour or two. Then keep it still for a few days.\n\n=186. Why bones and joints grow wrong.=--While bones and joints are\ngrowing they can be made to take any shape we please. They cannot be\nbent all at once, but if we hold them in one way much of the time,\nthey will keep that shape. Some boys and girls sit with their backs\nbent forward and lean against the desk as if they were too lazy to sit\nup. When they grow up, they will be bent and round-shouldered. You\nshould sit and stand straight. Then you will grow tall and straight\nand strong. A soldier has square shoulders and walks erect because he\nis drilled until his bones and joints grow in the proper shape. As you\nstand straight with your feet together, your two big toes, your two\nankles, and your two knees should touch each other.\n\nIf you wear tight shoes and press the toes out of shape, they will\nsoon grow so. Nearly every one's feet are out of shape from wearing\nshort, pointed shoes. Your toes should be straight and not cramped by\nthe shoe. If you wear narrow shoes, you may harm your feet. It is\nbetter to have one's feet useful, even if they are large, than to make\nthem small and useless.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Bones make the body stiff, and give it form.\n\n     2. Some bones are long, some round, and some flat. All are hard\n          and springy.\n\n     3. Some bones are hinged together. The hinge is a joint.\n\n     4. The ends of bones in joints are rounded and smooth, and are\n          oiled with a liquid like the white of an egg.\n\n     5. Some bones are bound together by springy pads, as in the\n          backbone.\n\n     6. Bones can be broken. They will grow together again themselves.\n\n     7. Joints can be put out of place; then we must put them back.\n\n     8. If joints or bones are kept in wrong positions they will grow\n          into bad shapes. Tight shoes deform the feet.\n\n[Illustration: =The muscular system.=]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nMUSCLES\n\n\n=187. Shape of muscles.=--Bones are covered with muscles. Muscles give\nshape to the body, and move it about. One half of the body consists of\nmuscles. These are arranged in bundles, and each causes a bone to make\none motion. There are over four hundred separate bundles of muscle in\nthe body.\n\nOne end of a muscle is large and round and is fast to a bone. The\nother end tapers to a strong string or tendon. The tendon passes over\na joint, and becomes fast to another bone. You can easily feel the\ntendons in the wrist and behind the knee.\n\n[Illustration: =Muscle cells, cut across (x200).=\n\n  _a_ muscle cell.\n  _b_ connective tissue binding the cells together.]\n\nA muscle is made of tiny strings. You can pick them apart until they\nare too fine to be seen with the eye. Each string is a living muscle\ncell. It is the largest kind of cell in the body. You can see the fine\nstrings in cooked meat.\n\n[Illustration: =A thin slice of a voluntary muscle, cut lengthwise\n(x100).=\n\n  _a_ muscle cell.\n  _b_ capillaries surrounding the cells.\n  _c_ connective tissue binding the cells together.]\n\n=188. How muscles act.=--A nerve runs from the brain, and touches\nevery cell of the muscle. When we wish to move, the brain sends an\norder down the nerve. Then each muscle cell makes itself thicker and\nshorter. This pulls its ends together, and bends the joint. We can\nmake muscle cells move when we wish to, but we cannot make any other\nkind of cell move. We make all our movements by means of our muscles.\n\n=189. Where you can see muscles.=--In a butcher's shop you can see lean\nmeat. This is the animal's muscle. White and tough flesh divides the\ntender red meat into bundles. Each red bundle is a muscle. You will see\nhow the muscle tapers to a string or tendon. The butcher often hangs up\nthe meat by the tendons. You can see the muscles and tendons in a\nchicken's leg or wing when it is being dressed for dinner.\n\nRoll up your sleeve to see your own muscles. Shut your hand tight. You\nwill see little rolls under your skin, just below the elbow. Each roll\nis a muscle. You can feel them get hard when you shut your hand. You\ncan feel their tendons as they cross the wrist.\n\nOpen your hand wide. You can see and feel the tendons of the fingers\nupon the back of the hand. These tendons come from muscles on the back\nof the arm. You can feel the bundles of these muscles when they open\nthe fingers. There are no muscles in the fingers, but all are in the\nhand or arm. You cannot open your hand so strongly as you can close it.\n\n=190. Strength of muscle.=--By using a muscle you can make it grow\nlarger and stronger. If you do not use your muscles they will be small\nand weak. Children ought to use their muscles in some way, but if they\nuse them too much, they will be tired out. Then they will grow weaker\ninstead of stronger. Lifting heavy weights, or running long distances,\ntires out the muscles, and makes them weaker. Small boys sometimes try\nto lift as much as the big boys. This may do their muscles great harm.\n\n=191. Round shoulders.=--The muscles hold up the back and head, and\nkeep us straight when we sit or stand. A lazy boy will not use his\nmuscles to hold himself up, but will lean against something. He will\nlet his shoulders fall, and will sit down in a heap. Sometimes he is\nmade to wear shoulder braces to keep his shoulders back. This gives\nthe muscles nothing to do, and so they grow weaker than ever. The best\nthing to do for round shoulders is to make the boy sit and stand\nstraight, like a soldier. Then he will use his muscles until they are\nstrong enough to hold his shoulders back.\n\n=192. How exercise makes the body healthy.=--When you use your\nmuscles, you become warmer. Your face will be red, for the heart sends\nmore blood to the working muscle cells. You will be short of breath,\nfor the cells need more air. You will eat more, for your food is used\nup. Your muscles are like an engine. They get their power from burning\nfood in their own cells. When they work they need to use more food and\nair. So working a muscle makes us eat more and breathe deeper. The\nblood flows faster, and we feel better all over. The muscle itself\ngrows much larger and stronger.\n\nIf we sit still all day, the fires in our bodies burn low and get\nclogged with ashes. We feel dull and sleepy. If we run about for a few\nminutes, we shall breathe deeply. The fires will burn brighter. Our\nbrains will be clearer, and we shall feel like work again. Boys and\ngirls need to use their muscles when they go to school. Games and play\nwill make you get your lessons sooner.\n\n=193. How to use the muscles.=--You should use your muscles to make\nyourself healthy, and not for the sake of growing strong. Some very\nstrong men are not well, and some men with small muscles are very\nhealthy. Some boys have strong muscles because their fathers had\nstrong muscles before them. Strength of muscle does not make a man.\n\nYou ought to have healthy muscles. Then your whole bodies will be\nhealthy, and you can do a great deal of work. You ought to learn how\nto use your muscles rather than how to make them strong. An awkward\nand bashful boy may be very strong, but he cannot use his muscles. A\nboy is graceful because he can use them.\n\nThe best way to use your muscles is in doing something useful. You can\nhelp your mother in the house and your father at the barn. You can run\nerrands. You can learn to use carpenter's tools or to plant a garden.\nThen you will get exercise and not know it. You will also be learning\nsomething useful.\n\nPlay is also needed. Work gets tiresome, and you will not want to use\nyour muscles. Play is bad when it takes you from your work or when you\nhurt yourself trying to beat somebody.\n\n=194. Alcohol and the muscles.=--Men use alcohol to make themselves\nstrong. It dulls their weak feelings, and then they think themselves\nstrong. They are really weaker. The alcohol hinders digestion and\nkeeps food from the cells. Then the fires in the body burn low, and\nthere is little strength.\n\nAlcohol sometimes causes muscle cells to change to fat. This weakens\nthe muscles.\n\nMen sometimes have to do hard work in cold countries; and at other\ntimes they must make long marches across hot deserts. Neither the\nEskimos in the cold north, nor the Arabs in the hot desert, use strong\ndrink. Alcohol does not help a man in either place. It really weakens\nthe body. The government used to give out liquor to its soldiers; but\nsoldiers can do more work and have better health without liquor and it\nis no longer given out.\n\nA few years ago men were ashamed to refuse to drink. Even when a new\nchurch building was raised, rum was bought by the church and given to\nthe workmen. Farmers used to give their men a jug of rum when they\nwent to work. Farm hands would not work without it.\n\nNow all this has changed. Men do not want drinkers to work for them. A\nrailroad company will discharge a man at once if he is known to drink\nat all. A man can now refuse to drink anywhere and men will not think\nany less of him.\n\n=195. Tobacco= poisons the muscle cells and makes them weak. At first\nit makes boys too sick to move. It always poisons the cells even if\nthey do not feel sick.\n\n=196. A long life.=--A man's body is built to last eighty years, but\nonly a few live so long. If you are careful in your eating and\ndrinking, if you breathe pure air, and if you use your muscles, your\nbody will be healthy and will last the eighty years and more. All\nthrough your life you will be strong and able to do good work.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Muscles cover the bones and move the body.\n\n     2. Muscle is lean meat. It is made of bundles of cells like\n          strings. Nerves from the brain touch each cell.\n\n     3. Each muscle is fast to a bone. It becomes a small string or\n          tendon at the other end. The tendon crosses a joint and is\n          fast to another bone.\n\n     4. When we wish to move, the brain sends an order to the muscle\n          cells to make themselves thicker and shorter and so bend the\n          joint.\n\n     5. You can feel the muscles and tendons in the arm and wrist.\n\n     6. Muscle work makes us breathe deeper, and eat more food. It\n          makes the blood flow faster. So it makes our whole bodies\n          more healthy.\n\n     7. Every one ought to use his muscles some part of the day.\n\n     8. Alcohol and tobacco lessen the strength of the muscles.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nDISEASE GERMS\n\n\n=197. Catching diseases.=--Our body may get out of order like a\nmachine. Some parts of it may be cut, or broken, or worn out, or hurt\nin other ways. Then we are sick until it is made whole again. Sickness\nalways means that a part of the body is out of order.\n\nSome kinds of sickness are like a fire. A small bit of something from\na sick person may start a sickness in us, just as a spark may set a\nhouse on fire. Then we may give the sickness to others, just as a fire\nmay spread to other houses. If a person has measles, we may catch the\nmeasles if we go near him; but if a person has a toothache, we cannot\ncatch the toothache from him. So we may catch some kinds of diseases,\nbut we cannot catch other kinds.\n\n=198. Bacteria and germs.=--Every kind of catching sickness is caused\nby tiny living things growing in our flesh and blood. Some of them are\ntiny animals. Most of them are plants, and are called _bacteria_ or\n_microbes_. A common name for all of them is _germs_.\n\nThe word germ means nearly the same as the word seed. Bacteria are so\nsmall that we cannot see them unless we look at them through a strong\nmicroscope. Then they look like little dots and lines (p. 54). A\nmillion of them could lie on a pin point; but if they have a chance,\nthey may grow in numbers, so that in two days they would fill a pint\nmeasure.\n\nVery many kinds of bacteria and other germs are found nearly\neverywhere. They are in the soil and in water, and some float in the\nair as dust. When they fall on dead things, they cause _decay_ or\n_rotting_. When we can fruit, we kill the germs by boiling the fruit\nand the cans. Then we close the cans tightly so that no new germs can\nget into them. The fruit will then keep fresh for years.\n\nDecay is nearly always a good thing, for by it dead bodies and waste\nsubstances are destroyed and given back to the ground, where plants\nfeed upon them. Many plants would not grow if they could not feed upon\ndecaying things. So most bacteria and other germs are useful to us.\nBut some kinds of germs will grow only in our bodies, and these kinds\nare the cause of most of our sickness.\n\n=199. Germs of sickness.=--We catch a sickness by taking a few of the\ngerms of the sickness into our flesh. There they grow quickly, like\nweed seeds in the ground, and form crops of new germs within a few\nhours. After a few days the germs become millions in number, and crowd\nthe cells of our flesh, just as weeds may crowd a potato plant (p. 54).\n\nDisease germs in the body also form poisons, just as some weeds in a\nfield form poisons. The poisons make us sick, just as if we had\nswallowed the leaves of a poisonous weed.\n\n=200. Fever.=--If a sickness is caused by disease germs, the body is\nnearly always too warm. Then we say that the sick person has a\n_fever_. Almost the only cause for a fever is disease germs growing in\nthe body. We can make a person have any kind of fever by planting a\nfew of the germs of the fever in the right part of his body.\n\nWe are made sick by the germs of fevers more often than by all other\ncauses put together. Here is a list of common diseases caused by fever\ngerms:--colds and sore throats, most stomach aches, blood poisoning in\nwounds, boils and pimples, tuberculosis, whooping cough, measles,\nchicken pox, diphtheria, scarlet fever, typhoid fever, smallpox, and\nmalaria.\n\nWhich of these kinds of sickness have you had? What sickness have you\nhad besides these?\n\n=201. Sickness and Dirt.=--Disease germs leave the body of a sick person\nin three ways: first, through the skin, second, through the kidneys and\nintestines, and third, through the nose and throat. In these same ways\nour body gives off its waste matters. If we did not take anything from\nanother person's body into our own body we should not catch fevers.\n\nWhatever a feverish person soils may contain disease germs. When a\nperson has only a slight fever he often keeps at work, and then he may\nscatter disease germs wherever he goes. So disease germs are likely to\nbe found wherever there is dirt or filth. Cleanliness means good\nhealth as well as good looks.\n\n=202. Disease germs in the skin.=--Disease germs may often be found in\nsores and pimples on the skin, but they will not leave anybody's flesh\nand blood through sound and healthy skin. If our skin is smooth and\nfair, there will be few disease germs on it unless we rub against\nsomething dirty. A dirty skin nearly always contains disease germs.\nWashing and bathing our body will take disease germs from our skin and\nhelp us to keep well.\n\n=203. Disease germs in slops.=--A great many disease germs leave the\nbody through the intestine and kidneys, and may be found in the slops\nand waste water of our houses. Slops are dangerous to health, for they\nmay run into a well, or spring, or river, and so carry disease germs\ninto our drinking water (p. 27). Also, house flies may light on the\npails or puddles and carry the germs to our food. In these ways we\ncatch typhoid fever, stomach aches, and other diseases of the\nintestines. All slops and waste matters from the body should be put\nwhere they cannot reach our drinking water, and where flies cannot\ncrawl over them (p. 80).\n\n=204. Disease germs from the nose and throat.=--If a person is sick with\na fever, many of the germs are likely to be found in his nose and\nthroat. Thousands of them are driven out with every drop of saliva and\nphlegm when he blows his nose, or spits, coughs, or sneezes, or talks.\nIf he puts anything into his mouth, it will be covered with germs. More\ndiseases are spread from the nose and mouth than in any other way, for\nwe are always doing something to spread bits of saliva and phlegm.\n\n=205. Spitting.=--Colds and consumption and other forms of sickness\nare often spread by sick persons spitting on the floor or pavement.\nThe germs become dried and are blown away as dust. For this reason\ndust from the streets of cities and in crowded halls is often the\ncause of sickness. In many places spitting on a floor or pavement is\nstrictly forbidden by law.\n\n=206. Putting things in the mouth.=--Many persons have the habit of\nsucking their fingers, or of touching a pencil to the tongue when they\nwrite or think, or of wetting their fingers with their lips when they\nturn the leaves of a book. In all these ways we may give a disease to\nothers or may take a disease from some one else.\n\n=207. Public drinking cup.=--When you touch your lips to a cup, you\nleave some saliva and cells from your mouth on the cup. If a cup is\nused by a number of persons, some one is almost sure to leave germs of\nsickness on it, and others are likely to take them into their own\nmouths when they drink. So a public drinking cup is a dangerous thing.\nEach school child should have his own cup. Public drinking fountains\nshould be so made that we may drink by putting our lips to a stream of\nrunning water.\n\n[Illustration: =A safe drinking fountain.=\n\nA stream of water gushes up from the middle of the cup.]\n\n[Illustration: =An unsafe drinking place.=\n\nPhotograph taken in the basement of a schoolhouse.]\n\n=208. Sweeping.=--Dusty air in a room is dangerous to health, for\ndisease germs are likely to be found in it. We can get rid of dust by\nkeeping our floors swept clean. After sweeping we should wipe the dust\nfrom the tables and furniture. A feather duster or dry cloth will only\nstir up the dust and make it float in the air again. We should use\neither a damp cloth, or a dry duster made of tufts of wool, so that\nthe dust will stick to the duster.\n\n[Illustration: =House fly, magnified.=\n\nThe hairs on its body and legs catch dirt and disease germs.]\n\n=209. Foul air.=--If we live in a closed room, the air soon becomes\nfoul and dusty, and is likely to have disease germs in it. Foul air is\none of the greatest of the causes of sickness. We should change the\nair of a room often so as to keep it fresh and free from dust and\ndisease germs (pp. 65-67).\n\n=210. House flies.=--House flies come from garbage heaps and filth of\nall sorts. So they carry disease germs on their bodies. They light on\nour food and on our faces, and so they often make us sick. They are\noften the cause of typhoid fever, stomach aches, and stomach sickness\nin babies.\n\n[Illustration: =Life history of house flies.=]\n\nFlies are hatched in manure piles and garbage heaps. At first they\nlook like white worms, and are called _maggots_. Every maggot is a\nyoung fly. We can get rid of flies by cleaning up every garbage heap\nand manure pile.\n\n[Illustration: =Young mosquitoes hanging head downward in water.=]\n\n=211. Mosquitoes.=--Mosquitoes carry malaria and yellow fever from\nsick persons to the well. If there were no mosquitoes, there would be\nno malaria or yellow fever.\n\nMosquitoes are hatched in water, and the young are called _wigglers_.\nWe may often see them in rain barrels. We may get rid of mosquitoes by\nemptying all rain barrels and pails and cans of dirty water, at least\nonce a week, and by drying up swamps and marshes.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. We catch a fever by taking disease germs into the body.\n\n     2. Disease germs cannot be seen without a strong microscope.\n\n     3. The germs may be found in dust and dirt.\n\n     4. Slops from our houses are often full of the germs.\n\n     5. You may take germs into your body by putting pencils and other\n          things into your mouth, and by drinking from a public\n          drinking cup.\n\n     6. Spitting on the floor or pavement may scatter disease germs.\n\n     7. House flies and mosquitoes often spread diseases.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nPREVENTING SICKNESS\n\n\n=212. How our body kills disease germs.=--We take disease germs into\nthe body in three ways: first, through the mouth, second, through the\nnose, and third, through the skin. So we should watch the purity of\nour food, drink, and air, and should be careful about putting things\ninto the mouth, and about the cleanliness of the skin. We often take a\nfew disease germs into the body without catching a disease. This is\nbecause the white cells of our blood fight the germs and kill them (p.\n53). If the body is hurt or weakened, the white blood cells may also\nbe weakened so that they cannot kill the germs. We should take good\ncare of the body so that every part of it may do its work well. We\nneed not be able to run fast, or to lift heavy weights, but the best\nsign that every part of the body is in good order is to feel bright\nand wide-awake. Then our white blood cells will also be in good order\nand able to fight disease germs.\n\n=213. Catching cold.=--When we catch a disease, we often say that we\nhave caught cold. We used to think that cold air and dampness were\nalmost the only causes of taking cold, and this is the reason why we\ncalled many kinds of sickness by the name of colds. Now we know that\nwe catch cold by taking disease germs into the body. The germs will\nnot be able to grow unless the body is weakened in some way, as by\ncold and dampness. Yet if we are wet and cold, we shall not catch cold\nunless we take disease germs into the body. We do not get the germs\nfrom the outdoor air, for very few germs are there. We get them from\nthe foul air of our houses when we come in to warm and dry ourselves.\nIf the air of our houses were always as clean and pure as the outdoor\nair, we should hardly ever have colds.\n\nWe can safely let the cold air blow on us if we are out of doors, but\nif we sit in a house, a small draft sometimes seems to make us take\ncold. This is because there are likely to be many disease germs in the\nhouse and few out of doors.\n\nOther things besides cold air and dampness may weaken the body, and so\nhelp us to take cold. If germs of colds are in a warm room, we may sit\nthere and take cold even if we are not wet or chilled at all. The body\nmay be weakened by poor food, wrong eating, or overwork, so that\ndisease germs will easily grow in it. We take as many colds from these\ncauses as from cold air and dampness.\n\n=214. Kinds of colds.=--A person takes most of the germs of colds\nthrough his nose and mouth. If they grow only in his nose, we say that\nhe has a cold in his head. If they grow in his throat, he has a sore\nthroat, or tonsillitis. If they reach as far as the upper part of his\nwindpipe, he is hoarse, or has a cough, or the croup. If the germs are\nplanted in his lungs, he may have bronchitis or pneumonia. All these\nkinds of sickness often spread from one person to another. If one person\nin a family has a cold, others in the family often catch cold from him.\n\n=215. Diseases like colds.=--Diphtheria, tuberculosis, whooping cough,\nand measles all begin like a common cold and often look like a cold\nduring the whole sickness. Colds do not turn into any of these\ndiseases, for each of them comes from its own germ, just as corn comes\nonly from seed corn.\n\n=216. Curing a cold.=--If you have a cold, you ought to stay at home\nand rest, or lie in bed. Then your white blood cells can gain strength\nto fight the disease germs. You ought to have plenty of fresh air in\nyour room. You ought not to eat much food for a few days, so that your\nstomach and intestine and liver can use all their strength in throwing\noff the poisons of the germs. But you ought to drink plenty of water,\nso as to help wash away the poisons from your body.\n\n=217. Keeping colds from spreading.=--You should keep away from other\npersons while you have a cold, or other catching disease, so as to\nkeep from spreading the sickness. You ought not to go visiting, or go\nto school, or to church, or to other meeting places. When you cough or\nsneeze, you should hold a handkerchief to your mouth, so as to keep\nfrom blowing disease germs from your throat and nose. You ought to\nsleep in a bed by yourself, so that no one may take the disease germs\nfrom your bedclothes. No one else should use your towel, or\nhandkerchief, or knife, or fork, or spoon, or dish, until they have\nbeen washed in hot water, so as to kill the disease germs on them.\n\n=218. Keeping from catching cold.=--You can keep yourself from\ncatching cold by keeping your body strong and in good order. You\nshould keep your clothes dry, eat good food, breathe pure air, get\ngood rest and sleep, and keep your body, your clothes, and your house\nclean. You should also keep disease germs out of your body. You should\nnot form a habit of putting your fingers or a pencil to your mouth (p.\n127). You should keep your nose, your throat, and your mouth clean.\n\n=219. Cleanliness of the nose.=--The inside of the nose is wet with a\nslippery liquid. If you have a cold, the liquid is thick and stops\nyour nose, and is called _phlegm_. The liquid catches and holds dust\nand disease germs, and keeps them from going into the windpipe. It\nalso kills many of the disease germs.\n\nYou should always carry a handkerchief and use it so as to blow the\ngerms out of your nose. You should have a clean handkerchief every day.\n\n[Illustration: =Photograph of model of the nose and throat.=\n\n_A._ tonsil; _B._ adenoids; _C._ opening of Eustachian tube.]\n\n=220. Adenoids and large tonsils.=--Sometimes children have large\ntonsils growing in the back of the throat, or soft bunches of flesh\ncalled _adenoids_ back of the nose. These children cannot breathe well\nthrough the nose, but must breathe through the mouth. Then they take\ndust and disease germs deep into the body, and so take colds and other\nsickness easily. If a child has adenoids or large tonsils, an\noperation should be done to take them out.\n\n=221. Cleanliness of the mouth.=--We often breathe dust and disease\ngerms into the mouth or snuff them into the throat from the nose. Then\nthey are caught between the teeth and in the folds of the cheeks and\nthroat. There they may grow, and finally go deeper into the body and\nmake us sick. A dirty mouth is very often the cause of colds and other\nsickness.\n\nWe should keep our mouths clean by brushing our teeth with a\ntoothbrush two or three times a day. We should also rub the toothbrush\nover the tongue and around the back part of the throat so as to clean\nthe germs from every part of the mouth. Each child should have a\ntoothbrush of his own, and should use it every day.\n\n=222. Contagious diseases.=--Diphtheria, whooping cough, measles,\nscarlet fever, and smallpox are all dangerous kinds of sickness, and\nspread with great ease. The germs may float in the air, and we may\ntake them into our bodies if we go into a room where any one has the\nsickness. So we call these diseases _contagious_. If a person has one\nof these diseases, he should be made to stay in a house or room by\nhimself until he is well. Keeping the sick away from well persons is\ncalled _quarantine_. When the sickness is cured, the sick room and\neverything in it should be cleaned and washed so as to kill the germs.\n\n=223. Board of health.=--There is a board of health in every city and\ntown. The men on the board show persons how to keep diseases from\nspreading, and make them obey the rules of health. Everybody in a town\nshould help the board of health in every possible way.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. The white blood cells of our body kill disease germs.\n\n     2. We catch cold by taking disease germs into our body.\n\n     3. The germs of colds are not often found in the air out of\n          doors. They are often found in the foul air of houses.\n\n     4. If a person has a cold, he should keep away from other\n          persons, so as to keep from spreading the sickness.\n\n     5. Cleansing the nose helps us to keep from catching cold.\n\n     6. Cleansing the teeth and the inside of the mouth removes many\n          disease germs.\n\n     7. Adenoids and large tonsils should be taken from the throat by\n          an operation.\n\n     8. If a person has a dangerous contagious disease, he should be\n          quarantined.\n\n     9. Boards of health have charge of the prevention of contagious\n          diseases.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n  Abdomen, 60.\n\n  Adam's apple, 68.\n\n  Adenoids, 136.\n\n  Air, 59, 65, 129.\n\n  Albumin, 10, 17, 18, 49.\n\n  Alcohol, 38.\n\n  Alcohol and arteries, 56.\n              biliousness, 46.\n              bitters, 46.\n              blood, 55.\n              brain, 95.\n              breathing, 70.\n              burning, 69.\n              catching cold, 71.\n              character, 97.\n              cooking, 47.\n              delirium tremens, 96.\n              digestion, 46.\n              eyes, 103.\n              feeling, 95.\n              habit, 44.\n              heart, 56.\n              heat, 72.\n              heredity, 96.\n              insanity, 96.\n              Jamaica ginger, 47.\n              kidneys, 81.\n              liver, 46.\n              lungs, 70.\n              medicine, 47.\n              money waste, 97.\n              motion, 95.\n              muscles, 119.\n              sickness, 82.\n              skin, 81.\n              stomach, 45.\n              strength, 56, 120.\n              strong drink, 40.\n              suffering, 97.\n              taste, 107.\n              thirst, 44.\n              thought, 95.\n\n  Alcohol, use of, 39.\n\n  Ameba, 7, 52.\n\n  Appetite, 27.\n\n  Arteries, 51, 55.\n\n  Ashes, 12, 62, 78.\n\n\n  B\n\n  Bacteria, 123.\n\n  Bathing, 78, 126.\n\n  Beer, 43.\n\n  Bile, 18.\n\n  Biliousness, 20.\n\n  Bitters, 46.\n\n  Bleeding, 49, 52.\n\n  Blood, 13, 19, 49, 61.\n\n  Board of Health, 137.\n\n  Bones, 109.\n\n  Bowels, 18.\n\n  Bowlegs, 110.\n\n  Brain, 88.\n\n  Brandy, 44.\n\n  Bread, 24, 38.\n\n  Breathing, 59, 60, 67.\n\n  Broken bones, 110.\n\n  Burning, 61, 118.\n\n  Butter, 23.\n\n\n  C\n\n  Cake, 24, 29.\n\n  Candy, 29.\n\n  Canning fruit, 37, 124.\n\n  Capillaries, 51, 61.\n\n  Catching cold, 54, 65, 72, 125, 132.\n\n  Cells, 8.\n\n  Cells, blood tubes of, 51.\n         breathing of, 61.\n         burning of, 62.\n         composition of, 11.\n         food of, 13, 55.\n         messages of, 85, 100.\n\n  Cells of blood, 49, 132.\n           bone, 109.\n           brain, 88.\n           epithelium, 76.\n           muscle, 115.\n           skin, 75.\n           spinal cord, 86.\n           yeast plant, 38.\n\n  Cheese, 23.\n\n  Chest, 60.\n\n  Chewing, 14.\n\n  Chewing gum, 34.\n\n  Chewing tobacco, 33.\n\n  Cider, 42.\n\n  Cigarettes, 34.\n\n  Cigars, 34.\n\n  Clams, 24.\n\n  Clot, 49.\n\n  Clothes, 63.\n\n  Coated tongue, 20.\n\n  Coffee, 27.\n\n  Cold, feelings of, 101.\n\n  Colds, 54, 65, 72, 125, 132.\n\n  Connective tissue, 9.\n\n  Contagious diseases, 137.\n\n  Cooking, 13.\n\n  Cotton, 63.\n\n  Cream, 23.\n\n  Cross-eyes, 102.\n\n  Cuts, 53.\n\n\n  D\n\n  Deafness, 105.\n\n  Decay, 124.\n\n  Delirium tremens, 96.\n\n  Diaphragm, 60.\n\n  Digestion, 13.\n\n  Diphtheria, 53, 134, 137.\n\n  Dirt, 126.\n\n  Dirt in eye, 102.\n\n  Disease germs, 29, 53, 65, 72, 81, 123.\n\n  Distillation, 43.\n\n  Drinking cup, 128.\n\n\n  E\n\n  Ear, 104.\n\n  Ear wax, 104.\n\n  Eating, 20.\n\n  Egg, 23.\n\n  Epidermis, 76.\n\n  Epithelium, 75.\n\n  Eustachian tube, 105, 136.\n\n  Exercise, 118.\n\n  Eye, 101.\n\n  Eyeball, 101.\n\n  Eyelids, 102.\n\n\n  F\n\n  Far sight, 103.\n\n  Fat, 11, 18, 25, 49, 92.\n\n  Fear, 92.\n\n  Feeling, 100.\n\n  Fermentation, 37.\n\n  Fever, 125.\n\n  Fire drill, 93.\n\n  Fish, 24.\n\n  Flannel, 63.\n\n  Flies, 130.\n\n  Food, 12, 13, 19, 23.\n\n  Fresh air, 67, 129.\n\n  Fruit, 25.\n\n  Fur, 64.\n\n\n  G\n\n  Gastric juice, 17.\n\n  Gelatine, 11.\n\n  Germs, 29, 53, 65, 72, 81, 123.\n\n  Gizzard, 14.\n\n  Good habits, 94.\n\n  Grain, 24.\n\n\n  H\n\n  Habit, 94, 127.\n\n  Hair, 76.\n\n  Hair dyes, 77.\n\n  Hair oil, 77.\n\n  Handkerchief, 135, 136.\n\n  Healing, 53.\n\n  Hearing, 104.\n\n  Heart, 50.\n\n  Heart beat, 50, 55.\n\n  Heat, 62, 101.\n\n  Heating houses, 65.\n\n  House flies, 129.\n\n  Hunger, 29.\n\n\n  I\n\n  Intemperance, 29.\n\n  Intestine, 18.\n\n  Iron, 12.\n\n\n  J\n\n  Jamaica ginger, 47.\n\n  Joints, 110.\n\n\n  K\n\n  Kidneys, 62, 78.\n\n  Knowledge, 89.\n\n\n  L\n\n  Lead, 27.\n\n  Life, 12.\n\n  Lime, 12.\n\n  Linen, 64.\n\n  Liver, 18, 19.\n\n  Lungs, 60.\n\n\n  M\n\n  Maggots, 130.\n\n  Malaria, 130.\n\n  Matter, 54.\n\n  Meal, 24.\n\n  Measles, 134, 137.\n\n  Meat, 24, 116.\n\n  Memory, 89.\n\n  Microbes, 123.\n\n  Microscope, 8.\n\n  Milk, 23.\n\n  Mind, 9, 84, 88.\n\n  Minerals, 11, 19, 49.\n\n  Mosquitoes, 130.\n\n  Motion, 88.\n\n  Motor nerves, 85.\n\n  Mouth, 14, 127, 137.\n\n  Muscles, 115.\n\n\n  N\n\n  Nails, 76.\n\n  Near sight, 103.\n\n  Nerve messages, 85.\n\n  Nerves, 84, 116.\n\n  Nervousness, 92.\n\n  Nicotine, 31.\n\n  Night air, 67.\n\n  Nose, 127, 135.\n\n\n  O\n\n  Oatmeal, 24.\n\n  Oysters, 24.\n\n\n  P\n\n  Pain, 100.\n\n  Pancakes, 24.\n\n  Pancreatic juice, 18.\n\n  Pencils, 127, 135.\n\n  Perspiration, 78.\n\n  Pie, 29.\n\n  Pneumonia, 134.\n\n  Poisons, 19.\n\n  Potash, 12.\n\n  Potatoes, 25.\n\n  Public drinking cup, 128.\n\n  Pulse, 51.\n\n  Pus, 54.\n\n\n  Q\n\n  Quarantine, 137.\n\n\n  R\n\n  Red blood cells, 49, 54, 61.\n\n  Reflex action, 86.\n\n  Root beer, 43.\n\n  Round shoulders, 112, 117.\n\n  Rubbers, 64.\n\n\n  S\n\n  Saliva, 14.\n\n  Salt, 12, 26.\n\n  Scarlet fever, 137.\n\n  Senses, 88, 100.\n\n  Sensory nerves, 85.\n\n  Sewers, 81.\n\n  Sick room, 66.\n\n  Sight, 101.\n\n  Skin, 63, 75, 126.\n\n  Sleep, 90.\n\n  Slops, 80, 126.\n\n  Smallpox, 137.\n\n  Smell, 106.\n\n  Smoke, 62.\n\n  Smoking, 34.\n\n  Snuff, 33.\n\n  Soda, 12.\n\n  Spinal cord, 86.\n\n  Spitting, 32, 127.\n\n  Sprains, 112.\n\n  Starch, 11, 14, 18, 25.\n\n  Steam engine, 62.\n\n  Stockings, 64.\n\n  Stomach, 17.\n\n  Strength, 117.\n\n  Strong drink, 40.\n\n  Sugar, 11, 14, 18, 25, 28, 38, 42, 49.\n\n  Swallowing, 15.\n\n  Sweat, 63, 78.\n\n  Sweeping, 129.\n\n  Sweetbread, 18.\n\n\n  T\n\n  Taste, 28, 106.\n\n  Tea, 27.\n\n  Tears, 102.\n\n  Teeth, 14, 137.\n\n  Tendon, 115.\n\n  Thinking, 89.\n\n  Tight shoes, 112.\n\n  Tobacco, 31.\n\n  Tobacco and brain, 98.\n              breathing, 72.\n              chewing, 33.\n              children, 33.\n              digestion, 33.\n              eyes, 104.\n              habit, 34.\n              heart, 57.\n              muscle, 121.\n              strength, 32.\n              taste, 107.\n              teeth, 32.\n\n  Tongue, 15.\n\n  Tonsils, 134, 136.\n\n  Toothpick, 15.\n\n  Touch, 100.\n\n  Tuberculosis, 134.\n\n  Typhoid fever, 53, 127.\n\n\n  V\n\n  Vegetables, 25.\n\n  Veins, 52.\n\n  Ventilation, 65, 129.\n\n  Vinegar, 39.\n\n  Voice, 68.\n\n\n  W\n\n  Warmth, feeling of, 63.\n\n  Washing clothes, 80.\n\n  Waste of body, 75, 78.\n\n  Water, 10, 19, 26, 49, 127.\n\n  Wells, 26, 81.\n\n  Whisky, 44, 71.\n\n  White blood cells, 49, 53, 132.\n\n  Whooping cough, 134, 137.\n\n  Wigglers, 131.\n\n  Windpipe, 15, 59.\n\n  Wine, 42.\n\n  Wool, 63.\n\n  Words, 68.\n\n  Working of fruit, 37.\n\n  Worry, 91.\n\n\n  Y\n\n  Yeast, 24, 38, 42.\n\n\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n   Pg 137 Added period after \"223\" in \"223 Board of health\".\n\n   Pg 141 Replaced a comma with a period after \"101\" in \"Eye, 101\".\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Charles Aldarondo, Keren Vergon, Bradley Norton and PG\nDistributed Proofreaders\n\n\n\n\n\nCIVIL GOVERNMENT\nIN THE UNITED STATES\nCONSIDERED WITH SOME REFERENCE\nTO ITS ORIGINS\n\nBY\n\nJOHN FISKE\n\n  [Greek: Aissomai pai Zaevos Heleutheroiu,\n  Imeran eurnsthene amphipolei, Soteira Tucha\n  tiv gar en ponto kubernontai thoai\n  naes, en cherso te laipsaeroi polemoi\n  kagorai boulaphoroi.]\n\n  PINDAR, _Olymp_. xii.\n\n  Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!\n  Sail on, O Union, strong and great!...\n  Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee.\n  Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,\n  Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,\n  Are all with thee,--are all with thee!\n\n  LONGFELLOW.\n\n\n\n1890\n\nBY JOHN FISKE.\n\n\n_Dedication_\n\nThis little book is dedicated, with the author's best wishes and\nsincere regard, to the many hundreds of young friends whom he has\nfound it so pleasant to meet in years past, and also to those whom he\nlooks forward to meeting in years to come, in studies and readings\nupon the rich and fruitful history of our beloved country.\n\nPREFACE.\n\nSome time ago, my friends, Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., requested\nme to write a small book on Civil Government in the United States,\nwhich might be useful as a text-book, and at the same time serviceable\nand suggestive to the general reader interested in American history.\nIn preparing the book certain points have been kept especially in\nview, and deserve some mention here.\n\nIt seemed desirable to adopt a historical method of exposition, not\nsimply describing our political institutions in their present shape,\nbut pointing out their origin, indicating some of the processes\nthrough which they have acquired that present shape, and thus keeping\nbefore the student's mind the fact that government is perpetually\nundergoing modifications in adapting itself to new conditions.\nInasmuch as such gradual changes in government do not make themselves,\nbut are made by men--and made either for better or for worse--it is\nobvious that the history of political institutions has serious lessons\nto teach us. The student should as soon as possible come to understand\nthat every institution is the outgrowth of experiences. One probably\ngets but little benefit from abstract definitions and axioms\nconcerning the rights of men and the nature of civil society, such as\nwe often find at the beginning of books on government. Metaphysical\ngeneralizations are well enough in their place, but to start with such\nthings--as the French philosophers of the eighteenth century were fond\nof doing--is to get the cart before the horse. It is better to have\nour story first, and thus find out what government in its concrete\nreality has been, and is. Then we may finish up with the metaphysics,\nor do as I have done--leave it for somebody else.\n\nI was advised to avoid the extremely systematic, intrusively\nsymmetrical, style of exposition, which is sometimes deemed\nindispensable in a book of this sort. It was thought that students\nwould be more likely to become interested in the subject if it were\ntreated in the same informal manner into which one naturally falls in\ngiving lectures to young people. I have endeavoured to bear this in\nmind without sacrificing that lucidity in the arrangement of topics\nwhich is always the supreme consideration. For many years I have been\nin the habit of lecturing on history to college students in different\nparts of the United States, to young ladies in private schools, and\noccasionally to the pupils in high and normal schools, and in writing\nthis little book I have imagined an audience of these earnest and\nintelligent young friends gathered before me.\n\nI was especially advised--by my friend, Mr. James MacAlister,\nsuperintendent of schools in Philadelphia, for whose judgment I have\nthe highest respect--to make it a _little_ book, less than three\nhundred pages in length, if possible. Teachers and pupils do not have\ntime enough to deal properly with large treatises. Brevity, therefore,\nis golden. A concise manual is the desideratum, touching lightly upon\nthe various points, bringing out their relationships distinctly, and\nreferring to more elaborate treatises, monographs, and documents, for\nthe use of those who wish to pursue the study at greater length.\n\nWithin limits thus restricted, it will probably seem strange to\nsome that so much space is given to the treatment of local\ninstitutions,--comprising the governments of town, county, and city.\nIt may be observed, by the way, that some persons apparently conceive\nof the state also as a \"local institution.\" In a recent review of\nProfessor Howard's admirable \"Local Constitutional History of the\nUnited States,\" we read, the first volume, which is all that is yet\npublished, treats of the development of the township, hundred, and\nshire; the second volume, we suppose, being designed to treat of\nthe State Constitutions. The reviewer forgets that there is such a\nsubject as the \"development of the city and local magistracies\" (which\nis to be the subject of that second volume), and lets us see that in\nhis apprehension the American state is an institution of the same\norder as the town and county. We can thus readily assent when we\nare told that many youth have grown to manhood with so little\nappreciation of the political importance of the state as to believe\nit nothing more than a geographical division.[1] In its historic\ngenesis, the American state is not an institution of the same order\nas the town and county, nor has it as yet become depressed or\n\"mediatized\" to that degree. The state, while it does not possess such\nattributes of sovereignty as were by our Federal Constitution granted\nto the United States, does, nevertheless, possess many very important\nand essential characteristics of a sovereign body, as is here\npointed out on pages 172-177. The study of our state governments is\ninextricably wrapped up with the study of our national government,\nin such wise that both are parts of one subject, which cannot be\nunderstood unless both parts are studied. Whether in the course of our\ncountry's future development we shall ever arrive at a stage in which\nthis is not the case, must be left for future events to determine.\nBut, if we ever do arrive at such a stage, \"American institutions\"\nwill present a very different aspect from those with which we are now\nfamiliar, and which we have always been accustomed (even, perhaps,\nwithout always understanding them) to admire.\n\n[Footnote 1: Young's _Government Class Book_, p. iv.]\n\nThe study of local government properly includes town, county, and\ncity. To this part of the subject I have devoted about half of my\nlimited space, quite unheedful of the warning which I find in the\npreface of a certain popular text-book, that \"to learn the duties of\ntown, city, and county officers, has nothing whatever to do with the\ngrand and noble subject of Civil Government,\" and that \"to attempt\nclass drill on petty town and county offices, would be simply\nburlesque of the whole subject.\" But, suppose one were to say, with\nan air of ineffable scorn, that petty experiments on terrestrial\ngravitation and radiant heat, such as can be made with commonplace\npendulums and tea-kettles, have nothing whatever to do with the grand\nand noble subject of Physical Astronomy! Science would not have got\nvery far on that plan, I fancy. The truth is, that science, while it\nis perpetually dealing with questions of magnitude, and knows very\nwell what is large and what is small, knows nothing whatever of any\nsuch distinction as that between things that are \"grand\" and things\nthat are \"petty.\" When we try to study things in a scientific spirit,\nto learn their modes of genesis and their present aspects, in order\nthat we may foresee their tendencies, and make our volitions count\nfor something in modifying them, there is nothing which we may safely\ndisregard as trivial. This is true of whatever we can study; it is\neminently true of the history of institutions. Government is not a\nroyal mystery, to be shut off, like old Deiokes,[2] by a sevenfold\nwall from the ordinary business of life. Questions of civil government\nare practical business questions, the principles of which are as often\nand as forcibly illustrated in a city council or a county board of\nsupervisors, as in the House of Representatives at Washington. It is\npartly because too many of our citizens fail to realize that local\ngovernment is a worthy study, that we find it making so much trouble\nfor us. The \"<DW15>s\" and \"boodlers\" do not find the subject beneath\ntheir notice; the Master who inspires them is wide awake and--for a\ncreature that divides the hoof--extremely intelligent.\n\n[Footnote 2: Herodotus, i. 98.]\n\nIt is, moreover, the mental training gained through contact with\nlocal government that enables the people of a community to conduct\nsuccessfully, through their representatives, the government of the\nstate and the nation. And so it makes a great deal of difference\nwhether the government of a town or county is of one sort or another.\nIf the average character of our local governments for the past quarter\nof a century had been _quite_ as high as that of the Boston\ntown-meeting or the Virginia boards of county magistrates, in the days\nof Samuel Adams and Patrick Henry, who can doubt that many an airy\ndemagogue, who, through session after session, has played his pranks\nat the national capital, would long ago have been abruptly recalled to\nhis native heath, a sadder if not a wiser man? We cannot expect the\nnature of the aggregate to be much better than the average natures\nof its units. One may hear people gravely discussing the difference\nbetween Frenchmen and Englishmen in political efficiency, and\nresorting to assumed ethnological causes to explain it, when, very\nlikely, to save their lives they could not describe the difference\nbetween a French commune and an English parish. To comprehend the\ninteresting contrasts between Gambetta in the Chamber of Deputies, and\nGladstone in the House of Commons, one should begin with a historical\ninquiry into the causes, operating through forty generations, which\nhave frittered away self-government in the rural districts and small\ntowns of France, until there is very little left. If things in America\never come to such a pass that the city council of Cambridge must ask\nCongress each year how much money it can be allowed to spend for\nmunicipal purposes, while the mayor of Cambridge holds his office\nsubject to removal by the President of the United States, we may\nsafely predict further extensive changes in the character of the\nAmerican people and their government. It was not for nothing that our\nprofoundest political thinker, Thomas Jefferson, attached so much\nimportance to the study of the township.\n\nIn determining the order of exposition, I have placed local government\nfirst, beginning with the township as the simplest unit. It is well to\ntry to understand what is near and simple, before dealing with what is\nremote and complex. In teaching geography with maps, it is wise to get\nthe pupil interested in the streets of his own town, the country roads\nrunning out of it, and the neighbouring hills and streams, before\nburdening his attention with the topographical details of Borrioboola\nGha. To study grand generalizations about government, before attending\nto such of its features as come most directly before us, is to run the\nrisk of achieving a result like that attained by the New Hampshire\nschool-boy, who had studied geology in a text-book, but was not aware\nthat he had ever set eyes upon an igneous rock.\n\nAfter the township, naturally comes the county. The city, as is here\nshown, is not simply a larger town, but is much more complex in\norganization. Historically, many cities have been, or still are,\nequivalent to counties; and the development of the county must be\nstudied before we can understand that of the city. It has been briefly\nindicated how these forms of local government grew up in England, and\nhow they have become variously modified in adapting themselves to\ndifferent social conditions in different parts of the United States.\n\nNext in order come the general governments, those which possess and\nexert, in one way or another, attributes of sovereignty. First, the\nvarious colonial governments have been considered, and some features\nof their metamorphosis into our modern state governments have been\ndescribed. In the course of this study, our attention is called to\nthe most original and striking feature of the development of civil\ngovernment upon American soil,--the written constitution, with the\naccompanying power of the courts in certain cases to annul the acts\nof the legislature. This is not only the most original feature of our\ngovernment, but it is in some respects the most important. Without the\nSupreme Court, it is not likely that the Federal Union could have been\nheld together, since Congress has now and then passed an act which the\npeople in some of the states have regarded as unconstitutional and\ntyrannical; and in the absence of a judicial method of settling such\nquestions, the only available remedy would have been nullification. I\nhave devoted a brief chapter to the origin and development of written\nconstitutions, and the connection of our colonial charters therewith.\n\nLastly, we come to the completed structure, the Federal Union; and by\nthis time we have examined so many points in the general theory\nof American government, that our Federal Constitution can be more\nconcisely described, and (I believe) more quickly understood, than if\nwe had made it the subject of the first chapter instead of the last.\nIn conclusion, there have been added a few brief hints and suggestions\nwith reference to our political history. These remarks have been\nintentionally limited. It is no part of the purpose of this book\nto give an account of the doings of political parties under the\nConstitution. But its study may fitly be supplemented by that of\nProfessor Alexander Johnston's \"History of American Politics.\"\n\nThis arrangement not only proceeds from the simpler forms of\ngovernment to the more complex, but it follows the historical order of\ndevelopment. From time immemorial, and down into the lowest strata\nof savagery that have come within our ken, there have been clans and\ntribes; and, as is here shown, a township was originally a stationary\nclan, and a county was originally a stationary tribe. There were\ntownships and counties (or equivalent forms of organization) before\nthere were cities. In like manner there were townships, counties, and\ncities long before there was anything in the world that could properly\nbe called a state. I have remarked below upon the way in which English\nshires coalesced into little states, and in course of time the English\nnation was formed by the union of such little states, which lost their\nstatehood (_i.e._, their functions of sovereignty, though not\ntheir self-government within certain limits) in the process. Finally,\nin America, we see an enormous nationality formed by the federation\nof states which partially retain their statehood; and some of these\nstates are themselves of national dimensions, as, for example, New\nYork, which is nearly equal in area, quite equal in population, and\nfar superior in wealth, to Shakespeare's England.\n\nIn studying the local institutions of our different states, I have been\ngreatly helped by the \"Johns Hopkins University Studies in History and\nPolitics,\" of which the eighth annual series is now in course of\npublication. In the course of the pages below I have frequent occasion\nto acknowledge my indebtedness to these learned and sometimes profoundly\nsuggestive monographs; but I cannot leave the subject without a special\nword of gratitude to my friend, Dr. Herbert Adams, the editor of the\nseries, for the noble work which he is doing in promoting the study of\nAmerican history. It had always seemed to me that the mere existence of\nprinted questions in text-books proves that the publishers must have\nrather a poor opinion of the average intelligence of teachers; and it\nalso seemed as if the practical effect of such questions must often be\nto make the exercise of recitation more mechanical for both teachers and\npupils, and to encourage the besetting sin of \"learning by heart.\"\nNevertheless, there are usually two sides to a case; and, in deference\nto the prevailing custom, for which, no doubt, there is much to be said,\nfull sets of questions have been appended to each chapter and section.\nIt seemed desirable that such questions should be prepared by some one\nespecially familiar with the use of school-books; and for these I have\nto thank Mr. F.A. Hill, Head Master of the Cambridge English High\nSchool. I confess that Mr. Hill's questions have considerably modified\nmy opinion as to the merits of such apparatus. They seem to add very\nmaterially to the usefulness of the book.\n\nIt will be observed that there are two sets of these questions,\nentirely distinct in character and purpose. The first set--\"Questions\non the Text\"--is appended to each _section_, so as to be as near\nthe text as possible. These questions furnish an excellent topical\nanalysis of the text.[3] In a certain sense they ask \"what the book\nsays,\" but the teacher is advised emphatically to discourage any such\nthing as committing the text to memory. The tendency to rote-learning\nis very strong. I had to contend with it in teaching history to\nseniors at Harvard twenty years ago, but much has since been done\nto check it through the development of the modern German seminary\nmethods. (For an explanation of these methods, see Dr. Herbert\nAdams on \"Seminary Libraries and University Extension,\" _J.H.U.\nStudies_, V., xi.) With younger students the tendency is of course\nstronger. It is only through much exercise that the mind learns how\nto let itself--as Matthew Arnold used to say--\"play freely about the\nfacts.\"\n\n[Footnote 3: \"This,\" says Mr. Hill, \"will please those who prefer the\ntopical method, while it does not forbid the easy transformation\nof topics to questions, which others may demand.\" In the table of\ncontents I have made a pretty full topical analysis of the book, which\nmay prove useful for comparison with Mr. Hill's.]\n\nIn order to supply the pupil with some wholesome exercise of this\nsort, Mr. Hill has added, at the end of each _chapter_, a set of\n\"Suggestive Questions and Directions.\" Here he has thoroughly divined\nthe purpose of the book and done much to further it.\n\nProblems or cases are suggested for the student to consider, and\nquestions are asked which cannot be disposed of by a direct appeal to\nthe text. Sometimes the questions go quite outside of the text, and\nrelate to topics concerning which it provides no information whatever.\nThis has been done with a purpose. The pupil should learn how to go\noutside of the book and gather from scattered sources information\nconcerning questions that the book suggests. In other words, he should\nbegin to learn _how to make researches_, for that is coming to be\none of the useful arts, not merely for scholars, but for men and\nwomen in many sorts of avocations. It is always useful, as well as\nennobling, to be able to trace knowledge to its sources. Work of this\nsort involves more or less conference and discussion among classmates,\nand calls for active aid from the teacher; and if the teacher does not\nat first feel at home in these methods, practice will nevertheless\nbring familiarity, and will prove most wholesome training. For the aid\nof teachers and pupils, as well as of the general reader who wishes to\npursue the subject, I have added a bibliographical note at the end of\neach chapter, immediately after Mr. Hill's \"Suggestive Questions and\nDirections.\"\n\nThis particular purpose in my book must be carefully borne in mind.\nIt explains the omission of many details which some text-books on the\nsame subject would be sure to include. To make a manual complete and\nself-sufficing is precisely what I have not intended. The book is\ndesigned to be suggestive and stimulating, to leave the reader with\nscant information on some points, to make him (as Mr. Samuel Weller\nsays) \"vish there wos more,\" and to show him how to go on by himself.\nI am well aware that, in making an experiment in this somewhat new\ndirection, nothing is easier than to fall into errors of judgment. I\ncan hardly suppose that this book is free from such errors; but if in\nspite thereof it shall turn out to be in any way helpful in bringing\nthe knowledge and use of the German seminary method into our higher\nschools, I shall be more than satisfied.\n\nJust here, let me say to young people in all parts of our country:--If\nyou have not already done so, it would be well worth while for you\nto organize a debating society in your town or village, for the\ndiscussion of such historical and practical questions relating to the\ngovernment of the United States as are suggested in the course of this\nbook. Once started, there need be no end of interesting and profitable\nsubjects for discussion. As a further guide to the books you need\nin studying such subjects, use Mr. W.E. Foster's \"References to the\nConstitution of the United States,\" the invaluable pamphlet mentioned\nbelow on page 277. If you cannot afford to buy the books, get the\npublic library of your town or village to buy them; or, perhaps,\norganize a small special library for your society or club. Librarians\nwill naturally feel interested in such a matter, and will often\nbe able to help with advice. A few hours every week spent in such\nwholesome studies cannot fail to do much toward the political\neducation of the local community, and thus toward the general\nimprovement of the American people. For the amelioration of things\nwill doubtless continue to be effected in the future, as it has been\neffected in the past, not by ambitious schemes of sudden and universal\nreform (which the sagacious man always suspects, just as he\nsuspects all schemes for returning a fabulously large interest upon\ninvestments), but by the gradual and cumulative efforts of innumerable\nindividuals, each doing something to help or instruct those to whom\nhis influence extends. He who makes two clear ideas grow where there\nwas only one hazy one before, is the true benefactor of his species.\n\nIn conclusion, I must express my sincere thanks to Mr. Thomas Emerson,\nsuperintendent of schools in Newton, for the very kind interest he has\nshown in my work, in discussing its plan with me at the outset, in\nreading the completed manuscript, and in offering valuable criticisms.\n\nCAMBRIDGE, _August_ 5, 1890.\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTAXATION AND GOVERNMENT.\n\n\"Too much taxes\".\n\nWhat is taxation?\n\nTaxation and eminent domain.\n\nWhat is government?\n\nThe \"ship of state\".\n\n\"The government\".\n\nWhatever else it may be, \"the government\" is the power which imposes\ntaxes.\n\nDifference between taxation and robbery.\n\nSometimes taxation is robbery.\n\nThe study of history is full of practical lessons, and helpful to\nthose who would be good citizens.\n\nPerpetual vigilance is the price of liberty.\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS.\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE TOWNSHIP.\n\n\nSection 1. _The New England Township_.\n\nThe most ancient and simple form of government.\n\nNew England settled by church congregations.\n\nPolicy of the early Massachusetts government as to land grants.\n\nSmallness of the farms\n\nTownship and village\n\nSocial position of the settlers\n\nThe town-meeting\n\nSelectmen; town-clerk\n\nTown-treasurer; constables; assessors of taxes and overseers of the\npoor\n\nAct of 1647 establishing public schools\n\nSchool committees\n\nField-drivers and pound-keepers; fence-viewers; other town officers\n\nCalling the town-meeting\n\nTown, county, and state taxes\n\nPoll-tax\n\nTaxes on real-estate; taxes on personal property\n\nWhen and where taxes are assessed\n\nTax-lists\n\nCheating the government\n\nThe rate of taxation\n\nUndervaluation; the burden of taxation\n\nThe \"magic-fund\" delusion\n\nEducational value of the town-meeting\n\nBy-laws\n\n\nPower and responsibility\n\nThere is nothing especially American, democratic, or meritorious about\n\"rotation in office\"\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 2. _Origin of the Township_.\n\nTown-meetings in ancient Greece and Rome\n\nClans; the _mark_ and the _tun_\n\nThe Old-English township, the manor, and the parish\n\nThe vestry-meeting\n\nParish and vestry clerks; beadles, waywardens, haywards,\ncommon-drivers, churchwardens, etc.\n\nTransition from the English parish to the New England township\n\nBuilding of states out of smaller political units\n\nRepresentation; shire-motes; Earl Simon's Parliament\n\nThe township as the \"unit of representation\" in the shire-mote and in\nthe General Court\n\nContrast with the Russian village-community which is not represented\nin the general government\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE COUNTY.\n\n\nSection 1. _The County in its Beginnings_.\n\nWhy do we have counties?\n\nClans and tribes\n\nThe English nation, like the American, grew out of the union of small\nstates\n\nEaldorman and sheriff; shire-mote and county court\n\nThe coroner, or \"crown officer\"\n\nJustices of the peace; the Quarter Sessions; the lord lieutenant\n\nDecline of the English county; beginnings of counties in Massachusetts\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 2. _The Modern County in Massachusetts_.\n\nCounty commissioners, etc.; shire-towns and court-houses\n\nJustices of the peace, and trial justices\n\nThe sheriff\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 3. _The Old Virginia County_.\n\nVirginia sparsely settled; extensive land grants to individuals\n\nNavigable rivers; absence of towns; slavery\n\nSocial position of the settlers\n\nVirginia parishes; the vestry was a close corporation\n\nPowers of the vestry\n\nThe county was the unit of representation\n\nThe county court was virtually a close corporation\n\nThe county-seat, or Court House\n\nPowers of the court; the sheriff\n\nThe county-lieutenant\n\nContrast between old Virginia and old New England, in respect of local\ngovernment\n\nJefferson's opinion of township government\n\n\"Court-day\" in old Virginia\n\nVirginia has been prolific in great leaders\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTOWNSHIP AND COUNTY.\n\n\nSection 1. _Various Local Systems._\n\nParishes in South Carolina\n\nThe back country; the \"regulators\"\n\nThe district system\n\nThe modern South Carolina county\n\nThe counties are too large\n\nTendency of the school district to develop into something like a\ntownship\n\nLocal institutions in colonial Maryland; the hundred\n\nClans; brotherhoods, or phratries; and tribes\n\nOrigin of the hundred; the hundred court; the high constable\n\nDecay of the hundred; hundred-meeting in Maryland\n\nThe hundred in Delaware; the levy court, or representative county\nassembly\n\nThe old Pennsylvania county\n\nTown-meetings in New Tort\n\nThe county board of supervisors\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 2. _Settlement of the Public Domain._\n\nWestward movement of population along parallels of latitude\n\nMethod of surveying the public lands\n\nOrigin of townships in the West\n\nFormation of counties in the West\n\nSome effects of this system\n\nThe reservation of a section for public schools\n\nIn this reservation there were the germs of township government\n\nBut at first the county system prevailed\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 3. _The Representative Township-County System in the\nWest._\n\nThe town-meeting in Michigan\n\nConflict between township and county systems in Illinois\n\nEffects of the Ordinance of 1787\n\nIntense vitality of the township system\n\nCounty option and township option in Missouri, Nebraska, Minnesota,\nand Dakota\n\nGrades of township government in the West\n\nAn excellent result of the absence of centralization in the United\nStates\n\nEffect of the self-governing school district in the South, in preparing\nthe way for the self-governing township\n\nWoman-suffrage in the school district\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nTHE CITY.\n\n\nSection 1. _Direct and Indirect Government._\n\nSummary of the foregoing results; township government is direct,\ncounty government is indirect\n\nRepresentative government is necessitated in a county by the extent of\nterritory, and in a city by the multitude of people\n\nJosiah Quincy's account of the Boston town-meeting in 1830\n\nDistinctions between towns and cities in America and in England\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 2. _Origin of English Boroughs and Cities._\n\nOrigin of the _chesters_ and _casters_ in Roman camps\n\nCoalescence of towns into fortified boroughs\n\nThe borough as a hundred; it acquires a court\n\nThe borough as a county; it acquires a sheriff\n\nGovernment of London under Henry I\n\nThe guilds; the town guild, and Guild Hall\n\nGovernment of London as perfected in the thirteenth century; mayor,\naldermen, and common council\n\nThe city of London, and the metropolitan district\n\nEnglish cities were for a long time the bulwarks of liberty\n\nSimon de Montfort and the cities\n\nOligarchical abuses in English cities, beginning with the Tudor period\n\nThe Municipal Reform Act of 1835\n\nGovernment of the city of New York before the Revolution\n\nChanges after the Revolution\n\nCity government in Philadelphia in the eighteenth century\n\nThe very tradition of good government was lacking in these cities\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 3. _The Government of Cities in the United States_.\n\nSeveral features of our municipal governments\n\nIn many cases they do not seem to work well\n\nRapid growth of American cities\n\nSome consequences of this rapid growth\n\nWastefulness resulting from want of foresight\n\nGrowth in complexity of government in cities\n\nIllustrated by list of municipal officers in Boston.\n\nHow city government comes to be a mystery to the citizens, in some\nrespects harder to understand than state and national government\n\nDread of the \"one-man power\" has in many cases led to scattering and\nweakening of responsibility\n\nCommittees inefficient for executive purposes; the \"Circumlocution\nOffice\"\n\nAlarming increase of city debts, and various attempts to remedy the\nevil\n\nExperience of New York with state interference in municipal affairs;\nunsatisfactory results\n\nThe Tweed Ring in New York\n\nThe present is a period of experiments\n\nThe new government of Brooklyn\n\nNecessity of separating municipal from national politics\n\nNotion that the suffrage ought to be restricted; evils wrought by\nignorant voters\n\nEvils wrought by wealthy speculators; testimony of the Pennsylvania\nMunicipal Commission\n\nDangers of a restricted suffrage\n\nBaneful effects of mixing city politics with national politics\n\nThe \"spoils system\" must be destroyed, root and branch; ballot reform\nalso indispensable\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE STATE.\n\n\nSection 1. _The Colonial Governments_.\n\nClaims of Spain to the possession of North America\n\nClaims of France and England\n\nThe London and Plymouth Companies\n\nTheir common charter\n\nDissolution of the two companies\n\nStates formed in the three zones\n\nFormation of representative governments; House of Burgesses in\nVirginia\n\nCompany of Massachusetts Bay\n\nTransfer of the charter from England to Massachusetts\n\nThe General Court; assistants and deputies\n\nVirtual independence of Massachusetts, and quarrels with the Crown\n\nNew charter of Massachusetts in 1692; its liberties curtailed\n\nRepublican governments in Connecticut and Rhode Island\n\nCounties palatine in England; proprietary charter of Maryland\n\nProprietary charter of Pennsylvania\n\nQuarrels between Penns and Calverts; Mason and Dixon's line\n\nOther proprietary governments\n\nThey generally became unpopular\n\nAt the time of the Revolution there were three forms of colonial\ngovernment: 1. Republican; 2. Proprietary; 3. Royal\n\n(After 1692 the government of Massachusetts might be described as\nSemi-royal)\n\nIn all three forms there was a representative assembly, which alone\ncould impose taxes\n\nThe governor's council was a kind of upper house\n\nThe colonial government was much like the English system in miniature\n\nThe Americans never admitted the supremacy of parliament\n\nExcept in the regulation of maritime commerce\n\nIn England there grew up the theory of the imperial supremacy of\nparliament\n\nAnd the conflict between the British and American theories was\nprecipitated by becoming involved in the political schemes of George\nIII.\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 2. _The Transition from Colonial to State Governments._\n\nDissolution of assemblies and parliaments\n\nCommittees of correspondence; provincial congresses\n\nProvisional governments; \"governors\" and \"presidents\"\n\nOrigin of the senates\n\nLikenesses and differences between British and American systems\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 3. _The State Governments_.\n\nLater modifications\n\nUniversal suffrage\n\nSeparation between legislative and executive departments; its\nadvantages and disadvantages as compared with the European plan\n\nIn our system the independence of the executive is of vital importance\n\nThe state executive\n\nThe governor's functions: 1. Adviser of legislature; 2. Commander of\nstate militia; 3. Royal prerogative of pardon; 4. Veto power\n\nImportance of the veto power as a safeguard against corruption In\nbuilding the state, the local self-government was left unimpaired\n\nInstructive contrast with France\n\nSome causes of French political incapacity\n\nVastness of the functions retained by the states in the American Union\n\nIllustration from recent English history\n\nIndependence of the state courts\n\nConstitution of the state courts\n\nElective and appointive judges\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nWRITTEN CONSTITUTIONS.\n\nIn the American state there is a power above the legislature\n\nGerms of the idea of a written constitution\n\nDevelopment of the idea of contract in Roman law; mediaeval charters\n\nThe \"Great Charter\" (1215)\n\nThe Bill of Rights (1689)\n\nForeshadowing of the American idea by Sir Harry Vane (1666)\n\nThe Mayflower compact (1620)\n\nThe \"Fundamental Orders\" of Connecticut (1639)\n\nGerminal development of the colonial charter toward the modern state\nconstitution\n\nAbnormal development of some recent state constitutions, encroaching\nupon the legislature\n\nThe process of amending constitutions\n\nThe Swiss \"Referendum\"\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE FEDERAL UNION.\n\n\nSection 1. _Origin of the Federal Union_.\n\nCircumstances favourable to the union of the colonies. The New England\nConfederacy (1643-84). Albany Congress (1754); Stamp Act Congress\n(1765); Committees of Correspondence (1772-75). The Continental Congress\n(1774-89). The several states were never at any time sovereign states.\nThe Articles of Confederation. Nature and powers of the Continental\nCongress. It could not impose taxes, and therefore was not fully endowed\nwith sovereignty. Decline of the Continental Congress. Weakness of the\nsentiment of union; anarchical tendencies. The Federal Convention\n(1787).\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n\nSection 2. _The Federal Congress_.\n\nThe House of Representatives. The three fifths compromise. The\nConnecticut compromise. The Senate. Electoral districts; the\n\"Gerrymander\". The election at large. Time of assembling. Privileges of\nmembers. The Speaker. Impeachment in England; in the United States. The\npresident's veto power.\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n\nSection 3. _The Federal Executive_.\n\nThe title of \"President\". The electoral college. The twelfth\namendment. The electoral commission (1877). Provisions against a lapse\nof the presidency.\n\nOriginal purpose of the electoral college not fulfilled\n\nElectors formerly chosen in many states by districts; now always on a\ngeneral ticket\n\n\"Minority presidents\"\n\nAdvantages of the electoral system\n\nNomination of candidates by congressional caucus (1800-24)\n\nNominating conventions; the \"primary\"; the district convention; the\nnational convention\n\nQualifications for the presidency; the term of office\n\nPowers and duties of the president\n\nThe president's message\n\nExecutive departments; the cabinet\n\nThe secretary of state\n\nDiplomatic and consular service\n\nThe secretary of the treasury\n\nThe other departments\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 4. _The Nation and the States._\n\nDifference between confederation and federal union\n\nPowers granted to Congress\n\nThe \"Elastic Clause\"\n\nPowers denied to the states\n\nEvils of an inconvertible paper currency\n\nPowers denied to Congress\n\nBills of attainder\n\nIntercitizenship; mode of mating amendments\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 5. _The Federal Judiciary._\n\nNeed for a federal judiciary\n\nFederal courts and judges\n\nDistrict attorneys and marshals\n\nThe federal jurisdiction\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 6. _Territorial Government._\n\nThe Northwest Territory and the Ordinance of 1787\n\nOther territories and their government\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 7. _Ratification and Amendments_.\n\nProvisions for ratification\n\nConcessions to slavery\n\nDemand for a bill of rights\n\n\nThe first ten amendments\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\n\nSection 8. _A Few Words about Politics_.\n\nFederal taxation\n\nHamilton's policy; excise; tariff\n\nOrigin of American political parties; strict and loose construction of\nthe Elastic Clause\n\n\nTariff, Internal Improvements, and National Bank.\n\nCivil Service reform\n\nOrigin of the \"spoils system\" in the state polities of New Tort and\nPennsylvania\n\n\"Rotation in office;\" the Crawford Act\n\nHow the \"spoils system\" was made national\n\nThe Civil Service Act of 1883\n\nThe Australian ballot\n\nThe English system of accounting for election expenses\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\nA. The Articles of Confederation\n\nB. The Constitution of the United States\n\nC. Magna Charta\n\nD. Part of the Bill of Rights, 1689\n\nE. The Fundamental Orders of Connecticut\n\nF. The States classified according to origin\n\nG. Table of states and territories\n\nH. Population of the United States 1790-1880, with percentages of\nurban population\n\nI. An Examination Paper for Customs Clerks\n\nJ. The New York Corrupt Practices Act of 1890\n\nK. Specimen of an Australian ballot\n\nINDEX\n\n\n\n\nCIVIL GOVERNMENT IN THE UNITED STATES, CONSIDERED WITH SOME REFERENCE\nTO ITS ORIGINS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTAXATION AND GOVERNMENT.\n\n\nIn that strangely beautiful story, \"The Cloister and the Hearth,\" in\nwhich Charles Reade has drawn such a vivid picture of human life at the\nclose of the Middle Ages, there is a good description of the siege of a\nrevolted town by the army of the Duke of Burgundy. Arrows whiz,\ncatapults hurl their ponderous stones, wooden towers are built, secret\nmines are exploded. The sturdy citizens, led by a tall knight who seems\nto bear a charmed life, baffle every device of the besiegers. At length\nthe citizens capture the brother of the duke's general, and the\nbesiegers capture the tall knight, who turns out to be no knight after\nall, but just a plebeian hosier. The duke's general is on the point of\nordering the tradesman who has made so much trouble to be shot, but the\nlatter still remains master of the situation; for, as he dryly observes,\nif any harm comes to him, the enraged citizens will hang the general's\nbrother. Some parley ensues, in which the shrewd hosier promises for the\ntownsfolk to set free their prisoner and pay a round sum of money if the\nbesieging army will depart and leave them in peace. The offer is\naccepted, and so the matter is amicably settled. As the worthy citizen\nis about to take his leave, the general ventures a word of inquiry as to\nthe cause of the town's revolt. \"What, then, is your grievance, my good\nfriend?\" Our hosier knight, though deft with needle and keen with lance,\nhas a stammering tongue. He answers: \"Tuta--tuta--tuta--tuta--too much\ntaxes!\"\n\n[Sidenote: \"Too much taxes.\"]\n\"Too much taxes:\" those three little words furnish us with a clue\nwherewith to understand and explain a great deal of history. A great\nmany sieges of towns, so horrid to have endured though so picturesque\nto read about, hundreds of weary marches and deadly battles, thousands\nof romantic plots that have led their inventors to the scaffold, have\nowed their origin to questions of taxation. The issue between the\nducal commander and the warlike tradesman has been tried over and\nover again in every country and in every age, and not always has the\noppressor been so speedily thwarted and got rid of. The questions as\nto how much the taxes shall be, and who is to decide how much they\nshall be, are always and in every stage of society questions of most\nfundamental importance. And ever since men began to make history, a\nvery large part of what they have done, in the way of making history,\nhas been the attempt to settle these questions, whether by discussion\nor by blows, whether in council chambers or on the battlefield. The\nFrench Revolution of 1789, the most terrible political convulsion of\nmodern times, was caused chiefly by \"too much taxes,\" and by the fact\nthat the people who paid the taxes were not the people who decided\nwhat the taxes were to be. Our own Revolution, which made the United\nStates a nation independent of Great Britain, was brought on by the\ndisputed question as to who was to decide what taxes American citizens\nmust pay.\n\n[Sidenote: What is taxation?]\nWhat, then, are taxes? The question is one which is apt to come up,\nsooner or later, to puzzle children. They find no difficulty in\nunderstanding the butcher's bill for so many pounds of meat, or the\ntailor's bill for so many suits of clothes, where the value received\nis something that can be seen and handled. But the tax bill, though\nit comes as inevitably as the autumnal frosts, bears no such obvious\nrelation to the incidents of domestic life; it is not quite so clear\nwhat the money goes for; and hence it is apt to be paid by the head\nof the household with more or less grumbling, while for the younger\nmembers of the family it requires some explanation.\n\nIt only needs to be pointed out, however, that in every town some\nthings are done for the benefit of all the inhabitants of the town,\nthings which concern one person just as much as another. Thus roads\nare made and kept in repair, school-houses are built and salaries paid\nto school-teachers, there are constables who take criminals to jail,\nthere are engines for putting out fires, there are public libraries,\ntown cemeteries, and poor-houses. Money raised for these purposes,\nwhich are supposed to concern all the inhabitants, is supposed to be\npaid by all the inhabitants, each one furnishing his share; and the\nshare which each one pays is his town tax.\n\n[Sidenote: Taxation and eminent domain.]\nFrom this illustration it would appear that taxes are private property\ntaken for public purposes; and in making this statement we come\nvery near the truth. Taxes are portions of private property which a\ngovernment takes for its public purposes. Before going farther, let\nus pause to observe that there is one other way, besides taxation, in\nwhich government sometimes takes private property for public purposes.\nRoads and streets are of great importance to the general public; and\nthe government of the town or city in which you live may see fit, in\nopening a new street, to run it across your garden, or to make you\nmove your house or shop out of the way for it. In so doing, the\ngovernment either takes away or damages some of your property. It\nexercises rights over your property without asking your permission.\nThis power of government over private property is called \"the right of\neminent domain.\" It means that a man's private interests must not be\nallowed to obstruct the interests of the whole community in which\nhe lives. But in two ways the exercise of eminent domain is unlike\ntaxation. In the first place, it is only occasional, and affects only\ncertain persons here or there, whereas taxation goes on perpetually\nand affects all persons who own property. In the second place, when\nthe government takes away a piece of your land to make a road, it pays\nyou money in return for it; perhaps not quite so much as you believe\nthe piece of land was worth in the market; the average human nature is\ndoubtless such that men seldom give fair measure for measure unless\nthey feel compelled to, and it is not easy to put a government under\ncompulsion. Still it gives you something; it does not ask you to part\nwith your property for nothing. Now in the case of taxation, the\ngovernment takes your money and seems to make no return to you\nindividually; but it is supposed to return to you the value of it in\nthe shape of well-paved streets, good schools, efficient protection\nagainst criminals, and so forth.\n\n[Sidenote: What is government?]\nIn giving this brief preliminary definition of taxes and taxation, we\nhave already begun to speak of \"the government\" of the town or city\nin which you live. We shall presently have to speak of other\n\"governments,\"--as the government of your state and the government of\nthe United States; and we shall now and then have occasion to allude\nto the governments of other countries in which the people are free,\nas, for example, England; and of some countries in which the people\nare not free, as, for example, Russia. It is desirable, therefore,\nthat we should here at the start make sure what we mean by\n\"government,\" in order that we may have a clear idea of what we are\ntalking about.\n\n[Sidenote: The \"ship of state.\"]\nOur verb \"to govern\" is an Old French word, one of the great host of\nFrench words which became a part of the English language between the\neleventh and fourteenth centuries, when so much French was spoken in\nEngland. The French word was _gouverner_, and its oldest form was\nthe Latin _gubernare_, a word which the Romans borrowed from\nthe Greek, and meant originally \"to steer the ship.\" Hence it very\nnaturally came to mean \"to guide,\" \"to direct,\" \"to command.\" The\ncomparison between governing and steering was a happy one. To govern\nis not to command as a master commands a slave, but it is to issue\norders and give directions for the common good; for the interests of\nthe man at the helm are the same as those of the people in the ship.\nAll must float or sink together. Hence we sometimes speak of the \"ship\nof state,\" and we often call the state a \"commonwealth,\" or something\nin the weal or welfare of which all the people are alike interested.\n\nGovernment, then, is the directing or managing of such affairs as\nconcern all the people alike,--as, for example, the punishment of\ncriminals, the enforcement of contracts, the defence against foreign\nenemies, the maintenance of roads and bridges, and so on. To the\ndirecting or managing of such affairs all the people are expected to\ncontribute, each according to his ability, in the shape of taxes.\nGovernment is something which is supported by the people and kept\nalive by taxation. There is no other way of keeping it alive.\n\n[Sidenote: \"The government.\"]\nThe business of carrying on government--of steering the ship of\nstate--either requires some special training, or absorbs all the\ntime and attention of those who carry it on; and accordingly, in all\ncountries, certain persons or groups of persons are selected or in\nsome way set apart, for longer or shorter periods of time, to perform\nthe work of government. Such persons may be a king with his council,\nas in the England of the twelfth century; or a parliament led by a\nresponsible ministry, as in the England of to-day; or a president\nand two houses of congress, as in the United States; or a board of\nselectmen, as in a New England town. When we speak of \"a government\"\nor \"the government,\" we often mean the group of persons thus set\napart for carrying on the work of government. Thus, by \"the Gladstone\ngovernment\" we mean Mr. Gladstone, with his colleagues in the cabinet\nand his Liberal majority in the House of Commons; and by \"the Lincoln\ngovernment,\" properly speaking, was meant President Lincoln, with the\nRepublican majorities in the Senate and House of Representatives.\n\n[Sidenote: Whatever else it may be, \"the government\" is the power which\ntaxes]\n\"The government\" has always many things to do, and there are many\ndifferent lights in which we might regard it. But for the present\nthere is one thing which we need especially to keep in mind. \"The\ngovernment\" is the power which can rightfully take away a part of your\nproperty, in the shape of taxes, to be used for public purposes. A\ngovernment is not worthy of the name, and cannot long be kept in\nexistence, unless it can raise money by taxation, and use force, if\nnecessary, in collecting its taxes. The only general government of the\nUnited States during the Revolutionary War, and for six years after\nits close, was the Continental Congress, which had no authority to\nraise money by taxation. In order to feed and clothe the army and pay\nits officers and soldiers, it was obliged to _ask_ for money from\nthe several states, and hardly ever got as much as was needed. It was\nobliged to borrow millions of dollars from France and Holland, and to\nissue promissory notes which soon became worthless. After the war was\nover it became clear that this so-called government could neither\npreserve order nor pay its debts, and accordingly it ceased to be\nrespected either at home or abroad, and it became necessary for the\nAmerican people to adopt a new form of government. Between the old\nContinental Congress and the government under which we have lived\nsince 1789, the differences were many; but by far the most essential\ndifference was that the new government could raise money by taxation,\nand was thus enabled properly to carry on the work of governing.\n\nIf we are in any doubt as to what is really the government of some\nparticular country, we cannot do better than observe what person or\npersons in that country are clothed with authority to tax the people.\nMere names, as customarily applied to governments, are apt to be\ndeceptive. Thus in the middle of the eighteenth century France and\nEngland were both called \"kingdoms;\" but so far as kingly power was\nconcerned, Louis XV. was a very different sort of a king from George\nII. The French king could impose taxes on his people, and it might\ntherefore be truly said that the government of France was in the king.\nIndeed, it was Louis XV's immediate predecessor who made the famous\nremark, \"The state is myself.\" But the English king could not impose\ntaxes; the only power in England that could do that was the House of\nCommons, and accordingly it is correct to say that in England, at the\ntime of which we are speaking, the government was (as it still is) in\nthe House of Commons.\n\n[Sidenote: Difference between taxation and robbery.]\nI say, then, the most essential feature of a government--or at any\nrate the feature with which it is most important for us to become\nfamiliar at the start--is its power of taxation. The government is\nthat which taxes. If individuals take away some of your property for\npurposes of their own, it is robbery; you lose your money and get\nnothing in return. But if the government takes away some of your\nproperty in the shape of taxes, it is supposed to render to you an\nequivalent in the shape of good government, something without which\nour lives and property would not be safe. Herein seems to lie the\ndifference between taxation and robbery. When the highwayman points\nhis pistol at me and I hand him my purse and watch, I am robbed. But\nwhen I pay the tax-collector, who can seize my watch or sell my house\nover my head if I refuse, I am simply paying what is fairly due from\nme toward supporting the government.\n\n[Sidenote: Sometimes taxation _is_ robbery.]\nIn what we have been saying it has thus far been assumed that the\ngovernment is in the hands of upright and competent men and is\nproperly administered. It is now time to observe that robbery may be\ncommitted by governments as well as by individuals. If the business of\ngoverning is placed in the hands of men who have an imperfect sense of\ntheir duty toward the public, if such men raise money by taxation and\nthen spend it on their own pleasures, or to increase their political\ninfluence, or for other illegitimate purposes, it is really robbery,\njust as much as if these men were to stand with pistols by the\nroadside and empty the wallets of people passing by. They make a\ndishonest use of their high position as members of government, and\nextort money for which they make no return in the shape of services\nto the public. History is full of such lamentable instances of\nmisgovernment, and one of the most important uses of the study of\nhistory is to teach us how they have occurred, in order that we may\nlearn how to avoid them, as far as possible, in the future.\n\n[Sidenote: The study of history.]\nWhen we begin in childhood the study of history we are attracted\nchiefly by anecdotes of heroes and their battles, kings and their\ncourts, how the Spartans fought at Thermopylae, how Alfred let the\ncakes burn, how Henry VIII. beheaded his wives, how Louis XIV. used to\nlive at Versailles. It is quite right that we should be interested in\nsuch personal details, the more so the better; for history has been\nmade by individual men and women, and until we have understood the\ncharacter of a great many of those who have gone before us, and how\nthey thought and felt in their time, we have hardly made a fair\nbeginning in the study of history. The greatest historians, such as\nFreeman and Mommsen, show as lively an interest in persons as in\nprinciples; and I would not give much for the historical theories of a\nman who should declare himself indifferent to little personal details.\n\n[Sidenote: It is full of practical lessons;]\nSome people, however, never outgrow the child's notion of history\nas merely a mass of pretty anecdotes or stupid annals, without any\npractical bearing upon our own every-day life. There could not be a\ngreater mistake. Very little has happened in the past which has not\nsome immediate practical lessons for us; and when we study history\nin order to profit by the experience of our ancestors, to find out\nwherein they succeeded and wherein they failed, in order that we may\nemulate their success and avoid their errors, then history becomes the\nnoblest and most valuable of studies. It then becomes, moreover, an\narduous pursuit, at once oppressive and fascinating from its endless\nwealth of material, and abounding in problems which the most diligent\nstudent can never hope completely to solve.\n\n[Sidenote: and helpful to those who would be good citizens.]\n[Sidenote: Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.]\nFew people have the leisure to undertake a systematic and thorough\nstudy of history, but every one ought to find time to learn the\nprincipal features of the governments under which we live, and to get\nsome inkling of the way in which these governments have come into\nexistence and of the causes which have made them what they are. Some\nsuch knowledge is necessary to the proper discharge of the duties of\ncitizenship. Political questions, great and small, are perpetually\narising, to be discussed in the newspapers and voted on at the polls;\nand it is the duty of every man and woman, young or old, to try to\nunderstand them. That is a duty which we owe, each and all of us, to\nourselves and to our fellow-countrymen. For if such questions are\nnot settled in accordance with knowledge, they will be settled in\naccordance with ignorance; and that is a kind of settlement likely\nto be fraught with results disastrous to everybody. It cannot be too\noften repeated that eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.\nPeople sometimes argue as if they supposed that because our national\ngovernment is called a republic and not a monarchy, and because we\nhave free schools and universal suffrage, therefore our liberties are\nforever secure. Our government is, indeed, in most respects, a marvel\nof political skill; and in ordinary times it runs so smoothly that now\nand then, absorbed as most of us are in domestic cares, we are apt to\nforget that it will not run of itself. To insure that the government\nof the nation or the state, of the city or the township, shall\nbe properly administered, requires from every citizen the utmost\nwatchfulness and intelligence of which he is capable.\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n\n_To the teacher_. Encourage full answers. Do not permit anything\nlike committing the text to memory. In the long run the pupil who\nrelies upon his own language, however inferior it may be to that of\nthe text, is better off. Naturally, with thoughtful study, the pupil's\nlanguage will feel the influence of that of the text, and so improve.\nThe important thing in any answer is the fundamental thought. This\nidea once grasped, the expression of it may receive some attention.\nThe expression will often be broken and faulty, partly because of\nthe immaturity of the pupil, and partly because of the newness and\ndifficulty of the theme. Do not let the endeavour to secure excellent\nexpression check a certain freedom and spontaneity that should be\nencouraged in the pupil. When the teacher desires to place special\nstress on excellent presentation, it is wise to assign topics\nbeforehand, so that each pupil may know definitely what is expected of\nhim, and prepare himself accordingly.\n\n1. Tell the story that introduces the chapter.\n\n2. What lesson is it designed to teach?\n\n3. What caused the French Revolution?\n\n4. What caused the American Revolution?\n\n5. Compare the tax bill with that of the butcher or tailor.\n\n6. What are taxes raised for in a town? For whose benefit?\n\n7. Define taxes.\n\n8. Define the right of eminent domain.\n\n9. Distinguish between taxes and the right of eminent domain.\n\n10. What is the origin of the word \"govern\"?\n\n11. Define government.\n\n12. By whom is it supported, how is it kept alive, and by whom is it\ncarried on?\n\n13. Give illustrations of governments.\n\n14. What one power must government have to be worthy of the name?\n\n15. What was the principal weakness of the government during the\nAmerican Revolution?\n\n\n16. Compare this government with that of the United States since 1789.\n\n17. If it is doubtful what the real government of a country is, how\nmay the doubt be settled?\n\n18. Illustrate by reference to France and England in the eighteenth\ncentury.\n\n\n19. What is the difference between taxation and robbery?\n\n20. Under what conditions may taxation become robbery?\n\n21. To what are we easily attracted in our first study of history?\n\n22. What ought to be learned from history?\n\n23. What sort of knowledge is helpful in discharging the duties of\ncitizenship?\n\n24. Show how \"eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.\"\n\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS.\n\n_To the teacher_. The object of this series of questions and\nsuggestions is to stimulate reading, investigating, and thinking. It\nis not expected, indeed it is hardly possible, that each pupil shall\nrespond to them all. A single question may cost prolonged study.\nAssign the numbers, therefore, to individuals to report upon at a\nsubsequent recitation,--one or more to each pupil, according to the\ndifficulty of the numbers. Reserve some for class consideration or\ndiscussion. Now and then let the teacher answer a question himself,\npartly to furnish the pupils with good examples of answers, and partly\nto insure attention to matters that might otherwise escape notice.\n\n1. Are there people who receive no benefit from their payment of\ntaxes?\n\n2. Are the benefits received by people in proportion to the amounts\npaid by them?\n\n3. Show somewhat fully what taxes had to do with the French\nRevolution.\n\n4. Show somewhat fully what taxes had to do with the American\nRevolution.\n\n5. Give illustrations of the exercise of the right of eminent domain\nin your own town or county or state.\n\n6. Do railroad corporations exercise such a right? How do they succeed\nin getting land for their tracks?\n\n7. In case of disagreement, how is a fair price determined for\nproperty taken by eminent domain?\n\n8. What persons are prominent to-day in the government of your own\ntown or city? Of your own county? Of your own state? Of the United\nStates?\n\n9. Who constitute the government of the school to which you belong?\nDoes this question admit of more than one answer? Has the government\nof your school any power to tax the people to support the school?\n\n10. What is the difference between a state and the government of a\nstate?\n\n11. Which is the more powerful branch of the English Parliament? Why?\n\n12. Is it a misuse of the funds of a city to provide entertainments\nfor the people July 4? To expend money in entertaining distinguished\nguests? To provide flowers, carriages, cigars, wines, etc., for such\nguests?\n\n13. What is meant by subordinating public office to private ends? Cite\ninstances from history.\n\n14. What histories have you read? What one of them, if any, would you\ncall a \"child's history,\" or a \"drum and trumpet\" history? What one of\nthem, if any, has impressed any lessons upon you?\n\n15. Mention some principles that history has taught you.\n\n16. Mention a few offices, and tell the sort of intelligence that is\nneeded by the persons who hold them. What results might follow if such\nintelligence were lacking?\n\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.\n\nIt is designed in the bibliographical notes to indicate some\nauthorities to which reference may be made for greater detail than is\npossible in an elementary work like the present. It is believed\nthat the notes will prove a help to teacher and pupil in special\ninvestigations, and to the reader who may wish to make selections from\nexcellent sources for purposes of self-culture. It is hardly necessary\nto add that it is sometimes worth much to the student to know where\nvaluable information may be obtained, even when it is not practicable\nto make immediate use of it.\n\nCertain books should always be at the teacher's desk during the\ninstruction in civil government, and as easily accessible as the large\ndictionary; as, for instance, the following: The General Statutes of the\nstate, the manual or blue-book of the state legislature, and, if the\nschool is in a city, the city charter and ordinances. It is also\ndesirable to add to this list the statutes of the United States and a\nmanual of Congress or of the general government. Manuals may be obtained\nthrough representatives in the state legislature and in Congress. They\nwill answer nearly every purpose if they are not of the latest issue.\nThe _Statesman's Year Book_, published by Macmillan & Co., New York,\nevery year, is exceedingly valuable for reference. Certain almanacs,\nparticularly the comprehensive ones issued by the New York _Tribune_ and\nthe New York _World_, are rich in state and national statistics, and so\ninexpensive as to be within everybody's means.\n\nTAXATION AND GOVERNMENT.--As to the causes of the American revolution,\nsee my _War of Independence_, Boston, 1889; and as to the weakness of\nthe government of the United States before 1789, see my _Critical Period\nof American History_, Boston, 1888. As to the causes of the French\nrevolution, see Paul Lacombe, _The Growth of a People_, N.Y., 1883, and\nthe third volume of Kitchin's _History of France_, London, 1887; also\nMorse Stephens, _The French Revolution_, vol. i., N.Y., 1887; Taine,\n_The Ancient Regime_,--N.Y., 1876, and _The Revolution_, 2 vols., N.Y.,\n1880. The student may read with pleasure and profit Dickens's _Tale of\nTwo Cities_. For the student familiar with French, an excellent book is\nAlbert Babeau, _Le Village sous l'ancien Regime_, Paris, 1879; see also\nTocqueville, _L'ancien Regime et la Revolution_, 7th ed., Paris, 1866.\nThere is a good sketch of the causes of the French revolution in the\nfifth volume of Leeky's _History of England in the Eighteenth Century_,\nN.Y., 1887; see also Buckle's _History of Civilization_, chaps,\nxii.-xiv. There is no better commentary on my first chapter than the\nlurid history of France in the eighteenth century. The strong contrast\nto English and American history shows us most instructively what we have\nthus far escaped.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE TOWNSHIP.\n\n\nSection 1. _The New England Township_.\n\nOf the various kinds of government to be found in the United States,\nwe may begin by considering that of the New England township. As\nwe shall presently see, it is in principle of all known forms of\ngovernment the oldest as well as the simplest. Let us observe how the\nNew England township grew up.\n\n[Sidenote: New England was settled by church congregations.]\nWhen people from England first came to dwell in the wilderness of\nMassachusetts Bay, they settled in groups upon small irregular-shaped\npatches of land, which soon came to be known as townships. There were\nseveral reasons why they settled thus in small groups, instead of\nscattering about over the country and carving out broad estates for\nthemselves. In the first place, their principal reason for coming to\nNew England was their dissatisfaction with the way in which church\naffairs were managed in the old country. They wished to bring about a\nreform in the church, in such wise that the members of a congregation\nshould have more voice than formerly in the church-government, and\nthat the minister of each congregation should be more independent than\nformerly of the bishop and of the civil government. They also wished\nto abolish sundry rites and customs of the church of which they had\ncome to disapprove. Finding the resistance to their reforms quite\nformidable in England, and having some reason to fear that they might\nbe themselves crushed in the struggle, they crossed the ocean in order\nto carry out their ideas in a new and remote country where they might\nbe comparatively secure from interference. Hence it was quite natural\nthat they should come in congregations, led by their favourite\nministers,--such men, for example, as Higginson and Cotton, Hooker and\nDavenport. When such men, famous in England for their bold preaching\nand imperiled thereby, decided to move to America, a considerable\nnumber of their parishioners would decide to accompany them, and\nsimilarly minded members of neighbouring churches would leave their\nown pastor and join in the migration. Such a group of people, arriving\non the coast of Massachusetts, would naturally select some convenient\nlocality, where they might build their houses near together and all go\nto the same church.\n\n[Sidenote: Land grants.]\nThis migration, therefore, was a movement, not of individuals or of\nseparate families, but of church-congregations, and it continued to be\nso as the settlers made their way inland and westward. The first\nriver towns of Connecticut were founded by congregations coming from\nDorchester, Cambridge, and Watertown. This kind of settlement was\nfavoured by the government of Massachusetts, which made grants of\nland, not to individuals but to companies of people who wished to live\ntogether and attend the same church.\n\nIn the second place, the soil of New England was not favourable to the\ncultivation of great quantities of staple articles, such as rice\nor tobacco, so that there was nothing to tempt people to undertake\nextensive plantations.\n\n[Sidenote: Small farms.]\nMost of the people lived on small farms, each family raising but\nlittle more than enough food for its own support; and the small size\nof the farms made it possible to have a good many in a compact\nneighbourhood. It appeared also that towns could be more easily\ndefended against the Indians than scattered plantations; and this\ndoubtless helped to keep people together, although if there had been\nany strong inducement for solitary pioneers to plunge into the great\nwoods, as in later years so often happened at the West, it is not\nlikely that any dread of the savages would have hindered them.\n\n[Sidenote: Township and village.]\n[Sidenote: Social positions of settlers.]\nThus the early settlers of New England came to live in townships. A\ntownship would consist of about as many farms as could be disposed\nwithin convenient distance from the meeting-house, where all the\ninhabitants, young and old, gathered every Sunday, coming on horseback\nor afoot. The meeting-house was thus centrally situated, and near\nit was the town pasture or \"common,\" with the school-house and the\nblock-house, or rude fortress for defence against the Indians. For the\nlatter building some commanding position was apt to be selected, and\nhence we so often find the old village streets of New England running\nalong elevated ridges or climbing over beetling hilltops. Around the\nmeeting-house and common the dwellings gradually clustered into a\nvillage, and after a while the tavern, store, and town-house made\ntheir appearance.\n\nAmong the people who thus tilled the farms and built up the villages of\nNew England, the differences in what we should call social position,\nthough noticeable, were not extreme. While in England some had been\nesquires or country magistrates, or \"lords of the manor,\"--a phrase\nwhich does not mean a member of the peerage, but a landed proprietor\nwith dependent tenants[1]; some had been yeomen, or persons holding\nfarms by some free kind of tenure; some had been artisans or tradesmen\nin cities. All had for many generations been more or less accustomed to\nself-government and to public meetings for discussing local affairs.\nThat self-government, especially as far as church matters were\nconcerned, they were stoutly bent upon maintaining and extending.\nIndeed, that was what they had crossed the ocean for. Under these\ncircumstances they developed a kind of government which we may describe\nin the present tense, for its methods are pretty much the same to-day\nthat they were two centuries ago.\n\n[Footnote 1: Compare the Scottish \"laird.\"]\n\n[Sidenote: The town-meeting.]\nIn a New England township the people directly govern themselves; the\ngovernment is the people, or, to speak with entire precision, it is\nall the male inhabitants of one-and-twenty years of age and upwards.\nThe people tax themselves. Once each year, usually in March but\nsometimes as early as February or as late as April, a \"town-meeting\"\nis held, at which all the grown men of the township are expected to be\npresent and to vote, while any one may introduce motions or take part\nin the discussion. In early times there was a fine for non-attendance,\nbut at is no longer the case; it is supposed that a due regard to his\nown interests will induce every man to come.\n\nThe town-meeting is held in the town-house, but at first it used to be\nheld in the church, which was thus a \"meeting-house\" for civil as well\nas ecclesiastical purposes. At the town-meeting measures relating\nto the administration of town affairs are discussed and adopted or\nrejected; appropriations are made for the public expenses of the\ntown, or in other words the amount of the town taxes for the year is\ndetermined; and town officers are elected for the year. Let us first\nenumerate these officers.\n\n[Sidenote: Selectmen.]\nThe principal executive magistrates of the town are the selectmen.\nThey are three, five, seven, or nine in number, according to the size\nof the town and the amount of public business to be transacted. The\nodd number insures a majority decision in case of any difference of\nopinion among them. They have the general management of the public\nbusiness. They issue warrants for the holding of town-meetings, and\nthey can call such a meeting at any time during the year when there\nseems to be need for it, but the warrant must always specify the\nsubjects which are to be discussed and acted on at the meeting. The\nselectmen also lay out highways, grant licenses, and impanel jurors;\nthey may act as health officers and issue orders regarding sewerage,\nthe abatement of nuisances, or the isolation of contagious diseases;\nin many cases they act as assessors of taxes, and as overseers of the\npoor. They are the proper persons to listen to complaints if anything\ngoes wrong in the town. In county matters and state matters they speak\nfor the town, and if it is a party to a law-suit they represent it in\ncourt; for the New England town is a legal corporation, and as such\ncan hold property, and sue and be sued. In a certain sense the\nselectmen may be said to be \"the government\" of the town during the\nintervals between the town-meetings.\n\n[Sidenote: Town-clerk.]\nAn officer no less important than the selectmen is the town-clerk. He\nkeeps the record of all votes passed in the town-meetings. He also\nrecords the names of candidates and the number of votes for each in\nthe election of state and county officers. He records the births,\nmarriages, and deaths in the township, and issues certificates to\npersons who declare an intention of marriage. He likewise keeps on\nrecord accurate descriptions of the position and bounds of public\nroads; and, in short, has general charge of all matters of\ntown-record.\n\n[Sidenote: Town-treasurer.]\nEvery town has also its treasurer, who receives and takes care of the\nmoney coming in from the taxpayers, or whatever money belongs to the\ntown. Out of this money he pays the public expenses. He must keep a\nstrict account of his receipts and payments, and make a report of them\neach year.\n\n[Sidenote: Constables.]\nEvery town has one or more constables, who serve warrants from the\nselectmen and writs from the law courts. They pursue criminals and\ntake them to jail. They summon jurors. In many towns they serve as\ncollectors of taxes, but in many other towns a special officer is\nchosen for that purpose. When a person, fails to pay his taxes,\nafter a specified time the collector has authority to seize upon his\nproperty and sell it at auction, paying the tax and costs out of the\nproceeds of the sale, and handing over the balance to the owner. In\nsome cases, where no property can be found and there is reason to\nbelieve that the delinquent is not acting in good faith, he can be\narrested and kept in prison until the tax and costs are paid, or until\nhe is released by the proper legal methods.\n\n[Sidenote: Assessors of taxes and overseers of the poor.]\nWhere the duties of the selectmen are likely to be too numerous, the\ntown may choose three or more assessors of taxes to prepare the tax\nlists; and three or more overseers of the poor, to regulate the\nmanagement of the village almshouse and confer with other towns\nupon such questions as often arise concerning the settlement and\nmaintenance of homeless paupers.\n\n[Sidenote: Public schools.]\nEvery town has its school committee. In 1647 the legislature of\nMassachusetts enacted a law with the following preamble: \"It being\none chief project of that old deluder, Satan, to keep men from the\nknowledge of the Scriptures, as in former times by keeping them in an\nunknown tongue, so in these latter times by persuading from the use of\ntongues, that so at least the true sense and meaning of the original\nmight be clouded and corrupted with false glosses of deceivers; to the\nend that learning may not be buried in the graves of our forefathers,\nin church and commonwealth, the Lord assisting our endeavours;\" it was\ntherefore ordered that every township containing fifty families or\nhouseholders should forthwith set up a school in which children might\nbe taught to read and write, and that every township containing one\nhundred families or householders should set up a school in which\nboys might be fitted for entering Harvard College. Even before this\nstatute, several towns, as for instance Roxbury and Dedham, had begun\nto appropriate money for free schools; and these were the beginnings\nof a system of public education which has come to be adopted\nthroughout the United States.\n\n[Sidenote: School committees.]\nThe school committee exercises powers of such a character as to make\nit a body of great importance. The term of service of the members is\nthree years, one third being chosen annually. The number of members\nmust therefore be some multiple of three. The slow change in the\nmembership of the board insures that a large proportion of the members\nshall always be familiar with the duties of the place. The school\ncommittee must visit all the public schools at least once a month, and\nmake a report to the town every year. It is for them to decide what\ntext-books are to be used. They examine candidates for the position\nof teacher and issue certificates to those whom they select. The\ncertificate is issued in duplicate, and one copy is handed to the\nselectmen as a warrant that the teacher is entitled to receive a\nsalary. Teachers are appointed for a term of one year, but where their\nwork is satisfactory the appointments are usually renewed year after\nyear. A recent act in Massachusetts _permits_ the appointment of\nteachers to serve during good behaviour, but few boards have as yet\navailed themselves of this law. If the amount of work to be done seems\nto require it, the committee appoints a superintendent of schools. He\nis a sort of lieutenant of the school committee, and under its general\ndirection carries on the detailed work of supervision.\n\nOther town officers are the surveyors of highways, who are responsible\nfor keeping the roads and bridges in repair; field-drivers and\npound-keepers; fence-viewers; surveyors of lumber, measurers of wood,\nand sealers of weights and measures.\n\n[Sidenote: Field-drivers and pound keepers.]\nThe field-driver takes stray animals to the pound, and then notifies\ntheir owner; or if he does not know who is the owner he posts a\ndescription of the animals in some such place as the village store\nor tavern, or has it published in the nearest country newspaper.\nMeanwhile the strays are duly fed by the pound-keeper, who does not\nlet them out of his custody until all expenses have been paid.\n\n[Sidenote: Fence-viewers.]\nIf the owners of contiguous farms, gardens, or fields get into a\ndispute about their partition fences or walls, they may apply to\none of the fence-viewers, of whom each town has at least two. The\nfence-viewer decides the matter, and charges a small fee for his\nservices. Where it is necessary he may order suitable walls or fences\nto be built.\n\n[Sidenote: Other officers.]\nThe surveyors of lumber measure and mark lumber offered for sale.\nThe measurers of wood do the same for firewood. The sealers test the\ncorrectness of weights and measures used in trade, and tradesmen\nare not allowed to use weights and measures that have not been thus\nofficially examined and sealed. Measurers and sealers may be appointed\nby the selectmen.\n\nSuch are the officers always to be found in the Massachusetts town,\nexcept where the duties of some of them are discharged by the\nselectmen. Of these officers, the selectmen, town-clerk, treasurer,\nconstable, school committee, and assessors must be elected by ballot\nat the annual town-meeting.\n\n[Sidenote: Calling the town-meeting.]\nWhen this meeting is to be called the selectmen issue a warrant for\nthe purpose, specifying the time and place of meeting and the nature\nof the business to be transacted. The constable posts copies of the\nwarrant in divers conspicuous places not less than a week before the\ntime appointed. Then, after making a note upon the warrant that he has\nduly served it, he hands it over to the town-clerk. On the appointed\nday, when the people have assembled, the town-clerk calls the meeting\nto order and reads the warrant. The meeting then proceeds to choose by\nballot its presiding officer, or \"moderator,\" and business goes on\nin accordance with parliamentary customs pretty generally recognized\namong all people who speak English.\n\n[Sidenote: Town, country, and state taxes.]\nAt this meeting the amount of money to be raised by taxation for town\npurposes is determined. But, as we shall see, every inhabitant of a\ntown lives not only under a town government, but also under a county\ngovernment and a state government, and all these governments have to\nbe supported by taxation. In Massachusetts the state and the county\nmake use of the machinery of the town government in order to assess\nand collect their taxes. The total amounts to be raised are equitably\ndivided among the several towns and cities, so that each town pays its\nproportionate share. Each year, therefore, the town assessors know\nthat a certain amount of money must be raised from the taxpayers of\ntheir town,--partly for the town, partly for the county, partly for\nthe state,--and for the general convenience they usually assess it\nupon the taxpayers all at once. The amounts raised for the state and\ncounty are usually very much smaller than the amount raised for\nthe town. As these amounts are all raised in the town and by town\nofficers, we shall find it convenient to sum up in this place what we\nhave to say about the way in which taxes are raised. Bear in mind that\nwe are still considering the New England system, and our illustration\nis taken from the practice in Massachusetts. But the general\nprinciples of taxation are so similar in the different states that,\nalthough we may now and then have to point to differences of detail,\nwe shall not need to go over the whole subject again. We have now to\nobserve how and upon whom the taxes are assessed.\n\n[Sidenote: Poll-tax.]\nThey are assessed partly upon persons, but chiefly upon property, and\nproperty is divisible into real estate and personal estate. The tax\nassessed upon persons is called the poll-tax, and cannot exceed the\nsum of two dollars upon every male citizen over twenty years old. In\ncases of extreme poverty the assessors may remit the poll-tax.\n\n[Sidenote: Real-estate taxes.]\nAs to real estate, there are in every town some lands and buildings\nwhich, for reasons of public policy, are exempted from paying taxes;\nas, for example, churches, graveyards, and tombs; many charitable\ninstitutions, including universities and colleges; and public\nbuildings which belong to the state or to the United States. All lands\nand buildings, except such as are exempt by law, must pay taxes.\n\n[Sidenote: Taxes on personal property.]\nPersonal property includes pretty much everything that one can own\nexcept lands and buildings,--pretty much everything that can be moved\nor carried about from one place to another. It thus includes ready\nmoney, stocks and bonds, ships and wagons, furniture, pictures, and\nbooks. It also includes the amount of debts due to a person in excess\nof the amount that he owes; also the income from his employment,\nwhether in the shape of profits from business or a fixed salary.\n\nSome personal property is exempted from taxation; as, for example,\nhousehold furniture to the amount of $1,000 in value, and income\nfrom employment to the extent of $2,000. The obvious intent of this\nexemption is to prevent taxation from bearing too hard upon persons\nof small means; and for a similar reason the tools of farmers and\nmechanics are exempted.[2]\n\n[Footnote 2: United States bonds are also especially exempted from\ntaxation.]\n\n[Sidenote: When and where taxes are assessed.]\nThe date at which property is annually reckoned for assessment is in\nMassachusetts the first day of May. The poll-tax is assessed upon each\nperson in the town or city where he has his legal habitation on that\nday; and as a general rule the taxes upon his personal property are\nassessed to him in the same place. But taxes upon lands or buildings\nare assessed in the city or town where they are situated, and to the\nperson, wherever he lives, who is the owner of them on the first day\nof May. Thus a man who lives in the Berkshire mountains, say for\nexample in the town of Lanesborough, will pay his poll-tax to that\ntown. For his personal property, whether it he bonds of a railroad in\nColorado, or shares in a bank in New York, or costly pictures in his\nhouse at Lanesborough, he will likewise pay taxes to Lanesborough. So\nfor the house in which he lives, and the land upon which it stands, he\npays taxes to that same town. But if he owns at the same time a house\nin Boston, he pays taxes for it to Boston, and if he owns a block of\nshops in Chicago he pays taxes for the same to Chicago. It is very apt\nto be the case that the rate of taxation is higher in large cities\nthan in villages; and accordingly it often happens that wealthy\ninhabitants of cities, who own houses in some country town, move into\nthem before the first of May, and otherwise comport themselves as\nlegal residents of the country town, in order that their personal\nproperty may be assessed there rather than in the city.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Tax lists.]\nAbout the first of May the assessors call upon the inhabitants of\ntheir town to render a true statement as to their property. The most\napproved form is for the assessors to send by mail to each taxable\ninhabitant a printed list of questions, with blank spaces which he is\nto fill with written answers. The questions relate to every kind\nof property, and when the person addressed returns the list to the\nassessors he must make oath that to the best of his knowledge and\nbelief his answers are true. He thus becomes liable to the penalties\nfor perjury if he can be proved to have sworn falsely. A reasonable\ntime--usually six or eight weeks--is allowed for the list to be\nreturned to the assessors. If any one fails to return his list by the\nspecified time, the assessors must make their own estimate of the\nprobable amount of his property. If their estimate is too high, he may\npetition the assessors to have the error corrected, but in many cases\nit may prove troublesome to effect this.\n\n[Sidenote: Cheating the government.]\nObserve here an important difference between the imposition of taxes\nupon real estate and upon personal property. Houses and lands cannot\nrun away or be tucked out of sight. Their value, too, is something\nof which the assessors can very likely judge as well as the owner.\nDeception is therefore extremely difficult, and taxation for real\nestate is pretty fairly distributed among the different owners. With\nregard to personal estate it is very different. It is comparatively\neasy to conceal one's ownership of some kinds of personal property, or\nto understate one's income. Hence the temptation to lessen the burden\nof the tax bill by making false statements is considerable, and\ndoubtless a good deal of deception is practised. There are many people\nwho are too honest to cheat individuals, but still consider it a\nvenial sin to cheat the government.\n\n[Sidenote: The rate of taxation.]\nAfter the assessors have obtained all their returns they can calculate\nthe total value of the taxable property in the town; and knowing the\namount of the tax to be raised, it is easy to calculate the rate at\nwhich the tax is to be assessed. In most parts of the United States a\nrate of one and a half per cent, or $15 tax on each $1,000 worth of\nproperty, would be regarded as moderate; three per cent would be\nregarded as excessively high. At the lower of these rates a man worth\n$50,000 would pay $750 for his yearly taxes. The annual income of\n$50,000, invested on good security, is hardly more than $2,500.\nObviously $750 is a large sum to subtract from such an income.\n\n[Sidenote: Undervaluation.]\n[Sidenote: The burden of taxation.]\nIn point of fact, however, the tax is seldom quite as heavy as\nthis. It is not easy to tell exactly how much a man is worth, and\naccordingly assessors, not wishing to be too disagreeable in the\ndischarge of their duties, have naturally fallen into a way of giving\nthe lower valuation the benefit of the doubt, until in many places a\ncustom has grown up of regularly undervaluing property for purposes of\ntaxation. Very much as liquid measures have gradually shrunk until\nit takes five quart bottles to hold a gallon, so there has been a\nshrinkage of valuations until it has become common to tax a man for\nonly three fourths or perhaps two thirds of what his property is\nworth in the market. This makes the rate higher, to be sure, but\nthe individual taxpayer nevertheless seems to feel relieved by it.\nAllowing for this undervaluation, we may say that a man worth $50,000\ncommonly pays not less than $500 for his yearly taxes, or about one\nfifth of the annual income of the property. We thus begin to see what\na heavy burden taxes are, and how essential to good government it is\nthat citizens should know what their money goes for, and should be\nable to exert some effective control over the public expenditures.\nWhere the rate of taxation in a town rises to a very high point, such\nas two and a half or three per cent, the prosperity of the town is apt\nto be seriously crippled. Traders and manufacturers move away to other\ntowns, or those who would otherwise come to the town in question stay\naway, because they cannot afford to use up all their profits in paying\ntaxes. If such a state of things is long kept up, the spirit of\nenterprise is weakened, the place shows signs of untidiness and want\nof thrift, and neighbouring towns, once perhaps far behind it in\ngrowth, by and by shoot ahead of it and take away its business.\n\n[Sidenote: The \"magic fund\" delusion.]\nWithin its proper sphere, government by town-meeting is the form of\ngovernment most effectively under watch and control. Everything is\ndone in the full daylight of publicity. The specific objects for which\npublic money is to be appropriated are discussed in the presence of\neverybody, and any one who disapproves of any of these objects, or of\nthe way in which it is proposed to obtain it, has an opportunity to\ndeclare his opinions. Under this form of government people are not\nso liable to bewildering delusions as under other forms. I refer\nespecially to the delusion that \"the Government\" is a sort of\nmysterious power, possessed of a magic inexhaustible fund of wealth,\nand able to do all manner of things for the benefit of \"the People.\"\nSome such notion as this, more often implied than expressed, is very\ncommon, and it is inexpressibly dear to demagogues. It is the prolific\nroot from which springs that luxuriant crop of humbug upon which\npolitical tricksters thrive as pigs fatten upon corn. In point of\nfact no such government, armed with a magic fund of its own, has ever\nexisted upon the earth. No government has ever yet used any money\nfor public purposes which it did not first take from its own\npeople,--unless when it may have plundered it from some other people\nin victorious warfare.\n\nThe inhabitant of a New England town is perpetually reminded that \"the\nGovernment\" is \"the People.\" Although he may think loosely about\nthe government of his state or the still more remote government at\nWashington, he is kept pretty close to the facts where local affairs\nare concerned, and in this there is a political training of no small\nvalue.\n\n[Sidenote: Educational value of the town-meeting.]\nIn the kind of discussion which it provokes, in the necessity of facing\nargument with argument and of keeping one's temper under control, the\ntown-meeting is the best political training school in existence. Its\neducational value is far higher than that of the newspaper, which, in\nspite of its many merits as a diffuser of information, is very apt to do\nits best to bemuddle and sophisticate plain facts. The period when\ntown-meetings ware most important from the wide scope of their\ntransactions was the period of earnest and sometimes stormy discussion\nthat ushered in our Revolutionary war. Country towns were then of more\nimportance relatively than now; one country town--Boston--was at the\nsame time a great political centre; and its meetings were presided over\nand addressed by men of commanding ability, among whom Samuel Adams,\n\"the man of the town-meeting,\" was foremost[3]. In those days\ngreat principles of government were discussed with a wealth of knowledge\nand stated with masterly skill in town-meeting.\n\n[Footnote 3: The phrase is Professor Hosmer's: see his _Samuel Adams, the\nMan of the Town Meeting_, in \"Johns Hopkins Univ. Studies,\" vol. II. no.\niv.; also his _Samuel Adams_, in \"American Statesmen\" series; Boston,\n1885.]\n\n[Sidenote: By-laws.]\nThe town-meeting is to a very limited extent a legislative body; it can\nmake sundry regulations for the management of its local affairs. Such\nregulations are known by a very ancient name, \"by-laws.\" _By_ is an Old\nNorse word meaning \"town,\" and it appears in the names of such towns as\n_Derby_ and _Whitby_ in the part of England overrun by the Danes in the\nninth and tenth centuries. By-laws are town laws[4].\n\n[Footnote 4: In modern usage the roles and regulations of clubs, learned\nsocieties, and other associations, are also called by-laws.]\n\n[Sidenote: Power and responsibility.]\nIn the selectmen and various special officers the town has an\nexecutive department; and here let us observe that, while these\nofficials are kept strictly accountable to the people, they are\nentrusted with very considerable authority. Things are not so arranged\nthat an officer can plead that he has failed in his duty from lack of\npower. There is ample power, joined with complete responsibility. This\nis especially to be noticed in the case of the selectmen. They must\noften be called upon to exercise a wide discretion in what they do,\nyet this excites no serious popular distrust or jealousy. The annual\nelection affords an easy means of dropping an unsatisfactory officer.\nBut in practice nothing has been more common than for the same persons\nto be reelected as selectmen or constables or town-clerks for year\nafter year, as long as they are able or willing to serve. The notion\nthat there is anything peculiarly American or democratic in what\nis known as \"rotation in office\" is therefore not sustained by the\npractice of the New England town, which is the most complete democracy\nin the world. It is the most perfect exhibition of what President\nLincoln called \"government of the people by the people and for the\npeople.\"\n\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. What reason exists for beginning the study of government with that of\nthe New England township?\n\n2. Give the origin of the township in New England according to the\nfollowing analysis:--\n\n  a. Settlement in groups.\n  b. The chief reason for coming to New England.\n  c. The leaders of the groups.\n  d. The favouring action of the Massachusetts government.\n  e. Small farms.\n  f. Defence against the Indians.\n  g. The limits of a township.\n  h. The village within the township.\n\n3. What was the social standing of the first settlers?\n\n4. What training had they received in self-government?\n\n5. Who do the governing in a New England township?\n\n6. Give an account of the town-meeting in accordance with the following\nanalysis:--\n\n  a. The name of the meeting.\n  b. The time for holding it.\n  c. The place for holding it.\n  d. The persons who take part in it.\n  e. The sort of business done in it.\n\n7. Give an account of the selectmen:--\n\n  a. Their number.\n  b. The reason for an odd number.\n  c. Their duties.\n\n8. When public schools were established by Massachusetts in 1647, what\nreasons were assigned for the law?\n\n\n9. What classes or grades of schools were then established?\n\n10. What are the duties of the Massachusetts school committee?\n\n11. What is the term of service of teachers in that state?\n\n12. What are the duties of the following officers?--\n\n  a. Field-drivers.\n  b. Pound-keepers.\n  c. Fence-viewers.\n  d. Surveyors of lumber.\n  e. Measurers of wood.\n  f. Sealers of weights and measures.\n\n13. What are the duties of the following officers?--\n\n  a. The town-clerk.\n  b. The treasurer.\n  c. Constables.\n  d. Assessors.\n  e. Overseers of the poor.\n\n14. Describe a warrant for a town-meeting.\n\n15. For what other purposes than those of the town are taxes raised?\n\n16. Explain the following:--\n\n  a. The poll-tax.\n  b. The tax on personal property,\n  c. The tax on real estate.\n\n17. What kinds of real estate are exempted from taxation, and why?\n\n18. What kinds of personal property are exempted, and why?\n\n19. Where must the several kinds of taxes be assessed and paid?\nIllustrate.\n\n20. If a person changes his residence from one town in the state to\nanother before May 1, what consequences about taxes might follow?\n\n21. How do the assessors ascertain the property for which one should be\ntaxed?\n\n22. What difficulties beset the taxation of personal property?\n\n23. Mention a common practice in assigning values to property.\nWhat is the effect on the tax-rate? Illustrate.\n\n24. How do high taxes operate as a burden?\n\n25. Describe a delusion from which people who directly govern\nthemselves are practically free.\n\n26. What is the educational value of the town-meeting?\n\n27. What are by-laws? Explain the phrase.\n\n28. What of the power and responsibility of selectmen?\n\n\nSection 2. _Origin of the Township_.\n\n[Sidenote: Town-meetings in Greece and Rome.]\nIt was said above that government by town-meeting is in principle the\noldest form of government known in the world. The student of ancient\nhistory is familiar with the _comitia_ of the Romans and the\n_ecclesia_ of the Greeks. These were popular assemblies, held in\nthose soft climates in the open air, usually in the market-place,--the\nRoman _forum_, the Greek _agora_. The government carried on\nin them was a more or less qualified democracy. In the palmy days of\nAthens it was a pure democracy. The assemblies which in the Athenian\nmarket-place declared war against Syracuse, or condemned Socrates to\ndeath, were quite like New England town-meetings, except that they\nexercised greater powers because there was no state government above\nthem.\n\n[Sidenote: Clans.]\nThe principle of the town-meeting, however, is older than Athens or\nRome. Long before streets were built or fields fenced in, men wandered\nabout the earth hunting for food in family parties, somewhat as lions\ndo in South Africa. Such family groups were what we call _clans_,\nand so far as is known they were the earliest form in which civil\nsociety appeared on the earth. Among all wandering or partially\nsettled tribes the clan is to be found, and there are ample\nopportunities for studying it among our Indians in North America. The\nclan usually has a chief or head-man, useful mainly as a leader in\nwartime; its civil government, crude and disorderly enough, is in\nprinciple a pure democracy.\n\n[Sidenote: The _mark_ and the _tun_.]\nWhen our ancestors first became acquainted with American Indians, the\nmost advanced tribes lived partly by hunting and fishing, but partly\nalso by raising Indian corn and pumpkins. They had begun to live in\nwigwams grouped together in small villages and surrounded by strong rows\nof palisades for defence. Now what these red men were doing our own\nfair-haired ancestors in northern and central Europe had been doing some\ntwenty centuries earlier. The Scandinavians and Germans, when first\nknown in history, had made considerable progress in exchanging a\nwandering for a settled mode of life. When the clan, instead of moving\nfrom place to place, fixed upon some spot for a permanent residence, a\nvillage grew up there, surrounded by a belt of waste land, or somewhat\nlater by a stockaded wall. The belt of land was called a _mark_, and the\nwall was called a _tun_.[5] Afterwards the enclosed space came to be\nknown sometimes as the _mark_, sometimes as the _tun_ or _town_. In\nEngland the latter name prevailed. The inhabitants of a mark or town\nwere a stationary clan. It was customary to call them by the clan name,\nas for example \"the Beorings\" or \"the Crossings;\" then the town would be\ncalled _Barrington_, \"town of the Beorings,\" or _Cressingham_,\n\"home of the Cressings.\" Town names of this sort, with which the map of\nEngland is thickly studded, point us back to a time when the town was\nsupposed to be the stationary home of a clan.\n\n[Footnote 1: Pronounced \"toon.\"]\n\n[Sidenote: The Old English township.]\n[Sidenote: The manor.]\nThe Old English town had its _tungemot_, or town-meeting, in\nwhich \"by-laws\" were made and other important business transacted.\nThe principal officers were the \"reeve\" or head-man, the \"beadle\" or\nmessenger, and the \"tithing-man\" or petty constable. These officers\nseem at first to have been elected by the people, but after a while,\nas great lordships grew up, usurping jurisdiction over the land, the\nlord's steward and bailiff came to supersede the reeve and beadle.\nAfter the Norman Conquest the townships, thus brought under the sway\nof great lords, came to be generally known by the French name of\nmanors or \"dwelling places.\" Much might be said about this change, but\nhere it is enough for us to bear in mind that a manor was essentially\na township in which the chief executive officers were directly\nresponsible to the lord rather than to the people. It would be\nwrong, however, to suppose that the manors entirely lost their\nself-government. Even the ancient town-meeting survived in them, in a\nfragmentary way, in several interesting assemblies, of which the most\ninteresting were the _court leet_, for the election of certain\nofficers and the trial of petty offences, and the _court baron_,\nwhich was much like a town-meeting.\n\n[Sidenote: The parish.]\nStill more of the old self-government would doubtless have survived\nin the institutions of the manor if it had not been provided for in\nanother way. The _parish_ was older than the manor. After the\nEnglish had been converted to Christianity local churches were\ngradually set up all over the country, and districts called parishes\nwere assigned for the ministrations of the priests. Now a parish\ngenerally coincided in area with a township, or sometimes with a group\nof two or three townships. In the old heathen times each town seems to\nhave had its sacred place or shrine consecrated to some local deity,\nand it was a favourite policy with the Roman missionary priests to\npurify the old shrine and turn it into a church. In this way the\ntownship at the same time naturally became the parish.\n\n[Sidenote: Township, manor, and parish.]\n[Sidenote: The vestry-meeting.]\nAs we find it in later times, both before and since the founding of\nEnglish colonies in North America, the township in England is likely\nto be both a manor and a parish. For some purposes it is the one, for\nsome purposes it is the other. The townsfolk may be regarded as a\ngroup of tenants of the lord's manor, or as a group of parishioners of\nthe local church. In the latter aspect the parish retained much of the\nself-government of the ancient town. The business with which the lord\nwas entitled to meddle was strictly limited, and all other business\nwas transacted in the \"vestry-meeting,\" which was practically the old\ntown-meeting under a new name. In the course of the thirteenth century\nwe find that the parish had acquired the right of taxing itself for\nchurch purposes. Money needed for the church was supplied in the\nform of \"church-rates\" voted by the ratepayers themselves in the\nvestry-meeting, so called because it was originally held in a room of\nthe church in which vestments were kept.\n\n[Sidenote: Parish officers.]\nThe officers of the parish were the constable, the parish and vestry\nclerks,[6] the beadle,[7] the \"waywardens\" or surveyors of highways,\nthe \"haywards\" or fence-viewers, the \"common drivers,\" the collectors\nof taxes, and at the beginning of the seventeenth century overseers of\nthe poor were added. There were also churchwardens, usually two for\neach, parish. Their duties were primarily to take care of the church\nproperty, assess the rates, and call the vestry-meetings. They also\nacted as overseers of the poor, and thus in several ways remind one of\nthe selectmen of New England. The parish officers were all elected by\nthe ratepayers assembled in vestry-meeting, except the common driver\nand hayward, who were elected by the same ratepayers assembled in\ncourt leet. Besides electing parish officers and granting the rates,\nthe vestry-meeting could enact by-laws; and all ratepayers had an\nequal voice in its deliberations.\n\n[Footnote 6: Of these two officers the vestry clerk is the counterpart\nof the New England town-clerk.]\n\n[Footnote 7: Originally a messenger or crier, the beadle came to\nassume some of the functions of the tithing-man or petty constable,\nsuch as keeping order in church, punishing petty offenders, waiting on\nthe clergyman, etc. In New England towns there were formerly officers\ncalled tithing-men, who kept order in church, arrested tipplers,\nloafers, and Sabbath-breakers, etc.]\n\n\n[Sidenote: The transition from England to New England.]\nDuring the last two centuries the constitution of the English parish\nhas undergone some modifications which need not here concern us. The\nPuritans who settled in New England had grown up under such parish\ngovernment as is here described, and they were used to hearing the\nparish called, on some occasions and for some purposes, a township. If\nwe remember now that the earliest New England towns were founded\nby church congregations, led by their pastors, we can see how town\ngovernment in New England originated. It was simply the English\nparish government brought into a new country and adapted to the new\nsituation. Part of this new situation consisted in the fact that the\nlords of the manor were left behind. There was no longer any occasion\nto distinguish between the township as a manor and the township as a\nparish; and so, as the three names had all lived on together, side by\nside, in England, it was now the oldest and most generally descriptive\nname, \"township,\" that survived, and has come into use throughout a\ngreat part of the United States. The townsfolk went on making by-laws,\nvoting supplies of public money, and electing their magistrates in\nAmerica, after the fashion with which they had for ages been familiar\nin England. Some of their offices and customs were of hoary antiquity.\nIf age gives respectability, the office of constable may vie with that\nof king; and if the annual town-meeting is usually held in the month\nof March, it is because in days of old, long before Magna Charta was\nthought of, the rules and regulations for the village husbandry were\ndiscussed and adopted in time for the spring planting.\n\n[Sidenote: Building up states.]\nTo complete our sketch of the origin of the New England town, one\npoint should here be briefly mentioned in anticipation of what will\nhave to be said hereafter; but it is a point of so much importance\nthat we need not mind a little repetition in stating it.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Representation.]\nWe have seen what a great part taxation plays in the business of\ngovernment, and we shall presently have to treat of county, state, and\nfederal governments, all of them wider in their sphere than the town\ngovernment. In the course of history, as nations have gradually been\nbuilt up, these wider governments have been apt to absorb or supplant\nand crush the narrower governments, such as the parish or township;\nand this process has too often been destructive to political freedom.\nSuch a result is, of course, disastrous to everybody; and if it were\nunavoidable, it would be better that great national governments need\nnever be formed. But it is not unavoidable. There is one way of\nescaping it, and that is to give the little government of the town\nsome real share in making up the great government of the state. That\nis not an easy thing to do, as is shown by the fact that most peoples\nhave failed in the attempt. The people who speak the English language\nhave been the most successful, and the device by which they have\novercome the difficulty is REPRESENTATION. The town sends to the wider\ngovernment a delegation of persons who can _represent_ the town\nand its people. They can speak for the town, and have a voice in the\nframing of laws and imposition of taxes by the wider government.\n\n[Sidenote: Shire-motes.]\n[Sidenote: Earl Simon's Parliament.]\nIn English townships there has been from time immemorial a system of\nrepresentation. Long before Alfred's time there were \"shire-motes,\" or\nwhat were afterwards called county meetings, and to these each town\nsent its reeve and \"four discreet men\" as _representatives_. Thus\nto a certain extent the wishes of the townsfolk could be brought to\nbear upon county affairs. By and by this method was applied on a much\nwider scale. It was applied to the whole kingdom, so that the people\nof all its towns and parishes succeeded in securing a representation\nof their interests in an elective national council or House of\nCommons. This great work was accomplished in the thirteenth century by\nSimon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, and was completed by Edward\nI. Simon's parliament, the first in which the Commons were fully\nrepresented, was assembled in 1265; and the date of Edward's\nparliament, which has been called the Model Parliament, was 1295.\nThese dates have as much interest for Americans as for Englishmen,\nbecause they mark the first definite establishment of that grand\nsystem of representative government which we are still carrying on\nat our various state capitals and at Washington. For its humble\nbeginnings we have to look back to the \"reeve and four\" sent by the\nancient townships to the county meetings.\n\n[Sidenote: Township as unit of representation.]\nThe English township or parish was thus at an early period the \"unit\nof representation\" in the government of the county. It was also a\ndistrict for the assessment and collection of the national taxes; in\neach parish the assessment was made by a board of assessors chosen by\npopular vote. These essential points reappear in the early history of\nNew England. The township was not only a self-governing body, but\nit was the \"unit of representation\" in the colonial legislature,\nor \"General Court;\" and the assessment of taxes, whether for town\npurposes or for state purposes, was made by assessors elected by the\ntownsfolk. In its beginnings and fundamentals our political liberty\ndid not originate upon American soil, but was brought hither by\nour forefathers the first settlers. They brought their political\ninstitutions with them as naturally as they brought their language and\ntheir social customs.\n\n[Sidenote: The Russian village community; not represented in the\nnational government.]\nObserve now that the township is to be regarded in two lights. It must\nbe considered not only in itself, but as part of a greater whole.\nWe began by describing it as a self-governing body, but in order to\ncomplete our sketch we were obliged to speak of it as a body which\nhas a share in the government of the state and the nation. The latter\naspect is as important as the former. If the people of a town had only\nthe power of managing their local affairs, without the power of taking\npart in the management of national affairs, their political freedom\nwould be far from complete. In Russia, for example, the larger part of\nthe vast population is resident in village communities which have to a\nconsiderable extent the power of managing their local affairs. Such\na village community is called a _mir_, and like the English\ntownship it is lineally descended from the stationary clan. The people\nof the Russian _mir_ hold meetings in which they elect sundry\nlocal officers, distribute the burden of local taxation, make\nregulations concerning local husbandry and police, and transact other\nbusiness which need not here concern us. But they have no share in the\nnational government, and are obliged to obey laws which they have\nno voice in making, and pay taxes assessed upon them without their\nconsent; and accordingly we say with truth that the Russian people do\nnot possess political freedom. One reason for this has doubtless\nbeen that in times past the Russian territory was the great frontier\nbattle-ground between civilized Europe and the wild hordes of western\nAsia, and the people who lived for ages on that turbulent frontier\nwere subjected to altogether too much conquest. They have tasted too\nlittle of civil government and too much of military government,--a\npennyworth of wholesome bread to an intolerable deal of sack. The\nearly English, in their snug little corner of the world, belted by\nsalt sea, were able to develop their civil government with less\ndestructive interference. They made a sound and healthful beginning\nwhen they made the township the \"unit of representation\" for the\ncounty. Then the township, besides managing its own affairs, began to\ntake part in the management of wider affairs.\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS.\n\n1. Obtain the following documents:--\n\n  a. A town warrant.\n  b. A town report.\n  c. A tax bill, a permit, a certificate, or any town paper that\n      has or may have an official signature.\n  d. A report of the school committee.\n\nIf you live in a city, send to the clerk of a neighbouring town for a\nwarrant, inclosing a stamp for the reply. City documents will answer\nmost of the purposes of this exercise.\n\nMake any of the foregoing documents the basis of a report.\n\n2. Give an account of the following:--\n\n  a. The various kinds of taxes raised in your town, the amount of each\n     kind, the valuation, the rate, the proposed use of the money, etc.\n  b. The work of any department of the town government for a year, as, for\n      example, that of the overseers of the poor.\n  c. Any pressing need of your town, public sentiment towards it, the\n      probable cost of satisfying it, the obstacles in the way of meeting\n      it, etc.\n\n3. A good way to arouse interest in the subject of town government is to\norganize the class as a town-meeting, and let it discuss live local\nquestions in accordance with articles in a warrant. For helpful details\nattend a town-meeting, read the record of some meeting, consult some\nperson familiar with town proceedings, or study the General Statutes.\n\nTo insure a discussion, it may be necessary at the outset for the\nteacher to assign to the several pupils single points to be expanded and\npresented in order.\n\nThere is an advantage in the teacher's serving as moderator. He may, as\nteacher, pause to give such directions and explanations as may be\nhelpful to young citizens.\n\nThe pupils should be held up to the more obvious requirements of\nparliamentary law, and shown how to use its rules to accomplish various\npurposes.\n\n4. Has the state a right to direct the education of its youth? If the\nstate has such a right, are there any limits to the exercise of it? Does\nthe right to direct the education of its youth carry with it the right\nto abolish private schools?\n\n5. Is it wise to assist private educational institutions with public\nfunds?\n\n6. Ought teachers, if approved, to be appointed for one year only, or\nduring good behaviour?\n\n7. What classes of officers in a town should serve during good\nbehaviour? What classes may be frequently changed without injury to the\npublic?\n\n8. Compare the school committee in your own state (if it is not\nMassachusetts) with that in Massachusetts.\n\n9. Illustrate from personal knowledge the difference between\nreal estate and personal property.\n\n10. A loans B $1000. May A be taxed for the $1000? Why? May B be taxed\nfor the $1000? Why? Is it right to tax both for $1000? Suppose B with\nthe money buys goods of C. Is it right to tax the three for $1000 each?\n\n11. A taxpayer worth $100,000 in personal property makes no return to\nthe assessors. In their ignorance the assessors tax him for $50,000\nonly, and the tax is paid without question. Does the taxpayer act\nhonourably?\n\n12. What difficulties beset the work of the assessors?\n\n13. Would anything be gained by exempting personal property from\ntaxation? If so, what? Would anything be lost? If so, what?\n\n14. Does any one absolutely escape taxation?\n\n15. Does the poll-tax payer pay, in any sense, more than his poll-tax?\n\n16. Are there any taxes that people pay without seeming to know it? If\nso, what? (See below, chap. viii. section 8.).\n\n17. Have we clans to-day among ourselves? (Think of family reunions,\npeople of the same name in a community, descendants of early settlers,\netc.). What important differences exist between these modern so-called\nclans and the ancient ones?\n\n18. What is a \"clannish\" spirit? Is it a good spirit or a bad\none? Is it ever the same as patriotism?\n\n19. Look up the meaning of _ham_, _wick_, and _stead_. Think of towns\nwhose names contain these words; also of towns whose names contain the\nword _tun_ or _ton_ or _town_.\n\n20. Give an account of the tithing-man in early New England.\n\n21. In what sense is the word \"parish\" commonly used in the United\nStates? Is the parish the same as the church? Has it any limits of\nterritory?\n\n22. In Massachusetts, clergymen were formerly paid out of the taxes of\nthe township. How did this come about? In this practice was there a\nunion or a separation of church and state?\n\n23. Ministers are not now supported by taxation in the United States.\nWhat important change in the parish idea does this fact indicate? Is it\na change for the better?\n\n24. Are women who do not vote represented in town government?\n\n25. Are boys and girls represented in town government?\n\n26. Is there anybody in a town who is not represented in its government?\n\n27. How are citizens of a town represented in state government?\n\n28. How are citizens of a town represented in the national government?\n\n29. Imagine a situation in which the ballot of a single voter in\na town might affect the action of the national government.\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.\n\n\nSection 1. THE NEW ENGLAND TOWNSHIP. There is a good account in\nMartin's _Text Book on Civil Government in the United States_. N.\nT. & Chicago, 1875.\n\nSection 2. ORIGIN OF THE TOWNSHIP. Here the _Johns Hopkins University\nStudies in Historical and Political Science_, edited by Dr. Herbert\nAdams, are of great value. Note especially series I, no. i,  E. A.\nFreeman, _Introduction to American Institutional History_; I., ii. iv.\nviii. ix.-x. H. B. Adams, _The Germanic Origin of New England Towns,\nSaxon Tithing-Men in America, Norman Constables in America, Village\nCommunities of Cape Ann and Salem_; II., x. Edward Channing, _Town and\nCounty Government in the English Colonies of North America_; IV.,\nxi.-xii. Melville Egleston, _The Land System of the New England\nColonies_; VII., vii.-ix. C. M. Andrews, _The River Towns of\nConnecticut_.\n\nSee also Howard's _Local Constitutional History of the United\nStates_, vol. i. \"Township, Hundred, and Shire,\" Baltimore, 1889, a\nwork of extraordinary merit.\n\nThe great book on local self-government in England is Toulmin Smith's\n_The Parish_, 2d ed., London, 1859. For the ancient history of the\ntownship, see Gomme's _Primitive Folk-Moots_, London, 1880; Gomme's\n_Village Community_, London, 1890; Seebohm's _English Village\nCommunity_, London, 1883; Nasse's _Agricultural Community of the Middle\nAges_, London, 1872; Laveleye's _Primitive Property_, London, 1878;\nPhear's _Aryan Village in India and Ceylon_, London, 1880; Hearn (of the\nUniversity of Melbourne, Australia), _The Aryan Household_, London &\nMelbourne, 1879; and the following works of Sir Henry Maine: _Ancient\nLaw_, London, 1861; _Village Communities in the East and West_, London,\n1871; _Early History of Institutions_, London, 1875; _Early Law and\nCustom_, London, 1883. All of Maine's works are republished in New York.\nSee also my _American Political Ideas_, N. Y., 1885.\n\nGomme's _Literature of Local Institutions_, London, 1886,\ncontains an extensive bibliography of the subject, with valuable\ncritical notes and comments.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE COUNTY.\n\n\nSection 1. _The County in its Beginnings._\n\nIt is now time for us to treat of the county, and we may as well begin\nby considering its origin. In treating of the township we began by\nsketching it in its fullest development, as seen in New England. With.\nthe county we shall find it helpful to pursue a different method and\nstart at the beginning.\n\nIf we look at the maps of the states which make up our Union, we see\nthat they are all divided into counties (except that in Louisiana the\ncorresponding divisions are named parishes). The map of England shows\nthat country as similarly divided into counties.\n\n[Sidenote: Why do we have counties?]\nIf we ask why this is so, some people will tell us that it is\nconvenient, for purposes of administration, to have a state, or a\nkingdom, divided into areas that are larger than single towns. There\nis much truth in this. It is convenient. If it were not so, counties\nwould not have survived, so as to make a part of our modern maps.\nNevertheless, this is not the historic reason why we have the\nparticular kind of subdivisions known as counties. We have them\nbecause our fathers and grandfathers had them; and thus, if we would\nfind out the true reason, we may as well go back to the ancient times\nwhen our forefathers were establishing themselves in England.\n\n[Sidenote: Clans and tribes.]\nWe have seen how the clan of our barbarous ancestors, when it became\nstationary, was established as the town or township. But in those early\ntimes _clans_ were generally united more or less closely into _tribes_.\nAmong all primitive or barbarous races of men, so far as we can make\nout, society is organized in tribes, and each tribe is made up of a\nnumber of clans or family groups. Now when our English forefathers\nconquered Britain they settled there as clans and also as tribes. The\nclans became townships, and the tribes became shires or counties; that\nis to say, the names were applied first to the people and afterwards to\nthe land they occupied. A few of the oldest county names in England\nstill show this plainly. _Essex_, _Middlesex_, and _Sussex_ were\noriginally \"East Saxons,\" \"Middle Saxons,\" and \"South Saxons;\" and on\nthe eastern coast two tribes of Angles were distinguished as \"North\nfolk\" and \"South folk,\" or _Norfolk_ and _Suffolk_. When you look on the\nmap and see the town of _Icklinghiam_ in the county of _Suffolk_, it\nmeans that this place was once known as the \"home\" of the \"Icklings\" or\n\"children of Ickel,\" a clan which formed part of the tribe of \"South\nfolk.\"\n\n[Sidenote: The English nation, like the American, grew out of the\nunion of small states.]\nIn those days there was no such thing as a Kingdom of England; there\nwere only these groups of tribes living side by side. Each tribe had its\nleader, whose title was _ealdorman_ or \"elder man.\" [1] After a while, as\nsome tribes increased in size and power, their ealdormen took the title\nof kings. The little kingdoms coincided sometimes with a single shire,\nsometimes with two or more shires. Thus there was a kingdom of Kent, and\nthe North and South Folk were combined in a kingdom of East Anglia. In\ncourse of time numbers of shires combined into larger kingdoms, such as\nNorthumbria, Mercia, and the West Saxons; and finally the king of the\nWest Saxons became king of all England, and the several _shires_ became\nsubordinate parts or \"shares\" of the kingdom. In England, therefore, the\nshires are older than the nation. The shires were not made by dividing\nthe nation, but the nation was made by uniting the shires. The English\nnation, like the American, grew out of the union of little states that\nhad once been independent of one another, but had many interests in\ncommon. For not less than three hundred years after all England had been\nunited under one king, these shires retained their self-government\nalmost as completely as the several states of the American Union.[2] A\nfew words about their government will not be wasted, for they will help\nto throw light upon some things that still form a part of our political\nand social life.\n\n[Footnote 1: The pronunciation, was probably something like yawl-dor-man.]\n\n\n[Footnote 2: Chalmers, _Local Government_, p. 90.]\n\n[Sidenote: Shire-mote, ealdorman, and sheriff.]\nThe shire was governed by the _shire-mote_ (i.e. \"meeting\"),\nwhich was a representative body. Lords of lands, including abbots and\npriors, attended it, as well as the reeve and four selected men\nfrom each township. There were thus the germs of both the kind of\nrepresentation that is seen in the House of Lords and the much more\nperfect kind that is seen in the House of Commons. After a while,\nas cities and boroughs grew in importance, they sent representative\nburghers to the shire-mote. There were two presiding officers; one was\nthe _ealdorman_, who was now appointed by the king; the other was\nthe _shire-reeve_ (i.e. \"sheriff\"), who was still elected by the\npeople and generally held office for life.\n\n\n\n[Sidenote: The county court.]\nThis shire-mote was both a legislative body and a court of justice. It\nnot only made laws for the shire, but it tried civil and criminal\ncauses. After the Norman Conquest some changes occurred. The shire now\nbegan to be called by the French name \"county,\" because of its analogy\nto the small pieces of territory on the Continent that were governed by\n\"counts.\" [3] The shire-mote became known as the county court, but cases\ncoming before it were tried by the king's _justices in eyre_, or circuit\njudges, who went about from county to county to preside over the\njudicial work. The office of ealdorman became extinct. The sheriff was\nno longer elected by the people for life, but appointed by the king for\nthe term of one year. This kept him strictly responsible to the king. It\nwas the sheriff's duty to see that the county's share of the national\ntaxes was duly collected and paid over to the national treasury. The\nsheriff also summoned juries and enforced the judgments of the courts,\nand if he met with resistance in so doing he was authorized to call out\na force of men, known as the _posse comitatus_ (i.e. power of the\ncounty), and overcome all opposition. Another county officer was the\n_coroner_, or crowner_,[4] so called because originally (in Alfred's\ntime) he was appointed by the king, and was especially the crown officer\nin the county. Since the time of Edward I., however, coroners have been\nelected by the people. Originally coroners held small courts of inquiry\nupon cases of wreckage, destructive fires, or sudden death, but in\ncourse of time their jurisdiction became confined to the last-named\nclass of cases. If a death occurred under circumstances in any way\nmysterious or likely to awaken suspicion, it was the business of the\ncoroner, assisted by not less than twelve _jurors_ (i. e, \"sworn men\"),\nto hold an _inquest_ for the purpose of ascertaining the cause of death.\nThe coroner could compel the attendance of witnesses and order a medical\nexamination of the body, and if there were sufficient evidence to charge\nany person with murder or manslaughter, the coroner could have such\nperson arrested and committed for trial.\n\n[Footnote 3: Originally _comites_, or \"companions\" of the king.]\n[Footnote 4: This form of the word, sometimes supposed to be a vulgarism,\nis as correct as the other. See Skeat, _Etym_. Dict., s.v.]\n\n\n[Sidenote: Justices of the peace.]\n[Sidenote: The Quarter sessions.]\n[Sidenote: The lord-lieutenant.]\nAnother important county officer was the _justice of the peace_.\nOriginally six were appointed by the crown in each county, but in\nlater times any number might be appointed. The office was created by a\nseries of statutes in the reign of Edward III., in order to put a stop\nto the brigandage which still flourished in England; it was a common\npractice for robbers to seize persons and hold them for ransom.[5] By\nthe last of these statutes, in 1362, the justices of the peace in each\ncounty were to hold a court four times in the year. The powers of this\ncourt, which came to be known as the Quarter Sessions, were from time\nto time increased by act of parliament, until it quite supplanted the\nold county court. In modern times the Quarter Sessions has become\nan administrative body quite as much as a court. The justices, who\nreceive no salary, hold office for life, or during good behaviour.\nThey appoint the chief constable of the county, who appoints the\npolice. They also take part in the supervision of highways and\nbridges, asylums and prisons. Since the reign of Henry VIII., the\nEnglish county has had an officer known as the lord-lieutenant, who\nwas once leader of the county militia, but whose functions to-day are\nthose of keeper of the records and principal justice of the peace.\n\n[Footnote 5: Longman's _Life and Times of Edward III._, vol. i.\np. 301.]\n\n[Sidenote: Beginnings of Massachusetts counties.]\nDuring the past five hundred years the English county has gradually\nsunk from a self-governing community into an administrative district;\nand in recent times its boundaries have been so crossed and\ncrisscrossed with those of other administrative areas, such as those\nof school-boards, sanitary boards, etc., that very little of the old\ncounty is left in recognizable shape. Most of this change has been\neffected since the Tudor period. The first English settlers in America\nwere familiar with the county as a district for the administration of\njustice, and they brought with them coroners, sheriffs, and quarter\nsessions. In 1635 the General Court of Massachusetts appointed four\ntowns--Boston, Cambridge, Salem, and Ipswich--as places where courts\nshould be held quarterly. In 1643 the colony, which then included\nas much of New Hampshire as was settled, was divided into four\n\"shires,\"--Suffolk, Essex, Middlesex, and Norfolk, the latter lying\nthen to the northward and including the New Hampshire towns. The\nmilitia was then organized, perhaps without consciousness of the\nanalogy, after a very old English fashion; the militia of each town\nformed a company, and the companies of the shire formed a regiment.\nThe county was organized from the beginning as a judicial district,\nwith its court-house, jail, and sheriff. After 1697 the court, held by\nthe justices of the peace, was called the Court of General Sessions.\nIt could try criminal causes not involving the penalty of death or\nbanishment, and civil causes in which the value at stake was less than\nforty shillings. It also had control over highways going from town to\ntown; and it apportioned the county taxes among the several towns.\n\nThe justices and sheriff were appointed by the governor, as in England\nby the king.\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. Why do we have counties in the United States? Contrast the popular\nreason with the historic.\n\n2. What relation did the tribe hold to the clan among our ancestors?\n\n3. In time what did the clans and the tribes severally become?\n\n4. Show how old county names in England throw light on the\n      county development.\n\n5. Trace the growth of the English nation in accordance with\n   the following outline:--\n   a. Each tribe and its leader,\n   b. A powerful tribe and its leader.\n   c. The relation of a little kingdom to the shire.\n   d. The final union under one king.\n   e. The relative ages of the shire and the nation.\n\n6. Give an account (1) of the shire-mote, (2) of the two kinds\n      of representation in it, (3) of its presiding officers, and\n      (4) of its two kinds of duties.\n\n7. Let the pupil make written analyses or outlines of the following\n      topics, to be used by him in presenting the topics\n      orally, or to be passed in to the teacher:--\n   a. What changes took place in the government of the shire\n            after the Norman Conquest?\n   b. Trace the development of the coroner's office.\n   c. Give an account of the justices of the peace and the courts\n       held by them.\n   d. Show what applications the English settlers in Massachusetts made of\n       their knowledge of the English county.\n\n\n\n\nSection 2. The Modern County in Massachusetts.\n\nThe modern county system of Massachusetts may now be very briefly\ndescribed. The county, like the town, is a corporation; it can hold\nproperty and sue or be sued. It builds the court-house and jail, and\nkeeps them in repair. The town in which these buildings are placed is\ncalled, as in England, the shire town.\n\n[Sidenote: County commissioners.]\nIn each county there are three commissioners, elected by the people.\nTheir term of service is three years, and one goes out each year.\nThese commissioners represent the county in law-suits, as the\nselectmen represent the town. They \"apportion the county taxes among\nthe towns;\" \"lay out, alter, and discontinue highways within the\ncounty;\" \"have charge of houses of correction;\" and erect and keep in\nrepair the county buildings.[6]\n\n[Footnote 6: Martin's _Civil Government_, p. 197.]\n\n[Sidenote: County treasurer.]\nThe revenues of the county are derived partly from taxation and partly\nfrom the payment of fines and costs in the courts. These revenues are\nreceived and disbursed by the county treasurer, who is elected by the\npeople for a term of three years.\n\n[Sidenote: Courts.]\nThe Superior Court of the state holds at least two sessions annually\nin each county, and tries civil and criminal causes. There is also\nin each county a probate court with jurisdiction over all matters\nrelating to wills, administration of estates, and appointment of\nguardians; it also acts as a court of insolvency. The custody of wills\nand documents relating to the business of this court is in the hands\nof an officer known as the register of probate, who is elected by the\npeople for a term of five years.\n\n[Sidenote: Shire town and court-house.]\nTo preserve the records of all land-titles and transfers of land\nwithin the county, all deeds and mortgages are registered in an\noffice in the shire town, usually within or attached to the court The\nregister of deeds is an officer elected by the people for a term of\nthree years. In counties where there is much business there may be\nmore than one.\n\n[Sidenote: Justices of the peace.]\nJustices of the peace are appointed by the governor for a term of seven\nyears, and the appointment may be renewed. Their functions have been\ngreatly curtailed, and now amount to little more than administering\noaths, and in some cases issuing warrants and taking bail. They may join\npersons in marriage, and, when specially commissioned as \"trial\njustices,\" have criminal jurisdiction over sundry petty offences.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Sheriff.]\nThe sheriff is elected by the people for a term of three years. He may\nappoint deputies, for whom he is responsible, to assist him in his\nwork. He must attend all county courts, and the meetings of the county\ncommissioners whenever required. He must inflict, either personally\nor by deputy, the sentence of the court, whether it be fine,\nimprisonment, or death. He is responsible for the preservation of the\npeace within the county, and to this end must pursue criminals and may\narrest disorderly persons. If he meets with resistance he may call out\nthe _posse comitatus_; if the resistance grows into insurrection\nhe may apply to the governor and obtain the aid of the state militia;\nif the insurrection proves too formidable to be thus dealt with, the\ngovernor may in his behalf apply to the president of the United States\nfor aid from the regular army. In this way the force that may be\ndrawn upon, if necessary, for the suppression of disorder in a single\nlocality, is practically unlimited and irresistible.\n\nWe have now obtained a clear outline view of the township and county in\nthemselves and in their relation to one another, with an occasional\nglimpse of their relation to the state; in so far, at least, as such a\nview can be gained from a reference to the history of England and of\nMassachusetts. We must next trace the development of local government in\nother parts of the United States; and in doing so we can advance at\nsomewhat quicker pace, not because our subject becomes in any wise less\nimportant or less interesting, but because we have already marked out\nthe ground and said things of general application which will not need to\nbe said over again.\n\n\n  QUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n  Give an account of the modern county in Massachusetts under\n  the following heads:--\n\n  1. The county a corporation.\n  2. The county commissioners and their duties.\n  3. The county treasurer and his duties.\n  4. The courts held in a county.\n  5. The shire town and the court-house.\n  6. The register of deeds and his duties.\n  7. Justices of the peace and trial justices.\n  8. The sheriff and his duties.\n  9. The force at the sheriff's disposal to suppress disorder.\n\n\n\n\nSection 3. _The Old Virginia County._\n\nBy common consent of historians, the two most distinctive and most\ncharacteristic lines of development which English forms of government\nhave followed, in propagating themselves throughout the United States,\nare the two lines that have led through New England on the one hand\nand through Virginia on the other. We have seen what shape local\ngovernment assumed in New England; let us now observe what shape it\nassumed in the Old Dominion.\n\n[Sidenote: Virginia sparsely settled.]\nThe first point to be noticed in the early settlement of Virginia is\nthat people did not live so near together as in New England. This was\nbecause tobacco, cultivated on large estates, was a source of wealth.\nTobacco drew settlers to Virginia as in later days gold drew settlers\nto California and sparsely Australia. They came not in organized\ngroups or congregations, but as a multitude of individuals. Land\nwas granted to individuals, and sometimes these grants were of\nenormous extent. John Bolling, who died in 1757, left an estate of\n40,000 acres, and this is not mentioned as an extraordinary amount of\nland for one man to own.[7] From an early period it was customary\nto keep these great estates together by entailing them, and this\ncontinued until entails were abolished in 1776 through the influence\nof Thomas Jefferson.\n\n[Footnote 7: Edward Channing, \"Town and County Government,\" in\n_Johns Hopkins University Studies_, vol. ii. p. 467.]\n\n[Sidenote: Absence of towns.]\nA glance at the map of Virginia shows to what a remarkable degree it\nis intersected by navigable rivers. This fact made it possible for\nplantations, even at a long distance from the coast, to have each its\nown private wharf, where a ship from England could unload its cargo of\ntools, cloth, or furniture, and receive a cargo of tobacco in return.\nAs the planters were thus supplied with most of the necessaries of\nlife, there was no occasion for the kind of trade that builds up\ntowns. Even in comparatively recent times the development of town life\nin Virginia has been very slow. In 1880, out of 246 cities and towns\nin the United States with a population exceeding 10,000, there were\nonly six in Virginia.\n\n[Sidenote: Slavery]\nThe cultivation of tobacco upon large estates caused a great demand for\ncheap labour, and this was supplied partly by bringing <DW64> slaves from\nAfrica, partly by bringing criminals from English jails. The latter were\nsold into slavery for a limited term of years, and were known as\n\"indentured white servants.\" So great was the demand for labour that it\nbecame customary to kidnap poor friendless wretches on the streets of\nseaport towns in England and ship them off to Virginia to be sold into\nservitude. At first these white servants were more numerous than the\n<DW64>s, but before the end of the seventeenth century the blacks had\ncome to be much the more numerous.\n\n[Sidenote: Social position of settlers.]\nIn this rural community the owners of plantations came from the same\nclasses of society as the settlers of New England; they were for the\nmost part country squires and yeomen. But while in New England there\nwas no lower class or society sharply marked off from the upper, on\nthe other hand in Virginia there was an insurmountable distinction\nbetween the owners of plantations and the so-called \"mean whites\" or\n\"white trash.\" This class was originally formed of men and women\nwho had been indentured white servants, and was increased by such\nshiftless people as now and then found their way to the colony, but\ncould not win estates or obtain social recognition. With such a\nsharp division between classes, an aristocratic type of society was\ndeveloped in Virginia as naturally as a democratic type was developed\nin New England.\n\n[Sidenote: Virginia parishes.]\n[Sidenote: The vestry of a close corporation.]\nIn Virginia there were no town-meetings. The distances between\nplantations cooperated with the distinction between classes to prevent\nthe growth of such an institution. The English parish, with its\nchurchwardens and vestry and clerk, was reproduced in Virginia under\nthe same name, but with some noteworthy peculiarities. If the whole\nbody of ratepayers had assembled in vestry meeting, to enact by-laws\nand assess taxes, the course of development would have been like that\nof the New England town-meeting. But instead of this the vestry, which\nexercised the chief authority in the parish, was composed of twelve\nchosen men. This was not government by a primary assembly, it was\nrepresentative government. At first the twelve vestrymen were elected\nby the people of the parish, and thus resembled the selectmen of\nNew England; but after a while \"they obtained the power of filling\nvacancies in their own number,\" so that they became what is called a\n\"close corporation,\" and the people had nothing to do with choosing\nthem. Strictly speaking, that was not representative government; it\nwas a step on the road that leads towards oligarchical or despotic\ngovernment.\n\n[Sidenote: Powers of the vestry.]\nIt was the vestry, thus constituted, that apportioned the parish\ntaxes, appointed the churchwardens, presented the minister for\ninduction into office, and acted as overseers of the poor. The\nminister presided in all vestry meetings. His salary was paid in\ntobacco, and in 1696 it was fixed by law at 16,000 pounds of tobacco\nyearly. In many parishes the churchwardens were the collectors of the\nparish taxes. The other officers, such as the sexton and the parish\nclerk, were appointed either by the minister or by the vestry.\n\nWith the local government thus administered, we see that the larger\npart of the people had little directly to do. Nevertheless in these\nsmall neighbourhoods government was in full sight of the people. Its\nproceedings went on in broad daylight and were sustained by public\nsentiment. As Jefferson said, \"The vestrymen are usually the most\ndiscreet farmers, so distributed through the parish that every part of\nit may be under the immediate eye of some one of them. They are well\nacquainted with the details and economy of private life, and they\nfind sufficient inducements to execute their charge well, in their\nphilanthropy, in the approbation of their neighbours, and the\ndistinction which that gives them.\" [8]\n\n[Footnote 8: See Howard, _Local Constitutional History of the United\nStates_, vol. i. p. 122.]\n\n[Sidenote: The county was the unit of representation.]\nThe difference, however, between the New England township and the\nVirginia parish, in respect of self-government, was striking enough.\nWe have now to note a further difference. In New England, as we have\nseen, the township was the unit of representation in the colonial\nlegislature; but in Virginia the parish was not the unit of\nrepresentation. The county was that unit. In the colonial legislature\nof Virginia the representatives sat not for parishes, but for\ncounties. The difference is very significant. As the political life of\nNew England was in a manner built up out of the political life of\nthe towns, so the political life of Virginia was built up out of the\npolitical life of the counties. This was partly because the vast\nplantations were not grouped about a compact village nucleus like the\nsmall farms at the North, and partly because there was not in Virginia\nthat Puritan theory of the church according to which each congregation\nis a self-governing democracy. The conditions which made the New\nEngland town-meeting were absent. The only alternative was some kind\nof representative government, and for this the county was a small\nenough area. The county in Virginia was much smaller than in\nMassachusetts or Connecticut. In a few instances the county consisted\nof only a single parish; in some cases it was divided into two\nparishes, but oftener into three or more.\n\n[Sidenote: The county court was virtually a close corporation.]\nIn Virginia, as in England and in New England, the county was an area\nfor the administration of justice. There were usually in each county\neight justices of the peace, and their court was the counterpart of\nthe Quarter Sessions in England. They were appointed by the governor,\nbut it was customary for them to nominate candidates for the governor\nto appoint, so that practically the court filled its own vacancies and\nwas a close corporation, like the parish vestry. Such an arrangement\ntended to keep the general supervision and control of things in the\nhands of a few families.\n\nThis county court usually met as often as once a month in some\nconvenient spot answering to the shire town of England or New England.\nMore often than not the place originally consisted of the court-house\nand very little else, and was named accordingly from the name of the\ncounty, as Hanover Court House or Fairfax Court House; and the small\nshire towns that have grown up in such spots often retain these names\nto the present day. Such names occur commonly in Virginia, West\nVirginia, and South Carolina, very rarely in Kentucky, North Carolina,\nAlabama, Ohio, and nowhere else in the United States.[9] Their number\nhas diminished from the tendency to omit the phrase \"Court House,\"\nleaving the name of the county for that of the shire town, as for\nexample in Culpeper, Va. In New England the process of naming has been\njust the reverse; as in Hartford County, Conn., or Worcester County,\nMass., which have taken their names from the shire towns. In this,\nas in so many cases, whole chapters of history are wrapped up in\ngeographical names.[10]\n\n[Footnote 9: In Mitchell's Atlas, 1883, the number of cases is in Va.\n38, W. Va. 13, S. C. 16, N. C. 2, Ala. 1, Ky. 1, Ohio, 1.]\n\n[Footnote 10: A few of the oldest Virginia counties, organized as\nsuch in 1634, had arisen from the spreading and thinning of single\nsettlements originally intended to be cities and named accordingly.\nHence the curious names (at first sight unintelligible) of \"James City\nCounty,\" and \"Charles City County.\"]\n\n[Sidenote: Powers of the court]\nThe county court in Virginia had jurisdiction in criminal actions not\ninvolving peril of life or limb, and in civil suits where the sum at\nstake exceeded twenty-five shillings. Smaller suits could be tried\nby a single justice. The court also had charge of the probate and\nadministration of wills. The court appointed its own clerk, who kept\nthe county records. It superintended the construction and repair of\nbridges and highways, and for this purpose divided the county into\n\"precincts,\" and appointed annually for each precinct a highway\nsurveyor. The court also seems to have appointed constables, one for\neach precinct. The justices could themselves act as coroners, but\nannually two or more coroners for each parish were appointed by the\ngovernor. As we have seen that the parish taxes--so much for salaries\nof minister and clerk, so much for care of church buildings, so much\nfor relief of the poor, etc.--were computed and assessed by the\nvestry; so the county taxes, for care of court-house and jail, roads\nand bridges, coroner's fees, and allowances to the representatives\nsent to the colonial legislature, were computed and assessed by the\ncounty court. The general taxes for the colony were estimated by a\ncommittee of the legislature, as well as the county's share of the\ncolony tax.\n\n[Sidenote: The sheriff.]\nThe taxes for the county, and sometimes the taxes for the parish also,\nwere collected by the sheriff. They were usually paid, not in money,\nbut in tobacco; and the sheriff was the custodian of this tobacco,\nresponsible for its proper disposal. The sheriff was thus not only\nthe officer for executing the judgments of the court, but he was also\ncounty treasurer and collector, and thus exercised powers almost as\ngreat as those of the sheriff in England in the twelfth century. He\nalso presided over elections for representatives to the legislature.\nIt is interesting to observe how this very important officer was\nchosen. \"Each year the court presented the names of three of its\nmembers to the governor, who appointed one, generally the senior\njustice, to be the sheriff of the county for the ensuing year.\" [11]\nHere again we see this close corporation, the county court, keeping\nthe control of things within its own hands.\n\n[Footnote 11: Edward Channing, _op. cit_. p. 478.]\n\n[Sidenote: The county lieutenant]\nOne other important county officer needs to be mentioned. We have seen\nthat in early New England each town had its train-band or company of\nmilitia, and that the companies in each county united to form the\ncounty regiment. In Virginia it was just the other way. Each county\nraised a certain number of troops, and because it was not convenient\nfor the men to go many miles from home in assembling for purposes of\ndrill, the county was subdivided into military districts, each with\nits company, according to rules laid down by the governor. The\nmilitary command in each county was vested in the county lieutenant,\nan officer answering in many respects to the lord lieutenant of\nthe English shire at that period. Usually he was a member of the\ngovernor's council, and as such exercised sundry judicial functions.\nHe bore the honorary title of \"colonel,\" and was to some extent\nregarded as the governor's deputy; but in later times his duties were\nconfined entirely to military matters.[12]\n\n[Footnote 12: For an excellent account of local government in Virginia\nbefore the Revolution, see Howard, _Local Const. Hist. of the U.S._,\nvol. i. pp. 388-407; also Edward Ingle in _Johns Hopkins Univ.\nStudies_, III., ii.-iii.]\n\nIf now we sum up the contrasts between local government in Virginia\nand that in New England, we observe:--\n\n1. That in New England the management of local affairs was mostly in the\nhands of town officers, the county being superadded for certain\npurposes, chiefly judicial; while in Virginia the management was chiefly\nin the hands of county officers, though certain functions, chiefly\necclesiastical, were reserved to the parish.\n\n2. That in New England the local magistrates were almost always, with\nthe exception of justices, chosen by the people; while in Virginia,\nthough some of them were nominally appointed by the governor, yet in\npractice they generally contrived to appoint themselves--in other\nwords the local boards practically filled their own vacancies and were\nself-perpetuating.\n\n[Sidenote: Jefferson's opinion of township government.]\nThese differences are striking and profound. There can be no doubt\nthat, as Thomas Jefferson clearly saw, in the long run the interests\nof political liberty are much safer under the New England system\nthan under the Virginia system. Jefferson said, \"Those wards,\ncalled townships in New England, are the vital principle of their\ngovernments, and have proved themselves the wisest invention ever\ndevised by the wit of man for the perfect exercise of self-government,\nand for its preservation[13]....As Cato, then, concluded every speech\nwith the words _Carthago delenda est_, so do I every opinion with\nthe injunction: Divide the counties into wards!\" [14]\n\n[Footnote 13: Jefferson's _Works_, vii. 13.]\n\n[Footnote 14: _Id_., vi. 544]\n\n[Sidenote: \"Court Day.\"]\nWe must, however, avoid the mistake of making too much of this contrast.\nAs already hinted, in those rural societies where people generally knew\none another, its effects were not so far-reaching as they would be in\nthe more complicated society of to-day. Even though Virginia had not the\ntown-meeting, it had its familiar court-day, which was a holiday for\nall the country-side, especially in the fall and spring. From all\ndirections came in the people on horseback, in wagons, and afoot. On the\ncourt-house green assembled, in indiscriminate confusion, people of all\nclasses,--the hunter from the backwoods, the owner of a few acres, the\ngrand proprietor, and the grinning, heedless <DW64>. Old debts were\nsettled, and new ones made; there were auctions, transfers of property,\nand, if election times were near, stump-speaking.[15]\n\n[Sidenote: Virginia prolific in great leaders.]\nFor seventy years or more before the Declaration of Independence the\nmatters of general public concern, about which stump speeches were made\non Virginia court-days, were very similar to those that were discussed\nin Massachusetts town-meetings when representatives were to be chosen\nfor the legislature. Such questions generally related to some real or\nalleged encroachment upon popular liberties by the royal governor, who,\nbeing appointed and sent from beyond sea, was apt to have ideas and\npurposes of his own that conflicted with those of the people. This\nperpetual antagonism to the governor, who represented British imperial\ninterference with American local self-government, was an excellent\nschooling in political liberty, alike for Virginia and for\nMassachusetts. When the stress of the Revolution came, these two leading\ncolonies cordially supported each other, and their political\ncharacteristics were reflected in the kind of achievements for which\neach was especially distinguished. The Virginia system, concentrating\nthe administration of local affairs in the hands of a few county\nfamilies, was eminently favourable for developing skilful and vigorous\nleadership. And while in the history of Massachusetts during the\nRevolution we are chiefly impressed with the wonderful degree in which\nthe mass of the people exhibited the kind of political training that\nnothing in the world except the habit of parliamentary discussion can\nimpart; on the other hand, Virginia at that time gave us--in Washington,\nJefferson, Henry, Madison, and Marshall, to mention no others--such a\ngroup of consummate leaders as the world has seldom seen equalled.\n\n[Footnote 15: Ingle, _loc. cit._]\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. Why was Virginia more sparsely settled than Massachusetts?\n\n2. Why was it that towns were built up more slowly in Virginia than in\nMassachusetts?\n\n3. How was the great demand for labour in Virginia met?\n\n4. What distinction of classes naturally arose?\n\n5. Contrast the type of society thus developed in Virginia with that\n   developed in New England.\n\n6. Compare the Virginia parish in its earlier government with the\n   English parish from which it was naturally copied.\n\n7. Show how the vestry became a close corporation.\n\n8. Who were usually chosen as vestrymen, and what were their powers?\n\n9. Compare Virginia's unit of representation in the colonial\nlegislature with that of Massachusetts, and give the reason for the\ndifference.\n\n10. Describe the county court, showing in particular how it became a\nclose corporation.\n\n11. Bring out some of the history wrapped up in the names of county\nseats.\n\n12. What were the chief powers of the county court?\n\n13. Describe the assessment of the various taxes.\n\n14. What were the sheriff's duties?\n\n15. Describe the organization and command of the militia in each\ncounty.\n\n16. Sum up the differences between local government in Virginia and\nthat in New England (1) as to the management of local affairs and (2)\nas to the choice of local officers.\n\n17. What did Jefferson think of the principle of township government?\n\n18. What was the equivalent in Virginia of the New England\ntown-meeting?\n\n19. What was the value of this frequent assembling?\n\n20. What schooling in political liberty before the Revolution did\nVirginia and Massachusetts alike have?\n\n\n21. What was an impressive feature of the New England system?\n\n22. What was an impressive feature of the Virginia system?\n\n\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS.\n\n1. How many counties are there in your state?\n\n2. Name and place them if the number is small.\n\n3. In what county do you live?\n\n4. Give its dimensions. Are they satisfactory? Why?\n\n5. Give its boundaries.\n\n6. Is there anything interesting in the meaning or origin of its name?\n\n7. How many towns and cities does it contain?\n\n8. What is the county seat? Is it conveniently situated? Reasons for\nthinking so?\n\n9. If convenient, visit any county building, note the uses to which it\nis put, and report such facts as may be thus found out.\n\n10. Obtain a deed, no matter how old, and answer these questions about\nit:--\n\n  a. Is it recorded? If so, where?\n  b. Would it be easy for you to find\n     the record?\n  c. Why should such a record be kept?\n  d. What officer\n     has charge of such records?\n  e. What sort of work must he and his\n     assistants do?\n  f. The place of such records is called what?\n  g. What sort of facilities for the public should such a place have? What\n     safety precautions should be observed there?\n  h. Why should the county\n     keep such records rather than the city or the town?\n  i. Is there a record of the deed by which the preceding owner came into\n    possession of the property?\n  j. What sort of title did the first owner have? Is\n     there any record of it? Was the first owner Indian or European?\n\n(The teacher might obtain a deed and base a class exercise upon it. It\nis easy with a deed for a text to lead pupils to see the common-sense\nbasis of an important county institution, and thereafter to give very\nsensible views as to what it should be, even if it is not fully known\nwhat it is.)\n\n11. Is there a local court for your town or city? 12. How do its cases\ncompare in magnitude with those tried at the county seat?\n\n13. If a man steals and is prosecuted, who becomes the plaintiff?\n\n14. If a man owes and is sued for debt, who becomes the plaintiff?\n\n15. What is a criminal action?\n\n16. What is a civil action?\n\n17. What is the result to the defendant in the former case, if he is\nconvicted?\n\n\n18. What is the result to the defendant in the latter case, if the\ndecision is against him?\n\n19. Is lying a crime or a sin? May it ever become a crime?\n\n20. Are courts of any service to the vast numbers who are never\nbrought before them? Why?\n\n\n21. May good citizens always keep out of the courts if they choose? Is\nit their duty always to keep out of them?\n\n22. Is there any aversion among people that you know to being brought\nbefore the courts? Why?\n\n23. What is the purpose of a jail? Is this purpose realized in fact?\n\n24. Should a disturbance of a serious nature break out in your town,\nwhose immediate duty would it be to quell it? Suppose this duty should\nprove too difficult to perform, then what?\n\n25. What is the attitude of good citizenship towards officers who are\ntrying to enforce the laws? What is the attitude of good citizenship\nif the laws are not satisfactory or if the officers are indiscreet in\nenforcing them?\n\n26. Suppose a man of property dies and leaves a will, what troubles\nare possible about the disposal of his property? Suppose he leaves no\nwill, what troubles are possible? Whose duty is it to exercise control\nover such matters and hold people up to legal and honourable conduct\nin them?\n\n27. What is an executor? What is an administrator?\n\n28. If parents die, whose duty is it to care for their children? If\nproperty is left to such children, are they free to use it as they\nplease? What has the county to do with such cases?\n\n29. How much does your town or city contribute towards county\nexpenses? How does this amount compare with that raised by other towns\nin the county?\n\n30. Give the organization of your county government.\n\n31. Would it be better for the towns to do themselves the work now\ndone for them by the county?\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.\n\n\nSection 1. THE COUNTY IN ITS BEGINNINGS. This subject is treated in\nconnection with the township in several of the books above mentioned.\nSee especially Howard, _Local Const. Hist._\n\nSection 2. THE MODERN COUNTY IN MASSACHUSETTS. There is a good account\nin Martin's _Text Book_ above mentioned.\n\nSection 3. THE OLD VIRGINIA COUNTY. The best account is in _J.H.U.\nStudies_, III., ii.-iii. Edward Ingle, _Virginia Local Institutions._\n\n\nIn dealing with the questions on page 69, both teachers and pupils\nwill find Dole's _Talks about Law_ (Boston, 1887) extremely\nvaluable and helpful.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTOWNSHIP AND COUNTY.\n\n\nSection 1. _Various Local Systems_.\n\nWe have now completed our outline sketch of town and county government\nas illustrated in New England on the one hand and in Virginia on the\nother. There are some important points in the early history of local\ngovernment in other portions of the original thirteen states, to\nwhich we must next call attention; and then we shall be prepared to\nunderstand the manner in which our great western country has been\norganized under civil government. We must first say something about\nSouth Carolina and Maryland.\n\n[Sidenote: Parishes in South Carolina.]\nSouth Carolina was settled from half a century to a century later\nthan Massachusetts and Virginia, and by two distinct streams of\nimmigration. The lowlands near the coast were settled by Englishmen\nand by French Huguenots, but the form of government was purely\nEnglish. There were parishes, as in Virginia, but popular election\nplayed a greater part in them. The vestrymen were elected yearly by\nall the taxpayers of the parish. The minister was also elected by his\npeople, and after 1719 each parish sent its representatives to the\ncolonial legislature, though in a few instances two parishes were\njoined together for the purpose of choosing representatives. The\nsystem was thus more democratic than in Virginia; and in this\nconnection it is worth while to observe that parochial libraries and\nfree schools were established as early as 1712, much earlier than in\nVirginia.\n\n[Sidenote: The back country]\nDuring the first half of the eighteenth century a very different stream\nof immigration, coming mostly along the <DW72> of the Alleghanies from\nVirginia and Pennsylvania, and consisting in great part of Germans,\nScotch Highlanders, and Scotch-Irish, peopled the upland western regions\nof South Carolina. For some time this territory had scarcely any civil\norganization. It was a kind of \"wild West.\" There were as yet no\ncounties in the colony. There was just one sheriff for the whole colony,\nwho \"held his office by patent from the crown.\" [1] A court sat in\nCharleston, but the arm of justice was hardly long enough to reach\noffenders in the mountains. \"To punish a horse-thief or prosecute a\ndebtor one was sometimes compelled to travel a distance of several\nhundred miles, and be subjected to all the dangers and delays incident\nto a wild country.\" When people cannot get justice in what in civilized\ncountries is the regular way, they will get it in some irregular way. So\nthese mountaineers began to form themselves into bands known as\n\"regulators,\" quite like the \"vigilance committees\" formed for the same\npurposes in California a hundred years later. For thieves and murderers\nthe \"regulators\" provided a speedy trial, and the nearest tree served as\na gallows.\n\n[Footnote 1: B. J. Ramage, in _Johns Hopkins Univ. Studies_, I., xii.]\n\n[Sidenote: The district system.]\nIn order to put a stop to this lynch law, the legislature in 1768\ndivided the back country into districts, each with its sheriff and\ncourt-house, and the judges were sent on circuit through these\ndistricts. The upland region with its districts was thus very\ndifferently organized from the lowland region with its parishes, and the\neffect was for a while almost like dividing South Carolina into two\nstates. At first the districts were not allowed to choose their own\nsheriffs, but in course of time they acquired this privilege. It was\ndifficult to apportion the representation in the state legislature so as\nto balance evenly the districts in the west against the parishes in the\neast, and accordingly there was much dissatisfaction, especially in the\nwest which did not get its fair share. In 1786 the capital was moved\nfrom Charleston to Columbia as a concession to the back country, and in\n1808 a kind of compromise was effected, in such wise that the uplands\nsecured a permanent majority in the house of representatives, while the\nlowlands retained control of the senate. The two sections had each its\nseparate state treasurer, and this kind of double government lasted\nuntil the Civil War.\n\n[Sidenote: The modern South Carolina county.]\nAt the close of the war \"the parishes were abolished and the district\nsystem was extended to the low country.\" But soon afterward, by the\nnew constitution of 1868, the districts were abolished and the state\nwas divided into 34 counties, each of which sends one senator to the\nstate senate, while they send representatives in proportion to\ntheir population. In each county the people elect three county\ncommissioners, a school commissioner, a sheriff, a judge of probate,\na clerk, and a coroner. In one respect the South Carolina county is\nquite peculiar: it has no organization for judicial purposes. \"The\ncounties, like their institutional predecessor the district, are\ngrouped into judicial circuits, and a judge is elected by the\nlegislature for each circuit. Trial justices are appointed by the\ngovernor for a term of two years.\"\n\n[Sidenote: The counties are too large.]\nThis system, like the simple county system everywhere, is a\nrepresentative system; the people take no direct part in the\nmanagement of affairs. In one respect it seems obviously to need\namendment. In states where county government has grown up naturally,\nafter the Virginia fashion, the county is apt to be much smaller than\nin states where it is simply a district embracing several township\ngovernments. Thus the average size of a county in Massachusetts is 557\nsquare miles, and in Connecticut 594 square miles; but in Virginia\nit is only 383 and in Kentucky 307 square miles. In South Carolina,\nhowever, where the county did not grow up of itself, but has been\nenacted, so to speak, by a kind of afterthought, it has been made too\nlarge altogether. The average area of the county in South Carolina is\nabout 1,000 square miles. Charleston County, more than 40 miles in\nlength and not less than 35 in average width, is larger than the\nstate of Rhode Island. Such an area is much too extensive for\nlocal self-government. Its different portions are too far apart to\nunderstand each other's local wants, or to act efficiently toward\nsupplying them; and roads, bridges, and free schools suffer\naccordingly. An unsuccessful attempt has been made to reduce the size\nof the counties. But what seems perhaps more likely to happen is the\npractical division of the counties into school districts, and the\ngradual development of these school districts into something like\nself-governing townships. To this very interesting point we shall\nagain have occasion to refer.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The _hundred_ in Maryland.]\n[Sidenote: Clans, brotherhoods, and tribes]\nWe come now to Maryland. The early history of local institutions in\nthis state is a fascinating subject of study. None of the American\ncolonies had a more distinctive character of its own, or reproduced\nold English usages in a more curious fashion. There was much in\ncolonial Maryland, with its lords of the manor, its bailiffs and\nseneschals, its courts baron and courts leet, to remind one of the\nEngland of the thirteenth century. But of these ancient institutions,\nlong since extinct, there is but one that needs to be mentioned in the\npresent connection. In Maryland the earliest form of civil community\nwas called, not a parish or township, but a _hundred_. This\ncurious designation is often met with in English history, and the\ninstitution which it describes, though now almost everywhere extinct,\nwas once almost universal among men. It will be remembered that the\noldest form of civil society, which is still to be found among some\nbarbarous races, was that in which families were organized into clans\nand clans into tribes; and we saw that among our forefathers in\nEngland the dwelling-place of the clan became the township, and the\nhome of the tribe became the shire or county. Now, in nearly all\nprimitive societies that have been studied, we find a group that is\nlarger than the clan but smaller than the tribe,--or, in other words,\nintermediate between clan and tribe. Scholars usually call this group\nby its Greek name, _phratry_ or \"brotherhood\", for it was known\nlong ago that in ancient Greece clans were grouped into brotherhoods\nand brotherhoods into tribes. Among uncivilized people all over the\nworld we find this kind of grouping. For example, a tribe of North\nAmerican Indians is regularly made up of phratries, and the phratries\nare made up of clans; and, strange as it might at first seem, a good\nmany half-understood features of early Greek and Roman society have\nhad much light thrown upon them from the study of the usages of\nCherokees and Mohawks.\n\nWherever men have been placed, the problem of forming civil society\nhas been in its main outlines the same; and in its earlier stages it\nhas been approached in pretty much the same way by all.\n\n[Sidenote: The hundred court.]\nThe ancient Romans had the brotherhood, and called it a _curia_.\nThe Roman people were organized in clans, curies, and tribes. But for\nmilitary purposes the curia was called a _century_, because\nit furnished a quota of one hundred men to the army. The word\n_century_ originally meant a company of a hundred men, and it was\nonly by a figure of speech that it afterward came to mean a period\nof a hundred years. Now among all Germanic peoples, including the\nEnglish, the brotherhood seems to have been called the hundred.\nOur English forefathers seem to have been organized, like other\nbarbarians, in clans, brotherhoods, and tribes; and the brotherhood\nwas in some way connected with the furnishing a hundred warriors to\nthe host. In the tenth century we find England covered with small\ndistricts known as hundreds. Several townships together made a\nhundred, and several hundreds together made a shire. The hundred\nwas chiefly notable as the smallest area for the administration of\njustice. The hundred court was a representative body, composed of the\nlords of lands or their stewards, with the reeve and four selected men\nand the parish priest from each township. There was a chief magistrate\nfor the hundred, known originally as the hundredman, but after the\nNorman conquest as the high constable.\n\n[Sidenote: Decay of the hundred.]\n[Sidenote: Hundred meetings in Maryland]\nBy the thirteenth century the importance of the hundred had much\ndiminished. The need for any such body, intermediate between township\nand county, ceased to be felt, and the functions of the hundred were\ngradually absorbed by the county. Almost everywhere in England, by the\nreign of Elizabeth, the hundred had fallen into decay. It is curious\nthat its name and some of its peculiarities should have been brought\nto America, and should in one state have remained to the present day.\nSome of the early settlements in Virginia were called hundreds, but\nthey were practically nothing more than parishes, and the name soon\nbecame obsolete, except upon the map, where we still see, for example,\nBermuda Hundred. But in Maryland the hundred flourished and became the\npolitical unit, like the township in New England. The hundred was the\nmilitia district, and the district for the assessment of taxes. In the\nearliest times it was also the representative district; delegates\nto the colonial legislature sat for hundreds. But in 1654 this was\nchanged, and representatives were elected by counties. The officers\nof the Maryland hundred were the high constable, the commander of\nmilitia, the tobacco-viewer, the overseer of roads, and the assessor\nof taxes. The last-mentioned officer was elected by the people, the\nothers were all appointed by the governor. The hundred had also its\nassembly of all the people, which was in many respects like the New\nEngland town-meeting. These hundred-meetings enacted by-laws, levied\ntaxes, appointed committees, and often exhibited a vigorous political\nlife. But after the Revolution they fell into disuse, and in 1824 the\nhundred became extinct in Maryland; its organization was swallowed up\nin that of the county.\n\n[Sidenote: The hundred in Delaware]\n[Sidenote: The levy court, or representative county assembly.]\nIn Delaware, however, the hundred remains to this day. There it\nis simply an imperfectly developed township, but its relations with\nthe county, as they have stood with but little change since 1743,\nare very interesting. Each hundred used to choose its own assessor\nof taxes, and every year in the month of November the assessors from\nall the hundreds used to meet in the county court-house, along with\nthree or more justices of the peace and eight grand jurors, and assess\nthe taxes for the ensuing year. A month later they assembled again,\nto hear complaints from persons who considered themselves overtaxed;\nand having disposed of this business, they proceeded to appoint\ncollectors, one for each hundred. This county assembly was known as\nthe \"court of levy and appeal,\" or more briefly as the levy court.\nIt appointed the county treasurer, the road commissioners, and the\noverseers of the poor. Since 1793 the levy court has been composed\nof special commissioners chosen by popular vote, but its essential\ncharacter has not been altered. As a thoroughly representative body,\nit reminds one of the county courts of the Plantagenet period.\n\n[Sidenote: The old Pennsylvania county.]\nWe next come to the great middle colonies, Pennsylvania and New York.\nThe most noteworthy feature of local government in Pennsylvania was\nthe general election of county officers by popular vote. The county\nwas the unit of representation in the colonial legislature, and on\nelection days the people of the county elected at the same time their\nsheriffs, coroners, assessors, and county commissioners. In this\nrespect Pennsylvania furnished a model which has been followed by most\nof the states since the Revolution, as regards the county governments.\nIt is also to be noted that before the Revolution, as Pennsylvania\nincreased in population, the townships began to participate in the\nwork of government, each township choosing its overseers of the poor,\nhighway surveyors, and inspectors of elections.[3]\n\n[Footnote 3: Town-meetings were not quite unknown in Pennsylvania;\nsee W. P. Holcomb, \"Pennsylvania Boroughs,\" _J. H. U. Studies_,\nIV., iv.]\n\n[Sidenote: Town-meetings in New York.]\n[Sidenote: The county board of supervisors.]\nNew York had from the very beginning the rudiments of an excellent\nsystem of local self-government. The Dutch villages had their\nassemblies, which under the English rule were developed into\ntown-meetings, though with less ample powers than those of New\nEngland. The governing body of the New York town consisted of the\nconstable and eight overseers, who answered in most respects to the\nselectmen of New England. Four of the overseers were elected each year\nin town-meeting, and one of the retiring overseers was at the same\ntime elected constable. In course of time the elective offices came\nto include assessors and collectors, town clerk, highway surveyors,\nfence-viewers, pound-masters, and overseers of the poor. At first\nthe town-meetings seem to have been held only for the election of\nofficers, but they acquired to a limited extent the power of levying\ntaxes and enacting by-laws. In 1703 a law was passed requiring each\ntown to elect yearly an officer to be known as the \"supervisor,\" whose\nduty was \"to compute, ascertain, examine, oversee, and allow the\ncontingent, publick, and necessary charges\" of the county.[4] For\nthis purpose the supervisors met once a year at the county town. The\nprinciple was the same as that of the levy court in Delaware. This\nboard of supervisors was a strictly representative government, and\nformed a strong contrast to the close corporation by which county\naffairs were administered in Virginia. The New York system is\nof especial interest, because it has powerfully influenced the\ndevelopment of local institutions throughout the Northwest.\n\n[Footnote 4: Howard, _Local Const. Hist_., i. 111.]\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. Describe the early local government of eastern South Carolina.\n\n2. Describe the early local government of western South Carolina.\n\n3. Explain the difference.\n\n4. What effort was made in 1768 to put a stop to lynch law?\n\n5. What difficulties arose from the attempted adjustment of\n1768?\n\n6. What compromises were made between the two sections\ndown to the time of the Civil War?\n\n7. What changes have been made in local government since the\nCivil War?\n\n8. Mention a peculiarity of the South Carolina county.\n\n9. Compare its size with that of counties in other states.\n\n10. What disadvantage is due to this great size?\n\n11. What was the earliest form of civil community in Maryland,\nand from what source did it come?\n\n12. Trace the development of the hundred in accordance with\nthe following outline:--\n\n  a. Intermediate groups between clans and tribes.\n  b. Illustrations from Greece and the North American Indians.\n  c. The Roman century and the German hundred.\n\n13. Describe the English hundred in the tenth century.\n\n14. Describe the hundred court.\n\n15. Describe the Maryland hundred and its decay.\n\n16. What is the relation of the Delaware hundred to the county?\n\n17. Describe the Delaware levy court.\n\n18. What were the prominent features of the Pennsylvania\ncounty?\n\n19. Compare the town-meetings of New York with those of New\nEngland.\n\n20. What was the government of the New York county?\n\n21. How did this government compare with that of the Virginia county?\n\n\nSection 2. _Settlement of the Public Domain._\n\n[Sidenote: Westward movement of population.]\nThe westward movement of population in the United States has for the\nmost part followed the parallels of latitude. Thus Virginians and\nNorth Carolinians, crossing the Alleghanies, settled Kentucky and\nTennessee; thus people from New England filled up the central and\nnorthern parts of New York, and passed on into Michigan and Wisconsin;\nthus Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois received many settlers from New York\nand Pennsylvania. In the early times when Kentucky was settled, the\npioneer would select a piece of land wherever he liked, and after\nhaving a rude survey made, and the limits marked by \"blazing\" the\ntrees with a hatchet, the survey would be put on record in the state\nland-office. So little care was taken that half a dozen patents would\nsometimes be given for the same tract. Pieces of land, of all shapes\nand sizes, lay between the patents.... Such a system naturally begat\nno end of litigation, and there remain in Kentucky curious vestiges of\nit to this day. [5]\n\n[Footnote 5: Hinsdale, _Old Northwest_, p. 261.]\n\n[Sidenote: Method of surveying the public lands.]\n[Sidenote: Origins of Western townships.]\nIn order to avoid such confusion in the settlement of the territory\nnorth of the Ohio river, Congress passed the land-ordinance of 1785,\nwhich was based chiefly upon the suggestions of Thomas Jefferson, and\nlaid the foundation of our simple and excellent system for surveying\nnational lands. According to this system as gradually perfected, the\ngovernment surveyors first mark out a north and south line which is\ncalled the _principal meridian_. Twenty-four such meridians have been\nestablished. The first was the dividing line between Ohio and Indiana;\nthe last one runs through Oregon a little to the west of Portland. On\neach side of the principal meridian there are marked off subordinate\nmeridians called _range [6] Then a true parallel of latitude is drawn,\ncrossing these meridians at right angles. It is called the _base line_,\nor standard parallel. Eleven such base lines, for example, run across\nthe great state of Oregon. Finally, on each side of the base line are\ndrawn subordinate parallels called _township lines_, six miles apart,\nand numbered north and south from their base line. By these range lines\nand township lines the whole land is thus divided into townships just\nsix miles square, and the townships are all numbered. Take, for example,\nthe township of Deerfield in Michigan. That is the fourth township north\nof the base line, and it is in the fifth range east of the first\nprincipal meridian. It would be called township number 4 north range 5\neast, and was so called before it was settled and received a name.\nEvidently one must go 24 miles from the principal meridian, or 18 miles\nfrom the base line, in order to enter this township. It is all as simple\nas the numbering of streets in Philadelphia.[7]\n\n[Footnote 6: The following is a diagram of the first principal meridian,\nand of the base line running across southern Michigan. A B is the\nprincipal meridian; C D is the base line. The figures on the base line\nmark the range lines; the figures on the principal meridian mark the\ntownship lines. E is township 4 north in range 5 east; F is township 5\nsouth in range 4 west; G is township 3 north in range 3 west.\n[Illustration] As the intervals between meridians diminish as we go\nnorthward, it is sometimes necessary to introduce a correction line, the\nnature of which will be seen from the following diagram:--\n[Illustration: DIAGRAM OF CORRECTION LINE.]]\n\n[Footnote 7: In Philadelphia the streets for the most part cross each\nother at right angles and at equal distances, so that the city is laid\nout like a checkerboard. The parallel streets running in one direction\nhave names, often taken from trees. Market Street is the central\nstreet from which the others are reckoned in both directions according\nto the couplet\n\n  \"Market, Arch, Race, and Vine,\n  Chestnut, Walnut, Spruce, and Pine,\" etc.\n\nThe cross streets are not named but numbered, as First, Second, etc.\nThe houses on one side of the street have odd numbers and on the other\nside even numbers, as is the general custom in the United States. With\neach new block a new century of numbers begins, although there are\nseldom more than forty real numbers in a block. For example, the\ncorner house on Market Street, just above Fifteenth, is 1501 Market\nStreet. At somewhere about 1535 or 1539 you come to Sixteenth Street;\nthen there is a break in the numbering, and the next corner house is\n1601. So in going along a numbered street, say Fifteenth, from Market,\nthe first number will be 1; after passing Arch, 101; after passing\nRace, 201, etc. With this system a very slight familiarity with the\ncity enables one to find his way to any house, and to estimate the\nlength of time needful for reaching it. St. Louis and some other large\ncities have adopted the Philadelphia plan, the convenience of which\nis as great as its monotony. In Washington the streets running in\none direction are lettered A, B, C, etc., and the cross streets are\nnumbered; and upon the checkerboard plan is superposed another plan in\nwhich broad avenues radiate in various directions from the Capitol,\nand a few other centres. These avenues cut through the square system\nof streets in all directions, so that instead of the dull checkerboard\nmonotony there is an almost endless variety of magnificent vistas.]\n\n[Sidenote: and of Western counties.]\nIf now we look at Livingston County, in which, this township of Deerfield\nis situated, we observe that the county is made up of sixteen townships,\nin four rows of four; and the next county, Washtenaw, is made up of\ntwenty townships, in five rows of four. Maps of our Western states\nare thus apt to have somewhat of a checkerboard aspect, not unlike\nthe wonderful country which Alice visited after she had gone through\nthe looking-glass. Square townships are apt to make square or\nrectangular counties, and the state, too, is likely to acquire a more\nsymmetrical shape.\n\n\nNothing could be more unlike the jagged, irregular shape of counties\nin Virginia or townships in Massachusetts, which grew up just as it\nhappened. The contrast is similar to that between Chicago, with its\nstraight streets crossing at right angles, and Boston, or London, with\ntheir labyrinths of crooked lanes. For picturesqueness the advantage\nis entirely with the irregular city, but for practical convenience it\nis quite the other way. So with our western lands the simplicity and\nregularity of the system have made it a marvel of convenience for the\nsettlers, and doubtless have had much to do with the rapidity with\nwhich civil governments have been built up in the West. \"This fact,\"\nsays a recent writer, \"will be appreciated by those who know from\nexperience the ease and certainty with which the pioneer on the\ngreat plains of Kansas, Nebraska, or Dakota is enabled to select his\nhomestead or 'locate his claim' unaided by the expensive skill of the\nsurveyor.\" [8]\n\n[Footnote 8: Howard, _Local Const. Hist. of U. S._, vol. i. p.\n139.]\n\n[Sidenote: Some effects of the system.]\nThere was more in it than this, however. There was a germ of\norganization planted in these western townships, which must be noted\nas of great importance. Each township, being six miles in length and\nsix miles in breadth, was divided into thirty-six numbered sections,\neach containing just one square mile, or 640 acres. Each section,\nmoreover, was divided into 16 tracts of 40 acres each, and sales to\nsettlers were and are generally made by tracts at the rate of a dollar\nand a quarter per acre. For fifty dollars a man may buy forty acres of\nunsettled land, provided he will actually go and settle upon it, and\nthis has proved to be a very effective inducement for enterprising\nyoung men to \"go West.\" Many a tract thus bought for fifty dollars has\nturned out to be a soil upon which princely fortunes have grown. A\ntract of forty acres represents to-day in Chicago or Minneapolis an\namount of wealth difficult for the imagination to grasp.\n\n[Sidenote: The reservation for public schools.]\n[Sidenote: In this reservation there were the germs of township\ngovernment.]\nBut in each of these townships there was at least one section which\nwas set apart for a special purpose. This was usually the sixteenth\nsection, nearly in the centre of the township; and sometimes the\nthirty-sixth section, in the southeast corner, was also reserved.\nThese reservations were for the support of public schools. Whatever\nmoney was earned, by selling the land or otherwise, in these sections,\nwas to be devoted to school purposes. This was a most remarkable\nprovision. No other nation has ever made a gift for schools on so\nmagnificent a scale. We have good reason for taking pride in such a\nliberal provision. But we ought not to forget that all national\ngifts really involve taxation, and this is no exception to the rule,\nalthough in this case it is not a taking of money, but a keeping of it\nback. The national government says to the local government, whatever\nrevenues may come from that section of 640 acres, be they great or\nsmall, be it a spot in a rural grazing district, or a spot in some\ncrowded city, are not to go into the pockets of individual men and\nwomen, but are to be reserved for public purposes. This is a case of\ndisguised taxation, and may serve to remind us of what was said some\ntime ago, that a government _cannot_ give anything without in one\nway or another depriving individuals of its equivalent. No man can sit\non a camp-stool and by any amount of tugging at that camp-stool lift\nhimself over a fence. Whatever is given comes from somewhere,\nand whatever is given by governments comes from the people. This\nreservation of one square mile in every township for purposes of\neducation has already most profoundly influenced the development of\nlocal government in our western states, and in the near future its\neffects are likely to become still deeper and wider. To mark out a\ntownship on the map may mean very little, but when once you create in\nthat township some institution that needs to be cared for, you have\nmade a long stride toward inaugurating township government. When\na state, as for instance Illinois, grows up after the method just\ndescribed, what can be more natural than for it to make the township a\nbody corporate for school purposes, and to authorize its inhabitants\nto elect school officers and tax themselves, so far as may be\nnecessary, for the support of the schools? But the school-house,\nin the centre of the township, is soon found to be useful for many\npurposes. It is convenient to go there to vote for state officers or\nfor congressmen and president, and so the school township becomes an\nelection district. Having once established such a centre, it is almost\ninevitable that it should sooner or later be made to serve sundry\nother purposes, and become an area for the election of constables,\njustices of the peace, highway surveyors, and overseers of the poor.\nIn this way a vigorous township government tends to grow up about the\nschool-house as a nucleus, somewhat as in early New England it grew up\nabout the church.\n\n[Sidenote: At first the county system prevailed.]\nThis tendency may be observed in almost all the western states and\nterritories, even to the Pacific coast. When the western country was\nfirst settled, representative county government prevailed almost\neverywhere. This was partly because the earliest settlers of the West\ncame in much greater numbers from the middle and southern states than\nfrom New England. It was also partly because, so long as the country\nwas thinly settled, the number of people in a township was very small,\nand it was not easy to have a government smaller than that of the\ncounty. It was something, however, that the little squares on the\nmap, by grouping which the counties were made, were already called\ntownships. There is much in a name. It was still more important that\nthese townships were only six miles square; for that made it sure\nthat, in due course of time, when population should have become dense\nenough, they would be convenient areas for establishing township\ngovernment.\n\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. What feature is conspicuous in the westward movement of population\nin the United States?\n\n2. What looseness characterized early surveys in Kentucky?\n\n3. What led to the passage of the land ordinance of 1785?\n\n4. Give the leading features of the government survey of western\nlands:--_a_. The principal meridians.\n  b. The range lines,\n  c. The base lines.\n  d. The township lines.\n\n5. Illustrate the application of the system in the case of a town.\n\n6. Contrast in shape western townships and counties with corresponding\ndivisions in Massachusetts and Virginia.\n\n7. Contrast them in convenience and in picturesqueness.\n\n8. What had the convenience of the government system to do with the\nsettlement of the West?\n\n9. What were the divisions of the township, and what disposition was\nmade of them?\n\n10. What important reservations were made in the townships?\n\n11. Show how these reservations involved a kind of taxation.\n\n12. What profound influence has the reservation for schools exerted\nupon local government?\n\n13. Why did the county system prevail at first?\n\n\nSection 3. _The Representative Township-County System in the\nWest_.\n\n[Sidenote: The town-meeting in Michigan.] The first western state to\nadopt the town-meeting was Michigan, where the great majority of the\nsettlers had come from New England, or from central New York, which\nwas a kind of westward extension of New England.[9] Counties were\nestablished in Michigan Territory in 1805, and townships were first\nincorporated in 1825. This was twelve years before Michigan became a\nstate. At first the powers of the town-meeting were narrowly\nlimited. It elected the town and county officers, but its power of\nappropriating money seems to have been restricted to the purpose\nof extirpating noxious animals and weeds. In 1827, however, it was\nauthorized to raise money for the support of schools, and since then\nits powers have steadily increased, until now they approach those of\nthe town-meeting in Massachusetts.\n\n[Footnote 9: \"Of the 496 members of the Michigan Pioneer Association\nin 1881, 407 are from these sections\" [New England and New York].\nBemis, _Local Government in Michigan and the Northwest_, J. H. U.\nStudies, I., v]\n\n[Sidenote: Settlement of Illinois.]\nThe history of Illinois presents an extremely interesting example of\nrivalry and conflict between the town system of New England and the\ncounty system of the South. Observe that this great state is so long\nthat, while the parallel of latitude starting from its northern\nboundary runs through Marblehead in Massachusetts, the parallel\nthrough its southernmost point, at Cairo, runs a little south of\nPetersburg in Virginia. In 1818, when Illinois framed its state\ngovernment and was admitted to the Union, its population was chiefly\nin the southern half, and composed for the most part of pioneers from\nVirginia and Virginia's daughter-state Kentucky. These men brought\nwith them the old Virginia county system, but with the very great\ndifference that the county officers were not appointed by the\ngovernor, or allowed to be a self-perpetuating board, but were elected\nby the people of the county. This was a true advance in the democratic\ndirection, but an essential defect of the southern system remained in\nthe absence of any kind of local meeting for the discussion of public\naffairs and the enactment of local laws.\n\n[Sidenote: Effects of the Ordinance of 1787.]\nBy the famous Ordinance of 1787, to which we shall again have occasion\nto refer, <DW64> slavery had been forever prohibited to the north of\nthe Ohio river, so that, in spite of the wishes of her early settlers,\nIllinois was obliged to enter the Union as a free state. But in 1820\nMissouri was admitted as a slave state, and this turned the stream of\nsouthern migration aside from Illinois to Missouri. These emigrants,\nto whom slaveholding was a mark of social distinction, preferred to\ngo where they could own slaves. About the same time settlers from New\nEngland and New York, moving along the southern border of Michigan\nand the northern borders of Ohio and Indiana, began pouring into\nthe northern part of Illinois. These new-comers did not find the\nrepresentative county system adequate for their needs, and they\ndemanded township government. A memorable political struggle ensued\nbetween the northern and southern halves of the state, ending in 1848\nwith the adoption of a new constitution. It was provided that the\nlegislature should enact a general law for the political organization\nof townships, under which any county might act whenever a majority of\nits voters should so determine.[10] This was introducing the principle\nof local option, and in accordance therewith township governments with\ntown-meetings were at once introduced in the northern counties of the\nstate, while the southern counties kept on in the old way. Now comes\nthe most interesting part of the story. The two systems being thus\nbrought into immediate contact in the same state, with free choice\nbetween them left to the people, the northern system has slowly but\nsteadily supplanted the southern system, until at the present day only\none fifth part of the counties in Illinois remain without township\ngovernment.\n\n[Footnote 10: Shaw, _Local Government if Illinois_, J. H. U.\nStudies, I., iii.]\n\n[Sidenote: Intense vitality of the township system.]\nThis example shows the intense vitality of the township system. It is\nthe kind of government that people are sure to prefer when they\nhave tried it under favourable conditions. In the West the hostile\nconditions against which it has to contend are either the recent\nexistence of <DW64> slavery and the ingrained prejudice in favour of\nthe Virginia method, as in Missouri; or simply the sparseness of\npopulation, as in Nebraska. Time will evidently remove the latter\nobstacle, and probably the former also. It is very significant that in\nMissouri, which began so lately as 1879 to erect township governments\nunder a local option law similar to that of Illinois, the process\nhas already extended over about one sixth part of the state; and in\nNebraska, where the same process began in 1883, it has covered nearly\none third of the organized counties of the state.\n\n[Sidenote: County option and township option.]\nThe principle of local option as to government has been carried still\nfarther in Minnesota and Dakota. The method just described may be\ncalled county option; the question is decided by a majority vote of\nthe people of the county. But in Minnesota in 1878 it was enacted that\nas soon as any one of the little square townships in that state should\ncontain as many as twenty-five legal voters, it might petition the\nboard of county commissioners and obtain a township organization, even\nthough, the adjacent townships in the same county should remain under\ncounty government only. Five years later the same provision was\nadopted by Dakota, and under it township government is steadily\nspreading.\n\n[Sidenote: Grades of township government.]\nTwo distinct grades of township government are to be observed in the\nstates west of the Alleghanies; the one has the town-meeting for\ndeliberative purposes, the other has not. In Ohio and Indiana, which\nderived their local institutions largely from Pennsylvania, there is\nno such town-meeting, the administrative offices are more or less\nconcentrated in a board of trustees, and the town is quite subordinate\nto the county. The principal features of this system have been\nreproduced in Iowa, Missouri, and Kansas.\n\nThe other system, was that which we have seen beginning in\nMichigan, under the influence of New York and New England. Here the\ntown-meeting, with legislative powers, is always present. The most\nnoticeable feature of the Michigan system is the relation between\ntownship and county, which was taken from New York. The county board\nis composed of the supervisors of the several townships, and thus\nrepresents the townships. It is the same in Illinois. It is held\nby some writers that this is the most perfect form of local\ngovernment,[11] but on the other hand the objection is made that county\nboards thus constituted are too large.[12] We have seen that in the\nstates in question there are not less than 16, and sometimes more than\n20, townships in each county. In a board of 16 or 20 members it is\nhard to fasten responsibility upon anybody in particular; and thus\nit becomes possible to have \"combinations,\" and to indulge in that\nexchange of favours known as \"log-rolling,\" which is one of the\nbesetting sins of all large representative bodies. Responsibility\nis more concentrated in the smaller county boards of Massachusetts,\nWisconsin, and Minnesota.\n\n[Footnote 11: Howard, _Local Const. Hist._, passim.]\n\n[Footnote 12: Bemis, _Local Government in Michigan_, J. H. U.\nStudies, I., v.]\n\n[Sidenote: An excellent result of the absence of centralization in the\nUnited States.]\nIt is one signal merit of the peaceful and untrammelled way in which\nAmerican institutions have grown up, the widest possible scope being\nallowed to individual and local preferences, that different states\nadopt different methods of attaining the great end at which all are\naiming in common,--good government. One part of our vast country can\nprofit by the experience of other parts, and if any system or method\nthus comes to prevail everywhere in the long run, it is likely to\nbe by reason of its intrinsic excellence. Our country affords an\nadmirable field for the study of the general principles which lie at\nthe foundations of universal history. Governments, large and small,\nare growing up all about us, and in such wise that we can watch\nthe processes of growth, and learn lessons which, after making due\nallowances for difference of circumstance, are very helpful in the\nstudy of other times and countries.\n\nThe general tendency toward the spread of township government in the\nmore recently settled parts of the United States is unmistakable, and\nI have already remarked upon the influence of the public school system\nin aiding this tendency. The school district, as a preparation for\nthe self-governing township, is already exerting its influence in\nColorado, Nevada, California, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Oregon, and\nWashington.\n\n[Sidenote: Township government is germinating in the South.]\nSomething similar is going on in the southern states, as already\nhinted in the case of South Carolina. Local taxation for school\npurposes has also been established in Kentucky and Tennessee, in both\nVirginias, and elsewhere. There has thus begun a most natural and\nwholesome movement, which might easily be checked, with disastrous\nresults, by the injudicious appropriation of national revenue for\nthe aid of southern schools. It is to be hoped that throughout the\nsouthern, states, as formerly in Michigan, the self-governing school\ndistrict may prepare the way for the self-governing township, with its\ndeliberative town-meeting. Such a growth must needs be slow, inasmuch\nas it requires long political training on the part of the <DW64>s and\nthe lower classes of white people; but it is along such a line of\ndevelopment that such political training can best be acquired; and in\nno other way is complete harmony between the two races so likely to be\nsecured.\n\n[Sidenote: woman suffrage.]\nDr. Edward Bemis, who in a profoundly interesting essay[13] has called\nattention to this function of the school district as a stage in the\nevolution of the township, remarks also upon the fact that \"it is in\nthe local government of the school district that woman suffrage is\nbeing tried.\" In several states women may vote for school committees,\nor may be elected to school committees, or to sundry administrative\nschool offices. At present (1894) there are not less than twenty-one\nstates in which women have school suffrage. In Colorado and Wyoming\nwomen have full suffrage, voting at municipal, state, and\nnational elections. In Kansas they have municipal suffrage, and a\nconstitutional amendment granting them full suffrage is now awaiting\nratification. In England, it may be observed, unmarried women and\nwidows who pay taxes vote not only on school matters, but generally in\nthe local elections of vestries, boroughs, and poor-law unions. In\nthe new Parish Councils Bill this municipal suffrage is extended\nto married women. In the Isle of Man women vote for members of\nParliament. In Australia they have long had municipal suffrage, and in\n1893 they were endowed with full rights of suffrage in New Zealand.\n\n[Footnote 13: Local Government in Michigan and the Northwest, J.H.U.\nStudies, I., v.]\n\nThe historical reason why the suffrage has so generally been\nrestricted to men is perhaps to be sought in the conditions under\nwhich voting originated. In primeval times voting was probably adopted\nas a substitute for fighting. The smaller and presumably weaker party\nyielded to the larger without an actual trial of physical strength;\nheads were counted instead of being broken. Accordingly it was only\nthe warriors who became voters. The restriction of political activity\nto men has also probably been emphasized by the fact that all the\nhigher civilizations have passed through a well-defined patriarchal\nstage of society in which each household was represented by its\noldest warrior. From present indications it would seem that under the\nconditions of modern industrial society the arrangements that have so\nlong subsisted are likely to be very essentially altered.\n\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. Describe the origin and development of the town-meeting in\nMichigan.\n\n2. Describe the settling of southern Illinois.\n\n3. Describe the settling of northern Illinois.\n\n4. What difference in thought and feeling existed between these\nsections?\n\n5. What systems of local government came into rivalry in Illinois, and\nwhy?\n\n6. What compromise between them was put into the state constitution?\n\n7. Which system, the town or the county, has shown the greater\nvitality, and why?\n\n8. What obstacles has the town system to work against?\n\n9. Show how the principle of local option in government has been\napplied in Missouri, Nebraska, Minnesota, and Dakota.\n\n10. What two grades of town government exist west of the Alleghanies?\n\n11. What objection exists to large county boards of government?\n\n12. Why is our country an excellent field for the study of the\nprinciples of government?\n\n13. What unmistakable tendency in the ease of township government is\nnoticeable?\n\n14. Speak of township government in the South.\n\n15. What part have women in the affairs of the school district in many\nstates?\n\n16. What is the historical reason why suffrage has been restricted to\nmen?\n\n\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS.\n\nIt may need to be repeated (see page 12) that it is not expected\nthat each pupil shall answer all the miscellaneous questions put, or\nrespond to all the suggestions made in this book. Indeed, the teacher\nmay be pardoned if now and then he finds it difficult himself to\nanswer a question,--particularly if it is framed to provoke thought\nrather than lead to a conclusion, or if it is better fitted for some\nother community or part of the country than that in which he lives.\nLet him therefore divide the questions among his pupils, or assign to\nthem selected questions. In cases that call for special knowledge,\nlet the topics go to pupils who may have exceptional facilities for\ninformation at home.\n\nThe important point is not so much the settlement of all the questions\nproposed as it is the encouragement of the inquiring and thinking spirit\non the part of the pupil.\n\n1. What impression do you get from this chapter about the hold of town\ngovernment upon popular favour?\n\n2. What do you regard as the best features of town government?\n\n3. Is there any tendency anywhere to divide towns into smaller towns? If\nit exists, illustrate and explain it.\n\n4. Is there any tendency anywhere to unite towns into larger towns or\ninto cities? If it exists, illustrate and explain it.\n\n5. In every town-meeting there are leaders,--usually men of character,\nability, and means. Do you understand that these men practically have\ntheir own way in town affairs,--that the voters as a whole do but little\nmore than fall in with the wishes and plans of their leaders? Or is\nthere considerable independence in thought and action on the side of the\nvoters?\n\n6. Can a town do what it pleases, or is it limited in its action? If\nlimited, by whom or by what is it restricted, and where are the\nrestrictions recorded? (Consult the Statutes.)\n\n7. Why should the majority rule in town-meeting? Suggest, if possible, a\nbetter way.\n\n8. Is it, on the whole, wise that the vote of the poor man shall count\nas much as that of the rich, the vote of the ignorant as much as that of\nthe intelligent, the vote of the unprincipled as much as that of the\nhigh-toned?\n\n9. Have the poor, the ignorant, or the unprincipled any interests to be\nregarded in government?\n\n10. Is the single vote a man casts the full measure of his influence and\npower in the town-meeting?\n\n11. What are the objections to a suffrage restricted by property and\nintellectual qualifications? To a suffrage unrestricted by such\nqualifications?\n\n12. Do women vote in your town? If so, give some account of their voting\nand of the success or popularity of the plan.\n\n13. Is lynch law ever justifiable?\n\n\n14. Ought those who resort to lynch law to be punished? If so, for what?\n\n15. Compare the condition or government of a community where lynch law\nis resorted to with the condition or government of a community where it\nis unknown.\n\n\n16. May the citizen who is not an officer of the law interfere (1) to\nstop the fighting of boys in the public streets, (2) to capture a thief\nwho is plying his trade, (3) to defend a person who is brutally\nassaulted? Is there anything like lynch law i.e. such interference? Where\ndoes the citizen's duty begin and end In such cases?\n\n17. How came the United States to own the public domain or any part of\nit? (Consult my _Critical Period of Amer. Hist_., pp. 187-207.)\n\n18. How does this domain get into the possession of individuals?\n\n19. Is it right for the United States to give any part of it away? If\nright, under what conditions is it right? If wrong, under what\nconditions is It wrong?\n\n20. What is the \"homestead act\" of the United States, and what is its\nobject?\n\n21. Can perfect squares of the same size be laid out with the range and\ntownship lines of the public surveys? Are all the sections of a township\nof the same size? Explain.\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.\n\nSection 1. VARIOUS LOCAL SYSTEMS.--_J.H.V. Studies_, I., vi.,\nEdward Ingle, _Parish Institutions of Maryland_; I., vii., John\nJohnson, _Old Maryland Manors_; I., xii., B.J. Ramage, _Local\nGovernment and Free Schools in South Carolina_; III., v.-vii., L.\n\nW. Wilhelm, _Local Institutions of Maryland_; IV., i., Irving\nElting, _Dutch Village Communities on the Hudson River_.\n\nSection 2. SETTLEMENT OF THE PUBLIC DOMAIN.--_J. H. U. Studies_,\nIII., i. H. B. Adams, _Maryland's Influence upon Land Cessions to\nthe United States_; IV., vii.-ix., Shoshuke Sato, _History of the\nLand Question in the United States_.\n\nSection 3. THE REPRESENTATIVE TOWNSHIP-COUNTY SYSTEM.--_J H. U.\nStudies_, I., iii., Albert Shaw, _Local Government in Illinois_; I., v.,\nEdward Bemis, _Local Government in Michigan and the Northwest_; II.,\nvii., Jesse Macy, _Institutional Beginnings in a Western State (Iowa)_.\nFor farther illustration of one set of institutions supervening upon\nanother, see also V., v.-vi., J. G. Bourinot, _Local Government in\nCanada_; VIII., in., D. E. Spencer, _Local Government in Wisconsin_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE CITY.\n\n\nSection 1. _Direct and Indirect Government_.\n\n[Sidenote: Summary of foregoing results.]\nIn the foregoing survey of local institutions and their growth, we\nhave had occasion to compare and sometimes to contrast two different\nmethods of government as exemplified on the one hand in the township\nand on the other hand in the county. In the former we have direct\ngovernment by a primary assembly,[1] the town-meeting; in the latter\nwe have indirect government by a representative board. If the county\nboard, as in colonial Virginia, perpetuates itself, or is appointed\notherwise than by popular vote, it is not strictly a representative\nboard, in the modern sense of the phrase; the government is a kind of\noligarchy. If, as in colonial Pennsylvania, and in the United States\ngenerally to-day, the county board consists of officers elected by\nthe people, the county government is a representative democracy. The\ntownship government, on the other hand, as exemplified in New England\nand in the northwestern states which have adopted it, is a pure\ndemocracy. The latter, as we have observed, has one signal advantage\nover all other kinds of government, in so far as it tends to make\nevery man feel that the business of government is part of his own\nbusiness, and that where he has a stake in the management of public\naffairs he has also a voice. When people have got into the habit of\nleaving local affairs to be managed by representative boards, their\nactive interest in local affairs is liable to be somewhat weakened, as\nall energies in this world are weakened, from want of exercise. When\nsome fit subject of complaint is brought up, the individual is too apt\nto feel that it is none of his business to furnish a remedy, let the\nproper officers look after it. He can vote at elections, which is a\npower; he can perhaps make a stir in the newspapers, which is also a\npower; but personal participation in town-meeting is likewise a\npower, the necessary loss of which, as we pass to wider spheres of\ngovernment, is unquestionably to be regretted.\n\n[Footnote 1: A primary assembly is one in which the members attend of\ntheir own right, without having been elected to it; a representative\nassembly is composed of elected delegates.]\n\n[Sidenote: Direct government impossible in a county.]\nNevertheless the loss is inevitable. A primary assembly of all the\ninhabitants of a county, for purposes of local government, is out\nof the question. There must be representative government, for this\npurpose the county system, an inheritance from the ancient English\nshire, has furnished the needful machinery. Our county government is\nnear enough to the people to be kept in general from gross abuses of\npower. There are many points which can be much better decided in\nsmall representative bodies than in large miscellaneous meetings. The\nresponsibility of our local boards has been fairly well preserved. The\ncounty system has had no mean share in keeping alive the spirit of\nlocal independence and self-government among our people. As regards\nefficiency of administration, it has achieved commendable success,\nexcept in the matter of rural highways; and if our roads are worse\nthan those of any other civilized country, that is due not so much\nto imperfect administrative methods as to other causes,--such as the\nsparseness of population, the fierce extremes of sunshine and frost,\nand the fact that since this huge country began to be reclaimed from\nthe wilderness, the average voter, who has not travelled in Europe,\nknows no more about good roads than he knows about the temples of\nPaestum or the pictures of Tintoretto, and therefore does not realize\nwhat demands he may reasonably make.\n\nThis last consideration applies in some degree, no doubt, to the\nill-paved and filthy streets which are the first things to arrest\none's attention in most of our great cities. It is time for us now to\nconsider briefly our general system of city government, in its origin\nand in some of its most important features.\n\n[Sidenote: The Boston town-meeting in 1820.]\nRepresentative government in counties is necessitated by the extent of\nterritory covered; in cities it is necessitated by the multitude\nof people. When the town comes to have a very large population, it\nbecomes physically impossible to have town-meetings. No way could be\ndevised by which all the taxpayers of the city of New York could be\nassembled for discussion. In 1820 the population of Boston was about\n40,000, of whom rather more than 7,000 were voters qualified to attend\nthe town-meetings. Consequently when a town-meeting was held on any\nexciting subject in Faneuil Hall, those only who obtained places near\nthe moderator could even hear the discussion. A few busy or interested\nindividuals easily obtained the management of the most important\naffairs in an assembly in which the greater number could have neither\nvoice nor hearing. When the subject was not generally exciting,\ntown-meetings were usually composed of the selectmen, the town\nofficers, and thirty or forty inhabitants. Those who thus came were\nfor the most part drawn to it from some official duty or private\ninterest, which, when performed or attained, they generally troubled\nthemselves but little, or not at all, about the other business of the\nmeeting.[2]\n\n[Footnote 2: Quincy's _Municipal History of Boston_, p. 28.]\n\nUnder these circumstances it was found necessary in 1822 to drop\nthe town-meeting altogether and devise a new form of government for\nBoston. After various plans had been suggested and discussed, it was\ndecided that the new government should be vested in a Mayor; a select\ncouncil of eight persons to be called the Board of Aldermen; and a\nCommon Council of forty-eight persons, four from each of twelve wards\ninto which the city was to be divided. All these officials were to be\nelected by the people. At the same time the official name \"Town of\nBoston\" was changed to \"City of Boston.\"\n\n[Sidenote: Distinctions between towns and cities.]\nThere is more or less of history involved in these offices and\ndesignations, to which we may devote a few words of explanation. In\nNew England local usage there is an ambiguity in the word \"town.\"\nAs an official designation it means the inhabitants of a township\nconsidered as a community or corporate body. In common parlance it\noften means the patch of land constituting the township on the map, as\nwhen we say that Squire Brown's elm is \"the biggest tree in town.\" But\nit still oftener means a collection of streets, houses, and families\ntoo large to be called a village, but without the municipal government\nthat characterizes a city. Sometimes it is used _par excellence_\nfor a city, as when an inhabitant of Cambridge, itself a large\nsuburban city, speaks of going to Boston as going \"into town.\" But\nsuch cases are of course mere survivals from the time when the suburb\nwas a village. In American usage generally the town is something\nbetween village and city, a kind of inferior or incomplete city. The\nimage which it calls up in the mind is of something urban and not\nrural. This agrees substantially with the usage in European history,\nwhere \"town\" ordinarily means a walled town or city as contrasted with\na village. In England the word is used either in this general sense,\nor more specifically as signifying an inferior city, as in America.\nBut the thing which the town lacks, as compared with the complete\ncity, is very different in America from what it is in England. In\nAmerica it is municipal government--with mayor, aldermen, and common\ncouncil--which must be added to the town in order to make it a city.\nIn England the town may (and usually does) have this municipal\ngovernment; but it is not distinguished by the Latin name \"city\"\nunless it has a cathedral and a bishop. Or in other words the English\ncity is, or has been, the capital of a diocese. Other towns in England\nare distinguished as \"boroughs,\" an old Teutonic word which was\noriginally applied to towns as _fortified_ places.[3] The voting\ninhabitants of an English city are called \"citizens;\" those of\na borough are called \"burgesses.\" Thus the official corporate\ndesignation of Cambridge is \"the mayor, aldermen, and _burgesses_\nof Cambridge;\" but Oxford is the seat of a bishopric, and its\ncorporate designation is \"the mayor, aldermen, and _citizens_ of\nOxford.\"\n\n[Footnote 3: The word appears in many town names, such as\n_Edinburgh, Scarborough, Canterbury, Bury St. Edmunds_; and\non the Continent, as _Hamburg, Cherbourg, Burgos_, etc. In\nConnecticut, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Minnesota, the name\n\"borough\" is applied to a certain class of municipalities with some of\nthe powers of cities.]\n\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. What is the essential difference between township government\nand county government?\n\n2. What is the distinct advantage of the former?\n\n3. Why is direct government impossible in the county?\n\n4. Speak of the degree of efficiency in county government.\n\n5. Why is direct government impossible in a city?\n\n6. What difficulties in direct government were experienced in\nBoston in 1820 and many years preceding?\n\n7. What remedy for these difficulties was adopted?\n\n8. Show how the word \"town\" is used to indicate\n\n  a. The land of a township.\n  b. A somewhat large collection of streets, houses, and families.\n  c. And even, in some instances, a city.\n\n9. What is the town commonly understood to be in American\nusage?\n\n10. What is the difference in the United States between a town\nand a city?\n\n11. What is the difference in England between a town and a\ncity?\n\n12. Distinguish between citizens and burgesses in England.\n\n\nSection 2. _Origin of English Boroughs and Cities_.\n\n[Sidenote: \"Chesters.\"]\n[Sidenote: Coalescence of towns to fortified boroughs.]\nWhat, then, was the origin of the English borough or city? In the days\nwhen Roman legions occupied for a long time certain military stations in\nBritain, their camps were apt to become centres of trade and thus to\ngrow into cities. Such places were generally known as _casters_ or\n_chesters_, from the Latin _castra_, \"camp,\" and there are many of them\non the map of England to-day. But these were exceptional cases. As a\nrule the origin of the borough was as purely English as its name. We\nhave seen that the town was originally the dwelling-place of a\nstationary clan, surrounded by palisades or by a dense quickset hedge.\nNow where such small enclosed places were thinly scattered about they\ndeveloped simply into villages. But where, through the development of\ntrade or any other cause, a good many of them grew up close together\nwithin a narrow compass, they gradually coalesced into a kind of\ncompound town; and with the greater population and greater wealth, there\nwas naturally more elaborate and permanent fortification than that of\nthe palisaded village. There were massive walls and frowning turrets,\nand the place came to be called a fortress or \"borough.\" The borough,\nthen, was simply several townships packed tightly together; a hundred\nsmaller in extent and thicker in population than other hundreds.[4]\n\n[Footnote 4: Freeman, _Norman Conquest_, vol. v. p. 466. For a\ndescription of the _hundred_, see above, pp. 75-80.]\n\n[Sidenote: The borough as a hundred.]\nFrom this compact and composite character of the borough came several\nimportant results. We have seen that the hundred was the smallest area\nfor the administration of justice. The township was in many respects\nself-governing, but it did not have its court, any more than the New\nEngland township of the present day has its court. The lowest court\nwas that of the hundred, but as the borough was equivalent to a\nhundred it soon came to have its own court. And although much\nobscurity still surrounds the early history of municipal government in\nEngland, it is probable that this court was a representative board,\nlike any other hundred court, and that the relation of the borough to\nits constituent townships resembled the relation of the modern city to\nits constituent wards.\n\n[Sidenote: The borough as a county.]\nBut now as certain boroughs grew larger and annexed outlying\ntownships, or acquired adjacent territory which presently became\ncovered with streets and houses, their constitution became still more\ncomplex. The borough came to embrace several closely packed hundreds,\nand thus became analogous to a shire. In this way it gained for itself\na sheriff and the equivalent of a county court. For example, under the\ncharter granted by Henry I. in 1101, London was expressly recognized\nas a county by itself. Its burgesses could elect their own chief\nmagistrate, who was called the port-reeve, inasmuch as London is a\nseaport; in some other towns he was called the borough-reeve. He was\nat once the chief executive officer and the chief judge. The burgesses\ncould also elect their sheriff, although in all rural counties Henry's\nfather, William the Conqueror, had lately deprived the people of\nthis privilege and appointed the sheriffs himself. London had its\nrepresentative board, or council, which was the equivalent of a county\ncourt. Each ward, moreover, had its own representative board, which\nwas the equivalent of a hundred court. Within the wards, or hundreds,\nthe burgesses were grouped together in township, parish, or manor....\nInto the civic organization of London, to whose special privileges\nall lesser cities were ever striving to attain, the elements of local\nadministration embodied in the township, the hundred, and the shire\nthus entered as component parts.[5] Constitutionally, therefore,\nLondon was a little world in itself, and in a less degree the same was\ntrue of other cities and boroughs which afterwards obtained the same\nkind of organization, as for example, York and Newcastle, Lincoln and\nNorwich, Southampton and Bristol.\n\n[Footnote 5: Hannis Taylor, _Origin and Growth of the English\nConstitution_, vol. i. p. 458.]\n\n[Sidenote: The guilds.]\n[Sidenote: mayor, aldermen, and common council.]\nIn such boroughs or cities all classes of society were brought into\nclose contact,--barons and knights, priests and monks, merchants and\ncraftsmen, free labourers and serfs. But trades and manufactures,\nwhich always had so much to do with the growth of the city, acquired\nthe chief power and the control of the government. From an early\nperiod tradesmen and artisans found it worth while to form themselves\ninto guilds or brotherhoods, in order to protect their persons and\nproperty against insult and robbery at the hands of great lords and\ntheir lawless military retainers. Thus there came to be guilds, or\n\"worshipful companies,\" of grocers, fishmongers, butchers, weavers,\ntailors, ironmongers, carpenters, saddlers, armourers, needle-makers,\netc. In large towns there was a tendency among such trade guilds\nto combine in a \"united brotherhood,\" or \"town guild,\" and this\norganization at length acquired full control of the city government.\nIn London this process was completed in the course of the thirteenth\ncentury. To obtain the full privileges of citizenship one had to\nbe enrolled in a guild. The guild hall became the city hall. The\n_aldermen_, or head men of sundry guilds, became the head men\nof the several wards. There was a representative board, or _common\ncouncil_, elected by the citizens. The aldermen and common council\nheld their meetings in the Guildhall, and over these meetings presided\nthe chief magistrate, or port-reeve, who by this time, in accordance\nwith the fashion then prevailing, had assumed the French title of\n_mayor_. As London had come to be a little world in itself,\nso this city government reproduced on a small scale the national\ngovernment; the mayor answering to the king, the aristocratic board of\naldermen to the House of Lords, and the democratic common council to\nthe House of Commons. A still more suggestive comparison, perhaps,\nwould be between the aldermen and our federal Senate, since the\naldermen represented wards, while the common council represented the\ncitizens.\n\n[Sidenote: The city of London.]\nThe constitution thus perfected in the city of London[6] six hundred\nyears ago has remained to this day without essential change. The voters\nare enrolled members of companies which represent the ancient guilds.\nEach year they choose one of the aldermen to be lord mayor. Within the\ncity he has precedence next to the sovereign and before the royal\nfamily; elsewhere he ranks as an earl, thus indicating the equivalence\nof the city to a county, and with like significance he is lord\nlieutenant of the city and justice of the peace. The twenty-six\naldermen, one for each ward, are elected by the people, such as are\nentitled to vote for members of parliament; they are justices of the\npeace. The common councilmen, 206 in number, are also elected by the\npeople, and their legislative power within the city is practically\nsupreme; parliament does not think of overruling it. And the city\ngovernment thus constituted is one of the most clean-handed and\nefficient in the world.[7]\n\n[Footnote 6: The city of London extends east and west from the Tower\nto Temple Bar, and north and south from Finsbury to the Thames, with\na population of not more than 100,000, and is but a small part of the\nenormous metropolitan area now known as London, which is a circle of\ntwelve miles radius in every direction from its centre at Charing\nCross, with a population of more than 5,000,000. This vast area is an\nagglomeration of many parishes, manors, etc., and has no municipal\ngovernment in common.]\n\n[Footnote 7: Loftie, _History of London _, vol. i. p. 446]\n[Sidenote: English cities, the bulwarks of liberty.]\n\nThe development of other English cities and boroughs was so far like\nthat of London that merchant guilds generally obtained control, and\ngovernment by mayor, aldermen, and common council came to be the\nprevailing type. Having also their own judges and sheriffs, and not\nbeing obliged to go outside of their own walls to obtain justice, to\nenforce contracts and punish crime, their efficiency as independent\nself-governing bodies was great, and in many a troubled time they\nserved as staunch bulwarks of English liberty. The strength of their\nturreted walls was more than supplemented by the length of their\npurses, and such immunity from the encroachments of lords and king\nas they could not otherwise win, they contrived to buy. Arbitrary\ntaxation they generally escaped by compounding with the royal\nexchequer in a fixed sum or quit-rent, known as the _firma\nburgi_. We have observed the especial privilege which Henry I.\nconfirmed to London, of electing its own sheriff. London had been\nprompt in recognizing his title to the crown, and such support, in\ndays when the succession was not well regulated, no prudent king could\nafford to pass by without some substantial acknowledgment. It was\nnever safe for any king to trespass upon the liberties of London, and\nthrough the worst times that city has remained a true republic with\nliberal republican sentiments. If George III. could have been guided\nby the advice of London, as expressed by its great alderman Beckford,\nthe American colonies would not have been driven into rebellion.\n\n[Sidenote: Simon de Montfort and the cities.]\nThe most signal part played by the English boroughs and cities, in\nsecuring English freedom, dates from the thirteenth century, when\nthe nation was vaguely struggling for representative government on a\nnational scale, as a means of curbing the power of the crown. In that\nmemorable struggle, the issue of which to some extent prefigured\nthe shape that the government of the United States was to take five\nhundred years afterward, the cities and boroughs supported Simon de\nMontfort, the leader of the popular party and one of the foremost\namong the heroes and martyrs of English liberty. Accordingly on the\nmorrow of his decisive victory at Lewes in 1264, when for the moment\nhe stood master of England, as Cromwell stood four centuries later\nSimon called a parliament to settle the affairs of the kingdom, and\nto this parliament he invited, along with the lords who came by\nhereditary custom, not only two elected representatives from each\nrural county, but also two elected representatives from each city and\nborough. In this parliament, which met in 1265, the combination of\nrural with urban representatives brought all parts of England together\nin a grand representative body, the House of Commons, with interests\nin common; and thus the people presently gained power enough to defeat\nall attempts to establish irresponsible government, such as we call\ndespotism, on the part of the crown.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Oligarchical abuses in English cities (cir. 1500-1835).]\nIf we look at the later history of English cities and boroughs, it\nappears that, in spite of the splendid work which they did for the\nEnglish people at large, they did not always succeed in preserving\ntheir own liberties unimpaired. London, indeed, has always maintained\nits character as a truly representative republic. But in many English\ncities, during the Tudor and Stuart periods, the mayor and aldermen\ncontrived to dispense with popular election, and thus to become close\ncorporations or self-perpetuating oligarchical bodies. There was a\nnotable tendency toward this sort of irresponsible government in\nthe reign of James I., and the Puritans who came to the shores of\nMassachusetts Bay were inspired with a feeling of revolt against such\nmethods. This doubtless lent an emphasis to the mood in which they\nproceeded to organize themselves into free self-governing townships.\nThe oligarchical abuses in English cities and boroughs remained until\nthey were swept away by the great Municipal Reform Act of 1835.\n\n[Sidenote: Government of the city of New York (1686-1821).]\nThe first city governments established in America were framed in\nconscious imitation of the corresponding institutions in England.\nThe oldest city government in the United States is that of New York.\nShortly after the town was taken from the Dutch in 1664, the new\ngovernor, Colonel Nichols, put an end to its Dutch form of government,\nand appointed a mayor, five aldermen, and a sheriff. These officers\nappointed inferior officers, such as constables, and little or nothing\nwas left to popular election. But in 1686, under Governor Dongan,\nNew York was regularly incorporated and chartered as a city. Its\nconstitution bore an especially close resemblance to that of Norwich,\nthen the third city in England in size and importance. The city of New\nYork was divided into six wards. The governing corporation consisted\nof the mayor, the recorder, the town-clerk, six aldermen, and six\nassistants. All the land not taken up by individual owners was granted\nas public land to the corporation, which in return paid into the\nBritish exchequer one beaver-skin yearly. This was a survival of the\nold quit-rent or _firma burgi_.[8] The city was made a county,\nand thus had its court, its sheriff and coroner, and its high\nconstable. Other officers were the chamberlain or treasurer, seven\ninferior constables, a sergeant-at-arms, and a clerk of the market,\nwho inspected weights and measures, and punished delinquencies in the\nuse of them. The principal judge was the recorder, who, as we have\njust seen, was one of the corporation. The aldermen, assistants, and\nconstables were elected annually by the people; but the mayor and\nsheriff were appointed by the governor. The recorder, town-clerk, and\nclerk of the market were to be appointed by the king, but in case\nthe king neglected to act, these appointments also were made by the\ngovernor. The high constable was appointed by the mayor, the treasurer\nby the mayor, aldermen, and assistants, who seem to have answered\nto the ordinary common council. The mayor, recorder, and aldermen,\nwithout the assistants, were a judicial body, and held a weekly court\nof common pleas. When the assistants were added, the whole became a\nlegislative body empowered to enact by-laws.\n\n[Footnote 8: Jameson, \"The Municipal Government of New York,\" _Mag.\nAmer. Hist_., vol. viii. p. 609.]\n\nAlthough this charter granted very imperfect powers of\nself-government, the people contrived to live under it for a hundred\nand thirty-five years, until 1821. Before the Revolution their\npetitions succeeded in obtaining only a few unimportant amendments.[9]\nWhen the British army captured the city in September, 1776, it was\nforthwith placed under martial law, and so remained until the army\ndeparted in November, 1783. During those seven years New York was not\naltogether a comfortable place in which to live. After 1783 the city\ngovernment remained as before, except that the state of New York\nassumed the control formerly exercised by the British crown. Mayor and\nrecorder, town-clerk and sheriff, were now appointed by a council of\nappointment consisting of the governor and four senators. This did not\nwork well, and the constitution of 1821 gave to the people the power\nof choosing their sheriff and town-clerk, while the mayor was to be\nelected by the common council. Nothing but the appointment of the\nrecorder remained in the hands of the governor. Thus nearly forty\nyears after the close of the War of Independence the city of New York\nacquired self-government as complete as that of the city of London.\nIn 1857, as we shall see, this self-government was greatly curtailed,\nwith results more or less disastrous.\n\n\n[Footnote 9: Especially in the so-called Montgomerie charter of 1730.]\n\n[Sidenote: City government in Philadelphia (1701-1789).]\nThe next city governments to be organized in the American colonies,\nafter that of New York, were those of Philadelphia, incorporated in\n1701, and Annapolis, incorporated in 1708. These governments were\nframed after the wretched pattern then so common in England. In\nboth the mayor, the recorder, the aldermen, and the common council\nconstituted a close self-electing corporation. The resulting abuses\nwere not so great as in England, probably because the cities were\nso small. But in course of time, especially in Philadelphia as it\nincreased in population, the viciousness of the system was abundantly\nillustrated. As the people could not elect the governing corporation\nor any of its members, they very naturally and reasonably distrusted\nit, and through the legislature they contrived so to limit its powers\nof taxation that it was really unable to keep the streets in repair,\nto light them at night, or to support an adequate police force. An\nattempt was made to supply such wants by creating divers independent\nboards of commissioners, one for paving and draining, another for\nstreet-lamps and watchmen, a third for town-pumps, and so on. In this\nway responsibility got so minutely parcelled out and scattered, and\nthere was so much jealousy and wrangling between the different boards\nand the corporation, that the result was chaos. The public money was\nhabitually wasted and occasionally embezzled, and there was general\ndissatisfaction. In 1789 the close corporation was abolished, and\nthereafter the aldermen and common council were elected by the\ncitizens, the mayor was chosen by the aldermen out of their own\nnumber, and the recorder was appointed by the mayor and aldermen. Thus\nPhiladelphia obtained a representative government.\n\n[Sidenote: Traditions of good government lacking.]\nThese instances of New York and Philadelphia sufficiently illustrate\nthe beginnings of city government in the United States. In each case\nthe system was copied from England at a time when city government\nin England was sadly demoralized. What was copied was not the free\nrepublic of London, with its noble traditions of civic honour and\nsagacious public spirit, but the imperfect republics or oligarchies\ninto which the lesser English boroughs were sinking, amid the foul\npolitical intrigues and corruption which characterized the Stuart\nperiod. The government of American cities in our own time is admitted\non all hands to be far from satisfactory. It is interesting to observe\nthat the cities which had municipal government before the Revolution,\nthough they have always had their full share of able and high-minded\ncitizens, do not possess even the tradition of good government. And\nthe difficulty, in those colonial times, was plainly want of adequate\nself-government, want of responsibility on the part of the public\nservants toward their employers the people.\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. What was the origin of the _casters_ and _chesters_ that are found\nin England to-day?\n\n2. Trace the development of the English borough until it became\na kind of hundred.\n\n3. Compare this borough, with the hundred in the administration\nof justice.\n\n4. Trace the further development of the borough in cases in\nwhich it became a county.\n\n5. Illustrate this development with London, showing how the elements of\nthe township, the hundred, and the shire government enter into its civic\norganization.\n\n6. Explain the origin and the objects of the various guilds.\n\n7. Speak of the \"town guild\" under the following heads:--\n\n  a. Its composition and power.\n  b. Its relation to citizenship.\n  c. Its place of meeting.\n  d. The aldermen.\n  e. The common council.\n  f. The chief magistrate.\n\n8. Compare the government of London with that of Great Britain or of the\nUnited States.\n\n9. Give some account of the lord mayor, the aldermen, and the councilmen\nof London.\n\n10. Distinguish between London the city and London the metropolis.\n\n11. Show how the English cities and boroughs became bulwarks of liberty\nby (1) their facilities for obtaining justice, (2) the strength of their\nwalls, and (3) the length of their purses.\n\n12. Contrast the power of London with that of the throne.\n\n13. What notable advance in government was made under the leadership of\nSimon de Montfort?\n\n14. What abuses crept into the government of many of the English cities?\n\n15. What was the Puritan attitude towards such abuses?\n\n16. Give an account of the government of New York city:--\n\n  a. The charter of 1686.\n  b. The governing corporation.\n  c. The public land.\n  d. The city's privileges as a county.\n  e. Officers by election and by appointment.\n  f. Judicial functions.\n  g. Martial law.\n  h. The charter of 1821.\n\n17. Give an account of the government of Philadelphia:--\n\n  a. The governments after which it was patterned.\n  b. The viciousness of the system adopted.\n  c. The legislative interference that was thus provoked.\n  d. The division of responsibility and the results of such\n     division.\n  e. The nature of the changes made in 1789.\n\n18. Why are the traditions of good government lacking in the older\nAmerican cities?\n\n\nSection 3. The Government of Cities in the United States.\n\n[Sidenote: Several features of our city governments.]\nAt the present day American municipal governments are for the most\npart constructed on the same general plan, though with many variations\nin detail. There is an executive department, with the mayor at its\nhead. The mayor is elected voters of the city, and holds office\ngenerally for one year, but sometimes for two or three years, and in\nSt. Louis and Philadelphia even for four years. Under the mayor are\nvarious heads of departments,--street commissioners, assessors,\noverseers of the poor, etc.,--sometimes elected by the citizens,\nsometimes appointed by the mayor or the city council. This city\ncouncil Is a legislative body, usually consisting of two chambers, the\naldermen and the common council, elected by the citizens; but in many\nsmall cities, and a few of the largest,--such as New York, Brooklyn,\nChicago, and San Francisco,--there is but one such chamber. Then there\nare city judges, sometimes appointed by the governor of the state, to\nserve for life or during good behaviour, but usually elected by the\ncitizens for short terms.\n\nAll appropriations of money for city purposes are made by the city\ncouncil; and as a general rule this council has some control over the\nheads of executive departments, which it exercises through committees.\nThus there may be a committee upon streets, upon public buildings,\nupon parks or almshouses or whatever the municipal government is\nconcerned with. The head of a department is more or less dependent\nupon his committee, and in practice this is found to divide and weaken\nresponsibility. The heads of departments are apt to be independent of\none another, and to owe no allegiance in common to any one. The mayor,\nwhen he appoints them, usually does so subject to the approval, of the\ncity council or of one branch of it. The mayor is usually not a member\nof the city council, but can veto its enactments, which however can be\npassed over his veto by a two thirds majority.\n\n[Sidenote: They do not seem to work well.]\n[Sidenote: some difficulties to be stated.]\nCity governments thus constituted are something like state governments\nin miniature. The relation of the mayor to the city council is\nsomewhat like that of the governor to the state legislature, and of\nthe president to the national congress. In theory nothing could well\nbe more republican, or more unlike such city governments as those of\nNew York and Philadelphia before the Revolution. Yet in practice it\ndoes not seem to work well. New York and Philadelphia seem to\nhave heard as many complaints in the nineteenth century as in the\neighteenth, and the same kind of complaints,--of excessive taxation,\npublic money wasted or embezzled, ill-paved and dirty streets,\ninefficient police, and so on to the end of the chapter. In most of\nour large cities similar evils have been witnessed, and in too many of\nthe smaller ones the trouble seems to be the same in kind, only less\nin degree. Our republican government, which, after making all due\nallowances, seems to work remarkably well in rural districts, and in\nthe states, and in the nation, has certainly been far less successful\nas applied to cities. Accordingly our cities have come to furnish\ntopics for reflection to which writers and orators fond of boasting\nthe unapproachable excellence of American institutions do not like to\nallude. Fifty years ago we were wont to speak of civil government\nin the United States as if it had dropped from heaven or had been\nspecially created by some kind of miracle upon American soil; and we\nwere apt to think that in mere republican forms there was some kind of\nmystic virtue which made them a panacea for all political evils. Our\nlater experience with cities has rudely disturbed this too confident\nframe of mind. It has furnished facts which do not seem to fit our\nself-complacent theory, so that now our writers and speakers are\ninclined to vent their spleen upon the unhappy cities, perhaps too\nunreservedly. We hear them called \"foul sinks of corruption\" and\n\"plague spots on our body politic.\" Yet in all probability our cities\nare destined to increase in number and to grow larger and larger; so\nthat perhaps it is just as well to consider them calmly, as presenting\nproblems which had not been thought of when our general theory of\ngovernment was first worked out a hundred years ago, but which, after\nwe have been sufficiently taught by experience, we may hope to succeed\nin solving, just as we have heretofore succeeded in other things. A\ngeneral discussion of the subject does not fall within the province of\nthis brief historical sketch. But our account would be very incomplete\nif we were to stop short of mentioning some of the recent attempts\nthat have been made toward reconstructing our theories of city\ngovernment and improving its practical working. And first, let us\npoint out a few of the peculiar difficulties of the problem, that we\nmay see why we might have been expected, up to the present time,\nto have been less successful in managing our great cities than in\nmanaging our rural communities, and our states, and our nation.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Rapid growth of American cities.]\nIn the first place, the problem is comparatively new and has taken us\nunawares. At the time of Washington's inauguration to the presidency\nthere were no large cities in the United States. Philadelphia had a\npopulation of 42,000; New York had 33,000; Boston, which came next, with\n18,000, was not yet a city. Then came Baltimore, with 13,000; while\nBrooklyn was a village of 1,600 souls. Now these five cities have a\npopulation of more than 4,000,000, or more than that of the United\nStates in 1789. And consider how rapidly new cities have been added to\nthe list. One hardly needs to mention the most striking cases, such as\nChicago, with 4,000 inhabitants in 1840. and at least 1,000,000 in 1890;\nor Denver, with its miles of handsome streets and shops, and not one\nnative inhabitant who has reached his thirtieth birthday. Such facts are\nsummed up in the general statement that, whereas in 1790 the population\nof the United States was scarcely 4,000,000, and out of each 100\ninhabitants only 3 dwelt in cities and the other 97 in rural places; on\nthe other hand in 1880, when the population was more than 50,000,000,\nout of each 100 inhabitants 23 dwelt in cities and 77 in rural places.\nBut duly to appreciate the rapidity of this growth of cities, we must\nobserve that most of it has been subsequent to 1840. In 1790 there were\nsix towns in the United States that might be ranked as cities from their\nsize, though to get this number we must include Boston. In 1800 the\nnumber was the same. By 1810 the number had risen from 6 to 11; by 1820\nit had reached 13; by 1830 this thirteen had doubled and become 26; and\nin 1840 there were 44 cities altogether. The urban population increased\nfrom 210,873 in 1800 to 1,453,994 in 1840. But between 1840 and 1880 the\nnumber of new cities which came into existence was 242, and the urban\npopulation increased to 11,318,547. Nothing like this was ever known\nbefore in any part of the world, and perhaps it is not strange that such\na tremendous development did not find our methods of government fully\nprepared to deal with it.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Want of practical foresight.]\nThis rapidity of growth has entailed some important consequences. In the\nfirst place it obliges the city to make great outlays of money in order\nto get immediate results. Public works must be undertaken with a view to\nquickness rather than thoroughness. Pavements, sewers, and reservoirs of\nsome sort must be had at once, even if inadequately planned and\nimperfectly constructed; and so, before a great while, the work must be\ndone over again. Such conditions of imperative haste increase the\ntemptations to dishonesty as well as the liability to errors of judgment\non the part of the men who administer the public funds.[10] Then the\nrapid growth of a city, especially of a new city, requiring the\nimmediate construction of a certain amount of public works, almost\nnecessitates the borrowing of money, and debt means heavy taxes. It is\nlike the case of a young man who, in order to secure a home for his\nquickly growing family, buys a house under a heavy mortgage. Twice a\nyear there comes in a great bill for interest, and in order to meet it\nhe must economize in his table or now and then deny himself a new suit\nof clothes. So if a city has to tax heavily to pay its debts, it must\ncut down its current expenses somewhere, and the results are sure to be\nvisible in more or less untidiness and inefficiency. Mr. Low tells us\nthat \"very few of our American cities have yet paid in full the cost of\ntheir original water-works.\" Lastly, much wastefulness results from want\nof foresight. It is not easy to predict how a city will grow, or the\nnature of its needs a few years hence. Moreover, even when it is easy\nenough to predict a result, it is not easy to secure practical foresight\non the part of a city council elected for the current year. Its members\nare afraid of making taxes too heavy this year, and considerations of\nten years hence are apt to be dismissed as \"visionary.\" It is always\nhard for us to realize how terribly soon ten years hence will be here.\nThe habit of doing things by halves has been often commented on (and,\nperhaps, even more by our own writers than by foreigners) as especially\nnoticeable in America. It has doubtless been fostered by the conditions\nwhich in so many cases have made it absolutely necessary to adopt\ntemporary makeshifts. These conditions have produced a certain habit of\nmind.\n\n[Footnote 10: This and some of the following considerations have been\nably set forth and illustrated by Hon. Seth Low, president of Columbia\nCollege, and lately mayor of Brooklyn, in an address at Johns Hopkins\nUniversity, published in _J. H. U. Studies, Supplementary Notes_,\nno. 4.]\n\n[Sidenote: Growth in complexity of government in cities.]\nLet us now observe that as cities increase in size the amount of\ngovernment that is necessary tends in some respects to increase.\nWherever there is a crowd there is likely to be some need of rules and\nregulations. In the country a man may build his house pretty much as he\npleases; but in the city he may be forbidden to build it of wood, and\nperhaps even the thickness of the party walls or the position of the\nchimneys may come in for some supervision on the part of the government.\nFor further precaution against spreading fires, the city has an\norganized force of men, with costly engines, engine-houses, and stables.\nIn the country a board of health has comparatively little to do; in the\ncity it is often confronted with difficult sanitary problems which call\nfor highly paid professional skill on the part of physicians and\nchemists, architects and plumbers, masons and engineers. So, too, the\nwater supply of a great city is likely to be a complicated business, and\nthe police force may well need as much, management as a small army. In\nshort, with a city, increase in size is sure to involve increase in\ncomplexity of organization, and this means a vast increase in the number\nof officials for doing the work and of details to be superintended. For\nexample, let us enumerate the executive department and officers of the\ncity of Boston at the present time.\n\n[Sidenote: Municipal officers in Boston.]\nThere are three street commissioners with power to lay out streets and\nassess damages thereby occasioned. These are elected by the people. The\nfollowing officers are appointed by the mayor, with the concurrence of\nthe aldermen: a superintendent of streets, an inspector of buildings,\nthree commissioners each for the fire and health departments, four\noverseers of the poor, besides a board of nine directors for the\nmanagement of almshouses, houses of correction, lunatic hospital, etc.;\na city hospital board of five members, five trustees of the public\nlibrary, three commissioners each for parks and water-works; five chief\nassessors, to estimate the value of property and assess city, county,\nand state taxes; a city collector, a superintendent of public buildings,\nfive trustees of Mount Hope Cemetery, six sinking fund commissioners,\ntwo record commissioners, three registrars of voters, a registrar of\nbirths, deaths, and marriages, a city treasurer, city auditor, city\nsolicitor, corporation counsel, city architect, city surveyor,\nsuperintendent of Faneuil Hall Market, superintendent of street lights,\nsuperintendent of sewers, superintendent of printing, superintendent of\nbridges, five directors of ferries, harbour master and ten assistants,\nwater registrar, inspector of provisions, inspector of milk and vinegar,\na sealer and four deputy sealers of weights and measures, an inspector\nof lime, three inspectors of petroleum, fifteen inspectors of pressed\nhay, a culler of hoops and staves, three fence-viewers, ten\nfield-drivers and pound-keepers, three surveyors of marble, nine\nsuperintendents of hay scales, four measurers of upper leather, fifteen\nmeasurers of wood and bark, twenty measurers of grain, three weighers of\nbeef, thirty-eight weighers of coal, five weighers of boilers and heavy\nmachinery, four weighers of ballast and lighters, ninety-two\nundertakers, 150 constables, 968 election officers and their deputies. A\nfew of these officials serve without pay, some are paid by salaries\nfixed by the council, some by fees. Besides these there is a clerk of\nthe common council elected by that body, and also the city clerk, city\nmessenger, and clerk of committees, in whose election both branches of\nthe city council concur. The school committee, of twenty-four members,\nelected by the people, is distinct from the rest of the city government,\nand so is the board of police, composed of three commissioners appointed\nby the state executive.[11]\n\n[Footnote 11: Bugbee, \"The City Government of Boston,\" _J.H.U.\nStudies_, V., iii.]\n\n[Sidenote: How city government comes to be a mystery.]\nThis long list may serve to give some idea of the mere quantity of\nadministrative work required in a large city. Obviously under such\ncircumstances city government must become more or less of a mystery to\nthe great mass of citizens. They cannot watch its operations as the\ninhabitants of a small village can watch the proceedings of their\ntownship and county governments. Much work must go on which cannot\neven be intelligently criticised without such special knowledge as it\nwould be idle to expect in the average voter, or perhaps in any voter.\nIt becomes exceedingly difficult for the taxpayer to understand just\nwhat his money goes for, or how far the city expenses might reasonably\nbe reduced; and it becomes correspondingly easy for municipal\ncorruption to start and acquire a considerable headway before it can\nbe detected and checked.\n\n[Sidenote: In some respects it is more of a mystery that state and\nnational government.]\nIn some respects city government is harder to watch intelligently\nthan the government of the state or of the nation. For these wider\ngovernments are to some extent limited to work of general supervision.\nAs compared with the city, they are more concerned with the\nestablishment and enforcement of certain general principles, and less\nwith the administration of endlessly complicated details. I do not\nmean to be understood as saying that there is not plenty of intricate\ndetail about state and national governments. I am only comparing one\nthing with another, and it seems to me that one chief difficulty with\ncity government is the bewildering vastness and multifariousness of\nthe details with which it is concerned. The modern city has come to be\na huge corporation for carrying on a huge business with many branches,\nmost of which call for special aptitude and training.\n\n[Sidenote: The mayor at first had too little power.]\nAs these points have gradually forced themselves upon public attention\nthere has been a tendency in many of our large cities toward\nremodeling their governments on new principles. The most noticeable\nfeature of this tendency is the increase in the powers of the mayor.\n\nA hundred years ago our legislators and constitution-makers were much\nafraid of what was called the \"one-man power.\" In nearly all the\ncolonies a chronic quarrel had been kept up between the governors\nappointed by the king and the legislators elected by the people, and\nthis had made the \"one-man power\" very unpopular. Besides, it was\nsomething that had been unpopular in ancient Greece and Rome, and it\nwas thought to be essentially unrepublican in principle. Accordingly\nour great grandfathers preferred to entrust executive powers to\ncommittees rather than to single individuals; and when they assigned\nan important office to an individual they usually took pains to\ncurtail its power and influence. This disposition was visible in our\nearly attempts to organize city governments like little republics.\nFirst, in the board of aldermen and the common council we had a\ntwo-chambered legislature. Then, lest the mayor should become\ndangerous, the veto power was at first generally withheld from him,\nand his appointments of executive officers needed to be confirmed by\nat least one branch of the city council. These executive officers,\nmoreover, as already observed, were subject to more or less control or\noversight from committees of the city council.\n\n[Sidenote: Scattering and weakening of responsibility.]\nNow this system, in depriving the mayor of power, deprived him of\nresponsibility, and left the responsibility nowhere in particular. In\nmaking appointments the mayor and council would come to some sort of\ncompromise with each other and exchange favours. Perhaps for private\nreasons incompetent or dishonest officers would get appointed, and\nif the citizens ventured to complain the mayor would say that he\nappointed as good men as the council could be induced to confirm,\nand the council would declare their willingness to confirm good\nappointments if the mayor could only be persuaded to make them.\n\n[Sidenote: Committees inefficient for executive purposes.]\nThen the want of subordination of the different executive departments\nmade it impossible to secure unity of administration or to carry out\nany consistent and generally intelligible policy. Between the various\nexecutive officers and visiting committees there was apt to be a\nmore or less extensive interchange of favours, or what is called\n\"log-rolling;\" and sums of money would be voted by the council only\nthus to leak away in undertakings the propriety or necessity of which\nwas perhaps hard to determine. There was no responsible head who could\nbe quickly and sharply called to account. Each official's hands were\nso tied that whatever went wrong he could declare that it was not his\nfault. The confusion was enhanced by the practice of giving executive\nwork to committees or boards instead of single officers. Benjamin\nFranklin used to say, if you wish to be sure that a thing is done, go\nand do it yourself. Human experience certainly proves that this is the\nonly absolutely safe way. The next best way is to send some competent\nperson to do it for you; and if there is no one competent to be\nhad, you do the next best thing and entrust the work to the least\nincompetent person you can find. If you entrust it to a committee your\nprospect of getting it done is diminished and it grows less if\nyou enlarge your committee. By the time you have got a group of\ncommittees, independent of one another and working at cross purposes,\nyou have got Dickens's famous Circumlocution Office, where the great\nobject in life was \"how not to do it.\"\n\n[Sidenote 1: Increase of city debts.]\n\n[Sidenote 2: Attempt to cure the evil by state interference;\n experience of New York.]\n\nAmid the general dissatisfaction over the extravagance and\ninefficiency of our city governments, people's attention was first\ndrawn to the rapid and alarming increase of city indebtedness in\nvarious parts of the country. A heavy debt may ruin a city as surely\nas an individual, for it raises the rate of taxation, and thus, as was\nabove pointed out, it tends to frighten people and capital away from\nthe city. At first it was sought to curb the recklessness of city\ncouncils in incurring lavish expenditures by giving the mayor a veto\npower. Laws were also passed limiting the amount of debt which a city\nwould be allowed to incur under any circumstances. Clothing the\nmayor with the veto power is now seen to have been a wise step; and\narbitrary limitation of the amount of debt, though a clumsy expedient,\nis confessedly a necessary one. But beyond this, it was in some\ninstances attempted to take the management of some departments of city\nbusiness out of the hands of the city and put them into the hands of\nthe state legislature. The most notable instance of this was in New\nYork in 1857. The results, there and elsewhere, have been generally\nregarded as unsatisfactory. After a trial of thirty years the\nexperience of New York has proved that a state legislature is not\ncompetent to take proper care of the government of cities. Its\nmembers do not know enough about the details of each locality, and\nconsequently local affairs are left to the representatives from each\nlocality, with \"log-rolling\" as the inevitable result. A man fresh\nfrom his farm on the edge of the Adirondacks knows nothing about the\nproblems pertaining to electric wires in Broadway, or to rapid transit\nbetween Harlem and the Battery; and his consent to desired legislation\non such points can very likely be obtained only by favouring some\nmeasure which he thinks will improve the value of his farm, or perhaps\nby helping him to debauch the civil service by getting some neighbour\nappointed to a position for which he is not qualified. All this is\nmade worse by the fact that the members of a state government are\ngenerally less governed by a sense of responsibility toward the\ncitizens of a particular city than even the worst local government\nthat can be set up in such a city.[12]\n\n[Footnote 1: It is not intended to deny that there may be instances\nin which the state government may advantageously participate in the\ngovernment of cities. It may be urged that, in the case of great\ncities, like New York or Boston, many people who are not residents\neither do business in the city or have vast business interests there,\nand thus may be as deeply interested in its welfare as any of the\nvoters. It may also be said that state provisions for city government\ndo not always work badly. There are many competent judges who approve\nof the appointment of police commissioners by the executive of\nMassachusetts. There are generally two sides to a question; and to\npush a doctrine to extremes is to make oneself a _doctrinaire_\nrather than a wise citizen. But experience clearly shows that in all\ndoubtful cases it is safer to let the balance incline in favour of\nlocal self-government than the other way.]\n\nMoreover, even if legislatures were otherwise competent to manage the\nlocal affairs of cities, they have not time enough, amid the pressure\nof other duties, to do justice to such matters. In 1870 the number of\nacts passed by the New York legislature was 808. Of these, 212, or\nmore than one fourth of the whole, related to cities and villages. The\n808 acts, when printed, filled about 2,000 octavo pages; and of these\nthe 212 acts filled more than 1,500 pages. This illustrates what\nI said above about the vast quantity of details which have to be\nregulated in municipal government. Here we have more than three\nfourths of the volume of state-legislation devoted to local affairs;\nand it hardly need be added that a great part of these enactments were\nworse than worthless because they were made hastily and\nwithout due consideration,--though not always, perhaps, without what\nlawyers call _a_ consideration.[13]\n\n[Footnote 13: Nothing could be further from my thought than to cast any\nspecial imputation upon the New York legislature, which is probably a\nfair average specimen of law-making bodies. The theory of legislative\nbodies, as laid down in text-books, is that they are assembled for the\npurpose of enacting laws for the welfare of the community in\ngeneral. In point of fact they seldom rise to such a lofty height of\ndisinterestedness. Legislation is usually a mad scramble in which the\nfinal result, be it good or bad, gets evolved out of compromises and\nbargains among a swarm of clashing local and personal interests.\nThe \"consideration\" may be anything from log-rolling to bribery. In\nAmerican legislatures it is to be hoped that downright bribery is\nrare. As for log-rolling, or exchange of favours, there are many\nphases of it in which that which may be perfectly innocent shades\noff by almost imperceptible degrees into that which is unseemly or\ndishonourable or even criminal; and it is in this hazy region that\nSatan likes to set his traps for the unwary pilgrim.]\n\n[Sidenote: Tweed Ring in New York.]\nThe experience of New York thus proved that state intervention and\nspecial legislation did not mend matters. It did not prevent the\nshameful rule of the Tweed Ring from 1868 to 1871, when a small band\nof conspirators got themselves elected or appointed to the principal\ncity offices, and, having had their own corrupt creatures chosen\njudges of the city courts, proceeded to rob the taxpayers at their\nleisure. By the time they were discovered and brought to justice,\ntheir stealings amounted to many millions of dollars, and the rate of\ntaxation had risen to more than two per cent.\n\n[Sidenote: New experiments.]\nThe discovery of these wholesale robberies, and of other villainies\non a smaller scale in other cities, has led to much discussion of the\nproblems of municipal government, and to many attempts at practical\nreform. The present is especially a period of experiments, yet in\nthese experiments perhaps a general drift of opinion may be discerned.\nPeople seem to be coming to regard cities more as if they were huge\nbusiness corporations than as if they were little republics. The\nlesson has been learned that in executive matters too much limitation\nof power entails destruction of responsibility; the \"ring\" is now more\ndreaded than the \"one-man power;\" and there is accordingly a manifest\ntendency to assail the evil by concentrating power and responsibility\nin the mayor.\n\n[Sidenote: New government of Brooklyn.]\nThe first great city to adopt this method was Brooklyn. In the first\nplace the city council was simplified and made a one-chambered council\nconsisting of nineteen aldermen. Besides this council of aldermen, the\npeople elect only three city officers,--the mayor, comptroller,\nand auditor. The comptroller is the principal finance officer and\nbook-keeper of the city; and the auditor must approve bills against\nthe city, whether great or small, before they can be paid. The mayor\nappoints, without confirmation by the council, all executive heads of\ndepartments; and these executive heads are individuals, not\nboards. Thus there is a single police commissioner, a single fire\ncommissioner, a single health commissioner, and so on; and each of\nthese heads appoints his own subordinates; so that the principle\nof defined responsibility permeates the city government from top\nto bottom,[14] In a few cases, where the work to be done is rather\ndiscretionary than executive in character, it is intrusted to a board;\nthus there is a board of assessors, a board of education, and a board\nof elections. These are all appointed by the mayor, but for terms\nnot coinciding with his own; \"so that, in most cases, no mayor would\nappoint the whole of any such board unless he were to be twice elected\nby the people.\" But the executive officers are appointed by the mayor\nfor terms coincident with his own, that is for two years. \"The mayor\nis elected at the general election in November; he takes office on the\nfirst of January following, and for one month the great departments of\nthe city are carried on for him by the appointees of his predecessor.\nOn the first of February it becomes his duty to appoint his own heads\nof departments, and thus each incoming mayor has the opportunity to\nmake an administration in all its parts in sympathy with himself.\"\n\n[Footnote 14: Seth Low on \"Municipal Government,\" in Bryce's\n_American Commonwealth_, vol. i. p. 626.]\n\nWith all these immense executive powers entrusted to the mayor,\nhowever, he does not hold the purse-strings. He is a member of a board\nof estimate, of which the other four members are the comptroller\nand auditor, with the county treasurer and supervisor. This board\nrecommends the amounts to be raised by taxation for the ensuing year.\nThese estimates are then laid before the council of aldermen, who\nmay cut down single items as they see fit, but have not the power to\nincrease any item. The mayor must see to it that the administrative\nwork of the year does not use up more money than is thus allowed him.\n\n[Sidenote: Some of its merits.]\nThis Brooklyn system has great merits. It ensures unity of\nadministration, it encourages promptness and economy, it locates\nand defines responsibility, and it is so simple that everybody can\nunderstand it. The people, having but few officers to elect, are\nmore likely to know something about them. Especially since everybody\nunderstands that the success of the government depends upon the\ncharacter of the mayor, extraordinary pains are taken to secure good\nmayors; and the increased interest in city politics is shown by the\nfact that in Brooklyn more people vote for mayor than for governor\nor for president. Fifty years ago such a reduction in the number of\nelective officers would have greatly shocked all good Americans. But\nIn point of fact, while in small townships where everybody knows\neverybody popular control is best ensured by electing all public\nofficers, it is very different in great cities where it is impossible\nthat the voters in general should know much about the qualifications\nof a long list of candidates. In such cases citizens are apt to vote\nblindly for names about which they know nothing except that they occur\non a Republican or a Democratic ticket; although, if the object of\na municipal election is simply to secure an upright and efficient\nmunicipal government, to elect a city magistrate because he is a\nRepublican or a Democrat is about as sensible as to elect him because\nhe believes in homoeopathy or has a taste for chrysanthemums.[15] To\nvote for candidates whom one has never heard of is not to insure\npopular control, but to endanger it. It is much better to vote for\none man whose reputation we know, and then to hold him strictly\nresponsible for the appointments he makes. The Brooklyn system seems\nto be a step toward lifting city government out of the mire of party\npolitics.\n\n[Footnote 15: Of course from the point of view of the party politician,\nit Is quite different. Each party has its elaborate \"machine\" for\nelecting state and national officers; and in order to be kept at\nits maximum of efficiency the machine must be kept at work on all\noccasions, whether such occasions are properly concerned with\ndifferences in party politics or not. To the party politician it\nof course makes a great difference whether a city magistrate is a\nRepublican or a Democrat. To him even the political complexion of his\nmail-carrier is a matter of importance. But these illustrations\nonly show that party politics may be carried to extremes that are\ninconsistent with the best interests of the community. Once in a while\nit becomes necessary to teach party organizations to know their place,\nand to remind them that they are not the lords and masters but the\nservants and instruments of the people.]\n\nThis system went into operation in Brooklyn in January, 1882, and\nseems to have given general satisfaction. Since then changes in a\nsimilar direction, though with variations in detail, have been made in\nother cities, and notably in Philadelphia.\n\n[Sidenote: Notion that the suffrage ought to be restricted.]\nIn speaking of the difficulties which beset city government in the\nUnited States, mention is often (and perhaps too exclusively) made\nof the great mass of ignorant voters, chiefly foreigners without\nexperience in self-government, with no comprehension of American\nprinciples and traditions, and with little or no property to suffer\nfrom excessive taxation. Such people will naturally have slight\ncompunctions about voting away other people's money; indeed, they are\napt to think that \"the Government\" has got Aladdin's lamp hidden away\nsomewhere in a burglar-proof safe, and could do pretty much everything\nthat is wanted, if it only would. In the hands of demagogues such\npeople may be dangerous, they are supposed to be especially accessible\nto humbug and bribes, and their votes have no doubt been used to\nsustain and perpetuate most flagrant abuses. We often hear it said\nthat the only way to get good government is to deprive such people of\ntheir votes and limit the suffrage to persons who have some property\nat stake. Such a measure has been seriously recommended in New York,\nbut it is generally felt to be impossible without a revolution.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Testimony of Pennsylvania Municipal Commission.]\nPerhaps, after all, it may not be so desirable as it seems. The\nignorant vote has done a great deal of harm, but not all the harm. In\n1878 it was reported by the Pennsylvania Municipal Commission, as\na remarkable but notorious fact, that the accumulations of debt in\nPhiladelphia and other cities of the state have been due, not to a\nnon-property-holding, irresponsible element among the electors, but to\nthe desire for speculation among the property-owners themselves. Large\ntracts of land outside the built-up portion of the city have been\npurchased, combinations made among men of wealth, and councils\nbesieged until they have been driven into making appropriations to\nopen and improve streets and avenues, largely in advance of the real\nnecessities of the city. Extraordinary as the statement may seem\nat first, the experience of the past shows clearly that frequently\nproperty-owners need more protection against themselves than against\nthe non-property-holding class.[16] This is a statement of profound\nsignificance, and should be duly pondered by advocates of a restricted\nsuffrage.\n\n[Footnote 16: Allinson and Penrose, _Philadelphia, 1681-1887; a\nHistory of Municipal Development_, p. 278.]\n\n[Sidenote: Dangers of a restricted suffrage.]\nIt should also be borne in mind that, while ignorant and needy voters,\nled by unscrupulous demagogues, are capable of doing much harm with\ntheir votes, it is by no means clear that the evil would be removed\nby depriving them of the suffrage. It is very unsafe to have in any\ncommunity a large class of people who feel that political rights\nor privileges are withheld from them by other people who are their\nsuperiors in wealth or knowledge. Such poor people are apt to have\nexaggerated ideas of what a vote can do; very likely they think it is\nbecause they do not have votes that they are poor; thus they are ready\nto entertain revolutionary or anarchical ideas, and are likely to be\nmore dangerous material in the hands of demagogues than if they were\nallowed to vote. Universal suffrage has its evils, but it undoubtedly\nacts as a safety-valve. The only cure for the evils which come\nfrom ignorance and shiftlessness is the abolition of ignorance and\nshiftlessness; and this is slow work. Church and school here find\nenough to keep them busy; but the vote itself, even if often misused,\nis a powerful educator; and we need not regret that the restriction of\nthe suffrage has come to be practically impossible.\n\n[Sidenote: Baneful effects of mixing city politics with national\npolitics.]\nThe purification of our city governments will never be completed\nuntil they are entirely divorced from national party politics. The\nconnection opens a limitless field for \"log-rolling,\" and rivets\nupon cities the \"spoils system,\" which is always and everywhere\nincompatible with good government. It is worthy of note that the\ndegradation of so many English boroughs and cities during the Tudor\nand Stuart periods was chiefly due to the encroachment of national\npolitics upon municipal politics. Because the borough returned members\nto the House of Commons, it became worth while for the crown to\nintrigue with the municipal government, with the ultimate object of\ninfluencing parliamentary elections. The melancholy history of the\nconsequent dickering and dealing, jobbery and robbery, down to 1835,\nwhen the great Municipal Corporations Act swept it all away, may be\nread with profit by all Americans.[17] It was the city of London only,\nwhose power and independence had kept it free from complications with\nnational politics, that avoided the abuses elsewhere prevalent, so\nthat it was excepted from the provisions of the Act of 1835, and still\nretains its ancient constitution.\n\n[Footnote 17: See _Parliamentary Reports_, 1835, \"Municipal\nCorporations Commission;\" also Sir Erskine May, _Const. Hist._,\nvol. ii. chap, xv.]\n\nIn the United States the entanglement of municipal with national\npolitics has begun to be regarded as mischievous and possibly\ndangerous, and attempts have in some cases been made toward checking\nit by changing the days of election, so that municipal officers may\nnot be chosen at the same time with presidential electors. Such a\nchange is desirable, but to obtain a thoroughly satisfactory result,\nit will be necessary to destroy the \"spoils system\" root and branch,\nand to adopt effective measures of ballot reform. To these topics I\nshall recur when treating of our national government. But first we\nshall have to consider the development of our several states.\n\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\nGive an account of city government in the United States, under the\nfollowing heads:--\n\n1. The American city:--\n\n  a. The mayor.\n  b. The heads of departments.\n  c. The city council.\n  d. The judges.\n  e. Appropriations.\n\nf. The power of committees.\n\n2. The practical workings of city governments:--\n\n  a. The contrast they show between theory and practice.\n  b. Various complaints urged against city governments.\n  c. Their effect upon the old-time confidence in the perfection of our\n      institutions.\n\n3. The growth of American cities:--\n\n  a. The cities of Washington's time and those of to-day.\n  b. The population of cities in 1790 and their population to-day.\n  c. City growth since 1840.\n\n4. Some consequences of rapid city growth:--\n  a. The pressure to construct public works.\n  b. The incurring of heavy debts.\n  c. The wastefulness due to a lack of foresight.\n  d. The increase in government due to the complexity of a city.\n  e. An illustration of this complexity in Boston.\n  f. The consequent mystery that enshrouds much of city government.\n\n5. Some evils due to the fear of a \"one-man\" power:--\n  a. The objection to such power a century ago.\n  b. Restrictions imposed upon the mayor's power.\n  c. The division and weakening of responsibility.\n  d. The lack of unity in the administration of business.\n  e. The inefficiency of committees for executive purposes.\n  f. The alarming increase in city debts.\n\n6. Attempts to remedy some of the evils of city government:--\n  a. The power of veto granted to the mayor.\n  b. The limitation of city indebtedness.\n  c. State control of some city departments.\n\n7. Difficulties inherent in state control of cities:--\n  a. Lack of familiarity with city affairs.\n  b. The tendency to \"log-rolling.\"\n  c. Lack of time due to the pressure of state affairs.\n  d. The failure of state control as shown in the rule of the Tweed ring.\n\n8. The government of the city of Brooklyn:--\n  a. The elevation of the \"one-man\" power above that of the \"ring.\"\n  b. Officers elected by the people.\n  c. Officers appointed by the mayor.\n  d. The principle of well-defined responsibility.\n  e. The appointment of certain boards by the mayor.\n  f. The holding of the purse-strings.\n  g. The inadequacy of the township elective system, in a city like\n      Brooklyn.\n\n9. Restriction of the suffrage:--\n  a. The dangers from large masses of ignorant voters.\n  b. The responsibility for the debt of Philadelphia and other cities.\n  c. The dangers from large classes who feel that political rights are\n      denied  them.\n\nd. Suffrage as a \"safety-valve.\"\n\n10. The mixture of city politics with those of the state or nation:\n\n  a. The degradation of the English borough.\n  b. The exemption, of London from the Municipal Corporations Act.\n  c. The importance of separate days for municipal elections.\n  d. The importance of abolishing the \"spoils system.\"\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS.\n\n(Chiefly for pupils who live in cities.)\n\n1. When was your city organized?\n\n2. Give some account of its growth, its size, and its present\npopulation. How many wards has it? Give their boundaries.\nIn which ward do you live?\n\n3. Examine its charter, and report a few of its leading provisions.\n\n\n4. What description of government in this chapter comes nearest\nto that of your city?\n\n5. Consider the suggestions about the study of town government\n(pp. 43, 44), and act upon such of them as are applicable\nto city government.\n\n6. What is the general impression about the purity of your city\ngovernment? (Consult several citizens and report what you find out.)\n\n7. What important caution should be observed about vague rumours of\ninefficiency or corruption?\n\n8. What are the evidences of a sound financial condition in a city?\n\n9. Is the financial condition of your city sound?\n\n10. When debts are incurred, are provisions made at the same time for\nmeeting them when due?\n\n11. What are \"sinking funds\"?\n\n12. What wants has a city that a town is free from?\n\n13. Describe your system of public water works, making an analysis of\nimportant points that may be presented.\n\n14. Do the same for your park system or any other system that involves a\nlong time for its completion as well as a great outlay.\n\n15. Are the principles of civil service reform recognized in your city?\nIf so, to what extent? Do they need to be extended further?\n\n16. Describe the parties that contended for the supremacy in your last\ncity election and tell what questions were at issue between them.\n\n17. What great corporations exact an influence in your city affairs? Is\nsuch influence bad because it is great? What is a possible danger from\nsuch influence?\n\n18. In view of the vast number and range of city interests, what is the\nmost that the average citizen can reasonably be asked to know and to do\nabout them? What things is it indispensable for him to know and to do is\nhe is to contribute to good government?\n\n\nBIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.\n\n\nSection 1. DIRECT AND INDIRECT GOVERNMENT.--The transition from\ndirect to indirect government, as illustrated in the gradual\ndevelopment of a township into a city, may be profitably studied in\nQuincy's _Municipal History of Boston_, Boston, 1852; and in\nWinsor's _Memorial History of Boston_, vol. iii. pp. 189-302,\nBoston, 1881.\n\nSection 2. ORIGIN OF ENGLISH BOROUGHS AND CITIES.--See Loftie's\n_History of London_, 2 vols., London, 1883; Toulmin Smith's\n_English Gilds_, with Introduction by Lujo Brentano, London,\n1870; and the histories of the English Constitution, especially those\nof Gneist, Stubbs, Taswell-Langmead, and Hannis Taylor.\n\nSection 3. GOVERNMENT OF CITIES IN THE UNITED STATES.--_J.H.U. Studies_,\nIII., xi.-xii., J.A. Porter, _The City of Washington_; IV., iv., W.P.\nHolcomb, _Pennsylvania Boroughs_; IV., x., C.H. Lovermore, _Town and\nCity Government of New Haven_; V., i.-ii., Allinson and Penrose, _City\nGovernment of Philadelphia_; V., iii., J.M. Bugbee, _The City Government\nof Boston_; V., iv., M.S. Snow, _The City Government of St. Louis_;\nVII., ii.-iii., B. Moses, _Establishment of Municipal Government in San\nFrancisco_; VII., iv., W.W. Howe, _Municipal History of New Orleans_;\nalso _Supplementary Notes_, No. 4, Seth Low, _The Problem of City\nGovernment_ (compare No. 1, Albert Shaw, _Municipal Government in\nEngland_.) See, also, the supplementary volumes published at\nBaltimore,--Levermore's _Republic of New Haven_, 1886, Allinson and\nPenrose's _Philadelphia_, 1681-1887: _a History of Municipal\nDevelopment_, 1887.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE STATE.\n\n\nSection 1. _The Colonial Governments._\n\n[Sidenote: Claims of Spain to the possession of North America.]\nIn the year 1600 Spain was the only European nation which had obtained\na foothold upon the part of North America now comprised within the\nUnited States. Spain claimed the whole continent on the strength of\nthe bulls of 1493 and 1494, in which Pope Alexander VI. granted her\nall countries to be discovered to the west of a certain meridian\nwhich, happens to pass a little to the east of Newfoundland. From\ntheir first centre in the West Indies the Spaniards had made a\nlodgment in Florida, at St. Augustine, in 1565; and from Mexico they\nhad in 1605 founded Santa Fe, in what is now the territory of New\nMexico.\n\n[Sidenote: Claims of France and England.]\nFrance and England, however, paid little heed to the claim of Spain.\nFrance had her own claim to North America, based on the voyages of\ndiscovery made by Verrazano in 1524 and Cartier in 1534, in the course\nof which New York harbour had been visited and the St. Lawrence partly\nexplored. England had a still earlier claim, based on the discovery\nof the North American continent in 1497 by John Cabot. It presently\nbecame apparent that to make such claims of any value, discovery must\nbe followed up by occupation of the country. Attempts at colonization\nhad been made by French Protestants in Florida in 1562-65, and by the\nEnglish in North Carolina in 1584-87, but both attempts had failed\nmiserably. Throughout the sixteenth century French and English sailors\nkept visiting the Newfoundland fisheries, and by the end of the\ncentury the French and English governments had their attention\ndefinitely turned to the founding of colonies in North America.\n\n[Sidenote: The London and Plymouth Companies.]\nIn 1606 two great joint-stock companies were formed in England for\nthe purpose of planting such colonies. One of these companies had its\nheadquarters at London, and was called the London Company; the other\nhad its headquarters at the seaport of Plymouth, in Devonshire, and\nwas called the Plymouth Company. To the London Company the king\ngranted the coast of North America from 34 deg. to 38 deg. north latitude;\nthat is, about from Cape Fear to the mouth of the Rappahannock. To the\nPlymouth Company he granted the coast from 41 deg. to 45 deg.; that is, about\nfrom the mouth of the Hudson to the eastern extremity of Maine. These\ngrants were to go in straight strips or zones across the continent\nfrom the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. Almost nothing was then known\nabout American geography; the distance from ocean to ocean across\nMexico was not so very great, and people did not realize that further\nnorth it was quite a different thing. As to the middle strip, starting\nfrom the coast between the Rappahannock and the Hudson, it was open to\nthe two companies, with the understanding that neither was to plant a\ncolony within 100 miles of any settlement already begun by the\nother. This meant practically that it was likely to be controlled by\nwhichever company should first come into the field with a flourishing\ncolony. Accordingly both companies made haste and sent out settlers in\n1607, the one to the James River, the other to the Kennebec. The\nfirst enterprise, after much suffering, resulted in the founding of\nVirginia; the second ended in disaster, and it was not until 1620 that\nthe Pilgrims from Leyden made the beginnings of a permanent settlement\nupon the territory of the Plymouth Company.\n\n[Sidenote: Their common charter.]\nThese two companies were at first organized under a single charter.\nEach was to be governed by a council in England appointed by the king,\nand these councils were to appoint councils of thirteen to reside in\nthe colonies, with powers practically unlimited. Nevertheless the king\ncovenanted with his colonists as follows: Also we do, for us, our\nheirs and successors, declare by these presents that all and every the\npersons, being our subjects, which shall go and inhabit within the\nsaid colony and plantation, and every their children and posterity,\nwhich shall happen to be born within any of the limits thereof, shall\nhave and enjoy all liberties, franchises, and immunities of free\ndenizens and natural subjects within any of our other dominions, to\nall intents and purposes as if they had been abiding and born within\nthis our realm of England, or in any other of our dominions. This\nprinciple, that British subjects born in America should be entitled to\nthe same political freedom as if born in England, was one upon which\nthe colonists always insisted, and it was the repeated and persistent\nattempts of George III. to infringe it that led the American colonies\nto revolt and declare themselves independent of Great Britain.\n\n[Sidenote: Dissolution of the two companies.]\n[Sidenote: Settlement of the three zones.]\nBoth the companies founded in 1606 were short-lived. In 1620 the\nPlymouth Company got a new charter, which made it independent of the\nLondon Company. In 1624 the king, James I., quarreled with the London\nCompany, brought suit against it in court, and obtained from the\nsubservient judges a decree annulling its charter. In 1635 the\nreorganized Plymouth Company surrendered its charter to Charles I.\nin pursuance of a bargain which need not here concern us.[1] But the\ncreation of these short-lived companies left an abiding impression\nupon the map of North America and upon the organization of civil\ngovernment in the United States. Let us observe what was done with the\nthree strips or zones into which the country was divided: the northern\nor New England zone, assigned to the Plymouth Company; the southern or\nVirginia zone, assigned to the London Company; and the central zone,\nfor which the two companies were, so to speak, to run a race.\n\n[Footnote 1: See my _Beginnings of New England_, p. 112.]\n\n[Sidenote: 1. the northern zone.]\n[Sidenote: 2. The southern zone.]\nIn 1663 Charles II. cut off the southern part of Virginia, the area\ncovering the present states of North and South Carolina and Georgia,\nand it was formed into a new province called Carolina. In 1729 the\ntwo groups of settlements which had grown up along its coast were\ndefinitively separated into North and South Carolina; and in 1732\nthe frontier portion toward Florida was organized into the colony of\nGeorgia. Thus four of the original thirteen states--Virginia, the two\nCarolinas, and Georgia--were constituted in the southern zone.\n\nTo this group some writers add Maryland, founded in 1632, because its\nterritory had been claimed by the London Company; but the earliest\nsettlements in Maryland, its principal towns, and almost the whole of\nits territory, come north of latitude 38 deg. and within the middle zone.\n\n[Sidenote: 3. The middle zone.]\nBetween the years 1614 and 1621 the Dutch founded their colony of New\nNetherland upon the territory included between the Hudson and Delaware\nrivers, or, as they quite naturally called them, the North and South\nrivers. They pushed their outposts up the Hudson as far as the site\nof Albany, thus intruding far into the northern zone. In 1638 Sweden\nplanted a small colony upon the west side of Delaware Bay, but in 1655\nit was surrendered to the Dutch. Then in 1664 the English took New\nNetherland from the Dutch, and Charles II. granted the province to his\nbrother, the Duke of York. The duke proceeded to grant part of it to\nhis friends, Berkeley and Carteret, and thus marked off the new colony\nof New Jersey. In 1681 the region west of New Jersey was granted to\nWilliam Penn, and in the following year Penn bought from the Duke of\nYork the small piece of territory upon which the Swedes had planted\ntheir colony. Delaware thus became an appendage to Penn's greater\ncolony, but was never merged in it. Thus five of the original\nthirteen states--Maryland, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and\nDelaware--were constituted in the middle zone.\n\nAs we have already observed, the westward movement of population in\nthe United States has largely followed the parallels of latitude, and\nthus the characteristics of these three original strips or zones have,\nwith more or less modification, extended westward. The men of New\nEngland, with their Portland and Salem reproduced more than 3000 miles\ndistant in the state of Oregon, and within 100 miles of the Pacific\nOcean, may be said in a certain sense to have realized literally the\nsubstance of King James's grant to the Plymouth Company. It will be\nnoticed that the kinds of local government described in our earlier\nchapters are characteristic respectively of the three original zones:\nthe township system being exemplified chiefly in the northern zone,\nthe county system in the southern zone, and the mixed township-county\nsystem in the central zone.\n\n[Sidenote: House of Burgesses in Virginia.]\nThe London and Plymouth companies did not perish until after state\ngovernments had been organized in the colonies already founded upon\ntheir territories. In 1619 the colonists of Virginia, with the aid of\nthe more liberal spirits in the London Company, secured for themselves\na representative government; to the governor and his council,\nappointed in England, there was added a general assembly composed of\ntwo burgesses from each \"plantation,\" [2] elected by the inhabitants.\nThis assembly, the first legislative body that ever sat in America,\nmet on the 30th of July, 1619, in the choir of the rude church at\nJamestown. The dignity of the burgesses was preserved, as in the House\nof Commons, by sitting with their hats on; and after offering prayer,\nand taking the oath of allegiance and supremacy, they proceeded to\nenact a number of laws relating to public worship, to agriculture, and\nto intercourse with the Indians. Curiously enough, so confident was\nthe belief of the settlers that they were founding towns, that they\ncalled their representatives \"burgesses,\" and down to 1776 the\nassembly continued to be known as the House of \"Burgesses,\" although\ntowns refused to grow in Virginia, and soon after counties were\norganized in 1634 the burgesses sat for counties. Such were the\nbeginnings of representative government in Virginia.\n\n[Footnote 2: The word \"plantation\" is here used, not in its later and\nordinary sense, as the estate belonging to an individual planter,\nbut in an earlier sense. In this early usage it was equivalent to\n\"settlement.\" It was used in New England as well as in Virginia;\nthus Salem was spoken of by the court of assistants in 1629 as \"New\nEngland's Plantation.\"]\n\n[Sidenote: Company of Massachusetts Bay.]\nThe government of Massachusetts is descended from the Dorchester\nCompany formed in England in 1623, for the ostensible purpose of\ntrading in furs and timber and catching fish on the shores of\nMassachusetts Bay. After a disastrous beginning this company was\ndissolved, but only to be immediately reorganized on a greater scale.\nIn 1628 a grant of the land between the Charles and Merrimack rivers\nwas obtained from the Plymouth Company; and in 1629 a charter was\nobtained from Charles I. So many men from the east of England had\njoined in the enterprise that it could no longer be fitly called a\nDorchester Company. The new name was significantly taken from the\nNew World. The charter created a corporation under the style of the\nGovernor and Company of Massachusetts Bay in New England. The freemen\nof the Company were to hold a meeting four times a year; and they were\nempowered to choose a governor, a deputy governor, and a council of\neighteen assistants, who were to hold their meetings each month. They\ncould administer oaths of supremacy and allegiance, raise troops\nfor the defence of their possessions, admit new associates into the\nCompany, and make regulations for the management of their business,\nwith the vague and weak proviso that in order to be valid their\nenactment must in no wise contravene the laws of England. Nothing was\nsaid as to the place where the Company should hold its meetings, and\naccordingly after a few months the Company transferred itself and\nits charter to New England, in order that it might carry out its\nintentions with as little interference as possible on the part of the\ncrown.\n\nWhether this transfer of the charter was legally justifiable or not\nis a question which has been much debated, but with which we need not\nhere vex ourselves. The lawyers of the Company were shrewd enough to\nknow that a loosely-drawn instrument may be made to admit of great\nliberty of action. Under the guise of a mere trading corporation the\nPuritan leaders deliberately intended to found a civil commonwealth in\naccordance with their own theories of government.\n\n[Sidenote: Government of Massachusetts; the General Court]\nAfter their arrival in Massachusetts, their numbers increased so\nrapidly that it became impossible to have a primary assembly of all\nthe freemen, and so a representative assembly was devised after the\nmodel of the Old English county court. The representatives sat for\ntownships, and were called deputies. At first they sat in the same\nchamber with the assistants, but in 1644 the legislative body was\ndivided into two chambers, the deputies forming the lower house, while\nthe upper was composed of the assistants, who were sometimes called\nmagistrates. In elections the candidates for the upper house were put\nin nomination by the General Court and voted on by the freemen. In\ngeneral the assistants represented the common or central power of\nthe colony, while the deputies represented the interests of popular\nself-government. The former was comparatively an aristocratic and the\nlatter a democratic body, and there were frequent disputes between the\ntwo.\n\nIt is worthy of note that the governing body thus constituted was at\nonce a legislative and a judicial body, like the English county court\nwhich served as its model. Inferior courts were organized at an early\ndate in Massachusetts, but the highest judicial tribunal was the\nlegislature, which was known as the General Court. It still bears this\nname to-day, though it long ago ceased to exercise judicial functions.\n\n[Sidenote: New charter of Massachusetts]\nNow as the freemen of Massachusetts directly chose their governor and\ndeputy-governor, as well as their chamber of deputies, and also took\npart in choosing their council of assistants, their government was\nvirtually that of an independent republic. The crown could interpose\nno effective check upon its proceedings except by threatening to annul\nits charter and send over a viceroy who might be backed up, if need\nbe, by military force. Such threats were sometimes openly made, but\noftener hinted at. They served to make the Massachusetts government\nsomewhat wary and circumspect, but they did not prevent it from\npursuing a very independent policy in many respects, as when,\nfor example, it persisted in allowing none but members of the\nCongregational church to vote. This measure, by which it was intended\nto preserve the Puritan policy unchanged, was extremely distasteful to\nthe British government. At length in 1684 the Massachusetts charter\nwas annulled, an attempt was made to suppress town-meetings, and the\ncolony was placed under a military viceroy, Sir Edmund Andros. After\na brief period of despotic rule, the Revolution in England worked a\nchange. In 1692 Massachusetts received a new charter, quite different\nfrom the old one. The people were allowed to elect representatives to\nthe General Court, as before, but the governor and lieutenant-governor\nwere appointed by the crown, and all acts of the legislature were\nto be sent to England for royal approval. The general government of\nMassachusetts was thus, except for its possession of a charter, made\nsimilar to that of Virginia.\n\n[Sidenote: Connecticut and Rhode Island]\nThe governments of Connecticut and Rhode Island were constructed\nupon the same general plan as the first government of Massachusetts.\nGovernors councils, and assemblies were elected by the people. These\ngovernments were made by the settlers themselves, after they had come\nout from Massachusetts; and through a very singular combination of\ncircumstances[3] they were confirmed by charters granted by Charles II\nin 1662, soon after his return from exile. So thoroughly republican\nwere these governments that they remained without change until 1818 in\nConnecticut and until 1842 in Rhode Island.\n\n[Footnote 3: See my _Beginnings of New England_, pp. 192-196.]\n\n\nWe thus observe two kinds of state government in the American\ncolonies. In both kinds the people choose a representative legislative\nassembly; but in the one kind they also choose their governor, while\nin the other kind the governor is appointed by the crown. We have now\nto observe a third kind.\n\n\n\n[Sidenote: Counties palatine in England]\n[Sidenote: Charter of Maryland]\nAfter the downfall of the two great companies founded in 1606, the\ncrown had a way of handing over to its friends extensive tracts of\nland in America. In 1632 a charter granted by Charles I to Cecilius\nCalvert, Lord Baltimore, founded the palatinate colony of Maryland. To\nunderstand the nature of this charter, we must observe that among the\ncounties of England there were three whose rulers from an early time\nwere allowed special privileges. Because Cheshire and Durham bordered\nupon the hostile countries, Wales and Scotland, and needed to be ever\non the alert, their rulers, the earls of Chester and the bishops of\nDurham, were clothed with almost royal powers of command, and similar\npowers were afterwards granted through favouritism to the dukes of\nLancaster. The three counties were called counties palatine (i.e.\n\"palace counties\"). Before 1600 the earldom of Chester and the duchy\nof Lancaster had been absorbed by the crown, but the bishopric of\nDurham remained the type of an almost independent state, and the\ncolony palatine of Maryland was modelled after it. The charter of\nMaryland conferred upon Lord Baltimore the most extensive privileges\never bestowed by the British crown upon any subject. He was made\nabsolute lord of the land and water within his boundaries, could erect\ntowns, cities, and ports, make war or peace, call the whole fighting\npopulation to arms and declare martial law, levy tolls and duties,\nestablish courts of justice, appoint judges, magistrates, and other\ncivil officers, execute the laws, and pardon offenders. He could erect\nmanors, with courts-baron and courts-leet, and confer titles and\ndignities, so that they differed from those of England. He could make\nlaws with the assent of the freemen of the province, and, in cases of\nemergency, ordinances not impairing life, limb, or property, without\ntheir assent. He could found churches and chapels, have them\nconsecrated according to the ecclesiastical laws of England, and\nappoint the incumbents.[4] For his territory and these royal powers\nLord Baltimore was to send over to the palace at Windsor a tribute of\ntwo Indian arrows yearly, and to reserve for the king one fifth part\nof such gold and silver as he might happen to get by mining. \"The king\nfurthermore bound himself and his successors to lay no taxes, customs,\nsubsidies, or contributions whatever upon the people of the province,\nand in case of any such demand being made, the charter expressly\ndeclared that this clause might be pleaded as a discharge in full.\"\nMaryland was thus almost an independent state. Baltimore's title was\nLord Proprietary of Maryland, and his title and powers were made\nhereditary in his family, so that he was virtually a feudal king. His\nrule, however, was effectually limited. The government of Maryland was\ncarried on by a governor and a two-chambered legislature. The governor\nand the members of the upper house of the legislature were appointed\nby the lord proprietary, but the lower house of the legislature was\nelected, here as elsewhere, by the people; and in accordance with\ntime-honoured English custom all taxation must originate in the lower\nhouse, which represented the people.\n\n[Footnote 4: Browne's _Maryland: the History of a Palatinate_, p.\n19.]\n\n[Sidenote: Charter of Pennsylvania.]\n[Sidenote: Mason and Dixon's line]\nHalf a century after the founding of Maryland, similar though somewhat\nless extensive proprietary powers were granted by Charles II. to\nWilliam Penn, and under them the colony of Pennsylvania was founded\nand Delaware was purchased. Pennsylvania and Delaware had each its\nhouse of representatives elected by the people; but there was only one\ngovernor and council for the two colonies. The governor and council\nwere appointed by the lord proprietary, and as the council confined\nitself to advising the governor and did not take part in legislation,\nthere was no upper house. The legislature was one-chambered. The\noffice of lord proprietary was hereditary in the Penn family. For\nabout eighty years the Penns and Calverts quarrelled, like true\nsovereigns, about the boundary-line between their principalities,\nuntil in 1763 the matter was finally settled. A line was agreed upon,\nand the survey was made by two distinguished mathematicians, Charles\nMason and Jeremiah Dixon. The line ran westward 244 miles from the\nDelaware River, and every fifth milestone was engraved with the arms\nof Penn on the one side and those of Calvert on the other. In later\ntimes, after all the states north of Maryland had abolished slavery,\nMason and Dixon's line became famous as the boundary between slave\nstates and free states.\n\n[Sidenote: Other proprietary governments.]\nAt first there were other proprietary colonies besides those just\nmentioned, but in course of time the rights or powers of their lords\nproprietary were resumed by the crown. When New Netherland was\nconquered from the Dutch it was granted to the duke of York as lord\nproprietary; but after one-and-twenty years the duke ascended the\nthrone as James II., and so the part of the colony which he had kept\nbecame the royal province of New York. The part which he had sold to\nBerkeley and Carteret remained for a while the proprietary colony of\nNew Jersey, sometimes under one government, sometimes divided between\ntwo; but the rule of the lords proprietary was very unpopular, and in\n1702 their rights were surrendered to the crown. The Carolinas and\nGeorgia were also at first proprietary colonies, but after a while\nthey willingly came under the direct sway of the crown. In general the\nproprietary governments were unpopular because the lords proprietary,\nwho usually lived in England and visited their colonies but seldom,\nwere apt to regard their colonies simply as sources of personal\nincome. This was not the case with William Penn, or the earlier\nCalverts, or with James Oglethorpe, the illustrious founder of\nGeorgia; but it was too often the case. So long as the lord's rents,\nfees, and other emoluments were duly collected, he troubled himself\nvery little as to what went on in the colony. If that had been all,\nthe colony would have troubled itself very little about him. But the\ngovernor appointed by this absentee master was liable to be more\ndevoted to his interests than to those of the people, and the civil\nservice was seriously damaged by worthless favourites sent over from\nEngland for whom the governor was expected to find some office that\nwould pay them a salary. On the whole, it seemed less unsatisfactory\nto have the governors appointed by the crown; and so before the\nRevolutionary War all the proprietary governments had fallen, except\nthose of the Penns and the Calverts, which doubtless survived because\nthey were the best organized and best administered.\n\n[Sidenote: At the time of the Revolution there were three forms of\ncolonial government: 1. Republican, 2. Proprietary, 3. Royal.]\nThere were thus at the time of the Revolutionary War three forms of\nstate government in the American colonies. There were, _first_,\nthe Republican colonies, in which the governors were elected by the\npeople, as in Rhode Island and Connecticut; _secondly,_the\nProprietary colonies, in which the governors were appointed by\nhereditary proprietors, as in Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Delaware;\n_thirdly_, the Royal colonies,[5] in which the governors were\nappointed by the crown, as in Georgia, the two Carolinas, Virginia,\nNew Jersey, New York, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire. It is\ncustomary to distinguish the Republican colonies as _Charter_\ncolonies, but that is not an accurate distinction, inasmuch as the\nProprietary colonies also had charters. And among the Royal colonies,\nMassachusetts, having been originally a republic, still had a charter\nin which her rights were so defined as to place her in a somewhat\ndifferent position from the other Royal colonies; so that Prof.\nAlexander Johnston, with some reason, puts her in a class by herself\nas a _Semi-royal_ colony.\n\n[Footnote 5: Or, as they were sometimes called, Royal\n_provinces._ In the history of Massachusetts many writers\ndistinguish the period before 1692 as the _colonial_ period, and\nthe period 1692 to 1774 as the _provincial_ period.]\n\n[Sidenote: In all three forms there was a representative assembly, which\nalone could impose taxes.]\nThese differences, it will be observed, related to the character and\nmethod of filling the governor's office. In the Republican colonies\nthe governor naturally represented the interests of the people, in the\nProprietary colonies he was the agent of the Penns or the Calverts,\nin the Royal colonies he was the agent of the king. All the thirteen\ncolonies alike had a legislative assembly elected by the people. The\nbasis of representation might be different in different colonies,\nas we have seen that in Massachusetts the delegates represented\ntownships, whereas in Virginia they represented counties; but in all\nalike the assembly was a truly representative body, and in all alike\nit was the body that controlled the expenditure of public money. These\nrepresentative assemblies arose spontaneously because the founders of\nthe American colonies were Englishmen used from time immemorial to tax\nthemselves and govern themselves. As they had been wont to vote for\nrepresentatives in England, instead of leaving things to be controlled\nby the king, so now they voted for representatives in Maryland or New\nYork, instead of leaving things to be controlled by the governor. The\nspontaneousness of all this is quaintly and forcibly expressed by the\ngreat Tory historian Hutchinson, who tells us that in the year 1619 a\nhouse of burgesses _broke out_ in Virginia! as if it had been the\nmumps, or original sin, or any of those things that people cannot help\nhaving.\n\n[Sidenote: The governor's council was a kind of upper house.]\nThis representative assembly was the lower house in the colonial\nlegislatures. The governor always had a council to advise with him and\nassist him in his executive duties, in imitation of the king's privy\ncouncil in England. But in nearly all the colonies this council took\npart in the work of legislation, and thus sat as an upper house, with\nmore or less power of reviewing and amending the acts of the assembly.\nIn Pennsylvania, as already observed, the council refrained from this\nlegislative work, and so, until some years after the Revolution, the\nPennsylvania legislature was one-chambered. The members of the council\nwere appointed in different ways, sometimes by the king or the lord\nproprietary, or, as in Massachusetts, by the outgoing legislature, or,\nas in Connecticut, they were elected by the people.\n\n[Sidenote: The colonial government was like the English system in\nminiature.]\nThus all the colonies had a government framed after the model to which\nthe people had been accustomed in England. It was like the English\nsystem in miniature, the governor answering to the king, and the\nlegislature, usually two-chambered, answering to parliament. And as\nquarrels between king and parliament were not uncommon, so quarrels\nbetween governor and legislature were very frequent indeed, except\nin Connecticut and Rhode Island. The royal governors, representing\nBritish imperial ideas rather than American ideas, were sure to come\ninto conflict with the popular assemblies, and sometimes became\nthe objects of bitter popular hatred. The disputes were apt to be\nconcerned with questions in which taxation was involved, such as\nthe salaries of crown officers, the appropriations for war with\nthe Indians, and so on. Such disputes bred more or less popular\ndiscontent, but the struggle did not become flagrant so long as the\nBritish parliament refrained from meddling with it.\n\n\n\n[Sidenote: The Americans never admitted the supremacy of parliament;]\nThe Americans never regarded parliament as possessing any rightful\nauthority over their internal affairs. When the earliest colonies were\nfounded, it was the general theory that the American wilderness was\npart of the king's private domain and not subject to the control of\nparliament. This theory lived on in America, but died out in England.\nOn the one hand the Americans had their own legislatures, which stood\nto them in the place of parliament. The authority of parliament was\nderived from the fact that it was a representative body, but it did\nnot represent Americans. Accordingly the Americans held that the\nrelation of each American colony to Great Britain was like the\nrelation between England and Scotland in the seventeenth century.\nEngland and Scotland then had the same king, but separate parliaments,\nand the English parliament could not make laws for Scotland. Such is\nthe connection between Sweden and Norway at the present day; they have\nthe same king, but each country legislates for itself. So the American\ncolonists held that Virginia, for example, and Great Britain had the\nsame king, but each its independent legislature; and so with the\nother colonies,--there were thirteen parliaments in America, each as\nsovereign within its own sphere as the parliament at Westminster, and\nthe latter had no more right to tax the people of Massachusetts than\nthe Massachusetts legislature had to tax the people of Virginia.\n\nIn one respect, however, the Americans did admit that parliament had a\ngeneral right of supervision over all parts of the British empire.[6]\nMaritime commerce seemed to be as much the affair of one part of the\nempire as another, and it seemed right that it should be regulated by\nthe central parliament at Westminster. Accordingly the Americans did\nnot resist custom-house taxes as long as they seemed to be imposed\nfor purely commercial purposes; but they were quick to resist direct\ntaxation, and custom-house taxes likewise, as soon as these began to\nform a part of schemes for extending the authority of parliament over\nthe colonies.\n\n[Footnote 6: except in the regulation of maritime commerce.]\n\nIn England, on the other hand, this theory that the Americans were\nsubject to the king's authority but not to that of parliament\nnaturally became unintelligible after the king himself had become\nvirtually subject to parliament.[7] The Stuart kings might call\nthemselves kings by the grace of God, but since 1688 the sovereigns of\nGreat Britain owe their seat upon the throne to an act of parliament.\n\n[Footnote 7: In England there grew up the theory of the imperial\nsupremacy of parliament.]\n\nTo suppose that the king's American subjects were not amenable to the\nauthority of parliament seemed like supposing that a stream could rise\nhigher than its source. Besides, after 1700 the British empire began\nto expand in all parts of the world, and the business of parliament\nbecame more and more imperial. It could make laws for the East India\nCompany; why not, then, for the Company of Massachusetts Bay?\n\n[Sidenote: Conflict between the British and the American theories was\nprecipitated by George III.]\nThus the American theory of the situation was irreconcilable with\nthe British theory, and when parliament in 1765, with no unfriendly\npurpose, began laying taxes upon the Americans, thus invading the\nprovince of the colonial legislatures, the Americans refused to\nsubmit. The ensuing quarrel might doubtless have been peacefully\nadjusted, had not the king, George III., happened to be entertaining\npolitical schemes which were threatened with ruin if the Americans\nshould get a fair hearing for their side of the case.[8] Thus\npolitical intrigue came in to make the situation hopeless. When a\nstate of things arises, with which men's established methods of civil\ngovernment are incompetent to deal, men fall back upon the primitive\nmethod which was in vogue before civil government began to exist.\nThey fight it out; and so we had our Revolutionary War, and became\nseparated politically from Great Britain. It is worthy of note, in\nthis connection, that the last act of parliament, which brought\nmatters to a crisis, was the so-called Regulating Act of April, 1774,\nthe purpose of which was to change the government of Massachusetts.\nThis act provided that members of the council should be appointed by\nthe royal governor, that they should be paid by the crown and thus\nbe kept subservient to it, that the principal executive and judicial\nofficers should be likewise paid by the crown, and that town-meetings\nshould be prohibited except for the sole purpose of electing town\nofficers. Other unwarrantable acts were passed at the same time, but\nthis was the worst. Troops were sent over to aid in enforcing this\nact, the people of Massachusetts refused to recognize its validity,\nand out of this political situation came the battles of Lexington and\nBunker Hill.\n\n[Footnote 8: See my _War of Independence_, pp. 58-64, 69-71\n(Riverside Library for Young People).]\n\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. Various claims to North America:--\n\n  a. Spanish.\n  b. English.\n  c. French.\n\n2. What was needed to make such claims of any value?\n\n3. The London and Plymouth companies:--\n\n  a. The time and purpose of their organization.\n  b. The grant to the London Company.\n  c. The grant to the Plymouth Company.\n  d. The magnitude of the zones granted.\n  e. The peculiar provisions for the intermediate zone.\n  f. First attempts at settlement.\n\n4. To what important principle of the common charter of these\ntwo companies did the colonists persistently cling?\n\n5. The influence of these short-lived companies upon the settlement\nand government of the United States:--\n\n  a. A review of the zones and their assignment.\n  b. The states of the northern zone and their origin.\n  c. The states of the southern zone and their origin.\n  d. The states of the middle zone and their origin.\n  e. The influence of the movement of population on local\n      government in each zone.\n\n6. Early state government in Virginia:--\n\n  a. The part appointed and the part elected.\n  b. The first legislative body in America.\n  c. The dignity of its members.\n  d. The reason for the name \"House of Burgesses.\"\n\n7. Early state government in Massachusetts:--\n\n  a. The Dorchester Company.\n  b. The government provided for the Company of Massachusetts\n      Bay by its charter.\n  c. The real purpose of the Puritan leaders.\n  d. The change from the primary assembly of freemen to the\n      representative assembly.\n  e. The division of this assembly into two houses, with a comparison\n      of the houses.\n  f. The reason for the name \"General Court.\"\n  g. The loss of the charter and the causes that led to it.\n  h. The new charter as compared with the old.\n\n8. Compare the early governments of Connecticut and Rhode\nIsland with the first government of Massachusetts.\n\n9. What two kinds of state government have thus far been\nobserved?\n\n10. Early state government in Maryland:--\n\n  a. The favouritism of the crown as shown in land grants.\n  b. The palatine counties of England.\n  c. The bishopric of Durham the model of the colony of\n      Maryland.\n  d. The extraordinary privileges granted Lord Baltimore.\n  e. The tribute to be paid in return.\n  f. The ruler a feudal long.\n  g. Limitations of the ruler's power.\n\n11. Early state government in Pennsylvania and Delaware:--\n\n  a. The powers of Penn as compared with those of Calvert.\n  b. One governor and council,\n  c. The legislature of each colony.\n  d. The quarrels of the Penns and Calverts.\n  e. Mason and Dixon's line.\n\n12. What other proprietary governments were organized, and\nwhat was their fate?\n\n13. Why were proprietary governments unpopular? (Note the\nexceptions, however.)\n\n14. Classify and define the forms of colonial government in existence\nat the beginning of the Revolution.\n\n15. Show that these forms differed chiefly in respect to the governor's\noffice.\n\n16. A representative assembly in each of the thirteen colonies:--\n\n  a. The basis of representation.\n  b. The control of the public money.\n  c. The spontaneousness of the representative assembly.\n\n17. The governor's council:--\n\n  a. The custom in England.\n  b. The council as an upper house.\n  c. The council in Pennsylvania.\n\n18. Compare the colonial systems with the British (1) in organization\nand (2) in the nature of their political quarrels.\n\n\n19. What was the American theory of the relation of each colony\nto the British parliament?\n\n20. What was the American attitude towards maritime regulations?\n\n21. What was the British theory of the relation of the American\ncolonies to parliament?\n\n22. How was the Revolutionary War brought on?\n\n23. Describe the last act of parliament that brought matters to a\ncrisis.\n\n\n\nSection 2. _The Transition from Colonial to State Governments._\n\n[Sidenote: Dissolution of assemblies and parliaments.]\n[Sidenote: Committees of Correspondence.]\nDuring the earlier part of the Revolutionary War most of the states\nhad some kind of provisional government. The case of Massachusetts\nmay serve as an illustration. There, as in the other colonies, the\ngovernor had the power of dissolving the assembly. This was like the\nking's power of dissolving parliament in the days of the Stuarts.\nIt was then a dangerous power. In modern England there is nothing\ndangerous in a dissolution of parliament; on the contrary, it is a\nuseful device for ascertaining the wishes of the people, for a new\nHouse of Commons must be elected immediately. But in old times the\nking would turn his parliament out of doors, and as long as he could\nbeg, borrow, or steal enough money to carry on government according to\nhis own notions, he would not order a new election. Fortunately such\nperiods were not very long. The latest instance was in the reign of\nCharles I, who got on without a parliament from 1629 to 1640.[9] In\nthe American colonies the dissolution of the assembly by the governor\nwas not especially dangerous, but it sometimes made mischief by\ndelaying needed legislation. During the few years preceding the\nRevolution, the assemblies were so often dissolved that it became\nnecessary for the people to devise some new way of getting their\nrepresentatives together to act for the colony. In Massachusetts this\nend was attained by the famous \"Committees of Correspondence.\" No one\ncould deny that town-meetings were legal, or that the people of\none township had a right to ask advice from the people of another\ntownship. Accordingly each township appointed a committee to\ncorrespond or confer with committees from other townships. This system\nwas put into operation by Samuel Adams in 1772, and for the next two\nyears the popular resistance to the crown was organized by these\ncommittees. For example, before the tea was thrown into Boston\nharbour, the Boston committee sought and received advice from every\ntownship in Massachusetts, and the treatment of the tea-ships was from\nfirst to last directed by the committees of Boston and five neighbour\ntowns.\n\n[Footnote: 9: The kings of France contrived to get along without a\nrepresentative assembly from 1614 to 1789, and during this long period\nabuses so multiplied that the meeting of the States-General in 1789\nprecipitated the great revolution which overthrew the monarchy.]\n\n[Sidenote: Provincial Congress]\nIn 1774 a further step was taken. As parliament had overthrown the old\ngovernment, and sent over General Gage as military governor, to put\nits new system into operation, the people defied and ignored Gage, and\nthe townships elected delegates to meet together in what was called a\n\"Provincial Congress.\" The president of this congress was the chief\nprovincial executive officer of the commonwealth, and there was a\nsmall executive council, known as the \"Committee of Safety.\"\n\n[Sidenote: Provisional governments; \"governors\" and \"presidents.\"]\nThis provisional government lasted about a year. In the summer of\n1775 the people went further. They fell back upon their charter and\nproceeded to carry on their government as it had been carried on\nbefore 1774, except that the governor was left out altogether. The\npeople in town-meeting elected their representatives to a general\nassembly, as of old, and this assembly chose a council of twenty-eight\nmembers to sit as an upper house. The president of the council was the\nforemost executive officer of the commonwealth, but he had not the\npowers of a governor. He was no more the governor than the president\nof our federal senate is the president of the United States. The\npowers of the governor were really vested in the council, which was\nan executive as well as a legislative body, and the president was\nits chairman. Indeed, the title \"president\" is simply the Latin for\n\"chairman,\" he who \"presides\" or \"sits before\" an assembly. In 1775\nit was a more modest title than \"governor,\" and had not the smack of\nsemi-royalty which lingered about the latter. Governors had made so\nmuch trouble that people were distrustful of the office, and at first\nit was thought that the council would be quite sufficient for the\nexecutive work that was to be done. Several of the states thus\norganized their governments with a council at the head instead of\na governor; and hence in reading about that period one often comes\nacross the title \"president,\" somewhat loosely used as if equivalent\nto governor. Thus in 1787 we find Benjamin Franklin called \"president\nof Pennsylvania,\" meaning \"president of the council of Pennsylvania.\"\nBut this arrangement did not prove satisfactory and did not last long.\nIt soon appeared that for executive work one man is better than a\ngroup of men. In Massachusetts, in 1780, the old charter was replaced\nby a new written constitution, under which was formed the state\ngovernment which, with some emendations in detail, has continued to\nthe present day. Before the end of the eighteenth century all the\nstates except Connecticut and Rhode Island, which, had always been\npractically Independent, thus remodelled their governments.\n\n[Sidenote: Origin of the Senates.]\nThese changes, however, were very conservative. The old form of\ngovernment was closely followed. First there was the governor, elected\nin some states by the legislature, in others by the people. Then there\nwas the two-chambered legislature, of which the lower house was the\nsame institution after the Revolution that it had been before. The\nupper house, or council, was retained, but in a somewhat altered\nform. The Americans had been used to having the acts of their popular\nassemblies reviewed by a council, and so they retained this revisory\nbody as an upper house. But the fashion of copying names and titles\nfrom the ancient Roman republic was then prevalent, and accordingly\nthe upper house was called a Senate. There was a higher property\nqualification for senators than for representatives, and generally\ntheir terms of service were longer. In some states they were chosen by\nthe people, in others by the lower house. In Maryland they were chosen\nby a special college of electors, an arrangement which was copied in\nour federal government in the election of the president of the United\nStates. In most of the states there was a lieutenant-governor, as\nthere had been in the colonial period, to serve in case of the\ngovernor's death or incapacity; ordinarily the lieutenant-governor\npresided over the senate.\n\n[Sidenote: Likenesses and differences between British and American\nsystems.]\nThus our state governments came to be repetitions on a small scale of\nthe king, lords, and commons of England. The governor answered to the\nking, with his dignity very much curtailed by election for a short\nperiod. The senate answered to the House of Lords except in being a\nrepresentative and not a hereditary body. It was supposed to represent\nmore especially that part of the community which was possessed of most\nwealth and consideration; and in several states the senators were\napportioned with some reference to the amount of taxes paid by\ndifferent parts of the state.[10] When New York made its senate a\nsupreme court of appeal, it was in deliberate imitation of the House\nof Lords. On the other hand, the House of Representatives answered to\nthe House of Commons as it used to be in the days when its power was\nreally limited by that of the upper house and the king. At the present\nday the English of Commons is a supreme body. In case of a serious\ndifference with the House of Lords, the upper house must yield, or\nelse new peers will be created in sufficient number to reverse its\nvote; and the lords always yield before this point is reached. So,\ntoo, though the veto power of the sovereign has never been explicitly\nabolished, it has not been exercised since 1707, and would not now be\ntolerated for a moment. In America there is no such supreme body. The\nbill passed by the lower house may be thrown out by the upper house,\nor if it passes both it may be vetoed by the governor; and unless the\nbill can again pass both houses by more than a simple majority, the\nveto will stand. In most of the states a two-thirds vote in the\naffirmative is required.\n\n[Footnote 10: See my _Critical Period of American History_, p.\n68.]\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. The dissolution of assemblies and parliaments:--\n\n  a. The governor's power over the assembly in the colonies.\n  b. The king's power over parliament in England.\n  c. The danger of dissolution in the time of the Stuarts.\n  d. The safety of dissolution in modern England.\n  e. The frequency of dissolution before the Revolution.\n\n2. Representation of the people in the provisional government\nof Massachusetts:--\n\n  a. The committees of correspondence.\n  b. Their function, with an illustration from the \"tea-ships.\"\n  c. The provincial congress.\n  d. The committee of safety.\n  e. The return to the two-chambered legislature of the charter.\n\n3. Executive powers in the provisional government of Massachusetts;--\n\n  a. The foremost executive officer.\n  b. Where the power of governor was really vested.\n  c. Why the name of president was preferred to that of governor.\n  d. The example of Massachusetts followed elsewhere.\n  e. The end of provisional government in 1780.\n\n4. The council transformed to a senate:--\n\n  a. The principle of reviewing the acts of the popular assembly.\n  b. The borrowing of Roman names.\n  c. The qualifications and service of senators.\n  d. The lieutenant-governor.\n\n5. Our state governments patterned after the government of\nEngland:--\n\n  a. The governor and the king.\n  b. The Senate and the House of Lords.\n  c. The House of Representatives and the House of Commons.\n  d. Some differences between the British system and the American.\n\n\n\nSection 3. _The State Governments._\n\n[Sidenote: Later modifications.]\nDuring the present century our state governments have undergone\nmore or less revision, chiefly in the way of abolishing property\nqualifications for offices making the suffrage universal, and electing\nofficers that were formerly appointed. Only in Delaware does there\nstill remain a property qualification for senators. There is no longer\nany distinction in principle between the upper and lower houses of the\nlegislature. Both represent population, the usual difference being\nthat the senate consists of fewer members who represent larger\ndistricts. Usually, too, the term of the representatives is two years,\nand the whole house is elected at the same time, while the term of\nsenators is four years, and half the number are elected every two\nyears. This system of two-chambered legislatures is probably retained\nchiefly through a spirit of conservatism, because it is what we\nare used to. But it no doubt has real advantages in checking hasty\nlegislation. People are always wanting to have laws made about all\nsorts of things, and in nine cases out of ten their laws would be\npernicious laws; so that it is well not to have legislation made too\neasy.\n\n[Sidenote: The suffrage.]\nThe suffrage by which the legislature is elected is almost universal.\nIt is given in all the states to all male citizens who have reached\nthe age of one-and-twenty. In many it is given also to _denizens_\nof foreign birth who have declared an intention of becoming citizens.\nIn some it is given without further specification to every male\n_inhabitant_ of voting age. Residence in the state for some\nperiod, varying from three months to two years and a half, is also\ngenerally required; sometimes a certain length of residence in the\ncounty, the town, or even in the voting precinct, is prescribed. In\nmany of the states it is necessary to have paid one's poll-tax. There\nis no longer any property qualification, though there was until\nrecently in Rhode Island, Criminals, idiots, and lunatics are excluded\nfrom the suffrage. Some states also exclude duellists and men who bet\non elections. Connecticut and Massachusetts shut out persons who are\nunable to read. In no other country has access to citizenship and the\nsuffrage been made so easy.\n\n[Sidenote: Separation between legislation and the executive.]\nA peculiar feature of American governments, and something which it is\nhard for Europeans to understand, is the almost complete separation\nbetween the executive and the legislative departments. In European\ncountries the great executive officers are either members of the\nlegislature, or at all events have the right to be present at its\nmeetings and take part in its discussions; and as they generally have\nsome definite policy by which they are to stand or fall, they are wont\nto initiate legislation and to guide the course of the discussion. But\nin America the legislatures, having no such central points about which\nto rally their forces, carry on their work in an aimless, rambling\nsort of way, through the agency of many standing committees. When\na measure is proposed it is referred to one of the committees for\nexamination before the house will have anything to do with it. Such a\npreliminary examination is of course necessary where there is a vast\namount of legislative work going on. But the private and disconnected\nway in which our committee work is done tends to prevent full and\ninstructive discussion in the house, to make the mass of legislation,\nalways chaotic enough, somewhat more chaotic, and to facilitate the\nvarious evil devices of lobbying and log-rolling.\n\nIn pointing out this inconvenience attendant upon the American plan of\nseparating the executive and legislative departments, I must not be\nunderstood as advocating the European plan as preferable for this\ncountry. The evils that inevitably flow from any fundamental change in\nthe institutions of a country are apt to be much more serious than the\nevils which the change is intended to remove. Political government is\nlike a plant; a little watering and pruning do very well for it, but\nthe less its roots are fooled with, the better. In the American system\nof government the independence of the executive department, with\nreference to the legislative, is fundamental; and on the whole it is\neminently desirable. One of the most serious of the dangers which\nbeset democratic government, especially where it is conducted on a\ngreat scale, is the danger that the majority for the time being will\nuse its power tyrannically and unscrupulously, as it is always tempted\nto do. Against such unbridled democracy we have striven to guard\nourselves by various constitutional checks and balances. Our written\nconstitutions and our Supreme Court are important safeguards, as\nwill be shown below. The independence of our executives is another\nimportant safeguard. But if our executive departments were mere\ncommittees of the legislature--like the English cabinet, for\nexample--this independence could not possibly be maintained; and the\nloss of it would doubtless entail upon us evils far greater than those\nwhich mow flow from want of leadership in our legislatures.[11]\n\n[Footnote 11: In two admirable essays on \"Cabinet Responsibility and\nthe Constitution,\" and \"Democracy and the Constitution,\" Mr. Lawrence\nLowell has convincingly argued that the American system is best\nadapted to the circumstances of this country. Lowell, _Essays on\nGovernment_, pp. 20-117, Boston, 1890.]\n\nWe must remember that government is necessarily a cumbrous affair,\nhowever conducted.\n\nThe only occasion on which the governor is a part of the legislature\nis when he signs or vetoes a bill. Then he is virtually in himself\na third house.[12] As an executive officer the governor is far less\npowerful than in the colonial times. We shall see the reason of\nthis after we have enumerated some of the principal offices in the\nexecutive department. There is always a secretary of state, whose main\nduty is to make and keep the records of state transactions. There is\nalways a state treasurer, and usually a state auditor or comptroller\nto examine the public accounts and issue the warrants without which\nthe treasurer cannot pay out a penny of the state's money. There is\nalmost always an attorney-general, to appear for the state in the\nsupreme court in all cases in which the state is a party, and in\nall prosecutions for capital offences. He also exercises some\nsuperintendence over the district attorneys, and acts as legal adviser\nto the governors and the legislature. There is also in many states\na superintendent of education; and in some there are boards of\neducation, of health, of lunacy and charity, bureau of agriculture,\ncommissioners of prisons, of railroads, of mines, of harbours, of\nimmigration, and so on. Sometimes such boards are appointed by the\ngovernor, but such officers as the secretary of state, the treasurer,\nauditor, and attorney-general are, in almost all the states, elected\nby the people. They are not responsible to the governor, but to the\npeople who elect them. They are not subordinate to the governor, but\nare rather his colleagues. Strictly speaking, the governor is not the\nhead of the executive department, but a member of it. The executive\ndepartment is parcelled out in several pieces, and his is one of the\npieces.\n\n[Footnote 12: The state executive.]\n\n[Sidenote: The governor's functions: 1. Advisor of legislature. 2.\nCommander of state militia. 3. Royal prerogative of pardon. 4. Veto power.]\nThe ordinary functions of the governor are four in number. 1. He\nsends a message to the legislature, at the beginning of each session,\nrecommending such measures as he would like to see embodied in\nlegislation. 2. He is commander-in-chief of the state militia, and as\nsuch can assist the sheriff of a county in putting down a riot, or\nthe President of the United States, in the event of a war. On such\noccasions the governor may become a personage of immense importance,\nas, for example, in our Civil War, when President Lincoln's demands\nfor troops met with such prompt response from the men who will be\nknown to history as the great \"war governors.\" 3. The governor is\ninvested with the royal prerogative of pardoning criminals, or\ncommuting the sentences pronounced upon them by the courts. This power\nbelongs to kings in accordance with the old feudal notion that the\nking was the source or fountain of justice. When properly used it\naffords an opportunity for rectifying some injustice for which the\nordinary machinery of the law could not provide, or for making such\nallowances for extraordinary circumstances as the court could not\nproperly consider. In our country it is too often improperly used to\nenable the worst criminals to escape due punishment, just because\nit is a disagreeable duty to hang them. Such misplaced clemency is\npleasant for the murderers, but it makes life less secure for honest\nmen and women, and in the less civilized regions of our country it\nencourages lynch law. 4. In all the states except Rhode Island,\nDelaware, Ohio, and North Carolina, the governor has a veto upon the\nacts of the legislature, as above explained; and in ordinary times\nthis power, which is not executive but legislative, is probably the\ngovernor's most important and considerable power. In thirteen of\nthe states the governor can veto particular items in a bill for the\nappropriation of public money, while at the same time he approves\nthe rest of the bill. This is a most important safeguard against\ncorruption, because where the governor does not have this power it is\npossible to make appropriations for unworthy or scandalous purposes\nalong with appropriations for matters of absolute necessity, and then\nto lump them all together in the same bill, so that the governor must\neither accept the bad along with the good or reject the good along\nwith the bad. It is a great gain when the governor can select the\nitems and veto some while approving others. In such matters the\ngovernor is often more honest and discreet than the legislature, if\nfor no other reason, because he is one man, and responsibility can be\nfixed upon him more clearly than upon two or three hundred.\n\nSuch, in brief outline, is the framework of the American state\ngovernments. But our account would be very incomplete without some\nmention of three points, all of them especially characteristic of\nthe American state, and likely to be overlooked or misunderstood by\nEuropeans.\n\n[Sidenote: In building the state, the local self-government was left\nunimpaired.]\n_First_, while we have rapidly built up one of the greatest\nempires yet seen upon the earth, we have left our self-government\nsubstantially unimpaired in the process. This is exemplified in\ntwo ways: first, in the relationship of the state to its towns\nand counties, and, secondly, in its relationship to the federal\ngovernment. Over the township and county governments the state\nexercises a general supervision; indeed, it clothes them with their\nauthority. Townships and counties have no sovereignty; the state, on\nthe other hand, has many elements of sovereignty, but it does not use\nthem to obliterate or unduly restrict the control of the townships\nand counties over their own administrative work. It leaves the local\ngovernments to administer themselves. As a rule there is only just\nenough state supervision to harmonize the working of so many local\nadministrations. Such a system of government comes as near as possible\ntoward making all American citizens participate actively in the\nmanagement of public affairs. It generates and nourishes a public\nspirit and a universal acquaintance with matters of public interest\nsuch as has probably never before been seen in any great country.\nPublic spirit of equal or greater intensity may have been witnessed\nin small and highly educated communities, such as ancient Athens or\nmediaeval Florence, but in the United States it is diffused over an\narea equal to the whole of Europe. Among the leading countries of the\nworld England is the one which comes nearest to the United States\nin the general diffusion of enlightened public spirit and political\ncapacity throughout all classes of society.\n\n[Sidenote: Instructive contrast with France.]\nA very notable contrast to the self-government which has produced such\nadmirable results is to be seen in France, and as contrasts are\noften instructive, let me mention one or two features of the French\ngovernment. There is nothing like the irregularity and spontaneity\nthere that we have observed in our survey of the United States.\nEverything is symmetrical. France is divided into eighty-nine\n_departments_, most of them larger than the state of Delaware,\nsome of them nearly as large as Connecticut, and the administration\nof one department is exactly like that of all the others. The chief\nofficer of the department is the prefect, who is appointed by\nthe minister of the interior at Paris. The prefect is treasurer,\nrecruiting officer, school superintendent, all in one, and he appoints\nnearly all inferior officers. The department has a council, elected\nby universal suffrage, but it has no power of assessing taxes. The\ncentral legislature in Paris decides for it how much money it shall\nuse and how it shall raise it. The department council is not even\nallowed to express its views on political matters; it can only attend\nto purely local details of administration.\n\nThe smallest civil division in France is the _commune_, which may\nbe either rural or urban. The commune has a municipal council which\nelects a mayor; but when once elected the mayor becomes directly\nresponsible to the prefect of the department, and through him to the\nminister of the interior. If these greater officers do not like what\nthe mayor does, they can overrule his acts or even suspend him from\noffice; or upon their complaint the President of the Republic can\nremove him.\n\n[Sidenote: In France whether it is nominally a despotic empire or a\nrepublic at the top, there is scarcely any self-government at the\nbottom. Hence government there rests on an insecure foundation.]\nThus in France people do not manage their own affairs, but they are\nmanaged for them by a hierarchy of officials with its head at Paris.\nThis system was devised by the Constituent Assembly in 1790 and\nwrought into completeness by Napoleon in 1800. The men who devised\nit in 1790 actually supposed that they were inaugurating a system or\npolitical freedom(!), and unquestionably it was a vast improvement\nupon the wretched system which it supplanted; but as contrasted with\nAmerican methods and institutions, it is difficult to call it anything\nelse than a highly centralized despotism. It has gone on without\nessential change through all the revolutions which have overtaken\nFrance since 1800. The people have from time to time overthrown an\nunpopular government at Paris, but they have never assumed the direct\ncontrol of their own affairs.\n\nHence it is commonly remarked that while the general intelligence\nof the French people is very high, their intelligence in political\nmatters is, comparatively speaking, very low. Some persons try to\nexplain this by a reference to peculiarities of race. But if we\nAmericans were to set about giving to the state governments things\nto do that had better be done by counties and towns, and giving the\nfederal government things to do that had better be done by the states,\nit would not take many generations to dull the keen edge of our\npolitical capacity. We should lose it as inevitably as the most\nconsummate of pianists will lose his facility if he stops practising.\nIt is therefore a fact of cardinal importance that in the United\nStates the local governments of township, county, and city are left to\nadminister themselves instead of being administered by a great bureau\nwith its head at the state capital. In a political society thus\nconstituted from the beginning it has proved possible to build up\nour Federal Union, in which the states, while for certain purposes\nindissolubly united, at the same time for many other purposes retain\ntheir self-government intact. As in the case of other aggregates, the\nnature of the American political aggregate has been determined by the\nnature of its political units.\n\n[Sidenote: Vastness of the functions retained by the states in the\nAmerican Union.]\n_Secondly_, let us observe how great are the functions retained\nby our states under the conditions of our Federal Union. The\npowers granted to our federal government, such as the control over\ninternational questions, war and peace, the military forces, the\ncoinage, patents and copyrights, and the regulation of commerce\nbetween the states and with foreign countries,--all these are powers\nrelating to matters that affect all the states, but could not be\nregulated harmoniously by the separate action of the states. In order\nthe more completely to debar the states from meddling with such\nmatters, they are expressly prohibited from entering into agreements\nwith each other or with a foreign power; they cannot engage in war,\nsave in case of actual invasion or such imminent danger as admits of\nno delay; without consent of Congress they cannot keep a military or\nnaval force in time of peace, or impose custom-house duties. Besides\nall this they are prohibited from granting titles of nobility, coining\nmoney, emitting bills of credit, making anything but gold and silver\ncoin a tender in payment of debts, passing bills of attainder, _ex\npost facto_ laws, or laws impairing the obligation of contracts.\nThe force of these latter restrictions will be explained hereafter.\nSuch are the limitations of sovereignty imposed upon the states within\nthe Federal Union.\n\nCompared with the vast prerogatives of the state legislatures, these\nlimitations seem small enough. All the civil and religious rights\nof our citizens depend upon state legislation; the education of the\npeople is in the care of the states; with them rests the regulation\nof the suffrage; they prescribe the rules of marriage, the legal\nrelations of husband and wife, of parent and child; they determine the\npowers of masters over servants and the whole law of principal and\nagent, which is so vital a matter in all business transactions; they\nregulate partnership, debt and credit, insurance; they constitute all\ncorporations, both private and municipal, except such as specially\nfulfill the financial or other specific functions of the federal\ngovernment; they control the possession, distribution, and use of\nproperty, the exercise of trades, and all contract relations; and they\nformulate and administer all criminal law, except only that which\nconcerns crimes committed against the United States, on the high seas,\nor against the law of nations. Space would fail in which to enumerate\nthe particulars of this vast range of power; to detail its parts would\nbe to catalogue all social and business relationships, to examine all\nthe foundations of law and order.[13]\n\n[Footnote 13: Woodrow Wilson, _The State: Elements of Historical and\nPractical Politics_, p. 437.]\n\nThis enumeration, by Mr. Woodrow Wilson, is so much to the point that I\ncontent myself with transcribing it. A very remarkable illustration of\nthe preponderant part played by state law in America is given by Mr.\nWilson, in pursuance of the suggestion of Mr. Franklin Jameson.[14]\nConsider the most important subjects of legislation in England during\nthe present century, the subjects which make up almost the entire\nconstitutional history of England for eighty years. These subjects are\nCatholic emancipation, parliamentary reform, the abolition of slavery,\nthe amendment of the poor-laws, the reform of municipal corporations,\nthe repeal of the corn laws, the admission of Jews to parliament, the\ndisestablishment of the Irish church, the alteration of the Irish land\nlaws, the establishment of national education, the introduction of the\nballot, and the reform of the criminal law. In the United States only\ntwo of these twelve great subjects could be dealt with by the federal\ngovernment: the repeal of the corn laws, as being a question of national\nrevenue and custom-house duties, and the abolition of slavery, by virtue\nof a constitutional amendment embodying some of the results of our Civil\nWar. All the other questions enumerated would have to be dealt with by\nour state governments; and before the war that was the case with the\nslavery question also. A more vivid illustration could not be asked for.\n\n[Footnote 14: Jameson, \"The Study of the Constitutional\nHistory of the States\" _J.H.U. Studies_, IV., v.]\n\nHow complete is the circle of points in which the state touches the\nlife of the American citizen, we may see in the fact that our\nstate courts make a complete judiciary system, from top to bottom\nindependent of the federal courts.[15] An appeal may be carried from\na state court to a federal court in cases which are found to involve\npoints of federal law, or in suits arising between citizens of\ndifferent states, or where foreign ambassadors are concerned. Except\nfor such cases the state courts make up a complete judiciary world of\ntheir own, quite outside the sphere of the United States courts.\n\n[Footnote 15: Independence of the state courts.]\n\n[Sidenote: Constitution of the state courts.]\nWe have already had something to say about courts in connection with\nthose primitive areas for the administration of justice, the hundred\nand the county. In our states there are generally four grades of\ncourts. There are, first, the _justices of the peace _, with\njurisdiction over \"petty police offences and civil suits for trifling\nsums.\" They also conduct preliminary hearings in cases where persons\nare accused of serious crimes, and when the evidence seems to warrant\nit they may commit the accused person for trial before a higher court.\nThe mayor's court in a city usually has jurisdiction similar to that\nof justices of the peace. Secondly, there are _county_ and\n_municipal courts_, which hear appeals from justices of the peace\nand from mayor's courts, and have original jurisdiction over a more\nimportant grade of civil and criminal cases. Thirdly, there are\n_superior courts_, having original jurisdiction over the most\nimportant cases and over wider of the state areas of country, so that\nthey do not confine their sessions to one place, but move about from\nplace to place, like the English _justices in eyre_. Cases are\ncarried up, on appeal, from the lower to the superior court. Fourthly,\nthere is in every state a _supreme court_, which generally has no\noriginal jurisdiction, but only hears appeals from the decisions of\nthe other courts. In New York there is a \"supremest\" court, styled\nthe _court of appeals_, which has the power of revising sundry\njudgments of the supreme court; and there is something similar in New\nJersey, Illinois, Kentucky, and Louisiana.[16]\n\n[Footnote 16: Wilson. The State, pp. 509-513.]\n\n[Sidenote: Elective and appointive judges.]\nIn the thirteen colonies the judges were appointed by the governor,\nwith or without the consent of the council, and they held office\nduring life or good behaviour. Among the changes made in our state\nconstitutions since the Revolution, there have been few more important\nthan those which have affected the position of the judges. In most of\nthe states they are now elected by the people for a term of years,\nsometimes as short as two years. There is a growing feeling that this\nchange was a mistake. It seems to have lowered the general character\nof the judiciary. The change was made by reasoning from analogy: it\nwas supposed that in a free country all offices ought to be elective\nand for short terms. But the case of a judge is not really analogous\nto that of executive officers, like mayors and governors and\npresidents. The history of popular liberty is much older than the\nhistory of the United States, and it would be difficult to point to\nan instance in which popular liberty has ever suffered from the\nlife tenure of judges. On the contrary, the judge ought to be as\nindependent as possible of all transient phases of popular sentiment,\nand American experience during the past century seems to teach us that\nin the few states where the appointing of judges during life or good\nbehaviour has prevailed, the administration of justice has been better\nthan in the states where the judges have been elected for specified\nterms. Since 1869 there has been a marked tendency toward lengthening\nthe terms of elected judges, and in several states there has been a\nreturn to the old method of appointing judges by the governor, subject\nto confirmation by the senate.[17] It is one of the excellent features\nof our system of federal government, that the several states can thus\ntry experiments each for itself and learn by comparison of results.\nWhen things are all trimmed down to a dead level of uniformity by the\ncentral power, as in France, a prolific source of valuable experiences\nis cut off and shut up.\n\n[Footnote 17: For details, see the admirable monograph of Henry Hitchcock,\n_American State Constitutions_, p. 53.]\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. Modifications of state government during the present century:--\n\n  a. Property qualifications for office.\n  b. The distinction between the upper and the lower house.\n  c. The advantage in retaining a two-chambered legislature.\n\n2. The suffrage:--\n\n  a. The persons to whom it is granted.\n  b. The qualifications established.\n  c. The persons excluded from its exercise.\n\n3. The separation of the executive and legislative departments:--\n\n  a. The relation of the great executive officers to legislation in\n       Europe.\n  b. The work of legislation in the United States.\n  c. The most serious of the dangers that beset democratic\n      government.\n  d. Important safeguards against such a danger.\n\n4. The state executive:--\n\n  a. The governor as a part of the legislature.\n  b. Officers always belonging to executive departments.\n  c. Officers frequently belonging to executive departments.\n  d. The relation of the governor to other elected executive\n      officers.\n\n5. The ordinary functions of the governor:--\n\n  a. Advising the legislature.\n  b. Commanding the militia.\n  c. Pardoning criminals or commuting their sentences.\n  d. Vetoing acts of the legislature.\n\n6. Why is the power to veto particular items in a bill appropriating\npublic money an important safeguard against corruption?\n\n7. Local self-government in the United States left unimpaired:--\n\n  a. The extent of state supervision of towns and counties.\n  b. The spirit thus developed in American citizens.\n\n8. A lesson from the symmetry of the French government:--\n\n  a. The departments and their administration.\n  b. The prefect and his duties.\n  c. The department council and its sphere of action.\n  d. The commune.\n  e. The French system contrasted with the American.\n  f. A common view of the political intelligence of the French.\n  g. The probable effect of excessive state control upon the\n      political intelligence of Americans.\n\n9. The greatness of the functions retained by the states under\nthe federal government:--\n\n  a. Powers granted to the government of the United States.\n  b. The reason for granting such powers,\n  c. The powers denied to the states.\n  d. The reason for such prohibitions.\n  e. The vast range of powers exercised by the states.\n  f. The most important subjects of legislation in England for the past\n      eighty years.\n  g. The governments, state or national, to which these twelve\n      subjects would have fallen in the United States.\n\n10. Speak of the independence of the state courts.\n\n11. In what cases only may matters be transferred from them to\na federal court?\n\n12. The constitution of the state courts:--\n\n  a. Justices of the peace; the mayor's court.\n  b. County and municipal courts.\n  c. The superior courts.\n  d. The supreme court.\n  e. Still higher courts in certain states.\n\n13. The selection of judges and their terms of service:--\n\n  a. In the thirteen colonies.\n  b. In most of the states since the Revolution.\n  c. The reasons for a life tenure.\n  d. The tendency since 1869.\n\n14. Mention a conspicuous advantage of our system of government over the\nFrench.\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS.\n\n1. Was there ever a charter government in your state? If so, where is\nthe charter at the present time? What is its present value? Try to see\nit, if possible. Pupils of Boston and vicinity, for example, may\nexamine in the office of the secretary of state, at the state house, the\ncharter of King Charles (1629) and that of William and Mary (1692).\n\n2. When was your state organized under its present government? If it is\nnot one of the original thirteen, what was its history previous to\norganization; that is, who owned it and controlled it, and how came it\nto become a state?\n\n3. What are the qualifications for voting in your state?\n\n4. What are the arguments in favour of an educational qualification for\nvoters (as, for example, the ability to read the Constitution of the\nUnited States)? What reasons might be urged against such qualifications?\n\n5. Who is the governor of your state? What political party supported him\nfor the position? For what ability or eminent service was he selected?\n\n6. Give illustrations of the governor's exercise of the four functions\nof advising, vetoing, pardoning, and commanding (consult the newspapers\nwhile the legislature is in session).\n\n7. Mention some things done by the governor that are not included\nin the enumeration of his functions in the text.\n\n8. Visit, if practicable, the State House. Observe the various offices,\nand consider the general nature of the business done there. Attend a\nsession of the Senate or the House of Representatives. Obtain some\n\"orders of the day.\"\n\n9. If the legislature is in session, follow its proceedings in the\nnewspapers. What important measures are under discussion? On what sort\nof questions are party lines pretty sharply drawn? On what sort of\nquestions are party distinctions ignored?\n\n10. Consult the book of general or public statutes, and report on\nthe following points:--\n\n  a. The magnitude of the volume.\n  b. Does it contain all the laws? If not, what are omitted?\n  c. Give some of the topics dealt with.\n  d. Where are the laws to be found that have been made since the printing\n     of the volume?\n  e. Are the originals of the laws in the volume? If not, where are they\n      and in what shape?\n\n11. Is everybody expected to know all the laws?\n\n12. Does ignorance of the law excuse one for violating it?\n\n13. Suppose people desire the legislature to pass some law, as, for\nexample, a law requiring towns and cities to provide flags for\nschool-houses, how is the attention of the legislature secured? What are\nthe various stages through which the bill must pass before it can become\na law? Why should there be so many stages?\n\n14. Give illustrations of the exercise of federal government, state\ngovernment, and local government, in your own town or city. Of which\ngovernment do you observe the most signs? Of which do you observe the\nfewest signs? Of which government do the officers seem most sensitive to\nlocal opinion?\n\n15. Are the sessions of the legislature in your state annual or\nbiennial? What is the argument for each system?\n\nFor answers to numbers 16, 17, 18, and 19, consult the public statutes,\na lawyer, or some intelligent business man. A fair idea of the\nsuccessive steps in the courts may be obtained from a good unabridged\ndictionary by looking up the technical terms employed in these\nquestions.\n\n16. What is the difference between a civil action and a criminal?\n\n  a. In respect to the object to be gained in each?\n  b. In respect to the party that is the plaintiff?\n  c. In respect to the consequences to the defendant if the case goes\n      against him?\n\n17. Give an outline of the procedure in a minor criminal action that is\ntried without a jury in a lower court. Consider\n(1) the complaint, (2) the warrant, (3) the return, (4) the recognizance,\n(5) the subpoena, (6) the arraignment, (7) the plea, (8) the testimony,\n(9) the arguments,(10) the judgment and sentence, and (11) the penalty and\nits enforcement.\n\nWhat is an appeal?--This procedure seems cumbrous, but it\nis founded in common sense. What one of the foregoing steps, for\nexample, would you omit? Why?\n\n18. Give an outline of the procedure in a criminal action that is tried\nwith a jury in a higher court. The action is begun in a lower court\nwhere the first five stages are the same as in number 17. Then follow\n(6) the examination of witnesses, (7) the binding over of the accused to\nappear before the higher court for trial, (8) the sending of the\ncomplaint and the proceedings thereon to the district or county\nattorney, (9) the indictment, (10) the action of the grand jury upon the\nindictment, (11) the challenging of jurors before the trial, (12) the\narraignment, (13) the plea, (14) the testimony, (15) the arguments, (16)\nthe charge to the jury, (17) the verdict, and (18) the sentence, with\nits penalty and the enforcement of it. What are \"exceptions?\"--Why\nshould there be a jury in the higher court when there is none in the\nlower? What is the objection to dispensing with any one of the foregoing\nsteps? Does this machinery make it difficult to punish crime? Why should\nan accused person receive so much consideration?\n\n19. Give an outline of the procedure in a minor civil action. Consider\n(1) the writ, (2) the attachment, (3) the summons to the defendant, (4)\nthe return, (5) the pleading, (6) the testimony, (7) the arguments, (8)\nthe judgment or decision of the judge, and (9) the execution.--If the\naction is conducted in a higher court, then a jury decides the question\nat issue, the judge instructing the jurors in points of law.\n\n20. Suppose an innocent man is tried for an alleged crime and\nacquitted, has he any redress?\n\n21. Is the enforcement of law complete and satisfactory in your\ncommunity?\n\n22. What is your opinion of the general security of person and property\nin your community?\n\n23. Is there any connection between public sentiment about a law and the\nenforcement of that law? If so, what is it?\n\n24. Any one of the twelve subjects of legislation cited on page 177 may\nbe taken as a special topic. Consult any modern history of England.\n\n25. Which do you regard as the more important possession for the\ncitizen,--an acquaintance with the principles and details of government\nand law, or a law-abiding and law-supporting spirit? What reasons have\nyou for your opinion? Where is your sympathy in times of disorder, with,\nthose who defy the law or with those who seek to enforce it? (Suppose a\ncase in which you do not approve the law, and then answer.)\n\n26. May you ever become an officer of the law? Would you as a citizen be\njustified in withholding from an officer that obedience and moral\nsupport which you as an officer might justly demand from every citizen?\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.\n\nThe State.--For the founding of the several colonies, their charters,\netc., the student may profitably consult the learned monographs in\nWinsor's _Narrative and Critical History of America_, 8 vols.,\nBoston, 1886-89. A popular account, quite full in details, is given in\nLodge's _Short History of the English Colonies in America_,\nN. Y., 1881. There is a fairly good account of the revision and\ntransformation of the colonial governments in Bancroft's _History of\nthe United States_, final edition, N.Y., 1886, vol. v. pp. 111-125.\n\nThe series of \"American Commonwealths,\" edited by H.E. Scudder, and\npublished by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., will be found helpful. The\nfollowing have been published: Johnston, _Connecticut: a Study\nof a Commonwealth-Democracy_, 1887; Roberts, _New York: the\nPlanting and Growth of the Empire State_, 2 vols., 1887; Browne,\n_Maryland: the History of a Palatinate_, 2d ed., 1884; Cooke,\n_Virginia: a History of the People_, 1883; Shaler, _Kentucky:\na Pioneer Commonwealth_, 1884; King, _Ohio: First Fruits of\nthe Ordinance of 1787_,1888; Dunn, _Indiana: a Redemption from\nSlavery_, 1888; Cooley, _Michigan: a History of Governments_,\n1885; Carr, _Missouri: a Bone of Contention_, 1888; Spring,\n_Kansas: the Prelude to the War for the Union_, 1885; Royce,\n_California: a Study of American Character_, 1886; Barrows,\n_Oregon: the Struggle for Possession_, 1883.\n\nIn connection with the questions on page 183, the student is advised\nto consult Dole's _Talks about Law: a Popular Statement of What\nour Law is and How it is Administered_, Boston, 1887. This book\ndeserves high praise. In a very easy and attractive way it gives an\naccount of such facts and principles of law as ought to be familiarly\nunderstood by every man and woman.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nWRITTEN CONSTITUTIONS.\n\n\n[Sidenote: In the American state there is a power above the\nlegislature.]\nToward the close of the preceding chapter[1] I spoke of three points\nespecially characteristic of the American state, and I went on to\nmention two of them. The third point which I had in mind is so\nremarkable and important as to require a chapter all to itself. In the\nAmerican state the legislature is not supreme, but has limits to its\nauthority prescribed by a written document, known as the Constitution;\nand if the legislature happens to pass a law which violates the\nconstitution, then whenever a specific case happens to arise in which\nthis statute is involved, it can be brought before the courts, and\nthe decision of the court, if adverse to the statute, annuls it and\nrenders it of no effect. The importance of this feature of civil\ngovernment in the United States can hardly be overrated. It marks a\nmomentous advance in civilization, and it is especially interesting as\nbeing peculiarly American. Almost everything else in our fundamental\ninstitutions was brought by our forefathers in a more or less highly\ndeveloped condition from England; but the development of the written\nconstitution, with the consequent relation of the courts to the\nlaw-making power, has gone on entirely upon American soil.\n\n[Footnote 1: See above, p. 172.]\n\n[Sidenote: Germs of the idea of a written constitution.]\n[Sidenote: Our indebtedness to the Romans.]\n[Sidenote: Mediaeval charters.]\nThe germs of the written constitution existed a great while ago.\nPerhaps it would not be easy to say just when they began to exist.\nIt was formerly supposed by such profound thinkers as Locke and such\npersuasive writers as Rousseau, that when the first men came together\nto live in civil society, they made a sort of contract with one\nanother as to what laws they would have, what beliefs they would\nentertain, what customs they would sanction, and so forth. This\ntheory of the Social Contract was once famous, and exerted a notable\ninfluence on political history, and it is still interesting in the\nsame way that spinning-wheels and wooden frigates and powdered wigs\nare interesting; but we now know that men lived in civil society,\nwith complicated laws and customs and creeds, for many thousand years\nbefore the notion had ever entered anybody's head that things could\nbe regulated by contract. That notion we owe chiefly to the ancient\nRomans, and it took them several centuries to comprehend the idea and\nput it into practice. We owe them a debt of gratitude for it. The\ncustom of regulating business and politics and the affairs of life\ngenerally by voluntary but binding agreements is something without\nwhich we moderns would not think life worth living. It was after the\nRoman world--that is to say, Christendom, for in the Middle Ages the\ntwo terms were synonymous--had become thoroughly familiar with the\nidea of contract, that the practice grew up of granting written\ncharters to towns, or monasteries, or other corporate bodies. The\ncharter of a mediaeval town was a kind of written contract by which\nthe town obtained certain specified immunities or privileges from the\nsovereign or from a great feudal lord, in exchange for some specified\nservice which often took the form of a money payment. It was common\nenough for a town to buy liberty for hard cash, just as a man might\nbuy a farm. The word _charter_ originally meant simply a paper or\nwritten document, and it was often applied to deeds for the transfer\nof real estate. In contracts of such importance papers or parchment\ndocuments were drawn up and carefully preserved as irrefragable\nevidences of the transaction. And so, in quite significant phrase the\ntowns zealously guarded their charters as the \"title-deeds of their\nliberties.\"\n\n[Sidenote: The \"Great Charter\" (1215).]\nAfter a while the word charter was applied in England to a particular\ndocument which specified certain important concessions forcibly wrung by\nthe people from a most unwilling sovereign. This document was called\n_Magna Charta_, or the \"Great Charter,\" signed at Runnymede, June 15,\n1215, by John, king of England. After the king had signed it and gone\naway to his room, he rolled in a mad fury on the floor, screaming\ncurses, and gnawing sticks and straw in the impotence of his, wrath.[2]\nPerhaps it would be straining words to call a transaction in which the\nconsent was so one-sided a \"contract,\" but the idea of Magna Charta was\nderived from that of the town charters with which people were already\nfamiliar. Thus a charter came to mean \"a grant made by the sovereign\neither to the whole people or to a portion of them, securing to them the\nenjoyment of certain rights.\" Now in legal usage a charter differs from\na constitution in this, that the former is granted by the sovereign,\nwhile the latter is established by the people themselves: both are the\nfundamental law of the land.[3] a The distinction is admirably\nexpressed, but in history it is not always easy to make it. Magna Charta\nwas in form a grant by the sovereign, but it was really drawn up by the\nbarons, who in a certain sense represented the English people; and\nestablished by the people after a long struggle which was only in its\nfirst stages in John's time. To some extent it partook of the nature of\na written constitution.\n\n[Footnote 2: Green, _Hist. of the English People_, vol. i. p.\n248.]\n\n[Footnote 3: Bouvier, _Law Dictionary_, 12th ed., vol. i. p.\n259.]\n\n[Sidenote: The \"Bill of Rights\" (1689).]\nLet us now observe what happened early in 1689, after James II had\nfled from England. On January 28th parliament declared the throne\nvacant. Parliament then drew up the \"Declaration of Rights,\" a\ndocument very similar in purport to the first eight amendments to\nour Federal Constitution, and on the 13th of February the two houses\noffered the crown to William and Mary on condition of their accepting\nthis declaration of the \"true, ancient, and indubitable rights of the\npeople of this realm.\" The crown having been accepted on these terms,\nparliament in the following December enacted the famous \"Bill of\nRights,\" which simply put their previous declaration into the form of\na declaratory statute. The Bill of Rights was not--even in form--a\ngrant from a sovereign; it was an instrument framed by the\nrepresentatives of the people, and without promising to respect\nit William and Mary could no more have mounted the throne than a\npresident of the United States could be inducted into office if he\nwere to refuse to take the prescribed oath of allegiance to the\nFederal Constitution. The Bill of Rights was therefore, strictly\nspeaking, a piece of written constitution; it was a constitution as\nfar as it went.\n\n[Sidenote: Foreshadowing of the American idea by Sir Harry Vane\n(1656).]\nThe seventeenth century, the age when the builders of American\ncommonwealths were coming from England, was especially notable in\nEngland for two things. One was the rapid growth of modern commercial\noccupations and habits, the other was the temporary overthrow of\nmonarchy, soon followed by the final subjection of the crown to\nparliament. Accordingly the sphere of contract and the sphere of\npopular sovereignty were enlarged in men's minds, and the notion of a\nwritten constitution first began to find expression. The \"Instrument\nof Government\" which in 1653 created the protectorate of Oliver\nCromwell was substantially a written constitution, but it emanated\nfrom a questionable authority and was not ratified. It was drawn up\nby a council of army officers; and \"it broke down because the first\nparliament summoned under it refused to acknowledge its binding\nforce.\" [4] The dissolution of this parliament accordingly left Oliver\nabsolute dictator. In 1656, when it seemed so necessary to decide what\nsort of government the dictatorship of Cromwell was to prepare the way\nfor, Sir Harry Vane proposed that a _national convention_ should\nbe called for drawing up a written constitution.[5] The way in which\nhe stated his case showed that he had in him a prophetic foreshadowing\nof the American idea as it was realized in 1787. But Vane's ideas were\ntoo far in advance of his age to be realized then in England. Older\nideas, to which men were more accustomed, determined the course of\nevents there, and it was left for Americans to create a government by\nmeans of a written constitution. And when American statesmen did so,\nthey did it without any reference to Sir Harry Vane. His relation to\nthe subject has been discovered only in later days, but I mention him\nhere in illustration of the way in which great institutions grow. They\ntake shape when they express the opinions and wishes of a multitude\nof persons; but it often happens that one or two men of remarkable\nforesight had thought of them long beforehand.\n\n[Footnote 4: Gardiner, _Constitutional Documents of the Puritan\nRevolution_, p. lx.]\n\n[Footnote 5: See Hosmer's _Young Sir Henry Vane_, pp.\n432-444,--one of the best books ever written for the reader who wishes\nto understand the state of mind among the English people in the crisis\nwhen they laid the foundations of the United States.]\n\n[Sidenote: The Mayflower compact(1620).]\nIn America the first attempts at written constitutions were in the\nfullest sense made by the people, and not through representatives but\ndirectly. In the Mayflower's cabin, before the Pilgrims had landed on\nPlymouth rock, they subscribed their names to a compact in which they\nagreed to constitute themselves into a \"body politic,\" and to enact such\nlaws as might be deemed best for the colony they were about to\nestablish; and they promised \"all due submission and obedience\" to such\nlaws. Such a compact is of course too vague to be called a constitution.\nProperly speaking, a written constitution is a document which defines\nthe character and powers of the government to which its framers are\nwilling to entrust themselves. Almost any kind of civil government might\nhave been framed under the Mayflower compact, but the document is none\nthe less interesting as an indication of the temper of the men who\nsubscribed their names to it.\n\n[Sidenote: The \"Fundamental Orders of Connecticut\" (1639).]\nThe first written constitution known to history was that by which the\nrepublic of Connecticut was organized in 1639. At first the affairs\nof the Connecticut settlements had been directed by a commission\nappointed by the General Court of Massachusetts, but on the 14th of\nJanuary, 1639, all the freemen of the three river towns--Windsor,\nHartford, and Wethersfield--assembled at Hartford, and drew up a\nwritten constitution, consisting of eleven articles, in which the\nframe of government then and there adopted was distinctly described.\nThis document, known as the \"Fundamental Orders of Connecticut\",\ncreated the government under which the people of Connecticut lived for\nnearly two centuries before they deemed it necessary to amend it. The\ncharter granted to Connecticut by Charles II. in 1662 was simply a\nroyal recognition of the government actually in operation since the\nadoption of the Fundamental Orders.\n\n[Sidenote: Germinal development of the colonial charter toward the\nmodern state constitution.]\nIn those colonies which had charters these documents served, to a\ncertain extent, the purposes of a written constitution. They limited the\nlegislative powers of the colonial assemblies. The question sometimes\ncame up as to whether some statute made by the assembly was not in\nexcess of the powers conferred by the charter. This question usually\narose in connection with some particular law case, and thus came before\nthe courts for settlement,--first before the courts of the colony;\nafterwards it might sometimes be carried on appeal before the Privy\nCouncil in England. If the court decided that the statute was in\ntransgression of the charter, the statute was thereby annulled.[6] The\ncolonial legislature, therefore, was not a supreme body, even within the\ncolony; its authority was restricted by the terms of the charter. Thus\nthe Americans, for more than a century before the Revolution, were\nfamiliarized with the idea of a legislature as a representative body\nacting within certain limits prescribed by a written document. They had\nno knowledge or experience of a supreme legislative body, such as the\nHouse of Commons has become since the founders of American states left\nEngland. At the time of the Revolution, when the several states framed\nnew governments, they simply put a written constitution into the\nposition of supremacy formerly occupied by the charter. Instead of a\ndocument expressed in terms of a royal grant, they adopted a document\nexpressed in terms of a popular edict. To this the legislature must\nconform; and people were already somewhat familiar with the method of\ntesting the constitutionality of a law by getting the matter brought\nbefore the courts. The mental habit thus generated was probably more\nimportant than any other single circumstance in enabling our Federal\nUnion to be formed. Without it, indeed, it would have been impossible to\nform a durable union.\n\n[Footnote 6: Bryce, _American Commonwealth_, vol. i. pp. 243,\n415.]\n\n[Sidenote: Abnormal development of the state constitution, encroaching\nupon the province of the legislature.]\n[Sidenote: The Swiss \"Referendum\" 196]\nBefore pursuing this subject, we may observe that American state\nconstitutions have altered very much in character since the first part\nof the present century. The earlier constitutions were confined to a\ngeneral outline of the organization of the government. They did not\nundertake to make the laws, but to prescribe the conditions under\nwhich laws might be made and executed. Recent state constitutions\nenter more and more boldly upon the general work of legislation. For\nexample, in some states they specify what kinds of property shall be\nexempt from seizure for debt, they make regulations as to railroad\nfreight-charges, they prescribe sundry details of practice in the\ncourts, or they forbid the sale of intoxicating liquors. Until\nrecently such subjects would have been left to the legislatures, no\none would have thought of putting them into a constitution. The motive\nin so doing is a wish to put certain laws into such a shape that it\nwill be difficult to repeal them. What a legislature sees fit to enact\nthis year it may see fit to repeal next year. But amending a state\nconstitution is a slow and cumbrous process. An amendment may be\noriginated in the legislature, where it must secure more than a mere\nmajority--perhaps a three fifths or two thirds vote--in order to pass;\nin some states it must be adopted by two successive legislatures,\nperhaps by two thirds of one and three fourths of the next; in some\nstates not more than one amendment can be brought before the same\nlegislature; in some it is provided that amendments must not be\nsubmitted to the people oftener than once in five years; and so\non. After the amendment has at length made its way through the\nlegislature, it must be ratified by a vote of the people at the next\ngeneral election. Another way to get a constitution amended is to call\na convention for that purpose. In order to call a convention, it is\nusually necessary to obtain a two thirds vote in the legislature; but\nin some states the legislature is required at stated intervals to\nsubmit to the people the question of holding such a convention, as\nin New Hampshire every seven years; in Iowa, every ten years; in\nMichigan, every sixteen years; in New York, Ohio, Maryland, and\nVirginia, every twenty years.[7] A convention is a representative\nbody elected by the people to meet at some specified time and\nplace for some specified purpose, and its existence ends with the\naccomplishment of that purpose. It is in this occasional character\nthat the convention differs from an ordinary legislative assembly.\nWith such elaborate checks against hasty action, it is to be presumed\nthat if a law can be once embodied in a state constitution, it will be\nlikely to have some permanence. Moreover, a direct vote by the people\ngives a weightier sanction to a law than a vote in the legislature.\nThere is also, no doubt, a disposition to distrust legislatures and in\nsome measure do their work for them by direct popular enactment. For\nsuch reasons some recent state constitutions have come almost to\nresemble bodies of statutes. Mr. Woodrow Wilson suggestively compares\nthis kind of popular legislation with the Swiss practice known as the\n_Referendum_; in most of the Swiss cantons an important act of\nthe legislature does not acquire the force of law until it has been\n_referred_ to the people and voted on by them. \"The objections\nto the, _referendum_,\"  says Mr. Wilson, \"are, of course, that it\nassumes a discriminating judgment and a fullness of information on the\npart of the people touching questions of public policy which they do\nnot often possess, and that it lowers the sense of responsibility on\nthe part of legislators.\"  [8] Another serious objection to our recent\npractice is that it tends to confuse the very valuable distinction\nbetween a constitution and a body of statutes, to necessitate a\nfrequent revision of constitutions, and to increase the cumbrousness\nof law-making. It would, however, be premature at the present time to\npronounce confidently upon a practice of such recent origin. It is\nclear that its tendency is extremely democratic, and that it implies\na high standard of general intelligence and independence among the\npeople. If the evils of the practice are found to outweigh its\nbenefits, it will doubtless fall into disfavour.\n\n[Footnote 7: See Henry Hitchcock's admirable monograph, _American\nState Constitutions_, p. 19.]\n\n[Footnote 8: Wilson. The State, p. 490.]\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT. What is to be said with regard to the following\ntopics?\n\nI. A power above the legislature:--\n\n  a. The constitution.\n  b. The relation of the courts to laws that violate the constitution.\n  c. The importance of this relation.\n  d. The American origin of the written constitution.\n\n2. The germs of the idea of a written constitution:--\n\n  a. The theory of a \"social contract.\"\n  b. The objection to this theory.\n  c. Roman origin of the idea of contract.\n\n3. Mediaeval charters:--\n\n  a. The charter of a town.\n  b. The word _charter_.\n  c. Magna Charta.\n  d. The difference between a charter and a constitution.\n  e. The form of Magna Charta as contrasted with its essential nature.\n\n4. Documents somewhat resembling written constitutions:--\n\n  a. The Declaration of Rights.\n  b. The Bill of Rights.\n\n5. The foreshadowing of the American idea of written constitutions:--\n\na. Two conditions especially notable in England in the seventeenth\ncentury.\n  b. The influence of these conditions on popular views of government.\n  c. The \"Instrument of Government.\"\n  d. Sir Harry Vane's proposition.\n  e. Why allude to Vane's scheme when nothing came of it?\n\n6. Early suggestions of written constitutions in America:--\n\n  a. The compact on the Mayflower.\n  b. Wherein the compact fell short of a written constitution.\n  c. The \"Fundamental Orders of Connecticut.\"\n\n7. The development of the colonial charter into a written constitution:--\n\n  a. The limitation of the powers of colonial assemblies.\n  b. The decision of questions relating to the transgression of a charter\n      by a colonial legislature.\n  c. The colonial assembly as contrasted with the House of\n      Commons.\n  d. The difference between the written constitution and the\n      charter for which it was substituted.\n  e. The readiness of the people to adopt written constitutions.\n\n8. The extensive development of the written constitution in\nsome states:--\n\n  a. The simplicity of the earlier constitutions.\n  b. Illustrations of the legislative tendencies of later constitutions.\n  c. The motive for such extension of a constitution.\n  d. The difficulty of amending a constitution.\n  e. The legislative method of amendment.\n  f. The convention method of amendment.\n  g. The presumed advantage of embodying laws in the constitution.\n  h. A comparison with the Swiss Referendum.\n  i. Objections to the Swiss Referendum.\n  j. Other objections to the practice of putting laws into the\n     constitution.\n\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS.\n\n1. Do you belong to any society that has a constitution? Has the society\nrules apart from the constitution? Which may be changed the more\nreadily? Why not put all the rules into the constitution?\n\n2. Read the constitution of your state in part or in full. Give some\naccount of its principal divisions, of the topics it deals with, and its\nmagnitude or fullness. Are there any amendments? If so, mention two or\nthree, and give the reasons for their adoption. Is there any declaration\nof rights in it? If so, what are some of the rights declared, and whose\nare they said to be?\n\n3. Where is the original of your state constitution kept? What sort of\nlooking document do you suppose it to be? Where would you look for a\ncopy of it? If a question arises in any court about the interpretation\nof the constitution, must the original be produced to settle the wording\nof the document?\n\n4. Has any effort been made in your state to put into the constitution\nmatters that have previously been subjects of legislative action? If so,\ngive an account of the effort, and the public attitude towards it.\n\n5. Which is preferable,--a constitution that commands the approval of\nthe people as a whole or that which has the support of a dominant\npolitical party only?\n\n6. Suppose it is your personal conviction that a law is\nunconstitutional, may you disregard it? What consequences might ensue\nfrom such disregard?\n\n7. May people honestly and amicably differ about the interpretation of\nthe constitution or of a law, in a particular case? If important\ninterests are dependent on the interpretation, how can the true one be\nfound out? Does a lawyer's opinion settle the interpretation? What value\nhas such an opinion? Where must people go for authoritative and final\ninterpretations of the laws? Can they get such interpretations by simply\nasking for them?\n\n8. The constitution of New Hampshire provides that when the governor\ncannot discharge the duties of his office, the president of the senate\nshall assume them. During the severe sickness of a governor recently,\nthe president of the senate hesitated to act in his stead; it was not\nclear that the situation was grave enough to warrant such a course.\nAccordingly the attorney-general of the state brought an action against\nthe president of the senate for not doing his duty; the court considered\nthe situation, decided against the president of the senate, and ordered\nhim to become acting governor. Why was this suit necessary? Was it\nconducted in a hostile spirit? Wherein did the decision help the state?\nWherein did it help the defendant? Wherein may it possibly prove helpful\nin the future history of the state?\n\n9. Mention particular things that the governor, the legislature, and the\njudiciary of your state have done or may do. Then find the section or\nclause or wording in your state constitution that gives authority for\neach of these things. For example, read the particular part that\nauthorizes your legislature:--\n\n  a. To incorporate a city.\n  b. To compel children to attend school.\n  c. To buy uniforms for a regiment of soldiers.\n  d. To establish a death penalty.\n  e. To send a committee abroad to study a system of waterworks.\n\n10. Trace the authority of a school-teacher, a policeman, a selectman, a\nmayor, or of any public officer, back to some part of your constitution.\n\n11. Mention any parts of your constitution that seem general and\nsomewhat indefinite, and that admit, therefore, of much freedom in\ninterpretation.\n\n12. Show how the people are, in one aspect, subordinate to the\nconstitution; in another, superior to it.\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.\n\nWritten Constitutions.--Very little has been written or published with\nreference to the history of the development of the idea of a written\nconstitution. The student will find some suggestive hints in Hannis\nTaylor's _Origin and Growth of the English Constitution_, vol. i,\nBoston, 1889. See Henry Hitchcock's _American State Constitutions; a\nStudy of their Growth_, N.Y., 1887, a learned and valuable essay. See\nalso _J.H.U. Studies_, I., xi., Alexander Johnston, _The Genesis of a\nNew England State (Connecticut)_; III., ix.-x., Horace Davis, _American\nConstitutions_; also Preston's _Documents Illustrative of American\nHistory_, 1606-1863, N.Y., 1886; Stubbs, _Select Charters and other\nIllustrations of English Constitutional History_, Oxford, 1870;\nGardiner's _Constitutional Documents of the Puritan Revolution_, Oxford,\n1888.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE FEDERAL UNION.\n\n\nSection 1. _Origin of the Federal Union._\n\nHaving now sketched the origin and nature of written constitutions, we\nare prepared to understand how by means of such a document the\ngovernment of our Federal Union was called into existence. We have\nalready described so much of the civil government in operation in the\nUnited States that this account can be made much more concise than if we\nhad started at the top instead of the bottom and begun to portray our\nnational government before saying a word about states and counties and\ntowns. Bit by bit the general theory of American self-government has\nalready been set before the reader. We have now to observe, in\nconclusion, what a magnificent piece of constructive work has been\nperformed in accordance with that general theory. We have to observe the\nbuilding up of a vast empire out of strictly self-governing elements.\n\n[Sidenote: English institutions in all the colonies.]\nThere was always one important circumstance in favour of the union of\nthe thirteen American colonies into a federal nation. The inhabitants\nwere all substantially one people. It is true that in some of the\ncolonies there were a good many persons not of English ancestry, but\nthe English type absorbed and assimilated everything else.\n\nAll spoke the English language, all had English institutions. Except\nthe development of the written constitution, every bit of civil\ngovernment described in the preceding pages came to America directly\nfrom England, and not a bit of it from any other country, unless by\nbeing first filtered through England. Our institutions were as English\nas our speech. It was therefore comparatively easy for people in one\ncolony to understand people in another, not only as to their words but\nas to their political ideas. Moreover, during the first half of the\neighteenth century, the common danger from the aggressive French\nenemy on the north and west went far toward awakening in the thirteen\ncolonies a common interest. And after the French enemy had been\nremoved, the assertion by parliament of its alleged right to tax the\nAmericans threatened all the thirteen legislatures at once, and thus\nin fact drove the colonies into a kind of federal union.\n\n[Sidenote: The New England confederacy (1643-84).]\n[Sidenote: Albany Congress(1754).]\n[Sidenote: Stamp Act Congress (1765).]\nConfederations among states have generally owed their origin, in\nthe first instance, to military necessities. The earliest league in\nAmerica, among white people at least, was the confederacy of New\nEngland colonies formed in 1643, chiefly for defence against the\nIndians. It was finally dissolved amid the troubles of 1684, when the\nfirst government of Massachusetts was overthrown. Along the Atlantic\ncoast the northern and the southern colonies were for some time\ndistinct groups, separated by the unsettled portion of the central\nzone. The settlement of Pennsylvania, beginning in 1681, filled this\ngap and made the colonies continuous from the French frontier of\nCanada to the Spanish frontier of Florida. The danger from France\nbegan to be clearly apprehended after 1689, and in 1698 one of the\nearliest plans of union was proposed by William Penn. In 1754, just\nas the final struggle with France was about to begin, there came\nFranklin's famous plan for a permanent federal union; and this plan\nwas laid before a congress assembled at Albany for renewing the\nalliances with the Six Nations.[1] Only seven colonies were\nrepresented in this congress. Observe the word \"congress.\" If it\nhad been a legislative body it would more likely have been called\na \"parliament.\" But of course it was nothing of the sort. It was a\ndiplomatic body, composed of delegates representing state governments,\nlike European congresses,--like the Congress of Berlin, for example,\nwhich tried to adjust the Eastern Question in 1878. Eleven years after\nthe Albany Congress, upon the news that parliament had passed the\nStamp Act, a congress of nine colonies assembled at New York in\nOctober, 1765, to take action thereon.\n\n[Footnote 1: Franklin's plan was afterward submitted to the several\nlegislatures of the colonies, and was everywhere rejected because the\nneed for union was nowhere strongly felt by the people.]\n\n[Sidenote: Committees of Correspondence (1772-75).]\nNine years elapsed without another congress. Meanwhile the political\nexcitement, with occasional lulls, went on increasing, and some sort\nof cooperation between the colonial governments became habitual. In\n1768, after parliament had passed the Townshend revenue acts, there\nwas no congress, but Massachusetts sent a circular letter to the other\ncolonies, inviting them to cooperate in measures of resistance, and\nthe other colonies responded favourably. In 1772, as we have seen,\ncommittees of correspondence between the towns of Massachusetts acted\nas a sort of provisional government for the commonwealth. In 1773\nDabney Carr, of Virginia, enlarged upon this idea, and committees of\ncorrespondence were forthwith instituted between the several colonies.\nThus the habit of acting in concert began to be formed. In 1774,\nafter parliament had passed an act overthrowing the government of\nMassachusetts, along with other offensive measures, a congress\nassembled in September at Philadelphia, the city most centrally\nsituated as well as the largest. If the remonstrances adopted at this\ncongress had been heeded by the British government, and peace had\nfollowed, this congress would probably have been as temporary an\naffair as its predecessors; people would probably have waited until\novertaken by some other emergency. But inasmuch as war followed,\nthe congress assembled again in May, 1775, and thereafter became\npractically a permanent institution until it died of old age with the\nyear 1788.\n\n\n[Sidenote: Continental Congress (1774-1789).]\nThis congress was called \"continental\" to distinguish it from the\n\"provincial congresses\" held in several of the colonies at about the\nsame time. The thirteen colonies were indeed but a narrow strip on the\nedge of a vast and in large part unexplored continent, but the word\n\"continental\" was convenient for distinguishing between the whole\nconfederacy and its several members.\n\n[Sidenote: The several states were never at any time sovereign\nstates.]\n[Sidenote: The Articles of Confederation]\nThe Continental Congress began to exercise a certain amount of\ndirective authority from the time of its first meeting in 1774. Such\nauthority as it had arose simply from the fact that it represented an\nagreement on the part of the several governments to pursue a certain\nline of policy. It was a diplomatic and executive, but scarcely yet a\nlegislative body. Nevertheless it was the visible symbol of a kind of\nunion between the states. There never was a time when any one of the\noriginal states exercised singly the full powers of sovereignty. Not\none of them was ever a small sovereign state like Denmark or Portugal.\nAs they acted together under the common direction of the British\ngovernment in 1759, the year of Quebec, so they acted together under\nthe common direction of that revolutionary body, the Continental\nCongress, in 1775, the year of Bunker Hill. In that year a\n\"continental army\" was organized in the name of the \"United Colonies.\"\nIn the following year, when independence was declared, it was done\nby the concerted action of all the colonies; and at the same time a\ncommittee was appointed by Congress to draw up a written constitution.\nThis constitution, known as the \"Articles or Confederation,\" was\nsubmitted to Congress in the autumn of 1777, and was sent to the\nseveral states to be ratified. A unanimous ratification was necessary,\nand it was not until March 1781, that unanimity was secured and the\narticles adopted.\n\nMeanwhile the Revolutionary War had advanced into its last stages,\nhaving been carried on from the outset under the general direction\nof the Continental Congress. When reading about this period of our\nhistory, the student must be careful not to be misled by the name\n\"congress\" into reasoning as if there were any resemblance whatever\nbetween that body and the congress which was created by our Federal\nConstitution. The Continental Congress was not the parent of our\nFederal Congress; the former died without offspring, and the latter\nhad a very different origin, as we shall soon see. The former simply\nbequeathed to the latter a name, that was all.\n\n[Sidenote: Nature and powers of the Continental Congress]\nThe Continental Congress was an assembly of delegates from the thirteen\nstates, which from 1774 to 1783 held its sessions at Philadelphia.[2] It\nowned no federal property, not even the house in which it assembled, and\nafter it had been turned out of doors by a mob of drunken soldiers in\nJune, 1783, it flitted about from place to place, sitting now at\nTrenton, now at Annapolis, and finally at New York.[3] Each state sent\nto it as many delegates as it chose, though after the adoption of the\narticles no state could send less than two or more than seven. Each\nstate had one vote, and it took nine votes, or two thirds of the whole,\nto carry any measure of importance. One of the delegates was chosen\npresident or chairman of the congress, and this position was one of\ngreat dignity and considerable influence, but it was not essentially\ndifferent from the position, of any of the other delegates. There were\nno distinct executive officers. Important executive matters were at\nfirst assigned to committees, such as the Finance Committee and the\nBoard of War, though at the most trying time the finance committee was a\ncommittee of one, in the person of Robert Morris, who was commonly\ncalled the Financier. The work of the finance committee was chiefly\ntrying to solve the problem of paying bills without spending money, for\nthere was seldom any money to spend. Congress could not tax the people\nor recruit the army. When it wanted money or troops, it could only ask\nthe state governments for them; and generally it got from a fifth to a\nfourth part of the troops needed, but of money a far smaller proportion.\nSometimes it borrowed money from Holland or France, but often its only\nresource was to issue paper promises to pay, or the so-called\nContinental paper money. There were no federal courts,[4] nor marshals\nto execute federal decrees. Congress might issue orders, but it had no\nmeans of compelling obedience.\n\n[Footnote 2: Except for a few days in December, 1776, when it fled\nto Baltimore; and again from September, 1777, to June, 1778, when\nPhiladelphia was in possession of the British; during that interval\nCongress held its meetings at York in Pennsylvania.]\n\n[Footnote 3: See my _Critical Period of American History_, pp.\n112, 271, 306]\n\n[Footnote 5: Except the \"Court of Appeals in Cases of Capture,\" for\nan admirable account of which see Jameson's _Essays in the\nConstitutional History of the United States_, pp. 1-45.]\n\n[Sidenote: It was not fully endowed with sovereignty.]\nThe Continental Congress was therefore not in the full sense a\nsovereign body. A government is not really a government until it can\nimpose taxes and thus command the money needful for keeping it in\nexistence. Nevertheless the Congress exercised some of the most\nindisputable functions of sovereignty. \"It declared the independence\nof the United States; it contracted an offensive and defensive\nalliance with France; it raised and organized a Continental army; it\nborrowed large sums of money, and pledged what the lenders understood\nto be the national credit for their repayment; it issued an\ninconvertible paper currency, granted letters of marque, and built a\nnavy.\" [6] Finally it ratified a treaty of peace with Great Britain. So\nthat the Congress was really, in many respects, and in the eyes of the\nworld at large, a sovereign body. Time soon showed that the continued\nexercise of such powers was not compatible with the absence of the\npower to tax the people. In truth the situation of the Continental\nCongress was an illogical situation. In the effort of throwing off\nthe sovereignty of Great Britain, the people of these states were\nconstructing a federal union faster than they realized. Their theory\nof the situation did not keep pace with the facts, and their first\nattempt to embody their theory, in the Articles of Confederation, was\nnot unnaturally a failure.\n\n\n[Footnote 6: _Critical Period_, p. 93.]\n\n[Sidenote: Decline of the Continental Congress.]\nAt first the powers of the Congress were vague. They were what are\ncalled \"implied war powers;\" that is to say, the Congress had a war\nwith Great Britain on its hands, and must be supposed to have power to\ndo whatever was necessary to bring the war to a successful conclusion.\nAt first, too, when it had only begun to issue paper money, there\nwas a momentary feeling of prosperity. Military success added to its\nappearance of strength, and the reputation of the Congress reached its\nhigh water mark early in 1778, after the capture of Burgoyne's army\nand the making of the alliance with France. After that time, with the\nweary prolonging of the war, the increase of the public debt, and the\ncollapse of the paper currency, its reputation steadily declined.\nThere was also much work to be done in reorganizing the state\ngovernments, and this kept at home in the state legislatures many of\nthe ablest men who would otherwise have been sent to the Congress.\nThus in point of intellectual capacity the latter body was distinctly\ninferior in 1783 to what it had been when first assembled nine years\nearlier.\n\n[Sidenote: Anarchical tendencies.]\nThe arrival of peace did not help the Congress, but made matters worse.\nWhen the absolute necessity of presenting a united front to the common\nenemy was removed, the weakness of the union was shown in many\nways that were alarming. The _sentiment_ of union was weak. In spite of\nthe community in language and institutions, which was so favourable to\nunion, the people of the several states had many local prejudices which\ntended to destroy the union in its infancy. A man was quicker to\nremember that he was a New Yorker or a Massachusetts man than that he\nwas an American and a citizen of the United States. Neighbouring states\nlevied custom-house duties against one another, or refused to admit into\ntheir markets each other's produce, or had quarrels about boundaries\nwhich went to the verge of war. Things grew worse every year until by\nthe autumn of 1786, when the Congress was quite bankrupt and most of the\nstates nearly so, when threats of secession were heard both in New\nEngland and in the South, when there were riots in several states and\nMassachusetts was engaged in suppressing armed rebellion, when people in\nEurope were beginning to ask whether we were more likely to be seized\nupon by France or reconquered piecemeal by Great Britain, it came to be\nthought necessary to make some kind of a change.\n\n[Sidenote: The Federal Convention (1787).]\n\nMen were most unwillingly brought to this conclusion, because they were\nused to their state assemblies and not afraid of them, but they were\nafraid of increasing the powers of any government superior to the states,\nlest they should thus create an unmanageable tyranny. They believed that\neven anarchy, though a dreadful evil, is not so dreadful as despotism,\nand for this view there is much to be said. After no end of trouble a\nconvention was at length got together at Philadelphia in May, 1787, and\nafter four months of work with closed doors, it was able to offer to the\ncountry the new Federal Constitution. Both in its character and in\nthe work which It did, this Federal Convention, over which Washington\npresided, and of which Franklin, Madison, and Hamilton were members,\nwas one of the most remarkable deliberative bodies known to history.\n\nWe have seen that the fundamental weakness of the Continental Congress\nlay in the fact that it could not tax the people. Hence although it\ncould for a time exert other high functions of sovereignty, it could\nonly do so while money was supplied to it from other sources than\ntaxation; from contributions made by the states in answer to its\n\"requisitions,\" from foreign loans, and from a paper currency. But such\nresources could not last long. It was like a man's trying to live upon\nhis own promissory notes and upon gifts and unsecured loans from his\nfriends. When the supply of money was exhausted, the Congress soon found\nthat it could no longer comport itself as a sovereign power; it could\nnot preserve order at home, and the situation abroad may be illustrated\nby the fact that George III. kept garrisons in several of our\nnorthwestern frontier towns and would not send a minister to the United\nStates. This example shows that, among the sovereign powers of a\ngovernment, the power of taxation is the fundamental one upon which all\nthe others depend. Nothing can go on without money.\n\nBut the people of the several states would never consent to grant the\npower of taxation, to such a body as the Continental Congress, in\nwhich they were not represented. The Congress was not a legislature,\nbut a diplomatic body; it did not represent the people, but the state\ngovernments; and a large state like Pennsylvania had no more weight in\nit than a little state like Delaware. If there was to be any central\nassembly for the whole union, endowed with the power of taxation,\nit must be an assembly representing the American people just as the\nassembly of a single state represented the people of the state.\n\nAs soon as this point became clear, it was seen to be necessary to\nthrow the Articles of Confederation overboard, and construct a new\nnational government. As was said above, our Federal Congress is not\ndescended from the Continental Congress. Its parentage is to be sought\nin the state legislatures. Our federal government was constructed\nafter the general model of the state governments, with some points\ncopied from British usages, and some points that were original and\nnew.\n\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. What are the reasons for reserving the Constitution of the\nUnited States for the concluding chapter?\n\n2. Circumstances that favoured union of the colonies:--\n\n  a. The origin of their inhabitants.\n  b. All the details of their civil government.\n  c. The ease with which they understood one another.\n  d. Their common dangers, two in particular.\n\n3. Earlier unions among the colonies:--\n\n  a. The New England Confederacy,--its time, purpose, and\n     duration.\n  b. The French danger, and plans to meet it.\n  c. The Albany Congress,--its nature and immediate purpose.\n  d. The Stamp Act Congress.\n\n4. Committees of correspondence:--\n\n  a. The circular letter of Massachusetts in 1768.\n  b. Town committees of correspondence in Massachusetts in\n     1772.\n  c. Colonial committees of correspondence in 1773.\n  d. The habit established through these committees.\n\n5. The Continental Congress:--\n\n  a. The immediate causes that led to it.\n  b. How it might have been temporary.\n  c. How it became permanent.\n  d. Its date, place of meeting, and duration.\n  e. Why \"continental\" as distinguished from \"provincial?\"\n  f. The nature and extent of its authority.\n  g. The states represented in it never fully sovereign.\n\n6. Give an account of the \"Articles of Confederation.\"\n\n7. Distinguish between the Continental Congress and the\nFederal.\n\n8. The powers of the Continental Congress:--\n  a. Its homelessness and wandering.\n  b. Its delegates and their voting power.\n  c. Its presiding officer.\n  d. Its management of executive matters.\n  e. The finance committee and its problems.\n  f. The raising of money.\n  g. The compelling of obedience.\n\n9. The Continental Congress not a sovereign body:--\n\n  a. The nature of real government.\n  b. Some functions of sovereignty exercised by the Congress.\n  c. The situation illogical.\n\n10. Explain the \"implied war powers\" of the Congress.\n\n11. When was the Congress at the height of its reputation, and\nwhy?\n\n12. Explain the decline in its reputation from 1778 to 1783.\n\n13. The alarming weakness of the union after 1783:--\n\n  a. The effect of peace upon the union.\n  b. Local prejudices.\n  c. State antagonisms.\n  d. The gloomy outlook in 1786.\n\n14. The Federal Convention in 1787:--\n\n  a. The reluctance to make the change that was felt to be needed.\n  b. Some facts about the Convention.\n  c. The character of its delegates.\n  d. The fundamental weakness of the Continental Congress.\n  e. The fundamental power of a strong government.\n  f. The objection to granting the power of taxation to the Continental\n     Congress.\n  g. The sort of assembly demanded for exercising the taxing power.\n  h. The model on which the federal government was built.\n\n\nSection 2. _The Federal Congress._\n\n[Sidenote: The House of Representatives.]\nThe federal House of Representatives is descended, through the state\nhouses of representatives, from the colonial assemblies. It is an\nassembly representing the whole population of the country as if it were\nall in one great state. It is composed of members chosen every other\nyear by the people of the states. Persons in any state who are qualified\nto vote for state representatives are qualified to vote for federal\nrepresentatives. This arrangement left the power of regulating the\nsuffrage in the hands of the several states, where it still remains,\nsave for the restriction imposed in 1870 for the protection of the\nsouthern freedmen. A candidate for election to the House of\nRepresentatives must be twenty-five years old, must have been seven\nyears a citizen of the United States, and must be an inhabitant of the\nstate in which he is chosen.\n\n[Sidenote: The three fifths compromise.]\nAs the Federal Congress is a taxing body, representatives and direct\ntaxes are apportioned among the several states according to the same\nrule, that is, according to population. At this point a difficulty\narose in the Convention as to whether slaves should be counted as\npopulation. If they were to be counted, the relative weight of the\nslave states in all matters of national legislation would be much\nincreased. The northern states thought, with reason, that it would\nbe unduly increased. The difficulty was adjusted by a compromise\naccording to which five slaves were to be reckoned as three persons.\nSince the abolition of slavery this provision has become obsolete, but\nuntil 1860 it was a very important factor in American history.[7]\n\nIn the federal House of Representatives the great states of course\nhave much more weight than the small states. In 1790 the four largest\nstates had 32 representatives, while the other nine had only 33. The\nlargest state, Virginia, had 10 representatives to 1 from Delaware.\nThese disparities have increased. In 1880, out of thirty-eight states\nthe nine largest had a majority of the house, and the largest state,\nNew York, had 34 representatives to 1 from Delaware.\n\n[Footnote 7: See my _Critical Period_, pp. 257-262.]\n\n[Sidenote: The Connecticut compromise]\nThis feature of the House of Representatives caused\nthe smaller states in the Convention to oppose the whole scheme of\nconstructing a new government. They were determined that great and\nsmall states should have equal weight in Congress. Their steadfast\nopposition threatened to ruin everything, when fortunately a method\nof compromise was discovered. It was intended that the national\nlegislature, in imitation of the state legislatures, should have an\nupper house or senate; and at first the advocates of a strong national\ngovernment proposed that the senate also should represent population,\nthus differing from the lower house only in the way in which we have\nseen that it generally differed in the several states. But it happened\nthat in the state of Connecticut the custom was peculiar. There it\nhad always been the custom to elect the governor and upper house by a\nmajority vote of the whole people, while for each township there was\nan equality of representation In the lower house. The Connecticut\ndelegates in the Convention, therefore, being familiar with a\nlegislature in which the two houses were composed on different\nprinciples, suggested a compromise. Let the House of Representatives,\nthey said, represent the people, and let the Senate represent the\nstates; let all the states, great and small, be represented equally\nin the federal Senate. Such was the famous \"Connecticut Compromise.\"\nWithout it the Convention would probably have broken up without\naccomplishing anything. When it was adopted, half the work of making\nthe new government was done, for the small states, having had their\nfears thus allayed by the assurance that they were to be equally\nrepresented in the Senate, no longer opposed the work but cooperated\nin it most zealously.\n\n[Sidenote: The Senate]\nThus it came to pass that the upper house of our national legislature\nis composed of two senators from each state. As they represent the\nstate, they are chosen by its legislature and not by the people; but\nwhen they have taken their seats in the senate they do not vote\nby states, like the delegates in the Continental Congress. On the\ncontrary each senator has one vote, and the two senators from the same\nstate may, and often do, vote on opposite sides.\n\nIn accordance with the notion that an upper house should be somewhat\nless democratic than a lower house, the term of office for senators\nwas made longer than for representatives. The tendency is to make the\nSenate respond more slowly to changes in popular sentiment, and\nthis is often an advantage. Popular opinion is often very wrong at\nparticular moments, but with time it is apt to correct its mistakes.\nWe are usually in more danger of suffering from hasty legislation than\nfrom tardy legislation. Senators are chosen for a term of six years,\nand one third of the number of terms expire every second year, so\nthat, while the whole Senate may be renewed by the lapse of six years,\nthere is never a \"new Senate.\" The Senate has thus a continuous\nexistence and a permanent organization; whereas each House of\nRepresentatives expires at the end of its two years' term, and is\nsucceeded by a \"new House,\" which requires to be organized by electing\nits officers, etc., before proceeding to business. A candidate for the\nsenatorship must have reached the age of thirty, must have been nine\nyears a citizen of the United States, and must be an inhabitant of the\nstate which he represents.\n\nThe constitution leaves the times, places, and manner of holding\nelections for senators and representatives to be prescribed in each\nstate by its own legislature; but it gives to Congress the power to\nalter such regulations, except as to the place of choosing senators.\n\nHere we see a vestige of the original theory according to which the\nSenate was to be peculiarly the home of state rights.\n\n[Sidenote: Electoral districts.]\n[Sidenote: \"Gerrymandering.\"]\nIn the composition of the House of Representatives the state\nlegislatures play a very important part. For the purposes of the\nelection a state is divided into districts corresponding to the number\nof representatives the state is entitled to send to Congress. These\nelectoral districts are marked out by the legislature, and the division\nis apt to be made by the preponderating party with an unfairness that is\nat once shameful and ridiculous. The aim, of course, is so to lay out\nthe districts as to secure in the greatest possible number of them a\nmajority for the party which conducts the operation. This is done\nsometimes by throwing the greatest possible number of hostile voters\ninto a district which is anyhow certain to be hostile, sometimes by\nadding to a district where parties are equally divided some place in\nwhich the majority of friendly voters is sufficient to turn the scale.\nThere is a district in Mississippi (the so-called Shoe String district)\n250 miles long by 30 broad, and another in Pennsylvania resembling a\ndumb-bell.... In Missouri a district has been contrived longer, if\nmeasured along its windings, than the state itself, into which as large\na number as possible of the <DW64> voters have been thrown.[8] This\ntrick is called \"gerrymandering,\" from Elbridge Gerry, of Massachusetts,\nwho was vice-president of the United States from 1813 to 1817. It seems\nto have been first devised in 1788 by the enemies of the Federal\nConstitution in Virginia, in order to prevent the election of James\nMadison to the first Congress, and fortunately it was unsuccessful.[9]\nIt was introduced some years afterward into Massachusetts. In 1812,\nwhile Gerry was governor of that state, the Republican legislature\nredistributed the districts in such wise that the shapes of the towns\nforming a single district in Essex county gave to the district a\nsomewhat dragon-like contour. This was indicated upon a map of\nMassachusetts which Benjamin Russell, an ardent Federalist and editor of\nthe \"Centinel,\" hung up over the desk in his office. The celebrated\npainter, Gilbert Stuart, coming into the office one day and observing\nthe uncouth figure, added with his pencil a head, wings, and claws, and\nexclaimed, \"That will do for a salamander!\" \"Better say a Gerrymander!\"\ngrowled the editor; and the outlandish, name, thus duly coined, soon\ncame into general currency.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Footnote 8: Tyler's _Patrick Henry_, p. 313.]\n\n[Footnote 9: _Winsor's Memorial History of Boston_, vol. iii. p. 212;\nsee also Bryce, _loc. cit_. The word is sometimes incorrectly pronounced\n\"jerrymander.\" Mr. Winsor observes that the back line of the creature's\nbody forms a profile caricature of Gerry's face, with the nose at\nMiddleton.]\n\n[Sidenote: The election their at large.]\nWhen after an increase in its number of representatives the state has\nfailed to redistribute its districts, the additional member or members\nare voted for upon a general state ticket, and are called\n\"representatives at large.\" In Maine, where the census of 1880 had\n_reduced_ the number of representatives and there was some delay in the\nredistribution, Congress allowed the State in 1882 to elect all its\nrepresentatives upon a general ticket. The advantage of the district\nsystem is that the candidates are likely to be better known by\nneighbours, but the election at large is perhaps more likely to secure\nable men.[10] It is the American custom to nominate only residents of the\ndistrict as candidates for the House of Representatives. A citizen of\nAlbany, for example, would not be nominated for the district in which\nBuffalo is situated. In the British practice, on the other hand, if an\neminent man cannot get a nomination in his own county or borough, there\nis nothing to prevent his standing for any other county or borough. This\nsystem seems more favourable to the independence of the legislator than\nour system. Some of its advantages are obtained by the election at\nlarge.\n\n[Footnote 10: The difference is similar to the difference between the\nFrench _scrutin d'arrondissement_ and _scrutin de liste_.]\n\n[Sidenote: Time of assembling.]\nCongress must assemble at least once in every year, and the constitution\nappoints the first Monday in December for the time of meeting; but\nCongress can, if worth while, enact a law changing the time. The\nestablished custom is to hold the election for representatives upon the\nsame day as the election for president, the Tuesday after the first\nMonday in November. As the period of the new administration does not\nbegin until the fourth day of the following March, the new House of\nRepresentatives does not assemble until the December following that\ndate, unless the new president should at some earlier moment summon an\nextra session of Congress. It thus happens that ordinarily the\nrepresentatives of the nation do not meet for more than a year after\ntheir election; and as their business is at least to give legislative\nexpression to the popular opinion which elected them, the delay is in\nthis instance regarded by many persons as inconvenient and injudicious.\n\nEach house is judge of the elections, qualifications, and returns of its\nown members; determines its own rules of procedure, and may punish its\nmembers for disorderly behaviour, or by a two thirds vote expel a\nmember. Absent members may be compelled under penalties to attend. Each\nhouse is required to keep a journal of its proceedings and at proper\nintervals to publish it, except such parts as for reasons of public\npolicy had better be kept secret. At the request of one fifth of the\nmembers present, the yeas and nays must be entered on the journal.\nDuring the session of Congress neither house may, without consent of the\nother, adjourn for more than three days, or to any other place than that\nin which Congress is sitting.\n\n[Sidenote: Privileges of members.]\nSenators and representatives receive a salary fixed by law, and as they\nare federal functionaries they are paid from the federal treasury. In\nall cases, except treason or felony or breach of the peace, they are\nprivileged from arrest during their attendance in Congress, as also\nwhile on their way to it and while returning home; \"and for any speech\nor debate in either house they shall not be questioned in any other\nplace.\" These provisions are reminiscences of the evil days when the\nking strove to interfere, by fair means or foul, with free speech in\nparliament; and they are important enough to be incorporated in the\nsupreme law of the land. No person can at the same time hold any civil\noffice under the United States government and be a member of either\nhouse of Congress.\n\n[Sidenote: The Speaker.]\nThe vice-president is the presiding officer of the Senate, with power\nto vote only in case of a tie. The House of Representatives elects its\npresiding officer, who is called the Speaker. In the early history of\nthe House of Commons, its presiding officer was naturally enough its\n_spokesman_. He could speak for it in addressing the crown. Henry\nof Keighley thus addressed the crown in 1301, and there were other\ninstances during that century, until in 1376 the title of Speaker was\ndefinitely given to Sir Thomas Hungerford, and from that date the list\nis unbroken. The title was given to the presiding officers of the\nAmerican colonial assemblies, and thence it passed on to the state and\nfederal legislatures. The Speaker presides over the debates, puts the\nquestion, and decides points of order. He also appoints the committees\nof the House of Representatives, and as the initiatory work in our\nlegislation is now so largely done by the committees, this makes him\nthe most powerful officer of the government except the President.\n\n[Sidenote: Impeachment in England]\nThe provisions for impeachment of public officers are copied from the\ncustom in England. Since the fourteenth century the House of Commons\nhas occasionally exercised the power of impeaching the king's\nministers and other high public officers, and although the power was\nnot used during the sixteenth century it was afterward revived and\nconclusively established. In 1701 it was enacted that the royal pardon\ncould not be pleaded against an impeachment, and this act finally secured\nthe responsibility of the king's ministers to Parliament. An impeachment\nis a kind of accusation or indictment brought against a public officer\nby the House of Commons. The court in which the case is tried is the House\nof Lords, and the ordinary rules of judicial procedure are followed.\nThe regular president of the House of Lords is the Lord Chancellor, who\nis the highest judicial officer in the kingdom. A simple majority vote\nsecures conviction, and then it is left for the House of Commons to\nsay whether judgment shall be pronounced or not.\n\n[Sidenote: Impeachment in the United States.]\nIn the United States the House of Representatives has the sole\npower of impeachment, and the Senate has the sole power to try all\nimpeachments. When the president of the United States is tried,\nthe chief-justice must preside. As a precaution against the use of\nimpeachment for party purposes, a two thirds vote is required for\nconviction; and this precaution proved effectual (fortunately, as most\npersons now admit) in the famous case of President Johnson in 1868. In\ncase of conviction the judgment cannot extend further than \"to removal\nfrom office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any office of\nhonour, trust, or profit under the United States;\" but the person\nconvicted is liable afterward to be tried and punished by the ordinary\nprocess of law.\n\n[Sidenote: Veto power of the president]\nThe provisions of the Constitution for legislation are admirably\nsimple. All bills for raising revenue must originate in the lower\nhouse, but the upper house may propose or concur with amendments, as\non other bills. This provision was inherited from Parliament, through\nthe colonial legislatures. After a bill has passed both houses it must\nbe sent to the president for approval. If he approves it, he signs\nit; if not, he returns it to the house in which it originated, with\na written statement of his objections, and this statement must be\nentered in full upon the journal of the house. The bill is then\nreconsidered, and if it obtains a two thirds vote, it is sent,\ntogether with the objections, to the other house. If it there\nlikewise obtains a two thirds vote, it becomes a law, in spite of the\nobjections. Otherwise it fails. If the president keeps a bill longer\nthan ten days (Sundays excepted) without signing it, it becomes a law\nwithout his signature; unless Congress adjourns before the expiration\nof the ten days, in which case it fails to become a law, just as if\nit had been vetoed. This method of vetoing a bill just before the\nexpiration of a Congress, by keeping it in one's pocket, so to speak,\nwas dubbed a \"pocket veto,\" and was first employed by President\nJackson in 1829. The president's veto power is a qualified form of\nthat which formerly belonged to the English sovereign but has now, as\nalready observed, become practically obsolete. As a means of guarding\nthe country against unwise legislation, it has proved to be one of the\nmost valuable features of our Federal Constitution. In bad hands it\ncannot do much harm, it can only delay for a short time a needed law.\nBut when properly used it can save the country from, laws that if once\nenacted would sow seeds of disaster very hard to eradicate; and it has\nrepeatedly done so. A single man will often act intelligently where\na group of men act foolishly, and, as already observed, he is apt to\nhave a keener sense of responsibility.\n\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\nWhat is to be said with regard to the following topics?\n\n1. The House of Representatives:--\n\n  a. Its relation to the people.\n  b. The term of service.\n  c. Qualifications of those who may vote for representatives.\n  d. Qualifications for membership.\n  e. The three fifths compromise.\n\n2. The Connecticut Compromise.\n\n  a. The powers of the different states in the House.\n  b. Opposition to the scheme of a new government.\n  c. What the advocates of a strong government wanted the Senate to\n     represent.\n  d. A peculiar Connecticut system.\n  e. The suggestion of the Connecticut delegates.\n  f. The effect of the compromise.\n\n3. The Senate:--\n\n  a. The number of senators.\n  b. The method of electing senators.\n  c. The voting of senators.\n  d. The term of service.\n  e. The maintenance of a continuous existence.\n  f. A comparison with the House in respect to nearness to the people.\n  g. Qualifications for membership.\n\n4. Elections for senators and representatives:--\n\n  a. Times, places, and manner of holding elections.\n  b. The power of Congress over state regulations.\n  c. Electoral districts.\n  d. The temptation to unfairness in laying out electoral districts.\n  e. Illustrations of unfair divisions.\n  f. \"Gerrymandering.\"\n  g. Representatives at large.\n  h. The advantage of the district system.\n  i. The British system and its advantage.\n\n5. The assembling of Congress:--\n\n  a. The time of assembling.\n  b. The interval between a member's election and the beginning of his\n     service.\n  c. The disadvantage of this long interval.\n\n6. What is the duty of each house in respect (1) to its membership,\n(2) its rules, (3) its records, and (4) its adjournment.\n\n7. Give an account (1) of the pay of a congressman, (2) of his freedom\nfrom arrest, (3) of his responsibility for words spoken in debate, and\n(4) of his right to hold other office.\n\n8. Tell (1) who preside in Congress, (2) how the name _speaker_\noriginated, (3) what the speaker's duties are, and (4) what his power\nin the government is.\n\n9. Impeachment of public officers:--\n\n  a. Old English usage.\n  b. The conduct of an impeachment trial in England.\n  c. The conduct of an impeachment trial in the United States.\n  d. The penalty in case of conviction.\n\n10. The provisions of the Constitution for legislation:--\n\n  a. Bills for raising revenue.\n  b. How a bill becomes a law.\n  c. The president's veto power.\n  d. Passage of a bill over the president's veto.\n  e. The \"pocket veto.\"\n  f. The veto power in England.\n  g. The value of the veto power.\n\n\nSection 3. _The Federal Executive._\n\n[Sidenote: The title of \"President.\"]\nIn signing or vetoing bills passed by Congress the president shares in\nlegislation, and is virtually a third house. In his other capacities\nhe is the chief executive officer of the Federal Union; and inasmuch\nas he appoints the other great executive officers, he is really the\nhead of the executive department, not--like the governor of a state--a\nmere member of it. His title of \"President\" is probably an inheritance\nfrom the presidents of the Continental Congress. In Franklin's plan\nof union, in 1754, the head of the executive department was called\n\"Governor General,\" but that title had an unpleasant sound to American\nears. Our great-grandfathers liked \"president\" better, somewhat as the\nRomans, in the eighth century of their city, preferred \"imperator\" to\n\"rex.\" Then, as it served to distinguish widely between the head of\nthe Union and the heads of the states, it soon fell into disuse in the\nstate governments, and thus \"president\" has come to be a much grander\ntitle than \"governor,\" just as \"emperor\" has come to be a grander\ntitle than \"king.\" [11]\n\n\n[Footnote 11: See above p. 163.]\n\n[Sidenote: The electoral college.]\nThere was no question which perplexed the Federal Convention more than\nthe question as to the best method of electing the president. There\nwas a general distrust of popular election for an office so exalted.\nAt one time the Convention decided to have the president elected by\nCongress, but there was a grave objection to this; it would be likely\nto destroy his independence, and make him the tool of Congress.\nFinally the device of an electoral college was adopted. Each state\nis entitled to a number of electors equal to the number of its\nrepresentatives in Congress, _plus_ two, the number of its\nsenators. Thus to-day Delaware, with 1 representative, has 3 electors;\nMissouri, with 14 representatives, has 16 electors; New York, with\n34 representatives, has 36 electors. No federal senator or\nrepresentative, or any person holding civil office under the United\nStates, can serve as an elector. Each state may appoint or choose its\nelectors in such manner as it sees fit; at first they were more often\nthan otherwise chosen by the legislatures, now they are always elected\nby the people. The day of election must be the same in all the states.\n\nBy an act of Congress passed in 1792 it is required to be within 34 days\npreceding the first Wednesday in December. A subsequent act in 1845\nappointed the Tuesday following the first Monday in November as election\nday.\n\nBy the act of 1792 the electors chosen in each state are required to\nassemble on the first Wednesday in December at some place in the state\nwhich is designated by the legislature. Before this date the governor of\nthe state must cause a certified list of the names of the electors to be\nmade out in triplicate and delivered to the electors. Having met\ntogether they vote for president and vice-president, make out a sealed\ncertificate of their vote in triplicate, and attach to each copy a copy\nof the certified list of their names. One copy must be delivered by a\nmessenger to the president of the Senate at the federal capital before\nthe first Wednesday in January; the second is sent to the same officer\nthrough the mail; the third is to be deposited with the federal judge of\nthe district in which the electors meet. If by the first Wednesday in\nJanuary the certificate has not been received at the federal capital,\nthe secretary of state is to send a messenger to the district judge and\nobtain the copy deposited with him. The interval of a month was allowed\nto get the returns in, for those were not the days of railroad and\ntelegraph. The messengers were allowed twenty-five cents a mile, and\nwere subject to a fine of a thousand dollars for neglect of duty. On the\nsecond Wednesday in February, Congress is required to be in session, and\nthe votes received are counted and the result declared.[12]\n\n[Footnote 12: See note on p. 278.]\n\n[Sidenote: The twelfth amendment (1804).]\nAt first the electoral votes did not state whether the candidates named\nin them were candidates for the presidency or for the vice-presidency.\nEach elector simply wrote down two names, only one of which could be the\nname of a citizen of his own state. In the official count the candidate\nwho had the largest number of votes, provided they were a majority of\nthe whole number, was declared president, and the candidate who had the\nnext to the largest number was declared vice-president. The natural\nresult of this was seen in the first contested election in 1796, which\nmade Adams president, and his antagonist vice-president. In the next\nelection in 1800 it gave to Jefferson and his colleague Burr exactly the\nsame number of votes. In such a case the House of Representatives must\nelect, and such intrigues followed for the purpose of defeating\nJefferson that the country was brought to the verge of civil war. It\nthus became necessary to change the method. By the twelfth amendment to\nthe constitution, declared in force in 1804, the present method was\nadopted. The electors make separate ballots for president and for\nvice-president. In the official count the votes for president are first\ninspected. If no candidate has a majority, then the House of\nRepresentatives must immediately choose the president from the three\nnames highest on the list. In this choice the house votes by states,\neach state having one vote; a quorum for this purpose must consist of at\nleast one member from two thirds of the states, and a majority of all\nthe states is necessary for a choice. Then if no candidate for the\nvice-presidency has a majority, the Senate makes its choice from the two\nnames highest on the list; a quorum for the purpose consists of two\nthirds of the whole number of senators, and a majority of the whole\nnumber is necessary to a choice. Since this amendment was made there has\nbeen one instance of an election of the president by the House of\nRepresentatives,--that of John Quincy Adams in 1825; and there has been\none instance of an election of the vice-president by the Senate,--that\nof Richard Mentor Johnson in 1837.\n\n[Sidenote: The electoral commission (1877).]\nOne serious difficulty was not yet foreseen and provided for--that of\ndeciding between two conflicting returns sent in by two hostile sets of\nelectors in the same state, each list being certified by one of two\nrival governors claiming authority in the same state. Such a case\noccurred in 1877, when Florida, Louisiana, and South Carolina were the\nscene of struggles between rival governments. Ballots for Tilden and\nballots for Hayes were sent in at the same time from these states, and\nin the absence of any recognized means of determining which ballots to\ncount, the two parties in Congress submitted the result to arbitration.\nAn \"electoral commission\" was created for the occasion, composed of five\nsenators, five representatives, and five judges of the supreme court;\nand this body decided what votes were to be counted. It was a clumsy\nexpedient, but infinitely preferable to civil war. The question of\nconflicting returns has at length been set at rest by the act of 1887,\nwhich provides that no electoral votes can be rejected in counting\nexcept by the concurrent action of the two houses of Congress.\n\n[Sidenote: Presidential succession.]\nThe devolution of the presidential office in case of the president's\ndeath has also been made the subject of legislative change and\namendment. The office of vice-president was created chiefly for the\npurpose of meeting such an emergency. Upon the accession of the\nvice-president to the presidency, the Senate would proceed to elect its\nown president _pro tempore_. An act of 1791 provided that in case of the\ndeath, resignation or disability of both president and vice-president,\nthe succession should devolve first upon the president _pro tempore_ of\nthe Senate and then upon the speaker of the House of Representatives,\nuntil the disability should be removed or a new election be held. But\nsupposing a newly elected president to die and be succeeded by the\nvice-president before the assembling of the newly elected Congress; then\nthere would be no president _pro tempore_ of the Senate and no speaker\nof the House of Representatives, and thus the death of one person might\ncause the presidency to lapse. Moreover the presiding officers of the\ntwo houses of Congress might be members of the party defeated in the\nlast presidential election; indeed, this is often the case. Sound policy\nand fair dealing require that a victorious party shall not be turned out\nbecause of the death of the president and vice-president. Accordingly an\nact of 1886 provided that in such an event the succession should devolve\nupon the members of the cabinet in the following order: secretary of\nstate, secretary of the treasury, secretary of war, attorney-general,\npostmaster-general, secretary of the navy, secretary of the interior.\nThis would seem to be ample provision against a lapse.\n\n[Sidenote: Original purpose of the electoral college not fulfilled.]\nTo return to the electoral college: it was devised as a safeguard\nagainst popular excitement. It was supposed that the electors in their\nDecember meeting would calmly discuss the merits of the ablest men in\nthe country and make an intelligent selection for the presidency. The\nelectors were to use their own judgment, and it was not necessary\nthat all the electors chosen in one state should vote for the same\ncandidate. The people on election day were not supposed to be voting\nfor a president but for presidential electors. This theory was never\nrealized. The two elections of Washington, in 1788 and 1792, were\nunanimous. In the second contested election, that of 1800, the\nelectors simply registered the result of the popular vote, and it has\nbeen so ever since. Immediately after the popular election, a whole\nmonth before the meeting of the electoral college, we know who is to\nbe the next president. There is no law to prevent an elector from\nvoting for a different pair of candidates from those at the head of\nthe party ticket, but the custom has become as binding as a statute.\nThe elector is chosen to vote for specified candidates, and he must do\nso.\n\n[Sidenote: Electors formerly chosen in many states by districts; now\nusually on a general ticket.]\nOn the other hand, it was not until long after 1800 that all the\nelectoral votes of the same state were necessarily given to the same\npair of candidates. It was customary in many states to choose the\nelectors by districts. A state entitled to ten electors would choose\neight of them in its eight congressional districts, and there were\nvarious ways of choosing the other two. In some of the districts one\nparty would have a majority, in others the other, and so the electoral\nvote of the state would be divided between two pairs of candidates.\nAfter 1830 it became customary to choose the electors upon a general\nticket, and thus the electoral vote became solid in each state.[13]\n\n[Footnote 13: In 1860 the vote of New Jersey was divided between Lincoln\nand Douglas, but that was because the names of three of\nthe seven Douglas electors were upon two different tickets, and\nthus got a majority of votes while the other four fell short. In\n1892 the state of Michigan chose its electors by districts.]\n\n[Sidenote: Minority presidents.]\n[Sidenote: Advantages of the electoral system.]\nThis system, of course, increases the chances of electing presidents who\nhave received a minority of the popular vote. A candidate may carry one\nstate by an immense majority and thus gain 6 or 8 electoral votes; he\nmay come within a few hundred of carrying another state and thus lose 36\nelectoral votes. Or a small third party may divert some thousands of\nvotes from the principal candidate without affecting the electoral vote\nof the state. Since Washington's second term we have had twenty-three\ncontested elections,[14] and in nine of these the elected president has\nfailed to receive a majority of the popular vote; Adams in 1824 (elected\nby the House of Representatives), Polk in 1844, Taylor in 1848, Buchanan\nin 1856, Lincoln in 1860, Hayes in 1876, Garfield in 1880, Cleveland in\n1884, Harrison in 1888. This has suggested more or less vague\nspeculation as to the advisableness of changing the method of electing\nthe president. It has been suggested that it would be well to abolish\nthe electoral college, and resort to a direct popular vote, without\nreference to state lines. Such a method would be open to one serious\nobjection. In a closely contested election on the present method the\nresult may remain doubtful for three or four days, while a narrow\nmajority of a few hundred votes in some great state is being ascertained\nby careful counting. It was so in 1884. This period of doubt is sure to\nbe a period of intense and dangerous excitement. In an election without\nreference to states, the result would more often be doubtful, and it\nwould be sometimes necessary to count every vote in every little\nout-of-the-way corner of the country before the question could be\nsettled. The occasions for dispute would be multiplied a hundred fold,\nwith most demoralizing effect. Our present method is doubtless clumsy,\nbut the solidity of the electoral colleges is a safeguard, and as all\nparties understand the system it is in the long run as fair for one as\nfor another.\n\n\n[Footnote 14: All have been contested, except Monroe's re-election in\n1820, when there was no opposing candidate.]\n\n[Sidenote: Nomination of candidates by congressional caucus\n(1800-24).]\nThe Constitution says nothing about the method of nominating candidates\nfor the presidency, neither has it been made the subject of legislation.\nIt has been determined by convenience. It was not necessary to nominate\nWashington, and the candidacies of Adams and Jefferson were also matters\nof general understanding. In 1800 the Republican and Federalist members\nof Congress respectively held secret meetings or caucuses, chiefly for\nthe purpose of agreeing upon candidates for the vice-presidency and\nmaking some plans for the canvass. It became customary to nominate\ncandidates in such congressional caucuses, but there was much hostile\ncomment upon the system as undemocratic. Sometimes the \"favourite son\"\nof a state was nominated by the legislature, but as the means of travel\nimproved, the nominating convention came to be preferred. In 1824 there\nwere four candidates for the presidency,--Adams, Jackson, Clay, and\nCrawford. Adams was nominated by the legislatures of most of the New\nEngland states; Clay by the legislature of Kentucky, followed by the\nlegislatures of Missouri, Ohio, Illinois, and Louisiana; Crawford by the\nlegislature of Virginia; and Jackson by a mass convention of the people\nof Blount County in Tennessee, followed by local conventions in many\nother states. The congressional caucus met and nominated Crawford, but\nthis endorsement did not help him,[15] and this method was no longer\ntried. In 1832 for the first time the candidates were all nominated in\nnational conventions.\n\n[Footnote 15: Stanwood, _History of Presidential Elections_, pp.\n80-83.]\n\n[Sidenote: Nomination conventions.]\n[Sidenote: The \"primary.\"]\nThese conventions, as fully developed, are representative bodies\nchosen for the specific purpose of nominating candidates and making\nthose declarations of principle and policy known as \"platforms.\" Each\nstate is allowed twice as many delegates as it has electoral votes.\nThe delegates are chosen by local conventions in their several\nstates, viz., two for each congressional district by the party\nconvention of that district, and four for the whole state (called\ndelegates-at-large) by the state convention. As each convention is\ncomposed of delegates from primaries, it is the composition of the\nprimaries which determines that of the local conventions, and it is\nthe composition of the local conventions which determines that of the\nnational.[16] The \"primary\" is the smallest nominating convention. It\nstands in somewhat the same relation to the national convention as the\nrelation of a township or ward to the whole United States. A primary\nis a little caucus of all the voters of one party who live within the\nbounds of the township or ward. It differs in composition from the\ntown-meeting in that all its members belong to one party. It has two\nduties: one is to nominate candidates for the local offices of the\ntownship or ward; the other is to choose delegates to the county or\ndistrict convention. The primary, as its name indicates, is a primary\nand not a representative assembly. The party voters in a township or\nward are usually not too numerous to meet together, and all ought to\nattend such meetings, though in practice too many people stay away. By\nthe representative system, through various grades of convention, the\nwishes and character of these countless little primaries are at\nlength expressed in the wishes and character of the national party\nconvention, and candidates for the presidency and vice-presidency are\nnominated.\n\n[Footnote 16: Bryce, _American Commonwealth_, vol. ii. p. 145; see\nalso p. 52.]\n\n\n[Sidenote: Qualifications for the presidency.]\nThe qualifications for the two offices are of course the same.\nForeign-born citizens are not eligible, though this restriction did\nnot include such as were citizens of the United States at the time\nwhen the Constitution was adopted. The candidate must have reached the\nage of thirty-five, and must have been fourteen years a resident of\nthe United States.\n\n\n[Sidenote: The term of office]\nThe president's term of office is four years. The Constitution says\nnothing about his re-election, and there is no written law to prevent\nhis being re-elected a dozen times. But Washington, after serving two\nterms, refused to accept the office a third time. Jefferson in 1808\nwas \"earnestly besought by many and influential bodies of citizens to\nbecome a candidate for a third term;\" [17] and had he consented there\nis scarcely a doubt that he would have been elected. His refusal\nestablished a custom which has never been infringed, though there were\npersons in 1876 and again in 1880 who wished to secure a third term\nfor Grant.\n\n[Footnote 17: Morse's _Jefferson_, p. 318.]\n\n[Sidenote: Powers and duties of the President]\nThe president is commander-in-chief of the military and naval forces\nof the United States, and of the militia of the several states when\nactually engaged in the service of the United States; and he has the\nroyal prerogative of granting reprieves and pardons for offences\nagainst the United States, except in cases of impeachment.[18]\n\n[Footnote 18: See above, p. 221.]\n\n\nHe can make treaties with foreign powers, but they must be confirmed\nby a two thirds vote of the Senate. He appoints ministers to foreign\ncountries, consuls, and the greater federal officers, such as the\nheads of executive departments and judges of the Supreme Court, and\nall these appointments are subject to confirmation by the Senate. He\nalso appoints a vast number of inferior officers, such as postmasters\nand revenue collectors, without the participation of the Senate. When\nvacancies occur during the recess of the Senate, he may fill them by\ngranting commissions to expire at the end of the next session. He\ncommissions all federal officers. He receives foreign ministers. He\nmay summon either or both houses of Congress to an extra session, and\nif the two houses disagree with regard to the time of adjournment, he\nmay adjourn them to such time as he thinks best, but of course not\nbeyond the day fixed for the beginning of the next regular session.\n\n[Sidenote: The President's message.]\nThe president must from time to time make a report to Congress on the\nstate of affairs in the country and suggest such a line of policy or\nsuch special measures as may seem good to him. This report has taken\nthe form of an annual written message. Washington and Adams began\ntheir administrations by addressing Congress in a speech, to which\nCongress replied; but it suited the opposite party to discover in this\nan imitation of the British practice of opening Parliament with\na speech from the sovereign. It was accordingly stigmatized as\n\"monarchical,\" and Jefferson (though without formally alleging any\nsuch reason) set the example, which has been followed ever since,\nof addressing Congress in a written message.[19] Besides this annual\nmessage, the president may at any time send in a special message\nrelating to matters which in his opinion require immediate attention.\n\n[Footnote 19: Jefferson, moreover, was a powerful writer and a poor\nspeaker.]\n\nThe effectiveness of a president's message depends of course on the\ncharacter of the president and the general features of the political\nsituation. That separation between the executive and legislative\ndepartments, which is one of the most distinctive features of civil\ngovernment in the United States, tends to prevent the development of\nleadership. An English prime minister's policy, so long as he remains\nin office, must be that of the House of Commons; power and responsibility\nare concentrated. An able president may virtually direct the policy of\nhis party in Congress, but he often has a majority against him in one\nhouse and sometimes in both at once. Thus in dividing power we divide\nand weaken responsibility. To this point I have already alluded as\nillustrated in our state governments.[20]\n\n[Footnote 20: The English method, however, would probably not work\nwell in this country, and might prove to be a source of great and\ncomplicated dangers. See above, p. 169.]\n\n[Sidenote: Executive departments]\n[Sidenote: The cabinet]\nThe Constitution made no specific provisions for the creation of\nexecutive departments, but left the matter to Congress. At the\nbeginning of Washington's administration three secretaryships were\ncreated,--those of state, treasury, and war; and an attorney-general\nwas appointed. Afterward the department of the navy was separated\nfrom that of war, the postmaster-general was made a member of the\nadministration, and as lately as 1849 the department of the interior\nwas organized. The heads of these departments are the president's\nadvisers, but they have as a body no recognized legal existence or\nauthority. They hold their meetings in a room at the president's\nexecutive mansion, the White House, but no record is kept of their\nproceedings and the president is not bound to heed their advice. This\nbody has always been called the \"Cabinet,\" after the English usage. It\nis like the English cabinet in being composed of heads of executive\ndepartments and in being, as a body, unknown to the law; in other\nrespects the difference is very great. The English cabinet is the\nexecutive committee of the House of Commons, and exercises a guiding\nand directing influence upon legislation. The position of the president is\nnot at all like that of the prime minister; it is more like that of\nthe English sovereign, though the latter has not nearly so much power\nas the president; and the American cabinet in some respects resembles\nthe English privy council, though it cannot make ordinances.\n\n[Sidenote: The secretary of state.]\nThe secretary of state ranks first among our cabinet officers. He is\noften called our prime minister or \"premier,\" but there could not be\na more absurd use of language. In order to make an American personage\ncorresponding to the English prime minister we must first go to the\nHouse of Representatives, take its committee of ways and means and\nits committee on appropriations, and unite them into one committee of\nfinance; then we must take the chairman of this committee, give him\nthe power of dissolving the House and ordering a new election, and\nmake him master of all the executive departments, while at the\nsame time we strip from the president all real control over the\nadministration. This exalted finance-chairman would be much like the\nFirst Lord of the Treasury, commonly called the prime minister. This\nillustration shows how wide the divergence has become between our\nsystem and that of Great Britain.\n\nOur secretary of state is our minister of foreign affairs, and is the\nonly officer who is authorized to communicate with other governments in\nthe name of the president. He is at the head of the diplomatic and\nconsular service, issuing the instructions to our ministers abroad, and\nhe takes a leading part in the negotiation of treaties. To these\nministerial duties he adds some that are more characteristic of his\ntitle of secretary. He keeps the national archives, and superintends the\npublication of laws, treaties, and proclamations; and he is the keeper\nof the great seal of the United States.\n\n[Sidenote: Diplomatic and consular service.]\nOur foreign relations are cared for in foreign countries by two distinct\nclasses of officials: ministers and consuls. The former represent the\nUnited States government in a diplomatic capacity; the latter have\nnothing to do with diplomacy or politics, but look after our commercial\ninterests in foreign countries. Consuls exercise a protective care over\nseamen, and perform various duties for Americans abroad. They can take\ntestimony and administer estates. In some non-Christian countries, such\nas China, Japan, and Turkey, they have jurisdiction over criminal cases\nin which Americans are concerned. Formerly our ministers abroad were of\nonly three grades: (1) \"envoys extraordinary and ministers\nplenipotentiary;\" (2) \"ministers resident;\" (3) _charges d'affaires_.\nThe first two are accredited by the president to the head of government\nof the countries to which they are sent; the third are accredited by the\nsecretary of state to the minister of foreign affairs in the countries\nto which they are sent. We still retain these grades, which correspond\nto the lower grades of the diplomatic service in European countries.\nUntil lately we had no highest grade answering to that of \"ambassador,\"\nperhaps because when our diplomatic service was organized the United\nStates did not yet rank among first-rate powers, and could not expect to\nreceive ambassadors. Great powers, like France and Germany, send\nambassadors to each other, and envoys to inferior powers, like Denmark\nor Greece or Guatemala. When we send envoys to the great powers, we rank\nourselves along with inferior powers; and diplomatic etiquette as a rule\nobliges the great powers to send to us the same grade of minister that\nwe send to them. There were found to be some practical inconveniences\nabout this, so that in 1892 the highest grade was adopted and our\nministers to Great Britain and France were made ambassadors.\n\n[Sidenote: The secretary of the treasury.]\nThe cabinet officer second in rank and in some respects first in\nimportance is the secretary of the treasury. He conducts the financial\nbusiness of the government, superintends the collection of revenue,\nand gives warrants for the payment of moneys from the treasury. He\nalso superintends the coinage, the national banks, the custom-houses,\nthe coast-survey and lighthouse system, the marine hospitals, and\nlife-saving service.[21] He sends reports to Congress, and suggests\nsuch measures as seem good to him. Since the Civil War his most\nweighty business has been the management of the national debt. He\nis aided by two assistant secretaries, six auditors, a register, a\ncomptroller, a solicitor, a director of the mint, commissioner of\ninternal revenue, chiefs of the bureau of statistics and bureau of\nengraving and printing, etc. The business of the treasury department\nis enormous, and no part of our government has been more faithfully\nadministered. Since 1789 the treasury has disbursed more than seven\nbillions of dollars without one serious defalcation. No man directly\ninterested in trade or commerce can be appointed secretary of the\ntreasury, and the department has almost always been managed by \"men of\nsmall incomes bred either to politics or the legal profession.\" [22]\n\n[Footnote 21: Many of these details concerning the executive\ndepartments are admirably summarized, and with more fullness\nthan comports with the design of the present work, in Thorpe's\n_Government of the People of the United States_, pp. 183-193.]\n\n[Footnote 22: Schouler, _Hist. of the U.S._, vol. i. p. 95.]\n\n\n[Sidenote: War and navy.]\nThe war and navy departments need no special description here. The\nformer is divided into ten and the latter into eight bureaus.\nThe naval department, among many duties, has charge of the naval\nobservatory at Washington and publishes the nautical almanac.\n\n[Sidenote: Interior.]\nThe department of the interior conducts a vast and various business,\nas is shown by the designations of its eight bureaus, which deal with\npublic lands, Indian affairs, pensions, patents, education (chiefly in\nthe way of gathering statistics and reporting upon school affairs),\nagriculture, public documents, and the census. In 1889 the bureau of\nagriculture was organized as a separate department. The weather bureau\nforms a branch of the department of agriculture.\n\n[Sidenote: Postmaster-general and attorney-general.]\nThe departments of the postmaster-general and attorney-general need\nno special description. The latter was organized in 1870 into the\ndepartment of justice. The attorney-general is the president's legal\nadviser, and represents the United States in all law-suits to which\nthe United States is a party. He is aided by a solicitor-general and\nother subordinate offices.\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. Speak (1) of the president's share in legislation; (2) of his\nrelation to the executive department, and (3) of the origin\nof his title.\n\n2. The electoral college:--\n\n  a. The method of electing the president a perplexing question.\n  b. The constitution of the electoral college, with illustrations.\n  c. Qualifications for serving as an elector.\n  d. The method of choosing electors.\n  e. The time of choosing electors.\n  f. When and where the electors vote.\n  g. The number and disposition of the certificates of their\n  h. The declaration of the result.\n\n3. What was the method of voting in the electoral college before\n1804? Illustrate the working of this method in 1796 and 1800.\n\n4. The amendment of 1804:--\n\n  a. The ballots of the electors.\n  b. The duty of the House if no candidate for the presidency\n     receives a majority of the electoral votes.\n  c. The duty of the Senate if no candidate for the vice-presidency\n     receives a majority of the electoral votes.\n  d. Illustrations of the working of this amendment in 1825\n     and 1837.\n\n5. The electoral commission of 1877:--\n\n  a. A difficulty not foreseen.\n  b. Conflicting returns in 1877.\n  c. The plan of arbitration adopted.\n\n6. The presidential succession:--\n\n  a. The office of vice-president.\n  b. The act of 1791.\n  c. The possibility of a lapse of the presidency.\n  d. The possibility of an unfair political overthrow.\n  e. The act of 1886.\n\n7. Compare the original purpose of the electoral college with\nthe fulfillment of that purpose.\n\n8. Explain the transition from a divided electoral vote in a state\nto a solid electoral vote.\n\n9. Show how a minority of the people may elect a president.\nWho have been elected by minorities?\n\n10. What is the advantage of the electoral system over a direct\npopular vote?\n\n11. Methods of nominating candidates for the presidency and\nvice-presidency before 1832:--\n\n  a. The absence of constitutional and legislative requirements.\n\n  b. Presidents not nominated.\n  c. Nominations by congressional caucuses.\n  d. Nominations by state legislatures.\n  e. Nominations by local conventions.\n\n12. Nominations by national conventions in 1832 and since:--\n\n  a. The nature of a national convention.\n  b. The platform.\n  c. The number of delegates from a state, and their election.\n  d. The relation of the \"primaries\" to district, state, and\n     national conventions.\n  e. The nature of the primary.\n  f. Its two duties.\n  g. The duty of the voter to attend the primaries.\n\n13. The presidency:--\n  a. Qualifications for the office.\n  b. The term of office.\n\n14. Powers and duties of the president:--\n  a. As a commander-in-chief.\n  b. In respect to reprieves and pardons.\n  c. In respect to treaties with foreign powers.\n  d. In respect to the appointment of federal officers.\n  e. In respect to summoning and adjourning Congress.\n  f. In respect to reporting the state of affairs in the country\n       to Congress.\n\n15. The president's message:--\n  a. The course of Washington and Adams.\n  b. The example of Jefferson.\n  c. The effectiveness of the message.\n  d. Power and responsibility in the English system.\n\ne. Power and\n     responsibility in the American system.\n\n16. Executive departments:--\n  a. The departments under Washington.\n  b. Later additions to the departments.\n  c. The \"Cabinet.\"\n  d. The resemblance between the English cabinet and our own.\n  e. The difference between the English cabinet and our own.\n\n17. The secretary of state:--\n  a. Is he a prime minister?\n  b. What would be necessary to make an American personage\n     correspond to an English prime minister?\n  c. What are the ministerial duties of the secretary of state?\n  d. What other duties has he more characteristic of his title?\n\n18. Our diplomatic and consular service:--\n  a. The distinction between ministers and consuls.\n  b. Three grades of ministers.\n  c. The persons to whom the three grades are accredited.\n  d. The grade of ambassador.\n\n19. The secretary of the treasury:--\n  a. His rank and importance.\n  b. His various duties.\n  c. His chief assistants.\n  d. The administration of the treasury department since 1789.\n\n20. The duties of the remaining cabinet officers:--\n  a. Of the secretary of war.\n  b. Of the secretary of the navy.\n  c. Of the secretary of the interior.\n  d. Of the postmaster-general.\n  e. Of the attorney-general.\n\n\nSection 4. _The Nation and the States._\n\nWe have left our Federal Convention sitting a good while at\nPhiladelphia, while we have thus undertaken to give a coherent account\nof our national executive organization, which has in great part grown\nup since 1789 with the growth of the nation. Observe how wisely the\nConstitution confines itself to a clear sketch of fundamentals, and\nleaves as much as possible to be developed by circumstances. In this\nfeature lies partly the flexible strength, the adaptableness, of our\nFederal Constitution. That strength lies partly also in the excellent\npartition of powers between the federal government and the several\nstates.\n\n[Sidenote: Difference between confederation and federal union.]\nWe have already remarked upon the vastness of the functions retained\nby the states. At the same time the powers granted to Congress have\nproved sufficient to bind the states together into a union that is\nmore than a mere confederation. From 1776 to 1789 the United States\n_were_ a confederation; after 1789 it was a federal nation. The\npassage from plural to singular was accomplished, although it took\nsome people a good while to realize the fact. The German language\nhas a neat way of distinguishing between a loose confederation and a\nfederal union. It calls the former a _Staatenbund_ and the latter\na _Bundesstaat_. So in English, if we liked, we might call the\nconfederation a _Band-of-States_ and the federal union a _Banded-State_.\nThere are two points especially in our Constitution which transformed\nour country from a Band-of-States into a Banded-State.\n\n[Sidenote: Powers granted to Congress.]\nThe first was the creation of a federal House of Representatives, thus\nsecuring for Congress the power to lay and collect taxes, duties,\nimposts, and excises, to pay the debts and provide for the common\nwelfare of the United States. Other powers are naturally attached to\nthis,--such as the power to borrow money on the credit of the United\nStates; to regulate foreign and domestic commerce; to coin money\nand fix the standard of weights and measures; to provide for\nthe punishment of counterfeiters; to establish post-offices and\npost-roads; to issue copyrights and patents; to define and punish\nfelonies committed on the high seas, and offences against the law of\nnations; to declare war, grant letters of marque and reprisal, and\nmake rules concerning captures on land and water; to raise and\nsupport an army and navy, and to make rules for the regulation of\nthe land and naval forces; to provide for calling out the militia\nto suppress insurrections and repel invasions, and to command this\nmilitia while actually employed in the service of the United States.\nThe several states, however, train their own militia and appoint\nthe officers. Congress may also establish a uniform rule of\nnaturalization, and uniform laws on the subject of bankruptcies. It\nalso exercises exclusive control over the District of Columbia,[23]\nas the seat of the national government, and over forts, magazines,\narsenals, dockyards, and other needful buildings, which it erects\nwithin the several states upon land purchased for such purposes with\nthe consent of the state legislature.\n\n\n[Footnote 23: Ceded to the United States by Maryland and Virginia.]\n\n[Sidenote: The \"Elastic Clause.\"]\nCongress is also empowered \"to make all laws which shall be necessary\nand proper for carrying into execution the foregoing powers and all\nother powers vested by this Constitution in the government of the\nUnited States, or in any department or office thereof.\" This may be\ncalled the Elastic Clause of the Constitution; it has undergone a\ngood deal of stretching for one purpose and another, and, as we shall\npresently see, it was a profound disagreement in the interpretation of\nthis clause that after 1789 divided the American people into two great\npolitical parties.\n\n[Sidenote: Powers denied to the states.]\n[Sidenote: Paper currency.]\nThe national authority of Congress is further sharply defined by the\nexpress denial of sundry powers to the several states. These we have\nalready enumerated.[24] There was an especial reason for prohibiting\nthe states from issuing bills of credit, or making anything but gold\nand silver coin a tender in payment of debts. During the years 1785\nand 1786 a paper money craze ran through the country; most of the\nstates issued paper notes, and passed laws obliging their citizens to\nreceive them in payment of debts. Now a paper dollar is not money, it\nis only the government's promise to pay a dollar. As long as you can\nsend it to the treasury and get a gold dollar in exchange, it is worth\na dollar. It is this exchangeableness that makes it worth a dollar.\nWhen government makes the paper dollar note a \"legal tender.\" i.e.,\nwhen it refuses to give you the gold dollar and makes you take its\nnote instead, the note soon ceases to be worth a dollar. You would\nrather have the gold than the note, for the mere fact that government\nrefuses to give the gold shows that it is in financial difficulties.\nSo the note's value is sure to fall, and if the government is in\nserious difficulty, it falls very far, and as it falls it takes more\nof it to buy things. Prices go up. There was a time (1864) during our\nCivil War when a paper dollar was worth only forty cents and a barrel\nof flour cost $23. But that was nothing to the year 1780, when the\npaper dollar issued by the Continental Congress was worth only a mill,\nand flour was sold in Boston for $1,575 a barrel! When the different\nstates tried to make paper money, it made confusion worse confounded,\nfor the states refused to take each other's money, and this helped to\nlower its value. In some states the value of the paper dollar fell in\nless than a year to twelve or fifteen cents. At such times there is\nalways great demoralization and suffering, especially among the poorer\npeople; and with all the experience of the past to teach us, it may\nnow be held to be little less than a criminal act for a government,\nunder any circumstances, to make its paper notes a legal tender. The\nexcuse for the Continental Congress was that it was not completely a\ngovernment and seemed to have no alternative, but there is no doubt\nthat the paper currency damaged the country much more than the arms of\nthe enemy by land or sea. The feeling was so strong about it in the\nFederal Convention that the prohibition came near being extended to\nthe national government, but the question was unfortunately left\nundecided.[25]\n\n[Footnote 24: See above, p.175]\n\n[Footnote 25: See my _Critical Period of American History_, pp.\n168-186, 273-276.]\n\n[Sidenote: Powers denied to Congress.]\n[Sidenote: Bills of attainder.]\nSome express prohibitions were laid upon the national government. Duties\nmay be laid upon imports but not upon exports; this wise restriction was\na special concession to South. Carolina, which feared the effect of an\nexport duty upon rice and indigo. Duties and excises must be uniform\nthroughout the country, and no commercial preference can be shown to one\nstate over another; absolute free trade is the rule between the states.\nA census must be taken every ten years in order to adjust the\nrepresentation, and no direct tax can be imposed except according to the\ncensus. No money can be drawn from the treasury except \"in consequence\nof appropriations made by law,\" and accounts must be regularly kept and\npublished. The privilege of the writ of _habeas corpus_ cannot be\nsuspended except \"when, in case of rebellion or invasion, the public\nsafety may require it;\" and \"no bill of attainder, or _ex post facto_\nlaw,\" can be passed. A bill of attainder is a special legislative act by\nwhich a person may be condemned to death, or to outlawry and banishment,\nwithout the opportunity of defending himself which he would have in a\ncourt of law. \"No evidence is necessarily adduced to support it,\" [26] and\nin former times, especially in the reign of Henry VIII., it was a\nformidable engine for perpetrating judicial murders. Bills of attainder\nlong ago ceased to be employed in England, and the process was abolished\nby statute in 1870.\n\n[Footnote 26: Taswell-Langmead, _English Constitutional History_,\np. 385.]\n\n[Sidenote: Intercitizenship.]\nNo title of nobility can be granted by the United States, and no federal\nofficer can accept a present, office, or title from a foreign state\nwithout the consent of Congress. \"No religious test shall ever be\nrequired as a qualification to any office or public trust under the\nUnited States.\" Full faith and credit must be given in each state to the\npublic acts and records, and to the judicial proceedings of every other\nstate; and it is left for Congress to determine the manner in which such\nacts and proceedings shall be proved or certified. The citizens of each\nstate are \"entitled to all privileges and immunities of citizens in the\nseveral states.\" There is mutual extradition of criminals, and, as a\nconcession to the southern states it was provided that fugitive slaves\nshould be surrendered to their masters. The United States guarantees to\nevery state a republican form of government, it protects each state\nagainst invasion; and on application from the legislature of a state, or\nfrom the executive when the legislature cannot be convened, it lends a\nhand in suppressing insurrection.\n\n[Sidenote: Mode of making amendments.]\nAmendments to the Constitution may at any time be proposed in\npursuance of a two thirds vote in both houses of Congress, or by a\nconvention called at the request of the legislatures of two thirds of\nthe states. The amendments are not in force until ratified by three-fourths\nof the states, either through their legislatures or through\nspecial conventions, according to the preference of Congress. This\nmakes it difficult to change the Constitution, as it ought to be; but\nit leaves it possible to introduce changes that are very obviously\ndesirable. The Articles of Confederation could not be amended except\nby a unanimous vote of the states; and this made their amendment\nalmost impossible.\n\nAfter assuming all debts contracted and engagements made by the United\nStates before its adoption, the Constitution goes on to declare itself\nthe supreme law of the land. By it, and by the laws and treaties made\nunder it, the judges in every state are bound, in spite of anything\ncontrary in the constitution or laws of any state.\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. In what two features of the Constitution does its strength\nlargely lie?\n\n2. Distinguish between the United States as a confederation and the\nUnited States as a federal union. How does the German language bring out\nthe distinction?\n\n3. What was the first important factor in transforming our\ncountry from a Band-of-States to a Banded-State?\n\n4. The powers granted to Congress:--\n  a. Over taxes, money, and commerce.\n  b. Over postal affairs, and the rights of inventors and authors.\n  c. Over certain crimes.\n  d. Over war and military matters.\n  e. Over naturalization and bankruptcy.\n  f. Over the District of Columbia and other places.\n  g. The \"elastic clause\" and its interpretation.\n\n5. The powers denied to the states:--\n  a. An enumeration of these powers.\n  b. The prohibition of bills of credit, in particular.\n  c. The paper money craze of 1785 and 1786.\n  d. Paper money as a \"legal tender.\"\n  e. The depreciation of paper money during the Civil War.\n  f. The depreciation of the Continental currency in 1780.\n  g. The demoralization caused by the states making paper money.\n  h. The lesson of experience.\n\n6. Prohibitions upon the national government:--\n  a. The imposition of duties and taxes.\n  b. The payment of money.\n  c. The writ of _habeas corpus_.\n  d. _Ex post facto_ laws.\n  e. Bills of attainder.\n  f. Titles and presents.\n\n7. Duties of the states to one another:--\n  a. In respect to public acts and records, and judicial proceedings.\n  b. In respect to the privileges of citizens.\n  c. In respect to fugitives from justice.\n\n8. What is the duty of the United States to every state in\nrespect (1) to form of government, (2) invasion, and (3)\ninsurrection?\n\n9. Amendments to the Constitution:--\n  a. Two methods of proposing amendments.\n  b. Two methods of ratifying amendments,\n  c. The difficulty of making amendments.\n  d. Amendment of the Articles of Confederation.\n\n10. What is meant by the Constitution's declaring itself the\nsupreme law of the land?\n\n\n\nSection 5. _The Federal Judiciary_.\n\n[Sidenote: Need for a federal judiciary.]\nThe creation of a federal judiciary was the second principal feature in\nthe Constitution, which transformed our country from a loose\nconfederation into a federal nation, from a _Band-of-States_ into a\n_Banded-State_. We have seen that the American people were already\nsomewhat familiar with the method of testing the constitutionality of a\nlaw by getting the matter brought before the courts.[27] In the case of\na conflict between state law and federal law, the only practicable\npeaceful solution is that which is reached through a judicial decision.\nThe federal authority also needs the machinery of courts in order to\nenforce its own decrees.\n\n[Footnote 27: See above p. 194.]\n\n[Sidenote: Federal courts and judges.]\n[Sidenote: District attorneys and marshals.]\nThe federal judiciary consists of a supreme court, circuit courts, and\ndistrict courts.[28] At present the supreme court consists of a chief\njustice and eight associate justices. It holds annual sessions in the\ncity of Washington, beginning on the second Monday of October. Each of\nthese nine judges is also presiding judge of a circuit court. The area\nof the United States, not including the territories, is divided into\nnine circuits, and in each circuit the presiding judge is assisted\nby special circuit judges. The circuits are divided into districts,\nfifty-six in all, and in each of these there is a special district\njudge. The districts never cross state lines. Sometimes a\nstate is one district, but populous states with much business are\ndivided into two or even three districts. \"The circuit courts sit\nin the several districts of each circuit successively, and the law\nrequires that each justice of the supreme court shall sit in each\ndistrict of his circuit at least once every two years.\" [29] District\njudges are not confined to their own districts; they may upon occasion\nexchange districts as ministers exchange pulpits. A district judge\nmay, if need be, act as a circuit judge, as a major may command a\nregiment. All federal judges are appointed by the president, with the\nconsent of the Senate, to serve during good behaviour. Each district\nhas its _district attorney_, whose business is to prosecute\noffenders against the federal laws and to conduct civil cases in\nwhich the national government is either plaintiff or defendant. Each\ndistrict has also its marshal, who has the same functions under the\nfederal court as the sheriff under the state court. The procedure of\nthe federal court usually follows that of the courts of the state in\nwhich it is sitting.\n\n[Footnote 28: See the second note on p.278.]\n\n[Footnote 29: See Wilson, _The State_, p. 554. I have closely\nfollowed, though, with much abridgment, the excellent description of\nour federal judiciary, pp. 555-561.]\n\n[Sidenote: The federal jurisdiction.]\nThe federal jurisdiction covers two classes of cases: (1) those\nwhich come before it \"_because of the nature of the questions\ninvolved_: for instance, admiralty and maritime cases, navigable\nwaters being within the exclusive jurisdiction of the federal\nauthorities, and cases arising out of the Constitution, laws, or\ntreaties of the United States or out of conflicting grants made by\ndifferent states\"; (2) those which come before it \"_because of the\nnature of the parties to the suit_,\" such as cases affecting the\nministers of foreign powers or suits between citizens of different\nstates.\n\nThe division of jurisdiction between the upper and lower federal\ncourts is determined chiefly by the size and importance of the cases.\nIn cases where a state or a foreign minister is a party the supreme\ncourt has original jurisdiction, in other cases it has appellate\njurisdiction, and \"any case which involves the interpretation of the\nConstitution can be taken to the supreme court, however small the sum\nin dispute.\" If a law of any state or of the United States is decided\nby the supreme court to be in violation of the Constitution, it\ninstantly becomes void and of no effect. In this supreme exercise\nof jurisdiction, our highest federal tribunal is unlike any other\ntribunal known to history. The supreme court is the most original of\nall American institutions. It is peculiarly American, and for its\nexalted character and priceless services it is an institution of which\nAmericans may well be proud.\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. What was the second important factor in transforming our country\nfrom a Band-of-States to a Banded-State?\n\n2. Why was a federal judiciary deemed necessary?\n\n3. The organization of the federal judiciary:--\n  a. The supreme court and its sessions.\n  b. The circuit courts.\n  c. The district courts.\n  d. Exchanges of service.\n  e. Appointment of judges.\n  f. The United States district attorney.\n  g. The United States marshal.\n\n4. The jurisdiction of the federal courts:--\n  a. Cases because of the nature of the questions involved.\n  b. Cases because of the nature of the parties to the suit.\n  c. The division of jurisdiction between the upper and the lower\n     courts.\n  d. Wherein the supreme court is the most original of American\n     institutions.\n\n\nSection 6. _Territorial Government._\n\n[Sidenote: The Northwest Territory.]\n[Sidenote: The Ordinance of 1787.]\nThe Constitution provided for the admission of new states to the\nUnion, but it does not allow a state to be formed within another\nstate. A state cannot \"be formed by the junction of two or more\nstates, or parts of states, without the consent of the legislatures of\nthe states concerned as well as of the Congress.\" Shortly before the\nmaking of the Constitution, the United States had been endowed for the\nfirst time with a public domain. The territory northwest of the Ohio\nRiver had been claimed, on the strength of old grants and charters, by\nMassachusetts, Connecticut, New York, and Virginia. In 1777 Maryland\nrefused to sign the Articles of Confederation until these states\nshould agree to cede their claims to the United States, and thus in\n1784 the federal government came into possession of a magnificent\nterritory, out of which five great states--Ohio, Indiana, Illinois,\nMichigan, and Wisconsin--have since been made. While the Federal\nConvention was sitting at Philadelphia, the Continental Congress at\nNew York was doing almost its last and one of its greatest pieces\nof work in framing the Ordinance of 1787 for the organization and\ngovernment of this newly acquired territory. The ordinance created a\nterritorial government with governor and two-chambered legislature,\ncourts, magistrates, and militia. Complete civil and religious liberty\nwas guaranteed, <DW64> slavery was prohibited, and provision was made\nfor free schools.[30]\n\n[Footnote 30: The manner in which provision should be made for these\nschools had been pointed out two years before in the land-ordinance of\n1785, as heretofore explained. See above, p. 86.]\n\n[Sidenote: Other territories and their government.]\nIn 1803 the enormous territory known as Louisiana, comprising\neverything (except Texas) between the Mississippi River and the crest\nof the Rocky Mountains, was purchased from France. A claim upon the\nOregon territory was soon afterward made by discovery and exploration,\nand finally settled in 1846 by treaty with Great Britain. In 1848 by\nconquest and in 1853 by purchase the remaining Pacific lands were\nacquired from Mexico. All of this vast region has been at some time\nunder territorial government. As for Texas, on the other hand, it\nhas never been a territory. Texas revolted from Mexico in 1836 and\nremained an independent state until 1845, when it was admitted to\nthe Union. Territorial government has generally passed through three\nstages: first, there are governors and judges appointed by the\npresident; then as population increases, there is added a legislature\nchosen by the people and empowered to make laws subject to\nconfirmation by Congress; finally, entire legislative independence is\ngranted. The territory is then ripe for admission to the Union as a\nstate.\n\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. What is the constitutional provision for admitting new states?\n\n2. What states claimed the territory northwest of the Ohio river? On\nwhat did they base their claims?\n\n3. Why was this territory ceded to the general government?\n\n4. What states have since been made out of this territory?\n\n5. What was the Ordinance of 1787?\n\n6. What were the principal provisions of this ordinance?\n\n7. Give an account of the Louisiana purchase?\n\n8. Give an account of the acquisition of the Oregon territory.\n\n9. Give an account of the acquisition of the remaining Pacific lands.\n\n10. How came Texas to belong to the United States?\n\n11. How much of the public domain has been at some time under\nterritorial government?\n\n12. Through what three stages has territorial government usually\npassed?\n\n\nSection 7. _Ratification and Amendments._\n\n[Sidenote: Concessions to the South.]\nThus the work of the Ordinance of 1787 was in a certain sense\nsupplementary to the work of framing the Constitution. When the latter\ninstrument was completed, it was provided that \"the ratifications\nof the conventions of nine states shall be sufficient for the\nestablishment of this Constitution between the states so ratifying the\nsame.\" The Constitution was then laid before the Continental Congress,\nwhich submitted it to the states. In one state after another,\nconventions were held, and at length the Constitution was ratified.\nThere was much opposition to it, because it seemed to create a strange\nand untried form of government which might develop into a\ntyranny. There was a fear that the federal power might crush out\nself-government in the states. This dread was felt in all parts of the\ncountry. Besides this, there was some sectional opposition between\nNorth and South, and in Virginia there was a party in favour of a\nseparate southern confederacy. But South Carolina and Georgia were won\nover by the concessions in the Constitution to slavery, and especially\na provision that the importation of slaves from Africa should not\nbe prohibited until 1808. By winning South Carolina and Georgia the\nformation of a \"solid South\" was prevented.\n\n[Sidenote: Bill of Rights proposed.]\nThe first states to adopt the Constitution were Delaware,\nPennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia, and Connecticut, with slight\nopposition, except in Pennsylvania. Next came Massachusetts, where the\nconvention was very large, the discussion very long, and the action\nin one sense critical. One chief source of dissatisfaction was the\nabsence of a sufficiently explicit Bill of Rights, and to meet this\ndifficulty, Massachusetts ratified the Constitution, but proposed\namendments, and this course was followed by other states. Maryland and\nSouth Carolina came next, and New Hampshire made the ninth. Virginia\nand New York then ratified by very narrow majorities and after\nprolonged discussion. North Carolina did not come in until 1789, and\nRhode Island not until 1790.\n\n[Sidenote: The first ten amendments.]\n\nIn September, 1789, the first ten amendments were proposed by\nCongress, and in December, 1791, they were declared in force. Their\nprovisions are similar to those of the English Bill of Rights, enacted\nin 1689,[31] but are much more full and explicit. They provide for\nfreedom of speech and of the press, the free exercise of religion, the\nright of the people to assemble and petition Congress for a redress\nof grievances, their right to bear arms, and to be secure against\nunreasonable searches and seizures. The quartering of soldiers is\nguarded, general search-warrants are prohibited, jury trial is\nguaranteed, and the taking of private property for public use without\ndue compensation, as well as excessive fines and bail and the\ninfliction of \"cruel and unusual punishment\" are forbidden. Congress\nis prohibited from establishing any form of religion.\n\n[Footnote 31: See above, p. 190. This is further elucidated in\nAppendixes B and D.]\n\nFinally, it is declared that \"the enumeration of certain rights shall\nnot be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people,\"\nand that \"the powers not granted to the United States by the\nConstitution, nor prohibited by it to the states, are reserved to the\nstates respectively, or to the people.\"\n\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. What provision did the Constitution make for its own ratification?\n\n2. What was the general method of ratification in the states?\n\n3. On what general grounds did the opposition to the Constitution seem\nto be based?\n\n4. By what feature in the Constitution was the support of South\nCarolina and Georgia assured? Why was this support deemed peculiarly\ndesirable?\n\n5. What five states ratified the Constitution with little or no\nopposition?\n\n6. What was the objection of Massachusetts and some other states to\nthe Constitution? What course, therefore, did they adopt?\n\n7. What three states after Massachusetts by their ratification made\nthe adoption of the Constitution secure?\n\n8. What four states subsequently gave in their support?\n\n9. Give an account of the adoption of the first ten amendments.\n\n10. For what do these amendments provide?\n\n11. What powers are reserved to the states?\n\n\nSection 8. _A Few Words about Politics._\n\n[Sidenote: Federal taxation.]\nA chief source of the opposition to the new federal government was the\ndread of federal taxation. People who found it hard to pay their town,\ncounty, and state taxes felt that it would be ruinous to have to pay\nstill another kind of tax. In the mere fact of federal taxation,\ntherefore, they were inclined to see tyranny. With people in such a\nmood it was necessary to proceed cautiously in devising measures of\nfederal taxation.\n\n[Sidenote: Excise.]\nThis was well understood by our first secretary of the treasury,\nAlexander Hamilton, and in the course of his administration of the\ntreasury he was once roughly reminded of it. The two methods of federal\ntaxation adopted at his suggestion were duties on imports and excise on\na few domestic products, such as whiskey and tobacco. The excise, being\na tax which people could see and feel, was very unpopular, and in 1794\nthe opposition to it in western Pennsylvania grew into the famous\n\"Whiskey Insurrection,\" against which President Washington thought it\nprudent to send an army of 16,000 men. This formidable display of\nfederal power suppressed the insurrection without bloodshed.\n\n[Sidenote: Tariff.]\nNowhere was there any such violent opposition to Hamilton's scheme of\ncustom-house duties on imported goods. People had always been familiar\nwith such duties. In the colonial times they had been levied by the\nBritish government without calling forth resistance until Charles\nTownshend made them the vehicle of a dangerous attack upon American\nself-government.[32] After the Declaration of Independence, custom-house\nduties were levied by the state governments and the proceeds were paid\ninto the treasuries of the several states. Before 1789, much trouble had\narisen from oppressive tariff-laws enacted by some of the states against\nothers. By taking away from the states the power of taxing imports, the\nnew Constitution removed this source of irritation. It became possible\nto lighten the burden of custom-house duties, while by turning the full\nstream of them into the federal treasury an abundant national revenue\nwas secured at once. Thus this part of Hamilton's policy met with\ngeneral approval. The tariff has always been our favourite device for\nobtaining a national revenue. During our Civil War, indeed, the\nnational, government resorted extensively to direct taxation, chiefly in\nthe form of revenue stamps, though it also put a tax upon\nbilliard-tables, pianos, gold watches, and all sorts of things. But\nafter the return of peace these unusual taxes were one after another\ndiscontinued, and since then our national revenue has been raised, as in\nHamilton's time, from duties on imports and excise on a few domestic\nproducts, chiefly tobacco and distilled liquors.\n\n[Footnote 32: See my _War of Independence_, pp. 58-83; and my\n_History of the United States, for Schools_, pp. 192-203.]\n\n[Sidenote: Origin of American political parties.]\nHamilton's measures as secretary of the treasury embodied an entire\nsystem of public policy, and the opposition to them resulted in the\nformation of the two political parties into which, under one name or\nanother, the American people have at most times been divided. Hamilton's\nopponents, led by Jefferson, objected to his principal measures that\nthey assumed powers in the national government which were not granted to\nit by the Constitution. Hamilton then fell back upon the Elastic\nClause[33] of the Constitution, and maintained that such powers were\n_implied_ in it. Jefferson held that this doctrine of \"implied powers\"\nstretched the Elastic Clause too far. He held that the Elastic Clause\nought to be construed strictly and narrowly; Hamilton held that\nit ought to be construed loosely and liberally. Hence the names\n\"strict-constructionist\" and \"loose-constructionist,\" which mark perhaps\nthe most profound and abiding antagonism in the history of American\npolitics.\n\n[Footnote [33]: Article I, section viii, clause 18; see above, p. 245.]\n\nPractically all will admit that the Elastic Clause, if construed\nstrictly, ought not to be construed _too_ narrowly; and, if construed\nliberally, ought not to be construed _too_ loosely. Neither party has\nbeen consistent in applying its principles, but in the main we can call\nHamilton the founder of the Federalist party, which has had for its\nsuccessors the National Republicans of 1828, the Whigs of 1833 to 1852,\nand the Republicans of 1854 to the present time; while we can call\nJefferson the founder of the party which called itself Republican from\nabout 1792 to about 1828, and since then has been known as the\nDemocratic party. This is rather a rough description in view of the real\ncomplication of the historical facts, but it is an approximation to the\ntruth.\n\n[Sidenote: Tariff, Internal Improvements, and National Bank.]\nIt is not my purpose here to give a sketch of the history of American\nparties. Such a sketch, if given in due relative proportion, would\ndouble the size of this little book, of which the main purpose is to\ntreat of civil government in the United States with reference to its\n_origins_. But it may here be said in general that the practical\nquestions which have divided the two great parties have been concerned\nwith the powers of the national government as to (1) the _Tariff_; (2)\nthe making of roads, improving rivers and harbours, etc., under the\ngeneral head of _Internal Improvements_; and (3) the establishment of a\n_National Bank_, with the national government as partner holding shares\nin it and taking a leading part in the direction of its affairs. On the\nquestion of such a national bank the Democratic party achieved a\ncomplete and decisive victory under President Tyler. On the question of\ninternal improvements the opposite party still holds the ground, but\nmost of its details have been settled by the great development of the\npowers of private enterprise during the past sixty years, and it is not\nat present a \"burning question.\" The question of the tariff, however,\nremains to-day as a \"burning question,\" but it is no longer argued on\ngrounds of constitutional law, but on grounds of political economy.\nHamilton's construction of the Elastic Clause has to this extent\nprevailed, and mainly for the reason that a liberal construction of that\nclause was needed in order to give the national government enough power\nto restrict the spread of slavery and suppress the great rebellion of\nwhich slavery was the exciting cause.\n\n[Sidenote: Civil service reform.]\nAnother political question, more important, if possible, than that of\nthe Tariff, is to-day the question of the reform of the Civil Service;\nbut it is not avowedly made a party question. Twenty years ago both\nparties laughed at it; now both try to treat it with a show of respect\nand to render unto it lip-homage; and the control of the immediate\npolitical future probably lies with the party which treats it most\nseriously. It is a question that was not distinctly foreseen in the days\nof Hamilton and Jefferson, when the Constitution was made and adopted;\notherwise, one is inclined to believe, the framers of the Constitution\nwould have had something to say about it. The question as to the Civil\nService arises from the fact that the president has the power of\nappointing a vast number of petty officials, chiefly postmasters and\nofficials concerned with the collection of the federal revenue. Such\nofficials have properly nothing to do with politics; they are simply the\nagents or clerks or servants of the national government in conducting\nits business; and if the business of the national government is to be\nmanaged on such ordinary principles of prudence as prevail in the\nmanagement of private business, such servants ought to be selected for\npersonal merit and retained for life or during good behaviour. It did\nnot occur to our earlier presidents to regard the management of the\npublic business in any other light than this.\n\n[Sidenote: Origin of the \"spoils system.\"]\nBut as early as the beginning of the present century a vicious system\nwas growing up in New York and Pennsylvania. In those states the\nappointive offices came to be used as bribes or as rewards for partisan\nservices. By securing votes for a successful candidate, a man with\nlittle in his pocket and nothing in particular to do could obtain some\noffice with a comfortable salary. It would be given him as a reward, and\nsome other man, perhaps more competent than himself, would have to be\nturned out in order to make room for him. A more effective method of\ndriving good citizens \"out of politics\" could hardly be devised. It\ncalled to the front a large class of men of coarse moral fibre who\ngreatly preferred the excitement of speculating in politics to earning\nan honest living by some ordinary humdrum business. The civil service of\nthese states was seriously damaged in quality, politics degenerated into\na wild scramble for offices, salaries were paid to men who did little or\nno public service in return, and thus the line which separates taxation\nfrom robbery was often crossed.\n\n[Sidenote: \"Rotation in Office.\"]\n[Sidenote: The \"spoils system\" made national]\nAbout the same time there grew up an idea that there is something\nespecially democratic, and therefore meritorious, about \"rotation in\noffice.\" Government offices were regarded as plums at which every one\nought to be allowed a chance to take a bite. The way was prepared in\n1820 by W.H. Crawford, of Georgia, who succeeded in getting the law\nenacted that limits the tenure of office for postmasters, revenue\ncollectors, and other servants of the federal government to four years.\nThe importance of this measure was not understood, and it excited very\nlittle discussion at the time. The next presidential election which\nresulted in a change of party was that of Jackson in 1828, and then the\nmethods of New York and Pennsylvania were applied on a national scale.\nJackson cherished the absurd belief that the administration of his\npredecessor Adams had been corrupt, and he turned men out of office with\na keen zest. During the forty years between Washington's first\ninauguration and Jackson's the total number of removals from office was\n74, and out of this number 5 were defaulters. During the first year of\nJackson's administration the number of changes made in the civil\nservice was about 2,000. [34] Such was the abrupt inauguration upon a\nnational scale of the so-called \"spoils system.\" The phrase originated\nwith W. L. Marcy, of New York, who in a speech in the senate in 1831\ndeclared that \"to the victors belong the spoils.\" The man who said this\nof course did not realize that he was making one of the most shameful\nremarks recorded in history. There was, however, much aptness in his\nphrase, inasmuch as it was a confession that the business of American\npolitics was about to be conducted on principles fit only for the\nwarfare of barbarians.\n\n[Footnote 34: Sumner's _Jackson_, p. 147.]\n\nIn the canvass of 1840 the Whigs promised to reform the civil service,\nand the promise brought them many Democratic votes; but after they had\nwon the election, they followed Jackson's example. The Democrats\nfollowed in the same way in 1845, and from that time down to 1885 it was\ncustomary at each change of party to make a \"clean sweep\" of the\noffices. Soon after the Civil War the evils of the system began to\nattract serious attention on the part of thoughtful people. The \"spoils\nsystem\" has helped to sustain all manner of abominations, from grasping\nmonopolies and civic jobbery down to political rum-shops. The virus runs\nthrough everything, and the natural tendency of the evil is to grow with\nthe growth of the country.\n\n[Sidenote: The Civil Service Act of 1883.]\nIn 1883 Congress passed the Civil Service Act, allowing the president to\nselect a board of examiners on whose recommendation appointments are\nmade. Candidates for office are subjected to an easy competitive\nexamination. The system has worked well in other countries, and under\nPresidents Arthur and Cleveland it was applied to a considerable part of\nthe civil service. It has also been adopted in some states and cities.\nThe opponents of reform object to the examination that it is not always\nintimately connected with the work of the office,[35] but, even if this\nwere so, the merit of the system lies in its removal of the offices from\nthe category of things known as \"patronage.\" It relieves the president\nof much needless work and wearisome importunity. The president and the\nheads of departments appoint (in many cases, through subordinates) about\n115,000 officials. It is therefore impossible to know much about their\ncharacter or competency. It becomes necessary to act by advice, and the\nadvice of an examining board is sure to be much better than the advice\nof political schemers intent upon getting a salaried office for their\nneedy friends. The examination system has made a fair beginning and will\ndoubtless be gradually improved and made more stringent. Something too\nhas been done toward stopping two old abuses attendant upon political\ncanvasses,--(1) forcing government clerks, under penalty of losing their\nplaces, to contribute part of their salaries for election purposes; (2)\nallowing government clerks to neglect their work in order to take an\nactive part in the canvass. Before the reform of the civil service can\nbe completed, however, it will be necessary to repeal Crawford's act of\n1820 and make the tenure of postmasters and revenue collectors as secure\nas that of the chief justice of the United States.\n\n[Footnote 35: The objection that the examination questions are\nirrelevant to the work of the office is often made the occasion of gross\nexaggeration. I have given, in Appendix I, an average sample of the\nexamination papers used in the customs service. It is taken from\nComstock's _Civil Service in the United States_, New York, Holt & Co.,\n1885, an excellent manual with very full particulars.]\n\n[Sidenote: The Australian ballot-system.]\nAnother political reform which promises excellent results is the\nadoption by many states of some form of the Australian ballot-system,\nfor the purpose of checking intimidation and bribery at elections. The\nballots are printed by the state, and contain the names of all the\ncandidates of all the parties. Against the name of each candidate the\nparty to which he belongs is designated, and against each name there is\na small vacant space to be filled with a cross. At the polling-place the\nballots are kept in an inclosure behind a railing, and no ballot can be\nbrought outside under penalty of fine or imprisonment[36]. One ballot is\nnailed against the wall outside the railing, so that it may be read at\nleisure. The space behind the railing is divided into separate booths\nquite screened from each other. Each booth is provided with a pencil and\na convenient shelf on which to write. The voter goes behind the railing,\ntakes the ballot which is handed him, carries it into one of the booths,\nand marks a cross against the names of the candidates for whom he votes.\nHe then puts his ballot into the box, and his name is checked off on the\nregister of voters of the precinct. This system is very simple, it\nenables a vote to be given in absolute secrecy, and it keeps \"heelers\"\naway from the polls. It is favourable to independence in voting,[37] and\nit is unfavourable to bribery, because unless the briber can follow his\nman to the polls and see how he votes, he cannot be sure that his bribe\nis effective. To make the precautions against bribery complete it will\ndoubtless be necessary to add to the secret ballot the English system of\naccounting for election expenses. All the funds used in an election must\npass through the hands of a small local committee, vouchers must be\nreceived for every penny that is expended, and after the election an\nitemized account must be made out and its accuracy attested under oath\nbefore a notary public. This system of accounting has put an end to\nbribery in England.[38]\n\n[Footnote 36: This is a brief description of the system lately adopted\nin Massachusetts. The penalty here mentioned is a fine not exceeding a\nthousand dollars, or imprisonment not exceeding one year, or both such\nfine and such imprisonment.]\n\n[Footnote 37: It is especially favourable to independence in voting, if\nthe lists of the candidates are placed in a single column, without\nreference to party (each name of course, having the proper party\ndesignation, \"Rep.,\" \"Dem.,\" \"Prohib.,\" etc., attached to it). In such\ncase it must necessarily take the voter some little time to find and\nmark each name for which he wishes to vote. If, however, the names of\nthe candidates are arranged according to their party, all the\nRepublicans in one list, all the Democrats in another, etc., this\narrangement is much less favourable to independence in voting and much\nless efficient as a check upon bribery; because the man who votes a\nstraight party ticket will make all his marks in a very short time,\nwhile the \"scratcher,\" or independent voter, will consume much more time\nin selecting his names. Thus people interested in seeing whether a man\nis voting the straight party ticket or not can form an opinion from the\nlength of time he spends in the booth. It is, therefore, important that\nthe names of all candidates should be printed in a single column.]\n\n[Footnote 38: An important step in this direction has been taken in the\nNew York Corrupt Practices Act of April, 1890. See Appendix J.]\n\nComplaints of bribery and corruption have attracted especial attention\nin the United States during the past few years, and it is highly\ncreditable to the good sense of the people that measures of prevention\nhave been so promptly adopted by so many states. With an independent and\nuncorrupted ballot, and the civil service taken \"out of politics,\" all\nother reforms will become far more easily accomplished. These ends will\npresently be attained. Popular government makes many mistakes, and\nsometimes it is slow in finding them out; but when once it has\ndiscovered them it has a way of correcting them. It is the best kind of\ngovernment in the world, the most wisely conservative, the most steadily\nprogressive, and the most likely to endure.\n\n\nQUESTIONS ON THE TEXT.\n\n1. What was a chief source of opposition to the new federal government?\n\n2. What necessity for caution existed in devising methods to raise money?\n\n3. Hamilton's scheme of excise:--\n  a. The things on which excise was laid.\n  b. The unpopularity of the scheme.\n  c. The \"Whiskey Insurrection.\"\n  d. Its suppression by Washington.\n\n4. Hamilton's tariff scheme:--\n  a. The class of things on which duties were placed.\n  b. Popular acquiescence in the plan.\n  c. Effect of diverting the stream of custom-house revenue from its old\n     destination in the several state treasuries to its new destination in\n      the federal treasury.\n  d. Direct taxation during the Civil War.\n  e. Methods pursued since the Civil War.\n\n5. The origin of American political parties:--\n  a. Jefferson's objection to Hamilton's policy.\n  b. Hamilton's defence of his policy.\n  c. Jefferson's view of the Elastic Clause.\n  d. Hamilton's view of the Elastic Clause.\n  e. Two names suggestive of an abiding antagonism in American politics.\n  f. A view of the Elastic Clause that commends itself to all.\n  g. The party of Hamilton and its successors.\n  h. The party of Jefferson and its successor.\n\n6. Great practical questions that have divided parties:--\n  a. The Tariff.\n  b. Internal Improvements.\n  c. A National Bank.\n  d. The present attitude towards these three questions.\n  e. The shifting of ground in arguing the tariff question.\n  f. The reason for this change of base.\n\n7. Civil Service reform:--\n\n  a. The attitude of parties a few years ago.\n  b. The present attitude of the same parties.\n  c. A question not foreseen.\n  d. The number of officers appointed.\n  e. The non-political nature of their duties.\n  f. The principles that should prevail in their selection and\n     service.\n\n8. The \"spoils system\":--\n  a. Early appointive officers in New York and Pennsylvania,\n  b. The driving of good citizens out of politics.\n  c. The character of the men called to the front.\n  d. The effect on civil service and on politics.\n\n9. Rotation in office:--\n  a. A new idea about government offices.\n  b. Crawford's law of 1820.\n  c. Failure to grasp its significance.\n  d. Jackson's course in 1829.\n  e. Removals from office down to Jackson's time.\n  f. Removals during the first year of Jackson's administration.\n  g. Origin of the phrase, \"spoils system.\"\n  h. Promises and practice down to 1885.\n  i. The evils conspicuous since the Civil War.\n\n10. The Civil Service Act of 1883.\n  a. A board of examiners.\n  b. Competitive examination of candidates.\n  c. The spread of the principles of the reform.\n  d. The merit of the system.\n  e. Two old abuses stopped.\n  f. Further measures needed.\n\n11. The Australian ballot system:--\n  a. The object of this system.\n  b. The printing of the ballots.\n  c. What a ballot contains.\n  d. Ballots at the polling-places.\n  e. The booths.\n  f. The manner of voting.\n  g. The advantages of the system.\n  h. An additional precaution against bribery.\n\n12. What is the attitude of the people towards bribery and corruption?\n\n13. What reforms must be accomplished before others can make\nmuch headway?\n\nSUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS AND DIRECTIONS.\n\n1. How much money is needed by the United States government for the\nexpenses of a year? How much is needed for the army, the navy, the\ninterest on the public debt, pensions, rivers and harbours, ordinary\ncivil expenses, etc.? (Answer for any recent year.)\n\n2. From what sources does the revenue come? Tell how much revenue each\nof the several sources has yielded in any recent year.\n\n3. What is the origin of the word _tariff_?\n\n4. What is meant by _protection_? What is meant by _free\ntrade_? What is meant by a _tariff for revenue only_? What is\nmeant by _reciprocity_? Give illustrations.\n\n5. What are some of the reasons assigned for protection?\n\n6. What are some of the reasons assigned for free trade?\n\n7. Which policy prevails among the states themselves?\n\n8. Which policy prevails between the United States and other nations?\n\n9. Mention all the kinds of United States money in circulation. Bring\ninto the class a national bank bill, a gold certificate, a silver\ncertificate, any piece that is used as money, and inquire wherein its\nvalue lies, what it can or cannot be used for, what the United States\nwill or will not give in exchange for it, and whether it is worth its\nface in gold or not.\n\n10. Is it right to buy silver at seventy-five cents and then put\nit into circulation stamped a dollar, the Government receiving the\nprofit? Can you get a gold dollar for a silver one?\n\n11. Is a promise to pay a dollar a real dollar? May it be as good as a\ndollar? If so, under what conditions?\n\n12. If gold were as common as gravel, what characteristics of it\nuniversally recognized would remain unchanged? What would become of\nits purchasing power, if it cost little or no labour to obtain it? Why\nis it accepted as a standard of value?\n\n13. During the Civil War gold was said to fluctuate in value, because\nit took two dollars of paper money, sometimes more, sometimes less,\nto buy one dollar in gold. Where was the real changing? What was the\ncause of it?\n\n14. What men are at the head of the national government at the present\ntime? (Think of the executive department and its primary divisions,\nthe legislative department, and the judicial.)\n\n15. What salaries are paid these officers? Compare American salaries\nwith European salaries for corresponding high positions.\n\n16. Should a president serve a second term? What is the advantage of\nsuch service? What is the objection to it? Is a single term of six\nyears desirable?\n\n17. Ought the president to be elected directly by the people?\n\n18. Name in order the persons entitled to succeed to the presidency in\ncase of vacancy.\n\n19. Who is your representative in Congress?\n\n20. Who are your senators in Congress?\n\n21. What is the pay of members of Congress? Who determines the\ncompensation? What is there to prevent lavish or improper pay?\n\n\n22. There is said to be \"log-rolling\" in legislation at times. What is\nthe nature of this practice? Is it right?\n\n23. Is the senator or the representative of higher dignity? Why?\n\n24. Why should members of Congress be exempted from arrest in certain\ncases?\n\n25. Find authority in the Constitution for various things that\nCongress has done, such as the following:--\n  a. It has established a military academy at West Point.\n  b. It has given public lands to Pacific railroads.\n  c. It has authorized uniforms for letter carriers.\n  d. It has ordered surveys of the coast.\n  e. It has established the Yellowstone National Park.\n  f. It has voted millions of dollars for pensions.\n  g. It refused during the Civil War to pay its promises with silver or\n      gold.\n  h. It bought Alaska of Russia.\n  i. It has adopted exclusive measures towards the Chinese.\n\n26. Reverse the preceding exercise. That is, cite clauses of the\nConstitution, and tell what particular things Congress has done because\nof such authority. For example, what specific things have been done\nunder the following powers of Congress?--\n  a. To collect taxes.\n  b. To regulate commerce with foreign nations.\n  c. To coin money.\n  d. To establish post-roads.\n  e. To provide for the common defence.\n  f. To provide for the general welfare.\n\n27. Compare the strength of the national government to-day with its\nstrength in the past.\n\n28. Who are citizens according to the Constitution? Is a woman a\ncitizen? Is a child a citizen? Are Indians citizens? Are foreigners\nresiding in this country citizens? Are children born abroad of\nAmerican parents citizens? Can one person be a citizen of two nations\nat the same time, or of two states, or of two towns? Explain.\n\n29. To what laws is an American vessel on the ocean subject?\n\n30. Show how the interests and needs of the various sections of\nthe country present wide differences. Compare mining sections with\nagricultural, and both with manufacturing; Pacific states with\nAtlantic; Northern states with Southern. What need of mutual\nconsideration exists?\n\n31. Name all the political divisions from the smallest to the greatest\nin which you live. A Cambridge (Mass.) boy might, for example, say, \"I\nlive in the third precinct of the first ward, in the first Middlesex\nrepresentative district, the third Middlesex senatorial district, the\nthird councillor district, and the fifth congressional district.\nMy city is Cambridge; my county, Middlesex, etc.\" Name the various\npersons who represent you in these several districts.\n\n32. May state and local officers exercise authority on United States\ngovernment territory, as, for example, within the limits of an arsenal\nor a custom-house? May national government officers exercise authority\nin states and towns?\n\n33. What is a _sovereign_ state? Is New York a sovereign state?\nthe United States? the Dominion of Canada? Great Britain? Explain.\n\n34. When sovereign nations disagree, how can a settlement be\neffected? What is the best way to settle such a disagreement?\nIllustrate from history the methods of negotiation, of arbitration,\nand of war.\n\n35. When two states of the Federal Union disagree, what solution of\nthe difficulty is possible?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.\n\nTHE FEDERAL UNION.--For the origin of our federal constitution, see\nBancroft's _History of the United States_, final edition, vol.\nvi., N.Y., 1886; Curtis's _History of the Constitution_, 2 vols.,\nN.Y., 1861, new edition, vol. i., 1889; and my _Critical Period of\nAmerican History_, Boston, 1888, with copious references in the\nbibliographical note at the end. Once more we may refer advantageously\nto _J.H.U. Studies_, II., v.-vi., H.C. Adams, _Taxation in\nthe United States_, 1789-1816; VIII, i.-ii., A.W. Small, _The\nBeginnings of American Nationality_. See also Jameson's _Essays\nin the Constitutional History of the United States in the Formative\nPeriod_, 1775-1789, Boston, 1889, a very valuable book.\n\nOn the progress toward union during the colonial period, see especially\nFrothingham's _Rise of the Republic of the United States_, Boston, 1872;\nalso Scott's _Development of Constitutional Liberty in the English\nColonies of America_, N.Y., 1882.\n\nBy far the ablest and most thorough book on the government of the\nUnited States that has ever been published is Bryce's _American\nCommonwealth_, 2 vols., London and N.Y., 1888. No American\ncitizen's education is properly completed until he has read the whole\nof it carefully. In connection therewith, the work of Tocqueville,\n_Democracy in America_, 2 vols., 6th ed., Boston, 1876, is\ninteresting. The Scotchman describes and discusses the American\ncommonwealth of to-day, the Frenchman that of sixty years ago. There\nis an instructive difference in the methods of the two writers,\nTocqueville being inclined to draw deductions from ingenious\ngeneralizations and to explain as natural results of democracy sundry\nAmerican characteristics that require a different explanation. His\ngreat work is admirably reviewed and criticised by Bryce, in the\n_J.H.U. Studies_, V., ix., _The Predictions of Hamilton and De\nTocqueville_.\n\nThe following manuals may be recommended: Thorpe, _The_\n_Government of the People of the United States_, Phila., 1889;\nMartin's _Text Book on Civil Government in the United States_,\nN.Y. and Chicago, 1875 (written with special reference to\nMassachusetts); Northam's _Manual of Civil Government_, Syracuse,\n1887 (written with special reference to New York); Ford's _American\nCitizen's Manual_, N.Y., 1887; Rupert's _Guide to the Study of\nthe History and the Constitution of the United States_, Boston,\n1888; Andrews's _Manual of the Constitution of the United\nStates_, Cincinnati, 1874; Miss Dawes, _How we are Governed_,\nBoston, 1888; Macy, _Our Government: How it Grew, What it Does, and\nHow it Does it_, Boston, 1887. The last is especially good, and\nmingles narrative with exposition in an unusually interesting way.\nNordhoff's _Politics for Young Americans_, N.Y., 1887, is a book\nthat ought to be read by all young Americans for its robust and sound\npolitical philosophy. It is suitable for boys and girls from twelve to\nfifteen years old. C.F. Dole's _The Citizen and the Neighbour_,\nBoston, 1887, is a suggestive and stimulating little book. For a\ncomparative survey of governmental institutions, ancient and modern,\nsee Woodrow Wilson's _The State: Elements of Historical and\nPractical Politics_, Boston, 1889. An enormous mass of matter is\ncompressed into this volume, and, although it inevitably suffers\nsomewhat from extreme condensation, it is so treated as to be both\nreadable and instructive. The chapter on _The State and Federal\nGovernments of the United States_ has been published separately,\nand makes a convenient little volume of 131 pages. Teachers should\nfind much help in MacAlister's _Syllabus of a Course of Elementary\nInstruction in United States History and Civil Government_, Phila.,\n1887.\n\nThe following books of the \"English Citizen Series,\" published by\nMacmillan & Co., may often be profitably consulted: M.D. Chalmers,\n_Local Government_; H.D. Traill, _Central Government_; F.W. Maitland,\n_Justice and Police_; Spencer Walpole, _The Electorate and the\nLegislature_; A.J. Wilson, _The National Budget_; T.H. Farrer, _The\nState in its Relations to Trade_; W.S. Jevons, _The State in its\nRelations to Labour_. The works on the English Constitution by Stubbs,\nGneist, Taswell-Langmead, Freeman, and Bagehot are indispensable to a\nthorough understanding of civil government in the United States: Stubbs,\n_Constitutional History of England_, 3 vols., London, 1875-78; Gneist,\n_History of the English Constitution_, 2d ed., 2 vols., London, 1889;\nTaswell-Langmead, _English Constitutional History_, 3d ed., Boston,\n1886; Freeman, _The Growth of the English Constitution_, London, 1872;\nBagehot, _The English Constitution_, revised ed., Boston, 1873. An\nadmirable book in this connection is Hannis Taylor's (of Alabama)\n_Origin and Growth of the English Constitution_, Boston, 1889. In\nconnection with Bagehot's _English Constitution_ the student may\nprofitably read Woodrow Wilson's _Congressional Government_, Boston,\n1885, and A.L. Lowell's _Essays in Government_, Boston, 1890. See also\nSir H. Maine, _Popular Government_, London, 1886; Sir G.C. Lewis on _The\nUse and Abuse of Certain Political Terms_, London, 1832; _Methods of\nObservation and Reasoning in Politics_, 2 vols., London, 1852; and\n_Dialogue on the Best Form of Government_, London, 1863.\n\nAmong the most valuable books ever written on the proper sphere\nand duties of civil government are Herbert Spencer's _Social\nStatics_, London, 1851; _The Study of Sociology_, 9th ed.,\nLondon, 1880; _The Man_ versus _The State_, London, 1884;\nthey are all reprinted by D. Appleton & Co., New York. The views\nexpressed in _Social Statics_ with regard to the tenure of land\nare regarded as unsound by many who are otherwise in entire sympathy\nwith Mr. Spencer's views, and they are ably criticised in Bonham's\n_Industrial Liberty_, N.Y., 1888. A book of great merit, which\nought to be reprinted as it is now not easy to obtain, is Toulmin\nSmith's _Local Self-Government and Centralization_, London, 1851.\nIts point of view is sufficiently indicated by the following admirable\npair of maxims (p. 12):--\n\nLOCAL SELF-GOVERNMENT _is that system of Government under which the\ngreatest number of minds, knowing the most, and having the fullest\nopportunities of knowing it, about the special matter in hand, and\nhaving the greatest interest in its well-working, have the management\nof it, or control over it._\n\nCENTRALIZATION _is that system of government under which the\nsmallest number of minds, and those knowing the least, and having the\nfewest opportunities of knowing it, about the special matter in\nhand, and having the smallest interest in its well-working, have the\nmanagement of it, or control over it._\n\nAn immense amount of wretched misgovernment would be avoided if all\nlegislators and all voters would engrave these wholesome definitions\nupon their minds. In connection with the books just mentioned much\ndetailed and valuable information may be found in the collections of\nessays edited by J.W. Probyn, _Local Government and Taxation_ [in\nvarious countries], London, 1875; _Local Government and Taxation\nin the United_ _Kingdom_, London, 1882. See also R.T. Ely's\n_Taxation in American States and Cities_, N.Y., 1889.\n\nThe most elaborate work on our political history is that of Hermann\nvon Holst, _Constitutional and Political History of the United\nStates_, translated from the German by J.J. Lalor, vols. i.-vi.\n(1787-1859), Chicago, 1877-89. In spite of a somewhat too pronounced\npartisan bias, its value is great. See also Schouler's _History\nof the United States under the Constitution_, vols. i.-iv.\n(1783-1847), new ed., N.Y., 1890. The most useful handbook, alike\nfor teachers and for pupils, is Alexander Johnston's _History of\nAmerican Politics_, 2d ed., N.Y., 1882. _The United States_,\nN.Y., 1889, by the same author, is also excellent. Every school\nshould possess a copy of Lalor's _Cyclopaedia of Political Science,\nPolitical Economy, and the Political History of the United States_,\n3 vols., Chicago, 1882-84. The numerous articles in it relating to\nAmerican history are chiefly by Alexander Johnston, whose mastery of\nhis subject was simply unrivalled. His death in 1889, at the early age\nof forty, must be regarded as a national calamity. For a manual of\nconstitutional law, Cooley's _General Principles of Constitutional\nLaw in the United States of America_, Boston, 1880, is to be\nrecommended. The reader may fitly supplement his general study of\ncivil government by the little book of E.P. Dole, _Talks about\nLaw: a Popular Statement of What our Law is and How it is to be\nAdministered_, Boston, 1887.\n\nIn connection with the political history, Stanwood's _History of\nPresidential Elections_, 2d ed., Boston, 1888, will be found\nuseful. See also Lawton's _American Caucus System_, N.Y., 1885.\nOn the general subject of civil service reform, see Eaton's _Civil\nService in Great Britain: a History of Abuses and Reforms, and their\nBearing upon American Politics_, N.Y., 1880. Comstock's _Civil\nService in the United States_, N.Y., 1885, is a catalogue of\noffices, with full account of civil service rules, examinations,\nspecimens of examination papers, etc.; also some of the state rules,\nas in New York, Massachusetts, etc.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI would here call attention to some publications by the Directors\nof the Old South Studies in History and Politics,--first, _The\nConstitution of the United States, with Historical and Bibliographical\nNotes and Outlines, for Study_, prepared by E.D. Mead (sold by\nD.C. Heath and Co., Boston, for 25 cents); secondly, the _Old\nSouth Leaflets_, furnished to schools and the trade by the same\npublishers, at 5 cents a copy or $3.00 a hundred. These leaflets are\nfor the most part reprints of important original papers, furnished\nwith valuable historical and bibliographical notes. The eighteen\nissued up to this time (July, 1890) are as follows: 1. The\nConstitution of the United States; 2. The Articles of Confederation;\n3. The Declaration of Independence; 4. Washington's Farewell Address;\n5. Magna Charta; 6. Vane's \"Healing Question;\" 7. Charter of\nMassachusetts Bay, 1629; 8. Fundamental Orders of Connecticut, 1639;\n9. Franklin's Plan of Union, 1754; 10. Washington's Inaugurals;\n11. Lincoln's Inaugurals and Emancipation Proclamation; 12. The\nFederalist, Nos. 1 and 2; 13. The Ordinance of 1787; 14. The\nConstitution of Ohio; 15. Washington's \"Legacy\"; 16. Washington's\nLetter to Benjamin Harrison, Governor of Virginia, on the Opening of\nCommunication with the West; 17. Verrazano's Voyage, 1524; 18. Federal\nConstitution of the Swiss Confederation.\n\nHoward Preston's _Documents Illustrative of American History_,\nN.Y., 1886, contains the following: First Virginia Charter, 1606;\nSecond Virginia Charter, 1609; Third Virginia Charter, 1612; Mayflower\nCompact, 1620; Massachusetts Charter, 1629; Maryland Charter, 1632;\nFundamental Orders of Connecticut, 1639; New England Confederation,\n1643; Connecticut Charter, 1662; Rhode Island Charter, 1663;\nPennsylvania Charter, 1681; Perm's Plan of Union, 1697; Georgia\nCharter, 1732; Franklin's Plan of Union, 1754; Declaration of Rights,\n1765; Declaration of Rights, 1774; Non-Importation Agreement, 1774;\nVirginia Bill of Rights, 1776; Declaration of Independence, 1776;\nArticles of Confederation, 1777; Treaty of Peace, 1783; Northwest\nOrdinance, 1787; Constitution of the United States, 1787; Alien and\nSedition Laws, 1798; Virginia Resolutions, 1798; Kentucky Resolutions,\n1798; Kentucky Resolutions, 1799; Nullification Ordinance, 1832;\nOrdinance of Secession, 1860; South Carolina Declaration of\nIndependence, 1860; Emancipation Proclamation, 1863.\n\nSee also Poore's _Federal and State Constitutions, Colonial\nCharters, and other Organic Laws of the United States_, 2 vols.,\nWashington, 1877.\n\nThe series of essays entitled _The Federalist_, written by\nHamilton, Madison, and Jay, in 1787-88, while the ratification of the\nConstitution was in question, will always remain indispensable as an\nintroduction to the thorough study of the principles upon which our\nfederal government is based. The most recent edition is by\nH.C. Lodge, N.Y., 1888. For the systematic and elaborate study of the\nConstitution, see Foster's _References to the Constitution of the\nUnited States_, a little pamphlet of 50 pages published by the\n\"Society for Political Education,\" 330 Pearl St., New York, 1890,\nprice 25 cents. The student who should pursue to the end the line of\nresearch marked out in this pamphlet ought thereby to become quite an\nauthority on the subject.\n\nFor very pleasant and profitable reading, in connection with the\nformation and interpretation of the Constitution, and the political\nhistory of our country from 1763 to 1850, we have the \"American\nStatesmen Series,\" edited by J.T. Morse, and published by Houghton,\nMifflin & Co., Boston, 1882-90: _Benjamin Franklin_, by J.T.\nMorse; _Patrick Henry_, by M.C. Tyler; _Samuel Adams_, by\nJ.K. Hosmer; _George Washington_, by H.C. Lodge, 2 vols.;\n_John Adams and Thomas Jefferson_, by J.T. Morse; _Alexander\nHamilton_, by H.C. Lodge; _Gouverneur Morris_, by T. Roosevelt;\n_James Madison_, by S.H. Gay; _James Monroe_ by D.C. Gilman;\n_Albert Gallatin_, by J.A. Stevens; _John Randolph_, by H.\nAdams; _John Jay_, by G. Pellew; _John Marshall_, by A.B.\nMagruder; _John Quincy Adams_, by J.T. Morse; _John C. Calhoun_,\nby H. von Holst; _Andrew Jackson_, by W.G. Sumner; _Martin Van\nBuren_, by E.M. Shepard; _Henry Clay_, by C. Schurz, 2 vols.;\n_Daniel Webster_, by H.C. Lodge; _Thomas H, Benton_, by T. Roosevelt.\n\n\nIn connection with the questions on page 269 relating to tariff,\ncurrency, etc., references to some works on political economy are\nneeded. The arguments in favour of protectionism are set forth in\nBowen's _American Political Economy_, last ed., N.Y., 1870;\nthe arguments in favour of free trade are set forth in Perry's\n_Political Economy_, 19th ed., N.Y., 1887; and for an able and\nimpartial historical survey, Taussig's _Tariff History of the United\nStates_, N.Y., 1888, may be recommended. For a lucid view of\ncurrency, see Jevons's _Money and the Mechanism of Exchange_,\nN.Y., 1875.\n\nA useful work on the Australian method of voting is Wigmore's _The\nAustralian Ballot System_, 2d ed., Boston, 1890.\n\nIn connection with some of the questions on page 271, the student may\nprofitably consult Woolsey's _International Law_, 5th ed., N.Y.,\n1879. NOTE TO PAGE 226.\n\nBy the act of February 3, 1887, the second Monday in January is fixed\nfor the meeting of the electoral colleges in all the states. The\nprovisions relating to the first Wednesday in January are repealed.\nThe interval between the second Monday in January and the second\nWednesday in February remains available for the settlement of disputed\nquestions.\n\nNOTE TO PAGE 250.\n\nIn order to relieve the supreme court of the United States, which\nhad come to be overburdened with business, a new court, with limited\nappellate jurisdiction, called the _circuit court of appeals_,\nwas organized in 1892. It consists primarily of nine _appeal\njudges_, one for each of the nine circuits. For any given circuit\nthe supreme court justice of the circuit, the appeal judge of the\ncircuit, and the circuit judge constitute the court of appeal.\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX A.\n\n\nTHE ARTICLES OF CONFEDERATION.\n\n_Articles of Confederation and Perpetual Union between the States\nof New Hampshire, Massachusetts Bay, Rhode Island and Providence\nPlantations, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania,\nDelaware, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and\nGeorgia._\n\nARTICLE I.--The style of this Confederacy shall be, \"The United States\nof America.\"\n\nART. II.--Each State retains its sovereignty, freedom, and\nindependence, and every power, jurisdiction, and right, which is not\nby this Confederation expressly delegated to the United States in\nCongress assembled.\n\nART. III.--The said States hereby severally enter into a firm league\nof friendship with each other, for their common defence, the security\nof their liberties, and their mutual and general welfare, binding\nthemselves to assist each other against all force offered to, or\nattacks made upon them, or any of them, on account of religion,\nsovereignty, trade, or any other pretence whatever.\n\nART. IV.--The better to secure and perpetuate mutual friendship and\nintercourse among the people of the different States in this Union,\nthe free inhabitants of each of these States, paupers, vagabonds, and\nfugitives from justice excepted, shall be entitled to all privileges\nand immunities of free citizens in the several States; and the people\nof each State shall have free ingress and egress to and from any\nother State, and shall enjoy therein all the privileges of trade and\ncommerce subject to the same duties, impositions, and restrictions as\nthe inhabitants thereof respectively; provided that such restrictions\nshall not extend so far as to prevent the removal of property imported\ninto any State to any other State of which the owner is an inhabitant;\nprovided also, that no imposition, duties, or restriction\nshall be laid by any State on the property of the United States or\neither of them. If any person guilty of, or charged with, treason,\nfelony, or other high misdemeanour in any State shall flee from\njustice and be found in any of the United States, he shall, upon\ndemand of the governor or executive power of the State from which he\nfled, be delivered up and removed to the State having jurisdiction of\nhis offense. Full faith and credit shall be given in each of these\nStates to the records, acts, and judicial proceedings of the courts\nand magistrates of every other State.\n\nART. V.--For the more convenient management of the general interests\nof the United States, delegates shall be annually appointed in such\nmanner as the Legislature of each State shall direct, to meet in\nCongress on the first Monday in November, in every year, with a power\nreserved to each State to recall its delegates, or any of them, at\nany time within the year, and to send others in their stead for the\nremainder of the year. No State shall be represented in Congress by\nless than two, nor by more than seven members; and no person shall be\ncapable of being a delegate for more than three years in any term\nof six years; nor shall any person, being a delegate, be capable of\nholding any office under the United States for which he, or another\nfor his benefit, receives any salary, fees, or emolument of any kind.\nEach State shall maintain its own delegates in any meeting of the\nStates and while they act as members of the Committee of the States.\nIn determining questions in the United States, in Congress assembled,\neach State shall have one vote. Freedom of speech and debate in\nCongress shall not be impeached or questioned in any court or place\nout of Congress; and the members of Congress shall be protected in\ntheir persons from arrests and imprisonment during the time of their\ngoing to and from, and attendance on, Congress, except for treason,\nfelony, or breach of the peace.\n\nART. VI.--No State, without the consent of the United States, in\nCongress assembled, shall send any embassy to, or receive any embassy\nfrom, or enter into any conference, agreement, alliance, or treaty\nwith any king, prince, or state; nor shall any person holding any\noffice of profit or trust under the United States, or any of them,\naccept of any present, emolument, office, or title of any kind\nwhatever from any king, prince, or foreign state; nor shall the United\nStates, in Congress assembled, or any of them, grant any title of\nnobility.\n\nNo two or more States shall enter into any treaty, confederation, or\nalliance whatever between them, without the consent of the United\nStates, in Congress assembled, specifying accurately the purposes for\nwhich the same is to be entered into, and how long it shall continue.\n\nNo State shall lay any imposts or duties which may interfere with\nany stipulations in treaties entered into by the United States, in\nCongress assembled, with any king, prince, or state, in pursuance of\nany treaties already proposed by Congress to the courts of France and\nSpain.\n\nNo vessel of war shall be kept up in time of peace by any State,\nexcept such number only as shall be deemed necessary by the United\nStates, in Congress assembled, for the defence of such State or its\ntrade, nor shall any body of forces be kept up by any State in time\nof peace, except such number only as, in the judgment of the United\nStates, in Congress assembled, shall be deemed requisite to garrison\nthe forts necessary for the defence of such State; but every State\nshall always keep up a well-regulated and disciplined militia,\nsufficiently armed and accoutered, and shall provide and constantly\nhave ready for use in public stores a due number of field-pieces and\ntents, and a proper quantity of arms, ammunition, and camp equipage.\n\nNo State shall engage in any war without the consent of the United\nStates, in Congress assembled, unless such State be actually invaded\nby enemies, or shall have received certain advice of a resolution\nbeing formed by some nation of Indians to invade such State, and the\ndanger is so imminent as not to admit of a delay till the United\nStates, in Congress assembled, can be consulted; nor shall any State\ngrant commissions to any ships or vessels of war, nor letters of\nmarque or reprisal, except it be after a declaration of war by the\nUnited States, in Congress assembled, and then only against the\nkingdom or state, and the subjects thereof, against which war has been\nso declared, and under such regulations as shall be established by the\nUnited States, in Congress assembled, unless such State be infested\nby pirates, in which case vessels of war may be fitted out for that\noccasion, and kept so long as the danger shall continue, or until the\nUnited States, in Congress assembled, shall determine otherwise.\n\nART. VII.--When land forces are raised by any State for the common\ndefence, all officers of or under the rank of Colonel shall be\nappointed by the Legislature of each State respectively by whom such\nforces shall be raised, or in such manner as such State shall direct,\nand all vacancies shall be filled up by the State which first made the\nappointment.\n\nART. VIII.--All charges of war, and all other expenses that shall be\nincurred for the common defence, or general welfare, and allowed by\nthe United States, in Congress assembled, shall be defrayed out of\na common treasury, which shall be supplied by the several States in\nproportion to the value of all land within each State, granted to,\nor surveyed for, any person, as such land and the buildings and\nimprovements thereon shall be estimated, according to such mode as the\nUnited States, in Congress assembled, shall, from time to time, direct\nand appoint. The taxes for paying that proportion shall be laid and\nlevied by the authority and direction of the Legislatures of the\nseveral States, within the time agreed upon by the United States, in\nCongress assembled.\n\nART. IX.--The United States, in Congress assembled, shall have the\nsole and exclusive right and power of determining on peace and war,\nexcept in the cases mentioned in the sixth Article; of sending and\nreceiving ambassadors; entering into treaties and alliances, provided\nthat no treaty of commerce shall be made, whereby the legislative\npower of the respective States shall be restrained from imposing such\nimposts and duties on foreigners as their own people are subjected to,\nor from prohibiting the exportation or importation of any species of\ngoods or commodities whatever; of establishing rules for deciding, in\nall cases, what captures on land and water shall be legal, and in what\nmanner prizes taken by land or naval forces in the service of the\nUnited States shall be divided or appropriated; of granting letters of\nmarque and reprisal in times of peace; appointing courts for the trial\nof piracies and felonies committed on the high seas; and establishing\ncourts for receiving and determining finally appeals in all cases of\ncaptures; provided that no member of Congress shall be appointed a\njudge of any of the said courts.\n\nThe United States, in Congress assembled, shall also be the last\nresort on appeal in all disputes and differences now subsisting,\nor that hereafter may arise between two or more States concerning\nboundary jurisdiction, or any other cause whatever; which authority\nshall always be exercised in the manner following: Whenever the\nlegislative or executive authority, or lawful agent of any State in\ncontroversy with another, shall present a petition to Congress,\nstating the matter in question, and praying for a hearing, notice\nthereof shall be given by order of Congress to the legislative or\nexecutive authority of the other State in controversy, and a day\nassigned for the appearance of the parties by their lawful agents,\nwho shall then be directed to appoint, by joint consent,\ncommissioners or judges to constitute a court for hearing and\ndetermining the matter in question; but if they cannot agree, Congress\nshall name three persons out of each of the United States, and from\nthe list of such persons each party shall alternately strike out\none, the petitioners beginning, until the number shall be reduced to\nthirteen; and from that number not less than seven nor more than nine\nnames, as Congress shall direct, shall, in the presence of Congress,\nbe drawn out by lot; and the persons whose names shall be so drawn,\nor any five of them, shall be commissioners or judges, to hear and\nfinally determine the controversy, so always as a major part of the\njudges who shall hear the cause shall agree in the determination; and\nif either party shall neglect to attend at the day appointed, without\nshowing reasons which Congress shall judge sufficient, or being\npresent, shall refuse to strike, the Congress shall proceed to\nnominate three persons out of each State, and the secretary of\nCongress shall strike in behalf of such party absent or refusing; and\nthe judgment and sentence of the court, to be appointed in the manner\nbefore prescribed, shall be final and conclusive; and if any of the\nparties shall refuse to submit to the authority of such court, or to\nappear or defend their claim or cause, the court shall nevertheless\nproceed to pronounce sentence or judgment, which shall in like manner\nbe final and decisive; the judgment or sentence and other proceedings\nbeing in either case transmitted to Congress, and lodged among the\nacts of Congress for the security of the parties concerned; provided,\nthat every commissioner, before he sits in judgment, shall take an\noath, to be administered by one of the judges of the supreme or\nsuperior court of the State where the cause shall be tried, \"well and\ntruly to hear and determine the matter in question, according to the\nbest of his judgment, without favour, affection, or hope of reward.\"\nProvided, also, that no State shall be deprived of territory for the\nbenefit of the United States.\n\nAll controversies concerning the private right of soil claimed under\ndifferent grants of two or more States, whose jurisdictions, as they\nmay respect such lands, and the States which passed such grants are\nadjusted, the said grants or either of them being at the same\ntime claimed to have originated antecedent to such settlement of\njurisdiction, shall, on the petition of either party to the Congress\nof the United States, be finally determined, as near as may be, in the\nsame manner as is before prescribed for deciding disputes respecting\nterritorial jurisdiction between different States.\n\nThe United States, in Congress assembled, shall also have the sole and\nexclusive right and power of regulating the alloy and value of coin\nstruck by their own authority, or by that of the respective States;\nfixing the standard of weights and measures throughout the United\nStates; regulating the trade and managing all affairs with the\nIndians, not members of any of the States; provided that the\nlegislative right of any State, within its own limits, be not\ninfringed or violated; establishing and regulating post-offices from\none State to another, throughout all the United States, and exacting\nsuch postage on the papers passing through the same as may be\nrequisite to defray the expenses of the said office; appointing all\nofficers of the land forces in the service of the United States,\nexcepting regimental officers; appointing all the officers of the\nnaval forces, and commissioning all officers whatever in the service\nof the United States; making rules for the government and regulation\nof the said land and naval forces, and directing their operations.\n\nThe United States, in Congress assembled, shall have authority\nto appoint a committee, to sit in the recess of Congress, to be\ndenominated \"A Committee of the States,\" and to consist of one\ndelegate from each State, and to appoint such other committees and\ncivil officers as may be necessary for managing the general affairs\nof the United States under their direction; to appoint one of their\nnumber to preside; provided that no person be allowed to serve in the\noffice of president more than one year in any term of three years; to\nascertain the necessary sums of money to be raised for the service of\nthe United States, and to appropriate and apply the same for defraying\nthe public expenses; to borrow money or emit bills on the credit of\nthe United States, transmitting every half year to the respective\nStates an account of the sums of money so borrowed or emitted; to\nbuild and equip a navy; to agree upon the number of land forces, and\nto make requisitions from each State for its quota, in proportion to\nthe number of white inhabitants in such State, which requisition shall\nbe binding; and thereupon the Legislature of each State shall\nappoint the regimental officers, raise the men, and clothe, arm, and\nequip them in a soldier-like manner, at the expense of the United\nStates; and the officers and men so clothed, armed, and equipped shall\nmarch to the place appointed, and within the time agreed on by the\nUnited States, in Congress assembled; but if the United States, in\nCongress assembled, shall, on consideration of circumstances, judge\nproper that any State should not raise men, or should raise a smaller\nnumber than its quota, and that any other State should raise a greater\nnumber of men than the quota thereof, such extra number shall be\nraised, officered, clothed, armed, and equipped in the same manner as\nthe quota of such State, unless the Legislature of such State shall\njudge that such extra number cannot be safely spared out of the same,\nin which case they shall raise, officer, clothe, arm, and equip as\nmany of such extra number as they judge can be safely spared, and the\nofficers and men so clothed, armed, and equipped shall march to the\nplace appointed, and within the time agreed on by the United States,\nin Congress assembled.\n\nThe United States, in Congress assembled, shall never engage in a war,\nnor grant letters of marque and reprisal in time of peace, nor enter\ninto any treaties or alliances, nor coin money, nor regulate the value\nthereof, nor ascertain the sums and expenses necessary for the defense\nand welfare of the United States, or any of them, nor emit hills,\nnor borrow money on the credit of the United States, nor appropriate\nmoney, nor agree upon the number of vessels of war to be built or\npurchased, or the number of land or sea forces to be raised, nor\nappoint a commander-in-chief of the army or navy, unless nine States\nassent to the same, nor shall a question on any other point, except\nfor adjourning from day to day, be determined, unless by the votes of\na majority of the United States, in Congress assembled.\n\nThe Congress of the United States shall have power to adjourn to any\ntime within the year, and to any place within the United States, so\nthat no period of adjournment be for a longer duration than the space\nof six months, and shall publish the journal of their proceedings\nmonthly, except such parts thereof relating to treaties, alliances, or\nmilitary operations as in their judgment require secrecy; and the yeas\nand nays of the delegates of each State, ion any question, shall be\nentered on the journal when it is desired by any delegate; and the\ndelegates of a State, or any of them, at his or their request, shall\nbe furnished with a transcript of the said journal except such parts\nas are above excepted, to lay before the Legislatures of the several\nStates.\n\nArt. X.--The Committee of the States, or any nine of them, shall be\nauthorized to execute, in the recess of Congress, such of the powers\nof Congress as the United States, in Congress assembled, by the\nconsent of nine States, shall, from time to time, think expedient\nto vest them with; provided that no power be delegated to the\nsaid Committee, for the exercise of which, by the Articles of\nConfederation, the voice of nine States in the Congress of the United\nStates assembled is requisite.\n\nArt. XI.--Canada, acceding to this Confederation, and joining in the\nmeasures of the United States, shall he admitted into, and entitled\nto all the advantages of this Union; but no other colony shall be\nadmitted into the same, unless such admission be agreed to by nine\nStates.\n\nArt. XII.--All bills of credit emitted, moneys borrowed, and debts\ncontracted by or under the authority of Congress, before the\nassembling of the United States, in pursuance of the present\nConfederation, shall be deemed and considered as a charge against the\nUnited States, for payment and satisfaction whereof the said United\nStates and the public faith are hereby solemnly pledged.\n\nArt. XIII.--Every State shall abide by the determinations of the\nUnited States, in Congress assembled, on all questions which by\nthis Confederation are submitted to them. And the Articles of this\nConfederation shall be inviolably observed by every State, and the\nUnion shall be perpetual; nor shall any alteration at any time\nhereafter be made in any of them, unless such alteration be agreed to\nin a Congress of the United States, and be afterwards confirmed by the\nLegislatures of every State.\n\nAnd whereas it hath pleased the great Governor of the world to incline\nthe hearts of the Legislatures we respectively represent in Congress\nto approve of, and to authorize us to ratify, the said Articles of\nConfederation and perpetual Union, know ye, that we, the undersigned\ndelegates, by virtue of the power and authority to us given for that\npurpose, do, by these presents, in the name and in behalf of our\nrespective constituents, fully and entirely ratify and confirm each\nand every of the said Articles of Confederation and perpetual Union,\nand all and singular the matters and things therein contained. And\nwe do further solemnly plight and engage the faith of our respective\nconstituents, that they shall abide by the determinations of the\nUnited States, in Congress assembled, on all questions which by the\nsaid Confederation are submitted to them; and that the Articles\nthereof shall be inviolably observed by the States we respectively\nrepresent, and that the Union shall be perpetual.\n\nIn witness whereof we have hereunto set our hands in Congress. Done at\nPhiladelphia in the State of Pennsylvania the ninth day of July in the\nyear of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-eight, and in\nthe third year of the independence of America.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAPPENDIX B.\n\nTHE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES.\n\nPREAMBLE.[1]\n\nWe, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect\nunion, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide for\nthe common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the\nblessings of liberty to ourselves and oar posterity, do ordain and\nestablish this Constitution for the United States of America.\n\nARTICLE I. LEGISLATIVE DEPARTMENT.[2]\n\n[Footnote 1: Compare this Preamble with Confed. Art. I. and III.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Compare Art. I. Sections i.-vii. with Confed. Art. V.]\n\n_Section I. Congress in General._\n\nAll legislative powers herein granted shall be vested in a Congress\nof the United States, which shall consist of a Senate and House of\nRepresentatives.\n\n_Section II. House of Representatives._\n\n1. The House of Representatives shall be composed of members chosen\nevery second year by the people of the several States, and the\nelectors in each State shall have the qualifications requisite for\nelectors of the most numerous branch of the State legislature.\n\n\n2. No person shall be a Representative who shall not have attained the\nage of twenty-five years, and been seven years a citizen of the United\nStates, and who shall not, when elected, be an inhabitant of that\nState in which he shall be chosen.\n\n3. Representatives and direct taxes shall be apportioned among the\nseveral States which may be included within this Union, according to\ntheir respective numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the\nwhole number of free persons, including those bound to service for a\nterm of years, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all\nother persons. The actual enumeration shall be made within three years\nafter the first meeting of the Congress of the United States, and\nwithin every subsequent term of ten years, in such manner as they\nshall by law direct. The number of Representatives shall not exceed\none for every thirty thousand, but each State shall have at least one\nRepresentative; and until such enumeration shall be made, the State\nof _New Hampshire_ shall be entitled to choose three, _Massachusetts_\neight, _Rhode Island_ and _Providence Plantations_ one, _Connecticut_\nfive, _New York_ six, _New Jersey_ four, _Pennsylvania_ eight, _Delaware_\none, _Maryland_ six, _Virginia_ ten, _North Carolina_ five, _South\nCarolina_ five, and _Georgia_ three.\n\n4. When vacancies happen in the representation from any State, the\nexecutive authority thereof shall issue writs of election to fill such\nvacancies.\n\n5. The House of Representatives shall choose their Speaker and other\nofficers, and shall have the sole power of impeachment.\n\n\n_Section III. Senate._\n\n1. The Senate of the United States shall be composed of two Senators\nfrom each State, chosen by the legislature thereof, for six years; and\neach Senator shall have one vote.\n\n2. Immediately after they shall be assembled in consequence of the\nfirst election, they shall be divided as equally as may be into three\nclasses. The seats of the Senators of the first class shall be vacated\nat the expiration of the second year; of the second class, at the\nexpiration of the fourth year, and of the third class, at the\nexpiration of the sixth year, so that one third may be chosen every\nsecond year; and if vacancies happen by resignation or otherwise\nduring the recess of the legislature of any State, the executive\nthereof may make temporary appointments until the next meeting of the\nlegislature, which shall then fill such vacancies.\n\n3. No person shall be a Senator who shall not have attained to the age\nof thirty years, and been nine years a citizen of the United States,\nand who shall not, when elected, be an inhabitant of that State for\nwhich he shall be chosen.\n\n4. The Vice-President of the United States shall be President of the\nSenate, but shall have no vote, unless they be equally divided.\n\n5. The Senate shall choose their other officers, and also a President\n_pro tempore_ in the absence of the Vice-President, or when he\nshall exercise the office of President of the United States.\n\n6. The Senate shall have the sole power to try all impeachments. When\nsitting for that purpose, they shall be on oath or affirmation. When\nthe President of the United States is tried, the Chief Justice shall\npreside: and no person shall be convicted without the concurrence of\ntwo thirds of the members present.\n\n7. Judgment in cases of impeachment shall not extend further than to\nremoval from office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any office\nof honour, trust, or profit under the United States; but the party\nconvicted shall, nevertheless, be liable and subject to indictment,\ntrial, judgment, and punishment, according to law.\n\n\n_Section IV. Both Houses._\n\n1. The times, places, and manner of holding elections for Senators and\nRepresentatives shall be prescribed in each State by the legislature\nthereof; but the Congress may at any time by law make or alter such\nregulations, except as to the places of choosing Senators.\n\n2. The Congress shall assemble at least once in every year, and such\nmeeting shall be on the first Monday in December, unless they shall by\nlaw appoint a different day.\n\n\n_Section V. The Houses Separately._\n\n1. Each house shall be the judge of the elections, returns, and\nqualifications of its own members, and a majority of each shall\nconstitute a quorum to do business; but a smaller number may adjourn\nfrom day to day, and may be authorized to compel the attendance of\nabsent members, in such manner, and under such penalties, as each\nhouse may provide.\n\n2. Each house may determine the rules of its proceedings, punish its\nmembers for disorderly behaviour, and with the concurrence of two\nthirds, expel a member. 3. Each house shall keep a journal of its\nproceedings, and from to time publish the same, excepting such parts\nas may in their judgment require secrecy, and the yeas and nays of the\nmembers of either house on any question shall, at the desire of one\nfifth of those present, be entered on the journal.\n\n4. Neither house, during the session of Congress, shall, without the\nconsent of the other, adjourn for more than three days, nor to any\nother place than that in which the two houses shall be sitting.\n\n_Section VI. Privileges and Disabilities of Members._\n\n1. The Senators and Representatives shall receive a compensation for\ntheir services, to be ascertained by law and paid out of the Treasury\nof the United States. They shall, in all cases except treason, felony,\nand breach of the peace, be privileged from arrest during their\nattendance at the session of their respective houses, and in going to\nand returning from the same; and for any speech or debate in either\nhouse they shall not be questioned in any other place.\n\n2. No Senator or Representative shall, during the time for which he\nwas elected, be appointed to any civil office under the authority of\nthe United States, which shall have been created, or the emoluments\nwhereof shall have been increased during such time; and no person\nholding any office under the United States shall be a member of either\nhouse during his continuance in office.\n\n_Section VII. Mode of Passing Laws._\n\n1. All bills for raising revenue shall originate in the House of\nRepresentatives; but the Senate may propose or concur with amendments\nas on other bills.\n\n2. Every bill which shall have passed the House of Representatives\nand the Senate shall, before it become a law, be presented to the\nPresident of the United States; if he approve he shall sign it, but if\nnot he shall return it, with his objections, to that house in which\nit shall have originated, who shall enter the objections at large\non their journal and proceed to reconsider it. If after such\nreconsideration two thirds of that house shall agree to pass the bill,\nit shall be sent, together with the objections, to the other house, by\nwhich it shall likewise be reconsidered, and if approved by two thirds\nof that house it shall become a law. But in all such cases the votes\nof both houses shall be determined by yeas and nays, and the names of\nthe persons voting for and against the bill shall be entered on the\njournal of each house respectively. If any bill shall not be returned\nby the President within ten days (Sundays excepted) after it shall\nhave been presented to him, the same shall be a law, in like manner as\nif he had signed it, unless the Congress by their adjournment prevent\nits return, in which case it shall not be a law.\n\n3. Every order, resolution, or vote to which the concurrence of the\nSenate and House of Representatives may be necessary (except on a\nquestion of adjournment) shall be presented to the President of\nthe United States; and before the same shall take effect, shall be\napproved by him, or being disapproved by him, shall be repassed by two\nthirds of the Senate and House of Representatives, according to the\nrules and limitations prescribed in the case of a bill.\n\n_Section VIII. Powers granted to Congress.[3]_\n\n[Footnote 3: Compare Sections viii. and ix. with Confed. Art. IX.;\nclause 1 of Section viii with Confed. Art. VIII; and clause 12 of\nSection viii. with Confed. Art. VII.]\n\nThe Congress shall have, power:\n\n1. To lay and collect taxes, duties, imposts, and excises, to pay the\ndebts and provide for the common defense and general welfare of the\nUnited States; but all duties, imposts, and excises shall be uniform\nthroughout the United States;\n\n2. To borrow money on the credit of the United States;\n\n3. To regulate commerce with foreign nations and among the several\nStates, and with the Indian tribes;\n\n4. To establish an uniform rule of naturalization, and uniform laws on\nthe subject of bankruptcies throughout the United States;\n\n5. To coin money, regulate the value thereof, and of foreign, coin,\nand fix the standard of weights and measures;\n\n6. To provide for the punishment of counterfeiting the securities and\ncurrent coin of the United States;\n\n7. To establish post-offices and post-roads;\n\n8. To promote the progress of science and useful arts by securing for\nlimited times to authors and inventors the exclusive right to their\nrespective writings and discoveries;\n\n9. To constitute tribunals inferior to the Supreme Court;\n\n10. To define and punish piracies and felonies committed on the high\nseas and offenses against the law of nations;\n\n11. To declare war, grant letters of marque and reprisal, and make rules\nconcerning captures on land and water;\n\n12. To raise and support armies, but no appropriation of money to that\nuse shall be for a longer term than two years;\n\n13. To provide and maintain a navy;\n\n\n14. To make rules for the government and regulation of the land and\nnaval forces.\n\n15. To provide for calling forth the militia to execute the laws of\nthe Union, suppress insurrections, and repel invasions;\n\n16. To provide for organizing, arming, and disciplining the militia,\nand for governing such part of them as may be employed in the service\nof the United States, reserving to the States respectively the\nappointment of the officers, and the authority of training the militia\naccording to the discipline prescribed by Congress;\n\n17. To exercise exclusive legislation in all cases whatsoever over\nsuch district (not exceeding ten miles square) as may, by cession of\nparticular States and the acceptance of Congress, become the seat of\nthe Government of the United States, and to exercise like authority\nover all places purchased by the consent of the legislature of\nthe State in which the same shall be, for the erection of forts,\nmagazines, arsenals, dockyards, and other needful buildings;\n\n18. To make all laws which shall be necessary and proper for carrying\ninto execution the foregoing powers, and all other powers vested by\nthis Constitution in the Government of the United States, or in any\ndepartment or officer thereof.[4]\n\n[Footnote 4: This is the Elastic Clause in the interpretation of which\narose the original and fundamental division of political parties.\nSee above, pp. 245, 259.]\n\n\n_Section IX. Powers denied to the United States._\n\n1. The migration or importation of such persons as any of the States\nnow existing shall think proper to admit shall not be prohibited by\nthe Congress prior to the year one thousand eight hundred and eight,\nbut a tax or duty may be imposed on such importation, not exceeding\nten dollars for each person.\n\n2. The privilege of the writ of habeas corpus shall not be suspended,\nunless when in cases of rebellion or invasion the public safety may\nrequire it.\n\n\n3. No bill of attainder or ex post facto law shall be passed.\n\n4. No capitation or other direct tax shall be laid, unless in\nproportion to the census or enumeration hereinbefore directed to be taken.\n\n5. No tax or duty shall be laid on articles exported from any State.\n\n6. No preference shall be given by any regulation of commerce or\nrevenue to the ports of one State over those of another; nor shall\nvessels bound to or from one State be obliged to enter, clear, or pay\nduties in another.\n\n7. No money shall be drawn from the Treasury but in consequence of\nappropriations made by law; and a regular statement and account of the\nreceipts and expenditures of all public money shall be published from\ntime to time.\n\n8. No title of nobility shall be granted by the United States; and no\nperson holding any office of profit or trust under them shall, without\nthe consent of the Congress, accept of any present, emolument, office,\nor title, of any kind whatever, from any king, prince, or foreign\nState.\n\n\n_Section X. Powers denied to the States._[5]\n\n[Footnote 5: Compare Section X with Confed. Art. VI]\n\n1. No State shall enter into any treaty, alliance, or confederation;\ngrant letters of marque and reprisal; coin money; emit bills of\ncredit; make anything but gold and silver coin a tender in payment of\ndebts; pass any bill of attainder, ex post facto law, or law impairing\nthe obligation of contracts, or grant any title of nobility.\n\n2. No State shall, without the consent of Congress, lay any imposts or\nduties on imports or exports, except what may be absolutely necessary\nfor executing its inspection laws; and the net produce of all duties\nand imposts, laid by any State on imports or exports, shall be for the\nuse of the Treasury of the United States; and all such laws shall be\nsubject to the revision and control of the Congress.\n\n3. No State shall, without the consent of Congress, lay any duty of\ntonnage, keep troops or ships of war in time of peace, enter into any\nagreement or compact with another State or with a foreign power, or\nengage in war, unless actually invaded or in such imminent danger as\nwill not admit of delay.\n\n\n\nARTICLE II. EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT.[6]\n\n[Footnote 6: Compare Art. II. with Confed. Art. X.]\n\n_Section I. President and Vice-President_.\n\n1. The executive power shall be vested in a President of the United\nStates of America. He shall hold his office during the term of four\nyears, and together with the Vice-President, chosen for the same term,\nbe elected as follows:\n\n2. Each State shall appoint, in such manner as the legislature thereof\nmay direct, a number of electors, equal to the whole number of\nSenators and Representatives to which the State may be entitled in\nthe Congress; but no Senator or Representative, or person holding an\noffice of trust or profit under the United States, shall be appointed\nan elector.\n\n3. The electors shall meet in their respective States and vote\nby ballot for two persons, of whom one at least shall not be an\ninhabitant of the same State with themselves. And they shall make a\nlist of all the persons voted for, and of the number of votes for\neach; which list they shall sign and certify, and transmit sealed to\nthe seat of government of the United States, directed to the President\nof the Senate. The President of the Senate shall, in the presence of\nthe Senate and House of Representatives, open all the certificates,\nand the votes shall then be counted. The person having the greatest\nnumber of votes shall be the President, if such number be a majority\nof the whole number of electors appointed; and if there be more than\none who have such majority, and have an equal number of votes, then\nthe House of Representatives shall immediately choose by ballot one of\nthem for President; and if no person have a majority, then from the\nfive highest on the list the said House shall in like manner choose\nthe President. But in choosing the President the votes shall be taken\nby States, the representation from each State having one vote; a\nquorum for this purpose shall consist of a member or members from\ntwo thirds of the States, and a majority of all the States shall\nbe necessary to a choice. In every case, after the choice of the\nPresident, the person having the greatest number of votes of the\nelectors shall be the Vice-President. But if there should remain two\nor more who have equal votes, the Senate shall choose from them by\nballot the Vice-President. [7]\n\n\n[Footnote 7: This clause of the Constitution has been amended. See\nAmendments, Art. XII.]\n\n4. The Congress may determine the time of choosing the electors and\nthe day on which they shall give their votes, which day shall be the\nsame throughout the United States.\n\n5. No person except a natural-born citizen, or a citizen of the United\nStates at the time of the adoption of this Constitution, shall be\neligible to the office of President; neither shall any person be\neligible to that office who shall not have attained to the age of\nthirty-five years, and been fourteen years a resident within the\nUnited States.\n\n6. In case of the removal of the President from office, or of his\ndeath, resignation, or inability to discharge the powers and duties of\nthe said office, the same shall devolve on the Vice-President, and\nthe Congress may by law provide for the case of removal, death,\nresignation, or inability, both of the President and Vice-President,\ndeclaring what officer shall then act as President, and such officer\nshall act accordingly until the disability be removed or a President\nshall be elected.\n\n7. The President shall, at stated times, receive for his services a\ncompensation, which shall neither be increased nor diminished during\nthe period for which he may have been elected, and he shall not\nreceive within that period any other emolument from the United States\nor any of them.\n\n\n8. Before he enter on the execution of his office he shall take the\nfollowing oath or affirmation:\n\n\"I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the\noffice of President of the United States, and will to the best of my\nability preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United\nStates.\"\n\n\n_Section II. Powers of the President._\n\n1. The President shall be Commander-in-chief of the Army and Navy\nof the United States, and of the militia of the several States when\ncalled into the actual service of the United States; he may require\nthe opinion, in writing, of the principal officer in each of the\nexecutive departments, upon any subject relating to the duties of\ntheir respective offices, and he shall have power to grant reprieves\nand pardons for offenses against the United States, except in cases of\nimpeachment.\n\n2. He shall have power, by and with the advice and consent of the\nSenate, to make treaties, provided two thirds of the Senators present\nconcur; and he shall nominate, and, by and with the advice and consent\nof the Senate, shall appoint ambassadors, other public ministers and\nconsuls, judges of the Supreme Court, and all other officers of the\nUnited States, whose appointments are not herein otherwise provided\nfor, and which shall be established by law; but the Congress may by\nlaw vest the appointment of such inferior officers, as they think\nproper, in the President alone, in the courts of law, or in the heads\nof departments.\n\n3. The President shall have power to fill up all vacancies that may\nhappen during the recess of the Senate, by granting commissions which\nshall expire at the end of their next session.\n\n\n_Section III. Duties of the President._\n\nHe shall from time to time give to the Congress information of the\nstate of the Union, and recommend to their consideration such measures\nas he shall judge necessary and expedient; he may, on extraordinary\noccasions, convene both houses, or either of them, and in case of\ndisagreement between them with respect to the time of adjournment,\nhe may adjourn them to such time as he shall think proper; he shall\nreceive ambassadors and other public ministers; he shall take care\nthat the laws be faithfully executed, and shall commission all the\nofficers of the United States.\n\n\n_Section IV. Impeachment._\n\nThe President, Vice-President, and all civil officers of the United\nStates shall be removed from office on impeachment for and conviction\nof treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors.\n\n\nARTICLE III. JUDICIAL DEPARTMENT.[8]\n\n[Footnote 8: Compare Art. III. with the first three paragraphs of\nConfed. Art. IX.]\n\n_Section I. United States Courts._\n\nThe judicial power of the United States shall be vested in one Supreme\nCourt, and in such inferior courts as the Congress may from time\nto time ordain and establish. The judges, both of the supreme and\ninferior courts, shall hold their offices during good behaviour, and\nshall, at stated times, receive for their services a compensation\nwhich shall not be diminished during their continuance in office.\n\n\n_Section II. Jurisdiction of the United States Courts._\n\n1. The judicial power shall extend to all cases, in law and equity,\narising under this Constitution, the laws of the United States, and\ntreaties made, or which shall he made, under their authority; to all\ncases affecting ambassadors, other public ministers, and consuls; to\nall cases of admiralty and maritime jurisdiction; to controversies to\nwhich the United States shall be a party; to controversies between two\nor more States; between a State and citizens of another State; between\ncitizens of different States; between citizens of the same State\nclaiming lands under grants of different States, and between a State,\nor the citizens thereof, and foreign States, citizens, or subjects.[9]\n\n[Footnote 9: This clause has been amended. See Amendments, Art. XI.]\n\n2. In all cases affecting ambassadors, other public ministers and\nconsuls, and those in which a State shall be a party, the Supreme\nCourt shall have original jurisdiction. In all the other cases before\nmentioned the Supreme Court shall have appellate jurisdiction, both as\nto law and fact, with such exceptions, and under such regulations as\nthe Congress shall make.\n\n\n3. The trial of all crimes, except in cases of impeachment, shall be\nby jury; and such trial shall be held in the State where the said\ncrimes shall have been committed; but when not committed within any\nState, the trial shall be at such place or places as the Congress may\nby law have directed.\n\n\n_Section III. Treason._\n\n1. Treason against the United States shall consist only in levying war\nagainst them, or in adhering to their enemies, giving them aid and\ncomfort. No person shall be convicted of treason unless on the\ntestimony of two witnesses to the same overt act, or on confession in\nopen court.\n\n2. The Congress shall have power to declare the punishment of treason,\nbut no attainder of treason shall work corruption of blood or\nforfeiture except during the life of the person attainted.\n\n\nARTICLE IV. THE STATES AND THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT.[10]\n\n[Footnote 10: Compare Art. IV. with Confed. Art. IV.]\n\n\n_Section I. State Records._\n\nFull faith and credit shall be given in each State to the public acts,\nrecords, and judicial proceedings of every other State. And the Congress\nmay by general laws prescribe the manner in which such acts, records,\nand proceedings shall be proved, and the effect thereof.\n\n\n\n_Section II. Privileges of Citizens, etc._\n\n1. The citizens of each State shall be entitled to all privileges and\nimmunities of citizens in the several States.\n\n2. A person charged in any State with treason, felony, or other crime,\nwho shall flee from justice, and be found in another State, shall, on\ndemand of the executive authority of the State from which he fled, be\ndelivered up, to be removed to the State having jurisdiction of the\ncrime.\n\n3. No person held to service or labour in one State, under the laws\nthereof, escaping into another, shall, in consequence of any law or\nregulation therein, be discharged from such service or labour, but\nshall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or\nlabour may be due.[11]\n\n\n\n[Footnote 11: This clause has been cancelled by Amendment XIII., which\nabolishes slavery.]\n\n\n_Section III. New States and Territories._[12]\n\n[Footnote 12: Compare section iii. with Confed. Art. XI.]\n\n\n\n1. New States may be admitted by the Congress into this Union; but no\nnew State shall be formed or erected within the jurisdiction of any\nother State; nor any State be formed by the junction of two or more\nStates or parts of States, without the consent of the legislatures of\nthe States concerned as well as of the Congress.\n\n2. The Congress shall have power to dispose of and make all needful\nrules and regulations respecting the territory or other property\nbelonging to the United States; and nothing in this Constitution shall\nbe so construed as to prejudice any claims of the United States or of\nany particular State.\n\n\n_Section IV. Guarantee to the States._\n\nThe United States shall guarantee to every State in this Union a\nrepublican form of government, and shall protect each of them against\ninvasion, and on application of the legislature, or of the executive\n(when the legislature cannot be convened), against domestic violence.\n\n\nARTICLE V. POWER OF AMENDMENT.[13]\n\n[Footnote 13: Compare Art. V. with Confed. Art. XIII.]\n\nThe Congress, whenever two thirds of both houses shall deem it\nnecessary, shall propose amendments to this Constitution, or, on the\napplication of the legislatures of two thirds of the several States,\nshall call a convention for proposing amendments, which in either\ncase shall be valid to all intents and purposes as part of this\nConstitution, when ratified by the legislatures of three fourths of\nthe several States, or by conventions in three fourths thereof, as the\none or the other mode of ratification may be proposed by the Congress,\nprovided that no amendments which may be made prior to the year one\nthousand eight hundred and eight shall in any manner affect the first\nand fourth clauses in the ninth section of the first article; and that\nno State, without its consent, shall be deprived of its equal suffrage\nin the Senate.\n\nARTICLE VI. PUBLIC DEBT, SUPREMACY OF THE CONSTITUTION, OATH OF\nOFFICE, RELIGIOUS TEST.\n\n1. All debts contracted and engagements entered into, before the\nadoption of this Constitution, shall be as valid against the United\nStates under this Constitution as under the confederation.[14]\n\n[Footnote 14: Compare clause I with Confed. Art. XII.]\n\n2. This Constitution, and the laws of the United States which shall be\nmade in pursuance thereof, and all treaties made, or which shall be\nmade, under the authority of the United States, shall be the supreme\nlaw of the land; and the judges in every State shall be bound thereby,\nanything in the Constitution or laws of any State to the contrary\nnotwithstanding.\n\n3. The Senators and Representatives before mentioned, and the members\nof the several State legislatures, and all executive and judicial\nofficers both of the United States and of the several States, shall\nbe bound by oath or affirmation to support this Constitution; but no\nreligious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office\nor public trust under the United States.[15]\n\n[Footnote 15: Compare clauses 2 and 3 with Confed. Art. XIII. and\naddendum, \"And whereas,\" etc.]\n\nARTICLE VII. RATIFICATION OF THE CONSTITUTION.\n\nThe ratification of the conventions of nine States shall be\nsufficient for the establishment of this Constitution between the States so\nratifying the same.\n\n  Done in convention by the unanimous consent of the States\n  present,[16] the seventeenth day of September, in the year of\n  our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty-seven,\n  and of the Independence of the United States of America\n  the twelfth. In witness whereof, we have hereunto subscribed\n  our names.\n\n[Footnote 16: Rhode Island sent no delegates to the Federal\nConvention.]\n\n  George Washington, President, and Deputy from VIRGINIA.\n  NEW HAMPSHIRE--John Langdon, Nicholas Gilman.\n  MASSACHUSETTS--Nathaniel Gorham, Rufus King.\n  CONNECTICUT--William Samuel Johnson, Roger Sherman.\n  NEW YORK--Alexander Hamilton.\n  NEW JERSEY--William Livingston, David Brearly, William\n  Patterson, Jonathan Dayton.\n  PENNSYLVANIA--Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Mifflin, Robert\n  Morris, George Clymer, Thomas Fitzsimons, Jared Ingersoll,\n  James Wilson, Gouverneur Morris.\n  DELAWARE--George Read, Gunning Bedford, Jr., John Dickinson,\n  Richard Bassett, Jacob Broom.\n  MARYLAND--James McHenry, Daniel of St. Thomas Jenifer,\n  Daniel Carroll.\n  VIRGINIA--John Blair, James Madison, Jr.\n  NORTH CAROLINA--William Blount, Richard Dobbs Spaight,\n  Hugh Williamson.\n  SOUTH CAROLINA--John Rutledge, Charles Cotesworth Pinckney,\n  Charles Pinckney, Pierce Butler.\n  GEORGIA--William Few, Abraham Baldwin.\n  Attest: William Jackson, Secretary.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAMENDMENTS.[17]\n\nARTICLE I.\n\nCongress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or\nprohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of\nspeech or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to\nassemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.\n\n\n[Footnote 17: Amendments I. to X. were proposed by Congress, Sept. 25,\n1789, and declared in force Dec. 15, 1791.]\n\nARTICLE II.\n\nA well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free\nstate, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be\ninfringed.\n\nARTICLE III.\n\nNo soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any house without\nthe consent of the owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be\nprescribed by law.\n\nARTICLE IV.\n\nThe right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers,\nand effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not\nbe violated, and no warrants shall issue but upon probable cause,\nsupported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the\nplace to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.\n\nARTICLE V.\n\nNo person shall be held to answer for a capital or otherwise infamous\ncrime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury, except\nin cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the militia, when\nin actual service in time of war or public danger; nor shall any\nperson be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy\nof life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be\na witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or\nproperty, without due process of law; nor shall private property be\ntaken for public use without just compensation.\n\nARTICLE VI.\n\nIn all criminal prosecutions the accused shall enjoy the right to\na speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the state and\ndistrict wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district\nshall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of\nthe nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the\nwitnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining\nwitnesses in his favour, and to have the assistance of counsel for his\ndefence.\n\nARTICLE VII.\n\nIn suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed\ntwenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no\nfact tried by a jury shall be otherwise reexamined in any court of the\nUnited States, than according to the rules of the common law.\n\nARTICLE VIII.\n\nExcessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor\ncruel and unusual punishments inflicted.\n\nARTICLE IX.\n\nThe enumeration in the Constitution of certain rights shall not be\nconstrued to deny or disparage others retained by the people.\n\nARTICLE X.[18]\n\nThe powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution,\nnor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States\nrespectively or to the people.\n\nARTICLE XI.[19]\n\nThe judicial power of the United States shall not be construed to\nextend to any suit in law or equity, commenced or prosecuted against\none of the United States by citizens of another State, or by citizens\nor subjects of any foreign State.\n\nARTICLE XII.[20]\n\n1. The electors shall meet in their respective States and vote by\nballot for President and Vice-President, one of whom, at least, shall\nnot be an inhabitant of the same State with themselves; they shall\nname in their ballots the person voted for as President, and in\ndistinct ballots the person voted for as Vice-President, and they\nshall make distinct lists of all persons voted for as President and of\nall persons voted for as Vice-President, and of the number of votes\nfor each; which lists they shall sign and certify, and transmit sealed\nto the seat of the government of the United States, directed to the\nPresident of the Senate. The President of the Senate shall, in the\npresence of the Senate and House of Representatives, open all the\ncertificates and the votes shall then be counted. The person having the\ngreatest number of votes for President shall be the President, if such\nnumber be a majority of the whole number of electors appointed; and if\nno person have such majority, then from the persons having the\nhighest numbers not exceeding three on the list of those voted for as\nPresident, the House of Representatives shall choose immediately, by\nballot, the President. But in choosing the President the votes shall\nbe taken by States, the representation from each State having one\nvote; a quorum for this purpose shall consist of a member or members\nfrom two thirds of the States, and a majority of all the States shall\nbe necessary to a choice. And if the House of Representatives shall\nnot choose a President whenever the right of choice shall devolve\nupon them, before the fourth day of March next following, then the\nVice-President shall act as President, as in the case of the death or\nother constitutional disability of the President.\n\n\n[Footnote 18: Compare Amendment X. with Confed. Art. II.]\n\n[Footnote 19: Proposed by Congress March 5, 1794, and declared in force\nJan, 8, 1798.]\n\n[Footnote 20: Proposed by Congress Dec. 12, 1803, and declared in force\nSept. 25, 1804.]\n\n2. The person having the greatest number of votes as Vice-President\nshall be the Vice-President, if such number be a majority of the whole\nnumber of electors appointed; and if no person have a majority, then\nfrom the two highest numbers on the list the Senate shall choose the\nVice-President; a quorum for the purpose shall consist of two thirds\nof the whole number of Senators, and a majority of the whole number\nshall be necessary to a choice.\n\n3. But no person constitutionally ineligible to the office of\nPresident shall be eligible to that of Vice-President of the United\nStates.\n\nARTICLE XIII.[21]\n\n1. Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment\nfor crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall\nexist within the United States or any place subject to their\njurisdiction.\n\n2. Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate\nlegislation.\n\nARTICLE XIV.[22]\n\n1. All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and\n\n[Footnote 21: Proposed by Congress Feb. 1, 1865, and declared in force\nDec. 18, 1865.]\n\n[Footnote 22: Proposed by Congress June 16, 1866, and declared in force\nJuly 28, 1868.] subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of\nthe United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State\nshall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or\nimmunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State\ndeprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process\nof law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal\nprotection of the laws.\n\n2. Representatives shall be apportioned among the several States\naccording to their respective numbers, counting the whole number of\npersons in each State, excluding Indians not taxed. But when the right\nto vote at any election for the choice of electors for President and\nVice-President of the United States, Representatives in Congress, the\nexecutive and judicial officers of a State, or the members of the\nlegislature thereof, is denied to any of the male inhabitants of such\nState, being twenty-one years of age, and citizens of the United\nStates, or in any way abridged, except for participation in rebellion,\nor other crime, the basis of representation therein shall be reduced\nin the proportion which the number of such male citizens shall bear\nto the whole number of male citizens twenty-one years of age in such\nState.\n\nS. No person shall be a Senator or Representative in Congress, or\nelector of President and Vice-President, or hold any office, civil\nor military, under the United States or under any State, who, having\npreviously taken an oath as a member of Congress, or as an officer of\nthe United States, or as a member of any State legislature, or as\nan executive or judicial officer of any State, to support the\nConstitution of the United States, shall have engaged in insurrection\nor rebellion against the same, or given aid or comfort to the enemies\nthereof. But Congress may, by a vote of two thirds of each house,\nremove such disability.\n\n4. The validity of the public debt of the United States, authorized by\nlaw, including debts incurred for payment of pensions and bounties\nfor services in suppressing insurrection or rebellion, shall not be\nquestioned. But neither the United States nor any State shall assume\nor pay any debt or obligation incurred in aid of insurrection or\nrebellion against the United States, or any claim for the loss or\nemancipation of any slave; but all such debts, obligations, and claims\nshall be held illegal and void.\n\n5. The Congress shall have power to enforce, by appropriate\nlegislation, the provisions of this article. ARTICLE XV. [23]\n\n[Footnote 23: Proposed by Congress Feb. 26, 1869, and declared in force\nMarch 30, 1870.]\n\n1. The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be\ndenied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of\nrace, colour, or previous condition of servitude.\n\n2. The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by\nappropriate legislation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFRANKLIN'S SPEECH ON THE LAST DAY OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION [24]\n\n[Footnote 24: From Madison's _Journal_, in Eliot's _Debates_,\nvol. v. p. 554.]\n\nMONDAY, _September_ 17. _In Convention_--The engrossed\nConstitution being read, Doctor Franklin rose with a speech in his\nhand, which he had reduced to writing for his own convenience, and\nwhich Mr. Wilson read in the words following:\n\nMR. PRESIDENT: I confess that there are several parts of this\nConstitution which I do not at present approve, but I am not sure I\nshall never approve them. For, having lived long, I have experienced\nmany instances of being obliged by better information, or fuller\nconsideration, to change opinions even on important subjects which I\nonce thought right, but found to be otherwise. It is therefore that, the\nolder I grow, the more apt I am to doubt my own judgment, and to pay\nmore respect to the judgment of others. Most men, indeed, as well as\nmost sects in religion, think themselves in possession of all truth, and\nthat wherever others differ from them it is so far error. Steele, a\nProtestant, in a dedication tells the Pope that the only difference\nbetween our churches, in their opinions of the certainty of their\ndoctrines, is, 'the Church of Rome is infallible, and the Church of\nEngland is never in the wrong.' But though many private persons think\nalmost as highly of their own infallibility as of that of their sect,\nfew express it so naturally as a certain French lady who, in a dispute\nwith her sister, said, 'I don't know how it happens, sister, but I meet\nwith nobody but myself that is always in the right--_il n'y a que moi\nqui a toujours raison.' In these sentiments, sir, I agree to this\nConstitution, with all its faults, if they are such, because I think a\nGeneral Government necessary for us, and there is no form of government\nbut what may be a blessing to the people if well administered; and\nbelieve further, that this is likely to be well administered for a\ncourse of years, and can only end in despotism, as other forms have done\nbefore it, when the people shall become so corrupted as to need despotic\ngovernment, being incapable of any other. I doubt, too, whether any\nother Convention we can obtain may be able to make a better\nConstitution. For when you assemble a number of men to have the\nadvantage of their joint wisdom, you inevitably assemble with those men\nall their prejudices, their passions, their errors of opinion, their\nlocal interests, and their selfish views. From such an assembly can a\nperfect production be expected? It, therefore, astonishes me, sir, to\nfind this system approaching so near to perfection as it does: and I\nthink it will astonish our enemies, who are waiting with confidence to\nhear that our councils are confounded, like those of the builders of\nBabel, and that our States are on the point of separation, only to meet\nhereafter for the purpose of cutting one another's throats. Thus I\nconsent, sir, to this Constitution because I expect no better, and\nbecause I am not sure that it is not the best. The opinions I have had\nof its errors I sacrifice to the public good. I have never whispered a\nsyllable of them abroad. Within these walls they were born and here they\nshall die. If every one of us, in returning to our constituents, were to\nreport the objections he has had to it, and endeavour to gain partisans\nin support of them, we might prevent its being generally received, and\nthereby lose all the salutary effects and great advantages resulting\nnaturally in our favour among foreign nations as well as among\nourselves, from our real or apparent unanimity. Much of the strength and\nefficiency of any government, in procuring and securing happiness to the\npeople, depends on opinion--on the general opinion of the goodness of\nthe government as well as of the wisdom and integrity of its governors.\nI hope, therefore, that for our own sakes, as a part of the people, and\nfor the sake of posterity, we shall act heartily and unanimously in\nrecommending this Constitution (if approved by Congress and confirmed by\nthe Conventions) wherever our influence may extend, and turn our future\nthoughts and endeavours to the means of having it well administered. On\nthe whole, sir, I cannot help expressing a wish that every member of the\nConvention who may still have objections to it would, with me, on this\noccasion doubt a little of his own infallibility, and, to make manifest\nour unanimity, put his name to this instrument.\n\nHe then moved that the Constitution be signed by the members, and\noffered the following as a convenient form, viz.: \"Done in Convention\nby the unanimous consent of _the States_ present the seventeenth\nof September, etc. In witness whereof we have hereunto subscribed\nour names.\" This ambiguous form had been drawn up by Mr. Gouverneur\nMorris, in order to gain the dissenting members, and put into the\nhands of Doctor Franklin, that it might have the better chance of\nsuccess. [Considerable discussion followed, Randolph and Gerry stating\ntheir reasons for refusing to sign the Constitution. Mr. Hamilton\nexpressed his anxiety that every member should sign. A few characters\nof consequence, he said, by opposing or even refusing to sign the\nConstitution, might do infinite mischief by kindling the latent sparks\nthat lurk under an enthusiasm in favour of the Convention which may\nsoon subside. No man's ideas were more remote from the plan than his\nown were known to be; but is it possible to deliberate between anarchy\nand convulsion on one side, and the chance of good to be expected from\nthe plan on the other? This discussion concluded, the Convention voted\nthat its journal and other papers should be retained by the President,\nsubject to the order of Congress.] The members then proceeded to sign\nthe Constitution as finally amended. The Constitution being signed by\nall the members except Mr. Randolph, Mr. Mason, and Mr. Gerry, who\ndeclined giving it the sanction of their names, the Convention\ndissolved itself by an adjournment sine die.\n\nWhilst the last members were signing, Doctor Franklin, looking towards\nthe President's chair, at the back of which a rising sun happened to\nbe painted, observed to a few members near him that painters had found\nit difficult to distinguish in their art a rising from a setting sun.\nI have, said he, often and often, in the course of the session, and\nthe vicissitudes of my hopes and fears as to its issue, looked at that\nbehind the President without being able to tell whether it was rising\nor setting; but now, at length, I have the happiness to know that it\nis a rising, and not a setting, sun.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX C.\n\n\nMAGNA CHARTA.[25]\n\n[Footnote 25: I have, by permission, reproduced the _Old South\nLeaflet_, with its notes, etc., in full.]\n\nOR THE GREAT CHARTER OF KING JOHN, GRANTED JUNE 15, A.D. 1215.\n\nJOHN, by the Grace of God, King of England, Lord of Ireland, Date of\nNormandy, Aquitaine, and Count of Anjou, to his Archbishops, Bishops,\nAbbots, Earls, Barons, Justiciaries, Foresters, Sheriffs, Governors,\nOfficers, and to all Bailiffs, and his faithful subjects, greeting.\nKnow ye, that we, in the presence of God, and for the salvation of\nour soul, and the souls of all our ancestors and heirs, and unto the\nhonour of God and the advancement of Holy Church, and amendment of\nour Realm, by advice of our venerable Fathers, Stephen, Archbishop\nof Canterbury, Primate of all England and Cardinal of the Holy Roman\nChurch: Henry, Archbishop of Dublin; William, of London; Peter, of\nWinchester; Jocelin of Bath and Glastonbury; Hugh, of Lincoln; Walter,\nof Worcester; William, of Coventry: Benedict, of Rochester--Bishops:\nof Master Pandulph, Sub-Deacon and Familiar of our Lord the Pope;\nBrother Aymeric, Master of the Knights-Templars in England; and of the\nnoble Persons, William Marescall, Earl of Pembroke; William, Earl of\nSalisbury; William, Earl of Warren; William, Earl of Arundel; Alan de\nGalloway, Constable of Scotland; Warin FitzGerald, Peter FitzHerbert,\nand Hubert de Burgh, Seneschal of Poitou; Hugh de Neville, Matthew\nFitzHerbert, Thomas Basset, Alan Basset, Philip of Albiney, Robert\nde Roppell, John Mareschal, John FitzHugh, and others, our liegemen,\nhave, in the first place, granted to God, and by this our present\nCharter confirmed, for us and our heirs for ever:--\n\n1. That the Church of England shall be free, and have her whole rights,\nand her liberties inviolable; and we will have them so observed, that it\nmay appear thence that the freedom of elections, which is reckoned chief\nand indispensable to the English Church, and which we granted and\nconfirmed by our Charter, and obtained the confirmation of the same from\nour Lord the Pope Innocent III., before the discord between us and our\nbarons, was granted of mere free will; which Charter we shall observe,\nand we do will it to be faithfully observed by our heirs for ever.\n\n2. We also have granted to all the freemen of our kingdom, for us and\nfor our heirs for ever, all the underwritten liberties, to be had and\nholden by them and their heirs, of us and our heirs for ever: If\nany of our earls, or barons, or others, who hold of us in chief by\nmilitary service, shall die, and at the time of his death his heir\nshall be of full age, and owe a relief, he shall have his inheritance\nby the ancient relief--that is to say, the heir or heirs of an earl,\nfor a whole earldom, by a hundred pounds; the heir or heirs of a\nbaron, for a whole barony, by a hundred pounds; the heir or heirs of a\nknight, for a whole knight's fee, by a hundred shillings at most; and\nwhoever oweth less shall give less, according to the ancient custom of\nfees.\n\n3. But if the heir of any such shall be under age, and shall be in\nward, when he comes of age he shall have his inheritance without\nrelief and without fine.\n\n4. The keeper of the land of such an heir being under age, shall\ntake of the land of the heir none but reasonable issues, reasonable\ncustoms, and reasonable services, and that without destruction and\nwaste of his men and his goods; and if we commit the custody of any\nsuch lands to the sheriff, or any other who is answerable to us for\nthe issues of the land, and he shall make destruction and waste of the\nlands which he hath in custody, we will take of him amends, and the\nland shall be committed to two lawful and discreet men of that fee,\nwho shall answer for the issues to us, or to him to whom we shall\nassign them; and if we sell or give to any one the custody of any such\nlands, and he therein make destruction or waste, he shall lose the\nsame custody, which shall be committed to two lawful and discreet men\nof that fee, who shall in like manner answer to us as aforesaid.\n\n5. But the keeper, so long as he shall have the custody of the land,\nshall keep up the houses, parks, warrens, ponds, mills, and other\nthings pertaining to the land, out of the issues of the same land; and\nshall deliver to the heir, when he comes of full age, his whole land,\nstocked with ploughs and carriages, according as the time of wainage\nshall require, and the issues of the land can reasonably bear.\n\n6. Heirs shall be married without disparagement, and so that before\nmatrimony shall be contracted, those who are near in blood to the heir\nshall have notice. 7. A widow, after the death of her husband, shall\nforthwith and without difficulty have her marriage and inheritance;\nnor shall she give anything for her dower, or her marriage, or her\ninheritance, which her husband and she held at the day of his death;\nand she may remain in the mansion house of her husband forty days\nafter his death, within which time her dower shall be assigned.\n\n8. No widow shall be distrained to marry herself, so long as she has a\nmind to live without a husband; but yet she shall give security that\nshe will not marry without our assent, if she hold of us; or without\nthe consent of the lord of whom she holds, if she hold of another.\n\n9. Neither we nor our bailiffs shall seize any land or rent for any\ndebt so long as the chattels of the debtor are sufficient to pay the\ndebt; nor shall the sureties of the debtor be distrained so long\nas the principal debtor has sufficient to pay the debt; and if the\nprincipal debtor shall fail in the payment of the debt, not having\nwherewithal to pay it, then the sureties shall answer the debt; and\nif they will they shall have the lands and rents of the debtor, until\nthey shall be satisfied for the debt which they paid for him, unless\nthe principal debtor can show himself acquitted thereof against the\nsaid sureties.\n\n10. If any one have borrowed anything of the Jews, more or less, and\ndie before the debt be satisfied, there shall be no interest paid for\nthat debt, so long as the heir is under age, of whomsoever he may\nhold; and if the debt falls into our hands, we will only take the\nchattel mentioned in the deed.\n\n11. And if any one shall die indebted to the Jews, his wife shall\nhave her dower and pay nothing of that debt; and if the deceased left\nchildren under age, they shall have necessaries provided for them,\naccording to the tenement of the deceased; and out of the residue the\ndebt shall be paid, saving, however, the service due to the lords, and\nin like manner shall it be done touching debts due to others than the\nJews.\n\n12. _No scutage or aid[26] shall be imposed in our kingdom, unless\nby the general council of our kingdom_; except for ransoming our\nperson, making our eldest son a knight, and once for marrying our\neldest daughter; and for these there shall be paid no more than a\nreasonable aid. In like manner it shall be concerning the aids of the\nCity of London.\n\n[Footnote 26: In the time of the feudal system _scutage_ was a\ndirect tax in commutation for military service; _aids_ were\ndirect taxes paid by the tenant to his lord for ransoming his person\nif taken captive, and for helping defray the expenses of knighting his\neldest son and marrying his eldest daughter.]\n\n13. And the City of London shall have all its ancient liberties and\nfree customs, as well by land as by water: furthermore, we will and\ngrant that all other cities and boroughs, and towns and ports, shall\nhave all their liberties and free customs.\n\n14. _And for holding the general council of the kingdom concerning\nthe assessment of aids, except in the three cases aforesaid, and\nfor the assessing of scutages, we shall cause to be summoned the\narchbishops, bishops, abbots, earls, and greater barons of the realm,\nsingly by our letters. And furthermore, we shall cause to be summoned\ngenerally, by our sheriffs and bailiffs, all others who hold of us\nin chief, for a certain day, that is to say, forty days before their\nmeeting at least, and to a certain place; and in all letters of such\nsummons we will declare the cause of such summons. And summons being\nthus made, the business shall proceed on the day appointed, according\nto the advice of such as shall be present, although all that were\nsummoned come not._\n\n15. We will not for the future grant to any one that he may take aid\nof his own free tenants, unless to ransom his body, and to make his\neldest son a knight, and once to marry his eldest daughter; and for\nthis there shall be only paid a reasonable aid.\n\n16. No man shall be distrained to perform more service for a knight's\nfee, or other free tenement, than is due from thence.\n\n17. Common pleas shall not follow our court, but shall be holden in\nsome place certain.\n\n18. Trials upon the Writs of Novel Disseisin,[27] and of Mort\nd'ancestor,[28] and of Darrein Presentment,[29] shall not be taken but\nin their proper counties, and after this manner: We, or if we should\nbe out of the realm, our chief justiciary, will send two justiciaries\nthrough every county four times a year, who, with four knights of each\ncounty, chosen by the county, shall hold the said assizes[30] in the\ncounty, on the day, and at the place appointed.\n\n[Footnote 27: Dispossession.]\n\n[Footnote 28: Death of the ancestor; that is, in cases of disputed\nsuccession to land.]\n\n[Footnote 29: Last presentation to a benefice.]\n\n[Footnote 30: The word Assize here means an assembly of knights or\nother substantial persons, held at a certain time and place where\nthey sit with the Justice. 'Assisa' or 'Assize' is also taken\nfor the court, place, or time at which the writs of Assize are\ntaken.--_Thompson's Notes._]\n\n19. And if any matters cannot be determined on the day appointed\nfor holding the assizes in each county, so many of the knights and\nfreeholders as have been at the assizes aforesaid shall stay to decide\nthem as is necessary, according as there is more or less business.\n\n20. A freeman shall not be amerced for a small offence, but only\naccording to the degree of the offence; and for a great crime\naccording to the heinousness of it, saving to him his contenement;[31]\nand after the same manner a merchant, saving to him his merchandise.\nAnd a villein shall be amerced after the same manner, saving to him\nhis wainage, if he falls under our mercy; and none of the aforesaid\namerciaments shall be assessed but by the oath of honest men in the\nneighbourhood.\n\n[Footnote 31: \"That by which a person subsists and which is essential\nto his rank in life.\"]\n\n21. Earls and barons shall not be amerced but by their peers, and\nafter the degree of the offence.\n\n22. No ecclesiastical person shall be amerced for his lay tenement,\nbut according to the proportion of the others aforesaid, and not\naccording to the value of his ecclesiastical benefice.\n\n23. Neither a town nor any tenant shall be distrained to make bridges\nor embankments, unless that anciently and of right they are bound to\ndo it.\n\n24. No sheriff, constable, coroner, or other our bailiffs, shall hold\n\"Pleas of the Crown.\" [32]\n\n[Footnote 32: These are suits conducted in the name of the Crown\nagainst criminal offenders.]\n\n25. All counties, hundreds, wapentakes, and trethings, shall stand at\nthe old rents, without any increase, except in our demesne manors.\n\n26. If any one holding of us a lay fee die, and the sheriff, or our\nbailiffs, show our letters patent of summons for debt which the dead\nman did owe to us, it shall be lawful for the sheriff or our bailiff\nto attach and register the chattels of the dead, found upon his lay\nfee, to the amount of the debt, by the view of lawful men, so as\nnothing be removed until our whole clear debt be paid; and the rest\nshall be left to the executors to fulfil the testament of the dead;\nand if there be nothing due from him to us, all the chattels shall\ngo to the use of the dead, saving to his wife and children their\nreasonable shares.[33]\n\n[Footnote 33: A person's goods were divided into three parts, of which\none went to his wife, another to his heirs, and a third he was at\nliberty to dispose of. If he had no child, his widow had half; and if he\nhad children, but no wife, half was divided amongst them. These several\nsums were called \"reasonable shares.\" Through the testamentary\njurisdiction they gradually acquired, the clergy often contrived to get\ninto their own hands all the residue of the estate without paying the\ndebts of the estate.]\n\n27. If any freeman shall die intestate, his chattels shall be\ndistributed by the hands of his nearest relations and friends, by view\nof the Church, saving to every one his debts which the deceased owed\nto him.\n\n28. No constable or bailiff of ours shall take corn or other chattels\nof any man unless he presently give him money for it, or hath respite\nof payment by the goodwill of the seller.\n\n29. No constable shall distrain any knight to give money for\ncastle-guard, if he himself will do it in his person, or by another\nable man, in case he cannot do it through any reasonable cause. And if\nwe have carried or sent him into the army, he shall be free from such\nguard for the time he shall be in the army by our command.\n\n30. No sheriff or bailiff of ours, or any other, shall take horses\nor carts of any freeman for carriage, without the assent of the said\nfreeman.\n\n31. Neither shall we nor our bailiffs take any man's timber for our\ncastles or other uses, unless by the consent of the owner of the\ntimber.\n\n32. We will retain the lands of those convicted of felony only one\nyear and a day, and then they shall be delivered to the lord of the\nfee.[34]\n\n[Footnote 34: All forfeiture for felony has been abolished by the 33\nand 34 Vic., c. 23. It seems to have originated in the destruction\nof the felon's property being part of the sentence, and this \"waste\"\nbeing commuted for temporary possession by the Crown.]\n\n\n33. All kydells[35] (wears) for the time to come shall be put down in\nthe rivers of Thames and Medway, and throughout all England, except\nupon the sea-coast.\n\n[Footnote 35: The purport of this was to prevent inclosures of common\nproperty, or committing a \"Purpresture.\" These wears are now called\n\"kettles\" or \"kettle-nets\" in Kent and Cornwall.]\n\n34. The writ which is called _praecipe_, for the future, shall not be\nmade out to any one, of any tenement, whereby a freeman may lose his\ncourt.\n\n35. There shall be one measure of wine and one of ale through our\nwhole realm; and one measure of corn, that is to say, the London\nquarter; and one breadth of dyed cloth, and russets, and haberjeets,\nthat is to say, two ells within the lists; and it shall be of weights\nas it is of measures.\n\n36. _Nothing from henceforth shall be given or taken for a writ of\ninquisition of life or limb, but it shall be granted freely, and not\ndenied._[36]\n\n[Footnote 36: This important writ, or \"writ concerning hatred and\nmalice,\" may have been the prototype of the writ of _habeas\ncorpus_, and was granted for a similar purpose.]\n\n37. If any do hold of us by fee-farm, or by socage, or by burgage, and\nhe hold also lands of any other by knight's service, we will not have\nthe custody of the heir or land, which is holden of another man's fee\nby reason of that fee-farm, socage,[37] or burgage; neither will we\nhave the custody of the fee-farm, or socage, or burgage, unless\nknight's service was due to us out of the same fee-farm. We will not\nhave the custody of an heir, nor of any land which he holds of another\nby knight's service, by reason of any petty serjeanty[38] by which he\nholds of us, by the service of paying a knife, an arrow, or the like.\n\n[Footnote 37: \"Socage\" signifies lands held by tenure of performing\ncertain inferior offices in husbandry, probably from the old French\nword _soc_, a plough-share.]\n\n[Footnote 38: The tenure of giving the king some small weapon of war in\nacknowledgment of lands held.]\n\n38. No bailiff from henceforth shall pat any man to his law[39] upon\nhis own bare saying, without credible witnesses to prove it.\n\n[Footnote 39: Equivalent to putting him to his oath. This alludes to\nthe Wager of Law, by which a defendant and his eleven supporters or\n\"compurgators\" could swear to his non-liability, and this amounted to\na verdict in his favour.]\n\n39. _No freeman shall be taken or imprisoned, or disseised, or\noutlawed, or banished, or any ways destroyed, nor will we pass upon\nhim, nor will we send upon him, unless by the lawful judgment of his\npeers, or by the law of the land._\n\n40. _We will sell to no man, we will not deny to any man, either\njustice or right._\n\n41. All merchants shall have safe and secure conduct, to go out of,\nand to come into England, and to stay there and to pass as well by\nland as by water, for buying and selling by the ancient and allowed\ncustoms, without any unjust tolls; except in time of war, or when they\nare of any nation at war with us. And if there be found any such in\nour land, in the beginning of the war, they shall be attached, without\ndamage to their bodies or goods, until it be known unto us, or our\nchief justiciary, how our merchants be treated in the nation at war\nwith us; and if ours be safe there, the others shall be safe in our\ndominions.\n\n42. It shall be lawful, for the time to come, for any one to go out\nof our kingdom, and return safely and securely by land or by water,\nsaving his allegiance to us; unless in time of war, by some short\nspace, for the common benefit of the realm, except prisoners and\noutlaws, according to the law of the land, and people in war with us,\nand merchants who shall be treated as is above mentioned.[40]\n\n[Footnote 40: The Crown has still technically the power of confining\nsubjects within the kingdom by the writ \"ne exeat regno,\" though the\nuse of the writ is rarely resorted to.]\n\n43. If any man hold of any escheat,[41] as of the honour of\nWallingford, Nottingham, Boulogne, Lancaster, or of other escheats\nwhich be in our hands, and are baronies, and die, his heir shall give\nno other relief, and perform no other service to us than he would to\nthe baron, if it were in the baron's hand; and we will hold it after\nthe same manner as the baron held it.\n\n[Footnote 41: The word _escheat_ is derived from the French\n_escheoir_, to return or happen, and signifies the return of\nan estate to a lord, either on failure of tenant's issue or on his\ncommitting felony. The abolition of feudal tenures by the Act of\nCharles II. (12 Charles II. c. 24) rendered obsolete this part and\nmany other parts of the Charter.]\n\n44. Those men who dwell without the forest from henceforth shall not\ncome before our justiciaries of the forest, upon common, summons, but\nsuch as are impleaded, or are sureties for any that are attached for\nsomething concerning the forest.[42]\n\n[Footnote 42: The laws for regulating the royal forests, and\nadministering justice in respect of offences committed in their\nprecincts, formed a large part of the law.]\n\n45. We will not make any justices, constables, sheriffs, or bailiffs,\nbut of such as know the law of the realm and mean duly to observe it.\n\n46. All barons who have founded abbeys, which they hold by charter\nfrom the kings of England, or by ancient tenure, shall have the\nkeeping of them, when vacant, as they ought to have.\n\n47. All forests that have been made forests in our time shall\nforthwith be disforested; and the same shall be done with the\nwater-banks that have been fenced in by us in our time.\n\n48. All evil customs concerning forests, warrens, foresters, and\nwarreners, sheriffs and their officers, water-banks and their keepers,\nshall forthwith be inquired into in each county, by twelve sworn\nknights of the same county, chosen by creditable persons of the same\ncounty; and within forty days after the said inquest be utterly\nabolished, so as never to be restored: so as we are first acquainted\ntherewith, or our justiciary, if we should not be in England.\n\n49. We will immediately give up all hostages and charters delivered\nunto us by our English subjects, as securities for their keeping the\npeace, and yielding us faithful service.\n\n50. We will entirely remove from their bailiwicks the relations of\nGerard de Atheyes, so that for the future they shall have no bailiwick\nin England; we will also remove Engelard de Cygony, Andrew, Peter, and\nGyon, from the Chancery; Gyon de Cygony, Geoffrey de Martyn, and his\nbrothers; Philip Mark, and his brothers, and his nephew, Geoffrey, and\ntheir whole retinue.\n\n51. As soon as peace is restored, we will send out of the kingdom all\nforeign knights, cross-bowmen, and stipendiaries, who are come with\nhorses and arms to the molestation of our people.\n\n52. If any one has been dispossessed or deprived by us, without the\nlawful judgment of his peers, of his lands, castles, liberties, or\nright, we will forthwith restore them to him; and if any dispute arise\nupon this head, let the matter be decided by the five-and-twenty\nbarons hereafter mentioned, for the preservation of the peace. And for\nall those things of which any person has, without the lawful judgment\nof his peers, been dispossessed or deprived, either by our father King\nHenry, or our brother King Richard, and which we have in our hands, or\nare possessed by others, and we are bound to warrant and make good,\nwe shall have a respite till the term usually allowed the crusaders;\nexcepting those things about which there is a plea depending, or\nwhereof an inquest hath been made, by our order before we undertook\nthe crusade; but as soon as we return from our expedition, or if\nperchance we tarry at home and do not make our expedition, we will\nimmediately cause full justice to be administered therein.\n\n53. The same respite we shall have, and in the same manner, about\nadministering justice, disafforesting or letting continue the forests,\nwhich Henry our father, and our brother Richard, have afforested; and\nthe same concerning the wardship of the lands which are in another's\nfee, but the wardship of which we have hitherto had, by reason of a\nfee held of us by knight's service; and for the abbeys founded in any\nother fee than our own, in which the lord of the fee says he has a\nright; and when we return from our expedition, or if we tarry at home,\nand do not make our expedition, we will immediately do full justice to\nall the complainants in this behalf.\n\n54. No man shall be taken or imprisoned upon the appeal[43] of a woman,\nfor the death of any other than her husband.\n\n[Footnote 43: An _Appeal_ here means an \"accusation.\" The appeal\nhere mentioned was a suit for a penalty in which the plaintiff was a\nrelation who had suffered through a murder or manslaughter. One of the\nincidents of this \"Appeal of Death\" was the Trial by Battle. These\nAppeals and Trial by Battle were not abolished before the passing of\nthe Act 59 Geo. III., c. 46.]\n\n55. All unjust and illegal fines made by us, and all amerciaments\nimposed unjustly and contrary to the law of the land, shall\nbe entirely given up, or else be left to the decision of the\nfive-and-twenty barons hereafter mentioned for the preservation of\nthe peace, or of the major part of them, together with the aforesaid\nStephen, Archbishop of Canterbury, if he can be present, and others\nwhom he shall think fit to invite; and if he cannot be present, the\nbusiness shall notwithstanding go on without him; but so that if one\nor more of the aforesaid five-and-twenty barons be plaintiffs in\nthe same cause, they shall be set aside as to what concerns this\nparticular affair, and others be chosen in their room, out of the said\nfive-and-twenty, and sworn by the rest to decide the matter.\n\n56. If we have disseised or dispossessed the Welsh of any lands,\nliberties, or other things, without the legal judgment of their peers,\neither in England or in Wales, they shall be immediately restored to\nthem; and if any dispute arise upon this head, the matter shall be\ndetermined in the Marches by the judgment of their peers; for tenements\nin England according to the law of England, for tenements in Wales\naccording to the law of Wales, for tenements of the Marches according to\nthe law of the Marches: the same shall the Welsh do to us and our\nsubjects.\n\n\n57. As for all those things of which a Welshman hath, without the lawful\njudgment of his peers, been disseised or deprived of by King Henry our\nfather, or our brother King Richard, and which we either have in our\nhands or others are possessed of, and we are obliged to warrant it, we\nshall have a respite till the time generally allowed the crusaders;\nexcepting those things about which a suit is depending, or whereof an\ninquest has been made by our order, before we undertook the crusade: but\nwhen we return, or if we stay at home without performing our expedition,\nwe will immediately do them full justice, according to the laws of the\nWelsh and of the parts before mentioned.\n\n58. We will without delay dismiss the son of Llewellin, and all the\n\nWelsh hostages, and release them from the engagements they have\nentered into with us for the preservation of the peace.\n\n59. We will treat with Alexander, King of Scots, concerning the\nrestoring his sisters and hostages, and his right and liberties, in\nthe same form and manner as we shall do to the rest of our barons\nof England; unless by the charters which we have from his father,\nWilliam, late King of Scots, it ought to be otherwise; and this shall\nbe left to the determination of his peers in our court.\n\n60. All the aforesaid customs and liberties, which we have granted to\nbe holden in our kingdom, as much as it belongs to us, all people of\nour kingdom, as well clergy as laity, shall observe, as far as they\nare concerned, towards their dependents.\n\n61. And whereas, for the honour of God and the amendment of our\nkingdom, and for the better quieting the discord that has arisen\nbetween us and our barons, we have granted all these things aforesaid;\nwilling to render them firm and lasting, we do give and grant our\nsubjects the underwritten security, namely that the barons may choose\nfive-and-twenty barons of the kingdom, whom they think convenient; who\nshall take care, with all their might, to hold and observe, and cause\nto be observed, the peace and liberties we have granted them, and by\nthis our present Charter confirmed in this manner; that is to say,\nthat if we, our justiciary, our bailiffs, or any of our officers,\nshall in any circumstance have failed in the performance of them\ntowards any person, or shall have broken through any of these articles\nof peace and security, and the offence be notified to four barons\nchosen out of the five-and-twenty before mentioned, the said four\nbarons shall repair to us, or our justiciary, if we are out of the\nrealm, and, laying open the grievance, shall petition to have it\nredressed without delay: and if it be not redressed by us, or if we\nshould chance to be out of the realm, if it should not be redressed by\nour justiciary within forty days, reckoning from the time it has been\nnotified to us, or to our justiciary (if we should be out of the\nrealm), the four barons aforesaid shall lay the cause before the rest\nof the five-and-twenty barons; and the said five-and-twenty barons,\ntogether with the community of the whole kingdom, shall distrain and\ndistress us in all the ways in which they shall be able, by seizing\nour castles, lands, possessions, and in any other manner they can,\ntill the grievance is redressed, according to their pleasure; saving\nharmless our own person, and the persons of our Queen and children;\nand when it is redressed, they shall behave to us as before. And any\nperson whatsoever in the kingdom may swear that he will obey the\norders of the five-and-twenty barons aforesaid in the execution of the\npremises, and will distress us, jointly with them, to the utmost of\nhis power; and we give public and free liberty to any one that shall\nplease to swear to this, and never will hinder any person from taking\nthe same oath.\n\n62. As for all those of our subjects who will not, of their own\naccord, swear to join the five-and-twenty barons in distraining and\ndistressing us, we will issue orders to make them take the same oath\nas aforesaid. And if any one of the five-and-twenty barons dies, or\ngoes out of the kingdom, or is hindered any other way from\ncarrying the things aforesaid into execution, the rest of the said\nfive-and-twenty barons may choose another in his room, at their\ndiscretion, who shall be sworn in like manner as the rest. In all\nthings that are committed to the execution of these five-and-twenty\nbarons, if, when they are all assembled together, they should happen\nto disagree about any matter, and some of them, when summoned, will\nnot or cannot come, whatever is agreed upon, or enjoined, by the major\npart of those that are present shall be reputed as firm and valid as\nif all the five-and-twenty had given their consent; and the aforesaid\nfive-and-twenty shall swear that all the premises they shall\nfaithfully observe, and cause with all their power to be observed. And\nwe will procure nothing from any one, by ourselves nor by another,\nwhereby any of these concessions and liberties may be revoked or\nlessened; and if any such thing shall have been obtained, let it be\nnull and void; neither will we ever make use of it either by ourselves\nor any other. And all the ill-will, indignations, and rancours that\nhave arisen between us and our subjects, of the clergy and laity, from\nthe first breaking out of the dissensions between us, we do fully\nremit and forgive: moreover, all trespasses occasioned by the said\ndissensions, from Easter in the sixteenth year of our reign till the\nrestoration of peace and tranquillity, we hereby entirely remit to\nall, both clergy and laity, and as far as in us lies do fully forgive.\nWe have, moreover, caused to be made for them the letters patent\ntestimonial of Stephen, Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, Henry, Lord\nArchbishop of Dublin, and the bishops aforesaid, as also of Master\nPandulph, for the security and concessions aforesaid.\n\n63. Wherefore we will and firmly enjoin, that the Church of England be\nfree, and that all men in our kingdom have and hold all the aforesaid\nliberties, rights, and concessions, truly and peaceably, freely and\nquietly, fully and wholly to themselves and their heirs, of us and our\nheirs, in all things and places, forever, as is aforesaid. It is also\nsworn, as well on our part as on the part of the barons, that all the\nthings aforesaid shall be observed in good faith, and without evil\nsubtilty. Given under our hand, in the presence of the witnesses above\nnamed, and many others, in the meadow called Runingmede, between\nWindsor and Staines, the 15th day of June, in the 17th year of our\nreign.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe translation here given is that published in Sheldon Amos's work\non _The English Constitution_. The translation given by Sir E.\nCreasy was chiefly followed in this, but it was collated with another\naccurate translation by Mr. Richard Thompson, accompanying his\n_Historical Essay on Magna Charta_, published in 1829, and also\nwith the Latin text. \"The explanation of the whole Charter,\" observes\nMr. Amos, must be sought chiefly in detailed accounts of the Feudal\nsystem in England, as explained in such works as those of Stubbs,\nHallam, and Blackstone. The scattered notes here introduced have\nonly for their purpose to elucidate the most unusual and perplexing\nexpressions. The Charter printed in the Statute Book is that issued\nin the ninth year of Henry III., which is also the one specially\nconfirmed by the Charter of Edward I. The Charter of Henry III.\ndiffers in some (generally) insignificant points from that of John.\nThe most important difference is the omission in the later Charter of\nthe 14th and 15th Articles of John's Charter, by which the King is\nrestricted from levying aids beyond the three ordinary ones, without\nthe assent of the 'Common Council of the Kingdom.' and provision is\nmade for summoning it. This passage is restored by Edward I. Magna\nCharter has been solemnly confirmed upwards of thirty times. See the\nchapter on the Great Charter, in Green's _History of the English\nPeople_. See also Stubbs's _Documents Illustrative of English\nHistory_. \"The whole of the constitutional history of England,\"\nsays Stubbs, \"is a commentary on this Charter, the illustration of\nwhich must be looked for in the documents that precede and follow.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"CONFIRMATIO CHARTARUM\" OF EDWARD I.\n\n1297.\n\nI. Edward, by the grace of God, King of England, Lord of Ireland, and\nDuke Guyan, to all those that these present letters shall hear or see,\ngreeting. Know ye that we, to the honour of God and of holy Church,\nand to the profit of our realm, have granted for us and our heirs,\nthat the Charter of Liberties and the Charter of the Forest, which\nwere made by common assent of all the realm in the time of King Henry\nour father, shall be kept in every point without breach. And we will\nthat the same Charters shall be sent under our seal as well to our\njustices of the forest as to others, and to all sheriffs of shires,\nand to all our other officers, and to all our cities throughout the\nrealm, together with our writs in the which it shall be contained that\nthey cause the foresaid Charters to be published, and to declare to\nthe people that we have confirmed them in all points; and that our\njustices, sheriffs, mayors, and other ministers, which under us have\nthe laws of our land to guide, shall allow the said Charters pleaded\nbefore them in judgment in all their points; that is to wit, the Great\nCharter as the common law, and the Charter of the Forest according to\nthe assize of the Forest, for the wealth of our realm.\n\nII. And we will that if any judgment be given from henceforth,\ncontrary to the points of the Charters aforesaid, by the justices or\nby any other our ministers that hold plea before them against the\npoints of the Charters, it shall be undone and holden for naught.\n\nIII. And we will that the same Charters shall be sent under our seal\nto cathedral churches throughout our realm, there to remain, and shall\nbe read before the people two times by the year. IV. And that all\narchbishops and bishops shall pronounce the sentence of great\nexcommunication against all those that by word, deed, or counsel do\ncontrary to the foresaid Charters, or that in any point break or undo\nthem. And that the said curses be twice a year denounced and published\nby the prelates aforesaid. And if the prelates or any of them be\nremiss in the denunciation of the said sentences, the Archbishops of\nCanterbury and York for the time being, as is fitting, shall compel\nand distrain them to make that denunciation in form aforesaid.\n\nV. And for so much as divers people of our realm are in fear that the\naids and tasks which they have given to us beforetime towards our wars\nand other business, of their own grant and goodwill, howsoever they\nwere made, might turn to a bondage to them and their heirs, because\nthey might be at another time found in the rolls, and so likewise the\nprises taken throughout the realm by our ministers; we have granted\nfor us and our heirs, that we shall not draw such aids, tasks, nor\nprises into a custom, for anything that hath been done heretofore, or\nthat may be found by roll or in any other manner.\n\nVI. Moreover we have granted for us and our heirs, as well to\narchbishops, bishops, abbots, priors, and other folk of holy Church,\nas also to earls, barons, and to all the commonalty of the land, that\nfor no business from henceforth will we take such manner of aids,\ntasks, nor prises but by the common consent of the realm, and for the\ncommon profit thereof, saving the ancient aids and prises due and\naccustomed.\n\nVII. And for so much as the more part of the commonalty of the realm\nfind themselves sore grieved with the matelote of wools, that is to\nwit, a toll of forty shillings for every sack of wool, and have made\npetition to us to release the same; we, at their requests, have\nclearly released it, and have granted for us and our heirs that we\nshall not take such thing nor any other without their common assent\nand goodwill; saving to us and our heirs the custom of wools, skins,\nand leather, granted before by the commonalty aforesaid. In witness\nof which things we have caused these our letters to be made patents.\nWitness Edward our son, at London, the 10th day of October, the\nfive-and-twentieth of our reign.\n\nAnd be it remembered that this same Charter, in the same terms, word\nfor word, was sealed in Flanders under the King's Great Seal, that is\nto say, at Ghent, the 5th day of November, in the 52th year of the\nreign of our aforesaid Lord the King, and sent into England.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe words of this important document, from Professor Stubbs's\ntranslation, are given as the best explanation of the constitutional\nposition and importance of the Charters of John and Henry III. See\nhistorical notice in Stubbs's _Documents Illustrative of English\nHistory_, p. 477. This is far the most important of the numerous\nratifications of the Great Charter. Hallam calls it \"that famous\nstatute, inadequately denominated the Confirmation of the Charters,\nbecause it added another pillar to our constitution, not less important\nthan the Great Charter itself.\" It solemnly confirmed the two Charters,\nthe Charter of the Forest (issued by Henry II. in 1217--see text in\nStubbs, p. 338) being then considered as of equal importance with Magna\nCharta itself, establishing them in all points as the law of the land;\nbut it did more. \"Hitherto the king's prerogative of levying money by\nname of _tallage_ or _prise_, from his towns and tenants in\ndemesne, had passed unquestioned. Some impositions, that especially on\nthe export of wool, affected all the king's subjects. It was now the\nmoment to enfranchise the people and give that security to private\nproperty which Magna Charta had given to personal liberty.\" Edward's\nstatute binds the king never to take any of these \"aids, tasks, and\nprises\" in future, save by the common assent of the realm. Hence, as\nBowen remarks, the Confirmation of the Charters, or an abstract of it\nunder the form of a supposed statute _de tallagio non concedendo_\n(see Stubbs, p. 487), was more frequently cited than any other enactment\nby the parliamentary leaders who resisted the encroachments of Charles I.\nThe original of the _Confirmatio Chartarum_, which is in Norman French,\nis still in existence, though considerably shriveled by the fire which\ndamaged so many of the Cottonian manuscripts in 1731.\n\n\nTHE GRANT OF THE GREAT CHARTER.\n\nAn island in the Thames between Staines and Windsor had been chosen as\nthe place of conference: the King encamped on one bank, while the\nbarons--covered the marshy flat, still known by the name of Runnymede,\non the other. Their delegates met in the island between them, but the\nnegotiations were a mere cloak to cover John's purpose of unconditional\nsubmission. The Great Charter was discussed, agreed to, and signed in a\nsingle day. One copy of it still remains in the British Museum, injured\nby age and fire, but with the royal seal still hanging from the brown,\nshrivelled parchment. It is impossible to gaze without reverence on the\nearliest monument of English freedom which we can see with our own eyes\nand touch with our own hands, the great Charter to which from age to age\npatriots have looked back as the basis of English liberty. But in itself\nthe Charter was no novelty, nor did it claim to establish any new\nconstitutional principles. The Charter of Henry the First formed the\nbasis of the whole, and the additions to it are for the most part formal\nrecognitions of the judicial and administrative changes introduced by\nHenry the Second. But the vague expressions of the older charters were\nnow exchanged for precise and elaborate provisions. The bonds of\nunwritten custom which the older grants did little more than recognize\nhad proved too weak to hold the Angevins; and the baronage now threw\nthem aside for the restraints of written law. It is in this way that the\nGreat Charter marks the transition from the age of traditional rights,\npreserved in the nation's memory and officially declared by the Primate,\nto the age of written legislation, of Parliaments and Statutes, which\nwas soon to come. The Church had shown its power of self-defence in the\nstruggle over the interdict, and the clause which recognized its rights\nalone retained the older and general form. But all vagueness ceases when\nthe Charter passes on to deal with the rights of Englishmen at large,\ntheir right to justice, to _security of person and property, to good\ngovernment_. 'No freeman,' ran the memorable article that lies at the\nbase of our whole judicial system, 'shall be seized or imprisoned, or\ndispossessed, or outlawed, or in any way brought to ruin; we will not go\nagainst any man nor send against him, save by legal judgment of his\npeers or by the law of the land.' 'To no man will we sell,' runs\nanother, 'or deny, or delay, right or justice.' The great reforms of the\npast reigns were now formally recognized; judges of assize were to hold\ntheir circuits four times in the year, and the Court of Common Pleas was\nno longer to follow the King in his wanderings over the realm, but to\nsit in a fixed place. But the denial of justice under John was a small\ndanger compared with the lawless exactions both of himself and his\npredecessor. Richard had increased the amount of the scutage which Henry\nII. had introduced, and applied it to raise funds for his ransom. He had\nrestored the Danegeld, or land tax, so often abolished, under the new\nname of 'carucage,' had seized the wool of the Cistercians and the plate\nof the churches, and rated movables as well as land. John had again\nraised the rate of scutage, and imposed aids, fines, and ransoms at his\npleasure without counsel of the baronage. The Great Charter met this\nabuse by the provision on which our constitutional system rests. With\nthe exception of the three customary feudal aids which still remained to\nthe crown, 'no scutage or aid shall be imposed in our realm save by the\nCommon Council of the realm;' and to this Great Council it was provided\nthat prelates and the greater barons should be summoned by special writ,\nand all tenants in chief through the sheriffs and bailiffs, at least\nforty days before. But it was less easy to provide means for the control\nof a King whom no man could trust, and a council of twenty-four barons\nwas chosen from the general body of their order to enforce on John the\nobservance of the Charter, with the right of declaring war on the King\nshould its provisions be infringed. Finally, the Charter was published\nthroughout the whole country, and sworn to at every hundred-mote and\ntown-mote by order from the King.--_Green's Short History of the English\nPeople_, p. 123.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX D.\n\n\n\n\nA PART OF THE BILL OF RIGHTS.\n\nAN ACT FOR DECLARING THE RIGHTS AND LIBERTIES OF THE SUBJECT, AND\nSETTLING THE SUCCESSION OF THE CROWN. 1689.\n\nWhereas the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, assembled at\nWestminster, lawfully, fully, and freely representing all the estates of\nthe people of this realm, did upon the thirteenth day of February, in\nthe year of our Lord one thousand six hundred eighty-eight [o.s.],[44]\npresent unto their Majesties, then called and known by the names and\nstyle of William and Mary, Prince and Princess of Orange, being present\nin their proper persons, a certain Declaration in writing, made by the\nsaid Lords and Commons, in the words following, viz.:\n\n[Footnote 44: In New Style Feb. 23, 1689.]\n\nWhereas the late King James II., by the assistance of divers evil\ncounsellors, judges, and ministers employed by him, did endeavour\nto subvert and extirpate the Protestant religion, and the laws and\nliberties of this kingdom:\n\n1. By assuming and exercising a power of dispensing with and\nsuspending of laws, and the execution of laws, without consent of\nParliament.\n\n2. By committing and prosecuting divers worthy prelates for humbly\npetitioning to be excused from concurring to the said assumed power.\n\n3. By issuing and causing to be executed a commission under the Great\nSeal for erecting a court, called the Court of Commissioners for\nEcclesiastical Causes.\n\n4. By levying money for and to the use of the Crown by pretence of\nprerogative, for other time and in other manner than the same was\ngranted by Parliament.\n\n5. By raising and keeping a\nstanding army within this kingdom in time of peace, without consent of\nParliament, and quartering soldiers contrary to law.\n\n6. By causing several good subjects, being Protestants, to be\ndisarmed, at the same time when <DW7>s were both armed and employed\ncontrary to law.\n\n7. By violating the freedom of election of members to serve in\nParliament.\n\n8. By prosecutions in the Court of King's Bench for matters and causes\ncognizable only in Parliament, and by divers other arbitrary and\nillegal causes.\n\n9. And whereas of late years, partial, corrupt, and unqualified\npersons have been returned, and served on juries in trials, and\nparticularly divers jurors in trials for high treason, which were not\nfreeholders.\n\n10. And excessive bail hath been required of persons committed in\ncriminal cases, to elude the benefit of the laws made for the liberty\nof the subjects.\n\n11. And excessive fines have been imposed; and illegal and cruel\npunishments inflicted.\n\n12. And several grants and promises made of fines and forfeitures\nbefore any conviction or judgment against the persons upon whom the\nsame were to be levied.\n\nAll which are utterly and directly contrary to the known laws and\nstatutes, and freedom of this realm.\n\nAnd whereas the said late King James II. having abdicated the\ngovernment, and the throne being thereby vacant, his Highness the Prince\nof Orange (whom it hath pleased Almighty God to make the glorious\ninstrument of delivering this kingdom from popery and arbitrary power)\ndid (by the advice of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and divers\nprincipal persons of the Commons) cause letters to be written to the\nLords Spiritual and Temporal, being Protestants, and other letters to\nthe several counties, cities, universities, boroughs, and cinque ports,\nfor the choosing of such persons to represent them as were of right to\nbe sent to Parliament, to meet and sit at Westminster upon the\ntwo-and-twentieth day of January, in this year one thousand six hundred\neighty and eight,[45] in order to such an establishment, as that their\nreligion, laws, and liberties might not again be in danger of being\nsubverted; upon which letters elections have been accordingly made.\n\n[Footnote 45: In New Style Feb. 1, 1689.]\n\nAnd thereupon the said Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons,\npursuant to their respective letters and elections, being now\nassembled in a full and free representation of this nation, taking\ninto their most serious consideration the best means for attaining the\nends aforesaid, do in the first place (as their ancestors in like case\nhave usually done) for the vindicating and asserting their ancient\nrights and liberties, declare:\n\n\n1. That the pretended power of suspending of laws, or the execution of\nlaws by regal authority, without consent of Parliament, is illegal.\n\n2. That the pretended power of dispensing with laws, or the execution\nof laws by regal authority, as it hath been assumed and exercised of\nlate, is illegal.\n\n3. That the commission for erecting the late Court of Commissioners\nfor Ecclesiastical Causes, and all other commissions and courts of\nlike nature, are illegal and pernicious.\n\n4. _That levying money for or to the use of the Crown by pretence\nand prerogative, without grant of Parliament, for longer time or in\nother manner than the same is or shall be granted, is illegal._[46]\n\n5. _That it is the right of the subjects to petition the King,\nand all commitments and prosecutions for such petitioning are\nillegal._[47]\n\n6. _That the raising or keeping a standing army within the kingdom\nin time of peace, unless it be with consent of Parliament, is against\nlaw._[48]\n\n7. _That the subjects which are Protestants may have arms for their\ndefence suitable to their conditions, and as allowed by law._[49]\n\n8. That election of members of Parliament ought to be free.\n\n9. _That the freedom of speech, and debates or proceedings in\nParliament, ought not to be impeached or questioned in any court or\nplace out of Parliament._[50]\n\n10. _That excessive bail ought not to be required, nor excessive\nfines imposed; nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted._[51]\n\n11. _That jurors ought to be duly impanelled and returned, and\njurors which pass upon men in trials for high treason ought to be\nfreeholders._[52]\n\n[Footnote 46: Compare this clause 4 with clauses 12 and 14 of Magna\nCharta, and with Art. I. Section vii. clause 1 of the Constitution of\nthe United States.]\n\n[Footnote 47: Compare clause 5 with Amendment I.]\n\n[Footnote 48: Compare clause 6 with Amendment III.]\n\n[Footnote 49: Compare clause 7 with Amendment II.]\n\n[Footnote 50: Compare clause 9 with Constitution, Art. I. Section vi.\nclause 1.]\n\n[Footnote 51: Compare clause 10 with Amendment VIII.]\n\n[Footnote 52: Compare clause 11 with Amendments VI. and VII.]\n\n12. That all grants and promises of fines and forfeitures of\nparticular persons before conviction are illegal and void.\n\n13. And that for redress of all grievances, and for the amending,\nstrengthening, and preserving of the laws, Parliament ought to be held\nfrequently.\n\nAnd they do claim, demand, and insist upon all and singular the\npremises, as their undoubted rights and liberties; and that no\ndeclarations, judgments, doings or proceedings, to the prejudice of\nthe people in any of the said premises, ought in any wise to be drawn\nhereafter into consequence or example.\n\nTo which demand of their rights they are particularly encouraged by\nthe declaration of his Highness the Prince of Orange, as being the\nonly means for obtaining a full redress and remedy therein.\n\nHaving therefore an entire confidence that his said Highness the\nPrince of Orange will perfect the deliverance so far advanced by him,\nand will still preserve them from the violation of their rights,\nwhich they have here asserted, and from all other attempts upon their\nreligion, rights, and liberties:\n\nII. The said Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, assembled at\nWestminster, do resolve, that William and Mary, Prince and Princess of\nOrange, be, and be declared, King and Queen of England, France, and\nIreland, and the dominions thereunto belonging, to hold the crown and\nroyal dignity of the said kingdoms and dominions to them the said Prince\nand Princess during their lives, and the life of the survivor of them;\nand that the sole and full exercise of the regal power be only in, and\nexecuted by, the said Prince of Orange, in the names of the said Prince\nand Princess, during their joint lives; and after their deceases, the\nsaid crown and royal dignity of the said kingdoms and dominions to be to\nthe heirs of the body of the said Princess; and for default of such\nissue to the Princess Anne of Denmark, and the heirs of her body; and\nfor default of such issue to the heirs of the body of the said Prince of\nOrange. And the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, do pray the\nsaid Prince and Princess to accept the same accordingly.\n\nThe act goes on to declare that, their Majesties having accepted the\ncrown upon these terms, the rights and liberties asserted and claimed\nin the said declaration are the true, ancient, and indubitable rights\nand liberties of the people of this kingdom, and so shall be esteemed,\nallowed, adjudged, deemed, and taken to be, and that all and every\nthe particulars aforesaid shall be firmly and strictly holden and\nobserved, as they are expressed in the said declaration; and all\nofficers and ministers whatsoever shall serve their Majesties and\ntheir successors according to the same in all times to come.\n\nThe act then declares that William and Mary are and of right ought\nto be King and Queen of England, etc.; and it goes on to regulate the\nsuccession after their deaths.\n\n\nThe passing of the Bill of Rights in 1689 restored to the monarchy\nthe character which it had lost under the Tudors and the Stuarts. The\nright of the people through its representatives to depose the King,\nto change the order of succession, and to set on the throne whom they\nwould, was now established. All claim of divine right, or hereditary\nright independent of the law, was formally put an end to by the\nelection of William and Mary. Since their day no English sovereign has\nbeen able to advance any claim to the crown save a claim which rested\non a particular clause in a particular Act of Parliament. William,\nMary, and Anne were sovereigns simply by virtue of the Bill of Rights.\nGeorge the First and his successors have been sovereigns solely by\nvirtue of the Act of Settlement. An English monarch is now as much the\ncreature of an Act of Parliament as the pettiest tax-gatherer in his\nrealm.--_Green's Short History_, p. 673.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX E.\n\n\n\nTHE FUNDAMENTAL ORDERS OF CONNECTICUT.\n\n1638(9).\n\n_The first written constitution that created a government._\n\nForasmuch as it hath pleased the Allmighty God by the wise disposition\nof his diuyne pruidence so to Order and dispose of things that we the\nInhabitants and Residents of Windsor, Harteford and Wethersfield are\nnow cohabiting and dwelling in and vppon the River of Conectecotte and\nthe Lands thereunto adioyneing; And well knowing where a people are\ngathered togather the word of God requires that to mayntayne the peace\nand vnion of such a people there should be an orderly and decent\nGouerment established according to God, to order and dispose of the\naffayres of the people at all seasons as occation shall require; doe\ntherefore assotiate and conioyne our selues to be as one Publike State\nor Comonwelth; and doe, for our selues and our Successors and such as\nshall be adioyned to vs att any tyme hereafter, enter into Combination\nand Confederation togather, to mayntayne and p'rsearue the liberty and\npurity of the gospell of our Lord Jesus w'ch we now p'rfesse, as also\nthe disciplyne of the Churches, w'ch according to the truth of the\nsaid gospell is now practised amongst vs; As also in o'r Ciuell\nAffaires to be guided and gouerned according to such Lawes,\nRules, Orders and decrees as shall be made, ordered & decreed, as\nfolloweth:--\n\n1. It is Ordered, sentenced and decreed, that there shall be yerely two\ngenerall Assemblies or Courts, the one the second thursday in Aprill,\nthe other the second thursday in September, following; the first shall\nbe called the Courte of Election, wherein shall be yerely Chosen from\ntyme to tyme soe many Magestrats and other publike Officers as shall be\nfound requisitte: Whereof one to be chosen Gouernour for the yeare\nensueing and vntill another be chosen, and noe other Magestrate to be\nchosen for more than one yeare; p'ruided allwayes there be sixe chosen\nbesids the Gouernour; w'ch being chosen and sworne according to an Oath\nrecorded for that purpose shall haue power to administer iustice\naccording to the Lawes here established, and for want thereof according\nto the rule of the word of God; w'ch choise shall be made by all that\nare admitted freemen and haue taken the Oath of Fidellity, and doe\ncohabitte w'thin this Jurisdiction, (hauing beene admitted Inhabitants\nby the maior p'rt of the Towne wherein they liue,) or the mayor p'rte of\nsuch as shall be then p'rsent.\n\n2. It is Ordered, sentensed and decreed, that the Election of the\naforesaid Magestrats shall be on this manner: euery p'rson p'rsent\nand quallified for choyse shall bring in (to the p'rsons deputed to\nreceaue them) one single pap'r w'th the name of him written in\nyet whom he desires to haue Gouernour, and he that hath the greatest\nnumber of papers shall be Gouernor for that yeare. And the rest of\nthe Magestrats or publike Officers to be chosen in this manner: The\nSecretary for the tyme being shall first read the names of all that\nare to be put to choise and then shall seuerally nominate them\ndistinctly, and euery one that would hane the p'rson nominated to be\nchosen shall bring in one single paper written vppon, and he that\nwould not haue him chosen shall bring in a blanke: and euery one that\nhath more written papers then blanks shall be a Magistrat for that\nyeare; w'ch papers shall be receaued and told by one or more that\nshall be then chosen by the court and sworne to be faythfull therein;\nbut in case there should not be sixe chosen as aforesaid, besids the\nGouernor, out of those w'ch are nominated, then he or they w'ch haue\nthe most written pap'rs shall be a Magestrate or Magestrats for the\nensueing yeare, to make vp the foresaid number.\n\n3. It is Ordered, sentenced and decreed, that the Secretary shall not\nnominate any p'rson, nor shall any p'rson be chosen newly into the\nMagestracy w'ch was not p'rpownded in some Generall Courte before, to\nbe nominated the next Election; and to that end yt shall be lawfull\nfor ech of the Townes aforesaid by their deputyes to nominate any two\nwhom they conceaue fitte to be put to election; and the Courte may\nad so many more as they iudge requisitt.\n\n4. It is Ordered, sentenced and decreed that noe p'rson be chosen\n\nGouernor aboue once in two yeares, and that the Gouernor be always\na member of some approved congregation, and formerly of the\nMagestracy w'th this Jurisdiction; and all the Magestrats Freemen of\nthis Comonwelth: and that no Magestrate or other publike officer shall\nexecute any p'rte of his or their Office before they are seuerally\nsworne, w'ch shall be done in the face of the Courte if they be\np'rsent, and in case of absence by some deputed for that purpose.\n\n5. It is Ordered, sentenced and decreed, that to the aforesaid Conrte\nof Election the seu'rall Townes shall send their deputyes, and when\nthe Elections are ended they may p'rceed in any publike searuice as at\nother Courts. Also the other Generall Courte in September shall be for\nmakeing of lawes, and any other publike occation, w'ch conserns the\ngood of the Comonwelth.\n\n6. It is Ordered, sentenced and decreed, that the Gou'rnor shall,\nether by himselfe or by the secretary, send out sumons to the\nConstables of eu'r Towne for the cauleing of these two standing\nCourts, on month at lest before their seu'rall tymes: And also if the\nGou'rnor and the gretest p'rte of the Magestrats see cause vppon any\nspetiall occation to call a generall Courte, they may giue order to\nthe secretary soe to doe w'thin fowerteene dayes warneing; and\nif vrgent necessity so require, vppon a shorter notice, giueing\nsufficient grownds for yt to the deputyes when they meete, or els\nbe questioned for the same; And if the Gou'rnor and Mayor p'rte of\nMagestrats shall ether neglect or refuse to call the two Generall\nstanding Courts or ether of them, as also at other tymes when the\noccations of the Comonwelth require, the Freemen thereof, or the Mayor\np'rte of them, shall petition to them soe to doe: if then yt be ether\ndenyed or neglected the said Freemen or the Mayor p'rte of them shall\nhaue power to giue order to the Constables of the seuerall Townes to\ndoe the same, and so may meete togather, and ehuse to themselues a\nModerator, and may p'rceed to do any Acte of power, w'ch any other\nGenerall Courte may.\n\n7. It is Ordered, sentenced and decreed that after there are warrants\ngiuen out for any of the said Generall Courts, the Constable or\nConstables of ech Towne shall forthw'th give notice distinctly to the\ninhabitants of the same, in some Publike Assembly or by goeing or\nsending from howse to howse, that at a place and tyme by him or\nthem lymited and sett, they meet and assemble the: selues togather\nto elect and chuse certen deputyes to be att the Generall Courte then\nfollowing to agitate the afayres of the comonwelth; w'ch said Deputyes\nshall be chosen by all that are admitted Inhabitants in the seu'rall\nTownes and haue taken the oath of fidellity; p'ruided that non be\nchosen a Deputy for any Generall Courte w'ch is not a Freeman of this\nComonwelth.\n\nThe foresaid deputyes shall be chosen in manner following: euery\np'rson that is p'rsent and quallified as before exp'rssed, shall bring\nthe names of such, written in seu'rrall papers, as they desire to haue\nchosen for that Imployment. and these 3 or 4, more or lesse, being the\nnumber agreed on to be chosen for that tyme, that haue greatest\nnumber of papers written for the: shall be deputyes for that\nCourte; whose names shall be endorsed on the backe side of the warrant\nand returned into the Courte, w'th the Constable or Constables hand\nvnto the same.\n\n8. It is Ordered, sentenced and decreed, that Wyndsor, Hartford and\nWethersfield shall haue power, ech Towne, to send fower of their freemen\nas deputyes to euery Generall Courte; and whatsoeuer other Townes shall\nbe hereafter added to this Jurisdiction, they shall send so many\ndeputyes as the Courte shall judge meete, a resonable p'rportion to the\nnumber of Freemen that are in the said Townes being to be attended\ntherein; w'ch deputyes shall have the power of the whole Towne to giue\ntheir voats and alowance to all such lawes and orders as may be for the\npublike good, and unto w'ch the said Townes are to be bownd.\n\n9. It is ordered and decreed, that the deputyes thus chosen shall haue\npower and liberty to appoynt a tyme and a place of meeting togather\nbefore any Generall Courte to aduise and consult of all such things as\nmay concerne the good of the publike, as also to examine their owne\nElections, whether according to the order, and if they or the gretest\np'rte of them find any election to be illegall they may seclud such for\np'rsent from their meeting, and returne the same and their resons to the\nCourte; and if yt proue true, the Courte may fyne the p'rty or p'rtyes\nso intruding and the Towne, if they see cause, and giue out a warrant to\ngoe to a newe election in a legall way, either in p'rte or in whole.\nAlso the said deputyes shall haue power to fyne any that shall be\ndisorderly at their meetings, or for not coming in due tyme or place\naccording to appoyntment; and they may returne the said fynes into the\nCourte if yt be refused to be paid, and the tresurer to take notice of\nyt, and to estreete or levy the same as he doth other fynes.\n\n10. It is Ordered, sentenced and decreed, that euery Generall Courte,\nexcept such as through neglecte of the Gou'rnor and the greatest p'rte\nof Magestrats the Freemen themselves doe call, shall consist of the\nGouernor, or some one chosen to moderate the Court, and 4 other\nMagestrats at lest, w'th the mayor p'rte of the deputyes of the geuerall\nTownes legally chosen; and in case the Freemen or mayor p'rte of them,\nthrough neglect or refusall of the Gouernor and mayor p'rte of the\nmagestrats, shall call a Courte, y't shall consist of the mayor p'rte of\nFreemen that are p'rsent or their deputyes, w'th a Moderator chosen by\nthe: In w'ch said Generall Courts shall consist the supreme power of the\nComonwelth, and they only shall haue power to make laws or repeale the:,\nto graunt leuyes, to admitt of Freemen, dispose of lands vndisposed of,\nto seuerall Townes or p'rsons, and also shall haue power to call ether\nCourte or Magestrate or any other p'rson whatsoeuer into question for\nany misdemeanour, and may for just causes displace or deale otherwise\naccording to the nature of the offence; and also may deale in any other\nmatter that concerns the good of this comonwelth, excepte election of\nMagestrats, w'ch shall be done by the whole boddy of Freemen.\n\nIn w'ch Courte the Gouernour or Moderator shall haue power to order the\nCourte to giue liberty of spech, and silence vnceasonable and disorderly\nspeakeings, to put all things to voate, and in case the vote be equall\nto haue the casting voice. But non of these Courts shall be adiorned or\ndissolued w'thout the consent of the maior p'rte of the Court.\n\n11. It is ordered, sentenced and decreed, that when any Generall Courte\nvppon the occations of the Comonwelth haue agreed vppon any sume or\nsomes of mony to be leuyed vppon the seuerall Townes w'thin this\nJurisdiction, that a Comittee be chosen to sett out and appoynt w't\nshall be the p'rportion of euery Towne to pay of the said letiy,\np'rvided the Comittees be made up of an equall number out of each Towne.\n\n14'th January, 1638, the 11 Orders abouesaid are voted.\n\nTHE OATH OF THE GOU'RNOR, FOR THE [P'RSENT].\n\nI ---- being now chosen to be Gou'rnor wthin this Jurisdiction, for\nthe yeare ensueing, and vntil a new be chosen, doe sweare by the\ngreate and dreadfull name of the everliueing God, to p'rmote the\npublicke good and peace of the same, according to the best of my\nskill; as also will mayntayne all lawfull priuiledges of this\nComonwealth; as also that all wholesome lawes that are or shall be\nmade by lawfull authority here established, be duly executed; and will\nfurther the execution of Justice according to the rule of Gods word;\nso helpe me God, in the name of the Lo: Jesus Christ.\n\n\nTHE OATH OF A MAGESTRATE, FOR THE P'RSENT.\n\nI, ---- being chosen a Magestrate w'thin this Jurisdiction for the\nyeare ensueing, doe sweare by the great and dreadfull name of the\neuerliueing God, to p'rmote the publike good and peace of the same,\naccording to the best of my skill, and that I will mayntayne all the\nlawfull priuiledges thereof according to my vnderstanding, as also\nassist in the execution of all such wholsome lawes as are made or\nshall be made by lawfull authority heare established, and will further\nthe execution of Justice for the tyme aforesaid according to the\nrighteous rule of Gods word; so helpe me God, etc.\n\n[Until 1752, the legal year in England began March 25 (Lady Day), not\nJanuary 1. All the days between January 1 and March 25 of the year\nwhich we now call 1639 were therefore then a part of the year 1638; so\nthat the date of the Constitution is given by its own terms as 1638,\ninstead of 1639.]\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX F.\n\nTHE STATES CLASSIFIED ACCORDING TO ORIGIN.\n\n\n1. The thirteen original states.\n\n\n2. States formed directly from other states.\n     Vermont from territory disputed between New York and\n     New Hampshire, Kentucky from Virginia, Maine\n     from Massachusetts, West Virginia from Virginia.\n\n\n3. States from the Northwest Territory (see p. 253).\n     Ohio,                         Michigan,\n     Indiana,                      Wisconsin,\n     Illinois,                     Minnesota, in part.\n\n4. States from other territory ceded by states.\n     Tennessee, ceded by North Carolina,\n     Alabama, ceded by South Carolina and Georgia,\n     Mississippi, ceded by South Carolina and Georgia.\n\n5. States from the Louisiana purchase (see p. 253).\n     Louisiana,                    North Dakota,\n     Arkansas,                     South Dakota,\n     Missouri,                     Montana,\n     Kansas,                       Minnesota, in part,\n     Nebraska,                     Wyoming, in part,\n     Iowa,                         Colorado, in part.\n\n6. States from Mexican cessions.\n     California,                   Wyoming, in part,\n     Nevada,                       Colorado, in part.\n\n7. States from territory defined by treaty with Great Britain\n(see p. 254).\n     Oregon,             Washington,            Idaho.\n\n8. States from other sources.\n     Florida, from a Spanish cession,\n     Texas, by annexation (see p. 254).\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX G.\n\nTABLE OF STATES AND TERRITORIES.\n\n(_Ratio of representation based on census of_ 1890--173,901.)\n\n                                     Popula-            Popula-  Rep\n                                     tion to  Area in   tion,     in   Elect.\nDates.         No.  Names.           sq.m.    sq. m.    1890.    Cong  vote\n                                                                 1892. 1892.\nRatified the Constitution.\n1787, Dec. 7    1   Delaware           82.1     2,050     168,493   1    3\n      Dec. 12   2   Pennsylvania      111.2    45,215   5,258,014  30   32\n      Dec. 18   3   New Jersey        179.7     7,815   1,444,933   8   10\n1788, Jan. 2    4   Georgia            30.8    59,475   1,837,353  11   13\n      Jan. 9    5   Connecticut       149.5     4,990     746,258   4    6\n      Feb. 6    6   Massachusetts     269.2     8,315   2,238,943  13   15\n      April 28  7   Maryland           85.3    12,210   1,042,390   6    8\n      May 23    8   South Carolina     37.6    30,570   1,151,149   7    9\n      June 21   9   New Hampshire      40.4     9,305     376,530   2    4\n      June 25  10   Virginia           39.     42,450   1,655,980  10   12\n      July 26  11   New York          121.9    49,170   5,997,853  34   35\n1789, Nov. 21  12   North Carolina     30.9    52,250   1,617,947   9   11\n1790, May 29   13   Rhode Island      276.4     1,250     345,506   2    4\n\nAdmitted to the Union.\n1791, March 4  14   Vermont            34.6    9,565     332,422   2    4\n1792, June 1   15   Kentucky           46.    40,400   1,858,635  11   13\n1796, June 1   16   Tennessee          42.    42,050   1,767,518  10   12\n1803, Feb. 19  17   Ohio               89.4   41,060   3,672,316  21   23\n1812, April 30 18   Louisiana          22.9   48,720   1,118,587   6    8\n1816, Dec. 11  19   Indiana            60.3   36,350   2,192,404  13   15\n1817, Dec. 10  20   Mississippi        42.7   46,810   1,289,600   7    9\n1818, Dec. 3   21   Illinois           67.5   56,650   3,826,351  22   24\n1819, Dec. 14  22   Alabama            28.9   52,250   1,513,017   9   11\n1820, March 15 23   Maine              20.    33,040     661,086   4    6\n1821, Aug. 10  24   Missouri           38.5   69,415   2,679,184  15   17\n1836, June 15  25   Arkansas           20.9   53,850   1,128,179   6    8\n1837, Jan. 25  26   Michigan           35.5   58,915   2,093,889  12   14\n1845, March 3  27   Florida             6.6   58,680     391,422   2    4\n1815, Dec. 29  28   Texas               8.4  265,780   2,235,523  13   15\n1846, Dec. 28  29   Iowa               34.1   56,025   1,911,896  11   13\n1848, May 29   30   Wisconsin          30.    56,040   1,686,880  10   12\n1850, Sept. 9  31   California          7.6  158,360   1,208,130   7    9\n1858, May 11   32   Minnesota          15.6   83,365   1,301,826   7    9\n1859, Feb. 14  33   Oregon              3.2   96,030     313,767   2    4\n1861, Jan. 29  34   Kansas             17.3   82,080   1,427,096   8   10\n1863, June 19  35   West Virginia      30.7   24,780     762,794   4    6\n1864, Oct. 31  36   Nevada              0.4  110,700      45,761   1    3\n1867, March 1  37   Nebraska           13.6   77,510   1,058,910   6    8\n1876, Aug. 1   38   Colorado            3.9  103,925     412,198   2    4\n1889, Nov. 2 { 39   North Dakota }      2.5   70,795     182,719   1    3\n             { 40   South Dakota }      4.2   77,650     328,808   2    4\n1889, Nov. 8   41   Montana             0.9  146,080     132,159   1    3\n1889, Nov. 11  42   Washington          5.    69,180     349,390   2    4\n1890, July 3   43   Idaho               0.9   84,800      84,385   1    3\n1890, July 10  44   Wyoming             0.6   97,890      60,705   1    3\n\nOrganised.\n1850, Sept. 9       Utah                2.4   84,970     207,905\n1850, Sept. 9       New Mexico          1.2  122,580     153,593\n1863, Feb. 24       Arizona             0.5  113,020      59,620\n1868, July 27       Alaska                   577,390   no census\n1834, June 30       Indian Territory          31,400   no census\n1889, April 22      Oklahoma            1.5   39,030      61,834\n1791, Mar 3         Dist. of C.     3,291.1       70     230,392\n\n1892, total House of Representatives 356 + Senate 88 = electoral votes,\n444.\n\nAPPENDIX H.\n\nPOPULATION OF THE UNITED STATES, 1790-1890,\n\n_Showing Percentages of Urban Population._\n\nDate. |   Pop. of U.S. |  No. of  |  Pop. of Cities. |  % of\n      |                |  Cities  |                  |of Urban Pop.\n-------------------------------------------------------------------\n1790  |    3,929,214   |     6    |       131,472    |    3.33\n1800  |    5,308,483   |     6    |       210,873    |    3.9\n1810  |    7,239,881   |    11    |       356,920    |    4.9\n1820  |    9,633,822   |    13    |       474,135    |    4.9\n1830  |   12,866,020   |    26    |       864,509    |    6.7\n1840  |   17,069,453   |    44    |     1,453,994    |    8.5\n1850  |   23,191,876   |    85    |     2,897,586    |   12.5\n1860  |   31,443,321   |   141    |     5,072,256    |   16.1\n1870  |   38,558,371   |   226    |    8,071,875     |   20.9\n1880  |   50,155,783   |   286    |    11,318,597    |   22.5\n1890  |   62,622,250   |   443    |    18,235,670    |   29.1\n--------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX I.\n\nAN EXAMINATION PAPER FOR CUSTOMS CLERKS.\n\nApplicant's No..\n\nAPPLICANT'S DECLARATION.\n\nDIRECTIONS.--1. The number above is _your examination number_.\nWrite it at the top of every sheet given you in this examination.\n\n2. Fill promptly all the blanks in this sheet. Any omission may\nlead to the rejection of your papers.\n\n3. Write all answers and exercises in ink.\n\n4. Write your name on no other sheet but this.\n\nPlace this sheet in the envelope. Write your number on the envelope\nand seal the same.\n\nDECLARATION.\n\nI declare upon my honour as follows:\n\n1. My true and full name is (if female, please say whether\nMrs. or Miss)\n\n2. Since my application was made I have been living at (give\nall the places)\n\n3. My post-office address in full is\n\n4. If examined within twelve months for the civil service--for\nany post-office, custom-house, or Department at Washington--state\nthe time, place, and result.\n\n5. If you have ever been in the civil service, state where and\nin what position, and when you left it and the reasons therefor.\n\n6. Are you now under enlistment in the army or navy?\n\n7. If you have been in the military or naval service of the\nUnited States, state which, and whether you were honourably\ndischarged, when, and for what cause.\n\n8. Since my application no change has occurred in my health\nor physical capacity except the following:\n\n9. I was born at ----, on the ---- day of ----, 188.\n\n10. My present business or employment is\n\n11. I swore to my application for this examination as near as\nI can remember at (town or city of) ----, on the ---- day\nof ----, 188.\n\nAll the above statements are true, to the best of my knowledge\nand belief.\n\n(_Signature in usual form_.)------------\n\nDated at the city of ----, State of ----, this ---- day\nof ----, 188_.\n\nFIRST SUBJECT.\n\n_Question 1._ One of the examiners will distinctly read (at a\nrate reasonable for copying) fifteen lines from the Civil-Service Law\nor Rules, and each applicant will copy the same below from the reading\nas it proceeds.\n\n_Question 2._ Write below at length the names of fifteen States\nand fifteen cities of the Union.\n\n_Question 3. Copy the following precisely_:\n\n\"And in my opinion, sir, this principle of claiming monopoly of office\nby the right of conquest, unless the public shall effectually rebuke\nand restrain it, will effectually change the character of our\nGovernment. It elevates party above country; it forgets the common\nweal in the pursuit of personal emolument; it tends to form, it does\nform, we see that it has formed, a political combination, united by\nno common principles or opinions among its members, either upon the\npowers of the Government or the true policy of the country, but held\ntogether simply as an association, under the charm of a popular\nhead, seeking to maintain possession of the Government by a vigorous\nexercise of its patronage, and for this purpose agitating and alarming\nand distressing social life by the exercise of a tyrannical party\nproscription. Sir, if this course of things cannot be checked, good\nmen will grow tired of the exercise of political privileges. They will\nsee that such elections are but a mere selfish contest for office,\nand they will abandon the Government to the scramble of the bold, the\ndaring, and the desperate.\"--_Daniel Webster on Civil Service, in\n1832_.\n\n_Question 4._ Correct any errors in spelling which you find in\nthe following sentences, writing your letters so plainly that no one\nof them can be mistaken:\n\nUnquestionebly every federil offeser should be able to spell corectly\nthe familier words of his own languege.\n\nLose her hankercheif and elivate her head immediatly or she will\nspedily loose her life by strangelation.\n\n\nSECOND SUBJECT.\n\n_Question 1._ Multiply 2341705 by 23870 and divide the product by\n6789.\n\n_Give operation in full._\n\n_Question 2._ Divide two hundred and five thousand two hundred\nand five, and two hundred and five ten-thousandths, by one hundred\nthousand one hundred, and one hundredth.\n\n_Question 3._ Multiply 10-2/3 by 7-1/8 and divide the product by\n9-1/2, reducing the same to the simplest form.\n\n_Give operation in full._\n\n_Question 4._ The annual cost of the public schools of a city\nis $36,848. What school-tax must be assessed, the cost of collecting\nbeing 2 per cent., and 6 per cent of the assessed tax being\nuncollectible?\n\n\n_Give operation in full._\n\n_Question 5._ Add 7-3/4, 3/5 of 6-2/9, 8-11/12, 6-1/2 divided by\n8-1/8, and reduce to lowest terms.\n\n_Give operation in full._\n\n_Question 6._ The Government sold 3000 old muskets at 22-1/2 per\ncent, of their cost. The purchaser becoming insolvent paid only 13 per\ncent. of the price he agreed to pay; that is, he paid $900. What did\neach musket cost the Government?\n\n_Give operation in full._\n\n_Question 7._ What will it cost to carpet a room 36 feet wide by\n72 feet long with 3/4 width carpet at $2.12 per yard, including cost\nof carpet-lining at 11 cents a square yard and 12 cents a yard for\nmaking and laying the carpet?\n\n_Give operation in full_.\n\n_Question_ 8. A owned 7/8 of a ship and sold 4/5 of his share to\nB, who sold 5/9 of what he bought to C, who sold 6/7 of what he bought\nto D. What part of the whole vessel did D buy?\n\n_Give operation in full_.\n\n_Question_ 9. A man bought a cargo of wool and sold seven\nthousand and forty-five ten-thousandths of it. How much had he left?\n\n_Give operation in full in decimal fractions_.\n\n_Question_ 10. A merchant imported from Bremen 32 pieces of linen\nof 32 yards each, on which he paid for the duties, at 24 per cent,\n$122.38, and other charges to the amount of $40.96. What was the\ninvoice value per yard, and the cost per yard after duties and charges\nwere paid?\n\n_Give operation, in full_.\n\n\nTHIRD SUBJECT.\n\n\n_Question_ 1. On a mortgage for $3,125, dated July 5, 1880\n(interest at 3-1/2 per cent), a payment of $840 was made April 23,\n1881. What amount was due January 17, 1882?\n\n_Give operation in full_.\n\n_Question_ 2. The Government sold an old vessel for $160,000,\npayable two fifths in eight months and the residue in seventeen months\nfrom the sale. What was the present cash value of the vessel, the\ncurrent rate of interest on money being five per cent?\n\n_Give operation in full_.\n\n_Question_ 3. Write a promissory note to be given by J. Brown\nto J. Smith, for 60 days, without grace, for $500, at 5 per cent\ninterest, and state what amount will be due at maturity of the note.\n\n_Question_ 4. James X. Young, a contractor, had the following\ndealings with the Treasury Department: He furnished January 4, 1882,\n14 tables at $16 each; June 6, 1882, 180 desks at $18.50 each;\nDecember 7, 1882, 150 chairs at $2 each, and July 18, 1883, 14\nbook-cases at $90 each. He was paid cash as follows: January 31, 1882,\n$224; June 30, $1,800; December 18, $300; and July 31, 1883, he was\nallowed on settlement $75 for cartage and charged $25 for breakages.\nState his account and show balance due.\n\n\nFOURTH SUBJECT.\n\n_Question_ 1. State the meaning of tense and of mood, and explain\nthe difference between them in the English language or grammar.\n\n_Question_ 2. Correct any errors you find in the following\nsentences:\n\nThe boy done it, and he is as restless here as he will be if he was\nwith you.\n\nHe had did it and spoke of doing it before we come here.\n\n_Question_ 3. Write a letter to Senator Jackson answering in full\nhis letter of September 7 to the Secretary of the Treasury in which\nhe asks: \"How must my nephew proceed to obtain a clerkship in the\nTreasury Department, under the Civil-Service Law, and what are the\nrequisite qualifications of a good clerk?\"\n\n\nFIFTH SUBJECT.\n\n_Question_ 1. Write without abbreviation the names of fifteen\nseaports of the Union.\n\n_Question_ 2. Name four of the principal tributaries of the\nMississippi River.\n\n_Question_ 3. Bound the State in which you live.\n\n_Question_ 4. Which States are peninsular, and upon what waters\nare they situated?\n\n_Question_ 5. Name six of the principal railroads in the United\nStates.\n\n_Question_ 6. Name seven of the leading agricultural products of\nthe United States, and state in what section of the country each is\nmost extensively cultivated.\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX J.\n\n\nTHE NEW YORK CORRUPT PRACTICES ACT OF 1890.\n\nCHAP. 94.--AN ACT TO AMEND TITLE FIVE OF THE PENAL CODE RELATING TO\nCRIMES AGAINST THE ELECTIVE FRANCHISE.\n\nApproved by the Governor April 4, 1890. Passed, three fifths being\npresent.\n\n_The People of the State of New York, represented in Senate and\nAssembly, do enact as follows:_\n\n\nSECTION 1. Title five of the Penal Code, entitled \"Of crimes against\nthe elective franchise,\" is hereby amended so as to read as follows:\n\nSection 41. It shall be unlawful for any person, directly or\nindirectly, by himself or through any other person:\n\n1. To pay, lend, or contribute, or offer or promise to pay, lend, or\ncontribute any money or other valuable consideration, to or for any\nvoter, or to or for any other person, to induce such voter to vote or\nrefrain from voting at any election, or to induce any voter to vote\nor refrain from voting at such election for any particular person or\npersons, or to induce such voter to come to the polls or remain away\nfrom the polls at such election, or on account of such voter having\nvoted or refrained from voting or having voted or refrained from\nvoting for any particular person, or having come to the poll or\nremained away from the polls at such election.\n\n2. To give, offer, or promise any office, place, or employment, or\nto promise to procure or endeavour to procure any office, place, or\nemployment to or for any voter, or to or for any other person, in\norder to induce such voter to vote or refrain from voting at any\nelection, or to induce any voter to vote or refrain from voting at\nsuch election for any particular person or persons.\n\n3. To make any gift, loan, promise, offer, procurement, or agreement,\nas aforesaid, to, for, or with any person in order to induce such\nperson to procure or endeavour to procure the election of any person,\nor the vote of any voter at any election.\n\n4. To procure or engage, promise or endeavour to procure, in\nconsequence of any such gift, loan, offer, promise, procurement, or\nagreement, the election of any person or the vote of any voter at such\nelection.\n\n5. To advance or pay or cause to be paid any money or other valuable\nthing to or for the use of any other person with the intent that the\nsame, or any part thereof, shall be used in bribery at any election,\nor to knowingly pay, or cause to be paid, any money or other valuable\nthing to any person in discharge or repayment of any money, wholly or\nin part, expended in bribery at any election.\n\nSection 41_a_. It shall be unlawful for any person, directly or\nindirectly, by himself or through any other person:\n\n1. To receive, agree, or contract for, before or during an election,\nany money, gift, loan, or other valuable consideration, office, place,\nor employment for himself or any other person, for voting or agreeing\nto vote, or for coming or agreeing to come to the polls, or for\nremaining, away or agreeing to remain away from the polls, or for\nrefraining or agreeing to refrain from voting, or for voting or\nagreeing to vote or refraining or agreeing to refrain from voting for\nany particular person or persons at any election.\n\n2. To receive any money or other valuable thing during or after an\nelection on account of himself or any other person having voted or\nrefrained from voting at such election, or on account of himself\nor any other person having voted or refrained from voting for any\nparticular person at such election, or on account of himself or any\nother person having come to the polls or remained away from the polls\nat such election, or on account of having induced any other person to\nvote or refrain from voting or to vote or refrain from voting for any\nparticular person or persons at such election.\n\n41_b_. It shall be unlawful for any candidate for public office,\nbefore or during an election, to make any bet or wager with a voter,\nor take a share or interest in or in any manner become a party to any\nsuch bet or wager, or provide or agree to provide any money to be used\nby another in making such bet or wager, upon any event or contingency\nwhatever. Nor shall it be lawful for any person, directly or\nindirectly, to make a bet or wager with a voter, depending upon\nthe result of any election, with the intent thereby to procure the\nchallenge of such voter, or to prevent him from voting at such\nelection.\n\nSection 41_c_. It shall be unlawful for any person, directly or\nindirectly, by himself or any other person in his behalf, to make use\nof, or threaten to make use of, any force, violence, or restraint, or\nto inflict or threaten the infliction by himself, or through any other\nperson, of any injury, damage, harm, or loss, or in any manner to\npractice intimidation upon or against any person, in order to induce\nor compel such person to vote or refrain from voting at any election,\nor to vote or refrain from voting for any particular person or\npersons at any election, or on account of such person having voted or\nrefrained from voting at any election. And it shall be unlawful for\nany person by abduction, duress, or any forcible or fraudulent device\nor contrivance whatever to impede, prevent, or otherwise interfere\nwith, the free exercise of the elective franchise by any voter; or to\ncompel, induce, or prevail upon any voter either to give or refrain\nfrom giving his vote at any election, or to give or refrain from\ngiving his vote for any particular person at any election. It shall\nnot be lawful for any employer in paying his employees the salary or\nwages due them to inclose their pay in \"pay envelopes\" upon which\nthere is written or printed any political mottoes, devices, or\narguments containing threats, express or implied, intended or\ncalculated to influence the political opinions or actions of such\nemployees. Nor shall it be lawful for any employer, within ninety days\nof general election to put up or otherwise exhibit in his factory,\nwork-shop, or other establishment or place where his employees may be\nworking, any hand-bill or placard containing any threat, notice, or\ninformation that in case any particular ticket or candidate shall be\nelected, work in his place or establishment will cease, in whole or in\npart, or his establishment be closed up, or the wages of his workmen\nbe reduced, or other threats, express or implied, intended or\ncalculated to influence the political opinions or actions of his\nemployees. This section shall apply to corporations, as well as to\nindividuals, and any person or corporation violating the provisions\nof this section shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanour, and any\ncorporation violating this section shall forfeit its charter.\n\nSection 41_d_. Every candidate who is voted for at any public\nelection held within this state shall, within ten days after such\nelection, file as hereinafter provided an itemized statement, showing\nin detail all the moneys contributed or expended by him, directly or\nindirectly, by himself or through any other person, in aid of his\nelection. Such statement shall give the names of the various persons\nwho received such moneys, the specific nature of each item, and the\npurpose for which it was expended or contributed. There shall be\nattached to such statement an affidavit subscribed and sworn to by\nsuch candidate, setting forth in substance that the statement thus\nmade is in all respects true, and that the same is a full and detailed\nstatement of all moneys so contributed or expended by him, directly\nor indirectly, by himself or through any other person in aid of his\nelection. Candidates for offices to be filled by the electors of the\nentire state, or any division or district thereof greater than a\ncounty, shall file their statements in the office of the secretary of\nstate. The candidates for town, village, and city offices, excepting\nthe city of New York, shall file their statements in the office of the\ntown, village, or city clerk respectively, and in cities wherein there\nis no city clerk, with the clerk of the common council wherein the\nelection occurs. Candidates for all other offices, including all\noffices in the city and county of New York, shall file their\nstatements in the office of the clerk of the county wherein the\nelection occurs.\n\nSection 41_e_. A person offending against any provision of\nsections forty-one and forty-one-a of this act is a competent witness\nagainst another person so offending, and may be compelled to attend\nand testify upon any trial, hearing, proceeding, or investigation in\nthe same manner as any other person. But the testimony so given shall\nnot be used in any prosecution or proceeding, civil or criminal,\nagainst the person so testifying. A person so testifying shall not\nthereafter be liable to indictment, prosecution, or punishment for the\noffense with reference to which his testimony was given and may plead\nor prove the giving of testimony accordingly, in bar of such an\nindictment or prosecution.\n\n\nSection 41_f_. Whosoever shall violate any provision of this title, upon\nconviction thereof, shall be punished by imprisonment in a county jail\nfor not less than three months nor more than one year. The offenses\ndescribed in section[53] forty-one and forty-one-a of this act are hereby\ndeclared to be infamous crimes. When a person is convicted of any\noffense mentioned in section forty-one of this act he shall in addition\nto the punishment above prescribed, forfeit any office to which he may\nhave been elected at the election with reference to which such offense\nwas committed; and when a person is convicted of any offense mentioned\nin section forty-one-a of this act he shall in addition to the\npunishment above prescribed be excluded from the right of suffrage for a\nperiod of five years after such conviction, and it shall be the duty of\nthe county clerk of the county in which any such conviction shall be\nhad, to transmit a certified copy of the record of conviction to the\nclerk of each county of the state, within ten days thereafter, which\nsaid certified copy shall be duly filed by the said county clerks in\ntheir respective offices. Any candidate for office who refuses or\nneglects to file a statement as prescribed in section forty-one-d of\nthis act shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanour, punishable as above\nprovided and shall also forfeit his office.\n\n[Footnote 53: So in the original.]\n\nSection 41_g_. Other crimes against the elective franchise are\ndefined, and the punishment thereof prescribed by special statutes.\n\n\nSection 2. Section forty-one of the Penal Code, as it existed prior to\nthe passage of this act, is hereby repealed.\n\n\n\nSection 3. This act shall take effect immediately. APPENDIX K.\n\n\nFORM OF AUSTRALIAN BALLOT ADOPTED IN MASSACHUSETTS,\n                 1889.\n\n            OFFICIAL BALLOT\n\n                  FOR\n\n            PRECINCT, WARD,\n\n           OF (CITY OR TOWN),\n\n            NOVEMBER__, 18__.\n\n                  [Fac-Simile of Signature of Secretary.]\n                  _Secretary of the Commonwealth_.\n\nSAMPLE BALLOT,\n\nWith explanations and illustration.\n\nPrepared by the Ballot Act League with the approval of the Secretary\nof the Commonwealth.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome representative districts elect one, some two, and a few three\nrepresentatives to the General Court. Worcester County elects four\ncommissioners of insolvency instead of three as in other counties.\n\nNo county commissioners or special commissioners will be voted for in\nthe cities of Boston and Chelsea or the county of Nantucket.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nForms for nominating candidates can be had at the department of the\nSecretary of the Commonwealth.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCarefully observe the official specimen ballots to be posted and\npublished just before election day.\n\n\nTo vote for a Person, mark a Cross X\n\nGOVERNOR                            Vote for ONE.\nOLIVER AMES, of Easton               Republican.\nWILLIAM H EARLE, of Worcester        Prohibition.\nWILLIAM E. RUSSELL, of Cambridge     Democratic.\n\nLIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR                 Vote for ONE.\nJOHN BASCOM, of Williamstown         Prohibition.\nJOHN Q.A. BRACKETT, of Arlington     Republican.\nJOHN W. CORCORAN, of Clinton         Democratic.\n\nSECRETARY                           Vote for ONE.\nWILLIAM S. OSGOOD, of Boston         Democratic.\nHENRY R. PEIRCE, of Abington         Republican.\nHENRY C. SMITH, of Williamsburg      Prohibition.\n\nTREASURER                           Vote for ONE.\nJOHN M. FISHER, of Attleborough      Prohibition.\nGEORGE A. MARDEN, of Lowell          Republican.\nHENRY O. THACHER, of Yarmouth        Democratic.\n\nAUDITOR                             Vote for ONE.\nCHARLES R. LADD, of Springfield      Republican.\nEDMUND A. STOWE, of Hudson           Prohibition.\nWILLIAM A. WILLIAMS, of Worcester    Democratic.\n\nATTORNEY-GENERAL                    Vote for ONE.\nALLEN COFFIN, of Nantucket           Prohibition.\nSAMUEL O. LAMB, of Greenfield        Democratic.\nANDREW J. WATERMAN, of Pittsfield    Republican.\n\nCOUNCILLOR, Third District          Vote for ONE.\nROBERT O. FULLER, of Cambridge       Republican.\nWILLIAM E. PLUMMER, of Newton        Democratic.\nSYLVANUS C. SMALL, of Winchester     Prohibition.\n\nSENATOR, Third Middlesex District   Vote for ONE.\nFREEMAN HUNT, of Cambridge           Democratic.\nCHESTER W. KINGSLEY, of Cambridge   /Republican.\n                                    \\Prohibition.\n\nDISTRICT ATTORNEY, Northern District Vote for ONE.\nCHARLES S. LINCOLN, of Somerville     Democratic.\nJOHN M. READ, of Lowell               Prohibition.\nWILLIAM B. STEVENS, of Stoneham       Republican.\n\n\n\n-------------------------------------------------------------\nin the Square at the right of the name.\n-------------------------------------------------------------\n-------------------------------------------------------------\nREPRESENTATIVES IN GENERAL COURT\n\nFirst Middlesex District.                       Vote for TWO.\n\nWILLIAM H. MARBLE, of Cambridge             Prohibition.  __\nISAAC McLEAN, of Cambridge                  Democratic.   __\nGEORGE A. PERKINS, of Cambridge             Democratic.   __\nJOHN READ, of Cambridge                     Republican.   __\nCHESTER V. SANGER, of Cambridge             Republican.   __\nWILLIAM A. START, of Cambridge              Prohibition.  __\n____________________________________________________________\n____________________________________________________________\n-------------------------------------------------------------\n\nSHERIFF                                         Vote for ONE.\n\nHENRY G. CUSHING, of Lowell                 Republican.   __\nHENRY G. HARKINS, of Lowell                 Prohibition.  __\nWILLIAM H. SHERMAN, of Ayer                 Democratic.   __\n____________________________________________________________\n-------------------------------------------------------------\nCOMMISSIONERS OF INSOLVENCY                   Vote for THREE.\n\nJOHN W. ALLARD, of Framingham               Democratic.   __\nGEORGE J. BURNS, of Ayer                    Republican.   __\nWILLIAM P. CUTTER, of Cambridge             Prohibition.  __\nFREDERIC T. GREENHALGE, of Lowell           Republican.   __\nJAMES HICKS, of Cambridge.                  Prohibition.  __\nJOHN C. KENNEDY, of Newton                  Republican.   __\nRICHARD J. McKELLEGET, of Cambridge         Democratic.   __\nEDWARD D. McVEY, of Lowell                  Democratic.   __\nELMER A. STEVENS, of Somerville             Prohibition.  __\n____________________________________________________________\n____________________________________________________________\n____________________________________________________________\n-------------------------------------------------------------\n\nCOUNTY COMMISSIONER                             Vote for ONE.\n\nWILLIAM S. FROST, of Marlborough            Republican.   __\nJOSEPH W. BARBER, of Sherborn               Prohibition.  __\nJAMES SKINNER, of Woburn                    Democratic.   __\n____________________________________________________________\n-------------------------------------------------------------\n\nSPECIAL COMMISSIONERS                           Vote for TWO.\n\nHENRY BRADLEE, of Medford                   Democratic.   __\nLYMAN <DW18>, of Stoneham                     Republican.   __\nJOHN J. DONOVAN, of Lowell                  Democratic.   __\nWILLIAM E. KNIGHT, of Shirley               Prohibition.  __\nORSON E. MALLORY, of Lowell                 Prohibition.  __\nEDWIN E. THOMPSON, of Woburn                Republican.   __\n____________________________________________________________\n____________________________________________________________\n-------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n[Illustration: SKETCH OF POLLING PLACE.]\n\nSUGGESTIONS TO VOTERS.\n\nGive your name and residence to the ballot clerk, who, on finding your\nname on the check list, will admit you within the rail and hand you a\nballot.\n\nGo alone to one of the voting shelves and there unfold your ballot.\n\nMark a cross X in the square at the right of the name of each person\nfor whom you wish to vote. No other method of marking, such as erasing\nnames, will answer.\n\n\nThus, if you wished to vote for John Bowles for Governor, you would\nmark your ballot in this way:--\n\nGOVERNOR                           Vote for ONE\nJOHN BOWLES, of Taunton             Prohibition.   X\nTHOMAS E. MEANS, of Boston          Democratic.\nELIJAH SMITH, of Pittsfield         Republican.\n\nIf you wish to vote for a person whose name is not on the ballot,\nwrite, or insert by a sticker, the name in the blank line at the end\nof the list of candidates for the office, and mark a cross X in the\nsquare at the right of it. Thus, if you wished to vote for George T.\nMorton, of Chelsea, for Governor, you would prepare your ballot in\nthis way:--\n\nGOVERNOR                           Vote for ONE\nJOHN BOWLES, of Taunton             Prohibition.\nTHOMAS E. MEANS, of Boston          Democratic.\nELIJAH SMITH, of Pittsfield         Republican.\n_George T. Morton, of Chelsea_                     X\n\nNotice, that for some offices you may vote for \"two\" or \"three\"\ncandidates, as stated in the ballot at the right of the name of the\noffice to be voted for, e.g.: \"COMMISSIONERS OF INSOLVENCY. Vote for\nTHREE.\"\n\nIf you spoil a ballot, return it to the ballot clerk, who will give\nyou another. You cannot have more than two extra ballots, or three in\nall. You cannot remain within the rail more than ten minutes, and in\ncase all the shelves are in use and other voters waiting, you are\nallowed only five minutes at the voting shelf.\n\nBefore leaving the voting shelf, fold your ballot in the same way as\nit was folded when you received it, and keep it so folded until you\nplace it in the ballot box.\n\nDo not show any one how you have marked your ballot.\n\nGo to the ballot box and give your name and residence to the officer\nin charge.\n\nPut your folded ballot in the box with the certificate of the\nSecretary of the Commonwealth uppermost and in sight.\n\nYou are not allowed to carry away a ballot, whether spoiled or not.\n\nA voter who declares to the presiding official (under oath, if\nrequired) that he was a voter before May 1, 1857, and cannot read, or\nthat he is blind or physically unable to mark his ballot, can receive\nthe assistance of one or two of the election officers in the marking\nof his ballot.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Civil Government in the United States\nConsidered with Some Reference to Its Origins, by John Fiske\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Fay Dunn, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                           THE KNITTING BOOK.\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n                                  THE\n\n                             KNITTING BOOK.\n\n\n                                   BY\n\n\n                  M^DLLE. RIEGO DE LA BRANCHARDIERE.\n\n                                  ---\n\n                             THIRD EDITION.\n\n                                  ---\n\n\n\n                                LONDON:\n                      SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO.,\n          ACKERMANN & CO., STRAND; OLIVER AND BOYD, EDINBURGH;\n                     AND ALL THE BERLIN WAREHOUSES.\n\n                                  ---\n\n                                 1848.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                      ----------------------------\n\n_Ladies_ are respectfully informed that these articles _cannot_ be\n  purchased without the _registered_ mark being affixed; and parties\n  wishing to manufacture them for the purposes of sale, must have the\n  authoress’s permission.\n\n                      ----------------------------\n\n\n\n\n     WILKINSON & CO., PRINTERS, 1, BARTLETT’S COURT, HOLBORN HILL.\n\n                                  ---\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                PREFACE.\n\n\nIT is usually considered necessary to introduce works of any\ndescription, however trifling, with a few prefatory remarks. Happily the\ndays of dedication are nearly at their close, and an author has now only\nto direct the attention of the reader to any particular leading\nfeatures.\n\nI trust that my endeavours in this KNITTING BOOK, in the elementary\ninstructions contained, with the full explanation of terms and carefully\nexecuted illustrations, are conveyed with a distinctiveness, easily to\nbe comprehended by the learner. The designs are original, and have\nrepeatedly been worked with great care, to prove their correctness; the\nillustrations have equally shared my supervision; and I humbly hope and\ntrust that it may be as successful, and give as much satisfaction to my\nfriends and the public, as my CROCHET BOOK, for which I am amply\nrewarded by its unprecedented success, and grateful for the many\nflattering testimonials received. I must here also make some\nobservations upon the many cheap publications that have recently\nappeared (two of which have copied _verbatim_ my illustrated\ninstructions, even to a fault in the drawing), and to direct the\nattention of those of my readers competent to understand the many\nplagiarisms and general unfitness as works of instruction, of the\nmajority, if not the whole of those publications. I should hope, and it\nis needless to say, that these remarks proceed not from the impulse of a\nspirit of rivalry, but from a sincere conviction that the details and\ninstructions therein conveyed are calculated seriously to mislead, if\nnot entirely prevent and disgust the student from acquiring a proper\nknowledge of these elegant and useful employments, by their\nincorrectness; that, in short, they are nothing more than very imperfect\narrangements, copied from the really useful Works that have been\nhitherto published, and tend quite as much to injure those Who publish\nfrom experience, as those who learn in order to derive instruction or\nadd information to their previous knowledge.\n\n                                                                E. R. B.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nLadies who may require instruction, can obtain cards of address at the\nPublisher’s, or Messrs. Barry and Sons, Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly.\n\n☞ These designs are registered, but any person desirous of working the\npatterns for the purposes of sale, can have permission upon application.\n\n\n                       [Illustration: Decoration]\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               CONTENTS.\n\n                                  ---\n\n                                 TERMS.\n\n\n                                                       PAGE\n\n             TO CAST ON WITH ONE PIN                      1\n\n             TO CAST ON WITH TWO PINS                     2\n\n             PLAIN KNITTING                               3\n\n             TO MAKE A STITCH                             3\n\n             TO MAKE TWO, THREE, OR MORE STITCHES         4\n\n             TO SLIP A STITCH                             4\n\n             TO KNIT TWO STITCHES TOGETHER                5\n\n             TO KNIT THREE STITCHES TOGETHER              5\n\n             PEARL, ALSO CALLED SEAM-BACK, AND RIB        5\n             KNITTING\n\n             PEARL, AND PLAIN STITCHES IN THE SAME        5\n             ROW\n\n             TO PEARL TWO OR THREE STITCHES TOGETHER      6\n\n             TO MAKE A STITCH IN PEARL KNITTING           6\n\n             TO FORM A ROUND                              6\n\n             TO RAISE STITCHES                            7\n\n             A ROW                                        7\n\n             A PATTERN                                    7\n\n             TO JOIN TWO PIECES OF KNITTING TOGETHER      8\n\n             A PARENTHESIS ( )                            8\n\n             A MARK *                                     8\n\n             TO CAST OFF                                  9\n\n             STITCHES OVER                                9\n\n\n\n\n                               PATTERNS.\n\n\n             BERTHE. CHANTILLY PATTERN                   10\n             LACE EDGING FOR BERTHE                      15\n             MANCHETTE, POINT LACE PATTERN               18\n             DOUBLE COLLAR, MALINES LACE                 23\n             ANTI-MACASSAR PATTERN                       26\n             —— MALTESE PATTERN                          28\n             CENTRE FOR SHAWL, VENETIAN PATTERN          32\n             ROUND BORDER FOR DITTO                      35\n             FRINGE FOR DITTO                            38\n             CANEZOU                                     39\n             CHEMISETTE, GENOESE                         40\n             CAP (BABY’S)                                44\n             CROWN FOR DITTO                             45\n             COUVRE PIED, OR CURTAIN                     47\n             COLLAR                                      50\n             LACE EDGING                                 52\n             —— DITTO                                    54\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                        INSTRUCTION IN KNITTING,\n\n                                  AND\n\n                         EXPLANATION OF TERMS.\n\n                                  ---\n\n                        TO CAST ON WITH ONE PIN.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nTAKE the thread, and putting it between the second and third fingers of\nthe left hand, leave an end of about one yard for every 100 stitches;\npass it round the left thumb, from left to right; then take the pin in\nthe right hand, placing it under the crossing of the thread; put the\nneedle down the loop, and bring the thread from the outside forward on\nthe point of the pin; take the thread in the right hand, and passing it\nround the pin as A, turn the loop B on the left thumb over the pin, and\ndraw it tight with the end thread in the left hand, and repeat until the\nrequired number of stitches are on the pin.\n\n\n\n\n                       TO CAST ON WITH TWO PINS.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThis is the Spanish method, and is particularly adapted for working fine\nwools, by its forming a looser stitch. Tie a loop at the end of the\nthread, and put it on the pin, holding it in the left hand; take the\nother pin with the right hand, and put it in the loop; pass the thread\nbetween the pins, and bring it forward then with the right hand pin;\nbring the thread through the loop on the left pin; there will now be a\nloop on each pin as C and D; then pass the loop D on to the left pin;\nrepeat by putting the right hand pin through the loop D, and passing the\nthread between the pins as before.\n\n\n\n\n                            PLAIN KNITTING.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nAfter casting on the stitches, hold the pin with the stitches on it in\nthe left hand, and with the thread turned round the little finger of the\nright hand pass it under the second and third fingers, and over the\nforefinger; take the other pin in the right hand; put this pin into the\nfirst loop on the left pin, and with the forefinger of the right hand\npass the thread between the pins, bring the thread through, which forms\none stitch; then take the loop off the left pin and repeat.\n\n\n\n\n                            TO MAKE A STITCH\n\n Bring the thread forward between the pins; when this stitch is worked in\n                the next row it will form an open stitch.\n\n\n\n\n                 TO MAKE TWO, THREE, OR MORE STITCHES.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nTurn the thread as many times round the pin as E, F, G, and in the next\nrow; pearl a stitch and knit a stitch, alternately, taking off one turn\nof the thread each time, for as many stitches as were made in the row\nbefore.\n\n\n\n\n                           TO SLIP A STITCH.\n\n\nTo pass a stitch from the left pin to the right without working it. In\nall knitting the first stitch of every row should be slipped to make a\nfirm and even selvedge; this is not mentioned in the receipts, as it\nwould much lengthen the description, but is to be observed as a fixed\nrule; for example, when a row commences thus; knit 2 together, work as\nfollows:—slip the 1st stitch, knit the 2d, and turn the slipped stitch\nover the knitted one.\n\n\n\n\n                     TO KNIT TWO STITCHES TOGETHER.\n\n\nTake two stitches with the right hand pin, and knit as 1 stitch.\n\n\n\n\n                    TO KNIT THREE STITCHES TOGETHER.\n\n\nSlip 1 stitch, knit 2 stitches together, and with the point of the left\nhand pin turn the slipped stitch over the 2 knitted together, leaving\nbut 1 stitch.\n\n\n\n\n            PEARL, ALSO CALLED SEAM, BACK, AND RIB KNITTING.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nCommence the row with the thread in front of the pin, pass the point of\nthe pin down the stitch, turn the thread round the pin, and take it off\nas in plain knitting; repeat, always keeping the thread in front.\n\n\n\n\n               PEARL AND PLAIN STITCHES IN THE SAME ROW.\n\n\nPass the thread to the back of the work before knitting plain stitches,\nand to the front before pearling stitches.\n\n\n\n\n                TO PEARL TWO OR THREE STITCHES TOGETHER\n\n\nKeep the thread in front of the pin, pass the point of the right pin\ndown 2 or 3 stitches, and pearl them together.\n\n\n\n\n                  TO MAKE A STITCH IN PEARL KNITTING.\n\n\nHaving the thread in front of the pin, turn the thread completely round\nthe pin, so as to bring it in front again.\n\n\n\n\n                            TO FORM A ROUND.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n4 or 5 pins are required; cast on the required number of stitches on one\npin, and divide them equally on the other 3 or 4 pins, keeping the 4th\nor 5th pin to knit with, and with this pin knit the 1st stitch that was\ncast; on knitting off the 3 or 4 pins form one round.\n\n\n\n\n                           TO RAISE STITCHES.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThe work must be held on the right side. Put the pin in the selvedge or\nside of the work, as H; pass the thread round the pin and bring it\nthrough, so as to form a stitch of plain knitting; repeat the same to\nthe end.\n\n\n\n\n                                 A ROW.\n\n\nIs knitting from one end of the pin to the other.\n\n\n\n\n                               A PATTERN.\n\n\nIs the number of rows, that are worked before commencing again.\n\n\n\n\n                TO JOIN TWO PIECES OF KNITTING TOGETHER.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nAs in the Berthe and Collar, place the two pins containing the work\ntogether, the deepest at the back, and with a third pin put it through\none stitch of each pin, as I and K, and knit them as one stitch.\n\n\n\n\n                THE STITCHES BETWEEN A PARENTHESIS ( ).\n\n\n(Knit 2 together, and knit 1 three times), are worked thus, knit 2\ntogether, knit 1; knit 2 together, knit 1; knit 2 together, knit 1; this\nprevents useless repetition.\n\n\n\n\n                               A MARK *.\n\n\nWhen this mark (*) occurs in a row, the stitches before it are not to be\nrepeated in the row, being merely the edge stitches to prevent the work\nfrom decreasing; thus when knit 3 together, is in a row, the row\ngenerally begins with knit 2 together and ends the same.\n\n\n\n\n                              TO CAST OFF.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nKnit the first 2 stitches; turn the first stitch, as L, over the 2d M;\nknit the 3d and turn the 2d stitch over; repeat at the end of the row,\ndraw the thread through and fasten off. When part of a row only is cast\noff, as for example—cast off 30 stitches, leaving 20 stitches; cast off\n31 stitches, and put the last loop cast off on the left pin, to make up\nthe 20 stitches.\n\n\n\n\n                             STITCHES OVER.\n\n\nA stitch or stitches over, in many of the patterns, commencing\nthus—“cast on 10 stitches for each pattern, and one over” for 7\npatterns, cast on 71 stitches. As many patterns end with “make a\nstitch,” it could not be done without this stitch to perfect the\npattern.\n\nThe pins are all gauged by the Bell Gauge.\n\n\n\n\n                       BERTHE. CHANTILLY PATTERN.\n\n _Taylor’s Crochet or Knitting Thread, No. 8; Pins No. 19, or Fine Black\n                              Netting Silk._\n\n_This Berthe is composed of two rows of lace, with open rows between\nthem for ribbon. In this pattern, the pearl stitch is the half of the 2\nmade stitches in the row before. Cast on 49 stitches with one pin._\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n1st row.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 3\n  together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make\n  1, knit 2 together, knit 14.\n\n2d.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 12, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit\n  2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 3, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2, pearl half\n  a stitch, knit 1.\n\n3d.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 3, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3, make\n  1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit\n  2 together, knit 14.\n\n4th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 11, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit\n  2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 4, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1,\n  knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n5th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 4, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3, make\n  1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 4, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 12.\n\n6th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 9, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 7,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit\n  2 together, make 1, knit 5, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 7, make 1,\n  knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n7th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 5, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 5, knit\n  2 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10.\n\n8th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 7, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make\n  1, knit 2 together, knit 11, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1,\n  knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n9th.—Knit 2 together, make 2 *, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 9, repeat from * once more; end with 8 plain\n  instead of 9.\n\n10th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 5, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit three together, make 1,\n  knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n  7, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  3, make 1, knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n11th.—Knit 2 together, make 2 *, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5, make\n  1, knit 2 together, knit 3, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 5; repeat from * once more, and end with 1\n  plain.\n\n12th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 7,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 7;\n  repeat once more, and end with make 1, knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n13th.—Knit 2 together, make 2 *, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1,\n  knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make\n  1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat\n  from * once more, and end with knit 3.\n\n14th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3 *, make 1, knit 2, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1,\n  knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit\n  2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 3 together; repeat from * once more,\n  and end with knit 2 together instead of three together, pearl 1, knit\n  1.\n\n15th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together *, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together,\n  make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3; repeat from * 3 times\n  more, and end with knit 3.\n\n16th.—Make 1, knit 2 together *, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n  1, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1;\n  repeat from * 3 times more, and end with knit 2 together, knit 1,\n  pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n17th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 3 together *, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 3, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 7; repeat from * 3\n  times more, and end with one plain.\n\n18th.—Make 1, knit 2 together *, knit 7, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n  1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit\n  2 together, make 1, knit 2; repeat from * once more, and end with knit\n  3 together instead of 2 plain, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n19th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together *, make 1, knit 3\n  together, make 1, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 11;\n  repeat from * once more, and end with 10 plain instead of 11.\n\n20th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 8, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together,\n  make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 6, knit 2 together, make\n  1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 6, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3 together, knit 2 together, pearl 1,\n  knit 1.\n\n21st.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 1, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make\n  1, knit 6, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 6, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 3 together, make\n  1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 12.\n\n22d.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 11, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make\n  1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n23d.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  3, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  14.\n\n24th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 13, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1,\n  knit 4, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n  1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 4, make\n  1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3 together, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\nRepeat from 1st row—and when sufficient is made, cast off. For the\n  ribbon raise the loops at the selvedge and knit 6 rows plain.\n\n7th.—Knit 3 plain *, make 6, knit 3 together, knit 1, knit 3 together;\n  repeat from * to the end.\n\n8th.—Knit 3 together, pearl 1, knit 1, pearl 1, knit 1, pearl 1, knit 1;\n  these last 6 stitches are the made stitches in last row, taking off\n  one turn of the thread each stitch; knit 6 rows plain.\n\n15th.—Knit 6 plain, and then work the same as the 7th row from the *.\n\n16th.—Same as 8th, and then knit 6 rows plain.\n\n25th.—Same as 7th.\n\n26th.—Same as 8th, and then knit 6 rows plain. This finishes the 1st\n  part of the Berthe, and leaving it on the pins, work the 2d part, and\n  when as many patterns are completed as the 1st part, raise the loops\n  of the selvedge on the pin, place the two parts together, the\n  narrowest in front, and with a third pin knit 1 stitch off each\n  together, and knit 2 rows plain and cast off.—See “Explanation of\n  Terms, to Join.”\n\n\n\n\n                         CHANTILLY LACE EDGING.\n\n                          SECOND PART OF BERTHE.\n\n _This may be used for a variety of purposes. Pins and thread as before,\n                          cast on 21 stitches._\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n1st row.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 3\n  together, make 1, knit 4.\n\n2d.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, knit\n  2 together, make 1, knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n3d.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 3, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3, make\n  1, knit 2 together, knit 2.\n\n4th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make\n  1, knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n5th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 4, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 4.\n\n6th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 8, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 7,\n  make 1, knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n7th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 9.\n\n8th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 6, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make\n  1, knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n9th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 7.\n\n10th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 4, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit\n  1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n11th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit, 3, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 5.\n\n12th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 7,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 7, make\n  1, knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n13th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1,\n  knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make\n  1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3.\n\n14th.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 2, knit 2 together,\n  make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 1, make\n  1, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 2, make 1, knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n15th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 3 together, * make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together,\n  make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3; repeat from * once\n  more, and end with knit 1.\n\n16th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1,\n  knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, pearl 1,\n  knit 1.\n\n17th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 3, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 7, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n  3, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 6.\n\n18th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make\n  1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 3 together, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n19th.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3 together,\n  make 1, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 2, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 8.\n\n20th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 6,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit\n  2 together, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3 together,\n  knit 2 together, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n21st.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 1, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make\n  1, knit 6, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4.\n\n22d.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3, knit\n  2 together, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, pearl 1, knit 1.\n\n23d.—Knit 2 together, make 2, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2.\n\n24th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 4,\n  (make 1, and knit 3 together twice), pearl 1, knit 1; commence again\n  at the first row.\n\n\n\n\n             MANCHETTE, OR UNDER SLEEVE POINT LACE PATTERN.\n\n _Taylor’s Crochet or Knitting Thread, No. 12; Pins No. 21, Ball Gauge.\n                   Cast on 81 stitches with 2 pins._\n\n1st row, pearl; 2d row, plain; 3d row, pearl; 4th row, plain; 5th row,\n  pearl.\n\n6th.—Make 4, knit 3 together, knit 3 together; repeat.\n\n7th.—Pearl 3, knit 1, pearl 1, knit 1; the last 4 stitches are those\n  made on 6th row; repeat.\n\n8th, plain; 9th, pearl; 10th, plain; 11th, pearl.\n\n12th.—Make 1, knit 2; repeat.\n\n13th.—Pearl. There will now be 121 stitches on the pin; these 13 rows\n  form the band, and now commence the pattern.\n\n1st row.—Knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n  together; repeat at the end of the row, knit 1.\n\n2d.—Make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together;\n  repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n3d.—Knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together;\n  repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n4th.—Knit 2 together *, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 3 together; repeat\n  from *, and end with knit 2 together.\n\n5th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1;\n  repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n6th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1;\n  repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n7th.—Same as 5th.\n\n8th.—Knit 2, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1; repeat, at the\n  end, knit 1. Repeat this pattern 3 times more, then knit a row, knit\n  1, knit 2 together, and repeat to the end, which will bring the\n  manchette to the original 84 stitches; commence again at the 1st row,\n  and work the band and the pattern once more, then work the band, and\n  cast off; finish with the point lace edging working 9 scollops for\n  each manchette, and trim with ribbon in each open row of the band.\n\n\n\n\n                           POINT LACE EDGING.\n\n  _Taylor’s Crochet or Knitting Thread, No. 12; Pins No. 21, Bell Gauge.\n                          Cast on 12 stitches._\n\n  1st row.—Knit 2, make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 3, make\n    1, knit 3.\n\n  2d.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n    knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n  3d.—Knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together,\n    make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3.\n\n  4th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2,\n    knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n  5th.—Knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 3 together,\n    make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 3.\n\n  6th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n    knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3,\n    make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n  7th.—Knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1,\n    knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1,\n    knit 3.\n\n  8th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2,\n    knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3,\n    make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n  9th.—Knit 2, make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 3, make 1,\n    knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 3.\n\n  10th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n    1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit, 2 together, knit\n    1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n  11th.—Knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n    together, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n    together, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3.\n\n  12th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2,\n    knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n    knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n  13th.—Knit 2, make 1, (knit, 2 together twice), make 1, knit 3\n    together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3,\n    make 1, knit 3.\n\n  14th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n    1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n    knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2,\n    make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n  15th.—Knit 2, make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n    knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n    knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3.\n\n  16th.—Same as 14th.\n\n  17th.—Knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 3, make 1,\n    knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1,\n    knit 2 together, knit 2.\n\n  18th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2\n    together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n    together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n    make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n  19th.—Knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2, make 1, knit 3\n    together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3\n    together, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2.\n\n  20th.—Same as 10th.\n\n  21st.—The same as 13th, but ending with knit 2 together, knit 2\n    instead of knit 3, make 1, knit 3.\n\n  22d.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2\n    together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n    together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n  23d.—Knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n    knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2 together,\n    knit 2.\n\n  24th.—Same as 6th.\n\n  25th.—Knit 2, make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 3, make 1,\n    knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2.\n\n  26th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2\n    together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2\n    together.\n\n  27th—Same as 3d, but ending knit 2 together, knit 2 instead of knit 3.\n\n  28th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n    1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n  29th.—Knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 3\n    together, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2.\n\n  30th.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n    together, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together; commence again at the 1st\n    row.\n\n\n\n\n                         COLLAR. MALINES LACE.\n\n _Taylor’s Knitting or Crochet Thread, No. 16; Pins No. 20, Bell Gauge.\n Cast on 476 stitches, or 19 for each Pattern and one over at the end.\n             This Collar is composed of two rows of lace._\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n1st row.—Make 1, knit 2 together; repeat.\n\n2d, 3d, and 4th.—Plain.\n\n5th.—Knit 2 together *, knit 16, knit 3 together; repeat from *, and end\n  with knit 2 together instead of 3 together.\n\n6th.—Pearl 2 together *, pearl 14, pearl 3 together; repeat from *, end\n  with pearl 2 together.\n\n7th.—Knit 2 together *, knit 6, make 1, knit 6, knit 3 together; repeat\n  from *, end with knit 2 together.\n\n8th—Pearl.\n\n9th.—Knit 2 together *, knit 5, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 5, knit 3\n  together; repeat from *, end with knit 2 together.\n\n10th.—Pearl.\n\n11th.—Knit 2 together *, knit 4, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 4, knit 3\n  together; repeat from *, end with knit 2 together.\n\n12th.—Pearl 2 together *, pearl 11, pearl 3 together; repeat from *, end\n  with pearl 2 together.\n\n13th.—Knit 2 together *, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  1, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 3 together; repeat\n  from *, end with knit 2 together.\n\n14th.—Pearl 2 together *, pearl 9, pearl 3 together; repeat from *, end\n  with pearl 2 together.\n\n15th.—Knit 2 together *, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make\n  1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3 together; repeat from *, end with\n  knit 2 together.\n\n16th.—Pearl.\n\n17th.—Knit 1 *, (make 1, and knit 2 together twice), knit 1, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1; repeat from *.\n\n18th.—Pearl.\n\n19th.—Knit 2 *, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3 together, make\n  1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3; repeat from *, end with knit 2.\n\n20th.—Pearl.\n\n21st.—Knit 3 *, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make\n  1, knit 5; repeat from *, end with knit 3.\n\n22d.—Pearl.\n\n23d.—Knit 4 *, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 7; repeat from *,\n  end with knit 4.\n\n24th.—Pearl. There will now be 251 stitches on the pin.\n\n25th, 26th, 27th, and 28th.—Plain.\n\n29th.—Knit 4 *, make 4, (knit 3 together twice); repeat from *, end with\n  knit 1.\n\n30th.—Pearl 3 *, knit 1, pearl 1, knit 1, pearl 1. These 4 stitches are\n  the made stitches in the last row. Pearl 2; repeat from *, end with\n  pearl 4.\n\n31st.—Plain.\n\n32d, pearl; 33d plain; 34th, pearl.\n\n35th.—Knit 3 *, (knit 3 together twice), make 4; repeat from *, end with\n  make 4, knit 2 together.\n\n36th.—Pearl 2; repeat the 30th row from *.\n\n37th, plain; 38th, pearl; 39th, plain; 40th, pearl.\n\n41st as 29th; 42d as 30th; 43d, plain; 44th, pearl.\n\nFor the second row of lace, with another pair of pins, cast on 476\n  stitches, and knit from the 1st to the 24th rows.\n\nTo join the 2 pieces together, see _Instruction_; and when joined\n  together, knit 1 row thus:—pearl 9, pearl 2 together; repeat, and work\n  from the 25th to the 31st row; cast off and finish with a narrow\n  ribbon passed through the open rows.\n\n\n                             [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n                    ANTI-MACASSAR VENETIAN PATTERN.\n\n  _Taylor’s Mecklenburgh Thread, No. 3; or Taylor’s Knitting Cotton, No.\n 12, Pins No. 15, Bell Gauge. Cast on 121 stitches or 12 for each pattern\n                               and 1 over._\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nKnit 8 rows plain, then commence the pattern, knitting 6 plain stitches\n  at the beginning and end of every row. These stitches are not included\n  in the direction.\n\n1st row.—Knit 5, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 4; at the end of\n  these rows knit 1 plain, beside the edge stitches.\n\n2d.—Pearl 3, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2\n  together, pearl 2; repeat.\n\n3d.—Knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 1; repeat.\n\n4th.—Pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 7, make 1, pearl 2\n  together; repeat.\n\n5th.—Knit 2 together *, make 1, knit 9, make 1, knit 3 together; repeat\n  from * at the end, knit 2 together, instead of 3 together.\n\n6th.—Pearl.\n\n7th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1;\n  repeat.\n\n8th.—Pearl.\n\n9th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2 together, make 1; repeat.\n\n10th.—Pearl.\n\n11th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 3 together,\n  make 1, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1; repeat.\n\n12th.—Pearl.\n\n13th.—Same as 7th.\n\n14th.—Pearl.\n\n15th.—Same as 9th.\n\n16th.—Pearl.\n\n17th.—Same as 11th.\n\n18th.—Pearl.\n\n19th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 7, knit 2 together, make 1;\n  repeat.\n\n20th.—Pearl 2, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 5, pearl 2 together, make\n  1, pearl 1; repeat.\n\n21st.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 2; repeat.\n\n22d.—Pearl 4, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make\n  1, pearl 3; commence at 1st row, work 8 patterns, then knit 8 rows\n  plain, cast off, and finish with the fringe or edging.\n\n\n\n\n                             ANTI-MACASSAR.\n\n _For a Prie Dieu. Maltese Cross Pattern. Taylor’s Mecklenburgh White or\n  Drab Thread, No. 3; or Taylor’s Knitting Cotton, No. 10; Pins No. 13,\n                    Bell Gauge. Cast on 143 stitches._\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThis pattern is composed of 4 stripes of diamond and 3 stripes of\ncrosses. At the beginning of every row knit 2 plain stitches for the\nedge (these stitches are not included in the direction), and at the end\nof every row repeat the first 15 stitches of the same, so that the rows\nmay end with the diamond pattern, as at the commencement.\n\n1st row.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n  1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 12;\n  repeat three times, and then work the first 15 stitches of the\n  pattern.\n\n2d.—make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 3 together, make 1,\n  pearl 5, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 10, pearl 2 together, make 1,\n  pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 12; repeat 3 times, and work\n  as before.\n\n3d.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 12;\n  repeat as before.\n\n4th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make 1, (pearl\n  3, make 1, pearl 2 together twice), pearl 9, pearl 2 together, make 1,\n  pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 11; repeat as before.\n\n5th.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 8, knit 2 together,\n  make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10; repeat as before.\n\n6th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  3, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  9, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 3, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl\n  11; repeat as before.\n\n7th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 12;\n  repeat as before.\n\n8th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 3 together, make\n  1, pearl 5, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 11, make 1, pearl 3\n  together, make 1, pearl 13; repeat as before.\n\n9th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 9, knit\n  2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 11; repeat\n  as before.\n\n10th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make 1,\n  (pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together twice), pearl 8, pearl 2 together,\n  make 1, pearl 5, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 10; repeat as before.\n\n11th.—Same as 5th.\n\n12th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  3, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  10, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl\n  12; repeat.\n\n13th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 8, knit\n  2 together, make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10; repeat.\n\n14th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 3 together, make\n  1, pearl 5, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 10, make 1, pearl 2\n  together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 12; repeat as\n  before.\n\n15th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 8, knit\n  2 together, make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10; repeat.\n\n16th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make 1,\n  (pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together twice), pearl 10, make 1, pearl 2\n  together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 12; repeat.\n\n17th.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, knit 2 together,\n  make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 4, make 1, knit 3\n  together, make 1, knit 4, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 4; repeat.\n\n18th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  3, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  1, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  1, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  1, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  3; repeat.\n\n19th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4, make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make\n  1, knit 5, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 3\n  together, make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2; repeat.\n\n20th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 3 together, make\n  1, pearl 5, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2\n  together, pearl 3, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2\n  together, pearl 3, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2\n  together, pearl 3, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 3; repeat, &c.\n\n21st.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make\n  1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit\n  2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4; repeat, &c.\n\n22d.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl\n  3, (make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 3, twice), (make 1, pearl 3\n  together, make 1, and pearl 5, three times); repeat.\n\n23d.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 9, knit 2 together,\n  make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 11; repeat, &c.\n\n24th as 12th; 25th as 13th; 26th as 14th; 27th as 15th; 28th as 16th;\n  29th as 5th; 30th as 12th.\n\n31st.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 11,\n  make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 13; repeat.\n\n32d.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 3 together, make\n  1, pearl 5, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 9, pearl 2 together, make\n  1, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 11; repeat, &c.\n\n33d as 15th.\n\n34th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl\n  3, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  9, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 3, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl\n  11; repeat, &c.\n\n35th.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 12; repeat, &c.\n\n36th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  3, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl\n  11, make 1, pearl 3 together, make 1, pearl 13; repeat, and commence\n  again at the 1st row.\n\n\n\n\n       CENTRE FOR SHETLAND SHAWL, AND PATTERN FOR ANTI-MACASSAR.\n\n    _The best Shetland Wool: Pins No. 11. Cast on 271 stitches.—For\n   Anti-Macassar, Taylor’s Knitting Cotton, No. 12, Pins No. 13, Bell\n Gauge. Cast on 22 stitches for each pattern, and 7 over for the edge._\n\nKnit 4 rows plain, and then commence the pattern.\n\n1st row.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 1 *, (knit 2 together, and make 1 four\n  times), knit 1, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, (make 1, and\n  knit 2 together 4 times), knit 1; repeat from * at the end, make 1,\n  knit 3.\n\n2d.—Knit 3 *, pearl 3 together, (make 1 and pearl 2 together 4 times),\n  make 1, pearl 3, (make 1 and pearl 2 together 4 times), make 1; repeat\n  from * at the end of the row, knit 3 together, knit 3.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n3d.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 1 *, (knit 2 together, and make 1 four times)\n  knit 5, (make 1, and knit 2 together 4 times), knit 1; repeat from *,\n  and end with make 1, knit 3.\n\n4th.—Knit 3 *, pearl 3 together, (make 1, and pearl 2 together 3 times),\n  make 1, pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together,\n  make 1, pearl 1, (make 1, and pearl 2 together 3 times); make 1;\n  repeat from *, and end with knit 3 together, knit 3.\n\n5th.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 1 *, (knit 2 together, and make 1, three\n  times), knit 3, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3, (make 1, and\n  knit 2 together 3 times), knit 1; repeat from *, and end with make 1,\n  knit 3.\n\n6th.—Knit 3 *, pearl 3 together, (make 1, and pearl 2 together twice),\n  make 1, pearl 11, (make 1, and pearl 2 together twice), make 1; repeat\n  from *, and end with knit 3 together, knit 3.\n\n7th.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 1 *, (knit 2 together, and make 1 twice), knit\n  1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1,\n  (make 1, and knit 2 together twice, knit 1; repeat from * and end with\n  make 1, knit 3.\n\n8th.—Knit 3 *, pearl 3 together, make 1, pearl 2 together, (make 1,\n  pearl 3, make 1, pearl 3 together twice), make 1, pearl 3, make 1,\n  pearl 2 together, make 1; repeat from *, and end with knit 3 together,\n  knit 3.\n\n9th.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 1 *, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 17, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat from *, and end with make 1, knit 3.\n\n10th.—Knit 3 *, pearl 3 together, (make 1, pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2\n  together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together 3 times), make 1, pearl 1, make 1;\n  repeat from *, and end with knit 3 together, knit 3.\n\n11th.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 1 *, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, (make\n  1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3, twice), make 1, knit 3 together,\n  make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat from *, and\n  end with make 1, knit 3.\n\n12th.—Knit 3 *, pearl 3 together, make 1, pearl 2 together, make 1,\n  pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 9, pearl 2 together, make 1,\n  pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2 together, make 1; repeat from *, and end with\n  pearl 3 together, knit 3.\n\n13th.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 1 *, (knit 2 together, and make 1, twice),\n  (knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  twice), knit 1, (make 1, and knit 2 together twice), knit 1; repeat\n  from *, and end with make 1, knit 3.\n\n14th.—Knit 3 *, pearl 3 together, (make 1, and pearl 2 together twice),\n  make 1, pearl 1, make 1, pearl 3 together, make 1, pearl 3, make 1,\n  pearl 3 together, make 1, pearl 1, (make 1, and pearl 2 together\n  twice), make 1; repeat from *, and end with knit 3 together, knit 3.\n\n15th.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 1 *, (knit 2 together, and make 1 three\n  times), knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3, knit 2 together, make\n  1, knit 1, (make 1, and knit 2 together 3 times), knit 1; repeat from\n  *, and end with make 1, knit 3.\n\n16th.—Knit 3 *, pearl 3 together, (make 1, and pearl 2 together 3\n  times), make 1, pearl 1, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, pearl 2\n  together, make 1, pearl 1, (make 1, and pearl 2 together 3 times),\n  make 1; repeat from *, knit 3 together, knit 3.\n\nCommence again at 1st row, knit 14 patterns, then knit 4 rows plain, and\n  cast off.\n\n\n\n\n               BORDER FOR SHETLAND SHAWL, ROUND CORNERS.\n\n               _Cast on with 2 pins No. 7; 748 stitches._\n\nThis will be sufficient for two sides of the shawl, then knit 4 rows\nplain.\n\n5th row.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 7, knit 3\n  together, knit 7, make 1, knit 2; repeat.\n\n6th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 20. The alternate rows are all to\n  be worked as this row, to the 18th row.\n\n7th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 6, knit 3 together,\n  knit 6, make 1, knit 3; repeat.\n\n9th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 5, knit 3 together, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  2; repeat.\n\n11th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 4, knit 3 together, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  3; repeat.\n\n13th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, (make 1, and knit 2 together\n  twice), make 1, knit 3, knit 3 together, knit 3, (make 1, and knit 2\n  together twice), make 1, knit 2; repeat.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n15th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, (make 1, and knit 2 together\n  twice), make 1, knit 2, knit 3 together, knit 2, (make 1, and knit 2\n  together twice), make 1, knit 3; repeat.\n\n17th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, (make 1, and knit 2 together 3\n  times), make 1, knit 1, knit 3 together, knit 1, (make 1, and knit 2\n  together 3 times), make 1, knit 2; repeat.\n\n19th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, (make 1, and knit 2 together 3\n  times), make 1, knit 3 together, (make 1, and knit 2 together 3\n  times), make 1, knit 3; repeat.\n\n20th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 20; repeat.\n\n21st same as 6th; 22d same as 20th. This pattern is now worked over\n  again from the 5th row, excepting the 1st three, the 6 centre, and 3\n  end patterns of every row, which are decreased to form the corners\n  thus.\n\n23d.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 6, knit 3 together,\n  knit 6, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat 3 times for the\n  corner, then work as 5th row 11 times, as this row 6 times, as 5th 11\n  times, as this row 3 times.\n\n24th.—Make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 18; repeat 3 times, then work as\n  the 6th row 11 times, as this row 6 times, as the 6th 11 times, as\n  this row 3 times.\n\n25th.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 5, knit 3 together,\n  knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat 3 times, as 7th row 11\n  times, and then work the pattern the same number of times as in the\n  23d and 24th rows.\n\n26th.—Same as 24th; pearl 16 instead of 18 in the corner patterns.\n\n27th.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 4, knit 3 together,\n  knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat 3 times, then as 9th\n  row 11 times, &c.\n\n28th.—Same as 24th; pearl 14 instead of 18 in the corner patterns.\n\n29th.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 3, knit 3 together,\n  knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat 3 times, then as 11th\n  row 11 times, &c.\n\n30th.—Same as 24th; pearl 12 instead of 18 in the corner patterns.\n\n31st.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 2, knit 3 together,\n  knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat 3 times, as 13th row\n  11 times, &c.\n\n32d.—Same as 24th; pearling 10 instead of 18 in the corner patterns.\n\n33d.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 1, knit 3 together,\n  knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat 3 times, as 15th row\n  11 times, &c.\n\n34th.—Same as 24th; pearl 8 instead of 18 for corner patterns.\n\n35th.—Make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 1, knit 3 together, make 1,\n  knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat 3 times as the 17th row, 11 times as\n  this, &c.\n\n36th.—Same as 24th; pearling 6 instead of 18 in the corner pattern.\n\n37th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 3 together, knit 2; repeat 3\n  times, as the 19th 11 times, &c.\n\n38th.—Pearl and cast off; then work another piece the same, and sew one\n  border to the wrong side of the shawl; sew that when folded both\n  borders will be on the right side.\n\n\n\n\n                           FRINGE FOR SHAWL.\n\n                   _Double Wool. Cast on 9 stitches._\n\n1st row.—Make 1, knit 2 together; repeat and end with knit 1. When\n  sufficient rows are worked, cast off 4 stitches, leaving 5 to be\n  pulled out for the fringe.\n\n\n\n\n                                CANEZOU.\n\n _Taylor’s Mecklenburgh Thread, No. 6; Pins No. 14, Bell Gauge. Or Black\n                              Netting Silk._\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nThe chemisette pattern and the border for Shetland Shawl are easily\narranged to form an elegant canezou thus: work the chemisette pattern\nuntil there are 199 stitches on the pin instead of 135, and work the\nsides the same, repeating the pattern 10 times instead of 6; then work\none piece of the border with the same pins and thread, it will form the\nhalf square.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHEMISETTE.\n\n _Taylor’s Crochet or Knitting Thread, No. 12; Pins No. 20, Bell Gauge.\n                          Cast on 7 stitches._\n\n\n[Illustration: SECTION OF CHEMISETTE.]\n\n\n1st row.—Knit 2 together, (make 1, and knit 1 three times), make 1, knit\n  2 together.\n\n2d.—Pearl.\n\n3d.—Knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n4th.—Pearl.\n\n5th.—Knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n6th.—Pearl.\n\n7th.—Knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n8th.—Pearl.\n\n9th.—Knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2, knit 2 together,\n  make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 1, make\n  1, knit 2 together.\n\n10th.—Pearl.\n\n11th.—Knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 4, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n12th.—Pearl.\n\n13th.—Knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 6, make 1, knit 3\n  together, make 1, knit 6, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n14th.—Pearl. These 14 rows form the point, and are not to be repeated.\n  Now commence the pattern.\n\n1st row.—Knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2, knit 2\n  together. These stitches form the edge *; make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit\n  2 together, knit 3, knit 2 together *. There will now be 8 stitches\n  left; work them thus for the edge:—make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 2, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n2d.—Pearl.\n\n3d.—Knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2, knit 2 together,\n  make 1 for the edge *, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2\n  together, make 1 * for the edge, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n  2, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n4th.—Pearl.\n\n5th.—Knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 4, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, knit 2 together for the edge *, make 1, knit 3, make\n  1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together * then for the edge, make\n  1, knit 4, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n6th.—Pearl.\n\n7th.—Knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 6, make 1, knit 3\n  together, make 1 for the edge *, knit 5, make 1, knit 3 together, make\n  1 * for the edge, knit 6, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n8th.—Pearl; repeat these 8 rows until there are 135 stitches on the pin,\n  working 1 repeat of the pattern between the * each time. Now commence\n  the side.\n\n1st row.—Knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, this\n  is for edge *; knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 3; repeat from * 6 times more, and then turn back,\n  leaving 74 stitches on the pin for the other side.\n\n2d.—Pearl 2 together, pearl the rest; the alternate rows are all worked\n  the same.\n\n3d.—Edge same as 1st row, knit 1 *, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, knit 2 together; repeat from * at end, omit the last\n  knit 2 together.\n\n5th.—Edge as 1st row *, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 2; repeat from *, end with knit 1 instead of 2.\n\n7th.—Edge as 1st row *, knit 2, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3;\n  repeat from *, and end with knit 1 instead of 3.\n\n9th.—Edge as 1st row *, knit 2 together, knit 3, knit 2 together, make\n  1, knit 1; repeat from *, end with knit 2 together, knit 3.\n\n11th.—Edge as 1st row, knit 3 *, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make\n  1, knit 2 together, knit 1; repeat from *.\n\n13th.—Edge as 1st row, knit 4 *, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2\n  together, make 1, knit 3; repeat from *, end with knit 1 instead of 3.\n\n15th.—Edge as 1st row *, knit 5, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1; repeat\n  from *, end with knit 1.\n\n16th.—Same as 2d row; repeat these 16 rows 7 times more, working 1\n  pattern less each repeat, cast off the remaining stitches, and for the\n  other side return to the 74 stitches left on the pin, and, commencing\n  at the centre, cast off 13 stitches. There will now be 61 stitches on\n  left pin, and work thus:—.\n\n1st row.—Knit 3, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n  together; repeat 6 times more, then for the edge knit 2 together, make\n  1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together.\n\n2d.—Pearl all but the last 2 stitches, which are to be pearled together;\n  every alternate row is worked the same.\n\n3d.—Knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together;\n  repeat, end with knit 1 instead of 2 together, edge as the edge 1st\n  row.\n\n5th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 2; repeat, end with knit 1 instead of 2, and edge as 1st row.\n\n7th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 4; repeat, and end\n  with knit 2 instead of 4; the edge as 1st row.\n\n9th.—Same as 1st row; end with knit 3, knit 2 together, and edge as 1st\n  row.\n\n11th.—Same as 3rd row, ending with knit 3, and edge as 1st row.\n\n13th.—Same as 5th; end with knit 2, and edge as 1st row.\n\n15th.—Same as 7th; end with knit 1, and edge as 1st row.\n\n16th.—Same as 2d; repeat these 16 rows 7 times more, working 1 pattern\n  less each repeat. Cast off the remaining stitches, then raise 212\n  stitches from the neck, knit 2 rows plain, casting on 30 stitches at\n  the end of each row.\n\n3d row, make 3 and knit 2 together twice; repeat.\n\n4th row, knit 2, pearl 1, knit 1, pearl 1; repeat, then knit 4 rows\n  plain; cast off, and edge with any one of the edgings.\n\n\n\n\n                              BABY’S CAP.\n\n _Taylor’s Crochet or Knitting Thread, No. 12.; Pins No. 21, Bell Gauge.\n                          Cast on 177 stitches._\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n1st row.—Pearl.\n\n2d.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3, knit 2 together, make 1;\n  repeat at the end of the row knit 1 plain.\n\n3d.—Pearl 2, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make\n  1, pearl 1; repeat, and end with 1 plain.\n\n4th.—Knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together;\n  repeat, and end with 1 plain.\n\n5th.—Pearl 1, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2\n  together; repeat, and end with 1 plain.\n\n6th.—Same as 4th row.\n\n7th.—Pearl 2 together *, make 1, pearl 5, make 1, pearl 3 together;\n  repeat from *, and end with pearl 2 together.\n\n8th.—Knit 3, knit 2 together, knit 3; repeat, and end with 1 plain.\n\n9th.—Pearl 2, pearl 2 together, make 3, pearl 2 together, pearl 1;\n  repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n10th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, pearl 1, knit 1, pearl 1, knit 2;\n  repeat, and end with knit 1. These 10 rows form one pattern; repeat\n  for 6 patterns more, then cast on 40 stitches at each end of the pin,\n  which make in all 257 stitches; then work 5 patterns as before. For\n  the crown, which is to be worked round, divide the stitches on to\n  three pins, and knit 3 rounds plain.\n\n4th.—Knit 2 together, knit 8; repeat.\n\n5th.—Make 1, knit 2 together; repeat.\n\n6th.—Knit 2 together, knit 3; repeat.\n\n7th.—Plain.\n\n8th.—Knit 2 together, knit 4; repeat.\n\n9th.—Knit 2 together, knit 4, repeat. There will now be 128 stitches on\n  the pin.\n\n10th.—Knit 3 together, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4; repeat.\n\n11th.—Plain; at the end put the last stitch on the 1st pin.\n\n12th.—Knit 3 together, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3; repeat, and put the last\n  stitch on the 1st pin.\n\n13th.—Knit 3 together, knit 13; repeat, put the last stitch on the 1st\n  pin.\n\n14th.—Knit 3 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5,\n  make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1; repeat, and put the last\n  stitch on the 1st pin.\n\n15th.—Knit 3 together, knit 11; repeat.\n\n16th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 2, knit 3 together,\n  knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1; repeat.\n\n17th.—Plain.\n\n18th.—Same as 17th.\n\n19th.—Knit 5, knit 3 together, knit 4; repeat.\n\n20th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, knit 3 together,\n  knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1; repeat.\n\n21st.—Knit 4, knit 3 together, knit 3; repeat.\n\n22d.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1; repeat.\n\n23d.—Plain.\n\n24th.—Knit 3 together, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together,\n  make 1; repeat.\n\n25th.—Plain.\n\n26th.—Knit 2, knit 3 together, knit 1; repeat.\n\n27th.—Plain.\n\n28th.—Knit 2 together, knit 2; repeat.\n\n30th.—Knit 2, knit 2 together; repeat and draw up the remaining\n  stitches.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n            ARABESQUE PATTERN FOR COUVRE PIED, CURTAIN, &c.\n\n  _For Couvre Pied, Curtain, use Taylor’s Knitting Cotton, No. 10; Pins\n No. 10, Bell Gauge; or for Anti-Macassar, Taylor’s Mecklenburgh Thread,\n  No. 4; Pins No. 14. Cast on 20 stitches for each pattern, and 1 stitch\n                                  over._\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n1st row.—Knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together,\n  make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1; repeat, and at the end of the row knit 1.\n\n2d.—Pearl.\n\n3d.—Knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 1, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make\n  1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together; repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n4th.—Pearl.\n\n5th.—Knit 2 together *, make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3,\n  knit 2 together, make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 3 together; repeat from\n  *, end with knit 2 together.\n\n6th.—Pearl.\n\n7th.—Knit 1, make 1, (knit 2 together twice), make 2, knit 2 together,\n  knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  1, knit 2 together, make 2, (knit 2 together twice), make 1; repeat,\n  at the end knit 1.\n\n8th.—Pearl 5, knit 1, pearl 10, knit 1, pearl 3; repeat, and end with\n  pearl 1.\n\n9th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 2,\n  knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, knit\n  2 together, make 2, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1;\n  repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n10th.—Pearl 6, knit 1, pearl 8, knit 1, pearl 4; repeat, and end with\n  pearl 1.\n\n11th.—Knit 1, make 1, (knit 2 together 3 times), make 2, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together,\n  make 2, (knit 2 together 3 times), make 1; repeat, and end with knit\n  1.\n\n12th.—Same as 10th.\n\n13th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, knit 2 together, make 2,\n  knit 2 together, knit 3, knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together,\n  knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1; repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n14th.—Pearl 7, knit 1, pearl 6, knit 1, pearl 5; repeat, at the end\n  pearl 1.\n\n15th.—Knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 4, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 4, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  1; repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n16th.—Pearl 7, pearl 2 together, make 1, pearl 3, make 1, pearl 2\n  together, pearl 6; repeat, and end with pearl 1.\n\n17th.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit\n  2; repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n18th.—Pearl.\n\n19th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 2, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1,\n  knit 7, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3; repeat, and end with\n  knit 1.\n\n20th.—Pearl 7, make 1, pearl 2 together, pearl 3, pearl 2 together, make\n  1, pearl 6; repeat, and end with pearl 1.\n\n21st.—Knit 2, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together,\n  knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 4, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n  1; repeat and end with knit 1.\n\n22d.—Pearl 9, make 1, pearl 3 together, make 1, pearl 8; repeat, and end\n  with pearl 1.\n\n23d.—Knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 2,\n  knit 2 together, knit 5, knit 2 together, make 2, knit 2 together,\n  knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together; repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n24th.—Same as 10th.\n\n25th—Knit 2 together *, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 2, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 2, knit 1, knit 2 together,\n  make 1, knit 3 together; repeat from *, and end with knit 2 together.\n\n26th.—Same as 8th.\n\n27th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 2, (knit 2 together\n  3 times), make 1, knit 1, make 1, (knit 2 together 3 times), make 2,\n  knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1; repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n28th.—Same as 8th.\n\n29th.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 2, knit 2 together,\n  knit 3 together, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 3 together, knit 2\n  together, make 2, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1; repeat, and end\n  with knit 1.\n\n30th.—Same as 8th.\n\n31st.—Knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 3, knit 2 together, make 1;\n  repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n32d.—Pearl.\n\n33d.—Knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit\n  1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, knit 2 together, make 1, knit 1;\n  repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n34th.—Pearl.\n\n35th.—Knit 3, make 1, knit 3 together, make 1, knit 1, knit 2 together,\n  make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 3\n  together, make 1, knit 2; repeat, and end with knit 1.\n\n36th.—Pearl; commence again at the 1st row, and work 12 patterns in\n  depth for each yard.\n\n\n\n\n                         COLLAR, CABLE PATTERN.\n\n _Taylor’s Crochet or Knitting Thread, No. 16; and Pins, No. 21. Cast on\n                              50 stitches._\n\n1st row.—Knit 7, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 8, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10, make 1, knit 2\n  together, knit 1.\n\n2d.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, pearl 9,\n  knit 1; repeat once more, then make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make\n  1, knit 2 together, pearl 7, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 5.\n\n3d.—Same as the 1st.\n\n4th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, pearl 9,\n  knit 1; repeat once more, then make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make\n  1, knit 2 together, pearl 3; turn back, leaving 12 stitches on the\n  left pin.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n5th.—With the pin on which the 12 stitches are left slip 1, knit 4, make\n1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10, make 1,\nknit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 10, make 1, knit\n2 together, knit 1.\n\n6th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, pearl 9,\nknit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, pearl\n4; turn back, leaving 26 stitches.\n\n7th.—Slip 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\ntogether, knit 10, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1.\n\n8th.—Make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, pearl 4;\nturn back, leaving 41 stitches.\n\n9th.—Slip 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1.\n\n10th.—Same as the 2d.\n\n11th.—Slip 1, knit 6, make 1, knit 2 together; then with the 3d pin take\noff 3 stitches without knitting them; leave them, and with the right pin\nknit 3 stitches off the left pin, keeping the 3 stitches on the 3d pin\nin front; now knit the 3 stitches that were left on the 3d pin; this\nforms the cable. Knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 2\ntogether, take off 4 without knitting with the 3d pin, as before: leave\nthem, knit 4, then knit the 4 on the 3d pin, knit 2, make 1, knit 2\ntogether, knit 1, make 1, knit 2 together, take off 4, knit 4; then knit\nthe 4 on the 3d pin, knit 2, make 1, knit 2 together, knit 1.\n\n12th.—Same as 2d. This finishes one pattern. Repeat from 1st row 47\npatterns more; cast off.\n\n\n\n\n                              LACE EDGING.\n\n  _Taylor’s Crochet or Knitting Thread, No. 10; Pins No. 19. Cast on 8\n        stitches for each Pattern, or 482 stitches for a yard._\n\n1st, 2d, and 3d rows.—Plain.\n\n4th.—Knit 2 *, cast off 4 stitches, knit 4; repeat from *, and end with\n  knit 2.\n\n5th.—Knit 2 *, take right hand pin in the left hand, and cast on 4\n  stitches on it; change the pin to the right hand, and knit 4; repeat\n  from *, end with knit 2.\n\n6th, 7th, and 8th.—Plain.\n\n9th.—Same as 4th.\n\n10th.—Knit 2 *, cast on 6 stitches as directed in the 5th row, knit 4;\n  repeat from *, end with knit 2.\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n11th and 12th.—Plain.\n\n13th.—Knit 2 together, (make 1, and knit 1 six times), make 1, knit 2\n  together; repeat.\n\n14th.—Knit 1 *, knit 13, knit 2 together; repeat from *, and end with\n  knit 1.\n\n15th.—Pearl.\n\n16th.—Knit 1, knit 2 together, (make 1, and knit 1 nine times), make 1,\n  knit 2 together; repeat, end with knit 1.\n\n17th.—Pearl 2 together *, pearl 19, pearl 3 together; repeat from *, and\n  cast off.\n\n\n[Illustration: Decoration]\n\n\n\n\n                              LACE EDGING.\n\n       _Taylor’s Crochet or Knitting Thread, No. 12; Pins No. 20.\n  Cast on 19 stitches for each Pattern, or 1027 stitches for a yard._\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n1st row.—Make 1, knit 2 together; repeat.\n\n2d.—Plain.\n\n3d.—Pearl 2, knit 3 together, knit 11, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1;\n  knit 1, repeat.\n\n4th.—Pearl 14, pearl 2 together, knit 2; repeat.\n\n5th.—Pearl 2, knit 3 together, knit 9, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 1; repeat.\n\n6th.—Pearl 12, pearl 2 together, knit 2; repeat.\n\n7th.—Pearl 2, knit 3 together, knit 7, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 1; repeat.\n\n8th.—Pearl 10, pearl 2 together, knit 2; repeat.\n\n9th.—Pearl 2, knit 3 together, knit 5, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 1; repeat.\n\n10th.—Pearl 8, pearl 2 together, knit 2; repeat.\n\n11th.—Pearl 2, knit 3 together, knit 3, make 1, knit 2 together, make 1,\n  knit 1; repeat.\n\n12th.—Pearl 6, pearl 2 together, knit 2; repeat.\n\n13th.—Pearl 1, knit 3 together, knit 1, make 1, knit 3, make 1, knit 1;\n  repeat.\n\n14th.—Pearl. 15th.—Knit 3 together, make 1, knit 5, make 1, knit 1;\n  repeat. 16th.—Pearl.\n\n17th.—Knit 1 *, make 1, knit 7, make 1, knit 2 together; repeat from *,\n  end with knit 1.\n\n18th.—Plain.\n\n19th.—Make 1, knit 2 together; repeat.\n\n20th.—Plain, and cast off.\n\n\n\n\n                       FRINGE FOR ANTI-MACASSAR.\n\n  _Taylor’s Mecklenburgh Thread, No. 3, or Knitting Cotton, No. 12; Pins\n No. 19. Cast on 400 stitches for a yard. Cut a portion of the thread in\n                      pieces of 4 inches in length._\n\n1st row.—Knit 1 *, take 4 pieces of the cut thread and put them on the\n  left pin, crossing them so as to bring one end in the front and one at\n  the back; then with the right hand pin knit the loop formed by the\n  threads, and stitch together; then bring the ends at the back forward\n  between the pins, and knit 1 stitch; repeat from * to the end.\n\n2nd and 3d row.—Plain.\n\n4th.—Pearl.\n\n5th.—Plain.\n\n6th.—Make 1, knit 3 with the left pin, turn the 1st of the 3 knitted\n  stitches over the other 2; repeat.\n\n7th.—Pearl.\n\n8th and 9th.—Plain, and cast off.\n\n\n\n\n              -------------------------------------------\n\n     WILKINSON & CO., Printers, 1, Bartlett’s Court, Holborn Hill.\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                      Now ready, Price One Shilling,\n\n                             THE WINTER BOOK.\n\n                Beautifully Illustrated, by W. D. Hornsby,\n With new patterns in Crochet, Knitting, and Netting, for Wool, Silk, &c.\n\n                                  ---\n\n                  By the same Author, Price 1s. each,\n\n                           THE CROCHET BOOK,\n\n                        FIRST AND SECOND SERIES,\n               Beautifully Illustrated by W. D. Hornsby.\n\n                                  ---\n\n                       Just Published, price 1s.,\n\n                   THE CROCHET APPLIQUÉ FLOWER BOOK,\n                     Illustrated by W. D. Hornsby.\n\n                                  ---\n\n Shortly will be published, with eight beautiful designs, engraved by W.\n                           D. Hornsby, in large\n  4to, printed in colours, accompanied with descriptive letter-press and\n                              Instructions,\n\n                             THE LACET BOOK.\n                                Price 3s.\n\n                                 LONDON:\n\n          SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO.; ACKERMANN AND CO., STRAND;\n                       OLIVER AND BOYD, EDINBURGH.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n ● Transcriber’s Notes:\n    ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.\n    ○ In the printed book, the illustrations on pages 1 and 2 were\n      reversed. The illustrations are now correctly placed.\n    ○ The first three lines of instructions under the illustration on\n      page 54 were spread out so each is on a separate line.\n    ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.\n    ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only\n      when a predominant form was found in this book.\n    ○ This book uses the abbreviation “M^DLLE” for MADEMOISELLE where a\n      caret (^) is followed by superscript characters.\n    ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Knitting Book, by \nEleonore Riego de la Branchardiere\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nJUST DAVID\n\nBY\n\nELEANOR H. (HODGMAN) PORTER\n\n\nAUTHOR  POLLYANNA, MISS BILLY MARRIED, ETC.\n\n\n\n  TO\n  MY FRIEND\n  Mrs. James Harness\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n     I.  THE MOUNTAIN HOME\n    II.  THE TRAIL\n   III.  THE VALLEY\n    IV.  TWO LETTERS\n     V.  DISCORDS\n    VI.  NUISANCES, NECESSARY AND OTHERWISE\n   VII.  \"YOU'RE WANTED--YOU'RE WANTED!\"\n  VIII.  THE PUZZLING \"DOS\" AND \"DON'TS\"\n    IX.  JOE\n     X.  THE LADY OF THE ROSES\n    XI.  JACK AND JILL\n   XII.  ANSWERS THAT DID NOT ANSWER\n  XIII.  A SURPRISE FOR MR. JACK\n   XIV.  THE TOWER WINDOW\n    XV.  SECRETS\n   XVI.  DAVID'S CASTLE IN SPAIN\n  XVII.  \"THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER\"\n XVIII.  DAVID TO THE RESCUE\n   XIX.  THE UNBEAUTIFUL WORLD\n    XX.  THE UNFAMILIAR WAY\n   XXI.  HEAVY HEARTS\n  XXII.  AS PERRY SAW IT\n XXIII.  PUZZLES\n  XXIV.  A STORY REMODELED\n   XXV.  THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN HOME\n\nFar up on the mountain-side the little shack stood alone in the clearing.\nIt was roughly yet warmly built. Behind it jagged cliffs broke the north\nwind, and towered gray-white in the sunshine. Before it a tiny expanse of\ngreen sloped gently away to a point where the mountain dropped in another\nsharp descent, wooded with scrubby firs and pines. At the left a\nfootpath led into the cool depths of the forest. But at the right the\nmountain fell away again and disclosed to view the picture David loved\nthe best of all: the far-reaching valley; the silver pool of the lake\nwith its ribbon of a river flung far out; and above it the grays and\ngreens and purples of the mountains that climbed one upon another's\nshoulders until the topmost thrust their heads into the wide dome of\nthe sky itself.\n\nThere was no road, apparently, leading away from the cabin. There was\nonly the footpath that disappeared into the forest. Neither, anywhere,\nwas there a house in sight nearer than the white specks far down in the\nvalley by the river.\n\nWithin the shack a wide fireplace dominated one side of the main room.\nIt was June now, and the ashes lay cold on the hearth; but from the\ntiny lean-to in the rear came the smell and the sputter of bacon\nsizzling over a blaze. The furnishings of the room were simple, yet, in\na way, out of the common. There were two bunks, a few rude but\ncomfortable chairs, a table, two music-racks, two violins with their\ncases, and everywhere books, and scattered sheets of music. Nowhere was\nthere cushion, curtain, or knickknack that told of a woman's taste or\ntouch. On the other hand, neither was there anywhere gun, pelt, or\nantlered head that spoke of a man's strength and skill. For decoration\nthere were a beautiful copy of the Sistine Madonna, several photographs\nsigned with names well known out in the great world beyond the\nmountains, and a festoon of pine cones such as a child might gather and\nhang.\n\nFrom the little lean-to kitchen the sound of the sputtering suddenly\nceased, and at the door appeared a pair of dark, wistful eyes.\n\n\"Daddy!\" called the owner of the eyes.\n\nThere was no answer.\n\n\"Father, are you there?\" called the voice, more insistently.\n\nFrom one of the bunks came a slight stir and a murmured word. At the\nsound the boy at the door leaped softly into the room and hurried to\nthe bunk in the corner. He was a slender lad with short, crisp curls at\nhis ears, and the red of perfect health in his cheeks. His hands, slim,\nlong, and with tapering fingers like a girl's, reached forward eagerly.\n\n\"Daddy, come! I've done the bacon all myself, and the potatoes and the\ncoffee, too. Quick, it's all getting cold!\"\n\nSlowly, with the aid of the boy's firm hands, the man pulled himself\nhalf to a sitting posture. His cheeks, like the boy's, were red--but\nnot with health. His eyes were a little wild, but his voice was low and\nvery tender, like a caress.\n\n\"David--it's my little son David!\"\n\n\"Of course it's David! Who else should it be?\" laughed the boy. \"Come!\"\nAnd he tugged at the man's hands.\n\nThe man rose then, unsteadily, and by sheer will forced himself to\nstand upright. The wild look left his eyes, and the flush his cheeks.\nHis face looked suddenly old and haggard. Yet with fairly sure steps he\ncrossed the room and entered the little kitchen.\n\nHalf of the bacon was black; the other half was transparent and like\ntough jelly. The potatoes were soggy, and had the unmistakable taste\nthat comes from a dish that has boiled dry. The coffee was lukewarm and\nmuddy. Even the milk was sour.\n\nDavid laughed a little ruefully.\n\n\"Things aren't so nice as yours, father,\" he apologized. \"I'm afraid\nI'm nothing but a discord in that orchestra to-day! Somehow, some of\nthe stove was hotter than the rest, and burnt up the bacon in spots;\nand all the water got out of the potatoes, too,--though THAT didn't\nmatter, for I just put more cold in. I forgot and left the milk in the\nsun, and it tastes bad now; but I'm sure next time it'll be better--all\nof it.\"\n\nThe man smiled, but he shook his head sadly.\n\n\"But there ought not to be any 'next time,' David.\"\n\n\"Why not? What do you mean? Aren't you ever going to let me try again,\nfather?\" There was real distress in the boy's voice.\n\nThe man hesitated. His lips parted with an indrawn breath, as if behind\nthem lay a rush of words. But they closed abruptly, the words still\nunsaid. Then, very lightly, came these others:--\n\n\"Well, son, this isn't a very nice way to treat your supper, is it?\nNow, if you please, I'll take some of that bacon. I think I feel my\nappetite coming back.\"\n\nIf the truant appetite \"came back,\" however, it could not have stayed;\nfor the man ate but little. He frowned, too, as he saw how little the\nboy ate. He sat silent while his son cleared the food and dishes away,\nand he was still silent when, with the boy, he passed out of the house\nand walked to the little bench facing the west.\n\nUnless it stormed very hard, David never went to bed without this last\nlook at his \"Silver Lake,\" as he called the little sheet of water far\ndown in the valley.\n\n\"Daddy, it's gold to-night--all gold with the sun!\" he cried\nrapturously, as his eyes fell upon his treasure. \"Oh, daddy!\"\n\nIt was a long-drawn cry of ecstasy, and hearing it, the man winced, as\nwith sudden pain.\n\n\"Daddy, I'm going to play it--I've got to play it!\" cried the boy,\nbounding toward the cabin. In a moment he had returned, violin at his\nchin.\n\nThe man watched and listened; and as he watched and listened, his face\nbecame a battle-ground whereon pride and fear, hope and despair, joy\nand sorrow, fought for the mastery.\n\nIt was no new thing for David to \"play\" the sunset. Always, when he was\nmoved, David turned to his violin. Always in its quivering strings he\nfound the means to say that which his tongue could not express.\n\nAcross the valley the grays and blues of the mountains had become all\npurples now. Above, the sky in one vast flame of crimson and gold, was\na molten sea on which floated rose-pink cloud-boats. Below, the valley\nwith its lake and river picked out in rose and gold against the shadowy\ngreens of field and forest, seemed like some enchanted fairyland of\nloveliness.\n\nAnd all this was in David's violin, and all this, too, was on David's\nuplifted, rapturous face.\n\nAs the last rose-glow turned to gray and the last strain quivered into\nsilence, the man spoke. His voice was almost harsh with self-control.\n\n\"David, the time has come. We'll have to give it up--you and I.\"\n\nThe boy turned wonderingly, his face still softly luminous.\n\n\"Give what up?\"\n\n\"This--all this.\"\n\n\"This! Why, father, what do you mean? This is home!\"\n\nThe man nodded wearily.\n\n\"I know. It has been home; but, David, you didn't think we could always\nlive here, like this, did you?\"\n\nDavid laughed softly, and turned his eyes once more to the distant\nsky-line.\n\n\"Why not?\" he asked dreamily. \"What better place could there be? I like\nit, daddy.\"\n\nThe man drew a troubled breath, and stirred restlessly. The teasing\npain in his side was very bad to-night, and no change of position eased\nit.  He was ill, very ill; and he knew it.  Yet he also knew that, to\nDavid, sickness, pain, and death meant nothing--or, at most, words that\nhad always been lightly, almost unconsciously passed over. For the\nfirst time he wondered if, after all, his training--some of it--had\nbeen wise.\n\nFor six years he had had the boy under his exclusive care and guidance.\nFor six years the boy had eaten the food, worn the clothing, and\nstudied the books of his father's choosing. For six years that father\nhad thought, planned, breathed, moved, lived for his son. There had\nbeen no others in the little cabin. There had been only the occasional\ntrips through the woods to the little town on the mountain-side for\nfood and clothing, to break the days of close companionship.\n\nAll this the man had planned carefully. He had meant that only the good\nand beautiful should have place in David's youth. It was not that he\nintended that evil, unhappiness, and death should lack definition, only\ndefiniteness, in the boy's mind. It should be a case where the good and\nthe beautiful should so fill the thoughts that there would be no room\nfor anything else. This had been his plan. And thus far he had\nsucceeded--succeeded so wonderfully that he began now, in the face of\nhis own illness, and of what he feared would come of it, to doubt the\nwisdom of that planning.\n\nAs he looked at the boy's rapt face, he remembered David's surprised\nquestioning at the first dead squirrel he had found in the woods. David\nwas six then.\n\n\"Why, daddy, he's asleep, and he won't wake up!\" he had cried. Then,\nafter a gentle touch: \"And he's cold--oh, so cold!\"\n\nThe father had hurried his son away at the time, and had evaded his\nquestions; and David had seemed content. But the next day the boy had\ngone back to the subject. His eyes were wide then, and a little\nfrightened.\n\n\"Father, what is it to be--dead?\"\n\n\"What do you mean, David?\"\n\n\"The boy who brings the milk--he had the squirrel this morning. He said\nit was not asleep. It was--dead.\"\n\n\"It means that the squirrel, the real squirrel under the fur, has gone\naway, David.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"To a far country, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Will he come back?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Did he want to go?\"\n\n\"We'll hope so.\"\n\n\"But he left his--his fur coat behind him. Didn't he need--that?\"\n\n\"No, or he'd have taken it with him.\"\n\nDavid had fallen silent at this. He had remained strangely silent\nindeed for some days; then, out in the woods with his father one\nmorning, he gave a joyous shout. He was standing by the ice-covered\nbrook, and looking at a little black hole through which the hurrying\nwater could be plainly seen.\n\n\"Daddy, oh, daddy, I know now how it is, about being--dead.\"\n\n\"Why--David!\"\n\n\"It's like the water in the brook, you know; THAT'S going to a far\ncountry, and it isn't coming back. And it leaves its little cold\nice-coat behind it just as the squirrel did, too. It does n't need it.\nIt can go without it. Don't you see? And it's singing--listen!--it's\nsinging as it goes. It WANTS to go!\"\n\n\"Yes, David.\" And David's father had sighed with relief that his son\nhad found his own explanation of the mystery, and one that satisfied.\n\nLater, in his books, David found death again. It was a man, this time.\nThe boy had looked up with startled eyes.\n\n\"Do people, real people, like you and me, be dead, father? Do they go\nto a far country?\n\n\"Yes, son in time--to a far country ruled over by a great and good King\nthey tell us.\"\n\nDavid's father had trembled as he said it, and had waited fearfully for\nthe result. But David had only smiled happily as he answered:\n\n\"But they go singing, father, like the little brook. You know I heard\nit!\"\n\nAnd there the matter had ended. David was ten now, and not yet for him\ndid death spell terror. Because of this David's father was relieved;\nand yet--still because of this--he was afraid.\n\n\"David,\" he said gently. \"Listen to me.\"\n\nThe boy turned with a long sigh.\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"We must go away. Out in the great world there are men and women and\nchildren waiting for you. You've a beautiful work to do; and one can't\ndo one's work on a mountain-top.\"\n\n\"Why not? I like it here, and I've always been here.\"\n\n\"Not always, David; six years. You were four when I brought you here.\nYou don't remember, perhaps.\"\n\nDavid shook his head. His eyes were again dreamily fixed on the sky.\n\n\"I think I'd like it--to go--if I could sail away on that little\ncloud-boat up there,\" he murmured.\n\nThe man sighed and shook his head.\n\n\"We can't go on cloud-boats. We must walk, David, for a way--and we\nmust go soon--soon,\" he added feverishly. \"I must get you back--back\namong friends, before--\"\n\nHe rose unsteadily, and tried to walk erect. His limbs shook, and the\nblood throbbed at his temples. He was appalled at his weakness. With a\nfierceness born of his terror he turned sharply to the boy at his side.\n\n\"David, we've got to go! We've got to go--TO-MORROW!\"\n\n\"Father!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, come!\" He stumbled blindly, yet in some way he reached the\ncabin door.\n\nBehind him David still sat, inert, staring. The next minute the boy had\nsprung to his feet and was hurrying after his father.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE TRAIL\n\nA curious strength seemed to have come to the man. With almost steady\nhands he took down the photographs and the Sistine Madonna, packing\nthem neatly away in a box to be left. From beneath his bunk he dragged\na large, dusty traveling-bag, and in this he stowed a little food, a\nfew garments, and a great deal of the music scattered about the room.\n\nDavid, in the doorway, stared in dazed wonder. Gradually into his eyes\ncrept a look never seen there before.\n\n\"Father, where are we going?\" he asked at last in a shaking voice, as\nhe came slowly into the room.\n\n\"Back, son; we're going back.\"\n\n\"To the village, where we get our eggs and bacon?\"\n\n\"No, no, lad, not there. The other way. We go down into the valley this\ntime.\"\n\n\"The valley--MY valley, with the Silver Lake?\"\n\n\"Yes, my son; and beyond--far beyond.\" The man spoke dreamily. He was\nlooking at a photograph in his hand. It had slipped in among the loose\nsheets of music, and had not been put away with the others. It was the\nlikeness of a beautiful woman.\n\nFor a moment David eyed him uncertainly; then he spoke.\n\n\"Daddy, who is that? Who are all these people in the pictures? You've\nnever told me about any of them except the little round one that you\nwear in your pocket. Who are they?\"\n\nInstead of answering, the man turned faraway eyes on the boy and smiled\nwistfully.\n\n\"Ah, David, lad, how they'll love you! How they will love you! But you\nmustn't let them spoil you, son. You must remember--remember all I've\ntold you.\"\n\nOnce again David asked his question, but this time the man only turned\nback to the photograph, muttering something the boy could not\nunderstand.\n\nAfter that David did not question any more. He was too amazed, too\ndistressed. He had never before seen his father like this. With nervous\nhaste the man was setting the little room to rights, crowding things\ninto the bag, and packing other things away in an old trunk. His cheeks\nwere very red, and his eyes very bright. He talked, too, almost\nconstantly, though David could understand scarcely a word of what was\nsaid. Later, the man caught up his violin and played; and never before\nhad David heard his father play like that. The boy's eyes filled, and\nhis heart ached with a pain that choked and numbed--though why, David\ncould not have told. Still later, the man dropped his violin and sank\nexhausted into a chair; and then David, worn and frightened with it\nall, crept to his bunk and fell asleep.\n\nIn the gray dawn of the morning David awoke to a different world. His\nfather, white-faced and gentle, was calling him to get ready for\nbreakfast. The little room, dismantled of its decorations, was bare and\ncold. The bag, closed and strapped, rested on the floor by the door,\ntogether with the two violins in their cases, ready to carry.\n\n\"We must hurry, son. It's a long tramp before we take the cars.\"\n\n\"The cars--the real cars? Do we go in those?\" David was fully awake now.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And is that all we're to carry?\"\n\n\"Yes. Hurry, son.\"\n\n\"But we come back--sometime?\"\n\nThere was no answer.\n\n\"Father, we're coming back--sometime?\" David's voice was insistent now.\n\nThe man stooped and tightened a strap that was already quite tight\nenough. Then he laughed lightly.\n\n\"Why, of course you're coming back sometime, David. Only think of all\nthese things we're leaving!\"\n\nWhen the last dish was put away, the last garment adjusted, and the\nlast look given to the little room, the travelers picked up the bag and\nthe violins, and went out into the sweet freshness of the morning. As\nhe fastened the door the man sighed profoundly; but David did not\nnotice this. His face was turned toward the east--always David looked\ntoward the sun.\n\n\"Daddy, let's not go, after all! Let's stay here,\" he cried ardently,\ndrinking in the beauty of the morning.\n\n\"We must go, David. Come, son.\" And the man led the way across the\ngreen <DW72> to the west.\n\nIt was a scarcely perceptible trail, but the man found it, and followed\nit with evident confidence. There was only the pause now and then to\nsteady his none-too-sure step, or to ease the burden of the bag. Very\nsoon the forest lay all about them, with the birds singing over their\nheads, and with numberless tiny feet scurrying through the underbrush\non all sides. Just out of sight a brook babbled noisily of its delight\nin being alive; and away up in the treetops the morning sun played\nhide-and-seek among the dancing leaves.\n\nAnd David leaped, and laughed, and loved it all, nor was any of it\nstrange to him. The birds, the trees, the sun, the brook, the scurrying\nlittle creatures of the forest, all were friends of his. But the\nman--the man did not leap or laugh, though he, too, loved it all. The\nman was afraid.\n\nHe knew now that he had undertaken more than he could carry out. Step\nby step the bag had grown heavier, and hour by hour the insistent,\nteasing pain in his side had increased until now it was a torture. He\nhad forgotten that the way to the valley was so long; he had not\nrealized how nearly spent was his strength before he even started down\nthe trail. Throbbing through his brain was the question, what if, after\nall, he could not--but even to himself he would not say the words.\n\nAt noon they paused for luncheon, and at night they camped where the\nchattering brook had stopped to rest in a still, black pool. The next\nmorning the man and the boy picked up the trail again, but without the\nbag. Under some leaves in a little hollow, the man had hidden the bag,\nand had then said, as if casually:--\n\n\"I believe, after all, I won't carry this along. There's nothing in it\nthat we really need, you know, now that I've taken out the luncheon\nbox, and by night we'll be down in the valley.\"\n\n\"Of course!\" laughed David. \"We don't need that.\" And he laughed again,\nfor pure joy. Little use had David for bags or baggage!\n\nThey were more than halfway down the mountain now, and soon they\nreached a grass-grown road, little traveled, but yet a road. Still\nlater they came to where four ways crossed, and two of them bore the\nmarks of many wheels. By sundown the little brook at their side\nmurmured softly of quiet fields and meadows, and David knew that the\nvalley was reached.\n\nDavid was not laughing now. He was watching his father with startled\neyes. David had not known what anxiety was. He was finding out\nnow--though he but vaguely realized that something was not right. For\nsome time his father had said but little, and that little had been in a\nvoice that was thick and unnatural-sounding. He was walking fast, yet\nDavid noticed that every step seemed an effort, and that every breath\ncame in short gasps. His eyes were very bright, and were fixedly bent\non the road ahead, as if even the haste he was making was not haste\nenough. Twice David spoke to him, but he did not answer; and the boy\ncould only trudge along on his weary little feet and sigh for the dear\nhome on the mountain-top which they had left behind them the morning\nbefore.\n\nThey met few fellow travelers, and those they did meet paid scant\nattention to the man and the boy carrying the violins. As it chanced,\nthere was no one in sight when the man, walking in the grass at the\nside of the road, stumbled and fell heavily to the ground.\n\nDavid sprang quickly forward.\n\n\"Father, what is it? WHAT IS IT?\"\n\nThere was no answer.\n\n\"Daddy, why don't you speak to me? See, it's David!\"\n\nWith a painful effort the man roused himself and sat up. For a moment\nhe gazed dully into the boy's face; then a half-forgotten something\nseemed to stir him into feverish action. With shaking fingers he handed\nDavid his watch and a small ivory miniature. Then he searched his\npockets until on the ground before him lay a shining pile of\ngold-pieces--to David there seemed to be a hundred of them.\n\n\"Take them--hide them--keep them. David, until you--need them,\" panted\nthe man. \"Then go--go on. I can't.\"\n\n\"Alone? Without you?\" demurred the boy, aghast. \"Why, father, I\ncouldn't! I don't know the way. Besides, I'd rather stay with you,\" he\nadded soothingly, as he slipped the watch and the miniature into his\npocket; \"then we can both go.\" And he dropped himself down at his\nfather's side.\n\nThe man shook his head feebly, and pointed again to the gold-pieces.\n\n\"Take them, David,--hide them,\" he chattered with pale lips.\n\nAlmost impatiently the boy began picking up the money and tucking it\ninto his pockets.\n\n\"But, father, I'm not going without you,\" he declared stoutly, as the\nlast bit of gold slipped out of sight, and a horse and wagon rattled\naround the turn of the road above.\n\nThe driver of the horse glanced disapprovingly at the man and the boy\nby the roadside; but he did not stop. After he had passed, the boy\nturned again to his father. The man was fumbling once more in his\npockets. This time from his coat he produced a pencil and a small\nnotebook from which he tore a page, and began to write, laboriously,\npainfully.\n\nDavid sighed and looked about him. He was tired and hungry, and he did\nnot understand things at all. Something very wrong, very terrible, must\nbe the matter with his father. Here it was almost dark, yet they had no\nplace to go, no supper to eat, while far, far up on the mountain-side\nwas their own dear home sad and lonely without them. Up there, too, the\nsun still shone, doubtless,--at least there were the rose-glow and the\nSilver Lake to look at, while down here there was nothing, nothing but\ngray shadows, a long dreary road, and a straggling house or two in\nsight. From above, the valley might look to be a fairyland of\nloveliness, but in reality it was nothing but a dismal waste of gloom,\ndecided David.\n\nDavid's father had torn a second page from his book and was beginning\nanother note, when the boy suddenly jumped to his feet. One of the\nstraggling houses was near the road where they sat, and its presence\nhad given David an idea. With swift steps he hurried to the front door\nand knocked upon it. In answer a tall, unsmiling woman appeared, and\nsaid, \"Well?\"\n\nDavid removed his cap as his father had taught him to do when one of\nthe mountain women spoke to him.\n\n\"Good evening, lady; I'm David,\" he began frankly. \"My father is so\ntired he fell down back there, and we should like very much to stay\nwith you all night, if you don't mind.\"\n\nThe woman in the doorway stared. For a moment she was dumb with\namazement. Her eyes swept the plain, rather rough garments of the boy,\nthen sought the half-recumbent figure of the man by the roadside. Her\nchin came up angrily.\n\n\"Oh, would you, indeed! Well, upon my word!\" she scouted. \"Humph! We\ndon't accommodate tramps, little boy.\" And she shut the door hard.\n\nIt was David's turn to stare. Just what a tramp might be, he did not\nknow; but never before had a request of his been so angrily refused. He\nknew that. A fierce something rose within him--a fierce new something\nthat sent the swift red to his neck and brow. He raised a determined\nhand to the doorknob--he had something to say to that woman!--when the\ndoor suddenly opened again from the inside.\n\n\"See here, boy,\" began the woman, looking out at him a little less\nunkindly, \"if you're hungry I'll give you some milk and bread. Go\naround to the back porch and I'll get it for you.\" And she shut the\ndoor again.\n\nDavid's hand dropped to his side. The red still stayed on his face and\nneck, however, and that fierce new something within him bade him refuse\nto take food from this woman.... But there was his father--his poor\nfather, who was so tired; and there was his own stomach clamoring to be\nfed. No, he could not refuse. And with slow steps and hanging head\nDavid went around the corner of the house to the rear.\n\nAs the half-loaf of bread and the pail of milk were placed in his\nhands, David remembered suddenly that in the village store on the\nmountain, his father paid money for his food. David was glad, now, that\nhe had those gold-pieces in his pocket, for he could pay money.\nInstantly his head came up. Once more erect with self-respect, he\nshifted his burdens to one hand and thrust the other into his pocket. A\nmoment later he presented on his outstretched palm a shining disk of\ngold.\n\n\"Will you take this, to pay, please, for the bread and milk?\" he asked\nproudly.\n\nThe woman began to shake her head; but, as her eyes fell on the money,\nshe started, and bent closer to examine it. The next instant she jerked\nherself upright with an angry exclamation.\n\n\"It's gold! A ten-dollar gold-piece! So you're a thief, too, are you,\nas well as a tramp? Humph! Well, I guess you don't need this then,\" she\nfinished sharply, snatching the bread and the pail of milk from the\nboy's hand.\n\nThe next moment David stood alone on the doorstep, with the sound of a\nquickly thrown bolt in his ears.\n\nA thief! David knew little of thieves, but he knew what they were. Only\na month before a man had tried to steal the violins from the cabin; and\nhe was a thief, the milk-boy said. David flushed now again, angrily, as\nhe faced the closed door. But he did not tarry. He turned and ran to\nhis father.\n\n\"Father, come away, quick! You must come away,\" he choked.\n\nSo urgent was the boy's voice that almost unconsciously the sick man\ngot to his feet. With shaking hands he thrust the notes he had been\nwriting into his pocket. The little book, from which he had torn the\nleaves for this purpose, had already dropped unheeded into the grass at\nhis feet.\n\n\"Yes, son, yes, we'll go,\" muttered the man. \"I feel better now. I\ncan--walk.\"\n\nAnd he did walk, though very slowly, ten, a dozen, twenty steps. From\nbehind came the sound of wheels that stopped close beside them.\n\n\"Hullo, there! Going to the village?\" called a voice.\n\n\"Yes, sir.\" David's answer was unhesitating. Where \"the village\" was,\nhe did not know; he knew only that it must be somewhere away from the\nwoman who had called him a thief. And that was all he cared to know.\n\n\"I'm going 'most there myself. Want a lift?\" asked the man, still\nkindly.\n\n\"Yes, sir. Thank you!\" cried the boy joyfully. And together they aided\nhis father to climb into the roomy wagon-body.\n\nThere were few words said. The man at the reins drove rapidly, and paid\nlittle attention to anything but his horses. The sick man dozed and\nrested. The boy sat, wistful-eyed and silent, watching the trees and\nhouses flit by. The sun had long ago set, but it was not dark, for the\nmoon was round and bright, and the sky was cloudless. Where the road\nforked sharply the man drew his horses to a stop.\n\n\"Well, I'm sorry, but I guess I'll have to drop you here, friends. I\nturn off to the right; but 't ain't more 'n a quarter of a mile for\nyou, now\" he finished cheerily, pointing with his whip to a cluster of\ntwinkling lights.\n\n\"Thank you, sir, thank you,\" breathed David gratefully, steadying his\nfather's steps. \"You've helped us lots. Thank you!\"\n\nIn David's heart was a wild desire to lay at his good man's feet all of\nhis shining gold-pieces as payment for this timely aid. But caution\nheld him back: it seemed that only in stores did money pay; outside it\nbranded one as a thief!\n\nAlone with his father, David faced once more his problem. Where should\nthey go for the night? Plainly his father could not walk far. He had\nbegun to talk again, too,--low, half-finished sentences that David\ncould not understand, and that vaguely troubled him. There was a house\nnear by, and several others down the road toward the village; but David\nhad had all the experience he wanted that night with strange houses,\nand strange women. There was a barn, a big one, which was nearest of\nall; and it was toward this barn that David finally turned his father's\nsteps.\n\n\"We'll go there, daddy, if we can get in,\" he proposed softly. \"And\nwe'll stay all night and rest.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE VALLEY\n\nThe long twilight of the June day had changed into a night that was\nscarcely darker, so bright was the moonlight. Seen from the house, the\nbarn and the low buildings beyond loomed shadowy and unreal, yet very\nbeautiful. On the side porch of the house sat Simeon Holly and his\nwife, content to rest mind and body only because a full day's work lay\nwell done behind them.\n\nIt was just as Simeon rose to his feet to go indoors that a long note\nfrom a violin reached their ears.\n\n\"Simeon!\" cried the woman. \"What was that?\"\n\nThe man did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the barn.\n\n\"Simeon, it's a fiddle!\" exclaimed Mrs. Holly, as a second tone\nquivered on the air \"And it's in our barn!\"\n\nSimeon's jaw set. With a stern ejaculation he crossed the porch and\nentered the kitchen.\n\nIn another minute he had returned, a lighted lantern in his hand.\n\n\"Simeon, d--don't go,\" begged the woman, tremulously. \"You--you don't\nknow what's there.\"\n\n\"Fiddles are not played without hands, Ellen,\" retorted the man\nseverely. \"Would you have me go to bed and leave a half-drunken,\nungodly minstrel fellow in possession of our barn? To-night, on my way\nhome, I passed a pretty pair of them lying by the roadside--a man and a\nboy with two violins. They're the culprits, likely,--though how they\ngot this far, I don't see. Do you think I want to leave my barn to\ntramps like them?\"\n\n\"N--no, I suppose not,\" faltered the woman, as she rose tremblingly to\nher feet, and followed her husband's shadow across the yard.\n\nOnce inside the barn Simeon Holly and his wife paused involuntarily.\nThe music was all about them now, filling the air with runs and trills\nand rollicking bits of melody. Giving an angry exclamation, the man\nturned then to the narrow stairway and climbed to the hayloft above. At\nhis heels came his wife, and so her eyes, almost as soon as his fell\nupon the man lying back on the hay with the moonlight full upon his\nface. Instantly the music dropped to a whisper, and a low voice came\nout of the gloom beyond the square of moonlight which came from the\nwindow in the roof.\n\n\"If you'll please be as still as you can, sir. You see he's asleep and\nhe's so tired,\" said the voice.\n\nFor a moment the man and the woman on the stairway paused in amazement,\nthen the man lifted his lantern and strode toward the voice.\n\n\"Who are you? What are you doing here?\" he demanded sharply.\n\nA boy's face, round, tanned, and just now a bit anxious, flashed out of\nthe dark.\n\n\"Oh, please, sir, if you would speak lower,\" pleaded the boy. \"He's so\ntired! I'm David, sir, and that's father. We came in here to rest and\nsleep.\"\n\nSimeon Holly's unrelenting gaze left the boy's face and swept that of\nthe man lying back on the hay. The next instant he lowered the lantern\nand leaned nearer, putting forth a cautious hand. At once he\nstraightened himself, muttering a brusque word under his breath. Then\nhe turned with the angry question:--\n\n\"Boy, what do you mean by playing a jig on your fiddle at such a time\nas this?\"\n\n\"Why, father asked me to play\" returned the boy cheerily. \"He said he\ncould walk through green forests then, with the ripple of brooks in his\nears, and that the birds and the squirrels--\"\n\n\"See here, boy, who are you?\" cut in Simeon Holly sternly. \"Where did\nyou come from?\"\n\n\"From home, sir.\"\n\n\"Where is that?\"\n\n\"Why, home, sir, where I live. In the mountains, 'way up, up, up--oh,\nso far up! And there's such a big, big sky, so much nicer than down\nhere.\" The boy's voice quivered, and almost broke, and his eyes\nconstantly sought the white face on the hay.\n\nIt was then that Simeon Holly awoke to the sudden realization that it\nwas time for action. He turned to his wife.\n\n\"Take the boy to the house,\" he directed incisively. \"We'll have to\nkeep him to-night, I suppose. I'll go for Higgins. Of course the whole\nthing will have to be put in his hands at once. You can't do anything\nhere,\" he added, as he caught her questioning glance. \"Leave everything\njust as it is. The man is dead.\"\n\n\"Dead?\" It was a sharp cry from the boy, yet there was more of wonder\nthan of terror in it. \"Do you mean that he has gone--like the water in\nthe brook--to the far country?\" he faltered.\n\nSimeon Holly stared. Then he said more distinctly:--\n\n\"Your father is dead, boy.\"\n\n\"And he won't come back any more?\" David's voice broke now.\n\nThere was no answer. Mrs. Holly caught her breath convulsively and\nlooked away. Even Simeon Holly refused to meet the boy's pleading eyes.\n\nWith a quick cry David sprang to his father's side.\n\n\"But he's here--right here,\" he challenged shrilly. \"Daddy, daddy,\nspeak to me! It's David!\" Reaching out his hand, he gently touched his\nfather's face. He drew back then, at once, his eyes distended with\nterror. \"He isn't! He is--gone,\" he chattered frenziedly. \"This isn't\nthe father-part that KNOWS. It's the other--that they leave. He's left\nit behind him--like the squirrel, and the water in the brook.\"\n\nSuddenly the boy's face changed. It grew rapt and luminous as he leaped\nto his feet, crying joyously: \"But he asked me to play, so he went\nsinging--singing just as he said that they did. And I made him walk\nthrough green forests with the ripple of the brooks in his ears!\nListen--like this!\" And once more the boy raised the violin to his\nchin, and once more the music trilled and rippled about the shocked,\namazed ears of Simeon Holly and his wife.\n\nFor a time neither the man nor the woman could speak. There was nothing\nin their humdrum, habit-smoothed tilling of the soil and washing of\npots and pans to prepare them for a scene like this--a moonlit barn, a\nstrange dead man, and that dead man's son babbling of brooks and\nsquirrels, and playing jigs on a fiddle for a dirge. At last, however,\nSimeon found his voice.\n\n\"Boy, boy, stop that!\" he thundered.  \"Are you mad--clean mad? Go into\nthe house, I say!\" And the boy, dazed but obedient, put up his violin,\nand followed the woman, who, with tear-blinded eyes, was leading the\nway down the stairs.\n\nMrs. Holly was frightened, but she was also strangely moved. From the\nlong ago the sound of another violin had come to her--a violin, too,\nplayed by a boy's hands. But of this, all this, Mrs. Holly did not like\nto think.\n\nIn the kitchen now she turned and faced her young guest.\n\n\"Are you hungry, little boy?\"\n\nDavid hesitated; he had not forgotten the woman, the milk, and the\ngold-piece.\n\n\"Are you hungry--dear?\" stammered Mrs. Holly again; and this time\nDavid's clamorous stomach forced a \"yes\" from his unwilling lips; which\nsent Mrs. Holly at once into the pantry for bread and milk and a\nheaped-up plate of doughnuts such as David had never seen before.\n\nLike any hungry boy David ate his supper; and Mrs. Holly, in the face\nof this very ordinary sight of hunger being appeased at her table,\nbreathed more freely, and ventured to think that perhaps this strange\nlittle boy was not so very strange, after all.\n\n\"What is your name?\" she found courage to ask then.\n\n\"David.\"\n\n\"David what?\"\n\n\"Just David.\"\n\n\"But your father's name?\" Mrs. Holly had almost asked, but stopped in\ntime. She did not want to speak of him. \"Where do you live?\" she asked\ninstead.\n\n\"On the mountain, 'way up, up on the mountain where I can see my Silver\nLake every day, you know.\"\n\n\"But you didn't live there alone?\"\n\n\"Oh, no; with father--before he--went away\" faltered the boy.\n\nThe woman flushed red and bit her lip.\n\n\"No, no, I mean--were there no other houses but yours?\" she stammered.\n\n\"No, ma'am.\"\n\n\"But, wasn't your mother--anywhere?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, in father's pocket.\"\n\n\"Your MOTHER--in your father's POCKET!\"\n\nSo plainly aghast was the questioner that David looked not a little\nsurprised as he explained.\n\n\"You don't understand. She is an angel-mother, and angel-mothers don't\nhave anything only their pictures down here with us. And that's what we\nhave, and father always carried it in his pocket.\"\n\n\"Oh----h,\" murmured Mrs. Holly, a quick mist in her eyes. Then, gently:\n\"And did you always live there--on the mountain?\"\n\n\"Six years, father said.\"\n\n\"But what did you do all day? Weren't you ever--lonesome?\"\n\n\"Lonesome?\" The boy's eyes were puzzled.\n\n\"Yes. Didn't you miss things--people, other houses, boys of your own\nage, and--and such things?\"\n\nDavid's eyes widened.\n\n\"Why, how could I?\" he cried. \"When I had daddy, and my violin, and my\nSilver Lake, and the whole of the great big woods with everything in\nthem to talk to, and to talk to me?\"\n\n\"Woods, and things in them to--to TALK to you!\"\n\n\"Why, yes. It was the little brook, you know, after the squirrel, that\ntold me about being dead, and--\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; but never mind, dear, now,\" stammered the woman, rising\nhurriedly to her feet--the boy was a little wild, after all, she\nthought. \"You--you should go to bed. Haven't you a--a bag, or--or\nanything?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am; we left it,\" smiled David apologetically. \"You see, we had\nso much in it that it got too heavy to carry. So we did n't bring it.\"\n\n\"So much in it you didn't bring it, indeed!\" repeated Mrs. Holly, under\nher breath, throwing up her hands with a gesture of despair. \"Boy, what\nare you, anyway?\"\n\nIt was not meant for a question, but, to the woman's surprise, the boy\nanswered, frankly, simply:--\n\n\"Father says that I'm one little instrument in the great Orchestra of\nLife, and that I must see to it that I'm always in tune, and don't drag\nor hit false notes.\"\n\n\"My land!\" breathed the woman, dropping back in her chair, her eyes\nfixed on the boy. Then, with an effort, she got to her feet.\n\n\"Come, you must go to bed,\" she stammered. \"I'm sure bed is--is the\nbest place you. I think I can find what--what you need,\" she finished\nfeebly.\n\nIn a snug little room over the kitchen some minutes later, David found\nhimself at last alone. The room, though it had once belonged to a boy\nof his own age, looked very strange to David. On the floor was a\nrag-carpet rug, the first he had ever seen. On the walls were a\nfishing-rod, a toy shotgun, and a case full of bugs and moths, each\nlittle body impaled on a pin, to David's shuddering horror. The bed had\nfour tall posts at the corners, and a very puffy top that filled David\nwith wonder as to how he was to reach it, or stay there if he did gain\nit. Across a chair lay a boy's long yellow-white nightshirt that the\nkind lady had left, after hurriedly wiping her eyes with the edge of\nits hem. In all the circle of the candlelight there was just one\nfamiliar object to David's homesick eyes--the long black violin case\nwhich he had brought in himself, and which held his beloved violin.\n\nWith his back carefully turned toward the impaled bugs and moths on the\nwall, David undressed himself and slipped into the yellow-white\nnightshirt, which he sniffed at gratefully, so like pine woods was the\nperfume that hung about its folds. Then he blew out the candle and\ngroped his way to the one window the little room contained.\n\nThe moon still shone, but little could be seen through the thick green\nbranches of the tree outside. From the yard below came the sound of\nwheels, and of men's excited voices. There came also the twinkle of\nlanterns borne by hurrying hands, and the tramp of shuffling feet. In\nthe window David shivered. There were no wide sweep of mountain, hill,\nand valley, no Silver Lake, no restful hush, no daddy,--no beautiful\nThings that Were. There was only the dreary, hollow mockery of the\nThings they had Become.\n\nLong minutes later, David, with the violin in his arms, lay down upon\nthe rug, and, for the first time since babyhood, sobbed himself to\nsleep--but it was a sleep that brought no rest; for in it he dreamed\nthat he was a big, white-winged moth pinned with a star to an ink-black\nsky.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTWO LETTERS\n\nIn the early gray dawn David awoke. His first sensation was the\nphysical numbness and stiffness that came from his hard bed on the\nfloor.\n\n\"Why, daddy,\" he began, pulling himself half-erect, \"I slept all night\non--\" He stopped suddenly, brushing his eyes with the backs of his\nhands. \"Why, daddy, where--\" Then full consciousness came to him.\n\nWith a low cry he sprang to his feet and ran to the window. Through the\ntrees he could see the sunrise glow of the eastern sky. Down in the\nyard no one was in sight; but the barn door was open, and, with a quick\nindrawing of his breath, David turned back into the room and began to\nthrust himself into his clothing.\n\nThe gold in his sagging pockets clinked and jingled musically; and once\nhalf a dozen pieces rolled out upon the floor. For a moment the boy\nlooked as if he were going to let them remain where they were. But the\nnext minute, with an impatient gesture, he had picked them up and\nthrust them deep into one of his pockets, silencing their jingling with\nhis handkerchief.\n\nOnce dressed, David picked up his violin and stepped softly into the\nhall. At first no sound reached his ears; then from the kitchen below\ncame the clatter of brisk feet and the rattle of tins and crockery.\nTightening his clasp on the violin, David slipped quietly down the back\nstairs and out to the yard. It was only a few seconds then before he\nwas hurrying through the open doorway of the barn and up the narrow\nstairway to the loft above.\n\nAt the top, however, he came to a sharp pause, with a low cry. The next\nmoment he turned to see a kindly-faced man looking up at him from the\nfoot of the stairs.\n\n\"Oh, sir, please--please, where is he? What have you done with him?\"\nappealed the boy, almost plunging headlong down the stairs in his haste\nto reach the bottom.\n\nInto the man's weather-beaten face came a look of sincere but awkward\nsympathy.\n\n\"Oh, hullo, sonny! So you're the boy, are ye?\" he began diffidently.\n\n\"Yes, yes, I'm David. But where is he--my father, you know? I mean\nthe--the part he--he left behind him?\" choked the boy. \"The part\nlike--the ice-coat?\"\n\nThe man stared. Then, involuntarily, he began to back away.\n\n\"Well, ye see, I--I--\"\n\n\"But, maybe you don't know,\" interrupted David feverishly. \"You aren't\nthe man I saw last night. Who are you? Where is he--the other one,\nplease?\"\n\n\"No, I--I wa'n't here--that is, not at the first,\" spoke up the man\nquickly, still unconsciously backing away. \"Me--I'm only Larson, Perry\nLarson, ye know. 'T was Mr. Holly you see last night--him that I works\nfor.\"\n\n\"Then, where is Mr. Holly, please?\" faltered the boy, hurrying toward\nthe barn door. \"Maybe he would know--about father. Oh, there he is!\"\nAnd David ran out of the barn and across the yard to the kitchen porch.\n\nIt was an unhappy ten minutes that David spent then. Besides Mr. Holly,\nthere were Mrs. Holly, and the man, Perry Larson. And they all talked.\nBut little of what they said could David understand. To none of his\nquestions could he obtain an answer that satisfied.\n\nNeither, on his part, could he seem to reply to their questions in a\nway that pleased them.\n\nThey went in to breakfast then, Mr. and Mrs. Holly, and the man, Perry\nLarson. They asked David to go--at least, Mrs. Holly asked him. But\nDavid shook his head and said \"No, no, thank you very much; I'd rather\nnot, if you please--not now.\" Then he dropped himself down on the steps\nto think. As if he could EAT--with that great choking lump in his\nthroat that refused to be swallowed!\n\nDavid was thoroughly dazed, frightened, and dismayed. He knew now that\nnever again in this world would he see his dear father, or hear him\nspeak. This much had been made very clear to him during the last ten\nminutes. Why this should be so, or what his father would want him to\ndo, he could not seem to find out. Not until now had he realized at all\nwhat this going away of his father was to mean to him. And he told\nhimself frantically that he could not have it so. HE COULD NOT HAVE IT\nSO! But even as he said the words, he knew that it was so--irrevocably\nso.\n\n David began then to long for his mountain home. There at least\nhe would have his dear forest all about him, with the birds and the\nsquirrels and the friendly little brooks. There he would have his\nSilver Lake to look at, too, and all of them would speak to him of his\nfather.  He believed, indeed, that up there it would almost seem as if\nhis father were really with him. And, anyway, if his father ever should\ncome back, it would be there that he would be sure to seek him--up\nthere in the little mountain home so dear to them both. Back to the\ncabin he would go now, then. Yes; indeed he would!\n\nWith a low word and a passionately intent expression, David got to his\nfeet, picked up his violin, and hurried, firm-footed, down the driveway\nand out upon the main highway, turning in the direction from whence he\nhad come with his father the night before.\n\nThe Hollys had just finished breakfast when Higgins, the coroner, drove\ninto the yard accompanied by William Streeter, the town's most\nprominent farmer,--and the most miserly one, if report was to be\ncredited.\n\n\"Well, could you get anything out of the boy?\" demanded Higgins,\nwithout ceremony, as Simeon Holly and Larson appeared on the kitchen\nporch.\n\n\"Very little. Really nothing of importance,\" answered Simeon Holly.\n\n\"Where is he now?\"\n\n\"Why, he was here on the steps a few minutes ago.\" Simeon Holly looked\nabout him a bit impatiently.\n\n\"Well, I want to see him. I've got a letter for him.\"\n\n\"A letter!\" exclaimed Simeon Holly and Larson in amazed unison.\n\n\"Yes. Found it in his father's pocket,\" nodded the coroner, with all\nthe tantalizing brevity of a man who knows he has a choice morsel of\ninformation that is eagerly awaited. \"It's addressed to 'My boy David,'\nso I calculated we'd better give it to him first without reading it,\nseeing it's his. After he reads it, though, I want to see it. I want to\nsee if what it says is any nearer being horse-sense than the other one\nis.\"\n\n\"The other one!\" exclaimed the amazed chorus again.\n\n\"Oh, yes, there's another one,\" spoke up William Streeter tersely. \"And\nI've read it--all but the scrawl at the end. There couldn't anybody\nread that!\" Higgins laughed.\n\n\"Well, I'm free to confess 't is a sticker--that name,\" he admitted.\n\"And it's the name we want, of course, to tell us who they are--since\nit seems the boy don't know, from what you said last night. I was in\nhopes, by this morning, you'd have found out more from him.\"\n\nSimeon Holly shook his head.\n\n\"'T was impossible.\"\n\n\"Gosh! I should say 't was,\" cut in Perry Larson, with emphasis. \"An'\nqueer ain't no name for it. One minute he'd be talkin' good common\nsense like anybody: an' the next he'd be chatterin' of coats made o'\nice, an' birds an' squirrels an' babbling brooks. He sure is dippy!\nListen. He actually don't seem ter know the diff'rence between himself\nan' his fiddle. We was tryin' ter find out this mornin' what he could\ndo, an' what he wanted ter do, when if he didn't up an' say that his\nfather told him it didn't make so much diff'rence WHAT he did so long\nas he kept hisself in tune an' didn't strike false notes. Now, what do\nyer think o' that?\"\n\n\"Yes, I, know\" nodded Higgins musingly. \"There WAS something queer\nabout them, and they weren't just ordinary tramps. Did I tell you? I\novertook them last night away up on the Fairbanks road by the Taylor\nplace, and I gave 'em a lift. I particularly noticed what a decent sort\nthey were. They were clean and quiet-spoken, and their clothes were\ngood, even if they were rough. Yet they didn't have any baggage but\nthem fiddles.\"\n\n\"But what was that second letter you mentioned?\" asked Simeon Holly.\n\nHiggins smiled oddly, and reached into his pocket.\n\n\"The letter? Oh, you're welcome to read the letter,\" he said, as he\nhanded over a bit of folded paper.\n\nSimeon took it gingerly and examined it.\n\nIt was a leaf torn apparently from a note book. It was folded three\ntimes, and bore on the outside the superscription \"To whom it may\nconcern.\" The handwriting was peculiar, irregular, and not very\nlegible. But as near as it could be deciphered, the note ran thus:--\n\n\nNow that the time has come when I must give David back to the world, I\nhave set out for that purpose.\n\nBut I am ill--very ill, and should Death have swifter feet than I, I\nmust leave my task for others to complete. Deal gently with him. He\nknows only that which is good and beautiful. He knows nothing of sin\nnor evil.\n\n\nThen followed the signature--a thing of scrawls and flourishes that\nconveyed no sort of meaning to Simeon Holly's puzzled eyes.\n\n\"Well?\" prompted Higgins expectantly.\n\nSimeon Holly shook his head.\n\n\"I can make little of it. It certainly is a most remarkable note.\"\n\n\"Could you read the name?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well, I couldn't. Neither could half a dozen others that's seen it.\nBut where's the boy? Mebbe his note'll talk sense.\"\n\n\"I'll go find him,\" volunteered Larson. \"He must be somewheres 'round.\"\n\nBut David was very evidently not \"somewheres 'round.\" At least he was\nnot in the barn, the shed, the kitchen bedroom, nor anywhere else that\nLarson looked; and the man was just coming back with a crestfallen,\nperplexed frown, when Mrs. Holly hurried out on to the porch.\n\n\"Mr. Higgins,\" she cried, in obvious excitement, \"your wife has just\ntelephoned that her sister Mollie has just telephoned HER that that\nlittle tramp boy with the violin is at her house.\"\n\n\"At Mollie's!\" exclaimed Higgins. \"Why, that's a mile or more from\nhere.\"\n\n\"So that's where he is!\" interposed Larson, hurrying forward. \"Doggone\nthe little rascal! He must 'a' slipped away while we was eatin'\nbreakfast.\"\n\n\"Yes. But, Simeon,--Mr. Higgins,--we hadn't ought to let him go like\nthat,\" appealed Mrs. Holly tremulously. \"Your wife said Mollie said she\nfound him crying at the crossroads, because he didn't know which way to\ntake. He said he was going back home. He means to that wretched cabin\non the mountain, you know; and we can't let him do that alone--a child\nlike that!\"\n\n\"Where is he now?\" demanded Higgins.\n\n\"In Mollie's kitchen eating bread and milk; but she said she had an\nawful time getting him to eat. And she wants to know what to do with\nhim. That's why she telephoned your wife. She thought you ought to know\nhe was there.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course. Well, tell her to tell him to come back.\"\n\n\"Mollie said she tried to have him come back, but that he said, no,\nthank you, he'd rather not. He was going home where his father could\nfind him if he should ever want him. Mr. Higgins, we--we CAN'T let him\ngo off like that. Why, the child would die up there alone in those\ndreadful woods, even if he could get there in the first place--which I\nvery much doubt.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course, of course,\" muttered Higgins, with a thoughtful frown.\n\"There's his letter, too. Say!\" he added, brightening, \"what'll you bet\nthat letter won't fetch him? He seems to think the world and all of his\ndaddy. Here,\" he directed, turning to Mrs. Holly, \"you tell my wife to\ntell--better yet, you telephone Mollie yourself, please, and tell her\nto tell the boy we've got a letter here for him from his father, and he\ncan have it if he'll come back.\".\n\n\"I will, I will,\" called Mrs. Holly, over her shoulder, as she hurried\ninto the house. In an unbelievably short time she was back, her face\nbeaming.\n\n\"He's started, so soon,\" she nodded. \"He's crazy with joy, Mollie said.\nHe even left part of his breakfast, he was in such a hurry. So I guess\nwe'll see him all right.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, we'll see him all right,\" echoed Simeon Holly grimly. \"But\nthat isn't telling what we'll do with him when we do see him.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, maybe this letter of his will help us out on that,\"\nsuggested Higgins soothingly. \"Anyhow, even if it doesn't, I'm not\nworrying any. I guess some one will want him--a good healthy boy like\nthat.\"\n\n\"Did you find any money on the body?\" asked Streeter.\n\n\"A little change--a few cents. Nothing to count. If the boy's letter\ndoesn't tell us where any of their folks are, it'll be up to the town\nto bury him all right.\"\n\n\"He had a fiddle, didn't he? And the boy had one, too. Wouldn't they\nbring anything?\" Streeter's round blue eyes gleamed shrewdly.\n\nHiggins gave a slow shake of his head.\n\n\"Maybe--if there was a market for 'em. But who'd buy 'em? There ain't a\nsoul in town plays but Jack Gurnsey; and he's got one. Besides, he's\nsick, and got all he can do to buy bread and butter for him and his\nsister without taking in more fiddles, I guess. HE wouldn't buy 'em.\"\n\n\"Hm--m; maybe not, maybe not,\" grunted Streeter. \"An', as you say, he's\nthe only one that's got any use for 'em here; an' like enough they\nain't worth much, anyway. So I guess 't is up to the town all right.\"\n\n\"Yes; but--if yer'll take it from me,\"--interrupted Larson,--\"you'll be\nwise if ye keep still before the boy. It's no use ASKIN' him anythin'.\nWe've proved that fast enough. An' if he once turns 'round an' begins\nter ask YOU questions, yer done for!\"\n\n\"I guess you're right,\" nodded Higgins, with a quizzical smile. \"And as\nlong as questioning CAN'T do any good, why, we'll just keep whist\nbefore the boy. Meanwhile I wish the little rascal would hurry up and\nget here. I want to see the inside of that letter to HIM. I'm relying\non that being some help to unsnarl this tangle of telling who they are.\"\n\n\"Well, he's started,\" reiterated Mrs. Holly, as she turned back into\nthe house; \"so I guess he'll get here if you wait long enough.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, he'll get here if we wait long enough,\" echoed Simeon Holly\nagain, crustily.\n\nThe two men in the wagon settled themselves more comfortably in their\nseats, and Perry Larson, after a half-uneasy, half-apologetic glance at\nhis employer, dropped himself onto the bottom step. Simeon Holly had\nalready sat down stiffly in one of the porch chairs. Simeon Holly never\n\"dropped himself\" anywhere. Indeed, according to Perry Larson, if there\nwere a hard way to do a thing, Simeon Holly found it--and did it. The\nfact that, this morning, he had allowed, and was still allowing, the\nsacred routine of the day's work to be thus interrupted, for nothing\nmore important than the expected arrival of a strolling urchin, was\nsomething Larson would not have believed had he not seen it. Even now\nhe was conscious once or twice of an involuntary desire to rub his eyes\nto make sure they were not deceiving him.\n\nImpatient as the waiting men were for the arrival of David, they were\nyet almost surprised, so soon did he appear, running up the driveway.\n\n\"Oh, where is it, please?\" he panted. \"They said you had a letter for\nme from daddy!\"\n\n\"You're right, sonny; we have. And here it is,\" answered Higgins\npromptly, holding out the folded paper.\n\nPlainly eager as he was, David did not open the note till he had first\ncarefully set down the case holding his violin; then he devoured it\nwith eager eyes.\n\nAs he read, the four men watched his face. They saw first the quick\ntears that had to be blinked away. Then they saw the radiant glow that\ngrew and deepened until the whole boyish face was aflame with the\nsplendor of it. They saw the shining wonder of his eyes, too, as he\nlooked up from the letter.\n\n\"And daddy wrote this to me from the far country?\" he breathed.\n\nSimeon Holly scowled. Larson choked over a stifled chuckle. William\nStreeter stared and shrugged his shoulders; but Higgins flushed a dull\nred.\n\n\"No, sonny,\" he stammered. \"We found it on the--er--I mean,\nit--er--your father left it in his pocket for you,\" finished the man, a\nlittle explosively.\n\nA swift shadow crossed the boy's face.\n\n\"Oh, I hoped I'd heard--\" he began. Then suddenly he stopped, his face\nonce more alight. \"But it's 'most the same as if he wrote it from\nthere, isn't it? He left it for me, and he told me what to do.\"\n\n\"What's that, what's that?\" cried Higgins, instantly alert.  \"DID he\ntell you what to do? Then, let's have it, so WE'LL know. You will let\nus read it, won't you, boy?\"\n\n\"Why, y--yes,\" stammered David, holding it out politely, but with\nevident reluctance.\n\n\"Thank you,\" nodded Higgins, as he reached for the note.\n\nDavid's letter was very different from the other one. It was longer,\nbut it did not help much, though it was easily read. In his letter, in\nspite of the wavering lines, each word was formed with a care that told\nof a father's thought for the young eyes that would read it. It was\nwritten on two of the notebook's leaves, and at the end came the single\nword \"Daddy.\"\n\n\nDavid, my boy [read Higgins aloud], in the far country I am waiting for\nyou. Do not grieve, for that will grieve me. I shall not return, but\nsome day you will come to me, your violin at your chin, and the bow\ndrawn across the strings to greet me. See that it tells me of the\nbeautiful world you have left--for it is a beautiful world, David;\nnever forget that. And if sometime you are tempted to think it is not a\nbeautiful world, just remember that you yourself can make it beautiful\nif you will.\n\nYou are among new faces, surrounded by things and people that are\nstrange to you. Some of them you will not understand; some of them you\nmay not like. But do not fear, David, and do not plead to go back to\nthe hills. Remember this, my boy,--in your violin lie all the things\nyou long for. You have only to play, and the broad skies of your\nmountain home will be over you, and the dear friends and comrades of\nyour mountain forests will be about you.\n\n                                                          DADDY.\n\n\n\"Gorry! that's worse than the other,\" groaned Higgins, when he had\nfinished the note. \"There's actually nothing in it! Wouldn't you\nthink--if a man wrote anything at such a time--that he'd 'a' wrote\nsomething that had some sense to it--something that one could get hold\nof, and find out who the boy is?\"\n\nThere was no answering this. The assembled men could only grunt and nod\nin agreement, which, after all, was no real help.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nDISCORDS\n\nThe dead man found in Farmer Holly's barn created a decided stir in the\nvillage of Hinsdale. The case was a peculiar one for many reasons.\nFirst, because of the boy--Hinsdale supposed it knew boys, but it felt\ninclined to change its mind after seeing this one. Second, because of\nthe circumstances. The boy and his father had entered the town like\ntramps, yet Higgins, who talked freely of his having given the pair a\n\"lift\" on that very evening, did not hesitate to declare that he did\nnot believe them to be ordinary tramps at all.\n\nAs there had been little found in the dead man's pockets, save the two\nnotes, and as nobody could be found who wanted the violins, there\nseemed to be nothing to do but to turn the body over to the town for\nburial. Nothing was said of this to David; indeed, as little as\npossible was said to David about anything after that morning when\nHiggins had given him his father's letter. At that time the men had\nmade one more effort to \"get track of SOMETHING,\" as Higgins had\ndespairingly put it. But the boy's answers to their questions were\nanything but satisfying, anything but helpful, and were often most\ndisconcerting. The boy was, in fact, regarded by most of the men, after\nthat morning, as being \"a little off\"; and was hence let severely alone.\n\nWho the man was the town authorities certainly did not know, neither\ncould they apparently find out. His name, as written by himself, was\nunreadable. His notes told nothing; his son could tell little more--of\nconsequence. A report, to be sure, did come from the village, far up\nthe mountain, that such a man and boy had lived in a hut that was\nalmost inaccessible; but even this did not help solve the mystery.\n\nDavid was left at the Holly farmhouse, though Simeon Holly mentally\ndeclared that he should lose no time in looking about for some one to\ntake the boy away.\n\nOn that first day Higgins, picking up the reins preparatory to driving\nfrom the yard, had said, with a nod of his head toward David:--\n\n\"Well, how about it, Holly? Shall we leave him here till we find\nsomebody that wants him?\"\n\n\"Why, y--yes, I suppose so,\" hesitated Simeon Holly, with uncordial\naccent.\n\nBut his wife, hovering in the background, hastened forward at once.\n\n\"Oh, yes; yes, indeed,\" she urged. \"I'm sure he--he won't be a mite of\ntrouble, Simeon.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" conceded Simeon Holly darkly. \"Neither, it is safe to\nsay, will he be anything else--worth anything.\"\n\n\"That's it exactly,\" spoke up Streeter, from his seat in the wagon. \"If\nI thought he'd be worth his salt, now, I'd take him myself; but--well,\nlook at him this minute,\" he finished, with a disdainful shrug.\n\nDavid, on the lowest step, was very evidently not hearing a word of\nwhat was being said. With his sensitive face illumined, he was again\nporing over his father's letter.\n\nSomething in the sudden quiet cut through his absorption as the noisy\nhum of voices had not been able to do, and he raised his head. His eyes\nwere starlike.\n\n\"I'm so glad father told me what to do,\" he breathed. \"It'll be easier\nnow.\"\n\nReceiving no answer from the somewhat awkwardly silent men, he went on,\nas if in explanation:--\n\n\"You know he's waiting for me--in the far country, I mean. He said he\nwas. And when you've got somebody waiting, you don't mind staying\nbehind yourself for a little while. Besides, I've GOT to stay to find\nout about the beautiful world, you know, so I can tell him, when _I_\ngo. That's the way I used to do back home on the mountain, you\nsee,--tell him about things. Lots of days we'd go to walk; then, when\nwe got home, he'd have me tell him, with my violin, what I'd seen. And\nnow he says I'm to stay here.\"\n\n\"Here!\" It was the quick, stern voice of Simeon Holly.\n\n\"Yes,\" nodded David earnestly; \"to learn about the beautiful world.\nDon't you remember? And he said I was not to want to go back to my\nmountains; that I would not need to, anyway, because the mountains, and\nthe sky, and the birds and squirrels and brooks are really in my\nviolin, you know. And--\"  But with an angry frown Simeon Holly stalked\naway, motioning Larson to follow him; and with a merry glance and a low\nchuckle Higgins turned his horse about and drove from the yard. A\nmoment later David found himself alone with Mrs. Holly, who was looking\nat him with wistful, though slightly fearful eyes.\n\n\"Did you have all the breakfast you wanted?\" she asked timidly,\nresorting, as she had resorted the night before, to the everyday things\nof her world in the hope that they might make this strange little boy\nseem less wild, and more nearly human.\n\n\"Oh, yes, thank you.\" David's eyes had strayed back to the note in his\nhand. Suddenly he looked up, a new something in his eyes. \"What is it\nto be a--a tramp?\" he asked. \"Those men said daddy and I were tramps.\"\n\n\"A tramp? Oh--er--why, just a--a tramp,\" stammered Mrs. Holly. \"But\nnever mind that, David. I--I wouldn't think any more about it.\"\n\n\"But what is a tramp?\" persisted David, a smouldering fire beginning to\nshow in his eyes. \"Because if they meant THIEVES--\"\n\n\"No, no, David,\" interrupted Mrs. Holly soothingly. \"They never meant\nthieves at all.\"\n\n\"Then, what is it to be a tramp?\"\n\n\"Why, it's just to--to tramp,\" explained Mrs. Holly desperately;--\"walk\nalong the road from one town to another, and--and not live in a house\nat all.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" David's face cleared. \"That's all right, then. I'd love to be a\ntramp, and so'd father. And we were tramps, sometimes, too, 'cause lots\nof times, in the summer, we didn't stay in the cabin hardly any--just\nlived out of doors all day and all night. Why, I never knew really what\nthe pine trees were saying till I heard them at night, lying under\nthem. You know what I mean. You've heard them, haven't you?\"\n\n\"At night? Pine trees?\" stammered Mrs. Holly helplessly.\n\n\"Yes. Oh, haven't you ever heard them at night?\" cried the boy, in his\nvoice a very genuine sympathy as for a grievous loss. \"Why, then, if\nyou've only heard them daytimes, you don't know a bit what pine trees\nreally are. But I can tell you. Listen! This is what they say,\"\nfinished the boy, whipping his violin from its case, and, after a swift\ntesting of the strings, plunging into a weird, haunting little melody.\n\nIn the doorway, Mrs. Holly, bewildered, yet bewitched, stood\nmotionless, her eyes half-fearfully, half-longingly fixed on David's\nglorified face. She was still in the same position when Simeon Holly\ncame around the corner of the house.\n\n\"Well, Ellen,\" he began, with quiet scorn, after a moment's stern\nwatching of the scene before him, \"have you nothing better to do this\nmorning than to listen to this minstrel fellow?\"\n\n\"Oh, Simeon! Why, yes, of course. I--I forgot--what I was doing,\"\nfaltered Mrs. Holly, flushing guiltily from neck to brow as she turned\nand hurried into the house.\n\nDavid, on the porch steps, seemed to have heard nothing. He was still\nplaying, his rapt gaze on the distant sky-line, when Simeon Holly\nturned upon him with disapproving eyes.\n\n\"See here, boy, can't you do anything but fiddle?\" he demanded. Then,\nas David still continued to play, he added sharply:  \"Did n't you hear\nme, boy?\"\n\nThe music stopped abruptly. David looked up with the slightly dazed air\nof one who has been summoned as from another world.\n\n\"Did you speak to me, sir?\" he asked.\n\n\"I did--twice. I asked if you never did anything but play that fiddle.\"\n\n\"You mean at home?\" David's face expressed mild wonder without a trace\nof anger or resentment. \"Why, yes, of course. I couldn't play ALL the\ntime, you know. I had to eat and sleep and study my books; and every\nday we went to walk--like tramps, as you call them,\" he elucidated, his\nface brightening with obvious delight at being able, for once, to\nexplain matters in terms that he felt sure would be understood.\n\n\"Tramps, indeed!\" muttered Simeon Holly, under his breath. Then,\nsharply: \"Did you never perform any useful labor, boy? Were your days\nalways spent in this ungodly idleness?\"\n\nAgain David frowned in mild wonder.\n\n\"Oh, I wasn't idle, sir. Father said I must never be that. He said\nevery instrument was needed in the great Orchestra of Life; and that I\nwas one, you know, even if I was only a little boy. And he said if I\nkept still and didn't do my part, the harmony wouldn't be complete,\nand--\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, but never mind that now, boy,\" interrupted Simeon Holly,\nwith harsh impatience. \"I mean, did he never set you to work--real\nwork?\"\n\n\"Work?\" David meditated again. Then suddenly his face cleared. \"Oh,\nyes, sir, he said I had a beautiful work to do, and that it was waiting\nfor me out in the world. That's why we came down from the mountain, you\nknow, to find it. Is that what you mean?\"\n\n\"Well, no,\" retorted the man, \"I can't say that it was. I was referring\nto work--real work about the house. Did you never do any of that?\"\n\nDavid gave a relieved laugh.\n\n\"Oh, you mean getting the meals and tidying up the house,\" he replied.\n\"Oh, yes, I did that with father, only\"--his face grew wistful--\"I'm\nafraid I didn't do it very well. My bacon was never as nice and crisp\nas father's, and the fire was always spoiling my potatoes.\"\n\n\"Humph! bacon and potatoes, indeed!\" scorned Simeon Holly. \"Well, boy,\nwe call that women's work down here. We set men to something else. Do\nyou see that woodpile by the shed door?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Very good. In the kitchen you'll find an empty woodbox. Do you think\nyou could fill it with wood from that woodpile? You'll find plenty of\nshort, small sticks already chopped.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, sir, I'd like to,\" nodded David, hastily but carefully\ntucking his violin into its case. A minute later he had attacked the\nwoodpile with a will; and Simeon Holly, after a sharply watchful\nglance, had turned away.\n\nBut the woodbox, after all, was not filled. At least, it was not filled\nimmediately, for at the very beginning of gathering the second armful\nof wood, David picked up a stick that had long lain in one position on\nthe ground, thereby disclosing sundry and diverse crawling things of\nmany legs, which filled David's soul with delight, and drove away every\nthought of the empty woodbox.\n\nIt was only a matter of some strength and more patience, and still more\ntime, to overturn other and bigger sticks, to find other and bigger of\nthe many-legged, many-jointed creatures. One, indeed, was so very\nwonderful that David, with a whoop of glee, summoned Mrs. Holly from\nthe shed doorway to come and see.\n\nSo urgent was his plea that Mrs. Holly came with hurried steps--but she\nwent away with steps even more hurried; and David, sitting back on his\nwoodpile seat, was left to wonder why she should scream and shudder and\nsay \"Ugh-h-h!\" at such a beautiful, interesting thing as was this\nlittle creature who lived in her woodpile.\n\nEven then David did not think of that empty woodbox waiting behind the\nkitchen stove. This time it was a butterfly, a big black butterfly\nbanded with gold; and it danced and fluttered all through the back yard\nand out into the garden, David delightedly following with soft-treading\nsteps, and movements that would not startle. From the garden to the\norchard, and from the orchard back to the garden danced the\nbutterfly--and David; and in the garden, near the house, David came\nupon Mrs. Holly's <DW29>-bed. Even the butterfly was forgotten then, for\ndown in the path by the <DW29>-bed David dropped to his knees in\nveritable worship.\n\n\"Why, you're just like little people,\" he cried softly. \"You've got\nfaces; and some of you are happy, and some of you are sad. And you--you\nbig spotted yellow one--you're laughing at me. Oh, I'm going to play\nyou--all of you. You'll make such a pretty song, you're so different\nfrom each other!\" And David leaped lightly to his feet and ran around\nto the side porch for his violin.\n\nFive minutes later, Simeon Holly, coming into the kitchen, heard the\nsound of a violin through the open window. At the same moment his eyes\nfell on the woodbox, empty save for a few small sticks at the bottom.\nWith an angry frown he strode through the outer door and around the\ncorner of the house to the garden. At once then he came upon David,\nsitting Turk-fashion in the middle of the path before the <DW29>-bed,\nhis violin at his chin, and his whole face aglow.\n\n\"Well, boy, is this the way you fill the woodbox?\" demanded the man\ncrisply.\n\nDavid shook his head.\n\n\"Oh, no, sir, this isn't filling the woodbox,\" he laughed, softening\nhis music, but not stopping it. \"Did you think that was what I was\nplaying? It's the flowers here that I'm playing--the little faces, like\npeople, you know. See, this is that big yellow one over there that's\nlaughing,\" he finished, letting the music under his fingers burst into\na gay little melody.\n\nSimeon Holly raised an imperious hand; and at the gesture David stopped\nhis melody in the middle of a run, his eyes flying wide open in plain\nwonderment.\n\n\"You mean--I'm not playing--right?\" he asked.\n\n\"I'm not talking of your playing,\" retorted Simeon Holly severely. \"I'm\ntalking of that woodbox I asked you to fill.\"\n\nDavid's face cleared.\n\n\"Oh, yes, sir. I'll go and do it,\" he nodded, getting cheerfully to his\nfeet.\n\n\"But I told you to do it before.\"\n\nDavid's eyes grew puzzled again.\n\n\"I know, sir, and I started to,\" he answered, with the obvious patience\nof one who finds himself obliged to explain what should be a\nself-evident fact; \"but I saw so many beautiful things, one after\nanother, and when I found these funny little flower-people I just had\nto play them. Don't you see?\"\n\n\"No, I can't say that I do, when I'd already told you to fill the\nwoodbox,\" rejoined the man, with uncompromising coldness.\n\n\"You mean--even then that I ought to have filled the woodbox first?\"\n\n\"I certainly do.\"\n\nDavid's eyes flew wide open again.\n\n\"But my song--I'd have lost it!\" he exclaimed. \"And father said always\nwhen a song came to me to play it at once. Songs are like the mists of\nthe morning and the rainbows, you know, and they don't stay with you\nlong. You just have to catch them quick, before they go. Now, don't you\nsee?\"\n\nBut Simeon Holly, with a despairingly scornful gesture, had turned\naway; and David, after a moment's following him with wistful eyes,\nsoberly walked toward the kitchen door. Two minutes later he was\nindustriously working at his task of filling the woodbox.\n\nThat for David the affair was not satisfactorily settled was evidenced\nby his thoughtful countenance and preoccupied air, however; nor were\nmatters helped any by the question David put to Mr. Holly just before\ndinner.\n\n\"Do you mean,\" he asked, \"that because I didn't fill the woodbox right\naway, I was being a discord?\"\n\n\"You were what?\" demanded the amazed Simeon Holly.\n\n\"Being a discord--playing out of tune, you know,\" explained David, with\npatient earnestness. \"Father said--\" But again Simeon Holly had turned\nirritably away; and David was left with his perplexed questions still\nunanswered.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nNUISANCES, NECESSARY AND OTHERWISE\n\nFor some time after dinner, that first day, David watched Mrs. Holly in\nsilence while she cleared the table and began to wash the dishes.\n\n\"Do you want me to--help?\" he asked at last, a little wistfully.\n\nMrs. Holly, with a dubious glance at the boy's brown little hands,\nshook her head.\n\n\"No, I don't. No, thank you,\" she amended her answer.\n\nFor another sixty seconds David was silent; then, still more wistfully,\nhe asked:--\n\n\"Are all these things you've been doing all day 'useful labor'?\"\n\nMrs. Holly lifted dripping hands from the dishpan and held them\nsuspended for an amazed instant.\n\n\"Are they--Why, of course they are! What a silly question! What put\nthat idea into your head, child?\"\n\n\"Mr. Holly; and you see it's so different from what father used to call\nthem.\"\n\n\"Different?\"\n\n\"Yes. He said they were a necessary nuisance,--dishes, and getting\nmeals, and clearing up,--and he didn't do half as many of them as you\ndo, either.\"\n\n\"Nuisance, indeed!\" Mrs. Holly resumed her dishwashing with some\nasperity. \"Well, I should think that might have been just about like\nhim.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was. He was always that way,\" nodded David pleasantly. Then,\nafter a moment, he queried: \"But aren't you going to walk at all\nto-day?\"\n\n\"To walk? Where?\"\n\n\"Why, through the woods and fields--anywhere.\"\n\n\"Walking in the woods, NOW--JUST WALKING? Land's sake, boy, I've got\nsomething else to do!\"\n\n\"Oh, that's too bad, isn't it?\" David's face expressed sympathetic\nregret. \"And it's such a nice day! Maybe it'll rain by tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Maybe it will,\" retorted Mrs. Holly, with slightly uplifted eyebrows\nand an expressive glance. \"But whether it does or does n't won't make\nany difference in my going to walk, I guess.\"\n\n\"Oh, won't it?\" beamed David, his face changing. \"I'm so glad! I don't\nmind the rain, either. Father and I used to go in the rain lots of\ntimes, only, of course, we couldn't take our violins then, so we used\nto like the pleasant days better. But there are some things you find on\nrainy days that you couldn't find any other time, aren't there? The\ndance of the drops on the leaves, and the rush of the rain when the\nwind gets behind it. Don't you love to feel it, out in the open spaces,\nwhere the wind just gets a good chance to push?\"\n\nMrs. Holly stared. Then she shivered and threw up her hands with a\ngesture of hopeless abandonment.\n\n\"Land's sake, boy!\" she ejaculated feebly, as she turned back to her\nwork.\n\nFrom dishes to sweeping, and from sweeping to dusting, hurried Mrs.\nHolly, going at last into the somber parlor, always carefully guarded\nfrom sun and air. Watching her, mutely, David trailed behind, his eyes\nstaring a little as they fell upon the multitude of objects that parlor\ncontained: the haircloth chairs, the long sofa, the marble-topped\ntable, the curtains, cushions, spreads, and \"throws,\" the innumerable\nmats and tidies, the hair-wreath, the wax flowers under their glass\ndome, the dried grasses, the marvelous bouquets of scarlet, green, and\npurple everlastings, the stones and shells and many-sized, many-shaped\nvases arranged as if in line of battle along the corner shelves.\n\n\"Y--yes, you may come in,\" called Mrs. Holly, glancing back at the\nhesitating boy in the doorway. \"But you mustn't touch anything. I'm\ngoing to dust.\"\n\n\"But I haven't seen this room before,\" ruminated David.\n\n\"Well, no,\" deigned Mrs. Holly, with just a touch of superiority. \"We\ndon't use this room common, little boy, nor the bedroom there, either.\nThis is the company room, for ministers and funerals, and--\" She\nstopped hastily, with a quick look at David; but the boy did not seem\nto have heard.\n\n\"And doesn't anybody live here in this house, but just you and Mr.\nHolly, and Mr. Perry Larson?\" he asked, still looking wonderingly about\nhim.\n\n\"No, not--now.\" Mrs. Holly drew in her breath with a little catch, and\nglanced at the framed portrait of a little boy on the wall.\n\n\"But you've got such a lot of rooms and--and things,\" remarked David.\n\"Why, daddy and I only had two rooms, and not hardly any THINGS. It was\nso--different, you know, in my home.\"\n\n\"I should say it might have been!\" Mrs. Holly began to dust hurriedly,\nbut carefully. Her voice still carried its hint of superiority.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" smiled David. \"But you say you don't use this room much, so\nthat helps.\"\n\n\"Helps!\" In her stupefaction Mrs. Holly stopped her work and stared.\n\n\"Why, yes. I mean, you've got so many other rooms you can live in\nthose. You don't HAVE to live in here.\"\n\n\"'Have to live in here'!\" ejaculated the woman, still too\nuncomprehending to be anything but amazed.\n\n\"Yes. But do you have to KEEP all these things, and clean them and\nclean them, like this, every day? Couldn't you give them to somebody,\nor throw them away?\"\n\n\"Throw--these--things--away!\" With a wild sweep of her arms, the\nhorrified woman seemed to be trying to encompass in a protective\nembrace each last endangered treasure of mat and tidy. \"Boy, are you\ncrazy? These things are--are valuable. They cost money, and time\nand--and labor. Don't you know beautiful things when you see them?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I love BEAUTIFUL things,\" smiled David, with unconsciously\nrude emphasis. \"And up on the mountain I had them always. There was the\nsunrise, and the sunset, and the moon and the stars, and my Silver\nLake, and the cloud-boats that sailed--\"\n\nBut Mrs. Holly, with a vexed gesture, stopped him.\n\n\"Never mind, little boy. I might have known--brought up as you have\nbeen. Of course you could not appreciate such things as these. Throw\nthem away, indeed!\" And she fell to work again; but this time her\nfingers carried a something in their touch that was almost like the\ncaress a mother might bestow upon an aggrieved child.\n\nDavid, vaguely disturbed and uncomfortable, watched her with troubled\neyes; then, apologetically, he explained:--\n\n\"It was only that I thought if you didn't have to clean so many of\nthese things, you could maybe go to walk more--to-day, and other days,\nyou know. You said--you didn't have time,\" he reminded her.\n\nBut Mrs. Holly only shook her head and sighed:--\n\n\"Well, well, never mind, little boy. I dare say you meant all right.\nYou couldn't understand, of course.\"\n\nAnd David, after another moment's wistful eyeing of the caressing\nfingers, turned about and wandered out onto the side porch. A minute\nlater, having seated himself on the porch steps, he had taken from his\npocket two small pieces of folded paper. And then, through tear-dimmed\neyes, he read once more his father's letter.\n\n\"He said I mustn't grieve, for that would grieve him,\" murmured the\nboy, after a time, his eyes on the far-away hills. \"And he said if I'd\nplay, my mountains would come to me here, and I'd really be at home up\nthere. He said in my violin were all those things I'm wanting--so bad!\"\n\nWith a little choking breath, David tucked the note back into his\npocket and reached for his violin.\n\nSome time later, Mrs. Holly, dusting the chairs in the parlor, stopped\nher work, tiptoed to the door, and listened breathlessly. When she\nturned back, still later, to her work, her eyes were wet.\n\n\"I wonder why, when he plays, I always get to thinking of--John,\" she\nsighed to herself, as she picked up her dusting-cloth.\n\nAfter supper that night, Simeon Holly and his wife again sat on the\nkitchen porch, resting from the labor of the day. Simeon's eyes were\nclosed. His wife's were on the dim outlines of the shed, the barn, the\nroad, or a passing horse and wagon. David, sitting on the steps, was\nwatching the moon climb higher and higher above the tree-tops. After a\ntime he slipped into the house and came out with his violin.\n\nAt the first long-drawn note of sweetness, Simeon Holly opened his eyes\nand sat up, stern-lipped. But his wife laid a timid hand on his arm.\n\n\"Don't say anything, please,\" she entreated softly. \"Let him play, just\nfor to-night. He's lonesome--poor little fellow.\" And Simeon Holly,\nwith a frowning shrug of his shoulders, sat back in his chair.\n\nLater, it was Mrs. Holly herself who stopped the music by saying:\n\"Come, David, it's bedtime for little boys. I'll go upstairs with you.\"\nAnd she led the way into the house and lighted the candle for him.\n\nUpstairs, in the little room over the kitchen, David found himself once\nmore alone. As before, the little yellow-white nightshirt lay over the\nchair-back; and as before, Mrs. Holly had brushed away a tear as she\nhad placed it there. As before, too, the big four-posted bed loomed\ntall and formidable in the corner. But this time the coverlet and sheet\nwere turned back invitingly--Mrs. Holly had been much disturbed to find\nthat David had slept on the floor the night before.\n\nOnce more, with his back carefully turned toward the impaled bugs and\nmoths on the wall, David undressed himself. Then, before blowing out\nthe candle, he went to the window kneeled down, and looked up at the\nmoon through the trees.\n\nDavid was sorely puzzled. He was beginning to wonder just what was to\nbecome of himself.\n\nHis father had said that out in the world there was a beautiful work\nfor him to do; but what was it? How was he to find it? Or how was he to\ndo it if he did find it? And another thing; where was he to live? Could\nhe stay where he was? It was not home, to be sure; but there was the\nlittle room over the kitchen where he might sleep, and there was the\nkind woman who smiled at him sometimes with the sad, far-away look in\nher eyes that somehow hurt. He would not like, now, to leave her--with\ndaddy gone.\n\nThere were the gold-pieces, too; and concerning these David was equally\npuzzled. What should he do with them? He did not need them--the kind\nwoman was giving him plenty of food, so that he did not have to go to\nthe store and buy; and there was nothing else, apparently, that he\ncould use them for. They were heavy, and disagreeable to carry; yet he\ndid not like to throw them away, nor to let anybody know that he had\nthem: he had been called a thief just for one little piece, and what\nwould they say if they knew he had all those others?\n\nDavid remembered now, suddenly, that his father had said to hide\nthem--to hide them until he needed them. David was relieved at once.\nWhy had he not thought of it before? He knew just the place, too,--the\nlittle cupboard behind the chimney there in this very room! And with a\nsatisfied sigh, David got to his feet, gathered all the little yellow\ndisks from his pockets, and tucked them well out of sight behind the\npiles of books on the cupboard shelves. There, too, he hid the watch;\nbut the little miniature of the angel-mother he slipped back into one\nof his pockets.\n\nDavid's second morning at the farmhouse was not unlike the first,\nexcept that this time, when Simeon Holly asked him to fill the woodbox,\nDavid resolutely ignored every enticing bug and butterfly, and kept\nrigorously to the task before him until it was done.\n\nHe was in the kitchen when, just before dinner, Perry Larson came into\nthe room with a worried frown on his face.\n\n\"Mis' Holly, would ye mind just steppin' to the side door? There's a\nwoman an' a little boy there, an' somethin' ails 'em. She can't talk\nEnglish, an' I'm blest if I can make head nor tail out of the lingo she\nDOES talk. But maybe you can.\"\n\n\"Why, Perry, I don't know--\" began Mrs. Holly. But she turned at once\ntoward the door.\n\nOn the porch steps stood a very pretty, but frightened-looking young\nwoman with a boy perhaps ten years old at her side. Upon catching sight\nof Mrs. Holly she burst into a torrent of unintelligible words,\nsupplemented by numerous and vehement gestures.\n\nMrs. Holly shrank back, and cast appealing eyes toward her husband who\nat that moment had come across the yard from the barn.\n\n\"Simeon, can you tell what she wants?\"\n\nAt sight of the newcomer on the scene, the strange woman began again,\nwith even more volubility.\n\n\"No,\" said Simeon Holly, after a moment's scowling scrutiny of the\ngesticulating woman. \"She's talking French, I think. And she\nwants--something.\"\n\n\"Gosh! I should say she did,\" muttered Perry Larson. \"An' whatever 't\nis, she wants it powerful bad.\"\n\n\"Are you hungry?\" questioned Mrs. Holly timidly.\n\n\"Can't you speak English at all?\" demanded Simeon Holly.\n\nThe woman looked from one to the other with the piteous, pleading eyes\nof the stranger in the strange land who cannot understand or make\nothers understand. She had turned away with a despairing shake of her\nhead, when suddenly she gave a wild cry of joy and wheeled about, her\nwhole face alight.\n\nThe Hollys and Perry Larson saw then that David had come out onto the\nporch and was speaking to the woman--and his words were just as\nunintelligible as the woman's had been.\n\nMrs. Holly and Perry Larson stared. Simeon Holly interrupted David with\na sharp:--\n\n\"Do you, then, understand this woman, boy?\"\n\n\"Why, yes! Didn't you? She's lost her way, and--\" But the woman had\nhurried forward and was pouring her story into David's ears.\n\nAt its conclusion David turned to find the look of stupefaction still\non the others' faces.\n\n\"Well, what does she want?\" asked Simeon Holly crisply.\n\n\"She wants to find the way to Francois Lavelle's house. He's her\nhusband's brother. She came in on the train this morning. Her husband\nstopped off a minute somewhere, she says, and got left behind. He could\ntalk English, but she can't. She's only been in this country a week.\nShe came from France.\"\n\n\"Gorry! Won't ye listen ter that, now?\" cried Perry Larson admiringly.\n\"Reads her just like a book, don't he? There's a French family over in\nWest Hinsdale--two of 'em, I think. What'll ye bet 't ain't one o'\nthem?\"\n\n\"Very likely,\" acceded Simeon Holly, his eyes bent disapprovingly on\nDavid's face. It was plain to be seen that Simeon Holly's attention was\noccupied by David, not the woman.\n\n\"An', say, Mr. Holly,\" resumed Perry Larson, a little excitedly, \"you\nknow I was goin' over ter West Hinsdale in a day or two ter see Harlow\nabout them steers. Why can't I go this afternoon an' tote her an' the\nkid along?\"\n\n\"Very well,\" nodded Simeon Holly curtly, his eyes still on David's face.\n\nPerry Larson turned to the woman, and by a flourish of his arms and a\njumble of broken English attempted to make her understand that he was\nto take her where she undoubtedly wished to go. The woman still looked\nuncomprehending, however, and David promptly came to the rescue, saying\na few rapid words that quickly brought a flood of delighted\nunderstanding to the woman's face.\n\n\"Can't you ask her if she's hungry?\" ventured Mrs. Holly, then.\n\n\"She says no, thank you,\" translated David, with a smile, when he had\nreceived his answer. \"But the boy says he is, if you please.\"\n\n\"Then, tell them to come into the kitchen,\" directed Mrs. Holly,\nhurrying into the house.\n\n\"So you're French, are you?\" said Simeon Holly to David.\n\n\"French? Oh, no, sir,\" smiled David, proudly. \"I'm an American. Father\nsaid I was. He said I was born in this country.\"\n\n\"But how comes it you can speak French like that?\"\n\n\"Why, I learned it.\" Then, divining that his words were still\nunconvincing, he added: \"Same as I learned German and other things with\nfather, out of books, you know. Didn't you learn French when you were a\nlittle boy?\"\n\n\"Humph!\" vouchsafed Simeon Holly, stalking away without answering the\nquestion.\n\nImmediately after dinner Perry Larson drove away with the woman and the\nlittle boy. The woman's face was wreathed with smiles, and her last\nadoring glance was for David, waving his hand to her from the porch\nsteps.\n\nIn the afternoon David took his violin and went off toward the hill\nbehind the house for a walk. He had asked Mrs. Holly to accompany him,\nbut she had refused, though she was not sweeping or dusting at the\ntime. She was doing nothing more important, apparently, than making\nholes in a piece of white cloth, and sewing them up again with a needle\nand thread.\n\nDavid had then asked Mr. Holly to go; but his refusal was even more\nstrangely impatient than his wife's had been.\n\n\"And why, pray, should I go for a useless walk now--or any time, for\nthat matter?\" he demanded sharply.\n\nDavid had shrunk back unconsciously, though he had still smiled.\n\n\"Oh, but it wouldn't be a useless walk, sir. Father said nothing was\nuseless that helped to keep us in tune, you know.\"\n\n\"In tune!\"\n\n\"I mean, you looked as father used to look sometimes, when he felt out\nof tune. And he always said there was nothing like a walk to put him\nback again. I--I was feeling a little out of tune myself to-day, and I\nthought, by the way you looked, that you were, too.  So I asked you to\ngo to walk.\"\n\n\"Humph! Well, I--That will do, boy. No impertinence, you understand!\"\nAnd he had turned away in very obvious anger.\n\nDavid, with a puzzled sorrow in his heart had started alone then, on\nhis walk.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\"YOU'RE WANTED--YOU'RE WANTED!\"\n\nIt was Saturday night, and the end of David's third day at the\nfarmhouse. Upstairs, in the hot little room over the kitchen, the boy\nknelt at the window and tried to find a breath of cool air from the\nhills. Downstairs on the porch Simeon Holly and his wife discussed the\nevents of the past few days, and talked of what should be done with\nDavid.\n\n\"But what shall we do with him?\" moaned Mrs. Holly at last, breaking a\nlong silence that had fallen between them. \"What can we do with him?\nDoesn't anybody want him?\"\n\n\"No, of course, nobody wants him,\" retorted her husband relentlessly.\n\nAnd at the words a small figure in a yellow-white nightshirt stopped\nshort. David, violin in hand, had fled from the little hot room, and\nstood now just inside the kitchen door.\n\n\"Who can want a child that has been brought up in that heathenish\nfashion?\" continued Simeon Holly. \"According to his own story, even his\nfather did nothing but play the fiddle and tramp through the woods day\nin and day out, with an occasional trip to the mountain village to get\nfood and clothing when they had absolutely nothing to eat and wear. Of\ncourse nobody wants him!\"\n\nDavid, at the kitchen door, caught his breath chokingly. Then he sped\nacross the floor to the back hall, and on through the long sheds to the\nhayloft in the barn--the place where his father seemed always nearest.\n\nDavid was frightened and heartsick. NOBODY WANTED HIM. He had heard it\nwith his own ears, so there was no mistake. What now about all those\nlong days and nights ahead before he might go, violin in hand, to meet\nhis father in that far-away country? How was he to live those days and\nnights if nobody wanted him? How was his violin to speak in a voice\nthat was true and pure and full, and tell of the beautiful world, as\nhis father had said that it must do? David quite cried aloud at the\nthought. Then he thought of something else that his father had said:\n\"Remember this, my boy,--in your violin lie all the things you long\nfor. You have only to play, and the broad skies of your mountain home\nwill be over you, and the dear friends and comrades of your mountain\nforests will be all about you.\"  With a quick cry David raised his\nviolin and drew the bow across the strings.\n\nBack on the porch at that moment Mrs. Holly was saying:--\n\n\"Of course there's the orphan asylum, or maybe the poorhouse--if they'd\ntake him; but--Simeon,\" she broke off sharply, \"where's that child\nplaying now?\"\n\nSimeon listened with intent ears.\n\n\"In the barn, I should say.\"\n\n\"But he'd gone to bed!\"\n\n\"And he'll go to bed again,\" asserted Simeon Holly grimly, as he rose\nto his feet and stalked across the moonlit yard to the barn.\n\nAs before, Mrs. Holly followed him, and as before, both involuntarily\npaused just inside the barn door to listen. No runs and trills and\nrollicking bits of melody floated down the stairway to-night. The notes\nwere long-drawn, and plaintively sweet; and they rose and swelled and\ndied almost into silence while the man and the woman by the door stood\nlistening.\n\nThey were back in the long ago--Simeon Holly and his wife--back with a\nboy of their own who had made those same rafters ring with shouts of\nlaughter, and who, also, had played the violin--though not like this;\nand the same thought had come to each: \"What if, after all, it were\nJohn playing all alone in the moonlight!\"\n\nIt had not been the violin, in the end, that had driven John Holly from\nhome. It had been the possibilities in a piece of crayon. All through\nchildhood the boy had drawn his beloved \"pictures\" on every inviting\nspace that offered,--whether it were the \"best-room\" wall-paper, or the\nfly leaf of the big plush album,--and at eighteen he had announced his\ndetermination to be an artist. For a year after that Simeon Holly\nfought with all the strength of a stubborn will, banished chalk and\ncrayon from the house, and set the boy to homely tasks that left no\ntime for anything but food and sleep--then John ran away.\n\nThat was fifteen years ago, and they had not seen him since; though two\nunanswered letters in Simeon Holly's desk testified that perhaps this,\nat least, was not the boy's fault.\n\nIt was not of the grown-up John, the willful boy and runaway son,\nhowever, that Simeon Holly and his wife were thinking, as they stood\njust inside the barn door; it was of Baby John, the little curly-headed\nfellow that had played at their knees, frolicked in this very barn, and\nnestled in their arms when the day was done.\n\nMrs. Holly spoke first--and it was not as she had spoken on the porch.\n\n\"Simeon,\" she began tremulously, \"that dear child must go to bed!\" And\nshe hurried across the floor and up the stairs, followed by her\nhusband. \"Come, David,\" she said, as she reached the top; \"it's time\nlittle boys were asleep! Come!\"\n\nHer voice was low, and not quite steady. To David her voice sounded as\nher eyes looked when there was in them the far-away something that\nhurt. Very slowly he came forward into the moonlight, his gaze\nsearching the woman's face long and earnestly.\n\n\"And do you--want me?\" he faltered.\n\nThe woman drew in her breath with a little sob. Before her stood the\nslender figure in the yellow-white gown--John's gown. Into her eyes\nlooked those other eyes, dark and wistful,--like John's eyes. And her\narms ached with emptiness.\n\n\"Yes, yes, for my very own--and for always!\" she cried with sudden\npassion, clasping the little form close. \"For always!\"\n\nAnd David sighed his content.\n\nSimeon Holly's lips parted, but they closed again with no words said.\nThe man turned then, with a curiously baffled look, and stalked down\nthe stairs.\n\nOn the porch long minutes later, when once more David had gone to bed,\nSimeon Holly said coldly to his wife:--\n\n\"I suppose you realize, Ellen, just what you've pledged yourself to, by\nthat absurd outburst of yours in the barn to-night--and all because\nthat ungodly music and the moonshine had gone to your head!\"\n\n\"But I want the boy, Simeon. He--he makes me think of--John.\"\n\nHarsh lines came to the man's mouth, but there was a perceptible shake\nin his voice as he answered:--\n\n\"We're not talking of John, Ellen. We're talking of this irresponsible,\nhardly sane boy upstairs. He can work, I suppose, if he's taught, and\nin that way he won't perhaps be a dead loss. Still, he's another mouth\nto feed, and that counts now. There's the note, you know,--it's due in\nAugust.\"\n\n\"But you say there's money--almost enough for it--in the bank.\" Mrs.\nHolly's voice was anxiously apologetic.\n\n\"Yes, I know\" vouchsafed the man. \"But almost enough is not quite\nenough.\"\n\n\"But there's time--more than two months. It isn't due till the last of\nAugust, Simeon.\"\n\n\"I know, I know. Meanwhile, there's the boy. What are you going to do\nwith him?\"\n\n\"Why, can't you use him--on the farm--a little?\"\n\n\"Perhaps. I doubt it, though,\" gloomed the man. \"One can't hoe corn nor\npull weeds with a fiddle-bow--and that's all he seems to know how to\nhandle.\"\n\n\"But he can learn--and he does play beautifully,\" murmured the woman;\nwhenever before had Ellen Holly ventured to use words of argument with\nher husband, and in extenuation, too, of an act of her own!\n\nThere was no reply except a muttered \"Humph!\" under the breath. Then\nSimeon Holly rose and stalked into the house.\n\nThe next day was Sunday, and Sunday at the farmhouse was a thing of\nstern repression and solemn silence. In Simeon Holly's veins ran the\nblood of the Puritans, and he was more than strict as to what he\nconsidered right and wrong. When half-trained for the ministry,\nill-health had forced him to resort to a less confining life, though\nnever had it taken from him the uncompromising rigor of his views. It\nwas a distinct shock to him, therefore, on this Sunday morning to be\nawakened by a peal of music such as the little house had never known\nbefore. All the while that he was thrusting his indignant self into his\nclothing, the runs and turns and crashing chords whirled about him\nuntil it seemed that a whole orchestra must be imprisoned in the little\nroom over the kitchen, so skillful was the boy's double stopping.\nSimeon Holly was white with anger when he finally hurried down the hall\nand threw open David's bedroom door.\n\n\"Boy, what do you mean by this?\" he demanded.\n\nDavid laughed gleefully.\n\n\"And didn't you know?\" he asked. \"Why, I thought my music would tell\nyou. I was so happy, so glad! The birds in the trees woke me up\nsinging, 'You're wanted--you're wanted;' and the sun came over the hill\nthere and said, 'You're wanted--you're wanted;' and the little\ntree-branch tapped on my window pane and said 'You're wanted--you're\nwanted!' And I just had to take up my violin and tell you about it!\"\n\n\"But it's Sunday--the Lord's Day,\" remonstrated the man sternly.\n\nDavid stood motionless, his eyes questioning.\n\n\"Are you quite a heathen, then?\" catechised the man sharply. \"Have they\nnever told you anything about God, boy?\"\n\n\"Oh, 'God'?--of course,\" smiled David, in open relief. \"God wraps up\nthe buds in their little brown blankets, and covers the roots with--\"\n\n\"I am not talking about brown blankets nor roots,\" interrupted the man\nseverely. \"This is God's day, and as such should be kept holy.\"\n\n\"'Holy'?\"\n\n\"Yes. You should not fiddle nor laugh nor sing.\"\n\n\"But those are good things, and beautiful things,\" defended David, his\neyes wide and puzzled.\n\n\"In their place, perhaps,\" conceded the man, stiffly, \"but not on God's\nday.\"\n\n\"You mean--He wouldn't like them?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Oh!\"--and David's face cleared. \"That's all right, then. Your God\nisn't the same one, sir, for mine loves all beautiful things every day\nin the year.\"\n\nThere was a moment's silence. For the first time in his life Simeon\nHolly found himself without words.\n\n\"We won't talk of this any more, David,\" he said at last; \"but we'll\nput it another way--I don't wish you to play your fiddle on Sunday.\nNow, put it up till to-morrow.\" And he turned and went down the hall.\n\nBreakfast was a very quiet meal that morning. Meals were never things\nof hilarious joy at the Holly farmhouse, as David had already found\nout; but he had not seen one before quite so somber as this. It was\nfollowed immediately by a half-hour of Scripture-reading and prayer,\nwith Mrs. Holly and Perry Larson sitting very stiff and solemn in their\nchairs, while Mr. Holly read. David tried to sit very stiff and solemn\nin his chair, also; but the roses at the window were nodding their\nheads and beckoning; and the birds in the bushes beyond were sending to\nhim coaxing little chirps of \"Come out, come out!\" And how could one\nexpect to sit stiff and solemn in the face of all that, particularly\nwhen one's fingers were tingling to take up the interrupted song of the\nmorning and tell the whole world how beautiful it was to be wanted!\n\nYet David sat very still,--or as still as he could sit,--and only the\ntapping of his foot, and the roving of his wistful eyes told that his\nmind was not with Farmer Holly and the Children of Israel in their\nwanderings in the wilderness.\n\nAfter the devotions came an hour of subdued haste and confusion while\nthe family prepared for church. David had never been to church. He\nasked Perry Larson what it was like; but Perry only shrugged his\nshoulders and said, to nobody, apparently:--\n\n\"Sugar! Won't ye hear that, now?\"--which to David was certainly no\nanswer at all.\n\nThat one must be spick and span to go to church, David soon found\nout--never before had he been so scrubbed and brushed and combed. There\nwas, too, brought out for him to wear a little clean white blouse and a\nred tie, over which Mrs. Holly cried a little as she had over the\nnightshirt that first evening.\n\nThe church was in the village only a quarter of a mile away; and in due\ntime David, open-eyed and interested, was following Mr. and Mrs. Holly\ndown its long center aisle. The Hollys were early as usual, and service\nhad not begun. Even the organist had not taken his seat beneath the\ngreat pipes of blue and gold that towered to the ceiling.\n\nIt was the pride of the town--that organ. It had been given by a great\nman (out in the world) whose birthplace the town was. More than that, a\nyearly donation from this same great man paid for the skilled organist\nwho came every Sunday from the city to play it. To-day, as the organist\ntook his seat, he noticed a new face in the Holly pew, and he almost\ngave a friendly smile as he met the wondering gaze of the small boy\nthere; then he lost himself, as usual, in the music before him.\n\nDown in the Holly pew the small boy held his breath. A score of violins\nwere singing in his ears; and a score of other instruments that he\ncould not name, crashed over his head, and brought him to his feet in\necstasy. Before a detaining hand could stop him, he was out in the\naisle, his eyes on the blue-and-gold pipes from which seemed to come\nthose wondrous sounds. Then his gaze fell on the man and on the banks\nof keys; and with soft steps he crept along the aisle and up the stairs\nto the organ-loft.\n\nFor long minutes he stood motionless, listening; then the music died\ninto silence and the minister rose for the invocation. It was a boy's\nvoice, and not a man's, however, that broke the pause.\n\n\"Oh, sir, please,\" it said, \"would you--could you teach ME to do that?\"\n\nThe organist choked over a cough, and the soprano reached out and drew\nDavid to her side, whispering something in his ear. The minister, after\na dazed silence, bowed his head; while down in the Holly pew an angry\nman and a sorely mortified woman vowed that, before David came to\nchurch again, he should have learned some things.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE PUZZLING \"DOS\" AND \"DON'TS\"\n\nWith the coming of Monday arrived a new life for David--a curious life\nfull of \"don'ts\" and \"dos.\" David wondered sometimes why all the\npleasant things were \"don'ts\" and all the unpleasant ones \"dos.\" Corn\nto be hoed, weeds to be pulled, woodboxes to be filled; with all these\nit was \"do this, do this, do this.\" But when it came to lying under the\napple trees, exploring the brook that ran by the field, or even\nwatching the bugs and worms that one found in the earth--all these were\n\"don'ts.\"\n\nAs to Farmer Holly--Farmer Holly himself awoke to some new experiences\nthat Monday morning. One of them was the difficulty in successfully\ncombating the cheerfully expressed opinion that weeds were so pretty\ngrowing that it was a pity to pull them up and let them all wither and\ndie. Another was the equally great difficulty of keeping a small boy at\nuseful labor of any sort in the face of the attractions displayed by a\npassing cloud, a blossoming shrub, or a bird singing on a tree-branch.\n\nIn spite of all this, however, David so evidently did his best to carry\nout the \"dos\" and avoid the \"don'ts,\" that at four o'clock that first\nMonday he won from the stern but would-be-just Farmer Holly his freedom\nfor the rest of the day; and very gayly he set off for a walk. He went\nwithout his violin, as there was the smell of rain in the air; but his\nface and his step and the very swing of his arms were singing (to\nDavid) the joyous song of the morning before. Even yet, in spite of the\nvicissitudes of the day's work, the whole world, to David's homesick,\nlonely little heart, was still caroling that blessed \"You're wanted,\nyou're wanted, you're wanted!\"\n\nAnd then he saw the crow.\n\nDavid knew crows. In his home on the mountain he had had several of\nthem for friends. He had learned to know and answer their calls. He had\nlearned to admire their wisdom and to respect their moods and tempers.\nHe loved to watch them. Especially he loved to see the great birds cut\nthrough the air with a wide sweep of wings, so alive, so gloriously\nfree!\n\nBut this crow--\n\nThis crow was not cutting through the air with a wide sweep of wing. It\nwas in the middle of a cornfield, and it was rising and falling and\nflopping about in a most extraordinary fashion. Very soon David,\nrunning toward it, saw why. By a long leather strip it was fastened\nsecurely to a stake in the ground.\n\n\"Oh, oh, oh!\" exclaimed David, in sympathetic consternation. \"Here, you\njust wait a minute. I'll fix it.\"\n\nWith confident celerity David whipped out his jackknife to cut the\nthong; but he found then that to \"fix it\" and to say he would \"fix it\"\nwere two different matters.\n\nThe crow did not seem to recognize in David a friend. He saw in him,\napparently, but another of the stone-throwing, gun-shooting, torturing\nhumans who were responsible for his present hateful captivity. With\nbeak and claw and wing, therefore, he fought this new evil that had\ncome presumedly to torment; and not until David had hit upon the\nexpedient of taking off his blouse, and throwing it over the angry\nbird, could the boy get near enough to accomplish his purpose. Even\nthen David had to leave upon the slender leg a twist of leather.\n\nA moment later, with a whir of wings and a frightened squawk that\nquickly turned into a surprised caw of triumphant rejoicing, the crow\nsoared into the air and made straight for a distant tree-top. David,\nafter a minute's glad surveying of his work, donned his blouse again\nand resumed his walk.\n\nIt was almost six o'clock when David got back to the Holly farmhouse.\nIn the barn doorway sat Perry Larson.\n\n\"Well, sonny,\" the man greeted him cheerily, \"did ye get yer weedin'\ndone?\"\n\n\"Y--yes,\" hesitated David. \"I got it done; but I didn't like it.\"\n\n\"'T is kinder hot work.\"\n\n\"Oh, I didn't mind that part,\" returned David. \"What I didn't like was\npulling up all those pretty little plants and letting them die.\"\n\n\"Weeds--'pretty little plants'!\" ejaculated the man. \"Well, I'll be\njiggered!\"\n\n\"But they WERE pretty,\" defended David, reading aright the scorn in\nPerry Larson's voice. \"The very prettiest and biggest there were,\nalways. Mr. Holly showed me, you know,--and I had to pull them up.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll be jiggered!\" muttered Perry Larson again.\n\n\"But I've been to walk since. I feel better now.\"\n\n\"Oh, ye do!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. I had a splendid walk. I went 'way up in the woods on the\nhill there. I was singing all the time--inside, you know. I was so glad\nMrs. Holly--wanted me. You know what it is, when you sing inside.\"\n\nPerry Larson scratched his head.\n\n\"Well, no, sonny, I can't really say I do,\" he retorted. \"I ain't much\non singin'.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I don't mean aloud. I mean inside. When you're happy, you\nknow.\"\n\n\"When I'm--oh!\" The man stopped and stared, his mouth falling open.\nSuddenly his face changed, and he grinned appreciatively. \"Well, if you\nain't the beat 'em, boy! 'T is kinder like singin'--the way ye feel\ninside, when yer 'specially happy, ain't it? But I never thought of it\nbefore.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. Why, that's where I get my songs--inside of me, you\nknow--that I play on my violin. And I made a crow sing, too. Only HE\nsang outside.\"\n\n\"SING--A CROW!\" scoffed the man. \"Shucks! It'll take more 'n you ter\nmake me think a crow can sing, my lad.\"\n\n\"But they do, when they're happy,\" maintained the boy. \"Anyhow, it\ndoesn't sound the same as it does when they're cross, or plagued over\nsomething. You ought to have heard this one to-day. He sang. He was so\nglad to get away. I let him loose, you see.\"\n\n\"You mean, you CAUGHT a crow up there in them woods?\" The man's voice\nwas skeptical.\n\n\"Oh, no, I didn't catch it. But somebody had, and tied him up. And he\nwas so unhappy!\"\n\n\"A crow tied up in the woods!\"\n\n\"Oh, I didn't find THAT in the woods. It was before I went up the hill\nat all.\"\n\n\"A crow tied up--Look a-here, boy, what are you talkin' about? Where\nwas that crow?\" Perry Larson's whole self had become suddenly alert.\n\n\"In the field 'Way over there. And somebody--\"\n\n\"The cornfield! Jingo! Boy, you don't mean you touched THAT crow?\"\n\n\"Well, he wouldn't let me TOUCH him,\" half-apologized David. \"He was so\nafraid, you see. Why, I had to put my blouse over his head before he'd\nlet me cut him loose at all.\"\n\n\"Cut him loose!\" Perry Larson sprang to his feet. \"You did n't--you\nDIDn't let that crow go!\"\n\nDavid shrank back.\n\n\"Why, yes; he WANTED to go. He--\" But the man before him had fallen\nback despairingly to his old position.\n\n\"Well, sir, you've done it now. What the boss'll say, I don't know; but\nI know what I'd like ter say to ye. I was a whole week, off an' on,\ngettin' hold of that crow, an' I wouldn't have got him at all if I\nhadn't hid half the night an' all the mornin' in that clump o' bushes,\nwatchin' a chance ter wing him, jest enough an' not too much. An' even\nthen the job wa'n't done. Let me tell yer, 't wa'n't no small thing ter\nget him hitched. I'm wearin' the marks of the rascal's beak yet. An'\nnow you've gone an' let him go--just like that,\" he finished, snapping\nhis fingers angrily.\n\nIn David's face there was no contrition. There was only incredulous\nhorror.\n\n\"You mean, YOU tied him there, on purpose?\"\n\n\"Sure I did!\"\n\n\"But he didn't like it. Couldn't you see he didn't like it?\" cried\nDavid.\n\n\"Like it! What if he didn't? I didn't like ter have my corn pulled up,\neither. See here, sonny, you no need ter look at me in that tone o'\nvoice. I didn't hurt the varmint none ter speak of--ye see he could\nfly, didn't ye?--an' he wa'n't starvin'. I saw to it that he had enough\nter eat an' a dish o' water handy. An' if he didn't flop an' pull an'\ntry ter get away he needn't 'a' hurt hisself never. I ain't ter blame\nfor what pullin' he done.\"\n\n\"But wouldn't you pull if you had two big wings that could carry you to\nthe top of that big tree there, and away up, up in the sky, where you\ncould talk to the stars?--wouldn't you pull if somebody a hundred times\nbigger'n you came along and tied your leg to that post there?\"\n\nThe man, Perry, flushed an angry red.\n\n\"See here, sonny, I wa'n't askin' you ter do no preachin'. What I did\nain't no more'n any man 'round here does--if he's smart enough ter\ncatch one. Rigged-up broomsticks ain't in it with a live bird when it\ncomes ter drivin' away them pesky, thievin' crows. There ain't a farmer\n'round here that hain't been green with envy, ever since I caught the\ncritter. An' now ter have you come along an' with one flip o'yer knife\nspile it all, I--Well, it jest makes me mad, clean through! That's all.\"\n\n\"You mean, you tied him there to frighten away the other crows?\"\n\n\"Sure! There ain't nothin' like it.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm so sorry!\"\n\n\"Well, you'd better be. But that won't bring back my crow!\"\n\nDavid's face brightened.\n\n\"No, that's so, isn't it? I'm glad of that. I was thinking of the\ncrows, you see. I'm so sorry for them! Only think how we'd hate to be\ntied like that--\" But Perry Larson, with a stare and an indignant\nsnort, had got to his feet, and was rapidly walking toward the house.\n\nVery plainly, that evening, David was in disgrace, and it took all of\nMrs. Holly's tact and patience, and some private pleading, to keep a\ngeneral explosion from wrecking all chances of his staying longer at\nthe farmhouse. Even as it was, David was sorrowfully aware that he was\nproving to be a great disappointment so soon, and his violin playing\nthat evening carried a moaning plaintiveness that would have been very\nsignificant to one who knew David well.\n\nVery faithfully, the next day, the boy tried to carry out all the\n\"dos,\" and though he did not always succeed, yet his efforts were so\nobvious, that even the indignant owner of the liberated crow was\nsomewhat mollified; and again Simeon Holly released David from work at\nfour o'clock.\n\nAlas, for David's peace of mind, however; for on his walk to-day,\nthough he found no captive crow to demand his sympathy, he found\nsomething else quite as heartrending, and as incomprehensible.\n\nIt was on the edge of the woods that he came upon two boys, each\ncarrying a rifle, a dead squirrel, and a dead rabbit. The threatened\nrain of the day before had not materialized, and David had his violin.\nHe had been playing softly when he came upon the boys where the path\nentered the woods.\n\n\"Oh!\" At sight of the boys and their burden David gave an involuntary\ncry, and stopped playing.\n\nThe boys, scarcely less surprised at sight of David and his violin,\npaused and stared frankly.\n\n\"It's the tramp kid with his fiddle,\" whispered one to the other\nhuskily.\n\nDavid, his grieved eyes on the motionless little bodies in the boys'\nhands, shuddered.\n\n\"Are they--dead, too?\"\n\nThe bigger boy nodded self-importantly.\n\n\"Sure. We just shot 'em--the squirrels. Ben here trapped the rabbits.\"\nHe paused, manifestly waiting for the proper awed admiration to come\ninto David's face.\n\nBut in David's startled eyes there was no awed admiration, there was\nonly disbelieving horror.\n\n\"You mean, you SENT them to the far country?\"\n\n\"We--what?\"\n\n\"Sent them. Made them go yourselves--to the far country?\"\n\nThe younger boy still stared. The older one grinned disagreeably.\n\n\"Sure,\" he answered with laconic indifference. \"We sent 'em to the far\ncountry, all right.\"\n\n\"But--how did you know they WANTED to go?\"\n\n\"Wanted--Eh?\" exploded the big boy. Then he grinned again, still more\ndisagreeably. \"Well, you see, my dear, we didn't ask 'em,\" he gibed.\n\nReal distress came into David's face.\n\n\"Then you don't know at all. And maybe they DIDn't want to go. And if\nthey didn't, how COULD they go singing, as father said? Father wasn't\nsent. He WENT. And he went singing. He said he did. But these--How\nwould YOU like to have somebody come along and send YOU to the far\ncountry, without even knowing if you wanted to go?\"\n\nThere was no answer. The boys, with a growing fear in their eyes, as at\nsight of something inexplicable and uncanny, were sidling away; and in\na moment they were hurrying down the hill, not, however, without a\nbackward glance or two, of something very like terror.\n\nDavid, left alone, went on his way with troubled eyes and a thoughtful\nfrown.\n\nDavid often wore, during those first few days at the Holly farmhouse, a\nthoughtful face and a troubled frown. There were so many, many things\nthat were different from his mountain home. Over and over, as those\nfirst long days passed, he read his letter until he knew it by\nheart--and he had need to. Was he not already surrounded by things and\npeople that were strange to him?\n\nAnd they were so very strange--these people! There were the boys and\nmen who rose at dawn--yet never paused to watch the sun flood the world\nwith light; who stayed in the fields all day--yet never raised their\neyes to the big fleecy clouds overhead; who knew birds only as thieves\nafter fruit and grain, and squirrels and rabbits only as creatures to\nbe trapped or shot. The women--they were even more incomprehensible.\nThey spent the long hours behind screened doors and windows, washing\nthe same dishes and sweeping the same floors day after day. They, too,\nnever raised their eyes to the blue sky outside, nor even to the\ncrimson roses that peeped in at the window. They seemed rather to be\nlooking always for dirt, yet not pleased when they found it--especially\nif it had been tracked in on the heel of a small boy's shoe!\n\nMore extraordinary than all this to David, however, was the fact that\nthese people regarded HIM, not themselves, as being strange. As if it\nwere not the most natural thing in the world to live with one's father\nin one's home on the mountain-top, and spend one's days trailing\nthrough the forest paths, or lying with a book beside some babbling\nlittle stream! As if it were not equally natural to take one's violin\nwith one at times, and learn to catch upon the quivering strings the\nwhisper of the winds through the trees! Even in winter, when the clouds\nthemselves came down from the sky and covered the earth with their soft\nwhiteness,--even then the forest was beautiful; and the song of the\nbrook under its icy coat carried a charm and mystery that were quite\nwanting in the chattering freedom of summer. Surely there was nothing\nstrange in all this, and yet these people seemed to think there was!\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nJOE\n\nDay by day, however, as time passed, David diligently tried to perform\nthe \"dos\" and avoid the \"don'ts\"; and day by day he came to realize how\nimportant weeds and woodboxes were, if he were to conform to what was\nevidently Farmer Holly's idea of \"playing in, tune\" in this strange new\nOrchestra of Life in which he found himself.\n\nBut, try as he would, there was yet an unreality about it all, a\npersistent feeling of uselessness and waste, that would not be set\naside. So that, after all, the only part of this strange new life of\nhis that seemed real to him was the time that came after four o'clock\neach day, when he was released from work.\n\nAnd how full he filled those hours! There was so much to see, so much\nto do. For sunny days there were field and stream and pasture land and\nthe whole wide town to explore. For rainy days, if he did not care to\ngo to walk, there was his room with the books in the chimney cupboard.\nSome of them David had read before, but many of them he had not. One or\ntwo were old friends; but not so \"Dare Devil Dick,\" and \"The Pirates of\nPigeon Cove\" (which he found hidden in an obscure corner behind a loose\nboard). Side by side stood \"The Lady of the Lake,\" \"Treasure Island,\"\nand \"David Copperfield\"; and coverless and dogeared lay \"Robinson\nCrusoe,\" \"The Arabian Nights,\" and \"Grimm's Fairy Tales.\" There were\nmore, many more, and David devoured them all with eager eyes. The good\nin them he absorbed as he absorbed the sunshine; the evil he cast aside\nunconsciously--it rolled off, indeed, like the proverbial water from\nthe duck's back.\n\nDavid hardly knew sometimes which he liked the better, his imaginative\nadventures between the covers of his books or his real adventures in\nhis daily strolls. True, it was not his mountain home--this place in\nwhich he found himself; neither was there anywhere his Silver Lake with\nits far, far-reaching sky above. More deplorable yet, nowhere was there\nthe dear father he loved so well. But the sun still set in rose and\ngold, and the sky, though small, still carried the snowy sails of its\ncloud-boats; while as to his father--his father had told him not to\ngrieve, and David was trying very hard to obey.\n\nWith his violin for company David started out each day, unless he\nelected to stay indoors with his books. Sometimes it was toward the\nvillage that he turned his steps; sometimes it was toward the hills\nback of the town. Whichever way it was, there was always sure to be\nsomething waiting at the end for him and his violin to discover, if it\nwas nothing more than a big white rose in bloom, or a squirrel sitting\nby the roadside.\n\nVery soon, however, David discovered that there was something to be\nfound in his wanderings besides squirrels and roses; and that\nwas--people. In spite of the strangeness of these people, they were\nwonderfully interesting, David thought. And after that he turned his\nsteps more and more frequently toward the village when four o'clock\nreleased him from the day's work.\n\nAt first David did not talk much to these people. He shrank sensitively\nfrom their bold stares and unpleasantly audible comments. He watched\nthem with round eyes of wonder and interest, however,--when he did not\nthink they were watching him. And in time he came to know not a little\nabout them and about the strange ways in which they passed their time.\n\nThere was the greenhouse man. It would be pleasant to spend one's day\ngrowing plants and flowers--but not under that hot, stifling glass\nroof, decided David. Besides, he would not want always to pick and send\naway the very prettiest ones to the city every morning, as the\ngreenhouse man did.\n\nThere was the doctor who rode all day long behind the gray mare, making\nsick folks well. David liked him, and mentally vowed that he himself\nwould be a doctor sometime. Still, there was the stage-driver--David\nwas not sure but he would prefer to follow this man's profession for a\nlife-work; for in his, one could still have the freedom of long days in\nthe open, and yet not be saddened by the sight of the sick before they\nhad been made well--which was where the stage-driver had the better of\nthe doctor, in David's opinion. There were the blacksmith and the\nstorekeepers, too, but to these David gave little thought or attention.\n\nThough he might not know what he did want to do, he knew very well what\nhe did not. All of which merely goes to prove that David was still on\nthe lookout for that great work which his father had said was waiting\nfor him out in the world.\n\nMeanwhile David played his violin. If he found a crimson rambler in\nbloom in a door-yard, he put it into a little melody of pure\ndelight--that a woman in the house behind the rambler heard the music\nand was cheered at her task, David did not know. If he found a kitten\nat play in the sunshine, he put it into a riotous abandonment of\ntumbling turns and trills--that a fretful baby heard and stopped its\nwailing, David also did not know. And once, just because the sky was\nblue and the air was sweet, and it was so good to be alive, David\nlifted his bow and put it all into a rapturous paean of ringing\nexultation--that a sick man in a darkened chamber above the street\nlifted his head, drew in his breath, and took suddenly a new lease of\nlife, David still again did not know. All of which merely goes to prove\nthat David had perhaps found his work and was doing it--although yet\nstill again David did not know.\n\nIt was in the cemetery one afternoon that David came upon the Lady in\nBlack. She was on her knees putting flowers on a little mound before\nher. She looked up as David approached. For a moment she gazed\nwistfully at him; then as if impelled by a hidden force, she spoke.\n\n\"Little boy, who are you?\"\n\n\"I'm David.\"\n\n\"David! David who? Do you live here? I've seen you here before.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I've been here quite a lot of times.\" Purposely the boy\nevaded the questions. David was getting tired of questions--especially\nthese questions.\n\n\"And have you--lost one dear to you, little boy?\"\n\n\"Lost some one?\"\n\n\"I mean--is your father or mother--here?\"\n\n \"Here? Oh, no, they aren't here. My mother is an angel-mother,\nand my father has gone to the far country. He is waiting for me there,\nyou know.\"\n\n\"But, that's the same--that is--\" She stopped helplessly, bewildered\neyes on David's serene face. Then suddenly a great light came to her\nown. \"Oh, little boy, I wish I could understand that--just that,\" she\nbreathed. \"It would make it so much easier--if I could just remember\nthat they aren't here--that they're WAITING--over there!\"\n\nBut David apparently did not hear. He had turned and was playing softly\nas he walked away. Silently the Lady in Black knelt, listening, looking\nafter him. When she rose some time later and left the cemetery, the\nlight on her face was still there, deeper, more glorified.\n\nToward boys and girls--especially boys--of his own age, David\nfrequently turned wistful eyes. David wanted a friend, a friend who\nwould know and understand; a friend who would see things as he saw\nthem, who would understand what he was saying when he played. It seemed\nto David that in some boy of his own age he ought to find such a\nfriend. He had seen many boys--but he had not yet found the friend.\nDavid had begun to think, indeed, that of all these strange beings in\nthis new life of his, boys were the strangest.\n\nThey stared and nudged each other unpleasantly when they came upon him\nplaying. They jeered when he tried to tell them what he had been\nplaying. They had never heard of the great Orchestra of Life, and they\nfell into most disconcerting fits of laughter, or else backed away as\nif afraid, when he told them that they themselves were instruments in\nit, and that if they did not keep themselves in tune, there was sure to\nbe a discord somewhere.\n\nThen there were their games and frolics. Such as were played with\nballs, bats, and bags of beans, David thought he would like very much.\nBut the boys only scoffed when he asked them to teach him how to play.\nThey laughed when a dog chased a cat, and they thought it very, very\nfunny when Tony, the old black man, tripped on the string they drew\nacross his path. They liked to throw stones and shoot guns, and the\nmore creeping, crawling, or flying creatures that they could send to\nthe far country, the happier they were, apparently. Nor did they like\nit at all when he asked them if they were sure all these creeping,\ncrawling, flying creatures wanted to leave this beautiful world and to\nbe made dead. They sneered and called him a sissy. David did not know\nwhat a sissy was; but from the way they said it, he judged it must be\neven worse to be a sissy than to be a thief.\n\nAnd then he discovered Joe.\n\nDavid had found himself in a very strange, very unlovely neighborhood\nthat afternoon. The street was full of papers and tin cans, the houses\nwere unspeakably forlorn with sagging blinds and lack of paint. Untidy\nwomen and blear-eyed men leaned over the dilapidated fences, or lolled\non mud-tracked doorsteps. David, his shrinking eyes turning from one\nside to the other, passed slowly through the street, his violin under\nhis arm. Nowhere could David find here the tiniest spot of beauty to\n\"play.\" He had reached quite the most forlorn little shanty on the\nstreet when the promise in his father's letter occurred to him. With a\nsuddenly illumined face, he raised his violin to position and plunged\ninto a veritable whirl of trills and runs and tripping melodies.\n\n\"If I didn't just entirely forget that I didn't NEED to SEE anything\nbeautiful to play,\" laughed David softly to himself. \"Why, it's already\nright here in my violin!\"\n\nDavid had passed the tumble-down shanty, and was hesitating where two\nstreets crossed, when he felt a light touch on his arm. He turned to\nconfront a small girl in a patched and faded calico dress, obviously\noutgrown. Her eyes were wide and frightened. In the middle of her\noutstretched dirty little palm was a copper cent.\n\n\"If you please, Joe sent this--to you,\" she faltered.\n\n\"To me? What for?\" David stopped playing and lowered his violin.\n\nThe little girl backed away perceptibly, though she still held out the\ncoin.\n\n\"He wanted you to stay and play some more. He said to tell you he'd 'a'\nsent more money if he could. But he didn't have it. He just had this\ncent.\"\n\nDavid's eyes flew wide open.\n\n\"You mean he WANTS me to play? He likes it?\" he asked joyfully.\n\n\"Yes. He said he knew 't wa'n't much--the cent. But he thought maybe\nyou'd play a LITTLE for it.\"\n\n\"Play? Of course I'll play\" cried David. \"Oh, no, I don't want the\nmoney,\" he added, waving the again-proffered coin aside. \"I don't need\nmoney where I'm living now. Where is he--the one that wanted me to\nplay?\" he finished eagerly.\n\n\"In there by the window. It's Joe. He's my brother.\" The little girl,\nin spite of her evident satisfaction at the accomplishment of her\npurpose, yet kept quite aloof from the boy. Nor did the fact that he\nrefused the money appear to bring her anything but uneasy surprise.\n\nIn the window David saw a boy apparently about his own age, a boy with\nsandy hair, pale cheeks, and wide-open, curiously intent blue eyes.\n\n\"Is he coming? Did you get him? Will he play?\" called the boy at the\nwindow eagerly.\n\n\"Yes, I'm right here. I'm the one. Can't you see the violin? Shall I\nplay here or come in?\" answered David, not one whit less eagerly.\n\nThe small girl opened her lips as if to explain something; but the boy\nin the window did not wait.\n\n\"Oh, come in. WILL you come in?\" he cried unbelievingly. \"And will you\njust let me touch it--the fiddle? Come! You WILL come? See, there isn't\nanybody home, only just Betty and me.\"\n\n\"Of course I will!\" David fairly stumbled up the broken steps in his\nimpatience to reach the wide-open door. \"Did you like it--what I\nplayed? And did you know what I was playing? Did you understand? Could\nyou see the cloud-boats up in the sky, and my Silver Lake down in the\nvalley? And could you hear the birds, and the winds in the trees, and\nthe little brooks? Could you? Oh, did you understand? I've so wanted to\nfind some one that could! But I wouldn't think that YOU--HERE--\" With a\ngesture, and an expression on his face that were unmistakable, David\ncame to a helpless pause.\n\n\"There, Joe, what'd I tell you,\" cried the little girl, in a husky\nwhisper, darting to her brother's side. \"Oh, why did you make me get\nhim here? Everybody says he's crazy as a loon, and--\"\n\nBut the boy reached out a quickly silencing hand. His face was\ncuriously alight, as if from an inward glow. His eyes, still widely\nintent, were staring straight ahead.\n\n\"Stop, Betty, wait,\" he hushed her. \"Maybe--I think I DO understand.\nBoy, you mean--INSIDE of you, you see those things, and then you try to\nmake your fiddle tell what you are seeing. Is that it?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" cried David. \"Oh, you DO understand. And I never thought\nyou could. I never thought that anybody could that did n't have\nanything to look at but him--but these things.\"\n\n\"'Anything but these to look at'!\" echoed the boy, with a sudden\nanguish in his voice. \"Anything but these! I guess if I could see\nANYTHING, I wouldn't mind WHAT I see! An' you wouldn't, neither, if you\nwas--blind, like me.\"\n\n\"Blind!\" David fell back. Face and voice were full of horror. \"You mean\nyou can't see--anything, with your eyes?\"\n\n\"Nothin'.\"\n\n\"Oh! I never saw any one blind before. There was one in a book--but\nfather took it away. Since then, in books down here, I've found\nothers--but--\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. Well, never mind that,\" cut in the blind boy, growing\nrestive under the pity in the other's voice. \"Play. Won't you?\"\n\n\"But how are you EVER going to know what a beautiful world it is?\"\nshuddered David. \"How can you know? And how can you ever play in tune?\nYou're one of the instruments. Father said everybody was. And he said\neverybody was playing SOMETHING all the time; and if you didn't play in\ntune--\"\n\n\"Joe, Joe, please,\" begged the little girl \"Won't you let him go? I'm\nafraid. I told you--\"\n\n\"Shucks, Betty! He won't hurt ye,\" laughed Joe, a little irritably.\nThen to David he turned again with some sharpness.\n\n\"Play, won't ye? You SAID you'd play!\"\n\n\"Yes, oh, yes, I'll play,\" faltered David, bringing his violin hastily\nto position, and testing the strings with fingers that shook a little.\n\n\"There!\" breathed Joe, settling back in his chair with a contented\nsigh. \"Now, play it again--what you did before.\"\n\nBut David did not play what he did before--at first. There were no airy\ncloud-boats, no far-reaching sky, no birds, or murmuring forest brooks\nin his music this time. There were only the poverty-stricken room, the\ndirty street, the boy alone at the window, with his sightless eyes--the\nboy who never, never would know what a beautiful world he lived in.\n\nThen suddenly to David came a new thought. This boy, Joe, had said\nbefore that he understood. He had seemed to know that he was being told\nof the sunny skies and the forest winds, the singing birds and the\nbabbling brooks. Perhaps again now he would understand.\n\nWhat if, for those sightless eyes, one could create a world?\n\nPossibly never before had David played as he played then. It was as if\nupon those four quivering strings, he was laying the purple and gold of\na thousand sunsets, the rose and amber of a thousand sunrises, the\ngreen of a boundless earth, the blue of a sky that reached to heaven\nitself--to make Joe understand.\n\n\"Gee!\" breathed Joe, when the music came to an end with a crashing\nchord. \"Say, wa'n't that just great? Won't you let me, please, just\ntouch that fiddle?\" And David, looking into the blind boy's exalted\nface, knew that Joe had indeed--understood.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE LADY OF THE ROSES\n\nIt was a new world, indeed, that David created for Joe after that--a\nworld that had to do with entrancing music where once was silence;\ndelightful companionship where once was loneliness; and toothsome\ncookies and doughnuts where once was hunger.\n\nThe Widow Glaspell, Joe's mother, worked out by the day, scrubbing and\nwashing; and Joe, perforce, was left to the somewhat erratic and\ndecidedly unskillful ministrations of Betty. Betty was no worse, and no\nbetter, than any other untaught, irresponsible twelve-year-old girl,\nand it was not to be expected, perhaps, that she would care to spend\nall the bright sunny hours shut up with her sorely afflicted and\nsomewhat fretful brother. True, at noon she never failed to appear and\nprepare something that passed for a dinner for herself and Joe. But the\nGlaspell larder was frequently almost as empty as were the hungry\nstomachs that looked to it for refreshment; and it would have taken a\nfar more skillful cook than was the fly-away Betty to evolve anything\nfrom it that was either palatable or satisfying.\n\nWith the coming of David into Joe's life all this was changed. First,\nthere were the music and the companionship. Joe's father had \"played in\nthe band\" in his youth, and (according to the Widow Glaspell) had been\na \"powerful hand for music.\" It was from him, presumably, that Joe had\ninherited his passion for melody and harmony; and it was no wonder that\nDavid recognized so soon in the blind boy the spirit that made them\nkin. At the first stroke of David's bow, indeed, the dingy walls about\nthem would crumble into nothingness, and together the two boys were off\nin a fairy world of loveliness and joy.\n\nNor was listening always Joe's part. From \"just touching\" the\nviolin--his first longing plea--he came to drawing a timid bow across\nthe strings. In an incredibly short time, then, he was picking out bits\nof melody; and by the end of a fortnight David had brought his father's\nviolin for Joe to practice on.\n\n\"I can't GIVE it to you--not for keeps,\" David had explained, a bit\ntremulously, \"because it was daddy's, you know; and when I see it, it\nseems almost as if I was seeing him. But you may take it. Then you can\nhave it here to play on whenever you like.\"\n\nAfter that, in Joe's own hands lay the power to transport himself into\nanother world, for with the violin for company he knew no loneliness.\n\nNor was the violin all that David brought to the house. There were the\ndoughnuts and the cookies. Very early in his visits David had\ndiscovered, much to his surprise, that Joe and Betty were often hungry.\n\n\"But why don't you go down to the store and buy something?\" he had\nqueried at once.\n\nUpon being told that there was no money to buy with, David's first\nimpulse had been to bring several of the gold-pieces the next time he\ncame; but upon second thoughts David decided that he did not dare. He\nwas not wishing to be called a thief a second time. It would be better,\nhe concluded, to bring some food from the house instead.\n\nIn his mountain home everything the house afforded in the way of food\nhad always been freely given to the few strangers that found their way\nto the cabin door. So now David had no hesitation in going to Mrs.\nHolly's pantry for supplies, upon the occasion of his next visit to Joe\nGlaspell's.\n\nMrs. Holly, coming into the kitchen, found him merging from the pantry\nwith both hands full of cookies and doughnuts.\n\n\"Why, David, what in the world does this mean?\" she demanded.\n\n\"They're for Joe and Betty,\" smiled David happily.\n\n\"For Joe and--But those doughnuts and cookies don't belong to you.\nThey're mine!\"\n\n\"Yes, I know they are. I told them you had plenty,\" nodded David.\n\n\"Plenty! What if I have?\" remonstrated Mrs. Holly, in growing\nindignation. \"That doesn't mean that you can take--\" Something in\nDavid's face stopped the words half-spoken.\n\n\"You don't mean that I CAN'T take them to Joe and Betty, do you? Why,\nMrs. Holly, they're hungry! Joe and Betty are. They don't have half\nenough to eat. Betty said so. And we've got more than we want. There's\nfood left on the table every day. Why, if YOU were hungry, wouldn't you\nwant somebody to bring--\"\n\nBut Mrs. Holly stopped him with a despairing gesture.\n\n\"There, there, never mind. Run along. Of course you can take them.\nI'm--I'm GLAD to have you,\" she finished, in a desperate attempt to\ndrive from David's face that look of shocked incredulity with which he\nwas still regarding her.\n\nNever again did Mrs. Holly attempt to thwart David's generosity to the\nGlaspells; but she did try to regulate it. She saw to it that\nthereafter, upon his visits to the house, he took only certain things\nand a certain amount, and invariably things of her own choosing.\n\nBut not always toward the Glaspell shanty did David turn his steps.\nVery frequently it was in quite another direction. He had been at the\nHolly farmhouse three weeks when he found his Lady of the Roses.\n\nHe had passed quite through the village that day, and had come to a\nroad that was new to him. It was a beautiful road, smooth, white, and\nfirm. Two huge granite posts topped with flaming nasturtiums marked the\npoint where it turned off from the main highway. Beyond these, as David\nsoon found, it ran between wide-spreading lawns and flowering shrubs,\nleading up the gentle <DW72> of a hill. Where it led to, David did not\nknow, but he proceeded unhesitatingly to try to find out. For some time\nhe climbed the <DW72> in silence, his violin, mute, under his arm; but\nthe white road still lay in tantalizing mystery before him when a\nby-path offered the greater temptation, and lured him to explore its\ncool shadowy depths instead.\n\nHad David but known it, he was at Sunny-crest, Hinsdale's one \"show\nplace,\" the country home of its one really rich resident, Miss Barbara\nHolbrook. Had he also but known it, Miss Holbrook was not celebrated\nfor her graciousness to any visitors, certainly not to those who\nventured to approach her otherwise than by a conventional ring at her\nfront doorbell. But David did not know all this; and he therefore very\nhappily followed the shady path until he came to the Wonder at the end\nof it.\n\nThe Wonder, in Hinsdale parlance, was only Miss Holbrook's garden, but\nin David's eyes it was fairyland come true. For one whole minute he\ncould only stand like a very ordinary little boy and stare. At the end\nof the minute he became himself once more; and being himself, he\nexpressed his delight at once in the only way he knew how to do--by\nraising his violin and beginning to play.\n\nHe had meant to tell of the limpid pool and of the arch of the bridge\nit reflected; of the terraced lawns and marble steps, and of the\ngleaming white of the sculptured nymphs and fauns; of the splashes of\nglorious crimson, yellow, blush-pink, and snowy white against the\ngreen, where the roses rioted in luxurious bloom. He had meant, also,\nto tell of the Queen Rose of them all--the beauteous lady with hair\nlike the gold of sunrise, and a gown like the shimmer of the moon on\nwater--of all this he had meant to tell; but he had scarcely begun to\ntell it at all when the Beauteous Lady of the Roses sprang to her feet\nand became so very much like an angry young woman who is seriously\ndispleased that David could only lower his violin in dismay.\n\n\"Why, boy, what does this mean?\" she demanded.\n\nDavid sighed a little impatiently as he came forward into the sunlight.\n\n\"But I was just telling you,\" he remonstrated, \"and you would not let\nme finish.\"\n\n\"Telling me!\"\n\n\"Yes, with my violin. COULDn't you understand?\" appealed the boy\nwistfully. \"You looked as if you could!\"\n\n\"Looked as if I could!\"\n\n\"Yes. Joe understood, you see, and I was surprised when HE did. But I\nwas just sure you could--with all this to look at.\"\n\nThe lady frowned. Half-unconsciously she glanced about her as if\ncontemplating flight. Then she turned back to the boy.\n\n\"But how came you here? Who are you?\" she cried.\n\n\"I'm David. I walked here through the little path back there. I didn't\nknow where it went to, but I'm so glad now I found out!\"\n\n\"Oh, are you!\" murmured the lady, with slightly uplifted brows.\n\nShe was about to tell him very coldly that now that he had found his\nway there he might occupy himself in finding it home again, when the\nboy interposed rapturously, his eyes sweeping the scene before him:--\n\n\"Yes. I didn't suppose, anywhere, down here, there was a place one half\nso beautiful!\"\n\nAn odd feeling of uncanniness sent a swift exclamation to the lady's\nlips.\n\n\"'Down here'! What do you mean by that? You speak as if you came\nfrom--above,\" she almost laughed.\n\n\"I did,\" returned David simply. \"But even up there I never found\nanything quite like this,\"--with a sweep of his hands,--\"nor like you,\nO Lady of the Roses,\" he finished with an admiration that was as open\nas it was ardent.\n\nThis time the lady laughed outright. She even blushed a little.\n\n\"Very prettily put, Sir Flatterer\" she retorted; \"but when you are\nolder, young man, you won't make your compliments quite so broad. I am\nno Lady of the Roses. I am Miss Holbrook; and--and I am not in the\nhabit of receiving gentlemen callers who are uninvited\nand--unannounced,\" she concluded, a little sharply.\n\nPointless the shaft fell at David's feet. He had turned again to the\nbeauties about him, and at that moment he spied the sundial--something\nhe had never seen before.\n\n\"What is it?\" he cried eagerly, hurrying forward. \"It isn't exactly\npretty, and yet it looks as if 't were meant for--something.\"\n\n\"It is. It is a sundial. It marks the time by the sun.\"\n\nEven as she spoke, Miss Holbrook wondered why she answered the question\nat all; why she did not send this small piece of nonchalant\nimpertinence about his business, as he so richly deserved. The next\ninstant she found herself staring at the boy in amazement. With\nunmistakable ease, and with the trained accent of the scholar, he was\nreading aloud the Latin inscription on the dial: \"'Horas non numero\nnisi serenas,' 'I count--no--hours but--unclouded ones,'\" he translated\nthen, slowly, though with confidence. \"That's pretty; but what does it\nmean--about 'counting'?\"\n\nMiss Holbrook rose to her feet.\n\n\"For Heaven's sake, boy, who, and what are you?\" she demanded. \"Can YOU\nread Latin?\"\n\n\"Why, of course! Can't you?\" With a disdainful gesture Miss Holbrook\nswept this aside.\n\n\"Boy, who are you?\" she demanded again imperatively.\n\n\"I'm David. I told you.\"\n\n\"But David who? Where do you live?\"\n\nThe boy's face clouded.\n\n\"I'm David--just David. I live at Farmer Holly's now; but I did live on\nthe mountain with--father, you know.\"\n\nA great light of understanding broke over Miss Holbrook's face. She\ndropped back into her seat.\n\n\"Oh, I remember,\" she murmured. \"You're the little--er--boy whom he\ntook. I have heard the story. So THAT is who you are,\" she added, the\nold look of aversion coming back to her eyes. She had almost said \"the\nlittle tramp boy\"--but she had stopped in time.\n\n\"Yes. And now what do they mean, please,--those words,--'I count no\nhours but unclouded ones'?\"\n\nMiss Holbrook stirred in her seat and frowned.\n\n\"Why, it means what it says, of course, boy. A sundial counts its hours\nby the shadow the sun throws, and when there is no sun there is no\nshadow; hence it's only the sunny hours that are counted by the dial,\"\nshe explained a little fretfully.\n\nDavid's face radiated delight.\n\n\"Oh, but I like that!\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"You like it!\"\n\n\"Yes. I should like to be one myself, you know.\"\n\n\"Well, really! And how, pray?\" In spite of herself a faint gleam of\ninterest came into Miss Holbrook's eyes.\n\nDavid laughed and dropped himself easily to the ground at her feet. He\nwas holding his violin on his knees now.\n\n\"Why, it would be such fun,\" he chuckled, \"to just forget all about the\nhours when the sun didn't shine, and remember only the nice, pleasant\nones. Now for me, there wouldn't be any hours, really, until after four\no'clock, except little specks of minutes that I'd get in between when I\nDID see something interesting.\"\n\nMiss Holbrook stared frankly.\n\n\"What an extraordinary boy you are, to be sure,\" she murmured. \"And\nwhat, may I ask, is it that you do every day until four o'clock, that\nyou wish to forget?\"\n\nDavid sighed.\n\n\"Well, there are lots of things. I hoed potatoes and corn, first, but\nthey're too big now, mostly; and I pulled up weeds, too, till they were\ngone. I've been picking up stones, lately, and clearing up the yard.\nThen, of course, there's always the woodbox to fill, and the eggs to\nhunt, besides the chickens to feed,--though I don't mind THEM so much;\nbut I do the other things, 'specially the weeds. They were so much\nprettier than the things I had to let grow, 'most always.\"\n\nMiss Holbrook laughed.\n\n\"Well, they were; and really\" persisted the boy, in answer to the\nmerriment in her eyes; \"now wouldn't it be nice to be like the sundial,\nand forget everything the sun didn't shine on? Would n't you like it?\nIsn't there anything YOU want to forget?\"\n\nMiss Holbrook sobered instantly. The change in her face was so very\nmarked, indeed, that involuntarily David looked about for something\nthat might have cast upon it so great a shadow. For a long minute she\ndid not speak; then very slowly, very bitterly, she said aloud--yet as\nif to herself:--\n\n\"Yes. If I had my way I'd forget them every one--these hours; every\nsingle one!\"\n\n\"Oh, Lady of the Roses!\" expostulated David in a voice quivering with\nshocked dismay. \"You don't mean--you can't mean that you don't have\nANY--sun!\"\n\n\"I mean just that,\" bowed Miss Holbrook wearily, her eyes on the somber\nshadows of the pool; \"just that!\"\n\nDavid sat stunned, confounded. Across the marble steps and the terraces\nthe shadows lengthened, and David watched them as the sun dipped behind\nthe tree-tops. They seemed to make more vivid the chill and the gloom\nof the lady's words--more real the day that had no sun. After a time\nthe boy picked up his violin and began to play, softly, and at first\nwith evident hesitation. Even when his touch became more confident,\nthere was still in the music a questioning appeal that seemed to find\nno answer--an appeal that even the player himself could not have\nexplained.\n\nFor long minutes the young woman and the boy sat thus in the twilight.\nThen suddenly the woman got to her feet.\n\n\"Come, come, boy, what can I be thinking of?\" she cried sharply. \"I\nmust go in and you must go home. Good-night.\" And she swept across the\ngrass to the path that led toward the house.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nJACK AND JILL\n\nDavid was tempted to go for a second visit to his Lady of the Roses,\nbut something he could not define held him back. The lady was in his\nmind almost constantly, however; and very vivid to him was the picture\nof the garden, though always it was as he had seen it last with the\nhush and shadow of twilight, and with the lady's face gloomily turned\ntoward the sunless pool. David could not forget that for her there were\nno hours to count; she had said it herself. He could not understand how\nthis could be so; and the thought filled him with vague unrest and pain.\n\nPerhaps it was this restlessness that drove David to explore even more\npersistently the village itself, sending him into new streets in search\nof something strange and interesting. One day the sound of shouts and\nlaughter drew him to an open lot back of the church where some boys\nwere at play.\n\nDavid still knew very little of boys. In his mountain home he had never\nhad them for playmates, and he had not seen much of them when he went\nwith his father to the mountain village for supplies. There had been,\nit is true, the boy who frequently brought milk and eggs to the cabin;\nbut he had been very quiet and shy, appearing always afraid and anxious\nto get away, as if he had been told not to stay. More recently, since\nDavid had been at the Holly farmhouse, his experience with boys had\nbeen even less satisfying. The boys--with the exception of blind\nJoe--had very clearly let it be understood that they had little use for\na youth who could find nothing better to do than to tramp through the\nwoods and the streets with a fiddle under his arm.\n\nTo-day, however, there came a change. Perhaps they were more used to\nhim; or perhaps they had decided suddenly that it might be good fun to\nsatisfy their curiosity, anyway, regardless of consequences. Whatever\nit was, the lads hailed his appearance with wild shouts of glee.\n\n\"Golly, boys, look! Here's the fiddlin' kid,\" yelled one; and the\nothers joined in the \"Hurrah!\" he gave.\n\nDavid smiled delightedly; once more he had found some one who wanted\nhim--and it was so nice to be wanted! Truth to tell, David had felt not\na little hurt at the persistent avoidance of all those boys and girls\nof his own age.\n\n\"How--how do you do?\" he said diffidently, but still with that beaming\nsmile.\n\nAgain the boys shouted gleefully as they hurried forward. Several had\nshort sticks in their hands. One had an old tomato can with a string\ntied to it. The tallest boy had something that he was trying to hold\nbeneath his coat.\n\n\"'H--how do you do?'\" they mimicked. \"How do you do, fiddlin' kid?\"\n\n\"I'm David; my name is David.\" The reminder was graciously given, with\na smile.\n\n\"David! David! His name is David,\" chanted the boys, as if they were a\ncomic-opera chorus.\n\nDavid laughed outright.\n\n\"Oh, sing it again, sing it again!\" he crowed. \"That sounded fine!\"\n\nThe boys stared, then sniffed disdainfully, and cast derisive glances\ninto each other's eyes--it appeared that this little sissy tramp boy\ndid not even know enough to discover when he was being laughed at!\n\n\"David! David! His name is David,\" they jeered into his face again.\n\"Come on, tune her up! We want ter dance.\"\n\n\"Play? Of course I'll play,\" cried David joyously, raising his violin\nand testing a string for its tone.\n\n\"Here, hold on,\" yelled the tallest boy. \"The Queen o' the Ballet ain't\nready\". And he cautiously pulled from beneath his coat a struggling\nkitten with a perforated bag tied over its head.\n\n\"Sure! We want her in the middle,\" grinned the boy with the tin can.\n\"Hold on till I get her train tied to her,\" he finished, trying to\ncapture the swishing, fluffy tail of the frightened little cat.\n\nDavid had begun to play, but he stopped his music with a discordant\nstroke of the bow.\n\n\"What are you doing? What is the matter with that cat?\" he demanded.\n\n\"'Matter'!\" called a derisive voice. \"Sure, nothin' 's the matter with\nher. She's the Queen o' the Ballet--she is!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" cried David. At that moment the string bit hard\ninto the captured tail, and the kitten cried out with the pain. \"Look\nout! You're hurting her,\" cautioned David sharply.\n\nOnly a laugh and a jeering word answered. Then the kitten, with the bag\non its head and the tin can tied to its tail, was let warily to the\nground, the tall boy still holding its back with both hands.\n\n\"Ready, now! Come on, play,\" he ordered; \"then we'll set her dancing.\"\n\nDavid's eyes flashed.\n\n\"I will not play--for that.\"\n\nThe boys stopped laughing suddenly.\n\n\"Eh? What?\" They could scarcely have been more surprised if the kitten\nitself had said the words.\n\n\"I say I won't play--I can't play--unless you let that cat go.\"\n\n\"Hoity-toity! Won't ye hear that now?\" laughed a mocking voice. \"And\nwhat if we say we won't let her go, eh?\"\n\n\"Then I'll make you,\" vowed David, aflame with a newborn something that\nseemed to have sprung full-grown into being.\n\n\"Yow!\" hooted the tallest boy, removing both hands from the captive\nkitten.\n\nThe kitten, released, began to back frantically. The can, dangling at\nits heels, rattled and banged and thumped, until the frightened little\ncreature, crazed with terror, became nothing but a whirling mass of\nmisery. The boys, formed now into a crowing circle of delight, kept the\nkitten within bounds, and flouted David mercilessly.\n\n\"Ah, ha!--stop us, will ye? Why don't ye stop us?\" they gibed.\n\nFor a moment David stood without movement, his eyes staring. The next\ninstant he turned and ran. The jeers became a chorus of triumphant\nshouts then--but not for long. David had only hurried to the woodpile\nto lay down his violin. He came back then, on the run--and before the\ntallest boy could catch his breath he was felled by a stinging blow on\nthe jaw.\n\nOver by the church a small girl, red-haired and red-eyed, clambered\nhastily over the fence behind which for long minutes she had been\ncrying and wringing her hands.\n\n\"He'll be killed, he'll be killed,\" she moaned.  \"And it's my fault,\n'cause it's my kitty--it's my kitty,\" she sobbed, straining her eyes to\ncatch a glimpse of the kitten's protector in the squirming mass of legs\nand arms.\n\nThe kitten, unheeded now by the boys, was pursuing its backward whirl\nto destruction some distance away, and very soon the little girl\ndiscovered her. With a bound and a choking cry she reached the kitten,\nremoved the bag and unbound the cruel string. Then, sitting on the\nground, a safe distance away, she soothed the palpitating little bunch\nof gray fur, and watched with fearful eyes the fight.\n\nAnd what a fight it was! There was no question, of course, as to its\nfinal outcome, with six against one; but meanwhile the one was giving\nthe six the surprise of their lives in the shape of well-dealt blows\nand skillful twists and turns that caused their own strength and weight\nto react upon themselves in a most astonishing fashion. The one\nunmistakably was getting the worst of it, however, when the little\ngirl, after a hurried dash to the street, brought back with her to the\nrescue a tall, smooth-shaven young man whom she had hailed from afar as\n\"Jack.\"\n\nJack put a stop to things at once. With vigorous jerks and pulls he\nunsnarled the writhing mass, boy by boy, each one of whom, upon\ncatching sight of his face, slunk hurriedly away, as if glad to escape\nso lightly. There was left finally upon the ground only David alone.\nBut when David did at last appear, the little girl burst into tears\nanew.\n\n\"Oh, Jack, he's killed--I know he's killed,\" she wailed. \"And he was so\nnice and--and pretty. And now--look at him! Ain't he a sight?\"\n\nDavid was not killed, but he was--a sight. His blouse was torn, his tie\nwas gone, and his face and hands were covered with dirt and blood.\nAbove one eye was an ugly-looking lump, and below the other was a red\nbruise. Somewhat dazedly he responded to the man's helpful hand, pulled\nhimself upright, and looked about him. He did not see the little girl\nbehind him.\n\n\"Where's the cat?\" he asked anxiously.\n\nThe unexpected happened then. With a sobbing cry the little girl flung\nherself upon him, cat and all.\n\n\"Here, right here,\" she choked. \"And it was you who saved her--my\nJuliette! And I'll love you, love you, love you always for it!\"\n\n\"There, there, Jill,\" interposed the man a little hurriedly. \"Suppose\nwe first show our gratitude by seeing if we can't do something to make\nour young warrior here more comfortable.\" And he began to brush off\nwith his handkerchief some of the accumulated dirt.\n\n\"Why can't we take him home, Jack, and clean him up 'fore other folks\nsee him?\" suggested the girl.\n\nThe boy turned quickly.\n\n\"Did you call him 'Jack'?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And he called you, Jill'?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The real 'Jack and Jill' that 'went up the hill'?\" The man and the\ngirl laughed; but the girl shook her head as she answered,--\n\n\"Not really--though we do go up a hill, all right, every day. But those\naren't even our own names. We just call each other that for fun. Don't\nYOU ever call things--for fun?\"\n\nDavid's face lighted up in spite of the dirt, the lump, and the bruise.\n\n\"Oh, do you do that?\" he breathed.  \"Say, I just know I'd like to play\nto you! You'd understand!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, and he plays, too,\" explained the little girl, turning to the\nman rapturously. \"On a fiddle, you know, like you.\"\n\nShe had not finished her sentence before David was away, hurrying a\nlittle unsteadily across the lot for his violin. When he came back the\nman was looking at him with an anxious frown.\n\n\"Suppose you come home with us, boy,\" he said. \"It isn't far--through\nthe hill pasture, 'cross lots,--and we'll look you over a bit. That\nlump over your eye needs attention.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" beamed David. \"I'd like to go, and--I'm glad you want me!\"\nHe spoke to the man, but he looked at the little red-headed girl, who\nstill held the gray kitten in her arms.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nANSWERS THAT DID NOT ANSWER\n\n\"Jack and Jill,\" it appeared, were a brother and sister who lived in a\ntiny house on a hill directly across the creek from Sunnycrest. Beyond\nthis David learned little until after bumps and bruises and dirt had\nbeen carefully attended to. He had then, too, some questions to answer\nconcerning himself.\n\n\"And now, if you please,\" began the man smilingly, as he surveyed the\nboy with an eye that could see no further service to be rendered, \"do\nyou mind telling me who you are, and how you came to be the center of\nattraction for the blows and cuffs of six boys?\"\n\n\"I'm David, and I wanted the cat,\" returned the boy simply.\n\n\"Well, that's direct and to the point, to say the least,\" laughed the\nman. \"Evidently, however, you're in the habit of being that. But,\nDavid, there were six of them,--those boys,--and some of them were\nlarger than you.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"And they were so bad and cruel,\" chimed in the little girl.\n\nThe man hesitated, then questioned slowly.\n\n\"And may I ask you where you--er--learned to--fight like that?\"\n\n\"I used to box with father. He said I must first be well and strong. He\ntaught me jiujitsu, too, a little; but I couldn't make it work very\nwell--with so many.\"\n\n\"I should say not,\" adjudged the man grimly. \"But you gave them a\nsurprise or two, I'll warrant,\" he added, his eyes on the cause of the\ntrouble, now curled in a little gray bunch of content on the window\nsill. \"But I don't know yet who you are. Who is your father? Where does\nhe live?\"\n\nDavid shook his head. As was always the case when his father was\nmentioned, his face grew wistful and his eyes dreamy.\n\n\"He doesn't live here anywhere,\" murmured the boy. \"In the far country\nhe is waiting for me to come to him and tell him of the beautiful world\nI have found, you know.\"\n\n\"Eh? What?\" stammered the man, not knowing whether to believe his eyes,\nor his ears. This boy who fought like a demon and talked like a saint,\nand who, though battered and bruised, prattled of the \"beautiful world\"\nhe had found, was most disconcerting.\n\n\"Why, Jack, don't you know?\" whispered the little girl agitatedly.\n\"He's the boy at Mr. Holly's that they took.\" Then, still more softly:\n\"He's the little tramp boy. His father died in the barn.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said the man, his face clearing, and his eyes showing a quick\nsympathy. \"You're the boy at the Holly farmhouse, are you?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"And he plays the fiddle everywhere,\" volunteered the little girl, with\nardent admiration. \"If you hadn't been shut up sick just now, you'd\nhave heard him yourself. He plays everywhere--everywhere he goes.\"\n\n\"Is that so?\" murmured Jack politely, shuddering a little at what he\nfancied would come from a violin played by a boy like the one before\nhim. (Jack could play the violin himself a little--enough to know it\nsome, and love it more.) \"Hm-m; well, and what else do you do?\"\n\n\"Nothing, except to go for walks and read.\"\n\n\"Nothing!--a big boy like you--and on Simeon Holly's farm?\" Voice and\nmanner showed that Jack was not unacquainted with Simeon Holly and his\nmethods and opinions.\n\nDavid laughed gleefully.\n\n\"Oh, of course, REALLY I do lots of things, only I don't count those\nany more. 'Horas non numero nisi serenas,' you knew,\" he quoted\npleasantly, smiling into the man's astonished eyes.\n\n\"Jack, what was that--what he said?\" whispered the little girl. \"It\nsounded foreign. IS he foreign?\"\n\n\"You've got me, Jill,\" retorted the man, with a laughing grimace.\n\"Heaven only knows what he is--I don't. What he SAID was Latin; I do\nhappen to know that. Still\"--he turned to the boy ironically--\"of\ncourse you know the translation of that,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, yes. 'I count no hours but unclouded ones'--and I liked that. 'T\nwas on a sundial, you know; and I'M going to be a sundial, and not\ncount, the hours I don't like--while I'm pulling up weeds, and hoeing\npotatoes, and picking up stones, and all that. Don't you see?\"\n\nFor a moment the man stared dumbly. Then he threw back his head and\nlaughed.\n\n\"Well, by George!\" he muttered. \"By George!\" And he laughed again.\nThen: \"And did your father teach you that, too?\" he asked.\n\n\"Oh, no,--well, he taught me Latin, and so of course I could read it\nwhen I found it. But those 'special words I got off the sundial where\nmy Lady of the Roses lives.\"\n\n\"Your--Lady of the Roses! And who is she?\"\n\n\"Why, don't you know? You live right in sight of her house,\" cried\nDavid, pointing to the towers of Sunnycrest that showed above the\ntrees. \"It's over there she lives. I know those towers now, and I look\nfor them wherever I go. I love them. It makes me see all over again the\nroses--and her.\"\n\n\"You mean--Miss Holbrook?\"\n\nThe voice was so different from the genial tones that he had heard\nbefore that David looked up in surprise.\n\n\"Yes; she said that was her name,\" he answered, wondering at the\nindefinable change that had come to the man's face.\n\nThere was a moment's pause, then the man rose to his feet.\n\n\"How's your head? Does it ache?\" he asked briskly.\n\n\"Not much--some. I--I think I'll be going,\" replied David, a little\nawkwardly, reaching for his violin, and unconsciously showing by his\nmanner the sudden chill in the atmosphere.\n\nThe little girl spoke then. She overwhelmed him again with thanks, and\npointed to the contented kitten on the window sill. True, she did not\ntell him this time that she would love, love, love him always; but she\nbeamed upon him gratefully and she urged him to come soon again, and\noften.\n\nDavid bowed himself off, with many a backward wave of the hand, and\nmany a promise to come again. Not until he had quite reached the bottom\nof the hill did he remember that the man, \"Jack,\" had said almost\nnothing at the last. As David recollected him, indeed, he had last been\nseen standing beside one of the veranda posts, with gloomy eyes fixed\non the towers of Sunnycrest that showed red-gold above the tree-tops in\nthe last rays of the setting sun.\n\nIt was a bad half-hour that David spent at the Holly farmhouse in\nexplanation of his torn blouse and bruised face. Farmer Holly did not\napprove of fights, and he said so, very sternly indeed. Even Mrs.\nHolly, who was usually so kind to him, let David understand that he was\nin deep disgrace, though  she was very tender to his wounds.\n\nDavid did venture to ask her, however, before he went upstairs to bed:--\n\n\"Mrs. Holly, who are those people--Jack and Jill--that were so good to\nme this afternoon?\"\n\n\"They are John Gurnsey and his sister, Julia; but the whole town knows\nthem by the names they long ago gave themselves, 'Jack' and 'Jill.'\"\n\n\"And do they live all alone in the little house?\"\n\n\"Yes, except for the Widow Glaspell, who comes in several times a week,\nI believe, to cook and wash and sweep. They aren't very happy, I'm\nafraid, David, and I'm glad you could rescue the little girl's kitten\nfor her--but you mustn't fight. No good can come of fighting!\"\n\n\"I got the cat--by fighting.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I know; but--\" She did not finish her sentence, and David\nwas only waiting for a pause to ask another question.\n\n\"Why aren't they happy, Mrs. Holly?\"\n\n\"Tut, tut, David, it's a long story, and you wouldn't understand it if\nI told it. It's only that they're all alone in the world, and Jack\nGurnsey isn't well. He must be thirty years old now. He had bright\nhopes not so long ago studying law, or something of the sort, in the\ncity. Then his father died, and his mother, and he lost his health.\nSomething ails his lungs, and the doctors sent him here to be out of\ndoors. He even sleeps out of doors, they say. Anyway, he's here, and\nhe's making a home for his sister; but, of course, with his hopes and\nambitions--But there, David, you don't understand, of course!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I do,\" breathed David, his eyes pensively turned toward a\nshadowy corner. \"He found his work out in the world, and then he had to\nstop and couldn't do it. Poor Mr. Jack!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nA SURPRISE FOR MR. JACK\n\nLife at the Holly farmhouse was not what it had been. The coming of\nDavid had introduced new elements that promised complications. Not\nbecause he was another mouth to feed--Simeon Holly was not worrying\nabout that part any longer. Crops showed good promise, and all ready in\nthe bank even now was the necessary money to cover the dreaded note,\ndue the last of August. The complicating elements in regard to David\nwere of quite another nature.\n\nTo Simeon Holly the boy was a riddle to be sternly solved. To Ellen\nHolly he was an everpresent reminder of the little boy of long ago, and\nas such was to be loved and trained into a semblance of what that boy\nmight have become. To Perry Larson, David was the \"derndest\ncheckerboard of sense an' nonsense goin'\"--a game over which to chuckle.\n\nAt the Holly farmhouse they could not understand a boy who would leave\na supper for a sunset, or who preferred a book to a toy pistol--as\nPerry Larson found out was the case on the Fourth of July; who picked\nflowers, like a girl, for the table, yet who unhesitatingly struck the\nfirst blow in a fight with six antagonists: who would not go fishing\nbecause the fishes would not like it, nor hunting for any sort of wild\nthing that had life; who hung entranced for an hour over the \"millions\nof lovely striped bugs\" in a field of early potatoes, and who promptly\nand stubbornly refused to sprinkle those same \"lovely bugs\" with Paris\ngreen when discovered at his worship. All this was most perplexing, to\nsay the least.\n\nYet David worked, and worked well, and in most cases he obeyed orders\nwillingly. He learned much, too, that was interesting and profitable;\nnor was he the only one that made strange discoveries during those July\ndays. The Hollys themselves learned much. They learned that the rose of\nsunset and the gold of sunrise were worth looking at; and that the\nmassing of the thunderheads in the west meant more than just a shower.\nThey learned, too, that the green of the hilltop and of the\nfar-reaching meadow was more than grass, and that the purple haze along\nthe horizon was more than the mountains that lay between them and the\nnext State. They were beginning to see the world with David's eyes.\n\nThere were, too, the long twilights and evenings when David, on the\nwings of his violin, would speed away to his mountain home, leaving\nbehind him a man and a woman who seemed to themselves to be listening\nto the voice of a curly-headed, rosy-cheeked lad who once played at\ntheir knees and nestled in their arms when the day was done. And here,\ntoo, the Hollys were learning; though the thing thus learned was hidden\ndeep in their hearts.\n\nIt was not long after David's first visit that the boy went again to\n\"The House that Jack Built,\" as the Gurnseys called their tiny home.\n(Though in reality it had been Jack's father who had built the house.\nJack and Jill, however, did not always deal with realities.) It was not\na pleasant afternoon. There was a light mist in the air, and David was\nwithout his violin.\n\n\"I came to--to inquire for the cat--Juliette,\" he began, a little\nbashfully. \"I thought I'd rather do that than read to-day,\" he\nexplained to Jill in the doorway.\n\n\"Good! I'm so glad! I hoped you'd come,\" the little girl welcomed him.\n\"Come in and--and see Juliette,\" she added hastily, remembering at the\nlast moment that her brother had not looked with entire favor on her\navowed admiration for this strange little boy.\n\nJuliette, roused from her nap, was at first inclined to resent her\nvisitor's presence. In five minutes, however, she was purring in his\nlap.\n\nThe conquest of the kitten once accomplished, David looked about him a\nlittle restlessly. He began to wonder why he had come. He wished he had\ngone to see Joe Glaspell instead. He wished that Jill would not sit and\nstare at him like that. He wished that she would say\nsomething--anything. But Jill, apparently struck dumb with\nembarrassment, was nervously twisting the corner of her apron into a\nlittle knot. David tried to recollect what he had talked about a few\ndays before, and he wondered why he had so enjoyed himself then. He\nwished that something would happen--anything!--and then from an inner\nroom came the sound of a violin.\n\nDavid raised his head.\n\n\"It's Jack,\" stammered the little girl--who also had been wishing\nsomething would happen. \"He plays, same as you do, on the violin.\"\n\n\"Does he?\" beamed David. \"But--\" He paused, listening, a quick frown on\nhis face.\n\nOver and over the violin was playing a single phrase--and the\nvariations in the phrase showed the indecision of the fingers and of\nthe mind that controlled them. Again and again with irritating\nsameness, yet with a still more irritating difference, came the\nsuccession of notes. And then David sprang to his feet, placing\nJuliette somewhat unceremoniously on the floor, much to that petted\nyoung autocrat's disgust.\n\n\"Here, where is he? Let me show him,\" cried the boy, and at the note of\ncommand in his voice, Jill involuntarily rose and opened the door to\nJack's den.\n\n\"Oh, please, Mr. Jack,\" burst out David, hurrying into the room. \"Don't\nyou see? You don't go at that thing right. If you'll just let me show\nyou a minute, we'll have it fixed in no time!\"\n\nThe man with the violin stared, and lowered his bow. A slow red came to\nhis face. The phrase was peculiarly a difficult one, and beyond him, as\nhe knew; but that did not make the present intrusion into his privacy\nany the more welcome.\n\n\"Oh, will we, indeed!\" he retorted, a little sharply.  \"Don't trouble\nyourself, I beg of you, boy.\"\n\n\"But it isn't a mite of trouble, truly,\" urged David, with an ardor\nthat ignored the sarcasm in the other's words. \"I WANT to do it.\"\n\nDespite his annoyance, the man gave a short laugh.\n\n\"Well, David, I believe you. And I'll warrant you'd tackle this Brahms\nconcerto as nonchalantly as you did those six hoodlums with the cat the\nother day--and expect to win out, too!\"\n\n\"But, truly, this is easy, when you know how,\" laughed the boy. \"See!\"\n\nTo his surprise, the man found himself relinquishing the violin and bow\ninto the slim, eager hands that reached for them. The next moment he\nfell back in amazement. Clear, distinct, yet connected like a string of\nrounded pearls fell the troublesome notes from David's bow. \"You see,\"\nsmiled the boy again, and played the phrase a second time, more slowly,\nand with deliberate emphasis at the difficult part. Then, as if in\nanswer to some irresistible summons within him, he dashed into the next\nphrase and, with marvelous technique, played quite through the rippling\ncadenza that completed the movement.\n\n\"Well, by George!\" breathed the man dazedly, as he took the offered\nviolin. The next moment he had demanded vehemently: \"For Heaven's sake,\nwho ARE you, boy?\"\n\nDavid's face wrinkled in grieved surprise.\n\n\"Why, I'm David. Don't you remember? I was here just the other day!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; but who taught you to play like that?\"\n\n\"Father.\"\n\n\"'Father'!\" The man echoed the word with a gesture of comic despair.\n\"First Latin, then jiujitsu, and now the violin! Boy, who was your\nfather?\"\n\nDavid lifted his head and frowned a little. He had been questioned so\noften, and so unsympathetically, about his father that he was beginning\nto resent it.\n\n\"He was daddy--just daddy; and I loved him dearly.\"\n\n\"But what was his name?\"\n\n\"I don't know. We didn't seem to have a name like--like yours down\nhere. Anyway, if we did, I didn't know what it was.\"\n\n\"But, David,\"--the man was speaking very gently now. He had motioned\nthe boy to a low seat by his side. The little girl was standing near,\nher eyes alight with wondering interest. \"He must have had a name, you\nknow, just the same. Didn't you ever hear any one call him anything?\nThink, now.\"\n\n\"No.\" David said the single word, and turned his eyes away. It had\noccurred to him, since he had come to live in the valley, that perhaps\nhis father did not want to have his name known. He remembered that once\nthe milk-and-eggs boy had asked what to call him; and his father had\nlaughed and answered: \"I don't see but you'll have to call me 'The Old\nMan of the Mountain,' as they do down in the village.\" That was the\nonly time David could recollect hearing his father say anything about\nhis name. At the time David had not thought much about it. But since\nthen, down here where they appeared to think a name was so important,\nhe had wondered if possibly his father had not preferred to keep his to\nhimself. If such were the case, he was glad now that he did not know\nthis name, so that he might not have to tell all these inquisitive\npeople who asked so many questions about it. He was glad, too, that\nthose men had not been able to read his father's name at the end of his\nother note that first morning--if his father really did not wish his\nname to be known.\n\n\"But, David, think. Where you lived, wasn't there ever anybody who\ncalled him by name?\"\n\nDavid shook his head.\n\n\"I told you. We were all alone, father and I, in the little house far\nup on the mountain.\"\n\n\"And--your mother?\" Again David shook his head.\n\n\"She is an angel-mother, and angel-mothers don't live in houses, you\nknow.\"\n\nThere was a moment's pause; then gently the man asked:--\n\n\"And you always lived there?\"\n\n\"Six years, father said.\"\n\n\"And before that?\"\n\n\"I don't remember.\" There was a touch of injured reserve in the boy's\nvoice which the man was quick to perceive. He took the hint at once.\n\n\"He must have been a wonderful man--your father!\" he exclaimed.\n\nThe boy turned, his eyes luminous with feeling.\n\n\"He was--he was perfect! But they--down here--don't seem to know--or\ncare,\" he choked.\n\n\"Oh, but that's because they don't understand,\" soothed the man. \"Now,\ntell me--you must have practiced a lot to play like that.\"\n\n\"I did--but I liked it.\"\n\n\"And what else did you do? and how did you happen to come--down here?\"\n\nOnce again David told his story, more fully, perhaps, this time than\never before, because of the sympathetic ears that were listening.\n\n\"But now\" he finished wistfully, \"it's all, so different, and I'm down\nhere alone. Daddy went, you know, to the far country; and he can't come\nback from there.\"\n\n\"Who told you--that?\"\n\n\"Daddy himself. He wrote it to me.\"\n\n\"Wrote it to you!\" cried the man, sitting suddenly erect.\n\n\"Yes. It was in his pocket, you see. They--found it.\" David's voice was\nvery low, and not quite steady.\n\n\"David, may I see--that letter?\"\n\nThe boy hesitated; then slowly he drew it from his pocket.\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Jack. I'll let YOU see it.\"\n\nReverently, tenderly, but very eagerly the man took the note and read\nit through, hoping somewhere to find a name that would help solve the\nmystery. With a sigh he handed it back. His eyes were wet.\n\n\"Thank you, David. That is a beautiful letter,\" he said softly. \"And I\nbelieve you'll do it some day, too. You'll go to him with your violin\nat your chin and the bow drawn across the strings to tell him of the\nbeautiful world you have found.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said David simply. Then, with a suddenly radiant smile:\n\"And NOW I can't help finding it a beautiful world, you know, 'cause I\ndon't count the hours I don't like.\"\n\n\"You don't what?--oh, I remember,\" returned Mr. Jack, a quick change\ncoming to his face.\n\n\"Yes, the sundial, you know, where my Lady of the Roses lives.\"\n\n\"Jack, what is a sundial?\" broke in Jill eagerly.\n\nJack turned, as if in relief.\n\n\"Hullo, girlie, you there?--and so still all this time? Ask David.\nHe'll tell you what a sundial is. Suppose, anyhow, that you two go out\non the piazza now. I've got--er-some work to do. And the sun itself is\nout; see?--through the trees there. It came out just to say\n'good-night,' I'm sure. Run along, quick!\" And he playfully drove them\nfrom the room.\n\nAlone, he turned and sat down at his desk. His work was before him, but\nhe did not do it. His eyes were out of the window on the golden tops of\nthe towers of Sunnycrest. Motionless, he watched them until they turned\ngray-white in the twilight. Then he picked up his pencil and began to\nwrite feverishly. He went to the window, however, as David stepped off\nthe veranda, and called merrily:--\n\n\"Remember, boy, that when there's another note that baffles me, I'm\ngoing to send for you.\"\n\n\"He's coming anyhow. I asked him,\" announced Jill.\n\n And David laughed back a happy \"Of course I am!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE TOWER WINDOW\n\nIt is not to be expected that when one's thoughts lead so persistently\nto a certain place, one's feet will not follow, if they can; and\nDavid's could--so he went to seek his Lady of the Roses.\n\nAt four o'clock one afternoon, with his violin under his arm, he\ntraveled the firm white road until he came to the shadowed path that\nled to the garden. He had decided that he would go exactly as he went\nbefore. He expected, in consequence, to find his Lady exactly as he had\nfound her before, sitting reading under the roses. Great was his\nsurprise and disappointment, therefore, to find the garden with no one\nin it.\n\nHe had told himself that it was the sundial, the roses, the shimmering\npool, the garden itself that he wanted to see; but he knew now that it\nwas the lady--his Lady of the Roses. He did not even care to play,\nthough all around him was the beauty that had at first so charmed his\neye. Very slowly he walked across the sunlit, empty space, and entered\nthe path that led to the house. In his mind was no definite plan; yet\nhe walked on and on, until he came to the wide lawns surrounding the\nhouse itself. He stopped then, entranced.\n\nStone upon stone the majestic pile raised itself until it was etched,\nclean-cut, against the deep blue of the sky. The towers--his\ntowers--brought to David's lips a cry of delight. They were even more\nenchanting here than when seen from afar over the tree-tops, and David\ngazed up at them in awed wonder. From somewhere came the sound of\nmusic--a curious sort of music that David had never heard before. He\nlistened intently, trying to place it; then slowly he crossed the lawn,\nascended the imposing stone steps, and softly opened one of the narrow\nscreen doors before the wide-open French window.\n\nOnce within the room David drew a long breath of ecstasy. Beneath his\nfeet he felt the velvet softness of the green moss of the woods. Above\nhis head he saw a sky-like canopy of blue carrying fleecy clouds on\nwhich floated little pink-and-white children with wings, just as David\nhimself had so often wished that he could float. On all sides silken\nhangings, like the green of swaying vines, half-hid other hangings of\nfeathery, snowflake lace. Everywhere mirrored walls caught the light\nand reflected the potted ferns and palms so that David looked down\nendless vistas of loveliness that seemed for all the world like the\nlong sunflecked aisles beneath the tall pines of his mountain home.\n\nThe music that David had heard at first had long since stopped; but\nDavid had not noticed that. He stood now in the center of the room,\nawed, and trembling, but enraptured. Then from somewhere came a\nvoice--a voice so cold that it sounded as if it had swept across a\nfield of ice.\n\n\"Well, boy, when you have quite finished your inspection, perhaps you\nwill tell me to what I am indebted for THIS visit,\" it said.\n\nDavid turned abruptly.\n\n\"O Lady of the Roses, why didn't you tell me it was like this--in\nhere?\" he breathed.\n\n\"Well, really,\" murmured the lady in the doorway, stiffly, \"it had not\noccurred to me that that was hardly--necessary.\"\n\n\"But it was!--don't you see? This is new, all new. I never saw anything\nlike it before; and I do so love new things. It gives me something new\nto play; don't you understand?\"\n\n\"New--to play?\"\n\n\"Yes--on my violin,\" explained David, a little breathlessly, softly\ntesting his violin. \"There's always something new in this, you know,\"\nhe hurried on, as he tightened one of the strings, \"when there's\nanything new outside. Now, listen! You see I don't know myself just how\nit's going to sound, and I'm always so anxious to find out.\" And with a\njoyously rapt face he began to play.\n\n\"But, see here, boy,--you mustn't! You--\" The words died on her lips;\nand, to her unbounded amazement, Miss Barbara Holbrook, who had\nintended peremptorily to send this persistent little tramp boy about\nhis business, found herself listening to a melody so compelling in its\nsonorous beauty that she was left almost speechless at its close. It\nwas the boy who spoke.\n\n\"There, I told you my violin would know what to say!\"\n\n\"'What to say'!--well, that's more than I do\" laughed Miss Holbrook, a\nlittle hysterically. \"Boy, come here and tell me who you are.\" And she\nled the way to a low divan that stood near a harp at the far end of the\nroom.\n\nIt was the same story, told as David had told it to Jack and Jill a few\ndays before, only this time David's eyes were roving admiringly all\nabout the room, resting oftenest on the harp so near him.\n\n\"Did that make the music that I heard?\" he asked eagerly, as soon as\nMiss Holbrook's questions gave him opportunity. \"It's got strings.\"\n\n\"Yes. I was playing when you came in. I saw you enter the window.\nReally, David, are you in the habit of walking into people's houses\nlike this? It is most disconcerting--to their owners.\"\n\n\"Yes--no--well, sometimes.\" David's eyes were still on the harp. \"Lady\nof the Roses, won't you please play again--on that?\"\n\n\"David, you are incorrigible! Why did you come into my house like this?\"\n\n\"The music said 'come'; and the towers, too. You see, I KNOW the\ntowers.\"\n\n\"You KNOW them!\"\n\n\"Yes. I can see them from so many places, and I always watch for them.\nThey show best of anywhere, though, from Jack and Jill's. And now won't\nyou play?\"\n\nMiss Holbrook had almost risen to her feet when she turned abruptly.\n\n\"From--where?\" she asked.\n\n\"From Jack and Jill's--the House that Jack Built, you know.\"\n\n\"You mean--Mr. John Gurnsey's house?\" A deeper color had come into Miss\nHolbrook's cheeks.\n\n\"Yes. Over there at the top of the little hill across the brook, you\nknow. You can't see THEIR house from here, but from over there we can\nsee the towers finely, and the little window--Oh, Lady of the Roses,\"\nhe broke off excitedly, at the new thought that had come to him, \"if\nwe, now, were in that little window, we COULD see their house. Let's go\nup. Can't we?\"\n\nExplicit as this was, Miss Holbrook evidently did not hear, or at least\ndid not understand, this request. She settled back on the divan,\nindeed, almost determinedly. Her cheeks were very red now.\n\n\"And do you know--this Mr. Jack?\" she asked lightly.\n\n\"Yes, and Jill, too. Don't you? I like them, too. DO you know them?\"\n\nAgain Miss Holbrook ignored the question put to her. \"And did you walk\ninto their house, unannounced and uninvited, like this?\" she queried.\n\n\"No. He asked me. You see he wanted to get off some of the dirt and\nblood before other folks saw me.\"\n\n \"The dirt and--and--why, David, what do you mean? What was\nit--an accident?\"\n\nDavid frowned and reflected a moment.\n\n\"No. I did it on purpose. I HAD to, you see,\" he finally elucidated.\n\"But there were six of them, and I got the worst of it.\"\n\n\"David!\" Miss Holbrook's voice was horrified. \"You don't mean--a fight!\"\n\n\"Yes'm. I wanted the cat--and I got it, but I wouldn't have if Mr. Jack\nhadn't come to help me.\"\n\n\"Oh! So Mr. Jack--fought, too?\"\n\n\"Well, he pulled the others off, and of course that helped me,\"\nexplained David truthfully. \"And then he took me home--he and Jill.\"\n\n\"Jill! Was she in it?\"\n\n\"No, only her cat. They had tied a bag over its head and a tin can to\nits tail, and of course I couldn't let them do that. They were hurting\nher. And now, Lady of the Roses, won't you please play?\"\n\nFor a moment Miss Holbrook did not speak. She was gazing at David with\nan odd look in her eyes. At last she drew a long sigh.\n\n\"David, you are the--the LIMIT!\" she breathed, as she rose and seated\nherself at the harp.\n\nDavid was manifestly delighted with her playing, and begged for more\nwhen she had finished; but Miss Holbrook shook her head. She seemed to\nhave grown suddenly restless, and she moved about the room calling\nDavid's attention to something new each moment. Then, very abruptly,\nshe suggested that they go upstairs. From room to room she hurried the\nboy, scarcely listening to his ardent comments, or answering his still\nmore ardent questions. Not until they reached the highest tower room,\nindeed, did she sink wearily into a chair, and seem for a moment at\nrest.\n\nDavid looked about him in surprise. Even his untrained eye could see\nthat he had entered a different world. There were no sumptuous rugs, no\nsilken hangings; no mirrors, no snowflake curtains. There were books,\nto be sure, but besides those there were only a plain low table, a\nwork-basket, and three or four wooden-seated though comfortable chairs.\nWith increasing wonder he looked into Miss Holbrook's eyes.\n\n\"Is it here that you stay--all day?\" he asked diffidently.\n\nMiss Holbrook's face turned a vivid scarlet.\n\n\"Why, David, what a question! Of course not! Why should you think I\ndid?\"\n\n\"Nothing; only I've been wondering all the time I've been here how you\ncould--with all those beautiful things around you downstairs--say what\nyou did.\"\n\n\"Say what?--when?\"\n\n\"That other day in the garden--about ALL your hours being cloudy ones.\nSo I didn't know to-day but what you LIVED up here, same as Mrs. Holly\ndoesn't use her best rooms; and that was why your hours were all cloudy\nones.\"\n\nWith a sudden movement Miss Holbrook rose to her feet.\n\n\"Nonsense, David! You shouldn't always remember everything that people\nsay to you. Come, you haven't seen one of the views from the windows\nyet. We are in the larger tower, you know. You can see Hinsdale village\non this side, and there's a fine view of the mountains over there. Oh\nyes, and from the other side there's your friend's house--Mr. Jack's.\nBy the way, how is Mr. Jack these days?\" Miss Holbrook stooped as she\nasked the question and picked up a bit of thread from the rug.\n\nDavid ran at once to the window that looked toward the House that Jack\nBuilt. From the tower the little house appeared to be smaller than\never. It was in the shadow, too, and looked strangely alone and\nforlorn. Unconsciously, as he gazed at it, David compared it with the\nmagnificence he had just seen. His voice choked as he answered.\n\n\"He isn't well, Lady of the Roses, and he's unhappy. He's awfully\nunhappy.\"\n\nMiss Holbrook's slender figure came up with a jerk.\n\n\"What do you mean, boy? How do you know he's unhappy? Has he said so?\"\n\n\"No; but Mrs. Holly told me about him. He's sick; and he'd just found\nhis work to do out in the world when he had to stop and come home.\nBut--oh, quick, there he is! See?\"\n\nInstead of coming nearer Miss Holbrook fell back to the center of the\nroom; but her eyes were still turned toward the little house.\n\n\"Yes, I see,\" she murmured. The next instant she had snatched a\nhandkerchief from David's outstretched hand. \"No--no--I wouldn't wave,\"\nshe remonstrated hurriedly. \"Come--come downstairs with me.\"\n\n\"But I thought--I was sure he was looking this way,\" asserted David,\nturning reluctantly from the window. \"And if he HAD seen me wave to\nhim, he'd have been so glad; now, wouldn't he?\"\n\nThere was no answer. The Lady of the Roses did not apparently hear. She\nhad gone on down the stairway.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nSECRETS\n\nDavid had so much to tell Jack and Jill that he went to see them the\nvery next day after his second visit to Sunnycrest. He carried his\nviolin with him. He found, however, only Jill at home. She was sitting\non the veranda steps.\n\nThere was not so much embarrassment between them this time, perhaps\nbecause they were in the freedom of the wide out-of-doors, and David\nfelt more at ease. He was plainly disappointed, however, that Mr. Jack\nwas not there.\n\n\"But I wanted to see him! I wanted to see him 'specially,\" he lamented.\n\n\"You'd better stay, then. He'll be home by and by,\" comforted Jill.\n\"He's gone pot-boiling.\"\n\n\"Pot-boiling! What's that?\"\n\nJill chuckled.\n\n\"Well, you see, really it's this way: he sells something to boil in\nother people's pots so he can have something to boil in ours, he says.\nIt's stuff from the garden, you know. We raise it to sell. Poor\nJack--and he does hate it so!\"\n\nDavid nodded sympathetically.\n\n\"I know--and it must be awful, just hoeing and weeding all the time.\"\n\n\"Still, of course he knows he's got to do it, because it's out of\ndoors, and he just has to be out of doors all he can,\" rejoined the\ngirl. \"He's sick, you know, and sometimes he's so unhappy! He doesn't\nsay much. Jack never says much--only with his face. But I know, and\nit--it just makes me want to cry.\"\n\nAt David's dismayed exclamation Jill jumped to her feet. It owned to\nher suddenly that she was telling this unknown boy altogether too many\nof the family secrets. She proposed at once a race to the foot of the\nhill; and then, to drive David's mind still farther away from the\nsubject under recent consideration, she deliberately lost, and\nproclaimed him the victor.\n\nVery soon, however, there arose new complications in the shape of a\nlittle gate that led to a path which, in its turn, led to a footbridge\nacross the narrow span of the little stream.\n\nAbove the trees on the other side peeped the top of Sunnycrest's\nhighest tower.\n\n\"To the Lady of the Roses!\" cried David eagerly. \"I know it goes there.\nCome, let's see!\"\n\nThe little girl shook her head.\n\n\"I can't.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Jack won't let me.\"\n\n\"But it goes to a beautiful place; I was there yesterday,\" argued\nDavid. \"And I was up in the tower and almost waved to Mr. Jack on the\npiazza back there. I saw him. And maybe she'd let you and me go up\nthere again to-day.\"\n\n\"But I can't, I say,\" repeated Jill, a little impatiently. \"Jack won't\nlet me even start.\"\n\n\"Why not? Maybe he doesn't know where it goes to.\"\n\nJill hung her head. Then she raised it defiantly.\n\n\"Oh, yes, he does, 'cause I told him. I used to go when I was littler\nand he wasn't here. I went once, after he came,--halfway,--and he saw\nme and called to me. I had got halfway across the bridge, but I had to\ncome back. He was very angry, yet sort of--queer, too. His face was all\nstern and white, and his lips snapped tight shut after every word. He\nsaid never, never, never to let him find me the other side of that\ngate.\"\n\nDavid frowned as they turned to go up the hill. Unhesitatingly he\ndetermined to instruct Mr. Jack in this little matter. He would tell\nhim what a beautiful place Sunnycrest was, and he would try to convince\nhim how very desirable it was that he and Jill, and even Mr. Jack\nhimself, should go across the bridge at the very first opportunity that\noffered.\n\nMr. Jack came home before long, but David quite forgot to speak of the\nfootbridge just then, chiefly because Mr. Jack got out his violin and\nasked David to come in and play a duet with him. The duet, however,\nsoon became a solo, for so great was Mr. Jack's delight in David's\nplaying that he placed before the boy one sheet of music after another,\nbegging and still begging for more.\n\nDavid, nothing loath, played on and on. Most of the music he knew,\nhaving already learned it in his mountain home. Like old friends the\nmelodies seemed, and so glad was David to see their notes again that he\nfinished each production with a little improvised cadenza of ecstatic\nwelcome--to Mr. Jack's increasing surprise and delight.\n\n\"Great Scott! you're a wonder, David,\" he exclaimed, at last.\n\n\"Pooh! as if that was anything wonderful,\" laughed the boy. \"Why, I\nknew those ages ago, Mr. Jack. It's only that I'm so glad to see them\nagain--the notes, you know. You see, I haven't any music now. It was\nall in the bag (what we brought), and we left that on the way.\"\n\n\"You left it!\"\n\n\"Yes, 't was so, heavy\" murmured David abstractedly, his fingers busy\nwith the pile of music before him. \"Oh, and here's another one,\" he\ncried exultingly. \"This is where the wind sighs, 'oou--OOU--OOU'\nthrough the pines. Listen!\" And he was away again on the wings of his\nviolin. When he had returned Mr. Jack drew a long breath.\n\n\"David, you are a wonder,\" he declared again. \"And that violin of yours\nis a wonder, too, if I'm not mistaken,--though I don't know enough to\ntell whether it's really a rare one or not. Was it your father's?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. He had one, too, and they both are good ones. Father said so.\nJoe's got father's now.\"\n\n\"Joe?\"\n\n\"Joe Glaspell.\"\n\n\"You don't mean Widow Glaspell's Joe, the blind boy? I didn't know he\ncould play.\"\n\n\"He couldn't till I showed him. But he likes to hear me play. And he\nunderstood--right away, I mean.\"\n\n\"UNDERSTOOD!\"\n\n\"What I was playing, you know. And he was almost the first one that\ndid--since father went away. And now I play every time I go there. Joe\nsays he never knew before how trees and grass and sunsets and sunrises\nand birds and little brooks did look, till I told him with my violin.\nNow he says he thinks he can see them better than I can, because as\nlong as his OUTSIDE eyes can't see anything, they can't see those ugly\nthings all around him, and so he can just make his INSIDE eyes see only\nthe beautiful things that he'd LIKE to see. And that's the kind he does\nsee when I play. That's why I said he understood.\"\n\nFor a moment there was silence. In Mr. Jack's eyes there was an odd\nlook as they rested on David's face. Then, abruptly, he spoke.\n\n\"David, I wish I had money. I'd put you then where you belonged,\" he\nsighed.\n\n\"Do you mean--where I'd find my work to do?\" asked the boy softly.\n\n\"Well--yes; you might say it that way,\" smiled the man, after a\nmoment's hesitation--not yet was Mr. Jack quite used to this boy who\nwas at times so very un-boylike.\n\n\"Father told me 't was waiting for me--somewhere.\"\n\nMr. Jack frowned thoughtfully.\n\n\"And he was right, David. The only trouble is, we like to pick it out\nfor ourselves, pretty well,--too well, as we find out sometimes, when\nwe're called off--for another job.\"\n\n\"I know, Mr. Jack, I know,\" breathed David. And the man, looking into\nthe glowing dark eyes, wondered at what he found there. It was almost\nas if the boy really understood about his own life's\ndisappointment--and cared; though that, of course, could not be!\n\n\"And it's all the harder to keep ourselves in tune then, too, is n't\nit?\" went on David, a little wistfully.\n\n\"In tune?\"\n\n\"With the rest of the Orchestra.\"\n\n\"Oh!\"  And Mr. Jack, who had already heard about the \"Orchestra of\nLife,\" smiled a bit sadly. \"That's just it, my boy. And if we're handed\nanother instrument to play on than the one we WANT to play on, we're\napt to--to let fly a discord. Anyhow, I am. But\"--he went on more\nlightly--\"now, in your case, David, little as I know about the violin,\nI know enough to understand that you ought to be where you can take up\nyour study of it again; where you can hear good music, and where you\ncan be among those who know enough to appreciate what you do.\"\n\nDavid's eyes sparkled.\n\n\"And where there wouldn't be any pulling weeds or hoeing dirt?\"\n\n\"Well, I hadn't thought of including either of those pastimes.\"\n\n\"My, but I would like that, Mr. Jack!--but THAT wouldn't be WORK, so\nthat couldn't be what father meant.\" David's face fell.\n\n\"Hm-m; well, I wouldn't worry about the 'work' part,\" laughed Mr. Jack,\n\"particularly as you aren't going to do it just now. There's the money,\nyou know,--and we haven't got that.\"\n\n\"And it takes money?\"\n\n\"Well--yes. You can't get those things here in Hinsdale, you know; and\nit takes money, to get away, and to live away after you get there.\"\n\nA sudden light transfigured David's face.\n\n\"Mr. Jack, would gold do it?--lots of little round gold-pieces?\"\n\n\"I think it would, David, if there were enough of them.\"\n\n\"Many as a hundred?\"\n\n\"Sure--if they were big enough. Anyway, David, they'd start you, and\nI'm thinking you wouldn't need but a start before you'd be coining\ngold-pieces of your own out of that violin of yours. But why? Anybody\nyou know got as 'many as a hundred' gold-pieces he wants to get rid of?\"\n\nFor a moment David, his delighted thoughts flying to the gold-pieces in\nthe chimney cupboard of his room, was tempted to tell his secret. Then\nhe remembered the woman with the bread and the pail of milk, and\ndecided not to. He would wait. When he knew Mr. Jack better--perhaps\nthen he would tell; but not now.  NOW Mr. Jack might think he was a\nthief, and that he could not bear. So he took up his violin and began\nto play; and in the charm of the music Mr. Jack seemed to forget the\ngold-pieces--which was exactly what David had intended should happen.\n\nNot until David had said good-bye some time later, did he remember the\npurpose--the special purpose--for which he had come. He turned back\nwith a radiant face.\n\n\"Oh, and Mr. Jack, I 'most forgot,\" he cried. \"I was going to tell you.\nI saw you yesterday--I did, and I almost waved to you.\"\n\n\"Did you? Where were you?\"\n\n\"Over there in the window--the tower window\" he crowed jubilantly.\n\n\"Oh, you went again, then, I suppose, to see Miss Holbrook.\"\n\nThe man's voice sounded so oddly cold and distant that David noticed it\nat once. He was reminded suddenly of the gate and the footbridge which\nJill was forbidden to cross; but he dared not speak of it then--not\nwhen Mr. Jack looked like that. He did say, however:--\n\n\"Oh, but, Mr. Jack, it's such a beautiful place! You don't know what a\nbeautiful place it is.\"\n\n\"Is it? Then, you like it so much?\"\n\n\"Oh, so much! But--didn't you ever--see it?\"\n\n \"Why, yes, I believe I did, David, long ago,\" murmured Mr. Jack\nwith what seemed to David amazing indifference.\n\n\"And did you see HER--my Lady of the Roses?\"\n\n\"Why, y--yes--I believe so.\"\n\n\"And is THAT all you remember about it?\" resented David, highly\noffended.\n\nThe man gave a laugh--a little short, hard laugh that David did not\nlike.\n\n\"But, let me see; you said you almost waved, didn't you? Why did n't\nyou, quite?\" asked the man.\n\nDavid drew himself suddenly erect. Instinctively he felt that his Lady\nof the Roses needed defense.\n\n\"Because SHE didn't want me to; so I didn't, of course,\" he rejoined\nwith dignity. \"She took away my handkerchief.\"\n\n\"I'll warrant she did,\" muttered the man, behind his teeth. Aloud he\nonly laughed again, as he turned away.\n\nDavid went on down the steps, dissatisfied vaguely with himself, with\nMr. Jack, and even with the Lady of the Roses.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nDAVID'S CASTLE IN SPAIN\n\nOn his return from the House that Jack Built, David decided to count\nhis gold-pieces. He got them out at once from behind the books, and\nstacked them up in little shining rows. As he had surmised, there were\na hundred of them. There were, indeed, a hundred and six. He was\npleased at that. One hundred and six were surely enough to give him a\n\"start.\"\n\nA start! David closed his eyes and pictured it. To go on with his\nviolin, to hear good music, to be with people who understood what he\nsaid when he played! That was what Mr. Jack had said a \"start\" was. And\nthis gold--these round shining bits of gold--could bring him this!\nDavid swept the little piles into a jingling heap, and sprang to his\nfeet with both fists full of his suddenly beloved wealth. With boyish\nglee he capered about the room, jingling the coins in his hands. Then,\nvery soberly, he sat down again, and began to gather the gold to put\naway.\n\nHe would be wise--he would be sensible. He would watch his chance, and\nwhen it came he would go away. First, however, he would tell Mr. Jack\nand Joe, and the Lady of the Roses; yes, and the Hollys, too. Just now\nthere seemed to be work, real work that he could do to help Mr. Holly.\nBut later, possibly when September came and school,--they had said he\nmust go to school,--he would tell them then, and go away instead. He\nwould see. By that time they would believe him, perhaps, when he showed\nthe gold-pieces. They would not think he had--STOLEN them. It was\nAugust now; he would wait. But meanwhile he could think--he could\nalways be thinking of the wonderful thing that this gold was one day to\nbring to him.\n\nEven work, to David, did not seem work now. In the morning he was to\nrake hay behind the men with the cart. Yesterday he had not liked it\nvery well; but now--nothing mattered now. And with a satisfied sigh\nDavid put his precious gold away again behind the books in the cupboard.\n\nDavid found a new song in his violin the next morning. To be sure, he\ncould not play it--much of it--until four o'clock in the afternoon\ncame; for Mr. Holly did not like violins to be played in the morning,\neven on days that were not especially the Lord's. There was too much\nwork to do. So David could only snatch a strain or two very, very\nsoftly, while he was dressing; but that was enough to show him what a\nbeautiful song it was going to be. He knew what it was, at once, too.\nIt was the gold-pieces, and what they would bring. All through the day\nit tripped through his consciousness, and danced tantalizingly just out\nof reach. Yet he was wonderfully happy, and the day seemed short in\nspite of the heat and the weariness.\n\nAt four o'clock he hurried home and put his violin quickly in tune. It\ncame then--that dancing sprite of tantalization--and joyously abandoned\nitself to the strings of the violin, so that David knew, of a surety,\nwhat a beautiful song it was.\n\nIt was this song that sent him the next afternoon to see his Lady of\nthe Roses. He found her this time out of doors in her garden.\nUnceremoniously, as usual, he rushed headlong into her presence.\n\n\"Oh, Lady--Lady of the Roses,\" he panted. \"I've found out, and I came\nquickly to tell you.\"\n\n\"Why, David, what--what do you mean?\" Miss Holbrook looked unmistakably\nstartled.\n\n\"About the hours, you know,--the unclouded ones,\" explained David\neagerly. \"You know you said they were ALL cloudy to you.\"\n\nMiss Holbrook's face grew very white.\n\n\"You mean--you've found out WHY my hours are--are all cloudy ones?\" she\nstammered.\n\n\"No, oh, no. I can't imagine why they are,\" returned David, with an\nemphatic shake of his head. \"It's just that I've found a way to make\nall my hours sunny ones, and you can do it, too. So I came to tell you.\nYou know you said yours were all cloudy.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" ejaculated Miss Holbrook, falling back into her old listless\nattitude. Then, with some asperity: \"Dear me, David! Did n't I tell you\nnot to be remembering that all the time?\"\n\n\"Yes, I know, but I've LEARNED something,\" urged the boy; \"something\nthat you ought to know. You see, I did think, once, that because you\nhad all these beautiful things around you, the hours ought to be all\nsunny ones. But now I know it isn't what's around you; it's what is IN\nyou!\"\n\n\"Oh, David, David, you curious boy!\"\n\n\"No, but really! Let me tell you,\" pleaded David. \"You know I haven't\nliked them,--all those hours till four o'clock came,--and I was so\nglad, after I saw the sundial, to find out that they didn't count,\nanyhow. But to-day they HAVE counted--they've all counted, Lady of the\nRoses; and it's just because there was something inside of me that\nshone and shone, and made them all sunny--those hours.\"\n\n\"Dear me! And what was this wonderful thing?\"\n\nDavid smiled, but he shook his head.\n\n\"I can't tell you that yet--in words; but I'll play it. You see, I\ncan't always play them twice alike,--those little songs that I\nfind,--but this one I can. It sang so long in my head, before my violin\nhad a chance to tell me what it really was, that I sort of learned it.\nNow, listen!\" And he began to play.\n\nIt was, indeed, a beautiful song, and Miss Holbrook said so with\npromptness and enthusiasm; yet still David frowned.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" he answered, \"but don't you see? That was telling you about\nsomething inside of me that made all my hours sunshiny ones. Now, what\nyou want is something inside of you to make yours sunshiny, too. Don't\nyou see?\"\n\nAn odd look came into Miss Holbrook's eyes.\n\n\"That's all very well for you to say, David, but you haven't told me\nyet, you know, just what it is that's made all this brightness for you.\"\n\nThe boy changed his position, and puckered his forehead into a deeper\nfrown.\n\n\"I don't seem to explain so you can understand,\" he sighed. \"It isn't\nthe SPECIAL thing. It's only that it's SOMETHING. And it's thinking\nabout it that does it. Now, mine wouldn't make yours shine,\nbut--still,\"--he broke off, a happy relief in his eyes,--\"yours could\nbe LIKE mine, in one way. Mine is something that is going to happen to\nme--something just beautiful; and you could have that, you\nknow,--something that was going to happen to you, to think about.\"\n\nMiss Holbrook smiled, but only with her lips, Her eyes had grown somber.\n\n\"But there isn't anything 'just beautiful' going to happen to me,\nDavid,\" she demurred.\n\n\"There could, couldn't there?\"\n\nMiss Holbrook bit, her lip; then she gave an odd little laugh that\nseemed, in some way, to go with the swift red that had come to her\ncheeks.\n\n\"I used to think there could--once,\" she admitted; \"but I've given that\nup long ago. It--it didn't happen.\"\n\n\"But couldn't you just THINK it was going to?\" persisted the boy. \"You\nsee I found out yesterday that it's the THINKING that does it. All day\nlong I was thinking--only thinking. I wasn't DOING it, at all. I was\nreally raking behind the cart; but the hours all were sunny.\"\n\nMiss Holbrook laughed now outright.\n\n\"What a persistent little mental-science preacher you are!\" she\nexclaimed. \"And there's truth--more truth than you know--in it all,\ntoo. But I can't do it, David,--not that--not that. 'T would take more\nthan THINKING--to bring that,\" she added, under her breath, as if to\nherself.\n\n\"But thinking does bring things,\" maintained David earnestly. \"There's\nJoe--Joe Glaspell. His mother works out all day; and he's blind.\"\n\n\"Blind? Oh-h!\" shuddered Miss Holbrook.\n\n\"Yes; and he has to stay all alone, except for Betty, and she is n't\nthere much. He THINKS ALL his things. He has to. He can't SEE anything\nwith his outside eyes. But he sees everything with his inside\neyes--everything that I play. Why, Lady of the Roses, he's even seen\nthis--all this here. I told him about it, you know, right away after\nI'd found you that first day: the big trees and the long shadows across\nthe grass, and the roses, and the shining water, and the lovely marble\npeople peeping through the green leaves; and the sundial, and you so\nbeautiful sitting here in the middle of it all. Then I played it for\nhim; and he said he could see it all just as plain! And THAT was with\nhis inside eyes! And so, if Joe, shut up there in his dark little room,\ncan make his THINK bring him all that, I should think that YOU, here in\nthis beautiful, beautiful place, could make your think bring you\nanything you wanted it to.\"\n\nBut Miss Holbrook sighed again and shook her head.\n\n\"Not that, David, not that,\" she murmured. \"It would take more than\nthinking to bring--that.\" Then, with a quick change of manner, she\ncried: \"Come, come, suppose we don't worry any more about MY hours.\nLet's think of yours. Tell me, what have you been doing since I saw you\nlast? Perhaps you have been again to--to see Mr. Jack, for instance.\"\n\n\"I have; but I saw Jill mostly, till the last.\" David hesitated, then\nhe blurted it out: \"Lady of the Roses, do you know about the gate and\nthe footbridge?\"\n\nMiss Holbrook looked up quickly.\n\n\"Know--what, David?\"\n\n\"Know about them--that they're there?\"\n\n\"Why--yes, of course; at least, I suppose you mean the footbridge that\ncrosses the little stream at the foot of the hill over there.\"\n\n\"That's the one.\" Again David hesitated, and again he blurted out the\nburden of his thoughts. \"Lady of the Roses, did you ever--cross that\nbridge?\"\n\nMiss Holbrook stirred uneasily.\n\n\"Not--recently.\"\n\n\"But you don't MIND folks crossing it?\"\n\n\"Certainly not--if they wish to.\"\n\n\"There! I knew 't wasn't your blame,\" triumphed David.\n\n\"MY blame!\"\n\n\"Yes; that Mr. Jack wouldn't let Jill come across, you know. He called\nher back when she'd got halfway over once.\" Miss Holbrook's face\nchanged color.\n\n\"But I do object,\" she cried sharply, \"to their crossing it when they\nDON'T want to! Don't forget that, please.\"\n\n\"But Jill did want to.\"\n\n\"How about her brother--did he want her to?\"\n\n\"N--no.\"\n\n\"Very well, then. I didn't, either.\"\n\nDavid frowned. Never had he seen his beloved Lady of the Roses look\nlike this before. He was reminded of what Jill had said about Jack:\n\"His face was all stern and white, and his lips snapped tight shut\nafter every word.\" So, too, looked Miss Holbrook's face; so, too, had\nher lips snapped tight shut after her last words. David could not\nunderstand it. He said nothing more, however; but, as was usually the\ncase when he was perplexed, he picked up his violin and began to play.\nAnd as he played, there gradually came to Miss Holbrook's eyes a softer\nlight, and to her lips lines less tightly drawn. Neither the footbridge\nnor Mr. Jack, however, was mentioned again that afternoon.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\n\"THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER\"\n\nIt was in the early twilight that Mr. Jack told the story. He, Jill,\nand David were on the veranda, as usual watching the towers of\nSunnycrest turn from gold to silver as the sun dropped behind the\nhills. It was Jill who had asked for the story.\n\n\"About fairies and princesses, you know,\" she had ordered.\n\n\"But how will David like that?\" Mr. Jack had demurred. \"Maybe he\ndoesn't care for fairies and princesses.\"\n\n\"I read one once about a prince--'t was 'The Prince and the Pauper,'\nand I liked that,\" averred David stoutly.\n\nMr. Jack smiled; then his brows drew together in a frown. His eyes were\nmoodily fixed on the towers.\n\n\"Hm-m; well,\" he said, \"I might, I suppose, tell you a story about a\nPRINCESS and--a Pauper. I--know one well enough.\"\n\n\"Good!--then tell it,\" cried both Jill and David. And Mr. Jack began\nhis story.\n\n\"She was not always a Princess, and he was not always a Pauper,--and\nthat's where the story came in, I suppose,\" sighed the man. \"She was\njust a girl, once, and he was a boy; and they played together\nand--liked each other. He lived in a little house on a hill.\"\n\n\"Like this?\" demanded Jill.\n\n\"Eh? Oh--er--yes, SOMETHING like this,\" returned Mr. Jack, with an odd\nhalf-smile. \"And she lived in another bit of a house in a town far away\nfrom the boy.\"\n\n\"Then how could they play together?\" questioned David.\n\n\"They couldn't, ALWAYS. It was only summers when she came to visit in\nthe boy's town. She was very near him then, for the old aunt whom she\nvisited lived in a big stone house with towers, on another hill, in\nplain sight from the boy's home.\"\n\n\"Towers like those--where the Lady of the Roses lives?\" asked David.\n\n\"Eh? What? Oh--er--yes,\" murmured Mr. Jack. \"We'll say the towers were\nsomething like those over there.\" He paused, then went on musingly:\n\"The girl used to signal, sometimes, from one of the tower windows. One\nwave of the handkerchief meant, 'I'm coming, over'; two waves, with a\nlittle pause between, meant, 'You are to come over here.' So the boy\nused to wait always, after that first wave to see if another followed;\nso that he might know whether he were to be host or guest that day. The\nwaves always came at eight o'clock in the morning, and very eagerly the\nboy used to watch for them all through the summer when the girl was\nthere.\"\n\n\"Did they always come, every morning?\" Asked Jill.\n\n\"No; sometimes the girl had other things to do. Her aunt would want her\nto go somewhere with her, or other cousins were expected whom the girl\nmust entertain; and she knew the boy did not like other guests to be\nthere when he was, so she never asked him to come over at such times.\nOn such occasions she did sometimes run up to the tower at eight\no'clock and wave three times, and that meant, 'Dead Day.' So the boy,\nafter all, never drew a real breath of relief until he made sure that\nno dreaded third wave was to follow the one or the two.\"\n\n\"Seems to me,\" observed David, \"that all this was sort of one-sided.\nDidn't the boy say anything?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" smiled Mr. Jack. \"But the boy did not have any tower to wave\nfrom, you must remember. He had only the little piazza on his tiny bit\nof a house. But he rigged up a pole, and he asked his mother to make\nhim two little flags, a red and a blue one. The red meant 'All right';\nand the blue meant 'Got to work'; and these he used to run up on his\npole in answer to her waving 'I'm coming over,' or 'You are to come\nover here.' So, you see, occasionally it was the boy who had to bring\nthe 'Dead Day,' as there were times when he had to work. And, by the\nway, perhaps you would be interested to know that after a while he\nthought up a third flag to answer her three waves. He found an old\nblack silk handkerchief of his father's, and he made that into a flag.\nHe told the girl it meant 'I'm heartbroken,' and he said it was a sign\nof the deepest mourning. The girl laughed and tipped her head saucily\nto one side, and said, 'Pooh! as if you really cared!' But the boy\nstoutly maintained his position, and it was that, perhaps, which made\nher play the little joke one day.\n\n\"The boy was fourteen that summer, and the girl thirteen. They had\nbegun their signals years before, but they had not had the black one so\nlong. On this day that I tell you of, the girl waved three waves, which\nmeant, 'Dead Day,' you remember, and watched until the boy had hoisted\nhis black flag which said, 'I'm heart-broken,' in response. Then, as\nfast as her mischievous little feet could carry her, she raced down one\nhill and across to the other. Very stealthily she advanced till she\nfound the boy bent over a puzzle on the back stoop, and--and he was\nwhistling merrily.\n\n\"How she teased him then! How she taunted him with 'Heart-broken,\nindeed--and whistling like that!' In vain he blushed and stammered, and\nprotested that his whistling was only to keep up his spirits. The girl\nonly laughed and tossed her yellow curls; then she hunted till she\nfound some little jingling bells, and these she tied to the black badge\nof mourning and pulled it high up on the flagpole. The next instant she\nwas off with a run and a skip, and a saucy wave of her hand; and the\nboy was left all alone with an hour's work ahead of him to untie the\nknots from his desecrated badge of mourning.\n\n\"And yet they were wonderfully good friends--this boy and girl. From\nthe very first, when they were seven and eight, they had said that they\nwould marry each other when they grew up, and always they spoke of it\nas the expected thing, and laid many happy plans for the time when it\nshould come. To be sure, as they grew older, it was not mentioned quite\nso often, perhaps; but the boy at least thought--if he thought of it\nall--that that was only because it was already so well understood.\"\n\n\"What did the girl think?\" It was Jill who asked the question.\n\n\"Eh? The girl? Oh,\" answered Mr. Jack, a little bitterly, \"I'm afraid I\ndon't know exactly what the girl did think, but--it was n't that,\nanyhow--that is, judging from what followed.\"\n\n\"What did follow?\"\n\n\"Well, to begin with, the old aunt died. The girl was sixteen then. It\nwas in the winter that this happened, and the girl was far away at\nschool. She came to the funeral, however, but the boy did not see her,\nsave in the distance; and then he hardly knew her, so strange did she\nlook in her black dress and hat. She was there only two days, and\nthough he gazed wistfully up at the gray tower, he knew well enough\nthat of course she could not wave to him at such a time as that. Yet he\nhad hoped--almost believed that she would wave two waves that last day,\nand let him go over to see her.\n\n\"But she didn't wave, and he didn't go over. She went away. And then\nthe town learned a wonderful thing. The old lady, her aunt, who had\nbeen considered just fairly rich, turned out to be the possessor of\nalmost fabulous wealth, owing to her great holdings of stock in a\nWestern gold mine which had suddenly struck it rich. And to the girl\nshe willed it all. It was then, of course, that the girl became the\nPrincess, but the boy did not realize that--just then. To him she was\nstill 'the girl.'\n\n\"For three years he did not see her. She was at school, or traveling\nabroad, he heard. He, too, had been away to school, and was, indeed,\njust ready to enter college. Then, that summer, he heard that she was\ncoming to the old home, and his heart sang within him. Remember, to him\nshe was still the girl. He knew, of course, that she was not the LITTLE\ngirl who had promised to marry him. But he was sure she was the merry\ncomrade, the true-hearted young girl who used to smile frankly into his\neyes, and whom he was now to win for his wife. You see he had\nforgotten--quite forgotten about the Princess and the money. Such a\nfoolish, foolish boy as he was!\n\n\"So he got out his flags gleefully, and one day, when his mother wasn't\nin the kitchen, he ironed out the wrinkles and smoothed them all ready\nto be raised on the pole. He would be ready when the girl waved--for of\ncourse she would wave; he would show her that he had not forgotten. He\ncould see just how the sparkle would come to her eyes, and just how the\nlittle fine lines of mischief would crinkle around her nose when she\nwas ready to give that first wave. He could imagine that she would like\nto find him napping; that she would like to take him by surprise, and\nmake him scurry around for his flags to answer her.\n\n\"But he would show her! As if she, a girl, were to beat him at their\nold game! He wondered which it would be: 'I'm coming over,' or, 'You\nare to come over here.' Whichever it was, he would answer, of course,\nwith the red 'All right.' Still, it WOULD be a joke to run up the blue\n'Got to work,' and then slip across to see her, just as she, so long\nago, had played the joke on him! On the whole, however, he thought the\nred flag would be better. And it was that one which he laid uppermost\nready to his hand, when he arranged them.\n\n\"At last she came. He heard of it at once. It was already past four\no'clock, but he could not forbear, even then, to look toward the tower.\nIt would be like her, after all, to wave then, that very night, just so\nas to catch him napping, he thought. She did not wave, however. The boy\nwas sure of that, for he watched the tower till dark.\n\n\"In the morning, long before eight o'clock, the boy was ready. He\ndebated for some time whether to stand out of doors on the piazza, or\nto hide behind the screened window, where he could still watch the\ntower. He decided at last that it would be better not to let her see\nhim when she looked toward the house; then his triumph would be all the\nmore complete when he dashed out to run up his answer.\n\n\"Eight o'clock came and passed. The boy waited until nine, but there\nwas no sign of life from the tower. The boy was angry then, at himself.\nHe called himself, indeed, a fool, to hide as he did. Of course she\nwouldn't wave when he was nowhere in sight--when he had apparently\nforgotten! And here was a whole precious day wasted!\n\n\"The next morning, long before eight, the boy stood in plain sight on\nthe piazza. As before he waited until nine; and as before there was no\nsign of life at the tower window. The next morning he was there again,\nand the next, and the next. It took just five days, indeed, to convince\nthe boy--as he was convinced at last--that the girl did not intend to\nwave at all.\"\n\n\"But how unkind of her!\" exclaimed David.\n\n\"She couldn't have been nice one bit!\" decided Jill.\n\n\"You forget,\" said Mr. Jack. \"She was the Princess.\"\n\n\"Huh!\" grunted Jill and David in unison.\n\n\"The boy remembered it then,\" went on Mr. Jack, after a pause,--\"about\nthe money, and that she was a Princess. And of course he knew--when he\nthought of it--that he could not expect that a Princess would wave like\na girl--just a girl. Besides, very likely she did not care particularly\nabout seeing him. Princesses did forget, he fancied,--they had so much,\nso very much to fill their lives. It was this thought that kept him\nfrom going to see her--this, and the recollection that, after all, if\nshe really HAD wanted to see him, she could have waved.\n\n\"There came a day, however, when another youth, who did not dare to go\nalone, persuaded him, and together they paid her a call. The boy\nunderstood, then, many things. He found the Princess; there was no sign\nof the girl. The Princess was tall and dignified, with a cold little\nhand and a smooth, sweet voice. There was no frank smile in her eyes,\nneither were there any mischievous crinkles about her nose and lips.\nThere was no mention of towers or flags; no reference to wavings or to\nchildhood's days. There was only a stiffly polite little conversation\nabout colleges and travels, with a word or two about books and plays.\nThen the callers went home. On the way the boy smiled scornfully to\nhimself. He was trying to picture the beauteous vision he had seen,\nthis unapproachable Princess in her filmy lace gown,--standing in the\ntower window and waving--waving to a bit of a house on the opposite\nhill. As if that could happen!\n\n\"The boy, during those last three years, had known only books. He knew\nlittle of girls--only one girl--and he knew still less of Princesses.\nSo when, three days after the call, there came a chance to join a\nsummer camp with a man who loved books even better than did the boy\nhimself, he went gladly. Once he had refused to go on this very trip;\nbut then there had been the girl. Now there was only the Princess--and\nthe Princess didn't count.\"\n\n\"Like the hours that aren't sunshiny,\" interpreted David.\n\n\"Yes,\" corroborated Mr. Jack. \"Like the hours when the sun does n't\nshine.\"\n\n\"And then?\" prompted Jill.\n\n\"Well, then,--there wasn't much worth telling,\" rejoined Mr. Jack\ngloomily. \"Two more years passed, and the Princess grew to be\ntwenty-one. She came into full control of her property then, and after\na while she came back to the old stone house with the towers and turned\nit into a fairyland of beauty. She spent money like water. All manner\nof artists, from the man who painted her ceilings to the man who\nplanted her seeds, came and bowed to her will. From the four corners of\nthe earth she brought her treasures and lavished them through the house\nand grounds. Then, every summer, she came herself, and lived among\nthem, a very Princess indeed.\"\n\n\"And the boy?--what became of the boy?\" demanded David. \"Didn't he see\nher--ever?\"\n\nMr. Jack shook his head.\n\n\"Not often, David; and when he did, it did not make him any--happier.\nYou see, the boy had become the Pauper; you must n't forget that.\"\n\n\"But he wasn't a Pauper when you left him last.\"\n\n\"Wasn't he? Well, then, I'll tell you about that. You see, the boy,\neven though he did go away, soon found out that in his heart the\nPrincess was still the girl, just the same. He loved her, and he wanted\nher to be his wife; so for a little--for a very little--he was wild\nenough to think that he might work and study and do great things in the\nworld until he was even a Prince himself, and then he could marry the\nPrincess.\"\n\n\"Well, couldn't he?\"\n\n\"No. To begin with, he lost his health. Then, away back in the little\nhouse on the hill something happened--a something that left a very\nprecious charge for him to keep; and he had to go back and keep it, and\nto try to see if he couldn't find that lost health, as well. And that\nis all.\"\n\n\"All! You don't mean that that is the end!\" exclaimed Jill.\n\n\"That's the end.\"\n\n\"But that isn't a mite of a nice end,\" complained David. \"They always\nget married and live happy ever after--in stories.\"\n\n\"Do they?\" Mr. Jack smiled a little sadly. \"Perhaps they do, David,--in\nstories.\"\n\n\"Well, can't they in this one?\"\n\n\"I don't see how.\"\n\n\"Why can't he go to her and ask her to marry him?\"\n\nMr. Jack drew himself up proudly.\n\n\"The Pauper and the Princess? Never! Paupers don't go to Princesses,\nDavid, and say, 'I love you.'\"\n\nDavid frowned.\n\n\"Why not? I don't see why--if they want to do it. Seems as if somehow\nit might be fixed.\"\n\n\"It can't be,\" returned Mr. Jack, his gaze on the towers that crowned\nthe opposite hill; \"not so long as always before the Pauper's eyes\nthere are those gray walls behind which he pictures the Princess in the\nmidst of her golden luxury.\"\n\nTo neither David nor Jill did the change to the present tense seem\nstrange. The story was much too real to them for that.\n\n\"Well, anyhow, I think it ought to be fixed,\" declared David, as he\nrose to his feet.\n\n\"So do I--but we can't fix it,\" laughed Jill. \"And I'm hungry. Let's\nsee what there is to eat!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nDAVID TO THE RESCUE\n\nIt was a beautiful moonlight night, but for once David was not thinking\nof the moon. All the way to the Holly farmhouse he was thinking of Mr.\nJack's story, \"The Princess and the Pauper.\" It held him strangely. He\nfelt that he never could forget it. For some reason that he could not\nhave explained, it made him sad, too, and his step was very quiet as he\nwent up the walk toward the kitchen door.\n\nIt was after eight o'clock. David had taken supper with Mr. Jack and\nJill, and not for some hours had he been at the farmhouse. In the\ndoorway now he stopped short; then instinctively he stepped back into\nthe shadow. In the kitchen a kerosene light was burning. It showed Mrs.\nHolly crying at the table, and Mr. Holly, white-faced and stern-lipped,\nstaring at nothing. Then Mrs. Holly raised her face, drawn and\ntear-stained, and asked a trembling question.\n\n\"Simeon, have you thought? We might go--to John--for--help.\"\n\nDavid was frightened then, so angry was the look that came into Simeon\nHolly's face.\n\n\"Ellen, we'll have no more of this,\" said the man harshly. \"Understand,\nI'd rather lose the whole thing and--and starve, than go to--John.\"\n\nDavid fled then. Up the back stairs he crept to his room and left his\nviolin. A moment later he stole down again and sought Perry Larson whom\nhe had seen smoking in the barn doorway.\n\n\"Perry, what is it?\" he asked in a trembling voice. \"What has\nhappened--in there?\" He pointed toward the house.\n\nThe man puffed for a moment in silence before he took his pipe from his\nmouth.\n\n\"Well, sonny, I s'pose I may as well tell ye. You'll have ter know it\nsometime, seein' as 't won't be no secret long. They've had a stroke o'\nbad luck--Mr. an' Mis' Holly has.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\nThe man hitched in his seat.\n\n\"By sugar, boy, I s'pose if I tell ye, there ain't no sartinty that\nyou'll sense it at all. I reckon it ain't in your class.\"\n\n\"But what is it?\"\n\n\"Well, it's money--and one might as well talk moonshine to you as\nmoney, I s'pose; but here goes it. It's a thousand dollars, boy, that\nthey owed. Here, like this,\" he explained, rummaging his pockets until\nhe had found a silver dollar to lay on his open palm. \"Now, jest\nimagine a thousand of them; that's heaps an' heaps--more 'n I ever see\nin my life.\"\n\n\"Like the stars?\" guessed David.\n\nThe man nodded.\n\n\"Ex-ACTLY! Well, they owed this--Mr. an' Mis' Holly did--and they had\nagreed ter pay it next Sat'day. And they was all right, too. They had\nit plum saved in the bank, an' was goin' ter draw it Thursday, ter make\nsure. An' they was feelin' mighty pert over it, too, when ter-day along\ncomes the news that somethin's broke kersmash in that bank, an' they've\nshet it up. An' nary a cent can the Hollys git now--an' maybe never.\nAnyhow, not 'fore it's too late for this job.\"\n\n\"But won't he wait?--that man they owe it to? I should think he'd have\nto, if they didn't have it to pay.\"\n\n\"Not much he will, when it's old Streeter that's got the mortgage on a\ngood fat farm like this!\"\n\nDavid drew his brows together perplexedly.\n\n\"What is a--a mortgage?\" he asked. \"Is it anything like a\nporte-cochere? I KNOW what that is, 'cause my Lady of the Roses has\none; but we haven't got that--down here.\"\n\nPerry Larson sighed in exasperation.\n\n\"Gosh, if that ain't 'bout what I expected of ye! No, it ain't even\nsecond cousin to a--a-that thing you're a-talkin' of. In plain wordin',\nit's jest this: Mr. Holly, he says ter Streeter: 'You give me a\nthousand dollars and I'll pay ye back on a sartin day; if I don't pay,\nyou can sell my farm fur what it'll bring, an' TAKE yer pay. Well, now\nhere 't is. Mr. Holly can't pay, an' so Streeter will put up the farm\nfur sale.\"\n\n\"What, with Mr. and Mrs. Holly LIVING here?\"\n\n\"Sure! Only they'll have ter git out, ye know.\"\n\n\"Where'll they go?\"\n\n\"The Lord knows; I don't.\"\n\n\"And is THAT what they're crying for--in there?--because they've got to\ngo?\"\n\n\"Sure!\"\n\n\"But isn't there anything, anywhere, that can be done to--stop it?\"\n\n\"I don't see how, kid,--not unless some one ponies up with the money\n'fore next Sat'day,--an' a thousand o' them things don't grow on ev'ry\nbush,\" he finished, gently patting the coin in his hand.\n\nAt the words a swift change came to David's face. His cheeks paled and\nhis eyes dilated in terror. It was as if ahead of him he saw a yawning\nabyss, eager to engulf him.\n\n\"And you say--MONEY would--fix it?\" he asked thickly.\n\n\"Ex-ACT-ly!--a thousand o' them, though, 't would take.\"\n\nA dawning relief came into David's eyes--it was as if he saw a bridge\nacross the abyss.\n\n\"You mean--that there wouldn't ANYTHING do, only silver pieces--like\nthose?\" he questioned hopefully.\n\n\"Sugar, kid, 'course there would! Gosh, but you BE a checkerboard o'\nsense an' nonsense, an' no mistake! Any money would do the job--any\nmoney! Don't ye see? Anything that's money.\"\n\n\"Would g-gold do it?\" David's voice was very faint now.\n\n\"Sure!--gold, or silver, or greenbacks, or--or a check, if it had the\ndough behind it.\"\n\nDavid did not appear to hear the last. With an oddly strained look he\nhad hung upon the man's first words; but at the end of the sentence he\nonly murmured, \"Oh, thank you,\" and turned away. He was walking slowly\nnow toward the house. His head was bowed. His step lagged.\n\n\"Now, ain't that jest like that chap,\" muttered the man, \"ter slink off\nlike that as if he was a whipped cur. I'll bet two cents an' a\ndoughnut, too, that in five minutes he'll be what he calls 'playin' it'\non that 'ere fiddle o' his. An' I'll be derned, too, if I ain't curious\nter see what he WILL make of it. It strikes me this ought ter fetch\nsomethin' first cousin to a dirge!\"\n\nOn the porch steps David paused a breathless instant. From the kitchen\ncame the sound of Mrs. Holly's sobs and of a stern voice praying. With\na shudder and a little choking cry the boy turned then and crept softly\nupstairs to his room.\n\nHe played, too, as Perry Larson had wagered. But it was not the tragedy\nof the closed bank, nor the honor of the threatened farm-selling that\nfell from his violin. It was, instead, the swan song of a little pile\nof gold--gold which lay now in a chimney cupboard, but which was soon\nto be placed at the feet of the mourning man and woman downstairs. And\nin the song was the sob of a boy who sees his house of dreams burn to\nashes; who sees his wonderful life and work out in the wide world turn\nto endless days of weed-pulling and dirt-digging in a narrow valley.\nThere was in the song, too, something of the struggle, the fierce yea\nand nay of the conflict. But, at the end, there was the wild burst of\nexaltation of renunciation, so that the man in the barn door below\nfairly sprang to his feet with an angry:--\n\n\"Gosh! if he hain't turned the thing into a jig--durn him! Don't he\nknow more'n that at such a time as this?\"\n\nLater, a very little later, the shadowy figure of the boy stood before\nhim.\n\n\"I've been thinking,\" stammered David, \"that maybe I--could help, about\nthat money, you know.\"\n\n\"Now, look a-here, boy,\" exploded Perry, in open exasperation, \"as I\nsaid in the first place, this ain't in your class. 'T ain't no pink\ncloud sailin' in the sky, nor a bluebird singin' in a blackb'rry bush.\nAn' you might 'play it'--as you call it--till doomsday, an' 't wouldn't\ndo no good--though I'm free ter confess that your playin' of them 'ere\nother things sounds real pert an' chirky at times; but 't won't do no\ngood here.\"\n\nDavid stepped forward, bringing his small, anxious face full into the\nmoonlight.\n\n\"But 't was the money, Perry; I meant about, the money,\" he explained.\n\"They were good to me and wanted me when there wasn't any one else that\ndid; and now I'd like to do something for them. There aren't so MANY\npieces, and they aren't silver. There's only one hundred and six of\nthem; I counted. But maybe they 'd help some. It--it would be\na--start.\" His voice broke over the once beloved word, then went on\nwith renewed strength. \"There, see! Would these do?\" And with both\nhands he held up to view his cap sagging under its weight of gold.\n\nPerry Larson's jaw fell open. His eyes bulged. Dazedly he reached out\nand touched with trembling fingers the heap of shining disks that\nseemed in the mellow light like little earth-born children of the moon\nitself. The next instant he recoiled sharply.\n\n\"Great snakes, boy, where'd you git that money?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Of father. He went to the far country, you know.\"\n\nPerry Larson snorted angrily.\n\n\"See here, boy, for once, if ye can, talk horse-sense! Surely, even YOU\ndon't expect me ter believe that he's sent you that money from--from\nwhere he's gone to!\"\n\n\"Oh, no. He left it.\"\n\n\"Left it! Why, boy, you know better! There wa'n't a cent--hardly--found\non him.\"\n\n\"He gave it to me before--by the roadside.\"\n\n\"Gave it to you! Where in the name of goodness has it been since?\"\n\n\"In the little cupboard in my room, behind the books.\"\n\n\"Great snakes!\" muttered Perry Larson, reaching out his hand and\ngingerly picking up one of the gold-pieces.\n\nDavid eyed him anxiously.\n\n\"Won't they--do?\" he faltered. \"There aren't a thousand; there's only a\nhundred and six; but--\"\n\n\"Do!\" cut in the man, excitedly. He had been examining the gold-piece\nat close range. \"Do! Well, I reckon they'll do. By Jiminy!--and ter\nthink you've had this up yer sleeve all this time! Well, I'll believe\nanythin' of yer now--anythin'! You can't stump me with nuthin'! Come\non.\" And he hurriedly led the way toward the house.\n\n\"But they weren't up my sleeve,\" corrected David, as he tried to keep\nup with the long strides of the man. \"I SAID they were in the cupboard\nin my room.\"\n\nThere was no answer. Larson had reached the porch steps, and had paused\nthere hesitatingly. From the kitchen still came the sound of sobs.\nAside from that there was silence. The boy, however, did not hesitate.\nHe went straight up the steps and through the open kitchen door. At the\ntable sat the man and the woman, their eyes covered with their hands.\n\nWith a swift overturning of his cap, David dumped his burden onto the\ntable, and stepped back respectfully.\n\n\"If you please, sir, would this--help any?\" he asked.\n\nAt the jingle of the coins Simeon Holly and his wife lifted their heads\nabruptly. A half-uttered sob died on the woman's lips. A quick cry came\nfrom the man's. He reached forth an eager hand and had almost clutched\nthe gold when a sudden change came to his face. With a stern\nejaculation he drew back.\n\n\"Boy, where did that money come from?\" he challenged.\n\nDavid sighed in a discouraged way. It seemed that, always, the showing\nof this gold mean't questioning--eternal questioning.\n\n\"Surely,\" continued Simeon Holly, \"you did not--\" With the boy's frank\ngaze upturned to his, the man could not finish his sentence.\n\nBefore David could answer came the voice of Perry Larson from the\nkitchen doorway.\n\n\"No, sir, he didn't, Mr. Holly; an' it's all straight, I'm\nthinkin'--though I'm free ter confess it does sound nutty. His dad give\nit to him.\"\n\n\"His--father! But where--where has it been ever since?\"\n\n\"In the chimney cupboard in his room, he says, sir.\"\n\nSimeon Holly turned in frowning amazement.\n\n\"David, what does this mean? Why have you kept this gold in a place\nlike that?\"\n\n\"Why, there wasn't anything else to do with it,\" answered the boy\nperplexedly. \"I hadn't any use for it, you know, and father said to\nkeep it till I needed it.\"\n\n\"'Hadn't any use for it'!\" blustered Larson from the doorway. \"Jiminy!\nNow, ain't that jest like that boy?\"\n\nBut David hurried on with his explanation.\n\n\"We never used to use them--father and I--except to buy things to eat\nand wear; and down here YOU give me those, you know.\"\n\n\"Gorry!\" interjected Perry Larson. \"Do you reckon, boy, that Mr. Holly\nhimself was give them things he gives ter you?\"\n\nThe boy turned sharply, a startled question in his eyes.\n\n\"What do you mean? Do you mean that--\" His face changed suddenly. His\ncheeks turned a shamed red. \"Why, he did--he did have to buy them, of\ncourse, just as father did. And I never even thought of it before!\nThen, it's yours, anyway--it belongs to you,\" he argued, turning to\nFarmer Holly, and shoving the gold nearer to his hands. \"There isn't\nenough, maybe--but 't will help!\"\n\n\"They're ten-dollar gold pieces, sir,\" spoke up Larson importantly;\n\"an' there's a hundred an' six of them. That's jest one thousand an'\nsixty dollars, as I make it.\"\n\nSimeon Holly, self-controlled man that he was, almost leaped from his\nchair.\n\n\"One thousand and sixty dollars!\" he gasped. Then, to David: \"Boy, in\nHeaven's name, who are you?\"\n\n\"I don't know--only David.\" The boy spoke wearily, with a grieved sob\nin his voice. He was very tired, a good deal perplexed, and a little\nangry. He wished, if no one wanted this gold, that he could take it\nupstairs again to the chimney cupboard; or, if they objected to that,\nthat they would at least give it to him, and let him go away now to\nthat beautiful music he was to hear, and to those kind people who were\nalways to understand what he said when he played.\n\n\"Of course,\" ventured Perry Larson diffidently, \"I ain't professin' ter\nknow any great shakes about the hand of the Lord, Mr. Holly, but it do\nstrike me that this 'ere gold comes mighty near bein'\nproverdential--fur you.\"\n\nSimeon Holly fell back in his seat. His eyes clung to the gold, but his\nlips set into rigid lines.\n\n\"That money is the boy's, Larson. It isn't mine,\" he said.\n\n\"He's give it to ye.\"\n\nSimeon Holly shook his head.\n\n\"David is nothing but a child, Perry. He doesn't realize at all what he\nis doing, nor how valuable his gift is.\"\n\n\"I know, sir, but you DID take him in, when there wouldn't nobody else\ndo it,\" argued Larson. \"An', anyhow, couldn't you make a kind of an I O\nU of it, even if he is a kid? Then, some day you could pay him back.\nMeanwhile you'd be a-keepin' him, an' a-schoolin' him; an' that's\nsomethin'.\"\n\n\"I know, I know,\" nodded Simeon Holly thoughtfully, his eyes going from\nthe gold to David's face. Then, aloud, yet as if to himself, he\nbreathed: \"Boy, boy, who was your father? How came he by all that\ngold--and he--a tramp!\"\n\nDavid drew himself suddenly erect. His eyes flashed.\n\n\"I don't know, sir. But I do know this: he didn't STEAL it!\"\n\nAcross the table Mrs. Holly drew a quick breath, but she did not\nspeak--save with her pleading eyes. Mrs. Holly seldom spoke--save with\nher eyes--when her husband was solving a knotty problem. She was\ndumfounded now that he should listen so patiently to the man,\nLarson,--though she was not more surprised than was Larson himself. For\nboth of them, however, there came at this moment a still greater\nsurprise. Simeon Holly leaned forward suddenly, the stern lines quite\ngone from his lips, and his face working with emotion as he drew David\ntoward him.\n\n\"You're a good son, boy,--a good loyal son; and--and I wish you were\nmine! I believe you. He didn't steal it, and I won't steal it, either.\nBut I will use it, since you are so good as to offer it. But it shall\nbe a loan, David, and some day, God helping me, you shall have it back.\nMeanwhile, you're my boy, David,--my boy!\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you, sir,\" rejoiced David. \"And, really, you know, being\nwanted like that is better than the start would be, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Better than--what?\"\n\nDavid shifted his position. He had not meant to say just that.\n\n\"N--nothing,\" he stammered, looking about for a means of quick escape.\n\"I--I was just talking,\" he finished. And he was immeasurably relieved\nto find that Mr. Holly did not press the matter further.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE UNBEAUTIFUL WORLD\n\nIn spite of the exaltation of renunciation, and in spite of the joy of\nbeing newly and especially \"wanted,\" those early September days were\nsometimes hard for David. Not until he had relinquished all hope of his\n\"start\" did he fully realize what that hope had meant to him.\n\nThere were times, to be sure, when there was nothing but rejoicing\nwithin him that he was able thus to aid the Hollys. There were other\ntimes when there was nothing but the sore heartache because of the\ngreat work out in the beautiful world that could now never be done; and\nbecause of the unlovely work at hand that must be done. To tell the\ntruth, indeed, David's entire conception of life had become suddenly a\nchaos of puzzling contradictions.\n\nTo Mr. Jack, one day, David went with his perplexities. Not that he\ntold him of the gold-pieces and of the unexpected use to which they had\nbeen put--indeed, no. David had made up his mind never, if he could\nhelp himself, to mention those gold-pieces to any one who did not\nalready know of them. They meant questions, and the questions,\nexplanations. And he had had enough of both on that particular subject.\nBut to Mr. Jack he said one day, when they were alone together:--\n\n\"Mr. Jack, how many folks have you got inside of your head?\"\n\n\"Eh--what, David?\"\n\nDavid repeated his question and attached an explanation.\n\n\"I mean, the folks that--that make you do things.\"\n\nMr. Jack laughed.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"I believe some people make claims to quite a number,\nand perhaps almost every one owns to a Dr. Jekyll and a Mr. Hyde.\"\n\n\"Who are they?\"\n\n\"Never mind, David. I don't think you know the gentlemen, anyhow.\nThey're only something like the little girl with a curl. One is very,\nvery good, indeed, and the other is horrid.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I know them; they're the ones that come to me,\" returned\nDavid, with a sigh. \"I've had them a lot, lately.\"\n\nMr. Jack stared.\n\n\"Oh, have you?\"\n\n\"Yes; and that's what's the trouble. How can you drive them off--the\none that is bad, I mean?\"\n\n\"Well, really,\" confessed Mr. Jack, \"I'm not sure I can tell. You\nsee--the gentlemen visit me sometimes.\"\n\n\"Oh, do they?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I'm so glad--that is, I mean,\" amended David, in answer to Mr. Jack's\nuplifted eyebrows, \"I'm glad that you understand what I'm talking\nabout. You see, I tried Perry Larson last night on it, to get him to\ntell me what to do. But he only stared and laughed. He didn't know the\nnames of 'em, anyhow, as you do, and at last he got really almost angry\nand said I made him feel so 'buggy' and 'creepy' that he wouldn't dare\nlook at himself in the glass if I kept on, for fear some one he'd never\nknown was there should jump out at him.\"\n\nMr. Jack chuckled.\n\n\"Well, I suspect, David, that Perry knew one of your gentlemen by the\nname of 'conscience,' perhaps; and I also suspect that maybe conscience\ndoes pretty nearly fill the bill, and that you've been having a bout\nwith that. Eh? Now, what is the trouble? Tell me about it.\"\n\nDavid stirred uneasily. Instead of answering, he asked another question.\n\n\"Mr. Jack, it is a beautiful world, isn't it?\"\n\nFor a moment there was no, answer; then a low voice replied:--\n\n\"Your father said it was, David.\"\n\nAgain David moved restlessly.\n\n\"Yes; but father was on the mountain. And down here--well, down here\nthere are lots of things that I don't believe he knew about.\"\n\n\"What, for instance?\"\n\n\"Why, lots of things--too many to tell. Of course there are things like\ncatching fish, and killing birds and squirrels and other things to eat,\nand plaguing cats and dogs. Father never would have called those\nbeautiful. Then there are others like little Jimmy Clark who can't\nwalk, and the man at the Marstons' who's sick, and Joe Glaspell who is\nblind. Then there are still different ones like Mr. Holly's little boy.\nPerry says he ran away years and years ago, and made his people very\nunhappy. Father wouldn't call that a beautiful world, would he? And how\ncan people like that always play in tune? And there are the Princess\nand the Pauper that you told about.\"\n\n\"Oh, the story?\"\n\n\"Yes; and people like them can't be happy and think the world is\nbeautiful, of course.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because they didn't end right. They didn't get married and live happy\never after, you know.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't think I'd worry about that, David,--at least, not about\nthe Princess. I fancy the world was very beautiful to her, all right.\nThe Pauper--well, perhaps he wasn't very happy. But, after all, David,\nyou know happiness is something inside of yourself. Perhaps half of\nthese people are happy, in their way.\"\n\n\"There! and that's another thing,\" sighed David. \"You see, I found that\nout--that it was inside of yourself--quite a while ago, and I told the\nLady of the Roses. But now I--can't make it work myself.\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\"\n\n\"Well, you see then something was going to happen--something that I\nliked; and I found that just thinking of it made it so that I didn't\nmind raking or hoeing, or anything like that; and I told the Lady of\nthe Roses. And I told her that even if it wasn't going to happen she\ncould THINK it was going to, and that that would be just the same,\nbecause 't was the thinking that made my hours sunny ones. It wasn't\nthe DOING at all. I said I knew because I hadn't DONE it yet. See?\"\n\n\"I--think so, David.\"\n\n\"Well, I've found out that it isn't the same at all; for now that I\nKNOW that this beautiful thing isn't ever going to happen to me, I can\nthink and think all day, and it doesn't do a mite of good. The sun is\njust as hot, and my back aches just as hard, and the field is just as\nbig and endless as it used to be when I had to call it that those hours\ndidn't count. Now, what is the matter?\"\n\nMr. Jack laughed, but he shook his head a little sadly.\n\n\"You're getting into too deep waters for me, David. I suspect you're\nfloundering in a sea that has upset the boats of sages since the world\nbegan. But what is it that was so nice, and that isn't going to happen?\nPerhaps I MIGHT help on that.\"\n\n\"No, you couldn't,\" frowned David; \"and there couldn't anybody, either,\nyou see, because I wouldn't go back now and LET it happen, anyhow, as\nlong as I know what I do. Why, if I did, there wouldn't be ANY hours\nthat were sunny then--not even the ones after four o'clock; I--I'd feel\nso mean! But what I don't see is just how I can fix it up with the Lady\nof the Roses.\"\n\n\"What has she to do with it?\"\n\n\"Why, at the very first, when she said she didn't have ANY sunshiny\nhours, I told her--\"\n\n\"When she said what?\" interposed Mr. Jack, coming suddenly erect in his\nchair.\n\n\"That she didn't have any hours to count, you know.\"\n\n\"To--COUNT?\"\n\n\"Yes; it was the sundial. Didn't I tell you? Yes, I know I did--about\nthe words on it--not counting any hours that weren't sunny, you know.\nAnd she said she wouldn't have ANY hours to count; that the sun never\nshone for her.\"\n\n\"Why, David,\" demurred Mr. Jack in a voice that shook a little, \"are\nyou sure? Did she say just that? You--you must be mistaken--when she\nhas--has everything to make her happy.\"\n\n\"I wasn't, because I said that same thing to her myself--afterwards.\nAnd then I told her--when I found out myself, you know--about its being\nwhat was inside of you, after all, that counted; and then is when I\nasked her if she couldn't think of something nice that was going to\nhappen to her sometime.\"\n\n\"Well, what did she say?\"\n\n\"She shook her head, and said 'No.' Then she looked away, and her eyes\ngot soft and dark like little pools in the brook where the water stops\nto rest. And she said she had hoped once that this something would\nhappen; but that it hadn't, and that it would take something more than\nthinking to bring it. And I know now what she meant, because thinking\nisn't all that counts, is it?\"\n\nMr. Jack did not answer. He had risen to his feet, and was pacing\nrestlessly up and down the veranda. Once or twice he turned his eyes\ntoward the towers of Sunnycrest, and David noticed that there was a new\nlook on his face.\n\nVery soon, however, the old tiredness came back to his eyes, and he\ndropped into his seat again, muttering \"Fool! of course it couldn't\nbe--that!\"\n\n\"Be what?\" asked David.\n\nMr. Jack started.\n\n\"Er--nothing; nothing that you would understand, David. Go on--with\nwhat you were saying.\"\n\n\"There isn't any more. It's all done. It's only that I'm wondering how\nI'm going to learn here that it's a beautiful world, so that I\ncan--tell father.\"\n\nMr. Jack roused himself. He had the air of a man who determinedly\nthrows to one side a heavy burden.\n\n\"Well, David,\" he smiled, \"as I said before, you are still out on that\nsea where there are so many little upturned boats. There might be a\ngood many ways of answering that question.\"\n\n\"Mr. Holly says,\" mused the boy, aloud, a little gloomily, \"that it\ndoesn't make any difference whether we find things beautiful or not;\nthat we're here to do something serious in the world.\"\n\n\"That is about what I should have expected of Mr. Holly\" retorted Mr.\nJack grimly. \"He acts it--and looks it. But--I don't believe you are\ngoing to tell your father just that.\"\n\n\"No, sir, I don't believe I am,\" accorded David soberly.\n\n\"I have an idea that you're going to find that answer just where your\nfather said you would--in your violin. See if you don't. Things that\naren't beautiful you'll make beautiful--because we find what we are\nlooking for, and you're looking for beautiful things. After all, boy,\nif we march straight ahead, chin up, and sing our own little song with\nall our might and main, we shan't come so far amiss from the goal, I'm\nthinking. There! that's preaching, and I didn't mean to preach;\nbut--well, to tell the truth, that was meant for myself, for--I'm\nhunting for the beautiful world, too.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I know,\" returned David fervently. And again Mr. Jack,\nlooking into the sympathetic, glowing dark eyes, wondered if, after\nall, David really could--know.\n\nEven yet Mr. Jack was not used to David; there were \"so many of him,\"\nhe told himself. There were the boy, the artist, and a third\npersonality so evanescent that it defied being named. The boy was\njolly, impetuous, confidential, and delightful--plainly reveling in all\nmanner of fun and frolic. The artist was nothing but a bunch of nervous\nalertness, ready to find melody and rhythm in every passing thought or\nflying cloud. The third--that baffling third that defied the\nnaming--was a dreamy, visionary, untouchable creature who floated so\nfar above one's head that one's hand could never pull him down to get a\ngood square chance to see what he did look like. All this thought Mr.\nJack as he gazed into David's luminous eyes.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nTHE UNFAMILIAR WAY\n\nIn September David entered the village school. School and David did not\nassimilate at once. Very confidently the teacher set to work to grade\nher new pupil; but she was not so confident when she found that while\nin Latin he was perilously near herself (and in French--which she was\nnot required to teach--disastrously beyond her!), in United States\nhistory he knew only the barest outlines of certain portions, and could\nnot name a single battle in any of its wars. In most studies he was far\nbeyond boys of his own age, yet at every turn she encountered these\npuzzling spots of discrepancy, which rendered grading in the ordinary\nway out of the question.\n\nDavid's methods of recitation, too, were peculiar, and somewhat\ndisconcerting. He also did not hesitate to speak aloud when he chose,\nnor to rise from his seat and move to any part of the room as the whim\nseized him. In time, of course, all this was changed; but it was\nseveral days before the boy learned so to conduct himself that he did\nnot shatter to atoms the peace and propriety of the schoolroom.\n\nOutside of school David had little work to do now, though there were\nstill left a few light tasks about the house. Home life at the Holly\nfarmhouse was the same for David, yet with a difference--the difference\nthat comes from being really wanted instead of being merely dutifully\nkept. There were other differences, too, subtle differences that did\nnot show, perhaps, but that still were there.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Holly, more than ever now, were learning to look at the\nworld through David's eyes. One day--one wonderful day--they even went\nto walk in the woods with the boy; and whenever before had Simeon Holly\nleft his work for so frivolous a thing as a walk in the woods!\n\nIt was not accomplished, however, without a struggle, as David could\nhave told. The day was a Saturday, clear, crisp, and beautiful, with a\npromise of October in the air; and David fairly tingled to be free and\naway. Mrs. Holly was baking--and the birds sang unheard outside her\npantry window. Mr. Holly was digging potatoes--and the clouds sailed\nunnoticed above his head.\n\nAll the morning David urged and begged. If for once, just this once,\nthey would leave everything and come, they would not regret it, he was\nsure. But they shook their heads and said, \"No, no, impossible!\" In the\nafternoon the pies were done and the potatoes dug, and David urged and\npleaded again. If once, only this once, they would go to walk with him\nin the woods, he would be so happy, so very happy! And to please the\nboy--they went.\n\nIt was a curious walk. Ellen Holly trod softly, with timid feet. She\nthrew hurried, frightened glances from side to side. It was plain that\nEllen Holly did not know how to play. Simeon Holly stalked at her\nelbow, stern, silent, and preoccupied. It was plain that Simeon Holly\nnot only did not know how to play, but did not even care to find out.\n\nThe boy tripped ahead and talked. He had the air of a monarch\ndisplaying his kingdom. On one side was a bit of moss worthy of the\nclosest attention; on another, a vine that carried allurement in every\ntendril. Here was a flower that was like a story for interest, and\nthere was a bush that bore a secret worth the telling. Even Simeon\nHolly glowed into a semblance of life when David had unerringly picked\nout and called by name the spruce, and fir, and pine, and larch, and\nthen, in answer to Mrs. Holly's murmured: \"But, David, where's the\ndifference? They look so much alike!\" he had said:--\n\n\"Oh, but they aren't, you know. Just see how much more pointed at the\ntop that fir is than that spruce back there; and the branches grow\nstraight out, too, like arms, and they're all smooth and tapering at\nthe ends like a pussy-cat's tail. But the spruce back there--ITS\nbranches turned down and out--didn't you notice?--and they're all bushy\nat the ends like a squirrel's tail. Oh, they're lots different! That's\na larch 'way ahead--that one with the branches all scraggly and close\ndown to the ground. I could start to climb that easy; but I couldn't\nthat pine over there. See, it's 'way up, up, before there's a place for\nyour foot! But I love pines. Up there on the mountains where I lived,\nthe pines were so tall that it seemed as if God used them sometimes to\nhold up the sky.\"\n\nAnd Simeon Holly heard, and said nothing; and that he did say\nnothing--especially nothing in answer to David's confident assertions\nconcerning celestial and terrestrial architecture--only goes to show\nhow well, indeed, the man was learning to look at the world through\nDavid's eyes.\n\nNor were these all of David's friends to whom Mr. and Mrs. Holly were\nintroduced on that memorable walk. There were the birds, and the\nsquirrels, and, in fact, everything that had life. And each one he\ngreeted joyously by name, as he would greet a friend whose home and\nhabits he knew. Here was a wonderful woodpecker, there was a beautiful\nbluejay. Ahead, that brilliant bit of color that flashed across their\npath was a tanager. Once, far up in the sky, as they crossed an open\nspace, David spied a long black streak moving southward.\n\n\"Oh, see!\" he exclaimed. \"The crows! See them?--'way up there? Wouldn't\nit be fun if we could do that, and fly hundreds and hundreds of miles,\nmaybe a thousand?\"\n\n\"Oh, David,\" remonstrated Mrs. Holly, unbelievingly.\n\n\"But they do! These look as if they'd started on their winter journey\nSouth, too; but if they have, they're early. Most of them don't go till\nOctober. They come back in March, you know. Though I've had them, on\nthe mountain, that stayed all the year with me.\"\n\n\"My! but I love to watch them go,\" murmured David, his eyes following\nthe rapidly disappearing blackline. \"Lots of birds you can't see, you\nknow, when they start for the South. They fly at night--the woodpeckers\nand orioles and cuckoos, and lots of others. They're afraid, I guess,\ndon't you? But I've seen them. I've watched them. They tell each other\nwhen they're going to start.\"\n\n\"Oh, David,\" remonstrated Mrs. Holly, again, her eyes reproving, but\nplainly enthralled.\n\n\"But they do tell each other,\" claimed the boy, with sparkling eyes.\n\"They must! For, all of a sudden, some night, you'll hear the signal,\nand then they'll begin to gather from all directions. I've seen them.\nThen, suddenly, they're all up and off to the South--not in one big\nflock, but broken up into little flocks, following one after another,\nwith such a beautiful whir of wings. Oof--OOF--OOF!--and they're gone!\nAnd I don't see them again till next year. But you've seen the\nswallows, haven't you? They go in the daytime, and they're the easiest\nto tell of any of them. They fly so swift and straight. Haven't you\nseen the swallows go?\"\n\n\"Why, I--I don't know, David,\" murmured Mrs. Holly, with a helpless\nglance at her husband stalking on ahead. \"I--I didn't know there were\nsuch things to--to know.\"\n\nThere was more, much more, that David said before the walk came to an\nend. And though, when it did end, neither Simeon Holly nor his wife\nsaid a word of its having been a pleasure or a profit, there was yet on\ntheir faces something of the peace and rest and quietness that belonged\nto the woods they had left.\n\nIt was a beautiful month--that September, and David made the most of\nit. Out of school meant out of doors for him. He saw Mr. Jack and Jill\noften. He spent much time, too, with the Lady of the Roses. She was\nstill the Lady of the ROSES to David, though in the garden now were the\npurple and scarlet and yellow of the asters, salvia, and golden glow,\ninstead of the blush and perfume of the roses.\n\nDavid was very much at home at Sunnycrest. He was welcome, he knew, to\ngo where he pleased. Even the servants were kind to him, as well as was\nthe elderly cousin whom he seldom saw, but who, he knew, lived there as\ncompany for his Lady of the Roses.\n\nPerhaps best, next to the garden, David loved the tower room; possibly\nbecause Miss Holbrook herself so often suggested that they go there.\nAnd it was there that they were when he said, dreamily, one day:--\n\n\"I like this place--up here so high, only sometimes it does make me\nthink of that Princess, because it was in a tower like this that she\nwas, you know.\"\n\n\"Fairy stories, David?\" asked Miss Holbrook lightly.\n\n\"No, not exactly, though there was a Princess in it. Mr. Jack told it.\"\nDavid's eyes were still out of the window.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Jack! And does Mr. Jack often tell you stories?\"\n\n\"No. He never told only this one--and maybe that's why I remember it\nso.\"\n\n\"Well, and what did the Princess do?\" Miss Holbrook's voice was still\nlight, still carelessly preoccupied. Her attention, plainly, was given\nto the sewing in her hand.\n\n\"She didn't do and that's what was the trouble,\" sighed I David. \"She\ndidn't wave, you know.\"\n\nThe needle in Miss Holbrook's fingers stopped short in mid-air, the\nthread half-drawn.\n\n\"Didn't--wave!\" she stammered. \"What do you--mean?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" laughed the boy, turning away from the window. \"I forgot\nthat you didn't know the story.\"\n\n\"But maybe I do--that is--what was the story?\" asked Miss Holbrook,\nwetting her lips as if they had grown suddenly very dry.\n\n\"Oh, do you? I wonder now! It wasn't 'The PRINCE and the Pauper,' but\nthe PRINCESS and the Pauper,\" cited David; \"and they used to wave\nsignals, and answer with flags. Do you know the story?\"\n\nThere was no answer. Miss Holbrook was putting away her work,\nhurriedly, and with hands that shook. David noticed that she even\npricked herself in her anxiety to get the needle tucked away. Then she\ndrew him to a low stool at her side.\n\n\"David, I want you to tell me that story, please,\" she said, \"just as\nMr. Jack told it to you. Now, be careful and put it all in, because\nI--I want to hear it,\" she finished, with an odd little laugh that\nseemed to bring two bright red spots to her cheeks.\n\n\"Oh, do you want to hear it? Then I will tell it,\" cried David\njoyfully. To David, almost as delightful as to hear a story was to tell\none himself. \"You see, first--\" And he plunged headlong into the\nintroduction.\n\nDavid knew it well--that story: and there was, perhaps, little that he\nforgot. It might not have been always told in Mr. Jack's language; but\nhis meaning was there, and very intently Miss Holbrook listened while\nDavid told of the boy and the girl, the wavings, and the flags that\nwere blue, black, and red. She laughed once,--that was at the little\njoke with the bells that the girl played,--but she did not speak until\nsometime later when David was telling of the first home-coming of the\nPrincess, and of the time when the boy on his tiny piazza watched and\nwatched in vain for a waving white signal from the tower.\n\n\"Do you mean to say,\" interposed Miss Holbrook then, almost starting to\nher feet, \"that that boy expected--\" She stopped suddenly, and fell\nback in her chair. The two red spots on her cheeks had become a rosy\nglow now, all over her face.\n\n\"Expected what?\" asked David.\n\n\"N--nothing. Go on. I was so--so interested,\" explained Miss Holbrook\nfaintly. \"Go on.\"\n\nAnd David did go on; nor did the story lose by his telling. It gained,\nindeed, something, for now it had woven through it the very strong\nsympathy of a boy who loved the Pauper for his sorrow and hated the\nPrincess for causing that sorrow.\n\n\"And so,\" he concluded mournfully, \"you see it isn't a very nice story,\nafter all, for it didn't end well a bit. They ought to have got married\nand lived happy ever after. But they didn't.\"\n\nMiss Holbrook drew in her breath a little uncertainly, and put her hand\nto her throat. Her face now, instead of being red, was very white.\n\n\"But, David,\" she faltered, after a moment, \"perhaps\nhe--the--Pauper--did not--not love the Princess any longer.\"\n\n\"Mr. Jack said that he did.\"\n\nThe white face went suddenly pink again.\n\n\"Then, why didn't he go to her and--and--tell her?\"\n\nDavid lifted his chin. With all his dignity he answered, and his words\nand accent were Mr. Jack's.\n\n\"Paupers don't go to Princesses, and say 'I love you.'\"\n\n\"But perhaps if they did--that is--if--\" Miss Holbrook bit her lips and\ndid not finish her sentence. She did not, indeed, say anything more for\na long time. But she had not forgotten the story. David knew that,\nbecause later she began to question him carefully about many little\npoints--points that he was very sure he had already made quite plain.\nShe talked about it, indeed, until he wondered if perhaps she were\ngoing to tell it to some one else sometime. He asked her if she were;\nbut she only shook her head. And after that she did not question him\nany more. And a little later David went home.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nHEAVY HEARTS\n\nFor a week David had not been near the House that Jack Built, and that,\ntoo, when Jill had been confined within doors for several days with a\ncold. Jill, indeed, was inclined to be grieved at this apparent lack of\ninterest on the part of her favorite playfellow; but upon her return\nfrom her first day of school, after her recovery, she met her brother\nwith startled eyes.\n\n\"Jack, it hasn't been David's fault at all,\" she cried remorsefully.\n\"He's sick.\"\n\n\"Sick!\"\n\n\"Yes; awfully sick. They've had to send away for doctors and\neverything.\"\n\n\"Why, Jill, are you sure? Where did you hear this?\"\n\n\"At school to-day. Every one was talking about it.\"\n\n\"But what is the matter?\"\n\n\"Fever--some sort. Some say it's typhoid, and some scarlet, and some\nsay another kind that I can't remember; but everybody says he's awfully\nsick. He got it down to Glaspell's, some say,--and some say he didn't.\nBut, anyhow, Betty Glaspell has been sick with something, and they\nhaven't let folks in there this week,\" finished Jill, her eyes big with\nterror.\n\n\"The Glaspells? But what was David doing down there?\"\n\n\"Why, you know,--he told us once,--teaching Joe to play. He's been\nthere lots. Joe is blind, you know, and can't see, but he just loves\nmusic, and was crazy over David's violin; so David took down his other\none--the one that was his father's, you know--and showed him how to\npick out little tunes, just to take up his time so he wouldn't mind so\nmuch that he couldn't see. Now, Jack, wasn't that just like David?\nJack, I can't have anything happen to David!\"\n\n\"No, dear, no; of course not! I'm afraid we can't any of us, for that\nmatter,\" sighed Jack, his forehead drawn into anxious lines. \"I'll go\ndown to the Hollys', Jill, the first thing tomorrow morning, and see\nhow he is and if there's anything we can do. Meanwhile, don't take it\ntoo much to heart, dear. It may not be half so bad as you think.\nSchool-children always get things like that exaggerated, you must\nremember,\" he finished, speaking with a lightness that he did not feel.\n\nTo himself the man owned that he was troubled, seriously troubled. He\nhad to admit that Jill's story bore the earmarks of truth; and\noverwhelmingly he realized now just how big a place this somewhat\npuzzling small boy had come to fill in his own heart. He did not need\nJill's anxious \"Now, hurry, Jack,\" the next morning to start him off in\nall haste for the Holly farmhouse. A dozen rods from the driveway he\nmet Perry Larson and stopped him abruptly.\n\n\"Good morning, Larson; I hope this isn't true--what I hear--that David\nis very ill.\"\n\nLarson pulled off his hat and with his free hand sought the one\nparticular spot on his head to which he always appealed when he was\nvery much troubled.\n\n\"Well, yes, sir, I'm afraid 't is, Mr. Jack--er--Mr. Gurnsey, I mean.\nHe is turrible sick, poor little chap, an' it's too bad--that's what it\nis--too bad!\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm sorry! I hoped the report was exaggerated. I came down to see\nif--if there wasn't something I could do.\"\n\n\"Well, 'course you can ask--there ain't no law ag'in' that; an' ye\nneedn't be afraid, neither. The report has got 'round that it's\nketchin'--what he's got, and that he got it down to the Glaspells'; but\n't ain't so. The doctor says he didn't ketch nothin', an' he can't give\nnothin'. It's his head an' brain that ain't right, an' he's got a\nmighty bad fever. He's been kind of flighty an' nervous, anyhow, lately.\n\n\"As I was sayin', 'course you can ask, but I'm thinkin' there won't be\nnothin' you can do ter help. Ev'rythin' that can be done is bein' done.\nIn fact, there ain't much of anythin' else that is bein' done down\nthere jest now but, tendin' ter him. They've got one o' them 'ere\nedyercated nurses from the Junction--what wears caps, ye know, an'\nmakes yer feel as if they knew it all, an' you didn't know nothin'. An'\nthen there's Mr. an' Mis' Holly besides. If they had THEIR way, there\nwouldn't neither of, em let him out o' their sight fur a minute,\nthey're that cut up about it.\"\n\n\"I fancy they think a good deal of the boy--as we all do,\" murmured the\nyounger man, a little unsteadily.\n\nLarson winkled his forehead in deep thought.\n\n\"Yes; an' that's what beats me,\" he answered slowly; \"'bout HIM,--Mr.\nHolly, I mean. 'Course we'd 'a' expected it of HER--losin' her own boy\nas she did, an' bein' jest naturally so sweet an' lovin'-hearted. But\nHIM--that's diff'rent. Now, you know jest as well as I do what Mr.\nHolly is--every one does, so I ain't sayin' nothin' sland'rous. He's a\ngood man--a powerful good man; an' there ain't a squarer man goin' ter\nwork fur. But the fact is, he was made up wrong side out, an' the seams\nhas always showed bad--turrible bad, with ravelin's all stickin' out\nevery which way ter ketch an' pull. But, gosh! I'm blamed if that, ere\nboy ain't got him so smoothed down, you wouldn't know, scursely, that\nhe had a seam on him, sometimes; though how he's done it beats me. Now,\nthere's Mis' Holly--she's tried ter smooth 'em, I'll warrant, lots of\ntimes. But I'm free ter say she hain't never so much as clipped a\nravelin' in all them forty years they've lived tergether. Fact is, it's\nworked the other way with her. All that HER rubbin' up ag'in' them\nseams has amounted to is ter git herself so smoothed down that she\ndon't never dare ter say her soul's her own, most generally,--anyhow,\nnot if he happens ter intermate it belongs ter anybody else!\"\n\nJack Gurnsey suddenly choked over a cough.\n\n\"I wish I could--do something,\" he murmured uncertainly.\n\n\"'T ain't likely ye can--not so long as Mr. an' Mis' Holly is on their\ntwo feet. Why, there ain't nothin' they won't do, an' you'll believe\nit, maybe, when I tell you that yesterday Mr. Holly, he tramped all\nthrough Sawyer's woods in the rain, jest ter find a little bit of moss\nthat the boy was callin' for. Think o' that, will ye? Simeon Holly\nhuntin' moss! An' he got it, too, an' brung it home, an' they say it\ncut him up somethin' turrible when the boy jest turned away, and didn't\ntake no notice. You understand, 'course, sir, the little chap ain't\nright in his head, an' so half the time he don't know what he says.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm sorry, sorry!\" exclaimed Gurnsey, as he turned away, and\nhurried toward the farmhouse.\n\nMrs. Holly herself answered his low knock. She looked worn and pale.\n\n\"Thank you, sir,\" she said gratefully, in reply to his offer of\nassistance, \"but there isn't anything you can do, Mr. Gurnsey. We're\nhaving everything done that can be, and every one is very kind. We have\na very good nurse, and Dr. Kennedy has had consultation with Dr. Benson\nfrom the Junction. They are doing all in their power, of course, but\nthey say that--that it's going to be the nursing that will count now.\"\n\n\"Then I don't fear for him, surely\" declared the man, with fervor.\n\n\"I know, but--well, he shall have the very best possible--of that.\"\n\n\"I know he will; but isn't there anything--anything that I can do?\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"No. Of course, if he gets better--\" She hesitated; then lifted her\nchin a little higher; \"WHEN he gets better,\" she corrected with\ncourageous emphasis, \"he will want to see you.\"\n\n\"And he shall see me,\" asserted Gurnsey. \"And he will be better, Mrs.\nHolly,--I'm sure he will.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, of course, only--oh, Mr. Jack, he's so sick--so very sick!\nThe doctor says he's a peculiarly sensitive nature, and that he thinks\nsomething's been troubling him lately.\" Her voice broke.\n\n\"Poor little chap!\" Mr. Jack's voice, too, was husky.\n\nShe looked up with swift gratefulness for his sympathy.\n\n\"And you loved him, too, I know\" she choked. \"He talks of you\noften--very often.\"\n\n\"Indeed I love him! Who could help it?\"\n\n\"There couldn't anybody, Mr. Jack,--and that's just it. Now, since he's\nbeen sick, we've wondered more than ever who he is. You see, I can't\nhelp thinking that somewhere he's got friends who ought to know about\nhim--now.\"\n\n\"Yes, I see,\" nodded the man.\n\n\"He isn't an ordinary boy, Mr. Jack. He's been trained in lots of\nways--about his manners, and at the table, and all that. And lots of\nthings his father has told him are beautiful, just beautiful! He isn't\na tramp. He never was one. And there's his playing. YOU know how he can\nplay.\"\n\n\"Indeed I do! You must miss his playing, too.\"\n\n\"I do; he talks of that, also,\" she hurried on, working her fingers\nnervously together; \"but oftenest he--he speaks of singing, and I can't\nquite understand that, for he didn't ever sing, you know.\"\n\n\"Singing? What does he say?\" The man asked the question because he saw\nthat it was affording the overwrought little woman real relief to free\nher mind; but at the first words of her reply he became suddenly alert.\n\n\"It's 'his song,' as he calls it, that he talks about, always. It isn't\nmuch--what he says--but I noticed it because he always says the same\nthing, like this: I'll just hold up my chin and march straight on and\non, and I'll sing it with all my might and main.' And when I ask him\nwhat he's going to sing, he always says, 'My song--my song,' just like\nthat. Do you think, Mr. Jack, he did have--a song?\"\n\nFor a moment the man did not answer. Something in his throat tightened,\nand held the words. Then, in a low voice he managed to stammer:--\n\n\"I think he did, Mrs. Holly, and--I think he sang it, too.\" The next\nmoment, with a quick lifting of his hat and a murmured \"I'll call again\nsoon,\" he turned and walked swiftly down the driveway.\n\nSo very swiftly, indeed, was Mr. Jack walking, and so self-absorbed was\nhe, that he did not see the carriage until it was almost upon him; then\nhe stepped aside to let it pass. What he saw as he gravely raised his\nhat was a handsome span of black horses, a liveried coachman, and a\npair of startled eyes looking straight into his. What he did not see\nwas the quick gesture with which Miss Holbrook almost ordered her\ncarriage stopped the minute it had passed him by.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nAS PERRY SAW IT\n\nOne by one the days passed, and there came from the anxious watchers at\nDavid's bedside only the words, \"There's very little change.\" Often\nJack Gurnsey went to the farmhouse to inquire for the boy. Often, too,\nhe saw Perry Larson; and Perry was never loath to talk of David. It was\nfrom Perry, indeed, that Gurnsey began to learn some things of David\nthat he had never known before.\n\n\"It does beat all,\" Perry Larson said to him one day, \"how many folks\nasks me how that boy is--folks that you'd never think knew him, anyhow,\nter say nothin' of carin' whether he lived or died. Now, there's old\nMis' Somers, fur instance. YOU know what she is--sour as a lemon an'\npuckery as a chokecherry. Well, if she didn't give me yesterday a great\nbo-kay o' posies she'd growed herself, an' said they was fur him--that\nthey berlonged ter him, anyhow.\n\n\"'Course, I didn't exactly sense what she meant by that, so I asked her\nstraight out; an' it seems that somehow, when the boy first come, he\nstruck her place one day an' spied a great big red rose on one of her\nbushes. It seems he had his fiddle, an' he, played it,--that rose\na-growin' (you know his way!), an' she heard an' spoke up pretty sharp\nan' asked him what in time he was doin'. Well, most kids would 'a'\nrun,--knowin' her temper as they does,--but not much David. He stands\nup as pert as ye please, an' tells her how happy that red rose must be\nter make all that dreary garden look so pretty; an' then he goes on,\nmerry as a lark, a-playin' down the hill.\n\n\"Well, Mis' Somers owned up ter me that she was pretty mad at the time,\n'cause her garden did look like tunket, an' she knew it. She said she\nhadn't cared ter do a thing with it since her Bessie died that thought\nso much of it. But after what David had said, even mad as she was, the\nthing kind o' got on her nerves, an' she couldn't see a thing, day or\nnight, but that red rose a-growin' there so pert an' courageous-like,\nuntil at last, jest ter quiet herself, she fairly had ter set to an'\nslick that garden up! She said she raked an' weeded, an' fixed up all\nthe plants there was, in good shape, an' then she sent down to the\nJunction fur some all growed in pots, 'cause 't was too late ter plant\nseeds. An, now it's doin' beautiful, so she jest could n't help sendin'\nthem posies ter David. When I told Mis' Holly, she said she was glad it\nhappened, 'cause what Mis' Somers needed was somethin' ter git her out\nof herself--an' I'm free ter say she did look better-natured, an' no\nmistake,--kind o' like a chokecherry in blossom, ye might say.\"\n\n\"An' then there's the Widder Glaspell,\" continued Perry, after a pause.\n\"'Course, any one would expect she'd feel bad, seein' as how good David\nwas ter her boy--teachin' him ter play, ye know. But Mis' Glaspell says\nJoe jest does take on somethin' turrible, an' he won't tech the fiddle,\nthough he was plum carried away with it when David was well an'\nteachin' of him. An' there's the Clark kid. He's lame, ye know, an' he\nthought the world an' all of David's playin'.\n\n\"'Course, there's you an' Miss Holbrook, always askin' an' sendin'\nthings--but that ain't so strange, 'cause you was 'specially his\nfriends. But it's them others what beats me. Why, some days it's 'most\nev'ry soul I meet, jest askin' how he is, an' sayin' they hopes he'll\ngit well. Sometimes it's kids that he's played to, an' I'll be\ntriggered if one of 'em one day didn't have no excuse to offer except\nthat David had fit him--'bout a cat, or somethin'--an' that ever since\nthen he'd thought a heap of him--though he guessed David didn't know\nit. Listen ter that, will ye!\n\n\"An' once a woman held me up, an' took on turrible, but all I could git\nfrom her was that he'd sat on her doorstep an' played ter her baby once\nor twice;--as if that was anythin'! But one of the derndest funny ones\nwas the woman who said she could wash her dishes a sight easier after\nshe'd a-seen him go by playin'. There was Bill Dowd, too. You know he\nreally HAS got a screw loose in his head somewheres, an' there ain't\nany one but what says he's the town fool, all right. Well, what do ye\nthink HE said?\"\n\nMr. Jack shook his head.\n\n\"Well, he said he did hope as how nothin' would happen ter that boy\ncause he did so like ter see him smile, an' that he always did smile\nevery time he met him! There, what do ye think o' that?\"\n\n\"Well, I think, Perry,\" returned Mr. Jack soberly, \"that Bill Dowd\nwasn't playing the fool, when he said that, quite so much as he\nsometimes is, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Hm-m, maybe not,\" murmured Perry Larson perplexedly. \"Still, I'm free\nter say I do think 't was kind o' queer.\" He paused, then slapped his\nknee suddenly. \"Say, did I tell ye about Streeter--Old Bill Streeter\nan' the pear tree?\"\n\nAgain Mr. Jack shook his head.\n\n\"Well, then, I'm goin' to,\" declared the other, with gleeful emphasis.\n\"An', say, I don't believe even YOU can explain this--I don't! Well,\nyou know Streeter--ev'ry one does, so I ain't sayin' nothin'\nsland'rous. He was cut on a bias, an' that bias runs ter money every\ntime. You know as well as I do that he won't lift his finger unless\nthere's a dollar stickin' to it, an' that he hain't no use fur anythin'\nnor anybody unless there's money in it for him. I'm blamed if I don't\nthink that if he ever gits ter heaven, he'll pluck his own wings an'\nsell the feathers fur what they'll bring.\"\n\n\"Oh, Perry!\" remonstrated Mr. Jack, in a half-stifled voice.\n\nPerry Larson only grinned and went on imperturbably.\n\n\"Well, seein' as we both understand what he is, I'll tell ye what he\nDONE. He called me up ter his fence one day, big as life, an' says he,\n'How's the boy?' An' you could 'a' knocked me down with a feather.\nStreeter--a-askin' how a boy was that was sick! An' he seemed ter care,\ntoo. I hain't seen him look so longfaced since--since he was paid up on\na sartin note I knows of, jest as he was smackin' his lips over a nice\nfat farm that was comin' to him!\n\n\"Well, I was that plum puzzled that I meant ter find out why Streeter\nwas takin' sech notice, if I hung fur it. So I set to on a little\ndetective work of my own, knowin', of course, that 't wa'n't no use\naskin' of him himself. Well, an' what do you s'pose I found out? If\nthat little scamp of a boy hadn't even got round him--Streeter, the\nskinflint! He had--an' he went there often, the neighbors said; an'\nStreeter doted on him. They declared that actually he give him a cent\nonce--though THAT part I ain't swallerin' yet.\n\n\"They said--the neighbors did--that it all started from the pear\ntree--that big one ter the left of his house. Maybe you remember it.\nWell, anyhow, it seems that it's old, an' through bearin' any fruit,\nthough it still blossoms fit ter kill, every year, only a little late\n'most always, an' the blossoms stay on longer'n common, as if they knew\nthere wa'n't nothin' doin' later. Well, old Streeter said it had got\nter come down. I reckon he suspected it of swipin' some of the\nsunshine, or maybe a little rain that belonged ter the tree t'other\nside of the road what did bear fruit an' was worth somethin'! Anyhow,\nhe got his man an' his axe, an' was plum ready ter start in when he\nsees David an' David sees him.\n\n\"'T was when the boy first come. He'd gone ter walk an' had struck this\npear tree, all in bloom,--an' 'course, YOU know how the boy would\nact--a pear tree, bloomin', is a likely sight, I'll own. He danced and\nlaughed and clapped his hands,--he didn't have his fiddle with\nhim,--an' carried on like all possessed. Then he sees the man with the\naxe, an' Streeter an' Streeter sees him.\n\n\"They said it was rich then--Bill Warner heard it all from t'other side\nof the fence. He said that David, when he found out what was goin' ter\nhappen, went clean crazy, an' rampaged on at such a rate that old\nStreeter couldn't do nothin' but stand an' stare, until he finally\nmanaged ter growl out: 'But I tell ye, boy, the tree ain't no use no\nmore!'\n\n\"Bill says the boy flew all to pieces then. 'No use--no use!' he cries;\n'such a perfectly beautiful thing as that no use! Why, it don't have\nter be any use when it's so pretty. It's jest ter look at an' love, an'\nbe happy with!' Fancy sayin' that ter old Streeter! I'd like ter seen\nhis face. But Bill says that wa'n't half what the boy said. He declared\nthat 't was God's present, anyhow, that trees was; an' that the things\nHe give us ter look at was jest as much use as the things He give us\nter eat; an' that the stars an' the sunsets an' the snowflakes an' the\nlittle white cloud-boats, an' I don't know what-all, was jest as\nimportant in the Orchestra of Life as turnips an' squashes. An' then,\nBilly says, he ended by jest flingin' himself on ter Streeter an'\nbeggin' him ter wait till he could go back an' git his fiddle so he\ncould tell him what a beautiful thing that tree was.\n\n\"Well, if you'll believe it, old Streeter was so plum befuzzled he sent\nthe man an' the axe away--an' that tree's a-livin' ter-day--'t is!\" he\nfinished; then, with a sudden gloom on his face, Larson added, huskily:\n\"An' I only hope I'll be sayin' the same thing of that boy--come next\nmonth at this time!\"\n\n\"We'll hope you will,\" sighed the other fervently.\n\nAnd so one by one the days passed, while the whole town waited and\nwhile in the great airy \"parlor bedroom\" of the Holly farmhouse one\nsmall boy fought his battle for life. Then came the blackest day and\nnight of all when the town could only wait and watch--it had lost its\nhope; when the doctors shook their heads and refused to meet Mrs.\nHolly's eyes; when the pulse in the slim wrist outside the coverlet\nplayed hide-and-seek with the cool, persistent fingers that sought so\nearnestly for it; when Perry Larson sat for uncounted sleepless hours\nby the kitchen stove, and fearfully listened for a step crossing the\nhallway; when Mr. Jack on his porch, and Miss Holbrook in her tower\nwidow, went with David down into the dark valley, and came so near the\nrushing river that life, with its petty prides and prejudices, could\nnever seem quite the same to them again.\n\nThen, after that blackest day and night, came the dawn--as the dawns do\ncome after the blackest of days and nights. In the slender wrist\noutside the coverlet the pulse gained and steadied. On the forehead\nbeneath the nurse's fingers, a moisture came. The doctors nodded their\nheads now, and looked every one straight in the eye. \"He will live,\"\nthey said. \"The crisis is passed.\" Out by the kitchen stove Perry\nLarson heard the step cross the hall and sprang upright; but at the\nfirst glimpse of Mrs. Holly's tear-wet, yet radiant face, he collapsed\nlimply.\n\n\"Gosh!\" he muttered. \"Say, do you know, I didn't s'pose I did care so\nmuch! I reckon I'll go an' tell Mr. Jack. He'll want ter hear.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nPUZZLES\n\nDavid's convalescence was picturesque, in a way. As soon as he was\nable, like a king he sat upon his throne and received his subjects; and\na very gracious king he was, indeed. His room overflowed with flowers\nand fruit, and his bed quite groaned with the toys and books and games\nbrought for his diversion, each one of which he hailed with delight,\nfrom Miss Holbrook's sumptuously bound \"Waverley Novels\" to little\ncrippled Jimmy Clark's bag of marbles.\n\nOnly two things puzzled David: one was why everybody was so good to\nhim; and the other was why he never could have the pleasure of both Mr.\nJack's and Miss Holbrook's company at the same time.\n\nDavid discovered this last curious circumstance concerning Mr. Jack and\nMiss Holbrook very early in his convalescence. It was on the second\nafternoon that Mr. Jack had been admitted to the sick-room. David had\nbeen hearing all the latest news of Jill and Joe, when suddenly he\nnoticed an odd change come to his visitor's face.\n\nThe windows of the Holly \"parlor bedroom\" commanded a fine view of the\nroad, and it was toward one of these windows that Mr. Jack's eyes were\ndirected. David, sitting up in bed, saw then that down the road was\napproaching very swiftly a handsome span of black horses and an open\ncarriage which he had come to recognize as belonging to Miss Holbrook.\nHe watched it eagerly now till he saw the horses turn in at the Holly\ndriveway. Then he gave a low cry of delight.\n\n\"It's my Lady of the Roses! She's coming to see me. Look! Oh, I'm so\nglad! Now you'll see her, and just KNOW how lovely she is. Why, Mr.\nJack, you aren't going NOW!\" he broke off in manifest disappointment,\nas Mr. Jack leaped to his feet.\n\n\"I think I'll have to, if you don't mind, David,\" returned the man, an\noddly nervous haste in his manner. \"And YOU won't mind, now that you'll\nhave Miss Holbrook. I want to speak to Larson. I saw him in the field\nout there a minute ago. And I guess I'll slip right through this window\nhere, too, David. I don't want to lose him; and I can catch him quicker\nthis way than any other,\" he finished, throwing up the sash.\n\n\"Oh, but Mr. Jack, please just wait a minute,\" begged David. \"I wanted\nyou to see my Lady of the Roses, and--\" But Mr. Jack was already on the\nground outside the low window, and the next minute, with a merry nod\nand smile, he had pulled the sash down after him and was hurrying away.\n\nAlmost at once, then, Miss Holbrook appeared at the bedroom door.\n\n\"Mrs. Holly said I was to walk right in, David, so here I am,\" she\nbegan, in a cheery voice. \"Oh, you're looking lots better than when I\nsaw you Monday, young man!\"\n\n\"I am better,\" caroled David; \"and to-day I'm 'specially better,\nbecause Mr. Jack has been here.\"\n\n\"Oh, has Mr. Jack been to see you to-day?\" There was an indefinable\nchange in Miss Holbrook's voice.\n\n\"Yes, right now. Why, he was here when you were driving into the yard.\"\n\nMiss Holbrook gave a perceptible start and looked about her a little\nwildly.\n\n\"Here when--But I didn't meet him anywhere--in the hall.\"\n\n\"He didn't go through the hall,\" laughed David gleefully. \"He went\nright through that window there.\"\n\n\"The window!\" An angry flush mounted to Miss Holbrook's forehead.\n\"Indeed, did he have to resort to that to escape--\" She bit her lip and\nstopped abruptly.\n\nDavid's eyes widened a little.\n\n\"Escape? Oh, HE wasn't the one that was escaping. It was Perry. Mr.\nJack was afraid he'd lose him. He saw him out the window there, right\nafter he'd seen you, and he said he wanted to speak to him and he was\nafraid he'd get away. So he jumped right through that window there.\nSee?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I--see,\" murmured Miss Holbrook, in a voice David thought was\na little queer.\n\n\"I wanted him to stay,\" frowned David uncertainly. \"I wanted him to see\nyou.\"\n\n\"Dear me, David, I hope you didn't tell him so.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I did. But he couldn't stay, even then. You see, he wanted to\ncatch Perry Larson.\"\n\n\"I've no doubt of it,\" retorted Miss Holbrook, with so much emphasis\nthat David again looked at her with a slightly disturbed frown.\n\n\"But he'll come again soon, I'm sure, and then maybe you'll be here,\ntoo. I do so want him to see you, Lady of the Roses!\"\n\n\"Nonsense, David!\" laughed Miss Holbrook a little nervously. \"Mr.--Mr.\nGurnsey doesn't want to see me. He's seen me dozens of times.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, he told me he'd seen you long ago,\" nodded David gravely;\n\"but he didn't act as if he remembered it much.\"\n\n\"Didn't he, indeed!\" laughed Miss Holbrook, again flushing a little.\n\"Well, I'm sure, dear, we wouldn't want to tax the poor gentleman's\nmemory too much, you know. Come, suppose you see what I've brought\nyou,\" she finished gayly.\n\n\"Oh, what is it?\" cried David, as, under Miss Holbrook's swift fingers,\nthe wrappings fell away and disclosed a box which, upon being opened,\nwas found to be filled with quantities of oddly shaped bits of pictured\nwood--a jumble of confusion.\n\n\"It's a jig-saw puzzle, David. All these little pieces fitted together\nmake a picture, you see. I tried last night and I could n't do it. I\nbrought it down to see if you could.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you! I'd love to,\" rejoiced the boy. And in the fascination\nof the marvel of finding one fantastic bit that fitted another, David\napparently forgot all about Mr. Jack--which seemed not unpleasing to\nhis Lady of the Roses.\n\nIt was not until nearly a week later that David had his wish of seeing\nhis Mr. Jack and his Lady of the Roses meet at his bedside. It was the\nday Miss Holbrook brought to him the wonderful set of handsomely bound\n\"Waverley Novels.\" He was still glorying in his new possession, in\nfact, when Mr. Jack appeared suddenly in the doorway.\n\n\"Hullo my boy, I just--Oh, I beg your pardon. I supposed you\nwere--alone,\" he stammered, looking very red indeed.\n\n\"He is--that is, he will be, soon--except for you, Mr. Gurnsey,\" smiled\nMiss Holbrook, very brightly. She was already on her feet.\n\n\"No, no, I beg of you,\" stammered Mr. Jack, growing still more red.\n\"Don't let me drive--that is, I mean, don't go, please. I didn't know.\nI had no warning--I didn't see--Your carriage was not at the door\nto-day.\"\n\nMiss Holbrook's eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch.\n\n\"I sent it home. I am planning to walk back. I have several calls to\nmake on the way; and it's high time I was starting. Good-bye, David.\"\n\n\"But, Lady, of the Roses, please, please, don't go,\" besought David,\nwho had been looking from one to the other in worried dismay. \"Why,\nyou've just come!\"\n\nBut neither coaxing nor argument availed; and before David really knew\njust what had happened, he found himself alone with Mr. Jack.\n\nEven then disappointment was piled on disappointment, for Mr. Jack's\nvisit was not the unalloyed happiness it usually was. Mr. Jack himself\nwas almost cross at first, and then he was silent and restless, moving\njerkily about the room in a way that disturbed David very much.\n\nMr. Jack had brought with him a book; but even that only made matters\nworse, for when he saw the beautifully bound volumes that Miss Holbrook\nhad just left, he frowned, and told David that he guessed he did not\nneed his gift at all, with all those other fine books. And David could\nnot seem to make him understand that the one book from him was just\nexactly as dear as were the whole set of books that his Lady of the\nRoses brought.\n\nCertainly it was not a satisfactory visit at all, and for the first\ntime David was almost glad to have Mr. Jack go and leave him with his\nbooks. The BOOKS, David told himself, he could understand; Mr. Jack he\ncould not--to-day.\n\nSeveral times after this David's Lady of the Roses and Mr. Jack\nhappened to call at the same hour; but never could David persuade these\ntwo friends of his to stay together. Always, if one came and the other\nwas there, the other went away, in spite of David's protestations that\ntwo people did not tire him at all and his assertions that he often\nentertained as many as that at once. Tractable as they were in all\nother ways, anxious as they seemed to please him, on this one point\nthey were obdurate: never would they stay together.\n\nThey were not angry with each other--David was sure of that, for they\nwere always very especially polite, and rose, and stood, and bowed in a\nmost delightful fashion. Still, he sometimes thought that they did not\nquite like each other, for always, after the one went away, the other,\nleft behind, was silent and almost stern--if it was Mr. Jack; and\nflushed-faced and nervous--if it was Miss Holbrook. But why this was so\nDavid could not understand.\n\nThe span of handsome black horses came very frequently to the Holly\nfarmhouse now, and as time passed they often bore away behind them a\nwhite-faced but happy-eyed boy on the seat beside Miss Holbrook.\n\n\"My, but I don't see how every one can be so good to me!\" exclaimed the\nboy, one day, to his Lady of the Roses.\n\n\"Oh, that's easy, David,\" she smiled. \"The only trouble is to find out\nwhat you want--you ask for so little.\"\n\n\"But I don't need to ask--you do it all beforehand,\" asserted the boy,\n\"you and Mr. Jack, and everybody.\"\n\n\"Really? That's good.\" For a brief moment Miss Holbrook hesitated;\nthen, as if casually, she asked: \"And he tells you stories, too, I\nsuppose,--this Mr. Jack,--just as he used to, doesn't he?\"\n\n\"Well, he never did tell me but one, you know, before; but he's told me\nmore now, since I've been sick.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I remember, and that one was 'The Princess and the Pauper,'\nwasn't it? Well, has he told you any more--like--that?\"\n\nThe boy shook his head with decision.\n\n\"No, he doesn't tell me any more like that, and--and I don't want him\nto, either.\"\n\nMiss Holbrook laughed a little oddly.\n\n\"Why, David, what is the matter with that?\" she queried.\n\n\"The ending; it wasn't nice, you know.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I--I remember.\"\n\n\"I've asked him to change it,\" went on David, in a grieved voice. \"I\nasked him just the other day, but he wouldn't.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he--he didn't want to.\" Miss Holbrook spoke very quickly, but\nso low that David barely heard the words.\n\n\"Didn't want to? Oh, yes, he did! He looked awful sober, and as if he\nreally cared, you know. And he said he'd give all he had in the world\nif he really could change it, but he couldn't.\"\n\n\"Did he say--just that?\" Miss Holbrook was leaning forward a little\nbreathlessly now.\n\n\"Yes--just that; and that's the part I couldn't understand,\" commented\nDavid. \"For I don't see why a story--just a story made up out of\nsomebody's head--can't be changed any way you want it. And I told him\nso.\"\n\n\"Well, and what did he say to that?\"\n\n\"He didn't say anything for a minute, and I had to ask him again. Then\nhe sat up suddenly, just as if he'd been asleep, you know, and said,\n'Eh, what, David?' And then I told him again what I'd said. This time\nhe shook his head, and smiled that kind of a smile that isn't really a\nsmile, you know, and said something about a real, true-to-life story's\nnever having but one ending, and that was a logical ending. Lady of the\nRoses, what is a logical ending?\"\n\nThe Lady of the Roses laughed unexpectedly. The two little red spots,\nthat David always loved to see, flamed into her cheeks, and her eyes\nshowed a sudden sparkle. When she answered, her words came\ndisconnectedly, with little laughing breaths between.\n\n\"Well, David, I--I'm not sure I can--tell you. But perhaps I--can find\nout. This much, however, I am sure of: Mr. Jack's logical ending\nwouldn't be--mine!\"\n\nWhat she meant David did not know; nor would she tell him when he\nasked; but a few days later she sent for him, and very gladly\nDavid--able now to go where he pleased--obeyed the summons.\n\nIt was November, and the garden was bleak and cold; but in the library\na bright fire danced on the hearth, and before this Miss Holbrook drew\nup two low chairs.\n\nShe looked particularly pretty, David thought. The rich red of her\ndress had apparently brought out an answering red in her cheeks. Her\neyes were very bright and her lips smiled; yet she seemed oddly nervous\nand restless. She sewed a little, with a bit of yellow silk on\nwhite--but not for long. She knitted with two long ivory needles\nflashing in and out of a silky mesh of blue--but this, too, she soon\nceased doing. On a low stand at David's side she had placed books and\npictures, and for a time she talked of those. Then very abruptly she\nasked:--\n\n\"David, when will you see--Mr. Jack again--do you suppose?\"\n\n\"Tomorrow. I'm going up to the House that Jack Built to tea, and I'm to\nstay all night. It's Halloween--that is, it isn't really Halloween,\nbecause it's too late. I lost that, being sick, you know. So we're\ngoing to pretend, and Mr. Jack is going to show me what it is like.\nThat is what Mr. Jack and Jill always do; when something ails the real\nthing, they just pretend with the make-believe one. He's planned lots\nof things for Jill and me to do; with nuts and apples and candles, you\nknow. It's to-morrow night, so I'll see him then.\"\n\n\"To-morrow? So--so soon?\" faltered Miss Holbrook. And to David, gazing\nat her with wondering eyes, it seemed for a moment almost as if she\nwere looking about for a place to which she might run and hide. Then\ndeterminedly, as if she were taking hold of something with both hands,\nshe leaned forward, looked David squarely in the eyes, and began to\ntalk hurriedly, yet very distinctly.\n\n\"David, listen. I've something I want you to say to Mr. Jack, and I\nwant you to be sure and get it just right. It's about the--the story,\n'The Princess and the Pauper,' you know. You can remember, I think, for\nyou remembered that so well. Will you say it to him--what I'm going to\ntell you--just as I say it?\"\n\n\"Why, of course I will!\" David's promise was unhesitating, though his\neyes were still puzzled.\n\n\"It's about the--the ending,\" stammered Miss Holbrook. \"That is, it\nmay--it may have something to do with the ending--perhaps,\" she\nfinished lamely. And again David noticed that odd shifting of Miss\nHolbrook's gaze as if she were searching for some means of escape.\nThen, as before, he saw her chin lift determinedly, as she began to\ntalk faster than ever.\n\n\"Now, listen,\" she admonished him, earnestly.\n\nAnd David listened.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nA STORY REMODELED\n\nThe pretended Halloween was a great success. So very excited, indeed,\ndid David become over the swinging apples and popping nuts that he\nquite forgot to tell Mr. Jack what the Lady of the Roses had said until\nJill had gone up to bed and he himself was about to take from Mr.\nJack's hand the little lighted lamp.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Jack, I forgot,\" he cried then. \"There was something I was\ngoing to tell you.\"\n\n\"Never mind to-night, David; it's so late. Suppose we leave it until\nto-morrow,\" suggested Mr. Jack, still with the lamp extended in his\nhand.\n\n\"But I promised the Lady of the Roses that I'd say it to-night,\"\ndemurred the boy, in a troubled voice.\n\nThe man drew his lamp halfway back suddenly.\n\n\"The Lady of the Roses! Do you mean--she sent a message--to ME?\" he\ndemanded.\n\n\"Yes; about the story, 'The Princess and the Pauper,' you know.\"\n\nWith an abrupt exclamation Mr. Jack set the lamp on the table and\nturned to a chair. He had apparently lost his haste to go to bed.\n\n\"See here, David, suppose you come and sit down, and tell me just what\nyou're talking about. And first--just what does the Lady of the Roses\nknow about that--that 'Princess and the Pauper'?\"\n\n\"Why, she knows it all, of course,\" returned the boy in surprise. \"I\ntold it to her.\"\n\n\"You--told--it--to her!\" Mr. Jack relaxed in his chair. \"David!\"\n\n\"Yes. And she was just as interested as could be.\"\n\n\"I don't doubt it!\" Mr. Jack's lips snapped together a little grimly.\n\n\"Only she didn't like the ending, either.\"\n\nMr. Jack sat up suddenly.\n\n\"She didn't like--David, are you sure? Did she SAY that?\"\n\nDavid frowned in thought.\n\n\"Well, I don't know as I can tell, exactly, but I'm sure she did n't\nlike it, because just before she told me WHAT to say to you, she said\nthat--that what she was going to say would probably have something to\ndo with the ending, anyway. Still--\" David paused in yet deeper\nthought. \"Come to think of it, there really isn't anything--not in what\nshe said--that CHANGED that ending, as I can see. They didn't get\nmarried and live happy ever after, anyhow.\"\n\n\"Yes, but what did she say?\" asked Mr. Jack in a voice that was not\nquite steady. \"Now, be careful, David, and tell it just as she said it.\"\n\n\"Oh, I will,\" nodded David.  \"SHE said to do that, too.\"\n\n\"Did she?\" Mr. Jack leaned farther forward in his chair. \"But tell me,\nhow did she happen to--to say anything about it? Suppose you begin at\nthe beginning--away back, David. I want to hear it all--all!\"\n\nDavid gave a contented sigh, and settled himself more comfortably.\n\n\"Well, to begin with, you see, I told her the story long ago, before I\nwas sick, and she was ever so interested then, and asked lots of\nquestions. Then the other day something came up--I've forgotten\nhow--about the ending, and I told her how hard I'd tried to have you\nchange it, but you wouldn't. And she spoke right up quick and said\nprobably you didn't want to change it, anyhow. But of course I settled\nTHAT question without any trouble,\" went on David confidently, \"by just\ntelling her how you said you'd give anything in the world to change it.\"\n\n\"And you told her that--just that, David?\" cried the man.\n\n\"Why, yes, I had to,\" answered David, in surprise, \"else she wouldn't\nhave known that you DID want to change it. Don't you see?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! I--see--a good deal that I'm thinking you don't,\" muttered\nMr. Jack, falling back in his chair.\n\n\"Well, then is when I told her about the logical ending--what you said,\nyou know,--oh, yes! and that was when I found out she did n't like the\nending, because she laughed such a funny little laugh and  up,\nand said that she wasn't sure she could tell me what a logical ending\nwas, but that she would try to find out, and that, anyhow, YOUR ending\nwouldn't be hers--she was sure of that.\"\n\n\"David, did she say that--really?\" Mr. Jack was on his feet now.\n\n\"She did; and then yesterday she asked me to come over, and she said\nsome more things,--about the story, I mean,--but she didn't say another\nthing about the ending. She didn't ever say anything about that except\nthat little bit I told you of a minute ago.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, but what did she say?\" demanded Mr. Jack, stopping short in\nhis walk up and down the room.\n\n\"She said: 'You tell Mr. Jack that I know something about that story of\nhis that perhaps he doesn't. In the first place, I know the Princess a\nlot better than he does, and she isn't a bit the kind of girl he's\npictured her.\"\n\n\"Yes! Go on--go on!\"\n\n\"'Now, for instance,' she says, 'when the boy made that call, after the\ngirl first came back, and when the boy didn't like it because they\ntalked of colleges and travels, and such things, you tell him that I\nhappen to know that that girl was just hoping and hoping he'd speak of\nthe old days and games; but that she could n't speak, of course, when\nhe hadn't been even once to see her during all those weeks, and when\nhe'd acted in every way just as if he'd forgotten.'\"\n\n\"But she hadn't waved--that Princess hadn't waved--once!\" argued Mr.\nJack; \"and he looked and looked for it.\"\n\n\"Yes, SHE spoke of that,\" returned David. \"But SHE said she shouldn't\nthink the Princess would have waved, when she'd got to be such a great\nbig girl as that--WAVING to a BOY! She said that for her part she\nshould have been ashamed of her if she had!\"\n\n\"Oh, did she!\" murmured Mr. Jack blankly, dropping suddenly into his\nchair.\n\n\"Yes, she did,\" repeated David, with a little virtuous uplifting of his\nchin.\n\nIt was plain to be seen that David's sympathies had unaccountably met\nwith a change of heart.\n\n\"But--the Pauper--\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, and that's another thing,\" interrupted David. \"The Lady of\nthe Roses said that she didn't like that name one bit; that it wasn't\ntrue, anyway, because he wasn't a pauper. And she said, too, that as\nfor his picturing the Princess as being perfectly happy in all that\nmagnificence, he didn't get it right at all. For SHE knew that the\nPrincess wasn't one bit happy, because she was so lonesome for things\nand people she had known when she was just the girl.\"\n\nAgain Mr. Jack sprang to his feet. For a minute he strode up and down\nthe room in silence; then in a shaking voice he asked:--\n\n\"David, you--you aren't making all this up, are you? You're saying just\nwhat--what Miss Holbrook told you to?\"\n\n\"Why, of course, I'm not making it up,\" protested the boy aggrievedly.\n\"This is the Lady of the Roses' story--SHE made it up--only she talked\nit as if 't was real, of course, just as you did. She said another\nthing, too. She said that she happened to know that the Princess had\ngot all that magnificence around her in the first place just to see if\nit wouldn't make her happy, but that it hadn't, and that now she had\none place--a little room--that was left just as it used to be when she\nwas the girl, and that she went there and sat very often. And she said\nit was right in sight of where the boy lived, too, where he could see\nit every day; and that if he hadn't been so blind he could have looked\nright through those gray walls and seen that, and seen lots of other\nthings. And what did she mean by that, Mr. Jack?\"\n\n\"I don't know--I don't know, David,\" half-groaned Mr. Jack. \"Sometimes\nI think she means--and then I think that can't be--true.\"\n\n\"But do you think it's helped it any--the story?\" persisted the boy.\n\"She's only talked a little about the Princess. She didn't really\nchange things any--not the ending.\"\n\n\"But she said it might, David--she said it might! Don't you remember?\"\ncried the man eagerly. And to David, his eagerness did not seem at all\nstrange. Mr. Jack had said before--long ago--that he would be very glad\nindeed to have a happier ending to this tale. \"Think now,\" continued\nthe man. \"Perhaps she said something else, too. Did she say anything\nelse, David?\"\n\nDavid shook his head slowly.\n\n\"No, only--yes, there was a little something, but it doesn't CHANGE\nthings any, for it was only a 'supposing.' She said: 'Just supposing,\nafter long years, that the Princess found out about how the boy felt\nlong ago, and suppose he should look up at the tower some day, at the\nold time, and see a ONE--TWO wave, which meant, \"Come over to see me.\"\nJust what do you suppose he would do?' But of course, THAT can't do any\ngood,\" finished David gloomily, as he rose to go to bed, \"for that was\nonly a 'supposing.'\"\n\n\"Of course,\" agreed Mr. Jack steadily; and David did not know that only\nstern self-control had forced the steadiness into that voice, nor that,\nfor Mr. Jack, the whole world had burst suddenly into song.\n\nNeither did David, the next morning, know that long before eight\no'clock Mr. Jack stood at a certain window, his eyes unswervingly fixed\non the gray towers of Sunnycrest. What David did know, however, was\nthat just after eight, Mr. Jack strode through the room where he and\nJill were playing checkers, flung himself into his hat and coat, and\nthen fairly leaped down the steps toward the path that led to the\nfootbridge at the bottom of the hill.\n\n\"Why, whatever in the world ails Jack?\" gasped Jill. Then, after a\nstartled pause, she asked. \"David, do folks ever go crazy for joy?\nYesterday, you see, Jack got two splendid pieces of news. One was from\nhis doctor. He was examined, and he's fine, the doctor says; all well,\nso he can go back, now any time, to the city and work. I shall go to\nschool then, you know,--a young ladies' school,\" she finished, a little\nimportantly.\n\n\"He's well? How splendid! But what was the other news? You said there\nwere two; only it couldn't have been nicer than that was; to be\nwell--all well!\"\n\n\"The other? Well, that was only that his old place in the city was\nwaiting for him. He was with a firm of big lawyers, you know, and of\ncourse it is nice to have a place all waiting. But I can't see anything\nin those things to make him act like this, now. Can you?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, maybe,\" declared David. \"He's found his work--don't you\nsee?--out in the world, and he's going to do it. I know how I'd feel if\nI had found mine that father told me of! Only what I can't understand\nis, if Mr. Jack knew all this yesterday, why did n't he act like this\nthen, instead of waiting till to-day?\"\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Jill.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nTHE BEAUTIFUL WORLD\n\nDavid found many new songs in his violin those early winter days, and\nthey were very beautiful ones. To begin with, there were all the kindly\nlooks and deeds that were showered upon him from every side. There was\nthe first snowstorm, too, with the feathery flakes turning all the\nworld to fairy whiteness. This song David played to Mr. Streeter, one\nday, and great was his disappointment that the man could not seem to\nunderstand what the song said.\n\n\"But don't you see?\" pleaded David. \"I'm telling you that it's your\npear-tree blossoms come back to say how glad they are that you didn't\nkill them that day.\"\n\n\"Pear-tree blossoms--come back!\" ejaculated the old man. \"Well, no, I\ncan't see. Where's yer pear-tree blossoms?\"\n\n\"Why, there--out of the window--everywhere,\" urged the boy.\n\n\"THERE! By ginger! boy--ye don't mean--ye CAN'T mean the SNOW!\"\n\n\"Of course I do! Now, can't you see it? Why, the whole tree was just a\ngreat big cloud of snowflakes. Don't you remember? Well, now it's gone\naway and got a whole lot more trees, and all the little white petals\nhave come dancing down to celebrate, and to tell you they sure are\ncoming back next year.\"\n\n\"Well, by ginger!\" exclaimed the man again. Then, suddenly, he threw\nback his head with a hearty laugh. David did not quite like the laugh,\nneither did he care for the five-cent piece that the man thrust into\nhis fingers a little later; though--had David but known it--both the\nlaugh and the five-cent piece gift were--for the uncomprehending man\nwho gave them--white milestones along an unfamiliar way.\n\nIt was soon after this that there came to David the great surprise--his\nbeloved Lady of the Roses and his no less beloved Mr. Jack were to be\nmarried at the beginning of the New Year. So very surprised, indeed,\nwas David at this, that even his violin was mute, and had nothing, at\nfirst, to say about it. But to Mr. Jack, as man to man, David said one\nday:--\n\n\"I thought men, when they married women, went courting. In story-books\nthey do. And you--you hardly ever said a word to my beautiful Lady of\nthe Roses; and you spoke once--long ago--as if you scarcely remembered\nher at all. Now, what do you mean by that?\"\n\nAnd Mr. Jack laughed, but he grew red, too,--and then he told it\nall,--that it was just the story of \"The Princess and the Pauper,\" and\nthat he, David, had been the one, as it happened, to do part of their\ncourting for them.\n\nAnd how David had laughed then, and how he had fairly hugged himself\nfor joy! And when next he had picked up his violin, what a beautiful,\nbeautiful song he had found about it in the vibrant strings!\n\nIt was this same song, as it chanced, that he was playing in his room\nthat Saturday afternoon when the letter from Simeon Holly's long-lost\nson John came to the Holly farmhouse.\n\nDownstairs in the kitchen, Simeon Holly stood, with the letter in his\nhand.\n\n\"Ellen, we've got a letter from--John,\" he said. That Simeon Holly\nspoke of it at all showed how very far along HIS unfamiliar way he had\ncome since the last letter from John had arrived.\n\n\"From--John? Oh, Simeon! From John?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nSimeon sat down and tried to hide the shaking of his hand as he ran the\npoint of his knife under the flap of the envelope. \"We'll see what--he\nsays.\" And to hear him, one might have thought that letters from John\nwere everyday occurrences.\n\n\nDEAR FATHER: Twice before I have written [ran the letter], and received\nno answer. But I'm going to make one more effort for forgiveness. May I\nnot come to you this Christmas? I have a little boy of my own now, and\nmy heart aches for you. I know how I should feel, should he, in years\nto come, do as I did.\n\nI'll not deceive you--I have not given up my art. You told me once to\nchoose between you and it--and I chose, I suppose; at least, I ran\naway. Yet in the face of all that, I ask you again, may I not come to\nyou at Christmas? I want you, father, and I want mother. And I want you\nto see my boy.\n\n\n\"Well?\" said Simeon Holly, trying to speak with a steady coldness that\nwould not show how deeply moved he was. \"Well, Ellen?\"\n\n\"Yes, Simeon, yes!\" choked his wife, a world of mother-love and longing\nin her pleading eyes and voice. \"Yes--you'll let it be--'Yes'!\"\n\n\"Uncle Simeon, Aunt Ellen,\" called David, clattering down the stairs\nfrom his room, \"I've found such a beautiful song in my violin, and I'm\ngoing to play it over and over so as to be sure and remember it for\nfather--for it is a beautiful world, Uncle Simeon, isn't it? Now,\nlisten!\"\n\nAnd Simeon Holly listened--but it was not the violin that he heard. It\nwas the voice of a little curly-headed boy out of the past.\n\nWhen David stopped playing some time later, only the woman sat watching\nhim--the man was over at his desk, pen in hand.\n\nJohn, John's wife, and John's boy came the day before Christmas, and\ngreat was the excitement in the Holly farmhouse. John was found to be\nbig, strong, and bronzed with the outdoor life of many a sketching\ntrip--a son to be proud of, and to be leaned upon in one's old age.\nMrs. John, according to Perry Larson, was \"the slickest little woman\ngoin'.\" According to John's mother, she was an almost unbelievable\nincarnation of a long-dreamed-of, long-despaired-of daughter--sweet,\nlovable, and charmingly beautiful. Little John--little John was\nhimself; and he could not have been more had he been an angel-cherub\nstraight from heaven--which, in fact, he was, in his doting\ngrandparents' eyes.\n\nJohn Holly had been at his old home less than four hours when he\nchanced upon David's violin. He was with his father and mother at the\ntime. There was no one else in the room. With a sidelong glance at his\nparents, he picked up the instrument--John Holly had not forgotten his\nown youth. His violin-playing in the old days had not been welcome, he\nremembered.\n\n\"A fiddle! Who plays?\" he asked.\n\n\"David.\"\n\n\"Oh, the boy. You say you--took him in? By the way, what an odd little\nshaver he is! Never did I see a BOY like HIM.\" Simeon Holly's head came\nup almost aggressively.\n\n\"David is a good boy--a very good boy, indeed, John. We think a great\ndeal of him.\"\n\nJohn Holly laughed lightly, yet his brow carried a puzzled frown. Two\nthings John Holly had not been able thus far to understand: an\nindefinable change in his father, and the position of the boy David, in\nthe household--John Holly was still remembering his own repressed youth.\n\n\"Hm-m,\" he murmured, softly picking the strings, then drawing across\nthem a tentative bow. \"I've a fiddle at home that I play sometimes. Do\nyou mind if I--tune her up?\"\n\nA flicker of something that was very near to humor flashed from his\nfather's eyes.\n\n\"Oh, no. We are used to that--now.\" And again John Holly remembered his\nyouth.\n\n\"Jove! but he's got the dandy instrument here,\" cried the player,\ndropping his bow after the first half-dozen superbly vibrant tones, and\ncarrying the violin to the window. A moment later he gave an amazed\nejaculation and turned on his father a dumfounded face.\n\n\"Great Scott, father! Where did that boy get this instrument? I KNOW\nsomething of violins, if I can't play them much; and this--! Where DID\nhe get it?\"\n\n\"Of his father, I suppose. He had it when he came here, anyway.\"\n\n\"'Had it when he came'! But, father, you said he was a tramp, and--oh,\ncome, tell me, what is the secret behind this? Here I come home and\nfind calmly reposing on my father's sitting-room table a violin that's\npriceless, for all I know. Anyhow, I do know that its value is reckoned\nin the thousands, not hundreds: and yet you, with equal calmness, tell\nme it's owned by this boy who, it's safe to say, doesn't know how to\nplay sixteen notes on it correctly, to say nothing of appreciating\nthose he does play; and who, by your own account, is nothing but--\" A\nswiftly uplifted hand of warning stayed the words on his lips. He\nturned to see David himself in the doorway.\n\n\"Come in, David,\" said Simeon Holly quietly. \"My son wants to hear you\nplay. I don't think he has heard you.\" And again there flashed from\nSimeon Holly's eyes a something very much like humor.\n\nWith obvious hesitation John Holly relinquished the violin. From the\nexpression on his face it was plain to be seen the sort of torture he\ndeemed was before him. But, as if constrained to ask the question, he\ndid say:--\n\n\"Where did you get this violin, boy?\"\n\n\"I don't know. We've always had it, ever since I could remember--this\nand the other one.\"\n\n\"The OTHER one!\"\n\n\"Father's.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" He hesitated; then, a little severely, he observed: \"This is a\nfine instrument, boy,--a very fine instrument.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" nodded David, with a cheerful smile. \"Father said it was. I like\nit, too. This is an Amati, but the other is a Stradivarius. I don't\nknow which I do like best, sometimes, only this is mine.\"\n\nWith a half-smothered ejaculation John Holly fell back limply.\n\n\"Then you--do--know?\" he challenged.\n\n\"Know--what?\"\n\n\"The value of that violin in your hands.\"\n\nThere was no answer. The boy's eyes were questioning.\n\n\"The worth, I mean,--what it's worth.\"\n\n\"Why, no--yes--that is, it's worth everything--to me,\" answered David,\nin a puzzled voice.\n\nWith an impatient gesture John Holly brushed this aside.\n\n\"But the other one--where is that?\"\n\n\"At Joe Glaspell's. I gave it to him to play on, because he had n't\nany, and he liked to play so well.\"\n\n\"You GAVE it to him--a Stradivarius!\"\n\n\"I loaned it to him,\" corrected David, in a troubled voice. \"Being\nfather's, I couldn't bear to give it away. But Joe--Joe had to have\nsomething to play on.\"\n\n\"'Something to play on'! Father, he doesn't mean the River Street\nGlaspells?\" cried John Holly.\n\n\"I think he does. Joe is old Peleg Glaspell's grandson.\" John Holly\nthrew up both his hands.\n\n\"A Stradivarius--to old Peleg's grandson! Oh, ye gods!\" he muttered.\n\"Well, I'll be--\" He did not finish his sentence. At another word from\nSimeon Holly, David had begun to play.\n\nFrom his seat by the stove Simeon Holly watched his son's face--and\nsmiled. He saw amazement, unbelief, and delight struggle for the\nmastery; but before the playing had ceased, he was summoned by Perry\nLarson to the kitchen on a matter of business. So it was into the\nkitchen that John Holly burst a little later, eyes and cheek aflame.\n\n\"Father, where in Heaven's name DID you get that boy?\" he demanded.\n\"Who taught  him to play like that? I've been trying to find out from\nhim, but I'd defy Sherlock Holmes himself to make head or tail of the\nsort of lingo he talks, about mountain homes and the Orchestra of Life!\nFather, what DOES it mean?\"\n\nObediently Simeon Holly told the story then, more fully than he had\ntold it before. He brought forward the letter, too, with its mysterious\nsignature.\n\n\"Perhaps you can make it out, son,\" he laughed. \"None of the rest of us\ncan, though I haven't shown it to anybody now for a long time. I got\ndiscouraged long ago of anybody's ever making it out.\"\n\n\"Make it out--make it out!\" cried John Holly excitedly; \"I should say I\ncould! It's a name known the world over. It's the name of one of the\ngreatest violinists that ever lived.\"\n\n\"But how--what--how came he in my barn?\" demanded Simeon Holly.\n\n\"Easily guessed, from the letter, and from what the world knows,\"\nreturned John, his voice still shaking with excitement. \"He was always\na queer chap, they say, and full of his notions. Six or eight years ago\nhis wife died. They say he worshiped her, and for weeks refused even to\ntouch his violin. Then, very suddenly, he, with his four-year-old son,\ndisappeared--dropped quite out of sight. Some people guessed the\nreason. I knew a man who was well acquainted with him, and at the time\nof the disappearance he told me quite a lot about him. He said he was\nn't a bit surprised at what had happened. That already half a dozen\nrelatives were interfering with the way he wanted to bring the boy up,\nand that David was in a fair way to be spoiled, even then, with so much\nattention and flattery. The father had determined to make a wonderful\nartist of his son, and he was known to have said that he believed--as\ndo so many others--that the first dozen years of a child's life are the\nmaking of the man, and that if he could have the boy to himself that\nlong he would risk the rest. So it seems he carried out his notion\nuntil he was taken sick, and had to quit--poor chap!\"\n\n\"But why didn't he tell us plainly in that note who he was, then?\"\nfumed Simeon Holly, in manifest irritation.\n\n\"He did, he thought,\" laughed the other. \"He signed his name, and he\nsupposed that was so well known that just to mention it would be\nenough. That's why he kept it so secret while he was living on the\nmountain, you see, and that's why even David himself didn't know it. Of\ncourse, if anybody found out who he was, that ended his scheme, and he\nknew it. So he supposed all he had to do at the last was to sign his\nname to that note, and everybody would know who he was, and David would\nat once be sent to his own people. (There's an aunt and some cousins, I\nbelieve.) You see he didn't reckon on nobody's being able to READ his\nname! Besides, being so ill, he probably wasn't quite sane, anyway.\"\n\n\"I see, I see,\" nodded Simeon Holly, frowning a little. \"And of course\nif we had made it out, some of us here would have known it, probably.\nNow that you call it to mind I think I have heard it myself in days\ngone by--though such names mean little to me. But doubtless somebody\nwould have known. However, that is all past and gone now.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, and no harm done. He fell into good hands, luckily. You'll\nsoon see the last of him now, of course.\"\n\n\"Last of him? Oh, no, I shall keep David,\" said Simeon Holly, with\ndecision.\n\n\"Keep him! Why, father, you forget who he is! There are friends,\nrelatives, an adoring public, and a mint of money awaiting that boy.\nYou can't keep him. You could never have kept him this long if this\nlittle town of yours hadn't been buried in this forgotten valley up\namong these hills. You'll have the whole world at your doors the minute\nthey find out he is here--hills or no hills! Besides, there are his\npeople; they have some claim.\"\n\nThere was no answer. With a suddenly old, drawn look on his face, the\nelder man had turned away.\n\nHalf an hour later Simeon Holly climbed the stairs to David's room, and\nas gently and plainly as he could told the boy of this great, good\nthing that had come to him.\n\nDavid was amazed, but overjoyed. That he was found to be the son of a\nfamous man affected him not at all, only so far as it seemed to set his\nfather right in other eyes--in David's own, the man had always been\nsupreme. But the going away--the marvelous going away--filled him with\nexcited wonder.\n\n\"You mean, I shall go away and study--practice--learn more of my\nviolin?\"\n\n\"Yes, David.\"\n\n\"And hear beautiful music like the organ in church, only\nmore--bigger--better?\"\n\n\"I suppose so.\".\n\n\"And know people--dear people--who will understand what I say when I\nplay?\"\n\nSimeon Holly's face paled a little; still, he knew David had not meant\nto make it so hard.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Why, it's my 'start'--just what I was going to have with the\ngold-pieces,\" cried David joyously. Then, uttering a sharp cry of\nconsternation, he clapped his fingers to his lips.\n\n\"Your--what?\" asked the man.\n\n\"N--nothing, really, Mr. Holly,--Uncle Simeon,--n--nothing.\"\n\nSomething, either the boy's agitation, or the luckless mention of the\ngold-pieces sent a sudden dismayed suspicion into Simeon Holly's eyes.\n\n\"Your 'start'?--the 'gold-pieces'? David, what do you mean?\"\n\nDavid shook his head. He did not intend to tell. But gently,\npersistently, Simeon Holly questioned until the whole piteous little\ntale lay bare before him: the hopes, the house of dreams, the sacrifice.\n\nDavid saw then what it means when a strong man is shaken by an emotion\nthat has mastered him; and the sight awed and frightened the boy.\n\n\"Mr. Holly, is it because I'm--going--that you care--so much? I never\nthought--or supposed--you'd--CARE,\" he faltered.\n\nThere was no answer. Simeon Holly's eyes were turned quite away.\n\n\"Uncle Simeon--PLEASE! I--I think I don't want to go, anyway. I--I'm\nsure I don't want to go--and leave YOU!\"\n\nSimeon Holly turned then, and spoke.\n\n\"Go? Of course you'll go, David. Do you think I'd tie you here to\nme--NOW?\" he choked. \"What don't I owe to you--home, son, happiness!\nGo?--of course you'll go. I wonder if you really think I'd let you\nstay! Come, we'll go down to mother and tell her. I suspect she'll want\nto start in to-night to get your socks all mended up!\" And with head\nerect and a determined step, Simeon Holly faced the mighty sacrifice in\nhis turn, and led the way downstairs.\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\nThe friends, the relatives, the adoring public, the mint of money--they\nare all David's now. But once each year, man grown though he is, he\npicks up his violin and journeys to a little village far up among the\nhills. There in a quiet kitchen he plays to an old man and an old\nwoman; and always to himself he says that he is practicing against the\ntime when, his violin at his chin and the bow drawn across the strings,\nhe shall go to meet his father in the far-away land, and tell him of\nthe beautiful world he has left.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Just David, by Eleanor H. Porter\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Cover art]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"'WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DREAM!'\" (See page 187)]\n\n\n\n\n                                 IN THE\n                              MORNING GLOW\n\n                             SHORT STORIES\n\n\n                                   By\n\n                            ROY ROLFE GILSON\n\n                               AUTHOR OF\n                 \"Miss Primrose\" \"The Flower of Youth\"\n                               Etc. Etc.\n\n\n\n                              ILLUSTRATED\n\n\n\n                                NEW YORK\n                            GROSSET & DUNLAP\n                               PUBLISHERS\n\n            Published by arrangement with Harper & Brothers\n\n\n\n\n                 Copyright, 1902, by HARPER & BROTHERS.\n\n                         _All rights reserved._\n\n                        Published October, 1902.\n\n\n\n\n                                   TO\n                                MY WIFE\n\n\n\n\n                               *Contents*\n\n\nGRANDFATHER\n\nGRANDMOTHER\n\nWHILE AUNT JANE PLAYED\n\nLITTLE SISTER\n\nOUR YARD\n\nTHE TOY GRENADIER\n\nFATHER\n\nMOTHER\n\n\n\n\n                            *Illustrations*\n\n\n\"'WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DREAM!'\" . . . . . . _Frontispiece_\n\n\"WHEN GRANDFATHER WORE HIS WHITE VEST YOU WALKED LIKE OTHER FOLKS\"\n\n\"YOU STOLE SOFTLY TO HIS SIDE\"\n\n\"WATCHED HIM MAKE THE BLUE FRAGMENTS INTO THE BLUE PITCHER AGAIN\"\n\n\"THE SAIL-BOATS HE WHITTLED FOR YOU ON RAINY DAYS\"\n\n\"YOU CLUNG TO HER APRON FOR SUPPORT IN YOUR MUTE AGONY\"\n\n\"YOU WATCHED THEM AS THEY WENT DOWN THE WALK TOGETHER\"\n\n\"TO AND FRO GRANDMOTHER ROCKED YOU\"\n\n\"YOU SAID 'NOW I LAY ME' IN UNISON\"\n\n\"MOTHER TUCKED YOU BOTH INTO BED AND KISSED YOU\"\n\n\"THEY TOOK YOU AS FAR AS THE BEDROOM DOOR TO SEE HER\"\n\n\"'BAD DREAM, WAS IT, LITTLE CHAP?'\"\n\n\"'FATHER, WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU DON'T SAY ANYTHING, BUT JUST\nLOOK?'\"\n\n\"'MOTHER,' YOU SAID, SOFTLY\"\n\n\"THE PICTURE-BOOK\"\n\n\"BEFORE YOU WENT TO BED\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *Grandfather*\n\n\nWhen you gave Grandfather both your hands and put one foot against his\nknee and the other against his vest, you could walk right up to his\nwhite beard like a fly--but you had to hold tight. Sometimes your foot\nslipped on the knee, but the vest was wider and not so hard, so that\nwhen you were that far you were safe.  And when you had both feet in the\nsoft middle of the vest, and your body was stiff, and your face was\nlooking right up at the ceiling, Grandfather groaned down deep inside,\nand that was the sign that your walk was ended.  Then Grandfather\ncrumpled you up in his arms.  But on Sunday, when Grandfather wore his\nwhite vest, you walked like other folks.\n\n[Illustration: \"WHEN GRANDFATHER WORE HIS WHITE VEST YOU WALKED LIKE\nOTHER FOLKS\"]\n\nIn the morning Grandfather sat in the sun by the wall--the stone wall at\nthe back of the garden, where the golden-rod grew.  Grandfather read the\npaper and smoked.  When it was afternoon and Mother was taking her nap,\nGrandfather was around the corner of the house, on the porch, in the\nsun--always in the sun, for the sun followed Grandfather wherever he\nwent, till he passed into the house at supper-time.  Then the sun went\ndown and it was night.\n\nGrandfather walked with a cane; but even then, with all the three legs\nhe boasted of, you could run the meadow to the big rock before\nGrandfather had gone half-way.  Grandfather's pipe was corn-cob, and\nevery week he had a new one, for the little brown juice that cuddled\ndown in the bottom of the bowl, and wouldn't come out without a straw,\nwasn't good for folks, Grandfather said.  Old Man Stubbs, who came\nacross the road to see Grandfather, chewed his tobacco, yet the little\nbrown juice did not hurt him at all, he said.  Still it was not pleasant\nto kiss Old Man Stubbs, and Mother said that chewing tobacco was a\nfilthy habit, and that only very old men ever did it nowadays, because\nlots of people used to do it when Grandfather and Old Man Stubbs were\nlittle boys.  Probably, you thought, people did not kiss other folks so\noften then.\n\nOne morning Grandfather was reading by the wall, in the sun.  You were\non the ground, flat, peeping under the grass, and you were so still that\na cricket came and teetered on a grass-stalk near at hand. Two red ants\nclimbed your hat as it lay beside you, and a white worm swung itself\nfrom one grass-blade to another, like a monkey.  The ground under the\napple-trees was broken out with sun-spots. Bees were humming in the red\nclover. Butterflies lazily flapped their wings and sailed like little\nboats in a sea of goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace.\n\n\"Dee, dee-dee, dee-dee,\" you sang, and Mr. Cricket sneaked under a\nplantain leaf.  You tracked him to his lair with your finger, and he\nscuttled away.\n\n\"Grandfather.\"\n\nNo reply.\n\n\"_Grand_father.\"\n\nNot a word.  Then you looked.  Grandfather's paper had slipped to the\nground, and his glasses to his lap.  He was fast asleep in the sunshine\nwith his head upon his breast.  You stole softly to his side With a long\ngrass you tickled his ear. With a jump he awoke, and you tumbled,\nlaughing, on the grass.\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU STOLE SOFTLY TO HIS SIDE\"]\n\n\"Ain't you 'shamed?\" cried Lizzie-in-the-kitchen, who was hanging out\nthe clothes.\n\n\"Huh!  Grandfather don't care.\"\n\nGrandfather never cared.  That is one of the things which made him\nGrandfather. If he had scolded he might have been Father, or even Uncle\nNed--but he would not have been Grandfather.  So when you spoiled his\nnap he only said, \"H'm,\" deep in his beard, put on his glasses, and read\nhis paper again.\n\nWhen it was afternoon, and the sun followed Grandfather to the porch,\nand you were tired of playing House, or Hop-Toad, or Indian, or the\nThree Bears, it was only a step from Grandfather's foot to Grandfather's\nlap.  When you sat back and curled your legs, your head lay in the\nhollow of Grandfather's shoulder, in the shadow of his white beard.\nThen Grandfather would say,\n\n\"Once upon a time there was a bear...\"\n\nOr, better still,\n\n\"Once, when I was a little boy...\"\n\nOr, best of all,\n\n\"When Grandfather went to the war...\"\n\nThat was the story where Grandfather lay all day in the tall grass\nwatching for Johnny Reb, and Johnny Reb was watching for Grandfather.\nWhen it came to the exciting part, you sat straight up to see\nGrandfather squint one eye and look along his outstretched arm, as\nthough it were his gun, and say, \"Bang!\"\n\nBut Johnny Reb saw the tip of Grandfather's blue cap just peeping over\nthe tops of the tall grass, and so he, too, went \"Bang!\"\n\nAnd ever afterwards Grandfather walked with a cane.\n\n\"Did Johnny Reb have to walk with a cane, too, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"Johnny Reb, he just lay in the tall grass, all doubled up, and says he,\n'Gimme a chaw o' terbaccer afore I die.'\"\n\n\"Did you give it to him, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"He died 'fore I could get the plug out o' my pocket.\"\n\nThen Mother would say:\n\n\"I wouldn't, Father--such stories to a child!\"\n\nThen Grandfather would smoke grimly, and would not tell you any more,\nand you would play Grandfather and Johnny Reb in the tall grass.\nLizzie-in-the-kitchen would give you a piece of brown-bread for the chaw\nof tobacco, and when Johnny Reb died too soon you ate it yourself, to\nsave it.  You wondered what would have happened if Johnny Reb had not\ndied too soon.  Standing over Johnny Reb's prostrate but still animate\nform in the tall grass, with the brown-bread tobacco in your hand, you\neven contemplated playing that your adversary lived to tell the tale,\nbut the awful thought that in that case you would have to give up the\nchaw (the brown-bread was fresh that day) kept you to the letter of\nGrandfather's story.  Once only did you play that Johnny Reb lived--but\nthe brown-bread was hard that day, and you were not hungry.\n\nGrandfather wore the blue, and on his breast were the star and flag of\nthe Grand Army.  Every May he straightened his bent shoulders and\nmarched to the music of fife and drum to the cemetery on the hill.  So\nonce a year there were tears in Grandfather's eyes.  All the rest of\nthat solemn May day he marched in the garden with his hands behind him,\nand a far-away look in his eyes, and once in a while his steps quickened\nas he hummed to himself,\n\n    \"Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching.\"\n\nAnd if it so happened that he told you the story of Johnny Reb that day,\nhe would always have a new ending:\n\n\"Then we went into battle.  The Rebs were on a tarnal big hill, and as\nwe charged up the side, 'Boys,' says the Colonel--'boys, give 'em hell!'\nsays he.  And, sir, we just did, I tell you.\"\n\n\"Oh Father, Father--_don't!_--such language before the child!\" Mother\nwould cry, and that would be the end of the new end of Grandfather's\nstory.\n\nOn a soap-box in Abe Jones's corner grocery, Grandfather argued politics\nwith Old Man Stubbs and the rest of the boys.\n\n\"I've voted the straight Republican ticket all my life,\" he would say,\nproudly, when the fray was at its height, \"and, by George!  I'll not\nmake a darned old fool o' myself by turning coat now.  Pesky few\nDemocrats ever I see who--\"\n\nHere Old Man Stubbs would rise from the cracker-barrel.\n\n\"If I understand you correctly, sir, you have called me a darned old\nfool.\"\n\n\"Not at all, Stubbs,\" Grandfather would reply, soothingly.  \"Not by a\njugful.  Now you're a Democrat--\"\n\n\"And proud of it, sir,\" Old Man Stubbs would break in.\n\n\"You're a Democrat, Stubbs, and as such you are not responsible; but if\nI was to turn Democrat, Stubbs, I'd be a darned old fool.\"\n\nAnd in the roar that followed, Old Man Stubbs would subside to the\ncracker-barrel and smoke furiously.  Then Grandfather would say:\n\n\"Stubbs, do you remember old Mose Gray?\"  That was to clear the\nbattle-field of the political carnage, so to speak--so that Old Man\nStubbs would forget his grievance and walk home with Grandfather\npeaceably when the grocery closed for the night.\n\nIf it was winter-time, and the snowdrifts were too deep for grandfathers\nand little boys, you sat before the fireplace, Grandfather in his\narm-chair, you flat on the rug, your face between your hands, gazing\ninto the flames.\n\n\"Who was the greatest man that ever lived, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"Jesus of Nazareth, boy.\"\n\n\"And who was the greatest soldier?\"\n\n\"Ulysses S. Grant.\"\n\n\"And the next greatest?\"\n\n\"George Washington.\"\n\n\"But Old Man Stubbs says Napoleon was the greatest soldier.\"\n\n\"Old Man Stubbs?  Old Man Stubbs? What does he know about it, I'd like\nto know?  He wasn't in the war.  He's afraid of his own shadder.  U. S.\nGrant was the greatest general that ever lived. I guess I know.  I was\nthere, wasn't I? Napoleon!  Old Man Stubbs!  Fiddlesticks!\"\n\nAnd Grandfather would sink back into his chair, smoking wrath and weed\nin his trembling corn-cob, and scowling at the blazing fagots and the\ncurling hickory smoke.  By-and-by--\n\n\"Who was the greatest woman that ever lived, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"Your mother, boy.\"\n\n\"Oh, Father\"--it was Mother's voice--\"you forget.\"\n\n\"Forget nothing,\" cried Grandfather, fiercely.  \"Boy, your mother is the\nbest woman that ever lived, and mind you remember it, too.  Every boy's\nmother is the best woman that ever lived.\"\n\nAnd when Grandfather leaned forward in his chair and waved his pipe,\nthere was no denying Grandfather.\n\nAt night, after supper, when your clothes were in a little heap on the\nchair, and you had your nighty on, and you had said your prayers, Mother\ntucked you in bed and kissed you and called Grandfather.  Then\nGrandfather came stumping up the stairs with his cane.  Sitting on the\nedge of your bed, he sang to you,\n\n    \"The wild gazelle with the silvery feet\n    I'll give thee for a playmate sweet.\"\n\n\nAnd after Grandfather went away the wild gazelle came and stood beside\nyou, and put his cold little nose against your cheek, and licked your\nface with his tongue. It was rough at first, but by-and-by it got softer\nand softer, till you woke up and wanted a drink, and found beside you,\nin place of the wild gazelle, a white mother with a brimming cup in her\nhand.  She covered you up when you were through, and kissed you, and\nthen you went looking for the wild gazelle, and sometimes you found him;\nbut sometimes, when you had just caught up to him and his silvery feet\nwere shining like stars, he turned into Grandfather with his cane.\n\n\"Hi, sleepy-head!  The dicky-birds are waitin' for you.\"\n\nAnd then Grandfather would tickle you in the ribs, and help you on with\nyour stockings, till it was time for him to sit by the wall in the sun.\n\nWhen you were naughty, and Mother used the little brown switch that hung\nover the wood-shed door, Grandfather tramped up and down in the garden,\nand the harder you hollered, the harder Grandfather tramped.  Once when\nyou played the empty flower-pots were not flower-pots at all, but just\ncannon-balls, and you killed a million Indians with them, Mother showed\nyou the pieces, and the switch descended, and the tears fell, and\nGrandfather tramped and tramped, and lost the garden-path completely,\nand stepped on the <DW29>s.  Then they shut you up in your own room\nup-stairs, and you cried till the hiccups came.  You heard the dishes\nrattling on the dining-room table below.  They would be eating supper\nsoon, and at one end of the table in a silver dish there would be a\nchocolate cake, for Lizzie-in-the-kitchen had baked one that afternoon.\nYou had seen it in the pantry window with your own eyes, while you fired\nthe flower-pots.  Now chocolate cake was your favorite, so you hated\nyour bread-and-milk, and tasted and wailed defiantly.  Now and then you\nlistened to hear if they pitied and came to you, but they came not, and\nyou moaned and sobbed in the twilight, and hoped you would die, to make\nthem sorry. By-and-by, between the hiccups, you heard the door open\nsoftly.  Then Grandfather's hand came through the crack with a piece of\nchocolate cake in it.  You knew it was Grandfather's hand, because it\nwas all knuckly.  So you cried no more, and while the chocolate cake was\nstopping the hiccups, you heard Grandfather steal down the stairs,\nsoftly--but it did not sound like Grandfather at all, for you did not\nhear the stumping of his cane. Next morning, when you asked him about\nit, his vest shook, and just the tip of his tongue showed between his\nteeth, for that was the way it did when anything pleased him.  And\nGrandfather said:\n\n\"You won't ever tell?\"\n\n\"No, Grandfather.\"\n\n\"Sure as shootin'?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, then--\" but Grandfather kept shaking so he could not tell.\n\n\"Oh, Grandfather!  _Why_ didn't the cane sound on the stairs?\"\n\n\"Whisht, boy!  I just wrapped my old bandanna handkerchief around the\nend.\"\n\nBut worse than that time was the awful morning when you broke the blue\npitcher that came over in the _Mayflower_.  An old family law said you\nshould never even touch it, where it sat on the shelf by the clock, but\nthe Old Nick said it wouldn't hurt if you looked inside--just once. You\nhad been munching bread-and-butter, and your fingers were slippery, and\nthat is how the pitcher came to fall. Grandfather found you sobbing over\nthe pieces, and his face was white.\n\n\"Sonny, Sonny, what have you done?\"\n\n\"I--I d-didn't mean to, Grandfather.\"\n\nIn trembling fingers Grandfather gathered up the blue fragments--all\nthat was left of the family heirloom, emblem of Mother's ancestral\npride.\n\n\"'Sh!  Don't cry, Sonny.  We'll make it all right again.\"\n\n\"M-Moth--Mother 'll whip me.\"\n\n\"'Sh, boy.  No, she won't.  We'll take it to the tinker.  He'll make it\nall right again.  Come.\"\n\nAnd you and Grandfather slunk guiltily to the tinker and watched him\nmake the blue fragments into the blue pitcher again, and then you\ncarried it home, and as Grandfather set it back on the shelf you\nwhispered:\n\n[Illustration: \"WATCHED HIM MAKE THE BLUE FRAGMENTS INTO THE BLUE\nPITCHER AGAIN\"]\n\n\"Grandfather!\"\n\nGrandfather bent his ear to you.  Very softly you said it:\n\n\"Grandfather, the cracks don't show at all from here.\"\n\nGrandfather nodded his head.  Then he tramped up and down in the garden.\nHe forgot to smoke.  Crime weighed upon his soul.\n\n\"Boy,\" said he, sternly, stopping in his walk.  \"You must never be\nnaughty again.  Do you hear me?\"\n\n\"I won't, Grandfather.\"\n\nGrandfather resumed his tramping; then paused and turned to where you\nsat on the wheelbarrow.\n\n\"But if you ever _are_ naughty again, you must go at once and tell\nMother.  Do you understand?\"\n\n\"Yes, Grandfather.\"\n\nUp and down Grandfather tramped moodily, his head bent, his hands\nclasped behind him--up and down between the verbenas and hollyhocks.  He\npaused irresolutely--turned--turned again--and came back to you.\n\n\"Boy, Grandfather's just as bad and wicked as you are.  He ought to have\nmade you tell Mother about the pitcher first, and take it to the tinker\nafterwards. You must never keep anything from your mother again--never.\nDo you hear?\"\n\n\"Yes, Grandfather,\" you whimpered, hanging your head.\n\n\"Come, boy.\"\n\nYou gave him your hand.  Mother listened, wondering, while Grandfather\nspoke out bravely to the very end.  You had been bad, but he had been\nworse, he confessed; and he asked to be punished for himself and you.\n\nMother did not even look at the cracked blue pitcher on the clock-shelf,\nbut her eyes filled, and at the sight of her tears you flung yourself,\nsobbing, into her arms.\n\n\"Oh, Mother, don't whip Grandfather. Just whip me.\"\n\n\"It isn't the blue pitcher I care about,\" she said.  \"It's only to think\nthat Grandfather and my little boy were afraid to tell me.\"\n\nAnd at this she broke out crying with your wet cheek against her wet\ncheek, and her warm arms crushing you to her breast.  And you cried, and\nGrandfather blew his nose, and Carlo barked and leaped to lick your\nface, until by-and-by, when Mother's white handkerchief and\nGrandfather's red one were quite damp, you and Mother smiled through\nyour tears, and she said it did not matter, and Grandfather patted one\nof her hands while you kissed the other.  And you and Grandfather said\nyou would never be bad again. When you were good, or sick--dear\nGrandfather!  It was not what he said, for only Mother could say the\nlove-words. It was the things he did without saying much at all--the\ncircus he took you to see, the lessons in A B C while he held the book\nfor you in his hand, the sail-boats he whittled for you on rainy\ndays--for Grandfather was a ship-carpenter before he was a\ngrandfather--and the willow whistles he made for you, and the soldier\nswords.  It was Grandfather who fished you from the brook.  Grandfather\nsaved you from Farmer Tompkins's cow--the black one which gave no milk.\nGrandfather snatched you from prowling dogs, and stinging bees, and bad\nboys and their wiles.  That is what grandfathers are for, and so we love\nthem and climb into their laps and beg for sail-boats and tales--and\n_that_ is their reward.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE SAIL-BOATS HE WHITTLED FOR YOU ON RAINY DAYS\"]\n\nOne day--your birthday had just gone by and it was time to think of\nThanksgiving--you walked with Grandfather in the fields.  Between the\nstacked corn the yellow pumpkins lay, and they made you think of\nThanksgiving pies.  The leaves, red and gold, dropped of old age in the\nautumn stillness, and you gathered an armful for Mother.\n\n\"Why don't all the people die every year, Grandfather, like the leaves?\"\n\n\"Everybody dies when his work's done, little boy.  The leaf's work is\ndone in the fall when the frost comes.  It takes longer for a man to do\nhis work, 'cause a man has more to do.\"\n\n\"When will your work be done, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"It's almost done now, little boy.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Grandfather.  There's lots for you to do.  You said you'd make\nme a bob-sled, and a truly engine what goes, when I'm bigger; and when I\nget to be a grown-up man like Father, you are to come and make willow\nwhistles for my little boys.\"\n\nAnd you were right, for while the frost came again and again for the\nlittle leaves, Grandfather stayed on in the sun, and when he had made\nyou the bob-sled he still lingered, for did he not have the truly engine\nto make for you, and the willow whistles for your own little boys?\n\nWaking from a nap, you could not remember when you fell asleep.  You\nwondered what hour it was.  Was it morning? Was it afternoon?  Dreamily\nyou came down-stairs.  Golden sunlight crossed the ivied porch and\nsmiled at you through the open door.  The dining-room table was set with\nblue china, and at every place was a dish of red, red strawberries.\nThen you knew it was almost supper-time. You were rested with sleep,\ngentle with dreams of play, happy at the thought of red berries in blue\ndishes with sugar and cream.  You found Grandfather in the garden\nsitting in the sun.  He was not reading or smoking; he was just waiting.\n\n\"Are you tired waiting for me, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"No, little boy.\"\n\n\"I came as soon as I could, Grandfather.\"\n\nThe leaves did not move.  The flowers were motionless.  Grandfather sat\nquite still, his soft, white beard against your cheek, flushed with\nsleep.  You nestled in his lap.  And so you sat together, with the sun\ngoing down about you, till Mother came and called you to supper.  Even\nnow when you are grown, you remember, as though it were yesterday, the\nlong nap and the golden light in the doorway, and the red berries on the\ntable, and Grandfather waiting in the sun.\n\nOne day--it was not long afterwards--they took you to see Aunt Mary, on\nthe train.  When you came home again, Grandfather was not waiting for\nyou.\n\n\"Where is Grandfather?\"\n\n\"Grandfather isn't here any more, dearie. He has gone 'way up in the sky\nto see God and the angels.\"\n\n\"And won't he ever come back to our house?\"\n\n\"No, dear; but if you are a good boy, you will go to see him some day.\"\n\n\"But, oh, Mother, what will Grandfather do when he goes to walk with the\nlittle boy angels?  See--he's gone and forgot his cane!\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *Grandmother*\n\n\nIn the days when you went into the country to visit her, Grandmother was\na gay, spry little lady with velvety cheeks and gold-rimmed spectacles,\nknitting reins for your hobby-horse, and spreading bread-and-butter and\nbrown sugar for you in the hungry middle of the afternoon.  For a bumped\nhead there was nothing in the bottles to compare with the magic of her\nlips.\n\n\"And what did the floor do to my poor little lamb?  See!  Grandmother\nwill make the place well again.\"  And when she had kissed it three\ntimes, lo! you knew that you were hungry, and on the door-sill of\nGrandmother's pantry you shed a final tear.\n\nWhen you arrived for a visit, and Grandmother had taken off your cap and\ncoat as you sat in her lap, you would say, softly, \"Grandmother.\"  Then\nshe would know that you wanted to whisper, and she would lower her ear\ntill it was even with your lips.  Through the hollow of your two hands\nyou said it:\n\n\"I think I would like some sugar pie now, Grandmother.\"\n\nAnd then she would laugh till the tears came, and wipe her spectacles,\nfor that was just what she had been waiting for you to say all the time,\nand if you had not said it--but, of course, that was impossible.\nAlways, on the day before you came, she made two little sugar pies in\ntwo little round tins with crinkled edges. One was for you, and the\nother was for Lizbeth.\n\nAfter you had eaten your pies you chased the rooster till he dropped you\na white tail-feather in token of surrender, and just tucking the feather\ninto your cap made you an Indian.  Grandmother stood at the window and\nwatched you while you scalped the sunflowers.  The Indians and tigers at\nGrandmother's were wilder than those in Our Yard at home.\n\nBeing an Indian made you think of tents, and then you remembered\nGrandmother's old plaid shawl.  She never wore it now, for she had a new\none, but she kept it for you in the closet beneath the stairs.  While\nyou were gone, it hung in the dark alone, dejected, waiting for you to\ncome back and play.  When you came, at last, and dragged it forth, it\nclung to you warmly, and did everything you said: stretched its frayed\nlength from chair to chair and became a tent for you; swelled proudly in\nthe summer gale till your boat scudded through the surf of waving grass,\nand you anchored safely, to fish with string and pin, by the Isles of\nthe Red Geraniums.\n\n\"The pirates are coming,\" you cried to Lizbeth, scanning the horizon of\npicket fence.\n\n\"The pirates are coming,\" she repeated, dutifully.\n\n\"And now we must haul up the anchor,\" you commanded, dragging in the\nstone. Lizbeth was in terror.  \"Oh, my poor dolly!\" she cried, hushing\nit in her arms. Gallantly the old plaid shawl caught the breeze; and as\nit filled, your boat leaped forward through--\n\n\"Harry!  Lizbeth!  Come and be washed for dinner!\"\n\nGrandmother's voice came out to you across the waters.  You hesitated.\nThe pirate ship was close behind.  You could see the cutlasses flashing\nin the sun.\n\n\"More sugar pies,\" sang the Grandmother siren on the rocks of the front\nporch, and at those melting words the pirate ship was a mere speck on\nthe horizon.  Seizing Lizbeth by the hand, you ran boldly across the\nsea.\n\nBy the white bowl Grandmother took your chin in one hand and lifted your\nface.\n\n\"My, what a dirty boy!\"\n\nWith the rough wet rag she mopped the dirt away--grime of your long\nsea-voyage--while you squinted your eyes and pursed up your lips to keep\nout the soap. You clung to her apron for support in your mute agony.\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU CLUNG TO HER APRON FOR SUPPORT IN YOUR MUTE AGONY\"]\n\n\"Grand--\" you managed to sputter ere the wet rag smothered you.  Warily\nyou waited till the cloth went higher, to your puckered eyes.  Then,\n\"Grand-m-m--\"  But that was all, for with a trail of suds the rag swept\ndown again, and as the half-word slipped out, the soap slipped in.  So\nGrandmother dug and dug till she came to the pink stratum of your\ncheeks, and then it was wipe, wipe, wipe, till the stratum shone.  Then\nit was your hands' turn, while Grandmother listened to your belated\ntale, and last of all she kissed you above and gave you a little spank\nbelow, and you were done.\n\nAll through dinner your mind was on the table--not on the middle of it,\nwhere the meat was, but on the end of it.\n\n\"Harry, why don't you eat your bread?\"\n\n\"Why, I don't feel for bread, Grandmother,\" you explained, looking at\nthe end of the table.  \"I just feel for pie.\"\n\nIt was hard when you were back home again, for there it was mostly\nbread, and no sugar pies at all, and very little cake.\n\n\"Grandmother lets me have _two_ pieces,\" you would urge to Mother, but\nthe argument was of no avail.  Two pieces, she said, were not good for\nlittle boys.\n\n\"Then why does Grandmother let me have them?\" you would demand,\nsullenly, kicking the table leg; but Mother could not hear you unless\nyou kicked hard, and then it was naughty boys, not Grandmothers, that\nshe talked about.  And if that happened which sometimes does to naughty\nlittle boys--\n\n\"Grandmother don't hurt at all when _she_ spanks,\" you said.\n\nSo there were wrathful moments when you wished you might live always\nwith Grandmother.  It was so easy to be good at her house--so easy, that\nis, to get two pieces of cake.  And when God made little boys, you\nthought, He must have made Grandmothers to bake sugar pies for them.\n\n\"Suppose you were a little boy like me, Grandmother?\" you once said to\nher.\n\n\"That would be fine,\" she admitted; \"but suppose you were a little\ngrandmother like me?\"\n\n\"Well,\" you replied, with candor, \"I think I would rather be like\nGrandfather, 'cause he was a soldier, and fought Johnny Reb.\"\n\n\"And if you were a grandfather,\" Grandmother asked, \"what would you do?\"\n\n\"Why, if I were a grandfather,\" you said--\"why--\"\n\n\"Well, what would you do?\"\n\n\"Why, if I were a grandfather,\" you said, \"I should want you to come and\nbe a grandmother with me.\"  And Grandmother kissed you for that.\n\n\"But I like you best as a little boy,\" she said.  \"Once Grandmother had\na little boy just like you, and he used to climb into her lap and put\nhis arms around her. Oh, he was a beautiful little boy, and sometimes\nGrandmother gets very lonesome without him--till you come, and then it's\nlike having him back again. For you've got his blue eyes and his brown\nhair and his sweet little ways, and Grandmother loves you--once for\nyourself and once for him.\"\n\n\"But where is the little boy now, Grandmother?\"\n\n\"He's a man now, darling.  He's your own father.\"\n\nEvery Sunday, Grandmother went to church.  After breakfast there was a\nflurry of dressing, with an opening and shutting of doors up-stairs, and\nGrandfather would be down-stairs in the kitchen, blacking his Sunday\nboots.  On Sunday his beard looked whiter than on other days, but that\nwas because he seemed so much blacker everywhere else.  He creaked out\nto the stable and hitched Peggy to the buggy and led them around to the\nfront gate.  Then he would snap his big gold watch and go to the bottom\nof the stairs and say:\n\n\"Maria!  Come!  It's ten o'clock.\"\n\nGrandmother's door would open a slender crack--\"Yes, John\"--and\nGrandfather would creak up and down in his Sunday boots, up and down,\nwaiting, till there was a rustling on the stairs and Grandmother came\ndown to him in a glory of black silk.  There was a little frill of white\nabout her neck, fastened with her gold brooch, and above that her gentle\nSabbath face.  Her face took on a new light when Sunday came, and she\nnever seemed so near, somehow, as on other days.  There was a look in\nher eyes that did not speak of sugar pies or play.  There was a little\npressure of the thin lips and a silence, as though she had no time for\nfairy-tales or lullabies.  When she set her little black bonnet on her\ngray hair and lifted up her chin to tie the ribbon strings beneath, you\nstopped your game to watch, wondering at her awesomeness; and when in\nher black-gloved fingers she clasped her worn Bible and stooped and\nkissed you good-bye, you never thought of putting your arms around her.\nShe was too wonderful--this little Sabbath Grandmother--for that.\n\nThrough the window you watched them as they went down the walk together\nto the front gate, Grandmother and Grandfather, the tips of her gloved\nfingers laid in the hollow of his arm.  Solemn was the steady stumping\nof his cane.  Solemn was the day.  Even the roosters knew it was Sunday,\nsomehow, and crowed dismally; and the bells--the church-bells tolling\nthrough the quiet air--made you lonesome and cross with Lizbeth.  Your\ncollar was very stiff, and your Sunday trousers were very tight, and\nthere was nothing to do, and you were dreary.\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU WATCHED THEM AS THEY WENT DOWN THE WALK TOGETHER\"]\n\nAfter dinner Grandfather went to sleep on the sofa, with a newspaper\nover his face.  Then Grandmother took you up into her black silk lap and\nread you Bible stories and taught you the Twenty-third Psalm and the\ngolden text.  And every one of the golden texts meant the same\nthing--that little boys should be very good and do as they are told.\n\nGrandmother's Sunday lap was not so fine as her other ones to lie in.\nHer Monday lap, for instance, was soft and gray, and there were no texts\nto disturb your reverie.  Then Grandmother would stop her knitting to\npinch your cheek and say, \"You don't love Grandmother.\"\n\n\"Yes, I do.\"\n\n\"How much?\"\n\n\"More'n tonguecantell.  What is a tonguecantell, Grandmother?\"\n\nAnd while she was telling you she would be poking the tip of her finger\ninto the soft of your jacket, so that you doubled up suddenly with your\nknees to your chin; and while you guarded your ribs a funny spider would\ncrawl down the back of your neck; and when you chased the spider out of\nyour collar it would suddenly creep under your chin, or there would be a\npanic in the ribs again.  By that time you were nothing but wriggles and\ngiggles and little cries.\n\n\"Don't, Grandmother; you tickle.\"  And Grandmother would pause,\nbreathless as yourself, and say, \"_Oh_, my!\"\n\n\"Now you must do it some more, Grandmother,\" you would urge, but she\nwould shake her head at you and go back to her knitting again.\n\n\"Grandmother's tired,\" she would say.\n\nYou were tired, too, so you lay with your head on her shoulder, sucking\nyour thumb.  To and fro Grandmother rocked you, to and fro, while the\nkitten played with the ball of yarn on the floor.  The afternoon\nsunshine fell warmly through the open window.  Bees and butterflies\nhovered in the honeysuckles.  Birds were singing.  Your mind went\na-wandering--out through the yard and the front gate and across the\nroad.  On it went past the Taylors' big dog and up by Aunty Green's,\nwhere the crullers lived, all brown and crusty, in the high stone crock.\nIt scrambled down by the brook where the little green frogs were hopping\ninto the water, leaving behind them trembling rings that grew wider and\nwider and wider, till pretty soon they were the ocean.  That was a big\nthought, and you roused yourself.\n\n[Illustration: \"TO AND FRO GRANDMOTHER ROCKED YOU\"]\n\n\"How big is the ocean, Grandmother?\"\n\n\"As big--oh, as big as all out-doors.\"\n\nYour mind waded out into the ocean till the water was up to its knees.\nThen it scrambled back again and lay in the warm sand and looked up at\nthe sky. And the sand rocked to and fro, to and fro, as your mind lay\nthere, all curled up and warm, by the ocean, watching the butterflies in\nthe honeysuckles and the crullers in the crock.  And all the people were\nsinging ... all the people in the world, almost ... and the little green\nfrogs....  \"Bye--bye, bye--bye,\" they were singing, in time to the\nrocking of the sand ... \"Bye--bye\" ... \"Bye\" ... \"Bye\" ...\n\nAnd when you awoke you were on the sofa, all covered up with\nGrandmother's shawl.\n\nSo you liked the gay week-day Grandmother best, with her soft lap and\nher lullabies.  Grandfather must have liked her best too, you thought,\nfor when he went away forever and forgot his cane, it was the Sunday\nGrandmother he left behind--a little, gray Grandmother sitting by the\nwindow and gazing silently through the panes.\n\nWhat she saw there you never knew--but it was not the trees, or the\ndistant hills, or the people passing in the road.\n\n\n\n\n                        *While Aunt Jane Played*\n\n\nAunt Jane played the piano in the parlor.  You could play, too--\"Peter,\nPeter, Punkin-eater,\" with your forefinger, Aunt Jane holding it in her\nhand so that you would strike the right notes. But when Aunt Jane played\nshe used both hands.  Sometimes the music was so fast and stirring that\nit made you dance, or romp, or sing, or play that you were not a little\nboy at all, but a soldier like Grandfather or George Washington; and\nsometimes the music was so soft and beautiful that you wanted to be a\nprince in a fairy tale; and then again it was so slow and grim that you\nwished it were not Sunday, for the Sunday tunes, like your tight, black,\nSunday shoes, had all their buttons on, and so were not comfy or made\nfor fun.  You could not march to them, or fight to them, or be a\ngrown-up man to them.  Somehow they always reminded you that you were\nonly a pouting, naughty little boy.\n\nThe sound of the piano came out to you as you lingered by the table\nwhere Lizzie-in-the-kitchen was making pies.  You ran into the parlor\nand sat on a hassock by Aunt Jane, watching her as she played. It was\nnot a fast piece that day, nor yet a slow one, but just in-between, so\nthat as you sat by the piano you wondered if the snow and sloppy little\npuddles would ever go and leave Our Yard green again. Even with rubber\nboots now Mother made you keep the paths, and mostly you had to stay in\nthe house.  Through the window you could see the maple boughs still\nbare, but between them the sky was warm and blue.  Pretty soon the\nleaves would be coming, hiding the sky.\n\n\"Auntie.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" though she did not stop playing.\n\n\"Where do the leaves come from?\"\n\n\"From the little buds on the twigs, dearie.\"\n\n\"But how do they know when it's time to come, Auntie Jane?  'Cause if\nthey came too soon, they might catch cold and die.\"\n\n\"Well, the sun tells them when.\"\n\n\"How does the sun tell them, Auntie?\"\n\n\"Why, he makes the trees all warm, and when the buds feel it, out they\ncome.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\nYour eyes were very wide.  They were always wide when you wondered; and\nsometimes when you were not wondering at all, just hearing Aunt Jane\nplay would make you, and then your eyes would grow bigger and bigger as\nyou sat on the hassock by the piano, looking at the maple boughs and\nhearing the music and being a little boy.\n\nIt was a beautiful piece that Aunt Jane was playing that March morning.\nThe sun came and shone on the maple boughs.\n\n\"And now the sun is telling the little buds,\" you said to yourself in\ntime to Aunt Jane's music, but so softly that she did not hear.\n\n\"And now the little buds are saying 'All right,'\" you whispered, more\nsoftly still, for the bigger your eyes got, the smaller, always, was\nyour voice.\n\nA little song-sparrow came and teetered on a twig.\n\n\"Oh, Auntie, see!  The birdie's come, too, to tell the buds, I guess.\"\n\nAunt Jane turned her head and smiled at the sparrow, but she did not\nstop playing.  Your heart was beating in time to the music, as you sat\non the hassock by the piano, watching the bird and the sun. The sparrow\ndanced like Aunt Jane's fingers, and put up his little open bill.  He\nwas singing, though you could not hear.\n\n\"But, Auntie.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Who told the little bird?\"\n\n\"God told the little bird, dearie--away down South where the oranges and\nroses grow in the winter, and there isn't any snow.  And the little bird\nflew up here to Ourtown to build his nest and sing in our maple-tree.\"\n\nYour eyes were so wide now that you had no voice at all.  You just sat\nthere on the hassock while Aunt Jane played.\n\nAway down South ... away down South, singing in an orange-tree, you saw\nthe little bird ... but now he stopped to listen with his head on one\nside, and his bright eye shining, while the warm wind rustled in the\nleaves ... God was telling him ... So the little bird spread his wings\nand flew ... away up in the blue sky, above the trees, above the\nsteeples, over the hills and running brooks ... miles and miles and\nmiles ... till he came to Our Yard, in the sun.\n\n\"And here he is now,\" you ended aloud your little story, for you had\nfound your voice again.\n\n\"Who is here, dearie?\" asked Aunt Jane, still playing.\n\n\"Why, the little bird,\" you said.\n\nThe sparrow flew away.  The sun came through the window to where you sat\non the hassock, by the piano.  It warmed your knees and told you--what\nit told the buds, what God told the little bird in the orange-tree.\nLike the little bird you could stay no longer.  You ran out-of-doors\ninto the soft, sweet wind and the morning.\n\nAunt Jane gave the keys a last caress. Grandmother turned in her chair\nby the sitting-room window.\n\n\"What were you playing, Janey?\"\n\n\"Mendelssohn's 'Spring Song,' Mother.\"\n\nThe little gray Grandmother looked out-of-doors again to where you\nplayed, singing, in the sun.\n\n\"Isn't it beautiful?\" she murmured.\n\nYou waved your hand to her and laughed, and she nodded back at you,\nsmiling at your fun.\n\n\"Bless his heart, _he's_ playing the music, too,\" she said.\n\n\n\n\n                            *Little Sister*\n\n\nIn the daytime she played with you, and believed all you said, and was\nalways ready to cry.  At night she slept with you and the four dolls.\nShe was your little sister, Lizbeth.\n\n\"Whose little girl are you?\" they would ask her.  If she were sitting in\nFather's lap, she would doubtless reply--\n\n\"Father's little girl.\"\n\nBut--\n\n\"Oh, _Lizbeth_!\" Mother would cry.\n\n\"--and Mother's,\" Lizbeth would add, to keep peace in the family.\nThough she never mentioned you at such times, she told you privately\nthat she would marry you when you grew to be a man, and publicly she\nremembered you in her prayers.  Kneeling down at Mother's knee, you and\nLizbeth, in your little white nighties, before you went to bed, you said\n\"Now I lay me\" in unison, and ended with blessing every one, only at the\nvery end _you_ said:\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU SAID 'NOW I LAY ME' IN UNISON\"]\n\n\"--and God bless Captain Jinks,\" for even a wooden soldier needed God in\nthose long, dark nights of childhood, while Lizbeth said:\n\n\"--and God bless all my dollies, and send my Sally doll a new leg.\"\n\nBut though God sent three new legs in turn, Sally was always losing\nthem, so that finally Lizbeth confided in Mother:\n\n\"Pretty soon God 'll be tired of sending Sally new legs, I guess.  _You_\nspeak to Him next time, Mother, 'cause I'm 'shamed to any more.\"\n\nAnd when Mother asked Him, He sent a new Sally instead of a new leg.  It\nwould be cheaper, Mother told Father, in the long-run.\n\nIn the diplomatic precedence of Lizbeth's prayers, Father and Mother\nwere blessed first, and you came between \"Grandfather and Grandmother\"\nand \"God bless my dollies.\"  Thus was your family rank established for\nall time by a little girl in a white night-gown.  You were a little\nlower than your elders, it is true, but you were higher than the legless\nSally or the waxen blonde.\n\nWhen Lizbeth and you were good, you loved each other, and when you were\nbad, both of you at the same time, you loved each other too, _very_\ndearly.  But sometimes it happened that Lizbeth was good and you were\nbad, and then she only loved Mother, and ran and told tales on you. And\nyou--well, you did not love anybody at all.\n\nWhen your insides said it would be a long time before dinner, and your\nmouth watered, and you stood on a chair by the pantry shelf with your\nhand in a brown jar, and when Lizbeth found you there, you could tell by\njust looking at her face that she was very good that day, and that she\nloved Mother better than she did you. So you knew without even thinking\nabout it that you were very bad, and you did not love anybody at all,\nand your heart quaked within you at Lizbeth's sanctity.  But there was\nalways a last resort.\n\n\"Lizbeth, if you tell\"--you mumbled awfully, pointing at her an uncanny\nforefinger dripping preserves--\"if you tell, a great big black Gummy-gum\n'll get you when it's dark, and he'll pick out your eyes and gnaw your\nears off, and he'll keep one paw over your mouth, so you can't holler,\nand when the blood comes--\"\n\nLizbeth quailed before you.  She began to cry.\n\n\"You won't tell, _will_ you?\" you demanded, fiercely, making eyes like a\nGummy-gum and showing your white teeth.\n\n\"No--o--o,\" wailed Lizbeth.\n\n\"Well, stop crying, then,\" you commanded, sucking your syrupy fingers.\n\"If you cry, the Gummy-gum 'll come and get you _now_.\"\n\nLizbeth looked fearfully over her shoulder and stopped.  By that time\nyour fingers were all sucked, and the cover was back on the jar, and you\nwere saved.  But that night, when Mother and Father came home, you\nwatched Lizbeth, and lest she should forget, you made the eyes of a\nGummy-gum, when no one but Lizbeth saw.  Mother tucked you both into bed\nand kissed you and put out the light.  Then Lizbeth whimpered.\n\n[Illustration: \"MOTHER TUCKED YOU BOTH INTO BED AND KISSED YOU\"]\n\n\"Why, Lizbeth,\" said Mother from the dark.\n\nQuick as a flash you snuggled up to Lizbeth's side.  \"The Gummy-gum 'll\nget you if you don't stop,\" you whispered, warningly--but with one\ndismal wail Lizbeth was out of bed and in Mother's arms. Then you knew\nall was over.  Desperately you awaited retribution, humming a little\nsong, and so it was to the tune of \"I want to be an angel\" that you\nheard Lizbeth sob out her awful tale:\n\n\"Harry ... he ... he said the Gummy-gum 'd get me ... if I told about\nthe p'serves.\"\n\nAnd it was _you_ the Gummy-gum got that time, and your blood, you\nthought, almost came.\n\nBut other nights when you went to bed--nights after days when you had\nboth been good and loved each other--it was fine to lie there in the\ndark with Lizbeth, playing Make-Believe before you fell asleep.\n\n\"I tell you,\" you said, putting up your foot so that the covers rose\nupon it, making a little tent--\"I tell you; let's be Indians.\"\n\n\"Let's,\" said Lizbeth.\n\n\"And this is our little tent, and there's bears outside what 'll eat you\nup if you don't look out.\"\n\nLizbeth shivered and drew her knees up to her chin, so that she was\nnothing but a little warm roll under the wigwam.\n\n\"And now the bears are coming--wow! wow! wow!\"\n\nAnd as the great hungry beasts pushed their snouts under the canvas and\ngrowled and gnashed their teeth, Lizbeth, little squaw, squealed with\nterror, and seized you as you lay there helpless in your triple role of\ntent and bears and Indian brave; seized you in the ticklish ribs so that\nthe wigwam came tumbling about your ears, and the Indian brave rolled\nand shrieked with laughter, and the brute bears fled to their mountain\ncaves.\n\n\"Children!\"\n\n\"W-what?\"\n\n\"Stop that noise and go right to sleep. Do you hear me?\"\n\nWas it not the voice of the mamma bear? Stealthily you crept under the\nfallen canvas, which had grown smaller, somehow, in the _melee_, so that\nwhen you pulled it up to your chin and tucked it in around you, Lizbeth\nwas out in the cold; and when Lizbeth tucked herself in, then you were\nshivering.  But by-and-by you huddled close in the twisted sheets and\ntalked low beneath the edge of the coverlet, so that no one heard\nyou--not even the Gummy-gum, who spent his nights on the back stairs.\n\n\"Does the Gummy-gum eat little folks while they're asleep?\" asked\nLizbeth, with a precautionary snuggle-up.\n\n\"No; 'cause the Gummy-gum is afraid of the little black gnomes what live\nin the pillows.\"\n\n\"Well, if the little black gnomes live in the pillows, why can't you\nfeel them then?\"\n\n\"'Cause, now, they're so teenty-weenty and so soft.\"\n\n\"And can't you ever see them at all?\"\n\n\"No; 'cause they don't come out till you're asleep.\"\n\n\"Oh ... Well, Harry--now--if a Gummy-gum had a head like a horse, and a\ntail like a cow, and a bill like a duck, what?\"\n\n\"Why--why, he _wouldn't_, 'cause he _isn't_.\"\n\n\"Oh ... Well, is the Gummy-gum just afraid of the little gnomes, and\nthat's all?\"\n\n\"Um-hm; 'cause the little gnomes have little knives, all sharp and\nshiny, what they got on the Christmas-tree.\"\n\n\"_Our_ Christmas-tree?\"\n\n\"No; the little gnomes's Christmas-tree.\"\n\n\"The little gnomes's Christmas-tree?\"\n\n\"Um-hm.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"'Cause ... why, there ain't any why ... just Christmas-tree.\"\n\n\"Just ... just Christmas-tree?\"\n\n\"Um.\"\n\n\"Why ... I thought ... I ...\"\n\nAnd you and Lizbeth never felt Mother smooth out the covers at all,\nthough she lifted you up to straighten them; and so you slept,\nspoon-fashion, warm as toast, with the little black gnomes watching in\nthe pillows, and the Gummy-gum, hungry but afraid, in the dark of the\nback stairs.\n\nThe pear-tree on the edge of the enchanted garden, green with summer and\ntremulous with breeze, sheltered a little girl and her dolls.  On the\ncool turf she sat alone, preoccupied, her dress starched and white like\nthe frill of a valentine, her fat little legs straight out before her,\nher bright little curls straight down behind, her lips parted, her eyes\ngentle with a dream of motherhood--Mamma Lizbeth crooning lullabies to\nher four children cradled in the soft grass.\n\n\"I'll tell you just one more story,\" she was saying, \"just one, and\nthat's all, and then you children must go to sleep.  Sally, lie still!\nAin't you 'shamed, kicking all the covers off and catching cold?\nNaughty girl.  Now you must listen.  Well ... Once upon a time there was\na fairy what lived in a rose, and she had beautiful wings--oh, all\ncolors--and she could go wherever she wanted to without anybody ever\nseeing her, 'cause she was iwisible, which is when you can't see anybody\nat all.  Well, one day the fairy saw a little girl carrying her father's\ndinner, and she turned herself into an old witch and said to the little\ngirl, 'Come to me, pretty one, and I will give thee a stick of\npeppermint candy.'  Now the little girl, she just loved candy, and\npeppermint was her favorite, but she was a good little girl and minded\nher mother most dut'fly, and never told any lies or anything; so she\ncourtesied to the old witch and said, 'Thank you kindly, but I must\nhurry with my father's dinner, or he will be hungry waiting.'  _And what\ndo you think_?  Just then the old witch turned into the beautiful fairy\nagain, and she kissed the little girl, and gave her a whole bag of\npeppermint candy, and a doll what talked, and a velocipede for her\nlittle brother. And what does this story teach us, children? ... Yes.\nThat's right.  It teaches us to be good little boys and girls and mind\nour parents.  And that's all.\"\n\nThe dolls fell asleep.  Lizbeth whispered lest they should awake, and\ntiptoed through the grass.  A blue-jay called harshly from a neighboring\ntree.  Lizbeth frowned and glanced anxiously at the grassy trundle-bed.\n\"'Sh!\" she said, warningly, her finger on her lip, whenever you came\nnear.\n\nSuddenly there was a rustle in the leaves above, and out of their\ngreenness a little pear dropped to the grass at Lizbeth's feet.\n\n\"It's mine,\" you cried, reaching out your hand.\n\n\"No--o,\" screamed Lizbeth.  \"It's for my dollies' breakfast,\" and she\nhugged the stunted, speckled fruit to her bosom so tightly that its\nbrown, soft side was crushed in her hands.  You tried to snatch it from\nher, but she struck you with her little clinched fist.\n\n\"No--o,\" she cried again.  \"It's my dollies' pear.\"  Her lip quivered.\nTears sprang into her eyes.  You straightened yourself.\n\n\"All right,\" you muttered, fiercely.  \"All right for you.  I'll run\naway, I will, and I'll never come back--_never_!\"\n\nYou climbed the stone wall.\n\n\"No,\" cried Lizbeth.\n\n\"I'll never come back,\" you called, defiantly, as you stood on the top.\n\n\"No,\" Lizbeth screamed, scrambling to her feet and turning to you a face\nwet with tears and white with terror.\n\n\"Never, _never_!\" was your farewell to her as you jumped.  Deaf to the\npitiful wail behind you, you ran out across the meadow, muttering to\nyourself your fateful, parting cry.\n\nLizbeth looked for a moment at the wall where you had stood.  Then she\nran sobbing after you, around through the gate, for the wall was too\nhigh for her, and out into the field, where to her blurred vision you\nwere only a distant figure now, never, never to return.\n\n\"Harry!\" she screamed, and the wind blew her cry to you across the\nmeadow, but you ran on, unheeding.  She struggled after you.  The\ndaisies brushed her skirt.  Creeping vines caught at her little shoes\nand she fell.  Scratched by briers, she scrambled to her feet again and\nstumbled on, blind with tears, crying ever \"Harry, Harry!\" but so\nfaintly now in her sobs and breathlessness that you did not hear.  At\nthe top of a weary, weary <DW72> she sank helpless and heartbroken in the\ngrass, a little huddle of curls and pinafore, so that your conscience\nsmote you as you stood waiting, half hidden by the hedge.\n\n\"Don't be a cry-baby.  I was only fooling,\" you said, and at the sound\nof your voice Lizbeth lifted her face from the grasses and put out her\narms to you with a cry. In one hand was the little pear.\n\n\"Oh, I don't want the old thing,\" you cried, throwing yourself beside\nher on the turf.  Smiling again through her tears, Lizbeth reached out a\nlittle hand scratched by briers, and patted your cheek.\n\n\"Harry,\" she said, \"you can have all my animal crackers for your\nm'nagerie, if you want to, and my little brown donkey; and I'll play\nhorse with you any time you want me to, Harry, I will.\"\n\nSo, after all, you did not run away, and you and Lizbeth went home at\nlast across the meadow, hand in hand. Behind you, hidden and forgotten\nin the red clover, lay your quarrel and the little pear.\n\nWhen Lizbeth loved you, there were stars in her brown eyes; when you\nlooked more closely, so that you were very near their shining, you saw\nin their round, black pupils, smiling back at you, the face of a little\nboy; and then in your own eyes, Lizbeth, holding your cheeks between her\nhands, found the face of a little girl.\n\n\"Why, it's _me_!\" she cried.\n\nAnd when you looked again into Lizbeth's eyes, you saw yourself; and\n\"Oh, Mother,\" you said afterwards, for you had thought deeply, \"I think\nit's the _good_ Harry that's in Lizbeth's eyes, 'cause when I look at\nhim, he's always smiling.\"  That was as far as you thought about it\nthen; but once, long afterwards, it came to you that little boys never\nfind their pictures in a sister's eyes unless they are good, and love\nher, and hold her cheeks between their hands.\n\nLizbeth's cheeks were softer than yours, and when she played horse, or\nthe day was windy, so that the grass rippled and the trees sang, or when\nit was tub-day with soap and towels up-stairs, her cheeks were pink as\nthe roses in Mother's garden.  That is how you came to tell Mother a\ngreat secret, one evening in summer, as you sat with her and Lizbeth on\nthe front steps watching the sun go down.\n\n\"I guess it's tub-day in the sky, Mother.\"\n\n\"Tub-day?\"\n\n\"Why, yes.  All the little clouds have been having their bath, I think,\n'cause they're all pink and shiny, like Lizbeth.\"\n\nBut once Lizbeth's cheeks were white, and she stayed in bed every day,\nand you played by yourself.  Twice a day they took you as far as the\nbedroom door to see her.\n\n[Illustration: \"THEY TOOK YOU AS FAR AS THE BEDROOM DOOR TO SEE HER\"]\n\n\"H'lo,\" you said, as you peeked.\n\n\"H'lo,\" she whispered back, very softly, for she was almost asleep, and\nshe did not even smile at you, and before you could tell her what the\nPussy-cat did they took you away--but not till you had seen the two\nglasses on the table with the silver spoon on top.\n\nThere was no noise in the days then. Even the trees stopped singing, and\nthe wind walked on tiptoe and whispered into people's ears, like you.\n\n\"Is it to-day Lizbeth comes down-stairs?\" you asked every morning.\n\n\"Do you think Lizbeth will play with me to-morrow?\" you asked every\nnight. Night came a long time after morning in the days when Lizbeth\ncould not play.\n\n\"Oh, dear, I don't think I feel very well,\" you told Mother.  Tears\nspilled out of your eyes and rolled down your cheeks. Mother felt your\nbrow and looked at your tongue.\n\n\"_I_ know what's the matter with my little boy,\" she said, and kissed\nyou; but she did not put you to bed.\n\nOne day, when no one was near, you peeked and saw Lizbeth.  She was\nalone and very little and very white.\n\n\"H'lo,\" you said.\n\n\"H'lo,\" she whispered back, and smiled at you, and when she smiled you\ncould not wait any longer.  You went in very softly and kissed her where\nshe lay and gave her a little hug.  She patted your cheek.\n\n\"I'd like my dollies,\" she whispered. You brought them to her, all\nfour--the two china ones and the rag brunette and the waxen blonde.\n\n\"Dollies are sick,\" she said.  \"They 'most died, I guess.  Play you're\nsick, too.\"\n\nMother found you there--Lizbeth and you and the four dolls, side by side\non the bed, all in a little sick row.  And from the very moment that you\nkissed Lizbeth and gave her the little hug, she grew better, so that\nby-and-by the wind blew louder and the trees sang lustily, and all Our\nYard was bright with flowers and sun and voices and play, for you and\nLizbeth and the four dolls were well again.\n\n\n\n\n                               *Our Yard*\n\n\nThe breadth of Our Yard used to be from the beehives to the red\ngeraniums.  When the beehives were New York, the geraniums were Japan,\nso the distance is easy to calculate.  The apple-tree Alps overshadowed\nNew York then, which seems strange now, but geography is not what it\nused to be.  In the lapse of years the Manhattan hives have crumbled in\nthe Alpine shade, an earthquake of garden spade has wiped Japan from the\nmap, and where the scarlet islands lay in the sun there are green\nbillows now, and other little boys in the grass, at play.\n\nIn the old days when you sailed away on the front gate, which swung and\ncreaked through storms, to the other side of the sea, you could just\ndescry through a fog of foliage the rocky shores of the back-yard fence,\nwashed by a surf of golden-rod.  If you moored your ship--for an\nunlatched gate meant prowling dogs in the garden, and Mother was cross\nat that--if you anchored your gate-craft dutifully to become a soldier,\nyou could march to the back fence, but it was a long journey.  Starting,\na drummer-boy, you could never foretell your end, for the future was\nvague, even with the fence in view, and your cocked hat on your curls,\nand your drumsticks in your hand.  Lizbeth and the dolls might halt you\nat the front steps and muster you out of service to become a doctor with\nGrandmother's spectacles and Grandfather's cane.  And if the dolls were\nwell that day, with normal pulses and unflushed cheeks, and you marched\nby with martial melody, there was your stalled hobby-horse on the side\nporch, neighing to you for clover hay; and stopping to feed him meant\ndesertion from the ranks, to become a farmer, tilling the soil and\nbartering acorn eggs and clean sand butter on market-day.  And even\nthough you marched untempted by bucolic joys, there lay in wait for you\nthe kitchen door, breathing a scent of crullers, or gingerbread, or\napple-pies, or leading your feet astray to the unscraped frosting-bowl\nor the remnant cookies burned on one side, and so not good for supper,\nbut fine for weary drummer-boys.  So whether you reached the fence that\nday was a question for you and the day and the sirens that beckoned to\nyou along your play.\n\nAcross the clover prairie the trellis mountains reared their vine-clad\nheights. Through their morning-glories ran a little pass, which led to\nthe enchanted garden on the other side, but the pass was so narrow and\noverhung with vines that when Grandfather was a pack-horse and carried\nyou through on his back, your outstretched feet would catch on the\ntrellis sides.  Then the pack-horse would pick his way cautiously and\nyou would dig your heels into his sides and hold fast, and so you got\nthrough.  Once inside the garden, oh, wonder of <DW29>s and hollyhocks\nand bachelor's-buttons and roses and sweet smells!  The sun shone\nwarmest there, and the fairies lived there, Mother said.\n\n\"But when it rains, Mother?\"\n\n\"Oh, then they hide beneath the trellis, under the honeysuckles.\"\n\nMother wore an apron and sun-bonnet, and knelt in the little path,\ndigging with a trowel in the moist, brown earth.  You helped her with\nyour little spade.  Under a lilac-bush Lizbeth made mud-pies, and the\npies of the enchanted garden were the brownest and richest in all Our\nYard. They were the most like Mother's, Lizbeth said.  Grandfather sat\non the wheelbarrow-ship and smoked.\n\n\"Do fairies smoke, Grandfather?\"\n\n\"The old grandfather fairies do,\" he said.\n\nOf all the flowers in the enchanted garden you liked the roses best, and\nof all the roses you liked the red.  There was a big one that hung on\nthe wall above your head.  You could just reach it when you stood on\ntiptoe, and pulling it down to you then, you would bury your face in its\npetals and take a long snuff, and say,\n\n\"Um-m-m.\"\n\nAnd when you let it go, it bobbed and courtesied on its prickly stem.\nBut one morning, very early, when you pulled it down to you, you were\nrough with it, and it sprinkled your face with dew.\n\n\"The rose is crying,\" Lizbeth said.\n\n\"You should be very gentle with roses,\" Mother told you.  \"Sometimes\nwhen folks are sick or cross, just the sight of a red rose cheers them\nand makes them smile again.\"\n\nThat was a beautiful thought, and it came back to you the day you left\nOur Yard and ran away.  You were gone a long time.  It was late in the\nafternoon when you trudged guiltily back again, and when you were still\na long way off you could see Mother waiting for you at the gate.  The\nbrown switch, doubtless, was waiting too.  So you stole into Our Yard\nthrough the back fence, and hid in the enchanted garden, crying and\nafraid. It began to rain, a gentle summer shower, and like the fairies\nyou hid beneath the honeysuckles.  Looking up through your tears, you\nsaw the red rose--and remembered.  The rain stopped.  You climbed upon\nthe wheelbarrow-ship and pulled the rose from the vine.  Trembling, you\napproached the house.  Softly you opened the front door.  At the sight\nof you Mother gave a little cry.  Your lip quivered; the tears rolled\ndown your cheeks; for you were cold and wet and dreary.\n\n\"M-mother,\" you said, with outstretched hand, \"here's a r-rose I brought\nyou\"; and she folded you and the flower in her arms.  It was true, then,\nwhat she had told you--that when people are cross there is sometimes\nnothing in the world like the sight of a sweet red rose to cheer them\nand make them smile again.\n\nOnce in Our Yard, you were safe from bad boys and their fists, from bad\ndogs and their bites, and all the other perils of the road.  Yet Our\nYard had its dangers too.  Through the rhubarb thicket in the corner of\nthe fence stalked a black bear. You had heard him growl.  You had seen\nthe flash of his white teeth.  You had tracked him to his lair.  Just\nbehind you, one hand upon your coat, came Lizbeth.\n\n\"'Sh!  I see him,\" you whispered, as you raised your wooden gun.\n\nBang!  Bang!\n\nAnd the bear fell dead.\n\n\"Don't hurt Pussy,\" said Mother, warningly.\n\n\"No,\" you said, and the dead bear purred and rubbed his head against\nyour legs.  Once, after you had killed and eaten him, he mewed and ran\nbefore you to his basket-cave; and there were five little bears, all\nblind and crying, and you took them home and tamed them by the kitchen\nfire.\n\nBut the bear was nothing to the Wild Man who lived next door.  In the\nbarn, close to your fence, he lay in wait for little girls and boys to\neat them and drink their blood and gnaw their bones.  Oh, you had seen\nhim once yourself, as you peered through a knot-hole in the barn-side.\nHe was sitting on an upturned water-pail, smoking a pipe and muttering.\n\nYou and Lizbeth stole out to look at him.  Hand in hand you tiptoed\nacross the clover prairie where the red Indians roved. You scanned the\nhorizon, but there was not a feather or painted face in sight\nto-day--though they always came when you least expected them, popping up\nfrom the tall grass with wild, blood-curdling yells, and scalping you\nwhen you didn't watch out.  Across the prairie, then, you went,\nsilently, hand in hand.  The sun fell warm and golden in the open.\nBirds were singing in the sky, unmindful of the lurking perils among the\ntall grass and beyond the fence.  Back of you were home and Mother's\narms, and in the pantry window, cooling, two juicy pies.  Before you,\nacross the clover, a great gray dungeon frowned upon you; within its\nwalls a creature of blood and mystery waiting with hungry jaws.  Hushed\nand timorous, you approached.\n\n\"Oh, I'm afraid,\" Lizbeth whimpered. Savagely you caught her arm.\n\n\"'Sh!  He'll hear you,\" you hissed through chattering teeth.  A cloud\nhid the sun, and the ominous shadow fell upon you as you crouched,\ntrembling, on the edge of the raspberry wood.\n\n\"Sh!\" you said.  Under cover of the forest shade you crept with bated\nbreath, on all-fours, stealthily.  Oh, what was that?  That awful sound,\nthat hideous groan?  From the barn it came, with a crunching of teeth\nand a rattle of chain. Lizbeth gave a little cry, seized you, and hid\nher face against your coat.\n\n\"'Sh!\" you said.  \"That's him!  Hear him!\"\n\nThrough wood and prairie rang a piercing cry--\n\n\"Mother!  I want my mother!\"\n\nAnd Lizbeth fled, wailing, across the plain.  You followed--to cheer\nher.\n\n\"Cowardy Calf!\" you said, but you did not say it till you had reached\nthe kitchen door.  And in hunting the Wild Man you never got farther\nthan his groan.\n\nMornings in Our Yard the clover prairie sparkled with a million gems.\nThe fairies had dropped them, dancing in the moonbeams, while you slept.\nStrung on a blade of grass you found a necklace of diamonds left by the\nqueen herself in her flight at dawn, but when you plucked it, the\nquivering brilliants melted into water drops and trickled down your\nhand.  Then the warm sun came and took the diamonds back to the fairies\nagain--but your shoes were still damp with dew.  And by-and-by you would\nbe sneezing, and Mother would be taking down bottles for you, for the\nthings that fairies wear are not good for little boys.  And if ever you\nsquash the fairies' diamonds beneath your feet, and don't change your\nshoes, the fairies will be angry with you, and you will be catching\ncold; and if you take the queen's necklace--oh, then watch out, for they\nwill be putting a necklace of red flannel on you!\n\nWide-awake was Our Yard in the morning with its birds and wind and\nsunshine and your play, but when noonday dinner was over there was a\nyawning in the trees. The birds hushed their songs.  Grandfather dozed\nin his chair on the porch. The green grass dozed in the sun.  And as the\nshadows lengthened even the perils slept--Indians on the clover prairie,\nbear in the rhubarb thicket, Wild Man in the barn.  In the apple-tree\nshade you lay wondering, looking up at the sky--wondering why bees\npurred like pussy-cats, why the sparrows bowed to you as they eyed you\nsidewise, what they twittered in the leaves, where the clouds went when\nthey sailed to the end of the sky.  Three clouds there were, floating\nabove the apple-tree, and two were big and one was little.\n\n\"The big clouds are the Mother and Father clouds,\" you told yourself,\nfor no one was there to hear, \"and the little one is the Little Boy\ncloud, and they are out walking in the sky.  And now the Mother cloud is\ntalking to the Little Boy cloud. 'Hurry up,' she says; 'why do you walk\nso slow?'  And the Little Boy cloud says, 'I can't go any faster 'cause\nmy legs are so short.'  And then the Father cloud laughs and says,\n'Let's have some ice-cream soda.'  Then the Little Boy cloud says, 'I'll\ntake vaniller, and make it sweet,' and they all drink.  And by-and-by\nthey all go home and have supper, and after supper the Mother cloud\nundresses the Little Boy cloud, and puts on his nighty, and he kneels\ndown and says, 'Now I lay me down to sleep.'  And then the Mother cloud\nkisses the Little Boy cloud on both cheeks and on his eyes and on his\ncurls and on his mouth twice, and he cuddles down under the moon and\ngoes to sleep.  And that's all.\"\n\nFar beyond the apple-tree, far beyond your ken, the three clouds\nfloated--Father and Mother and Little Son--else your story had been\nlonger; and in the floating of little clouds, in the making of little\nstories, in the sleeping of little boys, it was always easiest when Our\nYard slumbered in the afternoon.\n\nWhen supper was over a bonfire blazed in the western sky, just over the\nback fence.  The clouds built it, you explained to Lizbeth, to keep\nthemselves warm at night.  It was a beautiful fire, all gold and red,\nbut as Our Yard darkened, the fire sank lower till only the sparks\nremained, and sometimes the clouds came and put the sparks out too.\nWhen the moon shone you could see, through the window by your bed, the\nclover prairie and the trellis mountains, silver with fairies, and you\nlonged to hold one in your hand.  But when the night fell moonless and\nstarless, the fairies in Our Yard groped their way--you could see their\nlanterns twinkling in the trees--and there were goblins under every\nbush, and, crouching in the black shadows, was the Wild Man, gnawing a\nlittle boy's bone. Oh, Our Yard was awful on a dark night, and when you\nwere tucked in bed and the lamp was out and Mother away downstairs, you\ncould hear the Wild Man crunching his bone beneath your window, and you\npulled the covers over your head. But always, when you woke, Our Yard\nwas bright and green again, for though the moon ran away some nights,\nthe sun came every day.\n\nWith all its greenness and its brightness and its vastness and its\nenchanted garden, Our Yard bore a heavy yoke. You were not quite sure\nwhat the burden was, but it was something about tea. Men, painted and\nfeathered like the red Indians, had gone one night to a ship in the\nharbor and poured the tea into the sea. That you knew; and you had\nlistened and heard of the midnight ride of Paul Revere. Through the\nwindow you saw Our Yard smiling in the morning sun; trees green with\nsummer; flight of white clouds in the sky; flight of brown birds in the\nbush. Wondering, you saw it there, a fair land manacled by a tyrant's\nhand, and the blood mounted to your cheeks.\n\n\"Mother, I want my sword.\"\n\n\"It is where you left it, my boy.\"\n\n\"And my soldier-hat and drum.\"\n\n\"They are under the stairs.\"\n\nOver your shoulder you slung your drum.  With her own hands Mother\nbelted your sword around you and set your cocked hat on your curls.\nThen twice she kissed you, and you marched away to the music of your\ndrum.  She watched you from the open door.\n\nIt was a windy morning, and you were bravest in the wind.  From the back\nfence to the front gate, from the beehives to the red geraniums, there\nwas a scent and stir of battle in the air.  Rhubarb thicket and\nraspberry wood re-echoed with the beat of drums and the tramp of\nmarching feet.  Far away beyond the wood-pile hills, behind the trellis\nmountains where the morning-glories clung, tremulous, in the gale, even\nthe enchanted garden woke from slumber and the flowers shuddered in\ntheir peaceful beds.  On you marched, through the wind and the morning,\non through Middlesex, village and farm, till you heard the cannon and\nthe battle-cries.\n\n\"Halt!\"\n\nYou unslung your drum.  Mounting your charger, you galloped down the\nline.\n\n\"Forward!\"\n\nAnd you rode across the blood-stained clover.  Into the battle you led\nthem, sword in hand--into the thickest of the fight--while all about\nyou, thundering in the apple-boughs, reverberating in the wood-pile\nhills, roared the guns of the west wind.  Fair in the face of that\ncannonade you flung the flower of your army. Around you lay the wounded,\nthe dead, the dying.  Beneath you your charger fell, blood gushing from\nhis torn side. A thrust bayonet swept off your cocked hat.  You were\ndown yourself.  Tut! 'Twas a mere scratch--and you struggled on.\nRepulsed, you rallied and charged again ... again ... again, across the\nclover, to the mouths of the smoking guns. Afoot, covered with blood,\nyour shattered sword gleaming in the morning sun, you stood at last on\nthe scorched heights. Before your flashing eyes, a rout of redcoats in\nretreat; behind your tossing curls, the buff and blue.\n\nA cry of triumph came down the beaten wind:\n\n\"Mother!  Mother!  We licked 'em!\"\n\n\"Whom?\"\n\n\"The Briddish!\"\n\nAnd Our Yard was free.\n\n\n\n\n                          *The Toy Grenadier*\n\n\nIt was a misnomer.  He was not a captain at all, nor was he of the Horse\nMarines. He was a mere private in the Grenadier Guards, with his musket\nat a carry and his heels together, and his little fingers touching the\nseams of his pantaloons.  Still, Captain Jinks was the name he went by\nwhen he first came to Our House, years ago, and Captain Jinks he will be\nalways in your memory--the only original Captain Jinks, the ballad to\nthe contrary notwithstanding.\n\nIt was Christmas Eve when you first saw him.  He was stationed on sentry\nduty beneath a fir-tree, guarding a pile of commissary stores.  He\nlooked neither to the left nor to the right, but straight before him,\nand not a tremor or blink or sigh disturbed his military bearing.  His\nbearskin was glossy as a pussy-cat's fur; his scarlet coat, with the\ncross of honor on his heart, fitted him like a glove, and every gilt\nbutton of it shone in the candlelight; and oh, the loveliness, the\nspotless loveliness, of his sky-blue pantaloons!\n\n\"My boy,\" said Father, \"allow me to present Captain Jinks.  Captain\nJinks, my son.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" you cried, the moment you clapped eyes on him.  \"Oh, Father!  What\na beautiful soldier!\"\n\nAnd at your praise the Captain's checks were scarlet.  He would have\nsaluted, no doubt, had you been a military man, but you were only a\ncivilian then.\n\n\"Take him,\" said Father, \"and give him some rations.  He's about\nstarved, I guess, guarding those chocolates.\"\n\nSo you relieved the Captain of his stern vigil--or, rather, the Captain\nand his gun, for he refused to lay down his arms even for mess call,\nwithout orders from the officer of the guard, though he did desert his\npost, which was inconsistent from a military point of view, and deserved\ncourt-martial.  And while he was gone the commissary stores were\nplundered by ruthless, sticky hands.\n\nLizbeth brought a new wax doll to mess with the Captain.  A beautiful\nblonde she was, and the Captain was gallantry itself, but she was a\nlittle stiff with him, in her silks and laces, preferring, no doubt, a\nmessmate with epaulets and sword.  So the chat lagged till the Rag Doll\ncame--an unassuming brunette creature--and the Captain got on very well\nwith her. Indeed, when the Wax Doll flounced away, the Captain leaned\nand whispered in the Rag Doll's ear.  What he said you did not hear, but\nthe Rag Doll drew away, shyly--\n\n\"Very sudden,\" she seemed to say. But the Captain leaned nearer, at an\nangle perilous to both, and--kissed her!  The Rag Doll fainted to the\nfloor.  The Captain was at his wits' end.  Without orders he could not\nlay aside his gun, for he was a sentry, albeit off his post.  Yet here\nwas a lady in distress.  The gun or the lady?  The lady or the gun?  The\nCaptain struggled betwixt his honor and his love. In the very stress of\nhis contending emotions he tottered, and would have fallen to the Rag\nDoll's side, but you caught him just in time.  Lizbeth applied the\nsmelling-bottle to the Rag Doll's nose, and she revived.  Pale, but\nevery inch a rag lady, she rose, leaning on Lizbeth. She gave the\nCaptain a withering glance, and swept towards the open door.  The\nCaptain did not flinch.  Proudly he drew himself to his full height; his\nheels clicked together; his gun fell smartly to his side; and as the\nlady passed he looked her squarely in her scornful eyes, and bore their\n_conge_ like a soldier.\n\nNext morning--Christmas morning--in the trenches before the Coal\nScuttle, the Captain fought with reckless bravery. The earthworks of\nbuilding-blocks reached barely to his cartridge-belt, yet he stood erect\nin a hail of marble balls.\n\n\"Jinks, you're clean daft,\" cried Grandfather.  \"Lie down, man!\"\n\nBut the Captain would not budge. Commies and glassies crashed around\nhim. They ploughed up the earthworks before him; they did great\nexecution on the legs of chairs and tables and other non-combatants\nbehind.  Yet there he stood, unmoved in the midst of the carnage, his\nheels together, his little fingers just touching the seams of his\npantaloons.  It was for all the world as though he were on dress parade.\nPerhaps he was--for while he stood there, valorous in that Christmas\nfight, his eyes were on the heights of Rocking Chair beyond, where, safe\nfrom the marble hail, sat the Rag Doll with Lizbeth and the waxen\nblonde.\n\nThere was a rumble--a crash through the torn earthworks--a shock--a\nscream from the distant heights--and the Captain fell.  A monstrous\nglassy had struck him fairly in the legs, and owing to his military\nhabit of standing with them close together--well, it was all too sad,\ntoo harrowing, to relate.  An ambulance corps of Grandfather and Uncle\nNed carried the crippled soldier to the Tool Chest Hospital.  He was\njust conscious, that was all.  The operation he bore with great\nfortitude, refusing to take chloroform, and insisting on dying with his\nmusket beside him, if die he must.  What seemed to give him greatest\nanguish was his heels, for, separated at last, they would not click\ntogether now; and his little fingers groped nervously for the misplaced\nseams of his pantaloons.\n\nLong afterwards, when the Captain had left his cot for active duty\nagain, it was recalled that the very moment when he fell so gallantly in\nthe trenches that day a lady was found unconscious, flat on her face, at\nthe foot of Rocking Chair Hill.\n\nCaptain Jinks was never the same after that.  Still holding his gun as\nsmartly as before, there was, on the other hand, a certain carelessness\nof attire, a certain dulness of gilt buttons, a smudginess of scarlet\ncoat, as though it were thumb-marked; and dark clouds were beginning to\nlower in the clear azure of his pantaloons. There was, withal, a certain\nrakishness of bearing not provided for in the regulations; a little\nuncertainty as to legs; a tilt and limp, as it were, in sharp contrast\nto the trim soldier who had guarded the commissary chocolates under the\nChristmas fir.  Moreover--though his comrades at arms forbore to mention\nit, loving him for his gallant service--he was found one night, flat on\nhis face, under the dinner-table.  Now the Captain had always been\nabstemious before.  Liquor of any kind he had shunned as poison, holding\nthat it spotted his uniform; and once when forced to drink from\nLizbeth's silver cup, at the end of a dusty march, his lips paled at the\ncontaminating touch, his red cheeks blanched, and his black mustache, in\na single drink, turned gray.  But here he lay beneath the festive board,\nbedraggled, his nose buried in the soft rug, hopelessly\ninarticulate--though the last symptom was least to be wondered at, since\nhe had always been a silent man.\n\nYou shook him where he lay.  There was no response.  You dragged him\nforth in his shame and set him on his feet again, but he staggered and\nfell.  Yet as he lay there in his cups--oh, mystery of discipline!--his\nheels were close together, his toes turned out, his musket was at a\ncarry, and his little fingers were just touching the seams of his\npantaloons.\n\nFor the good of the service Mother offered to retire the Captain on half\npay, and give him free lodging on the garret stair, but he scorned the\nproposal, and you backed him in his stand.  All his life he had been a\nsoldier.  Now, with war and rumors of war rife in the land, should he,\nCaptain Jinks, a private in the Grenadier Guards, lay down his arms for\nthe piping peace of a garret stair?  No, by gad, sir!  No!  And he\nstayed; and, strangest thing of all, he was yet to fight and stand guard\nand suffer as he had never done before.\n\nBut while the Captain thus sadly went down hill, the Rag Doll retired to\na modest villa in the closet country up-stairs.  It was quiet there, and\nshe could rest her shattered nerves.  Whether she blamed herself for her\nrejected lover's downfall, or whether it was mere petulance at the\nsocial triumphs of the waxen blonde is a question open to debate.\nSentimentalists will find the former theory more to their fancy, but,\nthe blonde and her friends told a different tale.  Be that as it may,\nthe Rag Doll went away.\n\nJanuary passed in barracks; then February and March, with only an\noccasional scouting after cattle-thieves and brigand bands.  The Captain\nchafed at such inactivity.\n\n\"War!  You call this war!\" his very bristling manner seemed to say.  \"By\ngad! sir, when I was in the trenches before...\"\n\nIt was fine then to see the Captain and Grandfather--both grizzled\nveterans with tales to tell--side by side before the library fire.  When\nGrandfather told the story of Johnny Reb in the tall grass, the Captain\nwas visibly moved.\n\n\"Jinks,\" Grandfather would say--\"Jinks, you know how it is\nyourself--when the bacon's wormy and the coffee's thin, and there's a\nman with a gun before you and a girl with a tear behind.\"\n\nAnd at the mention of the girl and the tear the Captain would turn away.\n\nSpring came, and with it the marching orders for which you and the\nCaptain had yearned so long.  There was a stir in the barracks that\nmorning.  The Captain was drunk again, it is true, but drunk this time\nwith joy.  He could not march in the ranks--he was too far gone for\nthat--so you stationed him on a wagon to guard the commissary stores.\n\nA blast from the bugle--Assembly--and you fell into line.\n\n\"Forward--_March!_\"\n\nAnd you marched away, your drum beating a double-quick, the Captain\nswaying ignominiously on the wagon and hugging his old brown gun.  As\nthe Guards swung by the reviewing-stand, their arms flashing in the sun,\nthe Captain did not raise his eyes.  So he never knew that looking down\nupon his shame that April day sat his rag lady, with Lizbeth and the\nwaxen blonde.  Her cheeks were pale, but her eyes were tearless. She did\nnot utter a sound as her tottering lover passed.  She just leaned far\nout over the flag-hung balcony and watched him as he rode away.\n\nIt was a hard campaign.  Clover Plain, Wood-pile Mountain, and the\nRaspberry Wilderness are names to conjure with. From the back fence to\nthe front gate, from the beehives to the red geraniums, the whole land\nran with blood.  Brevetted for personal gallantry on the Wood-pile\nHeights, you laid aside your drum for epaulets and sword.  The Guards\nand the Captain drifted from your ken.  When you last saw him he was\nvaliantly defending a tulip pass, and defying a regiment of the Black\nAnt Brigade to come and take him--by gad! sirs--if they dared.\n\nThe war went on.  Days grew into weeks, weeks into months, and the\nsummer passed.  Search in camps and battlefields revealed no trace of\nCaptain Jinks. Sitting by the camp-fire on blustering nights, your\nthoughts went back to the old comrade of the winter days.\n\n\"Poor Captain Jinks!\" you sighed.\n\n\"Jinks?\" asked Grandfather, laying down his book.\n\n\"Yes.  He's lost.  Didn't you know?\"\n\n\"Jinks among the missing!\" Grandfather cried.  Then he gazed silently\ninto the fire.\n\n\"Poor old Jinks!\" he mused.  \"He was a brave soldier, Jinks was--a brave\nsoldier, sir.\"  He puffed reflectively on his corn-cob pipe.  Presently\nhe spoke again, more sadly than before:\n\n\"But he had one fault, Jinks had--just one, sir.  He was a leetle too\nfond o' his bottle on blowy nights.\"\n\nNovember came.  The year and the war were drawing to a close.  Before\nGrape Vine Ridge the enemy lay intrenched for a final desperate stand.\nTo your council of war in the fallen leaves came Grandfather, a scarf\naround his throat, its loose ends flapping in the gale.  He leaned on\nhis cane; you, on your sword.\n\n\"Bring up your guns, boy,\" he cried. \"Bring up your heavy guns.  Fling\nyour cavalry to the left, your infantry to the right.  'Up, Guards, and\nat 'em!'  Cold steel, my boy--as Jinks used to say.\"\n\nGrandfathers for counsel; little boys for war.  At five that night the\nenemy surrendered--horse, foot, and a hundred guns.  Declining the\nGeneral's proffered sword, you rode back across the battle field to your\ncamp in the fallen leaves. The afternoon was waning.  In the gathering\ntwilight your horse stumbled on a prostrate form.  You dismounted,\nknelt, brushed back the leaves, peered into the dimmed eyes and ashen\nface.\n\n\"Captain!\" you cried.  \"Captain Jinks!\"  And at your call came Lizbeth,\nrunning, dragging the Rag Doll by her hand. Breathless they knelt beside\nhim where he lay.\n\n\"Oh, it's Captain Jinks,\" said Lizbeth, but softly, when she saw.  Prone\non the battle-field lay the wounded Grenadier, his uniform gray with\nservice in the wind and rain.\n\n\"Captain!\" you cried again, but he did not hear you.  Then the Rag Doll\nbent her face to his, in the twilight, though she could not speak.  A\nglimmer of recognition blazed for a moment, but faded in the Captain's\neyes.\n\n\"He's tired marching, I guess,\" said Lizbeth.\n\n\"'Sh!\" you said.  \"He's dying.\"\n\nYou bent lower to feel his fluttering pulse.  You placed your ear to the\ncross of honor, rusted, on his breast.  His heart was silent.  And so he\ndied--on the battlefield, his musket at his side, his heels together,\nhis little fingers just touching the seams of his pantaloons.\n\n\n\n\n                                *Father*\n\n\nEvery evening at half-past six there was a sound of footsteps on the\nfront porch. You ran, you and Lizbeth, and by the time you had reached\nthe door it opened suddenly from without, and you each had a leg of\nFather.  Mother was just behind you in the race, and though she did not\nshout or dance, or pull his coat or seize his bundles, she won his first\nkiss, so that you and Lizbeth came in second after all.\n\n\"Hello, Buster!\" he would sing out to you, so that you cried, \"My name\nain't Buster--it's Harry,\" at which he would be mightily surprised.  But\nhe always called Lizbeth by her right name.\n\n\"Well, Lizbeth,\" he would say, kneeling, for you had pulled him down to\nyou, bundles and all, and Lizbeth would cuddle down into his arms and\nsay:\n\n\"_Fa_-ther.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Why, Father, now what do you think? My Sally doll has got the measles\nawful.\"\n\n\"No!  You don't say?\"\n\nAnd \"Father!\" you would yell into his other ear, for while Lizbeth used\none, you always used the other--using one by two persons at the same\ntime being strictly forbidden.\n\n\"Father.\"\n\n\"Yes, my son.\n\n\"The Jones boy was here to-day and--and--and he said--why, now, he\nsaid--\"\n\n\"_Fa_-ther\" (it was Lizbeth talking into _her_ ear now), \"do you think\nmy Sally doll--\"\n\nIt was Mother who rescued Father and his bundles at last and carried you\noff to supper, and when your mouth was not too full you finished telling\nhim what the Jones boy said, and he listened gravely, and prescribed for\nthe Sally doll.  Though he came home like that every night except Sunday\nin all the year, you always had something new to tell him in both ears,\nand it was always, to all appearances, the most wonderful thing he had\never heard.\n\nBut now and then there were times when you did not yearn for the sound\nof Father's footsteps on the porch.\n\n\"Wait till Father comes home and Mother tells him what a bad, bad boy\nyou have been!\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" you whispered, defiantly, all to yourself, scowling out\nof the window, but \"Tick-tock, tick-tock\" went the clock on the\nmantel-shelf--\"Tick-tock, tick-tock\"--more loudly, more swiftly than you\nhad ever heard it tick before.  Still you were brave in the broad light\nof day, and if sun and breeze and bird-songs but held out long enough,\nMother might forget.  You flattened your nose against the pane.  There\nwas a dicky-bird hopping on the apple-boughs outside.  You heard him\ntwittering.  If you were only a bird, now, instead of a little boy.\nBirds were so happy and free.  Nobody ever made them stay in-doors on an\nafternoon made for play.  If only a fairy godmother would come in a gold\ncoach and turn you into a bird.  Then you would fly away, miles and\nmiles, and when they looked for you, at half-past six, you would be\nchirping in some cherry-tree.\n\n\"Tick-tock, tick-tock--whir-r-r!  One! Two!  Three!  Four!  Five!\"\nstruck the clock on the mantel-shelf.  The bright day was running away\nfrom you, leaving you far behind to be caught, at half-past six--caught\nand ...\n\nBut Father might not come home to supper to-night!  Once he did not.  At\nthe thought the sun lay warm upon your cheek, and you rapped on the pane\nbravely at the dicky-bird outside.  The bird flew away.\n\n\"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.\"\n\nSwiftly the day passed.  Terribly fell the black night, fastening its\nshadows on you and all the world.  Grimly Mother passed you, without a\nlook or word.  She pulled down the window shades.  One by one she\nlighted the lamps--the tall piano-lamp with the red globe, the little\ngreen lamp on the library-table, the hanging lamp in the dining-room.\nAlready the supper-table was set.\n\nThe clock struck six!\n\nYou watched Mother out of the corners of your eyes.  Had she forgotten?\n\n\"Mother,\" you said, engagingly.  \"See me stand on one leg.\"\n\n\"Mother does not care to look at naughty little boys.\"\n\n\"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.\"\n\nYou were very little to punish.  Besides, you were not feeling very\nwell.  It was not your tummy, nor your head, nor yet the pussy-scratch\non your finger.  It was a deeper pain.\n\n\"Tick-tock, tick-tock.\"\n\nIf you should die like the Jones boy's little brother and be put in the\ncemetery on the hill, they would be sorry.\n\n\"Tick-tock, tick-tock.\"\n\nMother went to the window and peered out.\n\n\"TICK-TOCK!\"\n\n\"Whir-r-r-\"\n\nAnd the clock struck half-past six!\n\nSteps sounded upon the porch--Mother was going to the door--it opened!\n\n\"Where's Buster?\"\n\nAnd Mother told!\n\n... And somehow when Father spanked it always seemed as if he were\nmeddling. He was an outsider all day.  Why, then, did he concern himself\nso mightily at night?\n\nAfter supper Father would sit before the fire with you on one knee and\nLizbeth on the other, while Mother sewed, till by-and-by, just when you\nwere most comfy and the talk most charming, he would say:\n\n\"Well, Father must go now.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Father.  Don't go yet.\"\n\n\"But Father must.  He must go to Council-meeting.\"\n\n\"What's a Council-meeting, Father?\" you asked, and while he was telling\nyou he would be putting on his coat.\n\n\"Don't sit up for me,\" he would tell Mother, and the door would shut at\nhalf-past seven just as it had opened at half-past six, with the same\nsound of footsteps on the porch.\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" you would say.  \"Father's always going somewhere.  I guess\nhe doesn't like to stay home, Mother.\"\n\nThen Mother would take you and Lizbeth on her lap.\n\n\"Dearies, Father would love to stay at home and play with you and\nMother, but he can't.  All day long he has to work to take care of us\nand buy us bread-and-butter--\"\n\n\"And chocolate cake, Mother?\"\n\n\"Yes, and chocolate cake.  And he goes to the Council to help the other\nmen take care of Ourtown so that the burglars won't get in or the\nstreet-lamps go out and leave us in the dark.\"\n\nYour eyes were very round.  That night after you and Lizbeth were in bed\nand the lights were out, you thought of the Council and the burglars so\nthat you could not sleep, and while you lay there thinking, the\nwolf-wind began to howl outside. Then suddenly you heard the patter,\npatter, patter of its feet upon the roof.  You shuddered and drew the\nbedclothes over your head.  What if It got inside?  Could It bite\nthrough the coverlet with its sharp teeth?  Would the Council come and\nsave you just in time? ... Which would be worse, a wolf or a burglar?  A\nwolf, of course, for a burglar might have a little boy of his own\nsomewhere, in bed, curled up and shivering, with the covers over his\nhead....  But what if the burglar had no little boy?  Did burglars ever\nhave little boys? ... How could a man ever be brave enough to be a\nburglar, in the dead of night, crawling through windows into pitch-dark\nrooms, ... into little boys' rooms, ... crawling in stealthily with\npistols and false-faces and l-lanterns? ...\n\nBut That One was crawling in!  Right into your room, ... right in over\nthe window-sill, ... like a cat, ... with a false-face on, and pistols,\nloaded and pointed right at you....  You tried to call; ... your voice\nwas dried up in your throat, ... and all the time He was coming nearer,\n... nearer, ... nearer...\n\n\"Bad dream, was it, little chap?\" asked the Council, holding you close\nto his coat, all smoky of cigars, and patting your cheek.\n\n[Illustration: \"BAD DREAM, WAS IT, LITTLE CHAP?\"]\n\n\"F-father, where did he go?\"\n\n\"Who go, my boy?\"\n\n\"Why, the burglar, Father.\"\n\n\"There wasn't any burglar, child.\"\n\n\"Why, yes, Father.  I saw him.  Right there.  Coming through the\nwindow.\"\n\nAnd it took Father and Mother and two oatmeal crackers and a drink of\nwater to convince you that it was all a dream. So whether it was in\nfrightening burglars away, or keeping the street-lamps burning, or\nsmoking cigars, or soothing a little boy with a nightmare and a fevered\nhead, the Council was a useful body, and always came just in time.\n\nOn week-day mornings Father had gone to work when you came down-stairs,\nbut on Sunday mornings, when you awoke, a trifle earlier if anything--\n\n\"Father!\"\n\nSilence.\n\n\"Father!\" a little louder.\n\nThen a sleepy \"Yes.\"\n\n\"We want to get up.\"\n\n\"It isn't time yet.  You children go to sleep.\"\n\nYou waited.  Then--\n\n\"Father, is it time yet?\"\n\n\"No.  You children lie still.\"\n\nSo you and Lizbeth, wide-awake, whispered together; and then, to while\naway the time while Father slept, you played Indian, which required two\nlittle yells from you to begin with (when the Indian You arrived in your\nwar-paint) and two big yells from Lizbeth to end with (when the Paleface\nShe was being scalped).\n\nThen Father said it was \"no use,\" and Mother took a hand.  You were\nquiet after that, but it was yawny lying there with the sun so high.\nYou listened.  Not a sound came from Father and Mother's room.  You rose\ncautiously, you and Lizbeth, in your little bare feet.  You stole softly\nacross the floor.  The door was a crack open, so you peeked in, your\nface even with the knob and Lizbeth's just below.  And then, at one and\nthe same instant, you both said \"Boo!\" and grinned; and the harder you\ngrinned the harder Father tried not to laugh, which was a sign that you\ncould scramble into bed with him, you on one side and Lizbeth on the\nother, cuddling down close while Mother went to see about breakfast.\n\nIt was very strange, but while it had been so hard to drowse in your own\nbed, the moment you were in Father's you did not want to get up at all.\nIndeed, it was Father who wanted to get up first, and it was you who\ncried that it was not time.\n\nWeek-days were always best for most things, but for two reasons Sunday\nwas the best day of all.  One reason was Sunday dinner.  The other was\nFather.  On Sunday the dinner-table was always whitest with clean linen\nand brightest with silver and blue china and fullest of good things to\neat, and sometimes Company came and brought their children with them.\nOn Sunday, too, there was no store to keep, and Father could stay at\nhome all day.\n\nHe came down to breakfast in slippers and a beautiful, wide jacket,\nwhich was brown to match the coffee he always took three cups of, and\nthe cigar which he smoked afterwards in a big chair with his feet thrust\nout on a little one.  While he smoked he would read the paper, and\nsometimes he would laugh and read it out loud to Mother; and sometimes\nhe would say, \"That's so,\" and lay down his paper and talk to Mother\nlike the minister's sermon.  And once he talked so loudly that he said\n\"Damn.\"  Mother looked at you, for you were listening, and sent you for\nher work-basket up-stairs. After that, when you talked loudest to\nLizbeth or the Jones boy, you said \"Damn,\" too, like Father, till Mother\noverheard you and explained that only fathers and grandfathers and bad\nlittle boys ever said such things.  It wasn't a pretty word, she said,\nfor nice little boys like you.\n\n\"But, Mother, if the bad little boys say it, why do the good fathers say\nit--hm?\"\n\nMother explained that, too.  Little boys should mind their mothers, she\nsaid.\n\nIt was easy enough not to say the word when you talked softly, but when\nyou talked loudest it was hard to remember what Mother said.  For when\nyou talked softly, somehow, you always remembered Mother, and when you\ntalked loudly it was Father you remembered best.\n\nThe sun rose high and warm.  It was a long time after breakfast.\nFragrance came from the kitchen to where you sat in the library, all\ndressed-up, looking at picture-books and waiting for dinner, and\nwondering if there would be pie.  Father was all dressed-up, too, and\nwhile he read silently, you and Lizbeth felt his cheeks softly with your\nfinger-tips.  Where the prickers had been at breakfast-time it was as\nsmooth as velvet now.  Father's collar was as white as snow.  In place\nof his jacket he wore his long, black Sunday coat, and in his shoes you\ncould almost see your face.\n\n\"Father's beautifulest on Sunday,\" Lizbeth said.\n\n\"So am I,\" you said, proudly, looking down your blouse and trousers to\nthe shine of your Sunday shoes.\n\n\"So are you, too,\" you added kindly to Lizbeth, who was all in white and\ncurls.\n\nThen you drew a little chair beside Father's and sat, quiet and very\nstraight, with your legs crossed carelessly like his and an open book\nlike his in your lap. And when Father changed his legs, you changed your\nlegs, too.  Lizbeth looked at you two awhile awesomely.  Then she\nbrought her little red chair and sat beside you with the Aladdin book on\nher lap, but she did not cross her legs.  And so you sat there, all\nthree, clean and dressed-up and beautiful, by the bay-window, while the\nsun lay warm and golden on the library rug, and sweeter and sweeter grew\nthe kitchen smells.\n\nThen dinner came, and the last of it was best because it was sweetest,\nand if Company were not there you cried:\n\n\"It's going to be pie to-day, isn't it, Mother?\"\n\nBut Mother would only smile mysteriously while the roast was carried\naway.  Then Lizbeth guessed.\n\n\"It's pudding,\" she said.\n\n\"No, pie,\" you cried again, \"'cause yesterday was pudding.\"\n\n\"Now, Father, you guess,\" said Lizbeth.\n\n\"I guess?\"\n\n\"Yes, Father.\"\n\nAnd at that Father would knit his brows and put one finger to one side\nof his nose, so that he could think the harder, and by-and-by he would\nsay:\n\n\"I know.  I'll bet it's custard.\"\n\n\"Oh _no_, Father,\" you broke in, for you liked pie best, and even to\nadmit the possibility of custard, aloud, might make it come true.\n\n\"Then it's lemon jelly with cream,\" said Father, trying another finger\nto his nose and pondering deeply.\n\n\"Oh, you only have one guess,\" cried you and Lizbeth together, and\nFather, cornered, stuck to the jelly and cream.\n\n\"Oh, dear,\" Lizbeth said, \"I don't see what good it does to brush off\nthe crumbs in the middle of dinner.\"\n\nSilence fell upon the table, you and Lizbeth holding Father's\noutstretched hands. Your eyes were wide, the better to see. Your lips\nwere parted, the better, doubtless, to hear.  Only Mother was serene,\nfor only Mother knew.  And then through the stillness came the sound of\nrattling plates.\n\n\"Pie,\" you whispered.\n\n\"Pudding,\" whispered Lizbeth.\n\n\"Jelly,\" whispered Father, hoarsely.\n\nThe door swung open.  You rose in your seats, you and Lizbeth and\nFather, craning your necks to see, and, seeing--\n\n\"_Pie!_\" you cried, triumphantly.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Father, lifting his pie-crust gayly with the tip of his fork.\n\n\"Apples,\" you said, peeping under your crust.\n\n\"Apples, my son?  Apples?  Why, no. Bless my soul!  As I live, this is a\nrobber's cave filled with sacks of gold.\"\n\n\"Oh, _Father_!\" you cried, incredulous, not knowing how to take him yet;\nbut you peeped again, and under your pie-crust it was like a cave, and\nthe little slices of juicy apple lay there like sacks of gold.\n\n\"And see!\" said Father, pointing with his fork, \"there is the entrance\nto the cave, and when the policemen chased the robbers--pop! they went,\nright into their hole, like rabbits.\"\n\nAnd sure enough, in the upper crusts were the little cuts through which\nthe robbers popped.  Your eyes widened.\n\n\"And oh, Father,\" you said, \"the smoke can come out through the little\nholes when the robbers build their fire.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" cried Father, fiercely.  \"I'm the policeman breaking into the\ncave while the robbers are away,\" and he took a bite.\n\n\"And I'm another policeman,\" you cried, catching the spirit of the thing\nand taking a bigger bite than Father's.\n\n\"And I'm a policeman's wife coming along, too,\" said Lizbeth, helping\nherself, so that Mother said:\n\n\"John, John, how am I ever going to teach these children table manners\nwhen--\"\n\n\"But see, Mother, see!\" Father explained, taking another bite, and\nignoring Mother's eyes.  \"If we don't get the gold away the robbers will\ncome back and--\"\n\n\"Kill us!\" you broke in.\n\n\"Yes, kill us, Mother!\" shouted Father, balancing another sack of gold\non the end of his fork.  \"Yes, yes, Mother, don't you see?\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Mother, just between laugh and frown, and when the robbers\ncame back around the coffee-pot hill, lo! there was no gold or cave\nawaiting them--only three plates scraped clean, and two jubilant\npolicemen and a policeman's wife, full of gold.\n\nAnd when Father was Father again, leaning on the back of Mother's chair,\nshe said to him, \"You're nothing but a great big boy,\" so that Father\nchuckled, his cheek against hers and his eyes shining.  That was the way\nwith Father.  Six days he found quite long enough to be a man; so on\nSunday he became a boy.\n\nThe gate clicked behind you, Father in the middle and you and Lizbeth\nholding each a hand, and keeping step with him when you could, running a\nlittle now and then to catch up again.  Your steps were always longest\non Sunday when you walked with Father, and even Lizbeth knew you then\nfor a little man, and peeked around Father's legs to see you as you\nstrode along.  Father was proud of you, too, though he did not tell you.\nHe just told other people when he thought you could not hear.\n\n\"Little pitchers have big ears,\" Mother would warn him then, but you\nheard quite plainly out of one ear, and it was small at that.\n\nEverybody looked as you three went down the shady street together, and\nthe nice young ladies gave you smiles and the nice old ladies gave you\nflowers, handing them out to you over their garden walls.\n\n\"Thank you.  My name is Harry,\" you said.\n\n\"And I'm Lizbeth,\" said little sister. And as you passed on your stride\ngrew longer and your voice sank bigger and deeper in your throat, like\nFather's.\n\nBut it wasn't the town you liked best to walk in with Father in the\nlong, warm Sunday afternoons.  It was the river-side, where the willows\ndrooped over the running waters, and the grass was deepest and greenest\nand waved in the sun.  On the meadow-bank at the water's silver edge you\nsat down together.\n\n\"Who can hear the most?\" asked Father.\n\nYou listened.\n\n\"I hear the river running over the log,\" you said, softly.\n\n\"And the birds,\" whispered Lizbeth.\n\n\"And the wind in the willows,\" said Father.\n\n\"And the cow-bells tinkling way, way off,\" you added, breathlessly.\n\n\"Oh, and I hear the grass whispering,\" said Lizbeth.\n\n\"And oh, a bee,\" you cried.\n\n\"And something else,\" said Father.\n\nYou held your breath and listened. From the distant village the wind\nblew you faintly the sound of--\n\n\"Church-bells,\" cried you and Lizbeth together.\n\nYou fell to playing in the long grass. Lizbeth gathered daisies for\nMother.  You lay with your face just over the river-bank, humming a\nlittle song and gazing down into the mirror of the waters.  You wondered\nhow it would feel to be a little boy-fish, darting in and out among the\nriver grasses.\n\nBy-and-by you went back to Father and sat beside him with your cheek\nagainst his arm.\n\n\"Father.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What do you think when you don't say anything, but just look?\"\n\n[Illustration: \"'FATHER, WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU DON'T SAY ANYTHING,\nBUT JUST LOOK?'\"]\n\n\"When I just look?\"\n\n\"Yes.  Do you think what I do?\"\n\n\"Well, what do you think?\"\n\n\"Why, I think I'd like to be a big man like you and wear a long coat,\nand take my little boy and girl out walking.  Did you think that,\nFather?\"\n\n\"No.  I was thinking how nice it would be just to be a little boy again\nlike you and go out walking by the river with my father.\"\n\n\"Oh, Father, how funny!  I wanted to be you and you wanted to be me.  I\nguess people always want to be somebody else when they just look and\ndon't say anything.\"\n\n\"What makes you think that, my boy?\"\n\n\"Well, there's Grandmother.  _She_ sits by the window all day long and\njust looks and looks, and wishes she was an angel with Grandfather up in\nthe sky.\"\n\n\"And Lizbeth?\"\n\n\"Oh, Lizbeth wishes she was Mother.\"\n\n\"And how about Mother?  Does she wish she were somebody else, do you\nthink?\"\n\n\"Oh no, Father, _she_ doesn't, 'cause then she wouldn't have me and\nLizbeth. Besides, she don't have time to just sit and look, Mother\ndon't.\"\n\nYour eyes were big and shining.  Father just looked and looked a long\ntime.\n\n\"And what do you think _now_, Father?\"\n\n\"I was thinking of Mother waiting for you and Lizbeth and Father, and\nwondering why we don't come home.\"\n\nAnd almost always after that, when you went out walking with Father,\nSundays, Mother went with you.  It seemed strange at first, but fine, to\nhave her sit with you on the river-bank and just look and look and look,\nsmiling but never saying a word; and though you asked her many times\nwhat she thought about as she sat there dreaming, she was never once\ncaught wishing that she were anybody but her own self.  She was happy,\nshe told you; but while it was you she told, she would be looking at\nFather.\n\nOh, it was golden in the morning glow, when you were a little boy.  But\nclouds skurried across the sky--black clouds, storm clouds--casting\ntheir chill and shadow for a while over all Our Yard, darkening Our\nHouse, so that a little boy playing on the hearth-rug left his toy\nsoldier prostrate there to wander, wondering, from room to room.\n\n\"Mother, why doesn't Father play with us like he used to?\"\n\n\"Mother, why do you sew and sew and sew all the time?  Hm, Mother?\"\n\nAll through the long evenings till bed-time came, and long afterwards,\nFather and Mother talked low together before the fire.  The murmur of\ntheir voices downstairs was the last thing you heard before you fell\nasleep.  It sounded like the brook in the meadow where the little green\nfrogs lived, hopping through water-rings.\n\nOf those secret conferences by the fire you could make nothing at all.\nMother stopped you whenever you drew near.\n\n\"Run away, dear, and play.\"\n\nYou frowned and sidled off as far as the door, lingering wistfully.\n\n\"Father, the Jones boy made fun of me to-day.  He called me\nPatchy-pants.\"\n\n\"Never mind what the Jones boy says,\" Mother broke in; but Father said,\n\"He ought to have a new pair, Mother.\"  You brightened at that.\n\n\"The Jones boy's got awful nice pants,\" you said; \"all striped like a\nzebra.\"\n\nFather smiled a little at that.  Mother looked down at her sewing,\nsaying never a word.  That night you dreamed you had new pants, all\nspotted like a leopard, and you were proud, for every one knows that a\nleopard could whip a zebra, once he jumped upon his back.\n\nLeaning on the garden fence, the Jones boy watched you as you sprinkled\nthe geraniums with your little green watering-can.\n\n\"Where'd you get it?\" he asked.\n\n\"Down at my father's store,\" you replied, loftily, for the Jones boy had\nno watering-can.\n\n\"Your father hasn't got a store any more.\"\n\n\"He has, too,\" you replied.\n\n\"He hasn't, either, 'cause my pa says he hasn't.\"\n\n\"I don't care what your pa says.  My father has, too, got a store.\"\n\n\"He hasn't.\"\n\n\"He has.\"\n\n\"He hasn't, either.\"\n\n\"He has, teether.\"\n\n\"I say he hasn't.\"\n\n\"And I say he has,\" you screamed, and threw the watering-can straight at\nthe Jones boy.  It struck the fence and the water splashed all over him\nso that he retreated to the road.  There in a rage he hurled stones at\nyou.\n\n\"Your--father--hasn't--got--any-- store--any--more--old--Patchy-pants--\nold--Patchy-pants--old--\"\n\nAnd then suddenly the Jones boy fled, and when you looked around there\nwas Father standing behind you by the geraniums.\n\n\"Never mind what the Jones boy says,\" he told you, and he was not angry\nwith you for throwing the watering-can.  The little green spout of it\nwas broken when you picked it up, but Father said he would buy you a new\none.\n\n\"To-morrow, Father?\"\n\n\"No, not to-morrow--some day.\"\n\nYou and Lizbeth, tumbling down-stairs to breakfast, found Father sitting\nbefore the fire.\n\n\"Father!\" you cried, astonished, for it was not Sunday, and though you\nran to him he did not hear you till you pounced upon him in his chair.\n\n\"Oh, Father,\" you said, joyfully, \"are you going to stay home and play\nwith us all day?\"\n\n\"_Fa_-ther!\" cried Lizbeth.  \"Will you play house with us?\"\n\n\"Oh no, Father.  Play _store_ with us,\" you cried.\n\n\"Don't bother Father,\" Mother said, but Father just held you both in his\narms and would not let you go.\n\n\"No--let them stay,\" he said, and Mother slipped away.\n\n\"Mother's got an awful cold,\" said Lizbeth.  \"Her eyes--\"\n\n\"So has Father; only Father's cold is in his voice,\" you said.\n\nYou scarcely waited to eat your breakfast before you were back again to\nFather by the fire, telling him of the beautiful games just three could\nplay.  But while you were telling him the door-bell rang, and there were\ntwo men with books under their arms, come to see Father.  They stayed\nwith him all day long--you could hear them muttering in the library--and\nall day you looked wistfully at the closed door, lingering there lest\nFather should come out to play and find you gone.\n\nHe did not come out till dinner-time. After dinner he walked in the\ngarden alone. He held a cigar in his clinched teeth.\n\n\"Why don't you smoke the cigar, Father?\"\n\nHe did not hear you.  He just walked up and down, up and down, with his\neyes on the ground and his hands thrust hard into the pockets of his\ncoat.\n\nMother watched him for a moment through the window.  Then with her own\nhands she built a fire in the grate, for the night was chill.  Before it\nshe drew an easy-chair, and put Father's smoking-jacket on the back of\nit and set his slippers to warm against the fender.  On a reading-table\nnear by she laid the little blue china ash-tray you had given Father for\nChristmas, and beside it a box of matches ready for his hand.  Then she\ncalled him in.\n\nHe came and sat there before the fire, saying nothing, but looking into\nthe flames--looking, looking, till your mind ran back to a Sunday\nafternoon in summer by the river-side.\n\n\"I know what you are thinking, Father.\"\n\nSlowly he turned his head to you, so that you knew he was listening\nthough he did not speak.\n\n\"You're thinking how nice it would be, Father, if you were a little boy\nlike me.\"\n\nHe made no answer.  Mother came and sat on one of the arms of his chair,\nher cheek against his hair.  Lizbeth undressed her dolls for the night,\ncrooning a lullaby. One by one you dropped your marbles into their\nlittle box.  Then you rose and sat like Mother on an arm of Father's\nchair.  For a while you dreamed there, drowsy, in the glow.\n\n\"Mother,\" you said, softly.\n\n[Illustration: \"'MOTHER, YOU SAID, SOFTLY'\"]\n\n\"Yes,\" she whispered back to you.\n\n\"Mother, isn't it _fine_?\" you said.\n\n\"Fine, dearie?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mother, everything ... 'specially--\"\n\n\"Yes, sweetheart?\"\n\n\"--'specially just having Father.\"\n\nFather gave a little jump; seized you; crushed you in his arms, stars\nshining in his brimming eyes.\n\n\"Little chap--little chap,\" he cried, but could get no further, till\nby-and-by--\n\n\"Mother,\" he said--and his voice was clear and strong--\"Mother, with a\nlittle chap like that and two girls like you and Lizbeth--\"\n\nHis voice caught, but he shook it free again.\n\n\"--_any_ man could begin--all over again--and _win_,\" he said.\n\n\n\n\n                                *Mother*\n\n\nA,\" you said.\n\n\"And what's that?\"\n\n\"B.\"\n\n\"And that?\"\n\nYou sat on Mother's lap.  The wolf-wind howled at the door, and you\nshuddered, cuddling down in Mother's arms and the glow.  The wilder the\nwolf-wind howled, the softer was the lamp-light, the redder were the\napples on the table, the warmer was the fire.\n\nOn your knees lay the picture-book with its sad, sad little tale.\nMother read it to you--she had read it fifty times before--her face\ngrave, her voice low and tragic, while you listened with bated breath:\n\n    \"Who killed Cock Robin?\n    'I,' said the Sparrow,\n    'With my bow and arrow--\n    I killed Cock Robin.'\"\n\n\n[Illustration: \"THE PICTURE-BOOK\"]\n\nIt was the first murder you had ever heard about.  You saw it all, the\nhideous spectacle--a beautiful, warm, red breast pierced by that fatal\ndart--a poor, soft little birdie, dead, by an assassin's hand. A lump\nrose in your throat.  A tear rose in your eye--two tears, three tears.\nThey rolled down your cheek.  They dropped, hot and sad, on the fish\nwith his little dish, on the owl with his spade and trowel, on the rook\nwith his little book.\n\n\"P-poor Cock R-robin!\"\n\n\"There, there, dear.  Don't cry.\"\n\n\"But, M-mother--the Sparrow--he k-killed him.\"\n\nAlas, yes!  The Sparrow had killed him, for the book said so, but had\nyou heard?\n\n\"N-no, w-what?\"\n\nThe book, it seems, like other books, had told but half the story.\nMother knew the other half.  Cock Robin was murdered, murdered in cold\nblood, it was true, but--O merciful, death-winged arrow!--he had gone\nwhere the good birds go.  And there--O joy!--he had met his robin wife\nand his little robin boy, who had gone before.\n\n\"And I expect they are all there now, dear,\" she told you, kissing your\ntear-stained cheek, \"the happiest robins that ever were.\"\n\nDry and wide were your eyes.  In the place where the good birds go, you\nsaw Cock Robin.  His eyes and his fat, red breast were bright again.  He\nchirped. He sang.  He hopped from bough to bough, with his robin wife\nand his little robin boy.  For in the mending of little stories or the\nmending of little hearts, like the mending of little stockings, Mother\nwas wonderful.\n\nIn those times there were knees to your stockings, knees with holes in\nthem at the end of the day, with the soiled skin showing through.\n\n\"Just look!\" Mother would cry.  \"Just look there!  And I'd only just\nmended them.\"\n\n\"Well, you see, Mother, when you play Black Bear--\"\n\n\"I see,\" she said, and before you went to bed you would be sitting on\nthe edge of a tub, paddling your feet in the water.\n\n[Illustration: \"BEFORE YOU WENT TO BED\"]\n\n\"You dirty boy,\" she would be saying, scrubbing at the scratched, black\nknees; but when you were shining again she would be saying--\n\n\"You darling!\"\n\nAnd though your stockings were whole in the clean of morning when you\nscampered out into the sun, in the dirt of night when you scampered back\nagain--O skein, where is thy yarn?  O darning-needle, where is thy\nvictory?\n\nSummer mornings, in the arbor-seat of the garden, Mother would be\nsewing, her lap brimming, her work-basket at her feet, the sun falling\ngolden through the trellised green.  In the nap of the afternoon, when\neven the birds drowsed and the winds slept, she would be sewing, ever\nsewing.  And when night fell and the dishes were put away, she would be\nsewing still, in the lamp-light's yellow glow.\n\n\"Mother, why do you sew and sew?\"\n\n\"To make my little boy blue sailor suits and my little girl white\nfrocks, and to stop the holes.\"\n\n\"Do you like to sew, Mother?\"\n\n\"I don't mind it.\"\n\n\"But doesn't it make you tired, Mother?\"\n\n\"Oh, now and then.\"\n\n\"But I should think you'd rest sometimes, Mother.\"\n\n\"Should you, dear?\"\n\n\"Yes, I would.  Oh, I'd sew a _little_--just enough--and then I'd play.\"\n\n\"But Mother does sew _just enough_, and it takes all day, my dear.  What\ndo you say to that?\"\n\nYou pondered.\n\n\"Well,\" you said, and stopped.\n\n\"Well?\" she said, and laughed.  Then you laughed, too.\n\n\"A mother,\" you told them afterwards, \"is a person what takes care of\nyou, and loves you, and sews and sews--just enough--all day.\"\n\nSince mothers take care of little boys, they told you, little boys\nshould take care of their mothers, too.  So right in front of her you\nstood, bravely, your fists clinched, your lips trembling, your eyes\nflashing with rage and tears.\n\n\"You sha'n't touch my mother!\"\n\nBut Mother's arms stole swiftly around you, pinning your own to your\nside.\n\n\"Father was only fooling, dear,\" she said, kneeling behind you and\nfolding you to her breast.  \"See, he's laughing at us.\"\n\n\"Why, little chap,\" he said, \"Father was only playing.\"\n\nMother wiped away your tears, smiling at them, but proudly.  You looked\ndoubtfully at Father, who held out his arms to you; then slowly you went\nto him, urged by Mother's hand.\n\n\"You must always take care of Mother like that,\" he said, \"and never let\nany one hurt her, or bother her, when Father's away.\"\n\n\"Mother's little knight,\" she said, kissing your brow.  And ever\nafterwards she was safe when you were near.\n\n\"Oh, that Mrs. Waddles.  I wish she wouldn't bother me.\"\n\nUnder her breath Mother said it, but you heard, and you hated Mrs.\nWaddles with all your soul, and her day of reckoning came.  Mother was\nin the garden and did not hear.  You answered the knock yourself.\n\n\"Little darling, how--\"\n\n\"You can't see my mother to-day,\" you said, stiffly.\n\n\"That's very strange,\" said Mrs. Waddles, with a forward step.\n\n\"No,\" you said, a little louder, throwing yourself into the breach and\nholding the door-knob with all your might.  \"No! You mustn't come in!\"\n\n\"You impertinent little child!\" cried Mrs. Waddles, threateningly, but\nyou faced her down, raising your voice again:\n\n\"You can't see my mother any more,\" you repeated, firmly.\n\n\"And why not, I'd like to know?\" demanded the old lady, swelling\nvisibly. \"Why not, I'd like to know?\"\n\n\"'Cause I'm to take care of my mother when my father's away, and he said\nnot to let anybody bother her that she don't want to see.\"\n\nIt was a long explanation and took all your breath.\n\n\"Oh, is _that_ it?\" cackled Mrs. Waddles, with withering scorn.  \"And\nhow do you _know_ that your mother doesn't want to see me--_hey_?\"\n\n\"'Cause--she--said--so!\"\n\nYou separated your words like the ABC book, that Mrs. Waddles might\nunderstand. It was a master-stroke.  Gasping, her face on fire,\ngathering her skirts together with hands that trembled in their black\nsilk mitts, Mrs. Waddles turned and swept away.\n\n\"I never!\" she managed to utter as she slammed the gate.\n\nYou shut the door softly, the battle won, and went back to the garden.\n\n\"Well, _that's_ over,\" you said, with a sigh, as Mother herself would\nhave said it.\n\n\"What's over, dear?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Waddles,\" you replied.\n\nSo you took care of Mother so well that she loved you more and more as\nthe days of your knighthood passed; and she took care of you so well\nthat your cheeks grew rosier and your eyes brighter and your legs\nstronger, and you loved her more and more with the days of her\nmotherhood.\n\nEven being sick was fine in those days, for she brought you little\nthings in bowls with big spoons in them, and you ate till you wanted\nmore--a sign that you would not die.  And so you lay in the soft of the\npillows, with the patchwork coverlet that Mother made with her own\nhands. There was the white silk triangle from her wedding-gown, and a\nblue one from a sash that was her Sunday best, long ago, when she was a\nlittle girl.  There was a soft-gray piece from a dress of Grandmother's,\nand a bright-pink one that was once Lizbeth's, and a striped one, blue\nand yellow, that was once Father's necktie in the gay plumage of his\nyouth.\n\nAs you lay there, sick and drowsy, the bridal triangle turned to snow,\ncold and white and pure, and you heard sleighbells and saw the Christmas\ncards with the little church in the corner, its steeple icy, but its\nwindows warm and red with the Christmas glow.  That was the white\ntriangle.  But the blue one, next, was sky, and when you saw it you\nthought of birds and stars and May; and if it so happened that your eyes\nturned to the gray piece that was Grandmother's, and the sky that was\nblue darkened and the rain fell, you had only to look at the pink piece\nthat was Lizbeth's, or the blue and yellow that was Father's, to find\nthe flowers and the sun again.  Then the colors blended.  Dandelions\njingled, sleigh-bells and violets blossomed in the snow, and you\nslept--the sleep that makes little boys well.\n\nThe bees and the wind were humming in the cherry-trees, for it was May.\nYou were all alone, you and Mother, in the garden, where the white\npetals were falling, silently, like snow-flakes, and the birds were\nsinging in the morning glow.\n\nYour feet scampered down the paths. Your curls bobbed among the budding\nshrubs and vines.  You leaped.  You laughed.  You sang.  In your wide\neyes blue of the great sky, green of the grasses. On your flushed cheeks\nsunshine and breeze.  In your beating heart childhood and spring--a\nchildhood too big, a spring too wonderful, for the smallness of one\nlittle, brimming boy.\n\n\"Look, Mother!  See me jump.\"\n\n\"My!\" she said.\n\n\"And see me almost stand on my head.\"\n\n\"Wonderful!\"\n\n\"I know what I'll be when I grow to be a man, Mother.\"\n\n\"What will you be?\"\n\n\"A circus-rider.\"\n\n\"Gracious!\" said she.\n\n\"On a big, white horse, Mother.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\"\n\n\"And we'll jump 'way over the moon, Mother.\"\n\n\"The moon?\"\n\n\"Yes, the moon.  See!\"\n\nThen you jumped over the rake-handle. You were practising for the moon,\nyou said.\n\n\"But maybe I _won't_ be a circus-rider, Mother, after all.\"\n\n\"Maybe not,\" said she.\n\n\"Maybe I'll be President, like George Washington.  Father said I could.\nCould I, Mother?\"\n\n\"Yes--you might--some day.\"\n\n\"But the Jones boy couldn't, Mother.\"\n\n\"Why couldn't the Jones boy?\"\n\n\"Because he swears and tells lies.  _I_ don't.  And George Washington\ndidn't, Mother.  I guess I won't be a circus-rider, after all.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm glad of that, dear.\"\n\n\"No, I guess I'll keep right on, Mother--as long as I've started--and\njust be President.\"\n\n\"Oh, that will be fine,\" said she.  She was sewing in the arbor, her lap\nfilled with linen, her work-basket at her feet.\n\n\"Mother.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I think I'd like to sing a song now.\"\n\nStraight and proper you stood in the little path, your heels together,\nyour hands at your side, and so you sang to her the song of the little\nduck:\n\n    \"'Quack, quack,' said the Duck,\n    'Quack, quack.'\n    'Quack, quack,' said--\"\n\n\nYou stopped.\n\n\"Try it a little lower, dear.\"\n\n    \"'Quack, quack,' said--\"\n\n\n\"No, that's _too_ low,\" you said.  You tried again and started right\nthat time and sang it through, the song of the little duck who\n\n    \"'... wouldn't be a girl,\n    With only a curl,\n    I wouldn't be a girl, would you?'\"\n\n\n\"Oh, it's beautiful,\" Mother said.\n\n\"Now it's your turn, Mother, to tell a story.\"\n\n\"A story?\"\n\n\"Yes.  About the violets.\"\n\n\"The violets?\" she said, poising her needle, musingly.  \"The blue, blue\nviolets--\"\n\n\"As blue as the sky, Mother,\" you said, softly, for it is always in the\nhush of the garden that the stories grow.\n\n\"As blue as the sky,\" she said.  \"Ah, yes.  Well, once there wasn't a\nviolet in the whole world.\"\n\n\"Nor a single star,\" you said, awesomely, helping her.  And as you sat\nthere listening the world grew wider and wider--for when you are a\nlittle boy the world is always just as wide as your eyes.\n\n\"Not a violet or a single star in the whole world,\" Mother went on.\n\"And what do you think?  They just took little bits of the blue sky and\nsprinkled them all over the green world, and they were the first\nviolets.\"\n\n\"And the stars, Mother?\"\n\n\"Why, don't you see?  The stars are the little holes they left in the\nblue sky, with the light of heaven shining through.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" you said, softly.  \"Oh, Mother!\"\n\nAnd then, in the hush of the garden, you looked at her, and lo! her eyes\nwere blue like the violets, and bright like the stars, for the light of\nheaven was shining through.\n\nShe was the most wonderful person in the whole world--who never did\nanything wrong, who knew everything, even who God was, watching, night\nand day, over little boys.  Even the hairs of your head were numbered,\nshe told you, and not a little bird died but He knew.\n\n\"And did He know when Cock Robin died, Mother?\"\n\n\"Yes.  He knew.\"\n\n\"And when I hurt my finger, Mother? Did He know then?\"\n\n\"Yes, He knows everything.\"\n\n\"And was He sorry, Mother, when I hurt my finger?\"\n\n\"Very sorry, dear.\"\n\n\"Then why did He _let_ me hurt my finger--why?\"\n\nFor a moment she did not speak.\n\n\"Dearie,\" she said at last, \"I don't know.  There are many things that\nnobody knows but God.\"\n\nHushed and wondering you sat in Mother's lap, for His eye was upon you.\nSomewhere up in the sky, above the clouds, you knew He was sitting, on a\ngreat, bright throne, with a gold crown upon His head and a sceptre in\nHis hand--King of Kings and Lord of All.  Down below Him on the green\nearth little birds were falling, little boys were hurting their fingers\nand crying in their Mothers' arms, and He saw them all, every one,\nlittle birds and little boys, but did not help them. You crept closer to\nMother's bosom, flinging your arms about her neck.\n\n\"Don't let Him get me, Mother!\"\n\n\"Why, darling, He loves you.\"\n\n\"Oh no, Mother--not like you do; not like you.\"\n\nThe bees and the wind were in the apple trees, for it was May.  You were\nall alone, you and Mother, in the garden, where the white petals were\nfalling, like snowflakes, silently.  In the swing Grandfather built for\nyou, you sat swaying, to and fro, in the shadows; and the shadows\nswayed, to and fro, in the gale; and to and fro your thoughts swayed in\nyour dreaming.\n\nThe wind sang in the apple-boughs, the flowering branches filled and\nbent, and all about you were the tossing, shimmering grasses, and all\nabove you birds singing and flitting in the sky.  And so you swayed, to\nand fro, till you were a sailor, in a blue suit, sailing the blue sea.\n\nThe wind sang in the rigging.  The white sails filled and bent.  Your\nship scudded through the tossing, shimmering foam.  Gulls screamed and\ncircled in the sky, ... and so you sailed and sailed with the sea-breeze\nin your curls...\n\nThe ship anchored.\n\nThe swing stopped.\n\nYou were only a little boy.\n\n\"Mother,\" you said, softly, for your voice was drowsy with your dream.\n\nShe did not hear you.  She sat there in the arbor-seat, smiling at you,\nher hands idle, her sewing slipping from her knees. You did not know it\nthen, but you do now--that to see the most beautiful woman in the whole\nworld you must be her little boy.\n\nThere in her garden, in her lap, with her arms around you and her cheeks\nbetween your hands, you gazed, wondering, into the blue fondness of her\neyes.  You saw her lips, forever smiling at you, forever seeking your\nown.  You heard her voice, sweet with love-words--\n\n\"My dearest.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"My darling.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"My own dear little boy.\"\n\nAnd then her arms crushing you to her breast; and then her lips; and\nthen her voice again--\n\n\"Once in this very garden, in this very seat, Mother sat dreaming of\nyou.\"\n\n\"Of me, Mother?\"\n\n\"Of you.  Here in the garden, with that very bush there red with\nblossoms, and the birds singing in these very trees. She dreamed that\nyou were a little baby--a little baby, warm and soft in her arms--and\nwhile the wind sang to the flowers Mother sang you a lullaby, and you\nstretched out your hands to her and smiled; and then--ah, darling!\"\n\n\"But it was a _dream_, Mother.\"\n\n\"It was only a dream--yes--but it came true.  It came true on a night in\nJune--the First of June, it was--\"\n\n\"_My_ birthday, Mother!\"\n\n\"Your birthday, dear.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mother,\" you said, breathlessly--\"what a beautiful dream!\"\n\n\n\n\n                                THE END\n\n\n\n\n           *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\n                               *A FEW OF\n                           GROSSET & DUNLAP'S\n                     Great Books at Little Prices*\n\n                       NEW, CLEVER, ENTERTAINING.\n\n\nGRET: The Story of a Pagan.  By Beatrice Mantle.  Illustrated by C. M.\nRelyea.\n\nThe wild free life of an Oregon lumber camp furnishes the setting for\nthis strong original story.  Gret is the daughter of the camp and is\nutterly content with the wild life--until love comes.  A fine book,\nunmarred by convention.\n\n\nOLD CHESTER TALES.  By Margaret Deland.  Illustrated by Howard Pyle.\n\nA vivid yet delicate portrayal of characters in an old New England town.\n\nDr. Lavendar's fine, kindly wisdom is brought to bear upon the lives of\nall, permeating the whole volume like the pungent odor of pine,\nhealthful and life giving.  \"Old Chester Tales\" will surely be among the\nbooks that abide.\n\n\nTHE MEMOIRS OF A BABY.  By Josephine Daskam.  Illustrated by F. Y. Cory.\n\nThe dawning intelligence of the baby was grappled with by its great\naunt, an elderly maiden, whose book knowledge of babies was something at\nwhich even the infant himself winked.  A delicious bit of humor.\n\n\nREBECCA MARY.  By Annie Hamilton Donnell.  Illustrated by Elizabeth\nShippen Green.\n\nThe heart tragedies of this little girl with no one near to share them,\nare told with a delicate art, a keen appreciation of the needs of the\nchildish heart and a humorous knowledge of the workings of the childish\nmind.\n\n\nTHE FLY ON THE WHEEL.  By Katherine Cecil Thurston. Frontispiece by\nHarrison Fisher.\n\nAn Irish story of real power, perfect in development and showing a true\nconception of the spirited Hibernian character as displayed in the\ntragic as well as the tender phases of life.\n\n\nTHE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S.  By George Barr McCutcheon. Illustrated by\nHarrison Fisher.\n\nAn island in the South Sea is the setting for this entertaining tale,\nand an all-conquering hero and a beautiful princess figure in a most\ncomplicated plot.  One of Mr. McCutcheon's best books.\n\n\nTOLD BY UNCLE REMUS.  By Joel Chandler Harris. Illustrated by A. B.\nFrost, J. M. Conde and Frank Verbeck.\n\nAgain Uncle Remus enters the fields of childhood, and leads another\nlittle boy to that non-locatable land called \"Brer Rabbit's Laughing\nPlace,\" and again the quaint animals spring into active life and play\ntheir parts, for the edification of a small but appreciative audience.\n\n\nTHE CLIMBER.  By E. F. Benson.  With frontispiece.\n\nAn unsparing analysis of an ambitious woman's soul--a woman who believed\nthat in social supremacy she would find happiness, and who finds instead\nthe utter despair of one who has chosen the things that pass away.\n\n\nLYNCH'S DAUGHTER.  By Leonard Merrick.  Illustrated by Geo. Brehm.\n\nA story of to-day, telling how a rich girl acquires ideals of beautiful\nand simple living, and of men and love, quite apart from the teachings\nof her father, \"Old Man Lynch\" of Wall St.  True to life, clever in\ntreatment.\n\n\n\n                          *GROSSET & DUNLAP'S\n                           DRAMATIZED NOVELS*\n\n                A Few that are Making Theatrical History\n\n\nMARY JANE'S PA.  By Norman Way.  Illustrated with scenes from the play.\n\nDelightful, irresponsible \"Mary Jane's Pa\" awakes one morning to find\nhimself famous, and, genius being ill adapted to domestic joys, he\nwanders from home to work out his own unique destiny.  One of the most\nhumorous bits of recent fiction.\n\n\nCHERUB DEVINE.  By Sewell Ford.\n\n\"Cherub,\" a good hearted but not over refined young man is brought in\ntouch with the aristocracy.  Of sprightly wit, he is sometimes a\nmerciless analyst, but he proves in the end that manhood counts for more\nthan ancient lineage by winning the love of the fairest girl in the\nflock.\n\n\nA WOMAN'S WAY.  By Charles Somerville.  Illustrated with scenes from the\nplay.\n\nA story in which a woman's wit and self-sacrificing love save her\nhusband from the toils of an adventuress, and change an apparently\ntragic situation into one of delicious comedy.\n\n\nTHE CLIMAX.  By George C. Jenks.\n\nWith ambition luring her on, a young choir soprano leaves the little\nvillage where she was born and the limited audience of St. Jude's to\ntrain for the opera in New York.  She leaves love behind her and meets\nlove more ardent but not more sincere in her new environment.  How she\nworks, how she studies, how she suffers, are vividly portrayed.\n\n\nA FOOL THERE WAS.  By Porter Emerson Browne.  Illustrated by Edmund\nMagrath and W. W. Fawcett.\n\nA relentless portrayal of the career of a man who comes under the\ninfluence of a beautiful but evil woman; how she lures him on and on,\nhow he struggles, falls and rises, only to fall again into her net, make\na story of unflinching realism.\n\n\nTHE SQUAW MAN.  By Julie Opp Faversham and Edwin Milton Royle.\nIllustrated with scenes from the play.\n\nA glowing story, rapid in action, bright in dialogue with a fine\ncourageous hero and a beautiful English heroine.\n\n\nTHE GIRL IN WAITING.  By Archibald Eyre.  Illustrated with scenes from\nthe play.\n\nA droll little comedy of misunderstandings, told with a light touch, a\nventuresome spirit and an eye for human oddities.\n\n\nTHE SCARLET PIMPERNEL.  By Baroness Orczy.  Illustrated with scenes from\nthe play.\n\nA realistic story of the days of the French Revolution, abounding in\ndramatic incident, with a young English soldier of fortune, daring,\nmysterious as the hero.\n\n\n\n                         *TITLES SELECTED FROM\n                        GROSSET & DUNLAP'S LIST*\n\n                  REALISTIC, ENGAGING PICTURES OF LIFE\n\n\nTHE GARDEN OF FATE.  By Roy Norton.  Illustrated by Joseph Clement Coll.\n\nThe colorful romance of an American girl in Morocco, and of a beautiful\ngarden, whose beauty and traditions of strange subtle happenings were\nclosed to the world by a Sultan's seal.\n\n\nTHE MAN HIGHER UP.  By Henry Russell Miller. Full page vignette\nillustrations by M. Leone Bracker.\n\nThe story of a tenement waif who rose by his own ingenuity to the office\nof mayor of his native city.  His experiences while \"climbing,\" make a\nmost interesting example of the possibilities of human nature to rise\nabove circumstances.\n\n\nTHE KEY TO YESTERDAY.  By Charles Neville Buck.  Illustrated by R.\nSchabelitz.\n\nRobert Saxon, a prominent artist, has an accident, while in Paris, which\nobliterates his memory, and the only clue he has to his former life is a\nrusty key.  What door in Paris will it unlock?  He must know that before\nhe woos the girl he loves.\n\n\nTHE DANGER TRAIL.  By James Oliver Curwood. Illustrated by Charles\nLivingston Bull.\n\nThe danger trail is over the snow-smothered North.  A young Chicago\nengineer, who is building a road through the Hudson Bay region, is\ninvolved in mystery, and is led into ambush by a young woman.\n\n\nTHE GAY LORD WARING.  By Houghton Townley. Illustrated by Will Grefe.\n\nA story of the smart hunting set in England.  A gay young lord wins in\nlove against his selfish and cowardly brother and apparently against\nfate itself.\n\n\nBY INHERITANCE.  By Octave Thanet.  Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.\nElaborate wrapper in colors.\n\nA wealthy New England spinster with the most elaborate plans for the\neducation of the <DW64> goes to visit her nephew in Arkansas, where she\nlearns the needs of the <DW52> race first hand and begins to lose her\ntheories.\n\n\n                         *KATE DOUGLAS WIGGINS\n                        STORIES OF PURE DELIGHT*\n\n          Full of originality and humor, kindliness and cheer\n\n\nTHE OLD PEABODY PEW.  Large Octavo.  Decorative text pages, printed in\ntwo colors.  Illustrations by Alice Barber Stephens.\n\nOne of the prettiest romances that has ever come from this author's pen\nis made to bloom on Christmas Eve in the sweet freshness of an old New\nEngland meeting house.\n\n\nPENELOPE'S PROGRESS.  Attractive cover design in colors.\n\nScotland is the background for the merry doings of three very clever and\noriginal American girls.  Their adventures in adjusting themselves to\nthe Scot and his land are full of humor.\n\n\nPENELOPE'S IRISH EXPERIENCES.  Uniform in style with \"Penelope's\nProgress.\"\n\nThe trio of clever girls who rambled over Scotland cross the border to\nthe Emerald Isle, and again they sharpen their wits against new\nconditions, and revel in the land of laughter and wit.\n\n\nREBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM.\n\nOne of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic,\nunusual and quaintly charming qualities stand cut midst a circle of\naustere New Englanders.  The stage version is making a phenomenal\ndramatic record.\n\n\nNEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA.  With illustrations by F. C. Yohn.\n\nSome more quaintly amusing chronicles that carry Rebecca through various\nstages to her eighteenth birthday.\n\n\nROSE O' THE RIVER.  With illustrations by George Wright.\n\nThe simple story of Rose, a country girl and Stephen a sturdy young\nfarmer.  The girl's fancy for a city man interrupts their love and\nmerges the story into an emotional strain where the reader follows the\nevents with rapt attention.\n\n\n\n             GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\n\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images available at The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                             MADONNA MARY.\n\n                                A Novel.\n\n                                   BY\n                             MRS. OLIPHANT,\n\n                               AUTHOR OF\n\n              \"LAST OF THE MORTIMERS,\" \"IN THE DAYS OF MY\n                 LIFE,\" \"SQUIRE ARDEN,\" \"OMBRA,\" \"MAY,\"\n                               ETC., ETC.\n\n                             _NEW EDITION._\n\n                                LONDON:\n                   CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.\n                                 1875.\n\n                        [_All rights reserved._]\n\n\n\n\n                                LONDON:\n            SWIFT AND CO., NEWTON STREET, HIGH HOLBORN, W.C.\n\n\n\n\n                             MADONNA MARY.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nMajor Ochterlony had been very fidgety after the coming in of the mail.\nHe was very often so, as all his friends were aware, and nobody so much\nas Mary, his wife, who was herself, on ordinary occasions, of an\nadmirable composure. But the arrival of the mail, which is so welcome an\nevent at an Indian station, and which generally affected the Major very\nmildly, had produced a singular impression upon him on this special\noccasion. He was not a man who possessed a large correspondence in his\nown person; he had reached middle life, and had nobody particular\nbelonging to him, except his wife and his little children, who were as\nyet too young to have been sent \"home;\" and consequently there was\nnobody to receive letters from, except a few married brothers and\nsisters, who don't count, as everybody knows. That kind of formally\naffectionate correspondence is not generally exciting, and even Major\nOchterlony supported it with composure. But as for the mail which\narrived on the 15th of April, 1838, its effect was different. He went\nout and in so often, that Mary got very little good of her letters,\nwhich were from her young sister and her old aunt, and were naturally\noverflowing with all kinds of pleasant gossip and domestic information.\nThe present writer has so imperfect an idea of what an Indian bungalow\nis like, that it would be impossible for her to convey a clear idea to\nthe reader, who probably knows much better about it. But yet it was in\nan Indian bungalow that Mrs. Ochterlony was seated--in the dim hot\natmosphere, out of which the sun was carefully excluded, but in which,\nnevertheless, the inmates simmered softly with the patience of people\nwho cannot help it, and who are used to their martyrdom. She sat still,\nand did her best to make out the pleasant babble in the letters, which\nseemed to take sound to itself as she read, and to break into a sweet\nconfusion of kind voices, and rustling leaves, and running water, such\nas, she knew, had filled the little rustic drawing-room in which the\nletters were written. The sister was very young, and the aunt was old,\nand all the experience of the world possessed by the two together, might\nhave gone into Mary's thimble, which she kept playing with upon her\nfinger as she read. But though she knew twenty times better than they\ndid, the soft old lady's gentle counsel, and the audacious girl's advice\nand censure, were sweet to Mary, who smiled many a time at their\nsimplicity, and yet took the good of it in a way that was peculiar to\nher. She read, and she smiled in her reading, and felt the fresh English\nair blow about her, and the leaves rustling--if it had not been for the\nMajor, who went and came like a ghost, and let everything fall that he\ntouched, and hunted every innocent beetle or lizard that had come in to\nsee how things were going on; for he was one of those men who have a\ngreat, almost womanish objection to reptiles and insects, which is a\nsentiment much misplaced in India. He fidgeted so much, indeed, as to\ndisturb even his wife's accustomed nerves at last.\n\n\"Is there anything wrong--has anything happened?\" she asked, folding up\nher letter, and laying it down in her open work-basket. Her anxiety was\nnot profound, for she was accustomed to the Major's \"ways,\" but still\nshe saw it was necessary for his comfort to utter what was on his mind.\n\n\"When you have read your letters I want to speak to you,\" he said. \"What\ndo your people mean by sending you such heaps of letters? I thought you\nwould never be done. Well, Mary, this is what it is--there's nothing\nwrong with the children, or anybody belonging to us, thank God; but it's\nvery nearly as bad, and, I am at my wit's end. Old Sommerville's dead.\"\n\n\"Old Sommerville!\" said Mrs. Ochterlony. This time she was utterly\nperplexed and at a loss. She could read easily enough the anxiety which\nfilled her husband's handsome, restless face; but, then, so small a\nmatter put _him_ out of his ordinary! And she could not for her life\nremember who old Sommerville was.\n\n\"I daresay _you_ don't recollect him,\" said the Major, in an aggrieved\ntone. \"It is very odd how everything has gone wrong with us since that\nfalse start. It is an awful shame, when a set of old fogies put young\npeople in such a position--all for nothing, too,\" Major Ochterlony\nadded: \"for after we were actually married, everybody came round. It is\nan awful shame!\"\n\n\"If I was a suspicious woman,\" said Mary, with a smile, \"I should think\nit was our marriage that you called a false start and an awful shame.\"\n\n\"And so it is, my love: so it is,\" said the innocent soldier, his face\ngrowing more and more cloudy. As for his wife being a suspicious woman,\nor the possible existence of any delicacy on her part about his words,\nthe Major knew better than that. The truth was that he might have given\nutterance to sentiments of the most atrocious description on that point,\nsentiments which would have broken the heart and blighted the existence,\nso to speak, of any sensitive young woman, without producing the\nslightest effect upon Mary, or upon himself, to whom Mary was so utterly\nand absolutely necessary, that the idea of existing without her never\nonce entered his restless but honest brain. \"That is just what it is,\"\nhe said; \"it is a horrid business for me, and I don't know what to do\nabout it. They must have been out of their senses to drive us to marry\nas we did; and we were a couple of awful fools,\" said the Major, with\nthe gravest and most care-worn countenance. Mrs. Ochterlony was still a\nyoung woman, handsome and admired, and she might very well have taken\noffence at such words; but, oddly enough, there was something in his\ngravely-disturbed face and pathetic tone which touched another chord in\nMary's breast. She laughed, which was unkind, considering all the\ncircumstances, and took up her work, and fixed a pair of smiling eyes\nupon her perplexed husband's face.\n\n\"I daresay it is not so bad as you think,\" she said, with the manner of\na woman who was used to this kind of thing. \"Come, and tell me all about\nit.\" She drew her chair a trifle nearer his, and looked at him with a\nface in which a touch of suppressed amusement was visible, under a good\ndeal of gravity and sympathy. She was used to lend a sympathetic ear to\nall his difficulties, and to give all her efforts to their elucidation,\nbut still she could not help feeling it somewhat droll to be complained\nto in this strain about her own marriage. \"We _were_ a couple of fools,\"\nshe said, with a little laugh, \"but it has not turned out so badly as it\nmight have done.\" Upon which rash statement the Major shook his head.\n\n\"It is easy for you to say so,\" he said, \"and if I were to go no deeper,\nand look no further---- It is all on your account, Mary. If it were not\non your account----\"\n\n\"Yes, I know,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, still struggling with a perverse\ninclination to laugh; \"but now tell me what old Sommerville has to do\nwith it; and who old Sommerville is; and what put it into his head just\nat this moment to die.\"\n\nThe Major sighed, and gave her a half-irritated, half-melancholy look.\nTo think she should laugh, when, as he said to himself, the gulf was\nyawning under her very feet. \"My dear Mary,\" he said, \"I wish you would\nlearn that this is not anything to laugh at. Old Sommerville was the old\ngardener at Earlston, who went with us, you recollect, when we went\nto--to Scotland. My brother would never have him back again, and he went\namong his own friends. He was a stupid old fellow. I don't know what he\nwas good for, for my part;--but,\" said Major Ochterlony, with solemnity,\n\"he was the only surviving witness of our unfortunate marriage--that is\nthe only thing that made him interesting to me.\"\n\n\"Poor old man!\" said Mary, \"I am very sorry. I had forgotten his name;\nbut really,--if you speak like this of our unfortunate marriage, you\nwill hurt my feelings,\" Mrs. Ochterlony added. She had cast down her\neyes on her work, but still there was a gleam of fun out of one of the\ncorners. This was all the effect made upon her mind by words which would\nhave naturally produced a scene between half the married people in the\nworld.\n\nAs for the Major, he sighed: he was in a sighing mood, and at such\nmoments his wife's obtusity and thoughtlessness always made him sad. \"It\nis easy talking,\" he said, \"and if it were not on your account, Mary----\nThe fact is that everything has gone wrong that had any connection with\nit. The blacksmith's house, you know, was burned down, and his kind of a\nregister--if it was any good, and I am sure I don't know if it was any\ngood; and then that woman died, though she was as young as you are, and\nas healthy, and nobody had any right to expect that she would die,\"\nMajor Ochterlony added with an injured tone, \"and now old Sommerville;\nand we have nothing in the world to vouch for its being a good marriage,\nexcept what that blacksmith fellow called the 'lines.' Of course you\nhave taken care of the lines,\" said the Major, with a little start. It\nwas the first time that this new subject of doubt had occurred to his\nmind.\n\n\"To vouch for its being a good marriage!\" said Mrs. Ochterlony: \"really,\nHugh, you go too far. Our marriage is not a thing to make jokes about,\nyou know--nor to get up alarms about either. Everybody knows all about\nit, both among your people and mine. It is very vexatious and\ndisagreeable of you to talk so.\" As she spoke the colour rose to Mary's\nmatron cheek. She had learned to make great allowances for her husband's\nanxious temper and perpetual panics; but this suggestion was too much\nfor her patience just at the moment. She calmed down, however, almost\nimmediately, and came to herself with a smile. \"To think you should\nalmost have made me angry!\" she said, taking up her work again. This did\nnot mean to imply that to make Mrs. Ochterlony angry was at all an\nimpossible process. She had her gleams of wrath like other people, and\nsometimes it was not at all difficult to call them forth; but, so far as\nthe Major's \"temperament\" was concerned, she had got, by much exercise,\nto be the most indulgent of women--perhaps by finding that no other way\nof meeting it was of any use.\n\n\"It is not my fault, my love,\" said the Major, with a meekness which was\nnot habitual to him. \"But I hope you are quite sure you have the lines.\nAny mistake about them would be fatal. They are the only proof that\nremains to us. I wish you would go and find them, Mary, and let me make\nsure.\"\n\n\"The lines!\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, and, notwithstanding her\nself-command, she faltered a little. \"Of course I must have them\nsomewhere--I don't quite recollect at this moment. What do you want them\nfor, Hugh? Are we coming into a fortune, or what are the statistics good\nfor? When I can lay my hand upon them, I will give them to you,\" she\nadded, with that culpable carelessness which her husband had already so\noften remarked in her. If it had been a trumpery picture or book that\nhad been mislaid, she could not have been less concerned.\n\n\"When you can lay your hands upon them!\" cried the exasperated man. \"Are\nyou out of your senses, Mary? Don't you know that they are your\nsheet-anchor, your charter--the only document you have----\"\n\n\"Hugh,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, \"tell me what this means. There must be\nsomething in it more than I can see. What need have I for documents?\nWhat does it matter to us this old man being dead, more than it matters\nto any one the death of somebody who has been at their wedding? It is\nsad, but I don't see how it can be a personal misfortune. If you really\nmean anything, tell me what it is.\"\n\nThe Major for his part grew angry, as was not unnatural. \"If you choose\nto give me the attention you ought to give to your husband when he\nspeaks seriously to you, you will soon perceive what I mean,\" he said;\nand then he repented, and came up to her and kissed her. \"My poor Mary,\nmy bonnie Mary,\" he said. \"If that wretched irregular marriage of ours\nshould bring harm to you! It is you only I am thinking of, my\ndarling--that you should have something to rest upon;\" and his feelings\nwere so genuine that with that the water stood in his eyes.\n\nAs for Mrs. Ochterlony, she was very near losing patience altogether;\nbut she made an effort and restrained herself. It was not the first time\nthat she had heard compunctions expressed for the irregular marriage,\nwhich certainly was not her fault. But this time she was undeniably a\nlittle alarmed, for the Major's gravity was extreme. \"Our marriage is no\nmore irregular than it always was,\" she said. \"I wish you would give up\nthis subject, Hugh; I have you to rest upon, and everything that a woman\ncan have. We never did anything in a corner,\" she continued, with a\nlittle vehemence. \"Our marriage was just as well known, and well\npublished, as if it had been in St. George's, Hanover Square. I cannot\nimagine what you are aiming at. And besides, it is done, and we cannot\nmend it,\" she added, abruptly. On the whole, the runaway match had been\na pleasant frolic enough; there was no earthly reason, except some\npeople's stupid notions, why they should not have been married; and\neverybody came to their senses rapidly, and very little harm had come of\nit. But the least idea of doubt on such a subject is an offence to a\nwoman, and her colour rose and her breath came quick, without any will\nof hers. As for the Major, he abandoned the broader general question,\nand went back to the detail, as was natural to the man.\n\n\"If you only have the lines all safe,\" he said, \"if you would but make\nsure of that. I confess old Sommerville's death was a great shock to me,\nMary,--the last surviving witness; but Kirkman tells me the marriage\nlines in Scotland are a woman's safeguard, and Kirkman is a Scotchman\nand ought to know.\"\n\n\"Have you been consulting _him_?\" said Mary, with a certain despair;\n\"have you been talking of such a subject to----\"\n\n\"I don't know where I could have a better confidant,\" said the Major.\n\"Mary, my darling, they are both attached to you; and they are good\npeople, though they talk; and then he is Scotch, and understands. If\nanything were to happen to me, and you had any difficulty in\nproving----\"\n\n\"Hugh, for Heaven's sake have done with this. I cannot bear any more,\"\ncried Mrs. Ochterlony, who was at the end of her powers.\n\nIt was time for the great _coup_ for which his restless soul had been\npreparing. He approached the moment of fate with a certain skill, such\nas weak people occasionally display, and mad people almost always,--as\nif the feeble intellect had a certain right by reason of its weakness to\nthe same kind of defence which is possessed by the mind diseased. \"Hush,\nMary, you are excited,\" he said, \"and it is only you I am thinking of.\nIf anything should happen to me--I am quite well, but no man can answer\nfor his own life:--my dear, I am afraid you will be vexed with what I am\ngoing to say. But for my own satisfaction, for my peace of mind--if we\nwere to go through the ceremony again----\"\n\nMary Ochterlony rose up with sudden passion. It was altogether out of\nproportion to her husband's intentions or errors, and perhaps to the\noccasion. _That_ was but a vexatious complication of ordinary life; and\nhe a fidgety, uneasy, perhaps over-conscientious, well-meaning man. She\nrose, tragic without knowing it, with a swell in her heart of the\nunutterable and supreme--feeling herself for the moment an outraged\nwife, an insulted woman, and a mother wounded to the heart. \"I will hear\nno more,\" she said, with lips that had suddenly grown parched and dry.\n\"Don't say another word. If it has come to this, I will take my chance\nwith my boys. Hugh, no more, no more.\" As she lifted her hands with an\nimpatient gesture of horror, and towered over him as he sat by, having\nthus interrupted and cut short his speech, a certain fear went through\nMajor Ochterlony's mind. Could her mind be going? Had the shock been too\nmuch for her? He could not understand otherwise how the suggestion which\nhe thought a wise one, and of advantage to his own peace of mind, should\nhave stung her into such an incomprehensible passion. But he was afraid\nand silenced, and could not go on.\n\n\"My dear Mary,\" he said mildly, \"I had no intention of vexing you. We\ncan speak of this another time. Sit down, and I'll get you a glass of\nwater,\" he added, with anxious affection; and hurried off to seek it:\nfor he was a good husband, and very fond of his wife, and was terrified\nto see her turn suddenly pale and faint, notwithstanding that he was\nquite capable of wounding her in the most exquisite and delicate point.\nBut then he did not mean it. He was a matter-of-fact man, and the idea\nof marrying his wife over again in case there might be any doubtfulness\nabout the first marriage, seemed to him only a rational suggestion,\nwhich no sensible woman ought to be disturbed by; though no doubt it was\nannoying to be compelled to have recourse to such an expedient. So he\nwent and fetched her the water, and gave up the subject, and stayed with\nher all the afternoon and read the papers to her, and made himself\nagreeable. It was a puzzling sort of demonstration on Mary's part, but\nthat did not make her the less Mary, and the dearest and best of earthly\ncreatures. So Major Ochterlony put his proposal aside for a more\nfavourable moment, and did all he could to make his wife forget it, and\nbehaved himself as a man naturally would behave who was recognised as\nthe best husband and most domestic man in the regiment. Mary took her\nseat again and her work, and the afternoon went on as if nothing had\nhappened. They were a most united couple, and very happy together, as\neverybody knew; or if one of them at any chance moment was perhaps less\nthan perfectly blessed, it was not, at any rate, because the love-match,\nirregular as it might be, had ended in any lack of love.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nMrs. Ochterlony sat and worked and listened, and her husband read the\npapers to her, picking out by instinct all those little bits of news\nthat are grateful to people who are so far away from their own country.\nAnd he went through the births and marriages, to see \"if there is\nanybody we know,\"--notwithstanding that he was aware that corner of the\npaper is one which a woman does not leave to any reader, but makes it a\nprinciple to examine herself. And Mary sat still and went on with her\nwork, and not another syllable was said about old Sommerville, or the\nmarriage lines, or anything that had to do with the previous\nconversation. This tranquillity was all in perfect good faith on Major\nOchterlony's side, who had given up the subject with the intention of\nwaiting until a more convenient season, and who had relieved his mind by\ntalking of it, and could put off his anxiety. But as for Mary, it was\nnot in good faith that she put on this expression of outward calm. She\nknew her husband, and she knew that he was pertinacious and insisting,\nand that a question which he had once started was not to be made an end\nof, and finally settled, in so short a time. She sat with her head a\nlittle bent, hearing the bits of news run on like an accompaniment to\nthe quick-flowing current of her own thoughts. Her heart was beating\nquick, and her blood coursing through her veins as if it had been a\nsudden access of fever which had come upon her. She was a tall, fair,\nserene woman, with no paltry passion about her; but at the same time,\nwhen the occasion required it, Mary was capable of a vast suppressed\nfire of feeling which it gave her infinite trouble to keep down. This\nwas a side of her character which was not suspected by the world in\ngeneral--meaning of course the regiment, and the ladies at the station,\nwho were all, more or less, military. Mrs. Ochterlony was the kind of\nwoman to whom by instinct any stranger would have appropriated the name\nof Mary; and naturally all her intimates (and the regiment was very\n\"nice,\" and lived in great harmony, and they were all intimate) called\nher by her Christian--most Christian name. And there were people who put\nthe word Madonna before it,--\"as if the two did not mean the same\nthing!\" said little Mrs. Askell, the ensign's baby-wife, whose education\nhad been neglected, but whom Mrs. Ochterlony had been very kind to. It\nwas difficult to know how the title had originated, though people did\nsay it was young Stafford who had been brought up in Italy, and who had\nsuch a strange adoration for Mrs. Ochterlony, and who died, poor\nfellow--which was perhaps the best thing he could have done under the\ncircumstances. \"It was a special providence,\" Mrs. Kirkman said, who was\nthe Colonel's wife: for, to be sure, to be romantically adored by a\nfoolish young subaltern, was embarrassing for a woman, however perfect\nher mind and temper and fairest fame might be. It was he who originated\nthe name, perhaps with some faint foolish thought of Petrarch and his\nMadonna Laura: and then he died and did no more harm; and a great many\npeople adopted it, and Mary herself did not object to be addressed by\nthat sweetest of titles.\n\nAnd yet she was not meek enough for the name. Her complexion was very\nfair, but she had only a very faint rose-tint on her cheeks, so faint\nthat people called her pale--which with her fairness, was a drawback to\nher. Her hair was light-brown, with a golden reflection that went and\ncame, as if it somehow depended upon the state of her mind and spirits;\nand her eyes were dark, large, and lambent,--not sparkling, but\nconcentrating within themselves a soft, full depth of light. It was a\nquestion whether they were grey or brown; but at all events they were\ndark and deep. And she was, perhaps, a little too large and full and\nmatronly in her proportions to please a youthful critic. Naturally such\na woman had a mass of hair which she scarcely knew what to do with, and\nwhich at this moment seemed to betray the disturbed state of her mind by\nunusual gleams of the golden reflection which sometimes lay quite\ntranquil and hidden among the great silky coils. She was very happily\nmarried, and Major Ochterlony was the model husband of the regiment.\nThey had married very young, and made a runaway love-match which was one\nof the few which everybody allowed had succeeded to perfection. But\nyet---- There are so few things in this world which succeed quite to\nperfection. It was Mrs. Kirkman's opinion that nobody else in the\nregiment could have supported the Major's fidgety temper. \"It would be a\ngreat trial for the most experienced Christian,\" she said; \"and dear\nMary is still among the babes who have to be fed with milk; but\nProvidence is kind, and I don't think she feels it as you or I would.\"\nThis was the opinion of the Colonel's wife; but as for Mary, as she sat\nand worked and listened to her husband reading the papers, perhaps she\ncould have given a different version of her own composure and calm.\n\nThey had been married about ten years, and it was the first time he had\ntaken _this_ idea into his head. It is true that Mrs. Ochterlony looked\nat it solely as one of his ideas, and gave no weight whatever to the\ndeath of old Sommerville, or the loss of the marriage lines. She had\nbeen very young at the time of her marriage, and she was motherless, and\nhad not those pangs of wounded delicacy to encounter, which a young\nwoman ought to have who abandons her home in such a way. This perhaps\narose from a defect in Mary's girlish undeveloped character; but the\ntruth was, that she too belonged to an Indian family, and had no home to\nspeak of, nor any of the sweeter ties to break. And after that, she had\nthought nothing more about it. She was married, and there was an end of\nit; and the young people had gone to India immediately, and had been\nvery poor, and very happy, and very miserable, like other young people\nwho begin the world in an inconsiderate way. But in spite of a hundred\ndrawbacks, the happiness had always been pertinacious, lasted longest,\nand held out most stedfastly, and lived everything down. For one thing,\nMrs. Ochterlony had a great deal to do, not being rich, and that happily\nquite preserved her from the danger of brooding over the Major's\nfidgets, and making something serious out of them. And then they had\nmarried so young that neither of them could ever identify himself or\nherself, or make the distinction that more reasonable couples can\nbetween \"me\" and \"you.\" This time, however, the Major's restlessness had\ntaken an uncomfortable form. Mary felt herself offended and insulted\nwithout knowing why. She, a matron of ten years' standing, the mother of\nchildren! She could not believe that she had really heard true, that a\nrepetition of her marriage could have been suggested to her--and at the\nsame time she knew that it was perfectly true. It never occurred to her\nas a thing that possibly might have to be done, but still the suggestion\nitself was a wound. Major Ochterlony, for his part, thought of it as a\nprecaution, and good for his peace of mind, as he had said; but to Mary\nit was scarcely less offensive than if somebody else had ventured to\nmake love to her, or offer her his allegiance. It seemed to her an\ninsult of the same description, an outrage which surely could not have\noccurred without some unwitting folly on her part to make such a\nproposal possible. She went away, searching back into the far, far\ndistant years, as she sat at work and he read the papers. Had she anyhow\nfailed in womanly restraint or delicacy at that moment when she was\neighteen, and knew of nothing but honour, and love, and purity in the\nworld? To be sure, she had not occupied herself very much about the\nmatter--she had taken no pains for her own safety, and had not an idea\nwhat registrars meant, nor marriage laws, nor \"lines.\" All that she knew\nwas that a great many people were married at Gretna Green, and that she\nwas married, and that there was an end of it. All these things came up\nand passed before her mind in a somewhat hurrying crowd; but Mary's\nmature judgment did not disapprove of the young bride who believed what\nwas said to her, and was content, and had unbounded faith in the\nblacksmith and in her bridegroom. If that young woman had been occupying\nherself about the register, Mrs. Ochterlony probably, looking back,\nwould have entertained but a mean opinion of her. It was not anything\n_she_ had done. It was not anything special, so far as she could see, in\nthe circumstances: for hosts of people before and after had been married\non the Scottish border. The only conclusion, accordingly, that she could\ncome to, was the natural conclusion, that it was one of the Major's\nnotions. But there was little comfort in that, for Mrs. Ochterlony was\naware that his notions were persistent, that they lived and lasted and\ntook new developments, and were sometimes very hard to get rid of. And\nshe sighed in the midst of the newspaper reading, and betrayed that she\nhad not been listening. Not that she expected her husband's new whim to\ncome to anything; but because she foresaw in it endless repetitions of\nthe scene which had just ended, and endless exasperation and weariness\nto herself.\n\nMajor Ochterlony stopped short when he heard his wife sigh--for he was\nnot a man to leave anything alone, or to practise a discreet\nneglect--and laid down his paper and looked with anxiety in her face.\n\"You have a headache,\" he said, tenderly; \"I saw it the moment I entered\nthe room. Go and lie down, my dear, and take care of yourself. You take\ncare of everybody else,\" said the Major. \"Why did you let me go on\nreading the paper like an ass, when your head aches?\"\n\n\"My head does not ache. I was only thinking,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony: for\nshe thought on the whole it would be best to resume the subject and\nendeavour to make an end of it. But this was not the Major's way. He\nhad in the meantime emptied his reservoir, and it had to be filled again\nbefore he would find himself in the vein for speech.\n\n\"But I don't want you to think,\" said Major Ochterlony with tender\npatronage: \"that ought to be my part of the business. Have you got a\nnovel?--if not, I'll go over and ask Miss Sorbette for one of hers. Lie\ndown and rest, Mary; I can see that is all you are good for to-day.\"\n\nWhether such a speech was aggravating or not to a woman who knew that it\nwas her brain which had all the real weight of the family affairs to\nbear, may be conjectured by wives in general who know the sort of thing.\nBut as for Mary, she was so used to it, that she took very little\nnotice. She said, \"Thank you, Hugh; I have got my letters here, which I\nhave not read, and Aunt Agatha is as good as a novel.\" If this was not a\nvery clear indication to the Major that his best policy was to take\nhimself off for a little, and leave her in peace, it would be hard to\nsay what could have taught him. But then Major Ochterlony was a man of a\nlively mind, and above being taught.\n\n\"Ah, Aunt Agatha,\" he said. \"My dear, I know it is a painful subject,\nbut we must, you know, begin to think where we are to send Hugh.\"\n\nMary shuddered; her nerves--for she had nerves, though she was so fair\nand serene--began to get excited. She said, \"For pity's sake, not any\nmore to-day. I am worn out. I cannot bear it. He is only six, and he is\nquite well.\"\n\nThe Major shook his head. \"He is very well, but I have seen when a few\nhours changed all that,\" he said. \"We cannot keep him much longer. At\nhis age, you know; all the little Heskeths go at four--I think----\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Mary, \"the Heskeths have nothing to do with it; they have\nfloods and floods of children,--they don't know what it is; they can do\nwithout their little things; but I--Hugh, I am tired--I am not able for\nany more. Let me off for to-day.\"\n\nMajor Ochterlony regarded his wife with calm indulgence, and smoothed\nher hair off her hot forehead as he stooped to kiss her. \"If you only\nwould call things by the same names as other people, and say you have a\nheadache, my dear,\" he said, in his caressing way. And then he was so\ngood as to leave her, saying to himself as he went away that his Mary\ntoo had a little temper, though nobody gave her credit for it. Instead\nof annoying him, this little temper on Mary's part rather pleased her\nhusband. When it came on he could be indulgent to her and pet her,\nwhich he liked to do; and then he could feel the advantage on his own\nside, which was not always the case. His heart quite swelled over her as\nhe went away; so good, and so wise, and so fair, and yet not without\nthat womanly weakness which it was sweet for a man to protect and pardon\nand put up with. Perhaps all men are not of the same way of thinking;\nbut then Major Ochterlony reasoned only in his own way.\n\nMary stayed behind, and found it very difficult to occupy herself with\nanything. It was not temper, according to the ordinary meaning of the\nword. She was vexed, disturbed, disquieted, rather than angry. When she\ntook up the pleasant letter in which the English breezes were blowing,\nand the leaves rustling, she could no longer keep her attention from\nwandering. She began it a dozen times, and as often gave it up again,\ndriven by the importunate thoughts which took her mind by storm, and\nthrust everything else away. As if it were not enough to have one great\nannoyance suddenly overwhelming her, she had the standing terror of her\nlife, the certainty that she would have to send her children away,\nthrown in to make up. She could have cried, had that been of any use;\nbut Mrs. Ochterlony had had good occasion to cry many times in her life,\nwhich takes away the inclination at less important moments. The worst of\nall was that her husband's oft-repeated suggestion struck at the very\nroots of her existence, and seemed to throw everything of which she had\nbeen most sure into sudden ruin. She would put no faith in it--pay no\nattention to it, she said to herself; and then, in spite of herself, she\nfound that she paid great attention, and could not get it out of her\nmind. The only character in which she knew herself--in which she had\never been known--was that of a wife. There are some women--nay, many\nwomen--who have felt their own independent standing before they made the\nfirst great step in a woman's life, and who are able to realize their\nown identity without associating it for ever with that of any other. But\nas for Mary, she had married, as it were, out of the nursery, and except\nas Hugh Ochterlony's wife, and his son's mother, she did not know\nherself. In such circumstances, it may be imagined what a bewildering\neffect any doubt about her marriage would have upon her. For the first\ntime she began to think of herself, and to see that she had been hardly\ndealt with. She began to resent her guardian's carelessness, and to\nblame even kind Aunt Agatha, who in those days was taken up with some\nfaint love-affairs of her own, which never came to anything. Why did\nthey not see that everything was right? Why did not Hugh make sure,\nwhose duty it was? After she had vexed herself with such thoughts, she\nreturned with natural inconsistency to the conclusion that it was all\none of the Major's notions. This was the easiest way of getting rid of\nit, and yet it was aggravating enough that the Major should permit his\nrestless fancy to enter such sacred grounds, and to play with the very\nfoundations of their life and honour. And as if that was not enough, to\ntalk at the end of it all of sending Hugh away!\n\nPerhaps it would have been good for Mary if she had taken her husband's\nadvice and lain down, and sent over to Miss Sorbette for a novel. But\nshe was rebellious and excited, and would not do it. It was true that\nthey were engaged out to dinner that night, and that when the hour came\nMrs. Ochterlony entered Mrs. Hesketh's drawing-room with her usual\ncomposure, and without any betrayal of the agitation that was still\nsmouldering within. But that did not make it any easier for her. There\nwas nobody more respected, as people say, in the station than she\nwas--and to think that it was possible that such a thing might be, as\nthat she should be humiliated and pulled down from her fair elevation\namong all those women! Neither the Major nor any man had a right to have\nnotions upon a matter of such importance. Mary tried hard to calm\nherself down to her ordinary tranquillity, and to represent to herself\nhow good he was, and how small a drawback after all were those fidgets\nof his, in comparison with the faults of most other men. Just as he\nrepresented to himself, with more success, how trifling a disadvantage\nwas the \"little temper\" which gave him the privilege, now and then, of\nfeeling tenderly superior to his wife. But the attempt was not\nsuccessful that day in Mrs. Ochterlony's mind; for after all there are\nsome things too sacred for discussion, and with which the most fidgety\nman in the world cannot be permitted to play. Such was the result of the\nfirst conversation upon this startling subject. The Major found himself\nvery tolerably at his ease, having relieved his mind for the moment, and\nenjoyed his dinner and spent a very pleasant evening; but as for Madonna\nMary, she might have prejudiced her serene character in the eyes of the\nregiment had the veil been drawn aside only for a moment, and could\nanybody have seen or guessed the whirl of thoughts that was passing\nthrough her uneasy mind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nThe present writer has already lamented her inability to convey to the\nreaders of this history any clear account of an Indian bungalow, or the\nmanner in which life goes on in that curious kind of English home: so\nthat it would be vain to attempt any detailed description of Mary\nOchterlony's life at this period of her career. She lived very much as\nall the others lived, and gave a great deal of attention to her two\nlittle boys, and wrote regularly by every mail to her friends in\nEngland, and longed for the day when the mail came in, though the\ninterest of her correspondence was not absorbing. All this she did like\neverybody else, though the other ladies at the station had perhaps more\npeople belonging to them, and a larger number of letters, and got more\ngood of the eagerly looked-for mail. And she read all the books she\ncould come by, even Miss Sorbette's novels, which were indeed the chief\nliterary nourishment of the station; and took her due share in society,\nand was generally very popular, though not so superior as Miss Sorbette\nfor example, nor of remarkable piety like Mrs. Kirkman, nor nearly so\nwell off as Mrs. Hesketh. Perhaps these three ladies, who were the\nnatural leaders of society, liked Mary all the better because she did\nnot come in direct contact with their claims; though if it had ever\nentered into Mrs. Ochterlony's head to set up a distinct standard, no\ndoubt the masses would have flocked to it, and the peace of the station\nmight have been put in jeopardy. But as no such ambitious project was in\nher mind, Mary kept her popularity with everybody, and gained besides\nthat character of \"She could an if she would,\" which goes a great deal\nfarther than the limited reputation of any actual achievement. She was\nvery good to the new people, the young people, the recent arrivals, and\nmanaged to make them feel at home sooner than anybody else could, which\nwas a very useful gift in such society; and then a wife who bore her\nhusband's fidgets so serenely was naturally a model and example for all\nthe new wives.\n\n\"I am sure nobody else in the station could do so well,\" Mrs. Kirkman\nsaid. \"The most experienced Christian would find it a trying task. But\nthen some people are so mercifully fitted for their position in life. I\ndon't think she feels it as you or I should.\" This was said, not as\nimplying that little Mrs. Askell--to whom the words were ostensibly\naddressed--had peculiarly sensitive feelings, or was in any way to be\nassociated with the Colonel's wife, but only because it was a favourite\nway Mrs. Kirkman had of bringing herself down to her audience, and\nuniting herself, as it were, to ordinary humanity; for if there was one\nthing more than another for which she was distinguished, it was her\nbeautiful Christian humanity; and this was the sense in which she now\nspoke.\n\n\"Please don't say so,\" cried the ensign's wife, who was an unmanageable,\neighteen-year-old, half-Irish creature. \"I am sure she has twenty\nthousand times more feeling than you and--than both of us put together.\nIt's because she is real good; and the Major is an old dear. He _is_ a\nfidget and he's awfully aggravating, and he puts one in a passion; but\nhe's an old dear, and so you would say if you knew him as well as I.\"\n\nMrs. Kirkman regarded the creature by her side, as may be supposed, with\nthe calm contempt which her utterance merited. She looked at her, out of\nthose \"down-dropt,\" half-veiled eyes, with that look which everybody in\nthe station knew so well, as if she were looking down from an infinite\ndistance with a serene surprise which was too far off and elevated to\npartake of the nature of disgust. If _she_ knew him as well as this baby\ndid! But the Colonel's wife did not take any notice of the audacious\nsuggestion. It was her duty, instead of resenting the impertinence to\nherself, to improve the occasion for the offender's own sake.\n\n\"My dear, there is nobody really good,\" said Mrs. Kirkman. \"We have the\nhighest authority for that. I wish I could think dear Mary was possessed\nof the true secret of a higher life; but she has so much of that natural\namiability, you know, which is, of all things, the most dangerous for\nthe soul. I would rather, for my part, she was not so 'good' as you say.\nIt is all filthy rags,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, with a sigh. \"It might be for\nthe good of her soul to be brought low, and forced to abandon these\nrefuges of lies----\"\n\nUpon which the little Irish wild-Indian blazed up with natural fury.\n\n\"I don't believe she ever told a lie in her life. I'll swear to all the\nlies she tells,\" cried the foolish little woman; \"and as for rags--it's\nhorrible to talk so. If you only knew--if you only could think--how kind\nshe was to me!\"\n\nFor this absurd little hapless child had had a baby, as might have been\nexpected, and would have been in rags indeed, and everything that is\nmiserable, but for Mary, who had taken her in hand; and being not much\nmore than a baby herself, and not strong yet, and having her heart in\nher mouth, so to speak, she burst out crying, as might have been\nexpected too.\n\nThis was a result which her companion had not in the least calculated\nupon, for Mrs. Kirkman, notwithstanding her belief in Mary's\ninsensibility, had not very lively feelings, and was not quick at\ndivining other people. But she was a good woman notwithstanding all her\ntalk. She came down off her mountain top, and soothed her little\nvisitor, and gave her a glass of wine, and even kissed her, to make\nmatters up.\n\n\"I know she has a way, when people are sick,\" said the Colonel's wife;\nand then, after that confession, she sighed again. \"If only she does not\nput her trust in her own works,\" Mrs. Kirkman added.\n\nFor, to tell the truth, the Chaplain of the regiment was not (as she\nthought) a spiritual-minded man, and the Colonel's wife was troubled by\nan abiding consciousness that it was into her hands Providence had\ncommitted the souls of the station. \"Which was an awful responsibility\nfor a sinful creature,\" she said, in her letters home; \"and one that\nrequired constant watch over herself.\"\n\nPerhaps, in a slightly different way, Mrs. Ochterlony would have been\nsimilarly put down and defended in the other two centres of society at\nthe station. \"She is intelligent,\" Miss Sorbette said; \"I don't deny\nthat she is intelligent; but I would not say she was superior. She is\nfond of reading, but then most people are fond of reading, when it's\namusing, you know. She is a little too like Amelia in 'Vanity Fair.' She\nis one of the sweet women. In a general way, I can't bear sweet women;\nbut I must confess she is the very best specimen I ever saw.\"\n\nAs for Mrs. Hesketh, her opinion was not much worth stating in words. If\nshe had any fault to find with Mrs. Ochterlony, it was because Mary had\nsometimes a good deal of trouble in making the two ends meet. \"I cannot\nendure people that are always having anxieties,\" said the rich woman of\nthe station, who had an idea that everybody could be comfortable if they\nliked, and that it was an offence to all his neighbours when a man\ninsisted on being poor; but at the same time everybody knew that she was\nvery fond of Mary. This had been the general opinion of her for all\nthese years, and naturally Mrs. Ochterlony was used to it, and, without\nbeing at all vain on the subject, had that sense of the atmosphere of\ngeneral esteem and regard which surrounded her, which has a favourable\ninfluence upon every character, and which did a great deal to give her\nthe sweet composure and serenity for which she was famed.\n\nBut from the time of that first conversation with her husband, a change\ncame upon the Madonna of the station. It was not perceptible to the\ngeneral vision, yet there were individual eyes which found out that\nsomething was the matter, though nobody could tell what. Mrs. Hesketh\nthought it was an attack of fever coming on, and Mrs. Kirkman hoped that\nMrs. Ochterlony was beginning to occupy herself about her spiritual\nstate; and the one recommended quinine to Mary, and the other sent her\nsermons, which, to tell the truth, were not much more suitable to her\ncase. But Mary did not take any of the charitable friends about her into\nher confidence. She went about among them as a prince might have gone\nabout in his court, or a chief among his vassals, after hearing in\nsecret that it was possible that one day he may be discovered to be an\nimpostor. Or, if not that,--for Mary knew that she never could be found\nout an impostor,--at least, that such a charge was hanging over her\nhead, and that somebody might believe it; and that her history would be\ndiscussed and her name get into people's mouths and her claims to their\nregard be questioned. It was very hard upon her to think that such a\nthing was possible with composure, or to contemplate her husband's\nrestless ways, and to recollect the indiscreet confidences which he was\nin the habit of making. He had spoken to Colonel Kirkman about it, and\neven quoted his advice about the marriage lines; and Mary could not but\nthink (though in this point she did the Colonel injustice) that Mrs.\nKirkman too must know; and then, with a man of Major Ochterlony's\ntemperament, nobody could make sure that he would not take young Askell,\nthe ensign, or any other boy in the station, into his confidence, if he\nshould happen to be in the way. All this was very galling to Mary, who\nhad so high an appreciation of the credit and honour which, up to this\nmoment, she had enjoyed; and who felt that she would rather die than\ncome down to be discussed and pitied and talked about among all these\npeople. She thought in her disturbed and uneasy mind, that she could\nalready hear all the different tones in which they would say, \"Poor\nMary!\" and all the wonders, and doubts, and inquiries that would rise up\nround her. Mrs. Kirkman would have said that all these were signs that\nher pride wanted humbling, and that the thing her friends should pray\nfor, should be some startling blow to lead her back to a better state of\nmind. But naturally this was a kind of discipline which for herself, or\nindeed for anybody else, Mary was not far enough advanced to desire.\n\nPerhaps, however, it was partly true about the pride. Mrs. Ochterlony\ndid not say anything about it, but she locked the door of her own room\nthe next morning after that talk with the Major, and searched through\nall her repositories for those \"marriage lines,\" which no doubt she had\nput away somewhere, and which she had naturally forgotten all about for\nyears. It was equally natural, and to be expected, that she should not\nfind them. She looked through all her papers, and letters, and little\nsacred corners, and found many things that filled her heart with sadness\nand her eyes with tears--for she had not come through those ten years\nwithout leaving traces behind her where her heart had been wounded and\nhad bled by the way--but she did not find what she was in search of. She\ntried hard to look back and think, and to go over in her mind the\ncontents of her little school-girl desk, which she had left at Aunt\nAgatha's cottage, and the little work-table, and the secretary with all\nits drawers. But she could not recollect anything about it, nor where\nshe had put it, nor what could have become of it; and the effect of her\nexamination was to give her, this time in reality, a headache, and to\nmake her eyes heavy and her heart sore. But she did not say a syllable\nabout her search to the Major, who was (as, indeed, he always was) as\nanxiously affectionate as a man could be, and became (as he always did)\nwhen he found his wife suffering, so elaborately noiseless and still,\nthat Mary ended by a good fit of laughing, which was of the greatest\npossible service to her.\n\n\"When you are so quiet, you worry me, Hugh,\" she said. \"I am used to\nhear you moving about.\"\n\n\"My dear, I hope I am not such a brute as to move about when you are\nsuffering,\" her husband replied. And though his mind had again begun to\nfill with the dark thoughts that had been the occasion of all Mary's\nannoyance, he restrained himself with a heroic effort, and did not say a\nsyllable about it all that night.\n\nBut this was a height of virtue which was quite impossible any merely\nmortal powers could keep up to. He began to make mysterious little\nbroken speeches next day, and to stop short and say, \"My darling, I\nmustn't worry _you_,\" and to sigh like a furnace, and to worry Mary to\nsuch an extremity that her difficulty in keeping her temper and patience\ngrew indescribable. And then, when he had afflicted her in this way till\nit was impossible to go any further--when he had betrayed it to her in\nevery look, in every step, in every breath he drew--which was half a\nsigh--and in every restless movement he made; and when Mrs. Ochterlony,\nwho could not sleep for it, nor rest, nor get any relief from the\ntorture, had two red lines round her eyes, and was all but out of her\nsenses--the stream burst forth at last, and the Major spoke:\n\n\"You remember, perhaps, Mary, what we were talking of the other day,\" he\nsaid, in an insidiously gentle way, one morning, early--when they had\nstill the long, long day before them to be miserable in. \"I thought it\nvery important, but perhaps you may have forgot--about old Sommerville\nwho died?\"\n\n\"Forgot!\" said Mary. She felt it was coming now, and was rather glad to\nhave it over. \"I don't know how I could forget, Hugh. What you said\nwould have made one recollect anything; but you cannot make old\nSommerville come alive again, whatever you do.\"\n\n\"My dear, I spoke to you about some--about a--paper,\" said the Major.\n\"Lines--that is what the Scotch call them--though, I daresay, they're\nvery far from being poetry. Perhaps you have found them, Mary?\" said\nMajor Ochterlony, looking into her face in a pleading way, as if he\nprayed her to answer yes. And it was with difficulty that she kept as\ncalm as she wished to do, and answered without letting him see the\nagitation and excitement in her mind.\n\n\"I don't know where I have put them, Hugh,\" she said, with a natural\nevasion, and in a low voice. She did not acknowledge having looked for\nthem, and having failed to find them; but in spite of herself, she\nanswered with a certain humility, as of a woman culpable. For, after\nall, it was her fault.\n\n\"You don't know where you put them?\" said the Major, with rising horror.\n\"Have you the least idea how important they are? They may be the saving\nof you and of your children, and you don't know where you have put them!\nThen it is all as I feared,\" Major Ochterlony added, with a groan, \"and\neverything is lost.\"\n\n\"What is lost?\" said Mary. \"You speak to me in riddles, Hugh. I know I\nput them somewhere--I must have put them somewhere safe. They are, most\nlikely, in my old desk at home, or in one of the drawers of the\nsecretary,\" said Mary calmly, giving those local specifications with a\ncertainty which she was far from feeling. As for the Major, he was\narrested by the circumstance which made her faint hope and supposition\nlook somehow like truth.\n\n\"If I could hope that _that_ was the case,\" he said; \"but it can't be\nthe case, Mary. You never were at home after we were married--you forget\nthat. We went to Earlston for a day, and we went to your guardian's; but\nnever to Aunt Agatha. You are making a mistake, my dear; and God bless\nme, to think of it, what would become of you if anything were to happen\nto me?\"\n\n\"I hope there is nothing going to happen to you; but I don't think in\nthat case it would matter what became of me,\" said Mary in utter\ndepression; for by this time she was worn out.\n\n\"You think so now, my love; but you would be obliged to think\notherwise,\" said Major Ochterlony. \"I hope I'm all right for many a\nyear; but a man can never tell. And the insurance, and pension, and\neverything--and Earlston, if my brother should leave it to us--all our\nfuture, my darling. I think it will drive me distracted,\" said the\nMajor, \"not a witness nor a proof left!\"\n\nMary could make no answer. She was quite overwhelmed by the images thus\ncalled before her; for her part, the pension and the insurance money had\nno meaning to her ears; but it is difficult not to put a certain faith\nin it when a man speaks in such a circumstantial way of things that can\nonly happen after his death.\n\n\"You have been talking to the doctor, and he has been putting things\ninto your head,\" she said faintly. \"It is cruel to torture me so. We\nknow very well how we were married, and all about it, and so do our\nfriends, and it is cruel to try to make me think of anything happening.\nThere is nobody in the regiment so strong and well as you are,\" she\ncontinued, taking courage a little. She thought to herself he looked, as\npeople say, the picture of health, as he sat beside her, and she began\nto recover out of her prostration. As for spleen or liver, or any of\nthose uncomfortable attributes, Major Ochterlony, up to this moment, had\nnot known whether he possessed them--which was a most re-assuring\nthought, naturally, for his anxious wife.\n\n\"Thank God,\" said the Major, with a little solemnity. It was not that he\nhad any presentiment, or thought himself likely to die early; but simply\nthat he was in a pathetic way, and had a _naif_ and innocent pleasure in\ndeepening his effects; and then he took to walking about the room in his\nnervous manner. After a while he came to a dead stop before his wife,\nand took both her hands into his.\n\n\"Mary,\" he said, \"I know it's an idea you don't like; but, for my peace\nof mind; suppose--just suppose for the sake of supposing--that I was to\ndie now, and leave you without a word to prove your claims. It would be\nten times worse than death, Mary; but I could die at peace if you would\nonly make one little sacrifice to my peace of mind.\"\n\n\"Oh, Hugh, don't kill me--you are not going to die,\" was all Mary could\nsay.\n\n\"No, my darling, not if I can help it; but if it were only for my peace\nof mind. There's no harm in it that I can see. It's ridiculous, you\nknow; but that's all, Mary,\" said the Major, looking anxiously into her\nface. \"Why, it is what hosts of people do every day. It is the easiest\nthing to do--a mere joke, for that matter. They will say, you know, that\nit is like Ochterlony, and a piece of his nonsense. I know how they\ntalk; but never mind. I know very well there is nothing else you would\nnot do for my peace of mind. It will set your future above all\ncasualties, and it will be all over in half an hour. For instance,\nChurchill says----\"\n\n\"You have spoken to Mr. Churchill, too?\" said Mary, with a thrill of\ndespair.\n\n\"A man can never do any harm speaking to his clergyman, I hope,\" the\nMajor said, peevishly. \"What do you mean by _too_? I've only mentioned\nit to Kirkman besides--I wanted his advice--and to Sorbette, to explain\nthat bad headache of yours. And they all think I am perfectly right.\"\n\nMary put her hands up to her face, and gave a low but bitter cry. She\nsaid nothing more--not a syllable. She had already been dragged down\nwithout knowing it, and set low among all these people. She who deserved\nnothing but honour, who had done nothing to be ashamed of, who was the\nsame Madonna Mary whom they had all regarded as the \"wisest,\nvirtuousest, discreetest, best.\" By this time they had all begun to\ndiscuss her story, and to wonder if all _had_ been quite right at the\nbeginning, and to say, \"Poor Mary!\" She knew it as well as if she had\nheard the buzz of talk in those three houses to which her husband had\nconfided his difficulty. It was a horrible torture, if you will but\nthink of it, for an innocent woman to bear.\n\n\"It is not like you to make such a fuss about so simple a thing,\" said\nMajor Ochterlony. \"You know very well it is not myself but you I am\nthinking of; that you may have everything in order, and your future\nprovided for, whatever may happen. It may be absurd, you know; but a\nwoman mustn't mind being absurd to please her husband. We'll ask our\nfriends to step over with us to church in the morning, and in half an\nhour it will be all over. Don't cover your face, Mary. It worries me not\nto see your face. God bless me, it is nothing to make such a fuss\nabout,\" said the Major, getting excited. \"I would do a great deal more,\nany day, to please you.\"\n\n\"I would cut off my hand to please you,\" said Mary, with perhaps a\nmomentary extravagance in the height of her passion. \"You know there is\nno sacrifice I would not make for you; but oh, Hugh, not this, not\nthis,\" she said, with a sob that startled him--one of those sobs that\ntear and rend the breast they come from, and have no accompaniment of\ntears.\n\nHis answer was to come up to her side, and take the face which she had\nbeen covering, between his hands, and kiss it as if it had been a\nchild's. \"My darling, it is only this that will do me any good. It is\nfor my peace of mind,\" he said, with all that tenderness and effusion\nwhich made him the best of husbands. He was so loving to her that, even\nin the bitterness of the injury, it was hard for Mary to refuse to be\nsoothed and softened. He had got his way, and his unbounded love and\nfondness surrounded her with a kind of atmosphere of tender enthusiasm.\nHe knew so well there was none like her, nobody fit to be put for a\nmoment in comparison with his Mary; and this was how her fate was fixed\nfor her, and the crisis came to an end.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\n\"I am going with you, Mary,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, coming suddenly in upon\nthe morning of the day which was to give peace to Major Ochterlony's\nmind, and cloud over with something like a shadow of shame (or at least\nshe thought so) his wife's fair matron fame. The Colonel's wife had put\non her last white bonnet, which was not so fresh as it had been at the\nbeginning of the season, and white gloves which were also a little the\nworse for wear. To be sure the marriage was not like a real marriage,\nand nobody knew how the unwilling bride would think proper to dress.\nMrs. Kirkman came in at a quicker pace than ordinary, with her hair\nhanging half out of curl on either side of her face, as was always the\ncase. She was fair, but of a greyish complexion, with light blue eyes _a\nfleur de la tete_, which generally she kept half veiled within their\nlids--a habit which was particularly aggravating to some of the livelier\nspirits. She came in hastily (for her), and found Mary seated\ndisconsolate, and doing nothing, which is, in such a woman, one of the\nsaddest signs of a mind disturbed. Mrs. Ochterlony sat, dropped down\nupon a chair, with her hands listlessly clasped in her lap, and a hot\nflush upon her cheek. She was lost in a dreary contemplation of the\nsacrifice which was about to be exacted from her, and of the possible\nharm it might do. She was thinking of her children, what effect it\nmight have on them--and she was thinking bitterly, that for good or evil\nshe could not help it; that again, as on many a previous occasion, her\nhusband's restless mind had carried the day over her calmer judgment,\nand that there was no way of changing it. To say that she consented with\npersonal pain of the most acute kind, would not be to say all. She gave\nin, at the same time, with a foreboding utterly indistinct, and which\nshe would not have given utterance to, yet which was strong enough to\nheighten into actual misery the pain and shame of her position. When\nMrs. Kirkman came in, with her eyes full of observation, and making the\nkeenest scrutiny from beneath the downcast lids, Mrs. Ochterlony was not\nin a position to hide her emotions. She was not crying, it is true, for\nthe circumstances were too serious for crying; but it was not difficult\nto form an idea of her state of mind from her strangely listless\nattitude, and the expression of her face.\n\n\"I have come to go with you,\" said Mrs. Kirkman. \"I thought you would\nlike to have somebody to countenance you. It will make no difference to\nme, I assure you, Mary; and both the Colonel and I think if there is\n_any_ doubt, you know, that it is by far the wisest thing you could do.\nAnd I only hope----\"\n\n\"Doubt!\" said Mary, lighting up for the moment. \"There is no more doubt\nthan there is of all the marriages made in Scotland. The people who go\nthere to be married are not married again afterwards that I ever heard\nof. There is no doubt whatever--none in the world. I beg your pardon. I\nam terribly vexed and annoyed, and I don't know what I am saying. To\nhear any one talk of doubt!\"\n\n\"My dear Mary, we _know_ nothing but what the Major has told us,\" said\nMrs. Kirkman. \"You may depend upon it he has reason for what he is\ndoing; and I do hope you will see a higher hand in it all, and feel that\nyou are being humbled for your good.\"\n\n\"I wish you would tell me how it can be for my good,\" said Mrs.\nOchterlony, \"when even you, who ought to know better, talk of doubt--you\nwho have known us all along from the very first. Hugh has taken it into\nhis head--that is the whole matter; and you, all of you know, when he\ntakes a thing into his head----\"\n\nShe had been hurried on to say this by the rush of her disturbed\nthoughts; but Mary was not a woman to complain of her husband. She came\nto a sudden standstill, and rose up, and looked at her watch.\n\n\"It is about time to go,\" she said, \"and I am sorry to give you the\ntrouble of going with me. It is not worth while for so short a\ndistance; but, at least, don't say anything more about it, please.\"\n\nMrs. Kirkman had already made the remark that Mary was not at all\n\"dressed.\" She had on her brown muslin, which was the plainest morning\ndress in her possession, as everybody knew; and instead of going to her\nroom, to make herself a little nice, she took up her bonnet, which was\non the table, and tied it on without even so much as looking in the\nglass. \"I am quite ready,\" she said, when she had made this simple\naddition to her dress, and stood there, looking everything that was most\nunlike the Madonna of former days--flushed and clouded over, with lines\nin her forehead, and the corners of her mouth dropped, and her fair\nlarge serene beauty hidden beneath the thunder-cloud. And the Colonel's\nwife was very sorry to see her friend in such a state of mind, as may be\nsupposed.\n\n\"My dear Mary,\" Mrs. Kirkman said, taking her arm as they went out, and\nholding it fast. \"I should much wish to see you in a better frame of\nmind. Man is only the instrument in our troubles. It must have been that\nProvidence saw you stood in need of it, my dear. He knows best. It would\nnot have been sent if it had not been for your good.\"\n\n\"In that way, if I were to stand in the sun till I got a sunstroke, it\nwould be for my good,\" said Mary, in anger. \"You would say, it was God's\nfault, and not mine. But I know it is _my_ fault; I ought to have stood\nout and resisted, and I have not had the strength; and it is not for\ngood, but evil. It is not God's fault, but ours. It can be for nobody's\ngood.\"\n\nBut after this, she would not say any more. Not though Mrs. Kirkman was\nshocked at her way of speaking, and took great pains to impress upon her\nthat she must have been doing or thinking something God punished by this\nmeans. \"Your pride must have wanted bringing down, my dear; as we all\ndo, Mary, both you and I,\" said the Colonel's wife; but then Mrs.\nKirkman's humility was well known.\n\nThus they walked together to the chapel, whither various wondering\npeople, who could not understand what it meant, were straying. Major\nOchterlony had meant to come for his wife, but he was late, as he so\noften was, and met them only near the chapel-door; and then he did\nsomething which sent the last pang of which it was capable to Mary's\nheart, though it was only at a later period that she found it out. He\nfound his boy with the Hindoo nurse, and brought little Hugh in,\n'wildered and wondering. Mr. Churchill by this time had put his\nsurplice on, and all was ready. Colonel Kirkman had joined his wife, and\nstood by her side behind the \"couple,\" furtively grasping his grey\nmoustache, and looking out of a corner of his eyes at the strange scene.\nMrs. Kirkman, for her part, dropt her eyelids as usual, and looked down\nupon Mary kneeling at her feet, with a certain compassionate\nuncertainty, sorry that Mrs. Ochterlony did not see this trial to be for\nher good, and at the same time wondering within herself whether it _had_\nall been perfectly right, or was not more than a notion of the Major's.\nFarther back Miss Sorbette, who was with Annie Hesketh, was giving vent\nin a whisper to the same sentiments.\n\n\"I am very sorry for poor Mary: but _could_ it be all quite right\nbefore?\" Miss Sorbette was saying. \"A man does not take fright like that\nfor nothing. We women are silly, and take fancies; but when a _man_ does\nit, you know----\"\n\nAnd it was with such an accompaniment that Mary knelt down, not looking\nlike a Madonna, at her husband's side. As for the Major, an air of\nserenity had diffused itself over his handsome features. He knelt in\nquite an easy attitude, pleased with himself, and not displeased to be\nthe centre of so interesting a group. Mary's face was slightly averted\nfrom him, and was burning with the same flush of indignation as when\nMrs. Kirkman found her in her own house. She had taken off her bonnet\nand thrown it down by her side; and her hair was shining as if in anger\nand resistance to this fate, which, with closed mouth, and clasped\nhands, and steady front, she was submitting to, though it was almost as\nterrible as death. Such was the curious scene upon which various\nsubaltern members of society at the station looked on with wondering\neyes. And little Hugh Ochterlony stood near his mother with childish\nastonishment, and laid up the singular group in his memory, without\nknowing very well what it meant; but that was a sentiment shared by many\npersons much more enlightened than the poor little boy, who did not know\nhow much influence this mysterious transaction might have upon his own\nfate.\n\nThe only other special feature was that Mary, with the corners of her\nmouth turned down, and her whole soul wound up to obstinacy, would not\ncall herself by any name but Mary Ochterlony. They persuaded her,\npainfully, to put her long disused maiden name upon the register, and\nkind Mr. Churchill shut his ears to it in the service; but yet it was a\nthing that everybody remarked. When all was over, nobody knew how they\nwere expected to behave, whether to congratulate the pair, or whether to\ndisappear and hold their tongues, which seemed in fact the wisest way.\nBut no popular assembly ever takes the wisest way of working. Mr.\nChurchill was the first to decide the action of the party. He descended\nthe altar steps, and shook hands with Mary, who stood tying her bonnet,\nwith still the corners of her mouth turned down, and that feverish flush\non her cheeks. He was a good man, though not spiritually-minded in Mrs.\nKirkman's opinion; and he felt the duty of softening and soothing his\nflock as much as of teaching them, which is sometimes a great deal less\ndifficult. He came and shook hands with her, gravely and kindly.\n\n\"I don't see that I need congratulate you, Mrs. Ochterlony,\" he said, \"I\ndon't suppose it makes much difference; but you know you always have all\nour best wishes.\" And he cast a glance over his audience, and reproved\nby that glance the question that was circulating among them. But to tell\nthe truth, Mrs. Kirkman and Miss Sorbette paid very little attention to\nMr. Churchill's looks.\n\n\"My dear Mary, you have kept up very well, though I am sure it must have\nbeen trying,\" Mrs. Kirkman said. \"Once is bad enough; but I am sure you\nwill see a good end in it at the last.\"\n\nAnd while she spoke she allowed a kind of silent interrogation, from her\nhalf-veiled eyes, to steal over Mary, and investigate her from head to\nfoot. _Had_ it been all right before? Might not this perhaps be in\nreality the first time, the once which was bad enough? The question\ncrept over Mrs. Ochterlony, from the roots of her hair down to her feet,\nand examined her curiously to find a response. The answer was plain\nenough, and yet it was not plain to the Colonel's wife; for she knew\nthat the heart is deceitful above all things, and that where human\nnature is considered it is always safest to believe the worst.\n\nMiss Sorbette came forward too in her turn, with a grave face. \"I am\nsure you must feel more comfortable after it, and I am so glad you have\nhad the moral courage,\" the doctor's sister said, with a certain\nsolemnity. But perhaps it was Annie Hesketh, in her innocence, who was\nthe worst of all. She advanced timidly, with her face in a blaze, like\nMary's own, not knowing where to look, and lost in ingenuous\nembarrassment.\n\n\"Oh, dear Mrs. Ochterlony, I don't know what to say,\" said Annie. \"I am\nso sorry, and I hope you will always be very, very happy; and mamma\ncouldn't come----\" Here she stopped short, and looked up with candid\neyes, that asked a hundred questions. And Mary's reply was addressed to\nher alone.\n\n\"Tell your mamma, Annie, that I am glad she could not come,\" said the\ninjured wife. \"It was very kind of her.\" When she had said so much, Mrs.\nOchterlony turned round, and saw her boy standing by, looking at her. It\nwas only then that she turned to the husband to whom she had just\nrenewed her troth. She looked full at him, with a look of indignation\nand dismay. It was the last drop that made the cup run over; but then,\nwhat was the good of saying anything? That final prick however, brought\nher to herself. She shook hands with all the people afterwards, as if\nthey were dispersing after an ordinary service, and took little Hugh's\nhand and went home as if nothing had happened. She left the Major behind\nher, and took no notice of him, and did not even, as young Askell\nremarked, offer a glass of wine to the assistants at the ceremony, but\nwent home with her little boy, talking to him, as she did on Sundays\ngoing home from church; and everybody stood and looked after her, as\nmight have been expected. She knew they were looking after her, and\nsaying \"Poor Mary!\" and wondering after all if there must not have been\na very serious cause for this re-marriage. Mary thought to herself that\nshe knew as well what they were saying as if she had been among them,\nand yet she was not entirely so correct in her ideas of what was going\non as she thought.\n\nIn the first place, she could not have imagined how a moment could undo\nall the fair years of unblemished life which she had passed among them.\nShe did not really believe that they would doubt her honour, although\nshe herself felt it clouded; and at the same time she did not know the\ncurious compromise between cruelty and kindness, which is all that their\nChristian feelings can effect in many commonplace minds, yet which is a\ngreat deal when one comes to think of it. Mrs. Kirkman, arguing from the\nfoundation of the desperate wickedness of the human heart, had gradually\nreasoned herself into the belief that Mary had deceived her, and had\nnever been truly an honourable wife; but notwithstanding this\nconclusion, which in the abstract would have made her cast off the\nculprit with utter disdain, the Colonel's wife paused, and was moved,\nalmost in spite of herself, by the spirit of that faith which she so\noften wrapped up and smothered in disguising talk. She did not believe\nin Mary; but she did, in a wordy, defective way, in Him who was the son\nof a woman, and who came not to condemn; and she could not find it in\nher heart to cast off the sinner. Perhaps if Mrs. Ochterlony had known\nthis divine reason for her friend's charity, it would have struck a\ndeeper blow than any other indignity to which she had been subjected.\nIn all her bitter thoughts, it never occurred to her that her neighbour\nstood by her as thinking of those Marys who once wept at the Saviour's\nfeet. Heaven help the poor Madonna, whom all the world had heretofore\nhonoured! In all her thoughts she never went so far as that.\n\nThe ladies waited a little, and sent away Annie Hesketh, who was too\nyoung for scenes of this sort, though her mamma was so imprudent, and\nthemselves laid hold of Mr. Churchill, when the other gentlemen had\ndispersed. Mr. Churchill was one of those mild missionaries who turn\none's thoughts involuntarily to that much-abused, yet not altogether\ndespicable institution of a celibate clergy. He was far from being\ncelibate, poor man! He, or at least his wife, had such a succession of\nbabies as no man could number. They had children at \"home\" in genteel\nasylums for the sons and daughters of the clergy, and they had children\nin the airiest costume at the station, whom people were kind to, and who\nwere waiting their chance of being sent \"home\" too; and withal, there\nwere always more arriving, whom their poor papa received with mild\ndespair. For his part, he was not one of the happy men who held\nappointments under the beneficent rule of the Company, nor was he a\nregimental chaplain. He was one of that hapless band who are always\n\"doing duty\" for other and better-off people. He was almost too old now\n(though he was not old), and too much hampered and overlaid by children,\nto have much hope of anything better than \"doing duty\" all the rest of\nhis life; and the condition of Mrs. Churchill, who had generally need of\nneighbourly help, and of the children, who were chiefly clothed--such\nclothing as it was--by the bounty of the Colonel's and Major's and\nCaptain's wives, somehow seemed to give these ladies the upper hand of\ntheir temporary pastor. He managed well enough among the men, who\nrespected his goodness, and recognised him to be a gentleman,\nnotwithstanding his poverty; but he stood in terror of the women, who\nwere more disposed to interfere, and who were kind to his family and\npatronised himself. He tried hard on this occasion, as on many others,\nto escape, but he was hemmed in, and no outlet was left him. If he had\nbeen a celibate brother, there can be little doubt it would have been he\nwho would have had the upper hand; but with all his family burdens and\nsocial obligations, the despotism of the ladies of his flock came hard\nupon the poor clergyman; all the more that, poor though he was, and\naccustomed to humiliations, he had not learned yet to dispense with the\nluxury of feelings and delicacies of his own.\n\n\"Mr. Churchill, do give us your advice,\" said Miss Sorbette, who was\nfirst. \"Do tell us what all this means? They surely must have told _you_\nat least the rights of it. Do you think they have really never been\nmarried all this time? Goodness gracious me! to think of us all\nreceiving her, and calling her Madonna, and all that, if this be true!\nDo you think----\"\n\n\"I don't think anything but what Major Ochterlony told me,\" said Mr.\nChurchill, with a little emphasis. \"I have not the least doubt he told\nme the truth. The witnesses of their marriage are dead, and that\nwretched place at Gretna was burnt down, and he is afraid that his wife\nwould have no means of proving her marriage in case of anything\nhappening to him. I don't know what reason there can be to suppose that\nMajor Ochterlony, who is a Christian and a gentleman, said anything that\nwas not true.\"\n\n\"My dear Mr. Churchill,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, with a sigh, \"you are so\ncharitable. If one could but hope that the poor dear Major was a true\nChristian, as you say. But one has no evidence of any vital change in\nhis case. And, dear Mary!--I have made up my mind for one thing, that it\nshall make no difference to me. Other people can do as they like, but so\nfar as I am concerned, I can but think of our Divine Example,\" said the\nColonel's wife. It was a real sentiment, and she meant well, and was\nactually thinking as well as talking of that Divine Example; but still\nsomehow the words made the blood run cold in the poor priest's veins.\n\n\"What can you mean, Mrs. Kirkman?\" he said. \"Mrs. Ochterlony is as she\nalways was, a person whom we all may be proud to know.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said Miss Sorbette, who interrupted them both without any\nceremony; \"but that is not what I am asking. As for his speaking the\ntruth as a Christian and a gentleman, I don't give much weight to that.\nIf he has been deceiving us for all these years, you may be sure he\nwould not stick at a fib to end off with. What is one to do? I don't\nbelieve it could ever have been a good marriage, for my part!\"\n\nThis was the issue to which she had come by dint of thinking it over and\ndiscussing it; although the doctor's sister, like the Colonel's wife,\nhad got up that morning with the impression that Major Ochterlony's\nfidgets had finally driven him out of his senses, and that Mary was the\nmost ill-used woman in the world.\n\n\"And I believe exactly the contrary,\" said the clergyman, with some\nheat. \"I believe in an honourable man and a pure-minded woman. I had\nrather give up work altogether than reject such an obvious truth.\"\n\n\"Ah, Mr. Churchill,\" Mrs. Kirkman said again, \"we must not rest in these\nvain appearances. We are all vile creatures, and the heart is deceitful\nabove all things. I do fear that you are taking too charitable a view.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mr. Churchill, but perhaps he made a different application\nof the words; \"I believe that about the heart; but then it shows its\nwickedness generally in a sort of appropriate, individual way. I daresay\n_they_ have their thorns in the flesh, like the rest; but it is not\nfalsehood and wantonness that are their besetting sins,\" said the poor\nman, with a plainness of speech which put his hearers to the blush.\n\n\"Goodness gracious! remember that you are talking to ladies, Mr.\nChurchill,\" Miss Sorbette said, and put down her veil. It was not a fact\nhe was very likely to forget; and then he put on his hat as they left\nthe chapel, and hoped he was now free to go upon his way.\n\n\"Stop a minute, please,\" said Miss Sorbette. \"I should like to know what\ncourse of action is going to be decided on. I am very sorry for Mary,\nbut so long as her character remains under this doubt----\"\n\n\"It shall make no difference to me,\" said Mrs. Kirkman. \"I don't pretend\nto regulate anybody's actions, Sabina; but when one thinks of Mary of\nBethany! She may have done wrong, but I hope this occurrence will be\nblessed to her soul. I felt sure she wanted something to bring her low,\nand make her feel her need,\" the Colonel's wife added, with solemnity;\n\"and it is such a lesson for us all. In other circumstances, the same\nthing might have happened to you or me.\"\n\n\"It could never have happened to me,\" said Miss Sorbette, with sudden\nwrath; which was a fortunate diversion for Mr. Churchill. This was how\nher friends discussed her after Mary had gone away from her second\nwedding; and perhaps they were harder upon her than she had supposed\neven in her secret thoughts.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nBut the worst of all to Mrs. Ochterlony was that little Hugh had been\nthere--Hugh, who was six years old, and so intelligent for his age. The\nchild was very anxious to know what it meant, and why she knelt by his\nfather's side while all the other people were standing. Was it something\nparticular they were praying for, which Mrs. Kirkman, and the rest did\nnot want? Mary satisfied him as she best could, and by-and-by he forgot,\nand began to play with his little brother as usual; but his mother knew\nthat so strange a scene could not fail to leave some impression. She sat\nby herself that long day, avoiding her husband for perhaps the first\ntime in her life, and imagining a hundred possibilities to herself. It\nseemed to her as if everybody who ever heard of her henceforth must hear\nof this, and as if she must go through the world with a continual doubt\nupon her; and Mary's weakness was to prize fair reputation and spotless\nhonour above everything in the world. Perhaps Mrs. Kirkman was not so\nfar wrong after all, and there was a higher meaning in the unlooked-for\nblow that thus struck her at her tenderest point; but that was an idea\nshe could not receive. She could not think that God had anything to do\nwith her husband's foolish restlessness, and her own impatient\nsubmission. It was a great deal more like a malicious devil's work, than\nanything a beneficent providence could have arranged. This way of\nthinking was far from bringing Mary any consolation or solace, but still\nthere was a certain reasonableness in her thoughts. And then an\nindistinct foreboding of harm to her children, she did not know what, or\nhow to be brought about, weighed upon Mary's mind. She kept looking at\nthem as they played beside her, and thinking how, in the far future, the\nmeaning of that scene he had been a witness to might flash into Hugh's\nmind when he was a man, and throw a bewildering doubt upon his mother's\nname, which perhaps she might not be living to clear up; and these ideas\nstung her like a nest of serpents, each waking up and darting its venom\nto her heart at a separate moment. She had been very sad and very sorry\nmany a time before in her life,--she had tasted all the usual sufferings\nof humanity; and yet she had never been what may be called _unhappy_,\ntortured from within and without, dissatisfied with herself and\neverything about her. Major Ochterlony was in every sense of the word a\ngood husband, and he had been Mary's support and true companion in all\nher previous troubles. He might be absurd now and then, but he never was\nanything but kind and tender and sympathetic, as was the nature of the\nman. But the special feature of this misfortune was that it irritated\nand set her in arms against him, that it separated her from her closest\nfriend and all her friends, and that it made even the sight and thought\nof her children, a pain to her among all her other pains.\n\nThis was the wretched way in which Mary spent the day of her second\nwedding. Naturally, Major Ochterlony brought people in with him to lunch\n(probably it should be written tiffin, but our readers will accept the\ngeneric word), and was himself in the gayest spirits, and insisted upon\nchampagne, though he knew they could not afford it. \"We ate our real\nwedding breakfast all by ourselves in that villanous little place at\nGretna,\" he said, with a boy's enthusiasm, \"and had trout out of the\nSolway: don't you recollect, Mary? Such trout! What a couple of happy\nyoung fools we were; and if every Gretna Green marriage turned out like\nmine!\" the Major added, looking at his wife with beaming eyes. She had\nbeen terribly wounded by his hand, and was suffering secret torture, and\nwas full of the irritation of pain; and yet she could not so steel her\nheart as not to feel a momentary softening at sight of the love and\ncontent in his eyes. But though he loved her he had sacrificed all her\nscruples, and thrown a shadow upon her honour, and filled her heart with\nbitterness, to satisfy an unreasonable fancy of his own, and give peace,\nas he said, to his mind. All this was very natural, but in the pain of\nthe moment it seemed almost inconceivable to Mary, who was obliged to\nconceal her mortification and suffering, and minister to her guests as\nshe was wont to do, without making any show of the shadow that she felt\nto have fallen upon her life.\n\nIt was, however, tacitly agreed by the ladies of the station to make no\ndifference, according to the example of the Colonel's wife. Mrs. Kirkman\nhad resolved upon that charitable course from the highest motives, but\nthe others were perhaps less elevated in their principles of conduct.\nMrs. Hesketh, who was quite a worldly-minded woman, concluded it would\nbe absurd for one to take any step unless they all did, and that on the\nwhole, whatever were the rights of it, Mary could be no worse than she\nhad been for all the long time they had known her. As for Miss Sorbette,\nwho was strong-minded, she was disposed to consider that the moral\ncourage the Ochterlonys had displayed in putting an end to an\nunsatisfactory state of affairs merited public appreciation. Little Mrs.\nAskell, for her part, rushed headlong as soon as she heard of it, which\nfortunately was not till it was all over, to see her suffering\nprotectress. Perhaps it was at that moment, for the first time, that the\nensign's wife felt the full benefit of being a married lady, able to\nstand up for her friend and stretch a small wing of championship over\nher. She rushed into Mrs. Ochterlony's presence and arms like a little\ntempest, and cried and sobbed and uttered inarticulate exclamations on\nher friend's shoulder, to Mary's great surprise, who thought something\nhad happened to her. Fortunately the little eighteen-year-old matron,\nafter the first incoherence was over, began to find out that Mrs.\nOchterlony looked the same as ever, and that nothing tragical could have\nhappened, and so restrained the offer of her own countenance and\nsupport, which would have been more humbling to Mary than all the\ndesertion in the world.\n\n\"What is the matter, my dear?\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, who had regained\nher serene looks, though not her composed mind; and little Irish Emma,\nlooking at her, was struck with such a sense of her own absurdity and\ntemerity and ridiculous pretensions, that she very nearly broke down\nagain.\n\n\"I've been quarrelling with Charlie,\" the quick-witted girl said, with\nthe best grace she could, and added in her mind a secret clause to\nsoften down the fiction,--\"he is so aggravating; and when I saw my\nMadonna looking so sweet and so still----\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said Mary \"there was no need for crying about that--nor for\ntelling fibs either,\" she added, with a smile that went to the heart of\nthe ensign's wife. \"You see there is nothing the matter with me,\" Mrs.\nOchterlony added; but notwithstanding her perfect composure it was in a\nharder tone.\n\n\"I never expected anything else,\" said the impetuous little woman; \"as\nif any nonsense could do any harm to you! And I love the Major, and I\nalways have stood up for him; but oh, I should just like for once to box\nhis ears.\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said Mary again; and then the need she had of sympathy prompted\nher for one moment to descend to the level of the little girl beside\nher, who was all sympathy and no criticism, which Mary knew to be a kind\nof friendship wonderfully uncommon in this world. \"It did me no harm,\"\nshe said, feeling a certain relief in dropping her reserve, and making\nvisible the one thing of which they were both thinking, and which had no\nneed of being identified by name. \"It did me no harm, and it pleased\nhim. I don't deny that it hurt at the time,\" Mary added after a little\npause, with a smile; \"but that is all over now. You need not cry over\nme, my dear.\"\n\n\"I--cry over you,\" cried the prevaricating Emma, \"as if such a thing had\never come into my head; but I _did_ feel glad I was a married lady,\" the\nlittle thing added; and then saw her mistake, and blushed and faltered\nand did not know what to say next. Mrs. Ochterlony knew very well what\nher young visitor meant, but she took no notice, as was the wisest way.\nShe had steeled herself to all the consequences by this time, and knew\nshe must accustom herself to such allusions and to take no notice of\nthem. But it was hard upon her, who had been so good to the child, to\nthink that little Emma was glad she was a married lady, and could in her\nturn give a certain countenance. All these sharp, secret, unseen arrows\nwent direct to Mary's heart.\n\nBut on the whole the regiment kept its word and made no difference. Mrs.\nKirkman called every Wednesday and took Mary with her to the\nprayer-meeting which she held among the soldiers' wives, and where she\nsaid she was having much precious fruit; and was never weary of\nrepresenting to her companion that she had need of being brought down\nand humbled, and that for her part she would rejoice in anything that\nwould bring her dear Mary to a more serious way of thinking; which was\nan expression of feeling perfectly genuine on Mrs. Kirkman's part,\nthough at the same time she felt more and more convinced that Mrs.\nOchterlony had been deceiving her, and was not by any means an innocent\nsufferer. The Colonel's wife was quite sincere in both these beliefs,\nthough it would be hard to say how she reconciled them to each other;\nbut then a woman is not bound to be logical, whether she belongs to High\nor Low Church. At the same time she brought Mary sermons to read, with\npassages marked, which were adapted for both these states of\nfeeling,--some consoling the righteous who were chastened because they\nwere beloved, and some exhorting the sinners who had been long callous\nand now were beginning to awaken to a sense of their sins. Perhaps Mary,\nwho was not very discriminating in point of sermon-books, read both with\nequal innocence, not seeing their special application: but she could\nscarcely be so blind when her friend discoursed at the Mothers' Meeting\nupon the Scripture Marys, and upon her who wept at the Saviour's feet.\nMrs. Ochterlony understood then, and never forgot afterwards, that it\nwas _that_ Mary with whom, in the mind of one of her most intimate\nassociates, she had come to be identified. Not the Mary blessed among\nwomen, the type of motherhood and purity, but the other Mary, who was\nforgiven much because she had much loved. That night she went home with\na swelling heart, wondering over the great injustice of human ways and\ndealings, and crying within herself to the Great Spectator who knew all\nagainst the evil thoughts of her neighbours. Was that what they all\nbelieved of her, all these women? and yet she had done nothing to\ndeserve it, not so much as by a light look, or thought, or word; and it\nwas not as if she could defend herself, or convince them of their\ncruelty: for nobody accused her, nobody reproached her--her friends, as\nthey all said, made no difference. This was the sudden cloud that came\nover Mary in the very fairest and best moment of her life.\n\nBut as for the Major, he knew nothing about all that. It had been done\nfor his peace of mind, and until the next thing occurred to worry him he\nwas radiant with good-humour and satisfaction. If he saw at any time a\ncloud on his wife's face, he thought it was because of that approaching\nnecessity which took the pleasure out of everything even to himself, for\nthe moment, when he thought of it--the necessity of sending Hugh \"home.\"\n\"We shall still have Islay for a few years at least, my darling,\" he\nwould say, in his affectionate way; \"and then the baby,\"--for there was\na baby, which had come some time after the event which we have just\nnarrated. That too must have had something to do, no doubt, with Mary's\nlow spirits. \"He'll get along famously with Aunt Agatha, and get\nspoiled, that fellow will,\" the Major said; \"and as for Islay, we'll\nmake a man of him.\" And except at those moments, when, as we have just\nsaid, the thoughts of his little Hugh's approaching departure struck\nhim, Major Ochterlony was as happy and light-hearted as a man who is\nvery well off in all his domestic concerns, and getting on in his\nprofession, and who has a pleasant consciousness of doing his duty to\nall men and a grateful sense of the mercies of God, should be, and\nnaturally is. When two people are yoked for life together, there is\ngenerally one of the two who bears the burden, while the other takes\nthings easy. Sometimes it is the husband, as is fit and right, who has\nthe heavy weight on his shoulders; but sometimes, and oftener than\npeople think, it is the wife. And perhaps this was why Major Ochterlony\nwas so frisky in his harness, and Madonna Mary felt her serenity fall\ninto sadness, and was conscious of going on very slowly and heavily upon\nthe way of life. Not that he was to blame, who was now, as always, the\nbest husband in the regiment, or even in the world. Mary would not for\nall his fidgets, not for any reward, have changed him against Colonel\nKirkman with his fishy eye, nor against Captain Hesketh's jolly\ncountenance, nor for anybody else within her range of vision. He was\nvery far from perfect, and in utter innocence had given her a wound\nwhich throbbed and bled daily whichever way she turned herself, and\nwhich she would never cease to feel all her life; but still at the same\ntime he stood alone in the world, so far as Mary's heart was concerned:\nfor true love is, of all things on earth, the most pertinacious and\nunreasonable, let the philosophers say what they will.\n\nAnd then the baby, for his part, was not like what the other babies had\nbeen; he was not a great fellow, like Hugh and Islay; but puny and\npitiful and weakly,--a little selfish soul that would leave his mother\nno rest. She had been content to leave the other boys to Providence and\nNature, tending them tenderly, wholesomely, and not too much, and hoping\nto make men of them some day; but with this baby Mary fell to dreaming,\nwondering often as he lay in her lap what his future would be. She used\nto ask herself unconsciously, without knowing why, what his influence\nmight be on the lives of his brothers, who were like and yet so unlike\nhim: though when she roused up she rebuked herself, and thought how much\nmore reasonable it would be to speculate upon Hugh's influence, who was\nthe eldest, or even upon Islay, who had the longest head in the\nregiment, and looked as if he meant to make some use of it one day. To\nthink of the influence of little weakly Wilfrid coming to be of any\npermanent importance in the lives of those two strong fellows seemed\nabsurd enough; and yet it was an idea which would come back to her, when\nshe thought without thinking, and escaped as it were into a spontaneous\nstate of mind. The name even was a weak-minded sort of name, and did not\nplease Mary; and all sorts of strange fancies came into her head as she\nsat with the pitiful little peevish baby, who insisted upon having all\nher attention, lying awake and fractious upon her wearied knee.\n\nThus it was that the first important scene of her history came to an\nend, with thorns which she never dreamed of planted in Mrs. Ochterlony's\nway, and a still greater and more unthought-of cloud rising slowly upon\nthe broken serenity of her life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nEverything however went on well enough at the station for some time\nafter the great occurrence which counted for so much in Mrs.\nOchterlony's history; and the Major was very peaceable, for him, and\nnothing but trifling matters being in his way to move him, had fewer\nfidgets than usual. To be sure he was put out now and then by something\nthe Colonel said or did, or by Hesketh's well-off-ness, which had come\nto the length of a moral peculiarity, and was trying to a man; but these\nlittle disturbances fizzed themselves out, and got done with without\ntroubling anybody much. There was a lull, and most people were\nsurprised at it and disposed to think that something must be the matter\nwith the Major; but there was nothing the matter. Probably it occurred\nto him now and then that his last great fidget had rather gone a step\ntoo far--but this is mere conjecture, for he certainly never said so.\nAnd then, after a while, he began to play, as it were, with the next\ngrand object of uneasiness which was to distract his existence. This was\nthe sending \"home\" of little Hugh. It was not that he did not feel to\nthe utmost the blank this event would cause in the house, and the\ndreadful tug at his heart, and the difference it would make to Mary. But\nat the same time it was a thing that had to be done, and Major\nOchterlony hoped his feelings would never make him fail in his duty. He\nused to feel Hugh's head if it was hot, and look at his tongue at all\nsorts of untimely moments, which Mary knew meant nothing, but yet which\nmade her thrill and tremble to her heart; and then he would shake his\nown head and look sad. \"I would give him a little quinine, my dear,\" he\nwould say; and then Mary, out of her very alarm and pain, would turn\nupon him.\n\n\"Why should I give him quinine? It is time enough when he shows signs of\nwanting it. The child is quite well, Hugh.\" But there was a certain\nquiver in Mrs. Ochterlony's voice which the Major could not and did not\nmistake.\n\n\"Oh yes, he is quite well,\" he would reply; \"come and let me feel if you\nhave any flesh on your bones, old fellow. He is awfully thin, Mary. I\ndon't think he would weigh half so much as he did a year ago if you were\nto try. I don't want to alarm you, my dear; but we must do it sooner or\nlater, and in a thing that is so important for the child, we must not\nthink of ourselves,\" said Major Ochterlony; and then again he laid his\nhand with that doubting, experimenting look upon the boy's brow, to feel\n\"if there was any fever,\" as he said.\n\n\"He is quite well,\" said Mary, who felt as if she were going distracted\nwhile this pantomime went on. \"You do frighten me, though you don't mean\nit; but I _know_ he is quite well.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" said Major Ochterlony, with a sigh; and he kissed his little\nboy solemnly, and set him down as if things were in a very bad way; \"he\nis quite well. But I have seen when five or six hours have changed all\nthat,\" he added with a still more profound sigh, and got up as if he\ncould not bear further consideration of the subject, and went out and\nstrolled into somebody's quarters, where Mary did not see how\nlight-hearted he was half-and-hour after, quite naturally, because he\nhad poured out his uneasiness, and a little more, and got quite rid of\nit, leaving her with the arrow sticking in her heart. No wonder that\nMrs. Kirkman, who came in as the Major went out, said that even a very\nexperienced Christian would have found it trying. As for Mary, when she\nwoke up in the middle of the night, which little peevish Wilfrid gave\nher plenty of occasion to do, she used to steal off as soon as she had\nquieted that baby-tyrant, and look at her eldest boy in his little bed,\nand put her soft hand on his head, and stoop over him to listen to his\nbreathing. And sometimes she persuaded herself that his forehead _was_\nhot, which it was quite likely to be, and got no more sleep that night;\nthough as for the Major, he was a capital sleeper. And then somehow it\nwas not so easy as it had been to conclude that it was only his way; for\nafter his way had once brought about such consequences as in that\nre-marriage which Mary felt a positive physical pain in remembering, it\nwas no longer to be taken lightly. The consequence was, that Mrs.\nOchterlony wound herself up, and summoned all her courage, and wrote to\nAunt Agatha, though she thought it best, until she had an answer, to say\nnothing about it; and she began to look over all little Hugh's wardrobe,\nto make and mend, and consider within herself what warm things she could\nget him for the termination of that inevitable voyage, and to think what\nmight happen before she had these little things of his in her care\nagain--how they would wear out and be replenished, and his mother have\nno hand in it--and how he would get on without her. She used to make\npictures of the little forlorn fellow on shipboard, and how he would cry\nhimself to sleep, till the tears came dropping on her needle and rusted\nit; and then would try to think how good Aunt Agatha would be to him,\nbut was not to say comforted by that--not so much as she ought to have\nbeen. There was nothing in the least remarkable in all this, but only\nwhat a great many people have to go through, and what Mrs. Ochterlony no\ndoubt would go through with courage when the inevitable moment came. It\nwas the looking forward to and rehearsing it, and the Major's awful\nsuggestions, and the constant dread of feeling little Hugh's head hot,\nor his tongue white, and thinking it was her fault--this was what made\nit so hard on Mary; though Major Ochterlony never meant to alarm her, as\nanybody might see.\n\n\"I think he should certainly go home,\" Mrs. Kirkman said. \"It is a\ntrial, but it is one of the trials that will work for good. I don't like\nto blame you, Mary, but I have always thought your children were a\ntemptation to you; oh, take care!--if you were to make idols of\nthem----\"\n\n\"I don't make idols of them,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, hastily; and then\nshe added, with an effort of self-control which stopped even the rising\ncolour on her cheek, \"You know I don't agree with you about these\nthings.\" She did not agree with Mrs. Kirkman; and yet to tell the truth,\nwhere so much is concerned, it is a little hard for a woman, however\nconvinced she may be of God's goodness, not to fail in her faith and\nlearn to think that, after all, the opinion which would make an end of\nher best hopes and her surest confidence may be true.\n\n\"I know you don't agree with me,\" said the Colonel's wife, sitting down\nwith a sigh. \"Oh, Mary, if you only knew how much I would give to see\nyou taking these things to heart--to see you not almost, but altogether\nsuch as I am,\" she added, with sudden pathos. \"If you would but remember\nthat these blessings are only lent us--that we don't know what day or\nhour they may be taken back again----\"\n\nAll this Mary listened to with a rising of nature in her heart against\nit, and yet with that wavering behind,--What if it might be true?\n\n\"Don't speak to me so,\" she said. \"You always make me think that\nsomething is going to happen. As if God grudged us our little happiness.\nDon't talk of lending and taking back again. If _He_ is not a cheerful\ngiver, who can be?\" For she was carried away by her feelings, and was\nnot quite sure what she was saying--and at the same time, it comes so\nmuch easier to human nature to think that God grudges and takes back\nagain, and is not a cheerful giver. As for Mrs. Kirkman, she thought it\nsinful so much as to imagine anything of the kind.\n\n\"It grieves me to hear you speak in that loose sort of latitudinarian\nway,\" she said; \"oh, my dear Mary, if you could only see how much need\nyou have to be brought low. When one cross is not enough, another\ncomes--and I feel that you are not going to be let alone. This trial, if\nyou take it in a right spirit, may have the most blessed consequences.\nIt must be to keep you from making an idol of him, my dear--for if he\ntakes up your heart from better things----\"\n\nWhat could Mary say? She stopped in her work to give her hands an\nimpatient wring together, by way of expressing somehow in secret to\nherself the impatience with which she listened. Yet perhaps, after all,\nit might be true. Perhaps God was not such a Father as He, the supreme\nand all-loving, whom her own motherhood shadowed forth in Mary's heart,\nbut such a one as those old pedant fathers, who took away pleasures and\nreclaimed gifts, for discipline's sake. Perhaps--for when a heart has\neverything most dear to it at stake, it has such a miserable inclination\nto believe the worst of Him who leaves his explanation to the end,--Mary\nthought perhaps it might be true, and that God her Father might be lying\nin wait for her somewhere to crush her to the ground for having too much\npleasure in his gift,--which was the state of mind which her friend, who\nwas at the bottom of her heart a good woman, would have liked to bring\nabout.\n\n\"I think it is simply because we are in India,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony,\nrecovering herself; \"it is one of the conditions of our lot. It is a\nvery hard condition, but of course we have to bear it. I think, for my\npart, that God, instead of doing it to punish me, is sorry for me, and\nthat He would mend it and spare us if something else did not make it\nnecessary. But perhaps it is you who are right,\" she added, faltering\nagain, and wondering if it was wrong to believe that God, in a wonderful\nsupreme way, must be acting, somehow as in a blind ineffective way, she,\na mother, would do to her children. But happily her companion was not\naware of that profane thought. And then, Mrs. Hesketh had come in, who\nlooked at the question from entirely a different point of view.\n\n\"We have all got to do it, you know,\" said that comfortable woman,\n\"whether we idolize them or not. I don't see what that has to do with\nit; but then I never do understand _you_. The great thing is, if you\nhave somebody nice to send them to. One's mother is a great comfort for\nthat; but then, there is one's husband's friends to think about. I am\nnot sure, for my own part, that a good school is not the best. _That_\ncan't offend anybody, you know; neither your own people, nor _his_; and\nthen they can go all round in the holidays. Mine have all got on\nfamously,\" said Mrs Hesketh; and nobody who looked at her could have\nthought anything else. Though, indeed, Mrs. Hesketh's well-off-ness was\nnot nearly so disagreeable or offensive to other people as her\nhusband's, who had his balance at his banker's written on his face;\nwhereas in her case it was only evident that she was on the best of\nterms with her milliner and her jeweller, and all her tradespeople, and\nnever had any trouble with her bills. Mary sat between the woman who had\nno children, and who thought she made idols of her boys--and the woman\nwho had quantities of children, and saw no reason why anybody should be\nmuch put out of their way about them; and neither the one nor the other\nknew what she meant, any more than she perhaps knew exactly what they\nmeant, though, as was natural, the latter idea did not much strike her.\nAnd the sole strengthening which Mrs. Ochterlony drew from this talk\nwas a resolution never to say anything more about it; to keep what she\nwas thinking of to herself, and shut another door in her heart, which,\nafter all, is a process which has to be pretty often repeated as one\ngoes through the world.\n\n\"But Mary has no friends--no _female_ friends, poor thing. It is so sad\nfor a girl when that happens, and accounts for so many things,\" the\nColonel's wife said, dropping the lids over her eyes, and with an\nimperceptible shake of her head, which brought the little chapel and the\nscene of her second marriage in a moment before Mary's indignant eyes;\n\"but there is one good even in that, for it gives greater ground for\nfaith; when we have nothing and nobody to cling to----\"\n\n\"We were talking of the children,\" Mrs. Hesketh broke in calmly. \"If I\nwere you I should keep Hugh until Islay was old enough to go with him.\nThey are such companions to each other, you know, and two children don't\ncost much more than one. If I were you, Mary, I would send the two\ntogether. I always did it with mine. And I am sure you have somebody\nthat will take care of them; one always has somebody in one's eye; and\nas for female friends----\"\n\nMary stopped short the profanity which doubtless her comfortable visitor\nwas about to utter on the subject. \"I have nothing but female friends,\"\nshe said, with a natural touch of sharpness in her voice. \"I have an\naunt and a sister who are my nearest relatives--and it is there Hugh is\ngoing,\" for the prick of offence had been good for her nerves, and\nstrung them up.\n\n\"Then I can't see what you have to be anxious about,\" said Mrs. Hesketh;\n\"some people always make a fuss about things happening to children; why\nshould anything happen to them? mine have had everything, I think, that\nchildren can have, and never been a bit the worse; and though it makes\none uncomfortable at the time to think of their being ill, and so far\naway if anything should happen, still, if you know they are in good\nhands, and that everything is done that can be done---- And then, one\nnever hears till the worst is over,\" said the well-off woman, drawing\nher lace shawl round her. \"Good-by, Mary, and don't fret; there is\nnothing that is not made worse by fretting about it; I never do, for my\npart.\"\n\nMrs. Kirkman threw a glance of pathetic import out of the corners of her\ndown-dropped eyes at the large departing skirts of Mary's other visitor.\nThe Colonel's wife was one of the people who always stay last, and her\nfriends generally cut their visits short when they encountered her, with\na knowledge of this peculiarity, and at the same time an awful sense of\nsomething that would be said when they had withdrawn. \"Not that I care\nfor what she says,\" Mrs. Hesketh murmured to herself as she went out,\n\"and Mary ought to know better at least;\" but at the same time, society\nat the station, though it was quite used to it, did not like to think of\nthe sigh, and the tender, bitter lamentations which would be made over\nthem when they took their leave. Mrs. Hesketh was not sensitive, but she\ncould not help feeling a little aggrieved, and wondering what special\nview of her evil ways her regimental superior would take this time--for\nin so limited a community, everybody knew about everybody, and any\nlittle faults one might have were not likely to be hid.\n\nMrs. Kirkman had risen too, and when Mary came back from the door the\nColonel's wife came and sat down beside her on the sofa, and took Mrs.\nOchterlony's hand. \"She would be very nice, if she only took a little\nthought about the one thing needful,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, with the usual\nsigh. \"What does it matter about all the rest? Oh, Mary, if we could\nonly choose the good part which cannot be taken away from us!\"\n\n\"But surely, we all try a little after that,\" said Mary. \"She is a kind\nwoman, and very good to the poor. And how can we tell what her thoughts\nare? I don't think we ever understand each other's thoughts.\"\n\n\"I never pretend to understand. I judge according to the Scripture\nrule,\" said Mrs. Kirkman; \"you are too charitable, Mary; and too often,\nyou know, charity only means laxness. Oh, I cannot tell you how those\npeople are all laid upon my soul! Colonel Kirkman being the principal\nofficer, you know, and so little real Christian work to be expected from\nMr. Churchill, the responsibility is terrible. I feel sometimes as if I\nmust die under it. If their blood should be demanded at my hands!\"\n\n\"But surely God must care a little about them Himself,\" said Mrs.\nOchterlony. \"Don't you think so? I cannot think that He has left it all\nupon you----\"\n\n\"Dear Mary, if you but give me the comfort of thinking I had been of use\nto _you_,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, pressing Mary's hand. And when she went\naway she believed that she had done her duty by Mrs. Ochterlony at\nleast; and felt that perhaps, as a brand snatched from the burning, this\nwoman, who was so wrapped up in regard for the world and idolatry of her\nchildren, might still be brought into a better state. From this it will\nbe seen that the painful impression made by the marriage had a little\nfaded out of the mind of the station. It was there, waiting any chance\nmoment or circumstance that might bring the name of Madonna Mary into\nquestion; but in the meantime, for the convenience of ordinary life, it\nhad been dropped. It was a nuisance to keep up a sort of shadowy censure\nwhich never came to anything, and by tacit consent the thing had\ndropped. For it was a very small community, and if any one had to be\ntabooed, the taboo must have been complete and crushing, and nobody had\nthe courage for that. And so gradually the cloudiness passed away like a\nbreath on a mirror, and Mary to all appearance was among them as she had\nbeen before. Only no sort of compromise could really obliterate the fact\nfrom anybody's recollection, or above all from her own mind.\n\nAnd Mary went back to little Hugh's wardrobe when her visitors were\ngone, with that sense of having shut another door in her heart which has\nalready been mentioned. It is so natural to open all the doors and leave\nall the chambers open to the day; but when people walk up to the\nthreshold and look in and turn blank looks of surprise or sad looks of\ndisapproval upon you, what is to be done but to shut the door? Mrs.\nOchterlony thought as most people do, that it was almost incredible that\nher neighbours did not understand what she meant; and she thought too,\nlike an inexperienced woman, that this was an accident of the station,\nand that elsewhere other people knew better, which was a very fortunate\nthought, and did her good. And so she continued to put her boy's things\nin order, and felt half angry when she saw the Major come in, and knew\nbeforehand that he was going to resume his pantomime with little Hugh,\nand to try if his head was hot and look at his tongue. If his tongue\nturned out to be white and his head feverish, then Mary knew that he\nwould think it was her fault, and began to long for Aunt Agatha's\nletter, which she had been fearing, and which might be looked for by the\nnext mail.\n\nAs for the Major, he came home with the air of a man who has hit upon a\nnew trouble. His wife saw it before he had been five minutes in the\nhouse. She saw it in his eyes, which sought her and retired from her in\ntheir significant restless way, as if studying how to begin. In former\ndays Mrs. Ochterlony, when she saw this, used to help her husband out;\nbut recently she had had no heart for that, and he was left unaided to\nmake a beginning for himself. She took no notice of his fidgeting, nor\nof the researches he made all about the room, and all the things he put\nout of their places. She could wait until he informed her what it was.\nBut Mary felt a little nervous until such time as her husband had seated\nhimself opposite her, and began to pull her working things about, and to\ntake up little Hugh's linen blouses which she had been setting in order.\nThen the Major heaved a demonstrative sigh. He meant to be asked what\nit meant, and even gave a glance up at her from the corner of his eye to\nsee if she remarked it, but Mary was hard-hearted and would take no\nnotice. He had to take all the trouble himself.\n\n\"He will want warmer things when he goes home,\" said the Major. \"You\nmust write to Aunt Agatha about that, Mary. I have been thinking a great\ndeal about his going home. I don't know how I shall get on without him,\nnor you either, my darling; but it is for his good. How old is Islay?\"\nMajor Ochterlony added with a little abruptness: and then his wife knew\nwhat it was.\n\n\"Islay is not quite three,\" said Mary, quietly, as if the question was\nof no importance; but for all that her heart began to jump and beat\nagainst her breast.\n\n\"Three! and so big for his age,\" said the guilty Major, labouring with\nhis secret meaning. \"I don't want to vex you, Mary, my love, but I was\nthinking perhaps when Hugh went; it comes to about the same thing, you\nsee--the little beggar would be dreadfully solitary by himself, and I\ndon't see it would make any difference to Aunt Agatha----\"\n\n\"It would make a difference to _me_,\" said Mary. \"Oh, Hugh, don't be so\ncruel to me. I cannot let him go so young. If Hugh must go, it may be\nfor _his_ good--but not for Islay's, who is only a baby. He would not\nknow us or have any recollection of us. Don't make me send both of my\nboys away.\"\n\n\"You would still have the baby,\" said the Major. \"My darling, I am not\ngoing to do anything without your consent. Islay looked dreadfully\nfeverish the other day, you know. I told you so; and as I was coming\nhome I met Mrs. Hesketh----\"\n\n\"You took _her_ advice about it,\" said Mary, with a little bitterness.\nAs for the Major, he set his Mary a whole heaven above such a woman as\nMrs. Hesketh, and yet he _had_ taken her advice about it, and it\nirritated him a little to perceive his wife's tone of reproach.\n\n\"If I listened to her advice it is because she is a very sensible\nwoman,\" said Major Ochterlony. \"You are so heedless, my dear. When your\nchildren's health is ruined, you know, that is not the time to send them\nhome. We ought to do it now, while they are quite well; though indeed I\nthought Islay very feverish the other night,\" he added, getting up again\nin his restless way. And then the Major was struck with compunction when\nhe saw Mary bending down over her work, and remembered how constantly\nshe was there, working for them, and how much more trouble those\nchildren cost her than they ever could cost him. \"My love,\" he said,\ncoming up to her and laying his hand caressingly upon her bent head, \"my\nbonnie Mary! you did not think I meant that you cared less for them, or\nwhat was for their good, than I do? It will be a terrible trial; but\nthen, if it is for their good and our own peace of mind----\"\n\n\"God help me,\" said Mary, who was a little beside herself. \"I don't\nthink you will leave me any peace of mind. You will drive me to do what\nI think wrong, or, if I don't do it, you will make me think that\neverything that happens is my fault. You don't mean it, but you are\ncruel, Hugh.\"\n\n\"I am sure I don't mean it,\" said the Major, who, as usual, had had his\nsay out; \"and when you come to think--but we will say no more about it\nto-night. Give me your book, and I will read to you for an hour or two.\nIt is a comfort to come in to you and get a little peace. And after all,\nmy love, Mrs. Hesketh means well, and she's a very sensible woman. I\ndon't like Hesketh, but there's not a word to say against her. They are\nall very kind and friendly. We are in great luck in our regiment. Is\nthis your mark where you left off? Don't let us say anything more about\nit, Mary, for to-night.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, with a sigh; but she knew in her heart that\nthe Major would begin to feel Islay's head, if it was hot, and look at\nhis tongue, as he had done to Hugh's, and drive her out of her senses;\nand that, most likely, when she had come to an end of her powers, she\nwould be beaten and give in at last. But they said no more about it that\nnight; and the Major got so interested in the book that he sat all the\nevening reading, and Mary got very well on with her work. Major\nOchterlony was so interested that he even forgot to look as if he\nthought the children feverish when they came to say good-night, which\nwas the most wonderful relief to his wife. If thoughts came into her\nhead while she trimmed little Hugh's blouses, of another little\nthree-year-old traveller tottering by his brother's side, and going away\non the stormy dangerous sea, she kept them to herself. It did not seem\nto her as if she could outlive the separation, nor how she could permit\na ship so richly freighted to sail away into the dark distance and the\nterrible storms; and yet she knew that she must outlive it, and that it\nmust happen, if not now, yet at least some time. It is the condition of\nexistence for the English sojourners in India. And what was she more\nthan another, that any one should think there was any special hardship\nin her case?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nThe next mail was an important one in many ways. It was to bring Aunt\nAgatha's letter about little Hugh, and it did bring something which had\nstill more effect upon the Ochterlony peace of mind. The Major, as has\nbeen already said, was not a man to be greatly excited by the arrival of\nthe mail. All his close and pressing interests were at present\nconcentrated in the station. His married sisters wrote to him now and\nthen, and he was very glad to get their letters, and to hear when a new\nniece or nephew arrived, which was the general burden of these epistles.\nSometimes it was a death, and Major Ochterlony was sorry; but neither\nthe joy nor the sorrow disturbed him much. For he was far away, and he\nwas tolerably happy himself, and could bear with equanimity the\nvicissitudes in the lot of his friends. But this time the letter which\narrived was of a different description. It was from his brother, the\nhead of the house--who was a little of an invalid and a good deal of a\ndilettante, and gave the Major no nephews or nieces, being indeed a\nconfirmed bachelor of the most hopeless kind. He was a man who never\nwrote letters, so that the communication was a little startling. And yet\nthere was nothing very particular in it. Something had occurred to make\nMr. Ochterlony think of his brother, and the consequence was that he had\ndrawn his writing things to his hand and written a few kind words, with\na sense of having done something meritorious to himself and deeply\ngratifying to Hugh. He sent his love to Mary, and hoped the little\nfellow was all right who was, he supposed, to carry on the family\nhonours--\"if there are any family honours,\" the Squire had said, not\nwithout an agreeable sense that there was something in his last paper on\nthe \"Coins of Agrippa,\" that the Numismatic Society would not willingly\nlet die. This was the innocent morsel of correspondence which had come\nto the Major's hand. Mary was sitting by with the baby on her lap while\nhe read it, and busy with a very different kind of communication. She\nwas reading Aunt Agatha's letter which she had been dreading and wishing\nfor, and her heart was growing sick over the innocent flutter of\nexpectation and kindness and delight which was in it. Every assurance of\nthe joy she would feel in seeing little Hugh, and the care she would\ntake of him, which the simple-minded writer sent to be a comfort to\nMary, came upon the mother's unreasonable mind like a kind of injury.\nTo think that anybody could be happy about an occurrence that would be\nso terrible to her; to think that anybody could have the bad taste to\nsay that they looked with impatience for the moment that to Mary would\nbe like dying! She was unhinged, and for the first time, perhaps, in her\nlife, her nerves were thoroughly out of order, and she was unreasonable\nto the bottom of her heart; and when she came to her young sister's gay\nannouncement of what for _her_ part she would do for her little nephew's\neducation, and how she had been studying the subject ever since Mary's\nletter arrived, Mrs. Ochterlony felt as if she could have beaten the\ngirl, and was ready to cry with wretchedness and irritation and despair.\nAll these details served somehow to fix it, though she knew it had been\nfixed before. They told her the little room Hugh should have, and the\nold maid who would take care of him; and how he should play in the\ngarden, and learn his lessons in Aunt Agatha's parlour, and all those\ndetails which would be sweet to Mary when her boy was actually there.\nBut at present they made his going away so real, that they were very\nbitter to her, and she had to draw the astonished child away from his\nplay, and take hold of him and keep him by her, to feel quite sure that\nhe was still here, and not in the little North-country cottage which she\nknew so well. But this was an arrangement which did not please the baby,\nwho liked to have his mother all to himself, and pushed Hugh away, and\nkicked and screamed at him lustily. Thus it was an agitated little group\nupon which the Major looked down as he turned from his brother's\npleasant letter. He was in a very pleasant frame of mind himself, and\nwas excessively entertained by the self-assertion of little Wilfrid on\nhis mother's knee.\n\n\"He is a plucky little soul, though he is so small,\" said Major\nOchterlony; \"but Willie, my boy, there's precious little for you of the\ngrandeurs of the family. It is from Francis, my dear. It's very\nsurprising, you know, but still it's true. And he sends you his love.\nYou know I always said that there was a great deal of good in Francis;\nhe is not a demonstrative man--but still, when you get at it, he has a\nwarm heart. I am sure he would be a good friend to you, Mary, if\never----\"\n\n\"I hope I shall never need him to be a good friend to me,\" said Mrs.\nOchterlony. \"He is your brother, Hugh, but you know we never got on.\" It\nwas a perfectly correct statement of fact, but yet, perhaps, Mary would\nnot have made it, had she not been so much disturbed by Aunt Agatha's\nletter. She was almost disposed to persuade herself for that moment that\nshe had not got on with Aunt Agatha, which was a moral impossibility.\nAs for the Major, he took no notice of his wife's little ill-tempered\nun-enthusiastic speech.\n\n\"You will be pleased when you read it,\" he said. \"He talks of Hugh quite\nplainly as the heir of Earlston. I can't help being pleased. I wonder\nwhat kind of Squire the little beggar will make: but we shall not live\nto see that--or, at least, _I_ shan't,\" the Major went on, and he looked\nat his boy with a wistful look which Mary used to think of afterwards.\nAs for little Hugh, he was very indifferent, and not much more conscious\nof the affection near home than of the inheritance far off. Major\nOchterlony stood by the side of Mary's chair, and he had it in his heart\nto give her a little lesson upon her unbelief and want of confidence in\nhim, who was always acting for the best, and who thought much more of\nher interests than of his own.\n\n\"My darling,\" he said, in that coaxing tone which Mary knew so well, \"I\ndon't mean to blame you. It was a hard thing to make you do; and you\nmight have thought me cruel and too precise. But only see now how\nimportant it was to be exact about our marriage--_too_ exact even. If\nHugh should come into the estate----\"\n\nHere Major Ochterlony stopped short all at once, without any apparent\nreason. He had still his brother's letter in his hand, and was standing\nby Mary's side; and nobody had come in, and nothing had happened. But\nall at once, like a flash of lightning, something of which he had never\nthought before had entered his mind. He stopped short, and said, \"Good\nGod!\" low to himself, though he was not a man who used profane\nexpressions. His face changed as a summer day changes when the wind\nseizes it like a ghost, and covers its heavens with clouds. So great was\nthe shock he had received, that he made no attempt to hide it, but stood\ngazing at Mary, appealing to her out of the midst of his sudden trouble.\n\"Good God!\" he said. His eyes went in a piteous way from little Hugh,\nwho knew nothing about it, to his mother, who was at present the chief\nsufferer. Was it possible that instead of helping he had done his best\nto dishonour Hugh? It was so new an idea to him, that he looked\nhelplessly into Mary's eyes to see if it was true. And she, for her\npart, had nothing to say to him. She gave a little tremulous cry which\ndid but echo his own exclamation, and pitifully held out her hand to her\nhusband. Yes; it was true. Between them they had sown thorns in their\nboy's path, and thrown doubt on his name, and brought humiliation and\nuncertainty into his future life. Major Ochterlony dropped into a chair\nby his wife's side, and covered his face with her hand. He was struck\ndumb by his discovery. It was only she who had seen it all long ago--to\nwhom no sudden revelation could come--who had been suffering, even\nangrily and bitterly, but who was now altogether subdued and conscious\nonly of a common calamity; who was the only one capable of speech or\nthought.\n\n\"Hugh, it is done now,\" said Mary; \"perhaps it may never do him any\nharm. We are in India, a long way from all our friends. They know what\ntook place in Scotland, but they can't know what happened here.\"\n\nThe Major only replied once more, \"Good God!\" Perhaps he was not\nthinking so much of Hugh as of the failure he had himself made. To think\nhe should have landed in the most apparent folly by way of being\nwise--that perhaps was the immediate sting. But as for Mrs. Ochterlony,\nher heart was full of her little boy who was going away from her, and\nher husband's horror and dismay seemed only natural. She had to withdraw\nher hand from him, for the tyrant baby did not approve of any other\nclaim upon her attention, but she caressed his stooping head as she did\nso. \"Oh, Hugh, let us hope things will turn out better than we think,\"\nshe said, with her heart overflowing in her eyes; and the soft tears\nfell on Wilfrid's little frock as she soothed and consoled him. Little\nHugh for his part had been startled in the midst of his play, and had\ncome forward to see what was going on. He was not particularly\ninterested, it is true, but still he rather wanted to know what it was\nall about. And when the pugnacious baby saw his brother he returned to\nthe conflict. It was his baby efforts with hands and feet to thrust Hugh\naway which roused the Major. He got up and took a walk about the room,\nsighing heavily. \"When you saw what was involved, why did you let me do\nit, Mary?\" he said, amid his sighs. That was all the advantage his wife\nhad from his discovery. He was still walking about the room and sighing,\nwhen the baby went to sleep, and Hugh was taken away; and then to be\nsure the father and mother were alone.\n\n\"_That_ never came into my head,\" Major Ochterlony said, drawing a chair\nagain to Mary's side. \"When you saw the danger why did you not tell me?\nI thought it was only because you did not like it. And then, on the\nother side, if anything happened to me----. Why did you let me do it\nwhen you saw that?\" said the Major, almost angrily. And he drew another\nlong impatient sigh.\n\n\"Perhaps it will do no harm, after all,\" said Mary, who felt herself\nsuddenly put upon her defence.\n\n\"Harm! it is sure to do harm,\" said the Major. \"It is as good as saying\nwe were never married till now. Good heavens! to think you should have\nseen all that, and yet let me do it. We may have ruined him, for all we\nknow. And the question is, what's to be done? Perhaps I should write to\nFrancis, and tell him that I thought it best for your sake, in case\nanything happened to me---- and as it was merely a matter of form, I\ndon't see that Churchill could have any hesitation in striking it out of\nthe register----\"\n\n\"Oh, Hugh, let it alone now,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony. \"It is done, and we\ncannot undo it. Let us only be quiet and make no more commotion. People\nmay forget it, perhaps, if we forget it.\"\n\n\"Forget it!\" the Major said, and sighed. He shook his head, and at the\nsame time he looked with a certain tender patronage on Mary. \"You may\nforget it, my dear, and I hope you will,\" he said, with a magnanimous\npathos; \"but it is too much to expect that I should forget what may have\nsuch important results. I feel sure I ought to let Francis know. I\ndaresay he could advise us what would be best. It is a very kind\nletter,\" said the Major; and he sighed, and gave Mary Mr. Ochterlony's\nbrief and unimportant note with an air of resigned yet hopeless\naffliction, which half irritated her, and half awoke those possibilities\nof laughter which come \"when there is little laughing in one's head,\" as\nwe say in Scotland. She could have laughed, and she could have stormed\nat him; and yet in the midst of all she felt a poignant sense of\ncontrast, and knew that it was she and not he who would really\nsuffer--as it was he and not she who was in fault.\n\nWhile Mary read Mr. Ochterlony's letter, lulling now and then with a\nsoft movement the baby on her knee, the Major at the other side got\nattracted after a while by the pretty picture of the sleeping child, and\nbegan at length to forego his sighing, and to smooth out the long white\ndrapery that lay over Mary's dress. He was thinking no harm, the\ntender-hearted man. He looked at little Wilfrid's small waxen face\npillowed on his mother's arm--so much smaller and feebler than Hugh and\nIslay had been, the great, gallant fellows--and his heart was touched by\nhis little child. \"My little man! _you_ are all right, at least,\" said\nthe inconsiderate father. He said it to himself, and thought, if he\nthought at all on the subject, that Mary, who was reading his brother's\nletter, did not hear him. And when Mrs. Ochterlony gave that cry which\nroused all the house and brought everybody trooping to the door, in the\nfull idea that it must be a cobra at least, the Major jumped up to his\nfeet as much startled as any of them, and looked down to the floor and\ncried, \"Where--what is it?\" with as little an idea of what was the\nmatter as the ayah who grinned and gazed in the distance. When he saw\nthat instead of indicating somewhere a reptile intruder, Mary had\ndropped the letter and fallen into a weak outburst of tears, the Major\nwas confounded. He sent the servants away, and took his wife into his\narms and held her fast. \"What is it, my love?\" said the Major. \"Are you\nill? For Heaven's sake tell me what it is; my poor darling, my bonnie\nMary?\" This was how he soothed her, without the most distant idea what\nwas the matter, or what had made her cry out. And when Mary came to\nherself, she did not explain very clearly. She said to herself that it\nwas no use making him unhappy by the fantastical horror which had come\ninto her mind with his words, or indeed had been already lurking there.\nAnd, poor soul, she was better when she had had her cry out, and had\ngiven over little Wilfrid, woke up by the sound, to his nurse's hands.\nShe said, \"Never mind me, Hugh; I am nervous, I suppose;\" and cried on\nhis shoulder as he never remembered her to have cried, except for very\nserious griefs. And when at last he had made her lie down, which was the\nMajor's favourite panacea for all female ills of body or mind, and had\ncovered her over, and patted and caressed and kissed her, Major\nOchterlony went out with a troubled mind. It could not be anything in\nFrancis's letter, which was a model of brotherly correctness, that had\nvexed or excited her: and then he began to think that for some time past\nher health had not been what it used to be. The idea disturbed him\ngreatly, as may be supposed; for the thought of Mary ailing and weakly,\nor perhaps ill and in danger, was one which had never yet entered his\nmind. The first thing he thought of was to go and have a talk with\nSorbette, who ought to know, if he was good for anything, what it was.\n\n\"I am sure I don't know in the least what is the matter,\" the Major\nsaid. \"She is not ill, you know. This morning she looked as well as ever\nshe did, and then all at once gave a cry and burst into tears. It is so\nunlike Mary.\"\n\n\"It is very unlike her,\" said the doctor. \"Perhaps you were saying\nsomething that upset her nerves.\"\n\n\"Nerves!\" said the Major, with calm pride. \"My dear fellow, you know\nthat Mary has no nerves; she never was one of that sort of women. To\ntell the truth, I don't think she has ever been quite herself since that\nstupid business, you know.\"\n\n\"What stupid business?\" said Mr. Sorbette.\n\n\"Oh, you know--the marriage, to be sure. A man looks very silly\nafterwards,\" said the Major with candour, \"when he lets himself be\ncarried away by his feelings. She ought not to have consented when that\nwas her idea. I would give a hundred pounds I had not been so foolish. I\ndon't think she has ever been quite herself since.\"\n\nThe doctor had opened _de grands yeux_. He looked at his companion as if\nhe could not believe his ears. \"Of course you would never have taken\nsuch an unusual step if there had not been good reason for it,\" he\nventured to say, which was rather a hazardous speech; for the Major\nmight have divined its actual meaning, and then things would have gone\nbadly with Mr. Sorbette. But, as it happened, Major Ochterlony was far\ntoo much occupied to pay attention to anybody's meaning except his own.\n\n\"Yes, there was good reason,\" he said. \"She lost her marriage 'lines,'\nyou know; and all our witnesses are dead. I thought she might perhaps\nfind herself in a disagreeable position if anything happened to me.\"\n\nAs he spoke, the doctor regarded him with surprise so profound as to be\nhalf sublime--surprise and a perplexity and doubt wonderful to behold.\nWas this a story the Major had made up, or was it perhaps after all the\ncertain truth? It was just what he had said at first; but the first time\nit was stated with more warmth, and did not produce the same effect. Mr.\nSorbette respected Mrs. Ochterlony to the bottom of his heart; but still\nhe had shaken his head, and said, \"There was no accounting for those\nthings.\" And now he did not know what to make of it: whether to believe\nin the innocence of the couple, or to think the Major had made up a\nstory--which, to be sure, would be by much the greatest miracle of all.\n\n\"If that was the case, I think it would have been better to let well\nalone,\" said the doctor. \"That is what I would have done had it been\nme.\"\n\n\"Then why did not you tell me so?\" said Major Ochterlony. \"I asked you\nbefore; and what you all said to me was, 'If that's the case, best to\nrepeat it at once.' Good Lord! to think how little one can rely upon\none's friends when one asks their advice. But in the meantime the\nquestion is about Mary. I wish you'd go and see her and give her\nsomething--a tonic, you know, or something strengthening. I think I'll\nstep over and see Churchill, and get him to strike that unfortunate\npiece of nonsense out of the register. As it was only a piece of form, I\nshould think he would do it; and if it is _that_ that ails her, it would\ndo her good.\"\n\n\"If I were you, I'd let well alone,\" said the doctor; but he said it\nlow, and he was putting on his hat as he spoke, and went off immediately\nto see his patient. Even if curiosity and surprise had not been in\noperation, he would still probably have hastened to Madonna Mary. For\nthe regiment loved her in its heart, and the loss of her fair serene\npresence would have made a terrible gap at the station. \"We must not let\nher be ill if we can help it,\" Mr. Sorbette said to himself; and then he\nmade a private reflection about that ass Ochterlony and his fidgets. But\nyet, notwithstanding all his faults, the Major was not an ass. On\nthinking it over again, he decided not to go to Churchill with that\nlittle request about the register; and he felt more and more, the more\nhe reflected upon it, how hard it was that in a moment of real emergency\na man should be able to put so little dependence upon his friends. Even\nMary had let him do it, though she had seen how dangerous and impolitic\nit was; and all the others had let him do it; for certainly it was not\nwithout asking advice that he had taken what the doctor called so\nunusual a step. Major Ochterlony felt as he took this into consideration\nthat he was an injured man. What was the good of being on intimate terms\nwith so many people if not one of them could give him the real counsel\nof a friend when he wanted it? And even Mary had let him do it! The\nthought of such a strange dereliction of duty on the part of everybody\nconnected with him, went to the Major's heart.\n\nAs for Mary, it would be a little difficult to express her feelings. She\ngot up as soon as her husband was gone, and threw off the light covering\nhe had put over her so carefully, and went back to her work; for to lie\nstill in a darkened room was not a remedy in which she put any faith.\nAnd to tell the truth, poor Mary's heart was eased a little, perhaps\nphysically, by her tears, which had done her good, and by the other\nincidents of the evening, which had thrown down as it were the\nseparation between her and her husband, and taken away the one rankling\nand aching wound she had. Now that he saw that he had done wrong--now\nthat he was aware that it was a wrong step he had taken--a certain\nremnant of bitterness which had been lurking in a corner of Mary's heart\ncame all to nothing and died down in a moment. As soon as he was himself\nawakened to it, Mary forgot her own wound and every evil thought she had\never had, in her sorrow for him. She remembered his look of dismay, his\ndead silence, his unusual exclamation; and she said, \"poor Hugh!\" in her\nheart, and was ready to condone his worst faults. _Otherwise_, as Mrs.\nOchterlony said to herself, he had scarcely a fault that anybody could\npoint out. He was the kindest, the most true and tender! Everybody\nacknowledged that he was the best husband in the regiment, and which of\nthem could stand beside him, even in an inferior place? Not Colonel\nKirkman, who might have been a petrified Colonel out of the Drift (if\nthere were Colonels in those days), for any particular internal evidence\nto the contrary; nor Captain Hesketh, who was so well off; nor any half\ndozen of the other officers. This was the state of mind in which Mrs.\nOchterlony was when the doctor called. And he found her quite well, and\nthought her an unaccountable woman, and shrugged his shoulders, and\nwondered what the Major would take into his head next. \"He said it was\non the nerves, as the poor women call it,\" said the doctor, transferring\nhis own suggestion to Major Ochterlony. \"I should like to know what he\nmeans by making game of people--as if I had as much time to talk\nnonsense as he has: but I thought, to be sure, when he said that, that\nit was a cock-and-bull story. I ought to know something about your\nnerves.\"\n\n\"He was quite right,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony; and she smiled and took hold\nof the great trouble that was approaching her and made a buckler of it\nfor her husband. \"My nerves were very much upset. You know we have to\nmake up our minds to send Hugh home.\"\n\nAnd as she spoke she looked up at Mr. Sorbette with eyes brimming over\nwith two great tears--real tears, Heaven knows, which came but too\nreadily to back up her sacred plea. The doctor recoiled before them as\nif somebody had levelled a pistol at him; for he was a man that could\nnot bear to see women crying, as he said, or to see anybody in distress,\nwhich was the true statement of the case.\n\n\"There--there,\" he said, \"don't excite yourself. What is the good of\nthinking about it? Everybody has to do it, and the monkeys get on as\nwell as possible. Look here, pack up all this work and trash, and amuse\nyourself. Why don't you go out more, and take a little relaxation? You\nhad better send over to my sister for a novel; or if there's nothing\nelse for it, get the baby. Don't sit working and driving yourself crazy\nhere.\"\n\nSo that was all Mr. Sorbette could do in the case; and a wonderfully\npuzzled doctor he was as he went back to his quarters, and took the\nfirst opportunity of telling his sister that she was all wrong about the\nOchterlonys, and he always knew she was. \"As if a man could know\nanything about it,\" Miss Sorbette said. And in the meantime the Major\nwent home, and was very tender of Mary, and petted and watched over her\nas if she had had a real illness. Though, after all, the question why\nshe had let him do so, was often nearly on his lips, as it was always in\nhis heart.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nWhat Mrs. Ochterlony had to do after this was to write to Aunt Agatha,\nsettling everything about little Hugh, which was by no means an easy\nthing to do, especially since the matter had been complicated by that\nmost unnecessary suggestion about Islay, which Mrs. Hesketh had thought\nproper to make; as if she, who had a grown-up daughter to be her\ncompanion, and swarms of children, so many as almost to pass the bounds\nof possible recollection, could know anything about how it felt to send\noff one's entire family, leaving only a baby behind; but then that is so\noften the way with those well-off people, who have never had anything\nhappen to them. Mary had to write that if all was well, and they could\nfind \"an opportunity,\" probably Hugh would be sent by the next mail but\none; for she succeeded in persuading herself and the Major that sooner\nthan that it would be impossible to have his things ready. \"You do not\nsay anything about Islay, my dear,\" said the Major, when he read the\nletter, \"and you must see that for the child's sake----\"\n\n\"Oh, Hugh, what difference can it make?\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, with\nconscious sophistry. \"If she can take one child, she can take two. It is\nnot like a man----\" But whether it was Islay or Aunt Agatha who was not\nlike a man, Mary did not explain; and she went on with her preparations\nwith a desperate trust in circumstances, such as women are often driven\nto. Something might happen to preserve to her yet for a little while\nlonger her three-year-old boy. Hugh was past hoping for, but it seemed\nto her now that she would accept with gratitude, as a mitigated\ncalamity, the separation from one which had seemed so terrible to her at\nfirst. As for the Major, he adhered to the idea with a tenacity unusual\nto him. He even came, and superintended her at the work-table, and asked\ncontinually, How about Islay? if all these things were for Hugh?--which\nwas a question that called forth all the power of sophistry and\nequivocation which Mrs. Ochterlony possessed to answer. But still she\nput a certain trust in circumstances that something might still happen\nto save Islay--and indeed something did happen, though far, very far,\nfrom being as Mary wished.\n\nThe Major in the meantime had done his best to shake himself free from\nthe alarm and dismay indirectly produced in his mind by his brother's\nletter. He had gone to Mr. Churchill after all, but found it\nimpracticable to get the entry blotted out of the register,\nnotwithstanding his assurance that it was simply a matter of form. Mr.\nChurchill had no doubt on that point, but he could not alter the record,\nthough he condoled with the sufferer. \"I cannot think how you all could\nlet me do it,\" the Major said. \"A man may be excused for taking the\nalarm, if he is persuaded that his wife will get into trouble when he is\ngone, for want of a formality; but how all of you, with cool heads and\nno excitement to take away your judgment----\"\n\n\"Who persuaded you?\" said the clergyman, with a little dismay.\n\n\"Well, you know Kirkman said things looked very bad in Scotland when the\nmarriage lines were lost. How could I tell? he is Scotch, and he ought\nto know. And then to think of Mary in trouble, and perhaps losing her\nlittle provision if anything happened to me. It was enough to make a man\ndo anything foolish; but how all of you who know better should have let\nme do it----\"\n\n\"My dear Major,\" said Mr. Churchill mildly, \"I don't think you are a man\nto be kept from doing anything when your heart is set upon it;--and then\nyou were in such a hurry----\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" said Major Ochterlony with a deep sigh; \"and nobody, that I\ncan remember, ever suggested to me to wait a little. That's what it is,\nChurchill; to have so many friends, and not one among them who would\ntake the trouble to tell a man he was wrong.\"\n\n\"Major Ochterlony,\" said the clergyman, a little stiffly, \"you forget\nthat I said everything I could say to convince you. Of course I did not\nknow all the circumstances--but I hope I shall always have courage\nenough, when I think so, to tell any man he is in the wrong.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, I did not mean you,\" said the Major, with another sigh;\nand perhaps it was with a similar statement that the conversation always\nconcluded when Major Ochterlony confided to any special individual of\nhis daily associates, this general condemnation of his friends, of which\nhe made as little a secret as he had made of his re-marriage. The\nstation knew as well after that, that Major Ochterlony was greatly\ndisturbed about the \"unusual step\" he had taken, and was afraid it might\nbe bad for little Hugh's future prospects, as it had been aware\nbeforehand of the wonderful event itself. And naturally there was a\ngreat deal of discussion on the subject. There were some people who\ncontented themselves with thinking, like the doctor, that Ochterlony was\nan ass with his fidgets; while there were others who thought he was\n\"deep,\" and was trying, as they said, to do away with the bad\nimpression. The former class were men, and the latter were women; but it\nwas by no means all the women who thought so. Not to speak of the\nyounger class, like poor little Mrs. Askell, there were at least two of\nthe most important voices at the station which did not declare\nthemselves. Mrs. Kirkman shook her head, and hoped that however it\nturned out it might be for all their good, and above all might convince\nMary of the error of her ways; and Mrs. Hesketh thought everybody made a\ngreat deal too much fuss about it, and begged the public in general to\nlet the Ochterlonys alone. But the fact was, that so far as the ordinary\nmembers of society were concerned, the Major's new agitation revived the\ngossip that had nearly died out, and set it all afloat again. It had\nbeen dying away under the mingled influences of time, and the non-action\nof the leading ladies, and Mrs. Ochterlony's serene demeanour, which\nforbade the idea of evil. But when it was thus started again the second\ntime, it was less likely to be made an end of. Mary, however, was as\nunconscious of the renewed commotion as if she had been a thousand miles\naway. The bitterness had gone out of her heart, and she had half begun\nto think as the Major did, that he was an injured man, and that it was\nher fault and his friends' fault; and then she was occupied with\nsomething still more important, and could not go back to the old pain,\nfrom which she had suffered enough. Thus it was with her in those\ntroubled, but yet, as she afterwards thought, happy days; when she was\nvery miserable sometimes and very glad--when she had a great deal, as\npeople said, to put up with, a great deal to forgive, and many a thing\nof which she did not herself approve, to excuse and justify to others.\nThis was her condition, and she had at the same time before her the\ndreadful probability of separation from both of her children, the\ncertainty of a separation, and a long, dangerous voyage for one of them,\nand sat and worked to this end day after day, with a sense of what at\nthe moment seemed exquisite wretchedness. But yet, thinking over it\nafterwards, and looking back upon it, it seemed to Mary as if those were\nhappy days.\n\nThe time was coming very near when Hugh (as Mrs. Ochterlony said), or\nthe children (as the Major was accustomed to say) were going home; when\nall at once, without any preparation, very startling news came to the\nstation. One of the little local rebellions that are always taking place\nin India had broken out somewhere, and a strong detachment of the\nregiment was to be sent immediately to quell it. Major Ochterlony came\nhome that day a little excited by the news, and still more by the\ncertainty that it was he who must take the command. He was excited\nbecause he was a soldier at heart, and liked, kind man as he was, to see\nsomething doing; and because active service was more hopeful, and\nexhilarating, and profitable, than reposing at the station, where there\nwas no danger, and very little to do. \"I don't venture to hope that the\nrogues will show fight,\" he said cheerfully; \"so there is no need to be\nanxious, Mary; and you can keep the boys with you till I come back--that\nis only fair,\" he said, in his exultation. As for Mary, the announcement\ntook all the colour out of her cheeks, and drove both Hugh and Islay out\nof her mind. He had seen service enough, it is true, since they were\nmarried, to habituate her to that sort of thing; and she had made, on\nthe whole, a very good soldier's wife, bearing her anxiety in silence,\nand keeping a brave front to the world. But perhaps Mr. Sorbette was\nright when he thought her nerves were upset. So many things all coming\ntogether may have been too much for her. When she heard of this she\nbroke down altogether, and felt a cold thrill of terror go through her\nfrom her head to her heart, or from her heart to her head, which perhaps\nwould be the most just expression; but she dared not say a word to her\nhusband to deter or discourage him. When he saw the two tears that\nsprang into her eyes, and the sudden paleness that came over her face,\nhe kissed her, all flushed and smiling as he was, and said: \"Now, don't\nbe silly, Mary. Don't forget you are a soldier's wife.\" There was not a\ntouch of despondency or foreboding about him; and what could she say who\nknew, had there been ever so much foreboding, that his duty was the\nthing to be thought of, and not anybody's feelings? Her cheek did not\nregain its colour all that day, but she kept it to herself, and forgot\neven about little Hugh's reprieve. The children were dear, but their\nfather was dearer, or at least so it seemed at that moment. Perhaps if\nthe lives of the little ones had been threatened, the Major's expedition\nmight have bulked smaller--for the heart can hold only one overwhelming\nemotion at a time. But the affair was urgent, and Mary did not have very\nmuch time left to her to think of it. Almost before she had realized\nwhat it was, the drums had beat, and the brisk music of the band--that\nmusic that people called exhilarating--had roused all the station, and\nthe measured march of the men had sounded past, as if they were all\ntreading upon her heart. The Major kissed his little boys in their beds,\nfor it was, to be sure, unnaturally early, as everything is in India;\nand he had made his wife promise to go and lie down, and take care of\nherself, when he was gone. \"Have the baby, and don't think any more of\nme than you can help, and take care of my boys. We shall be back sooner\nthan you want us,\" the Major had said, as he took tender leave of his\n\"bonnie Mary.\" And for her part, she stood as long as she could see\nthem, with her two white lips pressed tight together, waving her hand to\nher soldier till he was gone out of sight. And then she obeyed him, and\nlay down and covered her head, and sobbed to herself in the growing\nlight, as the big blazing sun began to touch the horizon. She was sick\nwith pain and terror, and she could not tell why. She had watched him go\naway before, and had hailed him coming back again, and had known him in\nhotter conflict than this could be, and wounded, and yet he had taken no\ngreat harm. But all that did her little good now; perhaps because her\nnerves were weaker than usual, from the repeated shocks she had had to\nbear.\n\nAnd it was to be expected that Mrs. Kirkman would come to see her, to\nconsole her that morning, and put the worst thoughts into her head, But\nbefore even Mrs. Kirkman, little Emma Askell came rushing in, with her\nbaby and a bundle, and threw herself at Mary's feet. The Ensign had gone\nto the wars, and it was the first experience of such a kind that had\nfallen to the lot of his little baby-wife; and naturally her anxiety\ntold more distinctly upon her than it did upon Mary's ripe soul and\nframe. The poor little thing was white and cold and shivering,\nnotwithstanding the blazing Indian day that began to lift itself over\ntheir heads. She fell down at Mary's feet, forgetting all about the\nbeetles and scorpions which were the horror of her ordinary existence,\nand clasped her knees, and held Mrs. Ochterlony fast, grasping the\nbundle and the little waxen baby at the same time in the other arm.\n\n\"Do you think they will ever come back?\" said poor little Emma. \"Oh,\nMrs. Ochterlony, tell me. I can bear it if you will tell me the worst.\nIf anything were to happen to Charlie, and me not with him! I never,\nnever, never can live until the news comes. Oh, tell me, do you think\nthey will ever come back?\"\n\n\"If I did not think they would come back, do you think I could take it\nso quietly?\" said Mary, and she smiled as best she could, and lifted up\nthe poor little girl, and took from her the baby and the bundle, which\nseemed all one, so closely were they held. Mrs. Ochterlony had deep\neyes, which did not show when she had been crying; and she was not young\nenough to cry in thunder showers, as Emma Askell at eighteen might still\nbe permitted to do; and the very sight of her soothed the young\ncreature's heart. \"You know you are a soldier's wife,\" Mary said; \"I\nthink I was as bad as you are the first time the Major left me--but we\nall get used to it after a few years.\"\n\n\"And he came back?\" said Emma, doing all she could to choke a sob.\n\n\"He must have come back, or I should not have parted with him this\nmorning,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, who had need of all her own strength\njust at that moment. \"Let us see in the meantime what this bundle is,\nand why you have brought poor baby out in her night-gown. And what a\njewel she is to sleep! When my little Willy gets disturbed,\" said Mary,\nwith a sigh, \"he gives none of us any rest. I will make up a bed for her\nhere on the sofa; and now tell me what this bundle is for, and why you\nhave rushed out half dressed. We'll talk about _them_ presently. Tell me\nfirst about yourself.\"\n\nUpon which Emma hung down her pretty little head, and began to fold a\nhem upon her damp handkerchief, and did not know how to explain herself.\n\"Don't be angry with me,\" she said. \"Oh, my Madonna, let me come and\nstay with you!--that was what I meant; I can't stay there by myself--and\nI will nurse Willy, and do your hair and help sewing. I don't mind what\nI do. Oh, Mrs. Ochterlony, don't send me away! I should die if I were\nalone. And as for baby, she never troubles anybody. She is so good. I\nwill be your little servant, and wait upon you like a slave, if you will\nonly let me stay.\"\n\nIt would be vain to say that Mrs. Ochterlony was pleased by this appeal,\nfor she was herself in a very critical state of mind, full of fears that\nshe could give no reason for, and a hundred fantastic pains which she\nwould fain have hidden from human sight. She had been taking a little\ncomfort in the thought of the solitude, the freedom from visitors and\ndisturbance, that she might safely reckon on, and in which she thought\nher mind might perhaps recover a little; and this young creature's\nsociety was not specially agreeable to her. But she was touched by the\nlooks of the forlorn girl, and could no more have sent her away than she\ncould repress the little movement of impatience and half disgust that\nrose in her heart. She was not capable of giving her an effusive\nwelcome; but she kissed poor little Emma, and put the bundle beside the\nbaby on the sofa, and accepted her visitor without saying anything about\nit. Perhaps it did her no harm: though she felt by moments as if her\nimpatient longing to be alone and silent, free to think her own\nthoughts, would break out in spite of all her self-control. But little\nMrs. Askell never suspected the existence of any such emotions. She\nthought, on the contrary, that it was because Mary was used to it that\nshe took it so quietly, and wondered whether _she_ would ever get used\nto it. Perhaps, on the whole, Emma hoped not. She thought to herself\nthat Mrs. Ochterlony, who was so little disturbed by the parting, would\nnot feel the joy of the return half so much as she should; and on these\nterms she preferred to take the despair along with the joy. But under\nthe shadow of Mary's matronly presence the little thing cheered up, and\ngot back her courage. After she had been comforted with tea, and had\nfully realized her position as Mrs. Ochterlony's visitor, Emma's spirits\nrose. She was half or quarter Irish, as has been already mentioned, and\nbehaved herself accordingly. She recollected her despair, it is true, in\nthe midst of a game with Hugh and Islay, and cried a little, but soon\ncomforted herself with the thought that at that moment her Charlie could\nbe in no danger. \"They'll be stopping somewhere for breakfast by a well,\nand camping all about, and they can't get any harm there,\" said Emma;\nand thus she kept chattering all day. If she had chattered only, and\nbeen content with chattering, it would have been comparatively easy\nwork; but then she was one of those people who require answers, and will\nbe spoken to. And Mary had to listen and reply, and give her opinion\nwhere they would be now, and when, at the very earliest, they might be\nexpected back. With such a discipline to undergo, it may be thought a\nsupererogation to bring Mrs. Kirkman in upon her that same morning with\nher handkerchief in her hand, prepared, if it were necessary, to weep\nwith Mary. But still it is the case that Mrs. Kirkman did come, as might\nhave been expected; and to pass over conversation so edifying as hers,\nwould, under such circumstances, be almost a crime.\n\n\"My dear Mary,\" Mrs. Kirkman said when she came in, \"I am so glad to see\nyou up and making an effort; it is so much better than giving way. We\nmust accept these trials as something sent for our good. I am sure the\nMajor has all our prayers for his safe return. Oh, Mary, do you not\nremember what I said to you--that God, I was sure, was not going to let\nyou alone?\"\n\n\"I never thought He would leave me alone,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony; but\ncertainly, though it was a right enough sentiment, it was not uttered in\na right tone of voice.\n\n\"He will not rest till you see your duty more clearly,\" said her\nvisitor; \"if it were not for that, why should He have sent you so many\nthings one after another? It is far better and more blessed than if He\nhad made you happy and comfortable as the carnal heart desires. But I\ndid not see you had any one with you,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, stopping short\nat the sight of Emma, who had just come into the room.\n\n\"Poor child, she was frightened and unhappy, and came to me this\nmorning,\" said Mary. \"She will stay with me--till--they come home.\"\n\n\"Let us say _if_ they come home,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, solemnly. \"I never\nlike to be too certain. We know when they go forth, but who can tell\nwhen they will come back. That is in God's hands.\"\n\nAt this speech Emma fell trembling and shivering again, and begged Mrs.\nKirkman to tell her the worst, and cried out that she could bear it. She\nthought of nothing but her Charlie, as was natural, and that the\nColonel's wife had already heard some bad news. And Mrs. Kirkman thought\nof nothing but improving the occasion; and both of them were equally\nindifferent, and indeed unaware of the cold shudder which went through\nMary, and the awful foreboding that closed down upon her, putting out\nthe sunshine. It was a little safeguard to her to support the shivering\ngirl who already half believed herself a widow, and to take up the\nchallenge of the spiritual teacher who felt herself responsible for\ntheir souls.\n\n\"Do not make Emma think something is wrong,\" she said. \"It is so easy to\nmake a young creature wretched with a word. If the Colonel had been with\nthem, it might have been different. But it is easy just now for you to\nfrighten us. I am sure you do not mean it.\" And then Mary had to whisper\nin the young wife's ear, \"She knows nothing about them--it is only her\nway,\" which was a thing very easily said to Emma, but very difficult to\nestablish herself upon in her own heart.\n\nAnd then Mrs. Hesketh came in to join the party.\n\n\"So they are gone,\" the new-comer said. \"What a way little Emma is in,\nto be sure. Is it the first time he has ever left you, my dear? and I\ndaresay they have been saying something dreadful to frighten you. It is\na great shame to let girls marry so young. I have been reckoning,\" said\nthe easy-minded woman, whose husband was also of the party, \"how long\nthey are likely to be. If they get to Amberabad, say to-morrow, and if\nthere is nothing very serious, and all goes well, you know, they might\nbe back here on Saturday--and we had an engagement for Saturday,\" Mrs.\nHesketh said. Her voice was quite easy and pleasant, as it always was;\nbut nevertheless, Mary knew that if she had not felt excited, she would\nnot have paid such an early morning visit, and that even her confident\ncalculation about the return proved she was in a little anxiety about\nit. The fact was, that none of them were quite at their ease, except\nMrs. Kirkman, who, having no personal interest in the matter, was quite\nequal to taking a very gloomy view of affairs.\n\n\"How can any one think of such vanities at such a moment?\" Mrs. Kirkman\nsaid. \"Oh, if I could only convince you, my dear friends. None of us can\ntell what sort of engagement they may have before next Saturday--perhaps\nthe most solemn engagement ever given to man. Don't let misfortune find\nyou in this unprepared state of mind. There is nothing on earth so\nsolemn as seeing soldiers go away. You may think of the band and all\nthat, but for me, I always seem to hear a voice saying, 'Prepare to meet\nyour God.'\"\n\nTo be sure the Colonel was in command of the station and was safe at\nhome, and his wife could speculate calmly upon the probable fate of the\ndetachment. But as for the three women who were listening to her, it was\nnot so easy for them. There was a dreadful pause, for nobody could\ncontradict such a speech; and poor little Emma dropped down sobbing on\nthe floor; and the colour forsook even Mrs. Hesketh's comely cheek; and\nas for Mary, though she could not well be paler, her heart seemed to\ncontract and shrink within her; and none of them had the courage to say\nanything. Naturally Mrs. Hesketh, with whom it was a principle not to\nfret, was the first to recover her voice.\n\n\"After all, though it's always an anxious time, I don't see any\nparticular reason we have to be uneasy,\" she said. \"Hesketh told me he\nfelt sure they would give in at once. It may be very true all you say,\nbut at the same time we may be reasonable, you know, and not take fright\nwhen there is no cause for it. Don't cry, Emma, you little goose; you'll\nhave him back again in two or three days, all right.\"\n\nAnd after awhile the anxious little assembly broke up, and Mrs. Hesketh,\nwho though she was very liberal in her way, was not much given to\npersonal charities, went to see some of the soldiers' wives, who, poor\nsouls, would have been just as anxious if they had had the time for it,\nand gave them the best advice about their children, and promised tea\nand sugar if they would come to fetch it, and old frocks, in which she\nwas always rich; and these women were so ungrateful as to like her visit\nbetter than that of the Colonel's wife, who carried them always on her\nheart and did them a great deal of good, and never confined herself to\nkindness of impulse. And little Emma Askell cried herself to sleep\nsitting on the floor, notwithstanding the beetles, reposing her pretty\nface flushed with weeping and her swollen eyes upon the sofa, where Mary\nsat and watched over her. Mrs. Hesketh got a little ease out of her\nvisit to the soldiers' wives, and Emma forgot her troubles in sleep; but\nno sort of relief came to Mary, who reasoned with herself all day long\nwithout being able to deliver herself from the pressure of the deadly\ncold hand that seemed to have been laid upon her heart.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nAnd Mary's forebodings came true. Though it was so unlikely, and indeed\nseemed so unreasonable to everybody who knew about such expeditions,\ninstead of bringing back his men victorious, it was the men, all\ndrooping and discouraged, who carried back the brave and tender Major,\ncovered over with the flag he had died for. The whole station was\novercast with mourning when that melancholy procession came back. Mr.\nChurchill, who met them coming in, hurried back with his heart swelling\nup into his throat to prepare Mrs. Ochterlony for what was coming; but\nMary was the only creature at the station who did not need to be\nprepared. She knew it was going to be so when she saw him go away. She\nfelt in her heart that this was to be the end of it from the moment when\nhe first told her of the expedition on which he was ordered. And when\nshe saw poor Mr. Churchill's face, from which he had vainly tried to\nbanish the traces of the horrible shock he had just received, she saw\nthat the blow had fallen. She came up to him and took hold of his hands,\nand said, \"I know what it is;\" and almost felt, in the strange and\nterrible excitement of the moment, as if she were sorry for him who felt\nit so much.\n\nThis was how it was, and all the station was struck with mourning. A\nchance bullet, which most likely had been fired without any purpose at\nall, had done its appointed office in Major Ochterlony's brave, tender,\nhonest bosom. Though he had been foolish enough by times, nobody now\nthought of that to his disadvantage. Rather, if anything, it surrounded\nhim with a more affectionate regret. A dozen wise men might have\nperished and not left such a gap behind them as the Major did, who had\nbeen good to everybody in his restless way, and given a great deal of\ntrouble, and made up for it, as only a man with a good heart and natural\ngift of friendliness could do. He had worried his men many a time as the\nColonel never did, for example; but then, to Major Ochterlony they were\nmen and fine fellows, while they were only machines, like himself, to\nColonel Kirkman; and more than one critic in regimentals was known to\nsay with a sigh, \"If it had only been the Colonel.\" But it was only the\nfated man who had been so over-careful about his wife's fate in case\nanything happened to him. Young Askell came by stealth like a robber to\ntake his little wife out of the house where Mary was not capable any\nlonger of her society; and Captain Hesketh too had come back all\nsafe--all of them except the one: and the women in their minds stood\nround Mary in a kind of hushed circle, looking with an awful\nfellow-feeling and almost self-reproach at the widowhood which might\nhave, but had not, fallen upon themselves. It was no fault of theirs\nthat she had to bear the cross for all of them as it were; and yet their\nhearts ached over her, as if somehow they had purchased their own\nexemption at her expense. When the first dark moment, during which\nnobody saw Madonna Mary--a sweet title which had come back to all their\nlips in the hour of trouble--was over, they took turns to be with her,\nthose grieved and compunctious women--compunctious not so much because\nat one time in thought they had done her wrong, as because now they were\nhappy and she was sorrowful. And thus passed over a time that cannot be\ndescribed in a book, or at least in such a book as this. Mary had to\nseparate herself, with still the bloom of her life unimpaired, from all\nthe fair company of matrons round her; to put the widow's veil over the\ngolden reflections in her hair, and the faint colour that came faintly\nback to her cheek by imprescriptible right of her health and comparative\nyouth, and to go away out of the high-road of life where she had been\nwayfaring in trouble and in happiness, to one of those humble by-ways\nwhere the feeble and broken take shelter. Heaven knows she did not think\nof that. All that she thought of was her dead soldier who had gone away\nin the bloom of _his_ days to the unknown darkness which God alone knows\nthe secrets of, who had left all his comrades uninjured and at peace\nbehind him, and had himself been the only one to answer for that\nenterprise with his life. It is strange to see this wonderful selection\ngoing on in the world, even when one has no immediate part in it; but\nstranger, far stranger, to wake up from one's musings and feel all at\nonce that it is one's self whom God has laid his hand upon for this\nstern purpose. The wounded creature may writhe upon the sword, but it is\nof no use; and again as ever, those who are not wounded--those perhaps\nfor whose instruction the spectacle is made--draw round in a hushed\ncircle and look on. Mary Ochterlony was a dutiful woman, obedient and\nsubmissive to God's will; and she gave no occasion to that circle of\nspectators to break up the hush and awe of natural sympathy and\ncriticise her how she bore it. But after a while she came to perceive,\nwhat everybody comes to perceive who has been in such a position, that\nthe sympathy had changed its character. That was natural too. How a man\nbears death and suffering of body, has long been one of the favourite\nobjects of primitive human curiosity; and to see how anguish and sorrow\naffect the mind is a study as exciting and still more interesting. It\nwas this that roused Mrs. Ochterlony out of her first stupor, and made\nher decide so soon as she did upon her journey home.\n\nAll these events had passed in so short a time, that there were many\npeople who on waking up in the morning, and recollecting that Mary and\nher children were going next day, could scarcely realize that the fact\nwas possible, or that it could be true about the Major, who had so fully\nintended sending his little boys home by that same mail. But it is, on\nthe whole, astonishing how soon and how calmly a death is accepted by\nthe general community; and even the people who asked themselves could\nthis change really have happened in so short a time, took pains an hour\nor two after to make up little parcels for friends at home, which Mary\nwas to carry; bits of Oriental embroidery and filagree ornaments, and\nlittle portraits of the children, and other trifles that were not\nimportant enough to warrant an Overland parcel, or big enough to go by\nthe Cape. Mary was very kind in that way, they all said. She accepted\nall kinds of commissions, perhaps without knowing very well what she was\ndoing, and promised to go and see people whom she had no likelihood of\never going to see; the truth was, that she heard and saw and understood\nonly partially, sometimes rousing up for a moment and catching one word\nor one little incident with the intensest distinctness, and then\nrelapsing back again into herself. She did not quite make out what Emma\nAskell was saying the last time her little friend came to see her. Mary\nwas packing her boys' things at the moment, and much occupied with a\nhost of cares, and what she heard was only a stream of talk, broken with\nthe occasional burden which came in like a chorus \"when you see mamma.\"\n\n\"When I see mamma?\" said Mary, with a little surprise.\n\n\"Dear Mrs. Ochterlony, you said you would perhaps go to see her--in St.\nJohn's Wood,\" said Emma, with tears of vexation in her eyes; \"you know I\ntold you all about it. The Laburnums, Acacia-road. And she will be so\nglad to see you. I explained it all, and you said you would go. I told\nher how kind you had been to me, and how you let me stay with you when I\nwas so anxious about Charlie. Oh, dear Mrs. Ochterlony, forgive me! I\ndid not mean to bring it back to your mind.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mary, with a kind of forlorn amusement. It seemed so strange,\nalmost droll, that they should think any of their poor little passing\nwords would bring that back to her which was never once out of her mind,\nnor other than the centre of all her thoughts. \"I must have been\ndreaming when I said so, Emma: but if I have promised, I will try to\ngo--I have nothing to do in London, you know--I am going to the\nNorth-country, among my own people,\" which was an easier form of\nexpression than to say, as they all did, that she was going home.\n\n\"But everybody goes to London,\" insisted Emma; and it was only when Mr.\nChurchill came in, also with a little packet, that the ensign's wife was\nsilenced. Mr. Churchill's parcel was for his mother who lived in\nYorkshire, naturally, as Mrs. Ochterlony was going to the North, quite\nin her way. But the clergyman, for his part, had something more\nimportant to say. When Mrs. Askell was gone, he stopped Mary in her\npacking to speak to her seriously as he said, \"You will forgive me and\nfeel for me, I know,\" he said. \"It is about your second marriage, Mrs.\nOchterlony.\"\n\n\"Don't speak of it--oh, don't speak of it,\" Mary said, with an imploring\ntone that went to his heart.\n\n\"But I ought to speak of it--if you can bear it,\" said Mr. Churchill,\n\"and I know for the boys' sake that you can bear everything. I have\nbrought an extract from the register, if you would like to have it; and\nI have added below----\"\n\n\"Mr. Churchill, you are very kind, but I don't want ever to think of\nthat,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony. \"I don't want to recollect now that such a\nthing ever took place--I wish all record of it would disappear from the\nface of the earth. Afterwards he thought the same,\" she said, hurriedly.\nMeanwhile Mr. Churchill stood with the paper half drawn from his\npocket-book, watching the changes of her face.\n\n\"It shall be as you like,\" he said, slowly, \"but only as I have written\nbelow---- If you change your mind, you have only to write to me, my dear\nMrs. Ochterlony--if I stay here--and I am sure I don't know if I shall\nstay here; but in case I don't, you can always learn where I am, from my\nmother at that address.\"\n\n\"Do you think you will not stay here?\" said Mary, whose heart was not so\nmuch absorbed in her own sorrows that she could not feel for the\ndismayed, desponding mind that made itself apparent in the poor\nclergyman's voice.\n\n\"I don't know,\" he said, in the dreary tones of a man who has little\nchoice, \"with our large family, and my wife's poor health. I shall miss\nyou dreadfully--both of you: you can't think how cheery and hearty he\nalways was--and that to a down-hearted man like me----\"\n\nAnd then Mary sat down and cried. It went to her heart and dispersed all\nher heaviness and stupor, and opened the great sealed fountains. And Mr.\nChurchill once more felt the climbing sorrow in his throat, and said in\nbroken words, \"Don't cry--God will take care of you. He knows why He has\ndone it, though we don't; and He has given his own word to be a father\nto the boys.\"\n\nThat was all the poor priest could find it in his heart to say--but it\nwas better than a sermon--and he went away with the extract from the\nregister still in his pocket-book and tears in his eyes; while for her\npart Mary finished her packing with a heart relieved by her tears. Ah,\nhow cheery and hearty he had been, how kind to the down-hearted man; how\ndifferent the stagnant quietness now from that cheerful commotion he\nused to make, and all the restless life about him; and then his\nfavourite words seemed to come up about and surround her, flitting in\nthe air with a sensation between acute torture and a dull happiness. His\nbonnie Mary! It was not any vanity on Mary's part that made her think\nabove all of that name. Thus she did her packing and got ready for her\nvoyage, and took the good people's commissions without knowing very well\nto what it was that she pledged herself; and it was the same mail--\"the\nmail after next\"--by which she had written to Aunt Agatha that Hugh was\nto be sent home.\n\nThey would all have come to see her off if they could have ventured to\ndo it that last morning; but the men prevented it, who are good for\nsomething now and then in such cases. As it was, however, Mrs. Kirkman\nand Mrs. Hesketh and Emma Askell were there, and poor sick Mrs.\nChurchill, who had stolen from her bed in her dressing-gown to kiss Mary\nfor the last time.\n\n\"Oh, my dear, if it had been me--oh, if it had only been me!--and you\nwould all have been so good to the poor children,\" sobbed the poor\nclergyman's ailing wife. Yet it was not her, but the strong, brave,\ncheery Major, the prop and pillar of a house. As for Mrs. Kirkman, there\nnever was a better proof that she was, as we have so often said, in\nspite of her talk, a good woman, than the fact that she could only cry\nhelplessly over Mary, and had not a word to say. She had thought and\nprayed that God would not leave her friend alone, but she had not meant\nHim to go so far as this; and her heart ached and fluttered at the\nterrible notion that perhaps _she_ had something to do with the striking\nof this blow. Mrs. Hesketh for her part packed every sort of dainties\nfor the children in a basket, and strapped on a bundle of portable toys\nto amuse them on the journey, to one of Mrs. Ochterlony's boxes. \"You\nwill be glad of them before you get there,\" said the experienced woman,\nwho had once made the journey with half-a-dozen, as she said, and knew\nwhat it was. And then one or two of the men were walking about outside\nin an accidental sort of way, to have a last look of Mary. It was\nconsidered a very great thing among them all when the doctor, who hated\nto see people in trouble, and disapproved of crying on principle, made\nup his mind to go in and shake hands with Mrs. Ochterlony; but it was\nnot _that_ he went for, but to look at the baby, and give Mary a little\ncase \"with some sal volatile and so forth, and the quantities marked,\"\nhe said, \"not that you are one to want sal volatile. The little shaver\nthere will be all right as soon as you get to England. Good-bye. Take\ncare of yourself.\" And he wrung her hand and bolted out again like a\nflash of lightning. He said afterwards that the only sensible thing he\nknew of his sister, was that she did not go; and that the sight of all\nthose women crying was enough to give a man a sunstroke, not to speak of\nthe servants and the soldiers' wives who were howling at the back of the\nhouse.\n\nOh, what a change it was in so short a time, to go out of the Indian\nhome, which had been a true home, with Mr. Churchill to take care of her\nand her poor babies, and set her face to the cold far-away world of her\nyouth which she had forgotten, and which everybody called home by a kind\nof mockery; and where was Hugh, who had always taken such care of his\nown? Mary did not cry as people call crying, but now and then, two great\nbig hot tears rolled out of the bitter fountain that was full to\noverflowing, and fell scalding on her hands, and gave her a momentary\nsense of physical relief. Almost all the ladies of the station were ill\nafter it all the day; but Mary could not afford to be ill; and Mr.\nChurchill was very kind, and went with her through all the first part of\nher journey over the cross roads, until she had come into the trunk\nroad, where there was no more difficulty. He was very, very kind, and\nshe was very grateful; but yet perhaps when you have had some one of\nyour very own to do everything for you, who was not kind but did it by\nnature, it is better to take to doing it yourself _after_, than have\neven the best of friends to do it for kindness' sake. This was what Mary\nfelt when the good man had gone sadly back to his sick wife and his\nuncertain lot. It was a kind of relief to her to be all alone, entirely\nalone with her children, for the ayah, to be sure, did not count--and to\nhave everything to do; and this was how they came down mournfully to the\nsea-board, and to the big town which filled Hugh and Islay with childish\nexcitement, and Mary bade an everlasting farewell to her life, to all\nthat she had actually known as life--and got to sea, to go, as they\nsaid, home.\n\nIt would be quite useless for our purpose to go over the details of the\nvoyage, which was like other voyages, bad and good by turns. When she\nwas at sea, Mrs. Ochterlony had a little leisure, and felt ill and weak\nand overworn, and was the better for it after. It took her mind for the\nmoment off that unmeasured contemplation of her sorrow which is the soul\nof grief, and her spirit got a little strength in the interval of\nrepose. She had been twelve years in India, and from eighteen to thirty\nis a wonderful leap in a life. She did not know how she was to find the\nthings and the people of whom she had a girl's innocent recollection;\nnor how they, who had not changed, would appear to her changed eyes. Her\nown people were very kind, like everybody. Mary found a letter at\nGibraltar from her brother-in-law, Francis, full of sympathy and\nfriendly offers. He asked her to come to Earlston with her boys to see\nif they could not get on together. \"Perhaps it might not do, but it\nwould be worth a trial,\" Mr. Ochterlony sensibly said; and there was\neven a chance that Aunt Agatha, who was to have met with Hugh at\nSouthampton, would come to meet her widowed niece, who might be supposed\nto stand still more in need of her good offices. Though indeed this was\nrather an addition to Mary's cares; for she thought the moment of\nlanding would be bitter enough of itself, without the pain of meeting\nwith some one who belonged to her, and yet did not belong to her, and\nwho had doubtless grown as much out of the Aunt Agatha of old as she had\ngrown out of the little Mary. When Mrs. Ochterlony left the\nNorth-country, Aunt Agatha had been a middle-aged maiden lady, still\npretty, though a little faded, with light hair growing grey, which makes\na woman's countenance, already on the decline, more faded still, and\ndoes not bring out the tints as dark hair in the same powdery condition\nsometimes does. And at that time she was still occupied by a thought of\npossibilities which people who knew Agatha Seton from the time she was\nsixteen, had decided at that early period to be impossible. No doubt\ntwelve years had changed this--and it must have made a still greater\nchange upon the little sister whom Mary had known only at six years old,\nand who was now eighteen, the age she had herself been when she married;\na grown-up young woman, and of a character more decided than Mary's had\never been.\n\nA little stir of reviving life awoke in her and moved her, when the\nweary journey was over, and the steam-boat at length had reached\nSouthampton, to go up to the deck and look from beneath the heavy\npent-house of her widow's veil at the strangers who were coming--to see,\nas she said to herself, with a throb at her heart, if there was anybody\nshe knew. Aunt Agatha was not rich, and it was a long journey, and\nperhaps she had not come. Mary stood on the crowded deck, a little\napart, with Hugh and Islay on each side of her, and the baby in his\nnurse's arms--a group such as is often seen on these decks--all clad\nwith loss and mourning, coming \"home\" to a country in which perhaps they\nhave no longer any home. Nobody came to claim Mrs. Ochterlony as she\nstood among her little children. She thought she would have been glad of\nthat, but when it came to the moment--when she saw the cold unknown\nshore and the strange country, and not a Christian soul to say welcome,\npoor Mary's heart sank. She sat down, for her strength was failing her,\nand drew Hugh and Islay close to her, to keep her from breaking down\naltogether. And it was just at that moment that the brightest of young\nfaces peered down under her veil and looked doubtfully, anxiously at\nher, and called out impatiently, \"Aunt Agatha!\" to some one at the other\nside, without speaking to Mary. Mrs. Ochterlony did not hear this\nnew-comer's equally impatient demand: \"Is it Mary? Are those the\nchildren?\" for she had dropped her sick head upon a soft old breast, and\nhad an old fresh sweet faded face bent down upon her, lovely with love\nand age, and a pure heart. \"Cry, my dear love, cry, it will do you\ngood,\" was all that Aunt Agatha said. And she cried, too, with good\nwill, and yet did not know whether it was for sorrow or joy. This was\nhow Mary, coming back to a fashion of existence which she knew not, was\ntaken home.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nAunt Agatha had grown into a sweet old lady: not so old, perhaps, but\nthat she might have made up still into that elderly aspirant after\nyouth, for whose special use the name \"old maid\" must have been\ninvented. And yet there is a sweetness in the name, and it was not\ninapplicable to the fair old woman, who received Mary Ochterlony into\nher kind arms. There was a sort of tender misty consciousness upon her\nage, just as there is a tender unconsciousness in youth, of so many\nthings that cannot but come to the knowledge of people who have eaten of\nthe tree in the middle of the garden. She was surrounded by the unknown\nas was seemly to such a maiden soul. And yet she was old, and gleams of\nexperience, and dim knowledge at second hand, had come to her from those\nmisty tracts. Though she had not, and never could have, half the vigour\nor force in her which Mary had even in her subdued and broken state,\nstill she had strength of affection and goodness enough to take the\nmanagement of all affairs into her hands for the moment, and to set\nherself at the head of the little party. She took Mary and the children\nfrom the ship, and brought them to the inn at which she had stayed the\nnight before; and, what was a still greater achievement, she repressed\nWinnie, and kept her in a semi-subordinate and silent state--which was\nan effort which taxed all Aunt Agatha's powers. Though it may seem\nstrange to say it, Mary and her young sister did not, as people say,\ntake to each other at that first meeting. It was twelve years since they\nhad met, and the eighteen-year-old young woman, accustomed to be a\nsovereign among her own people, and have all her whims attended to, did\nnot, somehow, commend herself to Mary, who was broken, and joyless, and\nfeeble, and little capable of glitter and motion. Aunt Agatha took the\ntraveller to a cool room, where comparative quiet was to be had, and\ntook off her heavy bonnet and cloak, and made her lie down, and came and\nsat by her. The children were in the next room, where the sound of their\nvoices could reach their mother to keep her heart; and then Aunt Agatha\ntook Mary's hand in both of hers, and said, \"Tell me about it, my dear\nlove.\" It was a way she had of speaking, but yet such words are sweet;\nespecially to a forlorn creature who has supposed that there is nobody\nleft in the world to address her so. And then Mary told her sad story\nwith all the details that women love, and cried till the fountain of\ntears was for the time exhausted, and grief itself by its very vehemence\nhad got calm; which was, as Aunt Agatha knew by instinct, the best way\nto receive a poor woman who was a widow, and had just set her solitary\nfeet for the first time upon the shores which she left as a bride.\n\nAnd so they rested and slept that first night on English soil. There are\nmoments when sorrow feels sacramental, and as if it never could be\ndisturbed again by the pettier emotions of life. Mrs. Ochterlony had\ngone to sleep in this calm, and it was with something of the same\nfeeling that she awoke. As if life, as she thought, being over, its\ncares were in some sense over too, and that now nothing could move her\nfurther; unless, indeed, it might be any harm to the children, which,\nthank God, there was no appearance of. In this state of mind she rose up\nand said her prayers, mingling them with some of those great tears which\ngather one by one as the heart fills, and which seem to give a certain\nphysical relief when they brim over; and then she went to join her aunt\nand sister at breakfast, where they had not expected to see her. \"My\nlove, I would have brought you your tea,\" said Aunt Agatha, with a\ncertain reproach; and when Mary smiled and said there was no need, even\nWinnie's heart was touched,--wilful Winnie in her black muslin gown, who\nwas a little piqued to feel herself in the company of one more\ninteresting than even she was, and hated herself for it, and yet could\nnot help feeling as if Mary had come in like the prodigal, to be feasted\nand tended, while they never even killed a kid for her who had always\nbeen at home.\n\nWinnie was eighteen, and she was not like her sister. She was tall, but\nnot like Mary's tallness--a long slight slip of a girl, still full of\ncorners. She had corners at her elbows, and almost at her shoulders, and\na great many corners in her mind. She was not so much a pretty girl as a\ngirl who would, or might be, a beautiful woman. Her eyebrows were\narched, and so were her delicate nostrils, and her upper lip--all curved\nand moveable, and ready to quiver and speak when it was needful. When\nyou saw her face in profile, that outline seemed to cut itself out, as\nin some warm marble against the background. It was not the _beaute du\ndiable_, the bewildering charm of youth, and freshness, and smiles, and\nrose tints. She had something of all this, and to boot she had\nfeatures--_beaux traits_. But as for this part of her power, Winnie, to\ndo her justice, thought nothing of it; perhaps, to have understood that\npeople minded what she said, and noticed what she did because she was\nvery handsome, would have conveyed something like an insult and affront\nto the young lady. She did not care much, nor mind much at the present\nmoment, whether she was pretty or not. She had no rivals, and beauty was\na weapon the importance of which had not occurred to her. But she did\ncare a good deal for being Winifred Seton, and as such, mistress of all\nshe surveyed; and though she could have beaten herself for it, it galled\nher involuntarily to find herself thus all at once in the presence of a\nperson whom Providence seemed to have set, somehow, in a higher\nposition, and who was more interesting than herself. It was a wicked\nthought, and she did it battle. If it had been left to her, how she\ncould have petted and cared for Mary, how she would have borne her\ntriumphantly over all the fatigues of the journey, and thought nothing\nto take the tickets, and mind the luggage, and struggle with the railway\nporters for Mary's sake! But to have Mary come in and absorb Aunt\nAgatha's and everybody's first look, their first appeal and principal\nregard, was trying to Winnie; and she had never learned yet to banish\naltogether from her eyes what she thought.\n\n\"It does not matter, aunt,\" said Mary; \"I cannot make a recluse of\nmyself--I must go among strangers--and it is well to be able to practise\na little with Winnie and you.\"\n\n\"You must not mind Winnie and me, my darling,\" said Aunt Agatha, who had\na way of missing the arrow, as it were, and catching some of the\nfeathers of it as it flew past.\n\n\"What do you mean about going among strangers?\" said the keener Winnie.\n\"I hope you don't think we are strangers; and there is no need for you\nto go into society that I can see--not now at least; or at all events\nnot unless you like,\" she continued with a suspicion of sharpness in her\ntone, not displeased, perhaps, on the whole that Mary was turning out\ndelusive, and was thinking already of society--for which notwithstanding\nshe scorned her sister, as was natural to a young woman at the\nexperienced age of eighteen.\n\n\"Society is not what I was thinking of,\" said Mary, who in her turn did\nnot like her young sister's criticism; and she took her seat and her cup\nof tea with an uncomfortable sense of opposition. She had thought that\nshe could not be annoyed any more by petty matters, and was incapable of\nfeeling the little cares and complications of life, and yet it was\nastonishing how Winnie's little, sharp, half-sarcastic tone brought back\nthe faculty of being annoyed.\n\n\"The little we have at Kirtell will be a comfort to you, my love,\" said\nthe soothing voice of Aunt Agatha; \"all old friends. The vicar you know,\nMary, and the doctor, and poor Sir Edward. There are some new people,\nbut I do not make much account of them; and our little visiting would\nharm nobody,\" the old lady said, though with a slight tone of apology,\nnot quite satisfied in herself that the widow should be even able to\nthink of society so soon.\n\nUpon which a little pucker of vexation came to Mary's brow. As if she\ncared or could care for their little visiting, and the vicar, and the\ndoctor, and Sir Edward! she to whom going among strangers meant\nsomething so real and so hard to bear.\n\n\"Dear Aunt Agatha,\" she said, \"I am afraid you will not be pleased; but\nI have not been looking forward to anything so pleasant as going to\nKirtell. The first thing I have to think of is the boys and their\ninterests. And Francis Ochterlony has asked us to go to Earlston.\" These\nwords came all confused from Mary's lips. She broke down, seeing what\nwas coming; for this was something that she never had calculated on, or\nthought of having to bear.\n\nA dead pause ensued; Aunt Agatha started and flushed all over, and gave\nan agitated exclamation, and then a sudden blank came upon her sweet old\nface. Mary did not look at her, but she saw without looking how her aunt\nstiffened into resentment, and offence, and mortification. She changed\nin an instant, as if Mrs. Ochterlony's confused statement had been a\nspell, and drew herself up and sat motionless, a picture of surprised\naffection and wounded pride. Poor Mary saw it, and was grieved to the\nheart, and yet could not but resent such a want of understanding of her\nposition and sympathy for herself. She lifted her cup to her lips with a\ntrembling hand, and her tea did not refresh her. And it was the only\nnear relative she had in the world, the tenderest-hearted creature in\nexistence, a woman who could be cruel to nobody, who thus shut up her\nheart against her. Thus the three women sat together round their\nbreakfast-table, and helped each other, and said nothing for one stern\nmoment, which was a cruel moment for one of them at least.\n\n\"Earlston!\" said Aunt Agatha at last, with a quiver in her voice.\n\"Indeed it never occurred to me--I had not supposed that Francis\nOchterlony had been so much to---- But never mind; if that is what you\nthink best for yourself, Mary----\"\n\n\"There is nothing best for myself,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, with the\nsharpness of despair. \"I think it is my duty--and--and Hugh, I know,\nwould have thought so. Our boy is his uncle's heir. They are the--the\nonly Ochterlonys left now. It is what I must--what I ought to do.\"\n\nAnd then there was another pause. Aunt Agatha for her part would have\nliked to cry, but then she had her side of the family to maintain, and\nthough every pulse in her was beating with disappointment and mortified\naffection, she was not going to show that. \"You must know best,\" she\nsaid, taking up her little air of dignity; \"I am sure you must know\nbest; I would never try to force my way of thinking on you, Mary. No\ndoubt you have been more in the world than I have; but I did think when\na woman was in trouble that to go among her own friends----\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mary, who was overwhelmed, and did not feel able to bear it,\n\"but her friends might understand her and have a little pity for her,\naunt, when she had hard things to do that wrung her heart----\"\n\n\"My dear,\" said Aunt Agatha, with, on her side, the bitterness of\nunappreciated exertion, \"if you will think how far I have come, and what\nan unusual journey I have made, I think you will perceive that to accuse\nme of want of pity----\"\n\n\"Don't worry her, Aunt Agatha,\" said Winnie, \"she is not accusing you of\nwant of pity. I think it a very strange sort of thing, myself; but let\nMary have justice, that was not what she meant.\"\n\n\"I should like to know what she did mean,\" said Aunt Agatha, who was\ntrembling with vexation, and with those tears which she wanted so much\nto shed: and then two or three of them dropped on the broad-brimmed\ncambric cuff which she was wearing solely on Mary's account. For, to be\nsure, Major Ochterlony was not to say a relation of hers that she should\nhave worn such deep mourning for him. \"I am sure I don't want to\ninterfere, if she prefers Francis Ochterlony to her own friends,\" she\nadded, with tremulous haste. She was the very same Aunt Agatha who had\ntaken Mary to her arms the day before, and sat by her bed, listening to\nall the sad story of her widowhood. She had wept for Hugh, and she would\nhave shared her cottage and her garden and all she had with Mary, with\ngoodwill and bounty, eagerly--but Francis Ochterlony was a different\nmatter; and it was not in human nature to bear the preference of a\nhusband's brother to \"her own friends.\" \"They may be the last\nOchterlonys,\" said Aunt Agatha, \"but I never understood that a woman was\nto give up her own family entirely; and your sister was born a Seton\nlike you and me, Winnie;--I don't understand it, for my part.\"\n\nAunt Agatha broke down when she had said this, and cried more bitterly,\nmore effusively, so long as it lasted, than she had cried last night\nover Hugh Ochterlony's sudden ending: and Mary could not but feel that;\nand as for Winnie, she sat silent, and if she did not make things worse,\nat least she made no effort to make them better. On the whole, it was\nnot much wonder. They had made great changes in the cottage for Mary's\nsake. Aunt Agatha had given up her parlour, her own pretty room that she\nloved, for a nursery, and they had made up their minds that the best\nchamber was to be Mary's, with a sort of sense that the fresh chintz and\nthe pictures on the walls--it was the only bed-room that had any\npictures--would make up to her if anything could. And now to find all\nthe time that it was Francis Ochterlony, and not her own friends, that\nshe was going to! Winnie sat quite still, with her fine profile cut out\nsternly against the dark green wall, looking immovable and unfeeling, as\nonly a profile can under such circumstances. This was what came of\nMary's placid morning, and the dear union of family support and love\ninto which she thought she had come. It was harder upon Mrs. Ochterlony\nthan if Aunt Agatha had not come to meet her. She had to sit blank and\nsilent like a criminal, and see the old lady cry and the young lady lift\nup the stern delicacy of that profile against her. They were\ndisappointed in Mary; and not only were they disappointed, but\nmortified--wounded in their best feelings and embarrassed in secondary\nmatters as well; for naturally Aunt Agatha had told everybody that she\nwas going to bring her niece, Mrs. Ochterlony, and the poor dear\nchildren home.\n\nThus it will be seen that the first breakfast in England was a very\nunsatisfactory meal for Mary. She took refuge with her children when it\nwas over, and shut up, as she had been forced to do in other days,\nanother door in her heart; and Aunt Agatha and Winnie, on the other\nhand, withdrew to their apartment and talked it over, and kindled each\nother's indignation. \"If you knew the kind of man he was, Winnie!\" Aunt\nAgatha said, with a severity which was not entirely on Mary's account;\n\"not the sort of man I would trust those poor dear children with. I\ndon't believe he has any religious principles. Dear, dear, to think how\nMary should have changed! I never could have thought she would have\npreferred Francis Ochterlony, and turned against her own friends.\"\n\n\"I don't know anything about Francis Ochterlony,\" said Winnie, \"but I\nknow what a lot of bother we have had at home making all those changes;\nand your parlour that you had given up, Aunt Agatha--I must say when I\nthink of that----\"\n\n\"That is nothing, my love,\" said Aunt Agatha; \"I was not thinking of\nwhat I have done, I hope--as if the sacrifice was anything.\" But\nnevertheless the tears came into her eyes at the thought. It is hard\nwhen one has made a sacrifice with a liberal heart, to have it thrown\nback, and to feel that it is useless. This is hard, and Aunt Agatha was\nonly human. If she had been alone, probably after the first moment of\nannoyance she would have gone to Mary, and the two would have cried\ntogether, and after little Hugh's prospects had been discussed, Miss\nSeton would have consented that it was best for her niece to go to\nEarlston; but then Winnie was there to talk it over and keep up Aunt\nAgatha's indignation. And Mary was wounded, and had retired and shut\nherself up among her children. And it was thus that the most trifling\nand uncalled-for of cares came, with little pricks of vexation and\ndisappointment, to disturb at its very outset the new chapter of life\nwhich Mrs. Ochterlony had imagined herself to be entering upon in such a\ncalm of tranquillising grief.\n\nThey were to go to London that day, and to continue their journey to the\nNorth by the night train: but it was no longer a journey in which any of\nthe party could take any pleasure. As for Mary, in the great revulsion\nof her disappointment, it seemed to her as if there was no comfort for\nher anywhere. She had to go to Earlston to accept a home from Francis\nOchterlony, whom she had never \"taken to,\" even in her young days. And\nit had occurred to her that her aunt and sister would understand why,\nand would be sorry for her, and console her under this painful effort.\nWhen, on the contrary, they proved to be affronted and indignant, Mary's\nheart shut close, and retreated within itself. She could take her\nchildren into her arms, and press them against her heart, as if that\nwould do it some good; but she could not talk to the little things, nor\nconsult them, nor share anything with them except such smiles as were\npracticable. To a woman who has been used to talk all her concerns over\nwith some one, it is terrible to feel her yearnings for counsel and\nsympathy turned back upon her own soul, and to be struck dumb, and feel\nthat no ear is open to her, and that in all the world there is no one\nliving to whom her affairs are more than the affairs of a stranger. Some\npoor women there are who must have fellowship somehow, and who will be\ncontent with pity if sympathy is not to be had. But Mary was not of this\nkind of women. She shut her doors. She went in, into herself in the\nsilence and solitude, and felt her instinctive yearning to be helped and\nunderstood come pouring back upon her like a bitter flood. And then she\nlooked at her little boys in their play, who had need of all from her,\nand could give her back but their childish fondness, and no help, or\nstay, or counsel. It is hard upon a woman, but yet it is a thing which\nevery woman must confront and make up her mind to, whom God places in\nsuch circumstances. I do not know if it is easier work for a man in the\nsame position. Mary had felt the prop of expected sympathy and\nencouragement and affection rudely driven from under her, and when she\ncame in among her innocent helpless children she faced her lot, and did\nnot deceive herself any more. To judge for herself, and do the best that\nin her lay, and take all the responsibilities upon her own head,\nwhatever might follow; to know that nobody now in all the world was for\nher, or stood by her, except in a very secondary way, after his or her\nconcerns and intentions and feelings had been carefully provided for in\nthe first place. This was how her position appeared to her. And, indeed,\nsuch _was_ her position, without any exaggeration. It was very kind of\nFrancis Ochterlony to be willing to take her in, and very kind of Aunt\nAgatha to have made preparations for her; and kindness is sweet, and yet\nit is bitter, and hard, and cold, and killing to meet with. It made Mary\nsick to her heart, and filled her with a longing to take up her babes\nand rush away into some solitary corner, where nobody would ever see her\nagain or hear of her. I do not say that she was right, or that it was a\nproper state of mind to be in. And Mary was too right-minded a woman to\nindulge in it long; but that was the feeling that momentarily took\npossession of her as she put the doors to in her heart, and realized\nthat she really was alone there, and that her concerns were hers alone,\nand belonged to nobody else in the world.\n\nAnd, on the other hand, it was very natural for Aunt Agatha and Winnie.\nThey knew the exertions they had made, and the flutter of generous\nexcitement in which they had been, and their readiness to give up their\nbest for the solace of the widow. And naturally the feeling that all\ntheir sacrifices were unnecessary and their preparations made in vain,\nturned the honey into gall for the moment. It was not their part to take\nMary's duty into consideration, in the first place; and they did not\nknow beforehand of Francis Ochterlony's letter, nor the poor Major's\nconfidence that his brother would be a friend to his widow. And then\nAunt Agatha's parlour, which was all metamorphosed, and the changes that\nhad been made through the whole house! The result was, that Aunt Agatha,\noffended, did not so much as offer to her niece the little\nbreathing-time Mary had hoped for. When they got to London, she\nre-opened the subject, but it was in an unanswerable way.\n\n\"I suppose your brother-in-law expects you?\" she said. \"I think it will\nbe better to wait till to-morrow before you start, that he may send the\ncarriage to the station for you. I don't ask you to come to me for the\nnight, for it would be a pity to derange the children for so short a\ntime.\"\n\n\"Very well, aunt,\" said Mary, sadly. And she wrote to Mr. Ochterlony,\nand slept that night in town--her strength almost failing her at the\nthought that, in her feebleness and excitement, she had to throw herself\nimmediately on Francis Ochterlony's tender mercies. She even paused for\na moment to think, might she not really do as her heart suggested--find\nout some corner of refuge for herself with which nobody could\nintermeddle, and keep apart from them all? But Mary had come \"home to\nher friends,\" as everybody said at the station; and she had a woman's\nprejudices, and it seemed unnatural to her to begin, without any\ninterposition of the people belonging to her, that strange and solitary\nlife of independence or self-dependence which was what she must decide\nupon some time. And then there was always Mr. Ochterlony's letter, which\nwas so kind. Thus it was fixed by a few words, and could not be changed.\nAunt Agatha had a terrible compunction afterwards, and could not get\nMary's look out of her head, as she owned to Winnie, and would have got\nup out of her bed in the middle of the night, and gone to Mary and\nbegged her to come to the cottage first, if it had not been that Winnie\nmight have woke up, and that she would have to cross a passage to Mary's\nroom; and in an hotel where \"gentlemen\" were continually about, and who\ncould tell whom she might meet? So they all slept, or pretended to\nsleep, and said nothing about it; and the next day set off with no\nfurther explanations, on their way \"home.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nEarlston is a house which lies in a little green valley among the grey\nfolds of the Shap Fells. It is not an inviting country, though the\npeople love it as people do love everything that belongs to them; and it\nhas a very different aspect from the wooded dell a little farther north,\nwhere strays the romantic little Kirtell, and where Aunt Agatha's\ncottage smiled upon a tufted <DW72>, with the music of the cheery river\nin its ears day and night. The rivers about Earlston were shallow, and\nran dry in summer, though it was not because of any want of rain; and\nthe greyness of the hills made a kind of mist in the air to unaccustomed\neyes. Everybody, who has ever gone to the north that way, knows the deep\ncuttings about Shap, where the railway plunges through between two humid\nliving limestone walls, where the cottages, and the fences, and the\nfarm-houses all lead up in level tones of grey to the vast greyness of\nthe piebald hills, and where the line of pale sky above is grey too in\nmost cases. It was at one of the little stations in this monotonous\ndistrict that Mrs. Ochterlony and her children and her ayah were\ndeposited--Aunt Agatha, with an aspect of sternness, but a heart that\nsmote her, and eyes that kept filling with tears she was too proud to\nshed, looking on the while. Winnie looked on too without the\ncompunction, feeling very affronted and angry. They were going further\non, and the thought of home was overcast to both these ladies by the\nfact that everybody would ask for Mary, and that the excitement of the\npast few weeks would collapse in the dreariest and suddenest way when\nthey were seen to return alone. As for Mary, she looked grey like the\nlandscape, under her heavy veil--grey, silent, in a kind of dull\ndespair, persuading herself that the best thing of all was to say\nnothing about it, and shut only more closely the doors of that heart\nwhere nobody now had any desire to come in. She lifted her little boys\nout, and did not care even to look if the carriage was waiting for\nher--and then she came to the window to bid her aunt and sister\ngood-bye. She was so disappointed and sick-hearted, and felt for the\nmoment that the small amount of affection and comprehension which they\nwere capable of giving her was so little worth the trouble of seeking\nfor, that Mary did not even ask to be written to. She put up her pale\nface, and said good-bye in a dreary unexpectant tone that doubled the\ncompunction in Aunt Agatha's bosom. \"Oh, Mary, if you had but been\ncoming with us!\" cried that inconsistent woman, on the spur of the\nmoment. \"It is too late to speak of it now,\" said Mary, and kissed her\nand turned away; and the heartless train dashed off, and carried off\nAunt Agatha with that picture in her eyes of the forlorn little group on\nthe platform of the railway station--the two little boys clinging close\nto their mother, and she standing alone among strangers, with the\nwidow's veil hanging over her colourless face. \"Can you see the\ncarriage, Winnie?--look out and tell me if you can see it,\" said Aunt\nAgatha. But the engine that carried them on was too quick for Winnie,\nand had already swept out of sight. And they pursued their journey,\nfeeling guilty and wretched, as indeed, to a certain extent, they\ndeserved to feel. A two months' widow, with a baby and two helpless\nlittle boys--and at the best it could only be a servant who had come to\nmeet her, and she would have everything to do for herself, and to face\nher brother-in-law without any support or helper. When Aunt Agatha\nthought of this, she sank back in her corner and sobbed. To think that\nshe should have been the one to take offence and be affronted at Mary's\nfirst word, and desert her thus: when she might have taken her home and\ncomforted her, and then, if it must have ended so, conveyed her to\nEarlston: Aunt Agatha cried, and deserved to cry, and even Winnie felt a\ntwinge at her heart; and they got rather angry with each other before\nthey reached home, and felt disposed to accuse each other, and trembled\nboth of them before the idea of meeting Peggy, Miss Seton's domestic\ntyrant, who would rush to the door with her heart in her mouth to\nreceive \"our Miss Mary and the puir dear fatherless bairns.\" Mary might\nbe silent about it, and never complain of unkindness; but it was not to\nbe expected that Peggy would have the same scruples; and these two\nguilty and miserable travellers trembled at the thought of her as they\nmade their wretched way home.\n\nWhen the train had disappeared, Mary tried to take a kind of cold\ncomfort to herself. She stood all alone, a stranger, with the few rustic\npassengers and rustic railway officials staring at her as if she had\ndropped from the skies, and no apparent sign anywhere that her coming\nhad been looked for, or that there was any resting-place for her in this\ngrey country. And she said to herself that it was natural, and must\nalways be so henceforth, and that it was best at once to accustom\nherself to her lot. The carriage had not come, nor any message from\nEarlston to say she was expected, and all that she could do was to go\ninto the rude little waiting-room, and wait there with the tired\nchildren till some conveyance could be got to take her to her\nbrother-in-law's house. Her thoughts would not be pleasant to put down\non paper, could it be done; and yet they were not so painful as they had\nbeen the day before, when Aunt Agatha failed her, or seemed to fail. Now\nthat disappointed craving for help and love and fellowship was over for\nthe moment, and she had nothing but her own duty and Francis Ochterlony\nto encounter, who was not a man to give any occasion for vain hopes.\nMary did not expect fellowship or love from her brother-in-law. If he\nwas kind and tolerant of the children, and moderately considerate to\nherself, it was all she looked for from him. Perhaps, though he had\ninvited her, he had not been prepared to have her thrown on his hands so\nsoon; and it might be that the domestic arrangements of Earlston were\nnot such as to admit of the unlooked-for invasion of a lady and a\nnursery on such very short notice. But the most prominent feeling in\nMrs. Ochterlony's mind was weariness, and that longing to escape\nanywhere, which is the most universal of all sentiments when the spirit\nis worn out and sick to death. Oh, that she had wings like a\ndove!--though Mary had nowhere to flee to, nobody to seek consolation\nfrom; and instead of having a home anywhere on earth awaiting her, was\nherself the home, the only shelter they understood, of the little pale\nfatherless children who clustered round her. If she could but have taken\npossession of one of those small cottages, grey and homely as they\nlooked, and put the little ones to bed in it, and drawn a wooden chair\nto the fire, and been where she had a right to be! It was July, but the\nweather was cold at Shap, and Mary had that instinct common to wounded\ncreatures of creeping to the fire, as if there was a kind of comfort in\nits warmth. She could have borne her burden bravely, or at least she\nthought so, if this had been what awaited her. But it was Earlston and\nFrancis Ochterlony that awaited her--a stranger and a stranger's house.\nAll these thoughts, and many more, were passing through her mind, as she\nsat in the little waiting-room with her baby in her arms, and her two\nelder boys pressing close to her. The children clung and appealed to\nher, and the helpless Hindoo woman crouched at her mistress's side; but\nas for Mary, there was nobody to give her any support or countenance. It\nwas a hard opening to the stern way which had henceforward to be trodden\nalone.\n\nFrancis Ochterlony, however, though he had a certain superb indifference\nto the going-out and coming-in of trains, and had forgotten the precise\nhour, was not a wretch nor a brute, and had not forgotten his visitors.\nWhile Mary sat and waited, and while the master of the little station\nmade slow but persevering search after some possible means of conveyance\nfor her, a heavy rumbling of wheels became audible, and the carriage\nfrom Earlston made its tardy appearance. It was an old-fashioned\nvehicle, drawn by two horses, which betrayed their ordinary avocations\nmuch in the same way as the coachman did, who, though dressed, as they\nwere, for the occasion, carried a breath of the fields about him, which\nwas more convincing than any conventionalism of garments. But such as it\nwas, the Earlston carriage was not without consideration in the\ncountry-side. All the people about turned out in a leisurely way to\nlift the children into it, and shoulder the boxes into such corners as\ncould be found for them--which was an affair that demanded many\ncounsellors--and at length the vehicle got under way. Twilight began to\ncome on as they mounted up into the grey country, by the winding grey\nroads fenced in with limestone walls. Everything grew greyer in the\nwaning light. The very trees, of which there were so few, dropped into\nthe gathering shadows, and deepened them without giving any livelier\ntint of colour to the scene. The children dropped asleep, and the ayah\ncrooned and nodded over the baby; but Mary, who had no temptation to\nsleep, looked out with steady eyes, and, though she saw nothing\ndistinctly, took in unawares all the comfortless chill and monotony of\nthe landscape. It went to her heart, and made her shiver. Or perhaps it\nwas only the idea of meeting Francis Ochterlony that made her shiver. If\nthe children, any one of them, had only been old enough to understand it\na little, to clasp her hand or her neck with the exuberance of childish\nsympathy! But they did not understand, and dropped asleep, or asked with\ntimid, quivering little voices, how long it would be before they got\nhome. Home! no wonder Mrs. Ochterlony was cold, and felt the chill go to\nher heart. Thus they went on for six or seven weary miles, taking as\nmany hours, as Mary thought. Aunt Agatha had arrived at her cottage,\nthough it was nearly thirty miles further on, while the comfortless\nparty were still jogging along in the Earlston carriage; but Mary did\nnot think particularly of that. She did not think at all, poor soul. She\nsaw the grey hill-side gliding past her, and in a vague way, at the same\nmoment, seemed to see herself, a bride, going gaily past on the same\nroad, and rehearsed all the past over again with a dull pain, and\nshivered, and felt cold--cold to her heart. This was partly perhaps\nbecause it is chilly in Cumberland, when one has just come from India;\nand partly because there was something that affected a woman's fanciful\nimagination in the misty monotony of the limestone country, and the grey\nwaste of the hills.\n\nEarlston, too, was grey, as was to be expected; and the trees which\nsurrounded it had lost colour in the night. The hall was but dimly\nlighted, when the door was opened--as is but too common in country\nhouses of so retired a kind--and there was nobody ready at the instant\nto open the door or to receive the strangers. To be sure, people were\ncalled and came--the housekeeper first, in a silk gown, which rustled\nexcessively, and with a certain air of patronizing affability; and then\nMr. Ochterlony, who had been sitting, as he usually did, in his\ndressing-gown, and who had to get into his coat so hurriedly that he had\nnot recovered from it when he shook hands with his sister-in-law; and\nthen by degrees servants appeared, and lifted out the sleepy, startled\nchildren, who, between waking and sleeping, worn out, frightened, and\nexcited, were precisely in the condition which it is most difficult to\nmanage. And the ayah, who could hold no Christian communication with\nanybody around her, was worse than useless to her poor mistress. When\nMr. Ochterlony led the way into the great, solemn, dark,\ndining-room--which was the nearest room at hand--the children, instead\nof consenting to be led upstairs, clung with one unanimous accord to\ntheir mother. Little Wilfrid got to her arms, notwithstanding all\nremonstrances, and Hugh and Islay each seized silently a handful of her\nblack dress, crushing the crape beyond all remedy. It was thus she\nentered Earlston, which had been her husband's birthplace, and was to be\nher son's inheritance--or so at least Mary thought.\n\n\"I hope you have had a pleasant journey,\" Mr. Ochterlony said, shaking\nhands with her again. \"I daresay they are tired, poor little things--but\nyou have had good weather, I hope.\" This he said after he had indicated\nto Mary a large easy-chair in carved oak, which stood by the side of the\nfire-place, and into which, with little Wilfrid clinging to her, and\nIslay and Hugh holding fast by her dress, it was not so easy to get. The\nmaster of the house did not sit down himself, for it was dreary and\ndark, and he was a man of fine perceptions; but he walked to the window\nand looked out, and then came back again to his sister-in-law. \"I am\nglad you have had such good weather--but I am sure you must all be\ntired,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mary, who would have liked to cry, \"very tired; but I hope\nwe did not come too soon. Your letter was so kind that I thought----\"\n\n\"Oh don't speak of it,\" said Mr. Ochterlony; and then he stood before\nher on the dark hearth, and did not know what more to say. The twilight\nwas still lingering, and there were no lights in the room, and it was\nfitted up with the strictest regard to propriety, and just as a\ndining-room ought to be. Weird gleams of dull reflection out of the\ndepths of old mahogany lay low towards the floor, bewildering the\nvisitor; and there was not even the light of a fire, which, for merely\nconventional motives, because it was July, did not occupy its usual\nplace; though Mary, fresh from India, and shivering with the chill of\nexcitement and nervous grief, would have given anything to be within\nreach of one. Neither did she know what to say to her almost unknown\nbrother-in-law, whose face even she could see very imperfectly; and the\nchildren grasped her with that tight hold which is in itself a warning,\nand shows that everything is possible in the way of childish fright and\npassion. But still it was indispensable that she should find something\nto say.\n\n\"My poor little boys are so young,\" she said, faltering. \"It was very\ngood of you to ask us, and I hope they won't be troublesome. I think I\nwill ask the housekeeper to show us where we are to be. The railway\ntires them more than the ship did. This is Hugh,\" said Mary, swallowing\nas best she could the gasp in her throat, and detaching poor little\nHugh's hand from her crape. But she had tears in her voice, and Mr.\nOchterlony had a wholesome dread of crying. He gave his nephew a hurried\npat on the head without looking at him, and called for Mrs. Gilsland,\nwho was at hand among the shadows rustling with her silk gown.\n\n\"Oh!\" he said hurriedly. \"A fine little fellow I am sure;--but you are\nquite right, and they must be tired, and I will not detain you. Dinner\nis at seven,\" said Mr. Ochterlony. What could he say? He could not even\nsee the faces of the woman and children whom it was his dread but\nevident duty to receive. When they went away under Mrs. Gilsland's\ncharge, he followed them to the foot of the stairs, and stood looking\nafter them as the procession mounted, guided by the rustle of the\nhousekeeper's gown. The poor man looked at them in a bewildered way, and\nthen went off to his library, where his own shaded lamp was lit, and\nwhere everything was cosy and familiar. Arrived there, he threw himself\ninto his own chair with a sigh. He was not a brute, nor a wretch, as we\nhave said, and the least thing he could do when he heard of his poor\nbrother's death was to offer a shelter--temporarily at least--to the\nwidow and her children; but perhaps a lurking hope that something might\nturn up to prevent the invasion had been in his mind up to this day. Now\nshe was here, and what was he to do with her? Now _they_ were here,\nwhich was still more serious--three boys (even though one of them was a\nbaby) in a house full of everything that was daintiest and rarest and\nmost delicate! No wonder Mr. Ochterlony was momentarily stupefied by\ntheir arrival; and then he had not even seen their faces to know what\nthey were like. He remembered Mary of old in her bride-days, but then\nshe was too young, too fresh, too unsubdued to please him. If she were\nas full of vigour and energy now, what was to become of a quiet man\nwho, above all things, loved tranquillity and leisure? This was what\nFrancis Ochterlony was thinking as his visitors went upstairs.\n\nMrs. Ochterlony was inducted into the best rooms in the house. Her\nbrother-in-law was not an effusive or sympathetic man by nature, but\nstill he knew what was his duty under the circumstances. Two great rooms\ngleaming once more with ebon gleams out of big wardrobes and\nhalf-visible mirrors, with beds that looked a little like hearses, and\nheavy solemn hangings. Mrs. Gilsland's silk gown rustled about\neverywhere, pointing out a thousand conveniences unknown at the station;\nbut all Mary was thinking about was one of those grey cottages on the\nroad, with the fire burning brightly, and its little homely walls\nlighted up with the fitful, cheerful radiance. If she could but have had\na fire, and crept up to it, and knelt on the hearth and held herself to\nthe comforting warmth! There are times when a poor creature feels all\nbody, just as there are times when she feels all soul. And then, to\nthink that dinner was at seven! just as it had been when she came there\nwith Hugh, a girl all confident of happiness and life. No doubt Mr.\nOchterlony would have forgiven his sister-in-law, and probably indeed\nwould have been as much relieved as she, if she had but sent an apology\nand stayed in her room all the evening. But Mary was not the kind of\nwoman to do this. It did not occur to her to depart from the natural\nroutine, or make so much talk about her own feelings or sentiments as\nwould be necessary even to excuse her. What did it matter? If it had to\nbe done, it had to be done, and there was nothing more to be said. This\nwas the view her mind took of most matters; and she had always been\nwell, and never had any pretext to get out of things she did not like,\nas women do who have headaches and handy little illnesses. She could\nalways do what was needful, and did always do it without stopping to\nmake any questions; which is a serviceable kind of temperament in life,\nand yet subjects people to many little martyrdoms which otherwise they\nmight escape from. Though her heart was sick, she put on her best gown\nall covered with crape, and her widow's cap, and went down to dine with\nFrancis Ochterlony in the great dining-room, leaving her children\nbehind, and longing unspeakably for that cottage with the fire.\n\nIt was not such an unbecoming dress after all, notwithstanding what\npeople say. Mary was worn and sad, but she was not faded; and the dead\nwhite of the cap that encircled her face, and the dead black of her\ndress, did not do so much harm as perhaps they ought to have done to\nthat sweet and stedfast grace, which had made the regiment recognise\nand adopt young Stafford's fanciful title. She was still Madonna Mary\nunder that disfigurement; and on the whole she was _not_ disfigured by\nher dress. Francis Ochterlony lifted his eyes with equal surprise and\nsatisfaction to take a second look at poor Hugh's widow. He felt by\ninstinct that Phidias himself could not have filled a corner in his\ndrawing-room, which was so full of fine things, with a figure more fair\nor half so appropriate as that of the serene woman who now took her seat\nthere, abstracted a little into the separation and remoteness of sorrow,\nbut with no discord in her face. He liked her better so than with the\ngroup of children, who made her look as if she was a Charity, and the\nheavy veil hanging half over her face, which had a conventual and\nuncomfortable effect; and he was very courteous and attentive to his\nsister-in-law. \"I hope you had good weather,\" he said in his deferential\nway; \"and I trust, when you have been a few days at Earlston, the\nfatigue will wear off. You will find everything quiet here.\"\n\n\"I hope so,\" said Mary; \"but it is the children I am thinking of. I\ntrust our rooms are a long distance off, and that we will not disturb\nyou.\"\n\n\"That is quite a secondary matter,\" said Mr. Ochterlony. \"The question\nis, are you comfortable? I hope you will let Mrs. Gilsland know if\nanything is wanted. We are not--not quite used to these sort of things,\nyou know; but I am sure, if anything is wanted----\"\n\n\"You are very kind,\" said Mary; \"I am sure we shall be very\ncomfortable.\" And yet as she said so her thoughts went off with a leap\nto that little cottage interior, and the cheerful light that shone out\nof the window, and the fire that crackled and blazed within. Ah, if she\nwere but there! not dining with Mr. Ochterlony in solemn grandeur, but\nputting her little boys to bed, and preparing their supper for them, and\ncheating away heavy thoughts by that dear common work for the comfort\nand service of her own which a woman loves. But this was not a sort of\nlonging to give expression to at Earlston, where in the evening Mr.\nOchterlony was very kind to his sister-in-law, and showed her a great\nmany priceless things which Mary regarded with trembling, thinking of\ntwo small barbarians about to be let loose among them, not to speak of\nlittle Wilfrid, who was old enough to dash an Etruscan vase to the\nearth, or upset the rarest piece of china, though he was still only a\nbaby. She could not tell how they were so much as to walk through that\ndrawing-room without doing some harm, and her heart sank within her as\nshe listened to all those loving lingering descriptions which only a\nvirtuoso can make. Mr. Ochterlony retired that evening with a sense\nalways agreeable to a man, that in doing a kind thing he had not done a\nfoolish one, and that the children of such a fair and gracious woman\ncould not be the graceless imps who had been haunting his dreams ever\nsince he knew they were coming home; but Mary for her part took no such\nflattering unction to her soul. She sighed as she went upstairs sad and\nweary to the great sombre room, in which a couple of candles burned like\ntiny stars in a world of darkness, and looked at her sleeping boys, and\nwondered what they were to do in this collection of curiosities and\nbeauties. She was an ignorant woman, and did not, alas! care anything at\nall for the Venus Anadyomene. But she thought of little Hugh tilting\nthat marble lady and her pedestal over, and shook and trembled at the\nidea. She trembled too with cold and nervous agitation, and the chill of\nsorrow in her heart. In the lack of other human sources of consolation,\noh! to go to that cottage hearth, and kneel down and feel to one's very\nsoul the comfort of the warm consoling fire.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nIt had need to be a mind which has reached the last stage of human\nsentiment which can altogether resist the influence of a lovely summer\nmorning, all made of warmth, and light, and softened sounds, and far-off\nodours. Mrs. Ochterlony had not reached this last stage; she was still\nyoung, and she was only at the beginning of her loneliness, and her\nheart had not sickened at life, as hearts do sometimes which have made a\ngreat many repeated efforts to live, and have to give in again and\nagain. When she saw the sunshine lying in a supreme peacefulness upon\nthose grey hills, and all the pale sky and blue depths of air beaming\nsoftly with that daylight which comes from God, her courage came back to\nher in spite of herself. She began the morning by the shedding of those\nsilent tears which are all the apology one can make to one's dead, for\nhaving the heart to begin another day without them; and when that moment\nwas over, and the children had lifted all their daylight faces in a\nflutter of curiosity and excitement about this new \"home\" they had come\nto, after so long talking of it and looking forward to it, things did\nnot seem so dark to Mary as on the previous evening. For one thing, the\nsun was warm and shone in at her windows, which made a great difference;\nand with her children's voices in her ears, and their faces fresh in the\nmorning light, what woman could be altogether without courage? \"So long\nas they are well,\" she said to herself--and went down stairs a little\nconsoled, to pour out Mr. Ochterlony's coffee for him, thanking heaven\nin her heart that her boys were to have a meal which had nothing calm\nnor classical about it, in the old nursery where their father had once\neaten his breakfasts, and which had been hurriedly prepared for them.\n\"The little dears must go down after dinner; but master, ma'am--well,\nhe's an old bachelor, you know,\" said Mrs. Gilsland, while explaining\nthis arrangement. \"Oh, thank you; I hope you will help me to keep them\nfrom disturbing him,\" Mary had said; and thus it was with a lighter\nheart that she went down stairs.\n\nMr. Ochterlony came down too at the same time in an amiable frame of\nmind. Notwithstanding that he had to put himself into a morning coat,\nand abjured his dressing-gown, which was somewhat of a trial for a man\nof fixed habits, nothing could exceed the graciousness of his looks. A\ncertain horrible notion common to his class, that children scream all\nnight long, and hold an entire household liable to be called up at any\nmoment, had taken possession of his mind. But his tired little guests\nhad been swallowed up in the silence of the house, and had neither\nscreamed, nor shouted, nor done anything to disturb its habitual quiet;\nand the wonderful satisfaction of having done his duty, and not having\nsuffered for it, had entered Mr. Ochterlony's mind. It is in such\ncircumstances that the sweet sense of well-doing, which is generally\nsupposed the best reward of virtue, settles upon a good man's spirits.\nThe Squire might be premature in his self-congratulations, but then his\nsense of relief was exquisite. If nothing worse was to come of it than\nthe presence of a fair woman, whose figure was always in drawing, and\nwho never put herself into an awkward attitude--whose voice was soft,\nand her movements tranquil, Mr. Ochterlony felt that self-sacrifice\nafter all was practicable. The boys could be sent to school as all boys\nwere, and at intervals might be endured when there was nothing else for\nit. Thus he came down in a benign condition, willing to be pleased. As\nfor Mary, the first thing that disturbed her calm, was the fact that she\nwas herself of no use at her brother-in-law's breakfast-table. He made\nhis coffee himself, and then he went into general conversation in the\nkindest way, to put her at her ease.\n\n\"That is the Farnese Hercules,\" he said; \"I saw it caught your eye last\nnight. It is from a cast I had made for the purpose, and is considered\nvery perfect; and that you know is the new Pallas, the Pallas that was\nfound in the Sestina Villa; you recollect, perhaps?\"\n\n\"I am afraid not,\" said Mary, faltering; and she looked at them, poor\nsoul, with wistful eyes, and tried to feel a little interest. \"I have\nbeen so long out of the way of everything----\"\n\n\"To be sure,\" said the Squire, encouragingly, \"and my poor brother Hugh,\nI remember, knew very little about it. He went early to India, and had\nfew advantages, poor fellow.\" All this Mr. Ochterlony said while he was\nconcocting his coffee; and Mary had nothing to do but to sit and listen\nto him with her face fully open to his inspection if he liked, and no\nkindly urn before her to hide the sudden rush of tears and indignation.\nA man who spent his life having casts made, and collecting what Mary in\nher heart with secret rage called \"pretty things!\"--that he should make\na complacent contrast between himself and his brother! The suggestion\nfilled Mrs. Ochterlony with a certain speechless fury which was born of\nher grief.\n\n\"He knew well how to do his duty,\" she said, as soon as she could speak;\nand she would not let her tears fall, but opened her burning eyes wide,\nand absorbed them somehow out of pride for Hugh.\n\n\"Poor fellow!\" said his brother, daintily pouring out the fragrant\ncoffee. \"I don't know if he ever could have had much appreciation of\nArt; but I am sure he made a good soldier, as you say. I was very much\nmoved and shocked when I heard--but do not let us talk of such painful\nsubjects; another time, perhaps----\"\n\nAnd Mary sat still with her heart beating, and said no more--thinking\nthrough all the gentle flow of conversation that followed of the\ninconceivable conceit that could for a moment class Francis Ochterlony's\ndilettante life with that of her dead Hugh, who had played a man's part\nin the world, and had the heart to die for his duty's sake. And this\nuseless Squire could speak of the few advantages he had! It was\nunreasonable, for, to tell the truth, the Squire was much more\naccomplished, much better instructed than the Major. The Numismatic\nSociety and the Society of Antiquaries, and even, on certain subjects,\nthe British Association, would have listened to Francis Ochterlony as if\nhe had been a messenger from heaven. Whereas Hugh the soldier would\nnever have got a hearing nor dared to open his lips in any learned\npresence. But then that did not matter to his wife, who, notwithstanding\nher many high qualities, was not a perfectly reasonable woman. Those\n\"few advantages\" stood terribly in Mary's way for that first morning.\nThey irritated her far more than Mr. Ochterlony could have had the least\nconception or understanding of. If anybody had given him a glass to look\ninto her heart with, the Squire would have been utterly confounded by\nwhat he saw there. What had he done? And indeed he had done nothing that\nanybody (in his senses) could have found fault with; he had but turned\nMary's thoughts once more with a violent longing to the roadside\ncottage, where at least, if she and her children were but safely housed,\nher soldier's memory would be shrined, and his sword hung up upon the\nhomely wall, and his name turned into a holy thing. Whereas he was only\na younger brother who had gone away to India, and had few advantages, in\nthe Earlston way of thinking. This was the uppermost thought in Mrs.\nOchterlony's mind as her brother-in-law exhibited all his collections to\nher. The drawing-room, which she had but imperfectly seen in her\nweariness and preoccupation the previous night, was a perfect museum of\nthings rich and rare. There were delicate marbles, tiny but priceless,\nstanding out white and ethereal against the soft, carefully chosen,\ntoned crimson of the curtains; and bronzes that were worth half a year's\nincome of the lands of Earlston; and Etruscan vases and Pompeian relics;\nand hideous dishes with lizards on them, besides plaques of dainty\nporcelain with Raphael's designs; the very chairs were fantastic with\ninlaying and gilding--curious articles, some of them worth their weight\nin gold; and if you but innocently looked at an old cup and saucer on a\ndainty table wondering what it did there, it turned out to be the ware\nof Henri II., and priceless. To see Mary going over all this with her\nattention preoccupied and wandering, and yet a wistful interest in her\neyes, was a strange sight. All that she had in the world was her\nchildren, and the tiny little income of a soldier's widow--and you may\nsuppose perhaps that she was thinking what a help to her and the still\nmore valuable little human souls she had to care for, would have been\nthe money's-worth of some of these fragile beauties. But that was not\nwhat was in Mrs. Ochterlony's mind. What occupied her, on the contrary,\nwas an indignant wonder within herself how a man who spent his existence\nupon such trifles (they looked trifles to her, from her point of view,\nand in this of course she was still unreasonable) could venture to look\ndown with complacency upon the real life, so honestly lived and so\nbravely ended, of his brother Hugh--poor Hugh, as he ventured to call\nhim. Mr. Ochterlony might die a dozen times over, and what would his\nmarble Venus care, that he was so proud of? But it was Hugh who had\ndied; and it was a kind of comfort to feel that _he_ at least, though\nthey said he had few advantages, had left one faithful woman behind him\nto keep his grave green for ever.\n\nThe morning passed, however, though it was a long morning; and Mary\nlooked into all the cabinets of coins and precious engraved gems, and\nrare things of all sorts, with a most divided attention and wandering\nmind--thinking where were the children? were they out-of-doors? were\nthey in any trouble? for the unearthly quietness in the house seemed to\nher experienced mother's ear to bode harm of some kind--either illness\nor mischief, and most likely the last. As for Mr. Ochterlony, it never\noccurred to him that his sister-in-law, while he was showing her his\ncollections, should not be as indifferent as he was to any vulgar\noutside influence. \"We shall not be disturbed,\" he said, with a calm\nreassuring smile, when he saw her glance at the door; \"Mrs. Gilsland\nknows better,\" and he drew out another drawer of coins as he spoke. Poor\nMary began to tremble, but the same sense of duty which made her husband\nstand to be shot at, kept her at her post. She went through with it like\na martyr, without flinching, though longing, yearning, dying to get\nfree. If she were but in that cottage, looking after her little boys'\ndinner, and hearing their voices as they played at the door--their\nservant and her own mistress, instead of the helpless slave of courtesy,\nand interest, and her position, looking at Francis Ochterlony's\ncuriosities! When she escaped at last, Mary found that indeed her fears\nhad not been without foundation. There had been some small breakages,\nand some small quarrels in the nursery, where Hugh and Islay had been\nengaged in single combat, and where baby Wilfrid had joined in with\nimpartial kicks and scratches, to the confusion of both combatants: all\nwhich alarming events the frightened ayah had been too weak-minded and\nhelpless to prevent. And, by way of keeping them quiet, that bewildered\nwoman had taken down a beautiful Indian canoe, which stood on a bracket\nin the corridor, and the boys, as was natural, with true scientific\ninquisitiveness had made researches into its constitution, such as\nhorrified their mother. Mary was so cowardly as to put the boat together\nagain with her own hands, and put it back on its bracket, and say\nnothing about it, with devout hopes that nobody would find it\nout--which, to be sure, was a terrible example to set before children.\nShe breathed freely for the first time when she got them out--out of\nEarlston--out of Earlston grounds--to the hill-side, where, though\neverything was grey, the turf had a certain greenness, and the sky a\ncertain blueness, and the sun shone warm, and nameless little English\nwild flowers were to be found among the grass; nameless things, too\ninsignificant for anything but a botanist to classify, and Mrs.\nOchterlony was no botanist. She put down Wilfrid on the grass, and sat\nby him, and watched for a little the three joyful unthinking creatures,\nharmonized without knowing it by their mother's presence, rolling about\nin an unaccustomed ecstacy upon the English grass; and then Mary went\nback, without being quite aware of it, into the darker world of her own\nmind, and leant her head upon her hands and began to think.\n\nShe had a great deal to think about. She had come home obeying the first\nimpulse, which suggested that a woman left alone in the world should put\nherself under the guidance and protection of \"her friends:\" and, in the\nfirst stupor of grief, it was a kind of consolation to think that she\nhad still somebody belonging to her, and could put off those final\narrangements for herself and by herself which one time or other must be\nmade. When she decided upon this, Mary did not realize the idea of\ngiving offence to Aunt Agatha by accepting Francis Ochterlony's\ninvitation, nor of finding herself at Earlston in the strange\nnondescript position--something less than a member of the family,\nsomething more than a visitor--which she at present occupied. Her\nbrother-in-law was very kind, but he did not know what to do with her;\nand her brother-in-law's household was very doubtful and uneasy, with a\ncertain alarmed and suspicious sense that it might be a new and\npermanent mistress who had thus come in upon them--an idea which it was\nnot to be expected that Mrs. Gilsland, who had been in authority so\nlong, should take kindly to. And then it was hard for Mary to live in a\nhouse where her children were simply tolerated, and in constant danger\nof doing inestimable mischief. She sat upon the grey hill-side, and\nthought over it till her head ached. Oh, for that wayside cottage with\nthe blazing fire! but Mrs. Ochterlony had no such refuge. She had come\nto Earlston of her own will, and she could not fly away again at once to\naffront and offend the only relation who might be of service to her\nboys--which was, no doubt, a sadly mercenary view to take of the\nsubject. She stayed beside her children all day, feeling like a\nprisoner, afraid to move or to do anything, afraid to let the boys play\nor give scope to their limbs and voice. And then Hugh, though he was not\nold enough to sympathize with her, was old enough to put terrible\nquestions. \"Why shouldn't we make a noise?\" the child said; \"is my uncle\na king, mamma, that we must not disturb him? Papa never used to mind.\"\nMary sent her boy back to his play when he said this, with a sharp\nimpatience which he could not understand. Ah, how different it was! and\nhow stinging the pain that went to her heart at that suggestion. But\nthen little Hugh, thank heaven, knew no better. Even the Hindoo woman,\nwho had been a faithful woman in her way, but who was going back again\nwith another family bound for India, began to make preparations for her\ndeparture; and, after that, Mrs. Ochterlony's position would be still\nmore difficult. This was how the first day at Earlston--the first day at\nhome as the children said--passed over Mary. It was, perhaps, of all\nother trials, the one most calculated to take from her any strength she\nmight have left. And after all this she had to dress at seven o'clock,\nand leave her little boys in the big dark nursery, to go down to keep\nher brother-in-law company at dinner, to hear him talk of the Farnese\nHercules, and of his collections, and travels, and, perhaps, of the \"few\nadvantages\" his poor brother had had: which for a woman of high spirit\nand independent character, and profound loyal love for the dead, was a\nvery hard ordeal to bear.\n\nThe dinner, however, went over very fairly. Mr. Ochterlony was the soul\nof politeness, and, besides, he was pleased with his sister-in-law. She\nknew nothing about Art; but then, she had been long in India, and was a\nwoman, and it was not to be wondered at. He meant no harm when he spoke\nabout poor Hugh's few advantages. He knew that he had a sensible woman\nto deal with, and of course grief and that sort of thing cannot last for\never; and, on the whole, Mr. Ochterlony saw no reason why he should not\nspeak quite freely of his brother Hugh; and lament his want of proper\ntraining. _She_ must have known that as well as he did. And, to tell the\ntruth, he had forgotten about the children. He made himself very\nagreeable, and even went so far as to say that it was very pleasant to\nbe able to talk over these matters with somebody who understood him.\nMary sat waiting with a mixture of fright and expectation for the\nappearance of the children, who the housekeeper said were to come down\nto dessert; but they did not come, and nothing was said about them; and\nMr. Ochterlony was fond of foreign habits, and took very little wine,\nand accompanied his sister-in-law upstairs when she left the table. He\ncame with her in that troublesome French way with which Mary was not\neven acquainted, and made it impossible for her to hurry through the\nlong passages to the nursery, and see what her forlorn little boys were\nabout. What could they be doing all this time, lost at the other end of\nthe great house where she could not even hear their voices, nor that\nsoft habitual nursery hum which was a necessary accompaniment to her\nlife? She had to sit down in a kind of despair and talk to Mr.\nOchterlony, who took a seat beside her, and was very friendly. The\nsummer evening had begun to decline, and it was at this meditative\nmoment that the master of Earlston liked to sit and contemplate his\nPsyche and his Venus, and call a stranger's attention to their beauties,\nand tell pleasant anecdotes about how he picked them up. Mrs. Ochterlony\nsat by her brother-in-law's side, and listened to his talk about Art\nwith her ear strained to the most intense attention, prepared at any\nmoment to hear a shriek from the outraged housekeeper, or a howl of\nunanimous woe from three culpable and terrified voices. There was\nsomething comic in the situation, but Mary's attention was not\nsufficiently disengaged to be amused.\n\n\"I have long wished to have some information about Indian Art,\" said Mr.\nOchterlony. \"I should be glad to know what an intelligent observer like\nyourself, with some practical knowledge, thought of my theory. My idea\nis---- But I am afraid you have a headache? I hope you have all the\nattention you require, and are comfortable? It would give me great pain\nto think that you were not perfectly comfortable. You must not feel the\nleast hesitation in telling me----\"\n\n\"Oh no, we have everything,\" said Mary. She thought she heard something\noutside like little steps and distant voices, and her heart began to\nbeat. But as for her companion, he was not thinking about such\nextraneous things.\n\n\"I hope so,\" said Mr. Ochterlony; and then he looked at his Psyche with\nthe lingering look of a connoisseur, dwelling lovingly upon her marble\nbeauty. \"You must have that practical acquaintance which, after all, is\nthe only thing of any use,\" he continued. \"My idea is----\"\n\nAnd it was at this moment that the door was thrown open, and they all\nrushed in--all, beginning with little Wilfrid, who had just commenced to\nwalk, and who came with a tottering dash, striking against a pedestal in\nhis way, and making its precious burden tremble. Outside at the open\ndoor appeared for an instant the ayah as she had set down her charge,\nand Mrs. Gilsland, gracious but formidable, in her rustling gown, who\nhad headed the procession. Poor woman, she meant no harm, but it was not\nin the heart of woman to believe that in the genial hour after dinner,\nwhen all the inner and the outer man was mollified and comforted, the\nsight of three such \"bonnie boys,\" all curled, brushed, and shining for\nthe occasion, could disturb Mr. Ochterlony. Baby Wilfrid dashed across\nthe room in a straight line with \"flicherin' noise and glee\" to get to\nhis mother, and the others followed, not, however, without stoppages on\nthe way. They were bonnie boys--brave, little, erect, clear-eyed\ncreatures, who had never known anything but love in their lives, and\nfeared not the face of man; and to Mary, though she quaked and trembled,\ntheir sudden appearance changed the face of everything, and made the\nEarlston drawing-room glorious. But the effect was different upon Mr.\nOchterlony, as might be supposed.\n\n\"How do you do, my little man,\" said the discomfited uncle. \"Oh, this is\nHugh, is it? I think he is like his father. I suppose you intend to send\nthem to school. Good heavens! my little fellow, take care!\" cried Mr.\nOchterlony. The cause of this sudden animation was, that Hugh, naturally\nfacing his uncle when he was addressed by him, had leant upon the pillar\non which Psyche stood with her immortal lover. He had put his arm round\nit with a vague sense of admiration, and as he stood was, as Mary\nthought, a prettier sight than even the group above; but Mr. Ochterlony\ncould not be expected to be of Mary's mind.\n\n\"Come here, Hugh,\" said his mother, anxiously. \"You must not touch\nanything; your uncle will kindly let you look at them, but you must not\ntouch. It was so different, you know, in our Indian house--and then on\nboard ship,\" said Mary, faltering. Islay, with his big head thrown back\na little, and his hands in his little trousers pockets, was roving about\nall the while in a manly way, inspecting everything, looking, as his\nmother thought, for the most favourable opening for mischief. What was\nshe to do? They might do more damage in ten minutes than ten years of\nher little income could set right. As for Mr. Ochterlony, though he\ngroaned in spirit, nothing could overcome his politeness; he turned his\nback upon little Hugh, so that at least he might not see what was going\non, and resumed the conversation with all the composure that he could\nassume.\n\n\"You will send them to school of course,\" he said; \"we must inquire for\na good school for them. I don't myself think that children can begin\ntheir education too soon. I don't speak of the baby,\" said Mr.\nOchterlony, with a sigh. The baby evidently was inevitable. Mary had set\nhim down at her feet, and he sat there in a peaceable way, making no\nassault upon anything, which was consolatory at least.\n\n\"They are so young,\" said Mary, tremulously.\n\n\"Yes, they are young, and it is all the better,\" said the uncle. His eye\nwas upon Islay, who had sprung upon a chair, and was riding and spurring\nit with delightful energy. Naturally, it was a unique rococo chair of\nthe daintiest and most fantastic workmanship, and the unhappy owner\nexpected to see it fall into sudden destruction before his eyes; but he\nwas benumbed by politeness and despair, and took no notice. \"There is\nnothing,\" said the poor man with distracted attention, his eye upon\nIslay, his face turned to his sister-in-law, and horror in his heart,\n\"like good training begun early. For my part----\"\n\n\"Oh, mamma, look here. How funny this is!\" cried little Hugh. When Mary\nturned sharply round in despair, she found her boy standing behind her\nwith a priceless Etruscan vase in his hand. He had just taken it from\nthe top of a low, carved bookcase, where the companion vase still stood,\nand held it tilted up as he might have held a drinking mug in the\nnursery. \"It's a fight,\" cried Hugh; \"look, mamma, how that fellow is\nputting his lance into him. Isn't it jolly? Why don't _we_ have some\nbrown sort of jugs with battles on them, like this?\"\n\n\"What is it? Let _me_ see,\" cried Islay, and he gave a flying leap, and\nbrought the rococo chair down on its back, where he remounted leisurely\nafter he had cast a glance at the brown sort of jug. \"I don't think it's\nworth looking at,\" said the four-year-old hero. Mrs. Ochterlony heard\nher brother-in-law say, \"Good heavens!\" again, and heard him groan as he\nturned away his head. He could not forget that they were his guests and\nhis dead brother's children, and he could not turn them out of the room\nor the house, as he was tempted to do; but at the same time he turned\naway that at least he might not see the full extent of the ruin. As for\nMary, she felt her own hand tremble as she took the vase out of Hugh's\ncareless grasp. She was terrified to touch its brittle beauty, though\nshe was not so enthusiastic about it as, perhaps, she ought to have\nbeen. And it was with a sudden impulse of desperation that she caught up\nher baby, and lifted Islay off the prostrate chair.\n\n\"I hope you will excuse them,\" she said, all flushed and trembling.\n\"They are so little, and they know no better. But they must not stay\nhere,\" and with that poor Mary swept them out with her, making her way\npainfully over the dangerous path, where snares and perils lay on every\nside. She gave the astonished Islay an involuntary \"shake\" as she\ndropped him in the sombre corridor outside, and hurried along towards\nthe darkling nursery. The little flock of wicked black sheep trotted by\nher side full of questions and surprise. \"Why are we coming away? What\nhave we done?\" said Hugh. \"Mamma! mamma! tell me!\" and Islay pulled at\nher dress, and made more demonstratively the same demand. What had they\ndone? If Mr. Ochterlony, left by himself in the drawing-room, could but\nhave answered the question! He was on his knees beside his injured\nchair, examining its wounds, and as full of tribulation as if those\nfantastic bits of tortured wood had been flesh and blood. And to tell\nthe truth, the misfortune was greater than if it had been flesh and\nblood. If Islay Ochterlony's sturdy little legs had been broken, there\nwas a doctor in the parish qualified to a certain extent to mend them.\nBut who was there among the Shap Fells, or within a hundred miles of\nEarlston, who was qualified to touch the delicate members of a rococo\nchair? He groaned over it as it lay prostrate, and would not be\ncomforted. Children! imps! come to be the torture of his life, as, no\ndoubt, they had been of poor Hugh's. What could Providence be thinking\nof to send such reckless, heedless, irresponsible creatures into the\nworld? A vague notion that their mother would whip them all round as\nsoon as she got them into the shelter of the nursery, gave Mr.\nOchterlony a certain consolation; but even that judicial act, though a\nrelief to injured feeling, would do nothing for the fractured chair.\n\nMary, we regret to say, did not whip the boys when she got into her own\napartments. They deserved it, no doubt, but she was only a weak woman.\nInstead of that, she put her arms round the three, who were much excited\nand full of wonder, and very restless in her clasp, and cried--not much,\nbut suddenly, in an outburst of misery and desolation. After all, what\nwas the vase or the Psyche in comparison with the living creatures thus\nbanished to make place for them? which was a reflection which some\npeople may be far from acquiescing in, but that came natural to her,\nbeing their mother, and not in any special way interested in art. She\ncried, but she only hugged her boys and kissed them, and put them to\nbed, lingering that she might not have to go downstairs again till the\nlast moment. When she went at last, and made Mr. Ochterlony's tea for\nhim, that magnanimous man did not say a word, and even accepted her\napologies with a feeble deprecation. He had put the wounded article\naway, and made a sublime resolution to take no further notice. \"Poor\nthing, it is not her fault,\" he said to himself; and, indeed, had begun\nto be sorry for Mary, and to think what a pity it was that a woman so\nunobjectionable should have three such imps to keep her in hot water.\nBut he looked sad, as was natural. He swallowed his tea with a sigh, and\nmade mournful cadences to every sentence he uttered. A man does not\neasily get over such a shock;--it is different with a frivolous and\nvolatile woman, who may forget or may dissimulate, and look as if she\ndoes not care; but a man is not so lightly moved or mended. If it had\nbeen Islay's legs, as has been said, there was a doctor within reach;\nbut who in the north country could be trusted so much as to look at the\ndelicate limbs of a rococo chair?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nThe experience of this evening, though it was only the second of her\nstay at Earlston, proved to Mary that the visit she was paying to her\nbrother-in-law must be made as short as possible. She could not get up\nand run away because Hugh had put an Etruscan vase in danger, and Islay\nhad broken his uncle's chair. It was Mr. Ochterlony who was the injured\nparty, and he was magnanimously silent, saying nothing, and even giving\nno intimation that the presence of these objectionable little visitors\nwas not to be desired in the drawing-room; and Mary had to stay and keep\nher boys out of sight, and live consciously upon sufferance, in the\nnursery and her bedroom, until she could feel warranted in taking leave\nof her brother-in-law, who, without doubt, meant to be kind. It was a\nstrange sort of position, and strangely out of accord with her character\nand habits. She had never been rich, nor lived in such a great house,\nbut she had always up to this time been her own mistress--mistress of\nher actions, free to do what she thought best, and to manage her\nchildren according to her own wishes. Now she had, to a certain extent,\nto submit to the housekeeper, who changed their hours, and interfered\nwith their habits at her pleasure. The poor ayah went weeping away, and\nnobody was to be had to replace her except one of the Earlston maids,\nwho naturally was more under Mrs. Gilsland's authority than Mrs.\nOchterlony's; and to this girl Mary had to leave them when she went down\nto the inevitable dinner which had always to be eaten downstairs. She\nmade several attempts to consult her brother-in-law upon her future, but\nMr. Ochterlony, though very polite, was not a sympathetic listener. He\nhad received the few details which she had been moved at first, with\nrestrained tears, to give him about the Major, with a certain\nrestlessness which chilled Mary. He was sorry for his brother; but he\nwas one of those men who do not care to talk about dead people, and who\nthink it best not to revive and recall sorrow--which would be very true\nand just if true sorrow had any occasion to be revived and recalled; and\nher own arrangements were all more or less connected with this (as Mr.\nOchterlony called it) painful subject. And thus it was that her\nhesitating efforts to make her position clear to him, and to get any\nadvice which he could give, was generally put aside or swallowed up in\nsome communication from the Numismatic Society, or questions which she\ncould not answer about Indian art.\n\n\"We must leave Earlston soon,\" Mrs. Ochterlony took courage to say one\nday, when the housekeeper, and the continued exclusion of the children,\nand her own curious life on sufferance, had been too much for her. \"If\nyou are at leisure, would you let me speak to you about it? I have so\nlittle experience of anything but India--and I want to do what is best\nfor my boys.\"\n\n\"Oh--ah--yes,\" said Mr. Ochterlony, \"you must send them to school. We\nmust try and hear of some good school for them. It is the only thing you\ncan do----\"\n\n\"But they are so young,\" said Mary. \"At their age they are surely best\nwith their mother. Hugh is only seven. If you could advise me where it\nwould be best to go----\"\n\n\"Where it would be best to go!\" said Mr. Ochterlony. He was a little\nsurprised, and not quite pleased for the moment. \"I hope you do not find\nyourself uncomfortable here?\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said Mary, faltering; \"but--they are very young and\ntroublesome, and--I am sure they must worry you. Such little children\nare best by themselves,\" she said, trying to smile--and thus, by chance,\ntouched a chord of pity in her brother-in law's heart.\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, shaking his head, \"I assure you I feel the painfulness of\nyour position. If you had been unencumbered, you might have looked\nforward to so different a life; but with such a burden as these\nchildren, and you so young still----\"\n\n\"Burden?\" said Mary; and it may be supposed how her eyes woke up, and\nwhat a colour came to her cheek, and how her heart took to beating under\nher crape. \"You can't really think _my_ children are a burden to me? Ah!\nyou don't know---- I would not care to live another day if I had not my\nboys.\"\n\nAnd here, her nerves being weak with all she had come through, she would\nhave liked to cry--but did not, the moment being unsuitable, and only\nsat facing the virtuoso, all lighted up and glowing, brightened by\nindignation, and surprise, and sudden excitement, to something more like\nthe former Mary than ever yet had been seen underneath her widow's cap.\n\n\"Oh!\" said Mr. Ochterlony. He could have understood the excitement had\nit been about a Roman camp or a newly-discovered statue; but boys did\nnot commend themselves in the same way to his imagination. He liked his\nsister-in-law, however, in his way. She was a good listener, and\npleasant to look at, and even when she was unintelligible was never\nwithout grace, or out of drawing, and he felt disposed even to take a\nlittle trouble for her. \"You _must_ send them to school,\" he said.\n\"There is nothing else to be done. I will write to a friend of mine who\nknows about such matters; and I am sure, for my part, I shall be very\nglad if you can make yourself comfortable at Earlston--you and--and the\nbaby, of course,\" Mr. Ochterlony said, with a slightly wry face. The\ninnocent man had not an idea of the longing she had for that cottage\nwith the fire in it. It was a notion which never could have been made\nintelligible to him, even had he been told in words.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Mary, faltering more and more; indeed she made a dead\npause, and he thought she had accepted his decision, and that there was\nto be no more about it--which was comforting and satisfactory. He had\njust risen up to leave the room, breakfast being over, when she put out\nher hand to stop him. \"I will not detain you a minute,\" she said, \"it is\nso desolate to have no one to tell me what to do. Indeed, we cannot stay\nhere--though it is so good of you; they are too young to leave me, and I\ncare for nothing else in life,\" Mrs. Ochterlony said, yielding for an\ninstant to her emotion; but she soon recovered herself. \"There are good\nschools all over England, I have heard; in places where we could live\ncheaply. That is what I want to do. Near one of the good grammar\nschools. I am quite free; it does not matter where I live. If you would\ngive me your advice,\" she added, timidly. Mr. Ochterlony, for his part,\nwas taken so much by surprise that he stood between the table and the\ndoor, with one foot raised to go on, and not believing his ears. He had\nbehaved like an angel, to his own conviction, and had never said a word\nabout the chair, though it had to be sent to town to be repaired. He had\ncontinued to afford shelter to the little ruffian who did it, and had\ncarefully abstained from all expression of his feelings. What could the\nwoman want more?--and what should he know about grammar-schools, and\nplaces where people could live cheaply? A woman, too, whom he liked, and\nhad explained his theory of ancient art more fully to than he had ever\ndone to any one. And she wanted to leave Earlston and his society, and\nthe Psyches and Venuses, to settle down in some half-pay neighbourhood,\nwhere people with large families lived for the sake of education. No\nwonder Mr. Ochterlony turned round, struck dumb with wonder, and came\nslowly back before giving his opinion, which, but for an unexpected\ncircumstance, would no doubt have been such an opinion as to overwhelm\nhis companion with confusion, and put an instant stop to her foolish\nplans.\n\nBut circumstances come wildly in the way of the best intentions, and cut\noff the wisest speech sometimes on a man's very lips. At this moment the\ndoor opened softly, and a new interlocutor presented herself. The\napparition was one which took not only the words but the very breath\nfrom the lips of the master of Earlston. Aunt Agatha was twenty years\nolder than her niece, but so was Francis Ochterlony; and such a thing\nwas once possible as that the soft ancient maiden and the elderly\nsolitary dilettante might have made a cheerful human household at\nEarlston. They had not met for years, not since the time when Miss Seton\nwas holding on by her lingering youth, and looking forward to the loss\nof it with an anxious and care-worn countenance. She was twenty times\nprettier now than she had been in those days--prettier perhaps, if the\ntruth were told, than she ever had been in her life. She was penitent,\ntoo, and tearful in her white-haired sweetness, though Mr. Ochterlony\ndid not know why--with a soft colour coming and going on her checks, and\na wistful look in her dewy eyes. She had left her home at least two\nhours before, and came carrying all the freshness and odours of the\nmorning, surrounded with sunshine and sweet air, and everything that\nseems to belong to the young. Francis Ochterlony was so bewildered by\nthe sight that he stepped back out of her way, and could not have told\nwhether she was eighteen or fifty. Perhaps the sight of him had in some\ndegree the same effect upon Aunt Agatha. She made a little rush at Mary,\nwho had risen to meet her, and threw herself, soft little woman as she\nwas, upon her niece's taller form. \"Oh, my dear love, I have been a\nsilly old woman--forgive me!\" said Aunt Agatha. She had put up with the\nestrangement as long as ever it was in human nature to put up with it.\nShe had borne Peggy's sneers, and Winnie's heartless suggestions that it\nwas her own doing. How was Winnie to know what made it so difficult for\nher to have any communications with Earlston? But finally Aunt Agatha's\nheart had conquered everything else. She had made such pictures to\nherself of Mary, solitary and friendless (\"for what is a Man? no company\nwhen one is unhappy\" Miss Seton had said to herself with unconscious\neloquence), until instinct and impulse drove her to this decided step.\nThe hall door at Earlston had been standing open, and there was nobody\nto announce her. And this was how Aunt Agatha arrived just at the\ncritical moment, cutting off Mr. Ochterlony's utterance when he was on\nthe very point of speech.\n\nThe poor man, for his part, did not know what to do; after the first\nmoment of amaze he stood dumb and humble, with his hand stretched out,\nwaiting to greet his unexpected visitor. But the truth was, that the two\nwomen as they clung together were both so dreadfully disposed to cry\nthat they dared not face Mr. Ochterlony. The sudden touch of love and\nunlooked-for sympathy had this effect upon Mary, who had been agitated\nand disturbed before; and as for Aunt Agatha, she was not an old maid by\nconviction, and perhaps would not have objected to this house or its\nmaster, and the revival of these old associations was hard upon her. She\nclasped Mary tight, as if it was all for Mary's sake; but perhaps there\nwas also a little personal feeling involved. Mr. Ochterlony stood\nspeechless for a moment, and then he heard a faint sob, and fled in\nconsternation. If that was coming, it was high time for him to go. He\nwent away and took refuge in his library, in a confused and\nuncomfortable state of mind. This was the result of having a woman in\nthe house; a man who had nothing to do in his own person with the\nopposite half of humanity became subject to the invasion of other women,\nand still worse, to the invasion of recollections and feelings which he\nhad no wish to have recalled. What did Agatha Seton mean by looking so\nfresh and fair at her age? and yet she had white hair too, and called\nherself an old woman. These thoughts came dreadfully in his way when he\nsat down to work. He was writing a monograph upon Icelandic art, and\nnaturally had been much interested in a subject so characteristic and\nexciting; but somehow after that glimpse of his old love his mind would\nnot stick to his theme. The two women clinging together, though one of\nthem had a bonnet on, made a pretty \"subject.\" He was not mediaeval, to\nspeak of, but rather classical in his tastes; yet it did strike him that\na painter might have taken an idea for a Visitation out of that embrace.\nAnd so that was how Agatha Seton looked when she was an old woman! This\nidea fluttered in and out before his mind's eye, and threw such\nreflections upon his paper as came dreadfully in the way of his\nmonograph. He lost his notes and forgot his researches in the\nbewilderment produced by it; for, to tell the truth, Agatha Seton was in\na very much finer state of preservation, not to say fairer to look upon,\nthan most of the existing monuments of Icelandic art.\n\n\"He has gone away,\" said Aunt Agatha, who was aware of that fact sooner\nthan Mary was, though Mrs. Ochterlony's face was towards her\nbrother-in-law; and she gave Mary a sudden hug and subsided into that\ngood cry, which is such a relief and comfort to the mind; Mary's tears\ncame too, but they were fewer and not by any means so satisfactory as\nAunt Agatha's, who was crying for nothing particular. \"Oh, my dear love,\ndon't think me a wretch,\" the old lady said. \"I have never been able to\nget you out of my head, standing there on the platform all by yourself\nwith the dear children; and I, like an old monster, taking offence and\ngoing away and leaving you! If it is any comfort to you, Mary, my\ndarling, I have been wretched ever since. I tried to write, but I could\nnot write. So now I've come to ask you to forgive me; and where are my\ndear, dear, darling boys?\"\n\nThe poor little boys! Mary's heart gave a little leap to hear some one\nonce more talk of those poor children as if they were not in the way.\n\"Mr. Ochterlony is very kind,\" she said, not answering directly; \"but we\nmust not stay, Aunt Agatha, we cannot stay. He is not used to children,\nyou know, and they worry him. Oh, if I had but any little place of my\nown!\"\n\n\"You shall come to me, my darling love,\" said Aunt Agatha in triumph.\n\"You should have come to me from the first. I am not saying anything\nagainst Francis Ochterlony. I never did; people might think he did not\nquite behave as was expected; but I am sure I never said a word against\nhim. But how can a Man understand? or what can you look for from them?\nMy dearest Mary, you must come to me!\"\n\n\"Thank you, Aunt Agatha,\" said Mary, doubtfully. \"You are very kind--you\nare all very kind\"--and then she repeated, under her breath, that\nlonging aspiration, \"Oh, that I had but any little place of my very\nown!\"\n\n\"Yes, my love, that is what we must do,\" said Aunt Agatha. \"I would take\nyou with me if I could, or I would take the dear boys with me. Nobody\nwill be worried by them at the cottage. Oh, Mary, my darling, I never\nwould say anything against poor dear Hugh, or encourage you to keep his\nrelations at a distance; but just at this moment, my dear love, I did\nthink it was most natural that you should go to your own friends.\"\n\n\"I think when one has little children one should be by one's-self,\" said\nMary, \"it is more natural. If I could get a little cottage near you,\nAunt Agatha----\"\n\n\"My love, mine is a little cottage,\" said Miss Seton; \"it is not half\nnor quarter so big as Earlston--have you forgotten? and we are all a set\nof women together, and the dear boys will rule over us. Ah, Mary, you\nmust come to me!\" said the soft old lady. And after that she went up to\nthe dim Earlston nursery, and kissed and hugged the tabooed children,\nwhom it was the object of Mary's life to keep out of the way. But there\nwas a struggle in Aunt Agatha's gentle bosom when she heard of the\nEtruscan vase and the rococo chair. Her heart yearned a little over the\npretty things thus put in peril, for she had a few pretty things herself\nwhich were dear to her. Her alarm, however, was swallowed up by a\nstronger emotion. It was natural for a woman to take thought for such\nthings, but it went to her heart to think of \"poor Francis,\" once her\nhero, in such a connection. \"You see he has nothing else to care for,\"\nshe said--and the fair old maiden paused and gave a furtive sigh over\nthe poor old bachelor, who might have been so different. \"It was his own\nfault,\" she added to herself, softly; but still the idea of Francis\nOchterlony \"wrapped up,\" as Miss Seton expressed it, in chairs and\nvases, gave a shock to her gentle spirit. It was righteous retribution,\nbut still Aunt Agatha was a woman, and pitiful. She was still more moved\nwhen Mary took her into the drawing-room, where there were so many\nbeautiful things. She looked upon them with silent and reverent\nadmiration, but still not without a personal reference. \"So that is all\nhe cares for, now-a-days,\" she said with a sigh; and it was just at the\nsame moment that Mr. Ochterlony, in his study, disturbed by visions of\ntwo women in his peaceable house, gave up his monograph on Icelandic art\nin despair.\n\nThis, it may be said, was how Mrs. Ochterlony's first experiment\nterminated. She did not leave Earlston at once, but she did so shortly\nafter--without any particular resistance on the part of her\nbrother-in-law. After Aunt Agatha's visit, Mr. Ochterlony's thoughts\ntook a different turn. He was very civil to her before she left, as\nindeed it was his nature to be to all women, and showed her his\ncollections, and paid her a certain alarmed and respectful deference.\nBut after that he did not do anything to detain Mary in his house. Where\none woman was, other women were pretty sure to come, and nobody could\ntell what unseen visitants might enter along with them, to disturb a\nman in his occupations, and startle him out of his tranquillity. He\nnever had the heart to resume that monograph on Icelandic art--which was\na great loss to the Society of Antiquaries and the aesthetic world in\ngeneral; and though he had no advice in particular to give to his\nsister-in-law as to her future movements, he did not say anything\nfurther to deter her from leaving Earlston. \"I hope you will let me know\nwhat your movements are, and where you decide upon settling,\" he said,\nas he shook hands with her very gravely at the carriage door, \"and if I\ncan be of any use.\" And this was how the first experiment came to an\nend.\n\nThen Mrs. Ochterlony kissed her boys when they were fairly out of the\ngrey shadow of their uncle's house, and shed a few tears over them. \"Now\nat least I shall not have to keep my bonnie boys out of the way any\nmore,\" said Mary. But she caught sight again of the cheery cottage, with\nthe fire burning within, and the hospitable door open, as she drove down\nto the railway; and her heart longed to alight and take possession, and\nfind herself at home. When should she be at home? or was there no such\nplace in the world? But happily she had no maid, and no time to think or\ncalculate probabilities--and thus she set out upon her second venture,\namong \"her own friends.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nAunt Agatha's cottage was very different from Earlston. It was a woman's\nhouse, and bore that character written all over it. The Psyche and the\nVenus would have been dreadfully out of place in it, it is true, but yet\nthere was not a spot left vacant where an ornament could be; little\nfanciful shelves nestled in all the corners--which it was a great\ncomfort to Mary's mind to see were just above her boys' range--bearing\nlittle vases, and old teacups and curiosities of all kinds, not valuable\nlike Francis Ochterlony's, nor chosen with such refined taste, but yet\ndear to Aunt Agatha's heart. Nothing so precious as the ware of Henri\nII. had ever come in Miss Seton's way; but she had one or two trifling\narticles that were real Wedgewood, and she had some bits of genuine\nSevres, and a great deal of pretty rubbish, which answered the purpose\nquite as well as if it had been worth countless sums of money; and then\nthere were flowers, wherever flowers could find a place. The rooms all\nopened out with liberal windows upon the garden, and the doors stood\nopen, and sun and air, sound and fragrance, went through and through the\nlittle house. It was the same house as that in which Mary had felt the\nEnglish leaves rustling, and the English breezes blowing, as she read\nAunt Agatha's letter in India, ages ago, before any of those great\nevents had happened which had thrown such a shadow on her life. The two\nladies of the cottage went to the railway to meet their visitors, and it\nwas Peggy, the real head of the establishment, who stood in her best\ncap, in a flutter of black ribbons and white apron, to receive \"Miss\nMary.\" And the glowing colour of the flowers, and the sunshine and the\nopen house, and the flutter of womanish welcome, made the difference\nstill more marked. When Mrs. Ochterlony was placed in the easiest chair\nin the brightest corner in that atmosphere of sunshine and sweetness,\nand saw her forlorn little boys take their place in the foreground of\nthe picture, elected autocrats over the household in general, the sense\nof relief and difference was so sweet to her that she no longer felt\nthat yearning for some place of her own. The greatest infidel, the most\nhard-hearted cynic could not have felt otherwise than at home under such\ncircumstances. The children were taken out of Mary's hands on the\ninstant, she whose time had been entirely devoted to keeping them\ninvisible and inaudible, and out of the way--and Peggy took possession\nof the baby, and pretty Winnie flashed away into the garden with the two\nboys, with floating curls and flying ribbons, and all the gay freedom of\na country girl, taking the hearts of her little companions by storm. Her\nsister, who had not \"taken to her\" at first, sat in Aunt Agatha's chair,\nin the first moment of conscious repose she had known in England, and\nlooked out at the fair young figure moving about among the flowers, and\nbegan to be in love with Winnie. Here she was safe at last, she and her\nfatherless children. Life might be over for her in its fullest\nsense--but still she was here at peace among her own people, and again\nsome meaning seemed to come back to the word home. She was lingering\nupon this thought in the unusual repose of the moment, and wiping some\nquiet tears from her cheeks, when Aunt Agatha came and sat down beside\nher and took Mary's hand. She had been partially incoherent with\nsatisfaction and delight until now, but by this time any little tendency\nto hysterics which might be in Aunt Agatha's nature, had been calmed\ndown by the awe-inspiring presence of Peggy, and the comfort of\nperceiving nothing but satisfaction in that difficult woman's\ncountenance. The baby had behaved himself like an angel, and had made\nno objections whatever to the cap or features of his new guardian; and\nPeggy, too, was visible from the open windows walking up and down the\ngarden with little Wilfrid in her arms, in all the glory of content.\nThis sight brought Miss Seton's comfort to a climax, as it did Mary's.\nShe came and took her niece's hand, and sat down beside her with a\ntearful joy.\n\n\"Ah, Mary, this is what ought to have been from the very first,\" she\nsaid; \"this is different from Francis Ochterlony and his dreary house.\nThe dear children will be happy here.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is very different,\" said Mary, returning the pressure of the\nsoft little white hand; but her heart was full, and she could not find\nmuch more to say.\n\n\"And you, too, my dear love,\" Aunt Agatha went on, who was not a wise\nwoman, looking into the new-comer's face--\"you, too Mary, my\ndarling--you will try to be happy in your old home? Well, dear, never\nmind answering me--I ought to know it is not the same for you as for us.\nI can't help feeling so happy to have you and the dear children. Look at\nWinnie, how delighted she is--she is so fond of children, though you\nwould not think so just at first. Doesn't it make you feel the\ndifference, Mary, to think you left her a baby, as one may say, and find\nher grown up into such a great girl?\"\n\n\"I have so many things to make me feel the difference,\" said Mary--for\nMiss Seton was not one of those people who can do without an answer; and\nthen Aunt Agatha was very sorry, and kissed her, with tears in her eyes.\n\n\"Yes, my love--yes, my dear love;\" she said, as if she were soothing a\nchild. \"It was very foolish of me to use that expression; but you must\ntry not to mind me, Mary. Cry, my dear, or don't answer me, or do just\nas you please. I never mean to say anything to recall---- Look at the\ndear boys, how delighted they are. I know they will be fond of\nWinnie--she has such a nice way with children. Don't you think she has a\nvery nice way?\"\n\n\"She is very handsome,\" said Mary, looking out wistfully upon the young\nimperious creature, whose stage of existence seemed the very antipodes\nof her own.\n\n\"My dear love, she is beautiful,\" said Aunt Agatha. \"Sir Edward told me\nhe had never, even at court--and you know he was a great deal about the\ncourt in his young days--seen any one that promised to be such a\nbeautiful woman. And to think she should just be our Winnie all the\nsame! And so simple and sweet--such a perfect child with it all! You\nmay wonder how I have kept her so long,\" continued Winnie's adoring\nguardian, \"when you were married, Mary, before you were her age.\"\n\nMrs. Ochterlony tried hard to look up with the look of inquiry and\ninterest which was expected of her in Aunt Agatha's face; but she could\nnot. It was difficult enough to struggle with the recollections that\nhung about this place, without having them thrust continually in her\nface in this affectionately heartless way. Thus the wheel turned softly\nround again, and the reality of the situation crept out in bare outline\nfrom under the cloak of flowers and tenderness, as hard and clear as at\nEarlston. Mary's grief was her own concern, and not of very much\nconsequence to anybody else in the world. She had no right to forget\nthat fact, and yet she did forget it, not being used yet to stand alone.\nWhile Aunt Agatha, on her side, could not but think it was rather\nhard-hearted of Mary to show so little interest in her own sister, and\nsuch a sister as Winnie.\n\n\"It is not because she is not appreciated,\" Miss Seton went on, feeling\nall the more bound to celebrate her favourite's praises, \"but I am so\nanxious she should make a good choice. She is not a girl that could\nmarry anybody, you know. She has her own little ways, and such a great\ndeal of character. I cannot tell you what a comfort it is to me, Mary,\nmy dear love, to think that now we shall have your experience to guide\nus,\" Aunt Agatha added, melting into tenderness again.\n\n\"I am afraid experience is good for very little in such cases,\" said\nMary, \"but I hope there will be no guidance needed--she seems very happy\nnow.\"\n\n\"To tell the truth, there is somebody at the Hall----\" said Aunt Agatha,\n\"and I want to have your opinion, my dear. Oh, Mary, you must not talk\nof no guidance being needed. I have watched over her ever since she was\nborn. The wind has never blown roughly on her; and if my darling was to\nmarry just an ordinary man, and be unhappy, perhaps--or no happier than\nthe rest of us----\" said Aunt Agatha, with a sigh. This last touch of\nnature went to Mary's heart.\n\n\"She is rich in having such love, whatever may happen to her,\" said Mrs.\nOchterlony, \"and she looks as if, after all, she might yet have the\nperfect life. She is very, very handsome--and good, I am sure, and\nsweet--or she would not be your child, Aunt Agatha; but we must not be\ntoo ready with our guidance. She would not be happy if her choice did\nnot come spontaneously, and of itself.\"\n\n\"But oh, my dear love, the risk of marrying!\" said Miss Seton, with a\nlittle sob--and she gave again a nervous pressure to Mary's hand, and\ndid not restrain her tears. They sat thus in the twilight together,\nlooking out upon the young little creatures for whom life was all\nbrightly uncertain--one of them regarding with a pitiful flutter of\ndread and anxiety the world she had never ventured to enter into for\nherself. Perhaps a vision of Francis Ochterlony mingled with Miss\nSeton's thoughts, and a wistful backward glance at the life which might\nhave been, but had not. The other sat very still, holding Aunt Agatha's\nsoft little fluttering hand in her own, which was steady, and did not\ntremble, with a strange pang of anguish and pity in her heart. Mary\nlooked at life through no such fanciful mists--she knew, as she thought,\nits deepest depth and profoundest calamity; but the fountain of her\ntears was all sealed up and closed, because nobody but herself had any\nlonger anything to do with it. And she, too, yearned over the young\ncreature whose existence was all to come, and felt that it was had to\nthink that she might be \"no happier than the rest of us.\" It was these\nwords which had arrested Mary, who, perhaps, might have otherwise\nthought that her own unquestionable sorrows demanded more sympathy than\nWinnie's problematical future. Thus the two elder ladies sat, until\nWinnie and the children came in, bring life and commotion with them. The\nblackbird was still singing in the bushes, the soft northern twilight\nlingering, and the dew falling, and all the sweet evening odours coming\nin. As for Aunt Agatha, her heart, though it was old, fluttered with all\nthe agitation and disturbance of a girl's--while Mary, in the calm and\nsilence of her loneliness, felt herself put back as it were into\nhistory, along with Ruth and Rachel, and her own mother, and all the\nwomen whose lives had been and were over. This was how it felt to her in\nthe presence of Aunt Agatha's soft agitation--so that she half smiled at\nherself sitting there composed and tranquil, and soothing her companion\ninto her usual calm.\n\n\"Mary agrees with me that this is better than Earlston, Winnie,\" said\nAunt Agatha, when the children were all disposed of for the night, and\nthe three who were so near to each other in blood, and who were\nhenceforward to be close companions, yet who knew so little of each\nother in deed and truth, were left alone. The lamp was lighted, but the\nwindows were still open, and the twilight still lingered, and a wistful\nblue-green sky looked in and put itself in swift comparison with the\nyellow lamplight. Winnie stood in one of the open windows, half in and\nhalf out, looking across the garden, as if expecting some one, and with\na little contraction in her forehead that marred her fine profile\nslightly--giving a kind of careless half-attention to what was said.\n\n\"Does she?\" she answered, indifferently; \"I should have thought Earlston\nwas a much handsomer house.\"\n\n\"It was not of handsome houses we were thinking, my darling,\" said Aunt\nAgatha, with soft reproof; \"it was of love and welcome like what we are\nso glad as to give her here.\"\n\n\"Wasn't Mr. Ochterlony kind?\" said Winnie, with half contempt. \"Perhaps\nhe does not fancy children. I don't wonder so very much at that. If they\nwere not my own nephews, very likely I should think them dreadful little\nwretches. I suppose Mary won't mind me saying what I think. I always\nhave been brought up to speak out.\"\n\n\"They are dear children,\" said poor Aunt Agatha, promptly. \"I wish you\nwould come in, my love. It is a great deal too late now to go out.\"\n\nAnd at that moment Mary, who was the spectator, and could observe what\nwas going on, had her attention attracted by a little jar and rattle of\nthe window at which Winnie was standing. It was the girl's impatient\nmovement which had done it; and whether it was in obedience to Miss\nSeton's mild command, or something more urgent, Winnie came in instantly\nwith a lowering brow, and shut the window with some noise and sharpness.\nProbably Aunt Agatha was used to it, for she took no notice; but even\nher patient spirit seemed moved to astonishment by the sudden clang of\nthe shutters, which the hasty young woman began to close.\n\n\"Leave that to Peggy, my darling,\" she said; \"besides, it was nice to\nhave the air, and you know how I like the last of the gloaming. That is\nthe window where one can always see poor Sir Edward's light when he is\nat home. I suppose they are sure to be at home, since they have not come\nhere to-night.\"\n\n\"Shall I open the window again, and let you look at the light, since you\nlike it so much?\" said the undutiful Winnie. \"I closed it for that. I\ndon't like to have anybody staring down at us in that superior sort of\nway--as if we cared; and I am sure nobody here was looking for them\nto-night.\"\n\n\"No, my dear, of course not,\" said Miss Seton. \"Sir Edward is far too\nmuch of a gentleman to think of coming the night that Mary was expected\nhome.\"\n\nAnd then Winnie involuntarily turned half-round, and darted upon Mary an\ninquiring defiant look out of her stormy eyes. The look seemed to say,\n\"So it was you who were the cause of it!\" and then she swept past her\nsister with her streaming ribbons, and pulled out an embroidery frame\nwhich stood in a corner, and sat down to it in an irritated restless\nway. In that pretty room, in the soft evening atmosphere, beside the\ngentle old aunt, who was folding her soft hands in the sweet leisure\nthat became her age, and the fair, mature, but saddened presence of the\nelder sister, who was resting in the calm of her exhaustion, a beautiful\ngirl bending over an embroidery frame was just the last touch of\nperfection needed by the scene; but nobody would have thought so to see\nhow Winnie threw herself down to her work, and dashed at it, all because\nof the innocent light that had been lighted in Sir Edward's window. Aunt\nAgatha did her best, by impressive looks and coughs, and little\ngestures, and transparently significant words, to subdue the spoilt\nchild into good behaviour; and then, in despair, she thought herself\ncalled upon to explain.\n\n\"Sir Edward very often walks over of an evening,\" she said, edging\nherself as it were between Mary and her sister. \"We are always glad to\nsee him you know. It is a little change; and then he has some nice young\nfriends who stay with him occasionally,\" said the deceitful woman. \"But\nto be sure, he has too much feeling to think of making his appearance on\nthe night of your coming home.\"\n\n\"I hope you will make no difference for me,\" said Mary.\n\n\"My love, I hope I know what is proper,\" said Aunt Agatha, with her\nlittle air of decision. And once more Winnie gave her sister a defiant\naccusing glance. \"It is I that will be the sufferer, and it is all on\nyour account,\" this look said, and the beautiful profile marked itself\nout upon the wall with that contraction across the forehead which took\naway half its loveliness. And then an uncomfortable silence ensued. Mrs.\nOchterlony could say nothing more in a matter of which she knew so\nlittle, and Aunt Agatha, though she was the most yielding of guardians,\nstill came to a point of propriety now and then on which she would not\ngive way. This was how Mary discovered that instead of the Arcadian calm\nand retirement of which the cottage seemed an ideal resting place, she\nhad come into another little centre of agitated human life, where her\npresence made a jar and discord without any fault of hers.\n\nBut it would have been worse than ungrateful, it would have been\nheartless and unkind, to have expressed such a feeling. So she, who was\nthe stranger, had to put force on herself, and talk and lead her two\ncompanions back, so far as that was possible, from their pre-occupation;\nbut at the best it was an unsatisfactory and forced conversation, and\nMrs. Ochterlony was but too glad to own herself tired, and to leave her\naunt and sister to themselves. They had given her their best room, with\nthe fresh chintz and the pictures. They had made every arrangement for\nher comfort that affection and thoughtful care could suggest. What they\nhad not been able to do was to let her come into their life without\ndisturbing it, without introducing forced restrictions and new rules,\nwithout, in short, making her, all innocently and unwittingly on both\nsides, the discord in the house. Thus Mary found that, without changing\nher position, she had simply changed the scene; and the thought made her\nheart sick.\n\nWhen Mrs. Ochterlony had retired, the two ladies of the cottage said\nnothing to each other for some time. Winnie continued her work in the\nsame restless way as she had begun, and poor Aunt Agatha took up a book,\nwhich trembled in her hand. The impetuous girl had thrown open the\nwindow when she was reproved for closing it, and the light in Sir\nEdward's window shone far off on the tree tops, shedding an irritating\ninfluence upon Winnie when she looked up; and at the same time she could\nsee the book shaking in Aunt Agatha's hand. Winnie was very fond of the\nguardian of her youth, and would have indignantly declared herself\nincapable of doing anything to vex her; but at the same time there could\nbe no doubt that Aunt Agatha's nervousness gave a certain satisfaction\nto the young tyrant who ruled over her. Winnie saw that she was\nsuffering, and could not help feeling pleased, for had not she too\nsuffered all the evening? And she made no attempt to speak, or to take\nany initiative, so that it was only after Miss Seton had borne it as\nlong as she was capable of bearing it, that the silence was broken at\nlast.\n\n\"Dear Winnie,\" said Aunt Agatha, with a faltering voice, \"I think, when\nyou think of it, that you will not think you have been quite considerate\nin making poor Mary uncomfortable the first night.\"\n\n\"Mary feel uncomfortable?\" cried Winnie. \"Good gracious, Aunt Agatha, is\none never to hear of anything but Mary? What has anybody done? I have\nbeen sitting working all the evening, like--like a dressmaker or poor\nneedlewoman; does she object to that, I wonder?\" and the young rebel put\nher frame back into its corner, and rose to the fray. Sir Edward's\nwindow still threw its distant light over the tree tops, and the sight\nof it made her smouldering passion blaze.\n\n\"Oh, my dear, you know that was not what I meant,\" said the disturbed\nand agitated aunt.\n\n\"I wish then, please, you would say what you mean,\" said Winnie. \"She\nwould not come with us at first, when we were all ready for her, and\nthen she would not stay at Earlston after going there of her own free\nwill. I dare say she made Mr. Ochterlony's life wretched with her\ntrouble and widow's cap. Why didn't she be burnt with her Major, and be\ndone with it?\" said Winnie. \"I am sure it would be by far the most\ncomfortable way.\"\n\n\"Oh, Winnie, I thought you would have had a little sympathy for your\nsister,\" said Aunt Agatha, with tears.\n\n\"Everybody has sympathy for my sister,\" said Winnie, \"from Peggy up to\nSir Edward. I don't see why she should have it all. Hasn't she had her\nday? Nobody came in upon her, when she was my age, to put the house in\nmourning, and banish all one's friends. I hate injustice,\" cried the\nyoung revolutionary. \"It is the injustice that makes me angry. I tell\nyou, Aunt Agatha, she has had her day.\"\n\n\"Oh, Winnie,\" cried Miss Seton, weeping--\"Oh, my darling child! don't be\nso hard upon poor Mary. When she was your age she had not half nor\nquarter the pleasures you have; and it was I that said she ought to come\namong her own friends.\"\n\n\"I am sure she would be a great deal better in some place of her own,\"\nsaid Winnie, with a little violence. \"I wonder how she can go to other\npeople's houses with all that lot of little children. If I should ever\ncome home a widow from India, or anywhere else----\"\n\n\"Winnie!\" cried Aunt Agatha, with a little scream, \"for Heaven's sake,\ndon't say such things. Sorrow comes soon enough, without going to meet\nit; and if we can give her a little repose, poor dear---- And what do a\nfew pleasant evenings signify to you at your time of life?\"\n\n\"A few pleasant evenings!\" said Winnie; and she gave a kind of gasp, and\nthrew herself into a chair, and cried too, for passion, and vexation,\nand disgust--perhaps, a little, too, out of self-disgust, though she\nwould not acknowledge it. \"As if that were all! And nobody thinks how\nthe days are flying, and how it may all come to an end!\" cried the\npassionate girl. After having given vent to such words, shame and\nremorse seized upon Winnie. Her cheeks blazed so that the scorching heat\ndried up her tears, and she sprang up again and flew at the shutters, on\nwhich her feelings had already expended themselves more than once, and\nbrought down the bar with a clang that startled the whole house. As for\nAunt Agatha, she sat aghast, and gazed, and could not believe her eyes\nor ears. What were the days that were flying, or the things that might\ncome to an end? Could this wild exclamation have anything to do with\nthe fact that Captain Percival was only on a visit at the Hall, and that\nhis days were, so to speak, numbered? Miss Seton was not so old as to\nhave forgotten what it was to be thus on the eve of losing sight of some\none who had, as she would herself have said, \"interested you.\" But Aunt\nAgatha had never in her life been guilty of violence or passion, and the\nidea of committing such a sin against all propriety and good taste as to\nhave her usual visitors while the family was in affliction, was\nsomething which she could not take into her mind. It looked a breach of\nmorals to Miss Seton; and for the moment it actually seemed as if\nWinnie, for the first time in her life, was not to have her way.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\n\"Everybody has sympathy with my sister,\" was what Winnie had said; and\nperhaps that was the hardest thing of all to bear. She was like the\nrespectable son who came in disgusted into the midst of a merry-making\nall consecrated to the return of his disreputable prodigal brother. What\ndid the fellow mean by coming home? Why did not he stay where he was,\nand fill his belly with the husks? If Mary had but been left to her\nyoung sister's sympathy, Winnie would (or thought she would) have\nlavished tenderness upon her. But the fact was, that it was very very\nhard to think how the days were passing by, and how perhaps all the\nprecious evenings which remained might be cut off for ever, and its\nfairest prospect taken from her life, by Aunt Agatha's complaisance to\nMary. It was true that it was Captain Percival's visit that Winnie was\nthinking of. Perhaps it was a little unmaidenly of her to own as much\neven to herself. It was a thing which Aunt Agatha would have died sooner\nthan do, and which even Mary could not have been guilty of; but then\ngirls now are brought up so differently. He might find himself shut out\nfrom the house, and might think the \"family affliction\" only a pretence,\nand might go away and make an end of it for ever--and Winnie was\nself-willed and passionate, and felt she must move heaven and earth\nsooner than let this be so. It seemed to her as if the happiness of her\nlife hung upon it, and she could not but think, being young and fond of\npoetry, of the many instances in books in which the magical moment was\nthus lost, and two lives made miserable. And how could it harm Mary to\nsee a strange face or two about; she who had had the fortitude to come\nhome all the way from India, and had survived, and was in sufficiently\ngood health after her grief, which of itself was a thing for which the\ncritic of eighteen was disposed to despise a woman?\n\nAs she brooded over this at night in her own room with the window open,\nand her long hair streaming over her shoulders like a romantic heroine,\nand the young moonlight whitening over the trees, turrets, and windows\nof the Hall, a wild impatience of all the restrictions which were at\nthat moment pressing upon her came upon Winnie. She had been very bright\nand pleasant with the little boys in the garden; which was partly\nbecause her heart melted towards the helpless children who were her own\nflesh and blood, and partly because at that time nothing had occurred to\nthwart or vex her; but from the moment when she had seen Sir Edward's\nwindow suddenly gleam into the twilight matters had changed. Then Winnie\nhad perceived that the event which had been the central point of her\ndaily life for some time back, the visit of Sir Edward and his \"young\nfriend,\" was not going to happen. It was the first time it had occurred\nto her that Mary's arrival was in any way to limit or transform her own\nexistence; and her pride, her independence, her self-love and self-will\nwere all immediately in arms. She, who had a little scorned her sister\nfor the faculty of surviving, and for the steadiness with which she bore\nher burden, now asked herself indignantly, if Mary wanted to devote\nherself to her grief why she did not go into some seclusion to do it,\ninstead of imposing penance upon other people? And what harm could it\npossibly have done Mary to see some one wandering in the garden by\nWinnie's side whose presence made the world complete, and left no more\nto be desired in it? or to look at poor Sir Edward talking to Aunt\nAgatha, who took an innocent pleasure in his talk? what harm could all\nthis do to the ogress in the widow's cap who had come to trample on the\nhappiness of the cottage? What pleasure could it be to her to turn the\ninnocent old man, and the charming young one, away from the little\nflowery bower which they were so fond of?--for to be sure it did not\noccur to Winnie that Mrs. Ochterlony had nothing to do with it, and that\nit was of his own will and pleasure that Sir Edward had stayed away.\nSuch were the thoughts which ran riot in the girl's mind while she stood\nin the moonlight at the open window. There was no balcony to go forth\nupon, and these were not sweet musings like Juliet's, but fiery\ndiscontented thoughts. Winnie did not mean to let her happiness slip\nby. She thought it was her happiness, and she was imperious and\nself-willed, and determined not to let her chance be stolen from her, as\nso many people do. As for Mary she had had her day. Let her be twenty\ntimes a widow, she had once been wooed, and had tasted all the delights\nof youth, and nobody had interfered with her--and Winnie too had made up\nher mind to have her day. Such a process of thinking could never, as has\nbeen already said, have gone through the minds of either of the other\nwomen in the cottage; but Winnie was a girl of the nineteenth century,\nin which young ladies are brought up differently--and she meant to have\nher rights, and the day of her delight, and all the privileges of her\nyouth, whatever anybody might say.\n\nAs for Aunt Agatha on the other side, she too was making up her mind.\nShe would have cut herself up in little pieces to please her darling,\nbut she could not relinquish those rules of propriety which were dearer\nthan herself--she was making up her mind to the struggle with tears and\na kind of despair. It was a heartrending prospect, and she did not know\nhow she could live without the light of her pretty Winnie's countenance,\nand see her looking sulky and miserable as she had done that night. But\nstill in consideration of what was _right_, Miss Seton felt that she\nmust and could bear anything. To expect a family in mourning, and who\nhad just received a widow into their house, to see visitors, was an\ninhuman idea; and Aunt Agatha would have felt herself deeply humiliated\ncould she really have supposed that anybody thought her capable of such\na dereliction of duty. But she cried a little as she considered the\nawful results of her decision. Winnie, disappointed, sullen, and\nwretched, roused to rebellion, and taking no pleasure in her life, was a\nterrible picture to contemplate. Aunt Agatha felt that all the pleasure\nof her own existence was over, and cried a few salt tears over the\nsacrifice; but she knew her duty, and at least there was, or ought to\nbe, a certain comfort in that.\n\nSir Edward came next day to pay a solemn visit at the cottage, and it\ngave her a momentary gleam of comfort to feel that this was the course\nof conduct which he at least expected of her. He came, and his \"young\nfriend\" came with him, and for the moment smiles and contentment came\nback to the household. Sir Edward entered the drawing-room and shook\nhands tenderly with Mrs. Ochterlony, and sat down beside her, and began\nto talk as only an old friend could; but the young friend stayed in the\ngarden with Winnie, and the sound of their voices came in now and then\nalong with the songs of the birds and the fragrance of the flowers--all\nnature conspiring as usual to throw a charm about the young creatures,\nwho apart from this charm did not make the loveliest feature in the\nsocial landscape. Sir Edward, on the other hand, sat down as a man sits\ndown in a room where there is a seat which is known as his, and where he\nis in the way of doing a great deal of pleasant talk most days of his\nlife. This was a special occasion, and he behaved himself accordingly.\nHe patted Mary's hand softly with one of his, and held it in the other,\nand looked at her with that tender curiosity and inquiry which comes\nnatural after a long absence. \"She is changed, but I can see our old\nMary still in her face,\" said the old man, patting her hand; and then he\nasked about the journey, and if he should see the children; and then the\nordinary talk began.\n\n\"We did not come last evening, knowing you expected Mary,\" Sir Edward\nsaid, \"and a most unpleasant companion I had all the night in\nconsequence. Young people will be young people, you know--indeed, I\nnever can help remembering, that just the other day I was young myself.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Aunt Agatha, faltering; \"but you see under the\ncircumstances, Sir Edward, Winnie could not expect that her sister----\"\n\n\"Dear aunt,\" said Mary, \"I have already begged you to make no difference\nfor me.\"\n\n\"I am sure, my love, you are very kind,\" said Aunt Agatha; \"you always\nwere the most unselfish---- But I hope I know my duty, whatever your\ngood heart may induce you to say.\"\n\n\"And _I_ hope, after a while,\" said Sir Edward, \"that Mary too will be\npleased to see her friends. We are all friends here, and everybody I\nknow will be glad to welcome her home.\"\n\nMost likely it was those very words that made Mary feel faint and ill,\nand unable to reply. But though she did not say anything, she at least\nmade no sort of objection to the hope; and immediately the pleasant\nlittle stream of talk gushed up and ran past her as she knew it would.\nThe two old people talked of the two young ones who were so interesting\nto them, and all that was special in Sir Edward's visit came to a close.\n\n\"Young Percival is to leave me next week,\" Sir Edward said. \"I shall\nmiss him sadly, and I am afraid it will cost him a heartache to go.\"\n\nAunt Agatha knew so well what her friend meant that she felt herself\ncalled upon to look as if she did not know. \"Ah,\" she said, \"I don't\nwonder. It is not often that he will find such a friend as you have\nbeen, Sir Edward: and to leave you, who are always such pleasant\ncompany----\"\n\n\"My dear Miss Seton,\" said Sir Edward, with a gentle laugh, \"you don't\nsuppose that I expect him to have a heartache for love of me? He is a\nnice young fellow, and I am sorry to lose him; but if it were only _my_\npleasant company----\"\n\nThen Aunt Agatha blushed as if it had been herself who was young\nPercival's attraction. \"We shall all miss him, I am sure,\" she said. \"He\nis so delicate and considerate. He has not come in, thinking no doubt\nthat Mary is not equal to seeing strangers; but I am so anxious that\nMary should see him--that is, I like her to know our friends,\" said the\nimprudent woman, correcting herself, and once more blushing crimson, as\nif young Percival had been a lover of her very own.\n\n\"He is a very nice fellow,\" said Sir Edward; \"most people like him; but\nI don't know that I should have thought of describing him as considerate\nor delicate. Mary must not form too high an idea. He is just a young man\nlike other young men,\" said the impartial baronet, \"and likes his own\nway, and is not without a proper regard for his own interest. He is not\nin the least a hero of romance.\"\n\n\"I don't think he is at all mercenary, Sir Edward, if that is what you\nmean,\" said Aunt Agatha, blushing no longer, but growing seriously red.\n\n\"Mercenary!\" said Sir Edward. \"I don't think I ever dreamt of that. He\nis like other young men, you know. I don't want Mary to form too high an\nidea. But one thing I am sure of is that he is very sorry to go away.\"\n\nAnd then a little pause happened, which was trying to Aunt Agatha, and\nin the interval the voices of the two young people in the garden sounded\npleasantly from outside. Sitting thus within hearing of them, it was\ndifficult to turn to any other subject; but yet Miss Seton would not\nconfess that she could by any possibility understand what her old\nneighbour meant; and by way of escaping from that embarrassment plunged\nwithout thought into another in which she floundered helplessly after\nthe first dash.\n\n\"Mary has just come from Earlston,\" she said. \"It has grown quite a\nmuseum, do you know?--every sort of beautiful thing, and all so nicely\narranged. Francis--Mr. Ochterlony,\" said Aunt Agatha, in confusion, \"had\nalways a great deal of taste---- Perhaps you may remember----\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I remember,\" said Sir Edward--\"such things are not easily\nforgotten--but I hope you don't mean to suppose that Percival----\"\n\n\"I was thinking nothing about Captain Percival,\" Miss Seton said,\nfeeling ready to cry--\"What I meant was, I thought--I supposed you\nmight have some interest--I thought you might like to know----\"\n\n\"Oh, if that is all,\" said Sir Edward, \"of course I take a great\ninterest--but I thought you meant something of the same kind might be\ngoing on here. You must never think of that. I would never forgive\nmyself if I were twice to be the occasion----\"\n\n\"I was thinking nothing about Captain Percival,\" said Aunt Agatha, with\ntears of vexation in her eyes; \"nor--nor anything else--I was talking\nfor the sake of conversation: I was thinking perhaps you might like to\nhear----\"\n\n\"May I show you my boys, Sir Edward?\" said Mary, ringing the bell--\"I\nshould like you to see them; and I am going to ask you, by-and-by, what\nI must do with them. My brother-in-law is very much a recluse--I should\nbe glad to have the advice of somebody who knows more of the world.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, let us see the boys,\" said Sir Edward. \"_All_ boys are\nthey?--that's a pity. You shall have the best advice I can give you, my\ndear Mary--and if you are not satisfied with that, you shall have better\nadvice than mine; there is nothing so important as education; come\nalong, little ones. So these are all?--three--I thought you had more\nthan three. Ah, I beg your pardon. How do you do, my little man? I am\nyour mamma's old friend--I knew her long before you were born--come and\ntell me your name.\"\n\nAnd while Sir Edward got at these particulars, and took the baby on his\nknee, and made himself agreeable to the two sturdy little heroes who\nstood by, and stared at him, Aunt Agatha came round behind their backs,\nand gave Mary a quiet kiss--half by way of consolation, half by way of\nthanks--for, but for that happy inspiration of sending for the children,\nthere was no telling what bog of unfortunate talk Miss Seton might not\nhave tumbled into. Sir Edward was one of those men who know much, too\nmuch, about everybody--everything, he himself thought. He could detect\nallusions in the most careless conversation, and never forgot anything\neven when it was expedient and better that it should be forgotten. He\nwas a man who had been unlucky in his youth, and who now, in his old\nage, though he was as well off as a man living all alone, in forlorn\ncelibacy, could be, was always called poor Sir Edward. The very\ncottagers called him so, who might well have looked upon his life as a\nkind of paradise; and being thus recognised as an object of pity, Sir\nEdward had on the whole a very pleasant life. He knew all about\neverybody, and was apt at times to confuse his neighbours sadly, as he\nhad just done Aunt Agatha, by a reference to the most private bits of\ntheir individual history; but it was never done with ill-nature--and\nafter all there is a charm about a person who knows everything about\neverybody. He was a man who could have told you all about the Gretna\nGreen marriage, which had cost poor Major Ochterlony so much trouble, as\nwell, or perhaps even better, than if he had been present at it; and he\nwas favourable to marriages in general, though he had never himself made\nthe experience, and rather liked to preside over a budding inclination\nlike that between Winifred Seton and young Percival. He took little\nWilfrid on his knee when the children were thus brought upon the scene,\nin a fatherly, almost grand-fatherly way, and was quite ready to go into\nMary's plans about them. He thought it was quite right, and the most\nsuitable thing she could do, to settle somewhere where there was a good\ngrammar-school; and he had already begun to calculate where the best\ngrammar-schools were situated, and which would be the best plan for Mrs.\nOchterlony, when the voices in the garden were heard approaching. Aunt\nAgatha had escaped from her embarrassment by going out to the young\npeople, and was now bringing them in to present the young man for Mary's\napproval and criticism. Miss Seton came first, and there was anxiety in\nher face; and after her Winnie stepped in at the window, with a little\nflush upon her pretty cheek, and an unusual light in her eye; and after\nher--but at that moment the whole party were startled by a sudden sound\nof surprise, the momentary falling back of the stranger's foot from the\nstep, and a surprised, half-suppressed exclamation. \"Oh!--Mrs.\nOchterlony!\" exclaimed Sir Edward's young friend. As it happened all the\nrest were silent at that moment, and his voice was distinctly audible,\nthough perhaps he had not meant it to be so. He himself was half hidden\nby the roses which clambered all over the cottage, but Mary naturally\nturned round, and turned her face to the window, when she heard her own\nname--as indeed they all did--surprised at the exclamation, and still\nmore at the tone. And it was thus under the steady gaze of four pairs of\neyes that Captain Percival came into the room. Perhaps but for that\nexclamation Mary might not have recognised him; but her ear had been\ntrained to quick understanding of that inflection, half of amusement,\nhalf of contempt, which she had not heard for so long. To her ears it\nmeant, \"Oh, Mrs. Ochterlony!--she who was married over again, as people\npretended--she who took in the Kirkmans, and all the people at the\nstation.\" Captain Percival came in, and he felt his blood run cold as he\nmet all those astonished eyes, and found Mary looking so intently at\nhim. What had he done that they should all stare at him like that? for\nhe was not so well aware of what he had given utterance to, nor of his\ntone in giving utterance to it, as they were. \"Good heavens, what is the\nmatter?\" he said; \"you all look at me as if I were a monster. Miss\nSeton, may I ask you to introduce me----\"\n\n\"We have met before, I think,\" Mary said, quietly. \"When I heard of\nCaptain Percival I did not know it was the same I used to hear so much\nabout in India. I think, when I saw you last, it was at----\"\n\nShe wanted by sudden instinct to say it out and set herself right for\never and ever, here where everything about her was known; but the words\nseemed to choke her. In spite of herself she stopped short; how could\nshe refer to that, the only great grievance in her life, her husband's\none great wrong against her, now that he was in his grave, and she left\nin the world the defender and champion of all his acts and ways? She\ncould not do it--she was obliged to stop short in the middle, and\nswallow the sob that would have choked her with the next word. And they\nstood all gazing at her, wondering what it was.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the young man, with a confidential air--\"I remember it very\nwell indeed--I heard all about it from Askell, you know;--but I never\nimagined, when I heard you talking of your sister, that it was the same\nMrs. Ochterlony,\" he added, turning to Winnie, who was looking on with\ngreat and sudden interest. And then there was a pause--such a pause as\noccurs sometimes when there is an evident want of explanation somewhere,\nand all present feel that they are on the borders of a mystery. Somehow\nit changed the character of the assembled company. A few minutes before\nit had been the sad stranger, in her widow's cap, who was the centre of\nall, and to whom the visitors had to be presented in a half apologetic\nway, as if to a queen. Aunt Agatha, indeed, had been quite anxious on\nthe subject, pondering how she could best bring Sir Edward's young\nfriend, Winnie's admirer, under Mrs. Ochterlony's observation, and have\nher opinion of him; and now in an instant the situation was reversed,\nand it was Mary and Captain Percival alone who seemed to know each\nother, and to have recollections in common! Mary felt her cheeks flush\nin spite of herself, and Winnie grew pale with incipient jealousy and\ndismay, and Aunt Agatha fluttered about in a state of the wildest\nanxiety. At last both she and Sir Edward burst out talking at the same\nmoment, with the same visible impulse. And they brought the children\ninto the foreground, and lured them into the utterance of much baby\nnonsense, and even went so far as to foster a rising quarrel between\nHugh and Islay, all to cover up from each other's eyes and smother in\nthe bud this mystery, if it was a mystery. It was a singular disturbance\nto bring into such a quiet house; for how could the people who dwelt at\nhome tell what those two strangers might have known about each other in\nIndia, how they might have been connected, or what secret might lie\nbetween them?--no more than people could tell in a cosy sheltered\ncurtained room what might be going on at sea, or even on the dark road\noutside. And here there was the same sense of insecurity--the same\ndistrust and fear. Winnie stood a little apart, pale, and with her\ndelicate curved nostril a little dilated. Captain Percival was younger\nthan Mary, and Mary up to this moment had been hedged round with a\ncertain sanctity, even in the eyes of her discontented young sister. But\nthere was some intelligence between them, something known to those two\nwhich was known to no one else in the party. This was enough to set off\nthe thoughts of a self-willed girl, upon whose path Mary had thrown the\nfirst shadow, wildly into all kinds of suspicions. And to tell the\ntruth, the elder people, who should have known better, were not much\nwiser than Winnie. Thus, while Hugh and Islay had a momentary struggle\nin the foreground, which called for their mother's active interference,\nthe one ominous cloud of her existence once more floated up upon the dim\nfirmament over Mary's head; though if she had but finished her sentence\nit would have been no cloud at all, and might never have come to\nanything there or thereafter. But this did not occur to Mrs. Ochterlony.\nWhat did occur to her in her vexation and pain was that her dead Hugh\nwould be hardly dealt with among her kindred, if the stranger should\ntell her story. And she was glad, heartily glad, that there was little\nconversation afterwards, and that very soon the two visitors went away.\nBut it was she who was the last to be aware that a certain doubt, a new\nand painful element of uncertainty stayed behind them in Aunt Agatha's\npretty cottage after they were gone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\nThat night was a painful night for Winnie. The girl was self-willed and\nself-loving, as has been said. But she was not incapable of the more\ngenerous emotions, and when she looked at her sister she could no more\nsuspect her of any wrong or treachery than she could suspect the sun\nshining over their heads. And her interest in the young soldier had gone\na great length. She thought he loved her, and it was very hard to think\nthat he was kept apart from her by a reason which was no reason at all.\nShe roved about the garden all the evening in an unsettled way, thinking\nhe would come again--thinking he could not stay away--explaining to\nherself that he must come to explain. And when she glanced indoors at\nthe lamp which was lighted so much earlier than it needed to be, for the\nsake of Mary's sewing, and saw Mary seated beside it, in what looked\nlike perfect composure and quietness, Winnie's impatience got the better\nof her. He was to be banished, or confined to a formal morning call, for\nMary's sake, who sat there so calm, a woman for whom the fret and cares\nof life were over, while for Winnie life was only beginning, and her\nheart going out eagerly to welcome and lay claim to its troubles. And\nthen the thought that it was the same Mrs. Ochterlony came sharp as a\nsting to Winnie's heart. What could he have had to do with Mrs.\nOchterlony? what did _she_ mean coming home in the character of a\nsorrowful widow, and shutting out their visitors, and yet awakening\nsomething like agitation and unquestionable recognition in the first\nstranger she saw? Winnie wandered through the garden, asking herself\nthose questions, while the sweet twilight darkened, and the magical hour\npassed by, which had of late associated itself with so many dreams. And\nagain he did not come. It was impossible to her, when she looked at\nMary, to believe that there could be anything inexplainable in the link\nwhich connected her lover with her sister--but still he ought to have\ncome to explain. And when Sir Edward's windows were lighted once more,\nand the certainty that he was not coming penetrated her mind, Winnie\nclenched her pretty hands, and went crazy for the moment with despite\nand vexation. Another long dull weary evening, with all the expectation\nand hope quenched out of it; another lingering night; another day in\nwhich there was as much doubt as hope. And next week he was going away!\nAnd it was all Mary's fault, however you took it--whether she had known\nmore of him than she would allow in India, or whether it was simply the\nfault of that widow's cap which scared people away? This was what was\ngoing on in Winnie's agitated mind while the evening dews fell upon the\nbanks of Kirtell, and the soft stars came out, and the young moon rose,\nand everything glistened and shone with the sweetness of a summer night.\nThis fair young creature, who was in herself the most beautiful climax\nof all the beauty around her, wandered among her flowers with her small\nhands clenched, and the spirit of a little fury in her heart. She had\nnothing in the world to trouble her, and yet she was very unhappy, and\nit was all Mary's fault. Probably if Mary could but have seen into\nWinnie's heart she would have thought it preferable to stay at Earlston,\nwhere the Psyche and the Venus were highly indifferent, and had no\nhearts, but only arms and noses that could be broken. Winnie was more\nfragile than the Etruscan vases or the Henri II. porcelain. They had\nescaped fracture, but she had not; but fortunately this thought did not\noccur to Mrs. Ochterlony as she sat by the lamp working at Hugh's little\nblouses in Aunt Agatha's chair.\n\nAnd Aunt Agatha, more actively jealous than Winnie herself, sat by\nknitting little socks--an occupation which she had devoted herself to,\nheart and soul, from the moment when she first knew the little\nOchterlonys were coming home. She was knitting with the prettiest yarn\nand the finest needles, and had a model before her of proportions so\nshapely as to have filled any woman's soul with delight; but all that\nwas eclipsed for the time by the doubt which hung over Mary, and the\nevident unhappiness of her favourite. Aunt Agatha was less wise than\nWinnie, and had not eyes to perceive that people were characteristic\neven in their wrong-doing, and that Captain Percival of himself could\nhave nothing to do with the shock which Mary had evidently felt at the\nsight of him. Probably Miss Seton had not been above a little flirtation\nin her own day, and she did not see how that would come unnatural to a\nwoman of her own flesh and blood. And she sat accordingly on the other\nside of the lamp and knitted, with a pucker of anxiety upon her fair old\nbrow, casting wistful glances now and then into the garden where Winnie\nwas.\n\n\"And I suppose, my dear, you know Captain Percival very well?\" said Aunt\nAgatha, with that anxious look on her face.\n\n\"I don't think I ever saw him but once,\" said Mary, who was a little\nimpatient of the question.\n\n\"But once, my dear love! and yet you both were so surprised to meet,\"\nsaid Aunt Agatha, with reasonable surprise.\n\n\"There are some moments when to see a man is to remember him ever\nafter,\" said Mary. \"It was at such a time that I saw Sir Edward's\nfriend. It would be best to tell you about it, Aunt Agatha. There was a\ntime when my poor Hugh----\"\n\n\"Oh, Mary, my darling, you can't think I want to vex you,\" cried Aunt\nAgatha, \"or make you go back again upon anything that is painful. I am\nquite satisfied, for my part, when you say so. And so would Winnie be, I\nam sure.\"\n\n\"Satisfied?\" said Mary, wondering, and yet with a smile; and then she\nforgot the wonder of it in the anxiety. \"I should be sorry to think that\nWinnie cared much for anything that could be said about Captain\nPercival. I used to hear of him from the Askells who were friends of\nhis. Do not let her have anything to do with him, Aunt Agatha; I am sure\nhe could bring her nothing but disappointment and pain.\"\n\n\"I--Mary?--Oh, my dear love, what can _I_ do?\" cried Miss Seton, in\nsudden confusion; and then she paused and recovered herself. \"Of course\nif he was a wicked young man, I--I would not let Winnie have anything to\ndo with him,\" she added, faltering; \"but--do you think you are sure,\nMary? If it should be only that you do not--like him; or that you have\nnot got on--or something----\"\n\n\"I have told you that I know nothing of him, Aunt,\" said Mary. \"I saw\nhim once at the most painful moment of my life, and spoke half-a-dozen\nwords to him in my own house after that--but it is what I have heard the\ngentlemen say. I do not like him. I think it was unmannerly and\nindelicate to come to my house at such a time----\"\n\n\"My darling!\" said Aunt Agatha, soothing her tenderly. Miss Seton was\nthinking of the major's death, not of any pain that might have gone\nbefore; and Mary by this time in the throng of recollections that came\nupon her had forgotten that everybody did not know.\n\n\"But that is not the reason,\" Mrs. Ochterlony said, composing herself:\n\"the reason is that he could not, unless he is greatly changed, make\nWinnie otherwise than unhappy. I know the reputation he had. The\nHeskeths would not let him come to their house after Annie came out; and\nI have even heard Hugh----\"\n\n\"My dear love, you are agitating yourself,\" cried Aunt Agatha. \"Oh,\nMary, if you only knew how anxious I am to do anything to recall----\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, with a faint smile: \"it is not so\nfar off that I should require anything to recall all that has happened\nto me--but for Winnie's sake----\"\n\nAnd it was just at that moment that the light suddenly appeared in Sir\nEdward's window, and brought Winnie in, white and passionate, with a\nthunder-cloud full of tears and lightnings and miserable headache and\nself-reproach, lowering over her brilliant eyes.\n\n\"It is very good of Mary, I am sure, to think of something for my sake,\"\nsaid Winnie. \"What is it, Aunt Agatha? Everything is always so\nunpleasant that is for one's good. I should like to know what it was.\"\n\nAnd then there was a dead silence in the pretty room. Mary bent her head\nover her work, silenced by the question, and Aunt Agatha, in a flutter\nof uncertainty and tribulation, turned from one to the other, not\nknowing which side to take nor what to say.\n\n\"Mary has come among us a stranger,\" said Winnie, \"and I suppose it is\nnatural that she should think she knows our business better than we do.\nI suppose that is always how it seems to a stranger; but at the same\ntime it is a mistake, Aunt Agatha, and I wish you would let Mary know\nthat we are disposed to manage for ourselves. If we come to any harm it\nis we who will have to suffer, and not Mary,\" the impetuous girl cried,\nas she drew that unhappy embroidery frame out of its corner.\n\nAnd then another pause, severe and startling, fell upon the little\nparty. Aunt Agatha fluttered in her chair, looking from one to another,\nand Winnie dragged a violent needle through her canvas, and a great\nnight moth came in and circled about them, and dashed itself madly\nagainst the globe of light on the table. As for Mary, she sat working at\nHugh's little blouse, and for a long time did not speak.\n\n\"My dear love!\" Aunt Agatha said at last, trembling, \"you know there is\nnothing in the world I would not do to please you, Winnie,--nor Mary\neither. Oh, my dear children, there are only you two in the world. If\none says anything, it is for the other's good. And here we are, three\nwomen together, and we are all fond of each other, and surely, surely,\nnothing ever can make any unpleasantness!\" cried the poor lady, with\ntears. She had her heart rent in two, like every mediatrix, and yet the\nlarger half, as was natural, went to her darling's side.\n\n\"Winnie is right enough,\" Mary said, quietly. \"I am a stranger, and I\nhave no right to interfere; and very likely, even if I were permitted to\ninterfere, it would do no good. It is a shame to vex you, Aunt Agatha.\nMy sister must submit to hear my opinion one time, but I am not going to\ndisturb the peace of the house, nor yours.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mary, my dear, it is only that she is a little impatient, and has\nalways had her own way,\" said Aunt Agatha, whispering across the table.\nAnd then no more was said. Miss Seton took up her little socks, and\nWinnie continued to labour hotly at her embroidery, and the sound of her\nwork, and the rustle of Mary's arm at her sewing, and the little click\nof Aunt Agatha's knitting-needles, and the mad dashes of the moth at the\nlamp, were all the sounds in the room, except, indeed, the sound of the\nKirtell, flowing softly over its pebbles at the foot of the brae, and\nthe sighing of the evening air among the trees, which were sadly\ncontradictory of the spirit of the scene within; and at a distance over\nthe woods, gleamed Sir Edward's window, with the ill-disposed light\nwhich was, so to speak, the cause of all. Perhaps, after all, if Mrs.\nOchterlony had stayed at Earlston, where the Psyche and the Venus were\nnot sensitive, and there was nothing but marble and china to jar into\ndiscord, it might have been better; and what would have been better\nstill, was the grey cottage on the roadside, with fire on the hearth and\npeace and freedom in the house; and it was to that, with a deep and\nsettled longing, that Mary's heart and thoughts went always back.\n\nWhen Mrs. Ochterlony had withdrawn, the scene changed much in Aunt\nAgatha's drawing-room. But it was still a pretty scene. Then Winnie came\nand poured out her girlish passion in the ears and at the feet of her\ntender guardian. She sank down upon the carpet, and laid her beautiful\nhead upon Aunt Agatha's knee, and clasped her slender arms around her.\n\"To think she should come and drive every one I care for away from the\nhouse, and set even you against me!\" cried Winnie, with sobs of vexation\nand rage.\n\n\"Oh, Winnie! not me! Never me, my darling,\" cried Aunt Agatha; and they\nmade a group which a painter would have loved, and which would have\nconveyed the most delicate conception of love and grief to an admiring\npublic, had it been painted. Nothing less than a broken heart and a\nblighted life would have been suggested to an innocent fancy by the\nabandonment of misery in Winnie's attitude. And to tell the truth, she\nwas very unhappy, furious with Mary, and with herself, and with her\nlover, and everybody in the wide world. The braids of her beautiful hair\ngot loose, and the net that confined them came off, and the glistening\nsilken flood came tumbling about her shoulders. Miss Seton could not but\ntake great handfuls of it as she tried to soothe her darling; and poor\nAunt Agatha's heart was rent in twain as she sat with this lovely burden\nin her lap, thinking, Oh, if nobody had ever come to distract Winnie's\nheart with love-making, and bring such disturbance to her life; oh, if\nHugh Ochterlony had thought better of it, and had not died! Oh, if Mary\nhad never seen Captain Percival, or seeing him, had approved of him, and\nthought him of all others the mate she would choose for her sister! The\nreverse of all these wishes had happened, and Aunt Agatha could not but\nlook at the combination with a certain despair.\n\n\"What can I do, my dear love?\" she said. \"It is my fault that Mary has\ncome here. You know yourself it would have been unnatural if she had\ngone anywhere else: and how could we go on having people, with her in\nsuch deep mourning? And as for Captain Percival, my darling----\"\n\n\"I was not speaking of Captain Percival,\" said Winnie, with indignation.\n\"What is he to me?--or any man? But what I will not bear is Mary\ninterfering. She shall not tell us what we are to do. She shan't come in\nand look as if she understood everything better than we do. And, Aunt\nAgatha, she shan't--she shall never come, not for a moment, between you\nand me!\"\n\n\"My darling child! my dear love!\" cried poor Aunt Agatha, \"as if that\nwas possible, or as if poor Mary wanted to. Oh, if you would only do her\njustice, Winnie? She is fond of you; I know she is fond of you. And what\nshe was saying was entirely for your good----\"\n\n\"She is fond of nobody but her children,\" said Winnie, rising up, and\ngathering her bright hair back into the net. \"She would not care what\nhappened to us, as long as all was well with her tiresome little boys.\"\n\nAunt Agatha wrung her hands, as she looked in despair at the tears on\nthe flushed cheek, and the cloud which still hung upon her child's brow.\nWhat could she say? Perhaps there was a little truth in what Winnie\nsaid. The little boys, though Miss Seton could not help feeling them to\nbe so unimportant in comparison with Winnie and her beginning of life,\nwere all in all to Mrs. Ochterlony; and when she had murmured again that\nMary meant it all for Winnie's good, and again been met by a scornful\nprotestation that anything meant for one's good was highly unpleasant,\nAunt Agatha was silenced, and had not another word to say. All that she\ncould do was to pet her wilful darling more than ever, and to promise\nwith tears that Mary should never, never make any difference between\nthem, and that she herself would do anything that Winnie wished or\nwanted. The interview left her in such a state of agitation that she\ncould not sleep, nor even lie down, till morning was breaking, and the\nnew day had begun--but wandered about in her dressing-gown, thinking she\nheard Winnie move, and making pilgrimages to her room to find her,\nnotwithstanding all her passion and tears, as fast asleep as one of\nMary's boys--which was very, very different from Aunt Agatha's case, or\nMary's either, for that matter. As for Mrs. Ochterlony, it is useless to\nenter into any description of her feelings. She went to bed with a heavy\nheart, feeling that she had made another failure, and glad, as people\nare when they have little comfort round them, of the kind night and the\npossible sleep which, for a few hours at least, would make her free of\nall this. But she did not sleep as Winnie did, who felt herself so\nill-used and injured. Thus, Mrs. Ochterlony's return, a widow, brought\nmore painful agitation to Miss Seton's cottage than had been known under\nits quiet roof since the time when she went away a bride.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\nAnd after this neither Sir Edward nor his young friend appeared for two\nwhole days. Any girl of Winifred Seton's impetuous character, who has\never been left in such a position on the very eve of the telling of that\nlove-tale, which had been all but told for several weeks past, but now\nseemed suddenly and artificially arrested just at the moment of\nutterance--will be able to form some idea of Winnie's feelings during\nthis dreadful interval. She heard the latch of the gate lifted a hundred\ntimes in the day, when, alas, there was no one near to lift the latch.\nShe was afraid to go out for an instant, lest in that instant \"they\"\nshould come; her brain was ringing with supposed sounds of footsteps and\nechoes of voices, and yet the road lay horribly calm and silent behind\nthe garden hedge, with no passengers upon it. And these two evenings the\nlight came early into Sir Edward's window, and glared cruelly over the\ntrees. And to be turned inward upon the sweet old life from which the\ncharm had fled, and to have to content one's self with flowers and\nembroidery, and the canary singing, and the piano, and Aunt Agatha! Many\nanother girl has passed through the same interval of torture, and felt\nthe suspense to be killing, and the crisis tragic--but yet to older\neyes perhaps even such a dread suspension of all the laws of being has\nalso its comic side. Winnie, however, took care to keep anybody from\nlaughing at it in the cottage. It was life and death to her, or at least\nso she thought. And her suppressed frenzy of anxiety, and doubt, and\nfear, were deep earnest to Aunt Agatha, who seemed now to be living her\nown early disappointments over again, and more bitterly than in the\nfirst version of them. She tried hard to remember the doubt thrown upon\nCaptain Percival by Mary, and to persuade herself that this\ninterposition was providential, and meant to save her child from an\nunhappy marriage. But when Miss Seton saw Winnie's tragic countenance,\nher belief in Providence was shaken. She could not see the good of\nanything that made her darling suffer. Mary might be wrong, she might be\nprejudiced, or have heard a false account, and it might be simply\nherself who was to blame for shutting her doors, or seeming to shut her\ndoors, against her nearest and oldest neighbours. Could it be supposed\nthat Sir Edward would bring any one to her house who was not a fit\nassociate or a fit suitor, if things should take such a turn, for\nWinnie? Under the painful light thrown upon the subject by Winnie's\nlooks, Aunt Agatha came altogether to ignore that providential view\nwhich had comforted her at first, and was so far driven in the other\ndirection at last as to write Sir Edward a little note, and take the\nresponsibility upon her own shoulders. What Miss Seton wrote was, that\nthough, in consequence of their late affliction, the family were not\nequal to seeing visitors in a general way, yet that it would be strange\nindeed if they were to consider Sir Edward a stranger, and that she\nhoped he would not stay away, as she was sure his company would be more\na comfort to Mary than anything else. And she also hoped Captain\nPercival would not leave the Hall without coming to see them. It was\nsuch a note as a maiden lady was fully justified in writing to an old\nfriend--an invitation, but yet given with a full consideration of all\nthe proprieties, and that tender regard for Mary's feelings which Aunt\nAgatha had shown throughout. It was written and despatched when Winnie\nhad gone out, as she did on the third day, in proud defiance and\ndesperation, so that if Sir Edward's sense of propriety and respect for\nMary's cap should happen to be stronger than Aunt Agatha's, no further\nvexation might come to the young sufferer from this attempt to set all\nright.\n\nAnd Winnie went out without knowing of this effort for her consolation.\nShe went down by the Kirtell, winding down the wooded banks, in the\nsweet light and shade of the August morning, seeing nothing of the\nbrightness, wrapped up and absorbed in her own sensations. She felt now\nthat the moment of fate had passed,--that moment that made or marred two\nlives;--and had in her heart, in an embryo unexpressed condition,\nseveral of Mr. Browning's minor poems, which were not then written; and\nfelt a general bitterness against the world for the lost climax, the\n_denouement_ which had not come. She thought to herself even, that if\nthe tale had been told, the explanation made, and something, however\ntragical, had happened _after_, it would not have been so hard to bear.\nBut now it was clear to Winnie that her existence must run on soured and\ncontracted in the shade, and that young Percival must stiffen into a\nworldly and miserable old bachelor, and that their joint life, the only\nlife worth living, had been stolen from them, and blighted in the bud.\nAnd what was it all for?--because Mary, who had had all the good things\nof this life, who had loved and been married in the most romantic way,\nand had been adored by her husband, and reigned over him, had come, so\nfar, to an end of her career. Mary was over thirty, an age at which\nWinnie could not but think it must be comparatively indifferent to a\nwoman what happened--at which the snows of age must have begun to benumb\nher feelings, under any circumstances, and the loss of a husband or so\ndid not much matter; but at eighteen, and to lose the first love that\nhad ever touched your heart! to lose it without any reason--without the\nsatisfaction of some dreadful obstacle in the way, or misunderstanding\nstill more dreadful; without ever having heard the magical words and\ntasted that first rapture!--Ah, it was hard, very hard; and no wonder\nthat Winnie was in a turmoil of rage, and bitterness, and despair.\n\nThe fact was, that she was so absorbed in her thoughts as not to see him\nthere where he was waiting for her. He had seen her long ago, as she\ncame down the winding road, betraying herself at the turnings by the\nflutter of her light dress--for Winnie's mourning was slight--and he had\nwaited, as glad as she could be of the opportunity, and the chance of\nseeing her undisturbed, and free from all critical eyes. There is a kind\nof popular idea that it is only a good man, or one with a certain\n\"nobility\" in his character, who is capable of being in love; but the\nidea is not so justifiable as it would seem to be. Captain Percival was\nnot a good young man, nor would it be safe for any conscientious\nhistorian to claim for him generous or noble qualities to any marked\ndegree; but at the same time I am not disposed to qualify the state of\nhis sentiments by saying, as is generally said of unsatisfactory\ncharacters, that he loved Winnie as much as he could love anything. He\nwas in love with her, heart and soul, as much as if he had been a\npaladin. He would not have stayed at any obstacle, nor regarded either\nhis own comfort or hers, or any other earthly bar between them. When\nWinnie thought him distant from her, and contemplating his departure, he\nhad been haunting all the old walks which he knew Miss Seton and her\nniece were in the habit of taking. He was afraid of Mary--that was one\nthing indisputable--and he thought she would harm him, and bring up his\nold character against him; and felt instinctively that the harm which he\nthought he knew of her, could not be used against her here. And it was\nfor this reason that he had not ventured again to present himself at the\ncottage; but he had been everywhere about, wherever he thought there was\nany chance of meeting the lady of his thoughts. And if Winnie had not\nbeen so anxious not to miss that possible visitor; if she had been\ncoming and going, and doing all she usually did, their meeting must have\ntaken place two days ago, and all the agony and trouble been spared. He\nwatched her now, and held his breath, and traced her at all the turnings\nof the road, now by a puff of her black and white muslin dress, and then\nby a long streaming ribbon catching among the branches--for Winnie was\nfond of long ribbons wherever she could introduce them. And she was so\nabsorbed with her own settled anguish, that she had stepped out upon him\nfrom among the trees before she was aware.\n\n\"Captain Percival!\" said Winnie, with an involuntary cry; and she felt\nthe blood so rush to her cheeks with sudden delight and surprise, that\nshe was in an instant put on her guard, and driven to account for\nit.--\"I did not see there was any one here--what a fright you have given\nme. And we, who thought you had gone away,\" added Winnie, looking\nsuddenly at him with blazing defiant eyes.\n\nIf he had not been in love, probably he would have known what it all\nmeant--the start, the blush, the cry, and that triumphant, indignant,\nreproachful, exulting look. But he had enough to do with his own\nsensations, which makes a wonderful difference in such a case.\n\n\"Gone away!\" he said, on the spur of the moment--\"as if I could go\naway--as if you did not know better than that.\"\n\n\"I was not aware that there was anything to detain you,\" said Winnie;\nand all at once from being so tragical, her natural love of mischief\ncame back, and she felt perfectly disposed to play with her mouse. \"Tell\nme about it. Is it Sir Edward? or perhaps you, too, have had an\naffliction in your family. I think that is the worst of all,\" she said,\nshaking her pretty head mournfully--and thus the two came nearer to each\nother and laughed together, which was as good a means of _rapprochement_\nas anything else.\n\nBut the young soldier had waited too long for this moment to let it all\ngo off in laughter. \"If you only knew how I have been trying to see\nyou,\" he said. \"I have been at the school and at the mill, and in the\nwoods--in all your pet places. Are you condemned to stay at home because\nof this affliction? I could not come to the cottage because, though Miss\nSeton is so kind, I am sure your sister would do me an ill turn if she\ncould.\"\n\nWinnie was startled, and even a little annoyed by this speech--for it is\na fact always to be borne in mind by social critics, that one member of\na family may be capable of saying everything that is unpleasant about\nanother, without at the same time being disposed to hear even an echo of\nhis or her own opinion from stranger lips. Winnie was of this way of\nthinking. She had not taken to her sister, and was quite ready herself\nto criticise her very severely; but when somebody else did it, the\nresult was very different. \"Why should my sister do you an ill turn?\"\nshe said.\n\n\"Oh!\" said young Percival; \"it is because you know she knows that I know\nall about it----\"\n\n\"All about it!\" said Winnie. She was tall already, but she grew two\ninches taller as she stood and expanded and looked her frightened lover\ninto nothing. \"There can be nothing about Mary, Captain Percival, which\nyou and all the world may not know.\"\n\nAnd then the young man saw he had made a wrong move. \"I have not been\nhaunting the road for hours to talk about Mrs. Ochterlony,\" he said.\n\"She does not like me, and I am frightened for her. Oh, Winnie, you know\nvery well why. You know I would tremble before anybody who might make\n_you_ think ill of me. It is cruel to pretend you don't understand.\"\n\nAnd then he took her hand and told her everything--all that she looked\nfor, and perhaps more than all--for there are touches of real eloquence\nabout what a man says when he is really in love (even if he should be no\ngreat things in his own person) which transcend as much as they fall\nshort of, the suggestions of a woman's curious fancy. She had said it\nfor him two or three times in her own mind, and had done it far more\nelegantly and neatly. But still there was something about the genuine\narticle which had not been in Winnie's imagination. There were fewer\nwords, but there was a great deal more excitement, though it was much\nless cleverly expressed. And then, before they knew how, the crisis was\nover, the _denouement_ accomplished, and the two sitting side by side as\nin another world. They were sitting on the trunk of an old beech-tree,\nwith the leaves rustling and the birds twittering over them, and Kirtell\nrunning, soft and sweet, hushed in its scanty summer whisper at their\nfeet; all objects familiar, and well-known to them--and yet it was\nanother world. As for Mr. Browning's poems about the unlived life, and\nthe hearts all shrivelled up for want of a word at the right moment,\nWinnie most probably would have laughed with youthful disdain had they\nbeen suggested to her now. This little world, in which the fallen\nbeech-tree was the throne, and the fairest hopes and imaginations\npossible to man, crowded about the youthful sovereigns, and paid them\nobsequious court, was so different from the old world, where Sir Edward\nat the Hall, and Aunt Agatha in the Cottage, were expecting the young\npeople, that these two, as was not unnatural, forgot all about it, and\nlingered together, no one interfering with them, or even knowing they\nwere there, for long enough to fill Miss Seton's tender bosom with wild\nanxieties and terrors. Winnie had not reached home at the early\ndinner-hour--a thing which was to Aunt Agatha as if the sun had declined\nto rise, or the earth (to speak more correctly) refused to perform her\nproper revolutions. She became so restless, and anxious, and unhappy,\nthat Mary, too, was roused into uneasiness. \"It must be only that she is\ndetained somewhere,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony. \"She never would allow\nherself to be detained,\" cried Aunt Agatha, \"and oh, Mary, my darling is\nunhappy. How can I tell what may have happened?\" Thus some people made\nthemselves very wretched about her, while Winnie sat in perfect\nblessedness, uttering and listening to all manner of heavenly nonsense\non the trunk of the fallen tree.\n\nAunt Agatha's wretchedness, however, dispersed into thin air the moment\nshe saw Winnie come in at the garden-gate, with Captain Percival in\nclose attendance. Then Miss Seton, with natural penetration, saw in an\ninstant what had happened; felt that it was all natural, and wondered\nwhy she had not foreseen this inevitable occurrence. \"I might have\nknown,\" she said to Mary, who was the only member of the party upon whom\nthis wonderful event had no enlivening effect; and then Aunt Agatha\nrecollected herself, and put on her sad face, and faltered an apology.\n\"Oh, my dear love, I know it must be hard upon you to see it,\" she\nsaid, apologizing as it were to the widow for the presence of joy.\n\n\"I would be a poor soul indeed, if it was hard upon me to see it,\" said\nMary. \"No, Aunt Agatha, I hope I am not so shabby as that. I have had my\nday. If I look grave, it is for other reasons. I was not thinking of\nmyself.\"\n\n\"My love! you were always so unselfish,\" said Miss Seton. \"Are you\nreally anxious about _him_? See how happy he looks--he cannot be so fond\nof her as that, and so happy, and yet a deceiver. It is not possible,\nMary.\"\n\nThis was in the afternoon, when they had come out to the lawn with their\nwork, and the two lovers were still together--not staying in one place,\nas their elders did, but flitting across the line of vision now and\nthen, and, as it were, pervading the atmosphere with a certain flavour\nof romance and happiness.\n\n\"I did not say he was a deceiver--he dared not be a deceiver to Winnie,\"\nsaid Mrs. Ochterlony; \"there may be other sins than that.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mary, don't speak as if you thought it would turn out badly,\" cried\nAunt Agatha, clasping her hands; and she looked into Mrs. Ochterlony's\nface as if somehow she had the power by retracting her opinion to\nprevent things from turning out badly. Mary was not a stoic, nor above\nthe sway of all the influences around her. She could not resist the soft\npleading eyes that looked into her face, nor the fascination of her\nyoung sister's happiness. She held her peace, and even did her best to\nsmile upon the spectacle, and to hope in her heart that true love might\nwork magically upon the man who had now, beyond redemption, Winnie's\nfuture in his hands. For her own part, she shrank from him with a vague\nsense of alarm and danger; and had it been possible to do any good by\nit, would have felt herself capable of any exertion to cast the intruder\nout. But it was evident that under present circumstances there was no\ngood to be done. She kept her boys out of his way with an instinctive\ndread which she could not explain to herself, and shuddered when poor\nAunt Agatha, hoping to conciliate all parties, set little Wilfrid for a\nmoment on their visitor's knee, and with a wistful wile reminded him of\nthe new family relationships Winnie would bring him. Mary took her child\naway with a shivering sense of peril which was utterly unreasonable. Why\nhad it been Wilfrid of all others who was brought thus into the\nforeground? Why should it be he who was selected as a symbol of the\nlinks of the future? Wilfrid was but an infant, and derived no further\nimpression from his momentary perch upon Captain Percival's knee, than\nthat of special curiosity touching the beard which was a new kind of\nornament to the fatherless baby, and tempting for closer investigation;\nbut his mother took him away, and carried him indoors, and disposed of\nhim carefully in the room which Miss Seton had made into a nursery, with\nan anxious tremor which was utterly absurd and out of all reason. But\nthough instinct acted upon her to this extent, she made no further\nattempt to warn Winnie or hinder the course of events which had gone too\nfast for her. Winnie would not have accepted any warning--she would have\nscorned the most trustworthy advice, and repulsed even the most just and\nright interference--and so would Mary have done in Hugh Ochterlony's\ncase, when she was Winnie's age. Thus her mouth was shut, and she could\nsay nothing. She watched the two with a pathetic sense of impotence as\nthey went and came, thinking, oh, if she could but make him what Hugh\nOchterlony was; and yet the Major had been far, very far from perfect,\nas the readers of this history are aware. When Captain Percival went\naway, the ladies were still in the garden; for it was necessary that the\nyoung man should go home to the Hall to join Sir Edward at dinner, and\ntell his story. Winnie, a changed creature, stood at the garden-gate,\nleaning upon the low wall, and watched him till he was out of sight; and\nher aunt and her sister looked at her, each with a certain pathos in her\nface. They were both women of experience in their different ways, and\nthere could not but be something pathetic to them in the sight of the\nyoung creature at the height of her happiness, all-confident and fearing\nno evil. It came as natural to them to think of the shadows that _must_,\neven under the happiest conditions, come over that first incredible\nbrightness, as it was to her to feel that every harm and fear was over,\nand that now nothing could touch or injure her more. Winnie turned sharp\nround when her lover disappeared, and caught Mary's eye, and its wistful\nexpression, and blazed up at once into momentary indignation, which,\nhowever, was softened by the contempt of youth for all judgment other\nthan its own, and by the kindly influence of her great happiness. She\nturned round upon her sister, sudden and sharp as some winged creature,\nand set her all at once on her defence.\n\n\"You do not like him,\" she said, \"but you need not say anything, Mary.\nIt does not matter what you say. You had your day, and would not put up\nwith any interference--and I know him a hundred--a thousand times better\nthan you can do; and it is my day now.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mary. \"I did not mean to say anything. I do not like him,\nand I think I have reason; but Winnie, dear, I would give anything in\nthe world to believe that you know best now.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I know best,\" said Winnie, with a soft laugh; \"and you will\nsoon find out what mistakes people make who pretend to know--for I am\nsure he thinks there could be something said, on the other side, about\nyou.\"\n\n\"About me,\" said Mary--and though she did not show it, but stood before\nher sister like a stately tower firm on its foundation, she was aware of\na thrill of nervous trembling that ran through her limbs, and took the\nstrength out of them. \"What did he say about me?\"\n\n\"He seemed to think there was something that might be said,\" said\nWinnie, lightly. \"He was afraid of you. He said you knew that he knew\nall about you; see what foolish ideas people take up! and I said,\"\nWinnie went on, drawing herself up tall and straight by her stately\nsister's side, with that superb assumption of dignity which is fair to\nsee at her age, \"that there never could be anything about you that he\nand all the world might not know!\"\n\nMary put out her hand, looking stately and firm as she did so--but in\ntruth it was done half groping, out of a sudden mist that had come up\nabout her. \"Thank you, Winnie,\" she said, with a smile that had anguish\nin it; and Winnie with a sudden tender impulse out of her own happiness,\nfeeling for the first time the contrast, looked at Mary's black dress\nbeside her own light one, and at Mary's hair as bright as her own, which\nwas put away beneath that cap which she had so often mocked at, and\nthrew her arms round her sister with a sudden thrill of compassion and\ntenderness unlike anything she had ever felt before.\n\n\"Oh, Mary, dear!\" she cried, \"does it seem heartless to be so happy and\nyet to know that you----\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mary, steadily--taking the girl, who was as passionate in her\nrepentance as in her rebellion, to her own bosom. \"No, Winnie; no, my\ndarling--I am not such a poor soul as that. I have had my day.\"\n\nAnd it was thus that the cloud rolled off, or seemed to roll off, and\nthat even in the midst of that sharp reminder of the pain which life\nmight still have in store for her, the touch of nature came to heal and\nhelp. The enemy who knew all about it might have come in bringing with\nhim sickening suggestions of horrible harm and mischief; but anything he\ncould do would be in vain here, where everybody knew more about her\nstill; and to have gained as she thought her little sister's heart, was\na wonderful solace and consolation. Thus Mary's faith was revived again\nat the moment when it was most sorely shaken, and she began to feel,\nwith a grateful sense of peace and security, the comfort of being, as\nAunt Agatha said, among her own friends.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nThe announcement of Winnie's engagement made, as was to be looked for, a\nconsiderable commotion among all the people connected with her. The very\nnext morning Sir Edward himself came down to the Cottage with a very\nserious face. He had been disposed to play with the budding affection\nand to take pleasure in the sight of the two young creatures as they\ndrew towards each other; for Percival, though in love, was not without\nprudence (his friend thought), and Winnie, though very open to\nimpressions, was capricious and fanciful, and not the kind of girl, Sir\nEdward imagined, to say Yes to the first man who asked her. Thus the\nonly sensible adviser on the spot had wilfully blinded himself. It had\nnot occurred to him that Winnie might think of Percival, not as the\nfirst man who had ever asked her, but as the only man whom she loved;\nnor that Percival, though prudent enough, liked his own way, and was as\nliable to be carried away by passion as a better man. These reflections\nhad not come into Sir Edward's head, and consequently he had rather\nencouraged the growing tenderness, which now all at once had turned into\nearnest, and had become a matter of responsibility and serious concern.\nSir Edward came into Miss Seton's pretty drawing-room with care on his\nbrow. The young people had gone out together to Kirtell-side to visit\nthe spot of their momentous interview, and doubtless to go over it all\nagain, as people do at that foolish moment, and only Aunt Agatha and\nMrs. Ochterlony were at home. Sir Edward went in, and sat down between\nthe two ladies, and offered his salutations with a pensive gravity which\nmade Mary smile, but brought a cloud of disquietude over Aunt Agatha's\ngentle countenance. He sighed as he said it was a fine day. He even\nlooked sympathetically at the roses, as if he knew of some evil that was\nabout to befall them;--and his old neighbour knew his ways and knew that\nhe meant something, and with natural consciousness divined at once what\nit was.\n\n\"You have heard what has happened,\" said Aunt Agatha, trembling a\nlittle, and laying down her work. \"It is so kind of you to come over at\nonce; but I do hope that is not why you are looking so grave?\"\n\n\"Am I looking grave?\" said Sir Edward, clearing up in an elaborate way;\n\"I did not mean it, I am sure. I suppose we ought to have seen it coming\nand been prepared; but these sort of things always take one by surprise.\nI did not think Winnie was the sort of girl to--to make up her mind all\nat once, you know--the very first man that asked her. I suppose it was\nmy mistake.\"\n\n\"If you think it was the very first that asked her!\" cried Aunt Agatha,\nwho felt this reproach go to her heart, \"it is a mistake. She is only\neighteen--a mere child--but I was saying to Mary only yesterday, that it\nwas not for want of being admired----\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Sir Edward, with a little wave of his hand, \"we all know\nshe has been admired. One's eyes alone would have proved that; and she\ndeserves to be admired; and that is generally a girl's chief stronghold,\nin my opinion. She knows it, and learns her own value, and does not\nyield to the first fellow who has the boldness to say right out----\"\n\n\"I assure you, Sir Edward,\" said Aunt Agatha, growing red and very erect\nin her chair, and assuming a steadiness which was unfortunately quite\ncontradicted by the passionate quiver of her lip, \"that you do Winnie\ngreat injustice--so far as being the first goes----\"\n\n\"What does it matter if he were the first or the fiftieth, if she likes\nhim?\" said Mary, who had begun by being much amused, but who had ended\nby being a little indignant; for she had herself married at eighteen and\nnever had a lover but Hugh Ochterlony, and felt herself disapproved of\nalong with her sister.\n\nUpon which Sir Edward shook his head.\n\n\"Certainly, my dear Mary, if she likes him,\" said the Baronet; \"but the\ndiscouraging thing is, that an inexperienced girl--a girl so very well\nbrought up as Winnie has been--should allow herself, as I have said, to\nlike the very first man who presents himself. One would have thought\nsome sort of introduction was necessary before such a thought could have\npenetrated into her mind. After she had been obliged to receive it in\nthat way--then, indeed---- But I am aware that there are people who have\nnot my scruples,\" said Sir Edward, with a sigh; for he was, as all the\nneighbourhood was aware, a man of the most delicate mind.\n\n\"If you think my dear, pure-minded child is not scrupulous, Sir Edward!\"\ncried poor Aunt Agatha--but her emotion was so great that her voice\nfailed her; and Mary, half amused and half angry, was the only champion\nleft for Winnie's character, thus unexpectedly assailed.\n\n\"Poor child, I think she is getting very hard measure,\" said Mary. \"I\ndon't mean to blame you, but I think both of you encouraged her up to\nthe last moment. You let them be always together, and smiled on them;\nand they are young, and what else could you expect? It is more delicate\nto love than to flirt,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony. She had not been nearly so\nwell brought up as her sister, nor with such advanced views, and what\nshe said brought a passing blush upon her matron cheek. Winnie could\nhave discussed all about love without the shadow of a blush, but that\nwas only the result of the chronological difference, and had nothing to\ndo with purity of heart.\n\n\"If we have had undue confidence,\" said Sir Edward, with a sigh, \"we\nwill have to pay for it. Mary speaks--as I have heard many women\nspeak--without making any consideration of the shock it must be to a\ndelicate young girl; and I think, after the share which I may say I have\nmyself had in Winnie's education, that I might be permitted to express\nmy surprise; and Percival ought to have shown a greater regard for the\nsacredness of hospitality. I cannot but say that I was very much vexed\nand surprised.\"\n\nIt may well be supposed that such an address, after poor Aunt Agatha's\ndelight and exultation in her child's joy, and her willingness to see\nwith Winnie's eyes and accept Winnie's lover on his own authority, was a\nmost confounding utterance. She sat silent, poor lady, with her lips\napart and her eyes wide open, and a kind of feeling that it was all over\nwith Winnie in her heart. Aunt Agatha was ready to fight her darling's\nbattles to her last gasp, but she was not prepared to be put down and\nmade an end of in this summary way. She had all sorts of pretty\nlady-like deprecations about their youth and Winnie's inexperience ready\nin her mind, and had rather hoped to be assured that to have her\nfavourite thus early settled in life was the very best that anybody\nwould desire for her. Miss Seton had been so glad to think in former\ndays that Sir Edward always understood her, and she had thought Winnie's\ninterests were as dear to him as if she had been a child of his own; and\nnow to think that Sir Edward regarded an event so important for Winnie\nas an evidence of indelicacy on her part, and of a kind of treachery on\nher lover's! All that Aunt Agatha could do was to throw an appealing\nlook at Mary, who had hitherto been the only one dissatisfied or\ndisapproving. She knew more about Captain Percival than any one. Would\nnot she say a word for them now?\n\n\"He must have thought that was what you meant when you let them be so\nmuch together,\" said Mary. \"I think, if you will forgive me, Sir Edward,\nthat it is not _their_ fault.\"\n\nSir Edward answered this reproach only by a sigh. He was in a despondent\nrather than a combative state of mind. \"And you see I do not know so\nmuch as I should like to know about him,\" he said, evading the personal\nquestion. \"He is a very nice fellow; but I told you the other day I did\nnot consider him a paladin; and whether he has enough to live upon, or\nanything to settle on her---- My dear Mary, at least you will agree with\nme, that considering how short a time they have known each other, things\nhave gone a great deal too far.\"\n\n\"I do not know how long they have known each other,\" said Mary, who now\nfelt herself called upon absolutely to take Aunt Agatha's part.\n\n\"Ah, _I_ know,\" said Sir Edward, \"and so does your aunt; and things did\nnot go at railway speed like this in _our_ days. It is only about six\nweeks, and they are engaged to be married! I suppose you know as much\nabout him as anybody--or so he gave me to understand at least; and do\n_you_ think him a good match for your young sister?\" added Sir Edward,\nwith a tone of superior virtue which went to Mary's heart.\n\nMary was too true a woman not to be a partisan, and had the feminine\ngift of putting her own private sentiments out of the question in\ncomparison with the cause which she had to advocate; but still it was an\nembarrassing question, especially as Aunt Agatha was looking at her with\nthe most pathetic appeal in her eyes.\n\n\"I know very little of Captain Percival,\" she said; \"I saw him once only\nin India, and it was at a moment very painful to me. But Winnie likes\nhim--and you must have approved of him, Sir Edward, or you would not\nhave brought him here.\"\n\nUpon which Aunt Agatha rose and kissed Mary, recognising perfectly that\nshe did not commit herself on the merits of the case, but at the same\ntime sustained it by her support. Sir Edward, for his part, turned a\ndeaf ear to the implied reproach, but still kept up his melancholy view\nof the matter, and shook his head.\n\n\"He has good connexions,\" he said; \"his mother was a great friend of\nmine. In other circumstances, and could we have made up our minds to it\nat the proper moment, she might have been Lady----. But it is vain to\ntalk of that. I think we might push him a little if he would devote\nhimself steadily to his profession; but what can be expected from a man\nwho wants to marry at five-and-twenty? I myself,\" said Sir Edward, with\ndignity, \"though the eldest son----\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Aunt Agatha, unable to restrain herself longer, \"and see\nwhat has come of it. You are all by yourself at the Hall, and not a soul\nbelonging to you; and to see Francis Ochterlony with his statues and\nnonsense!--Oh, Sir Edward! when you might have had a dozen lovely\nchildren growing up round you----\"\n\n\"Heaven forbid!\" said Sir Edward, piously; and then he sighed--perhaps\nonly from the mild melancholy which possessed him at the moment, and was\noccasioned by Winnie's indelicate haste to fall in love; perhaps, also,\nfrom some touch of personal feeling. A dozen lovely children might be\nrather too heavy an amount of happiness, while yet a modified bliss\nwould have been sweet. He sighed and leant his head upon his hand, and\nwithdrew into himself for the moment in that interesting way which was\nhabitual to him, and had gained him the title of \"poor Sir Edward.\" It\nmight be very foolish for a man (who had his own way to make in the\nworld) to marry at five-and-twenty; but still, perhaps it was rather\nmore foolish when a man did not marry at all, and was left in his old\nage all alone in a great vacant house. But naturally, it was not this\nview of the matter which he displayed to his feminine companions, who\nwere both women enough to have triumphed a little over such a confession\nof failure. He had a fine head, though he was old, and his hand was as\ndelicate and almost as pale as ivory, and he could not but know that he\nlooked interesting in that particular attitude, though, no doubt, it was\nhis solicitude for these two indiscreet young people which chiefly moved\nhim. \"I am quite at a loss what to do,\" he said. \"Mrs. Percival is a\nvery fond mother, and she will naturally look to me for an account of\nall this; and there is your Uncle Penrose, Mary--a man I could never\nbear, as you all know--he will come in all haste, of course, and insist\nupon settlements and so forth; and why all this responsibility should\ncome on me, who have no desire in this world but for tranquillity and\npeace----\"\n\n\"It need not come on you,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony; \"we are not very great\nbusiness people, but still, with Aunt Agatha and myself----\"\n\nSir Edward smiled. The idea diverted him so much that he raised his head\nfrom his hand. \"My dear Mary,\" he said, \"I have the very highest opinion\nof your capacity; but in a matter of this kind, for instance---- And I\nam not so utterly selfish as to forsake my old neighbour in distress.\"\n\nHere Aunt Agatha took up her own defence. \"I don't consider that I am in\ndistress,\" she said. \"I must say, I did not expect anything like this,\nSir Edward, from you. If it had been Mr. Penrose, with his mercenary\nideas---- I was very fond of Mary's poor dear mamma, and I don't mean\nany reflection on her, poor darling--but I suppose that is how it always\nhappens with people in trade. Mr. Penrose is always a trial, and Mary\nknows that; but I hope I am able to bear something for my dear child's\nsake,\" Aunt Agatha continued, growing a little excited; \"though I never\nthought that I should have to bear----\" and then the poor lady gave a\nstifled sob, and added in the midst of it, \"this from you!\"\n\nThis was a kind of climax which had arrived before in the familiar\nfriendship so long existing between the Hall and the Cottage. The two\nprincipals knew how to make it up better than the spectator did who was\nlooking on with a little alarm and a little amusement. Perhaps it was as\nwell that Mary was called away to her own individual concerns, and had\nto leave Aunt Agatha and Sir Edward in the height of their\nmisunderstanding. Mary went away to her children, and perhaps it was\nonly in the ordinary course of human nature that when she went into the\nnursery among those three little human creatures, who were so entirely\ndependent upon herself, there should be a smile upon her face as she\nthought of the two old people she had left. It seemed to her, as perhaps\nit seems to most women in the presence of their own children, at sight\nof those three boys--who were \"mere babies\" to Aunt Agatha, but to Mary\nthe most important existences in the world--as if this serio-comic\ndispute about Winnie's love affairs was the most quaintly-ridiculous\nexhibition. When she was conscious of this thought in her own mind, she\nrebuked it, of course; but at the first glance it seemed as if Winnie's\nfalling in love was so trivial a matter--so little to be put in\ncomparison with the grave cares of life. There are moments when the\nelder women, who have long passed through all that, and have entered\nupon another stage of existence, cannot but smile at the love-matters,\nwithout considering that life itself is often decided by the complexion\nof the early romance, which seems to belong only to its lighter and less\nserious side. Sir Edward and Aunt Agatha for their part had never, old\nas they both were, got beyond the first stage--and it was natural it\nshould bulk larger in their eyes. And this time it was they who were\nright, and not Mary, whose children were but children, and in no danger\nof any harm. Whereas, poor Winnie, at the top of happiness--gay,\nreckless, daring, and assured of her own future felicity--was in reality\na creature in deadly peril and wavering on the verge of her fate.\n\nBut when the day had come to an end, and Captain Percival had at last\nretired, and Winnie, a little languid after her lover's departure, sat\nby the open window watching, no longer with despite or displeasure, the\nstar of light which shone over the tree-tops from the Hall, there\noccurred a scene of a different description. But for the entire change\nin Winnie's looks and manner, the absence of the embroidery frame at\nwhich she had worked so violently, and the languid softened grace with\nwhich she had thrown herself down upon a low chair, too happy and\ncontent to feel called upon to do anything, the three ladies were just\nas they had been a few evenings before; that is to say, that Aunt Agatha\nand Mary, to neither of whom any change was possible, were just as they\nhad been before, while to the girl at the window, everything in heaven\nand earth had changed. The two others had had their day and were done\nwith it. Though Miss Seton was still scarcely an old woman, and Mary was\nin the full vigour and beauty of life, they were both ashore high up\nupon the beach, beyond the range of the highest tide; while the other,\nin her boat of hope, was playing with the rippling incoming waters, and\npreparing to put to sea. It was not in nature that the two who had been\nat sea, and knew all the storms and dangers, should not look at her\nwistfully in her happy ignorance; perhaps even they looked at her with a\ncertain envy too. But Aunt Agatha was not a woman who could let either\nill or well alone--and it was she who disturbed the household calm which\nmight have been profound that night, so far as Winnie was concerned.\n\n\"My dear love,\" said Aunt Agatha, with a timidity which implied\nsomething to tell, \"Sir Edward has been here. Captain Percival had told\nhim, you know----\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Winnie, carelessly, \"I know.\"\n\n\"And, my darling,\" said Miss Seton. \"I am sure it is what I never could\nhave expected from him, who was always such a friend; but I sometimes\nthink he gets a little strange--as he gets old, you know----\"\n\nThis was what the unprincipled woman said, not caring in the least how\nmuch she slandered Sir Edward, or anybody else in the world, so long as\nshe gave a little comfort to the child of her heart. And as for Winnie,\nthough she had been brought up at his feet, as it were, and was supposed\nby himself and others to love him like a child of his own, she took no\nnotice of this unfounded accusation. She was thinking of quite a\ndifferent person, just as Aunt Agatha was thinking of her, and Mary of\nher boys. They were women, each preoccupied and absorbed in somebody\nelse, and they did not care about justice. And thus Sir Edward for the\nmoment fared badly among them, though, if any outside assailant had\nattacked him, they would all have fought for him to the death.\n\n\"Well!\" said Winnie, still very carelessly, as Miss Seton came to a\nsudden stop.\n\n\"My dear love!\" said Aunt Agatha, \"he has not a word to say against\nCaptain Percival, that I can see----\"\n\n\"Against Edward?\" cried Winnie, raising herself up. \"Good gracious, Aunt\nAgatha, what are you thinking of? Against Edward! I should like to know\nwhat he could say. His own godfather--and his mother was once engaged to\nhim--and he is as good as a relation, and the nearest friend he has.\nWhat could he possibly have to say? And besides, it was he who brought\nhim here; and we think he will leave us the most of his money,\" Winnie\nsaid, hastily--and then was very sorry for what she had said, and\nblushed scarlet and bit her lips, but it was too late to draw back.\n\n\"Winnie,\" said Miss Seton, solemnly, \"if he has been calculating upon\nwhat people will leave to him when they die, I will think it is all true\nthat Sir Edward said.\"\n\n\"You said Sir Edward did not say anything,\" cried Winnie. \"What is it\nyou have heard? It is of no use trying to deceive me. If there has been\nanything said against him, it is Mary who has said it. I can see by her\nface it is Mary. And if she is to be heard against _him_,\" cried Winnie,\nrising up in a blaze of wrath and indignation, \"it is only just that he\nshould be heard on the other side. He is too good and too kind to say\nthings about my sister to me; but Mary is only a woman, and of course\nshe does not mind what she says. She can blacken a man behind his back,\nthough he is far too honourable and too--too delicate to say what he\nknows of _her_!\"\n\nThis unlooked-for assault took Mary so entirely by surprise, that she\nlooked up with a certain bewilderment, and could not find a word to say.\nAs for Aunt Agatha, she too rose and took Winnie's hands, and put her\narms round her as much as the angry girl would permit.\n\n\"It was not Mary,\" she said. \"Oh, Winnie, my darling, if it was for your\ngood, and an ease to my mind, and better for you in life--if it was for\nyour good, my dear love--that is what we are all thinking of--could not\nyou give him up?\"\n\nIt was, perhaps, the boldest thing Aunt Agatha had ever done in all her\ngentle life--and even Winnie could not but be influenced by such unusual\nresolution. She made a wild effort to escape for the first moment, and\nstood with her hands held fast in Aunt Agatha's hands, averting her\nangry face, and refusing to answer. But when she felt herself still held\nfast, and that her fond guardian had the courage to hold to her\nquestion, Winnie's anger turned into another kind of passion. The tears\ncame pouring to her eyes in a sudden violent flood, which she neither\ntried to stop nor to hide. \"No!\" cried Winnie, with the big\nthunder-drops falling hot and heavy. \"What is _my_ good without him? If\nit was for my harm I shouldn't care. Don't hold me, don't look at me,\nAunt Agatha! I don't care for anything in the world but Edward. I would\nnot give him up--no, not if it was to break everybody's heart. What is\nit all to me without Edward?\" cried the passionate girl. And when Miss\nSeton let her go, she threw herself on her chair again, with the tears\ncoming in floods, but still facing them both through this storm-shower\nwith crimson cheeks and shining eyes. As for poor Aunt Agatha, she too\ntottered back to her chair, frightened and abashed, as well as in\ndistress; for young ladies had not been in the habit of talking so\nfreely in her days.\n\n\"Oh, Winnie--and we have loved you all your life; and you have only\nknown him a few weeks,\" she said, faltering, and with a natural groan.\n\n\"I cannot help it,\" said Winnie; \"you may think me a wretch, but I like\nhim best. Isn't it natural I should like him best? Mary did, and ran\naway, and nobody was shocked at her; and even you yourself----\"\n\n\"I never, never, could have said such a thing all my life!\" cried Aunt\nAgatha, with a maiden blush upon her sweet old cheeks.\n\n\"If you had, you would not have been a----as you are now,\" said the\ndauntless Winnie; and she recovered in a twinkling of an eye, and wiped\naway her tears, and was herself again. Possibly what she had said was\ntrue and natural, as she asserted; but it is an unquestionable fact,\nthat neither her aunt nor her sister could have said it for their lives.\nShe was a young lady of the nineteenth century, and she acted\naccordingly; but it is a certain fact, as Aunt Agatha justly observed,\nwhatever people may think now, that girls did not speak like that in\n_our_ day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\nThe few weeks which ensued were the most stormy and troublous period of\nall Miss Seton's life; and through her there was naturally a\nconsiderable disturbance of the peace of the Cottage. Though she lived\nso quietly, she had what is called in the country \"a large circle,\" and\nhad dwelt among her own people all her life, and was known to everybody\nabout. It was a quiet neighbourhood, but yet there never was a\nneighbourhood so quiet as not to have correspondents and relations\nliving out in the world, to whom all news went, and from whom all news\ncame. And there were a number of \"families\" about Kirtell, not great\npeople certainly, but very respectable people, gentry, and\nwell-connected persons, hanging on by various links to the great world.\nIn this way Winnie's engagement, which nobody wanted to conceal, came to\nbe known far and wide, as such facts are so apt to get known. And a\ngreat many people out in the world, who had once known Miss Seton, wrote\nletters to her, in which they suggested that perhaps she had forgotten\nthem, but hoped that she would excuse them, and attribute it to the\nregard which they had never ceased to feel for her, if they asked, Did\nshe know Captain Percival very well, who was said to be engaged to her\npretty niece? Had she heard what happened in the Isle of Man when his\nregiment was stationed there? and why it was that he did not go out to\nGibraltar after he had got _that_ appointment? Other people, who did not\nknow Aunt Agatha, took what was after all the more disagreeable step of\nwriting to their friends in the parish about the young man, whose career\nhad certainly left traces, as it appeared, upon the memory of his\ngeneration. To rise every morning with a sense that such an epistle\nmight be awaiting her on the breakfast-table--or to receive a visitor\nwith the horrible conviction that she had come to look into her face,\nand hold her hand, and be confidential and sympathetic, and deliver a\nsolemn warning--was an ordeal which Aunt Agatha found it hard to bear.\nShe was a woman who never forgot her character as a maiden lady, and\nliked to be justified by precedents and to be approved of by all the\nworld. And these repeated remonstrances had no doubt a great effect upon\nher mind. They filled her with terrible misgivings and embittered her\nlife, and drove her now and then into so great a panic that she felt\ndisposed to thrust Captain Percival out of the house and forbid his\nreappearance there. But then, Winnie. Winnie was not the girl to submit\nto any such violent remedies. If she could not see her lover there, she\nwould find means to see him somewhere else. If she could not be married\nto him with stately propriety in her parish church, she would manage to\nmarry him somehow in any irregular way, and she would by no means\nhesitate to say so or shrink from the responsibility. And if it must be\ndone, would it not be better that it should be done correctly than\nincorrectly, and with all things decent and in order? Thus poor Aunt\nAgatha would muse as she gathered up her bundle of letters. It might\nhave been all very well for parents to exercise their authority in the\ndays when their children obeyed them; but what was the use of issuing\ncommands to which nobody would pay any attention? Winnie had very\nplainly expressed her preference for her own happiness rather than her\naunt's peace of mind; and though Miss Seton would never have consented\nto admit that Winnie was anything less than the most beautiful\ncharacter, still she was aware that unreasoning obedience was not her\nfaculty. Besides, another sentiment began to mingle with this prudential\nconsideration. Everybody was against the poor young man. The first\nletters she received about him made her miserable; but after that there\nwas no doubt a revulsion. Everybody was against him, poor fellow!--and\nhe was so young, and could not, after all, have done so much harm in the\nworld. \"He has not had the time, Mary,\" she said, with an appeal to Mrs.\nOchterlony for support. \"If he had been doing wrong from his very\ncradle, he could not have had the time.\" She could not refuse to believe\nwhat was told her, and yet notwithstanding her belief she clung to the\nculprit. If he had found any other advocate it might have been\ndifferent; but nobody took the other side of the question: nobody wrote\na pretty letter to say what a dear fellow he was, and how glad his\nfriends were to think he had found some one worthy of him--not even his\nmother; and Aunt Agatha's heart accordingly became the _avvocato del\ndiavolo_. Fair play was due even to Captain Percival. It was impossible\nto leave him assailed as he was by so many without one friend.\n\nIt was a curious sight to see how she at once received and ignored all\nthe information thus conveyed to her. A woman of a harder type would\nprobably, as women do, have imputed motives, and settled the matter with\nthe general conclusion that \"an enemy hath done this;\" but Aunt Agatha\ncould not help, for the moment at least, believing in everybody. She\ncould not say right out, \"It is not true,\" even to the veriest impostor\nwho deceived and got money from her, and their name was legion. In her\nown innocent soul she had no belief in lies, and could not understand\nthem; and it was easier for her to give credence to the wildest marvel\nthan to believe that anybody could tell her a deliberate falsehood. She\nwould have kissed the ladies who wrote to her of those stories about\nCaptain Percival, and cried and wrung her hands, and asked, What could\nshe do?--and yet her heart was by no means turned against him,\nnotwithstanding her belief in what everybody said; which is a strange\nand novel instance, well enough known to social philosophers, but seldom\nremarked upon, of the small practical influence of belief upon life.\n\"How can it be a lie, my dear child? what motive could they all have to\ntell lies?\" she would say to Winnie, mournfully; and yet ten minutes\nafter, when it was Mrs. Ochterlony she was speaking to, she would make\nher piteous appeal for him, poor fellow!--\"Everybody is against him; and\nhe is so young still; and oh, Mary, how much he must need looking\nafter,\" Aunt Agatha would say, \"if it is all true!\"\n\nPerhaps it was stranger still that Mary, who did not like Captain\nPercival, and was convinced of the truth of all the stories told of him,\nand knew in her heart that he was her enemy and would not scruple to do\nher harm if the chance should come in his way--was also a little moved\nby the same argument. Everybody was against him. It was the Cottage\nagainst the world, so far as he was concerned; and even Mrs. Ochterlony,\nthough she ought to have known better, could not help feeling herself\none of a \"side,\" and to a certain extent felt her honour pledged to the\ndefence of her sister's lover. Had she, in the very heart of this\nstronghold which was standing out for him so stoutly, lifted up a\ntestimony against him, she would have felt herself in some respects a\ndomestic traitor. She might be silent on the subject, and avoid all\ncomment, but she could not utter an adverse opinion, or join in with the\ngeneral voice against which Aunt Agatha and Winnie stood forth so\nstedfastly. As for Winnie, every word that was said to his detriment\nmade her more determined to stick to him. What did it matter whether he\nwas good or bad, so long as it was indisputably _he_? There was but one\nEdward Percival in the world, and he would still be Edward Percival if\nhe had committed a dozen murders, or gambled twenty fortunes away. Such\nwas Winnie's defiant way of treating the matter which concerned her more\nclosely than anybody else. She carried things with a high hand in those\ndays. All the world was against her, and she scorned the world. She\nattributed motives, though Aunt Agatha did not. She said it was envy and\njealousy and all the leading passions. She made wild counter-accusations,\nin the style of that literature which sets forth the skeleton in\nevery man's closet. Who could tell what little incidents could be\nfound out in the private history of the ladies who had so much to say\nabout Captain Percival? This is so ordinary a mode of defence, that\nno doubt it is natural, and Winnie went into it with good will. Thus\nhis standard was planted upon the Cottage, and however unkindly people\nmight think of him outside, shelter and support were always to be found\nwithin. Even Peggy, though she did not always agree with her mistress,\nfelt, as Mrs. Ochterlony did, that she was one of a side, and became a\npartisan with an earnestness that was impossible to Mary. Sir Edward\nshook his head still, but he was disarmed by the close phalanx and the\ndetermined aspect of Percival's defenders. \"It is true love,\" he said\nin his sentimental way; \"and love can work miracles when everything\nelse has failed. It may be his salvation.\" This was what he wrote to\nPercival's mother, who, up to this moment, had been but doubtful in her\napprobation, and very anxious, and uncertain, as she said, whether she\nought not to tell Miss Seton that Edward had been \"foolish.\" He had\nbeen \"foolish,\" even in his mother's opinion; and his other critics\nwere, some of them, so tolerant as to say \"gay,\" and some \"wild,\" while\na few used a more solemn style of diction;--but everybody was against\nhim, whatever terms they might employ; everybody except the ladies at\nthe Cottage, who set up his standard, and accepted him with all his\niniquities upon his head.\n\nIt may be worth while at this point, before Mr. Penrose arrives, who\nplayed so important a part in the business, to say a word about the poor\nyoung man who was thus universally assailed. He was five-and-twenty, and\na young man of expectations. Though he had spent every farthing which\ncame to himself at his majority, and a good deal more than that, still\nhis mother had a nice estate, and Sir Edward was his godfather, and the\nworld was full of obliging tradespeople and other amiable persons. He\nwas a handsome fellow, nearly six feet high, with plenty of hair, and a\nmoustache of the most charming growth. The hair was of dull brown, which\nwas rather a disadvantage to him, but then it went perfectly well with\nhis pale complexion, and suited the cloudy look over the eyes, which was\nthe most characteristic point in his face. The eyes themselves were\ngood, and had, when they chose, a sufficiently frank expression, but\nthere lay about the eyebrows a number of lurking hidden lines which\nlooked like mischief--lines which could be brought into action at any\nmoment, and could scowl, or lower, or brood, according to the fancy of\ntheir owner. Some people thought this uncertainty in his face was its\ngreatest charm; you could never tell what a moment might bring forth\nfrom that moveable and changing forehead. It was suggestive, as a great\nmany persons thought--suggestive of storm and thunder, and sudden\ndisturbance, or even in some eyes of cruelty and gloom--though he was a\nfine young man, and gay and fond of his pleasure. Winnie, as may be\nsupposed, was not of this latter opinion. She even loved to bring out\nthose hidden lines, and call the shadows over his face, for the pleasure\nof seeing how they melted away again, according to the use and wont of\nyoung ladies. It was a sort of uncertainty that was permissible to him,\nwho had been a spoiled child, and whom everybody, at the beginning of\nhis career, had petted and taken notice of; but possibly it was a\nquality which would not have called forth much admiration from a wife.\n\nAnd with Winnie standing by him as she did--clinging to him closer at\nevery new accusation, and proclaiming, without faltering, her\nindifference to anything that could be said, and her conviction that the\nworse he was the more need he had of her--Captain Percival, too, took\nmatters very lightly. The two foolish young creatures even came to\nlaugh, and make fun of it in their way. \"Here is Aunt Agatha coming with\nanother letter; I wonder if it is to say that I poisoned my grandmother,\nthis time?\" cried the young man; and they both laughed as if it was the\nbest joke in the world. If ever there was a moment in which, when they\nwere alone, Winnie did take a momentary thought of the seriousness of\nthe position, her gravity soon dissipated itself. \"I know you have been\nvery naughty,\" she would say, clasping her pretty hands upon his arm;\n\"but you will never, never do it again,\" and the lover, thus appealed\nto, would make the tenderest and most eager assurances. What temptation\ncould he ever have to be \"naughty\" with such an angel by his side? And\nWinnie was pleased enough to play the part of the angel--though that was\nnot, perhaps, her most characteristic development--and went home full of\nhappiness and security; despising the world which never had understood\nEdward, and thinking with triumph of the disappointed women less happy\nthan herself, who, out of revenge, had no doubt got up this outcry\nagainst him. \"For I don't mean to defend him out and out,\" she said, her\neyes sparkling with malice and exultation; \"I don't mean to say that he\nhas not behaved very badly to a great many people;\" and there was a\ncertain sweet self-glorification in the thought which intoxicated\nWinnie. It was wicked, but somehow she liked him better for having\nbehaved badly to a great many people; and naturally any kind of\nreasoning was entirely ineffectual with a foolish girl who had taken\nsuch an idea into her mind.\n\nThus things went on; and Percival went away and returned again, and paid\nmany flying visits, and, present and absent, absorbed all Winnie's\nthoughts. It was not only a first love, but it was a first occupation to\nthe young woman, who had never felt, up to this time, that she had a\nsufficient sphere for her energies. Now she could look forward to being\nmarried, to receiving all the presents, and being busy about all the\nbusiness of that important moment; and beyond lay life--life without any\none to restrain her, without even the bondage of habit, and the\nnecessity of taking into consideration what people would think. Winnie\nsaid frankly that she would go with him anywhere, that she did not mind\nif it was India, or even the Cape of Good Hope; and her eyes sparkled to\nthink of the everything new which would replace to her all the old bonds\nand limits: though, in one point of view, this was a cruel satisfaction,\nand very wounding and injurious to some of the other people concerned.\n\n\"Oh, Winnie, my darling! and what am I to do without you?\" Aunt Agatha\nwould cry; and the girl would kiss her in her laughing way. \"It must\nhave come, sooner or later,\" she said; \"you always said so yourself. I\ndon't see why you should not get married too, Aunt Agatha; you are\nperfectly beautiful sometimes, and a great deal younger than--many\npeople; or, at least, you will have Mary to be your husband,\" Winnie\nwould add, with a laugh, and a touch of affectionate spite: for the two\nsisters, it must be allowed, were not to say fond of each other. Mary\nhad been brought up differently, and was often annoyed, and sometimes\nshocked, by Winnie's ways: and Winnie--though at times she seemed\ndisposed to make friends with her sister--could not help thinking of\nMary as somehow at the bottom of all that had been said about Edward.\nThis, indeed, was an idea which her lover and she shared: and Mary's\nlife was not made pleasanter to her by the constant implication that he,\ntoo, could tell something about her--which she despised too much to take\nany notice of, but which yet was an offence and an insult. So that on\nthe whole--even before the arrival of Mr. Penrose--the Cottage on\nKirtell-side, though as bowery and fair as ever, was, in reality, an\nagitated and even an uncomfortable home.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n\nMr. Penrose was the uncle of Mary and Winnie, their mother's only\nbrother. Mrs. Seton had come from Liverpool originally, and though\nherself very \"nice,\" had not been, according to Aunt Agatha's opinion,\n\"of a nice class.\" And her brother shared the evil conditions, without\nsharing the good. He was of his class, soul and body, and it was not a\nnice class--and, to tell the truth, his nieces had been brought up to\nignore rather than to take any pleasure in him. He was not a man out of\nwhom, under the best circumstances, much satisfaction could be got. He\nwas one of the men who always turn up when something about money is\ngoing on in the house. He had had to do with all the wills and\nsettlements in the family, though they were of a very limited\ndescription; but Mr. Penrose did not despise small things, and was of\nopinion, that even if you had only a hundred pounds; you ought to know\nall about it, and how to take care of it. And he had once been very kind\nto Aunt Agatha, who was always defective in her arithmetic, and who, in\nearlier days, while she still thought of a possible change in her\ncondition, had gone beyond the just limit of her income, and got into\ndifficulties. Mr. Penrose had interfered at that period, and had been\nvery kind, and set her straight, and had given her a very telling\naddress upon the value of money; and though Miss Seton was not one of\nthe people who take a favour as an injury, still she could have forgiven\nhim a great many ill turns sooner than that good one. He had been very\nkind to her, and had ruffled all her soft plumes, and rushed up against\nher at all her tender points; and the very sound of his name was a\nlively irritant to Aunt Agatha. But he had to be acquainted with\nWinnie's engagement, and when he received the information, he lost no\ntime in coming to see about it. He was a large, portly, well-to-do man,\nwith one of his hands always in his pocket, and seemed somehow to\nbreathe money, and to have no ideas which did not centre in it; and yet\nhe had a good many ideas, and was a clever man in his way. With him, as\nwith many people in the world, there was one thing needful, and that one\nthing was money. He thought it was a duty to possess something--a duty\nwhich a man owed absolutely to himself, and to all who belonged to\nhim--and if he did not acquit himself well on this point, he was, in\nMr. Penrose's opinion, a very indifferent sort of person. There is\nsomething immoral to most people in the fact of being poor, but to Mr.\nPenrose it was a crime. He was very well off himself, but he was not a\nman to communicate of his goods as he did of his advice; and then he had\nhimself a family, and could not be expected to give anything except\nadvice to his nieces--and as for that one good thing, it was at their\ncommand in the most liberal way. He came to the Cottage, which was so\nespecially a lady's house, and pervaded the whole place with his large\nmale person, diffusing through it that moral fragrance which still\nbetrays the Englishman, the man of business, the Liverpool man, wherever\nhe may happen to bless the earth. Perhaps in that sweet-smelling dainty\nplace, the perfume which breathed from Mr. Penrose told more decidedly\nthan in the common air. As soon as you went in at the garden-gate you\nbecame sensible that the atmosphere was changed, and that a Man was\nthere. Perhaps it may be thought that the presence of a man in Aunt\nAgatha's maiden bower was not what might be called strictly proper, and\nMiss Seton herself had doubts on the subject; but then, Mr. Penrose\nnever asked for any invitation, and it would have been very difficult to\nturn him out; and Mary was there, who at least was a married lady. He\ncame without any invitation, and asked which was his room as if it had\nbeen his own house--and he complained of what he called \"the smell\" of\nthe roses, and declared he would tear down all the sickly jasmine from\nthe side of the house if it belonged to him. All this Miss Seton endured\nsilently, feeling it her duty, for Winnie's sake, to keep all her\nconnexions in good humour; but the poor lady suffered terribly under the\nprocess, as everybody could see.\n\n\"I hope it is only a conditional sort of engagement,\" Mr. Penrose said,\nafter he had made himself comfortable, and had had a good dinner, and\ncame into the drawing-room the first evening. The lovers had seized the\nopportunity to escape to Kirtell-side, and Mary was with her boys in the\ngarden, and poor Aunt Agatha, a martyr of civility, was seated alone,\nawaiting the reappearance of her guest, and smiling upon him with\nanxious politeness. He threw himself into the largest and most solid\nchair he could find, and spread himself, as it seemed, all over the\nroom--a Man, coarse and undisguised, in that soft feminine paradise.\nPoor Sir Edward's graceful presence, and the elegant figure of Captain\nPercival, made no such impression. \"I hope you have not settled it all\nwithout consulting anybody. To be sure, that don't matter very much; but\nI know you ladies have a summary way of settling such affairs.\"\n\n\"Indeed, I--I am afraid--I--I hope--it is all settled,\" said Aunt\nAgatha, with tremulous dignity. \"It is not as if there was a great deal\nof money to settle. They are not--not rich, you know,\" she added,\nnervously. This was the chief thing to tell, and she was anxious to get\nit over at once.\n\n\"Not rich?\" said Mr. Penrose. \"No, I suppose not. A rich fellow would\nnot have been such a fool as to entangle himself with Winnie, who has\nonly her pretty face; but he has something, of course. The first thing\nto ascertain is, what they will have to live on, and what he can settle\nupon her. I suppose you have not let it go so far without having a kind\nof idea on these points?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Aunt Agatha, with a very poor pretence at composure;\n\"oh, yes, Mr. Penrose, that is all quite right. He has very nice\nexpectations. I have always heard that Mrs. Percival had a charming\nlittle property; and Sir Edward is his godfather, and very fond of him.\nYou will see it will come all right about that.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mr. Penrose, who was nursing one of his legs--a colossal\nmember, nearly as big as his hostess--in a meditative way, \"I hope it\nwill when _I_ come to look into it. But we must have something more than\nexpectations. What has he of his own?--and what do his mother and Sir\nEdward mean to do for him? We must have it in pounds, shillings, and\npence, or he shan't have Winnie. It is best that he should make up his\nmind about that.\"\n\nAunt Agatha drew a frightened, panting breath; but she did not say\nanything. She had known what she would have to brave, and she was aware\nthat Winnie would not brave it, and that to prevent a breach with her\ndarling's only rich relation, it was necessary and expedient as long as\nshe was alone to have it all out.\n\n\"Let me see,\" said Mr. Penrose, \"you told me what he was in your\nletter--Captain, ain't he? As for his pay, that don't count. Let us go\nsystematically to work if we are to do any good. I know ladies are very\nvague about business matters, but still you must know something. What\nsort of a fellow is he, and what has he got of his own?\"\n\n\"Oh, he is very nice,\" cried Aunt Agatha, consoled to find a question\nshe could answer; \"very, very nice. I do think you will like him very\nmuch; such a fine young fellow, and with what you gentlemen call no\nnonsense about him,\" said the anxious woman; \"and with _excellent_\nconnexions,\" she added, faltering again, for her enthusiasm awoke no\nanswer in Mr. Penrose's face.\n\n\"My dear Miss Agatha,\" he said in his offensive way--and he always\ncalled her Miss Agatha, which was very trying to her feelings--\"you need\nnot take the trouble to assure me that a handsome young fellow who pays\nher a little attention, is always very nice to a lady. I was not asking\nwhether he was nice; I was asking what were his means--which is a very\nmuch more important part of the subject, though you may not think so,\"\nMr. Penrose added. \"A charming little house like this, for instance,\nwhere you can have everything within yourself, and can live on honey and\ndew I suppose, may be kept on nothing--though you and I, to be sure,\nknow a little different----\"\n\n\"Mr. Penrose,\" said Aunt Agatha, trembling with indignation, \"if you\nmean that the dinner was not particular enough----\"\n\n\"It was a charming little dinner,\" said Mr. Penrose, \"just what it ought\nto have been. Nothing could have been nicer than that white soup; and I\nthink I am a judge. I was speaking of something to live on; a pretty\nhouse like this, I was saying, is not an analogous case. You have\neverything within yourself--eggs, and vegetables, and fruit, and your\nbutter and milk so cheap. I wish we could get it like that in Liverpool;\nand--pardon me--no increase of family likely, you know.\"\n\n\"My niece Mary and her three children have come to the Cottage since you\nwere last here, Mr. Penrose,\" said Aunt Agatha, with a blush of shame\nand displeasure. \"It was the only house of all her relations that she\ncould come to with any comfort, poor dear--perhaps you don't call that\nan increase of family; and as for the milk and butter----\"\n\n\"She must pay you board,\" said Mr. Penrose, decisively; \"there can be no\nquestion about that; your little money has not always been enough for\nyourself, as we both know. But all this is merely an illustration I was\ngiving. It has nothing to do with the main subject. If these young\npeople marry, my dear Miss Agatha, their family may be increased by\ninmates who will pay no board.\"\n\nThis was what he had the assurance to say to an unmarried lady in her\nown house--and to laugh and chuckle at it afterwards, as if he thought\nit a capital joke. Aunt Agatha was struck dumb with horror and\nindignation. Such eventualities might indeed, perhaps must, be discussed\nby the lawyers where there are settlements to make; but to talk of them\nto a maiden lady when alone, was enough to make her drop through the\nvery floor with consternation. She made no attempt to answer, but she\ndid succeed in keeping her seat, and to a certain extent her\nself-possession, for Winnie's sake.\n\n\"It is a different sort of thing altogether,\" said the family adviser.\n\"Things may be kept square in a quiet lady's house--though even that is\nnot always the case, as we are both aware; but two young married people,\nwho are just as likely as not to be extravagant and all that---- If he\nhas not something to settle on her, I don't see how I can have anything\nto do with it,\" Mr. Penrose continued; \"and you will not answer me as to\nwhat he has of his own.\"\n\n\"He has his--his pay,\" said poor Aunt Agatha. \"I am told it is a great\ndeal better than it used to be; and he has, I think, some--some money in\nthe Funds. I am sure he will be glad to settle that on Winnie; and then\nhis mother, and Sir Edward. I have no doubt myself, though really they\nare too young to marry, that they will do very well on the whole.\"\n\n\"Do you know what living means, Miss Agatha?\" asked Mr. Penrose,\nsolemnly, \"when you can speak in this loose way? Butchers' bills are not\nso vague as your statements, I can tell you; and a pretty girl like that\nought to do very well, even though she has no money. It is not _her_\nfault, poor thing,\" the rich uncle added, with momentary compassion; and\nthen he asked, abruptly, \"What will Sir Edward do for them?\" as if he\nhad presented a pistol at his companion's head.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Penrose!\" cried Aunt Agatha, forgetting all her policy, and\nwhat she had just said. \"Surely, surely, you would not like them to\ncalculate upon Sir Edward! He is not even a relation. He is only\nEdward's godfather. I would not have him applied to, not for the world.\"\n\n\"Then what have you been talking to me all this while about?\" cried Mr.\nPenrose, with a look and sense of outraged virtue. And Aunt Agatha,\nseeing how she had betrayed her own position, and weary of the contest,\nand driven to her wits' end, gave way and cried a little--which at that\nmoment, vexed, worried, and mortified as she was, was all she could do.\n\nAnd then Mr. Penrose got up and walked away, whistling audibly, through\nthe open window, into the garden, leaving the chintz cover on his chair\nso crumpled up and loosened out of all its corners, that you could have\ntold a mile off that a man had been there. What he left behind him was\nnot that subtle agreeable suggestion of his presence which hung around\nthe footsteps of young Percival, or even of Sir Edward, but something\nthat felt half like an insult to the feminine inhabitants--a\ndisagreeable assertion of another kind of creature who thought himself\nsuperior to them--which was an opinion which they did not in the least\nshare, having no illusions so far as he went. Aunt Agatha sank back into\nher chair with a sense of relief, which she afterwards felt she ought\nnot to have entertained. She had no right to such a feeling, for she had\ndone no good; and instead of diverting the common enemy from an attack\nupon Winnie or her lover, had actually roused and whetted him, and made\nhim more likely than ever to rush at those young victims, as soon as\never he should have the chance. But notwithstanding, for the moment to\nbe rid of him, and able to draw breath a little, and dry her incipient\ntears, and put the cover straight upon that ill-used chair, did her\ngood. She drew a long breath, poor soul, and felt the ease and comfort\nof being left to herself; even though next moment she might have to\nbrace herself up and collect all her faculties, and face the adversary\nagain.\n\nBut in the meantime he had gone out to the garden, and was standing by\nMary's side, with his hand in his pocket. He was telling Mary that he\nhad come out in despair to her, to see if she knew anything about this\nsad business--since he found her Aunt Agatha quite as great a fool about\nbusiness matters as she always was. He wanted to know if she, who knew\nwhat was what, could give him any sort of a reasonable idea about this\nyoung fellow whom Winnie wanted to marry--which was as difficult a\nquestion for Mrs. Ochterlony as it had been for Miss Seton. And then in\nthe midst of the conversation the two culprits themselves appeared, as\ncareless about the inquiring uncle as they were about the subject of his\nanxiety. Winnie, who was not given to the reticences practised by her\naunt and her sister, had taken care to convey a very clear idea of her\nUncle Penrose, and her own opinion of him, to the mind of Percival. He\nwas from Liverpool, and not \"of a nice class.\" He was not Winnie's\nguardian, nor had he any legal control over her; and in these\ncircumstances it did not seem by any means necessary to either of the\nyoung people to show any undue attention to his desires, or be disturbed\nby his interference; for neither of them had been brought up to be\ndutiful to all the claims of nature, like their seniors. \"Go away\ndirectly, that he may not have any chance of attacking you,\" Winnie had\nsaid to her lover; for though she was not self-denying or unselfish to\nspeak of, she could be so where Percival was concerned. \"We can manage\nhim among us,\" she added, with a laugh--for she had no doubt of the\ncooperation of both her aunt and sister, in the case of Uncle Penrose.\nAnd in obedience to this arrangement, Captain Percival did nothing but\ntake off his hat in honour of Mary, and say half a dozen words of the\nmost ordinary salutation to the stranger before he went away. And then\nWinnie came in, and came to her sister's side, and stood facing Mr.\nPenrose, in all the triumph and glory of her youth. She was beautiful,\nor would be beautiful, everybody had long allowed; but she had still\nretained a certain girlish meagreness up to a very recent date. Now all\nthat had changed, like everything else; she had expanded, it appeared,\nlike her heart expanded and was satisfied--everything about her looked\nrounder, fuller, and more magnificent. She came and stood before the\nLiverpool uncle, who was a man of business, and thinking of no such\nvanities, and struck him dumb with her splendour. He could talk as he\nliked to Aunt Agatha, or even to Mary in her widow's cap, but this\nradiant creature, all glowing with love and happiness, took away his\nbreath. Perhaps it was then, for the first time in his life, that Mr.\nPenrose actually realized that there was something in the world for\nwhich a man might even get to be indifferent about the balance at his\nbanker's. He gave an involuntary gasp; and though up to this moment he\nhad thought of Winnie only as a child, he now drew back before her, and\nstopped whistling, and took his hand out of his pocket, which perhaps\nwas as decided an act of homage as it was in him to pay.\n\nBut of course such a manifestation could not last. After another moment\nhe gave a \"humph\" as he looked at her, and then his self-possession came\nback. \"So that was your Captain, I suppose?\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, uncle, that was my Captain,\" said the dauntless Winnie, \"and I\nhope you approve of him; though it does not matter if you don't, for you\nknow it is all settled, and nobody except my aunt and his mother has any\nright to say a word.\"\n\n\"If his mother is as wise a judge as your aunt----\" said Mr. Penrose;\nbut yet all the same, Winnie's boldness imposed upon him a little. It\nwas impossible to imagine that a grand creature like this, who was not\npale nor sentimental, nor of Agatha Seton's kind, could contemplate with\nsuch satisfaction any Captain who had asked her to marry him upon\nnothing a year.\n\n\"That is all very fine,\" Mr. Penrose added, taking courage; \"you can\nmake your choice as you please, but it is my business to look after the\nmoney. If you and your children come to me starving, twenty years hence\nand ask how I could possibly let you marry such a----\"\n\n\"Do you think you will be living in twenty years, Uncle Penrose?\" said\nWinnie. \"I know you are a great deal older than Aunt Agatha;--but if you\nare, we will not come, I promise you. We shall keep our starvation to\nourselves.\"\n\n\"I can't tell how old your Aunt Agatha is,\" said Mr. Penrose, with\nnatural offence; \"and you must know, Miss Winnie, that this is not how\nyou should talk to me.\"\n\n\"Very well, uncle,\" said the daring girl; \"but neither is your way the\nway to talk to me. You know I have made up my mind, and that everything\nis settled, and that it does not matter the least to me if Edward was a\nbeggar; and you come here with your money, as if that was the only thing\nto be thought of. What do I care about money?--and you might try till\nthe end of the world, and you never would break it off,\" she cried,\nflashing into a brilliant glow of passion and vehemence such as Mr.\nPenrose did not understand. He had expected to have a great deal of\ndifficulty, but he had never expected to be defied after this fashion;\nand the wildness of her womanish folly made the good man sad.\n\n\"You silly girl!\" he said, with profound pathos, \"if you only knew what\nnonsense you were speaking. There is nobody in this world but cares\nabout money; you can do nothing without it, and marry least of all. And\nyou speak to me with such an example before your eyes; look at your\nsister Mary, how she has come with all those helpless children to be,\nmost likely, a burden on her friends----\"\n\n\"Uncle Penrose!\" cried Winnie, putting up her two beautiful hands to\nstop his mouth; but Mr. Penrose was as plain-spoken as Winnie herself\nwas, though in a different way.\n\n\"I know perfectly well she can hear me,\" he said, \"and she ought to hear\nme, and to read you a lesson. If Mary had been a sensible girl, and had\nmarried a man who could make proper settlements upon her, and make a\nprovision for his family, do you think she would have required to come\nhere to seek a shelter--do you think----\"\n\n\"Oh, Mary, he is crazy; don't mind him!\" cried Winnie, forgetting for\nthe moment all about her own affairs, and clinging to her sister in real\ndistress.\n\nAnd then it was Mrs. Ochterlony's turn to speak.\n\n\"I did not come to seek a shelter,\" she said; \"though I know they would\nhave given it me all the same. I came to seek love and kindness, uncle,\nwhich you cannot buy with money: and if there was nothing more than want\nof money between Winnie and Captain Percival----\"\n\n\"Mary!\" cried Winnie, impetuously, \"go in and don't say any more. You\nshall not be insulted while I am here; but don't say anything about\nEdward. Leave me to have it out with Uncle Penrose, and go away.\"\n\nAnd somehow Mary obeyed. She would not have done it a month ago; but she\nwas wearied of contention, and broken in spirit, and, instead of\nstanding still and defending herself, she withdrew from the two\nbelligerents, who were both so ready to turn their arms against her, and\nwent away. She went to the nursery, which was deserted; for her boys\nwere still outside in the lingering daylight. None of them were able to\nadvise, or even to sympathize with their mother. They could give her\ntheir childish love, but nothing else in the world. The others had all\nsome one to consult, some one to refer to, but Mary was alone. Her heart\nbeat dull and low, with no vehement offence at the bitter words she had\njust heard, but with a heavy despondency and sense of solitude, which\nher very attitude showed--for she did not sit down, or lie down, or try\nto find any fictitious support, but stood up by the vacant fire-place\nwith her eyes fixed upon nothing, holding unconsciously the little chain\nwhich secured her watch, and letting its beads drop one by one from her\nfingers. \"Mary has come home to be a burden on her friends,\" said Uncle\nPenrose. She did not resent it wildly, as she might have done some time\nbefore, but pondered with wondering pain and a dull sense of\nhopelessness. How did it happen that she, of all women, had come to such\na position? what correspondence was there between that and all her past?\nand what was the future to be? which, even now, she could make no\nspasmodic changes in, but must accept and endure. This was how Mary's\nmind was employed, while Winnie, reckless and wilful, defied Uncle\nPenrose in the garden. For the time, the power of defying any one seemed\nto have died out of Mary's breast.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\n\nMr. Penrose, however, was not a man of very lively feelings, and bore no\nmalice against Winnie for her defiance, nor even against Mary, to whom\nhe had been so cruel, which was more difficult. He was up again,\ncheerful and full of energy in the morning, ready for his mission. If\nWinnie began the world without something to live upon, or with any\nprospect of ever being a burden on her friends, at all events it would\nnot be his fault. As it happened, Aunt Agatha received at the\nbreakfast-table the usual invariable letter containing a solemn warning\nagainst Captain Percival, and she was affected by it, as she could not\nhelp always being affected; and the evident commotion it excited in the\nparty was such that Mr. Penrose could not but notice it. When he\ninsisted upon knowing what it was, he was met by what was, in reality,\nvery skilful fencing on Miss Seton's part, who was not destitute\naltogether of female skill and art; but Aunt Agatha's defence was made\nuseless by the impetuosity of Winnie, who scorned disguise.\n\n\"Oh, let us hear it, please,\" she said, \"let us hear. _We_ know what it\nis about. It is some new story--some lie, about my poor Edward. They may\nsave themselves the trouble. _I_ would not believe one of them, if it\nwas written on the wall like Belshazzar's feast; and if I did believe\nthem I would not care,\" said Winnie, vehemently; and she looked across,\nas she never could help looking, to where her sister sat.\n\n\"What is it?\" said Mr. Penrose, \"something about your Captain? Miss\nAgatha, considering my interest in the matter, I hope you will let me\nhear all that is said.\"\n\n\"It is nothing, absolutely nothing,\" said Aunt Agatha, faltering. \"It is\nonly some foolish gossip, you know--garrison stories, and that sort of\nthing. He was a very young man, and was launched upon life by\nhimself--and--and--I think I may say he must have been imprudent.\nWinnie, my dear love, my heart bleeds to say it, but he must have been\nimprudent. He must have entangled himself and--and---- And then there\nare always so many designing people about to lead poor young men\nastray,\" said Aunt Agatha, trembling for the result of her explanation;\nwhile Winnie divided her attention between Mr. Penrose, before whom this\nnew view of the subject was unfolded for the first time, and Mary, whom\nshe regarded as a natural enemy and the probable origin of it all.\n\n\"Wild, I suppose?\" said Mr. Penrose, with sublime calm. \"They're all\nalike, for that matter. So long as he doesn't bet or gamble--that's how\nthose confounded young fellows ruin themselves.\" And then he dismissed\nthe subject with a wave of the hand. \"I am going up to the Hall to talk\nit all over with Sir Edward, and see what can be done. This sort of\npenniless nonsense makes me sick,\" the rich man added; \"and you women\nare the most unreasonable creatures--one might as well talk to a stone\nwall.\"\n\nThus it was that for once in their lives the two Miss Setons, Agatha and\nWinnie, found Uncle Penrose for the moment half divine; they looked at\nhim with wide open eyes, with a wondering veneration. They were only\nwomen after all, and had been giving themselves a great deal of trouble\nabout Captain Percival's previous history; but it all sank in mere\ncontemptible gossip under the calm glance of Mr. Penrose. He was not\nenthusiastic about Edward, and therefore his impartial calm was all the\nmore satisfying. _He_ thought nothing of it at all, though it had been\ndriving _them_ distracted. When he went away on his mission to the Hall,\nWinnie, in her enthusiasm, ran into Aunt Agatha's arms.\n\n\"You see he does not mind,\" said Winnie,--though an hour before she had\nbeen far from thinking Mr. Penrose an authority. \"He thinks it is all\ngossip and spite, as I always said.\"\n\nAnd Aunt Agatha for her part was quite overcome by the sudden relief. It\nfelt like a deliverance, though it was only Mr. Penrose's opinion. \"My\ndear love, men know the world,\" she said; \"that is the advantage of\nhaving somebody to talk to; and I always said that your uncle, though he\nis sometimes disagreeable, had a great deal of sense. You see he knows\nthe world.\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose he must have sense,\" said Winnie; and in the comfort of\nher heart she was ready to attribute all good gifts to Mr. Penrose, and\ncould have kissed him as he walked past the window with his hand in his\npocket. She would not have forsaken her Edward whatever had been found\nout about him, but still to see that his wickedness (if he had been\nwicked) was of no consequence in the eyes of a respectable man like\nUncle Penrose, was such a consolation even to Winnie as nothing can\nexpress. \"We are all a set of women, and we have been making a mountain\nout of a molehill,\" she said, and the tears came to her bright eyes; and\nthen, as Mary was not moved into any such demonstrations of delight,\nWinnie turned her arms upon her sister in pure gaiety of heart.\n\n\"Everybody gets talked about,\" she said. \"Edward was telling me about\nMary even--that she used to be called Madonna Mary at the station; and\nthat there was some poor gentleman that died. I supposed he thought she\nought to be worshipped like Our Lady. Didn't you feel dreadfully guilty\nand wretched, Mary, when he died?\"\n\n\"Poor boy,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, who had recovered her courage a little\nwith the morning light. \"It had nothing to do with Our Lady as you say;\nit was only because he had been brought up in Italy, poor fellow, and\nwas fond of the old Italian poets, and the soft Italian words.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps it was Madonna Mary he was thinking of,\" said Winnie, with\ngay malice, \"and you must have felt a dreadful wretch when he died.\"\n\n\"We felt very sad when he died,\" said Mary,--\"he was only twenty, poor\nboy; but, Winnie dear, Uncle Penrose is not an angel, and I think now I\nwill say my say. Captain Percival is very fond of you, and you are very\nfond of him, and I think, whatever the past may have been, that there is\nhope if you will be a little serious. It is of consequence. Don't you\nthink that I wish all that is best in the world for you, my only little\nsister? And why should you distrust me? You are not silly nor weak, and\nI think you might do well yet, very well, my dear, if you were really to\ntry.\"\n\n\"I think we shall do very well without trying,\" said Winnie, partly\ntouched and partly indignant; \"but it is something for you to say, Mary,\nand I am sure I am much obliged to you for your good advice all the\nsame.\"\n\n\"Winnie,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, taking her hands, \"I know the world\nbetter than you do--perhaps even better than Uncle Penrose, so far as a\nwoman is concerned. I don't care if you are rich or poor, but I want you\nto be happy. It will not do very well without trying. I will not say a\nword about him, for you have set your heart on him, and that must be\nenough. And some women can do everything for the people they love. I\nthink, perhaps, you could, if you were to give your heart to it, and\ntry.\"\n\nIt was not the kind of address Winnie had expected, and she struggled\nagainst it, trying hard to resist the involuntary softening. But after\nall nature was yet in her, and she could not but feel that what Mary was\nsaying came from her heart.\n\n\"I don't see why you should be so serious,\" she said; \"but I am sure it\nis kind of you, Mary. I--I don't know if I could do--what you say; but\nwhatever I can do I will for Edward!\" she added hastily, with a warmth\nand eagerness which brought the colour to her cheek and the light to her\neye; and then the two sisters kissed each other as they had never done\nbefore, and Winnie knelt down by Mary's knee, and the two held each\nother's hands, and clung together, as it was natural they should, in\nthat confidence of nature which is closer than any other except that\nbetween mother and daughter--the fellow-feeling of sisters, destined to\nthe same experience, one of whom has gone far in advance, and turning\nback can trace, step by step, in her own memory, the path the other has\nto go.\n\n\"Don't mistrust me, Winnie,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony. \"I have had a little\nto bear, though I have been very happy, and I could tell you many\nthings--though I will not, just now; but, Winnie dear, what I want is,\nthat you should make up your mind to it; not to have everything you\nlike, and live in a fairy tale, but to keep right, and to keep _him_\nright. If you will promise to think of this, and to take it bravely upon\nyou, I will still hope that all may be well.\"\n\nHer look was so serious that for the first time Winnie's heart forgave\nher. Neither jealousy, nor ill-temper, nor fear of evil report on her\nown side could have looked out of Mary's eyes at her little sister with\nsuch a wistful longing gaze. Winnie was moved in spite of herself, and\nthrilled by the first pang of uncertainty that had yet touched her. If\nMary had no motive but natural affection, was it then really a hideous\ngulf of horrible destruction, on the verge of which she was herself\ntripping so lightly? Something indefinable came over Winnie's face as\nthat thought moved her. Should it be so, what then? If it was to save\nhim, if it was to perish with him, what did it matter? the only place in\nthe world for her was by his side. She had made her choice, and there\nwas no other choice for her, no alternative even should see the gulf as\nCurtius did, and leap conscious into it in the eye of day. All this\npassed through her mind in a moment, as she knelt by Mary's side holding\nher hands--and came out so on her face that Mary could read something\nlike it in the sudden changing of the fair features and expansion of the\neyes. It was as if the soul had been startled, and sprang up to those\nfair windows, to look out upon the approaching danger, making the\nspectator careless of their beauty, out of regard to the nobler thing\nthat used them for the moment. Then Winnie rose up suddenly, and gave\nher sister a hearty kiss, and threw off her sudden gravity as if it had\nbeen a cloud.\n\n\"Enough of that,\" she said; \"I will try and be good, and so I think\nwill--we all. And Mary, don't look so serious. I mean to be happy, at\nleast as long as I can,\" cried Winnie. She was the same Winnie\nagain--gay, bold, and careless, before five minutes had passed; and Mary\nhad said her say, and there was now no more to add. Nothing could change\nthe destiny which the thoughtless young creature had laid out for\nherself. If she could have foreseen the distinctest wretchedness it\nwould have been all the same. She was ready to take the plunge even into\nthe gulf--and nothing that could be said or done could change it now.\n\nIn the meantime, Mr. Penrose had gone up to the Hall to talk it over\nwith Sir Edward, and was explaining his views with a distinctness which\nwas not much more agreeable in the Hall than it had been in the\nCottage. \"I cannot let it go on unless some provision can be made,\" he\nsaid. \"Winnie is very handsome, and you must all see she might have done\na great deal better. If I had her over in Liverpool, as I have several\ntimes thought of doing, I warrant you the settlements would have been of\na different description. She might have married anybody, such a girl as\nthat,\" continued Mr. Penrose, in a regretful business way. It was so\nmuch capital lost that might have brought in a much greater profit; and\nthough he had no personal interest in it, it vexed him to see people\nthrowing their chances away.\n\n\"That may be, but it is Edward Percival she chooses to marry, and nobody\nelse,\" said Sir Edward testily; \"and she is not a girl to do as you seem\nto think, exactly as she is told.\"\n\n\"We should have seen about that,\" said Mr. Penrose; \"but in the\nmeantime, he has his pay and she has a hundred a year. If Mrs. Percival\nwill settle three hundred on him, and you, perhaps, two----\"\n\n\"I, two!\" cried Sir Edward, with sudden terror; \"why should I settle\ntwo? You might as well tell me to retire from the Hall, and leave them\nmy house. And pray, Mr. Penrose, when you are so liberal for other\npeople, what do you mean to give yourself?\"\n\n\"I am a family man,\" said Uncle Penrose, taking his other hand out of\nhis pocket, \"and what I can give must be, in justice to my family, very\nlimited. But Mrs. Percival, who has only four sons, and yourself who\nhave none, are in very different circumstances. If he had had a father,\nthe business might have been entered into more satisfactorily--but as\nyou are his godfather, I hear----\"\n\n\"I never understood before, up to this minute,\" said Sir Edward, with\ngreat courtesy, \"that it was the duty of a godfather to endow his charge\nwith two hundred a year.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon, Sir Edward,\" said Mr. Penrose; \"I am a plain man,\nand I treat things in a business way. I give my godchildren a silver\nmug, and feel my conscience clear: but if I had introduced a young man,\nnot otherwise very eligible, to a handsome girl, who might have done a\ngreat deal better for herself, that would make a great difference in the\nresponsibility. Winnie Seton is of very good family by her father's\nside, as you know, I suppose, better than I do; and of very good\nbusiness connexions by her mother's; and her beauty is first rate--I\ndon't think there can be any doubt about that. If she had been an\nordinary pretty girl, I would not have said so much; but with all her\nadvantages, I should say that any fair equivalent in the shape of a\nhusband should be worth at least five thousand a year.\"\n\nMr. Penrose spoke with such seriousness that Sir Edward was awed out of\nhis first feeling of amusement. He restrained his smile, and\nacknowledged the logic. \"But I did not introduce him in any special\nway,\" he said. \"If I can negotiate with Mrs. Percival for a more liberal\nallowance, I will do it. She has an estate of her own, and she is free\nto leave it to any of her sons: but Edward, I fear, has been rather\nunsatisfactory----\"\n\n\"Ah, wild?\" said Mr. Penrose: \"all young men are alike for that. I\nthink, on the whole, that it is you who should negotiate with the\nmother. You know her better than I do, and have known all about it from\nthe beginning, and you could show her the state of the case better. If\nsuch a mad thing could be consented to by anybody in their senses, it\nmust at least be apparent that Winnie would bring twice as much as the\nother into the common stock. If she were with me in Liverpool she would\nnot long be Winnie Seton; and you may trust me she should marry a man\nwho was worthy of her,\" the rich uncle added, with a confirmatory nod of\nhis head. When he spoke of a man who would be worthy of Winnie, he meant\nno sentimental fitness such as Aunt Agatha would have meant, had she\nsaid these words, nor was it even moral worth he was thinking of. What\nMr. Penrose meant, was a man who would bring a fair equivalent in silver\nand gold to Winnie's beauty and youth, and he meant it most seriously,\nand could not but groan when he contemplated the possibility of so much\nvaluable capital being thrown away.\n\nAnd he felt that he had made a good impression when he went back to the\nCottage. He seemed to himself to have secured Mrs. Percival's three\nhundred a-year, and even Sir Edward's more problematical gift to the\nyoung people; and he occupied the interval in thinking of a silver\ntea-service which had rather caught his fancy, in a shop window, and\nwhich he thought if his negotiations succeeded, he would give to his\nniece for a wedding present. If they did not succeed it would be a\ndifferent question--for a young woman who married upon a captain's pay\nand a hundred a-year of her own, would have little occasion for a silver\ntea-service. So Mr. Penrose mused as he returned to the Cottage. Under\nthe best of circumstances it was now evident that there could be nothing\nto \"settle\" upon Winnie. The mother and the friends might make up a\nlittle income, but as for capital--which after all was what Mr. Penrose\nprized most--there was none in the whole matter, except that which\nWinnie had in her face and person, and was going to throw so lamentably\naway. Mr. Penrose could not but make some reflections on Aunt Agatha's\nfeminine idiocy and the cruel heedlessness of Sir Edward, as he walked\nalong the rural road. A girl who had so many advantages, whose husband,\nto be worthy of her, should have had five thousand a-year at the least,\nand something handsome to \"settle\"--and yet her natural guardians had\nsuffered her to get engaged to a captain in a marching regiment, with\nonly his pay! No wonder that Mr. Penrose was sad. But he went home with\na sense that, painful as the position was, _he_ had done his duty, at\nleast.\n\nThis was how Winnie's marriage got itself accomplished notwithstanding\nall opposition. Captain Percival was the second of his mother's four\nsons, and consequently the natural heir of her personal fortune if he\nhad not been \"foolish,\" as she said; and the thought that it might be\nthe saving of him, which was suggested by Sir Edward, was naturally a\nvery moving argument. A beautiful young wife whom he was very fond of,\nand who was ready to enter with him into all the risks of life,--if that\ndid not keep him right, what would? And after all he was only\nfive-and-twenty, an age at which reformation was quite possible. So his\nfriends thought, persuading themselves with natural sophistry that the\ninfluence of love and a self-willed girl of eighteen would do what all\nother inducements had failed to do; and as for _her_ friends, they were\nso elated to see that in the eyes of Uncle Penrose the young man's\nfaults bore only the most ordinary aspect, and counted for next to\nnothing, that their misgivings all but disappeared, and their acceptance\nof the risk was almost enthusiastic. Sometimes indeed a momentary shadow\nwould cross the mind of Aunt Agatha--sometimes a doubt would change Sir\nEdward's countenance--but then these two old people were believers in\nlove, and besides had the faculty of believing what they wished to\nbelieve, which was a still more important circumstance. And Mary for her\npart had said her say. The momentary hope she had felt in Winnie's\nstrength of character, and in her love--a hope which had opened her\nheart to speak to her sister--found but little to support it after that\nmoment. She could not go on protesting, and making her presence a thorn\nin the flesh of the excited household; and if she felt throughout all a\nsense that the gulf was still there, though all these flowers had been\nstrewed over it--a sense of the terrible risk which was so poorly\ncounterbalanced by the vaguest and most doubtful of hopes--still Mary\nwas aware that this might be simply the fault of her position, which\nled her to look upon everything with a less hopeful eye. She was the\nspectator, and she saw what was going on as the actors themselves could\nnot be expected to see it. She saw Winnie's delight at the idea of\nfreedom from all restraint--and she saw Percival's suppressed impatience\nof the anxious counsels addressed to him, and the look which Winnie and\nhe exchanged on such occasions, as if assuring each other that in spite\nof all this they would take their own way. And then Mrs. Ochterlony's\nown relations with the bridegroom were not of a comfortable kind. He\nknew apparently by instinct that she was not his friend, and he\napproached her with a solemn politeness under which Mary, perhaps\nover-sensitive on that point, felt that a secret sneer was concealed.\nAnd he made references to her Indian experiences, with a certain subtle\nimplication of something in them which he knew and nobody else\ndid--something which would be to Mrs. Ochterlony's injury should it be\nknown--which awoke in Mary an irritation and exasperation which nothing\nelse could have produced. She avoided him as much as it was possible to\navoid him during the busy interval before the marriage, and he perceived\nit and thought it was fear, and the sneer that lay under his courtesy\nbecame more and more evident. He took to petting little Wilfrid with an\nevident consciousness of Mary's vexation and the painful effect it\nproduced upon her; not Hugh nor Islay, who were of an age to be a man's\nplaything, but the baby, who was too young for any but a woman's\ninterest; and Captain Percival was not the kind of man who is naturally\nfond of children. When she saw her little boy on her future\nbrother-in-law's knee, Mary felt her heart contract with an involuntary\nshiver, of which she could have given no clear explanation. She did not\nknow what she was afraid of, but she was afraid.\n\nPerhaps it was a relief to them all when the marriage day arrived--which\nhad to be shortly, for the regiment was ordered to Malta, and Captain\nPercival had already had all the leave he could ask for. Mr. Penrose's\nexertions had been crowned with such success that when he came to\nWinnie's wedding he brought her the silver tea-service which in his\nheart he had decided conditionally to give her as a marriage gift. Mrs.\nPercival had decided to settle two hundred and fifty pounds a-year upon\nher son, which was very near Mr. Penrose's mark; and Sir Edward, after\nlong pondering upon the subject, and a half-amused, half-serious,\nconsideration of Winnie's capital which was being thrown away, had made\nup his mind to a still greater effort. He gave the young man in present\npossession what he had left him in his will, which was a sum of five\nthousand pounds--a little fortune to the young soldier. \"You might have\nbeen my son, my boy, if your mother and I could have made up our minds,\"\nthe old baronet said, with a momentary weakness; though if anybody else\nhad suggested such an idea no doubt Sir Edward would have said, \"Heaven\nforbid!\" And Mr. Penrose pounced upon it and had it settled upon Winnie,\nand was happy, though the bridegroom resisted a little. After that there\ncould be no doubt about the tea-service. \"If you should ever be placed\nin Mary's position you will have something to fall back upon,\" Uncle\nPenrose said; \"or even if you should not get on together, you know.\" It\nwas not a large sum, but the difficulty there had been about getting it,\nand the pleasant sense that it was wholly owing to his own exertions,\nmade it sweet to the man of capital, and he gave his niece his blessing\nand the tea-service with a full heart.\n\nAs for Winnie, she was radiant in her glow of beauty and happiness on\nthat momentous day. A thunder-shower of sudden tears when she signed the\nregister, and another when she was taking leave of Aunt Agatha, was all\nthat occurred to overcloud her brightness; and even these did not\novercloud her, but were in harmony--hot, violent, and sudden as they\nwere--with the passionate happiness and emancipation of the married\ngirl. She kissed over and over again her tender guardian--who for her\npart sat speechless and desolate to see her child go away, weeping with\na silent anguish which could not find any words--and dropped that sudden\nshower over Aunt Agatha's gown; but a moment after threw back the veil\nwhich had fallen over her face, and looked back from the carriage window\nupon them in a flush of joy, and pride, and conscious freedom, which,\nhad no other sentiments been called for at the moment, it would have\ndone one's heart good to see. She was so happy that she could not cry,\nnor be sentimental, nor think of broken links, as she said--and why\nshould she pretend to be sad about parting? Which was very true, no\ndoubt, from Winnie's point of view. And there was not the vestige of a\ncloud about when she waved her hand to them for the last time as she\ndrove away. She was going away to the world and life, to see everything\nand enjoy everything, and have her day. Why should she not show her\ndelight? While poor old Aunt Agatha, whose day was so long over, fell\nback into Mary's arms, who was standing beside her, and felt that now at\nlast and finally, her heart was broken, and the joy of her life gone.\nWas it not simply the course of nature and the way of the world?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n\nThere followed after this a time of such tranquillity as never yet\nentered into Mrs. Ochterlony's life. Mary had known joy, and she had\nknown sorrow, as people do to whom life comes with full hands, giving\nand taking; but it had always been life, busy and personal, which left\nher little leisure for anything beyond the quickly recurring duties of\nthe hour and the day. She had had no time to watch the current how it\nflowed, being as it were part of it, and going along with it in its\nceaseless course. But now all this was changed. After Winnie's marriage\na sudden tranquillity fell upon the ladies in the Cottage. Life had gone\non and left them; they were no longer going with the tide, but standing\nby upon the bank watching it. They were not unhappy, nor was their\nexistence sad,--for the three boys were world enough to satisfy the two\nwomen and keep them occupied and cheerful; and when the children were\nasleep, Aunt Agatha and her niece were, as people say, company for each\nother, and talked over their work as they sat by the evening lamp, or in\nthe twilight garden, which was always so green and so sweet,--and were\ncontent, or more than content; but still sometimes Mrs. Ochterlony would\nbethink herself, and it would seem as a dream to her that she, too, had\nonce taken her part with the others and gone with the stream, and\nsuffered cruel sufferings and tasted sudden joys, and been Hugh\nOchterlony's wife. Was it so? Or had she never been but with Aunt Agatha\nby the little river that ran steadily one day like another under the\nself-same trees? This strange sense of unreality in the past turned her\ngiddy by times, and made her head swim and the world to go round and\nround; but, to be sure, she never spoke of these sensations, and life\ncontinued, and the boys grew, and everything went very well at\nKirtell-side.\n\nEverything went so well that Aunt Agatha many a day pitied the poor\npeople who were out in the world, or the young men who set out from the\nparish to begin their career, and would say, \"Oh, if they but knew how\nmuch better everybody is at home!\" Mary was younger, and perhaps she was\nnot quite of the same mind; but still it was peace that had fallen upon\nher and was wrapping her all round like a garment. There was the same\nquiet routine every day; the same things to do, the same places to walk\nto, the same faces to see. Nothing unforeseen ever arrived to break the\ncalm. When Hugh was old enough to begin serious lessons, a curate turned\nup in the course of nature who took pupils, and to whom Islay, too went\nby-and-by, and even little Wilfrid, who was always delicate. The boys\nwent to him with shining morning faces, and came back growing louder and\nstronger, and, as Peggy said, more \"stirring\" every day. And Sir Edward\nmade his almost daily visit, and let a thin and gentle echo of the\nout-of-door din into the Cottage quiet. He told them in his mild way\nwhat was going on, and talked about the news in the papers, and about\nthe books reviewed, and about the occasional heavenly visitant in the\nshape of a new publication that found its way to Kirtell-side. There\nwere few magazines then, and no cheap ones, and a single _Blackwood_ did\nfor a good many families. Sir Edward himself, who had been always\nconsidered intellectual, took in the _Edinburgh_ all for himself, and\nlent it to his neighbours; but then it could not be expected that many\npeople in a district could be so magnificent as that. When the Curate,\non the other hand, came to tea (he was not the sort of man, as Aunt\nAgatha said, that one would think of making a dinner for), it was all\nabout the parish that he talked; and as Mrs. Ochterlony was a perverse\nwoman in her way, and had her own ideas about her poor neighbours, such\nconversation was not so interesting to her as it might have been. But it\nwas in this sort of way that she spent the next ten or twelve years of\nher life.\n\nAs for Winnie, she was having her day, as she had said, and was, it is\nto be supposed, enjoying it. She wrote letters regularly and diligently,\nwhich is one point in which a woman, however little elevated she may be\nabove her masculine companion in other respects, always has the better\nof him. And she possessed a true feminine gift which ought also to be\nput in the compensating scale against those female drawbacks which are\nso often insisted upon. Sometimes she was ill-tempered, sometimes bitter\nin her letters, for the honeymoon happiness naturally did not last for\never; but, whatever mood Winnie might be in, she always threw an\nunconscious halo of interest around herself when she wrote. It was, as\neverybody might see, an instinctive and unpremeditated act, but it was\nsuccessful to the highest extent. Whether she described her triumphs or\nher disappointments, her husband's kindness or his carelessness, their\nextravagant living or their want of money, Winnie herself, in the\nforeground of the picture, was always charmingly, and sometimes\ntouchingly, posed. A word or two did it, and it was done to perfection;\nand the course of her history thus traced was followed by Aunt Agatha\nwith unfailing enthusiasm. She herself went through it all in the person\nof her favourite, and Mary connected herself with a vague but still\nfairer future in the persons of her boys. And thus the peaceful\nexistence went on day by day, with nothing more serious to trouble it\nthan a transitory childish ailment, or a passing rumour that the\nPercivals were \"going too fast,\" or did not \"get on,\"--clouds which only\nfloated mistily and momentarily about the horizon, and never came down\nto trouble the quiet waters. It was a time which left no record, and\nwhich by times felt languid and lingering to the younger woman, who was\nstill too young to be altogether satisfied with so dead a calm in the\nmiddle of her existence; but still, perhaps, it was, on the whole, the\nhappiest time of Mary's life.\n\nThis halcyon time lasted until the boys were so far grown up as to bring\nthe disturbing plans and speculations of their beginning life into the\nhousehold calm. It lasted until Islay was sixteen and ready to pass his\nexamination for Woolwich, the long-headed boy having fixed his\naffections upon scientific soldiership in a way which was slightly\ndisappointing to his mother, who, as was natural, had thought him\ncapable of a more learned profession. It roused the Cottage into\nsomething like a new stage of existence to think of and prepare for the\nentry of its nursling into that great vague unseen sphere which Aunt\nAgatha called the world. But, after all, it was not Islay who was the\ntroublesome member of the family. He had fixed his thoughts upon his\nchosen profession almost as soon as he knew what was meant by his\nfather's sword, which had hung in Mrs. Ochterlony's room from his\nearliest recollection; and though there might be a little anxiety about\nhow he would succeed at his examination, and how he would get on when he\nleft home, still Islay was so steady that no one felt any alarm or\nabsolute disquiet about him.\n\nBut it was rather different with Hugh. Hugh was supposed to be his\nuncle's heir, and received as such wherever he went, with perhaps more\nenthusiasm than might have fallen to his share merely as Mary's son. He\nwas heir presumptive, recognised to a certain extent at Earlston itself\nas elsewhere in that capacity; and yet Mr. Ochterlony had not, so far as\nanybody was aware, made any distinct decision, and might still alter his\nmind, and, indeed, was not too old to marry and have heirs of his own,\nwhich was a view of the subject chiefly taken by Aunt Agatha. And, to\naggravate the position, Hugh was far from being a boy of fixed\nresolutions, like his brother. He was one of the troublesome people, who\nhave no particular bias. He liked everything that was pleasant. He was\nnot idle, nor had he any evil tendencies; he was fond of literature in a\nway, and at the same time fond of shooting and hunting, and all the\noccupations and amusements of a country life. Public opinion in the\ncountry-side proclaimed him one of the nicest young fellows going; and\nif he had been Francis Ochterlony's son, and indisputably the heir of\nEarlston, Hugh would have been as satisfactory a specimen of a budding\ncountry gentleman as could have been found. But the crook in his lot\nwas, that he was the heir presumptive, and at the same time was generous\nand proud and high-spirited, and not the kind of nature which could lie\nin wait for another man's place, or build his fortunes upon another\nman's generosity. His own opinion, no doubt, was that he had a right to\nEarlston; but he was far too great a Quixote, too highly fantastical in\nyouthful pride and independence, to permit any one to say that it was\nhis uncle's duty to provide for him. And withal, he did not himself know\nwhat manner of life to take up, or what to do. He would have made a good\nsoldier, or a good farmer, different though the two things are; and\nwould have filled, as well as most people, almost any other practical\nposition which Providence or circumstances had set clearly before him.\nBut no intuitive perception of what he was most fit for was in him to\nenlighten his way; and at the same time he began to be highly impatient,\nbeing eighteen, and a man as he thought, of waiting and doing nothing,\nand living at home.\n\n\"If we could but have sent him to Oxford,\" Aunt Agatha said; \"if I had\nthe means!\"--but it is very doubtful whether she ever could have had the\nmeans; and of late Aunt Agatha too had been disturbed in her quiet. Her\nletters to Winnie had begun to convey enclosures of which she did not\nspeak much, even to Mrs. Ochterlony, but which were dead against any\nsuch possibility for Hugh.\n\n\"If I had been brought up at school where I might have got a\nscholarship, or something,\" said Hugh; \"but I don't know why I should\nwant to go to Oxford. We must send Will if we can, mother; he has the\nbrains for it. Oxford is too grand an idea for me----\"\n\n\"Not if you are to have Earlston, Hugh,\" said his mother.\n\n\"I wish Earlston was at the bottom of the sea,\" cried the poor boy; \"but\nfor Earlston, one would have known what one was good for. I wish my\nuncle would make up his mind and found a hospital with it, or marry, as\nAunt Agatha says----\"\n\n\"He will never marry,\" said Mary; \"he was a great deal older than your\nfather; he is quite an old man.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Mary, he is not old at all, for a man,\" said Aunt Agatha, with\neagerness. \"Ladies are so different. He might get a very nice wife yet,\nand children, for anything any one could tell. Not too young, you\nknow--I think it would be a great pity if he were to marry anybody too\nyoung; but a nice person, of perhaps forty or so,\" said Aunt Agatha; and\nshe rounded off her sentence with a soft little sigh.\n\n\"He will never marry, I am sure,\" said Mary, almost with indignation;\nfor, not to speak of the injustice to Hugh, it sounded like an\nimputation upon her brother-in-law, who was sober-minded, and not\nthinking of anything so foolish; not to say that his heart was with his\nmarble Venus, and he was indifferent to any other love.\n\n\"Well, if you think so, my dear----\" said Miss Seton; and a faint colour\nrose upon her soft old cheek. She thought Mary's meaning was, that after\nhis behaviour to herself, which was not exactly what people expected, he\nwas not likely to entertain another affection; which was probably as\ntrue as any other theory of Mr. Ochterlony's conduct. Aunt Agatha\nthought this was Mary's meaning, and it pleased her. It was an old\nstory, but still she remembered it so well, that it was pleasant to\nthink _he_ had not forgotten. But this, to be sure, had very little to\ndo with Hugh.\n\n\"I wish he would marry,\" said his heir presumptive, \"or put one out of\npain one way or another. Things can't go on for ever like this. Islay is\nonly sixteen, and he is starting already; and here am I eighteen past,\nand good for nothing. You would not like me to be a useless wretch all\nmy life?\" said Hugh, severely, turning round upon his mother, who was\nnot prepared for such an address; but Hugh, of all the boys, was the one\nmost like his father, and had the Major's \"way.\"\n\n\"No,\" cried Mary, a little alarmed, \"anything but that. I still think\nyou might wait a little, and see what your uncle means. You are not so\nvery old. Well, my dear boy! don't be impatient; tell me what you wish\nto do.\"\n\nBut this was exactly what Hugh could not tell. \"If there had been no\nEarlston in the question, one would have known,\" he said. \"It is very\nhard upon a fellow to be another man's nephew. I think the best thing I\ncould do would be to ignore Earlston altogether, and go in for--anything\nI could make my own living by. There's Islay has had the first\nchance----\"\n\n\"My dear, one is surely enough in a family to be a soldier,\" said Aunt\nAgatha, \"if you would consider your poor mamma's feelings and mine; but\nI never thought, for my part, that _that_ was the thing for Islay, with\nhis long head. He had always such a very peculiar head. When he was a\nchild, you know, Mary, we never could get a child's hat to fit him. Now,\nI think, if Hugh had gone into a very nice regiment, and Islay had\nstudied for something----\"\n\n\"Do you think he will have no study to do, going in for the Engineers?\"\nsaid Hugh, indignantly. \"I am not envious of Islay. I know he is the\nbest fellow among us; but, at the same time---- The thing for me would\nbe to go to Australia or New Zealand, where one does not need to be good\nfor anything in particular. That is my case,\" said the disconsolate\nyouth; and out of the depths, if not of his soul, at least of his\ncapacious chest, there came a profound, almost despairing sigh.\n\n\"Oh, Hugh, my darling boy! you cannot mean to break all our hearts,\"\ncried Aunt Agatha.\n\nIt was just what poor Hugh meant to do, for the moment, at least; and he\nsat with his head down and despair in his face, with a look which went\nto Mary's heart, and brought the tears to her eyes, but a smile to her\nlips. He was so like his father; and Mrs. Ochterlony knew that he would\nnot, in this way, at least, break her heart.\n\n\"Would you like to go to Uncle Penrose?\" she said; to which Hugh replied\nwith a vehement shake of his head. \"Would you like to go into Mr.\nAllonby's office? You know he spoke of wanting an articled pupil. Would\nyou think of that proposal Mr. Mortare, the architect, made us?--don't\nshake your head off, Hugh; or ask Sir Edward to let you help old\nSanders--or--or---- Would you _really_ like to be a soldier, like your\nbrother?\" said Mary, at her wits' end; for after this, with their\nlimited opportunities, there seemed no further suggestion to make.\n\n\"I must do something, mother,\" said Hugh, and he rose up with another\nsigh; \"but I don't want to vex you,\" he added, coming up and putting his\narms round her with that admiring fondness which is perhaps sweeter to a\nwoman from her son than even from her lover; and then, his mind being\nrelieved, he had no objection to change the conversation. \"I promised to\nlook at the young colts, and tell Sir Edward what I thought of them,\" he\nsuddenly said, looking up at Mary with a cloudy, doubtful look--afraid\nof being laughed at, and yet himself ready to laugh--such as is not\nunusual upon a boy's face. Mrs. Ochterlony did not feel in the least\ninclined for laughter, though she smiled upon her boy; and when he went\naway, a look of anxiety came to her face, though it was not anything\nlike the tragical anxiety which contracted Aunt Agatha's gentle\ncountenance. She took up her work again, which was more than Miss Seton\ncould do. The boys were no longer children, and life was coming back to\nher with their growing years. Life which is not peace, but more like a\nsword.\n\n\"My dear love, something must be done,\" said Aunt Agatha. \"Australia or\nNew Zealand, and for a boy of his expectations! Mary, something must be\ndone.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mary. \"I must go and consult my brother-in-law about it, and\nsee what he thinks best. But as for New Zealand or Australia, Aunt\nAgatha----\"\n\n\"Do you think it will be _nice_, Mary?\" said Miss Seton, with a soft\nblush like a girl's. \"It will be like asking him, you know, what he\nmeans; it will be like saying he ought to provide----\"\n\n\"He said Hugh was to be his heir,\" said Mary, \"and I believe he meant\nwhat he said; at all events, it would be wrong to do anything without\nconsulting him, for he has always been very kind.\"\n\nThese words threw Aunt Agatha into a flutter which she could not\nconceal. \"It may be very well to consult him,\" she said; \"but rather\nthan let him think we are asking his help---- And then, how can you see\nhim, Mary? I am afraid it would be--awkward, to say the least, to ask\nhim here----\"\n\n\"I will go to Earlston to-morrow,\" said Mary. \"I made up my mind while\nHugh was talking. After Islay has gone, it will be worse for poor Hugh.\nWill is so much younger, poor boy.\"\n\n\"Will,\" said Aunt Agatha, sighing, \"Oh, Mary, if they had only been\ngirls! we could have brought them up without any assistance, and no\nbother about professions or things. When you have settled Hugh and\nIslay, there will be Will to open it up again; and they will all leave\nus, after all. Oh, Mary, my dear love, if they had been but girls!\"\n\n\"Yes, but they are not girls,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, with a half smile;\nand then she too sighed. She was glad her boys were boys, and had more\nconfidence in them, and Providence and life, than Aunt Agatha had. But\nshe was not glad to think that her boys must leave her, and that she had\nno daughter to share her household life. The cloud which sat on Aunt\nAgatha's careful brow came over her, too for the moment, and dimmed her\neyes, and made her heart ache. \"They came into the world for God's uses\nand not for ours,\" she said, recovering herself, \"and though they are\nboys, we must not keep them unhappy. I will go over to Earlston\nto-morrow by the early train.\"\n\n\"If you think it right,\" said Miss Seton: but it was not cordially\nspoken. Aunt Agatha was very proud and sensitive in her way. She was the\nkind of woman to get into misunderstandings, and shun explanations, as\nmuch as if she had been a woman in a novel. She was as ready to take up\na mistaken idea, and as determined not to see her mistake, as if she had\nbeen a heroine forced thereto by the exigencies of three volumes. Miss\nSeton had never come to the third volume herself; she thought it more\ndignified for her own part to remain in the complications and\nperplexities of the second; and it struck her that it was indelicate of\nMary thus to open the subject, and lead Francis Ochterlony on, as it\nwere, to declare his mind.\n\nThe question was quite a different one so far as Mary was concerned, to\nwhom Francis Ochterlony had never stood in the position of a lover, nor\nwas the subject of any delicate difficulties. With her it was a\nstraightforward piece of business enough to consult her brother-in-law,\nwho was the natural guardian of her sons, and who had always been well\ndisposed towards them, especially while they kept at a safe distance.\nIslay was the only one who had done any practical harm at Earlston, and\nMr. Ochterlony had forgiven, and, it is to be hoped, forgotten the\ndownfall of the rococo chair. If she had had nothing more important to\ntrouble her than a consultation so innocent! Though, to tell the truth,\nMary did not feel that she had a great deal to trouble her, even with\nthe uncertainty of Hugh's future upon her hands. Even if his uncle were\nto contemplate anything so absurd as marriage or the founding of a\nhospital, Hugh could still make his own way in the world, as his\nbrothers would have to do, and as his father had done before him. And\nMrs. Ochterlony was not even overwhelmed by consideration of the very\ndifferent characters of the boys, nor of the immense responsibility, nor\nof any of the awful thoughts with which widow-mothers are supposed to be\noverwhelmed. They were all well, God bless them; all honest and true,\nhealthful and affectionate. Hugh had his crotchets and fidgety ways, but\nso had his father, and perhaps Mary loved her boy the better for them;\nand Wilfrid was a strange boy, but then he had always been strange, and\nit came natural to him. No doubt there might be undeveloped depths in\nboth, of which their mother as yet knew nothing; but in the meantime\nMary, like other mothers, took things as she saw them, and was proud of\nher sons, and had no disturbing fears. As for Islay, he was steady as a\nrock, and almost as strong, and did the heart good to behold, and even\nthe weakest woman might have taken heart to trust him, whatever might\nbe the temptations and terrors of \"the world.\" Mary had that composure\nwhich belongs to the better side of experience, as much as suspicion and\ndistrust belong to its darker side. The world did not alarm her as it\ndid Aunt Agatha; neither did Mr. Ochterlony alarm her, whose sentiments\nought at least to be known by this time, and whose counsel she sought\nwith no artful intention of drawing him out, but with an honest desire\nto have the matter settled one way or another. This was how the interval\nof calm passed away, and the new generation brought back a new and\nfuller life.\n\nIt was not all pleasure with which Mary rose next morning to go upon her\nmission to Earlston; but it was with a feeling of resurrection, a sense\nthat she lay no longer ashore, but that the tide was once more creeping\nabout her stranded boat, and the wind wooing the idle sail. There might\nbe storms awaiting her upon the sea; storm and shipwreck and loss of all\nthings lay in the future; possible for her boys as for others, certain\nfor some; but that pricking, tingling thrill of danger and pain gave a\ncertain vitality to the stir of life renewed. Peace is sweet, and there\nare times when the soul sighs for it; but life is sweeter. And this is\nhow Mary, in her mother's anxiety,--with all the possibilities of fate\nto affright her, if they could, yet not without a novel sense of\nexhilaration, her heart beating more strongly, her pulse fuller, her eye\nbrighter,--went forth to open the door for her boy into his own personal\nand individual career.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n\nIt was a cheerful summer morning when Mary set out on her visit to her\nbrother-in-law. She had said nothing to her boys about it, for Hugh was\nfantastical, like Aunt Agatha, and would have denounced her intention as\nan expedient to make his uncle provide for him. Hugh had gone out to\nattend to some of the many little businesses he had in hand for Sir\nEdward; and Islay was working in his own room preparing for the \"coach,\"\nto whom he was going in a few days; and Wilfrid, or Will, as everybody\ncalled him, was with his curate-tutor. The Cottage held its placid place\nupon the high bank of Kirtell, shining through its trees in a purple\ncloud of roses, and listening in the sun to that everlasting quiet voice\nthat sung in its ear, summer and winter, the little river's changeful\nyet changeless song. It looked like a place to which no changes could\never come; calm people in the stillness of age, souls at rest, little\nchildren, were the kind of people to live in it; and the stir and\nquickening of pleasurable pain which Mary felt in her own veins,--the\nsense of new life and movement about her,--felt out of place with the\nquiet house. Aunt Agatha was out of sight, ordering her household\naffairs; and the drawing-room was silent and deserted as a fairy palace,\nfull of a thousand signs of a habitation, but without a single tenant\naudible or visible, except the roses that clambered about the open\nwindows, and the bee that went in and made a confused investigation, and\ncame out again none the wiser. An odd sense of the contrast struck Mrs.\nOchterlony; but a little while before, her soul had been in unison with\nthe calm of the place, and she had thought nothing of it; now she had\nwoke up out of that fair chamber turned to the sunrising, the name which\nis Peace, and had stepped back into life, and felt the tingle and thrill\nof resurrection. And an unconscious smile came on her face as she looked\nback. To think that out of that silence and sunshine should pour out\nsuch a tide of new strength and vigour--and that henceforth hearts\nshould leap with eagerness and wistfulness under that roof, and perhaps\ngrow wild with joy, or perhaps, God knows, break with anguish, as news\ncame good or evil! She had been but half alive so long, that the sense\nof living was sweet.\n\nIt was a moment to call forth many thoughts and recollections, but the\nfact was that she did not have time to entertain them. There happened to\nher one of those curious coincidences which occur so often, and which it\nis so difficult to account for. Long before she reached the little\nstation, a tall figure broke the long vacant line of the dusty country\nroad, a figure which Mary felt at once to be that of a stranger, and yet\none she seemed to recognise. She could not believe her eyes, nor think\nit was anything but the association of ideas which misled her, and\nlaughed at her own fantastic imagination as she went on. But\nnevertheless it is true that it was her brother-in-law himself who met\nher, long before she reached the railway by which she had meant to go to\nhim. Her appearance struck him too, it was evident, with a little\nsurprise; but yet she was at home, and might have been going anywhere;\nwhereas the strange fact of his coming required a more elaborate\nexplanation than he had in his power to give.\n\n\"I do not know exactly what put it into my head,\" said Mr. Ochterlony;\n\"perhaps some old work of mine which turned up the other day, and which\nI was doing when you were with me. I thought I would come over and have\na talk with you about your boy.\"\n\n\"It is very strange,\" said Mary, \"for this very morning I had made up my\nmind to come to you, and consult you. It must be some kind of magnetism,\nI suppose.\"\n\n\"Indeed, I can't say; I have never studied the natural sciences,\" said\nMr. Ochterlony, with gravity. \"I have had a very distinguished visitor\nlately: a man whose powers are as much above the common mind as his\ninformation is--Dr. Franklin, whose name of course you have heard--a man\nof European reputation.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mary, doubtfully, feeling very guilty and ignorant, for to\ntell the truth she had never heard of Dr. Franklin; but her\nbrother-in-law perceived her ignorance, and explained in a kind of\ncompassionate way:\n\n\"He is about the greatest numismatist we have in England,\" said Mr.\nOchterlony, \"and somehow my little monograph upon primitive art in\nIceland came to be talked of. I have never completed it, though Franklin\nexpressed himself much interested--and I think that's how it was\nsuggested to my mind to come and see you to-day.\"\n\n\"I am very glad,\" said Mary, \"I wanted so much to have your advice. Hugh\nis almost a man now----\"\n\n\"A man!\" said Mr. Ochterlony, with a smile; \"I don't see how that is\npossible. I hope he is not so unruly as he used to be; but you are as\nyoung as ever, and I don't see how your children can be men.\"\n\nAnd oddly enough, just at that moment, Hugh himself made his appearance,\nmaking his way by a cross road down to the river, with his basket over\nhis shoulder, and his fishing-rod. He was taller than his uncle, though\nMr. Ochterlony was tall; and big besides, with large, mighty, not\nperfectly developed limbs, swinging a little loosely upon their hinges\nlike the limbs of a young Newfoundland or baby lion. His face was still\nsmooth as a girl's, and fair, with downy cheeks and his mother's eyes,\nand that pucker in his forehead which Francis Ochterlony had known of\nold in the countenance of another Hugh. Mary did not say anything, but\nshe stopped short before her boy, and put her hand on his shoulder, and\nlooked at his uncle with a smile, appealing to him with her proud eyes\nand beaming face, if this was not almost a man. As for Mr. Ochterlony,\nhe gave a great start and said, \"God bless us!\" under his breath, and\nwas otherwise speechless for the moment. He had been thinking of a boy,\ngrown no doubt, but still within the limits of childhood; and lo, it was\nan unknown human creature that faced him, with a will and thoughts of\nhis own, like its father and mother, and yet like nobody but itself.\nHugh, for his part, looked with very curious eyes at the stranger, and\ndimly recognised him, and grew shamefaced and a little fidgety, as was\nnatural to the boy.\n\n\"You see how he has grown,\" said Mary, who, being the triumphant one\namong the three, was the first to recover herself. \"You do not think him\na child now? It is your uncle, Hugh, come to see us. It is very kind of\nhim--but of course you knew who he was.\"\n\n\"I am very glad to see my uncle,\" said Hugh, with eager shyness. \"Yes, I\nknew. You are like my father's picture, sir;--and your own that we have\nat the Cottage--and Islay a little. I knew it was you.\"\n\nAnd then they all walked on in silence; for Mr. Ochterlony was more\nmoved by this sudden encounter than he cared to acknowledge; and Mary,\ntoo, for the moment, being a sympathetic woman, saw her boy with his\nuncle's eyes, and saw what the recollections were that sprang up at\nsight of him. She told Hugh to go on and do his duty, and send home some\ntrout for dinner; and, thus dismissing him, guided her unlooked-for\nvisitor to the Cottage. He knew the way as well as she did, which\nincreased the embarrassment of the situation. Mary saw only the stiles\nand the fields, and the trees that over-topped the hedges, familiar\nobjects that met her eyes every day; but Francis Ochterlony saw many a\npast day and past imagination of his own life, and seemed to walk over\nhis own ashes as he went on. And that was Hugh!--Hugh, not his brother,\nbut his nephew and heir, the representative of the Ochterlony's,\noccupying the position which his own son should have occupied. Mr.\nOchterlony had not calculated on the progress of time, and he was\nstartled and even touched, and felt wonderingly--what it is so difficult\nfor a man to feel--that his own course was of no importance to anybody,\nand that here was his successor. The thought made him giddy, just as\nMary's wondering sense of the unreality of her own independent life, and\neverlastingness of her stay at the Cottage, had made her; but yet in a\ndifferent way. For perhaps Francis Ochterlony had never actually\nrealized before that most things were over for him, and that his heir\nstood ready and waiting for the end of his life.\n\nThere was still something of this sense of giddiness in his mind when he\nfollowed Mary through the open window into the silent drawing-room where\nnobody was. Perhaps he had not behaved just as he ought to have done to\nAgatha Seton; and the recollection of a great many things that had\nhappened, came back upon him as he wound his way with some confusion\nthrough the roses. He was half ashamed to go in, like a familiar friend,\nthrough the window. Of all men in the world, he had the least right to\nsuch a privilege of intimacy. He ought to have gone to the door in a\nformal way and sent in his card, and been admitted only if Miss Seton\npleased; and yet here he was, in the very sanctuary of her life, invited\nto sit down as it were by her side, led in by the younger generation,\nwhich could not but smile at the thought of any sort of sentiment\nbetween the old woman and the old man. For indeed Mary, though she was\nnot young, was smiling softly within herself at the idea. She had no\nsort of sympathy with Mr. Ochterlony's delicate embarrassment, though\nshe was woman enough to hurry away to seek her aunt and prepare her for\nthe meeting, and shield the ancient maiden in the first flutter of her\nfeelings. Thus the master of Earlston was left alone in the Cottage,\nwith leisure to look round and recognise the identity of the place, and\nsee all its differences, and become aware of its pleasant air of\nhabitation, and all the signs of daily use and wont which had no\nexistence in his own house. All this confused him, and put him at a\ngreat disadvantage. The probabilities were that Agatha Seton would not\nhave been a bit the happier had she been mistress of Earlston. Indeed\nthe Cottage had so taken her stamp that it was impossible for anybody,\nwhose acquaintance with her was less than thirty years old, to imagine\nher with any other surroundings. But Francis Ochterlony had known her\nfor more than thirty years, and naturally he felt that he himself was a\npossession worth a woman's while, and that he had, so to speak,\ndefrauded her of so important a piece of property; and he was penitent\nand ashamed of himself. Perhaps too his own heart was moved a little by\nthe sense of something lost. His own house might have borne this sunny\nair of home; instead of his brother Hugh's son, there might have been a\nboy of his own to inherit Earlston; and looking back at it quietly in\nthis cottage drawing-room, Francis Ochterlony's life seemed to him\nsomething very like a mistake. He was not a hard-hearted man, and the\ninference he drew from this conclusion was very much in his nephew's\nfavour. Hugh's boy was almost a man, and there was no doubt that he was\nthe natural heir, and that it was to him everything ought to come.\nInstead of thinking of marrying, as Aunt Agatha imagined, or founding a\nhospital, or making any other ridiculous use of his money, his mind, in\nits softened and compunctious state, turned to its natural and obvious\nduty. \"Let there be no mistake, at least, about the boy,\" he said to\nhimself. \"Let him have all that is good for him, and all that best fit\nhim for his position;\" for, Heaven be praised, there was at least no\ndoubt about Hugh, or question as to his being the lawful and inevitable\nheir.\n\nIt was this process of reasoning, or rather of feeling, that made Mrs.\nOchterlony so entirely satisfied with her brother-in-law when she\nreturned (still alone, for Miss Seton was not equal to the exertion all\nat once, and naturally there was something extra to be ordered for\ndinner), and began to talk to their uncle about the children.\n\n\"There has been no difficulty about Islay,\" she said: \"he always knew\nwhat he wanted, and set his heart at once on his profession; but Hugh\nhad no such decided turn. It was very kind what you said when you\nwrote--but I--don't think it is good for the boy to be idle. Whatever\nyou might think it right to arrange afterwards, I think he should have\nsomething to do----\"\n\n\"I did not think he had been so old,\" said Mr. Ochterlony, almost\napologetically. \"Time does not leave much mark of its progress at\nEarlston. Something to do? I thought what a young fellow of his age\nenjoyed most was amusing himself. What would he like to do?\"\n\n\"He does not know,\" said Mary, a little abashed; \"that is why I wanted\nso much to consult you. I suppose people have talked to him of--of what\nyou might do for him; but he cannot bear the thought of hanging, as it\nwere, on your charity----\"\n\n\"Charity!\" said Mr. Ochterlony, \"it is not charity, it is right and\nnature. I hope he is not one of those touchy sort of boys that think\nkindness an injury. My poor brother Hugh was always fidgety----\"\n\n\"Oh no, it is not that,\" said the anxious mother, \"only he is afraid\nthat you might think he was calculating upon you; as if you were obliged\nto provide for him----\"\n\n\"And so I am obliged to provide for him,\" said Mr. Ochterlony, \"as much\nas I should be obliged to provide for my own son, if I had one. We must\nfind him something to do. Perhaps I ought to have thought of it sooner.\nWhat has been done about his education? What school has he been at? Is\nhe fit for the University? Earlston will be a better property in his\ndays than it was when I was young,\" added the uncle with a natural sigh.\nIf he had but provided himself with an heir of his own, perhaps it would\nhave been less troublesome on the whole. \"I would send him to Oxford,\nwhich would be the best way of employing him; but is he fit for it?\nWhere has he been to school?\"\n\nUpon which Mary, with some confusion, murmured something about the\ncurate, and felt for the first time as if she had been indifferent to\nthe education of her boy.\n\n\"The curate!\" said Mr. Ochterlony; and he gave a little shrug of his\nshoulders, as if that was a very poor security for Hugh's scholarship.\n\n\"He has done very well with all his pupils,\" said Mary, \"and Mr. Cramer,\nto whom Islay is going, was very much satisfied----\"\n\n\"I forgot where Islay was going?\" said Mr. Ochterlony, inquiringly.\n\n\"Mr. Cramer lives near Kendal,\" said Mary; \"he was very highly\nrecommended; and we thought the boy could come home for Sunday----\"\n\nMr. Ochterlony shook his head, though still in a patronizing and\nfriendly way. \"I am not sure that it is good to choose a tutor because\nthe boy can come home on Sunday,\" he said, \"nor send them to the curate\nthat you may keep them with yourself. I know it is the way with ladies;\nbut it would have been better, I think, to have sent them to school.\"\n\nMrs. Ochterlony was confounded by this verdict against her. All at once\nher eyes seemed to be opened, and she saw herself a selfish mother\nkeeping her boys at her own apron-strings. She had not time to think of\nsuch poor arguments in her favour as want of means, or her own perfectly\ngood intentions. She was silent, struck dumb by this unthought-of\ncondemnation; but just then a champion she had not thought of appeared\nin her defence.\n\n\"Mr. Small did very well for Hugh,\" said a voice at the window; \"he is a\nvery good tutor so far as he goes. He did very well for Hugh--and Islay\ntoo,\" said the new-comer, who came in at the window as he spoke with a\nbundle of books under his arm. The interruption was so unexpected that\nMr. Ochterlony, being quite unused to the easy entrance of strangers at\nthe window, and into the conversation, started up alarmed and a little\nangry. But, after all, there was nothing to be angry about.\n\n\"It is only Will,\" said Mary. \"Wilfrid, it is your uncle, whom you have\nnot seen for so long. This was my baby,\" she added, turning to her\nbrother-in-law, with an anxious smile--for Wilfrid was a boy who puzzled\nstrangers, and was not by any means so sure to make a good impression as\nthe others were. Mr. Ochterlony shook hands with the new-comer, but he\nsurveyed him a little doubtfully. He was about thirteen, a long boy,\nwith big wrists and ankles visible, and signs of rapid growth. His face\ndid not speak of country air and fare and outdoor life and healthful\noccupation like his brother's, but was pale and full of fancies and\nnotions which he did not reveal to everybody. He came in and put down\nhis books and threw himself into a chair with none of his elder\nbrother's shamefacedness. Will, for his part, was not given to blushing.\nHe knew nothing of his uncle's visit, but he took it quietly as a thing\nof course, and prepared to take part in the conversation, whatever its\nsubject might be.\n\n\"Mr. Small has done very well for them all,\" said Mary, taking heart\nagain; \"he has always done very well with his pupils. Mr. Cramer was\nvery much satisfied with the progress Islay had made; and as for\nHugh----\"\n\n\"He is quite clever enough for Hugh,\" said Will, with the same steady\nvoice.\n\nMr. Ochterlony, though he was generally so grave, was amused. \"My young\nfriend, are you sure you are a judge?\" he said. \"Perhaps he is not\nclever enough for Wilfrid--is that what you meant to say?\"\n\n\"It is not so much the being clever,\" said the boy. \"I think he has\ntaught me as much as he knows, so it is not his fault. I wish we had\nbeen sent to school; but Hugh is all right. He knows as much as he wants\nto know, I suppose; and as for Islay, his is technical,\" the young\ncritic added with a certain quiet superiority. Will, poor fellow, was\nthe clever one of the family, and somehow he had found it out.\n\nMr. Ochterlony looked at this new representative of his race with a\nlittle alarm. Perhaps he was thinking that, on the whole, it was as well\nnot to have boys; and then, as much from inability to carry on the\nconversation as from interest in his own particular subject, he returned\nto Hugh.\n\n\"The best plan, perhaps, will be for Hugh to go back with me to\nEarlston; that is, if it is not disagreeable to you,\" he said, in his\nold-fashioned, polite way. \"I have been too long thinking about it, and\nhis position must be made distinct. Oxford would be the best; that would\nbe good for him in every way. And I think afterwards he might pay a\nlittle attention to the estate. I never could have believed that babies\ngrew into boys, and boys to men, so quickly. Why, it can barely be a few\nyears since---- Ah!\" Mr. Ochterlony got up very precipitately from his\nchair. It was Aunt Agatha who had come into the room, with her white\nhair smoothed under her white cap, and her pretty Shetland shawl over\nher shoulders. Then he perceived that it was more than a few years\nsince he had last seen her. The difference was more to him than the\ndifference in the boys, who were creatures that sprang up nobody knew\nhow, and were never to be relied upon. That summer morning when she came\nto Earlston to claim her niece, Miss Seton had been old; but it was a\ndifferent kind of age from that which sat upon her soft countenance now.\nFrancis Ochterlony had not for many a year asked himself in his\nseclusion whether he was old or young. His occupations were all\ntranquil, and he had not felt himself unable for them; but if Agatha\nSeton was like this, surely then it must indeed be time to think of an\nheir.\n\nThe day passed with a curious speed and yet tardiness, such as is\npeculiar to days of excitement. When they were not talking of the boys,\nnobody could tell what to talk about. Once or twice, indeed, Mr.\nOchterlony began to speak of the Numismatic Society, or the excavations\nat Nineveh, or some other cognate subject; but he always came to a\nstandstill when he caught Aunt Agatha's soft eyes wondering over him.\nThey had not talked about excavations, nor numismatics either, the last\ntime he had been here; and there was no human link between that time and\nthis, except the boys, of whom they could all talk; and to this theme\naccordingly everybody returned. Hugh came in audibly, leaving his basket\nat the kitchen door as he passed, and Islay, with his long head and his\ndeep eyes, came down from his room where he was working, and Will kept\nhis seat in the big Indian chair in the corner, where he dangled his\nlong legs, and listened. Everybody felt the importance of the moment,\nand was dreadfully serious, even when lighter conversation was\nattempted. To show the boys in their best light, each of the three, and\nnot so to show them as if anybody calculated upon, or was eager about\nthe uncle's patronage; to give him an idea of their different\ncharacters, without any suspicion of \"showing off,\" which the lads could\nnot have tolerated; all this was very difficult to the two anxious\nwomen, and required such an amount of mental effort as made it hard to\nbe anything but serious. Fortunately, the boys themselves were a little\nexcited by the novelty of such a visitor, and curious about their uncle,\nnot knowing what his appearance might mean. Hugh flushed into a singular\nmixture of exaltation, and suspicion, and surprise, when Mr. Ochterlony\ninvited him to Earlston; and looked at his mother with momentary\ndistrust, to see if by any means she had sought the invitation; and\nWilfrid sat and dangled his long legs, and listened, with an odd\nappreciation of the fact that the visit was to Hugh, and not to\nhimself, or any more important member of the family. As for Islay, he\nwas always a good fellow, and like himself; and his way was clear before\nhim, and admitted of no hopes or fears except as to whether or not he\nshould succeed at his examination, which was a matter about which he had\nhimself no very serious doubts, though he said little about it; and\nperhaps on the whole it was Islay, who was quite indifferent, whom Mr.\nOchterlony would have fixed his choice upon, had he been at liberty to\nchoose.\n\nWhen the visitor departed, which he did the same evening, the household\ndrew a long breath; everybody was relieved, from Peggy in the kitchen,\nwhose idea was that the man was \"looking after our Miss Agatha again,\"\ndown to Will, who had now leisure and occasion to express his sentiments\non the subject. Islay went back to his work, to make up for the lost\nday, having only a moderate and temporary interest in his uncle. It was\nthe elder and the younger who alone felt themselves concerned. As for\nHugh, the world seemed to have altered in these few hours; Mr.\nOchterlony had not said a great deal to him; but what he said had been\nsaid as a man speaks who means and has the power to carry out his words;\nand the vague heirship had become all of a sudden the realest fact in\nexistence, and a thing which could not be, and never could have been,\notherwise. And he was slightly giddy, and his head swam with the sudden\nelevation. But as for Wilfrid, what had he to do with it, any more than\nany other member of the family? though he was always a strange boy, and\nthere never was any reckoning what he might do or say.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\n\nWill's room was a small room opening from his mother's, which would have\nbeen her dressing-room had she wanted such a luxury; and when Mrs.\nOchterlony went upstairs late that night, after a long talk with Aunt\nAgatha, she found the light still burning in the little room, and her\nboy seated, with his jacket and his shoes off, on the floor, in a brown\nstudy. He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin in a patch of\nmoonlight that shone in from the window. The moonlight made him look\nghastly, and his candle had burnt down, and was flickering unsteadily\nin the socket, and Mary was alarmed. She did not think of any moral\ncause for the first moment, but only that something was the matter with\nhim, and went in with a sudden maternal panic to see what it was. Will\ntook no immediate notice of her anxious questions, but he condescended\nto raise his head and prop up his chin with his hands, and stare up into\nher face.\n\n\"Mother,\" he said, \"you always go on as if a fellow was ill. Can't one\nbe thinking a little without anything being the matter? I should have\nput out my light had I known you were coming upstairs.\"\n\n\"You know, Will, that I cannot have you sit here and think, as you say.\nIt is not thinking--it is brooding, and does you harm,\" said Mrs.\nOchterlony. \"Jump up, and go to bed.\"\n\n\"Presently,\" said the boy. \"Is it true that Hugh will go to Oxford,\nmamma?\"\n\n\"Very likely,\" said Mary, with some pride. \"Your uncle will see how he\nhas got on with his studies, and after that I think he will go.\"\n\n\"What for?\" said Will. \"What is the good? He knows as much as he wants\nto know, and Mr. Small is quite good enough for him.\"\n\n\"What for?\" said Mary, with displeasure. \"For his education, like other\ngentlemen, and that he may take his right position. But you are too\nyoung to understand all that. Get up, and go to bed.\"\n\n\"I am not too young to understand,\" said Wilfrid; \"what is the good of\nthrowing money and time away? You may tell my uncle, Hugh will never do\nany good at Oxford; and I don't see, for my part, why he should be the\none to go.\"\n\n\"He is the eldest son, and he is your uncle's heir,\" said Mary, with a\nconscious swelling of her motherly heart.\n\n\"I don't see what difference being the eldest makes,\" said Will,\nembracing his knees. \"I have been thinking over it this long time. Why\nshould he be sent to Oxford, and the rest of us stay at home? What does\nit matter about the eldest? A fellow is not any better than me because\nhe was born before me. You might as well send Peggy to Oxford,\" said\nWill, with vehemence, \"as send Hugh.\"\n\nMrs. Ochterlony, whose mind just then was specially occupied by Hugh,\nwas naturally disturbed by this speech. She put out the flickering\ncandle, and set down her own light, and closed the door. \"I cannot let\nyou speak so about your brother, Will,\" she said. \"He may not be so\nquick as you are for your age, but I wish you were as modest and as kind\nas Hugh is. Why should you grudge his advancement? I used to think you\nwould get the better of this feeling when you ceased to be a child.\"\n\n\"Of what feeling?\" cried Will, lifting his pale face from his knees.\n\n\"My dear boy, you ought to know,\" said Mary; \"this grudge that any one\nshould have a pleasure or an advantage which you have not. A child may\nbe excused, but no man who thinks so continually of himself----\"\n\n\"I was not thinking of myself,\" said Will, springing up from the floor\nwith a flush on his face. \"You will always make a moral affair of it,\nmother. As if one could not discuss a thing. But I know that Hugh is not\nclever, though he is the eldest. Let him have Earlston if he likes, but\nwhy should he have Oxford? And why should it always be supposed that he\nis better, and a different kind of clay?\"\n\n\"I wonder where you learned all that, Will,\" said Mary, with a smile.\n\"One would think you had picked up some Radical or other. I might be\nvexed to see Lady Balderston walk out of the room before me, if it was\nbecause she pretended to be a better woman; but when it is only because\nshe is Lady Balderston, what does it matter? Hugh can't help being the\neldest: if you had been the eldest----\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Will, with a long breath; \"if I had been the eldest----\" And\nthen he stopped short.\n\n\"What would you have done?\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, smiling still.\n\n\"I would have done what Hugh will never do,\" cried the boy. \"I would\nhave taken care of everybody. I would have found out what they were fit\nfor, and put them in the right way. The one that had brains should have\nbeen cultivated--done something else. There should have been no such\nmistake as---- But that is always how it is in the world--everybody says\nso,\" said Wilfrid; \"stupid people who know nothing about it are set at\nthe head, and those who could manage----\"\n\n\"Will,\" said his mother, \"do you know you are very presumptuous, and\nthink a great deal too well of yourself? If you were not such a child, I\nshould be angry. It is very well to be clever at your lessons, but that\nis no proof that you are able to manage, as you say. Let Hugh and his\nprospects alone for to-night, and go to bed.\"\n\n\"Yes, I can let him alone,\" said Will. \"I suppose it is not worth one's\nwhile to mind--he will do no good at Oxford, you know, that is one\nthing;--whereas other people----\"\n\n\"Always yourself, Will,\" said Mary, with a sigh.\n\n\"Myself--or even Islay,\" said the boy, in the most composed way; \"though\nIslay is very technical. Still, he could do some good. But Hugh is an\nout-of-door sort of fellow. He would do for a farmer or gamekeeper, or\nto go to Australia, as he says. A man should always follow his natural\nbent. If, instead of going by eldest sons and that sort of rubbish, they\nwere to try for the right man in the right place. And then you might be\nsure to be done the best for, mother, and that he would take care of\n_you_.\"\n\n\"Will, you are very conceited and very unjust,\" said Mary; but she was\nhis mother, and she relented as she looked into his weary young face:\n\"but I hope you have your heart in the right place, for all your talk,\"\nshe said, kissing him before she went away. She went back to her room\ndisturbed, as she had often been before, but still smiling at Will's\n\"way.\" It was all boyish folly and talk, and he did not mean it; and as\nhe grew older he would learn better. Mary did not care to speculate upon\nthe volcanic elements which, for anything she could tell, might be lying\nunder her very hand. She could not think of different developments of\ncharacter, and hostile individualities, as people might to whom the\nthree boys were but boys in the abstract, and not Hugh, Islay, and\nWill--the one as near and dear to her as the other. Mrs. Ochterlony was\nnot philosophical, neither could she follow out to their natural results\nthe tendencies which she could not but see. She preferred to think of\nit, as Will himself said, as a moral affair--a fault which would mend;\nand so laid her head on her pillow with a heart uneasy--but no more\nuneasy than was consistent with the full awakening of anxious yet\nhopeful life.\n\nAs for Will, he was asleep ten minutes after, and had forgotten all\nabout it. His heart _was_ in its right place, though he was plagued with\na very arrogant, troublesome, restless little head, and a greater amount\nof \"notions\" than are good for his age. He wanted to be at the helm of\naffairs, to direct everything--a task for which he felt himself\nsingularly competent; but, after all, it was for the benefit of other\npeople that he wanted to rule. It seemed to him that he could arrange\nfor everybody so much better than they could for themselves; and he\nwould have been liberal to Hugh, though he had a certain contempt for\nhis abilities. He would have given him occupation suited to him, and all\nthe indulgences which he was most fitted to appreciate: and he would\nhave made a kind of beneficent empress of his mother, and put her at the\nhead of all manner of benevolences, as other wise despots have been\nknown to do. But Will was the youngest, and nobody so much as asked his\nadvice, or took him into consideration; and the poor boy was thus thrown\nback upon his own superiority, and got to brood upon it, and scorn the\nweaker expedients with which other people sought to fill up the place\nwhich he alone was truly qualified to fill. Fortunately, however, he\nforgot all this as soon as he had fallen asleep.\n\nHugh had no such legislative views for his part. He was not given to\nspeculation. He meant to do his duty, and be a credit to everybody\nbelonging to him; but he was a great deal \"younger\" than his\nboy-brother, and it did not occur to him to separate himself in\nidea--even to do them good--from his own people. The future danced and\nglimmered before him, but it was a brightness without any theory in\nit--a thing full of spontaneous good-fortune and well-doing, with which\nhis own cleverness had nothing to do. Islay, for his part, thought very\nlittle about it. He was pleased for Hugh's sake, but as he had always\nlooked upon Hugh's good fortune as a certainty, the fact did not excite\nhim, and he was more interested about a tough problem he was working at,\nand which his uncle's visit had interrupted. It was a more agitated\nhousehold than it had been a few months before--ere the doors of the\nfuture had opened suddenly upon the lads; but there was still no\nagitation under the Cottage roof which was inconsistent with sweet rest\nand quiet sleep.\n\nIt made a dreadful difference in the house, as everybody said, when the\ntwo boys went away--Islay to Mr. Cramer's, the \"coach\" who was to\nprepare him for his examination, and Hugh to Earlston. The Cottage had\nalways been quiet, its inhabitants thought, but now it fell into a dead\ncalm, which was stifling and unearthly. Will, the only representative of\nyouth left among them, was graver than Aunt Agatha, and made no gay din,\nbut only noises of an irritating kind. He kicked his legs and feet\nabout, and the legs of all the chairs, and let his books fall, and\nknocked over the flower-stands--which were all exasperating sounds; but\nhe did not fill the house with snatches of song, with laughter, and the\npleasant evidence that a light heart was there. He used to \"read\" in his\nown room, with a diligence which was much stimulated by the conviction\nthat Mr. Small was very little ahead of him, and, to keep up his\nposition of instructor, must work hard, too; and, when this was over, he\nplanted himself in a corner of the drawing-room, in the great Indian\nchair, with a book, beguiling the two ladies into unconsciousness of his\npresence, and then interposing in their conversation in the most\ninconvenient way. This was Will's way of showing his appreciation of\nhis mother's society. He was not her right hand, like Hugh, nor did he\nwatch over her comfort in Islay's steady, noiseless way. But he liked to\nbe in the same room with her, to haunt the places where she was, to\ninterfere in what she was doing, and seize the most unfit moments for\nthe expression of his sentiments. With Aunt Agatha he was abrupt and\nindifferent, being insensible to all conventional delicacies; and he\ntook pleasure, or seemed to take pleasure, in contradicting Mrs.\nOchterlony, and going against all her conclusions and arguments; but he\npaid her the practical compliment of preferring her society, and keeping\nby her side.\n\nIt was while thus left alone, and with the excitement of this first\nchange fresh upon her, that Mrs. Ochterlony heard another piece of news\nwhich moved her greatly. It was that the regiment at Carlisle was about\nto leave, and that it was _Our_ regiment which was to take its place.\nShe thought she was sorry for the first moment. It was upon one of those\nquiet afternoons, just after the boys had left the Cottage, when the two\nladies were sitting in silence, not talking much, thinking how long it\nwas to post-time, and how strange it was that the welcome steps and\nvoices which used to invade the quiet so abruptly and so sweetly, were\nnow beyond hoping for. And the afternoon seemed to have grown so much\nlonger, now that there was no Hugh to burst in with news from the outer\nworld, no Islay to emerge from his problem. Will sat, as usual, in the\ngreat chair, but he was reading, and did not contribute to the\ncheerfulness of the party. And it was just then that Sir Edward came in,\ndoubly welcome, to talk of the absent lads, and ask for the last\nintelligence of them, and bring this startling piece of news. Mrs.\nOchterlony was aware that the regiment had finished its service in India\nlong ago, and there was, of course, no reason why it should not come to\nCarlisle, but it was not an idea which had ever occurred to her. She\nthought she was sorry for the first moment, and the news gave her an\nunquestionable shock; but, after all, it was not a shock of pain; her\nheart gave a leap, and kept on beating faster, as with a new stimulus.\nShe could think of nothing else all the evening. Even when the post\ncame, and the letters, and all the wonderful first impressions of the\ntwo new beginners in the world, this other thought returned as soon as\nit was possible for any thought to regain a footing. She began to feel\nas if the very sight of the uniform would be worth a pilgrimage; and\nthen there would be so many questions to ask, so many curiosities and\nyearnings to satisfy. She could not keep her mind from going out into\nendless speculations--how many would remain of her old friends?--how\nmany might have dropped out of the ranks, or exchanged, or retired, or\nbeen promoted?--how many new marriages there had been, and how many\nchildren?--little Emma Askell, for instance, how many babies she might\nhave now? Mary had kept up a desultory correspondence with some of the\nladies for a year or two, and even had continued for a long time to get\nserious letters from Mrs. Kirkman; but these correspondences had dropped\noff gradually, as is their nature, and the colonel's wife was not a\nwoman to enlarge on Emma Askell's babies, having matters much more\nimportant on hand.\n\nThis new opening of interest moved Mrs. Ochterlony in spite of herself.\nShe forgot all the painful associations, and looked forward to the\narrival of the regiment as an old sailor might look for the arrival of a\nsquadron on active service. Did the winds blow and the waves rise as\nthey used to do on those high seas from which they came? Though Mary had\nbeen so long becalmed, she remembered all about the conflicts and storms\nof that existence more vividly than she remembered what had passed\nyesterday, and she had a strange longing to know whether all that had\ndeparted from her own life existed still for her old friends. Between\nthe breaks of the tranquil conversation she felt herself continually\nrelapse into the regimental roll, always beginning again and always\nlosing the thread; recalling the names of the men and of their wives\nwhom she had been kind to once, and feeling as if they belonged to her,\nand as if something must be brought back to her by their return.\n\nThere was, however, little said about it all that evening, much as it\nwas in Mrs. Ochterlony's mind. When the letters had been discussed, the\nconversation languished. Summer had begun to wane, and the roses were\nover, and it began to be impracticable to keep the windows open all the\nlong evening. There was even a fire for the sake of cheerfulness--a\nlittle fire which blazed and crackled and made twice as much display as\nif it had been a serious winter fire and essential to existence--and all\nthe curtains were drawn except over the one window from which Sir\nEdward's light was visible. Aunt Agatha had grown more fanciful than\never about that window since Winnie's marriage. Even in winter the\nshutters were never closed there until Miss Seton herself went upstairs,\nand all the long night the friendly star of Sir Edward's lamp shone\nfaint but steady in the distance. In this way the hall and the cottage\nkept each other kindly company, and the thought pleased the old people,\nwho had been friends all their lives. Aunt Agatha sat by her favourite\ntable, with her own lamp burning softly and responding to Sir Edward's\nfar-off light, and she never raised her head without seeing it and\nthinking thoughts in which Sir Edward had but a small share. It was\ndarker than usual on this special night, and there were neither moon nor\nstars to diminish the importance of the domestic Pharos. Miss Seton\nlooked up, and her eyes lingered upon the blackness of the window and\nthe distant point of illumination, and she sighed as she often did. It\nwas a long time ago, and the boys had grown up in the meantime, and\nintruded much upon Aunt Agatha's affections; but still these interlopers\nhad not made her forget the especial child of her love.\n\n\"My poor dear Winnie!\" said the old lady. \"I sometimes almost fancy I\ncan see her coming in by that window. She was fond of seeing Sir\nEdward's light. Now that the dear boys are gone, and it is so quiet\nagain, does it not make you think sometimes of your darling sister,\nMary? If we could only hear as often from her as we hear from Islay and\nHugh----\"\n\n\"But it is not long since you had a letter,\" said Mary, who, to tell the\ntruth, had not been thinking much of her darling sister, and felt guilty\nwhen this appeal was made to her.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Aunt Agatha, with a sigh, \"and they are always such nice\nletters; but I am afraid I am very discontented, my dear love. I always\nwant to have something more. I was thinking some of your friends in the\nregiment could tell you, perhaps, about Edward. I never would say it to\nyou, for I knew that you had things of your own to think about; but for\na long time I have been very uneasy in my mind.\"\n\n\"But Winnie has not complained,\" said Mary, looking up unconsciously at\nSir Edward's window, and feeling as if it shone with a certain weird and\nunconscious light, like a living creature aware of all that was being\nsaid.\n\n\"She is not a girl ever to complain,\" said Aunt Agatha, proudly. \"She is\nmore like what I would have been myself, Mary, if I had ever been--in\nthe circumstances, you know. She would break her heart before she would\ncomplain. I think there is a good deal of difference, my dear, between\nyour nature and ours; and that was, perhaps, why you never quite\nunderstood my sweet Winnie. I am sure you are more reasonable; but you\nare not--not to call passionate, you know. It is a great deal better,\"\ncried Aunt Agatha, anxiously. \"You must not think I do not see that; but\nWinnie and I are a couple of fools that would do anything for love;\nand, rather than complain, I am sure she would die.\"\n\nMary did not say that Winnie had done what was a great deal more than\ncomplaining, and had set her husband before them in a very uncomfortable\nlight--and she took the verdict upon herself quietly, as a matter of\ncourse. \"Mr. Askell used to know him very well,\" she said; \"perhaps he\nknows something. But Edward Percival never was very popular, and you\nmust not quarrel with me if I bring you back a disagreeable report. I\nthink I will go into Carlisle as soon as they arrive--I should like to\nsee them all again.\"\n\n\"I should like to hear the truth whatever it is,\" said Aunt Agatha, \"but\nmy dear love, seeing them all will be a great trial for you.\"\n\nMary was silent, for she was thinking of other things: not merely of her\nhappy days, and the difference which would make such a meeting \"a great\ntrial;\" but of the one great vexation and mortification of her life, of\nwhich the regiment was aware--and whether the painful memory of it would\never return again to vex her. It had faded out of her recollection in\nthe long peacefulness and quiet of her life. Could it ever return again\nto shame and wound, as it had once done? From where she was sitting with\nher work, between the cheerful lamp and the bright little blazing fire,\nMary went away in an instant to the scene so distant and different, and\nwas kneeling again by her husband's side, a woman humbled, yet never\nbefore so indignantly, resentfully proud, in the little chapel of the\nstation. Would it ever come back again, that one blot on her life, with\nall its false, injurious suggestions? She said to herself \"No.\" No doubt\nit had died out of other people's minds as out of her own, and on\nKirtell-side nobody would have dared to doubt on such a subject; and now\nthat the family affairs were settled, and Hugh was established at\nEarlston, his uncle's acknowledged heir, this cloud, at least, could\nnever rise on her again to take the comfort out of her life. She\ndismissed the very thought of it from her mind, and her heart warmed to\nthe recollection of the old faces and the old ways. She had a kind of a\nlonging to see them, as if her life would be completer after. It was not\nas \"a great trial\" that Mary thought of it. She was too eager and\ncurious to know how they had all fared; and if, to some of them at\nleast, the old existence, so long broken up for herself, continued and\nflourished as of old.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\n\nIt was accordingly with a little excitement that when the regiment had\nactually arrived Mrs. Ochterlony set out for the neighbouring town to\nrenew her acquaintance with her old friends. It was winter by that time,\nand winter is seldom very gentle in Cumberland: but she was too much\ninterested to be detained by the weather. She had said nothing to\nWilfrid on the subject, and it startled her a little to find him\nstanding at the door waiting for her, carefully dressed, which was not\nusually a faculty of his, and evidently prepared to accompany her. When\nshe opened the Cottage door to go out, and saw him, an unaccountable\npanic seized her. There he stood in the sunshine,--not gay and\nthoughtless like his brother Hugh, nor preoccupied like Islay,--with his\nkeen eyes and sharp ears, and mind that seemed always to lie in wait for\nsomething. The recollection of the one thing which she did not want to\nbe known had come strongly to her mind once more at that particular\nmoment; a little tremor had run through her frame--a sense of\nhalf-painful, half-pleasant, excitement. When her eye fell on Wilfrid,\nshe went back a step unconsciously, and her heart for the moment seemed\nto stop beating. She wanted to bring her friends to Kirtell, to show\nthem her boys and make them acquainted with all her life; and probably,\nhad it been Hugh, he would have accompanied her as a matter of course.\nBut somehow Wilfrid was different. Without knowing what her reason was,\nshe felt reluctant to undergo the first questionings and reminiscences\nwith this keen spectator standing by to hear and see all, and to demand\nexplanation of matters which it might be difficult to explain.\n\n\"Did you mean to go with me, Will?\" she said. \"But you know we cannot\nleave Aunt Agatha all by herself. I wanted to see you to ask you to be\nas agreeable as possible while I am gone.\"\n\n\"I am never agreeable to Aunt Agatha,\" said Will; \"she always liked the\nothers best; and besides, she does not want me, and I am going to take\ncare of you.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Mary, with a smile; \"but I don't want you either for\nto-day. We shall have so many things to talk about--old affairs that you\nwould not understand.\"\n\n\"I like that sort of thing,\" said Will; \"I like listening to women's\ntalk--especially when it is about things I don't understand. It is\nalways something new.\"\n\nMary smiled, but there was something in his persistence that frightened\nher. \"My dear Will, I don't want you to-day,\" she said with a slight\nshiver, in spite of herself.\n\n\"Why, mamma?\" said Will, with open eyes.\n\nHe was not so well brought up as he ought to have been, as everybody\nwill perceive. He did not accept his mother's decision, and put away his\nSunday hat, and say no more about it. On the contrary, he looked with\nsuspicion (as she thought) at her, and kept his position--surprised and\nremonstrative, and not disposed to give in.\n\n\"Will,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony. \"I will not have you with me, and that\nmust be enough. These are all people whom I have not seen since you were\na baby. It may be a trial for us all to meet, for I don't know what may\nhave happened to them. I can speak of my affairs before you, for\nyou--know them all,\" Mary went on with a momentary faltering; \"but it is\nnot to be supposed that they could speak of theirs in the presence of a\nboy they do not know. Go now and amuse yourself, and don't do anything\nto frighten Aunt Agatha: and you can come and meet me by the evening\ntrain.\"\n\nBut she could not get rid of a sense of fear as she left him. He was not\nlike other boys, from whose mind a little contradiction passes away\nalmost as soon as it is spoken. He had that strange faculty of\nconnecting one thing with another, which is sometimes so valuable, and\nsometimes leads a lively intellect so much astray; and if ever he should\ncome to know that there was anything in his mother's history which she\nwished to keep concealed from him---- It was a foolish thought, but it\nwas not the less painful on that account. Mary had come to the end of\nher little journey before she got free from its influence. The united\nhousehold at the cottage was not rich enough to possess anything in the\nshape of a carriage, but they were near the railway, which served almost\nthe same purpose. It seemed to Mrs. Ochterlony as if the twelve\nintervening years were but a dream when she found herself in a\ndrawing-room which had already taken Mrs. Kirkman's imprint, and\nbreathed of her in every corner. It was not such a room, it is true, as\nthe hot Indian chamber in which Mary had last seen the colonel's wife.\nIt was one of the most respectable and sombre, as well as one of the\nbest of the houses which let themselves furnished, with an eye to the\nofficers. It had red curtains and red carpets, and blinds drawn more\nthan half way down; and there were two or three boxes, with a\nsignificant slit in the lid, distributed about the different tables. In\nthe centre of the round table before the fire there was a little trophy\nbuilt up of small Indian gods, which were no doubt English manufacture,\nbut which had been for a long time Mrs. Kirkman's text, and quite\ninvaluable to her as a proof of the heathen darkness, which was her\nfavourite subject; and at the foot of this ugly pyramid lay a little\nheap of pamphlets, reports of all the societies under heaven. Mary\nrecognised, too, as she sat and waited, the large brown-paper cover, in\nwhich she knew by experience Mrs. Kirkman's favourite tracts were\nenclosed; and the little basket which contained a smaller roll, and\nwhich had room besides occasionally for a little tea and sugar, when\ncircumstances made them necessary; and the book with limp boards, in\nwhich the Colonel's wife kept her list of names, with little\nbiographical comments opposite, which had once amused the subalterns so\nmuch when it fell into their hands. She had her sealed book besides,\nwith a Bramah lock, which was far too sacred to be revealed to profane\neyes; but yet, perhaps, she liked to tantalize profane eyes with the\nsight of its undiscoverable riches, for it lay on the table like the\nrest. This was how Mary saw at a glance that, whatever might have\nhappened to the others, Mrs. Kirkman at least was quite unchanged.\n\nShe came gliding into the room a minute after, so like herself that Mrs.\nOchterlony felt once more that time was not, and that her life had been\na dream. She folded her visitor in a silent embrace, and kissed her with\ninexpressible meaning, and fanned her cheeks with those two long locks\nhanging out of curl, which had been her characteristic embellishments\nsince ever any one remembered. The light hair was now a little grey, but\nthat made no difference to speak of either in colour or general aspect;\nand, so far as any other change went, those intervening years might\nnever have been.\n\n\"My dear Mary!\" she said at last. \"My dear friend! Oh, what a thought\nthat little as we deserve it, we should have been _both_ spared to meet\nagain!\"\n\nThere was an emphasis on the _both_ which it was very touching to hear;\nand Mary naturally could not but feel that the wonder and the\nthankfulness were chiefly on her own account.\n\n\"I am very glad to see you again,\" she said, feeling her heart yearn to\nher old friend--\"and so entirely unchanged.\"\n\n\"Oh, I hope not,\" said Mrs. Kirkman. \"I hope we have _both_ profited by\nour opportunities, and made some return for so many mercies. One great\nthing I have looked forward to ever since I knew we were coming here,\nwas the thought of seeing you again. You know I always considered you\none of my own little flock, dear Mary! one of those who would be my\ncrown of rejoicing. It is such a pleasure to have you again.\"\n\nAnd Mrs. Kirkman gave Mrs. Ochterlony another kiss, and thought of the\nwoman that was a sinner with a gush of sweet feeling in her heart.\n\nAs for Mary, she took it very quietly, having no inclination to be\naffronted or offended--but, on the contrary, a kind of satisfaction in\nfinding all as it used to be; the same thoughts and the same kind of\ntalk, and everything unchanged, while all with herself had changed so\nmuch. \"Thank you,\" she said; \"and now tell me about yourself and about\nthem all; the Heskeths and the Churchills, and all our old friends. I am\nthirsting to hear about them, and what changes there may have been, and\nhow many are here.\"\n\n\"Ah, my dear Mary, there have been many changes,\" said Mrs. Kirkman.\n\"Mrs. Churchill died years ago--did you not hear?--and in a very much\nmore prepared state of mind, I trust and hope; and he has a curacy\nsomewhere, and is bringing up the poor children--in his own pernicious\nviews, I sadly fear.\"\n\n\"Has he pernicious views?\" said Mary. \"Poor Mrs. Churchill--and yet one\ncould not have looked for anything else.\"\n\n\"Don't say poor,\" said Mrs. Kirkman. \"It is good for her to have been\ntaken away from the evil to come. He is very lax, and always was very\nlax. You know how little he was to be depended upon at the station, and\nhow much was thrown upon me, unworthy as I am, to do; and it is sad to\nthink of those poor dear children brought up in such opinions. They are\nvery poor, but that is nothing in comparison. Captain Hesketh retired\nwhen we came back to England. They went to their own place in the\ncountry, and they are very comfortable, I believe--too comfortable,\nMary. It makes them forget things that are so much more precious. And I\ndoubt if there is anybody to say a faithful word----\"\n\n\"She was very kind,\" said Mary, \"and good to everybody. I am very sorry\nthey are gone.\"\n\n\"Yes, she was kind,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, \"that kind of natural amiability\nwhich is such a delusion. And everything goes well with them,\" she\nadded, with a sigh: \"there is nothing to rouse them up. Oh, Mary, you\nremember what I said when your pride was brought low--anything is better\nthan being let alone.\"\n\nMrs. Ochterlony began to feel her old opposition stirring in her mind,\nbut she refrained heroically, and went on with her interrogatory. \"And\nthe doctor,\" she said, \"and the Askells?--they are still in the\nregiment. I want you to tell me where I can find Emma, and how things\nhave gone with her--poor child! but she ought not to be such a baby\nnow.\"\n\nMrs. Kirkman sighed. \"No, she ought not to be a baby,\" she said. \"I\nnever like to judge any one, and I would like you to form your own\nopinion, Mary. She too has little immortal souls committed to her; and\noh! it is sad to see how little people think of such a trust--whereas\nothers who would have given their whole souls to it---- But no doubt it\nis all for the best. I have not asked you yet how are your dear boys? I\nhope you are endeavouring to make them grow in grace. Oh, Mary, I hope\nyou have thought well over your responsibility. A mother has so much in\nher hands.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, quickly; \"but they are very good boys, and\nI have every reason to be content with them. Hugh is at Earlston, just\nnow, with his uncle. He is to succeed him, you know; and he is going to\nOxford directly, I believe. And Islay is going to Woolwich if he can\npass his examination. He is just the same long-headed boy he used to be.\nAnd Will--my baby; perhaps you remember what a little thing he was?--I\nthink he is going to be the genius of the family.\" Mary went on with a\nsimple effusiveness unusual to her, betrayed by the delight of talking\nabout her boys to some one who knew and yet did not know them. Perhaps\nshe forgot that her listener's interest could not possibly be so great\nas her own.\n\nMrs. Kirkman sat with her hands clasped on her knee, and she looked in\nMary's eyes with a glance which was meant to go to her soul--a mournful\ninquiring glance which, from under the dropped eyelids, seemed to fall\nas from an altitude of scarcely human compassion and solicitude. \"Oh,\ncall them not good,\" she said. \"Tell me what signs of awakening you have\nseen in their hearts. Dear Mary, do not neglect the one thing needful\nfor your precious boys. Think of their immortal souls. That is what\ninterests me much more than their worldly prospects. Do you think their\nhearts have been truly touched----\"\n\n\"I think God has been very kind to us all, and that they are good boys,\"\nsaid Mary; \"you know we don't think quite alike on some subjects; or, at\nleast, we don't express ourselves alike. I can see you do as much as\never among the men, and among the poor----\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, with a sigh; \"I feel unworthy of it, and the\nflesh is weak, and I would fain draw back; but it happens strangely that\nthere is always a very lukewarm ministry wherever we are placed, my\ndear. I would give anything in the world to be but a hearer of the word\nlike others; but yet woe is unto me if I neglect the work. This is some\none coming in now to speak with me on spiritual matters. I am at home to\nthem between two and three; but, my dear Mary, it is not necessary that\nyou, who have been in the position of an inquiring soul yourself, should\ngo away.\"\n\n\"I will come back again,\" said Mary, rising; \"and you will come to see\nme at Kirtell, will not you? It makes one forget how many years have\npassed to see you employed exactly as of old.\"\n\n\"Ah, we are all too apt to forget how the years pass,\" said Mrs.\nKirkman. She gave a nod of recognition to some women who came shyly in\nat the moment, and then she took Mary's hand and drew her a step aside.\n\"And nothing more has happened, Mary?\" she said; \"nothing has followed,\nand there is to be no inquiry or anything? I am very thankful, for your\nsake.\"\n\n\"Inquiry!\" said Mary, with momentary amazement. \"What kind of inquiry?\nwhat could have followed? I do not know what you mean!!\"\n\n\"I mean about--what gave us all so much pain--your marriage, Mary,\" said\nMrs. Kirkman. \"I hope there has been nothing about it again?\"\n\nThis was a very sharp trial for the superstition of old friendship in\nMrs. Ochterlony's heart, especially as the inquiring souls who had come\nto see Mrs. Kirkman were within hearing, and looked with a certain\nsubdued curiosity upon the visitor and the conversation. Mary's face\nflushed with a sudden burning, and indignation came to her aid; but even\nat that moment her strongest feeling was thankfulness that Wilfrid was\nnot there.\n\n\"I do not know what could have been about it,\" she said: \"I am among my\nown people here; my marriage was well known, and everything about it, in\nmy own place.\"\n\n\"You are angry, dear,\" said Mrs. Kirkman. \"Oh, don't encourage angry\nfeelings; you know I never made any difference; I never imagined it was\nyour fault. And I am so glad to hear it has made no unpleasantness with\nthe dear boys.\"\n\nPerhaps it was not with the same charity as at first that Mrs.\nOchterlony felt the long curls again fan her cheek, but still she\naccepted the farewell kiss. She had expected some ideal difference, some\nvisionary kind of elevation, which would leave the same individual, yet\na loftier kind of woman, in the place of her former friend. And what she\nhad found was a person quite unchanged--the same woman, harder in her\npeculiarities rather than softer, as is unfortunately the most usual\ncase. The Colonel's wife had the best meaning in the world, and she was\na good woman in her way; but not a dozen lives, let alone a dozen years,\ncould have given her the finer sense which must come by nature, nor even\nthat tolerance and sweetness of experience, which is a benefit which\nonly a few people in the world draw from the passage of years. Mary was\ndisappointed, but she acknowledged in her heart--having herself acquired\nthat gentleness of experience--that she had no right to be disappointed;\nand it was with a kind of smile at her own vain expectations that she\nwent in search of Emma Askell, her little friend of old--the impulsive\ngirl, who had amused her, and loved her, and worried her in former\ntimes. Young Askell was Captain now, and better off, it was to be hoped:\nbut yet they were not well enough off to be in a handsome house, or have\neverything proper about them, like the Colonel's wife. It was in the\noutskirts of the town that Mary had to seek them, in a house with a\nlittle bare garden in front, bare in its winter nakedness, with its\nlittle grass-plot trodden down by many feet, and showing all those marks\nof neglect and indifference which betray the stage at which poverty\nsinks into a muddle of discouragement and carelessness, and forgets\nappearances. It was a dirty little maid who opened the door, and the\nhouse was another very inferior specimen of the furnished house so well\nknown to all unsettled and wandering people. The chances are, that\ndelicate and orderly as Mrs. Ochterlony was by nature, the sombre\nshabbiness of the place would not have struck her in her younger days,\nwhen she, too, had to take her chance of furnished houses, and do her\nbest, as became a soldier's wife. And then poor little Emma had been\nmarried too early, and began her struggling, shifty life too soon, to\nknow anything about that delicate domestic order, which is half a\nreligion. Poor little Emma! she was as old now as Mary had been when she\ncame back to Kirtell with her boys, and it was difficult to form any\nimagination of what time might have done for her. Mrs. Ochterlony went\nup the narrow stairs with a sense of half-amused curiosity, guided not\nonly by the dirty little maid, but by the sound of a little voice crying\nin a lamentable, endless sort of way. It was a kind of cry which in\nitself told the story of the family--not violent, as if the result of a\nsudden injury or fit of passion, which there was somebody by to console\nor to punish, but the endless, tedious lamentation, which nobody took\nany particular notice of, or cared about.\n\nAnd this was the scene that met Mrs. Ochterlony's eyes when she entered\nthe room. She had sent the maid away and opened the door herself, for\nher heart was full. It was a shabby little room on the first floor, with\ncold windows opening down to the floor, and letting in the cold\nCumberland winds to chill the feet and aggravate the temper of the\ninhabitants. In the foreground sat a little girl with a baby sleeping on\nher knee, one little brother in front of her and another behind her\nchair, and that pretty air of being herself the domestic centre and\nchief mover of everything, which it is at once sweet and sad to see in a\nchild. This little woman neither saw nor heard the stranger at the door.\nShe had been hushing and rocking her baby, and, now that it had\npeaceably sunk to sleep, was about to hear her little brother's lesson,\nas it appeared; while at the same time addressing a word of remonstrance\nto the author of the cry, another small creature who sat rubbing her\neyes with two fat fists, upon the floor. Of all this group, the only one\naware of Mary's appearance was the little fellow behind his sister's\nchair, who lifted wondering eyes to the door, and stared and said\nnothing, after the manner of children. The little party was so complete\nin itself, and seemed to centre so naturally in the elder sister, that\nthe spectator felt no need to seek further. It was all new and unlooked\nfor, yet it was a kind of scene to go to the heart of a woman who had\nchildren of her own; and Mary stood and looked at the little ones, and\nat the child-mother in the midst of them, without even becoming aware of\nthe presence of the actual mother, who had been lying on a sofa, in a\ndetached and separate way, reading a book, which she now thrust under\nher pillow, as she raised herself on her cushions and gazed with\nwide-open eyes at her visitor, who did not see her. It was a woman very\nlittle like the pretty Emma of old times, with a hectic colour on her\ncheeks, her hair hanging loosely and disordered by lying down, and the\nabsorbed, half-awakened look, natural to a mind which had been suddenly\nroused up out of a novel into an actual emergency. The hushing of the\nbaby to sleep, the hearing of the lessons, the tedious crying of the\nlittle girl at her feet, had all gone on without disturbing Mrs. Askell.\nShe had been so entirely absorbed in one of Jane Eyre's successors and\nimitators (for that was the epoch of Jane Eyre in novels), and Nelly was\nso completely responsible for all that was going on, that the mother had\nnever even roused up to a sense of what was passing round her, until\nthe door opened and the stranger looked in with a face which was not a\nstranger's face.\n\n\"Good gracious!\" cried Mrs. Askell, springing up. \"Oh, my Madonna, can\nit be you? Are you sure it is you, you dear, you darling! Don't go\nlooking at the children as if they were the principal, but give me a\nkiss and say it is you,--say you are sure it is you!\"\n\nAnd the rapture of delight and welcome she went into, though it showed\nhow weak-minded and excitable she was, was in its way not disagreeable\nto Mary, and touched her heart. She gave the kiss she was asked for, and\nreceived a flood in return, and such embraces as nearly took her breath\naway; and then Nelly was summoned to take \"the things\" off an easy\nchair, the only one in the room, which stood near her mother's sofa.\nMary was still in Mrs. Askell's embrace when this command was given, but\nshe saw the girl gather up the baby in her arms, and moving softly not\nto disturb the little sleeper, collect the encumbering articles together\nand draw the chair forward. No one else moved or took any trouble. The\nbigger boy stood and watched behind his sister's chair, and the younger\none turned round to indulge in the same inspection, and little Emma took\nher fists out of her eyes. But there was nobody but the little woman\nwith the baby who could get for the guest the only comfortable chair.\n\n\"Now sit down and be comfortable, and let me look at you; I could be\ncontent just to look at you all day,\" said Emma. \"You are just as you\nalways were, and not a bit changed. It is because you have not had all\nour cares. I look a perfect fright, and as old as my grandmother, and I\nam no good for anything; but you are just the same as you used to be.\nOh, it is just like the old times, seeing you! I have been in such a\nstate, I did not know what to do with myself since ever I knew we were\ncoming here.\"\n\n\"But I do not think you are looking old, though you look delicate,\" said\nMary. \"Let me make acquaintance with the children. Nelly, you used to be\nin my arms as much as your mamma's when you were a baby. You are just\nthe same age as my Will, and you were the best baby that ever was. Tell\nme their names and how old they all are. You know they are all strangers\nto me.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said their mother, with a little fretfulness. \"It was such a\nmercy Nelly was the eldest. I never could have kept living if she had\nbeen a boy. I have been such a suffering creature, and we have been\nmoved about so much, and oh, we have had so much to do! You can't fancy\nwhat a life we have had,\" cried poor Emma; and the mere thought of it\nbrought tears to her eyes.\n\n\"Yes, I know it is a troublesome life,\" said Mary; \"but you are young,\nand you have your husband, and the children are all so well----\"\n\n\"Yes, the children are all well,\" said Emma; \"but then every new place\nthey come to, they take measles or something, and I am gone to a shadow\nbefore they are right again; and then the doctors' bills--I think\nCharley and Lucy and Emma have had _everything_,\" said the aggrieved\nmother; \"and they always take them so badly; and then Askell takes it\ninto his head it is damp linen or something, and thinks it is my fault.\nIt is bad enough when a woman is having her children,\" cried poor Emma,\n\"without all their illnesses, you know, and tempers and bills, and\neverything besides. Oh, Madonna! you are so well off. You live quiet,\nand you know nothing about all our cares.\"\n\n\"I think I would not mind the cares,\" said Mary; \"if you were quiet like\nme, you would not like it. You must come out to Kirtell for a little\nchange.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, with all my heart,\" said Emma. \"I think sometimes it would do\nme all the good in the world just to be out of the noise for a little,\nand where there was nothing to be found fault with. I should feel like a\ngirl again, my Madonna, if I could be with you.\"\n\n\"And Nelly must come too,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, looking down upon the\nlittle bright, anxious, careful face.\n\nNelly was thirteen--the same age as Wilfrid; but she was little, and\nladen with the care of which her mother talked. Her eyes were hazel\neyes, such as would have run over with gladness had they been left to\nnature, and her brown hair curled a little on her neck. She was uncared\nfor, badly dressed, and not old enough yet for the instinct that makes\nthe budding woman mindful of herself. But the care that made Emma's\ncheek hollow and her life a waste, looked sweet out of Nelly's eyes. The\nmother thought she bore it all, and cried and complained under it, while\nthe child took it on her shoulders unawares and carried it without any\ncomplaint. Her soft little face lighted up for a moment as Mary spoke,\nand then her look turned on the sleeping baby with that air half\ninfantile, half motherly, which makes a child's face like an angel's.\n\n\"I do not think I could go,\" she said; \"for the children are not used to\nthe new nurse; and it would make poor papa so uncomfortable; and then it\nwould do mamma so much more good to be quiet for a little without the\nchildren----\"\n\nMary rose up softly just then, and, to Nelly's great surprise, bent over\nher and kissed her. Nobody but such another woman could have told what a\nsense of envy and yearning was in Mary's heart as she did it. How she\nwould have surrounded with tenderness and love that little daughter who\nwas but a domestic slave to Emma Askell! and yet, if she had been Mary's\ndaughter, and surrounded by love and tenderness, she would not have been\nsuch a child. The little thing brightened and blushed, and looked up\nwith a gleam of sweet surprise in her eyes. \"Oh, thank you, Mrs.\nOchterlony,\" she said, in that sudden flush of pleasure; and the two\nrecognised each other in that moment, and knitted between them,\ndifferent as their ages were, that bond of everlasting friendship which\nis made oftener at sight than in any more cautious way.\n\n\"Come and sit by me,\" said Emma, \"or I shall be jealous of my own child.\nShe is a dear little thing, and so good with the others. Come and tell\nme about your boys. And, oh, please, just one word--we have so often\nspoken about it, and so often wondered. Tell me, dear Mrs. Ochterlony,\ndid it never do any harm?\"\n\n\"Did what never do any harm?\" asked Mary, with once more a sudden pang\nof thankfulness that Wilfrid was not there.\n\nMrs. Askell threw her arms round Mary's neck and kissed her and clasped\nher close. \"There never was any one like you,\" she said; \"you never even\nwould complain.\"\n\nThis second assault made Mary falter and recoil, in spite of herself.\nThey had not forgot, though she might have forgotten. And, what was even\nworse than words, as Emma spoke, the serious little woman-child, who had\nwon Mrs. Ochterlony's heart, raised her sweet eyes and looked with a\nmixture of wonder and understanding in Mary's face. The child whom she\nwould have liked to carry away and make her own--did she, too, know and\nwonder? There was a great deal of conversation after this--a great deal\nabout the Askells themselves, and a great deal about Winnie and her\nhusband, whom Mrs. Askell knew much more about than Mrs. Ochterlony did.\nBut it would be vain to say that anything she heard made as great an\nimpression upon Mary as the personal allusions which sent the blood\ntingling through her veins. She went home, at last, with that most\ngrateful sense of home which can only be fully realized by those who\nreturn from the encounter of an indifferent world, and from friends who,\nthough kind, are naturally disposed to regard everything from their own\npoint of view. It is sweet to have friends, and yet by times it is\nbitter. Fortunately for Mary, she had the warm circle of her own\nimmediate belongings to return into, and could retire, as it were, into\nher citadel, and there smile at all the world. Her boys gave her that\nsweetest youthful adoration which is better than the love of lovers, and\nno painful ghost lurked in their memory--or so, at least, Mrs.\nOchterlony thought.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n\nThe Cottage changed its aspect greatly after the arrival of the\nregiment, and it was a change which lasted a long time, for the depot\nwas established at Carlisle, and Captain Askell got an appointment which\nsmoothed the stony way of life a little for himself and his wife.\nKirtell was very accessible and very pretty, and there was always a\nwelcome to be had at the Cottage; and the regiment returned in the\ntwinkling of an eye to its old regard for its Madonna Mary. The officers\ncame about the house continually, to the great enlivenment of the parish\nin general. And Mrs. Kirkman came, and very soon made out that the vicar\nand his curate were both very incompetent, and did what she could to\nform a missionary nucleus, if not under Mrs. Ochterlony's wing, at least\nprotected by her shadow; and the little Askells came and luxuriated in\nthe grass and the flowers; and Miss Sorbette and the doctor, who were\nstill on the strength of the regiment, paid many visits, bringing with\nthem the new people whom Mary did not know. When Hugh and Islay came\nhome at vacation times, they found the house so lively, that it acquired\nnew attractions for them, and Aunt Agatha, who was not so old as to be\nquite indifferent to society, said to herself with natural sophistry,\nthat it was very good for the boys, and made them happier than two\nsolitary women could have done by themselves, which no doubt was true.\nAs for Mrs. Ochterlony herself, she said frankly that she was glad to\nsee her friends; she liked to receive them in her own house. She had\nbeen rather poor in India, and not able to entertain them very\nsplendidly; and though she was poor still, and the Cottage was a very\nmodest little dwelling-place, it could receive the visitors, and give\nthem pleasant welcome, and a pleasant meal, and pleasant faces, and\ncheerful companionship. Mrs. Ochterlony was not yet old, and she had\nlived a quiet life of late, so peaceful that the incipient wrinkles\nwhich life had outlined in her face, had been filled up and smoothed out\nby the quietness. She was in perfect health, and her eyes were bright,\nand her complexion sweet, and her hair still gave by time a golden gleam\nout of its brown masses.\n\nNo wonder then that her old friends saw little or no change in her, and\nthat her new ones admired her as much as she had ever been admired in\nher best days. Some women are sweet by means of being helpless, and\nfragile, and tender; and some have a loftier charm by reason of their\nveiled strength and composure, and calm of self-possession. Mary was one\nof the last; she was a woman not to lean, but to be leant upon; soft\nwith a touch like velvet, and yet as steady as a rock--a kind of beauty\nwhich wears long, and does not spoil even by growing old.\n\nIt was a state of affairs very agreeable to everybody in the place,\nexcept, perhaps, to Will, who was very jealous of his mother. Hugh and\nIslay when they came home took it all for granted, in an open-handed\nboyish way, and were no more afraid of anything Mrs. Ochterlony might\ndo, than for their own existence. But Will was always there. He haunted\nthe drawing-room, whoever might be in it at the moment; yet--though to\nAunt Agatha's consciousness, the boy was never absent from the big\nIndian chair in the corner--he was at the same time always ready to\npursue his curate to the very verge of that poor gentleman's knowledge,\nand give him all the excitement of a hairbreadth 'scape ten times in a\nmorning. Nobody could tell when he learned his lessons, or what time he\nhad for study--for there he was always, taking in everything, and making\ncomments in his own mind, and now and then interposing in the\nconversation to Aunt Agatha's indignation. Mary would not see it, she\nsaid; Mary thought that all her boys did was right--which was, perhaps,\nto some extent true; and it was said in the neighbourhood, as was\nnatural, that so many gentlemen did not come to the Cottage for nothing;\nthat Mrs. Ochterlony was still a young woman; that she had devoted\nherself to the boys for a long time, and that if she were to marry\nagain, nobody could have any right to object. Such reports spring up in\nthe country so easily, either with or without foundation; and Wilfrid,\nwho found out everything, heard them, and grew very watchful and\njealous, and even doubtful of his mother. Should such an idea have\nentered into _her_ head, the boy felt that he would despise her; and yet\nat the same time he was very fond of her and filled with unbounded\njealousy. While all the time, Mary herself was very glad to see her\nfriends, and, perhaps, was not entirely unconscious of exciting a\ncertain respectful admiration, but had as little idea of severing\nherself from her past life, and making a new fictitious beginning, as if\nshe had been eighty; and it never occurred to her to imagine that she\nwas watched or doubted by her boy.\n\nIt was a pleasant revival, but it had its drawbacks--for one thing, Aunt\nAgatha did not, as she said, get on with all Mary's friends. There was\nbetween Miss Seton and Mrs. Kirkman an enmity which was to the death.\nThe Colonel's wife, though she might be, as became her position, a good\nenough conservative in secular politics, was a revolutionary, or more\nthan a revolutionary, an iconoclast, in matters ecclesiastical. She had\nno respect for anything, Aunt Agatha thought. A woman who works under\nthe proper authorities, and reveres her clergyman, is a woman to be\nregarded with a certain respect, even if she is sometimes zealous out of\nseason; but when she sets up on her own foundation, and sighs over the\nshortcomings of the clergy, and believes in neither rector nor curate,\nthen the whole aspect of affairs is changed. \"She believes in nobody but\nherself,\" Aunt Agatha said; \"she has no respect for anything. I wonder\nhow you can put up with such a woman, Mary. She talks to our good vicar\nas if he were a boy at school--and tells him how to manage the parish.\nIf that is the kind of person you think a good woman, I have no wish to\nbe good, for my part. She is quite insufferable to me.\"\n\n\"She is often disagreeable,\" said Mary, \"but I am sure she is good at\nthe bottom of her heart.\"\n\n\"I don't know anything about the bottom of her heart,\" said Aunt Agatha;\n\"from all one can see of the surface, it must be a very unpleasant\nplace. And then that useless Mrs. Askell; she is quite strong enough to\ntalk to the gentlemen and amuse them, but as for taking a little pains\nto do her duty, or look after her children--I must say I am surprised at\nyour friends. A soldier's life is trying, I suppose,\" Miss Seton added.\n\"I have always heard it was trying; but the gentlemen should be the ones\nto feel it most, and they are not spoiled. The gentlemen are very\nnice--most of them,\" Aunt Agatha added with a little hesitation, for\nthere was one whom she regarded as Wilfrid did with jealous eyes.\n\n\"The gentlemen are further off, and we do not see them so clearly,\" said\nMary; \"and if you knew what it is to wander about, to have no settled\nhome, and to be ailing and poor----\"\n\n\"My dear love,\" said Aunt Agatha, with a little impatience, \"you might\nhave been as poor, and you never would have been like that; and as for\nsick---- You know I never thought you had a strong constitution--nor\nyour sister either--my pretty Winnie! Do you think that sickness, or\npoverty, or anything else, could ever have brought down Winnie to be\nlike that silly little woman?\"\n\n\"Hush,\" said Mary, \"Nelly is in the garden, and might hear.\"\n\n\"Nelly!\" said Aunt Agatha, who felt herself suddenly pulled up short. \"I\nhave nothing to say against Nelly, I am sure. I could not help thinking\nlast night, that some of these days she would make a nice wife for one\nof the boys. She is quite beginning to grow up now, poor dear. When I\nsee her sitting there it makes me think of my Winnie;--not that she will\never be beautiful like Winnie. But Mary, my dear love, I don't think you\nare kind to me. I am sure you must have heard a great deal about Winnie,\nespecially since she has come back to England, and you never tell me a\nword.\"\n\n\"My dear aunt,\" said Mary, with a little embarrassment, \"you see all\nthese people as much as I do; and I have heard them telling you what\nnews of her they know.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" said Aunt Agatha, with a sigh. \"They tell me she is here or\nthere, but I know that from her letters; what I want to know is,\nsomething about her, how she looks, and if she is happy. She never\n_says_ she is not happy, you know. Dear, dear! to think she must be past\nthirty now--two-and-thirty her last birthday--and she was only eighteen\nwhen she went away. You were not so long away, Mary----\"\n\n\"But Winnie has not had my reason for coming back upon your hands, Aunt\nAgatha,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, gravely.\n\n\"No,\" said Aunt Agatha: and again she sighed; and this time the sigh was\nof a kind which did not sound very complimentary to Captain Percival. It\nseemed to say \"More's the pity!\" Winnie had never come back to see the\nkind aunt who had been a mother to her. She said in her letters how\nunlucky she was, and that they were to be driven all round the world,\nshe thought, and never to have any rest; but no doubt, if Winnie had\nbeen very anxious, she might have found means to come home. And the\nyears were creeping on imperceptibly, and the boys growing up--even\nWill, who was now almost as tall as his brothers. When such a change had\ncome upon these children, what a change there must be in the wilful,\nsprightly, beautiful girl whose image reigned supreme in Aunt Agatha's\nheart. A sudden thought struck the old lady as she sighed. The little\nAskells were at Kirtell at the moment with the nurse, and Nelly, who was\nmore than ever the mother of the little party. Aunt Agatha sat still for\na little with her heart beating, and then she took up her work in a soft\nstealthy way, and went out into the garden. \"No, my dear, oh no, don't\ndisturb yourself,\" she said, with anxious deprecation to Mary, who would\nhave risen too, \"I am only going to look at the lilies,\" and she was so\nconscientious that she did go and cast an undiscerning, preoccupied\nglance upon the lilies, though her real attraction was quite in an\nopposite quarter. At the other side, audible but not visible, was a\nlittle group which was pretty to look at in the afternoon sunshine. It\nwas outside the garden, on the other side of the hedge, in the pretty\ngreen field, all white and yellow with buttercups and daisies, which\nbelonged to the Cottage. Miss Seton's mild cow had not been able to crop\ndown all that flowery fragrant growth, and the little Askells were\nwading in it, up to their knees in the cool sweet grass, and feeding\nupon it and drawing nourishment out of it almost as much as the cow did.\nBut in the corner close by the garden hedge there was a more advanced\ndevelopment of youthful existence. Nelly was seated on the grass,\nworking with all her might, yet pausing now and then to lift her serious\neyes to Will, who leant upon an old stump of oak which projected out of\nthe hedge, and had the conversation all in his own hands. He was doing\nwhat a boy under such circumstances loves to do; he was startling,\nshocking, frightening his companion. He was saying a great deal that he\nmeant and some things that he did not mean, and taking a great secret\npleasure in the widening of Nelly's eyes and the consternation of her\nface. Will had grown into a very long lank boy, with joints which were\nas awkward as his brother's used to be, yet not in the same way, for the\nlimbs that completed them were thin and meagre, and had not the vigour\nof Hugh's. His trousers were too short for him, and so were his sleeves.\nHis hair had no curls in it, and fell down over his forehead. He was\nnearly sixteen, and he was thoroughly discontented--a misanthrope,\ndispleased with everything without knowing why. But time had been kinder\nto Nelly, who was not long and lean like her companion, but little and\nround and blooming, with the soft outlines and the fresh bloom of\nearliest youth just emerging out of childhood. Her eyes were brown, very\nserious, and sweet--eyes that had \"seen trouble,\" and knew a great many\nmore things in the world than were dreamt of in Will's philosophy: but\nthen she was not so clever as Will, and his talk confused her. She was\nlooking up to him and taking all in with a mixture of willing faith and\ninstinctive scepticism which it was curious to see.\n\n\"You two are always together, I think,\" said Aunt Agatha, putting down a\nlittle camp-stool she had in her hand beside Nelly--for she had passed\nthe age when people think of sitting on the grass. \"What are you talking\nabout? I suppose he brings all his troubles to you.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said Nelly, with a blush, which was on Aunt Agatha's account,\nand not on Will's. He was a little older than herself actually; but\nNelly was an experienced woman, and could not but look down amiably on\nsuch an unexercised inhabitant of the world as \"only a boy.\"\n\n\"Then I suppose, my dear, he must talk to you about Greek and Latin,\"\nsaid Aunt Agatha, \"which is a thing young ladies don't much care for: I\nam very sure old ladies don't. Is that what you talk about?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, often,\" said Nelly, brightening, as she looked at Will. That\nwas not the sort of talk they had been having, but still it was true.\n\n\"Well,\" said Miss Seton, \"I am sure he will go on talking as long as you\nwill listen to him. But he must not have you all to himself. Did he tell\nyou Hugh was coming home to see us? We expect him next week.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Nelly, who was not much of a talker. And then, being a\nlittle ashamed of her taciturnity, she added, \"I am sure Mrs. Ochterlony\nwill be glad.\"\n\n\"We shall all be glad,\" said Aunt Agatha. \"Hugh is very nice. We must\nhave you to see a little more of him this time; I am sure you would like\nhim. Then you will be well acquainted with all our family,\" the old lady\ncontinued, artfully approaching her real object; \"for you know my dear\nWinnie, I think--I ought to say, Mrs. Percival; she is the dearest girl\nthat ever was. You must have met her, my dear---- abroad.\"\n\nNelly looked up a little surprised. \"We knew Mrs. Percival,\" she said,\n\"but she---- was not a girl at all. She was as old--as old as\nmamma--like all the other ladies,\" she added, hastily; for the word girl\nhad limited meanings to Nelly, and she would have laughed at its\napplication in such a case, if she had not been a natural gentlewoman\nwith the finest manners in the world.\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" said Aunt Agatha, with a sigh, \"I forget how time goes; and\nshe will always be a girl to me: but she was very beautiful, all the\nsame; and she had such a way with children. Were you fond of her, Nelly?\nBecause, if that were so, I should love you more and more.\"\n\nNelly looked up with a frightened, puzzled look in Aunt Agatha's eyes.\nShe was very soft-hearted, and had been used to give in to other people\nall her life; and she almost felt as if, for Aunt Agatha's sake, she\ncould persuade herself that she had been fond of Mrs. Percival; but yet\nat the same time honesty went above all. \"I do not think we knew them\nvery well,\" she said. \"I don't think mamma was very intimate with Mrs.\nPercival; that is, I don't think papa liked _him_,\" added Nelly, with\nnatural art.\n\nAunt Agatha gave another sigh. \"That might be, my dear,\" she said, with\na little sadness; \"but even when gentlemen don't take to each other, it\nis a great pity when it acts upon their families. Some of our friends\nhere even were not fond at first of Captain Percival, but for my darling\nWinnie's sake---- You must have seen her often at least; I wonder I\nnever thought of asking you before. She was so beautiful, with such\nlovely hair, and the sweetest complexion. Was she looking well--and--and\nhappy?\" asked Aunt Agatha, growing anxious as she spoke, and looking\ninto Nelly's face.\n\nIt was rather hard upon Nelly, who was one of those true women, young as\nshe was, who can see what other women mean when they put such questions,\nand hear the heart beat under the words. Nelly had heard a great deal of\ntalk in her day, and knew things about Mrs. Percival that would have\nmade Aunt Agatha's hair stand on end with horror. But her heart\nunderstood the other heart, and could not have breathed a whisper that\nwould wound it, for the world.\n\n\"I was such a little thing,\" said Nelly; \"and then I always had the\nlittle ones to look after--mamma was so delicate. I remember the\npeople's names more than themselves.\"\n\n\"You have always been a very good girl, I am sure,\" said Aunt Agatha,\ngiving her young companion a sudden kiss, and with perhaps a faint\ninstinctive sense of Nelly's forbearance and womanful skill in avoiding\na difficult subject; but she sighed once more as she did it, and\nwondered to herself whether nobody would ever speak to her freely and\nfully of her child. And silence ensued, for she had not the heart to ask\nmore questions. Will, who had not found the conversation amusing, had\ngone in to find his mother, with a feeling that it was not quite safe to\nleave her alone, which had something to do with his frequent presence in\nthe drawing room; so that the old lady and Nelly were left alone in the\ncorner of the fragrant field. The girl went on with her work, but Aunt\nAgatha, who was seated on her camp-stool, with her back against the oak\nstump, let her knitting fall upon her knee, and her eyes wander into\nvacancy with a wistful look of abstraction that was not natural to them.\nNelly, who did not know what to say, and yet would have given a great\ndeal to be able to say something, watched her from under the shadow of\nher curls, and at last saw Miss Seton's abstract eyes brighten up and\nwake into attention and life. Nelly looked round, and her impulse was to\njump up in alarm when she saw it was her own mother who was\napproaching--her mother, whom Nelly had a kind of adoration for as a\ncreature of divine helplessness, for whom everything had to be done, but\nin whose judgment she had an instinctive want of confidence. She jumped\nup and called to the children on the spur of this sudden impulse: \"Oh!\nhere is mamma, we must go in,\" cried Nelly; and it gave her positive\npain to see that Miss Seton's attitude remained unchanged, and that she\nhad no intention of being disturbed by Mrs. Askell's approach.\n\n\"Oh how deliciously comfortable you are here,\" cried Emma, throwing\nherself down on the grass. \"I came out to have a little fresh air and\nsee after those tiresome children. I am sure they have been teasing you\nall day long; Nelly is not half severe enough, and nurse spoils them;\nand after a day in the open air like this, they make my head like to\nsplit when they come home at night.\"\n\n\"They have not been teasing me,\" said Aunt Agatha; \"they have been very\ngood, and I have been sitting here for a long time talking to Nelly. I\nwanted her to tell me something about my dear child, Mary's own\nsister--Mrs. Percival, you know.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Mrs. Askell, making a troubled pause,--\"and I hope to\ngoodness you did not tell Miss Seton anything that was unpleasant,\" she\nsaid sharply, turning to Nelly. \"You must not mind anything she said,\"\nthe foolish little woman added; \"she was only a child and she did not\nknow. You should have asked me.\"\n\n\"What could there be that was not pleasant?\" cried Aunt Agatha. \"If\nthere is anything unpleasant that can be said about my Winnie, that is\nprecisely what I ought to hear.\"\n\n\"Mamma!\" cried Nelly, in what was intended to be a whisper of warning,\nthough her anxiety made it shrill and audible. But Emma was not a woman\nto be kept back.\n\n\"Goodness, child, you have pulled my dress out of the gathers,\" she\nsaid. \"Do you think _I_ don't know what I am talking about? When I say\nunpleasant, I am sure I don't mean anything serious; I mean only, you\nknow, that---- and then her husband is such a man--I am sure I don't\nwonder at it, for my part.\"\n\n\"What is it your mamma does not wonder at, Nelly?\" said Aunt Agatha, who\nhad turned white and cold, and leaned back all feeble and broken upon\nthe old tree.\n\n\"Her husband neglected her shamefully,\" said Emma; \"it was a great sin\nfor her friends to let her marry him; I am sure Mrs. Ochterlony knew\nwhat a dreadful character he had. And, poor thing, when she found\nherself so deserted---- Askell would never let me see much of her, and I\nhad always such wretched health; but I always stood up for Mrs.\nPercival. She was young, and she had nobody to stand by her----\"\n\n\"Oh, mamma,\" cried Nelly, \"don't you see what you are doing? I think she\nis going to faint--and it will be all our fault.\"\n\n\"Oh, no; I am not going to faint,\" said Aunt Agatha, feebly; but when\nshe laid back her head upon Nelly's shoulder, who had come to support\nher, and closed her eyes, she was like death, so pale did she look and\nghastly; and then Mrs. Askell in her turn took fright.\n\n\"Goodness gracious! run and get some water, Will,\" she cried to Wilfrid,\nwho had rejoined them. \"I am sure there was nothing in what I said to\nmake anybody faint. She was talked about a little, that was all--there\nwas no harm in it. We have all been talked about, sometime or other.\nWhy, fancy what a talk there was about our Madonna, her very self.\"\n\n\"About my mother?\" said Wilfrid, standing bolt upright between Aunt\nAgatha, in her half swoon, and silly little Emma, who sat, a heap of\nmuslin and ribbons, upon the grass. He had managed to hear more about\nMrs. Percival than anybody knew, and was very indifferent on the\nsubject. And he was not alarmed about Aunt Agatha; but he was jealous of\nhis mother, and could not bear even the smallest whisper in which there\nwas any allusion to her.\n\n\"Goodness, boy, run and get some water!\" cried Mrs. Askell, jumping up\nfrom the grass in her fright. \"I did not mean anything; there was\nnothing to be put out about--indeed there was not, Miss Seton. It was\nonly a little silly talk; what happens to us all, you know: not half,\nnor quarter so bad as---- Oh, goodness gracious, Nelly, don't make those\nridiculous signs, as if it was you that was my mother, and I did not\nknow what to say.\"\n\n\"Will!\" said Nelly. Her voice was perfectly quiet and steady, but it\nmade him start as he stood there jealous, and curious, and careless of\neverybody else. When he met her eye, he grew red and frowned, and made\na momentary stand against her; but the next moment turned resolutely and\nwent away. If it was for water, Aunt Agatha did not need it. She came to\nherself without any restorative; and she kissed Nelly, who had been\nwhispering in her ear. \"Yes, my dear, I know you are right--it could\nhave been nothing,\" she said faintly, with a wan sort of smile; \"but I\nam not very strong, and the heat, you know----\" And when she got up, she\ntook the girl's arm, to steady her. Thus they went back to the house,\nMrs. Askell following, holding up her hands in amazement and\nself-justification. \"Could I tell that she was so weak?\" Emma said to\nherself. \"Goodness gracious, how could anybody say it was my fault?\" As\nfor Nelly, she said nothing; but supported her trembling companion, and\nheld the soft old hand firm on her arm. And when they approached the\nhouse, Nelly, carried away by her feelings, did, what in full possession\nof herself she never would have done. She bent down to Aunt Agatha's\near--for though she was not tall, she was a little taller at that moment\nthan the poor old lady who was bowed down with weakness and the blow she\nhad just received. \"Mamma says things without meaning them,\" said Nelly,\nwith an undutiful frankness, which it is to be hoped was forgiven her.\n\"She does not mean any harm, and sometimes she says whatever comes into\nher head.\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear, your mamma is a very silly little woman,\" said Aunt\nAgatha, with a little of her old spirit; and she gave Nelly, who was\nnaturally much startled by this unexpected vivacity, a kiss as she\nreached the door of her room and left her. The door closed, and the girl\nhad no pretext nor right to follow. She turned away feeling as if she\nhad received a sudden prick which had stimulated all the blood in her\nveins, but yet yearning in her good little heart over Aunt Agatha who\nwas alone. Miss Seton's room, to which she had retired, was on the\nground floor, as were all the sitting-rooms in the house, and Nelly, as\nshe turned away, suddenly met Wilfrid, and came to a stand-still before\nhim looking him severely in the face.\n\n\"I say, Nell!\" said Will.\n\n\"And I say, Will!\" said Nelly. \"I will never like you nor care for you\nany more. You are a shocking, selfish, disagreeable prig. To stand there\nand never mind when poor Aunt Agatha was fainting--all for the sake of a\npiece of gossip. I don't want ever to speak to you again.\"\n\n\"It was not a piece of gossip,--it was something about my mother,\" said\nWill, in self-defence.\n\n\"And what if it were fifty times about your mother?\" cried\nNelly,--\"what right had you to stand and listen when there was something\nto do? Oh, I am so ashamed! and after talking to you so much and\nthinking you were not so bad----\"\n\n\"Nelly,\" said Wilfrid, \"when there is anything said about my mother, I\nhave always a right to listen what it is----\"\n\n\"Well, then, go and listen,\" said Nelly, with indignation, \"at the\nkeyhole if you like; but don't come afterwards and talk to me. There,\ngood-bye, I am going to the children. Mamma is in the drawing-room, and\nif you like to go there I dare say you will hear a great many things; I\ndon't care for gossip myself, so I may as well bid you good-bye.\"\n\nAnd she went out by the open door with fine youthful majesty, leaving\npoor Will in a very doubtful state of mind behind her. He knew that in\nthis particular Nelly did not understand him, and perhaps was not\ncapable of sympathizing in the jealous watch he kept over his mother.\nBut still Nelly was pleasant to look at and pleasant to talk to, and he\ndid not want to be cast off by her. He stood and hesitated for a\nmoment--but he could see the sun shining at the open door, and hear the\nriver, and the birds, and the sound of Nelly's step--and the end was\nthat he went after her, there being nothing in the present crisis, as\nfar as he could see, to justify a stern adoption of duty rather than\npleasure; and there was nobody in the world but Nelly, as he had often\nexplained to himself, by whom, when he talked, he stood the least chance\nof being understood.\n\nThis was how the new generation settled the matter. As for Aunt Agatha\nshe cried over it in the solitude of her chamber, but by-and-by\nrecovered too, thinking that after all it was only that silly woman. And\nshe wrote an anxious note to Mrs. Percival, begging her now she was in\nEngland to come and see them at the Cottage. \"I am getting old, my dear\nlove, and I may not be long for this world, and you must let me see you\nbefore I die,\" Aunt Agatha said. She thought she felt weaker than usual\nafter her agitation, and regarded this sentence, which was in a high\ndegree effective and sensational, with some pride. She felt sure that\nsuch a thought would go to her Winnie's heart.\n\nAnd so the Cottage lapsed once more into tranquillity, and into that\nsense that everything _must_ go well which comes natural to the mind\nafter a long interval of peace.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\n\n\"I like all your people, mamma,\" said Hugh, \"and I like little Nelly\nbest of all. She is a little jewel, and as fresh as a little rose.\"\n\n\"And such a thing might happen as that she might make you a nice little\nwife one of these days,\" said Aunt Agatha, who was always a match-maker\nin her heart.\n\nUpon which Hugh nodded and laughed and grew slightly red, as became his\nyears. \"I had always the greatest confidence in your good sense, my dear\nAunt,\" he said in his laughing way, and never so much as thought of\nWilfrid in the big Indian chair, who had been Nelly's constant companion\nfor at least one long year.\n\n\"I should like to know what business he has with Nelly,\" said Will\nbetween his teeth. \"A great hulking fellow, old enough to be her\nfather.\"\n\n\"She would never have _you_, Will,\" said Hugh, laughing; \"girls always\ndespise a fellow of their own age. So you need not look sulky, old boy.\nFor that matter I doubt very much if she'd have me.\"\n\n\"You are presumptuous boys,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, \"to think she would\nhave either of you. She has too much to do at home, and too many things\nto think of. _I_ should like to have her all to myself,\" said Mary, with\na sigh. She sighed, but she smiled; for though her boys could not be\nwith her as Nelly might have been, still all was well with them, and the\nheart of their mother was content.\n\n\"My uncle wants you all to come over to Earlston,\" said Hugh. \"I think\nthe poor old boy is beginning to give in. He looks very shaky in the\nmorning when he comes downstairs. I'd like to know what you think of\nhim, mamma; I don't think his wanting to see you all is a good sign.\nHe's awfully good when you come to know him,\" said Hugh, clearing his\nthroat.\n\n\"Do you mean that Francis Ochterlony is ill?\" said Aunt Agatha, with\nsudden interest. \"Your mother must go and see him, but you must not ask\nme; I am an old woman, and I have old-fashioned notions, you know--but a\nmarried lady can go anywhere. Besides he would not care for seeing me,\"\nAunt Agatha added, with a slightly-wistful look, \"it is so very--very\nmany years since we used to----\"\n\n\"I know he wants to see you,\" said Hugh, who could not help laughing a\nlittle; \"and with so many people in the house I think you might risk it,\nAunt Agatha. He stands awfully in awe of you, I can tell you. And there\nare to be a lot of people. It's a kind of coming of age affair,\" said\nHugh. \"I am to be set up on Psyche's pedestal, and everybody is to look\nat me and sing out, 'Behold the heir!' That's the sort of thing it's to\nbe. You can bring anybody you like, you two ladies--little Nelly Askell,\nand all that sort of thing,\" he added, with a conscious laugh; and grew\nred again, not at thought of Nelly Askell, but with the thrill which\n\"all that sort of thing\" naturally brought into the young man's veins.\n\nThe face of Wilfrid grew darker and darker as he sat and listened. It\nwas not a precocious passion for Nelly Askell that moved him. If Nelly\nhad been his sister, his heart might still have swelled with a very\nsimilar sentiment. \"He'll have _her_ too,\" was what the boy said to\nhimself. There was no sort of justice or distribution in it; Hugh was\nthe lucky fellow who had everything, while no personal appropriation\nwhatever was to be permitted to Wilfrid. He could not engross his mother\nas he would have liked to do, for she loved Hugh and Islay just as well\nas she loved himself, and had friends and acquaintances, and people who\ncame and talked, and occupied her time, and even one who was supposed to\nhave the audacity to admire her. And there was no one else to supply the\nimperious necessity which existed in Will's mind, to be the chief object\nof somebody's thoughts. His curate had a certain awe of him, which was\nsatisfactory enough in its way; but nobody watched and worshipped poor\nWill, or did anything more than love him in a reasonable unadoring way;\nand he had no sister whom he could make his slave, nor humble friend to\nwhom he could be the centre of interest. Nelly's coming had been a\nGod-send to the boy. She had found out his discontent, and taken to\ncomforting him instinctively, and had been introduced into a world new\nto her by means of his fancies: and the budding woman had regarded the\nbudding man with that curiosity, and wonder, and respect, and interest,\nwhich exists by nature between the two representatives of humanity. And\nnow here was Hugh, who, not content with being an Oxford scholar, and\nthe heir of Earlston, and his mother's eldest son, and Sir Edward's\nfavourite, and the most interesting member of the family to the parish\nin general, was about to seize on Nelly too. Will, though he was perhaps\nof a jealous temper, was not mean or envious, nor did he grudge his\nbrother his elevation. But he thought it hard that all should go to one,\nand that there should be no shares: if he had had the arranging of it,\nit would have been otherwise arranged; Hugh should still have had\nEarlston, and any other advantages suited to his capacity--but as for\nOxford and Nelly---- It was unfair--that was the sting; all to one, and\nnothing to the other. This sentiment made Wilfrid very unwilling to\naccompany the rest of the family to Earlston. He did not want to go and\nsurvey all the particulars of Hugh's good-fortune, and to make sure once\nagain, as he had already so often decided, that Hugh's capacities were\ninferior to his luck, and that it was really of little advantage to him\nto be so well off. But Will's inclinations, as it happened, were not\nconsulted on the subject; the expedition was all settled without any\nroom being left for his protest. Aunt Agatha was to go, though she had\nvery little desire to do so, being coy about Mr. Ochterlony's house, and\neven not too well pleased to think that coyness was absurd in her case,\nand that she was old enough to go to anybody's house, and indeed do what\nshe pleased. And Sir Edward was going, who was older than any of them,\nand was still inclined to believe that Francis Ochterlony and Agatha\nSeton might make it up; and then, though Mrs. Askell objected greatly,\nand could not tell what she was to do with the children, and limited the\nexpedition absolutely to two days, Nelly was going too. Thus Will had to\ngive in, and withdraw his opposition. It was, as Hugh said, \"a coming of\nage sort of affair,\" but it was not precisely a coming of age, for that\nimportant event had taken place some time before, when Hugh, whose\nambition was literary, had been working like a coal-heaver to take his\ndegree, and had managed to take it and please his uncle. But there was\nto be a great dinner to introduce the heir of Earlston to his country\nneighbours, and everything was to be conducted with as much solemnity as\nif it had been the heir-apparent's birthday. It was so great an\noccasion, that Mrs. Ochterlony got a new dress, and Aunt Agatha brought\nforth among the sprigs of lavender her silver-grey which she wore at\nWinnie's marriage. It was not Hugh's marriage, but it was an event\nalmost as important; and if his own people did not try to do him credit,\nwhat was to be expected of the rest of the world?\n\nAnd for Nelly Askell it was a very important crisis. She was sixteen,\nbut up to this moment she had never had a dress \"made long,\" and the\nexcitement of coming to this grandeur, and of finding Hugh Ochterlony by\nher side, full of unspeakable politeness, was almost too much for Nelly;\nthe latter complication was something she did not quite understand.\nWill, for his part, carried things with a high hand, and behaved to her\nas a brother behaves to the sister whom he tyrannizes over. It is true\nthat she sometimes tyrannized over him in her turn, as has been seen,\nbut they did not think it necessary to be civil, nor did either of them\nrestrain their personal sentiments in case anything occurred they\ndisapproved of. But Hugh was altogether different--Hugh was one of \"the\ngentlemen;\" he was grown up, he had been to the University, he rode, and\nshot, and hunted, and did everything that the gentlemen are expected to\ndo--and he lowered his voice when he spoke to Nelly, and schemed to get\nnear her, and took bouquets from the Cottage garden which were not\nintended for Mrs. Askell. Altogether, he was like the hero of a story to\nNelly, and he made her feel as if she, just that very moment as it were,\ntranslated into a long dress, was a young lady in a story too. Will was\nher friend and companion, but this was something quite different from\nWill; and to be taken to see his castle, and his guardian, and his\nfuture domains, and assist at the recognition of the young prince, was\nbut the natural continuation of the romance. Nelly's new long dresses\nwere only muslin, but they helped out the force of the situation, and\nintensified that vague thrill of commencing womanhood and power\nundreamed of, which Hugh's presence had helped to produce. Could it be\npossible that she could forget the children, and her mamma's head which\nwas always so bad, and go off for two whole days from her duty? Mrs.\nAskell could scarcely believe it, and Nelly felt guilty when she\nrealized the dreadful thought, but still she wanted to go; and she had\nno patience with Will's objections, but treated them with summary\nincivility. \"Why shouldn't you like to go?\" said Nelly, \"you would like\nit very much if you were your brother. And I would not be jealous like\nyou, not for all the world;\" and then Nelly added, \"it is not because it\nis a party that I care for it, but because it is such a pleasure to dear\nMrs. Ochterlony, and to--Mr. Hugh----\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, I knew you would go over to Hugh's side,\" said Will; \"I said\nso the very day he came here.\"\n\n\"Why should I go over to his side?\" cried Nelly, indignantly; \"but I am\npleased to see people happy; and I am Mr. Hugh's friend, just as I am\nyour friend,\" added the little woman, with dignity; \"it is all for dear\nMrs. Ochterlony's sake.\"\n\nThus it was that the new generation stepped in and took up all the\nforeground of the stage, just as Winnie and her love affairs had done,\nwho was of the intermediate generation--thrusting the people whose play\nwas played out, and their personal story over, into the background.\nMary, perhaps, had not seen how natural it was, when her sister was the\nheroine; but when she began to suspect that the everlasting romance\nmight, perhaps, begin again under her very eyes, with her children for\nthe actors, it gave her a sweet shock of surprise and amusement. She had\nbeen in the shade for a long time, and yet she had still been the\ncentral figure, and had everything in her hands. What if, now, perhaps,\nAunt Agatha's prophecy should come true, and Hugh, whose future was now\nsecure, should find the little waif all ready for him at the very outset\nof his career? Such a possibility gave his mother, who had not yet\narrived at the age which can consent to be passive and superannuated, a\ncurious thrill--but still it might be a desirable event. When Mary saw\nher son hanging over the fair young creature, whom she had coveted to be\nher daughter, a true perception of what her own future must be came over\nher. The boys _must_ go away, and would probably marry and set up\nhouseholds, and the mother who had given up the best part of her life to\nthem _must_ remain alone. She was glad, and yet it went with a curious\npenetrating pang to her heart. Some women might have been jealous of the\ngirl who had first revealed this possibility to them; but Mary, for her\npart, knew better, and saw that it was Nature and not Nelly that was to\nblame; and she was not a woman to go in the face of Nature. \"Hugh will\nmarry early,\" she said to Aunt Agatha, with a smile; but her heart gave\na little flutter in her breast as she said it, and saw how natural it\nwas. Islay was gone already, and very soon Will would have to go; and\nthere would be no more for their mother to do but to live on, with her\noccupation over, and her personal history at an end. The best thing to\ndo was to make up her mind to it. There was a little moisture in her\neyes as she smiled upon Nelly the night before they set out for\nEarlston. The girl had to spend the previous night at the Cottage, to be\nready for their start next day; and Mrs. Ochterlony smiled upon and\nkissed her, with a mingled yearning and revulsion. Ah, if she had but\nbeen her own--that woman-child! and yet it required a little effort to\naccept her for her own, at the cost, as it were, of her boy--for women\nare inconsistent, especially when they are women who have children. But\none thing, at least, Mary was sure about, and that was, that her own\nshare of the world would henceforward be very slight. Nothing would ever\nhappen to her individually. Perhaps she regretted the agitations and\ncommotions of life, and felt as if she would prefer still to endure\nthem, and feel herself something in the world; but that was all over;\nWill _must_ go. Islay was gone. Hugh would marry; and Mary's remaining\nyears would flow on by necessity like the Kirtell, until some day they\nwould come to a noiseless end. She said to herself that she ought to\naccept, and make up her mind to it; that boys must go out into the\nworld, and quit the parent nest; and that she ought to be very thankful\nfor the calm and secure provision which had been made for the rest of\nher life.\n\nAnd next morning they started for Earlston, on the whole a very cheerful\nparty. Nelly was so happy, that it did every one's heart good to see\nher; and she had given Will what she called \"such a talking to,\" that he\nwas as good as gold, and made no unpleasant remarks. And Sir Edward was\nvery suave and benign, though full of recollections which confused and\nembarrassed Aunt Agatha. \"I remember travelling along this same road\nwhen we still thought it could be all arranged,\" he said; \"and thinking\nwhat a long way it would be to have to go to Earlston to see you; but\nthere was no railroad then, and everything is very much changed.\"\n\n\"Yes, everything,\" said Aunt Agatha; and then she talked about the\nweather in a tremulous way. Sir Edward would not have spoken as he did,\nif he had not thought that even yet the two old lovers might make it up,\nwhich naturally made it very confusing for Aunt Agatha to be the one to\ngo to Earlston, and make, as it were, the first advances. She felt just\nthe same heart thumping a little against her breast, and her white hair\nand soft faded cheek could not be supposed to be so constantly visible\nto her as they were to everybody else; and if Francis Ochterlony were to\ntake it into his head to imagine----For Miss Seton, though nothing would\nhave induced her to marry at her age, was not so certainly secure as her\nniece was that nothing now would ever happen in her individual life.\n\nNothing did happen, however, when they arrived at Earlston, where the\nmaster of the house received them, not with open arms, which was not his\nnature, but with all the enthusiasm he was capable of. He took them to\nsee all his collections, everything he had that was most costly and\nrare. To go back to the house in this way, and see the scene of her\nformer tortures; tortures which looked so light to look back upon, and\nwere so amusing to think of, but which had been all but unbearable at\nthe time, was strange to Mary. She told the story of her miseries, and\nthey all laughed; but Mr. Ochterlony was still seen to change colour,\nwhen she pointed out the Etruscan vase which Hugh had taken into his\nhand, and the rococo chair which Islay had mounted. \"This is the\nchair,\" the master of Earlston said; and he did not laugh so frankly as\nthe rest, but turned aside to show Miss Seton his Henri II. porcelain.\n\"It was nothing to laugh at, at the time,\" he said, confidentially, in a\nvoice which sank into Aunt Agatha's heart; and, to restore her\ncomposure, she paid great attention to the Henri Deux ware. She said she\nremembered longing very much to have a set like that when she was a\ngirl. \"I never knew you were fond of china,\" said Mr. Ochterlony. \"Oh,\nyes,\" Aunt Agatha replied; but she did not explain that the china she\nhad longed for was a toy service for her doll's and little companions'\ntea. Mr. Ochterlony put the costly cups away into a little cabinet, and\nlocked it, after this; and he offered Aunt Agatha his arm, to lead her\nto the library, to see his collection there. She took it, but she\ntrembled a little, the tender-hearted old woman. They looked such an old\ncouple as they walked out of the room together, and yet there was\nsomething virginal and poetic about them, which they owed to their\nlonely lives. It was as if the roses that Hugh had just gathered for\nNelly had been put away for half a century, and brought out again all\ndried and faded, but still roses, and with a lingering pensive perfume.\nAnd Sir Edward sat and smiled in a corner, and whispered to Mary to\nleave them to themselves a little: such things had been as that they\nmight make it up.\n\nThere was a great dinner in the evening, at which Hugh's health was\ndrunk, and everybody hoped to see him for many a happy year at Earlston,\nyet prayed that it might be many a year before he had to take any other\nplace than the one he now occupied at his uncle's side. There were some\ncounty ladies present, who were very gracious to Mary, and anxious to\nknow all about her boys, and whether she, too, was coming to Earlston;\nbut who were disposed to snub Nelly, who was not Mrs. Ochterlony's\ndaughter, nor \"any relation,\" and who was clearly an interloper on such\nan occasion. Nelly did not care much for being snubbed; but she was very\nglad to seize the moment to propitiate Wilfrid, who had come into the\nroom looking in what Nelly called \"one of his states of mind;\" for it\nmust not be forgotten that she was a soldier's daughter, and had been\nbrought up exclusively in the regiment, and used many very colloquial\nforms of speech. She managed to glide to the other end of the room where\nWilfrid was scowling over a collection of cameos without being noticed.\nTo tell the truth, Nelly was easier in her mind when she was at a little\ndistance from the Psyche and the Venus. She had never had any training\nin art, and she would have preferred to throw a cloak or, at the least,\na lace shawl, or something, over those marble beauties. But she was, at\nleast, wise enough to keep her sentiments to herself.\n\n\"Why have you come up so early, Will?\" she said.\n\n\"What need I stay for, I wonder?\" said Will; \"I don't care for their\nstupid county talk. It is just as bad as parish talk, and not a bit more\nrational. I suppose my uncle must have known better one time or other,\nor he could not have collected all these things here.\"\n\n\"Do you think they are very pretty?\" said Nelly, looking back from a\nsafe distance, and thinking that, however pretty they might be, they\nwere not very suitable for a drawing-room, where people in general were\nin the habit of putting on more decorous garments: by which it will be\nperceived that she was a very ignorant little girl and knew nothing\nabout it, and had no natural feeling for art.\n\n\"Pretty!\" said Will, \"you have only to look and see what they are--or to\nhear their names would be enough. And to think of all those asses\ndownstairs turned in among them, that probably would like a few stupid\nbusts much better,--whereas there are plenty of other people that would\ngive their ears----\"\n\n\"Oh, Will!\" cried Nelly, \"you are always harping on the old string!\"\n\n\"I am not harping on any string,\" said Will. \"All I want is, that people\nshould stick to what they understand. Hugh might know how much money it\nwas all worth, but I don't know what else he could know about it. If my\nuncle was in his senses and left things in shares as they do in France\nand everywhere where they have any understanding----\"\n\n\"And then what would become of the house and the family?\" cried\nNelly,--\"if you had six sons and Hugh had six sons--and then your other\nbrother. They would all come down to have cottages and be a sort of\nclan--instead of going and making a fortune like a man, and leaving\nEarlston to be the head----\" Probably Nelly had somewhere heard the\nargument which she stated in this bewildering way, or picked it out of a\nnovel, which was the only kind of literature she knew much about--for it\nwould be vain to assert that the principles of primogeniture had ever\nbeen profoundly considered in her own thoughts--\"and if you were the\neldest,\" she added, forsaking her argumentation, \"I don't think you\nwould care so much for everybody going shares.\"\n\n\"If I were the eldest it would be quite different,\" said Will. And then\nhe devoted himself to the cameos, and would enter into no further\nexplanation. Nelly sat down beside him in a resigned way, and looked at\nthe cameos too, without feeling very much interest in them, and wondered\nwhat the children were doing, and whether mamma's head was bad; and her\nown astonishing selfishness in leaving mamma's headache and the children\nto take care of themselves, struck her vividly as she sat there in the\ntwilight and saw the Psyche and Venus, whom she did not approve of,\ngleaming white in the grey gloaming, and heard the loud voices of the\nladies at the other end of the room. Then it began to come into her head\nhow vain pleasures are, and how to do one's duty is all one ought to\ncare for in the world. Mrs. Ochterlony was at the other end of the\ndrawing-room, talking to the other ladies, and \"Mr. Hugh\" was downstairs\nwith a quantity of stupid men, and Will was in one of his \"states of\nmind.\" And the chances were that something had gone wrong at home; that\nCharley had fallen downstairs, or baby's bath had been too hot for her,\nor something--a judgment upon Nelly for going away. At one moment she\ngot so anxious thinking of it all, that she felt disposed to get up and\nrun home all the way, to make sure that nothing had happened. Only that\njust then Aunt Agatha came to join them in looking over the cameos, and\nbegan to tell Nelly, as she often did, little stories about Mrs.\nPercival, and to call her \"my dear love,\" and to tell her her dress\nlooked very nice, and that nothing was so pretty as a sweet natural rose\nin a girl's hair. \"I don't care for artificial flowers at your age, my\ndear,\" Aunt Agatha was saying, when the gentlemen came in and Hugh made\nhis appearance; and gradually the children's possible mischances and her\nmamma's headache faded out of Nelly's thoughts.\n\nIt was the pleasantest two days that had been spent at Earlston in the\nmemory of man. Mrs. Ochterlony went over all the house with very\ndifferent feelings from those she had felt when she was an inmate of the\nplace, and smiled at her own troubles and found her misery very comical;\nand little Nelly, who never in all her life before had known what it was\nto have two days to herself, was so happy that she was perfectly\nwretched about it when she went to bed. For it had never yet occurred to\nNelly, as it does to so many young ladies, that she had a right to\neverything that was delightful and pleasant, and that the people who\nkept her out of her rights were ogres and tyrants. She was frightened\nand rather ashamed of herself for being so happy; and then she made it\nup by resolving to be doubly good and make twice as much a slave of\nherself as ever as soon as she got home. This curious and unusual\ndevelopment of feeling probably arose from the fact that Nelly had never\nbeen brought up at all, so to speak, but had simply grown; and had too\nmuch to do to have any time for thinking of herself--which is the best\nof all possible bringings up for some natures. As for Aunt Agatha, she\nwent and came about this house, which could never be otherwise than\ninteresting to her, with a wistful look and a flickering unsteady colour\nthat would not have shamed even Nelly's sixteen-year old cheek. Miss\nSeton saw ghosts of what might have been in every corner; she saw the\nunborn faces shine beside the never-lighted fire. She saw herself as she\nmight have been, rising up to receive her guests, sitting at the head of\nthe long, full, cheerful table. It was a curious sensation, and made her\nstop to think now and then which was the reality and which the shadow;\nand yet there could be no doubt that there was in it a certain charm.\n\nAnd there could be no doubt, either, that a certain sadness fell upon\nMr. Ochterlony when they were all gone. He had a fire lighted in his\nstudy that night, though it was warm, \"to make it look a little more\ncheerful,\" he said; and made Hugh sit with him long after the usual\ntime. He sat buried in his great chair, with his thin, long limbs\nlooking longer and thinner than ever, and his head a little sunk upon\nhis breast. And then he began to moralize and give his nephew good\nadvice.\n\n\"I hope you'll marry, Hugh,\" he said. \"I don't think it's good to shut\none's self out from the society of women; they're very unscientific, but\nstill---- And it makes a great difference in a house. When I was a young\nfellow like you---- But, indeed, it is not necessary to go back so far.\nA man has it in his power to amuse himself for a long time, but it\ndoesn't last for ever---- And there are always things that might have\nbeen better otherwise----\" Here Mr. Ochterlony made a long pause and\nstared into the fire, and after a while resumed without any preface:\n\"When I'm gone, Hugh, you'll pack up all that Henri Deux ware and send\nit over to--to your Aunt Agatha. I never thought she cared for china.\nJohn will pack it for you--he is a very careful fellow for that sort of\nthing. I put it all into the Louis Quinze cabinet; now mind you don't\nforget.\"\n\n\"Time enough for that, sir,\" said Hugh, cheerfully, and not without a\nsuppressed laugh; for the loves of Aunt Agatha and Francis Ochterlony\nwere slightly comical to Hugh.\n\n\"That is all you know about it,\" said his uncle. \"But I shall expect you\naltogether to be of more use in the world than I have been, Hugh; and\nyou'll have more to do. Your father, you know, married when he was a\nboy, and went out of my reach; but you'll have all your people to look\nafter. Don't play the generous prince and spoil the boys--mind you don't\ntake any stupid notions into your head of being a sort of Providence to\nthem. It's a great deal better for them to make their own way; but\nyou'll be always here, and you'll lend a helping hand. Stand by\nthem--that's the great thing; and as for your mother, I needn't\nrecommend her to your kindest care. She has done a great deal for you.\"\n\n\"Uncle, I wish you would not talk like this,\" said Hugh; \"there's\nnothing the matter with you? What's the good of making a fellow uneasy\nand sending him uncomfortable to bed? Leave those sort of things till\nyou're old and ill, and then I'll attend to what you say.\"\n\nMr. Ochterlony softly shook his head. \"You won't forget about the Henri\nDeux,\" he said; and then he paused again and laughed as it were under\nhis breath, with a kind of laugh that was pathetic and full of quaint\ntenderness. \"If it had ever come to that, I don't think you would have\nbeen any the worse,\" he added; \"we were not the sort of people to have\nheirs,\" and the laugh faded into a lingering, wistful smile, half sad,\nhalf amused, with which on his face, he sat for a long time and gazed\ninto the fading fire. It was, perhaps, simply that the presence of such\nvisitors had stirred up the old recollections in his heart--perhaps that\nit felt strange to him to look back on his own past life in the light\nthrown upon it by the presence of his heir, and to feel that it was\nending, while yet, in one sense, it had never begun. As for Hugh, to\ntell the truth, he was chiefly amused by his uncle's reflective mood. He\nthought, which no doubt was to some extent true, that the old man was\nthinking of an old story which had come to nothing, and of which old\nAunt Agatha was the heroine. There was something touching in it he could\nnot but allow, but still he gave a laugh within himself at the\nsuperannuated romance. And all that immediately came of it, was the\ninjunction not to forget about the Henri Deux.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n\nOf the visit to Earlston, this was all that came immediately; but yet,\nif anybody had been there with clear-sighted eyes, there might have been\nother results perceptible and other symptoms of a great change at hand.\nSuch little shadows of an event might have been traced from day to day\nif that once possible lady of the house, whose ghost Aunt Agatha had met\nwith in all the rooms, had been there to watch over its master. There\nbeing nobody but Hugh, everything was supposed to go on in its usual\nway. Hugh had come to be fond of his uncle, and to look up to him in\nmany ways; but he was young, and nothing had ever occurred to him to put\ninsight into his eyes. He thought Mr. Ochterlony was just as usual--and\nso he was; and yet there were some things that were not as usual, and\nwhich might have aroused an experienced observer. And in the meantime\nsomething happened at the Cottage, where things did not happen often,\nwhich absorbed everybody's thoughts for the moment, and threw Earlston\nand Mr. Ochterlony entirely into the shade.\n\nIt happened on the very evening after their return home. Aunt Agatha had\nbeen troubled with a headache on the previous night--she said, from the\nfatigue of the journey, though possibly the emotions excited at Earlston\nhad something to do with it--and had been keeping very quiet all day;\nNelly Askell had gone home, eager to get back to her little flock, and\nto her mother, who was the greatest baby of all; Mary had gone out upon\nsome village business; and Aunt Agatha sat alone, slightly drowsy and\ngently thoughtful, in the summer afternoon. She was thinking, with a\nsoft sigh, that perhaps everything was for the best. There are a great\nmany cases in which it is very difficult to say so--especially when it\nseems the mistake or blindness of man, instead of the direct act of God,\nthat has brought the result about. Miss Seton had a meek and quiet\nspirit; and yet it seemed strange to her to make out how it could be for\nthe best that her own life and her old lover's should thus end, as it\nwere, unfulfilled, and all through his foolishness. Looking at it in an\nabstract point of view, she almost felt as if she could have told him of\nit, had he been near enough to hear. Such a different life it might have\nbeen to both; and now the moment for doing anything had long past, and\nthe two barren existences were alike coming to an end. This was what\nMiss Seton could not help thinking; and feeling as she did that it was\nfrom beginning to end a kind of flying in the face of Providence, it was\ndifficult to see how it could be for the best. If it had been her own\nfault, no doubt she would have felt as Mr. Ochterlony did, a kind of\ntender and not unpleasant remorse; but one is naturally less tolerant\nand more impatient when one feels that it is not one's own, but\nanother's fault. The subject so occupied her mind, and her activity was\nso lulled to rest by the soft fatigue and languor consequent upon the\nending of the excitement, that she did not take particular notice how\nthe afternoon glided away. Mary was out, and Will was out, and no\nvisitor came to disturb the calm. Miss Seton had cares of more immediate\nforce even at that moment--anxieties and apprehensions about Winnie,\nwhich had brought of late many a sickening thrill to her heart; but\nthese had all died away for the time before the force of recollections\nand the interest of her own personal story thus revived without any will\nof her own; and the soft afternoon atmosphere, and the murmuring of the\nbees, and the roses at the open windows, and the Kirtell flowing audible\nbut unseen, lulled Aunt Agatha, and made her forget the passage of time.\nThen all at once she roused herself with a start. Perhaps--though she\ndid not like to entertain such an idea--she had been asleep, and heard\nit in a dream; or perhaps it was Mary, whose voice had a family\nresemblance. Miss Seton sat upright in her chair after that first start\nand listened very intently, and said to herself that of course it must\nbe Mary. It was she who was a fantastical old woman to think she heard\nvoices which in the course of nature could not be within hearing. Then\nshe observed how late it was, and that the sunshine slanted in at the\nwest window and lay along the lawn outside almost in a level line. Mary\nwas late, later than usual; and Aunt Agatha blushed to confess, even to\nherself, that she must have, as she expressed it, \"just closed her\neyes,\" and had a little dream in her solitude. She got up now briskly to\nthrow this drowsiness off, and went out to look if Mary was coming, or\nWill in sight, and to tell Peggy about the tea--for nothing so much\nrevives one as a cup of tea when one is drowsy in the afternoon. Miss\nSeton went across the little lawn, and the sun shone so strongly in her\neyes as she reached the gate that she had to put up her hand to shade\nthem, and for the moment could see nothing. Was that Mary so near the\ngate? The figure was dark against the sunshine, which shone right into\nAunt Agatha's eyes, and made everything black between her and the light.\nIt came drifting as it were between her and the sun, like the phantom\nship in the mariner's vision. She gazed and did not see, and felt as if\na kind of insanity was taking possession of her. \"Is it Mary?\" she said,\nin a trembling voice, and at the same moment _felt_ by something in the\nair that it was not Mary. And then Aunt Agatha gave such a cry as\nbrought Peggy, and indeed all the household, in alarm to the door.\n\nIt was a woman who looked as old as Mary, and did not seem ever to have\nbeen half so fair. She had a shawl drawn tightly round her shoulders, as\nif she were cold, and a veil over her face. She was of a very thin\nmeagre form, with a kind of forlorn grace about her, as if she might\nhave been splendid under better conditions. Her eyes were hollow and\nlarge, her cheek-bones prominent, her face worn out of all freshness,\nand possessing only what looked like a scornful recollection of beauty.\nThe noble form had missed its development, the fine capabilities had\nbeen checked or turned in a false direction. When Aunt Agatha uttered\nthat great cry which brought Peggy from the utmost depths of the house,\nthe new-comer showed no corresponding emotion. She said, \"No; it is I,\"\nwith a kind of bitter rather than affectionate meaning, and stood\nstock-still before the gate, and not even made a movement to lift her\nveil. Miss Seton made a tremulous rush forward to her, but she did not\nadvance to meet it; and when Aunt Agatha faltered and was likely to\nfall, it was not the stranger's arm that interposed to save her. She\nstood still, neither advancing nor going back. She read the shock, the\npainful recognition, the reluctant certainty in Miss Seton's eye. She\nwas like the returning prodigal so far, but she was not content with his\nposition. It was no happiness for her to go home, and yet it ought to\nhave been; and she could not forgive her aunt for feeling the shock of\nrecognition. When she roused herself, after a moment, it was not because\nshe was pleased to come home, but because it occurred to her that it was\nabsurd to stand still and be stared at, and make a scene.\n\nAnd when Peggy caught her mistress in her arms, to keep her from\nfalling, the stranger made a step forward and gave a hurried kiss, and\nsaid, \"It is I, Aunt Agatha. I thought you would have known me better. I\nwill follow you directly;\" and then turned to take out her purse, and\ngive a shilling to the porter, who had carried her bag from the\nstation--which was a proceeding which they all watched in consternation,\nas if it had been something remarkable. Winnie was still Winnie, though\nit was difficult to realize that Mrs. Percival was she. She was coming\nback wounded, resentful, remorseful to her old home; and she did not\nmean to give in, nor show the feelings of a prodigal, nor gush forth\ninto affectionateness. To see her give the man the shilling brought Aunt\nAgatha to herself. She raised her head upon Peggy's shoulder, and stood\nupright, trembling, but self-restrained. \"I am a silly old woman to be\nso surprised,\" she said; \"but you did not write to say what day we were\nto expect you, my dear love.\"\n\n\"I did not write anything about it,\" said Winnie, \"for I did not know.\nBut let me go in, please; don't let us stay here.\"\n\n\"Come in, my darling,\" said Aunt Agatha. \"Oh, how glad, how thankful,\nhow happy I am, Winnie, my dear love, to see you again!\"\n\n\"I think you are more shocked than glad,\" said Winnie; and that was all\nshe said, until they had entered the room where Miss Seton had just left\nher maiden dreams. Then the wanderer, instead of throwing herself into\nAunt Agatha's kind longing arms, looked all round her with a strange\npassionate mournfulness and spitefulness. \"I don't wonder you were\nshocked,\" she said, going up to the glass, and looking at herself in it.\n\"You, all just the same as ever, and such a change in me!\"\n\n\"Oh, Winnie, my darling!\" cried Aunt Agatha, throwing herself upon her\nchild with a yearning which was no longer to be restrained; \"do you\nthink there can ever be any change in you to me? Oh, Winnie, my dear\nlove! come and let me look at you; let me feel I have you in my arms at\nlast, and that you have really come home.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have come home,\" said Winnie, suffering herself to be kissed. \"I\nam sure I am very glad that you are pleased. Of course Mary is still\nhere, and her children? Is she going to marry again? Are her boys as\ntiresome as ever? Yes, thank you, I will take my things off--and I\nshould like something to eat. But you must not make too much of me, Aunt\nAgatha, for I have not come only for a day.\"\n\n\"Winnie, dear, don't you know if it was for your good I would like to\nhave you for ever?\" cried poor Aunt Agatha, trembling so that she could\nscarcely form the words.\n\nAnd then for a moment, the strange woman, who was Winnie, looked as if\nshe too was moved. Something like a tear came into the corner of her\neye. Her breast heaved with one profound, unnatural, convulsive swell.\n\"Ah, you don't know me now,\" she said, with a certain sharpness of\nanguish and rage in her voice. Aunt Agatha did not understand it, and\ntrembled all the more; but her good genius led her, instead of asking\nquestions as she was burning to do, to take off Winnie's bonnet and her\nshawl, moving softly about her with her soft old hands, which shook yet\ndid their office. Aunt Agatha did not understand it, but yet it was not\nso very difficult to understand. Winnie was abashed and dismayed to find\nherself there among all the innocent recollections of her youth--and she\nwas full of rage and misery at the remembrance of all her injuries, and\nto think of the explanation which she would have to give. She was even\nangry with Aunt Agatha because she did not know what manner of woman her\nWinnie had grown--but beneath all this impatience and irritation was\nsuch a gulf of wretchedness and wrong that even the unreasonableness\ntook a kind of miserable reason. She did well to be angry with herself,\nand all the world. Her friends ought to understand the difference, and\nsee what a changed creature she was, without exacting the humiliation of\nan explanation; and yet at the same time the poor soul in her misery was\nangry to perceive that Aunt Agatha did see a difference. She suffered\nher bonnet and shawl to be taken off, but started when she felt Miss\nSeton's soft caressing hand upon her hair. She started partly because it\nwas a caress she was unused to, and partly that her hair had grown thin\nand even had some grey threads in it, and she did not like _that_ change\nto be observed; for she had been proud of her pretty hair, and taken\npleasure in it as so many women do. She rose up as she felt that touch,\nand took the shawl which had been laid upon a chair.\n\n\"I suppose I can have my old room,\" she said. \"Never mind coming with me\nas if I was a visitor. I should like to go upstairs, and I ought to know\nthe way, and be at home here.\"\n\n\"It is not for that, my darling,\" said Aunt Agatha, with hesitation;\n\"but you must have the best room, Winnie. Not that I mean to make a\nstranger of you. But the truth is one of the boys---- and then it is too\nsmall for what you ought to have now.\"\n\n\"One of the boys--which of the boys?\" said Winnie. \"I thought you would\nhave kept my old room--I did not think you would have let your house be\noverrun with boys. I don't mind where it is, but let me go and put my\nthings somewhere and make myself respectable. Is it Hugh that has my\nroom?\"\n\n\"No,--Will,\" said Aunt Agatha, faltering; \"I could change him, if you\nlike, but the best room is far the best. My dear love, it is just as it\nwas when you went away. Will! Here is Will. This is the little one that\nwas the baby--I don't think that you can say he is not changed.\"\n\n\"Not so much as I am,\" said Mrs. Percival, under her breath, as turning\nround she saw the long-limbed, curious boy, with his pale face and\ninquiring eyes, standing in the open window. Will was not excited, but\nhe was curious; and as he looked at the stranger, though he had never\nseen her before, his quick mind set to work on the subject, and he put\ntwo and two together and divined who it was. He was not like her in\nexternal appearance--at least he had never been a handsome boy, and\nWinnie had still her remains of wasted beauty--but yet perhaps they were\nlike each other in a more subtle, invisible way. Winnie looked at him,\nand she gave her shoulders a shrug and turned impatiently away. \"It must\nbe a dreadful nuisance to be interrupted like that, whatever you may be\ntalking about,\" she said. \"It does not matter what room I am to have,\nbut I suppose I may go upstairs?\"\n\n\"My dear love, I am waiting for you,\" said poor Aunt Agatha, anxiously.\n\"Run, Will, and tell your mother that my dear Winnie has come home. Run\nas fast as ever you can, and tell her to make haste. Winnie, my darling,\nlet me carry your shawl. You will feel more like yourself when you have\nhad a good rest; and Mary will be back directly, and I know how glad she\nwill be.\"\n\n\"Will she?\" said Winnie; and she looked at the boy and heard him receive\nhis instructions, and felt his quick eyes go through and through her.\n\"He will go and tell his mother the wreck I am,\" she said to herself,\nwith bitterness; and felt as if she hated Wilfrid. She had no children\nto defend and surround her, or even to take messages. No one could say,\nreferring to her, \"Go and tell your mother.\" It was Mary that was well\noff, always the fortunate one, and for the moment poor Winnie felt as if\nshe hated the keen-eyed boy.\n\nWill, for his part, went off to seek his mother, leaving Aunt Agatha to\nconduct her dear and welcome, but embarrassing and difficult, guest\nupstairs. He did not run, nor show any symptoms of unnecessary haste,\nbut went along at a very steady, leisurely way. He was so far like\nWinnie that he did not see any occasion for disturbing himself much on\naccount of other people. He went to seek Mrs. Ochterlony with his hands\nin his pockets, and his mind working steadily on the new position of\naffairs. Why this new-comer should have arrived so unexpectedly? why\nAunt Agatha should look so anxious, and helpless, and confused, as if,\nnotwithstanding her love, she did not know what to do with her visitor?\nwere questions which exercised all Will's faculties. He walked up to his\nmother, who was coming quietly along the road from the village, and\njoined her without disturbing himself. \"Aunt Agatha sent me to look for\nyou,\" he said, and turned with her towards the Cottage in the calmest\nway.\n\n\"I am afraid she thought I was late,\" said Mary.\n\n\"It was not that,\" said Will. \"Mrs. Percival has just come, so far as I\ncould understand, and she sent me to tell you.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Percival?\" cried Mary, stopping short. \"Whom do you mean? Not\nWinnie? Not my sister? You must have made some mistake.\"\n\n\"I think it was. It looked like her,\" said Will, in his calm way.\n\nMary stood still, and her breath seemed to fail her for the moment; she\nhad what the French call a _serrement du coeur_. It felt as if some\ninvisible hand had seized upon her heart and compressed it tightly; and\nher breathing failed, and a chill went through her veins. The next\nmoment her face flushed with shame and self-reproach. Could she be\nthinking of herself and any possible consequences, and grudging her\nsister the only natural refuge which remained to her? She was incapable\nfor the moment of asking any further questions, but went on with a\nsudden hasty impulse, feeling her head swim, and her whole intelligence\nconfused. It seemed to Mary, for the moment, though she could not have\ntold how, as if there was an end of her peaceful life, of her comfort,\nand all the good things that remained to her; a chill presentiment,\nconfounding and inexplicable, went to her heart; and at the same time\nshe felt utterly ashamed and horrified to be thinking of herself at all,\nand not of poor Winnie, the returned wanderer. Her thoughts were so busy\nand full of occupation that she had gone a long way before it occurred\nto her to say anything to her boy.\n\n\"You say it looked like her, Will,\" she began at last, taking up the\nconversation where she had left off; \"tell me, what did she look like?\"\n\n\"She looked just like other women,\" said Will; \"I didn't remark any\ndifference. As tall as you, and a sort of a long nose. Why I thought it\nlooked like her, was because Aunt Agatha was in an awful way.\"\n\n\"What sort of a way?\" cried Mary.\n\n\"Oh, well, I don't know. Like a hen, or something--walking round her,\nand looking at her, and cluck-clucking; and yet all the same as if she'd\nlike to cry.\"\n\n\"And Winnie,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, \"how did she look?--that is what I\nwant most to know.\"\n\n\"Awfully bored,\" said Will. He was so sometimes himself, when Aunt\nAgatha paid any special attentions to him, and he said it with feeling.\nThis was almost all the conversation that passed between them as Mrs.\nOchterlony hurried home. Poor Winnie! Mary knew better than Miss Seton\ndid what a dimness had fallen upon her sister's bright prospects--how\nthe lustre of her innocent name had been tarnished, and all the\nfreshness and beauty gone out of her life; and Mrs. Ochterlony's heart\nsmote her for the momentary reference to herself, which she had made\nwithout meaning it, when she heard of Winnie's return. Poor Winnie! if\nthe home of her youth was not open to her, where could she find refuge?\nif her aunt and her sister did not stand by her, who would? and yet----\nThe sensation was altogether involuntary, and Mary resisted it with all\nher might; but she could not help a sort of instinctive sense that her\npeace was over, and that the storms and darkness of life were about to\nbegin again.\n\nWhen she went in hurriedly to the drawing-room, not expecting to see\nanybody, she found, to her surprise, that Winnie was there, reclining in\nan easy chair, with Aunt Agatha in wistful and anxious attendance upon\nher. The poor old lady was hovering about her guest, full of wonder, and\npain, and anxious curiosity. Winnie as yet had given no explanation of\nher sudden appearance. She had given no satisfaction to her perplexed\nand fond companion. When she found that Aunt Agatha did not leave her,\nshe had come downstairs again, and dropped listlessly into the easy\nchair. She wanted to have been left alone for a little, to have realized\nall that had befallen her, and to feel that she was not dreaming, but\nwas actually in her own home. But Miss Seton would have thought it the\ngreatest unkindness, the most signal want of love and sympathy, and all\nthat a wounded heart required, to leave Winnie alone. And she was glad\nwhen Mary came to help her to rejoice over, and overwhelm with kindness,\nher child who had been lost and was found.\n\n\"It is your dear sister, thank God!\" she cried, with tears. \"Oh, Mary!\nto think we should have her again; to think she should be here after so\nmany changes! And our own Winnie through it all. She did not write to\ntell us, for she did not quite know the day----\"\n\n\"I did not know things would go further than I could bear,\" said Winnie,\nhurriedly. \"Now Mary is here, I know you must have some explanation. I\nhave not come to see you; I have come to escape, and hide myself. Now,\nif you have any kindness, you won't ask me any more just now. I came\noff last night because he went too far. There! that is why I did not\nwrite. I thought you would take me in, whatever my circumstances might\nbe.\"\n\n\"Oh, Winnie, my darling! then you have not been happy?\" said Aunt\nAgatha, tearfully clasping Winnie's hands in her own, and gazing\nwistfully into her face.\n\n\"Happy!\" she said, with something like a laugh, and then drew her hand\naway. \"Please, let us have tea or something, and don't question me any\nmore.\"\n\nIt was then only that Mary interposed. Her love for her sister was not\nthe absorbing love of Aunt Agatha; but it was a wiser affection. And she\nmanaged to draw the old lady away, and leave the new-comer to herself\nfor the moment. \"I must not leave Winnie,\" Aunt Agatha said; \"I cannot\ngo away from my poor child; don't you see how unhappy and suffering she\nis? You can see after everything yourself, Mary, there is nothing to do;\nand tell Peggy----\"\n\n\"But I have something to say to you,\" said Mary, drawing her reluctant\ncompanion away, to Aunt Agatha's great impatience and distress. As for\nWinnie, she was grateful for the moment's quiet, and yet she was not\ngrateful to her sister. She wanted to be alone and undisturbed, and yet\nshe rather wanted Aunt Agatha's suffering looks and tearful eyes to be\nin the same room with her. She wanted to resume the sovereignty, and be\nqueen and potentate the moment after her return; and it did not please\nher to see another authority, which prevailed over the fascination of\nher presence. But yet she was glad to be alone. When they left her, she\nlay back in her chair, in a settled calm of passion which was at once\ntwenty times more calm than their peacefulness, and twenty times more\npassionate than their excitement. She knew whence she came, and why she\ncame, which they did not. She knew the last step which had been too far,\nand was still tingling with the sense of outrage. She had in her mind\nthe very different scene she had left, and which stood out in flaming\noutlines against the dim background of this place, which seemed to have\nstopped still just where she left it, and in all these years to have\ngrown no older; and her head began to steady a little out of the whirl.\nIf he ventured to seek her here, she would turn to bay and defy him. She\nwas too much absorbed by active enmity, and rage, and indignation, to be\nmoved by the recollections of her youth, the romance that had been\nenacted within these walls. On the contrary, the last exasperation which\nhad filled her cup to overflowing was so much more real than anything\nthat followed, that Aunt Agatha was but a pale ghost to Winnie,\nflitting dimly across the fiery surface of her own thoughts; and this\ncalm scene in which she found herself, almost without knowing how, felt\nsomehow like a pasteboard cottage in a theatre, suddenly let down upon\nher for the moment. She had come to escape and hide herself, she said,\nand that was in reality what she intended to do; but at the same time\nthe thought of living there, and making the change real, had never\noccurred to her. It was a sudden expedient, adopted in the heat of\nbattle; it was not a flight for her life.\n\n\"She has come back to take refuge with us, the poor darling,\" said Aunt\nAgatha. \"Oh, Mary, my dear love, don't let us be hard upon her! She has\nnot been happy, you heard her say so, and she has come home; let me go\nback to Winnie, my dear. She will think that we are not glad to see her,\nthat we don't sympathize---- And oh, Mary, her poor dear wounded heart!\nwhen she looks upon all the things that surrounded her, when she was so\nhappy!----\"\n\nAnd Mary could not succeed in keeping the tender old lady away, nor\nstilling the thousand questions that bubbled from her kind lips. All she\ncould do was to provide for Winnie's comfort, and in her own person to\nleave her undisturbed. And the night fell over a strangely disquieted\nhousehold. Aunt Agatha could not tell whether to cry for joy or\ndistress, whether to be most glad that Winnie had come home, or most\nconcerned and anxious how to account for her sudden arrival, and keep up\nappearances, and prevent the parish from thinking that anything\nunpleasant had happened. In Winnie's room there was such a silent tumult\nof fury, and injury, and active conflict, as had never existed before\nnear Kirtell-side. Winnie was not thinking, nor caring where she was;\nshe was going over the last battle from which she had fled, and\nanticipating the next, and instead of making herself wretched by the\ncontrast of her former happiness, felt herself only, as it were, in a\npainted retirement, no more real than a dream. What was real was her own\nfeelings, and nothing else on earth. As for Mary, she too was strangely,\nand she thought ridiculously affected by her sister's return. She tried\nto explain to herself that except for her natural sympathy for Winnie,\nit affected her in no other way, and was indignant, with herself for\ndwelling upon a possible derangement of domestic peace, as if that could\nnot be guarded against, or even endured if it came about. But nature was\ntoo strong for her. It was not any fear for the domestic peace that\nmoved her; it was an indescribable conviction that this unlooked-for\nreturn was the onslaught signal for a something lying in wait--that it\nwas the touch of revolution, the opening of the flood-gates--and that\nhenceforward her life of tranquil confidence was over, and that some\nmysterious trouble which she could not at present identify, had been let\nloose upon her, let it come sooner or later, from that day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\n\nAfter that first bewildered night, and when the morning came, the\nrecollection that Winnie was in the house had a curious effect upon the\nthoughts of the entire household. Even Aunt Agatha's uneasy joy was\nmingled with many feelings that were not joyful. She had never had\nanything to do before with wives who \"were not happy.\" Any such cases\nwhich might have come to her knowledge among her acquaintance she had\nbeen in the way of avoiding and tacitly condemning. \"A man may be bad,\"\nshe had been in the habit of saying, \"but still if his wife had right\nfeelings\"--and she was in the way of thinking that it was to a woman's\ncredit to endure all things, and to make no sign. Such had been the\npride and the principles of Aunt Agatha's generation. But now, as in so\nmany cases, principle and theory came right in the face of fact, and\ngave way. Winnie must be right at whatever cost. Poor Winnie! to think\nwhat she had been, to remember her as she left Kirtell splendid in her\nbridal beauty, and to look at her now! Such arguments made an end of all\nAunt Agatha's old maiden sentiments about a wife's duty; but\nnevertheless her heart still ached. She knew how she would herself have\nlooked upon a runaway wife, and she could not endure to think that other\npeople would so look upon Winnie; and she dried an indignant tear, and\nmade a vow to herself to carry matters with a high hand, and to maintain\nher child's discretion, and wisdom, and perfect propriety of action, in\nthe face of all comers. \"My dear child has come to pay me a visit, the\nvery first chance she has had,\" she said to herself, rehearsing her\npart; \"I have been begging and begging her to come, and at last she has\nfound an opportunity. And to give me a delightful surprise, she never\nnamed the day. It was so like Winnie.\" This was what, omitting all\nnotice of the feelings which made the surprise far from delightful, Aunt\nAgatha made up her mind to say.\n\nAs for Winnie, when she woke up in the sunshine and stillness, and heard\nnothing but the birds singing, and Kirtell in the distance murmuring\nbelow her window, her heart stood still for a moment and wondered; and\nthen a few hot salt tears came scalding to her eyes; and then she began\nover again in her own mind the recapitulation of her wrongs. She thought\nvery little indeed of Aunt Agatha, or of her present surroundings. What\nshe thought of was the late scenes of exciting strife she had gone\nthrough, and future scenes which might still be before her, and what he\nwould say to her, and what she would say to him; for matters had gone so\nfar between them that the constantly progressing duel was as absorbing\nas the first dream of love, and swallowed up every thought. It cost her\nan effort to be patient with all the morning greetings, with Aunt\nAgatha's anxious talk at the breakfast-table, and discussion of the old\nneighbours, whom, doubtless, Winnie, she thought, would like to hear of.\nWinnie did not care a great deal for the old neighbours, nor did she\ntake much interest in hearing of the boys. Indeed she did not know the\nboys. They had been but babies when she went away, and she had no\nacquaintance with the new creatures who bore their names. It gave her a\nlittle pang when she looked at Mary and saw the results of peace and\ntranquillity in her face, which seemed to have grown little older--but\nthat was almost the sole thing that drew Winnie from her own thoughts.\nThere was a subtle sort of connection between it and the wrongs which\nwere rankling at her heart.\n\n\"There used to be twelve years between us,\" she said, abruptly. \"I was\neighteen when Mary was thirty. I think anybody that saw us would ask\nwhich was the eldest now.\"\n\n\"My darling, you are thin,\" said poor Aunt Agatha, anxiously; \"but a few\nweeks of quiet and your native air will soon round out your dear\ncheeks----\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Winnie, paying no attention, \"I suppose it's because I have\nbeen living all the time, and Mary hasn't. It is I that have the\nwrinkles--but then I have not been like the Sleeping Beauty. I have been\nworking hard at life all this time.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mary, with a smile, \"it makes a difference:--and of the two\nI think I would rather live. It is harder work, but there is more\nsatisfaction in it.\"\n\n\"Satisfaction!\" Winnie said, bitterly. There had been no satisfaction in\nit to her, and she felt fierce and angry at the word--and then her eye\nfell upon Will, who had been listening as usual. \"I wonder you keep\nthat great boy there,\" she said; \"why isn't he doing something? You\nought to send him to the army, or put him to go through some\nexaminations. What does he want at his mother's lap? You should mind you\ndon't spoil them, Mary. Home is the ruin of boys. I have always heard so\nwherever I have been.\"\n\n\"My dear love,\" cried Aunt Agatha, fearful that Mary might be moved to\nreply, \"it is very interesting to hear you; but I want you to tell me a\nlittle about yourself. Tell me about yourself, my darling--if you are\nfixed _there_ now, you know; and all where you have been.\"\n\n\"Before that boy?\" said Winnie, with a kind of smile, looking Wilfrid in\nthe face with her great sunken eyes.\n\n\"Now, Will, be quiet, and don't say anything impertinent,\" cried Aunt\nAgatha. \"Oh, my darling, never mind him. He is strange, but he is a good\nboy at the bottom. I should like to hear about all my dearest child has\nbeen doing. Letters never tell all. Oh, Winnie, what a pleasure it is,\nmy love, to see your dear face again.\"\n\n\"I am glad you think so, aunt--nobody else does, that I know of; and you\nare likely to have enough of it,\" said Winnie, with a certain look of\ndefiance at her sister and her sister's son.\n\n\"Thank you, my dear love,\" said Aunt Agatha, trembling; for the maid was\nin the room, and Miss Seton's heart quailed with fear lest the sharp\neyes of such a domestic critic should be opened to something strange in\nthe conversation. \"I am so glad to hear you are going to pay me a long\nvisit; I did not like to ask you just the first morning, and I was\ndreadfully frightened you might soon be going again; you owe me\nsomething, Winnie, for staying away all these long years.\"\n\nAunt Agatha in her fright and agitation continued this speech until she\nhad talked the maid safely out of the room, and then, being excited, she\nfell, without knowing it, into tears.\n\nWinnie leant back in her chair and folded a light shawl she wore round\nher, and looked at Miss Seton. In her heart she was wondering what Aunt\nAgatha could possibly have to cry about; what could ever happen to\n_her_, that made it worth her while to cry? But she did not put this\nsentiment into words.\n\n\"You will be tired of me before I go,\" she said, and that was all; not a\nword, as Aunt Agatha afterwards explained to Mary, about her husband, or\nabout how she had been living, or anything about herself. And to take\nher by the throat, as it were, and demand that she should account for\nherself, was not to be thought of. The end was that they all dispersed\nto their various occupations, and that the day went on almost as if\nWinnie was not there. But yet the fact that Winnie was there tinged\nevery one's thoughts, and made a difference in every corner of the\nhouse. They had all their occupations to betake themselves to, but she\nhad nothing to do, and unconsciously every individual in the place took\nto observing the new-comer, with that curious kind of feminine\nobservation which goes so little way, and yet goes so far. She had\nbrought only a portmanteau with her, a gentleman's box, not a lady's,\nand yet she made no move towards unpacking, but let her things remain in\nit, notwithstanding that the wardrobe was empty and open, and her\ndresses, if she had brought any, must have been crushed up like rags in\nthat tight enclosure. And she sat in the drawing-room with the open\nwindows, through which every one in the house now and then got a glimpse\nof her, doing nothing, not even reading; she had her thin shawl round\nher shoulders, though it was so warm, and she sat there with nothing to\noccupy her, like a figure carved out of stone. Such an attitude, in a\nwoman's eyes, is the embodiment of everything that is saddest, and most\nlistless, and forlorn. Doing nothing, not trying to take an interest in\nanything, careless about the books, indifferent to the garden, with no\ncuriosity about anybody or anything. The sight of her listless figure\nfilled Aunt Agatha with despair.\n\nAnd then, to make things worse, Sir Edward made his appearance the very\nnext day to inquire into it all. It was hard to make out how he knew,\nbut he did know, and no doubt all the parish knew, and were aware that\nthere was something strange about it. Sir Edward was an old man, about\neighty now, feeble but irreproachable, and lean limbs that now and then\nwere slightly unsteady, but a toilette which was always everything it\nought to be. He came in, cool and fresh in his summer morning dress, but\nhis brow was puckered with anxiety, and there was about him that\nindescribable air of coming to see about it, which has so painful an\neffect in general upon the nerves of the persons whose affairs are to be\nput under investigation. When Sir Edward made his appearance at the open\nwindow, Aunt Agatha instinctively rose up and put herself before Winnie,\nwho, however, did not show any signs of disturbance in her own person,\nbut only wound herself up more closely in her shawl.\n\n\"So Winnie has come to see us at last,\" said Sir Edward, and he came up\nto her and took both her hands, and kissed her forehead in a fatherly\nway. He did so almost without looking at her, and then he gave an\nunaffected start; but he had too much delicacy to utter the words that\ncame to his lips. He did not say how much changed she was, but he gave\nAunt Agatha a pitiful look of dismay and astonishment as he sat down,\nand this Winnie did not fail to see.\n\n\"Yes, at last,\" cried Aunt Agatha, eagerly. \"I have begged and begged of\nher to come, and was wondering what answer I should get, when she was\nall the while planning me such a delightful surprise; but how did you\nknow?\"\n\n\"News travels fast,\" said Sir Edward, and then he turned to the\nstranger. \"You will find us much changed, Winnie. We are getting old\npeople now, and the boys whom you left babies--you must see a great deal\nof difference.\"\n\n\"Not so much difference,\" said Winnie, \"as you see in me.\"\n\n\"It was to be expected there should be a difference,\" said Sir Edward.\n\"You were but a girl when you went away. I hope you are going to make a\ngood long stay. You will find us just as quiet as ever, and as humdrum,\nbut very delighted to see you.\"\n\nTo this Winnie made no reply. She neither answered his question, nor\ngave any response to his expression of kindness, and the old man sat and\nlooked at her with a deeper wrinkle than ever across his brow.\n\n\"She _must_ pay me a long visit,\" said poor Aunt Agatha, \"since she has\nbeen so long of coming. Now that I have her she shall not go away.\"\n\n\"And Percival?\" said Sir Edward. He had cast about in his own mind for\nthe best means of approaching this difficult subject, but had ended by\nfeeling there was nothing for it but plain speaking. And then, though\nthere were reports that they did not \"get on,\" still there was nothing\nas yet to justify suspicions of a final rupture. \"I hope you left him\nquite well; I hope we are to see him, too.\"\n\n\"He was very well when I left him, thank you,\" said Winnie, with steady\nformality; and then the conversation once more came to a dead stop.\n\nSir Edward was disconcerted. He had come to examine, to reprove, and to\nexhort, but he was not prepared to be met with this steady front of\nunconsciousness. He thought the wanderer had most likely come home full\nof complaints and outcries, and that it might be in his power to set her\nright. He hemmed and cleared his throat a little, and cast about what he\nshould say, but he had no better inspiration than to turn to Aunt Agatha\nand disturb her gentle mind with another topic, and for this moment let\nthe original subject rest.\n\n\"Ah--have you heard lately from Earlston?\" he said, turning to Miss\nSeton. \"I have just been hearing a report about Francis Ochterlony. I\nhope it is not true.\"\n\n\"What kind of report?\" said Aunt Agatha, breathlessly. A few minutes\nbefore she could not have believed that any consideration whatever would\nhave disturbed her from the one subject which was for the moment dearest\nto her heart--but Sir Edward with his usual felicity had found out\nanother chord which vibrated almost as painfully. Her old delusion\nrecurred to Aunt Agatha with the swiftness of lightning. He might be\ngoing to marry, and divert the inheritance from Hugh, and she did her\nbest to persuade her lips to a kind of smile.\n\n\"They say he is ill,\" said Sir Edward; \"but of course if _you_ have not\nheard--I thought he did not look like himself when we were there. Very\npoorly I heard--not anything violent you know, but a sort of breaking\nup. Perhaps it is not true.\"\n\nAunt Agatha's heart had been getting hard usage for some time back. It\nhad jumped to her mouth, and sunk into depths as deep as heart can sink\nto, time after time in these eventful days. Now she only felt it\ncontract as it were, as if somebody had seized it violently, and she\ngave a little cry, for it hurt her.\n\n\"Oh, Sir Edward, it cannot be true,\" she said. \"We had a letter from\nHugh on Monday, and he does not say a word. It cannot be true.\"\n\n\"Hugh is very young,\" said Sir Edward, who did not like to be supposed\nwrong in a point of fact. \"A boy with no experience might see a man all\nbut dying, and as long as he did not complain would never know.\"\n\n\"But he looked very well when we were there,\" said Aunt Agatha,\nfaltering. If she had been alone she would have shed silent tears, and\nher thoughts would have been both sad and bitter; but this was not a\nmoment to think of her own feelings--nor above all to cry.\n\nSir Edward shook his head. \"I always mistrust those sort of looks for my\npart,\" he said. \"A big man has always an appearance of strength, and\nthat carries it off.\"\n\n\"Is it Mr. Ochterlony?\" said Winnie, interposing for the first time.\n\"What luck Mary has and her boys! And so Hugh will come into the\nproperty without any waiting. It may be very sad of course, Aunt Agatha,\nbut it is great luck for him at his age.\"\n\n\"Oh, Winnie, my dear love!\" cried Aunt Agatha, feebly. It was a speech\nthat went to her heart, but she was dumb between the two people who did\nnot care for Francis Ochterlony, and could find nothing to say.\n\n\"I hope that is not the way in which any of us look at it,\" said Sir\nEdward with gentle severity; and then he added, \"I always thought if you\nhad been left a little more to yourselves when we were at Earlston that\nstill you might have made it up.\"\n\n\"Oh no, no!\" said Aunt Agatha, \"now that we are both old people--and he\nwas always far too sensible. But it was not anything of that sort.\nFrancis Ochterlony and I were--were always dear friends.\"\n\n\"Well, you must let me know next time when Hugh writes,\" said Sir\nEdward, \"and I hope we shall have better news.\" When he said this he\nturned again quite abruptly to Winnie, who had dropped once more into\nher own thoughts, and expected no new assault.\n\n\"Percival is coming to fetch you, I suppose?\" he said. \"I think I can\noffer him some good shooting in a month or two. This may overcloud us\nall a little if--if anything should happen to Francis Ochterlony. But\nafter what your Aunt Agatha says, I feel disposed to hope the best.\"\n\n\"Yes, I hope so,\" said Winnie; which was a very unsatisfactory reply.\n\n\"Of course you are citizens of the world, and we are very quiet people,\"\nsaid Sir Edward. \"I suppose promotion comes slow in these times of\npeace. I should have thought he was entitled to another step by this\ntime; but we civilians know so little about military affairs.\"\n\n\"I thought everybody knew that steps were bought,\" said Winnie; and once\nmore the conversation broke off dead.\n\nIt was a relief to them all when Mary came into the room, and had to be\ntold about Mr. Ochterlony's supposed illness, and to take a reasonable\nplace between Aunt Agatha's panic-stricken assurance that it was not\ntrue, and Sir Edward's calmly indifferent belief that it was. Mary for\nthe first time suggested that a man might be ill, and yet not at the\npoint of death, which was a conclusion to which the others had leapt.\nAnd then they all made a little effort at ordinary talk.\n\n\"You will have everybody coming to call,\" said Sir Edward, \"now that\nWinnie is known to have come home; and I daresay Percival will find\nMary's military friends a great resource when he comes. Love-making\nbeing over, he will want some substitute----\"\n\n\"Who are Mary's military friends?\" said Winnie, suddenly breaking in.\n\n\"Only some people in our old regiment,\" said Mary. \"It is stationed at\nCarlisle, strangely enough. You know the Askells, I think, and----\"\n\n\"The Askells!\" said Winnie, and her face grew dark. \"Are they here, all\nthat wretched set of people?--Mary's friends. Ah, I might have\nknown----\"\n\n\"My dear love, she is a very silly little woman; but Nelly is\ndelightful, and he is very nice, poor man,\" cried Aunt Agatha, eager to\ninterfere.\n\n\"Yes, poor man, he is very nice,\" said Winnie, with contempt; \"his wife\nis an idiot, and he doesn't beat her; I am sure I should, if I were he.\nWho's Nelly? and that horrid Methodist of a woman, and the old maid that\nreads novels? Why didn't you tell me of them? If I had known, I should\nnever have come here.\"\n\n\"Oh, Winnie, my darling!\" cried Aunt Agatha; \"but I did mention them;\nand so did Mary, I feel sure.\"\n\n\"They are Mary's friends,\" said Winnie, with bitterness, and then she\nstopped herself abruptly. The others were like an army of observation\nround a beleaguered city, which was not guided by the most perfect\nwisdom, but lost its temper now and then, and made injudicious sallies.\nNow Winnie shut up her gates, and drew in her garrison once more; and\nher companions looked at each other doubtfully, seeing a world of sore\nand wounded feeling, distrust, and resistance, and mystery to which they\nhad no clue. She had gone away a girl, full of youthful bravado, and\nfearing nothing. She had come back a stranger, with a long history\nunknown to them, and with no inclination to make it clear. Her aunt and\nsister were anxious and uneasy, and did not venture on direct assault;\nbut Sir Edward, who was a man of resolution, sat down before the\nfortress, and was determined to fight it out.\n\n\"You should have sent us word you were coming,\" he said; \"and your\nhusband should have been with you, Winnie. It was he who took you away,\nand he ought to have come back to give an account of his stewardship. I\nshall tell him so when he comes.\"\n\nAgain Winnie made no answer; her face contracted slightly; but soon\nsettled back again into its blank look of self-concentration, and no\nresponse came.\n\n\"He has no appointment, I suppose; no adjutantship, or anything to keep\nhim from getting away?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Winnie.\n\n\"Perhaps he has gone to see his mother?\" said Sir Edward, brightening\nup. \"She is getting quite an old woman, and longs to see him; and you,\nmy pretty Winnie, too. I suppose you will pay her your long-deferred\nvisit, now you have returned to this country? Percival is there?\"\n\n\"No--I think not,\" said Winnie, winding herself up in her shawl, as she\nhad done before.\n\n\"Then you have left him at----, where he is stationed now,\" said Sir\nEdward, becoming more and more point-blank in his attack.\n\n\"Look here, Sir Edward,\" said Winnie; \"we are citizens of the world, as\nyou say, and we have not lived such a tranquil life as you have. I did\nnot come here to give an account of my husband; he can take care of\nhimself. I came to have a little quiet and rest, and not to be asked\nquestions. If one could be let alone anywhere, it surely should be in\none's own home.\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" said Sir Edward, who was embarrassed, and yet more\narbitrary than ever; \"for in your own home people have a right to know\nall about you. Though I am not exactly a relative, I have known you all\nyour life; I may say I brought you up, like a child of my own; and to\nsee you come home like this, all alone, without baggage or attendant, as\nif you had dropped from the skies, and nobody knowing where you come\nfrom, or anything about it,--I think, Winnie, my dear, when you consider\nof it, you will see it is precisely your own friends who ought to know.\"\n\nThen Aunt Agatha rushed into the _melee_, feeling in her own person a\nlittle irritated by her old friend's lecture and inquisition.\n\n\"Sir Edward is making a mistake, my dear love,\" she said; \"he does not\nknow. Dear Winnie has been telling me everything. It is so nice to know\nall about her. Those little details that can never go into letters; and\nwhen--when Major Percival comes----\"\n\n\"It is very good of you, Aunt Agatha,\" said Winnie, with a certain quiet\ndisdain; \"but I did not mean to deceive anybody--Major Percival is not\ncoming that I know of. I am old enough to manage for myself: Mary came\nhome from India when she was not quite my age.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear love, poor Mary was a widow,\" cried Aunt Agatha; \"you must\nnot speak of that.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know Mary has always had the best of it,\" said Winnie, under her\nbreath; \"you never made a set against her as you do against me. If there\nis an inquisition at Kirtell, I will go somewhere else. I came to have\na little quiet; that is all I want in this world.\"\n\nIt was well for Winnie that she turned away abruptly at that moment, and\ndid not see Sir Edward's look, which he turned first upon Mary and then\non Aunt Agatha. She did not see it, and it was well for her. When he\nwent away soon after, Miss Seton went out into the garden with him, in\nobedience to his signals, and then he unburdened his mind.\n\n\"It seems to me that she must have run away from him,\" said Sir Edward.\n\"It is very well she has come here; but still it is unpleasant, to make\nthe best of it. I am sure he has behaved very badly; but I must say I am\na little disappointed in Winnie. I was, as you may remember, at the very\nfirst when she made up her mind so soon.\"\n\n\"There is no reason for thinking she has run away,\" said Aunt Agatha.\n\"Why should she have run away? I hope a lady may come to her aunt and\nher sister without compromising herself in any way.\"\n\nSir Edward shook his head. \"A married woman's place is with her\nhusband,\" he said, sententiously. He was old, and he was more moral, and\nperhaps less sentimental, in his remarks than formerly. \"And how she is\nchanged! There must have been a great deal of excitement and late hours,\nand bills and all that sort of thing, before she came to look like\nthat.\"\n\n\"You are very hard upon my poor Winnie,\" said Aunt Agatha, with a\nlong-restrained sob.\n\n\"I am not hard upon her. On the contrary, I would save her if I could,\"\nsaid Sir Edward, solemnly. \"My dear Agatha, I am sorry for you. What\nwith poor Francis Ochterlony's illness, and this heavy burden----\"\n\nMiss Seton was seized with one of those passions of impatience and\nindignation to which a man's heavy way of blundering over sore subjects\nsometimes moves a woman. \"It was all Francis Ochterlony's fault,\" she\nsaid, lifting her little tremulous white hands. \"It was his fault, and\nnot mine. He might have had some one that could have taken care of him\nall these years, and he chose his marble images instead--and I will not\ntake the blame; it was no fault of mine. And then my poor darling\nchild----\"\n\nBut here Miss Seton's strength, being the strength of excitement solely,\ngave way, and her voice broke, and she had to take both her hands to dry\nher fast-coming tears.\n\n\"Well, well, well!\" said Sir Edward. \"Dear me, I never meant to excite\nyou so. What I was saying was with the kindest intention. Let us hope\nOchterlony is better, and that all will turn out pleasantly for Winnie.\nIf you find yourself unequal to the emergency, you know--and want a\nman's assistance----\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Aunt Agatha, with dignity; \"but I do not think so much\nof a man's assistance as I used to do. Mary is so very sensible, and if\none does the very best one can----\"\n\n\"Oh, of course I am not a person to interfere,\" said Sir Edward; and he\nwalked away with an air still more dignified than that which Aunt Agatha\nhad put on, but very shaky, poor old gentleman, about his knees, which\nslightly diminished the effect. As for Aunt Agatha, she turned her back\nupon him steadily, and walked back to the Cottage with all the\nstateliness of a woman aggrieved. But nevertheless the pins and needles\nwere in her heart, and her mind was full of anxiety and distress. She\nhad felt very strongly the great mistake made by Francis Ochterlony, and\nhow he had spoiled both their lives--but that was not to say that she\ncould hear of his illness with philosophy. And then Winnie, who was not\nill, but whose reputation and position might be in deadly danger for\nanything Miss Seton knew. Aunt Agatha knew nothing better to do than to\ncall Mary privately out of the room and pour forth her troubles. It did\nno good, but it relieved her mind. Why was Sir Edward so suspicious and\ndisagreeable--why had he ceased \"to understand people;\"--and why was\nHugh so young and inexperienced, and incapable of judging whether his\nuncle was or was not seriously ill;--and why did not \"they\" write? Aunt\nAgatha did not know whom she meant by \"they,\" nor why she blamed poor\nHugh. But it relieved her mind. And when she had pushed her burden off\non to Mary's shoulders, the weight was naturally much lightened on her\nown.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\n\nHugh, however, it is quite true, was very inexperienced. He did not even\nnotice that his uncle was very ill. He sat with him at dinner and saw\nthat he did not eat anything, and yet never saw it; and he went with him\nsometimes when he tottered about the garden in the morning, and never\nfound out that he tottered; and sat with him at night, and was very kind\nand attentive, and was very fond of his uncle, and never remarked\nanything the matter with his breathing. He was very young, and he knew\nno better, and it never seemed to him that short breathing and unequal\nsteps and a small appetite were anything remarkable at Mr. Ochterlony's\nage. If there had been a lady in the house it might have made a\nwonderful difference; but to be sure it was Francis Ochterlony's own\ndoing that there was not a lady in the house. And he was not himself so\nshortsighted as Hugh. His own growing weakness was something of which he\nwas perfectly well aware, and he knew, too, how his breath caught of\nnights, and looking forward into the future saw the shadow drawing\nnearer to his door, and was not afraid of it. Probably the first thought\nwent chill to his heart, the thought that he was mortal like other\npeople, and might have to die. But his life had been such a life as to\nmake him very much composed about it, and not disinclined to think that\na change might be for the better. He was not very clear about the unseen\nworld--for one thing, he had nobody there in particular belonging to him\nexcept the father and mother who were gone ages ago; and it did not seem\nvery important to himself personally whether he was going to a long\nsleep, or going to another probation, or into pure blessedness, which of\nall the three was, possibly, the hypothesis which he understood least.\nPerhaps, on the whole, if he had been to come to an end altogether he\nwould not have much minded; but his state of feeling was, that God\ncertainly knew all about it, and that He would arrange it all right. It\nwas a kind of pagan state of mind; and yet there was in it something of\nthe faith of the little child which was once set up as the highest model\nof faith by the highest authority. No doubt Mr. Ochterlony had a great\nmany thoughts on the subject, as he sat buried in the deep chair in his\nstudy, and gazed into the little red spark of fire which was lighted for\nhim all that summer through, though the weather was so genial. His were\nnot bright thoughts, but very calm ones; and perhaps his perfect\ncomposure about it all was one reason why Hugh took it as a matter of\ncourse, and went on quite cheerily and lightly, and never found out\nthere was anything the matter with him until the very last.\n\nIt was one morning when Mr. Ochterlony had been later than usual of\ncoming downstairs. When he did make his appearance it was nearly noon,\nand he was in his dressing-gown, which was an unheard-of thing for him.\nInstead of going out to the garden, he called Hugh, and asked him to\ngive him his arm while he made a little _tour_ of the house. They went\nfrom the library to the dining-room, and then upstairs to the great\ndrawing-room where the Venus and the Psyche were. When they had got that\nlength Mr. Ochterlony dropped into a chair, and gasped for breath, and\nlooked round upon his treasures. And then Hugh, who was looking on,\nbegan to feel very uneasy and anxious for the first time.\n\n\"One can't take them with one,\" said Mr. Ochterlony, with a sigh and a\nsmile; \"and you will not care for them much, Hugh. I don't mean to put\nany burden upon you: they are worth a good deal of money; but I'd rather\nyou did not sell them, if you could make up your mind to the sacrifice.\"\n\n\"If they were mine I certainly should not sell them,\" said Hugh; \"but as\nthey are yours, uncle, I don't see that it matters what I would do.\"\n\nMr. Ochterlony smiled, and looked kindly at him, but he did not give him\nany direct answer. \"If they were yours,\" he said--\"suppose the\ncase--then what would you do with them?\"\n\n\"I would collect them in a museum somewhere, and call them by your\nname,\" said Hugh, on the spur of the moment. \"You almost ought to do\nthat yourself, uncle, there are so few people to see them here.\"\n\nMr. Ochterlony's languid eyes brightened a little. \"They are worth a\ngood deal of money,\" he said.\n\n\"If they were worth a mint of money, I don't see what that matters,\"\nsaid Hugh, with youthful extravagance.\n\nHis uncle looked at him again, and once more the languid eye lighted up,\nand a tinge of colour came to the grey cheek.\n\n\"I think you mean it, Hugh,\" he said, \"and it is pleasant to think you\ndo mean it now, even if---- I have been an economical man, in every way\nbut this, and I think you would not miss it. But I won't put any bondage\nupon you. By the way, they would belong to the personalty. Perhaps\nthere's a will wanted for that. It was stupid of me not to think of it\nbefore. I ought to see about it this very day.\"\n\n\"Uncle,\" said Hugh, who had been sitting on the arm of a chair looking\nat him, and seeing, as by a sudden revelation, all the gradual changes\nwhich he had not noticed when they began: the shortened breath, the\nemaciated form, and the deep large circle round the eyes,--\"Uncle, will\nyou tell me seriously what you mean when you speak to me like this?\"\n\n\"On second thoughts, it will be best to do it at once,\" said Mr.\nOchterlony. \"Hugh, ring the bell---- What do I speak like this, for, my\nboy? For a very plain reason; because my course is going to end, and\nyours is only going to begin.\"\n\n\"But, uncle!\" cried Hugh.\n\n\"Hush--the one ought to be a kind of continuation of the other,\" said\nMr. Ochterlony, \"since you will take up where I leave off; but I hope\nyou will do better than that. If you should feel yourself justified in\nthinking of the museum afterward---- But I would not like to leave any\nburden upon you. John, let some one ride into Dalken directly, and ask\nMr. Preston, the attorney, to come to me--or his son will do. I should\nlike to see him to-day---- And stop,\" said Mr. Ochterlony, reluctantly,\n\"he may fetch the doctor, too.\"\n\n\"Uncle, do you feel ill?\" said Hugh. He had come up to his uncle's side,\nand he had taken fright, and was looking at him wistfully as a woman\nmight have done--for his very inexperience which had prevented him from\nobserving gave him a tender anguish now, and filled him full of awe and\ncompunction, and made him in his wistfulness almost like a woman.\n\n\"No,\" said Mr. Ochterlony, holding out his hand. \"Not ill, my boy, only\ndying--that's all. Nothing to make a fuss about--but sit down and\ncompose yourself, for I have a good deal to say.\"\n\n\"Do you mean it, uncle?\" asked Hugh, searching into the grey countenance\nbefore him with his suddenly awakened eyes.\n\nMr. Ochterlony gave a warm grasp to the young hand which held his\nclosely yet trembling. \"Sit down,\" he said. \"I'm glad you are sorry. A\nfew years ago there would have been nobody to mind--except the servants,\nperhaps. I never took the steps I might have done, you know,\" he added,\nwith a certain sadness, and yet a sense of humour which was curious to\nsee, \"to have an heir of my own---- And speaking of that, you will be\nsure to remember what I said to you about the Henri Deux. I put it away\nin the cabinet yonder, the very last day they were here.\"\n\nThen Mr. Ochterlony talked a great deal, and about many things. About\nthere being no particular occasion for making a will--since Earlston was\nsettled by his father's will upon his own heirs male, or those of his\nbrother--how he had bethought himself all at once, though he did not\nknow exactly how the law stood, that there was some difference between\nreal and personal property, and how, on the whole, perhaps, it was\nbetter to send for Preston. \"As for the doctor, I daren't take it upon\nme to die without him, I suppose,\" Mr. Ochterlony said. He had never\nbeen so playful before, as long as Hugh had known him. He had been\nreserved--a little shy, even with his nephew. Now his own sense of\nfailure seemed to have disappeared. He was going to make a change, to\nget rid of all his old disabilities, and incumbrances, and antecedents,\nand no doubt it would be a change for the better. This was about the\nsubstance of Mr. Ochterlony's thoughts.\n\n\"But one can't take Psyche, you know,\" he said. \"One must go alone to\nlook into the face of the Immortals. And I don't think your mother,\nperhaps, would care to have her here--so if you should feel yourself\njustified in thinking of the museum---- But you will have a great deal\nto do. In the first place your mother--I doubt if she'll be so happy at\nthe Cottage, now Mrs. Percival has come back. I think you ought to ask\nher to come here. And I shouldn't wonder if Will gave you some trouble.\nHe's an odd boy. I would not say he had not a sense of honour, but----\nAnd he has a jealous, dissatisfied temper. As for Islay, he's all safe,\nI suppose. Always be kind to them, Hugh, and give Will his education. I\nthink he has abilities; but don't be too liberal. Don't take them upon\nyour shoulders. You have your own life to think of first of all.\"\n\nAll this Mr. Ochterlony uttered, with many little breaks and pauses, but\nwith very little aid from his companion, who was too much moved to do\nmore than listen. He was not suffering in any acute way, and yet,\nsomehow, the sense of his approaching end seemed to have loosened his\ntongue, which had been to some extent bound all his life.\n\n\"For you must marry, you know,\" he said. \"I consider _that_ a bargain\nbetween us. Don't trust to your younger brother, as I did--not but what\nit was the best thing for you. Some little bright thing like\n_that_--that was with your mother. You may laugh, but I can remember\nwhen Agatha Seton was as pretty a creature----\"\n\n\"I think she is pretty now,\" said Hugh, half because he did think so,\nand half because he was anxious to find something he could say.\n\nThen Mr. Ochterlony brightened up in the strangest pathetic way,\nlaughing a little, with a kind of tender consciousness that he was\nlaughing at himself. He was so nearly separated from himself now that he\nwas tender as if it was the weakness of a dear old familiar friend at\nwhich he was laughing. \"She _is_ very pretty,\" he said. \"I am glad you\nhave the sense to see it,--and good; and she'll go now and make a slave\nof herself to that girl. I suppose that is my fault, too. But be sure\nyou don't forget about the Henri Deux.\"\n\nAnd then all of a sudden, while his nephew was sitting watching him, Mr.\nOchterlony fell asleep. When he was sleeping he looked so grey, and\nworn, and emaciated, that Hugh's heart smote him. He could not explain\nto himself why it was that he had never noticed it before; and he was\nvery doubtful and uncertain what he ought to do. If he sent for his\nmother, which seemed the most natural idea, Mr. Ochterlony might not\nlike it, and he had himself already sent for the doctor. Hugh had the\ngood sense finally to conclude upon doing the one thing that was most\ndifficult--to do nothing. But it was not an enlivening occupation. He\nwent off and got some wraps and cushions, and propped his uncle up in\nthe deep chair he was reclining in, and then he sat down and watched\nhim, feeling a thrill run through him every time there was a little drag\nin the breathing or change in his patient's face. He might die like\nthat, with the Psyche and the Venus gleaming whitely over him, and\nnobody by who understood what to do. It was the most serious moment that\nhad ever occurred in Hugh's life; and it seemed to him that days, and\nnot minutes, were passing. When the doctor arrived, it was a very great\nrelief. And then Mr. Ochterlony was taken to bed and made comfortable,\nas they said; and a consciousness crept through the house, no one could\ntell how, that the old life and the old times were coming to a\nconclusion--that sad change and revolution hung over the house, and that\nEarlston would soon be no more as it had been.\n\nOn the second day Hugh wrote to his mother, but that letter had not been\nreceived at the time of Sir Edward's visit. And he made a very faithful\ndevoted nurse, and tended his uncle like a son. Mr. Ochterlony did not\ndie all at once, as probably he had himself expected and intended--he\nhad his spell of illness to go through like other people, and he bore it\nvery cheerfully, as he was not suffering much. He was indeed a great\ndeal more playful and at his ease than either the doctor or the\nattorney, or Mrs. Gilsland, the housekeeper, thought quite right.\n\nThe lawyer did not come until the following day; and then it was young\nMr. Preston who came, his father being occupied, and Mr. Ochterlony had\na distaste somehow to young Mr. Preston. He was weak, too, and not able\nto go into details. All that he would say was, that Islay and Wilfrid\nwere to have the same younger brother's portion as their father had, and\nthat everything else was to go to Hugh. He would not suffer himself to\nbe tempted to say anything about the museum, though the suggestion had\ngone to his heart--and to make a will with so little in it struck the\nlawyer almost as an injury to himself.\n\n\"No legacies?\" he said--\"excuse me, Mr. Ochterlony--nothing about your\nbeautiful collection? There ought to be some stipulation about that.\"\n\n\"My nephew knows all my wishes,\" Mr. Ochterlony said, briefly, \"and I\nhave no time now for details. Is it ready to be signed? Everything else\nof which I die possessed to my brother, Hugh Ochterlony's eldest son.\nThat is what I want. The property is his already, by his grandfather's\nwill. Everything of which I die possessed, to dispose of according as\nhis direction and circumstances may permit.\"\n\n\"But there are other friends--and servants,\" pleaded Mr. Preston; \"and\nthen your wonderful collection----\"\n\n\"My nephew knows all my wishes,\" said Mr. Ochterlony; and his weakness\nwas so great that he sank back on his pillows. He took his own way in\nthis, while poor Hugh hung about the room wistfully looking on. It was\nto Hugh's great advantage, but he was not thinking of that. He was\nasking himself could he have done anything to stop the malady if he had\nnoticed it in time? And he was thinking how to arrange the Ochterlony\nMuseum. If it could only have been done in his lifetime, so that its\nfounder could see. When the doctor and the attorney were both gone, Hugh\nsat down by his uncle's bedside, and, half afraid whether he was doing\nright, began to talk of it. He was too young and too honest to pretend\nto disbelieve what Mr. Ochterlony himself and the doctor had assured him\nof. The room was dimly lighted, the lamp put away on a table in a corner\nwith a shade over it, and the sick room \"made comfortable,\" and\neverything arranged for the night. And then the two had an hour of very\naffectionate, confidential, almost tender talk. Mr. Ochterlony was\nalmost excited about the museum. It was not to be bestowed on his\ncollege, as Hugh at first thought, but to be established at Dalken, the\npretty town of which everybody in the Fells was proud. And then the\nconversation glided off to more familiar subjects, and the old man who\nwas dying gave a great deal of very sound advice to the young man who\nwas about to begin to live.\n\n\"Islay will be all right,\" said Mr. Ochterlony; \"he will have what your\nfather had, and you will always make him at home in Earlston. It is Will\nI am thinking about. I am not fond of Will. Don't be too generous to\nhim, or he will think it is his right. I know no harm of the boy, but I\nwould not put all my affairs into his hands as I put them into yours.\"\n\n\"It will not be my fault if I don't justify your confidence, uncle,\"\nsaid Hugh, with something swelling in his throat.\n\n\"If I had not known that, I would not have trusted you, Hugh,\" said Mr.\nOchterlony. \"Take your mother's advice--always be sure to take your\nmother's advice. There are some of us that never understand women; but\nafter all it stands to reason that the one-half of mankind should not\nseparate itself from the other. We think we are the wisest; but I am not\nso sure----\"\n\nMr. Ochterlony stopped short and turned his eyes, which were rather\nlanguid, to the distant lamp, the one centre of light in the room. He\nlooked at it for a long time in a dreamy way. \"I might have had a woman\ntaking care of me like the rest,\" he said. \"I might have had the feeling\nthat there was somebody in the house; but you see I did not give my mind\nto it, Hugh. Your father left a widow, and that's natural--I am leaving\nonly a collection. But it's better for you, my boy. If you should ever\nspeak to Agatha Seton about it, you can tell her _that_----\"\n\nThen there was a pause, which poor young Hugh, nervous, and excited, and\ninexperienced, did not know how to break, and Mr. Ochterlony continued\nto look at the lamp. It was very dim and shaded, but still a pale ray\nshone sideways between the curtains upon the old man who lay a-dying,\nand cast an enlarged shadow of Hugh's head upon the wall. When Mr.\nOchterlony turned round a little, his eye caught that, and a tender\nsmile came over his face.\n\n\"It looks like your father,\" he said to Hugh, who was startled, and did\nnot know what he meant. \"It is more like him than you are. He was a good\nfellow at the bottom--fidgety, but a very good fellow--as your mother\nwill tell you. I am glad it is you who are the eldest, and not one of\nthe others. They are fine boys, but I am glad it is you.\"\n\n\"Oh, uncle,\" said Hugh, with tears in his eyes, \"you are awfully good to\nme. I don't deserve it. Islay is a far better fellow than I am. If you\nwould but get well again, and never mind who was the eldest----\"\n\nMr. Ochterlony smiled and shook his head. \"I have lived my day,\" he\nsaid, \"and now it is your turn; and I hope you'll make Earlston better\nthan ever it was. Now go to bed, my boy; we've talked long enough. I\nthink if I were quiet I could sleep.\"\n\n\"And you'll call me, uncle, if you want me? I shall be in the\ndressing-room,\" said Hugh, whose heart was very full.\n\n\"There is no need,\" said Mr. Ochterlony, smiling again. \"But I suppose\nit pleases you. You'll sleep as sound as a top wherever you are--that's\nthe privilege of your age; but John will be somewhere about, and nothing\nis going to happen before morning. Good night.\"\n\nBut he called Hugh back before he reached the door. \"You'll be sure to\nremember about the Henri Deux?\" he said, softly. That was all. And the\nyoung man went to the dressing-room, and John, who had just stolen in,\nlay down on a sofa in the shadow, and sleep and quiet took possession of\nthe room. If Mr. Ochterlony slept, or if he still lay looking at the\nlamp, seeing his life flit past him like a shadow, giving a sigh to what\nmight have been, and thinking with perhaps a little awakening thrill of\nexpectation of what was so soon to be, nobody could tell. He was as\nsilent as if he slept--almost as silent as if he had been dead.\n\nBut Aunt Agatha was not asleep. She was in her room all alone, praying\nfor him, stopping by times to think how different it might have been.\nShe might have been with him then, taking care of him, instead of being\nso far away; and when she thought of that, the tears stood in her eyes.\nBut it was not her fault. She had nothing to upbraid herself with. She\nwas well aware whose doing it was--poor man, and it was he who was the\nsufferer now; but she said her prayers for him all the same.\n\nWhen a few days had passed, the event occurred of which there had never\nbeen any doubt. Francis Ochterlony died very peaceably and quietly,\nleaving not only all of which he died possessed, but his blessing and\nthanks to the boy who had stood in the place of a son to him. He took no\nunnecessary time about his dying, and yet he did not do anything hastily\nto shock people. It was known he was ill, and everybody had the\nsatisfaction of sending to inquire for him, and testifying their respect\nbefore he died. Such a thing was indeed seen on one day as seven\nservants, all men on horseback, sent with messages of inquiry, which was\na great gratification to Mrs. Gilsland, and the rest of the servants.\n\"He went off like a lamb at the last,\" they all said; and though he was\nnot much like a lamb, there might have been employed a less appropriate\nimage. He made a little sketch with his own hands as to how the Museum\nwas to be arranged, and told Hugh what provision to make for the old\nservants; and gave him a great many advices, such as he never had taken\nhimself; and was so pleasant and cheery about it, that they scarcely\nknew the moment when the soft twilight sank into absolute night. He died\nan old man, full of many an unexpressed philosophy, and yet, somehow,\nwith the sentiment of a young one: like a tree ripe and full of fruit,\nyet with blossoms still lingering on the topmost branches, as you see on\norange-trees--sage and experienced, and yet with something of the\nvirginal and primal state. Perhaps it was not a light price to give for\nthis crowning touch of delicacy and purity--the happiness (so to speak)\nof his own life and of Aunt Agatha's. And yet the link between the old\nlovers, thus fancifully revived, was very sweet and real. And they had\nnot been at all unhappy apart, on the whole, either of them. And it is\nsomething to preserve this quintessence of maidenhood and primal\nfreshness to the end of a long life, and leave the visionary perfume of\nit among a community much given to marrying and giving in marriage. It\nwas thus that Francis Ochterlony died.\n\nEarlston, of course, was all shut up immediately, blinds drawn and\nshutters closed, and what was more unusual, true tears shed, and a true\nweight, so long as it lasted, upon the hearts of all the people about.\nThe servants, perhaps, were not quite uninfluenced by the thought that\nall their legacies, &c., were left in the hands of their new master, who\nwas little more than a boy. And the Cottage, too, was closed, and the\ninmates went about in a shadowed atmosphere, and were very sorry, and\nthought a little of Mr. Ochterlony--not all as Aunt Agatha did, who kept\nher room, and shed many tears; but still he was thought of in the house.\nIt is true that Mary could not help remembering that now her Hugh was no\nlonger a boy, dependent upon anybody's pleasure, but the master of the\nhouse of his fathers--the house his own father was born in; and an\nimportant personage. She could not help thinking of this, nor, in spite\nof herself, feeling her heart swell, and asking herself if it was indeed\nher Hugh who had come to this promotion. And yet she was very sorry for\nMr. Ochterlony's death. He had been good to her children, always\ncourteous and deferential to herself; and she was sorry for him as a\nwoman is sorry for a man _who has nobody belonging to him_--sorrier far,\nin most cases, than the man is for himself. He was dead in his\nloneliness, and the thought of it brought a quiet moisture to Mary's\neyes; but Hugh was living, and it was he who was the master of all; and\nit was not in human nature that his mother's grief should be bitter or\nprofound.\n\n\"Hugh is a lucky boy,\" said Mrs. Percival; \"I think you are all lucky,\nMary, you and your children. To come into Earlston with so little\nwaiting, and have everything left in his own hands.\"\n\n\"I don't think he will be thinking of that,\" said Mary. \"He was fond of\nhis uncle; I am sure he will feel his loss.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, no doubt; I ought not to have said anything so improper,\" said\nWinnie, with that restrained smile and uncomfortable inference which\ncomes so naturally to some people. She knew nothing and cared nothing\nabout Francis Ochterlony; and she was impatient of what she called Aunt\nAgatha's nonsense; and she could not but feel it at once unreasonable\nand monstrous that anything but the painful state of her own affairs\nshould occupy people in the house she was living in. Yet the fact was\nthat this event had to a certain extent eclipsed Winnie. The anxiety\nwith which everybody looked for a message or letter about Mr.\nOchterlony's state blinded them a little to her worn looks and listless\nwretchedness. They did not neglect her, nor were they indifferent to\nher; for, indeed, it would be difficult to be indifferent to a figure\nwhich held so prominent a place in the foreground of everything; but\nstill when they were in such a state of suspense about what was\nhappening at Earlston, no doubt Winnie's affairs were to a certain\nextent overlooked. It is natural for an old man to die: but it is not\nnatural for a young woman--a woman in the bloom and fulness of life--one\nwho has been, and ought still to be, a great beauty--to be driven by her\nwrongs out of all that makes life endurable. This was how Winnie\nreasoned; and she was jealous of the attention given to Mr. Ochterlony\nas he accomplished the natural act of dying. What was that in comparison\nwith the terrible struggles of life?\n\nBut naturally it made a great difference when it was all over, and when\nHugh, subdued and very serious, but still another man from the Hugh who\nthe other day was but a boy, came to the Cottage \"for a little change,\"\nand to give his mother all the particulars. He came all tender in his\nnatural grief, with eyes ready to glisten, and a voice that sometimes\nfaltered; but, nevertheless, there was something about him which showed\nthat it was he who was Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston now.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\n\nThis was the kind of crisis in the family history at which Uncle Penrose\nwas sure to make his appearance. He was the only man among them, he\nsometimes said--or, at least, the only man who knew anything about\nmoney; and he came into the midst of the Ochterlonys in their mourning,\nas large and important as he had been when Winnie was married, looking\nas if he had never taken his left hand out of his pocket all the time.\nHe had not been asked to the funeral, and he marked his consciousness of\nthat fact by making his appearance in buff waistcoats and apparel which\naltogether displayed light-heartedness if not levity--and which was very\nwounding to Aunt Agatha's feelings. Time, somehow, did not seem to have\ntouched him. If he was not so offensively and demonstratively a Man, in\nthe sweet-scented feminine house, as he used to be, it was no reticence\nof his, but because the boys were men, or nearly so, and the character\nof the household changed. And Hugh was Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston;\nwhich, perhaps, was the fact that made the greatest difference of all.\n\nHe came the day after Hugh's return, and in the evening there had been a\nvery affecting scene in the Cottage. In faithful discharge of his\npromise, Hugh had carried the Henri Deux, carefully packed, as became\nits value and fragile character, to Aunt Agatha; and she had received it\nfrom him with a throbbing heart and many tears. \"It was almost the last\nthing he said to me,\" Hugh had said. \"He put it all aside with his own\nhand, the day you admired it so much; and he told me over and over\nagain, to be sure not to forget.\" Aunt Agatha had been sitting with her\nhands clasped upon the arm of his chair, and her eyes fixed upon him,\nnot to lose a word; but when he said this, she covered her face with\nthose soft old hands, and was silent and did not even weep. It was the\ntruest grief that was in her heart, and yet with that, there was an\nexquisite pang of delight, such as goes through and through a girl when\nfirst she perceives that she is loved, and sees her power! She was as a\nwidow, and yet she was an innocent maiden, full of experience and\ninexperience, feeling the heaviness of the evening shadows, and yet\nstill in the age of splendour in the grass and glory in the flower. The\nsense of that last tenderness went through her with a thrill of joy and\ngrief beyond description. It gave him back to her for ever and ever, but\nnot with that sober appropriation which might have seemed natural to her\nage. She could no more look them in the face while it was being told,\nthan had he been a living lover and she a girl. It was a supreme\nconjunction and blending of the two extremes of life, a fusion of youth\nand of age.\n\n\"I never thought he noticed what I said,\" she answered at last with a\nsoft sob--and uncovered the eyes that were full of tears, and yet\ndazzled as with a sudden light; and she would let no one touch the\nprecious legacy, but unpacked it herself, shedding tears that were\nbitter and yet sweet, over its many wrappings. Though he was a man, and\nvaguely buoyed up, without knowing it, by the strange new sense of his\nown importance, Hugh could have found it in his heart to shed tears,\ntoo, over the precious bits of porcelain, that had now acquired an\ninterest so much more near and touching than anything connected with\nHenri Deux; and so could his mother. But there were two who looked on\nwith dry eyes: the one was Winnie, who would have liked to break it all\ninto bits, as she swept past it with her long dress, and could not put\nup with Aunt Agatha's nonsense; the other was Will, who watched the\nexhibition curiously with close observation, wondering how it was that\npeople were such fools, and feeling the shadow of his brother weigh upon\nhim with a crushing weight. But these two malcontents were not in\nsympathy with each other, and never dreamt of making common cause.\n\nAnd it was when the house was in this condition, that Uncle Penrose\narrived. He arrived, as usual, just in time to make a fuss necessary\nabout a late dinner, and to put Peggy out of temper, which was a fact\nthat soon made itself felt through the house; and he began immediately\nto speak to Hugh about Earlston, and about \"your late uncle,\" without\nthe smallest regard for Aunt Agatha's feelings. \"I know there was\nsomething between him and Miss Agatha once,\" he said, with a kind of\nsmile at her, \"but of course that was all over long ago.\" And this was\nsaid when poor Miss Seton, who felt that the bond had never before been\nso sweet and so close, was seated at the head of her own table, and had\nto bear it and make no sign.\n\n\"Probably there will be a great deal to be done on the estate,\" Mr.\nPenrose said; \"these studious men always let things go to ruin out of\ndoors; but there's a collection of curiosities or antiquities, or\nsomething. If that's good, it will bring in money. When a man is known,\nsuch things sell.\"\n\n\"But it is not to be sold,\" said Hugh quickly. \"I have settled all about\nthat.\"\n\n\"Not to be sold?--nonsense!\" said Mr. Penrose; \"you don't mean to say\nyou are a collector--at your age? No, no, my boy; they're no good to him\nwhere he is now; he could not take them into his vault with him.\nFeelings are all very well, but you can't be allowed to lose a lot of\nmoney for a prejudice. What kind of things are they--pictures and that\nsort? or----\"\n\n\"I have made all the necessary arrangements,\" said Hugh with youthful\ndignity. \"I want you to go with me to Dalken, mother, to see some rooms\nthe mayor has offered for them--nice rooms belonging to the Town Hall.\nThey could have 'Ochterlony Museum' put up over the doors, and do better\nthan a separate building, besides saving the expense.\"\n\nMr. Penrose gave a long whistle, which under any circumstances would\nhave been very indecorous at a lady's table. \"So that is how it's to\nbe!\" he said; \"but we'll talk that over first, with your permission, Mr.\nOchterlony of Earlston. You are too young to know what you're doing. I\nsuppose the ladies are at the bottom of it; they never know the value of\nmoney. And yet we know what it costs to get it when it is wanted, Miss\nAgatha,\" said the insolent man of money, who never would forget that\nMiss Seton herself had once been in difficulties. She looked at him with\na kind of smile, as politeness ordained, but tears of pain stood in Aunt\nAgatha's eyes. If ever she hated anybody in her gentle life, it was Mr.\nPenrose; and somehow he made himself hateful in her presence to\neverybody concerned.\n\n\"It costs more to get it than it is ever worth,\" said Winnie, indignant,\nand moved for the first time, to make a diversion, and come to Aunt\nAgatha's aid.\n\n\"Ah, I have no doubt you know all about it,\" said Mr. Penrose, turning\nhis arms upon her. \"You should have taken my advice. If you had come to\nLiverpool, as I wanted you, and married some steady-going fellow with\nplenty of money, and gone at a more reasonable pace, you would not have\nchanged so much at your age. Look at Mary, how well preserved she is: I\ndon't know what you can have been doing with yourself to look so\nchanged.\"\n\n\"I am sorry you think me a fright,\" said Winnie, with an angry sparkle\nin her eye.\n\n\"You are not a fright,\" said Uncle Penrose; \"one can see that you've\nbeen a very handsome woman, but you are not what you were when I saw you\nlast, Winnie. The fault of your family is that you are extravagant,--I\nam sure you did not get it from your mother's side;--extravagant of your\nmoney and your hospitality, and your looks and everything. I am sure\nMary has nothing to spare, and yet I've found people living here for\nweeks together. _I_ can't afford visitors like that--I have my family to\nconsider, and people that have real claims upon me--no more than I could\nafford to set up a museum. If I had a lot of curiosities thrown on my\nhands, I should make them into money. It is not everybody that can\nappreciate pictures, but everybody understands five per cent. And then\nhe might have done something worth while for his brothers: not that I\napprove of a man impoverishing himself for the sake of his friends, but\nstill two thousand pounds isn't much. And he might have done something\nfor his mother, or looked after Will's education. It's family pride, I\nsuppose; but I'd rather give my mother a house of her own than set up an\nOchterlony Museum. Tastes differ, you know.\"\n\n\"His mother agrees with him entirely in everything he is doing,\" said\nMary, with natural resentment. \"I wish all mothers had sons as good as\nmine.\"\n\n\"Hush,\" said Hugh, who was crimson with indignation and anger: \"I\ndecline to discuss these matters with Uncle Penrose. Because he is your\nuncle, mother, he shall inquire into the estates as much as he likes;\nbut I am the head of the house, and I am responsible only to God and to\nthose who are dead--and, mother, to you,\" said Hugh, with his eyes\nglistening and his face glowing.\n\nUncle Penrose gave another contemptuous prolonged whistle at this\nspeech, but the others looked at the young man with admiration and love;\neven Winnie, whose heart could still be touched, regarded the young\npaladin with a kind of tender envy and admiration. She was too young to\nbe his mother, but she did not feel herself young; and her heart yearned\nto have some one who would stand by her and defend her as such a youth\ncould. A world of softer possibilities than anything she would permit\nherself to think of now, came into her mind, and she looked at him. If\nshe too had but been the mother of children like her sister! but it\nappeared that Mary was to have the best of it, always and in every way.\n\nAs for Will, he looked at the eldest son with very different feelings.\nHugh was not particularly clever, and his brother had long entertained a\ncertain contempt for him. He thought what _he_ would have done had he\nbeen the head of the house. He was disposed to sneer, like Mr. Penrose,\nat the Ochterlony Museum. Was it not a confession of a mean mind, an\nacknowledgment of weakness, to consent to send away all the lovely\nthings that made Will's vision of Earlston like a vision of heaven? If\nit had been Will he would not have thought of five per cent., but\nneither would he have thought of making a collection of them at Dalken,\nwhere the country bumpkins might come and stare. He would have kept them\nall to himself, and they would have made his life beautiful. And he\nscorned Hugh for dispossessing himself of them, and reducing the\nEarlston rooms into rooms of ordinary habitation. Had they but been\nhis--had he but been the eldest, the head of the house--then the world\nand the family and Uncle Penrose would have seen very different things.\n\nBut yet Hugh had character enough to stand firm. He made his mother get\nher bonnet and go out with him after dinner; and everybody in the house\nlooked after the two as they went away--the mother and her\nfirstborn--he, with his young head towering above her, though Mary was\ntall, and she putting her arm within his so proudly--not without a\ntender elation in his new importance, a sense of his superior place and\nindependent rank, which was strangely sweet. Winnie looked after them,\nenvying her sister, and yet with an envy which was not bitter; and Will\nstood and looked fiercely on this brother who, by no virtue of his own,\nhad been born before him. As for Aunt Agatha, who was fond of them all,\nshe went to her own room to heal her wounds; and Mr. Penrose, who was\nfond of none of them, went up to the Hall to talk things over with Sir\nEdward, whom he had once talked over to such purpose. And the only two\nwho could stray down to the soft-flowing Kirtell, and listen to the\nmelody of the woods and waters, and talk in concert of what they had\nwished and planned, were Mary and Hugh.\n\n\"The great thing to be settled is about Will,\" the head of the house was\nsaying. \"You shall see, mother, when he is in the world and knows\nbetter, all _that_ will blow away. His two thousand pounds is not much,\nas Uncle Penrose says; but it was all my father had: and when he wants\nit, and when Islay wants it, there can always be something added. It is\nmy business to see to that.\"\n\n\"It was all your father had,\" said Mary, \"and all your uncle intended;\nand I see no reason why you should add to it, Hugh. There will be a\nlittle more when I am gone; and in the meantime, if we only knew what\nWill would like to do----\"\n\n\"Why, they'll make him a fellow of his college,\" said Hugh. \"He'll go in\nfor all sorts of honours. He's awfully clever, mother; there's no fear\nof Will. The best thing I can see is to send him to read with\nsomebody--somebody with no end of a reputation, that he would have a\nsort of an awe for--and then the University. It would be no use doing it\nif he was just like other people; but there's everything to be made of\nWill.\"\n\n\"I hope so,\" said Mary, with a little sigh. And then she added, \"So I\nshall be left quite alone?\"\n\n\"No; you are coming to Earlston with me,\" said Hugh; \"that is quite\nunderstood. There will be a great deal to do; and I don't think things\nare quite comfortable at the Cottage, with Mrs. Percival here.\"\n\n\"Poor Winnie!\" said Mrs. Ochterlony. \"I don't think I ought to leave\nAunt Agatha--at least, while she is so much in the dark about my sister.\nAnd then you told me you had promised to marry, Hugh?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the young man; and straightway the colour came to his cheek,\nand dimples to the corners of his mouth; \"but she is too y---- I mean,\nthere is plenty of time to think of that.\"\n\n\"She is too young?\" said Mary, startled. \"Do I know her, I wonder? I did\nnot imagine you had settled on the person as well as the fact. Well; and\nthen, you know, I should have to come back again. I will come to visit\nyou at Earlston: but I must keep my head-quarters here.\"\n\n\"I don't see why you should have to come back again,\" said Hugh,\nsomewhat affronted. \"Earlston is big enough, and you would be sure to be\nfond of _her_. No, I don't know that the person is settled upon. Perhaps\nshe wouldn't have me; perhaps---- But, anyhow, you are coming to\nEarlston, mother dear. And, after a while, we could have some visitor\nperhaps--your friends: you know I am very fond of your friends, mamma.\"\n\n\"All my friends, Hugh?\" said his mother, with a smile.\n\nThis was the kind of talk they were having while Mr. Penrose was laying\nthe details of Hugh's extravagance before Sir Edward, and doing all he\ncould to incite him to a solemn cross-examination of Winnie. Whether she\nhad run away from her husband, or if not exactly that, what were the\ncircumstances under which she had left him; and whether a reconciliation\ncould be brought about;--all this was as interesting to Sir Edward as it\nwas to Uncle Penrose; but what the latter gentleman was particularly\nanxious about was, what they had done with their money, and if the\nunlucky couple were very deeply in debt. \"I suspect that is at the\nbottom of it,\" he said. And they were both concerned about Winnie, in\ntheir way--anxious to keep her from being talked about, and to preserve\nto her a place of repentance. Mrs. Percival, however, was not so simple\nas to subject herself to this ordeal. When Sir Edward called in an\naccidental way next morning, and Uncle Penrose drew a solemn chair to\nher side, Winnie sprang up and went away. She went off, and shut herself\nup in her own room, and declined to go back, or give any further account\nof herself. \"If they want to drive me away, I will go away,\" she said\nto Aunt Agatha, who came up tremulously to her door, and begged her to\ngo downstairs.\n\n\"My darling, they can't drive you away; you have come to see me,\" said\nAunt Agatha. \"It would be strange if any one wanted to drive you from my\nhouse.\"\n\nWinnie was excited, and driven out of her usual self-restraint. Perhaps\nshe had begun to soften a little. She gave way to momentary tears, and\nkissed Aunt Agatha, whose heart in a moment forsook all other\npre-occupations, and returned for ever and ever to her child.\n\n\"Yes, I have come to see _you_,\" she cried; \"and don't let them come and\nhunt me to death. I have done nothing to them. I have injured nobody;\nand I will not be put upon my trial for anybody in the wide world.\"\n\n\"My dear love! my poor darling child!\" was all that Aunt Agatha said.\n\nAnd then Winnie dried her eyes. \"I may as well say it now,\" she said. \"I\nwill give an account of myself to nobody but you; and if _he_ should\ncome after me here----\"\n\n\"Yes, Winnie darling?\" said Aunt Agatha, in great suspense, as Mrs.\nPercival stopped to take breath.\n\n\"Nothing in the world will make me see him--nothing in the world!\" cried\nWinnie. \"It is best you should know. It is no good asking me--nothing in\nthe world!\"\n\n\"Oh, Winnie, my dear child!\" cried Aunt Agatha in anxious remonstrance,\nbut she was not permitted to say any more. Winnie kissed her again in a\nperemptory way, and led her to the door, and closed it softly upon her.\nShe had given forth her _ultimatum_, and now it was for her defender to\ncarry on the fight.\n\nBut within a few days another crisis arose of a less manageable kind.\nUncle Penrose made everybody highly uncomfortable, and left stings in\neach individual mind, but fortunately business called him back after two\ndays to his natural sphere. And Sir Edward was affronted, and did not\nreturn to the charge; and Mrs. Percival, with a natural yearning, had\nbegun to make friends with her nephew, and draw him to her side to\nsupport her if need should be. And Mary was preparing to go with her boy\nafter a while to Earlston; and Hugh himself found frequent business at\nCarlisle, and went and came continually; when it happened one day that\nher friends came to pay Mrs. Ochterlony a visit, to offer their\ncondolences and congratulations upon Hugh's succession and his uncle's\ndeath.\n\nThey came into the drawing-room before any one was aware; and Winnie was\nthere, with her shawl round her as usual. All the ladies of the Cottage\nwere there: Aunt Agatha seated within sight of her legacy, the precious\nHenri Deux, which was all arranged in a tiny little cupboard, shut in\nwith glass, which Hugh had found for her; and Mary working as usual for\nher boys. Winnie was the one who never had anything to do; instead of\ndoing anything, poor soul, she wound her arms closer and closer into her\nshawl. It was not a common visit that was about to be paid. There was\nMrs. Kirkman, and Mrs. Askell, and the doctor's sister, and the wife of\na new Captain, who had come with them; and they all swept in and kissed\nMary, and took possession of the place. They kissed Mary, and shook\nhands with Aunt Agatha; and then Mrs. Kirkman stopped short, and looked\nat Winnie, and made her a most stately curtsey. The others would have\ndone the same, had their courage been as good; but both Mrs. Askell and\nMiss Sorbette were doubtful how Mary would take it, and compromised, and\nmade some sign of recognition in a distant way. Then they all subsided\ninto chairs, and did their best to talk.\n\n\"It is a coincidence that brings us all here together to-day,\" said Mrs.\nKirkman; \"I hope it is not too much for you, my dear Mary. How affecting\nwas poor Mr. Ochterlony's death! I hope you have that evidence of his\nspiritual state which is the only consolation in such a case.\"\n\n\"He was a good man,\" said Mary; \"very kind, and generous, and just.\nHugh, who knew him best, was very fond of him----\"\n\n\"Ah, fond of him; We are all fond of our friends,\" said Mrs. Kirkman;\n\"but the only real comfort is to know what was their spiritual state. Do\nyou know I am very anxious about your parish here. If you would but take\nup the work, it would be a great thing. And I would like to have a talk\nwith Hugh: he is in an important position now; he may influence for good\nso many people. Dear Miss Seton, I am sure you will help me all you can\nto lead him in the right way.\"\n\n\"He is such a dear!\" said Emma Askell. \"He has been to see us four or\nfive times: it was so good of him. _I_ didn't know Mr. Ochterlony,\nMadonna dear; so you need not be vexed if I say right out that I am so\nglad. Hugh will make a perfect Squire; and he is such a dear. Oh, Miss\nSeton, I know _you_ will agree with me--isn't he a dear?\"\n\n\"He's a very fine young fellow,\" said Miss Sorbette. \"I remember him\nwhen he was only _that_ height, so I think I may speak. It seems like\nyesterday when he was at that queer marriage, you know--such a funny,\nwistful little soul. I daresay you recollect, Mary, for it was rather\nhard upon you.\"\n\n\"We all recollect,\" said Mrs. Kirkman; \"don't speak of it. Thank Heaven,\nit has done those dear children no harm.\"\n\nThere was something ringing in Mary's ears, but she could not say a\nword. Her voice seemed to die on her lips, and her heart in her breast.\nIf her boys were to hear, and demand an explanation! Something almost as\nbad happened. Winnie, who was looking on, whom nobody had spoken to, now\ntook it upon herself to interpose.\n\n\"What marriage?\" she said. \"It must have been something of consequence,\nand I should like to know.\"\n\nThis question fluttered the visitors in the strangest way; none of them\nlooked at Winnie, but they looked at each other, with a sudden movement\nof skirts and consultation of glances. Mrs. Kirkman put her\nbonnet-strings straight, slowly, and sighed; and Miss Sorbette bent down\nher head with great concern, and exclaimed that she had lost the button\nof her glove; and Emma Askell shrank behind backs, and made a great\nrustling with her dress. \"Oh, it was nothing at all,\" she said; being by\nnature the least hard-hearted of the three. That was all the answer they\ngave to Winnie, who was the woman who had been talked about. And the\nnext moment all three rushed at Mary, and spoke to her in the same\nbreath, in their agitation; for at least they were agitated by the bold\n_coup_ they had made. It was a stroke which Winnie felt. She turned very\nred and then very pale, but she did not flinch: she sat there in the\nforeground, close to them all, till they had said everything they had to\nsay; and held her head high, ready to meet the eye of anybody who dared\nto look at her. As for the other members of the party, Mary had been\ndriven _hors du combat_, and for the first moment was too much occupied\nwith her own feelings to perceive the insult that had been directed at\nher sister; and Aunt Agatha was too much amazed to take any part. Thus\nthey sat, the visitors in a rustle of talk and silk and agitation and\nuneasiness, frightened at the step they had taken, with Winnie immovable\nand unflinching in the midst of them, until the other ladies of the\nhouse recovered their self-possession. Then an unquestionable chill fell\nupon the party. When such visitors came to Kirtell on ordinary\noccasions, they were received with pleasant hospitality. It was not a\nceremonious call, it was a frank familiar visit, prolonged for an hour\nor two; and though five o'clock tea had not then been invented, it was\nextemporized for the occasion, and fruit was gathered, and flowers, and\nall the pleasant country details that please visitors from a town. And\nwhen it was time to go, everybody knew how many minutes were necessary\nfor the walk to the station, and the Cottage people escorted their\nvisitors, and waved their hands to them as the train started. Such had\nbeen the usual routine of a visit to Kirtell. But matters were changed\nnow. After that uneasy rustle and flutter, a silence equally uneasy fell\nupon the assembly. The new Captain's wife, who had never been there\nbefore, could not make it out. Mrs. Percival sat silent, the centre of\nthe group, and nobody addressed a word to her; and Aunt Agatha leaned\nback in her chair and never opened her lips; and even Mary gave the\ncoldest, briefest answers to the talk which everybody poured upon her at\nonce. It was all quite mysterious and unexplicable to the Captain's\nwife.\n\n\"I am afraid we must not stay,\" Mrs. Kirkman said at last, who was the\nsuperior officer. \"I hope we have not been too much for you, my dear\nMary. I want so much to have a long talk with you about the parish and\nthe work that is to be done in it. If I could only see you take it up!\nBut I see you are not able for it now.\"\n\n\"I am not the clergyman,\" said Mary, whose temper was slightly touched.\n\"You know that never was my _role_.\"\n\n\"Ah, my dear friend!\" said Mrs. Kirkman, and she bent her head forward\npathetically to Mrs. Ochterlony's, and shook it in her face, and kissed\nher, \"if one could always feel ones' self justified in leaving it in the\nhands of the clergyman! But you are suffering, and I will say no more\nto-day.\"\n\nAnd Miss Sorbette, too, made a pretence of having something very\nabsorbing to say to Mrs. Ochterlony; and the exit of the visitors was\nmade in a kind of scuffle very different from their dignified entrance.\nThey had to walk back to the station in the heat of the afternoon, and\nto sit there in the dusty waiting-room an hour and a half waiting for\nthe train. Seldom is justice so promptly or poetically executed. And\nthey took to upbraiding each other, as was natural, and Emma Askell\ncried, and said it was not her fault. And the new Captain's wife asked\naudibly, if that was the Madonna Mary the gentlemen talked about, and\nthe house that was so pleasant? Perhaps the three ladies in the Cottage\ndid not feel much happier; Aunt Agatha rose up tremblingly when they\nwere gone, and went to Winnie and kissed her. \"Oh, what does it all\nmean?\" Miss Seton cried. It was the first time she had seen any one\nbelonging to her pointed at by the finger of scorn.\n\n\"It means that Mary's friends don't approve of me,\" said Winnie; but her\nlip quivered as she spoke. She did not care! But yet she was a woman,\nand she did care, whatever she might say.\n\nAnd then Mary, too, came and kissed her sister. \"My poor Winnie!\" she\nsaid, tenderly. She could not be her sister's partizan out and out, like\nAunt Agatha. Her heart was sore for what she knew, and for what she did\nnot know; but she could not forsake her own flesh and blood. The\ninquisition of Uncle Penrose and Sir Edward was a very small matter\nindeed in comparison with this woman's insult, but yet it drew Winnie\nimperceptibly closer to her only remaining friends.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\n\nIt was not likely that Will, who had speculated so much on the family\nhistory, should remain unmoved by all these changes. His intellect was\nvery lively, and well developed, and his conscience was to a great\nextent dormant. If he had been in the way of seeing, or being tempted\ninto actual vices, no doubt the lad's education would have served him in\nbetter stead, and his moral sense would have been awakened. But he had\nbeen injured in his finer moral perceptions by a very common and very\nunsuspected agency. He had been in the way of hearing very small\noffences indeed made into sins. Aunt Agatha had been almost as hard upon\nhim forgetting a text as if he had told a lie--and his tutor, the\ncurate, had treated a false quantity, or a failure of memory, as a moral\noffence. That was in days long past, and it was Wilfrid now who found\nout his curate in false quantities, and scorned him accordingly; and who\nhad discovered that Aunt Agatha herself, if she remembered the text,\nknew very little about it. This system of making sins out of trifles had\npassed quite harmlessly over Hugh and Islay; but Wilfrid's was the\nexceptional mind to which it did serious harm. And the more he\ndiscovered that the sins of his childhood were not sins, the more\nconfused did his mind become, and the more dull his conscience, as to\nthose sins of thought and feeling, which were the only ones at present\ninto which he was tempted. What had any one to do with the complexion of\nhis thoughts? If he felt one way or another, what matter was it to any\none but himself? Other people might dissemble and take credit for the\nemotions approved of by public opinion, but he would be true and\ngenuine. And accordingly he did not see why he should pretend to be\npleased at Hugh's advancement. He was not pleased. He said to himself\nthat it went against all the rules of natural justice. Hugh was no\nbetter than he; on the contrary, he was less clever, less capable of\nmental exertion, which, so far as Will knew, was the only standard of\nsuperiority; and yet he was Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston, with a house and\nestate, with affairs to manage, and tenants to influence, and the Psyche\nand the Venus to do what he liked with: whereas Will was nobody, and was\nto have two thousand pounds for all his inheritance. He had been\ntalking, too, a great deal to Mr. Penrose, and that had not done him any\ngood; for Uncle Penrose's view was that nothing should stand in the way\nof acquiring money or other wealth--nothing but the actual law. To do\nanything dishonest, that could be punished, was of course pure\ninsanity--not to say crime; but to let any sort of false honour, or\npride, or delicacy stand between you and the acquisition of money was\nalmost as great insanity, according to his ideas. \"Go into business and\nkeep at it, and you may buy him up--him and his beggarly estate\"--had\nbeen Uncle Penrose's generous suggestion; and it was a good deal in\nWilfrid's mind. To be sure it was quite opposed to the intellectual\ntendency which led him to quite a different class of pursuits. But what\nwas chiefly before him in the meantime was Hugh, preferred to so much\ndistinction, and honour, and glory; and yet if the truth were known, a\nvery stupid fellow in comparison with himself--Will. And it was not only\nthat he was Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston. He was first with everybody. Sir\nEdward, who took but little notice of Will, actually consulted Hugh, and\nhe was the first to be thought of in any question that occurred in the\nCottage; and, what went deepest of all, Nelly--Nelly Askell whom Will\nhad appropriated, not as his love, for his mind had not as yet opened to\nthat idea, but as his sympathizer-in-chief--the listener to all his\ncomplaints and speculations--his audience whom nobody had any right to\ntake from him--Nelly had gone over to his brother's side. And the idea\nof going into business, even at the cost of abandoning all his favourite\nstudies, and sticking close to it, and buying him up--him and his\nbeggarly estate--was a good deal at this moment in Wilfrid's thoughts.\nEven the new-comer, Winnie, who might if she pleased have won him to\nherself, had preferred Hugh. So that he was alone on his side, and\neverybody was on his brother's--a position which often confuses right\nand wrong, even to minds least set upon their own will and way.\n\nHe was sauntering on Kirtell banks a few days after the visit above\nrecorded, in an unusually uncomfortable state of mind. Mrs. Askell had\nfelt great compunction about her share in that event, and she had sent\nNelly, who was known to be a favourite at the cottage, with a very\nanxious letter, assuring her dear Madonna that it was not her fault.\nMary had not received the letter with much favour, but she had welcomed\nNelly warmly; and Hugh had found means to occupy her attention; and\nWill, who saw no place for him, had wandered out, slightly sulky, to\nKirtell-side. He was free to come and go as he liked. Nobody there had\nany particular need of him; and a solitary walk is not a particularly\nenlivening performance when one has left an entire household occupied\nand animated behind. As he wound his way down the bank he saw another\npassenger on the road before him, who was not of a description of man\nmuch known on Kirtell-side. It seemed to Will that he had seen this\nfigure somewhere before. It must be one of the regiment, one of the\ngentlemen of whom the Cottage was a little jealous, and who were thought\nto seek occasions of visiting Kirtell oftener than politeness required.\nAs Will went on, however, he saw that the stranger was somebody whom he\nhad never seen before, and curiosity was a lively faculty in him, and\nreadily awakened. Neither was the unknown indifferent to Will's\nappearance or approach; on the contrary, he turned round at the sound of\nthe youth's step and scrutinized him closely, and lingered that he might\nbe overtaken. He was tall, and a handsome man, still young, and with an\nair which only much traffic with the world confers. No man could have\ngot that look and aspect who had lived all his life on Kirtell; and even\nWill, inexperienced as he was, could recognise this. It did not occur to\nhim, quick as his intellect was at putting things together, who it was;\nbut a little expectation awoke in his mind as he quickened his steps to\novertake the stranger, who was clearly waiting to be overtaken.\n\n\"I beg your pardon,\" he said, as soon as Wilfrid had come up to him;\n\"are you young Ochterlony? I mean, one of the young Ochterlonys?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Will, \"and yet yes; I am not young Ochterlony, but I am one\nof the young Ochterlonys, as you say.\"\n\nUpon this his new companion gave a keen look at him, as if discerning\nsome meaning under the words.\n\n\"I thought so,\" he said; \"and I am Major Percival, whom you may have\nheard of. It is a queer question, but I suppose there is no doubt that\nmy wife is up there?\"\n\nHe gave a little jerk with his hand as he spoke in the direction of the\nCottage. He was standing on the very same spot where he had seen Winnie\ncoming to him the day they first pledged their troth; and though he was\nfar from being a good man, he remembered it, having still a certain love\nfor his wife, and the thought gave bitterness to his tone.\n\n\"Yes, she is there,\" said Will.\n\n\"Then I will thank you to come back with me,\" said Percival. \"I don't\nwant to go and send in my name, like a stranger. Take me in by the\ngarden, where you enter by the window. I suppose nobody can have any\nobjection to my seeing my wife: your aunt, perhaps, or your mother?\"\n\n\"Perhaps _she_ does not wish to see you,\" said Will.\n\nThe stranger laughed.\n\n\"It is a pleasant suggestion,\" he said; \"but at least you cannot object\nto admit me, and let me try.\"\n\nWilfrid might have hesitated if he had been more fully contented with\neverybody belonging to him; but, to tell the truth, he knew no reason\nwhy Winnie's husband should not see her. He had not been sufficiently\ninterested to wish to fathom the secret, and he had accepted, not caring\nmuch about it, Aunt Agatha's oft-repeated declaration, that their\nvisitor had arrived so suddenly to give her \"a delightful surprise.\"\nWilfrid did not care much about the matter, and he made no inquiries\ninto it. He turned accordingly with the new-comer, not displeased to be\nthe first of the house to make acquaintance with him. Percival had all a\nman's advantage over his wife in respect to wear and tear. She had lost\nher youth, her freshness, and all that gave its chief charm to her\nbeauty, but he had lost very little in outward appearance. Poor Winnie's\ndissipations were the mildest pleasures in comparison with his, and yet\nhe had kept even his youth, while hers was gone for ever. And he had not\nthe air of a bad man--perhaps he was not actually a bad man. He did\nwhatever he liked without acknowledging any particular restraint of\nduty, or truth, or even honour, except the limited standard of honour\ncurrent among men of his class--but he had no distinct intention of\nbeing wicked; and he was, beyond dispute, a little touched by seeing, as\nhe had just done, the scene of that meeting which had decided Winnie's\nfate. He went up the bank considerably softened, and disposed to be very\nkind. It was he who had been in the wrong in their last desperate\nstruggle, and he found it easy to forgive himself; and Aunt Agatha's\ngarden, and the paths, and flower-pots he remembered so well, softened\nhim more and more. If he had gone straight in, and nothing had happened,\nhe would have kissed his wife in the most amiable way, and forgiven\nher, and been in perfect amity with everybody--but this was not how it\nwas to be.\n\nWinnie was sitting as usual, unoccupied, indoors. As she was not doing\nanything her eyes were free to wander further than if they had been more\nparticularly engaged, and at that moment, as it happened, they were\nturned in the direction of the window from which she had so often\nwatched Sir Edward's light. All at once she started to her feet. It was\nwhat she had looked for from the first; what, perhaps, in the stagnation\nof the household quiet here she had longed for. High among the roses and\nwaving honeysuckles she caught a momentary glimpse of a head which she\ncould have recognised at any distance. At that sight all the excitement\nof the interrupted struggle rushed back into her heart. A pang of fierce\njoy, and hatred, and opposition moved her. There he stood who had done\nher so much wrong; who had trampled on all her feelings and insulted\nher, and yet pretended to love her, and dared to seek her. Winnie did\nnot say anything to her companions; indeed she was too much engrossed at\nthe moment to remember that she had any companions. She turned and fled\nwithout a word, disappearing swiftly, noiselessly, in an instant, as\npeople have a gift of doing when much excited. She was shut up in her\nroom, with her door locked, before any one knew she had stirred. It is\ntrue he was not likely to come upstairs and assail her by force; but she\ndid not think of that. She locked her door and sat down, with her heart\nbeating, and her breath coming quick, expecting, hoping--she would\nherself have said fearing--an attack.\n\nWinnie thought it was a long time before Aunt Agatha came, softly,\ntremulously, to her door, but in reality it was but a few minutes. He\nhad come in, and had taken matters with a high hand, and had demanded to\nsee his wife. \"He will think it is we who are keeping you away from him.\nHe will not believe you do not want to come,\" said poor Aunt Agatha, at\nthe door.\n\n\"Nothing shall induce me to see him,\" said Winnie, admitting her. \"I\ntold you so: nothing in the world--not if he were to go down on his\nknees--not if he were----\"\n\n\"My dear love, I don't think he means to go down on his knees,\" said\nAunt Agatha, anxiously. \"He does not think he is in the wrong. Oh,\nWinnie, my darling!--if it was only for the sake of other people--to\nkeep them from talking, you know----\"\n\n\"Aunt Agatha, you are mistaken if you think I care,\" said Winnie. \"As\nfor Mary's friends, they are old-fashioned idiots. They think a woman\nshould shut herself up like an Eastern slave when her husband is not\nthere. I have done nothing to be ashamed of. And he--Oh, if you knew how\nhe had insulted me!--Oh, if you only knew! I tell you I will not consent\nto see him, for nothing in this world.\"\n\nWinnie was a different woman as she spoke. She was no longer the worn\nand faded creature she had been. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks\nglowing. It was a clouded and worn magnificence, but still it was a\nreturn to her old splendour.\n\n\"Oh, Winnie, my dear love, you are fond of him in spite of all,\" said\nAunt Agatha. \"It will all come right, my darling, yet. You are fond of\neach other in spite of all.\"\n\n\"You don't know what you say,\" said Winnie, in a blaze of\nindignation.--\"Fond of him!--if you could but know! Tell him to think of\nhow we parted. Tell him I will never more trust myself near him again.\"\n\nIt was with this decision, immovable and often repeated, that Miss Seton\nat last returned to her undesired guest. But she sent for Mary to come\nand speak to her before she went into the drawing-room. Aunt Agatha was\nfull of schemes and anxious desires. She could not make people do what\nwas right, but if she could so plot and manage appearances as that they\nshould seem to do what was right, surely that was better than nothing.\nShe sent for Mrs. Ochterlony into the dining-room, and she began to take\nout the best silver, and arrange the green finger-glasses, to lose no\ntime.\n\n\"What is the use of telling all the world of our domestic troubles?\"\nsaid Aunt Agatha. \"My dear, though Winnie will not see him, would it not\nbe better to keep him to dinner, and show that we are friendly with him\nall the same? So long as he is with us, nobody is to know that Winnie\nkeeps in her own room. After the way these people behaved to the poor\ndear child----\"\n\n\"They were very foolish and ill-bred,\" said Mary; \"but it was because\nshe had herself been foolish, not because she was away from her husband:\nand I don't like him to be with my boys.\"\n\n\"But for your dear sister's sake! Oh, Mary, my love, for Winnie's sake!\"\nsaid Aunt Agatha; and Mary yielded, though she saw no benefit in it. It\nwas her part to go back into the drawing-room, and make the best of\nWinnie's resistance, and convey the invitation to this unlooked-for\nguest, while Aunt Agatha looked after the dinner, and impressed upon\nPeggy that perhaps Major Percival might not be able to stay long; and\nwas it not sad that the very day her husband came to see her, Mrs.\nPercival should have such a very bad headache? \"She is lying down, poor\ndear, in hopes of being able to sit up a little in the evening,\" said\nthe anxious but innocent deceiver--doubly innocent since she deceived\nnobody, not even the housemaid, far less Peggy. As for Major Percival,\nhe was angry and excited, as Winnie was, but not to an equal extent. He\ndid not believe in his wife's resistance. He sat down in the familiar\nroom, and expected every moment to see Winnie rush down in her impulsive\nway, and throw herself into his arms. Their struggles had not terminated\nin this satisfactory way of late, but still she had gone very far in\nleaving him, and he had gone very far in condescending to come to seek\nher; and there seemed no reason why the monster quarrel should not end\nin a monster reconciliation, and all go on as before.\n\nBut it was bad policy to leave him with Mary. The old instinctive\ndislike that had existed between them from the first woke up again\nunawares. Mrs. Ochterlony could not conceal the fact that she took no\npleasure in his society, and had no faith in him. She stayed in the room\nbecause she could not help it, but she did not pretend to be cordial.\nWhen he addressed himself to Will, and took the boy into his confidence,\nand spoke to him as to another man of the world, he could see, and was\npleased to see, the contraction in Mary's forehead. In this one point\nshe was afraid of him, or at least he thought so. Winnie stayed upstairs\nwith the door locked, watching to see him go away; and Hugh, to whom\nWinnie had been perhaps more confidential than to any one else in the\nhouse, went out and in, in displeasure ill-concealed, avoiding all\nintercourse with the stranger. And Mary sat on thorns, bearing him\nunwilling company, and Nelly watched and marvelled. Poor Aunt Agatha all\nthe time arranged her best silver, and filled the old-fashioned epergne\nwith flowers, thinking she was doing the very best for her child, saving\nher reputation, and leaving the way open for a reconciliation between\nher and her husband, and utterly unconscious of any other harm that\ncould befall.\n\nWhen the dinner-hour arrived, however (which was five o'clock, an hour\nwhich Aunt Agatha thought a good medium between the early and the late),\nMajor Percival's brow was very cloudy. He had waited and listened, and\nWinnie had not come, and now, when they sat down at table, she was still\ninvisible. \"Does not my wife mean to favour us with her company?\" he\nasked, insolently, incredulous after all that she could persevere so\nlong, and expecting to hear that she was only \"late as usual;\" upon\nwhich Aunt Agatha looked at Mary with anxious beseeching eyes.\n\n\"My sister is not coming down to-day,\" said Mary, with hesitation, \"at\nleast I believe----\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear love, you know it is only because she has one of her bad\nheadaches!\" Aunt Agatha added, precipitately, with tears of entreaty in\nher eyes.\n\nPercival looked at them both, and he thought he understood it all. It\nwas Mary who was abetting her sister in her rebellion, encouraging her\nto defy him. It was she who was resisting Miss Seton's well-meant\nefforts to bring them together. He saw it all as plain, or thought he\nsaw it, as if he had heard her tactics determined upon. He had let her\nalone, and restrained his natural impulse to injure the woman he\ndisliked, but now she had set herself in his way, and let her look to\nit. This dinner, which poor Aunt Agatha had brought about against\neverybody's will, was as uncomfortable a meal as could be imagined. She\nwas miserable herself, dreading every moment that he might burst out\ninto a torrent of rage against Winnie before \"the servants,\" or that\nWinnie's bell would ring violently and she would send a message--so rash\nand inconsiderate as she was--to know when Major Percival was going\naway. And nobody did anything to help her out of it. Mary sat at the\nfoot of the table as stately as a queen, showing the guest only such\nattentions as were absolutely necessary. Hugh, except when he talked to\nNelly, who sat beside him, was as disagreeable as a young man who\nparticularly desires to be disagreeable and feels that his wishes have\nnot been consulted, can be. And as for the guest himself, his\ncountenance was black as night. It was a heavy price to pay for the\ngratification of saying to everybody that Winnie's husband had come to\nsee her, and had spent the day at the Cottage. But then Aunt Agatha had\nnot the remotest idea that beyond the annoyance of the moment it\npossibly could do any harm.\n\nIt was dreadful to leave him with the boys after dinner, who\nprobably--or at least Hugh--might not be so civil as was to be wished;\nbut still more dreadful ten minutes after to hear Hugh's voice with\nNelly in the garden. Why had he left his guest?\n\n\"He left me,\" said Hugh. \"He went out under the verandah to smoke his\ncigar. I don't deny I was very glad to get away.\"\n\n\"But I am sure, Hugh, you are very fond of smoking cigars,\" said Aunt\nAgatha, in her anxiety and fright.\n\n\"Not always,\" Hugh answered, \"nor under all circumstances.\" And he\nlaughed and  a little, and looked at Nelly by his side, who\nblushed too.\n\n\"So there is nobody with him but Will?\" said Aunt Agatha with dismay, as\nshe went in to where Mary was sitting; and the news was still more\npainful to Mary. Will was the only member of the family who was really\ncivil to the stranger, except Aunt Agatha, whose anxiety was plainly\nwritten in her countenance. He was sitting now under the verandah which\nshaded the dining-room windows, quite at the other side of the house,\nsmoking his cigar, and Will sat dutifully and not unwillingly by,\nlistening to his talk. It was a new kind of talk to Will--the talk of a\nman _blase_ yet incapable of existing out of the world of which he was\nsick--a man who did not pretend to be a good man, nor even possessed of\nprinciples. Perhaps the parish of Kirtell in general would not have\nthought it very edifying talk.\n\n\"It is he who has come into the property, I suppose,\" said Percival,\npointing lazily with his cigar towards the other end of the garden,\nwhere Hugh was visible far off with Nelly. \"Get on well with him, eh? I\nshould say not if the question was asked of me?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, well enough,\" said Will, in momentary confusion, and with a\nclouding of his brows. \"There is nothing wrong with _him_. It's the\nsystem of the eldest sons that is wrong. I have nothing to say against\nHugh.\"\n\n\"By Jove,\" said Percival, \"the difficulty is to find out which is\nanybody's eldest son. I never find fault with systems, for my part.\"\n\n\"Oh, about that there can't be any doubt,\" said Will; \"he is six years\nolder than I am. I am only the youngest; though I don't see what it\nmatters to a man, for my part, being born in '32 or '38.\"\n\n\"Sometimes it makes a great deal of difference,\" said Percival; and then\nhe paused: for a man, even when he is pushed on by malice and hate and\nall uncharitableness, may hesitate before he throws a firebrand into an\ninnocent peaceful house. However, after his pause he resumed, making a\nnew start as it were, and doing it deliberately, \"sometimes it may make\na difference to a man whether he was born in '37 or '38. You were born\nin '38 were you? Ah! I ought to recollect.\"\n\n\"Why ought _you_ to recollect?\" asked Will, startled by the meaning of\nhis companion's face.\n\n\"I was present at a ceremony that took place about then,\" said Percival;\n\"a curious sort of story. I'll tell it you some time. How is the\nproperty left, do you know? Is it to him in particular as being the\nfavourite, and that sort of thing?--or is it simply to the eldest son?\"\n\n\"Simply to the eldest son,\" said Will, more and more surprised.\n\nPercival gave such a whistle as Uncle Penrose had given when he heard of\nthe museum, and nodded his head repeatedly. \"It would be good fun to\nturn the tables,\" he said, as if he were making a remark to himself.\n\n\"How could you turn the tables? What do you mean? What do you know about\nit?\" cried Will, who by this time was getting excited. Hugh came within\nhis line of vision now and then, with Nelly--always with Nelly. It was\nonly the younger brother, the inferior member of the household, who was\nleft with the unwelcome guest. If any one could turn the tables! And\nagain he said, almost fiercely, \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"It is very easy to tell you what I mean; and I wonder what your opinion\nwill be of systems then?\" said Percival. \"By Jove! it's an odd position,\nand I don't envy you. You think you're the youngest, and you were born\nas you say in '38.\"\n\n\"Good heavens! what is that to do with it?\" cried Wilfrid. \"Of course I\nwas born in '38. Tell me what you mean.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I'll tell you what I mean,\" said Percival, tossing away the\nend of his cigar, \"and plainly too. That fellow there, who gives himself\nsuch airs, is no more the eldest son than I am. The property belongs to\n_you_.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\n\nWilfrid was so stunned by the information thus suddenly given him, that\nhe had but a confused consciousness of the explanations which followed.\nHe was aware that it was all made clear to him, and that he uttered the\nusual words of assent and conviction; but in his mind he was too\nprofoundly moved, too completely shaken and unsettled, to be aware of\nanything but the fact thus strangely communicated. It did not occur to\nhim for a moment that it was not a fact. He saw no improbability,\nnothing unnatural in it. He was too young to think that anything was\nunlikely because it was extraordinary, or to doubt what was affirmed\nwith so much confidence. But, in the meantime, the news was so\nstartling, that it upset his mental balance, and made him incapable of\nunderstanding the details. Hugh was not the eldest son. It was he who\nwas the eldest son. This at the moment was all that his mind was capable\nof taking in. He stayed by Percival as long as he remained, and had the\nair of devouring everything the other said; and he went with him to the\nrailway station when he went away. Percival, for his part, having once\nmade the plunge, showed no disinclination to explain everything, but for\nhis own credit told his story most fully, and many particulars undreamt\nof when the incident took place. But he might have spared his pains so\nfar as Will was concerned. He was aware of the one great fact stated to\nhim to begin with, but of nothing more.\n\nThe last words which Percival said as he took leave of his young\ncompanion at the railway were, however, caught by Wilfrid's\nhalf-stupefied ears. They were these: \"I will stay in Carlisle for some\ndays. You can hear where I am from Askell, and perhaps we may be of use\nto each other.\" This, beyond the startling and extraordinary piece of\nnews which had shaken him like a sudden earthquake, was all Percival had\nsaid, so far as Will was aware. \"That fellow is no more the eldest son\nthan I am--the property is _yours_;\" and \"I will stay in Carlisle for\nsome days--perhaps we may be of use to each other.\" The one expression\ncaught on the other in his mind, which was utterly confused and stunned\nfor the first time in his life. He turned them over and over as he\nwalked home alone, or rather, _they_ turned over and over in his memory,\nas if possessed of a distinct life; and so it happened that he had got\nhome again and opened the gate and stumbled into the garden before he\nknew what the terrific change was which had come over everything, or had\ntime to realize his own sensations. It was such a moment as is very\nsweet in a cottage-garden. They had all been watering the flowers in the\nmoment of relief after Percival's departure, and the fragrance of the\ngrateful soil was mounting up among the other perfumes of the hour. Hugh\nand Nelly were still sprinkling a last shower upon the roses, and in the\ndistance in the field upon which the garden opened were to be seen two\nfigures wandering slowly over the grass--Winnie, whom Aunt Agatha had\ncoaxed out to breathe the fresh air after her self-imprisonment, and\nMiss Seton herself, with a shawl over her head. And the twilight was\ngrowing insensibly dimmer and dimmer, and the dew falling, and the young\nmoon sailing aloft. When Mary came across the lawn, her long dress\nsweeping with a soft rustle over the grass, a sudden horror seized\nWilfrid. It took him all his force of mind and will to keep his face to\nher and await her coming. His face was not the treacherous kind of face\nwhich betrays everything; but still there was in it a look of\npreoccupation which Mary could not fail to see.\n\n\"Is he gone?\" she said, as she came up. \"You are sure he has gone, Will?\nIt was kind of you to be civil to him; but I am almost afraid you are\ninterested in him too.\"\n\n\"Would it be wrong to be interested in him?\" said Will.\n\n\"I don't like him,\" said Mary, simply; and then she added, after a\npause, \"I have no confidence in him. I should be very sorry to see any\nof my boys attracted by the society of such a man.\"\n\nAnd it was at this moment that his new knowledge rushed upon Wilfrid's\nmind and embittered it; any of her boys, of whom he was the youngest and\nleast important; and yet she must know what his real position was, and\nthat he ought to be the chief of all.\n\n\"I don't care a straw for _him_,\" said Will, hastily; \"but he knows a\ngreat many things, and I was interested in his talk.\"\n\n\"What was he saying to you?\" said Mrs. Ochterlony.\n\nHe looked into her face, and he saw that there was uneasiness in it,\njust as she, looking at him, saw signs of a change which he was himself\nunaware of; and in his impetuosity he was very near saying it all out\nand betraying himself. But then his uncertainty of all the details stood\nhim in good stead.\n\n\"He was saying lots of things,\" said Will. \"I am sure I can't tell you\nall that he was saying. If I were Hugh I would not let Nelly make a mess\nof herself with those roses. I am going in-doors.\"\n\n\"A lovely evening like this is better than the best book in the world,\"\nsaid Mary. \"Stay with me, and talk to me, Will. You see I am the only\none who is left alone.\"\n\n\"I don't care about lovely evenings,\" said Will; \"I think you should all\ncome in. It is getting dreadfully cold. And as for being alone, I don't\nsee how that can be, when they are all there. Good night, mother. I\nthink I shall go to bed.\"\n\n\"Why should you go to bed so early?\" said Mary; but he was already gone,\nand did not hear her. And as he went, he turned right round and looked\nat Hugh and Nelly, who were still together. When Mrs. Ochterlony\nremarked that look, she was at once troubled and comforted. She thought\nher boy was jealous of the way in which his brother engrossed the young\nvisitor, and she was sorry, but yet knew that it was not very\nserious--while, at the same time, it was a comfort to her to attribute\nhis pre-occupation to anything but Percival's conversation. So she\nlingered about the lawn a little, and looked wistfully at the soft\ntwilight country, and the wistful moon. She was the only one who was\nalone. The two young creatures were together, and they were happy; and\npoor Winnie, though she was far from happy, was buoyed up by the\nabsorbing passion and hostility which had to-day reached one of its\nclimaxes, and had Aunt Agatha for her slave, ready to receive all the\nburning outburst of grievance and misery. This fiery passion which\nabsorbed her whole being was almost as good as being happy, and gave her\nmind full occupation. But as for Mary, she was by herself, and all was\ntwilight with her; and the desertion of her boy gave her a little chill\nat her heart. So she, too, went in presently, and had the lamp lighted,\nand sat alone in the room, which was bright and yet dim--with a clear\ncircle of light round the table, yet shadowy as all the corners are of a\nsummer evening, when there is no fire to aid the lamp. But she did not\nfind her son there. His discontent had gone further than to be content\nwith a book, as she had expected; and he had really disappeared for the\nnight.\n\n\"I can't have you take possession of Nelly like this,\" she said to Hugh,\nwhen, after a long interval, they came in. \"We all want a share of her.\nPoor Will has gone to bed quite discontented. You must not keep her all\nto yourself.\"\n\n\"Oh! is he jealous?\" said Hugh, laughing; and there was no more said\nabout it; for Will's jealousy in this respect was not a thing to alarm\nanybody much.\n\nBut Will had not gone to bed. He was seated in his room at the table,\nleaning his head upon both his hands, and staring into the flame of his\ncandle. He was trying to put what he had heard into some sort of shape.\nThat Hugh, who was downstairs so triumphant and successful, was, after\nall, a mere impostor; that it was he himself, whom nobody paid any\nparticular attention to, who was the real heir; that his instinct had\nnot deceived him, but from his birth he had been ill-used and oppressed:\nthese thoughts went all circling through his mind as the moths circled\nround his light, taking now a larger, and now a shorter flight. This\nstrange sense that he had been right all along was, for the moment, the\nfirst feeling in his mind. He had been disinherited and thrust aside,\nbut still he had felt all along that it was he who was the natural heir;\nand there was a satisfaction in having it thus proved and established.\nThis was the first distinct reflection he was conscious of amid the\nwhirl of thoughts; and then came the intoxicating sense that he could\nnow enter upon his true position, and be able to arrange everybody's\nfuture wisely and generously, without any regard for mere proprieties,\nor for the younger brother's two thousand pounds. Strange to say, in the\nmidst of this whirlwind of egotistical feeling, Will rushed all at once\ninto imaginations that were not selfish, glorious schemes of what he\nwould do for everybody. He was not ungenerous, nor unkind, but only it\nwas a necessity with him that generosity and kindness should come from\nand not to himself.\n\nAll this passed through the boy's mind before it ever occurred to him\nwhat might be the consequences to others of his extraordinary discovery,\nor what effect it must have upon his mother, and the character of the\nfamily. He was self-absorbed, and it did not occur to him in that light.\nEven when he did come to think of it, he did it in the calmest way. No\ndoubt his mother would be annoyed; but she deserved to be annoyed--she\nwho had so long kept him out of his rights; and, after all, it would\nstill be one of her sons who would have Earlston. And as for Hugh,\nWilfrid had the most generous intentions towards him. There was, indeed,\nnothing that he was not ready to do for his brothers. As soon as he\nbelieved that all was to be his, he felt himself the steward of the\nfamily. And then his mind glanced back upon the Psyche and the Venus,\nand upon Earlston, which might be made into a fitter shrine for these\nfair creations. These ideas filled him like wine, and went to his head,\nand made him dizzy; and all the time he was as unconscious of the moral\nharm, and domestic treachery, as if he had been one of the lower\nanimals; and no scruple of any description, and no doubt of what it was\nright and necessary to do, had so much as entered into his primitive and\nsavage mind.\n\nWe call his mind savage and primitive because it was at this moment\nentirely free from those complications of feeling and dreadful conflict\nof what is desirable, and what is right, which belong to the civilized\nand cultivated mind. Perhaps Will's affections were not naturally\nstrong; but, at all events, he gave in to this temptation as a man might\nhave given in to it in the depths of Africa, where the \"good old rule\"\nand \"simple plan\" still exist and reign; and where everybody takes what\nhe has strength to take, and he keeps who can. This was the real state\nof the case in Wilfrid's mind. It had been supposed to be Hugh's right,\nand he had been obliged to give in; now it was his right, and Hugh would\nhave to make up his mind to it. What else was there to say? So far as\nWill could see, the revolution would be alike certain and\ninstantaneous. It no more occurred to him to doubt the immediate effect\nof the new fact than to doubt its truth. Perhaps it was his very\negotism, as well as his youth and inexperience, which made him so\ncredulous. It had been wonder enough to him how anybody _could_ leave\nhim in an inferior position, even while he was only the youngest; to\nthink of anybody resisting his rights, now that he had rights, was\nincredible.\n\nYet when the morning came, and the sober daylight brightened upon his\ndreams, Will, notwithstanding all his confidence, began to see the\ncomplication of circumstances. How was he to announce his discovery to\nhis mother? How was he to acquaint Hugh with the change in their mutual\ndestinies? What seemed so easy and simple to him the night before,\nbecame difficult and complicated now. He began to have a vague sense\nthat they would insist, that Mrs. Ochterlony would fight for her honour,\nand Hugh for his inheritance, and that in claiming his own rights, he\nwould have to rob his mother of her good name, and put a stigma\nineffaceable upon his brother. This idea startled him, and took away his\nbreath; but it did not make him falter; Uncle Penrose's suggestion about\nbuying up him and his beggarly estate, and Major Percival's evident\nentire indifference to the question whether anything it suited him to do\nwas right or wrong, had had their due effect on Will. He did not see\nwhat call he had to sacrifice himself for others. No doubt, he would be\nsorry for the others, but after all it was his own life he had to take\ncare of, and his own rights that he had to assert. But he mused and\nknitted his brows over it as he had never done before in his life.\nThroughout it will be seen that he regarded the business in a very\nsober, matter-of-fact way--not in the imaginative way which leads you to\nenter into other people's position, and analyse their possible feelings.\nAs for himself, he who had been so jealous of his mother's visitors, and\nwatched over her so keenly, did not feel somehow that horror which might\nhave been expected at the revelation that she was not the spotless woman\nhe thought her. Perhaps it was the importance of the revelation to\nhimself--perhaps it was a secret disbelief in any guilt of hers--perhaps\nit was only the stunned condition in which the announcement left him. At\nall events, he was neither horrified at the thought, nor profoundly\nimpressed by the consciousness that to prove his own rights, would be to\ntake away everything from her, and to shut her up from all intercourse\nwith the honourable and pure. When the morning roused him to a sense of\nthe difficulties as well as the advantages of his discovery, the only\nthing he could think of was to seek advice and direction from Percival,\nwho was so experienced a man of the world. But it was not so easy to do\nthis without betraying his motive. The only practical expedient was that\nof escorting Nelly home; which was not a privilege he was anxious for of\nitself; for though he was jealous that she had been taken away from him,\nhe shrank instinctively from her company in his present state of mind.\nYet it was the only thing that could be done.\n\nWhen the party met at the breakfast-table, there were three of them who\nwere ill at ease. Winnie made her appearance in a state of headache,\npale and haggard as on the day of her arrival; and Aunt Agatha was pale\ntoo, and could not keep her eyes from dwelling with a too tender\naffectionateness upon her suffering child. And as for Will, the colour\nof his young face was indescribable, for youth and health still\ncontended in it with those emotions which contract the skin and empty\nthe veins. But on the other hand, there were Hugh and Nelly handsome and\nhappy, with hearts full of charity to everybody, and confidence in the\nbrightness of their own dawning lot. Mary sat at the head of the table,\nwith the urn before her, superintending all. The uneasiness of last\nnight had passed from her mind; her cheek was almost as round and fair\nas that of the girl by her side--fairer perhaps in its way; her eyes\nwere as bright as they had ever been; her dress, it is true, was still\nblack, but it had not the shadowy denseness of her widow's garb of old.\nIt was silk, that shone and gave back subdued reflections to the light,\nand in her hair there were still golden gleams, though mixed with here\nand there a thread of silver. Her mourning, which prevented any\nconfusion of colours, but left her a sweet-complexioned woman, rich in\nthe subdued tints of nature, in the soft austerity of black and white,\ndid all for her that toilette could do. This was the figure which her\nson Wilfrid saw at the head of a pretty country breakfast-table, between\nthe flowers and the sunshine--an unblemished matron and a beloved\nmother. He knew, and it came into his mind as he looked at her, that in\nthe parish, or even in the country, there was nobody more honoured; and\nyet---- He kept staring at her so, and had so scared a look in his eyes,\nthat Mrs. Ochterlony herself perceived it at last.\n\n\"What is the matter, Will?\" she said. \"I could think there was a ghost\nstanding behind you, from your eyes. Why do you look so startled?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Will, hastily; \"I didn't know I looked startled. A\nfellow can't help how he looks. Look here, Nelly, if you're going home\nto-day, I'll go with you, and see you safe there.\"\n\n\"You'll go with her?\" said Hugh, with a kind of good-natured\nelder-brotherly contempt. \"Not quite so fast, Will. We can't trust young\nladies in _your_ care. I am going with Nelly myself.\"\n\n\"Oh! I am sure Will is very kind,\" said Nelly; and then she stopped\nshort, and looked first at Mrs. Ochterlony and then at Hugh. Poor Nelly\nhad heard of brothers being jealous of each other, and had read of it in\nbooks, and was half afraid that such a case was about to come under her\nown observation. She was much frightened, and her impulse was to accept\nWill's guardianship, that no harm might come of it, though the sacrifice\nto herself would be considerable; but then, what if Hugh should be\njealous too?\n\n\"I see no reason why you should not both go,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony: \"one\nof you shall take care of Nelly, and one shall do my commissions; I\nthink that had better be Will--for I put no confidence, just now, in\nHugh.\"\n\n\"Of course it must be Will,\" said Hugh. \"A squire of dames requires age\nand solidity. It is not an office for a younger brother. Your time will\ncome, old fellow; it is mine now.\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose it is yours now,\" said Will.\n\nHe did not mean to put any extraordinary significance in his tone, but\nyet he was in such a condition of mind that his very voice betrayed him\nagainst his will. Even Winnie, preoccupied as she was, intermitted her\nown thoughts a moment to look at him, and Hugh reddened, though he could\nnot have told why. There was a certain menace, a certain implication of\nsomething behind, which the inexperienced boy had no intention of\nbetraying, but which made themselves apparent in spite of him. And Hugh\ntoo grew crimson in spite of himself. He said \"By Jove!\" and then he\nlaughed, and cleared his mind of it, feeling it absurd to be made angry\nby the petulance of his boy-brother. Then he turned to Nelly, who had\ndrawn closer to him, fearing that the quarrel was about to take place as\nit takes place in novels, trembling a little, and yet by the aid of her\nown good sense, feeling that it could not be so serious after all.\n\n\"If we are going to the Lady's Well we must go early,\" he said; and his\nface changed when he turned to her. She was growing prettier every\nday,--every day at least she spent in Hugh's society,--opening and\nunfolding as to the sun. Her precocious womanliness, if it had been\nprecocious, melted under the new influence, and all the natural\ndevelopments were quickened. She was more timid, more caressing, less\nself-reliant, and yet she was still as much as ever head of the house at\nhome.\n\n\"But not if it will vex Will,\" she said, almost in a whisper, in his\near; and the close approach which this whisper made necessary, effaced\nin an instant all unbrotherly feelings towards Wilfrid from Hugh's mind.\nThey both looked at Will, instinctively, as they spoke, the girl with a\nlittle wistful solicitude in case he might be disturbed by the sight of\ntheir confidential talk. But Will was quite unmoved. He saw the two draw\ncloser together, and perceived the confidential communication that\npassed between them, but his countenance did not change in the slightest\ndegree. By this time he was far beyond that.\n\n\"You see he does not mind,\" said Hugh, carrying on the half-articulate\ncolloquy, of which one half was done by thoughts instead of words; and\nNelly, with the colour a little deepened on her cheek, looked up at him\nwith a look which Hugh could not half interpret. He saw the soft\nbrightness, the sweet satisfaction in it tinged by a certain gleam of\nfun, but he did not see that Nelly was for a moment ashamed of herself,\nand was asking herself how she ever could, for a moment, have supposed\nWill was jealous. It was a relief to her mind to see his indifference,\nand yet it filled her with shame.\n\nWhen the meal was over, and they all dispersed with their different\ninterests, it was Mary who sought to soften what she considered the\ndisappointment of her boy. She came to him as he stood at the window\nunder the verandah, where the day before Percival had given him his\nfatal illumination, and put her arm within his, and did her best to draw\nhis secret from his clouded and musing eyes.\n\n\"My dear boy, let us give in to Hugh,\" said Mary; \"he is only a guest\nnow, you know, and you are at home.\" She was smiling when she said this,\nand yet it made her sigh. \"And then I think he is getting fond of Nelly,\nand you are far too young for anything of that sort,\" Mrs. Ochterlony\nsaid, with anxiety and a little doubt, looking him in the face all the\ntime.\n\n\"There are some things I am not too young for,\" said Will. \"Mamma, if I\nwere Hugh I would be at home nowhere unless _you_ were at home there as\nwell.\"\n\n\"My dear Will, that is my own doing,\" said Mary. \"Don't blame your\nbrother. I have refused to go to Earlston. It will always be best for\nme, for all your sakes, to have a house of my own.\"\n\n\"If Earlston had been mine, I should not have minded your refusal,\" said\nWill. Perhaps it was as a kind of secret atonement to her and to his own\nheart that he said so, and yet it was done instinctively, and was the\nutterance of a genuine feeling. He was meditating in his heart her\ndisgrace and downfall, and yet the first effects of it, if he could\nsucceed, would be to lay everything that he had won by shaming her, at\nher feet. He would do her the uttermost cruelty and injury without\nflinching, and then he would overwhelm her with every honour and\ngrandeur that his ill-got wealth could supply. And he did not see how\ninconsistent those two things were.\n\n\"But my boys _must_ mind when I make such a decision,\" said Mary; and\nyet she was not displeased with the sentiment. \"You shall go to Carlisle\nfor me,\" she added. \"I want some little things, and Hugh very likely\nwould be otherwise occupied. If you would like to have a little change,\nand go early, do not wait for them, Will. There is a train in half an\nhour.\"\n\n\"Yes, I would like a little change,\" he answered vaguely--feeling\nsomehow, for that moment solely, a little prick of conscience. And so it\nwas by his mother's desire to restore his good-humour and cheerfulness,\nthat he was sent upon his mission of harm and treachery.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\n\nWhile Hugh showed Nelly the way to the Lady's Well with that mixture of\nbrotherly tenderness and a dawning emotion of a much warmer kind, which\nis the privileged entrance of their age into real love and passion; and\nwhile Will made his with silent vehemence and ardour to Carlisle, Winnie\nwas left very miserable in the Cottage. It was a moment of reaction\nafter the furious excitement of the previous day. She had held him at\nbay, she had shown him her contempt and scorn, she had proved to him\nthat their parting was final, and that she would never either see or\nlisten to him again; and the excitement of doing this had so supported\nher that the day which Aunt Agatha thought a day of such horrible trial\nto her poor Winnie, was, in short, the only day in which she had\nsnatched a certain stormy enjoyment since she returned to the Cottage.\nBut _the day after_ was different. He was gone; he had assented to her\ndesire, and accepted her decision to all appearance, and poor Winnie was\nvery miserable. For the moment all seemed to her to be over. She had\nfelt sure he would come, and the sense of the continued conflict had\nbuoyed her up; but she did not feel so sure that he would come again,\nand the long struggle which had occupied her life and thoughts for so\nmany years seemed to have come to an abrupt end, and she had nothing\nmore to look forward to. When she realized this fact, Winnie stood\naghast. It is hard when love goes out of a life; but sometimes, when it\nis only strife and opposition which go out of it, it is almost as hard\nto bear. She thought she had sighed for peace for many a long day. She\nhad said so times without number, and written it down, and persuaded\nherself that was what she wanted; but now that she had got it she found\nout that it was not that she wanted. The Cottage was the very home of\npeace, and had been so for many years. Even the growth of young life\nwithin it, the active minds and varied temperaments of the three boys,\nand Will's cloudy and uncomfortable disposition, had not hitherto\ninterfered with its character. But so far from being content, Winnie's\nheart sank within her when she realized the fact, that War had marched\noff in the person of her husband, and that she was to be \"left in\npeace\"--horrible words that paralysed her very soul.\n\nThis event, however, if it had done nothing else, had opened her mouth.\nHer history, which she had kept to herself, began to be revealed. She\ntold her aunt and her sister of his misdeeds, till the energy of her\nnarrative brought something like renewed life to her. She described how\nshe had herself endured, how she had been left to all the dangers that\nattend a beautiful young woman whose husband has found superior\nattractions elsewhere; and she gave such sketches of the women whom she\nimagined to have attracted him, as only an injured wife in a chronic\nstate of wrath and suffering could give. She was so very miserable on\nthat morning that she had no alternative but to speak or die; and as she\ncould not die, she gave her miseries utterance. \"And if he can do you\nany harm--if he can strike me through my friends,\" said Winnie, \"if you\nknow of any point on which he could assail you, you had better keep\nclose guard.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear love!\" said Aunt Agatha, with a troubled smile, \"what harm\ncould he do us? He could hurt us only in wounding you; and now we have\nyou safe, my darling, and can defend you, so he never can harm us.\"\n\n\"Of course I never meant _you_,\" said Winnie. \"But he might perhaps harm\nMary. Mary is not like you; she has had to make her way in the world,\nand no doubt there may be things in her life, as in other people's, that\nshe would not care to have known.\"\n\nMary was startled by this speech, which was made half in kindness, half\nin anger; for the necessity of having somebody to quarrel with had been\ntoo great for Winnie. Mrs. Ochterlony was startled, but she could not\nhelp feeling sure that her secret was no secret for her sister, and she\nhad no mind for a quarrel, though Winnie wished it.\n\n\"There is but one thing in my life that I don't wish to have known,\" she\nsaid, \"and Major Percival knows it, and probably so do you, Winnie. But\nI am here among my own people, and everybody knows all about me. I don't\nthink it would be possible to do me harm here.\"\n\n\"It is because you don't know him,\" said Winnie. \"He would do the Queen\nharm in her own palace. You don't know what poison he can put on his\narrows, and how he shoots them. I believe he will strike me through my\nfriends.\"\n\nAll this time Aunt Agatha looked at the two with her lips apart, as if\nabout to speak; but in reality it was horror and amazement that moved\nher. To hear them talking calmly of something that must be concealed! of\nsomething, at least, that it was better should not be known!--and that\nin a house which had always been so spotless, so respectable, and did\nnot know what mystery meant!\n\nMary shook her head, and smiled. She had felt a little anxious the night\nbefore about what Percival might be saying to Wilfrid; but, somehow, all\nthat had blown away. Even Will's discontent with his brother had taken\nthe form of jealous tenderness for herself, which, in her thinking, was\nquite incompatible with any revelation which could have lowered her in\nhis eyes; and it seemed to her as if the old sting, which had so often\ncome back to her, which had put it in the power of her friends in \"the\nregiment\" to give her now and then a prick to the heart, had lost its\nvenom. Hugh was peacefully settled in his rights, and Will, if he had\nheard anything, must have nobly closed his ears to it. Sometimes this\nstrange feeling of assurance and confidence comes on the very brink of\nthe deadliest danger, and it was so with Mary at the present moment that\nshe had no fear.\n\nAs for Winnie, she too was thinking principally of her own affairs, and\nof her sister's only as subsidiary to them. She would have rather\nbelieved in the most diabolical rage and assault than in her husband's\nindifference and the utter termination of hostilities between them. \"He\nwill strike me through my friends,\" she repeated; and perhaps in her\nheart she was rather glad that there still remained this oblique way of\nreaching her, and expressed a hope rather than a fear. This conversation\nwas interrupted by Sir Edward, who came in more cheerfully and alertly\nthan usual, taking off his hat as soon as he became visible through the\nopen window. He had heard what he thought was good news, and there was\nsatisfaction in his face.\n\n\"So Percival is here,\" he said. \"I can't tell you how pleased I was.\nCome, we'll have some pleasant days yet in our old age. Why hasn't he\ncome up to the Hall?\"\n\nThere was an embarrassed pause--embarrassed at least on the part of Miss\nSeton and Mrs. Ochterlony; while Winnie fixed her eyes, which looked so\nlarge and wild in their sunken sockets, steadily upon him, without\nattempting to make any reply.\n\n\"Yes, Major Percival was here yesterday,\" said Aunt Agatha with\nhesitation; \"he spent the whole day with us---- I was very glad to have\nhim, and I am sure he would have gone up to the Hall if he had had\ntime---- But he was obliged to go away.\"\n\nHow difficult it was to say all this under the gaze of Winnie's eyes,\nand with the possibility of being contradicted flatly at any moment, may\nbe imagined. And while Aunt Agatha made her faltering statement, her own\nlook and voice contradicted her; and then there was a still more\nembarrassed pause, and Sir Edward looked from one to another with amazed\nand unquiet eyes.\n\n\"He came and spent the day with you,\" said their anxious neighbour, \"and\nhe was obliged to go away! I confess I think I merited different\ntreatment. I wish I could make out what you all mean----\"\n\n\"The fact is, Sir Edward,\" said Winnie, \"that Major Percival was sent\naway.... He is a very important person, no doubt; but he can't do just\nas he pleases. My aunt is so good that she tries to keep up a little\nfiction, but he and I have done with each other,\" said Winnie in her\nexcitement, notwithstanding that she had been up to this moment so\nreticent and self-contained.\n\n\"Who sent him away?\" asked Sir Edward, with a pitiful, confidential look\nto Aunt Agatha, and a slight shake of his head over the very bad\nbusiness--a little pantomime which moved Winnie to deeper wrath and\ndiscontent.\n\n\"_I_ sent him away,\" said Mrs. Percival, with as much dignity as this\nebullition of passion would permit her to assume.\n\n\"My dear Winnie,\" said Sir Edward, \"I am very, very sorry to hear this.\nThink a little of what is before you. You are a young woman still; you\nare both young people. Do you mean to live here all the rest of your\nlife, and let him go where he pleases--to destruction, I suppose, if he\nlikes? Is that what you mean? And yet we all remember when you would not\nhear a word even of advice--would not listen to anybody about him. He\nhad not been quite _sans reproche_ when you married him, my dear; and\nyou took him with a knowledge of it. If that had not been the case,\nthere might have been some excuse. But what I want you to do is to look\nit in the face, and consider a little. It is not only for to-day, or\nto-morrow--it is for your life.\"\n\nWinnie gave a momentary shudder, as if of cold, and drew her shawl\ncloser around her. \"I had rather not discuss our private affairs,\" she\nreplied: \"they are between ourselves.\"\n\n\"But the fact is, they are not between yourselves,\" said Sir Edward, who\nwas inspired by the great conviction of doing his duty. \"You have taken\nthe public into your confidence by coming here. I am a very old friend,\nboth of yours and his, and I might do some good, if you let me try. I\ndare say he is not very far from here; and if I might mediate between\nyou----\"\n\nA sudden gleam shot out from Winnie's eyes--perhaps it was a sudden wild\nhope--perhaps it was merely the flash of indignation; but still the\nproposal moved her. \"Mediate!\" she said, with an air which was intended\nfor scorn; but her lips quivered as she repeated the word.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sir Edward, \"I might, if you would have confidence in me. No\ndoubt there are wrongs on both sides. He has been impatient, and you\nhave been exacting, and---- Where are you going?\"\n\n\"It is no use continuing this conversation,\" said Winnie. \"I am going to\nmy room. If I were to have more confidence in you than I ever had in any\none, it would still be useless. I have not been exacting. I have\nbeen---- But it is no matter. I trust, Aunt Agatha, that you will\nforgive me for going to my own room.\"\n\nSir Edward shook his head, and looked after her as she withdrew. He\nlooked as if he had said, \"I knew how it would be;\" and yet he was\nconcerned and sorry. \"I have seen such cases before,\" he said, when\nWinnie had left the room, turning to Aunt Agatha and Mary, and once\nmore shaking his head: \"neither will give in an inch. They know that\nthey are in a miserable condition, but it is neither his fault nor hers.\nThat is how it always is. And only the bystanders can see what faults\nthere are on both sides.\"\n\n\"But I don't think Winnie is so exacting,\" said Aunt Agatha, with\nnatural partisanship. \"I think it is worse than that. She has been\ntelling me two or three things----\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Sir Edward, with mild despair, \"they can tell you dozens\nof things. No doubt _he_ could, on his side. It is always like that; and\nto think that nothing would have any effect on her!--she would hear no\nsort of reason--though you know very well you were warned that he was\nnot immaculate before she married him: nothing would have any effect.\"\n\n\"Oh, Sir Edward!\" cried Aunt Agatha, with tears in her eyes: \"it is\nsurely not the moment to remind us of that.\"\n\n\"For my part, I think it is just the moment,\" said Sir Edward; and he\nshook his head, and made a melancholy pause. Then, with an obvious\neffort to change the subject, he looked round the room, as if that\npersonage might, perhaps, be hidden in some corner, and asked where was\nHugh?\n\n\"He has gone to show Nelly Askell the way to the Lady's Well,\" said\nMary, who could not repress a smile.\n\n\"Ah! he seems disposed to show Nelly Askell the way to a great many\nthings,\" said Sir Edward. \"There it is again you see! Not that I have a\nword to say against that little thing. She is very nice, and pretty\nenough; though no more to be compared to what Winnie was at her age----\nBut you'll see Hugh will have engaged himself and forestalled his life\nbefore we know where we are.\"\n\n\"It would have been better had they been a little older,\" said Mary;\n\"but otherwise everything is very suitable; and Nelly is very good, and\nvery sweet----\"\n\nAgain Sir Edward sighed. \"You must know that Hugh might have done a very\ngreat deal better,\" he said. \"I don't say that I have any particular\nobjections, but only it is an instance of your insanity in the way of\nmarriage--all you Setons. You go and plunge into it head foremost,\nwithout a moment's reflection; and then, of course, when leisure\ncomes---- I don't mean you, Mary. What I was saying had no reference to\nyou. So far as I am aware, you were always very happy, and gave your\nfriends no trouble. Though in one way, of course, it ought to be\nconsidered that you did the worst of all.\"\n\n\"Captain Askell's family is very good,\" said Mary, by the way of turning\noff too close an inquiry into her own affairs; \"and he is just in the\nsame position as Hugh's father was; and I love Nelly like a child of my\nown. I feel as if she ought to have been a child of my own. She and Will\nused to lie in the same cradle----\"\n\n\"Ah, by the way,\" said Sir Edward, looking round once more into the\ncorners, \"where is Will?\"\n\nAnd then it had to be explained where Will had gone, which the old man\nthought very curious. \"To Carlisle? What did he want to go to Carlisle\nfor? If he had been out with his fishing rod, or out with the keepers,\nlooking after the young pheasants---- But what could he want going into\nCarlisle? Is Percival there?\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" said Mary, with sudden anxiety. It was an idea which had\nnot entered into her mind before.\n\n\"Why should you hope not? If he really wants to make peace with Winnie,\nI should think it very natural,\" said Sir Edward; \"and Will is a curious\nsort of boy. He might be a very good sort of auxiliary in any\nnegotiation. Depend upon it that's why he is gone.\"\n\n\"I think not. I think he would have told me,\" said Mary, feeling her\nheart sink with sudden dread.\n\n\"I don't see why he should have told you,\" said Sir Edward, who was in\none of his troublesome moods, and disposed to put everybody at sixes and\nsevens. \"He is old enough to act a little for himself. I hope you are\nnot one of the foolish women, Mary, that like to keep their boys always\nat their apron-strings?\"\n\nWith this reproach Sir Edward took his leave, and made his way placidly\nhomeward, with the tranquillity of a man who has done his duty. He felt\nthat he had discharged the great vocation of man, at least for the past\nhour. Winnie had heard the truth, whether she liked it or not, and so\nhad the other members of the family, over whom he shook his head kindly\nbut sadly as he went home. Their impetuosity, their aptitude to rush\ninto any scrape that presented itself--and especially their madness in\nrespect to marriage, filled him with pity. There was Charlie Seton, for\nexample, the father of these girls, who had married that man Penrose's\nsister. Sir Edward's memory was so long, that it did not seem to him a\nvery great stretch to go back to that. Not that the young woman was\namiss in herself, but the man who, with his eyes open, burdened his\nunborn descendants with such an uncle, was worse then lunatic--he was\ncriminal. This was what Sir Edward thought as he went quietly home, with\na rather comfortable dreary sense of satisfaction in his heart in the\nthought that his own behaviour had been marked by no such aberrations;\nand, in the meantime, Winnie was fanning the embers of her own wrath,\nand Mary had sickened somehow with a sense of insecurity and\nunexplainable apprehension. On the other hand, the two young creatures\nwere very happy on the road to the Lady's Well, and Will addressed\nhimself to his strange business with resolution: and, painful as its\ncharacter was, was not pained to speak of, but only excited. So ran the\ncourse of the world upon that ordinary summer day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV.\n\n\nOf the strangest kind were Wilfrid's sensations when he found himself in\nthe streets of Carlisle on his extraordinary mission. It was the first\ntime he had ever taken any step absolutely by himself. To be sure, he\nhad been brought up in full possession of the freedom of an English boy,\nin whose honour everybody has confidence--but never before had he been\nmoved by an individual impulse to independent action, nor had he known\nwhat it was to have a secret in his mind, and an enterprise which had to\nbe conducted wholly according to his own judgment, and in respect to\nwhich he could ask for no advice. When he emerged out of the railway\nstation, and found himself actually in the streets, a thrill of\nexcitement, sudden and strange, came over him. He had known very well\nall along what he was coming to do, and yet he seemed only to become\naware of it at that moment, when he put his foot upon the pavement, and\nwas appealed to by cab-drivers, eager to take him somewhere. Here there\nwas no time or opportunity for lingering; he had to go somewhere, and\nthat instantly, were it only to the shops to execute his mother's\ninnocent commissions. It might be possible to loiter and meditate on the\ncalm country roads about Kirtell, but the town and the streets have\nother associations. He was there to do something, to go somewhere, and\nit had to be begun at once. He was not imaginative, but yet he felt a\nkind of palpable tearing asunder as he took his first step onward. He\nhad hesitated, and his old life seemed to hold out its arms to him. It\nwas not an unhappy life; he had his own way in most things, he had his\nfuture before him unfettered, and he knew that his wishes would be\nfurthered, and everything possible done to help and encourage him. All\nthis passed through his mind like a flash of lightning. He would be\nhelped and cared for and made much of, but yet he would only be Will,\nthe youngest, of whom nobody took particular notice, and who sat in the\nlowest room; whereas, by natural law and justice, he was the heir. After\nhe had made that momentary comparison, he stepped on with a firm foot,\nand then it was that he felt like the tearing asunder of something that\nhad bound him. He had thrown the old bonds, the old pleasant ties, to\nthe wind; and now all that he had to do was to push on by himself and\ngain his rights. This sensation made his head swim as he walked on. He\nhad put out to sea, as it were, and the new movement made him giddy--and\nyet it was not pain; love was not life to him, but he had never known\nwhat it was to live without it. There seemed no reason why he should not\ndo perfectly well for himself; Hugh would be affronted, of course--but\nit could make no difference to Islay, for example, nor much to his\nmother, for it would still be one of her sons. These were the thoughts\nthat went through Wilfrid's mind as he walked along; from which it will\nbe apparent that the wickedness he was about to do was not nearly so\ngreat in intention as it was in reality; and that his youth, and\ninexperience, and want of imagination, his incapacity to put himself\ninto the position of another, or realize anything but his own wants and\nsentiments, pushed him unawares, while he contemplated only an act of\nselfishness, into a social crime.\n\nBut yet the sense of doing this thing entirely alone, of doing it in\nsecret, which was contrary to all his habitudes of mind, filled him with\na strange inquietude. It hurt his conscience more to be making such a\nwonderful move for himself, out of the knowledge of his mother and\neverybody belonging to him, than to be trying to disgrace his mother and\noverthrow her good name and honour; of the latter, he was only dimly\nconscious, but the former he saw clearly. A strange paradox, apparently,\nbut yet not without many parallels. There are poor creatures who do not\nhesitate at drowning themselves, and yet shrink from the chill of the\n\"black flowing river\" in which it is to be accomplished. As for Will, he\ndid not hesitate to throw dark anguish and misery into the peaceful\nhousehold he had been bred in--he did not shrink from an act which would\nembitter the lives of all who loved him, and change their position, and\ndisgrace their name--but the thought of taking his first great step in\nlife out of anybody's knowledge, made his head swim, and the light fail\nin his eyes--and filled him with a giddy mingling of excitement and\nshame. He did not realize the greater issue, except as it affected him\nsolely--but he did the other in its fullest sense. Thus he went on\nthrough the common-place streets, with his heart throbbing in his ears,\nand the blood rushing to his head; and yet he was not remorseful, nor\nconscience-stricken, nor sorry, but only strongly excited, and moved by\na certain nervous shyness and shame.\n\nNotwithstanding this, a certain practical faculty in Wilfrid led him,\nbefore seeking out his tempter and first informant, to seek independent\ntestimony. It would be difficult to say what it was that turned his\nthoughts towards Mrs. Kirkman; but it was to her he went. The colonel's\nwife received him with a sweet smile, but she was busy with much more\nimportant concerns; and when she had placed him at a table covered with\ntracts and magazines, she took no further notice of Will. She was a\nwoman, as has been before mentioned, who laboured under a chronic\ndissatisfaction with the clergy, whether as represented in the person of\na regimental chaplain, or of a Dean and Chapter; and she was not content\nto suffer quietly, as so many people do. Her discontent was active, and\nexpressed itself not only in lamentation and complaint, but in very\nactive measures. She could not reappoint to the offices in the\nCathedral, but she could do what was in her power, by Scripture-readers,\nand societies for private instruction, to make up the deficiency; and\nshe was very busy with one of her agents when Will entered, who\ncertainly had not come about any evangelical business. As time passed,\nhowever, and it became apparent to him that Mrs. Kirkman was much more\noccupied with her other visitor than with any curiosity about his own\nboyish errand, whatever it might be, Will began to lose patience. When\nhe made a little attempt to gain a hearing in his turn, he was silenced\nby the same sweet smile, and a clasp of the hand. \"My dear boy, just a\nmoment; what we are talking of is of the greatest importance,\" said Mrs.\nKirkman. \"There are so few real means of grace in this benighted town,\nand to think that souls are being lost daily, hourly--and yet such a\nshow of services and prayers--it is terrible to think of it. In a few\nminutes, my dear boy.\"\n\n\"What I want is of the greatest importance, too,\" said Wilfrid, turning\ndoggedly away from the table and the magazines.\n\nMrs. Kirkman looked at him, and thought she saw spiritual trouble in his\neye. She was flattered that he should have thought of her under such\ninteresting circumstances. It was a tardy but sweet compensation for all\nshe had done, as she said to herself, for his mother; and going on this\nmistaken idea she dismissed the Scripture-reader, having first filled\nhim with an adequate sense of the insufficiency of the regular clergy.\nIt was, as so often happens, a faithful remnant, which was contending\nalone for religion against all the powers of this world. They were sure\nof one thing at least, and that was that everybody else was wrong. This\nwas the idea with which her humble agent left Mrs. Kirkman; and the same\nfeeling, sad but sweet, was in her own mind as she drew a chair to the\ntable and sat down beside her dear young friend.\n\n\"And so you have come all the way from Kirtell to see _me_, my dear\nboy?\" she said. \"How happy I shall be if I can be of some use to you. I\nam afraid you won't find very much sympathy there.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Wilfrid, vaguely, not knowing in the least what she meant. \"I\nam sorry I did not bring you some flowers, but I was in a hurry when I\ncame away.\"\n\n\"Don't think of anything of the kind,\" said the colonel's wife, pressing\nhis hand. \"What are flowers in comparison with the one great object of\nour existence? Tell me about it, my dear Will; you know I have known you\nfrom a child.\"\n\n\"You knew I was coming then,\" said Will, a little surprised, \"though I\nthought nobody knew? Yes, I suppose you have known us all our lives.\nWhat I want is to find out about my mother's marriage. I heard you knew\nall about it. Of course you must have known all about it. That is what I\nwant to understand.\"\n\n\"Your mother's marriage!\" cried Mrs. Kirkman; and to do her justice she\nlooked aghast. The question horrified her, and at the same time it\ndisappointed her. \"I am sure that is not what you came to talk to me\nabout,\" she said coaxingly, and with a certain charitable wile. \"My\ndear, dear boy, don't let shyness lead you away from the greatest of all\nsubjects. I know you came to talk to me about your soul.\"\n\n\"I came to ask you about my mother's marriage,\" said Will. His giddiness\nhad passed by this time, and he looked her steadily in the face. It was\nimpossible to mistake him now, or think it a matter of unimportance or\nmere curiosity. Mrs. Kirkman had her faults, but she was a good woman at\nthe bottom. She did not object to make an allusion now and then which\nvexed Mary, and made her aware, as it were, of the precipice by which\nshe was always standing. It was what Mrs. Kirkman thought a good moral\ndiscipline for her friend, besides giving herself a pleasant\nconsciousness of power and superiority; but when Mary's son sat down in\nfront of her, and looked with cold but eager eyes in his face, and\ndemanded this frightful information, her heart sank within her. It made\nher forget for the moment all about the clergy and the defective means\nof grace; and brought her down to the common standing of a natural\nChristian woman, anxious and terror-stricken for her friend.\n\n\"What have you to do with your mother's marriage?\" she said, trembling a\nlittle. \"Do you know what a very strange question you are asking? Who\nhas told you anything about that? O me! you frighten me so, I don't know\nwhat I am saying. Did Mary send you? Have you just come from your\nmother? If you want to know about her marriage, it is of her that you\nshould ask information. Of course she can tell you all about it--she and\nyour Aunt Agatha. What a very strange question to ask of me!\"\n\nWilfrid looked steadily into Mrs. Kirkman's agitated face, and saw it\nwas all true he had heard. \"If you do not know anything about it,\" he\nsaid, with pitiless logic, \"you would say so. Why should you look so put\nout if there was nothing to tell?\"\n\n\"I am not put out,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, still more disturbed. \"Oh, Will,\nyou are a dreadful boy. What is it you want to know? What is it for? Did\nyou tell your mother you were coming here?\"\n\n\"I don't see what it matters whether I told my mother, or what it is\nfor,\" said Will. \"I came to you because you were good, and would not\ntell a lie. I can depend on what you say to me. I have heard all about\nit already, but I am not so sure as I should be if I had it from you.\"\n\nThis compliment touched the colonel's wife on a susceptible point. She\ncalmed a little out of her fright. A boy with so just an appreciation of\nother people's virtues could not be meditating anything unkind or\nunnatural to his mother. Perhaps it would be better for Mary that he\nshould know the rights of it; perhaps it was providential that he should\nhave come to her, who could give him all the details.\n\n\"I don't suppose you can mean any harm,\" she said. \"Oh, Will, our hearts\nare all desperately wicked. The best of us is little able to resist\ntemptation. You are right in thinking I will tell you the truth if I\ntell you anything; but oh, my dear boy, if it should be to lead you to\nevil and not good----\"\n\n\"Never mind about the evil and the good,\" said Will impatiently. \"What I\nwant is to know what is false and what is true.\"\n\nMrs. Kirkman hesitated still; but she began to persuade herself that he\nmight have heard something worse than the truth. She was in a great\nperplexity; impelled to speak, and yet frightened to death at the\nconsequences. It was a new situation for her altogether, and she did not\nknow how to manage it. She clasped her hands helplessly together, and\nthe very movement suggested an idea which she grasped at, partly because\nshe was really a sincere, good woman who believed in the efficacy of\nprayer, and partly, poor soul, to gain a little time, for she was at her\nwits' end.\n\n\"I will,\" she said. \"I will, my dear boy; I will tell you everything;\nbut oh, let us kneel down and have a word of prayer first, that we may\nnot make a bad use of--of what we hear.\"\n\nIf she had ever been in earnest in her life it was at that moment; the\ntears were in her eyes, and all her little affectations of solemnity had\ndisappeared. She could not have told anybody what it was she feared; and\nyet the more she looked at the boy beside her, the more she felt their\npositions change, and feared and stood in awe, feeling that she was for\nthe moment his slave, and must do anything he might command.\n\n\"Mrs. Kirkman,\" said Will, \"I don't understand that sort of thing. I\ndon't know what bad use you can think I am going to make of it;--at all\nevents it won't be your fault. I shall not detain you five minutes if\nyou will only tell me what I want to know.\"\n\nAnd she did tell him accordingly, not knowing how to resist, and warmed\nin the telling in spite of herself, and could not but let him know that\nshe thought it was for Mary's good, and to bring her to a sense of the\nvanity of all earthly things. She gave him scrupulously all the details.\nThe story flowed out upon Will's hungry ears with scarcely a pause. She\ntold him all about the marriage, where it had happened, and who had\nperformed it, and who had been present. Little Hugh had been present.\nShe had no doubt he would remember, if it was recalled to his memory.\nMrs. Kirkman recollected perfectly the look that Mary had thrown at her\nhusband when she saw the child there. Poor Mary! she had thought so much\nof reputation and a good name. She had been so much thought of in the\nregiment. They all called her by that ridiculous name, Madonna Mary--and\nmade so much of her, before----\n\n\"And did they not make much of her after?\" said Will, quickly.\n\n\"It is a different thing,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, softly shaking her long\ncurls and returning to herself. \"A poor sinner returning to the right\nway ought to be more warmly welcomed than even the best, if we can call\nany human creature good; but----\"\n\n\"Is it my mother you call a poor sinner?\" asked Will.\n\nThen there was a pause. Mrs. Kirkman shook her head once more, and shook\nthe long curls that hung over her cheeks; but it was difficult to\nanswer. \"We are all poor sinners,\" she said. \"Oh, my dear boy, if I\ncould only persuade you how much more important it is to think of your\nown soul. If your poor dear mamma has done wrong, it is God who is her\njudge. I never judged her for my part, I never made any difference. I\nhope I know my own shortcomings too well for that.\"\n\n\"I thought I heard you say something odd to her once,\" said Will. \"I\nshould just like to see any one uncivil to my mother. But that's not the\nquestion. I want that Mr. Churchill's address, please.\"\n\n\"I can truly say I never made any difference,\" said Mrs. Kirkman; \"some\npeople might have blamed me--but I always thought of the Mary that loved\nmuch---- Oh, Will, what comforting words! I hope your dear mother has\nlong, long ago repented of her error. Perhaps your father deceived her,\nas she was so young; perhaps it was all true the strange story he told\nabout the register being burnt, and all that. We all thought it was best\nnot to inquire into it. We know what we saw; but remember, you have\npledged your word not to make any dispeace with what I have told you.\nYou are not to make a disturbance in the family about it. It is all over\nand past, and everybody has agreed to forget it. You are not going to\nmake any dispeace----\"\n\n\"I never thought of making any dispeace,\" said Will; but that was all he\nsaid. He was brief, as he always was, and uncommunicative, and inclined,\nnow he had got all he wanted, to get up abruptly and go away.\n\n\"And now, my dear young friend, you must do something for me,\" said Mrs.\nKirkman, \"in repayment for what I have done for you. You must read\nthese, and you must not only read them, but think over them, and seek\nlight where it is to be found. Oh, my dear boy, how anxious we are to\nsearch into any little mystery in connection with ourselves, and how\nlittle we think of the mysteries of eternity! You must promise to give a\nlittle attention to this great theme before this day has come to an\nend.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I'll read them,\" said Will, and he thrust into his pocket a\nroll of tracts she gave him without any further thought what they were.\nThe truth was, that he did not pay much attention to what she was\nsaying; his head had begun to throb and feel giddy again, and he had a\nrushing in his ears. He had it all in his hands now, and the sense of\nhis power overwhelmed him. He had never had such an instrument in his\nhands before, he had never known what it was to be capable of moving\nanybody, except to momentary displeasure or anxiety; and he felt as a\nman might feel in whose hand there had suddenly been placed the most\npowerful of weapons, with unlimited license to use it as he would--to\nbreak down castles with it or crowns, or slay armies at a blow--and only\nhis own absolute pleasure to decide when or where it should fall.\nSomething of intoxication and yet of alarm was in that first sense of\npower. He was rapt into a kind of ecstacy, and yet he was alarmed and\nafraid. He thrust the tracts into his pocket, and he received,\ncavalierly enough, Mrs. Kirkman's parting salutations. He had got all he\nwanted from her, and Will's was not a nature to be very expansive in the\nway of gratitude. Perhaps even, any sort of dim moral sense he might\nhave on the subject, made him feel that in the news he had just heard\nthere was not much room for gratitude. Anyhow he made very little\npretence at those hollow forms of courtesy which are current in the\nelder world. He went away having got what he wanted, and left the\ncolonel's wife in a state of strange excitement and growing compunction.\nOddly enough, Will's scanty courtesy roused more compunctions in her\nmind than anything else had done. She had put Mary's fate, as it were,\ninto the hands of a boy who had so little sense of what was right as to\nwithdraw in the most summary and abrupt way the moment his curiosity was\nsatisfied; who had not even grace enough, or self-control enough, to go\nthrough the ordinary decorums, or pay common attention to what she said\nto him; and now this inexperienced undisciplined lad had an incalculable\npower in his hands--power to crush and ruin his own family, to\ndispossess his brother and disgrace his mother: and nothing but his own\nforbearance or good pleasure to limit him. What had she done?\n\nWill walked about the streets for a full hour after, dizzy with the same\nextraordinary, intoxicating, alarming sense of power. Before, it had all\nbeen vague, now it was distinct and clear; and even beyond his desire to\n\"right\" himself, came the inclination to set this strange machine in\nmotion, and try his new strength. He was still so much a boy, that he\nwas curious to see the effect it would produce, eager to ascertain how\nit would work, and what it could do. He was like a child in possession\nof an infernal machine, longing to try it, and yet not unconscious of\nthe probable mischief. The sense of his power went to his head, and\nintoxicated him like wine. Here it was all ready in his hands, an\ninstrument which could take away more than life, and he was afraid of\nit, and of the strength of the recoil: and yet was full of eagerness to\nsee it go off, and see what results it would actually bring forth. He\nwalked about the town, not knowing where he was going, forgetting all\nabout his mother's commissions, and all about Percival, which was more\nextraordinary--solely occupied with the sensation that the power was in\nhis hands. He went into the cathedral, and walked all round it, and\nnever knew he had been there; and when at last he found himself at the\nrailway station again, he woke up again abruptly, as if he had been in a\ndream. Then making an effort he set his wits to work about Percival, and\nasked himself what he was to do. Percival was nothing to Will: he was\nhis Aunt Winnie's husband, and perhaps had not used her well, and he\ncould furnish no information half so clear or distinct as that which\nMrs. Kirkman had given. Will did not see any reason in particular why he\nshould go out of his way to seek such a man out. He had been no doubt\nhis first informant, but in his present position of power and\nsuperiority, he did not feel that he had any need of Percival. And why\nshould he seek him out? When he had sufficiently recovered his senses to\ngo through this reasoning, Will went deliberately back to town again,\nand executed his mother's commissions. He went to several shops, and\ngave orders which she had charged him with, and even took the trouble to\nchoose the things she wanted, in the most painstaking way, and was as\nconcerned that they should be right as if he had been the most dutiful\nand tender of sons; and all the while he was thinking to ruin her, and\ndisgrace her, and put the last stigma upon her name, and render her an\noutcast from the peaceful world. Such was the strange contradiction that\nexisted within him; he went back without speaking to any one, without\nseeing anybody, knitting his brows and thinking all the way. The train\nthat carried him home, with his weapon in his hands, passed with a rush\nand shriek the train which was conveying Nelly, with a great basket of\nflowers in her lap, and a vague gleam of infinite content in her eyes,\nback to her nursery and her duties, with Hugh by her side, who was\ntaking care of her, and losing himself, if there had been any harm in\nit. That sweet loss and gain was going on imperceptibly in the carriage\nwhere the one brother sat happy as a young prince, when the other\nbrother shot past as it were on wings of flame like a destroying angel.\nNeither thought of the other as they thus crossed, the one being busy\nwith the pre-occupation of young love, the other lost in a passion,\nwhich was not hate, nor even enmity, which was not inconsistent with a\nkind of natural affection, and yet involved destruction and injury of\nthe darkest and most overwhelming kind. Contrasts so sharply and clearly\npointed occur but seldom in a world so full of modifications and\ncomplicated interests; yet they do occur sometimes. And this was how it\nwas with Mary's boys.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI.\n\n\nWhen Wilfrid reached home, he found his mother by herself in the\ndrawing-room. Winnie had a headache, or some other of those aches which\ndepend upon temper and the state of the mind, and Aunt Agatha was\nsitting by her, in the darkened room, with bottles of eau de Cologne,\nand sal volatile, and smelling salts, and all the paraphernalia of this\nkind of indisposition. Aunt Agatha had been apt to take headaches\nherself in her younger days when she happened to be crossed, and she was\nnot without an idea that it was a very orthodox resource for a woman\nwhen she could not have her own way. And thus they were shut up,\nexchanging confidences. It did poor Winnie good, and it did not do Miss\nSeton any harm. And Mary was alone downstairs. She was not looking so\nbright as when Wilfrid went away. The idea which Sir Edward had\nsuggested to her, even if it had taken no hold of her mind, had breathed\non her a possible cloud; and she looked up wistfully at her boy as he\ncame in. Wilfrid, too, bore upon his face, to some extent, the marks of\nwhat he had been doing; but then his mother did not know what he had\nbeen doing, and could not guess what the dimness meant which was over\nhis countenance. It was not a bright face at any time, but was often\nlost in mists, and its meaning veiled from his mother's eyes; and she\ncould not follow him, this time any more than other times, into the\nuncertain depths. All she could do was to look at him wistfully, and\nlong to see a little clearer, and wonder, as she had so often wondered,\nhow it was that his thoughts and ways were so often out of her ken--how\nit was that children could go so far away, and be so wholly sundered,\neven while at the very side of those who had nursed them on their\nknees, and trained them to think and feel. A standing wonder, and yet\nthe commonest thing in nature. Mary felt it over again with double force\nto-day, as he came and brought her her wool and bits of ribbon, and she\nlooked into his face and did not know what its meaning was.\n\nAs for Will, it was a curious sensation for him, too, on his part. It\nwas such an opportunity as he could scarcely have looked for, for\nopening to his mother the great discovery he had made, and the great\nchanges that might follow. He could have had it all out with her and put\nhis power into operation, and seen what its effects were, without fear\nof being disturbed. But he shrank from it, he could not tell why. He was\nnot a boy of very fastidious feelings, but still to sit there facing her\nand look into her face, and tell her that he had been inquiring into her\npast life, and had found out her secret, was more than Will was capable\nof. To meditate doing it, and to think over what he would say, and to\narrange the words in which he would tell her that it was still one of\nher sons who would have Earlston--was a very different thing from fairly\nlooking her in the face and doing it. He stared at her for a moment in a\nway which startled Mary; and then the impossibility became evident to\nhim, and he turned his eyes away from her and sat down.\n\n\"You look a little strange, Will,\" said Mary. \"Are you tired, or has\nanything happened? You startled me just now, you looked so pale.\"\n\n\"No, I am not tired,\" said Will, in his curt way. \"I don't know anything\nabout being pale.\"\n\n\"Well, you never were very rosy,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony. \"I did not\nexpect you so soon. I thought you would have gone to the Askells', and\ncome home with Hugh.\"\n\n\"I never thought of that. I thought you wanted your wool and things,\"\nsaid Will.\n\nIt was very slight, ordinary talk, and yet it was quivering with meaning\non both sides, though neither knew what the other's meaning was. Will,\nfor his part, was answering his mother's questions with something like\nthe suppressed mania of homicide within him, not quite knowing whether\nat any moment the subdued purpose might not break out, and kill, and\nreveal itself; whereas his mother, totally unsuspecting how far things\nhad gone, was longing to discover whether Percival had gained any power\nover him, and what that adversary's tactics were.\n\n\"Have you seen anybody?\" she said. \"By the way, Sir Edward was talking\nof Major Percival--he seemed to think that he might still be in\nCarlisle. Did you by any chance see anything of him there?\"\n\nShe fixed her eyes full upon him as she spoke, but Will did not in any\nway shrink from her eyes.\n\n\"No,\" he said carelessly. \"I did not see him. He told me he was going to\nstay a day or two in Carlisle, but I did not look out for him,\nparticularly. He gets to be a bore after the first.\"\n\nWhen Mary heard this, her face cleared up like the sky after a storm. It\nhad been all folly, and once more she had made herself unhappy about\nnothing. How absurd it was! Percival was wicked, but still he had no\ncause to fix any quarrel upon her, or poison the mind of her son. It was\non Winnie's account he came, and on Winnie's account, no doubt, he was\nstaying; and in all likelihood Mrs. Ochterlony and her boys were as\nutterly unimportant to him, as in ordinary circumstances he was to them.\nMary made thus the mistake by which a tolerant and open mind, not too\nmuch occupied about itself, sometimes goes astray. People go wrong much\nmore frequently from thinking too much of themselves, and seeing their\nown shadow across everybody's way; but yet there may be danger even in\nthe lack of egotism: and thus it was that Mary's face cleared up, and\nher doubts dispersed, just at the moment when she had most to dread.\n\nThen there was a pause, and the homicidal impulse, so to speak, took\npossession of Will. He was playing with the things he had bought,\nputting them into symmetrical and unsymmetrical shapes on the table, and\nwhen he suddenly said \"Mother,\" Mrs. Ochterlony turned to him with a\nsmile. He said \"Mother,\" and then he stopped short, and picked to pieces\nthe construction he was making, but at the same time he never raised his\neyes.\n\n\"Well, Will?\" said Mary.\n\nAnd then there was a brief, but sharp, momentary struggle in his mind.\nHe meant to speak, and wanted to speak, but could not. His throat seemed\nto close with a jerk when he tried; the words would not come from his\nlips. It was not that he was ashamed of what he was going to do, or that\nany sudden compunction for his mother seized him. It was a kind of spasm\nof impossibility, as much physical as mental. He could no more do it,\nthen he could lift the Cottage from its solid foundations. He went on\narranging the little parcels on the table into shapes, square, oblong,\nand triangular, his fingers busy, but his mind much more busy, his eyes\nlooking at nothing, and his lips unable to articulate a single word.\n\n\"Well, Will, what were you going to say?\" said Mary, again.\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Will; and he got up and went away with an abruptness\nwhich made his mother wonder and smile. It was only Willy's way; but it\nwas an exaggerated specimen of Will's way. She thought to herself when\nhe was gone, with regret, that it was a great pity he was so abrupt. It\ndid not matter at home, where everybody knew him; but among strangers,\nwhere people did not know him, it might do him so much injury. Poor\nWill! but he knew nothing about Percival, and cared nothing, and Mary\nwas ashamed of her momentary fear.\n\nAs for the boy himself, he went out, and took himself to task, and felt\nall over him a novel kind of tremor, a sense of strange excitement, the\nfeeling of one who had escaped a great danger. But that was not all the\nfeeling which ought to have been in his mind. He had neglected and lost\na great opportunity, and though it was not difficult to make\nopportunities, Will felt by instinct that his mother's mere presence had\ndefeated him. He could not tell her of the discovery he had made. He\nmight write her a letter about it, or send the news to her at\nsecondhand; but to look in her face and tell her, was impossible. To sit\ndown there by her side, and meet her eyes, and tell her that he had been\nmaking inquiries into her character, and that she was not the woman she\nwas supposed to be, nor was the position of her children such as the\nworld imagined, was an enterprise which Wilfrid had once and for ever\nproved impossible. He stood blank before this difficulty which lay at\nthe very beginning of his undertaking; he had not only failed, but he\nsaw that he must for ever fail. It amazed him, but he felt it was final.\nHis mouth was closed, and he could not speak.\n\nAnd then he thought he would wait until Hugh came home. Hugh was not his\nmother, nor a woman. He was no more than Will's equal at the best, and\nperhaps even his inferior; and to him, surely, it could be said. He\nwaited for a long time, and kept lingering about the roads, wondering\nwhat train his brother would come by, and feeling somehow reluctant to\ngo in again, so long as his mother was alone. For in Mrs. Ochterlony's\npresence Will could not forget that he had a secret--that he had done\nsomething out of her knowledge, and had something of the most momentous\ncharacter to tell her, and yet could not tell it to her. It would be\ndifferent with Hugh. He waited loitering about upon the dusty summer\nroads, biting his nails to the quick, and labouring hard through a sea\nof thought. This telling was disagreeable, even it was only Hugh that\nhad to be told--more disagreeable than anything else about the business,\nfar more disagreeable, certainly, than he had anticipated it would be;\nand Wilfrid did not quite make out how it was that a simple fact should\nbe so difficult to communicate. It enlarged his views so far, and gave\nhim a glimpse into the complications of maturer life, but it did not in\nany way divert him from his purpose, or change his ideas about his\nrights. At length the train appeared by which it was certain Hugh must\ncome home. Wilfrid sauntered along the road within sight of the little\nstation to meet his brother, and yet when he saw Hugh actually\napproaching, his heart gave a jump in his breast. The moment had come,\nand he must do it, which was a very different thing from thinking it\nover, and planning what he was to say.\n\n\"You here, Will!\" said Hugh. \"I looked for you in Carlisle. Why didn't\nyou go to Mrs. Askell's and wait for me?\"\n\n\"I had other things to do,\" said Will, briefly.\n\nHugh laughed. \"Very important things, I have no doubt,\" he said; \"but\nstill you might have waited for me, all the same. How is Aunt Winnie? I\nsaw that fellow,--that husband of hers,--at the station. I should like\nto know what he wants hanging about here.\"\n\n\"He wants _her_, perhaps,\" said Will, though with another jump of his\nheart.\n\n\"He had better not come and bother her,\" said Hugh. \"She may not be\nperfect herself, but I won't stand it. She is my mother's sister, after\nall, and she is a woman. I hope you won't encourage him to hang about\nhere.\"\n\n\"_I!_\" cried Will, with amazement and indignation.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Hugh, with elder-brotherly severity. \"Not that I think you\nwould mean any harm by it, Will; it is not a sort of thing you can be\nexpected to understand. A fellow like that should be kept at a distance.\nWhen a man behaves badly to a woman--to his wife--to such a beautiful\ncreature as she has been----\"\n\n\"I don't see anything very beautiful about her,\" said Will.\n\n\"That doesn't matter,\" said Hugh, who was hot and excited, having been\ntaken into Winnie's confidence. \"She has been beautiful, and that's\nenough. Indeed, she ought to be beautiful now, if that fellow hadn't\nbeen a brute. And if he means to come back here----\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is not her he wants,\" said Will, whose profound\nself-consciousness made him play quite a new part in the dialogue.\n\n\"What could he want else?\" said Hugh, with scorn. \"You may be sure it is\nno affection for any of _us_ that brings him here.\"\n\nHere was the opportunity, if Will could but have taken it. Now was the\nmoment to tell him that something other than Winnie might be in\nPercival's mind--that it was his own fortune, and not hers, that hung in\nthe balance. But Will was dumb; his lips were sealed; his tongue clove\nto the roof of his mouth. It was not his will that was in fault. It was\na rebellion of all his physical powers, a rising up of nature against\nhis purpose. He was silent in spite of himself; he said not another word\nas they walked on together. He suffered Hugh to stray into talk about\nthe Askells, about the Museum, about anything or nothing. Once or twice\nhe interrupted the conversation abruptly with some half-dozen words,\nwhich brought it to a sudden stop, and gave him the opportunity of\nbroaching his own subject. But when he came to that point he was struck\ndumb. Hugh, all innocent and unconscious, in serene elderly-brotherly\nsuperiority, good humoured and condescending, and carelessly\naffectionate, was as difficult to deal with as Mary herself. Without\nwithdrawing from his undertaking, or giving up his \"rights,\" Wilfrid\nfelt himself helpless; he could not say it out. It seemed to him now\nthat so far from giving in to it, as he once imagined, without\ncontroversy, Hugh equally without controversy would set it aside as\nsomething monstrous, and that his new hope would be extinguished and\ncome to an end if his elder brother had the opportunity of thus putting\nit down at once. When they reached home, Will withdrew to his own room,\nwith a sense of being baffled and defeated--defeated before he had\nstruck a blow. He did not come downstairs again, as they remembered\nafterwards--he did not want any tea. He had not a headache, as Aunt\nAgatha, now relieved from attendance upon Winnie, immediately suggested.\nAll he wanted was to be left alone, for he had something to do. This was\nthe message that came downstairs. \"He is working a great deal too much,\"\nsaid Aunt Agatha, \"you will see he will hurt his brain or something;\"\nwhile Hugh, too, whispered to his mother, \"You shall see; _I_ never did\nmuch, but Will will go in for all sorts of honours,\" the generous fellow\nwhispered in his mother's ear; and Mary smiled, in her heart thinking so\ntoo. If they had seen Will at the moment sitting with his face supported\nby both his hands, biting his nails and knitting his brows, and\npondering more intently than any man ever pondered over classic puzzle\nor scientific problem, they might have been startled out of those\npleasant thoughts.\n\nAnd yet the problem he was considering was one that racked his brain,\nand made his head ache, had he been sufficiently at leisure to feel it.\nThe more impossible he felt it to explain himself and make his claim,\nthe more obstinately determined was he to make it, and have what\nbelonged to him. His discouragement and sense of defeat did but\nintensify his resolution. He had failed to speak, notwithstanding his\nopportunities; but he could write, or he could employ another voice as\nhis interpreter. With all his egotism and determination, Wilfrid was\nyoung, nothing but a boy, and inexperienced, and at a loss what to do.\nEverything seemed easy to him until he tried to do it; and when he\ntried, everything seemed impossible. He had thought it the most ordinary\naffair in the world to tell his discovery to his mother and brother,\nuntil the moment came which in both cases proved the communication to be\nbeyond his powers. And now he thought he could write. After long\npondering, he got up and opened the little desk upon which he had for\nyears written his verses and exercises, troubled by nothing worse than a\ndoubtful quantity, and made an endeavour to carry out his last idea.\nWill's style was not a bad style. It was brief and terse, and to the\npoint,--a remarkable kind of diction for a boy,--but he did not find\nthat it suited his present purpose. He put himself to torture over his\nletters. He tried it first in one way, and then in another; but however\nhe put it, he felt within himself that it would not do. He had no sort\nof harsh or unnatural meaning in his mind. They were still his mother\nand brother to whom he wanted to write, and he had no inclination to\nwound their feelings, or to be disrespectful or unkind. In short, it\nonly required this change, and his establishment in what he supposed his\njust position, to make him the kindest and best of sons and brothers. He\ntoiled over his letters as he had never toiled over anything in his\nlife. He could not tell how to express himself, nor even what to say. He\naddressed his mother first, and then Hugh, and then his mother again;\nbut the more he laboured the more impossible he found his task. When\nMrs. Ochterlony came upstairs and opened his door to see what her boy\nwas about, Wilfrid stumbled up from his seat red and heated, and shut up\nhis desk, and faced her with an air of confusion and trouble which she\ncould not understand. It was not too late even then to bring her in and\ntell her all; and this possibility bewildered Will, and filled him with\nagitation and excitement, to which naturally his mother had no clue.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" she said, anxiously; \"are you ill, Will? Have you\na headache? I thought you were in bed.\"\n\n\"No, I am all right,\" said Will, facing her with a look, which in its\nconfusion seemed sullen. \"I am busy. It is too soon to go to bed.\"\n\n\"Tell me what is wrong,\" said Mary, coming a step further into the room.\n\"Will, my dear boy, I am sure you are not well. You have not been\nquarrelling with any one--with Hugh----?\"\n\n\"With Hugh!\" said Will, with a little scorn; \"why should I quarrel with\nHugh?\"\n\n\"Why, indeed!\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, smiling faintly; \"but you do not\nlook like yourself. Tell me what you have been doing, at least.\"\n\nWill's heart thumped against his breast. He might put her into the chair\nby which she was standing, and tell her everything and have it over.\nThis possibility still remained to him. He stood for a second and looked\nat her, and grew breathless with excitement, but then somehow his voice\nseemed to die away in his throat.\n\n\"If I were to tell you what I was doing, you would not understand it,\"\nhe said, repeating mechanically words which he had used in good faith,\nwith innocent schoolboy arrogance, many a time before. As for Mary, she\nlooked at him wistfully, seeing something in his eyes which she could\nnot interpret. They had never been candid, frank eyes like Hugh's. Often\nenough before, they had been impatient of her scrutiny, and had veiled\ntheir meaning with an apparent blank; but yet there had never been any\nactual harm hid by the artifice. Mary sighed; but she did not insist,\nknowing how useless it was. If it was anything, perhaps it was some\nboyish jealousy about Nelly,--an imaginary feeling which would pass\naway, and leave no trace behind. But, whatever it was, it was vain to\nthink of finding it out by questions; and she gave him her good-night\nkiss and left him, comforting herself with the thought that most likely\nit was only one of Will's uncomfortable moments, and would be over by\nto-morrow. But when his mother went away, Will for his part sank down,\nwith the strangest tremor, in his chair. Never before in his life had\nthis sick and breathless excitement, this impulse of the mind and\nresistance of the flesh, been known to him, and he could not bear it. It\nseemed to him he never could stand in her presence, never feel his\nmother's eyes upon him, without feeling that now was the moment that he\nmust and ought to tell her, and yet could not tell her, no more than if\nhe were speechless. He had never felt very deeply all his life before,\nand the sense of this struggle took all his strength from him. It made\nhis heart beat, so that the room and the house and the very solid earth\non which he stood seemed to throb and tingle round him; it was like\nstanding for ever on the edge of a precipice over which the slightest\nmovement would throw him, and the very air seemed to rush against his\nears as it would do if he were falling. He sank down into his chair, and\nhis heart beat, and the pulses throbbed in his temples. What was he to\ndo?--he could not speak, he could not write, and yet it must be told,\nand his rights gained, and the one change made that should convert him\ninto the tenderest son, the most helpful brother, that ever man or woman\nhad. At last in his despair and pertinacity, there came into his mind\nthat grand expedient which occurs naturally to everything that is young\nand unreasonable under the pressure of unusual trials. He would go away;\nhe could not go on seeing them continually, with this communication\nalways ready to break from the lips which would not utter it,--nor could\nhe write to them while he was still with them, and when any letter must\nbe followed by an immediate explanation. But he could fly; and when he\nwas at a safe distance, then he could tell them. No doubt it was\ncowardice to a certain extent; but there were other things as well.\nPartly it was impatience, and partly the absoluteness and imperious\ntemper of youth, and that intolerance of everything painful that comes\nnatural to it. He sat in his chair, noiseless and thinking, in the\nstillness of night, a poor young soul, tempted and yielding to\ntemptation, sinful, yet scarcely conscious how sinful he was, and yet at\nthe same time forlorn with that profound forlornness of egotism and\nill-doing which is almost pathetic in the young. He could consult\nnobody, take no one into his confidence. The only counsellors he had\nknown in all his small experience were precisely those upon whom he was\nabout to turn. He was alone, and had everything to plan, everything to\ndo for himself.\n\nAnd yet was there nobody whom he could take into his confidence?\nSuddenly, in the stillness of the night a certain prosperous,\ncomfortable figure came into the boy's mind--one who thought it was well\nto get money and wealth and power, anyhow except dishonestly, which of\ncourse was an impracticable and impolitic way. When that idea came to\nhim like an inspiration, Will gave a little start, and looked up, and\nsaw the blue dawn making all the bars of his window visible against the\nwhite blind that covered it. Night was gone with its dark counsels, and\nthe day had come. What he did after that was to take out his boy's\npurse, and count over carefully all the money it contained. It was not\nmuch, but yet it was enough. Then he took his first great final step in\nlife, with a heart that beat in his ears, but not loud enough to betray\nhim. He went downstairs softly as the dawn brightened, and all the dim\nstaircase and closed doors grew visible, revealed by the silent growth\nof the early light. Nobody heard him, nobody dreamed that any secret\nstep could ever glide down those stairs or out of the innocent honest\nhouse. He was the youngest in it, and should have been the most\ninnocent; and he thought he meant no evil. Was it not his right he was\ngoing to claim? He went softly out, going through the drawing-room\nwindow, which it was safer to leave open than the door, and across the\nlawn, which made no sound beneath his foot. The air of the summer\nmorning was like balm, and soothed him, and the blueness brightened and\ngrew rosy as he went his way among the early dews. The only spot on\nwhich, like Gideon's fleece, no dew had fallen, was poor Will's beating\nheart, as he went away in silence and secrecy from his mother's door.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII.\n\n\nThe breakfast-table in the Cottage was as cheerful as usual next\nmorning, and showed no premonitory shadow. Winnie did not come\ndownstairs early; and perhaps it was all the more cheerful for her\nabsence. And there were flowers on the table, and everything looked\nbright. Will was absent, it is true, but nobody took much notice of that\nas yet. He might be late, or he might have gone out; and he was not a\nboy to be long negligent of the necessities of nature. Aunt Agatha even\nthought it necessary to order something additional to be kept hot for\nhim. \"He has gone out, I suppose,\" Miss Seton said; \"and it is rather\ncold this morning, and a long walk in this air will make the boy as\nhungry as a hunter. Tell Peggy not to cook that trout till she hears him\ncome in.\"\n\nThe maid looked perturbed and breathless; but she said, \"Yes, ma'am,\"\nhumbly--as if it was she who was in the wrong; and the conversation and\nthe meal were resumed. A minute or two after, however, she appeared once\nmore: \"If you please, there's somebody asking for Mr. Hugh,\" said the\nfrightened girl, standing, nervous and panting, with her hand upon the\ndoor.\n\n\"Somebody for me?\" said Hugh. \"The gamekeeper, I suppose; he need not\nhave been in such a hurry. Let him come in and wait a little. I'll be\nready presently.\"\n\n\"But, my dear boy,\" said Aunt Agatha, \"you must not waste the man's\ntime. It is Sir Edward's time, you know; and he may have quantities of\nthings to do. Go and see what he wants: and your mother will not fill\nout your coffee till you come back.\"\n\nAnd Hugh went out, half laughing, half grumbling--but he laughed no\nmore, when he saw Peggy standing severe and pale at the kitchen door,\nwaiting for him. \"Mr. Hugh,\" said Peggy, with the aspect of a chief\njustice, \"tell me this moment, on your conscience, is there any quarrel\nor disagreement between your brother and you?\"\n\n\"My brother and me? Do you mean Will?\" said Hugh, in amazement. \"Not the\nslightest. What do you mean? We were never better friends in our life.\"\n\n\"God be thanked!\" said Peggy; and then she took him by the arm, and led\nthe astonished young man upstairs to Will's room. \"He's never sleepit in\nthat bed this night. His little bag's gone, with a change in't. He's\nputten on another pair of boots. Where is the laddie gone? And me\nthat'll have to face his mother, and tell her she's lost her bairn!\"\n\n\"Lost her bairn! Nonsense,\" cried Hugh, aghast; \"he's only gone out for\na walk.\"\n\n\"When a boy like that goes out for a walk, he does not take a change\nwith him,\" said Peggy. \"He may be lying in Kirtell deeps for anything we\ncan tell. And me that will have to break it to his mother----\"\n\nHugh stood still in consternation for a moment, and then he burst into\nan agitated laugh. \"He would not have taken a change with him, as you\nsay, into Kirtell deeps,\" he said. \"Nonsense, Peggy! Are you sure he has\nnot been in bed? Don't you go and frighten my mother. And, indeed, I\ndaresay he does not always go to bed. I see his light burning all the\nnight through, sometimes. Peggy, don't go and put such ridiculous ideas\ninto people's heads. Will has gone out to walk, as usual. There he is,\ndownstairs. I hear him coming in: make haste, and cook his trout.\"\n\nHugh, however, was so frightened himself by all the terrors of\ninexperience, that he precipitated himself downstairs, to see if it was\nreally Will who had entered. It was not Will, however, but a boy from\nthe railway, with a note, in Will's handwriting, addressed to his\nmother, which took all the colour out of Hugh's cheeks--for he was\nstill a boy, and new to life, and did not think of any such easy\ndemonstration of discontent as that of going to visit Uncle Penrose. He\nwent into the breakfast-room with so pale a face, that both the ladies\ngot up in dismay, and made a rush at him to know what it was.\n\n\"It is nothing,\" said Hugh, breathless, waving them off, \"nothing--only\na note--I have not read it yet--wait a little. Mother, don't be afraid.\"\n\n\"What is there to be afraid of?\" asked Mary, in amazement and dismay.\n\nAnd then Hugh again burst into an unsteady and tremulous laugh. He had\nread the note, and threw it at his mother with an immense load lifted\noff his heart, and feeling wildly gay in the revulsion. \"There's nothing\nto be frightened about,\" said Hugh. \"By Jove! to think the fellow has no\nmore taste--gone off to see Uncle Penrose. I wish them joy!\"\n\n\"Who is it that has gone to visit Mr. Penrose?\" said Aunt Agatha; and\nHugh burst into an explanation, while Mary, not by any means so much\nrelieved, read her boy's letter.\n\n\"I confess I got a fright,\" said Hugh. \"Peggy dragged me upstairs to\nshow me that he had not slept in his bed, and said his carpet-bag was\ngone, and insinuated--I don't know what--that we had quarrelled, and all\nsorts of horrors. But he's gone to see Uncle Penrose. It's all right,\nmother; I always thought it was all right.\"\n\n\"And had you quarrelled?\" asked Aunt Agatha, in consternation.\n\n\"I am not sure it is all right,\" said Mary; \"why has he gone to see\nUncle Penrose? and what has he heard? and without saying a word to me.\"\n\nMary was angry with her boy, and it made her heart sore--it was the\nfirst time any of them had taken a sudden step out of her knowledge--and\nthen what had he heard? Something worse than any simple offence or\ndiscontent might be lurking behind.\n\nBut Hugh, of course, knew nothing at all about that. He sat down again\nto his interrupted breakfast, and laughed and talked, and made merry. \"I\nwonder what Uncle Penrose will say to him?\" said Hugh. \"I suppose he has\ngone and spent all his money getting to Liverpool; and what could his\nmotive be, odd fellow as he is? The girls are all married----\"\n\n\"My dear boy, Will is not thinking of girls as you are,\" said Mary,\nbeguiled into a smile.\n\nHugh laughed and grew red, and shook his abundant youthful locks. \"We\nare not talking of what I think,\" he said; \"and I suppose a man may do\nworse than think about girls--a little: but the question is, what was\nWill thinking about? Uncle Penrose cannot have ensnared him with his\nodious talk about money? By-the-way, I must send him some. We can't let\nan Ochterlony be worried about a few miserable shillings there.\"\n\n\"I don't think we can let an Ochterlony, at least so young a one as\nWill, stay uninvited,\" said Mary. \"I feel much disposed to go after him\nand bring him home, or at least find out what he means.\"\n\n\"No, you shall do nothing of the kind,\" said Hugh, hastily. \"I suppose\nour mother can trust her sons out of her sight. Nobody must go after\nhim. Why, he is seventeen--almost grown up. He must not feel any want of\nconfidence----\"\n\n\"Want of confidence!\" said Aunt Agatha. \"Hugh, you are only a boy\nyourself. What do you know about it? I think Mary would be very wrong if\nshe let Will throw himself into temptation; and one knows there is every\nkind of temptation in those large, wicked towns,\" said Miss Seton,\nshuddering. It was she who knew nothing about it, no more than a baby,\nand still less did she know or guess the kind of temptation that was\nacting upon the truant's mind.\n\n\"If that were all,\" said Mary, slowly, and then she sighed. She was not\nafraid of the temptations of a great town. She did not even know what\nshe feared. She wanted to bring back her boy, to hear from his own lips\nwhat his motive was. It did not seem possible that there could be any\nharm meant by his boyish secrecy. It was even hard for his mother to\npersuade herself that Will could think of any harm; but still it was\nstrange. When she thought of Percival's visit and Will's expedition to\nCarlisle, her heart fluttered within her, though she scarcely knew why.\nWill was not like other boys of his age; and then it was \"something he\nhad heard.\" \"I think,\" she said, with hesitation, \"that one of us should\ngo--either you or I----\"\n\n\"No,\" said Hugh. \"No, mother, no; don't think of it; as if he were a\ngirl or a Frenchman! Why it's Will! What harm can he do? If he likes to\nvisit Uncle Penrose, let him; it will not be such a wonderful delight.\nI'll send him some money to-day.\"\n\nThis, of course, was how it was settled; for Mary's terrors were not\nstrong enough to contend with her natural English prejudices against\n_surveillance_ and restraint, backed by Hugh's energetic remonstrances.\nWhen Winnie heard of it, she dashed immediately at the idea that her\nhusband's influence had something to do with Will's strange flight, and\nwas rather pleased and flattered by the thought. \"I said he would strike\nme through my friends,\" she said to Aunt Agatha, who was bewildered, and\ndid not know what this could mean.\n\n\"My dear love, what good could it do him to interfere with Will?\" said\nMiss Seton. \"A mere boy, and who has not a penny. If he had wanted to\ninjure us, it would have been Hugh that he would have tried to lead\naway.\"\n\n\"To lead away?\" said Winnie scornfully. \"What does he care for leading\naway? He wants to do harm, real harm. He thinks he can strike me through\nmy friends.\"\n\nWhen Aunt Agatha heard this she turned round to Mary, who had just come\ninto the room, and gave a little deprecating shake of her head, and a\npathetic look. Poor Winnie! She could think of nothing but her husband\nand his intentions; and how could he do this quiet household real harm?\nMary said nothing, but her uneasiness increased more and more. She could\nnot sit down to her work, or take up any of her ordinary occupations.\nShe went to Will's room and examined it throughout, and looked through\nhis wardrobe to see what he had taken with him, and searched vainly for\nany evidence of his meaning; and then she wrote him a long letter of\nquestions and appeals, which would have been full of pathetic eloquence\nto anybody who knew what was in her mind, but would have appeared simply\namazing and unintelligible to anybody ignorant of her history, as she\nherself perceived, and burnt it, and wrote a second, in which there was\nstill a certain mystery. She reminded him that he might have gone away\ncomfortably with everybody's knowledge, instead of making the household\nuneasy about him; and she could not but let a little wonder creep\nthrough, that of all people in the world it was Uncle Penrose whom he\nhad elected to visit; and then she made an appeal to him: \"What have I\ndone to forfeit my boy's confidence? what can you have heard, oh Will,\nmy dear boy, that you could not tell to your mother?\" Her mind was\nrelieved by writing, but still she was uneasy and disquieted. If he had\nbeen severely kept in, or had any reason to fear a refusal;--but to\nsteal away when he might have full leave and every facility; this was\none of the things which appeared the most strange.\n\nThe servants, for their part, set it down to a quarrel with his brother,\nand jealousy about Nelly, and took Hugh's part, who was always the\nfavourite. And as for Hugh himself, he sent his brother a cheque (his\nprivilege of drawing cheques being still new, and very agreeable), and\nasked why he was such an ass as to run away, and bade him enjoy himself.\nThe house was startled--but after all, it was no such great matter; and\nnobody except Mary wasted much consideration upon Will's escapade after\nthat first morning. He was but a boy; and it was natural, everybody\nthought, that boys should do something foolish now and then.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII.\n\n\nIn a curious state of mind, Will was flying along towards Liverpool,\nwhile this commotion arose in the Cottage. Not even now had the matter\ntaken any moral aspect to him. He did not feel that he had gone skulking\noff to deliver a cowardly blow. All that he was conscious of was the\nfact, that having something to tell which he could not somehow persuade\nhimself to tell, he was going to make the communication from a distance\nunder Uncle Penrose's advice. And yet the boy was not comfortable. It\nhad become apparent to him vaguely, that after this communication was\nmade, the relations existing between himself and his family must be\nchanged. That his mother might be \"angry,\" which was his boyish term for\nany or every displeasure that might cloud Mrs. Ochterlony's mind; that\nHugh might take it badly--and that after all it was a troublesome\nbusiness, and he would be pleased to get it over. He was travelling in\nthe cheapest way, for his money was scanty; but he was not the kind of\nboy to be beguiled from his own thoughts by the curious third-class\nsociety into which he was thus brought, or even by the country, which\ngradually widened and expanded under his eyes from the few beaten paths\nhe knew so well, into that wide unknown stretch of hill and plain which\nwas the world. A vague excitement, it is true, came into his mind as he\nfelt himself to have passed out of the reach of everything he knew, and\nto have entered upon the undiscovered; but this excitement did not draw\nhim out of his own thoughts. It did but mingle with them, and put a\nquickening thrill of life into the strange maze. The confused country\npeople at the stations, who did not know which carriage to take, and\nwandered, hurried and disconsolate, on the platforms, looking into\nall--the long swift moment of passage over the silent country, in which\nthe train, enveloped in its own noise, made for itself a distinct\natmosphere--and then again a shriek, a pause, and another procession of\nfaces looking in at the window--this was Will's idea of the long\njourney. He was not imaginative; but still everybody appeared to him\nhurried, and downcast, and pre-occupied. Even the harmless country folks\nhad the air of having something on their minds. And through all he kept\non pondering what his mother and what Hugh would say. Poor boy! his\ndiscovery had given him no advantage as yet; but it had put a cross upon\nhis shoulders--it had bound him so hard and fast that he could not\nescape from it. It had brought, if not guilt, yet the punishment of\nguilt into all his thoughts.\n\nMr. Penrose had a handsome house at some distance from Liverpool, as was\nusual. And Will found it a very tedious and troublesome business to get\nthere, not to speak of the calls for sixpences from omnibuses and\nporters, and everybody (he thought) who looked at him, which was very\nsevere on his slender purse. And when he arrived, his uncle's servants\nlooked upon him with manifest suspicion; he had never been there before,\nand Mr. Penrose was now living alone, his wife being dead, and all his\nchildren married, so that there was nobody in the house who could\nidentify the unknown nephew. The Cottage was not much bigger than Mr.\nPenrose's porter's lodge, and yet that small tenement had looked down\nupon the great mansion all its life, and been partly ashamed of it,\nwhich sentiment gave Will an unconscious sense that he was doing Uncle\nPenrose an honour in going to visit him. But when he was met at the door\nby the semi-polite suspicion of the butler, who proposed that he should\ncall again, with an evident reference in his mind to the spoons, it gave\nthe boy the forlornest feeling that can be conceived. He was alone, and\nthey thought him an impostor, and nobody here knew or cared whether he\nwas shut out from the house or not. His heart went back to his home with\nthat revulsion which everybody knows. There, everybody would have rushed\nto open the door to him, and welcome him back; and though his errand\nhere was simply to do that home as much injury as possible, his heart\nswelled at the contrast. While he stood, however, insisting upon\nadmittance in his dogged way, without showing any feelings, it happened\nthat Mr. Penrose drove up to the door, and hailed his nephew with much\nsurprise. \"You here, Will?\" Mr. Penrose said. \"I hope nothing has gone\nwrong at the Cottage?\" and his man's hand instantly, and as by magic,\nrelaxed from the door.\n\n\"There is nothing wrong, sir,\" said Will, \"but I wanted to speak to\nyou;\" and he entered triumphantly, not without a sense of victory, as\nthe subdued servant took his bag out of his hand. Mr. Penrose was, as we\nhave said, alone. He had shed, as it were, all incumbrances, and was\nready, unfettered by any ties or prejudices, to grow richer and wiser\nand more enlightened every day. His children were all married, and his\nwife having fulfilled all natural offices of this life, and married all\nher daughters, had quietly taken her dismissal when her duties were\nover, and had a very handsome tombstone, which he looked at on Sunday.\nIt occurred to very few people, however, to lament over Mr. Penrose's\nloneliness. He seemed to have been freed from all impediments, and left\nat liberty to grow rich, to get fat, and to believe in his own greatness\nand wisdom. Nor did it occur to himself to feel his great house lonely.\nHe liked eating a luxurious dinner by himself, and knowing how much it\nhad cost, all for his single lordly appetite--the total would have been\nless grand if wife and children had shared it. And then he had other\nthings to think of--substantial things, about interest and investments,\nand not mere visionary reflections about the absence of other chairs or\nother faces at his table. But he had a natural interest in Wilfrid, as\nin a youth who had evidently come to ask his advice, which was an\narticle he was not disinclined to give away. And then \"the Setons,\" as\nhe called his sister's family and descendants, had generally shut their\nears to his advice, and shown an active absence of all political\nqualities, so that Will's visit was a compliment of the highest\ncharacter, something like an unexpected act of homage from Mordecai in\nthe gate.\n\nBut even Mr. Penrose was struck dumb by Will's communication. He put up\nhis hand to his cravat and gasped, and thumped himself on the breast,\nstaring at the boy with round, scared, apoplectic eyes--like the eyes of\na boiled fish. He stared at Will,--who told the story calmly enough,\nwith a matter-of-fact conciseness--and looked as if he was disposed to\nring the bell and send for a doctor, and get out of the difficulty by\nconcluding his nephew to be mad. But there was no withstanding the\nevidence of plain good faith and sincerity in Will's narration. Mr.\nPenrose remained silent longer than anybody had ever known him to remain\nsilent before, and he was not even very coherent when he had regained\nthe faculty of speech.\n\n\"That woman was present, was she?\" he said, \"and Winnie's husband--good\nLord! And so you mean to tell me Mary has been all this time--When I\nasked her to my house, and my wife intended to make a party for her, and\nall that--and when she preferred to visit at Earlston, and that old\nfool, Sir Edward, who never had a penny--except what he settled on\nWinnie--and all that time, you know, Mary was--good Lord!\"\n\n\"I don't see what difference it makes to my mother,\" said Will. \"She is\njust what she always was--the difference it makes is to me--and of\ncourse to Hugh.\"\n\nBut this was not a view that Mr. Penrose could take, who knew more about\nthe world than Will could be supposed to know--though his thoughts were\nusually so preoccupied by what he called the practical aspect of\neverything. Yet he was disturbed in this case by reflections which were\nalmost imaginative, and which utterly amazed Will. He got up, though he\nwas still in the middle of dessert, and walking about the room, making\nexclamations. \"That's what she has been, you know, all this time--Mary,\nof all people in the world! Good Lord! That's what she was, when we\nasked her here.\" These were the exclamations that kept bursting from\nUncle Penrose's amazed lips--and Will at last grew angry and impatient,\nand hurried into the practical matter on his own initiative.\n\n\"When you have made up your mind about it, Uncle, I should be glad to\nknow what you think best to be done,\" said Will, in his steady way, and\nhe looked at his adviser with those sceptical, clear-sighted eyes,\nwhich, more than anything else, make a practical man ashamed of having\nindulged in any momentary aberration.\n\nMr. Penrose came back to his chair and sat down, and looked with\nrespect, and something that was almost awe, in Will's face. Then the boy\ncontinued, seeing his advantage: \"You must see what an important thing\nit is between Hugh and me,\" he said. \"It is a matter of business, of\ncourse, and it would be far better to settle it at once. If I am the\nright heir, you know, Earlston ought to be mine. I have heard you say,\nfeelings had nothing to do with the right and wrong.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mr. Penrose, with a slight gasp; \"that is quite true; but it\nis all so sudden, you know--and Mary--I don't know what you want me to\ndo----\"\n\n\"I want you to write and tell them about it,\" said Will.\n\nMr. Penrose put his lips into the shape they would naturally have taken\nhad he been whistling as usual; but he was not capable of a whistle. \"It\nis all very easy to talk,\" he said, \"and naturally business is business,\nand I am not a man to think too much about feelings. But Mary--the fact\nis, it must be a matter of arrangement, Will. There can't be any trial,\nyou know, or publicity to expose her----\"\n\n\"I don't see that it would matter much to her,\" said Will. \"She would\nnot mind; it would only be one of her sons instead of the other, and I\nsuppose she likes me the same as Hugh.\"\n\n\"I was not thinking of Hugh, or you either. I was thinking of your\nmother,\" said Mr. Penrose, thrusting his hands into the depths of his\npockets, and staring with vacant eyes into the air before him. He was\nmatter-of-fact himself, but he could not comprehend the obtuseness of\nignorance and self-occupation and youth.\n\n\"Well?\" said Will.\n\n\"Well,\" cried the uncle, turning upon him, \"are you blind, or stupid, or\nwhat? Don't you see it never can come to publicity, or she will be\ndisgraced? I don't say you are to give up your rights, if they are your\nrights, for that. I daresay you'll take a deal better care of everything\nthan that fellow Hugh, and won't be so confounded saucy. But if you go\nand make a row about it in public, she can never hold up her head again,\nyou know. I don't mind talk myself in a general way; but talk about a\nwoman's marriage,--good Lord! There must be no public row, whatever you\ndo.\"\n\n\"I don't see why there should be any public row,\" said Will; \"all that\nhas to be done is to let them know.\"\n\n\"I suppose you think Hugh will take it quite comfortable,\" said Mr.\nPenrose, \"and lay down everything like a lamb. He's not a business man,\nnor good for much; but he will never be such an idiot as that; and then\nyou would need to have your witnesses very distinct, if it was to come\nto anything. He has possession in his favour, and that is a good deal,\nand it is you who would have to prove everything. Are you quite sure\nthat your witnesses would be forthcoming, and that you could make the\ncase clear?\"\n\n\"I don't know about making the case clear,\" said Will, who began to get\nconfused; \"all I know is what I have told you. Percival was there, and\nMrs. Kirkman--they saw it, you know--and she says Hugh himself was\nthere. Of course he was only a child. But she said no doubt he would\nremember, if it was brought to his mind.\"\n\n\"Hugh himself!\" said Mr. Penrose--again a little startled, though he was\nnot a person of fine feelings. The idea of appealing to the\nrecollections of the child for evidence against the man's rights, struck\nhim as curious at least. He was staggered, though he felt that he ought\nto have been above that. Of course it was all perfectly just and\ncorrect, and nobody could have been more clear than he, that any sort of\nfantastic delicacy coming between a man and his rights would be too\nabsurd to be thought of. And yet it cannot be denied that he was\nstaggered in spite of himself.\n\n\"I think if you told him distinctly, and recalled it to his\nrecollection, and he knew everything that was involved,\" said Will, with\ncalm distinctness, \"that Hugh would give in. It is the only thing he\ncould do; and I should not say anything to him about a younger brother's\nportion, or two thousand pounds,\" the lad added, kindling up. \"He should\nhave everything that the money or the estate could do for him--whatever\nwas best for him, if it cost half or double what Earlston was worth.\"\n\n\"Then why on earth don't you leave him Earlston, if you are so\ngenerous?\" said Mr. Penrose. \"If you are to spend it all upon him, what\ngood would it do you having the dreary old place?\"\n\n\"I should have my rights,\" said Will with solemnity. It was as if he had\nbeen a disinherited prince whom some usurper had deprived of his\nkingdom; and this strange assumption was so honest in its way, and had\nsuch an appearance of sincerity, that Mr. Penrose was struck dumb, and\ngazed at the boy with a consternation which he could not express. His\nrights! Mary's youngest son, whom everybody, up to this moment, had\nthought of only as a clever, not very amiable boy, of no particular\naccount anywhere. The merchant began to wake up to the consciousness\nthat he had a phenomenon before him--a new development of man. As he\nrecovered from his surprise, he began to appreciate Will--to do justice\nto the straightforward ardour of his determination that business was\nbusiness, and that feelings had nothing to do with it; and to admire his\ncalm impassibility to every other view of the case but that which\nconcerned himself. Mr. Penrose thought it was the result of a great\npreconcerted plan, and began to awake into admiration and respect. He\nthought the solemnity, and the calm, and that beautiful confidence in\nhis rights, were features of a subtle and precocious scheme which Will\nhad made for himself; and his thoughts, which had been dwelling for the\nmoment on Mary, with a kind of unreflective sympathy, turned towards the\nnobler object thus presented before him. Here was a true apotheosis of\ninterest over nature. Here was such a man of business, heaven-born, as\nhad never been seen before. Mr. Penrose warmed and kindled into\nadmiration, and he made a secret vow that such a genius should not be\nlost.\n\nAs for Will, he never dreamt of speculating as to what were his uncle's\nthoughts. He was quite content that he had told his own tale, and so got\nover the first preliminary difficulty of getting it told to those whom\nit most concerned; and he was very sleepy--dreadfully tired, and more\nanxious to curl up his poor, young, weary head under his wing, and get\nto bed, than for anything else in the world. Yet, notwithstanding, when\nhe lay down, and had put out his light, and had begun to doze, the\nthought came over him that he saw the glow of his mother's candle\nshining in under his door, and heard her step on the stairs, which had\nbeen such a comfort to him many a night when he was a child, and woke up\nin the dark and heard her pass, and knew her to be awake and watching,\nand was not even without a hope that she might come in and stand for a\nmoment, driving away all ghosts and terrors of the night, by his bed. He\nthought he saw the light under his door, and heard the foot coming up\nthe stairs. And so probably he did: but the poor boy woke right up under\nthis fancy, and remembered with a compunction that he was far away from\nhis mother, and that probably she was \"angry,\" and perhaps anxious about\nhis sudden departure; and he was very sorry in his heart to have come\naway so, and never to have told her. But he was not sorry nor much\ntroubled anyhow about the much more important thing he was about to do.\n\nAnd Uncle Penrose, under the strange stimulus of his visitor's\nearnestness, addressed himself to the task required of him, and wrote to\nHugh. He, too, thought first of writing to Mrs. Ochterlony; but,\nexcellent business man as he was, he could not do it; it went against\nhis heart, if he had a heart,--or, if not his heart, against some\ndigestive organ which served him instead of that useful but not\nindispensable part of the human frame. But he did write to Hugh--that\nwas easier; and then Hugh had been \"confounded saucy,\" and had rejected\nhis advice, not about the Museum only, but in other respects. Mr.\nPenrose wrote the letter that very night while Will was dreaming about\nhis mother's light; and so the great wheel was set a-going, which none\nof them could then stop for ever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX.\n\n\nHugh had left the Cottage the day after Will's departure. He had gone to\nEarlston, where a good deal of business about the Museum and the estate\nawaited him; and he had gone off without any particular burden on his\nmind. As for Will's flight from home, it was odd, no doubt; but then\nWill himself was odd, and out-of-the-way acts were to be expected from\nhim. When Hugh, with careless liberality, had sent him the cheque, he\ndismissed the subject from his mind--at least, he thought of his younger\nbrother only with amusement, wondering what he could find to attract him\nin Uncle Penrose's prosaic house,--trying to form an imagination of Will\nwandering about the great Liverpool docks, looking at the big ships, and\nall the noisy traffic; and Hugh laughed within himself to think how very\nmuch all that was out of Will's way. No doubt he would come home in a\nday or two bored to death, and would loathe the very name of Liverpool\nall his life thereafter. As for Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston himself, he\nhad a great deal to do. The mayor and corporation of Dalken had come to\na final decision about the Museum, and all that had to be done was to\nprepare the rooms which were to receive Mr. Francis Ochterlony's\ntreasures, and to transfer with due tenderness and solemnity the Venus\nand the Psyche, and all the delicate wealth which had been so dear to\nthe heart of \"the old Squire.\" The young Squire went round and looked at\nthem all, with a great tenderness in his own, remembering his uncle's\nlast progress among them, and where he sat down to rest, and the wistful\nlooks he gave to those marble white creations which stood to him in the\nplace of wife and children; and the pathetic humour with which he had\nsaid, \"It is all the better for _you_.\" It was the better for Hugh; but\nstill the young man in the fulness of his hopes had a tender compunction\nfor the old man who had died without getting the good of his life, and\nwith no treasures but marble and bronze and gold and silver to leave\nbehind him. \"My poor uncle!\" Hugh said; and yet the chances were that\nFrancis Ochterlony was not, either in living or dying, sorry for\nhimself. Hugh had a kind of reluctance to change the aspect of\neverything, and make the house his own house, and not Francis\nOchterlony's. It seemed almost impious to take from it the character it\nhad borne so long, and at the same time it was his uncle's wish. These\nwere Hugh's thoughts at night, but in the fresh light of the morning it\nwould be wrong to deny that another set of ideas took possession of his\nmind. Then he began to think of the new aspect, and the changes he could\nmake. It was not bright enough for a home for--well, for any lady that\nmight happen to come on a visit or otherwise; and, to be sure, Hugh had\nno intention of accepting as final his mother's determination not to\nleave the Cottage. He made up his mind that she would come, and that\npeople--various people, ladies and others--would come to visit her;\nthat there should be flowers and music and smiles about the place, and\nperhaps some one as fair and as sweet as Psyche to change the marble\nmoonlight into sacred living sunshine. Now the fact was, that Nelly was\nnot by any means so fair as Psyche--that she was not indeed what you\nwould call a regular beauty at all, but only a fresh, faulty, sweet\nlittle human creature, with warm blood in her veins, and a great many\nthoughts in her little head. And when Hugh thought of some fair presence\ncoming into these rooms and making a Paradise of them, either it was not\nNelly Askell he was thinking of, or else he was thinking like a\npoet--though he was not poetical, to speak of. However, he did not\nhimself give any name to his imaginations--he could afford to be vague.\nHe went all over the house in the morning, not with the regretful,\naffectionate eye with which he made the same survey the night before,\nbut in a practical spirit. At his age, and in his position, the\npractical was only a pleasanter variation of the romantic aspect of\naffairs. As he thought of new furniture, scores of little pictures\nflashed into his mind--though in ordinary cases he was not distinguished\nby a powerful imagination. He had no sooner devised the kind of chair\nthat should stand in a particular corner, than straightway a little\nfigure jumped into it, a whisper of talk came out of it, with a host of\nimaginary circumstances which had nothing to do with upholstery. Even\nthe famous rococo chair which Islay had broken was taken possession of\nby that vague, sweet phantom. And he went about the rooms with an\nunconscious smile on his face, devising and planning. He did not know he\nwas smiling; it was not _at_ anything or about anything. It was but the\nnatural expression of the fresh morning fancies and sweet stir of\neverything hopeful, and bright, and uncertain, which was in his heart.\n\nAnd when he went out of doors he still smiled. Earlston was a grey\nlimestone house, as has been described in the earlier part of this\nhistory. A house which chilled Mrs. Ochterlony to the heart when she\nfirst went there with her little children in the first forlornness of\nher widowhood. What Hugh had to do now was to plan a flower-garden\nfor--his mother; yes, it was truly for his mother. He meant that she\nshould come all the same. Nothing could make any difference so far as\nshe was concerned. But at the same time, to be sure, he did not mean\nthat his house should make the same impression on any other stranger as\nthat house had made upon Mary. He planned how the great hedges should be\ncut down, and the trees thinned, and the little moorland burn should be\ntaken in within the enclosure, and followed to its very edge by the gay\nlawn with its flower-beds. He planned a different approach--where there\nmight be openings in the dark shrubberies, and views over the hills. All\nthis he did in the morning, with a smile on his face, though the tears\nhad been in his eyes at the thought of any change only the previous\nnight. If Francis Ochterlony had been by, as perhaps he was, no doubt he\nwould have smiled at that tender inconsistency--and there would not have\nbeen any bitterness in the smile.\n\nAnd then Hugh went in to breakfast. He had already some new leases to\nsign and other business matters to do, and he was quite pleased to do\nit--as pleased as he had been to draw his first cheques. He sat down at\nhis breakfast-table, before the little pile of letters that awaited him,\nand felt the importance of his new position. Even his loneliness made\nhim feel its importance the more. Here were questions of all sorts\nsubmitted to him, and it was he who had to answer, without reference to\nanybody--he whose advice a little while ago nobody would have taken the\ntrouble to ask. It was not that he cared to exercise his privilege--for\nHugh, on the whole, had an inclination to be advised--but still the\nsense of his independence was sweet. He meant to ask Mr. Preston, the\nattorney, about various things, and he meant to consult his mother, and\nto lay some special affairs before Sir Edward--but still, at the time,\nit was he who had everything to do, and Mr. Ochterlony of Earlston sat\ndown before his letters with a sense of satisfaction which does not\nalways attend the mature mind in that moment of trial. One of the\nuppermost was from Uncle Penrose, redirected from the Cottage, but it\ndid not cause any thrill of interest to Hugh's mind, who put it aside\ncalmly, knowing of no thunderbolts that might be in it. No doubt it was\nsome nonsense about the Museum, he thought, as if he himself was not a\nmuch better judge about the Museum than a stranger and business-man\ncould be. There was, however, a letter from Mary, which directed her\nson's attention to this epistle. \"I send you a letter directed in Uncle\nPenrose's hand,\" wrote Mrs. Ochterlony, \"which I have had the greatest\ninclination to open, to see what he says about Will. I daresay you would\nnot have minded; but I conclude, on the whole, that Mr. Ochterlony of\nEarlston should have his letters to himself; so I send it on to you\nuninvaded. Let me know what he says about your brother.\" Hugh could not\nbut laugh when he read this, half with pleasure, half with amusement.\nHis mother's estimate of his importance entertained him greatly, and the\nidea of anything private being in Uncle Penrose's letter tickled him\nstill more. Then he drew it towards him lightly, and began to read it\nwith eyes running over with laughter. He was all alone, and there was\nnobody to see any change of sentiment in his face.\n\nHe was all alone--but yet presently Hugh raised his eyes from the letter\nwhich he had taken up so gaily, and cast a scared look round him, as if\nto make sure that nobody was there. The smile had gone off his face, and\nthe laughter out of his eyes,--and not only that, but every particle of\ncolour had left his face. And yet he did not see the meaning of what he\nhad read. \"Will!\" he said to himself. \"Will!\" He was horror-stricken and\nbewildered, but that was the sole idea it conveyed to him--a sense of\ntreachery--the awful feeling of unreality and darkness round about, with\nwhich the young soul for the first time sees itself injured and\nbetrayed. He laid down the letter half read, and paused, and put up his\nhands to his head as if to convince himself that he was not dreaming.\nWill! Good God! Will! Was it possible? Hugh had to make a convulsive\neffort to grasp this unnatural horror. Will, one of themselves, to have\ngone off, and put himself into the hands of Uncle Penrose, and set\nhimself against his mother and her sons! The ground seemed to fail under\nhis feet, the solid world to fall off round him into bewildering\nmystery. Will! And yet he did not apprehend what it was. His mind could\nnot take in more than one discovery at a time. A minute before, and he\nwas ready to have risked everything on the good faith of any and every\nhuman creature he knew. Now, was there anybody to be trusted? His\nbrother had stolen from his side, and was striking at him by another and\nan unfriendly hand. Will! Good heavens, Will!\n\nIt would be difficult to tell how long it was before the full meaning of\nthe letter he had thus received entered into Hugh's mind. He sat with\nthe breakfast things still on the table so long, that the housekeeper\nherself came at last with natural inquisitiveness to see if anything was\nthe matter, and found Hugh with a face as grey and colourless as that of\nthe old Squire, sitting over his untasted coffee, unaware, apparently,\nwhat he was about. He started when she came in, and bundled up his\nletters into his pocket, and gave an odd laugh, and said he had been\nbusy, and had forgotten. And then he sprang up and left the room, paying\nno attention to her outcry that he had eaten nothing. Hugh was not aware\nhe had eaten nothing, or probably in the first horror of his discovery\nof the treachery in the world, he too would have taken to false\npretences and saved appearances, and made believe to have breakfasted.\nBut the poor boy was unaware, and rushed off to the library, where\nnobody could have any pretext for disturbing him, and shut himself up\nwith this first secret--the new, horrible discovery which had changed\nthe face of the world. This was the letter which he had crushed up in\nhis hand as he might have crushed a snake or deadly reptile, but which\nnothing could crush out of his heart, where the sting had entered and\ngone deep:--\n\n\"MY DEAR NEPHEW,--It is with pain that I write to you, though it is my\nclear duty to do so in the interests of your brother, who has just put\nhis case into my hands--and I don't doubt that the intelligence I am\nabout to convey will be a great blow, not only to your future prospects\nbut to your pride and sense of importance, which so fine a position at\nyour age had naturally elevated considerably higher than a plain man\nlike myself could approve of. Your brother arrived here to-day, and has\nlost no time in informing me of the singular circumstances under which\nhe left home, and of which, so far as I understand him, you and your\nmother are still in ignorance. Wilfrid's perception of the fact that\nfeelings, however creditable to him as an individual, ought not to stand\nin the way of what is, strictly speaking, a matter of business, is very\nclear and uncompromising; but still he does not deny that he felt it\ndifficult to make this communication either to you or his mother.\nAccident, the nature of which I do not at present, before knowing your\nprobable course of action, feel myself at liberty to indicate more\nplainly, has put him in possession of certain facts, which would change\naltogether the relations between him and yourself, as well as your\n(apparent) position as head of the family. These facts, which, for your\nmother's sake, I should be deeply grieved to make known out of the\nfamily, are as follows: your father, Major Ochterlony, and my niece,\ninstead of being married privately in Scotland, as we all believed, in\nthe year 1830, or thereabouts--I forget the exact date--were in reality\nonly married in India in the year 1837, by the chaplain, the Rev.----\nChurchill, then officiating at the station where your father's regiment\nwas. This, as you are aware, was shortly before Wilfrid's birth, and not\nlong before Major Ochterlony died. It is subject of thankfulness that\nyour father did my niece this tardy justice before he was cut off, as\nmay be said, in the flower of his days, but you will see at a glance\nthat it entirely reverses your respective positions--and that in fact\nWilfrid is Major Ochterlony's only lawful son.\n\n\"I am as anxious as you can be that this should be made a matter of\nfamily arrangement, and should never come to the public ears. To satisfy\nyour own mind, however, of the perfect truth of the assertion I have\nmade, I beg to refer you to the Rev. Mr. Churchill, who performed the\nceremony, and whose present address, which Wilfrid had the good sense to\nsecure, you will find below--and to Mrs. Kirkman, who was present.\nIndeed, I am informed that you yourself were present--though probably\ntoo young to understand what it meant. It is possible that on examining\nyour memory you may find some trace of the occurrence, which though not\ndependable upon by itself, will help to confirm the intelligence to your\nmind. We are in no hurry, and will leave you the fullest time to satisfy\nyourself, as well as second you in every effort to prevent any painful\nconsequence from falling upon your mother, who has (though falsely)\nenjoyed the confidence and esteem of her friends so long.\n\n\"For yourself you may reckon upon Wilfrid's anxious endeavours to\nfurther your prospects by every means in his power. Of course I do not\nexpect you to take a fact involving so much, either upon his word or\nmine. Examine it fully for yourself, and the more entirely the matter is\ncleared up, the more will it be for our satisfaction, as well as your\nown. The only thing I have to desire for my own part is that you will\nspare your mother--as your brother is most anxious to do. Hoping for an\nearly reply, I am, your affectionate uncle and sincere friend,--J. P.\nPENROSE.\"\n\nHugh sat in Francis Ochterlony's chair, at his table, with his head\nsupported on his hands, looking straight before him, seeing nothing, not\neven thinking, feeling only this letter spread out upon the table, and\nthe intelligence conveyed in it, and holding his head, which ached and\nthrobbed with the blow, in his hands. He was still, and his head\nthrobbed and his heart and soul ached, tingling through him to every\njoint and every vein. He could not even wonder, nor doubt, nor question\nin any way, for the first terrible interval. All he could do was to look\nat the fact and take it fully into his mind, and turn it over and over,\nseeing it all round on every side, looking at it this way and that way,\nand feeling as if somehow heaven and earth were filled with it, though\nhe had never dreamt of such a ghost until that hour. Not his, after\nall--nor Earlston, nor his name, nor the position he had been so proud\nof; nothing his--alas, not even his mother, his spotless mother, the\nwoman whom it had been an honour and glory to come from and belong to.\nWhen a groan came from the poor boy's white lips it was that he was\nthinking of. Madonna Mary! that was the name they had called her by--and\nthis was how it really was. He groaned aloud, and made an unconscious\noutcry of his pain when it came to that. \"Oh, my God, if it had only\nbeen ruin, loss of everything--anything in the world but that!\" This was\nthe first stage of stupefaction and yet of vivid consciousness, before\nthe indignation came. He sat and looked at it, and realized it, and took\nit into his mind, staring at it until every drop of blood ebbed away\nfrom his face. This was how it was before the anger came. After a while\nhis countenance and his mood changed--the colour and heat came rushing\nback to his cheeks and lips, and a flood of rage and resentment swept\nover him like a sudden storm. Will! could it be Will? Liar! coward!\ntraitor! to call her mother, and to tax her with shame even had it been\ntrue--to frame such a lying, cursed, devilish accusation against her!\nThen it was that Hugh flashed into a fiery, burning shame to think that\nhe had given credence to it for one sole moment. He turned his eyes upon\nher, as it were, and looked into her face and glowed with a bitter\nindignation and fury. His mother's face! only to think of it and dare to\nfancy that shame could ever have been there. And then the boy wept, in\nspite of his manhood--wept a few, hot, stinging tears, that dried up the\nmoment they fell, half for rage, half for tenderness.--And, oh, my God,\nwas it Will? Then as his mind roused more and more to the dread\nemergency, Hugh got up and went to the window and gazed out, as if that\nwould help him; and his eye lighted on the tangled thicket which he had\nmeant to make into his mother's flower-garden, and upon the sweep of\ntrees through which he had planned his new approach, and once more he\ngroaned aloud. Only this morning so sure about it all, so confidently\nand carelessly happy--now with not one clear step before him to take,\nwith no future, no past that he could dare look back upon--no name, nor\nrights of any kind--if this were true. And could it be otherwise than\ntrue? Could any imagination frame so monstrous and inconceivable a\nfalsehood?--such a horrible impossibility might be fact, but it was\nbeyond all the bounds of fancy;--and then the blackness of darkness\ndescended again upon Hugh's soul. Poor Mary, poor mother! It came into\nthe young man's mind to go to her and take her in his arms, and carry\nher away somewhere out of sight of men and sound of their voices--and\nagain there came to his eyes those stinging tears. Fault of hers it\ncould not be; she might have been deceived; and then poor Hugh's lips,\nunaccustomed to curses, quivered and stopped short as they were about to\ncurse the father whom he never knew. Here was the point at which the\ntide turned again. Could it be Hugh Ochterlony who had deceived his\nwife? he whose sword hung in Mary's room, whose very name made a certain\nmusic in her voice when she pronounced it, and whom she had trained her\nchildren to reverence with that surpassing honour which belongs to the\ndead alone. Again a storm of rage and bitter indignation swept in his\ndespair and bewilderment over the young man's mind; an accursed scheme,\na devilish, hateful lie--that was how it was: and oh, horror! that it\nshould be Will.\n\nThrough all these changes it was one confused tempest of misery and\ndismay that was in Hugh's mind. Now and then there would be wild breaks\nin the clouds--now they would be whirled over the sky in gusts--now\nsettled down into a blackness beyond all reckoning. Lives change from\njoy to misery often enough in this world; but seldom thus in a moment,\nin the twinkling of an eye. His careless boat had been taking its sweet\ncourse over waters rippled with a favourable breeze, and without a\nmoment's interval he was among the breakers; and he knew so little how\nto manage it, he was so inexperienced to cope with wind and waves. And\nhe had nobody to ask counsel from. He was, as Will had been, separated\nfrom his natural adviser, the one friend to whom hitherto he had\nconfided all his difficulties. But Hugh was older than Will, and his\nmind had come to a higher development, though perhaps he was not so\nclever as his brother. He had no Uncle Penrose to go to; no living soul\nwould hear from him this terrible tale; he could consult nobody. Not for\na hundred Earlstons, not for all the world, would he have discussed with\nany man in existence his mother's good name.\n\nYet with that, too, there came another complication into Hugh's mind.\nEven while he actually thought in his despair of going to his mother,\nand telling her any tender lie that might occur to him, and carrying her\naway to Australia, or any end of the world where he could work for her,\nand remove her for ever from shame and pain, a sense of outraged justice\nand rights assailed was in his mind. He was not one of those who can\nthrow down their arms. Earlston was his, and he could not relinquish it\nand his position as head of the house without a struggle. And the\nthought of Mr. Penrose stung him. He even tried to heal one of his\ndeeper wounds by persuading himself that Uncle Penrose was at the bottom\nof it, and that poor Will was but his tool. Poor Will! Poor miserable\nboy! And if he ever woke and came to himself, and knew what he had been\ndoing, how terrible would his position be! Thus Hugh tried to think\ntill, wearied out with thinking, he said to himself that he would put it\naside and think no more of it, and attend to his business; which vain\nimagination the poor boy tried to carry out with hands that shook and\nbrain that refused to obey his guidance. And all this change was made in\none little moment. His life came to a climax, and passed through a\nsecret revolution in that one day; and yet he had begun it as if it had\nbeen an ordinary day--a calm summer morning in the summer of his days.\n\nThis was what Hugh said to his mother of Mr. Penrose's letter:--\"The\nletter you forwarded to me from Uncle Penrose was in his usual business\nstrain--good advice, and that sort of thing. He does not say much about\nWill; but he has arrived all safe, and I suppose is enjoying himself--as\nwell as he can, there.\"\n\nAnd when he had written and despatched that note he sat down to think\nagain. He decided at last that he would not go on with the flower-garden\nand the other works--till he saw; but that he would settle about the\nMuseum without delay. \"If it came to the worst they would not recall the\ngift,\" he said to himself, brushing his hand across his eyes. It was his\nuncle's wish; and it was he, Hugh, and not any other, whom Francis\nOchterlony wished for his heir. Hugh's hand was wet when he took it from\nhis eyes, and his heart was full, and he could have wept like a child.\nBut he was a man, and weeping could do no good; and he had nobody in the\nworld to take his trouble to--nobody in the world. Love and pride made a\nfence round him, and isolated him. He had to make his way out of it as\nbest he could, and alone. He made a great cry to God in his trouble; but\nfrom nobody in the world could he have either help or hope. And he read\nthe letter over and over, and tried to recollect and to go back into his\ndim baby-memory of India, and gather out of the thick mists that scene\nwhich they said he had been present at. Was there really some kind of\nvague image of it, all broken and indistinct and effaced, on his mind?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XL.\n\n\nWhile all this was going on at Earlston, there were other people in\nwhose minds, though the matter was not of importance so overwhelming,\npain and excitement and a trembling dread of the consequences had been\nawakened. Mary, to whom it would be even more momentous than to Hugh,\nknew nothing of it as yet. She had taken Mr. Penrose's letter into her\nhand and looked at it, and hesitated, and then had smiled at her boy's\nnew position in the world, and redirected it to him, passing on as it\nwere a living shell just ready to explode without so much as scorching\nher own delicate fingers. But Mrs. Kirkman felt herself in the position\nof a woman who had seen the shell fired and had even touched the fatal\ntrigger, and did not know where it had fallen, nor what death and\ndestruction it might have scattered around. She was not like herself for\nthese two or three days. She gave a divided attention to her evangelical\nefforts, and her mind wandered from the reports of her Bible readers.\nShe seemed to see the great mass of fire and flame striking the ground,\nand the dead and wounded lying around it in all directions; and it might\nbe that she too was to blame. She bore it as long as she could, trying\nto persuade herself that she, like Providence, had done it \"for the\nbest,\" and that it might be for Mary's good or Hugh's good, even if it\nshould happen to kill them. This was how she attempted to support and\nfortify herself; but while she was doing so Wilfrid's steady, matter of\nfact countenance would come before her, and she would perceive by the\ninstinct of guilt, that he would neither hesitate nor spare, but was\nclothed in the double armour of egotism and ignorance; that he did not\nknow what horrible harm he could do, and yet that he was sensible of his\npower and would certainly exercise it. She was like the other people\ninvolved--afraid to ask any one's advice, or betray the share she had\ntaken in the business; even her husband, had she spoken to him about it,\nwould probably have asked, what the deuce she had to do interfering? For\nColonel Kirkman though a man of very orthodox views, still was liable in\na moment of excitement to forget himself, and give force to his\nsentiments by a mild oath. Mrs. Kirkman could not bear thus to descend\nin the opinion of any one, and yet she could not satisfy her conscience\nabout it, nor be content with what she had done. She stood out bravely\nfor a few days, telling herself she had only done her duty; but the\ncomposure she attained by this means was forced and unnatural. And at\nlast she could bear it no longer; she seemed to have heard the dreadful\nreport, and then to have seen everything relapse into the most deadly\nsilence; no cry coming out of the distance, nor indications if everybody\nwas perishing, or any one had escaped. If she had but heard one\noutcry--if Hugh, poor fellow, had come storming to her to know the truth\nof it, or Mary had come with her fresh wounds, crying out against her,\nMrs. Kirkman could have borne it; but the silence was more than she\ncould bear. Something within compelled her to get up out of her quiet\nand go forth and ask who had been killed, even though she might bring\nherself within the circle of responsibility thereby.\n\nThis was why, after she had put up with her anxiety as long as she\ncould, she went out at last by herself in a very disturbed and uneasy\nstate to the Cottage, where all was still peaceful, and no storm had yet\ndarkened the skies. Mary had received Hugh's letter that morning, which\nhe had written in the midst of his first misery, and it had never\noccurred to her to think anything more about Uncle Penrose after the\ncalm mention her boy made of his letter. She had not heard from Will, it\nis true, and was vexed by his silence; but yet it was a light vexation.\nMrs. Ochterlony, however, was not at home when Mrs. Kirkman arrived;\nand, if anything could have increased her uneasiness and embarrassment\nit would have been to be ushered into the drawing-room, and to find\nWinnie seated there all by herself. Mrs. Percival rose in resentful\ngrandeur when she saw who the visitor was. Now was Winnie's chance to\nrepay that little demonstration of disapproval which the Colonel's wife\nhad made on her last visit to the Cottage. The two ladies made very\nstately salutations to each other, and the stranger sat down, and then\nthere was a dead pause. \"Let Mrs. Ochterlony know when she comes in,\"\nWinnie had said to the maid; and that was all she thought necessary to\nsay. Even Aunt Agatha was not near to break the violence of the\nencounter. Mrs. Kirkman sat down in a very uncomfortable condition, full\nof genuine anxiety; but it was not to be expected that her natural\nimpulses should entirely yield even to compunction and fright, and a\nsense of guilt. When a few minutes of silence had elapsed, and Mary did\nnot appear, and Winnie sat opposite to her, wrapt up and gloomy, in her\nshawl, and her haughtiest air of preoccupation, Mrs. Kirkman began to\ncome to herself. Here was a perishing sinner before her, to whom advice,\nand reproof, and admonition, might be all important, and such a\nfavourable moment might never come again. The very sense of being rather\nfaulty in her own person gave her a certain stimulus to warn the\nculpable creature, whose errors were so different, and so much more\nflagrant than hers. And if in doing her duty, she had perhaps done\nsomething that might harm one of the family, was it not all the more\ndesirable to do good to another? Mrs. Kirkman cleared her throat, and\nlooked at the culprit. And as she perceived Winnie's look of defiance,\nand absorbed self-occupation, and determined opposition to anything\nthat might be advanced, a soft sense of superiority and pity stole into\nher mind. Poor thing, that did not know the things that belonged to her\npeace!--was it not a Christian act to bring them before her ere they\nmight be for ever hid from her eyes?\n\nOnce more Mrs. Kirkman cleared her throat. She did it with an intention;\nand Winnie heard, and was roused, and fixed on her one corner of her\neye. But she only made a very mild commencement--employing in so\nimportant a matter the wisdom of the serpent, conjoined, as it always\nought to be, with the sweetness of the dove.\n\n\"Mrs. Ochterlony is probably visiting among the poor,\" said Mrs.\nKirkman, but with a sceptical tone in her voice, as if that, at least,\nwas what Mary ought to be doing, though it was doubtful whether she was\nso well employed.\n\n\"Probably,\" said Winnie, curtly; and then there was a pause.\n\n\"To one who occupies herself so much as she does with her family, there\nmust be much to do for three boys,\" continued Mrs. Kirkman, still with a\ncertain pathos in her voice. \"Ah, if we did but give ourselves as much\ntrouble about our spiritual state!\"\n\nShe waited for a reply, but Winnie gave no reply. She even gave a\nslight, scarcely perceptible, shrug of her shoulders, and turned a\nlittle aside.\n\n\"Which is, after all, the only thing that is of any importance,\" said\nMrs. Kirkman. \"My dear Mrs. Percival, I do trust that you agree with\nme?\"\n\n\"I don't see why I should be your dear Mrs. Percival,\" said Winnie. \"I\nwas not aware that we knew each other. I think you must be making a\nmistake.\"\n\n\"All my fellow-creatures are dear to me,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, \"especially\nwhen I can hope that their hearts are open to grace. I can be making no\nmistake so long as I am addressing a fellow-sinner. We have all so much\nreason to abase ourselves, and repent in dust and ashes! Even when we\nhave been preserved more than others from active sin, we must know that\nthe root of all evil is in our hearts.\"\n\nWinnie gave another very slight shrug of her shoulders, and turned away,\nas far as a mingled impulse of defiance and politeness would let her.\nShe would neither be rude nor would she permit her assailant to think\nthat she was running away.\n\n\"If I venture to seize this moment, and speak to you more plainly than I\nwould speak to all, oh, my dear Mrs. Percival,\" cried Mrs. Kirkman, \"my\ndear fellow sinner! don't think it is because I am insensible to the\nexistence of the same evil tendency in my own heart.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by talking to me of evil tendencies?\" cried Winnie,\nflushing high. \"I don't want to hear you speak. You may be a sinner if\nyou like, but I don't think there is any particular fellowship between\nyou and me.\"\n\n\"There is the fellowship of corrupt hearts,\" said Mrs. Kirkman. \"I hope,\nfor your own sake, you will not refuse to listen for a moment. I may\nnever have been tempted in the same way, but I know too well the\ndeceitfulness of the natural heart to take any credit to myself. You\nhave been exposed to many temptations----\"\n\n\"You know nothing about me, that I am aware,\" cried Winnie, with\nrestrained fury. \"I do not know how you can venture to take such liberty\nwith me.\"\n\n\"Ah, my dear Mrs. Percival, I know a great deal about you,\" said Mrs.\nKirkman. \"There is nothing I would not do to make a favourable\nimpression on your mind. If you would but treat me as a friend, and let\nme be of some use to you: I know you must have had many temptations; but\nwe know also that it is never too late to turn away from evil, and that\nwith true repentance----\"\n\n\"I suppose what you want is to drive me out of the room,\" said Winnie,\nlooking at her fiercely, with crimson cheeks. \"What right have you to\nlecture me? My sister's friends have a right to visit her, of course,\nbut not to make themselves disagreeable--and I don't mean my private\naffairs to be discussed by Mary's friends. You have nothing to do with\nme.\"\n\n\"I was not speaking as Mary's friend,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, with a passing\ntwinge of conscience. \"I was speaking only as a fellow-sinner. Dear Mrs.\nPercival, surely you recollect who it was that objected to be his\nbrother's keeper. It was Cain; it was not a loving Christian heart. Oh,\ndon't sin against opportunity, and refuse to hear me. The message I have\nis one of mercy and love. Even if it were too late to redeem character\nwith the world, it is never too late to come to----\"\n\nWinnie started to her feet, goaded beyond bearing.\n\n\"How dare you! how dare you!\" she said, clenching her hands,--but Mrs.\nKirkman's benevolent purpose was far too lofty and earnest to be put\ndown by any such demonstration of womanish fury.\n\n\"If it were to win you to think in time, to withdraw from the evil and\nseek good, to come while it is called to-day,\" said the Evangelist, with\nmuch stedfastness, \"I would not mind even making you angry. I can dare\nanything in my Master's service--oh, do not refuse the gracious message!\nOh, do not turn a deaf ear. You may have forfeited this world, but, oh\nthink of the next; as a Christian and a fellow-sinner----\"\n\n\"Aunt Agatha!\" cried Winnie, breathless with rage and shame, \"do you\nmean to let me be insulted in your house?\"\n\nPoor Aunt Agatha had just come in, and knew nothing about Mrs. Kirkman\nand her visit. She stood at the door surprised, looking at Winnie's\nexcited face, and at the stranger's authoritative calm. She had been out\nin the village, with a little basket in her hand, which never went\nempty, and she also had been dropping words of admonition out of her\nsoft and tender lips.\n\n\"Insulted! My dear love, it must be some mistake,\" said Aunt Agatha. \"We\nare always very glad to see Mrs. Kirkman, as Mary's friend; but the\nhouse is Mrs. Percival's house, being mine,\" Miss Seton added, with a\nlittle dignified curtsey, thinking the visitor had been uncivil, as on a\nformer occasion. And then there was a pause, and Winnie sat down,\nfortifying herself by the presence of the mild little woman who was her\nprotector. It was a strange reversal of positions, but yet that was how\nit was. The passionate creature had now no other protector but Aunt\nAgatha, and even while she felt herself assured and strengthened by her\npresence, it gave her a pang to think it was so. Nobody but Aunt Agatha\nto stand between her and impertinent intrusion--nobody to take her part\nbefore the world. That was the moment when Winnie's heart melted, if it\never did melt, for one pulsation and no more, towards her enemy, her\nantagonist, her husband, who was not there to take advantage of the\nmomentary thaw.\n\n\"I am Mary's friend,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, sweetly; \"and I am all your\nfriends. It was not only as Mary's friend I was speaking--it was out of\nlove for souls. Oh, my dear Miss Seton, I hope you are one of those who\nthink seriously of life. Help me to talk to your dear niece; help me to\ntell her that there is still time. She has gone astray; perhaps she\nnever can retrieve herself for this world,--but this world is not\nall,--and she is still in the land of the living, and in the place of\nhope. Oh, if she would but give up her evil ways and flee! Oh, if she\nwould but remember that there is mercy for the vilest!\"\n\nSpeaker and hearers were by this time wound up to such a pitch of\nexcitement, that it was impossible to go on. Mrs. Kirkman had tears in\nher eyes--tears of real feeling; for she thought she was doing what she\nought to do; while Winnie blazed upon her with rage and defiance, and\npoor Aunt Agatha stood up in horror and consternation between them,\nhorrified by the entire breach of all ordinary rules, and yet driven to\nbay and roused to that natural defence of her own which makes the\nweakest creature brave.\n\n\"My dear love, be composed,\" she said, trembling a little. \"Mrs.\nKirkman, perhaps you don't know that you are speaking in a very\nextraordinary way. We are all great sinners; but as for my dear niece,\nWinnie---- My darling, perhaps if you were to go upstairs to your own\nroom, that would be best----\"\n\n\"I have no intention of going to my own room,\" said Winnie. \"The\nquestion is, whether you will suffer me to be insulted here?\"\n\n\"Oh, that there should be any thought of insult!\" said Mrs. Kirkman,\nshaking her head, and waving her long curls solemnly. \"If anyone is to\nleave the room, perhaps it should be me. If my warning is rejected, I\nwill shake off the dust of my feet, and go away, as commanded. But I did\nhope better things. What motive have I but love of her poor soul? Oh, if\nshe would think while it is called to-day--while there is still a place\nof repentance----\"\n\n\"Winnie, my dear love,\" said Aunt Agatha, trembling more and more, \"go\nto your own room.\"\n\nBut Winnie did not move. It was not in her to run away. Now that she had\nan audience to fortify her, she could sit and face her assailant, and\ndefy all attacks;--though at the same time her eyes and cheeks blazed,\nand the thought that it was only Aunt Agatha whom she had to stand up\nfor her, filled her with furious contempt and bitterness. At length it\nwas Mrs. Kirkman who rose up with sad solemnity, and drew her silk robe\nabout her, and shook the dust, if there was any dust, not from her feet,\nbut from the fringes of her handsome shawl.\n\n\"I will ask the maid to show me up to Mary's room,\" she said, with\npathetic resignation. \"I suppose I may wait for her there; and I hope it\nmay never be recorded against you that you have rejected a word of\nChristian warning. Good-by, Miss Seton; I hope you will be faithful to\nyour poor dear niece yourself, though you will not permit me.\"\n\n\"We know our own affairs best,\" said Aunt Agatha, whose nerves were so\naffected that she could scarcely keep up to what she considered a\ncorrect standard of polite calm.\n\n\"Alas, I hope it may not prove to be just our own best interests that we\nare most ignorant of,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, with a heavy sigh--and she\nswept out of the room following the maid, who looked amazed and aghast\nat the strange request. \"Show me to Mrs. Ochterlony's room, and kindly\nlet her know when she comes in that I am there.\"\n\nAs for Winnie, she burst into an abrupt laugh when her monitress was\ngone--a laugh which wounded Aunt Agatha, and jarred upon her excited\nnerves. But there was little mirth in it. It was, in its way, a cry of\npain, and it was followed by a tempest of hot tears, which Miss Seton\ntook for hysterics. Poor Winnie! she was not penitent, nor moved by\nanything that had been said to her, except to rage and a sharper sense\nof pain. But yet, such an attack made her feel her position, as she did\nnot do when left to herself. She had no protector but Aunt Agatha. She\nwas open to all the assaults of well-meaning friends, and social critics\nof every description. She was not placed above comment as a woman is who\nkeeps her troubles to herself--for she had taken the world in general\ninto her confidence, as it were, and opened their mouths, and subjected\nherself voluntarily to their criticism. Winnie's heart seemed to close\nup as she pondered this--and her life rose up before her, wilful and\nwarlike--and all at once it came into her head what her sister had said\nto her long ago, and her own decision: were it for misery, were it for\nruin, rather to choose ruin and misery with _him_, than peace without\nhim? How strange it was to think of the change that time had made in\neverything. She had been fighting him, and making him her chief\nantagonist, almost ever since. And yet, down in the depths of her heart\npoor Winnie remembered Mary's words, and felt with a curious pang, made\nup of misery and sweetness, that even yet, even yet, under some\nimpossible combination of circumstances--this was what made her laugh,\nand made her cry so bitterly--but Aunt Agatha, poor soul, could not\nenter into her heart and see what she meant.\n\nThey were in this state of agitation when Mary came in, all unconscious\nof any disturbance. And a further change arose in Winnie at sight of her\nsister. Her tears dried up, but her eyes continued to blaze. \"It is your\nfriend, Mrs. Kirkman, who has been paying us a visit,\" she said, in\nanswer to Mary's question; and it seemed to Mrs. Ochterlony that the\nblame was transferred to her own shoulders, and that it was she who had\nbeen doing something, and showing herself the general enemy.\n\n\"She is a horrid woman,\" said Aunt Agatha, hotly. \"Mary, I wish you\nwould explain to her, that after what has happened it cannot give me\nany pleasure to see her here. This is twice that she has insulted us.\nYou will mention that we are not--not used to it. It may do for the\nsoldiers' wives, poor things! but she has no right to come here.\"\n\n\"She must mean to call Mary to repentance, too,\" said Winnie. She had\nbeen thinking, with a certain melting of heart, of what Mary had once\nsaid to her; yet she could not refrain from flinging a dart at her\nsister ere she returned to think about herself.\n\nAt this time, Mrs. Kirkman was seated in Mary's room, waiting. Her\nlittle encounter had restored her to herself. She had come back to her\nlofty position of superiority and goodness. She would have said herself\nthat she had carried the Gospel message to that poor sinner, and that it\nhad been rejected; and there was a certain satisfaction of woe in her\nheart. It was necessary that she should do her duty to Mary also, about\nwhom, when she started, she had been rather compunctious. There is\nnothing more strange than the processes of thought by which a limited\nunderstanding comes to grow into content with itself, and approval of\nits own actions. It seemed to this good woman's straitened soul that she\nhad been right, almost more than right, in seizing upon the opportunity\npresented to her, and making an appeal to a sinner's perverse heart. And\nshe thought it would be right to point out to Mary, how any trouble that\nmight be about to overwhelm her was for her good, and that she herself\nhad, like Providence, acted for the best. She looked about the room with\nactual curiosity, and shook her head at the sight of the Major's sword,\nhanging over the mantel-piece, and the portraits of the three boys\nunderneath. She shook her head, and thought of creature-worship, and how\nsome stroke was needed to wean Mrs. Ochterlony's heart from its\ninordinate affections. \"It will keep her from trusting to a creature,\"\nshe said to herself, and by degrees came to look complacently on her own\nposition, and to settle how she should tell the tale to be also for the\nbest. It never occurred to her to think what poor hands hers were to\nmeddle with the threads of fate, or to decide which or what calamity was\n\"for the best.\" Nor did any consideration of the mystery of pain disturb\nher mind. She saw no complications in it. Your dearest ties--your\nhighest assurances of good--were but \"blessings lent us for a day,\" and\nit seemed only natural to Mrs. Kirkman that such blessings should be\nyielded up in a reasonable way. She herself had neither had nor\nrelinquished any particular blessings. Colonel Kirkman was very good in\na general way, and very correct in his theological sentiments; but he\nwas a very steady and substantial possession, and did not suggest any\nidea of being lent for a day--and his wife felt that she herself was\nfortunately beyond that necessity, but that it would be for Mary's good\nif she had another lesson on the vanity of earthly endowments. And thus\nshe sat, feeling rather comfortable about it, and too sadly superior to\nbe offended by her agitation downstairs, in Mrs. Ochterlony's room.\n\nMary went in with her face brightened by her walk, a little soft anxiety\n(perhaps) in her eyes, or at least curiosity,--a little indignation, and\nyet the faintest touch of amusement about her mouth. She went in and\nshut the door, leaving her sister Aunt Agatha below, moved by what they\nsupposed to be a much deeper emotion. Nobody in the house so much as\ndreamt that anything of any importance was going on there. There was not\na sound as of a raised voice or agitated utterance as there had been\nwhen Mrs. Kirkman made her appeal to Winnie. But when the door of Mrs.\nOchterlony's room opened again, and Mary appeared, showing her visitor\nout, her countenance was changed, as if by half-a-dozen years. She\nfollowed her visitor downstairs, and opened the door for her, and looked\nafter her as she went away, but not the ghost of a smile came upon\nMary's face. She did not offer her hand, nor say a word at parting that\nany one could hear. Her lips were compressed, without smile or syllable\nto move them, and closed as if they never would open again, and every\ndrop of blood seemed to be gone from her face. When Mrs. Kirkman went\naway from the door, Mary closed it, and went back again to her own room.\nShe did not say a word, nor look as if she had anything to say. She went\nto her wardrobe and took out a bag, and put some things into it, and\nthen she tied on her bonnet, everything being done as if she had planned\nit all for years. When she was quite ready, she went downstairs and went\nto the drawing-room, where Winnie, agitated and disturbed, sat talking,\nsaying a hundred wild things, of which Aunt Agatha knew but half the\nmeaning. When Mary looked in at the door, the two who were there,\nstarted, and stared at her with amazed eyes. \"What has happened, Mary?\"\ncried Aunt Agatha; and though she was beginning to resume her lost\ntranquillity, she was so scared by Mrs. Ochterlony's face that she had a\npalpitation which took away her breath, and made her sink down panting\nand lay her hands upon her heart. Mary, for her part, was perfectly\ncomposed and in possession of her senses. She made no fuss at all, nor\ncomplaint,--but nothing could conceal the change, nor alter the\nwonderful look in her eyes.\n\n\"I am going to Liverpool,\" she said, \"I must see Will immediately, and I\nwant to go by the next train. There is nothing the matter with him. It\nis only something I have just heard, and I must see him without loss of\ntime.\"\n\n\"What is it, Mary?\" gasped Aunt Agatha. \"You have heard something\ndreadful. Are any of the boys mixed up in it? Oh, say something, and\ndon't look in that dreadful fixed way.\"\n\n\"Am I looking in a dreadful fixed way?\" said Mary, with a faint smile.\n\"I did not mean it. No there is nothing the matter with any of the boys.\nBut I have heard something that has disturbed me, and I must see Will.\nIf Hugh should come while I am away----\"\n\nBut here her strength broke down. A choking sob came from her breast.\nShe seemed on the point of breaking out into some wild cry for help or\ncomfort; but it was only a spasm, and it passed. Then she came to Aunt\nAgatha and kissed her. \"Good-bye; if either of the boys come, keep them\ntill I come back,\" she said. She had looked so fair and so strong in the\ncomposure of her middle age when she stood there only an hour before,\nthat the strange despair which seemed to have taken possession of her,\nhad all the more wonderful effect. It woke even Winnie from her\npreoccupation, and they both came round her, wondering and disquieted,\nto know what was the matter. \"Something must have happened to Will,\"\nsaid Aunt Agatha.\n\n\"It is that woman who has brought her bad news,\" cried Winnie; and then\nboth together they cried out, \"What is it, Mary? have you bad news?\"\n\n\"Nothing that I have not known for years,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, and she\nkissed them both, as if she was kissing them for the last time, and\ndisengaged herself, and turned away. \"I cannot wait to tell you any\nmore,\" they heard her say as she went to the door; and there they stood,\nlooking at each other, conscious more by some change in the atmosphere\nthan by mere eyesight, that she was gone. She had no time to speak or to\nlook behind her; and when Aunt Agatha rushed to the window, she saw Mary\nfar off on the road, going steady and swift with her bag in her hand. In\nthe midst of her anxiety and suspicion, Miss Seton even felt a pang at\nthe sight of the bag in Mary's hand. \"As if there was no one to carry it\nfor her!\" The two who were left behind could but look at each other,\nfeeling somehow a sense of shame, and instinctive consciousness that\nthis new change, whatever it was, involved trouble far more profound\nthan the miseries over which they had been brooding. Something that she\nhad known for years! What was there in these quiet words which made\nWinnie's veins tingle, and the blood rush to her face? All these quiet\nyears was it possible that a cloud had ever been hovering which Mary\nknew of, and yet held her way so steadily? As for Aunt Agatha, she was\nonly perplexed and agitated, and full of wonder, making every kind of\nsuggestion. Will might have broken his leg--he might have got into\ntrouble with his uncle. It might be something about Islay. Oh! Winnie,\nmy darling, what do you think it can be? Something that she had known\nfor years!\n\nThis was what it really was. It seemed to Mary as if for years and years\nshe had known all about it; how it would get to be told to her poor boy;\nhow it would act upon his strange half-developed nature; how Mrs.\nKirkman would tell her of it, and the things she would put into her\ntravelling bag, and the very hour the train would leave. It was a\nmiserably slow train, stopping everywhere, waiting at a dreary junction\nfor several trains in the first chill of night. But she seemed to have\nknown it all, and to have felt the same dreary wind blow, and the cold\ncreeping to the heart, and to be used and deadened to it. Why is it that\none feels so cold when one's heart is bleeding and wounded? It seemed to\ngo in through the physical covering, which shrinks at such moments from\nthe sharp and sensitive soul, and to thrill her with a shiver as of ice\nand snow. She passed Mrs. Kirkman on the way, but could not take any\nnotice of her, and she put down her veil and drew her shawl closely\nabout her, and sat in a corner that she might escape recognition. But it\nwas hard upon her that the train should be so slow, though that too she\nseemed to have known for years.\n\nThus the cross of which she had partially and by moments tasted the\nbitterness for so long, was laid at last full upon Mary's shoulders. She\nwent carrying it, marking her way, as it were, by blood-drops which\nanswered for tears, to do what might be done, that nobody but herself\nmight suffer. For one thing, she did not lose a moment. If Will had been\nill, or if he had been in any danger, she would have done the same. She\nwas a woman who had no need to wait to make up her mind. And perhaps she\nmight not be too late, perhaps her boy meant no evil. He was her boy,\nand it was hard to associate evil or unkindness with him. Poor Will!\nperhaps he had but gone away because he could not bear to see his mother\nfallen from her high estate. Then it was that a flush of fiery colour\ncame to Mary's face, but it was only for a moment; things had gone too\nfar for that. She sat at the junction waiting, and the cold wind blew in\nupon her, and pierced to her heart--and it was nothing that she had not\nknown for years.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI.\n\n\nWhen Mary went away, she left the two ladies at the Cottage in a\nsingular state of excitement and perplexity. They were tingling with the\nblows which they had themselves received, and yet at the same time they\nwere hushed and put to shame, as it were, for any secondary pang they\nmight be feeling, by the look in Mrs. Ochterlony's face, and by her\nsudden departure. Aunt Agatha, who knew of few mysteries in life, and\nthought that where neither sickness nor death was, nor any despairs of\nblighted love or disappointed hope, there could not be anything very\nserious to suffer, would have got over it, and set it down as one of\nMary's ways, had she been by herself. But Winnie was not so easily\nsatisfied; her mind was possessed by the thought, in which no doubt\nthere was a considerable mingling of vanity, that her husband would\nstrike her through her friends. It seemed as if he had done so now;\nWinnie did not know precisely what it was that Percival knew about her\nsister, but only that it was something discreditable, something that\nwould bring Mary down from her pinnacle of honour and purity. And now he\nhad done it, and driven Mrs. Ochterlony to despair; but what was it\nabout Will? Or was Will a mere pretence on the part of the outraged and\nterrified woman to get away? Something she had known for years! This was\nthe thought which had chiefly moved Winnie, going to her heart. She\nherself had lived a stormy life; she had done a great many things which\nshe ought not to have done; she had never been absolutely wicked or\nfalse, nor forfeited her reputation; but she knew in her heart that her\nlife had not been a fair and spotless life; and when she thought of its\nstrivings, and impatience, and self-will, and bitter discontent, and of\nthe serene course of existence which her sister had led in the\nquietness, her heart smote her. Perhaps it was for her sake that this\nblow, which Mary had known of for years, had at last descended upon her\nhead. All the years of her own stormy career, her sister had been living\nat Kirtell, doing no harm, doing good, serving God, bringing up her\nchildren, covering her sins, if she had sinned, with repentance and good\ndeeds; and yet for Winnie's sake, for her petulance, and fury, and\nhotheadness, the angel (or was it the demon?) had lifted his fiery sword\nand driven Mary out of Paradise. All this moved Winnie strangely; and\nalong with these were other thoughts--thoughts of her own strange\nmiserable unprotectedness, with only Aunt Agatha to stand between her\nand the world, while she still had a husband in the world, between whom\nand herself there stood no deadly shame nor fatal obstacle, and whose\npresence would shield her from all such intrusions as that she had just\nsuffered from. He had sinned against her, but that a woman can\nforgive--and she had not sinned against him, not to such an extent as is\nunpardonable in a woman. Perhaps there might even be something in the\nfact that Winnie had found Kirtell and quiet not the medicine suited to\nher mind, and that even Mary's flight into the world had brought a\ntingling into her wings, a longing to mount into freer air, and rush\nback to her fate. Thus a host of contradictory feelings joined in one\ngreat flame of excitement, which rose higher and higher all through the\nnight. To fly forth upon him, and controvert his wicked plans, and save\nthe sister who was being sacrificed for her sake; and yet to take\npossession of him back again, and set him up before her, her shield and\nbuckler against the world; and at the same time to get out and break\nloose from this flowery cage, and rush back into the big world, where\nthere would be air and space to move in--such were Winnie's thoughts. In\nthe morning, when she came downstairs, which was an hour earlier than\nusual, to Aunt Agatha's great amazement, she wore her travelling dress,\nand had an air of life and movement in her, which startled Miss Seton,\nand which, since her return to Kirtell, had never been seen in Winnie's\nlooks before.\n\n\"It is very kind of you to come down, Winnie, my darling, when you knew\nI was alone,\" said Aunt Agatha, giving her a tender embrace.\n\n\"I don't think it is kind in me,\" said Winnie; and then she sat down,\nand took her sister's office upon her, to Miss Seton's still greater\nbewilderment, and make the tea, without quite knowing what she was\ndoing. \"I suppose Mary has been travelling all night,\" she said; \"I am\ngoing into Carlisle, Aunt Agatha, to that woman, to know what it is all\nabout.\"\n\n\"Oh, my darling, you were always so generous,\" cried Aunt Agatha, in\namaze; \"but you must not do it. She might say things to you, or you\nmight meet people----\"\n\n\"If I did meet people, I know how to take care of myself,\" said Winnie;\nand that flush came to her face, and that light to her eye, like the\nneigh of the war-horse when he hears the sound of battle.\n\nAunt Agatha was struck dumb. Terror seized her, as she looked at the\nkindling cheeks and rapid gesture, and saw the Winnie of old, all\nimpatient and triumphant, dawning out from under the cloud.\n\n\"Oh, Winnie, you are not going away,\" she cried, with a thrill of\npresentiment. \"Mary has gone, and they have all gone. You are not going\nto leave me all by myself here?\"\n\n\"I?\" said Winnie. There was scorn in the tone, and yet what was chiefly\nin it was a bitter affectation of humility. \"It will be time enough to\nfear my going, when any one wants me to go.\"\n\nMiss Seton was a simple woman, and yet she saw that there lay more\nmeaning under these words than the plain meaning they bore. She clasped\nher hands, and lifted her appealing eyes to Winnie's face--and she was\nabout to speak, to question, to remonstrate, to importune, when her\ncompanion suddenly seized her hands tight, and silenced her by the sight\nof an emotion more earnest and violent than anything Aunt Agatha knew.\n\n\"Don't speak to me,\" she said, with her eyes blazing, and clasped the\nsoft old hands in hers till she hurt them. \"Don't speak to me; I don't\nknow what I am going to do--but don't talk to me, Aunt Agatha. Perhaps\nmy life--and Mary's--may be fixed to-day.\"\n\n\"Oh, Winnie, I don't understand you,\" cried Aunt Agatha, trembling, and\nfreeing her poor little soft crushed hands.\n\n\"And I don't understand myself,\" said Winnie. \"Don't let us say a word\nmore.\"\n\nWhat did it mean, that flush in her face, that thrill of purpose and\nmeaning in her words, and her step, and her whole figure?--and what had\nMary to do with it?--and how could their fate be fixed one way or\nother?--Aunt Agatha asked herself these questions vainly, and could make\nnothing of them. But after breakfast she went to her room and said her\nprayers--which was the best thing to do; and in that moment Winnie,\nwhose prayers were few though her wants were countless, took a rose from\nthe trellis, and pinned it in with her brooch, and went softly away. I\ndon't know what connection there was between the rose and Aunt Agatha's\nprayers, but somehow the faint perfume softened the wild, agitated,\nstormy heart, and suggested to it that sacrifice was being made and\nsupplications offered somewhere for its sins and struggles. Thus, when\nhis sons and daughters went out to their toils and pleasures, Job drew\nnear the altar lest some of them might curse God in their hearts.\n\nIt was strange to see her sallying forth by herself, she who had been\nshielded from every stranger's eye;--and yet there was a sense of\nfreedom in it--freedom, and danger, and exhilaration, which was sweet to\nWinnie. She went rushing in to Carlisle in the express train, flying as\nit were on the wings of the wind. But Mrs. Kirkman was not at home. She\nwas either working in her district, or she was teaching the infant\nschool, or giving out work to the poor women, or perhaps at the mothers'\nmeeting, which she always said was the most precious opportunity of all;\nor possibly she might be making calls--which, however, was an hypothesis\nwhich her maid rejected as unworthy of her. Mrs. Percival found herself\nbrought to a sudden standstill when she heard this. The sole audible\nmotive which she had proposed to herself for her expedition was to see\nMrs. Kirkman, and for the moment she did not know what to do. After a\nwhile, however, she turned and went slowly and yet eagerly in another\ndirection. She concluded she would go to the Askells, who might know\nsomething about it. They were Percival's friends; they might be in the\nsecret of his plans--they might convey to him the echo of her\nindignation and disdain; possibly even he might himself---- But Winnie\nwould not let herself consider that thought. Captain Askell's house was\nnot the same cold and neglected place where Mary had seen Emma after\ntheir return. They had a little more money--and that was something; and\nNelly was older--which was a great deal more; but even Nelly could not\naltogether abrogate the character which her mother gave to her house.\nThe maid who opened the door had bright ribbons in her cap, but yet was\na sloven, half-suppressed; and the carpets on the stairs were badly\nfitted, and threatened here and there to entangle the unwary foot. And\nthere was a bewildering multiplicity of sounds in the house. You could\nhear the maids in the kitchen, and the children in the nursery--and even\nas Winnie approached the drawing-room she could hear voices thrilling\nwith an excitement which did not become that calm retreat. There was a\nsound as of a sob, and there was a broken voice a little loud in its\naccents. Winnie went on with a quicker throb of her heart--perhaps he\nhimself---- But when the door opened, it was upon a scene she had not\nthought of. Mrs. Kirkman was there, seated high as on a throne, looking\nwith a sad but touching resignation upon the disturbed household. And it\nwas Emma who was sobbing--sobbing and crying out, and launching a\nfurious little soft incapable clenched hand into the air--while Nelly,\nall glowing red, eyes lit up with indignation, soft lips quivering with\ndistress, stood by, with a gaze of horror and fury and disgust fixed on\nthe visitor's face. Winnie went in, and they all stopped short and\nstared at her, as if she had dropped from the skies. Her appearance\nstartled and dismayed them, and yet it was evidently in perfect\naccordance with the spirit of the scene. She could see that at the first\nglance. She saw they were already discussing this event, whatever it\nmight be. Therefore Winnie did not hesitate. She offered no ordinary\ncivilities herself, nor required any. She went straight up to where Mrs.\nKirkman sat, not looking at others. \"I have come to ask you what it\nmeans,\" she said; and Winnie felt that they all stopped and gave way to\nher as to one who had a right to know.\n\n\"That is what I am asking,\" cried Emma, \"what does it mean? We have all\nknown it for ages, and none of us said a word. And she that sets up for\nbeing a Christian! As if there was no honour left in the regiment, and\nas if we were to talk of everything that happens! Ask her, Mrs.\nPercival. I don't believe half nor a quarter what they say of any one.\nWhen they dare to raise up a scandal about Madonna Mary, none of us are\nsafe. And a thing that we have all known for a hundred years!\"\n\n\"Oh, mamma!\" said Nelly, softly, under her breath. The child knew\neverything about everybody, as was to have been expected; every sort of\ntale had been told in her presence. But what moved her to shame was her\nmother's share. It was a murmured compunction, a vicarious\nacknowledgment of sin. \"Oh, mamma!\"\n\n\"It is not I that am saying it,\" cried Emma, again resuming her sob. \"I\nwould have been torn to pieces first. Me to harm her that was always a\njewel! Oh, ask her, ask her! What is going to come of it, and what does\nit mean?\"\n\n\"My dear, perhaps Nelly had better retire before we speak of it any\nmore,\" said Mrs. Kirkman, meekly. \"I am not one that thinks it right to\nencourage delusions in the youthful mind, but still, if there is much\nmore to be said----\"\n\nAnd then it was Nelly's turn to speak. \"You have talked about everything\nin the world without sending me away,\" cried the girl, \"till I wondered\nand wondered you did not die of shame. But I'll stay now. One is safe,\"\nsaid Nelly, with a little cry of indignation and youthful rage, \"when\nyou so much as name Mrs. Ochterlony's name.\"\n\nAll this time Winnie was standing upright and eager before Mrs.\nKirkman's chair. It was not from incivility that they offered her no\nplace among them. No one thought of it, and neither did she. The\nconflict around her had sobered Winnie's thoughts. There was no trace of\nher husband in it, nor of that striking her through her friends which\nhad excited and exhilarated her mind; but the family instinct of mutual\ndefence awoke in her. \"My sister has heard something which has--which\nhas had a singular effect upon her,\" said Winnie, pausing instinctively,\nas if she had been about to betray something. \"And it is you who have\ndone it; I want to know what it means.\"\n\n\"Oh, she must be ill!\" wailed poor Emma; \"I knew she would be ill. If\nshe dies it will be your fault. Oh, let me go up and see. I knew she\nmust be ill.\"\n\nAs for Mrs. Kirkman, she shook her head and her long curls, and looked\ncompassionately upon her agitated audience. And then Winnie heard all\nthe long-hoarded well-remembered tale. The only difference made in it\nwas that by this time all confidence in the Gretna Green marriage, which\nhad once been allowed, at least as a matter of courtesy, had faded out\nof the story. Even Mrs. Askell no longer thought of that. When the charm\nof something to tell began to work, the Captain's wife chimed in with\nthe narrative of her superior officer. All the circumstances of that\nlong-past event were revealed to the wonder-stricken hearers. Mary's\ndistress, and Major Ochterlony's anxiety, and the consultations he had\nwith everybody, and the wonderful indulgence and goodness of the ladies\nat the station, who never made any difference, and all their benevolent\nhopes that so uncomfortable an incident was buried in the past, and\ncould now have no painful results;--all this was told to Winnie in\ndetail; and in the confidential committee thus formed, her own possible\ndeficiencies and shortcomings were all passed over. \"Nothing would have\ninduced me to say a syllable on the subject if you had not been dear\nMary's sister,\" Mrs. Kirkman said; and then she relieved her mind and\ntold it all.\n\nWinnie, for her part, sat dumb and listened. She was more than struck\ndumb--she was stupified by the news. She had thought that Mary might\nhave been \"foolish,\" as she herself had been \"foolish;\" even that Mary\nmight have gone further, and compromised herself; but of a dishonour\nwhich involved such consequences she had never dreamed. She sat and\nheard it all in a bewildered horror, with the faces of Hugh and Will\nfloating like spectres before her eyes. A woman gone astray from her\nduty as a wife was not, Heaven help her! so extraordinary an object in\npoor Winnie's eyes--but, good heavens! Mary's marriage, Mary's boys, the\nvery foundation and beginning of her life! The room went round and round\nwith her as she sat and listened. A public trial, a great talk in the\npapers, one brother against another, and Mary, Mary, the chief figure in\nall! Winnie put her hands up to her ears, not to shut out the sound of\nthis incredible story, but to deaden the noises in her head, the\nthrobbing of all her pulses, and stringing of all her nerves. She was so\nstupified that she could make no sort of stand against it, no opposition\nto the evidence, which, indeed, was crushing, and left no opening for\nunbelief. She accepted it all, or rather, was carried away by the\nbewildering, overwhelming tide. And even Emma Askell got excited, and\nwoke up out of her crying, and added her contribution of details. Poor\nlittle Nelly, who had heard it all before, had retired to a corner and\ntaken up her work, and might be seen in the distance working furiously,\nwith a hot flush on her cheek, and now and then wiping a furtive tear\nfrom her eye. Nelly did not know what to say, nor how to meet it--but\nthere was in her little woman's soul a conviction that something unknown\nmust lie behind, and that the inference at least was not true.\n\n\"And you told Will?\" said Winnie, rousing up at last. \"You knew all the\nhorrible harm it might do, and you told Will.\"\n\n\"It was not I who told him,\" said Mrs. Kirkman; and then there was a\npause, and the two ladies looked at each other, and a soft, almost\nimperceptible flutter, visible only to a female eye, revealed that there\nmight be something else to say.\n\n\"Who told him?\" said Winnie, perceiving the indications, and feeling her\nheart thrill and beat high once more.\n\n\"I am very sorry to say anything, I am sure, to make it worse,\" said\nMrs. Kirkman. \"It was not I who told him. I suppose you are aware\nthat--that Major Percival is here? He was present at the marriage as\nwell as I. I wonder he never told you. It was he who told Will. He only\ncame to get the explanations from me.\"\n\nThey thought she would very probably faint, or make some demonstration\nof distress, not knowing that this was what poor Winnie had been\nwaiting, almost hoping for; and on the contrary, it seemed to put new\nforce into her, and a kind of beauty, at which her companions stood\naghast. The blood rushed into her faded cheek, and light came to her\neyes. She could not speak at first, so overwhelming was the tide of\nenergy and new life that seemed to pour into her veins. After all, she\nhad been a true prophet. It was all for her sake. He had struck at her\nthrough her friends, and she could not be angry with him. It was a way\nlike another of showing love, a way hard upon other people, no doubt,\nbut carrying a certain poignant sweetness to her for whose sake the blow\nhad fallen. But Winnie knew she was in the presence of keen observers,\nand put restraint upon herself.\n\n\"Where is Major Percival to be found?\" she said, with a measured voice,\nwhich she thought concealed her excitement, but which was overdone, and\nmade it visible. They thought she was meditating something desperate\nwhen she spoke in that unnatural voice, and drew her shawl round her in\nthat rigid way. She might have been going to stab him, the bystanders\nthought, or do him some grievous harm.\n\n\"You would not go to him for that?\" said Emma, with a little anxiety,\nstopping short at once in her tears and in her talk. \"They never will\nlet you talk to them about what they have done; and then they always say\nyou take part with your own friends.\"\n\nMrs. Kirkman, too, showed a sudden change of interest, and turned to the\nnew subject with zeal and zest: \"If you are really seeking a\nreconciliation with your husband----\" she began; but this was more than\nWinnie could bear.\n\n\"I asked where Major Percival was to be found,\" she said; \"I was not\ndiscussing my own affairs: but Nelly will tell me. If that is all about\nMary, I will go away.\"\n\n\"I will go with you,\" cried Emma: \"only wait till I get my things. I\nknew she would be ill; and she must not think that we are going to\nforsake her now. As if it could make any difference to us that have\nknown it for ever so long! Only wait till I get my things.\"\n\n\"Poor Mary! she is not in a state of mind to be benefited by any visit,\"\nsaid Mrs. Kirkman, solemnly. \"If it were not for that, _I_ would go.\"\n\nAs for Winnie, she was trembling with impatience, eager to be free and\nto be gone, and yet not content to go until she had left a sting behind\nher, like a true woman. \"How you all talk!\" she cried; \"as if your\nmaking any difference would matter. You can set it going, but all you\ncan do will never stop it. Mary has gone to Will, whom you have made her\nenemy. Perhaps she has gone to ask her boy to save her honour; and you\nthink she will mind about your making a difference, or about your\nvisits--when it is a thing of life or death!\"\n\nAnd she went to the door all trembling, scarcely able to support\nherself, shivering with excitement and wild anticipation. Now she _must_\nsee him--now it was her duty to go to him and ask him why---- She rushed\naway, forgetting even that she had not obtained the information she came\nto seek. She had been speaking of Mary, but it was not of Mary she was\nthinking. Mary went totally out of her mind as she hurried down the\nstairs. Now there was no longer any choice; she must go to him, must see\nhim, must renew the interrupted but never-ended struggle. It filled her\nwith an excitement which she could not subdue nor resist. Her heart beat\nso loud that she did not hear the sound of her own step on the stairs,\nbut seemed somehow to be carried down by the air, which encircled her\nlike a soft whirlwind; and she did not hear Nelly behind her calling\nher, to tell her where he lived. She had no recollection of that. She\ndid not wait for any one to open the door for her, but rushed out, moved\nby her own purpose as by a supernatural influence; and but for the\nviolent start he gave, it would have been into his arms she rushed as\nshe stepped out from the Askells' door.\n\nThis was how their meeting happened. Percival had been going there to\nask some questions about the Cottage and its inmates, when his wife,\nwith that look he knew so well, with all the coming storm in her eyes,\nand the breath of excitement quick on her parted lips--stepped out\nalmost into his arms. He was fond of her, notwithstanding all their\nmutual sins; and their spirits rushed together, though in a different\nway from that rush which accompanies the meeting of the lips. They\nrushed together with a certain clang and spark; and the two stood facing\neach other in the street, defying, hating, struggling, feeling that they\nbelonged to each other once more.\n\n\"I must speak with you,\" said Winnie, in her haste; \"take me somewhere\nthat I may speak. Is this your revenge? I know what you have done. When\neverything is ended that you can do to me, you strike me through my\nfriends.\"\n\n\"If you choose to think so----\" said Percival.\n\n\"If I choose to think so? What else can I think?\" said the hot\ncombatant; and she went on by his side with hasty steps and a passion\nand force which she had not felt in her since the day when she fled from\nhim. She felt the new tide in her veins, the new strength in her heart.\nIt was not the calm of union, it was the heat of conflict; but still,\nsuch as it was, it was her life. She went on with him, never looking or\nthinking where they were going, till they reached the rooms where he was\nliving, and then, all by themselves, the husband and wife looked each\nother in the face.\n\n\"Why did you leave me, Winnie?\" he said. \"I might be wrong, but what\ndoes it matter? I may be wrong again, but I have got what I wanted. I\nwould not have minded much killing the boy for the sake of seeing you\nand having it out. Let them manage it their own way; it is none of our\nbusiness. Come back to me, and let them settle it their own way.\"\n\n\"Never!\" cried Winnie, though there was a struggle in her heart. \"After\ndoing all the harm you could do to me, do you think you can recall me by\nruining my sister? How dare you venture to look me in the face?\"\n\n\"And I tell you I did not mind what I did to get to see you and have it\nout with you,\" said Percival; \"and if that is why you are here, I am\nglad I did it. What is Mary to me? She must look after herself. But I\ncannot exist without my wife.\"\n\n\"It was like that, your conduct drove me away,\" said Winnie, with a\nquiver on her lips.\n\n\"It _was_ like it,\" said he, \"only that you never did me justice. My\nwife is not like other men's wives. I might drive you away, for you were\nalways impatient; but you need not think I would stick at anything that\nhad to be done to get you back.\"\n\n\"You will never get me back,\" said Winnie, with flashing eyes. All her\nbeauty had come back to her in that moment. It was the warfare that did\nit, and at the same time it was the homage and flattery which were sweet\nto her, and which she could see in everything he said. He would have\nstuck at nothing to get her back. For that object he would have ruined,\nkilled, or done anything wicked. What did it matter about the other\npeople? There was a sort of magnificence in it that took her captive;\nfor neither of the two had pure motives or a high standard of action, or\nenough even of conventional goodness to make them hypocrites. They both\nacknowledged, in a way, that themselves, the two of them, were the chief\nobjects in the universe, and everything else in the world faded into\nnatural insignificance when they stood face to face, and their great\nperennial conflict was renewed.\n\n\"I do not believe it,\" said Percival. \"I have told you I will stick at\nnothing. Let other people take care of their own affairs. What have you\nto do in that weedy den with that old woman? You are not good enough,\nand you never were meant for that. I knew you would come to me at the\nlast.\"\n\n\"But you are mistaken,\" said Winnie, still breathing fire and flame.\n\"The old woman, as you call her, is good to me, good as nobody ever\nwas. She loves me, though you may think it strange. And if I have come\nto you it is not for you; it is to ask what you have done, what your\nhorrible motive could be, and why, now you have done every injury to me\na man could do, you should try to strike me through my friends.\"\n\n\"I do not care _that_ for your friends,\" said Percival. \"It was to force\nyou to see me, and have it out. Let them take care of themselves.\nNeither man nor woman has any right to interfere in my affairs.\"\n\n\"Nobody was interfering in your affairs,\" cried Winnie; \"do you think\nthey had anything to do with it?--could they have kept me if I wanted to\ngo? It is me you are fighting against. Leave Mary alone, and put out\nyour strength on me. I harmed you, perhaps, when I gave in to you and\nlet you marry me. But she never did you any harm. Leave Mary, at least,\nalone.\"\n\nPercival turned away with a disdainful shrug of his shoulders. He was\nfamiliar enough with the taunt. \"If you harmed me by that act, I harmed\nyou still more, I suppose,\" he said. \"We have gone over that ground\noften enough. Let us have it out now. Are you coming back to your duty\nand to me.\"\n\n\"I came to speak of Mary,\" said Winnie, facing him as he turned. \"Set\nthose right first who have never done you any harm, and then we can\nthink of the others. The innocent come first. Strike at me like a man,\nbut not through my friends.\"\n\nShe sat down as she spoke, without quite knowing what she did. She sat\ndown, because, though the spirit was moved to passionate energy, the\nflesh was weak. Perhaps something in the movement touched the man who\nhated and loved her, as she loved and hated him. A sudden pause came to\nthe conflict, such as does occur capriciously in such struggles; in the\nmidst of their fury a sudden touch of softness came over them. They were\nalone--nothing but mists of passion were between them, and though they\nwere fighting like foes, their perverse souls were one. He came up to\nher suddenly and seized her hands, not tenderly, but rudely, as was\nnatural to his state of mind.\n\n\"Winnie,\" he said, \"this will not do; come away with me. You may\nstruggle as you please, but you are mine. Don't let us make a\nlaughing-stock of ourselves! What are a set of old women and children\nbetween you and me? Let them fight it out; it will all come right. What\nis anything in the world between you and me? Come! I am not going to be\nturned off or put away as if you did not mind. I know you better than\nthat. Come! I tell you, nothing can stand between you and me.\"\n\n\"Never!\" said Winnie, blazing with passion; but even while she spoke the\ncourse of the torrent changed. It leaped the feeble boundaries, and went\ninto the other channel--the channel of love which runs side by side with\nthat of hate. \"You leave me to be insulted by everybody who has a\nmind--and if I were to go with you, it is you who would insult me!\"\ncried Winnie. And the tears came pouring to her eyes suddenly like a\nthunder-storm. It was all over in a moment, and that was all that was\nsaid. What were other people that either he or she should postpone their\nown affairs to any secondary consideration? Their spirits rushed\ntogether with a flash of fire, and roll of thunder. The suddenness of it\nwas the thing that made it effectual. Something \"smote the chord of\nself, that trembling\" burst into a tumult of feeling and took to itself\nthe semblance of love; no matter how it had been brought about. Was not\nanything good that set them face to face, and showed the two that life\ncould not continue for them apart? Neither the tears, nor the\nreproaches, nor the passion were over, but it changed all at once into\nsuch a quarrel as had happened often enough before then. As soon as\nWinnie came back to her warfare, she had gone back, so to speak, to her\nduties according to her conception of them. Thus the conflict swelled,\nand rose, and fluctuated, and softened, like many another; but no more\nthoughts of the Cottage, or of Aunt Agatha, or of Mary's sudden calamity\ndrew Winnie from her own subject. After all, it was, as she had felt, a\npasteboard cottage let down upon her for the convenience of the\nmoment--a thing to disappear by pulleys when the moment of necessity was\nover. And when they had had it out, she went off with her husband the\nsame evening, sending a rapid note of explanation to Aunt Agatha--and\nnot with any intention of unkindness, but only with that superior sense\nof the importance of her own concerns which was natural to her. She\nhoped Mary would come back soon, and that all would be comfortably\nsettled, she said. \"And Mary is more of a companion to you than I ever\ncould be,\" Winnie added in her letter, with a touch of that strange\njealousy which was always latent in her. She was glad that Mary should\nbe Miss Seton's companion, and yet was vexed that anybody should take\nher place with her aunt, to whom she herself had been all in all. Thus\nWinnie, who had gone into Carlisle that morning tragically bent upon the\nconfounding of her husband's plans, and the formation of one eternal\nwall of separation between them, eloped with him in the evening as if\nhe had been her lover. And there was a certain thrill of pride and\ntenderness in her bosom to think that to win her back he would stick at\nnothing, and did not hesitate to strike her through her friends.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII.\n\n\nThere is something wonderful in the ease with which the secondary actors\nin a great crisis can shake themselves free of the event, and return to\ntheir own affairs, however exciting the moment may be at which it suits\nthem to strike off. The bystanders turn away from the most horrible\ncalamity, and sit down by their own tables and talk about their own\ntrivial business before the sound of the guns has ceased to vibrate on\nthe air, or the smoke of the battle has dispersed which has brought ruin\nand misery to their dearest friends. The principle of human nature, that\nevery man should bear his own burden, lies deeper than all philosophy.\nWinnie, though she had been excited about her sister's mysterious\nmisfortune and roused by it, and was ready, to her own inconvenience, to\nmake a great effort on Mary's behalf, yet could turn off on her way\nwithout any struggle, with that comfortable feeling that all must come\nright in the end which is so easy for the lookers-on. But the real\nsufferers could not entertain so charming a confidence. That same day\nrose heavily over poor Hugh, who, all alone in Earlston, still debated\nwith himself. He had written to his uncle to express his amazement and\ndismay, and to ask for time to give full consideration to the terrible\nnews he had heard. \"You need not fear that I will do anything to wound\nmy mother,\" the poor boy had written, with a terrible pang in his heart.\nBut after that he had sunk into a maze of questions and discussions with\nhimself, and of miserable uncertainty as to what he ought to do. The\nidea of asking anybody for information about it seemed almost as bad to\nhim as owning the fact at once; asking about his mother--about facts in\nher life which she had never herself disclosed--inquiring if, perhaps,\nshe was a woman dishonoured and unworthy of her children's confidence!\nIt seemed to Hugh as if it would be far easier to give up Earlston, and\nlet Will or any one else who pleased have it. He had tried more than\nonce to write to Mr. Churchill, the chaplain, of whom he had heard his\nmother speak, and of whom he had even a faint traditional sort of\nrecollection; but the effort always sickened him, and made him rush away\nin disgust to the open air, and the soothing sounds of nature. He was\nquite alone during those few days. His neighbours did not know of his\nreturn, for he had been so speedily overtaken by this news as to have\nhad no heart to go anywhere or show himself among them. Thus he was left\nto his own thoughts, and they were bitter. In the very height of his\nyouthful hopes and satisfaction, just at the moment when he was most\nfull of plans, and taking the most perfect pleasure in his life, this\nbewildering cloud had come on him. He did not even go on with his\npreparations for the transfer of the Museum, in the sickness of his\nheart, notwithstanding the eagerness he felt whenever he thought of it\nto complete that arrangement at least, and secure his uncle's will to\nthat extent, if no more. But it did not seem possible to exert himself\nabout one thing without exerting himself about all, and he who had been\nso fresh and full of energy, fell supine into a kind of utter\nwretchedness. The course of his life was stopped when it had been in\nfull career. He was suddenly thrown out of all he had been doing, all he\nhad been planning. The scheme of his existence seemed all at once turned\ninto folly and made a lie of. What could he do? His lawyer wrote to say\nthat he meant to come to Earlston on some business connected with the\nestate, but Hugh put him off, and deferred everything. How could he\ndiscuss affairs which possibly were not his affairs, but his brother's?\nHow could he enter into any arrangements, or think of anything, however\nreasonable or necessary, with this sword hanging over his head? He got\nup early in the morning, and startled the servants before they were up,\nby opening the doors and shutters in his restlessness; and he sat up at\nnight thinking it all over, for ever thinking of it and never coming to\nany result. How could he inquire, how could he prove or disprove the\nhorrible assertion? Even to think of it seemed a tacit injury to his\nmother. The only way to do his duty by her seemed to be to give up all\nand go away to the end of the world. And yet he was a man, and right and\njustice were dear to him, and he revolted against doing that. It was as\nif he had been caught by some gigantic iron hand of fate in the\nsweetness of his fearless life. He had never heard nor read of, he\nthought, anything so cruel. By times bitter tears came into his eyes,\nwrung from him by the intolerable pressure. He could not give up his own\ncause and his mother's cause without a struggle. He could not\nrelinquish his life and rights to another; and yet how could he defend\nhimself by means that would bring one question to careless lips, one\nlight laugh to the curious world, over his mother's name? Such an idea\nhad never so much as entered into his head. It made his life miserable.\n\nHe read over Mr. Penrose's letter a dozen times in the day, and he sat\nat night with his eyes fixed on the flame of his lamp, calling back his\nchildhood and its events. It was as vague as a dream, and he could not\nidentify his broken recollections. If he could have gone to Mrs.\nOchterlony and talked it over with her, Hugh might have remembered many\nthings, but wanting that thread of guidance he lost himself in the misty\nmaze. By dint of thinking it over and over, and representing the scene\nto his mind in every possible way, it came to him finally to believe\nthat some faint impression of the event which he was asked to remember\ndid linger in his memory, and that thought, which he could not put away,\nstung him like a serpent. Was it really true that he remembered it? Then\nthe accusation must be true, and he nameless and without rights, and\nMary----. Not much wonder that the poor boy, sick to the heart, turned\nhis face from the light and hid himself, and felt that he would be glad\nif he could only die. Yet dying would be of no use, for there was Islay\nwho would come next to him, who never would have dreamt of dispossessing\nhim, but who, if this was true, would need to stand aside in his turn\nand make room for Will. Will!--It was hard for Hugh not to feel a thrill\nof rage and scorn and amaze mixing with his misery when he thought of\nthe younger brother to whom he had been so continually indulgent and\naffectionate. He who had been always the youngest, the most guarded and\ntender, whom Hugh could remember in his mother's arms, on her knee, a\npart of her as it were; he to turn upon them all, and stain her fame,\nand ruin the family honour for his own base advantage! These thoughts\ncame surging up one after another, and tore Hugh's mind to pieces and\nmade him as helpless as a child, now with one suggestion, now with\nanother. What could he do? And accordingly he did nothing but fall into\na lethargy and maze of despair, did not sleep, did not eat, filled the\nservants' minds with the wildest surmises, and shut himself up, as if\nthat could have deferred the course of events, or shut out the coming\nfate.\n\nThis had lasted only a day or two, it is true, but it might have been\nfor a century, to judge by Hugh's feelings. He felt indeed as if he had\nnever been otherwise, never been light-hearted or happy, or free to\ntake pleasure in his life; as if he had always been an impostor\nexpecting to be found out. Nature itself might have awakened him from\nhis stupor had he been left to himself; but, as it happened, there came\na sweeter touch. He had become feverishly anxious about his letters ever\nsince the arrival of that one which had struck him so unlooked-for a\nblow; and he started when something was brought to him in the evening at\nan hour when letters did not arrive, and a little note with a little red\nseal, very carefully folded that no curious eye might be able to\npenetrate. Poor Hugh felt a certain thrill of fright at the\ninnocent-seeming thing, coming insidiously at this moment when he\nthought himself safe, and bringing, for anything he could tell, the last\ntouch to his misery. He held it in his hand while it was explained to\nhim that one of the servants had been to Carlisle with an order given\nbefore the world had changed--an order made altogether antiquated and\nout of course by having been issued three days before; and that he had\nbrought back this note. Only when the door closed upon the man and his\nexplanation did Hugh break the tiny seal. It was not a letter to be\nalarmed at. It was written as it were with tears, sweet tears of\nsympathy and help and tender succour. This was what Nelly's little\nletter said:--\n\n\"DEAR MR. HUGH,--I want to let you know of something that has happened\nto-day, and at which you may perhaps be surprised. Mrs. Percival met\nMajor Percival here, and I think they have made friends; and she has\ngone away with him. I think you ought to know, because she told us dear\nMrs. Ochterlony had gone to Liverpool; and Miss Seton will be left\nalone. I should have asked mamma to let me go and stay with her, but I\nam going into Scotland to an old friend of papa's, who is living at\nGretna. I remember hearing long ago that it was at Gretna dear Mrs.\nOchterlony was married--and perhaps there is somebody there who\nremembers her. If you see Aunt Agatha, would you please ask her when it\nhappened? I should so like to see the place, and ask the people if they\nremember her. I think she must have been so beautiful then; she is\nbeautiful now--I never loved anybody so much in my life. And I am afraid\nshe is anxious about Will. I should not like to trouble you, for I am\nsure you must have a great deal to occupy your mind, but I should so\nlike to know how dear Mrs. Ochterlony is, and if there is anything the\nmatter with Will. He always was very funny, you know, and then he is\nonly a boy, and does not know what he means. Mamma sends her kind\nregards, and I am, dear Mr. Hugh, very sincerely yours,--NELLY.\"\n\nThis was the letter. Hugh read it slowly over, every word--and then he\nread it again; and two great globes of dew got into his eyes, and\nNelly's sweet name grew big as he read through them, and wavered over\nall the page; and when he had come to that signature the second time he\nput it down on the table, and leant his face on it, and cried. Yes,\ncried, though he was a man--wept hot tears over it, few but great, that\nfelt to him like the opening of a spring in his soul, and drew the heat\nand the horror out of his brain. His young breast shook with a few great\nsobs--the passion climbing in his throat burst forth, and had utterance;\nand then he rose up and stretched his young arms, and drew himself up to\nthe fulness of his height. What did it matter, after all? What was\nmoney, and lands, and every good on earth, compared to the comfort of\nliving in the same world with a creature such as this, who was as sweet\nas the flowers, and as true as the sky? She had done it by instinct, not\nknowing, as she herself said, what she meant, or knowing only that her\nlittle heart swelled with kind impulses, tender pity, and indignation,\nand yet pity over all; pity for Will, too, who, perhaps, was going to\nmake them all miserable. But Nelly could not have understood the effect\nher little letter had upon Hugh. He shook himself free after it, as if\nfrom chains that had been upon him. He gave a groan, poor boy, at the\ncalamity which was not to be ignored, and then he said to himself,\n\"After all!\" After all, and in spite of all, while there was Nelly\nliving, it was not unmingled ill to live. And when he looked at it\nagain, a more reasonable kind of comfort seemed to come to him out of\nthe girl's letter; his eye was caught by the word struck out, which yet\nwas not too carefully struck out, \"where dear Mrs. Ochterlony was first\nmarried.\" He gave a cry when this new light entered into his mind. He\nroused himself up from his gloom and stupor, and thought and thought\nuntil his very brain ached as with labour, and his limbs began to thrill\nas with new vigour coming back. And a glimmering of the real truth\nsuddenly rushed, all vague and dazzling, upon Hugh's darkness. There had\nbeen no hint in Mr. Penrose's letter of any such interpretation of the\nmystery. Mr. Penrose himself had received no such hint, and even Will,\npoor boy, had heard of it only as a fable, to which he gave no\nattention. They two, and Hugh himself in his utter misery, had accepted\nas a probable fact the calumny of which Nelly's pure mind instinctively\ndemanded an explanation. They had not known it to be impossible that\nMary should be guilty of such sin; but Nelly had known it, and\nrecognised the incredible mystery, and demanded the reason for it,\nwhich everybody else had ignored or forgotten. He seemed to see it for a\nmoment, as the watchers on a sinking ship might see the gleam of a\nlighthouse;--and then it disappeared from him in the wild waste of\nignorance and wonder, and then gleamed out again, as if in Nelly's eyes.\nThat was why she was going, bless her! She who never went upon visits,\nwho knew better, and had insight in her eyes, and saw it could not be.\nThese thoughts passed through Hugh's mind in a flood, and changed heaven\nand earth round about him, and set him on solid ground, as it were,\ninstead of chaos. He was not wise enough, good enough, pure enough, to\nknow the truth of himself--but Nelly could see it, as with angel eyes.\nHe was young, and he loved Nelly, and that was how it appeared to him.\nShame that had been brooding over him in the darkness, fled away. He\nrose up and felt as if he were yet a man, and had still his life before\nhim, whatever might happen; and that he was there not only to comfort\nand protect his mother, but to defend and vindicate her; not to run away\nand keep silent like the guilty, but to face the pain of it, and the\nshame of it, if such bitter need was, and establish the truth. All this\ncame to Hugh's mind from the simple little letter, which Nelly, crying\nand burning with indignation and pity, and an intolerable sense of\nwrong, had written without knowing what she meant. For anything Hugh\ncould tell, his mother's innocence and honour, even if intact, might\nnever be proved,--might do no more for him than had it been guilt and\nshame. The difference was that he had seen this accusation, glancing\nthrough Nelly's eyes, to be impossible; that he had found out that there\nwas an interpretation somewhere, and the load was taken off his soul.\n\nThe change was so great, and his relief so immense, that he felt as if\neven that night he must act upon it. He could not go away, as he longed\nto do, for all modes of communication with the world until the morning\nwere by that time impracticable. But he did what eased his mind at\nleast. He wrote to Mr. Penrose a very grave, almost solemn letter, with\nneither horror nor even anger in it. \"I do not know what the\ncircumstances are, nor what the facts may be,\" he wrote, \"but whatever\nthey are, I do not doubt that my mother will explain--and I shall come\nto you immediately, that the truth may be made clearly apparent.\" And he\nwrote to Mr. Churchill, as he had never yet had the courage to do,\nasking to be told how it was. When he had done this, he rose up, feeling\nhimself still more his own master. Hugh did not deceive himself; he did\nnot think, because Nelly had communicated to his eyes her own divine\nsimplicity of sight, that therefore it was certain that everything would\nbe made clear and manifest to the law or the world. It might be\notherwise; Mrs. Ochterlony might never be able to establish her own\nspotless fame, and her elder children's rights. It might be, by some\nhorrible conspiracy of circumstances, that his name and position should\nbe taken from him, and his honour stained beyond remedy. Such a thing\nwas still possible. But Hugh felt that even then all would not be lost,\nthat God would still be in heaven, and justice and mercy to some certain\nextent on the earth, and duty still before him. The situation was not\nchanged, but only the key-note of his thoughts was changed, and his mind\nhad come back to itself. He rose up, though it was getting late, and\nrang the bell for Francis Ochterlony's favourite servant, and began to\narrange about the removal of the Museum. He might not be master long--in\nlaw; but he was master by right of nature and his uncle's will, and he\nwould at least do his duty as long as he remained there.\n\nMrs. Gilsland, the housekeeper, was in the hall as he went out, and she\ncurtseyed and stood before him, rustling in her black silk gown, and\neyeing him doubtfully. She was afraid to disturb the Squire, as she\nsaid, but there was a poor soul there, if so be as he would speak a word\nto her. It annoyed Hugh to be drawn away from his occupations just as he\nhad been roused to return to them; but Nelly's letter and the influence\nof profound emotion had given a certain softness to his soul. He asked\nwhat it was, and heard it was a poor woman who had come with a petition.\nShe had come a long way, and had a child with her, but nobody had liked\nto disturb the young Squire: and now it was providential, Mrs. Gilsland\nthought, that he should have passed just at that moment. \"She has been\ngone half her lifetime, Mr. Hugh--I mean Sir,\" said the housekeeper,\n\"though she was born and bred here; and her poor man is that bad with\nthe paralytics that she has to do everything, which she thought if\nperhaps you would give her the new lodge----\"\n\n\"The new lodge is not built yet,\" said Hugh, with a pang in his heart,\nfeeling, notwithstanding his new courage, that it was hard to remember\nall his plans and the thousand changes it might never be in his power to\nmake; \"and it ought to be some one who has a claim on the family,\" he\nadded, with a half-conscious sigh.\n\n\"And that's what poor Susan has,\" said Mrs. Gilsland. \"Master would\nnever have said no if it had been in his time; for he knew as he had\nbeen unjust to them poor folks; and a good claim on you, Mr. Hugh. She\nis old Sommerville's daughter, as you may have heard talk on, and as\ndecent a woman----\"\n\n\"Who was old Sommerville?\" said Hugh.\n\n\"He was one as was a faithful servant to your poor papa,\" said the\nhousekeeper. \"I've heard as he lost his place all for the Captain's\nsake, as was Captain Ochterlony then, and as taking a young gentleman as\never was. If your mother was to hear of it, Mr. Hugh, she is not the\nlady to forget. A poor servant may be most a friend to his master--I've\nheard many and many a one say so that was real quality--and your mamma\nbeing a true lady----\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Hugh, \"a good servant is a friend; and if she had any claims\nupon my father, I will certainly see her; but I am busy now. I have not\nbeen--well. I have been neglecting a great many things, and now that I\nfeel a little better, I have a great deal to do.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir, it isn't lost time as makes a poor creature's heart to sing\nfor joy!\" said Mrs. Gilsland. She was a formidable housekeeper, but she\nwas a kind woman; and somehow a subtle perception that their young\nmaster had been in trouble had crept into the mind of the household.\n\"Which it's grieved as we've all been to see as you was not--well,\" she\nadded with a curtsey; \"it's been the watching and the anxiety; and so\ngood as you was, sir, to the Squire. But poor Susan has five mile to go,\nand a child in arms, as is a load to carry; and her poor sick husband at\nhome. And it was borne in upon them as perhaps for old Sommerville's\nsake----\"\n\n\"Well, who was he?\" said Hugh, with languid interest, a little fretted\nby the interruption, yet turning his steps towards the housekeeper's\nroom, from which a gleam of firelight shone, at the end of a long\ncorridor. He did not know anything about old Sommerville; the name\nawakened no associations in his mind, and even the housekeeper's long\nnarrative as she followed him caught his attention only by intervals.\nShe was so anxious to produce an effect for her PROTEGEE'S sake that she\nbegan with an elaborate description of old Sommerville's place and\nprivileges, which whizzed past Hugh's ear without ever touching his\nmind. But he was too good-hearted to resist the picture of the poor\nwoman who had five miles to go, and a baby and a sick husband. She was\nsitting basking before the fire in Mrs. Gilsland's room, poor soul,\nthinking as little about old Sommerville as the young Squire was; her\nheart beating high with anxiety about the new lodge--beating as high as\nif it was a kingdom she had hopes of conquering; with excitement as\nprofound as that which moved Hugh himself when he thought of his fortune\nhanging in the balance, and of the name and place and condition of which\nperhaps he was but an usurper. It was as much to poor Susan to have the\nlodge as it was to him to have Earlston, or rather a great deal more.\nAnd he went in, putting a stop to Mrs. Gilsland's narrative, and began\nto talk to the poor suitor; and the firelight played pleasantly on the\nyoung man's handsome face, as he stood full in its ruddy illumination to\nhear her story, with his own anxiety lying at his heart like a stone. To\nlook at this scene, it looked the least interesting of all that was\ngoing on at that moment in the history of the Ochterlony family--less\nimportant than what was taking place in Liverpool, where Mary was--or\neven than poor Aunt Agatha's solitary tears over Winnie's letter, which\nhad just been taken in to her, and which went to her heart. The new\nlodge might never be built, and Hugh Ochterlony might never have it in\nhis power to do anything for poor Susan, who was old Sommerville's\ndaughter. But at least he was not hard-hearted, and it was a kind of\nnatural grace and duty to hear what the poor soul had to say.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIII.\n\n\nIt was morning when Mary arrived in Liverpool, early morning, chilly and\ngrey. She had been detained on the road by the troublesome delays of a\ncross route, and the fresh breath of the autumnal morning chilled her to\nthe heart. And she had not come with any distinct plan. She did not know\nwhat she was going to do. It had seemed to her as if the mere sight of\nher would set her boy right, had there been evil in his mind; and she\ndid not know that there was any evil in his mind. She knew nothing of\nwhat was in Mr. Penrose's letter, which had driven Hugh to such despair.\nShe did not even know whether Will had so much as mentioned his\ndiscovery to Uncle Penrose, or whether he might not have fled there,\nsimply to get away from the terrible thought of his mother's disgrace.\nIf it were so, she had but to take her boy in her arms, to veil her face\nwith shame, yet raise it with conscious honour, and tell him how it all\nwas. This, perhaps, was what she most thought of doing--to show him the\nrights of the story, of which he had only heard the evil-seeming side,\nand to reconcile him to herself and the world, and his life, on all of\nwhich a shadow must rest, as Mary thought, if any shadow rested on his\nmother. By times she was grieved with Will--\"angry,\" as he would have\nsaid--to think he had gone away in secret without unfolding his troubles\nto the only creature who could clear them up; but by times it seemed to\nher as though it was only his tenderness of her, his delicacy for her,\nthat had driven him away. That he could not endure the appearance of a\nstain upon her, that he was unable to let her know the possibility of\nany suspicion--this was chiefly what Mrs. Ochterlony thought. And it\nmade her heart yearn towards the boy. Anything about Earlston, or Hugh,\nor the property, or Will's rights, had not crossed her mind; even Mrs.\nKirkman's hints had proved useless, so far as that was concerned. Such a\nthing seemed to her as impossible as to steal or to murder. When they\nwere babies, a certain thrill of apprehension had moved her whenever she\nsaw any antagonism between the brothers; but when the moment of\nrealizing it came, she was unable to conceive of such a horror. To think\nof Will harming Hugh! It was impossible--more than impossible; and thus\nas she drove through the unknown streets in the early bustle of the\nmorning, towards the distant suburb in which Mr. Penrose lived, her\nthoughts rejected all tragical suppositions. The interview would be\npainful enough in any case, for it was hard for a mother to have to\ndefend herself, and vindicate her good fame, to her boy; but still it\ncould have been nothing but Will's horror at such a revelation--his\nalarm at the mere idea of such a suspicion ever becoming known to his\nmother--his sense of disenchantment in the entire world following his\ndiscovery, that made him go away: and this she had it in her power to\ndissipate for ever. This was how she was thinking as she approached Mr.\nPenrose's great mansion, looking out eagerly to see if any one might be\nvisible at the windows. She saw no one, and her heart beat high as she\nlooked up at the blank big house, and thought of the young heart that\nwould flutter and perhaps sicken at the sight of her, and then expand\ninto an infinite content. For by this time she had so reasoned herself\ninto reassurance, and the light and breath of the morning had so\ninvigorated her mind, that she had no more doubt that her explanations\nwould content him, and clear away every cloud from his thoughts, than\nshe had of his being her son, and loyal as no son of hers could fail to\nbe.\n\nThe servants did not make objections to her as they had done to Will.\nThey admitted her to the cold uninhabited drawing-room, and informed\nher that Mr. Penrose was out, but that young Mr. Ochterlony was\ncertainly to be found. \"Tell him it is his mother,\" said Mary, with her\nheart yearning over him: and then she sat down to wait. There was\nnothing after all in the emergency to tremble at. She smiled at herself\nwhen she thought of her own horrible apprehensions, and of the feelings\nwith which she had hurried from the Cottage. It would be hard to speak\nof the suspicion to which she was subjected, but then she could set it\nto rest for ever: and what did the pang matter? Thus she sat with a\nwistful smile on her face, and waited. The moments passed, and she heard\nsounds of steps outside, and something that sounded like the hurried\nshutting of the great door; but no eager foot coming to meet her--no\nrapid entrance like that she had looked for. She sat still until the\nsmile became rigid on her lip, and a wonderful depression came to her\nsoul. Was he not coming? Could it be that he judged her without hearing\nher, and would not see his mother? Then her heart woke up again when she\nheard some one approaching, but it was only the servant who had opened\nthe door.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, ma'am,\" said the man, with hesitation, \"but it\nappears I made a mistake. Young Mr. Ochterlony was not--I mean he has\ngone out. Perhaps, if it was anything of importance, you could wait.\"\n\n\"He has gone out? so early?--surely not after he knew I was here?\" said\nMary, wildly; and then she restrained herself with an effort. \"It _is_\nsomething of importance,\" she said, giving a groan in her heart, which\nwas not audible. \"I am his mother, and it is necessary I should see him.\nYes, I will wait; and if you could send some one to tell him, if you\nknow where he is----\"\n\n\"I should think, ma'am, he is sure to be home to luncheon,\" said the\nservant, evading this demand. To luncheon--and it was only about ten\no'clock in the morning now. Mary clasped her hands together to keep\nherself from crying out. Could he have been out before she\narrived--could he have fled to avoid her? She asked herself the question\nin a kind of agony; but Mr. Penrose's man stood blank and respectful at\nthe door, and offered no point of appeal. She could not take him into\nher counsel, or consult him as to what it all meant; and yet she was so\nanxious, so miserable, so heart-struck by this suspense, that she could\nnot let him go without an effort to find something out.\n\n\"Has he gone with his uncle?\" she said. \"Perhaps I might find it at Mr.\nPenrose's office. No? Or perhaps you can tell me if there is any place\nhe is in the habit of going to, or if he always goes out so early. I\nwant very much to see him; I have been travelling all night; it is very\nimportant,\" Mary added, wistfully looking in the attendant's face.\n\nMr. Penrose's butler was very solemn and precise, but yet there was\nsomething in the sight of her restrained distress which moved him. \"I\ndon't know as I have remarked what time the young gentleman goes out,\"\nhe said. \"He's early this morning--mostly he varies a bit--but I don't\nmake no doubt as he'll be in to luncheon.\" When he had said this the man\ndid not go away, but stood with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy,\nsorry for the new-comer, and wondering what it all meant. If Mary\nherself could but have made out what it all meant! She turned away, with\nthe blood, as she thought, all going back upon her heart, and the\ncurrents of life flowing backward to their source. Had he fled from her?\nWhat did it mean?\n\nIn this state of suspense Mrs. Ochterlony passed the morning. She had a\nmaid sent to her, and was shown, though with a little wonder and\nhesitation, into a sleeping room, where she mechanically took off her\ntravelling wraps and assumed her indoor appearance so far as that was\npossible. It was a great, still, empty, resounding house; the rooms were\nlarge, coldly furnished, still looking new for want of use, and vacant\nof any kind of occupation or interest. Mary came downstairs again, and\nplaced herself at one of the great windows in the drawing-room. She\nwould not go out, even to seek Will, lest she might miss him by the way.\nShe went and sat down by the window, and gazed out upon the strip of\nsuburban road which was visible through the shrubberies, feeling her\nheart beat when any figure, however unlike her boy, appeared upon it. It\nmight be he, undiscernible in the distance, or it might be some one from\nhim, some messenger or ambassador. It was what might be called a\nhandsome room, but it was vacant, destitute of everything which could\ngive it interest, with some trifling picture-books on the table and\nmeaningless knick-nacks. When Mrs. Ochterlony was sick of sitting\nwatching at the window she would get up and walk round it, and look at\nthe well-bound volumes on the table, and feel herself grow wild in the\nexcess of her energy and vehemence, by contrast with the deadly calm of\nher surroundings. What was it to this house, or its master, or the other\nhuman creatures in it, that she was beating her wings thus, in the\nsilence, against the cage? Thus she sat, or walked about, the whole long\nmorning, counting the minutes on the time-piece or on her watch, and\nfeeling every minute an hour. Where had he gone? had he fled to escape?\nor was his absence natural and accidental? These questions went through\nher head, one upon another, with increasing commotion and passion, until\nshe found herself unable to rest, and felt her veins tingling, and her\npulses throbbing in a wild harmony. It seemed years since she had\narrived when one o'clock struck, and a few minutes later the sound of a\ngong thrilled through the silence. This was for luncheon. It was not a\nbell, which might be heard outside and quickened the steps of any one\nwho might be coming. Mary stood still and watched at her window, but\nnobody came. And then the butler, whose curiosity was more and more\nroused, came upstairs with steady step, and shoes that creaked in a\ndeprecating, apologetic way, to ask if she would go down to luncheon,\nand to regret respectfully that the young gentleman had not yet come in.\n\"No doubt, ma'am, if he had known you were coming, he'd have been here,\"\nthe man said, not without an inquiring look at her, which Mrs.\nOchterlony was vaguely conscious of. She went downstairs with a kind of\nmechanical obedience, feeling it an ease to go into another room, and\nfind another window at which she could look out. She could see another\nbit of road further off, and it served to fill her for the moment with\nrenewed hope. There, at least, she must surely see him coming. But the\nmoments still kept going on, gliding off the steady hand of the\ntime-piece like so many months or years. And still Will did not come.\n\nIt was all the more dreadful to her, because she had been totally\nunprepared for any such trial. It had never occurred to her that her\nboy, though he had run away, would avoid her now. By this time even the\nidea that he could be avoiding her went out of her mind, and she began\nto think some accident had happened to him. He was young and careless, a\ncountry boy--and there was no telling what terrible thing might have\nhappened on those thronged streets, which had felt like Pandemonium to\nMary's unused faculties. And she did not know where to go to look for\nhim, or what to do. In her terror she began to question the man, who\nkept coming and going into the room, sometimes venturing to invite her\nattention to the dishes, which were growing cold, sometimes merely\nlooking at her, as he went and came. She asked about her boy, what he\nhad been doing since he came--if he were not in the habit of going to\nhis uncle's office--if he had made any acquaintances--if there was\nanything that could account for his absence? \"Perhaps he went out\nsight-seeing,\" said Mary; \"perhaps he is with his uncle at the office.\nHe was always very fond of shipping.\" But she got very doubtful and\nhesitating replies--replies which were so uncertain that fear blazed up\nwithin her; and the slippery docks and dangerous water, the great carts\nin the streets and the string of carriages, came up before her eyes\nagain.\n\nThus the time passed till it was evening. Mary could not, or rather\nwould not, believe her own senses, and yet it was true. Shadows stole\ninto the corners, and a star, which it made her heart sick to see,\npeeped out in the green-blue sky--and she went from one room to another,\nwatching the two bits of road. First the one opening, which was fainter\nand farther off than the other, which was overshadowed by the trees, yet\nvisible and near. Every time she changed the point of watching, she felt\nsure that he must be coming. But yet the stars peeped out, and the lamps\nwere lighted on the road, and her boy did not appear. She was a woman\nused to self-restraint, and but for her flitting up and downstairs, and\nthe persistent way she kept by the window, the servants might not have\nnoticed anything remarkable about her; but they had all possession of\none fact which quickened their curiosity--and the respectable butler\nprowled about watching her, in a way which would have irritated Mrs.\nOchterlony, had she been at sufficient leisure in her mind to remark\nhim. When the time came that the lamp must be lighted and the windows\nclosed, it went to her heart like a blow. She had to reason to herself\nthat her watch could make no difference--could not bring him a moment\nsooner or later--and yet to be shut out from that one point of interest\nwas hard. They told her Mr. Penrose was expected immediately, and that\nno doubt the young gentleman would be with him. To see Will only in his\nuncle's presence was not what Mary had been thinking of--but yet it was\nbetter than this suspense; and now that her eyes could serve her no\nlonger, she sat listening, feeling every sound echo in her brain, and\nherself surrounded, as it were, by a rustle of passing feet and a roll\nof carriages that came and passed and brought nothing to her. And the\nhouse was so still and vacant, and resounded with every movement--even\nwith her own foot, as she changed her seat, though her foot had always\nbeen so light. That day's watching had made a change upon her, which a\nyear under other circumstances would not have made. Her brow was\ncontracted with lines unknown to its broad serenity; her eyes looked out\neagerly from the lids which had grown curved and triangular with\nanxiety; her mouth was drawn together and colourless. The long,\nspeechless, vacant day, with no occupation in it but that of watching\nand listening, with its sense of time lost and opportunity deferred,\nwith its dreadful suggestion of other things and thoughts which might\nbe making progress and nourishing harm, while she sat here impeded and\nhelpless, and unable to prevent it, was perhaps the severest ordeal Mary\ncould have passed through. It was the same day on which Winnie went to\nCarlisle--it was the same evening on which Hugh received Nelly's letter,\nwhich found his mother motionless in Mr. Penrose's drawing-room,\nwaiting. This was the hardest of all, and yet not so hard as it might\nhave been. For she did not know, what all the servants in the house\nknew, that Will had seen her arrive--that he had rushed out of the\nhouse, begging the man to deceive her--that he had kept away all day,\nnot of necessity, but because he did not dare to face her. Mary knew\nnothing of this; but it was hard enough to contend with the thousand\nspectres that surrounded her, the fears of accident, the miserable\nsuspense, the dreary doubt and darkness that seemed to hang over\neverything, as she waited ever vainly in the silence for her boy's\nreturn.\n\nWhen some one arrived at the door, her heart leaped so into her throat\nthat she felt herself suffocated; she had to put her hands to her side\nand clasp them there to support herself as footsteps came up the stair.\nShe grew sick, and a mist came over her eyes; and then all at once she\nsaw clearly, and fell back, fainting in the body, horribly conscious and\nalive in the mind, when she saw it was Mr. Penrose who came in alone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIV.\n\n\nWill had seen his mother arrive. He was coming downstairs at the moment,\nand he heard her voice, and could hear her say, \"Tell him it is his\nmother,\" and fright had seized him. If only three days could have been\nabrogated, and he could have gone to her in his old careless way, to\ndemand an account of why she had come!--but there stood up before him a\nghost of what he had been doing--a ghost of uncomprehended harm and\nmischief, which now for the first time showed to him, not in its real\nlight, but still with an importance it had never taken before. If it had\nbeen hard to tell her of the discovery he had made before he left the\nCottage, it was twenty times harder now, when he had discussed it with\nother people, and taken practical steps about it. He went out hurriedly,\nand with a sense of stealth and panic. And the panic and the stealth\nwere signs to him of something wrong. He had not seen it, and did not\nsee it yet, as regarded the original question. He knew in his heart that\nthere was no favouritism in Mrs. Ochterlony's mind, and that he was just\nthe same to her as Hugh--and what could it matter which of her sons had\nEarlston?--But still, nature was stronger in him than reason, and he was\nashamed and afraid to meet her, though he did not know why. He hurried\nout, and said to himself that she was \"angry,\" and that he could not\nstay in all day long to be scolded. He would go back to luncheon, and\nthat would be time enough. And then he began to imagine what she would\nsay to him. But that was not so easy. What could she say? After all, he\nhad done no harm. He had but intimated to Hugh, in the quietest way,\nthat he had no right to the position he was occupying. He had made no\ndisturbance about it, nor upbraided his brother for what was not his\nbrother's fault. And so far from blaming his mother, it had not occurred\nto him to consider her in the matter, except in the most secondary way.\nWhat could it matter to her? If Will had it, or if Hugh had it, it was\nstill in the family. And the simple transfer was nothing to make any\nfuss about. This was how he reasoned; but Nature held a different\nopinion upon the subject. She had not a word to say, nor any distinct\nsuggestion even, of guiltiness or wrong-doing to present to his mind.\nShe only carried him away out of the house, made him shrink aside till\nMary had passed, and made him walk at the top of his speed out of the\nvery district in which Mr. Penrose's house was situated. Because his\nmother would be \"angry\"--because she might find fault with him for going\naway or insist upon his return, or infringe his liberty. Was that why he\nfled from her?--But Will could not tell--he fled because he was driven\nby an internal consciousness which could not find expression so much as\nin thought. He went away and wandered about the streets, thinking that\nnow he was almost a man, and ought to be left to direct his own actions;\nthat to come after him like this was an injury to him which he had a\nright to resent. It was treating him as Hugh and Islay had never been\ntreated. When he laid himself out for these ideas they came to him one\nby one, and at last he succeeded in feeling himself a little ill-used;\nbut in his heart he knew that he did not mean that, and that Mrs.\nOchterlony did not mean it, and that there was something else which\nstood between them, though he could not tell what it was.\n\nAll this time he contemplated going in facing his mother, and being\nsurprised to see her, and putting up with her anger as he best could.\nBut when midday came, he felt less willing than ever. His reluctance\ngrew upon him. If it had all come simply, if he had rushed into her\npresence unawares, then he could have borne it; but to go back on\npurpose, to be ushered in to her solemnly, and to meet her when her\nwrath had accumulated and she had prepared what to say--this was an\nordeal which Will felt he could not bear. She had grown terrible to him,\nappalling, like the angel with the flaming sword. His conscience arrayed\nher in such effulgence of wrath and scorn, that his very soul shrank.\nShe would be angry beyond measure. It was impossible to fancy what she\nmight say or do; and he could not go in and face her in cold blood.\nTherefore, instead of going home, Will went down hastily to his uncle's\noffice, and explained to him the position of affairs. \"You go and speak\nto her,\" said Will, with a feeling that it was his accomplice he was\naddressing, and yet a pang to think that he had himself gone over to the\nenemy, and was not on his natural side; \"I am not up to seeing her\nto-night.\"\n\n\"Poor Mary,\" said Uncle Penrose, \"I should not be surprised to find her\nin a sad way; but you ought to mind your own business, and it is not I\nwho am to be blamed, but you.\"\n\n\"She will not blame you,\" said Will; \"she will be civil to you. She will\nnot look at you as she would look at me. When she is vexed she gives a\nfellow such a look. And I'm tired, and I can't face her to-day.\"\n\n\"It is mail-day, and I shall be late, and she will have a nice time of\nit all by herself,\" said Mr. Penrose; but he consented at the end. And\nas for Will, he wandered down to the quays, and got into a steam-boat,\nand went off in the midst of a holiday party up the busy river. He used\nto remember the airs that were played on the occasion by the blind\nfiddler in the boat, and could never listen to them afterwards without\nthe strangest sensations. He felt somehow as if he were in hiding, and\nthe people were pointing him out to each other, and had a sort of vague\nwonder in his mind as to what they could think he had done--robbed or\nkilled, or something--when the fact was he was only killing the time,\nand keeping out of the way because his mother was angry, and he did not\nfeel able to face her and return home. And very forlorn the poor boy\nwas; he had not eaten anything, and he did not know what to get for\nhimself to eat, and the host of holiday people filled up all the vacant\nspaces in the inn they were all bound for, where there were pretty\ngardens looking on the river. Will was young and alone, and not much in\nthe way of thrusting himself forward, and it was hard to get any one to\nattend to him, or a seat to sit upon, or anything to eat; and his\nforlorn sense of discomfort and solitude pressed as hard upon him as\nremorse could have done. And he knew that he must manage to make the\ntime pass on somehow, and that he could not return until he could feel\nhimself justified in hoping that his mother, tired with her journey, had\ngone to rest. Not till he felt confident of getting in unobserved, could\nhe venture to go home.\n\nThis was how it happened that Mr. Penrose went in alone, and that all\nthe mists suddenly cleared up for Mary, and she saw that she had harder\nwork before her than anything that had yet entered into her mind. He\ndrew a chair beside her, and shook hands, and said he was very glad to\nsee her, and then a pause ensued so serious and significant, that Mary\nfelt herself judged and condemned; and felt, in spite of herself, that\nthe hot blood was rushing to her face. It seemed to her as she sat\nthere, as if all the solid ground had suddenly been cut away from under\nher, that her plea was utterly ignored and the whole affair decided\nupon; and only to see Uncle Penrose's meekly averted face made her head\nswim and her heart beat with a kind of half-delirious rage and\nresentment. He believed it then--knew all about it, and believed it, and\nrecognised that it was a fallen woman by whose side he sat. All this\nMrs. Ochterlony perceived in an instant by the downcast, conscious\nglance of Mr. Penrose's eye.\n\n\"Will has been out all day, has he?\" he said. \"Gone sight-seeing, I\nsuppose. He ought to be in to dinner. I hope you had a comfortable\nluncheon, and have been taken care of. It is mail-day, that is why I am\nso late.\"\n\n\"But I am anxious, very anxious, about Will,\" said Mary. \"I thought you\nwould know where he was. He is only a country boy, and something may\nhappen to him in these dreadful streets.\"\n\n\"Oh no, nothing has happened to him,\" said Uncle Penrose, \"you shall see\nhim later. I am very glad you have come, for I wanted to have a little\ntalk with you. You will always be quite welcome here, whatever may\nhappen. If the girls had been at home, indeed, it might have been\ndifferent--but whenever you like to come you know---- I am very glad\nthat we can talk it all over. It is so much the most satisfactory way.\"\n\n\"Talk what over?\" said Mary. \"Thank you, uncle, but it was Will I was\nanxious to see.\"\n\n\"Yes, to be sure--naturally,\" said Mr. Penrose; \"but don't let us go\ninto anything exciting before dinner. The gong will sound in ten\nminutes, and I must put myself in order. We can talk in the evening, and\nthat will be much the best.\"\n\nWith this he went and left her, to make the very small amount of\ntoilette he considered necessary. And then came the dinner, during which\nMr. Penrose was very particular, as he said, to omit all allusion to\ndisagreeable subjects. Mary had to take her place at table, and to look\nacross at the vacant chair that had been placed for Will, and to feel\nthe whole weight of her uncle's changed opinion, without any opportunity\nof rising up against it. She could not say a word in self-defence, for\nshe was in no way assailed; but she never raised her eyes to him, nor\nlistened to half-a-dozen words, without feeling that Mr. Penrose had in\nhis own consciousness found her out. He was not going to shut his doors\nagainst her, or to recommend any cruel step. But her character was\nchanged in his eyes. A sense that he was no longer particular as to what\nhe said or did before her, no longer influenced by her presence, or\nelevated ever so little by her companionship as he had always been of\nold, came with terrible effect upon Mary's mind. He was careless of what\nhe said, and of her feelings, and of his own manners. She was a woman\nwho had compromised herself, who had no longer much claim to respect, in\nUncle Penrose's opinion. This feeling, which was, as it were, in the\nair, affected Mary in the strangest way. It made her feel nearly mad in\nher extreme suppression and quietness. She could not stand on her own\ndefence, for she was not assailed. And Will who should have stood by\nher, had gone over to the enemy's side, and deserted her, and kept away.\nWhere was he? where could he have gone? Her boy--her baby--the last one,\nwho had always been the most tenderly tended; and he was\navoiding--_avoiding_ his mother. Mary realized all this as she sat at\nthe table; and at the same time she had to respect the presence of the\nbutler and Mr. Penrose's servants, and make no sign. When she did not\neat Mr. Penrose took particular notice of it, and hoped that she was not\nallowing herself to be upset; and he talked, in an elaborate way, of\nsubjects that could interest nobody, keeping with too evident caution\nfrom the one subject which was in his mind all the while.\n\nThis lasted until the servants had gone away, and Mr. Penrose had poured\nout his first glass of port, for he was an old-fashioned man. He sat and\nsipped his wine with the quietness of preparation, and Mary, too,\nbuckled on her armour, and made a rapid inspection of all its joints and\nfastenings. She was sitting at the table which had been so luxuriously\nserved, and where the purple fruit and wine were making a picture still;\nbut she was as truly at the bar as ever culprit was. There was an\ninterval of silence, which was very dreadful to her, and then, being\nunable to bear it any longer, it was Mary herself who spoke.\n\n\"I perceive that something has been passing here in which we are all\ninterested,\" she said. \"My poor boy has told you something he had\nheard--and I don't know, except in the most general way, what he has\nheard. Can you tell, uncle? It is necessary I should know.\"\n\n\"My dear Mary, these are very unpleasant affairs to talk about,\" said\nMr. Penrose. \"You should have had a female friend to support\nyou--though, indeed, I don't know how you may feel about that. Will has\ntold me _all_. There was nobody he could ask advice from under the\ncircumstances, and I think it was very sensible of him to come to me.\"\n\n\"I want to know what he wanted advice for,\" said Mary, \"and what it is\nyou call _all_; and why Will has avoided me? I cannot think it is chance\nthat has kept him out so long. Whatever he has heard, he must have known\nthat it would be best to talk it over with me.\"\n\n\"He thought you would be angry,\" said Mr. Penrose, between the sips of\nhis wine.\n\n\"Angry!\" said Mary, and then her heart melted at the childish fear. \"Oh,\nuncle, you should have advised him better,\" she said, \"he is only a boy;\nand you know that whatever happened, he had better have consulted his\nown mother first. How should I be angry? This is not like a childish\nfreak, that one could be angry about.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mr. Penrose; \"it is not like a childish freak; but still I\nthink it was the wisest thing he could do to come to me. It is\nimpossible you could be his best counsellor where you are yourself so\nmuch concerned, and where such important interests are at stake.\"\n\n\"Let me know at once what you mean,\" said Mary faintly. \"What important\ninterests are at stake?\"\n\nShe made a rapid calculation in her mind at the moment, and her heart\ngrew sicker and sicker. Will had been, when she came to think of it,\nmore than a week away from home, and many things might have happened in\nthat time--things which she could not realize nor put in any shape, but\nwhich made her spirit faint out of her and all her strength ooze away.\n\n\"My dear Mary,\" said Mr. Penrose, mildly, \"why should you keep any\npretence with me? Will has told me _all_. You cannot expect that a young\nman like him, at the beginning of his life, would relinquish his rights\nand give up such a fine succession merely out of consideration to your\nfeelings. I am very sorry for you, and he is very sorry. Nothing shall\nbe done on our part to compromise you beyond what is absolutely\nnecessary; but your unfortunate circumstances are not his fault, and it\nis only reasonable that he should claim his rights.\"\n\n\"What are his rights?\" said Mary; \"what do you suppose my unfortunate\ncircumstances to be? Speak plainly--or, stop; I will tell you what he\nhas heard. He has heard that my husband and I were married in India\nbefore he was born. That is quite true; and I suppose he and you\nthink----\" said Mary, coming to a sudden gasp for breath, and making a\npause against her will. \"Then I will tell you the facts,\" she said, with\na labouring, long-drawn breath, when she was able to resume. \"We were\nmarried in Scotland, as you and everybody know; it was not a thing done\nin secret. Everybody about Kirtell--everybody in the county knew of it.\nWe went to Earlston afterwards, where Hugh's mother was, and to Aunt\nAgatha. There was no shame or concealment anywhere, and you know that.\nWe went out to India after, but not till we had gone to see all our\nfriends; and everybody knew----\"\n\n\"My wife even asked you here,\" said Mr. Penrose, reflectively. \"It is\nvery extraordinary; I mentioned all that to Will: but, my dear Mary,\nwhat is the use of going over it in this way, when there is this fact,\nwhich you don't deny, which proves that Hugh Ochterlony thought it\nnecessary to do you justice at the last?\"\n\nMary was too much excited to feel either anger or shame. The colour\nscarcely deepened on her cheek. \"I will tell you about that,\" she said.\n\"I resisted it as long as it was possible to resist. The man at Gretna\ndied, and his house and all his records were burnt, and the people were\nall dead who had been present, and I had lost the lines. I did not think\nthem of any consequence. And then my poor Hugh was seized with a\npanic--you remember him, uncle,\" said Mary, in her excitement, with the\ntears coming to her eyes. \"My poor Hugh! how much he felt everything,\nhow hard it was for him to be calm and reasonable when he thought our\ninterests concerned. I have thought since, he had some presentiment of\nwhat was going to happen. He begged me for his sake to consent that he\nmight be sure there would be no difficulty about the pension or\nanything. It was like dragging my heart out of my breast,\" said Mary,\nwith the tears dropping on her hands, \"but I yielded to please _him_.\"\n\nAnd then there was a pause, inevitable on her part, for her heart was\nfull, and she had lost the faculty of speech. As for Mr. Penrose, he\ngave quiet attention to all she was saying, and made mental notes of it\nwhile he filled himself another glass of wine. He was not an impartial\nlistener, for he had taken his side, and had the conducting of the other\ncase in his hands. When Mary came to herself, and could see and hear\nagain--when her heart was not beating so wildly in her ears, and her wet\neyes had shed their moisture, she gave a look at him with a kind of\nwonder, marvelling that he said nothing. The idea of not being believed\nwhen she spoke was one which had never entered into her mind.\n\n\"You expect me to say something,\" said Mr. Penrose, when he caught her\neye. \"But I don't see what I can say. All that you have told me just\namounts to this, that your first marriage rests upon your simple\nassertion; you have no documentary or any other kind of evidence. My\ndear Mary, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but if you consider how\nstrong is your interest in it, what a powerful motive you have to keep\nup that story, and that you confess it rests on your word alone, you\nwill see that, as Wilfrid's adviser, I am not justified in departing\nfrom the course we have taken. It is too important to be decided by mere\nfeeling. I am very sorry for you, but I have Wilfrid's interests to\nthink of,\" said Mr. Penrose, slowly swallowing his glass of wine.\n\nMary looked at him aghast; she did not understand him. It seemed to her\nas if some delusion had taken possession of her mind, and that the words\nconveyed a meaning which no human words could bear. \"I do not understand\nyou,\" she said; \"I suppose there is some mistake. What course is it you\nhave taken? I want to know what you mean.\"\n\n\"It is not a matter to be discussed with you,\" said Mr. Penrose.\n\"Whatever happens I would not be forgetful of a lady's feelings. From\nthe first I have said that it must be a matter of private arrangement;\nand I have no doubt Hugh will see it in the same light. I have written\nto him, but I have not yet received a satisfactory answer. Under all the\ncircumstances I feel we are justified in asserting Wilfrid to be Major\nOchterlony's only lawful son----\"\n\nAn involuntary cry came out of Mary's breast. She pushed her chair away\nfrom the table, and sat bending forward, looking at him. The pang was\npartly physical, as if some one had thrust a spear into her heart; and\nbeyond that convulsive motion she could neither move nor speak.\n\n\"--and of course he must be served heir to his uncle,\" said Mr. Penrose.\n\"Where things so important are concerned, you cannot expect that feeling\ncan be allowed to bear undue sway. It is in this light that Wilfrid sees\nit. He is ready to do anything for you, anything for his brother; but\nhe cannot be expected to sacrifice his legal rights. I hope Hugh will\nsee how reasonable this is, and I think for your own sake you should use\nyour influence with him. If he makes a stand, you know it will ruin your\ncharacter, and make everybody aware of the unhappy position of affairs;\nand it cannot do any good to him.\"\n\nMary heard all this and a great deal more, and sat stupified with a dull\nlook of wonder on her face, making no reply. She thought she had formed\nsome conception of what was coming to her, but in reality she had no\nconception of it; and she sat listening, coming to an understanding,\ntaking it painfully into her mind, learning to see that it had passed\nout of the region of what might be--that the one great, fanciful,\npossible danger of her life had developed into a real danger, more\ndreadful, more appalling than anything she had ever conceived of. She\nsat thus, with her chair thrust back, looking in Mr. Penrose's face,\nfollowing with her eyes all his unconcerned movements, feeling his words\nbeat upon her ears like a stinging rain. And this was all true; love,\nhonour, pride, or faith had nothing to do with it. Whether she was a\nwretched woman, devising a lie to cover her shame, or a pure wife\ntelling her tale with lofty truth and indignation, mattered nothing. It\nwas in this merciless man's hand, and nothing but merciless evidence and\nproof would be of any use. She sat and listened to him, hearing the same\nwords over and over; that her feelings were to be considered; that\nnothing was to be done to expose her; that Will had consented to that,\nand was anxious for that; that it must be matter of private arrangement,\nand that her character must be spared. It was this iteration that roused\nMary, and brought her back, as it were, out of her stupefaction into\nlife.\n\n\"I do not understand all you are saying,\" she said, at last; \"it sounds\nlike a horrible dream; I feel as if you could not mean it: but one\nthing--do you mean that Hugh is to be made to give up his rights, by way\nof sparing me?\"\n\n\"By way of sparing a public trial and exposure--which is what it must\ncome to otherwise,\" said Mr. Penrose. \"I don't know, poor boy, how you\ncan talk about his rights.\"\n\n\"Then listen to me,\" said Mary, rising up, and holding by her chair to\nsupport herself; \"I may be weak, but I am not like that. My boy shall\nnot give up his rights. I know what I am saying; if there should be\ntwenty trials, I am ready to bear them. It shall be proved whether in\nEngland a true woman cannot tell her true story, and be believed.\nNeither lie nor shame has ever attached to me. If I have to see my own\nchild brought against me--God forgive you!--I will try to bear it. My\npoor Will! my poor Will!--but Hugh's boy shall not be sacrificed. What!\nmy husband, my son, my own honour--a woman's honour involves all\nbelonging to her---- Do you think _I_, for the sake of pain or exposure,\nwould give them all up? It must be that you have gone out of your\nsenses, and don't know what to say. _I_, to save myself at my son's\nexpense!\"\n\n\"But Wilfrid is your son too,\" said Mr. Penrose, shrinking somewhat into\nhimself.\n\n\"Oh, my poor Will! my poor Will!\" said Mary, moaning in her heart; and\nafter that she went away, and left the supporter of Will's cause\nstartled, but not moved from his intention, by himself. As for Mrs.\nOchterlony, she went up into her room, and sank down into the first\nchair that offered, and clasped her hands over her heart lest it should\nbreak forth from the aching flesh. She thought no more of seeing Will,\nor of telling him her story, or delivering him from his delusion. What\nshe thought of was, to take him into her arms in an infinite pity, when\nthe poor boy, who did not know what he was doing, should come to\nhimself. And Hugh--Hugh her husband, who was thought capable of such\nwrong and baseness--Hugh her boy, whose name and fame were to be taken\nfrom him,--and they thought she would yield to it, to save herself a\npang! When she came to remember that the night was passing, and to feel\nthe chill that had crept over her, and to recall to herself that she\nmust not exhaust her strength, Mary paused in her thoughts, and fell\nupon her knees instead. Even that was not enough; she fell prostrate, as\none who would have fallen upon the Deliverer's feet; but she could say\nno prayer. Her heart itself seemed at last to break forth, and soar up\nout of her, in a speechless supplication--\"Let this cup pass!\" Did He\nnot say it once Who had a heavier burden to bear?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLV.\n\n\nSo very late it was when Will came in, that he crept up to his room with\na silent stealth which felt more like ill-doing to him than any other\nsin he had been guilty of. He crept to his room, though he would have\nbeen glad to have lingered, and warmed himself and been revived with\nfood. But, at the end of this long, wretched day, he was more than ever\nunfit to face his mother, who he felt sure must be watching for him,\nwatchful and unwearied as she always had been. It did not occur to him\nthat Mrs. Ochterlony, insensible for the moment to all sounds, was lying\nenveloped in darkness, with her eyes open, and all her faculties at\nwork, and nothing but pain, pain, ever, for ever, in her mind. That she\ncould be wound up to a pitch of emotion so great that she would not have\nheard whatever noise he might have made, that she would not have heeded\nhim, that he was safe to go and come as he liked, so far as Mary was\nconcerned, was an idea that never entered Will's mind. He stole in, and\nwent softly up the stairs, and swallowed the glass of wine the butler\ncompassionately brought him, without even saying a word of thanks. He\nwas chilled to his bones, and his head ached, and a sense of confused\nmisery was in all his frame. He crept into his bed like a savage, in the\ndark, seeking warmth, seeking forgetfulness, and hiding; so long as he\ncould be hid, it did not matter. His mother could not come in with the\nlight in her hand to stand by his bedside, and drive all ghosts and\nterrors away, for he had locked the door in his panic. No deliverance\ncould come to him, as it seemed, any way. If she was \"angry\" before,\nwhat must she be now when he had fled and avoided her? and poor Will lay\nbreathing hard in the dark, wondering within himself why it was he dared\nnot face his mother. What had he done? Instead of having spent the day\nin his usual fashion, why was he weary, and footsore, and exhausted, and\nsick in body and in mind? He had meant her no harm, he had done no wrong\nhe knew of. It was only a confused, unintelligible weight on his\nconscience, or rather on his consciousness, that bowed him down, and\nmade him do things which he did not understand. He went to sleep at\nlast, for he was young and weary, and nothing could have kept him from\nsleeping; but he had a bad night. He dreamed dreadful dreams, and in the\nmidst of them all saw Mary, always Mary, threatening him, turning away\nfrom him, leaving him to fall over precipices and into perils. He\nstarted up a dozen times in the course of that troubled night, waking to\na confused sense of solitude, and pain, and abandonment, which in the\ndark and the silence were very terrible to bear. He was still only a\nboy, and he had done wrong, dreadful wrong, and he did not know what it\nwas.\n\nIn the morning when Will woke things were not much better. He was\nutterly unrefreshed by his night's rest--if the partial unconsciousness\nof his sleep could be called rest; and the thought he woke to was, that\nhowever she might receive him, to-day he must see his mother. She might\nbe, probably was, \"angry,\" beyond anything he could conceive; but\nhowever that might be, he must see her and meet her wrath. It was not\nuntil he had fully realized that thought, that a letter was brought to\nWill, which increased his excitement. It was a very unusual thing for\nhim to get letters, and he was startled accordingly. He turned it over\nand over before he opened it, and thought it must be from Hugh. Hugh,\ntoo, must have adopted the plan of pouring out his wrath against his\nbrother for want of any better defence to make. But then he perceived\nthat the writing was not Hugh's. When he opened it Will grew pale, and\nthen he grew red. It was a letter which Nelly Askell had written before\nshe wrote the one to Hugh, which had roused him out of his despondency.\nSomething had inspired the little girl that day. She had written this\ntoo, like the other, without very much minding what she meant. This is\nwhat Will read upon the morning of the day which he already felt to be\nin every description a day of fate:--\n\n\"WILL!--I don't think I can ever call you dear Will again, or think of\nyou as I used to do--oh, Will, what are you doing? If I had been you I\nwould have been tied to the stake, torn with wild horses, done anything\nthat used to be done to people, rather than turn against my mother. _I_\nwould have done that for _my_ mother, and if I had had yours! Oh, Will,\nsay you don't mean it? I think sometimes you can't mean it, but have got\ndeluded somehow, for you know you have a bad temper. How could you ever\nbelieve it; She is not my mother, but I know she never did any wrong.\nShe may have sinned perhaps, as people say everybody sins, but she never\ncould have done any _wrong_; look in her face, and just try whether you\ncan believe it. It is one comfort to me that if you mean to be so wicked\n(which I cannot believe of you), and were to win (which is not\npossible), you would never more have a day's happiness again. I _hope_\nyou would never have a day's happiness. You would break her heart, for\nshe is a woman, and though you would not break _his_ heart, you would\nput his life all wrong, and it would haunt you, and you would pray to be\npoor, or a beggar, or anything rather than in a place that does not\nbelong to you. You may think I don't know, but I do know. I am a woman,\nand understand things better than a boy like you. Oh, Will! we used to\nbe put in the same cradle, and dear Mrs. Ochterlony used to nurse us\nboth when we were babies. Sometimes I think I should have been your\nsister. If you will come back and put away all this which is so dreadful\nto think of, I will never more bring it up against you. I for one will\nforget it, as if it had never been. Nobody shall put it into your mind\nagain. We will forgive you, and love you the same as ever; and when you\nare a man, and understand and see what it is you have been saved from,\nyou will go down on your knees and thank God.\n\n\"If I had been old enough to travel by myself, or to be allowed to do\nwhat I like, I should have gone to Liverpool too, to have given you no\nexcuse. It is not so easy to write; but oh, Will, you know what I mean.\nCome back, and let us forget that you were ever so foolish and so\nwicked. I could cry when I think of you all by yourself, and nobody to\ntell you what is right. Come back, and nobody shall ever bring it up\nagainst you. Dear Will! don't you love us all too well to make us\nunhappy?--Still your affectionate NELLY.\"\n\nThis letter startled the poor boy, and affected him in a strange way. It\nbrought the tears to his eyes. It touched him somehow, not by its\nreproaches, but by the thought that Nelly cared. She had gone over to\nHugh's side like all the rest--and yet she cared and took upon her that\nright of reproach and accusation which is more tender than praise. And\nit made Will's heart ache in a dull way to see that they all thought him\nwicked. What had he done that was wicked? He ached, poor boy, not only\nin his heart but in his head, and all over him. He did not get up even\nto read his letter, but lay in a kind of sad stupor all the morning,\nwondering if his mother was still in the house--wondering if she would\ncome to him--wondering if she was so angry that she no longer desired to\nsee him. The house was more quiet than usual, he thought--there was no\nstir in it of voices or footsteps. Perhaps Mrs. Ochterlony had gone away\nagain--perhaps he was to be left here, having got Uncle Penrose on his\nside, to his sole company--excommunicated and cast off by his own.\nWilfrid lay pondering all these thoughts till he could bear it no\nlonger; instead of his pain and shrinking a kind of dogged resistance\ncame into his mind; at least he would go and face it, and see what was\nto happen to him. He would go downstairs and find out, to begin with,\nwhat this silence meant.\n\nPerhaps it was just because it was so much later than usual that he felt\nas if he had been ill when he got up--felt his limbs trembling under\nhim, and shivered, and grew hot and cold--or perhaps it was the fatigue\nand mental commotion of yesterday. By this time he felt sure that his\nmother must be gone. Had she been in the house she would have come to\nsee him. She would have seized the opportunity when he could not escape\nfrom her. No doubt she was gone, after waiting all yesterday for\nhim,--gone either hating him or scorning him, casting him off from her;\nand he felt that he had not deserved that. Perhaps he might have\ndeserved that Hugh should turn his enemy--notwithstanding that, even for\nHugh he felt himself ready to do anything--but to his mother he had done\nno harm. He had meditated nothing but good to her. _He_ would not have\nthought of marrying, or giving to any one but her the supreme place in\nhis house. He would never have asked her or made any doubt about it, but\ntaken her at once to Earlston, and showed her everything there arranged\naccording to her liking. This was what Will had always intended and\nsettled upon. And his mother, for whom he would have done all this, had\ngone away again, offended and angry, abandoning him to his own devices.\nBitterness took possession of his soul as he thought of it. He meant it\nonly for their good--for justice and right, and to have his own; and\nthis was the cruel way in which they received it, as if he had done it\nout of unkind feelings--even Nelly! A sense that he was wronged came\ninto Wilfrid's mind as he dressed himself, and looked at his pale face\nin the glass, and smoothed his long brown hair. And yet he stepped out\nof his room with the feelings of one who ventures upon an undiscovered\ncountry, a new region, in which he does not know whether he is to meet\nwith good or evil. He had to support himself by the rail as he went\ndownstairs. He hesitated and trembled at the drawing-room door, which\nwas a room Mr. Penrose never occupied. Breakfast must be over long ago.\nIf there was any lady in the house, no doubt she would be found there.\n\nHe put his hand on the door, but it was a minute or more before he could\nopen it, and he heard no sound within. No doubt she had gone away. He\nhad walked miles yesterday to avoid her, but yet his heart was sore and\nbled, and he felt deserted and miserable to think that she was gone. But\nwhen Will had opened the door, the sight he saw was more wonderful to\nhim than if she had been gone. Mary was seated at the table writing: she\nwas pale, but there was something in her face which told of unusual\nenergy and resolution, a kind of inspiration which gave character to\nevery movement she made. And she was so much preoccupied, that she\nshowed no special excitement at sight of her boy; she stopped and put\naway her pen, and rose up looking at him with pitiful eyes. \"My poor\nboy!\" she said, and kissed him in her tender way. And then she sat down\nat the table, and went back to her letters again.\n\nIt was not simple consternation which struck Will; it was a mingled pang\nof wonder and humiliation and sharp disappointment. Only her poor\nboy!--only the youngest, the child as he had always been, not the young\nrevolutionary to whom Nelly had written that letter, whom Mrs.\nOchterlony had come anxious and in haste to seek. She was more anxious\nnow about her letters apparently than about him, and there was nothing\nbut tenderness and sorrow in her eyes; and when she did raise her head\nagain, it was to remark his paleness and ask if he was tired. \"Go and\nget some breakfast, Will,\" she said; but he did not care for breakfast.\nHe had not the heart to move--he sat in the depths of boyish\nmortification and looked at her writing her letters. Was that all that\nit mattered? or was she only making a pretence at indifference? But Mary\nwas too much occupied evidently for any pretence. Her whole figure and\nattitude were full of resolution. Notwithstanding the pity of her voice\nas she addressed him, and the longing look in her eyes, there was\nsomething in her which Wilfrid had never seen before, which revealed to\nhim in a kind of dull way that his mother was wound up to some great\nemergency, that she had taken a great resolution, and was occupied by\nmatters of life and death.\n\n\"You are very busy, it seems,\" he said, peevishly, when he had sat for\nsome time watching her, wondering when she would speak to him. To find\nthat she was not angry, that she had something else to think about, was\nnot half so great a relief as it appeared.\n\n\"Yes, I am busy,\" said Mary. \"I am writing to your brother, Will, and to\nsome people who know all about me, and I have no time to lose. Your\nUncle Penrose is a hard man, and I am afraid he will be hard on Hugh.\"\n\n\"No, mother,\" said Will, feeling his heart beat quick; \"he shall not be\nhard upon Hugh. I want to tell you that. I want to have justice; but for\nanything else--Hugh shall have whatever he wishes; and as for you----\"\n\n\"Oh, Will,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony; and somehow it seemed to poor Will's\ndisordered imagination that she and his letter were speaking\ntogether---- \"I had almost forgotten that you had anything to do with\nit. If you had but come first and spoken to me----\"\n\n\"Why should I have come and spoken to you?\" said Will, growing into\ngradual excitement; \"it will not do you any harm. I am your son as well\nas Hugh--if it is his or if it is mine, what does it matter? I knew you\nwould be angry if I stood up for myself; but a man must stand up for\nhimself when he knows what are his rights.\"\n\n\"Will, you must listen to me,\" said Mary, putting away her papers, and\nturning round to him. \"It is Mr. Penrose who has put all this in your\nhead: it could not be my boy that had such thoughts. Oh, Will! my poor\nchild! And now we are in his pitiless hands,\" said Mary, with a kind of\ncry, \"and it matters nothing what you say or what I say. You have put\nyourself in his hands.\"\n\n\"Stop, mother,\" said Will; \"don't make such a disturbance about it.\nUncle Penrose has nothing to do with it. It is my doing. I will do\nanything in the world for you, whatever you like to tell me; but I won't\nlet a fellow be there who has no right to be there. I am the heir, and I\nwill have my rights.\"\n\n\"You are not the heir,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony, frightened for the moment\nby the tone and his vehemence, and his strange looks.\n\n\"I heard it from two people that were both _there_,\" said Will, with a\ngloomy composure. \"It was not without asking about it. I am not blaming\nyou, mother--you might have some reason;--but it was I that was born\nafter that thing that happened in India. What is the use of struggling\nagainst it? And if it is I that am the heir, why should you try to keep\nme out of my rights?\"\n\n\"Will,\" said Mary, suddenly driven back into regions of personal\nemotion, which she thought she had escaped from, and falling by instinct\ninto those wild weaknesses of personal argument to which women resort\nwhen they are thus suddenly stung. \"Will, look me in the face and tell\nme. Can you believe your dear father, who was true as--as heaven itself;\ncan you believe me, who never told you a lie, to have been such wretched\ndeceivers? Can you think we were so wicked? Will, look me in the face!\"\n\n\"Mother,\" said Will, whose mind was too little imaginative to be moved\nby this kind of argument, except to a kind of impatience. \"What does it\nmatter my looking you in the face? what does it matter about my father\nbeing true? You might have some reason for it. I am not blaming you; but\nso long as it was a fact what does _that_ matter? I don't want to injure\nany one--I only want my rights.\"\n\nIt was Mary's turn now to be struck dumb. She had thought he was afraid\nof her, and had fled from her out of shame for what he had done; but he\nlooked in her face as she told him with unhesitating frankness, and even\nthat touch of impatience as of one whose common sense was proof to all\nsuch appeals. For her own part, when she was brought back to it, she\nfelt the effect of the dreadful shock she had received; and she could\nnot discuss this matter reasonably with her boy. Her mind fell off into\na mingled anguish and horror and agonized sense of his sin and pity for\nhim. \"Oh, Will, your rights,\" she cried; \"your rights! Your rights are\nto be forgiven and taken back, and loved and pitied, though you do not\nunderstand what love is. These are all the rights you have. You are\nyoung, and you do not know what you are doing. You have still a right to\nbe forgiven.\"\n\n\"I was not asking to be forgiven,\" said Will, doggedly. \"I have done no\nharm. I never said a word against you. I will give Hugh whatever he\nlikes to get himself comfortably out in the world. I don't want to make\nany fuss or hurry. It can be quietly managed, if he will; but it's me\nthat Earlston ought to come to; and I am not going to be driven out of\nit by talk. I should just like to know what Hugh would do if he was in\nmy place.\"\n\n\"Hugh could never have been in your place,\" cried Mary, in her anguish\nand indignation. \"I ought to have seen this is what it would come to. I\nought to have known when I saw your jealous temper, even when you were a\nbaby. Oh, my little Will! How will you ever bear it when you come to\nyour senses, and know what it is you have been doing? Slandering your\ndear father's name and mine, though all the world knows different--and\ntrying to supplant your brother, your elder brother, who has always been\ngood to you. God forgive them that have brought my boy to this,\" said\nMary, with tears. She kept gazing at him, even with her eyes full. It\ndid not seem possible that he could be insensible to her look, even if\nhe was insensible to her words.\n\nWilfrid, for his part, got up and began to walk about the room. It _was_\nhard, very hard to meet his mother's eyes. \"When she is vexed, she gives\na fellow such a look.\" He remembered those words which he had said to\nUncle Penrose only yesterday with a vague sort of recollection. But when\nhe got up his own bodily sensations somehow gave him enough to do. He\nhalf forgot about his mother in the strange feeling he had in his\nphysical frame, as if his limbs did not belong to him, nor his head\neither for that part, which seemed to be floating about in the air,\nwithout any particular connexion with the rest of him. It must be that\nhe was so very tired, for when he sat down and clutched at the arms of\nhis chair, he seemed to come out of his confusion and see Mrs.\nOchterlony again, and know what she had been talking about. He said,\nwith something that looked like sullenness: \"Nobody brought me to\nthis--I brought myself,\" in answer to what she had said, and fell, as it\nwere, into a moody reverie, leaning upon the arms of his chair. Mary\nsaw it, and thought it was that attitude of obstinate and immovable\nresolve into which she had before seen him fall; and she dried her eyes\nwith a little flash of indignation, and turned again to the\nhalf-finished letter which trembled in her hands, and which she could\nnot force her mind back to. She said to herself in a kind of despair,\nthat the bitter cup must be drunk--that there was nothing for it but to\ndo battle for her son's rights, and lose no time in vain outcries, but\nforgive the unhappy boy when he came to his right mind and returned to\nher again. She turned away, with her heart throbbing and bleeding, and\nmade an effort to recover her composure and finish her letter. It was a\nvery important letter, and required all her thoughts. But if it had been\nhard to do it before, it was twenty times harder now.\n\nJust at that moment there was a commotion at the door, and a sound of\nsome one entering below. It might be only Mr. Penrose coming back, as he\nsometimes did, to luncheon. But every sound tingled through Mrs.\nOchterlony in the excitement of her nerves. Then there came something\nthat made her spring to her feet--a single tone of a voice struck on her\near, which she thought could only be her own fancy. But it was not her\nfancy. Some one came rushing up the stairs, and dashed into the room.\nMary gave a great cry, and ran into his arms, and Will, startled and\nroused up from a sudden oblivion which he did not understand, drew his\nhand across his heavy eyes, and looked up doubting, and saw Hugh--Hugh\nstanding in the middle of the room holding his mother, glowing with\nfresh air, and health, and gladness.--Hugh! How did he come there? Poor\nWill tried to rise from his chair, but with a feeling that he was fixed\nin it for ever, like the lady in the fable. Had he been asleep? and\nwhere was he? Had it been but a bad dream, and was this the Cottage, and\nHugh come home to see them all? These were the questions that rose in\nWill's darkened mind, as he woke up and drew his hand across his heavy\neyes, and sat as if glued in Mr. Penrose's chair.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVI.\n\n\nMrs. Ochterlony was almost as much confused and as uncertain of her own\nfeelings as Will was. Her heart gave a leap towards her son; but yet\nthere was that between them which put pain into even a meeting with\nHugh. When she had seen him last, she had been all that a spotless\nmother is to a youth--his highest standard, his most perfect type of\nwoman. Now, though he would believe no harm of her, yet there had been a\nbreath across her perfection; there was something to explain; and Mary\nin her heart felt a pang of momentary anguish as acute as if the\naccusation had been true. To have to defend herself; to clear up her\ncharacter to her boy! She took him into her arms almost that she might\nnot have to look him in the face, and held to him, feeling giddy and\nfaint. Will was younger, and he himself had gone wrong, but Hugh was old\nenough to understand it all, and had no consciousness on his own side to\nblunt his perceptions; and to have to tell him how it all was, and\nexplain to him that she was not guilty was almost as hard as if she had\nbeen obliged to confess that she was guilty. She could not encounter him\nface to face, nor meet frankly the wonder and dismay which were no doubt\nin his honest eyes. Mary thought that to look into them and see that\nwondering troubled question in them, \"Is it so--have you done me this\nwrong?\" would be worse than being killed once for all by a\nstraightforward blow.\n\nBut there was no such thought in Hugh's mind. He came up to his mother\nopen-hearted, with no hesitation in his looks. He saw Will was there,\nbut he did not even look at him; he took her into his arms, holding her\nfast with perhaps a sense that she clung to him, and held on by him as\nby a support. \"Mother, don't be distressed,\" he said, all at once, \"I\nhave found a way to clear it all up.\" He spoke out loud, with his cheery\nvoice which it was exhilarating to hear, and as if he meant it, and felt\nthe full significance of what he said. He had to put his mother down\nvery gently on the sofa after, and to make her lie back and prop her up\nwith cushions; her high-strung nerves for an instant gave way. It was if\nher natural protector had come back, whose coming would clear away the\nmists. Her own fears melted away from her when she felt the warm clasp\nof Hugh's arms, and the confident tone of his voice, not asking any\nquestions, but giving her assurance, a pledge of sudden safety as it\nwere. It was this that made Mary drop back, faint though not fainting,\nupon the friendly pillows, and made the room and everything swim in her\neyes.\n\n\"What is it, Hugh?\" she said faintly, as soon as she could speak.\n\n\"It is all right, mother,\" said Hugh; \"take my word, and don't bother\nyourself any more about it. I came on at once to see Uncle Penrose, and\nget him out of this mess he has let himself into. I could be angry, but\nit is no good being angry. On the whole, perhaps showing him his folly\nand making a decided end to it, is the best.\"\n\n\"Oh, Hugh, never mind Uncle Penrose. Will, my poor Will! look, your\nbrother is there,\" said Mary, rousing up. As for Hugh, he took no\nnotice; he did not turn round, though his mother put her hand on his\narm; perhaps because his mind was full of other things.\n\n\"We must have it settled at once,\" he said. \"I hope you will not object,\nmother; it can be done very quietly. I found them last night, without\nthe least preparation or even knowing they were in existence. It was\nlike a dream to me. Don't perplex yourself about it, mother dear. It's\nall right--trust to me.\"\n\n\"Whom, did you find?\" said Mary eagerly; \"or was it the lines--my\nlines?\"\n\n\"It was old Sommerville's daughter,\" said Hugh with an unsteady laugh,\n\"who was _there_. I don't believe you know who old Sommerville or his\ndaughter are. Never mind; I know all about it. I am not so simple as you\nwere when you were eighteen and ran away and thought of nobody. And she\nsays I am like my father,\" said Hugh, \"the Captain, they called him--but\nnot such a bonnie lad; and that there was nobody to be seen like him for\nhappiness and brightness on his wedding-day. You see I know it all,\nmother--every word; and I am like him, but not such a bonnie lad.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mary, with a sob. Her resolution had gone from her with her\nmisery. She had suddenly grown weak and happy, and ready to weep like a\nchild, \"No,\" she said, with the tears dropping out of her eyes, \"you are\nnot such a bonnie lad; you are none of you so handsome as your father.\nOh, Hugh, my dear, I don't know what you mean--I don't understand what\nyou say.\"\n\nAnd she did not understand it, but that did not matter--she could not\nhave understood it at that moment, though he had given her the clearest\nexplanation. She knew nothing, but that there must be deliverance\nsomehow, somewhere, in the air, and that her firstborn was standing by\nher with light and comfort in his eyes, and that behind, out of her\nsight, his brother taking no notice of him, was her other boy.\n\n\"Will is there,\" she said, hurriedly. \"You have not spoken to him--tell\nme about this after. Oh, Hugh, Will is there!\"\n\nShe put her hand on his arm and tried to turn him round; but Hugh's\ncountenance darkened, and became as his mother had never seen it before.\nHe took no notice of what she said, he only bent over her, and began to\narrange the cushions, of which Mary now seemed to feel no more need.\n\n\"I do not like to see you here,\" he said; \"you must come out of this\nhouse. I came that it might be all settled out of hand, for it is too\nserious to leave in vain suspense. But after this, mother, neither you\nnor I, with my will, shall cross this threshold more.\"\n\n\"But oh, Hugh! Will!--speak to Will. Do not leave him unnoticed;\" said\nMary, in a passionate whisper, grasping his hand and reaching up to his\near.\n\nHugh's look did not relent. His face darkened while she looked at him.\n\n\"He is a traitor!\" he said, from out his closed lips. And he turned his\nback upon his brother, who sat at the other side of the room, straining\nall his faculties to keep awake, and to keep the room steady, which was\ngoing round and round him, and to know something of what it all meant.\n\n\"He is your brother,\" said Mary; and then she rose, though she was still\nweak. \"I must go to my poor boy, if you will not,\" she said. \"Will!\"\n\nWhen Will heard the sound of her voice, which came strange to him, as if\nit came from another world, he too stumbled up on his feet, though in\nthe effort ceiling and floor and walls got all confused to him and\nfloated about, coming down on his brain as if to crush him.\n\n\"Yes, mamma,\" he said; and came straight forward, dimly guiding himself,\nas it were, towards her. He came against the furniture without knowing\nit, and struck himself sharply against the great round table, which he\nwalked straight to as if he could have passed through it. The blow made\nhim pause and open his heavy eyes, and then he sank into the nearest\nchair, with a weary sigh; and at that crisis of fate--at that moment\nwhen vengeance was overtaking him--when his cruel hopes had come to\nnothing, and his punishment was beginning--dropped asleep before their\neyes. Even Hugh turned to look at the strange spectacle. Will was\nghastly pale. His long brown hair hung disordered about his face; his\nhands clung in a desolate way to the arms of the chair he had got into;\nand he had dropped asleep.\n\nAt this moment Mrs. Ochterlony forgot her eldest son, upon whom till now\nher thoughts had been centred. She went to her boy who needed her most,\nand who lay there in his forlorn youth helpless and half unconscious,\ndeserted as it were by all consolation. She went to him and put her hand\non his hot forehead, and called him by his name. Once more Will half\nopened his eyelids; he said \"yes, mamma,\" drearily, with a confused\nattempt to look up; and then he slept again. He slept, and yet he did\nnot sleep; her voice went into his mind as in the midst of a\ndream--something weighed upon his nerves and his soul. He heard the cry\nshe gave, even vaguely felt her opening his collar, putting back his\nhair, putting water to his lips--but he had not fainted, which was what\nshe thought in her panic. He was only asleep.\n\n\"He is ill,\" said Hugh, who, notwithstanding his just indignation, was\nmoved by the pitiful sight; \"I will go for the doctor. Mother, don't be\nalarmed, he is only asleep.\"\n\n\"Oh, my poor boy!\" cried Mary, \"he was wandering about all yesterday,\nnot to see me, and I was hard upon him. Oh, Hugh, my poor boy! And in\nthis house.\"\n\nThis was the scene upon which Mr. Penrose came in to luncheon with his\nusual cheerful composure. He met Hugh at the door going for a doctor,\nand stopped him; \"You here, Hugh,\" he said, \"this is very singular. I am\nglad you are showing so much good sense; now we can come to some\nsatisfactory arrangement. I hardly hoped so soon to assemble all the\nparties here.\"\n\n\"Good morning, I will see you later,\" said Hugh, passing him quickly and\nhurrying out. Then it struck Mr. Penrose that all was not well. \"Mary,\nwhat is the matter?\" he said; \"is it possible that you are so weak as to\nencourage your son in standing out?\"\n\nMary had no leisure, no intelligence for what he said. She looked at him\nfor a moment vaguely, and then turned her eyes once more upon her boy.\nShe had drawn his head on to her shoulder, and stood supporting him,\nholding his hands, gazing down in anxiety beyond all words upon the\ncolourless face, with its heavy eyelids closed, and lips a little apart,\nand quick irregular breath. She was speaking to him softly without\nknowing it, saying, \"Will, my darling--Will, my poor boy--Oh, Will,\nspeak to me;\" while he lay back unconscious now, no longer able to\nstruggle against the weight that oppressed him, sleeping heavily on her\nbreast. Mr. Penrose drew near and looked wonderingly, with his hand in\nhis pocket and a sense that it was time for luncheon, upon this\nunexpected scene.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" he said, \"is he asleep? What are you making a fuss\nabout, Mary? You women always like a fuss; he is tired, I daresay, after\nyesterday; let him sleep and he'll be all right. But don't stand there\nand tire yourself. Hallo, Will, wake up and lie down on the sofa. There\ngoes the gong.\"\n\n\"Let us alone, uncle,\" said Mary piteously; \"never mind us. Go and get\nyour luncheon. My poor boy is going to be ill; but Hugh is coming back,\nand we will have him removed before he gets worse.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" said Mr. Penrose; but still he looked curiously at the pale\nsleeping face, and drew a step further off--\"not cholera, do you think?\"\nhe asked with a little anxiety--\"collapse, eh?--it can't be that?\"\n\n\"Oh, uncle, go away and get your luncheon, and leave us alone,\" said\nMary, whose heart fainted within her at the question, even though she\nwas aware of its absurdity. \"Do not be afraid, for we will take him\naway.\"\n\nMr. Penrose gave a \"humph,\" partly indignant, partly satisfied, and\nwalked about the room for a minute, making it shake with his portly\nform. And then he gave a low, short, whistle, and went downstairs, as he\nwas told. Quite a different train of speculation had entered into his\nmind when he uttered that sound. If Wilfrid should die, the chances were\nthat some distant set of Ochterlonys, altogether unconnected with\nhimself, would come in for the estate, supposing Will's claim in the\nmeantime to be substantiated. Perhaps even yet it could be hushed up;\nfor to see a good thing go out of the family was more than he could\nbear. This was what Mr. Penrose was thinking of as he went downstairs.\n\nIt seemed to Mary a long time before Hugh came back with the doctor, but\nyet it was not long: and Will still lay asleep, with his head upon her\nshoulder, but moving uneasily at times, and opening his eyes now and\nthen. There could be no doubt that he was going to be ill, but what the\nillness was to be, whether serious and malignant, or the mere result of\nover-fatigue, over-tension and agitation of mind, even the doctor could\nnot tell. But at least it was possible to remove him, which was a relief\nto all. Mary did not know how the afternoon passed. She saw Hugh coming\nand going as she sat by her sick boy, whom they had laid upon the sofa,\nand heard him downstairs talking to uncle Penrose, and then she was\naware by the sound of carriage-wheels at the door that he had come to\nfetch them; but all her faculties were hushed and quieted as by the\ninfluence of poor Will's sleep. She did not feel as if she had interest\nenough left in the great question that had occupied her so profoundly on\nthe previous night as to ask what new light it was which Hugh had seemed\nto her for one moment to throw on it. A momentary wonder thrilled\nthrough her mind once or twice while she sat and waited; but then Will\nwould stir, or his heavy eyelids would lift unconsciously and she would\nbe recalled to the present calamity, which seemed nearer and more\nappalling than any other. She sat in the quiet, which, for Will's sake,\nhad to be unbroken, and in her anxiety and worn-out condition, herself\nby times slept \"for sorrow,\" like those disciples among the olive-trees.\nAnd all other affairs fell back in her mind, as into a kind of\ntwilight--a secondary place. It did not seem to matter what happened, or\nhow things came to be decided. She had had no serious illness to deal\nwith for many, many years--almost never before in her life since those\ndays when she lost her baby in India; and her startled mind leapt\nforward to all tragic possibilities--to calamity and death. It was a\ndull day, which, no doubt, deepened every shadow. The grey twilight\nseemed to close in over her before the day was half spent, and the\nblinds were drawn down over the great staring windows, as it was best\nthey should be for Will, though the sight of them gave Mary a pang. All\nthese conjoined circumstances drove every feeling out of her mind but\nanxiety for her boy's life, and hushed her faculties, and made her life\nbeat low, and stilled all other interests and emotions in her breast.\n\nThen there came the bustle in the house which was attendant upon Will's\nremoval. Mr. Penrose stood by, and made no objection to it. He was\nsatisfied, on the whole, that whatever it might be--fever, cholera, or\ndecline, or any thing fatal, it should not be in his house; and his\nthoughts were full of that speculation about the results if Will should\ndie. He shook hands with Mary when she followed her boy into the\ncarriage, and said a word to comfort her:\n\n\"Don't worry yourself about what we were talking of,\" he said; \"perhaps,\nafter all, in case anything were to happen, it might still be hushed\nup.\"\n\n\"What were we talking of?\" asked Mary, vaguely, not knowing whether it\nwas the old subject or the new one which he meant; and she made him no\nfurther answer, and went away to the lodging Hugh had found for her, to\nnurse her son. Uncle Penrose went back discomfited into his commodious\nhouse. It appeared, on the whole, that it did not matter much to them,\nthough they had made so great a fuss about it. Hugh was the eldest son,\neven though, perhaps, he might not be the heir; and Will, poor boy, was\nthe youngest, the one to be guarded and taken care of; and whatever the\ntruth might be about Mary's marriage, she was their mother; and even at\nthis very moment, when they might have been thought to be torn asunder,\nand separated from each other, nature had stepped in and they were all\none. It was strange, but so it was. Mr. Penrose had even spoken to Hugh,\nbut had drawn nothing from him but anxiety about the sick boy, to find\nthe best doctor, and the best possible place to remove him to; not a\nword about the private arrangement he had, no doubt, come to make, or\nthe transfer of Earlston; and if Will should die, perhaps, it could yet\nbe hushed up. This was the last idea in Mr. Penrose's mind, as he went\nin and shut behind him the resounding door.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVII.\n\n\nThe illness of Will took a bad turn. Instead of being a mere\naccumulation of cold and fatigue, it developed into fever, and of the\nmost dangerous kind. Perhaps he had been bringing it on for a long time\nby his careless ways, by his long vigils and over thought; and that day\nof wretched wandering, and all the confused agitation of his mind had\nbrought it to a climax. This at least was all that could be said. He was\nvery ill; he lay for six weeks between life and death; and Mrs.\nOchterlony, in his sick-room, had no mind nor understanding for anything\nbut the care of him. Aunt Agatha would have come to help her, but she\nwanted no help. She lived as women do live at such times, without\nknowing how--without sleep, without food, without air, without rest to\nher mind or comfort to her heart. Except, indeed, in Hugh's face, which\nwas as anxious as her own, but looked in upon her watching, from time to\ntime like a face out of heaven. She had been made to understand all\nabout it--how her prayer had been granted, and the cup had passed from\nher, and her honour and her children's had been vindicated for ever. She\nhad been made to understand this, and had given God thanks, and felt one\nweight the less upon her soul; but yet she did not understand it any\nmore than Will did, who in his wanderings talked without cease of the\nlooks his mother gave him; and what had been done? He would murmur by\nthe hour such broken unreason as he had talked to Mary the morning\nbefore he was taken ill--that he meant to injure nobody--that all he\nwanted was his rights--that he would do anything for Hugh or for his\nmother--only he must have his rights; and why did they all look at him\nso, and what did Nelly mean, and what had been done? Mrs. Ochterlony\nsitting by the bedside with tears on her pale cheeks came to a knowledge\nof his mind which she had never possessed before--as clear a knowledge\nas was possible to a creature of so different a nature. And she gave God\nthanks in her heart that the danger had been averted, and remembered,\nin a confused way, the name of old Sommerville, which had been engraved\non her memory years before, when her husband forced her into the act\nwhich had cost her so much misery. Mary could not have explained to any\none how it was that old Sommerville's name came back with the sense of\ndeliverance. For the moment she would scarcely have been surprised to\nknow that he had come to life again to remedy the wrongs his death had\nbrought about. All that she knew was that his name was involved in it,\nand that Hugh was satisfied, and the danger over. She said it to herself\nsometimes in an apologetic way as if to account to herself for the\nsuddenness with which all interest on the subject had passed out of her\nthoughts. The danger was over. Two dangers so appalling could not exist\ntogether. The chances are that Will's immediate and present peril would\nhave engrossed her all the same, even had all not been well for Hugh.\n\nWhen he had placed his mother and brother in the rooms he had taken for\nthem, and had seen poor Will laid down on the bed he was not to quit for\nlong, Hugh went back to see Mr. Penrose. He was agitated and excited,\nand much melted in his heart by his brother's illness; but still, though\nhe might forgive Will, he had no thought of forgiving the elder man, who\nought to have given the boy better counsel: but he was very cool and\ncollected, keeping his indignation to himself, and going very fully into\ndetail. Old Sommerville's daughter had been married, and lived with her\nhusband at the border village where Mary's marriage had taken place. It\nwas she who had waited on the bride, with all the natural excitement and\ninterest belonging to the occasion; and her husband and she, young\nthemselves, and full of sympathy with the handsome young couple, had\nstolen in after them into the homely room where the marriage ceremony,\nsuch as it was, was performed. The woman who told Hugh this story had\nnot the faintest idea that suspicion of any kind rested upon the facts\nshe was narrating, neither did her hearer tell her of it. He had\nlistened with what eagerness, with what wonder and delight may be\nimagined, while she went into all the details. \"She mayn't mind me, but\nI mind her,\" the anxious historian had said, her thoughts dwelling not\non the runaway marriage she was talking of, as if that could be of\nimportance, but on the unbuilt lodge, and the chances of getting it if\nshe could but awake the interest of the young squire. \"She had on but a\ncotton gown, as was not for the likes of her on her wedding-day, and a\nbit of a straw-bonnet; and it was me as took off her shawl, her hands\nbeing trembly a bit, as was to be expected; I took her shawl off afore\nshe came into the room, and I slipped in after her, and made Rob come,\nthough he was shy. Bless your heart, sir, the Captain and the young lady\nnever noticed him nor me.\"\n\nHugh had received all these details into his mind with a distinctness\nwhich only the emergency could have made possible. It seemed to himself\nthat he saw the scene--more clearly, far more clearly, than that dim\nvision of the other scene in India, which now he ventured in his heart\nto believe that he recollected too. He told everything to Mr. Penrose,\nwho sat with glum countenance, and listened. \"And now, uncle,\" he said,\n\"I will tell you what my mother is ready to do. I don't think she\nunderstands what I have told her about my evidence; but I found this\nletter she had been writing when Will was taken ill. You can read it if\nyou please. It will show you at least how wrong you were in thinking she\nwould ever desert and abandon me.\"\n\n\"I never thought she would desert and abandon you,\" said Mr. Penrose;\n\"of course every one must see that so long as you had the property it\nwas her interest to stick to you--as well as for her own sake. I don't\nsee why I should read the letter; I daresay it is some bombastical\nappeal to somebody--she appealed to me last night--to believe her; as if\npersonal credibility was to be built upon in the absence of all proofs.\"\n\n\"But read it all the same,\" said Hugh, whose face was flushed with\nexcitement.\n\nMr. Penrose put on his spectacles, and took the half-finished letter\nreluctantly into his hand. He turned it round and all over to see who it\nwas addressed to; but there was no address; and when he began to read\nit, he saw it was a letter to a lawyer, stating her case distinctly, and\nasking for advice. Was there not a way of getting it tried and settled,\nMary had written; was there not some court that could be appealed to at\nonce, to examine all the evidence, and make a decision that would be\ngood and stand, and could not be re-opened? \"I am ready to appear and be\nexamined, to do anything or everything that is necessary,\" were the last\nwords Mrs. Ochterlony had written; and then she had forgotten her\nletter, forgotten her resolution and her fear, and everything else in\nthe world but her boy who was ill. Her other boy, after he had set her\nheart free to devote itself to the one who now wanted her most, had\nfound the letter; and he, too, had been set free in his turn. Up to that\nvery last moment he had feared and doubted what Mr. Penrose called the\n\"exposure\" for his mother; he had been afraid of wounding her, afraid of\nmaking any suggestion that could imply publicity. And upon the letter\nwhich Mr. Penrose turned thus about in his hand was at least one large\nround blister of a tear--a big drop of compunction, and admiration, and\nlove, which had dropped upon it out of Hugh's proud and joyful eyes.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Uncle Penrose, who was evidently staggered: and he took off\nhis spectacles and put them back in their case. \"If she were to make up\nher mind to _that_,\" he continued slowly, \"I would not say that you\nmight not have a chance. It would have the look of being confident in\nher case. I'll tell you what, Hugh,\" he went on, changing his tone.\n\"Does the doctor give much hope of Will?\"\n\n\"Much hope!\" cried Hugh, faltering. \"Good heavens! uncle, what do you\nmean? Has he told you anything? Why, there is every chance--every hope.\"\n\n\"Don't get excited,\" said Mr. Penrose. \"I hope so I am sure. But what I\nhave to say is this: if anything were to happen to Will, it would be\nsome distant Ochterlonys, I suppose, that would come in after\nhim--supposing you were put aside, you know. I don't mind working for\nWill, but I'd have nothing to do with that. _I_ could not be the means\nof sending the property out of the family. And I don't see now, in the\nturn things have taken, that there would be any particular difficulty\nbetween ourselves in hushing it all up.\"\n\n\"In hushing it up?\" said Hugh, with an astonished look.\n\n\"Yes, if we hold our tongues. I daresay that is all that would be\nnecessary,\" said Mr. Penrose. \"If you only would have the good sense all\nof you to hold your tongues and keep your counsel, it might be easily\nhushed up.\"\n\nBut Uncle Penrose was not prepared for the shower of indignation that\nfell upon him. Hugh got up and made him an oration, which the young man\npoured forth out of the fulness of his heart; and said, God forgive him\nfor the harm he had done to one of them, for the harm he had tried to do\nto all--in a tone very little in harmony with the prayer; and shook off,\nas it were, the dust off his feet against him, and rushed from the\nhouse, carrying, folded up carefully in his pocket-book, his mother's\nletter. It was she who had found out what to do--she whose reluctance,\nwhose hesitation, or shame, was the only thing that Hugh would have\nfeared. And it was not only that he was touched to the heart by his\nmother's readiness to do all and everything for him; he was proud, too,\nwith that sweetest of exultation which recognises the absolute _best_ in\nits best beloved. So he went through the suburban streets carrying his\nhead high, with moisture in his eyes, but the smile of hope and a\nsatisfied heart upon his lips. Hush it up! when it was all to her glory\nfrom the first to the last of it. Rather write it up in letters of gold,\nthat all the world might see it. This was how Hugh, being still so\nyoung, in the pride and emotion of the moment, thought in his heart.\n\nAnd Mrs. Ochterlony, by her boy's sick-bed, knew nothing of it all. She\nremembered to ask for her blotting-book with the letters in it which she\nhad been writing, but was satisfied when she heard Hugh had it; and she\naccepted the intervention of old Sommerville, dead or living, without\ndemanding too many explanations. She had now something else more\nabsorbing, more engrossing, to occupy her, and two supreme emotions\ncannot hold place in the mind at the same time. Will required constant\ncare, an attention that never slumbered, and she would not have any one\nto share her watch with her. She found time to write to Aunt Agatha, who\nwanted to come, giving the cheerfullest view of matters that was\npossible, and declaring that she was quite able for what she had to do.\nAnd Mary had another offer of assistance which touched her, and yet\nbrought a smile to her face. It was from Mrs. Kirkman, offering to come\nto her assistance at once, to leave all her responsibilities for the\nsatisfaction of being with her friend and sustaining her strength and\nbeing \"useful\" to the poor sufferer. It was a most anxious letter, full\nof the warmest entreaties to be allowed to come, and Mary was moved by\nit, though she gave it to Hugh to read with a faint smile on her lip.\n\n\"I always told you she was a good woman,\" said Mrs. Ochterlony. \"If I\nwere to let her come, I know she would make a slave of herself to serve\nus both.\"\n\n\"But you will not let her come,\" said Hugh, with a little alarm; \"I\ndon't know about your good woman. She would do it, and then tell\neverybody how glad she was that she had been of so much use.\"\n\n\"But she is a good woman in spite of her talk,\" said Mary; and she wrote\nto Mrs. Kirkman a letter which filled the soul of the colonel's wife\nwith many thoughts. Mrs. Ochterlony wrote to her that it would be vain\nfor her to have any help, for she could not leave her boy--could not be\napart from him while he was so ill, was what Mary said--but that her\nfriend knew how strong she was, and that it would not hurt her, if God\nwould but spare her boy. \"Oh, my poor Will! don't forget to think of\nhim,\" Mary said, and the heart which was in Mrs. Kirkman's wordy bosom\nknew what was meant. And then partly, perhaps, it was her fault; she\nmight have been wise, she might have held her peace when Will came to\nask that fatal information. And yet, perhaps, it might be for his good,\nor perhaps--perhaps, God help him, he might die. And then Mrs. Kirkman's\nheart sank within her, and she was softer to all the people in her\ndistrict, and did not feel so sure of taking upon her the part of\nProvidence. She could not but remember how she had prayed that Mary\nshould not be let alone, and how Major Ochterlony had died after it, and\nshe felt that that was not what she meant, and that God, so to speak,\nhad gone too far. If the same thing were to happen again! She was\nhumbled and softened to all her people that day, and she spent hours of\nit upon her knees, praying with tears streaming down her cheeks for\nWill. And it was not till full twenty-four hours after that she could\ntake any real comfort from the thought that it must be for all their\ngood; which shows that Mrs. Ochterlony's idea of her after all was\nright.\n\nThese were but momentary breaks in the long stretch of pain, and terror,\nand lingering and sickening hope. Day after day went and came, and Mary\ntook no note of them, and knew nothing more of them than as they grew\nlight and dark upon the pale face of her boy. Hugh had to leave her by\ntimes, but there was no break to her in the long-continued vigil. His\naffairs had to go on, his work to be resumed, and his life to proceed\nagain as if it had never come to that full stop. But as for Mary, it\nbegan to appear to her as if she had lived all her life in that\nsick-room. Then Islay came, always steady and trustworthy. This was\ntowards the end, when it was certain that the crisis must be approaching\nfor good or for evil. And poor Aunt Agatha in her anxiety and her\nloneliness had fallen ill too, and wrote plaintive, suffering letters,\nwhich moved Mary's heart even in the great stupor of her own anxiety. It\nwas then that Hugh went, much against his will, to the Cottage, at his\nmother's entreaty, to carry comfort to the poor old lady. He had to go\nto Earlston to see after his own business, and from thence to Aunt\nAgatha, whose anxiety was no less great at a distance than theirs was at\nhand; and Hugh was to be telegraphed for at once if there was \"any\nchange.\" Any change!--that was the way they had got to speak, saying it\nin a whisper, as if afraid to trust the very air with words which\nimplied so much. Hugh stole into the sick room before he went away, and\nsaw poor Will, or at least a long white outline of a face, with two big\nstartling eyes, black and shining, which must be Will's, lying back on\nthe pillows; and he heard a babble of weary words about his mother and\nNelly, and what had he done? and withdrew as noiselessly as he entered,\nwith the tears in his eyes, and that poignant and intolerable anguish\nin his heart with which the young receive the first intimation that one\nnear to them must go away. It seemed an offence to Hugh, as he left the\nhouse to see so many lads in the streets, who were of Will's age, and so\nmany children encumbering the place everywhere, unthought of, uncared\nfor, unloved, to whom almost it would be a benefit to die. But it was\nnot one of them who was to be taken, but Will, poor Will, the youngest,\nwho had been led astray, and had still upon his mind a sense of guilt.\nHugh was glad to go to work at Earlston to get the thought out of his\nmind, glad to occupy himself about the museum, and to try to forget that\nhis brother was slowly approaching the crisis, after which perhaps there\nmight be no hope; and his heart beat loud in his ears every time he\nheard a sound, dreading that it might be the promised summons, and that\n\"some change\"--dreadful intimation--had occurred; and it was in the same\nstate of mind that he went on to the Cottage, looking into the railway\npeople's faces at every station to see if, perhaps, they had heard\nsomething. He was not much like carrying comfort to anybody. He had\nnever been within reach of the shadow of death before, except in the\ncase of his uncle; and his uncle was old, and it was natural he should\ndie--but Will! Whenever he said, or heard, or even thought the name his\nheart seemed to swell, and grow \"grit,\" as the Cumberland folks said,\nand climb into his throat.\n\nBut yet there was consolation to Hugh even at such a moment. When he\narrived at the Cottage he found Nelly there in attendance upon Aunt\nAgatha; and Nelly was full of wistful anxiety, and had a world of silent\nquestions in her eyes. He had not written to her in answer to her\nletter, though it had done so much for him. Nobody had written to the\ngirl, who was obliged to stay quiet at home, and ask no questions, and\noccupy herself about other matters. And no doubt Nelly had suffered and\nmight have made herself very unhappy, and felt herself deeply neglected\nand injured, had she been of that manner of nature. She had heard only\nthe evident facts which everybody knew of--that Will had been taken ill,\nand that Hugh was in Liverpool, and even Islay had been sent for; but\nwhether Will's illness was anything more than ordinary disease, or how\nthe family affairs, which lay underneath, were being settled, Nelly\ncould not tell. Nobody knew; not Aunt Agatha, nor Mrs. Kirkman, though\nit was her hand which had helped to set everything in motion. Sometimes\nit occurred to Nelly that Mr. Hugh might have written to her; sometimes\nshe was disposed to fear that he might be angry--might think she had no\nright to interfere. Men did not like people to interfere with their\naffairs, she said to herself sometimes, even when they meant--oh! the\nvery kindest; and Nelly dried her eyes and would acknowledge to herself\nthat it was just. But when Hugh came, and was in the same room with her,\nand sat by her side, and was just the same--nay, perhaps, if that could\nbe, more than just the same--then it was more than Nelly's strength of\nmind could do to keep from questioning him with her eyes. She gave\nlittle glances at him which asked--\"Is all well?\"--in language plainer\nthan words; and Hugh's eyes, overcast as they were by that shadow of\ndeath which was upon them, could not answer promptly--\"All is well.\" And\nAunt Agatha knew nothing of this secret which lay between them; so far\nas Miss Seton had been informed as yet, Will's running away was but a\nboyish freak, and his illness an ordinary fever. And yet somehow it made\nHugh take a brighter view of everything--made him think less drearily of\nWill's danger, and be less alarmed about the possible arrival of a\ntelegram, when he read the question in Nelly Askell's eyes.\n\nBut it was the morning after his arrival before he could make any\nresponse. Aunt Agatha, who was an invalid, did not come downstairs\nearly, and the two young creatures were left to each other's company.\nThen there ensued a little interval of repose to Hugh's mind, which had\nbeen so much disturbed of late, which he did not feel willing to break\neven by entering upon matters which might produce a still greater\nconfidence and _rapprochement_. All that had been passing lately had\ngiven a severe shock to his careless youth, which, before that, had\nnever thought deeply of anything. And to feel himself thus separated as\nit were from the world of anxiety and care he had been living in, and\nfloated in to this quiet nook, and seated here all tranquil in a\nnameless exquisite happiness, with Nelly by him, and nobody to interfere\nwith him, did him good, poor fellow. He did not care to break the spell\neven to satisfy her, nor perhaps to produce a more exquisite delight for\nhimself. The rest, and the sweet unexpressed sympathy, and the soft\natmosphere that was about him, gave Hugh all the consolation of which at\nthis moment he was capable; and he was only a man--and he was content to\nbe thus consoled without inquiring much whether it was as satisfactory\nfor her. It was only when the ordinary routine of the day began, and\ndisturbed the _tete-a-tete_, that he bethought him of how much remained\nto be explained to Nelly; and then he asked her to go out with him to\nthe garden. \"Come and show me the roses we used to water,\" said Hugh;\n\"you remember?\" And so they went out together, with perhaps, if that\nwere possible, a more entire possession of each other's society--a more\ncomplete separation from everybody else in the world.\n\nThey went to see the roses, and though they were fading and shabby, with\nthe last flowers overblown and disconsolate, and the leaves dropping off\nthe branches, that melancholy sight made little impression on Nelly and\nHugh. The two indulged in certain reminiscences of what had been, \"you\nremember?\"--comings back of the sweet recent untroubled past, such as\ngive to the pleasant present and fair future their greatest charm. And\nthen all at once Hugh stopped short, and looked in his companion's face.\nHe said it without the least word of introduction, leaping at once into\nthe heart of the subject, in a way which gave poor Nelly no warning, no\ntime to prepare.\n\n\"Nelly,\" he said all at once, \"I never thanked you for your letter.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Hugh!\" cried Nelly, and her heart gave a sudden thump, and the\nwater sprang to her eyes. She was so much startled that she put her hand\nto her side to relieve the sudden panting of her breath. \"I was going to\nask you if you had been angry?\" she added, after a pause.\n\n\"Angry! How could I be angry?\" said Hugh.\n\n\"You might have thought it very impertinent of me talking of things I\nhad no business with,\" said Nelly, with downcast eyes.\n\n\"Impertinent! Perhaps you suppose I would think an angel impertinent if\nit came down from heaven for a moment, and showed a little interest in\nmy concerns?\" said Hugh. \"And do you really think you have no business\nwith me, Nelly? I did not think you were so indifferent to your\nfriends.\"\n\n\"To be sure we are very old friends,\" said Nelly, with a blush and a\nsmile; but she saw by instinct that such talk was dangerous. And then\nshe put on her steady little face and looked up at him to put an end to\nall this nonsense.--\"I want so much to hear about dear Mrs. Ochterlony,\"\nshe said.\n\n\"And I have never told you that it had come all right,\" said Hugh. \"I\nwas so busy at first I had no time for writing letters; and last night\nthere was Aunt Agatha, who knows nothing about it; and this\nmorning--well this morning you know, I was thinking of nothing but\nyou----\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you,\" said Nelly, with a little confusion, \"but tell me more,\nplease. You said it was all right----\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Hugh, \"but I don't know if it ever would have come right but\nfor your letter; I was down as low as ever a man could be; I had no\nheart for anything; I did not know what to think even about my----\nabout anything. And then your dear little letter came. It was _that_\nthat made me something of a man again. And I made up my mind to face it\nand not to give in. And then all at once the proof came--some people who\nlived at Gretna and had seen the marriage. Did you go there?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Nelly, with a tremulous voice; and now whatever might come of\nit, it would have been quite impossible for her to raise her eyes.\n\n\"Ah, I see,\" said Hugh, \"it was only to show me what to do--but all the\nsame it was your doing. If you had not written to me like that, I was\nmore likely to have gone and hanged myself, than to have minded my\nbusiness and seen the people. Nelly, I will always say it was you.\"\n\n\"No--no,\" said Nelly, withdrawing, not without some difficulty, her hand\nout of his. \"Never mind me; I am so glad--I am so very glad; but then I\ndon't know about dear Mrs. Ochterlony--and oh, poor Will!\"\n\nHis brother's name made Hugh fall back a little. He had very nearly\nforgotten everything just then except Nelly herself. But when he\nremembered that his brother, perhaps, might be dying----\n\n\"You know how ill he is,\" he said, with a little shudder. \"It must be\nselfish to be happy. I had almost forgotten about poor Will.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no,\" cried Nelly; \"we must not forget about him; he could never\nmean it--he would have come to himself one day. Oh, Mr. Hugh----\"\n\n\"Don't call me that,\" cried the young man; \"you say Will--why should I\nbe different. Nelly? If I thought you cared for him more than for\nme----\"\n\n\"Oh, hush!\" said Nelly, \"how can you think of such things when he is so\nill, and Mrs. Ochterlony in such trouble. And besides, you _are_\ndifferent,\" she added hastily; and Hugh saw the quick crimson going up\nto her hair, over her white brow and her pretty neck, and again forgot\nWill, and everything else in the world.\n\n\"Nelly,\" he said, \"you must care for me most. I don't mind about\nanything without that. I had rather be in poor Will's place if you think\nof somebody else just the same as of me. Nelly, look here--there is\nnobody on earth that I can ever feel for as I feel for you.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Hugh!\" cried Nelly. She had only one hand to do anything with,\nfor he held the other fast, and she put that up to her eyes, to which\nthe tears had come, though she did not very well know why.\n\n\"It is quite true,\" cried the eager young man. \"You may think I should\nnot say it now; but Nelly, if there are ill news shall I not want you to\ncomfort me? and if there are good news you will be as glad as I am. Oh,\nNelly, don't keep silent like that, and turn your head away--you know\nthere is nobody in the world that loves you like me.\"\n\n\"Oh, please don't say any more just now,\" said Nelly, through her tears.\n\"When I think of poor Will who is perhaps---- And he and I were babies\ntogether; it is not right to be so happy when poor Will---- Yes, oh\nyes--another time I will not mind.\"\n\nAnd even then poor Nelly did not mind. They were both so young, and the\nsick boy was far away from them, not under their eyes as it were; and\neven whatever might happen, it could not be utter despair for Hugh and\nNelly. They were selfish so far as they could not help being\nselfish--they had their moment of delight standing there under the faded\nroses, with the dead leaves dropping at their feet. Neither autumn nor\nany other chill--neither anxiety nor suspense, nor even the shadow of\ndeath could keep them asunder. Had not they the more need of each other\nif trouble was coming? That was Hugh's philosophy, and Nelly's heart\ncould not say him nay.\n\nBut when that moment was over Aunt Agatha's voice was heard calling from\nan upper window. \"Hugh, Hugh!\" the old lady called. \"I see a man leaving\nthe station with a letter in his hand--It is the man who brings the\ntelegraph--Oh, Hugh, my dear boy!\"\n\nHugh did not stop to hear any more. He woke up in a moment out of\nhimself, and rushed forth upon the road to meet the messenger, leaving\nNelly and his joy behind him. He felt as if he had been guilty then, but\nas he flew along the road he had no time to think. As for poor Nelly,\nshe took to walking up and down the lawn, keeping him in sight, with\nlimbs that trembled under her, and eyes half blind with tears and\nterror. Nelly had suffered to some extent from the influence of Mrs.\nKirkman's training. She could not feel sure that to be very happy, nay\nblessed, to feel one's self full of joy and unmingled content, was not\nsomething of an offence to God. Perhaps it was selfish and wicked at\nthat moment, and now the punishment might be coming. If it should be so,\nwould it not be _her_ fault. She who had let herself be persuaded, who\nought to have known better. Aunt Agatha sat at her window, sobbing, and\nsaying little prayers aloud without knowing it. \"God help my Mary! Oh\nGod, help my poor Mary: give her strength to bear it!\" was what Aunt\nAgatha said. And poor Nelly for her part put up another prayer,\nspeechless, in an agony--\"God forgive us,\" she said, in her innocent\nheart.\n\nBut all at once both of them stopped praying, stopped weeping, and gave\none simultaneous cry, that thrilled through the whole grey landscape.\nAnd this was why it was;--Hugh, a distant figure on the road, had met\nthe messenger, had torn open the precious despatch. It was too far off\nto tell them in words, or make any other intelligible sign. What he did\nwas to fling his hat into the air and give a wild shout, which they saw\nrather than heard. Was it all well? Nelly went to the gate to meet him,\nand held by it, and Aunt Agatha came tottering downstairs. And what he\ndid next was to tear down the road like a racehorse, the few country\nfolks about it staring at him as if he were mad,--and to seize Nelly in\nhis arms in open day, on the open road, and kiss her publicly before\nAunt Agatha, and Peggy, and all the world. \"She said she would not\nmind,\" cried Hugh, breathlessly, coming headlong into the garden, \"as\nsoon as we heard that Will was going to get well; and there's the\ndespatch, Aunt Agatha, and Nelly is to be my wife.\"\n\nThis was how two joyful events in the Ochterlony family intimated\nthemselves at the same moment to Bliss Seton and her astonished house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVIII.\n\n\nAnd this was how it all ended, so far as any end can be said to have\ncome to any episode in human history. While Will was still only\nrecovering--putting his recollections slowly together--and not very\ncertain about them, what they were, Hugh and his mother went through the\npreliminaries necessary to have Mrs. Ochterlony's early marriage proved\nbefore the proper court--a proceeding which Mary did not shrink from\nwhen the time came that she could look calmly over the whole matter, and\ndecide upon the best course. She was surprised to see her own unfinished\nletter preserved so carefully in Hugh's pocket-book. \"Put it in the\nfire,\" she said to him, \"it will only put us in mind of painful things\nif you keep it;\" and it did not occur to Mary why it was that her son\nsmiled and put it back in its place, and kissed her hand, which had\ngrown thin and white in her long seclusion. And then he told her of\nNelly, and Mrs. Ochterlony was glad--glad to the bottom of her heart,\nand yet touched with a momentary pang for which she was angry with\nherself. He had stood by her so in all this time of trial, and now he\nwas about to remove himself a little, ever so little further off from\nher, though he was her first-born and her pride; but then she despised\nherself, who could grudge, even for half a moment, his reward to Hugh,\nand made haste to make amends for it, even though he was unconscious of\nthe offence.\n\n\"I always thought she should have been my child,\" Mary said, \"the very\nfirst time I saw her. I had once one like her; and I hungered and\nthirsted for Nelly when I saw her first. I did not think of getting her\nlike this. I will love her as if she were my own, Hugh.\"\n\n\"And so she will be your own,\" said Hugh, not knowing the difference.\nAnd he was so happy that the sight of him made his mother happy, though\nshe had care enough in the meantime for her individual share.\n\nFor it may be supposed that Will, such a youth as he was, did not come\nout of his fever changed and like a child. Such changes are few in this\nworld, and a great sickness is not of necessity a moral agent. When the\nfirst languor and comfort of his convalescence was over, his mind began\nto revive and to join things together, as was natural--and he did not\nknow where or how he had broken off in the confused and darkling story\nthat returned to his brain as he pondered. He had forgotten, or never\nunderstood about all that happened on the day he was taken ill, but yet\na dreamy impression that some break had come to his plans, that there\nwas some obstacle, something that made an end of his rights, as he still\ncalled them in his mind, hovered about his recollections. He was as\nfrank and open as it was natural to his character to be, for the first\nfew days after he began to recover, before he had made much progress\nwith his recollections; and then he became moody and thoughtful and\nperplexed, not knowing how to piece the story out. This was perhaps,\nnext to death itself, the thing which Mary had most dreaded, and she saw\nthat though his sickness had been all but death, it had not changed the\ncharacter or identity of the pale boy absorbed in his own thoughts,\nuncommunicating and unyielding, whose weakness compelled him to obey her\nlike an infant in everything external, yet whose heart gave her no such\nobedience. It was as unlike Hugh's frank exuberance of mind, and Islay's\nsteady but open soul, as could be conceived. But yet he was her boy as\nmuch as either; as dear, perhaps even more bound to her by the evil he\nhad tried to do, and by the suffering he himself had borne. And now she\nhad to think not only how to remedy the wrong he had attempted, and to\nput such harm out of his and everybody's power, but to set the discord\nin himself at rest, and to reconcile the jangled chords. It was this\nthat gave her a preoccupied look even while Hugh spoke to her of all his\nplans. It was more difficult than appearing before the court, harder\nwork perhaps than anything she had yet had in her hands to do--and hard\nas it was, it was she who had to seek the occasion and begin.\n\nShe had been sitting with her boy, one winterly afternoon, when all was\nquiet in the house--they were still in the lodging in Liverpool, not far\nfrom Mr. Penrose's, to which Will had been removed when his illness\nbegan; he was not well enough yet to be removed, and the doctors were\nafraid of cold, and very reluctant to send him, in this weak state,\nstill further to the north. She had been reading to him, but he was\nevidently paying no attention to the reading, and she had left off and\nbegan to talk, but he had been impatient of the talk. He lay on the sofa\nby the fire, with his pale head against the pillow, looking thin,\nspectral, and shadowy, and yet with a weight of weary thought upon his\noverhanging brow, and in his close compressed lips, which grieved his\nmother's heart.\n\n\"Will,\" she said suddenly, \"I should like to speak to you frankly about\nwhat you have on your mind. You are thinking of what happened before you\nwere taken ill?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, turning quickly upon her his great hollow eyes, shining\nwith interest and surprise; and then he stopped short, and compressed\nhis upper lip again, and looked at her with a watchful eye, conscious of\nthe imperfection of his own memory, and unwilling to commit himself.\n\n\"I will go over it all, that we may understand each other,\" said Mary,\nthough the effort made her own cheek pale. \"You were told that I had\nbeen married in India just before you were born, and you were led to\nbelieve that your brothers were--were--illegitimate, and that you were\nyour father's heir. I don't know if they ever told you, my poor boy,\nthat I had been married in Scotland long before; at all events, they\nmade you believe----\"\n\n\"Made me believe!\" said Will, with feverish haste; \"do people generally\nmarry each other more than once? I don't see how you can say 'made me\nbelieve.'\"\n\n\"Well, Will, perhaps it seemed very clear as it was told to you,\" said\nMary, with a sigh; \"and you have even so much warrant for your mistake,\nthat your father too took fright, and thought because everybody was\ndead that saw us married that we ought to be married again; and I\nyielded to his wish, though I knew it was wrong. But it appears\neverybody was not dead; two people who were present have come to light\nvery unexpectedly, and we have applied to that Court--that new Court,\nyou know, where they treat such things--to have my marriage proved, and\nHugh's legitimacy declared. It will cost some money, and it will not be\npleasant to me; but better _that_ than such a mistake should ever be\npossible again.\"\n\nWill looked in his mother's face, and knew and saw beyond all question\nthat she told him was absolute fact; not even _truth_, but fact; the\nsort of thing that can be proved by witnesses and established in law.\nHis mouth which had been compressed so close, relaxed; his underlip\ndrooped, his eyes hid themselves, as it were, under their lids. A sudden\nblank of mortification and humbled pride came over his soul. A mistake,\nsimply a mistake, such a blunder as any fool might make, an error about\nsimple facts which he might have set right if he had tried. And now for\never and ever he was nothing but the youngest son; doubly indebted to\neverybody belonging to him; indebted to them for forgiveness,\nforbearance, tenderness, and services of every kind. He saw it all, and\nhis heart rose up against it; he had tried to wrong them, and it was his\npunishment that they forgave him. It all seemed so hopeless and useless\nto struggle against, that he turned his face from the light, and felt as\nif it would be a relief if he could be able to be ill again, or if he\nhad wounds that he could have secretly unbound; so that he might get to\ndie, and be covered over and abandoned, and have no more to bear. Such\nthoughts were about as foreign to Mrs. Ochterlony's mind as any human\ncogitations could be, and yet she divined them, as it were, in the\ngreatness of her pity and love.\n\n\"Will,\" she said, speaking softly in the silence which had been unbroken\nfor long, \"I want you to think if this had been otherwise, what it would\nhave been for me. I would have been a woman shut out from all good\nwomen. I would have been only all the more wicked and wretched that I\nhad succeeded in concealing my sin. You would have blushed for your\nmother whenever you had to name her name. You could not have kept me\nnear you, because my presence would have shut against you every honest\nhouse. You would have been obliged to conceal me and my shame in the\ndarkness--to cover me over in some grave with no name on it--to banish\nme to the ends of the earth----\"\n\n\"Mother!\" said Will, rising up in his gaunt length and paleness on the\nsofa. He did not understand it. He saw her figure expanding, as it were,\nher eyes shining in the twilight like two great mournful stars, the hot\ncolour rising to her face, her voice labouring with an excitement which\nhad been long pent up and found no channel; and the thrill and jar in it\nof suppressed passion, made a thrill in his heart.\n\n\"And your father!\" she went on, always with growing emotion, \"whom you\nare all proud of, who died for his duty and left his name without a\nblot;--he would have been an impostor like me, a man who had taken base\nadvantage of a woman, and deceived all his friends, and done the last\nwrong to his children,--we two that never wronged man nor woman, that\nwould have given our lives any day for any one of you,--that is what you\nwould have made us out.\"\n\n\"Mother!\" said Will. He could not bear it any longer. His heart was up\nat last, and spoke. He came to her, crept to her in his weakness, and\nlaid his long feeble arms round her as she sat hiding her face. \"Mother!\ndon't say that. I must have been mad. Not what _I_ would have made you\nout----\"\n\n\"Oh, my poor Will, my boy, my darling!\" said Mary, \"not you--I never\nmeant you!\"\n\nAnd she clasped her boy close, and held him to her, not knowing what she\nmeant. And then she roused herself to sudden recollection of his\nfeebleness, and took him back to his sofa, and brooded over him like a\nbird over her nest. And after awhile Islay came in, bringing fresh air\nand news, and a breath from the outer world. And poor Will's heart being\nstill so young, and having at last touched the depths, took a rebound\nand came up, not like, and yet not unlike the heart of a little child.\nFrom that time his moodiness, his heavy brow, his compressed lip, grew\nless apparent, and out of his long ponderings with himself there came\nsweeter fruits. He had been on the edge of a precipice, and he had not\nknown it: and now that after the danger was over he had discovered that\ndanger, such a thrill came over him as comes sometimes upon those who\nare the most foolhardy in the moment of peril. He had not seen the\nblackness of the pit nor the terror of it until he had escaped.\n\nBut probably it was a relief to all, as it was a great relief to poor\nWill, when his doctor proposed a complete change for him, and a winter\nin the South. Mary had moved about very little since she brought her\nchildren home from India, and her spirit sank before the thought of\ntravel in foreign parts, and among unknown tongues. But she was content\nwhen she saw the light come back to her boy's eye. And when he was well\nenough to move, they went away[A] together, Will and his mother, Mary\nand her boy. He was the one who needed her most.\n\n[A] They went to San Remo, if any one would like to know, for no\nparticular reason that I can tell, except that the beloved physician,\nDr. Antonio, has thrown the shield of his protection over that\npicturesque little place, with its golden orange groves and its\ndelicious sea.\n\nAnd when Hugh and Nelly were married, the Percivals sent the little\nbride a present, very pretty, and of some value, which the Ochterlonys\nin general accepted as a peace-offering. Winnie's letter which\naccompanied it was not, however, very peaceful in its tone. \"I daresay\nyou think yourself very happy, my dear,\" Winnie wrote, \"but I would not\nadvise you to calculate upon too much happiness. I don't know if we were\never meant for that. Mary, who is the best woman among us, has had a\nterrible deal of trouble; and I, whom perhaps you will think one of the\nworst, have not been let off any more than Mary. I wonder often, for my\npart, if there is any meaning at all in it. I am not sure that I think\nthere is. And you may tell Mrs. Kirkman so if you like. My love to Aunt\nAgatha, and if you like you can kiss Hugh for me. He always was my\nfavourite among all the boys.\"\n\nPoor Aunt Agatha heard this letter with a sigh. She said, \"My dear love,\nit is only Winnie's way. She always liked to say strange things, but she\ndoes not think like that.\" And perhaps on the whole it was Aunt Agatha\nthat was worst off in the end. She was left alone when the young\ncreatures paired, as was natural, in the spring; and when the mother\nMary went away with her boy. Aunt Agatha had no child left to devote\nherself to; and it was very silent in the Cottage, where she sat for\nhours with nothing more companionable than the Henri Deux ware, Francis\nOchterlony's gift, before her eyes. And Sir Edward was very infirm that\nyear. But yet Miss Seton found a consolation that few people would have\nthought of in the Henri Deux, and before the next winter Mary was to\ncome home. And she had always her poor people and her letters, and the\nKirtell singing softly under its dewy braes.\n\n                                THE END.\n\n21/8/75.\n\n                                LONDON:\n            SWIFT AND CO., NEWTON STREET, HIGH HOLBORN, W.C.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTypographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:\n\nMajor Octherlony's mind=> Major Ochterlony's mind {pg 7}\n\nhad been very very kind to=> had been very kind to {pg 9}\n\nbut yon cannot make old=> but you cannot make old {pg 20}\n\nMrs. Kirkman come in=> Mrs. Kirkman came in {pg 23}\n\nn, 'wildered and wondering=> in, 'wildered and wondering {pg 25}\n\nMrs. Kirkmam=> Mrs. Kirkman {pg 26}\n\nar six hours=> or six hours {pg 38}\n\nexcesssively entertained=> excessively entertained {pg 48}\n\nforeboding's=> forebodings {pg 65}\n\nSouhampton=> Southampton {pg 71}\n\nthe ayah croned=> the ayah crooned {pg 85}\n\nA fine little fellw=> A fine little fellow {pg 87}\n\nwhich sood=> which stood {pg 94}\n\nPysche=> Psyche {pg 98, 108}\n\ncf conduct=> of conduct {pg 119}\n\no her last gasp=> to her last gasp {pg 143}\n\nmore determind=> more determined {pg 152}\n\nnnrsing one of his legs=> nursing one of his legs {pg 158}\n\nif yon are rich or poor=> if you are rich or poor {pg 167}\n\nThis halycon time=> This halcyon time {pg 176}\n\nrather of feeeling=> rather of feeling {pg 187}\n\nyou are are able to manage=> you are able to manage {pg 193}\n\nMr. Octherlony shook hands=> Mr. Ochterlony shook hands {pg 188}\n\nmake her feel as if she=> made her feel as if she {pg 225}\n\nevery every one's=> every one's {pg 227}\n\nmesssages of inquiry=> messages of inquiry {pg 261}\n\nshe had began to soften a little=> she had begun to soften a little {pg\n270}\n\nthese thougets=> these thoughts {pg 286}\n\nother associatious=> other associations {pg 299}\n\ntnrning doggedly away=> turning doggedly away {pg 301}\n\nanxions and terror-stricken=> anxious and terror-stricken {pg 303}\n\necstasy=> ecstacy {pg 306}\n\ndutifnl and tender=> dutiful and tender {pg 307}\n\nace and doing it=> face and doing it {pg 309}\n\nresponsibilty=> responsibility {pg 339}\n\nwere countlesss=> were countless {pg 351}\n\nfighing like foes=> fighting like foes {pg 359}\n\nrushed tagether=> rushed together {pg 360}\n\nagainst yon=> against you {pg 387}\n\nthat old Somerville's=> that old Sommerville's {pg 400}\n\nMr. Penrose calied the=> Mr. Penrose called the {pg 401}\n\nas he flow along the road=> as he flew along the road {pg 409}\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Madonna Mary, by Mrs. Oliphant\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Jim Liddil and PG Distributed Proofreaders\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LONDON and COUNTRY BREWER\n\nBy Anonymous\n\n1736\n\n\n\nContaining an Account,\n\n\nI.     Of the Nature of the Barley-Corn, and of the proper Soils and\n       Manures for the Improvement thereof.\n\nII.    Of making good Malts.\n\nIII.   To know good from bad Malts.\n\nIV.    Of the Use of the Pale, Amber, and Brown Malts.\n\nV.     Of the Nature of several Waters, and their Use in Brewing.\n\nVI.    Of Grinding Malts.\n\nVII.   Of Brewing in general.\n\nVIII.  Of the _London_ Method of Brewing Stout, But-Beer, Pale and Brown\n       Ales.\n\nIX.    Of the Country or Private Way of Brewing.\n\nX.     Of the Nature and Use of the Hop.\n\nXI.    Of Boiling Malt liquors, and to Brew a Quantity of Drink in a little\n       Room, and with a few Tubs.\n\nXII.   Of Foxing or Tainting of Malt Liquors; their Prevention and Cure.\n\nXIII.  Of Fermenting and Working of Beers and Ales, and the unwholesome\n       Practice of Beating in the Yeast, detected.\n\nXIV.   Of several artificial Lees for feeding, fining, preserving, and\n       relishing Malt Liquors.\n\nXV.    Of several pernicious Ingredients put into Malt Liquors to encrease\n       their Strength.\n\nXVI.   Of the Cellar or Repository for keeping Beers and Ales.\n\nXVII.  Of Sweetening and Cleaning Casks.\n\nXVIII. Of Bunging Casks and Carrying them to some Distance.\n\nXIX.   Of the Age and Strength of Malt Liquors.\n\nXX.    Of the Profit and Pleasure of Private Brewing and the Charge of\n       Buying Malt Liquors.\n\nTo which is added,\n\nXXI.   A Philosophical Account of Brewing Strong _October_ Beer.\n       By an Ingenious Hand.\n\n\n\nBy a Person formerly concerned in a Common Brewhouse at _London_, but for\ntwenty Years past has resided in the Country.\n\n\n\nThe SECOND EDITION, Corrected.\n\n\n\nLONDON\n\nPrinted for Messeurs Fox, at the _Half-Moon and Seven Stars_, in\n_Westminster-Hall_.  M.DCC.XXXVI.\n\n[Price Two Shillings.]\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE PREFACE.\n\n\nThe many Inhabitants of Cities and Towns, as well as Travellers, that have\nfor a long time suffered great Prejudices from unwholsome and unpleasant\nBeers and Ales, by the badness of Malts, underboiling the Worts, mixing\ninjurious Ingredients, the unskilfulness of the Brewer, and the great\nExpense that Families have been at in buying them clogg'd with a heavy\nExcise, has moved me to undertake the writing of this Treatise on Brewing,\nWherein I have endeavour'd to set in sight the many advantages of Body\nand Purse that may arise from a due Knowledge and Management in Brewing\nMalt Liquors, which are of the greatest Importance, as they are in a\nconsiderable degree our Nourishment and the common Diluters of our Food;\nso that on their goodness depends very much the Health and Longevity of\nthe Body.\n\nThis bad Economy in Brewing has brought on such a Disrepute, and made our\nMalt Liquors in general so odious, that many have been constrain'd, either\nto be at an Expence for better Drinks than their Pockets could afford, or\ntake up with a Toast and Water to avoid the too justly apprehended ill\nConsequences of Drinking such Ales and Beers.\n\nWherefore I have given an Account of Brewing Beers and Ales after several\nMethods; and also several curious Receipts for feeding, fining and\npreserving Malt Liquors, that are most of them wholsomer than the Malt\nitself, and so cheap that none can object against the Charge, which I\nthought was the ready way to supplant the use of those unwholsome\nIngredients that have been made too free with by some ill principled\nPeople meerly for their own Profit, tho' at the Expence of the Drinker's\nHealth.\n\n_I hope I have adjusted that long wanted Method of giving a due Standard\nboth to the Hop and Wort, which never was yet (as I know of) rightly\nascertain'd in Print before, tho' the want of it I am perswaded has been\npartly the occasion of the scarcity of good Drinks, as is at this time\nvery evident in most Places in the Nation. I have here also divulg'd the\nNostrum of the Artist Brewer that he has so long valued himself upon, in\nmaking a right Judgment when the Worts are boiled to a true Crisis; a\nmatter of considerable Consequence, because all strong Worts may be boiled\ntoo much or too little to the great Loss of the Owner, and without this\nKnowledge a Brewer must go on by Guess; which is a hazard that every one\nought to be free from that can; and therefore I have endeavor'd to explode\nthe old Hour-glass way of Brewing, by reason of the several Uncertainties\nthat attend such Methods and the hazard of spoiling both Malt and Drink;\nfor in short where a Brewing is perform'd by Ladings over of scalding\nWater, there is no occasion for the Watch or Hour-glass to boil the Wort\nby, which is best known by the Eye, as I have both in this and my second\nBook made appear.\n\nI have here observed that necessary Caution, which is perfectly requisite\nin the Choice of good and the Management of bad Waters; a Matter of high\nImportance, as the Use of this Vehicle is unavoidable in Brewing, and\ntherefore requires a strict Inspection into its Nature; and this I have\nbeen the more particular in, because I am sensible of the great Quantities\nof unwholsome Waters used not only by Necessity, but by a mistaken Choice.\n\nSo also I have confuted the old received Opinion lately published by an\nEminent Hand, that long Mashings are the best Methods in Brewing; an Error\nof dangerous Consequence to all those who brew by Ladings over of the hot\nWater on the Malt.\n\nThe great Difficulty and what has hitherto proved an Impediment and\nDiscouragement to many from Brewing their own Drinks, I think, I have in\nsome measure removed, and made it plainly appear how a Quantity of Malt\nLiquor may be Brewed in a little Room and in the hottest Weather, without\nthe least Damage by Foxing or other Taint.\n\nThe Benefit of Brewing entire Guile small Beer from fresh Malt, and the\nill Effects of that made from Goods after strong Beer or Ale; I have here\nexposed, for the sake of the Health and Pleasure of those that may easily\nprove their advantage by drinking of the former and refusing the latter.\n\nBy the time the following Treatise is read over and thoroughly considered,\nI doubt not but an ordinary Capacity will be in some degree a better Judge\nof good and bad Malt Liquors as a Drinker, and have such a Knowledge in\nBrewing that formerly he was a stranger to; and therefore I am in great\nHopes these my Efforts will be one Principal Cause of the reforming our\nMalt Liquors in most Places; and that more private Families than ever will\ncome into the delightful and profitable Practice of Brewing their own\nDrinks, and thereby not only save almost half in half of Expence, but\nenjoy such as has passed thro' its regular Digestions, and is truly\npleasant, fine, strong and healthful.\n\nI Question not but this Book will meet with some Scepticks, who being\nneither prejudiced against the Introduction of new Improvements, or that\ntheir Interests will be hereby eclipsed in time; To such I say I do not\nwrite, because I have little hopes to reform a wrong Practice in them by\nReason and Argument. But those who are above Prejudice may easily judge of\nthe great Benefits that will accrue by the following Methods, I have here\nplainly made known, and of those in my Second Book that I have almost\nfinished and hope to publish in a little time, wherein I shall set forth\nhow to Brew without boiling Water or Wort, and several other Ways that\nwill be of considerable Service to the World._\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. I.\n\n\n_Of the Nature of the Barley-Corn, and of the proper Soils and Manures for\nthe Improvement thereof_.\n\n\nThis Grain is well known to excel all others for making of Malts that\nproduce those fine _British_ Liquors, Beer and Ale, which no other Nation\ncan equalize; But as this Excellency cannot be obtain'd unless the several\nIngredients are in a perfect State and Order, and these also attended with\na right judgment; I shall here endeavour to treat on their several\nparticulars, and first of Soils.\n\nThis Grain I annually sow in my Fields on diversities of Soils, and\nthereby have brought to my knowledge several differences arising\ntherefrom. On our Red Clays this Grain generally comes off reddish at both\nends, and sometimes all over, with a thick skin and tuff nature, somewhat\nlike the Soil it grows in, and therefore not so valuable as that of\ncontrary qualities, nor are the black blewish Marly Clays of the Vale much\nbetter, but Loams are, and Gravels better than them, as all the Chalks are\nbetter then Gravels; on these two last Soils the Barley acquires a whitish\nBody, a thin skin, a short plump kernel, and a (unreadable) flower,\nwhich occasions those, fine pale and amber Malts made at _Dunstable_,\n_Tring_ and _Dagnal_ from the Barley that comes off the white and gravelly\nGrounds about those Places; for it is certain there is as much difference\nin Barley as in Wheat or other Grain, from the sort it comes off, as\nappears by the excellent Wheats that grow in the marly vale Earths, Peas\nin Sands, and Barley in Gravels and Chalks, &c. For our Mother Earth, as\nit is destinated to the service of Man in the production of Vegetables, is\ncomposed of various sorts of Soils for different Seeds to grow therein.\nAnd since Providence has been pleased to allow Man this great privilege\nfor the imployment of his skill and labour to improve the same to his\nadvantage; it certainly behoves us to acquaint ourselves with its several\nnatures, and how to adapt an agreeable Grain and Manure to their natural\nSoil, as being the very foundation of enjoying good and bad Malts. This is\nobvious by parallel Deductions from Turneps sown on rank clayey loamy\nGrounds, dressed with noxious Dungs that render them bitter, tuff, and\nnauseous, while those that grow on Gravels, Sands and Chalky Loams under\nthe assistance of the Fold, or Soot, Lime, Ashes, Hornshavings, &c. are\nsweet (unreadable) and pleasant. 'Tis the same also with salads,\nAsparagus, Cabbages, Garden-beans and all other culinary Ware, that come\noff those rich Grounds glutted with the great quantities of _London_ and\nother rank Dungs which are not near so pure, sweet and wholsome, as those\nproduced from Virgin mould and other healthy Earths and Manures.\n\nThere is likewise another reason that has brought a disreputation on some\nof the Chiltern-barley, and that is, the too often sowing of one and the\nsame piece of Ground, whereby its spirituous, nitrous and sulphureous\nqualities are exhausted and worn out, by the constant attraction of its\nbest juices for the nutriment of the Grain: To supply which, great\nquantities of Dungs are often incorporated with such Earths, whereby they\nbecome impregnated with four, adulterated, unwholsome qualities, that so\naffect the Barley that grows therein, as to render it incapable of making\nsuch pure and sweet Malts, as that which is sown in the open\nChampaign-fields, whose Earths are constantly rested every third Year\ncalled the Fallow-season, in order to discharge their crude, phlegmatick\nand sour property, by the several turnings that the Plough gives them part\nof a Winter and one whole Summer, which exposes the rough, clotty loose\nparts of the Ground, and by degrees brings them into a condition of making\na lodgment of those saline benefits that arise from the Earths, and\nafterwards fall down, and redound so much to the benefit of all Vegetables\nthat grow therein, as being the essence and spring of Life to all things\nthat have root, and tho' they are first exhaled by the Sun in vapour from\nthe Earth as the spirit or breath thereof, yet is it return'd again in\nSnows, Hails, Dews, etc. more than in Rains, by which the surface of the\nGlobe is saturated; from whence it reascends in the juices of Vegetables,\nand enters into all those productions as food, and nourishment, which the\nCreation supplies.\n\nHere then may appear the excellency of steeping Seed-barley in a liquor\nlately invented, that impregnates and loads it with Nitre and other Salts\nthat are the nearest of all others to the true and original Spirit or Salt\nof the Earth, and therefore in a great measure supplies the want thereof\nboth in inclosure and open Field; for even in this last it is sometimes\nvery scarce, and in but small quantities, especially after a hot dry\nSummer and mild Winter, when little or no Snows have fell to cover the\nEarth and keep this Spirit in; by which and great Frosts it is often much\nencreased and then shews itself in the warmth of well Waters, that are\noften seen to wreak in the cold Seasons. Now since all Vegetables more or\nless partake of those qualities that the Soil and Manures abound with in\nwhich they grow; I therefore infer that all Barley so imbibed, improves\nits productions by the ascension of those saline spirituous particles that\nare thus lodged in the Seed when put into the Ground, and are part of the\nnourishment the After-Crop enjoys; and for this reason I doubt not, but\nwhen time has got the ascendant of prejudice, the whole Nation will come\ninto the practice of the invaluable Receipt published in two Books,\nentituled, _Chiltern and Vale Farming Explained_, and, _The Practical\nFarmer_; both writ by _William Ellis_ of _Little Gaddesden_ near\n_Hempstead_ in _Hertfordshire_, not only for Barley, but other Grains.\n\nBut notwithstanding Barley may grow on a light Soil with a proper Manure;\nand improved by the liquor of this Receipt, yet this Grain may be damaged\nor spoiled by being mown too soon, which may afterwards be discovered by\nits shrivelled and lean body that never will make right good Malt; or if\nit is mown at a proper time, and if it be housed damp, or wettish, it will\nbe apt to heat and mow-burn, and then it will never make so good Malt,\nbecause it will not spire, nor come so regularly on the floor as that\nwhich was inned dry.\n\nAgain, I have known one part of a Barley-crop almost green at Harvest,\nanother part ripe, and another part between both, tho' it was all sown at\nonce, occasion'd by the several situations of the Seed in the Ground, and\nthe succeeding Droughts. The deepest came up strong and was ripe soonest,\nthe next succeeded; but the uppermost, for want of Rain and Cover, some of\nit grew not at all, and the rest was green at Harvest. Now these\nirregularities are greatly prevented and cured by the application of the\ningredients mentioned in the Receipt, which infuses such a moisture into\nthe body of the Seed, as with the help of a little Rain and the many Dews,\nmakes it spire, take root and grow, when others are ruined for want of the\nassistance of such steeping.\n\nBarley like other Grain will also degenerate, and become rank, lean and\nsmall bodied, if the same Seed is sown too often in the Soil; 'tis\ntherefore that the best Farmers not only change the Seed every time, but\ntake due care to have it off a contrary Soil that they sow it in to; this\nmakes several in my neighbourhood every Year buy their Barley-seed in the\nVale of _Ailsbury_, that grew there on the black clayey marly Loams, to\nsow in Chalks, Gravels, &c. Others every second Year will go from hence to\n_Fullham_ and buy the Forward or Rath-ripe Barley that grows there on\nSandy-ground; both which Methods are great Improvements of this Corn, and\nwhether it be for sowing or malting, the plump, weighty and white\nBarley-corn, is in all respects much kinder than the lean flinty Sorts.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. II\n\n\n_Of making_ Malts.\n\n\nAs I have described the Ground that returns the best Barley, I now come to\ntreat of making it into Malt; to do which, the Barley is put into a leaden\nor tyled Cistern that holds five, ten or more Quarters, that is covered\nwith water four or six Inches above the Barley to allow for its Swell;\nhere it lyes five or six Tides as the Malster calls it, reckoning twelve\nHours to the Tide, according as the Barley is in body or in dryness; for\nthat which comes off Clays, or has been wash'd and damag'd by Rains,\nrequires less time than the dryer Grain that was inned well and grew on\nGravels or Chalks; the smooth plump Corn imbibing the water more kindly,\nwhen the lean and steely Barley will not so naturally; but to know when it\nis enough, is to take a Corn end-ways between the Fingers and gently crush\nit, and if it is in all parts mellow, and the husk opens or starts a\nlittle from the body of the Corn, then it is enough: The nicety of this is\na material Point; for if it is infus'd too much, the sweetness of the Malt\nwill be greatly taken off, and yield the less Spirit, and so will cause\ndeadness and sourness in Ale or Beer in a short time, for the goodness of\nthe Malt contributes much to the preservation of all Ales and Beers. Then\nthe water must be drain'd from it very well, and it will come equal and\nbetter on the floor, which may be done in twelve or sixteen Hours in\ntemperate weather, but in cold, near thirty. From the Cistern it is put\ninto a square Hutch or Couch, where it must lye thirty Hours for the\nOfficer to take his Gage, who allows four Bushels in the Score for the\nSwell in this or the Cistern, then it must be work'd Night and Day in one\nor two Heaps as the weather is cold or hot, and turn'd every four, six or\neight Hours, the outward part inwards and the bottom upwards, always\nkeeping a clear floor that the Corn that lies next to it be not chill'd;\nand as soon as it begins to come or spire, then turn it every three, four\nor five Hours, as was done before according to the temper of the Air,\nwhich greatly governs this management, and as it comes or works more, so\nmust the Heap be spreaded and thinned larger to cool it. Thus it may lye\nand be work'd on the floor in several parallels, two or three Foot thick,\nten or more Foot broad, and fourteen or more in length to Chip and Spire;\nbut not too much nor too soft; and when it is come enough, it is to be\nturned twelve or sixteen times in twenty-four Hours, if the Season is\nwarm, as in _March, April_ or _May_; and when it is fixed and the Root\nbegins to be dead, then it must be thickned again and carefully kept often\nturned and work'd, that the growing of the Root may not revive, and this\nis better done with the Shoes off than on; and here the Workman's Art and\nDiligence in particular is tryed in keeping the floor clear and turning\nthe Malt often, that it neither moulds nor Aker-spires, that is, that the\nBlade does not grow out at the opposite end of the Root; for if it does,\nthe flower and strength of the Malt is gone, and nothing left behind but\nthe Aker-spire, Husk and Tail: Now when it is at this degree and fit for\nthe Kiln, it is often practised to put it into a Heap and let it lye\ntwelve Hours before it is turned, to heat and mellow, which will much\nimprove the Malt if it is done with moderation, and after that time it\nmust be turned every six Hours during twenty four; but if it is\noverheated, it will become like Grease and be spoiled, or at least cause\nthe Drink to be unwholsome; when this Operation is over, it then must be\nput on the Kiln to dry four, six or twelve Hours, according to the nature\nof the Malt, for the pale sort requires more leisure and less fire than\nthe amber or brown sorts: Three Inches thick was formerly thought a\nsufficient depth for the Malt to lye on the Hair-cloth, but now six is\noften allowed it to a fault; fourteen or sixteen Foot square will dry\nabout two Quarters if the Malt lyes four Inches thick, and here it should\nbe turned every two, three or four Hours keeping the Hair-cloth clear: The\ntime of preparing it from the  Cistern to the Kiln is uncertain; according\nto the Season of the Year; in moderate weather three Weeks is often\nsufficient. If the Exciseman takes his Gage on the floor he allows ten in\nthe Score, but he sometimes Gages in Cistern, Couch, Floor and Kiln, and\nwhere he can make most, there he fixes his Charge: When the Malt is dryed,\nit must not cool on the Kiln, but be directly thrown off, not into a Heap,\nbut spreaded wide in an airy place, till it is thoroughly cool, then put\nit into a Heap or otherwise dispose of it.\n\nThere are several methods used in drying of Malts, as the Iron\nPlate-frame, the Tyle-frame, that are both full of little Holes: The\nBrass-wyred and Iron-wyred Frame, and the Hair-cloth; the Iron and Tyled\none, were chiefly Invented for drying of brown Malts and saving of Fuel,\nfor these when they come to be thorough hot will make the Corns crack and\njump by the fierceness of their heat, so that they will be roasted or\nscorch'd in a little time, and after they are off the Kiln, to plump the\nbody of the Corn and make it take the Eye, some will sprinkle water over\nit that it may meet with the better Market. But if such Malt is not used\nquickly, it will slacken and lose its Spirits to a great degree, and\nperhaps in half a Year or less may be taken by the Whools and spoiled:\nSuch hasty dryings or scorchings are also apt to bitter the Malt by\nburning its skin, and therefore these Kilns are not so much used now as\nformerly: The Wyre-frames indeed are something better, yet they are apt to\nscorch the outward part of the Corn, that cannot be got off so soon as the\nHair-cloth admits of, for these must be swept, when the other is only\nturned at once; however these last three ways are now in much request for\ndrying pale and amber Malts, because their fire may be kept with more\nleisure, and the Malt more gradually and truer dyed, but by many the\nHair-cloth is reckoned the best of all.\n\nMalts are dryed with several sorts of Fuel; as the Coak, Welch-coal,\nStraw, Wood and Fern, &c. But the Coak is reckoned by most to exceed all\nothers for making Drink of the finest Flavour and pale Colour, because it\nsends no smoak forth to hurt the Malt with any offensive tang, that Wood,\nFern and Straw are apt to do in a lesser or greater degree; but there is a\ndifference even in what is call'd Coak, the right sort being large\nPit-coal chark'd or burnt in some measure to a Cinder, till all the Sulphur\nis consumed and evaporated away, which is called Coak, and this when it is\ntruly made is the best of all other Fuels; but if there is but one Cinder\nas big as an Egg, that is not thoroughly cured, the smoak of this one is\ncapable of doing a little damage, and this happens too often by the\nnegligence or avarice of the Coak-maker: There is another sort by some\nwrongly called Coak, and rightly named Culme or Welch-coal, from _Swanzey_\nin _Pembrokeshire_, being of a hard stony substance in small bits\nresembling a shining Coal, and will burn without smoak, and by its\nsulphureous effluvia cast a most excellent whiteness on all the outward\nparts of the grainy body: In _Devonshire_ I have seen their Marble or grey\nFire-stone burnt into Lime with the strong fire that this Culme makes, and\nboth this and the Chark'd Pit-coal affords a most sweet moderate and\ncertain fire to all Malt that is dryed by it.\n\nStraw is the next sweetest Fuel, but Wood and Fern worst of all.\n\nSome I have known put a Peck or more of Peas, and malt them with five\nQuarters of Barley, and they'll greatly mellow the Drink, and so will\nBeans; but they won't come so soon, nor mix so conveniently with the Malt,\nas the Pea will.\n\nI knew a Farmer, when he sends five Quarters of Barley to be Malted, puts\nin half a Peck or more of Oats amongst them, to prove he has justice done\nhim by the Maker, who is hereby confin'd not to Change his Malt by reason\nothers won't like such a mixture.\n\nBut there is an abuse sometimes committed by a necessitous Malster, who to\ncome by Malt sooner than ordinary, makes use of Barley before it is\nthoroughly sweated in the Mow, and then it never makes right Malt, but\nwill be steely and not yield a due quantity of wort, as I knew it once\ndone by a Person that thrashed the Barley immediately from the Cart as it\nwas brought out of the Field, but they that used its Malt suffered not a\nlittle, for it was impossible it should be good, because it did not\nthoroughly Chip or Spire on the floor, which caused this sort of Malt,\nwhen the water was put to it in the Mash-tub, to swell up and absorb the\nLiquor, but not return its due quantity again, as true Malt would, nor was\nthe Drink of this Malt ever good in the Barrel, but remain'd a raw insipid\nbeer, past the Art of Man to Cure, because this, like Cyder made from\nApples directly off the Tree, that never sweated out their phlegmatick\ncrude juice in the heap, cannot produce a natural Liquor from such\nunnatural management; for barley certainly is not fit to make Malt of\nuntil it is fully mellowed and sweated in the Mow, and the Season of the\nYear is ready for it, without both which there can be no assurance of good\nMalt: Several instances of this untimely making Malt I have known to\nhappen, that has been the occasion of great quantities of bad Ales and\nBeers, for such Malt, retaining none of its Barley nature, or that the\nSeason of the Year is not cold enough to admit of its natural working on\nthe Floor, is not capable of producing a true Malt, it will cause its\nDrink to stink in the cask instead of growing fit for use, as not having\nits genuine Malt-nature to cure and preserve it, which all good Malts\ncontribute to as well as the Hop.\n\nThere is another damage I have known accrue to the Buyer of Malt by\nMellilet, a most stinking Weed that grows amongst some Barley, and is so\nmischievously predominant, as to taint it to a sad degree because its\nblack Seed like that of an Onion, being lesser than the Barley, cannot be\nentirely separated, which obliges it to be malted with the Barley, and\nmakes the Drink so heady that it is apt to fuddle the unwary by drinking a\nsmall quantity. This Weed is so natural to some Ground that the Farmer\ndespairs of ever extirpating it, and is to be avoided as much as possible,\nbecause it very much hurts the Drink that is made from Malt mixed with it,\nby its nauseous Scent and Taste, as may be perceived by the Ointment made\nwith it that bears its Name: I knew a Victualler that bought a parcel of\nMalt that this weed was amongst, and it spoiled all the Brewings and Sale\nof the Drink, for it's apt to cause Fevers, Colicks and other Distempers\nin the Body.\n\nDarnel is a rampant Weed and grows much amongst some Barley, especially in\nthe bad Husbandman's Ground, and most where it is sown with the\nSeed-barley: It does the least harm amongst Malt, because it adds a\nstrength to it, and quickly intoxicates, if there is much in it; but where\nthere is but little, the Malster regards it not, for the sake of its\ninebriating quality.\n\nThere are other Weeds or Seeds that annoy the Barley; but as the Screen,\nSieve and throwing will take most of them out, there does not require here\na Detail of their Particulars. Oats malted as Barley is, will make a weak,\nsoft, mellow and pleasant Drink, but Wheat when done so, will produce a\nstrong heady nourishing well-tasted and fine Liquor, which is now more\npractised then ever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. III.\n\n\n_To know good from bad_ Malts.\n\n\nThis is a Matter of great Importance to all Brewers, both publick and\nprivate, for 'tis common for the Seller to cry all is good, but the\nBuyer's Case is different; wherefore it is prudential to endeavour to be\nMaster of this Knowledge, but I have heard a great Malster that lived\ntowards _Ware_, say, he knew a grand Brewer, that wetted near two hundred\nQuarters a Week, was not a judge of good and bad Malts, without which 'tis\nimpossible to draw a true length of Ale or Beer. To do this I know but of\nfew Ways, _First_, By the Bite; Is to break the Malt Corn across between\nthe Teeth, in the middle of it or at both Ends, and if it tasteth mellow\nand sweet, has a round body, breaks soft, is full of flower all its\nlength, smells well and has a thin skin, then it is good; _Secondly_, By\nWater; Is to take a Glass near full, and put in some Malt; and if it\nswims, it is right, but if any sinks to the bottom, then it is not true\nMalt, but steely and retains somewhat of its Barley nature; yet I must own\nthis is not an infallible Rule, because if a Corn of Malt is crack'd,\nsplit or broke, it will then take the water and sink, but there may an\nallowance be given for such incidents, and still room enough to make a\njudgment. _Thirdly_, Malt that is truly made will not be hard and steely,\nbut of so mellow a Nature, that if forced against a dry Board, will mark\nand cast a white Colour almost like Chalk. _Fourthly_, Malt that is not\nrightly made will be part of it of a hard Barley nature, and weigh heavier\nthan that which is true Malt.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. IV.\n\n\n _Of the Nature and Use of Pale, Amber and Brown_ Malts.\n\n\nThe pale Malt is the slowest and slackest dryed of any, and where it has\nhad a leisure fire, a sufficient time allowed it on the Kiln, and a due\ncare taken of it; the flower of the grain will remain in its full\nquantity, and thereby produce a greater length of wort, than the brown\nhigh dryed Malt, for which reason it is sold for one or two shillings\n_per_ Quarter more than that: This pale Malt is also the most nutritious\nsort to the body of all others, as being in this state the most simple and\nnearest to its Original Barley-corn, that will retain an Alcalous and\nBalsamick quality much longer than the brown sort; the tender drying of\nthis Malt bringing its body into so soft a texture of Parts, that most of\nthe great Brewers, brew it with Spring and Well-waters, whose hard and\nbinding Properties they think agrees best with this loose-bodied Malt,\neither in Ales or Beer's and which will also dispense with hotter waters\nin brewing of it, than the brown Malt can. The amber-colour'd Malt is that\nwhich is dryed in a medium degree, between the pale and the brown, and is\nvery much in use, as being free of either extream. Its colour is pleasant,\nits taste agreeable and its nature wholsome, which makes it be prefer'd\nby many as the best of Malts; this by some is brewed either with hard or\nsoft waters, or a mixture of both.\n\nThe brown Malt is the soonest and highest dryed of any, even till it is so\nhard, that it's difficult to bite some of its Corns asunder, and is often\nso crusted or burnt, that the farinous part loses a great deal of its\nessential Salts and vital Property, which frequently deceives its ignorant\nBrewer, that hopes to draw as much Drink from a quarter of this, as he\ndoes from pale or amber sorts: This Malt by some is thought to occasion\nthe Gravel and Stone, besides what is commonly called the Heart-burn; and\nis by its steely nature less nourishing than the pale or amber Malts,\nbeing very much impregnated with the fiery fumiferous Particles of the\nKiln, and therefore its Drink sooner becomes sharp and acid than that made\nfrom the pale or amber sorts, if they are all fairly brewed: For this\nreason the _London_ Brewers mostly use the _Thames_ or _New River_ waters\nto brew this Malt with, for the sake of its soft nature, whereby it agrees\nwith the harsh qualities of it better than any of the well or other hard\nSorts, and makes a luscious Ale for a little while, and a But-beer that\nwill keep very well five or six Months, but after that time it generally\ngrows stale, notwithstanding there be ten or twelve Bushels allowed to the\nHogshead, and it be hopp'd accordingly.\n\nPale and amber Malts dryed with Coak or Culm, obtains a more clean bright\npale Colour than if dryed with any other Fuel, because there is not smoak\nto darken and sully their Skins or Husks, and give them an ill relish,\nthat those Malts little or more have, which are dryed with Straw, Wood, or\nFern, &c. The Coak or _Welch_ Coal also makes more true and compleat Malt,\nas I have before hinted, than any other Fuel, because its fire gives both\na gentle and certain Heat, whereby the Corns are in all their Parts\ngradually dryed, and therefore of late these Malts have gained such a\nReputation that great quantities have been consumed in most Parts of the\nNation for their wholsome Natures and sweet fine Taste: These make such\nfine Ales and But-beers, as has tempted several of our Malsters in my\nNeighbour-hood to burn Coak or Culm at a great expence of Carriage thirty\nMiles from _London_.\n\nNext to the Coak-dryed Malt, the Straw-dryed is the sweetest and best\ntasted: This I must own is sometimes well Malted where the Barley, Wheat,\nStraw, Conveniencies and the Maker's Skill are good; but as the fire of\nthe Straw is not so regular as the Coak, the Malt is attended with more\nuncertainty in its making, because it is difficult to keep it to a\nmoderate and equal Heat, and also exposes the Malt in some degree to the\ntaste of the smoak.\n\nBrown Malts are dryed with Straw, Wood and Fern, &c. the Straw-dryed is\nnot the best, but the Wood sort has a most unnatural Taste, that few can\nbear with, but the necessitous, and those that are accustomed to its\nstrong smoaky tang; yet is it much used in some of the Western Parts of\n_England_, and many thousand Quarters of this Malt has been formerly used\nin _London_ for brewing the Butt-keeping-beers with, and that because it\nsold for two Shillings _per_ Quarter cheaper than the Straw-dryed Malt,\nnor was this Quality of the Wood-dryed Malt much regarded by some of its\nBrewers, for that its ill Taste is lost in nine or twelve Months, by the\nAge of the Beer, and the strength of the great Quantity of Hops that were\nused in its Preservation.\n\nThe Fern-dryed Malt is also attended with a rank disagreeable Taste from\nthe smoak of this Vegetable, with which many Quarters of Malt are dryed,\nas appears by the great Quantities annually cut by Malsters on our\nCommons, for the two prevalent Reasons of cheapness and plenty.\n\nAt _Bridport_ in _Dorsetshire_, I knew an Inn-keeper use half Pale and\nhalf Brown Malt for Brewing his Butt-beers, that, proved to my Palate the\nbest I ever drank on the Road, which I think may be accounted for, in that\nthe Pale being the slackest, and the Brown the hardest dryed, must produce\na mellow good Drink by the help of a requisite Age, that will reduce those\nextreams to a proper Quality.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. V.\n\n\n_Of the Nature of several Waters and their use in Brewing. And first of\nWell-waters_.\n\n\nWater next to Malt is what by course comes here under Consideration as a\nMatter of great Importance in Brewing of wholsome fine Malt-liquors, and\nis of such Consequence that it concerns every one to know the nature of\nthe water he Brews with, because it is the Vehicle by which the nutritious\nand pleasant Particles of the Malt and Hop are conveyed into our Bodies,\nand there becomes a diluter of our Food: Now the more simple and freer\nevery water is from foreign Particles, the better it will answer those\nEnds and Purposes; for, as Dr_.Mead_ observes, some waters are so loaded\nwith stony Corpuscles, that even the Pipes thro' which they are carried,\nin time are incrusted and stopt up by them, and is of that petrifying\nnature as to breed the Stone in the Bladder, which many of the _Parisians_\nhave been instances of, by using this sort of water out of the River\n_Seine_. And of this Nature is another at _Rowel_ in _Northamptonshire_,\nwhich in no great distance of time so clogs the Wheel of an overshot Mill\nthere, that they are forced with, convenient Instruments to cut way for\nits Motion; and what makes it still more evident, is the sight of those\nincrusted Sides of the Tea-kettles, that the hard Well-waters are the\noccasion of, by being often boiled in them: And it is further related by\nthe same Doctor, that a Gentlewoman afflicted with frequent returns of\nviolent Colick Pains was cured by the Advice of _Van Helmont_, only by\nleaving off drinking Beer brewed with Well-water; It's true, such a fluid\nhas a greater force and aptness to extract the tincture out of Malt, than\nis to be had in the more innocent and soft Liquor of Rivers: But for this\nvery reason it ought not, unless upon meer necessity, to be made use of;\nthis Quality being owing to the mineral Particles and alluminous Salts\nwith which it is impregnated. For these waters thus saturated, will by\ntheir various gravities in circulation, deposit themselves in one part of\nthe animal Body or other, which has made some prove the goodness of Water\nby the lightness of its body in the Water Scales, now sold in several of\nthe _London_ Shops, in order to avoid the Scorbutick, Colicky,\nHypochondriack, and other ill Effects of the Clayey and other gross\nParticles of stagnating Well-waters, and the calculous Concretions of\nothers; and therefore such waters ought to be mistrusted more than any,\nwhere they are not pure clear and soft or that don't arise from good\nChalks or stony Rocks, that are generally allowed to afford the best of\nall the Well sorts.\n\nSpring-waters are in general liable to partake of those minerals thro'\nwhich they pass, and are salubrious or mischievous accordingly. At\n_Uppingham_ in _Rutland_, their water is said to come off an\nAllum-rock, and so tints their Beer with its saline Quality, that it is\neasily tasted at the first Draught. And at _Dean_ in _Northamptonshire_, I\nhave seen the very Stones colour the rusty Iron by the constant running of\na Spring-water; but that which will Lather with Soap, or such soft water\nthat percolates through Chalk, or a Grey Fire-stone, is generally\naccounted best, for Chalks in this respect excell all other Earths, in\nthat it administers nothing unwholsome to the perfluent waters, but\nundoubtedly absorps by its drying spungy Quality any ill minerals that may\naccompany the water that runs thro' them. For which reason they throw in,\ngreat Quantities of Chalk into their Wells at _Ailsbury_ to soften their\nwater, which coming off a black Sand-stone, is so hard and sharp that it\nwill often turn their Beer sour in a Week's time, so that in its Original\nState it's neither fit to Wash nor Brew with, but so long as the Alcalous\nsoft Particles of the Chalk holds good, they put it to both uses.\n\nRiver-waters are less liable to be loaded with metallick, petrifying,\nsaline and other insanous Particles of the Earth, than the Well or Spring\nsorts are, especially at some distance from the Spring-head, because the\nRain water mixes with and softens it, and are also much cured by the Sun's\nheat and the Air's power, for which reason I have known several so strict,\nthat they won't let their Horses drink near the first rise of some of\nthem; this I have seen the sad Effects of, and which has obliged me to\navoid two that run cross a Road in _Bucks_ and _Hertfordshire_: But in\ntheir runnings they often collect gross Particles from ouzy muddy\nmixtures, particularly near Town, that make the Beer subject to new\nfermentations, and grow foul upon alteration of weather as the _Thames_\nwater generlly does; yet is this for its softness much better than the\nhard sort, however both these waters are used by some Brewers as I shall\nhereafter observe; but where a River-water can be had clear in a dry time,\nwhen no great Rain has lately fell out of Rivulets or Rivers that have a\nGravelly, Chalky, Sandy or Stone-bottom free from the Disturbance of\nCattle, &c. and in good Air, as that of _Barkhamstead St. Peters_ in\n_Hertfordshire_ is; it may then justly claim the name of a most excellent\nwater for Brewing, and will make a stronger Drink with the same quantity\nof Malt than any of the Well-waters; insomuch that that of the _Thames_\nhas been proved to make as strong Beer with seven Bushels of Malt, as\nWell-water with eight; and so are all River-waters in a proportionable\ndegree, and where they can be obtain'd clean and pure, Drink may be drawn\nfine in a few Days after Tunning.\n\nRain-water is very soft, of a most simple and pure nature, and the best\nDiluter of any, especially if received free from Dirt, and the Salt of\nMortar that often mixes with it as it runs off tyled Roofs; this is very\nagreeable for brewing of Ales that are not to be kept a great while, but\nfor Beers that are to remain some time in the Casks, it is not so, well,\nas being apt to putrify the soonest of any.\n\nPond-waters; this includes all standing waters chiefly from Rain, and are\ngood or bad as they happen; for where there is a clean bottom, and the\nwater lies undisturbed from the tread of Cattle, or too many Fish, in an\nopen sound Air, in a large quantity, and where the Sun has free access; it\nthen comes near, if not quite as good as Rain or River-waters, as is that\nof _Blew-pot_ Pond on the high Green at _Gaddesden_ in _Hertfordshire_ and\nmany others, which are often prefer'd for Brewing, even beyond many of the\nsoft Well-waters about them. But where it is in a small quantity, or full\nof Fish (especially the sling Tench) or is so disturbed by Cattle as to\nforce up Mud and Filth; it is then the most foul and disagreeable of all\nothers: So is it likewise in long dry Seasons when our Pond-waters are so\nlow as obliges us to strain it thro' Sieves before we can use it, to take\nout the small red Worms and other Corruptions, that our stagnant waters\nare generally then too full of. The latest and best Doctors have so far\nscrutinized into the prime Cause of our _British_ malady the Scurvy, as to\naffirm its first rise is from our unwholesome stagnating waters, and\nespecially those that come off a clayey surface, as there are about\n_Londonderry_ and _Amsterdam_, for that where the waters are worst, there\nthis Distemper is most common, so that in their Writings they have put it\nout of all doubt, that most of our complicated symptoms that are rank'd\nunder this general Name, if they don't take their beginning from such\nwater, do own it to be their chief Cause.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. VI.\n\n\n _Of Grinding_ Malts.\n\n\nAs trifling as this Article in Brewing may seem at first it very worthily\ndeserves the notice of all concern'd therein, for on this depends much the\ngood of our Drink, because if it is ground too small the flower of the\nMalt will be the easier and more freely mix with the water, and then will\ncause the wort to run thick, and therefore the Malt must be only just\nbroke in the Mill, to make it emit its Spirit gradually, and incorporate\nits flower with the water in such a manner that first a stout Beer, then\nan Ale, and afterwards a small Beer may be had at one and the same\nBrewing, and the wort run off fine and clear to the last. Many are\nlikewise so sagacious as to grind their brown Malt a Fortnight before they\nuse it, and keep it in a dry Place from the influence of too moist an Air,\nthat it may become mellower by losing in a great measure the fury of its\nharsh fiery Particles, and its steely nature, which this sort of Malt\nacquires on the Kiln; however this as well as many other hard Bodies may\nbe reduced by Time and Air into a more soluble, mellow and soft Condition,\nand then it will imbibe the water and give a natural kind tincture more\nfreely, by which a greater quantity and stronger Drink may be made, than\nif it was used directly from the Mill, and be much smoother and better\ntasted. But the pale Malt will be fit for use at a Week's end, because the\nleisureness of their drying endows them with a softness from the time they\nare taken off the Kiln to the time they are brewed, and supplies in them\nwhat Time and Air must do in the brown sorts. This method of grinding Malt\nso long before-hand can't be so conveniently practised by some of the\ngreat Brewers, because several of them Brew two or three times a Week, but\nnow most of them out of good Husbandry grind their Malts into the Tun by\nthe help of a long descending wooden Spout, and here they save the Charge\nof emptying or uncasing it out of the Bin (which formerly they used to do\nbefore this new way was discovered) and also the waste of a great deal of\nthe Malt-flower that was lost when carryed in Baskets, whereas now the\nCover of the Tun presents all that Damage In my common Brewhouse at\n_London_ I ground my Malt between two large Stones by the Horse-mill that\nwith one Horse would grind [blank space] quarters an Hour, But in the\nCountry I use a steel Hand-mill,  that Cost at first forty Shillings;\nwhich will by the help of only one Man grind six or eight Bushels in an\nHour, and will last a Family many Years without hardning or cutting: There\nare some old-fashion'd stone Hand-mills in being, that some are Votaries\nfor and prefer to the Iron ones, because they alledge that these break the\nCorn's body, when the Iron ones only cut it in two, which occasions the\nMalt so broke by the Stones, to give the water a more easy, free and\nregular Power to extract its Virtue, than the Cut-malt can that is more\nconfin'd within its Hull. Notwithstanding the Iron ones are now mostly in\nUse for their great Dispatch and long Duration. In the Country it is\nfrequently done by some to throw a Sack of Malt on a Stone or Brick-floor\nas soon as it is ground, and there let it lye, giving it one turn, for a\nDay or two, that the Stones or Bricks may draw out the fiery Quality it\nreceived from the Kiln, and give the Drink a soft mild Taste.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. VII.\n\n\n_Of Brewing in general_.\n\n\nBrewing, like several other Arts is prostituted to the opinionated\nIgnorance of many conceited Pretenders, who if they have but seen or been\nconcern'd in but one Brewing, and that only one Bushel of Malt, assume the\nName of a Brewer and dare venture on several afterwards, as believing it\nno other Task, than more Labour, to Brew a great deal as well as a little;\nfrom hence it partly is, that we meet with such hodge-podge Ales and\nBeers, as are not only disagreeable in Taste and Foulness, but indeed\nunwholsome to the Body of Man, for as it is often drank thick and voided\nthin, the Feces or gross part must in my Opinion remain behind in some\ndegree. Now what the Effects of that may be, I must own I am not Physician\nenough to explain, but shrewdly suspect it may be the Cause of Stones,\nColicks, Obstructions, and several other Chronical Distempers; for if we\nconsider that the sediments of Malt-liquors are the refuse of a corrupted\nGrain, loaded with the igneous acid Particles of the Malt, and then again\nwith the corrosive sharp Particles of the Yeast, it must consequently be\nvery pernicious to the _British_ human Body especially, which certainly\nsuffers much from the animal Salts of the great Quantities of Flesh that\nwe Eat more than People of any other Nation whatsoever; and therefore are\nmore then ordinarily obligated not to add the scorbutick mucilaginous\nQualities of such gross unwholsome Particles, that every one makes a\nlodgment of in their Bodies, as the Liquors they drink are more or less\nthick; for in plain Truth, no Malt-liquor can be good without it's fine.\nThe late Curious _Simon Harcourt_ Esq; of _Penly_, whom I have had the\nhonour to drink some of his famous _October_ with, thought the true Art of\nBrewing of such Importance, that it is said to Cost him near twenty Pounds\nto have an old Days-man taught it by a _Welch_ Brewer, and sure it was\nthis very Man exceeded all others in these Parts afterwards in the Brewing\nof that which he called his _October_ Beer. So likewise in _London_ they\nlay such stress on this Art, that many have thought it worth their while\nto give one or two hundred Guineas with an Apprentice: This Consideration\nalso made an Ambassador give an extraordinary Encouragement to one of my\nAcquaintance to go over with him, that was a great Master of this Science.\nBut notwithstanding all that can be said that relates to this Subject,\nthere are so many Incidents attending Malt-liquors, that it has puzled\nseveral expert Men to account for their difference, though brewed by the\nsame Brewer, with the same Malt, Hops and Water, and in the same Month and\nTown, and tapp'd at the same time: The Beer of one being fine, strong and\nwell Tasted, while the others have not had any worth drinking, now this\nmay be owing to the different Weather in the same Month, that might cause\nan Alteration in the working of the Liquors, or that the Cellar may not be\nso convenient, or that the Water was more disturbed by Winds or Rains, &c.\nBut it has been observed that where a Gentleman has imployed one Brewer\nconstantly, and uses the same sort of Ingredients, and the Beer kept in\ndry Vaults or Cellars that have two or three Doors; the Drink has been\ngenerally good. And where such Malt-liquors are kept in Butts, more time\nis required to ripen, meliorate and fine them, than those kept in\nHogsheads, because the greater quantity must have the longer time; so also\na greater quantity will preserve itself better than a lesser one, and on\nthis account the Butt and Hogshead are the two best sized Casks of all\nothers; but all under a Hogshead hold rather too small a quantity to keep\ntheir Bodies. The Butt is certainly a most noble Cask for this use, as\nbeing generally set upright, whereby it maintains a large Cover of Yeast,\nthat greatly contributes to the keeping in the Spirits of the Beer, admits\nof a most convenient broaching in the middle and its lower part, and by\nits broad level Bottom, gives a better lodgment to the fining and\npreserving Ingredients, than any other Cask whatsoever that lyes in, the\nlong Cross-form. Hence it partly is, that the common Butt-beer is at this\ntime in greater Reputation than ever in _London_, and the Home-brew'd\nDrinks out of Credit; because the first is better cured in its Brewing, in\nits Quantity, in its Cask, and in its Age; when the latter has been loaded\nwith the pernicious Particles of great Quantities of Yeast, of a short\nAge, and kept in small Casks, that confines its Owner, only to Winter\nBrewing and Sale, as not being capable of sustaining the Heat of the\nWeather, for that the acidity of the Yeast brings on a sudden hardness and\nstaleness of the Ale, which to preserve in its mild Aley Taste, will not\nadmit of any great Quantity of Hops; and this is partly the reason that\nthe handful of Salt which the _Plymouth_ Brewers put into their Hogshead,\nhinders their Ale from keeping, as I shall hereafter take notice of.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. VIII.\n\n\n_The_ London _Method of Brewing_.\n\n\nIn a great Brewhouse that I was concern'd in, they wetted or used a\nconsiderable Quantity of Malt in one Week in Brewing Stout-beer, common\nButt-beer, Ale and small Beer, for which purpose they have River and Well\nWaters, which they take in several degrees of Heat, as the Malt, Goods and\nGrain are in a condition to receive them, and according to the Practice\nthere I shall relate the following Particulars, viz.\n\n_For Stout Butt Beer_.\n\n\nThis is the strongest Butt-Beer that is Brewed from brown Malt, and often\nsold for forty Shillings the Barrel, or six Pound the Butt out of the\nwholesale Cellars: The Liquor (for it is Sixpence forfeit in the _London_\nBrewhouse if the word Water is named) in the Copper designed for the first\nMash, has a two Bushel Basket, or more, of the most hully Malt throw'd\nover it, to cover its Top and forward its Boiling; this must be made very\nhot, almost ready to boil, yet not so as to blister, for then it will be\nin too high a Heat; but as an indication of this, the foul part of the\nLiquor will ascend, and the Malt swell up, and then it must be parted,\nlook'd into and felt with the Finger or back of the Hand, and if the\nLiquor is clear and can but be just endured, it is then enough, and the\nStoker must damp his fire as soon as possible by throwing in a good Parcel\nof fresh Coals, and shutting his Iron vent Doors, if there are any;\nimmediately on this they let as much cold Liquor or Water run into the\nCopper as will make it all of a Heat, somewhat more than Blood-warm, this\nthey Pump over, or let it pass by a Cock into an upright wooden square\nSpout or Trunk, and it directly rises thro' the Holes of a false Bottom\ninto the Malt, which is work'd by several Men with Oars for about half an\nHour, and is called the first and stiff Mash: While this is doing, there\nis more Liquor heating in the Copper that must not be let into the mash\nTun till it is very sharp, almost ready to boil, with this they Mash\nagain, then cover it with several Baskets of Malt, and let it stand an\nHour before it runs into the Under-back, which when boiled an Hour and a\nhalf with a good quantity of Hops makes this Stout. The next is Mash'd\nwith a cooler Liquor, then a sharper, and the next Blood-warm or quite\nCold; by which alternate degrees of Heat, a Quantity of small Beer is made\nafter the Stout.\n\n\n_For Brewing strong brown Ale called_ Stitch.\n\n\nThis is most of it the first running of the Malt, but yet of a longer\nLength than is drawn for the Stout; It has but few Hops boiled in it, and\nis sold for Eight-pence _per_ Gallon at the Brewhouse out of the Tun, and\nis generally made to amend the common brown Ale with, on particular\nOccasions. This Ale I remember was made use of by [Blank space] _Medlicot_\nEsq; in the beginning of a Consumption, and I heard him say, it did him\nvery great Service, for he lived many Years afterwards.\n\n\n_For Brewing common brown Ale and Starting Beer_.\n\n\nThey take the Liquors from the brown Ale as for the Stout, but draw a\ngreater Quantity from the Malt, than for Stout or Stitch, and after the\nfifth and second Mash they Cap the Goods with fresh Malt to keep in the\nSpirit and Boil it an Hour; after this, small Beer is made of the same\nGoods. Thus also the common brown Starting Butt-Beer is Brewed, only\nboiled with more Hops an Hour and a half, and work'd cooler and longer\nthan the brown Ale, and a shorter Length drawn from the Malt. But it is\noften practised after the brown Ale, and where a Quantity of small Beer is\nwanted, or that it is to be Brewed better than ordinary, to put so much\nfresh Malt on the Goods as will answer that purpose.\n\n\n_For Brewing Pale and Amber Ales and Beers_.\n\n\nAs the brown Malts are Brewed with River, these are Brewed with Well or\nSpring Liquors. The Liquors are by some taken sharper for pale than brown\nMalts, and after the first scalding Liquor is put over, some lower the\nrest by degrees to the last which is quite Cold, for their small Beer; so\nalso for Butt-Beers there is no other difference than the addition of more\nHops, and boiling, and the method of working. But the reasons for Brewing\npale Malts with Spring or hard Well waters, I have mentioned in my second\nBook of Brewing.\n\n\n_For Brewing Entire Guile Small Beer_.\n\n\nOn the first Liquor they throw some hully Malt to shew the break of it,\nand when it is very sharp, they let in some cold Liquor, and run it into\nthe Tun milk warm; this is mash'd with thirty or forty pulls of the Oar,\nand let stand till the second Liquor is ready, which must be almost\nscalding hot to the back of the Hand, then run it by the Cock into the\nTun, mash it up and let it stand an Hour before it is spended off into the\nUnder-back: These two pieces of Liquor will make one Copper of the first\nwort, without putting any fresh Malt on the Goods; the next Liquor to be\nBlood-warm, the next sharp, and the next cool or cold; for the general way\nin great Brewhouses is to let a cool Liquor precede a sharp one, because\nit gradually opens the Pores of the Malt and Goods, and prepares the way\nfor the hotter Liquor that is to follow.\n\n\n_The several Lengths or Quantities of Drinks that have been made from\nMalt, and their several Prices, as they have been sold at a common\nBrewhouse_.\n\n\nFor Stout-Beer, is commonly drawn one Barrel off a quarter of Malt, and\nsold for thirty Shillings _per_ Barrel from the Tun. For Stitch or strong\nbrown Ale, one Barrel and a Firkin, at one and twenty Shillings and\nFourpence _per_ Barrel from the Tun. For common brown Ale, one Barrel and\na half or more, at sixteen Shillings _per_ Barrel, that holds thirty two\nGallons, from the Tun. For Intire small Beer, five or six Barrels off a\nQuarter, at seven or eight Shillings _per_ Barrel from the Tun. For Pale\nand Amber Ale, one Barrel and a Firkin, at one Shilling _per_ Gallon from\nthe Tun.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. IX.\n\n\n_The Country or private way of Brewing_.\n\n\nSeveral Countries have their several Methods of Brewing, as is practised\nin _Wales, Dorchester, Nottingham, Dundle_, and many other Places; but\nevading Particulars, I shall here recommend that which I think is most\nserviceable both in Country and _London_ private Families. And first, I\nshall observe that the great Brewer has some advantages in Brewing more\nthan the small one, and yet the latter has some Conveniences which the\nformer can't enjoy; for 'tis certain that the great Brewer can make more\nDrink, and draw a greater Length in proportion to his Malt, than a Person\ncan from a lesser Quantity, because the greater the Body, the more is its\nunited Power in receiving and discharging, and he can Brew with less\ncharge and trouble by means of his more convenient Utensils. But then the\nprivate Brewer is not without his Benefits; for he can have his Malt\nground at pleasure, his Tubs and moveable Coolers sweeter and better\nclean'd than the great fixed Tuns and Backs, he can skim off his top Yeast\nand leave his bottom Lees behind, which is what the great Brewer can't so\nwell do; he can at discretion make additions of cold wort to his too\nforward Ales and Beers, which the great Brewer can't so conveniently do;\nhe can Brew how and when he pleases, which the great ones are in some\nmeasure hindred from. But to come nearer the matter, I will suppose a\nprivate Family to Brew five Bushels of Malt, whose Copper holds brim-full\nthirty six Gallons or a Barrel: On this water we put half a Peck of Bran\nor Malt when it is something hot, which will much forward it by keep in\nthe Steams or Spirit of the water, and when it begins to Boil, if the\nwater is foul, skim off the Bran or Malt and give it the Hogs, or else\nlade both water and that into the mash Vat, where it is to remain till the\nsteam is near spent, and you can see your Face in it, which will be in\nabout a quarter of an Hour in cold weather; then let all but half a Bushel\nof the Malt run very leisurely into it, stirring it all the while with an\nOar or Paddle, that it may not Ball, and when the Malt is all but just\nmix'd with water it is enough, which I am sensible is different from the\nold way and the general present Practice; but I shall here clear that\nPoint. For by not stirring or mashing the Malt into a Pudding Consistence\nor thin Mash, the Body of it lies in a more loose Condition, that will\neasier and sooner admit of a quicker and more true Passage of the\nafter-ladings of the several Bowls or Jets of hot water, which must run\nthorough it before the Brewing is ended; by which free percolation the\nwater has ready access to all the parts of the broken Malt, so that the\nBrewer is capacitated to Brew quicker or slower, and to make more Ale or\nsmall Beer; If more Ale, then hot Boiling water must be laded over to\nslow that one Bowl must run almost off before another is put over, which\nwill occasion the whole Brewing to last about sixteen Hours, especially\nif the _Dundle_ way is followed, of spending it out of the Tap as small\nas a Straw, and as fine as Sack, and then it will be quickly so in the\nBarrel: Of if less or weaker Ale is to be made and good small Beer, then\nthe second Copper of boiling water may be put over expeditiously and\ndrawn out with a large and fast steam. After the first stirring of the\nMalt is done, then put over the reserve of half a Bushel of fresh Malt\nto the four Bushels and half that is already in the Tub, which must be\nspread all over it, and also cover the top of the Tub with some Sacks or\nother Cloths to keep in the Steam or Spirit of the Malt; then let it\nstand two or three Hours, at the end of which, put over now and then a\nBowl of the boiling water in the Copper as is before directed, and so\ncontinue to do till as much is run off as will almost fill the Copper;\nthen in a Canvas or other loose woven Cloth, put in half a Pound of Hops\nand boil them half an Hour, when they must be taken out, and as many\nfresh ones put in their room as is judged proper to boil half an Hour\nmore, if for Ale: But if for keeping Beer, half a Pound of fresh ones\nshould be put in at every half Hour's end, and Boil an Hour and a half\nbriskly: Now while the first Copper of wort is Boiling, there should be\nscalding water leisurely put over the Goods, Bowl by Bowl, and run off,\nthat the Copper may be filled again immediately after the first is out,\nand boiled an Hour with near the same quantity of fresh Hops, and in the\nsame manner as those in the first Copper of Ale-wort were. The rest for\nsmall Beer may be all cold water put over the Grains at once, or at\ntwice, and Boil'd an Hour each Copper with the Hops that has been boil'd\nbefore. But here I must observe, that sometimes I have not an\nopportunity to get hot water for making all my second Copper of wort,\nwhich obliges me then to make use of cold to supply what was wanting.\nOut of five Bushels of Malt, I generally make a Hogshead of Ale with the\ntwo first Coppers of wort, and a Hogshead of small Beer with the other\ntwo, but this more or less according to please me, always taking Care to\nlet each Copper of wort be strained off thro' a Sieve, and cool in four\nor five Tubs to prevent its foxing. Thus I have brewed many Hogsheads of\nmidling Ale that when the Malt is good, has proved strong enough for\nmyself and satisfactory to my friends: But for strong keeping Beer, the\nfirst Copper of wort may be wholly put to that use, and all the rest\nsmall Beer: Or when the first Copper of wort is intirely made use of for\nstrong Beer, the Goods may be help'd with more fresh Malt (according to\nthe _London_ Fashion) and water lukewarm put over at first with the\nBowl, but soon after sharp or boiling water, which may make a Copper of\ngood Ale, and small Beer after that. In some Parts of the North, they\ntake one or more Cinders red hot and throw some Salt on them to overcome\nthe Sulphur of the Coal, and then directly thrust it into the fresh Malt\nor Goods, where it lies till all the water is laded over and the Brewing\ndone, for there is only one or two mashings or stirrings at most\nnecessary in a Brewing: Others that Brew with Wood will quench one or\nmore Brands ends of Ash in a Copper of wort, to mellow the Drink as a\nburnt Toast of Bread does a Pot of Beer; but it is to be observed, that\nthis must not be done with Oak, Firr, or any other strong-scented Wood;\nlest it does more harm than good.\n\n\n_Another Way_.\n\n\nWhen small Beer is not wanted, and another Brewing is soon to succeed the\nformer, then may the last small Beer wort, that has had no Hops boiled in\nit, remain in the Copper all Night, which will prevent its foxing, and be\nready to boil instead of so much water to put over the next fresh Malt:\nThis will greatly contribute to the strengthening, bettering and colouring\nof the next wort, and is commonly used in this manner when Stout or\n_October_ Beer is to be made, not that it is less serviceable if it was\nfor Ale, or Intire Guile small Beer; but lest it should taste of the\nCopper by remaining all Night in it, it may be dispersed into Tubs and\nkept a Week or more together if some fresh cold water is daily added to\nit, and may be brewed as I have mentioned, taking particular Care in this\nas well as in the former ways to return two, three, or more Hand-bowls of\nwort into the Mash Tub, that first of all runs off, till it comes\nabsolutely fine and clear, and then it may spend away or run off for good:\nOthers will reserve this small Beer wort unboiled in Tubs, and keep it\nthere a Week in Winter, or two or three Days in Summer, according to\nConveniency, by putting fresh water every Day to it, and use it instead of\nwater for the first Mash, alledging it is better so than boiled, because\nby that it is thickened and will cause the wort to run foul; this may be a\nBenefit to a Victualler that Brews to Sell again, and can't Vent his small\nBeer; because for such small raw wort that is mix'd with any water, there\nis no Excise to be pay'd.\n\n\n_For Brewing Intire Guile Small Beer_.\n\n\nThere can be no way better for making good small Beer, than by Brewing it\nfrom fresh Malt, because in Malt as well as in Hops, and so in all other\nVegetables, there is a Spirituous and Earthy part, as I shall further\nenlarge on in writing of the Hop; therefore all Drink brewed from Goods or\nGrains after the first or second worts are run off, is not so good and\nwholsome, as that intirely brewed from fresh Malt, nor could any thing but\nNecessity cause me to make use of such Liquor; yet how many thousands are\nthere in this Nation that know nothing of the matter, tho' it is of no\nsmall Importance, and ought to be regarded by all those that value their\nHealth and Taste. And here I advertise every one who reads or hears this,\nand is capable of being his own Friend, so far to mind this _Item_ and\nprefer that small Beer which is made entirely from fresh Malt, before any\nother that is brewed after strong Beer or Ale. Now to brew such Guile\nsmall Beer after the boiling water has stood in the Tub till it is clear,\nput in the Malt leisurely, and mash it that it does not Ball or Clot, then\nthrow over some fresh Malt on the Top, and Cloths over that, and let it\nstand two Hours before it is drawn off, the next water may be between hot\nand cold, the next boiling hot, and the next Cold; or if conveniency\nallows not, there may be once scalding water, and all the rest cold\ninstead of the last three. Thus I brew my Intire Guile small Beer, by\nputting the first and last worts together, allowing half, or a Pound of\nHops to a Hogshead and boiling it one Hour, but if the Hops were shifted\ntwice in that time, the Drink would plainly discover the benefit.\nSometimes, when I have been in haste for small Beer, I have put half a\nBushel of Malt and a few Hops into my Barrel-Copper, and boil'd a Kettle\ngallop as some call it an Hour, and made me a present Drink, till I had\nmore leisure to brew better.\n\n\n_A particular way of Brewing strong_ October _Beer_.\n\n\nThere was a Man in this Country that brewed for a Gentleman constantly\nafter a Very precise Method, and that was, as soon as he had put over all\nhis first Copper of water and mash'd it some time, he would directly let\nthe Cock run a small stream and presently put some fresh Malt on the\nformer, and mash on the while the Cock was spending, which he would put\nagain over the Malt, as often as his Pail or Hand-bowl was full, and this\nfor an Hour or two together; then he would let it run off intirely, and\nput it over at once, to run off again as small as a Straw. This was for\nhis _October_ Beer: Then he would put scalding water over the Goods at\nonce, but not mash, and Cap them with more fresh Malt that stood an Hour\nundisturbed before he would draw it off for Ale; the rest was hot water\nput over the Goods and mash'd at twice for small Beer: And it was observed\nthat his _October_ Beer was the most famous in the Country, but his Grains\ngood for little, for that he had by this method wash'd out all or most of\ntheir goodness; this Man was a long while in Brewing, and once his Beer\ndid not work in the Barrel for a Month in a very hard Frost, yet when the\nweather broke it recovered and fermented well, and afterwards proved very\ngood Drink, but he seldom work'd, his Beer less than a Week in the Vat,\nand was never tapp'd under three Years.\n\nThis way indeed is attended with extraordinary Labour and Time, by the\nBrewers running off the wort almost continually, and often returning the\nsame again into the mash Vat, but then it certainly gives him an\nopportunity of extracting and washing out the goodness of the Malt, more\nthan any of the common Methods, by which he is capacitated to make his\n_October_ or _March_ Beer as strong as he pleases. The Fame of _Penly\nOctober_ Beer is at this time well known not only throughout\n_Hertfordshire_, but several other remote Places, and truly not without\ndesert, for in all my Travels I never met with any that excell'd it, for a\nclear amber Colour, a fine relish, and a light warm digestion. But what\nexcell'd all was the generosity of its Donor, who for Hospitality in his\nViands and this _October_ Beer, has left but few of his Fellows. I\nremember his usual Expression to be, You are welcome to a good Batch of my\n_October_, and true it was, that he proved his Words by his Deeds, for not\nonly the rich but even the poor Man's Heart was generally made glad, even\nin advance, whenever they had Business at _Penly_, as expecting a\nrefreshment of this Cordial Malt Liquor, that often was accompany'd with a\ngood Breakfast or Dinner besides, while several others that had greater\nEstates would seem generous by giving a Yeoman Man Neighbour, the\nMathematical Treat of a look on the Spit, and a standing Drink at the Tap.\n\n\n_Of Brewing Molosses Beer_.\n\n\nMolosses or Treacle has certainly been formerly made too much use of in\nthe brewing of Stout Beer, common Butt Beers, brown Ales and small Beer\nwhen Malts have been dear: But it is now prohibited under the Penalty of\nfifty Pounds for every ten Pounds weight found in any common Brewhouse,\nand as Malts are now about twenty Shillings _per_ Quarter, and like to be\nso by the Blessing of God, and the Assistance of that invaluable excellent\nLiquor for steeping Seed Barley in, published in a late Book intituled,\n_Chiltern and Vale Farming Explained_: There is no great danger of that,\nImposition being rife again, which in my Opinion was very unwholsome,\nbecause the Brewer was obliged to put such a large quantity of Treacle\ninto his water or small wort to make it strong Beer or Ale, as very\nprobably raised a sweating in some degree in the Body of the drinker: Tho'\nin small Beer a lesser quantity will serve; and therefore I have known\nsome to brew it in that for their Health's sake, because this does not\nbreed the Scurvy like Malt-liquors, and at the same time will keep open\nthe Pipes and Passages of the Lungs and Stomach, for which purpose they\nput in nine Pounds weight into a Barrel-Copper of cold water, first mixing\nit well, and boiling it briskly with a quarter of a Pound of Hops or more\none Hour, so that it may come off twenty seven Gallons.\n\n\n_A Method practiced by a Victualler for Brewing of Ale or_ October  _Beer\nfrom_ Nottingham.\n\n\nHis Copper holds twenty four Gallons, and the Mash Tub has room enough for\nfour and more Bushels of Malt. The first full Copper of boiling water he\nputs into the Mash Tub, there to lye a quarter of an Hour, till the steam\nis so far spent, that he can see his Face in it, or as soon as the hot\nwater is put in, throws a Pail or two of cold water into it, which will\nbring it at once into a temper; then he lets three Bushels of Malt be run\nleisurely into it, and stirred or mash'd all the while, but as little as\ncan be, or no more than just to keep the Malt from clotting or balling;\nwhen that is done, he puts one Bushel of dry Malt on the Top to keep in\nthe Vapour or Spirit, and so lets it stand covered two Hours, or till the\nnext Copper full of water is boiled hot, which he lades over the Malt or\nGoods three Hand-bowls full at a time, that are to run off at the Cock or\nTap by a very small stream before more is put on, which again must be\nreturned into the Mash Tub till it comes off exceeding fine, for unless\nthe wort is clear when it goes into the Copper, there are little hopes it\nwill be so in the Barrel, which leisure way obliges him to be sixteen\nHours in brewing these four Bushels of Malt. Now between the ladings over\nhe puts cold water into the Copper to be boiling hot, while the other is\nrunning off; by this means his Copper is kept up near full, and the Cock\nspending to the end of brewing his Ale or small Beer, of which only twenty\none Gallons must be saved of the first wort that is reserved in a Tub,\nwherein four Ounces of Hops are put and then it is to be set by. For the\nsecond wort I will suppose there are twenty Gallons of water in the Copper\nboiling hot, that must be all laded over in the same manner as the former\nwas, but no cold water need here be mixed; when half of this is run out\ninto a Tub, it must be directly put into the Copper with half of the first\nwort, strain'd thro' the Brewing Sieve as it lies on a small loose wooden\nFrame over the Copper, to keep back those Hops that were first put in to\npreserve it, which is to make the first Copper twenty one Gallons; then\nupon its beginning to boil he puts in a Pound of Hops in one or two Canvas\nor other coarse Linnen Bags, somewhat larger than will just contain the\nHops, that an allowance may be given for their swell; this he boils away\nvery briskly for half an Hour, when he takes the Hops out and continues\nboiling the wort by itself till it breaks into Particles a little ragged,\nand then it is enough and must be dispers'd into the cooling Tubs very\nthin: Then put the remainder of the first and second wort together and\nboil that, the same time, in the same manner, and with the same quantity\nof fresh Hops the first was. The rest of the third or small Beer wort will\nbe about fifteen or twenty Gallons more or less, he mixes directly with\nsome cold water to keep it free of Excise, and puts it into the Copper as\nthe first Liquor to begin a second Brewing of Ale with another four\nBushels of Malt as he did before, and so on for several Days together if\nnecessary; but at last there may be some small Beer made, tho' some will\nmake make none, because the Goods or Grains will go the further in feeding\nof Hogs.\n\n\n_Observations on the foregoing Method_.\n\n\nThe first Copper of twenty four Gallons of water is but sufficient to wet\nthree Bushels of Malt, and by the additions of cold water as the hot is\nexpended, it matters not how much the Malt drinks up: Tho' a third part of\nwater is generally allowed for that purpose that is never returned.\n\nBy the leisure putting over the Bowls of water, the goodness of the Malt\nis the more extracted and washed out, so that more Ale may be this way\nmade and less small Beer, than if the wort was drawed out hastily; besides\nthe wort has a greater opportunity of coming off finer by a slow stream\nthan by a quicker one, which makes this Method excel all others that\ndischarge the wort out of the Mash Tub more hastily. Also by the continual\nrunning of the Cock or Tap, the Goods or Grains are out of danger of\nsowring, which often happens in Summer Brewings, especially when the Cook\nis stopt between the several boilings of the wort, and what has been the\nvery Cause of damaging or spoiling many Guiles of Drink.\n\nThis Brewer reposes such a Confidence in the Hops to preserve the wort\nfrom fixing even in the very hottest time in Summer, that he puts all his\nfirst running into one Tub, till he has an opportunity of boiling it, and\nwhen Tubs and Room are so scarce that the wort is obliged to be laid thick\nto cool, then the security of some fresh Hops (and not them already boiled\nor soak'd) may be put into it, which may be got out again by letting the\nDrink run thro' the Cullender, and after that a Hair Sieve to keep the\nSeeds of the Hop back as the Drink goes into the Barrel: But this way of\nputting Hops into the cooling Tubs is only meant where there is a perfect\nNecessity, and Tubs and Room enough can't be had to lay the wort thin.\n\nBy this Method of Brewing, Ale may be made as strong or as small as is\nthought fit, and so may the small Beer that comes after, and is so\nagreeable that this Brewer makes his Ale and strong keeping _October_\nBeer, all one and the same way, only with this Difference, that the latter\nis stronger and more hopp'd than the former. Where little or no small Beer\nis wanted, there may little or none be Brewed, according to this manner of\nWorking, which is no small Conveniency to a little Family that uses more\nstrong than small, nor is there any Loss by leaving the Grainy in some\nHeart, where Horse, Cows, Hogs, or Rabbits are kept.\n\nI am very sensible that the Vulgar Error for many Years, has been a\nstandard Sign to the ignorant of boiling strong Worts only till they break\nor curdle in the Copper, which sometimes will be in three quarters of an\nHour, or in an Hour or more, according to the nature of the Malt and\nWater; but from these in some measure I dissent, and also from those that\nboil it two or three Hours, for it is certain the longer worts boil, the\nthicker they are made, because the watry or thin parts evaporate first\naway, and the thicker any Drink is boiled, the longer it requires to lye\nin the Barrel to have its Particles broke, which Age must be then the sole\ncause of, and therefore I have fixed the time and sign to know when the\nwort is truly enough, and that in such, a manner that an ordinary Capacity\nmay be a true judge of, which hereafter will prevent prodigious Losses in\nthe waste of strong worts that have often been boiled away to greater Loss\nthan Profit.\n\nI have here also made known, I think, the true Method of managing the Hop\nin the Copper, which has long wanted adjusting, to prevent the great\ndamage that longer boilings of them has been the sole occasion of to the\nspoiling of most of our malt Drinks brewed in this Nation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. X.\n\n\n_The Nature and Use of the Hop_.\n\n\nThis Vegetable has suffered its degradation, and raised its Reputation on\nthe most of any other. It formerly being thought an unwholsome Ingredient,\nand till of late a great breeder of the Stone in the Bladder, but now that\nfalacious Notion is obviated by Dr_.Quincy_ and others, who have proved\nthat Malt Drink much tinctured by the Hop, is less prone to do that\nmischief, than Ale that has fewer boiled in it. Indeed when the Hop in a\ndear time is adulterated with water, in which Aloes, etc. have been\ninfused, as was practised it is said about eight Years ago to make the old\nones recover their bitterness and seem new, then they are to be looked on\nas unwholsome; but the pure new Hop is surely of a healthful Nature,\ncomposed of a spirituous flowery part, and a phlegmatick terrene part, and\nwith the best of the Hops I can either make or mar the Brewing, for if the\nHops are boiled in strong or small worts beyond their fine and pure\nNature, the Liquor suffers, and will be tang'd with a noxious taste both\nungrateful and unwholsome to the Stomach, and if boiled to a very great\nExcess, they will be apt to cause Reachings and disturb a weak\nConstitution. It is for these Reasons that I advise the boiling two\nParcels of fresh Hops in each Copper of Ale-wort, and if there were three\nfor keeping Beer, it would be so much the better for the taste, health of\nBody and longer Preservation of the Beer in a sound smooth Condition. And\naccording to this, one of my Neighbours made a Bag like a Pillow-bear of\nthe ordinary sixpenny yard Cloth, and boil'd his Hops in it half an Hour,\nthen he took them out, and put in another Bag of the like quantity of\nfresh Hops and boiled them half an Hour more, by which means he had an\nopportunity of boiling both Wort and Hops their due time, sav'd himself\nthe trouble of draining them thro' a Sieve, and secured the Seeds of the\nHops at the same time from mixing with the Drink, afterwards he boiled the\nsame Bags in his small Beer till he got the goodness of it out, but\nobserve that the Bags were made bigger than what would just contain the\nHops, otherwise it will be difficult to boil out their goodness. It's\ntrue, that here is a Charge encreased by the Consumption of a greater\nquantity of Hops than usual, but then how greatly will they answer the\ndesired end of enjoying fine palated wholsome Drink, that in a cheap time\nwill not amount to much if bought at the best Hand; and if we consider\ntheir after-use and benefit in small Beer, there is not any loss at all in\ntheir Quantity: But where it can be afforded, the very small Beer would be\nmuch improved if fresh Hops were also shifted in the boiling of this as\nwell as the stronger worts, and then it would be neighbourly Charity to\ngive them away to the poorer Person. Hence may appear the Hardship that\nmany are under of being necessitated to drink of those Brewers Malt\nLiquors, who out of avarice boil their Hops to the last, that they may not\nlose any of their quintessence: Nay, I have known some of the little\nVictualling Brewers so stupendiously ignorant, that they have thought they\nacted the good Husband, when they have squeezed the Hops after they have\nbeen boiled to the last in small Beer, to get out all their goodness as\nthey vainly imagin'd, which is so reverse to good management, that in my\nOpinion they had much better put some sort of Earth into the Drink, and it\nwould prove more pleasant and wholsome. And why the small Beer should be\nin this manner (as I may justly call it) spoiled for want of the trifling\nCharge of a few fresh Hops, I am a little surprized at, since is the most\ngeneral Liquor of Families and therefore as great Care is due to as any in\nits Brewing, to enjoy it in pure and wholsome Order.\n\nAfter the Wort is cooled and put into the working Vat or Tub, some have\nthrown fresh Hops into it, and worked them with the Yeast, at the same\ntime reserving a few Gallons of raw Wort to wash the Yeast thro' a Sieve\nto keep back the Hop. This is a good way when Hops enough have not been\nsufficiently boiled in the Wort, or to preserve it in the Coolers where it\nis laid thick, otherwise I think it needless.\n\nWhen Hops have been dear, many have used the Seeds of Wormwood, the they\nbuy in the London Seed Shops instead of them: Others _Daucus_ or wild\nCarrot Seed, that grows in our common Fields, which many of the poor\nPeople in this Country gather and dry in their Houses against their\nwanting of them: Others that wholsome Herb _Horehound_, which indeed is a\nfine Bitter and grows on several of our Commons.\n\nBut before I conclude this Article, I shall take notice of a Country Bite,\nas I have already done of a _London_ one, and that is, of an Arch Fellow\nthat went about to Brew for People, and took his opportunity to save all\nthe used Hops that were to be thrown away, these he washed clean, then\nwould dry them in the Sun, or by the Fire, and sprinkle the juice of\n_Horehound_ on them, which would give them such a greenish colour and\nbitterish taste, that with the help of the Screw-press he would sell them\nfor new Hops.\n\nHops in themselves are known to be a subtil grateful Bitter, whose\nParticles are Active and Rigid, by which the viscid ramous parts of the\nMalt are much divided, that makes the Drink easy of Digestion in the Body;\nthey also keep it from running into such Cohesions as would make it ropy,\nvalid and sour, and therefore are not only of great use in boiled, but\nin raw worts to preserve them sound till they can be put into the Copper,\nand afterwards in the Tun while the Drink is working, as I have before\nhinted.\n\nHere then I must observe, that the worser earthy part of the Hop is\ngreatly the cause of that rough, harsh unpleasant taste, which accompany\nboth Ales and Beers that have the Hops so long boiled in them as to\ntincture their worts with their mischievous Effects; for notwithstanding\nthe Malt, be ever so good, the Hops, if boiled too long in them, will be\nso predominant as to cause a nasty bad taste, and therefore I am in hopes\nour Malt Liquors in general will be in great Perfection, when Hops are\nmade use of according to my Directions, and also that more Grounds will be\nplanted with this most serviceable Vegetable than ever, that their\nDearness may not be a disencouragement to this excellent Practice.\n\nFor I know an Alehouse-keeper and Brewer, who, to save the expence of Hops\nthat were then two Shillings _per_ Pound, use but a quartern instead of a\nPound, the rest he supplied with _Daucus_ Seeds; but to be more\nparticular, in a Mug of this Person's Ale I discovered three several\nImpositions. _First_, He underboil'd his Wort to save its Consumption:\n_Secondly_, He boiled this Seed instead of the Hop; and _Thirdly_, He beat\nthe Yeast in for some time to encrease the strength of the Drink; and all\nthese in such a _Legerdemain_ manner as gull'd and infatuated the ignorant\nDrinker to such a degree as not to suspect the Fraud, and that for these\nthree Reasons: _First_, The underboil'd wort being of a more sweet taste\nthan ordinary, was esteemed the Produce of a great allowance of Malt.\n_Secondly_, The _Daucus_ Seed encreased their approbation by the fine\nPeach flavour or relish that it gives the Drink; and _Thirdly_, The Yeast\nwas not so much as thought of, since they enjoyed a strong heady Liquor.\nThese artificial Qualities, and I think I may say unnatural, has been so\nprevalent with the Vulgar, who were his chief Customers, that I have known\nthis Victualler have more Trade for such Drink than his Neighours, who had\nmuch more wholsome at the same time; for the _Daucus_ Seed tho' it is a\nCarminative, and has some other good Properties, yet in the unboil'd Wort\nit is not capable of doing the Office of the Hop, in breaking thro' the\nclammy parts of it; the Hop being full of subtil penetrating Qualities, a\nStrengthener of the Stomach, and makes the Drink agreeble, by opposing\nObstructions of the _Viscera_, and particularly of the Liver and Kidneys,\nas the Learned maintain, which confutes the old Notion, that Hops are a\nBreeder of the Stone in the Bladder.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XI.\n\n\n_Of Boiling Malt Liquors_.\n\n\nAltho' I have said an Hour and a half is requisite for boiling _October_\nBeer, and an Hour for Ales and small Beer; yet it is to be observed, that\nan exact time is not altogether a certain Rule in this Case with some\nBrewers; for when loose Hops are boiled in the wort so long till they all\nsink, their Seeds will arise and fall down again; the wort also will be\ncurdled, and broke into small Particles if examin'd in a Hand-bowl, but\nafterwards into larger, as big as great Pins heads, and will appear clean\nand fine at the Top. This is so much a Rule with some, that they regard\nnot Time but this Sign to shew when the Wort is boiled enough; and this\nwill happen sooner or later according to the Nature of the Barley and its\nbeing well Malted; for if it comes off Chalks or Gravels, it generally has\nthe good Property of breaking or curdling soon; but if of tough Clays,\nthen it is longer, which by some Persons is not a little valued, because\nit saves time in boiling, and consequently the Consumption of the Wort.\n\nIt is also to be observed, that pale Malt Worts will not break so soon in\nthe Copper, as the brown Sorts, but when either of their Worts boil, it\nshould be to the purpose, for then they will break sooner and waste less\nthan if they are kept Simmering, and will likewise work more kindly in the\nTun, drink smoother, and keep longer.\n\nNow all Malt Worts may be spoiled by too little or too much boiling; if\ntoo little, then the Drink will always taste raw, mawkish, and be\nunwholsome in the Stomach, where, instead of helping to dilute and digest\nour Food, it will cause Obstructions, Colicks, Head-achs, and other\nmisfortunes; besides, all such underboil'd Drinks are certainly exposed to\nstaleness and sowerness, much sooner than those that have had their full\ntime in the Copper. And if they are boiled too long, they will then\nthicken (for one may boil a Wort to a Salve) and not come out of the\nCopper fine and in a right Condition, which will cause it never to be\nright clear in the Barrel; an _Item_ sufficient to shew the mistake of all\nthose that think to excel in Malt Liquors, by boiling them two or three\nHours, to the great Confusion of the Wort, and doing more harm than good\nto the Drink.\n\nBut to be more particular in those two Extreams, it is my Opinion, as I\nhave said before, that no Ale Worts boiled less than an Hour can be good,\nbecause in an Hour's time they cannot acquire a thickness of Body any ways\ndetrimental to them, and in less than an Hour the ramous viscid parts of\nthe Ale cannot be sufficiently broke and divided, so as to prevent it\nrunning into Cohesions, Ropyness and Sowerness, because in Ales there are\nnot Hops enough allowed to do this, which good boiling must in a great\nmeasure supply, or else such Drink I am sure can never be agreeable to the\nBody of Man; for then its cohesive Parts being not thoroughly broke and\ncomminuted by time and boiling, remains in a hard texture of Parts, which\nconsequently obliges the Stomach to work more than ordinary to digest and\nsecrete such parboiled Liquor, that time and fire should have cured\nbefore: Is not this apparent in half boil'd Meats, or under-bak'd Bread,\nthat often causes the Stomach a great fatigue to digest, especially in\nthose of a sedentary Life; and if that suffers, 'tis certain the whole\nBody must share in it: How ignorant then are those People, who, in tipling\nof such Liquor, can praise it for excellent good Ale, as I have been an\neye-witness of, and only because its taste is sweetish, (which is the\nnature of such raw Drinks) as believing it to be the pure Effects of the\ngenuine Malt, not perceiving the Landlord's Avarice and Cunning to save\nthe Consumption of his Wort by shortness of boiling, tho' to the great\nPrejudice of the Drinker's Health; and because a Liquid does not afford\nsuch a plain ocular Demonstration, as Meat and Bread does, these deluded\nPeople are taken into an Approbation of indeed an _Ignis fatuus_, or what\nis not.\n\nTo come then to the _Crisis_ of the Matter, both Time and the Curdling or\nBreaking of the Wort should be consulted; for if a Person was to boil the\nWort an Hour, and then take it out of the Copper, before it was rightly\nbroke, it would be wrong management, and the Drink would not be fine nor\nwholsome; and if it should boil an Hour and a half, or two Hours, without\nregarding when its Particles are in a right order, then it may be too\nthick, so that due Care must be had to the two extreams to obtain it its\ndue order; therefore in _October_ and keeping Beers, an Hour and a\nquarter's good boiling is commonly sufficient to have a thorough cured\nDrink, for generally in that time it will break and boil enough, and\nbecause in this there is a double Security by length of boiling, and a\nquantity of Hops shifted; but in the new way there is only a single one,\nand that is by a double or treble allowance of fresh Hops boiled only half\nan Hour in the Wort, and for this Practice a Reason is assigned, that the\nHops being endowed with discutient apertive Qualities, will by them and\ntheir great quantity supply the Defect of underboiling the Wort; and that\na further Conveniency is here enjoyed by having only the fine wholsome\nstrong flowery spirituous Parts of the Hop in the Drink, exclusive of the\nphlegmatick nasty earthy Parts which would be extracted if the Hops were\nto be boiled above half an Hour; and therefore there are many now, that\nare so attach'd to this new Method, that they won't brew Ale or _October_\nBeer any other way, vouching it to be a true Tenet, that if Hops are\nboiled above thirty Minutes, the wort will have some or more of their\nworser Quality. The allowance of Hops for Ale or Beer, cannot be exactly\nadjusted without coming to Particulars, because the Proportion should be\naccording to the nature and quality of the Malt, the Season of the Year it\nis brew'd in, and the length of time it is to be kept.\n\nFor strong brown Ale brew'd in any of the Winter Months, and boiled an\nHour, one Pound is but barely sufficient for a Hogshead, if it be Tapp'd\nin three Weeks or a Month.\n\nIf for pale Ale brewed at that time and for that Age, one Pound and a\nquarter of Hops; but if these Ales are brewed in any of the Summer Months,\nthere should be more Hops allowed.\n\nFor _October_ or _March_ brown Beer, a Hogshead made from Eleven Bushels\nof Malt, boiled an Hour and a quarter to be kept Nine Months, three Pounds\nand a half ought to be boiled in such Drink at the least.\n\nFor _October_ or _March_, pale Beer made from fourteen Bushels, boiled an\nHour and a quarter, and kept Twelve Months, six Pound ought to be allowed\nto a Hogshead of such Drink, and more if the Hops are shifted in two Bags,\nand less time given the Wort to boil.\n\nNow those that are of Opinion, that their Beer and Ales are greatly\nimproved by boiling the Hops only half an Hour in the Wort, I joyn in\nSentiment with them, as being very sure by repeated Experience it is so;\nbut I must here take leave to dissent from those that think that half an\nHour's boiling the Wort is full enough for making right sound and well\nrelished Malt Drinks; however of this I have amply and more particularly\nwrote in my Second Book of Brewing in Chapter IV, where I have plainly\npublish'd the true Sign or Criterion to know when the Wort is boiled just\nenough, and which I intend to publish in a little time.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XII.\n\n\n_Of Foxing or Tainting Malt Liquors_.\n\n\nFoxing is a misfortune, or rather a Disease in Malt Drinks, occasioned by\ndivers Means, as the Nastiness of the Utensils, putting the Worts too\nthick together in the Backs or Cooler, Brewing too often and soon one\nafter another, and sometimes by bad Malts and Waters, and the Liquors\ntaken in wrong Heats, being of such pernicious Consequence to the great\nBrewer in particular, that he sometimes cannot recover and bring his\nMatters into a right Order again under a Week or two, and is so hateful to\nhim in its very Name, that it is a general Law among them to make all\nServants that Name the word _Fox_ or _Foxing_, in the Brewhouse to pay\nSixpence, which obliges them to call it _Reynards_; for when once the\nDrink is Tainted, it may be smelt at some Distance somewhat like a _Fox_;\nIt chiefly happens in hot weather, and causes the Beer and Ale so Tainted\nto acquire a fulsome sickish taste, that will if it is receive'd in a\ngreat degree become Ropy like Treacle, and in some short time turn Sour.\nThis I have known so to surprize my small Beer Customers, that they have\nasked the Drayman what was the matter: He to act in his Master's Interest\ntells them a Lye, and says it is the goodness of the Malt that causes that\nsweetish mawkish taste, and then would brag at Home how cleverly he came\noff. I have had it also in the Country more than once, and that by the\nidleness and ignorance of my Servant, who when a Tub has been rinced out\nonly with fair Water, has set it by for a clean one but this won't do with\na careful Master for I oblige him to clean the Tub with a Hand-brush,\nAshes, or Sand every Brewing, and so that I cannot scrape any Dirt up\nunder my Nail. However as the Cure of this Disease has baffled the Efforts\nof many, I have been tempted to endeavour the finding out a Remedy for the\ngreat Malignity, and shall deliver the best I know on this Score.\n\nAnd here I shall mention the great Value of the Hop in preventing and\ncuring the Fox in Malt Liquors. When the Wort is run into the Tub out of\nthe mashing Vat, it is a very good way to throw some Hops directly into it\nbefore it is put into the Copper, and they will secure it against Sourness\nand Ropyness, that are the two Effects of fox'd Worts or Drinks, and is of\nsuch Power in this respect, that raw Worts may be kept some time, even, in\nhot weather, before they are boiled, and which is necessary; where there\nis a large Quantity of Malt used to a little Copper; but it is certain\nthat the stronger Worts will keep longer with Hops than the smaller Sorts:\nSo likewise if a Person has fewer Tubs than is wanting, and he is\napprehensive his Worts will be Fox'd by too thick lying in the Coolers or\nworking Tubs, then it will be a safe way to put some fresh Hops into such\nTubs and work them with the Yeast as I have before hinted; or in case the\nDrink is already Foxed in the Fat or Tun, new Hops should be put in and\nwork'd with it, and they will greatly fetch it again into a right Order;\nbut then such Drink should be carefully taken clear off from its gross\nnasty Lee, which being mostly Tainted, would otherwise lye in the Barrel,\ncorrupt and make it worse.\n\nSome will sift quick Lime into foxed Drinks while they are working in the\nTun or Vat, that its Fire and Salts may break the Cohesions of the Beer or\nAle, and burn away the stench, that the Corruption would always cause; but\nthen such Drink should by a Peg at the bottom of the Vat be drawn off as\nfine as possible, and the Dregs left behind.\n\nThere are many that do not conceive how their Drinks become Fox'd and\nTainted for several Brewings together; but I have in Chapter VI, in my\nSecond Book, made it appear, that the Taint is chiefly retain'd and lodged\nin the upright wooden Pins that fasten the Planks to the Joists, and how\nscalding Lye is a very efficacious Liquor to extirpate it out of the\nUtensils in a little time if rightly applied; and one other most powerful\nIngredient that is now used by the greatest Artists for curing of the\nsame.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XIII\n\n\n_Of fermenting and working of Beers and Ales, and the pernicious Practice\nof Beating in the Yeast detected_.\n\n\nThis Subject in my Opinion has, long wanted a Satyrical Pen to shew the\nill Effects of this unwholsome Method, which I suppose has been much\ndiscouraged and hindered hitherto, from the general use it has been under\nmany Years, especially by the _Northern_ Brewers, who tho' much famed for\ntheir Knowledge in this Art, and have induced many others by their Example\nin the _Southern_ and other Parts to pursue their Method; yet I shall\nendeavour to prove them culpable of Male-practice, that beat in the Yeast,\nas some of them have done a Week together; and that Custom ought not to\nAuthorize an ill Practice. _First_, I shall observe that Yeast is a very\nstrong acid, that abounds with subtil spirituous Qualities, whose\nParticles being wrapped up in those that are viscid, are by a mixture with\nthem in the Wort, brought into an intestine Motion, occasion'd by\nParticles of different Gravities; for as the spirituous Parts of the Wort\nwill be continually striving to get up to the Surface, the glutinous\nadhesive ones of the Yeast will be as constant in retarding their assent,\nand so prevent their Escape; by which the spirituous Particles are set\nloose and free from their viscid Confinements, as may appear by the Froth\non the Top, and to this end a moderate warmth hastens the Operation, as it\nassists in opening the viscidities in which some spirituous Parts may be\nentangled, and unbends the Spring of the included Air: The viscid Parts\nwhich are raised to the Top, not only on account of their own lightness,\nbut by the continual efforts and occursions of the Spirits to get\nuppermost, shew when the ferment is at the highest, and prevent the finer\nSpirits making their escape; but if this intestine Operation is permitted\nto continue too long, a great deal will get away, and the remaining grow\nflat and vapid, as Dr. _Quincy_ well observes. Now tho' a small quantity\nof Yeast is necessary to break the Band of Corruption in the Wort, yet it\nis in itself of a poisonous Nature, as many other Acids are; for if a\nPlaister of thick Yeast be applied to the Wrist as some have done for an\nAgue, it will there raise little Pustules or Blisters in some degree like\nthat Venomous! (As I have just reason in a particular Sense to call it)\nIngredient _Cantharide_, which is one of the Shop Poisons. Here then I\nshall observe, that I have known several beat the Yeast into the Wort for\na Week or more together to improve it, or in plainer terms to load the\nWort with its weighty and strong spirituous Particles; and that for two\nReasons, _First_, Because it will make the Liquor so heady, that five\nBushels of Malt may be equal in strength to six, and that by the\nstupifying Narcotick Qualities of the Yeast; which mercenary subtilty and\nimposition has so prevailed to my Knowledge with the Vulgar and Ignorant,\nthat it has caused many of them to return the next Day to the same\nAlehouse, as believing they had stronger and better Drink than others: But\nalas, how are such deceived that know no other than that it is the pure\nProduct of the Malt, when at the same time they are driving Nails into\ntheir Coffins, by impregnating their Blood with the corrupt Qualities of\nthis poisonous acid, as many of its Drinkers have proved, by suffering\nviolent Head-achs, loss of Appetite, and other Inconveniencies the Day\nfollowing, and sometimes longer, after a Debauch of such Liquor; who would\nnot perhaps for a great reward swallow a Spoonful of thick Yeast by\nitself, and yet without any concern may receive for ought they know\nseveral, dissolved in the Vehicle of Ale, and then the corrosive\nCorpuscles of the Yeast being mix'd with the Ale, cannot fail (when\nforsaken in the Canals of the Body of their Vehicle) to do the same\nmischief as they would if taken by themselves undiluted, only with this\ndifference, that they may in this Form be carried sometimes further in the\nanimal Frame, and so discover their malignity in some of the inmost\nrecesses thereof, which also is the very Case of malignant Waters, as a\nmost learned Doctor observes.\n\n_Secondly_, They alledge for beating the Yeast into Wort, that it gives it\na fine tang or relish, or as they call it at _London_, it makes the Ale\nbite of the Yeast; but this flourish indeed is for no other reason than to\nfurther its Sale, and tho' it may be agreeable to some Bigots, to me it\nproves a discovery of the infection by its nauseous taste; however my\nsurprize is lessen'd, when I remember the _Plymouth_ People, who are quite\nthe reverse of them at _Dover_ and _Chatham_; for the first are so\nattach'd to their white thick Ale, that many have undone themselves by\ndrinking it; nor is their humour much different as to the common Brewers\nbrown Ale, who when the Customer wants a Hogshead, they immediately put in\na Handful of Salt and another of Flower, and so bring it up, this is no\nsooner on the Stilling but often Tapp'd, that it may carry a Froth on the\nTop of the Pot, otherwise they despise it: The Salt commonly answered its\nEnd of causing the Tiplers to become dryer by the great Quantities they\ndrank, that it farther excited by the biting pleasant stimulating quality\nthe Salt strikes the Palate with. The Flower also had its seducing share\nby pleasing the Eye and Mouth with its mantling Froth, so that the Sailors\nthat are often here in great Numbers used to consume many Hogsheads of\nthis common Ale with much delight, as thinking it was intirely the pure\nProduct of the Malt.\n\nTheir white Ale is a clear Wort made from pale Malt, and fermented with\nwhat they call ripening, which is a Composition, they say, of the Flower\nof Malt, Yeast and Whites of Eggs, a _Nostrum_ made and sold only by two\nor three in those Parts, but the Wort is brewed and the Ale vended by many\nof the Publicans; which is drank while it is fermenting in Earthen Steens,\nin such a thick manner as resembles butter'd Ale, and sold for Twopence\nHalfpenny the full Quart. It is often prescribed by Physicians to be drank\nby wet Nurses for the encrease of their Milk, and also as a prevalent\nMedicine for the Colick and Gravel. But the _Dover_ and _Chatham_ People\nwon't drink their Butt-Beer, unless it is Aged, fine and strong.\n\n\n_Of working and fermenting_ London _Stout Beer and Ale_.\n\n\nIn my Brewhouse at _London_, the Yeast at once was put into the Tun to\nwork the Stout Beer and Ale with, as not having the Conveniency of doing\notherwise, by reason the After-worts of small Beer comes into the same\nBacks or Coolers where the strong Worts had just been, by this means, and\nthe shortness of time we have to ferment our strong Drinks, we cannot make\nReserves of cold Worts to mix with and check the too forward working of\nthose Liquors, for there we brewed three times a Week throughout the Year,\nas most of the great ones do in _London_, and some others five times. The\nstrong Beer brewed for keeping is suffered to be Blood-warm in the Winter\nwhen the Yeast is put into it, that it may gradually work two Nights and a\nDay at least, for this won't admit of such a hasty Operation as the common\nbrown Ale will, because if it is work'd too warm and hasty, such Beer\nwon't keep near so long as that fermented cooler. The brown Ale has indeed\nits Yeast put into it in the Evening very warm, because they carry it away\nthe very next Morning early to their Customers, who commonly draw it out\nin less than a Week's time. The Pale or Amber Ales are often kept near it,\nnot quite a Week under a fermentation, for the better incorporating the\nYeast with Wort, by beating it in several times for the foregoing Reasons.\n\n\n_Of working or fermenting Drinks brewed by Private Families_.\n\n\nI mean such who Brew only for their own use, whether it be a private\nFamily or a Victualler. In this Case be it for Stout Beers, or for any of\nthe Ales; the way that is used in _Northamptonshire_, and by good Brewers\nelsewhere; is, to put some Yeast into a small quantity of warm Wort in a\nHand-bowl, which for a little while swims on the Top, where it works out\nand leisurely mixes with the Wort, that is first quite cold in Summer, and\nalmost so in Winter; for the cooler it is work'd the longer it will keep,\ntoo much Heat agitating the spirituous Particles into too quick a motion,\nwhereby they spend themselves too fast, or fly away too soon, and then the\nDrink will certainly work into a blister'd Head that is never natural; but\nwhen it ferments by moderate degrees into a fine white curl'd Head, its\nOperation is then truly genuine, and plainly shews the right management of\nthe Brewer. To one Hogshead of Beer, that is to be kept nine Months, I put\na Quart of thick Yeast, and ferment it as cool as it will admit of, two\nDays together, in _October_ or _March_, and if I find it works too fast, I\ncheck it at leisure by stirring in some raw Wort with a Hand-bowl: So\nlikewise in our Country Ales we take the very same method, because of\nhaving them keep some time, and this is so nicely observed by several,\nthat I have seen them do the very same by their small Beer Wort; now by\nthese several Additions of raw Wort, there are as often new Commotions\nraised in the Beer or Ale, which cannot but contribute to the rarefaction\nand comminution of the whole; but whether it is by these joining\nPrinciples of the Wort and Yeast, that the Drink is rendered smoother, or\nthat the spirituous Parts are more entangled and kept from making their\nEscape, I can't determine; yet sure it is, that such small Liquors\ngenerally sparkle and knit out of the Barrel as others out of a Bottle,\nand is as pleasant Ale as ever I drank.\n\nOthers again for Butt or Stout Beer will, when they find it works up\ntowards a thick Yeast, mix it once and beat it in again with the\nHand-bowl or Jett; and when it has work'd up a second time in such a\nmanner, they put it into the Vessel with the Yeast on the Top and the\nSediments at Bottom, taking particular Care to have some more in a Tub\nnear the Cask to fill it up as it works over, and when it has done\nworking, leave it with a thick Head of Yeast on to preserve it.\n\nBut for Ale that is not to be kept very long, they Hop it accordingly, and\nbeat the Yeast in every four or five Hours for two Days successively in\nthe warm weather, and four in the Winter till the Yeast begins to work\nheavy and sticks to the hollow part of the Bowl, if turned down on the\nsame, then they take all the Yeast off at Top and leave all the Dregs\nbehind, putting only up the clear Drink, and when it is a little work'd in\nthe Barrel, it will be fine in a few Days and ready for drinking. But\nthis, last way of beating in the Yeast too long, I think I have\nsufficiently detected, and hope, as it is how declining, it will never\nrevive again, and for which reason I have in my second Book encouraged all\nlight fermentations, as the most natural for the Malt Liquor and the human\nBody.\n\n\n_Of forwarding and retarding the fermentation of malt Liquors_.\n\n\nIn case Beer or Ale is backward in working, it is often practised to cast\nsome Flower out of the Dusting Box, or with the Hand over the Top of the\nDrink, which will become a sort of Crust or Cover to help to keep the Cold\nout: Others will put in one or two Ounces of powder'd Ginger, which will\nso heat the Wort as to bring it forward: Others will take a Gallon Stone\nBottle and fill it with boiling water, which being well Cork'd, is put\ninto the working Tub, where it will communicate a gradual Heat for some\ntime and forward the fermentation: Others will reserve some raw Wort,\nwhich they heat and mix with the rest, but then due Care must be taken\nthat the Pot in which it is heated has no manner of Grease about it lest\nit impedes, instead of promoting the working, and for this reason some\nnice Brewers will not suffer a Candle too near the Wort, lest it drop into\nit. But for retarding and keeping back any Drink that is too much heated\nin working, the cold raw Wort, as I have said before, is the most proper\nof any thing to check it with, tho' I have known some to put one or more\nPewter Dishes into it for that purpose, or it may be broke into several\nother Tubs, where by its shallow lying it will be taken off its Fury.\nOthers again, to make Drink work that is backward, will take the whites of\ntwo Eggs and beat them up with half a Quartern of good Brandy, and put it\neither into the working Vat, or into the Cask, and it will quickly bring\nit forward if a warm Cloth is put over the Bung. Others will tye up Bran\nin a coarse thin Cloth and put it into the Vat, where by its spungy and\nflowery Nature and close Bulk it will absorp a quantity of the Drink, and\nbreed a heat to forward its working. I know an Inn-keeper of a great Town\nin _Bucks_ that is so curious as to take off all the top Yeast first, and\nthen by a Peg near the bottom of his working Tub, he draws off the Beer or\nAle, so that the Dreggs are by this means left behind. This I must own is\nvery right in Ales that are to be drank soon, but in Beers that are to lye\nnine or twelve Months in a Butt or other Cask, there certainly will be\nwanted some Feces or Sediment for the Beer to feed on, else it must\nconsequently grow hungry, sharp and eager; and therefore if its own top\nand bottom are not put into a Cask with the Beer, some other Artificial\nComposition or Lee should supply its Place, that is wholsomer, and will\nbetter feed with such Drink than its own natural Settlement, and therefore\nI have here inserted several curious Receipts for answering this great\nEnd.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XIV.\n\n\n _Of an Artificial Lee for Stout or Stale Beer to feed on_.\n\n\nThis Article, as it is of very great Importance in the curing of our malt\nLiquors, requires a particular regard to this last management of them,\nbecause in my Opinion the general misfortune of the Butt or keeping Beers\ndrinking so hard and harsh, is partly owing to the nasty foul Feces that\nlye at the bottom of the Cask, compounded of the Sediments of Malt, Hops\nand Yeast, that are, all Clogg'd with gross rigid Salts, which by their\nlong lying in the Butt or other Vessel, so tinctures the Beer as to make\nit partake of all their raw Natures: For such is the Feed, such is the\nBody, as may be perceived by Eels taken out of dirty Bottoms, that are\nsure to have a muddy taste, when the Silver sort that are catched in\nGravelly or Sandy clear Rivers Eat sweet and fine: Nor can this ill\nproperty be a little in those Starting (as they call it in _London_) new\nthick Beers that were carry'd directly from my Brewhouse, and by a Leather\nPipe or Spout conveyed into the Butt as they stood in the Cellar, which I\nshall further demonstrate by the Example of whole Wheat, that is, by many\nput into such Beer to feed and preserve it, as being reckoned a\nsubstantial Alcali; however it has been proved that such Wheat in about\nthree Years time has eat into the very Wood of the Cask, and there\nHony-comb'd it by making little hollow Cavities in the Staves. Others\nthere are that will hang a Bag of Wheat in the Vessel that it mayn't\ntouch the Bottom, but in both Cases the Wheat is discovered to absorp and\ncollect the saline acid qualities of the Beer, Yeast and Hop, by which\nit is impregnated with their sharp qualities, as a Toast of Bread is put\ninto Punch or Beer, whose alcalous hollow Nature will attract and make a\nLodgment of the acid strong Particles in either, as is proved by eating\nthe inebriating Toast, and therefore the _Frenchman_ says, the _English_\nare right in putting a Toast into the Liquor, but are Fools for eating it:\nHence it is that such whole Wheat is loaded with the qualities of the\nunwholsome Settlements or Grounds of the Beer, and becomes of such a\ncorroding Nature, as to do this mischief; and for that reason, some in the\n_North_ will hang a Bag of the Flower of malted Oats, Wheat, Pease and\nBeans in the Vessels of Beer, as being a lighter and mellower Body than\nwhole Wheat or its Flower, and more natural to the Liquor: But whether it\nbe raw Wheat or Malted, it is supposed, after this receptacle has emitted\nits alcalous Properties to the Beer, and taken in all it can of the acid\nqualities thereof, that such Beer will by length of Age prey upon that\nagain, and so communicate its pernicious Effects to the Body of Man, as\nExperience seems to justify by the many sad Examples that I have seen in\nthe Destruction of several lusty Brewers Servants, who formerly scorn'd\nwhat they then called Flux Ale, to the preference of such corroding\nconsuming Stale Beers; and therefore I have hereafter advised that such\nButt or keeping Beers be Tapp'd at nine or twelve Months end at furthest,\nand then an Artificial Lee will have a due time allowed it to do good and\nnot harm.\n\n\n_An Excellent Composition for feeding Butts or keeping Beers with_.\n\n\nTake a Quart of _French_ Brandy, or as much of _English_, that is free\nfrom any burnt Tang, or other ill taste, and is full Proof, to this put as\nmuch Wheat or Flower as will knead it into a Dough, put it in long pieces\ninto the Bung Hole, as soon as the Beer has done working, or afterwards,\nand let it gently fall piece by piece to the bottom of the Butt, this will\nmaintain the Drink in a mellow freshness, keep staleness off for some\ntime, and cause it to be the stronger as it grows Aged.\n\n\nANOTHER.\n\n\nTake one Pound of Treacle or Honey, one Pound of the Powder of dryed\nOyster-shells or fat Chalk, mix them well and put it into a Butt, as soon\nas it has done working or some time after, and Bung it well, this will\nboth fine and preserve the Beer in a soft, smooth Condition for a great\nwhile.\n\n\nANOTHER.\n\n\nTake a Peck of Egg-shells and dry them in an Oven, break and mix them with\ntwo Pound of fat Chalk, and mix them with water wherein four Pounds of\ncoarse Sugar has been boiled, and put it into the Butt as aforesaid.\n\n\n_To fine and preserve Beers and Ales by boiling an Ingredient in the\nWort_.\n\n\nThis most valuable way I frequently follow both for Ale, Butt-beer and\nSmall Beer, and that is, in each Barrel Copper of Wort, I put in a Pottle,\nor two Quarts of whole Wheat as soon as I can, that it may soak before it\nboils, then I strain it thro' a Sieve, when I put the Wort in cooling\nTubs, and if it is thought fit the same Wheat may be boiled in a second\nCopper: Thus there will be extracted a gluey Consistence, which being\nincorporated with the Wort by boiling, gives it a more thick and ponderous\nBody, and when in the Cask, soon makes a Sediment or Lee, as the Wort is\nmore or less loaded with the weighty Particles of this fizy Body; but if\nsuch Wheat was first parched or baked in an Oven, it would do better, as\nbeing rather too raw as it comes from the Ear.\n\n\n_Another Way_.\n\n\nA Woman, who lived at _Leighton Buzzard_ in _Bedfordshire_, and had the\nbest Ale in the Town, once told a Gentleman, she had Drink just done\nworking in the Barrel, and before it was Bung'd would wager it was fine\nenough to Drink out of a Glass, in which it should maintain a little while\na high Froth; and it was true, for the Ivory shavings that she boiled in\nher Wort, was the Cause of it, which an Acquaintance of mine accidentally\nhad a View of as they lay spread over the Wort in the Copper; so will\nHartshorn shavings do the same and better, both of them being great finers\nand preservers of malt Liquors against staleness and sourness, and are\ncertainly of a very alcalous Nature. Or if they are put into a Cask when\nyou Bung it down, it will be of service for that purpose; but these are\ndear in Comparison of the whole Wheat, which will in a great measure\nsupply their Place, and after it is used, may be given to a poor Body, or\nto the Hog.\n\n\n_To stop the Fret in Malt Liquors_.\n\n\nTake a Quart of Black Cherry Brandy, and pour it in at the Bung-hole of\nthe Hogshead and stop it close.\n\n\n_To recover deadish Beer_.\n\n\nWhen strong Drink grows flat, by the loss of its Spirits, take four or\nfive Gallons out of a Hogshead, and boil it with five Pound of Honey, skim\nit, and when cold, put it to the rest, and stop it up close: This will\nmake it pleasant, quick and strong.\n\n\n _To make stale Beer drink new_.\n\n\nTake the Herb _Horehound_ stamp it and strain it, then put a Spoonful of\nthe juice (which is an extream good Pectoral) to a pitcher-full of Beer,\nlet it stand covered about two Hours and drink it.\n\n\n _To fine Malt Liquors_.\n\n\nTake a pint of water, half an Ounce of unslack'd Lime, mix them well\ntogether, let it stand three Hours and the Lime will settle to the Bottom,\nand the water be as clear as Glass, pour the water from the Sediment, and\nput it into your Ale or Beer, mix it with half an Ounce of Ising-glass\nfirst cut small and boiled, and in five Hours time or less the Beer in the\nBarrel will settle and clear.\n\nThere are several other Compositions that may be used for this purpose,\nbut none that I ever heard of will answer like those most Excellent Balls\nthat Mr. _Ellis_ of _Little Gaddesden_ in _Hertfordshire_ has found out by\nhis own Experience to be very great Refiners, Preservers and Relishers\nof Malt Liquors and Cyders, and will also recover damag'd Drinks, as I\nhave mentioned in my Second Book, where I have given a further Account of\nsome other things that will fine, colour and improve Malt Drinks: The\nBalls are sold at [missing text]\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XV.\n\n\n_Of several pernicious Ingredients put into Malt Liquors to encrease their\nStrength_.\n\n\nMalt Liquors, as well as several others, have long lain under the\ndisreputation of being adulterated and greatly abused by avaricious and\nill-principled People, to augment their Profits at the Expence of the\nprecious Health of human Bodies, which, tho' the greatest Jewel in Life,\nis said to be too often lost by the Deceit of the Brewer, and the\nIntemperance of the Drinker: This undoubtedly was one, and I believe the\ngreatest, of the Lord _Bacon's_ Reasons for saying, he thought not one\n_Englishman_ in a thousand died a natural Death. Nor is it indeed to be\nmuch wondered at, when, according to Report, several of the Publicans make\nit their Business to study and practise this Art, witness what I am afraid\nis too true, that some have made use of the _Coculus India_ Berry for\nmaking Drink heady, and saving the Expence of Malt; but as this is a\nviolent Potion by its narcotick stupifying Quality, if taken in too large\na degree, I hope this will be rather a prevention of its use than an\ninvitation, it being so much of the nature of the deadly Nightshade, that\nit bears the same Character; and I am sure the latter is bad enough; for\none of my Neighbour's Brothers was killed by eating its Berries that grow\nin some of our Hedges, and so neatly resembles the black Cherry, that the\nBoy took the wrong for the right.\n\nThere is another sinister Practice said to be frequently used by ill\nPersons to supply the full quantity of Malt, and that is _Coriander_\nSeeds: This also is of a heady nature boiled in the Wort, one Pound of\nwhich will answer to a Bushel of Malt, as was ingenuously confess'd to me\nby a Gardener, who own'd he sold a great deal of it to Alehouse Brewers\n(for I don't suppose the great Brewer would be concern'd in any such\nAffair) for that purpose, purpose, at Ten-pence per Pound; but how\nwretchedly ignorant are those that make use of it, not knowing the way\nfirst to cure and prepare it for this and other mixtures, without which it\nis a dangerous thing, and will cause Sickness in the Drinkers of it.\nOthers are said to make use of Lime-stones to fine and preserve the Drink;\nbut to come off the fairest in such foul Artifices, it has been too much a\ngeneral Practice to beat the Yeast so long into the Ale, that without\ndoubt it has done great Prejudice to the Healths of many others besides\nthe Person I have writ of in the Preface of my Second Book. For the sake\nthen of Seller and Buyer, I have here offered several valuable Receipts\nfor fining, preserving and mellowing Beers and Ales, in such a true\nhealthful and beneficial manner, that from henceforth after the Perusal of\nthis Book, and the knowledge of their worth are fully known, no Person, I\nhope, will be so sordidly obstinate as to have any thing to do with such\nunwholsome Ingredients; because these are not only of the cheapest sort,\nbut will answer their End and Purpose; and the rather, since Malts are now\nonly twenty Shillings per Quarter, and like to hold a low Price for\nReasons that I could here assign.\n\nI own, I formerly thought they were too valuable to expose to the Publick\nby reason of their Cheapness and great Virtues, as being most of them\nwholsomer than the Malt itself, which is but a corrupted Grain. But, as I\nhope they will do considerable Service in the World towards having clear\nsalubrious and pleasant Malt Liquors in most private Families and\nAlehouses, I have my Satisfaction.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XVI.\n\n\n_Of the Cellar or Repository for keeping Beers and Ales_.\n\n\nIt's certain by long Experience, that the Weather or Air has not only a\nPower or Influence in Brewings; but also after the Drink is in the Barrel,\nHogshead or Butt, in Cellars or other Places, which is often the cause of\nforwarding or retarding the fineness of Malt Liquors; for if we brew in\ncold Weather, and the Drink is to stand in a Cellar of Clay, or where\nSprings rise, or Waters lye or pass through, such a Place by consequence\nwill check the due working of the Drink, chill, flat, deaden and hinder it\nfrom becoming fine. So likewise if Beer or Ale is brewed in hot Weather\nand put into Chalky, Gravelly or Sandy Cellars, and especially if the\nWindows open to the South, South-East, or South-West, then it is very\nlikely it will not keep long, but be muddy and stale: Therefore, to keep\nBeer in such a Cellar, it should be brewed in _October_, that the Drink\nmay have time to cure itself before the hot Weather comes on; but in\nwettish or damp Cellars, 'tis best to Brew in _March_, that the Drink may\nhave time to fine and settle before the Winter Weather is advanced. Now\nsuch Cellar Extremities should, if it could be done, be brought into a\ntemperate State, for which purpose some have been so curious as to have\ndouble or treble Doors to their Cellar to keep the Air out, and then\ncarefully shut the outward, before they enter the inward one, whereby it\nwill be more secure from aerial Alterations; for in Cellars and Places,\nthat are most exposed to such Seasons, Malt Liquors are frequently\ndisturb'd and made unfit for a nice Drinker; therefore if a Cellar is kept\ndry and these Doors to it, it is reckoned warm in Winter and cool in\nSummer, but the best of Cellars are thought to be those in Chalks, Gravels\nor Sands, and particularly in Chalks, which are of a drying quality more\nthan any other, and consequently dissipates Damps the most of all Earths,\nwhich makes it contribute much to the good keeping of the Drink; for all\ndamp Cellars are prejudicial to the Preservation of Beers and Ales, and\nsooner bring on the rotting of the Casks and Hoops than the dry ones;\nInsomuch that in a chalky Cellar near me, their Ashen broad Hoops have\nlasted above thirty Years. Besides, in such inclosed Cellars and temperate\nAir, the Beers and Ales ripen more kindly, are better digested and\nsoftned, and drink smoother: But when the Air is in a disproportion by the\nCellars letting in Heats and Colds, the Drink will grow Stale and be\ndisturbed, sooner than when the Air is kept out. From hence it is, that in\nsome Places their Malt Liquors are exceeding good, because they brew with\nPale or Amber Malts, Chalky Water, and keep their Drinks in close Vaults\nor proper dry Cellars, which is of such Importance, that notwithstanding\nany Malt Liquor may be truly brewed, yet it may be spoiled in a bad Cellar\nthat may cause such alternate Fermentations as to make it thick and sour,\ntho' it sometimes happens that after such Changes it fines itself again;\nand to prevent these Commotions of the Beer, some brew their pale Malt in\n_March_ and their brown in _October_, for that the pale Malt, having not\nso many fiery Particles in it as the brown, stands more in need of the\nSummer's Weather to ripen it, while the brown sort being more hard and dry\nis better able to defend itself against the Winter Colds that will help to\nsmooth its harsh Particles; yet when they happen to be too violent,\nHorse-dung should be laid to the Windows as a Fortification against them;\nbut if there were no Lights at all to a Cellar, it would be better.\n\nSome are of Opinion, that _October_ is the best of all other Months to\nbrew any sort of Malt in, by reason there are so many cold Months directly\nfollow, that will digest the Drink and make it much excel that Brewed in\n_March_ because such Beer will not want that Care and Watching, as that\nbrewed in _March_ absolutely requires, by often taking out and putting in\nthe Vent-peg on Change of Weather; and if it is always left out, then it\ndeadens and palls the Drink; yet if due Care is not taken in this respect,\na Thunder or Stormy Night may marr all, by making the Drink ferment and\nburst the Cask; for which Reason, as Iron Hoops are most in Fashion at\nthis time, they are certainly the greatest Security to the safety of the\nDrink thus exposed; and next to them is the Chesnut Hoop; both which will\nendure a shorter or longer time as the Cellar is more or less dry, and the\nManagement attending them. The Iron Hoop generally begins to rust first at\nthe Edges, and therefore should be rubbed off when opportunity offers, and\nbe both kept from wet as much as possible; for 'tis Rust that eats the\nIron Hoop in two sometimes in ten or twelve Years, when the Ashen and\nChesnut in dry Cellars have lasted three times as long.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XVII.\n\n\n_Of Cleaning and Sweetening of Casks_.\n\n\nIn Case your Cask is a Butt, then with cold Water first rince out the Lees\nclean, and have ready, boiling or very hot Water, which put in, and with a\nlong Stale and a little Birch fastened to its End, scrub the Bottom as\nwell as you can. At the same time let there be provided another shorter\nBroom of about a Foot and a half long, that with one Hand may be so\nimployed in the upper and other Parts as to clean the Cask well: So in a\nHogshead or other smaller Vessel, the one-handed short Broom may be used\nwith Water, or with Water, Sand or Ashes, and be effectually cleaned; the\noutside of the Cask about the Bung-hole should be well washed, lest the\nYeast, as it works over, carries some of its Filth with it.\n\nBut to sweeten a Barrel, Kilderkin, Firkin or Pin in the great Brewhouses,\nthey put them over the Copper Hole for a Night together, that the Steam of\nthe boiling Water or Wort may penetrate into the Wood; this Way is such a\nfurious Searcher, that unless the Cask is new hooped just before, it will\nbe apt to fall in pieces.\n\n\n_Another Way_.\n\n\nTake a Pottle, or more, of Stone Lime, and put it into the Cask; on this\npour some Water and stop it up directly, shaking it well about.\n\n\n_Another Way_.\n\n\nTake a long Linnen Rag and dip it in melted Brimstone, light it at the\nend, and let it hang pendant with the upper part of the Rag fastened to\nthe wooden Bung; this is a most quick sure Way, and will not only sweeten,\nbut help to fine the Drink.\n\n\n _Another_.\n\n\nOr to make your Cask more pleasant, you may use the Vintners Way thus:\nTake four Ounces of Stone Brimstone, one Ounce of burnt Alum, and two\nOunces of Brandy; melt all these in an Earthen Pan over hot Coals, and dip\ntherein a piece of new Canvas, and instantly sprinkle thereon the Powders\nof Nutmegs, Cloves, Coriander and Anise-seeds: This Canvas set on fire,\nand let it burn hanging in the Cask fastened at the end with the wooden\nBung, so that no Smoke comes out.\n\n\n _For a Musty Cask_.\n\n\nBoil some Pepper in water and fill the Cask with it scalding hot.\n\n\n _For a very stinking Vessel_.\n\n\nThe last Remedy is the Coopers taking out one of the Heads of the Cask to\nscrape the inside, or new-shave the Staves, and is the surest way of all\nothers, if it is fired afterwards within-side a small matter, as the\nCooper knows how.\n\nThese several Methods may be made use of at Discretion, and will be of\ngreat Service where they are wanted. The sooner also a Remedy is applied,\nthe better; else the Taint commonly encreases, as many have to their\nprejudice proved, who have made use of such Casks, in hopes the next Beer\nwill overcome it; but when once a Cask is infected, it will be a long\nwhile, if ever, before it becomes sweet, if no Art is used. Many therefore\nof the careful sort, in case they han't a Convenience to fill their Vessel\nas soon as it is empty, will stop it close, to prevent the Air and\npreserve the Lees sound, which will greatly tend to the keeping of the\nCask pure and sweet against the next Occasion.\n\n _To prepare a new Vessel to keep Malt Liquors in_.\n\nA new Vessel is most improperly used by some ignorant People for strong\nDrink after only once or twice scalding with Water, which is so wrong,\nthat such Beer or Ale will not fail of tasting thereof for half, if not a\nwhole Year afterwards; such is the Tang of the Oak and its Bark, as may be\nobserved from the strong Scents of Tan-Yards, which the Bark is one cause\nof. To prevent then this Inconvenience, when your Brewing is over put up\nsome Water scalding hot, and let it run throu' the Grains, then boil it\nand fill up the Cask, stop it well and let it stand till it is cold, do\nthis twice, then take the Grounds of strong Drink and boil in it green\nWallnut Leaves and new Hay or Wheat Straw, and put all into the Cask, that\nit be full and stop it close. After this, use it for small Beer half a\nYear together, and then it will be thoroughly sweet and fit for strong\nDrinks; or\n\n\n _Another Way_.\n\n\nTake a new Cask and dig a Hole in the Ground, in which it may lye half\ndepth with the Bung downwards; let it remain a Week, and it will greatly\nhelp this or any stinking musty Cask. But besides these, I have writ of\ntwo other excellent Ways to sweeten musty or stinking Casks, in my Second\nBook of Brewing.\n\n\n_Wine Casks_.\n\n\nThese, in my Opinion, are the cheapest of all others to furnish a Person\nreadily with, as being many of them good Casks for Malt Liquors, because\nthe Sack and White-Wine sorts are already season'd to Hand, and will\ngreatly improve Beers and Ales that are put in them: But beware of the\nRhenish Wine Cask for strong Drinks; for its Wood is so tinctured with\nthis sharp Wine, that it will hardly ever be free of it, and therefore\nsuch Cask is best used for Small Beer: The Claret Cask will a great deal\nsooner be brought into a serviceable State for holding strong Drink, if it\nis two or three times scalded with Grounds of Barrels, and afterwards used\nfor small Beer for some time. I have bought a Butt or Pipe for eight\nShillings in _London_ with some Iron Hoops on it, a good Hogshead for the\nsame, and the half Hogshead for five Shillings, the Carriage for a Butt by\nthe Waggon thirty Miles is two Shillings and Sixpence, and the Hogshead\nEighteen-pence: But, to cure a Claret Cask of its Colour and Taste, put a\nPeck of Stone-Lime into a Hogshead, and pour upon it three Pails of Water;\nbung immediately with a Wood-or Cork Bung, and shake it well about a\nquarter of an Hour, and let it stand a Day and Night and it will bring off\nthe red Colour, and alter the Taste of the Cask very much. But of three\nseveral other excellent Methods for curing musty, stinking, new and other\ntainted Casks, I have writ of in my Account of Casks in my Second Book.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XVIII.\n\n\n_Of Bunging Casks and Carrying of Malt Liquors to some distance_.\n\n\nI am sure this is of no small Consequence, however it may be esteemed as a\nlight matter by some; for if this is not duly perform'd, all our Charge,\nLabour and Care will be lost; and therefore here I shall dissent from my\n_London_ Fashion, where I bung'd up my Ale with Pots of Clay only, or with\nClay mix'd with Bay Salt, which is the better of the two, because this\nSalt will keep the Clay moist longer than in its Original State; and the\nButt Beers and fine Ales were Bung'd with Cork drove in with a piece of\nHop-Sack or Rag, which I think are all insipid, and the occasion of\nspoiling great Quantities of Drink, especially the small Beers; for when\nthe Clay is dry, which is soon in Summer, there cannot be a regular Vent\nthro' it, and then the Drink from that time flattens and stales to the\ngreat loss in a Year to some Owners, and the Benefit of the Brewer; for\nthen a fresh Cask must be Tapp'd to supply it, and the remaining part of\nthe other throw'd away. Now, to prevent this great Inconvenience, my\nBung-holes are not quite of the largest size of all, and yet big enough\nfor the common wooden Iron Hoop'd Funnel used in some Brew-houses: In this\nI put in a turned piece of Ash or Sallow three Inches broad at Top, and\ntwo Inches and a half long, first putting in a double piece of dry brown\nPaper, that is so broad that an Inch or more may be out of it, after the\nwooden Bung is drove down with a Hammer pretty tight; this Paper must be\nfurl'd or twisted round the Bung, and another loose piece upon and around\nthat, with a little Yeast, and a small Peg put into the Bung, which is to\nbe raised at Discretion when the Beer is drawing, or at other times to\ngive it Vent if there should be occasion: Others will put some Coal or\nWood Ashes wetted round this Bung, which will bind very hard, and prevent\nany Air getting into or out of the Cask; but this in time is apt to rot,\nand wear the Bung-hole by the Salt or Sulphur in the Ashes, and employing\na Knife to scrape it afterwards. Yet, for keeping Beers, it's the best\nSecurity of all other ways whatsoever.\n\nThere is also a late Invention practised by a common Brewer in the Country\nthat I am acquainted with, for the safe Carriage of Drink on Drays, to\nsome distance without losing any of it, and that is in the Top Center of\none of these Bungs, he puts in a wooden Funnel, whose Spout is about four\nInches long, and less than half an Inch Diameter at Bottom; this is turned\nat Top into a concave Fashion like a hollow round Bowl, that will hold\nabout a Pint, which is a constant Vent to the Cask, and yet hinders the\nLiquor from ascending no faster than the Bowl can receive, and return it\nagain into the Barrel: I may say further, he has brought a Barrel two\nMiles, and it was then full, when it arrived at his Customers, because the\nPint that was put into the Funnel, at setting out, was not at all lost\nwhen he took it off the Dray; this may be also made of Tin; and will serve\nfrom the Butt to the small Cask.\n\nIn the Butt there is a Cork-hole made about two Inches below the upper\nHead, and close under that a piece of Leather is nailed Spout-fashion,\nthat jetts three Inches out, from which the Yeast works and falls into a\nTub, and when the working is over the Cork is put closely in, for the Bung\nin the Head of the upright Cask is put in as soon as it is filled up with\nnew Drink: Now when such a Cask is to be broach'd and a quick Draught is\nto follow, then it may be tapp'd at Bottom; but if otherwise, the Brass\nCock ought to be first put in at the middle, and before the Drink sinks to\nthat it should be Tapp'd at Bottom to prevent the breaking of the Head of\nYeast, and its growing stale, flat and sour.\n\nIn some Places in the Country when they brew Ale or Beer to send to\n_London_ at a great Distance, they let it be a Year old before they Tap\nit, so that then it is perfectly fine; this they put into small Casks that\nhave a Bung-hole only fit for a large Cork, and then they immediately put\nin a Role of Bean-flour first kneaded with Water or Drink, and baked in an\nOven, which is all secured by pitching in the Cork, and so sent in the\nWaggon; the Bean-flour feeding and preserving the Body of the Drink all\nthe way, without fretting or causing it to burst the Cask for want of\nVent, and when Tapp'd will also make the Drink very brisk, because the\nFlour is in such a hard Consistence, that it won't dissolve in that time;\nbut if a little does mix with the Ale or Beer, its heavy Parts will sooner\nfine than thicken the Drink and keep it mellow and lively to the last, if\nAir is kept out of the Barrel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP.  XIX.\n\n\n_Of the Strength and Age of Malt Liquors_.\n\n\nWhether they be Ales or strong Beers, it is certain that the midling sort\nis allowed by Physicians to be the most agreeable of any, especially to\nthose of a sedentary Life, or those that are not occupied in such Business\nas promotes Perspiration enough to throw out and break the Viscidities of\nthe stronger sorts; on which account the laborious Man has the advantage,\nwhose Diet being poor and Body robust, the strength of such Liquors gives\na Supply and better digests into Nourishment: But for the unactive Man a\nHogshead of Ale which is made from six Bushels of Malt is sufficient for a\nDiluter of their Food, and will better assist their Constitution than the\nmore strong sort, that would in such produce Obstructions and ill Humours;\nand therefore that Quantity for Ale, and ten Bushels for a Hogshead of\nstrong Beer that should not be Tapp'd under nine Months, is the most\nhealthful. And this I have experienc'd by enjoying such an Amber Liquor\nthat has been truly brewed from good Malt, as to be of a Vinous Nature,\nthat would permit of a hearty Dose over Night, and yet the next Morning\nleave a Person light, brisk and unconcern'd. This then is the true Nostrum\nof Brewing, and ought to be studied and endeavoured for by all those that\ncan afford to follow the foregoing Rules, and then it will supply in a\ngreat measure those chargeable (and often adulterated tartarous\narthritick) Wines. So likewise for small Beer, especially in a Farmer's\nFamily where it is not of a Body enough, the Drinkers will be feeble in\nhot Weather and not be able to perform their Work, and will also bring on\nDistempers, besides the loss of time, and a great waste of such Beer that\nis generally much thrown away; because Drink is certainly a Nourisher of\nthe Body, as well as Meats, and the more substantial they both are, the\nbetter will the Labourer go through his Work, especially at Harvest; and\nin large Families the Doctor's Bills have proved the Evil of this bad\nOeconomy, and far surmounted the Charge of that Malt that would have kept\nthe Servants in good Health, and preserved the Beer from such Waste as the\nsmaller sort is liable to.\n\n'Tis therefore that some prudent Farmers will brew their Ale and small\nBeer in _March_, by allowing of five or six Bushels of Malt, and two\nPounds of Hops to the Hogshead of Ale, and a quarter of Malt and three\nPounds of Hops to five Barrels of small Beer. Others there are, that will\nbrew their Ale or strong Beer in _October_, and their small Beer a Month\nbefore it is wanted. Others will brew their Ale and small Beer in _April,\nMay_ and _June_; but this according to humour, and therefore I have hinted\nof the several Seasons for Brewing these Liquors: However in my Opinion,\nwhether it be strong or small Drinks, they should be clear, smooth and not\ntoo small, if they are design'd for Profit and Health; for if they are\notherwise, it will be a sad Evil to Harvest Men, because then they stand\nmost in need of the greatest Balsamicks: To this end some of the softning\nIngredients mentioned in the foregoing Receipts should be made use of to\nfeed it accordingly, if these Drinks are brewed forward. And that this\nparticular important Article in the Brewing Oeconomy may be better\nunderstood, I shall here recite Dr. _Quincy_'s Opinion of Malt Liquors,\nviz. The Age of Malt Drinks makes them more or less wholsome, and seems to\ndo somewhat the same as Hops; for those Liquors which are longest kept,\nare certainly the least viscid; Age by degrees breaking the viscid Parts,\nand rendering them smaller, makes them finer for Secretion; but this is\nalways to be determined by their Strength, because in Proportion to that\nwill they sooner or later come to their full Perfection and likewise their\nDecay, until the finer Spirits quite make their Escape, and the remainder\nbecomes vapid and sour. By what therefore has been already said, it will\nappear that the older Drinks are the more healthful, so they be kept up to\nthis Standard, but not beyond it. Some therefore are of Opinion, that\nstrong Beer brewed in _October_ should be Tapp'd at _Midsummer_, and that\nbrewed in _March_ at _Christmas_, as being most agreeable to the Seasons\nof the Year that follow such Brewings: For then they will both have part\nof a Summer and Winter to ripen and digest their several Bodies; and 'tis\nmy humble Opinion, that where the Strength of the Beer, the Quantity of\nHops, the boiling Fermentation and the Cask are all rightly managed, there\nDrink may be most excellent, and better at nine Months Age, than at nine\nYears, for Health and Pleasure of Body. But to be truly certain of the\nright Time, there should be first an Examination made by Pegging the\nVessel to prove if such Drink is fine, the Hop sufficiently rotted, and it\nbe mellow and well tasted.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP.  XX.\n\n\n_Of the Pleasure and Profit of Private Brewing, and the Charge of buying\nMalt Liquors_.\n\n\nHere I am to treat of the main Article of shewing the difference between\nbrewing our own Ales and Beers, and buying them, which I doubt not will\nappear so plain and evident, as to convince any Reader, that many Persons\nmay save well towards half in half, and have their Beer and Ale strong,\nfine and aged at their own Discretion: A satisfaction that is of no small\nweight, and the rather since I have now made known a Method of Brewing a\nQuantity of Malt with a little Copper and a few Tubs, a Secret that has\nlong wanted Publication; for now a Person may Brew in a little Room, and\nthat very safely by keeping his Wort from Foxing, as I have already\nexplained, which by many has been thought impossible heretofore; and this\nDirection is the more Valuable as there are many Thousands who live in\nCities and Towns, that have no more than a few Yards Square of Room to\nperform a private Brewing in. And as for the trouble, it is easy to\naccount for by those who have time enough on their Hands, and would do\nnothing else if they had not done this: Or if a Man is paid half a Crown a\nDay for a Quantity accordingly: Or if a Servant can do this besides his\nother Work for the same Wages and Charge, I believe the following account\nwill make it appear it is over-ballanc'd considerably, by what such a\nPerson may save in this undertaking, besides the Pleasure of thoroughly\nknowing the several Ingredients and Cleanliness of the Brewer and\nUtensils. In several of the Northern Counties of _England_, where they\nhave good Barley, Coak-dryed Malt, and the Drink brewed at Home, there are\nseldom any bad Ales or Beers, because they have the Knowledge in Brewing\nso well, that there are hardly any common Brewers amongst them: In the\nWest indeed there are some few, but in the South and East Parts there are\nmany; and now follows the Account, that I have Stated according to my own\ngeneral Practice, viz.\n\n_A Calculation of the Charge and Profit of Brewing six Bushels of Malt for\na private Family_.\n\n                                            L.   s.  d.\n   Six Bushels of Malt at 2s. 8d.\n      _per_ Bushel, Barley being this )\n      Year 1733. sold for 14s. _per_  )     0   16   0\n      Quarter by the Farmer           )\n\n   Hops one Pound                           0    1   6\n\n   Yeast a Quart                            0    0   4\n\n   Coals one Bushel, or if Wood or Furze    0    1   0\n\n   A Man's Wages a Day                      0    2   6\n                                           ------------\n                                    Total   1    1   4\n\n_Of these six Bushels of Malt I make one Hogshead of Ale and another of\nSmall Beer: But if I was to buy them of some common Brewers, the Charge\nwill be as follows_, viz.\n\n                                            L    s.   d.\n\n   One Hogshead of Ale containing 48   )\n      Gallons, at 6 _d. per_ Gallon is )    1    4    0\n\n   One Hogshead of Small Beer          )\n   containing 54 Gallons, at 2 _d_.    )\n   0  9  0  _per_ Gallon is            )    0    9    0\n                                           ___.____.____\n\n                                            1   13    0\n                                           ___.____.____\n\n                               Total Saved  0   11    8\n\nBy the above Account it plainly appears, that 11 s. and 8 d. is clearly\ngained in Brewing of six Bushels of Malt at our own House for a private\nFamily, and yet I make the Charge fuller by 2 s. and 6 d. then it will\nhappen with many, whose Conveniency by Servants, &c. may intirely take it\noff; besides the six Bushels of Grains that are currently sold for\nThree-pence the Bushel, which will make the Eleven and Eight-pence more by\nfour Shillings, without reckoning any thing for yeast, that in the very\ncheapest time sells here for Four-pence the Quart, and many times there\nhappens three Quarts from so much Drink; so that there may possibly be\ngained in all sixteen Shillings and Eight-pence: A fine Sum indeed in so\nsmall a Quantity of Malt. But here by course will arise a Question,\nwhether this Ale is as good as that bought of some of the common Brewers\nat Six-pence a Gallon; I can't say all is; however I can aver this, that\nthe Ale I brew in the Country from six Bushels of Malt for my Family, I\nthink is generally full as good, if not better than any I ever sold at\nthat Price in my _London_ Brewhouse: And if I should say, that where the\nMalt, Water and Hops are right good, and the Brewer's Skill answerable to\nthem, there might be a Hogshead of as good Ale and another of small Beer\nmade from five Bushels as I desire to use for my Family, or for Harvest\nMen; It is no more than I have many times experienced, and 'tis the common\nlength I made for that Purpose. And whoever makes use of true Pale and\nAmber Malts, and pursues the Directions of this Book, I doubt not but will\nhave their Expectation fully answered in this last Quantity, and so save\nthe great Expence of Excise that the common Brewers Drink is always\nclogg'd with, which is [blotted text] than five Shillings for Ale and\nEighteen-pence _per_ Barrel for Small Beer.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. XXI.\n\n\n_A Philosophical Account for Brewing strong_ October _Beer. By an\nIngenious Hand_.\n\n\nIn Brewing, your Malt ought to be sound and good, and after its making to\nlye two or more Months in the Heap, to come to such a temper, that the\nKernel may readily melt in the washing.\n\nThe well dressing your Malt, ought to be one chief Care; for unless it be\nfreed from the Tails and Dust, your Drink will not be fine and mellow as\nwhen it is clean dressed.\n\nThe grinding also must be considered according to the high or low drying\nof the Malt; for if high dryed, then a gross grinding is best, otherwise a\nsmaller may be done; for the Care in grinding consists herein, lest too\nmuch of the Husk being ground small should mix with the Liquor, which\nmakes a gross Feces, and consequently your Drink will have too fierce a\nFermentation, and by that means make it Acid, or that we call Stale.\n\nWhen your Malt is ground, let it stand in Sacks twenty-four Hours at\nleast, to the end that the Heat in grinding may be allayed, and 'tis\nconceived by its so standing that the Kernel will dissolve the better.\n\nThe measure and quantity we allow of Hops and Malt, is five Quarter of\nMalt to three Hogsheads of Beer, and eighteen Pounds of Hops at least to\nthat Quantity of Malt, and if Malt be pale dryed, then add three or four\nPounds of Hops more.\n\nThe Choice of Liquor for Brewing is of considerable advantage in making\ngood Drink, the softest and cleanest water is to be prererr'd, your harsh\nwater is not to be made use of.\n\nYou are to boil your first Liquor, adding a Handful or two of Hops to it,\nthen before you strike it over to your Goods or Malt, cool in as much\nLiquor, as will bring it to a temper not to scald the Malt, for it is a\nfault not to take the Liquor as high as possible but not to scald. The\nnext Liquors do the same.\n\nAnd indeed all your Liquors ought to be taken as high as may be, that is\nnot to scald.\n\nWhen you let your Wort from your Malt into the Underback, put to it a\nHandful or two of Hops, 'twill preserve it from that accident which\nBrewers call Blinking or Foxing.\n\nIn boiling your Worts, the first Wort boil high or quick; for the quicker\nthe first Wort is boiled, the better it is.\n\nThe second boil more than the first, and the third or last more than the\nsecond.\n\nIn cooling lay your Worts thin, and let each be well cooled, and Care must\nbe taken in letting them down into the Tun, that you do it leisurely, to\nthe end that as little of the Feces or Sediment which causes the\nFermentation to be fierce or mild, for Note, there is in all fermented\nLiquors, Salt and Sulphur, and to keep these two Bodies in a due\nProportion, that the Salt does not exalt itself above the Sulphur,\nconsists a great part of the Art in Brewing.\n\nWhen your Wort is first let into your Tun, put but a little Yeast to it,\nand let it work by degrees quietly, and if you find it works but moderate,\nwhip in the Yeast two or three times or more, till you find your Drink\nwell fermented, for without a full opening of the Body by fermentation, it\nwill not be perfect fine, nor will it drink clean and light.\n\nWhen you cleanse, do it by a Cock from your Tun, placed six Inches from\nthe Bottom, to the end that most of the Sediment may be left behind, which\nmay be thrown on your Malt to mend your Small Beer.\n\nWhen your Drink is Tunn'd, fill your Vessel full, let it work at the\nBung-hole, and have a reserve in a small Cask to fill it up, and don't put\nany of the Drink which will be under the Yeast after it is work'd over\ninto your Vessels, but put it by itself in another Cask, for it will not\nbe so good as your other in the Cask.\n\nThis done, you must wait for the finishing of the fermentation, then stop\nit close, and let it stand till the Spring, for Brewing ought to be done\nin the Month of _October_, that it may have time to settle and digest all\nthe Winter Season.\n\nIn the Spring you must unstop your Vent-hole and thereby see whether your\nDrink doth ferment or not, for as soon as the warm Weather comes, your\nDrink will have another fermentation, which when it is over, let it be\nagain well stopped and stand till _September_ or longer, and then Peg it;\nand if you find it pretty fine, the Hop well rotted and of a good pleasant\ntaste for drinking.\n\nThen and not before draw out a Gallon of it, put to it two Ounces of\nIsing-glass cut small and well beaten to melt, stirring it often and whip\nit with a Wisk till the Ising-glass be melted, then strain it and put it\ninto your Vessel, stirring it well together, stop the Bung slightly, for\nthis will cause a new and small fermentation, when that is over stop it\nclose, leaving only a Vent-hole a little stopp'd, let it stand, and in ten\nDays or a little more, it will be transparently fine, and you may drink of\nit out of the Vessel till two parts in three be drawn, then Bottle the\nrest, which will in a little time come to drink very well. If your Drink\nin _September_ be well condition'd for taste, but not fine, and you desire\nto drink it presently, rack it before you put your Ising-glass to it, and\nthen it will fine the better and drink the cleaner.\n\nTo make Drink fine quickly, I have been told that by separating the Liquor\nfrom the Feces, when the Wort is let out of the Tun into the Underback,\nwhich may be done in this manner, when you let your Wort into your\nUnderback out of your Tun, catch the Wort in some Tub so long, and so\noften as you find it run foul, put that so catched on the Malt again, and\ndo so till the Wort run clear into the Underback. This is to me a very\ngood way (where it may be done) for 'tis the Feces which causes the fierce\nand violent fermentation, and to hinder that in some measure is the way to\nhave fine Drink: Note that the finer you make your Wort, the sooner your\nDrink will be fine, for I have heard that some Curious in Brewing have\ncaused Flannels to be so placed, that all the Wort may run thro' one or\nmore of them into the Tun before working, by which means the Drink was\nmade very fine and well tasted.\n\n\n _Observations on the foregoing Account_.\n\n\nThis Excellent Philosophical Account of Brewing _October_ Beer, has\nhitherto remained in private Hands as a very great Secret, and was given\nto a Friend of mine by the Author himself, to whom the World is much\nobliged, altho' it comes by me; In justice therefore to this ingenious\nPerson, I would here mention his Name, had I leave for so doing; but at\npresent this Intimation must suffice. However, I shall here take notice,\nthat his Caution against using tailed or dusty Malt, which is too commonly\nsold, is truly worthy of Observation; for these are so far from producing\nmore Ale or Beer, that they absorb and drink part of it up.\n\nIn Grinding Malts he notifies well to prevent a foul Drink.\n\nThe quantity he allows is something above thirteen Bushels to the Hogshead\nwhich is very sufficient; but this as every body pleases.\n\nThe Choice of Liquors or Waters for Brewing, he says, is of considerable\nadvantage; and so must every body else that knows their Natures and loves\nHealth, and pleasant Drink: For this purpose, in my Opinion, the Air and\nSoil is to be regarded where the Brewing is performed; since the Air\naffects all things it can come at, whether Animal, Vegetable or Mineral,\nas may be proved from many Instances: In the Marshes of _Kent_ and\n_Essex_, the Air there is generally so infectious by means of those low\nvaesy boggy Grounds, that seldom a Person escapes an Ague one time or\nother, whether Natives or Aliens, and is often fatally known to some of\nthe _Londoners_ and others who merrily and nimbly travel down to the Isles\nof _Grain_ and _Sheppy_ for a valuable Harvest, but in a Month's time they\ngenerally return thro' the Village of _Soorne_ with another Mien. There is\nalso a little _Moor_ in _Hertfordshire_, thro' which a Water runs that\nfrequently gives the _Passant_ Horses that drink of it, the Colick or\nGripes, by means of the aluminous sharp Particles of its Earth; Its Air is\nalso so bad, as has obliged several to remove from its Situation for their\nHealths: The Dominion of the Air is likewise so powerful over Vegetables,\nthat what will grow in one Place won't in another, as is plain from the\nBeech and Black Cherry Tree, that refuse the Vale of _Ailesbury_ tho' on\nsome Hills there, yet will thrive in the _Chiltern_ or Hilly Country: So\nthe Limes and other Trees about _London_ are all generally black-barked,\nwhile those in the Country are most of them of a Silver white. Water is\nalso so far under the Influence of the Air and Soil, as makes many\nexcellent for Brewing when others are as bad. In Rivers, that run thro'\nboggy Places, the Sullage or Washings of such Soils are generally\nunwholsome as the nature of such Ground is; and so the Water becomes\ninfected by that and the Effluvia or Vapour that accompanies such Water:\nSo Ponds are surely good or bad, as they are under too much Cover or\nsupply'd by nasty Drains, or as they stand situated or exposed to good and\nbad Airs. Thus the Well-waters by consequence share in the good or bad\nEffects of such Soils that they run thorough, and the very Surface of the\nEarth by which such Waters are strained, is surely endowed with the\nquality of the Air in which it lies; which brings me to my intended\npurpose, to prove that Water drawn out of a Chalky, or Fire-stone Well,\nwhich is situated under a dry sweet loamy Soil, in a fine pure Air, and\nthat is perfectly soft, must excel most if not all other Well-waters for\nthe purpose in Brewing. The Worts also that are rooted in such an Air, in\ncourse partakes of its nitrous Benefits, as being much exposed thereto in\nthe high Backs or Coolers that contain them. In my own Grounds I have\nChalks under Clays and Loams; but as the latter is better than the former,\nso the Water proves more soft and wholsome under one than the other. Hence\nthen may be observed the contrary Quality of those harsh curdling\nWell-waters that many drink of in their Malt Liquors, without considering\ntheir ill Effects, which are justly condemn'd by this able Author as unfit\nto be made use of in Brewing _October_ Beer.\n\nThe boiling a few Hops in the first Water is good, but they must be\nstrained thro' a Sieve before the Water is put into the Malt; and to check\nits Heat with cold Liquor, or to let it stand to cool some time, is a\nright Method, lest it scalds and locks up the Pores of the Malt, which\nwould then yield a thick Wort to the end of the Brewing and never be good\nDrink.\n\nHis putting Hops into the Underback, is an excellent Contrivance to\nprevent foxing, as I have already hinted.\n\nThe quick boiling of the Wort is of no less Service, and that the smaller\nWort should be boiled longer than the strong is good Judgment, because the\nstronger the Wort, the sooner the Spirits flie away and the waste of more\nConsequence; besides if the first Wort was to be boiled too long, it would\nobtain so thick a Body, as to prevent in great measure its fining\nhereafter after so soon in the Barrel; while the smaller sort will\nevaporate its more watry Parts, and thereby be brought into a thicker\nConfidence, which is perfectly necessary in thin Worts; and in this\nArticle lies so much the Skill of the Brewer, that some will make a longer\nLength than ordinary from the Goods for Small Beer, to shorten it\nafterwards in the Copper by Length of boiling, and this way of consuming\nit is the more natural, because the remaining part will be better Cured.\n\nThe laying Worts thin is a most necessary Precaution; for this is one way\nto prevent their running into Cohesions and Foxing, the want of which\nKnowledge and Care has undoubtedly been the occasion of great Losses in\nBrewing; for when Worts are tainted in any considerable degree, they will\nbe ropy in time and unfit for the human Body, as being unwholsome as well\nas unpleasant. So likewise is his _Item_ of great Importance, when he\nadvises to draw the Worts off fine out of the Backs or Coolers, and leave\nthe Feces or Sediments behind, by reason, as he says, they are the cause\nof those two detested Qualities in Malt Liquors, staleness and foulness,\ntwo Properties that ought to imploy the greatest Care in Brewers to\nprevent; for 'tis certain these Sediments are a Composition of the very\nworst part of the Malt, Hops and Yeast, and, while they are in the Barrel,\nwill so tincture and impregnate the Drink with their insanous and\nunpleasant nature, that its Drinkers will be sure to participate thereof\nmore or less as they have lain together a longer or a shorter time. To\nhave then a Malt Drink balsamick and mild, the Worts cannot be run off too\nfine from the Coolers, nor well fermented too slow, that there may be a\nMedium kept, in both the Salt and Sulphur that all fermented Malt Drinks\nabound with, and herein, as he says, lies a great part of the Art of\nBrewing.\n\nHe says truly well, that a little Yeast at first should be put to the\nWort, that it may quietly work by degrees, and not be violently forc'd\ninto a high Fermentation; for then by course the Salt and Sulphur will be\ntoo violently agitated into such an Excess and Disagreement of Parts, that\nwill break their Unity into irregular Commotions, and cause the Drink to\nbe soon stale and harsh. But if it should be too backward and work too\nmoderate, then whipping the Yeast two or three times into it will be of\nsome service to open the Body of the Beer, for as he observes, if Drink\nhas not a due fermentation, it will not be fine, clean, nor light.\n\nHis advice to draw the Drink out of the Tun by a Cock at such a distance\nfrom the bottom is right; because that room will best keep the Feces from\nbeing disturb'd as the Drink is drawing off, and leaving them behind; but\nfor putting them afterwards over the Malt for Small Beer, I don't hold it\nconsonant with good Brewing, by reason in this Sediment there are many\nParticles of the Yeast, that consequently will cause a small Fermentation\nin the Liquor and Malt, and be a means to spoil rather than make good\nSmall Beer.\n\nWhat he says of filling up the Cask with a reserve of the same Drink, and\nnot with that which has once worked out, is past dispute just and right.\n\nAnd so is what he says of stopping up the Vessel close after the\nFermentation is over; but that it is best to Brew all strong Beer in\n_October_, I must here take leave to dissent from the Tenet, because there\nis room for several Objections in relation to the sort of Malt and Cellar,\nwhich as I have before explained, shall say the less here.\n\nAs he observes Care should be taken in the Spring to unstop the Vent, lest\nthe warm Weather cause such a Fermentation as may burst the Cask, and also\nin _September_, that it be first try'd by Pegging if the Drink is fine,\nwell tasted and the Hop rotted; and then if his Way is liked best, bring\nthe rest into a transparent Fineness; for Clearness in Malt Liquors, as I\nsaid before, and here repeat it again, is a most agreeable Quality that\nevery Man ought to enjoy for his Health and Pleasure, and therefore he\nadvises for dispatch in this Affair, and to have the Drink very fine, to\nrack it off before the Ising-glass is put in; but I can't be a Votary for\nthis Practice, as believing the Drink must lose a great deal of its\nSpirits by such shifting; yet I must chime in with his Notion of putting\nthe Wort so often over the Malt till it comes off fine as I have already\ntaught, which is a Method that has been used many Years in the North of\n_England_, where they are so curious as to let the Wort lie some time in\nthe Underback to draw it off from the Feces there; nor are they less\ncareful to run it fine out of the Cooler into the Tun, and from that into\nthe Cask; in all which three several Places the Wort and Drink may be had\nclear and fine, and then there will be no more Sediments than is just\nnecessary to assist and seed the Beer, and preserving its Spirits in a due\nTemper. But if Persons have Time and Conveniency, and their Inclination\nleads them to, obtain their Drink in the utmost Fineness, it is an\nextraordinary good way to use _Hippocrates_ Sleeve or Flannel Bag, which I\ndid in my great Brew-house at _London_ for straining off the Feces that\nwere left in the Backs. As to the Quantity of Malt for Brewing a Hogshead\nof _October_ Beer, I am of Opinion thirteen Bushels are right, and so are\nten, fifteen and twenty, according as People approve of; for near\n_Litchfield_, I know some have brewed a Hogshead of _October_ Beer from\nsixteen Bushels of Barley Malt, one of Wheat, one of Beans, one of Pease\nand one of Oat Malt, besides hanging a Bag of Flower taken out of the last\nfour Malts in the Hogshead for the Drink to feed on, nor can a certain\nTime Be limited and adjusted for the Tapping of any Drink (notwithstanding\nwhat has been affirmed to the contrary) because some Hops will not be\nrotted so soon as others, and some Drinks will not fine so soon as others;\nas is evident in the Pale Malt Drinks, that will seldom or never break so\nsoon in the Copper as the Brown sort, nor will they be so soon ripe and\nfit to Tap as the high dryed Malt Drink will. Therefore what this\nGentleman says of trying Drink by first Pegging it before it is Tapp'd, in\nmy Opinion is more just and right than relying on a limited time for\nBroaching such Beer.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The London and Country Brewer, by Anonymous\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Martin Robb.\n\n\n\n\nFor the Temple:\nA Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem\nBy G. A. Henty.\n\nContents\n\nPreface.\nChapter 1:   The Lake Of Tiberias.\nChapter 2:   A Storm On Galilee.\nChapter 3:   The Revolt Against Rome.\nChapter 4:   The Lull Before The Storm.\nChapter 5:   The Siege Of Jotapata.\nChapter 6:   The Fall Of The City.\nChapter 7:   The Massacre On The Lake.\nChapter 8:   Among The Mountains.\nChapter 9:  The Storming Of Gamala.\nChapter 10: Captives.\nChapter 11: A Tale Of Civil Strife.\nChapter 12: Desultory Fighting.\nChapter 13: The Test Of Devotion.\nChapter 14: Jerusalem.\nChapter 15: The Siege Is Begun.\nChapter 16: The Subterranean Passage.\nChapter 17: The Capture Of The Temple.\nChapter 18: Slaves.\nChapter 19: At Rome.\n\nIllustrations\n\nOn the Sea of Galilee.\nHeightening the Walls of Jotapata under Shelter of Ox Hides.\nJohn Incites his Countrymen to Harass the Romans.\nThe Roman Camp Surprised and Set on Fire.\nMary and the Hebrew Women in the Hands of the Romans.\nTitus Brings Josephus to See John.\nJohn and his Band in Sight of Jerusalem.\nMisery in Jerusalem During the Siege by Titus.\n'Lesbia,' the Roman said, 'I have brought you two more slaves.'\nThe Return of John to his House on the Lake.\n\n\n\nPreface.\n\n\nIn all history, there is no drama of more terrible interest than\nthat which terminated with the total destruction of Jerusalem. Had\nthe whole Jewish nation joined in the desperate resistance made, by\na section of it, to the overwhelming strength of Rome, the world\nwould have had no record of truer patriotism than that displayed,\nby this small people, in their resistance to the forces of the\nmistress of the world.\n\nUnhappily, the reverse of this was the case. Except in the defense\nof Jotapata and Gamala, it can scarcely be said that the Jewish\npeople, as a body, offered any serious resistance to the arms of\nRome. The defenders of Jerusalem were a mere fraction of its\npopulation--a fraction composed almost entirely of turbulent\ncharacters and robber bands, who fought with the fury of\ndesperation; after having placed themselves beyond the pale of\nforgiveness, or mercy, by the deeds of unutterable cruelty with\nwhich they had desolated the city, before its siege by the Romans.\nThey fought, it is true, with unflinching courage--a courage never\nsurpassed in history--but it was the courage of despair; and its\nresult was to bring destruction upon the whole population, as well\nas upon themselves.\n\nFortunately the narrative of Josephus, an eyewitness of the events\nwhich he describes, has come down to us; and it is the storehouse\nfrom which all subsequent histories of the events have been drawn.\nIt is, no doubt, tinged throughout by his desire to stand well with\nhis patrons, Vespasian and Titus; but there is no reason to doubt\nthe accuracy of his descriptions. I have endeavored to present you\nwith as vivid a picture as possible of the events of the war,\nwithout encumbering the story with details and, except as regards\nthe exploits of John of Gamala, of whom Josephus says nothing, have\nstrictly followed, in every particular, the narrative of the\nhistorian.\n\nG. A. Henty.\n\n\n\nChapter 1: The Lake Of Tiberias.\n\n\n\"Dreaming, John, as usual? I never saw such a boy. You are always\nin extremes; either tiring yourself out, or lying half asleep.\"\n\n\"I was not half asleep, mother. I was looking at the lake.\"\n\n\"I cannot see much to look at, John. It's just as it has been ever\nsince you were born, or since I was born.\"\n\n\"No, I suppose there's no change, mother; but I am never tired of\nlooking at the sun shining on the ripples, and the fishermen's\nboats, and the birds standing in the shallows or flying off, in a\ndesperate hurry, without any reason that I can make out. Besides,\nmother, when one is looking at the lake, one is thinking of other\nthings.\"\n\n\"And very often thinking of nothing at all, my son.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so, mother; but there's plenty to think of, in these\ntimes.\"\n\n\"Plenty, John; there are baskets and baskets of figs to be stripped\nfrom the trees, and hung up to dry for the winter and, next week,\nwe are going to begin the grape harvest. But the figs are the\nprincipal matter, at present; and I think that it would be far more\nuseful for you to go and help old Isaac and his son, in getting\nthem in, than in lying there watching the lake.\"\n\n\"I suppose it would, mother,\" the lad said, rising briskly; for his\nfits of indolence were by no means common and, as a rule, he was\nready to assist at any work which might be going on.\n\n\"I do not wonder at John loving the lake,\" his mother said to\nherself, when the lad had hurried away. \"It is a fair scene; and it\nmay be, as Simon thinks, that a change may come over it, before\nlong, and that ruin and desolation may fall upon us all.\"\n\nThere were, indeed, few scenes which could surpass in tranquil\nbeauty that which Martha, the wife of Simon, was looking upon--the\nsheet of sparkling water, with its low shores dotted with towns and\nvillages. Down the lake, on the opposite shore, rose the walls and\ncitadel of Tiberias, with many stately buildings; for although\nTiberias was not, now, the chief town of Galilee--for Sepphoris had\nusurped its place--it had been the seat of the Roman authority, and\nthe kings who ruled the country for Rome generally dwelt there.\nHalf a mile from the spot where Martha was standing rose the\nnewly-erected walls of Hippos.\n\nWhere the towns and villages did not engross the shore, the rich\norchards and vineyards extended down to the very edge of the water.\nThe plain of Galilee was a veritable garden. Here flourished, in\nthe greatest abundance, the vine and the fig; while the low hills\nwere covered with olive groves, and the corn waved thickly on the\nrich, fat land. No region on the earth's face possessed a fairer\nclimate. The heat was never extreme; the winds blowing from the\nGreat Sea brought the needed moisture for the vegetation; and so\nsoft and equable was the air that, for ten months in the year,\ngrapes and figs could be gathered.\n\nThe population, supported by the abundant fruits of the earth, was\nvery large. Villages--which would elsewhere be called towns, for\nthose containing but a few thousand inhabitants were regarded as\nsmall, indeed--were scattered thickly over the plain; and few areas\nof equal dimensions could show a population approaching that which\ninhabited the plains and <DW72>s between the Sea of Galilee and the\nMediterranean. None could then have dreamed of the dangers that\nwere to come, or believed that this rich cultivation and teeming\npopulation would disappear; and that, in time, a few flocks of\nwandering sheep would scarce be able to find herbage growing, on\nthe wastes of land which would take the place of this fertile soil.\n\nCertainly no such thought as this occurred to Martha, as she\nre-entered the house; though she did fear that trouble, and ruin,\nmight be approaching.\n\nJohn was soon at work among the fig trees, aiding Isaac and his son\nReuben--a lad of some fifteen years--to pick the soft, luscious\nfruit, and carry it to the little courtyard, shaded from the rays\nof the sun by an overhead trellis work, covered with vines and\nalmost bending beneath the purple bunches of grapes. Miriam--the\nold nurse--and four or five maid servants, under the eye of Martha,\ntied them in rows on strings, and fastened them to pegs driven into\nthat side of the house upon which the sun beat down most hotly. It\nwas only the best fruit that was so served; for that which had been\ndamaged in the picking, and all of smaller size, were laid on trays\nin the sun. The girls chatted merrily as they worked; for Martha,\nalthough a good housewife, was a gentle mistress and, so long as\nfingers were busy, heeded not if the tongue ran on.\n\n\"Let the damsels be happy, while they may,\" she would say, if\nMiriam scolded a little when the laughter rose louder than usual.\n\"Let them be happy, while they can; who knows what lies in the\nfuture?\"\n\nBut at present, the future cast no shade upon the group; nor upon a\ngirl of about fourteen years old, who danced in and out of the\ncourtyard in the highest spirits, now stopping a few minutes to\nstring the figs, then scampering away with an empty basket which,\nwhen she reached the gatherers, she placed on her head and\nsupported demurely, for a little while, at the foot of the ladder\nupon which John was perched--so that he could lay the figs in it\nwithout bruising them. But, long ere the basket was filled she\nwould tire of the work and, setting it on the ground, run back into\nthe house.\n\n\"And so you think you are helping, Mary,\" John said, laughing, when\nthe girl returned for the fourth time, with an empty basket.\n\n\"Helping, John! Of course I am--ever so much. Helping you, and\nhelping them at the house, and carrying empty baskets. I consider\nmyself the most active of the party.\"\n\n\"Active, certainly, Mary! but if you do not help them, in stringing\nand hanging the figs, more than you help me, I think you might as\nwell leave it alone.\"\n\n\"Fie, John! That is most ungrateful, after my standing here like a\nstatue, with the basket on my head, ready for you to lay the figs\nin.\"\n\n\"That is all very fine!\" John laughed; \"but before the basket is\nhalf full, away you go; and I have to get down the ladder, and\nbring up the basket and fix it firmly, and that without shaking the\nfigs; whereas, had you left it alone, altogether, I could have\nbrought up the empty basket and fixed it close by my hand, without\nany trouble at all.\"\n\n\"You are an ungrateful boy, and you know how bad it is to be\nungrateful! And after my making myself so hot, too!\" Miriam said.\n\"My face is as red as fire, and that is all the thanks I get. Very\nwell, then, I shall go into the house, and leave you to your own\nbad reflections.\"\n\n\"You need not do that, Mary. You can sit down in the shade there,\nand watch us at work; and eat figs, and get yourself cool, all at\nthe same time. The sun will be down in another half hour, and then\nI shall be free to amuse you.\"\n\n\"Amuse me, indeed!\" the girl said indignantly, as she sat down on\nthe bank to which John had pointed. \"You mean that I shall amuse\nyou; that is what it generally comes to. If it wasn't for me I am\nsure, very often, there would not be a word said when we are out\ntogether.\"\n\n\"Perhaps that is true,\" John agreed; \"but you see, there is so much\nto think about.\"\n\n\"And so you choose the time when you are with me to think! Thank\nyou, John! You had better think, at present,\" and, rising from the\nseat she had just taken, she walked back to the house again,\nregardless of John's explanations and shouts.\n\nOld Isaac chuckled, on his tree close by.\n\n\"They are ever too sharp for us, in words, John. The damsel is\nyounger than you, by full two years; and yet she can always put you\nin the wrong, with her tongue.\"\n\n\"She puts meanings to my words which I never thought of,\" John\nsaid, \"and is angered, or pretends to be--for I never know which it\nis--at things which she has coined out of her own mind, for they\nhad no place in mine.\"\n\n\"Boys' wits are always slower than girls',\" the old man said. \"A\ngirl has more fancy, in her little finger, than a boy in his whole\nbody. Your cousin laughs at you, because she sees that you take it\nall seriously; and wonders, in her mind, how it is her thoughts run\nahead of yours. But I love the damsel, and so do all in the house\nfor, if she be a little wayward at times, she is bright and loving,\nand has cheered the house since she came here.\n\n\"Your father is not a man of many words; and Martha, as becomes her\nage, is staid and quiet, though she is no enemy of mirth and\ncheerfulness; but the loss of all her children, save you, has\nsaddened her, and I think she must often have pined that she had\nnot a girl; and she has brightened much since the damsel came here,\nthree years ago.\n\n\"But the sun is sinking, and my basket is full. There will be\nenough for the maids to go on with, in the morning, until we can\nsupply them with more.\"\n\nJohn's basket was not full, but he was well content to stop and,\ndescending their ladders, the three returned to the house.\n\nSimon of Gadez--for that was the name of his farm, and the little\nfishing village close by, on the shore--was a prosperous and\nwell-to-do man. His land, like that of all around him, had come\ndown from father to son, through long generations; for the law by\nwhich all mortgages were cleared off, every seven years, prevented\nthose who might be disposed to idleness and extravagance from\nruining themselves, and their children. Every man dwelt upon the\nland which, as eldest son, he had inherited; while the younger\nsons, taking their smaller share, would settle in the towns or\nvillages and become traders, or fishermen, according to their bent\nand means.\n\nThere were poor in Palestine--for there will be poor, everywhere,\nso long as human nature remains as it is; and some men are idle and\nself indulgent, while others are industrious and thrifty--but,\ntaking it as a whole there were, thanks to the wise provisions of\ntheir laws, no people on the face of the earth so generally\ncomfortable, and well to do. They grumbled, of course, over the\nexactions of the tax collectors--exactions due, not to the\ncontribution which was paid by the province to imperial Rome, but\nto the luxury and extravagance of their kings, and to the greed and\ncorruption of the officials. But in spite of this, the people of\nrich and prosperous Galilee could have lived in contentment, and\nhappiness, had it not been for the factions in their midst.\n\nOn reaching the house, John found that his father had just returned\nfrom Hippos, whither he had gone on business. He nodded when the\nlad entered, with his basket.\n\n\"I have hired eight men in the market, today, to come out tomorrow\nto aid in gathering in the figs,\" he said; \"and your mother has\njust sent down, to get some of the fishermen's maidens to come in\nto help her. It is time that we had done with them, and we will\nthen set about the vintage. Let us reap while we can, there is no\nsaying what the morrow will bring forth.\n\n\"Wife, add something to the evening meal, for the Rabbi Solomon Ben\nManasseh will sup with us, and sleep here tonight.\"\n\nJohn saw that his father looked graver than usual, but he knew his\nduty as a son too well to think of asking any questions; and he\nbusied himself, for a time, in laying out the figs on trays--knowing\nthat, otherwise, their own weight would crush the soft fruit before\nthe morning, and bruise the tender skins.\n\nA quarter of an hour later, the quick footsteps of a donkey were\nheard approaching. John ran out and, having saluted the rabbi, held\nthe animal while his father assisted him to alight and, welcoming\nhim to his house, led him within. The meal was soon served. It\nconsisted of fish from the lake, kid's flesh seethed in milk, and\nfruit.\n\nOnly the men sat down; the rabbi sitting upon Simon's right hand,\nJohn on his left, and Isaac and his son at the other end of the\ntable. Martha's maids waited upon them, for it was not the custom\nfor the women to sit down with the men and, although in the country\nthis usage was not strictly observed, and Martha and little Mary\ngenerally took their meals with Simon and John, they did not do so\nif any guest was present.\n\nIn honor of the visitor, a white cloth had been laid on the table.\nAll ate with their fingers; two dishes of each kind being placed on\nthe table--one at each end. But few words were said during the\nmeal. After it was concluded, Isaac and his son withdrew and,\npresently, Martha and Mary, having taken their meal in the women's\napartments, came into the room. Mary made a little face at John, to\nsignify her disapproval of the visitor, whose coming would compel\nher to keep silent all the evening. But though John smiled, he made\nno sign of sympathy for, indeed, he was anxious to hear the news\nfrom without; and doubted not that he should learn much, from the\nrabbi.\n\nSolomon Ben Manasseh was a man of considerable influence in\nGalilee. He was a tall, stern-looking old man, with bushy black\neyebrows, deep-set eyes, and a long beard of black hair, streaked\nwith gray. He was said to have acquired much of the learning of the\nGentiles, among whom, at Antioch, he had dwelt for some years; but\nit was to his powers as a speaker that he owed his influence. It\nwas the tongue, in those days, that ruled men; and there were few\nwho could lash a crowd to fury, or still their wrath when excited,\nbetter than Solomon Ben Manasseh.\n\nFor some time they talked upon different subjects: on the corn\nharvest and vintage, the probable amount of taxation, the marriage\nfeast which was to take place, in the following week, at the house\nof one of the principal citizens of Hippos, and other matters. But\nat last Simon broached the subject which was uppermost in all their\nthoughts.\n\n\"And the news from Tiberias, you say, is bad, rabbi?\"\n\n\"The news from Tiberias is always bad, friend Simon. In all the\nland there is not a city which will compare with it, in the\nwrongheadedness of its people and the violence of its seditions;\nand little can be hoped, as far as I can see, so long as our good\ngovernor, Josephus, continues to treat the malefactors so\nleniently. A score of times they have conspired against his life\nand, as often, has he eluded them; for the Lord has been ever with\nhim. But each time, instead of punishing those who have brought\nabout these disorders, he lets them go free; trusting always that\nthey will repent them of their ways, although he sees that his\nkindness is thrown away, and that they grow even bolder and more\nbitter against him after each failure.\n\n\"All Galilee is with him. Whenever he gives the word, every man\ntakes up his arms and follows him and, did he but give the order,\nthey would level those proud towns Tiberias and Sepphoris to the\nground, and tear down stone by stone the stronghold of John of\nGischala. But he will suffer them to do nothing--not a hair of\nthese traitors' heads is to be touched; nor their property, to the\nvalue of a penny, be interfered with.\n\n\"I call such lenity culpable. The law ordains punishment for those\nwho disturb the people. We know what befell those who rebelled\nagainst Moses. Josephus has the valor and the wisdom of King David;\nbut it were well if he had, like our great king, a Joab by his\nside, who would smite down traitors and spare not.\"\n\n\"It is his only fault,\" Simon said. \"What a change has taken place,\nsince he was sent hither from Jerusalem to take up our government!\nAll abuses have been repressed, extortion has been put down, taxes\nhave been lightened. We eat our bread in peace and comfort, and\neach man's property is his own. Never was there such a change as he\nhas wrought and, were it not for John of Gischala, Justus the son\nof Piscus, and Jesus the son of Sapphias, all would go quietly and\nwell; but these men are continually stirring up the people--who, in\ntheir folly, listen to them--and conspiring to murder Josephus, and\nseize upon his government.\"\n\n\"Already he has had, more than once, to reduce to submission\nTiberias and Sepphoris; happily without bloodshed for, when the\npeople of these cities saw that all Galilee was with Josephus, they\nopened their gates and submitted themselves to his mercy. Truly, in\nLeviticus it is said:\n\n\"'Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children\nof thy people; but thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.'\n\n\"But Josephus carries this beyond reason. Seeing that his\nadversaries by no means observe this law, he should remember that\nit is also said that 'He that taketh the sword shall fall by the\nsword,' and that the law lays down punishments for the transgressors.\nOur judges and kings slew those who troubled the land, and destroyed\nthem utterly; and Josephus does wrong to depart from their teaching.\"\n\n\"I know not where he could have learned such notions of mercy to\nhis enemies, and to the enemies of the land,\" Simon said. \"He has\nbeen to Rome, but it is not among the Romans that he will have\nfound that it is right to forgive those who rise up in rebellion.\"\n\n\"Yes, he was in Rome when he was twenty-six years old,\" Solomon\nsaid. \"He went thither to plead the cause of certain priests who\nhad been thrown into bonds, by Felix, and sent to Rome. It was a\nperilous voyage, for his ship was wrecked in the Adriatic and, of\nsix hundred men who were on board, only eighty were picked\nup--after floating and swimming all night--by a ship of Cyrene. He\nwas not long in Rome for, being introduced to Poppaea, the wife of\nCaesar, he used his interest with her and obtained the release of\nthose for whose sake he went there.\n\n\"No, if he gained these ideas from anyone, he learned them from one\nBanus--an Ascetic, of the sect of the Essenes, who lived in the\ndesert with no other clothing than the bark and leaves of trees,\nand no other food save that which grew wild. Josephus lived with\nhim, in like fashion, for three years and, doubtless, learned all\nthat was in his heart. Banus was a follower, they say, of that John\nwhom Herod put to death; and for aught I know, of that Jesus who\nwas crucified, two years afterwards, at Jerusalem, and in whom many\npeople believed, and who has many followers, to this day. I have\nconversed with some of them and, from what they tell me, this Jesus\ntaught doctrines similar to those which Josephus practices; and\nwhich he may have learned from Banus, without accepting the\ndoctrines which the members of this sect hold, as to their founder\nbeing the promised Messiah who was to restore Israel.\"\n\n\"I, too, have talked with many of the sect,\" Simon said; \"and have\nargued with them on the folly of their belief, seeing that their\nfounder by no means saved Israel, but was himself put to death.\nFrom what I could see, there was much that was good in the\ndoctrines they hold; but they have exaggerated ideas, and are\nopposed to all wars, even to fighting for their country. I hear\nthat, since there has been trouble with Rome, most of them have\ndeparted altogether out of the land, so as to avoid the necessity\nof fighting.\"\n\n\"They are poor creatures,\" Solomon Ben Manasseh said, scornfully;\n\"but we need not talk of them now, for they affect us in no way,\nsave that it may be that Josephus has learned somewhat of their\ndoctrines, from Banus; and that he is thus unduly and, as I think,\nmost unfortunately for the country, inclined too much to mercy,\ninstead of punishing the evildoers as they deserve.\"\n\n\"But nevertheless, rabbi, it seems to me that there has been good\npolicy, as well, in the mercy which Josephus has shown his foes.\nYou know that John has many friends in Jerusalem; and that, if he\ncould accuse Josephus of slaughtering any, he would be able to make\nso strong a party, there, that he could obtain the recall of\nJosephus.\"\n\n\"We would not let him go,\" Solomon said, hotly. \"Since the Romans\nhave gone, we submit to the supremacy of the council at Jerusalem,\nbut it is only on sufferance. For long ages we have had nothing to\ndo with Judah; and we are not disposed to put our necks under their\nyoke, now. We submit to unity because, in the Romans, we have a\ncommon foe; but we are not going to be tyrannized. Josephus has\nshown himself a wise ruler. We are happier, under him, than we have\nbeen for generations under the men who call themselves kings, but\nwho are nothing but Roman satraps; and we are not going to suffer\nhim to be taken from us. Only let the people of Jerusalem try that,\nand they will have to deal with all the men of Galilee.\"\n\n\"I am past the age at which men are bound to take up the sword, and\nJohn has not yet attained it but, if there were need, we would both\ngo out and fight. What could they do, for the population of Galilee\nis greater than that of Judah? And while we would fight, every man,\nto the death; the Jews would, few of them, care to hazard their\nlives only to take from us the man we desire to rule over us.\nStill, Josephus does wisely, perhaps, to give no occasion for\naccusation by his enemies.\n\n\"There is no talk, is there, rabbi, of any movement on the part of\nthe Romans to come against us, in force?\"\n\n\"None, so far as I have heard,\" the rabbi replied. \"King Agrippa\nremains in his country, to the east; but he has no Roman force with\nhim sufficient to attempt any great enterprise and, so long as they\nleave us alone, we are content.\"\n\n\"They will come, sooner or later,\" Simon said, shaking his head.\n\"They are busy elsewhere. When they have settled with their other\nenemies, they will come here to avenge the defeat of Cestius, to\nrestore Florus, and to reconquer the land. Where Rome has once laid\nher paw, she never lets slip her prey.\"\n\n\"Well, we can fight,\" Solomon Ben Manasseh said, sternly. \"Our\nforefathers won the land with the sword, and we can hold it by the\nsword.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Martha said quietly, joining in the conversation for the\nfirst time, \"if God fights for us, as He fought for our\nforefathers.\"\n\n\"Why should He not?\" the rabbi asked sternly. \"We are still his\npeople. We are faithful to his law.\"\n\n\"But God has, many times in the past, suffered us to fall into the\nhands of our enemies as a punishment for our sins,\" Martha said,\nquietly. \"The tribes were carried away into captivity, and are\nscattered we know not where. The temple was destroyed, and the\npeople of Judah dwelt long as captives in Babylon. He suffered us\nto fall under the yoke of the Romans.\n\n\"In his right time, He will fight for us again; but can we say that\nthat time has come, rabbi, and that He will smite the Romans, as He\nsmote the host of Sennacherib?\"\n\n\"That no man can say,\" the rabbi answered, gloomily. \"Time only\nwill show but, whether or no, the people will fight valiantly.\"\n\n\"I doubt not that they will fight,\" Simon said; \"but many other\nnations, to whom we are but as a handful, have fought bravely, but\nhave succumbed to the might of Rome. It is said that Josephus, and\nmany of the wisest in Jerusalem, were heartily opposed to the\ntumults against the Romans, and that they only went with the people\nbecause they were in fear of their lives; and even at Tiberias many\nmen of worth and gravity, such as Julius Capellus, Herod the son of\nMiarus, Herod the son of Gamalus, Compsus, and others, are all\nstrongly opposed to hostility against the Romans.\n\n\"And it is the same, elsewhere. Those who know best what is the\nmight and power of Rome would fain remain friendly with her. It is\nthe ignorant and violent classes have led us into this strait; from\nwhich, as I fear, naught but ruin can arise.\"\n\n\"I thought better things of you, Simon,\" the rabbi said, angrily.\n\n\"But you yourself have told me,\" Simon urged, \"that you thought it\na mad undertaking to provoke the vengeance of Rome.\"\n\n\"I thought so, at first,\" Solomon admitted, \"but now our hand is\nplaced on the plow, we must not draw back; and I believe that the\nGod of our fathers will show his might before the heathen.\"\n\n\"I trust that it may be so,\" Simon said, gravely. \"In His hand is\nall power. Whether He will see fit to put it forth, now, in our\nbehalf remains to be seen. However, for the present we need not\nconcern ourselves greatly with the Romans. It may be long before\nthey bring an army against us; while these seditions, here, are at\nour very door, and ever threaten to involve us in civil war.\"\n\n\"We need fear no civil war,\" the rabbi said. \"The people of all\nGalilee, save the violent and ill disposed in a few of the towns,\nare all for Josephus. If it comes to force, John and his party know\nthat they will be swept away, like a straw before the wind. The\nfear is that they may succeed in murdering Josephus; either by the\nknife of an assassin, or in one of these tumults. They would rather\nthe latter, because they would then say that the people had torn\nhim to pieces, in their fury at his misdoings.\n\n\"However, we watch over him, as much as we can; and his friends\nhave warned him that he must be careful, not only for his own sake,\nbut for that of all the people; and he has promised that, as far as\nhe can, he will be on his guard against these traitors.\"\n\n\"The governor should have a strong bodyguard,\" John exclaimed,\nimpetuously, \"as the Roman governors had. In another year, I shall\nbe of age to have my name inscribed in the list of fighting men;\nand I would gladly be one of his guard.\"\n\n\"You are neither old enough to fight, nor to express an opinion\nunasked,\" Simon said, \"in the presence of your elders.\"\n\n\"Do not check the boy,\" the rabbi said. \"He has fire and spirit;\nand the days are coming when we shall not ask how old, or how\nyoung, are those who would fight, so that they can but hold arms.\n\n\"Josephus is wise not to have a military guard, John, because the\npeople love not such appearance of state. His enemies would use\nthis as an argument that he was setting himself up above them. It\nis partly because he behaves himself discreetly, and goes about\namong them like a private person, of no more account than\nthemselves, that they love him. None can say he is a tyrant,\nbecause he has no means of tyrannizing. His enemies cannot urge it\nagainst him at Jerusalem--as they would doubtless do, if they\ncould--that he is seeking to lead Galilee away from the rule of\nJerusalem, and to set himself up as its master for, to do this, he\nwould require to gather an army; and Josephus has not a single\narmed man at his service, save and except that when he appears to\nbe in danger many, out of love of him, assemble and provide him\nescort.\n\n\"No, Josephus is wise in that he affects neither pomp nor state;\nthat he keeps no armed men around him, but trusts to the love of\nthe people. He would be wiser, however, did he seize one of the\noccasions when the people have taken up arms for him to destroy all\nthose who make sedition; and to free the country, once and for all,\nfrom the trouble.\n\n\"Sedition should be always nipped in the bud. Lenity, in such a\ncase, is the most cruel course; for it encourages men to think that\nthose in authority fear them, and that they can conspire without\ndanger; and whereas, at first, the blood of ten men will put an end\nto sedition, it needs, at last, the blood of as many thousands to\nrestore peace and order. It is good for a man to be merciful, but\nnot for a ruler, for the good of the whole people is placed in his\nhands. The sword of justice is given to him, and he is most\nmerciful who uses it the most promptly against those who work\nsedition. The wise ruler will listen to the prayers of his people,\nand will grant their petitions, when they show that their case is\nhard; but he will grant nothing to him who asketh with his sword in\nhis hand, for he knows full well that when he yields, once, he must\nyield always; until the time comes, as come it surely will, when he\nmust resist with the sword. Then the land will be filled with blood\nwhereas, in the beginning, he could have avoided all trouble, by\nrefusing so much as to listen to those who spoke with threats.\n\n\"Josephus is a good man, and the Lord has given him great gifts. He\nhas done great things for the land; but you will see that many woes\nwill come, and much blood will be shed, from this lenity of his\ntowards those who stir up tumults among the people.\"\n\nA few minutes later the family retired to bed; the hour being a\nlate one for Simon's household, which generally retired to rest a\nshort time after the evening meal.\n\nThe next day the work of gathering in the figs was carried on,\nearnestly and steadily, with the aid of the workers whom Simon had\nhired in the town and, in two days, the trees were all stripped,\nand strings of figs hung to dry from the boughs of all the trees\nround the house.\n\nThen the gathering of the grapes began. All the inhabitants of the\nlittle fishing village lent their aid--men as well as women and\nchildren--for the vintage was looked upon as a holiday; and Simon\nwas regarded as a good friend by his neighbors, being ever ready to\naid them when there was need, judging any disputes which arose\nbetween them, and lending them money without interest if misfortune\ncame upon their boats or nets, or if illness befell them; while the\nwomen, in times of sickness or trouble, went naturally to Martha\nwith their griefs, and were assured of sympathy, good advice, and\nany drugs or dainty food suited to the case.\n\nThe women and girls picked the grapes, and laid them in baskets.\nThese were carried by men, and emptied into the vat; where other\nmen trod them down, and pressed out the juice. Martha and her maids\nsaw to the cooking and laying out, on the great tables in the\ncourtyard, of the meals; to which all sat down, together. Simon\nsuperintended the crushing of the grapes; and John worked now at\none task, and now at another. It was a pretty scene, and rendered\nmore gay by the songs of the women and girls, as they worked; and\nthe burst of merry laughter which, at times, arose.\n\nIt lasted four days, by which time the last bunch, save those on a\nfew vines preserved for eating, was picked and crushed; and the\nvats in the cellar, sunk underground for coolness, were full to the\nbrim. Simon was much pleased with the result; and declared that\nnever, in his memory, had the vine and fig harvest turned out more\nabundant. The corn had long before been gathered, and there\nremained now only the olives; but it would be some little time yet\nbefore these were fit to be gathered, and their oil extracted, for\nthey were allowed to hang on the trees until ready to drop.\n\nThe last basket of grapes was brought in with much ceremony; the\ngatherers forming a little procession, and singing a thanksgiving\nhymn as they walked. The evening meal was more bounteous, even,\nthan usual; and all who helped carried away with them substantial\nproofs of Simon's thankfulness, and satisfaction.\n\nFor the next few days Simon and his men, and Martha's maids, lent\ntheir assistance in getting in the vintage of their neighbors; for\neach family had its patch of ground, and grew sufficient grapes and\nfruits for its own needs. Those in the village brought their grapes\nto a vat, which they had in common; the measures of the grapes\nbeing counted as they were put in, and the wine afterwards divided,\nin like proportion--for wine, to be good, must be made in\nconsiderable quantities.\n\nAnd now there was, for a time, little to do on the farm. Simon\nsuperintended the men who were plowing up the corn stubbles, ready\nfor the sowing in the spring; sometimes putting his hand to the\nplow, and driving the oxen. Isaac and his son worked in the\nvineyard and garden, near the house; aided to some extent by John\nwho, however, was not yet called upon to take a man's share in the\nwork of the farm--he having but lately finished his learning, with\nthe rabbi, at the school in Hippos. Still, he worked steadily every\nmorning and, in the afternoon, generally went out on the lake with\nthe fishermen, with whom he was a great favorite.\n\nThis was not to last long for, at seventeen, he was to join his\nfather, regularly, in the management of the farm and, indeed, the\nRabbi Solomon, who was a frequent guest, was of opinion that Simon\ngave the boy too much license; and that he ought, already, to be\ndoing man's work.\n\nBut Simon, when urged by him, said:\n\n\"I know that, at his age, I was working hard, rabbi; but the lad\nhas studied diligently, and I have a good report of him; and I\nthink it well that, at his age, the bow should be unbent somewhat.\n\n\"Besides, who knows what is before us! I will let the lad have as\nmuch pleasure from his life as he can. The storm is approaching;\nlet him play, while the sun shines.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 2: A Storm On Galilee.\n\n\nOne day, after the midday meal, John said:\n\n\"Mary, Raphael and his brother have taken the big boat, and gone\noff with fish to Tiberias; and have told me that I can take the\nsmall boat, if I will. Ask my mother to let you off your task, and\ncome out with me. It is a fortnight since we had a row on the lake,\ntogether.\"\n\n\"I was beginning to think that you were never going to ask me\nagain, John; and, only I should punish myself, I would say you nay.\nThere have you been, going out fishing every afternoon, and leaving\nme at home to spin; and it is all the worse because your mother has\nsaid that the time is fast coming when I must give up wandering\nabout like a child, and must behave myself like a woman.\n\n\"Oh, dear, how tiresome it will be when there will be nothing to do\nbut to sit and spin, and to look after the house, and to walk\ninstead of running when I am out, and to behave like a grown-up\nperson, altogether!\"\n\n\"You are almost grown up,\" John said; \"you are taller, now, than\nany of the maids except Zillah; but I shall be sorry to see you\ngrowing staid and solemn. And it was selfish of me not to ask you\nto go out before, but I really did not think of it. The fishermen\nhave been working hard, to make up for the time lost during the\nharvest; and I have really been useful, helping them with their\nnets, and this is the last year I shall have my liberty.\n\n\"But come, don't let's be wasting time in talking; run in and get\nmy mother's permission, and then join me on the shore. I will take\nsome grapes down, for you to eat; for the sun is hot today, and\nthere is scarce a breath of wind on the water.\"\n\nA few minutes later, the young pair stood together by the side of\nthe boat.\n\n\"Your mother made all sorts of objections,\" Mary said, laughing,\n\"and I do think she won't let me come again. I don't think she\nwould have done it, today, if Miriam had not stood up for me, and\nsaid that I was but a child though I was so tall; and that, as you\nwere very soon going to work with your father, she thought that it\nwas no use in making the change before that.\"\n\n\"What nonsense it all is!\" John said. \"Besides, you know it is\narranged that, in a few months, we are to be betrothed according to\nthe wishes of your parents and mine. It would have been done, long\nago, only my father and mother do not approve of young betrothals;\nand think it better to wait, to see if the young ones like each\nother; and I think that is quite right, too, in most cases--only,\nof course, living here, as you have done for the last three\nyears--since your father and mother died--there was no fear of our\nnot liking each other.\"\n\n\"Well, you see,\" Mary said, as she sat in the stern of the boat,\nwhile John rowed it quietly along, \"it might have been just the\nother way. When people don't see anything of each other, till they\nare betrothed by their parents, they can't dislike each other very\nmuch; whereas, when they get to know each other, if they are\ndisagreeable they might get to almost hate each other.\"\n\n\"Yes, there is something in that,\" John agreed. \"Of course, in our\ncase it is all right, because we do like each other--we couldn't\nhave liked each other more, I think, if we had been brother and\nsister--but it seems to me that, sometimes, it must be horrid when\na boy is told by his parents that he is to be betrothed to a girl\nhe has never seen. You see it isn't as if it were for a short time,\nbut for all one's life. It must be awful!\"\n\n\"Awful!\" Mary agreed, heartily; \"but of course, it would have to be\ndone.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" John said--the possibility of a lad refusing to obey\nhis parents' commands not even occurring to him. \"Still it doesn't\nseem to me quite right that one should have no choice, in so\nimportant a matter. Of course, when one's got a father and mother\nlike mine--who would be sure to think only of making me happy, and\nnot of the amount of dowry, or anything of that sort--it would be\nall right; but with some parents, it would be dreadful.\"\n\nFor some time, not a word was spoken; both of them meditating over\nthe unpleasantness of being forced to marry someone they disliked.\nThen, finding the subject too difficult for them, they began to\ntalk about other things; stopping, sometimes, to see the fishermen\nhaul up their nets, for there were a number of boats out on the\nlake. They rowed down as far as Tiberias and, there, John ceased\nrowing; and they sat chatting over the wealth and beauty of that\ncity, which John had often visited with his father, but which Mary\nhad never entered.\n\nThen John turned the head of the boat up the lake and again began\nto row but, scarcely had he dipped his oar into the water, when he\nexclaimed:\n\n\"Look at that black cloud rising, at the other end of the lake! Why\ndid you not tell me, Mary?\"\n\n\"How stupid of me,\" she exclaimed, \"not to have kept my eyes open!\"\n\nHe bent to his oars, and made the boat move through the water at a\nvery different rate to that at which she had before traveled.\n\n\"Most of the boats have gone,\" Mary said, presently, \"and the rest\nare all rowing to the shore; and the clouds are coming up very\nfast,\" she added, looking round.\n\n\"We are going to have a storm,\" John said. \"It will be upon us long\nbefore we get back. I shall make for the shore, Mary. We must leave\nthe boat there, and take shelter for a while, and then walk home.\nIt will not be more than four miles to walk.\"\n\nBut though he spoke cheerfully, John knew enough of the sudden\nstorms that burst upon the Sea of Galilee to be aware that, long\nbefore he could cross the mile and a half of water, which separated\nthem from the eastern shore, the storm would be upon them; and\nindeed, they were not more than half way when it burst.\n\nThe sky was already covered with black clouds. A great darkness\ngathered round them; then came a heavy downpour of rain; and then,\nwith a sudden burst, the wind smote them. It was useless, now, to\ntry to row, for the oars would have been twisted from his hands in\na moment; and John took the helm, and told Mary to lie down in the\nbottom of the boat. He had already turned the boat's head up the\nlake, the direction in which the storm was traveling.\n\nThe boat sprang forward, as if it had received a blow, when the\ngale struck it. John had, more than once, been out on the lake with\nthe fishermen, when sudden storms had come up; and knew what was\nbest to be done. When he had laid in his oars, he had put them so\nthat the blades stood partly up above the bow, and caught the wind\nsomewhat; and he, himself, crouched down in the bottom, with his\nhead below the gunwale and his hand on the tiller; so that the\ntendency of the boat was to drive straight before the wind. With a\nstrong crew, he knew that he could have rowed obliquely towards the\nshore but, alone, his strength could have done nothing to keep the\nheavy boat off her course.\n\nThe sea rose, as if by magic, and the spray was soon dashing over\nthem; each wave, as it followed the boat, rising higher and higher.\nThe shores were no longer visible; and the crests of the waves\nseemed to gleam, with a pallid light, in the darkness which\nsurrounded them. John sat quietly in the bottom of the boat, with\none hand on the tiller and the other arm round Mary, who was\ncrouched up against him. She had made no cry, or exclamation, from\nthe moment the gale struck them.\n\nIllustration: On the Sea of Galilee.\n\n\"Are we getting near shore?\" she asked, at last.\n\n\"No, Mary; we are running straight before the wind, which is\nblowing right up the lake. There is nothing to be done but to keep\nstraight before it.\"\n\nMary had seen many storms on the lake, and knew into what a fury\nits waters were lashed, in a tempest such as was now upon them.\n\n\"We are in God's hands, John,\" she said, with the quiet resignation\nof her race. \"He can save us, if He will. Let us pray to him.\"\n\nJohn nodded and, for a few minutes, no word was spoken.\n\n\"Can I do anything?\" Mary asked, presently, as a wave struck the\nstern, and threw a mass of water into the boat.\n\n\"Yes,\" John replied; \"take that earthen pot, and bale out the\nwater.\"\n\nJohn had no great hope that they would live through the gale, but\nhe thought it better for the girl to be kept busily employed. She\nbailed steadily but, fast as she worked, the water came in faster;\nfor each wave, as it swept past them, broke on board. So rapidly\nwere they traveling that John had the greatest difficulty in\nkeeping the boat from broaching to--in which case the following\nwave would have filled, or overturned, her.\n\n\"I don't think it's any use, John,\" Mary said, quietly, as a great\nwave broke on board; pouring in as much water, in a second, as she\ncould have baled out in ten minutes.\n\n\"No use, dear. Sit quietly by me but, first, pull those oars aft.\nNow, tie them together with that piece of rope. Now, when the boat\ngoes down, keep tight hold of them.\n\n\"Cut off another piece of rope, and give it me. When we are in the\nwater, I will fasten you to the oars. They will keep you afloat,\neasily enough. I will keep close to you. You know I am a good\nswimmer and, whenever I feel tired, I can rest my hands on the\noars, too.\n\n\"Keep up your courage, and keep as quiet as you can. These sudden\nstorms seldom last long; and my father will be sure to get the\nboats out, as soon as he can, to look for us.\"\n\nJohn spoke cheerfully, but he had no great hopes of their being\nable to live in so rough a sea. Mary had still less, but she\nquietly carried out John's instructions. The boat was half-full of\nwater, now, and rose but heavily upon the waves.\n\nJohn raised himself and looked round; in hopes that the wind might,\nunnoticed, have shifted a little and blown them towards the shore.\nAs he glanced around, him he gave a shout. Following almost in\ntheir track, and some fifty yards away, was a large galley; running\nbefore the wind, with a rag of sail set on its mast.\n\n\"We are saved, Mary!\" he exclaimed. \"Here is a galley, close to\nus.\"\n\nHe shouted loudly, though he knew that his voice could not be\nheard, many yards away, in the teeth of the gale but, almost\ndirectly, he saw two or three men stand up in the bow of the\ngalley. One was pointing towards them, and he saw that they were\nseen.\n\nIn another minute the galley came sweeping along, close to the\nboat. A dozen figures appeared over her side, and two or three\nropes were thrown. John caught one, twisted it rapidly round Mary's\nbody and his own, knotted it and, taking her in his arms, jumped\noverboard. Another minute they were drawn alongside the galley, and\npulled on board. As soon as the ropes were unfastened, John rose to\nhis feet; but Mary lay, insensible, on the deck.\n\n\"Carry the damsel into the cabin,\" a man, who was evidently in\nauthority said. \"She has fainted, but will soon come round. I will\nsee to her, myself.\"\n\nThe suddenness of the rescue, the plunge in the water, and the\nsudden revulsion of his feelings affected John so much that it was\ntwo or three minutes before he could speak.\n\n\"Come along with me, lad,\" one of the sailors said, laying his hand\non his shoulder. \"Some dry clothes, and a draught of wine will set\nyou all right again; but you have had a narrow escape of it. That\nboat of yours was pretty nearly water logged and, in another five\nminutes, we should have been too late.\"\n\nJohn hastily changed his clothes in the forecastle, took a draught\nof wine, and then hurried back again towards the aft cabin. Just as\nhe reached it, the man who had ordered Mary to be carried in came\nout.\n\n\"The damsel has opened her eyes,\" he said, \"and you need not be\nuneasy about her. I have given her some woolen cloths, and bade her\ntake off her wet garments, and wrap herself in them.\n\n\"Why did you not make for the shore, before the tempest broke? It\nwas foolish of you, indeed, to be out on the lake, when anyone\ncould see that this gale was coming.\"\n\n\"I was rowing down, and did not notice it until I turned,\" John\nreplied. \"I was making for the shore, when the gale struck her.\"\n\n\"It was well, for you, that I noticed you. I was, myself, thinking\nof making for the shore although, in so large and well-manned craft\nas this, there is little fear upon the lake. It is not like the\nGreat Sea; where I, myself, have seen a large ship as helpless,\nbefore the waves, as that small boat we picked you from.\n\n\"I had just set out from Tiberias, when I marked the storm coming\nup; but my business was urgent and, moreover, I marked your little\nboat, and saw that you were not likely to gain the shore; so I bade\nthe helmsman keep his eye on you, until the darkness fell upon us;\nand then to follow straight in your wake, for you could but run\nbefore the wind--and well he did it for, when we first caught sight\nof you, you were right ahead of us.\"\n\nThe speaker was a man of about thirty years of age; tall, and with\na certain air of command.\n\n\"I thank you, indeed, sir,\" John said, \"for saving my life; and\nthat of my cousin Mary, the daughter of my father's brother. Truly,\nmy father and mother will be grateful to you, for having saved us;\nfor I am their only son.\n\n\"Whom are they to thank for our rescue?\"\n\n\"I am Joseph, the son of Matthias, to whom the Jews have intrusted\nthe governorship of this province.\"\n\n\"Josephus!\" John exclaimed, in a tone of surprise and reverence.\n\n\"So men call me,\" Josephus replied, with a smile.\n\nIt was, indeed, the governor. Flavius Josephus, as the Romans\nafterwards called him, came of a noble Jewish family--his father,\nMatthias, belonging to the highest of the twenty-four classes into\nwhich the sacerdotal families were divided. Matthias was eminent\nfor his attainments, and piety; and had been one of the leading men\nin Jerusalem. From his youth, Josephus had carefully prepared\nhimself for public life, mastering the doctrines of the three\nleading sects among the Jews--the Pharisees, Sadducees, and\nEssenes--and having spent three years in the desert, with Banus the\nAscetic. The fact that, at only twenty-six years of age, he had\ngone as the leader of a deputation to Rome, on behalf of some\npriests sent there by Felix, shows that he was early looked upon as\na conspicuous person among the Jews; and he was but thirty when he\nwas intrusted with the important position of Governor of Galilee.\n\nContrary to the custom of the times, he had sought to make no gain\nfrom his position. He accepted neither presents, nor bribes; but\ndevoted himself entirely to ameliorating the condition of the\npeople, and in repressing the turbulence of the lower classes of\nthe great towns; and of the robber chieftains who, like John of\nGischala, took advantage of the relaxation of authority, caused by\nthe successful rising against the Romans, to plunder and tyrannize\nover the people.\n\nThe expression of the face of Josephus was lofty and, at the same\ntime, gentle. His temper was singularly equable and, whatever the\ncircumstances, he never gave way to anger, but kept his passions\nwell under control. His address was soft and winning, and he had\nthe art of attracting respect and friendship from all who came in\ncontact with him. Poppaea, the wife of Nero, had received him with\nmuch favor and, bravely as he fought against them, Vespasian and\nTitus were, afterwards, as much attached to him as were the Jews of\nGalilee. There can be no doubt that, had he been otherwise placed\nthan as one of a people on the verge of destruction, Josephus would\nhave been one of the great figures of history.\n\nJohn had been accustomed to hear his father and his friends speak\nin tones of such admiration for Josephus, as the man who was\nregarded not only as the benefactor of the Jews of Galilee, but as\nthe leader and mainstay of the nation, that he had long ardently\ndesired to see him; and to find that he had now been rescued from\ndeath by him, and that he was now talking to him face to face,\nfilled him with confusion.\n\n\"You are a brave lad,\" Josephus said, \"for you kept your head well,\nin a time when older men might have lost their presence of mind.\nYou must have kept your boat dead before the wind; and you were\nquick and ready, in seizing the rope and knotting it round\nyourself, and the maid with you. I feared you might try and fasten\nit to the boat. If you had, full of water as she was, and fast as\nwe were sailing before the wind, the rope would barely have stood\nthe strain.\"\n\n\"The clouds are breaking,\" the captain of the boat said, coming up\nto Josephus, \"and I think that we are past the worst of the gale.\nAnd well it is so for, even in so staunch a craft, there is much\nperil in such a sea as this.\"\n\nThe vessel, although one of the largest on the lake, was indeed\npitching and rolling very heavily; but she was light and buoyant\nand, each time that she plunged bows under, as the following waves\nlifted her stern high in the air, she rose lightly again; and\nscarce a drop fell into her deep waist, the lofty erections, fore\nand aft, throwing off the water.\n\n\"Where do you belong, my lad?\" Josephus asked. \"I fear that it is\nimpossible for us to put you ashore, until we reach Capernaum; but\nonce there, I will see that you are provided with means to take you\nhome.\"\n\n\"Our farm lies three miles above Hippos.\"\n\n\"That is unfortunate,\" Josephus said, \"since it lies on the\nopposite side of the lake to Capernaum. However, we shall see. If\nthe storm goes down rapidly, I may be able to get a fishing boat to\ntake you across, this evening; for your parents will be in sore\ntrouble. If not, you must wait till early morning.\"\n\nIn another hour they reached Capernaum. The wind had, by this time,\ngreatly abated; although the sea still ran high. The ship was soon\nalongside a landing jetty, which ran out a considerable distance,\nand formed a breakwater protecting the shipping from the heavy sea\nwhich broke there when the wind was, as at present, from the south.\n\nMary came out from the cabin, as the vessel entered the harbor,\nwrapped up from head to foot in the woolen cloths with which she\nhad been furnished. John sprang to her side.\n\n\"Are you quite well, Mary?\"\n\n\"Quite well,\" she said, \"only very ashamed of having fainted, and\nvery uncomfortable in these wrappings. But, oh! John, how thankful\nwe ought to be, to God, for having sent this ship to our aid, just\nwhen all seemed lost!\"\n\n\"We ought, indeed, Mary. I have been thanking him, as I have been\nstanding here watching the waves; and I am sure you have been doing\nthe same, in the cabin.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, John. But what am I to do, now? I do not like going\non shore like this, and the officer told me I was, on no account,\nto put on my wet clothes.\"\n\n\"Do you know, it is Josephus himself, Mary--think of that--the\ngreat Josephus, who has saved us! He marked our boat before the\nstorm broke and, seeing that we could not reach the shore, had his\nvessel steered so as to overtake us.\"\n\nMary was too surprised to utter more than an exclamation. The\nthought that the man, who had been talking so kindly and pleasantly\nto her, was the great leader of whom she had heard so much, quite\ntook away her breath.\n\nAt that moment Josephus, himself, came up.\n\n\"I am glad to see you have got your color again, maiden,\" he said.\n\"I am just going to land. Do you, with your cousin, remain on board\nhere. I will send a woman down, with some attire for you. She will\nconduct you both to the house where I shall be staying.\n\n\"The sea is going down, and the captain tells me that he thinks, in\nanother three or four hours, I shall be able to get a boat to send\nyou across to your home. It will be late, but you will not mind\nthat; for they are sure not to retire to rest, at home, but to be\nup all night, searching for you.\"\n\nA crowd had assembled on the jetty, for Josephus was expected, and\nthe violent storm had excited the fears of all for his safety; and\nthe leading inhabitants had all flocked down to welcome him, when\nhis vessel was seen approaching.\n\n\"Isn't he kind and good?\" Mary said, enthusiastically, as she\nwatched the greeting which he received, as he landed. \"He talked to\nme, just as if he had been of my own family.\"\n\n\"He is grand!\" John agreed, with equal enthusiasm. \"He is just what\nI pictured to myself that a great leader would be; such as Joshua,\nor Gideon, or the Prince of the Maccabees.\"\n\n\"Yes; but more gentle, John.\"\n\n\"Brave men should always be gentle,\" John said, positively.\n\n\"They ought to be, perhaps,\" Mary agreed, \"but I don't think they\nare.\"\n\nThey chatted, then, about the storm and the anxiety which they\nwould be feeling, at home; until an officer, accompanied by a woman\ncarrying attire for Mary, came on board. Mary soon came out of the\ncabin, dressed; and the officer conducted them to the house which\nhad been placed at the disposal of Josephus. The woman led them up\nto a room, where a meal had been prepared for them.\n\n\"Josephus is in council, with the elders,\" she said. \"He bade me\nsee that you had all that you required. He has arranged that a bark\nshall start with you, as soon as the sea goes down; but if, by\neight o'clock, it is still too rough, I shall take the maiden home\nto my house, to sleep; and they will arouse you, as soon as it is\nsafe to put out, whatever the hour may be, as your friends will be\nin great anxiety concerning you.\"\n\nThe sun had already set and, just as they finished their meal, the\nman belonging to the boat came to say that it would be midnight\nbefore he could put out.\n\nMary then went over with the woman; and John lay down on some mats,\nto sleep, until it was time to start. He slept soundly, until he\nwas aroused by the entry of someone, with lights. He started to his\nfeet, and found that it was Josephus, himself, with an attendant.\n\n\"I had not forgotten you,\" he said, \"but I have been, until now, in\ncouncil. It is close upon midnight, and the boat is in readiness. I\nhave sent to fetch the damsel, and have bidden them take plenty of\nwarm wraps, so that the night air may do her no harm.\"\n\nMary soon arrived; and Josephus, himself, went down with them to\nthe shore, and saw them on board the boat--which was a large one,\nwith eight rowers. The wind had died away to a gentle breeze, and\nthe sea had gone down greatly. The moon was up, and the stars\nshining brightly. Josephus chatted kindly to John, as they made\ntheir way down to the shore.\n\n\"Tell your father,\" he said, \"that I hope he will come over to see\nme, ere long; and that I shall bear you in mind. The time is coming\nwhen every Jew who can bear arms will be needed in the service of\nhis country and, if your father consents, I will place you near my\nperson; for I have seen that you are brave and cool, in danger, and\nyou will have plenty of opportunities of winning advancement.\"\n\nWith many thanks for his kindness, John and Mary took their places\nin the stern of the boat. Mary enveloped herself in the wraps that\nhad been prepared for her, for the nights were chilly. Then the\nsail was hoisted, and the boat sailed away from the land. The wind\nhad shifted round, somewhat, to the west, and they were able to lay\ntheir course across towards Hippos; but their progress was slow,\nand the master bade the crew get out their oars, and aid the sail.\n\nIn three hours they neared the land, John pointing out the exact\nposition of the village; which was plainly enough marked out, by a\ngreat fire blazing on the shore. As they approached it, they could\nsee several figures and, presently, there came a shout, which John\nrecognized as that of Isaac.\n\n\"Any news?\"\n\n\"Here we are, Isaac, safe and well.\"\n\nThere was a confused sound, of shouts and cries of pleasure. In a\nfew minutes, the boat grated on the shallow shore. The moment she\ndid so, John leaped out over the bow and waded ashore, and was at\nonce clasped in his mother's arms; while one of the fishermen\ncarried Mary to the land. She received, from Martha, a full share\nof her caresses; for she loved the girl almost as dearly as she did\nher son. Then Miriam and the maids embraced and kissed her, while\nIsaac folded John in his arms.\n\n\"The God of Israel be thanked and praised, my children!\" Martha\nexclaimed. \"He has brought you back to us, as from the dead, for we\nnever thought to see you again. Some of the fishermen returned, and\ntold us that they saw your boat, far on the lake, before the storm\nburst; and none held out hope that you could have weathered such a\nstorm.\"\n\n\"Where is father?\" John asked.\n\n\"He is out on the lake, as are all the fishermen of the village,\nsearching for you.\n\n\"That reminds me, Isaac, set fire to the other piles of wood that\nwe have prepared.\n\n\"If one of the boats returned, with any sure news of you, we were\nto light them to call the others back--one fire if the news was\nbad, two if it was good--but we hardly even dared to hope that the\nsecond would be required.\"\n\nA brand from the fire was soon applied to the other piles, and the\nthree fires shone out across the lake, with the good news. In a\nquarter of an hour a boat was seen approaching, and soon came a\nshout:\n\n\"Is all well?\"\n\n\"All is well,\" John shouted, in reply, and soon he was clasped in\nhis father's arms.\n\nThe other boats came in, one by one; the last to arrive towing in\nthe boat--which had been found, bottom upwards, far up the lake,\nits discovery destroying the last hope of its late occupants being\nfound alive.\n\nAs soon as Simon landed, the party returned to the house. Miriam\nand the maids hurried to prepare a meal--of which all were sorely\nin need, for no food had been eaten since the gale burst on the\nlake; while their three hours in the boat had again sharpened the\nappetite of John and Mary. A quantity of food was cooked, and a\nskin of old wine brought up from the cellar; and Isaac remained\ndown on the shore, to bid all who had been engaged in the search\ncome up and feast, as soon as they landed.\n\nJohn related to his parents the adventure which had befallen them,\nand they wondered greatly at the narrowness of their deliverance.\nWhen the feasting was over, Simon called all together, and solemnly\nreturned thanks to God for the mercies which He had given them. It\nwas broad daylight before all sought their beds, for a few hours,\nbefore beginning the work of the day.\n\nA week later Josephus himself came to Hippos, bringing with him two\nnobles, who had fled from King Agrippa and sought refuge with him.\nHe had received them hospitably, and had allotted a home to them at\nTarichea, where he principally dwelt.\n\nHe had, just before, had another narrow escape, for six hundred\narmed men--robbers and others--had assembled round his house,\ncharging him with keeping some spoils which had been taken, by a\nparty of men of that town, from the wife of Ptolemy--King Agrippa's\nprocurator--instead of dividing them among the people. For a time,\nhe pacified them by telling them that this money was destined for\nstrengthening the walls of their town, and for walling other towns\nat present undefended; but the leaders of the evildoers were\ndetermined to set his house on fire, and slay him.\n\nHe had but twenty armed men with him. Closing the doors, he went to\nan upper room, and told the robbers to send in one of their number\nto receive the money. Directly he entered, the door was closed. One\nof his hands was cut off, and hung round his neck; and he was then\nturned out again. Believing that Josephus would not have ventured\nto act so boldly, had he not had a large body of armed men with\nhim, the crowd were seized with panic and fled to their homes.\n\nAfter this, the enemies of Josephus persuaded the people that the\nnobles he had sheltered were wizards; and demanded that they should\nbe given up to be slain, unless they would change their religion to\nthat of the Jews. Josephus tried to argue them out of their belief,\nsaying that there were no such things as wizards and, if the Romans\nhad wizards who could work them wrong, they would not need to send\nan army to fight against them; but as the people still clamored, he\ngot the men privately on board a ship, and sailed across the lake\nwith them to Hippos; where he dismissed them, with many presents.\n\nAs soon as the news came that Josephus had come to Hippos, Simon\nset out with Martha, John, and Mary, to see him. Josephus received\nthem kindly, and would permit no thanks for what he had done.\n\n\"Your son is a brave youth,\" he said to Simon, \"and I would gladly\nhave him near me, if you would like to have it so. This is a time\nwhen there are greater things than planting vineyards, and\ngathering in harvests, to be done; and there is a need for brave\nand faithful men. If, then, you and your wife will give the lad to\nme, I will see to him, and keep him near me. I have need of\nfaithful men with me, for my enemies are ever trying to slay me. If\nall goes well with the lad, he will have a good opportunity of\nrising to honor.\n\n\"What say you? Do not give an answer hastily, but think it over\namong yourselves and, if you agree to my proposal, send him across\nthe lake to me.\"\n\n\"It needs no thought, sir,\" Simon said. \"I know well that there are\nmore urgent things, now, than sowing and reaping; and that much\ntrouble and peril threaten the land. Right glad am I that my son\nshould serve one who is the hope of Israel, and his mother will not\ngrudge him for such service. As to advancement, I wish nothing\nbetter than that he should till the land of his fathers; but none\ncan say what the Lord has in store for us, or whether strangers may\nnot reap what I have sown. Thus, then, the wisdom which he will\ngain, in being with you, is likely to be a far better inheritance\nthan any I can give him.\n\n\"What say you, Martha?\"\n\n\"I say as you do, Simon. It will grieve me to part with him, but I\nknow that such an offer as that which my lord Josephus makes is\ngreatly for his good. Moreover, the manner in which he was saved\nfrom death seems to show that the Lord has something for his hand\nto do, and that his path is specially marked out for him. To refuse\nto let him go would be to commit the sin of withstanding God--\n\n\"Therefore, my lord, I willingly give up my son to follow you.\"\n\n\"I think that you have decided wisely,\" Josephus said. \"I tarry\nhere, for tonight, and tomorrow cross to Tiberias; therefore, let\nhim be here by noon.\"\n\nMary was the most silent of the party, on the way home. Simon and\nhis wife felt convinced the decision they had made was a wise one\nand, although they were not ambitious, they yet felt that the offer\nof Josephus was a most advantageous one, and opened a career of\nhonor to their son.\n\nJohn, himself, was in a state of the highest delight. To be about\nthe person of Josephus seemed, to him, the greatest honor and\nhappiness. It opened the way to the performance of great actions,\nwhich would bring honor to his father's name; and although he had\nbeen, hitherto, prepared to settle down to the life of a cultivator\nof the soil, he had had his yearnings for one of more excitement\nand adventure; and these were now likely to be gratified, to the\nfullest.\n\nMary, however, felt the approaching loss of her friend and playmate\ngreatly, though even she was not insensible to the honor which the\noffer of Josephus conferred upon him.\n\n\"You don't seem glad of my good fortune, Mary,\" John said as, after\nthey returned home, they strolled together, as usual, down to the\nedge of the lake.\n\n\"It may be your good fortune, but it's not mine,\" the girl said,\npettishly. \"It will be very dull here, without you. I know what it\nwill be. Your mother will always be full of anxiety, and will be\nfretting whenever we get news of any disturbances; and that is\noften enough, for there seem to be disturbances, continually. Your\nfather will go about silently, Miriam will be sharper than usual\nwith the maids, and everything will go wrong. I can't see why you\ncouldn't have said that, in a year or two, you would go with the\ngovernor; but that, at present, you thought you had better stop\nwith your own people.\"\n\n\"A nice milksop he would have thought me!\" John laughed. \"No, if he\nthought I was man enough to do him service, it would have been a\nnice thing for me to say that I thought I was too young.\n\n\"Besides, Mary, after all it is your good fortune, as well as mine;\nfor is it not settled that you are to share it? Josephus is all\npowerful and, if I please him and do my duty, he can, in time,\nraise me to a position of great honor. I may even come to be the\ngovernor of a town, or a captain over troops, or a councilor.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" Mary laughed, \"not a councilor, John. A governor,\nperhaps; and a captain, perhaps; but never, I should say, a\ncouncilor.\"\n\nJohn laughed good temperedly.\n\n\"Well, Mary, then you shall look forward to be the wife of a\ngovernor, or captain; but you see, I might even fill the place of a\ncouncilor with credit, because I could always come to you for\nadvice before, I give an opinion--then I should be sure to be\nright.\n\n\"But, seriously, Mary, I do think it great honor to have had such\nan offer made me, by the governor.\"\n\n\"Seriously, so do I, John; though I wish, in my heart, he had not\nmade it. I had looked forward to living here, all my life, just as\nyour mother has done; and now there will be nothing fixed to look\nforward to.\n\n\"Besides, where there is honor, there is danger. There seem to be\nalways tumults, always conspiracies--and then, as your father says,\nabove all there are the Romans to be reckoned with and, of course,\nif you are near Josephus you run a risk, going wherever he does.\"\n\n\"I shall never be in greater risk, Mary, than we were, together, on\nthe lake the other day. God helped us, then, and brought us through\nit; and I have faith that He will do so, again. It may be that I am\nmeant to do something useful, before I die. At any rate, when the\nRomans come, everyone will have to fight; so I shall be in no\ngreater danger than any one else.\"\n\n\"I know, John, and I am not speaking quite in earnest. I am sorry\nyou are going--that is only natural--but I am proud that you are to\nbe near our great leader, and I believe that our God will be your\nshield and protector.\n\n\"And now, we had better go in. Your father will, doubtless, have\nmuch to say to you, this evening; and your mother will grudge every\nminute you are out of her sight.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 3: The Revolt Against Rome.\n\n\nThat evening the Rabbi Solomon Ben Manasseh came in, and was\ninformed of the offer which Josephus had made.\n\n\"You were present, rabbi,\" Simon said, \"at the events which took\nplace in Jerusalem, and at the defeat of Cestius. John has been\nasking me to tell him more about these matters for, now that he is\nto be with the governor, it is well that he should be well\nacquainted with public affairs.\"\n\n\"I will willingly tell him the history for, as you say, it is right\nthat the young man should be well acquainted with the public events\nand the state of parties and, though the story must be somewhat\nlong, I will try and not make it tedious.\n\n\"The first tumult broke out in Caesarea, and began by frays between\nour people and the Syrian Greeks. Felix the governor took the part\nof the Greeks; and many of our people were killed, and more\nplundered. When Felix was recalled to Rome, we sent a deputation\nthere with charges against him; but the Greeks, by means of\nbribery, obtained a decree against us, depriving the Jews of\nCaesarea of rights of equal citizenship. From this constant\ntroubles arose but, outside Caesarea, Festus kept all quiet;\nputting down robbers, as well as impostors who led the people\nastray.\n\n\"Then there came trouble in Jerusalem. King Agrippa's palace stood\non Mount Zion, looking towards the Temple; and he built a lofty\nstory, from whose platform he could command a view of the courts of\nthe Temple, and watch the sacrifices. Our people resented this\nimpious intrusion, and built a high wall to cut off the view.\nAgrippa demanded its destruction, on the ground that it intercepted\nthe view of the Roman guard. We appealed to Nero, and sent to him a\ndeputation; headed by Ismael, the high priest, and Hilkiah, the\ntreasurer. They obtained an order for the wall to be allowed to\nstand, but Ismael and Hilkiah were detained at Rome. Agrippa\nthereupon appointed another high priest--Joseph--but, soon\nafterwards, nominated Annas in his place.\n\n\"When Festus--the Roman governor--was away, Annas put to death many\nof the sect called Christians, to gratify the Sadducees. The people\nwere indignant, for these men had done no harm; and Agrippa\ndeprived him of the priesthood and appointed Jesus, son of Damnai.\nThen, unhappily, Festus--who was a just and good governor--died,\nand Albinus succeeded him. He was a man greedy of money, and ready\nto do anything for gain. He took bribes from robbers, and\nencouraged, rather than repressed, evil doers. There was open war,\nin the streets, between the followers of various chief robbers.\nAlbinus opened the prisons, and filled the city with malefactors;\nand, at the completion of the works at the Temple, eighteen\nthousand workmen were discharged, and thus the city was filled with\nmen ready to sell their services to the highest bidders.\n\n\"Albinus was succeeded by Gessius Florus, who was even worse than\nAlbinus. This man was a great friend of Cestius Gallus, who\ncommanded the Roman troops in Syria; and who, therefore, scoffed at\nthe complaints of the people against Florus.\n\n\"At this time, strange prodigies appeared in Rome. A sword of fire\nhung above the city, for a whole year. The inner gate of the\nTemple--which required twenty men to move it--opened by itself;\nchariots and armed squadrons were seen in the heavens and, worse\nthan all, the priests in the Temple heard a great movement, and a\nsound of many voices, which said:\n\n\"'Let us depart hence!'\n\n\"So things went on, in Jerusalem, until the old feud at Caesarea\nbroke out afresh. The trouble, this time, began about one of our\nsynagogues. The land around it belonged to a Greek and, for this,\nour people offered a high price. The heathen who owned it refused\nand, to annoy us, raised mean houses round the synagogue. The\nJewish youths interrupted the workmen; and the wealthier of the\ncommunity--headed by John, a publican--subscribed eight talents,\nand sent them to Florus as a bribe, that he might order the\nbuilding to be stopped.\n\n\"Florus took the money, and made many promises; but the evil man\ndesired that a revolt should take place, in order that he might\ngain great plunder. So he went away from Caesarea, and did nothing;\nand a great tumult arose between the heathen and our people. In\nthis we were worsted, and went away from the city; while John, with\ntwelve of the highest rank, went to Samaria to lay the matter\nbefore Florus; who threw them into prison--doubtless the more to\nexcite the people--and at the same time sent to Jerusalem, and\ndemanded seventeen talents from the treasury of the Temple.\n\n\"The people burst into loud outcries, and Florus advanced upon the\ncity with all his force. But we knew that we could not oppose the\nRomans; and so received Florus, on his arrival, with acclamations.\nBut this did not suit the tyrant. The next morning he ordered his\ntroops to plunder the upper market, and to put to death all they\nmet. The soldiers obeyed, and slew three thousand six hundred men,\nwomen, and children.\n\n\"You may imagine, John, the feelings of grief and rage which filled\nevery heart. The next day the multitude assembled in the\nmarketplace, wailing for the dead and cursing Florus. But the\nprincipal men of the city, with the priests, tore their robes and\nwent among them, praying them to disperse and not to provoke the\nanger of the governor. The people obeyed their voices, and went\nquietly home.\n\n\"But Florus was not content that matters should end so. He sent for\nthe priests and leaders, and commanded them to go forth and\nreceive, with acclamations of welcome, two cohorts of troops who\nwere advancing from Caesarea. The priests called the people\ntogether in the Temple and, with difficulty, persuaded them to obey\nthe order. The troops, having orders from Florus, fell upon the\npeople and trampled them down and, driving the multitude before\nthem, entered the city; and at the same time Florus sallied out\nfrom his palace, with his troops, and both parties pressed forward\nto gain the Castle of Antonia, whose possession would lay the\nTemple open to them, and enable Florus to gain the sacred treasures\ndeposited there.\n\n\"But, as soon as the people perceived their object, they ran\ntogether in such vast crowds that the Roman soldiers could not cut\ntheir way through the mass which blocked up the streets; while the\nmore active men, going up on to the roofs, hurled down stones and\nmissiles upon the troops.\n\n\"What a scene was that, John! I was on the portico near Antonia,\nand saw it all. It was terrible to hear the shouts of the soldiers,\nas they strove to hew their way through the defenseless people; the\nwar cries of our own youths, the shrieks and wailings of the women.\nWhile the Romans were still striving, our people broke down the\ngalleries connecting Antonia with the Temple; and Florus, seeing\nthat he could not carry out his object, ordered his troops to\nretire to their quarters and, calling the chief priests and the\nrulers, proposed to leave the city, leaving behind him one cohort\nto preserve the peace.\n\n\"As soon as he had done so, he sent to Cestius Gallus lying\naccounts of the tumults, laying all the blame upon us; while we and\nBernice, the sister of King Agrippa--who had tried, in vain, to\nobtain mercy for the people from Florus--sent complaints against\nhim. Cestius was moving to Jerusalem--to inquire into the matter,\nas he said, but really to restore Florus--when, fortunately, King\nAgrippa arrived from Egypt.\n\n\"While he was yet seven miles from the city, a procession of the\npeople met him, headed by the women whose husbands had been slain.\nThese, with cries and wailings, called on Agrippa for protection;\nand related to a centurion, whom Cestius had sent forward, and who\nmet Agrippa on the way, the cruelty of Florus. When the king and\nthe centurion arrived in the city, they were taken to the\nmarketplace and shown the houses where the inhabitants had been\nmassacred.\n\n\"Agrippa called the people together and, taking his seat on a lofty\ndais, with Bernice by his side, harangued them. He assured them\nthat, when the emperor heard what had been done, he would send a\nbetter governor to them, in the place of Florus. He told them that\nit was vain to hope for independence, for that the Romans had\nconquered all the nations in the world; and that the Jews could not\ncontend against them, and that war would bring about the\ndestruction of the city, and the Temple. The people exclaimed they\nhad taken up arms, not against the Romans, but against Florus.\n\n\"Agrippa urged us to pay our tribute, and repair the galleries.\nThis was willingly done. We sent out leading men to collect the\narrears of tribute, and these soon brought in forty talents. All\nwas going on well, until Agrippa tried to persuade us to receive\nFlorus, till the emperor should send another governor. At the\nthought of the return of Florus, a mad rage seized the people. They\npoured abuse upon Agrippa, threw stones at him, and ordered him to\nleave the city. This he did, and retired to his own kingdom.\n\n\"The upper class, and all those who possessed wisdom enough to know\nhow great was the power of Rome, still strove for peace. But the\npeople were beyond control. They seized the fortress of Masada--a\nvery strong place near the Dead Sea--and put the Roman garrison to\nthe sword. But what was even worse, Eleazar--son of Ananias, the\nchief priest--persuaded the priests to reject the offerings\nregularly made, in the name of the emperor, to the God of the\nHebrews; and to make a regulation that, from that time, no\nforeigner should be allowed to sacrifice in the Temple.\n\n\"The chief priests, with the heads of the Pharisees, addressed the\npeople in the quadrangle of the Temple, before the eastern gate. I,\nmyself, was one of those who spoke. We told them that the Temple\nhad long benefited by the splendid gifts of strangers; and that it\nwas not only inhospitable, but impious, to preclude them from\noffering victims, and worshiping God, there. We, who were learned\nin the law, showed them that it was an ancient and immemorial usage\nto receive the offerings of strangers; and that this refusal to\naccept the Roman gifts was nothing short of a declaration of war.\n\n\"But all we could do, or say, availed nothing. The influence of\nEleazar was too great. A madness had seized the people, and they\nrejected all our words; but the party of peace made one more\neffort. They sent a deputation--headed by Simon, son of Ananias--to\nFlorus, and another to Agrippa, praying them to march upon\nJerusalem, and reassert their authority, before it was too late.\nFlorus made no reply, for things were going just as he wished; but\nAgrippa, anxious to preserve the city, sent three thousand\nhorsemen, commanded by Darius and Philip. When these troops\narrived, the party of peace took possession of the upper city;\nwhile Eleazar and the war party held the Temple.\n\n\"For a week, fighting went on between the two parties. Then, at the\nfestival of the Wood Carrying, great numbers of the poorer people\nwere allowed by the party of the chief priest to pass through their\nlines; and go, as usual, to the Temple. When there, these joined\nthe party of Eleazar, and a great attack was made on the upper\ncity. The troops of Darius and Philip gave way. The house of\nAnanias--the high priest--and the palaces of Agrippa and Bernice\nwere burned, and also the public archives. Here all the bonds of\nthe debtors were registered and, thus, at one blow the power of the\nrich over the poor was destroyed. Ananias himself, and a few\nothers, escaped into the upper towers of the palace, which they\nheld.\n\n\"The next day, Eleazar's party attacked the fortress of Antonia,\nwhich was feebly garrisoned and, after two days' fighting, captured\nit, and slew the garrison. Manahem, the son of Judas the Zealot,\narrived two days later, while the people were besieging the palace.\nHe was accepted as general, by them; and took charge of the siege.\nHaving mined under one of the towers, they brought it to the\nground, and the garrison asked for terms. Free passage was granted\nto the troops of Agrippa, and the Jews; but none was granted to the\nRoman soldiers, who were few in number and retreated to the three\ngreat towers, Hippicus, Phasaelus, and Mariamne.\n\n\"The palace was entered, and Ananias and Hezekiah--his\nbrother--were found in hiding, and put to death. Manahem now\nassumed the state of a king; but Eleazar, unwilling that, after\nhaving led the enterprise, the fruits should be gathered by\nanother, stirred up the people against him, and he was slain. The\nthree towers were now besieged; and Metilius--the Roman\ncommander--finding he could no longer hold out, agreed to\nsurrender, on the condition that his men should deliver up their\narms, and be allowed to march away, unharmed.\n\n\"The terms were accepted and ratified but, as soon as the Roman\nsoldiers marched out, and laid down their arms, Eleazar and his\nfollowers fell upon them and slew them; Metilius himself being,\nalone, spared. After this terrible massacre, a sadness fell on the\ncity. All felt that there was no longer any hope of making\nconditions with Rome. We had placed ourselves beyond the pale of\nforgiveness. It was war, to the death, with Rome.\n\n\"Up to this time, as I have told you, I was one of those who had\nlabored to maintain peace. I had fought in the palace, by the side\nof Ananias; and had left it only when the troops, and we of their\nparty, were permitted to march out when it surrendered. But, from\nthis time, I took another part. All hope of peace, of concessions,\nor of conditions was at an end. There remained nothing now but to\nfight and, as the vengeance of Rome would fall on the whole Jewish\npeople, it was for the whole Jewish people to unite in the struggle\nfor existence.\n\n\"On the very day and hour in which the Romans were put to death,\nretribution began to fall upon the nation; for the Greeks of\nCaesarea rose suddenly, and massacred the Jews. Twenty thousand\nwere slain, in a single day. The news of these two massacres drove\nthe whole people to madness. They rose throughout the land, laid\nwaste the country all round the cities of Syria--Philadelphia,\nSebonitis, Gerasa, Pella, and Scythopolis--and burned and destroyed\nmany places.\n\n\"The Syrians, in turn, fell upon the Jewish inhabitants of all\ntheir towns; and a frightful carnage, everywhere, took place. Then,\nour people made an inroad into the domains of Scythopolis but,\nthough the Jewish inhabitants there joined the Syrians in defending\ntheir territory, the Syrians doubted their fidelity and, falling\nupon them in the night, slew them all, and seized their property.\nThirteen thousand perished here. In many other cities, the same\nthings were done; in Ascalon, two thousand five hundred were put to\nthe sword; in Ptolemais, two thousand were killed. The land was\ndeluged with blood, and despair fell upon all.\n\n\"Even in Alexandria, our countrymen suffered. Breaking out into a\nquarrel with the Greeks, a tumult arose; and Tiberias Alexander,\nthe governor--by faith a Jew--tried to pacify matters; but the\nmadness which had seized the people, here, had fallen also upon the\nJews of Alexandria. They heaped abuse upon Alexander, who was\nforced to send the troops against them. The Jews fought, but\nvainly; and fifty thousand men, women, and children fell.\n\n\"While blood was flowing over the land, Cestius Gallus--the\nprefect--was preparing for invasion. He had with him the Twelfth\nLegion, forty-two hundred strong; two thousand picked men, taken\nfrom the other legions; six cohorts of foot, about twenty-five\nhundred; and four troops of horse, twelve hundred. Of allies he\nhad, from Antiochus, two thousand horse and three thousand foot;\nfrom Agrippa, one thousand horse and three thousand foot; Sohemus\njoined him with four thousand men--a third of whom were horse, the\nrest archers. Thus he had ten thousand Roman troops, and thirteen\nthousand allies; besides many volunteers, who joined him from the\nSyrian cities.\n\n\"After burning and pillaging Zebulon, and wasting the district,\nCestius returned to Ptolemais, and then advanced to Caesarea. He\nsent forward a part of his army to Joppa. The city was open, and no\nresistance was offered; nevertheless, the Romans slew all, to the\nnumber of eight thousand five hundred. The cities of Galilee opened\ntheir gates, without resistance, and Cestius advanced against\nJerusalem.\n\n\"When he arrived within six miles of the town, the Jews poured out;\nand fell upon them with such fury that, if the horse and light\ntroops had not made a circuit, and fallen upon us in the rear, I\nbelieve we should have destroyed the whole army. But we were forced\nto fall back, having killed over five hundred. As the Romans moved\nforward, Simon--son of Gioras--with a band, pressed them closely in\nrear; and slew many, and carried off numbers of their beasts of\nburden.\n\n\"Agrippa now tried, once more, to make peace, and sent a deputation\nto persuade us to surrender--offering, in the name of Cestius,\npardon for all that had passed--but Eleazar's party, fearing the\npeople might listen to him, fell upon the deputation, slew some,\nand drove the others back.\n\n\"Cestius advanced within a mile of Jerusalem and--after waiting\nthree days, in hopes that the Jews would surrender, and knowing\nthat many of the chief persons were friendly to him--he advanced to\nthe attack, took the suburb of Bezetha, and encamped opposite the\npalace in the upper city. The people discovered that Ananias and\nhis friends had agreed to open the gates; and so slew them, and\nthrew the bodies over the wall. The Romans for five days attacked\nand, on the sixth, Cestius, with the flower of his army made an\nassault; but the people fought bravely and, disregarding the\nflights of arrows which the archers shot against them, held the\nwalls, and poured missiles of all kinds upon the enemy; until at\nlast, just as it seemed to all that the Romans would succeed in\nmining the walls, and firing the gates, Cestius called off his\ntroops.\n\n\"Had he not done so, he would speedily have taken the city; for the\npeace party were on the point of seizing one of the gates, and\nopening it. I no longer belonged to this party; for it seemed to me\nthat it was altogether too late, now, to make terms; nor could we\nexpect that the Romans would keep to their conditions, after we had\nset them the example of breaking faith.\n\n\"Cestius fell back to his camp, a mile distant, but he had no rest\nthere. Exultant at seeing a retreat from their walls, all the\npeople poured out, and fell upon the Romans with fury.\n\n\"The next morning Cestius began to retreat; but we swarmed around\nhim, pressing upon his rear, and dashing down from the hills upon\nhis flanks, giving him no rest. The heavy-armed Romans could do\nnothing against us; but marched steadily on--leaving numbers of\ndead behind them--till they reached their former camp at Gabao, six\nmiles away. Here Cestius waited two days but, seeing how the hills\naround him swarmed with our people, who flocked in from all\nquarters, he gave the word for a further retreat; killing all the\nbeasts of burden, and leaving all the baggage behind, and taking on\nonly those animals which bore the arrows and engines of war. Then\nhe marched down the valley, towards Bethoron.\n\n\"The multitude felt now that their enemy was delivered into their\nhands. Was it not in Bethoron that Joshua had defeated the\nCanaanites, while the sun stayed his course? Was it not here that\nJudas, the Maccabean, had routed the host of Nicanor? As soon as\nthe Romans entered the defile, the Jews rushed down upon them, sure\nof their prey.\n\n\"The Roman horse were powerless to act. The men of the legions\ncould not climb the rocky sides and, from every point, javelins,\nstones, and arrows were poured down upon them; and all would have\nbeen slain, had not night come on and hidden them from us, and\nenabled them to reach Bethoron.\n\n\"What rejoicings were there not, on the hills that night, as we\nlooked down on their camp there; and thought that, in the morning,\nthey would be ours! Fires burned on every crest. Hymns of praise,\nand exulting cries, arose everywhere in the darkness; but the watch\nwas not kept strictly enough. Cestius left four hundred of his\nbravest men to mount guard, and keep the fires alight--so that we\nmight think that all his army was there--and then, with the rest,\nhe stole away.\n\n\"In the morning, we saw that the camp was well-nigh deserted and,\nfurious at the escape of our foes, rushed down, slew the four\nhundred whom Cestius had left behind, and then set out in pursuit.\nBut Cestius had many hours' start and, though we followed as far as\nAntipatris, we could not overtake him; and so returned, with much\nrich spoil, and all the Roman engines of war, to Jerusalem--having,\nwith scarcely any loss, defeated a great Roman army, and slain five\nthousand three hundred foot, and three hundred and eighty horse.\n\n\"Such is the history of events which have brought about the present\nstate of things. As you see, there is no hope of pardon, or mercy,\nfrom Rome. We have offended beyond forgiveness. But the madness\nagainst which I fought so hard, at first, is still upon the people.\nThey provoked the power of Rome; and then, by breaking the terms,\nand massacring the Roman garrison, they went far beyond the first\noffense of insurrection. By the destruction of the army of Cestius,\nthey struck a heavy blow against the pride of the Romans. For\ngenerations, no such misfortune had fallen upon their arms.\n\n\"What, then, would a sane people have done since? Surely they would\nhave spent every moment in preparing themselves for the struggle.\nEvery man should have been called to arms. The passes should have\nbeen all fortified, for it is among the hills that we can best cope\nwith the heavy Roman troops. The cities best calculated for defense\nshould have been strongly walled; preparations made for places of\nrefuge, among the mountains, for the women and children; large\ndepots of provisions gathered up, in readiness for the strife. That\nwe could ever, in the long run, hope to resist, successfully, the\nmight of Rome was out of the question; but we might so sternly, and\nvaliantly, have resisted as to be able to obtain fair terms, on our\nsubmission.\n\n\"Instead of this, men go on as if Rome had no existence; and we\nonly show an energy in quarreling among ourselves. At bottom, it\nwould seem that the people rely upon our God doing great things for\nus, as he did when he smote the Assyrian army of Sennacherib; and\nsuch is my hope, also, seeing that, so far, a wonderful success has\nattended us. And yet, how can one expect the Divine assistance, in\na war so begun and so conducted--for a people who turn their swords\nagainst each other, who spend their strength in civil feuds, who\nneither humble themselves, nor repent of the wickedness of their\nways?\n\n\"Alas, my son, though I speak brave words to the people, my heart\nis very sad; and I fear that troubles, like those which fell upon\nus when we were carried captive into Babylon, await us now!\"\n\nThere was silence, as the rabbi finished. John had, of course,\nheard something of the events which had been taking place but, as\nhe now heard them, in sequence, the gravity and danger of the\nsituation came freshly upon him.\n\n\"What can be done?\" he asked, after a long pause.\n\n\"Nothing, save to pray to the Lord,\" the rabbi said, sorrowfully.\n\"Josephus is doing what he can, towards building walls to the\ntowns; but it is not walls, but soldiers that are wanted and, so\nlong as the people remain blind and indifferent to the danger,\nthinking of naught save tilling their ground, and laying up money,\nnothing can be done.\"\n\n\"Then will destruction come upon all?\" John asked, looking round in\na bewildered and hopeless way.\n\n\"We may hope not,\" the rabbi said. \"Here in Galilee, we have had no\nshare in the events in Jerusalem; and many towns, even now, are\nfaithful to the Romans. Therefore it may be that, in this province,\nall will not be involved in the lot of Jerusalem. There can be,\nunless a mighty change takes place, no general resistance to the\nRomans; and it may be, therefore, that no general destruction will\nfall upon the people. As to this, none can say.\n\n\"Vespasian--the Roman general who has been charged, by Nero, with\nthe command of the army which is gathering against us--is said to\nbe a merciful man, as well as a great commander. The Roman mercies\nare not tender, but it may be that the very worst may not fall upon\nthis province. The men of spirit and courage will, doubtless,\nproceed to Jerusalem to share in the defense of the Holy City. If\nwe cannot fight with success, here, it is far better that the men\nshould fight at Jerusalem; leaving their wives and families here,\nand doing naught to call down the vengeance of the Romans upon this\nprovince.\n\n\"In Galilee there have, as elsewhere, been risings against the\nRomans; but these will count for little, in their eyes, in\ncomparison to the terrible deeds at Jerusalem; and I pray, for the\nsake of all my friends here, that the Romans may march through the\nland, on their way to Jerusalem, without burning and wasting the\ncountry. Here, on the eastern shore of Galilee, there is much more\nhope of escape than there is across the lake. Not only are we out\nof the line of the march of the army, but there are few important\ncities on this side; and the disposition of the people has not been\nso hostile to the Romans.\n\n\"My own opinion is that, when the Romans advance, it will be the\nduty of every Jew who can bear arms to go down to the defense of\nthe Holy City. Its position is one of vast strength. We shall have\nnumbers, and courage, though neither order nor discipline; and it\nmay be that, at the last, the Lord will defend his sanctuary, and\nsave it from destruction at the hands of the heathen. Should it not\nbe so, we can but die; and how could a Jew better die than in\ndefense of God's Temple?\"\n\n\"It would have been better,\" Simon said, \"had we not, by our evil\ndoings, have brought God's Temple into danger.\"\n\n\"He has suffered it,\" the rabbi said, \"and his ways are not the\nways of man. It may be that He has suffered such madness to fall\nupon, us in order that His name may, at last, be glorified.\"\n\n\"May it be so!\" Simon said piously; \"and now, let us to bed, for\nthe hour is growing late.\"\n\nThe following morning Simon, his wife, and the whole household\naccompanied John to the shore; as Simon had arranged with one of\nthe boatmen to take the lad to Hippos. The distance was but short;\nbut Simon, when his wife had expressed surprise at his sending John\nin a boat, said:\n\n\"It is not the distance, Martha. A half-hour's walk is naught to\nthe lad; but I had reasons, altogether apart from the question of\ndistance. John is going out to play a man's part. He is young but,\nsince my lord Josephus has chosen to place him among those who form\nhis bodyguard, he has a right to claim to be regarded as a man.\nThat being so, I would not accompany him to Hippos; for it would\nseem like one leading a child, and it were best to let him go by\nhimself.\n\n\"Again, it were better to have but one parting. Here he will\nreceive my blessing, and say goodbye to us all. Doubtless he will\noften be with us, for Tiberias lies within sight and, so long as\nJosephus remains in Galilee, he will never be more than a long\nday's journey from home. The lad loves us, and will come as often\nas he can but, surrounded as Josephus is by dangers, the boy will\nnot be able to get away on his own business. He must take the\nduties, as well as the honor of the office; and we must not blind\nourselves to the fact that, in one of these popular tumults, great\ndanger and even death may come upon him.\n\n\"This seems to you terrible,\" he went on, in answer to an\nexclamation of alarm from Martha; \"but it does not seem so terrible\nto me. We go on planting, and gathering in, as if no danger\nthreatened us, and the evil day were far off; but it is not so. The\nRoman hosts are gathering, and we are wasting our strength, in\nparty strife, and are doing naught to prepare against the storm. We\nhave gone to war, without counting the cost. We have affronted and\nput to shame Rome, before whom all nations bow and, assuredly, she\nwill take a terrible vengeance. Another year, and who can say who\nwill be alive, and who dead--who will be wandering over the wasted\nfields of our people, or who will be a slave, in Rome!\n\n\"In the times that are at hand, no man's life will be worth\nanything; and therefore I say, wife, that though there be danger\nand peril around the lad, let us not trouble overmuch; for he is,\nlike all of us, in God's hands.\"\n\nTherefore, the parting took place on the shore. Simon solemnly\nblessed John, and his mother cried over him. Mary was a little\nsurprised at these demonstrations, at what she regarded as a very\ntemporary separation; but her merry spirits were subdued at the\nsight of her aunt's tears, although she, herself, saw nothing to\ncry about.\n\nShe brightened up, however, when John whispered, as he said goodbye\nto her:\n\n\"I shall come across the lake, as often as I can, to see how you\nare getting on, Mary.\"\n\nThen he took his place in the stern of the boat. The fishermen\ndipped their oars in the water, and the boat drew away from the\nlittle group, who stood watching it as it made its way across the\nsparkling water to Hippos.\n\nUpon landing, John at once went to the house where Josephus was\nlodging. The latter gave him in charge to the leader of the little\ngroup of men who had attached themselves to him, as his bodyguard.\n\n\"Joab,\" he said, \"this youth will, henceforth, make one of your\nparty. He is brave and, I think, ready and quick witted. Give him\narms and see that he has all that is needful. Being young, he will\nbe able to mingle unsuspected among the crowds; and may obtain\ntidings of evil intended me, when men would not speak, maybe,\nbefore others whom they might judge my friends. He will be able to\nbear messages, unsuspected; and may prove of great service to the\ncause.\"\n\nJohn found, at once, that there was nothing like discipline, or\nregular duties, among the little band who constituted the bodyguard\nof Josephus. They were simply men who, from affection for the\ngovernor, and a hatred for those who, by their plots and\nconspiracies, would undo the good work he was accomplishing, had\nleft their farms and occupations to follow and guard him.\n\nEvery Jewish boy received a certain training in the use of weapons,\nin order to be prepared to fight in the national army, when the day\nof deliverance should arrive; but beyond that, the Jews had no\nmilitary training, whatever. Their army would be simply a gathering\nof the men capable of bearing arms, throughout the land--each ready\nto give his life, for his faith and his country; relying, like\ntheir forefathers, on the sword of the Lord and Israel, but without\nthe slightest idea of military drill, discipline, or tactics. Such\nan army might fight bravely, might die nobly, but it could have\nlittle chance of victory over the well-trained legions of imperial\nRome.\n\nAt noon, Josephus embarked in a galley with his little band of\nfollowers--eight in number--and sailed across the lake to Tiberias.\nHere they landed, and went up to the house in which Josephus always\ndwelt, when in that city. His stay there was generally short,\nTarichea being his general abode--for there he felt in safety, the\ninhabitants being devoted to him; while those of Tiberias were ever\nready to follow the advice of the disaffected, and a section were\neager for the return of the Romans, and the renewal of the business\nand trade which had brought wealth to the city, before the troubles\nbegan.\n\nThat evening, Josephus sent for John, and said:\n\n\"I purpose, in two days, to go to Tarichea, where I shall spend the\nSabbath. I hear that there is a rumor that many of the citizens\nhave, privately, sent to King Agrippa asking him to send hither\nRoman troops, and promising them a good reception. The men with me\nare known, to many in the city, and would be shunned by my enemies,\nand so would hear naught of what is going on; therefore, I purpose\nto leave you here.\n\n\"In the morning, go early to the house of Samuel, the son of\nGideon. He dwells in the street called that of Tarichea, for it\nleadeth in the direction of that town. He is a tanner, by trade;\nand you will have no difficulty in finding it. He has been here,\nthis evening, and I have spoken to him about you and, when you\npresent yourself to him, he will take you in. Thus, no one will\nknow that you are of my company.\n\n\"Pass your time in the streets and, when you see groups of people\nassemble, join yourself to them and gather what they are saying. If\nit is ought that is important for me to know, come here and tell me\nor, if it be after I have departed for Tarichea, bring me the news\nthere. It is but thirty furlongs distant.\"\n\nJohn followed up the instructions given him, and was hospitably\nreceived by Samuel the tanner.\n\nIn the course of the day, a number of the citizens called upon\nJosephus and begged him, at once, to set about building walls for\nthe town, as he had already built them for Tarichea. When he\nassured them that he had already made preparations for doing so,\nand that the builders should set to work, forthwith, they appeared\nsatisfied; and the city remained perfectly tranquil until Josephus\nleft, the next morning, for Tarichea.\n\n\n\nChapter 4: The Lull Before The Storm.\n\n\nThe galley which carried Josephus from Tiberias was scarcely out of\nsight when John, who was standing in the marketplace watching the\nbusy scene with amusement, heard the shout raised:\n\n\"The Romans are coming!\"\n\nAt once, people left their business, and all ran to the outskirts\nof the city. John ran with them and, on arriving there, saw a party\nof Roman horsemen riding along, at no great distance. The people\nbegan to shout loudly to them to come into the town, calling out\nthat all the citizens were loyal to King Agrippa and the Romans,\nand that they hated the traitor Josephus.\n\nThe Romans halted, but made no sign of entering the town; fearing\nthat treachery was intended, and remembering the fate of their\ncomrades, who had trusted to Jewish faith when they surrendered the\ntowers of Hippicus, Phasaelus, and Mariamne. The movement, however,\nspread through the city. The people assembled in crowds, shouting\n\"Death to Josephus!\" and exclaiming for the Romans, and King\nAgrippa. Such as were loyal to Josephus did not venture to raise\ntheir voices, so numerous and furious were the multitude; and the\nwhole city was soon in open revolt, the citizens arming themselves\nin readiness for war.\n\nAs soon as he saw the course which affairs were taking, John made\nhis way out of the town, and ran at the top of his speed to\nTarichea, where he arrived in a little over half an hour. He was\ndirected at once to the house of Josephus, who rose in surprise, at\nthe table at which he was seated, writing, at John's entry.\n\n\"Scarcely had you left, my lord, than some Roman horsemen\napproached near the town; whereupon the whole city rose in revolt,\nshouting to them to enter and take possession, in the name of the\nking, and breathing out threats against yourself. The Romans had\nnot entered, as I came away; but the populace were all in arms, and\nyour friends did not venture to lift up a voice. Tiberias has\nwholly revolted to the Romans.\"\n\n\"This is bad news, indeed,\" Josephus said, gravely. \"I have but the\nseven armed men who accompanied me from Tiberias, here. All those\nwho were assembled in the city I bade disperse, so soon as I\narrived; in order that they might go to their towns, or villages,\nfor the Sabbath. Were I to send round the country, I could speedily\nget a great force together but, in a few hours, the Sabbath will\nbegin; and it is contrary to the law to fight upon the Sabbath,\neven though the necessity be great.\n\n\"And yet, if the people of Tiberias march hither, we can hardly\nhope to resist successfully; for the men of the town are too few to\nman the full extent of the walls. It is most necessary to put down\nthis rising, before King Agrippa can send large numbers of troops\ninto Tiberias; and yet, we can do nothing until the Sabbath is\npast.\n\n\"Nor would I shed blood, if it can be avoided. Hitherto I have put\ndown every rising, and caused Sepphoris, Tiberias, and other cities\nto expel the evildoers, and return to obedience, by tact--and by\nthe great force which I could bring against them--and without any\nneed of bloodshed. But this time, I fear, great trouble will come\nof it; since I cannot take prompt measures, and the enemy will have\ntime to organize their forces, and to receive help from John of\nGischala and other robbers--to say nothing of the Romans.\"\n\nJosephus walked up and down the room, in agitation, and then stood\nlooking out into the harbor.\n\n\"Ah!\" he exclaimed suddenly, \"we may yet frighten them into\nsubmission. Call in Joab.\"\n\nWhen Joab entered Josephus explained to him, in a few words, the\ncondition of things at Tiberias; and then proceeded:\n\n\"Send quickly to the principal men of the town, and bid them put\ntrusty men at each of the gates, and let none pass out. Order the\nfighting men to man the walls, in case those of Tiberias should\ncome hither, at once. Then let one or two able fellows embark on\nboard each of the boats and vessels in the port, taking with them\ntwo or three of the infirm and aged men. Send a fast galley across\nto Hippos; and bid the fishermen set out, at once, with all their\nboats, and join us off Tiberias. We will not approach close enough\nto the city for the people to see how feebly we are manned but,\nwhen they perceive all these ships making towards them, they will\nthink that I have with me a great army, with which I purpose to\ndestroy their city.\"\n\nThe orders were very quickly carried out. Josephus embarked, with\nhis eight companions, in one ship and, followed by two hundred and\nthirty vessels, of various sizes, sailed towards Tiberias.\n\nAs they approached the town, they saw a great movement among the\npopulation. Men and women were seen, crowding down to the\nshore--the men holding up their hands, to show that they were\nunarmed; the women wailing, and uttering loud cries of lamentation.\n\nJosephus waited for an hour, until the ships from Hippos also came\nup, and then caused them all to anchor off the town--but at such a\ndistance that the numbers of those on board could not be seen. Then\nhe advanced, in his own ship, to within speaking distance of the\nland. The people cried out to him to spare the city, and their\nwives and children; saying that they had been misled by evil men,\nand regretted bitterly what they had done.\n\nJosephus told them that, assuredly, they deserved that the city\nshould be wholly destroyed; for that now, when there was so much\nthat had to be done to prepare for the war which Rome would make\nagainst the country, they troubled the country with their\nseditions. The people set up a doleful cry for mercy; and Josephus\nthen said that, this time, he would spare them; but that their\nprincipal men must be handed over to him.\n\nTo this the people joyfully agreed; and a boat, with ten of their\nsenate, came out to the vessel. Josephus had them bound, and sent\nthem on board one of the other ships. Another and another boat load\ncame off; until all the members of the senate, and many of the\nprincipal inhabitants, were prisoners. Some of the men had been\ndrawn from the other ships, and put on board those with the\nprisoners; and these then sailed away to Tarichea.\n\nThe people of Tiberias--terrified at seeing so many taken away, and\nnot knowing how many more might be demanded--now denounced a young\nman, named Clitus, as being the leader of the revolt. Seven of the\nbodyguard of Josephus had gone down the lake, with the prisoners;\nand one Levi, alone, remained. Josephus told him to go ashore, and\nto cut off one of the hands of Clitus.\n\nLevi was, however, afraid to land, alone, among such a number of\nenemies; whereupon Josephus addressed Clitus, and told him that he\nwas worthy of death, but that he would spare his life, if his two\nhands were sent on board a ship. Clitus begged that he might be\npermitted to keep one hand, to which Josephus agreed. Clitus then\ndrew his sword, and struck off his left hand. Josephus now\nprofessed to be satisfied and, after warning the people against\nagain listening to evil advisers, sailed away with the whole fleet.\nJosephus, that evening, entertained the principal persons among the\nprisoners and, in the morning, allowed all to return to Tiberias.\n\nThe people there had already learned that they had been duped; but\nwith time had come reflection and, knowing that in a day or two\nJosephus could have assembled the whole population of Galilee\nagainst them, and have destroyed them before any help could come,\nthere were few who were not well content that their revolt had been\nso easily, and bloodlessly, repressed; and Josephus rose, in their\nestimation, by the quickness and boldness of the stratagem by which\nhe had, without bloodshed save in the punishment of Clitus,\nrestored tranquillity.\n\nThrough the winter, Josephus was incessantly active. He endeavored\nto organize an army, enrolled a hundred thousand men, appointed\ncommanders and captains, and strove to establish something like\nmilitary drill and order. But the people were averse to leaving\ntheir farms and occupations, and but little progress was made.\nMoreover, a great part of the time of Josephus was occupied in\nsuppressing the revolts, which were continually breaking out in\nSepphoris, Tiberias, and Gamala; and in thwarting the attempts of\nJohn of Gischala, and his other enemies, who strove by means of\nbribery, at Jerusalem, to have him recalled--and would have\nsucceeded, had it not been that the Galileans, save those of the\ngreat cities, were always ready to turn out, in all their force, to\ndefend him and, by sending deputations to Jerusalem, counteracted\nthe efforts, there, of his enemies.\n\nJohn was incessantly engaged, as he accompanied Josephus in his\nrapid journeys through the province, either to suppress the risings\nor to see to the work of organization; and only once or twice was\nhe able to pay a short visit to his family.\n\n\"You look worn and fagged, John,\" his cousin said, on the occasion\nof his last visit, when spring was close at hand.\n\n\"I am well in health, Mary; but it does try one, to see how all the\nefforts of Josephus are marred by the turbulence of the people of\nTiberias and Sepphoris. All his thoughts and time are occupied in\nkeeping order, and the work of organizing the army makes but little\nprogress.\n\n\"Vespasian is gathering a great force, at Antioch. His son Titus\nwill soon join him, with another legion; and they will, together,\nadvance against us.\"\n\n\"But I hear that the walling of the cities is well-nigh finished.\"\n\n\"That is so, Mary, and doubtless many of them will be able to make\na long defense but, after all, the taking of a city is a mere\nquestion of time. The Romans have great siege engines, which\nnothing can withstand but, even if the walls were so strong that\nthey could not be battered down, each city could, in time, be\nreduced by famine. It is not for me, who am but a boy, to judge the\ndoings of my elders; but it seems to me that this walling of cities\nis altogether wrong. They can give no aid to each other and, one by\none, must fall; and all within perish, or be made slaves, for the\nRomans give no quarter when they capture a city by storm.\n\n\"It seems to me that it would be far better to hold Jerusalem,\nonly, with a strong force of fighting men; and for all the rest of\nthe men capable of carrying arms to gather among the hills, and\nthere to fight the Romans. When the legion of Cestius was destroyed\nwe showed that, among defiles and on rocky ground, our active,\nlightly-armed men were a match for the Roman soldiers, in their\nheavy armor; and in this way I think that we might check even the\nlegions of Vespasian. The women and the old men and children could\ngather in the cities, and admit the Romans when they approached. In\nthat case they would suffer no harm; for the Romans are clement,\nwhen not opposed.\n\n\"As it is, it seems to me that, in the end, destruction will fall\non all alike. Here in Galilee we have a leader, but he is hampered\nby dissensions and jealousies. Samaria stands neutral. Jerusalem,\nwhich ought to take the lead, is torn by faction. There is war in\nher streets. She thinks only of herself, and naught of the country;\nalthough she must know that, when the Romans have crushed down all\nopposition elsewhere she must, sooner or later, fall. The country\nseems possessed with madness, and I see no hope in the future.\"\n\n\"Save in the God of Israel,\" Mary said, gently; \"that is what Simon\nand Martha say.\"\n\n\"Save in him,\" John assented; \"but, dear, He suffered us to be\ncarried away into Babylon; and how are we to expect His aid\nnow--when the people do naught for themselves, when His city is\ndivided in itself, when its streets are wet with blood, and its\nvery altars defiled by conflict? When evil men are made high\npriests, and all rule and authority is at an end, what right have\nwe to expect aid at the hands of Jehovah?\n\n\"My greatest comfort, Mary, is that we lie here on the east of the\nlake, and that we are within the jurisdiction of King Agrippa. On\nthis side, his authority has never been altogether thrown off;\nthough some of the cities have made common cause with those of the\nother side. Still, we may hope that, on this side of Jordan, we may\nescape the horrors of war.\"\n\n\"You are out of spirits, John, and take a gloomy view of things;\nbut I know that Simon, too, thinks that everything will end badly,\nand I have heard him say that he, too, is glad that his farm lies\non this side of the lake; and that he wishes Gamala had not thrown\noff the authority of the king, so that there might be naught to\nbring the Romans across Jordan.\n\n\"Our mother is more hopeful. She trusts in God for, as she says,\nthough the wealthy and powerful may have forsaken Him, the people\nstill cling to Him; and He will not let us fall into the hands of\nour enemies.\"\n\n\"I hope it will be so, Mary; and I own I am out of spirits, and\nlook at matters in the worst light. However, I will have a talk\nwith father, tonight.\"\n\nThat evening, John had a long conversation with Simon, and repeated\nthe forebodings he had expressed to Mary.\n\n\"At any rate, father, I hope that when the Romans approach you will\nat least send away my mother, Mary, and the women to a place of\nsafety. We are but a few miles from Gamala and, if the Romans come\nthere and besiege it, they will spread through the country; and\nwill pillage, even if they do not slay, in all the villages. If, as\nwe trust, God will give victory to our arms, they can return in\npeace; if not, let them at least be free from the dangers which are\nthreatening us.\"\n\n\"I have been thinking of it, John. A fortnight since, I sent old\nIsaac to your mother's brother--whose farm, as you know, lies upon\nthe <DW72>s of Mount Hermon, a few miles from Neve, and very near\nthe boundary of Manasseh--to ask him if he will receive Martha, and\nMary, and the women, until the troubles are over. He will gladly do\nso; and I purpose sending them away, as soon as I hear that the\nRomans have crossed the frontier.\"\n\n\"I am, indeed, rejoiced to hear it, father; but do not let them\ntarry for that, let them go as soon as the snows have melted on\nMount Hermon, for the Roman cavalry will spread quickly over the\nland. Let them go as soon as the roads are fit for travel. I shall\nfeel a weight off my mind, when I know that they are safe.\n\n\"And does my mother know what you have decided?\"\n\n\"She knows, John, but in truth she is reluctant to go. She says, at\npresent, that if I stay she also will stay.\"\n\n\"I trust, father, that you will overrule my mother; and that you\nwill either go with her or, if you stay, you will insist upon her\ngoing. Should you not overcome her opposition, and finally suffer\nher, with Miriam and the older women, to remain with you, I hope\nthat you will send Mary and the young ones to my uncle. The danger,\nwith them, is vastly greater. The Romans, unless their blood is\nheated by opposition, may not interfere with the old people--who\nare valueless as slaves--but the young ones--\" and he stopped.\n\n\"I have thought it over, my son, and even if your mother remains\nhere with me, I will assuredly send off Mary, and the young\nmaidens, to the mountain. Make your mind easy, on that score. We\nold people have taken root on the land which was our fathers'. I\nshall not leave, whatever may befall--and it may be that your\nmother will tarry here, with me--but the young women shall\nassuredly be sent away, until the danger is over.\n\n\"Not that I think the peril is as great as it seems, to you. Our\npeople have ever shown themselves courageous, in great danger. They\nknow the fate that awaits them, after provoking the anger of Rome.\nThey know they are fighting for faith, for country, and their\nfamilies, and will fight desperately. They greatly outnumber the\nRomans--at least, the army by which we shall first be attacked--and\nmaybe, if we can resist that, we may make terms with Rome for,\nassuredly, in the long run she must overpower us.\"\n\n\"I should think with you, father,\" John said, shaking his head, \"if\nI saw anything like union among the people; but I lose all heart,\nwhen I see how divided they are, how blind to the storm that is\ncoming against us, how careless as to anything but the trouble of\nthe day, how intent upon the work of their farms and businesses,\nhow disinclined to submit to discipline, and to prepare themselves\nfor the day of battle.\"\n\n\"You are young, my son, and full of enthusiasm; but it is hard to\nstir men, whose lives have traveled in one groove, from their\nordinary course. In all our history, although we have been ready to\nassemble and meet the foe, we have ever been ready to lay by the\nsword, when the danger is past, and to return to our homes and\nfamilies. We have been a nation of fighting men, but never a nation\nwith an army.\"\n\n\"Yes, father, because we trusted in God to give us victory, on the\nday of battle. He was our army. When He fought with us, we\nconquered; when He abstained, we were beaten. He suffered us to\nfall into the hands of the Romans and, instead of repenting of our\nsins, we have sinned more and more.\n\n\"The news from Jerusalem is worse and worse. There is civil war in\nits streets. Robbers are its masters. The worst of the people sit\nin high places.\"\n\n\"That is so, my son. God's anger still burns fiercely, and the\npeople perish; yet it may be that He will be merciful, in the end.\"\n\n\"I hope so, father, for assuredly our hope is only in Him.\"\n\nEarly in the spring, Vespasian was joined by King Agrippa, with all\nhis forces; and they advanced to Ptolemais and, here, Titus joined\nhis father, having brought his troops from Alexandria by sea. The\nforce of Vespasian now consisted of the Fifth, Tenth, and Fifteenth\nLegions. Besides these he had twenty-three cohorts; ten of which\nnumbered a thousand footmen, the rest, each, six hundred footmen\nand a hundred and fifty horse. The allied force, contributed by\nAgrippa and others, consisted of two thousand archers, and a\nthousand horse; while Malchus, King of Arabia, sent a thousand\nhorse, and five thousand archers. The total force amounted to sixty\nthousand regular troops, besides great numbers of camp followers--who\nwere all trained to military service, and could fight, in case of need.\n\nVespasian had encountered no resistance, on his march down to\nPtolemais. The inhabitants of the country through which he passed\nforsook the villages and farms; and retired, according to the\norders they had received, to the fortified towns. There was no army\nto meet the Romans in the field. The efforts at organization which\nJosephus had made bore no fruit, whatever. No sooner had the\ninvader entered the country, than it lay at his mercy; save only\nthe walled cities into which the people had crowded.\n\nIn the range of mountains stretching across Upper Galilee were\nthree places of great strength: Gabara, Gischala, and Jotapata. The\nlast named had been very strongly fortified, by Josephus himself;\nand here he intended to take up his own position.\n\n\"It is a pitiful sight, truly,\" Joab remarked to John, as they saw\nthe long line of fugitives--men, women, and children--with such\nbelongings as they could carry on their own backs, and those of\ntheir beasts of burden. \"It is a pitiful sight, is it not?\"\n\n\"It is a pitiful sight, Joab, and one that fills me with\nforeboding, as well as with pity. What agonies may not these poor\npeople be doomed to suffer, when the Romans lay siege to Jotapata?\"\n\n\"They can never take it,\" Joab said, scornfully.\n\n\"I wish I could think so, Joab. When did the Romans ever lay siege\nto a place, and fail to capture it? Once, twice, three times they\nmay fail but, in the end, they assuredly will take it.\"\n\n\"Look at its position. See how wild is the country through which\nthey will have to march.\"\n\n\"They have made roads over all the world, Joab. They will make very\nshort work of the difficulties here. It may take the Romans weeks,\nor months, to besiege each of these strong places; but they will\nassuredly carry them, in the end--and then, better a thousand times\nthat the men had, in the first place, slain the women, and rushed\nto die on the Roman swords.\"\n\n\"It seems to me, John,\" Joab said stiffly, \"that you are over bold,\nin thus criticising the plans of our general.\"\n\n\"It may be so,\" John said, recklessly, \"but methinks, when we are\nall risking our lives, each man may have a right to his opinions. I\nam ready, like the rest, to die when the time comes; but that does\nnot prevent me having my opinions. Besides, it seems to me that\nthere is no heresy in questioning the plans of our general. I love\nJosephus, and would willingly give my life for him. He has shown\nhimself a wise ruler, firm to carry out what is right, and to\nsuppress all evildoers but, after all, he has not served in war. He\nis full of resources, and will, I doubt not, devise every means to\ncheck the Romans but, even so, he may not be able to cope, in war,\nwith such generals as theirs, who have won their experience all\nover the world. Nor may the general's plan of defense, which he has\nadopted, be the best suited for the occasion.\n\n\"Would you have us fight the Romans in the open?\" Joab said,\nscornfully. \"What has been done in the south? See how our people\nmarched out from Jerusalem--under John the Essene, Niger of Peraea,\nand Silas the Babylonian--to attack Ascalon, held by but one cohort\nof Roman foot, and one troop of horse. What happened? Antoninus,\nthe Roman commander, charged the army without fear, rode through\nand through them, broke them up into fragments, and slew till night\ntime--when ten thousand men, with John and Silas, lay dead.\n\n\"Not satisfied with this defeat, in a short time Niger advanced\nagain against Ascalon; when Antoninus sallied out again, and slew\neight thousand of them. Thus, eighteen thousand men were killed, by\none weak cohort of foot and a troop of horse; and yet you say we\nought not to hide behind our walls, but to meet them in the open!\"\n\n\"I would not meet them in the open, where the Roman cavalry could\ncharge--at any rate, not until our people have learned discipline.\nI would harass them, and attack them in defiles, as Cestius was\nattacked; harassing them night and day, giving them no peace or\nrest, never allowing them to meet us in the plains, but moving\nrapidly hither and thither among the mountains--leaving the women\nin the cities, which should offer no resistance, so that the Romans\nwould have no point to strike at--until at length, when we have\ngained confidence and discipline and order, we should be able to\ntake bolder measures, gradually, and fight them hand to hand.\"\n\n\"Maybe you are right, lad,\" Joab said, thoughtfully. \"I like not\nbeing cooped up in a stronghold, myself; and methinks that a\nmountain warfare, such as you speak of, would suit the genius of\nthe people. We are light limbed and active--inured to fatigue, for\nwe are a nation of cultivators--brave, assuredly, and ready to give\nour lives.\n\n\"They say that, in the fight near Ascalon, not a Jew fled. Fight\nthey could not, they were powerless against the rush of the heavy\nRoman horse; but they died as they stood, destroyed but not\ndefeated. Gabara and Gischala and Jotapata may fall but, lad, it\nwill be only after a defense so desperate that the haughty Romans\nmay well hesitate; for if such be the resistance of these little\nmountain towns, what will not be the task of conquering Jerusalem,\ngarrisoned by the whole nation?\"\n\n\"That is true,\" John said, \"and if our deaths here be for the\nsafety of Jerusalem, we shall not have died in vain. But I doubt\nwhether such men as those who have power in Jerusalem will agree to\nany terms, however favorable, that may be offered.\n\n\"It may be that it is God's will that it should be so. Two days\nago, as I journeyed hither, after going down to Sepphoris with a\nmessage from the general to some of the principal inhabitants\nthere, I met an old man, traveling with his wife and family. I\nasked him whether he was on his way hither, but he said 'No,' he\nwas going across Jordan, and through Manasseh, and over Mount\nHermon into Trachonitis. He said that he was a follower of that\nChrist who was put to death, in Jerusalem, some thirty-five years\nsince, and whom many people still believe was the Messiah. He says\nthat he foretold the destruction of Jerusalem, by the Romans; and\nwarned his followers not to stay in the walled cities, but to fly\nto the deserts when the time came.\"\n\n\"The Messiah was to save Israel,\" Joab said, scornfully. \"Christ\ncould not save even himself.\"\n\n\"I know not,\" John said, simply. \"I have heard of him from others;\nand my father heard him preach, several times, near the lake. He\nsays that he was a man of wondrous power, and that he preached a\nnew doctrine. He says that he did not talk about himself, or claim\nto be the Messiah; but that he simply told the people to be kind\nand good to each other, and to love God and do his will. My father\nsaid that he thought he was a good and holy man, and full of the\nSpirit of God. He did works of great power, too; but bore himself\nmeekly, like any other man. My father always regards him as a\nprophet; and said that he grieved, when he heard that he had been\nput to death at Jerusalem. If he were a prophet, what he said about\nthe destruction of Jerusalem should have weight with us.\"\n\n\"All who heard him agreed that he was a good man,\" Joab assented.\n\"I have never known one of those who heard him say otherwise, and\nmaybe he was a prophet. Certainly, he called upon the people to\nrepent and turn from their sins and, had they done as he taught\nthem, these evils might not have fallen upon us, and God would\ndoubtless have been ready to aid his people, as of old.\n\n\"However, it is too late to think about it, now. We want all our\nthoughts for the matter we have in hand. We have done all that we\ncan to put this town into a state of defense and, methinks, if the\nRomans ever penetrate through these mountains and forests, they\nwill see that they have a task which will tax all their powers,\nbefore they take Jotapata.\"\n\nThe position of the town was, indeed, immensely strong. It stood on\nthe summit of a lofty mass of rock which, on three sides, fell\nabruptly down into the deep and almost impassable ravines which\nsurrounded it. On the north side, alone, where the ridge sloped\nmore gradually down, it could be approached. The town extended part\nof the way down this declivity and, at its foot, Josephus had built\na strong wall. On all sides were lofty mountains, covered with\nthick forests; and the town could not be seen by an enemy, until\nthey were close at hand.\n\nAs soon as Vespasian had arrived at Ptolemais (on the site of which\ncity stands the modern Acre) he was met by a deputation from\nSepphoris. That city had only been prevented from declaring for the\nRomans by the exertions of Josephus, and the knowledge that all\nGalilee would follow him to attack it, should it revolt. But as\nsoon as Vespasian arrived at Ptolemais, which was scarce twenty\nmiles away, they sent deputies with their submission to him;\nbegging that a force might be sent, to defend them against any\nattack by the Jews.\n\nVespasian received them with courtesy; and sent Placidus, with a\nthousand horse and six thousand foot, to the city. The infantry\ntook up their quarters in the town; but the horsemen made raids\nover the plains, burning the villages, slaying all the men capable\nof bearing arms, and carrying off the rest of the population as\nslaves.\n\nThe day after the conversation between Joab and John, a man brought\nthe news to Jotapata that Placidus was marching against it.\nJosephus at once ordered the fighting men to assemble and, marching\nout, placed them in ambuscade, in the mountains, on the road by\nwhich the Romans would approach.\n\nAs soon as the latter had fairly entered the pass, the Jews sprang\nto their feet, and hurled their javelins and shot their arrows\namong them. The Romans, in vain, endeavored to reach their\nassailants; and numbers were wounded, as they tried to climb the\nheights, but few were killed--for they were so completely covered,\nby their armor and shields, that the Jewish missiles, thrown from a\ndistance, seldom inflicted mortal wounds. They were, however,\nunable to make their way further; and Placidus was obliged to\nretire to Sepphoris, having failed, signally, in gaining the credit\nhe had hoped for, from the capture of the strongest of the Jewish\nstrongholds in Upper Galilee.\n\nThe Jews, on their part, were greatly inspirited by the success of\ntheir first encounter with the Romans; and returned, rejoicing, to\ntheir stronghold.\n\nAll being ready at Jotapata, Josephus--with a considerable number\nof the fighting men--proceeded to Garis, not far from Sepphoris,\nwhere the army had assembled. But no sooner had the news arrived,\nthat the great army of Vespasian was in movement, than they\ndispersed in all directions; and Josephus was left with a mere\nhandful of followers, with whom he fled to Tiberias. Thence he\nwrote earnest letters to Jerusalem; saying that, unless a strong\narmy was fitted out and put in the field, it was useless to attempt\nto fight the Romans; and that it would be wiser to come to terms\nwith them, than to maintain a useless resistance, which would bring\ndestruction upon the nation. He remained a short time, only, at\nTiberias; and thence hurried up with his followers to Jotapata,\nwhich he reached on the 14th of May.\n\nVespasian marched first to Gadara--which was undefended, the\nfighting men having all gone to Jotapata--but, although no\nresistance was offered, Vespasian put all the males to the sword;\nand burned the town and all the villages in the neighborhood, and\nthen advanced against Jotapata. For four days, the pioneers of the\nRoman army had labored incessantly--cutting a road through the\nforests, filling up ravines, and clearing away obstacles--and, on\nthe fifth day, the road was constructed close up to Jotapata.\n\nOn the 14th of May, Placidus and Ebutius were sent forward by\nVespasian, with a thousand horse, to surround the town and cut off\nall possibility of escape. On the following day Vespasian himself,\nwith his whole army, arrived there. The defenders of Jotapata could\nscarcely believe their eyes when they saw the long, heavy\ncolumn--with all its baggage, and siege engines--marching along a\nstraight and level road, where they had believed that it would be\nnext to impossible for even the infantry of the enemy to make their\nway. If this marvel had been accomplished in five days, what hope\nwas there that the city would be able to withstand this force,\nwhich had so readily triumphed over the defenses of nature?\n\n\n\nChapter 5: The Siege Of Jotapata.\n\n\n\"Well, Joab, what do you think, now?\" John said, as he stood on the\nwall with his older companion, watching the seemingly endless\ncolumn of the enemy. \"It seems to me that we are caught here, like\nrats in a trap, and that we should have done better, a thousand\ntimes, in maintaining our freedom of movement among the mountains.\nIt is one thing to cut a road; it would be another to clear off all\nthe forests from the Anti-Libanus and, so long as there was a\nforest to shelter us, the Romans could never have overtaken us.\nHere, there is nothing to do but to die.\"\n\n\"That is so, John. I own that the counsel you urged would have been\nwiser than this. Here are all the best fighting men in Galilee,\nshut up without hope of succor, or of mercy. Well, lad, we can at\nleast teach the Romans the lesson that the Jews know how to die;\nand the capture of this mountain town will cost them as much as\nthey reckoned would suffice for the conquest of the whole country.\nJotapata may save Jerusalem, yet.\"\n\nJohn was no coward, and was prepared to fight to the last; but he\nwas young, and the love of life was strong within. He thought of\nhis old father and mother, who had no children but him; of his\npretty Mary--far away now, he hoped, on the <DW72>s of Mount\nHermon--and of the grief that his death would cause to them; and he\nresolved that, although he would do his duty, he would strain every\nnerve to preserve the life so dear to them.\n\nHe had no longer any duties to perform, other than those common to\nall able to bear arms. When the Romans attacked, his place would be\nnear Josephus or, were a sally ordered, he would issue out with the\ngeneral; but until then, his time was his own. There was no mission\nto be performed, now, no fear of plots against the life of the\ngeneral; therefore, he was free to wander where he liked. Save the\nnewly erected wall, across the neck of rock below the town, there\nwere no defenses; for it was deemed impossible for man to climb the\ncliffs that fell, sheer down, at every other point.\n\nJohn strolled quietly round the town; stopping, now and then, to\nlook over the low wall that bordered the precipice--erected solely\nto prevent children from falling over. The depth was very great;\nand it seemed to him that there could be no escape, anywhere, save\non that side which was now blocked by the wall--and which would,\nere long, be trebly blocked by the Romans.\n\nThe town was crowded. At ordinary times, it might contain near\nthree or four thousand inhabitants; now, over twenty-five thousand\nhad gathered there. Of these, more than half were men; but many had\nbrought their wives and children with them. Every vacant foot of\nground was taken up. The inhabitants shared their homes with the\nstrangers, but the accommodation was altogether insufficient; and\nthe greater part of the newcomers had erected little tents, and\nshelters, of cloths or blankets.\n\nIn the upper part of the town there were, at present, comparatively\nfew people about; for the greater part had gone to the <DW72>,\nwhence they watched, with terror and dismay, the great Roman column\nas it poured down, in an unbroken line, hour after hour. The news\nof the destruction which had fallen on Gadara had been brought in,\nby fugitives; and all knew that, although no resistance had been\noffered there, every male had been put to death, and the women\ntaken captives.\n\nThere was naught, then, to be gained by surrender; even had anyone\ndared to propose it. As for victory, over such a host as that which\nwas marching to the assault, none could hope for it. For, hold out\nas they might, and repel every assault on the wall, there was an\nenemy within which would conquer them.\n\nFor Jotapata possessed no wells. The water had, daily, to be\nfetched by the women from the stream in the ravine and, although\nstores of grain had been collected, sufficient to last for many\nmonths, the supply of water stored up in cisterns would scarce\nsuffice to supply the multitudes gathered on the rock for a\nfortnight.\n\nDeath, then, certain and inevitable, awaited them; and yet, an\noccasional wail from some woman, as she pressed her children to her\nbreast, alone told of the despair which reigned in every heart. The\ngreater portion looked out, silent, and as if stupefied. They had\nrelied, absolutely, on the mountains and forests to block the\nprogress of the invader. They had thought that, at the worst, they\nwould have had to deal with a few companies of infantry, only.\nThus, the sight of the sixty thousand Roman troops--swelled to nigh\na hundred thousand, by the camp followers and artificers--with its\ncavalry and machines of war, seemed like some terrible nightmare.\n\nAfter making the circuit of the rock, and wandering for some time\namong the impromptu camps in the streets, John returned to a group\nof boys whom he had noticed, leaning against the low wall with a\ncarelessness, as to the danger of a fall over the precipice, which\nproved that they must be natives of the place.\n\n\"If there be any possible way of descending these precipices,\" he\nsaid to himself, \"it will be the boys who will know of it. Where a\ngoat could climb, these boys, born among the mountains, would try\nto follow; if only to excel each other in daring, and to risk\nbreaking their necks.\"\n\nThus thinking, he walked up to the group, who were from twelve to\nfifteen years old.\n\n\"I suppose you belong to the town?\" he began.\n\nThere was a general assent from the five boys, who looked with\nconsiderable respect at John--who, although but two years the\nsenior of the eldest among them, wore a man's garb, and carried\nsword and buckler.\n\n\"I am one of the bodyguard of the governor,\" John went on, \"and I\ndare say you can tell me all sorts of things, about this country,\nthat may be useful for him to know. Is it quite certain that no one\ncould climb up these rocks from below; and that there is no fear of\nthe Romans making a surprise, in that way?\"\n\nThe boys looked at each other, but no one volunteered to give\ninformation.\n\n\"Come!\" John went on, \"I have only just left off being a boy,\nmyself, and I was always climbing into all sorts of places, when I\ngot a chance; and I have no doubt it's the same, with you. When you\nhave been down below, there, you have tried how far you can get up.\n\n\"Did you ever get up far, or did you ever hear of anyone getting up\nfar?\"\n\n\"I expect I have been up as far as anyone,\" the eldest of the boys\nsaid. \"I went up after a young kid that had strayed away from its\nmother. I got up a long way--half way up, I should say--but I\ncouldn't get any further. I was barefooted, too.\n\n\"I am sure no one with armor on could have got up anything like so\nfar. I don't believe he could get up fifty feet.\"\n\n\"And have any of you ever tried to get down from above?\"\n\nThey shook their heads.\n\n\"Jonas the son of James did, once,\" one of the smaller boys said.\n\"He had a pet hawk he had tamed, and it flew away and perched, a\ngood way down; and he clambered down to fetch it. He had a rope\ntied round him, and some of the others held it, in case he should\nslip. I know he went down a good way, and he got the hawk; and his\nfather beat him for doing it, I know.\"\n\n\"Is he here, now?\" John asked.\n\n\"Yes, he is here,\" the boy said. \"That's his father's house, the\none close to the edge of the rock. I don't know whether you will\nfind him there, now. He ain't indoors more than he can help. His\nown mother's dead, and his father's got another wife, and they\ndon't get on well together.\"\n\n\"Well, I will have a chat with him, one of these days. And you are\nall quite sure that there is no possible path up, from below?\"\n\n\"I won't say there isn't any possible path,\" the eldest boy said;\n\"but I feel quite sure there is not. I have looked, hundreds of\ntimes, when I have been down below; and I feel pretty sure that, if\nthere had been any place where a goat could have got up, I should\nhave noticed it. But you see, the rock goes down almost straight,\nin most places. Anyhow, I have never heard of anyone who ever got\nup and, if anyone had done it, it would have been talked about, for\nyears and years.\"\n\n\"No doubt it would,\" John agreed. \"So I shall tell the governor\nthat he need not be in the least uneasy about an attack, except in\nfront.\"\n\nSo saying, he nodded to the boys, and walked away again.\n\nIn the evening, the whole of the Roman army had arrived; and\nVespasian drew up his troops on a hill, less than a mile to the\nnorth of the city, and there encamped them. The next morning, a\ntriple line of embankments was thrown up, by the Romans, around the\nfoot of the hill where, alone, escape or issue was possible; and\nthis entirely cut off those within the town from any possibility of\nflight.\n\nThe Jews looked on at these preparations as wild animals might\nregard a line of hunters surrounding them. But the dull despair of\nthe previous day had now been succeeded by a fierce rage. Hope\nthere was none. They must die, doubtless; but they would die\nfighting fiercely, till the last. Disdaining to be pent up within\nthe walls, many of the fighting men encamped outside, and boldly\nwent forward to meet the enemy.\n\nVespasian called up his slingers and archers, and these poured\ntheir missiles upon the Jews; while he himself, with his heavy\ninfantry, began to mount the <DW72> towards the part of the wall\nwhich appeared the weakest. Josephus at once summoned the fighting\nmen in the town and, sallying at their head through the gate,\nrushed down and flung himself upon the Romans. Both sides fought\nbravely; the Romans strong in their discipline, their skill with\ntheir weapons, and their defensive armor; the Jews fighting with\nthe valor of despair, heightened by the thought of their wives and\nchildren in the town, above.\n\nThe Romans were pushed down the hill, and the fight continued at\nits foot until darkness came on, when both parties drew off. The\nnumber of killed on either side was small, for the bucklers and\nhelmets defended the vital points. The Romans had thirteen killed\nand very many wounded, the Jews seventeen killed and six hundred\nwounded.\n\nJohn had fought bravely by the side of Josephus. Joab and two\nothers of the little band were killed. All the others were wounded,\nmore or less severely; for Josephus was always in the front, and\nhis chosen followers kept close to him. In the heat of the fight,\nJohn felt his spirits rise higher than they had done since the\ntroubles had begun. He had fought, at first, so recklessly that\nJosephus had checked him, with the words:\n\n\"Steady, my brave lad. He fights best who fights most coolly. The\nmore you guard yourself, the more you will kill.\"\n\nMore than once, when Josephus--whose commanding figure, and evident\nleadership, attracted the attention of the Roman soldiers--was\nsurrounded and cut off, John, with three or four others, made their\nway through to him, and brought him off.\n\nWhen it became dark, both parties drew off; the Romans sullenly,\nfor they felt it a disgrace to have been thus driven back, by foes\nthey despised; the Jews with shouts of triumph, for they had proved\nthemselves a match for the first soldiers in the world, and the\ndread with which the glittering column had inspired them had passed\naway.\n\nThe following day, the Jews again sallied out and attacked the\nRomans as they advanced and, for five days in succession, the\ncombat raged--the Jews fighting with desperate valor, the Romans\nwith steady resolution. At the end of that time, the Jews had been\nforced back behind their wall, and the Romans established\nthemselves in front of it.\n\nVespasian, seeing that the wall could not be carried by assault, as\nhe had expected, called a council of war; and it was determined to\nproceed by the regular process of a siege, and to erect a bank\nagainst that part of the wall which offered the greatest facility\nfor attack. Accordingly the whole army, with the exception of the\ntroops who guarded the banks of circumvallation, went into the\nmountains to get materials. Stone and timber, in vast quantities,\nwere brought down and, when these were in readiness, the work\ncommenced.\n\nA sort of penthouse roofing, constructed of wattles covered with\nearth, was first raised, to protect the workers from the missiles\nof the enemy upon the wall; and here the working parties labored\nsecurely, while the rest of the troops brought up earth, stone, and\nwood for their use. The Jews did their best to interfere with the\nwork, hurling down huge stones upon the penthouse; sometimes\nbreaking down the supports of the roof and causing gaps, through\nwhich they poured a storm of arrows and javelins, until the damage\nhad been repaired.\n\nTo protect his workmen, Vespasian brought up his siege engines--of\nwhich he had a hundred and sixty--and, from these, vast quantities\nof missiles were discharged at the Jews upon the walls. The\ncatapults threw javelins, balls of fire, and blazing arrows; while\nthe ballistae hurled huge stones, which swept lanes through the\nranks of the defenders. At the same time the light-armed troops,\nthe Arab archers, and those of Agrippa and Antiochus kept up a rain\nof arrows, so that it became impossible for the Jews to remain on\nthe walls.\n\nBut they were not inactive. Sallying out in small parties, they\nfell with fury upon the working parties who, having stripped off\ntheir heavy armor, were unable to resist their sudden onslaughts.\nDriving out and slaying all before them, the Jews so often applied\nfire to the wattles and timbers of the bank that Vespasian was\nobliged to make his work continuous, along the whole extent of the\nwall, to keep out the assailants.\n\nBut, in spite of all the efforts of the Jews, the embankment rose\nsteadily, until it almost equaled the height of the wall; and the\nstruggle now went on between the combatants on even terms, they\nbeing separated only by the short interval between the wall and\nbank. Josephus found that in such a conflict the Romans--with their\ncrowd of archers and slingers, and their formidable machines--had\nall the advantage; and that it was absolutely necessary to raise\nthe walls still higher.\n\nHe called together a number of the principal men, and pointed out\nthe necessity for this. They agreed with him, but urged that it was\nimpossible for men to work, exposed to such a storm of missiles.\nJosephus replied that he had thought of that. A number of strong\nposts were prepared and, at night, these were fixed securely,\nstanding on the wall. Along the top of these, a strong rope was\nstretched; and on this were hung, touching each other, the hides of\nnewly-killed oxen. These formed a complete screen, hiding the\nworkers from the sight of those on the embankment.\n\nIllustration: Heightening the Walls of Jotapata under Shelter of Ox\nHides.\n\nThe hides, when struck with the stones from the ballistae, gave way\nand deadened the force of the missiles; while the arrows and\njavelins glanced off from the slippery surface. Behind this\nshelter, the garrison worked night and day, raising the posts and\nscreens as their work proceeded, until they had heightened the wall\nno less than thirty-five feet; with a number of towers on its\nsummit, and a strong battlement facing the Romans.\n\nThe besiegers were much discouraged at their want of success, and\nenraged at finding the efforts of so large an army completely\nbaffled by a small town, which they had expected to carry at the\nfirst assault; while the Jews proportionately rejoiced. Becoming\nmore and more confident, they continually sallied out in small\nparties, through the gateway or by ladders from the walls, attacked\nthe Romans upon their embankment, or set fire to it. And it was the\ndesperation with which these men fought, even more than their\nsuccess in defending the wall, that discouraged the Romans; for the\nJews were utterly careless of their lives, and were well content to\ndie, when they saw that they had achieved their object of setting\nfire to the Roman works.\n\nVespasian, at length, determined to turn the siege into a blockade;\nand to starve out the town which he could not capture. He\naccordingly contented himself by posting a strong force to defend\nthe embankment, and withdrew the main body of the army to their\nencampment. He had been informed of the shortness of the supply of\nwater; and had anticipated that, in a very short time, thirst would\ncompel the inhabitants to yield.\n\nJohn had taken his full share in the fighting, and had frequently\nearned the warm commendation of Josephus. His spirits had risen\nwith the conflict; but he could not shut his eyes to the fact that,\nsooner or later, the Romans must become masters of the place. One\nevening, therefore, when he had done his share of duty on the\nwalls, he went up to the house which had been pointed out to him as\nthat in which lived the boy who had descended the face of the\nrocks, for some distance.\n\nAt a short distance from the door, a lad of some fifteen years old,\nwith no covering but a piece of ragged sackcloth round the loins,\nwas crouched up in a corner, seemingly asleep. At the sound of\nJohn's footsteps, he opened his eyes in a quick, watchful way, that\nshowed that he had not been really asleep.\n\n\"Are you Jonas, the son of James?\" John asked.\n\n\"Yes I am,\" the boy said, rising to his feet. \"What do you want\nwith me?\"\n\n\"I want to have a talk with you,\" John said. \"I am one of the\ngovernor's bodyguard; and I think, perhaps, you may be able to give\nus some useful information.\"\n\n\"Well, come away from here,\" the boy said, \"else we shall be having\nher--\" and he nodded to the house, \"--coming out with a stick.\"\n\n\"You have rather a hard time of it, from what I hear,\" John began,\nwhen they stopped at the wall, a short distance away from the\nhouse.\n\n\"I have that,\" the boy said. \"I look like it, don't I?\"\n\n\"You do,\" John agreed, looking at the boy's thin, half-starved\nfigure; \"and yet, there is plenty to eat in the town.\"\n\n\"There may be,\" the boy said; \"anyhow, I don't get my share. Father\nis away fighting on the wall, and so she's worse than ever. She is\nalways beating me, and I dare not go back, now. I told her, this\nmorning, the sooner the Romans came in, the better I should be\npleased. They could only kill me, and there would be an end of it;\nbut they would send her to Rome for a slave, and then she would see\nhow she liked being cuffed and beaten, all day.\"\n\n\"And you are hungry, now?\" John asked.\n\n\"I am pretty near always hungry,\" the boy said.\n\n\"Well, come along with me, then. I have got a little room to\nmyself, and you shall have as much to eat as you like.\"\n\nThe room John occupied had formerly been a loft over a stable, in\nthe rear of the house in which Josephus now lodged; and it was\nreached by a ladder from the outside. He had shared it, at first,\nwith two of his comrades; but these had both fallen, during the\nsiege. After seeing the boy up into it, John went to the house and\nprocured him an abundant meal; and took it, with a small horn of\nwater, back to his quarters.\n\n\"Here's plenty for you to eat, Jonas, but not much to drink. We are\nall on short allowance, the same as the rest of the people; and I\nam afraid that won't last long.\"\n\nThere was a twinkle of amusement in the boy's face but, without a\nword, he set to work at the food, eating ravenously all that John\nhad brought him. The latter was surprised to see that he did not\ntouch the water; for he thought that if his stepmother deprived him\nof food, of which there was abundance, she would all the more\ndeprive him of water, of which the ration to each person was so\nscanty.\n\n\"Now,\" John said, \"you had better throw away that bit of sackcloth,\nand take this garment. It belonged to a comrade of mine, who has\nbeen killed.\"\n\n\"There's too much of it,\" the boy said. \"If you don't mind my\ntearing it in half, I will take it.\"\n\n\"Do as you like with it,\" John replied; and the boy tore the long\nstrip of cotton in two, and wrapped half of it round his loins.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"what do you want to ask me?\"\n\n\"They tell me, Jonas, that you are a first-rate climber, and can go\nanywhere?\"\n\nThe boy nodded.\n\n\"I can get about, I can. I have been tending goats, pretty well\never since I could walk and, where they can go, I can.\"\n\n\"I want to know, in the first place, whether there is any possible\nway by which one can get up and down from this place, except by the\nroad through the wall?\"\n\nThe boy was silent.\n\n\"Now look here, Jonas,\" John went on, feeling sure that the lad\ncould tell something, if he would, \"if you could point out a way\ndown, the governor would be very pleased; and as long as the siege\nlasts you can live here with me, and have as much food as you want,\nand not go near that stepmother of yours, at all.\"\n\n\"And nobody will beat me, for telling you?\" the boy asked.\n\n\"Certainly not, Jonas.\"\n\n\"It wouldn't take you beyond the Romans. They have got guards, all\nround.\"\n\n\"No, but it might enable us to get down to the water,\" John urged,\nthe sight of the unemptied horn causing the thought to flash\nthrough his mind that the boy had been in the habit of going down,\nand getting water.\n\n\"Well, I will tell you,\" the boy said. \"I don't like to tell,\nbecause I don't think there's anyone here knows it, but me. I found\nit out, and I never said a word about it, because I was able to\nslip away when I liked; and no one knows anything about it. But it\ndoesn't make much difference, now, because the Romans are going to\nkill us all. So I will tell you.\n\n\"At the end of the rock, you have to climb down about fifty feet.\nIt's very steep there, and it's as much as you can do to get down;\nbut when you have got down that far, you get to the head of a sort\nof dried-up water course, and it ain't very difficult to go down\nthere and, that way, you can get right down to the stream. It don't\nlook, from below, as if you could do it; and the Romans haven't put\nany guards on the stream, just there. I know, because I go down\nevery morning, as soon as it gets light. I never tried to get\nthrough the Roman sentries; but I expect one could, if one tried.\n\n\"But I don't see how you are to bring water up here, if that's what\nyou want. I tell you, it is as much as you can do to get up and\ndown, and you want both your hands and your feet; but I could go\ndown and bring up a little water for you, in a skin hanging round\nmy neck, if you like.\"\n\n\"I am afraid that wouldn't be much good, Jonas,\" John said; \"but it\nmight be very useful to send messages out, that way.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the boy said; \"but you see I have always intended, when the\nRomans took the place, to make off that way. If other people go,\nit's pretty sure to be found out, before long; and then the Romans\nwill keep watch. But it don't much matter. I know another place\nwhere you and I could lie hidden, any time, if we had got enough to\neat and drink. I will show you but, mind, you must promise not to\ntell anyone else. There's no room for more than two; and I don't\nmean to tell you, unless you promise.\"\n\n\"I will promise, Jonas. I promise you, faithfully, not to tell\nanyone.\"\n\n\"Well, the way down ain't far from the other one. I will show it\nyou, one of these days. I went down there, once, to get a hawk I\nhad taken from the nest, and tamed. I went down, first, with a rope\ntied round me; but I found I could have done it without that--but I\ndidn't tell any of the others, as I wanted to keep the place to\nmyself.\n\n\"You climb down about fifty feet, and then you get on a sort of\nledge, about three feet wide and six or seven feet long. You can't\nsee it from above, because it's a hollow, as if a bit of rock had\nfallen out. Of course, if you stood up you might be seen by someone\nbelow, or on the hill opposite; but it's so high it is not likely\nanyone would notice you. Anyhow, if you lie down there, no one\nwould see you. I have been down there, often and often, since. When\nshe gets too bad to bear, I go down there and take a sleep; or lie\nthere and laugh, when I think how she is hunting about for me to\ncarry down the pails to the stream, for water.\"\n\n\"I will say nothing about it, Jonas, you may be quite sure. That\nplace may save both our lives. But the other path I will tell\nJosephus about. He may find it of great use.\"\n\nJosephus was indeed greatly pleased, when he heard that a way\nexisted by which he could send out messages. Two or three active\nmen were chosen for the work; but they would not venture to descend\nthe steep precipice, by which Jonas made his way down to the top of\nthe water course, but were lowered by ropes to that point. Before\nstarting they were sewn up in skins so that, if a Roman sentry\ncaught sight of them making their way down the water course, on\ntheir hands and feet, he would take them for dogs, or some other\nanimals. Once at the bottom, they lay still till night, and then\ncrawled through the line of sentries.\n\nIn this way Josephus was able to send out dispatches to his friends\noutside, and to Jerusalem; imploring them to send an army, at once,\nto harass the rear of the Romans, and to afford an opportunity for\nthe garrison of Jotapata to cut their way out. Messages came back\nby return and, for three weeks, communications were thus kept up;\nuntil one of the messengers slipped while descending the ravine\nand, as he rolled down, attracted the attention of the Romans who,\nafter that, placed a strong guard at the foot of the water course.\n\nUntil this discovery was made, Jonas had gone down regularly, every\nmorning, and drank his fill; and had brought up a small skin of\nwater to John, who had divided it among the children whom he saw\nmost in want of it--for the pressure of thirst was now heavy. The\nRomans, from rising ground at a distance, had noticed the women\ngoing daily with jugs to the cistern, whence the water was doled\nout; and the besiegers directed their missiles to that point, and\nmany were killed, daily, while fetching water.\n\nA dull despair now seized the Jews. So long as they were fighting,\nthey had had little time to think of their situation; but now that\nthe enemy no longer attacked, and there was nothing to do but to\nsit down and suffer, the hopelessness of their position stared them\nin the face. But there was no thought of surrender. They knew too\nwell the fate that awaited them, at the hands of the Romans.\n\nThey were therefore seized with rage, and indignation, when they\nheard that Josephus and some of the principal men were thinking of\nmaking an endeavor to escape. John, who had hitherto regarded his\nleader with a passionate devotion--although he thought that he had\nbeen wrong in taking to the fortified towns, instead of fighting\namong the mountains--shared in the general indignation at the\nproposed desertion.\n\n\"It is he who has brought us all here,\" he said to Jonas--who had\nattached himself to him with dog-like fidelity--\"and now he\nproposes to go away, and leave everyone here to be massacred! I\ncannot believe it.\"\n\nThe news was, however, well founded for, when the inhabitants\ncrowded down to the house--the women weeping and wailing, the men\nsullen and fierce--to beg Josephus to abandon his intention, the\ngovernor attempted to argue that it was for the public good that he\nshould leave them. He might, he said, hurry to Jerusalem, and bring\nan army to the rescue. The people, however, were in no way\nconvinced.\n\n\"If you go,\" they said, \"the Romans will speedily capture the city.\nWe are ready to die, all together--to share one common fate--but do\nnot leave us.\"\n\nAs Josephus saw that, if he did not accede to the prayers of the\nwomen, the men would interfere by force to prevent his carrying out\nhis intentions, he told them he would remain with them; and\ntranquillity was at once restored. The men, however, came again and\nagain to him, asking to be led out to attack the Romans.\n\n\"Let us die fighting,\" was the cry. \"Let us die among our foes, and\nnot with the agonies of thirst.\"\n\n\"We must make them come up to attack us, again,\" Josephus said. \"We\nshall fight to far greater advantage, so, than if we sallied out to\nattack them in their own intrenchments--when we should be shot down\nby their archers and slingers, before ever we should reach them.\"\n\n\"But how are we to make them attack us? We want nothing better.\"\n\n\"I will think it over,\" Josephus said, \"and tell you in the\nmorning.\"\n\nIn the morning, to the surprise of the men, they were ordered to\ndip large numbers of garments into the precious supply of water,\nand to hang them on the walls. Loud were the outcries of the women,\nas they saw the scanty store of water, upon which their lives\ndepended, so wasted; but the orders were obeyed, and the Romans\nwere astonished at seeing the long line of dripping garments on the\nwall.\n\nThe stratagem had its effect. Vespasian thought that the news he\nhad received, that the place was ill supplied with water, must be\nerroneous; and ordered the troops again to take their station on\nthe walls, and renew the attack. Great was the exultation among the\nJews, when they saw the movement among the troops; and Josephus,\nordering the fighting men together, said that now was their\nopportunity. There was no hope of safety, in passive resistance;\ntherefore they had best sally out and, if they must die, leave at\nleast a glorious example to posterity.\n\nThe proposal was joyfully received, and he placed himself at their\nhead. The gates were suddenly opened, and they poured out to the\nattack. So furious was their onslaught that the Romans were driven\nfrom the embankment. The Jews pursued them, crossed the lines of\ncircumvallation, and attacked the Romans in their camp; tearing up\nthe hides and penthouses behind which the Romans defended\nthemselves, and setting fire to the lines in many places.\n\nThe fight raged all day. The Jews then retired to the city, only to\nsally out again, the following morning. For three days the attacks\nwere continued; the Jews driving in the Romans, each day, and\nretiring when Vespasian brought up heavy columns--who were unable,\nfrom the weight of their armor, to follow their lightly-armed\nassailants. Vespasian then ordered the regular troops to remain in\ncamp, the assaults being repelled by the archers and slingers.\n\nFinding that the courage of the Jews was unabated, and that his\ntroops were losing heavily in this irregular fighting, he\ndetermined to renew the siege, at all hazards, and bring the matter\nto a close. The heavy-armed troops were ordered to be in readiness,\nand to advance against the walls with the battering ram. This was\npushed forward by a great number of men; being covered, as it\nadvanced, with a great shield constructed of wattles and hides. As\nit was brought forward, the archers and slingers covered its\nadvance by a shower of missiles against the defenders of the wall;\nwhile all the war machines poured in their terrible shower.\n\nThe Jews, unable to show themselves above the battlements, or to\noppose the advance of the terrible machine, crouched in shelter\nuntil the battering ram was placed in position.\n\nThen the ropes by which it swung from the framework overhead were\nseized, by a number of soldiers, and the first blow was delivered\nat the wall. It quivered beneath the terrible shock, and a cry of\ndismay arose from the defenders. Again and again the heavy ram\nstruck, in the same place. The wall tottered beneath the blows; and\nwould soon have fallen, had not Josephus ordered a number of sacks\nto be filled with straw, and let down by ropes from the walls, so\nas to deaden the blows of the ram.\n\nFor a time the Romans ceased work; and then, fastening scythes to\nthe ends of long poles, cut the ropes. The Jews were unable to show\nthemselves above the walls, or to interfere with the men at work.\nIn a few minutes the sacks were cut down, and the ram recommenced\nits work of destruction.\n\n\n\nChapter 6: The Fall Of The City.\n\n\nThe Roman soldiers--seeing the wall of Jotapata tremble beneath the\nblows of the battering ram, whose iron head pounded to powder the\nstones against which it struck--redoubled their efforts when,\nsuddenly, from three sally ports which they had prepared, the Jews\nburst out; carrying their weapons in their right hands, and blazing\ntorches in their left. As on previous occasions, their onslaught\nwas irresistible. They swept the Romans before them; and set fire\nto the engines, the wattles, and the palisades, and even to the\nwoodwork of the embankment. The timber had by this time dried and,\nas bitumen and pitch had been used as cement in the construction of\nthe works, the flames spread with great rapidity; and the work of\nmany days was destroyed, in an hour. All the engines and\nbreastworks of the Fifth and Tenth Legions were entirely consumed.\n\nJust as the attack began, Eleazar--the son of Sameas, a\nGalilean--with an immense stone from the wall, struck the iron head\nof the battering ram, and knocked it off. He then leaped down from\nthe wall, seized the iron head, and carried it back into the city.\nHe was pierced by five arrows. Still, he pressed on and regained\nthe walls; and held up the iron head in the sight of all, and then\nfell down dead.\n\nSuch was the spirit with which the Jews were animated; and the\nRoman soldiers, trained as they were to conflict among many\npeoples, were yet astounded by the valor displayed by the race that\nthey had considered as unwarlike peasants. But the Romans were not\ndiscouraged. Heavy masses of troops were brought up, the Jews were\ndriven within their walls and, towards evening, the ram was again\nin position.\n\nWhile Vespasian was directing the attack, he was struck by a\njavelin in the heel. The Romans ceased from the attack and crowded\nround their general but, as soon as they ascertained that his wound\nwas not serious, they returned to the attack with redoubled fury.\n\nAll that night, the contest raged unceasingly. The Roman engines\nswept the walls with missiles. The towers came crashing down, under\nthe blows of the huge stones; while the javelins, arrows, and the\nstones from the slings created terrible havoc among the defenders\nof the wall. But, as fast as these fell, fresh combatants took\ntheir places; and they continued hurling down stones, and blazing\nbrands, upon the freshly-erected wattles round the battering ram.\nThe Romans had the advantage in this strife for, while the fires on\nthe walls--at which the Jews lighted their brands, and boiled the\npitch and sulphur in which these were dipped--enabled them to aim\naccurately, they themselves worked in deep shadow, at the foot of\nthe wall.\n\nThe night was a terrible one. The bolts, stones, and arrows which\npassed over the wall spread ruin and death over the town. The din\nwas unceasing. The thundering noise of the great stones; the dull,\ndeep sound as the ram struck the wall; the fierce shouts of the\ncombatants, as they fought hand to hand--for the corpses were, in\nplaces, piled so thick that the assailants could mount upon them to\nthe top of the walls--the shrieks of the women, and the screams of\nthe children, combined in one terrible and confused noise; which\nwas echoed back, and multiplied, by the surrounding mountains.\n\nMorning was just breaking when the shaken wall gave way, and fell,\nwith a crash. Vespasian called off his weary troops, and allowed\nthem a short time for refreshment; then he prepared to storm the\nbreach. He brought up, first, a number of his bravest horsemen;\ndismounted, and clad in complete armor. They were provided with long\npikes, and were to charge forward, the instant the machines for\nmounting the breach were fixed. Behind these were the best of his\ninfantry, while in their rear were the archers and slingers. Other\nparties, with scaling ladders, were to attack the uninjured part of\nthe wall, and to draw off the attention of the besiegers. The rest\nof the horse extended all over the hills round the town, so that\nnone might make their escape.\n\nJosephus prepared to receive the attack. He placed the old, infirm,\nand wounded to repel the attack on the uninjured parts of the wall.\nHe then chose the five strongest and bravest men and, with them,\ntook his place to form the front line of the defenders of the\nbreach. He told them to kneel down and cover their heads with their\nbucklers, until the enemy's archers had emptied their quivers and,\nwhen the Romans had fixed the machines for mounting, they were to\nleap down among the enemy and fight to the last; remembering that\nthere was now no hope of safety, naught but to revenge the fate\nwhich was impending over them, their wives and children.\n\nAs the Romans mounted to the assault, a terrible cry broke out from\nthe women. They saw the Romans still manning the lines which cut\noff all escape, and they believed that the end was now at hand.\nJosephus, fearing that their cries would dispirit the men, ordered\nthem all to be locked up in their houses, and then calmly awaited\nthe assault.\n\nThe trumpet of the legion sounded, and the whole Roman host set up\na terrible shout while, at the same moment, the air was darkened by\nthe arrows of their bowmen. Kneeling beneath their bucklers, the\nJews remained calm and immovable; and then, before the Romans had\ntime to set foot upon the breach, with a yell of fury they rushed\nupon them, and threw themselves into the midst of their assailants.\nFor a time, the Romans could make no way against the desperate\ncourage of the Jews but, as fast as the leading files fell, fresh\ntroops took their places; while the Jews, who were vastly reduced\nby their losses, had no fresh men to take the place of those who\ndied.\n\nAt last, the solid phalanx of the Romans drove back the defenders,\nand entered the breach. But as they did so, from the walls above\nand from the breach in front, vessels filled with boiling oil were\nhurled down upon them. The Roman ranks were broken; and the men, in\nagony, rolled on the ground, unable to escape the burning fluid\nwhich penetrated through the joints of their armor. Those who turned\nto fly were pierced by the javelins of the Jews; for the Romans\ncarried no defensive armor on their backs, which were never\nsupposed to be turned towards an enemy.\n\nFresh troops poured up the breach, to take the place of their\nagonized comrades; but the Jews threw down, upon the planks,\nvessels filled with a sort of vegetable slime. Unable to retain\ntheir footing upon the slippery surface, the Romans fell upon each\nother, in heaps. Those rolling down carried others with them, and a\nterrible confusion ensued, the Jews never ceasing to pour their\nmissiles upon them.\n\nWhen evening came, Vespasian called off his men. He saw that, to\novercome the desperate resistance of the defenders, fresh steps\nmust be taken before the assault was repeated; and he accordingly\ngave orders that the embankment should be raised, much higher than\nbefore; and that upon it three towers, each fifty feet high and\nstrongly girded with iron, should be built.\n\nThis great work was carried out, in spite of the efforts of the\nbesieged. In the towers, Vespasian placed his javelin men, archers,\nand light machines and, as these now looked down upon the wall,\nthey were enabled to keep up such a fire upon it that the Jews\ncould no longer maintain their footing; but contented themselves\nwith lying behind it, and making desperate sallies whenever they\nsaw any parties of Romans approaching the breach.\n\nIn the meantime, a terrible calamity had befallen the neighboring\ntown of Japha. Emboldened by the vigorous defense of Jotapata, it\nhad closed its gates to the Romans. Vespasian sent Trajan, with two\nthousand foot and a thousand horse, against it.\n\nThe city was strongly situated, and surrounded by a double wall.\nInstead of waiting to be attacked, the people sallied out and fell\nupon the Romans. They were, however, beaten back; and the Romans,\npressing on their heels, entered with them through the gates of the\noutside walls. The defenders of the gates through the inner walls,\nfearing that these, too, would be carried by the mob, closed them;\nand all those who had sallied out were butchered by the Romans.\n\nTrajan, seeing that the garrison must now be weak, sent to\nVespasian, and asked him to send his son to complete the victory.\nTitus soon arrived, with a thousand foot and five hundred horse\nand, at once, assaulted the inner walls. The defense was feeble.\nThe Romans effected their entry but, inside the town, a desperate\nconflict took place; the inhabitants defending every street, with\nthe energy of despair, while the women aided their efforts by\nhurling down stones, and missiles, from the roofs. The battle\nlasted six hours, when all who could bear arms were slain. The rest\nof the male population were put to death, the women taken as\nslaves. In all, fifteen thousand were killed, two thousand one\nhundred and thirty taken prisoners.\n\nIn another direction, a heavy blow had also been struck by the\nRomans. The Samaritans had not openly joined the revolt, but had\ngathered in great force on Mount Gerizim. Cerealis was sent by\nVespasian, with three thousand infantry and six hundred horse,\nagainst them. He surrounded the foot of the mountain, and abstained\nfrom an assault until the Samaritans were weakened by thirst--many\ndying from want of water. Cerealis then mounted the hill, and sent\nto them to throw down their arms. On their refusal, he charged them\nfrom all sides, and put every soul--in number, eleven thousand six\nhundred--to the sword.\n\nThe situation of the defenders of Jotapata was now pitiable,\nindeed. Scarce a man but had received wounds, more or less severe,\nin the desperate combats. All were utterly worn out with fatigue;\nfor they were under arms, day and night, in readiness to repel the\nexpected attack. Numbers of the women and children had died of\nthirst, and terror. Save the armed men lying in groups near the\nfoot of the wall, in readiness to repel an assault, scarce a soul\nwas to be seen in the lately-crowded streets.\n\nThe houses were now ample to contain the vastly diminished number.\nHere the women and children crouched, in utter prostration. The\npower of suffering was almost gone. Few cared how soon the end\ncame.\n\nThe siege had now continued for forty-seven days; and the Roman\narmy, strong in numbers, in discipline, and in arms, and commanded\nby one of its best generals, had yet failed to capture the little\ntown--which they had expected to take within a few hours of their\nappearance before it--and so fierce was the valor of the besieged,\nthat Vespasian did not venture to order his legions forward to\nrenew the assault. But now, a deserter informed him that the\ngarrison was greatly exhausted, that the men on guard could not\nkeep awake; and that the breach could be carried, at night, by a\nsudden assault.\n\nVespasian prepared for the assault, which was to take place at\ndaybreak. A thick mist enveloped the town, and the sleeping\nsentries were not aroused by the silent steps of the approaching\nRomans. Titus was the first to enter the breach, followed by a\nsmall number of troops. These killed the sleeping guards, and the\nmain body of the Romans then poured in. Before the Jews were\nconscious of their danger, the whole of the Roman army was upon\nthem.\n\nThen the slaughter commenced. Many of the Jews killed each other,\nrather than fall into the hands of the Romans. Many threw\nthemselves over the precipices, numbers took refuge in the deep\ncaverns under the city. That day, all in the streets or houses were\nkilled; the next, the Romans searched the caverns and underground\npassages, slaughtering all the men and boys, and sparing none but\ninfants and women. During the siege and capture, forty thousand men\nfell. Only twelve hundred women and children were spared. So\ncomplete was the surprise, and so unresistingly did the Jews submit\nto slaughter, that only one Roman was killed.\n\nThis was Antoninus, a centurion. He came upon a Jew in a deep\ncavern, and told him he would spare his life, if he would\nsurrender. The Jew asked him to give him his hand, as a pledge of\nhis faith, and to help him out of the cave. Antoninus did so, and\nthe Jew at once ran him through with a spear.\n\nJohn was asleep when the Romans entered. He was aroused by Jonas\nrushing into the room. The boy was at all times restless, and\nsuffered less than most of those within the walls; for there was an\nabundance of grain up to the end of the siege and, until the Romans\nhad discovered the way down to the water, he had not suffered in\nany way from thirst. He was considered too young to take part in\nthe actual fighting; but had labored with the rest in repairing the\ndefenses, carrying food to men on the walls, and carrying away the\ndead and wounded.\n\n\"Get up, John!\" he exclaimed. \"In the mist I have just run upon a\nmass of Roman soldiers, ranged in order. The town is taken. Quick,\nbefore they scatter and begin to slay!\"\n\nJohn caught up his sword, and ran out. Just as he did so, a\nterrible shout was heard, followed by shrieks and cries. The work\nof butchery had begun.\n\nJohn's plans had been laid for some time. At night Jonas had\nfrequently descended to the ledge, taking with him food, and jars\nof the water he brought up from below; and once or twice John had\ndescended, Jonas fastening a rope round his body, and lowering it\ngradually for, active as he was, John could not get down without\nsuch assistance. Indeed, to any one who looked casually over the\ntop, the descent appeared absolutely impossible.\n\nAt the top of their speed, the lads ran to the spot at which the\ndescent had to be made. The rope was hidden close at hand. John\nslipped the noose at the end over his shoulders. Jonas twisted the\nrope once round a stunted tree, which grew close by, and allowed it\nto go out gradually. As soon as the strain upon it ceased, and he\nknew John was upon the ledge, he loosened the rope and dropped the\nend over; and then began, himself, to descend, his bare feet and\nhands clinging to every inequality, however slight, in the rock.\n\nHe presently stood by the side of John. The latter had coiled up\nthe rope, and laid it by him; and had then thrown himself down, and\nwas sobbing bitterly. Jonas sat down quietly beside him, till he\nhad recovered his composure.\n\n\"It is no use fretting,\" he said, philosophically. \"There's no one\nyou care about, particularly, up there; and I am sure there's no\none I care about--only I should like to have peeped in, and have\nseen her face, when the Romans burst open the door. I don't suppose\nshe was very sorry, though, for it will be better to be a Roman\nslave than to be going through what they have been, for the last\nmonth.\"\n\n\"It is horrible!\" John said, \"Horrible! However, Jonas, let us\nthank God for having thus preserved our lives, when all besides are\nin such terrible danger of death.\"\n\nFor a time, the two lads sat silent. John was the first to speak.\n\n\"I am thankful,\" he said, \"that, owing to our being down the face\nof the rock, the sound is carried away above our heads, and we can\nhear but little of what is going on there. It seems a confusion of\nsounds, and comes to us rather as an echo from the hills, yonder,\nthan directly from above.\"\n\nSometimes, indeed, thrilling screams and shouts were heard but, for\nthe most part, the sounds were so blended together that they could\nnot be distinguished one from another. As soon as the mist cleared\noff, the lads lay down, as far back from the ledge as they could\nget.\n\n\"We must not lift up a head, today,\" John said. \"The guards below,\nand on the hills, will have their eyes fixed on the rock, on the\nlookout for fugitives and, until nighttime, we must not venture to\nsit up. Fortunately, that outer edge of the shelf is a good deal\nhigher than it is, back here; and I don't think that even those on\nthe mountain, opposite, could see us as we lie.\"\n\n\"I should think a good many may escape, like us,\" Jonas said,\npresently. \"There are numbers of caverns and passages, from which\nthey have dug the stone for the building of the houses. A lot of\nthe people are sure to hide away, there.\"\n\n\"I daresay they will,\" John agreed; \"but I fear the Romans will\nhunt them all out.\"\n\n\"How long do you think we shall have to stay here, John?\"\n\n\"Till the Romans go, whether it is one week or two; but I do not\nthink they will stay here many days. The town is so full of dead\nthat, in this hot weather, it will be unbearable before long. At\nany rate, we shall be able to pass a good deal of time in sleep. We\nhave not had much of it, lately. Till last night, I have not been\nin the house, at night, for over a fortnight. But I felt, last\nnight, as if I must have a sleep, whatever came of it. I suppose\nthe guards at the breach must have felt the same, or the Romans\ncould never have got in without the alarm being given.\"\n\nFor a few minutes, John lay thinking of the terrible scenes that\nmust be passing, on the rock above; then his drowsiness overcame\nhim, and he was soon fast asleep.\n\nIt was dark when he woke. As he moved, Jonas spoke.\n\n\"Are you awake, John? Because if you are, let us have something to\neat. I have been awake the last four hours, and I have been wishing\nyou would stir.\"\n\n\"There was no occasion to wait for my waking, Jonas. There are the\ngrain and the water, close at hand; and no cooking is required.\"\n\n\"I wasn't going to eat till you woke, if it had been all night,\"\nJonas said. \"Still, I am glad you are awake; they are quiet now, up\nabove, and I have heard the Roman trumpets sounding. I expect that\nmost of them have marched back to their camp.\"\n\nThe next day passed like the first. Occasionally cries of agony\nwere heard. Sometimes bodies were hurled from the top of the rock,\nbut a short distance from where they were lying.\n\nThe next two days passed more quietly, but upon that following a\nmurmur, as of a multitude of men working, was heard. From time to\ntime there were heavy crashes, as masses of stones, hurled down the\nprecipice, struck against its face as they fell; and then bounded,\nfar out beyond the stream, at its foot. All these sounds were\nechoed back by the surrounding hills, until it seemed as if a storm\nwas raging, far away in the heart of the mountains.\n\n\"They are destroying the town,\" John said, in answer to his\ncompanion's question as to the cause of the uproar. \"That is the\nbest thing possible for us. Had it remained standing, they might\nhave left a garrison here, to prevent our people reoccupying it. If\nthey destroy it, it is a sign that they intend to march away,\naltogether.\"\n\nSeveral times Jonas wished to climb up, at night, to ascertain what\nwas going on; but John would not hear of it.\n\n\"There is nothing to find out, Jonas. We know what they did at\nGadara, where they slew all the males and carried off all the\nwomen, although no resistance was offered. We may be sure that\nthere will be no more mercy shown at Jotapata, which has affronted\nthe Roman power by keeping their great army at bay, for nearly\nseven weeks, and whose capture has cost them thousands of men. We\nknow what has happened--they have slain every soul, save a few\nyoung women, who were worth money as slaves. Now they are leveling\nthe town to its foundations. The place that defied them will cease\nto exist.\n\n\"And yet, they talk of Roman magnanimity! Would we had five\nthousand fighting men, hidden here with us. We would climb then,\nJonas, and fall upon them in the night, and take a mighty vengeance\nfor the woes they have inflicted. But, being alone, we will remain\nhere till we have reason to believe that the last Roman has left.\nDid one of them catch sight of you, our fate would be sealed. They\nhave no boys among them, and the slightest glimpse of your figure\nwould be enough to tell them that you were a Jew who had been in\nhiding and, in their fear that one man should escape their\nvengeance, they would hunt you down, as a pack of wolves might hunt\ndown a solitary lamb.\"\n\n\"They could never get down here, John.\"\n\n\"Not by the way you came; but they would lower a cage full of armed\nmen, from above, and slay us without pity.\"\n\n\"But if I were found out, John, I would not lead them here. I would\nthrow myself over the precipice, rather than that risk should come\nto you!\"\n\n\"But I don't want you to throw yourself over the precipice, Jonas.\nI want to keep you with me: in the first place because we are great\nfriends now; in the second because, if you were killed, I might as\nwell throw myself over, at once--for I do not think I could ever\nclimb up this rock, without your assistance.\"\n\n\"It is much easier going up than coming down, John.\"\n\n\"That may be and, indeed, I have no doubt it is so; but I would\nrather not put the matter to the test. No; we have provision and\nwater here, enough to last us for ten days and, until they are\nconsumed, it were best not to stir from here.\"\n\nFour days later, however, they heard the sound of the Roman\ntrumpets and, on raising their heads carefully a few inches, saw\nthat the guards on the opposite hills had all been withdrawn.\nHaving now less fear of being seen, they raised their heads still\nfurther, and looked up the valley to the great camp on the hillside\nwhere, at night, they had seen the fires of the Romans, blazing\nhigh.\n\n\"They are going!\" Jonas exclaimed, joyously. \"Look at the sun\nsparkling on the long lines of arms and armor. Not a sound is to be\nheard, above--the work is done. They are about to march away.\"\n\n\"Do not let us expose ourselves further,\" John said. \"It may be\nthat they have left a few watchers, to see if any who have eluded\ntheir search may show themselves, believing that they have gone. I\nhave no doubt they are going and, by tomorrow, it will be safe for\nus to move.\"\n\nAll day they heard the sound of trumpets, for the great host took a\nlong time getting into motion but, gradually, the sound grew\nfainter and fainter, as the rear guard of the army took the road\nwhich they had cut through the mountains, eight weeks before.\n\nThat night, when darkness fell, and the two lads sat up on their\nledge and looked round, not a light was to be seen; and not a sound\nbroke the silence of the night.\n\n\"At daybreak tomorrow, Jonas, as soon as it becomes light enough\nfor you to see your way, you shall go up and look round. They may\nhave left a guard behind, but I should hardly think so. After the\nwholesale slaughter at Gadara, and here, the hatred of the Romans\nwill be so intense that, confident as they are in their arms and\ndiscipline, they would hardly venture to leave a small body of men,\nin the heart of these mountains.\"\n\nAs soon as it was daylight, Jonas prepared to climb up to the\nplateau above. He took with him the rope; arranging that, if he\nfound that the place was absolutely deserted, he would lower one\nend to John and fasten the other to the tree above; and that he\nwould then aid John, as much as his strength would permit, in\nmaking his way up the rock.\n\nJohn watched his companion making his way up, and observed exactly\nwhere he placed his feet and hands, until he was out of sight. Then\nhe waited. In about a quarter of an hour, the end of the rope fell\nin front of him. He fastened it securely under his arms and then,\ntaking off his sandals, began the ascent. It was not so difficult\nas it had looked; and the steady strain which Jonas kept on the\nrope, from above, aided him and gave him confidence. In three or\nfour minutes, he gained the top of the rock.\n\n\"There is not a soul to be seen,\" Jonas said. \"The town has gone,\nand the people, and the Romans. All is desolation!\"\n\nThe scene was indeed changed, since John had last looked upon it.\nNot a wall, in the so-lately busy little town, had been left\nstanding. The whole area was covered, three or four feet deep with\na chaos of stones, mortar, and beams; forming a great grave, below\nwhich lay the bodies of forty thousand of the defenders of the\nplace. The walls so bravely defended had disappeared; and the\nembankment, whose erection had cost the Romans so much labor and\nbloodshed, had been destroyed by fire. A dead silence hung over the\nplace, and the air was tainted with a terrible odor of corruption.\n\nThe desolation and solitude of the scene overpowered John, and he\nsat down on a fragment of masonry and wept, unrestrainedly, for\nsome time. He roused himself, at last, as Jonas touched him.\n\n\"I shall go down again, and get what grain there is left,\" the boy\nsaid. \"There is no chance of finding anything to eat within a day's\nmarch of here. The Roman horse will have destroyed every village\nwithin a wide circuit.\"\n\n\"But I cannot let you go down again, Jonas. The danger is too\ngreat.\"\n\n\"But I have been up and down, lots of times,\" Jonas said.\n\n\"That may be, Jonas, but you might be dashed to pieces, this time.\"\n\n\"Well, if you like I will fasten the rope round me; then, if I\nshould slip, I shall be safe.\"\n\nJohn consented with some reluctance, but he was so nervous and\nshaken that he walked some distance away, and did not turn round\nuntil he heard Jonas' footsteps again approaching him.\n\n\"Now we can start,\" the boy said. \"We have got grain here, enough\nfor three days; and tonight we will crush it, and cook it. I have\nhad enough of eating raw grain, for a long time to come.\"\n\nThe boy's cheerfulness restored the tone of John's nerves\nand--making their way with some difficulty over the chaos of stone\nand timber, until they arrived at the pile of charred timber, which\nmarked the spot where the Roman embankment had stood--they stepped\nout briskly, descended the hill, crossed the deserted lines of\ncircumvallation; and then began to ascend the mountains, which had,\nfor some distance, been stripped of their timber for the purposes\nof the siege. In another hour's walking they reached the forest,\nand pressed on until the afternoon. Not that there was any need for\nspeed, now, but John felt a longing to place as wide a gap as\npossible between himself and the great charnel ground which, alone,\nmarked the spot where Jotapata had stood.\n\nAt length, Jonas urged the necessity for a halt, for rest and food.\nThey chose a spot at the foot of a great tree, and then set to work\nto collect a store of firewood. John took out the box of tinder\nwhich, in those days, everyone carried about with him, and a fire\nwas soon lighted. Jonas then looked for two large flat stones, and\nset to work to grind some grain.\n\nThe halting place had been chosen from the vicinity of a little\nspring, which rose a few yards distant. With this the pounded grain\nwas moistened and, after kneading it up, Jonas rolled it in balls\nand placed them in the hot ashes of the fire. In half an hour they\nwere cooked, and the meal was eaten with something like\ncheerfulness.\n\nAnother day's walking brought them to a little village, nestled in\nthe forest. Here they were kindly received, though the people\nscarce believed them when they said that they were survivors of the\ngarrison of Jotapata. The news of the capture of the town, and the\ndestruction of its defenders, had already spread through the\ncountry; and John now learned, for the first time, the fate which\nhad befallen Japha and the Samaritans on Mount Gerizim--events\nwhich filled him with consternation.\n\nThe folly of the tactics which had been pursued--of cooping all the\nfighting men up in the walled cities, to be destroyed one after the\nother by the Romans--was more than ever apparent. He had never,\nfrom the first, been very hopeful of the result of the struggle;\nbut it seemed, now, as if it could end in nothing but the total\ndestruction of the Jewish race of Palestine.\n\nJohn stayed for two days in the little mountain village and then,\nwith a store of provisions sufficient to last him for some days,\npursued his way; following the lines of the Anti-Libanus, until\nthat range of hills joined the range of Mount Hermon, north of the\nsources of the Jordan.\n\nHe had stopped for a day at Dan, high up among the hills. Here the\npeople had no fear of Roman vengeance; for the insurrection had not\nextended so far north, and the Roman garrison of Caesarea Philippi\noverawed the plains near the upper waters of the Jordan.\nDetermined, however, to run no unnecessary risks, John and his\ncompanion pursued their way on the lower <DW72>s of the hills until,\nafter six days' walking, they arrived at Neve.\n\nHere they learned where the farm of John's kinsman was situated,\nand made their way thither. As they came up to the house a woman\ncame out, gazed intently at John and, with a scream of terror, ran\nback into the house. It was one of Martha's maids. John stood\nirresolute, fearing that his sudden appearance might startle the\nother inmates when, suddenly, Mary appeared at the door, looking\npale but resolute. She, too, gazed fixedly at John; and her lips\nmoved, but no sound came from them.\n\n\"Don't you know me, Mary?\" John said.\n\nThe girl gave a scream of joy, and threw herself into his arms. A\nmoment later Martha, followed by Miriam and the other servants,\ncame out.\n\n\"It is no spirit, mother, it is John, himself,\" Mary exclaimed and,\nthe next moment, John was clasped in his mother's arms.\n\nIt was not surprising that the first who saw John had thought that\nhe was a spirit. The news had already been received that the whole\nof the garrison of Jotapata had been put to the sword; and John's\nappearance was changed so greatly, within the last three months,\nthat he would scarce have been known. Fatigue, anxiety, and the\nloss of blood--from several wounds which he had received, in the\ncourse of the siege--had so pulled him down that he was but a\nshadow of his former self. His clothes were in rags. He had washed\nthem at the village where he had first stopped for, before that,\nthey had been stiffened with blood; and even now, stained and\nragged as they were, they gave him the appearance of a mendicant.\n\nJonas had held back a little, while the first joyful greeting was\ngoing on, but John soon turned to him.\n\n\"Mother,\" he said, \"this must be as another son to you for, next to\nthe protection of God, it is to him I owe my life.\"\n\nMartha welcomed the young stranger affectionately.\n\n\"Before you tell us aught that has befallen you, John, go and\nchange your garments, and wash, while we prepare a meal for you.\nThe clothes of your uncle's son Silas, who is about your age, will\nfit you; and those of his younger brother will do for your friend.\"\n\n\"Was the last news of my father good?\" John asked.\n\n\"Yes, the Lord be praised, he was well when we heard of him, a week\nsince!\"\n\nThe travelers were at once conducted to a room, and supplied with\nwater and clean garments. By the time they had changed, and\nreturned to the general room, John's uncle and cousin had been\nfetched in from the farm, and he received another hearty welcome.\n\nIt almost seemed to him, as he sat down to a comfortable meal, with\nMary and his mother waiting upon him, that the events of the past\ntwo months had been a hideous dream; and that he had never left his\ncomfortable home on the shore of the Lake of Galilee. As to Jonas,\nunaccustomed to kind treatment, or to luxury of any kind, he was\ntoo confused to utter a word. When the meal was over, John was\nasked to tell his news; and he related all the stirring incidents\nof the siege, and the manner in which he and his companion had\neffected his escape.\n\n\"We are, no doubt,\" he concluded, \"the sole male survivors of the\nsiege.\"\n\n\"Not so, my son,\" Martha said. \"There is a report that Josephus has\nsurvived the siege; and that he is a prisoner, in the hands of the\nRomans.\"\n\n\"It may be that they have spared him, to grace Vespasian's triumph,\nat Rome,\" John said. \"It is their custom, I believe, to carry the\ngenerals they may take in war to Rome, to be slain there.\"\n\nIt was not until some time afterwards that John learned the\nparticulars of the capture of Josephus. When he saw that all was\nlost, Josephus had leaped down the shaft of a dry well, from the\nbottom of which a long cavern led off, entirely concealed from the\nsight of those above. Here he found forty of the leading citizens,\nwho had laid in a store of food sufficient to last for many days.\nJosephus, at least, who gives his account of all these circumstances,\nsays that he quite unexpectedly found these forty citizens in hiding\nthere; but this is improbable in the extreme, and there can be little\ndoubt that he had, long before, prepared this refuge with them, when\nhe found that the people would not allow them to attempt to make\ntheir escape from the city.\n\nAt night Josephus came up from the well and tried to make his\nescape but, finding the Romans everywhere vigilant, he returned to\nthe place of concealment. On the third day a woman, who was aware\nof the hiding place, informed the Romans of it--probably in return\nfor a promise of freedom, for the Romans were searching high and\nlow for Josephus; who could not, they were convinced, have escaped\nthrough their lines. Vespasian immediately sent two tribunes,\nPaulinus and Gallicanus, to induce him to surrender by promise of\nhis life.\n\nJosephus refused to come out, and Vespasian sent another tribune,\nNicanor, a personal friend of Josephus, to assure him of his\nsafety, if he would surrender. In the account Josephus gives of the\ntransaction, he says that at this moment he suddenly remembered a\ndream--in which it was revealed to him that all these calamities\nshould fall upon the Jews, that he himself should be saved, and\nthat Vespasian should become emperor--and that, therefore, if he\npassed over to the Romans he would do so not as a renegade, but in\nobedience to the voice of God.\n\nIt was certainly a happy coincidence that the dream should have\noccurred to him, at this moment. He at once announced his readiness\nto surrender; but his forty companions did not see the matter in\nthe same light. The moment Josephus left them, the Roman soldiers\nwould throw combustibles down the well, and suffocate them, if they\ndid not come out and submit to slaughter.\n\nThey urged upon Josephus that he was their leader; that they had\nall followed his orders, and cast in their lot with his; and that\nit would be treacherous and base, in the extreme, for him now to\nsave his life by going over to the Romans, when all the inferior\npeople had slain themselves, or had submitted to slaughter, rather\nthan beg their lives of the Romans. Josephus argued with them, at\nlength, but they were not convinced and, drawing their swords,\nthreatened to kill him, if he tried to leave them. They would all\ndie together, they said.\n\nJosephus then proposed that, in order to avoid the sin of suicide,\nthey should draw lots which should kill each other. To this they\nassented; and they continued to draw lots as to which should slay\nthe other, until only Josephus and one other remained alive.\n\nThis is the story that Josephus tells. He was, of course,\nendeavoring to put his own case in the best light, and to endeavor\nto prove that he was not--as the Jews universally regarded him--a\ntraitor to his country. It need hardly be said that the story is\nimprobable, in the extreme; and that, had any one of the forty men\nsurvived and written the history, he would probably have told a\nvery different tale.\n\nThe conduct of Josephus, from the first outbreak of the trouble,\nshowed that he was entirely adverse to the rising against the\nRomans. He himself, having been to Rome, had seen her power and\nmight; and had been received with great favor by Poppaea, the wife\nof Nero, and had made many friends there. He had, therefore, at the\noutset, opposed as far as he was able, without going so far as to\nthrow suspicion on his patriotism, the rebellion against the\nRomans. During the events in Galilee, he had shown himself anxious\nto keep in favor with the Romans. He had rebuked those who had\nattacked the soldiers traveling as an escort, with a large amount\nof treasure belonging to King Agrippa; and would have sent back the\nspoils taken, had not the people risen against it. He affected\ngreat indignation at the plunder of Agrippa's palace at Tiberias\nand, gathering all he could of the spoils, had handed them over to\nthe care of the chief of Agrippa's friends there. He had protected\nthe two officers of Agrippa, whom the Jews would have killed--had\nreleased and sent them back to the king; and when John of Gischala\nwished to carry off large quantities of grain, stored by the Romans\nin Upper Galilee, Josephus refused to allow him to do so, saying\nthat it should be kept for its owners.\n\nIt is almost certain that Josephus must, in some way, have entered\ninto communication with the Romans; for how otherwise could he,\nwith the principal inhabitants, have proposed to make their escape,\nwhen every avenue was closed? Josephus was a man of great talent\nand energy, full of resources, and of great personal bravery--at\nleast, if his own account of his conduct during the siege is to be\nbelieved. But no one can read his labored excuses for his own\nconduct without feeling sure that he had, all along, been in\ncorrespondence with the Romans; and that he had, beforehand, been\nassured that his life should be spared.\n\nHe had, from the first, despaired of successful resistance to the\nRomans; and his conduct in throwing himself, at the last moment,\ninto a town about to be besieged and, as he must have known,\ncaptured--for the want of water, alone, rendered its fall a mere\nquestion of time--when his presence and leadership was so urgently\nrequired among the people to whose command he had been appointed,\nseems to prove that he wished to fall into their hands.\n\nIt would not be just to brand Josephus as a traitor. He had done\nhis best to induce the Galileans to form themselves into an army,\nand to defend the province; and it was only when that army\ndispersed, at the approach of the Romans, that he went to Jotapata.\nIt was his leadership that enabled that city to continue its heroic\ndefense. It cannot, therefore, be said that Josephus in any way\nbetrayed the trust confided to him by the council at Jerusalem. But\nthe conclusion can hardly be avoided that, from the first,\nforeseeing that utter ruin and destruction would fall upon the\nJews, he had set himself to work to prepare a way of pardon and\nescape, for himself; and that he thought a position of honor, among\nthe Romans, vastly preferable to an unknown grave among the\nmountains of Galilee.\n\nUpon being taken out of the well, Josephus was taken to Vespasian\nand, in the presence only of the general, his son Titus, and two\nother officers, announced that he was endowed with prophetic\npowers, and that he was commissioned by God to tell Vespasian that\nhe would become emperor, and that he would be succeeded by his son\nTitus. The prophecy was one that required no more penetration than\nfor any person, in the present day, to predict that the most rising\nman in a great political party would one day become prime minister.\nThe emperor was hated, and it was morally certain that his fall\nwould not long be delayed; and in that case the most popular\ngeneral in the Roman army would, almost certainly, be chosen to\nsucceed him.\n\nVespasian, himself, was not greatly affected by the prophecy. But\nJosephus declared that he had, all along, predicted the success of\nthe Romans, the fall of the town after forty-six days' siege, and\nhis own safety; and as some of the female captives were brought up\nand, on Josephus appealing to them whether this was not so,\nnaturally replied in the affirmative, Josephus says that Vespasian\nwas then satisfied of his prisoner's divine mission, and henceforth\ntreated him with great honor.\n\nIt is much more easy to believe that an agreement already existed\nbetween Vespasian and Josephus; and that the latter only got up\nthis story to enable him to maintain that he was not a traitor to\nhis country, but acting in accordance with the orders of God.\nCertain it is that no similar act of clemency was shown, by\nVespasian, to any other Jew; that no other thought of pity or mercy\nentered his mind, during the campaign, that he spared no man who\nfell alive into his hands, and that no more ruthless and wholesale\nextermination than that which he inflicted upon the people of\nPalestine was ever carried out, by the most barbarous of\nconquerors.\n\nTo this day, the memory of Josephus is hated among the Jews.\n\n\n\nChapter 7: The Massacre On The Lake.\n\n\nJohn remained for three weeks at his uncle's. A messenger, with the\nnews of his safe arrival there, had been sent off to his father;\nwho came up to see him, three days later. The formal act of\nbetrothal between John and his cousin took place. Simon and Martha\nwould have been willing that the full ceremony of marriage should\ntake place, and the latter even urged this upon her son.\n\n\"You are now more than seventeen, John, and have taken your place\namong men; and may well take to yourself a wife. Mary is nigh\nfifteen, and many maidens marry earlier. You love each other. Why,\nthen, should you not be married? It would cheer the old age of your\nfather, and myself, to see our grandchildren growing up around us.\"\n\n\"Had the times been different, mother, I would gladly have had it\nso; but with the land torn by war, with our brethren being\nslaughtered everywhere, with Jerusalem and the Temple in danger, it\nis no time for marrying and giving in marriage. Besides, the law\nsays that, for a year after marriage, a man shall not go to the war\nor journey upon business; but shall remain at home, quiet, with his\nwife. I could not do that, now. Did the news come, tomorrow, that\nthe Romans were marching upon Jerusalem, assuredly I should do my\nduty, and take up arms and go to the defense of the Holy City; and\nmaybe Mary would be left a widow, before the days of rejoicing for\nthe marriage were over.\n\n\"No, mother; the life of no man who can wield a weapon is his own,\nat present. The defense of the Temple is the first, and greatest,\nof duties. If I fall there, you will adopt Mary as your child; and\nmarry her to someone who will take my place, and be a son to you.\nMary will grieve for me, doubtless, for a time; but it will be the\ngrief of a sister for a brother, not that of a wife for her husband\nand, in time, she will marry the man to whom you shall give her,\nand will be happy. Even for myself, I would rather that it were so\nleft. I shall feel more free from cares and responsibilities; and\nthough, if you and my father lay your orders upon me, I shall of\ncourse obey them, I pray you that, in this matter, you will suffer\nme to have my way.\"\n\nMartha talked the matter over with her husband; and they agreed\nthat John's wishes should be carried out, and that the marriage\nshould be postponed until the troubles were over. Neither of them\nbelieved that John would fall in the struggle. They regarded his\nescape from Jotapata as well-nigh miraculous, and felt assured that\nGod, having specially protected him through such great danger,\nwould continue to do so to the end.\n\nContrary to expectation, Vespasian had not followed up his success\nat Jotapata by a march against Jerusalem. His army had suffered\nvery heavy losses in the siege; and the desperate valor which the\ndefenders of the town had shown had, doubtless, impressed upon his\nmind the formidable nature of the task he had undertaken.\n\nIf a little mountain town had cost him so dearly, what would not be\nthe loss which would be entailed by the capture of a city like\nJerusalem, with its position of vast natural strength, its solid\nand massive fortifications; and defended, as it would be, by the\nwhole strength of the Jewish nation, fighting with the fury of\nreligious fanaticism and despair! His army, strong as it was, would\ndoubtless capture the city, but at such a cost that it might be\ncrippled for further action; and Vespasian was keeping one eye upon\nRome, and wished to have his army complete, and in perfect order,\nin readiness for anything that might occur there.\n\nTherefore, after the fall of Jotapata he marched first to Caesarea\nand, after a short halt there, passed north to Caesarea\nPhilippi--where the climate, cooled by the breezes from the\nmountains, was pleasant and healthful--and here he gave the army\ntwenty days to rest, and recover from their wounds and fatigues. He\nthen marched south again to Scythopolis, or Bethsan, lying just\nwithin the borders of Samaria, and not far from the Jordan. Here\nTitus, with a detached force, joined him; and they prepared to\nreduce the cities near the lake.\n\nSimon had by this time returned home, accompanied by John and\nJonas. Simon tried to persuade his son to remain with his mother,\nbut John had entreated that he might accompany him.\n\n\"The war may last for a long time, father; and the land must be\ntilled, else why should you yourself return home? We are in the\nprovince of King Agrippa and, after what has befallen Jotapata and\nJapha, it is not likely that the people of Hippos, or of other\ntowns, will venture to show disaffection--therefore there is no\nreason why the Romans should carry fire and sword through Agrippa's\ncountry, east of Jordan. It is well that my mother and Mary should\nnot return for, if evil days should come, they could not save\nthemselves by rapid flight; besides we risk but death, and death\nwere a thousand times better than slavery among the Romans. If we\nfind that they are approaching, and are wasting the land, we can\nfly. The boats are close by; and we can take to the lake, and land\nwhere we will, and make our way back here.\"\n\n\"And you will not seek, John, when the Romans approach, to enter\nTiberias or Gamala, or any other cities that may hold out against\nthe Romans?\"\n\n\"No, father. I have had my share of defending a walled city and,\nsave for Jerusalem, I will fight no more in cities. All these\nplaces must fall, sooner or later, if the Romans sit down before\nthem. I will not be cooped up again. If any leader arises, and\ndraws together a band in the mountains to harass and attack the\nRomans, I will join him--for it has always seemed to me that in\nthat way, only, can we successfully fight against them--but if not,\nI will aid you in the labors of the farm, until the Romans march\nagainst Jerusalem.\"\n\nSimon yielded to his son's wishes, for the events of the last year\nhad aged him much, and he felt the need of assistance on the farm.\nThe men who had worked for him had--save Isaac, and one or two of\nthe older men--gone away to Jerusalem, or to Gamala, or one or\nother of the fortified towns. The time for the harvest was at hand,\nand there would be few to gather it in.\n\nMartha would fain have accompanied them, but Simon would not hear\nof this.\n\n\"You are in a safe refuge here, wife, and rather than that you\nshould leave it, I would abandon our farm, altogether. If you come,\nMary and the women must come also and, even for us men, the danger\nwould be greater than were we alone.\"\n\nMary also tried her power of persuasion, but Simon was not to be\nmoved; and the three set off together--for Jonas, as a matter of\ncourse, accompanied John wherever he went.\n\nThe three weeks' kindness, rest, and good feeding had done wonders\nfor him. The wild, reckless expression, which John had noticed when\nhe had first met him, had well-nigh disappeared; his bones had\nbecome better covered, and his cheeks filled out and, comfortably\nclothed as he now was, few would have recognized in him the wild\ngoatherd of Jotapata.\n\nSimon was mounted on a donkey, the others walked.\n\n\"It is well that I am off again,\" Jonas said. \"Another month there,\nand I should have got fat and lazy, and should have almost\nforgotten how to run and climb, and should have grown like the\ndwellers on the plains.\"\n\n\"There will be plenty of work for you, on the farm, Jonas,\" Simon\nsaid. \"You need not be afraid of growing fat and lazy, there.\"\n\n\"I don't think I am fond of work,\" Jonas said, thoughtfully, \"not\nof steady work, but I will work hard now, Simon; you have all been\nso good to me that I would work till I dropped for you. I wouldn't\nhave worked before, not if they had beaten me ever so much; because\nthey were always unkind to me, and why should one work, for those\nwho do nothing for you but beat and ill-use you?\"\n\n\"You should always do your duty, Jonas,\" Simon said. \"If others do\nnot do their duty to you, so much the worse for them; but that is\nno excuse for your not doing your duty, as far as you can.\"\n\nJonas, being a little behind Simon, made a little face expressive\nof his disagreement with this opinion; but he said nothing.\n\nThey followed the course of the river Hieromax down to Capitolias;\nwhere they slept, that night, in the house of some friends of Simon\nand, on the following evening, arrived at the farm. John received a\nhearty greeting, from Isaac and the other men; and several of the\nfishermen, when they heard of his return, came in to see him.\n\nFor the next fortnight, John and Jonas worked from daylight till\ndark and, by the end of that time, the greater part of the corn was\ngathered in the granary. A portion was stored away in a deep pit,\nstraw being laid over it when the hole was nearly full, and earth\nbeing thrown in level to the surface; so that, should the Romans\ncome and sack the granary, there should still remain a store which\nwould carry them on until the next harvest.\n\nThen the news came, from across the lake, that the Romans were\nbreaking up their camp at Scythopolis, and were moving towards\nTiberias. No resistance was expected to be offered there. The\ngreater part of the inhabitants had, all along, been well affected\nto the Romans; and had only been compelled, by a small faction in\nthe city and by the fear of the country people of Galilee, to join\nin the insurrection. It was, too, the richest city in the dominions\nof King Agrippa for, although these lay for the most part east of\nJordan, the towns of Tiberias and Tarichea were included in them.\n\nTiberias was, in fact, his chief city. Here he had his richest\npalace; and the city, which greatly benefited by being the seat of\nhis government, was Roman rather than Jewish in its hopes and\nfeelings. So confident was Vespasian that no resistance would be\noffered that, when he arrived within half a mile of the town, he\nsent forward an officer, with fifty horse, to exhort the people to\nopen their gates.\n\nWhen he got near the town, the officer dismounted and went forward\nto speak; when a party of the war faction, headed by Jesus the son\nof Shaphat, charged out upon him. The officer, having had no orders\nto fight the Jews, fled on foot; with five of his men, who had also\ndismounted. Their assailants seized the horses, and carried them in\ntriumph into the city.\n\nThe senate of Tiberias at once issued out from the city, and\nhurried to the camp of Vespasian; and implored him not to visit the\ncrime of a small body of desperate men upon the whole city, whose\ninhabitants had always been favorably disposed towards Rome.\nAgrippa added his entreaties to theirs; and Vespasian, who had just\ngiven orders for the troops to advance to storm and sack the city,\nrecalled them. The insurgents under Jesus fled to Tarichea and, the\ngates being opened, the Romans entered Tiberias; Vespasian issuing\nstrict orders against plundering, and the ill treatment of the\ninhabitants.\n\nAt Tarichea were assembled not only the insurgents from Tiberias,\nbut fighting men from all the towns on the lake, and from the\ncountry on the east. The city had been carefully fortified by\nJosephus and, as the inhabitants had a very large number of vessels\nin the port, they relied upon these for escape, in case the town\nshould be reduced to extremities. No sooner did the Romans appear\nbefore their walls, and begin to lay out their siege works, than\nthe Tiberians and others, under the command of Jesus, sallied out\nand dispersed the workmen.\n\nWhen the Roman troops advanced, in regular order, some of the Jews\nretired into the city. Others made for their boats, which were\nranged along on the shore; and in these, putting out a little\ndistance, they cast anchor, and opened fire with their missiles\nupon the Romans.\n\nIn the meantime, a large number of Jews had just arrived from the\nfarther side of Jordan. Vespasian sent Titus, with six hundred\nchosen horse, to disperse them. The number of the Jews was so large\nthat Titus sent for further succor, and was reinforced by Trajan,\nwith four hundred horse; while Antonius Silo, with two thousand\narchers, was sent by Vespasian to the side of a hill opposite the\ncity, to open fire thence upon the defenders of the walls, and thus\nprevent them from harassing the Roman horsemen as they advanced.\n\nThe Jews resisted the first charge of the cavalry; but they could not\nlong withstand the long spears, and the weight and impetus of the\nhorses, and fled in disorder towards the town. The cavalry pursued\nand tried to cut them off from it but, although great numbers were\nslaughtered, the rest--by pure weight of numbers--broke through,\nand reached the city.\n\nA great dissension arose within the walls. The inhabitants of the\ntown--dismayed by the defeat inflicted, by a small number of\nRomans, upon the multitude in the field--were unwilling to draw\nupon themselves the terrible fate which had befallen the towns\nwhich had resisted the Romans, and therefore clamored for instant\nsurrender. The strangers--great numbers of whom were mountaineers\nfrom Peraea, Ammonitis, and the broken country of Mount Galaad and\nthe <DW72>s of Hermon, who knew little of what had been passing in\nGalilee--were for resistance, and a fray arose in the town.\n\nThe noise of the tumult reached Titus; who called upon his men to\nseize the moment, while the enemy were engaged in civil discord, to\nattack. Then, leading his men, he dashed on horseback into the\nlake, passed round the end of the wall, and entered the city.\n\nConsternation seized the besieged. The inhabitants attempted no\nresistance, still hoping that their peaceful character would save\nthem from ill treatment; and many allowed themselves to be\nslaughtered, unresistingly. Jesus and his followers, however,\nfought gallantly; striving, but in vain, to make their way down to\nthe ships in the port. Jesus himself, and many of his men, were\nkilled.\n\nTitus opened the gates, and sent word to his father that the city\nwas captured; and the Roman army at once entered. Vespasian placed\na number of his troops in the large vessels in the port, and sent\nthem off to attack those who had first fled to the boats. These\nwere, for the most part, fishermen from the various towns on the\nlake. The cavalry were sent all round the lake, to cut off and slay\nthose who sought to gain the land.\n\nThe battle--or rather the slaughter--went on for some time. The\nfishermen, in their light boats, could do nothing against the\nsoldiers in the large vessels. These slew them with arrows or\njavelins, from a distance; or ran them down, and killed them as\nthey struggled in the water. Many of the boats were run ashore; but\nthe occupants were slain, there, by the soldiers on the lookout for\nthem. Altogether, six thousand perished in the slaughter.\n\nIn the meantime, Vespasian had set up a tribunal in Tarichea. The\ninhabitants of the town were separated from the strangers.\nVespasian himself was, as Josephus said, unwilling to shed more\nblood--as he had promised, when he had entered the city, to spare\nthe lives of all--but he yielded to the arguments of those who said\nthat the strangers were mountain robbers, the foes of every man.\nAccordingly, they were ordered to leave the city, by the road to\nTiberias.\n\nAs soon as they had left the town, the troops surrounded them,\nheaded by Vespasian in person. Twelve hundred of the aged and\nhelpless he ordered to be slain, at once; six thousand of the most\nable-bodied he sent to Nero, to be employed on the canal he was\ndigging across the isthmus of Corinth; thirty thousand four hundred\nwere sold as slaves; and a large number were bestowed upon Agrippa,\nwho also sold them as slaves. This act, after the formal promise of\npardon, disgraces the memory of Vespasian even more than the\nwholesale massacres of the garrisons of the towns which resisted to\nthe last.\n\nThe news of this act of wholesale vengeance spread such terror\nthrough the land that the whole of the cities of Galilee at once\nopened their gates; and sent deputations to Vespasian to offer\ntheir submission, and ask for pardon. Gamala, Gischala, and\nItabyrium--a town on Mount Tabor, which had been strongly fortified\nby Josephus--alone held out. Itabyrium lay some ten miles to the\nwest of Tiberias.\n\nStanding back among the trees, at a short distance from the lake,\nSimon, John, and the workers on the farm watched with horror the\nslaughter of the fishermen on the lake. None of their neighbors\nwere among those who had gone out to aid in the defense of\nTarichea; for Simon had gone among them, to dissuade them from\nlaunching their boats and joining the flotilla, as it proceeded\ndown the lake in the morning. He urged upon them that, if they took\npart in the affair, they would only bring down vengeance upon\nthemselves and their families.\n\n\"There is no lack of men,\" he said, \"in Tiberias and Tarichea. Such\naid as you can give would be useless and, whether the cities fall\nat once, or whether they resist, the vengeance of the Romans will\nfall upon you. In a few hours, their horsemen can ride round the\nshores of the lake, and cut off all who are absent from returning\nto their homes, and give the villages to fire and sword. Those who\ncan point to their boats, drawn up at the side of the lake, will be\nable to give proof to the Romans that they have not taken part\nagainst them. So far, we have escaped the horrors of war on this\nside of Jordan.\n\n\"If the strong cities of Galilee cannot resist the Roman arms, what\nhope should we have on this side, where the population is\ncomparatively scanty, and where there are few strong places? Do not\nlet us provoke the Romans, my friends. If they go up against\nJerusalem, let those who will, go, and die in defense of the\nTemple; but it would be worse than folly to provoke the wrath of\nthe Romans, by thrusting yourselves into the quarrel here.\"\n\nWarmly did the fishermen congratulate themselves, when they saw the\ncombat proceeding on the lake, and when a strong body of Roman\nhorse rode along the shore, leaving parties at regular intervals to\ncut off those who might try and land. A body of twenty were posted\ndown by the boats, and two came into the village and demanded food\nfor the party. Simon, when he saw them coming, ordered all the\nable-bodied men to retire, and remain in the olive groves on the\n<DW72>s, at a distance from the lake, until the Romans had gone;\nwhile he, and Isaac, and some other old men, went down and met the\nsoldiers.\n\n\"Are any of the people of this place out there on the lake?\" the\nofficer in command of the twenty men asked; as Simon and his party,\nbringing bread, fruit, and wine, came down to the waterside.\n\n\"No, sir,\" Simon replied. \"We have but eight boats belonging to the\nvillage, and they are all there. We are peaceable people, who till\nthe soil and fish the lake, and take no part in the doings of the\ngreat towns. We are subjects of King Agrippa, and have no cause for\ndiscontent with him.\"\n\n\"A great many other people have no cause for discontent, old man,\"\nthe officer said; \"but they have, nevertheless, risen in rebellion.\nHowever, as your boats are here, and your people seem to have taken\nno part in this matter, I have naught to say against you;\nespecially as your wine is good, and you have brought down plenty\nof it.\"\n\nSimon and his companions withdrew and, with aching hearts, watched\nfrom a distance the massacre upon the lake. The fury, however,\nproduced among the men in the towns and villages on the shore, at\nthe sight of the numerous corpses washed ashore, was so great that\nmany of the young men left their avocations and started for Gamala;\nwhich, relying upon the strength of its position--which was even\nstronger than that of Jotapata--was resolved to resist to the last.\n\nSeveral of the young men of the village, and many from the villages\nnear, were determined to take this course, maddened by the\nslaughter of many friends and relations. John himself was as\nfurious as any, especially when the news came of the violation of\nfaith at Tarichea, and of the selling of nigh forty thousand men\ninto slavery.\n\n\"Father,\" he said, that evening, \"I had thought to stay quietly\nwith you, until the Romans advanced against Jerusalem; but I find I\ncannot do so. The massacre at Jotapata was bad enough, but the\nslaughter of defenseless men, on the lake, is worse. I pray you,\nlet me go.\"\n\n\"Would you go into Gamala, and die there, John?\" Simon asked.\n\"Better to die at the Temple, than to throw away your life here.\"\n\n\"I do not intend to go into Gamala, father, nor to throw away my\nlife--though I care little for it, except for the sake of you and\nmy mother and Mary--but I would do something; and I would save the\nsons of our neighbors, and others, from the fate that assuredly\nwaits them if they enter Gamala. They know not, as I do, how surely\nthe walls will go down before the Roman engines; but even did they\nknow it, so determined are they to fight these slayers of our\ncountrymen that they would still go.\n\n\"What I propose to do is to carry out what I have always believed\nto be the true way of fighting the Romans. I will collect a band,\nand take to the mountains, and harass them whenever we may find\nopportunity. I know the young men from our village will follow me,\nif I will lead them; and they will be able to get their friends\nalong the shore to do the like. In that way the danger will not be\nso great for, in the mountains, the Romans would have no chance of\novertaking us while, if we are successful, many will gather round\nus, and we may do good service.\"\n\n\"I will not stay you, John, if you feel that the Lord has called\nupon you to go; and indeed, you may save, as you say, the lives of\nmany of our neighbors, by persuading them to take to the hills with\nyou, instead of shutting themselves up in Gamala. Go down, then, to\nthe village, and talk to them; and see what they say to your plan.\"\n\nJohn had little doubt as to his proposal being accepted by the\nyounger men of the village. The fact that he had been chosen as one\nof the bodyguard of Josephus had, at once, given him importance in\nthe eyes of his neighbors; and that he should have passed through\nthe siege of Jotapata, and had escaped, had caused them to regard\nhim not only as a valiant fighter, but as one under the special\nprotection of God. Since his return, scarce an evening had passed\nwithout parties coming, from one or other of the villages along the\nshore, to hear from his lips the story of the siege.\n\nAs soon, then, as he went down to the fishing village, and told the\nyoung men who had determined to leave for Gamala that he thought\nbadly of such action--but that he intended to raise a band, and\ntake to the mountains and harass the Romans--they eagerly agreed to\nfollow him, and to obey his orders. There were eight of them, and\nJohn at once made them take an oath of obedience and fellowship;\nswearing in all things to obey his orders, to be true to each other\nto death, to be ready to give their lives, when called upon, for\nthe destruction of the Romans; and never, if they fell into the\nhands of the enemy, to betray the secrets of the band, whatever\nmight be the tortures to which they were exposed.\n\nJohn could have obtained more than eight men in the village, but he\nwould only take quite young men.\n\n\"I want only men who can undergo fatigue and watching; who can\nclimb mountains, and run as fast as the Roman horse can gallop.\nBesides, for work like this it is necessary that there should be\none leader, and that he should be promptly obeyed. If I take older\nmen, they will naturally wish to have a voice in the ordering of\nthings. I have seen enough of military matters to know that, for\nprompt decision and swift execution, one head--and one head\nonly--is necessary. Besides, we may find difficulties in the way of\ngetting food and, at first, I wish for only a small band. If\nsuccess attends us, we shall increase rapidly. Twenty will be quite\nenough, to begin with.\"\n\nAs soon as the eight young men--of whom all but two were under\ntwenty years old--had taken the oath, they started at once to the\nvillages round.\n\n\"Do each of you gather in two, but no more,\" John said; \"and let\nthem be those whom you know to be strong and active. Do not bring\nmore; and if four of you bring but one, so much the better. If you\nfind many more eager to join, you can tell them that we will send\nfor them, when the time comes, to increase our numbers; and pray\nthem to abide here, and not to go into Gamala.\n\n\"Let each bring his arms and a bag of meal; and meet me, tomorrow\nevening at sundown, on the Hieromax River, three miles below\nCapitolias--that will be opposite to Abila, which lies on the\nmountain side. Let all travel singly, for the Roman horse may be\nabout. However, as we shall be walking east, while Gamala lies to\nthe west of south, they will not take us--should we come upon\nthem--for men going thither to aid in the defense of the town.\"\n\nThe young men started at once on their missions, full of confidence\nin John; and feeling certain that, under his leadership, they\nshould soon come to blows with the Romans; being also, in their\nhearts, well satisfied that their warfare would be in the open\ncountry, and they should not be called upon to fight pent up in\nwalls from which there was no escape.\n\nHaving seen his followers off, John returned home, and told Simon\nthe progress he had made. The old man sighed.\n\n\"I do not seek to keep you, John; for your duty to your country\nstands, now, in the first rank of all; and it may be that the Lord\npreserved you, at Jotapata, because he intends you to do great\ndeeds for him, here. I do not say spare yourself, or avoid danger,\nfor our sakes. I only say, do not throw away your life by rashness.\nRemember that, young as you are, you are a leader, and be prudent\nas well as brave.\n\n\"After Gamala has fallen--as fall I fear it will--and the Romans\nhave moved away from these parts--as they will then do, for there\nis no resistance to them, on this side of Jordan, save at that\ntown--I shall bring your mother and Mary back again; and you will\nfind us waiting here to welcome you, if you return. If not, my son,\nI shall mourn for you, as Jacob mourned for Joseph--and more,\nseeing that you are the only prop of my old age--but I shall have\nthe consolation of knowing that you died for your country.\"\n\n\"You will find in Mary a daughter, father; and you must find a\nhusband for her, who will take my place. But it may be that if the\nRomans march not direct upon Jerusalem--and they say that Vespasian\nhas arranged that two of the legions shall winter on the sea coast,\nat Caesarea, and the third at Scythopolis--it is probable that he\nwill not move against Jerusalem till the spring. In that case I may\nbe often here, during the winter. For I will not go down to\nJerusalem until the last thing; for there all is turmoil and\ndisturbance and, until the time comes when they must lay aside\ntheir private feuds and unite to repel the invader, I will not go\ndown.\"\n\nFather and son talked until late in the night. In the morning John\nmade his preparations for departure. He had told Jonas of his\nintentions. The boy listened silently, only saying, \"Wherever you\ngo, John, I am ready to go with you; it makes no difference to me;\"\nand afterwards went down to the lake side, where he filled his\npouch with smooth pebbles, each of which he selected with great\ncare for, when herding his goats among the mountains, Jonas had\nbeen always practicing with a sling, and many a cony had fallen\nbefore his unerring aim.\n\nAll the lads in the mountains were accustomed to the use of the\nsling, but none in Jotapata had approached Jonas in their skill\nwith this weapon. During the siege he had often astonished John by\nthe accuracy of his aim; and had several times compelled the Romans\nto cease working one of their machines, which specially harassed\nthe defenders of the wall, by striking down one after another of\nthose who directed it--his stones seldom failing to strike them\nfull in the face, the only spot unprotected by their armor.\n\nIn the morning, John prepared to start. He and Jonas each carried a\nsmall sack, supported by a strap passing over the shoulders, and\ncontaining some eight pounds of meal and a gourd of water. Jonas\ncarried no weapon, save a long knife hidden under his garment, and\nhis sling and pouch of stones. John carried a sword and buckler,\nand a horn. Before they started, John knelt before his father and\nreceived his blessing; and Simon, as he bade him adieu, gave him a\nsmall bag of money.\n\n\"You will need to buy things in the mountains, lad; and I would not\nthat you should be driven, like the robber bands, to take food by\nforce. It is true that they who go not to the war should support\nthose who risk their lives for their country; but there are many\naged men who, like myself, cannot fight, there are many women whose\nhusbands are away in Gamala or Jerusalem, and these may not be able\nto afford to assist others. Therefore, it is well that you should\nhave means of paying for what you require; otherwise the curse of\nthe widow and fatherless may fall upon you.\n\n\"And now, farewell, my son! May God have you in his keeping, and\nsend you home safe to your mother and me!\"\n\n\n\nChapter 8: Among The Mountains.\n\n\nJonas was in high spirits as they started from the farm. He was\nleaving no friends behind and, so long as he had John with him, he\nwas perfectly contented. He was delighted to be on the move again\nfor, although he had worked steadily in getting in the harvest,\nregular labor was distasteful to him and, accustomed as he had been\nto wander, for weeks, free and unchecked with his goats among the\nmountains, the regular life and order of the farm were irksome to\nhim.\n\nJohn, on the other hand, was silent; replying briefly to the boy's\nquestions. He felt the danger of the enterprise upon which he had\nembarked, and his responsibility as leader; and the thought of the\ngrief which his father and mother would feel, did ought befall him,\nweighed on his mind. Presently, however, he roused himself.\n\n\"Now, Jonas, you must keep a sharp lookout round for, if we see any\nRoman soldiers in the distance, I must hide my sword and buckler\nbefore they discover us, and you must stow away your sling and\npouch; then we will walk quietly on. If they question us, we are\ngoing to stay with friends at Capitolias and, as there will be\nnothing suspicious about us, they will not interfere with us. After\nthey have passed on, we will go back for our arms. We are not\ntraveling in the direction of Gamala, and they will have no reason\nto doubt our story.\"\n\nThey did not, however, meet any of the parties of Roman horse who\nwere scouring the country, carrying off grain and cattle for the\nuse of the army; and they arrived, in the afternoon, on the bank of\nthe Hieromax. Upon the other side of the river rose the steep\n<DW72>s of Mount Galaad, high up on whose side was perched the\nlittle town of Abila.\n\n\"Here we can wait, Jonas. We are nearly opposite the town. The\nothers will, doubtless, soon be here.\"\n\nIt was not long before the band made their appearance, coming along\nin twos and threes as they had met on the river bank. By sunset the\nlast had arrived, and John found that each of his first recruits\nhad brought two others.\n\nHe looked with satisfaction at the band. The greater part of them\nhad been fishermen. All were strong and active; and John saw that\nhis order that young men, only, should be taken had been obeyed,\nfor not one of them was over the age of twenty-three and, as he had\nlaid it down, as an absolute rule, all were unmarried. All were,\nlike himself, armed with sword and buckler; and several had brought\nwith them bags with javelin heads, to be fitted to staves, later\non. All their faces bore a look of determination and, at the same\ntime, of gladness.\n\nThe massacre on the lake had excited the inhabitants of the shore\nto fury, and even those who had hitherto held back from the\nnational cause were now eager to fight against the Romans; but many\nshrunk from going to Gamala--which was, indeed, already as full of\nfighting men as it could hold--and John's proposal to form a band,\nfor warfare in the mountains, had exactly suited the more\nadventurous spirits.\n\nAll present were known to John, personally. Many of them were sons\nof friends of Simon; and the others he had met at village\ngatherings, or when fishing on the lake. There were warm greetings,\nas each accession to the party arrived; and each member of the band\nfelt his spirits rise higher, at finding that so many of those he\nknew, personally, were to be his comrades in the enterprise.\n\nWhen the last comer had arrived, John said:\n\n\"We will now be moving forward. We had best get well up the\nmountain, before night falls. It matters not much where we camp,\ntonight; tomorrow we can choose a good spot for our headquarters.\"\n\nIt being now the height of the dry season, the river was low, and\nthey had no difficulty in wading across. Then they struck up the\nhill, to the right of Abila, until they had fairly entered the\nforests which clothed the lower <DW72>s of the mountains. Then John\ngave the word for a halt.\n\nDead wood was soon collected, and a fire made. Cakes of meal were\nbaked in the ashes and, after these had been eaten, the party lay\nround the fire and, a few minutes later, John rose to his feet.\n\nIllustration: John Incites his Countrymen to Harass the Romans.\n\n\"You all know the reason for which we are gathered together here.\nWe all long for vengeance on the oppressors of our country, the\nmurderers of our kinsmen and friends, the men who carry off our\nwomen to shame and slavery in Rome. We are all ready to die, for\nour country and our God; but we would fain die doing as much harm\nto the Romans as we can, fighting like freemen in the open, instead\nof rats slaughtered in a cage. That is why, instead of going into\nGamala, we have gathered here.\n\n\"I am the youngest among you; but I have so far assumed the\nleadership because, in the first place, I have been much with\nJosephus, who--although he may now, most unworthily, have gone over\nto the Romans to save his life--was yet a wise governor, and a\ngreat leader. From him, I have learned much of the Romans. In the\nsecond place, I have seen more of their warfare than any of you,\nhaving passed through the terrible siege of Jotapata. Lastly, I\nbelieve that God, having saved me almost alone of all the host that\ndefended the town, has intended me as an instrument for his\nservice.\n\n\"Therefore have I taken upon myself the command, in the first\nplace, of this band; but at the same time, if you think that I am\ntoo young, and would rather place another at your head, I will\nstand aside, and release from their oath those who have already\nsworn. I am not self seeking. I crave not the leadership over you,\nand will obey whomsoever you may choose for your chief. But to\nwhomsoever is the leader, prompt obedience must be given; for there\nmust, even in a band like this, be order and discipline. We work\nfor a common good, but we must yield to the direction of one will,\nand one head.\n\n\"Now, what say you? I will walk away, to leave you free to consult\none with another; and will abide by your decision, whatever it be.\nOnly the decision, once made, must be adhered to. There must be no\nafter grumbling, no hesitation or drawing back. You must have\nabsolute confidence, and give absolute obedience, to him whom you\nchoose. For only so can we hope to succeed in our enterprises.\"\n\nJohn had gone but a short way among the trees, when he was called\nback again. All had come prepared to follow him. His father had\nalways been a man of weight and position among the villagers on the\nshore and, democratic as were the Jewish institutions, there was\nyet a certain respect paid to those of position above their\nfellows. John's experience and, especially, his escape from\nJotapata, seemed specially to mark him as one destined to play an\nimportant part. And his quiet resolute bearing, now--the feeling\nthat he knew what was to be done, and how to do it; that he was, in\nfact, their natural leader--came home to all, and it was with\nsincerity that they assured him that they accepted him as their\nleader.\n\n\"Very well,\" John said, quietly. \"Then let those who have not\nalready taken the oath stand up, and do so.\"\n\nThis was done, and John then said:\n\n\"Now, I will tell you more of my plans; although these, of course,\ncannot be in any way settled until we see how things turn out. It\nis by watching for opportunities and seizing the right moment,\nonly, that we can hope for success. We are all ready to give our\nlives for our country, but we do not wish to throw them away. We\nwant each of us to do as much as possible. We want to live, so as\nto share in the defense of the Temple; therefore, we have to\ncombine prudence with daring.\n\n\"As for an attack upon any strong body of Roman troops, it would be\nimpossible--unless they attempt to follow us among the mountains.\nOne of our first duties will be to learn the country well, so that\nwe may know where to defend ourselves, should they come up after\nus; where, from eminences, we can cast down rocks upon them; where\nthere are crags which we can climb, but up which their heavy-armed\nsoldiers cannot follow us. This is our first task for, as yet, they\nhave not commenced the siege of Gamala. When they do so, we must\ndraw down near them and hide ourselves, mark the position of their\ncamp, see how their tents are arranged, and where their sentries\nare placed.\n\n\"Then we can begin work: sometimes falling upon their guards; at\nother times creeping in past their sentries, scattering through the\ncamp and, at a given signal, firing their tents with the brands\nfrom their fires; slaying those who first rush out, and then making\noff again to the hills.\n\n\"Then, too, they will be sending great numbers of men up the hills,\nto cut timber and branches for their embankments, their\nbreastworks, and the construction of the wattles to protect their\nmachines. We shall be in hiding and, when a party of men separates\nfrom the rest, we will fall upon these; we will harass their\nworkers from a distance, always avoiding a regular combat, but\nhindering their work, and wearing them out. Thus we may do better\nservice, to the defenders of Gamala, than if we were within the\nwalls.\n\n\"At present we have only swords, but we must get bows and arrows.\nIt would not have been safe to have carried them across the plains;\nbut we can procure them at Abila, or Jabez Galaad. I fear that we\nshall not be able to interfere with the provisioning of the\narmy--for upon the plains we shall have no chance with their\ncavalry--but, here in these mountains, stretching away over Peraea\ninto Arabia and Moab, we can laugh at pursuit by the Romans; and\neven Agrippa's light-armed Arabs will have difficulty in following\nus, and of them we need have little fear. At Jotapata we proved\nourselves a match for the Romans; and their light-armed troops will\nnot care to venture against us, alone, as they will not know our\nnumbers, and will fear being led into ambushes.\n\n\"There is one question which we have to consider, and that is food;\nas to flesh, we shall have it in abundance. There will be many\nflocks of goats, belonging to those in Gamala, straying among the\nmountains without an owner; therefore of goats' milk and flesh we\ncan take abundance, but there will be a scarcity of grain. I have\nsome money with me, with which we can purchase it at Abila, and the\nvillages. As for Jabez Galaad, it is too close to Gamala; and the\nRomans will probably ascend the hill and destroy it, or place a\nguard there. At any rate, the money will be sufficient to purchase\nmeal for us, for some time--much longer, probably, than Gamala will\nbe able to hold out--and when that has fallen, it will be time to\narrange about the future. Only let us take nothing without payment;\nlet us not be like the robber bands, which prey upon the people,\nuntil they long for the Romans as masters.\n\n\"Only we must remember that, while we desire now to do the Romans\nas much harm as possible, this is but the beginning of our work;\nand that we must save ourselves for the future. Gamala is but one\ntown; and we shall have plenty of opportunities for striking at the\nenemy, in the future. We have put our hands to the plow now and, so\nlong as the war lasts, we will not look back. It may be that our\nexample may lead others to follow it and, in that case, the Romans'\ndifficulties will thicken, every day. Were there scores of bands of\ndetermined men, like us, hanging around them; ready to attack small\nbodies, whenever they venture away from their camps to gather in\nprovisions and forage, and to harass them, at night, by constant\nalarms, we could wear them out.\n\n\"Only, we must always avoid a pitched battle. In irregular fighting\nwe are as good as they--better, for we can move more quickly--but\nwhen it comes to fighting in order of battle, we have no chance\nwith them, whatever. Their cavalry, the other day outside Tarichea,\nwere like wolves among a flock of sheep. Nothing but disaster can\ncome of fighting in the plain. Every people should fight in the way\nthat suits them best, and an attempt to meet an enemy in their own\nway of fighting is sure to lead to disaster. Let the Roman keep the\nplain, with his cavalry and his heavy infantry; let the Jew, light\nfooted and swift, keep to the hills. He is as much superior, there,\nas is the Roman in the plains.\n\n\"And now, we must establish signals. We will get horns, at Abila;\nand I will fix upon signals. One long note will mean, gather to me;\ntwo, fall back gradually; three, retire at once with all speed, to\nthe spot agreed upon, before setting out in the morning. Two short\nnotes will mean, advance and attack in the manner arranged; one\nshort note, oft repeated, will tell you the Romans are advancing,\nsound your horns--for it were well that each provided himself with\na cow's horn, so that the signals can be repeated. If we are\nscattered over a hillside among the trees, and the Romans hear\nhorns sounded in many quarters, they will think that there must be\na large body of men assembled. This will make them slow and\ncautious in all their movements; will force many to stand prepared,\nwith their arms, to guard those at work; and will altogether\nconfuse and puzzle them.\n\n\"And now, we will lie down and sleep; as soon as it is dawn, we\nwill be on foot again.\"\n\nThe next two days were spent in exploring that part of the\nmountains: examining the direction, and extent, of each valley and\nravine; seeing where steep precipices afforded an opportunity for\nrolling down rocks upon an enemy passing along the valley, or\ntrying to storm the height; in searching for pools in dried\nwatercourses; and in deciding upon a spot favorable for the camp.\nThey fixed upon a spot high up on the mountains, two miles east of\nAbila, as their headquarters. It was in a pass between two peaks,\nand gave them the option of descending either to the north or\nsouth, or of skirting along the mountains towards the sources of\nthe Jabbok river, and thence crossing the Hermon range beyond the\nlimits of Peraea.\n\nJonas was sent, the first thing, to discover whether the Romans had\ntaken possession of Jabez Galaad; which lay but five miles from\nGamala, and on the southern side of the range of hills on whose\nwestern spur Gamala was built. He returned, in a short time, saying\nthat he had found the inhabitants in a state of great alarm; for\nthat a Roman force could be seen, coming up the road from the\nplain. Most of the fighting men of the town were in Gamala; the\nrest, with the young women, were leaving, so that only old people\nand children would be found in the town when the Romans arrived.\nJonas also brought word that Vespasian's whole army was moving\nagainst Gamala.\n\nJohn had given Jonas money, before he started, to purchase bows and\narrows. He had brought back bows for the whole party, and as many\narrows as he could carry.\n\n\"I paid nothing for them,\" he said, as he threw them down. \"The man\nwho sold them was praying those who were leaving the town to take\nthem--for he thought that, if the Romans found them in his house,\nthey would destroy it--but no one listened. All were too busy, in\ncarrying off such of their household goods as they could take, to\nburden themselves further; so he gladly gave me as many as I could\ntake. I carried off nearly all his bows; and I left him breaking up\nthe rest, and his store of arrows, in order to burn them before the\nRomans arrived.\n\n\"A boy, carrying a bag of arrowheads, came with me some little\ndistance. I paid the man for them, and they are now hidden in the\nforest. You can fetch them when you will, but I could not carry\nmore with me than I have got.\"\n\n\"You have done well, Jonas,\" John said, as the men seized each a\nbow, and divided the arrows among them; and then stood waiting,\nexpecting orders from John to proceed, at once, to harass the Roman\ncolumn as it ascended the hill.\n\nJohn said, in answer to their looks:\n\n\"We will not meddle with them, today. Did we shoot at them, they\nwould suppose that we belonged to Jabez Galaad; and would, in\nrevenge, destroy the town and all those they may find within it;\nand our first essay against them would bring destruction upon\nthousands of our countrymen.\"\n\nThe others saw the justness of his reasoning, and their faith in\nhim as their leader was strengthened by his calmness, and readiness\nof decision.\n\n\"Is the bag of arrowheads heavy, Jonas?\"\n\n\"It is as much as the boy, who was about my own age, could carry,\"\nJonas replied.\n\n\"Then do you, Phineas, and you, Simeon, go with Jonas to the place\nwhere the bag is hidden, and carry it to the place we have fixed\nupon for our camp. If, on the way, you come across a herd of goats,\nshoot two or three of them and take them with you, and get fires\nready. The day is getting on, but we will go across the mountains,\nand see where the Romans are pitching their camp and, by sunset, we\nwill be with you.\"\n\nMaking their way along the mountain the band came, after an hour's\nwalking, to a point where they could obtain a view of Gamala. The\ncity stood on the western extremity of the hill which, after\nsloping gradually down, rose suddenly in a sharp ridge like the\nhump of a camel--from which the town had its name, Gamala. On both\nsides, this rock ended abruptly in a precipitous chasm; in which\nran the two branches of the Hieromax, which met at the lower end of\nthe ridge, and ran together into the end of the lake at Tarichea,\nthree miles away.\n\nThus, Gamala was only accessible from behind, where the ridge\njoined the mountains. Across this neck of land a deep fosse had\nbeen dug, so as to cut off all approach. The houses were crowded\nthickly on the steep <DW72> of the ridge, which was so abrupt that\nthe houses seemed to overhang one another. On the southern crag,\nwhich was of immense height, was the citadel of the town. There was\na spring, supplying abundance of water, within the walls. Had it\nbeen defended by a garrison as brave and numerous as that of\nJotapata, it would have been well-nigh impregnable; but Cheres and\nJoseph, who commanded, had none of the genius of Josephus, although\nthey were brave and determined.\n\nThe city was crowded with fugitives from all parts; and had\nalready, for seven months, resisted a besieging force which Agrippa\nhad sent against it. It was impossible to blockade the whole\ncircuit of the town; but Vespasian took possession of all the\nneighboring heights, and established his camp, with that of the\nFifteenth Legion, on the hill facing the city to the east. The\nFifth Legion threw up works, opposite the center of the city; while\nthe Tenth set to work to fill up ditches and ravines, in order to\nfacilitate the approaches.\n\nAgrippa approached the wall, to persuade the inhabitants to\nsurrender; but was struck on the right elbow by a stone from a\nsling, and forced to retire. This insult to the native king, who\ncame in the character of an ambassador, enraged the Romans; and\nthey set about the operations for the siege with great vigor. In\nspite of the efforts of the Jews, the fosse which protected the\nwall on the east was speedily filled up; and the Romans then began,\nas at Jotapata, to raise an embankment facing the wall.\n\nThe day after the Romans had established their camp, John and his\nfollowers advanced along the mountain until they could look down\nupon it and, for a long time, watched the Romans at work, and\nlearned all the details of the camp.\n\n\"You must fix them in your minds,\" John said, \"in order that, even\non a dark night, you may be able to make your way about it without\ndifficulty; so that you may be able, after striking a blow, to fly\ndirectly to the mountain--for any who get confused, and miss their\nway, will assuredly be killed. You see, the enemy have placed a\nstrong guard, halfway up the hillside, in order to protect\nthemselves from surprise; but it will be possible, by moving down\nto the streams, and then mounting again, to reach the camp without\npassing through them. And by the same way we must make our retreat\nfor, if we succeed in setting the camp on fire, the flames will\nenable the guard on the mountains to see us approaching them.\n\n\"I had hoped that we might be able to penetrate, unobserved, to the\ntent of Vespasian, and to slay him and some of his generals but, by\nthe bustle that we see round that tower on the hillside, and by the\nstrong force of cavalry picketed round it, it is evident that he\nhas taken up his quarters there and, indeed, from the top of the\ntower he can look down upon the town, and on all that is passing\nthere, and issue his directions to his troops accordingly; so we\nmust give up that idea. Another time, we may be more fortunate.\n\n\"But see, a great number of troops are ascending the hill towards\nus, doubtless to cut timber for their works. As soon as they are at\nwork, we will attack them.\"\n\nThe party retired into the forest and, as soon as they heard the\nsound of the Roman axes, they crept quietly forward; moving\nnoiselessly, with their sandaled feet, among the trees. When within\na short distance of the Romans, John ordered them to halt; and\ncrept forward, with Jonas, to reconnoiter. There was little fear of\ntheir being heard, for several hundred men were at work, felling\ntrees; a line of sentries, at ten paces apart, standing under arms\nto prevent a surprise. The Romans were working too thickly to\npermit of any successful action, by so small a party; and John saw\nthat the idea of an attack must be abandoned, and that he must\nconfine himself, for the present, to harassing the sentries.\n\nRejoining his men, he told them what he had discovered; and bade\nthem scatter along the line and, crawling up under the protection\nof the trees, to approach as near as they could to the line of\nsentries; and then to shoot at them--or at the workmen, many of\nwhom, having thrown off their heavy armor to enable them the better\nto work, offered more favorable marks for the arrows than the\nsentries--whose faces, only, were exposed.\n\nThey were on no account to come to close quarters with the Romans.\nIf the latter advanced, they were instantly to retire, approaching\nagain as soon as the Romans recommenced their work; and so to\ncontinue, until he blew the signal for them to draw off,\naltogether. They were not to begin until they heard his signal for\nattack.\n\nAfter allowing some little time to elapse for the men to get into\nposition, John blew his horn. A moment, and cries and shouts were\nheard along the whole Roman line. The sound of chopping instantly\nceased, and the Roman trumpets blew to arms.\n\nJohn had advanced sufficiently near to see the Roman workmen before he\ngave the signal. Jonas was a little in advance of him and, as the horn\nsounded, he saw him step out from behind a tree, whirl his sling round\nhis head and discharge a stone and, almost simultaneously, a Roman\nsentinel, some forty paces away, fell with a crash upon the ground.\n\nThe Roman soldiers who had retained their armor ran instantly\nforward, to support their sentries. The others hastily buckled on\ntheir breastplates, caught up their bucklers and helmets, and\njoined their comrades. Arrows continued to fall among them from\ntheir invisible foes and, although most of these fell harmless from\ntheir armor, several soldiers fell, in addition to the seven or\neight who had been killed by the first volley.\n\nThe centurion in command soon saw that the number of his assailants\nwas small but, afraid of being drawn into an ambush, he hesitated\nto give orders for an advance; but dispatched a messenger instantly\nto camp, contenting himself with throwing out strong parties a\nhundred yards in advance of his line. These now became the objects\nof attack, while arrows ceased to fall among the main body of the\ntroops.\n\nJohn moved round the flank, till he gained a position whence he\ncould observe the camp. The trumpets above had been heard there,\nand the troops had already taken up their position under arms. As\nhe looked on, he saw the messenger run up to a party of mounted\nofficers. A minute later a trumpet sounded, and a strong body of\nArabian archers advanced, at a run, up the <DW72>. John at once\nwithdrew to his first position, and sounded the order for instant\nretreat; and then, hurrying back half a mile, sounded the note for\nhis followers to assemble at the spot where he was standing.\n\nIn a few minutes, all had joined him. They were in high spirits at\nthe success of this first skirmish; and wondered why they had been\nso suddenly called off, when the Romans had shown no signs of\nadvancing against them.\n\n\"There are fully a thousand Arab archers in the forest, by this\ntime,\" John said. \"They are as fleet of foot as we are, and it\nwould be madness to remain. We have stopped their work, for a time;\nand have killed many, without a scratch to ourselves. That is well\nenough, for today. Tomorrow we will beat them up, again.\"\n\nAt daybreak, two of the party were sent forward to the edge of the\nwood, to see with what force the Romans went out to work. They\nbrought back the report that they were accompanied by a strong body\nof archers; and that, as soon as they reached the forest, the\narchers were scattered in front of them for a long distance, and\nthat it would be impossible to approach them, unobserved.\n\nOn the previous afternoon, John had dispatched Jonas to Abila, and\nhe had returned with a number of cows' horns. Round the fire in the\nevening, the men had set to work to pierce the points with heated\narrowheads, and had converted them into instruments capable of\ngiving a deep, prolonged sound. On the return of the scouts, John\nset his men in motion.\n\n\"We cannot fight them, today, but we can hinder their work. We will\nscatter through the forest and, as we approach them, each is to\nsound his horn; and continue to do so, from time to time. The\nRomans will think that a great force is advancing against them.\"\n\nThis was done, with the effect John had anticipated. Hearing the\nsound of horns, all over the mountainside, the Romans concluded\nthat a great force was advancing to attack them; and the archers\nwere at once recalled. The troops all stood to arms and, for\nseveral hours, remained waiting an attack. Then, after strong\nbodies of heavy-armed troops--preceded by the archers, skirmishing\nbefore them--had pushed some distance into the forest without\nmeeting with an enemy, the work recommenced; a considerable number\nstill standing to their arms, as protectors to the rest.\n\nAlthough a certain amount of time had been gained, for the city, by\nthe interruption of the work of bringing in timber, John had\nundertaken these sham attacks rather with the purpose of\naccustoming his band to work together, and to give them confidence,\nthan with the view of troubling the Romans. In this he was\nperfectly successful. The band, when they reached their camp, that\nevening, were in high spirits. They had, for two days, puzzled and\nbaffled a large Roman force; had inflicted some loss upon them, and\nforced them to desist from their work. They were pleased with\nthemselves, and their leader; and had lost much of the dread of the\nRomans which the capture of Jotapata, Japha, and Tarichea, and the\ntales of their cruelty and ferocity, had excited among the whole\npopulation.\n\nA reverse, at the commencement of their work, would have been\nfatal; and John had felt that, however earnest the men were, in\ntheir determination to die fighting for their country, the loss of\na few of their number at the outset would have so dispirited the\nrest that the probability was that the band would disperse--or\nwould, at any rate, be unwilling to undertake any desperate\noperation. But in their present mood they were ready for any\nenterprise upon which he might lead them; and he, accordingly, told\nthem that he should abstain, next day, from a continuance of his\nattacks upon the working party; but that, at night, he would carry\nout the design of setting fire to their camp.\n\nAccordingly, the following day, the Romans pursued their work\nunmolested; although they still continued the precaution of keeping\na force of archers, and parties of heavy-armed troops, in advance\nof those working in the wood. John did not move till the afternoon;\nand then, descending the hill to the right, he skirted along in the\nlower forest until within two miles of Gamala. Here he halted until\nnightfall.\n\nWhile waiting for the hour of action, he gave final instructions to\nhis men, and assigned to them the order in which they should ascend\nfrom the river towards the rear of the camp. When they approached\nthe spot where they would probably find Roman sentries posted, they\nwere to advance singly, crawling along upon the ground. Those who\nfirst went through were to keep straight on until they reached the\nfurther end of the camp; stopping, as near as they could judge,\nfifty paces apart. They were then to wait for half an hour, so as\nto be sure that all would have gained their allotted positions.\nThen, when they saw a certain star sink below the horizon (a method\nof calculating time to which all were accustomed) they were to\ncreep forward into the Roman camp; and each to make his way, as\nnoiselessly as possible, until he came within a few paces of one of\nthe smoldering fires of the Romans, and to wait until they heard a\nsingle note from John's horn.\n\nEach was at once to spring forward, seize a lighted brand and fire\nthe nearest tent; and then to crawl away--cutting, as they went,\nthe ropes of the tents, so as to bring them down, and create as\nmuch confusion as possible. Then, either by crawling or, if\ndiscovered, by leaping to their feet and making a sudden rush, all\nwere to make their way down to the river again; to follow its banks\nfor half a mile, and then wait in a body for an hour. At the end of\nthat time they were to make their way back to their camp in the\nmountain; certain, by that time, that all who were alive would have\nrejoined them. Should he himself not be with the party, they were\nat once to proceed to the election of another leader.\n\nAt about ten o'clock they again moved forward and, descending to\nthe river, followed its banks until they arrived at the spot they\nhad fixed on; then, in single file, they began to climb the hill.\nJohn placed himself in the middle of the line, in order to have a\ncentral position when the attack began. As soon as they reached the\ntop of the <DW72>, they lay down and, one by one, crawled forward\ninto the darkness; two or three minutes being allowed to elapse\nbetween the departure of each man. They could hear the call of the\nRoman sentries as they answered each other, every half hour; and\nknew that the line was but a hundred yards or so in front of them.\nThe night was very dark, and no sudden shout proclaimed that those\nahead had been noticed.\n\nWhen John's turn came to advance, Jonas was to follow next behind\nhim. All had left their bows, arrows, bucklers, and swords behind\nthem, and carried only their knives; for they had not come to\nfight, and the knives were required only for cutting the tent ropes\nor, in case of discovery, to enable them to take a life or two\nbefore they fell, fighting. Each had sworn to kill himself, if he\nfound escape impossible, in order to escape a death by torture if\nhe fell alive into the hands of the Romans.\n\nJohn, on approaching the line of sentries, was guided by sound,\nonly, in trying to avoid them. He could not see their figures; but\ncould hear the sound of their footsteps, and the clash of their\narms, as they tramped a few yards backwards and forwards. He was,\nlike his comrades, stripped to the waist--having only on a short\ngarment, reaching halfway down the knee--as it was upon speed, and\nactivity, that his life would depend.\n\nWithout interruption, he crawled through the lines of sentries and\ncontinued his course until he was, as near as he could tell,\nopposite the center of the long line of tents; then he lay quiet,\nwatching the setting of the star. No sound was heard from the camp\nin front; although from down the hillside beyond it came a confused\nnoise, as of a host of men at work; and the glare of many fires\nreddened the skies for, there, five thousand men were at work\nraising the embankment against the doomed city; while the archers\nand slingers maintained a never-ceasing conflict, of missiles, with\nthe defenders on the walls.\n\nThe star seemed, to John, as if it hung on its course; so long was\nit in sinking to the horizon. But at last it sank; and John,\ncrawling noiselessly forward, made his way into the Roman camp. It\nwas arranged with wide and regular streets, laid out with\nmechanical accuracy. Here and there, in front of a tent of a\ncommanding officer, sentries paced to and fro; the sound of their\nfootsteps and the clash of their arms, each time they turned,\ngiving warning of their positions. In the center of the streets the\nfires--round which the soldiers had, shortly before, been\ngathered--still glowed and flickered for, although the days were\nhot, the cold at night rendered fires desirable; and there was an\nabundance of fuel to be obtained, from the hills.\n\nJohn crawled along with the greatest care. He had no fear of being\nseen, but had he come roughly against a tent-rope he might have\nbrought out some wakeful occupant of the tent to see who was\nmoving.\n\nHe continued his course until he found himself opposite a fire, in\nwhich some of the brands were burning brightly; while there was no\nsentry on guard, within a distance of fifty yards. So far,\neverything had gone well; neither in passing through the lines of\nthe sentries, nor in making their way into the camp, had any of the\nband been observed. It was certain now that some, at least, would\nsucceed in setting fire to the tents, before they were discovered;\nand the wind, which was blowing briskly from the mountains, would\nspeedily spread the flames; and a heavy blow would be inflicted\nupon the enemy.\n\n\n\nChapter 9: The Storming Of Gamala.\n\n\nAt last, John made sure that all his followers must have taken up a\nfavorable position. Rising to his feet he sounded a short note on\nhis horn; then sprang forward and seized one of the blazing brands,\nand applied it to a tent. The canvas, dried by the scorching sun,\nlit in an instant and, as the flame leaped up, John ran further\namong the tents, lighted another and, leaving the brand there,\nsprang twenty yards away and then threw himself down.\n\nBy this time, although not twenty seconds had elapsed since he had\ngiven the signal, a sudden uproar had succeeded the stillness which\nhad reigned in the camp. The sentries had started on their posts,\nas they heard the note of the horn; but had stood a moment,\nirresolute, not knowing what it meant. Then, as the first flash of\nflame shot up, a simultaneous shout had arisen from every man on\nguard; rising louder and louder as the first flame was followed,\nalmost instantly, by a score of others in different parts of the\ncamp.\n\nIt was but a few seconds later that the first trumpeter who rushed\nfrom his tent blew the alarm. Before its notes ceased, it was\nanswered all over the camp and, with a start, the sleeping soldiers\nsprang up, caught up their arms, and rushed out of their tents.\nStartled, as they were, with the suddenness of the awaking, and the\nsight of the blazing tents, there was none of that confusion that\nwould have occurred among troops less inured to warfare. Each man\ndid his duty and--buckling on their arms as best they might,\nstumbling over the tent ropes in the darkness, amazed by the sound\nof the fall of tents, here and there, expecting every moment to be\nattacked by their unseen foe--the troops made their way speedily to\nthe wide streets, and there fell in together, in military array,\nand waited for orders.\n\nThese were not long in coming. As soon as the generals reached the\nspot, they told off a number of men to endeavor to extinguish the\nflames; sent other parties to scour the camp, and search for the\nenemy; while the rest, in solid order, awaited any attack that\nmight be made upon them.\n\nBut, short as was the time that had elapsed since the first alarm,\nit had sufficed to give the flames such hold and power that they\nwere beyond control. With extraordinary rapidity the fire had\nleaped from tent to tent, and threatened to overwhelm the whole\ncamp. The soldiers tried, in vain, to arrest the progress of the\nflames; rushing among the blazing tents, cutting the ropes to bring\nthem to the ground, and trying to beat out the masses of fire as\nthey fell. Many were terribly burnt, in their endeavors, but in\nvain; and the officers soon called them off, and set them to work\npulling down the tents which the fire had not yet reached. But even\nthis was useless: the flakes of fire, driven before the wind, fell\non the heaps of dried canvas; and the flames spread almost as\nrapidly as they had done when the tents were standing.\n\nNor were the parties in search of the incendiaries more successful.\nJohn had lain quiet, where he threw himself down, for a minute or\ntwo; by which time the tents had emptied of their occupants. Then,\npausing only occasionally to circle a tent and cut away its ropes,\nhe made his way to the edge of the camp. By this time the sheet of\nflame had extended well-nigh across the camp; extending high above\nit, and lighting it almost as if by day. But between him and the\nfire lay, still, a dark mass of tents; for the wind was blowing in\nthe opposite direction and, light as it was elsewhere, in the black\nshadow of the tents it was still dark in the extreme.\n\nJohn made his way along, until he came to the end of the next\nstreet, and then paused. Already, three or four active figures had\nrun past him at the top of their speed, and he wished to be the\nlast to retreat. He stayed till he heard the tramp of troops coming\ndown--driven out by the spreading flames--and then sprang across\nthe end of the road and dashed along at full speed, still keeping\nclose to the line of tents.\n\nA shout, which rose from the leading files of the Roman column,\nshowed that he was seen. As he neared the end of the next opening,\nthe Roman soldiers were pouring out; and he turned in among the tents\nagain. Through these he made his way; dashing across the open spaces\nand, once, rushing through the midst of a Roman column--through which\nhe passed before the troops had time to strike at, or seize him.\n\nAt last, he reached the extremity of the camp. The <DW72> down to\nthe river was but fifty yards away and, once over the brow, he\nwould be in darkness and safe from pursuit. But already the Romans\nhad drawn up a column of men along the edge of the plateau, to cut\noff any who might try to pass. John paused among the last row of\nthe tents, hesitating what course to adopt. He could not make\ndirectly up the mountain, for the space between it and the camp was\nnow covered by the Roman cavalry--the greater portion of their\ninfantry being still engaged in trying to save at least some\nportion of the camp.\n\nSuddenly he heard a footstep among the tents, close behind him. He\ndrew back into the tent by which he was standing, and peered\ncautiously out. A Roman soldier came hastily along, and entered the\nnext tent--doubtless to fetch some article of value, which he had\nleft behind him as he rushed out, on the first alarm.\n\nA sudden idea flashed across John's brain. He waited till the\nsoldier came out, followed him with silent steps; and then sprang\nupon him at a bound, hurling him to the ground, and burying his\nknife again and again in his body.\n\nIllustration: The Roman Camp Surprised and Set on Fire.\n\nNot a cry had escaped the Roman. The instant he was sure he was\ndead, John rose to his feet, placed the helmet of the fallen man on\nhis head, secured the breastplate by a single buckle round his\nneck, took up his buckler and sword; and then, emerging from one of\nthe tents, ran towards the Roman line, making for one of the narrow\nopenings between the different companies. Several other\nsoldiers--who had, like the man whom John had killed, gone back to\ntheir tents to fetch armor, or arms, left there--were also hurrying\nto take their places in the ranks. Therefore, no special attention\nwas paid to John until he was within a few yards of the opening.\n\nThen a centurion at the end of the line said sternly:\n\n\"You will be punished, tomorrow, for not being in your place. What\nis your name?\" for, as John was between him and the sheet of flame\nrising from the camp, the Roman was unable to see his face.\n\nInstead of halting, as he expected, John sprang past him and,\nthrowing down his helmet and buckler, dashed through the space\nbetween the companies.\n\n\"Seize him! Cut him down!\" the centurion shouted; but John was\nalready descending the <DW72>.\n\nAs he ran, he swung the loosely buckled breastplate round on to his\nback; and it was well he did so for, a moment later, a Roman\njavelin rang against it, the force of the blow almost throwing him\non his face. But, in a moment, he continued his course. He was in\ntotal darkness now and, though the javelins were flying around him,\nthey were thrown at random. But the descent had now become so steep\nhe was obliged to pause in his course, and to make his way\ncautiously.\n\nHe undid the buckle, and left the breastplate behind him; threw\ndown the sword; and climbed down until he stood by the side of the\nriver. He could hear shouts above him, and knew that the Romans\nwere searching the hillside, hoping that he had been killed or\nwounded by their darts. But he had no fear of pursuit. He swam the\nriver--for he had struck upon a deep spot--and then, at full speed,\nran along on the bank--knowing that some of the Roman cavalry were\nencamped upon the plain, and would soon be on the spot.\n\nHowever, all was quiet, and he met no one until he arrived opposite\nthe place where it had been arranged that the party should meet.\nThen he waded across.\n\n\"Is that you, John?\" a voice exclaimed.\n\n\"It is I, Jonas. Thank God, you have got back safely! How many are\nwith you?\"\n\nThere was a loud cry of satisfaction and, as he made his way up the\nbank, a number of his followers crowded round him; all in the\nhighest state of delight at his return. Jonas threw his arms round\nhis neck, crying with joy.\n\n\"I thought you must have fallen, John. I have been here ten\nminutes. Most of the others were here before me. Only three have\narrived since and, for the last five minutes, none have come.\"\n\n\"I fear no more will come,\" John said. \"The Romans have cut off all\nretreat.\n\n\"How many are missing?\"\n\n\"We were nineteen, here, before you came,\" one of the men replied.\n\n\"Then there are six missing,\" John said. \"We will not give them up.\nSome may have made their way straight up the mountain, fearing to\nbe seen as they passed the ends of the open spaces. Some may have\nmade their way, down the opposite <DW72>, to the other arm of the\nriver. But, even if all are killed, we need not repine. They have\ndied as they wished--taking vengeance upon the Romans.\n\n\"It has been a glorious success. More than half the Roman camp is\nassuredly destroyed; and they must have lost a prodigious quantity\nof stores, of all kinds.\n\n\"Who are missing?\"\n\nHe heard the names of those absent.\n\n\"I trust we may see some of them, yet,\" he said; \"but if not,\nJonas, tomorrow, shall carry to their friends the news of their\ndeath. They will be wept; but their parents will be proud that\ntheir sons have died in striking so heavy a blow upon our\noppressors. They will live, in the memory of their villages, as men\nwho died doing a great deed; and women will say:\n\n\"'Had all done their duty, as they did, the Romans would never have\nenslaved our nation.'\n\n\"We will wait another half hour, here; but I fear that no more will\njoin us, for the Romans are drawn up all along the line where,\nalone, a descent could be made in the valley.\"\n\n\"Then how did you escape, John,\" Jonas asked; \"and how is it that\nyou were not here, before? Several of those who were in the line\nbeyond you have returned.\"\n\n\"I waited till I hoped that all had passed,\" John said. \"Each one\nwho ran past the open spaces added to the danger--for the Romans\nbeyond could not but notice them, as they passed the spaces lighted\nby the flames--and it was my duty, as leader, to be the last to\ngo.\"\n\n\"Six of those who were beyond you have joined us,\" one of the men\nsaid. \"The other six are those that are missing.\"\n\n\"That is what I feared,\" John answered. \"I felt sure that those\nbehind me would have got safely away, before the Romans recovered\nfrom their first confusion. The danger was, of course, greater in\nproportion to the distance from the edge of the <DW72>.\"\n\n\"But how did you get through, John, since you say that all escape\nis cut off?\"\n\nJohn related how he had slain the Roman soldier, and escaped with\nhis armor; and the recital raised him still higher in the\nestimation of his followers--for the modern feeling, that it is\nright to kill even the bitterest enemy only in fair fight, was\nwholly unknown in those days when, as was done by the Romans at\nJotapata, men would cut the throat of a sleeping foe, with no more\ncompunction than if they were slaughtering a fowl.\n\nPerceiving, by John's narration, that there was no chance of any of\ntheir comrades getting through to join them, now, the party struck\noff into the hills and, after three hours' march, reached their\nencampment. They gave a shout of joy, as they approached it; for a\nfire was burning brightly, and they knew that some of their\ncomrades must have reached the spot before them.\n\nFour men rose, as they approached, and joyful greetings were\nexchanged. Their stories were soon told. As soon as they heard--by\nthe shouts of the Romans on the hillside, and of the outer\nsentries--that they were discovered as they passed the spaces lit\nup by flames, they had turned back. Two of them had made their way\nup a deep watercourse, past the Roman guard on the hill--the\nattention of the soldiers being fixed upon the camp. The other two\nhad climbed down the precipitous rocks on the other side of the\nhill.\n\n\"It was terrible work, in the darkness,\" one of them said. \"I fell,\nonce, and thought I had broken my leg; but, fortunately, I had\ncaught on a ledge, and was able to go on after a time. I think two\nof our party must have perished there; for twice, as I was\ndescending, I heard a sudden cry, and then a sound as of a body\nfalling from rock to rock.\"\n\n\"Better so than to have fallen into the hands of the Romans,\" John\nsaid, \"and to have been forced to slay themselves by their own\nhands, as we agreed to do.\n\n\"Well, my friends, we have done a glorious deed. We have begun\nwell. Let us trust that we may strike many more such blows against\nour tyrants. Now, let us thank God that he has fought by our hands,\nand that He has brought so many of us back from so great a danger!\n\n\"Simeon, you are the oldest of the party; do you lift up your voice\nfor us all.\"\n\nThe party all stood listening reverently, while Simeon said a\nprayer of thanksgiving. Then one of them broke out into one of the\npsalms of triumph, and all joined at once. When this was done, they\ngathered round the fire, prepared their cakes of meal, and put meat\non long skewers on the flames. Having eaten, they talked for hours,\neach in turn giving his account of his share in the adventure.\n\nThey then talked of their missing friends; those from the same\nvillage telling what they knew of them, and what relations they had\nleft behind. At last, just as morning was breaking, they retired\ninto the little bowers of boughs that had been erected to keep off\nthe cold--which was, at this elevation, sharp at nights. They were\nsoon fast asleep.\n\nThe first thing the next morning, Jonas set off to explore the foot\nof the precipices on the south side of the Roman camp, and to\nsearch for the bodies of their two missing comrades. He found one,\nterribly crushed; of the other he could find no sign, whatever. On\nhis returning to the mountain camp, one of the young men was sent\noff to bear, to the relatives of the man whose body had been found,\nthe certain news of his death; and to inquire, of the friends of\nthe other, whether he had any relations living near the mountains\nto whom he might have made his way, if hurt or disabled by his\nfall.\n\nThe messenger returned, on the following day, with the news that\ntheir missing comrade had already arrived at his home. His fall had\nnot been a very deep one and, when he recovered consciousness, some\nhours before daybreak, he found that one of his legs was useless,\nand an arm broken. Thinking that, in the morning, the Romans might\nsearch the foot of the precipices, he dragged himself with the\ngreatest difficulty a few hundred yards and, there, concealed\nhimself among some bushes.\n\nA man came along, in search of an ass that had strayed. He called\nto him and, on the man hearing that he was one of the party who had\ncaused the great fire in the Roman camp--the sight of whose flames\nhad caused such exultation in the heart of every Jew in the plains\naround--he hurried away, and fetched another with a donkey. Upon\nthis the injured man was lifted, and carried down to the lake;\npassing, on the way, several parties of Roman soldiers, to whom the\nidea did not occur that the sick man was one of the party who had\ninflicted such a terrible blow upon them on the previous night.\nOnce by the side of the lake, there was no difficulty in getting\nhim on board a boat, in which he was carried to his native village.\n\nThe Romans were furious at the blow which had been struck them.\nMore than half their camp and camp equipage had been destroyed; a\ngreat part of the baggage of the officers and soldiers had been\nburned, and each man had to deplore losses of his own, as well as\nthe destruction of the public property. But, more than this, they\nfelt the blow to their pride. There was not a soldier but felt\nhumiliated at the thought that a number of the enemy--for, from the\nfire breaking out simultaneously, it was certain at least a score\nof men must have been engaged in the matter--should penetrate\nunseen into the midst of their camp; and worse still that, after\neffecting all this damage, all should have succeeded in making\ntheir escape--for, so far as they knew, the whole of the Jews got\nsafely away.\n\nBut not for a moment did they relax their siege operations. The\ntroops engaged upon the embankment were relieved at the usual hour;\nand half a legion went up into the mountains, as usual, to procure\ntimber; while four thousand archers, divided into parties two\nhundred strong, extended themselves all over the hills, and\nsearched the forest for miles for some sign of their enemy--who\nwere, they were now convinced, comparatively few in numbers.\n\nThe news of the daring attack on the Roman camp spread far and wide\namong the towns and villages of the plains; and aroused the\ndrooping spirits of the people, who had begun to think that it\nwould be worse than useless to offer any opposition to the Roman\npower. Whence came the party which had accomplished the deed, or\nwho was its leader, none knew; and the inhabitants of the villages\nnear Hippos who, alone, could have enlightened them, were careful\nto maintain an absolute silence; for they knew that if, by any\nchance, a rumor reached the Romans of the locality from which their\nassailants had come, they would have carried fire and sword among\nall the villages by the lake.\n\nTitus was away, being absent on a mission in Syria; and Vespasian\nhimself went among the troops, exhorting them not to be downcast at\nthe disaster that had befallen them, for that the bravest men were\nsubject to sudden misfortunes of this kind; and exhorted them to\npush on the siege with all the more vigor, in order that they might\nthe sooner remove to camping grounds where they would not be\nexposed to such attacks by a lurking foe.\n\nThe soldiers replied with cheers; and the next day, the embankment\nbeing completed, they opened so terrible a fire from their war\nengines upon the defenders of the walls that these were forced to\nretire into the city. The Romans at once pushed forward their\nbattering rams to the walls and, setting to work with the greatest\nvigor, speedily made three breaches; through which they rushed,\nwith exulting shouts. The Jews ran down to oppose them, and a\ndesperate conflict took place in the narrow streets; but the\nRomans, pouring in in great numbers through the breaches, pressed\nthem step by step up the steep hill.\n\nThe Jews, animated by despair, again turned, and fell upon them\nwith such fury that the Romans could not withstand the assault, and\nwere driven down the steep lanes and paths, with great slaughter.\nBut those who fled were stopped by the crowd of their own men,\npressing up the hill from below; and the Roman soldiers--jammed, as\nit were, between the Jews above, and their own countrymen\nbelow--took refuge in the houses, in great numbers.\n\nBut these were not constructed to bear the weight of so many men,\nin heavy armor. The floors fell in and, as many of the Romans\nclimbed up on to the flat roofs, these also fell, bringing the\nwalls down with them. Standing, as they did, almost one above\nanother, each house that fell brought down the one below it and,\nthus, the ruin spread--as one house of cards brings down\nanother--until the whole of the town standing on the steep\ndeclivity, on its eastern side, was a mass of ruins.\n\nThe confusion was tremendous. The dust of the falling houses so\nthickened the air that men could not see a yard in front of them.\nHundreds of the Roman soldiers were buried among the ruins. Some\nwere killed, at once. Others, jammed between fallen timbers, strove\nin vain to extricate themselves, and shouted to their comrades to\ncome to their assistance; but these--enveloped in darkness,\nignorant of the ground, half suffocated with dust--were powerless\nto aid them.\n\nIn the confusion, Romans fell by the swords of Romans. Many who\ncould not extricate themselves slew themselves, with their own\nswords; while the exulting Jews--seeing, in this terrible disaster,\na miracle effected in their favor--crowded down from above, slaying\nwith their swords, hurling masses of stone down on the foe, killing\nthose unable to retreat, and adding to the confusion and terror\nwith their yells of triumph, which rose high above the confused\nshouts of the Romans.\n\nVespasian himself, who had entered the town with his soldiers, and\nhad pushed forward with them up the hill, was nearly involved in\nthe common destruction; but, as the houses came crashing down\naround him, he shouted loudly to the soldiers near to gather round\nhim, and to lock their shields together to form a testudo.\nRecognizing the voice of their beloved general, the soldiers near\nrallied round him and, sheltered beneath their closely-packed\nshields, resisted the storm of darts and stones from above and,\ngradually and in good order, made their way down over the ruins and\nissued safely from the walls.\n\nThe loss of the Romans was great. The soldiers were greatly\ndispirited by their defeat, and especially by the thought that they\nhad deserted their general in their retreat. Vespasian, however,\nwas wise enough to see that this was no time for rebuke; and he\naccordingly addressed them in language of approbation. He said that\ntheir repulse was in no way due to want of valor on their part, but\nto an accident such as none could foresee; and which had been\nbrought about, to some extent, by their too impetuous ardor, which\nled them to fight rather with the desperate fury of the Jews than\nwith the steady discipline that distinguished Roman soldiers.\n\nThe defenders of the city were full of exultation at their success\nand, setting to work with ardor, soon repaired the breaches and\nstrengthened the walls. But all knew that, in spite of their\nmomentary success, their position was desperate, for their\nprovisions were almost exhausted. The stores which had been laid up\nwere very large; but the siege had lasted for many months before\nthe arrival of the Romans, and the number of the people assembled\nwithin the walls far exceeded the usual population.\n\nThe Romans, on their part, increased the height of their\nembankment, and prepared for a second assault.\n\nIn the meantime, Itabyrium had fallen. The hill of Tabor was\ninaccessible, except on the north side; and the level area, on the\ntop, was surrounded by a strong wall. Placidus had been sent, with\nsix hundred horse, against the place; but the hill was so steep,\nand difficult, that he hesitated to attack it. Each party pretended\nto be anxious to treat, each intending to take advantage of the\nother. Placidus invited the garrison to descend the hill, and\ndiscuss terms with him. The Itabyrians accepted the invitation,\nwith the design of assailing the Romans, unawares. Placidus, who\nwas on his guard, feigned a retreat. The Itabyrians boldly pursued\non to the plain; when the Roman horse, wheeling round, dashed among\nthem, inflicting terrible slaughter and cutting off their retreat\ntowards the city. Those who escaped the slaughter fled to\nJerusalem.\n\nThe town, weakened by the loss of so many fighting men, and being\nmuch distressed by want of water, again opened negotiations; and\nsurrendered upon the promise that the lives of all within it should\nbe spared.\n\nHunger was now doing its work among the people of Gamala. The\ninhabitants suffered terribly, for the provisions were all taken\nfor the use of the fighting men; and the rest had to subsist, as\nbest they could, on any little hoards they might have hidden away,\nor on garbage of all kinds. Numbers made their escape through the\nsewers and passages which led into the ravines, where the Romans\nhad placed no guards.\n\nStill the assaults of the Romans were bravely repelled until, on\nthe night of the 22d of September, two soldiers of the Fifteenth\nLegion contrived to creep, unobserved, to the foot of one of the\nhighest towers of the wall; and began, silently, to undermine its\nfoundations. Before morning broke, they had got in so far that they\ncould not be perceived from the walls. Still they worked in,\nleaving a few stones in their place, to support the tower until the\nlast moment. Then they struck these away, and ran for their lives.\n\nThe tower fell with a terrible crash, with the guards upon it. In\ntheir terror, the defenders of the walls leaped up and fled in all\ndirections; and many were killed by the Romans' darts--among them\nJosephus, one of their two leaders--while Chares, who was lying in\nthe height of a fever, expired from the excitement of the calamity.\n\nThe confusion in the town was terrible. Deprived of their two\nleaders, and with the town open to assault, none knew what was to\nbe done. All expected instant destruction, and the air was filled\nwith the screams and wailings of the women; but the Romans, mindful\nof their last repulse, did not at once advance to the assault. But\nin the afternoon Titus--who had now returned--taking two hundred\nhorse, and a force of infantry, crossed the breach and entered the\ntown.\n\nSome of the defenders rushed to meet him. Others, catching up their\nchildren, ran with their wives to the citadel. The defenders fought\nbravely, but were driven steadily up the hill by the Romans--who\nwere now reinforced by the whole strength of the army, led by\nVespasian. Quarter was neither asked nor given. The defenders\ncontested every foot of the hill, until the last defender of\nGamala, outside, the citadel had fallen.\n\nThen Vespasian led his men against the citadel itself. It stood on\na rugged rock, of great height, offering tremendous difficulties to\nthe assailants. The Jews stood upon the summit, rolling down great\nstones and darts upon the Romans, as they strove to ascend. But the\nvery heavens seemed to fight against the unfortunate Jews, for a\nterrific tempest suddenly broke upon the city. So furious was the\nwind that the Jews could no longer stand on the edge of the crag,\nor oppose the progress of the enemy; while the Romans, sheltered\nfrom the wind by the rock, itself, were able to press upwards.\n\nThe platform once gained, they rushed upon the Jews, slaying all\nthey met, men, women, and children. Vast numbers of the Jews, in\ntheir despair, threw themselves headlong, with their wives and\nchildren, over the precipices and, when the butchery was complete,\nfive thousand bodies were found at the foot of the rocks. Four\nthousand lay dead on the platform above. Of all those in Gamala\nwhen the Romans entered, two women, alone, escaped. They were the\nsisters of Philip, a general in Agrippa's army. They managed to\nconceal themselves until the carnage was over, and the fury of the\nRomans had subsided; and then showed themselves, and proclaimed who\nthey were.\n\nGischala now, alone of the cities of Galilee, defied the Roman\narms. The people themselves were, for the most part, tillers of the\nsoil, and were anxious to make their submission; but John--the\nrival and bitter enemy of Josephus--with the robber band he had\ncollected, was master of the town, and refused to allow any talk of\nsubmission. The city had none of the natural strength of Jotapata\nand Gamala, and Vespasian sent Titus against it with a thousand\nhorse; while he ordered the Tenth Legion to take up its winter\nquarters at Scythopolis; and himself moved, with the other two\nlegions, to Caesarea.\n\nTitus, on his arrival before Gischala, saw that the city could be\neasily taken by assault but, desirous of avoiding any more shedding\nof blood, and learning that the inhabitants were desirous of\nsurrendering, he sent an officer before it to offer terms of\ncapitulation. The troops of John of Gischala manned the walls and,\nwhen the summons of Titus was proclaimed, John answered that the\ngarrison accepted willingly the generous terms that were offered;\nbut that, the day being the Sabbath, nothing could be concluded,\nwithout an infringement of the law, until the next day.\n\nTitus at once granted the delay, and drew off his troops to a\nneighboring town. In the night, John of Gischala marched away with\nall his armed men; followed by many of the inhabitants, with their\nwives and children--fearing to remain in the city, exposed to the\nanger of Titus, when he found he had been duped. The women and\nchildren soon began to drop behind; but the men pressed on, leaving\nthe helpless and despairing women behind them.\n\nIn the morning, when Titus appeared before the town, it opened its\ngates to him at once; the people hailing him as their deliverer\nfrom the oppression they had so long suffered, at the hands of John\nand his bands of ruffians. Titus entered Gischala amidst the\nacclamations of the people; and behaved with great moderation,\ninjuring no one, and contenting himself with throwing down a\nportion of the walls; and warning the inhabitants that, if they\nagain rose in rebellion, the same mercy would not be extended to\nthem.\n\nHe had at once dispatched a troop of horse in pursuit of the\nfugitives. They overtook them, and slew six thousand of the men,\nand brought three thousand women and children back into the city.\nJohn himself, with the strongest of his band, were not overtaken,\nbut made their way to Jerusalem.\n\nThe fame of the successful exploit, of the destruction of the Roman\ncamp, brought large numbers of young men flocking to the hills, as\nsoon as the Romans retired from Gamala, all eager to join the band;\nand John could have recruited his numbers to any extent but, now\nthat all Galilee had fallen, and the Romans retired to their winter\nquarters, he did not see that there was anything to be done, until\nthe spring. It would be madness to attack either of the great Roman\ncamps, at Scythopolis or Caesarea; and although, doubtless, the\ngarrisons left in Tiberias, Tarichea, and other towns might have\nbeen driven out, this would only have brought upon those cities the\nanger of the Romans, and involved them in ruin and destruction.\n\nStill less would it have been of any advantage to go down, at\npresent, into Judea. That province was suffering woes, as great as\nthe Romans could inflict upon it, from the action of the factions.\nUnder the pretense of punishing all who were supposed to be\nfavorable to making terms with Rome, bands of armed men pervaded\nthe whole country, plundering and slaying the wretched inhabitants.\n\nLaw and order were at an end. Those in Jerusalem who claimed, for\nthemselves, the chief authority in the country had done nothing to\nassist their countrymen, in the north, in their struggle with the\nRomans. Not a man had been dispatched to Galilee. The leaders were\noccupied in their own desperate feuds, and battles took place in\nthe streets of the city. The peaceful inhabitants were plundered\nand ill treated, and the condition of those within the walls was as\nterrible as was that of those without. Anarchy, plunder, and\ncarnage extended throughout Judea and, while the destruction of\nJerusalem was threatened by the Roman army in the north, the Jews\nmade no preparation, whatever, for its defense, but spent their\nwhole time and energy in civil strife.\n\nWhen, therefore, the numerous band who had now gathered round him\nurged him to lead them down to Jerusalem, John refused to do so.\nGetting upon an elevated spot, where his voice could be heard by\nthem all, he said:\n\n\"My friends, you have heard, as well as I, what is taking place in\nJerusalem and the country round it. Did we go down there, what good\ncould we do? We should be drawn into the strife, on one side or\nanother; and the swords which should be kept for the defense of the\nTemple against the Romans would be stained with Jewish blood.\nMoreover, we should aid to consume the food stored away in the\ngranaries.\n\n\"Nor can we, through the winter, attempt any enterprise against the\nRomans here. The woes of Galilee are over. Tens of thousands have\nfallen, but those that survive can go about their business and till\ntheir fields in peace. Were we to renew the war, here, we should\nbring upon them a fresh outburst of the Roman vengeance.\n\n\"Therefore, there is naught for us to do, now; but in the spring,\nwhen the Romans get into motion against Jerusalem, we will march to\nits defense. We have naught to do with the evil deeds that are being\nperformed there; we have but to do our duty, and the first duty of\nevery Jew is to die, if need be, in the defense of the Temple.\nTherefore, let us now disperse to our homes. When the first news\ncomes that the Romans are stirring, those of you who are disposed\nto follow me, and obey my orders, can assemble here.\n\n\"But let only such come. Let the rest make their way, singly, to\nJerusalem. I am resolved to have only such with me who will follow\nme as one man. You know how the factions rage in the city. A\ncompact body of men, true to themselves and their leader, can\nmaintain themselves aloof from the strife, and make themselves\nrespected by both parties; but single men must take sides with one\nfaction or other, or be ill treated by both.\n\n\"We are wanted, at home. The fields are lying untilled, for want of\nhands; therefore let us lay aside our arms until the spring, and do\nour duty to our families until we are called upon to aid in the\ndefense of the Temple. When the hour comes, I shall be ready to\nlead, if you are ready to follow.\"\n\nJohn's address received general approval, and the gathering\ndispersed; all vowing that they would assemble in the spring, and\nfollow John wherever he chose to lead them--for he was already\nregarded with an almost superstitious admiration in the country\naround. His deliverance at Jotapata and the success that he, alone\nof the Jewish leaders, had gained over the Romans, marked him in\ntheir eyes as one specially chosen by God to lead them to victory;\nand in a few hours the hill above Gamala was deserted, and John and\nhis followers were all on their way towards their homes.\n\n\n\nChapter 10: Captives.\n\n\nJohn was received with great joy by his father; who had already\nheard the story brought by the injured member of the band from\nGamala, and was filled with pride that his son should so have\ndistinguished himself. He at once agreed to John's proposal that he\nshould start, on the following day, to fetch the women from Neve,\nas there was no longer any fear of trouble from the Romans. Galilee\nwas completely subdued and, whatever events might take place in\nJudea, those in the north would be unaffected by them.\n\nThe day after his return, then, John set out with Jonas for Neve.\nJohn charged his companion on no account to say anything of their\ndoings at the siege of Gamala; and as communication was difficult,\nand they had not heard from Simon since John had left him, his\nfriends at Neve were not aware that he had been absent from the\nfarm. Martha and Mary were delighted to see him, and to hear that\nall was well at home. They had been greatly alarmed at the news of\nthe slaughter of the fishermen on the lake, fearing that John might\nhave gone across to Tarichea with some of his friends in the\nvillage. Their fears on this head, however, abated as time passed\non and they did not hear from Simon; who, they felt assured, would\nhave brought the news to Martha, had aught happened to their son.\n\nThey had mourned over the siege and massacre of Gamala, and had\nbeen filled with joy when the news had arrived, three days before,\nthat the Roman army had marched away to take up its quarters for\nthe winter; and they had looked for the summons, which John\nbrought, for their return home.\n\n\"And does your father think, John, that there will be trouble again\nin the spring? Shall we have to leave home again, as soon as the\nwinter is past?\"\n\n\"He hopes not, mother. Gamala was the only town on this side of the\nJordan that resisted the Roman authority and, as all the\nterritories of Agrippa are now peaceful, there is no reason why the\nRomans should enter these again; and indeed, all Galilee has now\nsurrendered. As Vespasian moved towards the sea, deputies came to\nhim from every town and village; and I think, now, that there will\nbe no more trouble there.\"\n\n\"It has been terrible enough, my son. What tens of thousands of men\nhave perished, what destruction has been wrought! We have been\nmourning, for months now, for the woes which have fallen upon our\npeople.\"\n\n\"It has been most terrible, mother; and yet, it might have been\nworse. Nigh a hundred and fifty thousand have fallen, at Gadara,\nJotapata, Japha, Tarichea, and Gamala; besides those who were slain\nin the villages that had been sacked, and destroyed. Still,\nconsidering all things, it might have been worse and, were it all\nover now--did no more dangers threaten our nation--we might even\nrejoice that no greater evils have befallen us, for our revolt\nagainst Rome. But what has been done is but a preparation for the\nsiege of Jerusalem.\n\n\"However, do not let us begin to mourn over the future. The storm\nhas, for the present, passed away from us and, whatever misfortunes\nhave befallen our countrymen, we have happily escaped. The farm\nstands uninjured, and no harm has come to any of us.\"\n\n\"And all the villagers have escaped, John? Did none of our\nneighbors go out in their boats to Tarichea? We feared, when we\nheard of the sea fight, that some must have fallen.\"\n\n\"No, mother. Fortunately, they listened to the counsels of my\nfather, who implored them not to put out on the lake for that, did\nthey do so, they would only bring misfortune and ruin upon\nthemselves.\"\n\n\"And have you heard, John,\" Mary asked, \"anything of the champion\nwho they say has arisen? We have heard all sorts of tales of\nhim--how he harassed the Romans before Gamala and, with his\nfollowers, burned their camp one night and well nigh destroyed\nthem; and how, when he goes into the fight, the Roman javelins drop\noff without harming him; and how, when he strikes, the Romans fall\nbefore his blows like wheat before a sickle.\"\n\nJohn burst into a laugh.\n\n\"I wonder, Mary, that the reports didn't say also that he could fly\nthrough the air when he chose; could render himself invisible to\nthe enemy; and could, by a wave of his hand, destroy them as the\nhosts of Sennacherib were destroyed. The Romans were harassed\nsomewhat, at Gamala, by John and his followers, who crept into\ntheir camp at night and set it on fire, and had a few skirmishes\nwith their working parties; but when you have said that, you have\nsaid all that there is to say about it.\"\n\n\"That is not like you, John,\" Mary said, indignantly, for the tales\nthat had circulated through the province had fired her imagination.\n\"Everyone is talking of what he has done. He, alone of all our\nleaders, has checked the Romans; and has shown wisdom, as well as\nvalor, in fighting. I should have thought you would have been one\nof the first to praise him. Everyone is talking about him and,\nsince we heard of what he has been doing, mother and I pray for\nhim, daily, as we pray for you and your father; and now you want to\nmake out he has done nothing.\"\n\n\"I do not want to make out that he has done nothing, Mary, for\ndoubtless the Lord has been with him, and has enabled him to give\nsome trouble to the Romans; but I was laughing at the fables you\nhave heard about him, and at the reports which had converted his\nskirmishes with the Romans into all sorts of marvelous actions.\"\n\n\"I believe they were marvelous actions,\" Mary said. \"Why should\nwhat people say be all wrong?\n\n\"We believe in him, don't we, mother?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mary. It is true that the tales we have heard may be, as John\nsays, exaggerated; but assuredly this new champion of our people\nmust be a man of wisdom and valor, and I see not why, as God raised\nup champions for Israel in the old time, he should not do so now,\nwhen our need is so great.\"\n\n\"There is no reason, mother,\" John said, more quietly, \"but I fear\nthat the champion of Israel is not yet forthcoming. We have heard\nof the doings of this John and, as I said, he has merely had some\nskirmishes with the Romans--his band being too small to admit of\nany regular fighting. He interrupted their work, and gave them some\ntrouble; and his men, creeping down into the camp, set it on fire,\nand so caused them a good deal of loss; but more than this cannot\nbe said of him.\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" Mary said disdainfully, \"he has done more than your\nJosephus, John--for he brought ruin on all who took his advice, and\nwent into the cities he had fortified. It may please you to make\nlittle of what this champion has done. Others do not think so.\nEverywhere he is talked of, and praised--the old men are talking of\nhim, the Jewish maidens are singing songs in his honor. I heard\nthem, yesterday, gathered round a well near Neve. His father must\nrejoice, and his mother be proud of him, if they are alive.\n\n\"What do they say down by the lake, Jonas, of this captain? Are not\nthe tales we have heard believed, there?\"\n\n\"I have heard nothing about the Roman javelins not harming him,\"\nJonas said; \"but he certainly got safely out of the hands of the\nRomans, when they had well-nigh taken him; and all say that he is\nbrave and prudent, and men have great confidence and trust in him.\"\n\n\"Ridiculous, Jonas!\" John exclaimed angrily, and Mary and his\nmother looked at him in surprise.\n\n\"Truly, John,\" his mother said, \"what Mary said is just. This is\nnot like you. I should have thought you would have been one of the\nfirst to admire this new leader, seeing that he is fighting in the\nway I have heard you advocate as being that in which the Romans\nshould be fought, instead of the Jews being shut up in the cities.\"\n\n\"Quite so, mother! No doubt he is adopting the proper way of\nfighting, and therefore has naturally had some success. I am only\nsaying that he has done nothing wonderful; but has given the Romans\nsome trouble by refusing to fight, and by merely trying to harass\nthem. If there were a thousand men who would gather small bands\ntogether, and harass the Romans night and day in the same manner,\nthey would render it well-nigh impossible for them to make any\nprogress. As it was, he merely aided in delaying the fall of Gamala\nby a day or two.\n\n\"And now, let us talk of something else. Our father has succeeded\nin getting in the principal part of the harvest, but I fear that\nthis year you will be short of fruit. We have had no time to gather\nin the figs, and they have all fallen from the trees; and although\nwe have made enough wine for our own use, there will be but little\nto sell.\"\n\n\"It matters not at all,\" Martha said. \"God has been very merciful\ntowards us and, so that we have but bread to eat and water to\ndrink, until next harvest, we shall have nothing to repine about,\nwhen ruin and destruction have fallen upon so many.\"\n\nThat evening, when Mary and Martha had retired to their apartments,\nthe former, who had been very silent all the evening, said:\n\n\"I cannot understand, mother, why John speaks so coldly of the\ndoings of this brave leader; and why he was almost angry at our\npraises of him. It seems altogether unlike him.\"\n\n\"It is unlike him, Mary; but you must never be surprised at men,\nthey do not like to hear each other praised; and though I should\nhave thought, from what I know of my son, that he was above the\nfeeling of jealousy, I cannot but think that he showed some signs\nof that feeling today.\"\n\n\"But it seems absurd, mother. I can understand John being jealous\nof any one his own age who surpassed him in any exercises--though I\nnever saw him so for, when in rowing on the lake, or in shooting\nwith bows and arrows, or in other sports, some of our neighbors'\nsons have surpassed him, he never seemed to mind at all; and it\nseems almost absurd to think that he could be jealous of a great\nleader, who has done brave deeds for our people.\"\n\n\"It does seem so, Mary, and I wonder myself; but it has been ever\none of our national faults to be jealous of our leaders. From the\ntime the people vexed Moses and Aaron, in the wilderness, it has\never been the same. I grieve to see it in John, who has\ndistinguished himself greatly for his age, and of whom we are\nproud; but no one is perfect, my child, and you must not trouble\nbecause you find that your betrothed husband is not free from all\nweaknesses.\"\n\n\"I don't expect him to be free from all weaknesses, mother; but\nthis is one of the last weaknesses I should have expected to find\nin him, and it troubles me. When everything seemed so dark, it was\na pleasure to think that a hero, perhaps a deliverer, had arisen;\nand now John seems to say that he has done nothing.\"\n\n\"My dear child,\" Martha said, \"something may have occurred to vex\nJohn on the way and, when men are put out, they will often show it\nin the strangest manner. Probably John will, another time, speak\njust as warmly in praise of our new leader as you would, yourself.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it may be so, mother,\" Mary assented. \"I can hardly\nbelieve that John is jealous--it does seem so unlike himself.\"\n\n\"I would not speak on the subject again, Mary, if I were you;\nunless he, himself, brings it up. A wise woman keeps silence on\nsubjects which may lead to disagreement. You will learn, when you\nhave married, that this is the easiest and best way.\"\n\n\"I suppose so, mother,\" Mary said, in a tone of disappointment;\n\"but somehow it never seemed to me, before, that John and I could\nhave any subject on which there would be disagreement.\"\n\n\"My dear Mary,\" Martha said, smiling, \"John and you are both\nmortal; and although you may truly love each other--and will, I\ntrust, be very happy as husband and wife--subjects will occur upon\nwhich you will differ; and then, as you know, the wisest plan is\nfor the wife to be silent. It is the wife's duty always to give way\nto the husband.\"\n\nMary gave a little shrug of her shoulders, as if to intimate that\nshe did not regard altogether favorably this view of a wife's\nduties; however, she said no more, but kissed Martha, and retired\nto bed.\n\nThe next morning they started early, and journeyed to Capitolias,\nwhere they stayed at the house of some friends. In the evening, the\ntalk again turned upon the new leader, who had burned the Roman\ncamp. When they did so, John at once made some excuse, and went\nout. He regretted, now, that he had not at once told his mother\nwhat he had been doing. He had intended, in the first place, to\ngive her a little surprise; but had no idea of the exaggerated\nreports that had been spread about and, when Mary broke out into\npraise of the unknown leader, it seemed to him that it would have\nbeen absurd to say that he, himself, was the person of whom she had\nformed so fantastically exalted an opinion. Not having said so at\nfirst, he did not see how he could say so, afterwards; and so left\nthe matter as it stood, until they should return home.\n\nWhile John was out, he heard news which caused him some uneasiness.\nIt was said that parties of Roman horse, from Scythopolis, had been\nscouring the country; burning many villages--under the pretext that\nsome Roman soldiers, who had straggled away marauding on their own\naccount, had been killed by the peasants--slaughtering the people,\nand carrying off as slaves such young women and men as were likely\nto fetch good prices.\n\nHe told his mother what he had heard; and asked her whether she did\nnot think that it would be better to stay where they were, for a\ntime, or return to Neve. But Martha was anxious to be at home,\nagain; and the friend with whom they were stopping said that these\nreports were a week old, and that doubtless the Romans had returned\nto their camp. She determined, therefore, that she and Mary would\ncontinue their journey; but that the maids should remain with their\nfriend, at Capitolias, until the Roman excursions ceased.\n\nThey accordingly set out in the morning, as before--the two women\nriding, and John and Jonas walking by the side of the donkeys.\nFollowing the road by the side of the Hieromax they kept on,\nwithout meeting anything to cause alarm, until they reached the\nangle of the stream, where the road to Hippos branched off from\nthat which followed the river down to Tarichea. They had gone but a\nshort distance, when they saw a cloud of dust rising along the road\nin front of them, and the sparkle of arms in the sun.\n\n\"Turn aside, mother,\" John exclaimed. \"Those must be the Romans\nahead.\"\n\nTurning aside, they rode towards some gardens and orchards at no\ngreat distance but, before they reached them, two Roman soldiers\nseparated themselves from the rest, and galloped after them.\n\n\"Fly, John!\" Martha said, hurriedly. \"You and Jonas can escape.\"\n\n\"It would only ensure evil to you if we did, mother. No, we will\nkeep together.\"\n\nThe Roman soldiers rode up, and roughly ordered the party to\naccompany them back to the main body, which consisted of fifty men.\nThe leader, a young officer whose garments and armor showed that he\nbelonged to a family of importance, rode forward a few paces to\nmeet them.\n\n\"Some more of this accursed race of rebels!\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"We are quiet travelers,\" John said, \"journeying from Capitolias to\nTarichea. We have harmed no one, my lord.\"\n\n\"You are all the same,\" the Roman said, scowling. \"You speak us\nfair one day, and stab us in the back the next.\n\n\"Pomponius,\" he said to a sergeant, \"put these two lads with the\nrest. They ought to fetch a good price, for they are strong and\nactive. As to the girl, I will make a present of her, to the\ngeneral, to send to his wife in Rome. She is the prettiest Jewess I\nhave seen, since I entered the country. The old woman can go. She\nis of no use to anyone.\"\n\nIllustration: Mary and the Hebrew Women in the Hands of the Romans.\n\nMartha threw her arms round Mary; and would have striven to resist,\nwith her feeble strength, the carrying out of the order, when John\nsaid in Hebrew:\n\n\"Mother, you will ruin us all, and lose your own life! Go home\nquietly, and trust to me to save Mary.\"\n\nThe habit of submitting to her husband's will, which Martha had\npracticed all her life, asserted itself. She embraced Mary\npassionately, and drew aside as the Roman soldiers approached; and\nthen, tottering away a short distance, sank weeping on the ground.\nMary shed no tear but, pale as death, walked by the side of a\nsoldier, who led her to the rear of the cavalcade, where four or\nfive other young women were standing, in dejected attitudes.\n\nJohn and Jonas were similarly placed, with some young men, in the\nmidst of the Roman soldiers. Their hands were tied behind them, and\nthe troop resumed its way. They were traveling by the road along\nwhich the little party had just come. Whenever a house or small\nvillage was seen, half of the troop galloped off. Flames were soon\nseen to rise, and parties of wretched captives were driven in.\n\nWhen about halfway to Capitolias, the troop halted. The horses were\nturned into a field of ripe corn, to feed. Half the men sat down to\na meal, while the remainder stood on guard over the captives. John\nhad whispered to Jonas to work his hands so as to loosen his cords,\nif possible; and the lad, whose bones were very small, soon said\nthat he could slip the ropes off without difficulty.\n\nIt was harder work for John and, indeed, while on the march he did\nnot venture to exert himself, fearing that the movements would be\nnoticed by his guards. But when they halted, he got into the middle\nof the group of captives, and tried his best to loosen the cords.\nJonas was close beside him.\n\n\"It is of no use, Jonas,\" he said. \"The cords are cutting into my\nflesh, and they will not yield in the slightest.\"\n\n\"Let me try, John.\n\n\"Stand round close,\" Jonas said to the other captives, in Hebrew.\n\"I want to loosen my friend's knots. If he can get away, he will\nbring rescue to you all.\"\n\nThe others moved so as to completely cover the movements of Jonas;\nand the lad, stooping down, applied his teeth to the knot in John's\ncords, and soon succeeded in loosening it.\n\n\"That will be enough, Jonas. I can draw my hand through, now.\"\n\nJonas again stood up.\n\n\"When I make an effort to escape, Jonas, do you dash between the\nhorsemen, and run for it. In the confusion you will get a start,\nand they will not overtake you until you are across the river. Once\non the hill, you are safe. If you remain behind and I get away, as\nlikely as not one of the soldiers would send a javelin through you,\nas being my companion.\"\n\nAfter half an hour's halt, the Romans again mounted their horses\nand turned to retrace their steps. Two Romans rode on either side\nof the captives, who were about fifty in number; and John gradually\nmade his way to the front of the party, between the two leading\nhorsemen.\n\nThe officer, talking to his sergeant, rode a few paces ahead, in\nthe middle of the road. Since the cords had been loosened, John had\ncontinued to work his fingers until the circulation was restored.\nSuddenly he slipped his hands from their fastenings, gave three\nbounds forward, and vaulted on to the back of the horse behind the\nofficer. He had drawn the knife which had been hidden in his\ngirdle; and he threw one arm round the officer, while he struck the\nknife deep into the horse's flank. The animal reared in the air and\nthen, at a second application of the knife, sprang forward at the\ntop of his speed, before the astonished Roman knew what had\nhappened. John held him in his arms like a vice and, exerting all\nhis strength, lifted him from the saddle and hurled him headlong to\nthe ground; where he lay, bleeding and insensible.\n\nJohn had now time to look round. Struck with astonishment at the\nsudden incident which had passed under their eyes, the Romans had,\nat first, instinctively reined in their horses. The sergeant had\nbeen the first to recover himself and, shouting to the five leading\nsoldiers on each side to follow him, had spurred in pursuit, just\nas his officer was hurled to the ground. But John was already some\nfifty yards away, and felt sure that he could not be overtaken.\n\nHe had remarked the horse ridden by the officer, while they were\neating; and saw that it was of far higher blood and swifter pace\nthan any of those ridden by the soldiers. His own weight, too, was\nfar less than that of the heavy-armed men in pursuit of him and,\nwith a shout of scornful defiance, and a wave of his hand, he\ncontinued his course. Before a mile had been passed he had left his\npursuers far in the rear and, seeing the hopelessness of the\npursuit, they presently reined up and returned to the main body.\n\nJonas had carried out John's instructions and, the instant the\nlatter sprang on the officer, he slipped under the belly of the\nhorse next to him and ran, at the top of his speed, for the river.\nIt was but a hundred yards away, and he had gone three quarters the\ndistance before any of the soldiers--confused at the attack upon\ntheir officer, doubtful whether the whole of the captives were not\nabout to fall upon them, and without orders how to act, set out in\npursuit.\n\nJonas plunged into the stream, dived to the other side, and then\nsprang forward again, just as three or four soldiers reached the\nbank he had left. Their javelins were hurled after him, but without\neffect and, with a shout of triumph, he sprang up the hillside, and\nwas soon safe from pursuit.\n\nAs soon as he saw that the Romans had turned back, John sprang from\nhis horse, unstrapped the heavy armor which covered its chest and\nsides, and flung it away; and then, mounting, resumed his course.\nAt the first house he came to he borrowed a shepherd's horn and, as\nhe approached the first village, sounded his signal for the assembly.\n\nTwo or three young men ran out from their houses, as he dashed up;\nfor there was not a village in those parts from which some of the\nyoung men had not gone up to the mountains to join him, after the\nfall of Gamala, and all were ready to follow him anywhere. He\nrapidly gave them orders to go to all the villages round; and\ninstruct the young men to assemble, with all speed possible, at\ntheir old trysting place near Jabez Galaad; and to spread the news\nas they went, some from each village being sent as messengers to\nothers. Then he pursued his way at full speed and, by sunset, had\nissued his orders in some twenty villages.\n\nBeing convinced that, by night, a sufficient number of men would\nhave gathered in the mountain for his purpose, he rode back to the\nriver, swam his horse across; and then, leaving it to shift for\nitself, made his way up the mountain. Some seventy or eighty men\nhad already arrived at the appointed place, and fresh parties were\ncoming in every minute. Jonas was already there, John having\narranged with him to watch the movements of the Romans until the\nsun set, and then to bring word to the place of meeting as to their\nmovements.\n\n\"Well, Jonas, what is your news?\"\n\n\"The Romans have halted, for the night, at a spot about a mile this\nside of where we left them. They remained where they were, until\nthe party who had ridden after you returned; then they went slowly\nback, after having made a litter with their spears, on which four\nof them carried the officer you threw from his horse--what a crash\nhe made! I heard the clang of his arms, as I was running. They\nstopped near one of the villages they burned as we went past; and\nwhen I turned to make my way here their fires were burning, so\nthere's no doubt they mean to halt there for the night.\"\n\n\"That is good news, indeed!\" John said. \"Before morning we will\nrouse them up in a way they little expect.\"\n\nJohn's followers arrived eager for the fight, for the news of the\ndevastations committed by this party of Romans had roused the whole\ndistrict to fury. As a rule the Romans, except when actually on a\ncampaign, abstained from all ill treatment of the inhabitants--the\norders against plundering and injuring the people being here, as in\nother countries held by the Roman arms, very stringent. In the\npresent case, there was no doubt that Roman soldiers had been\nkilled; but these had brought their fate upon themselves, by their\nill treatment and insult of the villagers, and no notice would have\nbeen taken of the slaying of men while acting in disobedience of\norders, had it not been that they belonged to the company of\nServilius Maro.\n\nHe was a young noble, possessed of great influence in Rome, and of\na ferocious and cruel disposition; and he had urged the general so\nstrongly to allow him to go out, to inflict punishment upon the\ncountry people, that consent had reluctantly been given. But even\nat this time, although the Jews were not aware of it, a messenger\nwas on his way to Servilius with peremptory orders to him to return\nat once to Scythopolis, as most serious reports as to his cruelty\nto peaceful inhabitants had come to the general's ears.\n\nBut that message Servilius was never to receive. By midnight,\nupwards of four hundred men had gathered at the rendezvous in the\nmountains. John divided the force into four bodies, and gave each\ntheir orders as to the part that they were to take; and then\nmarched down the hill, crossed the river, and advanced towards the\nRoman bivouac.\n\nWhen within a quarter of a mile of the fires, the band broke up\ninto sections and proceeded to surround the enemy. When each\ncompany reached the position John had marked out for it, the men\nbegan to crawl slowly forward towards the Romans. John sounded a\nnote on his horn and, with a shout, the whole band rushed to their\nfeet and charged down upon the enemy. Before the latter could\nspring to their feet, and mount their horses, the Jews were among\nthem.\n\nJohn, with a picked band of twenty men, at once made his way to the\ncenter of the camp; where the captives, ignorant of the cause of\nthis sudden alarm, stood huddled together. Placing his men around\nthem, to prevent any Roman soldier injuring them, John joined in\nthe fray.\n\nIt was short. Taken by surprise, unable to get together and form in\norder of defense, the Roman soldiers were surrounded and cut down,\neach man fighting stubbornly to the last. One of the first to fall\nwas their leader who, springing to his feet at the alarm, had\nrushed just as he was, without helmet or armor, among his soldiers,\nand was stabbed in a dozen places before he had time to draw his\nsword.\n\nThe moment the conflict was over, and the last Roman had fallen,\nJohn ordered his men to disperse, at once.\n\n\"Regain your homes before morning,\" he said. \"There may be other\nparties of Romans out, and it is as well that none, even of your\nfriends, should see you return; and then the Romans will have no\nclue as to those who have taken part in this night's business. Take\nnot any of their arms, or spoils. We have fought for vengeance, and\nto relieve our friends, not for plunder. It is well that the Romans\nshould see that, when they hear of the disaster and march out to\nbury the dead.\"\n\nThe men were already crowding round the captives, relieving them\nfrom their bonds and, in many cases, embracing and weeping on their\nnecks, for among them were many friends and relations of the\nrescuing party.\n\nJohn soon found Mary.\n\n\"Is this a miracle you have performed, John?\" the girl said. \"Can\nit be true that our captors have been slain, and that we are free?\"\n\n\"Yes, dear, we can continue our journey.\"\n\n\"But how has it happened, John; how has it all come about?\"\n\n\"Jonas and I escaped, as I suppose you know, Mary.\"\n\n\"There was a great confusion and stir upon the road,\" Mary said,\n\"but I did not know what had happened, until we got here. Then some\nof the men said that two of the captives had escaped; and that one\nof them jumped on to the horse of the officer and overthrew him,\nand had ridden off. They said they were both young and, as I missed\nyou both from among the party, I thought it must have been you.\n\n\"But how did all these men come together?\"\n\n\"I rode round the country, calling upon the young men in the\nvillages to take up arms, to rescue their friends who had been\ncarried away captive into slavery, and to revenge the destruction\nwhich this band of ruffians had caused. There were plenty of brave\nmen ready to undertake the task and, as you see, we have carried it\nout.\n\n\"And now, Mary, we had best be going. You see, the others are\ndispersing fast; and it is as well to be as far from here, by\nmorning, as possible. A troop of Roman horse may come along,\njourneying between Scythopolis and Capitolias; and if they came\nupon this camp, they might scour all the country.\"\n\n\"I am ready, John. What a fate you have saved me from! I have\nseemed in a dream, ever since the Romans met us this afternoon. I\nhave tried to think of what my life was going to be, but could not.\nWhen we got here I tried to weep, but no tears would come. I have\nbeen sitting there, as still and cold as if frozen, till I heard\nthe notes of a horn.\n\n\"Oh, John, do you know John of Gamala was there?\"\n\n\"How do you know, Mary?\" John asked, in surprise.\n\n\"One of the young men who was a captive was lying near, and he\nleaped to his feet when the horn sounded, and shouted, 'There is\nJohn of Gamala's horn; we are saved.' Did you know he was with\nyou?\"\n\n\"Yes, I knew he was,\" John said.\n\n\"You won't say anything against him, again,\" Mary said. \"Why did\nyou not bring him here to us, that we might thank him?\"\n\n\"Certainly I will not say anything against him, in future, Mary.\n\n\"And now, let us be going. I am very anxious about my poor mother.\nWe will follow the road to the spot where we left her. By the time\nwe get there, morning will be breaking. We will inquire for her, at\nevery village we pass through; for I am sure she cannot have gone\nfar. The Romans did not take the asses but, even with them, she\ncould not have traveled far, and probably took shelter at the first\nplace which she came to.\"\n\nThis proved to be the case. At the first village they arrived at\nafter passing the spot at which they had been taken captives, they\nheard that, late the evening before, a woman had arrived in sore\ndistress. She was leading two asses, which she seemed too feeble to\nmount. She stated that her son and daughter had been carried away\nby the Romans; and she had been received, for the night, in the\nprincipal house in the village.\n\nMartha's delight, when John and Mary entered the house where she\nhad been sheltered, was beyond words. She fell on their neck and\nkissed them, with broken sentences of thankfulness to God at their\ndeliverance; and it was some time before she was sufficiently calm\nto hear how their escape had been effected, by the night attack\nupon the Romans by the country people. She was scarcely surprised\nwhen she heard that John had effected his escape, and summoned the\npeople to rise to rescue them.\n\n\"You told me to trust to you to save Mary, John; and I have kept on\nsaying your words, over and over again, to myself. It seemed to me\nas if I did not quite understand them, and yet there was comfort in\nthem. I could not even think what you could do to help Mary; and\nyet it appeared as if you, yourself, must have some hope.\"\n\nAs soon as Martha was sufficiently recovered from her emotions to\nresume their journey, the party again started. They made a detour\nto avoid Hippos for, as John said, there might be inquiries as to\neveryone who was noticed coming from the direction of the scene of\nthe struggle. They made many halts by the way, for Martha was\nscarcely able to retain her seat on the donkey, and even Mary was\ngreatly shaken by the event of her captivity and rescue. During the\nheat of the day they remained under the shade of some trees, and\nthe sun was setting when they approached the farm.\n\nSimon and the men hurried out, when the sound of the asses' feet\nwas heard. Martha burst into tears, as he assisted her to alight.\n\n\"What ails you, wife? I trust that no evil has befallen you by the\nway. Where are the maids?\n\n\"Why, Mary, my child, you look pale, too!\"\n\n\"No wonder, uncle, that aunt is shaken, and that I look pale. For\nJohn, and I, and Jonas were taken captives by the Romans, who\ncarried us off to sell as slaves, leaving poor mother behind.\"\n\n\"And how then have you escaped, child?\"\n\n\"John and Jonas got away from them, and raised all the country; for\nthe Romans had done much harm, killing, and carrying away captives,\nand burning. So when he called them the men took up arms, and fell\nupon the Romans at night and slew them all, and rescued me, and\nsome fifty other captives who had fallen into their hands.\"\n\nSimon asked no further questions, for the time, but helped Martha\ninto the house, and then handed her over to the care of Mary and,\nhalf an hour later, she had recovered sufficiently to return to the\nroom; and sit there, holding Simon's hand in quiet happiness, and\nwatching Mary as she resumed her accustomed tasks, and assisted old\nIsaac in preparing supper.\n\n\"Everything looks just as it was, mother. I could hardly have\nbelieved things would have got on so well, without me to look after\nthem. And there are quantities of grapes on the vines, still. They\nare too ripe for wine, but they will last us, for eating, for\nmonths, and that is ever so much better than making them into\nwine--\"\n\nShe stopped, for Simon had taken his place at the head of the\ntable; and offered up thanks, in the name of the whole household,\nfor the mercies that had been vouchsafed to them; and especially\nthat they were all, once again, assembled together in their house,\nwithout there being one vacant place.\n\nThen the meal began. While it was eaten, many questions were asked,\non both sides; Simon inquiring about his brother-in-law, and his\nfamily, and the life they had led at the farm; Martha asking after\ntheir neighbors--who had suffered, and who had escaped without loss\nor harm. When Isaac and the men retired, Jonas rose also to go, but\nSimon stopped him.\n\n\"Remain with us, Jonas. Your life has been strangely cast in that\nof John's, and I would that, henceforth, you take your place as one\nof the family. You saved his life at Jotapata, and you will\nhenceforth be as an adopted son to me.\n\n\"Martha, I know that you will spare some of your affection for the\nlad, who is as a younger brother to John; and who would, I\nbelieve--nay I feel sure--if need be, give his life for his\nfriend.\"\n\n\"I would do so, indeed,\" Jonas said, simply. \"He found me an\noutcast, whom none cared for. He has treated me like a brother, and\nI would gladly die for him.\"\n\nMartha said a few kind words to Jonas, whose quiet and somewhat\nsubdued manner, and whose evident affection for John, had greatly\npleased her; and Mary gave him a little nod, which signified that\nshe gladly accepted him as one of the family.\n\n\"And now, Martha,\" Simon said, \"you have not yet told me how proud\nyou must feel, in the doings of our son. Our friends here are never\nweary of congratulating me; and truly I feel thankful that a son of\nmine should have done such deeds, and that the Lord should have\nchosen him, to use him as an instrument of his will.\"\n\n\"My dear father,\" John interrupted, \"I have told you that there is\nnothing at all out of the way in what we have done. Jonas and the\nothers did just as much as I did, and methinks that some of them\nmake much more than is needful of our skirmishes, and praise me\nbecause in so doing they praise themselves, who did as much as I\ndid.\"\n\n\"But I do not understand you, Simon,\" Martha said. \"I know that\nJohn fought bravely at Jotapata, and that it was marvelous that he\nand Jonas escaped, when so many fell. Is it this that you are\nspeaking of?\"\n\n\"What! Has John said nothing about what he has been doing, since?\"\nSimon asked, in surprise.\n\n\"No, father, I said nothing about it,\" John said, before his mother\ncould speak. \"I thought, in the first place, that you would like to\ntell them; and in the next, the people there had heard such\nmagnified reports that I could not, for very shame, lay claim to be\nthe hero they had pictured to themselves.\"\n\n\"But what has he done?\" Martha asked, more and more surprised;\nwhile Mary, at his last words, sprang to her feet, and stood\nlooking at him with an intent and eager face.\n\n\"He should have told you, Martha,\" Simon said. \"It is no light\nthing that this son of ours has done. Young as he is, the eyes of\nthe people are upon them. For with a small band, which he gathered\nhere, he harassed the enemy several days and, boldly entering their\ncamp, destroyed it by fire.\"\n\n\"Oh, John!\" Mary said, in a low voice; while Martha exclaimed:\n\n\"What! Is the John, of whom we have heard so much--the young man,\nof whom the people speak as their future leader--our boy? You\ncannot mean it, Simon!\"\n\n\"There is no mistake about it, Martha. The lad came to me; and said\nhe thought that, with a small band, he could cause much trouble to\nthe Romans. So I told him he could go, not knowing whether he spoke\nfrom the restlessness of youth, or because it was the will of the\nLord that he should go and fight for the country. Indeed, it seemed\nto many that his marvelous escape from Jotapata showed that God had\nneed of him. So I did not withstand him. There were many from the\nvillages round who were ready to join themselves to him, and follow\nhim, for the fame of his escape had made him much talked of.\n\n\"So he went, with twenty-four followers and, of course, Jonas here;\nand truly he did, as all men say, great things. And though he saved\nnot Gamala--as indeed could not have been done, save by a miracle\nof God, with so small a band--he did much and, by the burning of\ntheir camp, not only struck a heavy blow upon the Romans, but he\ninspired the people with hope.\n\n\"Before, it seemed that to resist the Romans was to bring certain\ndestruction upon those who adventured it; now men see that with\nprudence, united with bravery, much may be done and, in the spring,\nJohn will be followed by a great gathering of fighting men, from\nall the country round.\"\n\nMartha sat, in speechless surprise, looking at her son.\n\n\"My dear mother,\" John said, \"what I told you before, when you were\npraising the unknown John, is equally true now that it is John your\nson. We acted with common sense which, so far, no one seems to have\nexercised in our struggle with the Romans. We just kept out of\ntheir reach, and took good care never to come to actual blows with\nthem. We constantly threatened them; and compelled them, who knew\nnothing of our numbers or strength, to cease working.\n\n\"As to the burning their camp, of course there was a certain amount\nof danger in it, but one cannot make war without danger. We crept\nthrough their sentries into the camp, in the night, and set it on\nfire; and then made our escape, as best we could. As only one of\nour number was killed; and he from falling over a precipice, and\nnot by the sword of the Romans, you see the peril could not have\nbeen very great.\n\n\"It was just as I said, that because we did not throw away our\nlives, but were prudent and cautious, we succeeded. People have\nmade a great fuss about it, because it is the only success, however\nsmall, that we have gained over the Romans but, as my father says,\nit has certainly had a good effect. It has excited a feeling of\nhopefulness and, in the spring, many will take the field with the\nbelief that, after all, the Romans are not invincible; and that\nthose who fight against them are not merely throwing away their\nlives.\"\n\nIt was some time before Martha could realize that the hero, of\nwhich she had heard so much, was the quiet lad standing before\nher--her own son John.\n\n\"Simon,\" she said, at last, \"morning and night I have prayed God to\nprotect him of whom we heard so much, little thinking that it was\nmy own son I was praying for. Tonight, I will thank him that he has\nso blessed me. Assuredly, God's hand is with him. The dangers he\nhas run and the success that he has gained may, as he says, be\nmagnified by report; nevertheless he has assuredly withstood the\nRomans, even as David went out against Goliath. Tomorrow I will\nhear more of this; but I feel shaken with the journey, and with\nthis strange news.\n\n\"Come, Mary, let us to bed!\"\n\nBut Mary had already stolen away, without having said a single\nword, after her first exclamation.\n\nJohn was at work soon after daybreak, next morning, for there was\nmuch to be done. The men were plowing up the stubble, ready for the\nsowing, Jonas had gone off, with Isaac, to drive in some cattle\nfrom the hills; and John set to work to dig up a patch of garden\nground, near the house. He had not been long at work, when he saw\nMary approaching. She came along quietly and slowly, with a step\naltogether unlike her own.\n\n\"Why, Mary, is that you?\" he said, as she approached. \"Why, Miriam\nherself could not walk slower.\n\n\"Are you ill this morning, child?\" he asked, with a change of\nvoice, as he saw how pale she was looking.\n\nMary did not speak until she came quite close; then she stopped,\nand looked at him with eyes full of tears.\n\n\"Oh, John,\" she began, \"what can I say?\"\n\n\"Why, my dear Mary, what on earth is the matter with you?\" he said,\nthrowing down his spade, and taking her hands in his.\n\n\"I am so unhappy, John.\"\n\n\"Unhappy!\" John repeated. \"What is making you unhappy, child?\"\n\n\"It is so dreadful,\" she said, \"to think that I, who ought to have\nknown you so well--I, your betrothed wife--have been thinking that\nyou were so mean as to be jealous; for I did think it was that,\nJohn, when you made light of the doings of the hero I had been\nthinking about so much, and would not allow that he had done\nanything particular. I thought that you were jealous, John; and now\nI know what you have done, and why you spoke so, I feel I am\naltogether unworthy of you.\"\n\n\"Well, Mary, I never thought you were a little goose, before. What\nnonsense you are talking! It was only natural you should have\nthought I was jealous; and I should have been jealous, if it had\nbeen anyone else you were praising so much. It was my fault, for\nnot telling you at once. Concealments are always stupid; but I had\nthought that it would give you a pleasant surprise, when you got\nhome, to hear about it; but instead of causing you pleasure, I have\ncaused you pain. I was not vexed, in the slightest; I was rather\namused, when you answered me so curtly.\"\n\n\"I think it was cruel of you, John, to let me go on thinking badly\nof you, and showing yourself in so unworthy a light. That does not\nmake it any the less wrong of me. I ought to have believed in you.\"\n\n\"You are making a mountain out of a molehill, Mary, and I won't\nhear any such nonsense. You heard an absurd story, as to what\nsomeone had been doing, and you naturally made a hero of him. You\nwere hurt by my speaking slightingly of this hero of yours, and\nnaturally thought I was jealous at hearing such praises of another\nfrom my betrothed wife. It was all perfectly natural. I was not in\nthe least offended with you, or put out in any way; except that I\nwas vexed with myself for not telling you, at once, that all these\nfables related to your cousin John.\n\n\"Now, dry your eyes, and don't think any more about it. Go and pick\ntwo of the finest bunches of grapes you can find, and we will eat\nthem together.\"\n\nBut it was some time before Mary recovered her brightness. The\nchanges which the last few months had made almost depressed her. It\nwas but a year ago that John and she had been boy and girl,\ntogether; now he had become a man, had done great deeds, was looked\nupon by many as one chosen for the deliverance of the nation. Mary\nfelt that she, too, had aged; but the change in her was as nothing\nto that in her old playfellow. It was but a year ago she had been\ngravely advising him; treating him, sometimes, as if she had been\nthe elder.\n\nShe would have treated him now, if he would have let her, with\nsomething of the deference and respect which a Jewish maiden would\nusually pay to a betrothed husband--one who was shortly to become\nher lord. But the first time he detected this manner, John simply\nlaughed at her, and said:\n\n\"My dear Mary, do not let us have any nonsense of this sort. We\nhave been always equals, you and I; friends and companions. You\nknow, just as well as I do, that in all matters which we have had\nin common, you have always had quite as much sense as I and, on a\ngreat many matters, more sense.\n\n\"Nothing has occurred since then to alter that. I have grown into a\nyoung man, you into a young woman; but we have advanced equally. On\nmatters concerning warfare, I have gained a good deal of knowledge;\nin other matters, doubtless, you have gained knowledge. And if,\ndear, it is God's will that I pass through the troubles and dangers\nthat lie before us, and we become man and wife, I trust that we\nshall always be the friends and comrades that we have been, as boy\nand girl together.\n\n\"It is all very well, when young men and maidens have seen nothing\nof each other until their parents bring them together as man and\nwife, for the bride to affect a deep respect--which I have not the\nleast doubt she is generally far from feeling, in her heart--for\nthe man to whom she is given. Happily, this has not been the way\nwith us. We have learned to know each other well; and to know that,\nbeyond the difference in strength which a man has over a woman,\nthere is no difference between us--that one will rule the house,\nand the other will rule the farm, but that in all things, I trust,\nwe shall be companions and equals. I do hope, Mary, that there will\nbe no change in our ways, the few months we have to be together,\nnow.\n\n\"In the spring, I go up to help to defend Jerusalem; and it is no\nuse hiding the fact from ourselves that there is but little chance\nof my returning. We know what has befallen those who have,\nhitherto, defended cities against the Romans; and what has happened\nat Jotapata, and Gamala, will probably happen at Jerusalem. But for\nthis reason, let us have no change; let us be as brother and sister\nto one another, as we have been, all along. If God brings me back\nsafe to you, and you become my wife, there will be plenty of time\nto settle exactly how much deference you shall pay me; but I shall\nexpect that, when the novelty of affecting the wifely obedience,\nwhich is enjoined upon the females of our race, is past, you will\nbe quite ready to take up that equality which is, after all, the\nrule in practice.\"\n\n\"I shall remember your words,\" Mary said, saucily, \"when the time\ncomes. It may be you will regret your expressions about equality,\nsome day.\"\n\nSo, during the winter, Mary tried to be bright and cheerful; and\nMartha, whose heart was filled with anxiety as to the dangers and\ntrials which lay before them--Jerusalem and the Temple threatened,\nand John away, engaged in desperate enterprises--often wondered to\nherself, when she heard the girl's merry laugh as she talked with\nJohn, and saw how completely she seemed to put aside every sort of\nanxiety; but she did not know how Mary often spent the entire night\nin weeping and prayer, and how hard was her struggle to keep up the\nbrave appearance which was, she knew, a pleasure to John.\n\nHe was not much at home, being often absent for days together.\nStrangers came and went, frequently. John had long conversations\nwith them; and sometimes went away with them, and did not return\nfor three or four days. No questions were asked, by his parents, as\nto these visitors or his absence. They knew that they had reference\nto what they considered his mission; and as, when he returned home,\nhe evidently wished to lay aside all thought of other things, and\nto devote himself to his life with them, they asked no questions as\nto what he was doing.\n\nHe spoke, sometimes, of these things to Mary, when they were\ntogether alone. She knew that numbers of young men were only\nwaiting his signal to join him; that parties of them met him among\nthe hills, and were there organized into companies, each with\nofficers of their own choice over them; and that, unknown to the\nRomans at Scythopolis, there were daily held, throughout the\ncountry on both sides of the Jordan, meetings where men practiced\nwith their arms, improved their skill with the bow and arrow, and\nlearned to obey the various signals of the bugle, which John had\nnow elaborated.\n\nJohn was resolute in refusing to accept any men with wives and\nfamilies. There were other leaders, he said, under whom these could\nfight; he was determined to have none but men who were ready to\nsacrifice their lives, and without the care of others dependent\nupon them. He was ready to accept youths of fifteen, as well as men\nof five-and-twenty; believing that, in point of courage, the one\nwere equal to the other. But each candidate had to be introduced by\nothers, who vouched for his activity, hardihood, and courage.\n\nOne of his objects was to avoid increasing his band to too great\ndimensions. The number of those ready to go up to defend Jerusalem,\nand eager to enroll themselves as followers of this new\nleader--whose mission was now generally believed in, in that part\nof the country--was very large; but John knew that a multitude\nwould be unwieldy; that he would find it impossible to carry out,\nwith thousands of men, tactics dependent for success upon celerity\nof movement; and, moreover, that did he arrive in Jerusalem with so\ngreat a following, he would at once become an object of jealousy to\nthe leaders of the factions there.\n\nHe therefore limited the number to four hundred men; urging upon\nall others who presented themselves, or sent messages to him, to\nform themselves into similar bands; to choose leaders, and to act\nas independent bodies, hanging upon the rear of the Romans,\nharassing them with frequent night alarms, cutting off their\nconvoys, attacking their working parties; and always avoiding\nencounters with strong bodies of the Romans, by retreating into the\nhills. He said that, although he would not receive more men into\nhis own force than he thought could be easily handled, he should be\nglad to act in concert with the other leaders so that, at times,\nthe bands might all unite in a common enterprise; and especially\nthat, if they entered Jerusalem, they might hold together, and thus\nbe enabled to keep aloof from the parties of John of Gischala, or\nEleazar, who were contending for the mastery of the city.\n\nHis advice was taken, and several bands similar to his own were\nformed; but their leaders felt that they needed the prestige and\nauthority which John had gained, and that their followers would not\nobey their orders with the faith which was inspired, in the members\nof John's own band, by their belief in his special mission. Their\nrepresentations on this subject were so urgent that John, at their\nrequest, attended a meeting at which ten of these chiefs were\npresent.\n\nIt was held in a farmhouse, not far from the spot where Gamala had\nstood. John was embarrassed at the respect which these men, all of\nthem several years older than himself, paid him; but he accepted\nthe position quietly, for he felt that the belief that existed, as\nto his having a special mission, added greatly to his power of\nutility. He listened to their representations as to their want of\nauthority, and to the rivalries and jealousies which already\nexisted among those who had enrolled themselves. When they had\nfinished, he said:\n\n\"I have been thinking the matter well over. I am convinced that it\nis absolutely necessary that none of the commands shall exceed the\nnumbers I have fixed upon--namely, four hundred men, divided into\neight companies, each with a captain--but at the same time, I do\nnot see any reasons why all our corps should not be nominally under\none leader. If, then, you think it will strengthen your position, I\nam ready to accept the general leadership, and to appoint you each\nas commanders of your troops. Then you will hold my commissions;\nand I will support you, in your commands, with any authority I may\nhave.\n\n\"At the same time you will understand that you will, in reality,\nact altogether independently of me; save and except when, it seems\nto me, that we can unite in any enterprise. If we enter Jerusalem,\nwe will then hold together for mutual protection from the factions;\nbut even there you will each command independently for, did I\nassume a general command, it would excite the jealousy of the\nleaders of the factions, and we should be forced to take part in\nthe civil strife which is devastating the city.\"\n\nA cordial consent to this proposition was given by the other\nleaders, who said that the knowledge that they were John's officers\nwould add immensely to their authority; and would also raise the\ncourage and devotion of their men, who would not believe that they\nwere being led to victory, unless they were acting under the orders\nof John, himself.\n\n\"Remember,\" John said, \"that if misfortune befalls us, I have never\nlaid claim to any divine commission. We are all agents of God, and\nit may be that he has specially chosen me as one of his\ninstruments; but this I cannot say, beyond the fact that, so far, I\nhave been carried safely through great dangers, and have been\nenabled to win successes over the Romans. But I do not set up as a\nspecially-appointed leader.\n\n\"I say this for two reasons: in the first place, that you should\nnot think that I am claiming authority and command on grounds which\nmay not be justified; and in the second place that, if I should\nfall early in the fighting, others should not be disheartened, and\nbelieve that the Lord has deserted them.\n\n\"I am but a lad among you, and I recognize that it is God who has\nso strangely brought me into eminence but, having done that much,\nhe may now choose some other instrument. If this should be so--if,\nas may well be, one of you should obtain far greater success than\nmay attend me--I shall be only too glad to lay aside this authority\nover the rest, with which you are willing to invest me, and to\nfollow him as cheerfully as you now propose to follow me.\"\n\nThe meeting soon afterwards broke up, and the news that John of\nGamala--as he was generally called, from the success he had gained\nover the Romans before that town--had assumed the supreme command\nof the various bands which were being raised, in eastern Galilee\nand on the east of Jordan, spread rapidly; and greatly increased\nthe popular feeling of hope, and confidence. Fresh bands were\nformed, the leaders all receiving their appointments from him.\nBefore the spring arrived, there were twenty bands formed and\norganized, in readiness to march down towards Jerusalem, as soon as\nthe Roman legions got into motion.\n\n\n\nChapter 11: A Tale Of Civil Strife.\n\n\nTowards the spring, Simon and his family were surprised by a visit\nfrom the Rabbi Solomon Ben Manasseh. It was a year since they had\nlast seen him, when he called to take leave of them, on starting\nfor Jerusalem. They scarcely recognized him as he entered, so old\nand broken did he look.\n\n\"The Lord be praised that I see you all, safe and well!\" he said,\nas they assisted him to dismount from the donkey that he rode. \"Ah,\nmy friends, you are happy, indeed, in your quiet farm; free from\nall the distractions of this terrible time! Looking round here, and\nseeing you just as I left you--save that the young people have\ngrown, somewhat--I could think that I left you but yesterday, and\nthat I have been passing through a hideous nightmare.\n\n\"Look at me! My flesh has fallen away, and my strength has gone. I\ncan scarce stand upon my legs, and a young child could overthrow\nme. I have wept, till my tears are dried up, over the misfortunes\nof Jerusalem; and yet no enemy has come within sight of her walls,\nor dug a trench against her. She is devoured by her own children.\nRuin and desolation have come upon her.\"\n\nThe old man was assisted into the house, and food and wine placed\nbefore him. Then he was led into the guest chamber, and there slept\nfor some hours. In the evening, he had recovered somewhat of his\nstrength, and joined the party at their meal.\n\nWhen it was concluded, and the family were alone, he told them what\nhad happened in Jerusalem during the past year. Vague rumors of\ndissension, and civil war, had reached them; but a jealous watch\nwas set round the city, and none were suffered to leave, under the\npretext that all who wished to go out were deserters who sought to\njoin the Romans.\n\n\"I passed through, with difficulty,\" the rabbi said, \"after bribing\nJohn of Gischala, with all my worldly means, to grant me a pass\nthrough the guards; and even then should not have succeeded, had he\nnot known me in old times, when I looked upon him as one zealous\nfor the defense of the country against the Romans--little thinking,\nthen, that the days would come when he would grow into an oppressor\nof the people, tenfold as cruel and pitiless as the worst of the\nRoman tribunes.\n\n\"Last autumn when, with the band of horsemen, with steeds weary\nwith hard riding, he arrived before the gates of Jerusalem--saying\nthat they had come to defend the city, thinking it not worth while\nto risk their lives in the defense of a mere mountain town, like\nGischala--the people poured out to meet him, and do him honor.\nTerrible rumors of slaughter and massacre, in Galilee, had reached\nus, but none knew the exact truth. Moreover, John had been an enemy\nof Josephus and, since Josephus had gone over to the Romans, his\nname was hated and accursed among the people; and thus they were\nfavorably inclined towards John.\n\n\"I don't think anyone was deceived by the story he told, for it was\nevident that John and his men had fled before the Romans. Still,\nthe tidings he brought were reassuring, and he was gladly received\nin the city. He told us that the Romans had suffered very heavily\nat the sieges of Jotapata and Gamala, that they were greatly\ndispirited by the desperate resistance they had met with, that a\nnumber of their engines of war had been destroyed, and that they\nwere in no condition to undertake the siege of a strong city like\nJerusalem. But though all outwardly rejoiced, many in their hearts\ngrieved at the news, for they thought that even an occupation by\nthe Romans would be preferable to the suffering they were\nundergoing.\n\n\"For months, bands of robbers, who called themselves Zealots, had\nravaged the whole country; pillaging, burning, and slaying, under\nthe pretense that those they assaulted were favorable to the cause\nof Rome. Thus, gradually, the country people all forsook their\nhomes, and fled to Jerusalem for refuge and, when the country was\nleft a desert and no more plunder was to be gained, these robber\nbands gradually entered Jerusalem. As you know, the gates of the\nholy city were always open to all the Jewish people; and none\nthought of excluding the strangers who entered, believing that\nevery armed man would add to the power of resistance, when the\nRomans appeared before it.\n\n\"The robbers, who came singly or in small parties from all parts of\nthe country, soon gathered themselves together in the city, and\nestablished a sort of terror over the peaceable inhabitants. Men\nwere robbed, and murdered, openly in the street; houses were broken\nopen, and pillaged; none dare walk in the street, without the risk\nof insult or assault. Antipas, Levias, and Saphias--all of royal\nblood--were seized, thrown into prison, and there murdered; and\nmany others of the principal people were slain.\n\n\"Then the robbers proceeded to further lengths. They took upon\nthemselves to appoint a high priest; selected a family which had no\nclaim whatever to the distinction and, drawing lots among them,\nchose as high priest one Phannias--a country priest, ignorant,\nboorish, and wholly unable to discharge the function of the office.\nHitherto, the people had submitted to the oppression of the\nZealots, but this desecration of the holy office filled them with\nrage and indignation; and Ananus--the oldest of the chief priests,\na man of piety and wisdom--was the head of the movement and,\ncalling the people together, exhorted them to resist the tyranny\nwhich oppressed them, and which was now desecrating the Temple--for\nthe Zealots had taken refuge there, and made the holy place their\nheadquarters.\n\n\"The people seized their arms, but before they were ready for the\nattack the Zealots, learning what was going on, took the initiative\nand fell upon them. The people were less accustomed to arms than\ntheir foes, but they had the superiority of numbers, and fought\nwith fury. At first the Zealots gained the advantage, but the\npeople increased in numbers. Those behind pressed those in front\nforward, and the Zealots were driven back into the Temple, and the\nQuadrangle of the Gentiles was taken.\n\n\"The Zealots fled into the inner court, and closed the gates.\nThither their wounded had already been carried, and the whole place\nwas defiled with their blood. But Ananus, having the fear of God\nbefore his eyes, did not like to attack them there and, leaving six\nthousand chosen men on guard in the cloisters, and arranging that\nthese should be regularly relieved, retired.\n\n\"Such was the state of things, when John of Gischala arrived. He at\nonce professed complete agreement with the party of Ananus, and was\nadmitted into all their councils; but all the time, as we\nafterwards learned, he was keeping up a secret correspondence with\nthe Zealots, and betrayed to them all that took place at the\ncouncil. There was some distrust of him but, in addition to the\nparty that had entered the city with him, he had speedily gathered\ntogether many others and, distracted as we already were with our\ntroubles, none cared to add to the number of their enemies by\nopenly distrusting John--who took many solemn oaths of fidelity to\nthe cause of order.\n\n\"He at length volunteered to enter the inner Temple, on a mission\nto the Zealots; and to persuade them to surrender, and leave the\ncity. But no sooner was he among them than he threw off the mask,\nand told the Zealots that the offers to allow them to depart in\npeace were blinds, and that they would at once be massacred if they\nsurrendered. He therefore advised them to resist, and to send for\nassistance without--recommending them especially to send to the\nIdumeans. Eleazar and Zacharias--the chiefs of the Zealots--felt\nsure that they, above all, would be sacrificed if they surrendered;\nand they embraced John's counsel, and sent off swift-footed\nmessengers to the Idumeans, urging them to come to their\nassistance.\n\n\"The Idumeans had, since their conquest by Hyrcanus, been\nincorporated with the Jews. They were a fierce and warlike\npeople--of Arab descent--and, immediately the messengers of the\nZealots arrived, they embraced the proposal, anticipating the\nacquisition of great plunder in Jerusalem. Marching with all speed,\nthey appeared, twenty thousand strong, before the walls of\nJerusalem.\n\n\"Although taken completely by surprise--for none knew that\nmessengers had gone over to the Idumeans--the people manned the\nwalls; and Jesus, a colleague of Ananus, addressed the Idumeans. He\nasked them to take one of three courses: either to unite with the\npeople, in punishing the notorious robbers and assassins who were\ndesecrating the Temple; or to enter the city unarmed, and arbitrate\nbetween the conflicting parties; or to depart, and leave the city\nto settle its own difficulties. Simon, the leader of the Idumeans,\nanswered that they came to take the part of the true patriots,\nagainst men who were conspiring basely to sell the people into the\nhands of the Romans.\n\n\"At this answer Jesus left the wall, and we held debate upon the\nsituation. Before the arrival of this new enemy, we felt certain of\noverpowering the Zealots; and Ananus would, ere long, have been\npersuaded to lay aside his scruples and attack them for, as they\nwere desecrating the sanctuary, it would be better to shed their\nblood there and, when these wicked men were slain, to offer up\natonement and purify the Temple--as had been done before, in the\ndays of the Maccabees, after the Temple had been defiled.\n\n\"We redoubled our guards round the Temple, so that none could issue\nout thence to communicate with the Idumeans. At night a terrible\nstorm set in, with lightning, thunder, and rain, so that the very\nearth seemed to shake. A great awe fell upon all, within and\nwithout the city. To all, it seemed a sign of the wrath of God at\nthe civil discords; but though, doubtless, it was the voice of the\nAlmighty, it was rather a presage of further evils.\n\n\"Under shelter of the storm--which drove all the guards to take\nrefuge--some of the Zealots cut asunder the bars of the gate, and\ncrept along the street to the wall. Then they sawed through the\nbars of the gate that faced the Idumeans, who were trembling with\nterror in the storm. Unseen by anyone, the Idumeans entered the\ngate, marched through the city, and approached the Temple. Then\nthey fell upon our guards, while the Zealots attacked them from\nbehind.\n\n\"Furious at the hours they had passed exposed to the tempest,\nashamed of their fears, and naturally pitiless and cruel, the\nIdumeans gave no quarter; and a terrible carnage took place among\nthe ten thousand men who had been placed in the outer court of the\nTemple. Some fought desperately, others threw themselves down from\nthe wall into the city and, when morning dawned, eight thousand\nfive hundred of our best fighting men had been slain.\n\n\"As soon as it was daylight, the Idumeans broke into the city,\npillaging and slaying. The high priests, Ananus and Jesus, were\namong those who were slain; and in that terrible night were\nextinguished the last hopes of saving Jerusalem.\n\n\"Ananus was a man of the highest character. He had labored\nunceasingly to place the city in a posture of defense; believing,\nand rightly, that the stronger were its walls, and the more\nformidable the resistance it could offer, the better chance there\nwas of obtaining favorable terms from the Romans. Ananus was the\nleader and hope of the peace party, which comprised all the\nrespectable classes, and all the older and wiser men in Jerusalem.\nHis death left the conduct of affairs in the hands of the\nthoughtless, the rash, and the desperate.\n\n\"The massacre continued for days, the Idumeans hunting the citizens\nin the streets. Vast numbers were killed, without question. The\nyoung men of the upper classes were dragged to prison, and were\nthere scourged and tortured to force them to join the Zealots, but\nnot one would do so. All preferred death. Thus perished twelve\nthousand of the best and wisest in Jerusalem.\n\n\"Then the Zealots set up a tribunal and, by proclamation, assembled\nseventy of the principal citizens remaining to form a court; and\nbefore it brought Zacharias, the son of Baruch--an upright,\npatriotic, and wealthy man. Him they charged with entering into\ncorrespondence with the Romans, but produced no shadow of evidence\nagainst him. Zacharias defended himself boldly, clearly\nestablishing his own innocence, and denouncing the iniquities of\nhis accusers. The seventy unanimously acquitted the prisoner,\npreferring to die with him, to condemning an innocent man. The\nZealots rushed forward, with cries of rage, and slew Zacharias and,\nwith blows and insults, turned the judges out of the Temple.\n\n\"The Idumeans at length began to weary of massacre, and were sated\nwith pillage and, declaring that they had been deceived by the\nZealots, and that they believed no treason had been intended, they\nleft the city; first opening the prisons, and releasing two\nthousand persons confined there, who fled to Simon the son of\nGioras, who was wasting the country toward Idumea.\n\n\"The Zealots, after their departure, redoubled their iniquities;\nand seemed as if they would leave none alive, save the lowest of\nthe people. Gorion, a great and distinguished man, was among the\nslain. Niger of Peraea, who had been the leader in the attack on\nthe Romans at Ascalon--a noble and true-hearted patriot--was also\nmurdered. He died calling upon the Romans to come to avenge those\nwho had been thus murdered; and denouncing famine, pestilence, and\ncivil massacre, as well as war, against the accursed city.\n\n\"I had lain hidden, with an obscure family, with whom I had lodged\nduring these terrible times. So great was the terror and misery in\nthe city that those who lived envied the dead. It was death to bury\neven a relative, and both within and without the city lay heaps of\nbodies, decaying in the sun.\n\n\"Even among the Zealots themselves, factions arose. John of\nGischala headed one party, and that the more violent. Over these he\nruled with absolute authority, and occupied one portion of the\ncity. The other party acknowledged no special leader. Sometimes,\nthen, the factions fought among themselves; but neither side ceased\nfrom plundering and murdering the inhabitants.\n\n\"Such, my friends, was the condition of Jerusalem when I left it;\nhaving, as I told you, purchased a permission from John of Gischala\nto pass through the guards at the gates.\n\n\"As I traveled here, I learned that another danger threatens us.\nThe sect called the Assassins, as you know, seized the strong\nfortress of Masada, near the Dead Sea, at the beginning of the\ntroubles. Until lately, they have been content to subsist on the\nplunder of the adjacent country but, on the night of the Passover,\nthey surprised Engaddi, dispersed all who resisted, and slew seven\nhundred women and children who could not escape. They carried off\nthe contents of the granaries, and are now wasting the whole\nregion.\n\n\"What hope can there be of success, my friends, when, with an enemy\nclose to their gates, the Jews are slaying more of their fellow\ncountrymen than the Romans themselves? Did ever a country present\nso humiliating and terrible a spectacle? Were such atrocities ever\nperpetrated by men upon their brothers? And yet, the madmen still\nbelieve that the Almighty will deliver them--will save from\ndestruction that Temple which they have polluted, the altars that\nthey have deluged with blood.\"\n\nWhen the rabbi had finished his narration, there was a long\nsilence. Martha was in tears, at the recital of the misery which\nwas endured by the inhabitants of Jerusalem; Simon sat with his\nface covered with his hands; John had scarce moved, since the rabbi\nhad begun his story, but sat with a heavy frown on his face,\nlooking straight before him; while Mary anxiously watched him, to\nsee the effect of the recital upon him.\n\nSimon was the first to speak.\n\n\"It is a tale of mourning, lamentation, and woe that you have told\nus, rabbi. Not even in the days of our captivity in Babylon were\nthe Jewish people fallen so low. Let us to bed now. These things\nare too terrible to speak of, until we have laid them before the\nLord, and asked his guidance. I wonder not, now, rabbi, that years\nseem to have rolled over your head since we last met.\"\n\nThe others rose. Mary, as she passed John, laid her hands on his\nshoulder with a caressing action--which was very rare to her, for\nshe generally behaved to him as to a brother, holding any\nexhibition of greater affection unmaidenly, until the days of\nbetrothal were ended. The action seemed to recall John from his\ngloomy thought, and he smiled down at her anxious face; then, when\nthe others went off to their apartments, he went out into the night\nair and stood for hours, nearly immovable, with his eyes fixed on\nthe stars.\n\nIn the morning, Mary joined him in the garden; as had come to be\ntheir custom, this being the only time in the day when they were\nalone together.\n\n\"Well, John?\" she asked.\n\nHe understood her question.\n\n\"I have thought it over, Mary, in every way; but I cannot see that\nmy duty is changed by what we heard last night. Affection for you,\nand my parents, would keep me here; and I wish that I could see\nthat my duty could go hand in hand with my wishes. I have been\nsorely tempted to yield--to resign the struggle, to remain here in\npeace and quiet--but I should never be happy. I do not believe that\nI am, as so many think, specially called to be a deliverer--though\nGod has assuredly specially protected and aided me--but, did I draw\nback now, it would be a grievous discouragement to many. I have put\nmy hand to the plow, and cannot look back.\n\n\"God has permitted these miseries to fall upon Jerusalem,\ndoubtless, as a punishment for the sins of the people. It may be\nyet that his wrath will be abated, and that he will remember the\nmercies of old. He has suffered his Temple to be profaned, but it\nmay not be his purpose to allow it to be destroyed, utterly. The\nevil doings, therefore, of evil men do not release us from our\nduty; and it has always been held the chief duty of all Jews to\ndie, if need be, in defense of the Temple. Never, so long as that\nstands, can we say that the Lord has wholly turned his face from\nus--that he purposes another period of exile, and captivity, to\nbefall his people.\n\n\"Therefore, Mary, I shall go on as I have intended; warring against\nthe Romans, and doing what I can to hinder their advance against\nJerusalem. I think that the war may last longer than I had\nexpected. Vespasian will have heard--from those who, like the\nrabbi, have escaped from Jerusalem--what is going on within the\ncity; and knowing the great strength of its walls; and judging,\nfrom what he saw at Jotapata and Gamala, how desperate would be its\nresistance, were he to appear before it, he may well decide to\nleave it for the present; suffering the population to prey upon\neach other, to consume their provisions and waste their strength\ntill, when he marches against it, there will be no longer men left\nto man the walls.\"\n\n\"I thought you would decide so, John,\" Mary said, quietly; \"and\nmuch as I love you--for I do love you, John--I would rather part\nwith you so, never to see you again, than that you should draw back\nnow. I set you up on a pedestal, before I knew that it was you who\nwas my hero; and I would not have it said that he, of whom such\nhigh hopes were cherished, drew back from the enterprise he had\ntaken up. Rather would I mourn for you, all my life, than that men\nshould say of you:\n\n\"'This is he of whom we said, he is the deliverer; but who shrank\nfrom the dangers of battle, and threw down his country's sword.'\"\n\n\"Thank you, Mary. I am glad to hear you say so. I thought that I\nwas right, but it was very hard so to decide. And, now that you\nagree with me, my chief cause for hanging back is removed.\nHenceforth, I shall trouble no more over it. My conscience tells me\nthat I am right to go. You say go, also. Therefore now, whatever\nbetides, I shall not blame myself; but shall feel that I could not\nhave taken any other course.\"\n\n\"I have faith, John, that you will come back to me, when the\ntroubles are over. I believe that, whatever may happen at\nJerusalem, you will be spared to me. I think that it was either for\nthe country, or for me, that your life was spared, alone of all\nthose that fought at Jotapata; and I mean to keep on thinking so.\nIt will keep up my spirits, while you are away, and will help me to\ncheer our mother.\"\n\n\"If the Romans do not move upon Jerusalem, I may be able to be\noften at home. Our policy will be to strike a blow; and then, when\nthe Romans gather in force, to scatter and disappear; so that I may\noften be home, until the time comes when the enemy gather round\nJerusalem.\n\n\"But at any rate, Mary, I shall try and believe that your hope is\nwell founded; and that, in the end, I shall return alive to you.\nCertainly I shall not spare my life; for, when one takes up the\npost of a leader of his fellows, he must never hang back from\ndanger, but must be always in the front. At the same time, I shall\nnever forget that you are thinking and praying for me, and will\nnever throw away my life recklessly; and if the time comes when I\nsee that all is lost--that fighting is no longer of avail--I will\nneither rush into the enemy's ranks to die, nor will I throw down\nmy arms and die unresisting, nor will I slay myself with my own\nweapons; but I will strive, in every way, to save my life for your\nsake, having done all that I could for our country, and the\nTemple.\"\n\n\"That is all I ask, John. I am quite content to wait here, until\nthe day comes that you shall return; and then, though our cause be\nlost, our country ruined, and God's Temple destroyed, we can yet\nfeel that God has been good and merciful to us--even if we be\ndriven out of our home, and have to become exiles, in a far land.\"\n\nA week later, the news came that the Romans were preparing to take\nthe field. The young men of the village at once started, as\nmessengers, through the country. At night, a vast pile of brushwood\nwas lighted on the hill above Gamala; and answering fires soon\nblazed out from other heights. At the signal, men left their homes\non the shores of Galilee, in the cities of the plains, in the\nmountains of Peraea and Batanaea. Capitolias, Gerisa and Pella,\nSepphoris, Caphernaum and Tiberias--and even the towns and villages\nalmost within sight of Caesar's camp, at Caesarea--sent their\ncontingents and, in twenty-four hours, eight thousand armed men\nwere gathered on the <DW72>s of Mount Galaad.\n\nEach man brought with him grain, sufficient for a week's\nconsumption; and all had, according to their means, brought money,\nin accordance with the instructions John and the other commanders\nhad issued. For John held that although--as they were fighting for\nthe country--they must, if necessary, live upon the country; yet\nthat, as far as possible, they should abstain from taking food\nwithout payment, and so run the risk of being confounded with the\nbands who, under the cloak of patriotism, plundered and robbed the\nwhole country.\n\nThe bands assembled, each under their leaders. It was easy to see\nthat they had come from different localities. Tarichea and Tiberias\nhad both sent two companies, and the aspect of these differed\nwidely from that of the companies of peasants, raised in the\nvillages on the <DW72>s of Hermon or among the mountains of Peraea;\nbut all seemed animated by an equal feeling of devotion, and of\nconfidence in their young leader.\n\nJohn, after carefully inspecting his own band, visited the camps of\nthe other companies; and was everywhere received with acclamations.\nHe addressed each company in turn--not only urging them to show\nbravery, for that every Jew had shown, who had fought against the\nRomans--but pointing out that far more than this was required.\nWhile they must be ready to give their lives, when need be; they\nmust be equally ready to shun the fight, to scatter and fly, when\ntheir leaders gave the orders. It was not by bravery that they\ncould hope to overcome the Romans; but by harassing them night and\nday, by attacking their camps, cutting off their convoys, and\ngiving them no rest. Above all, obedience was required.\n\n\"Look at the Roman soldiers,\" he said. \"They have no wills of their\nown. They advance, or retreat; they attack, when they know that\nthose who first attack must die; they support all hardships and\nfatigues; they accomplish marvels, in the way of work; they give\nthemselves up, in fact, to obey the orders given them, never\nquestioning whether those orders are the best, but blindly obeying\nthem; and so it must be, here, if we are to fight the Romans with a\nchance of success.\n\n\"The most useful man here--the man who will do best service to his\ncountry--is not he who is strongest, or bravest, but he who is most\nprompt in his obedience to orders. The true hero is he who gives up\nhis will and, if need be, his life, at the order of his leader. You\nhave chosen your own officers, and I have confirmed the choice that\nyou have made. It is for you, now, to give them your support and\nassistance. There will be hardships, these must be borne without\ncomplaint; there will be delays, these must be supported with\npatience; there will be combats and dangers, these must be met with\nconfidence and courage--believing that God will give you success;\nand that, although the issue of the strife is in his hands, each of\nyou should do his best, by his conduct and courage, to gain\nsuccess.\n\n\"We shall not act in one great body, for we could not find food, in\nthe villages, for so large a number. Moreover, to do so would be to\ngive the Romans an opportunity of massing their forces against us,\nof surrounding and destroying us. On great occasions, and for a\ngreat object, we may gather together and unite our forces. At other\ntimes, although acting upon a general plan, and in concert with\neach other, each company will work independently. So we shall elude\nthe Romans. When they strike at us, we shall be gone. When they try\nto inclose us, we shall disperse. When they pursue one body, others\nwill fall upon them. When they think that we are in one part of the\ncountry, we will be striking a blow in another. When they fancy\nthemselves in security, we will fall upon them. We will give them\nno rest, or peace.\"\n\nJohn's addresses were received with shouts of approval. By the\ngreat majority of those present, he was now seen for the first\ntime; but his appearance, the tone of authority with which he\nspoke, his air of confidence, and the manner in which he had\nevidently thought out the plans of action, and prepared for all\ncontingencies, confirmed the reports which they had heard of him;\nand the conviction that he was a specially appointed leader was\ndeepened, and strengthened. How otherwise could one who was a mere\nyouth speak with such firmness, and authority?\n\nThe memories of the Jews were stored with legends of the prowess of\nJudas the Maccabean, and his brothers; and of other leaders who\nhad, from time to time, arisen and enabled them to clear their\ncountry of oppressors; and they were thus prepared to accept,\nwillingly, those who appeared to them specially sent as leaders,\nand the question of age and experience weighed but little with\nthem. Moreover, as none had been trained as soldiers, there were\nnone who had to set aside superior claims.\n\nSamuel had been chosen as a child, Saul was the youngest of his\nbrethren, and David a lad when he slew the champion of the\nPhilistines. Such being the case, the youth of John was no\ndrawback, in the eyes of his followers; and indeed the fact that,\nbeing still a youth, he had yet escaped from Jotapata, where all\nhis elders had died; and that he had inflicted a heavy blow upon\nthe Romans, when all others who had opposed them had perished,\nseemed in itself a proof that he was under special protection.\n\nJohn probably believed in himself less than did any man among his\nfollowers. Piously and devoutly brought up, he saw in the two\nescapes that he had had, from death at the hands of the Romans,\nsigns of a special protection of God. But, while he hoped that he\nmight be able to do the Romans much harm, he had not any conviction\nthat he was destined to deliver his country. He had none of the\nfervent enthusiasm of men who are convinced that they have a divine\nmission, and that miracles would be wrought in his favor.\n\nHe had seen the tremendous strength of the Roman army, as it\ndefiled from the mountains before Jotapata. He had learned the\npower of their war engines, and had evidence of their discipline,\ntheir bravery and perseverance; and had no idea that such a force\nas that gathered round him could cope with the legions of Rome.\nStill, that firm and pious belief, which was so deeply ingrained in\nthe heart of the Jews, that God specially interested himself in\nthem--that he personally directed everything that befell them, and\nintervened in every incident of their history--had its natural\neffect upon him.\n\nHis training taught him that he was an instrument in God's hands\nand, although he hardly even hoped that he was destined to be a\ndeliverer of Jerusalem, he thought that God might intend him to do\ngreat things for his people. At any rate, while never claiming any\nspecial authority--or to have, more than those around him, any\nspecial mission--he was careful not to damp the enthusiasm of his\nfollowers, by disclaiming the mission they attributed to him;\nknowing how much such a belief added to his authority, and to the\nefficiency of the force under his command.\n\n\n\nChapter 12: Desultory Fighting.\n\n\nAfter having gone through the camps of the whole of the companies,\nJohn assembled the leaders round him, and held a council as to\nfuture operations. It was agreed that it would be best to leave\nalone, for the present, the legion at Scythopolis; for rumors of\nthe gathering would almost certainly have reached that city, and\nthe Romans might be on their guard against attack. It was resolved,\ntherefore, to cross the Jordan a few miles below Tarichea, to\ntraverse the hills between Endor and Gelbus and, by a long march,\nto gain the range of hills extending from Carmel to Samaria, and\nforming the boundary between the latter province and Galilee. They\nwould then be looking down upon the camp of Vespasian, at Caesarea.\n\nThe country, between these hills and the city, was too flat for\nthem to engage with any hopes of success; for although, by a\nsurprise, they might inflict great damage on the Romans, they would\nbe wholly unable to withstand the charges of the Roman horse. They\nwould, therefore, maintain a lookout from the mountains; and attack\nthe Roman camp the first time it was pitched on ground whence a\nrapid retreat could be effected, to the hills.\n\nAs the Jordan was unfordable, between Scythopolis and the lake, all\nwho could not swim were ordered to carry with them, on their march\ndown to the river, logs of light wood sufficient to support them in\ncrossing. Those who could swim were to assist in piloting over\nthose unable to do so. This would be a work of no great difficulty,\nfor the width of the Jordan is not great, and it was only for a\nshort distance in the center that it would be unfordable. As was to\nbe expected, the companies raised near the shores of the lake\ncontained but few men unable to swim, while those from the mountain\ndistricts were almost wholly ignorant of the art.\n\nThe bands were, therefore, linked together for the purpose of\ncrossing; one of those from the plains, and a company of\nmountaineers, marching down to the stream together. The\npreparations were all complete by the afternoon and, just as it was\nbecoming twilight, the leading bands arrived on the banks of the\nJordan. The crossing was effected without difficulty and, in two\nhours, all were over. Then the companies formed up under their\nleaders, and started independently; men who knew the country well\nbeing assigned, as guides, to each.\n\nThey crossed the hill between Endor and Gelbus, marched through\nJezrael; and then, just as morning was breaking, ascended the\n<DW72>s of Mount Carmel, leaving Legio on their right. It was a\nmarch of about fifty miles; but the men were all active and\nvigorous, lightly armed, and sustained by enthusiasm and\nexcitement, and not a man dropped behind during the journey. Once\namong the hills, they threw themselves down for a rest of some\nhours. From the crest of the hill, it was but some twelve miles\ndown to Caesarea; and the blue line of the sea extended, right and\nleft, as far as the eye could reach.\n\nIn the afternoon Jonas was sent down to the city, to learn how\nmatters stood there, and when Vespasian was going to move. He was\nto remain there that night, and return with the news on the\nfollowing morning. He came back, however, at midnight; saying that\nthe Romans had marched on the previous day, that they had taken the\nsouthern road which skirted the mountains for some distance, and\nwould probably cross the central range at Sichem, and either\nproceed to Scythopolis, or join the legion thence on the plain of\nAulon, west of the Jordan.\n\nThis was a disappointment but, at daybreak, the companies were\nafoot. It was decided they should march separately; each taking its\nown line to the east, following unfrequented roads, and keeping\namong the hills as far as possible, so that no report of the\npassage of any large gathering of men should reach the Romans.\nAlthough no time had been lost, John, when he approached the\nJordan, learned that Vespasian had already joined the legion from\nScythopolis, and had crossed the river into Peraea, and was\nmarching with all speed against Gadara, its chief city.\n\nHalting for the night near the Jordan; John crossed the river by a\nford, next morning, and then moved forward, cautiously, to commence\noperations as soon as the Romans were engaged upon the siege of the\ncity. But, ere many hours had passed, he learned that the\ninhabitants had sent forward a deputation to Vespasian; and that\nthe war party, taken by surprise by the rapid advance of the\nRomans, had hastily evacuated the city, after slaying many of those\nwho were willing to admit the Romans. When Vespasian arrived, he\nhad been received with acclamations by the inhabitants; who had\nalready destroyed a portion of their walls, to prove that they\nnever thought of resistance.\n\nHaving thus established the Roman authority in Peraea, Vespasian\nleft a garrison there; and set out, with the main body of his army,\nfor Caesarea, leaving a garrison in the town; and dispatching\nPlacidus, with five hundred horse and three thousand foot, in\npursuit of the fugitives who had fled from Gadara before he entered\nit.\n\nAs Vespasian marched back, the band under John began their work.\nWherever the road led through the mountains, they rolled down rocks\nupon the column. The light-armed allies of the Romans were sent out\non each flank and, climbing the hills, attacked their assailants.\nAs soon, however, as they neared the crests--which were, as they\nbelieved, held by small parties, only, of the enemy--the Jews\nrushed upon them with fury, overthrew them, and drove them down the\nhills; until the heavy-armed troops were obliged to advance to\ntheir assistance, upon which the Jews at once fell back to the\nhigher <DW72>s.\n\nGrowing bolder by success, they even ventured to rush down upon the\nbaggage; breaking through its guard, and killing great numbers of\nthe animals. A party of Roman horse which came up at full gallop\nwas charged, just as they reached the spot, by two more companies\nfrom the hill; and these, before the Romans could face about and\noppose their line of long spears to their assailants, were among\nthem--stabbing the horses, leaping up behind the soldiers and\nslaying them with their knives, and throwing the whole into\nconfusion. Then the sound of a horn was heard on the hillside, and\nthe whole of the Jews instantly relinquished their work and took to\nthe mountains, just as a large body of cavalry, headed by Titus,\ncame thundering up.\n\nAt night, the Romans were disturbed by constant alarms. Men crept\nup to the sentries, and slew them in the darkness. Numbers of the\nenemy penetrated into the camp; killing the soldiers as they slept,\nhocking the horses, and setting fire to the camp in several places;\nand it was not until the whole army got under arms that the attack\nceased. The next day, they were similarly harassed upon the march;\nand it was not until they had crossed the mountains, and descended\non to the western plain, that the Jews drew off, highly satisfied\nwith the result of their first encounter with the Romans.\n\nTheir loss had been slight--not more than twenty having\nfallen--while they had killed more than two hundred of the\nlight-armed troops, had inflicted some loss upon the Romans\nthemselves, had slain numbers of baggage animals; and had shown the\nenemy that, however formidable the Roman soldiers might be on the\nplains, the legions of Vespasian were no more invincible than was\nthat of Cestius, among the hills.\n\nThey regretted however that, instead of engaging the main army,\nthey had not followed the force under Placidus--of whose dispatch\nfrom Gadara they had not learned, until it was too late. The\nfugitives, of whom Placidus was in pursuit, had taken possession of\nthe village of Bethennabris. He pursued the stratagem which had\nalready succeeded so well. He feigned a retreat, and the Jews\nsallied out and attacked him. He cut off the greater part from\nreturning to the village and, at night, attacked Bethennabris,\ncaptured it, and put all within it to the sword.\n\nThose who had escaped were joined by great numbers of the country\npeople; and made for the Jordan, intending to cross by the ford\nopposite Jericho. But the river was swollen with rain, and they\nwere unable to cross. Placidus overtook and attacked them. Vast\nnumbers were killed, and more were driven into the river and\ndrowned. Fifteen thousand fell. Two thousand five hundred were\ntaken prisoners, with a vast number of animals, of all kinds.\nPlacidus then reduced the whole of Peraea, and the coast of the\nDead Sea, as far as Machaerus.\n\nVespasian soon moved down from Caesarea, keeping near the sea, and\ncapturing Antipatris, Lydda, and Thamna, and blocking Emmaus. Then,\ncontinuing his course southward, he wasted the country to the\nfrontier of Idumea, and captured the towns Betaris and Caphartobas,\nputting to the sword about ten thousand men. Then he marched back,\nby Emmaus and Sichem, descended the hills and marched to Jericho;\nwhere he was joined by Placidus, with the troops from Peraea.\n\nThe city had been deserted by its inhabitants, and the Roman army\nrested here for some time until, just as Vespasian was about to\nmarch upon Jerusalem, the news arrived of the death of Nero and,\nunwilling to weaken his army by besieging the city--strong in\nitself, and defended by a host--Vespasian withdrew to Caesarea and,\nfor another two years, Jerusalem had time for preparation, or\nsubmission.\n\nAs Vespasian's march had, except when he was crossing the mountains\nfrom Emmaus to Sichem, lain entirely in the plains, John had been\nable to do but little. Half the force had been sent across the\nJordan, and its operations had greatly added to the difficulties\nPlacidus had met with in subduing Peraea. The other companies had\nclosely followed the march of Vespasian, had made many attacks upon\nparties dispatched to pillage the country and, after the Romans\nmarched north again, besieged and captured some of the small places\nin which they had left garrisons.\n\nThey had united when the two Roman armies met at Jericho; and were\nprepared to defend, desperately, the rugged mountain roads leading\nthence to Jerusalem when, to their surprise, they saw the Roman\nhost moving away to the north again.\n\nAs soon as they ascertained that Vespasian had, for the present,\nentirely abandoned the idea of attacking Jerusalem, and that his\ntroops had gone into permanent quarters, John held a council with\nthe other commanders. Some were in favor of remaining in arms, and\nof constantly attacking the Roman garrisons. Others were for\nscattering and returning to their homes--from which they had now\nbeen absent three months--until the Romans again set themselves in\nmotion against Jerusalem. Opinions were about equally divided, and\nJohn remained silent until all had spoken. Then he said:\n\n\"I think that we had better disperse. If we remained in arms, we\nmight gain some successes, we might surprise and slay some Roman\ngarrisons; but the others would speedily prepare themselves against\nattack, by strengthening their walls and taking every precaution.\nBut, did we succeed in destroying the garrisons in every one of the\ntowns they have captured, of what benefit would it be? It would\nrather excite the Romans yet more against the people. Yet more\nwould they march through the land, burning, destroying, and\nslaying. They would turn the country into a desert; and either\nslay, or carry away all the people captives. We should irritate\nwithout seriously injuring the Romans; and the very people, whose\nsufferings we should heighten by our work, would turn against us.\n\n\"Now that the whole country has been scoured, all the towns which\nhave resisted destroyed, and all the men who defended them put to\nthe sword, there may be breathing space for the land, until the\nRomans advance against Jerusalem. It may be that those in Jerusalem\nmay come to terms with the Romans, in which case there need not be\nany more bloodshed. Therefore, I say that it seems to me that it\nwould be wrong to continue the war, so long as the Romans rest\npeacefully in their camps; but should Jerusalem have need of us in\nher defense, every one of us will again take the field.\"\n\nJohn's counsel was finally adopted. Many of the men were longing to\nreturn to their homes, where they knew that they would be welcomed,\nand honored, for the deeds they had performed; for although they\nhad achieved no grand successes, they had done much by compelling\nthe Romans to keep together, and had thus saved many towns from\nplunder and destruction. Their operations, too, had created a fresh\nsensation of hope, and had aroused the people from the dull despair\nin which they were sinking.\n\nHad messengers been now sent out on all sides, a great multitude of\nmen would have collected; but John knew well that numbers would be\nof no avail, and that in a pitched battle the Romans could defeat\nmany times their number of the undisciplined and ill-armed Jews.\n\nJohn himself stood even higher, in the estimation of his followers,\nthan he did at the commencement of the campaign. His own band had\nbeen particularly successful, and had several times encountered\nparties of the Romans almost equal to themselves in numbers. His\nplans had been always well laid, and on no occasion had the Romans\ncut off and killed any numerous parties. Altogether, the justness\nof his views had been established by experience, the men had gained\nconfidence in themselves and in him, and now only regretted that\nthey had had no opportunity of attacking the Romans in anything\nlike equal numbers.\n\nTherefore, when the news spread that John was of opinion that the\nwisest course was for them to return to their homes, and there to\nhold themselves in readiness to reassemble, whenever the Romans\nmoved against Jerusalem; the decision was willingly accepted and, a\nfew hours after the Roman column had marched out from Jericho, the\nJewish companies started for their respective homes, all promising\nto take up arms again, when the signal was given. Although the\nsuccess that had attended them had not been so great as they had\nhoped, it had been sufficiently marked to inspire them with\nconfidence in themselves, and their leader. But few lives had been\nlost; and they had learned that, so long as they persisted in the\ntactics their leader had laid down, there was but little chance of\nthe Romans striking a heavy blow at them.\n\nSurprise was mingled with joy, in the greetings John received on\nhis return home.\n\n\"No disaster has befallen your bands, I hope, John?\" Simon asked,\nanxiously. \"We heard that the Romans had reached Jericho; and we\nhave been praying the Lord, night and day, for his protection for\nyou--believing that you would doubtless fall upon the enemy, as\nthey marched through the mountains towards Jerusalem.\"\n\n\"We should have done so, father, and already had taken up a\nposition on the heights commanding the roads; but there was no\nfighting, simply because Vespasian has marched away with his army\nto Caesarea, and will not, as we believe, make any movement against\nJerusalem this year.\"\n\n\"The Lord be praised!\" Simon said, piously. \"There is time yet for\nthe city to repent, in sackcloth and ashes, for its sins; and to\ncome to such terms with the Romans as may save the Temple.\"\n\n\"So far as I have heard, father, Jerusalem is little likely either\nto repent or to negotiate. The news of what is passing there is\neven worse than that which the Rabbi Solomon told us; but I will\nnot pain you by talking of these matters, now.\n\n\"You have heard what we have been doing. We have done no great\ndeeds, but we have harassed the Romans sorely, so that they could\nnot say that they held the country beyond the flight of their\narrows. We have taken many cities where they had left small\ngarrisons. We have cut off very many small parties, have captured\nmany flocks and herds which they had carried off, and have lost but\nfew men while inflicting much damage. Moreover, we have gained\nexperience and confidence and, when the time comes for fighting\nhand-to-hand with the Romans, we shall enter upon the struggle\nwithout fear.\"\n\n\"But what can have induced the Romans to retire, when almost within\nsight of Jerusalem?\"\n\n\"Partly, no doubt, because Vespasian considered it better to let\nthe Jews go on slaying each other, than to waste his strength in\nkilling them; but partly, I believe, because of news from Rome. We\nheard a rumor that a messenger had arrived in the Roman camp, with\nnews that Nero is dead; and Vespasian may well wish to keep his\narmy together, to watch the course of events.\"\n\nThis was, indeed, Vespasian's main object in retiring; and for\nnearly two years he kept his army in hand, waiting for his\nopportunity, while Galba, Otho, and Vitellius in turn gained and\nlost the imperial crown. John remained at home, except that he went\nout with the companies in the spring of 69; when Vespasian, for a\ntime, set his troops in motion. As before, the Romans marched down\ninto the south of Judea, and reduced the country on the western\nshore of the Dead Sea; while Cerealis entered Idumea and completely\nsubdued it, so that there now remained only the towns of Herodium,\nMasada, Machaerus, and Jerusalem itself which still remained\nunconquered.\n\nJohn's troops had pursued precisely the same tactics as in the\nprevious year; and had contented themselves with harassing the\nRomans whenever the latter entered difficult country, and in\npreventing them from sending out small foraging parties. John\nhimself would not have called his men under arms, as he saw that no\nreal advantage was gained; but the men were eager to go, and he saw\nthat there was a considerable advantage in their continued practice\nin arms, in the quickness with which they worked together, and in\nthe confidence which they had in themselves.\n\nThe company suffered but slight loss in the operations; but John,\nhimself, had an adventure which nearly cost him his life.\nVespasian, with the bulk of his army, was encamped at Hebron; while\nTitus was at Carmelia, near the Dead Sea. John's company were in\nthe hills near Hebron; and he, wishing to examine the Roman\nposition at Carmelia, and the road between the two towns, started\nby himself. He carried, as usual, his buckler, two light javelins,\nand a sword. The road led down a series of precipitous valleys; and\nJohn, knowing that he could instantly gain the hills, out of reach\nof danger, did not hesitate to descend into it.\n\nHe was now nineteen, strong, active, and sinewy. The position in\nwhich he had been placed had given him the habit of command, and\nthe heavy responsibility which had devolved upon him had added two\nor three years to his apparent age. He was taller than most of his\ncountrymen, broad across the shoulders, and a match for any single\nman under his command.\n\nAs he walked along, he heard the sound of a horse's footsteps,\ncoming up the valley. He sprang a short distance up the craggy\nhillside, and then paused as a single horseman came in sight. As he\ncame a little nearer John saw, by the splendor of his armor, and\nthat of the horse he was riding, that he was an officer of rank and\ndistinction. John scorned to fly before a single foe, and stood\nquietly watching him, till he came nearly abreast of him. The\nhorseman reined up his charger and, without a word, seized his\njavelin and hurled it at the armed figure, standing on the hillside\nsome thirty feet above him. John sprang lightly aside, and the\nmissile struck the rock with a sharp clang, close to him. In\nreturn, he threw a javelin at the Roman, which struck him on the\narmor and fell, blunted.\n\n\"Well thrown!\" the Roman said, calmly, and hurled a second javelin.\n\nThe stroke was too swift to avoid; but John threw up his buckler so\nas to receive it at an angle, and the javelin glanced off, and flew\nfar up the hillside. This time John sprang down the rocks, with the\nactivity of a goat, till within a few feet of the Roman. Then he\nthrew his javelin at the horse, with so true an aim that it struck\nat a spot unprotected by armor, and the animal fell.\n\nWith an exclamation of anger, the Roman threw himself off, as the\nanimal sank beneath his legs. He had already drawn his sword, as\nJohn approached, and stood at once on the defensive. Without a\nmoment's hesitation John sprang at him, and the combat commenced.\nJohn trusted to his activity, while the Roman had an immense\nadvantage in his heavy armor--John being unprotected, save by his\nbuckler. The Roman stood calm and confident, while John\nattacked--moving quickly, round and round him; springing in to\ndeliver a blow, and then bounding out of reach of the sweep of the\nheavy Roman sword. For some time the combat continued. John had\nreceived two or three severe wounds while, although the Roman was\nbleeding, his armor protected him from any serious hurt.\n\nSuddenly John sprang in at the Roman, throwing himself with all his\nforce against him. He partially warded, with his sword, the blow\nwhich the Roman struck at him as he came in; but his weapon was\nbeaten down, and the Roman blade cut through his thick headdress.\nBut the impetus of his spring was sufficient. The Roman, taken by\nsurprise by this sudden attack, tottered, and then fell with a\ncrash, John falling on the top of him.\n\nJohn was almost blinded by the blood which streamed down his\nforehead, from the blow he had last received; but he dashed it\naside, seized his long knife and, in another moment, would have\nslain his enemy, had not the latter exclaimed:\n\n\"Strike, Jew! I am Titus.\"\n\nJohn was confused by the last blow he had received, but a thousand\nthoughts whirled in his brain. For an instant he grasped the knife\nmore firmly, to slay the son of the chief enemy of his country;\nthen the possibility of carrying him away a captive occurred to\nhim, but he saw that this was out of the question. Then another\nthought dashed across his brain.\n\n\"Swear,\" he said, in Greek, for he was ignorant of Latin, \"by your\ngods, to spare the Temple, or I will kill you.\"\n\nThere was a moment's hesitation. The knife was already descending,\nwhen Titus exclaimed, in the same language:\n\n\"I swear to do all in my power to save the Temple.\"\n\nJohn's knife fell from his hand. He tried to rise to his feet; then\neverything seemed to swim round, and he fell, insensible. Titus\nrose to his feet. He was shaken by the fall; and he, too, had lost\nmuch blood. Panting from his exertions, he looked down upon his\nprostrate foe; and the generosity which was the prevailing feature\nof his character, except when excited in battle, mastered him.\n\n\"By Hercules,\" he exclaimed, \"that is a gallant youth; though he is\na Jew, and he has well-nigh made an end of me! What will Vespasian\nsay, when he hears that I have been beaten in fair fight, and owe\nmy life to the mercy of a Jew? How they think of their temple,\nthese Jews! Why, I would not injure it, were it in my power to do\nso. Have not our emperors sent offerings there? Besides, we war not\nwith the gods of the people we conquer.\n\n\"Ah, here come Plancus and the others! This will be a lesson to me\nnot to trust myself, alone, among these mountains again. It is the\nfirst time I have done so, and it shall be the last.\"\n\nA messenger had, in fact, arrived at Carmelia, with an order from\nVespasian for him to go to Hebron--as he had a desire to speak with\nhim--and ordering Plancus, a centurion, to follow with his troop,\nTitus had sprung on his horse, and ridden off at once.\n\nThe Romans were soon upon the spot, and were loud in exclamation of\nsurprise and grief at seeing their commander covered with dust, and\nbleeding from several wounds, while his horse lay dead beside him.\nTo their inquiries whether he was seriously wounded, Titus replied,\nlightly:\n\n\"I am more dirty than hurt. Though, had it not been for my armor,\nthere would have been a different tale to tell, for these Jews\nfight like demons. As you see, he first slew my horse with his\njavelin, and then we fought it out on foot.\"\n\n\"Was there only this one?\" the centurion asked, in surprise,\npointing to John's body.\n\n\"Only that one,\" Titus said, \"and he nearly got the best of it.\nFighting with these Jews is like fighting with wild cats, so fierce\nare they in the attack, and so quick are their movements. I tell\nyou that, for a moment, my life was at his mercy.\n\n\"See if he is dead, Plancus.\"\n\n\"No, he breathes,\" Plancus said, stooping over him.\n\n\"Let four of the men make a litter, with their spears,\" Titus said;\n\"and take him down to Carmelia, and let my own leech attend him. I\nwould gladly save his life, if I can. I began the fray and, truly,\nhe has shown himself so gallant a young man that I would not that\nhe should die.\"\n\nAccordingly, when John opened his eyes, he found himself lying in a\nRoman tent, where an old man was sitting by his couch; and a Roman\nsentry pacing, backwards and forwards, before the entrance of the\ntent.\n\n\"Drink this,\" the old man said, placing a cordial to his lips. \"You\nneed have no fear, you are in the camp of Titus; and he, himself,\nhas ordered that all attention shall be paid to you.\"\n\nJohn was too weak from loss of blood, and confused from the effects\nof the blow on his head, even to feel the sensation of wonder. He\ndrank the potion, and closed his eyes again, and went off into a\nsleep which lasted for many hours. It was not until the next day\nthat he thoroughly awoke. The leech continued to attend him and, at\nthe end of four days, he was able to sit up.\n\nIllustration: Titus Brings Josephus to See John.\n\nIn the afternoon, he heard a clash of arms as the sentry gave the\nmilitary salute and, a moment later, Titus entered, accompanied by\none whom John instantly recognized as Josephus. John rose to his\nfeet.\n\n\"I told you he was but a young man,\" Titus said to Josephus; \"but\nnow that I can see him more nearly or, at any rate, more calmly, I\ncan see that he is little more than a lad; and yet, as you have\nheard me say, he is a man of valor, and defeated me in fair fight.\"\n\n\"I seem to know his face,\" Josephus said, and then addressed John\nin Hebrew.\n\n\"Who are you, young man?\"\n\n\"I am that John whom you saved in the storm, on the Sea of Galilee,\nand who fought with you at Jotapata.\"\n\n\"Is it possible?\" Josephus exclaimed, in surprise. \"I thought that\nI, alone, was saved there.\"\n\n\"I lay hidden with the boy Jonas, who told us of the track down to\nthe water,\" John said, quietly, \"and have since then been fighting\nthe Romans. While you--\"\n\n\"While I have been their prisoner,\" Josephus broke in. \"I know that\nall my countrymen are enraged against me but, truly, without a\ncause.\"\n\nJosephus then translated to Titus what John had told him, adding\nthat the young man had served him with zeal and devotion, and that\nhe had an affection for him.\n\n\"Then I am the more glad that he has not lost his life,\" Titus\nsaid, courteously.\n\n\"And now, my antagonist,\" he said, in Greek, to John, \"I would tell\nyou that I bear you no malice; though you have shed my blood, and\nbrought somewhat of disgrace upon me--for truly it is a disgrace\nfor a Roman soldier, in heavy armor, to be overthrown by one who\ncarries but a light buckler as his protection. But I love a brave\nman, even though he be a foe; and I honor those who are fighting\nfor what they believe to be the cause of their country. If I let\nyou go free, will you promise me not to bear arms again, against\nRome?\"\n\n\"I could not promise that, Titus,\" John said, quietly, \"even were\nyou to order me, now, to be taken out and slain. It is the first\nduty of all Jews to fight for the Holy City and, so long as I live,\nand the Holy City is in danger, so long I must fight for her. These\nare the commands of my religion; and I cannot, even to save my\nlife, disobey them.\"\n\n\"I will not press you to do so,\" Titus said; \"though Josephus,\nhere, will tell you that Rome is not an unkind lord, even to those\nwho have most withstood it. When you are well enough to leave us,\nyou shall go unharmed; though, could you have seen your way to\ndesist from hostility to us, I would have been a good friend to\nyou; and have promoted you to posts of honor, and that in countries\nwhere you would not have been opposed to your countrymen. But if\nyou will not have it so, you are free to go; and remember that, at\nany time, you have a friend in Titus; and that when this war is\nover, and peace restored, if you come to me I will repeat the offer\nthat I have now made.\n\n\"Moreover, you may rely upon it that, in the last extremity, I will\ndo all in my power to save the Temple; and indeed, in no case would\nI have injured a building so venerable and holy.\"\n\nTitus then left the tent, but Josephus remained for some time,\ntalking with John.\n\n\"I suppose you, like all others, have looked upon me as a traitor,\nJohn?\" he began.\n\n\"Not so,\" John replied. \"I knew that you fought bravely, at\nJotapata; and risked your life many times in its defense I knew,\ntoo, that you from the first opposed the revolt against the Romans,\nand it is not for me to judge as to your position among them.\"\n\n\"I am a prisoner,\" Josephus said. \"I am kindly treated, indeed, and\nVespasian frequently asks my opinion of matters connected with the\ncountry; but surely I am doing more good to my countrymen, by\nsoftening his heart towards them, than if I had died at\nJotapata--still more if I had been, like John of Gischala, a\nscourge to it. I trust even yet that, through my influence,\nJerusalem may be saved. When the time comes Vespasian will, I hope,\ngrant terms; and my only fear is that the madness of the people\nwill lead them to refuse all accommodation, and so force him into\ntaking the city by storm--in which case it cannot but be that\nterrible misery will fall upon it, and that vast numbers will lose\ntheir lives.\n\n\"And now, tell me how you are, at home, and what you have been\ndoing since I last saw you.\"\n\nJohn thought it as well not to mention, to Josephus, the prominent\npart which he had taken among those who had so harassed the Romans;\nbut he said that he had joined the bands raised in Galilee, and had\nbeen among those who had hung upon the Roman flank and rear,\nwherever they marched.\n\n\"The Jews have behaved with prudence and valor,\" Josephus said,\n\"and I now see that it would have been far better had I trusted\nmore in mountain warfare, than in fenced cities; but it would have\nbeen the same, in the end. I know the Jews. They would have fought\nbravely, for a time; but the thought of each would have turned to\nhis farm and his vineyard, and they would never have kept the field\nfor any length of time. The Romans therefore would, in the end,\nhave tired them out and, perhaps, the fate which has befallen the\ncities that resisted would have fallen upon all the land.\n\n\"And now remember that, although but a prisoner, I have much\ninfluence with Vespasian; and that at any time, should you fall\ninto their hands again, I will exert that influence in your favor.\"\n\nJohn remained about ten days at Carmelia. Titus had several\ninterviews with him, and at the last of these said:\n\n\"I have conceived a strong friendship for you, young man, and would\nwillingly do you service. Take this signet ring. At all times, and\nin all places, it will pass you to my presence. If a Roman sword be\nraised to strike you, and you show this ring, it will be lowered.\nThat you should fight against us to the last is, as you believe,\nyour duty; and as I myself would so fight for Rome, I seek not\nfurther to dissuade you. But when resistance is at an end, and it\nis useless any longer to hold the sword, your death cannot benefit\nyour country. Therefore, when that time comes--if not before--use\nthis ring, and come to me; and I will grant you not only your own\nlife, but that of such friends as you may wish to save.\n\n\"I do not forget that you had my life in your hands, and that you\nspared it. It is a life that may yet be valuable to Rome; and\nthough even now, when I speak of it, my cheek flushes with\nhumiliation, I am none the less grateful. It pleases me to see\nthat, in the conversations you have had with my officers, you have\nborne yourself so modestly, and have made no mention of this; for\nalthough I, myself, do not hesitate to speak of the mishap which\nbefell me, it is pleasant for me that it is not spoken of by\nothers. Believe me, then, that at all times you will find a sincere\nfriend in Titus.\"\n\nJohn replied in suitable terms; thanking Titus for the promises he\nhad made, and disclaiming any merit in his success--which was but\nthe last effort of a beaten man, and was the result of the sudden\nsurprise, and not of any skill or bravery.\n\nUpon the following morning, Titus furnished him with an escort far\nbeyond the confines of the camp; and then, taking to the hills,\nJohn rejoined his companions, who had long since given him up as\ndead. They could scarce credit him, when he told them that he had\nbeen lying wounded, in the hands of the Romans; and were still more\nsurprised at hearing that he had been engaged in a personal\nencounter with Titus. Of this John gave no details, beyond the fact\nthat, after throwing their javelins, the horse of Titus had fallen,\nand they had fought hand to hand until, at last, he had fallen,\nbleeding from a severe wound; and that Titus himself had been\nwounded.\n\n\"But how was it he did not slay you?\" was the question. \"It seems\nalmost a miracle, especially after wounding Titus, himself.\"\n\n\"Doubtless the Lord put it into his heart to spare me,\" John said.\n\"Titus only said that he preserved my life as that of a brave foe.\nThe Romans esteem bravery and, as I had withstood Titus for some\ntime, he was pleased to think that I had done well.\"\n\n\"Ah, if you had killed him, what rejoicings there would have been\nin the land!\"\n\n\"No,\" John said earnestly, \"there would have been mourning. You may\nbe sure that Vespasian would have avenged his blood upon all the\npeople. It would have been a misfortune, indeed, had Titus fallen.\nIt is well that it ended as it did.\"\n\nJohn was, however, far too weak to be able to accompany his band\nupon its rapid marches; and therefore, for a time, resigned its\ncommand to one of his captains. He determined to go, until his\nstrength returned to him, to a small community of which he had\nheard as dwelling in an almost inaccessible valley on the shore of\nthe Dead Sea. He was told that they took no part in the commotion\nof the times, and that they lived in such poverty that even the\nrobbers of Simon had not cared to interfere with them. They\npracticed hospitality to strangers, and spent their lives in\nreligious observances. As John had often heard from his father of\nthis sect--which was at one time numerous in the land, but had been\nsorely persecuted by the priests and Pharisees--he determined to\nstop for a time among them, and learn somewhat of their doctrines.\n\nAccompanied by Jonas, he made his way across the mountains to the\nvalley where they dwelt. As wounded, and a stranger, he was\nreceived without question among them; and a little hut, similar to\nthat in which they all lived, was placed at his disposal. These\nhuts were ranged in a square, in the center of which stood a larger\nbuilding, used as their synagogue. Here John remained nearly a\nmonth; and was greatly struck by their religious fervor, the\nsimplicity and austerity of their lives, and the doctrines which\nthey held. He learned that the more rigorous of the sect abstained,\naltogether, from the use of meat and wine; and that celibacy was\nstrictly enjoined. Those who married did not separate themselves\nfrom the sect, but were considered as occupying an inferior\nposition in it. Their food was of the simplest kind, and only\nsufficient to sustain life. The community raised the grain and\nvegetables necessary for their use.\n\nBut it was the religious doctrines which they held which most\ngreatly surprised John. They attached no importance, whatever, to\nthe ceremonial law of the Jewish Scriptures; maintaining, in the\nfirst place, that the Scriptures had a spiritual signification\nwholly apart from the literal meaning, alone understood by the\nworld; and that this spiritual meaning could only be attained by\nthose who, after long probation, were initiated into the inner\nmysteries of the sect.\n\nIn the second place, they held that the written law had been\naltogether superseded by the coming of the great prophet, Christ,\nwho had been put to death by the Jewish priests. John learned that\nthere were already large numbers of Jews who had accepted the\ndoctrines taught by this Christ, although they did not all embrace\nthe strict rules and modes of life of the ascetics. John was\ngreatly struck with their doctrines, although he did not hear\nenough to do more than to dimly understand their meaning. He\ndetermined however that, if he went safely through the war, he\nwould inquire further into these mysteries.\n\nAt the end of the four weeks, his strength being comparatively\nrestored, he took his leave of the community, and rejoined his\nband.\n\n\n\nChapter 13: The Test Of Devotion.\n\n\nAlthough John was able to join his companions, he was still far\nfrom strong; and was glad to have a valid excuse for handing over\nhis command to his lieutenant, and returning home. The campaign was\nnearly over; and he could not have followed those rapid marches\nthrough the hills which enabled the band to appear, now on one\nside, now on the other of the Romans, and to keep them in a\nconstant state of watchfulness.\n\nAt the same time, he was glad of the excuse to leave for, although\nhe had declared to Titus that he would fight again in defense of\nJerusalem, he felt that, after the kind treatment he had met with,\nhe could not take part in the daily skirmishes with the Romans.\n\nMounting a donkey, which was among the many animals captured in the\nattacks upon the Romans' baggage train, John bade adieu to his\ncomrades; and with Jonas, now grown into a sturdy young fellow,\nstarted for home. He journeyed by the road to the west of\nJerusalem, in order to avoid the bandits of Simon son of Gioras;\nwho still scourged the neighborhood of Masada and Herodium, lying\nbetween Jerusalem and the Dead Sea. He avoided all the towns in\nwhich there were Roman garrisons; for the bandages on his head\nwould have shown, at once, that he had been engaged in fighting. He\ntraveled slowly, and was six days before he arrived home.\n\n\"This time, my son, you have not come home unharmed,\" Simon said.\n\"Truly you are a shadow of your former self.\"\n\n\"I shall soon be strong again, father; and these are honorable\nscars, for I had them in single combat with Titus, himself, in the\nvalley between Hebron and Carmelia.\"\n\n\"Then how is it that you live to tell the tale, my son?\" Simon\nasked, while exclamations of wonder broke from Mary and Martha.\n\"Surely God did not deliver him into your hands?\"\n\n\"I wish not to boast, father, and I have told the true story to\nnone; but truly God did deliver him into my hands.\"\n\n\"And he is dead?\" Simon exclaimed.\n\n\"No, father, he lives, for I spared him.\"\n\n\"Spared him!\" Simon exclaimed. \"What, you did not avenge the\nmiseries of our people upon the son of the oppressor?\"\n\n\"No, father; and I rejoice that I did not for, had I done so,\nsurely the Romans would have avenged his death upon all the land.\nBut I thought not of that, at the time. I was sore wounded, and\nbleeding, and my sense was well-nigh gone; but as I knelt upon him,\nand lifted my hand to slay him, a thought--surely sent by God,\nhimself--came into my mind, and I said:\n\n\"'Swear by your gods that you will spare the Temple, or I slay\nyou;' and he swore that, so far as lay in his power, he would spare\nthe Temple.\"\n\nAn exclamation of joy burst from his hearers, and Simon said:\n\n\"Verily, my son, God has raised you up as a deliverer of his\nTemple; not, as some hoped, by defeating our oppressors, but by\nbinding one of their mightiest ones to do it no harm.\"\n\n\"I pray, father, say naught of this to anyone. It is between\nourselves, and Titus, and the Lord; and I would not that any man\nshould know of it. Moreover, Titus behaved with the greatest\ngenerosity to me.\n\n\"My victory over him was but a surprise. I was sorely wounded,\nwhile he was almost unharmed, when I sprang upon him and, by the\nsudden impulse, threw him to the ground, he being burdened with his\nheavy armor I had but strength to hear him swear, and then I fell\nas one dead. Titus might have slain me, as I lay; but he not only\ndid me no harm but, when his soldiers came up, he gave me into\ntheir care, and directed me to be carried down to his camp, placed\nin a tent, and tended by his own leech and, when I recovered, he\nlet me go free.\"\n\n\"Truly it is a marvelous tale, John. That you should have fallen\ninto the hands of the Romans, and come forth unharmed after\ndiscomfiting their leader, is as marvelous to me as Daniel coming\nunharmed from the lions' den. We will say naught of your story, my\nson. Tell us only what you told your own companions, so that we may\nknow what to say, when we are questioned.\"\n\n\"I told them the truth, father, although not all the truth. I said\nthat I met Titus, and fought with him; that I wounded him somewhat;\nbut that, by virtue of his armor, I did him no great harm, while he\nwounded me so seriously that I fell down as one dead; that he,\nfeeling that I had fought like a brave foeman, had me carried to\nhis tent, and tended and cared for until I was able to go forth;\nwhen he sent me away free, and unharmed.\"\n\n\"Truly men say of Titus that he is clement and merciful, and\ntherein differs much from Vespasian his father; and the clemency\nwhich he showed to the people of Gischala, and other places which\nhe has taken, proves that is so; but this deed of his to you shows\nthat he must have a great heart, for few men of rank, and warlike\nfame, who had been discomfited by one yet scarce a man, but would\nhave left him by the road to die, so that none might know what had\nhappened.\"\n\n\"Titus made no secret of it, father,\" John said. \"He told Josephus,\nin my hearing, that I had spared his life. He said naught of the\noath which he had taken; but I know that he will keep it as far, as\nhe said, lies in his power.\"\n\n\"What is he like?\" Mary asked.\n\n\"He is not of very tall stature, but stoutly built, and strong. His\nface--clean shaved, as is their custom--has a pleasant and kindly\nexpression, that tallies with his disposition, for he is greatly\nbeloved by his soldiers. In action they say he is brave to\nrashness, quick to anger, but as quickly appeased. Had he been in\ncommand of the Roman legions, they would have been not less\nformidable in the fight and, perhaps, when the passions of Titus\nwere roused, not less savage; but they would not have wrought such\nwholesale cruelty and destruction as they have done.\"\n\n\"It is rarely that pity enters into the heart of a Roman,\" Simon\nsaid; \"and yet, it is hardly for us to complain for, when we\ncrossed over the Jordan and conquered Canaan, we put all to the\nsword, and spared none. It may be that in future times, if wars do\nnot altogether cease in the world, they will be waged in another\nspirit; but so far, from the commencement of the world until now,\nit has ever been the same--war has brought desolation and\ndestruction upon the vanquished.\"\n\nThe next morning John went early into the garden; not that he was\nstrong enough for heavy work, but in order that Mary might, as\nusual, join him there.\n\n\"Do you know, John,\" she said, after their first greeting, \"you\nhave made me happier than I have been, for some time.\"\n\n\"How is that, Mary?\"\n\n\"It seemed to me, John, that you were getting away from me.\"\n\n\"Getting away, Mary!\" he repeated; \"how do you mean?\"\n\n\"You were becoming a great leader, John. I was proud that it should\nbe so, proud to think that you might become a deliverer of the\nnation; and then it would have been meet and right that you should\ntake to yourself, as a wife, a daughter of one of the great ones of\nthe land.\"\n\n\"Mary!\" John exclaimed, indignantly.\n\n\"It might have been necessary, John. The tillers of the soil can\nmarry where they please. Those who have power must wed for other\nreasons than that of love. They must make alliances that will\nstrengthen their position, and it would have been your duty to have\nsacrificed your love for the sake of your country. I should have\nbeen the first to bid you do so. I should have been content to make\nmy sacrifice, too, on the altar of our country; content with\nknowing that you, the deliverer of Israel, would have chosen me\nfrom among all other women, had you only had your own pleasure and\nhappiness to consult.\n\n\"But after what you told us yesterday, I think, perhaps, that this\nneed not be so; and that the way in which you were to save the\nTemple was not the way we thought. Your mission has been\nfulfilled--not by great victories, which would have made you the\nhero of Israel--but in that contest in the valley, where no eyes\nbut those of God beheld you; and should the Temple be saved, no one\nwill know that you were its savior, save we who love you.\nTherefore, John, once again I can look forward to the time when you\nand I can dwell, together, in the house of your fathers.\"\n\nMary was so earnest that John did not attempt to laugh her out of\nher fancies, as was his usual way. He only said, quietly:\n\n\"Perhaps you are right, Mary, as to my mission; but I do not think,\ndear, that even had I been made ruler of Israel, I would have gone\nelsewhere for a wife; but as you say, circumstances might have been\ntoo strong for me and, at any rate, I am well pleased that there is\nno chance of my happiness being set in one scale, and the good of\nmy country in another.\"\n\n\"And now, John, I believe that you will come back to me, even if\nJerusalem falls. This is the third time your life has been spared\nand, if we count that day when we were so nearly drowned together\non the lake, we may say that four times your life has been saved,\nwhen it seemed all but lost; and I believe, now, that it will be\nsaved to the end.\"\n\n\"I hope for your sake, Mary, and for my father and mother's, that\nit may be so. I have so much to make my life happy that I will\nassuredly do all in my power to save it. As you know, I have never\nheld with those who would destroy themselves, when all seemed lost.\nMy idea is: a man should fight until the last; but should, if\npossible, provide some way of escape, when fighting is no longer of\navail.\n\n\"Fortunately, if I do not fall in battle, I have a talisman which\nwill bring me safe to you. Titus has given me a signet ring which\nwill, at all times, procure me access to him. He has promised that,\nat all times, he will be my friend and, should I fall into the\nhands of his soldiers again, he will let me go free, and will give\nme the lives of any who may be dear to me.\"\n\n\"This Titus must be a noble enemy,\" Mary said, with tears in her\neyes. \"He is strong, and kind, and generous. Had such a man been\nraised up as the leader of our people, instead of the leader of our\nfoes, how different it might have been!\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" John agreed; \"truly we are sheep without a shepherd;\nnay, we are sheep whose leaders are ravening wolves, who devour\ntheir own flock.\"\n\nThe time passed, quietly and happily save for the grief which the\ntidings of the terrible doings in Jerusalem caused. The two years'\nrespite which the city had obtained, when Vespasian marched away\nfrom Jericho, instead of being turned to good account, had brought\neven greater evils than before. Simon son of Gioras, having wasted\nall the country towards Idumea, began to threaten Jerusalem. The\nZealots marched out against him, but were driven back to the city.\nSimon--thinking that the Idumeans, believing him to be occupied\nwith Jerusalem, would have grown careless--suddenly entered their\ncountry at the head of twenty thousand men.\n\nThe Idumeans flew to arms, and met him with twenty-five thousand\nmen; and a furious battle ensued, in which neither party gained the\nadvantage. Simon retreated, and the Idumeans dispersed. Simon\nraised an even larger force than before, and advanced with forty\nthousand irregular troops, besides his heavy-armed soldiers. They\ntook Hebron, and wasted Idumea with fire and sword.\n\nThe Zealots, in Simon's absence, succeeded in capturing his wife;\nand carried her off to Jerusalem, hoping by this means to force him\nto come to terms. On receiving the news he hurried back with his\nforces, surrounded Jerusalem, and slew everyone who ventured to\nleave the city--except some whom he sent back, having cut off their\nhands, to tell those within that, unless his wife were returned, he\nwould storm the city and slay every man within it. Even the Zealots\nwere alarmed at his threats and fury, and restored his wife;\nwhereupon he withdrew.\n\nThis had happened in the previous year, before Cerealis and\nVespasian had entered Idumea. As soon as the Romans had retired,\nSimon again sallied forth from Masada, collected a great number of\nIdumeans, and drove them before him into Jerusalem. Then he\nencamped before the city, and slew all who quitted the protection\nof its walls.\n\nThus, within, John of Gischala and his followers tyrannized over\nthe people, murdering and plundering till they were sated with\nblood, and knew not what to do with their booty; while Simon cut\noff all flight beyond its walls. But at length the party of John\nbecame divided. The Idumeans, who were in considerable numbers in\nthe city, rose and drove John and the Zealots into the palace built\nby Grapte; which had served them as their headquarters, and the\nstorehouse where they piled up the treasure which they had amassed\nby the plunder of the people. But the Idumeans attacked them here,\nand drove them into the Temple--which adjoined the palace--and took\npossession of all the plunder that they had amassed. The Zealots,\nhowever, were in great force in the Temple, and threatened to pour\nout and destroy the whole city by fire. The Idumeans called an\nassembly of the chief priests, and they decided to admit Simon\nwithin the gates.\n\nThe high priest, Matthias, went out in person to invite him to\nenter and, amidst the joyful greetings of the population, Simon\nmarched through the gates with his followers, and took possession\nof the upper city. This was the last and most fatal mistake of the\npeople of Jerusalem. The sheep had invited a tiger to save them\nfrom a wolf; and now two tyrants, instead of one, lorded it over\nthe city. As soon as Simon entered, he proceeded to attack the\nZealots in the Temple; but the commanding position of that building\nenabled them to defend themselves with success.\n\nTo obtain still further advantage, they reared four strong towers;\nand on these placed their military engines and bowmen, and so swept\nthe approaches to the Temple that Simon was forced to desist from\nthe attack. All through the winter, fighting went on without\nintermission, and the streets of Jerusalem ran with blood.\n\nA further division took place among the Zealots. Eleazar--who had\nbeen their head before the arrival of John of Gischala--jealous of\nthe supremacy of that leader, got together a party and suddenly\nseceded from the main band, and seized the inner court of the\nTemple. Now, fighting went on within as well as without the holy\nbuildings. The party of Eleazar were well supplied with provisions,\nfor the stores in the Temple were of immense extent. They were too\nfew in numbers to sally out to attack the party of John; but they\nwere strong enough to defend the walls of the inner court, which\nlooked down upon the rest of the Temple, and enabled them to\ncommand the positions of John's troops.\n\nDay and night the struggle went on. The inner court of the Temple\nwas desecrated by blood--dying men lay on the steps of the altar,\nand the shouts and songs of the savage soldiery rose, where the\nhymns of praise of the Levites had been wont to ascend.\n\nJohn's troops continued their attacks upon the inner court, while\nthey successfully resisted the assaults of Simon; who tried to take\nadvantage of the internecine strife raging between the two parties\nof Zealots, but the superior height of the positions held by John's\nmen enabled them to defend themselves as successfully as did those\nof Eleazar against their attacks.\n\nAnd yet, during all this terrible strife, the services of the\nTemple were continued, in the midst of blood and carnage. Free\ningress and egress were, as at all times, permitted to the pious;\nwho made their way unharmed through the fierce combatants, passed\nover the pavement slippery with blood, and laid their offering on\nthe altars--often paying with their lives for their pious services,\nbeing smitten down, even as they prayed at the altar, by the\nmissiles which the followers of John poured incessantly into the\ninner court.\n\nSometimes, drunk with the wine obtained from the abundant stores of\nthe Temple, the followers of Eleazar would sally out against John.\nSometimes John would pour out against Simon, wasting and destroying\nthe city as far as his troops could penetrate. Thus, the Temple\nbecame surrounded by a waste of ruins, held in turn by one or other\nof the factions. Even the rites of burial, so dear to the Jews,\nwere neglected; and the bodies of the slain lay, unburied, where\nthey fell, And yet, the forces of the three factions which thus\ndesolated the city were comparatively small and, had the wretched\npopulation who were tyrannized over by them possessed any\nunanimity, or been led by any man of courage, they could easily\nhave overthrown them all; for Simon's force amounted to about\nfifteen thousand, that of John to six thousand, while Eleazar could\ncount but two thousand four hundred men, and yet in Jerusalem were\ngathered a population amounting, with the original inhabitants and\nthe fugitives from the country around, to over a million people.\n\nAt length, the long interval of suspense was drawing to an end. At\nthe death of Vitellius, Vespasian had been called upon, by the\ngeneral voice of the people, to ascend the throne; and had, some\ntime before, left for Rome to assume the imperial purple. He was\njoyfully acknowledged by the whole Roman empire; who had groaned\nunder a succession of brutal tyrants, and now hailed the accession\nof one who was, at once, a great general and an upright and able\nman; and who would rule the empire with a firm, just, and moderate\nhand. When winter was over, Vespasian sent Titus--who had, in the\nmeantime, gone to Egypt--back to Palestine, and ordered him to\ncomplete the conquest of Judea.\n\nThe Twelfth Legion--that which had been defeated, when under the\ncommand of Cestius--was ordered to reinforce the three already in\nJudea; and the gaps made in the ranks during the war, and by the\nwithdrawal of the men who had accompanied Vespasian to Rome, were\nfilled by an addition of two thousand picked troops from\nAlexandria, and three thousand from the legions stationed on the\nEuphrates. The Syrian kings sent large contingents; and Tiberius\nAlexander--an intimate friend of Titus, a man of wisdom and\nintegrity--was appointed to high command. His knowledge of the\ncountry, which he had once governed, added to his value in the\nRoman councils.\n\nAs soon as the news spread that the Roman army was collecting for\nits march against Jerusalem, the signal fires were kindled on the\nhills above Gamala; and John, after a tender farewell to his\nparents and Mary, set out with Jonas. In twenty-four hours, the\nband had again assembled. When they were gathered, John addressed\nthem. He pointed out to them that the campaign that they were now\nabout to undertake differed widely from those which had preceded\nit.\n\n\"Hitherto,\" he said \"you have but skirmished around the Romans, and\nhave run but comparatively little danger; but now, those who go\nwith me must make up their minds that they are going to Jerusalem\nto die. It may be that the Lord will yet deliver the Holy City from\nher enemies, as he delivered it in days of old. But you know what\nhas been doing in Jerusalem, for the last four years; that not only\nthe streets, but the altar itself have been flooded with the blood\nof the people, how the Jews themselves have desecrated the Temple,\nand how wickedness of all kinds has prevailed in the city.\n\n\"Thus, you can judge for yourselves what chance there is that God\nwill interfere on behalf of the people who have forsaken and\ninsulted him. If he does not interfere, in my opinion the fate of\nthe city is sealed. I have seen the Romans at work, at Jotapata and\nGamala; and I know how the strongest walls go down before their\nengines and battering rams. Moreover I hear that, in the wars which\nhave been raging within the gates, the magazines--which contain\nsufficient food to last even her great population for years--have\nbeen entirely destroyed; and thus those who go to defend her have\nto face not the Roman sword only, but famine.\n\n\"Therefore, I say that those who go up to defend the Temple must\nmake up their minds that they go to die for the Temple. It is for\neach of you to ask yourselves whether you are ready to do this. I\nask no one to go with me. Let each, before it is too late, ask\nhimself whether he is ready to do this thing. I blame none who find\nthe sacrifice too great. It is between them and their conscience.\n\n\"Therefore, I pray you, let all tonight disperse among the hills,\neach by himself, so that you may think over what I have said; and\nlet all who may come to the conclusion that they are not called\nupon to go to certain death, in defense of the Temple, depart to\ntheir homes without reproach from their comrades. Each man here has\ndone his duty, so long as hope remained. Now it is for each to\ndecide, for himself, whether he feels called upon to give his life\nfor the Temple.\"\n\nSilently the crowd dispersed, and John joined the captains, and\npassed the night with them.\n\n\"I fear we shall have but a small gathering in the morning,\" one of\nthem said, as they sat down by the fire. \"Many will fight as long\nas there is hope, but few will go down to certain death.\"\n\n\"It is better so,\" John said. \"Misery and ruin have fallen upon the\ncountry. As you saw for yourselves, Judea and Idumea are but\ndeserts, and more have fallen by famine and misery than by the\nsword. We would not have our nation blotted out; and as, in the\ndays after the captivity in Babylon, God again collected his people\nand restored their land to them, so it may be his intention to do,\nnow, when they have paid the full penalty of their disobedience and\nwickedness. Therefore, I would not that any should go down to die,\nsave those who feel that God has called them to do so.\n\n\"Already the victims who have fallen in these four years are\nwell-nigh countless; and in Jerusalem there are a million\npeople--sufficient, if they have spirit and strength and the Lord\nis with them--to defend the walls. Thus, then, however small the\nnumber of those who may gather tomorrow, I shall be content. Had\nthe Romans advanced against Jerusalem at the commencement of the\nwar, there was not a Jew capable of bearing arms but would have\ngone up to the defense of the Holy City; but now, their spirit is\nbroken by the woes that have come upon them, and still more by the\ncivil wars in Jerusalem herself. A spirit of hopelessness and\ndespair has come upon us. It is not that men fear to die, or that\nthey care to live; it is that they say:\n\n\"'What matters it whether we live or die? All is lost. Why should\nwe trouble as to what may come upon us?'\"\n\n\"Then you no longer believe in your mission, John?\" one of the\nparty said, gloomily.\n\n\"I have never proclaimed a mission,\" John said. \"Others have\nproclaimed it for me. I simply invited a score of men to follow me,\nto do what we could to hinder the Romans; and because God gave us\nsuccess, others believed that I was sent as a deliverer.\n\n\"And yet, I believe that I had a mission, and that mission has been\nfulfilled. I told you not, before; but I tell you now, for your\ncomfort, what happened between me and Titus--but I wish not that it\nshould be told to others. I told you that I fought with him; and\nthat, being wounded and insensible, I was carried into his\ntent--but that was not all. When we fought, although sorely\nwounded, I sprang upon him and we fell to the ground, I uppermost.\nI drew my knife, and would have slain him; when the Lord put a\nthought into my mind, and I called upon him to swear that he would\nspare the Temple.\n\n\"He swore that, if it lay in his power, he would do so. Then he was\nbut in inferior command. Now he is general of the army, and should\nbe able to keep his oath. Thus, if I had a mission to save the\nTemple, I trust that I have fulfilled it; and that, whatever fate\nmay fall upon the city, the Temple will yet remain erect and\nunharmed.\"\n\nJohn's words gave new life and energy to the before dispirited men\ngathered round him. It seemed to them not only that the Temple\nwould be saved, but that their belief in their leader's mission as\na deliverer was fully justified; and a feeling of enthusiasm\nsucceeded that of depression.\n\n\"Why did you not tell us before? Why did you not let all your\nfollowers know what a great thing you had done, John?\" one of them\nasked, presently.\n\n\"For two reasons,\" John replied. \"I did not wish to seem to exalt\nmyself, or to boast of the success which God had given me over the\nRoman; for it was assuredly his strength, and not mine, for I\nmyself could do naught against the strength and skill of Titus and,\nas I told you, was wounded nigh to death, while he received small\nhurt. In the next place I thought that, if I made it public, it\nwould be noised abroad through the land; and that Titus, when he\nheard that all men knew that he had been worsted in fight with a\nJew, might repent of his oath--or might even ask to be sent to some\nother command, so that he might not be called upon to keep it.\"\n\nJohn's companions agreed that the second reason was a valid one,\nthough they did not agree that the first should have weighed with\nhim.\n\n\"It is not by hiding a light under a bushel,\" one of them said,\n\"that men gain the confidence of their followers. The more men\nbelieve in their leaders, the more blindly will they follow him,\nthe greater the efforts they will make for him. It was the belief\nin your mission which gathered eight thousand men on these\nmountains to follow you; and the proof that you have given us that\nthat belief was well founded, and that you had a mission to save\nthe Temple--the knowledge that you had, single handed, forced the\nRoman general to swear an oath to save the Temple--would have so\nheightened that enthusiasm that they would have followed you, had\nyou bidden them attack the whole Roman army. I agree that, for your\nsecond reason, it was wise to say nothing of what took place; but\nyour first was, I think, a mistaken one.\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" another said, \"the hand of God is plainly marked in\nthe matter; for it has placed Titus in full command, and has thus\ngiven him the power of carrying out the oath which he swore. Now,\nmy friends, we can go up with light hearts with John to Jerusalem\nfor, though we may die, yet do we feel assured that the Lord\npurposes to save the Temple; and that, one day, he will restore the\nglories of Judah.\"\n\nIn the morning, as John had expected, the number of those who\ngathered at the sound of the trumpet was comparatively small. The\nnight's reflection, the feeling that the sacrifice of their lives\nwould be of no avail, and the dull despair that had seized the\nwhole nation had had their effect and, of the eight thousand men\nwho had gathered there the night before, but six hundred now obeyed\nthe summons.\n\nThese gathered, stern and silent, but with an expression of\ndesperate resolution on their faces. At the earnest request of his\ncaptains, John allowed them to go among the men and to tell them\nthat, although the manner in which it was done was a secret, John\nhad given to them undoubted proofs that he had a mission from God;\nand that they believed that, whatever might happen to Jerusalem, it\nwas the Lord's will that the Temple should be saved. The joyous\nexpression of their leaders' faces, even more than their words,\nassured their followers of their sincerity. Their spirit rose, and\na renewed feeling of enthusiasm seized them; and when, an hour\nlater, John took his place on a rock to address them, the shouts of\ngreeting which broke forth showed him how great was the change in\ntheir spirit.\n\n\"My friends,\" he said, \"I greet you who have decided to die with\nme, if need be, in defense of Jerusalem. I blame not those who have\ngone. They would not have gone, had the Lord required them to stay;\nbut to you he has spoken, and has told you that he has need of your\nservices. Henceforward, we will act as one band--a band of men\ninspired with one thought, and one aim. And now, though our numbers\nmay not be great, yet a force so composed of men who hold their\nlives as naught may do wonders. You remember how Gideon sent the\ngreater part of his army away and, with a mere handful, defeated\nthe hosts of the enemy!\n\n\"We look not for victory; but we will show the Romans what men can\ndo to avenge their bleeding country--what deeds Jews can perform,\nwhen fighting for the Temple. We shall go into Jerusalem. There we\nwill hold aloof from all parties. If we are attacked, we will\ndefend ourselves. But our aim will be to act as a body apart from\nothers, ready to undertake the most desperate services, and to set\nan example of courage and devotion.\n\n\"Now let us count our numbers, and arrange ourselves anew into\ncompanies.\"\n\nIt was found that the bands composed of men from Tiberias, and the\nother cities of the lake, had entirely disappeared; and that those\nwho had stayed were principally hardy dwellers among the hills.\nThey were again divided into twenty companies of thirty men each\nand, after examining their arms, and seeing that all were well\nprovided, John gave the order, and the band set off.\n\nKeeping on the eastern side of Jordan they stopped at a large\nvillage, near the ford opposite Jericho; and here a quantity of\ngrain was purchased, and was made up into sacks, each weighing\nfifty pounds.\n\n\"The granaries that remain will be principally in the hands of the\ntroops of John, or Simon,\" John said; \"and it is as well that we\nshould have our own store to depend upon. So long as we can buy\nfood, we will do so; and we can fall back upon our own magazine, if\nnecessary. It will be best for two or three of us to go into the\ncity, first, and find a quarter where we can lodge close together,\nand as far removed as possible from the factions. Simon holds the\nupper town, and John the Temple; therefore we will establish\nourselves in the lower town. We will not go in in a body, for they\nmight refuse us admittance; but as the Romans approach there will\nbe a stream of fugitives entering the city. We will mingle with\nthem, and pass in unobserved.\n\n\"Many of the fugitives will be carrying the goods they most value;\nand many, doubtless, will take in provisions with them. Therefore,\nour sacks of grain will not excite attention.\"\n\nIt was five years since John had journeyed up with his parents to\nJerusalem, and he therefore knew but little of the city. Some of\nhis followers, however, had been there more recently; and he picked\nout four of these, one of whom was a captain of a company, to enter\nthe city and find a suitable post for them. The whole band crossed\nthe Jordan together, and made a detour to avoid Jericho, where the\nTenth Legion had been quartered during the winter. Then they took\ntheir way up the steep road through the hills until, passing\nthrough Bethany, they came out on the crest of the hill looking\ndown upon the Valley of Jehoshaphat; with the Temple rising\nimmediately opposite to them, and the palace of Agrippa, and the\ncrowded houses of the city, in the background.\n\nIllustration: John and his Band in Sight of Jerusalem.\n\nThe men laid down their sacks, and stood for a long time, looking\nat Jerusalem. Many were moved to tears, as they looked on the\nstately beauty of the Holy City, and thought how low it had fallen;\nwith civil tumult within, and a terrible enemy approaching from\nwithout. Even now, there is no fairer scene in the world than the\nview of Jerusalem from the spot where they were standing--called\nthen, as now, the Mount of Olives--and it must have been superb,\nindeed, in the days when the Temple stood intact, and the palaces\nof Agrippa and Herod rose on the brow of Mount Zion.\n\nAfter a long pause they resumed their way, crossed the upper end of\nthe Valley of Jehoshaphat, and established themselves for the night\nin a grove of trees near the Grotto of Jeremiah; four chosen men at\nonce entering the city, by the Old Gate on the north side of the\ncity. The country here--and indeed, all the hills around\nJerusalem--were covered with the houses of the wealthy, surrounded\nby gardens and orchards. They belonged not only to the Jews of the\ncity; but to those who dwelt in foreign countries, and who were\naccustomed each year to come to Jerusalem for the Passover, and to\nspend some time there before they returned to their distant homes.\nEven now, undismayed by the dangers of the times, and the knowledge\nthat the Romans would shortly besiege the city, pilgrims were\narriving from all the cities of Asia Minor, Greece, and Egypt, for\nthe time of the Passover was close at hand.\n\nAt the foot of the walls, and on the <DW72>s around, large numbers\nof pilgrims were encamped--the rich in gorgeous tents, the poor in\nshelters constructed of boughs or carpets. This overflow of people\nwas an occurrence which was witnessed every year, on the same\noccasion; but its proportions were this time of greater magnitude\nthan usual, partly owing to the difficulty of procuring lodgings in\nthe town, owing to the crowds of fugitives there, partly because\nmany thought it safer to camp outside, and to enter the city only\nto pay their devotions, and take part in the ceremonial, than to\nput themselves wholly into the power of the ruffians of Simon and\nJohn.\n\nIn the following morning the men returned, and reported that they\nhad found a spot in the inner lower town, between the Corner Gate\nand the Gate of Ephraim in the second wall, where was a large\nhouse, inhabited now but by two or three persons. Here a great\nnumber of them could take up their quarters, while the others could\nfind lodging near. The reason why so many houses were empty there\nwas that it was somewhat exposed to the irruptions of Simon's men\nfrom the upper town, as they frequently came down and robbed those\nwho entered the city at the Damascus Gate, from which led the great\nnorth road.\n\nCrowds of fugitives were making their way by this road to the city,\nflying before the advance of the Romans; who were, they said, but a\nfew hours' march in their rear. Many were men, coming to take their\npart in the defense of the city; but the great proportion were old\nmen, women, and children, flying for refuge. John shook his head,\nas he watched the stream of fugitives, for he well knew the horrors\nthat would befall the besieged town.\n\n\"Better a thousand times,\" he said to Jonas, \"that these poor\npeople should have remained in their villages. They have nothing\nwhich would tempt the cupidity of the Roman soldiers, and no evil\nmight have befallen them; whereas now they will perish by famine or\ndisease, or be slain by the Romans, besides consuming the food\nwhich would have sustained the fighting men. Were I master of\nJerusalem I would, when I heard the Romans were approaching, have\ncleared out from the city all who could not aid in the defense. It\nwould have seemed a harsh action; but it would have been a merciful\none, and would greatly strengthen the power of resistance.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 14: Jerusalem.\n\n\nMingling with the crowd, John and his followers made their way\nthrough the Damascus Gate into Jerusalem, and followed the Damascus\nStreet to the Gate of Ephraim. An air of sombre misery pervaded the\nwhole population. In their hearts the greater portion of the\npopulation had, for many months, been longing for the approach of\nthe Romans. Even death would be preferable to the misery which they\nsuffered. There were but few people in the streets; for all\nremained in their houses, with closed doors, save when necessity\ndrove them out to make purchases. Turning sharp round by the wall,\nthe members of the band made their way along by it, until they were\nmet by one or other of those who had gone on in advance, and were\nconducted to the house which had been hired for them.\n\nThe inhabitants of the houses near looked out of their windows in\nalarm, when they saw so many armed men arriving; but they gained\ncourage, on observing their quiet and orderly demeanor; and doors\nwere presently unbolted, and men came out to inquire who were the\nnewcomers. When they were told that they were from Galilee and\nPeraea, and had come down only to fight for the Holy City--that\nthey would harm no one, and had nothing in common with any of the\nfactions--confidence was restored, and offers were at once made to\ntake in ten, fifteen, or twenty men, according to the size of the\nhouses; for the people soon saw that the new arrivals would prove a\nprotection from the attacks and insults of small numbers of Simon's\nmen--who had hitherto pervaded the lower town, breaking into\nhouses, robbing and murdering wheresoever they chose.\n\nThe grain was all stored in the house that had been hired; and here\nJohn took up his quarters, with the men of his own company and\nthose of Asher, one of his bravest and most determined captains.\nThe rest were all accommodated in houses in the same street. And as\nthis, like most of the streets of Jerusalem, was very narrow, John\nfelt that it could be defended against an attack by a greatly\nsuperior force.\n\nIt was but half an hour after the band had been settled in their\nquarters that a shriek was heard at the end of the street. John ran\nout in time to see a woman struck down; while a body of some twenty\nhalf-drunken soldiers, with drawn swords, were trying to force in\nthe door of a house. John sounded his bugle, and there was a rush\nof armed men into the street. John put himself at the head of the\ntwo companies with him, and advanced against the soldiers, and\nsternly ordered them to desist. The soldiers, astonished by the\nsudden appearance of so large a body of armed men, drew back in\nastonishment.\n\n\"Who are you?\" one, who seemed to be their leader, asked.\n\n\"It matters not who I am,\" John said, quietly. \"It is enough, as\nyou see, that I have a force here sufficiently strong to make\nmyself obeyed. This street, henceforth, is mine; and beware of\nattempting plunder or violence here, for whoever does so surely\ndies!\"\n\nMuttering threats below their breath, the soldiers sullenly\nwithdrew. An hour later, one of the inhabitants ran in to inform\nJohn that a large body of men were coming down from the upper city.\nJohn immediately called his men to arms and, at their head, took up\nhis position at the end of the street.\n\nEre long, a crowd of soldiers were seen approaching. At their head\nstrode one whom John at once guessed to be Simon, himself. When he\narrived within ten paces Simon stopped, surprised at the compact\norder and resolute appearance of the band which filled the street.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he asked John, imperiously.\n\n\"My name is John, and I am generally called John of Gamala,\nalthough that is not my birthplace.\"\n\nSimon uttered an exclamation of astonishment; for the tales of\nJohn's attack upon the Roman camp at Gamala, and of his subsequent\nactions against the Romans, were well known in Jerusalem.\n\n\"You are but a lad,\" Simon said, contemptuously, \"and John of\nGamala must be a warrior!\"\n\n\"I am John of Gamala,\" John repeated, quietly, \"and these men are\npart of my band. We have come down to defend Jerusalem, since there\nis no more to be done in the open country. We wish to interfere\nwith none, to take part with no faction, but simply to defend the\ncity. We war with the Romans, and not with Jews. We assault no one,\nbut woe be to him who assaults us! Here are six hundred of us, each\nman ready to die; and though you have twenty men to one, yet will\nwe withstand you, if you meddle with us.\n\n\"By tonight, the Romans will be outside the walls. Is this the time\nthat Jews should fall upon each other, like wild beasts?\"\n\nSimon hesitated. The idea of opposition excited him, as usual, to\nfury but, upon the other hand, he saw that this determined body\nwere not to be overcome, save with great loss, and he wanted his\nmen for his struggles with the Zealots.\n\n\"You are not in correspondence with John of Gischala?\" he asked,\ndoubtfully.\n\n\"I am in correspondence with none,\" John said. \"As I have told you,\nwe come only to fight for Jerusalem; and will take no part, on one\nside or other, in your dissensions. We have taken up this street,\nbetween this gate and the Corner Gate, and this street we will\nhold.\"\n\nSimon still hesitated. He saw that, round this nucleus of\ndetermined men, the whole of the citizens of the lower town might\ngather; and that he might be forced to confine himself to the upper\ntown. This, however, would be of no great importance, now. The\ninner, lower town was the poor quarter of Jerusalem. Here dwelt the\nartisans and mechanics, in the narrow and tortuous lanes; while the\nwealthier classes resided either in the upper town, where stood the\npalaces of the great; or in the new town, between the second and\nthird walls.\n\nThe new town had, indeed, until lately been a suburb outside the\nwalls. Agrippa had begun the third wall--which was to inclose\nthis--and, had he been allowed to build it according to his design,\nhe would have made Jerusalem absolutely impregnable, save by\nfamine; but the authorities at Rome, knowing how turbulent were the\npopulation of Jerusalem, and foreseeing that at some time they\nmight have to lay siege to the city, had forbidden its construction;\nand the new wall had been hastily erected by the Jews, themselves,\nafter they had risen and defeated Cestius, four years before. This\nwall inclosed a vast number of villas, with gardens and open spaces,\nnow thickly tenanted by the temporary habitations of the fugitives\nand pilgrims.\n\nThe lower town, then, contained but little to tempt the cupidity of\nSimon's troops. Its houses had, indeed, been ransacked over and\nover again; and Simon reflected that, even should his men be\nprevented from descending into it, it would matter but little\nwhile, as it was separated from the upper town by the Tyropoeon\nValley, and the first wall, no rising there could be a formidable\ndanger to him. Still, it galled him to be resisted and, had it not\nbeen that the Romans were close at hand, he would at once have\ngiven his men orders to attack the strangers.\n\nHe stood for some minutes, stroking his beard, and then said:\n\n\"I will give you no answer, now. I will think over what you say,\ntill tomorrow, then we will talk again.\"\n\n\"I doubt not what your decision will be,\" John said. \"You are a\nbrave man, Simon; and although you have done much harm to the Jews,\nyet I know that you will defend Jerusalem, to the end, against the\nRomans. You need feel no jealousy of me. I aspire to no leadership,\nor power. I am here only to fight, and six hundred such men as mine\nare not to be despised in the day of trial. Should the Romans march\naway, baffled, before the walls, I, too, shall leave; and you, who\nremain, can resume your mad struggles, if you will. But I think\nthat, in the presence of the enemy, all strife within the city\nshould cease; and that we should be as one man, in the face of the\nRomans.\"\n\nSimon looked with surprise, and some admiration, at the young man\nwho so boldly addressed him. Savage and cruel as he was, Simon was\na man of the greatest bravery. He had none of the duplicity and\ntreachery which characterized John of Gischala, but was\nstraightforward and, in his way, honest. As only his picture has\ncome down to us, as described by the pen of Josephus who, at the\ntime of his writing his history, had become thoroughly a Roman, and\nwho elevated Titus and his troops at the expense of his own\ncountrymen, great allowance must be made for the dark colors in\nwhich he is painted. The fact that he was regarded with affection\nand devotion by his troops, who were willing to go to certain death\nat his orders, shows that at least there must have been many good\nqualities in him; and history records no instance of more desperate\nand sustained bravery than he exhibited in defense of Jerusalem.\n\nThe frankness of John's speech, instead of angering him, pleased\nhim much.\n\n\"Enough,\" he said. \"I need no further time to reflect. A man who\nhad thought of treachery would not speak so boldly, and fearlessly,\nas you do. Let us be friends.\n\n\"I have often wondered what sort of man was the John of Gamala of\nwhom I have heard so much, and who has so long kept the field\nagainst the Romans; and although I wonder greatly at seeing you so\nyoung a man, yet I rejoice that so valiant a fighter should be\nhere, to aid us in the struggle. Here is my hand, in token of\namity.\"\n\nJohn took the hand held out to him, and a shout of satisfaction\nrose from the armed men on either side--the followers of John being\nrejoiced that they would not be called upon to engage in civil\nstrife, those of Simon well satisfied that they were not to be\ncalled upon to attack a body of men who looked such formidable\nantagonists.\n\nJust at this moment, a man rode in at the gate, saying that the\nRomans were but two miles distant, and would speedily make their\nappearance over the Hill of Scopus. Simon ordered a party of his\nmen to proceed at once to Damascus Gate, and to close it as soon as\nthe Romans were visible. Then he turned again to John.\n\n\"Come up with me,\" he said, \"to the Palace of Herod. From its\nsummit, we can see the enemy approaching.\"\n\nGiving orders to his men to lay aside their arms, and calling Jonas\nto accompany him, John without hesitation turned to accompany\nSimon. The latter had hardly expected him to accept his invitation,\nand the readiness with which he did so at once pleased and\ngratified him. It was a proof of fearlessness, and a testimony to\nJohn's belief in his faith and honor. John of Gischala, treacherous\nhimself, would not have placed himself in his power, whatever the\nguarantee he gave for his safety; while he himself would not have\nconfided himself to John of Gischala, though the latter had sworn\nto his safety with his hand on the altar.\n\nJohn, himself, was struck with the rugged grandeur of Simon's\nappearance. He was far above the stature of ordinary men, and of\nimmense strength; and there was, nevertheless, an ease and\nlightness in his carriage which showed that he was no less active\nthan strong. His face was leonine in expression. His long hair fell\nback from his forehead, his eyebrows were heavy, his eyes were gray\nand clear; with a fierce and savage expression when his brows met\nin a frown, and his lips were firmly set; but at other times frank,\nopen, and straightforward in their look. The mouth was set and\ndetermined, without being hard; and a pleasant smile, at times, lit\nup his features. He was a man capable of strong affections, and\ngenerous impulses.\n\nHe was cruel, at times; but it was an age of cruelty; and Titus\nhimself, who is held up as a magnanimous general, was guilty of far\nmore hideous cruelties than any committed by Simon. Had the latter\nbeen master of Jerusalem from the first, and had not the granaries\nbeen destroyed in the civil war, the legions of Titus would never\nhave achieved the conquest of the city.\n\nAscending the steep <DW72> of the valley, they passed through the\ngate in the first wall and, turning to the right, entered the\nPalace of Herod, which was at once a royal dwelling, and a fortress\nof tremendous strength. Much as John's thoughts were otherwise\noccupied, he could not help being struck by the magnificence and\nsplendor of this noble building; but he said nothing as Simon\nstrode along through the forum, passed out beyond the palace\nitself, entered the strong and lofty tower of Phasaelus, and\nascended to its summit.\n\nAn involuntary exclamation burst from John, as he gained the\nplatform. From the point on which he stood, he commanded a view of\nthe whole city, and of the country round. Far below, at his feet,\nlay the crowded streets of the inner town; between which and the\nouter wall the ground was thickly occupied by houses of the better\nclass, standing half-embowered in trees. Close beside him rose the\nstately towers of Hippicus and Mariamne. Behind him was the Palace\nof Herod, standing on the ground once occupied by the Castle of\nDavid. On the east the Palace of Agrippa partly obscured the view\nof the Temple; but a portion of the building could be seen,\nstanding on its platform on the summit of Mount Moriah. To its\nleft, and connected with it by two lines of cloisters, was the\ncastle of Antonia while, still further along, was the fort known as\nAcra. Behind the Palace of Herod, and its superb gardens, were\nscattered the palaces and mansions of the wealthy Jews and\nstrangers which, with their gardens, occupied the whole of the\nupper part of Mount Zion. On the lower <DW72> of Mount Moriah, lying\nbetween the Valley of Jehoshaphat and that of the Tyropoeon, was a\ndensely-populated suburb known as the New Town. Westward, beyond\nthe Tower of Hippicus, lay the valley of Hinnom, with the Dragon\nPool glistening in the sun while, at a distance of four or five\nmiles, to the southward could be seen the village of Bethlehem. The\nwhole country outside the walls was a garden, with countless\nvillas, mansions, and groves of trees.\n\nFor some minutes, John looked round in admiration of the scene,\nwhile Simon stood with his eyes fixed upon the road crossing Mount\nScopus. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation, and John joined him,\nand looked in the direction in which he was gazing. The white line\nof the road was darkened by a moving mass, sparkling as the sun\nshone on arms and armor.\n\n\"They come, at last,\" Simon said and, as he spoke, cries of wailing\nand lamentation were heard from the walls, far below them.\n\nThe four years that had elapsed, since danger first threatened\nJerusalem, had deepened the impression in the minds of the Jews\nthat the enemy would not be permitted to approach the Holy City. It\nwas true that their faith had been sorely shaken, by many strange\nprodigies. A strange light had shone about the altar and the\nTemple, and it was said that voices had been heard from the Holy of\nHolies, saying, \"Let us depart hence.\" The Beautiful Gate of the\nTemple, which required the strength of twenty men to close it, had\nopened of its own accord. War chariots and armies had been seen\ncontending in the clouds; and for months a great comet, in shape\nlike a flaming sword, had hung over the city. Still men had hoped,\nand the cry from the watchers that the Roman army was in sight\nstruck dismay among the inhabitants. There were still many without\nthe walls. Some of these rushed wildly into the gates, and entered\nthe city; while the wiser fled away to the hills, and made their\nway to their homes.\n\nTitus, as he reached the brow of Mount Scopus, reined in his horse\nand looked for some time, in silence, at the great and magnificent\ncity which extended before him; and there can be little doubt that\nhe would fain have spared it, had it been possible. Even a Roman\ncould not gaze on the massive beauty of the Temple, unmoved. It was\nthe most famous religious edifice in the world. From all parts,\npilgrims flocked to it; and kings made offerings to it. It was\nbelieved by the Jews to be the special seat of their deity; and the\nRomans, partly from policy, partly from superstition, paid respect\nand reverence to the gods of all the nations they subdued, and\nannual offerings had been sent by Rome to the Temple.\n\nTitus may well have wished to spare the city the ruin and misery of\na siege, to preserve the Temple intact, and to hand over to King\nAgrippa, uninjured, his palace and capital. In all the wide\ndominions of Rome, there was not a city which approached Jerusalem\nin beauty and grandeur; and Titus must have felt that whatever\nhonor would accrue to him, from its conquest, would be dearly\npurchased by the linking of his name, to all time, as the destroyer\nof so magnificent a city. Similar emotions were felt by the group\nof officers who rode with Titus, and who reined up their horses as\nhe did so. With them, the military point of view was doubtless the\nmost prominent; and as they saw, from their lofty vantage ground,\nhow the deep valleys of Hinnom and Jehoshaphat girt the city in on\neither side, and how stately and strong were the walls and towers,\nthey may well have felt how mighty was the task which they had\nbefore them.\n\nThe scene was calm and peaceful. No sound of warlike trumpets came\nfrom the walls, no signs of an enemy appeared without; and Titus\nrode on, past the deserted villas and beautiful grounds that\nbordered the road, until he neared the Damascus Gate. He was\naccompanied by six hundred horse, for the legions had encamped in\nthe Valley of Thorns, near the village of Gaboth Saul, some four\nmiles from Jerusalem.\n\nThe walls appeared deserted; but Titus, having experience of the\ndesperate courage of the Jews, paused at some little distance from\nthe gate and, turning to the right, entered a lane which ran\nparallel to the wall, and made his way towards the Tower of\nPsephinus--or the Rubble Tower--at the north-eastern angle of the\nouter wall. Suddenly, a gate near the Tower of the Women was thrown\nopen, and a crowd of armed men dashed out. Rushing forward at the\ntop of their speed, some threw themselves across the road which\nTitus was following; but most of them rushed in behind him, cutting\nhim off from the main body of his cavalry, and leaving him isolated\nwith but a few followers.\n\nThe main body of Roman cavalry, furiously assailed, and ignorant\nthat Titus was cut off from them, turned and fled. Titus hesitated\na moment. In front of him was an unknown country. He knew not\nwhither the lane he was following led. Hedges rose on either side\nand, even did he burst through the crowd in front of him, he might\nbe overwhelmed by missiles, as he rode on. Therefore, calling upon\nhis men to follow him, he turned round and dashed into the crowd\nwhich barred his retreat.\n\nHe wore neither helmet nor breastplate for, as he had only advanced\nto reconnoiter, and with no thought of fighting, these had been\nleft behind. Yet, though javelins flew around him in showers, and\narrows whizzed close to him, not one touched him as he struck,\nright and left, among those who barred his passage; while his\nwarhorse, excited by the shouts and tumult, trampled them under his\nfeet.\n\nIn vain the Jews, astonished at his bravery, and still more so at\nhis immunity from harm amid the shower of missiles, strove to seize\nhim. He and his little band cut his way onward, those in front\ndrawing back with almost superstitious fear from his attack. Two,\nonly, of his followers were slain. One fell, pierced with numerous\njavelins. Another was pulled from his horse and killed but, with\nthe rest, he emerged unharmed from among his assailants, and\nreached his camp in safety.\n\nThe soldiers of Simon--for it was his men who guarded this part of\nthe wall--returned with mingled feelings. They were triumphant that\nthey had caused the son of Caesar, himself, to fly before them.\nThey were humiliated that so great a prize should have escaped\nthem, when he seemed in their hands; and they had a superstitious\nfeeling that he had been divinely protected from their assaults.\n\nFrom their lookout, Simon and John had seen the Roman cavalry turn\noff from the Damascus road into the lane, and had then lost sight\nof them. Then they heard the sudden din of battle, and the shouts\nof the combatants, and saw the Roman cavalry riding off in full\nspeed; but the clamor had continued and, in a short time, another\nlittle party of horsemen were seen to issue from the lane, and\nfollow their companions.\n\nSimon laughed, grimly.\n\n\"We have taught the Romans, early, that the wasps have stings and\nthat, if they think they are going to take the nest without\ntrouble, they will be mistaken.\n\n\"And now, John, what do you advise? You were, they say, at Jotapata\nand Gamala; and you have since shown how well you understand the\nRoman tactics. I am a soldier, with an arm to strike but, so far, I\nhave not had experience in the Roman tactics at sieges. Tell me,\nwhat would you do first, were you commander of this city?\"\n\n\"There is no doubt what is the first thing to be done,\" John said.\n\"It is the duty of all within this city to lay aside their feuds,\nand unite in her defense. It is for you, as the strongest, to make\nthe first advance; and to send at once to John and Eleazar to\npropose that, so long as the Romans are before the city, there\nshall be a truce between you; and to arrange which part of the\nwalls shall be held by the soldiers of each. You must also arrange\nto unite for common action, both in the defense and in attacking\nthem without the walls; for it is only by disturbing them at their\nwork, and by hindering them as they bring forward their engines of\nwar, that you can hope to hold the city. Strong as your walls may\nbe, they will crumble to ruins when the battering rams once begin\ntheir work against them.\"\n\nSimon was silent for a minute, then he said:\n\n\"Your advice is good. I will send at once to John and Eleazar, and\nask them to meet me on the bridge across the Tyropoeon, which\nseparates our forces.\"\n\nThe sun was already setting, but the distance was short. Simon\nadvanced to the bridge and, hailing the Zealots on the other side,\nsaid that he desired an interview with John, in reference to the\ndefense of the city; and that he pledged his solemn oath that no\nharm should come to him. He sent a similar message to Eleazar. John\nshortly appeared for, from the summit of Antonia, he too had\nwatched the advancing Romans, and felt the necessity for common\naction for defense of the town.\n\nEleazar refused to come. He would have trusted Simon, but to reach\nthe meeting place he would have had to pass through the outer\ncourts of the Temple held by John, and he knew that no confidence\ncould be reposed in any oath that the latter might take. He sent\nword, however, that he was willing to abstain from all hostilities,\nand to make common cause with the others for the defense of the\ncity.\n\nJohn of Gischala advanced alone on to the bridge, a wide and\nstately edifice carried on lofty arches across the Tyropoeon\nvalley, from a point near the Palace of Agrippa to the platform of\nthe Temple.\n\n\"Come with me,\" Simon said to his companion.\n\nJohn of Gischala paused in his advance, as he saw that Simon was\nnot alone.\n\n\"Let one of your men come with you, if you like,\" Simon said, with\na grim laugh at his hesitation; \"or two, or six, if you like.\"\n\nBut John of Gischala knew that the eyes of the soldiers on both\nsides of the bridge were upon him and, having faith in the oath of\nSimon, he again advanced.\n\nJohn looked with curiosity at the man of whom he had heard so much;\nand who, having been a scourge to Upper Galilee with his horde of\nrobbers, had now brought such misery upon Jerusalem. Without\napproaching his rival in size and strength, John of Gischala was a\npowerfully-built man. He did not shrink from danger, and had upon\noccasion shown great bravery; but he relied upon craft, more than\nforce, to gain his ends. He possessed great power of oratory, could\nrouse men's passions or calm them, at will. He could cajole or\nthreaten, persuade or deceive, with equal facility; was always\nready to break an oath, if it was inconvenient to keep it. Although\nfond of power, he was still more greedy of gain. But in one\nrespect, he and Simon agreed: both hated the Romans, with an\nintense and bitter hatred; both were ready to die in defense of\nJerusalem.\n\n\"I think it is time, John,\" Simon said, \"to cease from our strife,\nfor the present, and to make common cause against the enemy. If we\ncontinue our dissensions, and the Romans in consequence take the\ncity, our names will be accursed, in all generations, as the men\nwho gave Jerusalem into the hands of the Romans.\"\n\n\"I am ready to agree to a truce,\" John of Gischala said. \"It is you\nwho have been attacking me, not I who have been attacking you; but\nwe need not talk of that, now. Is it to be an understood thing\nthat, if the Romans retire, we shall both occupy the positions we\nhold now, whatever changes may have taken place; and we can then\neither come to an understanding, or fight the matter out?\"\n\n\"Yes, that is what I would propose,\" Simon replied. \"Whatever\nchanges may take place, when the Romans retire we occupy exactly\nthe positions we hold now. Will you swear to that, by the Temple?\"\n\n\"I will,\" John said.\n\nThe two men each took a solemn oath to carry out the terms they\nagreed upon and, throughout the siege, to put aside all enmity\ntowards each other; and to act together, in all things, for the\ndefense of the city. They then arranged as to the portion of the\nwall which each should occupy, these corresponding very nearly to\nthe lines which they at present held.\n\nSimon held the whole of the third wall which, commencing from\nHippicus, the tower at the north corner of the high town, ran\nnorthward to Psephinus--or the Rubble Tower--then eastward to the\nValley of Jehoshaphat, and again south to the Temple platform. The\nsecond wall, inclosing the inner low town--or Inner Acra, as it was\nsometimes called--was divided between the two. Simon also held the\nfirst wall, from Hippicus right round at the foot of Zion across\nthe lower end of the Tyropoeon Valley, and round the outer low town\nas far as the platform of the Temple. John held the Temple\nplatform, the middle low town, and some parts of the city\nimmediately adjacent, both on the south <DW72> of Mount Moriah--or\nOphel, as this portion of the hill was called--and part of the\ninner low town.\n\nThe line, therefore, which Simon had to defend was vastly greater\nthan that held by John's troops but, in fact, the whole line\nbordering the valleys of Hinnom and Jehoshaphat was practically\nunassailable--the wall being built along the edge of precipices,\nwhere it could not be attacked either with battering rams or by\nescalade--and it was really the north face of the city, only, that\nwas exposed to serious assault. The outer wall on this side--that\nagainst which the assault would first be made--was entirely\noccupied by Simon's troops; but it was not anticipated that any\nsuccessful resistance could be made here, for the walls, hastily\nraised by the Jews after turning out the Romans, were incapable of\noffering a long resistance to such a force as was now to assail it.\nIt was, then, at the second wall that the first great stand would\nbe made; and John and Simon's troops divided this between them, so\nthat the division was fair enough, when it was considered that\nSimon's force was more than double that of John.\n\nWhen this matter had been arranged, John of Gischala said to Simon:\n\n\"Who is this young man who accompanies you?\"\n\n\"He is one who has done much more for the cause than either you or\nI, John of Gischala; and indeed, hitherto it may be doubted whether\nwe have not been the two worst enemies of Jerusalem. This is John\nof Gamala, of whom we have heard so often, during the last three\nyears.\"\n\n\"This, John of Gamala!\" John repeated, in a tone of incredulity;\n\"you are mocking me, Simon.\"\n\n\"I mock no one,\" Simon said, sternly. \"I tell you this is John of\nGamala; and when we think that you and I--men of war--have as yet\nstruck no single blow against the Romans, since I aided in the\ndefeat of the legion of Cestius--for you fled from Gischala like a\ncoward, at night, while I have been fighting for my own land, down\nhere--we may well feel ashamed, both of us, in the presence of this\nyouth; who has for three years harassed the Romans, burning their\ncamps, driving out small garrisons, hindering pillagers from\nstraying over the country, cutting off their convoys, and forcing\nthem to keep ever on the watch.\n\n\"I tell you, John, I feel ashamed beside him. He has brought here\nsix hundred men of his band, all picked and determined fellows, for\nthe defense of the city. I tell you they will be no mean\nassistance; and you would say so, also, had you seen how they drew\nup today, in solid order, ready to withstand the whole of my force.\nHe is not of my party, or of yours; he comes simply to fight\nagainst the Romans and, as I understand him, when the Romans\nretire, he will leave, also.\"\n\n\"That is certainly my intention,\" John said, quietly; \"but before I\ngo, I hope that I shall be able to act as mediator between you\nboth, and to persuade you to come to some arrangement which may\nfree Jerusalem from a renewal of the evils which, between you, you\nhave inflicted upon her. If you beat back the Romans, you will have\ngained all the honor that men could desire; and your names will go\ndown to all posterity as the saviors of Jerusalem and the Temple.\nIf you desire treasure, there is not a Jew but that will be ready\nto contribute, to the utmost of his power. If you desire power,\nPalestine is wide enough for you to divide it between you--only\nbeware, lest by striving longer against each other, your names go\ndown as those who have been the tyrants of the land; names to be\naccursed, as long as the Hebrew tongue remains.\"\n\nThe two men were silent. Bold as they were, they felt abashed\nbefore the outspoken rebuke of this stripling. They had heard him\nspoken of as one under the special protection of Jehovah. They knew\nthat he had had marvelous escapes, and that he had fought\nsingle-handed with Titus; and the air of authority with which he\nspoke, his entire disregard of their power, his fearlessness in the\npresence of men before whom all Jerusalem trembled, confirmed the\nstories they had heard, and created an impression almost to awe.\n\n\"If we three are alive, when the Romans depart from before the\ncity,\" Simon said, in his deep voice, \"it shall be as you say; and\nI bind myself, beforehand, to agree to whatever you shall decide is\njust and right.\n\n\"Therefore, John of Gischala, henceforth I shall regard this not as\na truce, but as the beginning of peace between us; and our rivalry\nshall be who shall best defend the Holy City against her foes.\"\n\n\"So be it!\" John of Gischala replied; \"but I would that Eleazar\nwere here. He is an enemy in my midst; and just as, whenever I was\nfighting with you, he fell upon me from behind; so will it be that,\nwhile I am struggling with the Romans, he may be attacking me from\nthe inner Temple. He has none of the outer walls to defend; and\nwill, therefore, be free to choose the moment when he can fall upon\nme, unawares.\"\n\n\"Make peace with him, at any price,\" John said, \"only put an end to\nthis strife, and let there be no more bloodshed in the Temple. How\ncan we hope for God's assistance, in defending the city, when his\naltars are being daily desecrated with blood?\"\n\n\"I will see what I can do,\" John said. \"Somehow or other, this\nstrife must be brought to an end; and it shall be done without\nbloodshed, if possible.\"\n\n\"There is another thing, John,\" Simon said. \"Our comrade here has\nbeen telling me that, from what he saw at Jotapata and Gamala, he\nis convinced that by passive resistance, only, we cannot defeat the\nRomans, but that we must sally out and attack them in their camps,\nand at their work; and therefore let us agree that we will meet\nhere, from time to time, and arrange that, issuing together through\nthe gates in our portions of the wall, we may unite in falling upon\nthe Romans.\"\n\n\"The counsel is good,\" John of Gischala said. \"It will keep up the\ncourage of men, to fight in the open. Whenever an opportunity\npresents itself, my men shall act with yours. You have given Titus\na lesson, today. The next time, we will divide the honor.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 15: The Siege Is Begun.\n\n\nThe Fifth Legion--which had been stationed at Emmaus, halfway\nbetween Jerusalem and Jaffa--marching the greater part of the\nnight, joined the Twelfth and Fifteenth at their halting place at\nGaboth Saul and, the next morning, the three advanced together. The\nTwelfth and Fifteenth marched halfway down the Hill of Scopus, and\nencamped together on a knoll; while the Fifth Legion encamped three\nfurlongs to their rear so that, in case of an attack by the Jews,\nits weary soldiers should not have to bear the brunt of the\nconflict. As these legions were marking out their camp, the Tenth\nLegion--which had marched up from Jericho--appeared on the Mount of\nOlives, and Titus sent word for them to encamp there. Thus\nJerusalem was overlooked, throughout its length and breadth, by the\nRoman camps on the hills to the north and east sides.\n\nJohn had, at the earnest request of Simon, taken up his residence\nwith him in the Palace of Herod and, from the top of the Tower of\nPhasaelus, watched the Roman legions at work.\n\n\"It seems to me,\" he said to Simon, \"that now is the time for us to\nmake an assault. The Romans raise veritable fortifications round\ntheir camp and, when once these are completed, we can scarcely hope\nto storm them; whereas, if we fall suddenly upon them, now, we can\nfight on even terms. The legion on the Mount of Olives is widely\nseparated from the rest; and we might overcome it, before the\nothers could come to its assistance.\"\n\n\"I agree with you,\" Simon said; \"let us strike a blow, at once.\"\n\nSimon at once sent off to John, to propose that the latter should\nissue out from the Golden Gate in the middle of the Temple\nplatform; while he, himself, would lead out his troops by the gate\nto the north of that platform. In accordance with the suggestion of\nJohn, he requested John of Gischala to place a watchman on a\nconspicuous position on the wall, with orders to wave his mantle as\na signal to both parties to charge as, from his position, he would\nbe better able than they to see what the Romans were doing; and\nboth parties could see him, while they might be invisible to each\nother.\n\nJohn of Gischala sent back, at once, to say that he approved of the\nplan, and would join in it. Simon called his troops together\nand--leaving the outer wall strongly manned, lest the Twelfth and\nFifteenth Legions might take advantage of the absence of so large a\nportion of the garrison to make a sudden attack upon it--marched\ntowards the northeastern gate; being joined on the way by John,\nwith his band. They waited until a messenger came from John of\nGischala, saying that he was ready; then the gates were thrown\nopen, and the troops poured out.\n\nJohn had given strict orders to his men to keep together in their\ncompanies, each under his commander; and not to try to maintain\nregular order as one band, for this would be next to impossible,\nfighting on such hilly and broken ground. Besides, they would be\nsure to get mixed up with the masses of Simon's troops.\n\nAt the same moment that Simon's force poured through the\nnortheastern gate, that of John of Gischala issued from the Temple\nplatform and, in rivalry with each other, both dashed down the\nsteep declivity into the bottom of the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and\nthen climbed the sharp <DW72> of the Mount of Olives. Then with loud\nshouts they fell, in wild disorder, each as he reached the spot,\nupon the Tenth Legion.\n\nThe Romans, anticipating no attack, and many of them unarmed as\nthey worked at the intrenchments, were unable to resist the fierce\nonslaught. Accustomed to regular warfare, this rush of armed men\nfrom all sides upon them surprised and disconcerted them. Every\nmoment added to the number of their assailants, as fresh combatants\ncontinued to pour out from the city and, fighting stubbornly and\nsullenly, the Romans were driven out of their half-formed\nintrenchments up the <DW72>, and over the crest of the Mount of\nOlives.\n\nThe Jews fought, regardless of life. Single men dashed into the\nmidst of the Romans and fell there, fighting fiercely. John's\ncompact companies hurled themselves upon the line, and broke it.\nSimon fought desperately at the head of his men, cutting down all\nwho stood in his way. The Romans were wavering, and would soon have\nbroken into open flight, when rescue arrived. The general in\ncommand had, immediately the Jews had been seen issuing out, sent\noff a horseman to Titus with the news; and he, putting himself at\nthe head of his bodyguard, started instantly to their assistance.\n\nFalling suddenly upon the flank of the Jews, he bore them down by\nthe impetuosity and weight of the charge. In vain, Simon and John\nof Gischala tried to rally their men; and John's bands, gathering\nround him at the sound of his bugle, opposed a firm and steady\nresistance. The Roman legion rallied and, ashamed of having been\ndriven back before the very eyes of Titus, attacked the Jews with\nfury; and the latter were driven down the hill into the valley.\n\nHere, John's band refused to retire further. Simon and John of\nGischala rallied their troops, and an obstinate contest ensued; the\nRomans being unable to push the Jews farther back, now that the\nlatter were, in turn, fighting with the ground in their favor. For\nsome time the battle raged. Then Titus, seeing that he could not\ndrive the Jews back into the city, ordered a portion of the Tenth\nLegion to reascend the Mount of Olives, and complete the work of\nfortifying their camp; so that, at the end of the day, the legion\ncould fall back to a place of safety.\n\nThe watchman on the wall saw the movement, and thought that the\nRomans were retreating. He waved his mantle wildly and, at the\nsignal, the Jews again burst down upon their foes, and fresh forces\npoured down from the gates to their assistance. In vain, the Roman\nline tried to hold the bottom of the valley. The Jews burst through\nthem, and drove them in disorder up the hill; Titus alone, with a\nfew followers, making a stand on the lower <DW72>s. The Jews,\nrushing on, surrounded his party and fell upon him from all sides,\nwhile their main body swarmed up the hill, and the Romans, panic\nstricken, dispersed in all directions.\n\nVictory seemed in the hands of the Jews, when some of the Romans\ndiscovered that Titus was not with them; but was cut off, and\nsurrounded, at the bottom of the hill. They shouted to others, and\nthe news rapidly spread through the fugitives. Overwhelmed with\nshame at having deserted their general, and knowing the severe\npunishment which, according to Roman military law, would befall\nthem for their cowardice, the Romans paused in their flight.\n\nTheir discipline came to their aid, and they quickly fell in, in\ncompanies and, with a shout of fury, advanced upon the scattered\nJews; who, although vastly superior in numbers, had no order or\nformation which would enable them to resist the downward impetus of\nthe solid masses of heavy-armed Romans. Again they were driven down\nthe hill; and the Romans, pressing upon them, found to their\ndelight that Titus and his band had successfully resisted the\nattacks of their foes.\n\nThe Jews were driven some distance up the side of the <DW72>; and\nthere the combat was renewed until, seeing that they could make no\nfurther impression upon the enemy, the Jews retired sullenly\nthrough their gates into the city. They were, however, well\nsatisfied with their day's work. Numbers had fallen, but they had\ninflicted heavy loss upon the Romans. They had forced one of the\nlegions to retreat, in fair fight; had all but captured Titus; and\nhad proved, to the Romans, the formidable nature of the task they\nhad undertaken.\n\nThe next day, the 13th of April, was the day of the Passover; and\nall Jerusalem prepared, as usual, to celebrate the day of the great\nsacrifice. The gates of the Temple were, as usual, thrown open; and\nthe multitude thronged in to worship. John of Gischala had sworn to\nEleazar, as he had to Simon, to lay aside all hostility but, as\nusual, he did not allow his oath to prevent him from carrying out\nhis designs. A number of his men concealed their arms under their\ngarments, and entered the Temple with the worshipers.\n\nAt a signal, the swords were drawn and the cry of battle was\nraised. Eleazar and his followers at once fled, in dismay, to the\nvaults under the Temple. The multitude in the courts above, panic\nstricken at the threatened conflict, strove to escape. Many were\ntrampled under foot and killed. Some were wantonly slain by John's\nfollowers, to whom murder had become a pastime.\n\nWhen order was restored, John of Gischala went to the entrance of\nthe vaults, and shouted to Eleazar that he desired to keep his\noath, and would do him no harm; but that, for the general safety of\nthe city, he could be no longer permitted to hold the inner Temple\nbut must, with his men, take his share in the defense of the walls.\nIf Eleazar would agree to do this, he promised that no harm,\nwhatever, should be done to him or his followers. Eleazar, being at\nthe mercy of his foe, accepted the terms and, with his followers,\nascended into the Temple.\n\nFor once, John of Gischala kept his word. Eleazar was permitted to\nretain the command of his own two thousand men, but his force\nhenceforth formed a part of the Zealot army of John. Thus, from\nthis time forward, there were but two factions in the city.\n\nJosephus, always the bitter enemy of John of Gischala, speaks in\nterms of the utmost reprobation of his conduct on this occasion;\nand the occasion and manner in which the deed was effected cannot,\nfor a moment, be defended. At the same time, it must be admitted\nthat the occasion was an urgent one, that the existence of this\nenemy in his midst crippled John of Gischala's power to defend his\nportion of the city; and that the suppression of Eleazar's faction,\nand the conversion of his troops from enemies into allies, was an\nact of high policy, and was indeed a necessity, if Jerusalem was to\nbe successfully defended.\n\nThe desecration of the Temple, however, upon so sacred an occasion\nas the feast of the Passover, filled all pious Jews with horror;\nand caused John to be regarded with even greater detestation than\nbefore. For the opinion of the unarmed multitude, however, he cared\nlittle. He had crushed the faction of Eleazar, had added two\nthousand men to his strength; and was now ready, without fear of\ntrouble within, to face the Roman enemy without.\n\nThe desperate sortie of the Jews had convinced Titus that, if\nJerusalem was to be taken, it must be by means of regular siege\noperations, conducted with the greatest care and caution and,\nhaving made a circuit of the city, he perceived that it was\nimpregnable, save on the north and northwestern sides--that is, the\npart defended by the third wall. He therefore, reluctantly, gave\norders that all the villas, mansions, gardens, and groves standing\nbetween that wall and the foot of Mount Scopus should be destroyed\nand, placing strong bodies of troops opposite the gates, to prevent\nany sortie of the defenders, he set the whole of the three legions\nencamped on that side to carry out the work of destruction.\n\nA feeling of grief and dismay filled the city, at the sight of the\ndevastation that was being wrought; and there were very many among\nthe multitude who would gladly have avoided further evils, by\nsubmitting to the Romans. But such an idea did not enter the heads\nof the military leaders, and Simon determined upon another sortie.\n\nA number of the citizens were ordered to take their places upon the\nwalls, and to cry out to the Romans that they desired peace, and to\nimplore them to enter the town and take possession. In the\nmeantime, a number of Simon's men issued out from the Women's Gate\nin confusion, as if expelled by the peace party. They appeared to\nbe in a state of extreme terror: sometimes advancing towards the\nRomans, as if to submit to them; at other times retreating towards\nthe wall, as if afraid of putting themselves into the hands of the\nRomans--but, as they neared the walls, they were assailed by a\nshower of missiles from above.\n\nTitus suspected that a trick was being played, and ordered the\ntroops to stand fast; but the battalion facing the gate, seeing it\nstand open, were unable to resist the impulse to rush in and take\npossession. They therefore advanced, through the crowd of Jews\noutside, until close to the gate. Then Simon's men drew out their\nconcealed weapons, and fell upon them in the rear; while a fresh\nbody of armed men rushed out from the gate, and attacked them in\nfront while, from the two flanking towers, a storm of javelins,\narrows, and stones was poured upon them. The Romans fought\ndesperately, but numbers of them were slain; and the rest took to\nflight, pursued by the Jews, and did not halt until they reached\nthe tombs of Helen, half a mile from the walls; while the Jews,\nwith shouts of triumph, re-entered the city.\n\nJohn had taken no part in this sortie. He had lost more than fifty\nmen, in the fight on the Mount of Olives; and determined to hold\nthe rest in reserve, until they were needed in a moment of extreme\nperil. The manner in which the bands had held together, and had\nsteadfastly resisted the Roman attacks, had greatly excited the\nadmiration of Simon.\n\n\"I see now,\" he said, on the evening of the sortie, when talking\nthe matter over with John, \"the secret of the successes you have\ngained over the Romans. Your men fight as steadily, and with as\nmuch discipline as they do; while they are far quicker in their\nmovements. They unite the activity of my men with the steadiness of\nthe Romans. I wish, now, that I had spent the last year in training\nand disciplining my men, to act with equal steadiness and order;\nbut it is too late to try to do so, now. Each will do his best, and\nwill die fighting but, were I to attempt, now, to introduce\nregularity among them, they would lose the fierce rush with which\nthey assault the Romans; without acquiring sufficient discipline to\nenable them to keep their order, as yours do, in the confusion of\nthe battle.\"\n\n\"Mine are all picked men,\" John said. \"I had eight thousand under\nmy orders, during the last two years of fighting; but I bade all\nleave me, when I advanced to Jerusalem, save those who were ready\nand prepared to die. Therefore, I can rely upon every man, as upon\nmyself.\n\n\"Unless I see some exceptional opportunity, I do not think I shall\nlead them out beyond the walls again. The time will come, as the\nsiege goes on, when you will need a body of men to hold a breach,\nor arrest the advance of a Roman column; men who will die, rather\nthan give way a foot. When that time comes, my band shall fill the\ngap.\"\n\n\"I think you are right,\" Simon agreed. \"Your men are too good to be\nwasted in desultory fighting. They shall be kept as a last\nresource; and I know that, when the time comes, they can be relied\nupon.\"\n\nThe clearing of the ground occupied four days; and Titus then\ndetermined to advance his camp nearer to the city, and fixed upon a\nspot which was the highest on the plateau--a quarter of a mile to\nthe northwest of the Rubble Tower. Before moving into it, the\nposition was strongly fortified and, so much impressed was Titus,\nby the sallies which the Jews had made, that he formed up his whole\narmy along the north and northwest side of the city. The\nheavy-armed troops, three deep, were the first line. Behind them\ncame a rank of archers, and behind these the cavalry, three deep.\n\nBrave as were the Jews, they did not venture to sally out to\nendeavor to break through this living wall; which stood all day,\nimmovable, while the baggage animals--aided by a great crowd of\nartisans and camp followers--moved the war engines, reserves, and\nbaggage of the army from Mount Scopus down to the new camp. Here\nthe Twelfth and Fifteenth Legions, under Titus himself, took up\ntheir position. The Fifth Legion, under the command of Cerealis,\nformed their camp on a knoll, a quarter of a mile from the Jaffa\nGate, and divided from it by the Valley of Hinnom which is, here,\nof no great depth. It lay about a third of a mile south of the camp\nof Titus. The Tenth Legion remained on the Mount of Olives. Their\ncamp had now been very strongly fortified, and was in a position to\nrepel any attack that might be made against it.\n\nNow that his dispositions were complete, Titus determined to save\nthe city, if possible, from the horrors of siege. He therefore sent\nNicanor and Josephus, with a flag of truce, towards the walls to\noffer them terms. No sooner had they come within bow shot than an\narrow was discharged from the wall, and struck Nicanor upon the\nshoulder. The ambassador at once retired; and Titus, indignant\nalike at the insult to his messengers, and the violation of the\nflag of truce, immediately began to make preparations for the\nsiege.\n\nCould the population of the city have been consulted, they would\nhave declared, by an immense majority of voices, for surrender; but\nSimon and John of Gischala, whose men held the walls, were absolute\nmasters of the city; and the inhabitants were to pay now, as they\nhad paid in the past, for their cowardice in allowing themselves to\nbe tyrannized over by a body of men whom they outnumbered by ten to\none.\n\nTitus, after a careful examination of the walls, determined to\nattack at a spot between the Jaffa Gate and Psephinus. In former\ntimes, all assaults of the enemy had been directed against the\nnorth; and it was here, consequently, that the wall was strongest.\nAt its foot, too, a wide and deep fosse had been cut in the solid\nrock: rendering it impossible for the assailants to advance to the\nattack, until this was filled up. But, on the northwest, the walls\nhad not been made equally strong; nor had the fosse been continued\nfrom Psephinus to the Jaffa Gate. It had no doubt been considered\nthat the projecting angle of the wall at Psephinus, and the\nfortifications of the Palace of Herod, covered this portion of the\nwall--which was, moreover, to some extent protected by the Valley\nof Hinnom But between the top of the <DW72> of that valley, and the\nfoot of the walls, was a level space of ground sufficiently wide\nfor the establishment of machines for breaching the wall.\n\nHere, therefore, Titus determined to make his attack. On the 22nd\nof April, the troops began the work. Each legion was to erect a\nbank, mount a battering ram, and construct a tower. A vast quantity\nof timber was required, and the desolation already effected between\nthe north wall and Scopus was now widely extended; the whole of the\ntrees, for a great distance round Jerusalem, being cut down and\nbrought to the spot. The towers were constructed about ninety feet\nin height, and with a wide face. They were put together beyond the\nrange of the missiles of the defenders; and were to be advanced,\nupon wheels, up the bank until they neared the wall. As the three\nbanks approached the wall, hurdles covered with hides were erected\nto protect the workers; and on each side javelin men and archers\nwere posted, together with the war engines for casting missiles.\n\nSimon was not idle. He possessed the war engines taken when Antonia\nwas surrendered by the Romans, and those captured from the legion\nof Cestius; but his men had no experience in the working of these\nmachines. They could only manipulate them slowly, and their aim was\nbad. They were able, therefore, to interfere but little with the\nwork of the Romans. The archers and slingers, however, did greater\ndamage, and killed many while, at times, the gate would be thrown\nopen, and Simon would dash out at the head of his men, and do much\ndamage before the Romans could drive him back within the walls.\n\nThe Tenth Legion did more injury to the defenders than did the\nothers, being provided with more powerful war machines. Their\nballistae threw stones, weighing a hundred weight, a distance of a\nquarter of a mile. The Jewish watchmen on the walls kept a vigilant\nwatch upon these machines and, each time a stone was coming,\nshouted a warning; and the defenders threw themselves on their\nfaces, until the stone passed over. Even at night, the whiteness of\nthe newly-cut rock rendered the masses visible, as they flew\nthrough the air; and Titus then ordered the stones to be painted\nblack, before they were discharged, and thus added to their effect,\nas their approach could be no longer seen.\n\nNight and day, the Romans toiled at the work; night and day the\nJews, with missiles and sorties, hindered their approach; until the\nbanks had approached so close to the walls that the battering rams\nwould be within striking distance. Then the towers were brought up\nand the rams began to strike their mighty blows upon the wall\nwhile, from the top of the lofty towers, and from the stories\nbelow, the archers and war machines poured a storm of missiles down\nupon the defenders of the walls.\n\nAs it was evident, now, that the danger lay solely in this quarter;\nand that the whole strength of the besieged was needed here; Simon\nsent to John of Gischala, to urge that the line of demarcation\nagreed upon by them between their respective troops should no\nlonger be observed. John would not trust himself in the power of\nSimon, but gave leave to his soldiers to go down and aid in the\ndefense; and they, who had been chafing at their forced inactivity,\nwhile Simon's men were bearing the brunt of the fighting, went down\nto take their share in the struggle.\n\nRegardless of the storm of missiles, the Jews maintained their\nplace upon the walls, shooting blazing arrows and hurling\ncombustibles down upon the Roman works; and executing such frequent\nand desperate sorties that Titus was obliged to keep the greater\npart of his force constantly under arms, and to gather round the\ntowers large bodies of archers and horsemen, to repel the attacks.\nAt length, a corner tower fell before one of the battering rams;\nbut the wall behind stood firm, and no breach was effected.\nNevertheless, the Jews appeared dispirited at this proof of the\npower of the battering rams, and fell back into the city.\n\nThe Roman legionaries, under the belief that the fighting was over,\nfor the evening, were drawn back into their camps. Suddenly, from a\nsmall gate hitherto unnoticed by the Romans--situated at the foot\nof the tower of Hippicus--the Jews poured out, with flaming brands\nin their hands, and dashed at the Roman banks; sweeping the\ndefenders of the works before them, swarming up the banks, and\nsurrounding the towers, to which they endeavored to set fire. They\nwere, however, plated with iron outside, and the beams inside were\nof so massive a description that the Jews were unable to set light\nto them.\n\nWhile some of the Jews were striving to do this, the rest fell with\nsuch fury upon the Roman troops--who hurried up to the protection\nof their works--that they were driven back. A body of Alexandrian\ntroops only, posted near the towers, maintained themselves against\nthe attacks; until Titus with his cavalry charged down upon the\nJews who, although a match for the Roman infantry, were never,\nthroughout the war, able to resist the charges of the bodies of\nheavy horsemen. Titus is said to have killed twelve Jews with his\nown hand and, fighting desperately to the end, the assailants were\ndriven back into the city. One prisoner only was taken; and him\nTitus, with the barbarity which afterwards distinguished his\nproceedings during the siege, ordered to be crucified close to the\nwalls.\n\nAmong those killed on the Jewish side was John, the commander of\nthe Idumeans, who formed part of Simon's force. He was shot by an\nArab, while he was parleying with a Roman soldier. He was a man of\ngreat courage and excellent judgment, and his loss was a serious\none for the besieged.\n\nAt night all was still, and silent. Both parties were exhausted\nwith their long and desperate struggle, and even the machines\nceased to hurl their missiles. Suddenly a terrific crash was heard,\nand the very ground seemed to shake. Both parties sprang to arms:\nthe Jews, fearing that the wall had fallen; the Romans, not knowing\nwhat had happened, but apprehensive of another of the sorties--which\nthey had begun to hold in high respect.\n\nSomething like a panic seized them; until Titus, riding about among\nthem, reassured them by his presence and words. They knew, indeed,\nthat a repetition of the defeats they had suffered at the Jewish\nhands would not be forgiven. The battalion which had been defeated,\nat the sortie at the Women's Gate, had been sternly rebuked by\nTitus; who had ordered the military law to be carried into effect,\nand a certain number of the soldiers to be executed; and had only\npardoned them upon the intercession of the whole army on their\nbehalf. Therefore, the legionaries now fell into their ranks, at\nthe order of Titus, and drew up in order of battle; while parties\nwere sent forward to ascertain what had happened.\n\nIt was found that a serious misfortune had befallen them. The Jews,\nin their attack, had been unable to set fire to the towers; but\nthey had worked so vigorously, in their attempt to destroy the\nbank, that they had weakened that portion of it upon which one of\nthe towers stood. This had given way, beneath the tremendous weight\nresting upon it; and the great tower had fallen, with a crash, to\nthe ground.\n\nIn the morning the combat recommenced but, although the Jews\nexposed their lives on the walls unflinchingly, they were unable to\nwithstand the terrible shower of missiles poured upon them from the\nremaining towers, or to interrupt the steady swing of the huge rams\nwhich, day and night, beat against the walls. One of these,\nespecially, did material damage; and the Jews themselves christened\nit \"Nico,\" or the Conqueror.\n\nAt length, wearied out by their efforts, disheartened by the\nfailure of their attempts to interfere with the work of\ndestruction, and knowing that the inner lines were vastly stronger\nthan those without, the Jews abandoned the defense of the tottering\nwall, and retired behind their next line of defense The Romans soon\ndiscovered that they were unopposed, and scaled the wall. As soon\nas they found that the whole space between it and the second wall\nwas abandoned, they set to work and threw down a large portion of\nthe third wall, and took up their post inside. Titus established\nhimself at the spot known as the camp of the Assyrians, at the foot\nof the Tower of Psephinus.\n\nAs soon as his arrangements were completed, he gave orders for the\nassault to be recommenced. The date of the capture of the outer\nwall was on the 6th of May, fifteen days after the commencement of\nthe siege. The capture of Bezetha, or the new town, enabled the\nRomans to make an attack directly on the Palace of Herod, on the\none side, and Mount Moriah upon the other; without first assaulting\nthe second wall, which defended the inner lower town. But two or\nthree days' fighting convinced Titus that these positions could not\nbe successfully attacked, until the lower town was in his power.\n\nThe three great towers Phasaelus, Hippicus, and\nMariamne--desperately defended by Simon's soldiers--formed an\nimpregnable obstacle on the one side; while Antonia, and the steep\nascent up to the Temple platform, was defended with equal\nstubbornness, and success, by the soldiers of John of Gischala.\nTitus therefore prepared for the assault of the second wall. The\npoint selected for the attack was the middle tower on the northern\nface, close to which were the wool mart, the clothes mart, and the\nbraziers' shops.\n\nThere were no natural obstacles to the approach, and the battering\nram was soon placed in position, while a strong body of archers\nprevented the defenders showing themselves above the parapet. The\nwall was of far less strength than that which the Romans had before\nencountered, and soon began to totter before the blows of the\nbattering ram. The Jews, indeed, were indifferent as to its fall;\nfor they knew that the possession of the inner town was of slight\nimportance to them, and that its fall would not greatly facilitate\nthe attack upon what was the natural line of defense--namely, the\nheights of Zion and Moriah.\n\nFor a short time, the Roman advance was delayed by the proceedings\nof Castor, the Jewish officer commanding the tower which they had\nassaulted. He, with ten men, alone had remained there when the rest\nof the defenders had retired; and he got up a sham battle among his\nmen--the Romans suspending operations, under the belief that a\nparty of the defenders were anxious to surrender. Castor himself\nstood on the parapet, and offered Titus to surrender. Titus\npromised him his life and, when an archer standing near sent an\narrow which pierced Castor's nose, he sternly rebuked him.\n\nHe then asked Josephus, who was standing beside him, to go forward\nand assure Castor and his companions that their lives should be\nspared. Josephus, however, knew the way of his countrymen too well,\nand declined to endanger his life. But, upon Castor offering to\nthrow down a bag of gold, a man ran forward to receive it, when\nCastor hurled a great stone down at him; and Titus, seeing that he\nwas being fooled, ordered the battering ram to recommence its work.\nJust before the tower fell, Castor set fire to it; and leaped with\nhis companions--as the Romans supposed into the flames--but really\ninto a vault, whence they made their escape into the city.\n\nAs soon as the tower fell, Titus entered the breach, with his\nbodyguard and a thousand heavy-armed troops. The inhabitants,\nalmost entirely of the poorer class, surrendered willingly; and\nTitus gave orders that none, save those found with arms upon them,\nshould be killed. The Romans dispersed through the narrow and\nwinding streets when, suddenly, Simon and his men poured down from\nthe upper city; and John, at the head of his band, issued from his\nquarters.\n\nWhile some fell upon the Romans in the streets, others entered the\nhouses and rained missiles upon them from above; while another\nparty, issuing from the gate by Phasaelus, attacked the Romans\nbetween the second and third walls, and drove them into their camp.\nFor a time, Titus and those in the lower town suffered terribly;\nbut at last Titus posted archers, to command the lanes leading\ntowards the breach, and managed--but with considerable loss--to\nwithdraw his troops through it.\n\nThe Jews at once manned the wall, and formed in close order behind\nthe breach. Titus led his heavy-armed troops against it, but John\nand Simon defended it with the greatest valor and, for three days\nand nights, beat back the continued attacks of the Roman soldiers;\nbut at the end of that time they were utterly exhausted, while the\nRomans incessantly brought up fresh troops. Even Simon--who had\nfought desperately at the head of his men, and had performed\nprodigies of valor--could no longer continue the struggle and,\nslowly and in good order, the defenders of the breach fell back to\nthe upper city, and the lower town remained in the possession of\nthe Romans.\n\nIn order to avoid a recurrence of the disaster which had befallen\nthem, Titus ordered a considerable portion of the second wall to be\nleveled; so that the troops could, if necessary, pour in or out\nwithout difficulty. But Simon had no thought of repeating his\nsortie. A large number of his best men had already fallen, and he\ndetermined to reserve his force for the defense of the almost\nimpregnable position of the upper city.\n\nTwo hundred of John's band had fallen round the breach, he himself\nhad received several wounds, and the fighting strength of his band\nwas now but one-half of what it was at the commencement of the\nsiege. He had, before the Romans first entered the inner town, had\nthe remainder of his store of grain removed to the building in the\nupper town which Simon had assigned to his band. It had as yet been\nbut little trenched upon, as Simon had ordered that rations,\nsimilar to those issued to his own men, from the few granaries\nwhich had escaped destruction, should be given to John's band.\n\n\"What do you think, now, of the prospect?\" Simon asked, as John and\nhe stood together on the Tower of Phasaelus, on the day after the\nRomans had taken possession of the lower town.\n\n\"I think, as I did at first,\" John said, \"that nothing but a\nmiracle can save the Temple.\"\n\n\"But the difficulties that the Romans have overcome,\" Simon said,\n\"are as nothing to those still before them.\"\n\n\"That is quite true,\" John agreed, \"and, had we but a good supply\nof food, I believe that we might hold out for months; but the grain\nis already nearly exhausted, and cannot support even the fighting\nmen much longer, while the inhabitants are dying from hunger. Well\nand strong, we might resist every attack that the Romans can make\nbut, when we can no longer lift our swords, they must overcome us.\nStill, as long as I can fight I am ready to do so, in hopes that\nGod may yet have mercy upon us, and deliver his Temple.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 16: The Subterranean Passage.\n\n\nFor a few days after the capture of the lower city, the Jews had a\nrespite. Titus knew that famine was sapping the strength of the\ndefenders, and that every day weakened their power of resistance.\nHe saw that the assault upon their strong position would be\nattended with immense difficulty, and loss, and he was desirous of\nsaving the city from destruction. He ordered, therefore, a grand\nreview of the troops to take place; and for four days the great\narmy at his command--the splendid cavalry, the solid masses of the\nRoman infantry, and the light-armed troops and cavalry of the\nallies, defiled before him. The Jews from the height of the city\nwatched, with a feeling of dull despair, the tremendous power\nassembled against them; and felt the hopelessness of further\nresistance.\n\nAn intense desire for peace reigned, throughout the multitude, but\nJohn of Gischala and Simon had no thought of yielding. They\nbelieved that, whatever mercy Titus might be ready to grant to the\ninhabitants of the town, for them and their followers there was no\nhope, whatever, of pardon; and they were firmly resolved to resist\nuntil the last. Titus, finding that no offers of submission came\nfrom the city, sent Josephus to parley with the defenders.\n\nHe could not have made a worse choice of an ambassador. Divided as\nthe Jews were, among themselves, they were united in a common\nhatred for the man whom they regarded as a traitor to his country;\nand the harangue of Josephus, to the effect that resistance was\nunavailing, and that they should submit themselves to the mercy of\nTitus, was drowned by the execrations from the walls. In fact, in\nno case could his words have reached any large number of the\ninhabitants; for he had cautiously placed himself out of bow shot\nof the walls, and his words could scarcely have reached those for\nwhom they had been intended, even if silence had been observed. His\nmission, therefore, was altogether unavailing.\n\nIllustration: Misery in Jerusalem During the Siege by Titus.\n\nJohn felt his own resolution terribly shaken, by the sights which\nhe beheld in the city. The inhabitants moved about like specters,\nor fell and died in the streets. He felt, now, that resistance had\nbeen a mistake; and that it would have been far better to have\nthrown open the gates, when Titus appeared before them--in which\ncase the great proportion, at least, of those within would have\nbeen spared, and the Temple and the city itself would have escaped\ndestruction. He even regretted that he had marched down to take\npart in the defense. Had he known how entirely exhausted were the\ngranaries, he would not have done so. He had thought that, at\nleast, there would have been sufficient provisions for a siege of\nsome months, and that the patience of the Romans might have been\nworn out.\n\nHe felt, now, that the sacrifice had been a useless one; but\nalthough he, himself, would now have raised his voice in favor of\nsurrender, he was powerless. Even his own men would not have\nlistened to his voice. Originally the most fervent and ardent\nspirits of his band, they were now inspired by a feeling of\ndesperate enthusiasm, equal to that which animated Simon and John\nof Gischala; and his authority would have been at once overthrown,\nhad he ventured to raise his voice in favor of surrender.\n\nAlready, he had once been made to feel that there were points as to\nwhich his influence failed to have any effect, whatever. He had,\nthe morning after they retired to the upper city, spoken to his men\non the subject of their store of grain. He had urged on them the\nhorrors which were taking place before their eyes--that women and\nchildren were expiring in thousands, and that the inhabitants were\nsuffering the extreme agonies of starvation--and had concluded by\nproposing that their store should be distributed among the starving\nwomen. His words had been received in silence, and then one of the\ncaptains of the companies had risen.\n\n\"What you say, John, of the sufferings which the people are\nundergoing is felt by us all; but I, for one, cannot agree to the\nproposal that we should give up our store of food. Owing to the\nnumber of us that have fallen, there are still well-nigh fifty\npounds a man left, which will keep us in health and strength for\nanother two months. Were we to give it out, it would not suffice\nfor a single meal, for a quarter of the people assembled here, and\nwould delay their death but a few hours; thus it would profit them\nnothing, while it will enable us to maintain our strength--and\nmaybe, at a critical moment, to hurl back the Romans from the very\ngates of the Temple.\n\n\"It would be wickedness, not charity, to part with our store. It\nwould defeat the object for which we came here, and for which we\nare ready to die, without any real benefit to those on whom we\nbestowed the food.\"\n\nA general chorus of approval showed that the speaker represented\nthe opinion of his comrades. After a pause, he went on:\n\n\"There is another reason why we should keep what we, ourselves,\nhave brought in here. You know how the soldiers of Simon persecute\nthe people--how they torture them to discover hidden stores of\nfood, how they break in and rob them as they devour, in secret, the\nprovisions they have concealed. I know not whether hunger could\ndrive us to act likewise, but we know the lengths to which famished\nmen can be driven. Therefore, I would that we should be spared the\nnecessity for such cruelties, to keep life together. We are all\nready to die, but let it be as strong men, facing the enemy, and\nslaying as we fall.\"\n\nAgain, the murmur of approval was heard; and John felt that it\nwould be worse than useless to urge the point. He admitted to\nhimself that there was reason in the argument; and that, while a\ndistribution of their food would give the most temporary relief,\nonly, to the multitude, it would impair the efficiency of the band.\nThe result showed him that, implicit as was the obedience given to\nhim in all military matters, his influence had its limits; and\nthat, beyond a certain point, his authority ceased.\n\nHenceforth he remained in the house, except when he went to his\npost on the walls immediately adjoining; and he therefore escaped\nbeing harrowed by the sight of sufferings that he could not\nrelieve. Each day, however, he set apart the half of his own\nportion of grain; and gave it to the first starving woman he met,\nwhen he went out. The regulation issue of rations had now ceased.\nThe granaries were exhausted and, henceforth, Simon's troops lived\nentirely upon the food they extorted from the inhabitants.\n\nJohn of Gischala's followers fared better. Enormous as had been the\ndestruction of grain, the stores in the Temple were so prodigious\nthat they were enabled to live in comparative abundance, and so\nmaintained their strength and fighting power.\n\nBut the sufferings of the people increased daily, and great numbers\nmade their escape from the city--either sallying out from unguarded\nposterns, at night; or letting themselves down from the lower part\nof the walls, by ropes. Titus allowed them to pass through; but\nJohn of Gischala and Simon, with purposeless cruelty, placed guards\non all the walls and gates, to prevent the starving people leaving\nthe city--although their true policy would have been to facilitate,\nin every way, the escape of all save the fighting men; and thus to\nhusband what provisions still remained for the use of the defenders\nof the city.\n\nIn the daytime, when the gates were open, people went out and\ncollected vegetables and herbs from the gardens between the walls\nand the Roman posts; but on their return were pitilessly robbed by\nthe rough soldiers, who confiscated to their own use all that was\nbrought in. The efforts to escape formed a fresh pretext, to Simon\nand John of Gischala, to plunder the wealthy inhabitants who, under\nthe charge of intending to fly to the Romans, were despoiled of all\nthey had, tortured and executed.\n\nTitus soon changed his policy and, instead of allowing the\ndeserters to make their way through, seized them and those who went\nout from the city to seek food, scourged, tortured, and crucified\nthem before the walls. Sometimes as many as five hundred were\ncrucified in a single day. This checked the desertion; and the\nmultitude, deeming it better to die of hunger than to be tortured\nto death by the Romans, resigned themselves to the misery of\nstarvation.\n\nFor seventeen days, the Romans labored at their embankments, and\nonly one attack was made upon the walls. This was carried out by\nthe son of the King of Commagene, who had just joined the army with\na chosen band, armed and attired in the Macedonian fashion. As soon\nas he arrived, he loudly expressed his surprise at the duration of\nthe siege. Titus, hearing this, told him that he was at perfect\nliberty to assault the city, if he liked. This he and his men at\nonce did, and fought with great valor; but with no success\nwhatever, a great number of them being killed, and scarcely one\nescaping uninjured.\n\nFor a fortnight, John had bestowed the half of his ration upon a\npoor woman, whose child was sick; and who stood at the door of her\nhouse, every morning, to wait his passing. One day, she begged him\nto enter.\n\n\"I shall need no more food,\" she said. \"Thanks to God, who sent you\nto our aid, my child is recovered, and can now walk; and I intend\nto fly, tonight, from this terrible place.\"\n\n\"But there is no escape,\" John said. \"The soldiers allow none to\npass and, if you could pass through them, the Romans would slay\nyou.\"\n\n\"I can escape,\" the woman said, \"and that is why I have called you\nin.\n\n\"My husband--who was killed by Simon's robbers, three months\nago--was for many years employed in working in the underground\npassages of the city, and in repairing the conduits which carry the\nwater from the springs. As I often carried down his food to him,\nwhen he was at work, I know every winding and turn of the\nunderground ways.\n\n\"As you know, the ground beneath the city is honeycombed by\npassages whence stone was, in the old time, obtained for buildings.\nThere are many houses which have entrance, by pits, into these\nplaces. This is one of them, and my husband took it for that\nconvenience. From here, I can find my way down to the great conduit\nwhich was built, by King Hezekiah, to bring the water from the\nupper springs of the river Gihon down into the city. Some of these\nwaters supply the pool known as the Dragon Pool, but the main body\nruns down the conduit in the line of the Tyropoeon Valley; and\nthose from the Temple could, in old times, go down and draw water,\nthence, should the pools and cistern fail. But that entrance has\nlong been blocked up for, when the Temple was destroyed and the\npeople carried away captives, the ruins covered the entrance, and\nnone knew of it.\n\n\"My husband when at work once found a passage which ran, for some\ndistance, by the side of some massive masonry of old time. One of\nthe great stones was loose; and he prised it out, to see what might\nlie behind it. When he did so he heard the sound of running water\nand, passing through the hole, found himself in a great conduit.\nThis he afterwards followed up; and found that it terminated, at\nthe upper end of the Valley of Hinnom, in a round chamber, at the\nbottom of which springs bubbled up. There was an entrance to this\nchamber from without, through a passage. The outer exit of this was\nwell-nigh filled up with earth, and many bushes grew there; so that\nnone passing by would have an idea of its existence.\n\n\"When the troubles here became great, he took me and showed me the\nconduit; and led me to the exit, saying that the time might come\nwhen I might need to fly from Jerusalem. The exit lies far beyond\nthe camps that the Romans have planted on either side of the Valley\nof Hinnom; and by going out at night, I and my child can make our\nway, unseen, to the hills. Since you have saved our lives, I tell\nyou of this secret; which is known, I think, to none but myself\nfor, after showing me the place, my husband closed up the entrance\nto the passage--which was, before, well-nigh filled up with stones.\n\n\"It may be that the time may come when you, too, will need to save\nyourself by flight. Now, if you will come with me, I will show you\nthe way. See, I have mixed here a pot of charcoal and water, with\nwhich we can mark the turnings and the passages; so that you will\nafterwards be able to find your way for, without such aid, you\nwould never be able to follow the path, through its many windings,\nafter only once going through it.\"\n\nJohn thanked the woman warmly for her offer, and they at once\nprepared to descend into the pit. This was situated in a cellar\nbeneath the house; and was boarded over so that plunderers,\nentering to search for provisions, would not discover it. Upon\nentering the cellar, the woman lit two lamps.\n\n\"They are full of oil,\" she said, \"and I have often been sorely\ntempted to drink it; but I have kept it untouched, knowing that my\nlife might some day depend upon it.\"\n\nRough steps were cut in the side of the pit and, after descending\nsome thirty feet, John found himself in a long passage. The woman\nled the way. As they went on, John was surprised at the number and\nextent of these passages, which crossed each other in all\ndirections--sometimes opening into great chambers, from which large\nquantities of stone had been taken--while he passed many shafts,\nlike that by which they had descended, to the surface above. The\nwoman led the way with an unfaltering step, which showed how\nthorough was her acquaintance with the ground; pausing, when they\nturned down a fresh passage, to make a smear at the corner of the\nwall with the black liquid.\n\nPresently, the passages began to descend rapidly.\n\n\"We are now under the Palace of King Agrippa,\" she said, \"and are\ndescending by the side of the Tyropoeon Valley.\"\n\nPresently, turning down a small side passage, they found their way\narrested by a pile of stones and rubbish. They clambered up this,\nremoved some of the upper stones, and crawled along underneath the\nroof. The rubbish heap soon slanted down again, and they continued\ntheir way, as before. Another turn, and they were in a wider\npassage than those they had latterly traversed.\n\n\"This is the wall of the conduit,\" the woman said, touching the\nmassive masonry on her right hand. \"The opening is a little further\non.\"\n\nPresently they arrived at a great stone, lying across a passage,\ncorresponding in size to a gap in the wall on the right. They made\ntheir way through this, and found themselves in the Conduit of King\nHezekiah. A stream of water, ankle deep, was running through it.\n\n\"We need not go further,\" the woman said. \"Once here, you cannot\nmiss your way. It will take nigh an hour's walking through the\nwater before you arrive at the chamber of the springs, from which\nthere is but the one exit.\"\n\n\"I will come down again with you, tonight,\" John said, \"and will\ncarry your child to the entrance. You will both need all your\nstrength, when you sally out; so as to get well beyond the Romans,\nwho are scattered all over the country, cutting wood for their\nembankments. Moreover, I shall be able to see, as I come down with\nyou, whether all the marks are plainly visible, and that there is\nno fear of mistake for, once lost in these passages, one would\nnever find one's way again; and there would be the choice between\ndying of hunger, and of being found by the Romans--who will\nassuredly search all these passages for fugitives, as they did at\nJotapata.\n\n\"Truly, I thank you with all my heart; I feel you have given me the\nmeans of saving my life--that is, if I do not fall in the\nfighting.\"\n\nAs they made their way back to the house, John examined the marks\nat every turning, and added to those that were not sufficiently\nconspicuous to catch the eye at once. When they had gained the\ncellar, and replaced the boards, the woman said:\n\n\"Why should you not also leave the city, tonight? All say that\nthere is no hope of resistance; and that John of Gischala and Simon\nare only bringing destruction, upon all in the city, by thus\nholding out against the Romans. Why should you throw away your life\nso uselessly?\"\n\n\"I have come here to defend the Temple,\" John said, \"and so long as\nthe Temple stands I will resist the enemy. It may be it is useless,\nbut no one can say what is the purpose of God, or whether He does\nnot yet intend to save his Holy Seat. But when the Temple has\nfallen, I shall have no more to fight for; and will then, if I can,\nsave my life, for the sake of those who love me.\"\n\nThat evening, on his return from the wall, John proceeded to the\nhouse of the woman. She was in readiness for the journey. The\nchild, who was seven or eight years old, was dressed; and the\nmother had a little bundle with her valuables by her. As soon as\nthey descended into the passage below, John offered to carry the\nchild, but her mother refused.\n\n\"She can walk well,\" she said, \"for a time, and you could not carry\nher upon your shoulder; for the passages are, in many places, but\njust high enough for you to pass under without stooping. At any\nrate, she can walk for a time.\"\n\nIt was not long, however, before the child, weakened by its\nillness, began to drag behind; and John swung her up on to his\nback. The marks, he found, were easily made out; and in half an\nhour they arrived at the entrance to the conduit. Here they were\nforced to walk, slowly. In some places the water, owing to the\nchannel having sunk, deepened to the knee; at other times stones\nhad fallen from the roof, and impeded their passage; and it was\nnearly two hours before they reached the arched chamber, at the\ntermination of the conduit. There was a stone pavement round the\nedge of the pool, and upon this they sat down to rest, for an hour,\nfor both John and the woman were exhausted by the labor they had\nundergone.\n\n\"It is time for me to be moving,\" the woman said, rising. \"It must\nbe nigh midnight, and I must be some miles on my way before\nmorning. The child has walked but a short distance, yet; and will\ndo her best, now, when she knows that those wicked Romans will kill\nher--and her mother--if they catch them.\n\n\"Won't you, Mariamne?\"\n\nThe child nodded. The Romans were the bogey with which Jewish\nchildren had, for the last five years, been frightened; and she\nannounced her intention of walking till her feet fell off.\n\n\"I will carry you, as much as I can,\" her mother said, \"but it can\nonly be for a short distance at a time; for I, too, am weak, and\nyour weight is too much for me.\n\n\"And now, God bless you, my friend,\" she said, turning to John;\n\"and may He keep you safe through the dangers of the siege, and\nlead you to your home and parents again!\"\n\nThey made their way to the end of the passage together; climbed\nover the rubbish, which nearly blocked the entrance; crawled\nthrough the hole, and found themselves in the outer air. Thick low\nbushes covered the ground around them, and no sound was to be\nheard.\n\nJohn rose to his feet, and looked round. Behind him, at the\ndistance of more than a quarter of a mile, the light of the Roman\nwatch fires showed where the legions were encamped. Beyond and\nabove could be seen, here and there, a light in the city. No sound\nwas to be heard, save the occasional call of a Roman sentinel. On\nthe other side, all was dark; for the working parties always\nreturned to camp, at night, in readiness to repel any sortie the\nJews might make against the camps or working parties.\n\n\"It is a very dark night,\" John said, doubtfully. \"Do you think you\ncan find your way?\"\n\n\"There are the stars,\" the woman replied, confidently. \"Besides, I\nwas born at Bethlehem, and know the country well. I shall keep on\nwest for a while, and then turn off into the deep valleys leading\ndown towards Masada.\n\n\"God be with you!\" and, taking the child's hand, she emerged from\nthe bushes, and glided noiselessly away into the darkness.\n\nJohn set out on his return journey--which he found very much\nshorter than he had done coming, for the weight of a child for two\nhours, when walking over difficult ground, is trying even to a\nstrong and active man. He carefully replaced the boards across the\nmouth of the pit, placed the lamps in a position so that he could\nfind them in the dark and, upon going out of the house, closed the\ndoor carefully.\n\nThe next morning, that of the 29th of May, the Roman attack began.\nThe Fifth and Twelfth Legions had raised embankments near the\nStruthion--or Soapwort--Pool, facing the Castle of Antonia; while\nthe Tenth and Fifteenth raised theirs facing the great towers of\nHippicus, Phasaelus, and Mariamne. They had not carried out their\nwork unmolested, for the Jews had now learned the art of\nconstructing and managing war machines; and had made three hundred\nscorpions for throwing arrows, and forty ballistae for hurling\nstones and, with these, they had caused terrible annoyance and\ngreat loss to the Romans.\n\nBut now, all was prepared. On the evening of the 28th, the last\nstroke had been given to the embankment; and on the following\nmorning the engines were mounted, and the troops stood in readiness\nfor the attack. Suddenly a smoke was seen, stealing up round the\nembankments facing Antonia; and the Roman officers called back\ntheir men, not knowing what was going to occur. Then a series of\nmighty crashes was heard. The great embankments, with their engines\nand battering rams, tottered and fell. Dense smoke shot up in\ncolumns, followed rapidly by tongues of fire, and soon the vast\npiles of materials, collected and put together with so much pains,\nwere blazing fiercely; while the Jews laughed, and shouted in\ntriumph, upon the walls.\n\nThe moment John of Gischala perceived where the Romans were going\nto construct their embankments, he had begun to run a mine from\nbehind the walls towards them. When the gallery was extended under\nthem, a great excavation was hollowed out; the roof being supported\nby huge beams, between which were piled up pitch and other\ncombustibles. When the Romans were seen advancing to the attack,\nfire was applied and, as soon as the supports of the roof were\nburned away, the ground, with the embankments upon it, fell in.\n\nSimon, on his side, was equally ready to receive the enemy, but he\ntrusted rather to valour than stratagem; and as soon as the Roman\nengines facing the towers began to shake the walls, Tepthaus,\nMegassar, and Chagiras rushed out, with torches in their hands,\nfollowed by a crowd of Simon's soldiers. They drove the Romans\nbefore them, and set fire to the great machine.\n\nThe Romans crowded up to the assistance of the working parties but,\nas they advanced, they were received with showers of missiles from\nthe walls; and attacked fiercely by the Jews, who poured out from\nthe city in a continuous stream. The flames spread rapidly and,\nseeing no hope of saving their engines and embankments, the Romans\nretreated to their camp. The triumphant Jews pressed hard on their\nrear, rushed upon the intrenchments, and assailed the guards.\nNumbers of these were killed, but the rest fought resolutely, while\nthe engines on the works poured showers of missiles among the Jews.\n\nCareless of death, the assailants pressed forward, stormed the\nintrenchment; and the Romans were on the point of flight when\nTitus, who had been absent upon the other side, arrived with a\nstrong body of troops, and fell upon the Jews. A desperate contest\nensued, but the Jews were finally driven back into the city.\n\nTheir enterprise had, however, been crowned with complete success.\nThe embankments, which had occupied the Romans seventeen days in\nbuilding, were destroyed; and with them the battering rams, and the\ngreater part of their engines. The work of reconstruction would be\nfar more difficult and toilsome than at first, for the country had\nbeen denuded of timber, for many miles off. Moreover, the soldiers\nwere becoming greatly disheartened by the failure of all their\nattacks upon the city.\n\nTitus summoned a council, and laid before them three plans: one for\nan attempt to take the city by storm; the second to repair the\nworks and rebuild the engines; the third to blockade the city, and\nstarve it into surrender. The last was decided upon and, as a first\nstep, the whole army was set to work, to build a trench and wall\nround the city. The work was carried on with the greatest zeal; and\nin three days the wall, nearly five miles in circumference, was\ncompleted. Thus there was no longer any chance of escape to the\ninhabitants; no more possibility of going out, at night, to search\nfor food.\n\nNow the misery of the siege was redoubled. Thousands died daily. A\nmournful silence hung over the city. Some died in their houses,\nsome in the streets. Some crawled to the cemeteries, and expired\nthere. Some sat upon their housetops, with their eyes fixed upon\nthe Temple, until they sank back dead. No one had strength to dig\ngraves, and the dead bodies were thrown from the walls into the\nravines below.\n\nThe high priest Matthias, who had admitted Simon and his followers\ninto the city, was suspected of being in communication with the\nRomans; and he and his three sons were led out on to the wall, and\nexecuted in sight of the besiegers, while fifteen of the members of\nthe Sanhedrin were executed at the same time. These murders caused\nindignation even on the part of some of Simon's men, and one Judas,\nwith ten others, agreed to deliver one of the towers to the enemy;\nbut the Romans--rendered cautious by the treachery which had before\nbeen practised--hesitated to approach and, before they were\nconvinced that the offer was made in good faith, Simon discovered\nwhat was going on, and the eleven conspirators were executed upon\nthe walls, and their bodies thrown over.\n\nDespair drove many, again, to attempt desertion. Some of these, on\nreaching the Roman lines, were spared; but many more were killed,\nfor the sake of the money supposed to be concealed upon them. Up to\nthe 1st of July, it was calculated that well-nigh six hundred\nthousand had perished, in addition to the vast numbers buried in\nthe cemetery, and the great heaps of dead before the walls. Great\nnumbers of the houses had become tombs, the inhabitants shutting\nthemselves up, and dying quietly together.\n\nBut, while trusting chiefly to famine, the Romans had laboured\nsteadily on at their military engines--although obliged to fetch\nthe timber for ten miles--and, at the beginning of July, the\nbattering rams began to play against Antonia. The Jews sallied out,\nbut this time with less fury than usual; and they were repulsed\nwithout much difficulty by the Romans. All day long the battering\nrams thundered against the wall; while men, protected by hurdles\nand penthouses, laboured to dislodge the stones at the foot of the\nwalls, in spite of the storm of missiles hurled down from above.\n\nBy nightfall, they had got out four large stones. It happened that\nthese stones stood just over the part under which John of Gischala\nhad driven his mine, when he destroyed the Roman embankments; and\nthus, doubly weakened, the wall fell with a crash during the night.\nJohn, however, had built another wall in the rear and, when the\nRomans rushed to the assault of the breach, in the morning, they\nfound a new line of defence confronting them.\n\nTitus addressed the troops, and called for volunteers. Sabinus, a\nSyrian, volunteered for the attack, and eleven men followed him. In\nspite of the storm of missiles he reached the top of the wall. The\nJews, believing that many were behind him, turned to fly; but his\nfoot slipped and he fell and, before he could regain his feet, the\nJews turned round upon him and slew him. Three of his companions\nfell beside him, on the top of the wall; and the rest were carried\nback, wounded, to camp.\n\nTwo days later, in the middle of the night, twenty Roman soldiers,\nwith a standard bearer and trumpeter, crept silently up to the\nbreach, surprised, and slew the watch. The trumpeter blew the\ncharge; and the Jews, believing that the whole Roman army was upon\nthem, fled in a sudden panic. Titus at once advanced with his men,\nstormed the new wall, entered the Castle of Antonia, and then\nadvanced along the cloisters which connected it with the Temple;\nbut John of Gischala had by this time arrived at the spot, and\nopposed a desperate resistance to the assault; until Simon,\ncrossing from the upper city by the bridge, came to his assistance;\nand John, finding that the Temple was attacked, also led his band\nacross.\n\nFor ten hours, the struggle raged. Vast numbers fell, on both\nsides; till the dead formed a bank between the combatants. Titus,\nfinding that even the courage and discipline of his troops did not\navail, against the desperate resistance of the Jews, at last called\nthem off from the assault--well satisfied with having captured\nAntonia.\n\nDuring the fight the Romans had, several times, nearly penetrated\ninto the Temple. Indeed, a centurion named Julian--a man of great\nstrength, courage, and skill at arms--had charged the Jews with\nsuch fury that he had made his way, alone, as far as the inner\ncourt; when his mailed shoes slipped on the marble pavement, and he\nfell; and the Jews, rushing back, slew him--after a desperate\nresistance, to the end.\n\nTitus commanded that the fortress of Antonia should be levelled to\nthe ground; and then sent Josephus with a message to John of\nGischala, offering him free egress for himself and his men, if he\nwould come out to fight outside, in order that the Temple might be\nsaved further defilement. John replied by curses upon Josephus,\nwhom he denounced as a traitor; and concluded that he feared not\nthat the city should be taken, for it was the city of God. Then\nTitus sent for a number of persons of distinction who had, from\ntime to time, made their escape from the city; and these attempted,\nin vain, to persuade the people--if not to surrender--at least to\nspare the Temple from defilement and ruin. Even the Roman soldiers\nwere adverse to an attack upon a place so long regarded as\npre-eminently holy, and Titus himself harangued the Jews.\n\n\"You have put up a barrier,\" he said, \"to prevent strangers from\npolluting your Temple. This the Romans have always respected. We\nhave allowed you to put to death all who violated its precincts;\nyet you defile it, yourselves, with blood and carnage. I call on\nyour gods--I call on my whole army--I call upon the Jews who are\nwith me--I call on yourselves--to witness that I do not force you\nto this crime. Come forth and fight, in any other place, and no\nRoman shall violate your sacred edifice.\"\n\nBut John of Gischala, and the Zealots, would hear of no surrender.\nThey doubted whether Titus would keep his promise, and feared to\nsurrender the stronghold which was now their last hope. Above all,\nthey still believed that God would yet interfere to save his\nTemple.\n\nTitus, finding that the garrison were obstinate, raised his voice\nand called out:\n\n\"John--whom I met near Hebron--if you be there, bear witness that I\nhave striven to keep my oath. I will strive to the end; but blame\nme not if, not through my fault, but by the obstinacy of these men,\ndestruction comes upon the Temple.\"\n\nJohn, who was standing within hearing, called out:\n\n\"I am here, Titus, and I bear witness; yet, I pray you, strive to\nthe end to keep the oath which you swore to me.\"\n\n\"What is this oath, John?\" Simon, who was standing close by, asked.\n\"What compact have you with the Roman general?\"\n\n\"We met in battle, alone,\" John said, quietly, \"and it chanced that\nhe fell. I might have slain him, but it came to me that it were\nbetter to try to save the Temple, than to slay one of its enemies;\nand therefore swore him to save the Temple, if it lay in his power.\nHe has offered to spare it. It lay with you, and John of Gischala,\nto save the Temple from destruction by accepting his terms. You\nhave not done so. If the Temple is destroyed, it is by the\nobstinacy of its defenders, not by the cruelty of the Romans.\"\n\n\"It would be madness to accept his offer,\" Simon said, angrily.\n\"Titus knows well that, in the plains, we should be no match for\nhis troops. Did you ever hear, before, of a garrison giving up a\nposition so strong that it could not be taken from them, and going\nout to fight beyond the walls? Besides, who can tell that the\nRomans will keep their promises? Once we are at their mercy, they\nmight level the Temple.\"\n\n\"In that case, the sin would be upon their heads. Besides, there is\nno occasion to retire beyond the walls. Why should not all the\nfighting men retire into the upper city, and leave the Temple to\nGod? If it is his will that the Romans should destroy it, they will\ndo so. If it is his will that they should respect it, they will do\nso. He can save, or destroy, at his will. If we retreat to the\nupper town, and break down the bridge after us, they could never\ntake it.\"\n\n\"And how long could we hold out?\" Simon said, with a hard laugh.\n\"Is there a day's food left, in the city? If there is, my men are\nless sharp than I give them credit for. No, we will fight here, to\nthe end, for the Temple; and the sooner the Romans attack, the\nbetter, for if they delay many days, there is not a single man will\nhave strength enough to lift a sword.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 17: The Capture Of The Temple.\n\n\nAlthough abhorring the general conduct of Simon and John of\nGischala, and believing that conditions could be made with the\nRomans which would save the Temple, John still retained the\nhope--cherished by every Jew--that God would yet, himself, save\nJerusalem, as in the old times. He was conscious that the people\nhad forfeited all right to expect his aid; that, by their\nwickedness and forgetfulness of him--and more especially by the\nfrightful scenes which had desecrated the city and Temple, during\nthe last four years--they must have angered God beyond all hope of\nforgiveness. Still, the punishment which had been inflicted was\nalready so terrible that he, like others, hoped that God's anger\nmight yet relent, as it had done in old times, and that a remnant\nmight yet be spared.\n\nBut above all, their hope lay in the belief that the Temple was the\nactual abode of the Lord; and that, though he might suffer the\nwhole people to perish for their sins, he would yet protect, at the\nlast, his own sanctuary. Surely, John thought, as he stood on the\nroof of the Temple, this glorious building can never be meant to be\ndestroyed.\n\nThe Temple occupied a square, six hundred feet every way. The lofty\nrock on which it stood had been cased with solid masonry, so that\nit rose perpendicularly from the plain. On the top of this massive\nfoundation was built a strong and lofty wall, round the whole area.\nWithin this wall was a spacious double cloister, fifty-two and one\nhalf feet broad, supported by one hundred and sixty-two columns. On\nthe south side the cloister was one hundred and five feet\nwide--being a triple cloister--and was here called the King's\nCloister. Within the area surrounded by the cloisters was an open\ncourt, paved with marble; this was the Court of the Gentiles, and\nwas separated from the second court--that of the Jews--by a stone\nrailing, five feet high.\n\nAn ascent of fourteen steps led to a terrace, seventeen and one\nhalf feet wide, beyond which rose the wall of the inner court. This\nwall was seventy feet high on the outside, forty-four feet on the\ninside. Round the inner court was another range of cloisters. There\nwere ten gates into the inner court. The doors of nine of these\ngateways were fifty-two and one half feet high, and half that\nbreadth. The gateways rose to the height of seventy feet. The\ntenth, usually called the Beautiful Gate of the Temple, was larger\nthan the rest; the gateway being eighty-seven and one half feet in\nheight, the doors seventy feet. In the centre of the inner court\nwas the Temple, itself. The great porch was one hundred and\nseventy-five feet in width, the gateway tower one hundred and\nthirty-two feet high and forty-three feet wide, and through it was\nseen the Beautiful Gate. The Temple itself was built of white\nmarble, and the roof was covered with sharp golden spikes.\n\nNow that it was evident that on the side of the Temple, alone,\ncould the enemy make an attack, the division between Simon and John\nof Gischala's men was no longer kept up. All gathered for the\ndefence of the Temple. The Jews kept up a vigilant watch, for the\nRomans could assemble in great force in Antonia, unseen by them;\nand could advance, under cover, by the cloisters which flanked the\nplatform connecting Antonia with the Temple, on either side. The\ninterval between Antonia and the Temple was but three hundred feet.\nThe cloisters were considered to form part of the Temple, and the\nJews were therefore reluctant to destroy them, although they\ngreatly facilitated the attack of the Romans.\n\nFinding that his offers were all rejected, Titus spent seven days\nin the destruction of a large portion of Antonia, and then prepared\nfor a night attack. As the whole army could not make the assault,\nthirty men were picked from each hundred. Tribunes were appointed\nover each thousand, Cerealis being chosen to command the whole.\nTitus himself mounted a watchtower in Antonia, in order that he\nmight see and reward each act of bravery.\n\nThe assault began between two and three o'clock in the morning. The\nJews were on the watch and, as soon as the massive columns moved\nforward, the cries of the guards gave the alarm; and the Jews,\nsleeping in and around the Temple, seized their arms and rushed\ndown to the defence. For a time, the Romans had the advantage. The\nweight of their close formation enabled them to press forward\nagainst the most obstinate resistance and, even in the darkness,\nthere was no fear of mistaking friend for foe; while the Jews,\nfighting in small parties, often mistook each other for enemies,\nand as many fell by the swords of their friends as by those of the\nenemy. The loss was all the greater, since the troops of John of\nGischala and Simon had no common password and, coming suddenly upon\neach other, often fought desperately before they discovered their\nmistake; but as daylight began to break, these mistakes became less\nfrequent. The presence and example of their leaders animated the\nJews to the greatest exertions, while the knowledge that Titus was\nwatching them inspired the Romans with even more than their usual\ncourage and obstinacy. For nine hours, the conflict raged; and then\nthe Romans, unable to make the slightest impression upon the\nresistance of the Jews, fell back again into Antonia.\n\nFinding that, in hand-to-hand conflict, his soldiers could not overcome\nthe Jews, Titus ordered the erection of small embankments--two on the\nplatform between the cloisters, the other two outside the cloister walls.\nBut the work proceeded slowly, owing to the difficulty of procuring wood.\nThe Jews, as usual, hindered the work as much as possible, with showers\nof missiles; and attempted to create a diversion, by a sortie and attack\nupon the camp of the Tenth Legion, on the Mount of Olives. This, however,\nwas repulsed by the Romans, without great difficulty.\n\nAs the cloisters leading to Antonia afforded great assistance to\nthe Romans, in their attacks, the Jews set fire to the end of the\ncloisters touching the Temple wall; and a length of from twenty to\nthirty feet of each cloister was destroyed. The Romans destroyed a\nfurther portion, so as to afford more room for the men at work upon\nthe embankments. The action of the Jews was, to a certain extent, a\nnecessity; but it depressed the spirits of the inhabitants, for\nthere was a prophecy: \"When square the walls, the Temple falls!\"\nHitherto, Antonia and the connecting cloisters had been considered\nas forming part of the Temple, and had given it an irregular form;\nbut the destruction of these cloisters left the Temple standing a\nmassive square.\n\nThe embankments presently rose above the height of the wall, and it\nwas evident that this would soon be taken. The Jews retired from the\nroof of the cloister facing the embankment, as if despairing of\nfurther resistance; but they had previously stored great quantities\nof combustibles in the space between the cedar roof of the cloisters\nand the upper platform. The Romans on the embankment--seeing that the\nJews had retired--without waiting for orders ran down and, planting\nladders, scaled the wall.\n\nThe Jews set up cries, as if of despair; and the Romans poured up\non to the wall until a great mass of men were collected on the roof\nof the cloister. Then, on a sudden, flames shot up in all\ndirections beneath their feet, and they found themselves enveloped\nin a sea of fire. Many were burned, or smothered by the smoke. Some\nstabbed themselves with their swords. Some leaped down into the\nouter court, and were there killed by the Jews. Many jumped down\noutside the walls, and were picked up dead or with broken limbs.\nOthers ran along upon the top of the walls, until they were shot\ndown by the Jewish missiles.\n\nBut one man seems to have escaped. A soldier named Artorius,\nstanding on the wall, shouted to the Romans below, \"Whoever catches\nme shall be my heir.\"\n\nA soldier ran forward to accept the terms. Artorius jumped down\nupon him; killing him by his fall, but himself escaping unhurt.\n\nThe fire extended along the whole of the western cloister; and the\nnorthern cloister was, next day, burned by the Romans and, thus, on\nthe west and north sides the inner Temple was now exposed to the\ninvader.\n\nAll this time, famine had been continuing its work. The fighting\nmen were so weakened that they had scarcely strength to drag their\nlimbs along, or to hold their weapons; while horrible tales are\ntold of the sufferings of such of the inhabitants who still\nsurvived--one woman, maddened by despair, cooking and eating her\nown infant. Occasionally a baggage animal or a Roman cavalry horse\nstrayed near the walls, when a crowd of famishing wretches would\npour out, kill and devour it. Titus, however, cut off even this\noccasional supply; by ordering a soldier, whose horse had thus\nfallen into the hands of the Jews, to be put to death for his\ncarelessness.\n\nJohn's band had been greatly diminished in number, in the two days\nthey had been fighting opposite Antonia. The stores they had\nbrought to the city were now exhausted; although, for a long time,\nonly the smallest amount had been issued, daily, to eke out the\nhandful of grain still served out to each of the fighting men. A\nfew only had, in their sufferings, refused to obey the orders of\nJohn and their officers, and had joined the bands of Simon and John\nof Gischala in the revolting cruelties which they practised, to\nextort food from the inhabitants. These had not been allowed to\nrejoin the band; which was now reduced to a little over fifty\nstern, gaunt, and famine-worn figures--but still unshaken in their\ndetermination to fight to the end.\n\nThe Romans now pushed on a bank, from the western wall across the\nsmouldering ruins of the cloister and inner court; and a battering\nram began to play against the inner Temple but, after six days'\nefforts, and bringing up their heaviest battering ram, the Romans\ngave it up in despair; for the huge stones which formed the masonry\nof the wall defied even the ponderous machines which the Romans\nbrought to play against it. An embankment, from the northern side,\nwas also carried across the outer court to the foot of the most\neasterly of the four northern gates of the inner Temple.\n\nStill anxious to save the Temple itself, and its cloisters if\npossible, Titus would not resort to the use of fire; but ordered\nhis men to force the gate, with crowbars and levers. After great\nefforts, a few of the stones of the threshold were removed; but the\ngates, supported by the massive walls and the props behind, defied\nall their efforts.\n\nTitus now ordered his soldiers to carry the walls by storm. Ladders\nwere brought up; and the soldiers, eager for revenge upon the foe\nwho had so long baffled and humiliated them, sprang to the assault\nwith shouts of exultation. The Jews offered no resistance, until\nthe Romans reached the top of the wall but, as they leaped down on\nto the roof of the cloister, they threw themselves upon them.\nNumbers were slain, as they stepped off the ladders on to the wall;\nand many of the ladders were hurled backward, crushing the soldiers\ncrowded upon them on the pavement beneath.\n\nThen Titus ordered the standards of the legions to be carried up,\nthinking that the soldiers would rally round these, the emblems of\nmilitary honour. The Jews, however, permitted the standards and\nnumbers of the legionaries to ascend on to the roof of the\ncloisters; and then again fell upon them, with such fury that the\nRomans were overpowered, the standards were taken, and their\ndefenders killed. Not one of the Romans who had mounted the wall\nretired from it.\n\nTitus could no longer resist the appeals of his infuriated soldiers\nwho, maddened by the losses they had suffered, and the disgrace of\nthe loss of the standards, could not understand why this loss was\nentailed upon them--when such an easy way of destroying the gate,\nand entering the Temple, was in their power. Most reluctantly,\nTitus gave the permission they clamoured for, and allowed his\ntroops to set fire to the gate. The dry woodwork caught like\ntinder, and the flames mounted instantly. The silver plates which\ncovered the woodwork melted, and ran down in streams; and the fire\nat once communicated with the cloisters inside the wall.\n\nAppalled at the sight of the inner court in flames, the Jews stood\ndespairing; while the shouts of triumph of the Romans rose high in\nthe air. During the rest of the day, and all through the night, the\nconflagration continued and extended all round the cloisters. Thus\nthe Temple, itself, was surrounded by a ring of fire.\n\nThe next day, the 4th of August, Titus called a council of his\ngenerals, to deliberate on the fate of the Temple. There were\npresent, besides Titus, Tiberias Alexander, the second in command;\nthe commanders of the Fifth, Tenth, and Fifteenth Legions; Fronto,\nthe commander of the Alexandrian troops; and Marcus Antonius\nJulianus, the procurator of Judea.\n\nSome were for levelling the Temple to the ground. Others advised\nthat, if abandoned by the Jews, it might be preserved; but if\ndefended as a citadel, it ought to be destroyed. Titus listened to\nthe opinions of the others; and then declared his own--which was\nthat, whatever the use the Jews made of it, it ought to be\npreserved. Alexander, Cerealis, and Fronto went over to the opinion\nof Titus; and therefore, by a majority of one, it was agreed that\nthe Temple should be spared, however fiercely the Jews might\nresist. Orders were given to prevent the fire spreading to the\nTemple, and to clear the ground for an assault against it.\n\nThe 5th of August broke. It was on that day that the Temple of\nSolomon had been burned, by Nebuchadnezzar; but the courage of the\nJews was not depressed by the omen. The brief pause had enabled\nthem to recover from the despair which they had felt, in seeing the\ninner cloister in flames; and at eight o'clock in the morning,\nsallying from the Eastern Gate, they rushed down upon the Romans.\nThe latter formed in close order and, covered by their shields,\nreceived the onslaught calmly. But so desperately did the Jews\nfight, and in such numbers did they pour out from the Temple, that\nthe Romans had begun to give way; when Titus arrived, with great\nreinforcements. But even then, it was not until one o'clock that\nthe Jews were driven back, again, into the walls of the inner\nTemple.\n\nTitus, having seen his troops victorious, retired to his tent; and\nthe soldiers continued their work of clearing the platform, and\nextinguishing the smouldering fire of the cloisters. Suddenly the\nJewish bands burst out again, and another deadly struggle\ncommenced. Then one of the Roman soldiers, seizing a burning brand\nfrom the cloisters, hurled it into the window of one of the side\nchambers that inclosed the Temple on the north.\n\nIn the furious struggle that was going on, none noticed the action;\nand it was not until the flames were seen, rushing out of the\nwindow, that the Jews perceived what had happened. With a cry of\nanguish, they discontinued the conflict, and rushed back to try and\nextinguish the flames. But the woodwork, dried by the intense heat\nof the August sun, was ripe for burning and, in spite of the most\ndesperate efforts, the fire spread rapidly.\n\nThe news that the Temple was on fire reached Titus and, starting\nup, accompanied by his bodyguard of spearmen--commanded by\nLiberatus--he hastened to the spot. His officers followed him and,\nas the news spread, the whole of the Roman legionaries rushed, with\none accord, to the spot. Titus pushed forward into the first court\nof the inner Temple--the Court of the Women--and then into the\ninner court and, by shouts and gestures, implored his own soldiers,\nand the Jews alike, to assist in subduing the flames.\n\nBut the clamour and din drowned his voice. The legionaries, pouring\nin after him, added to the confusion. So great was the crowd that\nmany of the soldiers were crushed to death; while many fell among\nthe ruins of the still smouldering cloisters, and were either\nsmothered or burned. Those who reached the sanctuary paid no\nattention to the remonstrances, commands, or even threats of Titus;\nbut shouted to those in front of them to complete the work of\ndestruction.\n\nTitus pressed forward, with his guards, to the vestibule; and then\nentered, first the Holy, and then the Holy of Holies. After one\nglance at the beauty and magnificence of the marvellous shrine, he\nrushed back and again implored his soldiers to exert themselves to\nsave it; and ordered Liberatus to strike down any who disobeyed.\nBut the soldiers were now altogether beyond control, and were mad\nwith triumph, fury, and hate. One of the bodyguard, as Titus left\nthe sanctuary, seized a brand and applied it to the woodwork. The\nflames leaped up, and soon the whole Temple was wrapped in fire.\n\nThe soldiers spread through the building, snatching at the golden\nornaments and vessels, and slaying all they met--unarmed men,\npriests in their robes, women and children. Many of the Jews threw\nthemselves into the flames. Some of the priests found their way on\nto the broad wall of the inner Temple; where they remained, until\ncompelled by famine to come down, when they were all executed. Six\nthousand of the populace took refuge on the roof of the Royal\nCloister, along the south side of the outer Temple. The Romans set\nfire to this, and every soul upon it perished.\n\nAs soon as they felt that their efforts to extinguish the fire were\nvain, and that the Temple was indeed lost, John of Gischala, Simon,\nand John called their men together and, issuing out, fell with the\nfury of desperation upon the dense ranks of the Roman soldiers in\nthe inner court and, in spite of their resistance, cut their way\nthrough to the outer court; and gained the bridge leading from the\nsouthwest corner, across the Valley of the Tyropceon, to the upper\ncity; and were therefore, for a time, in safety.\n\nJohn, bewildered, exhausted, and heartbroken from the terrible\nevents of the past few days, staggered back to his house, and threw\nhimself on his couch; and lay there for a long time, crushed by the\nseverity of the blow. Until now he had hoped that Titus would, in\nthe end, spare the Temple; but he recognized, now, that it was the\nobstinacy of the Jews that had brought about its destruction.\n\n\"It was God's will that it should perish,\" he said, to himself;\n\"and Titus could no more save it than I could do.\"\n\nAfter some hours, he roused himself and descended to the room now\noccupied by the remnant of the band. Jonas and ten others, alone,\nwere gathered there. Some had thrown themselves down on the ground.\nSome sat in attitudes of utter dejection. Several were bleeding\nfrom wounds received in the desperate fight of the morning. Others\nwere badly burned in the desperate efforts they had made to\nextinguish the flames. Exhausted by want of food, worn out by their\nexertions, filled with despair at the failure of their last hopes,\nthe members of the little band scarce looked up when their leader\nentered.\n\n\"My friends,\" he said, \"listen to me, if but for the last time. We,\nat least, have nothing to reproach ourselves with. We have fought\nfor the Temple, to the last; and if we failed to save it, it is\nbecause it was the will of God that it should perish. At any rate,\nour duty is done. God has not given us our lives, and preserved\nthem through so many fights, that we should throw them away. It is\nour duty, now, to save our lives, if we can. Now that the Temple\nhas fallen, we are called upon to do no more fighting.\n\n\"Let the bands of John of Gischala, and Simon, fight to the last.\nThey are as wild beasts, inclosed in the snare of the hunter; and\nthey merit a thousand deaths, for it is they who have brought\nJerusalem to this pass, they who have robbed and murdered the\npopulation, they who have destroyed the granaries which would have\nenabled the city to exist for years, they who refused the terms by\nwhich the Temple might have been saved, they who have caused its\ndestruction in spite of the efforts of Titus to preserve it. They\nare the authors of all this ruin and woe. They have lived as wild\nbeasts, so let them die!\n\n\"But there is no reason why we should die with them, for their\nguilt is not upon our heads. We have done our duty in fighting for\nthe Temple, and have robbed and injured none. Therefore, I say, let\nus save our lives.\"\n\n\"Would you surrender to the Romans?\" one of the band asked,\nindignantly. \"Do you, whom we have followed, counsel us to become\ntraitors?\"\n\n\"It is not treachery to surrender, when one can no longer resist,\"\nJohn said, quietly. \"But I am not thinking of surrendering. I am\nthinking of passing out of the city, into the country around.\n\n\"But first, let us eat. I see you look surprised but, although the\nstore we brought hither is long since exhausted, there is still a\nlast reserve. I bought it, with all the money that I had with me,\nfrom one of Simon's men, upon the day when we came hither from the\nlower town. He had gained it, doubtless, in wanton robbery for, at\nthat time, the fighting men had plenty of food; but as it was his,\nI bought it, thinking that the time might come when one meal might\nmean life to many of us. I have never touched it, but it remains\nwhere I hid it, in my chamber. I will fetch it, now.\"\n\nJohn ascended to his chamber, and brought down a bag containing\nabout fifteen pounds of flour.\n\n\"Let us make bread of this,\" he said. \"It will give us each a good\nmeal, now; and there will be enough left to provide food for each,\nduring the first day's journey.\"\n\nThe exhausted men seemed inspired with new life, at the sight of\nthe food. No thought of asking how they were to pass through the\nRoman lines occurred to them. The idea of satisfying their hunger\noverpowered all other feelings.\n\nThe door was closed to keep out intruders. Dough was made, and a\nfire kindled with pieces of wood dry as tinder, so that no smoke\nshould attract the eye of those who were constantly on the lookout\nfor such a sign that some family were engaged in cooking. The flat\ndough cakes were placed over the glowing embers, the whole having\nbeen divided into twenty-four portions. Some of the men would\nhardly wait until their portions were baked; but John urged upon\nthem that, were they to eat it in a half-cooked state, the\nconsequences might be very serious, after their prolonged fast.\nStill, none of them could resist breaking off little pieces, to\nstay their craving.\n\n\"Let us eat slowly,\" John said, when the food was ready. \"The more\nslowly we eat, the further it will go. When it is eaten, we will\ntake a sleep for four hours, to regain our strength. There is no\nfear of our being called upon to aid in the defence. The Romans\nmust be as exhausted as we are; and they will need thought, and\npreparation, before they attack our last stronghold, which is far\nstronger than any they have yet taken. If we had food, we could\nhold Mount Zion against them for months.\"\n\nAs soon as the meal was over, all lay down to sleep. None had asked\nany question as to how their escape was to be effected. The\nunexpected meal, which John's forethought had prepared for them,\nhad revived all their confidence in him; and they were ready to\nfollow him, wherever he might take them.\n\nIt was night when John called them to awake, but the glare of the\nvast pile of the burning Temple lit up every object. The brightness\nalmost equalled that of day.\n\n\"It is time,\" John said, as the men rose to their feet and grasped\ntheir arms. \"I trust that we shall have no occasion to use weapons;\nbut we will carry them so that, if we should fall into the hands of\nthe Romans, we may fall fighting, and not die by the torments that\nthey inflict upon those who fall into their hands. If I could\nobtain a hearing, so as to be brought before Titus, he might give\nus our lives; but I will not trust to that. In the first place,\nthey would cut us down like hunted animals, did they come upon us;\nand in the second, I would not, now, owe my life to the clemency of\nthe Romans.\"\n\nA fierce assent was given by his followers.\n\n\"Now,\" John went on, \"let each take his piece of bread, and put it\nin his bosom. Leave your bucklers and javelins behind you, but take\nyour swords.\n\n\"Jonas, bring a brand from the fire.\n\n\"Now, let us be off.\"\n\nNone of those with him, except Jonas, had the least idea where he\nwas going; but he had instructed the lad in the secret of the pit\nand, one day, had taken him down the passages to the aqueduct.\n\n\"You and I found safety before, Jonas, together, and I trust may do\nso again; but should anything happen to me, you will now have the\nmeans of escape.\"\n\n\"If you die, I will die with you, master,\" Jonas said.\n\nAnd indeed, in the fights he had always kept close to John,\nfollowing every movement, and ready to dash forward when his leader\nwas attacked by more than one enemy; springing upon them like a\nwildcat, and burying his knife in their throats. It was to his\nwatchful protection and ready aid that John owed it that he had\npassed through so many combats, comparatively unharmed.\n\n\"Not so, Jonas,\" he said, in answer to the lad's declaration that\nhe would die with him. \"It would be no satisfaction to me that you\nshould share my fate, but a great one to know that you would get\naway safely. If I fall, I charge you to pass out by this\nunderground way; and to carry to my father, and mother, and Mary,\nthe news that I have fallen, fighting to the last, in the defence\nof the Temple. Tell them that I thought of them to the end, and\nthat I sent you to them to be with them; and to be to my father and\nmother a son, until they shall find for Mary a husband who may fill\nmy place, and be the stay of their old age. My father will treat\nyou as an adopted son, for my sake; and will bestow upon you a\nportion of his lands.\n\n\"You have been as a brother to me, Jonas; and I pray you, promise\nme to carry out my wishes.\"\n\nJonas had reluctantly given the pledge but, from that hour until\nJohn had declared that he would fight no more, Jonas had been moody\nand silent. Now, however, as he walked behind his friend, his face\nwas full of satisfaction. There was no chance, now, that he would\nhave to take home the news of his leader's death. Whatever befell\nthem, they would share together.\n\nThey soon reached the door of the house in which the pit was\nsituated. It was entered, and the door closed behind them. The\nlamps were then lit. John led the way to the cellar, and bade the\nmen remove the boards.\n\n\"I will go first, with one of the lamps,\" he said. \"Do you, Jonas,\ntake the other, and come last in the line.\n\n\"Keep close together, so that the light may be sufficient for all\nto see.\"\n\nStrengthened by the meal, and by their confidence in John's promise\nto lead them through the Romans, the band felt like new men; and\nfollowed John with their usual light, active gait, as he led the\nway. Not a word was spoken, till they reached the hole leading into\nthe aqueduct.\n\n\"This is the Conduit of King Hezekiah,\" John said. \"When we emerge\nat the other end, we shall be beyond the Roman lines.\"\n\nExclamations of satisfaction burst from the men. Each had been\nwondering, as he walked, where their leader was taking them. All\nknew that the ground beneath Jerusalem was honeycombed by caves and\npassages; but that their leader could not intend to hide there was\nevident, for they had but one meal with them. But that any of these\npassages should debouch beyond the Roman lines had not occurred to\nthem.\n\nEach had thought that the passages they were following would\nprobably lead out, at the foot of the wall, into the Valley of\nHinnom or of Jehoshaphat; and that John intended to creep with them\nup to the foot of the Roman wall, and to trust to activity and\nspeed to climb it, and make their way through the guard placed\nthere to cut off fugitives. But none had even hoped that they would\nbe able to pass the wall of circumvallation without a struggle.\n\nAn hour's walking brought them to the chamber over the springs.\n\n\"Now,\" John said, \"we will rest for half an hour, before we sally\nout. Let each man eat half the food he has brought with him. The\nrest he must keep till tomorrow, for we shall have to travel many\nmiles before we can reach a spot that the Romans have not laid\ndesolate, and where we may procure food.\n\n\"I trust,\" he went on, \"that we shall be altogether unnoticed. The\nsentries may be on the alert, on their wall, for they will think it\nlikely that many may be trying to escape from the city; but all\nsave those on duty will be either asleep after their toils, or\nfeasting in honour of their success. The fact, too, of the great\nglare of light over Jerusalem will render the darkness more\nintense, when they look in the other direction.\n\n\"But if we should be noticed, it is best that we should separate,\nand scatter in the darkness; each flying for his life, and making\nhis way home as best he may. If we are not seen, we will keep\ntogether. There is no fear of meeting with any Roman bands, when we\nare once fairly away. The parties getting wood will have been\nwarned, by the smoke, of what has taken place; and will have\nhurried back, to gain their share of the spoil.\"\n\nAt the end of the half hour, John rose to his feet and led the way\nalong the passage to the entrance. When he came to the spot where\nit was nearly blocked up, he blew out his light, and crawled\nforward over the rubbish, until he reached the open air. The others\nfollowed, until all were beside him. Then he rose to his feet. The\nTemple was not visible, but the whole sky seemed on fire above\nJerusalem; and the outline of the three great towers of the Palace\nof Herod, and of the buildings of the upper city, stood black\nagainst the glare.\n\nThere was no sign of life or movement near as, with a quick,\nnoiseless step, the little party stole away. None of them knew more\nthan the general direction which they had to follow, but the glare\nof the great fire served as a guide as to their direction and, even\nat this distance, made objects on the ground plainly visible; so\nthat they were enabled to pick their way among the stumps of the\nfallen plantations and orchards, through gardens, and by ruined\nvillas and houses, until they reached the edge of the plateau, and\nplunged down into the valleys descending to the Dead Sea. After\nwalking for two hours, John called a halt.\n\n\"We can walk slowly now,\" he said, \"and avoid the risk of breaking\nour legs among the rocks. We are safe, here; and had best lie down\nuntil morning, and then resume our way. There is no fear, whatever,\nof the Romans sending out parties, for days. They have the upper\ncity to take, yet, and the work of plunder and division of the\nspoil to carry out. We can sleep without anxiety.\"\n\nIt was strange, to them all, to lie down to sleep among the\nstillness of the mountains, after the din and turmoil of the siege\nwhen, at any moment, they might be called upon to leap up to repel\nan attack. But few of them went off to sleep, for some time. The\ndull feeling of despair, the utter carelessness of life, the desire\nfor death and the end of trouble which had so long oppressed\nthem--these had passed away, now that they were free, and in the\nopen air; and the thoughts of the homes they had never thought to\nsee again, and of the loved ones who would greet them, on their\nreturn, as men who had almost come back from the dead, fell upon\nthem. They could go back with heads erect, and clear consciences.\nThey had fought, so long as the Temple stood. They had, over and\nover again, faced the Romans hand to hand, without giving way a\nfoot. They had taken no share in the evil deeds in the city, and\nhad wronged and plundered no one. They did not return as\nconquerors, but that was the will of God, and no fault of theirs.\n\nAt daybreak they were on their feet again, and now struck off more\nto the left; following mountain paths among the hills until, at\nlast, they came down to the plain, within half a mile of the upper\nend of the Dead Sea. John here called his companions round him.\n\n\"Here, my friends,\" he said, \"I think it were best that we\nseparated; laying aside our swords and, singly or in pairs, finding\nthe way back to our homes. We know not in what towns there may be\nRoman garrisons, or where we may meet parties of their soldiers\ntraversing the country. Alone, we shall attract no attention. One\nman may conceal himself behind a tree, or in the smallest bush; but\nthe sight of a party, together, would assuredly draw them upon us.\nTherefore, it were best to separate. Some of you will find it\nshorter to cross the ford of the Jordan, three miles away; while\nothers had best follow this side of the river.\"\n\nAll agreed that this would be the safer plan and, after a short\ntalk, each took leave of his leader and comrades, and strode away;\nuntil Jonas, alone, remained with John.\n\n\"Will you cross the river, John, or follow this side?\" Jonas asked.\n\n\"I think we had best keep on this side, Jonas. On the other the\ncountry is hilly, and the villages few. Here, at least, we can\ngather fruit and corn, as we go, from the deserted gardens and\nfields; and two days' walking will take us to Tarichea. We can\ncross there, or take a boat up the lake.\"\n\nAfter waiting until the last of their comrades had disappeared from\nsight, John and his companion continued their way, keeping about\nhalfway between Jericho and the Jordan. They presently bore to the\nleft, until on the great road running north from Jericho. This they\nfollowed until nightfall, rejoicing in the grapes and figs which\nthey picked by the roadside where, but a few months since, little\nvillages had nestled thickly.\n\nJust before darkness fell they came upon a village which, although\ndeserted, had not been burned--probably owing to some body of Roman\nsoldiers having taken up their post there for a time. They entered\none of the houses, lay down, and were soon fast asleep.\n\n\n\nChapter 18: Slaves.\n\n\nJohn was roused from sleep by being roughly shaken. He sprang to\nhis feet, and found a number of men--some of whom were holding\ntorches--in the room. Two of these had the appearance of merchants.\nThe others were armed and, by their dress, seemed to be Arabs.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" one of the men asked him.\n\n\"We are peaceful travellers,\" John said, \"injuring no one, and came\nin here to sleep the night.\"\n\n\"You look like peaceful travellers!\" the man replied. \"You have two\nwounds yet unhealed on your head. Your companion has one of his\narms bandaged. You are either robbers, or some of the cutthroats\nwho escaped from Jerusalem. You may think it Iucky you have fallen\ninto my hands, instead of that of the Romans, who would have\nfinished you off without a question.\n\n\"Bind them,\" he said, turning to his men.\n\nResistance was useless. The hands of John and Jonas were tied\nbehind their backs, and they were taken outside the house. Several\nfires were burning in the road, and lying down were three or four\nhundred men and women; while several men, with spears and swords,\nstood as a guard over them. John saw, at once, that he had fallen\ninto the hands of a slave dealer--one of the many who had come,\nfrom various parts, to purchase the Jews whom the Romans sold as\nslaves--and already the multitude sold was so vast that it had\nreduced the price of slaves throughout Italy, Egypt, and the East\nto one-third of their former value. There were, however,\ncomparatively few able-bodied men among them. In almost every case\nthe Romans had put these to the sword, and the slave dealers,\nfinding John and Jonas, had congratulated themselves on the\nacquisition; knowing well that no complaint that the captives might\nmake would be listened to, and that their story would not be\nbelieved, even if they could get to tell it to anyone of authority.\n\nJohn and Jonas were ordered to lie down with the rest, and were\ntold that, if they made any attempt to escape, they would be\nscourged to death.\n\n\"The villains!\" Jonas muttered, as they lay down. \"Is it not enough\nto drive one mad to think that, after having escaped the Romans, we\nshould fall into the hands of these rogues!\"\n\n\"We must not grumble at fate. Hitherto, Jonas, we have been\nmarvellously preserved. First of all, we two were alone saved from\nJotapata; then we, with ten others, alone out of six hundred\nescaped alive from Jerusalem. We have reason for thankfulness,\nrather than repining. We have been delivered out of the hands of\ndeath; and remember that I have the ring of Titus with me, and\nthat--when the time comes--this will avail us.\"\n\nFrom the day the siege had begun, John had carried the signet ring\nof Titus; wearing it on his toe, concealed by the bands of his\nsandals. He knew that, were he to fall into the hands of the\nRomans, he would get no opportunity of speaking but, even if not\nkilled at once, would be robbed of any valuable he might possess;\nand that his assertion that the ring was a signet, which Titus\nhimself had given him would, even if listened to, be received with\nincredulity. He had therefore resolved to keep it concealed, and to\nproduce it only when a favourable opportunity seemed to offer.\n\n\"At any rate, Jonas, let us practise patience, and be thankful that\nwe are still alive.\"\n\nIn the morning, the cavalcade got into motion. John found that the\nmajority of his fellow captives were people who had been taken\ncaptive when Titus, for the second time, obtained possession of the\nlower city. They had been sent up to Tiberias, and there sold, and\ntheir purchaser was now taking them down to Egypt. The men were\nmostly past middle age, and would have been of little value as\nslaves, had it not been that they were all craftsmen--workers in\nstone or metal--and would therefore fetch a fair price, if sold to\nmasters of these crafts. The rest were women and children.\n\nThe men were attached to each other by cords, John and Jonas being\nplaced at some distance apart; and one of the armed guards placed\nhimself near each, as there was far more risk of active and\ndetermined young men trying to make their escape than of the others\ndoing so, especially after the manner in which they had been\nkidnapped. All their clothes were taken from them, save their\nloincloths; and John trembled lest he should be ordered also to\ntake off his sandals, for his present captors would have no idea of\nthe value of the ring, but would seize it for its setting.\n\nFortunately, however, this was not the case. The guards all wore\nsandals and had, therefore, no motive in taking those of the\ncaptives, especially as they were old and worn. The party soon\nturned off from the main road, and struck across the hills to the\nwest; and John bitterly regretted that he had not halted, for the\nnight, a few miles further back than he did, in which case he would\nhave avoided the slave dealers' caravan.\n\nThe heat was intense, and John pitied the women and children,\ncompelled to keep up with the rest. He soon proposed, to a woman\nwho was burdened with a child about two years old, to place it on\nhis shoulders; and as the guard saw in this a proof that their new\ncaptives had no idea of endeavouring to escape, they offered no\nobjection to the arrangement which, indeed, seemed so good to them\nthat, as the other mothers became fatigued, they placed the\nchildren on the shoulders of the male prisoners; loosing the hands\nof the latter, in order that they might prevent the little ones\nfrom losing their balance.\n\nThe caravan halted for the night at Sichem, and the next day\ncrossed Mount Gerizim to Bethsalisa, and then went on to Jaffa.\nHere the slave dealers hired a ship, and embarked the slaves. They\nwere crowded closely together, but otherwise were not unkindly\ntreated, being supplied with an abundance of food and water--for it\nwas desirable that they should arrive in the best possible\ncondition at Alexandria, whither they were bound.\n\nFortunately the weather was fine and, in six days, they reached\ntheir destination. Alexandria was at that time the largest city,\nnext to Rome herself, upon the shores of the Mediterranean. It had\ncontained a very large Jewish population prior to the great\nmassacre, five years before and, even now, there were a\nconsiderable number remaining. The merchant had counted upon this\nand, indeed, had it not been for the number of Jews scattered among\nthe various cities of the East, the price of slaves would have\nfallen even lower than it did. But the Jewish residents, so far as\nthey could afford it, came forward to buy their country men and\nwomen, in order to free them from slavery.\n\nWhen, therefore, the new arrivals were exposed in the market, many\nassuring messages reached them from their compatriots; telling them\nto keep up their courage, for friends would look after them. The\nfeeling against the Jews was still too strong for those who\nremained in Alexandria to appear openly in the matter, and they\ntherefore employed intermediaries, principally Greeks and Cretans,\nto buy up the captives. The women with children were the first\npurchased, as the value of these was not great. Then some of the\nolder men, who were unfit for much work, were taken. Then there was\na pause, for already many cargoes of captives had reached\nAlexandria, and the resources of their benevolent countrymen were\nbecoming exhausted.\n\nNo one had yet bid for John or Jonas, as the slave dealers had\nplaced a high price upon them as being strong and active, and\nfitted for hard work. Their great fear was that they should be\nseparated; and John had, over and over again, assured his companion\nthat should he, as he hoped, succeed in getting himself sent to\nTitus, and so be freed, he would, before proceeding home, come to\nEgypt and purchase his friend's freedom.\n\nThe event they feared, however, did not happen. One day a Roman,\nevidently of high rank, came into the market and, after looking\ncarelessly round, fixed his eyes upon John and his companion, and\nat once approached their master. A few minutes were spent in\nbargaining; then the dealer unfastened the fetters which bound\nthem, and the Roman briefly bade them follow him.\n\nHe proceeded through the crowded streets, until they were in the\ncountry outside the town. Here, villas with beautiful gardens lined\nthe roads. The Roman turned in at the entrance to one of the\nlargest of these mansions. Under a colonnade, which surrounded the\nhouse, a lady was reclining upon a couch. Her two slave girls were\nfanning her.\n\nIllustration: 'Lesbia,' the Roman said, 'I have brought you two\nmore slaves.'\n\n\"Lesbia,\" the Roman said, \"you complained, yesterday, that you had\nnot enough slaves to keep the garden in proper order, so I have\nbought you two more from the slave market. They are Jews, that\nobstinate race that have been giving Titus so much trouble. Young\nas they are, they seem to have been fighting, for both of them are\nmarked with several scars.\"\n\n\"I dare say they will do,\" the lady said. \"The Jews are said to\nunderstand the culture of the vine and fig better than other\npeople, so they are probably accustomed to garden work.\"\n\nThe Roman clapped his hands, and a slave at once appeared.\n\n\"Send Philo here.\"\n\nA minute later a Greek appeared.\n\n\"Philo, here are two slaves I have brought from the market. They\nare for work in the garden. See that they do it, and let me know\nhow things go on. We shall know how to treat them, if they are\ntroublesome.\"\n\nPhilo at once led the two new slaves to the shed, at a short\ndistance from the house, where the slaves employed out of doors\nlodged.\n\n\"Do you speak Greek?\" he asked.\n\n\"As well as my native language,\" John replied.\n\n\"My lord Tibellus is a just and good master,\" Philo said, \"and you\nare fortunate in having fallen into his hands. He expects his\nslaves to work their best and, if they do so, he treats them well;\nbut disobedience and laziness he punishes, severely. He is an\nofficer of high rank in the government of the city. As you may not\nknow the country, I warn you against thinking of escape. The Lake\nof Mareotis well-nigh surrounds the back of the city and, beyond\nthe lake, the Roman authority extends for a vast distance, and none\nwould dare to conceal runaway slaves.\"\n\n\"We shall not attempt to escape,\" John said, quietly, \"and are well\ncontent that we have fallen in such good hands. I am accustomed to\nwork in a garden, but my companion has not had much experience at\nsuch work; therefore, I pray you be patient with him, at first.\"\n\nJohn had agreed with Jonas that, if they had the good fortune to be\nsold to a Roman, they would not, for a time, say anything about the\nring. It was better, they thought, to wait until Titus returned to\nRome--which he would be sure to do, after the complete conquest of\nJerusalem. Even were they sent to him there, while he was still\nfull of wrath and bitterness against the Jews--for the heavy loss\nthat they had inflicted upon his army, and for the obstinacy which\ncompelled him to destroy the city which he would fain have\npreserved, as a trophy of his victory--they might be less\nfavourably received than they would be after there had been some\ntime for the passions awakened by the strife to abate; especially\nafter the enjoyment of the triumph which was sure to be accorded to\nhim, on his return after his victory.\n\nThe next day the ring, the badge of slavery, was fastened round the\nnecks of the two new purchases. John had already hidden in the\nground the precious ring, as he rightly expected that he would have\nto work barefooted. They were at once set to work in the garden.\nJohn was surprised at the number and variety of the plants and\ntrees which filled it; and at the beauty and care with which it was\nlaid out, and tended. Had it not been for the thought of the grief\nthat they would be suffering, at home, he would--for a time--have\nworked contentedly. The labour was no harder than that on his\nfather's farm; and as he worked well and willingly Philo, who was\nat the head of the slaves employed in the garden--which was a very\nextensive one--did not treat him with harshness.\n\nJonas, although less skilful, also gave satisfaction; and two\nmonths passed without any unpleasant incident. The Roman slaves,\nsave in exceptional instances, were all well treated by their\nmasters, although these had power of life and death over them. They\nwere well fed and, generally, had some small money payment made\nthem. Sometimes, those who were clever at a handicraft were let out\nto other masters, receiving a portion of the wages they earned; so\nthat they were frequently able, in old age, to purchase their\nfreedom.\n\nThere were four other slaves who worked in the garden. Two of these\nwere Nubians, one a Parthian, the other a Spaniard. The last died,\nof homesickness and fever, after they had been there six weeks; and\nhis place was filled up by another Jew, from a cargo freshly\narrived.\n\nFrom him, John learned what had taken place after he had left\nJerusalem. The bands of Simon and John of Gischala were so much\nweakened, by death and desertion, and were so enfeebled by famine,\nthat they could not hope to withstand the regular approaches of the\nRoman arms, for any length of time. The two leaders therefore\ninvited Titus to a parley; and the latter, being desirous of\navoiding more bloodshed, of saving the Palace of Herod and the\nother great buildings in the upper city, and of returning to Rome\nat once, agreed to meet them. They took their places at opposite\nends of the bridge across the Tyropceon Valley.\n\nTitus spoke first, and expostulated with them on the obstinacy\nwhich had already led to the destruction of the Temple, and the\ngreater part of the city. He said that all the world, even to the\ndistant Britons, had done homage to the Romans, and that further\nresistance would only bring destruction upon them. Finally, he\noffered their lives to all, if they would lay down their arms and\nsurrender themselves as prisoners of war.\n\nSimon and John replied that they and their followers had bound\nthemselves, by a solemn oath, never to surrender themselves into\nthe hands of the Romans; but they expressed their willingness to\nretire, with their wives and families, into the wilderness, and\nleave the Romans in possession of the city. Titus considered this\nlanguage, for men in so desperate a position, to be a mockery; and\nanswered sternly that, henceforth, he would receive no deserters,\nand show no mercy, and that they might fight their hardest. He at\nonce ordered the destruction of all the buildings standing round\nthe Temple.\n\nThe flames spread as far as the Palace of Helena, on Ophel, to the\nsouth of the Temple platform. Here the members of the royal family\nof Adiabene dwelt, and also in the Palaces of Grapte and Monobazus;\nand the descendants of Helena now went over to the Romans, and\nTitus, although he had declared that he would in future spare none,\ndid not take their lives, seeing that they were of royal blood.\n\nSimon and John of Gischala, when they heard that the Adiabene\nprinces had gone over to the Romans, rushed to the Palace of\nHelena, sacked it, and murdered all who had taken refuge in the\nbuilding--seven thousand in number. They then sacked the rest of\nthe outer lower town, and retired with their booty into the high\ntown.\n\nTitus, furious at this conduct, ordered all the outer lower town to\nbe burned; and soon, from the Temple platform to the Fountain of\nSiloam, a scene of desolation extended. The Roman soldiers then\ncommenced to throw up banks, the one against Herod's Palace, the\nother near the bridge across the valley close to the Palace of\nAgrippa.\n\nThe Idumeans, under Simon, were opposed to further resistance, and\nfive of their leaders opened communication with Titus, who was\ndisposed to treat with them; but the conspiracy was discovered by\nSimon, and the five leaders executed. Still, in spite of the\nwatchfulness of Simon and John, large numbers of the inhabitants\nmade their escape to the Romans who, tired of slaying, spared their\nlives, but sold the able-bodied as slaves, and allowed the rest to\npass through their lines.\n\nOn the 1st of September, after eighteen days' incessant labour, the\nbank on the west against Herod's Palace was completed, and the\nbattering rams commenced their work. The defenders were too\nenfeebled, by famine, to offer any serious resistance and, the next\nday, a long line of the wall fell to the ground.\n\nSimon and John at first thought of cutting their way through the\nRoman ranks but, when they saw how small was the body of followers\ngathered round them, they gave up the attempt. They hesitated, for\na moment, whether they should throw themselves into the three great\ntowers, and fight to the last; or endeavour to fight their way\nthrough the wall of circumvallation.\n\nThey chose the latter course, hurried down to the lower end of the\nupper city and, sallying out from the gate, they rushed at the\nRoman wall; but they had no engines of war to batter it, they were\nfew in number and weakened by famine; and when they tried to scale\nthe wall the Roman guards, assembling in haste, beat them back; and\nthey returned into the city and, scattering, hid themselves in the\nunderground caves.\n\nThe Romans advanced to the great towers, and found them deserted.\nTitus stood amazed at their strength and solidity; and exclaimed\nthat God, indeed, was on their side for that by man, alone, these\nimpregnable towers could never have been taken.\n\nAll resistance having now ceased, the Romans spread themselves\nthrough the city, slaughtering all whom they met, without\ndistinction of age or sex. They were, however, aghast at the\nspectacle which the houses into which they burst presented. Some of\nthese had been used as charnel houses, and had been filled with\ndead bodies. In others were found the remains of whole families\nwho, with their servants, had shut themselves up to die of hunger.\nEverywhere the dead far outnumbered the living.\n\nThe next day, Titus issued an order that only such as possessed\narms should be slain, and that all others should be taken\nprisoners; but the Roman soldiers were too infuriated at the losses\nand defeats they had suffered even to obey the orders of Titus, and\nall save the able-bodied, who would be of value as slaves, were\nslaughtered. A vast number of those fit for slaves were confined in\nthe charred remains of the Women's Court and, so weakened were\nthese, by the ravages of famine, that eleven thousand of them are\nsaid to have perished. Of the survivors, some were selected to\ngrace the triumphal procession at Rome. Of the remainder, all under\nthe age of seventeen were sold as slaves. A part of those above\nthat age were distributed, among the amphitheatres of Syria, to\nfight as gladiators against the wild beasts; and the rest were\ncondemned to labour in the public works, in Egypt, for the rest of\ntheir lives.\n\nWhen all above the surface had been slain, or made prisoners, the\nRomans set to work methodically to search the conduits, sewers, and\npassages under the city. Multitudes of fugitives were found here,\nand all were slain as soon as discovered. Then the army was set to\nwork, to raze the city to the ground. Every building and wall were\nthrown down, the only exception being a great barrack adjoining\nHerod's Palace--which was left for the use of one of the legions,\nwhich was to be quartered there for a time--and the three great\ntowers--Hippicus, Phasaelus, and Mariamne--which were left\nstanding, in order that they might show to future generations how\nvast had been the strength of the fortifications which Roman valour\nhad captured.\n\nJohn of Gischala and Simon had both so effectually concealed\nthemselves that for a time, they escaped the Roman searchers. At\nthe end of some days, however, John was compelled by famine to come\nout, and surrender. Simon was much longer, before he made his\nappearance. He had taken with him into his hiding place a few of\nhis followers, and some stone masons with their tools, and an\neffort was made to drive a mine beyond the Roman outposts. The rock\nhowever was hard, and the men enfeebled by famine; and the\nconsequence was that Simon, like his fellow leader, was compelled\nto make his way to the surface.\n\nThe spot where he appeared was on the platform of the Temple, far\nfrom the shaft by which he had entered the underground galleries.\nHe appeared at night, clad in white, and the Roman guards at first\ntook him for a spectre; and he thus escaped instant death, and had\ntime to declare who he was. Titus had already left; but Terentius\nRufus--who commanded the Tenth Legion, which had been left\nbehind--sent Simon in chains to Titus, at Caesarea; and he, as well\nas John of Gischala, were taken by the latter to Rome, to grace his\ntriumph.\n\n\"It is strange,\" John said, when he heard the story, \"that the two\nmen who have brought all these woes upon Jerusalem should have both\nescaped with their lives. The innocent have fallen, and the guilty\nescaped--yet not escaped, for it would have been better for them to\nhave died fighting, in the court of the Temple, than to live as\nslaves in the hands of the Romans.\"\n\nA month later, John learned the fate that had befallen the two\nJewish leaders. Both were dragged in the triumphal procession of\nTitus through the streets of Rome; then, according to the cruel\nRoman custom, Simon was first scourged and then executed, as the\nbravest of the enemies of Rome, while John of Gischala was\nsentenced to imprisonment for life.\n\nThe day after the news of the return to Rome and triumph of Titus\narrived, John asked Philo to tell Tibellus that he prayed that he\nwould hear him, as he wished to speak to him on a subject connected\nwith Titus. Wondering what his Jewish slave could have to say about\nthe son of the emperor, Tibellus, upon hearing from Philo of the\nrequest, at once ordered John to be brought to him.\n\n\"Let me bring my companion, also, with me,\" John said to Philo. \"He\nis my adopted brother, and can bear evidence to the truth of my\nstatements.\"\n\nWhen they reached the colonnade Philo told them to stop there and,\na minute later, Tibellus came out.\n\n\"Philo tells me that you have something to say to me, concerning\nTitus.\"\n\n\"I have, my lord,\" John said, and he advanced and held out the\nring.\n\nThe Roman took it, and examined it.\n\n\"It is a signet ring of Titus!\" he said, in surprise. \"How came you\nby this? This is a grave matter, slave; and if you cannot account\nsatisfactorily as to how you came possessed of this signet, you had\nbetter have thrown yourself into the sea, or swallowed poison, than\nhave spoken of your possession of this signet.\"\n\n\"It was given to me by Titus, himself.\" John said.\n\nThe Roman made a gesture of anger.\n\n\"It is ill jesting with the name of Caesar,\" he said, sternly.\n\"This is Caesar's ring. Doubtless it was stolen from him. You may\nhave taken it from the robber by force, or fraud, or as a gift--I\nknow not which--but do not mock me with such a tale as that Caesar\ngave one of his signets to you, a Jew.\"\n\n\"It is as I said,\" John replied, calmly. \"Titus himself bestowed\nthat ring upon me; and said that, if I desired to come to him at\nany time, and showed it to a Roman, it would open all doors, and\nbring me to his presence.\"\n\n\"You do not speak as if you were mad,\" Tibellus said, \"and yet your\ntale is not credible.\n\n\"Are you weary of life, Jew? Do you long to die by torture? Philo\nhas spoken well to me of you and your young companion. You have\nlaboured well, and cheerfully, he tells me; and are skilled at your\nwork. Do you find your lot so hard that you would die to escape it,\nand so tell me this impossible story? For death, and a horrible\ndeath, will assuredly be your portion. If you persist in this tale\nand, showing me this ring, say: 'I demand that you send me and my\ncompanion to Titus,' I should be bound to do so; and then torture\nand death will be your portion, for mocking the name of Caesar.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" John said, calmly, \"I repeat that I mock not the name of\nCaesar, and that what I have told you is true. I am not weary of\nlife, or discontented with my station. I have been kindly treated\nby Philo, and work no harder than I should work at my father's\nfarm, in Galilee; but I naturally long to return home. I have\nabstained from showing you this ring before, because Titus had not\nas yet conquered Jerusalem; but now that I hear he has been\nreceived in triumph, in Rome, he would have time to give me an\naudience; and therefore I pray that I may be sent to him.\"\n\n\"But how is it possible that Titus could have given you this ring?\"\nTibellus asked, impressed by the calmness of John's manner, and yet\nstill unable to believe a statement which appeared to him\naltogether incredible.\n\n\"I will tell you, my lord, but I will tell you alone; for although\nTitus made no secret of it at the time, he might not care for the\nstory to be generally told.\"\n\nTibellus waved his hand to Philo, who at once withdrew.\n\n\"You have found it hard to believe what I have told you, my lord,\"\nJohn went on. \"You will find it harder, still, to believe what I\nnow tell you; but if it is your command, I am bound to do so.\"\n\n\"It is my command,\" Tibellus said, shortly. \"I would fain know the\nwhole of this monstrous tale.\"\n\n\"I must first tell you, my lord, that though as yet but twenty-one\nyears old, I have for four years fought with my countrymen against\nthe Romans.\n\n\"You see,\" he said, pointing to the scars on his head, arms, and\nbody, \"I have been wounded often and, as you may see for yourself,\nsome of these scars are yet unhealed. Others are so old that you\ncan scarce see their traces. This is a proof of so much, at least,\nof my story. My companion here and I were, by the protection of our\nGod, enabled to escape from Jotapata, when all else save Josephus\nperished there. This was regarded by my countrymen as well-nigh a\nmiracle, and as a proof that I had divine favour. In consequence a\nnumber of young men, when they took up arms, elected me as their\nleader and, for three years, we did what we could to oppose the\nprogress of the Roman arms. It was as if a fly should try to stop a\ncamel. Still, we did what we could, and any of the Roman officers\nwho served under Titus would tell you that, of those who opposed\nthem in the field, there was no more active partisan than the\nleader who was generally known as John of Gamala.\"\n\n\"You, John of Gamala!\" Tibellus exclaimed. \"In frequent letters\nfrom my friends with the army I have read that name, and heard how\nincessant was the watchfulness required to resist his attacks, and\nhow often small garrisons and parties were cut off by him. It was\nhe, too, who burned Vespasian's camp, before Gamala. And you tell\nme, young man, that you are that Jewish hero--for hero he was,\nthough it was against Rome he fought?\"\n\n\"I tell you so, my lord; and my adopted brother here, who was with\nme through these campaigns, will confirm what I say. I say it not\nboastingly, for my leadership was due to no special bravery on my\npart, but simply because the young men of the band thought that God\nhad specially chosen me to lead them.\"\n\n\"And now, about Titus,\" Tibellus said briefly, more and more\nconvinced that his slave was audaciously inventing this story.\n\n\"Once, near Hebron,\" John said, \"I was passing through a valley,\nalone; when Titus, who was riding from Carmelia in obedience to a\nsummons from Vespasian--who was at Hebron--came upon me. He\nattacked me, and we fought--\"\n\n\"You and Titus, hand to hand?\" Tibellus asked, with a short laugh.\n\n\"Titus and I, hand to hand,\" John repeated, quietly. \"He had\nwounded me twice, when I sprang within his guard and closed with\nhim. His foot slipped, and he fell. For a moment I could have slain\nhim, if I would, but I did not.\n\n\"Then I fainted from loss of blood. Titus was shortly joined by\nsome of his men, and he had me carried down to his camp; where I\nwas kindly nursed for a week, he himself visiting me several times.\nAt the end of that time he dismissed me, giving me his signet ring,\nand telling me that if ever again I fell into the hands of the\nRomans, and wished to see him, I had but to show the ring to a\nRoman, and that he would send me to him.\"\n\n\"And to him you shall go,\" Tibellus said, sternly; \"and better\nwould it have been that you had never been born, than that I should\nsend you to him with such a tale as this.\"\n\nSo saying, he turned away, while John and his companion returned to\ntheir work. The Roman officer was absolutely incredulous, as to the\nstory he had heard; and indignant in the extreme at what he\nconsidered the audacity of the falsehood. Still, he could not but\nbe struck by the calmness with which John told the story, nor could\nhe see what motive he could have in inventing it. Its falsity\nwould, of course, be made apparent the instant he arrived in Rome;\nwhereas had he said, as was doubtless the truth, that he had\nobtained the ring from one who had stolen it from Titus, he might\nhave obtained his freedom, and a reward for its restoration.\n\nAfter thinking the matter over for a time, he ordered his horse and\nrode into the city. One of the legions from Palestine had returned\nthere, while two had accompanied Titus to Rome, and a fourth had\nremained in Judea. Tibellus rode at once to the headquarters of the\ncommander of the legion. He had just returned, with some of his\nofficers, from a parade of the troops. They had taken off their\narmour, and a slave was pouring wine into goblets for them.\n\n\"Ah, Tibellus!\" he said, \"Is it you? Drink, my friend, and tell us\nwhat ails you, for in truth you look angered and hot.\"\n\n\"I have been angered, by one of my slaves,\" Tibellus said.\n\n\"Then there is no trouble in that,\" the Roman said, with a smile;\n\"throw him to the fishes, and buy another. They are cheap enough,\nfor we have flooded the world with slaves and, as we know to our\ncost, they are scarce saleable. We have brought two or three\nthousand with us, and can get no bid for them.\"\n\n\"Yes, but this matter can't be settled so,\" Tibellus said; \"but\nfirst, I want to ask you a question or two. You heard, of course,\nof John of Gamala, in your wars in Judea?\"\n\nThere was a chorus of assent.\n\n\"That did we, indeed, to our cost,\" the general said; \"save the two\nleaders in Jerusalem, he was the most dangerous; and was by far the\nmost troublesome of our foes. Many a score of sleepless nights has\nthat fellow caused us; from the time he well-nigh burnt all our\ncamp before Gamala, he was a thorn in our side. One never knew\nwhere he was, or when to expect him. One day we heard of him\nattacking a garrison at the other end of the country, and the next\nnight he would fall upon our camp. We never marched through a\nravine, without expecting to see him and his men appearing on the\nhills, and sending the rocks thundering down among us; and the\nworst of it was, do what we would, we could never get to close\nquarters with him. His men could march three miles to our one; and\nas for our Arabs, if we sent them in pursuit, they would soon come\nflying back to us, leaving a goodly portion of their numbers dead\nbehind them. He was the most formidable enemy we had, outside\nJerusalem; and had all the Jews fought as he did, instead of\nshutting themselves up in their walled towns, we might have been\nyears before we subdued that pestilent country.\"\n\n\"Did you ever see this John of Gamala? Do you know what he was\nlike, personally? Was he another giant, like this Simon who was\nexecuted at the triumph, the other day?\"\n\n\"None of us ever saw him--that is, to know which was he, though\ndoubtless we may have seen him, in the fights--but all the country\npeople we questioned, and such wounded men as fell into our\nhands--for we never once captured one of his band, unharmed--all\nasserted that he was little more than a lad. He was strong, and\nskilful in arms, but in years a youth. They all believed that he\nwas a sort of prophet, one who had a mission from their God.\n\n\"But why are you asking?\"\n\n\"I will tell you, presently,\" Tibellus said; \"but first answer me\nanother question. Was it not your legion that was at Carmelia, with\nTitus, when Vespasian lay at Hebron?\"\n\nThere was a general assent.\n\n\"Did you ever hear of a wounded Jew being brought in, and tended\nthere by order of Titus?\"\n\n\"We did,\" the general said; \"and here is Plancus, who was in\ncommand of that part of the horse of the legion which formed the\nbodyguard of Titus, and who brought him into the camp. He will tell\nyou about it.\"\n\n\"Titus had received a message from Vespasian that he wished to see\nhim,\" the officer signified by the general said, \"and rode off at\nonce, telling us to follow him. We armed and mounted, as soon as we\ncould; but Titus was well mounted, and had a considerable start. We\ncame up to him in a valley. He was standing by the side of his dead\nhorse. He was slightly wounded, and his dirtied armour showed that\nhe had had a sharp fight. Close by lay a Jew, who seemed to be\ndead. Titus ordered him to be carried back to the camp, and cared\nfor by his own leech. That is all I know about it.\"\n\n\"I can tell you more,\" the general said, \"for Titus himself told me\nthat he had had a desperate fight with the Jew; that he had wounded\nhim severely, and was on the point of finishing him, when the Jew\nsprang at him suddenly and the sudden shock threw him to the\nground; and that, strange as it might seem, although knowing who he\nwas, the Jew spared his life. It was a strange story, and anyone\nbesides Titus would have kept it to himself; and run his sword\nthrough the body of the Jew, to make sure of his silence; but Titus\nhas notions of his own, and he is as generous as he is brave. By\nwhat he said, I gathered that the Jew abstained from striking,\nbelieving--as was truly the case--that Titus was more merciful than\nVespasian, and that he would spare Jerusalem and their Temple, if\nhe could.\n\n\"And now, why all these questions?\"\n\n\"One more on my part first: what became of the Jew, and what was he\nlike?\"\n\n\"That is two questions,\" the general replied; \"however, I will\nanswer them. Titus let him go free, when he was recovered from his\nwounds. He was a young man, of some twenty years old.\"\n\n\"And do you know his name?\"\n\n\"I know his name was John, for so he told Titus; but as every other\nJew one comes across is John, that does not tell much.\"\n\n\"I can tell you his other name,\" Tibellus said. \"It was John of\nGamala.\"\n\nAn exclamation of astonishment broke from the officers.\n\n\"So that was John of Gamala, himself!\" the general said. \"None of\nus ever dreamt of it; and yet it might well have been for, now I\nthink of it, the young fellow I saw lying wounded in the tent next\nto that of Titus answered, exactly, to the description we have\nheard of him; and the fact that he overcame Titus, in itself, shows\nthat he had unusual strength and bravery.\n\n\"But how do you know about this?\"\n\n\"Simply because John of Gamala is, at present, working as a slave\nin my garden.\"\n\n\"You do not say so!\" the general exclaimed. \"We have often wondered\nwhat became of him. We learned, from the deserters, that he had\nentered into Jerusalem, and was fighting there against us. They all\nagreed that the men he had brought with him took no part in the\natrocities of the soldiers of Simon, and John of Gischala; but that\nthey kept together, and lived quietly, and harmed no man. It was\nthey, we heard, who did the chief part in the three days' fighting\nat the breach of the lower town; but we never heard what became of\nhim, and supposed that he must have fallen in the fighting round\nthe Temple.\n\n\"And so, he is your slave, Tibellus! How did you know it was he,\nand what are you going to do? The war is over, now, and there has\nbeen bloodshed enough and, after all, he was a gallant enemy, who\nfought us fairly and well.\"\n\n\"He told me, himself, who he was,\" Tibellus said; \"but I believed that\nhe was lying to me. I had heard often of John of Gamala, and deemed\nthat he was a brave and skilful warrior; and it seemed impossible that\nyoung man could be he. As to what I am going to do with him, I have\nnothing to do but what he has himself demanded--namely, to be sent to\nTitus. He produced the signet ring of Caesar; said that it was given\nto him by the general, himself; and that he told him that, if he\npresented it to a Roman at any time, he would lead him to his presence.\nI believed that he had stolen the ring, or had got it from somebody\nthat had stolen it; and he then told me of the story, very much as you\nhave told it--save that he said that, when he was well-nigh conquered by\nTitus, and sprang upon him, Caesar's foot slipped, and he fell--hinting\nthat his success was the result of accident, rather than his own effort.\nHe spoke by no means boastingly of it, but as if it was the most natural\nthing in the world.\"\n\n\"There he showed discretion, and wisdom,\" the general said; \"but\ntruly this is a marvellous story. If he had not appealed to Caesar,\nI should have said, 'Give him his freedom.' You can buy a new slave\nfor a few sesterces. This young fellow is too good to be a slave\nand, now that Judea is finally crushed, he could never become\ndangerous; but as he has demanded to be sent to Caesar, you must,\nof course, send him there. Besides, with the ideas that Titus has,\nhe may be really glad to see the youth again.\n\n\"But we shall like to see him, also. We all honour a brave\nadversary, and I should like to see him who so long set us at\ndefiance.\"\n\n\"I will bring him down, tomorrow, at this hour,\" Tibellus said; and\nthen, taking leave of the officers, he mounted and rode back.\n\nOn reaching home, he at once sent for John.\n\n\"I doubted your story, when you told it to me,\" he said, \"and\ndeemed it impossible; but I have been down to the officers of the\nlegion which arrived, last week, from Judea. It chances to be the\nvery one which was at Carmelia, when Vespasian lay at Hebron; and I\nfind that your story is fully confirmed--although, indeed, they did\nnot know that the wounded man Titus sent in was John of Gamala--but\nas they admit that he answered, exactly, to the description which\nthey have heard of that leader, they doubt not that it was he.\n\n\"However, be assured that your request is granted, and that you\nshall be sent to Rome by the next ship that goes thither.\"\n\n\n\nChapter 19: At Rome.\n\n\nTibellus at once ordered John to be released from all further work,\nthe badge of slavery to be removed, and that he should be supplied\nwith handsome garments, removed into the house, and assigned an\napartment with the freedmen. The bearer of the signet of Titus--now\nthat it was ascertained that the signet had been really given to\nhim by Caesar--was an important person, and was to be received with\nconsideration, if not honour. When these changes had been made,\nJohn was again brought before Tibellus.\n\n\"Is there anything else that I can do for your comfort, as one who\nhas been honoured by Titus, himself, our future emperor? You have\nbut to express your wishes, and I shall be glad to carry them out.\"\n\n\"I would ask, then,\" John said, \"that my friend and companion may\nbe set free, and allowed to accompany me to Rome. He is my adopted\nbrother. He has fought and slept by my side, for the last four\nyears; and your bounty to me gives me no pleasure, so long as he is\nlabouring as a slave.\"\n\nTibellus at once sent for Philo, and ordered the collar to be filed\nfrom the neck of Jonas, and for him to be treated in the same\nmanner as John.\n\nThe next day Tibellus invited John to accompany him to the barracks\nand, as he would take no excuses, he was obliged to do so.\n\nTibellus presented him to the general and his officers, who\nreceived him very cordially; and were much struck with his quiet\ndemeanour, and the nobility of his bearing. John had, for four\nyears, been accustomed to command; and the belief, entertained by\nhis followers, in his special mission had had its effect upon his\nmanner. Although simple and unassuming in mind; and always ready,\non his return to the farm, to become again the simple worker upon\nhis father's farm; he had yet, insensibly, acquired the bearing of\none born to position and authority.\n\nHe was much above the ordinary height; and although his figure was\nslight, it showed signs, which could well be appreciated by the\nRomans, of great activity and unusual strength. His face was\nhandsome, his forehead lofty, his eyes large and soft; and in the\nextreme firmness of his mouth and his square chin and jaw were\nthere, alone, signs of the determination and steadfastness which\nhad made him so formidable a foe to the Romans.\n\n\"So you are John of Gamala!\" the general said. \"We have, doubtless,\nnearly crossed swords, more than once. You have caused us many a\nsleepless night, and it seemed to us that you and your bands were\nubiquitous. I am glad to meet you, as are we all. A Roman cherishes\nno malice against an honourable foe, and such we always found you;\nand I trust you have no malice for the past.\"\n\n\"None,\" John said. \"I regard you as the instruments of God for the\npunishment of my people. We brought our misfortunes upon ourselves,\nby the rebellion--which would have seemed madness had it not,\ndoubtless, been the will of God that we should so provoke you, and\nperish. All I ask, now, is to return to my father's farm; and to\nresume my life there. If I could do that, without going to Rome, I\nwould gladly do so.\"\n\n\"That can hardly be,\" Tibellus said. \"The rule is that when one\nappeals to Caesar, to Caesar he must go. The case is at once taken\nout of our hands. Besides, I should have to report the fact to\nRome, and Titus may wish to see you, and might be ill pleased at\nhearing that you had returned to Galilee without going to see him.\nBesides, it may be some time before all animosity between the two\npeoples dies out there; and you might obtain from him an imperial\norder, which would prove a protection to yourself, and family,\nagainst any who might desire to molest you. If for this reason,\nalone, it would be well worth your while for you to proceed to\nRome.\"\n\nThree days later, Tibellus told John that a ship would sail, next\nmorning; and that a centurion, in charge of some invalided\nsoldiers, would go in her.\n\n\"I have arranged for you to go in his charge, and have instructed\nhim to accompany you to the palace of Titus, and facilitate your\nhaving an interview with him. I have given him a letter to present\nto Titus, with greetings, saying why I have sent you to him.\n\n\"Here is a purse of money, to pay for what you may require on the\nvoyage; and to keep you, if need be, at Rome until you can see\nTitus, who may possibly be absent.\n\n\"You owe me no thanks,\" he said, as John was about to speak. \"Titus\nwould be justly offended, were the bearer of his signet ring sent\nto him without due care and honour.\"\n\nThat evening Tibellus gave a banquet, at which the general and\nseveral officers were present. The total number present was nine,\nincluding John and the host--this being the favourite number for\nwhat they regarded as small, private entertainments. At large\nbanquets, hundreds of persons were frequently entertained. After\nthe meal John, at the request of Tibellus, related to the officers\nthe manner of his escapes from Jotapata and Jerusalem, and several\nof the incidents of the struggle in which he had taken part.\n\nThe next morning, he and Jonas took their places on board the ship,\nand sailed for Rome. It was now far in November, and the passage\nwas a boisterous one; and the size of the waves astonished John,\naccustomed, as he was, only to the short choppy seas of the Lake of\nGalilee. Jonas made up his mind that they were lost and, indeed,\nfor some days the vessel was in imminent danger. Instead of passing\nthrough the straits between Sicily and the mainland of Italy, they\nwere blown far to the west; and finally took shelter in the harbour\nof Caralis, in Sardinia. Here they remained for a week, to refit\nand repair damages, and then sailed across to Portus Augusti, and\nthen up the Tiber.\n\nThe centurion had done his best to make the voyage a pleasant one,\nto John and his companion. Having been informed that the former was\nthe bearer of a signet ring of Titus, and would have an audience\nwith him, he was anxious to create as good an impression as\npossible; but it was not until Caralis was reached that John\nrecovered sufficiently from seasickness to take much interest in\nwhat was passing round him. The travellers were greatly struck with\nthe quantity of shipping entering and leaving the mouth of the\nTiber; the sea being dotted with the sails of the vessels bearing\ncorn from Sardinia, Sicily, and Africa; and products of all kinds,\nfrom every port in the world.\n\nThe sight of Rome impressed him less than he had expected. Of its\nvastness he could form no opinion; but in strength, and beauty, it\nappeared to him inferior to Jerusalem. When he landed, he saw how\nmany were the stately palaces and temples; but of the former none\nwere more magnificent than that of Herod. Nor was there one of the\ntemples to be compared, for a moment, with that which had so lately\nstood, the wonder and admiration of the world, upon Mount Moriah.\n\nThe centurion procured a commodious lodging for him and, finding\nthat Titus was still in Rome, accompanied him the next day to the\npalace. Upon saying that he was the bearer of a letter to Titus,\nthe centurion was shown into the inner apartments; John being left\nin the great antechamber, which was crowded with officers waiting\nto see Titus, when he came out--to receive orders, pay their\nrespects, or present petitions to him.\n\nThe centurion soon returned, and told John to follow him.\n\n\"Titus was very pleased,\" he whispered, \"when he read the letter I\nbrought him; and begged me bring you, at once, to his presence.\"\n\nTitus was alone in a small chamber, whose simplicity contrasted\nstrangely with the magnificence of those through which he had\npassed. He rose from a table at which he had been writing.\n\n\"Ah, my good friend,\" he said, \"I am truly glad to see you! I made\nsure that you were dead. You were not among those who came out, and\ngave themselves up, or among those who were captured when the city\nwas taken; for I had careful inquiry made, thinking it possible\nthat you might have lost my ring, and been unable to obtain access\nto me; then, at last, I made sure that you had fallen. I am truly\nglad to see that it is not so.\"\n\n\"I was marvellously preserved, then, as at Jotapata,\" John said;\n\"and escaped, after the Temple had fallen, by a secret passage\nleading out beyond the wall of circumvallation. As I made my way\nhome, I fell into the hands of some slave dealers, who seized me\nand my companion--who is my adopted brother--and carried us away to\nAlexandria, where I was sold. As you had not yet returned to Rome,\nI thought it better not to produce your signet, which I had\nfortunately managed to conceal.\n\n\"When I heard that you had reached Rome, and had received your\ntriumph, I produced the ring to my master Tibellus; and prayed him\nto send me and my companion here to you, in order that I might ask\nfor liberty, and leave to return to my home. He treated me with the\ngreatest kindness and, but that I had appealed to you, would of\nhimself have set us free. It is for this, alone, that I have come\nhere; to ask you to confirm the freedom he has given me, and to\npermit me to return to Galilee. Further, if you will give me your\norder that I and mine may live peacefully, without molestation from\nany, it would add to your favours.\"\n\n\"I will do these, certainly,\" Titus said, \"and far more, if you\nwill let me. I shall never forget that you saved my life; and\nbelieve me, I did my best to save the Temple, which was what I\npromised you. I did not say that I would save it, merely that I\nwould do my best; but your obstinate countrymen insisted in\nbringing destruction upon it.\"\n\n\"I know that you did all that was possible,\" John said, \"and that\nthe blame lies with them, and not with you, in any way. However, it\nwas the will of God that it should be destroyed; and they were the\ninstruments of his will, while they thought they were trying to\npreserve it.\"\n\n\"But now,\" Titus said, \"you must let me do more for you. Have you\nambition? I will push you forward to high position, and dignity. Do\nyou care for wealth? I have the treasures of Rome in my gift. Would\nyou serve in the army? Many of the Alexandrian Jews had high rank\nin the army of Anthony. Two of Cleopatra's best generals were your\ncountrymen. I know your bravery, and your military talents, and\nwill gladly push you forward.\"\n\n\"I thank you, Caesar, for your offers,\" John said, \"which far\nexceed my deserts; but I would rather pass my life as a tiller of\nthe soil, in Galilee. The very name of a Jew, at present, is\nhateful in the ear of a Roman. All men who succeed by the favour of\na great prince are hated. I should be still more so, as a Jew. I\nshould be hated by my own countrymen, as well as yours, for they\nwould regard me as a traitor. There would be no happiness in such a\nlife. A thousand times better a home by the Lake of Galilee, with a\nwife and children.\"\n\n\"If such be your determination, I will say nought against it,\"\nTitus said; \"but remember, if at any time you tire of such a life,\ncome to me and I will give you a post of high honour and dignity.\nThere are glorious opportunities for talent and uprightness in our\ndistant dependencies--east and west--where there will be no\nprejudices against the name of a Jew.\n\n\"However, for the present let that be. Tomorrow I will have\nprepared for you an imperial order--to all Roman officers, civil\nand military, of Galilee and Judea--to treat you as the friend of\nTitus; also the appointment as procurator of the district lying\nnorth of the river Hieromax, up to the boundary of Chorazin, for a\ndistance of ten miles back from the lake. You will not refuse that\noffice, for it will enable you to protect your country people from\noppression, and to bring prosperity upon the whole district.\n\n\"Lastly, you will receive with the documents a sum of money. I know\nthat you will not use it on yourself, but it will be long before\nthe land recovers from its wounds. There will be terrible misery\nand distress; and I should like to think that in the district, at\nleast, of my friend, there are peace and contentment. Less than\nthis Caesar cannot give to the man who spared his life.\"\n\nJohn thanked Titus, most heartily, for his favours; which would, he\nsaw, ensure his family and neighbours from the oppression and\ntyranny to which a conquered people are exposed, at the hands of a\nrough soldiery. Titus ordered an apartment to be prepared for him,\nin the palace; and begged him to take up his abode there, until a\nvessel should be sailing for Casarea. Slaves were told off to\nattend upon him, and to escort him in the city; and everything was\ndone to show the esteem and friendship in which Titus held him.\nTitus had several interviews with him; and learned now, for the\nfirst time, that he was the John of Gamala who had so long and\nstoutly opposed the Romans.\n\n\"If I had known that,\" Titus said, with a smile, \"when you were in\nmy hands, I do not think I should have let you go free; though your\ncaptivity would have been an honourable one. When you said that you\nwould not promise to desist from opposing our arms, I thought that\none man, more or less, in the ranks of the enemy would make little\ndifference; but had I known that it was the redoubtable John of\nGamala who was in my hands, I should hardly have thought myself\njustified in letting you go free.\"\n\nJohn, at the request of Titus, gave him a sketch of the incidents\nof his life, and of the campaign.\n\n\"So you have already a lady love,\" Titus said, when he had\nfinished. \"What shall I send her?\n\n\"Better nothing, at present,\" he said, after a moment's thought and\na smile, \"beyond yourself. That will be the best and most\nacceptable gift I could send her. Time, and your good report, may\nsoften the feelings with which doubtless she, like all the rest of\nyour countrywomen, must regard me; though the gods know I would\ngladly have spared Galilee, and Judea, from the ruin which has\nfallen upon them.\"\n\nIn addition to the two documents which he had promised him, Titus\nthoughtfully gave him another, intended for the perusal of his own\ncountrymen only. It was in the form of a letter, saying to John\nthat he had appointed him procurator of the strip of territory\nbordering the Lake of Galilee on the east, not from any submission\non his part, still less at his request; but solely as a proof of\nhis admiration for the stubborn and determined manner in which he\nhad fought throughout the war, the absence of any cruelty practised\nupon Romans who fell into his hands, of his esteem for his\ncharacter, and as a remembrance of the occasion when they two had\nfought, hand to hand, alone in the valley going down from Hebron.\n\nThe gold was sent directly on board a ship. It was in a box, which\nrequired four strong men to lift. A centurion, with twenty men, was\nput on board the ship; with orders to land with John at Casarea,\nand to escort him to his own home, or as near as he might choose to\ntake them. Titus took a cordial leave of him, and expressed a hope\nthat John would, some day, change his mind and accept his offer of\na post; and that, at any rate, he hoped that he would, from time to\ntime, come to Rome to see him.\n\nThe voyage to Caesarea was performed without accident.\n\n\"I shall look back at our visit to Rome as a dream,\" Jonas said,\none evening, as they sat together on the deck of the ship. \"To\nthink that I, the goatherd of Jotapata, should have been living in\nthe palace of Caesar, at Rome; with you, the friend of Titus,\nhimself! It seems marvellous; but I am weary of the crowded\nstreets, of the noise, and bustle, and wealth and colour. I long to\nget rid of this dress, in which I feel as if I were acting a part\nin a play.\n\n\"Do not you, John?\"\n\n\"I do, indeed,\" John replied. \"I should never accustom myself to\nsuch a life as that. I am longing for a sight of the lake, and my\ndear home; and of those I love, who must be mourning for me, as\ndead.\"\n\nAt Caesarea, a vehicle was procured for the carriage of the chest,\nand the party then journeyed until they were within sight of\nTarichea. John then dismissed his escort, with thanks for their\nattention during the journey, and begged them to go on to the city\nby themselves. When they were out of sight, he and Jonas took off\ntheir Roman garments, and put on others they had purchased at\nCaesarea, similar to those they were accustomed to wear at home.\nThen they proceeded, with the cart and its driver, into Tarichea;\nand hired a boat to take them up the lake. The boatmen were\nastonished at the weight of John's chest, and thought that it must\ncontain lead, for making into missiles for slingers.\n\nIt was evening when the boat approached the well-known spot, and\nJohn and his companion sprang out on the beach.\n\n\"What shall we do with the chest?\" one of the boatmen asked.\n\n\"We will carry it to that clump of bushes, and pitch it in among\nthem, until we want it. None will run off with it, and they\ncertainly would not find it easy to break it open.\"\n\nThis reply confirmed the men in their idea that it could contain\nnothing of value and, after helping John and Jonas to carry the\nchest to the point indicated, they returned to their boat and rowed\naway down the lake.\n\n\"Now, Jonas, we must be careful,\" John said, \"how we approach the\nhouse. It would give them a terrible shock, if I came upon them\nsuddenly. I think you had better go up alone, and see Isaac, and\nbring him to me; then we can talk over the best way of breaking it\nto the others.\"\n\nIt was nearly an hour before Jonas brought Isaac down to the spot\nwhere John was standing, a hundred yards away from the house; for\nhe had to wait some time before he could find an opportunity of\nspeaking to him. Jonas had but just broken the news, that John was\nat hand, when they reached the spot where he was standing.\n\n\"Is it indeed you, my dear young master?\" the old man said, falling\non John's neck. \"This is unlooked-for joy, indeed. The Lord be\npraised for his mercies! What will your parents say, they who have\nwept for you for months, as dead?\"\n\n\"They are well, I hope, Isaac?\"\n\n\"They are shaken, greatly shaken,\" old Isaac said. \"The tempest has\npassed over them; the destruction of Jerusalem, the woes of our\npeople, and your loss have smitten them to the ground but, now that\nyou have returned, it will give them new life.\"\n\n\"And Mary, she is well, I hope, too?\" John asked.\n\n\"The maiden is not ill, though I cannot say that she is well,\"\nIsaac said. \"Long after your father and mother, and all of us, had\ngiven up hope, she refused to believe that you were dead; even when\nthe others put on mourning, she would not do so--but of late I know\nthat, though she has never said so, hope has died in her, too. Her\ncheeks have grown pale, and her eyes heavy; but she still keeps up,\nfor the sake of your parents; and we often look, and wonder how she\ncan bear herself so bravely.\"\n\n\"And how are we to break it to the old people?\" John asked.\n\nIsaac shook his head. The matter was beyond him.\n\n\"I should think,\" Jonas suggested, \"that Isaac should go back, and\nbreak it to them, first, that I have returned; that I have been a\nslave among the Romans, and have escaped from them. He might say\nthat he has questioned me, and that I said that you certainly did\nnot fall at the siege of Jerusalem; and that I believe that you,\nlike me, were sold as a slave by the Romans.\n\n\"Then you can take me in, and let them question me. I will stick to\nthat story, for a time, raising some hopes in their breasts; till\nat last I can signify to Mary that you are alive, and leave it to\nher to break it to the others.\"\n\n\"That will be the best way, by far,\" John said. \"Yes, that will do\nexcellently well.\n\n\"Now, Isaac, do you go on, and do your part. Tell them gently that\nJonas has returned, that he has been a slave, and escaped from the\nRomans; and that, as far as he knows, I am yet alive. Then, when\nthey are prepared, bring him in, and let him answer their\nquestions.\"\n\nThe evening meal had been ended before Isaac had left the room to\nfeed, with some warm milk, a kid whose dam had died. It was while\nhe was engaged upon this duty that Jonas had come upon him. When he\nentered the room Simon was sitting, with the open Bible before him,\nat the head of the table; waiting his return to commence the\nevening prayers.\n\n\"What has detained you, Isaac?\" he asked. \"Surely it is not after\nall these years you would forget our evening prayers?\"\n\n\"I was detained,\" the old man said, unsteadily and, at the sound of\nhis voice, and the sight of his face, as it came within the circle\nof the light from the lamp, Mary rose suddenly to her feet, and\nstood looking at him.\n\n\"What is it?\" she asked, in a low voice.\n\n\"Why,\" Simon asked calmly, \"what has detained you, Isaac?\"\n\n\"A strange thing has happened,\" the old man said. \"One of our\nwanderers has returned--not he whom we have hoped and prayed for\nmost--but Jonas. He has been a slave, but has escaped, and come\nback to us.\"\n\n\"And what is his news?\" Simon asked, rising to his feet; but even\nmore imperative was the unspoken question on Mary's white face, and\nparted lips.\n\n\"He gives us hope,\" Isaac said to her. \"So far as he knows, John\nmay yet be alive.\"\n\n\"I knew it, I knew it!\" Mary said, in a voice scarcely above a\nwhisper.\n\n\"O Lord, I thank thee. Why have I doubted Thy mercy?\"\n\nAnd she stood, for a moment, with head thrown back and eyes\nupraised; then she swayed suddenly, and would have fallen, had not\nIsaac run forward and supported her until, at Martha's cry, two of\nthe maids hastened up and placed her on a seat.\n\nSome water was held to her lips. She drank a little, and then said,\nfaintly, \"Tell us more, Isaac.\"\n\n\"I have not much more to tell,\" he replied. \"Jonas says that John\ncertainly did not fall in Jerusalem--as, indeed, we were told by\nthe young man of his band who returned--and that he believes that,\nlike himself, he was sold as a slave.\n\n\"But Jonas is outside. I thought it better to tell you, first. Now,\nI will call him in to speak for himself.\"\n\nWhen Jonas entered, Martha and Mary were clasped in each other's\narms. Miriam, with the tears streaming down her cheeks, was\nrepeating aloud one of the Psalms of thanksgiving; while Simon\nstood with head bent low, and his hands grasping the table, upon\nwhich the tears were raining down in heavy drops.\n\nIt was some little time before they could question Jonas further.\nMartha and Mary had embraced him as if he had been the son of one,\nthe brother of the other. Simon solemnly blessed him, and welcomed\nhim as one from the dead. Then they gathered round to hear his\nstory.\n\n\"John and I both escaped all the dangers of the siege,\" he said.\n\"We were wounded several times, but never seriously. God seemed to\nwatch over us; and although at the last, of the six hundred men\nwith which we entered Jerusalem there were but twelve who remained\nalive, we were among them.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, we knew that,\" Martha said. \"News was brought by a young\nman of his band, who belonged to a village on the lake, that twelve\nof you had escaped together on the day the Temple fell. The others\nall returned to their homes, but no news ever came of you; and they\nsaid that some party of Romans must have killed you--what else\ncould have befallen you? And now we are in February--nearly six\nmonths have passed--and no word of you!\"\n\n\"We were carried off as slaves,\" Jonas said, \"and taken, like\nJoseph, to be sold in Egypt.\"\n\n\"And have you seen him, since?\" Simon asked.\n\n\"Yes, I saw him in Egypt.\"\n\n\"And he was well then?\"\n\n\"Quite well,\" Jonas replied. \"I was sent to Rome, and thence\nmanaged to make my way back by ship.\"\n\n\"We must purchase him back,\" Simon said. \"Surely that must be\npossible! I have money, still. I will make the journey, myself, and\nbuy him.\"\n\nAnd he rose to his feet, as if to start at once.\n\n\"Well, not now,\" he went on, in answer to the hand which Martha\nlaid on his shoulder, \"but tomorrow.\"\n\nWhile he was speaking, Mary had touched Jonas, gazing into his face\nwith the same eager question her eyes had asked Isaac. The thought\nthat Jonas was not alone had flashed across her. He nodded\nslightly, and looked towards the door. In a moment she was gone.\n\n\"John!\" she cried, as she ran out of the house; at first in a low\ntone, but louder and louder as she ran on. \"John! John! Where are\nyou?\"\n\nA figure stepped out from among the trees, and Mary fell into his\narms. A few minutes later, she re-entered the room.\n\n\"Father,\" she said, going up to Simon, while she took Martha's hand\nin hers, \"do you remember you told me, once, that when you were a\nyoung man you went to hear the preaching of a teacher of the sect\nof the Essenes, whom they afterwards slew. You thought he was a\ngood man, and a great teacher; and you said he told a parable, and\nyou remembered the very words. I think I remember them, now:\n\n\"'And his father saw him, and ran and fell on his neck, and kissed\nhim, and said, \"Let us be merry, for this my son was dead, and is\nalive again; he was lost and is found.\"'\n\n\"And so, father, is it even unto us.\"\n\nIllustration: The Return of John to his House on the Lake.\n\nMartha gave a loud cry, and turned to the door and, in another\nmoment, was clasped in John's arms. Then his father fell on his\nneck.\n\nThere was no happier household in the land than that which joined\nin the Psalms of thanksgiving that night. The news spread quickly\nto the fishermen's cottages, and the neighbours flocked in to\ncongratulate Simon and Martha on the return of their son; and it\nwas long since the strains of the songs of joy had floated out so\nclear and strong over the water of Galilee for, for years, strains\nof lamentation and humiliation, alone, had been on the lips of the\nJewish maidens.\n\nAfter the service of song was over, Miriam and the maids loaded the\ntable, while Isaac fetched a skin of the oldest wine from the\ncellar, and all who had assembled were invited to join the feast.\n\nWhen the neighbours had retired, John asked his father and Isaac to\ncome down with him, and Jonas, to the side of the lake, to bring up\na chest that was lying there.\n\n\"It is rather too heavy for Jonas and me to carry, alone.\"\n\n\"It would have been better, my son, to have asked some of our\nneighbours. They would gladly have assisted you, and Isaac and I\nhave not, between us, the strength of one man.\"\n\n\"I know it, father, but I do not wish that any, besides ourselves,\nshould know that the box is here. We will take a pole and a rope\nwith us, and can adjust the weight so that your portion shall not\nbe beyond your strength.\"\n\nOn arriving at the spot, Simon was surprised at seeing a small box,\nwhich it would be thought a woman could have lifted, with ease.\n\n\"Is this the box of which you spoke, John? Surely you want no aid\nto carry this up?\"\n\n\"We do, indeed, father, as you will see.\"\n\nWith the assistance of Jonas, John put the rope round the box, and\nslung it to the pole near one end. He and Jonas then took this end.\nSimon and Isaac lifted that farthest from the box, so that but a\nsmall share of the weight rested upon them. So the chest was\ncarried up to the house.\n\n\"What is this you have brought home?\" Martha asked, as they laid\nthe box down in the principal room.\n\n\"It is gold, mother--gold to be used for the relief of the poor and\ndistressed, for those who have been made homeless and fatherless in\nthis war. It was a gift to me, as I will tell you, tomorrow; but I\nneed not say that I would not touch one penny of it, for it is\nRoman gold. But it will place it in our power to do immense good,\namong the poor. We had best bury it, just beneath the floor, so\nthat we can readily get at it when we have need.\"\n\n\"It is a great responsibility, my son,\" Simon said; \"but truly,\nthere are thousands of homeless and starving families who sought\nrefuge among the hills, when their towns and villages were\ndestroyed by the Romans and, with this store of gold, which must be\nof great value, truly great things can be done towards relieving\ntheir necessities.\"\n\nThe next morning, John related to his family the various incidents\nwhich had befallen him and Jonas since they had last parted; and\ntheir surprise was unbounded, when he produced the three documents\nwith which he had been furnished by Titus. The letters, saying that\nthe favour of Caesar had been bestowed upon John as a token of\nadmiration, only, for the bravery with which he had fought, and\nordering that all Romans should treat him as one having the favour\nand friendship of Titus, gave them unbounded satisfaction. That\nappointing him procurator of the whole district bordering the lake\nto the east surprised, and almost bewildered them.\n\n\"But what are you going to do, my son? Are you going to leave us,\nand live in a palace, and appear as a Roman officer?\"\n\n\"I am not thinking of doing that, father,\" John said, with a smile.\n\"For myself I would much rather that this dignity had not been\nconferred on me by Titus; and I would gladly put this commission,\nwith its imperial seal, into the fire. But I feel that I cannot do\nthis, for it gives me great power of doing good to our neighbours.\nI shall be able to protect them from all oppression by Roman\nsoldiers, or by tax gatherers. There is no occasion for me to live\nin a palace, or to wear the garments of a Roman official. The\nletter of Titus shows that it is to a Jew that he has given this\npower, and as a Jew I shall use it.\n\n\"While journeying here from Rome, I have thought much over the\nmatter. At first, I thought of suppressing the order. Then, I felt\nthat a power of good had been given into my hands; and that I had\nno right, from selfish reasons, to shrink from its execution.\nDoubtless, at first I shall be misunderstood. They will say that I,\nlike Josephus, have turned traitor, and have gone over to the\nRomans. Even were it so, I should have done no more than all the\npeople of Tiberias, Sepphoris, and other cities which submitted to\nthem.\n\n\"But I do not think this feeling will last long. All those who\nfought with me outside Jerusalem, against the Romans, know that I\nwas faithful to the cause of my country. The few survivors of the\nband I led into Jerusalem can testify that I fought until the\nTemple fell, and that I escaped by my own devices, and not from any\nagreement with the Romans.\n\n\"Moreover they will, in time, judge me by my acts. I shall rule, as\nI said, as a Jew, and not as a Roman--rule as did the judges in the\nold times, sitting under my own fig tree, here, and listening to\nthe complaints that may be brought to me--and I trust that wisdom\nwill be given to me, by the Lord, to judge wisely and justly among\nthem.\"\n\n\"You have decided well, my son,\" Simon said. \"May God's blessing be\nupon you!\n\n\"What think you, little Mary? How do you like the prospect of being\nthe wife of the ruler of this district?\"\n\n\"I would rather that he had been the ruler only of this farm,\" Mary\nsaid, \"but I see that a great power of good has been given into his\nhands, and it is not for me to complain.\"\n\n\"That reminds me,\" Simon said, \"of what Martha and I were speaking\ntogether, last night. You have both waited long. There is no\noccasion for longer tarrying. The marriage feast will be prepared,\nand we will summon our neighbours and friends to assemble here,\nthis day week.\n\n\"And now, John, what are you going to do?\"\n\n\"I am going, father, at once to Hippos, the chief town in the\ndistrict. I shall see the authorities of the town, and the captain\nof the Roman garrison, and lay before them the commission of\nCaesar. I shall then issue a proclamation, announcing to all people\nwithin the limits of the district that have been marked out that I\nhave authority, from Rome, to judge all matters that may come\nbefore me, in the district; and that all who have causes of\ncomplaint, or who have been wronged by any, will find me here,\nready to hear their cause, and to order justice to be rendered to\nthem. I shall also say that I shall shortly make a tour through the\ndistrict, to see for myself into the condition of things, and to\ngive aid to such as need it.\"\n\nGreat was the surprise of the Roman and Jewish authorities, in\nHippos, when John produced the imperial commission. There was,\nhowever, no doubting or disputing it. The Roman officers at once\nplaced themselves under his orders, and issued proclamations of\ntheir own, in addition to that of John, notifying the fact to all\nthe inhabitants of the district.\n\nAmong the Jewish authorities there was, at first, some feeling of\njealousy that this young man should be placed over them; but they\nfelt, nevertheless, the great benefits that would arise from the\nprotection which one of their own countrymen, high in the favour of\nTitus, would be able to afford them. When showing his commission,\nJohn had also produced the letter of Titus, giving his reasons for\nthe nomination; and indeed, the younger men in the district, many\nof whom had followed John in his first campaigns--and who had\nhitherto, in accordance with the oath of secrecy taken on\nenrollment, concealed their knowledge that John of Gamala was the\nson of Simon--now proclaimed the fact, and hailed his appointment\nwith joy.\n\nOn the appointed day, the marriage of John and Mary took place and,\nas the news had spread through the country, a vast gathering\nassembled, and it was made the occasion of a public demonstration.\nThe preparations which Martha and Mary had made for the feast,\nample as they had been, would have availed but little among such a\nmultitude; but Isaac and the menservants drove in and slaughtered\nseveral cattle and, as those who came for the most part bore\npresents of wine, oil, bread, goats, and other articles, and the\nneighbours lent their assistance in preparing a feast at the great\nfires which were lighted along the shore, while Simon contributed\nall the contents of his wine store, the feast proved ample for all\nassembled.\n\nJohn and his wife moved among the throng, receiving congratulations\nand good wishes; Mary blushing, and tearful with happiness and\npride in the honour paid to John; John himself radiant with\npleasure, and with satisfaction at the thought of the good which\nthe power, so strangely conferred upon him, would enable him to\neffect for his neighbours.\n\nAfter that, things went on in their ordinary routine at the farm;\nsave that John was frequently away visiting among the villages of\nthe district, which was some thirty miles long by ten wide. The\nnorthern portion was thinly inhabited; but in the south the\nvillages were thick, and the people had suffered greatly from the\nexcursions of the Roman foragers, at the time of the siege of\nGamala. Many of the villages had been rebuilt, since that time; but\nthere was still great distress, heightened by the number of\nfugitives from the other side of Jordan.\n\nThe aid which John gave enabled most of the fugitives in his\ndistrict to return to their distant villages, and to rebuild their\nhomes, where there was now little fear of their being again\ndisturbed. The distress in his own district was also relieved. In\nsome cases money was given, in others lent, to enable the\ncultivators to till their fields, to replant vineyards, and to\npurchase flocks so that, in the course of a year, the whole\ndistrict was restored to its normal appearance, and the signs of\nthe destructive war were almost entirely effaced.\n\nThen John was able to settle down in his quiet home. In the morning\nhe worked with his father. In the afternoon he listened to the\ncomplaints, or petitions, of those who came before him; settling\ndisputes between neighbours, hearing the stories of those who\nconsidered that they were too hardly pressed upon by the tax\ncollector, and doing justice to those who were wronged.\n\nSoon after he married, mindful of the doctrines he had heard during\nhis visit among the community of Nazarites by the Dead Sea, John\nmade inquiries and found that many of the sect, who had left the\nland when the troubles with the Romans commenced, had now returned;\nand were preaching their doctrines more openly than before, now\nthat those of the ancient religion could no longer persecute them.\nAt Tiberias a considerable community of the sect soon established\nthemselves; and John, going over, persuaded one of their teachers\nto take up his abode with him, for a time, and to expound their\ndoctrines to him and his family. He was astonished at the spirit of\nlove, charity, and goodwill which animated the teaching of the\nChristians--still more at the divine spirit that breathed in the\nutterances and animated the life of their Master.\n\nThe central idea, that God was the God of the whole world--and not,\nas the Jews had hitherto supposed, a special Deity of their\nown--struck John particularly, and explained many things which had,\nhitherto, been difficult for him to understand. It would have been\ngalling to admit as much, in the days of Jewish pride and\nstubbornness; but their spirit was broken, now; and John could\nunderstand that although, as long as the nation had believed in him\nand served him, God had taken a peculiar interest in them, and had\nrevealed to them much of his nature and attributes--while the rest\nof the world had had been left to worship false gods--He yet loved\nall the world, and was now about to extend to all men that\nknowledge of him hitherto confined to the Jews. Above all, John saw\nhow vastly higher was the idea of God, as revealed in the new\nteaching, than that which the Jews had hitherto entertained\nregarding him.\n\nA month after the arrival of the teacher, John and Mary were\nbaptized into the new faith; and a few months later Simon and\nMartha, who had been harder to convince, also became converts.\n\nWhen Titus was raised to the imperial throne, John, in compliance\nwith the request he had made him, journeyed to Rome, and remained\nthere for a short time as his guest. Titus received him with\naffection.\n\n\"I shall not try to tempt you with fresh offers of honours,\" he\nsaid, \"though I regret that you should refuse to accept a sphere of\nwider usefulness. From time to time, I have heard of you from the\nreports of my governors; who say that the district under your\ncharge is the most prosperous and contented in all Palestine, that\nthere is neither dispute nor litigation there, that there are no\npoor, that the taxes are collected without difficulty; and that,\nsave only that you do not keep up the state and dignity which a\nRoman official should occupy, you are in all respects a model\nruler.\"\n\n\"I have every reason to be thankful,\" John said. \"I have been\nblessed in every way. My parents still survive. I am happy with my\nwife and children. Your bounty has enabled me to bind up the\nwounds, and relieve the distress caused by the war. My mind has\nbeen opened to heavenly teaching, and I try humbly to follow in the\nsteps of that divine teacher, Jesus of Nazareth.\"\n\n\"Ah, you have come to believe in him!\" Titus said. \"There are many\nof his creed, here in Rome, and they say that they are even on the\nincrease. I would gladly hear, from you, something of him. I have\nheard somewhat of him from Josephus, who for three years dwelt\namong the Essenes, and who has spoken to me very highly of the\npurity of life, the enlightenment, and religious fervour of that\nsect--to which, I believe, he himself secretly inclines; although,\nfrom the desire not to offend his countrymen, he makes no open\nconfession of his faith.\"\n\nJohn, before he left, explained to the emperor the teachings of his\nMaster; and it may be that the wisdom, humanity, and mildness which\nTitus displayed, in the course of his reign, was in no small degree\nthe result of the lessons which he learned from John.\n\nThe latter came no more to Rome but, to the end of his life, dwelt\non the shore of Galilee, wisely governing his little district after\nthe manner of the judges of old.\n\nJonas never left his friend. He married the daughter of one of the\nfishermen, and lived in a small house which Simon built for him,\nclose to his own. At the death of the latter, he became John's\nright hand on the farm; and remained his friend, and brother, to\nthe end.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of For the Temple, by G. A. Henty\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by D.R. Thompson\n\n\n\n\n\nHISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II. OF PRUSSIA\n\nFREDERICK THE GREAT\n\nBy Thomas Carlyle\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\nThis Piece, it would seem, was translated sixteen years ago; some four\nor five years before any part of the present HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH got to\npaper. The intercalated bits of Commentary were, as is evident, all\nor mostly written at the same time:--these also, though they are now\nbecome, in parts, SUPERFLUOUS to a reader that has been diligent, I have\nnot thought of changing, where not compelled. Here and there, especially\nin the Introductory Part, some slight additions have crept in;--which\nthe above kind of reader will possibly enough detect; and may even have,\nfor friendly reasons, some vestige of interest in assigning to their new\ndate and comparing with the old. (NOTE OF 1868.)\n\n\n\n\nA DAY WITH FRIEDRICH.--(23d July, 1779.)\n\n\"OBERAMTMANN (Head-Manager) Fromme\" was a sister's son of Poet,\nGleim,--Gleim Canon of Halberstadt, who wrote Prussian \"grenadier-songs\"\nin, or in reference to, the Seven-Years War, songs still printed, but\nworth little; who begged once, after Friedrich's death, an OLD HAT of\nhis, and took it with him to Halberstadt (where I hope it still is); who\nhad a \"Temple-of-Honor,\" or little Garden-house so named, with Portraits\nof his Friends hung in it; who put Jean Paul VERY SOON there, with a\ngreat explosion of praises; and who, in short, seems to have been a\nvery good effervescent creature, at last rather wealthy too, and able\nto effervesce with some comfort;--Oberamtmann Fromme, I say, was\nthis Gleim's Nephew; and stood as a kind of Royal Land-Bailiff under\nFrederick the Great, in a tract of country called the RHYN-LUCH (a\ndreadfully moory country of sands and quagmires, all green and fertile\nnow, some twenty or thirty miles northwest of Berlin); busy there\nin 1779, and had been for some years past. He had originally been an\nOfficer of the Artillery; but obtained his discharge in 1769, and got,\nbefore long, into this employment. A man of excellent disposition and\ntemper; with a solid and heavy stroke of work in him, whatever he might\nbe set to; and who in this OBERAMTMANNSHIP \"became highly esteemed.\"\nHe died in 1798; and has left sons (now perhaps grandsons or\ngreat-grandsons), who continue estimable in like situations under the\nPrussian Government.\n\nOne of Fromme's useful gifts, the usefulest of all for us at present,\nwas \"his wonderful talent of exact memory.\" He could remember to a\nsingular extent; and, we will hope, on this occasion, was unusually\nconscientious to do it. For it so happened, in July, 1779 (23d July),\nFriedrich, just home from his troublesome Bavarian War, [Had arrived\nat Berlin May 27th (Rodenbeck, iii. 201).] and again looking into\neverything with his own eyes, determined to have a personal view of\nthose Moor Regions of Fromme's; to take a day's driving through that\nRHYN-LUCH which had cost him so much effort and outlay; and he ordered\nFromme to attend him in the expedition. Which took effect accordingly;\nFromme riding swiftly at the left wheel of Friedrich's carriage, and\nloudly answering questions of his, all day.--Directly on getting home,\nFromme consulted his excellent memory, and wrote down everything; a\nconsiderable Paper,--of which you shall now have an exact Translation,\nif it be worth anything. Fromme gave the Paper to Uncle Gleim; who, in\nhis enthusiasm, showed it extensively about, and so soon as there was\nliberty, had it \"printed, at his own expense, for the benefit of poor\nsoldiers' children.\" [\"Gleim's edition, brought out in 1786, the year of\nFriedrich's death, is now quite gone,--the Book undiscoverable. But the\nPaper was reprinted in an ANEKDOTEN-SAMMLUNG (Collection of Anecdotes,\nBerlin, 1787, 8tes STUCK, where I discover it yesterday (17th July,\n1852) in a copy of mine, much to my surprise; having before met with it\nin one Hildebrandt's ANEKDOTEN-SAMMLUNG (Halberstadt, 1830, 4tes STUCK,\na rather slovenly Book), where it is given out as one of the rarest\nof all rarities, and as having been specially 'furnished by a Dr. W.\nKorte,' being unattainable otherwise! The two copies differ slightly\nhere and there,--not always to Dr. Korte's advantage, or rather hardly\never. I keep them both before me in translating\" (MARGINALE OF 1852)].\n\n\"The RHYN\" or Rhin, is a little river, which, near its higher clearer\nsources, we were all once well acquainted with: considerable little\nmoorland river, with several branches coming down from Ruppin Country,\nand certain lakes and plashes there, in a southwest direction, towards\nthe Elbe valley, towards the Havel Stream; into which latter, through\nanother plash or lake called GULPER SEE, and a few miles farther, into\nthe Elbe itself, it conveys, after a course of say 50 English miles\ncircuitously southwest, the black drainings of those dreary and\nintricate Peatbog-and-Sand countries. \"LUCH,\" it appears, signifies\nLOCH (or Hole, Hollow); and \"Rhyn-Luch\" will mean, to Prussian ears, the\nPeatbog Quagmire drained by the RHYN.--New Ruppin, where this beautiful\nblack Stream first becomes considerable, and of steadily black\ncomplexion, lies between 40 and 50 miles northwest of Berlin. Ten or\ntwelve miles farther north is REINSBERG (properly RHYNSBERG), where\nFriedrich as Crown-Prince lived his happiest few years. The details of\nwhich were familiar to us long ago,--and no doubt dwell clear and soft,\nin their appropriate \"pale moonlight,\" in Friedrich's memory on this\noccasion. Some time after his Accession, he gave the place to Prince\nHenri, who lived there till 1802. It is now fallen all dim; and there is\nnothing at New Ruppin but a remembrance.\n\nTo the hither edge of this Rhyn-Luoh, from Berlin, I guess there may be\nfive-and-twenty miles, in a northwest direction; from Potsdam, whence\nFriedrich starts to-day, about, the same distance north-by-west; \"at\nSeelenhorst,\" where Fromme waits him, Friedrich has already had 30 miles\nof driving,--rate 10 miles an hour, as we chance to observe. Notable\nthings, besides the Spade-husbandries he is intent on, solicit his\nremembrance in this region. Of Freisack and \"Heavy-Peg\" with her\ndidactic batterings there, I suppose he, in those fixed times, knows\nnothing, probably has never heard: Freisack is on a branch of this same\nRhyn, and he might see it, to left a mile or two, if he cared.\n\nBut Fehrbellin (\"Ferry of BellEEN\"), distinguished by the shining\nvictory which \"the Great Elector,\" Friedrich's Great-Grandfather,\ngained there, over the Swedes, in 1675, stands on the Rhyn itself, about\nmidway; and Friedrich will pass through it on this occasion. General\nZiethen, too, lives near it at Wusterau (as will be seen): \"Old\nZiethen,\" a little stumpy man, with hanging brows and thick pouting\nlips; unbeautiful to look upon, but pious, wise, silent, and with\na terrible blaze of fighting-talent in him; full of obedience, of\nendurance, and yet of unsubduable \"silent rage\" (which has brooked even\nthe vocal rage of Friedrich, on occasion); a really curious old Hussar\nGeneral. He is now a kind of mythical or demigod personage among the\nPrussians; and was then (1779), and ever after the Seven-Years\nWar, regarded popularly as their Ajax (with a dash of the Ulysses\nsuperadded),--Seidlitz, another Horse General, being the Achilles of\nthat service.\n\nThe date of this drive through the moors being \"23d July, 1779,\" we\nperceive it is just about two months since Friedrich got home from\nthe Bavarian War (what they now call \"POTATO WAR,\" so barren was it in\nfighting, so ripe in foraging); victorious in a sort;--and that in his\nprivate thought, among the big troubles of the world on both sides of\nthe Atlantic, the infinitesimally small business of the MILLER ARNOLD'S\nLAWSUIT is beginning to rise now and then. [Supra 415, 429. Preuss, i.\n362; &c. &c.]\n\nFriedrich is now 67 years old; has reigned 39: the Seven-Years War is\n16 years behind us; ever since which time Friedrich has been an \"old\nman,\"--having returned home from it with his cheeks all wrinkled, his\ntemples white, and other marks of decay, at the age of 51. The \"wounds\nof that terrible business,\" as they say, \"are now all healed,\" perhaps\nabove 100,000 burnt houses and huts rebuilt, for one thing; and the\n\"ALTE FRITZ,\" still brisk and wiry, has been and is an unweariedly busy\nman in that affair, among others. What bogs he has tapped and\ndried, what canals he has dug, and stubborn strata he has bored\nthrough,--assisted by his Prussian Brindley (one Brenkenhof, once a\nStable-boy at Dessau);--and ever planting \"Colonies\" on the\nreclaimed land, and watching how they get on! As we shall see on this\noccasion,--to which let us hasten (as to a feast not of dainties, but of\nhonest SAUERKRAUT and wholesome herbs), without farther parley.\n\nOberamtmann Fromme (whom I mark \"Ich\") LOQUITUR: \"Major-General Graf von\nGortz,\" whom Fromme keeps strictly mute all day, is a distinguished man,\nof many military and other experiences; much about Friedrich in this\ntime and onwards. [Supra, 399.] Introduces strangers, &c.; Bouille took\nhim for \"Head Chamberlain,\" four or five years after this. He is ten\nyears the King's junior; a Hessian gentleman;--eldest Brother of the\nEnvoy Gortz who in his cloak of darkness did such diplomacies in the\nBavarian matter, January gone a year, and who is a rising man in that\nline ever since. But let Fromme begin:--[_Anekdoten und Karakterzuge aus\ndem Leben Friedrich des Zweyten_ (Berlin, bei Johann Friedrich Unger,\n1787), 8te Sammlung, ss. 15-79.]\n\n\"On the 23d of July, 1779, it pleased his Majesty the King to undertake\na journey to inspect those\" mud \"Colonies in the Rhyn-Luch about\nNeustadt-on-the-Dosse, which his Majesty, at his own cost, had settled;\nthereby reclaiming a tract of waste moor (EINEN ODEN BRUCH URBAR MACHEN)\ninto arability, where now 308 families have their living.\n\n\"His Majesty set off from Potsdam about 5 in the morning,\" in an open\ncarriage, General von Gortz along with him, and horses from his own\npost-stations; \"travelled over Ferlaudt, Tirotz, Wustermark, Nauen,\nKonigshorst, Seelenhorst, Dechau, Fehrbellin,\" [See Reimann's\nKREIS-KARTEN, Nos. 74,73.] and twelve other small peat villages, looking\nall their brightest in the morning sun,--\"to the hills at Stollen, where\nhis Majesty, because a view of all the Colonies could be had from those\nhills, was pleased to get out for a little,\" as will afterwards be\nseen.--\"Therefrom the journey went by Hohen-Nauen to Rathenau:\" a\ncivilized place, \"where his Majesty arrived about 3 in the afternoon;\nand there dined, and passed the night.--Next morning, about 6, his\nMajesty continued his drive into the Magdeburg region; inspected various\nreclaimed moors (BRUCHE), which in part are already made arable, and in\npart are being made so; came, in the afternoon, about 4, over Ziesar and\nBrandenburg, back to Potsdam,--and did not dine till about 4, when he\narrived there, and had finished the Journey.\" His usual dinner-hour is\n12; the STATE hour, on gala days when company has been invited, is\n1 P.M.,--and he always likes his dinner; and has it of a hot peppery\nquality!\n\n\"Till Seelenhorst, the Amtsrath Sach of Konigshorst had ridden before\nhis Majesty; but here,\" at the border of my Fehrbellin district, where\nwith one of his forest-men I was in waiting by appointment, \"the turn\ncame for me. About 8 o'clock A.M. his Majesty arrived in Seelenhorst;\nhad the Herr General Graf von Gortz in the carriage with him,\" Gortz,\nwe need n't say, sitting back foremost:--here I, Fromme, with my woodman\nwas respectfully in readiness. \"While the horses were changing, his\nMajesty spoke with some of the Ziethen Hussar-Officers, who were upon\ngrazing service in the adjoining villages [all Friedrich's cavalry went\nout to GRASS during certain months of the year; and it was a LAND-TAX\non every district to keep its quota of army-horses in this manner,--AUF\nGRASUNG]; and of me his Majesty as yet took no notice. As the DAMME,\"\nDams or Raised Roads through the Peat-bog, \"are too narrow hereabouts, I\ncould not, ride beside him,\" and so went before? or BEHIND, with woodman\nbefore? GOTT WEISS!\" In Dechau his Majesty got sight of Rittmeister von\nZiethen,\" old Ajax Ziethen's son, \"to whom Dechau belongs; and took\nhim into the carriage along with him, till the point where the Dechau\nboundary is. Here there was again change of horses. Captain von\nRathenow, an old favorite of the King's, to whom the property of\nKarvesee in part belongs, happened to be here with his family; he now\nwent forward to the carriage:--\n\nCAPTAIN VON RATHENOW. \"'Humblest servant, your Majesty!'\n[UNTERTHANIGSTER KNECHT, different from the form of ending letters, but\nreally of the same import].\n\nKING. \"'Who are you?'\n\nCAPTAIN. \"'I am Captain von Rathenow from Karvesee.'\n\nKING (clapping his hands together). \"'Mein Gott, dear Rathenow, are you\nstill alive! [\"LEBT ER NOCH, is HE still alive?\"--way of speaking to\none palpably your inferior, scarcely now in use even to servants; which\nFriedrich uses ALWAYS in speaking to the highest uncrowned persons:\nit gives a strange dash of comic emphasis often in his German talk:] I\nthought you were long since dead. How goes it with you 7 Are you whole\nand well?\"\n\nCAPTAIN. \"'O ja, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Mein Gott, how fat He has (you are) grown!'\n\nCAPTAIN. \"'Ja, your Majesty, I can still eat and drink; only the feet\nget lazy' [won't go so well, WOLLEN NICHT FORT].\n\nKING. \"'Ja! that is so with me too. Are you married?'\n\nCAPTAIN. \"'Yea, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Is your wife among the ladies yonder?'\n\nCAPTAIN. \"'Yea, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Bring her to me, then!' [TO HER, TAKING OFF HIS HAT] 'I find in\nyour Herr Husband a good old friend.'\n\nFRAU VON RATHENOW. \"'Much grace and honor for my husband!'\n\nKING. \"'What were YOU by birth?' [\"WAS SIND SIE,\" the respectful word,\n\"FUR EINE GEBORNE?\"]\n\nFRAU. \"'A Fraulein von Krocher.'\n\nKING. \"'Haha! A daughter of General von Krocher's?'\n\nFRAU. \"'JA, IHRO MAJESTAT.'\n\nKING. \"'Oh, I knew him very well.'--[TO RATHENOW] 'Have you children\ntoo, Rathenow?'\n\nCAPTAIN. \"'Yes, your Majesty. My sons are in the service,' soldiering;\n'and these are my daughters.'\n\nKING. \"'Well, I am glad of that (NUN, DAS FREUT MICH). Fare HE well.\nFare He well.'\n\n\"The road now went upon Fehrbellin; and Forster,\" Forester, \"Brand, as\nwoodkeeper for the King in these parts, rode along with us. When we came\nupon the patch of Sand-knolls which lie near Fehrbellin, his Majesty\ncried:--\n\n\"'Forester, why aren't these sand-knolls sown?'\n\nFORESTER. \"'Your Majesty, they don't belong to the Royal Forest; they\nbelong to the farm-ground. In part the people do sow them with all\nmanner of crops. Here, on the right hand, they have sown fir-cones\n(KIENAPFEL)'.\n\nKING. \"'Who sowed them?'\n\nFORESTER. \"'The Oberamtmann [Fromme] here.'\n\nTHE KING (TO ME). \"'Na! Tell my Geheimer-Rath Michaelis that the\nsand-patches must be sown.'--[TO THE FORESTER] 'But do you know how\nfir-cones (KIENAPFEL) should be sown?'\n\nFORESTER. \"'O ja, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Na! [a frequent interjection of Friedrich's and his Father's],\nhow are they sown, then? From east to west, or from north to south?'\n[\"VAN MORGEN GEGEN ABEND, ODER VAN ABEND GEGEN MORGEN?\" so in ORIG.\n(p. 22);--but, surely, except as above, it has no sense? From north to\nsouth, there is but one fir-seed sown against the wind; from east to\nwest, there is a whole row.]\n\nFORESTER. \"'From east to west.'\n\nKING. \"'That is right. But why?'\n\nFORESTER. \"'Because the most wind comes from the west.'\n\nKING. \"'That's right.'\n\n\"Now his Majesty arrived at Fehrbellin; spoke there with Lieutenant\nProbst of the Ziethen Hussar regiment, [Probst is the leftmost figure\nin that Chodowiecki Engraving of the famous Ziethen-and-Friedrich\nCHAIR-scene, five years after this. (Supra. 374 n.)] and with the\nFehrbellin Postmeister, Captain von Mosch. So soon as the horses were\nto, we continued our travel; and as his Majesty was driving close by my\nBig Ditches,\" GRABEN, trenches, main-drains, \"which have been made in\nthe Fehrbellin LUCH at the King's expense, I rode up to the carriage,\nand said:--\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, these now are the two new Drains, which by your\nMajesty's favor we have got here; and which keep the Luch dry for us.'\n\nKING. \"'So, so; that I am glad of!--Who is He (are you)?'\n\nFROMME. \"'Your Majesty, I am the Beamte here of Fehrbellin.'\n\nKING. \"'What 's your name?'\n\nICH. \"'Fromme.'\n\nKING. \"'Ha, ha! you are a son of the Landrath Fromme's.'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty's pardon. My father was Amtsrath in the AMT Luhnin.'\n\nKING. \"'Amtsrath? Amtsrath? That isn't true! Your father was Landrath. I\nknew him very well.--But tell me now (SAGT MIR EINMAL) has the draining\nof the Luch been of much use to you here?'\n\nICH. \"'O ja, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Do you keep more cattle than your predecessor?'\n\nICH. \"'Yes, your Majesty. On this farm I keep 40 more; on all the farms\ntogether 70 more.'\n\nKING. \"'That is right. The murrain (VIEHSEUCHE) is not here in this\nquarter?'\n\nICH. \"'No, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Have you had it here?'\n\nICH. \"'Ja.'\n\nKING. \"'Do but diligently use rock-salt, you won't have the murrain\nagain.'\n\nICH. \"'Yes, your Majesty, I do use it too; but kitchen salt has very\nnearly the same effect.'\n\nKING. \"'No, don't fancy that! You must n't pound the rock-salt small,\nbut give it to the cattle so that they can lick it.'\n\nICH. \"'Yes, it shall be done.'\n\nKING. \"'Are there still improvements needed here?'\n\nICH. \"'O ja, your Majesty. Here lies the Kemmensee [Kemmen-lake]: if\nthat were drained out, your Majesty would gain some 1,800 acres [MORGEN,\nthree-fifths English acre] of pasture-land, where colonists could be\nsettled; and then the whole country would have navigation too, which\nwould help the village of Fehrbellin and the town of Ruppin to an\nuncommon degree.'\n\nKING. \"'I suppose so! Be a great help to you, won't it; and many will be\nruined by the job, especially the proprietors of the ground NICHT WAHR?'\n[Ha?]\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty's gracious pardon [EW. MAJESTAT HALTEN ZU\nGNADEN,--hold me to grace]: the ground belongs to the Royal Forest, and\nthere grows nothing but birches on it.'\n\nKING. \"'Oh, if birchwood is all it produces, then we may see! But you\nmust not make your reckoning without your host either, that the cost may\nnot outrun the use.'\n\nICH. \"'The cost will certainly not outrun the use. For, first, your\nMajesty may securely reckon that eighteen hundred acres will be won\nfrom the water; that will be six-and-thirty colonists, allowing each 50\nacres. And now if there were a small light toll put upon the raft-timber\nand the ships that will frequent the new canal, there would be ample\ninterest for the outlay.'\n\nKING. \"'Na, tell my Geheimer-Rath Michaelis of it. The man understands\nthat kind of matters; and I will advise you to apply to the man in every\nparticular of such things, and wherever you know that colonists can be\nsettled. I don't want whole colonies at once; but wherever there are two\nor three families of them, I say apply to that man about it.'\n\nICH. \"'It shall be done, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Can't I see Wusterau,' where old Ajax Ziethen lives, 'from\nhere?'\n\nICH. \"'Yes, your Majesty; there to the right, that is it.' It BELONGS to\nGeneral von Ziethen; and terrible BUILDING he has had here,--almost all\nhis life!\n\nKING. \"'Is the General at home?'\n\nICH. \"'Ja.'\n\nKING. \"'How do you know?'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, the Rittmeister von Lestock lies in my village on\nGRAZING service; and last night the Herr General sent a letter over to\nhim by a groom. In that way I know it.'\n\nKING. \"'Did General von Ziethen gain, among others, by the draining of\nthe Luch?'\n\nICH. \"'O ja; the Farm-stead there to the right he built in consequence,\nand has made a dairy there, which he could not have done, had not the\nLuch been drained.'\n\nKING. \"'That I am glad of!--What is the Beamte's name in Alt-Ruppin?'\n[Old Ruppin, I suppose, or part of its endless \"RUPPIN or RHYN MERE,\"\ncatches the King's eye.]\n\nICH. \"'Honig.'\n\nKING. \"'How long has he been there?'\n\nICH. \"'Since Trinity-term.'\n\nKING. \"'Since Trinity-term! What was he before?'\n\nICH. \"'Kanonious' [a canon].\n\nKING. \"'Kanonicus? Kanonicus? How the Devil comes a Kanonicus to be a\nBeamte?'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, he is a young man who has money, and wanted to have\nthe honor of being a Beamte of your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Why did n't the old one stay?'\n\nICH. \"'Is dead.'\n\nKING. \"'Well, the widow might have kept his AMT, then!'\n\nICH. \"'Is fallen into poverty.'\n\nKING. \"'By woman husbandry!'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty's pardon! She cultivated well, but a heap of\nmischances brought her down: those may happen to the best husbandman.\nI myself, two years ago, lost so many cattle by the murrain, and got no\nremission: since that, I never can get on again either.'\n\nKING. \"'My son, to-day I have some disorder in my left ear, and cannot\nhear rightly on that side of my head' (!).\n\nICH. \"'It is a pity that Geheimer-Rath Michaelis has got the very same\ndisorder!'--I now retired a little back from the carriage; I fancied his\nMajesty might take this answer ill.\n\nKING. \"'Na, Amtmann, forward! Stay by the carriage; but TAKE CARE OF\nYOURSELF, THAT YOU DON'T GET HURT. SPEAK LOUD, I UNDERSTAND VERY WELL.'\nThese words marked in Italics [capitals] his Majesty repeated at least\nten times in the course of the journey. 'Tell me now, what is that\nvillage over on the right yonder?'\n\nICH. \"'Langen.'\n\nKING. \"'To whom does it belong?'\n\nICH. \"'A third part of it to your Majesty, under the AMT of Alt-Ruppin;\na third to Herr von Hagen; and then the High Church (DOHM) of Berlin has\nalso tenants in it.'\n\nKING. \"'You are mistaken, the High Church of Magdeburg.'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty's gracious pardon, the High Church of Berlin.'\n\nKING. \"'But it is not so; the High Church of Berlin has no tenants!'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty's gracious pardon, the High Church of Berlin has\nthree tenants in the village Karvesen in my own AMT.'\n\nKING. \"'You mistake, it is the High Church of Magdeburg.'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, I must be a bad Beamte, if I did not know what\ntenants and what lordships there are in my own AMT.'\n\nKING. \"'Ja, then you are in the right!--Tell me now: here on the right\nthere must be an estate, I can't think of the name; name me the estates\nthat lie here on the right.'\n\nICH. \"'Buschow, Rodenslieben, Sommerfeld, Beetz, Karbe.'\n\nKING. \"'That's it, Karbe! To whom belongs that?'\n\nICH. \"'To Herr von Knesebeck.'\n\nKING. \"'Was he in the service?'\n\nICH. \"'Yes, Lieutenant or Ensign in the Guards.'\n\nKING. \"'In the Guards? [COUNTING ON HIS FINGERS.] You are right: he\nwas Lieutenant in the Guards. I am very glad the Estate is still in the\nhands of the Knesebecks.--Na, tell me though, the road that mounts\nup here goes to Ruppin, and here to the left is the grand road for\nHamburg?'\n\nICH. \"'Ja, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Do you know how long it is since I was here last?'\n\nICH. \"'No.'\n\nKING. \"'It is three-and-forty years. Cannot I see Ruppin somewhere\nhere?'\n\nICH. \"'Yes, your Majesty: the steeple rising there over the firs, that\nis Ruppin.'\n\nKING (leaning out of the carriage with his prospect-glass). \"'Ja, ja,\nthat is it, I know it yet. Can I see Drammitz hereabouts?'\n\nICH. \"'No, your Majesty: Drammitz lies too far to the left, close on\nKiritz.'\n\nKING. \"'Sha'n't we see it, when we come closer?'\n\nICH. \"'Maybe, about Neustadt; but I am not sure.'\n\nKING. \"'Pity, that. Can I see Pechlin?'\n\nICH. \"'Not just now, your Majesty; it lies too much in the hollow. Who\nknows whether your Majesty will see it at all!'\n\nKING. \"'Na, keep an eye; and if you see it, tell me. Where is the Beamte\nof Alt-Ruppin?'\n\nICH. \"'In Protzen, where we change horses, he will be.'\n\nKING. \"'Can't we yet see Pechlin?'\n\nICH. \"'No, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'To whom belongs it now?'\n\nICH. \"'To a certain Schonermark.'\n\nKING. \"'Is he of the Nobility?'\n\nICH. \"'No.'\n\nKING. \"'Who had it before him?'\n\nICH. \"'The Courier (FELDJAGER) Ahrens; he got it by inheritance from his\nfather. The property has always been in commoners' (BURGERLICHEN) hands.\n\nKING. \"'That I am aware of. How call we the village here before us?'\n\nICH. \"'Walcho.'\n\nKING. \"'To whom belongs it?'\n\nICH. \"'To you, your Majesty, under the Amt Alt-Ruppin.'\n\nKING. \"'What is the village here before us?'\n\nICH. \"'Protzen.'\n\nKING. \"'Whose is it?'\n\nICH. \"'Herr von Kleist's.'\n\nKING. \"'What Kleist is that?'\n\nICH. \"'A son of General Kleist's.'\n\nKING. \"'Of what General Kleist's.'\n\nICH. \"'His brother was FLUGELADJUTANT [WING-adjutant, whatever that may\nbe] with your Majesty; and is now at Magdeburg, Lieutenant-Colonel in\nthe Regiment Kalkstein.'\n\nKING. \"'Ha, ha, that one! I know the Kleists very well. Has this Kleist\nbeen in the service too?'\n\nICH. \"'Yea, your Majesty; he was ensign in the regiment Prinz\nFerdinand.'\n\nKING. \"'Why did the man seek his discharge?'\n\nICH. \"'That I do not know.'\n\nKING. \"'You may tell me, I have no view in asking: why did the man take\nhis discharge?'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, I really cannot say.'\n\n\"We had now got on to Protzen. I perceived old General van Ziethen\nstanding before the Manor-house in Protzen,\"--rugged brave old soul;\nwith his hanging brows, and strange dim-fiery pious old thoughts!--\"I\nrode forward to the carriage and said:--\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, the Herr General von Ziethen is [are, SIND] also\nhere.'\n\nKING. \"'Where? where? Oh, ride forward, and tell the people to draw up;\nthey must halt, I'll get out.'\n\n\"And now his Majesty got out; and was exceedingly delighted at the sight\nof Herr General von Ziethen; talked with him and Herr von Kleist of many\nthings: Whether the draining of the Luch had done him good; Whether the\nmurrain had been there among their cattle?--and recommended rock-salt\nagainst the murrain. Suddenly his Majesty stept aside, turned towards\nme, and called: 'Amtmann! [THEN CLOSE INTO MY EAR] Who is the fat man\nthere with the white coat?'\n\nICH (ALSO CLOSE INTO HIS MAJESTY'S EAR). \"'Your Majesty, that is the\nLandrath Quast, of the Ruppin Circle.'\n\nKING. \"'Very well.'\n\n\"Now his Majesty went back to General von Ziethen and Herr von Kleist,\nand spoke of different things. Herr von Kleist presented some very fine\nfruit to his Majesty; all at once his Majesty turned round, and said:\n'Serviteur, Herr Landrath!'--As the Landrath [\"fat man there with the\nwhite coat\"] was stepping towards his Majesty, said his Majesty: 'Stay\nhe there where he is; I know him. He is the Landrath von Quast!'[\"Very\ngood indeed, old Vater Fritz; let him stand there in his white coat,\na fat, sufficiently honored man!--Chodowiecki has an engraving of this\nincident;--I saw IT at the British Museum once, where they have only\nseven others on Friedrich altogether, all in one poor GOTHA ALMANAC;\nvery small, very coarse, but very good: this Quast (Anglice 'Tassel')\nwas one of them\" (MARGINALE OF 1862).]\n\n\"They had now yoked the horses. His Majesty took a very tender leave of\nold General von Ziethen, waved an adieu to those about, and drove on.\nAlthough his Majesty at Protzen would not take any fruit, yet when\nonce we were out of the village, his Majesty took a luncheon from the\ncarriage-pocket for himself and the Herr General Graf von Gortz, and,\nall along, during the drive, ate apricots (IMMER PFIRSCHE).\n\nAt starting, his Majesty had fancied I was to stop here, and called out\nof the carriage: 'Amtmann, come along with us!'\n\nKING. \"'Where is the Beamte of Alt-Ruppin?'\n\nICH. \"'Apparently he must be unwell; otherwise he would have been in\nProtzen at the change of horses there' [\"at the VORSPANN:\" Yes;--and\nManor-house, EDELHOF, where old Ziethen waited, was lower down the\nstreet, and SOONER than the Post-house?]\n\nKING. \"'Na, tell me now, don't you really know why that Kleist at\nProtzen took his discharge?' [VOILA!]\n\nICH. \"'No, your Majesty, I really do not.'\n\nKING. \"'What village is this before us?'\n\nICH. \"'Manker.'\n\nKING. \"'And whose?'\n\nICH. \"'Yours, your Majesty, in the AMT Alt-Ruppin.'\n\nKING (looking round on the harvest-fields). \"'Here you, now: how are you\ncontent with the harvest?'\n\nICH. \"'Very well, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Very well? And to me they said, Very ill!'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, the winter-crop was somewhat frost-nipt; but the\nsummer-crop in return is so abundant it will richly make up for the\nwinter-crop.' His Majesty now looked round upon the fields, shock\nstanding upon shock.\n\nKING. \"'It is a good harvest, you are right; shock stands close by shock\nhere!'\n\nICH. \"'Yes, your Majesty; and the people here make STEIGS (mounts) of\nthem too.'\n\nKING. \"'Steigs, what is that?'\n\nICH. \"'That is 20 sheaves piled all together.'\n\nKING. \"'Oh, it is indisputably a good harvest. But tell me, though, why\ndid Kleist of Protzen take his discharge?'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, I do not know. I suppose he was obliged to take his\nfather's estates in hand: no other cause do I know of.'\n\nKING. \"'What's the name of this village we are coming to?'\n\nICH. \"'Garz.'\n\nKING. \"'To whom belongs it?'\n\nICH. \"'To the Kriegsrath von Quast.'\n\nKING. \"'To WHOM belongs it?'\n\nICH. \"'To Kriegsrath von Quast.'\n\nKING. \"'EY WAS [pooh, pooh]! I know nothing of Kriegsraths!--To whom\ndoes the Estate belong?'\n\nICH. \"'To Herr von Quast.' Friedrich had the greatest contempt for\nKriegsraths, and indeed for most other RATHS or titular shams, labelled\nboxes with nothing in the inside: on a horrible winter-morning (sleet,\nthunder, &c.), marching off hours before sunrise, he has been heard to\nsay, 'Would one were a Kriegsrath!\n\nKING. \"'Na, that is the right answer.'\n\n\"His Majesty now arrived at Garz. The changing of the horses was managed\nby Herr von Luderitz of Nackeln, as first Deputy of the Ruppin Circle.\nHe had his hat on, and a white feather in it. When the yoking was\ncompleted, our journey proceeded again.\n\nKING. \"'To whom belongs this estate on the left here?'\n\nICH. \"'To Herr van Luderitz; it is called Nackeln.'\n\nKING. \"'What Luderitz is that?'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, he that was in Garz while the horses were\nchanging.'\n\nKING. \"'Ha, ha, the Herr with the white feather!--Do you sow wheat too?'\n\nICH. \"'Ja, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'How much have you sown?'\n\nICH. \"'Three WISPELS 12 SCHEFFELS,' unknown measures!\n\nKING. \"'How much did your predecessor use to sow?'\n\nICH. \"'Four scheffels.'\n\nKING. \"'How has it come that you sow so much more than he?'\n\nICH. \"'As I have already had the honor to tell your Majesty that I keep\nseventy head of cows more than he, I have of course more manure for my\nground, and so put it in a better case for bearing wheat.'\n\nKING. \"'But why do you grow no hemp?'\n\nICH. \"'It would not answer here. In a cold climate it would answer\nbetter. Our sailors can buy Russian hemp in Lubeck cheaper, and of\nbetter quality than I could grow here.'\n\nKING. \"'What do you sow, then, where you used to have hemp?'\n\nICH. \"'Wheat!'\n\nKING. \"'Why do you sow no Farbekraut, [\"DYE-HERB:\" commonly called\n\"FARBERROTHE;\" yields a coarse RED, on decoction of the twigs and\nbranches; from its roots the finer red called \"KRAPP\" (in French\nGARANCE) is got.] no Krapp?'\n\nICH. \"'It will not prosper; the ground is n't good enough.'\n\nKING. \"'That is people's talk: you should have made the trial.'\n\nICH. \"'I did make the trial; but it failed; and as Beamte I cannot make\nmany trials; for, let them fail or not, the rent must be paid.'\n\nKING. \"'What do you sow, then, where you would have put Farbekraut?'\n\nICH. \"'Wheat.'\n\nKING. \"'Na! Then stand by wheat!--Your tenants are in good case, I\nsuppose?'\n\nICH. \"'Yes, your Majesty. I can show by the Register of Hypothecks\n(HYPOTHEKENBUCH) that they have about 50 thousand thalers of capital\namong them.'\n\nKING. \"'That is good.'\n\nICH. \"'Three years ago a tenant died who had 11,000 thalers,' say 2,000\npounds, 'in the Bank.'\n\nKING. \"'How much?'\n\nICH. \"'Eleven thousand thalers.'\n\nKING. \"'Keep them so always!'\n\nICH. \"'Ja, your Majesty, it is very good that the tenant have money; but\nhe becomes mutinous too, as the tenants hereabouts do, who have seven\ntimes over complained to your Majesty against me, to get rid of the\nHOFDIENST,' stated work due from them.\n\nKING. \"'They will have had some cause too!'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty will graciously pardon: there was an investigation\ngone into, and it was found that I had not oppressed the tenants, but\nhad always gone upon my right, and merely held them to do their duty.\nNevertheless the matter stood as it was: the tenants are not punished;\nyour Majesty puts always the tenants in the right, the poor Beamte is\nalways in the wrong!'\n\nKING. \"'Ja: that you, my son, will contrive to get justice, you, I\ncannot but believe! You will send your Departmentsrath [Judge of these\naffairs] such pretty gifts of butter, capons, poults!'\n\nICH. \"'No, your Majesty, we cannot. Corn brings no price: if one did not\nturn a penny with other things, how could one raise the rent at all?'\n\nKING. \"'Where do you send your butter, capons and poults (PUTER) for\nsale?'\n\nICH. \"'To Berlin.'\n\nKING. \"'Why not to Ruppin?'\n\nICH. \"'Most of the Ruppin people keep cows, as many as are needed for\ntheir own uses. The soldier eats nothing but old [salt] butter, he\ncannot buy fresh.'\n\nKING. \"'What do you get for your butter in Berlin?'\n\nICH. \"'Four groschen the pound; now the soldier at Ruppin buys his salt\nbutter at two.'\n\nKING. \"'But your capons and poults, you could bring these to Ruppin?'\n\nICH. \"'In the regiment there are just four Staff-Officers; they can use\nbut little: the burghers don't live delicately; they thank God when they\ncan get a bit of pork or bacon.'\n\nKING. \"'Yes, there you are in the right! The Berliners, again, like\nto eat some dainty article.--Na! do what you will with the tenants\n[UNTERTHANEN, not quite ADSCRIPTS at that time on the Royal Demesnes,\nbut tied to many services, and by many shackles, from which Friedrich\nall his days was gradually delivering them]; only don't oppress them.'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, that would never be my notion, nor any reasonable\nBeamte's.'\n\nKING. \"'Tell me, then, where does Stollen lie?'\n\nICH. \"'Stollen your Majesty cannot see just here. Those big hills there\non the left are the hills at Stollen; there your Majesty will have a\nview of all the Colonies.'\n\nKING. \"'So? That is well. Then ride you with us thither.'\n\n\"Now his Majesty came upon a quantity of peasants who were mowing rye;\nthey had formed themselves into two rows, were wiping their scythes, and\nso let his Majesty drive through them.\n\nKING. \"'What the Devil, these people will be wanting money from me, I\nsuppose?'\n\nICH. \"'Oh no, your Majesty! They are full of joy that you are so\ngracious as to visit this district.'\n\nKING. \"'I'll give them nothing, though.--What village is that, there\nahead of us?'\n\nICH. \"'Barsekow.'\n\nKING. \"'To whom belongs it?'\n\nICH. \"'To Herr von Mitschepfal.'\n\nKING. \"'What Mitschepfal is that?'\n\nICH. \"'He was Major in the regiment which your Majesty had when\nCrown-Prince.' [Supra, vii. 403.]\n\nKING. \"'Mein Gott! Is he still alive?'\n\nICH. \"'No, HE is dead; his daughter has the estate.'\n\n\"We now came into the village of Barsekow, where the Manor-house is in\nruins.\n\nKING. \"'Hear! Is that the manor-house (EDELHOF)?'\n\nICH. \"'Ja.'\n\nKING. \"'That does look miserable.' Here Mitschepfal's daughter, who has\nmarried a baronial Herr von Kriegsheim from Mecklenburg, came forward\nwhile the horses were changing. Kriegsheim came on account of her into\nthis country: the King has given them a Colony of 200 MORGEN (acres).\nComing to the carriage, Frau von Kriegsheim handed some fruit to his\nMajesty. His Majesty declined with thanks; asked, who her father was,\nwhen he died, &c. On a sudden, she presented her husband; began to thank\nfor the 200 MORGEN; mounted on the coach-step; wished to kiss, if not\nhis Majesty's hand, at least his coat. His Majesty shifted quite to the\nother side of the carriage, and cried\"--good old Fritz!--\"'Let be, my\ndaughter, let be! It is all well!--Amtmann, let us get along (MACHT DASS\nWIR FORTKOMMEN)!'\n\nKING. \"'Hear now: these people are not prospering here?'\n\nICH. \"'Far from it, your Majesty; they are in the greatest poverty.'\n\nKING. \"'That is bad.--Tell me though; there lived a Landrath here\nbefore: he had a quantity of children: can't you recollect his name?'\n\nICH. \"'That will have been the Landrath von Gorgas of Genser.'\n\nKING. \"'Ja, ja, that was he. Is he dead now?'\n\nICH. \"'Ja, your Majesty. He died in 1771: and it was very singular; in\none fortnight he, his wife and four sons all died. The other four that\nwere left had all the same sickness too, which was a hot fever; and\nthough the sons, being in the Army, were in different garrisons, and no\nbrother had visited the other, they all got the same illness, and came\nout of it with merely their life left.'\n\nKING. \"'That was a desperate affair (VERZWEIFELTER UMSTAND GEWESEN)!\nWhere are the four sons that are still in life?'\n\nICH. \"'One is in the Ziethen Hussars, one in the Gens-d'-Armes, another\nwas in the regiment Prinz Ferdinand, and lives on the Estate Dersau. The\nfourth is son-in-law of Herr General von Ziethen. He was lieutenant in\nthe Ziethen Regiment; but in the last war (POTATO-WAR, 1778), on account\nof his ill health, your Majesty gave him his discharge; and he now lives\nin Genser.'\n\nKING. \"'So? That is one of the Gorgases, then!--Are you still making\nexperiments with the foreign kinds of corn?'\n\nICH. \"'O ja; this year I have sown Spanish barley. But it will not\nrightly take hold; I must give it up again. However, the Holstein\nSTOOLing-rye (STAUDENROGGEN) has answered very well.'\n\nKING. \"'What kind of rye is that?'\n\nICH. \"'It grows in Holstein in the Low Grounds (NIEDERUNG). Never below\nthe 10th grain [10 reaped for 1 sown] have I yet had it.'\n\nKING. \"'Nu, nu [Ho, ho], surely not the 10th grain all at once!'\n\nICH. \"'That is not much. Please your Majesty to ask the Herr General\nvon Gortz [who has not spoken a syllable all day]; he knows this is not\nreckoned much in Holstein:'--(the General Graf von Gortz I first had the\nhonor to make acquaintance with in Holstein).\n\n\"They now talked, for a while, of the rye, in the carriage together.\nPresently his Majesty called to me from the carriage, 'Na, stand by the\nHolstein STAUDEN-rye, then; and give some to the tenants too.'\n\nICH. \"'Yes, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'But give me some idea: what kind of appearance had the Luch\nbefore it was drained?'\n\nICH. \"'It was mere high rough masses of hillocks (HULLEN); between them\nthe water settled, and had no flow. In the driest years we couldn't cart\nthe hay out, but had to put it up in big ricks. Only in winter, when\nthe frost was sharp, could we get it home. But now we have cut away the\nhillocks; and the trenches that your Majesty got made for us take the\nwater off. And now the Luch is as dry as your Majesty sees, and we can\ncarry out our hay when we please.'\n\nKING. \"'That is well. Have your tenants, too, more cattle than\nformerly?'\n\nICH. \"'Ja!'\n\nKING. \"'How many more?'\n\nICH. \"'Many have one cow, many two, according as their means admit.'\n\nKING. \"'But how many more have they in all? About how many, that is?'\n\nICH. \"'About 150 head.'\n\n\"His Majesty must lately have asked the Herr General von Gortz, how I\ncame to know him,--as I told his Majesty to ask General von Gortz about\nthe Holstein rye;--and presumably the Herr General must have answered,\nwhat was the fact, That he had first known me in Holstein, where I dealt\nin horses, and that I had been at Potsdam with horses. Suddenly his\nMajesty said: 'Hear! I know you are fond of horses. But give up that,\nand prefer cows; you will find your account better there.'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, I no longer deal in horses. I merely rear a few\nfoals every year.'\n\nKING. \"'Rear calves instead; that will be better.'\n\nICH. \"'Oh, your Majesty, if one takes pains with it, there is no loss in\nbreeding horses. I know a man who got, two years ago, 1,000 thalers for\na stallion of his raising.'\n\nKING. \"'He must have been a fool that gave it.'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, he was a Mecklenburg nobleman.'\n\nKING. \"'But nevertheless a fool.'\n\n\"We now came upon the territory of the Amt Neustadt; and here the\nAmtsrath Klausius, who has the Amt in farm, was in waiting on the\nboundary, and let his Majesty drive past. But as I began to get tired\nof the speaking, and his Majesty went on always asking about villages,\nwhich stand hereabouts in great quantity, and I had always to name the\nowner, and say what sons he had in the Army,--I brought up Herr Amtsrath\nKlausius to the carriage, and said:--\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, this is the Amtsrath Klausius, of the Amt Neustadt,\nin whose jurisdiction the Colonies are.'\n\nKING. \"'So, so! that is very good (DAS IST MIR LIEB). Bring him up.'\n\nKING. \"'What's your name?' (from this point the King spoke mostly with\nAmtsrath Klausius, and I only wrote down what I heard).\n\nKL. \"'Klausius.'\n\nKING. \"'Klau-si-us. Na, have you many cattle here on the Colonies?'\n\nKL. \"'1,887 head of cows, your Majesty. There would have been above\n3,000, had it not been for the murrain that was here.'\n\nKING. \"'Do the people too increase well? Are there jolly children?'\n\nKL. \"'O ja, your Majesty; there are now 1,576 souls upon the Colonies.'\n\nKING. \"'Are you married too?'\n\nKL. \"'Ja, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'And have you children?'\n\nKL. \"'Step-children, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Why not of your own?'\n\nKL. \"'Don't know that, your Majesty; as it happens.'\n\nKING. \"'Hear: Is it far to the Mecklenburg border, here where we are?'\n\nKL. \"'Only a short mile [5 miles English]. But there are some villages\nscattered still within the boundary which belong to Brandenburg. There\nare Stetzebart, Rosso and so on.'\n\nKING. \"'Ja, ja, I know them. But I should not have thought we were so\nnear upon the Mecklenburg country.' [TO THE HERR AMTSRATH KLAUSIUS]\n'Where were you born?'\n\nKL. \"'At Neustadt on the Dosse.'\n\nKING. \"'What was your father?'\n\nKL. \"'Clergyman.'\n\nKING. \"'Are they good people, these Colonists? The first generation of\nthem is n't usually good for much.'\n\nKL. \"'They are getting on, better or worse.'\n\nKING. \"'Do they manage their husbandry well?'\n\nKL. \"'O ja, your Majesty. His Excellency the Minister von Derschau, too,\nhas given me a Colony of 75 acres, to show the other Colonists a good\nexample in management.'\n\nKING (smiling). \"'Ha, ha! good example! But tell me, I see no wood here:\nwhere do the Colonists get their timber?'\n\nKL. \"'From the Ruppin district.'\n\nKING. \"'How far is that?'\n\nKL. \"'3 miles' [15 English].\n\nKING. \"'Well, that's a great way. It should have been contrived that\nthey could have it nearer hand.' [TO ME] 'What man is that to the right\nthere?'\n\nICH. \"'Bauinspector [Buildings-Inspector] Menzelius, who has charge of\nthe buildings in these parts.'\n\nKING. \"'Am I in Rome? They are mere Latin names!--Why is that hedged in\nso high?'\n\nICH. \"'That is the mule-stud.'\n\nKING. \"'What is the name of this Colony?'\n\nICH. \"'Klausiushof.'\n\nKL. \"'Your Majesty, it should be called Klaushof.'\n\nKING. \"'Its name is Klausiushof. What is the other Colony called?'\n\nICH. \"'Brenkenhof.'\n\nKING. \"'That is not its name.'\n\nICH. \"'Ja, your Majesty, I know it by no other!'\n\nKING. \"'Its name is Brenken-hosius-hof!--Are these the Stollen hills\nthat lie before us?'\n\nICH. \"'Ja, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Have I to drive through the village?'\n\nICH. \"'It is not indispensable; but the change of horses is there. If\nyour Majesty give order, I will ride forward, send the fresh horses\nout of the village, and have them stationed to wait at the foot of the\nhills.'\n\nKING. \"'O ja, do so! Take one of my pages with you.'\n\n\"I now took measures about the new team of horses, but so arranged it,\nthat when his Majesty got upon the hills I was there too. At\ndismounting from his carriage on the hill-top, his Majesty demanded a\nprospect-glass; looked round the whole region, and then said: 'Well, in\ntruth, that is beyond my expectation! That is beautiful! I must say this\nto you, all of you that have worked in this business, you have behaved\nlike honorable people!'--[TO ME] 'Tell me now, is the Elbe far from\nhere?'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, it is 2 miles off [10 miles]. Yonder is Wurben in\nthe Altmark; it lies upon the Elbe.'\n\nKING. \"'That cannot be! Give me the glass again.--Ja, ja, it is true,\nthough. But what other steeple is that?'\n\nICH. \"'Your Majesty, that is Havelberg.'\n\nKING. \"'Na, come here, all of you!' (THERE WERE AMTSRATH KLAUSIUS,\nBAUINSPECTOR MENZELIUS AND I.) 'Hear now, the tract of moor here to the\nleft must also be reclaimed; and what is to the right too, so far as the\nmoor extends. What kind of wood is there on it?'\n\nICH. \"'Alders (ELSEN) and oaks, your Majesty.'\n\nKING. \"'Na! the alders you may root out; and the oaks may continue\nstanding; the people may sell these, or use them otherwise. When once\nthe ground is arable, I reckon upon 300 families for it, and 500 head of\ncows,--ha?'--Nobody answered; at last I began, and said:--\n\nICH. \"'Ja, your Majesty, perhaps!'\n\nKING. \"'Hear now, you may answer me with confidence. There will be more\nor fewer families. I know well enough one cannot, all at once, exactly\nsay. I was never there, don't know the ground; otherwise I could\nunderstand equally with you how many families could be put upon it.'\n\nTHE BAUINSPECTOR. \"'Your Majesty, the LUCH is still subject to rights of\ncommon from a great many hands.'\n\nKING. \"'No matter for that. You must make exchanges, give them an\nequivalent, according as will answer best in the case. I want nothing\nfrom anybody except at its value.' [TO AMTSRATH KLAUSIUS] 'Na, hear\nnow, you can write to my Kammer [BOARD, Board-of-Works that does NOT sit\nidle!], what it is that I want reclaimed to the plough; the money for\nit I will give.' [TO ME] 'And you, you go to Berlin, and explain to my\nGeheimer-Rath Michaelis, by word of mouth, what it is I want reclaimed.'\n\n\"His Majesty now stept into his carriage again [was Gortz sitting all\nthe while, still in silence? Or had he perhaps got out at the bottom of\nthe hill, and sat down to a contemplative pipe of tobacco, the smoke of\nwhich, heart-cheering to Gortz, was always disagreeable to Friedrich?\nNobody knows!]--and drove down the hill; there the horses were changed.\nAnd now, as his Majesty's order was that I should 'attend him to the\nStollen hills,' I went up to the carriage, and asked:--\n\nICH. \"'Does your Majesty command that I should yet accompany farther'\n[\"BEFEHLEN, command,\" in the plural is polite, \"your Majesty, that I yet\nfarther shall WITH\"]?\n\nKING. \"'No, my son; ride, in God's name, home.'--\n\n\"The Herr Amtsrath [Klau-si-us] then accompanied his Majesty to\nRathenow, where he [THEY: His Majesty is plural] lodged in the\nPost-house. At Rathenow, during dinner, his Majesty was uncommonly\ncheerful: he dined with Herr Lieutenant-Colonel von Backhof of the\nCarabineers, and the Herr Lieutenant-Colonel von Backhof himself has\nrelated that his Majesty said:--\n\n\"'My good Von Backhof (MEIN LIEBER VON BACKHOF): if He [you] have\nnot for a long time been in the Fehrbellin neighborhood, go there.'\"\nFehrbellin, the Prussian BANNOCKBURN; where the Great Elector cut the\nhitherto invincible Swedes IN TWO, among the DAMS and intricate moory\nquagmires, with a vastly inferior force, nearly all of cavalry (led by\none DERFLINGER, who in his apprentice time had been a TAILOR); beat\none end of them all to rags, then galloped off and beat the other into\nditto; quite taking the conceit out of the Swedes, or at least clearing\nPrussia of them forever and a day: a feat much admired by Friedrich:\n\"'Go there,' he says. 'That region is uncommonly improved [as I saw\nto-day]! I have not for a long time had such a pleasant drive. I decided\non this journey because I had no REVIEW on hand; and it has given me\nsuch pleasure that I shall certainly have another by and by.'\n\n\"'Tell me now: how did you get on in the last War [KARTOFFEL KRIEG, no\nfighting, only a scramble for proviant and \"potatoes\"]? Most likely ill!\nYou in Saxony too could make nothing out. The reason was, we had not men\nto fight against, but cannons! I might have done a thing or two; but I\nshould have sacrificed more than the half of my Army, and shed innocent\nhuman blood. In that case I should have deserved to be taken to the\nGuard-house door, and to have got a sixscore there (EINEN OFFFENTLICHEN\nPRODUKT)! Wars are becoming frightful to carry on.'\n\n\"'This was surely touching to hear from the mouth of a great Monarch,'\nsaid Herr Lieutenant-Colonel von Backhof to me, and tears came into that\nold soldier's eyes.\" Afterwards his Majesty had said:--\n\n\"Of the Battle of Fehrbellin I know everything, almost as if I myself\nhad been there! While I was Crown-Prince, and lay in Ruppin, there was\nan old townsman, the man was even then very old: he could describe the\nwhole Battle, and knew the scene of it extremely well. Once I got into a\ncarriage, took my old genius with me, who showed me all over the ground,\nand described everything so distinctly, I was much contented with him.\nAs we were coming back, I thought: Come, let me have a little fun with\nthe old blade;--so I asked him: 'Father, don't you know, then, why the\ntwo Sovereigns came to quarrel with one another?'--'O ja, your Royal\nHighnessES [from this point we have Platt-Deutsch, PRUSSIAN dialect, for\nthe old man's speech; barely intelligible, as Scotch is to an ingenious\nEnglishman], DAT WILL ICK SE WOHL SEGGEN, I can easily tell you that.\nWhen our Chorforste [Kurfursts, Great Elector] was young, he studied in\nUtrecht; and there the King of Sweden happened to be too. And now the\ntwo young lords picked some quarrel, got to pulling caps [fell into\none another's hair], AND DIT IS NU DE PICKE DAVON, and this now was\nthe upshot of it.'--His Majesty spoke this in Platt-Deutsch, as here\ngiven;--but grew at table so weary that he (they) fell asleep.\" So far\nBackhof;--and now again Fromme by way of finish:--\n\n\"Of his Majesty's journey I can give no farther description. For though\nhis Majesty spoke and asked many things else; it would be difficult to\nbring them all to paper.\" And so ends the DAY WITH FRIEDRICH THE GREAT;\nvery flat, but I dare say very TRUE:--a Daguerrotype of one of his Days.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of History of Friedrich II. of Prussia,\nAppendix, by Thomas Carlyle\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by David Widger. Scanning assistance from Geof Pawlicki\nusing Internet Archive Equipment\n\n\n\n\n\n * * * * * * * * * * * * EBOOK EDITOR'S NOTE * * * * * * * * * * * **\n *                                                                  *\n * This series of  22 eBooks consists entirely of illustrations and *\n * page images; there are only a few sections with text which could *\n * be effectively scanned and digitized. Readers who open this text *\n * file are encouraged to return to the catalog and select the HTML *\n * file or open the following url:                                  *\n *                                                                  *\n *    http://www.gutenberg.net/7/9/1/7912/7912-h/7912-h.htm         *\n *                                                                  *\n *                                                                  *\n *    An actively linked index to all 22 volumes of American        *\n *    Antiquities may be accessed at:                               *\n *                                                                  *\n *    http://www.gutenberg.net/7/9/2/7924/7924-h/7924-h.htm         *\n *                                                                  *\n *                                                                  *\n *                                 David Widger                     *\n *                                                                  *\n * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * **\n\n\n\n\n\nAMERICAN HISTORICAL\n\nAND\n\nLITERARY ANTIQUITIES\n\n\n\nBy John Jay Smith\n\n\n\nPart 12.\n\n\n\n\nSecond Series\n\n1860\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of American Historical and Literary\nAntiquities, Part 12., by John Jay Smith\n\n*** "}
{"text": "\n\nE-text prepared by David Edwards, Melissa McDaniel, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images\ngenerously made available by Internet Archive (http://archive.org)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 39927-h.htm or 39927-h.zip:\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39927/39927-h/39927-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39927/39927-h.zip)\n\n\n      Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive. See\n      http://archive.org/details/danielboone00thwaiala\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n      Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original\n      document have been preserved.  Obvious typographical\n      errors have been corrected.\n\n      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n      Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).\n\n      The author used superscripted numbers to indicate which\n      of several people with the same name are being referred\n      to. The superscript notation has been replaced in the\n      text with a number within curly brackets (e.g., George{1},\n      George{2}).\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: DANIEL BOONE.\n    From the portrait by Chester Harding made in 1819, when Boone was\n    eighty-five years old. (See pp. 237-239.)]\n\n\n\n\nDANIEL BOONE\n\nby\n\nREUBEN GOLD THWAITES\n\nAuthor of \"Father Marquette,\" \"The Colonies, 1492-1750,\"\n\"Down Historic Waterways,\" \"Afloat on the\nOhio,\" etc.; Editor of \"The Jesuit Relations and\nAllied Documents,\" \"Chronicles of Border\nWarfare,\" \"Wisconsin Historical\nCollections,\" etc.\n\nIllustrated\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNEW YORK\nD. Appleton & Company\n1902\n\nCopyright, 1902\nBy D. Appleton and Company\n\nPublished September, 1902\n\n\n\n\n      TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE\n\n      LYMAN COPELAND DRAPER, LL.D.\n\n      WHOSE UNPARALLELED COLLECTION OF\n      MANUSCRIPT MATERIALS FOR WESTERN\n      HISTORY IN THE LIBRARY OF THE\n      WISCONSIN STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY\n      HAS MADE PRACTICABLE THE\n      PREPARATION OF THIS LITTLE BOOK\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nPoets, historians, and orators have for a hundred years sung the praises\nof Daniel Boone as the typical backwoodsman of the trans-Alleghany\nregion. Despite popular belief, he was not really the founder of\nKentucky. Other explorers and hunters had been there long before him; he\nhimself was piloted through Cumberland Gap by John Finley; and his was\nnot even the first permanent settlement in Kentucky, for Harrodsburg\npreceded it by nearly a year; his services in defense of the West,\nduring nearly a half century of border warfare, were not comparable to\nthose of George Rogers Clark or Benjamin Logan; as a commonwealth\nbuilder he was surpassed by several. Nevertheless, Boone's picturesque\ncareer possesses a romantic and even pathetic interest that can never\nfail to charm the student of history. He was great as a hunter,\nexplorer, surveyor, and land-pilot--probably he found few equals as a\nrifleman; no man on the border knew Indians more thoroughly or fought\nthem more skilfully than he; his life was filled to the brim with\nperilous adventures. He was not a man of affairs, he did not understand\nthe art of money-getting, and he lost his lands because, although a\nsurveyor, he was careless of legal forms of entry. He fled before the\nadvance of the civilization which he had ushered in: from Pennsylvania,\nwandering with his parents to North Carolina in search of broader lands;\nthence into Kentucky because the Carolina borders were crowded; then to\nthe Kanawha Valley, for the reason that Kentucky was being settled too\nfast to suit his fancy; lastly to far-off Missouri, in order, as he\nsaid, to get \"elbow room.\" Experiences similar to his have made\nmisanthropes of many another man--like Clark, for instance; but the\ntemperament of this honest, silent, nature-loving man only mellowed with\nage; his closing years were radiant with the sunshine of serene content\nand the dimly appreciated consciousness of world-wide fame; and he died\nfull of years, in heart a simple hunter to the last--although he had\nalso served with credit as magistrate, soldier, and legislator. At his\ndeath the Constitutional Convention of Missouri went into mourning for\ntwenty days, and the State of Kentucky claimed his bones, and has\nerected over them a suitable monument.\n\nThere have been published many lives of Boone, but none of them in\nrecent years. Had the late Dr. Lyman Copeland Draper, of Wisconsin, ever\nwritten the huge biography for which he gathered materials throughout a\nlifetime of laborious collection, those volumes--there were to be\nseveral--would doubtless have uttered the last possible word concerning\nthe famous Kentucky pioneer. Draper's manuscript, however, never\nadvanced beyond a few chapters; but the raw materials which he gathered\nfor this work, and for many others of like character, are now in the\nlibrary of the Wisconsin State Historical Society, available to all\nscholars. From this almost inexhaustible treasure-house the present\nwriter has obtained the bulk of his information, and has had the\nadvantage of being able to consult numerous critical notes made by his\ndear and learned friend. A book so small as this, concerning a character\nevery phase of whose career was replete with thrilling incident, would\ndoubtless not have won the approbation of Dr. Draper, whose\nunaccomplished biographical plans were all drawn upon a large scale; but\nwe are living in a busy age, and life is brief--condensation is the\nnecessary order of the day. It will always be a source of regret that\nDraper's projected literary monument to Boone was not completed for the\npress, although its bulk would have been forbidding to any but\nspecialists, who would have sought its pages as a cyclopedia of Western\nborder history.\n\nThrough the courtesy both of Colonel Reuben T. Durrett, of Louisville,\nPresident of the Filson Club, and of Mrs. Ranck, we are permitted to\ninclude among our illustrations reproductions of some of the plates in\nthe late George W. Ranck's stately monograph upon Boonesborough. Aid in\ntracing original portraits of Boone has been received from Mrs. Jennie\nC. Morton and General Fayette Hewitt, of Frankfort; Miss Marjory Dawson\nand Mr. W. G. Lackey, of St. Louis; Mr. William H. King, of Winnetka,\nIll.; and Mr. J. Marx Etting, of Philadelphia.\n\n      R. G. T.\n      MADISON, WIS., _1902_.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n   CHAPTER                                                        PAGE\n\n         PREFACE                                                   vii\n\n      I. ANCESTRY AND TRAINING                                       1\n\n     II. THE NIMROD OF THE YADKIN                                   13\n\n    III. LIFE ON THE BORDER                                         24\n\n     IV. RED MAN AGAINST WHITE MAN                                  35\n\n      V. KENTUCKY REACHED AT LAST                                   55\n\n     VI. ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS                                    71\n\n    VII. PREDECESSORS AND CONTEMPORARIES                            85\n\n   VIII. THE HERO OF CLINCH VALLEY                                  97\n\n     IX. THE SETTLEMENT OF KENTUCKY                                113\n\n      X. TWO YEARS OF DARKNESS                                     129\n\n     XI. THE SIEGE OF BOONESBOROUGH                                146\n\n    XII. SOLDIER AND STATESMAN                                     169\n\n   XIII. KENTUCKY'S PATH OF THORNS                                 192\n\n   XIV. IN THE KANAWHA VALLEY                                      211\n\n    XV. A SERENE OLD AGE                                           223\n\n        INDEX                                                      243\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n                                                           FACING PAGE\n\n      Portrait of Daniel Boone                          _Frontispiece_\n\n      Boone's powder-horn and bake-kettle                           30\n\n      A Boone tree, 1760                                            56\n\n      A survey note by Boone                                       120\n\n      Fort Boonesborough                                           136\n\n      Climax of the treaty                                         162\n\n      Site of Boonesborough to-day                                 174\n\n      Boone's cabin in St. Charles County, Missouri                224\n\n      Nathan Boone's house in St. Charles County, Missouri         230\n\n      Boone's religious views (two pages)                          234\n\n      Boone's monument at Frankfort, Ky.                           240\n\n\n\n\nDANIEL BOONE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nANCESTRY AND TRAINING\n\n\nThe grandfather of Daniel Boone--George by name--was born in 1666 at the\npeaceful little hamlet of Stoak, near the city of Exeter, in Devonshire,\nEngland. His father had been a blacksmith; but he himself acquired the\nweaver's art. In due time George married Mary Maugridge, a young woman\nthree years his junior, and native of the neighboring village of\nBradninch, whither he had gone to follow his trade. This worthy couple,\nprofessed Quakers, became the parents of nine children, all born in\nBradninch--George, Sarah, Squire,[1] Mary, John, Joseph, Benjamin,\nJames, and Samuel. All of these, except John, married, and left\nnumerous descendants in America.\n\nThe elder Boones were ambitious for the welfare of their large family.\nThey were also fretful under the bitter intolerance encountered by\nQuakers in those unrestful times. As the children grew to maturity, the\nenterprising weaver sought information regarding the colony which his\ncoreligionist William Penn had, some thirty years previous, established\nin America, where were promised cheap lands, religious freedom,\npolitical equality, and exact justice to all men. There were then no\nimmigration bureaus to encourage and instruct those who proposed\nsettling in America; no news-letters from traveling correspondents, to\ntell the people at home about the Western world; or books or pamphlets\nillustrating the country. The only method which occurred to George\nBoone, of Bradninch, by which he could satisfy himself regarding the\npossibilities of Pennsylvania as a future home for his household, was to\nsend out some of his older children as prospectors.\n\nAccordingly--somewhere about 1712-14, family tradition says--young\nGeorge (aged from twenty-two to twenty-four years), Sarah (a year and a\nhalf younger), and Squire (born November 25, 1696) were despatched to\nthe promised land, and spent several months in its inspection. Leaving\nSarah and Squire in Pennsylvania, George returned to his parents with a\nfavorable report.\n\nOn the seventeenth of August, 1717, the Boones, parents and children,\nbade a sorrowful but brave farewell to their relatives and friends in\nold Bradninch, whom they were never again to see. After journeying some\neighty miles over rugged country to the port of Bristol, they there\nentered a sailing vessel bound for Philadelphia, where they safely\narrived upon the tenth of October.\n\nPhiladelphia was then but a village. Laid out like a checker-board, with\narchitecture of severe simplicity, its best residences were surrounded\nby gardens and orchards. The town was substantial, neat, and had the\nappearance of prosperity; but the frontier was not far away--beyond\noutlying fields the untamed forest closed in upon the little capital.\nThe fur trade flourished but two or three days' journey into the forest,\nand Indians were frequently seen upon the streets. When, therefore, the\nBoones decided to settle in what is now Abingdon, twelve or fourteen\nmiles north of the town, in a sparse neighborhood of Quaker farmers,\nthey at once became backwoodsmen, such as they remained for the rest of\ntheir lives.\n\nThey were, however, not long in Abingdon. Soon after, we find them\ndomiciled a few miles to the northwest in the little frontier hamlet of\nNorth Wales, in Gwynedd township; this was a Welsh community whose\nmembers had, a few years before, turned Quakers.\n\nSarah Boone appears, about this time, to have married one Jacob Stover,\na German who settled in Oley township, now in Berks County. The elder\nGeorge Boone, now that he had become accustomed to moving, after his\nlong, quiet years as a Devonshire weaver, appears to have made small ado\nover folding his family tent and seeking other pastures. In 1718 he took\nout a warrant for four hundred acres of land in Oley, and near the\nclose of the following year removed to his daughter's neighborhood.\nThis time he settled in earnest, for here in Oley--or rather the later\nsubdivision thereof called Exeter--he spent the remainder of his days,\ndying in his original log cabin there, in 1744, at the age of\nseventy-eight. He left eight children, fifty-two grandchildren, and ten\ngreat-grandchildren--in all, seventy descendants: Devonshire men,\nGermans, Welsh, and Scotch-Irish amalgamated into a sturdy race of\nAmerican pioneers.\n\nAmong the early Welsh Quakers in the rustic neighborhood of North Wales\nwere the Morgans. On the twenty-third of July, 1720, at the Gwynedd\nmeeting-house, in accordance with the Quaker ceremony, Squire Boone\nmarried Sarah Morgan, daughter of John. A descendant tells us that at\nthis time \"Squire Boone was a man of rather small stature, fair\ncomplexion, red hair, and gray eyes; while his wife was a woman\nsomething over the common size, strong and active, with black hair and\neyes, and raised in the Quaker order.\"\n\nFor ten or eleven years Squire and Sarah Boone lived in Gwynedd\ntownship, probably on rented land, the former adding to their small\nincome by occasional jobs of weaving, for he had learned his father's\ntrade. They were thrifty folk, but it took ten years under these\nprimitive conditions to accumulate even the small sum sufficient to\nacquire a farm of their own. Toward the close of the year 1730, Squire\nobtained for a modest price a grant of 250 acres of land situated in his\nfather's township, Oley--a level tract adapted to grazing purposes, on\nOwatin Creek, some eight miles southeast of the present city of Reading,\nand a mile and a half from Exeter meeting-house. Here, probably early in\n1731, the Boones removed with their four children. Relatives and Quaker\nneighbors assisted, after the manner of the frontier, in erecting a log\ncabin for the new-comers and in clearing and fencing for them a small\npatch of ground.\n\nIn this rude backwoods home, in the valley of the Schuylkill, was born,\nupon the second of November (new style), 1734, Daniel Boone, fourth son\nand sixth child of Squire and Sarah. It is thought that the name Daniel\nwas suggested by that of Daniel Boone, a well-known Dutch painter who\nhad died in London in 1698, \"and who may have been known, or distantly\nrelated, to the family.\" The other children were: Sarah (born in 1724),\nIsrael (1726), Samuel (1728), Jonathan (1730), Elizabeth (1732), Mary\n(1736), George (1739), Edward (1744), Squire, and Hannah, all of them\nnatives of Oley.[2]\n\nBorn into a frontier community, Daniel Boone's entire life was spent\namid similar surroundings, varying only in degree. With the sight of\nIndians he was from the first familiar. They frequently visited Oley and\nExeter, and were cordially received by the Quakers. George Boone's house\nwas the scene of many a friendly gathering of the tribesmen. When Daniel\nwas eight years of age, the celebrated Moravian missionary, Count\nZinzendorf, held a synod in a barn at Oley, a party of converted\nDelaware Indians, who preached in favor of Christianity, being the\nprincipal attractions at this meeting. Thus young Boone started in life\nwith an accurate knowledge of the American savage, which served him well\nduring his later years of adventurous exploration and settlement-building.\n\nSquire Boone appears soon to have become a leader in his community. His\nfarm, to whose acres he from time to time added, was attended to as\nclosely as was usual among the frontiersmen of his day; and at home the\nbusiness of weaving was not neglected, for he kept in frequent\nemployment five or six looms, making \"homespun\" cloths for his neighbors\nand the market. He had an excellent grazing range some five or six miles\nnorth of the homestead, and each season sent his stock thither, as was\nthe custom at that time. Mrs. Boone and Daniel accompanied the cows, and\nfrom early spring until late in autumn lived in a rustic cabin, far from\nany other human beings. Hard by, over a cool spring, was a dairy-house,\nin which the stout-armed mother made and kept her butter and cheese;\nwhile her favorite boy watched the herd as, led by their bell-carriers,\nthey roamed at will through the woods, his duty at sunset being to drive\nthem to the cabin for milking, and later to lock them for the night\nwithin the cow-pens, secure from wild animals or prowling\ncattle-thieves.\n\nWhile tending his cattle, a work involving abundant leisure, the young\nherdsman was also occupied in acquiring the arts of the forest. For the\nfirst two or three years--his pastoral life having commenced at the\ntender age of ten--his only weapon was a slender, smoothly shaved\nsapling, with a small bunch of gnarled roots at the end, in throwing\nwhich he grew so expert as easily to kill birds and other small game.\nWhen reaching the dignity of a dozen years, his father bought him a\nrifle, with which he soon became an unerring marksman. But, although he\nhenceforth provided wild meat enough for the family, his passion for\nhunting sometimes led him to neglect the cattle, which were allowed to\nstray far from home and pass the night in the deep forest.\n\nSoon each summer of herding came to be succeeded by a winter's hunt. In\nthis occupation the boy roved far and wide over the Neversink\nmountain-range to the north and west of Monocacy Valley, killing and\ncuring game for the family, and taking the skins to Philadelphia, where\nhe exchanged them for articles needed in the chase--long hunting-knives,\nand flints, lead, and powder for his gun.\n\nIn those days the children of the frontier grew up with but slight store\nof such education as is obtainable from books. The open volume of\nnature, however, they carefully conned. The ways of the wilderness they\nknew full well--concerning the storms and floods, the trees and hills,\nthe wild animals and the Indians, they were deeply learned; well they\nknew how to live alone in the forest, and to thrive happily although\nsurrounded by a thousand lurking dangers. This quiet, mild-mannered,\nserious-faced Quaker youth, Daniel Boone, was an ardent lover of the\nwild woods and their inhabitants, which he knew as did Audubon and\nThoreau; but of regular schooling he had none. When he was about\nfourteen years of age, his brother Samuel, nearly seven years his\nsenior, married Sarah Day, an intelligent young Quakeress who had more\neducation than was customary in this neighborhood. Sarah taught Daniel\nthe elements of \"the three R's.\" To this knowledge he added somewhat by\nlater self-teaching, so that as a man he could read understandingly, do\nrough surveying, keep notes of his work, and write a sensible although\nbadly spelled letter--for our backwoods hero was, in truth, no scholar,\nalthough as well equipped in this direction as were most of his fellows.\n\nIn time Squire Boone, a man of enterprise and vigor, added blacksmithing\nto his list of occupations, and employed his young sons in this lusty\nwork. Thus Daniel served, for a time, as a worker in iron as well as a\nhunter and herdsman; although it was noticed that his art was chiefly\ndeveloped in the line of making and mending whatever pertained to traps\nand guns. He was a fearless rider of his father's horses; quick, though\nbred a Quaker, to resent what he considered wrong treatment;[3] true to\nhis young friends; fond of long, solitary tramps through the dark\nforest, or of climbing hilltops for bird's-eye views of the\nfar-stretching wilderness. Effective training this, for the typical\npioneer of North America.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Not an abbreviation of \"esquire,\" as has been supposed, but given\nbecause of some old family connection. This name was transmitted through\nseveral generations of Boones.\n\n[2] Edward was killed by Indians when thirty-six years old, and Squire\ndied at the age of seventy-six. Their brothers and sisters lived to ages\nvarying from eighty-three to ninety-one.\n\n[3] Indeed, it is a matter of record that other members also of this\nstout-hearted Devonshire family were \"sometimes rather too belligerent\nand self-willed,\" and had \"occasionally to be dealt with by the\nmeeting.\" Daniel's oldest sister, Sarah, married a man who was not a\nQuaker, and consequently she was \"disowned\" by the society. His oldest\nbrother, Israel, also married a worldling and was similarly treated; and\ntheir father, who countenanced Israel's disloyal act and would not\nretract his error, was in 1748 likewise expelled.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE NIMROD OF THE YADKIN\n\n\nThe lofty barrier of the Alleghany Mountains was of itself sufficient to\nprevent the pioneers of Pennsylvania from wandering far westward.\nMoreover, the Indians beyond these hills were fiercer than those with\nwhom the Quakers were familiar; their occasional raids to the eastward,\nthrough the mountain passes, won for them a reputation which did not\nincline the border farmers to cultivate their further acquaintance. To\nthe southwest, however, there were few obstacles to the spread of\nsettlement. For several hundred miles the Appalachians run in parallel\nranges from northeast to southwest--from Pennsylvania, through Virginia,\nWest Virginia, the Carolinas, and east Tennessee, until at last they\ndegenerate into scattered foot-hills upon the Georgia plain. Through the\nlong, deep troughs between these ranges--notably in the famous Valley of\nVirginia between the Blue Ridge and the Alleghanies--Pennsylvanians\nfreely wandered into the south and southwest, whenever possessed by\nthirst for new and broader lands. Hostile Indians sometimes penetrated\nthese great valleys and brought misery in their train; but the work of\npioneering along this path was less arduous than had the western\nmountains been scaled at a time when the colonists were still few and\nweak.\n\nBetween the years 1732 and 1750, numerous groups of\nPennsylvanians--Germans and Irish largely, with many Quakers among\nthem--had been wending their way through the mountain troughs, and\ngradually pushing forward the line of settlement, until now it had\nreached the upper waters of the Yadkin River, in the northwest corner of\nNorth Carolina. Trials abundant fell to their lot; but the soil of the\nvalleys was unusually fertile, game was abundant, the climate mild, the\ncountry beautiful, and life in general upon the new frontier, although\nrough, such as to appeal to the borderers as a thing desirable. The\nglowing reports of each new group attracted others. Thus was the\nwilderness tamed by a steady stream of immigration from the older lands\nof the northern colonies, while not a few penetrated to this Arcadia\nthrough the passes of the Blue Ridge, from eastern Virginia and the\nCarolinas.\n\nSquire and Sarah Boone, of Oley, now possessed eleven children, some of\nwhom were married and settled within this neighborhood which consisted\nso largely of the Boones and their relatives. The choicest lands of\neastern Pennsylvania had at last been located. The outlook for the\nyounger Boones, who soon would need new homesteads, did not appear\nencouraging. The fame of the Yadkin Valley, five hundred miles\nsouthwestward, had reached Oley, and thither, in the spring of 1750, the\nmajority of the Boones, after selling their lands and surplus stock,\nbravely took up the line of march.[4]\n\nWith the women and children stowed in canvas-covered wagons, the men and\nboys riding their horses at front and rear, and driving the lagging\ncattle, the picturesque little caravan slowly found its way to the ford\nat Harper's Ferry, thence up the beautiful valley of the Shenandoah. By\nnight they pitched their camps beside some gurgling spring, gathered the\nanimals within the circle of the wagons, and, with sentinel posted\nagainst possible surprises by Indians, sat around the blazing fire to\ndiscuss the experiences of the day--Daniel, as the hunter for the party,\ndoubtless having the most interesting adventures of them all.\n\nTradition has it that the Boones tarried by the way, for a year or more,\non Linnville Creek, six miles north of Harrisonburg, in Rockingham\nCounty, Va. In any event, they appear to have resumed their journey by\nthe autumn of 1751. Pushing on through the Valley of Virginia--an\nundulating, heavily forested table-land from three to ten miles in\nwidth--they forded the upper waters of numerous rivers, some of which,\naccording to the tilt of the land, flow eastward and southeastward\ntoward the Atlantic, and others westward and southwestward toward the\nOhio. This is one of the fairest and most salubrious regions in America;\nbut they did not again stop until the promised land of the Yadkin was\nreached.\n\nThe country was before them, to choose from it practically what they\nwould. Between the Yadkin and the Catawba there was a broad expanse of\nelevated prairie, yielding a luxuriant growth of grass, while the\nbottoms skirting the numerous streams were thick-grown to canebrake.\nHere were abundant meadows for the cattle, fish and game and wild fruits\nin quantity quite exceeding young Daniel's previous experience, a\nwell-tempered climate, and to the westward a mountain-range which cast\nlong afternoon shadows over the plain and spoke eloquently of untamed\ndominions beyond. Out of this land of plenty Squire Boone chose a claim\nat Buffalo Lick, where Dutchman's Creek joins with the North Fork of\nYadkin.\n\nDaniel was now a lad of eighteen. Nominally, he helped in the working of\nhis father's farm and in the family smithy; actually, he was more often\nin the woods with his long rifle. At first, buffaloes were so plenty\nthat a party of three or four men, with dogs, could kill from ten to\ntwenty in a day; but soon the sluggish animals receded before the\nadvance of white men, hiding themselves behind the mountain wall. An\nordinary hunter could slaughter four or five deer in a day; in the\nautumn, he might from sunrise to sunset shoot enough bears to provide\nover a ton of bear-bacon for winter use; wild turkeys were easy prey;\nbeavers, otters, and muskrats abounded; while wolves, panthers, and\nwildcats overran the country. Overcome by his passion for the chase, our\nyoung Nimrod soon began to spend months at a time in the woods,\nespecially in autumn and winter. He found also more profit in this\noccupation than at either the forge or the plow; for at their nearest\nmarket town, Salisbury, twenty miles away, good prices were paid for\nskins, which were regularly shipped thence to the towns upon the\nAtlantic coast.\n\nThe Catawba Indians lived about sixty miles distant, and the Cherokees\nstill farther. These tribesmen not infrequently visited the thinly\nscattered settlement on the Yadkin, seeking trade with the whites, with\nwhom they were as yet on good terms. They were, however, now and then\nraided by Northern Indians, particularly the Shawnese, who, collecting\nin the Valley of Virginia, swept down upon them with fury; sometimes\nalso committing depredations upon the whites who had befriended their\ntribal enemies, and who unfortunately had staked their farms in the\nold-time war-path of the marauders.\n\nIn the year 1754, the entire American border, from the Yadkin to the St.\nLawrence, became deeply concerned in the Indian question. France and\nEngland had long been rivals for the mastery of the North American\ncontinent lying west of the Alleghanies. France had established a weak\nchain of posts upon the upper Great Lakes, and down the Mississippi\nRiver to New Orleans, thus connecting Canada with Louisiana. In the\nValley of the Ohio, however, without which the French could not long\nhold the Western country, there was a protracted rivalry between French\nand English fur-traders, each seeking to supplant the intruding\nforeigner. This led to the outbreak of the French and Indian War, which\nwas waged vigorously for five years, until New France fell, and the\nEnglish obtained control of all Canada and that portion of the continent\nlying between the Atlantic Ocean and the Mississippi.\n\nAs early as 1748, backwoodsmen from Pennsylvania had made a small\nsettlement on New River, just west of the Alleghanies--a settlement\nwhich the Boones must have visited, as it lay upon the road to the\nYadkin; and in the same season several adventurous Virginians hunted and\nmade land-claims in Kentucky and Tennessee. In the following year there\nwas formed for Western fur trading and colonizing purposes, the Ohio\nCompany, composed of wealthy Virginians, among them two brothers of\nGeorge Washington. In 1753 French soldiers built a little log fort on\nFrench Creek, a tributary of the Alleghany; and, despite Virginia's\nprotest, delivered by young Major Washington, were planning to erect\nanother at the forks of the Ohio, where Pittsburg now is. Thither\nWashington went, in the succeeding year, with a body of Virginia\nmilitiamen, to construct an English stockade at the forks; but the\nFrench defeated him in the Great Meadows hard by and themselves erected\nthe fort. It is thought by some writers that young Boone, then twenty\nyears of age, served in the Pennsylvania militia which protected the\nfrontier from the Indian forays which succeeded this episode. A year\nlater (1755) the inexperienced General Braddock, fresh from England, set\nout, with Washington upon his staff, to teach a lesson to these\nFrenchmen who had intruded upon land claimed by the colony of Virginia.\n\nIn Braddock's little army were a hundred North Carolina frontiersmen,\nunder Captain Hugh Waddell; their wagoner and blacksmith was Daniel\nBoone. His was one of those heavily laden baggage-wagons which, history\ntells us, greatly impeded the progress of the English, and contributed\nnot a little to the terrible disaster which overtook the column in the\nravine of Turtle Creek, only a few miles from Pittsburg. The\nbaggage-train was the center of a fierce attack from Indians, led by\nFrench officers, and many drivers were killed. Young Boone, however, cut\nthe traces of his team, and mounting a horse, fortunately escaped by\nflight. Behind him the Indian allies of the French, now unchecked, laid\nwaste the panic-stricken frontiers of Pennsylvania and Virginia. But the\nYadkin, which Boone soon reached, was as yet unscarred; the Northern\ntribes were busied in the tide of intercolonial warfare, and the\nCatawbas and Cherokees thus far remained steadfast to their old-time\npromises of peace.\n\nDaniel was now a man, full-grown. He had brought home with him not only\nsome knowledge of what war meant, but his imagination had become heated\nby a new passion--the desire to explore as well as to hunt. While upon\nthe campaign he had fallen in with another adventurous soul, John Finley\nby name, who fired his heart with strange tales of lands and game to the\nwest of the mountains. Finley was a Scotch-Irishman of roving\ntendencies, who had emigrated to Pennsylvania and joined a colony of his\ncompatriots. As early as 1752 he had become a fur-trader. In the course\nof his rambles many perilous adventures befell him in the Kentucky\nwilds, into which he had penetrated as far as the Falls of the Ohio,\nwhere Louisville is now built. Hurrying, with other woodsmen, to\nBraddock's support, he enrolled himself under George Croghan, a famous\ntrader to the Indians. But the expert services of Croghan and his men,\nwho, well understanding the methods of savages upon the war-path,\noffered to serve as scouts, were coldly rejected by Braddock, who soon\nhad occasion to regret that he had not taken their advice.\n\nFinley found in the Yadkin wagoner a kindred spirit, and suggested to\nhim with eagerness a method of reaching Kentucky by following the trail\nof the buffaloes and the Shawnese, northwestward through Cumberland Gap.\nTo reach this hunter's paradise, to which Finley had pointed the way,\nwas now Boone's daily dream.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[4] John and James remained, and lived and died in Oley.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nLIFE ON THE BORDER\n\n\nIt was many years before Daniel Boone realized his dream of reaching\nKentucky. Such an expedition into the far-off wilderness could not be\nlightly undertaken; its hardships and dangers were innumerable; and the\nway thither from the forks of the Yadkin was not as easily found,\nthrough this perplexing tangle of valleys and mountains, as Finley had\nsupposed. His own route had doubtless been over the Ohio Company's pass\nfrom the upper waters of the Potomac to a tributary of the Monongahela.\n\nAnother reason caused Daniel long to linger near his home. A half-dozen\nyears before the Boones reached the Yadkin country there had located\nhere a group of several related families, the Bryans, originally from\nIreland. Pennsylvanians at first, they had, as neighbors crowded them,\ndrifted southwestward into the Valley of Virginia; and finally, keeping\nwell ahead of other settlers, established themselves at the forks of the\nYadkin. They took kindly to the Boones, the two groups intermarried, and\nboth were in due course pioneers of Kentucky. Rebecca, the daughter of\nJoseph Bryan, was fifteen years of age when Daniel first read his fate\nin her shining black eyes. In the spring following his return from\nBraddock's slaughter-pen he led her to the altar, the ceremony being\nperformed by old Squire Boone--farmer, weaver, blacksmith, and now\njustice of the peace for Rowan County.\n\nAn historian of the border, who had studied well the family traditions,\nthus describes Daniel and Rebecca at the time when they set forth\ntogether upon the journey of life: \"Behold that young man, exhibiting\nsuch unusual firmness and energy of character, five feet eight inches in\nheight, with broad chest and shoulders, his form gradually tapering\ndownward to his extremities; his hair moderately black; blue eyes arched\nwith yellowish eyebrows; his lips thin, with a mouth peculiarly wide; a\ncountenance fair and ruddy, with a nose a little bordering on the Roman\norder. Such was Daniel Boone, now past twenty-one, presenting altogether\na noble, manly, prepossessing appearance.... Rebecca Bryan, whose brow\nhad now been fanned by the breezes of seventeen summers, was, like\nRebecca of old, 'very fair to look upon,' with jet-black hair and eyes,\ncomplexion rather dark, and something over the common size of her sex;\nher whole demeanor expressive of her childlike artlessness, pleasing in\nher address, and unaffectedly kind in all her deportment. Never was\nthere a more gentle, affectionate, forbearing creature than this same\nfair youthful bride of the Yadkin.\" In the annals of the frontier, as\nelsewhere, all brides are fair and grooms are manly; but, allowing for\nthe natural enthusiasm of hero-worshipers, we may, from the abundance of\ntestimony to that effect, at least conclude that Daniel and Rebecca\nBoone were a well-favored couple, fit to rear a family of sturdy\nborderers.\n\nIt was neither the day nor the place for expensive trousseaus and\nwedding journeys. After a hilarious wedding-feast, Boone and his wife,\nwith scanty equipment, immediately commenced their hard task of winning\na livelihood from the soil and the forest. At first occupying a rude log\ncabin in his father's yard, they soon afterward acquired some level land\nof their own, lying upon Sugar Tree, a tributary of Dutchman's Creek, in\nthe Bryan settlement, a few miles north of Squire Boone's. All of this\nneighborhood lies within what is now Davie County, still one of the\nrichest farming districts in North Carolina. Save when driven out by\nIndian alarms and forays, they here lived quietly for many years.\n\nThe pioneers in the then back country, along the eastern foot-hills of\nthe Alleghanies, led a rough, primitive life, such as is hardly possible\nto-day, when there is no longer any frontier within the United States,\nand but few districts are so isolated as to be more than two or three\ndays' journey from a railway. Most of them, however, had been bred, as\nwere the Boones and the Bryans, to the rude experiences of the border.\nWith slight knowledge of books, they were accustomed to living in the\nsimplest manner, and from childhood were inured to the hardships and\nprivations incident to great distance from the centers of settlement;\nthey possessed the virtues of hospitality and neighborliness, and were\nhardy, rugged, honest-hearted folk, admirably suited to their\nself-appointed task of forcing back the walls of savagery, in order that\ncivilization might cover the land. We may well honor them for the great\nservice that they rendered to mankind.\n\nThe dress of a backwoodsman like Daniel Boone was a combination of\nIndian and civilized attire. A long hunting-shirt, of coarse cloth or of\ndressed deerskins, sometimes with an ornamental collar, was his\nprincipal garment; drawers and leggings of like material were worn; the\nfeet were encased in moccasins of deerskin--soft and pliant, but cold in\nwinter, even when stuffed with deer's hair or dry leaves, and so spongy\nas to be no protection against wet feet, which made every hunter an\nearly victim to rheumatism. Hanging from the belt, which girt the\nhunting-shirt, were the powder-horn, bullet-pouch, scalping-knife, and\ntomahawk; while the breast of the shirt served as a generous pocket for\nfood when the hunter or warrior was upon the trail. For head-covering,\nthe favorite was a soft cap of coonskin, with the bushy tail dangling\nbehind; but Boone himself despised this gear, and always wore a hat. The\nwomen wore huge sunbonnets and loose gowns of home-made cloth; they\ngenerally went barefoot in summer, but wore moccasins in winter.\n\nDaniel Boone's cabin was a simple box of logs, reared in \"cob-house\"\nstyle, the chinks stuffed with moss and clay, with a door and perhaps\nbut a single window. Probably there was but one room below, with a low\nattic under the rafters, reached by a ladder. A great outside chimney,\nbuilt either of rough stones or of small logs, coated on the inside with\nclay mortar and carefully chinked with the same, was built against one\nend of this rude house. In the fireplace, large enough for logs five or\nsix feet in length, there was a crane from which was hung the iron pot\nin which the young wife cooked simple meals of corn-mush, pumpkins,\nsquashes, beans, potatoes, and pork, or wild meat of many kinds, fresh\nand dried; in a bake-kettle, laid upon the live coals, she made the\nbread and corn pone, or fried her steaks, which added variety to the\nfare.\n\nDishes and other utensils were few--some pewter plates, forks, and\nspoons; wooden bowls and trenchers, with gourds and hard-shelled\nsquashes for drinking-mugs. For knife, Boone doubtless used his\nbelt-weapon, and scorned the crock plates, now slowly creeping into the\nvalley, as calculated to dull its edge. Over the fireplace deer's horns\nserved as rests for his gun. Into the log wall were driven great wooden\npegs, hanging from which flitches of dried and smoked bacon, venison,\nand bear's-meat mingled freely with the family's scanty wardrobe.\n\nWith her cooking and rude mending, her moccasin-making, her distaff and\nloom for making cloths, her occasional plying of the hoe in the small\nvegetable patch, and her ever-present care of the children and dairy,\nRebecca Boone was abundantly occupied.\n\n  [Illustration: BOONE'S POWDER-HORN AND BAKE-KETTLE.\n    In possession of Wisconsin State Historical Society. The horn once\n    belonged to Daniel's brother Israel, and bears the initials \"I B\".]\n\nIn these early years of married life Daniel proved a good husbandman,\nplanting and garnering his crops with regularity, and pasturing a few\nscrawny cattle and swine upon the wild lands adjoining his farm.\nDoubtless at times he did smithy-work for the neighbors and took a\nhand at the loom, as had his father and grandfather before him.\nSometimes he was engaged with his wagon in the caravans which each\nautumn found their way from the Yadkin and the other mountain valleys\ndown to the Atlantic cities, carrying furs to market; it was as yet too\nearly in the history of the back country for the cattle-raisers to send\ntheir animals to the coast. In the Valley of Virginia, hemmed in upon\nthe east by the Blue Ridge, packhorses were alone used in this traffic,\nfor the mountain paths were rough and narrow; but wagons could be\nutilized in the more southern districts. The caravans brought back to\nthe pioneers salt, iron, cloths, and a few other manufactured goods.\nThis annual expedition over, Boone was free to go upon long hunts in the\nforest, where he cured great stores of meat for his family and prepared\nthe furs for market.\n\nThe backwoodsmen of the Yadkin had few machines to assist them in their\nlabor, and these were of the simplest sort. Practically, every settler\nwas his own mechanic--although some men became, in certain lines, more\nexpert than their neighbors, and to them fell such work for the entire\nsettlement. Grinding corn into meal, or cracking it into hominy, were,\nas usual with primitive peoples, tasks involving the most machinery.\nRude mortars and pestles, some of the latter ingeniously worked by means\nof springy \"sweeps,\" were commonly seen; a device something like a\nnutmeg-grater was often used when the corn was soft; two circular\nmillstones, worked by hand, were effective, and there were some operated\nby water-power.\n\nMedicine was at a crude stage, many of the so-called cures being as old\nas Egypt, while others were borrowed from the Indians. The borderers\nfirmly believed in the existence of witches; bad dreams, eclipses of the\nsun, the howling of dogs, and the croaking of ravens, were sure to bring\ndisasters in their train.\n\nTheir sports laid stress on physical accomplishments--great strength,\ndexterity with the rifle, hunting, imitating the calls of wild birds and\nbeasts, throwing the tomahawk, running, jumping, wrestling, dancing,\nand horse-racing; they were also fond, as they gathered around one\nanother's great fireplaces in the long winter evenings, of story-telling\nand dramatic recitation. Some of the wealthier members of this primitive\nsociety owned <DW64> slaves, to whom, sometimes, they were cruel, freely\nusing the whip upon both women and men. Indeed, in their own frequent\nquarrels fierce brutality was sometimes used, adversaries in a\nfist-fight being occasionally maimed or otherwise disfigured for life.\n\nThere was, for a long time, \"neither law nor gospel\" upon this far-away\nfrontier. Justices of the peace had small authority. Preachers were at\nfirst unknown. Many of the borderers were Presbyterians, and others\nQuakers; but under such social conditions these were little else than\nnames. Nevertheless, there was a sound public sentiment among these\nrude, isolated people, who were a law unto themselves. They respected\nand honored candor, honesty, hospitality, regular habits, and good\nbehavior generally; and very severe were the punishments with which\nthey visited offenders. If a man acted as a coward in time of war,\nshirked his full measure of duty to the public, failed to care for his\nfamily, was careless about his debts, stole from his neighbors, was\nneedlessly profane, or failed to treat women respectfully, he was either\nshunned by his fellows or forced to leave the settlement.\n\nAmid such surroundings and of such stuff was Daniel Boone in the days\nwhen he was living uneventfully in the valley of the Yadkin as farmer,\nblacksmith, wagoner, and hunter, before the Indian wars and his\nexplorations west of the long-shadowed mountain-range made of him a\npopular hero.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nRED MAN AGAINST WHITE MAN\n\n\nThe borderers in the Valley of Virginia and on the western highlands of\nthe Carolinas were largely engaged in raising horses, cattle, sheep, and\nhogs, which grazed at will upon the broad <DW72>s of the eastern\nfoot-hills of the Alleghanies, most of them being in as wild a state as\nthe great roving herds now to be seen upon the semi-arid plains of the\nfar West. Indeed, there are some strong points of resemblance between\nthe life of the frontier herdsman of the middle of the eighteenth\ncentury and that of the \"cow\" ranchers of our own day, although the most\nprimitive conditions now existing would have seemed princely to Daniel\nBoone. The annual round-up, the branding of young stock, the sometimes\ndeadly disputes between herdsmen, and the autumnal drive to market, are\nfeatures in common.\n\nWith the settlement of the valleys and the steady increase in the\nherds, it was necessary each season to find new pastures. Thus the\nherdsmen pushed farther and farther into the wilderness to the south and\nwest, and actually crossed the mountains at many points. Even before the\narrival of the Boones, the Bryans had frequently, toward the end of\nsummer, as the lower pastures thinned, driven their stock to a distance\nof sixty and seventy miles to green valleys lying between the western\nbuttresses of the mountain wall.\n\nThis gradual pressure upon the hunting-grounds of the Cherokees and the\nCatawbas was not unnoticed by the tribesmen. There had long been heard\ndeep mutterings, especially by the former, who were well-disposed toward\nthe ever-meddling French; but until the year of Daniel Boone's wedding\nthe southern frontiers had not known an Indian uprising.\n\nThe year previous (1755) the Cherokees had given reluctant permission to\nthe whites to build two posts in their country for the protection of the\nfrontiers against the French, who, with their Indian allies, were\ncontinually active against the New York, Pennsylvania, and Virginia\nfrontiers, and were known to be attempting the corruption of the\nSouthern Indians. Fort Prince George was accordingly erected upon the\nSavannah River, and Fort Loudon upon the Tennessee. In 1756 Fort Dobbs\nwas constructed a short distance south of the South Fork of the Yadkin.\nThese three centers of refuge were upon the extreme southwestern borders\nof the English colonies.\n\nThese \"forts\" of the American border would have proved slight defenses\nin the presence of an enemy armed with even the lightest artillery, but\nwere generally sufficient to withstand a foe possessing only muskets and\nrifles. Fort Dobbs was an oblong space forty-three by fifty-three feet,\ngirt by walls about twelve feet high, consisting of double rows of logs\nstanding on end; earth dug from the ditch which surrounded the fort was\npiled against the feet of these palisades, inside and out, to steady\nthem; they were fastened to one another by wooden pins, and their tops\nwere sharpened so as to impede those who might seek to climb over. At\nthe angles of the stockade were blockhouses three stories high, each\nstory projecting about eighteen inches beyond the one beneath; there\nwere openings in the floors of the two upper stories to enable the\ndefenders to fire down upon an enemy which sought to enter below. Along\nthe inside of one, or perhaps two, of the four walls of the stockade was\na range of cabins--or rather, one long cabin with log partitions--with\nthe <DW72> of the roof turned inward to the square; this furnished a\nplatform for the garrison, who, protected by the rampart of pointed\nlogs, could fire into the attacking party. Other platforms were\nbracketed against the walls not backed by cabins. There was a large\ndouble gate made of thick slabs and so situated as to be guarded by the\nblockhouses on either corner; this was the main entrance, but another\nand smaller gate furnished a rear exit to and entrance from the spring\nhard by. Blockhouses, cabins, and walls were all amply provided with\nport-holes; Fort Dobbs had capacity for a hundred men-at-arms to fire at\none volley. Destructive fusillades could be maintained from within, and\neverywhere the walls were bullet-proof; but good marksmen in the\nattacking force could work great havoc by firing through the port-holes,\nand thus quietly picking off those who chanced to be in range.\nFortunately for the whites few Indians became so expert as this.\n\nUpon the arrival of breathless messengers bringing news of the approach\nof hostile Indians, the men, women, and children of a wide district\nwould flock into such a fort as this. \"I well remember,\" says Dr.\nDoddridge in his Notes on Virginia, \"that when a little boy the family\nwere sometimes waked up in the dead of night by an express with a report\nthat the Indians were at hand. The express came softly to the door or\nback window, and by gentle tapping waked the family; this was easily\ndone, as an habitual fear made us ever watchful and sensible to the\nslightest alarm. The whole family were instantly in motion: my father\nseized his gun and other implements of war; my stepmother waked up and\ndressed the children as well as she could; and being myself the oldest\nof the children, I had to take my share of the burthens to be carried\nto the fort. There was no possibility of getting a horse in the night to\naid us in removing to the fort; besides the little children, we caught\nup what articles of clothing and provisions we could get hold of in the\ndark, for we durst not light a candle or even stir the fire. All this\nwas done with the utmost despatch and the silence of death; the greatest\ncare was taken not to awaken the youngest child; to the rest it was\nenough to say _Indian_, and not a whimper was heard afterwards. Thus it\noften happened that the whole number of families belonging to a fort,\nwho were in the evening at their homes, were all in their little\nfortress before the dawn of the next morning. In the course of the\nsucceeding day their household furniture was brought in by parties of\nthe men under arms.\"\n\nThe large public frontier forts, such as we have described, did not\nhouse all of the backwoodsmen. There were some who, either because of\ngreat distance or other reasons, erected their own private defenses; or,\nin many cases, several isolated families united in such a structure.\nOften these were but single blockhouses, with a few outlying cabins. It\nwas difficult to induce some of the more venturesome folk to enter the\nforts unless Indians were actually in the settlement; they took great\nrisks in order to care for their crops and stock until the last moment;\nand, soon tiring of the monotony of life within the fort cabins, would\noften leave the refuge before the danger was really over. \"Such\nfamilies,\" reports Doddridge, \"gave no small amount of trouble by\ncreating frequent necessities of sending runners to warn them of their\ndanger, and sometimes parties of our men to protect them during their\nremoval.\"\n\nFor the first few years Fort Dobbs was but little used. There was,\nhowever, much uneasiness. The year 1757 had, all along the line, been\ndisastrous to English arms in the North, and the Cherokees became\nincreasingly insolent. The next year they committed several deadly\nassaults in the Valley of Virginia, but themselves suffered greatly in\nreturn. The French, at last driven from Fort Duquesne (Pittsburg), had\nretreated down the Ohio River to Fort Massac, in southern Illinois, and\nsent their emissaries far and near to stir up the Indians west of the\nmountains. The following April (1759) the Yadkin and Catawba Valleys\nwere raided by the Cherokees, with the usual results of ruined crops,\nburned farm-buildings, and murdered households; not a few of the\nborderers being carried off as prisoners into the Indian country, there\ngenerally to suffer either slavery or slow death from the most horrid\nforms of torture. The Catawbas, meanwhile, remained faithful to their\nwhite friends.\n\nUntil this outbreak the Carolinas had prospered greatly. Hundreds of\nsettlers had poured in from the more exposed northern valleys, and the\nwestern uplands were now rapidly being dotted over with clearings and\nlog cabins. The Indian forays at once created a general panic throughout\nthis region, heretofore considered safe. Most of the Yadkin families,\ntogether with English fur-traders who hurried in from the woods, huddled\nwithin the walls either of Fort Dobbs or of small neighborhood forts\nhastily constructed; but many others, in their fright, fled with all\ntheir possessions to settlements on or near the Atlantic coast.\n\nAmong the latter were old Squire Boone and his wife, Daniel and Rebecca,\nwith their two sons,[5] and several other families of Bryans and Boones,\nalthough some of both names preferred to remain at Fort Dobbs. The\nfugitives scattered to various parts of Virginia and Maryland--Squire\ngoing to Georgetown, now in the District of Columbia, where he lived for\nthree years and then returned to the Yadkin; while Daniel's family went\nin their two-horse wagon to Culpeper County, in eastern Virginia. The\nsettlers there employed him with his wagon in hauling tobacco to\nFredericksburg, the nearest market-town.\n\nThe April forays created almost as much consternation at Charleston as\non the Yadkin. Governor Lyttleton, of South Carolina, sent out fifteen\nhundred men to overcome the Cherokees, who now pretended to be grieved\nat the acts of their young hot-bloods and patched up a peace.\nFur-traders, eager to renew their profitable barter, hastened back into\nthe western forests. But very soon their confidence was shattered, for\nthe Indians again dug up the tomahawk. Their war-parties infested every\nroad and trail; most of the traders, with trains of packhorses to carry\ntheir goods and furs, fell an easy prey to their forest customers; and\nForts Loudon, Dobbs, and Prince George were besieged. By January (1760)\nthe entire southwest border was once more a scene of carnage.\n\nCaptain Waddell, our old friend of Braddock's campaign, commanded at\nFort Dobbs, with several Bryans and Boones in his little garrison. Here\nthe Cherokees were repulsed with great loss. At Fort Prince George the\ncountry round about was sadly harried by the enemy, who finally\nwithdrew. Fort Loudon, however, had one of the saddest experiences in\nthe thrilling annals of the frontier.\n\nIn April General Amherst, of the British Army, sent Colonel Montgomery\nagainst the Cherokees with a formidable column composed of twelve\nhundred regular troops--among them six hundred kilted Highlanders--to\nwhom were attached seven hundred Carolina backwoods rangers under\nWaddell, with some Catawba allies. They laid waste with fire and sword\nall the Cherokee villages on the Keowee and Tennessee Rivers, including\nthe growing crops and magazines of corn. The soldiers killed seventy\nIndians, captured forty prisoners, and reduced the greater part of the\ntribe to the verge of starvation.\n\nThe Cherokees were good fighters, and soon had their revenge. On the\nmorning of the twenty-seventh of June the army was proceeding along a\nrough road on the southern bank of the Little Tennessee, where on one\nside is a sheer descent to the stream, on the other a lofty cliff. Here\nit was ambuscaded by over six hundred savage warriors under the noted\nchief Silouee. In the course of an engagement lasting several hours the\nwhites lost twenty killed and sixty wounded, and the Cherokee casualties\nwere perhaps greater. Montgomery desperately beat his way to a level\ntract, but in the night hastily withdrew, and did not stop until he\nreached Charleston. Despite the entreaties of the Assembly, he at once\nretired to the North with his little army, and left the frontiers of\nCarolina open to the assaults of the merciless foe.\n\nThe siege of Fort Loudon was now pushed by the Cherokees with vigor. It\nhad already withstood several desperate and protracted assaults. But the\ngarrison contrived to exist for several months, almost wholly upon the\nactive sympathy of several Indian women who were married to frontiersmen\nshut up within the walls. The dusky wives frequently contrived to\nsmuggle food into the fort despite the protests of the Indian leaders.\nWomen, however, despite popular notions to the contrary, have a powerful\ninfluence in Indian camps; and they but laughed the chiefs to scorn,\nsaying that they would suffer death rather than refuse assistance to\ntheir white husbands.\n\nThis relief, however, furnished but a precarious existence. Receiving no\nhelp from the settlements, which were cut off from communication with\nthem, and weak from irregular food, the garrison finally surrendered on\npromise of a safe-conduct to their fellows in the East. Early in the\nmorning of August ninth they marched out--men, women, and children to\nthe number of several hundred--leaving behind them their cannon,\nammunition, and spare arms. The next day, upon their sorry march, they\nwere set upon by a bloodthirsty mob of seven hundred Cherokees. Many\nwere killed outright, others surrendered merely to meet torture and\ndeath. Finally, after several hours of horror, a friendly chief\nsucceeded, by browbeating his people and by subterfuge, in saving the\nlives of about two hundred persons, who in due time and after great\nsuffering, reached the relief party which had for several months been\nmaking its way thither from Virginia; but it had been delayed by storms\nand high water in the mountain streams, and was now seeking needed rest\nin a camp at the head of the Holston. It is recorded that during the\nheartrending melee several other Indians risked their lives for white\nfriends, performing deeds of heroism which deserve to be remembered.\n\nAlthough New France was now tottering to its fall, the French officers\nat Fort Massac still continued, with their limited resources, to keep\nalive the Cherokee war spirit. French outrages occurred throughout the\nautumn and early winter of 1760. At nearly all of the forts, large and\nsmall, skirmishes took place, some of these giving occasion for\nexhibitions of rare enterprise and courage on the part of the garrisons,\nwomen and men alike.\n\nDuring the winter, the governors of Virginia, North Carolina, and South\nCarolina agreed upon a joint campaign against the hostiles. The southern\ncolumn, comprising twenty-six hundred men, chiefly Highlanders, was\nunder Lieutenant-Colonel James Grant. Starting early in June, they\ncarried with them seven hundred packhorses, four hundred head of cattle,\nand a large train of baggage and supplies. Their route from Fort Prince\nGeorge to the lower and middle Cherokee towns on the Little Tennessee\nlay through a rough, mountainous country; high water, storms, intensely\nwarm weather, the lack of tents, and bruises from rocks and briers,\ncaused the troops to suffer greatly. After heavy losses from ambuscades\nin narrow defiles, they finally reached their destination, and spent a\nmonth in burning and ravaging fifteen or more large villages and\nfourteen hundred acres of growing corn, and in driving five thousand\nmen, women, and children into the hills to starve. Wrote one of the\npious participators in this terrible work of devastation: \"Heaven has\nblest us with the greatest success; we have finished our business as\ncompletely as the most sanguine of us could have wished.\" The Cherokees,\ncompletely crushed, humbly begged for peace, which was granted upon\nliberal terms and proved to be permanent.\n\nThe northern column was composed of backwoodsmen from Virginia and North\nCarolina, under Colonel William Byrd, an experienced campaigner. Byrd\nwas much hampered for both men and supplies, and accomplished little. He\nappears to have largely spent his time in making roads and building\nblockhouses--laborious methods ill-fitted for Indian warfare, and loudly\ncriticized by Waddell, who joined him with a regiment of five hundred\nNorth Carolinians, among whom was Daniel Boone, now returned to the\nYadkin. Waddell and Boone had experienced the folly of this sort of\nthing in Braddock's ill-fated campaign. As a result of dissatisfaction,\nByrd resigned, and Colonel Stephen succeeded him. The force, now\ncomposed of about twelve hundred men, pushed on to the Long Island of\nHolston River, where they were met by four hundred Cherokees, who,\nbrought to their knees by Grant, likewise sought peace from Stephen.\nArticles were accordingly signed on the nineteenth of November. The\nNorth Carolina men returned home; but a portion of the Virginia regiment\nremained as a winter garrison for Fort Robinson, as the new fort at Long\nIsland was called.\n\nNow that the Yadkin region has, after its sad experience, been blessed\nwith a promise of peace, we may well pause, briefly to consider the\nethics of border warfare. This life-history will, to its close, have\nmuch to do with Indian forays and white reprisals, and it is well that\nwe should consider them dispassionately.\n\nThe Cherokees were conducting a warfare in defense of their villages,\nfields, and hunting-grounds, which were being rapidly destroyed by the\ninrush of white settlers, who seemed to think that the Indians had no\nrights worth consideration. Encouraged by the French, who deemed the\nEnglish intruders on lands which they had first explored, the American\naborigines seriously thought that they might stem the tide of English\nsettlement. It was impossible that they should win, for civilization has\nin such cases ever triumphed over savagery; but that they should make\nthe attempt was to be expected from a high-spirited race trained to war.\nWe can but sympathize with and honor them for making their several stout\nstands against the European wave which was ultimately to sweep them from\ntheir native land.[6] King Philip, Opecancano, Pontiac, Tecumseh, Red\nJacket, Sitting Bull, Captain Jack, were types of successive leaders\nwho, at various stages of our growth westward, have stood as bravely as\nany Spartan hero to contest our all-conquering advance.\n\nIt is the time-honored custom of historians of the frontier to consider\nIndians as all wrong and whites as all right; and that, of course, was\nthe opinion of the borderers themselves--of Daniel Boone and all the men\nof his day. But we are now far enough removed from these events, and the\nfierce passions they engendered, to see them more clearly. The Indian\nwas a savage and fought like a savage--cruel, bloodthirsty, unrelenting,\ntreacherous, seldom a respecter of childhood, of age, or of women. But\none can not read closely the chronicles of border warfare without\ndiscovering that civilized men at times could, in fighting savages,\ndescend quite as low in the scale as they, in bloodthirstiness and\ntreachery. Some of the most atrocious acts in the pioneer history of\nKentucky and the Middle West were performed by whites; and some of the\nmost Christianlike deeds--there were many such on both sides--were\nthose of painted savages.\n\nIt is needless to blame either of the contending races; their conflict\nwas inevitable. The frontiersman was generally unlettered, and used,\nwithout ceremony, to overcoming the obstacles which nature set in his\npath; one more patient could not have tamed the wilderness as quickly as\nhe. His children often rose to high positions as scholars, statesmen,\nand diplomats. But he himself was a diamond in the rough, and not\naccustomed to nice ethical distinctions. To his mind the Indian was an\ninferior being, if not a child of Satan; he was not making the best use\nof the soil; his customs and habits of thought were such as to repel the\nBritish mind, however much they may have attracted the French. The\ntribesmen, whom the pioneer could not and would not understand, stood in\nhis way, hence must be made to go or to die in his tracks. When the\nsavage, quick to resentment, struck back, the turbulent passions of the\noverbearing white were aroused, and with compound interest he repaid\nthe blow. Upon the theory that the devil must be fought with fire, the\nborderer not seldom adopted methods of reprisal that outdid the savage\nin brutality.\n\nThe red man fighting, after his own wild standards, for all that he held\nmost dear, and the white man, who brooks no opposition from an inferior\nrace, hitting back with a fury sometimes increased by fear--such, in\nbrief, is the blood-stained history of the American border.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[5] The children of Daniel Boone were as follows: James (born in 1757),\nIsrael (1759), Susannah (1760), Jemima (1762), Lavinia (1766), Rebecca\n(1768), Daniel Morgan (1769), John B. (1773), and Nathan (1780). The\nfour daughters all married and died in Kentucky. The two eldest sons\nwere killed by Indians, the three younger emigrated to Missouri.\n\n[6] \"I had rather receive the blessing of one poor Cherokee, as he casts\nhis last look back upon his country, for having, though in vain,\nattempted to prevent his banishment, than to sleep beneath the marble of\nall the Caesars.\"--_Extract from a speech of Theodore Frelinghuysen, of\nNew Jersey, delivered in the United States Senate, April 7, 1830._\n\n\"I am not aware that any community has a right to force another to be\ncivilized.\"--_John Stuart Mill._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nKENTUCKY REACHED AT LAST\n\n\nWhen Daniel Boone returned from tidewater Virginia to the Yadkin region\nis not now known. It is probable that the monotony of hauling tobacco to\nmarket at a time when his old neighbors were living in a state of panic\npalled upon a man who loved excitement and had had a taste of Indian\nwarfare. It has been surmised that he served with the Rowan rangers upon\nLyttleton's campaign, alluded to in the previous chapter, and possibly\naided in defending Fort Dobbs, or served with Waddell under Montgomery.\nThat he was, some time in 1760, in the mountains west of the Yadkin upon\neither a hunt or a scout, or both, appears to be well established; for\nup to a few years ago there was still standing upon the banks of Boone's\nCreek, a small tributary of the Watauga in eastern Tennessee, a tree\nupon whose smooth bark had been rudely carved this characteristic\nlegend, undoubtedly by the great hunter himself: \"D Boon cilled A BAR on\nthis tree year 1760.\"[7]\n\nWe have already seen that he accompanied Waddell in 1761, when that\npopular frontier leader reenforced Colonel Byrd's expedition against the\nCherokees. Upon Waddell's return to North Carolina his leather-shirted\nfollowers dispersed to their homes, and Boone was again enabled to\nundertake a protracted hunt, no longer disturbed by fear that in his\nabsence Indians might raid the settlement; for hunting was now his chief\noccupation, his wife and children conducting the farm, which held second\nplace in his affections. Thus we see how close the borderers came to the\nsavage life wherein men are the warriors and hunters and women the\ncrop-gatherers and housekeepers. Organizing a party of kindred\nspirits--a goodly portion of the Yadkin settlers were more hunters than\nfarmers--Boone crossed the mountains and roamed through the valleys of\nsouthwest Virginia and eastern Tennessee, being especially delighted\nwith the Valley of the Holston, where game was found to be unusually\nabundant. At about the same time another party of nineteen hunters went\nupon a similar expedition into the hills and valleys westward of the\nYadkin, penetrating well into Tennessee, and being absent for eighteen\nmonths.\n\n  [Illustration: A BOONE TREE.\n    Tree on Boone's Creek, Tenn., bearing Daniel Boone's autograph. (See\n    pp. 55, 56.)]\n\nWe must not conclude, from the passionate devotion to hunting exhibited\nby these backwoodsmen of the eighteenth century, that they led the same\nshiftless, aimless lives as are followed by the \"poor whites\" found in\nsome of the river-bottom communities of our own day, who are in turn\nfarmers, fishermen, or hunters, as fancy or the seasons dictate. It must\nbe remembered that farming upon the Virginia and Carolina uplands was,\nin the pioneer period, crude as to methods and insignificant as to\ncrops. The principal wealth of the well-to-do was in herds of horses and\ncattle which grazed in wild meadows, and in droves of long-nosed swine\nfeeding upon the roots and acorns of the hillside forests. Among the\noutlying settlers much of the family food came from the woods, and\noften months would pass without bread being seen inside the cabin walls.\nBesides the live stock of the richer folk, whose herds were driven to\nmarket, annual caravans to tidewater towns carried furs and skins won by\nthe real backwoodsmen, who lived on the fringe of the wilderness. For\nlack of money accounts were kept in pelts, and with these were purchased\nrifles, ammunition, iron, and salt. It was, then, to the forests that\nthe borderers largely looked for their sustenance. Hence those long\nhunts, from which the men of the Yadkin, unerring marksmen, would come\nback laden with great packs of pelts for the markets, and dried venison,\nbear's meat, and bear's oil for their family larders. Naturally, this\nwandering, adventurous life, spiced with excitement in many forms,\nstrongly appealed to the rough, hardy borderers, and unfitted them for\nother occupations. Under such conditions farming methods were not likely\nto improve, nor the arts of civilization to prosper; for the hunter not\nonly best loved the wilderness, but settlement narrowed his\nhunting-grounds. Thus it was that the frontiersman of the Daniel Boone\ntype, Indian hater as he was, had at heart much the same interests as\nthe savage whom he was seeking to supplant. It was simply a question as\nto which hunter, red or white, should occupy the forest; to neither was\nsettlement welcome.\n\nWith the opening of 1762 the southwest border began to be reoccupied.\nThe abandoned log cabins once more had fires lighted upon their hearths,\nat the base of the great outside chimneys of stones and mud-plastered\nboughs; the deserted clearings, which had become choked with weeds and\nunderbrush in the five years of Indian warfare, were again cultivated by\ntheir reassured owners. Among the returned refugees were Daniel's\nparents, Squire and Sarah Boone, who had ridden on horseback overland\nall the way from Maryland. Three years later Squire Boone died, one of\nthe most highly esteemed men in the valley.\n\nThe Yadkin country was more favored than some other portions of the\nbackwoods of North Carolina. Pontiac's uprising (1763) against the\nEnglish, who had now supplanted the French in Canada and in the\nwilderness between the Alleghanies and the Mississippi, led some of the\nSouthern tribes again to attack the frontiers of the Southwest; but they\nwere defeated before the Yadkin was affected by this fresh panic.\n\nThe Indian wars had lasted so long that the entire border had become\ndemoralized. Of course not all the people in the backwoods were of good\ncharacter. Not a few of them had been driven out from the more thickly\nsettled parts of the country because of crimes or of bad reputation; and\nsome of the fur-traders who lived upon the edge of the settlement were\nsorry rogues. When the panic-stricken people were crowded within the\nnarrow walls of the forts they could not work. Many of them found this\nlife of enforced idleness to their liking, and fell into the habit of\nmaking secret expeditions to plunder abandoned houses and to steal\nuncared-for live stock. When peace came these marauders had acquired a\ndistaste for honest labor; leaving the forts, they pillaged right and\nleft, and horse-stealing became an especially prevalent frontier vice.\n\nJustice on the border was as yet insufficiently organized. Some of the\nVirginia and Carolina magistrates were themselves rascals, whose\ndecisions could be purchased by criminals. Many of the best citizens,\ntherefore, formed associations whose members were called \"regulators.\"\nThey bound themselves to pursue, arrest, and try criminals, and to\npunish them by whipping, also by expulsion from the neighborhood. The\nlaw-breakers, on the other hand, organized in defense, and popular\nopinion was divided between the two elements; for there were some good\npeople who did not like the arbitrary methods of the regulators, and\ninsisted upon every man being given a regular trial by jury. In South\nCarolina, particularly, the settlers were much exercised on this\nquestion, and arrayed themselves into opposing bands, armed to carry out\ntheir respective views. For a time civil war was feared; but finally,\nafter five years of disturbance, an agreement was reached, efficient\ncourts were established, and justice triumphed.\n\nAffairs did not reach so serious a stage in North Carolina. Nevertheless\nthere were several bands of vicious and indolent men, who, entrenched\nin the hills, long defied the regulators. One of these parties built a\nrude stockaded fort beneath an overhanging cliff in the mountains back\nof the Yadkin settlements. They stole horses, cattle, farming utensils;\nin fact, anything that they could lay their hands upon. One day they\ngrew so bold as to kidnap a girl. The settlers, now roused to action,\norganized attacking companies, one of them headed by Daniel Boone, and\ncarried the log fortress of the bandits by storm. The culprits were\ntaken to Salisbury jail and the clan broken up.\n\nThe rapid growth of the country soon made game scarce in Boone's\nneighborhood. Not only did the ever-widening area of cleared fields\ndestroy the cover, but there were, of course, more hunters than before.\nThus our Nimrod, who in his early manhood cared for nothing smaller than\ndeer, was compelled to take extended trips in his search for\nless-frequented places. It was not long before he had explored all the\nmountains and valleys within easy reach, and become familiar with the\nviews from every peak in the region, many of them five and six thousand\nfeet in height.\n\nAs early as 1764-65 Boone was in the habit of taking with him, upon\nthese trips near home, his little son James, then seven or eight years\nof age. This was partly for company, but mainly for the lad's education\nas a hunter. Frequently they would spend several days together in the\nwoods during the autumn and early winter--the deer-hunting season--and\noften, when in \"open\" camps, were overtaken by snow-storms. On such\noccasions the father would keep the boy warm by clasping him to his\nbosom as they lay with feet toward the glowing camp-fire. As the\nwell-taught lad grew into early manhood these two companions would be\nabsent from home for two and three months together, always returning\nwell laden with the spoils of the chase.\n\nHunters in Boone's day had two kinds of camp--\"open\" when upon the move,\nwhich meant sleeping in their blankets upon the ground wherever darkness\nor weariness overtook them; \"closed\" where remaining for some time in a\nlocality. A closed camp consisted of a rude hut of logs or poles, the\nfront entirely open, the sides closely chinked with moss, and the roof\ncovered with blankets, boughs, or bark, sloping down to a back-log. In\ntimes when the Indians were not feared a fire was kept up throughout the\nnight, in front, in order to warm the enclosure. Upon a bed of hemlock\nboughs or of dried leaves the hunters lay with heads to the back-log and\nstockinged feet to the blaze, for their spongy moccasins were hung to\ndry.[8] Such a camp, often called a \"half-faced cabin,\" was carefully\nplaced so that it might be sheltered by neighboring hills from the cold\nnorth and west winds. It was fairly successful as a protection from rain\nand snow, and sometimes served a party of hunters throughout several\nsuccessive seasons; but it was ill-fitted for the coldest weather. Boone\nfrequently occupied a shelter of this kind in the woods of Kentucky.\n\nDuring the last four months of 1765 Boone and seven companions went on\nhorseback to the new colony of Florida with a view to moving thither if\nthey found it suited to their tastes. Wherever possible, they stopped\novernight at borderers' cabins upon the frontiers of the Carolinas and\nGeorgia. But such opportunities did not always occur; they often\nsuffered from hunger, and once they might have died from starvation but\nfor the timely succor of a roving band of Seminole Indians. They\nexplored Florida all the way from St. Augustine to Pensacola, and appear\nto have had a rather wretched time of it. The trails were miry from\nfrequent rains, the number and extent of the swamps appalled them, and\nthere was not game enough to satisfy a man like Boone, who scorned\nalligators. Pensacola, however, so pleased him that he determined to\nsettle there, and purchased a house and lot which he might in due time\noccupy. Upon their return Boone told his wife of his Pensacola venture,\nbut this sturdy woman of the frontier spurned the idea of moving to a\ngameless land. So the town lot was left to take care of itself, and\nhenceforth the dutiful husband looked only to the West as his model of a\nperfect country.\n\nAt the close of the French and Indian War there arrived in the Boone\nsettlement a Scotch-Irishman named Benjamin Cutbirth, aged about\ntwenty-three years. He was a man of good character and a fine hunter.\nMarrying Elizabeth Wilcoxen, a niece of Daniel Boone, he and Boone went\nupon long hunts together, and attained that degree of comradeship which\njoint life in a wilderness camp is almost certain to produce.\n\nIn 1766 several families from North Carolina went to Louisiana,\napparently by sea to New Orleans, and founded an English settlement\nabove Baton Rouge on the Mississippi River. The news of this event gave\nrise to a general desire for exploring the country between the mountains\nand the great river. The year following, Cutbirth, John Stuart, John\nBaker, and John Ward, all of them young married men on the Yadkin, and\nexcellent hunters, resolved to perform this feat, and if possible to\ndiscover a region superior to their own valley. They crossed the\nmountain range and eventually saw the Mississippi, being, so far as we\nknow from contemporary documents, the first party of white men to\nsucceed in this overland enterprise. Possibly fur-traders may have done\nso before them, but they left no record to prove it.\n\nCutbirth and his friends spent a year or two upon the river. In the\nautumn they ascended the stream for a considerable distance, also one of\nits tributaries, made a stationary camp for the winter, and in the\nspring descended to New Orleans, where they sold at good prices their\nskins, furs, bear-bacon, bear's oil, buffalo \"jerk\" (dried meat),\ntallow, and dried venison hams. Their expedition down the river was\nperformed at great risks, for they had many hairbreadth escapes from\nsnags, river banks shelving in, whirlpools, wind-storms, and Indians.\nTheir reward, says a chronicler of the day, was \"quite a respectable\nproperty;\" but while upon their return homeward, overland, they were set\nupon by Choctaws, who robbed them of their all.\n\nMeanwhile, Daniel Boone was slow in making up his mind to leave home and\nthe wife and family whom he dearly loved for so long and perilous a trip\nas a journey into the now much-talked-of land of Kentucky. Perhaps,\ndespite his longings, he might never have gone had affairs upon the\nYadkin remained satisfactory to him. But game, his chief reliance, was\nyear by year becoming harder to obtain. And the rascally agents of Earl\nGranville, the principal landholder of the region, from whom the Boones\nhad purchased, were pretending to find flaws in the land-titles and\ninsisting upon the necessity for new deeds, for which large fees were\nexacted.\n\nThis gave rise to great popular discontent. Boone's protest consisted in\nleaving the Sugar Tree settlement and moving northwest for sixty-five\nmiles toward the head of the Yadkin. His new cabin, a primitive shell of\nlogs, could still be seen, a few years ago, at the foot of a range of\nhills some seven and a half miles above Wilkesboro, in Wilkes County.\nAfter a time, dissatisfied with this location, he moved five miles\nfarther up the river and about half a mile up Beaver Creek. Again he\nchanged his mind, choosing his final home on the upper Yadkin, just\nabove the mouth of Beaver. It was from this beautiful region among the\nAlleghany foot-hills, where game and fish were plenty and his swine and\ncattle had good range, that Boone, crowded out by advancing\ncivilization, eventually moved to Kentucky.\n\nIn the spring and early summer of 1767 there were fresh outbreaks on the\npart of the Indians. Governor Tryon had run a boundary-line between the\nback settlements of the Carolinas and the Cherokee hunting-grounds. But\nhunters and traders would persist in wandering to the west of this line,\nand sometimes they were killed.\n\nIn the autumn of that year Daniel Boone and a warm friend, William Hill,\nand possibly Squire Boone, determined to seek Kentucky, of which Finley\nhad told him twelve years before. They crossed the mountain wall, were\nin the valleys of the Holston and the Clinch, and reached the head\nwaters of the West Fork of the Big Sandy. Following down this river for\na hundred miles, determined to find the Ohio, they appear to have struck\na buffalo-path, along which they traveled as far as a salt-lick ten\nmiles west of the present town of Prestonburg, on a tributary of the\nWest (or Louisa) Fork of the Sandy, within Floyd County, in the extreme\neastern part of Kentucky.\n\nCaught in a severe snow-storm, they were compelled to camp at this lick\nfor the entire winter. It proved to be the most profitable station that\nthey could have selected, for buffaloes and other animals came in large\nnumbers to lick the brackish soil, and all the hunters had to do was to\n\"rise, kill, and eat.\"\n\nAlthough now considerably west of the Cumberland Mountains, the\nexplorers were not aware that they were within the famed Kentucky; and\nas the country was very hilly, covered with briers which annoyed them\ngreatly, and altogether forbidding, they despaired of reaching the\npromised land by this path, and in the spring returned to the Yadkin.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[7] Boone had a strong fancy for carving his name and hunting feats upon\ntrees. His wanderings have very largely been traced by this means.\n\n[8] When Indians were about, moccasins were always tied to the guns so\nas to be ready to slip on in case of a night alarm.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nALONE IN THE WILDERNESS\n\n\nIn the winter of 1768-69 a pedler with horse and wagon wandered into the\nvalley of the upper Yadkin, offering small wares to the settlers' wives.\nThis was thrifty John Finley, former fur-trader and Indian fighter, who,\nthirteen years before, had, as we have seen, fraternized with Boone in\nBraddock's ill-fated army on the Monongahela. Finley had, in 1752, in\nhis trade with the Indians, descended the Ohio in a canoe to the site of\nLouisville, accompanied by three or four voyageurs, and, with some of\nhis dusky customers, traveled widely through the interior of Kentucky.\nHis glowing descriptions of this beautiful land had inspired Boone to\ntry to find it. The latter was still sorrowing over his unpromising\nexpedition by way of the Big Sandy when, by the merest chance, the man\nwho had fired his imagination knocked at his very door.\n\nThroughout the winter that Finley was Daniel's guest, he and his brother\nSquire were ready listeners to the pedler's stories of the over-mountain\ncountry--tales of countless water-fowl, turkeys, deer, elk, and\nbuffaloes, which doubtless lost nothing in the telling. The two Boones\nresolved to try Finley's proposed route by way of Cumberland Gap, and\nthe fur-trader promised to lead the way.\n\nAfter the spring crops were in, Finley, Daniel Boone, and the latter's\nbrother-in-law, John Stuart, started from Daniel's house upon the first\nof May. In their employ, as hunters and camp-keepers, were three\nneighbors--Joseph Holden, James Mooney, and William Cooley. Each man was\nfully armed, clad in the usual deerskin costume of the frontier, and\nmounted upon a good horse; blanket or bearskin was strapped on behind\nthe saddle, together with camp-kettle, a store of salt, and a small\nsupply of provisions, although their chief food was to be game. Squire\nremained to care for the crops of the two families, and agreed to\nreenforce the hunters late in the autumn.\n\nScaling the lofty Blue Ridge, the explorers passed over Stone and Iron\nMountains and reached Holston Valley, whence they proceeded through\nMoccasin Gap of Clinch Mountain, and crossed over intervening rivers and\ndensely wooded hills until they came to Powell's Valley, then the\nfarthest limit of white settlement. Here they found a hunter's trail\nwhich led them through Cumberland Gap. The \"warriors' path\"--trodden by\nIndian war-parties from across the mountains--was now discovered, and\nthis they followed by easy stages until at last they reached what is now\ncalled Station Camp Creek, a tributary of the Kentucky River, in Estill\nCounty, Ky.--so named because here was built their principal, or\n\"station\" camp, the center of their operations for many months to come.\n\nWhile Boone, Finley, and Stuart made frequent explorations, and Boone in\nparticular ascended numerous lofty hills in order to view the country,\nthe chief occupation of the party was hunting. Throughout the summer and\nautumn deerskins were in their best condition. Other animals were\noccasionally killed to afford variety of food, but fur-bearers as a\nrule only furnish fine pelts in the winter season. Even in the days of\nabundant game the hunter was required to exercise much skill, patience,\nand endurance. It was no holiday task to follow this calling. Deer,\nespecially, were difficult to obtain. The habits of this excessively\ncautious animal were carefully studied; the hunter must know how to\nimitate its various calls, to take advantage of wind and weather, and to\npractise all the arts of strategy.\n\nDeerskins were, all things considered, the most remunerative of all.\nWhen roughly dressed and dried they were worth about a dollar each; as\nthey were numerous, and a horse could carry for a long distance about a\nhundred such skins, the trade was considered profitable in those\nprimitive times, when dollars were hard to obtain. Pelts of beavers,\nfound in good condition only in the winter, were worth about two dollars\nand a half each, and of otters from three to five dollars. Thus, a\nhorse-load of beaver furs, when obtainable, was worth about five times\nthat of a load of deerskins; and if a few otters could be thrown in, the\nvalue was still greater. The skins of buffaloes, bears, and elks were\ntoo bulky to carry for long distances, and were not readily marketable.\nA few elk-hides were needed, however, to cut up into harness and straps,\nand bear- and buffalo-robes were useful for bedding.\n\nWhen an animal was killed the hunter skinned it on the spot, and packed\non his back the hide and the best portion of the meat. At night the meat\nwas smoked or prepared for \"jerking,\" and the skins were scraped and\ncured. When collected at the camps, the bales of skins, protected from\nthe weather by strips of bark, were placed upon high scaffolds, secure\nfrom bears and wolves.\n\nOur Yadkin hunters were in the habit, each day, of dividing themselves\ninto pairs for company and mutual aid in times of danger, usually\nleaving one pair behind as camp-keepers. Boone and Stuart frequently\nwere companions upon such trips; for the former, being a man of few\nwords, enjoyed by contrast the talkative, happy disposition of his\nfriend. Occasionally the entire party, when the game grew timid, moved\nfor some distance, where they would establish a new camp; but their\nheadquarters remained at Station Camp, where were kept their principal\nskins, furs, and stores. In this way the time passed from June to\nDecember. Boone used to assert, in after years, that these months were\nthe happiest of his life. The genial climate, the beauty of the country,\nand the entire freedom of this wild life, strongly appealed to him. Here\nthis taciturn but good-natured man, who loved solitary adventure, was\nnow in his element. Large packs of skins had been obtained by the little\ncompany and stored at Station Camp and their outlying shelters; and\nthere was now a generous supply of buffalo, bear, and elk meat, venison,\nand turkeys, all properly jerked for the winter which was before them,\nwith buffalo tallow and bear's oil to serve as cooking grease.\n\nFinley and Boone were both aware that Kentucky lay between the warring\ntribes of the North and the South; that through it warriors' paths\ncrossed in several directions; and that this, probably the finest\nhunting-field in North America, was a debatable land, frequently fought\nover by contending savages--a \"dark and bloody ground\" indeed. Yet thus\nfar there had been no signs of Indians, and the Carolina hunters had\nalmost ceased to think of them.\n\nToward the close of day on the twenty-second of December, while Boone\nand Stuart were ascending a low hill near the Kentucky River, in one of\nthe most beautiful districts they had seen, they were suddenly\nsurrounded and captured by a large party of Shawnese horsemen returning\nfrom an autumn hunt on Green River to their homes north of the Ohio. The\ntwo captives were forced to lead the savages to their camps, which were\ndeliberately plundered, one after the other, of everything in them. The\nShawnese, releasing their prisoners, considerately left with each hunter\njust enough supplies to enable him to support himself on the way back to\nthe settlements. The white men were told what was a fact under existing\ntreaties with the tribes--treaties, however, of which Boone and his\ncompanions probably knew nothing--that they were trespassing upon Indian\nhunting-grounds, and must not come again, or \"the wasps and\nyellow-jackets will sting you severely.\"\n\nThe others proposed to leave for home at once; but Boone and Stuart,\nenraged at having lost their year's work and all that they had brought\ninto the wilderness, and having no sympathy for Indian treaty rights,\nstarted out to recover their property. After two days they came up with\nthe Shawnese, and secreting themselves in the bushes until dark,\ncontrived to regain four or five horses and make off with them. But\nthey, in turn, were overtaken in two days by the Indians and again made\nprisoners. After a week of captivity, in which they were kindly treated,\nthey effected their escape in the dark and returned to Station Camp.\n\nTheir companions, giving them up for lost, had departed toward home, but\nwere overtaken by the two adventurers. Boone was gratified to find with\nthem his brother Squire, who, having gathered the fall crops, had come\nout with a fresh supply of horses, traps, and ammunition. He had\nfollowed the trail of his predecessors, and in the New River region was\njoined by Alexander Neely. Not finding Daniel and Stuart at Station\nCamp, and grief-stricken at the report concerning them, he was traveling\nhomeward with the party.\n\nDaniel, however, who had staked upon this venture almost all that he\nowned, did not relish the thought of returning empty-handed, now that\nreenforcements had arrived, and determined to stay and seek to regain\nhis lost fortunes. Squire, Stuart, and Neely concluded also to remain,\nand the four were now left behind in the wilderness. On reaching the\nHolston Valley, Finley turned northward to seek his relatives in\nPennsylvania; while Holden, Mooney, and Cooley proceeded southeastward\nto their Yadkin homes, carrying dismal news of the events attending this\nnotable exploration of Kentucky.\n\nThe quartette promptly abandoned Station Camp as being dangerously near\nthe warriors' path, and, tradition says, built another on or near the\nnorthern bank of Kentucky River, not far from the mouth of the Red. The\ndeer season was now over, but beavers and otters were in their prime,\nand soon the hunters were enjoying a profitable season. A small canoe\nwhich they built added greatly to their equipment, and they were now\nenabled to set their traps throughout a wide region.\n\nHunting in pairs, Daniel was generally accompanied by Stuart, while\nNeely and Squire were partners. In their wanderings the two pairs were\nsometimes several days without seeing each other; and frequently\npartners would be separated throughout the day, but at night met at some\nappointed spot. One day, toward the close of January or early in\nFebruary (1770), Stuart did not return to the rendezvous, much to\nBoone's alarm. The following day the latter discovered the embers of a\nfire, doubtless built by the lost man; but that was all, for Stuart was\nseen no more. Five years later Boone came across the bones of his\nlight-hearted comrade in a hollow sycamore tree upon Rockcastle\nRiver--he recognized them by Stuart's name cut upon his powder-horn.\nWhat caused Stuart's death is a mystery to the present day; possibly he\nwas wounded and chased by Indians to this distant spot, and died while\nin hiding.\n\nStuart's mysterious disappearance frightened Neely, who at once left for\nhome, thus leaving Daniel and Squire to pass the remainder of the winter\nin the wilderness by themselves. Dejected, but not discouraged, the\nbrothers built a comfortable hut and continued their work. With the\nclose of the trapping season the ammunition was nearly exhausted. Upon\nthe first of May, a year after Daniel had left his cabin upon the upper\nYadkin, Squire started out upon the return, their horses well laden with\nfurs, skins, and jerked meat. Both men had, in their enterprise,\ncontracted debts of considerable extent for frontier hunters, hence they\nwere anxious to square themselves with the world, as well as to obtain\nmore horses, ammunition, and miscellaneous supplies.\n\nDaniel was now left alone in Kentucky, \"without bread, salt, or sugar,\nwithout company of his fellow-creatures, or even a horse or dog.\" In\nafter years he acknowledged that he was at times homesick during the\nthree months which followed, and felt deeply his absence from the wife\nand family to whom he was so warmly attached. But possessing a\ncheerful, hopeful nature, he forgot his loneliness in untrammeled\nenjoyment of the far-stretching wilderness.\n\nAlmost without ammunition, he could not hunt, save to obtain sufficient\nfood, and largely spent his time in exploration. Fearing Indians, he\nfrequently changed his location, sometimes living in shelters of bark\nand boughs, and again in caves; but seldom venturing to sleep in these\ntemporary homes, preferring the thickets and the dense cane-brakes as\nless liable to be sought by savage prowlers.\n\nKentucky has a remarkably diversified landscape of densely wooded hills\nand valleys and broad prairie expanses. The genial climate admirably\nsuited the philosophical wanderer. He enjoyed the exquisite beauty and\nstateliness of the trees--the sycamores, tulip-trees, sugar-trees,\nhoney-locusts, coffee-trees, pawpaws, cucumber-trees, and black\nmulberries--and found flowers in surprising variety and loveliness. The\nmineral springs interested him--Big Lick, the Blue Licks, and Big Bone\nLick, with its fossil remains of mastodons which had become mired when\ncoming to lick the brackish soil. He traveled far and wide in his search\nfor the beautiful and curious, being chiefly in the valleys of the\nLicking and the Kentucky, and upon the banks of the Ohio as far down as\nthe site of Louisville, where, at the foot of the falls, he inspected\nthe remains of an old fur trade stockade concerning which Finley had\ntold him.\n\nOnce he saw some Indians walking upon the northern bank of the Ohio, but\nmanaged himself to keep out of sight. At another time, when on the\nKentucky, he saw a savage calmly fishing from the trunk of a fallen\ntree. In mentioning this incident to his family, in later days, he would\ndeclare with gravity: \"While I was looking at the fellow he tumbled into\nthe river, and I saw him no more.\" Probably the man of the Yadkin shot\nhim, fearing that the fisherman might carry the news of the former's\nwhereabouts to a possible camp near by. On another occasion, when\nexploring Dick's River, he was suddenly surrounded by Indians. Having\neither to surrender or to leap down the precipitous height to a bank\nsixty feet below, he chose to leap. Landing in the top of a small\nsugar-maple, he slid down the tree, and was able to escape by running\nunder the overhanging bank and then swimming the stream. Adventures such\nas this gave abundant spice to the joys of solitude.\n\nIn the latter part of July Squire arrived from the settlements, having\npaid all their debts and with the surplus purchased sufficient supplies\nfor another summer and fall campaign against the deer. This was highly\nsuccessful. They did not lack some interesting experiences, but Indians\nwere not again encountered; so that, when winter approached, Squire was\nenabled once more to leave with well-laden horses for the markets of the\nEast. Another two months of loneliness were suffered by Daniel; but in\nDecember Squire rejoined him with horses, ammunition, and other\nnecessaries, and the pair joyously settled down for still another winter\ntogether in the dark and lonely forests of Kentucky.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nPREDECESSORS AND CONTEMPORARIES\n\n\nThe reader of this narrative has, of course, already discovered that\nDaniel Boone was neither the original white explorer of Kentucky nor the\nfirst white hunter within its limits. Many others had been there before\nhim. It will be worth our while at this point to take a hasty review of\nsome of the previous expeditions which had made the \"dark and bloody\nground\" known to the world.\n\nProbably none of the several Spanish explorations of the sixteenth\ncentury along the Mississippi River and through the Gulf States had\ntouched Kentucky. But during the seventeenth century both the French in\nCanada and the English on the Atlantic tidewater came to have fairly\naccurate notions of the country lying immediately to the south of the\nOhio River. As early as 1650 Governor Berkeley, of Virginia, made a vain\nattempt to cross the Alleghany barrier in search of the Mississippi,\nconcerning which he had heard from Indians; and we know that at the same\ntime the French, especially the Jesuit missionaries, were looking\neagerly in that direction. A few years later Colonel Abraham Wood, of\nVirginia, discovered streams which poured into the Ohio and the\nMississippi. Just a century before Boone's great hunt, John Lederer,\nalso of Virginia, explored for a considerable distance beyond the\nmountains. The following year Thomas Batts and his party proclaimed King\nCharles II upon New River, the upper waters of the Great Kanawha--twelve\nmonths before La Salle took possession of all Western waters for the\nFrench king, and nineteen before Marquette and Joliet discovered the\nMississippi.\n\nThere is a tradition that in 1678, only five years after the voyage of\nMarquette and Joliet, a party of New Englanders ventured into the\nWestern wilderness as far as New Mexico. The later French expeditions of\nLa Salle, Hennepin, and D'Iberville are well known. Several Englishmen\ntraded with Indians upon the Mississippi before the close of the\nseventeenth century; by 1719 the English were so numerous that Governor\nKeith, of Pennsylvania, suggested that four forts be built for their\nprotection in the Wabash and Illinois countries. We hear of a French\nexpedition investigating Big Bone Lick, in Kentucky, in 1735; and other\nvisits were successively made by bands of their compatriots until the\ndownfall of New France, over a quarter of a century later. In 1742 John\nHoward and Peter Salling, of Virginia, were exploring in Kentucky; six\nyears after them Dr. Thomas Walker made a notable expedition through the\nsame country; and two years after that Washington's backwoods friend,\nChristopher Gist, was on the site of Louisville selecting lands for the\nOhio Company, which had a large grant upon the Ohio River.\n\nHenceforward, border chronicles abound with reports of the adventures of\nEnglish fur-traders, hunters, and land-viewers, all along the Ohio River\nand tributary waters above Louisville. Among these early adventurers was\nour friend Finley, whose experiences in Kentucky dated from 1752, and\nwho piloted Boone to the promised land through the gateway of Cumberland\nGap. The subsequent Indian wars, with the expeditions into the upper\nOhio Valley by Generals Braddock, Forbes, and Bouquet, made the country\nstill better known; and settlers were soon rushing in by scores,\nalthough as yet none of them appear to have made clearings within\nKentucky itself.\n\nOfficers and soldiers who had served in the French and Indian War were\ngiven liberal grants of land in the West. Washington had not only his\nown grant, as the principal officer upon the southwest frontier, but was\nagent for a number of fellow-soldiers, and in 1767 went to the Ohio\nRiver to select and survey claims. At the very time when Boone was\nengaged upon his fruitless expedition down the Big Sandy, Washington was\nmaking the first surveys in Kentucky on both the Little and Big Sandy.\nAgain, in 1770, when Boone was exploring the Kentucky wilderness,\nWashington was surveying extensive tracts along the Ohio and the Great\nKanawha, and planning for a large colony upon his own lands. The\noutbreak of the Revolution caused the great man to turn his attention\nfrom the over-mountain region to the defense of his country. Had he been\nleft to carry out his plans, he would doubtless have won fame as the\nmost energetic of Western pioneers.\n\nIt will be remembered that when Boone and his companions passed through\nCumberland Gap in the early summer of 1769, they found the well-worn\ntrail of other hunters who had preceded them from the settlements. The\nmen of the Yadkin Valley were not the only persons seeking game in\nKentucky that year. At about the time when Boone was bidding farewell to\nhis family, Hancock and Richard Taylor, Abraham Hempinstall, and one\nBarbour, frontiersmen of the same type, started from their homes in\nOrange County, Va., to explore the valleys of the Ohio and Mississippi.\nThey descended from Pittsburg in a boat, explored Kentucky, and\nproceeded into Arkansas, where they camped and hunted during the\nfollowing winter. The next year two of them traveled eastward to\nFlorida, and thence northwardly to their homes; the others stayed in\nArkansas for another year, and returned by sea from New Orleans to New\nYork.\n\nSimultaneously with the expeditions of Boone and the Taylors, a party of\ntwenty or more adventurous hunters and explorers was formed in the New\nRiver region, in the Valley of Virginia. They set out in June (1769),\npiloted by Uriah Stone, who had been in Kentucky three years before.\nEntering by way of the now familiar Cumberland Gap, these men had\nexperiences quite similar to those of Boone and his comrades. At some of\nthe Kentucky salt-licks they found herds of buffaloes numbering up in\nthe thousands--at one lick a hundred acres were densely massed with\nthese bulky animals, who exhibited no fear until the wind blew from the\nhunters toward them, and then they would \"dash wildly away in large\ndroves and disappear.\" Like Boone's party, they also were the victims of\nCherokees, who plundered their camps, and after leaving them some guns\nand a little ammunition, ordered them out of the country. The New River\nparty being large, however, some of their number were deputed to go to\nthe settlements and bring back fresh supplies, so that they could finish\ntheir hunt. After further adventures with Indians half of the hunters\nreturned home; while the others wandered into Tennessee and as far as\nthe Ozark Mountains, finally reaching New River through Georgia and the\nCarolinas. Another Virginian, named John McCulloch, who courted the\nperils of exploration, was in Kentucky in the summer of 1769 with a\nwhite man-servant and a <DW64>. He visited the site of Terre Haute, Ind.,\nand went by canoe to Natchez and New Orleans, and at length reached\nPhiladelphia by sea.\n\nBut the most famous of all the expeditions of the period was that of the\n\"Long Hunters,\" as they have come to be known in Western history.\nInspired by the favorable reports of Stone and others, about forty of\nthe most noted and successful hunters of New River and Holston Valleys\nformed, in the summer of 1770, a company for hunting and trapping to the\nwest of Cumberland Mountains. Under the leadership of two of the best\nwoodsmen of the region, Joseph Drake and Henry Skaggs, and including\nseveral of Stone's party, they set out in early autumn fully prepared\nfor meeting Indians and living on game. Each man took with him three\npackhorses, rifles, ammunition, traps, dogs, blankets, and salt, and was\ndressed in the deerskin costume of the times.\n\nPushing on through Cumberland Gap, the adventurers were soon in the\nheart of Kentucky. In accordance with custom, they visited some of the\nbest licks--a few of which were probably first seen by them--for here\nwild beasts were always to be found in profusion. At Knob Licks they\nbeheld from an eminence which overlooked the springs \"what they\nestimated at largely over a thousand animals, including buffaloe, elk,\nbear, and deer, with many wild turkies scattered among them--all quite\nrestless, some playing, and others busily employed in licking the earth;\nbut at length they took flight and bounded away all in one direction, so\nthat in the brief space of a couple of minutes not an animal was to be\nseen.\" Within an area of many acres, the animals had eaten the salty\nearth to a depth of several feet.\n\nSuccessful in a high degree, the party ceased operations in February,\nand had completed preparations for sending a large shipment of skins,\nfurs, and \"jerk\" to the settlements, when, in their temporary absence,\nroving Cherokees robbed them of much of their stores and spoiled the\ngreater part of the remainder. \"Fifteen hundred skins gone to\nruination!\" was the legend which one of them carved upon the bark of a\nneighboring tree, a record to which were appended the initials of each\nmember of the party. A series of disasters followed, in the course of\nwhich two men were carried off by Indians and never again seen, and\nothers fled for home. Those remaining, having still much ammunition and\nthe horses, continued their hunt, chiefly upon the Green and Cumberland\nRivers, and in due time brought together another store of peltries,\nalmost as extensive as that despoiled by the savages.\n\nNot long after the robbery, when the Long Hunters were upon Green River,\none of the parties into which the band was divided were going into camp\nfor the night, when a singular noise was heard proceeding from a\nconsiderable distance in the forest. The leader, Caspar Mausker,\ncommanded silence on the part of his comrades, and himself crept\ncautiously from tree to tree in the direction of the sound. Imagine his\nsurprise and amusement to find \"a man bare-headed, stretched flat upon\nhis back on a deerskin spread on the ground, singing merrily at the top\nof his voice!\" The singer was our hero, Daniel Boone, who, regardless of\npossible Indian neighbors, was thus enjoying himself while awaiting\nSquire's belated return to camp. Like most woodsmen of his day and ours,\nBoone was fond of singing, in his rude way, as well as of relating tales\nof stirring adventure. In such manner were many hours whiled away around\nthe camp-fires of wilderness hunters.\n\nThe Boones at once joined and spent some time with the Long Hunters, no\ndoubt delighted at this opportunity of once more mingling with men of\ntheir kind. Among their amusements was that of naming rivers, creeks,\nand hills after members of the party; many of these names are still\npreserved upon the map of Kentucky. At one time they discovered that\nsome French hunters from the Illinois country had recently visited a\nlick to kill buffaloes for their tongues and tallow, which they had\nloaded into a keel-boat and taken down the Cumberland. In after years\none of the Long Hunters declared that this wholesale slaughter was so\ngreat \"that one could walk for several hundred yards in and around the\nlick on buffaloes' skulls and bones, with which the whole flat around\nthe lick was bleached.\"\n\nIt was not until August that the Long Hunters returned to their homes,\nafter a profitable absence of eleven months. But the Boone brothers left\ntheir comrades in March and headed for the Yadkin, with horses now well\nladen with spoils of the chase. They were deeply in debt for their\nlatest supplies, but were returning in light heart, cheered with the\nprospect of settling their accounts and being able to revisit Kentucky\nin good condition. But in Powell's Valley, near Cumberland Gap, where\nthey might well have supposed that small chance of danger remained, they\nwere suddenly set upon by a war party of Northern Indians who had been\nraiding the white settlers as well as their Southern foes, the Cherokees\nand Catawbas. Roughly handled and robbed of their packs, the unfortunate\nhunters reached the Yadkin in no happy frame of mind. Daniel had been\nabsent for two years, and was now poorer than when he left home. He used\nto say, however, in after years, that having at last seen Kentucky, his\nideal of an earthly paradise, that served as solace for his woes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE HERO OF CLINCH VALLEY\n\n\nWhile Daniel Boone had been hunting and exploring amid the deep forests\nand waving greenswards of Kentucky, important events had been taking\nplace in the settlements. The colonists along the Atlantic tidewater had\nbecome so crowded that there were no longer any free lands in that\nregion; and settlers' cabins in the western uplands of Pennsylvania,\nMaryland, the Carolinas, and Georgia had so multiplied that now much of\nthe best land there had also been taken up. The far-outlying frontier\nupon which the Boones and Bryans had reared their rude log huts nearly a\nquarter of a century before, no longer abounded in game and in free\npastures for roving herds; indeed, the frontier was now pushed forward\nto the west-flowing streams--to the head waters of the Watauga, Clinch,\nPowell, French Broad, Holston, and Nolichucky, all of them affluents of\nthe Tennessee, and to the Monongahela and other tributaries of the\nupper Ohio.\n\nThe rising tide of population demanded more room to the westward. The\nforbidding mountain-ranges had long hemmed in the restless borderers;\nbut the dark-skinned wilderness tribes had formed a still more serious\nbarrier, as, with rifles and tomahawks purchased from white traders,\nthey terrorized the slowly advancing outposts of civilization. With the\nFrench government no longer in control of Canada and the region east of\nthe Mississippi--although French-Canadian woodsmen were freely employed\nby the British Indian Department--with the consequent quieting of Indian\nforays, with increased knowledge of the over-mountain passes, and with\nthe strong push of population from behind, there had arisen a general\ndesire to scale the hills, and beyond them to seek exemption from\ntax-gatherers, free lands, and the abundant game concerning which the\nKentucky hunters had brought glowing reports.\n\nUpon the defeat of the French, the English king had issued a\nproclamation (1763) forbidding his \"loving subjects\" to settle to the\nwest of the mountains. The home government was no doubt actuated in this\nby two motives: first, a desire to preserve the wilderness for the\nbenefit of the growing fur trade, which brought wealth to many London\nmerchants; second, a fear that borderers who pushed beyond the mountains\nmight not only be beyond the reach of English trade, but also beyond\nEnglish political control. But the frontiersmen were already too far\ndistant to have much regard for royal proclamations. The king's command\nappears to have had no more effect than had he, like one of his\npredecessors, bade the ocean tide rise no higher.\n\nIn 1768, at Fort Stanwix, N.Y., the Iroquois of that province, whose war\nparties had raided much of the country between the Hudson and the\nMississippi, surrendered what shadowy rights they might be supposed to\nhave over all lands lying between the Ohio and the Tennessee. Meanwhile,\nat the South, the Cherokees had agreed to a frontier which opened to\nsettlement eastern Kentucky and Tennessee.\n\nBut, without waiting for these treaties, numerous schemes had been\nproposed in England and the Atlantic coast colonies for the settlement\nof Kentucky and the lands of the upper Ohio. Most of these projects\nfailed, even the more promising of them being checked by the opening of\nthe Revolutionary War; but their existence showed how general was the\ndesire of English colonists to occupy those fertile Western lands which\nexplorers like Gist, Washington, the Boones, and the Long Hunters had\nnow made familiar to the world. The new treaties strengthened this\ndesire, so that when Daniel and Squire Boone reached their homes upon\nthe Yadkin the subject of Western settlement was uppermost in the minds\nof the people.\n\nThe land excitement was, however, less intense in North Carolina than in\nthe Valley of Virginia and other mountain troughs to the north and\nnortheast. At Boone's home there was unrest of a more serious character.\nThe tax-gatherers were arousing great popular discontent because of\nunlawful and extortionate demands, and in some cases Governor Tryon had\ncome to blows with the regulators who stood for the people's rights.\n\nFor two and a half years after his return Boone quietly conducted his\nlittle farm, and, as of old, made long hunting trips in autumn and\nwinter, occasionally venturing--sometimes alone, sometimes with one or\ntwo companions--far west into Kentucky, once visiting French Lick, on\nthe Cumberland, where he found several French hunters. There is reason\nto believe that in 1772 he moved to the Watauga Valley, but after living\nthere for a time went back to the Yadkin. Early in the following year he\naccompanied Benjamin Cutbirth and others as far as the present Jessamine\nCounty, Ky., and from this trip returned fired with quickened zeal for\nmaking a settlement in the new country.\n\nThe spring and summer were spent in active preparations. He enlisted the\ncooperation of Captain William Russell, the principal pioneer in the\nClinch Valley; several of the Bryans, whose settlement was now\nsixty-five miles distant, also agreed to join him; and five other\nfamilies in his own neighborhood engaged to join the expedition. The\nBryan party, numbering forty men, some of them from the Valley of\nVirginia and Powell's Valley, were not to be accompanied by their\nfamilies, as they preferred to go in advance and prepare homes before\nmaking a final move. But Boone and the other men of the upper Yadkin\ntook with them their wives and children; most of them sold their farms,\nas did Boone, thus burning their bridges behind them. Arranging to meet\nthe Bryan contingent in Powell's Valley, Boone's party left for the West\nupon the twenty-fifth of September, 1773--fifty-six years after old\nGeorge Boone had departed from England for the Pennsylvania frontier\nnear Philadelphia, and twenty-three after the family had set out for the\nnew southwest frontier on the Yadkin.\n\nReaching Powell's, Boone went into camp to await the rear party, his\nriding and packhorses hoppled and belled, after the custom of such\ncaravans, and their small herd of cattle properly guarded in a meadow.\nHis eldest son, James, now a boy of sixteen years, was sent with two\nmen, with pack-animals, across country to notify Russell and to secure\nsome flour and farming tools. They were returning laden, in company with\nRussell's son Henry, a year older than James, two of Russell's <DW64>\nslaves, and two or three white workpeople, when, missing their path,\nthey went into camp for the night only three miles from Boone's\nquarters. At daybreak they were attacked by a Shawnese war party and all\nkilled except a white laborer and a <DW64>. This pathetic tragedy created\nsuch consternation among the movers that, despite Boone's entreaties to\ngo forward, all of them returned to Virginia and Carolina. Daniel and\nhis family, no longer having a home on the Yadkin, would not retreat,\nand took up their quarters in an empty cabin upon the farm of Captain\nDavid Gass, seven or eight miles from Russell's, upon Clinch River.\nThroughout this sorrowful winter the Boones were supported from their\nstock of cattle and by means of Daniel's unerring rifle.\n\nIt was long before the intrepid pioneers could again take up their line\nof march. Ever since the Bouquet treaty of 1764 there had been more or\nless disturbance upon the frontiers. During all these years, although\nthere was no open warfare between whites and reds, many scores of lives\nhad been lost. Indians had wantonly plundered and murdered white men,\nand the latter had been quite as merciless toward the savages. Whenever\na member of one race met a man of the other the rifle was apt to be at\nonce brought into play. Meanwhile, armed parties of surveyors and land\nspeculators were swarming into Kentucky, notching the trees for\nlandmarks, and giving evidence to apprehensive tribesmen that the hordes\nof civilization were upon them. In 1773 George Rogers Clark, afterward\nthe most famous of border leaders, had staked a claim at the mouth of\nFishing Creek, on the Ohio; Washington had, this summer, descended the\nriver to the same point; while at the Falls of the Ohio, and upon\ninterior waters of the Kentucky wilderness, other parties were laying\nambitious plans for the capitals of new colonies.\n\nIn the following spring the Cherokees and Shawnese, now wrought to a\nhigh pitch of ill temper, combined for onslaughts on the advancing\nfrontiersmen. The wanton murder by border ruffians of Chief John Logan's\nfamily, near Mingo Junction, on the Ohio, was the match which, in early\nsummer, fired the tinder. The Mingos, ablaze with the fire of vengeance,\ncarried the war-pipe through the neighboring villages; runners were sent\nin every direction to rouse the tribes; tomahawks were unearthed,\nwar-posts were planted; messages of defiance were sent to the\n\"Virginians,\" as all frontiersmen were generally called by the Western\nIndians; and in a few days the border war to which history has given the\nname of Lord Dunmore, then governor of Virginia, was in full swing from\nCumberland Gap to Fort Pitt, from the Alleghanies to the Wabash.\n\nIts isolation at first protected the Valley of the Clinch. The\ncommandant of the southwest militia--which comprised every boy or man\ncapable of bearing arms--was Colonel William Preston; under him was\nMajor Arthur Campbell; the principal man in the Clinch Valley was\nBoone's friend, Russell. When, in June, the border captains were\nnotified by Lord Dunmore that the war was now on, forts were erected in\neach of the mountain valleys, and scouts sent out along the trails and\nstreams to ascertain the whereabouts of the enemy.\n\nThere were in Kentucky, at this time, several surveying parties which\ncould not obtain news by way of the Ohio because of the blockade\nmaintained by the Shawnese. It became necessary to notify them overland,\nand advise their retreat to the settlements by way of Cumberland Gap.\nRussell having been ordered by Preston to employ \"two faithful woodsmen\"\nfor this purpose, chose Daniel Boone and Michael Stoner. \"If they are\nalive,\" wrote Russell to his colonel, \"it is indisputable but Boone must\nfind them.\" Leaving the Clinch on June twenty-seventh, the two envoys\nwere at Harrodsburg before July eighth. There they found James Harrod\nand thirty-four other men laying off a large town,[9] in which they\nproposed to give each inhabitant a half-acre in-lot and a ten-acre\nout-lot. Boone, who had small capacity for business, but in land was\nsomething of a speculator, registered as a settler, and in company with\na neighbor put up a cabin for his future occupancy. This done, he and\nStoner hurried on down the Kentucky River to its mouth, and thence to\nthe Falls of the Ohio (site of Louisville), notifying several bands of\nsurveyors and town-builders of their danger. After an absence of\nsixty-one days they were back again upon the Clinch, having traveled\neight hundred miles through a practically unbroken forest, experienced\nmany dangers from Indians, and overcome natural difficulties almost\nwithout number.\n\nMeanwhile Lord Dunmore, personally unpopular but an energetic and\ncompetent military manager, had sent out an army of nearly three\nthousand backwoodsmen against the Shawnese north of the Ohio. One wing\nof this army, led by the governor himself, went by way of Fort Pitt and\ndescended the Ohio; among its members was George Rogers Clark. The other\nwing, commanded by General Andrew Lewis, included the men of the\nSouthwest, eleven hundred strong; they were to descend the Great\nKanawha and rendezvous with the northern wing at Point Pleasant, at the\njunction of the Kanawha and the Ohio.\n\nWhen Boone arrived upon the Clinch he found that Russell and most of the\nother militiamen of the district had departed upon the campaign. With a\nparty of recruits, the great hunter started out to overtake the\nexpedition, but was met by orders to return and aid in defending his own\nvalley; for the drawing off of the militia by Dunmore had left the\nsouthwest frontiers in weak condition. During September the settlers\nupon the Clinch suffered much apprehension; the depredations of the\ntribesmen were not numerous, but several men were either wounded or\ncaptured.\n\nIn a letter written upon the sixth of October, Major Campbell gives a\nlist of forts upon the Clinch: \"Blackmore's, sixteen men, Sergeant Moore\ncommanding; Moore's, twenty miles above, twenty men, Lieutenant Boone\ncommanding; Russell's, four miles above, twenty men, Sergeant W. Poage\ncommanding; Glade Hollow, twelve miles above, fifteen men, Sergeant\nJohn Dunkin commanding; Elk Garden, fourteen miles above, eighteen men,\nSergeant John Kinkead commanding; Maiden Spring, twenty-three miles\nabove, five men, Sergeant John Crane commanding; Whitton's Big Crab\nOrchard, twelve miles above, three men, Ensign John Campbell, of Rich\nValley, commanding.\" During this month Boone and his little garrison\nmade frequent sallies against the enemy, and now and then fought brief\nbut desperate skirmishes. He appears to have been by far the most active\ncommander in the valley, and when neighboring forts were attacked his\nparty of well-trained riflemen generally furnished the relief necessary\nto raise the siege. \"Mr. Boone,\" writes Campbell to Preston, \"is very\ndiligent at Castle's-woods, and keeps up good order.\" His conduct is\nfrequently alluded to in the military correspondence of that summer;\nCampbell and other leaders exhibited in their references to our hero a\nrespectful and even deferential tone. An eye-witness of some of these\nstirring scenes has left us a description of Daniel Boone, now forty\nyears of age, in which it is stated that his was then a familiar figure\nthroughout the valley as he hurried to and fro upon his military duties\n\"dressed in deerskin  black, and his hair plaited and clubbed\nup.\"\n\nUpon the tenth of October, Cornstalk, a famous Shawnese chief, taking\nadvantage of Dunmore's failure to join the southern wing, led against\nLewis's little army encamped at Point Pleasant a thousand picked\nwarriors gathered from all parts of the Northwest. Here, upon the wooded\neminence at the junction of the two rivers, was waged from dawn until\ndusk one of the most bloody and stubborn hand-to-hand battles ever\nfought between Indians and whites. It is hard to say who displayed the\nbest generalship, Cornstalk or Lewis. The American savage was a splendid\nfighter; although weak in discipline he could competently plan a battle.\nThe tactics of surprise were his chief resource, and these are\nlegitimate even in civilized warfare; but he could also make a\ndetermined contest in the open, and when, as at Point Pleasant, the\nopposing numbers were nearly equal, the result was often slow of\ndetermination. Desperately courageous, pertinacious, with a natural\naptitude for war combined with consummate treachery, cruelty, and\ncunning, it is small wonder that the Indian long offered a formidable\nbarrier to the advance of civilization. In early Virginia, John Smith\nnoticed that in Indian warfare the whites won at the expense of losses\nfar beyond those suffered by the tribesmen; and here at Point Pleasant,\nwhile the \"Long Knives\"[10] gained the day, the number of their dead and\nwounded was double that of the casualties sustained by Cornstalk's\npainted band.\n\nThe victory at Point Pleasant practically closed the war upon the\nborder. Boone had been made a captain in response to a popular petition\nthat the hero of Clinch Valley be thus honored, and was given charge of\nthe three lower forts; but there followed only a few alarms, and upon\nthe twentieth of November he and his brother militiamen of the region\nreceived their discharge. The war had cost Virginia L10,000 sterling,\nmany valuable lives had been sacrificed, and an incalculable amount of\nsuffering and privation had been occasioned all along the three hundred\nand fifty miles of American frontier. But the Shawnese had been humbled,\nthe Cherokees had retired behind the new border line, and a lasting\npeace appeared to be assured.\n\nIn the following January Captain Boone, true son of the wilderness, was\ncelebrating his freedom from duties incident to war's alarms by a\nsolitary hunt upon the banks of Kentucky River.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[9] Previous to this there had been built in Kentucky many hunters'\ncamps, also a few isolated cabins by \"improvers\"; but Harrodsburg (at\nfirst called \"Harrodstown\") was the first permanent settlement, thus\nhaving nearly a year's start of Boonesborough. June 16, 1774, is the\ndate given by Collins and other chroniclers for the actual settlement by\nHarrod.\n\n[10] The Indians had called the Americans \"Knifemen,\" \"Long Knives,\" or\n\"Big Knives,\" from the earliest historic times; but it was not until\nabout the middle of the eighteenth century that the Virginia colonists\nbegan to make record of the use of this epithet by the Indians with whom\nthey came in contact. It was then commonly supposed that it grew out of\nthe use of swords by the frontier militiamen, and this is the meaning\nstill given in dictionaries; but it has been made apparent by Albert\nMatthews, writing in the New York Nation, March 14, 1901, that the\nepithet originated in the fact that Englishmen used knives as\ndistinguished from the early stone tools of the Indians. The French\nintroduced knives into America previous to the English, but apparently\nthe term was used only by Indians within the English sphere of\ninfluence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE SETTLEMENT OF KENTUCKY\n\n\nKentucky had so long been spasmodically occupied and battled over by\nShawnese, Iroquois, and Cherokees, that it can not be said that any of\nthem had well-defined rights over its soil. Not until white men appeared\nanxious to settle there did the tribes begin to assert their respective\nclaims, in the hope of gaining presents at the treaties whereat they\nwere asked to make cessions. The whites, on their part, when negotiating\nfor purchases, were well aware of the shadowy character of these claims;\nbut, when armed with a signed deed of cession, they had something\ntangible upon which thenceforth to base their own claims of\nproprietorship. There was therefore much insincerity upon both sides. It\nis well to understand this situation in studying the history of Kentucky\nsettlement.\n\nColonel Richard Henderson was one of the principal judges in North\nCarolina, a scholarly, talented man, eminent in the legal profession;\nalthough but thirty-nine years of age, he wielded much influence.\nKnowing and respecting Daniel Boone, Henderson was much impressed by the\nformer's enthusiastic reports concerning the soil, climate, and scenery\nof Kentucky; and, acting solely upon this information, resolved to\nestablish a colony in that attractive country. He associated with\nhimself three brothers, Nathaniel, David, and Thomas Hart, the\nlast-named of whom in later life wrote that he \"had known Boone of old,\nwhen poverty and distress held him fast by the hand; and in those\nwretched circumstances he had ever found him a noble and generous soul,\ndespising everything mean.\" Their proposed colony was styled\nTransylvania, and the association of proprietors the Transylvania\nCompany.\n\nIt will be remembered that in the treaty of Fort Stanwix (1768) the\nIroquois of New York had ceded to the English crown their pretensions to\nlands lying between the Ohio and the Tennessee. The Transylvania\nCompany, however, applied to the Cherokees, because this was the tribe\ncommanding the path from Virginia and the Carolinas to Kentucky. In\nMarch, 1775, a great council was held at Sycamore Shoals, on the Watauga\nRiver, between the company and twelve hundred Cherokees who had been\nbrought in for the purpose by Boone. For $50,000 worth of cloths,\nclothing, utensils, ornaments, and firearms, the Indians ceded to\nHenderson and his partners an immense grant including all the country\nlying between the Kentucky and Cumberland Rivers, also a path of\napproach from the east, through Powell's Valley. At this council were\nsome of the most prominent Cherokee chiefs and southwestern\nfrontiersmen.\n\nWhen the goods came to be distributed among the Indians it was found\nthat, although they filled a large cabin and looked very tempting in\nbulk, there was but little for each warrior, and great dissatisfaction\narose. One Cherokee, whose portion was a shirt, declared that in one\nday, upon this land, he could have killed deer enough to buy such a\ngarment; to surrender his hunting-ground for this trifle naturally\nseemed to him a bad bargain. For the safety of the pioneers the chiefs\ncould give no guarantee; they warned Boone, who appears to have acted as\nspokesman for the company, that \"a black cloud hung over this land,\"\nwarpaths crossed it from north to south, and settlers would surely get\nkilled; for such results the Cherokees must not be held responsible.\n\nThis was not promising. Neither was the news, now received, that\nGovernors Martin of North Carolina, and Dunmore of Virginia had both of\nthem issued proclamations against the great purchase. The former had\ncalled Henderson and his partners an \"infamous Company of Land Pyrates\";\nand they were notified that this movement was in violation of the king's\nproclamation of 1763, forbidding Western settlements.\n\nThe company, relying upon popular sympathy and their great distance from\ntidewater seats of government, proceeded without regard to these\nproclamations. Boone, at the head of a party of about thirty enlisted\nmen, some of them the best backwoodsmen in the country,[11] was sent\nahead to mark a path through the forest to Kentucky River, and there\nestablish a capital for the new colony. They encountered many\ndifficulties, especially when traveling through cane-brakes and brush;\nand once, while asleep, were attacked by Indians, who killed a <DW64>\nservant and wounded two of the party. Boone won hearty commendation for\nhis skill and courage throughout the expedition, which finally arrived\nat its destination on the sixth of April. This was Big Lick, on Kentucky\nRiver, just below the mouth of Otter Creek. Here it was decided to build\na town to be called Boonesborough, to serve as the capital of\nTransylvania. The site was \"a plain on the south side of the river,\nwherein was a lick with sulphur springs strongly impregnated.\"\n\nTo Felix Walker, one of the pioneers, we are indebted for the details of\nthis notable colonizing expedition, set forth in a narrative which is\nstill preserved. \"On entering the plain,\" he writes, \"we were permitted\nto view a very interesting and romantic sight. A number of buffaloes, of\nall sizes, supposed to be between two and three hundred, made off from\nthe lick in every direction: some running, some walking, others loping\nslowly and carelessly, with young calves playing, skipping, and bounding\nthrough the plain. Such a sight some of us never saw before, nor perhaps\never may again.\" A fort was commenced, and a few cabins \"strung along\nthe river-bank;\" but it was long before the stronghold was completed,\nfor, now that the journey was at an end, Boone's men had become callous\nto danger.\n\nMeanwhile Henderson was proceeding slowly from the settlements with\nthirty men and several wagons loaded with goods and tools. Delayed from\nmany causes, they at last felt obliged to leave the encumbering wagons\nin Powell's Valley. Pushing forward, they were almost daily met by\nparties of men and boys returning home from Kentucky bearing vague\nreports of Indian forays. This resulted in Henderson losing many of his\nown followers from desertion. Arriving at Boonesborough on the twentieth\nof April, the relief party was \"saluted by a running fire of about\ntwenty-five guns.\" Some of Boone's men had, in the general uneasiness,\nalso deserted, and others had scattered throughout the woods, hunting,\nexploring, or surveying on their own account.\n\nThe method of surveying then in vogue upon the Western frontier was of\nthe crudest, although it must be acknowledged that any system more\nformal might, at that stage of our country's growth, have prevented\nrapid settlement. Each settler or land speculator was practically his\nown surveyor. With a compass and a chain, a few hours' work would\nsuffice to mark the boundaries of a thousand-acre tract. There were as\nyet no adequate maps of the country, and claims overlapped each other\nin the most bewildering manner. A speculator who \"ran out\" a hundred\nthousand acres might, without knowing it, include in his domain a\nhalf-dozen claims previously surveyed by modest settlers who wanted but\na hundred acres each. A man who paid the land-office fees might \"patent\"\nany land he pleased and have it recorded, the colony, and later the\nState, only guaranteeing such entries as covered land not already\npatented. This overlapping, conscious or unconscious, at last became so\nperplexing that thousands of vexatious lawsuits followed, some of which\nare still unsettled; and even to-day in Kentucky there are lands whose\nownership is actually unknown, which pay no taxes and support only\nsquatters who can not be turned out--possibly some of it, lying between\npatented tracts, by chance has never been entered at all. Nobody can now\nsay. Thus it was that we find our friend Daniel Boone quickly\ntransformed from a wilderness hunter into a frontier surveyor. Before\nHenderson's arrival he had laid off the town site into lots of two\nacres each. These were now drawn at a public lottery; while those who\nwished larger tracts within the neighborhood were able to obtain them by\npromising to plant a crop of corn and pay to the Transylvania Company a\nquit-rent of two English shillings for each hundred acres.\n\n  [Illustration: A SURVEY NOTE BY BOONE.\n    Reduced facsimile from his field-books in possession of Wisconsin\n    State Historical Society.]\n\nThere were now four settlements in the Transylvania grant:\nBoonesborough; Harrodsburg, fifty miles west, with about a hundred men;\nBoiling Spring, some six or seven miles from Harrodsburg; and St. Asaph.\nThe crown lands to the north and east of the Kentucky, obtained by the\nFort Stanwix treaty, contained two small settlements; forty miles north\nof Boonesborough was Hinkson's, later known as Ruddell's Station, where\nwere about nineteen persons; lower down the Kentucky, also on the north\nside, was Willis Lee's settlement, near the present Frankfort; and\nranging at will through the crown lands were several small parties of\n\"land-jobbers,\" surveyors, and explorers, laying off the claims of\nmilitia officers who had fought in the Indian wars, and here and there\nbuilding cabins to indicate possession.\n\nHenderson had no sooner arrived than he prepared for a convention, at\nwhich the people should adopt a form of government for the colony and\nelect officers. This was held at Boonesborough, in the open air, under a\ngigantic elm, during the week commencing Tuesday, the twenty-third of\nMay. There were eighteen delegates, representing each of the four\nsettlements south of the Kentucky. Among them were Daniel and Squire\nBoone, the former of whom proposed laws for the preservation of game and\nfor improving the breed of horses; to the latter fell the presentation\nof rules for preserving the cattle-ranges. The compact finally agreed\nupon between the colonists and the proprietors declared \"the powers of\nthe one and the liberties of the others,\" and was \"the earliest form of\ngovernment in the region west of the Alleghanies.\" It provided for\n\"perfect religious freedom and general toleration,\" militia and judicial\nsystems, and complete liberty on the part of the settlers to conduct\ncolonial affairs according to their needs. This liberal and\nwell-digested plan appeared to please both Henderson and the settlers.\nBut the opposition of the governors, the objections raised by the\nAssembly of Virginia, of which Kentucky was then a part,[12] and\nfinally, the outbreak of the Revolution, which put an end to proprietary\ngovernments in America, caused the downfall of the Transylvania Company.\nThe Boonesborough legislative convention met but once more--in December,\nto elect a surveyor-general.\n\nThe May meeting had no sooner adjourned than Transylvania began again to\nlose its population. Few of the pioneers who had come out with Boone and\nHenderson, or had since wandered into the district, were genuine\nhome-seekers. Many appear to have been mere adventurers, out for the\nexcitement of the expedition and to satisfy their curiosity, who either\nreturned home or wandered farther into the woods to seek fresh\nexperiences of wild life; others had deliberately intended first to\nstake out claims in the neighborhood of the new settlements and then\nreturn home to look after their crops, and perhaps move to Kentucky in\nthe autumn; others there were who, far removed from their families,\nproved restless; while many became uneasy because of Indian outrages,\nreports of which soon began to be circulated. Henderson wrote cheerful\nletters to his partners at home, describing the country as a paradise;\nbut by the end of June, when Boone returned to the East for salt,\nHarrodsburg and Boiling Spring were almost deserted, while Boonesborough\ncould muster but ten or twelve \"guns,\" as men or boys capable of\nfighting Indians were called in the militia rolls.\n\nThe infant colony of Kentucky had certainly reached a crisis in its\ncareer. Game was rapidly becoming more scarce, largely because of\ncareless, inexperienced hunters who wounded more than they killed, and\nkilled more than was needed for food; the frightened buffaloes had now\nreceded so far west that they were several days' journey from\nBoonesborough. Yet game was still the staff of life. Captain Floyd, the\nsurveyor-general, wrote to Colonel Preston: \"I must hunt or starve.\"\n\nAs the summer wore away and crops in the Eastern settlements were\ngathered, there was a considerable increase in the population. Many men\nwho, in later days, were to exert a powerful influence in Kentucky now\narrived--George Rogers Clark, the principal Western hero of the\nRevolution; Simon Kenton, famous throughout the border as hunter, scout,\nand Indian fighter; Benjamin Logan, William Whitley, the Lewises,\nCampbells, Christians, Prestons, MacDowells, McAfees, Hite, Bowman,\nRandolph, Todd, McClellan, Benton, Patterson--all of them names familiar\nin Western history.\n\nIn the first week of September Boone arrived with his wife and family\nand twenty young men--\"twenty-one guns,\" the report reads; Squire and\nhis family soon followed; four Bryans, their brothers-in-law, came at\nthe head of thirty men from the Yadkin; and, at the same time,\nHarrodsburg was reached by several other families who had, like the\nBoones, come on horseback through Cumberland Gap and Powell's Valley.\nThis powerful reenforcement of pioneers, most of whom proposed to stay,\nhad largely been attracted by Henderson's advertisements in Virginia\nnewspapers offering terms of settlement on Transylvania lands. \"Any\nperson,\" said the announcement, \"who will settle on and inhabit the same\nbefore the first day of June, 1776, shall have the privilege of taking\nup and surveying for himself five hundred acres, and for each tithable\nperson he may carry with him and settle there, two hundred and fifty\nacres, on the payment of fifty shillings sterling per hundred, subject\nto a yearly quit-rent of two shillings, like money, to commence in the\nyear 1780.\" Toward the end of November Henderson himself, who had gone\non a visit to Carolina, returned with forty men, one of whom was Colonel\nArthur Campbell, a prominent settler in the Holston Valley.\n\nThis increase of population, which had been noticeable throughout the\nautumn and early winter, received a sudden check, however, two days\nbefore Christmas, when the Indians, who had been friendly for several\nmonths past, began again to annoy settlers, several being either killed\nor carried into captivity. This gave rise to a fresh panic, in the\ncourse of which many fled to the east of the mountains.\n\nDuring the year about five hundred persons from the frontiers of\nPennsylvania, Virginia, and North Carolina had visited and explored\nKentucky; but now, at the close of December, the population of all the\nsettlements did not aggregate over two hundred. The recent outbreak had\nmuch to do with this situation of affairs; but there were other causes\nconspiring to disturb the minds of the people and postpone the growth of\nsettlement--the clashing of interests between the Transylvania Company\nand the governors of Virginia and North Carolina, uncertainty as to the\npossibilities of a general Indian war, the threatened rupture between\nthe colonies and the English crown, and the alarming scarcity of\nprovisions and ammunition throughout Kentucky.\n\nNevertheless, over nine hundred entries had been made in the\nTransylvania land-office at Boonesborough, embracing 560,000 acres, and\nmost of these tracts were waiting to be surveyed; two hundred and thirty\nacres of corn had been successfully raised; horses, hogs, and poultry\nhad been introduced, and apple- and peach-trees had been started at\nseveral settlements. The germ of a colony was firmly planted, laws had\nbeen made, the militia had been organized, civil and military officers\nhad been commissioned, and in the face of several slight Indian attacks\nthe savages had been repelled and the country maintained. Most promising\nof all, there were now twelve women in the country, all of them heads of\nfamilies.\n\nThe principal pioneers were nearly all of sturdy Scotch-Irish blood, men\nof sterling merit, intensely devoted to the cause of American liberty,\nand destined to contribute powerfully to its aid in the great war which\nhad now begun, and concerning which messengers from over the mountains\nhad during the year brought them scanty information.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[11] The names of this party of Kentucky pioneers, as preserved by\ntradition, are worth presenting in our record, for many of them\nafterward became prominent in the annals of the West: Squire Boone,\nEdward Bradley, James Bridges, William Bush, Samuel Coburn, Colonel\nRichard Calloway, Captain Crabtree, Benjamin Cutbirth, David Gass, John\nHart, William Hays (son-in-law of Daniel Boone), William Hicks, Edmund\nJennings, Thomas Johnson, John Kennedy, John King, William Miller,\nWilliam Moore, James Nall, James Peeke, Bartlet Searcy, Reuben Searcy,\nMichael Stoner, Samuel Tate, Oswell Towns, Captain William Twitty\n(wounded at Rockcastle), John Vardeman, and Felix Walker (also wounded\nat Rockcastle). Mrs. Hays, Boone's daughter, traveled with her husband;\na <DW64> woman accompanied Calloway, and a <DW64> man (killed at\nRockcastle) was with Twitty.\n\n[12] It was then within the far-stretching boundaries of Fincastle\nCounty. Kentucky was set apart as a county, December 31, 1776.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTWO YEARS OF DARKNESS\n\n\nWith the opening of the year 1776 Daniel and Squire Boone were employed\nfor several weeks as hunters or assistants to a party of surveyors sent\nby the Transylvania Company to the Falls of the Ohio, in the vicinity of\nwhich Henderson and his friends had taken up seventy thousand acres of\nland. They met no Indians and saw plenty of game; but returned to find\nthat the settlers were indignant because of this wholesale preemption by\nthe proprietors of the colony in a neighborhood where it was now felt\nthe chief city in Kentucky was sure to be planted. In response to this\nclamor Henderson promised that hereafter, in that locality, only small\ntracts should be granted to individuals, and that a town should at once\nbe laid out at the Falls; but the scanty supply of powder and\nprovisions, and the company's growing troubles with the Virginia\nAssembly, prevented the execution of this project.\n\nIn the spring newcomers everywhere appeared. In order to please the\npeople of Harrodsburg, now the largest settlement, who were disposed to\nbe critical, the company's land-office was moved thither, and it at once\nentered upon a flourishing business. Not only did many Virginians and\nCarolinians come in on horseback over the \"Wilderness Road,\" as the\nroute through Cumberland Gap was now styled, but hundreds also descended\nthe Ohio in boats from the new settlements on the Monongahela, and from\nthose farther east in Pennsylvania.\n\nWhile the horsemen of the Wilderness Road generally settled in\nTransylvania, those journeying by boat were chiefly interested in the\ncrown lands north of the Kentucky; through these they ranged at will,\nbuilding rude pens, half-faced cabins, and log huts, as convenience\ndictated, and planting small crops of corn in order to preempt their\nclaims. The majority, however, after making sometimes as many as twenty\nsuch claims each, often upon land already surveyed on militia officers'\nwarrants, returned home at the close of the season, seeking to sell\ntheir fictitious holdings to actual settlers. Of course the unscrupulous\nconduct of these \"claim-jumping\" speculators led to numerous quarrels.\nJohn Todd, of Harrodsburg, wrote to a friend: \"I am afraid to lose sight\nof my house lest some invader should take possession.\"\n\nIt was difficult, even for those who came to settle, to get down to hard\nwork during those earliest years. Never was there a more beautiful\nregion than the Kentucky wilderness. Both old and new settlers were fond\nof roaming through this wonderland of forests and glades and winding\nrivers, where the nights were cool and refreshing and the days filled\nwith harmonies of sound and sight and smell. Hill and valley, timberland\nand thicket, meadow and prairie, grasslands and cane-brake--these\nabounded on every hand, in happy distribution of light and shadow. The\nsoil was extremely fertile; there were many open spots fitted for\nimmediate cultivation; the cattle-ranges were of the best, for nowhere\nwas cane more abundant; game was more plentiful than men's hopes had\never before conceived--of turkeys, bears, deer, and buffaloes it seemed,\nfor a time, as if the supply must always far excelled any possible\ndemand. It is small wonder that the imaginations of the pioneers were\nfired with dreams of the future, that they saw in fancy great cities\nspringing up in this new world of the West, and wealth pouring into the\nlaps of those who could first obtain a foothold. Thus, in that beautiful\nspring of 1776, did Kentuckians revel in the pleasures of hope, and cast\nto the winds all thought of the peril and toil by which alone can man\nconquer a savage-haunted wilderness.\n\nBut the \"dark cloud\" foretold at the Watauga treaty soon settled upon\nthe land. Incited by British agents--for the Revolution was now on--the\nCherokees on the south and the Shawnese and Mingos on the north declared\nwar upon the American borderers. The Kentuckians were promptly warned by\nmessengers from the East. The \"cabiners,\" as claim speculators were\ncalled by actual settlers; the wandering fur-traders, most of whom were\nshabby rascals, whose example corrupted the savages, and whose conduct\noften led to outbreaks of race hostility; and the irresponsible hunters,\nwho were recklessly killing or frightening off the herds of game--all of\nthese classes began, with the mutterings of conflict, to draw closer to\nthe settlements; while many hurried back to their old homes, carrying\nexaggerated reports of the situation.\n\nMeanwhile, opposition to the Transylvania proprietors was fast\ndeveloping. The settlers in the Harrodsburg neighborhood held a\nconvention in June and sent Colonel George Rogers Clark and Captain John\nGabriel Jones as delegates to the Virginia Convention with a petition to\nthat body to make Kentucky a county of Virginia. This project was\nbitterly opposed by Henderson; but upon the adoption by Congress, in\nJuly, of the Declaration of Independence, there was small chance left\nfor the recognition of any proprietary government. When the new Virginia\nlegislature met in the autumn, the petition of the \"inhabitants of\nKentuckie\" was granted, and a county government organized.[13] David\nRobinson was appointed county lieutenant, John Bowman colonel, Anthony\nBledsoe and George Rogers Clark majors, and Daniel Boone, James Harrod,\nJohn Todd, and Benjamin Logan captains.\n\nIt was not until July that the Kentuckians fully realized the existence\nof an Indian war. During that month several hunters, surveyors, and\ntravelers were killed in various parts of the district. The situation\npromised so badly that Colonel William Russell, of the Holston Valley,\ncommandant of the southwestern Virginia militia, advised the immediate\nabandonment of Kentucky. Such advice fell upon unheeding ears in the\ncase of men like Boone and his companions, although many of the less\nvalorous were quick to retire beyond the mountains.\n\nOn Sunday, the seventeenth of July, an incident occurred at\nBoonesborough which created wide-spread consternation. Jemima, the\nsecond daughter of Daniel Boone, aged fourteen years, together with two\ngirl friends, Betsey and Fanny Calloway, sixteen and fourteen\nrespectively, were paddling in a canoe upon the Kentucky. Losing control\nof their craft in the swift current, not over a quarter of a mile from\nthe settlement, they were swept near the north bank, when five Shawnese\nbraves, hiding in the bushes, waded out and captured them. The screams\nof the girls alarmed the settlers, who sallied forth in hot pursuit of\nthe kidnappers.\n\nThe mounted men, under Colonel Calloway, father of two of the captives,\npushed forward to Lower Blue Licks, hoping to cut off the Indians as\nthey crossed the Licking River on their way to the Shawnese towns in\nOhio, whither it was correctly supposed they were fleeing. Boone headed\nthe footmen, who followed closely on the trail of the fugitives, which\nhad been carefully marked by the girls, who, with the self-possession of\ntrue borderers, furtively scattered broken twigs and scraps of clothing\nas they were hurried along through the forest by their grim captors.\nAfter a two days' chase, Boone's party caught up with the unsuspecting\nsavages some thirty-five miles from Boonesborough, and by dint of a\nskilful dash recaptured the young women, unharmed. Two of the Shawnese\nwere killed and the others fled into the woods. Calloway's horsemen met\nno foe.\n\nAlthough few other attacks were reported during the summer or autumn,\nthe people were in a continual state of apprehension, neglected their\ncrops, and either huddled in the neighborhood of the settlements, or\n\"stations\" as they were called, or abandoned the country altogether. In\nthe midst of this uneasiness Floyd wrote to his friend Preston, in\nVirginia, urging that help be sent to the distressed colony: \"They all\nseem deaf to anything we can say to dissuade them.... I think more than\nthree hundred men have left the country since I came out, and not one\nhas arrived, except a few _cabiners_ down the Ohio. I want to return as\nmuch as any man can do; but if I leave the country now there is scarcely\none single man who will not follow the example. When I think of the\ndeplorable condition a few helpless families are likely to be in, I\nconclude to sell my life as dearly as I can in their defense rather\nthan make an ignominious escape.\"\n\n  [Illustration: FORT BOONESBOROUGH.\n    Drawn from Henderson's plans and other historical data by George W.\n    Ranck; reduced from the latter's \"Boonesborough\" (Filson Club\n    Publications, No. 16).]\n\nSeven stations had now been abandoned--Huston's, on the present site of\nParis; Hinkson's, on the Licking; Bryan's, on the Elkhorn; Lee's, on the\nKentucky; Harrod's, or the Boiling Spring settlement; Whitley's, and\nLogan's. But three remained occupied--McClellan's, Harrodsburg, and\nBoonesborough. Up to this time none of the Kentucky stations had been\nfortified; there had been some unfinished work at Boonesborough, but it\nwas soon allowed to fall into decay. Work was now resumed at all three\nof the occupied settlements; this consisted simply of connecting the\ncabins, which faced an open square, by lines of palisades. It was only\nat McClellan's, however, that even this slender protection was promptly\ncompleted; at Boonesborough and Harrodsburg the work, although but a\ntask of a few days, dragged slowly, and was not finished for several\nmonths. It was next to impossible for Boone and the other militia\ncaptains to induce men to labor at the common defenses in time of\npeace.\n\nGreat popular interest was taken by the people of the Carolinas,\nVirginia, and Pennsylvania in the fate of the Kentucky settlements,\nwhither so many prominent borderers from those States had moved. The\nfrantic appeals for help sent out by Floyd, Logan, and McGary, and\nexpressed in person by George Rogers Clark, awakened keen sympathy; but\nthe demands of Washington's army were now so great, in battles for\nnational liberty upon the Atlantic coast, that little could be spared\nfor the Western settlers. During the summer a small supply of powder was\nsent out by Virginia to Captain Boone; in the autumn Harrod and Logan\nrode to the Holston and obtained from the military authorities a\npackhorse-load of lead; and in the closing days of the year Clark\narrived at Limestone (now Maysville), on the Ohio, with a boat-load of\npowder and other stores, voted to the service of Kentucky by the\nVirginia Assembly. He had experienced a long and exciting voyage from\nPittsburg with this precious consignment, and about thirty of the\nsettlers aided him in the perilous enterprise of transporting it\noverland to the stations on the Kentucky. While the ammunition was\nsupposed to be used for defense, the greater part of it was necessarily\nspent in obtaining food. Without the great profusion of game the\ninhabitants must have starved; although several large crops of corn were\nraised, and some wheat, these were as yet insufficient for all.\n\nEarly in 1777 Indian \"signs\" began to multiply. McClellan's was now\nabandoned, leaving Boonesborough and Harrodsburg the only settlements\nmaintained--except, perhaps, Price's, on the Cumberland, although\nLogan's Station was reoccupied in February. The number of men now in the\ncountry fit for duty did not exceed a hundred and fifty. In March the\nfighting men met at their respective stations and organized under\ncommissioned officers; hitherto all military operations in Kentucky had\nbeen voluntary, headed by such temporary leaders as the men chose from\ntheir own number.\n\nDuring the greater part of the year the palisaded stations were\nfrequently attacked by the savages--Shawnese, Cherokees, and Mingos, in\nturn or in company. Some of these sieges lasted through several days,\ntaxing the skill and bravery of the inhabitants to their utmost. Indian\nmethods of attacking forts were far different from those that would be\npractised by white men. Being practically without military organization,\neach warrior acted largely on his own behalf. His object was to secrete\nhimself, to kill his enemy, and if possible to bear away his scalp as a\ntrophy. Every species of cover was taken advantage of--trees, stumps,\nbushes, hillocks, stones, furnished hiding-places. Feints were made to\ndraw the attention of the garrison to one side, while the main body of\nthe besiegers hurled themselves against the other. Having neither\nartillery nor scaling-ladders, they frequently succeeded in effecting a\nbreach by setting fire to the walls. Pretending to retreat, they would\nlull the defenders into carelessness, when they would again appear from\nambush, picking off those who came out for water, to attend to crops and\ncattle, or to hunt for food; often they exhibited a remarkable spirit of\ndaring, especially when making a dash to secure scalps. Destroying\ncrops, cattle, hogs, and poultry, stealing the horses for their own\nuse, burning the outlying cabins, and guarding the trails against\npossible relief, they sought to reduce the settlers to starvation, and\nthus make them an easy prey. Every artifice known to besiegers was\nskilfully practised by these crafty, keen-eyed, quick-witted wilderness\nfighters, who seldom showed mercy. Only when white men aggressively\nfought them in their own manner could they be overcome.\n\nIn the last week of April, while Boone and Kenton were heading a sortie\nagainst a party of Shawnese besieging Boonesborough, the whites stumbled\ninto an ambuscade, and Boone was shot in an ankle, the bone being\nshattered. Kenton, with that cool bravery for which this tall, vigorous\nbackwoodsman was known throughout the border, rushed up, and killing a\nwarrior whose tomahawk was lifted above the fallen man, picked his\ncomrade up in his arms, and desperately fought his way back into the\nenclosure. It was several months before the captain recovered from this\npainful wound; but from his room he directed many a day-and-night\ndefense, and laid plans for the scouting expeditions which were\nfrequently undertaken throughout the region in order to discover signs\nof the lurking foe.\n\nBeing the larger settlement, Harrodsburg was more often attacked than\nBoonesborough, although simultaneous sieges were sometimes in progress,\nthus preventing the little garrisons from helping each other. At both\nstations the women soon became the equal of the men, fearlessly taking\nturns at the port-holes, from which little puffs of white smoke would\nfollow the sharp rifle-cracks whenever a savage head revealed itself\nfrom behind bush or tree. When not on duty as marksmen, women were\nmelting their pewter plates into bullets, loading the rifles and handing\nthem to the men, caring for the wounded, and cooking whatever food might\nbe obtainable. During a siege food was gained only by stealth and at\ngreat peril. Some brave volunteer would escape into the woods by night,\nand after a day spent in hunting, far away from hostile camps, return,\nif possible under cover of darkness, with what game he could find. It\nwas a time to make heroes or cowards of either men or women--there was\nno middle course.\n\nAmid this spasmodic hurly-burly there was no lack of marrying and giving\nin marriage. One day in early August, 1776, Betsey Calloway, the eldest\nof the captive girls, was married at Boonesborough to Samuel Henderson,\none of the rescuing party--the first wedding in Kentucky. Daniel Boone,\nas justice of the peace, tied the knot. A diarist of the time has this\nrecord of a similar Harrodsburg event: \"July 9, 1777.--Lieutenant Linn\nmarried--great merriment.\"\n\nAt each garrison, whenever not under actual siege, half of the men were\nacting as guards and scouts while the others cultivated small patches of\ncorn within sight of the walls. But even this precaution sometimes\nfailed of its purpose. For instance, one day in May two hundred Indians\nsuddenly surrounded the corn-field at Boonesborough, and there was a\nlively skirmish before the planters could reach the fort.\n\nThus the summer wore away. In August Colonel Bowman arrived with a\nhundred militiamen from the Virginia frontier. A little later\nforty-eight horsemen came from the Yadkin country to Boone's relief,\nmaking so brave a display as they emerged from the tangled woods and in\nopen order filed through the gates of the palisade, that some Shawnese\nwatching the procession from a neighboring hill fled into Ohio with the\nstartling report that two hundred Long Knife warriors had arrived from\nVirginia. In October other Virginians came, to the extent of a hundred\nexpert riflemen; and late in the autumn the valiant Logan brought in\nfrom the Holston as much powder and lead as four packhorses could carry,\nguarded by a dozen sharpshooters, thus insuring a better prospect for\nfood.\n\nWith these important supplies and reenforcements at hand the settlers\nwere inspired by new hope. Instead of waiting for the savages to attack\nthem, they thenceforth went in search of the savages, killing them\nwherever seen, thus seeking to outgeneral the enemy. These tactics quite\ndisheartened the astonished tribesmen, and the year closed with a\nbrighter outlook for the weary Kentuckians. It had been a time of\nconstant anxiety and watchfulness. The settlers were a handful in\ncomparison with their vigilant enemies. But little corn had been raised;\nthe cattle were practically gone; few horses were now left; and on the\ntwelfth of December Bowman sent word to Virginia that he had only two\nmonths' supply of bread for two hundred women and children, many of whom\nwere widows and orphans. As for clothing, there was little to be had,\nalthough from the fiber of nettles a rude cloth was made, and deerskins\nwere commonly worn.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[13] It was, however, not until November, 1778, that the legislature\nformally declared the Transylvania Company's claims null and void.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE SIEGE OF BOONESBOROUGH\n\n\nWe have seen that Kentucky's numerous salt-springs lured wild animals\nthither in astonishing numbers; but for lack of suitable boiling-kettles\nthe pioneers were at first dependent upon the older settlements for the\nsalt needed in curing their meat. The Indian outbreak now rendered the\nWilderness Road an uncertain path, and the Kentuckians were beginning to\nsuffer from lack of salt--a serious deprivation for a people largely\ndependent upon a diet of game.\n\nLate in the year 1777 the Virginia government sent out several large\nsalt-boiling kettles for the use of the Western settlers. Both residents\nand visiting militiamen were allotted into companies, which were to\nrelieve each other at salt-making until sufficient was manufactured to\nlast the several stations for a year. It was Boone's duty to head the\nfirst party, thirty strong, which, with the kettles packed on horses,\nwent to Lower Blue Licks early in January. A month passed, during which\na considerable quantity of salt was made; several horse-loads had been\nsent to Boonesborough, but most of it was still at the camp awaiting\nshipment.\n\nThe men were daily expecting relief by the second company, when visitors\nof a different character appeared. While half of the men worked at the\nboiling, the others engaged in the double service of watching for\nIndians and obtaining food; of these was Boone. Toward evening of the\nseventh of February he was returning home from a wide circuit with his\npackhorse laden with buffalo-meat and some beaver-skins, for he had many\ntraps in the neighborhood. A blinding snow-storm was in progress, which\ncaused him to neglect his usual precautions, when suddenly he was\nconfronted by four burly Shawnese, who sprang from an ambush. Keen of\nfoot, he thought to outrun them, but soon had to surrender, for they\nshot so accurately that it was evident that they could kill him if they\nwould.\n\nThe prisoner was conducted to the Shawnese camp, a few miles distant.\nThere he found a hundred and twenty warriors under Chief Black Fish. Two\nFrenchmen, in English employ, were of the party; also two American\nrenegades from the Pittsburg region, James and George Girty. These\nlatter, with their brother Simon, had joined the Indians and, dressed\nand painted like savages, were assisting the tribesmen of the Northwest\nin raids against their fellow-borderers of Pennsylvania and Virginia.\nBoone was well known by reputation to all these men of the wilderness,\nreds and whites alike; indeed, he noticed that among the party were his\ncaptors of eight years before, who laughed heartily at again having him\nin their clutches.\n\nHe was loudly welcomed to camp, the Indians shaking his hands, patting\nhim on the back, and calling him \"brother\"--for they always greatly\nenjoyed such exhibitions of mock civility and friendship--and the hunter\nhimself pretended to be equally pleased at the meeting. They told him\nthat they were on their way to attack Boonesborough, and wished him to\nlead them, but insisted that he first induce his fellow salt-makers to\nsurrender. Boone thoroughly understood Indians; he had learned the arts\nof forest diplomacy, and although generally a silent man of action,\nappears to have been a plausible talker when dealing with red men.\nKnowing that only one side of the Boonesborough palisade had been\ncompleted, and that the war-party was five times as strong as the\npopulation of the hamlet, he thought to delay operations by strategy. He\npromised to persuade the salt-makers to surrender, in view of the\noverwhelming force and the promise of good treatment, and to go\npeacefully with their captors to the Shawnese towns north of the Ohio;\nand suggested that in the spring, when the weather was warmer, they\ncould all go together to Boonesborough, and by means of horses\ncomfortably remove the women and children. These would, under his\npersuasion, Boone assured his captors, be content to move to the North,\nand thenceforth either lived with the Shawnese as their adopted children\nor place themselves under British protection at Detroit, where Governor\nHamilton offered L20 apiece for American prisoners delivered to him\nalive and well.\n\nThe proposition appeared reasonable to the Indians, and they readily\nagreed to it. What would be the outcome Boone could not foretell. He\nrealized, however, that his station was unprepared, that delay meant\neverything, in view of possible reenforcements from Virginia, and was\nwilling that he and his comrades should stand, if need be, as a\nsacrifice--indeed, no other course seemed open. Going with his captors\nto the salt camp, his convincing words caused the men to stack their\narms and accompany the savages, hoping thereby at least to save their\nfamilies at Boonesborough from immediate attack.\n\nThe captives were but twenty-seven in number, some of the hunters not\nhaving returned to camp. Not all of the captors were, despite their\npromise, in favor of lenient treatment of the prisoners. A council was\nheld, at which Black Fish, a chieftain of fine qualities, had much\ndifficulty, through a session of two hours, in securing a favorable\nverdict. Boone was permitted to address the savage throng in\nexplanation of his plan, his words being interpreted by a <DW64> named\nPompey, a fellow of some consequence among the Shawnese. The vote was\nclose--fifty-nine for at once killing the prisoners, except Boone, and\nsixty-one for mercy; but it was accepted as decisive, and the store of\nsalt being destroyed, and kettles, guns, axes, and other plunder packed\non horses, the march northward promptly commenced.\n\nEach night the captives were made fast and closely watched. The weather\nwas unusually severe; there was much suffering from hunger, for the snow\nwas deep, game scarce, and slippery-elm bark sometimes the only food\nobtainable. Descending the Licking, the band crossed the Ohio in a large\nboat made of buffalo-hides, which were stretched on a rude frame holding\ntwenty persons; they then entered the trail leading to the Shawnese\ntowns on the Little Miami, where they arrived upon the tenth day.\n\nThe prisoners were taken to the chief town of the Shawnese, Little\nChillicothe, about three miles north of the present Xenia, Ohio. There\nwas great popular rejoicing, for not since Braddock's defeat had so many\nprisoners been brought into Ohio. Boone and sixteen of his companions,\npresumably selected for their good qualities and their apparent capacity\nas warriors, were now formally adopted into the tribe. Boone himself had\nthe good fortune to be accepted as the son of Black Fish, and received\nthe name Sheltowee (Big Turtle)--perhaps because he was strong and\ncompactly built.\n\nAdoption was a favorite method of recruiting the ranks of American\ntribes. The most tractable captives were often taken into the families\nof the captors to supply the place of warriors killed in battle. They\nwere thereafter treated with the utmost affection, apparently no\ndifference being made between them and actual relatives, save that,\nuntil it was believed that they were no longer disposed to run away,\nthey were watched with care to prevent escape. Such was now Boone's\nexperience. Black Fish and his squaw appeared to regard their new son\nwith abundant love, and everything was done for his comfort, so far as\nwas possible in an Indian camp, save that he found himself carefully\nobserved by day and night, and flight long seemed impracticable.\n\nBoone was a shrewd philosopher. In his so-called \"autobiography\" written\nby Filson, he tells us that the food and lodging were \"not so good as I\ncould desire, but necessity made everything acceptable.\" Such as he\nobtained was, however, the lot of all. In the crowded, slightly built\nwigwams it was impossible to avoid drafts; they were filthy to the last\ndegree; when in the home villages, there was generally an abundance of\nfood--corn, hominy, pumpkins, beans, and game, sometimes all boiled\ntogether in the same kettle--although it was prepared in so slovenly a\nmanner as to disgust even so hardy a man of the forest as our hero; the\nlack of privacy, the ever-present insects, the blinding smoke of the\nlodge-fire, the continual yelping of dogs, and the shrill, querulous\ntones of old women, as they haggled and bickered through the livelong\nday--all these and many other discomforts were intensely irritating to\nmost white men. In order to disarm suspicion, Boone appeared to be\nhappy. He whistled cheerfully at his tasks, learning what little there\nwas left for him to learn of the arts of the warrior, sharing his game\nwith his \"father,\" and pretending not to see that he was being watched.\nAt the frequent shooting-matches he performed just well enough to win\nthe applause of his fellow braves, although, for fear of arousing\njealousy, careful not to outdo the best of them. His fellow prisoners,\nless tactful, marveled at the ease with which their old leader adapted\nhimself to the new life, and his apparent enjoyment of it. Yet never did\nhe miss an opportunity to ascertain particulars of the intended attack\non Boonesborough, and secretly planned for escape when the proper moment\nshould arrive.\n\nMarch was a third gone, when Black Fish and a large party of his braves\nand squaws went to Detroit to secure Governor Hamilton's bounty on those\nof the salt-makers who, from having acted in an ugly manner, had not\nbeen adopted into the tribe. Boone accompanied his \"father,\" and\nfrequently witnessed, unable to interfere, the whipping and\n\"gauntlet-running\" to which his unhappy fellow Kentuckians were\nsubjected in punishment for their fractious behavior. He himself, early\nin his captivity, had been forced to undergo this often deadly ordeal;\nbut by taking a dodging, zigzag course, and freely using his head as a\nbattering-ram to topple over some of the warriors in the lines, had\nemerged with few bruises.[14]\n\nUpon the arrival of the party at Detroit Governor Hamilton at once sent\nfor the now famous Kentucky hunter and paid him many attentions. With\nthe view of securing his liberty, the wily forest diplomat used the same\nsort of duplicity with the governor that had proved so effective with\nBlack Fish. It was his habit to carry a leather bag fastened about his\nneck, containing his old commission as captain in the British colonial\nforces, signed by Lord Dunmore. This was for the purpose of convincing\nIndians, into whose hands he might fall, that he was a friend of the\nking; which accounts in a large measure for the tender manner in which\nthey treated him. Showing the document to Hamilton as proof of his\ndevotion to the British cause, he appears to have repeated his promise\nthat he would surrender the people of Boonesborough and conduct them to\nDetroit, to live under British jurisdiction and protection. This greatly\npleased the governor, who sought to ransom him from Black Fish for L100.\nBut to this his \"father\" would not agree, stating that he loved him too\nstrongly to let him go--as a matter of fact, he wished his services as\nguide for the Boonesborough expedition. Upon leaving for home, Hamilton\npresented Boone with a pony, saddle, bridle, and blanket, and a supply\nof silver trinkets to be used as currency among the Indians, and bade\nhim remember his duty to the king.\n\nReturning to Chillicothe with Black Fish, the hunter saw that\npreparations for the spring invasion of Kentucky were at last under way.\nDelawares, Mingos, and Shawnese were slowly assembling, and runners\nwere carrying the war-pipe from village to village throughout Ohio. But\nwhile they had been absent at Detroit an event occurred which gave Black\nFish great concern: one of the adopted men, Andrew Johnson--who had\npretended among the Indians to be a simpleton, in order to throw off\nsuspicion, but who in reality was one of the most astute of\nwoodsmen--had escaped, carrying warning to Kentucky, and the earliest\nknowledge that reached the settlers of the location of the Shawnese\ntowns. In May, Johnson and five comrades went upon a raid against one of\nthese villages, capturing several horses and bringing home a bunch of\nIndian scalps, for scalping was now almost as freely practised by the\nfrontiersmen as the savages; such is the degeneracy wrought by warlike\ncontact with an inferior race. In June there was a similar raid by\nBoonesborough men, resulting to the tribesmen in large losses of lives\nand horses.\n\nUpon the sixteenth of June, while Black Fish's party were boiling salt\nat the saline springs of the Scioto--about a dozen miles south of the\npresent Chillicothe--Boone managed, by exercise of rare sagacity and\nenterprise, to escape the watchful eyes of his keepers, their attention\nhaving been arrested by the appearance of a huge flock of wild turkeys.\nHe reached Boonesborough four days later after a perilous journey of a\nhundred and sixty miles through the forest, during which he had eaten\nbut one meal--from a buffalo which he shot at Blue Licks. He had been\nabsent for four and a half months, and Mrs. Boone, giving him up for\ndead, had returned with their family to her childhood home upon the\nYadkin. His brother Squire, and his daughter Jemima--now married to\nFlanders Calloway--were the only kinsfolk to greet the returned captive,\nwho appeared out of the woods as one suddenly delivered from a tomb.\n\nDuring the absence of Daniel Boone there had been the usual Indian\ntroubles in Kentucky. Colonel Bowman had just written to Colonel George\nRogers Clark, \"The Indians have pushed us hard this summer.\" But Clark\nhimself at this time was gaining an important advantage over the enemy\nin his daring expedition against the British posts of Kaskaskia,\nCahokia, and Vincennes, in the Illinois country. Realizing that there\nwould be no end to Kentucky's trouble so long as the British, aided by\ntheir French-Canadian agents, were free to organize Indian armies north\nof the Ohio for the purpose of harrying the southern settlements, Clark\n\"carried the war into Africa.\" With about a hundred and fifty men\ngathered from the frontiers of Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Kentucky, he\ndescended the Ohio River, built a fort at Louisville, and by an heroic\nforced march across the country captured Kaskaskia, while Cahokia and\nVincennes at once surrendered to the valorous Kentuckian.\n\nMeanwhile there was business at hand for the people of Boonesborough.\nAmid all these alarms they had still neglected to complete their\ndefenses; but now, under the energetic administration of Boone, the\npalisades were finished, gates and fortresses strengthened, and all four\nof the corner blockhouses put in order. In ten days they were ready for\nthe slowly advancing host.\n\nUnless fleeing, Indians are never in a hurry; they spend much time in\nnoisy preparation. Hunters and scouts came into Boonesborough from time\nto time, and occasionally a retaliatory expedition would return with\nhorses and scalps from the Little Miami and the Scioto, all of them\nreporting delays on the part of the enemy; nevertheless all agreed that\na large force was forming. Toward the close of August Boone, wearied of\nbeing cooped up in the fort, went forth at the head of thirty woodsmen\nto scout in the neighborhood of the Scioto towns. With him were Kenton\nand Alexander Montgomery, who remained behind in Ohio to capture horses\nand probably prisoners, while Boone and the others returned after a\nweek's absence. On their way home they discovered that the enemy was now\nat Lower Blue Licks, but a short distance from Boonesborough.\n\nAt about ten o'clock the following morning (September 7th) the Indian\narmy appeared before the fort. It numbered fully four hundred warriors,\nmostly Shawnese, but with some Wyandots, Cherokees, Delawares, Mingos,\nand other tribesmen. Accompanying them were some forty French-Canadians,\nall under the command of Boone's \"father,\" the redoubtable Black Fish.\nPompey served as chief interpreter.\n\nMuch time was spent in parleys, Boone in this manner delaying operations\nas long as possible, vainly hoping that promised reenforcements might\nmeanwhile arrive from the Holston. Black Fish wept freely, after the\nIndian fashion, over the ingratitude of his runaway \"son,\" and his\npresent stubborn attitude; for the latter now told the forest chief that\nhe and his people proposed to fight to the last man. Black Fish\npresented letters and proclamations from Hamilton, again offering pardon\nto all who would take the oath of allegiance to the king, and military\noffices for Boone and the other leaders. When these were rejected, the\nIndians attempted treachery, seeking to overpower and kill the white\ncommissioners to a treaty being held in front of the fort. From this\nfinal council, ending in a wild uproar, in which bullets flew and knives\nand tomahawks clashed, the whites escaped with difficulty, the two\nBoones and another commissioner receiving painful wounds.\n\nA siege of ten days now ensued (September 8th to 17th), one of the most\nremarkable in the history of savage warfare. The site of the fort, a\nparallelogram embracing three-quarters of an acre, had been unwisely\nchosen. There was abundant cover for the enemy under the high river\nbank, also beneath an encircling clay bank rising from the salt-lick\nbranch; from hills upon either side spies could see what was happening\nwithin the walls, and occasionally drop a ball into the small herd of\ncattle and horses sheltered behind the palisades; while to these natural\ndisadvantages were added the failure of the garrison to clear from the\nneighborhood of the walls the numerous trees, stumps, bushes, and rocks,\neach of which furnished the best of cover for a lurking foe.\n\n  [Illustration: CLIMAX OF THE TREATY.\n    Indians and British agents treacherously attack treaty commissioners.\n    (See pp. 161, 162.) Reduced from Ranck's \"Boonesborough.\"]\n\nSuch, however, was the stubbornness of the defense, in which the women\nwere, in their way, quite as efficient as the men, that the forces under\nBlack Fish could make but small impression upon the valiant little\ngarrison. Every artifice known to savages, or that could be suggested\nby the French, was without avail. Almost nightly rains and the energy of\nthe riflemen frustrated the numerous attempts to set fire to the cabins\nby throwing torches and lighted fagots upon their roofs; a tunnel,\nintended to be used for blowing up the walls, was well under way from\nthe river bank when rain caused it to cave in; attempts at scaling were\ninvariably repelled, and in sharpshooting the whites as usual proved the\nsuperiors.\n\nBut the result often hung in the balance. Sometimes the attack lasted\nthroughout the night, the scene being constantly lighted by the flash of\nthe rifles and the glare of hurling fagots. Besiegers and garrison\nfrequently exchanged fierce cries of threat and defiance, mingled with\nmany a keen shaft of wit and epithet; at times the yells and whoops of\nthe savages, the answering shouts and huzzahs of the defenders, the\nscreams of women and girls, the howling of dogs, the snorting and\nbellowing of the plunging live stock, together with the sharp rattle of\nfirearms, created a deafening hubbub well calculated to test the nerves\nof the strongest.\n\nAt last, on the morning of Friday, the eighteenth, the Indians, now\nthoroughly disheartened, suddenly disappeared into the forest as\nsilently as they had come. Again Boonesborough was free, having passed\nthrough the longest and severest ordeal of attack ever known in\nKentucky; indeed, it proved to be the last effort against this station.\nWithin the walls sixty persons had been capable of bearing arms, but\nonly forty were effective, some of these being <DW64>s; Logan's Fort had\nsent a reenforcement of fifteen men, and Harrodsburg a few others. Of\nthe garrison but two were killed and four wounded, while Boone estimated\nthat the enemy lost thirty-seven killed and a large number wounded. The\ncasualties within the fort were astonishingly small, when the large\namount of ammunition expended by the besiegers is taken into account.\nAfter they had retired, Boone's men picked up a hundred and twenty-five\npounds of flattened bullets that had been fired at the log stronghold,\nhandfuls being scooped up beneath the port-holes of the bastions; this\nsalvage made no account of the balls thickly studding the walls, it\nbeing estimated that a hundred pounds of lead were buried in the logs of\none of the bastions.\n\nA week later a small company of militiamen arrived from Virginia, and\nseveral minor expeditions were now made against the Shawnese upon their\nown soil. These raids were chiefly piloted by Boone's salt-makers, many\nof whom had now returned from captivity. Boone is credited with saying\nin his later years, although no doubt in ruder language than this:\n\"Never did the Indians pursue so disastrous a policy as when they\ncaptured me and my salt-boilers, and taught us, what we did not know\nbefore, the way to their towns and the geography of their country; for\nthough at first our captivity was considered a great calamity to\nKentucky, it resulted in the most signal benefits to the country.\"\n\nCaptain Boone was not without his critics. Soon after the siege he was\narraigned before a court-martial at Logan's Fort upon the following\ncharges preferred by Colonel Calloway, who thought that the great hunter\nwas in favor of the British Government and had sought opportunity to\nplay into its hands, therefore should be deprived of his commission in\nthe Kentucky County militia:\n\n\"1. That Boone had taken out twenty-six men[15] to make salt at the Blue\nLicks, and the Indians had caught him trapping for beaver ten miles\nbelow on Licking, and he voluntarily surrendered his men at the Licks to\nthe enemy.\n\n\"2. That when a prisoner, he engaged with Gov. Hamilton to surrender the\npeople of Boonesborough to be removed to Detroit, and live under British\nprotection and jurisdiction.\n\n\"3. That returning from captivity, he encouraged a party of men to\naccompany him to the Paint Lick Town, weakening the garrison at a time\nwhen the arrival of an Indian army was daily expected to attack the\nfort.\n\n\"4. That preceding the attack on Boonesborough, he was willing to take\nthe officers of the fort, on pretense of making peace, to the Indian\ncamp, beyond the protection of the guns of the garrison.\"\n\nBoone defended himself at length, maintaining that he aimed only at the\ninterests of the country; that while hunting at the licks he was engaged\nin the necessary service of the camp; that he had used duplicity to win\nthe confidence of the enemy, and it resulted favorably, as he was\nthereby enabled to escape in time to warn his people and put them in a\nstate of defense; that his Scioto expedition was a legitimate scouting\ntrip, and turned out well; and that in the negotiations before the fort\nhe was simply \"playing\" the Indians in order to gain time for expected\nreenforcements. He was not only honorably acquitted, but at once\nadvanced to the rank of major, and received evidences of the\nunhesitating loyalty of all classes of his fellow borderers, the\nmajority of whom appear to have always confided in his sagacity and\npatriotism.\n\nPersonally vindicated, the enemy departed, and several companies of\nmilitia now arriving to garrison the stations for the winter, Major\nBoone once more turned his face to the Yadkin and sought his family. He\nfound them at the Bryan settlement, living comfortably in a small log\ncabin, but until then unconscious of his return from the wilderness in\nwhich they had supposed he found his grave.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14] Two lines of Indians were formed, five or six feet apart, on either\nside of a marked path. The prisoner was obliged to run between these\nlines, while there were showered upon him lusty blows from whatever\nweapons the tormentors chose to adopt--switches, sticks, clubs, and\ntomahawks. It required great agility, speed in running, and some\naggressive strategy to arrive at the goal unharmed. Many white captives\nwere seriously crippled in this thrilling experience, and not a few lost\ntheir lives.\n\n[15] Account is only taken, in these charges, of the twenty-seven\ncaptives.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nSOLDIER AND STATESMAN\n\n\nIn Daniel Boone's \"autobiography,\" he dismisses his year of absence from\nKentucky with few words: \"I went into the settlement, and nothing worthy\nof notice passed for some time.\" No doubt he hunted in some of his old\nhaunts upon the Yadkin; and there is reason for believing that he made a\ntrip upon business of some character to Charleston, S.C.\n\nMeanwhile, his fellow settlers of Kentucky had not been inactive. In\nFebruary (1779) Clark repossessed himself of Vincennes after one of the\nmost brilliant forced marches of the Revolution; and having there\ncaptured Governor Hamilton--the \"hair-buying general,\" as the\nfrontiersmen called him, because they thought he paid bounties on\nAmerican scalps--had sent him a prisoner to Virginia. The long siege of\nBoonesborough and the other attacks of the preceding year, together\nwith more recent assaults upon flatboats descending the Ohio, had\nstrongly disposed the Kentuckians to retaliate on the Shawnese. Two\nhundred and thirty riflemen under Colonel Bowman rendezvoused in July at\nthe mouth of the Licking, where is now the city of Covington. Nearly a\nthird of the force were left to guard the boats in which they crossed\nthe Ohio, the rest marching against Old Chillicothe, the chief Shawnese\ntown on the Little Miami. They surprised the Indians, and a hotly\ncontested battle ensued, lasting from dawn until ten o'clock in the\nmorning; but the overpowering numbers of the savages caused Bowman to\nreturn crestfallen to Kentucky with a loss of nearly a dozen men. This\nwas the forerunner of many defeats of Americans, both bordermen and\nregulars, at the hands of the fierce tribesmen of Ohio.\n\nReaders of Revolutionary history as related from the Eastern standpoint\nare led to suppose that the prolonged struggle with the mother country\neverywhere strained the resources of the young nation, and was the chief\nthought of the people. This high tension was, however, principally in\nthe tidewater region. In the \"back country,\" as the Western frontiers\nwere called, there was no lack of patriotism, and bordermen were\nnumerous in the colonial armies; yet the development of the\ntrans-Alleghany region was to them of more immediate concern, and went\nforward vigorously, especially during the last half of the war. This did\nnot mean that the backwoodsmen of the foot-hills were escaping from the\nconflict by crossing westward beyond the mountains; they were instead\nplanting themselves upon the left flank, for French and Indian scalping\nparties were continually harrying the Western settlements, and the\nEastern forces were too busily engaged to give succor. Kentuckians were\nleft practically alone to defend the backdoor of the young Republic.\n\nIn this year (1779) the Virginia legislature adopted laws for the\npreemption of land in Kentucky, which promised a more secure tenure than\nhad hitherto prevailed, and thus gave great impetus to over-mountain\nemigration. Hitherto those going out to Kentucky were largely hunters,\nexplorers, surveyors, and land speculators; comparatively few families\nwere established in the wilderness stations. But henceforth the\nemigration was chiefly by households, some by boats down the Ohio River,\nand others overland by the Wilderness Road--for the first official\nimprovement of which Virginia made a small appropriation at this time.\nSays Chief Justice Robinson,[16] whose parents settled in Kentucky in\nDecember:\n\n\"This beneficent enactment brought to the country during the fall and\nwinter of that year an unexampled tide of emigrants, who, exchanging all\nthe comforts of their native society and homes for settlements for\nthemselves and their children here, came like pilgrims to a wilderness\nto be made secure by their arms and habitable by the toil of their\nlives. Through privations incredible and perils thick, thousands of men,\nwomen, and children came in successive caravans, forming continuous\nstreams of human beings, horses, cattle, and other domestic animals, all\nmoving onward along a lonely and houseless path to a wild and cheerless\nland. Cast your eyes back on that long procession of missionaries in the\ncause of civilization; behold the men on foot with their trusty guns on\ntheir shoulders, driving stock and leading packhorses; and the women,\nsome walking with pails on their heads, others riding, with children in\ntheir laps, and other children swung in baskets on horses, fastened to\nthe tails of others going before; see them encamped at night expecting\nto be massacred by Indians; behold them in the month of December, in\nthat ever-memorable season of unprecedented cold called the 'hard\nwinter,' traveling two or three miles a day, frequently in danger of\nbeing frozen, or killed by the falling of horses on the icy and almost\nimpassable trace, and subsisting on stinted allowances of stale bread\nand meat; but now, lastly, look at them at the destined fort, perhaps on\nthe eve of merry Christmas, when met by the hearty welcome of friends\nwho had come before, and cheered by fresh buffalo-meat and parched corn,\nthey rejoice at their deliverance, and resolve to be contented with\ntheir lot.\"\n\nIn October, as a part of this great throng, Daniel Boone and his family\nreturned to Kentucky by his old route through Cumberland Gap, being two\nweeks upon the journey. The great hunter was at the head of a company of\nRowan County folk, and carried with him two small cannon, the first\nartillery sent by Virginia to protect the Western forts. Either as one\nof his party, or later in the season, there came to Kentucky Abraham\nLincoln, of Rockingham County, Va., grandfather of the martyred\npresident. The Lincolns and the Boones had been neighbors and warm\nfriends in Pennsylvania, and ever since had maintained pleasant\nrelations--indeed, had frequently intermarried. It was by Boone's advice\nand encouragement that Lincoln migrated with his family to the \"dark and\nbloody ground\" and took up a forest claim in the heart of Jefferson\nCounty. Daniel's younger brother Edward, killed by Indians a year later,\nwas of the same company.\n\n  [Illustration: SITE OF BOONESBOROUGH TO-DAY.\n    Fort site, to which roadway leads, is hidden by foliage on the left;\n    the ridge in the background faced and overlooked the fort. Reduced\n    from Ranck's \"Boonesborough.\"]\n\nBoone also brought news that the legislature had incorporated \"the town\nof Boonesborough in the County of Kentuckey,\" of which he was named a\ntrustee, which office he eventually declined. The town, although now\nlaid out into building lots, and anticipating a prosperous growth, never\nrose to importance and at last passed away. Nothing now remains upon the\ndeserted site, which Boone could have known, save a decrepit\nsycamore-tree and a tumble-down ferry established in the year of the\nincorporation.\n\nAs indicated in Robinson's address, quoted above, the winter of 1779-80\nwas a season of unwonted severity. After an exceptionally mild autumn,\ncold weather set in by the middle of November and lasted without thaw\nfor two months, with deep snow and zero temperature. The rivers were\nfrozen as far south as Nashville; emigrant wagons were stalled in the\ndrifts while crossing the mountains, and everywhere was reported\nunexampled hardship. It will be remembered that the Revolutionary Army\nin the East suffered intensely from the same cause. The Indians had, the\npreceding summer, destroyed most of the corn throughout Kentucky; the\ngame was rapidly decreasing, deer and buffaloes having receded before\nthe advance of settlement, and a temporary famine ensued. Hunters were\nemployed to obtain meat for the newcomers; and in this occupation Boone\nand Harrod, in particular, were actively engaged throughout the winter,\nmaking long trips into the forest, both north and south of Kentucky\nRiver.\n\nThe land titles granted by the Transylvania Company having been declared\nvoid, it became necessary for Boone and the other settlers under that\ngrant to purchase from the State government of Virginia new warrants.\nFor this purpose Boone set out for Richmond in the spring. Nathaniel and\nThomas Hart and others of his friends commissioned him to act as their\nagent in this matter. With his own small means and that which was\nentrusted to him for the purpose, he carried $20,000 in depreciated\npaper money--probably worth but half that amount in silver. It appears\nthat of this entire sum he was robbed upon his way--where, or under what\ncircumstances, we are unable to discover. His petition to the Kentucky\nlegislature, in his old age, simply states the fact of the robbery,\nadding that he \"was left destitute.\" A large part of the money was the\nproperty of his old friends, the Harts, but many others also suffered\ngreatly. There was some disposition on the part of a few to attribute\ndishonorable action to Boone; but the Harts, although the chief losers,\ncame promptly to the rescue and sharply censured his critics, declaring\nhim to be a \"just and upright\" man, beyond suspicion--a verdict which\nsoon became unanimous. Sympathy for the honest but unbusinesslike\npioneer was so general, that late in June, soon after the robbery,\nVirginia granted him a preemption of a thousand acres of land in what is\nnow Bourbon County.\n\nA tradition exists that while in Virginia that summer Boone called upon\nhis former host at Detroit, then a prisoner of war, and expressed\nsympathy for the sad plight into which the English governor had fallen;\nalso some indignation at the harsh treatment accorded him, and of which\nHamilton bitterly complained.\n\nThe founder of Boonesborough was soon back at his station, for he served\nas a juryman there on the first of July. During his absence immigration\ninto Kentucky had been greater than ever; three hundred well-laden\nfamily boats had arrived in the spring from the Pennsylvania and New\nYork frontiers, while many caravans had come from Virginia and the\nCarolinas over the Wilderness Road. Attacks by Indian scalping parties\nhad been numerous along both routes, but particularly upon the Ohio. As\na reprisal for Bowman's expedition of the previous year, and intending\nto interrupt settlement, Colonel Byrd, of the British Army, descended in\nJune upon Ruddle's and Martin's Stations, at the forks of the Licking,\nwith six hundred Indians and French-Canadians, and bringing six small\ncannon with which to batter the Kentucky palisades. Both garrisons were\ncompelled to surrender, and the victors returned to Detroit with a train\nof three hundred prisoners--men, women, and children--upon whom the\nsavages practised cruelties of a particularly atrocious character.\n\nThis inhuman treatment of prisoners of war created wide-spread\nindignation upon the American border. In retaliation, George Rogers\nClark at once organized an expedition to destroy Pickaway, one of the\nprincipal Shawnese towns on the Great Miami. The place was reduced to\nashes and a large number of Indians killed, the Americans losing\nseventeen men. Clark had previously built Fort Jefferson, upon the first\nbluff on the eastern side of the Mississippi below the mouth of the\nOhio, in order to accentuate the claim of the United States that it\nextended to the Mississippi on the west; but as this was upon the\nterritory of friendly Chickasaws, the invasion aroused their ire, and it\nwas deemed prudent temporarily to abandon the post.\n\nAnother important event of the year (November, 1780) was the division of\nKentucky by the Virginia legislature into three counties--Jefferson,\nwith its seat at Louisville, now the chief town in the Western country;\nLincoln, governed from Harrodsburg; and Fayette, with Lexington as its\nseat. Of these, Fayette, embracing the country between the Kentucky and\nthe Ohio, was the least populated; and, being the most northern and\ntraversed by the Licking River, now the chief war-path of the Shawnese,\nwas most exposed to attack. After his return Boone soon tired of\nBoonesborough, for in his absence the population had greatly changed by\nthe removal or death of many of his old friends; and, moreover, game had\nquite deserted the neighborhood. With his family, his laden packhorses,\nand his dogs, he therefore moved to a new location across Kentucky\nRiver, about five miles northwest of his first settlement. Here, at the\ncrossing of several buffalo-trails, and on the banks of Boone's Creek,\nhe built a palisaded log house called Boone's Station. Upon the division\nof Kentucky this new stronghold fell within the borders of Fayette\nCounty.\n\nIn the primitive stage of frontier settlement, when the common weal\ndemanded from every man or boy able to carry a rifle active militia\nservice whenever called upon, the military organization was quite equal\nin importance to the civil. The new wilderness counties were therefore\nequipped with a full roll of officers, Fayette County's colonel being\nJohn Todd, while Daniel Boone was lieutenant-colonel; Floyd, Pope,\nLogan, and Trigg served the sister counties in like manner. The\nthree county regiments were formed into a brigade, with Clark as\nbrigadier-general, his headquarters being at Louisville (Fort Nelson).\nEach county had also a court to try civil and criminal cases, but\ncapital offenses could only be tried at Richmond. There was likewise a\nsurveyor for each county, Colonel Thomas Marshall serving for Fayette;\nBoone was his deputy for several years (1782-85).\n\nIn October, 1780, Edward Boone, then but thirty-six years of age,\naccompanied Daniel to Grassy Lick, in the northeast part of the present\nBourbon County, to boil salt. Being attacked by a large band of Indians,\nEdward was killed in the first volley, and fell at the feet of his\nbrother, who at once shot the savage whom he thought to be the slayer.\nDaniel then fled, stopping once to load and kill another foe. Closely\npursued, he had recourse to all the arts of evasion at his\ncommand--wading streams to break the trail, swinging from tree to tree\nby aid of wild grape-vines, and frequently zigzagging. A hound used in\nthe chase kept closely to him, however, and revealed his whereabouts by\nbaying, until the hunter killed the wily beast, and finally reached his\nstation in safety. Heading an avenging party of sixty men, Boone at once\nwent in pursuit of the enemy, and followed them into Ohio, but the\nexpedition returned without result.\n\nThe following April Boone went to Richmond as one of the first\nrepresentatives of Fayette County in the State legislature. With the\napproach of Cornwallis, La Fayette, whose corps was then protecting\nVirginia, abandoned Richmond, and the Assembly adjourned to\nCharlottesville. Colonel Tarleton, at the head of a body of light horse,\nmade a dash upon the town, hoping to capture the law-makers, and\nparticularly Governor Jefferson, whose term was just then expiring.\nJefferson and the entire Assembly had been warned, but had a narrow\nescape (June 4th), for while they were riding out of one end of town\nTarleton was galloping in at the other. The raider succeeded in\ncapturing three or four of the legislators, Boone among them, and after\ndestroying a quantity of military stores took his prisoners to\nCornwallis's camp. The members were paroled after a few days'\ndetention. The Assembly fled to Staunton, thirty-five miles distant,\nwhere it resumed the session. The released members are reported to have\nagain taken their seats, although, after his capture, Boone's name does\nnot appear in the printed journals. Possibly the conditions of the\nparole did not permit him again to serve at the current session, which\nclosed the twenty-third of June. He seems to have spent the summer in\nKentucky, and late in September went up the Ohio to Pittsburg, thence\njourneying to the home of his boyhood in eastern Pennsylvania, where he\nvisited friends and relatives for a month, and then returned to Richmond\nto resume his legislative duties.\n\nOf all the dark years which Kentucky experienced, 1782 was the\nbloodiest. The British authorities at Detroit exerted their utmost\nendeavors to stem the rising tide of settlement and to crush the\naggressive military operations of Clark and his fellow-borderers. With\npresents and smooth words they enlisted the cooperation of the most\ndistant tribes, the hope being held out that success would surely\nfollow persistent attack and a policy of \"no quarter.\" It would be\nwearisome to cite all the forays made by savages during this fateful\nyear, upon flatboats descending the Ohio, upon parties of immigrants\nfollowing the Wilderness Road, upon outlying forest settlers, and in the\nneighborhood of fortified stations. The border annals of the time abound\nin details of robbery, burning, murder, captivities, and of\nheart-rending tortures worse than death. A few only which have won\nprominence in history must here suffice.\n\nIn March, some Wyandots had been operating in the neighborhood of\nBoonesborough and then departed for Estill's Station, fifteen miles\naway, near the present town of Richmond. Captain Estill and his garrison\nof twenty-five men were at the time absent on a scout, and thus unable\nto prevent the killing and scalping of a young woman and the capture of\na <DW64> slave. According to custom, the Indians retreated rapidly after\nthis adventure, but were pursued by Estill. A stubborn fight ensued,\nthere being now eighteen whites and twenty-five savages. Each man stood\nbehind a tree, and through nearly two hours fought with uncommon\ntenacity. The Indians lost seventeen killed and two wounded, while the\nwhites were reduced to three survivors, Estill himself being among the\nslain. The survivors then withdrew by mutual consent.\n\nIn May, his station having been attacked with some loss, Captain Ashton\nfollowed the retreating party of besiegers, much larger than his own\nsquad, and had a fierce engagement with them lasting two hours. He and\neleven of his comrades lost their lives, and the remainder fled in\ndismay. A similar tragedy occurred in August, when Captain Holden,\nchasing a band of scalpers, was defeated with a loss of four killed and\none wounded.\n\nThe month of August marked the height of the onslaught. Horses were\ncarried off, cattle killed, men at work in the fields mercilessly\nslaughtered, and several of the more recent and feeble stations were\nabandoned. Bryan's Station, consisting of forty cabins enclosed by a\nstout palisade, was the largest and northernmost of a group of Fayette\nCounty settlements in the rich country of which Lexington is the center.\nAn army of nearly a thousand Indians--the largest of either race that\nhad thus far been mustered in the West--was gathered under Captains\nCaldwell and McKee, of the British Army, who were accompanied by the\nrenegade Simon Girty and a small party of rangers. Scouts had given a\nbrief warning to the little garrison of fifty riflemen, but when the\ninvaders appeared during the night of August 15th the defenders were\nstill lacking a supply of water.\n\nThe Indians at first sought to conceal their presence by hiding in the\nweeds and bushes which, as at Boonesborough, had carelessly been left\nstanding. Although aware of the extent of the attacking force, the\ngarrison affected to be without suspicion. In the morning the women and\ngirls, confident that if no fear were exhibited they would not be shot\nby the hiding savages, volunteered to go to the spring outside the\nwalls, and by means of buckets bring in enough water to fill the\nreservoir. This daring feat was successfully accomplished. Although\npainted faces and gleaming rifles could readily be seen in the\nunderbrush all about the pool, this bucket-line of brave frontiers-women\nlaughed and talked as gaily as if unconscious of danger, and were\nunmolested.\n\nImmediately after their return within the gates, some young men went to\nthe spring to draw the enemy's fire, and met a fusillade from which they\nbarely escaped with their lives. The assault now began in earnest.\nRunners were soon spreading the news of the invasion among the\nneighboring garrisons. A relief party of forty-six hurrying in from\nLexington fell into an ambush and lost a few of their number in killed\nand wounded, but the majority reached the fort through a storm of\nbullets. The besiegers adopted the usual methods of savage attack--quick\nrushes, shooting from cover, fire-arrows, and the customary uproar of\nwhoops and yells--but without serious effect. The following morning,\nfearful of a general outpouring of settlers, the enemy withdrew\nhurriedly and in sullen mood.\n\nColonel Boone was soon marching through the forest toward Bryan's, as\nwere similar companies from Lexington, McConnell's, and McGee's, the\nother members of the Fayette County group; and men from the counties of\nJefferson and Lincoln were also upon the way, under their military\nleaders. The neighboring contingents promptly arrived at Bryan's in the\ncourse of the afternoon.\n\nThe next morning a hundred and eighty-two of the best riflemen in\nKentucky, under Colonel Todd as ranking officer, started in pursuit of\nthe foe, who had followed a buffalo-trail to Blue Licks, and were\ncrossing the Licking when the pursuers arrived on the scene. A council\nof war was held, at which Boone, the most experienced man in the party,\nadvised delay until the expected reenforcements could arrive. The bulk\nof the Indians had by this time escaped, leaving only about three\nhundred behind, who were plainly luring the whites to an attack. Todd,\nTrigg, and most of the other leaders sided with Boone; but Major Hugh\nMcGary, an ardent, hot-headed man, with slight military training, dared\nthe younger men to follow him, and spurred his horse into the river,\nwhither, in the rash enthusiasm of the moment, the hot-bloods followed\nhim, leaving the chief officers no choice but to accompany them.\n\nRushing up a rocky <DW72> on the other side, where a few Indians could be\nseen, the column soon fell into an ambush. A mad panic resulted, in\nwhich the Kentuckians for the most part acted bravely and caused many of\nthe enemy to fall; but they were overpowered and forced to flee in hot\nhaste, leaving seventy of their number dead on the field and seven\ncaptured. Among the killed were Todd and Trigg, fighting gallantly to\nthe last. Boone lost his son Israel, battling by his side, and himself\nescaped only by swimming the river amid a shower of lead. A day or two\nlater Logan arrived with four hundred men, among whom was Simon Kenton,\nto reenforce Todd; to him was left only the melancholy duty of burying\nthe dead, now sadly disfigured by Indians, vultures, and wolves.\n\nThe greater part of the savage victors, laden with scalps and spoils,\nreturned exultantly to their northern homes, although small bands still\nremained south of the Ohio, carrying wide-spread devastation through the\nsettlements, especially in the neighborhood of Salt River, where, at one\nstation, thirty-seven prisoners were taken.\n\nWhile all these tragedies were being enacted, General Clark, at the\nFalls of the Ohio, had offered only slight aid. But indignant protests\nsent in to the Virginia authorities by the Kentucky settlers, who were\nnow in a state of great alarm, roused the hero of Kaskaskia and\nVincennes to a sense of his duty. A vigorous call to arms was now issued\nthroughout the three counties. Early in November over a thousand mounted\nriflemen met their brigadier at the mouth of the Licking, and from the\nsite of Cincinnati marched through the Ohio forests to the Indian towns\non the Little Miami. The savages fled in consternation, leaving the\nKentuckians to burn their cabins and the warehouses of several British\ntraders, besides large stores of grain and dried meats, thus entailing\ngreat suffering among the Shawnese during the winter now close at hand.\n\nThe triumphant return of this expedition gave fresh heart to the people\nof Kentucky; and the sequel proved that, although the tribesmen of the\nnorth frequently raided the over-mountain settlers throughout the decade\nto come, no such important invasions as those of 1782 were again\nundertaken.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[16] Address at Camp Madison, Franklin County, Ky., in 1843.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nKENTUCKY'S PATH OF THORNS\n\n\nThe preliminary articles of peace between the United States and Great\nBritain had been signed on the thirtieth of November, 1782; but it was\nnot until the following spring that the news reached Kentucky. The\nnorthern tribes had information of the peace quite as early; and\ndiscouraged at apparently losing their British allies, who had fed,\nclothed, armed, and paid them from headquarters in Detroit, for a time\nsuspended their organized raids into Kentucky. This welcome respite\ncaused immigration to increase rapidly.\n\nWe have seen how the old system of making preemptions and surveys led to\nthe overlapping of claims, the commission of many acts of injustice, and\nwide-spread confusion in titles. Late in 1782, Colonel Thomas Marshall,\nthe surveyor of Fayette County, arrived from Virginia, and began to\nattempt a straightening of the land conflict. Boone was now not only\nthe surveyor's deputy, but both sheriff and county lieutenant of\nFayette, a combination of offices which he held until his departure from\nKentucky. It was his duty as commandant to provide an escort for\nMarshall through the woods to the Falls of the Ohio, where was now the\nland-office. The following order which he issued for this guard has been\npreserved; it is a characteristic sample of the many scores of letters\nand other documents which have come down to us from the old hero, who\nfought better than he spelled:\n\n       \"Orders to Capt. Hazelrigg--your are amedetly to order on\n       Duty 3 of your Company as goude [guard] to scorte Col\n       Marshshall to the falls of ohigho you will call on those\n       who was Exicused from the Shone [Shawnese] Expedistion and\n       those who Come into the County after the army Marched they\n       are to meet at Lexinton on Sunday next with out fale given\n       under my hand this 6 Day of Janury 1783.\n\n      \"DNL BOONE\"\n\nAnother specimen document of the time has reference to the scouting\nwhich it was necessary to maintain throughout much of the year; for\nsmall straggling bands of the enemy were still lurking about, eager to\ncapture occasional scalps, the proudest trophies which a warrior could\nobtain. It also is apparently addressed to Hazelrigg:\n\n       \"orders the 15th feberry 1783\n\n       \"Sir you are amedetly to Call on Duty one thurd of our\n       melitia as will mounted on horse as poseble and Eight Days\n       purvistion to take a touere as follows Commanded by Leut\n       Col patison and Rendevues at Strod [Strode's Station] on\n       thusday the 20th from there to March to Colkes [Calk's]\n       Cabin thence an Este Corse till the gat 10 miles above the\n       uper Blew Licks then Down to Lickes thence to Limestown\n       and if no Sine [is] found a stright Corse to Eagel Crick\n       10 miles from the head from then home if Sine be found the\n       Commander to act as he thinks most prudent as you will be\n       the Best Judge when on the Spot. You will first Call on\n       all who [were] Excused from the Expedistion Except those\n       that went to the falls with Col. Marshall and then Call\n       them off as they Stand on the List here in faile not.\n       given und my hand\n\n      \"DANIEL BOONE C Lt.\"\n\nIn March the Virginia legislature united the three counties into the\nDistrict of Kentucky, with complete legal and military machinery; in the\nlatter, Benjamin Logan ranked as senior colonel and district lieutenant.\nIt will be remembered that when the over-mountain country was detached\nfrom Fincastle, it was styled the County of Kentucky; then the name of\nKentucky was obliterated by its division into three counties; and now\nthe name was revived by the creation of the district, which in due time\nwas to become a State. The log-built town of Danville was named as the\ncapital.\n\nIt is estimated that during the few years immediately following the\nclose of the Revolutionary War several thousand persons came each year\nto Kentucky from the seaboard States, although many of these returned to\ntheir homes either disillusioned or because of Indian scares. In\naddition to the actual settlers, who cared for no more land than they\ncould use, there were merchants who saw great profits in taking\nboat-loads of goods down the Ohio or by pack-trains over the mountains;\nlawyers and other young professional men who wished to make a start in\nnew communities; and speculators who hoped to make fortunes in obtaining\nfor a song extensive tracts of fertile wild land, which they vainly\nimagined would soon be salable at large prices for farms and town sites.\nMany of the towns, although ill-kept and far from prosperous in\nappearance, were fast extending beyond their lines of palisade and\nboasting of stores, law-offices, market-places, and regular streets;\nLouisville had now grown to a village of three hundred inhabitants, of\nwhom over a third were fighting-men. Besides Americans, there were among\nthe newcomers many Germans, Scotch, and Irish, thrifty in the order\nnamed.\n\nAt last Kentucky was raising produce more than sufficient to feed her\nown people, and an export trade had sprung up. Crops were being\ndiversified: Indian corn still remained the staple, but there were also\nmelons, pumpkins, tobacco, and orchards; besides, great droves of\nhorses, cattle, sheep, and hogs, branded or otherwise marked, ranged at\nlarge over the country, as in old days on the Virginia and Carolina\nfoot-hills. Away from the settlements buffaloes still yielded much beef,\nbacon was made from bears, and venison was a staple commodity.\n\nThe fur trade was chiefly carried on by French trappers; but American\nhunters, like the Boones and Kenton, still gathered peltries from the\nstreams and forests, and took or sent them to the East, either up the\nOhio in bateaux or on packhorses over the mountains--paths still\ncontinually beset by savage assailants. Large quantities of ginseng were\nalso shipped to the towns on the seaboard. Of late there had likewise\ndeveloped a considerable trade with New Orleans and other Spanish towns\ndown the Mississippi River. Traders with flatboats laden with Kentucky\nproduce--bacon, beef, salt, and tobacco--would descend the great\nwaterway, both of whose banks were audaciously claimed by Spain as far\nup as the mouth of the Ohio, and take great risks from Indian attack or\nfrom corrupt Spanish custom-house officials, whom it was necessary to\nbribe freely that they might not confiscate boat and cargo. This\ncommerce was always uncertain, often ending in disaster, but immensely\nprofitable to the unprincipled men who managed to ingratiate themselves\nwith the Spanish authorities.\n\nBoone was now in frequent demand as a pilot and surveyor by capitalists\nwho relied upon his unrivaled knowledge of the country to help them find\ndesirable tracts of land; often he was engaged to meet incoming parties\nof immigrants over the Wilderness Road, with a band of riflemen to guard\nthem against Indians, to furnish them with wild meat--for the newcomers\nat first were inexpert in killing buffaloes--and to show them the way to\ntheir claims. He was prominent as a pioneer; as county lieutenant he\nsummoned his faithful men-at-arms to repel or avenge savage attacks; and\nhis fame as hunter and explorer had by this time not only become general\nthroughout the United States but had even reached Europe.\n\nHis reputation was largely increased by the appearance in 1784 of the\nso-called \"autobiography.\" We have seen that, although capable of\nroughly expressing himself on paper, and of making records of his rude\nsurveys, he was in no sense a scholar. Yet this autobiography, although\nsigned by himself, is pedantic in form, and deals in words as large and\nsonorous as though uttered by the great Doctor Samuel Johnson. As a\nmatter of fact, it is the production of John Filson, the first historian\nof Kentucky and one of the pioneers of Cincinnati. Filson was a\nschoolmaster, quite devoid of humor, and with a strong penchant for\nlearned phrases. In setting down the story of Boone's life, as related\nto him by the great hunter, he made the latter talk in the first person,\nin a stilted manner quite foreign to the hardy but unlettered folk of\nwhom Boone was a type. Wherever Boone's memory failed, Filson appears to\nhave filled in the gaps from tradition and his own imagination; thus the\nautobiography is often wrong as to facts, and possesses but minor value\nas historical material. The little book was, however, widely circulated\nboth at home and abroad, and gave Boone a notoriety excelled by few men\nof his day. Some years later Byron wrote some indifferent lines upon\n\"General Boone of Kentucky;\" the public journals of the time had\naccounts of his prowess, often grossly exaggerated; and English\ntravelers into the interior of America eagerly sought the hero and told\nof him in their books.\n\nYet it must be confessed that he had now ceased to be a real leader in\nthe affairs of Kentucky. A kindly, simple-hearted, modest, silent man,\nhe had lived so long by himself alone in the woods that he was ill\nfitted to cope with the horde of speculators and other self-seekers who\nwere now despoiling the old hunting-grounds to which Finley had piloted\nhim only fifteen years before. Of great use to the frontier settlements\nas explorer, hunter, pilot, land-seeker, surveyor, Indian fighter, and\nsheriff--and, indeed, as magistrate and legislator so long as Kentucky\nwas a community of riflemen--he had small capacity for the economic and\npolitical sides of commonwealth-building. For this reason we find him\nhereafter, although still in middle life, taking but slight part in the\nmaking of Kentucky; none the less did his career continue to be\nadventurous, picturesque, and in a measure typical of the rapidly\nexpanding West.\n\nProbably in the early spring of 1786 Boone left the neighborhood of the\nKentucky River, and for some three years dwelt at Maysville (Limestone),\nstill the chief gateway to Kentucky for the crowds of immigrants who\ncame by water. He was there a tavern-keeper--probably Mrs. Boone was the\nactual hostess--and small river merchant. He still frequently worked at\nsurveying, of course hunted and trapped as of old, and traded up and\ndown the Ohio River between Maysville and Point Pleasant--the last-named\noccupation a far from peaceful one, for in those troublous times\nnavigation of the Ohio was akin to running the gauntlet; savages haunted\nthe banks, and by dint of both strategy and open attack wrought a heavy\nmortality among luckless travelers and tradesmen. The goods which he\nbartered to the Kentuckians for furs, skins, and ginseng were obtained\nin Maryland, whither he and his sons went with laden pack-animals, often\ndriving before them loose horses for sale in the Eastern markets.\nSometimes they followed some familiar mountain road, at others struck\nout over new paths, for no longer was the Wilderness Road the only\noverland highway to the West.\n\nKentucky was now pursuing a path strewn with thorns. Northward, the\nBritish still held the military posts on the upper lakes, owing to the\nnon-fulfilment of certain stipulations in the treaty of peace. Between\nthese and the settlements south of the Ohio lay a wide area populated by\npowerful and hostile tribes of Indians, late allies of the British,\ndeadly enemies of Kentucky, and still aided and abetted by military\nagents of the king. To the South, Spain controlled the Mississippi, the\ncommercial highway of the West; jealous of American growth, she harshly\ndenied to Kentuckians the freedom of the river, and was accused of\nturning against them and their neighbors of Tennessee the fierce\nwarriors of the Creek and Cherokee tribes. On their part, the\nKentuckians looked with hungry eyes upon the rich lands held by Spain.\n\nNot least of Kentucky's trials was the political discontent among her\nown people, which for many years lay like a blight upon her happiness\nand prosperity. Virginia's home necessities had prevented that\ncommonwealth from giving much aid to the West during the Revolution, and\nat its conclusion her policy toward the Indians lacked the aggressive\nvigor for which Kentuckians pleaded. This was sufficient cause for\ndissatisfaction; but to this was added another of still greater\nimportance. To gain the free navigation of the Mississippi, and thus to\nhave an outlet to the sea, long appeared to be essential to Western\nprogress. At first the Eastern men in Congress failed to realize this\nneed, thereby greatly exasperating the over-mountain men. All manner of\nschemes were in the air, varying with men's temperaments and ambitions.\nSome, like Clark--who, by this time had, under the influence of\nintemperance, greatly fallen in popular esteem, although not without\nfollowers--favored a filibustering expedition against the Spanish; and\nlater (1788), when this did not appear practicable, were willing to join\nhands with Spain herself in the development of the continental interior;\nand later still (1793-94), to help France oust Spain from Louisiana.\nOthers wished Kentucky to be an independent State, free to conduct her\nown affairs and make such foreign alliances as were needful; but\nVirginia and Congress did not release her.\n\nInterwoven with this more or less secret agitation for separating the\nWest from the East were the corrupt intrigues of Spain, which might have\nbeen more successful had she pursued a persistent policy. Her\nagents--among whom were some Western pioneers who later found difficulty\nin explaining their conduct--craftily fanned the embers of discontent,\nspread reports that Congress intended to sacrifice to Spain the\nnavigation rights of the West, distributed bribes, and were even accused\nof advising Spain to arm the Southern Indians in order to increase\npopular uneasiness over existing conditions. Spain also offered large\nland grants to prominent American borderers who should lead colonies to\nsettle beyond the Mississippi and become her subjects--a proposition\nwhich Clark once offered to accept, but did not; but of which we shall\nsee that Daniel Boone, in his days of discontent, took advantage, as did\nalso a few other Kentucky pioneers. Ultimately Congress resolved never\nto abandon its claim to the Mississippi (1787); and when the United\nStates became strong, and the advantages of union were more clearly seen\nin the West, Kentucky became a member of the sisterhood of States\n(1792).\n\nIt is estimated that, between 1783 and 1790, fully fifteen hundred\nKentuckians were massacred by Indians or taken captive to the savage\ntowns; and the frontiers of Virginia and Pennsylvania furnished their\nfull quota to the long roll of victims. It is impossible in so small a\nvolume as this to mention all of even the principal incidents in the\ncatalogue of assaults, heroic defenses, murders, burnings, torturings,\nescapes, reprisals, and ambushes which constitute the lurid annals of\nthis protracted border warfare. The reader who has followed thus far\nthis story of a strenuous life, will understand what these meant; to\nwhat deeds of daring they gave rise on the part of the men and women of\nthe border; what privation and anguish they entailed. But let us not\nforget that neither race could claim, in this titanic struggle for the\nmastery of the hunting-grounds, a monopoly of courage or of cowardice,\nof brutality or of mercy. The Indians suffered quite as keenly as the\nwhites in the burning of their villages, crops, and supplies, and by the\nloss of life either in battle, by stealthy attack, or by treachery. The\nfrontiersmen learned from the red men the lessons of forest warfare, and\noften outdid their tutors in ferocity. The contest between civilization\nand savagery is, in the nature of things, unavoidable; the result also\nis foreordained. It is well for our peace of mind that, in the dark\nstory of the Juggernaut car, we do not inquire too closely into details.\n\nIn 1785, goaded by numerous attacks on settlers and immigrants, Clark\nled a thousand men against the tribes on the Wabash; but by this time he\nhad lost control of the situation, and cowardice on the part of his\ntroops, combined with lack of provisions, led to the practical failure\nof the expedition, although the Indians were much frightened.\n\nAt the same time, Logan was more successful in an attack on the Shawnese\nof the Scioto Valley, who lost heavily in killed and prisoners. In\nneither of these expeditions does Boone appear to have taken part.\n\nThe year 1787 was chiefly notable, in the history of the West, for the\nadoption by Congress of the Ordinance for the government of the\nTerritory Northwest of the River Ohio, wherein there dwelt perhaps seven\nthousand whites, mostly unprogressive French-Canadians, in small\nsettlements flanking the Mississippi and the Great Lakes, and in the\nWabash Valley. Along the Ohio were scattered a few American hamlets,\nchiefly in Kentucky. In the same year the Indian war reached a height of\nfury which produced a panic throughout the border, and frantic appeals\nto Virginia, which brought insufficient aid. Boone, now a town trustee\nof Maysville, was sent to the legislature that autumn, and occupied his\nseat at Richmond from October until January. While there, we find him\nstrongly complaining that the arms sent out to Kentucky by the State\nduring the year were unfit for use, the swords being without scabbards,\nand the rifles without cartridge-boxes or flints.\n\nA child of the wilderness, Boone was law-abiding and loved peace, but he\nchafed at legal forms. He had, in various parts of Kentucky, preempted\nmuch land in the crude fashion of his day, both under the Transylvania\nCompany and the later statutes of Virginia--how much, it would now be\ndifficult to ascertain. In his old survey-books, still preserved in the\nWisconsin State Historical Library, one finds numerous claim entries for\nhimself, ranging from four hundred to ten thousand acres each--a tract\nwhich he called \"Stockfield,\" near Boonesborough; on Cartwright's Creek,\na branch of Beech Fork of Salt River; on the Licking, Elkhorn, Boone's\nCreek, and elsewhere. The following is a specimen entry, dated \"Aperel\nthe 22 1785,\" recording a claim made \"on the Bank of Cantuckey\"; it\nillustrates the loose surveying methods of the time: \"Survayd for Dal\nBoone 5000 acres begin at Robert Camels N E Corner at 2 White ashes\nand Buckeyes S 1200 p[oles] to 3 Shuger trees Ealm and walnut E 666 p to\n6 Shuger trees and ash N 1200 p to a poplar and beech W 666 p to the\nbegining.\"\n\nIt did not occur to our easy-going hero that any one would question his\nright to as much land as he cared to hold in a wilderness which he had\ndone so much to bring to the attention of the world. But claim-jumpers\nwere no respecters of persons. It was discovered that Boone had\ncarelessly failed to make any of his preemptions according to the letter\nof the law, leaving it open for any adventurer to reenter the choice\nclaims which he had selected with the care of an expert, and to treat\nhim as an interloper. Suits of ejectment followed one by one (1785-98),\nuntil in the end his acres were taken from him by the courts, and the\ngood-hearted, simple fellow was sent adrift in the world absolutely\nlandless.\n\nAt first, when his broad acres began to melt away, the great hunter,\ncareless of his possessions, appeared to exhibit no concern; but the\naccumulation of his disasters, together with the rapid growth of\nsettlement upon the hunting-grounds, and doubtless some domestic\nnagging, developed within him an intensity of depression which led him\nto abandon his long-beloved Kentucky and vow never again to dwell within\nher limits. In the autumn of 1788, before his disasters were quite\ncomplete, this resolution was carried into effect; with wife and family,\nand what few worldly goods he possessed, he removed to Point Pleasant,\nat the junction of the Great Kanawha and the Ohio--in our day a quaint\nlittle court-house town in West Virginia.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nIN THE KANAWHA VALLEY\n\n\nDuring his early years on the Kanawha, Boone kept a small store at Point\nPleasant. Later, he moved to the neighborhood of Charleston, where he\nwas engaged in the usual variety of occupations--piloting immigrants; as\ndeputy surveyor of Kanawha County, surveying lands for settlers and\nspeculators; taking small contracts for victualing the militia, who were\nfrequently called out to protect the country from Indian forays; and in\nhunting. Some of his expeditions took him to the north of the Ohio,\nwhere he had several narrow escapes from capture and death at the hands\nof the enemy, and even into his old haunts on the Big Sandy, the\nLicking, and the Kentucky.\n\nHe traveled much, for a frontiersman. In 1788 he went with his wife and\ntheir son Nathan by horseback to the old Pennsylvania home in Berks\nCounty, where they spent a month with kinsfolk and friends. We find him\nin Maysville, on a business trip, during the year; indeed, there are\nevidences of numerous subsequent visits to that port. In May of the\nfollowing year he was on the Monongahela River with a drove of horses\nfor sale, Brownsville then being an important market for ginseng,\nhorses, and cattle; and in the succeeding July he writes to a client,\nfor whom he had done some surveying, that he would be in Philadelphia\nduring the coming winter.\n\nIn October, 1789, there came to him, as the result of a popular\npetition, the appointment of lieutenant-colonel of Kanawha County--the\nfirst military organization in the valley; and in other ways he was\ntreated with marked distinction by the primitive border folk of the\nvalley, both because of his brilliant career in Kentucky and the fact\nthat he was a surveyor and could write letters. One who knew him\nintimately at this time has left a pleasing description of the man,\nwhich will assist us in picturing him as he appeared to his new\nneighbors: \"His large head, full chest, square shoulders, and stout\nform are still impressed upon my mind. He was (I think) about five feet\nten inches in height, and his weight say 175. He was solid in mind as\nwell as in body, never frivolous, thoughtless, or agitated; but was\nalways quiet, meditative, and impressive, unpretentious, kind, and\nfriendly in his manner. He came very much up to the idea we have of the\nold Grecian philosophers--particularly Diogenes.\"\n\nBy the summer of 1790, Indian raids again became almost unbearable.\nFresh robberies and murders were daily reported in Kentucky, and along\nthe Ohio and the Wabash. The expedition of Major J. F. Hamtramck, of the\nFederal Army, against the tribesmen on the Wabash, resulted in the\nburning of a few villages and the destruction of much corn; but Colonel\nJosiah Harmar's expedition in October against the towns on the Scioto\nand the St. Joseph, at the head of nearly 1,500 men, ended in failure\nand a crushing defeat, although the Indian losses were so great that the\narmy was allowed to return to Cincinnati unmolested. Boone does not\nappear to have taken part in these operations, his militiamen probably\nbeing needed for home protection.\n\nThe following year the General Government for the first time took the\nfield against the Indians in earnest. For seven years it had attempted\nto bring the tribesmen to terms by means of treaties, but without avail.\nRoused to fury by the steady increase of settlement north as well as\nsouth of the Ohio, the savages were making life a torment to the\nborderers. War seemed alone the remedy. In June, General Charles Scott,\nof Kentucky, raided the Miami and Wabash Indians. Two months later\nGeneral James Wilkinson, with five hundred Kentuckians, laid waste a\nMiami village and captured many prisoners. These were intended but to\nopen the road for an expedition of far greater proportions. In October,\nGovernor Arthur St. Clair, of the Northwest Territory, a broken-down man\nunequal to such a task, was despatched against the Miami towns with an\nill-organized army of two thousand raw troops. Upon the fourth of\nNovember they were surprised near the principal Miami village; hundreds\nof the men fled at the first alarm, and of those who remained over six\nhundred fell during the engagement, while nearly three hundred were\nwounded. This disastrous termination of the campaign demoralized the\nWest and left the entire border again open to attack--an advantage which\nthe scalping parties did not neglect.\n\nWhile this disaster was occurring, Boone was again sitting in the\nlegislature at Richmond, where he represented Kanawha County from\nOctober 17th to December 20th. The journals of the Assembly show him to\nhave been a silent member, giving voice only in yea and nay; but he was\nplaced upon two then important committees--religion, and propositions\nand licenses. It was voted to send ammunition for the militia on the\nMonongahela and the Kanawha, who were to be called out for the defense\nof the frontier. Before leaving Richmond, Boone wrote as follows to the\ngovernor:\n\n       \"Monday 13th Dec 1791\n\n       \"Sir as sum purson Must Carry out the armantstion\n       [ammunition] to Red Stone [Brownsville, Pa.,] if your\n       Exclency should have thought me a proper purson I would\n       undertake it on conditions I have the apintment to vitel\n       the company at Kanhowway [Kanawha] so that I Could take\n       Down the flowre as I paste that place I am your\n       Excelenceys most obedent omble servant\n\n      \"DAL BOONE.\"\n\nFive days later the contract was awarded to him; and we find among his\npapers receipts, obtained at several places on his way home, for the\nlead and flints which he was to deliver to the various military centers.\nBut the following May, Colonel George Clendennin sharply complains to\nthe governor that the ammunition and rations which Boone was to have\nsupplied to Captain Caperton's rangers had not yet been delivered, and\nthat Clendennin was forced to purchase these supplies from others. It\ndoes not appear from the records how this matter was settled; but as\nthere seems to have been no official inquiry, the non-delivery was\nprobably the result of a misunderstanding.\n\nAt last, after a quarter of a century of bloodshed, the United States\nGovernment was prepared to act in an effective manner. General Anthony\nWayne--\"Mad Anthony,\" of Stony Point--after spending a year and a half\nin reorganizing the Western army, established himself, in the winter of\n1793-94, in a log fort at Greenville, eighty miles north of Cincinnati,\nand built a strong outpost at Fort Recovery, on the scene of St. Clair's\ndefeat. After resisting an attack on Fort Recovery made on the last day\nof June by over two thousand painted warriors from the Upper Lakes, he\nadvanced with his legion of about three thousand well-disciplined troops\nto the Maumee Valley and built Fort Defiance. Final battle was given to\nthe tribesmen on the twentieth of August at Fallen Timbers. As the\nresult of superb charges by infantry and cavalry, in forty minutes the\nIndian army was defeated and scattered. The backbone of savage\nopposition to Northwestern settlement was broken, and at the treaty of\nGreenville in the following summer (1795) a peace was secured which\nremained unbroken for fifteen years.\n\nWayne's great victory over the men of the wilderness gave new heart to\nKentucky and the Northwest. The pioneers were exuberant in the\nexpression of their joy. The long war, which had lasted practically\nsince the mountains were first crossed by Boone and Finley, had been an\nalmost constant strain upon the resources of the country. Now no longer\npent up within palisades, and expecting nightly to be awakened by the\nwhoops of savages to meet either slaughter or still more dreaded\ncaptivity, men could go forth without fear to open up forests, to\ncultivate fields, and peaceably to pursue the chase.\n\nTo hunters like Boone, in particular, this great change in their lives\nwas a matter for rejoicing. The Kanawha Valley was not as rich in game\nas he had hoped; but in Kentucky and Ohio were still large herds of\nbuffaloes and deer feeding on the cane-brake and the rank vegetation of\nthe woods, and resorting to the numerous salt-licks which had as yet\nbeen uncontaminated by settlement.\n\nAfter the peace, Boone for several seasons devoted himself almost\nexclusively to hunting; in beaver-trapping he was especially\nsuccessful, his favorite haunt for these animals being the neighboring\nValley of the Gauley. His game he shared freely with neighbors, now fast\nincreasing in numbers, and the skins and furs were shipped to market,\noverland or by river, as of old.\n\nUpon removing to the Kanawha, he still had a few claims left in\nKentucky, but suits for ejectment were pending over most of these. They\nwere all decided against him, and the remaining lands were sold by the\nsheriff for taxes, the last of them going in 1798. His failure to secure\nanything for his children to inherit, was to the last a source of sorrow\nto Boone.\n\nThe Kanawha in time came to be distasteful to him. Settlements above and\nbelow were driving away the game, and sometimes his bag was slight; the\ncrowding of population disturbed the serenity which he sought in deep\nforests; the nervous energy of these newcomers, and the avarice of some\nof them, annoyed his quiet, hospitable soul; and he fretted to be again\nfree, thinking that civilization cost too much in wear and tear of\nspirit.\n\nBoone had long looked kindly toward the broad, practically unoccupied\nlands of forest and plain west of the Mississippi. Adventurous hunters\nbrought him glowing tales of buffaloes, grizzly bears, and beavers to be\nfound there without number. Spain, fearing an assault upon her\npossessions from Canada, was just now making flattering offers to those\nAmerican pioneers who should colonize her territory, and by casting\ntheir fortunes with her people strengthen them. This opportunity\nattracted the disappointed man; he thought the time ripe for making a\nmove which should leave the crowd far behind, and comfortably establish\nhim in a country wherein a hunter might, for many years to come, breathe\nfresh air and follow the chase untrammeled.\n\nIn 1796, Daniel Morgan Boone, his oldest son, traveled with other\nadventurers in boats to St. Charles County, in eastern Missouri, where\nthey took lands under certificates of cession from Charles Dehault\nDelassus, the Spanish lieutenant-governor of Upper Louisiana, resident\nat St. Louis. There were four families, all settling upon Femme Osage\nCreek, six miles above its junction with the Missouri, some twenty-five\nmiles above the town of St. Charles, and forty-five by water from St.\nLouis.\n\nThither they were followed, apparently in the spring of 1799, by Daniel\nBoone and wife and their younger children. The departure of the great\nhunter, now in his sixty-fifth year, was the occasion for a general\ngathering of Kanawha pioneers at the home near Charleston. They came on\nfoot, by horseback, and in canoe, from far and near, and bade him a\nfarewell as solemnly affectionate as though he were departing for\nanother world; indeed, Missouri then seemed almost as far away to the\nWest Virginians as the Klondike is to dwellers in the Mississippi basin\nto-day--a long journey by packhorse or by flatboat into foreign wilds,\nbeyond the great waterway concerning which the imaginations of\nuntraveled men often ran riot.\n\nThe hegira of the Boones, from the junction of the Elk and the Kanawha,\nwas accomplished by boats, into which were crowded such of their scant\nherd of live stock as could be accommodated. Upon the way they stopped\nat Kentucky towns along the Ohio, either to visit friends or to obtain\nprovisions, and attracted marked attention, for throughout the West\nBoone was, of course, one of the best-known men of his day. In\nCincinnati he was asked why, at his time of life, he left the comforts\nof an established home again to subject himself to the privations of the\nfrontier. \"Too crowded!\" he replied with feeling. \"I want more\nelbow-room!\"\n\nArriving at the little Kentucky colony on Femme Osage Creek, where the\nSpanish authorities had granted him a thousand arpents[17] of land\nabutting his son's estate upon the north, he settled down in a little\nlog cabin erected largely by his own hands, for the fourth and last time\nas a pioneer. He was never again in the Kanawha Valley, and but twice in\nKentucky--once to testify as to some old survey-marks made by him, and\nagain to pay the debts which he had left when removing to Point\nPleasant.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[17] Equivalent to about 845 English acres.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nA SERENE OLD AGE\n\n\nMissouri's sparse population at that time consisted largely of\nFrenchmen, who had taken easily to the yoke of Spain. For a people of\neasy-going disposition, theirs was an ideal existence. They led a\npatriarchal life, with their flocks and herds grazing upon a common\npasture, and practised a crude agriculture whose returns were eked out\nby hunting in the limitless forests hard by. For companionship, the\ncrude log cabins in the little settlements were assembled by the banks\nof the waterways, and there was small disposition to increase tillage\nbeyond domestic necessities. There were practically no taxes to pay;\nmilitary burdens sat lightly; the local syndic (or magistrate), the only\ngovernment servant to be met outside of St. Louis, was sheriff, judge,\njury, and commandant combined; there were no elections, for\nrepresentative government was unknown; the fur and lead trade with St.\nLouis was the sole commerce, and their vocabulary did not contain the\nwords enterprise and speculation.\n\nHere was a paradise for a man of Boone's temperament, and through\nseveral years to come he was wont to declare that, next to his first\nlong hunt in Kentucky, this was the happiest period of his life. On the\neleventh of July, 1800, Delassus--a well-educated French gentleman, and\na good judge of character--appointed him syndic for the Femme Osage\ndistrict, a position which the old man held until the cession of\nLouisiana to the United States. This selection was not only because of\nhis prominence among the settlers and his recognized honesty and\nfearlessness, but for the reason that he was one of the few among these\nunsophisticated folk who could make records. In a primitive community\nlike the Femme Osage, Boone may well have ranked as a man of some\neducation; and certainly he wrote a bold, free hand, showing much\npractise with the pen, although we have seen that his spelling and\ngrammar might have been improved. When the government was turned over to\nPresident Jefferson's commissioner, Delassus delivered to that\nofficer, by request, a detailed report upon the personality of his\nsubordinates, and this is one of the entries in the list of syndics:\n\"Mr. Boone, a respectable old man, just and impartial, he has already,\nsince I appointed him, offered his resignation owing to his\ninfirmities--believing I know his probity, I have induced him to remain,\nin view of my confidence in him, for the public good.\"\n\n  [Illustration: BOONE'S CABIN IN ST. CHARLES COUNTY, MISSOURI.\n    From photograph in possession of Wisconsin State Historical Society.]\n\nBoone's knowledge did not extend to law-books, but he had a strong sense\nof justice; and during his four years of office passed upon the petty\ndisputes of his neighbors with such absolute fairness as to win popular\napprobation. His methods were as primitive and arbitrary as those of an\nOriental pasha; his penalties frequently consisted of lashes on the bare\nback \"well laid on;\" he would observe no rules of evidence, saying he\nwished only to know the truth; and sometimes both parties to a suit were\ncompelled to divide the costs and begone. The French settlers had a\nfondness for taking their quarrels to court; but the decisions of the\ngood-hearted syndic of Femme Osage, based solely upon common sense in\nthe rough, were respected as if coming from a supreme bench. His\ncontemporaries said that in no other office ever held by the great\nrifleman did he give such evidence of undisguised satisfaction, or\ndisplay so great dignity as in this role of magistrate. Showing newly\narrived American immigrants to desirable tracts of land was one of his\nmost agreeable duties; when thus tendering the hospitalities of the\ncountry to strangers, it was remarked that our patriarch played the\nSpanish \"don\" to perfection.\n\nIn October, 1800, Spain agreed to deliver Louisiana to France; but the\nlatter found it impracticable at that time to take possession of the\nterritory. By the treaty of April 30, 1803, the United States, long\neager to secure for the West the open navigation of the Mississippi,\npurchased the rights of France. It was necessary to go through the form,\nboth in New Orleans and in St. Louis, of transfer by Spain to France,\nand then by France to the United States. The former ceremony took place\nin St. Louis, the capital of Upper Louisiana, upon the ninth of March,\n1804, and the latter upon the following day. Daniel Boone's authority as\na Spanish magistrate ended when the flag of his adopted country was\nhauled down for the last time in the Valley of the Mississippi.\n\nThe coming of the Americans into power was welcomed by few of the people\nof Louisiana. The French had slight patience with the land-grabbing\ntemper of the \"Yankees,\" who were eager to cut down the forests, to open\nup farms, to build towns, to extend commerce, to erect factories--to\ninaugurate a reign of noise and bustle and avarice. Neither did men of\nthe Boone type--who had become Spanish subjects in order to avoid the\ncrowds, to get and to keep cheap lands, to avoid taxes, to hunt big\ngame, and to live a simple Arcadian life--at all enjoy this sudden\ncrossing of the Mississippi River, which they had vainly hoped to\nmaintain as a perpetual barrier to so-called progress.\n\nOur hero soon had still greater reason for lamenting the advent of the\nnew _regime_. His sad experience with lands in Kentucky had not taught\nhim prudence. When the United States commission came to examine the\ntitles of Louisiana settlers to the claims which they held, it was\ndiscovered that Boone had failed properly to enter the tract which had\nbeen ceded to him by Delassus. The signature of the lieutenant-governor\nwas sufficient to insure a temporary holding, but a permanent cession\nrequired the approval of the governor at New Orleans; this Boone failed\nto obtain, being misled, he afterward stated, by the assertion of\nDelassus that so important an officer as a syndic need not take such\nprecautions, for he would never be disturbed. The commissioners, while\nhighly respecting him, were regretfully obliged under the terms of the\ntreaty to dispossess the old pioneer, who again found himself landless.\nSix years later (1810) Congress tardily hearkened to his pathetic\nappeal, backed by the resolutions of the Kentucky legislature, and\nconfirmed his Spanish grant in words of praise for \"the man who has\nopened the way to millions of his fellow men.\"\n\nBy the time he was seventy years old, Boone's skill as a hunter had\nsomewhat lessened. His eyes had lost their phenomenal strength; he could\nno longer perform those nice feats of marksmanship for which in his\nprime he had attained wide celebrity, and rheumatism made him less\nagile. But as a trapper he was still unexcelled, and for many years made\nlong trips into the Western wilderness, even into far-off Kansas, and at\nleast once (1814, when eighty years old) to the great game fields of the\nYellowstone. Upon such expeditions, often lasting several months, he was\naccompanied by one or more of his sons, by his son-in-law Flanders\nCalloway, or by an old Indian servant who was sworn to bring his master\nback to the Femme Osage dead or alive--for, curiously enough, this\nwandering son of the wilderness ever yearned for a burial near home.\n\nBeaver-skins, which were his chief desire, were then worth nine dollars\neach in the St. Louis market. He appears to have amassed a considerable\nsum from this source, and from the sale of his land grant to his sons,\nand in 1810 we find him in Kentucky paying his debts. This accomplished,\ntradition says that he had remaining only fifty cents; but he gloried in\nthe fact that he was at last \"square with the world,\" and returned to\nMissouri exultant.\n\nThe War of 1812-15 brought Indian troubles to this new frontier, and\nsome of the farm property of the younger Boones was destroyed in one of\nthe savage forays. The old man fretted at his inability to assist in the\nmilitia organization, of which his sons Daniel Morgan and Nathan were\nconspicuous leaders; and the state of the border did not permit of\npeaceful hunting. In the midst of the war he deeply mourned the death of\nhis wife (1813)--a woman of meek, generous, heroic nature, who had\njourneyed over the mountains with him from North Carolina, and upon his\nsubsequent pilgrimages, sharing all his hardships and perils, a proper\nhelpmeet in storm and calm.\n\nPenniless, and a widower, he now went to live with his sons, chiefly\nwith Nathan, then forty-three years of age. After being first a hunter\nand explorer, and then an industrious and successful farmer, Nathan had\nwon distinction in the war just closed and entered the regular army,\nwhere he reached the rank of lieutenant-colonel and had a wide and\nthrilling experience in Indian fighting. Daniel Morgan is thought to\nhave been the first settler in Kansas (1827); A. G. Boone, a\ngrandson, was one of the early settlers of Colorado, and prominently\nconnected with Western Indian treaties and Rocky Mountain exploration;\nand another grandson of the great Kentuckian was Kit Carson, the famous\nscout for Fremont's transcontinental expedition.\n\n  [Illustration: NATHAN BOONE'S HOUSE IN ST. CHARLES COUNTY, MISSOURI.\n    Herein Daniel Boone died.]\n\nIt was not long before the Yankee _regime_ confirmed Boone's fears. The\ntide of immigration crossed the river, and rolling westward again passed\nthe door of the great Kentuckian, driving off the game and monopolizing\nthe hunting-grounds. Laws, courts, politics, speculation, and\nimprovements were being talked about, to the bewilderment of the French\nand the unconcealed disgust of the former syndic. Despite his great age,\nhe talked strongly of moving still farther West, hoping to get beyond\nthe reach of settlement; but his sons and neighbors persuaded him\nagainst it, and he was obliged to accommodate himself as best he might\nto the new conditions. In summer he would work on the now substantial\nand prosperous farms of his children, chopping trees for the winter's\nwood. But at the advent of autumn the spirit of restlessness seized him,\nwhen he would take his canoe, with some relative or his Indian servant,\nand disappear up the Missouri and its branches for weeks together. In\n1816, we hear of him as being at Fort Osage, on his way to the Platte,\n\"in the dress of the roughest, poorest hunter.\" Two years later, he\nwrites to his son Daniel M.: \"I intend by next autumn to take two or\nthree whites and a party of Osage Indians to visit the salt mountains,\nlakes, and ponds and see these natural curiosities. They are about five\nor six hundred miles west of here\"--presumably the rock salt in Indian\nTerritory; it is not known whether this trip was taken. He was greatly\ninterested in Rocky Mountain exploration, then much talked of, and\neagerly sought information regarding California; and was the cause of\nseveral young men migrating thither. A tale of new lands ever found in\nhim a delighted listener.\n\nIn these his declining years, although he had suffered much at the hands\nof the world, Boone's temperament, always kindly, mellowed in tone.\nDecay came gradually, without palsy or pain; and, amid kind friends and\nan admiring public, his days passed in tranquillity. The following\nletter written by him at this period to his sister-in-law Sarah (Day)\nBoone, wife of his brother Samuel, is characteristic of the man, and\ngives to us, moreover, probably the only reliable account we possess of\nhis religious views:\n\n       \"october the 19th 1816\n\n       \"Deer Sister\n\n       \"With pleasuer I Rad a Later from your sun Samuel Boone\n       who informs me that you are yett Liveing and in good\n       health Considing your age I wright to you to Latt you know\n       I have Not forgot you and to inform you of my own\n       Situation sence the Death of your Sister Rabacah I Leve\n       with flanders Calaway But am at present at my sun Nathans\n       and in tolarabel halth you Can gass at my feilings by your\n       own as we are So Near one age I Need Not write you of our\n       satuation as Samuel Bradley or James grimes Can inform you\n       of Every Surcomstance Relating to our famaly and how we\n       Leve in this World and what Chance we shall have in the\n       next we know Not for my part I am as ignerant as a Child\n       all the Relegan I have to Love and fear god beleve in\n       Jeses Christ Don all the good to my Nighbour and my self\n       that I Can and Do as Little harm as I Can help and trust\n       on gods marcy for the Rest and I Beleve god neve made a\n       man of my prisepel to be Lost and I flater my self Deer\n       sister that you are well on your way in Cristeanaty gave\n       my Love to all your Childran and all my frends fearwell my\n       Deer sister\n\n      \"DANIEL BOONE\n\n      \"Mrs. Sarah Boone\n\n       \"N B I Red a Later yesterday from sister Hanah peninton by\n       hir grand sun Dal Ringe she and all hir Childran are Well\n       at present\n\n      \"D B\"\n\n  [Illustration: BOONE'S RELIGIOUS VIEWS.\n    Reduced facsimile from original MS. in possession of Wisconsin State\n    Historical Society.]\n\nMany strangers of distinction visited him at Nathan's home near the\nbanks of the Missouri, and the public journals of the day always\nwelcomed an anecdote of the great hunter's prowess--although most of the\nstories which found their way into print were either deliberate\ninventions or unconsciously exaggerated traditions. From published\ndescriptions of the man by those who could discriminate, we may gain\nsome idea of his appearance and manner. The great naturalist Audubon\nonce passed a night under a West Virginia roof in the same room with\nBoone, whose \"extraordinary skill in the management of a rifle\" is\nalluded to. He says: \"The stature and general appearance of this\nwanderer of the Western forests approached the gigantic. His chest was\nbroad and prominent; his muscular powers displayed themselves in every\nlimb; his countenance gave indication of his great courage, enterprise,\nand perseverance; and when he spoke the very motion of his lips brought\nthe impression that whatever he uttered could not be otherwise than\nstrictly true. I undressed, whilst he merely took off his hunting-shirt\nand arranged a few folds of blankets on the floor, choosing rather to\nlie there, as he observed, than on the softest bed.\"\n\nTimothy Flint, one of his early biographers, knew the \"grand old man\" in\nMissouri, and thus pictures him: \"He was five feet ten inches in\nheight, of a very erect, clean-limbed, and athletic form--admirably\nfitted in structure, muscle, temperament, and habit for the endurance of\nthe labors, changes, and sufferings he underwent. He had what\nphrenologists would have considered a model head--with a forehead\npeculiarly high, noble, and bold--thin and compressed lips--a mild,\nclear, blue eye--a large and prominent chin, and a general expression of\ncountenance in which fearlessness and courage sat enthroned, and which\ntold the beholder at a glance what he had been and was formed to be.\"\nFlint declares that the busts, paintings, and engravings of Boone bear\nlittle resemblance to him. \"They want the high port and noble daring of\nhis countenance.... Never was old age more green, or gray hairs more\ngraceful. His high, calm, bold forehead seemed converted by years into\niron.\"\n\nRev. James E. Welch, a revivalist, thus tells of Boone as he saw him at\nhis meetings in 1818: \"He was rather low of stature, broad shoulders,\nhigh cheek-bones, very mild countenance, fair complexion, soft and\nquiet in his manner, but little to say unless spoken to, amiable and\nkind in his feelings, very fond of quiet retirement, of cool\nself-possession and indomitable perseverance. He never made a profession\nof religion, but still was what the world calls a very moral man.\"\n\nIn 1819, the year before the death of Boone, Chester Harding, an\nAmerican portrait-painter of some note, went out from St. Louis to make\na life study of the aged Kentuckian. He found him at the time \"living\nalone in a cabin, a part of an old blockhouse,\" evidently having escaped\nfor a time from the conventionalities of home life, which palled upon\nhim. The great man was roasting a steak of venison on the end of his\nramrod. He had a marvelous memory of the incidents of early days,\nalthough forgetful of passing events. \"I asked him,\" says Harding, \"if\nhe never got lost in his long wanderings after game? He said 'No, I was\nnever lost, but I was bewildered once for three days.'\" The portrait is\nnow in the possession of the painter's grandson, Mr. William H. King, of\nWinnetka, Ill. Harding says that he \"never finished the drapery of the\noriginal picture, but copied the head, I think, at three different\ntimes.\" It is from this portrait (our frontispiece), made when Boone was\nan octogenarian, emaciated and feeble--although not appearing older than\nseventy years--that most others have been taken; thus giving us, as\nFlint says, but a shadowy notion of how the famous explorer looked in\nhis prime. There is in existence, however, a portrait made by Audubon,\nfrom memory--a charming picture, representing Boone in middle life.[18]\n\nSerene and unworldly to the last, and with slight premonition of the\nend, Daniel Boone passed from this life upon the twenty-sixth of\nSeptember, 1820, in the eighty-sixth year of his age. The event took\nplace in the home of his son Nathan, said to be the first stone house\nbuilt in Missouri. The convention for drafting the first constitution of\nthe new State was then in session in St. Louis. Upon learning the news,\nthe commonwealth-builders adjourned for the day in respect to his\nmemory; and as a further mark of regard wore crape on their left arms\nfor twenty days. The St. Louis Gazette, in formally announcing his\ndeath, said: \"Colonel Boone was a man of common stature, of great\nenterprise, strong intellect, amiable disposition, and inviolable\nintegrity--he died universally regretted by all who knew him.... Such is\nthe veneration for his name and character.\"\n\nPursuant to his oft-repeated request, he was buried by the side of his\nwife, upon the bank of Teugue Creek, about a mile from the Missouri.\nThere, in sight of the great river of the new West, the two founders of\nBoonesborough rested peacefully. Their graves were, however, neglected\nuntil 1845, when the legislature of Kentucky made a strong appeal to the\npeople of Missouri to allow the bones to be removed to Frankfort, where,\nit was promised, they should be surmounted by a fitting monument. The\neloquence of Kentucky's commissioners succeeded in overcoming the strong\nreluctance of the Missourians, and such fragments as had not been\nresolved into dust were removed amid much display. But in their new\nabiding-place they were again the victims of indifference; it was not\nuntil 1880, thirty-five years later, that the present monument was\nerected.\n\n  [Illustration: BOONE'S MONUMENT AT FRANKFORT, KENTUCKY.]\n\nWe have seen that Daniel Boone was neither the first explorer nor the\nfirst settler of Kentucky. The trans-Alleghany wilds had been trodden by\nmany before him; even he was piloted through Cumberland Gap by Finley,\nand Harrodsburg has nearly a year's priority over Boonesborough. He had\nnot the intellect of Clark or of Logan, and his services in the defense\nof the country were of less importance than theirs. He was not a\nconstructive agent of civilization. But in the minds of most Americans\nthere is a pathetic, romantic interest attaching to Boone that is\nassociated with few if any others of the early Kentuckians. His\nmigrations in the vanguard of settlement into North Carolina, Kentucky,\nWest Virginia, and Missouri, each in their turn; his heroic wanderings\nin search of game and fresh lands; his activity and numerous thrilling\nadventures during nearly a half-century of border warfare; his\nsuccessive failures to acquire a legal foothold in the wilderness to\nwhich he had piloted others; his persistent efforts to escape the\ncivilization of which he had been the forerunner; his sunny temper amid\ntrials of the sort that made of Clark a plotter and a misanthrope; his\nsterling integrity; his serene old age--all these have conspired to make\nfor Daniel Boone a place in American history as one of the most lovable\nand picturesque of our popular heroes; indeed, the typical backwoodsman\nof the trans-Alleghany region.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[18] The story of the original Harding portrait, as gathered from\nstatements to the present writer by members of the painter's family,\nsupplemented by letters of Harding himself to the late Lyman C. Draper,\nis an interesting one. The artist used for his portrait a piece of\nordinary table oil-cloth. For many years the painting was in the capitol\nat Frankfort, Ky., \"from the fact that it was hoped the State would buy\nit.\" But the State had meanwhile become possessed of another oil\nportrait painted about 1839 or 1840 by a Mr. Allen, of Harrodsburg,\nKy.--an ideal sketch, of no special merit. Harding's portrait,\napparently the only one of Boone painted from life, was not purchased,\nfor the State did not wish to be at the expense of two paintings. Being\nupon a Western trip, in 1861, Harding, then an old man and a resident of\nSpringfield, Mass., rescued his portrait, which was in bad condition,\nand carried it home. The process of restoration was necessarily a\nvigorous one. The artist writes (October 6, 1861): \"The picture had been\nbanged about until the greater part of it was broken to pieces.... The\nhead is as perfect as when it was painted, in color, though there are\nsome small, almost imperceptible, cracks in it.\" The head and neck, down\nto the shirt-collar, were cut out and pasted upon a full-sized canvas;\non this, Harding had \"a very skilful artist\" repaint the bust, drapery,\nand background, under the former's immediate direction. The picture in\nthe present state is, therefore, a composite. The joining shows plainly\nin most lights. Upon the completion of the work, Harding offered to sell\nit to Draper, but the negotiation fell through. The restored portrait\nwas then presented by the artist to his son-in-law, John L. King, of\nSpringfield, Mass., and in due course it came into the possession of the\nlatter's son, the present owner.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n      Abingdon (Pa.), Boones in, 4.\n\n      Alleghany Mountains, bound French claims, 19, 60;\n        border Valley of Virginia, 14;\n        pioneers on eastern foot-hills, 27, 35, 69;\n        barrier to Western advance, 13;\n        Berkeley's exploration, 85, 86;\n        crossed by Americans, 20;\n        in Dunmore's War, 105;\n        first government west of, 122, 123.\n\n      Allen, ----, paints Boone's portrait, 238.\n\n      Amherst, Gen. Jeffrey, of British Army, 44.\n\n      Appalachian Mountains, troughs of, 13-15.\n        See also Alleghany Mountains.\n\n      Arkansas, Virginia hunters in, 89, 90.\n\n      Ashton, Captain, killed by Indians, 185.\n\n      Audubon, John James, knew Boone, 10, 235, 238.\n\n\n      Baker, John, explores Kentucky, 66.\n\n      Barbour, ----, hunts in Kentucky, 89, 90.\n\n      Baton Rouge (La.), North Carolinians near, 66.\n\n      Batts, Thomas, on New River, 86.\n\n      Bears, 18, 56, 58, 67, 75, 76, 92, 133, 197.\n\n      Beaver Creek, Boone on, 68.\n\n      Beavers, 18, 74, 229.\n\n      Benton, ----, Kentucky pioneer, 125.\n\n      Berkeley, Gov. William, in Alleghanies, 85, 86.\n\n      Berks County (Pa.), Boones in, 4-15, 211, 212.\n\n      Black Fish, Shawnese chief, 148-157, 161-167.\n\n      Bledsoe, Maj. Anthony, militia leader, 134.\n\n      Blue Ridge, borders Valley of Virginia, 14, 15;\n        crossed by Boone, 72.\n\n      Boiling Spring (Ky.), founded, 121.\n        See also Fort Boiling Spring.\n\n      Boone, A. G., grandson of Daniel, 231.\n\n      --, Benjamin, son of George{1}, 1.\n\n      --, Daniel, Dutch painter, 7.\n\n      --, Daniel, born, 6;\n        youth, 7-15;\n        training, 10-12;\n        education, 199, 224;\n        moves to Yadkin, 16, 17;\n        explores Yadkin region, 62, 63;\n        in French and Indian War, 21-23;\n        marriage, 25-27, 36;\n        list of children, 43;\n        life on the Yadkin, 17-20, 28-36;\n        flees to Virginia, 43, 55;\n        returns to Yadkin, 50, 55;\n        visits Florida, 64, 65;\n        early Kentucky explorations, 24, 69, 70;\n        trains James, 63;\n        discontented in North Carolina, 67-69;\n        hunts in Tennessee, 55, 56;\n        in Cherokee War, 50, 55, 56;\n        carves name on trees, 56;\n        captures criminals, 62;\n        opinion of Indians, 52, 59;\n        piloted by Finley, 218, 241;\n        crosses Cumberland Gap, ix, 89, 200, 218;\n        long hunt in Kentucky, 72-84, 86, 94-97, 100, 224;\n        starts for Kentucky, 101-103;\n        on Clinch, 103;\n        in Dunmore's War, 105-112;\n        pioneer for Transylvania Company, 114-117;\n        settles Boonesborough, 117-119, 124, 125;\n        defends Boonesborough, 137, 138, 141, 142;\n        capture of daughter, 134-136;\n        captured by Shawnese, 146-158;\n        returns to Kentucky, 174-178;\n        hunts for settlers, 176;\n        robbed of money, 176, 177;\n        militia leader, 112, 134, 180, 212, 213;\n        Indian expeditions, 181, 182, 187-189;\n        pilot for immigrants, 198, 211, 226;\n        leaves Boonesborough, 180;\n        justice of peace, 143;\n        surveyor, 120, 121, 129, 181, 193, 198, 208, 209, 211, 212;\n        member of legislature, 182, 183, 215;\n        revisits Pennsylvania, 211, 212;\n        loses Kentucky lands, 208-210, 219;\n        at Maysville, 201, 202, 207-210;\n        river trader, 201, 202;\n        life on Kanawha, 210-222;\n        \"autobiography,\" 153, 169, 199;\n        ships furs to East, 197, 201, 202;\n        moves to Missouri, 205, 219-222;\n        Spanish syndic, 224-227;\n        hunts in Missouri, 220, 229-232;\n        laments growth of settlement, 227, 231;\n        loses Spanish grant, 227, 228;\n        pays debts, 229;\n        old age, 228-241;\n        death and burial, 239, 240;\n        character, vii-ix, 200, 232, 233, 241, 242;\n        religious views, 233, 234;\n        specimen letters, 193-195, 233-235;\n        descriptions of, 109, 110, 212-214, 225, 235-237, 239, 240;\n        not first in Kentucky, 85;\n        Byron's verses, 200;\n        nature of services, 200;\n        extent of fame, 198, 199, 222, 233-235;\n        portraits, 237-239;\n        Draper's proposed biography, ix, x.\n\n      Boone, Mrs. Daniel, marriage, 25-27, 36;\n        life on Yadkin, 29, 30;\n        flees to Virginia, 43;\n        scorns Florida, 65;\n        in Kentucky, 125, 158, 168, 201;\n        death and burial, 230, 240.\n\n      --, Daniel Morgan, son of Daniel, 43;\n        in Missouri, 220, 230, 232;\n        in Kansas, 230, 231.\n\n      --, Edward, brother of Daniel, 7;\n        killed by Indians, 7, 174, 181.\n\n      --, Elizabeth, sister of Daniel, 7.\n\n      --, George{1}, grandfather of Daniel, early life, 1-3;\n        moves to Pennsylvania, 3, 4, 102;\n        death, 5.\n\n      --, George{2}, son of foregoing, born, 1;\n        in Pennsylvania, 2-5.\n\n      --, George{3}, brother of Daniel, 7.\n\n      --, Hannah, sister of Daniel, 7.\n\n      --, Israel{1}, brother of Daniel, 7, 12.\n\n      --, Israel{2}, son of Daniel, 43;\n        killed by Indians, 189.\n\n      --, James{1}, son of George{1}, 1, 15.\n\n      --, James{2}, son of Daniel, 43;\n        trained as hunter, 63;\n        killed by Indians, 102, 103.\n\n      --, Jemima, daughter of Daniel, 43;\n        captured by Indians, 134-136;\n        marries Flanders Calloway, 158.\n\n      --, John, son of George{1}, 1, 2, 15.\n\n      --, John B., son of Daniel, 43.\n\n      --, Jonathan, brother of Daniel, 7.\n\n      --, Joseph, son of George{1}, 1.\n\n      --, Lavinia, daughter of Daniel, 43.\n\n      --, Mary{1}, daughter of George{1}, 1.\n\n      --, Mary{2}, sister of Daniel, 7.\n\n      --, Nathan, son of Daniel, 43;\n        visits Pennsylvania, 211, 212;\n        in Missouri, 230, 233, 239.\n\n      --, Rebecca, daughter of Daniel, 43.\n\n      --, Samuel{1}, son of George{1}, 1.\n\n      Boone, Samuel{2}, brother of Daniel, 7, 10;\n        marries Sarah Day, 233.\n\n      --, Samuel{3}, son of foregoing, 233.\n\n      --, Sarah{1}, daughter of George{1}, born, 1;\n        moves to Pennsylvania, 2, 3;\n        marries Jacob Stover, 4, 5.\n\n      --, Sarah{2}, sister of Daniel, 7, 12.\n\n      --, Sarah Day, letter from Daniel, 233.\n        See also Sarah Day.\n\n      --, Squire{1}, father of Daniel, born, 1;\n        moves to Pennsylvania, 2, 3;\n        marriage, 5;\n        life in Pennsylvania, 5-15;\n        expelled by Quakers, 12;\n        moves to Yadkin, 15-17;\n        flees to Virginia, 43;\n        returns to Yadkin, 59;\n        life on Yadkin, 25, 27;\n        death, 59.\n\n      --, Squire{2}, brother of Daniel, 7;\n        on Big Sandy, 69;\n        visits Kentucky, 72, 78-81, 84, 94-97, 100;\n        at Boonesborough, 117, 122, 125, 129, 158, 162.\n\n      --, Susannah, daughter of Daniel, 43.\n\n      -- family, in Cherokee War, 43, 44;\n        in Kentucky, 43;\n        in Missouri, 44, 220-241.\n\n      Boone's Creek (Ky.), Boone on, 180, 208.\n\n      -- Creek (Tenn.), Boone on, 55, 56.\n\n      -- Station. See Fort Boone.\n\n      Boonesborough (Ky.), 118, 119, 121, 124-128, 240, 241;\n        Transylvania convention at, 122, 123;\n        capture of girls, 134-136;\n        in Revolutionary War, 137, 139, 141-143, 148, 149, 154,\n          156-158, 184;\n        besieged by Indians, 159-167, 169, 186;\n        Boone's return to, 174-180, 208, 209;\n        incorporated, 174, 175;\n        left by Boone, 180;\n        present condition, 175;\n        Ranck's monograph, x.\n\n      Bouquet, Gen. Henry, campaign of, 88;\n        treats with Indians, 103, 104.\n\n      Bourbon County (Ky.), Boone in, 177, 181.\n\n      Bowman, Col. John, Kentucky pioneer, 125;\n        militia leader, 134;\n        in Revolutionary War, 143-145, 158, 170, 178.\n\n      Braddock, Gen. Edward, defeated by French, 21-23, 25, 50, 71, 81,\n          152.\n\n      Bradley, Edward, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      --, Samuel, mentioned by Boone, 233.\n\n      Bradninch (Eng.), early home of Boones, 1-3.\n\n      Bridges, James, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Brownsville (Pa.), Boone at, 212, 215, 216.\n\n      Bryan, Joseph, father-in-law of Boone, 25.\n\n      --, Rebecca. See Mrs. Daniel Boone.\n\n      -- family, Yadkin pioneers, 24-27, 36, 168;\n        in Cherokee War, 43, 44;\n        in Kentucky, 101, 102, 125.\n\n      Buffaloes, 17, 18, 23, 67, 69, 70, 72, 75, 76, 90, 92, 95, 118,\n          133, 158, 197.\n\n      Bush, William, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Byrd, Colonel, of British Army, 178.\n\n      --, Col. William, raids Cherokees, 49, 50, 56.\n\n      Byron, George Noel Gordon, Lord, lines on Boone, 200.\n\n\n      Cahokia (Ill.), won by Clark, 159.\n\n      Caldwell, Capt. William, raids Kentucky, 186.\n\n      California, Boone interested in, 232.\n\n      Calk, William, Kentucky pioneer, 194.\n\n      Calloway, Betsey, captured by Indians, 135, 136;\n        marries Samuel Henderson, 143.\n\n      Calloway, Fanny, captured by Indians, 135, 136.\n\n      --, Flanders, marries Jemima Boone, 158;\n        in Missouri, 229, 233.\n\n      --, Col. Richard, Kentucky pioneer, 117;\n        daughters captured, 135, 136;\n        accuses Boone, 165-167.\n\n      Campbell, Maj. Arthur, in Dunmore's War, 105, 108, 109;\n        in Kentucky, 126.\n\n      --, Ensign John, in Dunmore's War, 109.\n\n      -- (Camel), Robert, Kentucky pioneer, 209.\n\n      -- family, Kentucky pioneers, 125.\n\n      Camp Madison (Ky.), 172.\n\n      Caperton, Captain, militia leader, 216.\n\n      Captain Jack, Indian hero, 52.\n\n      Carson, Kit, grandson of Boone, 231.\n\n      Cartwright's Creek, Boone on, 208.\n\n      Castle's-woods, Boone at, 109.\n\n      Catawba Indians, relations with Yadkin settlers, 18, 19, 22, 36,\n          42;\n        allies of whites, 45;\n        raided by Northern Indians, 96.\n\n      Cattle-raising, on frontier, 8, 9, 15, 16, 30, 31, 35, 36, 57,\n          58, 62, 69, 102, 122, 127, 128, 131, 132, 140, 162, 163, 173,\n          197, 223.\n\n      Charleston (S.C.), in Cherokee War, 43, 46;\n        Boone at, 169.\n\n      -- (W. Va.), Boone near, 211, 221.\n\n      Charlottesville (Va.), Boone at, 182.\n\n      Cherokee Indians, raided by Northern tribes, 96;\n        relations with Yadkin settlers, 18, 19, 22;\n        war with whites, 36-56, 60, 69;\n        plunder Kentucky hunters, 90, 91, 93;\n        treaty with settlers, 99;\n        in Dunmore's War, 104, 105, 112, 113;\n        in Transylvania cession, 113-116;\n        in Revolutionary War, 132, 139-144, 160-167;\n        inflamed by Spain, 202, 204.\n\n      Chickasaw Indians, in Revolutionary War, 179.\n\n      Chillicothe (Ohio), Boone near, 158.\n\n      --, Little, Shawnese town, 151, 152, 156, 166.\n\n      --, Old, Shawnese town, 170.\n\n      Choctaw Indians, rob hunters, 67.\n\n      Christian family, Kentucky pioneers, 125.\n\n      Cincinnati, founded, 199;\n        Clark at, 190;\n        Harmar, 213;\n        Boone, 222;\n        Wayne, 218.\n\n      Clark, George Rogers, arrival in Kentucky, 104, 125;\n        delegate to Virginia, 133;\n        in Dunmore's War, 107;\n        in Revolutionary War, 125, 134, 138, 139, 158, 159, 169, 178,\n          179, 181, 183, 190;\n        Wabash expedition, 206, 207;\n        separatist intrigues, 203-205, 242;\n        misanthropic, vii;\n        character of services, vii, 241.\n\n      Clendennin, Col. George, militia leader, 216.\n\n      Clinch Mountain, crossed by Boone, 73.\n\n      Coburn, Samuel, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Colorado, A. G. Boone in, 231.\n\n      Cooley, William, accompanies Boone, 72-79.\n\n      Cornstalk, Shawnese chief, 110, 111.\n\n      Cornwallis, Lord, imprisons Boone, 182, 183.\n\n      Covington (Ky.), Bowman at, 170.\n\n      Crabtree, Capt. Jacob, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Crane, Sergt. John, in Dunmore's War, 109.\n\n      Creek Indians, inflamed by Spain, 202, 204.\n\n      Crime, on frontier, 33, 34, 60-62.\n\n      Croghan, George, fur-trader, 23.\n\n      Culpeper County (Va.), Boone in, 43.\n\n      Cumberland Gap, crossed by Virginia hunters, 90, 92;\n        Finley, 23, 88;\n        Boone, vii, 72, 73, 88, 89, 95, 125, 230, 241;\n        in Dunmore's War, 105.\n        See also Wilderness Road.\n\n      -- Mountains, bound Kentucky, 70, 91.\n\n      Cutbirth, Benjamin, friend of Boone, 66;\n        in Kentucky, 66, 67, 101.\n\n\n      Danville (Ky.), district capital, 195.\n\n      Davie County (N.C.), Boones in, 27.\n\n      Dawson, Miss Marjory, aid acknowledged, xi.\n\n      Day, Rebecca, 233.\n\n      --, Sarah, marries Samuel Boone, 10;\n        teaches Daniel, 10, 11.\n\n      Deer, 18, 58, 63, 67, 72-74, 76, 92, 133, 197.\n\n      Delassus, Charles Dehault, lieutenant-governor of Upper Louisiana,\n          220, 224, 225, 228.\n\n      Delaware Indians, Christian converts, 7, 8;\n        in Revolutionary War, 156, 157, 160-167.\n\n      Detroit, Boone at, 154-157, 166, 177;\n        British headquarters, 178, 183, 192.\n\n      District of Columbia, Squire Boone in, 43.\n\n      Doddridge, Joseph, _Notes on Virginia_, 39-41.\n\n      Drake, Joseph, heads Long Hunters, 91, 92.\n\n      Draper, Lyman Copeland, gathers Boone manuscripts, ix, x;\n        letters from Harding, 238, 239.\n\n      Dress, of pioneers, 28, 29.\n\n      Dunkin, Sergt. John, in Dunmore's War, 109.\n\n      Dunmore, Lord, commissions Boone, 155, 156;\n        raids Indians, 105-112;\n        opposes Henderson, 116.\n\n      Durrett, Col. Reuben T., aid acknowledged, x.\n\n      Dutchman's Creek, Boones on, 17.\n\n\n      Eagle Creek, in Indian campaign, 194.\n\n      Education, on frontier, 10, 11, 27, 53, 224.\n\n      Elk, 72, 75, 76, 92.\n\n      English, in French and Indian War, 19-23;\n        defeat French, 59, 60;\n        employ French woodsmen, 98;\n        fur trade of, 42;\n        oppose American settlement, 98, 99, 202;\n        in Revolutionary War, 132, 149, 154-156, 159, 165-167, 171,\n          178, 186, 190, 192;\n        designs on Louisiana, 220.\n\n      Estill, Capt. James, killed by Indians, 184, 185.\n\n      -- County (Ky.), Boone in, 73.\n\n      Etting, J. Marx, aid acknowledged, xi.\n\n      Exeter township (Pa.), Boones in, 5-7.\n\n\n      Fayette County (Ky.), organized, 179-182;\n        raided by Indians, 186;\n        surveying, 181, 192, 193.\n\n      Fallen Timbers, battle of, 217, 218.\n\n      Falls of Ohio. See Louisville.\n\n      Femme Osage Creek, Boone on, 220-222, 224, 225, 229.\n\n      Filson, John, writes Boone's \"autobiography,\" 153, 199, 200.\n\n      Fincastle County (Va.), includes Kentucky, 123, 195.\n\n      Finley, John, early exploration of Kentucky, 22, 23, 87, 88;\n        tells Boone thereof, 22-24, 69, 71;\n        pilots Boone thither, vii, 71-79, 88, 200, 218, 241.\n\n      Fishing Creek, Clark on, 104.\n\n      Flint, Timothy, describes Boone, 235, 236, 238.\n\n      Florida, Virginia hunters in, 89;\n        Boone, 64, 65.\n\n      Floyd, Capt. John, on state of frontier, 136, 137;\n        in Revolutionary War, 138, 180.\n\n      Forbes, Gen. John, campaign of, 88.\n\n      Fort Blackmore, in Dunmore's War, 108.\n\n      -- Boiling Spring, in Revolutionary War, 137.\n\n      -- Boone (Boone's Station), built, 180.\n\n      -- Bryan (Ky.), in Revolutionary War, 137, 185-188.\n\n      -- Defiance, Wayne at, 217.\n\n      -- Dobbs, erected, 37-39;\n        in Cherokee War, 41-44, 55.\n\n      -- Duquesne. See Pittsburg.\n\n      -- Elk Garden, in Dunmore's War, 109.\n\n      -- Estill, attacked by Indians, 184.\n\n      -- Glade Hollow, in Dunmore's War, 109.\n\n      -- Harrod. See Fort Boiling Spring.\n\n      -- Hinkson, in Revolutionary War, 137.\n\n      -- Huston (Ky.), in Revolutionary War, 137.\n\n      -- Jefferson, built by Clark, 179.\n\n      -- Logan, in Revolutionary War, 137, 139, 164, 165.\n\n      -- Loudon, erected, 37;\n        in Cherokee War, 44, 46, 47.\n\n      -- McClellan, in Revolutionary War, 137, 139.\n\n      -- McConnell, in Revolutionary War, 188.\n\n      -- McGee, in Revolutionary War, 188.\n\n      -- Maiden Spring, in Dunmore's War, 109.\n\n      -- Martin, besieged, 178.\n\n      -- Massac, French at, 41, 42, 48.\n\n      -- Moore, in Dunmore's War, 108.\n\n      -- Nelson. See Louisville.\n\n      -- Osage, Boone at, 232.\n\n      -- Pitt. See Pittsburg.\n\n      -- Price (Ky.), in Revolutionary War, 139.\n\n      -- Prince George, in Cherokee War, 37, 44, 48.\n\n      -- Recovery, Wayne at, 217.\n\n      -- Robinson, erected, 50.\n\n      -- Ruddell, founded, 121;\n        besieged, 178.\n\n      -- Russell, in Dunmore's War, 108.\n\n      -- Stanwix, treaty of, 99, 114, 121.\n\n      -- Strode, militia rendezvous, 194.\n\n      -- Whitley, in Revolutionary War, 137.\n\n      -- Whitton (Big Crab Orchard), in Dunmore's War, 109.\n\n      Forts on frontier, described, 37-41;\n        methods of defense, 142, 143.\n\n      Frankfort (Ky.), 121;\n        Boone portrait at, 238;\n        Boone's grave, 240.\n\n      Fredericksburg (Va.), Boone in, 43.\n\n      Frelinghuysen, Theodore, on Cherokee bravery, 51.\n\n      Fremont, Gen. John C., explorer, 231.\n\n      French, introduce knives, 111;\n        early knowledge of Kentucky, 85-87;\n        in French and Indian War, 19-23, 66;\n        inflame Southern Indians, 36, 37, 41, 42, 48, 51, 98;\n        fall of New France, 48, 60;\n        hunting in Kentucky, 95, 101, 197;\n        employed by English, 98, 148, 159, 161, 171, 178;\n        in Northwest Territory, 207;\n        in Missouri, 223-226, 231;\n        intrigue against Spain, 204;\n        cede Louisiana to United States, 226, 227.\n\n      -- Creek, French on, 20.\n\n      Fur trade, near Philadelphia, 4, 10;\n        French and English rivalry, 19, 20;\n        Ohio Company, 20, 24, 87;\n        Finley, 22, 23, 71, 83, 87, 88;\n        Croghan, 23;\n        with Southern Indians, 18, 42, 44, 58, 60, 132, 133;\n        roving of traders, 67, 69;\n        English operations, 87, 99, 190;\n        character of traders, 60, 132, 133;\n        autumnal caravans, 31, 58, 197;\n        Boone's operations, 201, 202, 219.\n\n\n      Gass, Capt. David, on Clinch, 103;\n        Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Gauntlet-running, described, 154, 155.\n\n      Georgetown (D.C.), Squire Boone in, 43.\n\n      Georgia, Virginia hunters in, 91;\n        Boone, 65;\n        increase of settlement, 97.\n\n      Germans, among frontiersmen, 4, 5, 14, 196.\n\n      Girty, George, met by Boone, 148.\n\n      --, James, met by Boone, 148.\n\n      --, Simon, American renegade, 148, 186.\n\n      Gist, Christopher, explores Kentucky, 87, 100.\n\n      Grant, Lieut.-Col. James, raids Cherokees, 48-50.\n\n      Granville, Earl, North Carolina landholder, 68.\n\n      Great Lakes, French posts on, 19.\n\n      -- Meadows, defeat of Washington, 20.\n\n      Greenville (Ohio), treaty of, 217.\n\n      Grimes, James, mentioned by Boone, 233.\n\n      Gwynedd township (Pa.), Boones in, 4-6.\n\n\n      Hamilton, Gov. Henry, 149, 150;\n        relations with Boone, 154-156, 161, 166;\n        imprisoned, 169, 177.\n\n      Hamtramck, Maj. J. F., raids Indians, 213.\n\n      Harding, Chester, paints Boone's portrait, 237-239.\n\n      Harmar, Col. Josiah, raids Indians, 213.\n\n      Harper's Ferry (Va.), Boones at, 16.\n\n      Harrisonburg (Va.), Boones near, 16.\n\n      Harrod, Capt. James, in Revolutionary War, 134, 138, 176.\n\n      Harrodsburg, founded, vii, 121, 131, 238, 241;\n        convention at, 133;\n        in Revolutionary War, 137, 139, 142, 143, 164;\n        seat of Lincoln County, 179.\n\n      Hart, David, of Transylvania Company, 114.\n\n      --, John, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      --, Nathaniel, of Transylvania Company, 114, 176, 177.\n\n      --, Thomas, of Transylvania Company, 114, 176, 177.\n\n      Hays, William, Boone's son-in-law, 117.\n\n      --, Mrs. William, daughter of Boone, 117.\n\n      Hazelrigg, Captain, letters from Boone, 193-195.\n\n      Hempinstall, Abraham, hunts in Kentucky, 89, 90.\n\n      Henderson, Col. Richard, settles Kentucky, 113-115, 118-120,\n          122-124, 126, 129, 133.\n\n      --, Samuel, marries Betsey Calloway, 143.\n\n      Hennepin, Father Louis, explorations of, 86.\n\n      Hewett, Gen. Fayette, aid acknowledged, xi.\n\n      Hicks, William, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Hill, William, accompanies Boone, 69, 70.\n\n      Hinkson, Maj. John, Kentucky pioneer, 121.\n\n      Hite, Isaac, Kentucky pioneer, 125.\n\n      Holden, Capt. Joseph, accompanies Boone, 72-77;\n        defeated by Indians, 185.\n\n      Howard, John, in Kentucky, 87.\n\n      Hunting, early practised by Boone, 9-12, 16;\n        in Yadkin country, 17, 18, 28-34, 55, 58, 62, 63;\n        early trail through Cumberland Gap, 73, 89;\n        in Tennessee, 55-57;\n        abundant in Kentucky, 76, 98, 132, 218;\n        Long Hunters, 91-95;\n        Boone's long Kentucky hunt, 72-84, 86, 94-97;\n        Boone's contemporaries, 87-91;\n        after Revolution, in Kentucky, 197, 211, 218;\n        in Kanawha Valley, 218, 219;\n        in Missouri, 220, 229-232;\n        profits of, 57-59, 73-75, 229;\n        methods employed, 75, 76;\n        camps described, 63, 64;\n        game decreasing, 62, 97, 124, 219.\n        See also the several animals.\n\n\n      Iberville, Lemoyne d', explorations of, 86.\n\n      Illinois, French in, 42;\n        English, 87.\n\n      Indian Territory, mentioned by Boone, 232.\n\n      Indians, understood by Boone, viii, 7, 8, 10;\n        influence of women, 46;\n        lodge life, 153;\n        adopt captives, 152, 153;\n        affected by fur trade, 133;\n        barrier to settlement, 98;\n        in eastern Pennsylvania, 4, 7, 8, 10, 13;\n        infest mountain valleys, 14, 16;\n        in French and Indian War, 19-23, 36-56;\n        raid Yadkin region, 27, 36-56;\n        raid Kentucky, 126, 127;\n        warrior's paths, 73, 76, 79, 180;\n        gauntlet-running, 154, 155;\n        methods of warfare, 39-41, 52-54, 111, 140, 141, 160-167,\n          186-189, 205;\n        ethics of border warfare, 50-54, 206;\n        finally quieted in Northwest, 216-218.\n        See also the several tribes.\n\n      Irish, among frontiersmen, 14, 24, 196.\n\n      Iron Mountain, crossed by Boone, 73.\n\n      Iroquois, in Kentucky, 99, 113, 114.\n\n\n      Jefferson, Thomas, governor of Virginia, 182;\n        President, 224.\n\n      Jefferson County (Ky.), organized, 179-181;\n        in Revolutionary War, 188;\n        Lincolns in, 174.\n\n      Jennings, Edmund, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Jessamine County (Ky.), Bone in, 101.\n\n      Jesuits, seek Mississippi River, 86.\n\n      Johnson, Andrew, escapes from Indians, 157.\n\n      --, Thomas, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Joliet, Louis, discovers Mississippi, 86.\n\n      Jones, Capt. John Gabriel, delegate to Virginia, 133.\n\n      Justice, on frontier, 61, 223, 225, 226.\n\n\n      Kanawha County (W. Va.), Boone in, 210-222.\n\n      Kansas, Boone in, 229.\n\n      Kaskaskia (Ill.), won by Clark, 159, 190.\n\n      Keith, Sir William, governor of Pennsylvania, 87.\n\n      Kennedy, John, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Kenton, Simon, scout, 125;\n        in Revolutionary War, 141, 160, 189.\n\n      Kentucky, described, 82, 131, 132;\n        debatable land between tribes, 76, 77;\n        early explorations, vii, 85-87, 89-91;\n        Virginia hunters, 20;\n        Finley, 22, 23, 71, 87, 88;\n        Boone's early explorations, 24, 64, 68-70, 88, 89, 101;\n        Boone's long hunt, 72-84, 86, 94-97;\n        Long Hunters in, 91-95;\n        Washington, 88, 89;\n        Cutbirth, 66, 67;\n        Boone family, 25, 43, 241;\n        game abundant, 98, 129, 218;\n        Cherokee lands settled, 99;\n        early colonial projects, 100;\n        Transylvania Company, 113-176;\n        first settled, vii, viii;\n        rush of settlers, 104, 178, 195-198, 207;\n        in Dunmore's War, 106, 107, 113;\n        during Revolutionary War, 132-192;\n        losses in Indian wars, 205;\n        Indians finally quelled, 213-218;\n        established as Virginia County, 123, 133, 134;\n        divided into three counties, 179-181;\n        made a district, 195;\n        becomes a State, 205;\n        sends Boone to legislature, 182, 183;\n        separatist agitation, 202-205;\n        first wedding, 143;\n        first artillery, 174;\n        hard winter, 173, 175, 176;\n        early commerce, 196, 197;\n        Boone pays debts, 229;\n        Boone's services to, 200, 201;\n        petitions Congress for Boone, 176, 177, 228;\n        obtains Boone's remains, ix, 240;\n        declines to buy Harding's portrait, 238;\n        Filson's _History_, 199.\n\n      King, John, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      --, John L., owns Boone portrait, 239.\n\n      --, William H., owns Boone portrait, 237-239;\n        aid acknowledged, xi.\n\n      King Philip, Indian hero, 51, 52.\n\n      Kinkead, Sergt. John, in Dunmore's War, 109.\n\n\n      Lackey, W. G., aid acknowledged, xi.\n\n      La Fayette, Gen. Marquis de, in Virginia, 182.\n\n      Land grants, to French and Indian War veterans, 88, 121, 131;\n        by Iroquois to whites, 114;\n        by Cherokees to whites, 113-116;\n        Boone from Virginia, 177;\n        Boone from Spain, 222, 227, 228.\n        See also Transylvania Company.\n\n      La Salle, Robert Cavelier, sieur de, on Western waters, 86.\n\n      Law, on frontier, 33, 34, 224-227.\n\n      Lederer, John, on Western waters, 86.\n\n      Lee, William, Kentucky pioneer, 121, 137.\n\n      Lewis, Gen. Andrew, in Dunmore's War, 107, 110, 111.\n\n      -- family, Kentucky pioneers. 125.\n\n      Lexington (Ky.), seat of Fayette County, 179, 193;\n        in Revolutionary War, 186-188.\n\n      Limestone. See Maysville.\n\n      Lincoln, Abraham, Kentucky pioneer, 174.\n\n      -- County (Ky.), organized, 179-181;\n        in Revolutionary War, 188.\n\n      Linn, Lieutenant, marries, 143.\n\n      Linnville Creek, Boones on, 16.\n\n      Logan, Benjamin, arrives in Kentucky, 125;\n        raids Indians, vii, 134, 207;\n        in Revolutionary War, 138, 144, 164, 165, 180, 181, 189;\n        character of services, 241.\n\n      Logan, Chief John, attacks whites, 105.\n\n      Long Hunters, in Kentucky, 91-95.\n\n      Long Island, of Holston, 50.\n\n      Long Knives, use of term, 11, 144.\n\n      Louisiana, North Carolinians in, 66;\n        French, 19;\n        owned by Spain, 220;\n        French intrigue against, 204;\n        ceded to United States, 224, 226-228.\n\n      Louisville (Ky.), Gist at site of, 87;\n        Finley, 22, 23, 71;\n        Washington, 104;\n        Clark, 159;\n        Boone, 83, 129, 193;\n        in Revolutionary War, 181, 190;\n        seat of Jefferson County, 179;\n        early growth, 196.\n\n      Lyttleton, William Henry, governor of South Carolina, 43, 55.\n\n\n      McAfee family, Kentucky pioneers, 125.\n\n      McClellan, Alexander, Kentucky pioneer, 125.\n\n      McCulloch, John, explores Kentucky, 91.\n\n      MacDowell family, Kentucky pioneers, 125.\n\n      McGary, Maj. Hugh, in Revolutionary War, 138, 188, 189.\n\n      McKee, Capt. Alexander, raids Kentucky, 186.\n\n      Marquette, Father Jacques, discovers Mississippi, 86.\n\n      Marshall, Col. Thomas, surveyor, 181, 192, 193, 195.\n\n      Martin, Josiah, governor of North Carolina, 116.\n\n      Maryland, Boones in, 43, 59;\n        increase of settlement, 97;\n        commerce with Kentucky, 202.\n\n      Matthews, Albert, on \"Long Knives,\" 111.\n\n      Maugridge, Mary, marries George Boone{1}, 1.\n\n      Mausker, Caspar, of Long Hunters, 94.\n\n      Maysville (Ky.), 194;\n        in Revolutionary War, 138;\n        Boone at, 201, 202, 207-210, 212.\n\n      Medicine, on frontier, 32.\n\n      Mill, John Stuart, on forcing civilization, 51.\n\n      Miller, William, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Mingo Indians, in Dunmore's War, 105;\n        in Revolutionary War, 132, 139-144, 156, 157, 161-167.\n\n      Mingo Junction (Ohio), Logan tragedy near, 105.\n\n      Missouri, Boone family in, viii, 43, 220-241;\n        life previous to cession, 223-226;\n        first stone house, 239;\n        Constitutional Convention, viii, 239;\n        releases Boone's remains, 240.\n\n      Moccasin Gap, followed by Boone, 73.\n\n      Monocacy Valley, Boone in, 10.\n\n      Montgomery, Alexander, scout, 160.\n\n      --, Col. John, raids Cherokees, 44-46, 55.\n\n      Mooney, James, accompanies Boone, 72-79.\n\n      Moore, Sergeant, in Dunmore's War, 108.\n\n      --, William, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Moravian Indian missions, 7, 8.\n\n      Morgan, John, grandfather of Daniel Boone, 5.\n\n      --, Sarah, marries Squire Boone{1}, 5, 59;\n        life in Oley, 5-15.\n\n      -- family, Welsh settlers, 5.\n\n      Morton, Mrs. Jennie C., aid acknowledged, x.\n\n      Muskrats, 18.\n\n\n      Nall, James, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Nashville (Tenn.), hard winter at, 175.\n\n      Neely, Alexander, joins Boone, 78-81.\n\n      Neversink Mountains, Boone in, 10.\n\n      New France, fall of, 48, 60, 87, 98.\n        See also French.\n\n      New Mexico, New Englanders in, 86.\n\n      New Orleans, French at, 19;\n        Spanish, 228;\n        North Carolinians, 66, 67;\n        Virginians, 90, 91;\n        early commerce with, 197.\n\n      New York (State), Indian uprising, 37;\n        sends emigrants to Kentucky, 178.\n\n      North Carolina, pioneers of, 13-15;\n        sends colony to Louisiana, 66;\n        Boones in, viii, 17-102, 241;\n        in French and Indian War, 21-23, 48-50, 56;\n        interest in Western settlement, 100, 138, 178;\n        Henderson's colony, 113-176;\n        opposition to Henderson, 116, 123, 127;\n        regulators, 61, 62;\n        rapid settlement, 42.\n\n      North Wales (Pa.), Boones in, 4, 5.\n\n      Northwest Territory, organized, 207.\n\n\n      Ohio, Shawnese in, 135, 144, 149-160, 170, 182, 190;\n        Boone hunts in, 211, 218.\n\n      -- Company, founded, 20;\n        operations of, 24;\n        land grants on Ohio River, 87.\n\n      Oley township (Pa.), Boones in, 4-15.\n\n      Opecancano, Indian hero, 52.\n\n      Orange County (Va.), settlers hunt in Kentucky, 89, 90.\n\n      Ordinance of 1787, 205.\n\n      Osage Indians, mentioned by Boone, 232.\n\n      Otter Creek, Boone on, 117.\n\n      Otters, 18, 74.\n\n      Owatin Creek (Pa.), Boones on, 6.\n\n      Ozark Mountains, Virginians in, 91.\n\n\n      Paint Lick Town. See Chillicothe, Little.\n\n      Panthers, 18.\n\n      Paris (Ky.), fort on site of, 137.\n\n      Patterson, Col. Robert, Kentucky pioneer, 125, 194.\n\n      Peeke, James, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Penn, William, founds Pennsylvania, 2.\n\n      Pennington (Peninton), Hannah, mentioned by Boone, 234.\n\n      Pennsylvania, founded by Penn, 2;\n        Boones in, viii, 2-14, 102, 174, 183, 211, 212;\n        Finley, 79;\n        sends settlers to southwest, 13-15, 20, 24:\n        interest in Western settlement, 138, 178;\n        increase of settlement, 97, 130;\n        in French and Indian War, 20-23, 37;\n        in Revolutionary War, 148, 159;\n        losses in Indian wars, 205.\n\n      Pensacola (Fla.), Boone in, 65.\n\n      Philadelphia, in time of Boones, 3, 4, 10, 102, 212.\n\n      Pickaway, Shawnese town, 179.\n\n      Pittsburg, French at, 20, 21, 41;\n        Virginia hunters, 89;\n        in Dunmore's War, 105, 107;\n        in Revolutionary War, 138, 148, 183.\n\n      Poage, Sergt. W., in Dunmore's War, 108.\n\n      Point Pleasant (W. Va.), battle at, 108, 110-112;\n        Boone, 201, 210-222.\n\n      Pompey, <DW64> interpreter, 151, 161.\n\n      Pontiac, Indian hero, 52, 59, 60.\n\n      Pope, Col. William, militia leader, 180, 181.\n\n      Presbyterians, among frontiersmen, 33.\n\n      Preston, Col. William, in Dunmore's War, 105, 109;\n        in Revolutionary War, 136.\n\n      -- family, Kentucky pioneers, 125.\n\n      Prestonburg (Ky.), Boone near, 69, 70.\n\n\n      Quakers, Boones of this persuasion, 1, 2, 4-7, 10-12;\n        expel Boones, 12;\n        familiar with Indians, 13;\n        among frontiersmen, 14, 33.\n\n\n      Ranck, George W., _Boonesborough_, x.\n\n      --, Mrs. George W., aid acknowledged, x.\n\n      Randolph, Nathaniel, Kentucky pioneer, 125.\n\n      Reading (Pa.), Boones near, 6.\n\n      Red Jacket, Indian hero, 52.\n\n      -- Stone. See Brownsville, Pa.\n\n      Regulators, in Carolinas, 61, 101.\n\n      Religion, on frontier, 33.\n        See also the several denominations.\n\n      Revolutionary War, 175;\n        effect on proprietary governments, 123;\n        causes Washington to turn from West, 89;\n        checks Western colonies, 100;\n        Western interest in, 128, 170, 171;\n        G. R. Clark, 125, 138, 139, 158, 159, 169;\n        Kentucky in, 132-192.\n\n      Richmond (Va.), seat of government, 181, 182, 207, 208, 215.\n\n      Ringe, Daniel, 234.\n\n      River Alleghany, French on, 20.\n\n      -- Big Sandy, Boone on, 69-71, 211;\n        Washington, 88.\n\n      -- Catawba, early settlements on, 17;\n        Indian hostilities, 42.\n\n      -- Clinch, Boone on, 69, 101, 103-112;\n        early settlement, 97.\n\n      -- Cumberland, Long Hunters on, 93, 95;\n        Boone, 101;\n        in Transylvania cession, 115;\n        in Revolutionary War, 139.\n\n      -- Dick's, Boone on, 83.\n\n      -- Elk, Boone on, 221.\n\n      -- Elkhorn, Boone on, 208;\n        in Revolutionary War, 137.\n\n      -- French Broad, early settlement on, 97.\n\n      -- Gauley, Boone on, 219.\n\n      -- Green, Long Hunters on, 93, 94;\n        Boone, 77.\n\n      -- Great Miami, Shawnese on, 179.\n\n      -- Holston, Finley on, 79;\n        Boone, 57, 69, 73;\n        Long Hunters, 91;\n        in Cherokee War, 47, 50;\n        in Revolutionary War, 134, 138, 144, 161;\n        early settlements, 97, 126.\n\n      -- Hudson, Iroquois on, 99.\n\n      -- Kanawha (Great Kanawha), explored, 86;\n        in Dunmore's War, 108;\n        Boone on, viii, 210-222;\n        hunting, 218, 219.\n\n      -- Kentucky, Boone on, 73, 79, 83, 112, 180, 211;\n        Transylvania settlement, 115-119, 121;\n        crown lands abutting, 121, 130;\n        capture of girls, 134-136;\n        in Revolutionary War, 137, 139, 176;\n        bounds Fayette County, 179;\n        Boone leaves, 201.\n\n      -- Keowee, Cherokees on, 45.\n\n      -- Licking, Shawnese on, 135, 137, 151, 166, 170, 178-180, 188,\n          190;\n        Boone, 83, 208, 211.\n\n      -- Little Miami, Shawnese on, 151, 190;\n        in Revolutionary War, 160, 170.\n\n      -- Little Sandy, Washington on, 88.\n\n      -- Little Tennessee, Cherokees on, 45, 48, 49.\n\n      -- Maumee, Wayne on, 217.\n\n      -- Miami, Indians raided on, 214.\n\n      -- Mississippi, Iroquois on, 99;\n        French, 19, 60, 85-87, 207;\n        early English explorations, 20, 85-87, 89-91;\n        North Carolinians, 66, 67;\n        in Revolutionary War, 179;\n        Spanish, 85, 197, 198, 202-205;\n        free navigation sought by West, 203-205, 226;\n        early commerce on, 197, 198.\n\n      -- Missouri, Boone on, 221, 232, 234, 240.\n\n      -- Monongahela, fur trade route, 24;\n        Braddock on, 71;\n        early settlements, 98, 130;\n        Boone, 212, 215, 216.\n\n      -- New, Batts on, 86;\n        Squire Boone, 78;\n        settlers explore Kentucky, 90, 91.\n\n      -- Nolichucky, early settlement on, 97.\n\n      -- Ohio, drains Virginia, 16;\n        French on, 19, 20, 41, 42;\n        early explorations, 22;\n        Virginia hunters, 89-91;\n        Gist, 87;\n        Finley, 22, 23, 71;\n        in Dunmore's War, 105;\n        Iroquois land sale, 99;\n        Boone on, 69, 70, 83, 183, 201, 202, 210, 222;\n        in Transylvania cession, 114, 129;\n        in Revolutionary War, 138, 151, 159, 170;\n        Indian wars on, 88, 107, 108;\n        early settlements, 98, 100, 104, 207, 214;\n        highway for emigrants, 130, 172, 178, 184, 196, 201;\n        early commerce, 197, 198;\n        last of Indian raids, 213-218.\n\n      River Platte, Boone on, 232.\n\n      -- Potomac, fur trade route, 24.\n\n      -- Powell, Boone on, 73, 95, 96, 125;\n        early settlements, 97, 102, 115, 119.\n\n      -- Red, Boone on, 79.\n\n      -- Rich, in Dunmore's War, 109.\n\n      -- Rockcastle, Indians on, 80, 117.\n\n      -- St. Joseph, Indians raided on, 213.\n\n      -- St. Lawrence, Indians on, 19.\n\n      -- Salt, Indians near, 190.\n\n      -- --, Beech Fork of, 208.\n\n      -- Sandy, West Fork of, Boone on, 70.\n\n      -- Savannah, Indians on, 37.\n\n      -- Schuylkill, Boones on, 6-15.\n\n      -- Scioto, Shawnese on, 157, 158, 160, 167, 207;\n        Indians raided, 213.\n\n      -- Shenandoah, Boones on, 16.\n\n      -- Tennessee, Indian uprising, 37, 45;\n        Iroquois land sale, 99, 114;\n        in Transylvania cession, 114.\n\n      -- Wabash, Shawnese on, 206, 207;\n        French, 207;\n        English, 87;\n        in Dunmore's War, 105;\n        Indians raided on, 213, 214.\n\n      -- Watauga, Boone on, 55, 56, 101, 115;\n        Cherokee council, 115, 116, 133;\n        early settlement, 97.\n\n      -- Yadkin, early known to Pennsylvanians, 14;\n        Bryan family on, 25-27, 43;\n        Boone family, 16-20, 24-27, 34, 43, 55-57, 68-70, 81, 89, 95,\n          96, 100, 102, 103, 125, 158, 168, 169, 208, 209;\n        Indians on, 18, 19, 22, 37-56, 59, 60;\n        hunting, 17, 18, 28-34, 55, 58;\n        trading caravans, 31, 58;\n        crime, 60-62;\n        Finley's arrival, 71, 72.\n\n      -- Yellowstone, Boone on, 229.\n\n      Robinson, Chief Justice, on Wilderness Road, 172, 173, 175.\n\n      --, David, militia leader, 134.\n\n      Rockingham County (Va.), Boones in, 16;\n        Lincolns, 174.\n\n      Rocky Mountains, explorations of, 231, 232.\n\n      Rowan County (N.C.), Boones in, 25, 55, 174.\n\n      Russell, Henry, killed by Indians, 103.\n\n      --, Col. William, starts for Kentucky, 101-103;\n        in Dunmore's War, 105, 108;\n        in Revolutionary War, 134.\n\n\n      St. Asaph (Ky.), founded, 121.\n\n      St. Augustine (Fla.), Boone in, 65.\n\n      St. Charles County (Mo.), Boones in, 220-241.\n\n      St. Clair, Gov. Arthur, raids Indians, 214, 215, 217.\n\n      St. Louis, Spanish seat, 220, 221, 223;\n        fur market, 229;\n        Harding at, 237;\n        _Gazette_, 239, 240.\n\n      Salisbury (N.C.), Boone near, 18, 62.\n\n      Salling, Peter, in Kentucky, 87.\n\n      Salt Licks, in Kentucky, 90, 92, 118, 146, 151;\n        near Prestonburg, 69, 70;\n        Big, 82, 117;\n        Big Bone, 82, 83, 87;\n        Blue, 82, 158, 166, 188, 189, 194;\n        Buffalo, 17;\n        French, 101;\n        Grassy, 181;\n        Knob, 92;\n        Lower Blue, 135, 147-151, 160.\n\n      Scotch-Irish, among frontiersmen, 5, 14, 22, 66, 128, 196.\n\n      Scott, Gen. Charles, raids Indians, 214.\n\n      Searcy, Bartlet, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      --, Reuben, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Shawnese Indians, raid Southern tribes, 19;\n        in Kentucky, 23;\n        in Dunmore's War, 104, 105, 107, 108, 110-113;\n        capture Boone, 77, 78, 146-158;\n        capture girls, 134-136;\n        attack Boone, 103;\n        in Revolutionary War, 132, 139-144, 156, 157, 160-167, 170, 179,\n          180, 183-191, 193;\n        raided by Kentuckians, 206, 207.\n\n      Sheltowee (Big Turtle), Boone's Indian name, 152.\n\n      Silouee, Cherokee chief, 45.\n\n      Sitting Bull, Indian hero, 52.\n\n      Skaggs, Henry, heads Long Hunters, 92.\n\n      Slavery, among Indians, 42;\n        <DW64>, 33, 103, 184.\n\n      Smith, John, on Indian warfare, 111.\n\n      South Carolina, pioneers of, 13-15;\n        in Cherokee War, 43, 44, 48;\n        regulators, 61;\n        interest in Western settlement, 138, 178.\n\n      Southern Indians, attack whites, 60, 202, 204.\n        See also Cherokee Indians.\n\n      Spanish, extent of explorations, 85;\n        control Mississippi River, 202-205;\n        relations with Kentuckians, 197, 198, 202-205;\n        entice American colonists, 204, 205, 220, 222.\n\n      Sports, of pioneers, 32, 33.\n\n      Station Camp Creek, Boone on, 73-79.\n\n      Staunton (Va.), Boone at, 183.\n\n      Stephen, Col. Adam, raids Cherokees, 50.\n\n      Stockfield, owned by Boone, 208.\n\n      Stone, Uriah, in Kentucky, 90-92.\n\n      Stone Mountain, crossed by Boone, 73.\n\n      Stoner, Michael, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Stuart, John, early exploration of Kentucky, 66, 67;\n        accompanies Boone, 72-80;\n        death, 80.\n\n      Sugar Tree Creek, Boones on, 27, 68.\n\n      Surveying, on frontier, 88, 104, 107, 119-121, 127, 131, 171, 172,\n          181, 192, 193, 198, 200, 208, 209, 211, 212.\n\n      Sycamore Shoals, treaty at, 115, 116.\n\n\n      Tarleton, Col. Banastre, captures Boone, 182.\n\n      Tate, Samuel, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Taylor, Hancock, hunts in Kentucky, 89, 90.\n\n      --, Richard, hunts in Kentucky, 89, 90.\n\n      Tecumseh, Indian hero, 52.\n\n      Tennessee, Virginia hunters in, 20, 91;\n        Boone, 55-57;\n        Cherokee lands settled, 99;\n        attacked by Southern Indians, 202, 204.\n\n      Terre Haute (Ind.), Virginians at, 91.\n\n      Teugue Creek, Boone buried on, 240.\n\n      Thoreau, Henry David, likened to Boone, 10.\n\n      Todd, Capt. John, Kentucky pioneer, 125, 131;\n       militia leader, 134, 180;\n       killed by  Indians, 188, 189.\n\n      Towns, Oswell, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Transylvania Company, settles Kentucky, 113-176, 208;\n        nullified by Virginia, 134, 176.\n\n      Trigg, Col. Stephen, militia leader, 181;\n        killed by Indians, 188, 189.\n\n      Tryon, Gov. William, conflict with regulators, 101;\n        runs boundary line, 69.\n\n      Turkeys, 18, 72, 76, 92, 133.\n\n      Turtle Creek, Braddock's defeat on, 21.\n\n      Twitty, Capt. William, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n\n      Vardeman, John, Kentucky pioneer, 117.\n\n      Vincennes (Ind.), won by Clark, 159, 169, 190.\n\n      Virginia, early Indian hostilities, 111;\n        early explorations from, 85-87, 89-91;\n        pioneer advance through, 13-15, 20;\n        Boones in, 16, 43, 57;\n        path to Kentucky, 115;\n        in French and Indian War, 20-23, 37, 41, 47-49;\n        in Dunmore's War, 105-112;\n        losses in Indian wars, 205;\n        sends settlers to Kentucky, 178, 192;\n        opposition to Henderson, 116, 123, 127, 130, 133, 134, 176;\n        interest in Western settlement, 138;\n        regulators, 61;\n        organizes Kentucky County, 123, 133, 134, 174;\n        in Revolutionary War, 148, 169, 171, 203;\n        aids Kentucky, 138, 139, 143, 146, 150, 159, 165, 172, 174, 190,\n          207, 208;\n        erects district of Kentucky, 195;\n        Boone in Assembly, 182, 183, 215;\n        grants land to Boone, 177;\n        fails to release Kentucky, 204.\n\n      --, Valley of, its pioneers, 13-16, 19, 20, 24, 31, 35, 100, 102.\n\n\n      Waddell, Capt. Hugh, in French and Indian War, 21;\n        in Cherokee War, 44, 45, 49, 50, 55, 56.\n\n      Walker, Felix, Kentucky pioneer, 117, 118.\n\n      --, Dr. Thomas, in Kentucky, 87.\n\n      War of 1812-15, effect on Missouri, 230.\n\n      Ward, John, explores Kentucky, 66.\n\n      Warriors' paths, 73, 76, 79, 180.\n\n      Washington, George, in French and Indian War, 20, 21;\n        in Kentucky, 87-89, 100, 104;\n        in Revolutionary War, 138.\n\n      Wayne, Gen. Anthony, conquers Indians, 217, 218.\n\n      Welch, Rev. James E., describes Boone, 236, 237.\n\n      Welsh, among frontiersmen, 4, 5.\n\n      West Virginia, pioneer advance through, 13-15;\n        Boone in, 210-222, 235.\n\n      Whitley, William, arrives in Kentucky, 125.\n\n      Wilcoxen, Elizabeth, marries Benjamin Cutbirth, 66.\n\n      Wildcats, 18.\n\n      Wilderness Road, 130, 146, 172-174, 178, 184, 198, 202.\n        See also Cumberland Gap.\n\n      Wilkes County (N.C.), Boone in, 68.\n\n      Wilkesboro (N.C.), Boone near, 68.\n\n      Wilkinson, Gen. James, raids Indians, 214.\n\n      Wisconsin State Historical Society, possesses Boone's records, ix,\n          x, 208.\n\n      Wolves, 18.\n\n      Wood, Col. Abraham, on Western waters, 86.\n\n      Wyandot Indians, in Revolutionary War, 184.\n\n\n      Xenia (O.), Boone near, 151, 152.\n\n\n      Zinzendorf und Pottendorf, Nikolaus Ludwig, Count von, Moravian\n          missionary, 7, 8.\n\n\n\n\nAN IMPORTANT HISTORICAL BOOK.\n\nThe History of the Louisiana Purchase.\n\nBy Dr. JAMES K. HOSMER, Author of \"A Short History of the Mississippi\nValley,\" etc. With Illustrations and Maps. 12mo. Cloth, $1.20 net;\npostage, 12 cents additional.\n\n\nThe story that Dr. Hosmer tells of the acquisition of the western empire\nincluded in the Louisiana Purchase presents fresh and picturesque phases\nof a most important historical event of peculiar and timely interest, in\nview of the anniversary which comes next year. He pictures the vague and\ncurious ideas of the Louisiana country held by most Americans one\nhundred years ago, and the objections to this form of expansion. He\ntreats the changes in the ownership of the territory from France to\nSpain, and again to France, and he develops fully the purposes and acts\nof Jefferson and the American Commissioners in Paris.\n\nOf special importance from both the historical and personal points of\nview are the chapters which picture more fully and vividly than has been\ndone before the leading part taken by Napoleon in bringing about the\nsale of Louisiana, and the relations between France and America, which\nare shown to possess a historical importance that has not been\nappreciated.\n\nThere has been no account of the Louisiana Purchase which is so popular\nand constant in its interest, and the authoritative character of the\nhistorian's work renders the volume indispensable for younger and older\nreaders who wish to gain a thorough knowledge of the personal elements\nand the historic significance of the acquisition of Louisiana.\n\n\n\n\nMcMASTER'S FIFTH VOLUME.\n\nHistory of the People of the United States.\n\nBy Prof. JOHN BACH MCMASTER. Vols. I, II, III, IV, and V now ready. 8vo.\nCloth, with Maps, $2.50 per volume.\n\n\nThe fifth volume covers the time of the administrations of John Quincy\nAdams and Andrew Jackson, and describes the development of the\ndemocratic spirit, the manifestations of new interest in social\nproblems, and the various conditions and plans presented between 1821\nand 1830. Many of the subjects included have necessitated years of\nfirst-hand investigations, and are now treated adequately for the first\ntime.\n\n       \"John Bach McMaster needs no introduction, but only a\n       greeting.... The appearance of this fifth volume is an\n       event in American literature second to none in importance\n       this season.\"--_New York Times._\n\n       \"This volume contains 576 pages, and every page is worth\n       reading. The author has ransacked a thousand new sources\n       of information, and has found a wealth of new details\n       throwing light upon all the private and public activities\n       of the American people of three quarters of a century\n       ago.\"--_Chicago Tribune._\n\n       \"In the fifth volume Professor McMaster has kept up to the\n       high standard he set for himself in the previous numbers.\n       It is hard to realize thoroughly the amount of detailed\n       work necessary to produce these books, which contain the\n       best history of our country that has yet been\n       published.\"--_Philadelphia Telegraph._\n\n       \"The first installment of the history came as a pleasant\n       surprise, and the later volumes have maintained a high\n       standard in regard to research and style of\n       treatment.\"--_New York Critic._\n\n       \"A monumental work.... Professor McMaster gives on every\n       page ample evidence of exhaustive research for his\n       facts.\"--_Rochester Herald._\n\n       \"The reader can not fail to be impressed by the wealth of\n       material out of which the author has weighed and condensed\n       and arranged his matter.\"--_Detroit Free Press._\n\n       \"Professor McMaster is our most popular historian.... He\n       never wearies, even when dealing with subjects that would\n       be most wearisome under clumsier handling. This fifth\n       volume is the most triumphant evidence of his art.\"--_New\n       York Herald._\n\n\n\n\nBy EDGAR STANTON MACLAY, A. M.\n\n=A History of the United States Navy.= (=1775 to 1902.=)--New and\nrevised edition.\n\n\nIn three volumes, the new volume containing an Account of the Navy since\nthe Civil War, with a history of the Spanish-American War revised to the\ndate of this edition, and an Account of naval operations in the\nPhilippines, etc. Technical Revision of the first two volumes by\nLieutenant ROY C. SMITH, U. S. N. Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth, $3.00 net per\nvolume; postage, 26 cents per volume additional.\n\nIn the new edition of Vol. III, which is now ready for publication, the\nauthor brings his History of the Navy down to the present time. In the\nprefaces of the volumes of this history the author has expressed and\nemphasized his desire for suggestions, new information, and corrections\nwhich might be utilized in perfecting his work. He has, therefore,\ncarefully studied the evidence brought out at the recent Schley Court of\nInquiry, and while the findings of that Court were for the most part in\naccordance with the results of his own historical investigations, he has\nmodified certain portions of his narrative. Whatever opinions may be\nheld regarding any phases of our recent naval history, the fact remains\nthat the industry, care, and thoroughness, which were unanimously\npraised by newspaper reviewers and experts in the case of the first two\nvolumes, have been sedulously applied to the preparation of this new\nedition of the third volume.\n\n\nA History of American Privateers.\n\nUniform with \"A History of the United States Navy.\" One volume.\nIllustrated. 8vo. Cloth, $3.00 net; postage, 24 cents additional.\n\nAfter several years of research the distinguished historian of American\nsea power presents the first comprehensive account of one of the most\npicturesque and absorbing phases of our maritime warfare. The importance\nof the theme is indicated by the fact that the value of prizes and\ncargoes taken by privateers in the Revolution was three times that of\nthe prizes and cargoes taken by naval vessels, while in the War of 1812\nwe had 517 privateers and only 23 vessels in our navy. Mr. Maclay's\nromantic tale is accompanied by reproductions of contemporary pictures,\nportraits, and documents, and also by illustrations by Mr. George Gibbs.\n\n\nThe Private Journal of William Maclay,\n\nUnited States Senator from Pennsylvania, 1789-1791. With Portrait from\nOriginal Miniature. Edited by EDGAR STANTON MACLAY, A. M. Large 8vo.\nCloth, $2.25.\n\nDuring his two years in the Senate William Maclay kept a journal of his\nown in which he minutely recorded the transactions of each day. This\nrecord throws a flood of light on the doings of our first legislators.\n\n\n\n\nAPPLETONS' WORLD SERIES.\n\n\nA New Geographical Library.\n\nEdited by H. J. MACKINDER, M. A., Student of Christ Church, Reader in\nGeography in the University of Oxford, Principal of Reading College.\nEach, 8vo. Cloth.\n\nThe series will consist of twelve volumes, each being an essay\ndescriptive of a great natural region, its marked physical features, and\nthe life of the people. Together, the volumes will give a complete\naccount of the world, more especially as the field of human activity.\n\n\n_NOW READY._\n\n=Britain and the British Seas.= By the EDITOR. With numerous Maps and\nDiagrams. $2.00 net; postage, 19 cents additional.\n\n=The Nearer East.= By D. G. HOGARTH, M. A., Fellow of Magdalen College,\nOxford; Director of the British School at Athens; Author of \"A Wandering\nScholar in the Levant.\" $2.00 net; postage, 17 cents additional.\n\n\n_IN PREPARATION._\n\nCENTRAL EUROPE. By Dr. JOSEPH PARTSCH, Professor of Geography in the\nUniversity of Breslau.\n\nINDIA. By Sir T. HUNGERFORD HOLDICH, K. C. I. E., C. B., R. E.,\nSuperintendent of Indian Frontier Surveys; author of numerous papers on\nMilitary Surveying and Geographical subjects.\n\nSCANDINAVIA AND THE ARCTIC OCEAN. By Sir CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM, K. C. B.,\nF. R. S., President of the Royal Geographical Society.\n\nTHE RUSSIAN EMPIRE. By Prince KROPOTKIN, author of the articles \"Russia\"\nand \"Siberia\" in the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_.\n\nAFRICA. By J. SCOTT KELTIE, Secretary of the Royal Geographical Society;\nEditor of _The Statesman's Year-Book_; Author of \"The Partition of\nAfrica.\"\n\nTHE FARTHER EAST. By ARCHIBALD LITTLE.\n\nWESTERN EUROPE AND THE MEDITERRANEAN. By ELISEE RECLUS, author of the\n\"Nouvelle Geographie Universelle.\"\n\nAUSTRALASIA AND ANTARCTICA. By Dr. H. O. FORBES, Curator of the\nLiverpool Museum, late Curator of the Christ Church Museum, N. Z.;\nAuthor of \"A Naturalist's Wanderings in the Eastern Archipelago.\"\n\nNORTH AMERICA. By Prof. ISRAEL COOK RUSSELL, M. S., C. E., LL. D.,\nProfessor of Geology in the University of Michigan; author of numerous\nworks on geological and physiographical subjects.\n\nSOUTH AMERICA. By JOHN CASPER BRANNER, Ph.D., LL. D., Professor of\nGeology, and sometime Vice-President Leland Stanford Junior University;\nauthor of many publications on Brazil, Geology, and Physical Geography.\n\n      Maps by J. G. BARTHOLOMEW.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREAT PEOPLES SERIES.\n\nEdited by DR. YORK POWELL, Regius Professor of Modern History in the\nUniversity of Oxford. Each 12mo. Cloth, $1.50 net; postage, 14 cents\nadditional.\n\nThe aim of this series is to give in well-printed, clearly written, and\nreadable volumes a view of the process by which the leading peoples of\nthe world have become great and earned their title to greatness, to\ndescribe the share each has contributed to the common stock of\ncivilization. It is not so much a set of political or military or even\nsocial histories, as a sequence of readable studies on the tendencies\nand potencies of the chief peoples of the world, that this series will\nstrive to present.\n\n\n_NOW READY:_\n\n=THE SPANISH PEOPLE.=\n\nBy Dr. MARTIN A. S. HUME.\n\n       \"The reader quickly perceives that the riches promised by\n       Dr. Powell are amply found, at least in this first volume.\n       The history is written with a new object and from a new\n       standpoint; there is not a dull page in it. Mr. Hume\n       writes with all the advantages of the modern historical\n       specialist, and his picture of the development of the\n       Spaniard is an important history of a people whose\n       picturesque career is one of unfailing interest.\"--_Boston\n       Daily Advertiser_.\n\n=THE FRENCH PEOPLE.=\n\nBy ARTHUR HASSALL, M. A., Student of Christ Church, Oxford; Author of\n\"The Balance of Power,\" etc.\n\nIn accordance with the general plan of the series, this important work\npresents the evolution of a people. The method is modern, and although\nthe sources, development, and transitions of a great race are fully\nindicated in a comparatively small compass, the author's aims and\nresults differ widely from the set record of political, dynastic, and\nmilitary facts which are chronicled in the dry language of the usual\nhand-book. The part that France has played in the world's history has\nbeen frequently so picturesque and dramatic, as well as great, that a\nvital analysis of her history like this possesses a profound interest.\nThe author is one of the ablest of the rising English historians and a\nlecturer at Christ Church, Oxford.\n\n\n_IN PREPARATION:_\n\n=THE RUSSIAN PEOPLE.=\n\nBy J. FITZMAURICE-KELLY.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STANDARD AUTHORITY.\n\n=The Presidents of the United States.=\n\nBy JOHN FISKE, CARL SCHURZ, ROBERT C. WINTHROP, DANIEL G. GILMAN,\nWILLIAM WALTER PHELPS, GEORGE TICKNOR CURTIS, GEORGE BANCROFT, JOHN HAY\nand others. Edited by General JAMES GRANT WILSON. New and revised\nedition with complete life of William McKinley and sketch of Theodore\nRoosevelt. Illustrated with steel engravings and photogravures. 8vo.\nCloth. $3.50. Half Morocco, or Half Calf, $6.00.\n\nThis book has been the standard authority for many years and justly so.\nIts list of contributors lifts it far above the commonplace, and\ninfinitely removes it from the possibility of political coloring or\nsectionalism. The article on President McKinley gives a brief and\naccurate resume of the Spanish war while the book as a whole is a\ncomposite review of the constitutional history of the United States with\nthe White House as the keynote.\n\n       \"A book well worth owning, for reading and for\n       reference.\"--_The Outlook._\n\n       \"Such a work as this can not fail to appeal to the pride\n       of patriotic Americans.\"--_Chicago Dial._\n\n       \"A monumental volume, which no American who cares for the\n       memory of the public men of his country can afford to be\n       without.\"--_New York Mail and Express._\n\n       \"A valuable addition to both our biographical and\n       historical literature, and meets a want long\n       recognized.\"--_Boston Advertiser._\n\n       \"A book which every one should read over and over\n       again.... We have carefully run through it, and laid it\n       down with the feeling that some such book ought to find\n       its way into every household.\"--_New York Herald._\n\n       \"General Wilson has performed a public service in\n       presenting this volume to the public in so attractive a\n       shape. It is full of incentive to ambitious youth; it\n       abounds in encouragement to every patriotic\n       heart.\"--_Charleston News and Courier._\n\n       \"It is precisely the book which ought to have a very wide\n       sale in this country--a book which one needs to own rather\n       than to read and lay aside. No common-school library or\n       collection of books for young readers should be without\n       it.\"--_The Churchman._\n\n       \"These names are in themselves sufficient to guarantee\n       adequacy of treatment and interest in the presentation,\n       and it is safe to say that such succinct biographies of\n       the complete portrait gallery of our Presidents, written\n       with such unquestioned ability, have never before been\n       published.\"--_Hartford Courant._\n\n       \"Just the sort of book that the American who wishes to fix\n       in his mind the varying phases of his country's history as\n       it is woven on the warp of the administrations will find\n       most useful. Everything is presented in a clear-cut way,\n       and no pleasanter excursions into history can be found\n       than a study of 'The Presidents of the United\n       States.'\"--_Philadelphia Press._\n\n\n\n\n=The United States of America.=\n\n_A Study of the American Commonwealth, its Natural Resources, People,\nIndustries, Manufactures, Commerce, and its Work in Literature, Science,\nEducation, and Self-Government._\n\nEdited by NATHANIEL S. SHALER, S. D.,\n\nPROFESSOR OF GEOLOGY IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY.\n\n=In two volumes, royal 8vo. Maps, and 150 full-page Illustrations.\nCloth, $10.00.=\n\nEvery subject in this comprehensive work is timely, because it is of\nimmediate interest to every American. Special attention, however, may be\ncalled to the account of \"American Productive Industry,\" by the Hon.\nEdward Atkinson, with its array of immensely informing diagrams and\ntables; and also to \"Industry and Finance,\" a succinct and logical\npresentation of the subject by Professor F. W. Taussig, of Harvard\nUniversity. Both these eminent authorities deal with questions which are\nuppermost to-day.\n\n\nLIST OF CONTRIBUTORS.\n\n      HON. WILLIAM L. WILSON, Chairman of the Ways and Means\n        Committee, Fifty-third Congress.\n      HON. J. R. SOLEY, formerly Assistant Secretary of the Navy.\n      EDWARD ATKINSON, LL. D., PH. D.\n      COL. T. A. DODGE, U. S. A.\n      COL. GEORGE E. WARING, JR.\n      J. B. McMASTER, Professor of History in the University of\n        Pennsylvania.\n      CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER, LL. D.\n      MAJOR J. W. POWELL, Director of the United States Geological\n        Survey and the Bureau of Ethnology.\n      WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL. D., U. S. Commissioner of Education.\n      LYMAN ABBOTT, D. D.\n      H. H. BANCROFT, author of \"Native Races of the Pacific Coast.\"\n      HARRY PRATT JUDSON, Head Dean of the Colleges, Univ. of Chicago.\n      JUDGE THOMAS M. COOLEY, formerly Chairman of the Interstate\n        Commerce Commission.\n      CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS.\n      D. A. SARGENT, M. D., Director Hemenway Gymnasium, Harvard Univ.\n      CHARLES HORTON COOLEY.\n      A. E. KENNELLY, Assistant to Thomas A. Edison.\n      D. C. GILMAN, LL. D., President of Johns Hopkins University.\n      H. G. PROUT, Editor of the Railroad Gazette.\n      F. D. MILLET, formerly Vice-Pres. of the National Academy of\n        Design.\n      F. W. TAUSSIG, Professor of Political Economy in Harvard\n        University.\n      HENRY VAN BRUNT.\n      H. P. FAIRFIELD.\n      SAMUEL W. ABBOTT, M. D., Sec. State Board of Health, Massachusetts.\n      N. S. SHALER.\n\n\n       Sold only by subscription. 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By AGNES M. CLERKE, A. FOWLER, F. R. A. S.,\nDemonstrator of Astronomical Physics of the Royal College of Science,\nand J. ELLARD GORE, F. R. A. S.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROMANCE OF HISTORY.\n\nPeter the Great.\n\nBy K. WALISZEWSKI. Translated by Lady Mary Loyd. With Portrait. Small\n8vo. Cloth, $2.00.\n\n\nThe Romance of an Empress. Catharine II of Russia.\n\nBy K. WALISZEWSKI. Uniform with \"Peter the Great.\" With Portrait. Small\n8vo. Cloth, $2.00.\n\n\nNew Letters of Napoleon I.\n\nOmitted from the Collection published under the auspices of Napoleon\nIII. Edited by M. LEON LECESTRE, Curator of the French Archives.\nTranslated by Lady Mary Loyd. With Portrait. Small 8vo. Cloth, $2.00.\n\n\n       Uniform with the \"New Letters.\"\n\nMemoirs illustrating the History of Napoleon I,\n\nfrom 1802 to 1815. By Baron CLAUDE FRANCOIS DE MENEVAL, Private\nSecretary of Napoleon. Edited by his Grandson, Baron Napoleon Joseph de\nMeneval. With Portraits and Autograph Letters. In three volumes. Small\n8vo. Cloth, $6.00.\n\n\nAn Aide-de-Camp of Napoleon.\n\nMemoirs of General Count de Segur, of the French Academy, 1800-1812.\nRevised by his Grandson, Count LOUIS DE SEGUR. With Portrait. Small 8vo.\nCloth, $2.00.\n\n\nMemoirs of Marshal Oudinot,\n\nDuc de Reggio. Compiled from the Hitherto Unpublished Souvenirs of the\nDuchesse de Reggio, by GASTON STIEGLER, and now first translated into\nEnglish by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. With Two Portraits. Small 8vo.\nCloth, $2.00.\n\n\nA Friend of the Queen.\n\n(Marie Antoinette--Count de Fersen.) By PAUL GAULOT. With Two Portraits.\n12mo. Cloth, $2.00.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIVES OF ROYALTIES.\n\nThe Private Life of the Sultan.\n\nBy GEORGES DORYS, son of the late Prince of Samos, a former minister of\nthe Sultan, and formerly Governor of Crete. Translated by Arthur\nHornblow. Uniform with \"The Private Life of King Edward VII.\"\nIllustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.20 net; postage, 10 cents additional.\n\n      The high position which the writer's father held at\n      Constantinople gave the son a close insight into the\n      personality of one of the least known of modern rulers, so\n      far as personality is concerned. It is unnecessary to say\n      that the author has long since left the domain of the\n      Sultan of Turkey, and he is now a member of the Young Turk\n      party and a resident of Paris. It is announced that he has\n      been recently condemned to death by the Sultan on account\n      of this book.\n\n\nThe Private Life of King Edward VII.\n\nBy a Member of the Royal Household. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.\n\n       \"While the book gives a narrative that is intimate and\n       personal in character, it does not descend to vulgar\n       narrative. It is a book which will be found of unusual\n       interest.\"--_Brooklyn Eagle._\n\n\nThe Private Life of the Queen.\n\nBy a Member of the Royal Household. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.\n\n       \"A singularly attractive picture of Queen Victoria.... The\n       interests and occupations that make up the Queen's day,\n       and the functions of many of the members of her household,\n       are described in a manner calculated to gratify the\n       natural desire to know what goes on behind closed doors\n       that very few of the world's dignitaries are privileged to\n       pass.\"--_Boston Herald._\n\n\nThe Sovereigns and Courts of Europe.\n\nThe Home and Court Life and Characteristics of the Reigning Families. By\n\"POLITIKOS.\" With many Portraits. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.\n\n       \"The anonymous author of these sketches of the reigning\n       sovereigns of Europe appears to have gathered a good deal\n       of curious information about their private lives, manners,\n       and customs, and has certainly in several instances had\n       access to unusual sources. The result is a volume which\n       furnishes views of the kings and queens concerned, far\n       fuller and more intimate than can be found\n       elsewhere.\"--_New York Tribune._\n\n\nThe Life of his Royal Highness the Prince Consort.\n\nBy Sir THEODORE MARTIN. In five volumes, each with Portrait. 12mo.\nCloth, $10.00.\n\n       \"A full and impartial biography of a noble and enlightened\n       prince.... Mr. Martin's work is not gossipy, not light,\n       nor yet dull, guarded in its details of the domestic lives\n       of Albert and Victoria, but sufficiently full and familiar\n       to contribute much interesting information.\"--_Chicago\n       Tribune._\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE WEST SERIES.\n\nEdited by RIPLEY HITCHCOCK.\n\nEach, illustrated, 12mo, cloth, $1.50.\n\n\nThe Story of the Soldier.\n\n       By General G. A. FORSYTH, U. S. Army (retired).\n       Illustrated by R. F. Zogbaum.\n\n       \"A very complete and vivid picture of the development of\n       the West from a military point of view, with side lights\n       on the civil war.\"--_The Churchman._\n\n\nThe Story of the Railroad.\n\n       By CY WARMAN, author of \"The Express Messenger,\" etc. With\n       Maps and many Illustrations by B. West Clinedinst and from\n       photographs.\n\n       \"In Mr. Warman's book we are kept constantly reminded of\n       the fortitude, the suffering, the enterprise, and the\n       endurance of the pioneers.\"--_The Railroad Gazette._\n\nThe Story of the Cowboy.\n\n       By E. HOUGH, author of \"The Singing Mouse Stories,\" etc.\n       Illustrated by William L. Wells and C. M. Russell.\n\n       \"Mr. Hough is to be thanked for having written so\n       excellent a book. The cowboy story, as this author has\n       told it, will be the cowboy's fitting eulogy. This volume\n       will be consulted in years to come as an authority on past\n       conditions of the far West. For fine literary work the\n       author is to be highly complimented. Here, certainly, we\n       have a choice piece of writing.\"--_New York Times._\n\nThe Story of the Mine.\n\n       As illustrated by the Great Comstock Lode of Nevada. By\n       CHARLES HOWARD SHINN.\n\n       \"The author has written a book not alone full of\n       information, but replete with the true romance of the\n       American mine.\"--_New York Times._\n\n\nThe Story of the Indian.\n\n       By GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL, author of \"Pawnee Hero Stories,\"\n       \"Blackfoot Lodge Tales,\" etc.\n\n       \"Only an author qualified by personal experience could\n       offer us a profitable study of a race so alien from our\n       own as is the Indian in thought, feeling, and culture.\n       Only long association with Indians can enable a white man\n       measurably to comprehend their thoughts and enter into\n       their feelings. Such association has been _Mr.\n       Grinnell's.\"--New York Sun._\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD HISTORICAL WORKS.\n\n\nThe American Revolution, 1763-1783.\n\nBeing the Chapters and Passages relating to America, from the Author's\n\"History of England in the Eighteenth Century.\" By WILLIAM EDWARD\nHARTPOLE LECKY, M. P. Arranged and edited, with Historical and\nBiographical Notes, by James Albert Woodburn, Professor of American\nHistory and Politics in Indiana University. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25.\n\n\nThe Rise and Growth of the English Nation.\n\nWith Special Reference to Epochs and Crises. A History of and for the\nPeople. By W. H. S. Aubrey, LL. D. In three volumes. 12mo. Cloth, $4.50.\n\n       This work is written in no partisan or sectarian spirit,\n       and is not designed to advocate any particular theory of\n       politics, of philosophy, or of religion; but it claims to\n       be thoroughly patriotic, and is inspired by a love of the\n       freedom that springs out of righteousness and justice.\n\n\nA History of Germany, from the Earliest Times to the Present Day.\n\nBy BAYARD TAYLOR. With an additional Chapter by MRS. BAYARD TAYLOR. With\nPortrait and Maps. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.\n\n       \"When one considers the confused, complicated, and\n       sporadic elements of German history, it seems scarcely\n       possible to present a clear, continuous narrative. Yet\n       this is what Bayard Taylor did. He omitted no episode of\n       importance, and yet managed to preserve a main line of\n       connection from century to century throughout the\n       narrative.\"--_Philadelphia Ledger._\n\n\nA French Volunteer of the War of Independence.\n\nBy the Chevalier DE PONTGIBAUD. Translated and edited by Robert B.\nDouglas. With Introduction and Frontispiece. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD HISTORICAL WORKS.\n\n\nHistory of the People of the United States,\n\nFrom the Revolution to the Civil War. By JOHN BACH MCMASTER. To be\ncompleted in Six Volumes. Vols. I, II, III, IV, and V now ready. 8vo.\nCloth, gilt top, $2.50 each.\n\n\nThe Beginners of a Nation.\n\nBy EDWARD EGGLESTON. A History of the Source and Rise of the Earliest\nEnglish Settlements in America, with Special Reference to the Life and\nCharacter of the People. The first volume in a History of Life in the\nUnited States. Small 8vo. Gilt top, uncut, with Maps. Cloth, $1.50.\n\n\nThe Transit of Civilization.\n\nFrom England to America in the Seventeenth Century. By EDWARD EGGLESTON.\nUniform with \"The Beginners of a Nation.\" Small 8vo. Gilt top, uncut.\nCloth, $1.50.\n\n\nThe Household History of the United States and its People.\n\nBy EDWARD EGGLESTON. For Young Americans. Richly illustrated with 350\nDrawings, 75 Maps, etc. Square 8vo. Cloth, $2.50.\n\n\nBancroft's History of the United States,\n\nFrom the Discovery of the Continent to the Establishment of the\nConstitution in 1789. (Also _Edition de Luxe_, on large paper, limited\nto one hundred sets, numbered.) Complete in six volumes, with a Portrait\nof the Author. 8vo. Cloth, uncut, gilt top, $15.00; half calf or half\nmorocco, $27.00; tree calf, $50.00.\n\n\n\n\nGREAT COMMANDERS.\n\nEdited by General JAMES GRANT WILSON.\n\nThis series forms one of the most notable collections of books that has\nbeen published for many years. The success it has met with since the\nfirst volume was issued, and the widespread attention it has attracted,\nindicate that it has satisfactorily fulfilled its purpose, viz., to\nprovide in a popular form and moderate compass the records of the lives\nof men who have been conspicuously eminent in the great conflicts that\nestablished American independence and maintained our national integrity\nand unity. Each biography has been written by an author especially well\nqualified for the task, and the result is not only a series of\nfascinating stories of the lives and deeds of great men, but a rich mine\nof valuable information for the student of American history and\nbiography.\n\n      Each, 12mo, cloth, gilt top, $1.50 net.\n      Postage, 11 cents additional,\n\n\n      NOW READY.\n\n      Admiral Farragut           By Captain A. T. MAHAN, U. S. N.\n      General Taylor            By General O. O. HOWARD, U. S. A.\n      General Jackson                            By JAMES PARTON.\n      General Greene                By General FRANCIS V. GREENE.\n      General J. E. Johnston    By ROBERT M. HUGHES, of Virginia.\n      General Thomas                      By HENRY COPPEE, LL. D.\n      General Scott                  By General MARCUS J. WRIGHT.\n      General Washington           By General BRADLEY T. JOHNSON.\n      General Lee                        By General FITZHUGH LEE.\n      General Hancock               By General FRANCIS A. WALKER.\n      General Sheridan                By General HENRY E. DAVIES.\n      General Grant                By General JAMES GRANT WILSON.\n      General Sherman                By General MANNING F. FORCE.\n      Commodore Paul Jones               By CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY.\n      General Meade                      By ISAAC R. PENNYPACKER.\n      General McClellan               By General PETER S. MICHIE.\n      General Forrest                By Captain J. HARVEY MATHES.\n\n\n      IN PREPARATION.\n\n      Admiral Porter   By JAMES R. SOLEY, late Ass't Sec'y U. S. Navy.\n      General Schofield                              An Autobiography.\n\n\n\n***"}
{"text": "\n\n\n\nProduced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL\n\nOF\n\nPOPULAR\n\nLITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.\n\nFourth Series\n\nCONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.\n\nNO. 731.      SATURDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1877.      PRICE 1½_d._]\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROMANCE OF ACCIDENT.\n\n\nMany of our most important inventions and discoveries owe their origin\nto the most trivial circumstances; from the simplest causes the most\nimportant effects have ensued. The following are a few culled at random\nfor the amusement of our readers.\n\nThe trial of two robbers before the Court of Assizes of the\nBasses-Pyrénées accidentally led to a most interesting archæological\ndiscovery. The accused, Rivas a shoemaker, and Bellier a weaver, by\narmed attacks on the highways and frequent burglaries, had spread\nterror around the neighbourhood of Sisteron. The evidence against\nthem was clear; but no traces could be obtained of the plunder, until\none of the men gave a clue to the mystery. Rivas in his youth had\nbeen a shepherd-boy near that place, and knew the legend of the Trou\nd'Argent, a cavern on one of the mountains with sides so precipitous\nas to be almost inaccessible, and which no one was ever known to have\nreached. The Commissary of Police of Sisteron, after extraordinary\nlabour, succeeded in scaling the mountain, and penetrated to the\nmysterious grotto, where he discovered an enormous quantity of plunder\nof every description. The way having been once found, the vast cavern\nwas afterwards explored by _savants_; and their researches brought to\nlight a number of Roman medals of the third century, flint hatchets,\nornamented pottery, and the remains of ruminants of enormous size.\nThese interesting discoveries, however, obtained no indulgence for the\naccused (inadvertent) pioneers of science, who were sentenced to twenty\nyears' hard labour.\n\nThe discovery of gold in Nevada was made by some Mormon immigrants in\n1850. Adventurers crossed the Sierras and set up their sluice-boxes in\nthe cañons; but it was gold they were after, and they never suspected\nthe existence of silver, nor knew it when they saw it. The bluish stuff\nwhich was so abundant and which was silver ore, interfered with their\noperations and gave them the greatest annoyance. Two brothers named\nGrosch possessed more intelligence than their fellow-workers, and were\nthe real discoverers of the Comstock lode; but one of them died from\na pickaxe wound in the foot, and the other was frozen to death in the\nmountains. Their secret died with them. When at last, in the early part\nof 1859, the surface croppings of the lode were found, they were worked\nfor the gold they contained, and the silver was thrown out as being\nworthless. Yet this lode since 1860 has yielded a large proportion\nof all the silver produced throughout the world. The silver mines of\nPotosi were discovered through the trivial circumstance of an Indian\naccidentally pulling up a shrub, to the roots of which were attached\nsome particles of the precious metal.\n\nDuring the Thirty Years' War in Germany, the little village of Coserow\nin the island of Usedom, on the Prussian border of the Baltic, was\nsacked by the contending armies, the villagers escaping to the hills to\nsave their lives. Among them was a simple pastor named Schwerdler, and\nhis pretty daughter Mary. When the danger was over, the villagers found\nthemselves without houses, food, or money. One day, we are told, Mary\nwent up the Streckelberg to gather blackberries; but soon afterwards\nshe ran back joyous and breathless to her father, with two shining\npieces of amber each of very great size. She told her father that near\nthe shore the wind had blown away the sand from a vein of amber; that\nshe straightway broke off these pieces with a stick; that there was\nan ample store of the precious substance; and that she had covered it\nover to conceal her secret. The amber brought money, food, clothing,\nand comfort; but those were superstitious times, and a legend goes that\npoor Mary was burned for witchcraft. At the village of Stümen, amber\nwas first accidentally found by a rustic who was fortunate enough to\nturn some up with his plough.\n\nAccidents have prevented as well as caused the working of mines. At\nthe moment that workmen were about to commence operations on a rich\ngold mine in the Japanese province of Tskungo, a violent storm of\nthunder and lightning burst over them, and the miners were obliged to\nseek shelter elsewhere. These superstitious people, imagining that the\ntutelar god and protector of the spot, unwilling to have the bowels of\nthe earth thus rifled, had raised the storm to make them sensible of\nhis displeasure, desisted from all further attempts to work the mine.\n\nA cooper in Carniola having one evening placed a new tub under a\ndropping spring, in order to try if it would hold water, when he came\nin the morning found it so heavy that he could hardly move it. At\nfirst, the superstitious notions that are apt to possess the minds\nof the ignorant made him suspect that his tub was bewitched; but at\nlast perceiving a shining fluid at the bottom, he went to Laubach, and\nshewed it to an apothecary, who immediately dismissed him with a small\ngratuity, and bid him bring some more of the same stuff whenever he\ncould meet with it. This the poor cooper frequently did, being highly\npleased with his good fortune; till at length the affair being made\npublic, several persons formed themselves into a society in order to\nsearch farther into the quicksilver deposits, thus so unexpectedly\ndiscovered, and which were destined to become the richest of their kind\nin Europe.\n\nCurious discoveries by ploughmen, quarrymen, and others of caves,\ncoins, urns, and other interesting things, would fill volumes. Many\nvaluable literary relics have been preserved by curious accidents,\noften turning up just in time to save them from crumbling to pieces.\nNot only mineral but literary treasures have been brought to light\nwhen excavating mother earth. For instance, in the foundations of\nan old house, Luther's _Table Talk_ was discovered 'lying in a\ndeep obscure hole, wrapped in strong linen cloth, which was waxed\nall over with beeswax within and without.' There it had remained\nhidden ever since its suppression by Pope Gregory XIII. The poems of\nPropertius, a Roman poet, long lurked unsuspected in the darkness of\na wine-cellar, from whence they were at length unearthed by accident,\njust in time to preserve them from destruction by rats and mildew.\nNot only from beneath our feet but from above our heads may chance\nreveal the hiding-places of treasure-trove. The sudden falling in of\na ceiling, for example, of some chambers in Lincoln's Inn revealed\nthe secret depository of the Thurloe state papers. Other literary\ntreasures have turned up in an equally curious manner. Milton's essay\non the _Doctrines of Christianity_ was discovered in a bundle of old\ndespatches: a monk found the only manuscript of Tacitus accidentally\nin Westphalia: the letters of Lady Mary Montagu were brought to light\nfrom the recesses of an old trunk: the manuscripts of Dr Dee from the\nsecret drawer of an old chest: and it is said that one of the cantos\nof Dante's great poem was found, after being long mislaid, hidden away\nbeneath a window-sill.\n\nIt is curious to trace how the origin of some famous work has been\nsuggested apparently by the merest accident. We need but remind the\nreader how Lady Austen's suggestion of 'the sofa' as a subject for\nblank verse was the beginning of _The Task_, a poem which grew to\nformidable proportions under Cowper's facile pen. Another example of\n\n    What great events from trivial causes spring,\n\nis furnished by Lockhart's account of the gradual growth of _The Lay\nof the Last Minstrel_. The lovely Countess of Dalkeith hears a wild\nlegend of Border _diablerie_, and sportively asks Scott to make it the\nsubject of a ballad. The poet's accidental confinement in the midst of\na yeomanry camp gave him leisure to meditate his theme to the sound\nof the bugle; suddenly there flashes on him the idea of extending his\nsimple outline so as to embrace a vivid panorama of that old Border\nlife of war and tumult. A friend's suggestion led to the arrangement\nand framework of the _Lay_ and the conception of the ancient Harper.\nThus step by step grew the poem that first made its author famous. The\nmanuscript of _Waverley_ lay hidden away in an old cabinet for years\nbefore the public were aware of its existence. In the words of the\nGreat Unknown: 'I had written the greater part of the first volume and\nsketched other passages, when I mislaid the manuscript; and only found\nit by the merest accident, as I was rummaging the drawer of an old\ncabinet; and I took the fancy of finishing it.'\n\nCharlotte Brontë's chance discovery of a manuscript volume of verses\nin her sister Emily's handwriting led, from a mutual confession of the\n_furor poeticus_, to the joint publication of their poems, which though\nadding little to their subsequent fame, at least gives us another\ninstance of how much of what is called chance has often to do with\nthe carrying out of literary projects. It was the burning of Drury\nLane Theatre that led to the production of _The Rejected Addresses_,\nthe success of which, says one of the authors, 'decided him to embark\nin that literary career, which the favour of the novel-reading world\nrendered both pleasant and profitable to him.' Most of us know how\nthat famous fairy tale _Alice in Wonderland_ came to be written. The\ncharacters in _Oliver Twist_ of Fagin, Sikes, and Nancy were suggested\nby some sketches of Cruikshank, who long had a design to shew the\nlife of a London thief by a series of drawings. Dickens, while paying\nCruikshank a visit, happened to turn over some sketches in a portfolio.\nWhen he came to that one which represents Fagin in the condemned cell,\nhe studied it for half an hour, and told his friend that he was tempted\nto change the whole plot of his story, not to carry Oliver through\nadventures in the country, but to take him up into the thieves' den in\nLondon, shew what this life was, and bring Oliver through it without\nsin or shame. Cruikshank consented to let Dickens write up to as many\nof the drawings as he thought would suit his purpose. So the story as\nit now runs resulted in a great measure from that chance inspection of\nthe artist's portfolio. The remarkable picture of the Jew malefactor\nin the condemned cell biting his nails in the torture of remorse, is\nassociated with a happy accident. The artist had been labouring at the\nsubject for several days, and thought the task hopeless; when sitting\nup in his bed one morning with his hand on his chin and his fingers in\nhis mouth, the whole attitude expressive of despair, he saw his face in\nthe cheval glass. 'That's it!' he exclaimed; 'that's the expression I\nwant.' And he soon finished the picture.\n\nThe sudden prosperity of many a famous painter has resulted from some\nfortunate accident. Anthony Watteau, when a nameless struggling artist,\ntimidly offered a painting to a rich picture-dealer for six francs,\nand was on the eve of being scornfully rejected, had not a stranger,\nwho happened to be in the shop, come forward, and seeing some talent\nin the work, spoke encouragingly to the youth, and offered him one\nhundred and fifty francs for the picture; nor was this all, for he\nbecame Watteau's patron and instructor.--One day a little shepherd-boy\nwas seated near the road-side on the way from Vespignano to Florence\ndrawing upon a polished stone, his only pencil another polished stone\nwhich he held in his tiny fingers. A richly dressed stranger, who had\ndescended from a conveyance that was following him, chanced to pass,\nand looking over the boy's shoulder, saw that he had just sketched with\nwonderful truth and correctness a sheep and its twin lambs. Surprised\nand pleased, he examined the face of the young artist. Certainly it was\nnot its beauty that attracted him. The child looked up, but with such\na marvellous light in his dark eyes, that the stranger exclaimed: 'My\nchild, you must come with me; I will be your master and your father: it\nis some good angel that has led me here.' The stranger was Cimabue, the\nmost celebrated painter of that day; and his pupil and protégé became\nthe famous painter, sculptor, and architect Giotto, the friend and\nadmiration of Dante and Petrarch.\n\nHow the fortunes of painters may hinge upon the most trifling\ncircumstances, has another example in that of Ribera or Spagnoletto,\nwhich was determined by a very simple incident. He went to reside with\nhis father-in-law, whose house, it so happened, stood in the vast\nsquare one side of which was occupied by the palace of the Spanish\nViceroy. It was the custom in Italy, as formerly amongst the Greeks,\nthat whenever an artist had completed any great work, he should expose\nit in some street or thoroughfare, for the public to pass judgment on\nit. In compliance with this usage, Ribera's father-in-law placed in his\nbalcony the 'Martyrdom of St Bartholomew' as soon as it was finished.\nThe people flocked in crowds to see it, and testified their admiration\nby deafening shouts of applause. These acclamations reached the ears\nof the Viceroy, who imagined that a fresh revolt had broken out, and\nrushed in complete armour to the spot. There he beheld in the painting\nthe cause of so much tumult. The Viceroy desired to see the man who had\ndistinguished himself by so marvellous a production; and his interest\nin the painter was not lessened on discovering that he was, like\nhimself, a Spaniard. He immediately attached Spagnoletto to his person,\ngave him an apartment in his palace, and proved a generous patron ever\nafterwards.\n\nLanfranco, the wealthy and munificent artist, on his way from the\nchurch Il Gesú, happened to observe an oil-painting hanging outside a\npicture-broker's shop. Lanfranco stopped his carriage, and desired the\npicture to be brought to him. Wiping the thick dust from the canvas,\nthe delighted broker brought it, with many bows and apologies, to the\ngreat master, who on nearer inspection saw that his first glance had\nbeen correct. The picture was labelled 'Hagar and her Son Ishmael\ndying of Thirst,' and the subject was treated in a new and powerful\nmanner. Lanfranco looked for the name of the painter, and detecting\nthe word Salvatoriello modestly set in a corner of the picture, he\ngave instructions to his pupils to buy up every work of Salvatoriello\nthey could find in Naples. To this accident Salvator owed the sudden\ndemand for his pictures, which changed his poverty and depression into\ncomparative ease and satisfaction.\n\nMore than one famous singer might probably never have been heard\nof but for some discriminating patron chancing to hear a beautiful\nvoice, perhaps exercised in the streets for the pence of the\ncompassionate.--Some happy stage-hits have resulted from or originated\nin accidents. The odd hop skip and jump so effective in the delineation\nof Dundreary, says an American interviewer of Mr Sothern, was brought\nabout in this way. In the words of the actor: 'It was a mere accident.\nI have naturally an elastic disposition, and during a rehearsal one\ncold morning I was hopping at the back of the stage, when Miss Keene\nsarcastically inquired if I was going to introduce that into Dundreary.\nThe actors and actresses standing around laughed; and taking the cue,\nI replied: \"Yes, Miss Keene; that's my view of the character.\" Having\nsaid this, I was bound to stick to it; and as I progressed with the\nrehearsal, I found that the whole company, including scene-shifters\nand property-men, were roaring with laughter at my infernal nonsense.\nWhen I saw that the public accepted the satire, I toned down what was a\nbroad caricature to what can be seen at the present day by any one who\nhas a quick sense of the absurd.'\n\nAn excellent landscape of Salvator Rosa's exhibited at the British\nInstitution in 1823 came to be painted in a curious way. The painter\nhappened one day to be amusing himself by tuning an old harpsichord;\nsome one observed they were surprised he could take so much trouble\nwith an instrument that was not worth a crown. 'I bet you I make it\nworth a thousand before I have done with it!' cried Rosa. The bet\nwas taken; and Salvator painted on the harpsichord a landscape that\nnot only sold for a thousand crowns, but was esteemed a first-rate\npainting.--Chemistry and pathology are indebted to what has often\nseemed the merest chance for many an important discovery. A French\npaper says it has been accidentally discovered that in cases of\nepileptic fits, a black silk handkerchief thrown over the afflicted\npersons will restore them immediately. Advances in science and art and\nsudden success in professions have often more to do with the romance of\naccident than most people imagine; but as we may have occasion again to\ntake up the subject, we quit it for the present.\n\n\n\n\nA DIFFICULT QUESTION.\n\nTHE STORY OF TWO CHRISTMAS EVES.\n\nIN TWO CHAPTERS.\n\n\nCHAPTER II.--ANSWERED.\n\nThe mistletoe hung from the chandelier, the holly wreaths were on\nthe walls, the clear fire shed a warm glow through the dimly lighted\nroom, upon pictures and gilding, upon a great vase filled with crimson\ncamellias, upon Ralph Loraine's dark handsome face. Christmas eve\nagain, his first year in England over. How little certainty there is in\nthis world; when we think we have smoothed our path, and see our way\nstraight before us, there rises up some roughness, some unevenness\nwe have left unnoticed, or thought too small to trouble us. So with\nRalph; he had answered the question he asked himself last Christmas eve\nby another; he was very happy, but he was thinking now as he leaned\nagainst the mantel-piece whether he could bear to leave the army and\ngive up the life he had led for so long; the life, at times one of\nbold daring, at others of lazy pleasure, which had suited him so well;\nthat even now, with the wish of his heart fulfilled, it cost him a\nstruggle to bid farewell to it, and to settle down into a quiet country\ngentleman. He had kept his oath to his dead friend, the oath he had\ntaken in answer to the faintly spoken words, 'I meant to have made her\nso happy.' Louise would remain in her old home as its mistress.\n\nIt had been a happy year to Ralph, and had glided away so quickly since\nthat first night when he had seen her standing in the snowy churchyard,\nlistening to words which sounded very much like love from another man's\nlips. That other had, however, confirmed his opinion. Vere Leveson had\nbeen away with his regiment during all the twelve months; not once had\nhe met Louise; the field had been clear for Ralph. Yet it was only a\nweek since he had spoken; he had not dared at first to break through\nthe barrier of childish affection. She looked upon him as her guardian,\nher father's friend, with the same grateful reverence she might have\ngiven to that father had he lived; so he had tried very gently to\nawaken deeper feelings, through the sweet early spring-time and the\nglowing summer days, till when the leaves were lying in brown showers\nupon the sodden earth, she had grown silent, shy, and distant, and\nso cold that he thought all hope was gone. He went away in November;\nand when he returned, his love unspoken became torture to his upright\nnature; he could not bear to live there day by day, to see her so\noften, to let her kiss him as a daughter might have done, and all the\nwhile that hidden passion burning in his heart. But after his temporary\nabsence she had changed again; she was more as she had been, gentle,\nplayfully loving; and so one day he had spoken. He told her of her\ndying father's words; how his great wish had been that she should never\nfeel the loss he had caused her; how her happiness was his first object\nin life; and how that life would be indeed worthless and barren, should\nhe go back to it alone. Grateful, she answered as he wished, and Ralph\nheld in his arms as his betrothed wife the child he had promised to\nwatch over in the silence of the Indian dawn.\n\n'But you must give me time,' she had said timidly. 'I have never\nthought of you but as my guardian, Ralph.' She dropped the name of her\nchildhood then, as a tacit acknowledgment that those days were over,\nand that she would learn to love him henceforth, not with a child's\ngrateful unquestioning love, but with the tenderness of a wife.\n\nShe was the only one surprised by the event; all the neighbourhood had\nknown it long before; so had Mrs Loraine and Emma; so had Katharine,\nwhose wedding-day was now approaching, and whose bridegroom was Sir\nMichael Leyland. The drawing-room door opened, and Louise entered into\nthe uncertain light, wearing the dress he had chosen for her--white\nbridal-looking silk, and holly wreaths like those she had worn last\nyear. She went up to him composedly, with none of a young fiancée's\nusual bashfulness.\n\n'Do you like my dress, Ralph?' she said, looking up with her sweet dark\neyes, as he bent down and touched the rosy lips.\n\n'I do,' he answered. 'You are always lovely, darling; last year I\nthought the same, but then things were different. I did not dare to\nhope for such happiness as this.'\n\n'Are you happy, Ralph?'\n\n'Happier than I have ever been in my whole life,' he whispered.\n\nThen the others came in, and they started for the annual ball at Leigh\nPark. Vere Leveson had returned a week ago; and as he stood among his\nfather's guests there was a troubled look on his face which deepened\never as the white silk folds of the holly-wreathed dress brushed past\nhim, or the dark eyes watching its wearer met hers. At last he went to\nher.\n\n'Are you engaged for this, Miss Wrayworth?' he said abruptly.\n\n'No,' she answered.\n\n'Then you will give it to me?'\n\nOnce more he held her in his arms, once more her hand rested in his, as\nthey glided slowly round the room. Vere did not speak till the waltz\nwas ended, and then he led her to the same window where they had stood\na year ago. The same stars were shining down on the same world, only\nthat night there was no snow-shroud over the dead flowers, and the\nmoon was half hidden by a great splash of cloud. The same first faint\nChristmas bells were sounding in the distance, mingled with the echoes\nof a carol sung by boys' clear voices, telling for the angels the old\nstory they had told so long ago.\n\n'I wish you a merry Christmas,' Vere said, looking down on her with\na half-scornful smile. 'What mockery there is in that salutation\nsometimes. If you were to say it to me, for instance.'\n\n'Indeed I hope you will have one,' she answered timidly.\n\n'I must go a long way to find it then,' he muttered. 'But I beg your\npardon, Miss Wrayworth; I must congratulate you. I met--your sister I\nwas going to say--Miss Loraine I mean, as I was on my way to call upon\nyou the other day, and she told me of your engagement.'\n\n'But you did not come,' said Louise.\n\n'No; I thought you would be occupied. I congratulate you,' he repeated.\n\n'Thank you,' she answered very low.\n\n'Major Loraine is completely calculated to make a wife happy, I should\nthink,' said Vere, in the same cold scornful tone.\n\nShe lifted her head quickly. 'Indeed he is; he is the best, noblest,\nmost generous man that breathes!'\n\n'And you love him?'\n\n'He has been everything to me all my life long, Mr Leveson--father,\nbrother, friend. Would you not have me do what I can to prove my\ngratitude?'\n\n'By making him a still nearer relation? Certainly. But for my part,\nthere is one thing I should rather choose my wife to feel for me than\ngratitude. How everything changes in this world!' he added abruptly.\n'Can it possibly be only one year since I stood at this same window\nwith a girl by my side who promised to _remember_ me and _trust_ me\ntill next Christmas? Such a short time! only twelve little months. I\nsuppose it is true that\n\n    Woman's love is writ in water,\n    Woman's faith is traced on sand.\n\nBut I never believed it.'\n\n'I hope you will not find it so,' said the girl softly, as she played\nnervously with the shining holly leaves, breaking them, and crushing\nthe scarlet berries till they fell spoiled upon the floor. 'I must\ncongratulate _you_.'\n\n'I beg your pardon! Congratulate me! What upon?'\n\n'Your--your engagement.'\n\n'My engagement! And may I ask to whom?'\n\n'To Miss Leslie.'\n\n'What!' he exclaimed. 'What do you mean? Alice Leslie! Who can have\ntold you such a falsehood?'\n\n'Katharine heard it when she was in London.'\n\nThere was a long, long silence, while each guessed the other's secret.\n\n'Is it not true?' she said at last.\n\n'No; on my soul!' he answered. 'I never said a word to that girl all\nthe world might not have heard. I engaged to _her_! No! O Louise!' he\ncried passionately; 'Louise, my darling! I have loved you so long, and\nthis is the end of it! Did not you know last year that I loved you and\nyou only, when I asked you to trust me? I have been silent for a year,\nto obey my father, and--I have lost you!'\n\nHis voice trembled as he caught her hands, and a great longing\ntenderness gleamed in his deep blue eyes. 'Did not you love me, Louise?\nHave I been fool enough to delude myself all these months?'\n\n'I was very--very unhappy when Katharine told me.' The answer was\nsimply, hopelessly spoken, and there was another silence, broken again\nby her voice. 'Vere,' she said, 'Vere--I may call you so just this\nonce--we have made a terrible mistake; but I must keep my word. Say\ngood-bye to me, and let me go.'\n\n'Oh, my darling! my darling!'\n\n'Hush! Vere, hush!' she said brokenly. 'I owe _him_ a debt nothing can\never pay; and I know he will keep the promise he made to my father\nyears ago, to try and make me happy.'\n\n'God helping me, I will!' It was Ralph Loraine's voice that spoke;\nRalph Loraine's dark fearless eyes that rested upon her; Ralph\nLoraine's loyal hand which took her cold one, as she started back from\nthe man she loved.\n\n'Don't look frightened, dear,' he said gently. 'Poor child, how you\nmust have suffered! Louise! do you think I would let you bear one\nmoment's pain to save myself from a lifetime of misery? Forgive me,\ndear; the dream has been very bright, and the awaking is'--he paused\nfor a moment and steadied his voice--'a little hard; but I shall soon\nbe used to it. The vow I made to your dead father, I will still keep,\nLouise; I am your guardian, nothing more. Forget what has been between\nus, child, as soon as you can.' He turned, and held out his hand to\nVere. 'It is a precious charge I give up to you,' he said solemnly;\n'you must help me to keep my vow.' He paused, then added tremulously:\n'You must make her happy for me.' Then without another word he passed\nout through the open window into the wintry moonlit garden, and left\nthem alone.\n\nHe wandered down the avenue through the open gate among the waiting\ncarriages on to the silent fields, bearing the sorrow bravely, the\nutter wreck of his life's sweetest hopes. 'Which is the harder,' he\nthought bitterly as he hurried on, scarcely knowing where he went, 'to\nlay down life or love?' In his great unselfishness he never blamed\nher who had wrought this trouble; he had vowed to make her happy; he\nhad done his duty, nothing more, but it was hard to do. It had been a\nfearful temptation as he listened, to go away without speaking, and so\nkeep her his; but he had conquered. Yet it seemed as though he could\nnot live without her, as though that one happy week had swallowed up\nhis whole existence, as though he had loved all his life instead of\nfor one short year; and he looked up piteously to the cloudy heavens,\nto the wintry moon, seeking for the comfort that was not to be found,\nlonging, in his wretchedness, to lie down upon the cold wet grass and\nsleep never to wake again.\n\n'Won't you remember the carols?'\n\nA shrill voice broke in upon his thoughts; he started, looking down\nsuddenly, vacantly, as though he did not comprehend.\n\nTwo boys stood there, on their way home across the fields. 'Hush!' said\nthe elder; 'don't you see it's the Major? Merry Christmas, sir!'\n\nAh! how mockingly those words sounded now. The greeting stung him as\nthe taunt of a fiend; he turned and hurried on. He paused breathlessly\nat the stile leading into the next field; all his strength seemed to\nhave left him as he stood there alone with his grief. Then from the\ndistance was wafted to him the sound of the boys' voices, and the words\nthey sung were these:\n\n    All glory be to God on high,\n    And to the earth be peace;\n    Good-will henceforth from heaven to men\n    Begin and never cease!\n\nSomehow they comforted him as no human sympathy could have done--the\ngrand old words, the simple tune, the children's voices. Though he did\nnot know that by what he had done that night, he had fulfilled as far\nas might be the charge given in the angels' song.\n\n\n\n\nA DREAM AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.\n\n\nWhen I was about twelve years of age I was invited by Mrs Hall, my\ngod-mother, to pay her a visit before going to a boarding-school, where\nI was to remain for a few years. My mother had died when I was very\nyoung; and my father thought it better for me to be at a nice school,\nwhere I would be amongst girls of my own age, than in the house with\nonly his sister and himself. Mrs Hall was very fond of me; she had no\nchildren of her own; and had my father consented, she and Mr Hall would\nhave taken me to live with them entirely.\n\nIt was a lovely day in June when I arrived at my god-mother's; and\nshe was delighted to see me. The house was beautifully situated on\nhigh ground, surrounded by grand old trees, and at one side was a\nflower-garden.\n\nOne morning god-mother said to me: 'Come upstairs with me, Lilian, and\nI will shew you some Indian jewels that my uncle left me lately.'\nShe opened the drawer of an inlaid sandal-wood cabinet and took out a\nsmall case, in which were a pair of ear-rings, a brooch, and necklet\nof most beautiful diamonds. I thought I had never seen anything so\nbeautiful before. 'My dear Lilian,' said she, 'I intend to give you\nthese on your sixteenth birthday. I see, however, there is a stone\nloose in one of the ear-rings, so I will take it into town to-day and\nhave it repaired.' She folded it up carefully and put it in her purse;\nthe case with the other diamonds she put in one of the drawers of her\ndressing-glass.\n\nAfter lunch, Mr and Mrs Hall took me with them to the town, which was\nabout four miles distant. The ear-ring was left at the jeweller's, and\nas we were to spend the day at a friend's house, we arranged to call\nfor it on our way back. But you will say what has all this to do with\nyour dream? Well, wait a little and you will see.\n\nWe spent a pleasant day, called for the ear-ring on our way, and\narrived home about half-past nine o'clock. As I was taking off my\nbonnet, god-mother came into the room. 'Lilian,' said she, 'I cannot\nfind the case of diamonds anywhere. Did I not leave it in the drawer\nin my dressing-glass, before I went out? I went to put in the other\near-ring now, and it was not there. Who can have taken it?'\n\n'You certainly left it in the dressing-glass drawer,' I said. 'Could\nany of the servants have taken it, do you think?'\n\n'I am sure they would not,' she answered. 'I have had them with me for\nyears, and never missed anything before.'\n\n'Are there any strangers about that could have come in through the\nwindow?'\n\n'No, Lilian; there are no strangers about the place except the\ngardener, and he seems a most respectable man. I got a very high\ncharacter of him from his last place; in fact we were told he was a\nmost trustworthy person.'\n\nNext day there was a wonderful commotion about the missing jewel-case.\nThe police were sent for, and every place was searched over and over\nagain, but to no purpose. One thing, however, puzzled us: on the\nwindow-sill was a footmark, and near the dressing-table a little bit of\nearth, as if off a shoe or boot; which led us to think that the thief\nmust have come in through the window. But how did he get up to it? It\nwas a good height from the ground, and the creeping plants were not in\nthe least broken, as would have been the case had any one climbed up by\nthem. A ladder must have been employed; and it was little to the credit\nof the police that this fact had not been properly considered. As the\nmatter stood, it was a mystery, and seemed likely to remain so, and\nonly one ear-ring was left of the valuable set.\n\nIn a few days I left for school, where I remained for four years. I\nspent every vacation between my home and my god-mother's. We often\nspoke of the stolen diamonds; but nothing had ever been heard of\nthem, though a reward of fifty pounds had been offered by Mr Hall for\nany information that would lead to the detection of the thief. On my\nsixteenth birthday my god-mother gave me a beautiful watch and chain\nand the diamond ear-ring, which she had got arranged as a necklet.\n\n'I am so sorry, Lilian,' said she, 'that I have not the rest of those\ndiamonds to give you; but if ever they are found, they shall be yours,\nmy dear.'\n\nI must now pass over six years, which went by quietly and happily,\nnothing very important taking place until the last year, during which\ntime I had been married. My husband was a barrister. We lived in the\nnorth of England. My mother-in-law Mrs Benson, and Mary, one of her\ndaughters, lived some miles away from us near the sea-coast. It was a\nvery lonely place, a long way from the little fishing-town, or rather\nvillage, of Burnley. I confess I often felt very nervous about Mrs\nBenson and her daughter living alone (her husband being dead many\nyears). Except three women-servants in the house, and the coachman\nand his family who lived in the lodge, there was no one nearer than\nBurnley, four miles off. Besides, it was known that there was a large\nquantity of plate in the house; and the little sea-side village was\noften the resort of smugglers and other wild and lawless characters.\nOne day, while thinking of them, I felt so uneasy that I said to my\nhusband: 'I hope, Henry, there is nothing wrong with your mother; she\nhas been in my mind all day.'\n\n'Oh,' said he, 'why should you feel anxious about her to-day? I saw her\nlast Tuesday; and if she were ill, Mary would be sure to let us know.\nIt is only one of your \"fancies,\" little wife.'\n\nStill I did not feel easy, for more than once before my so-called\n'fancy' had proved to be a 'reality;' so I determined that in a few\ndays I would go and see Mrs Benson. All that evening I could not get\nher out of my thoughts, and it was a long time before I went to sleep.\nI think it must have been about three o'clock in the morning that I\nwoke in a state of terror. I had dreamed that I saw Mrs Benson standing\nin the window of her bedroom, beckoning me to come to her, and pointing\nto a female figure who was stealing along under the shade of the trees\nin the avenue, for the moon was shining brightly.\n\nI started up, thinking I heard her calling me. And here is the most\nextraordinary part of it all--though I was now quite awake, I heard,\nas I thought, a voice saying to me: 'Go, tell Mrs Benson, Martha is\ndeceiving her; tell her to send her away at once.'\n\nThree times these words seemed to be repeated in my ear. I can't\ndescribe exactly what the voice was like: it was not loud, but quite\ndistinct; and I felt as I listened that it was a warning, and that I\n_must_ obey it. I woke my husband, and told him my dream and the words\nI had heard. He tried to calm my mind, and evidently thought me foolish\nto be so frightened by only a stupid dream. I said I would drive over\nthe first thing after breakfast, and see if anything was wrong with\nMary or her mother. The only thing that puzzled me was that Martha\nshould be mentioned as deceiving Mrs Benson. She acted as housekeeper\nand lady's-maid to her, and was believed to be most trustworthy in\nevery way. She had been four years with her; and was much respected.\nShe was a silent reserved kind of person, about thirty-five years of\nage. One thing I had often remarked about her was, that when speaking\nto any one she never looked straight at them; but I thought it might be\nfrom a kind of shyness more than anything else.\n\nAs soon as breakfast was over I set off, telling my husband I would\nvery likely not return until next day; and if possible, he was to\ncome for me. He could drive over early and spend the day; and we would\nreturn home together in the evening, if all was well with his mother.\n\nWhen I arrived I found Mrs Benson and Mary looking as well as ever,\nand everything seemingly just as usual. Martha was sitting at work in\nher little room, which opened off Mrs Benson's dressing-room. I could\nnot help looking at her more closely than I would have done at another\ntime, and I thought I saw a look of displeasure cross her face at\nseeing me. Mary and her mother were of course delighted to see me, and\nasked why Henry did not come too. So I told them I would stay till the\nnext day, if they would have me, and Henry would come for me then. They\nwere quite pleased at that arrangement; for it was not very often my\nhusband could spend a whole day with them.\n\nAs the day passed on and nothing out of the way happened, I began to\nthink I had frightened myself needlessly, and that my dream or vision\nmight have been the result of an over-anxious mind. And then Martha,\nwhat about her? Altogether I was perplexed. I did not know what to\nthink; but I still felt a certain undefined uneasiness. I offered up\na silent prayer to be directed to do right, and determined to wait\npatiently and do nothing for a while. I almost hoped I might hear the\nvoice again, giving me definite instructions how to act. Lunch passed\nand dinner also; and the evening being very warm, for it was the middle\nof July, we sat at the open window enjoying the cooling breeze that set\nin from the sea.\n\nAs they were early people, shortly after ten o'clock we said\n'good-night,' and went up to our bedrooms. My room looked on the\navenue, some parts of which were in deep shade, while in other parts\nthe moonlight shone brightly through breaks in the trees. I did not\nfeel in the least sleepy; and putting out my candle, I sat by the\nwindow, looking at the lovely view; for I could see the coast quite\nplainly, and the distant sea glistened like silver in the moonlight.\nI did not think how long I had been sitting there, until I heard the\nhall clock strike twelve. Just then I heard, as I thought, a footstep\noutside my door, which evidently stopped there, and then in a few\nseconds passed on. I did not mind, thinking it might be one of the\nservants, who had been up later than usual, and was now going quietly\nto bed. I began to undress, not lighting the candle again, as I had\nlight enough from the moon. As I came towards the window to close it, I\nsaw, exactly as in my dream, a female figure--evidently keeping in the\nshade of the trees--going down the avenue. I determined to follow and\nsee who it was, for I now felt the warning voice was not sent to me for\nnothing, and I seemed to get courage, girl though I was, to fathom the\nmystery. I hastily dressed, threw a dark shawl over my head, and going\nnoiselessly down-stairs, opened the glass door in the drawing-room\nwindow, and left it so that I could come in again. I kept in the shade\nof the trees as much as possible, and quickly followed the path I had\nseen the woman take. Presently I heard voices; one was a man's, the\nother a woman's. But who was she? I came close, and got behind a large\ngroup of thick shrubs. I could now see and hear them quite well; they\nwere standing in the light; I was in deep shade. Just then the woman\nturned her head towards me. It was _Martha_! What did she want there at\nthat hour? And who was this man? I was puzzled. Where had I seen that\nface before? for that I _had_ seen it before, I was certain; but where,\nand when, I could not remember. He was speaking in a low voice, and I\ndid not hear very distinctly what he said, but the last few words were:\n'And why not to-night? Delays are always dangerous, especially now, as\nthey are beginning to suspect me.'\n\n'Because Mrs Benson's daughter-in-law is here, and she is sleeping in\nthe room over the plate-closet, and would be sure to hear the least\nnoise. Wait until to-morrow night; she will be gone then. But indeed\nJohn, I don't like this business at all. I think we'd better give it\nup. No luck will come of it, I am sure.'\n\n'Look here, Martha,' said the man. 'I have a chance of getting safe off\nnow. I have it all settled, if you will only help me to get this old\nwoman's plate. With that and a few little trinkets I happened to pick\nup a few years ago, you and I may set up in business over in America.\nThe other fellows will help me. Meet me here to-morrow night, to let me\nknow that all is safe for us. See here. I have brought you a valuable\npresent. Keep it until the plate is secure with me; for you must stay\nhere until all blows over; then make some excuse for leaving, and come\nover and join me in New York. If you want money, sell these diamonds in\nLiverpool; they are worth no end of money.'\n\nI could see quite well that he took something out of his pocket and\ngave it to her. She held it up to look at it; and there, glistening in\nbright moonlight, I saw--my god-mother's diamond ear-ring! the one that\nhad been stolen over nine years ago with the other jewels from her room.\n\nHere then at last was the mystery solved, everything made clear, and\nall through my dream! Presently the light fell on the man's face again,\nand I instantly recognised my god-mother's very respectable gardener.\nA decent man he was believed to be, but a thief all the time, and one\nwho hid his evil deeds under a cloak of religion. And who was this\nwoman he seemed to have got such power over? Evidently his wife; for\nI gathered that from his conversation with her. I waited where I was\nuntil they were both gone--Martha back to the house, and her husband\nto the village; then as quietly as I could I returned to the house and\nreached my room. Falling on my knees I gave thanks to God for making\nme the means of finding out such a wicked plot, and perhaps saving the\nlives of more than one under that roof; for it is more than likely that\nhad those desperate men been disturbed in their midnight plunder, they\nwould not have hesitated at any deed which would enable them to carry\nout their wicked plans.\n\nI slept little that night, and next morning tried to appear calm and\ncomposed, though I was frightened and really ill. I was longing for my\nhusband to come, that I might tell him all, and consult what was best\nto be done, to prevent robbery and perhaps bloodshed. At last, to my\ngreat relief, I saw him coming. I ran to the gate to meet him, and told\nhim what I had seen and heard the night before. 'Now,' I said, 'will\nyou ever laugh at my \"fancies\" again?'\n\n'No, my dear little wife,' said he; 'I never will.'\n\nWe then arranged that we should tell his mother and sister everything;\nand he was to go to the nearest police station and arrange with the\nchief officer to have a number of men ready in the wood near the\nhouse at twelve o'clock that night; that after dinner we were to say\n'good-bye' to Mrs Benson, and drive home; but would return and join the\npolice in the wood, and wait there until we saw Martha leave the house\nto meet her husband. We were then to go in and wait until the thieves\ncame in, when they were to be surrounded and taken prisoners. My\nhusband wanted me to remain at our own house; but I would not do so, as\nI said I would only be imagining all sorts of dreadful things; besides,\nI knew his mother and Mary would like to have me with them.\n\nIt all turned out as well as could be. The night was very fine; and\njust at twelve o'clock Martha stole down to the place where I had\nseen her the night before; then we all, about a dozen policemen and\nourselves, went into the house. The men were stationed out of sight\nin different rooms, waiting for the robbers' entrance. Henry came up\nto Mrs Benson's room, where all of us women were, including the two\nservants. With breathless anxiety we watched and waited. From where I\nstood I could see the way they would come.\n\nIt was about two o'clock when I saw Martha coming up the walk and\nfour men with her. 'Look!' I said; 'there they are.' They went round\nto the back door, and we heard them stealing along the passage in the\ndirection of the plate-closet. Then a sudden rush--a scream from the\nwretched Martha--imprecations loud and bitter--a shot!--another scream!\n\n'May God grant no lives will be lost!' we prayed.\n\nPoor Mary nearly fainted. At last we heard the officer call Henry to\ncome down. The four men were well secured and taken to the police\nstation. Martha was taken there too. She confessed she had let them in\nfor the purpose of stealing the silver. One of the robbers was slightly\nwounded in the arm, but no one else was hurt. Very thankful was I when\nI found next day that none was the worse for having gone through such a\nterrible scene.\n\nThe house where Martha's husband lodged was searched, and the case of\ndiamonds and many other valuable articles found there. This immensely\nrespectable gardener had been a disgrace to his family and his\nprofession. Left very much to himself through the indulgence of his\nemployer, he had contracted habits of tippling with low associates at\nthe neighbouring village, and become so completely demoralised, as at\nlength to assume the degraded character of a burglar. Now came the\nretribution which attends on wrong-doing. The thieves were all tried at\nthe next assizes, and sentenced to various terms of imprisonment.\n\nIt is now many years since all this happened; but I can never forget\nwhat I went through those two dreadful nights; though I remember with\nthankfulness, that through my dream and the warning voice I heard, I\nwas the means of averting a great wrong, and perhaps murder. I do not\nimpute anything supernatural to my dream. It may have merely been the\nresult of tension of feelings, supported by some coincidences. At all\nevents, the results were such as I have described.\n\n\n\n\nODD NOTES FROM QUEENSLAND.\n\n\nQueensland, as is pretty generally known, is the latest planted British\ncolony in Australia, and has already made a surprising degree of\nprogress. Situated on the coast of the Pacific, to the north of New\nSouth Wales, its more settled parts enjoy a delightful climate, which\nis said to resemble that of Madeira. It is usually thought that nowhere\nin the world do new and small towns develop so speedily into populous\ncities as in the United States; but in this respect Queensland can shew\nresults nearly as remarkable. In Brisbane, the capital of the colony,\none finds immense enterprise, with all the tokens of civilisation on\nthe English model. A correspondent favours us with the following notes\nsuggested by the _Queenslander_, which we presume to be the leading\nnewspaper in the colony.\n\nA cursory glance down the advertising columns of the _Queenslander_\ngives one no mean notion of the colony's capacities. One auctioneer\nannounces for sale three thousand square miles of land, twenty-one\nthousand head of cattle, and a hundred and twenty-four thousand sheep.\nA dairy herd of six hundred head is in the market here, and there\na stock-owner announces he has seven hundred pure merino rams to\ndispose of. Sugar-plantations, salt-works, gold mines, are on offer;\nand--incontrovertible proof of the land's capabilities--nurserymen are\nready to supply all comers with seeds or roots 'of all the favourite\nflowers known in England,' of every kind of grass and grain and\nvegetable familiar to the British farmer and market-gardener; and\nkeep in stock thoroughly acclimatised apples, pears, plums, cherries,\npeaches, apricots, nectarines, quinces, mulberries, walnuts, chestnuts,\ncobnuts, grapes, figs, limes, lemons, oranges, dates, guavas, and\nmangoes, in every approved variety.\n\nOne correspondent extols the merits of chicory as a profitable thing\nto grow; another relates his successful attempts at rice-raising; and\na third waxes eloquent anent the unique garden of Mr Barnes of Mackay,\nwith its groves and avenues of cocoa-nut trees; its hundreds of fine\ndate-trees; its grapes, oranges, apples, and fruits of all climes and\nseasons, thriving together; its enormous melons and magnificent pines\nripening and rotting around. The owner looks forward to reaping a large\nprofit from his twelve hundred cocoa-nut trees, many of them now thirty\nfeet high, although as yet the return for his ten years' labour and\nexpenditure has been something not worth mentioning.\n\nThen we have an account of 'the acclimated wonders of the vegetable\nkingdom blooming in this present February 1877, in the government\nBotanic Gardens of Brisbane;' said gardens being then in the height\nof their midsummer glory, and a perfect blaze of colour. 'One of the\nmost strikingly handsome as well as curious trees in the gardens is the\n_Kilgeria pinnata_, from India. Its branches bear a kind of drooping\nflexible vine-rope or liana stem, each of which terminates in a large\nspike of flowers; while at various parts of the said rope pendants,\nhang huge seed-pods, like in shape unto the weights of an extra large\ncuckoo-clock.' Several varieties of the mango just now are in fine\nbearing, and the wine-palm of the West African coast was never more\njuicy and strawberry-like in flavour. Ferns and palms are magnificent,\nbut after all, the Queenslander finds a native plant excite his\nadmiration most. 'No description can do justice to the exquisite colour\nof the so-called blue water-lily of this colony. It is _not_ blue, nor\nwhite, nor mauve, nor lilac, but has a blended dash of all of them, and\nis lovelier than any. A Swiss or French dyer who could reproduce it\nfaithfully would make his fortune. It is a colour suggestive of summer\nafternoons, of lawns, of croquet, of classic villas, swell society,\nand five o'clock teas in the garden, with greyhounds, spaniels, pretty\ngirls, and rosy children grouped about miscellaneous like.'\n\nAcclimatisation has succeeded too thoroughly in one instance--the\nrabbit, as we have had occasion to shew in a previous paper, having\nincreased and multiplied until the colonists have reason to wish he had\nnever been induced to settle in the land. One wheat-grower, wroth at\nhaving to sit up o' nights with his farm hands, dogs, bullock-bells,\nand tin cans, in order to scare the little pests back to their\nburrows, lest, like his neighbours, he should have nothing left to\nreap, declares either the rabbit or the farmer must go down; there is\nno longer room for both. Sheep-farmers are in a similar predicament;\nbut their trouble is of native growth; the kangaroo is their _bête\nnoire_, and they are busy arming against the pouched depredators.\nKangaroo battues are the rage. At one held at Warroo, upwards of three\nthousand five hundred of these animals were disposed of in ten days;\nmaking eight thousand of which the run had been cleared in the space\nof a month--equivalent to saving pasturage for a like number of sheep.\nAnother sheep-owner, after shooting down four thousand kangaroos on a\nsmall portion of his run, finds it necessary to call in outside aid,\nand lay in tons of cartridges for the use of those who respond to the\nappeal. By reports just to hand (Oct. 1877) we find that the process of\nkangaroo extermination is still at work.\n\nThere are other nuisances it would be well to see to. A woodman at\nMaryborough lately died of a scorpion sting; and we read of a man being\nbitten by a black snake while working a short distance from Brisbane.\nHis mates scarified the wound, bound up the arm, and administered a\nlarge dose of brandy; put the patient into a cart, and made for a\ndispensary with all possible speed. Here the wound was scarified again;\nand a doctor passing by, being called in, cauterised it, and injected\nammonia. In a few minutes the man's spasmodic struggles ceased, and\nhe was able to walk to a cab. By the time he reached the hospital all\ntraces of the venom had disappeared, and he seemed only to suffer\nfrom the effects of the spirits he had imbibed. The ammonia treatment\nof snake-bite is not efficacious with the lower animals; at least\nin a series of experiments upon dogs, not a single canine sufferer\nrecovered. Although Queensland is reputed to be a land of rivers\nand streams, there are tracts where water is scarce, and those who\nrecklessly go on the tramp, or 'wallaby,' as this kind of vagabondising\nis called, sometimes experience the horrors of thirst, and actually\nsink down and die in the wilderness.\n\nTo prove the truth of this, and to shew that examples are not wanting\nof travellers who have died of thirst, a correspondent of the\n_Queenslander_ tells how, following the tracks of some horses that\nhad strayed from their beat, he came upon a pair of moleskin trousers\nhanging upon a tree, as if put there for a signal of distress. Looking\nabout, he picked up a torn pocket, containing an illegible cheque and a\nmatch-box; and scattered about on the grass saw a blanket, shirt, hat,\nand water-bag. Searching further, he found the skull and bones of a\nman who had apparently been dead some two or three weeks; some of the\nflesh was still on the bones, and the brains were almost intact. Bags\nof flour, tea, and sugar lay near; a proof that the poor fellow had not\ndied of hunger, but of thirst, the nearest water being twelve miles\nfrom the spot where he died his lonely death.\n\nThomas Stevenson, a lad of seventeen, started one December morning\nfrom his brother's station, some fifty miles from Louth, New South\nWales, for the post-office at that place, which he reached safely,\nand left again at daybreak on the Saturday. The following Wednesday\nhis horse arrived home, bearing his rider's coat, scarf, and spurs.\nHis brother started for the bush with some black trackers, who found\nthat the missing lad had been wandering on the Debil-Debil Mountains,\nbut finding it impossible to get his horse down them, had turned back\nto get round the base of the mountains, but mistaking the road and\novertaken by darkness, had camped out and hobbled his horse. After a\nthree days' search the trackers discovered the body of young Stevenson\nlying between two logs in a lonely part of the bush. The weather had\nbeen extremely hot, and it was known he had no water-bag with him; so\nthere was little doubt that he died of thirst. After losing his way\nand losing hope, he must have taken off his coat, scarf, and spurs,\nfastened them to a saddle, and turned the horse loose. Then placing\nthe two logs on a track, he had lain down between them with his head\nresting on a cross-piece at one end, and so waited Death's releasing\nhand.\n\nIf advertising means business, business should be brisk indeed at\nDarling Downs, since the editor of the _Darling Downs Gazette_ finds\nit necessary to explain the absence of the customary 'leader' in this\nwise: 'Owing to a press of advertis---- In fact it is coming to this,\nthat we shall have to throw up the business if people come hustling\ntheir advertisements in at the rate they are doing. The general\nappreciation of the fact that the _Gazette_ is bound to be read by\neverybody, is becoming overwhelming. We plead guilty to no leader\nthis time; but what were we to do? Only just now a bald-headed man\ncame rushing in---- But stop! let us first explain that we mean no\noffence to bald-headed men, and they needn't get up in arms. Goodness\nknows, we were bald-headed enough ourselves once upon a time, and\nused to be up in arms frequently about that period. Ask our nurse.\nHowever, as we were about to say, a bald-headed man came hustling in\njust as we had commenced our leader, and had got as far as, \"When the\nhistory of mankind shall have been disinterred from the triturated and\ninevaporable sediments of its consummated cosmogony\"--and while with\nour pen suspended we were working up the continuation in the same gay\nand sparkling style, that bald-headed man violently brought us down\nfrom the ethereal heights in which we were soaring, and wanted to know\nwhether we could spare space for a column or so of advertisements. He\nfluttered some dingy papers, each marked five pounds, under our eyes,\nand we rather liked it. But we conquered our feelings and remarked:\n\"Caitiff! our duty to our readers demands a leading article; hang\nadvertisements! Take your beak from out our heart; take your form\nfrom off our door.\" The wretch winked, and went to the book-keeper,\nand inveigled him into finding space for that advertisement. Since\nthen, there have been processions of bald and hairy men with insidious\nmanners and fluttering notes, palming off advertisements on us. In\nshort--or if the reader objects to that phrase as inappropriate--at\nlength, we have no leading article, and if the reader could only\nwitness our tears!'\n\nWith certain parliamentary proceedings fresh in remembrance, we\ndare not cast stones at our cousins for not eliminating the rowdy\nelement from their legislatures. That it should be predominant is not\nsurprising, since we are assured, that in view of a coming dissolution,\ncandidates swarm on the ground like frogs in a marsh. Every man who\nhas figured in the insolvent list for the last three years; every\nboot-black whose stock of materials has given out; wild wood-carters\nwhose only horse and hope is dead; country newspaper reporters down on\ntheir luck; country-town bellmen whose vocation has been supplanted;\nseedy men who cry penny papers in the streets: in short, all Bohemia\nand its dependencies have taken the field with a view to winning\nsenatorial honours and the three hundred a year going with them.\nProminent among these candidates stand Tom M'Inerney, who bases his\nclaims upon the fact that he owns fifteen drays and fourteen children,\nand is under the impression that S. I. after a man's name denote him\nto be a civil engineer; and Patrick Tyrrell, who objects to 'circular'\neducation, and who proved himself a real Irishman when asked if he\nwould tax absentees, by replying: 'To be sure I would, if they didn't\nlive in the country.'\n\nHowever Australian legislators may indulge in libellous personalities,\nit is pleasant to note that such things are not received into favour\nby the press; the _Queenslander_ notifying to all concerned, that 'any\nstatement, comment, or criticism of a personal character calculated to\nprovoke ill-feeling in the community from which it may be penned, will\nnot only be rigorously excluded, as hitherto, but any correspondent\nwho may think fit to forward such matter for publication will be\nimmediately requested to discontinue his connection with this journal.'\nTo be perfect, this notification only needs the N.B.--English papers\nplease copy.\n\n\n\n\nTAKING IT COOLLY.\n\n\nSome of many instances of extraordinary coolness in the midst of\ndanger and otherwise that have been recorded, are here offered to our\nreaders, together with some amusing sayings and doings. When gallant\nPonsonby lay grievously wounded on the field of Waterloo, he forgot\nhis own desperate plight while watching an encounter between a couple\nof French lancers and one of his own men, cut off from his troop. As\nthe Frenchmen came down upon Murphy, he, using his sword as if it were\na shillelagh, knocked their lances alternately aside again and again.\nThen suddenly setting spurs to his horse, he galloped off full speed,\nhis eager foes following in hot pursuit, but not quite neck and neck.\nWheeling round at exactly the right moment, the Irishman, rushing\nat the foremost fellow, parried his lance, and struck him down. The\nsecond, pressing on to avenge his comrade, was cut through diagonally\nby Murphy's sword, falling to the earth without a cry or a groan; while\nthe victor, scarcely glancing at his handiwork, trotted off whistling\n_The Grinder_.\n\nPonsonby's brave cavalry-man knew how to take things coolly, which,\naccording to Colonel R. P. Anderson, is the special virtue of the\nBritish man-of-war, who, having the utmost reliance in himself and his\ncommanders, is neither easily over-excited nor readily alarmed. In\nsupport of his assertion, the colonel relates how two tars, strolling\nup from the Dil-Kusha Park, where Lord Clyde's army was stationed,\ntowards the Residency position at Lucknow, directed their steps by\nthe pickets of horse and foot. Suddenly, a twenty-four-pound shot\nstruck the road just in front of them. 'I'm blessed, Bill,' said one\nof the tars, 'if this here channel is properly buoyed!' and on the\nhappy-go-lucky pair went towards the Residency, as calmly as if they\nhad been on Portsmouth Hard. During the same siege, a very young\nprivate of the 102d was on sentry, when an eight-inch shell, fired\nfrom a gun a hundred yards off, burst close to him, making a deal of\nnoise and throwing up an immense quantity of earth. Colonel Anderson\nrushed to the spot. The youthful soldier was standing quietly at his\npost, close to where the shell had just exploded. Being asked what had\nhappened, he replied unconcernedly: 'I think a shell has busted, sir.'\n\nTowards the close of the fight of Inkermann, Lord Raglan, returning\nfrom taking leave of General Strangways, met a sergeant carrying\nwater for the wounded. The sergeant drew himself up to salute, when\na round-shot came bounding over the hill, and knocked his forage-cap\nout of his hand. The man picked it up, dusted it on his knee, placed\nit carefully on his head, and made the salute, not a muscle of his\ncountenance moving the while. 'A neat thing that, my man?' said Lord\nRaglan. 'Yes, my lord,' returned the sergeant, with another salute;\n'but a miss is as good as a mile.' The commander was probably not\nsurprised by such an exhibition of _sang-froid_, being himself good\nthat way. He was badly hurt at Waterloo; and, says the Prince of\nOrange, who was in the hospital, 'I was not conscious of the presence\nof Lord Fitzroy Somerset until I heard him call out in his ordinary\ntone: \"Hollo! Don't carry that arm away till I have taken off my ring!\"\nNeither wound nor operation had extorted a groan from his lips.'\n\nThe Indian prides himself upon taking good or ill in the quietest\nof ways; and from a tale told in Mr Marshall's _Canadian Dominion_,\nhis civilised half-brother would seem to be equally unemotional.\nThanks mainly to a certain Métis or half-breed in the service of the\nHudson Bay Company, a Sioux warrior was found guilty of stealing a\nhorse, and condemned to pay the animal's value by instalments, at one\nof the Company's forts. On paying the last instalment, he received\nhis quittance from the man who had brought him to justice, and left\nthe office. A few moments later the Sioux returned, advanced on his\nnoiseless moccasins within a pace of the writing-table, and levelled\nhis musket full at the half-breed's head. Just as the trigger was\npulled, the Métis raised the hand with which he was writing and touched\nlightly the muzzle of the gun; the shot passed over his head, but his\nhair was singed off in a broad mass. The smoke clearing away, the\nIndian was amazed to see his enemy still lived. The other looked him\nfull in the eyes for an instant, and quietly resumed his writing. The\nIndian silently departed unpursued; those who would have given chase\nbeing stopped by the half-breed with: 'Go back to your dinner, and\nleave the affair to me.'\n\nWhen evening came, a few whites, curious to see how the matter would\nend, accompanied the Métis to the Sioux encampment. At a certain\ndistance he bade them wait, and advanced alone to the Indian tents.\nBefore one of these sat crouched the baffled savage, singing his own\ndeath-hymn to the tom-tom. He complained that he must now say good-bye\nto wife and child, to the sunlight, to his gun and the chase. He told\nhis friends in the spirit-land to expect him that night, when he would\nbring them all the news of their tribe. He swung his body backwards and\nforwards as he chanted his strange song, but never once looked up--not\neven when his foe spurned him with his foot. He only sang on, and\nawaited his fate. Then the half-breed bent his head and spat down on\nthe crouching Sioux, and turned leisurely away--a crueller revenge than\nif he had shot him dead.\n\nIt is not given to every one to play the philosopher, and accept\nfortune's buffets and favours with equal placidity. Horatios are\nscarce. But there are plenty of people capable of behaving like\nSpartans where the trouble does not touch their individuality. 'How can\nI get out of this?' asked an Englishman, up to his armpits in a Scotch\nbog, of a passer-by. 'I dinna think ye _can_ get oot of it,' was the\nresponse of the Highlander as he went on his way.\n\nMistress of herself was the spouse of the old gentleman, who contrived\nto tumble off the ferryboat into the Mississippi, and was encouraged\nto struggle for dear life by his better-half shouting: 'There, Samuel;\ndidn't I tell you so? Now then, work your legs, flap your arms, hold\nyour breath, and repeat the Lord's Prayer--for its mighty onsartin,\nSamuel, whether you land in Vicksburg or eternity!'\n\nThoroughly oblivious of court manners was the red-cloaked old Kentish\ndame who found her way into the tent occupied by Queen Charlotte, at a\nVolunteer review held shortly after her coming to England, and after\nstaring at the royal lady with her arms akimbo, observed: 'Well, she's\nnot so ugly as they told me she was!'--a compliment the astonished\nqueen gratefully accepted, saying: 'Well, my good woman, I am very glad\nof dat.' Probably Her Majesty forgave her critic's rudeness as the\noutcome of rustic ignorance and simplicity.\n\nThere is no cooler man than your simple fellow. While General Thomas\nwas inspecting the fortifications of Chattanooga with General Garfield,\nthey heard some one shout: 'Hello, mister! You! I want to speak to\nyou!' General Thomas, turning, found he was the 'mister' so politely\nhailed by an East Tennessean soldier.\n\n'Well, my man,' said he, 'what do you want with me?'\n\n'I want to get a furlough, mister, that's what I want,' was the reply.\n\n'Why do you want a furlough, my man?' inquired the general.\n\n'Wall, I want to go home and see my wife.'\n\n'How long is it since you saw her?'\n\n'Ever since I enlisted; nigh on to three months.'\n\n'Three months!' exclaimed the commander. 'Why, my good fellow, I have\nnot seen my wife for three years!'\n\nThe Tennessean looked incredulous, and drawled out: 'Wall, you see, me\nand _my_ wife ain't that sort!'\n\nThe Postmaster-general of the United States once received an odd\nofficial communication; the Raeborn postmaster, new to his duties,\nwriting to his superior officer: 'Seeing by the regulations that I am\nrequired to send you a letter of advice, I must plead in excuse that I\nhave been postmaster but a short time; but I will say, if your office\npays no better than mine, I advise you to give it up.' To this day,\nthat Postmaster-general has not decided whether his subordinate was an\nignoramus or was quietly poking fun at him.\n\nSpite of the old axiom about self-praise, many are of opinion that\nthe world is apt to take a man at his own valuation. If that be true,\nthere is a church dignitary in embryo somewhere in the young deacon,\nwhose examining bishop felt it requisite to send for the clergyman\nrecommending him for ordination, in order to tell him to keep that\nyoung man in check; adding by way of explanation: 'I had the greatest\ndifficulty, sir, to prevent him examining me!' This not to be abashed\ncandidate for clerical honours promises to be as worthy of the cloth as\nthe American minister who treated his village congregation to one of Mr\nBeecher's sermons, unaware that the popular Brooklyn preacher made one\nof his hearers. Accosting him after service, Mr Beecher said: 'That was\na fair discourse; how long did it take you to write it?'\n\n'Oh, I tossed it off one evening,' was the reply.\n\n'Indeed!' said Mr Beecher. 'Well, it took me much longer than that to\nthink out the framework of that sermon.'\n\n'Are you Henry Ward Beecher?' asked the sermon-stealer.\n\n'I am,' said that gentleman.\n\n'Well, then,' said the other, not in the least disconcerted, 'all I\nhave to say is, that I ain't ashamed to preach one of your sermons\nanywhere.'\n\nWe do not know if Colman invented the phrase, 'As cool as a cucumber;'\nbut he makes the Irishman in _The Heir-at-Law_ say: 'These two must\nbe a rich man that won't lend, and a borrower; for one is trotting\nabout in great distress, and t' other stands cool as a cucumber.' Of\nthe two, the latter was more likely to have been intending a raid on\nanother man's purse, for the men whose 'very trade is borrowing' are\nusually, we might say necessarily, the coolest of the cool; like Bubb\nDodington's impecunious acquaintance, who, rushing across Bond Street,\ngreeted Dodington with: 'I'm delighted to see you, for I am wonderfully\nin want of a guinea.'\n\nTaking out his purse, Bubb shewed that it held but half a guinea.\n\n'A thousand thanks!' cried his tormentor, deftly seizing the coin;\n'that will do very well for the present;' and then changed the\nconversation. But as he turned to take leave, he inquired: 'By-the-by,\nwhen will you pay me that half-guinea?'\n\n'Pay you? What do you mean?' exclaimed Dodington.\n\n'Mean? Why, I intended to borrow a guinea of you. I have only got half;\nbut I'm not in a hurry for t' other. Name your own time, only pray keep\nit!' saying which, he disappeared round the corner.\n\n'John Phœnix' the American humorist being one night at a theatre,\nfancied he saw a friend some three seats in front of him. Turning to\nhis next neighbour he said: 'Would you be kind enough to touch that\ngentleman with your stick?' 'Certainly,' was the reply, and the thing\nwas done; but when the individual thus assaulted turned round, Phœnix\nsaw he was not the man he took him for, and became at once absorbed\nin the play, leaving his friend with the stick to settle matters with\nthe gentleman in front, which, as he had no excuse handy, was not done\nwithout considerable trouble. When the hubbub was over, the victim\nsaid: 'Didn't you tell me to tap that man with my stick?' 'Yes.' 'And\nwhat did you want?' 'Oh,' said Phœnix, with imperturbable gravity, 'I\nwanted to see whether you _would_ tap him or not!'\n\n'Jack Holmes,' a man-about-town, living no one knew how, was once under\ncross-examination by a certain sergeant-at-law, who knew his man too\nwell. 'Now, sir,' said the learned gentleman, 'tell the jury how you\nlive?'\n\n'Well,' said Holmes, 'a chop or a steak, and on Sunday perhaps a little\nbit of fish; I am a very plain-living man.'\n\n'You know what I mean, sir,' thundered the questioner. 'What do you do\nfor a living?'\n\n'The same as you, sergeant,' said the witness, tapping his forehead\nsuggestively; 'and when that fails, I do'--going through the pantomime\nof writing across his hand--'a little bit of stuff--the same as you\nagain.'\n\n'My lud, I shall not ask this obtuse witness any more questions,' said\nthe angry counsel.\n\n'Brother,' said Baron Martin, 'I think you had better not.'\n\nHere is a hint for our old friend the clown in the pantomime. At the\nburning of a provision store, the crowd helped themselves freely. One\nman grasped a huge cheese as his share of the salvage; rising up with\nit he found himself face to face with a policeman, and with admirable\npresence of mind put the plunder into the officer's arms, saying: 'You\nhad better take care of that, policeman, or some one will be walking\noff with it.'\n\nEqually ready to relinquish his loot when there was no help for it was\na Chicago <DW64>, caught by a poultry fancier in the act of carrying off\nsome of his live stock, and challenged with: 'What are you doing with\nmy chickens?' 'I wuz gwine fer ter fetch 'em back, boss,' explained he.\n'Dere's a <DW65> roun' here what's bin disputin along er me 'bout dem\nchickens. I said dey wuz Coachin Chyniz; an he said dey wuz Alabarmar\npullets; an I wuz jes takin 'em roun' fer ter stablish my nollidge. Dey\ndon't lay no aigs, does dey, boss? Ef dey does, I'm mighty shamed of\nhustlin 'em roun'. Aigs is scase.'\n\nImpudently cool as the darkey was, he must yield the palm for\neffrontery to the Erie Railway guard, whose interview with Manager Fisk\nis thus related in an American paper.\n\n'You are a conductor on the Erie, I believe?'\n\n'Yes, sir.'\n\n'How long have you been on the road?'\n\n'Fifteen years.'\n\n'Worth some property, I learn?'\n\n'Some.'\n\n'Have a very fine house in Oswego? Cost you some thirty, forty, or\nfifty thousand dollars?'\n\n'Yes, sir.'\n\n'Some little money invested in bonds, I am told?'\n\n'Yes, sir.'\n\n'Own a farm near where you reside?'\n\n'Yes, sir.'\n\n'Had nothing when you commenced as conductor on our road?'\n\n'Nothing to speak of.'\n\n'Made the property since?'\n\n'Yes, sir.'\n\n'Been at work for no other parties?'\n\n'No; but I have been saving money, and invested it from time to time to\ngood advantage.'\n\n'Well, sir, what will you give to settle? Of course you cannot pretend\nto say you have acquired this property from what you have saved from\nyour salary? You will not deny that you have pocketed a great deal\nof money belonging to the railway--at least fifty or sixty thousand\ndollars? Now, sir, what will you give to settle, and not be disgraced,\nas you certainly will be if a trial is brought, and you are compelled\nto give up the property you profess to own, but which in reality\nbelongs to the Company?'\n\n'Well, Mr Manager, I had not thought of the matter. For several years\nI have been running my train to the best of my ability. Never looked\nat the matter in this light before. Never thought I was doing anything\nwrong. I have done nothing more than other conductors; tried to earn\nmy salary and get it, and think I've succeeded. I don't know that I\nowe the Company anything. If you think I do, why, there's a little\ndifference of opinion, and I don't want any trouble over it. I have a\nnice family, nice father and mother; relatives all of good standing;\nthey would feel bad to have me arrested and charged with dishonesty. It\nwould kill my wife. She has every confidence in me, and the idea that I\nwould take a penny that did not belong to me would break her heart. I\ndon't care anything for the matter myself; but on account of my family\nand relatives, if you won't say anything more about it, I'll give you\nsay--a dollar!'\n\n\n\n\nTHE MONTH:\n\nSCIENCE AND ARTS.\n\n\nMr Charles Barry, President of the Royal Institute of British\nArchitects, in his opening address, mentioned that with a view to\nfacilitate the studies of young men, the library of the Institute is\nopen from ten in the morning till nine at night, to members of the\nArchitectural Association, to the architectural classes of the Royal\nAcademy, of University College, and King's College. A fee of five\nshillings a year and a proper recommendation are the conditions on\nwhich this valuable privilege may be obtained; and it is to be hoped\nthat earnest-minded students--the architects of the future--will hasten\nto avail themselves of this generously offered store of knowledge.\n\nThe Council of the Institute have given notice of lectures which are\nto be delivered at University College, London, during the present\nsession, comprising Ancient Architecture as a Fine Art; on Construction\nand Materials; on Roofing, Masonry, Quarries, Arches, and Groining.\nAt King's College also there will be lectures on the Mechanics of\nConstruction; on Constructive Design and Practice, besides classes\nfor the study of Architectural Drawing, Descriptive Geometry, and\nSurveying and Levelling. Young men who wish to study architecture and\nallied subjects have in the courses thus provided for, a favourable\nopportunity. Among the papers announced for reading at the meetings of\nthe Institute are: On the Architecture of Norway; On the Prevention of\nCorrosion in Iron; and Syria, the Cradle of Gothic Architecture; which\nmay be expected to present especial points of interest.\n\nThe Council of the Royal Agricultural Society have published a\nstatement of members' privileges which is worth attention. On payment\nof a moderate fee the advice of a competent veterinary inspector can be\nhad in cases of disease among the live-stock; post-mortem examinations\ncan be made, and the animals may be sent to the Brown Institution,\nWandsworth Road, London, where the Professor-Superintendent undertakes\n'to carry out such investigations relating to the nature, treatment,\nand prevention of diseases of cattle, sheep, and pigs, as may be\ndeemed expedient by the Council of the Society.' Reports on the cases\nare drawn up quarterly, or specially as may be required. Analyses of\nguano and other fertilisers, of soils, of water, of vegetable products,\nmay be had; also reports on seeds, with determination of the quantity\nof weeds mingled among them; on vegetable parasites; on diseases of\nfarm-crops. And besides all this, any member whose lands are infested\nby noxious intruders may have a 'determination of the species of\nany insect, worm, or other animal, which, in any stage of its life,\ninjuriously affects the farm-crops, with a report on its habits, and\nsuggestions as to its extermination.'\n\nExperiments on the fattening of animals by Messrs Lawes and Gilbert\nhelp to settle the much-debated question as to whether fat is produced\nexclusively from nitrogenous food or not. Their conclusion is, that\nexcess of nitrogen contributes to growth but not to fatness. 'There\nis, of course,' they say, 'a point below which the proportion of\nnitrogenous substance in the food should not be reduced; but if this\nbe much exceeded, the proportion of the increase, and especially of\nthe fat-increase, to the nitrogenous substance consumed, rapidly\ndecreases; and it may be stated generally, that taking our current\nfattening food-stuffs as they are, it is their supply of digestible\nnon-nitrogenous, rather than of nitrogenous constituents which guides\nthe amount, both of the food consumed and of the increase produced, by\nthe fattening animal.'\n\nSince the outbreak of discussion on spontaneous generation and the germ\ntheory, many readers have become familiar with the term Bacteria, by\nwhich certain minute organisms are described. The question involved\nmay be studied from different points of view, as appears from a\ncommunication addressed to the Royal Society by Dr Downes and Mr Blunt,\na chemist, on the Effect of Light upon Bacteria and other Organisms.\nProperly prepared solutions were inclosed in glass tubes; some of\nthe tubes were placed in sunlight, others were covered with paper\nor some material that excluded light. The dark tubes became turbid;\nthe light tubes remained clear. The experiments modified in various\nways were continued from April to October; and the conclusions that\nthe experimentalists came to were that--Light is inimical to the\ndevelopment of Bacteria and the microscopic fungi associated with\nputrefaction and decay, its action on the latter being apparently less\nrapid than upon the former--That the preservative quality of light\nis most powerful in the direct solar ray, but can be demonstrated\nto exist in ordinary diffused daylight--and That this preservative\nquality appears to be associated with the actinic rays of the spectrum.\n'It appears to us,' say the two gentlemen, 'that the organisms which\nhave been the subject of our research may be regarded simply as\nisolated cells, or minute protoplasmic masses specially fitted by\ntheir transparency and tenuity for the demonstration of physical\ninfluences. May we not expect that laws similar to those which here\nmanifest themselves may be in operation throughout the vegetable, and\nperhaps also the animal kingdom wherever light has direct access to\nprotoplasm? On the one hand, we have chlorophyll (colouring substance\nof leaves, &c.) owing its very existence to light, and whose functions\nare deoxidising; on the other, the white protoplasm or germinal matter\noxidising in its relations, and to which, in some of its forms at\nleast, the solar rays are not only non-essential, but even devitalising\nand injurious.\n\n'This suggestion,' continued the gentlemen, 'we advance provisionally\nand with diffidence; nor do we wish to imply that the relations of\nlight to protoplasmic matter are by any means so simple as might be\ninferred from the above broad statement.'\n\nA paper by Dr Burdon Sanderson, F.R.S., read before the same Society,\ncontains, amid much that is controversial about _Bacteria_, germs,\norganised particles, development and so forth, a few passages which\nall intelligent readers will be able to understand. On the question\nof disease-germs, the learned doctor remarks: 'In order that any\nparticle may be rightly termed a disease-germ, two things must be\nproved concerning it: first, that it is a living organism; secondly,\nthat if it finds its way into the body of a healthy human being or of\nan animal, it will produce the disease of which it is the germ. Now\nthere is only one disease affecting the higher animals in respect of\nwhich anything of this kind has been proved, and that is splenic fever\nof cattle. In other words, there is but one case in which the existence\nof a disease-germ has been established. Comparing such a germ with the\ngerminal particles we have been discussing, we see that there is but\nlittle analogy between them, for, first, the latter are not known to be\norganised; secondly, they have no power of producing disease, for it\nhas been found by experiment that ordinary Bacteria may be introduced\ninto the circulating blood of healthy animals in considerable\nquantities without producing any disturbance of health. So long as we\nourselves are healthy, we have no reason to apprehend any danger from\nthe morbific action of atmospheric dust, except in so far as it can\nbe shewn to have derived infectiveness from some particular source of\nmiasma or contagium.'\n\nIn a communication to the _American Journal_, Professor Kirkwood\ndiscusses the question--Does the motion of the inner satellite of\nMars disprove the nebular hypothesis? This satellite he remarks is\nwithin three thousand four hundred miles of the planet's surface, and\ncompletes three orbital revolutions in less than a Martial day. How is\nthis remarkable fact to be reconciled with the cosmogony of Laplace?\nThe Professor then remarks that there is some similarity between the\nmovements of the satellites and those of the rings of Saturn. The\nrings are composed of clouds of exceedingly minute planetoids, and\nwhile the outer ring revolves in a period somewhat greater than that\nof Saturn itself, 'the inner visible edge of the dusky ring completes\na revolution in about eight hours. These rings,' in the words of\nProfessor Tait, 'like everything cosmical, must be gradually decaying,\nbecause in the course of their motion round the planet there must be\ncontinual impacts among the separate portions of the mass; and of\ntwo which impinge, one may be accelerated, but at the expense of the\nother. The other falls out of the race, as it were, and is gradually\ndrawn in towards the planet. The consequence is that, possibly not so\nmuch on account of the improvement of telescopes of late years, but\nperhaps simply in consequence of this gradual closing in of the whole\nsystem, a new ring of Saturn has been observed inside the two old\nones, called from its appearance the crape ring, which was narrow when\nfirst observed, but is gradually becoming broader. That crape ring is\nformed of the laggards which have been thrown out of the race, and are\ngradually falling in towards Saturn's surface.' It is then suggested\nthat, by a process similar to that here described, the phenomena of the\nMartial system may have been produced, and the argument concludes thus:\n'Unless some such explanation as this can be given, the short period of\nthe inner satellite will doubtless be regarded as a conclusive argument\nagainst the nebular hypothesis.'\n\nIn a paper read at a meeting of the Royal Astronomical Society, Mr\nBrett argues against the hypothesis that Mars is in a condition similar\nto that of the earth. He grounds his conclusion on the fact that in\nall his observations of Mars he has seen no clouds in the atmosphere\nthereof. That atmosphere is very dense, of great bulk, and is probably\nof a temperature so high that any aqueous vapour contained therein is\nprevented from condensation. Mr Brett implies that the glowing red\ncolour of the middle of the disk is glowing red heat; and he remarks,\nin terrestrial experience there is always an intermediate phenomenon\nbetween vapour and snow, namely opaque cloud; and the absence of this\ncondition seems fatal to the hypothesis that the white polar patch, as\nhitherto supposed, consists of snow. According to Mr Brett this patch\nis not only not snow; constitutes no part of the solid mass of the\nplanet; but is nothing more than a patch of cloud, 'the only real cloud\nexisting in Mars.'\n\nFrom particulars published in the _Quarterly Journal_ of the Geological\nSociety, it appears that metallic copper and copper ore have been\ndiscovered along a tract of country in Nova Scotia, that the specimens\nwhen analysed at Swansea yielded satisfactory results, and that 'Nova\nScotia may soon appear on the list of copper-producing countries,\nit being confidently expected that during the approaching summer\nfresh localities will be proved to contain copper-bearing veins.'\nAnd shifting the scene, we learn from the same _Journal_ that in the\nSouth African Diamond Fields, two claims in Kimberley Mine, comprising\neighteen hundred square feet, have yielded twenty-eight thousand carats\nof diamond; that at Lyndenburg, in the Transvaal country, most of the\nalluvial gold is supplied by Pilgrim's Rest Creek, the gold being\ncoarse and nuggety, in well-rounded lumps, some of which, ten pounds in\nweight, are worth from seventy-six to eighty shillings an ounce; and\nthat near the Oliphant River cobalt ore is found, of which a hundred\ntons have been sent to England. The same locality yields beryls, and is\nbelieved to be rich in other minerals.\n\nCompressed air on being released from pressure can be cooled down to a\nvery low temperature by throwing into it a jet of cold water. Advantage\nhas been taken of this fact in contriving a new refrigerator or\nfreezing chamber; and we are informed that at a trial which took place\nwith a view to commercial purposes, 'in half an hour after commencing\nto work the machine, the thermometer within the freezing chamber stood\nat twenty degrees below zero; the interior of the chamber was covered\nwith hoar-frost half an inch thick, bottles of water were frozen solid,\nand the general temperature of the room in which the freezing chamber\nstands was reduced to thirty degrees Fahrenheit.' It is clear that\nby this invention a very cheap way of producing ice and maintaining\ncoolness has become available; and that it should have been adopted by\na Company for use on board ship to keep meat fresh during the voyage\nfrom Canada is what might be expected. Bearing in mind that in April\nof the present year the United States sent to England more than eight\nmillion pounds of meat, the importance of the new cooling method will\nbe appreciated. Moreover, it may be applied to many other purposes\nwhich require a low temperature.\n\nAnother step has been taken towards diminishing the risk of railway\ntravelling. Experience has shewn that the danger most to be dreaded is\ncollision; and that collision is brought about by defective signals.\nThe interlocking system of signals is good, and the block-system is\ngood; but they have failed in critical moments. The manager of the\nRailway Signal Works at Kilburn has invented a method which combines\nthe two systems, and, as we are informed, has thereby 'dislodged the\nlast atom of human fallibility' from railway signalling. Time will\nprove.\n\nThe block-system has been adopted, with endeavours to improve it,\non some of the principal lines in France; and the companies point\nto statistics which shew that railway travelling is safer in France\nthan in Belgium or England; there being not more than _one_ death to\nforty-five millions of travellers.\n\nProfessor Marsh's address to the meeting of the American Association\nfor the Advancement of Science cannot fail to interest all readers\nwho desire to learn something of the Introduction and Succession of\nVertebrate Life in America. It is a subject very inviting, and very\ndifficult to trace the succession from fishes to amphibia, reptiles and\nbirds, and onwards to mammals; but cannot be properly discussed without\nthe aid of much dry scientific detail. We shall content ourselves\ntherefore with a few points in the address which admit of presentation\nin a popular form. 'During the Triassic time,' says Professor Marsh,\n'the Dinosaurs attained in America an enormous development both in\nvariety of forms and in size. The Triassic sandstone of the Connecticut\nvalley has long been famous for its fossil footprints, especially the\nso-called bird-tracks, which are generally supposed to have been made\nby birds. A careful investigation, however, of nearly all the specimens\nyet discovered has convinced me that most of these three-toed tracks\nwere certainly not made by birds; but by quadrupeds which usually\nwalked upon their hind-feet alone, and only occasionally put to the\nground their smaller anterior extremities.'\n\nAccording to present knowledge, the earliest appearance of birds\nin America was during the Cretaceous period. Among them was one to\nwhich the name _Hesperornis_ has been given. It was aquatic, nearly\nsix feet in length, had jaws with teeth set in grooves, rudimentary\nwings, and legs similar to those of modern diving-birds. We have it\non the authority of Professor Marsh that this strange creature 'was\nessentially a carnivorous swimming ostrich.'\n\nComing to the Miocene period, we are told of the Brontotherium, an\nanimal nearly as large as the elephant, but with much shorter limbs.\nA countryman looking at the skeleton of one of these monsters in the\nmuseum at Newhaven, was heard to say: 'Adam must have had a bad time\nof it when he branded that critter there.' It was succeeded by the\nequally huge _Chalicotherium_. And a little later we have the statement\nthat 'the Marsupials are clearly the remnants of a very ancient fauna\nwhich occupied the American continent millions of years ago, and from\nwhich the other mammals were doubtless all derived, although the direct\nevidence of the transformation is wanting.'\n\nIt has long been supposed that the New World was peopled by migrations\nfrom the Old World. Professor Marsh holds a directly opposite opinion,\nwhereby an interesting question is presented for discussion. The\nsurveys and explorations carried on of late years by the United States\ngovernment have brought to light such an amazing number of fossils,\nindicative of more, that the museums in America will soon be the\nlargest and the richest in specimens in the world. On the other hand,\nwe may point to Central Asia, and suggest that when that vast country\nshall be thoroughly explored, fossil relics may be discovered more\ndiversified and interesting even than those of America.\n\nA remarkable statement occurs in a Report by one of the government\nnaturalists on the Injurious Insects of the West, namely that in the\nUnited States the loss of agricultural products through the ravages of\ninsects amounts to 'probably more than two hundred millions of dollars\neach year, and that from one-quarter to one-half of this sum might be\nsaved by preventive measures.'\n\nAnother item from beyond the Atlantic is the gigantic cuttle-fish,\nwhich was found after a storm at Catalina, on the coast of\nNewfoundland. The measurements of this monster were: circumference of\nbody seven feet; length of tentacular arms thirty feet; of the ventral\narms eleven feet, and eye-sockets eight inches diameter. This, the\nlargest specimen ever preserved, is now in the New York Aquarium.\nWith a grasp of sixty feet when living, it must have realised the\ndescriptions in old writers of horrid sea-monsters that devoured\ndivers, and enveloped even ships with their terrible arms. It is not\nthe first that has been found on the shores of Newfoundland.\n\nReaders who prefer the study of geography when mixed with adventures\nwill find instruction and entertainment in Mr Alfred Simson's _Notes of\nTravel Across South America from Guayaquil to the Napo_, an affluent\nof the great river of Brazil, as published in the last number of the\nGeographical Society's _Journal_. Among descriptions of perilous\nincidents, of laborious exertions, and of narrow escapes, are accounts\nof wonderful scenery, of natural products, and of some of the native\ntribes, which make us aware that much yet remains to be discovered\nin that mountainous interior. In one place a party of the numerous\nJívaros tribe was met with, one of the most independent and warlike in\nSouth America, who withstood alike the attacks of Incas and Spaniards,\nand have still a habit of killing white people. A Jesuit padre who\nhad resided among them three years, told Mr Simson 'that he found it\nimpossible to make any progress with them.'\n\nOn another occasion Mr Simson explored the almost unknown Putumayo,\none of the largest of the Amazonian tributaries, navigable to the\nfoot of the Andes, eighteen hundred miles from the sea. This voyage,\naided by the Brazilian government, with a view to steam-navigation,\noccupied fifty-seven days, beset by hardships, and the plague of the\nblood-thirsty Pium flies, all of which Mr Simson appears to have\novercome by indomitable resolution.\n\nIn reply to further inquiries made regarding vegetable size, we are\ntold that 'the best and purest, if not the cheapest, is the _haï-thao_,\nwhich is sold by Messrs Renault aîné et fils, 26 Rue du Roi de\nSicile, Paris. Its price (last year) varied from 5.50 to 7 francs per\nkilogramme.' We are further told that this 'gum' was applied to the\nsizing of cotton cloths with good results, and that it might prove\nequally useful for the sizing of other materials such as paper. To one\ngallon of water, four ounces of the size are added and _well_ boiled,\nthe result of which is a jelly which gets very thick when cool. Besides\nthe _haï-thao_, there are other kinds of size made from sea-weeds,\nsuch as the _gélase_ of M. Martineau, druggist, St Parchaise, Charente\nInférieure--sold at 3.50 francs per kilogramme; the _thao-français_,\nsold by M. Steinbach, Petit Guerilly, near Rouen, from 3.50 to 5\nfrancs; and the _ly-cho_ of M. Fichet, 8 Rue de Chateau, Asnières,\nSeine. Of the foregoing we believe the _haï-thao_ size to be the best.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROLL-CALL OF HOME.\n\n'FOR VALOUR.'\n\n\n    A soldier came from distant lands, to seek his childhood's home:\n    A gallant boy he marched away, when first he longed to roam\n    With colours flying o'er his head, with music's thrilling strain;\n    But now a saddened, dying man, he wandered home again.\n\n    He left his love, the village belle, and cried, in careless glee:\n    'When medals shine upon my breast, a hero's bride thou 'lt be.'\n    To bring his mother laurels back, his youthful heart had yearned;\n    A simple cross, a life of toil, were all that he had earned.\n\n    Beside the old churchyard there sat, upon a rustic stile,\n    A pretty little village maid, who gave him smile for smile.\n    He asked her news of dear old friends--his dog among the rest--\n    And trem'lous then he slowly asked for those he loved the best.\n\n    But when his father's, mother's, name she heard him softly say,\n    The merry face grew grave and sad; the bright smile passed away.\n    She told, their son was lost or dead, their hearts' delight and pride;\n    ''Neath yonder yew-tree,' said the maid, 'they're sleeping, side by side.'\n\n    He asked her of his boyhood's love; a joyous answer came;\n    'Thou knowest all my friends,' she cried; 'that _was_ my mother's name.'\n    The soldier's face was fraught with grief she could not understand;\n    Yet, with a child's quick sympathy, she placed in his her hand.\n\n    'Come home,' she said; but with a kiss, quoth he, 'That may not be;\n    I soon shall reach the only home now left, on earth, for me.'\n    She was his last remaining friend; and thus, life's journey done,\n    He gave her all he had to give--the cross, too dearly won!\n\n    Bethought the maid, he needs repose as he has come from far;\n    So prayed that he would tell, some day, the story of the war.\n    'We two will rest a little while, for I am tired,' she said;\n    'Where daisies grow, beneath the tree, come now and rest thy head.'\n\n    She led him, gently, to the spot; and sleeping, calmly, there,\n    The mother found them, hand in hand. How different the pair!\n    _He_ was at peace; but in that rest where sorrow ne'er may come.\n    Ah! may the soldier then have gained, in Heaven, a better home.\n\n        AUGUSTA A. L. MAGRA.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Volume XIV. of the Fourth Series of CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL is now\ncompleted, price Nine Shillings._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_A Title-page and Index, price One Penny, have been prepared, and may\nbe ordered through any bookseller._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_An elegant cloth case for binding the whole of the numbers for 1877 is\nalso ready._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Back numbers to complete sets may at all times be had._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Next Saturday, January 5, 1878, will be commenced in this JOURNAL, a\nNOVEL, entitled_\n\n    HELENA, LADY HARROWGATE.\n    By JOHN B. HARWOOD,\n    Author of _Lady Flavia_, &c.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEND OF FOURTEENTH VOLUME.\n\nPrinted and Published by W. and R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row,\nLondon, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_All Rights Reserved._\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular\nLiterature, Science, and Art,, by Various\n\n*** "}